{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_5600/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_5600","id":"gutenberg_5600","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5600","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Romance","German fiction -- Translations into English","Historical fiction"],"text":"Produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE HISTORICAL ROMANCES OF GEORG EBERS\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n   Uarda\n   An Egyptian Princess\n   The Sisters\n   Joshua\n   Cleopatra\n   The Emperor\n   Homo Sum\n   Serapis\n   Arachne\n   The Bride Of The Nile\n   A Thorny Path\n   In The Fire Of The Forge\n   Margery\n   Barbara Blomberg\n   A Word Only A Word\n   The Burgomaster's Wife\n   In The Blue Pike\n   A Question\n   The Elixir\n   The Greylock\n   The Nuts\n   The Story Of My Life (Autobiograpy)\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nA ROMANCE OF ANCIENT EGYPT\n\nTranslated from the German by Clara Bell\n\n\n\n\nVolume 1.\n\n                       DEDICATION.\n\n        Thou knowest well from what this book arose.\n        When suffering seized and held me in its clasp\n        Thy fostering hand released me from its grasp,\n        And from amid the thorns there bloomed a rose.\n        Air, dew, and sunshine were bestowed by Thee,\n        And Thine it is; without these lines from me.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nIn the winter of 1873 I spent some weeks in one of the tombs of the\nNecropolis of Thebes in order to study the monuments of that solemn city\nof the dead; and during my long rides in the silent desert the germ was\ndeveloped whence this book has since grown. The leisure of mind and body\nrequired to write it was given me through a long but not disabling\n illness.\n\nIn the first instance I intended to elucidate this story--like my\n\"Egyptian Princess\"--with numerous and extensive notes placed at the end;\nbut I was led to give up this plan from finding that it would lead me to\nthe repetition of much that I had written in the notes to that earlier\nwork.\n\nThe numerous notes to the former novel had a threefold purpose. In the\nfirst place they served to explain the text; in the second they were a\nguarantee of the care with which I had striven to depict the\narchaeological details in all their individuality from the records of the\nmonuments and of Classic Authors; and thirdly I hoped to supply the\nreader who desired further knowledge of the period with some guide to his\nstudies.\n\nIn the present work I shall venture to content myself with the simple\nstatement that I have introduced nothing as proper to Egypt and to the\nperiod of Rameses that cannot be proved by some authority; the numerous\nmonuments which have descended to us from the time of the Rameses, in\nfact enable the enquirer to understand much of the aspect and arrangement\nof Egyptian life, and to follow it step try step through the details of\nreligious, public, and private life, even of particular individuals. The\nsame remark cannot be made in regard to their mental life, and here many\nan anachronism will slip in, many things will appear modern, and show the\ncoloring of the Christian mode of thought.\n\nEvery part of this book is intelligible without the aid of notes; but,\nfor the reader who seeks for further enlightenment, I have added some\nfoot-notes, and have not neglected to mention such works as afford more\ndetailed information on the subjects mentioned in the narrative.\n\nThe reader who wishes to follow the mind of the author in this work\nshould not trouble himself with the notes as he reads, but merely at the\nbeginning of each chapter read over the notes which belong to the\nforegoing one. Every glance at the foot-notes must necessarily disturb\nand injure the development of the tale as a work of art. The story stands\nhere as it flowed from one fount, and was supplied with notes only after\nits completion.\n\nA narrative of Herodotus combined with the Epos of Pentaur, of which so\nmany copies have been handed down to us, forms the foundation of the\nstory.\n\nThe treason of the Regent related by the Father of history is referable\nperhaps to the reign of the third and not of the second Rameses. But it\nis by no means certain that the Halicarnassian writer was in this case\nmisinformed; and in this fiction no history will be inculcated, only as a\nbackground shall I offer a sketch of the time of Sesostris, from a\npicturesque point of view, but with the nearest possible approach to\ntruth. It is true that to this end nothing has been neglected that could\nbe learnt from the monuments or the papyri; still the book is only a\nromance, a poetic fiction, in which I wish all the facts derived from\nhistory and all the costume drawn from the monuments to be regarded as\nincidental, and the emotions of the actors in the story as what I attach\nimportance to.\n\nBut I must be allowed to make one observation. From studying the\nconventional mode of execution of ancient Egyptian art--which was\nstrictly subject to the hieratic laws of type and proportion--we have\naccustomed ourselves to imagine the inhabitants of the Nile-valley in the\ntime of the Pharaohs as tall and haggard men with little distinction of\nindividual physiognomy, and recently a great painter has sought to\nrepresent them under this aspect in a modern picture. This is an error;\nthe Egyptians, in spite of their aversion to foreigners and their strong\nattachment to their native soil, were one of the most intellectual and\nactive people of antiquity; and he who would represent them as they\nlived, and to that end copies the forms which remain painted on the walls\nof the temples and sepulchres, is the accomplice of those priestly\ncorrupters of art who compelled the painters and sculptors of the\nPharaonic era to abandon truth to nature in favor of their sacred laws of\nproportion.\n\nHe who desires to paint the ancient Egyptians with truth and fidelity,\nmust regard it in some sort as an act of enfranchisement; that is to say,\nhe must release the conventional forms from those fetters which were\npeculiar to their art and altogether foreign to their real life. Indeed,\nworks of sculpture remain to us of the time of the first pyramid, which\nrepresent men with the truth of nature, unfettered by the sacred canon.\nWe can recall the so-called \"Village Judge\" of Bulaq, the \"Scribe\" now in\nParis, and a few figures in bronze in different museums, as well as the\nnoble and characteristic busts of all epochs, which amply prove how great\nthe variety of individual physiognomy, and, with that, of individual\ncharacter was among the Egyptians. Alma Tadelna in London and Gustav\nRichter in Berlin have, as painters, treated Egyptian subjects in a\nmanner which the poet recognizes and accepts with delight.\n\nMany earlier witnesses than the late writer Flavius Vopiscus might be\nreferred to who show us the Egyptians as an industrious and peaceful\npeople, passionately devoted it is true to all that pertains to the other\nworld, but also enjoying the gifts of life to the fullest extent, nay\nsometimes to excess.\n\nReal men, such as we see around us in actual life, not silhouettes\nconstructed to the old priestly scale such as the monuments show us--real\nliving men dwelt by the old Nile-stream; and the poet who would represent\nthem must courageously seize on types out of the daily life of modern men\nthat surround him, without fear of deviating too far from reality, and,\nplacing them in their own long past time, color them only and clothe them\nto correspond with it.\n\nI have discussed the authorities for the conception of love which I have\nascribed to the ancients in the preface to the second edition of \"An\nEgyptian Princess.\"\n\nWith these lines I send Uarda into the world; and in them I add my thanks\nto those dear friends in whose beautiful home, embowered in green,\nbird-haunted woods, I have so often refreshed my spirit and recovered my\nstrength, where I now write the last words of this book.\n\n        Rheinbollerhutte, September 22, 1876.\n                         GEORG EBERS.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nTO THE FIFTH GERMAN EDITION.\n\nThe earlier editions of \"Uarda\" were published in such rapid succession,\nthat no extensive changes in the stereotyped text could be made; but from\nthe first issue, I have not ceased to correct it, and can now present to\nthe public this new fifth edition as a \"revised\" one.\n\nHaving felt a constantly increasing affection for \"Uarda\" during the time\nI was writing, the friendly and comprehensive attention bestowed upon it\nby our greatest critics and the favorable reception it met with in the\nvarious classes of society, afforded me the utmost pleasure.\n\nI owe the most sincere gratitude to the honored gentlemen, who called my\nattention to certain errors, and among them will name particularly\nProfessor Paul Ascherson of Berlin, and Dr. C. Rohrbach of Gotha. Both\nwill find their remarks regarding mistakes in the geographical location\nof plants, heeded in this new edition.\n\nThe notes, after mature deliberation, have been placed at the foot of the\npages instead of at the end of the book.\n\nSo many criticisms concerning the title \"Uarda\" have recently reached my\nears, that, rather by way of explanation than apology, I will here repeat\nwhat I said in the preface to the third edition.\n\nThis title has its own history, and the more difficult it would be for me\nto defend it, the more ready I am to allow an advocate to speak for me,\nan advocate who bears a name no less distinguished than that of G. E.\nLessing, who says:\n\n\"Nanine? (by Voltaire, 1749). What sort of title is that? What thoughts\ndoes it awake? Neither more nor less than a title should arouse. A title\nmust not be a bill of fare. The less it betrays of the contents, the\nbetter it is. Author and spectator are both satisfied, and the ancients\nrarely gave their comedies anything but insignificant names.\"\n\nThis may be the case with \"Uarda,\" whose character is less prominent than\nsome others, it is true, but whose sorrows direct the destinies of my\nother heroes and heroines.\n\nWhy should I conceal the fact? The character of \"Uarda\" and the present\nstory have grown out of the memory of a Fellah girl, half child, half\nmaiden, whom I saw suffer and die in a hut at Abu el Qurnah in the\nNecropolis of Thebes.\n\nI still persist in the conviction I have so frequently expressed, the\nconviction that the fundamental traits of the life of the soul have\nundergone very trivial modifications among civilized nations in all times\nand ages, but will endeavor to explain the contrary opinion, held by my\nopponents, by calling attention to the circumstance, that the expression\nof these emotions show considerable variations among different peoples,\nand at different epochs. I believe that Juvenal, one of the ancient\nwriters who best understood human nature, was right in saying:\n\n       \"Nil erit ulterius, quod nostris moribus addat\n        Posteritas: eadem cupient facientque minores.\"\n\nLeipsic, October 15th, 1877.\n\n\n\n\nU A R D A.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 1.\n\nBy the walls of Thebes--the old city of a hundred gates--the Nile spreads\nto a broad river; the heights, which follow the stream on both sides,\nhere take a more decided outline; solitary, almost cone-shaped peaks\nstand out sharply from the level background of the many-colored.\nlimestone hills, on which no palm-tree flourishes and in which no humble\ndesert-plant can strike root. Rocky crevasses and gorges cut more or less\ndeeply into the mountain range, and up to its ridge extends the desert,\ndestructive of all life, with sand and stones, with rocky cliffs and\nreef-like, desert hills.\n\nBehind the eastern range the desert spreads to the Red Sea; behind the\nwestern it stretches without limit, into infinity. In the belief of the\nEgyptians beyond it lay the region of the dead.\n\nBetween these two ranges of hills, which serve as walls or ramparts to\nkeep back the desert-sand, flows the fresh and bounteous Nile, bestowing\nblessing and abundance; at once the father and the cradle of millions of\nbeings. On each shore spreads the wide plain of black and fruitful soil,\nand in the depths many-shaped creatures, in coats of mail or scales,\nswarm and find subsistence.\n\nThe lotos floats on the mirror of the waters, and among the papyrus reeds\nby the shore water-fowl innumerable build their nests. Between the river\nand the mountain-range lie fields, which after the seed-time are of a\nshining blue-green, and towards the time of harvest glow like gold. Near\nthe brooks and water-wheels here and there stands a shady sycamore; and\ndate-palms, carefully tended, group themselves in groves. The fruitful\nplain, watered and manured every year by the inundation, lies at the foot\nof the sandy desert-hills behind it, and stands out like a garden\nflower-bed from the gravel-path.\n\nIn the fourteenth century before Christ--for to so remote a date we must\ndirect the thoughts of the reader--impassable limits had been set by the\nhand of man, in many places in Thebes, to the inroads of the water; high\ndykes of stone and embankments protected the streets and squares, the\ntemples and the palaces, from the overflow.\n\nCanals that could be tightly closed up led from the dykes to the land\nwithin, and smaller branch-cuttings to the gardens of Thebes.\n\nOn the right, the eastern bank of the Nile, rose the buildings of the\nfar-famed residence of the Pharaohs. Close by the river stood the immense\nand gaudy Temples of the city of Amon; behind these and at a short\ndistance from the Eastern hills--indeed at their very foot and partly\neven on the soil of the desert--were the palaces of the King and nobles,\nand the shady streets in which the high narrow houses of the citizens\nstood in close rows.\n\nLife was gay and busy in the streets of the capital of the Pharaohs.\n\nThe western shore of the Nile showed a quite different scene. Here too\nthere was no lack of stately buildings or thronging men; but while on the\nfarther side of the river there was a compact mass of houses, and the\ncitizens went cheerfully and openly about their day's work, on this side\nthere were solitary splendid structures, round which little houses and\nhuts seemed to cling as children cling to the protection of a mother. And\nthese buildings lay in detached groups.\n\nAny one climbing the hill and looking down would form the notion that\nthere lay below him a number of neighboring villages, each with its\nlordly manor house. Looking from the plain up to the precipice of the\nwestern hills, hundreds of closed portals could be seen, some solitary,\nothers closely ranged in rows; a great number of them towards the foot of\nthe slope, yet more half-way up, and a few at a considerable height.\n\nAnd even more dissimilar were the slow-moving, solemn groups in the\nroadways on this side, and the cheerful, confused throng yonder. There,\non the eastern shore, all were in eager pursuit of labor or recreation,\nstirred by pleasure or by grief, active in deed and speech; here, in the\nwest, little was spoken, a spell seemed to check the footstep of the\nwanderer, a pale hand to sadden the bright glance of every eye, and to\nbanish the smile from every lip.\n\nAnd yet many a gaily-dressed bark stopped at the shore, there was no lack\nof minstrel bands, grand processions passed on to the western heights;\nbut the Nile boats bore the dead, the songs sung here were songs of\nlamentation, and the processions consisted of mourners following the\nsarcophagus.\n\nWe are standing on the soil of the City of the Dead of Thebes.\n\nNevertheless even here nothing is wanting for return and revival, for to\nthe Egyptian his dead died not. He closed his eyes, he bore him to the\nNecropolis, to the house of the embalmer, or Kolchytes, and then to the\ngrave; but he knew that the souls of the departed lived on; that the\njustified absorbed into Osiris floated over the Heavens in the vessel of\nthe Sun; that they appeared on earth in the form they choose to take upon\nthem, and that they might exert influence on the current of the lives of\nthe survivors. So he took care to give a worthy interment to his dead,\nabove all to have the body embalmed so as to endure long: and had fixed\ntimes to bring fresh offerings for the dead of flesh and fowl, with\ndrink-offerings and sweet-smelling essences, and vegetables and flowers.\n\nNeither at the obsequies nor at the offerings might the ministers of the\ngods be absent, and the silent City of the Dead was regarded as a favored\nsanctuary in which to establish schools and dwellings for the learned.\n\nSo it came to pass that in the temples and on the site Of the Necropolis,\nlarge communities of priests dwelt together, and close to the extensive\nembalming houses lived numerous Kolchytes, who handed down the secrets of\ntheir art from father to son.\n\nBesides these there were other manufactories and shops. In the former,\nsarcophagi of stone and of wood, linen bands for enveloping mummies, and\namulets for decorating them, were made; in the latter, merchants kept\nspices and essences, flowers, fruits, vegetables and pastry for sale.\nCalves, gazelles, goats, geese and other fowl, were fed on enclosed\nmeadow-plats, and the mourners betook themselves thither to select what\nthey needed from among the beasts pronounced by the priests to be clean\nfor sacrifice, and to have them sealed with the sacred seal. Many bought\nonly part of a victim at the shambles--the poor could not even do this.\nThey bought only colored cakes in the shape of beasts, which symbolically\ntook the place of the calves and geese which their means were unable to\nprocure. In the handsomest shops sat servants of the priests, who\nreceived forms written on rolls of papyrus which were filled up in the\nwriting room of the temple with those sacred verses which the departed\nspirit must know and repeat to ward off the evil genius of the deep, to\nopen the gate of the under world, and to be held righteous before Osiris\nand the forty-two assessors of the subterranean court of justice.\n\nWhat took place within the temples was concealed from view, for each was\nsurrounded by a high enclosing wall with lofty, carefully-closed portals,\nwhich were only opened when a chorus of priests came out to sing a pious\nhymn, in the morning to Horus the rising god, and in the evening to Tum\nthe descending god.\n\n   [The course of the Sun was compared to that of the life of Man.\n   He rose as the child Horns, grew by midday to the hero Ra, who\n   conquered the Uraeus snake for his diadem, and by evening was an old\n   Man, Tum. Light had been born of darkness, hence Tum was regarded\n   as older than Horns and the other gods of light.]\n\nAs soon as the evening hymn of the priests was heard, the Necropolis was\ndeserted, for the mourners and those who were visiting the graves were\nrequired by this time to return to their boats and to quit the City of\nthe Dead. Crowds of men who had marched in the processions of the west\nbank hastened in disorder to the shore, driven on by the body of watchmen\nwho took it in turns to do this duty and to protect the graves against\nrobbers. The merchants closed their booths, the embalmers and workmen\nended their day's work and retired to their houses, the priests returned\nto the temples, and the inns were filled with guests, who had come hither\non long pilgrimages from a distance, and who preferred passing the night\nin the vicinity of the dead whom they had come to visit, to going across\nto the bustling noisy city farther shore.\n\nThe voices of the singers and of the wailing women were hushed, even the\nsong of the sailors on the numberless ferry boats from the western shore\nto Thebes died away, its faint echo was now and then borne across on the\nevening air, and at last all was still.\n\nA cloudless sky spread over the silent City of the Dead, now and then\ndarkened for an instant by the swiftly passing shade of a bat returning\nto its home in a cave or cleft of the rock after flying the whole evening\nnear the Nile to catch flies, to drink, and so prepare itself for the\nnext day's sleep. From time to time black forms with long shadows glided\nover the still illuminated plain--the jackals, who at this hour\nfrequented the shore to slake their thirst, and often fearlessly showed\nthemselves in troops in the vicinity of the pens of geese and goats.\n\nIt was forbidden to hunt these robbers, as they were accounted sacred to\nthe god Anubis, the tutelary of sepulchres; and indeed they did little\nmischief, for they found abundant food in the tombs.\n\n   [The jackal-headed god Anubis was the son of Osiris and Nephthys,\n   and the jackal was sacred to him. In the earliest ages even he is\n   prominent in the nether world. He conducts the mummifying process,\n   preserves the corpse, guards the Necropolis, and, as Hermes\n   Psychopompos (Hermanubis), opens the way for the souls. According\n   to Plutarch \"He is the watch of the gods as the dog is the watch of\n   men.\"]\n\nThe remnants of the meat offerings from the altars were consumed by them;\nto the perfect satisfaction of the devotees, who, when they found that by\nthe following day the meat had disappeared, believed that it had been\naccepted and taken away by the spirits of the underworld.\n\nThey also did the duty of trusty watchers, for they were a dangerous foe\nfor any intruder who, under the shadow of the night, might attempt to\nviolate a grave.\n\nThus--on that summer evening of the year 1352 B.C., when we invite the\nreader to accompany us to the Necropolis of Thebes--after the priests'\nhymn had died away, all was still in the City of the Dead.\n\nThe soldiers on guard were already returning from their first round when\nsuddenly, on the north side of the Necropolis, a dog barked loudly; soon\na second took up the cry, a third, a fourth. The captain of the watch\ncalled to his men to halt, and, as the cry of the dogs spread and grew\nlouder every minute, commanded them to march towards the north.\n\nThe little troop had reached the high dyke which divided the west bank of\nthe Nile from a branch canal, and looked from thence over the plain as\nfar as the river and to the north of the Necropolis. Once more the word\nto \"halt\" was given, and as the guard perceived the glare of torches in\nthe direction where the dogs were barking loudest, they hurried forward\nand came up with the author of the disturbance near the Pylon of the\ntemple erected by Seti I., the deceased father of the reigning King\nRameses II.\n\n   [The two pyramidal towers joined by a gateway which formed the\n   entrance to an Egyptian temple were called the Pylon.]\n\nThe moon was up, and her pale light flooded the stately structure, while\nthe walls glowed with the ruddy smoky light of the torches which flared\nin the hands of black attendants.\n\nA man of sturdy build, in sumptuous dress, was knocking at the\nbrass-covered temple door with the metal handle of a whip, so violently\nthat the blows rang far and loud through the night. Near him stood a\nlitter, and a chariot, to which were harnessed two fine horses. In the\nlitter sat a young woman, and in the carriage, next to the driver, was\nthe tall figure of a lady. Several men of the upper classes and many\nservants stood around the litter and the chariot. Few words were\nexchanged; the whole attention of the strangely lighted groups seemed\nconcentrated on the temple-gate. The darkness concealed the features of\nindividuals, but the mingled light of the moon and the torches was enough\nto reveal to the gate-keeper, who looked down on the party from a tower\nof the Pylon, that it was composed of persons of the highest rank; nay,\nperhaps of the royal family.\n\nHe called aloud to the one who knocked, and asked him what was his will.\n\nHe looked up, and in a voice so rough and imperious, that the lady in the\nlitter shrank in horror as its tones suddenly violated the place of the\ndead, he cried out--\"How long are we to wait here for you--you dirty\nhound? Come down and open the door and then ask questions. If the\ntorch-light is not bright enough to show you who is waiting, I will score\nour name on your shoulders with my whip, and teach you how to receive\nprincely visitors.\"\n\nWhile the porter muttered an unintelligible answer and came down the\nsteps within to open the door, the lady in the chariot turned to her\nimpatient companion and said in a pleasant but yet decided voice, \"You\nforget, Paaker, that you are back again in Egypt, and that here you have\nto deal not with the wild Schasu,--[A Semitic race of robbers in the cast\nof Egypt.]--but with friendly priests of whom we have to solicit a favor.\nWe have always had to lament your roughness, which seems to me very\nill-suited to the unusual circumstances under which we approach this\nsanctuary.\"\n\nAlthough these words were spoken in a tone rather of regret than of\nblame, they wounded the sensibilities of the person addressed; his wide\nnostrils began to twitch ominously, he clenched his right hand over the\nhandle of his whip, and, while he seemed to be bowing humbly, he struck\nsuch a heavy blow on the bare leg of a slave who was standing near to\nhim, an old Ethiopian, that he shuddered as if from sudden cold,\nthough-knowing his lord only too well--he let no cry of pain escape him.\nMeanwhile the gate-keeper had opened the door, and with him a tall young\npriest stepped out into the open air to ask the will of the intruders.\n\nPaaker would have seized the opportunity of speaking, but the lady in the\nchariot interposed and said:\n\n\"I am Bent-Anat, the daughter of the King, and this lady in the litter is\nNefert, the wife of the noble Mena, the charioteer of my father. We were\ngoing in company with these gentlemen to the north-west valley of the\nNecropolis to see the new works there. You know the narrow pass in the\nrocks which leads up the gorge. On the way home I myself held the reins\nand I had the misfortune to drive over a girl who sat by the road with a\nbasket full of flowers, and to hurt her--to hurt her very badly I am\nafraid. The wife of Mena with her own hands bound up the child, and then\nshe carried her to her father's house--he is a paraschites--[One who\nopened the bodies of the dead to prepare them for being embalmed.]--Pinem\nis his name. I know not whether he is known to you.\"\n\n\"Thou hast been into his house, Princess?\"\n\n\"Indeed, I was obliged, holy father,\" she replied, \"I know of course that\nI have defiled myself by crossing the threshold of these people, but--\"\n\n\"But,\" cried the wife of Mena, raising herself in her litter, \"Bent-Anat\ncan in a day be purified by thee or by her house-priest, while she can\nhardly--or perhaps never--restore the child whole and sound again to the\nunhappy father.\"\n\n\"Still, the den of a paraschites is above every thing unclean,\" said the\nchamberlain Penbesa, master of the ceremonies to the princess,\ninterrupting the wife of Mena, \"and I did not conceal my opinion when\nBent-Anat announced her intention of visiting the accursed hole in\nperson. I suggested,\" he continued, turning to the priest, \"that she\nshould let the girl be taken home, and send a royal present to the\nfather.\"\n\n\"And the princess?\" asked the priest.\n\n\"She acted, as she always does, on her own judgment,\" replied the master\nof the ceremonies.\n\n\"And that always hits on the right course,\" cried the wife of Mena.\n\n\"Would to God it were so!\" said the princess in a subdued voice. Then she\ncontinued, addressing the priest, \"Thou knowest the will of the Gods and\nthe hearts of men, holy father, and I myself know that I give alms\nwillingly and help the poor even when there is none to plead for them but\ntheir poverty. But after what has occurred here, and to these unhappy\npeople, it is I who come as a suppliant.\"\n\n\"Thou?\" said the chamberlain.\n\n\"I,\" answered the princess with decision. The priest who up to this\nmoment had remained a silent witness of the scene raised his right hand\nas in blessing and spoke.\n\n\"Thou hast done well. The Hathors fashioned thy heart and the Lady of\nTruth guides it. Thou hast broken in on our night-prayers to request us\nto send a doctor to the injured girl?\"\n\n   [Hathor was Isis under a substantial form. She is the goddess of\n   the pure, light heaven, and bears the Sun-disk between cow-horns on\n   a cow's head or on a human head with cow's ears. She was named the\n   Fair, and all the pure joys of life are in her gift. Later she was\n   regarded as a Muse who beautifies life with enjoyment, love, song,\n   and the dance. She appears as a good fairy by the cradle of\n   children and decides their lot in life. She bears many names: and\n   several, generally seven, Hathors were represented, who personified\n   the attributes and influence of the goddess.]\n\n\"Thou hast said.\"\n\n\"I will ask the high-priest to send the best leech for outward wounds\nimmediately to the child. But where is the house of the paraschites\nPinem? I do not know it.\"\n\n\"Northwards from the terrace of Hatasu,--[A great queen of the 18th\ndynasty and guardian of two Pharaohs]--close to--; but I will charge one\nof my attendants to conduct the leech. Besides, I want to know early in\nthe morning how the child is doing.--Paaker.\"\n\nThe rough visitor, whom we already know, thus called upon, bowed to the\nearth, his arms hanging by his sides, and asked:\n\n\"What dost thou command?\"\n\n\"I appoint you guide to the physician,\" said the princess. \"It will be\neasy to the king's pioneer to find the little half-hidden house again--\n\n   [The title here rendered pioneer was that of an officer whose duties\n   were those at once of a scout and of a Quarter-Master General. In\n   unknown and comparatively savage countries it was an onerous post.\n   --Translator.]\n\nbesides, you share my guilt, for,\" she added, turning to the priest, \"I\nconfess that the misfortune happened because I would try with my horses\nto overtake Paaker's Syrian racers, which he declared to be swifter than\nthe Egyptian horses. It was a mad race.\"\n\n\"And Amon be praised that it ended as it did,\" exclaimed the master of\nthe ceremonies. \"Packer's chariot lies dashed in pieces in the valley,\nand his best horse is badly hurt.\"\n\n\"He will see to him when he has taken the physician to the house of the\nparaschites,\" said the princess. \"Dost thou know, Penbesa--thou anxious\nguardian of a thoughtless girl--that to-day for the first time I am glad\nthat my father is at the war in distant Satiland?\"--[Asia].\n\n\"He would not have welcomed us kindly!\" said the master of the\nceremonies, laughing.\n\n\"But the leech, the leech!\" cried Bent-Anat. \"Packer, it is settled then.\nYou will conduct him, and bring us to-morrow morning news of the wounded\ngirl.\"\n\nPaaker bowed; the princess bowed her head; the priest and his companions,\nwho meanwhile had come out of the temple and joined him, raised their\nhands in blessing, and the belated procession moved towards the Nile.\n\nPaaker remained alone with his two slaves; the commission with which the\nprincess had charged him greatly displeased him. So long as the moonlight\nenabled him to distinguish the litter of Mena's wife, he gazed after it;\nthen he endeavored to recollect the position of the hut of the\nparaschites. The captain of the watch still stood with the guard at the\ngate of the temple.\n\n\"Do you know the dwelling of Pinem the paraschites?\" asked Paaker.\n\n\"What do you want with him?\"\n\n\"That is no concern of yours,\" retorted Paaker.\n\n\"Lout!\" exclaimed the captain, \"left face and forwards, my men.\"\n\n\"Halt!\" cried Paaker in a rage. \"I am the king's chief pioneer.\"\n\n\"Then you will all the more easily find the way back by which you came.\nMarch.\"\n\nThe words were followed by a peal of many-voiced laughter: the re-echoing\ninsult so confounded Paaker that he dropped his whip on the ground. The\nslave, whom a short time since he had struck with it, humbly picked it up\nand then followed his lord into the fore court of the temple. Both\nattributed the titter, which they still could hear without being able to\ndetect its origin, to wandering spirits. But the mocking tones had been\nheard too by the old gate-keeper, and the laughers were better known to\nhim than to the king's pioneer; he strode with heavy steps to the door of\nthe temple through the black shadow of the pylon, and striking blindly\nbefore him called out--\n\n\"Ah! you good-for-nothing brood of Seth.\n\n   [The Typhon of the Greeks. The enemy of Osiris, of truth, good\n   and purity. Discord and strife in nature. Horns who fights against\n   him for his father Osiris, can throw him and stun him, but never\n   annihilate him.]\n\n\"You gallows-birds and brood of hell--I am coming.\"\n\nThe giggling ceased; a few youthful figures appeared in the moonlight,\nthe old man pursued them panting, and, after a short chase, a troop of\nyouths fled back through the temple gate.\n\nThe door-keeper had succeeded in catching one miscreant, a boy of\nthirteen, and held him so tight by the ear that his pretty head seemed to\nhave grown in a horizontal direction from his shoulders.\n\n\"I will take you before the school-master, you plague-of-locusts, you\nswarm of bats!\" cried the old man out of breath. But the dozen of\nschool-boys, who had availed themselves of the opportunity to break out\nof bounds, gathered coaxing round him, with words of repentance, though\nevery eye sparkled with delight at the fun they had had, and of which no\none could deprive them; and when the biggest of them took the old man's\nchin, and promised to give him the wine which his mother was to send him\nnext day for the week's use, the porter let go his prisoner--who tried to\nrub the pain out of his burning ear--and cried out in harsher tones than\nbefore:\n\n\"You will pay me, will you, to let you off! Do you think I will let your\ntricks pass? You little know this old man. I will complain to the Gods,\nnot to the school-master; and as for your wine, youngster, I will offer\nit as a libation, that heaven may forgive you.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe temple where, in the fore-court, Paaker was waiting, and where the\npriest had disappeared to call the leech, was called the \"House of\nSeti\"--[It is still standing and known as the temple of Qurnah.]--and was\none of the largest in the City of the Dead. Only that magnificent\nbuilding of the time of the deposed royal race of the reigning king's\ngrandfather--that temple which had been founded by Thotmes III., and\nwhose gate-way Amenophis III. had adorned with immense colossal\nstatues--[That which stands to the north is the famous musical statue, or\nPillar of Memmon]--exceeded it in the extent of its plan; in every other\nrespect it held the pre-eminence among the sanctuaries of the Necropolis.\nRameses I. had founded it shortly after he succeeded in seizing the\nEgyptian throne; and his yet greater son Seti carried on the erection, in\nwhich the service of the dead for the Manes of the members of the new\nroyal family was conducted, and the high festivals held in honor of the\nGods of the under-world. Great sums had been expended for its\nestablishment, for the maintenance of the priesthood of its sanctuary,\nand the support of the institutions connected with it. These were\nintended to be equal to the great original foundations of priestly\nlearning at Heliopolis and Memphis; they were regulated on the same\npattern, and with the object of raising the new royal residence of Upper\nEgypt, namely Thebes, above the capitals of Lower Egypt in regard to\nphilosophical distinction.\n\nOne of the most important of these foundations was a very celebrated\nschool of learning.\n\n   [Every detail of this description of an Egyptian school is derived\n   from sources dating from the reign of Rameses II. and his\n   successor, Merneptah.]\n\nFirst there was the high-school, in which priests, physicians, judges,\nmathematicians, astronomers, grammarians, and other learned men, not only\nhad the benefit of instruction, but, subsequently, when they had won\nadmission to the highest ranks of learning, and attained the dignity of\n\"Scribes,\" were maintained at the cost of the king, and enabled to pursue\ntheir philosophical speculations and researches, in freedom from all\ncare, and in the society of fellow-workers of equal birth and identical\ninterests.\n\nAn extensive library, in which thousands of papyrus-rolls were preserved,\nand to which a manufactory of papyrus was attached, was at the disposal\nof the learned; and some of them were intrusted with the education of the\nyounger disciples, who had been prepared in the elementary school, which\nwas also dependent on the House--or university--of Seti. The lower school\nwas open to every son of a free citizen, and was often frequented by\nseveral hundred boys, who also found night-quarters there. The parents\nwere of course required either to pay for their maintenance, or to send\ndue supplies of provisions for the keep of their children at school.\n\nIn a separate building lived the temple-boarders, a few sons of the\nnoblest families, who were brought up by the priests at a great expense\nto their parents.\n\nSeti I., the founder of this establishment, had had his own sons, not\nexcepting Rameses, his successor, educated here.\n\nThe elementary schools were strictly ruled, and the rod played so large a\npart in them, that a pedagogue could record this saying: \"The scholar's\nears are at his back: when he is flogged then he hears.\"\n\nThose youths who wished to pass up from the lower to the high-school had\nto undergo an examination. The student, when he had passed it, could\nchoose a master from among the learned of the higher grades, who\nundertook to be his philosophical guide, and to whom he remained attached\nall his life through, as a client to his patron. He could obtain the\ndegree of \"Scribe\" and qualify for public office by a second examination.\n\nNear to these schools of learning there stood also a school of art, in\nwhich instruction was given to students who desired to devote themselves\nto architecture, sculpture, or painting; in these also the learner might\nchoose his master.\n\nEvery teacher in these institutions belonged to the priesthood of the\nHouse of Seti. It consisted of more than eight hundred members, divided\ninto five classes, and conducted by three so-called Prophets.\n\nThe first prophet was the high-priest of the House of Seti, and at the\nsame time the superior of all the thousands of upper and under servants\nof the divinities which belonged to the City of the Dead of Thebes.\n\nThe temple of Seti proper was a massive structure of limestone. A row of\nSphinxes led from the Nile to the surrounding wall, and to the first vast\npro-pylon, which formed the entrance to a broad fore-court, enclosed on\nthe two sides by colonnades, and beyond which stood a second gate-way.\nWhen he had passed through this door, which stood between two towers, in\nshape like truncated pyramids, the stranger came to a second court\nresembling the first, closed at the farther end by a noble row of\npillars, which formed part of the central temple itself.\n\nThe innermost and last was dimly lighted by a few lamps.\n\nBehind the temple of Seti stood large square structures of brick of the\nNile mud, which however had a handsome and decorative effect, as the\nhumble material of which they were constructed was plastered with lime,\nand that again was painted with colored pictures and hieroglyphic\ninscriptions.\n\nThe internal arrangement of all these houses was the same. In the midst\nwas an open court, on to which opened the doors of the rooms of the\npriests and philosophers. On each side of the court was a shady, covered\ncolonnade of wood, and in the midst a tank with ornamental plants. In the\nupper story were the apartments for the scholars, and instruction was\nusually given in the paved courtyard strewn with mats.\n\nThe most imposing was the house of the chief prophets; it was\ndistinguished by its waving standards and stood about a hundred paces\nbehind the temple of Seti, between a well kept grove and a clear\nlake--the sacred tank of the temple; but they only occupied it while\nfulfilling their office, while the splendid houses which they lived in\nwith their wives and children, lay on the other side of the river, in\nThebes proper.\n\nThe untimely visit to the temple could not remain unobserved by the\ncolony of sages. Just as ants when a hand breaks in on their dwelling,\nhurry restlessly hither and thither, so an unwonted stir had agitated,\nnot the school-boys only, but the teachers and the priests. They\ncollected in groups near the outer walls, asking questions and hazarding\nguesses. A messenger from the king had arrived--the princess Bent-Anat\nhad been attacked by the Kolchytes--and a wag among the school-boys who\nhad got out, declared that Paaker, the king's pioneer, had been brought\ninto the temple by force to be made to learn to write better. As the\nsubject of the joke had formerly been a pupil of the House of Seti, and\nmany delectable stories of his errors in penmanship still survived in the\nmemory of the later generation of scholars, this information was received\nwith joyful applause; and it seemed to have a glimmer of probability, in\nspite of the apparent contradiction that Paaker filled one of the highest\noffices near the king, when a grave young priest declared that he had\nseen the pioneer in the forecourt of the temple.\n\nThe lively discussion, the laughter and shouting of the boys at such an\nunwonted hour, was not unobserved by the chief priest.\n\nThis remarkable prelate, Ameni the son of Nebket, a scion of an old and\nnoble family, was far more than merely the independent head of the\ntemple-brotherhood, among whom he was prominent for his power and wisdom;\nfor all the priesthood in the length and breadth of the land acknowledged\nhis supremacy, asked his advice in difficult cases, and never resisted\nthe decisions in spiritual matters which emanated from the House of\nSeti--that is to say, from Ameni. He was the embodiment of the priestly\nidea; and if at times he made heavy--nay extraordinary--demands on\nindividual fraternities, they were submitted to, for it was known by\nexperience that the indirect roads which he ordered them to follow all\nconverged on one goal, namely the exaltation of the power and dignity of\nthe hierarchy. The king appreciated this remarkable man, and had long\nendeavored to attach him to the court, as keeper of the royal seal; but\nAmeni was not to be induced to give up his apparently modest position;\nfor he contemned all outward show and ostentatious titles; he ventured\nsometimes to oppose a decided resistance to the measures of the Pharaoh,\n\n   [Pharaoh is the Hebrew form of the Egyptian Peraa--or Phrah. \"The\n   great house,\" \"sublime house,\" or \"high gate\" is the literal\n   meaning.]\n\nand was not minded to give up his unlimited control of the priests for\nthe sake of a limited dominion over what seemed to him petty external\nconcerns, in the service of a king who was only too independent and hard\nto influence.\n\nHe regularly arranged his mode and habits of life in an exceptional way.\n\nEight days out of ten he remained in the temple entrusted to his charge;\ntwo he devoted to his family, who lived on the other bank of the Nile;\nbut he let no one, not even those nearest to him, know what portion of\nthe ten days he gave up to recreation. He required only four hours of\nsleep. This he usually took in a dark room which no sound could reach,\nand in the middle of the day; never at night, when the coolness and quiet\nseemed to add to his powers of work, and when from time to time he could\ngive himself up to the study of the starry heavens.\n\nAll the ceremonials that his position required of him, the cleansing,\npurification, shaving, and fasting he fulfilled with painful exactitude,\nand the outer bespoke the inner man.\n\nAmeni was entering on his fiftieth year; his figure was tall, and had\nescaped altogether the stoutness to which at that age the Oriental is\nliable. The shape of his smoothly-shaven head was symmetrical and of a\nlong oval; his forehead was neither broad nor high, but his profile was\nunusually delicate, and his face striking; his lips were thin and dry,\nand his large and piercing eyes, though neither fiery nor brilliant, and\nusually cast down to the ground under his thick eyebrows, were raised\nwith a full, clear, dispassionate gaze when it was necessary to see and\nto examine.\n\nThe poet of the House of Seti, the young Pentaur, who knew these eyes,\nhad celebrated them in song, and had likened them to a well-disciplined\narmy which the general allows to rest before and after the battle, so\nthat they may march in full strength to victory in the fight.\n\nThe refined deliberateness of his nature had in it much that was royal as\nwell as priestly; it was partly intrinsic and born with him, partly the\nresult of his own mental self-control. He had many enemies, but calumny\nseldom dared to attack the high character of Amemi.\n\nThe high-priest looked up in astonishment, as the disturbance in the\ncourt of the temple broke in on his studies.\n\nThe room in which he was sitting was spacious and cool; the lower part of\nthe walls was lined with earthenware tiles, the upper half plastered and\npainted. But little was visible of the masterpieces of the artists of the\nestablishment, for almost everywhere they were concealed by wooden\nclosets and shelves, in which were papyrus-rolls and wax-tablets. A large\ntable, a couch covered with a panther's skin, a footstool in front of it,\nand on it a crescent-shaped support for the head, made of ivory,\n\n   [A support of crescent form on which the Egyptians rested their\n   heads. Many specimens were found in the catacombs, and similar\n   objects are still used in Nubia]\n\nseveral seats, a stand with beakers and jugs, and another with flasks of\nall sizes, saucers, and boxes, composed the furniture of the room, which\nwas lighted by three lamps, shaped like birds and filled with kiki\noil.--[Castor oil, which was used in the lamps.]\n\nAmeni wore a fine pleated robe of snow-white linen, which reached to his\nankles, round his hips was a scarf adorned with fringes, which in front\nformed an apron, with broad, stiffened ends which fell to his knees; a\nwide belt of white and silver brocade confined the drapery of his robe.\nRound his throat and far down on his bare breast hung a necklace more\nthan a span deep, composed of pearls and agates, and his upper arm was\ncovered with broad gold bracelets. He rose from the ebony seat with\nlion's feet, on which he sat, and beckoned to a servant who squatted by\none of the walls of the sitting-room. He rose and without any word of\ncommand from his master, he silently and carefully placed on the\nhigh-priest's bare head a long and thick curled wig,\n\n   [Egyptians belonging to the higher classes wore wigs on their shaven\n   heads. Several are preserved in museums.]\n\nand threw a leopard-skin, with its head and claws overlaid with\ngold-leaf, over his shoulders. A second servant held a metal mirror\nbefore Ameni, in which he cast a look as he settled the panther-skin and\nhead-gear.\n\nA third servant was handing him the crosier, the insignia of his dignity\nas a prelate, when a priest entered and announced the scribe Pentaur.\n\nAmeni nodded, and the young priest who had talked with the princess\nBent-Anat at the temple-gate came into the room.\n\nPentaur knelt and kissed the hand of the prelate, who gave him his\nblessing, and in a clear sweet voice, and rather formal and unfamiliar\nlanguage--as if he were reading rather than speaking, said:\n\n\"Rise, my son; your visit will save me a walk at this untimely hour,\nsince you can inform me of what disturbs the disciples in our temple.\nSpeak.\"\n\n\"Little of consequence has occurred, holy father,\" replied Pentaur. \"Nor\nwould I have disturbed thee at this hour, but that a quite unnecessary\ntumult has been raised by the youths; and that the princess Bent-Anat\nappeared in person to request the aid of a physician. The unusual hour\nand the retinue that followed her--\"\n\n\"Is the daughter of Pharaoh sick?\" asked the prelate.\n\n\"No, father. She is well--even to wantonness, since--wishing to prove the\nswiftness of her horses--she ran over the daughter of the paraschites\nPinem. Noble-hearted as she is, she herself carried the sorely-wounded\ngirl to her house.\"\n\n\"She entered the dwelling of the unclean.\"\n\n\"Thou hast said.\"\n\n\"And she now asks to be purified?\"\n\n\"I thought I might venture to absolve her, father, for the purest\nhumanity led her to the act, which was no doubt a breach of discipline,\nbut--\"\n\n\"But,\" asked the high-priest in a grave voice and he raised his eyes\nwhich he had hitherto on the ground.\n\n\"But,\" said the young priest, and now his eyes fell, \"which can surely be\nno crime. When Ra--[The Egyptian Sun-god.]--in his golden bark sails\nacross the heavens, his light falls as freely and as bountifully on the\nhut of the despised poor as on the Palace of the Pharaohs; and shall the\ntender human heart withhold its pure light--which is benevolence--from\nthe wretched, only because they are base?\"\n\n\"It is the poet Pentaur that speaks,\" said the prelate, \"and not the\npriest to whom the privilege was given to be initiated into the highest\ngrade of the sages, and whom I call my brother and my equal. I have no\nadvantage over you, young man, but perishable learning, which the past\nhas won for you as much as for me--nothing but certain perceptions and\nexperiences that offer nothing new, to the world, but teach us, indeed,\nthat it is our part to maintain all that is ancient in living efficacy\nand practice. That which you promised a few weeks since, I many years ago\nvowed to the Gods; to guard knowledge as the exclusive possession of the\ninitiated. Like fire, it serves those who know its uses to the noblest\nends, but in the hands of children--and the people, the mob, can never\nripen into manhood--it is a destroying brand, raging and\nunextinguishable, devouring all around it, and destroying all that has\nbeen built and beautified by the past. And how can we remain the Sages\nand continue to develop and absorb all learning within the shelter of our\ntemples, not only without endangering the weak, but for their benefit?\nYou know and have sworn to act after that knowledge. To bind the crowd to\nthe faith and the institutions of the fathers is your duty--is the duty\nof every priest. Times have changed, my son; under the old kings the\nfire, of which I spoke figuratively to you--the poet--was enclosed in\nbrazen walls which the people passed stupidly by. Now I see breaches in\nthe old fortifications; the eyes of the uninitiated have been sharpened,\nand one tells the other what he fancies he has spied, though\nhalf-blinded, through the glowing rifts.\"\n\nA slight emotion had given energy to the tones of the speaker, and while\nhe held the poet spell-bound with his piercing glance he continued:\n\n\"We curse and expel any one of the initiated who enlarges these breaches;\nwe punish even the friend who idly neglects to repair and close them with\nbeaten brass!\"\n\n\"My father!\" cried Pentaur, raising his head in astonishment while the\nblood mounted to his cheeks. The high-priest went up to him and laid both\nhands on his shoulders.\n\nThey were of equal height and of equally symmetrical build; even the\noutline of their features was similar. Nevertheless no one would have\ntaken them to be even distantly related; their countenances were so\ninfinitely unlike in expression.\n\nOn the face of one were stamped a strong will and the power of firmly\nguiding his life and commanding himself; on the other, an amiable desire\nto overlook the faults and defects of the world, and to contemplate life\nas it painted itself in the transfiguring magic-mirror of his poet's\nsoul. Frankness and enjoyment spoke in his sparkling eye, but the subtle\nsmile on his lips when he was engaged in a discussion, or when his soul\nwas stirred, betrayed that Pentaur, far from childlike carelessness, had\nfought many a severe mental battle, and had tasted the dark waters of\ndoubt.\n\nAt this moment mingled feelings were struggling in his soul. He felt as\nif he must withstand the speaker; and yet the powerful presence of the\nother exercised so strong an influence over his mind, long trained to\nsubmission, that he was silent, and a pious thrill passed through him\nwhen Ameni's hands were laid on his shoulders.\n\n\"I blame you,\" said the high-priest, while he firmly held the young man,\n\"nay, to my sorrow I must chastise you; and yet,\" he said, stepping back\nand taking his right hand, \"I rejoice in the necessity, for I love you\nand honor you, as one whom the Unnameable has blessed with high gifts and\ndestined to great things. Man leaves a weed to grow unheeded or roots it\nup but you are a noble tree, and I am like the gardener who has forgotten\nto provide it with a prop, and who is now thankful to have detected a\nbend that reminds him of his neglect. You look at me enquiringly, and I\ncan see in your eyes that I seem to you a severe judge. Of what are you\naccused? You have suffered an institution of the past to be set aside. It\ndoes not matter--so the short-sighted and heedless think; but I say to\nyou, you have doubly transgressed, because the wrong-doer was the king's\ndaughter, whom all look up to, great and small, and whose actions may\nserve as an example to the people. On whom then must a breach of the\nancient institutions lie with the darkest stain if not on the highest in\nrank? In a few days it will be said the paraschites are men even as we\nare, and the old law to avoid them as unclean is folly. And will the\nreflections of the people, think you, end there, when it is so easy for\nthem to say that he who errs in one point may as well fail in all? In\nquestions of faith, my son, nothing is insignificant. If we open one\ntower to the enemy he is master of the whole fortress. In these unsettled\ntimes our sacred lore is like a chariot on the declivity of a precipice,\nand under the wheels thereof a stone. A child takes away the stone, and\nthe chariot rolls down into the abyss and is dashed to pieces. Imagine\nthe princess to be that child, and the stone a loaf that she would fain\ngive to feed a beggar. Would you then give it to her if your father and\nyour mother and all that is dear and precious to you were in the chariot?\nAnswer not! the princess will visit the paraschites again to-morrow. You\nmust await her in the man's hut, and there inform her that she has\ntransgressed and must crave to be purified by us. For this time you are\nexcused from any further punishment.\n\n\"Heaven has bestowed on you a gifted soul. Strive for that which is\nwanting to you--the strength to subdue, to crush for One--and you know\nthat One--all things else--even the misguiding voice of your heart, the\ntreacherous voice of your judgment.--But stay! send leeches to the house\nof the paraschites, and desire them to treat the injured girl as though\nshe were the queen herself. Who knows where the man dwells?\"\n\n\"The princess,\" replied Pentaur, \"has left Paaker, the king's pioneer,\nbehind in the temple to conduct the leeches to the house of Pinem.\"\n\nThe grave high-priest smiled and said. \"Paaker! to attend the daughter of\na paraschites.\"\n\nPentaur half beseechingly and half in fun raised his eyes which he had\nkept cast down. \"And Pentaur,\" he murmured, \"the gardener's son! who is\nto refuse absolution to the king's daughter!\"\n\n\"Pentaur, the minister of the Gods--Pentaur, the priest--has not to do\nwith the daughter of the king, but with the transgressor of the sacred\ninstitutions,\" replied Ameni gravely. \"Let Paaker know I wish to speak\nwith him.\"\n\nThe poet bowed low and quitted the room, the high priest muttered to\nhimself: \"He is not yet what he should be, and speech is of no effect\nwith him.\"\n\nFor a while he was silent, walking to and fro in meditation; then he said\nhalf aloud, \"And the boy is destined to great things. What gifts of the\nGods doth he lack? He has the faculty of learning--of thinking--of\nfeeling--of winning all hearts, even mine. He keeps himself undefiled and\nseparate--\" suddenly the prelate paused and struck his hand on the back of\na chair that stood by him. \"I have it; he has not yet felt the fire of\nambition. We will light it for his profit and our own.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nPentauer hastened to execute the commands of the high-priest. He sent a\nservant to escort Paaker, who was waiting in the forecourt, into the\npresence of Ameni while he himself repaired to the physicians to impress\non them the most watchful care of the unfortunate girl.\n\nMany proficients in the healing arts were brought up in the house of\nSeti, but few used to remain after passing the examination for the degree\nof Scribe.\n\n   [What is here stated with regard to the medical schools is\n   principally derived from the medical writings of the Egyptians\n   themselves, among which the \"Ebers Papyrus\" holds the first place,\n   \"Medical Papyrus I.\" of Berlin the second, and a hieratic MS. in\n   London which, like the first mentioned, has come down to us from the\n   18th dynasty, takes the third. Also see Herodotus II. 84. Diodorus\n   I. 82.]\n\nThe most gifted were sent to Heliopolis, where flourished, in the great\n\"Hall of the Ancients,\" the most celebrated medical faculty of the whole\ncountry, whence they returned to Thebes, endowed with the highest honors\nin surgery, in ocular treatment, or in any other branch of their\nprofession, and became physicians to the king or made a living by\nimparting their learning and by being called in to consult on serious\ncases.\n\nNaturally most of the doctors lived on the east bank of the Nile, in\nThebes proper, and even in private houses with their families; but each\nwas attached to a priestly college.\n\nWhoever required a physician sent for him, not to his own house, but to a\ntemple. There a statement was required of the complaint from which the\nsick was suffering, and it was left to the principal medical staff of the\nsanctuary to select that of the healing art whose special knowledge\nappeared to him to be suited for the treatment of the case.\n\nLike all priests, the physicians lived on the income which came to them\nfrom their landed property, from the gifts of the king, the contributions\nof the laity, and the share which was given them of the state-revenues;\nthey expected no honorarium from their patients, but the restored sick\nseldom neglected making a present to the sanctuary whence a physician had\ncome to them, and it was not unusual for the priestly leech to make the\nrecovery of the sufferer conditional on certain gifts to be offered to\nthe temple.\n\nThe medical knowledge of the Egyptians was, according to every\nindication, very considerable; but it was natural that physicians, who\nstood by the bed of sickness as \"ordained servants of the Divinity,\"\nshould not be satisfied with a rational treatment of the sufferer, and\nshould rather think that they could not dispense with the mystical\neffects of prayers and vows.\n\nAmong the professors of medicine in the House of Seti there were men of\nthe most different gifts and bent of mind; but Pentaur was not for a\nmoment in doubt as to which should be entrusted with the treatment of the\ngirl who had been run over, and for whom he felt the greatest sympathy.\n\nThe one he chose was the grandson of a celebrated leech, long since dead,\nwhose name of Nebsecht he had inherited, and a beloved school-friend and\nold comrade of Pentaur.\n\nThis young man had from his earliest years shown high and hereditary\ntalent for the profession to which he had devoted himself; he had\nselected surgery\n\n   [Among the six hermetic books of medicine mentioned by Clement of\n   Alexandria, was one devoted to surgical instruments: otherwise the\n   very badly-set fractures found in some of the mummies do little\n   honor to the Egyptian surgeons.]\n\nfor his special province at Heliopolis, and would certainly have attained\nthe dignity of teacher there if an impediment in his speech had not\ndebarred him from the viva voce recitation of formulas and prayers.\n\nThis circumstance, which was deeply lamented by his parents and tutors,\nwas in fact, in the best opinions, an advantage to him; for it often\nhappens that apparent superiority does us damage, and that from apparent\ndefect springs the saving of our life.\n\nThus, while the companions of Nebsecht were employed in declaiming or in\nsinging, he, thanks to his fettered tongue, could give himself up to his\ninherited and almost passionate love of observing organic life; and his\nteachers indulged up to a certain point his innate spirit of\ninvestigation, and derived benefit from his knowledge of the human and\nanimal structures, and from the dexterity of his handling.\n\nHis deep aversion for the magical part of his profession would have\nbrought him heavy punishment, nay very likely would have cost him\nexpulsion from the craft, if he had ever given it expression in any form.\nBut Nebsecht's was the silent and reserved nature of the learned man, who\nfree from all desire of external recognition, finds a rich satisfaction\nin the delights of investigation; and he regarded every demand on him to\ngive proof of his capacity, as a vexatious but unavoidable intrusion on\nhis unassuming but laborious and fruitful investigations.\n\nNebsecht was dearer and nearer to Pentaur than any other of his\nassociates.\n\nHe admired his learning and skill; and when the slightly-built surgeon,\nwho was indefatigable in his wanderings, roved through the thickets by\nthe Nile, the desert, or the mountain range, the young poet-priest\naccompanied him with pleasure and with great benefit to himself, for his\ncompanion observed a thousand things to which without him he would have\nremained for ever blind; and the objects around him, which were known to\nhim only by their shapes, derived connection and significance from the\nexplanations of the naturalist, whose intractable tongue moved freely\nwhen it was required to expound to his friend the peculiarities of\norganic beings whose development he had been the first to detect.\n\nThe poet was dear in the sight of Nebsecht, and he loved Pentaur, who\npossessed all the gifts he lacked; manly beauty, childlike lightness of\nheart, the frankest openness, artistic power, and the gift of expressing\nin word and song every emotion that stirred his soul. The poet was as a\nnovice in the order in which Nebsecht was master, but quite capable of\nunderstanding its most difficult points; so it happened that Nebsecht\nattached greater value to his judgment than to that of his own\ncolleagues, who showed themselves fettered by prejudice, while Pentaur's\ndecision always was free and unbiassed.\n\nThe naturalist's room lay on the ground floor, and had no living-rooms\nabove it, being under one of the granaries attached to the temple. It was\nas large as a public hall, and yet Pentaur, making his way towards the\nsilent owner of the room, found it everywhere strewed with thick bundles\nof every variety of plant, with cages of palm-twigs piled four or five\nhigh, and a number of jars, large and small, covered with perforated\npaper. Within these prisons moved all sorts of living creatures, from the\njerboa, the lizard of the Nile, and a light-colored species of owl, to\nnumerous specimens of frogs, snakes, scorpions and beetles.\n\nOn the solitary table in the middle of the room, near to a writing-stand,\nlay bones of animals, with various sharp flints and bronze knives.\n\nIn a corner of this room lay a mat, on which stood a wooden head-prop,\nindicating that the naturalist was in the habit of sleeping on it.\n\nWhen Pentaur's step was heard on the threshold of this strange abode, its\nowner pushed a rather large object under the table, threw a cover over\nit, and hid a sharp flint scalpel\n\n   [The Egyptians seem to have preferred to use flint instruments for\n   surgical purposes, at any rate for the opening of bodies and for\n   circumcision. Many flint instruments have been found and preserved\n   in museums.]\n\nfixed into a wooden handle, which he had just been using, in the folds of\nhis robe-as a school-boy might hide some forbidden game from his master.\nThen he crossed his arms, to give himself the aspect of a man who is\ndreaming in harmless idleness.\n\nThe solitary lamp, which was fixed on a high stand near his chair, shed a\nscanty light, which, however, sufficed to show him his trusted friend\nPentaur, who had disturbed Nebsecht in his prohibited occupations.\nNebsecht nodded to him as he entered, and, when he had seen who it was,\nsaid:\n\n\"You need not have frightened me so!\" Then he drew out from under the\ntable the object he had hidden--a living rabbit fastened down to a\nboard-and continued his interrupted observations on the body, which he\nhad opened and fastened back with wooden pins while the heart continued\nto beat.\n\nHe took no further notice of Pentaur, who for some time silently watched\nthe investigator; then he laid his hand on his shoulder and said:\n\n\"Lock your door more carefully, when you are busy with forbidden things.\"\n\n\"They took--they took away the bar of the door lately,\" stammered the\nnaturalist, \"when they caught me dissecting the hand of the forger\nPtahmes.\"--[The law sentenced forgers to lose a hand.]\n\n\"The mummy of the poor man will find its right hand wanting,\" answered\nthe poet.\n\n\"He will not want it out there.\"\n\n\"Did you bury the least bit of an image in his grave?\"\n\n   [Small statuettes, placed in graves to help the dead in the work\n   performed in the under-world. They have axes and ploughs in their\n   hands, and seed-bags on their backs. The sixth chapter of the Book\n   of the Dead is inscribed on nearly all.]\n\n\"Nonsense.\"\n\n\"You go very far, Nebsecht, and are not foreseeing, 'He who needlessly\nhurts an innocent animal shall be served in the same way by the spirits\nof the netherworld,' says the law; but I see what you will say. You hold\nit lawful to put a beast to pain, when you can thereby increase that\nknowledge by which you alleviate the sufferings of man, and enrich--\"\n\n\"And do not you?\"\n\nA gentle smile passed over Pentaur's face; leaned over the animal and\nsaid:\n\n\"How curious! the little beast still lives and breathes; a man would have\nlong been dead under such treatment. His organism is perhaps of a more\nprecious, subtle, and so more fragile nature?\"\n\nNebsecht shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Perhaps!\" he said.\n\n\"I thought you must know.\"\n\n\"I--how should I?\" asked the leech. \"I have told you--they would not even\nlet me try to find out how the hand of a forger moves.\"\n\n\"Consider, the scripture tells us the passage of the soul depends on the\npreservation of the body.\"\n\nNebsecht looked up with his cunning little eyes and shrugging his\nshoulders, said:\n\n\"Then no doubt it is so: however these things do not concern me. Do what\nyou like with the souls of men; I seek to know something of their bodies,\nand patch them when they are damaged as well as may be.\"\n\n\"Nay-Toth be praised, at least you need not deny that you are master in\nthat art.\"\n\n   [Toth is the god of the learned and of physicians. The Ibis was\n   sacred to him, and he was usually represented as Ibis-headed. Ra\n   created him \"a beautiful light to show the name of his evil enemy.\"\n   Originally the Dfoon-god, he became the lord of time and measure.\n   He is the weigher, the philosopher among the gods, the lord of\n   writing, of art and of learning. The Greeks called him Hermes\n   Trismegistus, i.e. threefold or \"very great\" which was, in fact, in\n   imitation of the Egyptians, whose name Toth or Techud signified\n   twofold, in the same way \"very great\"]\n\n\"Who is master,\" asked Nebsecht, \"excepting God? I can do nothing,\nnothing at all, and guide my instruments with hardly more certainty than\na sculptor condemned to work in the dark.\"\n\n\"Something like the blind Resu then,\" said Pentaur smiling, \"who\nunderstood painting better than all the painters who could see.\"\n\n\"In my operations there is a 'better' and a 'worse;'\" said Nebsecht, \"but\nthere is nothing 'good.'\"\n\n\"Then we must be satisfied with the 'better,' and I have come to claim\nit,\" said Pentaur.\n\n\"Are you ill?\"\n\n\"Isis be praised, I feel so well that I could uproot a palm-tree, but I\nwould ask you to visit a sick girl. The princess Bent-Anat--\"\n\n\"The royal family has its own physicians.\"\n\n\"Let me speak! the princess Bent-Anat has run over a young girl, and the\npoor child is seriously hurt.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said the student reflectively. \"Is she over there in the city,\nor here in the Necropolis?\"\n\n\"Here. She is in fact the daughter of a paraschites.\"\n\n\"Of a paraschites?\" exclaimed Nebsecht, once more slipping the rabbit\nunder the table, then I will go.\"\n\n\"You curious fellow. I believe you expect to find something strange among\nthe unclean folk.\"\n\n\"That is my affair; but I will go. What is the man's name?\"\n\n\"Pinem.\"\n\n\"There will be nothing to be done with him,\" muttered the student,\n\"however--who knows?\"\n\nWith these words he rose, and opening a tightly closed flask he dropped\nsome strychnine on the nose and in the mouth of the rabbit, which\nimmediately ceased to breathe. Then he laid it in a box and said, \"I am\nready.\"\n\n\"But you cannot go out of doors in this stained dress.\"\n\nThe physician nodded assent, and took from a chest a clean robe, which he\nwas about to throw on over the other! but Pentaur hindered him. \"First\ntake off your working dress,\" he said laughing. \"I will help you. But, by\nBesa, you have as many coats as an onion.\"\n\n   [Besa, the god of the toilet of the Egyptians. He was represented\n   as a deformed pigmy. He led the women to conquest in love, and the\n   men in war. He was probably of Arab origin.]\n\nPentaur was known as a mighty laugher among his companions, and his loud\nvoice rung in the quiet room, when he discovered that his friend was\nabout to put a third clean robe over two dirty ones, and wear no less\nthan three dresses at once.\n\nNebsecht laughed too, and said, \"Now I know why my clothes were so heavy,\nand felt so intolerably hot at noon. While I get rid of my superfluous\nclothing, will you go and ask the high-priest if I have leave to quit the\ntemple.\"\n\n\"He commissioned me to send a leech to the paraschites, and added that\nthe girl was to be treated like a queen.\"\n\n\"Ameni? and did he know that we have to do with a paraschites?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Then I shall begin to believe that broken limbs may be set with\nvows-aye, vows! You know I cannot go alone to the sick, because my\nleather tongue is unable to recite the sentences or to wring rich\nofferings for the temple from the dying. Go, while I undress, to the\nprophet Gagabu and beg him to send the pastophorus Teta, who usually\naccompanies me.\"\n\n\"I would seek a young assistant rather than that blind old man.\"\n\n\"Not at all. I should be glad if he would stay at home, and only let his\ntongue creep after me like an eel or a slug. Head and heart have nothing\nto do with his wordy operations, and they go on like an ox treading out\ncorn.\"\n\n   [In Egypt, as in Palestine, beasts trod out the corn, as we learn\n   from many pictures in the catacombs, even in the remotest ages;\n   often with the addition of a weighted sledge, to the runners of\n   which rollers are attached. It is now called noreg.]\n\n\"It is true,\" said Pentaur; \"just lately I saw the old man singing out\nhis litanies by a sick-bed, and all the time quietly counting the dates,\nof which they had given him a whole sack-full.\"\n\n\"He will be unwilling to go to the paraschites, who is poor, and he would\nsooner seize the whole brood of scorpions yonder than take a piece of\nbread from the hand of the unclean. Tell him to come and fetch me, and\ndrink some wine. There stands three days' allowance; in this hot weather\nit dims my sight.\n\n\"Does the paraschites live to the north or south of the Necropolis?\"\n\n\"I think to the north. Paaker, the king's pioneer, will show you the\nway.\"\n\n\"He!\" exclaimed the student, laughing. \"What day in the calendar is this,\nthen?\n\n   [Calendars have been preserved, the completest is the papyrus\n   Sallier IV., which has been admirably treated by F. Chabas. Many\n   days are noted as lucky, unlucky, etc. In the temples many\n   Calendars of feasts have been found, the most perfect at Medinet\n   Abu, deciphered by Dumich.]\n\nThe child of a paraschites is to be tended like a princess, and a leech\nhave a noble to guide him, like the Pharaoh himself! I ought to have kept\non my three robes!\"\n\n\"The night is warm,\" said Pentaur.\n\n\"But Paaker has strange ways with him. Only the day before yesterday I\nwas called to a poor boy whose collar bone he had simply smashed with his\nstick. If I had been the princess's horse I would rather have trodden him\ndown than a poor little girl.\"\n\n\"So would I,\" said Pentaur laughing, and left the room to request The\nsecond prophet Gagabu, who was also the head of the medical staff of the\nHouse of Seti, to send the blind pastophorus\n\n   [The Pastophori were an order of priests to which the physicians\n   belonged.]\n\nTeta, with his friend as singer of the litany.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nPentaur knew where to seek Gagabu, for he himself had been invited to the\nbanquet which the prophet had prepared in honor of two sages who had\nlately come to the House of Seti from the university of Chennu.\n\n   [Chennu was situated on a bend of the Nile, not far from the Nubian\n   frontier; it is now called Gebel Silsilch; it was in very ancient\n   times the seat of a celebrated seminary.]\n\nIn an open court, surrounded by gaily-painted wooden pillars, and lighted\nby many lamps, sat the feasting priests in two long rows on comfortable\narmchairs. Before each stood a little table, and servants were occupied\nin supplying them with the dishes and drinks, which were laid out on a\nsplendid table in the middle of the court. Joints of gazelle,\n\n   [Gazelles were tamed for domestic animals: we find them in the\n   representations of the herds of the wealthy Egyptians and as\n   slaughtered for food. The banquet is described from the pictures of\n   feasts which have been found in the tombs.]\n\nroast geese and ducks, meat pasties, artichokes, asparagus and other\nvegetables, and various cakes and sweetmeats were carried to the guests,\nand their beakers well-filled with the choice wines of which there was\nnever any lack in the lofts of the House of Seti.\n\n   [Cellars maintain the mean temperature of the climate, and in Egypt\n   are hot Wine was best preserved in shady and airy lofts.]\n\nIn the spaces between the guests stood servants with metal bowls, in\nwhich they might wash their hands, and towels of fine linen.\n\nWhen their hunger was appeased, the wine flowed more freely, and each\nguest was decked with sweetly-smelling flowers, whose odor was supposed\nto add to the vivacity of the conversation.\n\nMany of the sharers in this feast wore long, snowwhite garments, and were\nof the class of the Initiated into the mysteries of the faith, as well as\nchiefs of the different orders of priests of the House of Seti.\n\nThe second prophet, Gagabu, who was to-day charged with the conduct of\nthe feast by Ameni--who on such occasions only showed himself for a few\nminutes--was a short, stout man with a bald and almost spherical head.\nHis features were those of a man of advancing years, but well-formed, and\nhis smoothly-shaven, plump cheeks were well-rounded. His grey eyes looked\nout cheerfully and observantly, but had a vivid sparkle when he was\nexcited and began to twitch his thick, sensual mouth.\n\nClose by him stood the vacant, highly-ornamented chair of the\nhigh-priest, and next to him sat the priests arrived from Chennu, two\ntall, dark-colored old men. The remainder of the company was arranged in\nthe order of precedency, which they held in the priests' colleges, and\nwhich bore no relation to their respective ages.\n\nBut strictly as the guests were divided with reference to their rank,\nthey mixed without distinction in the conversation.\n\n\"We know how to value our call to Thebes,\" said the elder of the\nstrangers from Chennu, Tuauf, whose essays were frequently used in the\nschools,--[Some of them are still in existence]--\"for while, on one hand,\nit brings us into the neighborhood of the Pharaoh, where life, happiness,\nand safety flourish, on the other it procures us the honor of counting\nourselves among your number; for, though the university of Chennu in\nformer times was so happy as to bring up many great men, whom she could\ncall her own, she can no longer compare with the House of Seti. Even\nHeliopolis and Memphis are behind you; and if I, my humble self,\nnevertheless venture boldly among you, it is because I ascribe your\nsuccess as much to the active influence of the Divinity in your temple,\nwhich may promote my acquirements and achievements, as to your great\ngifts and your industry, in which I will not be behind you. I have\nalready seen your high-priest Ameni--what a man! And who does not know\nthy name, Gagabu, or thine, Meriapu?\"\n\n\"And which of you,\" asked the other new-comer, may we greet as the author\nof the most beautiful hymn to Amon, which was ever sung in the land of\nthe Sycamore? Which of you is Pentaur?\"\n\n\"The empty chair yonder,\" answered Gagabu, pointing to a seat at the\nlower end of the table, \"is his. He is the youngest of us all, but a\ngreat future awaits him.\"\n\n\"And his songs,\" added the elder of the strangers. \"Without doubt,\"\nreplied the chief of the haruspices,--[One of the orders of priests in\nthe Egyptian hierarchy]--an old man with a large grey curly head, that\nseemed too heavy for his thin neck, which stretched forward--perhaps from\nthe habit of constantly watching for signs--while his prominent eyes\nglowed with a fanatical gleam. \"Without doubt the Gods have granted great\ngifts to our young friend, but it remains to be proved how he will use\nthem. I perceive a certain freedom of thought in the youth, which pains\nme deeply. Although in his poems his flexible style certainly follows the\nprescribed forms, his ideas transcend all tradition; and even in the\nhymns intended for the ears of the people I find turns of thought, which\nmight well be called treason to the mysteries which only a few months ago\nhe swore to keep secret. For instance he says--and we sing--and the laity\nhear--\n\n       \"One only art Thou, Thou Creator of beings;\n        And Thou only makest all that is created.\n\nAnd again--\n\n        He is one only, Alone, without equal;\n        Dwelling alone in the holiest of holies.\"\n\n   [Hymn to Amon preserved in a papyrus roll at Bulaq, and deciphered\n   by Grehaut and L. Stern.]\n\nSuch passages as these ought not to be sung in public, at least in times\nlike ours, when new ideas come in upon us from abroad, like the swarms of\nlocusts from the East.\"\n\n\"Spoken to my very soul!\" cried the treasurer of the temple, \"Ameni\ninitiated this boy too early into the mysteries.\"\n\n\"In my opinion, and I am his teacher,\" said Gagabu, \"our brotherhood may\nbe proud of a member who adds so brilliantly to the fame of our temple.\nThe people hear the hymns without looking closely at the meaning of the\nwords. I never saw the congregation more devout, than when the beautiful\nand deeply-felt song of praise was sung at the feast of the stairs.\"\n\n   [A particularly solemn festival in honor of Amon-Chem, held in the\n   temple of Medinet-Abu.]\n\n\"Pentaur was always thy favorite,\" said the former speaker. \"Thou wouldst\nnot permit in any one else many things that are allowed to him. His hymns\nare nevertheless to me and to many others a dangerous performance; and\ncanst thou dispute the fact that we have grounds for grave anxiety, and\nthat things happen and circumstances grow up around us which hinder us,\nand at last may perhaps crush us, if we do not, while there is yet time,\ninflexibly oppose them?\"\n\n\"Thou bringest sand to the desert, and sugar to sprinkle over honey,\"\nexclaimed Gagabu, and his lips began to twitch. \"Nothing is now as it\nought to be, and there will be a hard battle to fight; not with the\nsword, but with this--and this.\" And the impatient man touched his\nforehead and his lips. \"And who is there more competent than my disciple?\nThere is the champion of our cause, a second cap of Hor, that overthrew\nthe evil one with winged sunbeams, and you come and would clip his wings\nand blunt his claws! Alas, alas, my lords! will you never understand that\na lion roars louder than a cat, and the sun shines brighter than an\noil-lamp? Let Pentuar alone, I say; or you will do as the man did, who,\nfor fear of the toothache, had his sound teeth drawn. Alas, alas, in the\nyears to come we shall have to bite deep into the flesh, till the blood\nflows, if we wish to escape being eaten up ourselves!\"\n\n\"The enemy is not unknown to us also,\" said the elder priest from Chennu,\n\"although we, on the remote southern frontier of the kingdom, have\nescaped many evils that in the north have eaten into our body like a\ncancer. Here foreigners are now hardly looked upon at all as unclean and\ndevilish.\"--[\"Typhonisch,\" belonging to Typhon or Seth.--Translator.]\n\n\"Hardly?\" exclaimed the chief of the haruspices; \"they are invited,\ncaressed, and honored. Like dust, when the simoon blows through the\nchinks of a wooden house, they crowd into the houses and temples, taint\nour manners and language;\n\n   [At no period Egyptian writers use more Semitic words than during\n   the reigns of Rameses II. and his son Mernephtah.]\n\nnay, on the throne of the successors of Ra sits a descendant--\"\n\n\"Presumptuous man!\" cried the voice of the high-priest, who at this\ninstant entered the hall, \"Hold your tongue, and be not so bold as to wag\nit against him who is our king, and wields the sceptre in this kingdom as\nthe Vicar of Ra.\"\n\nThe speaker bowed and was silent, then he and all the company rose to\ngreet Ameni, who bowed to them all with polite dignity, took his seat,\nand turning to Gagabu asked him carelessly:\n\n\"I find you all in most unpriestly excitement; what has disturbed your\nequanimity?\"\n\n\"We were discussing the overwhelming influx of foreigners into Egypt, and\nthe necessity of opposing some resistance to them.\"\n\n\"You will find me one of the foremost in the attempt,\" replied Ameni. \"We\nhave endured much already, and news has arrived from the north, which\ngrieves me deeply.\"\n\n\"Have our troops sustained a defeat?\"\n\n\"They continue to be victorious, but thousands of our countrymen have\nfallen victims in the fight or on the march. Rameses demands fresh\nreinforcements. The pioneer, Paaker, has brought me a letter from our\nbrethren who accompany the king, and delivered a document from him to the\nRegent, which contains the order to send to him fifty thousand fighting\nmen: and as the whole of the soldier-caste and all the auxiliaries are\nalready under arms, the bondmen of the temple, who till our acres, are to\nbe levied, and sent into Asia.\"\n\nA murmur of disapproval arose at these words. The chief of the haruspices\nstamped his foot, and Gagabu asked:\n\n\"What do you mean to do?\"\n\n\"To prepare to obey the commands of the king,\" answered Ameni, \"and to\ncall the heads of the temples of the city of Anion here without delay to\nhold a council. Each must first in his holy of holies seek good counsel\nof the Celestials. When we have come to a conclusion, we must next win\nthe Viceroy over to our side. Who yesterday assisted at his prayers?\"\n\n\"It was my turn,\" said the chief of the haruspices.\n\n\"Follow me to my abode, when the meal is over.\" commanded Ameni. \"But why\nis our poet missing from our circle?\"\n\nAt this moment Pentaur came into the hall, and while he bowed easily and\nwith dignity to the company and low before Ameni, he prayed him to grant\nthat the pastophorus Teta should accompany the leech Nebsecht to visit\nthe daughter of the paraschites.\n\nAmeni nodded consent and exclaimed: \"They must make haste. Paaker waits\nfor them at the great gate, and will accompany them in my chariot.\"\n\nAs soon as Pentaur had left the party of feasters, the old priest from\nChennu exclaimed, as he turned to Ameni:\n\n\"Indeed, holy father, just such a one and no other had I pictured your\npoet. He is like the Sun-god, and his demeanor is that of a prince. He is\nno doubt of noble birth.\"\n\n\"His father is a homely gardener,\" said the highpriest, \"who indeed tills\nthe land apportioned to him with industry and prudence, but is of humble\nbirth and rough exterior. He sent Pentaur to the school at an early age,\nand we have brought up the wonderfully gifted boy to be what he now is.\"\n\n\"What office does he fill here in the temple?\"\n\n\"He instructs the elder pupils of the high-school in grammar and\neloquence; he is also an excellent observer of the starry heavens, and a\nmost skilled interpreter of dreams,\" replied Gagabu. \"But here he is\nagain. To whom is Paaker conducting our stammering physician and his\nassistant?\"\n\n\"To the daughter of the paraschites, who has been run over,\" answered\nPentaur. \"But what a rough fellow this pioneer is. His voice hurts my\nears, and he spoke to our leeches as if they had been his slaves.\"\n\n\"He was vexed with the commission the princess had devolved on him,\" said\nthe high-priest benevolently, \"and his unamiable disposition is hardly\nmitigated by his real piety.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said an old priest, \"his brother, who left us some years ago,\nand who had chosen me for his guide and teacher, was a particularly\nloveable and docile youth.\"\n\n\"And his father,\" said Ameni, was one of the most superior energetic, and\nwithal subtle-minded of men.\"\n\n\"Then he has derived his bad peculiarities from his mother?\"\n\n\"By no means. She is a timid, amiable, soft-hearted woman.\"\n\n\"But must the child always resemble its parents?\" asked Pentaur. \"Among\nthe sons of the sacred bull, sometimes not one bears the distinguishing\nmark of his father.\"\n\n\"And if Paaker's father were indeed an Apis,\" Gagabu laughing, \"according\nto your view the pioneer himself belongs, alas! to the peasant's stable.\"\n\nPentaur did not contradict him, but said with a smile:\n\n\"Since he left the school bench, where his school-fellows called him the\nwild ass on account of his unruliness, he has remained always the same.\nHe was stronger than most of them, and yet they knew no greater pleasure\nthan putting him in a rage.\"\n\n\"Children are so cruel!\" said Ameni. \"They judge only by appearances, and\nnever enquire into the causes of them. The deficient are as guilty in\ntheir eyes as the idle, and Paaker could put forward small claims to\ntheir indulgence. I encourage freedom and merriment,\" he continued\nturning to the priests from Cheraw, \"among our disciples, for in\nfettering the fresh enjoyment of youth we lame our best assistant. The\nexcrescences on the natural growth of boys cannot be more surely or\npainlessly extirpated than in their wild games. The school-boy is the\nschool-boy's best tutor.\"\n\n\"But Paaker,\" said the priest Meriapu, \"was not improved by the\nprovocations of his companions. Constant contests with them increased\nthat roughness which now makes him the terror of his subordinates and\nalienates all affection.\"\n\n\"He is the most unhappy of all the many youths, who were intrusted to my\ncare,\" said Ameni, \"and I believe I know why,--he never had a childlike\ndisposition, even when in years he was still a child, and the Gods had\ndenied him the heavenly gift of good humor. Youth should be modest, and\nhe was assertive from his childhood. He took the sport of his companions\nfor earnest, and his father, who was unwise only as a tutor, encouraged\nhim to resistance instead of to forbearance, in the idea that he thus\nwould be steeled to the hard life of a Mohar.\"\n\n   [The severe duties of the Mohar are well known from the papyrus of\n   Anastasi I. in the Brit. Mus., which has been ably treated by F.\n   Chabas, Voyage d'un Egyptien.]\n\n\"I have often heard the deeds of the Mohar spoken of,\" said the old\npriest from Chennu, \"yet I do not exactly know what his office requires\nof him.\"\n\n\"He has to wander among the ignorant and insolent people of hostile\nprovinces, and to inform himself of the kind and number of the\npopulation, to investigate the direction of the mountains, valleys, and\nrivers, to set forth his observations, and to deliver them to the house\nof war,\n\n   [Corresponding to our minister of war. A person of the highest\n   importance even in the earliest times.]\n\nso that the march of the troops may be guided by them.\"\n\n\"The Mohar then must be equally skilled as a warrior and as a Scribe.\"\n\n\"As thou sayest; and Paaker's father was not a hero only, but at the same\ntime a writer, whose close and clear information depicted the country\nthrough which he had travelled as plainly as if it were seen from a\nmountain height. He was the first who took the title of Mohar. The king\nheld him in such high esteem, that he was inferior to no one but the king\nhimself, and the minister of the house of war.\"\n\n\"Was he of noble race?\"\n\n\"Of one of the oldest and noblest in the country. His father was the\nnoble warrior Assa,\" answered the haruspex, \"and he therefore, after he\nhimself had attained the highest consideration and vast wealth, escorted\nhome the niece of the King Hor-em-lieb, who would have had a claim to the\nthrone, as well as the Regent, if the grandfather of the present Rameses\nhad not seized it from the old family by violence.\"\n\n\"Be careful of your words,\" said Ameni, interrupting the rash old man.\n\"Rameses I. was and is the grandfather of our sovereign, and in the\nking's veins, from his mother's side, flows the blood of the legitimate\ndescendants of the Sun-god.\"\n\n\"But fuller and purer in those of the Regent the haruspex ventured to\nretort.\n\n\"But Rameses wears the crown,\" cried Ameni, \"and will continue to wear it\nso long as it pleases the Gods. Reflect--your hairs are grey, and\nseditious words are like sparks, which are borne by the wind, but which,\nif they fall, may set our home in a blaze. Continue your feasting, my\nlords; but I would request you to speak no more this evening of the king\nand his new decree. You, Pentaur, fulfil my orders to-morrow morning with\nenergy and prudence.\"\n\nThe high-priest bowed and left the feast.\n\nAs soon as the door was shut behind him, the old priest from Chennu\nspoke.\n\n\"What we have learned concerning the pioneer of the king, a man who holds\nso high an office, surprises me. Does he distinguish himself by a special\nacuteness?\"\n\n\"He was a steady learner, but of moderate ability.\"\n\n\"Is the rank of Mohar then as high as that of a prince of the empire?\"\n\n\"By no means.\"\n\n\"How then is it--?\"\n\n\"It is, as it is,\" interrupted Gagabu. \"The son of the vine-dresser has\nhis mouth full of grapes, and the child of the door-keeper opens the lock\nwith words.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said an old priest who had hitherto kept silence. \"Paaker\nearned for himself the post of Mohar, and possesses many praiseworthy\nqualities. He is indefatigable and faithful, quails before no danger, and\nhas always been earnestly devout from his boyhood. When the other\nscholars carried their pocket-money to the fruit-sellers and\nconfectioners at the temple-gates, he would buy geese, and, when his\nmother sent him a handsome sum, young gazelles, to offer to the Gods on\nthe altars. No noble in the land owns a greater treasure of charms and\nimages of the Gods than he. To the present time he is the most pious of\nmen, and the offerings for the dead, which he brings in the name of his\nlate father, may be said to be positively kingly.\"\n\n\"We owe him gratitude for these gifts,\" said the treasurer, \"and the high\nhonor he pays his father, even after his death, is exceptional and\nfar-famed.\"\n\n\"He emulates him in every respect,\" sneered Gagabu; \"and though he does\nnot resemble him in any feature, grows more and more like him. But\nunfortunately, it is as the goose resembles the swan, or the owl\nresembles the eagle. For his father's noble pride he has overbearing\nhaughtiness; for kindly severity, rude harshness; for dignity, conceit;\nfor perseverance, obstinacy. Devout he is, and we profit by his gifts.\nThe treasurer may rejoice over them, and the dates off a crooked tree\ntaste as well as those off a straight one. But if I were the Divinity I\nshould prize them no higher than a hoopoe's crest; for He, who sees into\nthe heart of the giver-alas! what does he see! Storms and darkness are of\nthe dominion of Seth, and in there--in there--\" and the old man struck\nhis broad breast \"all is wrath and tumult, and there is not a gleam of\nthe calm blue heaven of Ra, that shines soft and pure in the soul of the\npious; no, not a spot as large as this wheaten-cake.\"\n\n\"Hast thou then sounded to the depths of his soul?\" asked the haruspex.\n\n\"As this beaker!\" exclaimed Gagabu, and he touched the rim of an empty\ndrinking-vessel. \"For fifteen years without ceasing. The man has been of\nservice to us, is so still, and will continue to be. Our leeches extract\nsalves from bitter gall and deadly poisons; and folks like these--\"\n\n\"Hatred speaks in thee,\" said the haruspex, interrupting the indignant\nold man.\n\n\"Hatred!\" he retorted, and his lips quivered. \"Hatred?\" and he struck his\nbreast with his clenched hand. \"It is true, it is no stranger to this old\nheart. But open thine ears, O haruspex, and all you others too shall\nhear. I recognize two sorts of hatred. The one is between man and man;\nthat I have gagged, smothered, killed, annihilated--with what efforts,\nthe Gods know. In past years I have certainly tasted its bitterness, and\nserved it like a wasp, which, though it knows that in stinging it must\ndie, yet uses its sting. But now I am old in years, that is in knowledge,\nand I know that of all the powerful impulses which stir our hearts, one\nonly comes solely from Seth, one only belongs wholly to the Evil one and\nthat is hatred between man and man. Covetousness may lead to industry,\nsensual appetites may beget noble fruit, but hatred is a devastator, and\nin the soul that it occupies all that is noble grows not upwards and\ntowards the light, but downwards to the earth and to darkness. Everything\nmay be forgiven by the Gods, save only hatred between man and man. But\nthere is another sort of hatred that is pleasing to the Gods, and which\nyou must cherish if you would not miss their presence in your souls; that\nis, hatred for all that hinders the growth of light and goodness and\npurity--the hatred of Horus for Seth. The Gods would punish me if I hated\nPaaker whose father was dear to me; but the spirits of darkness would\npossess the old heart in my breast if it were devoid of horror for the\ncovetous and sordid devotee, who would fain buy earthly joys of the Gods\nwith gifts of beasts and wine, as men exchange an ass for a robe, in\nwhose soul seethe dark promptings. Paaker's gifts can no more be pleasing\nto the Celestials than a cask of attar of roses would please thee,\nharuspex, in which scorpions, centipedes, and venomous snakes were\nswimming. I have long led this man's prayers, and never have I heard him\ncrave for noble gifts, but a thousand times for the injury of the men he\nhates.\"\n\n\"In the holiest prayers that come down to us from the past,\" said the\nharuspex, \"the Gods are entreated to throw our enemies under our feet;\nand, besides, I have often heard Paaker pray fervently for the bliss of\nhis parents.\"\n\n\"You are a priest and one of the initiated,\" cried Gagabu, \"and you know\nnot--or will not seem to know--that by the enemies for whose overthrow we\npray, are meant only the demons of darkness and the outlandish peoples by\nwhom Egypt is endangered! Paaker prayed for his parents? Ay, and so will\nhe for his children, for they will be his future as his fore fathers are\nhis past. If he had a wife, his offerings would be for her too, for she\nwould be the half of his own present.\"\n\n\"In spite of all this,\" said the haruspex Septah, \"you are too hard in\nyour judgment of Paaker, for although he was born under a lucky sign, the\nHathors denied him all that makes youth happy. The enemy for whose\ndestruction he prays is Mena, the king's charioteer, and, indeed, he must\nhave been of superhuman magnanimity or of unmanly feebleness, if he could\nhave wished well to the man who robbed him of the beautiful wife who was\ndestined for him.\"\n\n\"How could that happen?\" asked the priest from Chennu. \"A betrothal is\nsacred.\"\n\n   [In the demotic papyrus preserved at Bulaq (novel by Setnau) first\n   treated by H. Brugsch, the following words occur: \"Is it not the\n   law, which unites one to another?\" Betrothed brides are mentioned,\n   for instance on the sarcophagus of Unnefer at Bulaq.]\n\n\"Paaker,\" replied Septah, \"was attached with all the strength of his\nungoverned but passionate and faithful heart to his cousin Nefert, the\nsweetest maid in Thebes, the daughter of Katuti, his mother's sister; and\nshe was promised to him to wife. Then his father, whom he accompanied on\nhis marches, was mortally wounded in Syria. The king stood by his\ndeath-bed, and granting his last request, invested his son with his rank\nand office: Paaker brought the mummy of his father home to Thebes, gave\nhim princely interment, and then before the time of mourning was over,\nhastened back to Syria, where, while the king returned to Egypt, it was\nhis duty to reconnoitre the new possessions. At last he could quit the\nscene of war with the hope of marrying Nefert. He rode his horse to death\nthe sooner to reach the goal of his desires; but when he reached Tanis,\nthe city of Rameses, the news met him that his affianced cousin had been\ngiven to another, the handsomest and bravest man in Thebes--the noble\nMena. The more precious a thing is that we hope to possess, the more we\nare justified in complaining of him who contests our claim, and can win\nit from us. Paaker's blood must have been as cold as a frog's if he could\nhave forgiven Mena instead of hating him, and the cattle he has offered\nto the Gods to bring down their wrath on the head of the traitor may be\ncounted by hundreds.\"\n\n\"And if you accept them, knowing why they are offered, you do unwisely\nand wrongly,\" exclaimed Gagabu. \"If I were a layman, I would take good\ncare not to worship a Divinity who condescends to serve the foulest human\nfiends for a reward. But the omniscient Spirit, that rules the world in\naccordance with eternal laws, knows nothing of these sacrifices, which\nonly tickle the nostrils of the evil one. The treasurer rejoices when a\nbeautiful spotless heifer is driven in among our herds. But Seth rubs his\nred hands\n\n   [Red was the color of Seth and Typhon. The evil one is named the\n   Red, as for instance in the papyrus of fibers. Red-haired men were\n   typhonic.]\n\nwith delight that he accepts it. My friends, I have heard the vows which\nPaaker has poured out over our pure altars, like hogwash that men set\nbefore swine. Pestilence and boils has he called down on Mena, and\nbarrenness and heartache on the poor sweet woman; and I really cannot\nblame her for preferring a battle-horse to a hippopotamus--a Mena to a\nPaaker.\"\n\n\"Yet the Immortals must have thought his remonstrances less\nunjustifiable, and have stricter views as to the inviolable nature of a\nbetrothal than you,\" said the treasurer, \"for Nefert, during four years\nof married life, has passed only a few weeks with her wandering husband,\nand remains childless. It is hard to me to understand how you, Gagabu,\nwho so often absolve where we condemn, can so relentlessly judge so great\na benefactor to our temple.\"\n\n\"And I fail to comprehend,\" exclaimed the old man, \"how you--you who so\nwillingly condemn, can so weakly excuse this--this--call him what you\nwill.\"\n\n\"He is indispensable to us at this time,\" said the haruspex.\n\n\"Granted,\" said Gagabu, lowering his tone. \"And I think still to make use\nof him, as the high-priest has done in past years with the best effect\nwhen dangers have threatened us; and a dirty road serves when it makes\nfor the goal. The Gods themselves often permit safety to come from what\nis evil, but shall we therefore call evil good--or say the hideous is\nbeautiful? Make use of the king's pioneer as you will, but do not,\nbecause you are indebted to him for gifts, neglect to judge him according\nto his imaginings and deeds if you would deserve your title of the\nInitiated and the Enlightened. Let him bring his cattle into our temple\nand pour his gold into our treasury, but do not defile your souls with\nthe thought that the offerings of such a heart and such a hand are\npleasing to the Divinity. Above all,\" and the voice of the old man had a\nheart-felt impressiveness, \"Above all, do not flatter the erring man--and\nthis is what you do, with the idea that he is walking in the right way;\nfor your, for our first duty, O my friends, is always this--to guide the\nsouls of those who trust in us to goodness and truth.\"\n\n\"Oh, my master!\" cried Pentaur, \"how tender is thy severity.\"\n\n\"I have shown the hideous sores of this man's soul,\" said the old man, as\nhe rose to quit the hall. \"Your praise will aggravate them, your blame\nwill tend to heal them. Nay, if you are not content to do your duty, old\nGagabu will come some day with his knife, and will throw the sick man\ndown and cut out the canker.\"\n\nDuring this speech the haruspex had frequently shrugged his shoulders.\nNow he said, turning to the priests from Chennu--\n\n\"Gagabu is a foolish, hot-headed old man, and you have heard from his\nlips just such a sermon as the young scribes keep by them when they enter\non the duties of the care of souls. His sentiments are excellent, but he\neasily overlooks small things for the sake of great ones. Ameni would\ntell you that ten souls, no, nor a hundred, do not matter when the safety\nof the whole is in question.\"\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A dirty road serves when it makes for the goal\n     Colored cakes in the shape of beasts\n     Deficient are as guilty in their eyes as the idle\n     For fear of the toothache, had his sound teeth drawn\n     Hatred between man and man\n     Hatred for all that hinders the growth of light\n     How tender is thy severity\n     Judge only by appearances, and never enquire into the causes\n     Often happens that apparent superiority does us damage\n     Seditious words are like sparks, which are borne by the wind\n     The scholar's ears are at his back: when he is flogged\n     Title must not be a bill of fare\n     Youth should be modest, and he was assertive\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nVolume 2.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe night during which the Princess Bent-Anat and her followers had\nknocked at the gate of the House of Seti was past.\n\nThe fruitful freshness of the dawn gave way to the heat, which began to\npour down from the deep blue cloudless vault of heaven. The eye could no\nlonger gaze at the mighty globe of light whose rays pierced the fine\nwhite dust which hung over the declivity of the hills that enclosed the\ncity of the dead on the west. The limestone rocks showed with blinding\nclearness, the atmosphere quivered as if heated over a flame; each minute\nthe shadows grew shorter and their outlines sharper.\n\nAll the beasts which we saw peopling the Necropolis in the evening had\nnow withdrawn into their lurking places; only man defied the heat of the\nsummer day. Undisturbed he accomplished his daily work, and only laid his\ntools aside for a moment, with a sigh, when a cooling breath blew across\nthe overflowing stream and fanned his brow.\n\nThe harbor or clock where those landed who crossed from eastern Thebes\nwas crowded with barks and boats waiting to return.\n\nThe crews of rowers and steersmen who were attached to priestly\nbrotherhoods or noble houses, were enjoying a rest till the parties they\nhad brought across the Nile drew towards them again in long processions.\n\nUnder a wide-spreading sycamore a vendor of eatables, spirituous drinks,\nand acids for cooling the water, had set up his stall, and close to him,\na crowd of boatmen, and drivers shouted and disputed as they passed the\ntime in eager games at morra.\n\n   [In Latin \"micare digitis.\" A game still constantly played in the\n   south of Europe, and frequently represented by the Egyptians. The\n   games depicted in the monuments are collected by Minutoli, in the\n   Leipziger Illustrirte Zeitung, 1852.]\n\nMany sailors lay on the decks of the vessels, others on the shore; here\nin the thin shade of a palm tree, there in the full blaze of the sun,\nfrom those burning rays they protected themselves by spreading the cotton\ncloths, which served them for cloaks, over their faces.\n\nBetween the sleepers passed bondmen and slaves, brown and black, in long\nfiles one behind the other, bending under the weight of heavy burdens,\nwhich had to be conveyed to their destination at the temples for\nsacrifice, or to the dealers in various wares. Builders dragged blocks of\nstone, which had come from the quarries of Chennu and Suan,\n\n   [The Syene of the Greeks, non, called Assouan at the first\n   cataract.]\n\non sledges to the site of a new temple; laborers poured water under the\nrunners, that the heavily loaded and dried wood should not take fire.\n\nAll these working men were driven with sticks by their overseers, and\nsang at their labor; but the voices of the leaders sounded muffled and\nhoarse, though, when after their frugal meal they enjoyed an hour of\nrepose, they might be heard loud enough. Their parched throats refused to\nsing in the noontide of their labor.\n\nThick clouds of gnats followed these tormented gangs, who with dull and\nspirit-broken endurance suffered alike the stings of the insects and the\nblows of their driver. The gnats pursued them to the very heart of the\nCity of the dead, where they joined themselves to the flies and wasps,\nwhich swarmed in countless crowds around the slaughter houses, cooks'\nshops, stalls of fried fish, and booths of meat, vegetable, honey, cakes\nand drinks, which were doing a brisk business in spite of the noontide\nheat and the oppressive atmosphere heated and filled with a mixture of\nodors.\n\nThe nearer one got to the Libyan frontier, the quieter it became, and the\nsilence of death reigned in the broad north-west valley, where in the\nsouthern slope the father of the reigning king had caused his tomb to be\nhewn, and where the stone-mason of the Pharaoh had prepared a rock tomb\nfor him.\n\nA newly made road led into this rocky gorge, whose steep yellow and brown\nwalls seemed scorched by the sun in many blackened spots, and looked like\na ghostly array of shades that had risen from the tombs in the night and\nremained there.\n\nAt the entrance of this valley some blocks of stone formed a sort of\ndoorway, and through this, indifferent to the heat of day, a small but\nbrilliant troop of the men was passing.\n\nFour slender youths as staff bearers led the procession, each clothed\nonly with an apron and a flowing head-cloth of gold brocade; the mid-day\nsun played on their smooth, moist, red-brown skins, and their supple\nnaked feet hardly stirred the stones on the road.\n\nBehind them followed an elegant, two-wheeled chariot, with two prancing\nbrown horses bearing tufts of red and blue feathers on their noble heads,\nand seeming by the bearing of their arched necks and flowing tails to\nexpress their pride in the gorgeous housings, richly embroidered in\nsilver, purple, and blue and golden ornaments, which they wore--and even\nmore in their beautiful, royal charioteer, Bent-Anat, the daughter of\nRameses, at whose lightest word they pricked their ears, and whose little\nhand guided them with a scarcely perceptible touch.\n\nTwo young men dressed like the other runners followed the chariot, and\nkept the rays of the sun off the face of their mistress with large fans\nof snow-white ostrich feathers fastened to long wands.\n\nBy the side of Bent-Anat, so long as the road was wide enough to allow of\nit, was carried Nefert, the wife of Mena, in her gilt litter, borne by\neight tawny bearers, who, running with a swift and equally measured step,\ndid not remain far behind the trotting horses of the princess and her\nfan-bearers.\n\nBoth the women, whom we now see for the first time in daylight, were of\nremarkable but altogether different beauty.\n\nThe wife of Mena had preserved the appearance of a maiden; her large\nalmond-shaped eyes had a dreamy surprised look out from under her long\neyelashes, and her figure of hardly the middle-height had acquired a\nlittle stoutness without losing its youthful grace. No drop of foreign\nblood flowed in her veins, as could be seen in the color of her skin,\nwhich was of that fresh and equal line which holds a medium between\ngolden yellow and bronze brown--and which to this day is so charming in\nthe maidens of Abyssinia--in her straight nose, her well-formed brow, in\nher smooth but thick black hair, and in the fineness of her hands and\nfeet, which were ornamented with circles of gold.\n\nThe maiden princess next to her had hardly reached her nineteenth year,\nand yet something of a womanly self-consciousness betrayed itself in her\ndemeanor. Her stature was by almost a head taller than that of her\nfriend, her skin was fairer, her blue eyes kind and frank, without tricks\nof glance, but clear and honest, her profile was noble but sharply cut,\nand resembled that of her father, as a landscape in the mild and\nsoftening light of the moon resembles the same landscape in the broad\nclear light of day. The scarcely perceptible aquiline of her nose, she\ninherited from her Semitic ancestors,\n\n   [Many portraits have come down to us of Rameses: the finest is the\n   noble statue preserved at Turin. A likeness has been detected\n   between its profile, with its slightly aquiline nose, and that of\n   Napoleon I.]\n\nas well as the slightly waving abundance of her brown hair, over which\nshe wore a blue and white striped silk kerchief; its carefully-pleated\nfolds were held in place by a gold ring, from which in front a horned\nurarus\n\n   [A venomous Egyptian serpent which was adopted as the symbol of\n   sovereign power, in consequence of its swift effects for life or\n   death. It is never wanting to the diadem of the Pharaohs.]\n\nraised its head crowned with a disk of rubies. From her left temple a\nlarge tress, plaited with gold thread, hung down to her waist, the sign\nof her royal birth. She wore a purple dress of fine, almost transparent\nstuff, that was confined with a gold belt and straps. Round her throat\nwas fastened a necklace like a collar, made of pearls and costly stones,\nand hanging low down on her well-formed bosom.\n\nBehind the princess stood her charioteer, an old officer of noble birth.\n\nThree litters followed the chariot of the princess, and in each sat two\nofficers of the court; then came a dozen of slaves ready for any service,\nand lastly a crowd of wand-bearers to drive off the idle populace, and of\nlightly-armed soldiers, who--dressed only in the apron and\nhead-cloth--each bore a dagger-shaped sword in his girdle, an axe in his\nright hand, and in his left; in token of his peaceful service, a\npalm-branch.\n\nLike dolphins round a ship, little girls in long shirt-shaped garments\nswarmed round the whole length of the advancing procession, bearing\nwater-jars on their steady heads, and at a sign from any one who was\nthirsty were ready to give him a drink. With steps as light as the\ngazelle they often outran the horses, and nothing could be more graceful\nthan the action with which the taller ones bent over with the water-jars\nheld in both arms to the drinker.\n\nThe courtiers, cooled and shaded by waving fans, and hardly perceiving\nthe noontide heat, conversed at their ease about indifferent matters, and\nthe princess pitied the poor horses, who were tormented as they ran, by\nannoying gadflies; while the runners and soldiers, the litter-bearers and\nfan-bearers, the girls with their jars and the panting slaves, were\ncompelled to exert themselves under the rays of the mid-day sun in the\nservice of their masters, till their sinews threatened to crack and their\nlungs to burst their bodies.\n\nAt a spot where the road widened, and where, to the right, lay the steep\ncross-valley where the last kings of the dethroned race were interred,\nthe procession stopped at a sign from Paaker, who preceded the princess,\nand who drove his fiery black Syrian horses with so heavy a hand that the\nbloody foam fell from their bits.\n\nWhen the Mohar had given the reins into the hand of a servant, he sprang\nfrom his chariot, and after the usual form of obeisance said to the\nprincess:\n\n\"In this valley lies the loathsome den of the people, to whom thou, O\nprincess, dost deign to do such high honor. Permit me to go forward as\nguide to thy party.\"\n\n\"We will go on foot,\" said the princess, \"and leave our followers behind\nhere.\"\n\nPaaker bowed, Bent-Anat threw the reins to her charioteer and sprang to\nthe ground, the wife of Mena and the courtiers left their litters, and\nthe fan-bearers and chamberlains were about to accompany their mistress\non foot into the little valley, when she turned round and ordered,\n\"Remain behind, all of you. Only Paaker and Nefert need go with me.\"\n\nThe princess hastened forward into the gorge, which was oppressive with\nthe noon-tide heat; but she moderated her steps as soon as she observed\nthat the frailer Nefert found it difficult to follow her.\n\nAt a bend in the road Paaker stood still, and with him Bent-Anat and\nNefert. Neither of them had spoken a word during their walk. The valley\nwas perfectly still and deserted; on the highest pinnacles of the cliff,\nwhich rose perpendicularly to the right, sat a long row of vultures, as\nmotionless as if the mid-day heat had taken all strength out of their\nwings.\n\nPaaker bowed before them as being the sacred animals of the Great Goddess\nof Thebes,\n\n   [She formed a triad with Anion and Chunsu under the name of Muth.\n   The great \"Sanctuary of the kingdom\"--the temple of Karnak--was\n   dedicated to them.]\n\nand the two women silently followed his example.\n\n\"There,\" said the Mohar, pointing to two huts close to the left cliff of\nthe valley, built of bricks made of dried Nile-mud, \"there, the neatest,\nnext the cave in the rock.\"\n\nBent-Anat went towards the solitary hovel with a beating heart; Paaker\nlet the ladies go first. A few steps brought them to an ill-constructed\nfence of canestalks, palm-branches, briars and straw, roughly thrown\ntogether. A heart-rending cry of pain from within the hut trembled in the\nair and arrested the steps of the two women. Nefert staggered and clung\nto her stronger companion, whose beating heart she seemed to hear. Both\nstood a few minutes as if spellbound, then the princess called Paaker,\nand said:\n\n\"You go first into the house.\"\n\nPaaker bowed to the ground.\n\n\"I will call the man out,\" he said, \"but how dare we step over his\nthreshold. Thou knowest such a proceeding will defile us.\"\n\nNefert looked pleadingly at Bent-Anat, but the princess repeated her\ncommand.\n\n\"Go before me; I have no fear of defilement.\" The Mohar still hesitated.\n\n\"Wilt thou provoke the Gods?--and defile thyself?\" But the princess let\nhim say no more; she signed to Nefert, who raised her hands in horror and\naversion; so, with a shrug of her shoulders, she left her companion\nbehind with the Mohar, and stepped through an opening in the hedge into a\nlittle court, where lay two brown goats; a donkey with his forelegs tied\ntogether stood by, and a few hens were scattering the dust about in a\nvain search for food.\n\nSoon she stood, alone, before the door of the paraschites' hovel. No one\nperceived her, but she could not take her eyes-accustomed only to scenes\nof order and splendor--from the gloomy but wonderfully strange picture,\nwhich riveted her attention and her sympathy. At last she went up to the\ndoorway, which was too low for her tall figure. Her heart shrunk\npainfully within her, and she would have wished to grow smaller, and,\ninstead of shining in splendor, to have found herself wrapped in a\nbeggar's robe.\n\nCould she step into this hovel decked with gold and jewels as if in\nmockery?--like a tyrant who should feast at a groaning table and compel\nthe starving to look on at the banquet. Her delicate perception made her\nfeel what trenchant discord her appearance offered to all that surrounded\nher, and the discord pained her; for she could not conceal from herself\nthat misery and external meanness were here entitled to give the key-note\nand that her magnificence derived no especial grandeur from contrast with\nall these modest accessories, amid dust, gloom, and suffering, but rather\nbecame disproportionate and hideous, like a giant among pigmies.\n\nShe had already gone too far to turn back, or she would willingly have\ndone so. The longer she gazed into the but, the more deeply she felt the\nimpotence of her princely power, the nothingness of the splendid gifts\nwith which she approached it, and that she might not tread the dusty\nfloor of this wretched hovel but in all humility, and to crave a pardon.\n\nThe room into which she looked was low but not very small, and obtained\nfrom two cross lights a strange and unequal illumination; on one side the\nlight came through the door, and on the other through an opening in the\ntime-worn ceiling of the room, which had never before harbored so many\nand such different guests.\n\nAll attention was concentrated on a group, which was clearly lighted up\nfrom the doorway.\n\nOn the dusty floor of the room cowered an old woman, with dark\nweather-beaten features and tangled hair that had long been grey. Her\nblack-blue cotton shirt was open over her withered bosom, and showed a\nblue star tattooed upon it.\n\nIn her lap she supported with her hands the head of a girl, whose slender\nbody lay motionless on a narrow, ragged mat. The little white feet of the\nsick girl almost touched the threshold. Near to them squatted a\nbenevolent-looking old man, who wore only a coarse apron, and sitting all\nin a heap, bent forward now and then, rubbing the child's feet with his\nlean hands and muttering a few words to himself.\n\nThe sufferer wore nothing but a short petticoat of coarse light-blue\nstuff. Her face, half resting on the lap of the old woman, was graceful\nand regular in form, her eyes were half shut-like those of a child, whose\nsoul is wrapped in some sweet dream-but from her finely chiselled lips\nthere escaped from time to time a painful, almost convulsive sob.\n\nAn abundance of soft, but disordered reddish fair hair, in which clung a\nfew withered flowers, fell over the lap of the old woman and on to the\nmat where she lay. Her cheeks were white and rosy-red, and when the young\nsurgeon Nebsecht--who sat by her side, near his blind, stupid companion,\nthe litany-singer--lifted the ragged cloth that had been thrown over her\nbosom, which had been crushed by the chariot wheel, or when she lifted\nher slender arm, it was seen that she had the shining fairness of those\ndaughters of the north who not unfrequently came to Thebes among the\nking's prisoners of war.\n\nThe two physicians sent hither from the House of Seti sat on the left\nside of the maiden on a little carpet. From time to time one or the other\nlaid his hand over the heart of the sufferer, or listened to her\nbreathing, or opened his case of medicaments, and moistened the compress\non her wounded breast with a white ointment.\n\nIn a wide circle close to the wall of the room crouched several women,\nyoung and old, friends of the paraschites, who from time to time gave\nexpression to their deep sympathy by a piercing cry of lamentation. One\nof them rose at regular intervals to fill the earthen bowl by the side of\nthe physician with fresh water. As often as the sudden coolness of a\nfresh compress on her hot bosom startled the sick girl, she opened her\neyes, but always soon to close them again for longer interval, and turned\nthem at first in surprise, and then with gentle reverence, towards a\nparticular spot.\n\nThese glances had hitherto been unobserved by him to whom they were\ndirected.\n\nLeaning against the wall on the right hand side of the room, dressed in\nhis long, snow-white priest's robe, Pentaur stood awaiting the princess.\nHis head-dress touched the ceiling, and the narrow streak of light, which\nfell through the opening in the roof, streamed on his handsome head and\nhis breast, while all around him was veiled in twilight gloom.\n\nOnce more the suffering girl looked up, and her glance this time met the\neye of the young priest, who immediately raised his hand, and\nhalf-mechanically, in a low voice, uttered the words of blessing; and\nthen once more fixed his gaze on the dingy floor, and pursued his own\nreflections.\n\nSome hours since he had come hither, obedient to the orders of Ameni, to\nimpress on the princess that she had defiled herself by touching a\nparaschites, and could only be cleansed again by the hand of the priests.\n\nHe had crossed the threshold of the paraschites most reluctantly, and the\nthought that he, of all men, had been selected to censure a deed of the\nnoblest humanity, and to bring her who had done it to judgment, weighed\nupon him as a calamity.\n\nIn his intercourse with his friend Nebsecht, Pentaur had thrown off many\nfetters, and given place to many thoughts that his master would have held\nsinful and presumptuous; but at the same time he acknowledged the\nsanctity of the old institutions, which were upheld by those whom he had\nlearned to regard as the divinely-appointed guardians of the spiritual\npossessions of God's people; nor was he wholly free from the pride of\ncaste and the haughtiness which, with prudent intent, were inculcated in\nthe priests. He held the common man, who put forth his strength to win a\nmaintenance for his belongings by honest bodily labor--the merchant--the\nartizan--the peasant, nay even the warrior, as far beneath the godly\nbrotherhood who strove for only spiritual ends; and most of all he\nscorned the idler, given up to sensual enjoyments.\n\nHe held him unclean who had been branded by the law; and how should it\nhave been otherwise? These people, who at the embalming of the dead\nopened the body of the deceased, had become despised for their office of\nmutilating the sacred temple of the soul; but no paraschites chose his\ncalling of his own free will.--[Diodorus I, 91]--It was handed down from\nfather to son, and he who was born a paraschites--so he was taught--had\nto expiate an old guilt with which his soul had long ago burdened itself\nin a former existence, within another body, and which had deprived it of\nabsolution in the nether world. It had passed through various animal\nforms, and now began a new human course in the body of a paraschites,\nonce more to stand after death in the presence of the judges of the\nunder-world.\n\nPentaur had crossed the threshold of the man he despised with aversion;\nthe man himself, sitting at the feet of the suffering girl, had exclaimed\nas he saw the priest approaching the hovel:\n\n\"Yet another white robe! Does misfortune cleanse the unclean?\"\n\nPentaur had not answered the old man, who on his part took no further\nnotice of him, while he rubbed the girl's feet by order of the leech; and\nhis hands impelled by tender anxiety untiringly continued the same\nmovement, as the water-wheel in the Nile keeps up without intermission\nits steady motion in the stream.\n\n\"Does misfortune cleanse the unclean?\" Pentaur asked himself. \"Does it\nindeed possess a purifying efficacy, and is it possible that the Gods,\nwho gave to fire the power of refining metals and to the winds power to\nsweep the clouds from the sky, should desire that a man--made in their\nown image--that a man should be tainted from his birth to his death with\nan indelible stain?\"\n\nHe looked at the face of the paraschites, and it seemed to him to\nresemble that of his father.\n\nThis startled him!\n\nAnd when he noticed how the woman, in whose lap the girl's head was\nresting, bent over the injured bosom of the child to catch her breathing,\nwhich she feared had come to a stand-still--with the anguish of a dove\nthat is struck down by a hawk--he remembered a moment in his own\nchildhood, when he had lain trembling with fever on his little bed. What\nthen had happened to him, or had gone on around him, he had long\nforgotten, but one image was deeply imprinted on his soul, that of the\nface of his mother bending over him in deadly anguish, but who had gazed\non her sick boy not more tenderly, or more anxiously, than this despised\nwoman on her suffering child.\n\n\"There is only one utterly unselfish, utterly pure and utterly divine\nlove,\" said he to himself, \"and that is the love of Isis for Horus--the\nlove of a mother for her child. If these people were indeed so foul as to\ndefile every thing they touch, how would this pure, this tender, holy\nimpulse show itself even in them in all its beauty and perfection?\"\n\n\"Still,\" he continued, \"the Celestials have implanted maternal love in\nthe breast of the lioness, of the typhonic river-horse of the Nile.\"\n\nHe looked compassionately at the wife of the paraschites.\n\nHe saw her dark face as she turned it away from the sick girl. She had\nfelt her breathe, and a smile of happiness lighted up her old features;\nshe nodded first to the surgeon, and then with a deep sigh of relief to\nher husband, who, while he did not cease the movement of his left hand,\nheld up his right hand in prayer to heaven, and his wife did the same.\n\nIt seemed to Pentaur that he could see the souls of these two, floating\nabove the youthful creature in holy union as they joined their hands; and\nagain he thought of his parents' house, of the hour when his sweet, only\nsister died. His mother had thrown herself weeping on the pale form, but\nhis father had stamped his foot and had thrown back his head, sobbing and\nstriking his forehead with his fist.\n\n\"How piously submissive and thankful are these unclean ones!\" thought\nPentaur; and repugnance for the old laws began to take root in his heart.\n\"Maternal love may exist in the hyaena, but to seek and find God pertains\nonly to man, who has a noble aim. Up to the limits of eternity--and God\nis eternal!--thought is denied to animals; they cannot even smile. Even\nmen cannot smile at first, for only physical life--an animal\nsoul--dwells in them; but soon a share of the world's soul--beaming\nintelligence--works within them, and first shows itself in the smile of a\nchild, which is as pure as the light and the truth from which it comes.\nThe child of the paraschites smiles like any other creature born of\nwoman, but how few aged men there are, even among the initiated, who can\nsmile as innocently and brightly as this woman who has grown grey under\nopen ill-treatment.\"\n\nDeep sympathy began to fill his heart, and he knelt down by the side of\nthe poor child, raised her arm, and prayed fervently to that One who had\ncreated the heavens and who rules the world--to that One, whom the\nmysteries of faith forbade him to name; and not to the innumerable gods,\nwhom the people worshipped, and who to him were nothing but incarnations\nof the attributes of the One and only God of the initiated--of whom he\nwas one--who was thus brought down to the comprehension of the laity.\n\nHe raised his soul to God in passionate emotion; but he prayed, not for\nthe child before him and for her recovery, but rather for the whole\ndespised race, and for its release from the old ban, for the\nenlightenment of his own soul, imprisoned in doubts, and for strength to\nfulfil his hard task with discretion.\n\nThe gaze of the sufferer followed him as he took up his former position.\n\nThe prayer had refreshed his soul and restored him to cheerfulness of\nspirit. He began to reflect what conduct he must observe towards the\nprincess.\n\nHe had not met Bent-Anat for the first time yesterday; on the contrary,\nhe had frequently seen her in holiday processions, and at the high\nfestivals in the Necropolis, and like all his young companions had\nadmired her proud beauty--admired it as the distant light of the stars,\nor the evening-glow on the horizon.\n\nNow he must approach this lady with words of reproof.\n\nHe pictured to himself the moment when he must advance to meet her, and\ncould not help thinking of his little tutor Chufu, above whom he towered\nby two heads while he was still a boy, and who used to call up his\nadmonitions to him from below. It was true, he himself was tall and slim,\nbut he felt as if to-day he were to play the part towards Bent-Anat of\nthe much-laughed-at little tutor.\n\nHis sense of the comic was touched, and asserted itself at this serious\nmoment, and with such melancholy surroundings. Life is rich in contrasts,\nand a susceptible and highly-strung human soul would break down like a\nbridge under the measured tread of soldiers, if it were allowed to let\nthe burden of the heaviest thoughts and strongest feelings work upon it\nin undisturbed monotony; but just as in music every key-note has its\nharmonies, so when we cause one chord of our heart to vibrate for long,\nall sorts of strange notes respond and clang, often those which we least\nexpect.\n\nPentaur's glance flew round the one low, over-filled room of the\nparaschites' hut, and like a lightning flash the thought, \"How will the\nprincess and her train find room here?\" flew through his mind.\n\nHis fancy was lively, and vividly brought before him how the daughter of\nthe Pharaoh with a crown on her proud head would bustle into the silent\nchamber, how the chattering courtiers would follow her, and how the women\nby the walls, the physicians by the side of the sick girl, the sleek\nwhite cat from the chest where she sat, would rise and throng round her.\nThere must be frightful confusion. Then he imagined how the smart lords\nand ladies would keep themselves far from the unclean, hold their slender\nhands over their mouths and noses, and suggest to the old folks how they\nought to behave to the princess who condescended to bless them with her\npresence. The old woman must lay down the head that rested in her bosom,\nthe paraschites must drop the feet he so anxiously rubbed, on the floor,\nto rise and kiss the dust before Bent-Anat. Whereupon--the \"mind's eye\"\nof the young priest seemed to see it all--the courtiers fled before him,\npushing each other, and all crowded together into a corner, and at last\nthe princess threw a few silver or gold rings into the laps of the father\nand mother, and perhaps to the girl too, and he seemed to hear the\ncourtiers all cry out: \"Hail to the gracious daughter of the Sun!\"--to\nhear the joyful exclamations of the crowd of women--to see the gorgeous\napparition leave the hut of the despised people, and then to see, instead\nof the lovely sick child who still breathed audibly, a silent corpse on\nthe crumpled mat, and in the place of the two tender nurses at her head\nand feet, two heart-broken, loud-lamenting wretches.\n\nPentaur's hot spirit was full of wrath. As soon as the noisy cortege\nappeared actually in sight he would place himself in the doorway, forbid\nthe princess to enter, and receive her with strong words.\n\nShe could hardly come hither out of human kindness.\n\n\"She wants variety,\" said he to himself, \"something new at Court; for\nthere is little going on there now the king tarries with the troops in a\ndistant country; it tickles the vanity of the great to find themselves\nonce in a while in contact with the small, and it is well to have your\ngoodness of heart spoken of by the people. If a little misfortune\nopportunely happens, it is not worth the trouble to inquire whether the\nform of our benevolence does more good or mischief to such wretched\npeople.\"\n\nHe ground his teeth angrily, and thought no more of the defilement which\nmight threaten Bent-Anat from the paraschites, but exclusively, on the\ncontrary, of the impending desecration by the princess of the holy\nfeelings astir in this silent room.\n\nExcited as he was to fanaticism, his condemning lips could not fail to\nfind vigorous and impressive words.\n\nHe stood drawn to his full height and drawing his breath deeply, like a\nspirit of light who holds his weapon raised to annihilate a demon of\ndarkness, and he looked out into the valley to perceive from afar the cry\nof the runners and the rattle of the wheels of the gay train he expected.\n\nAnd he saw the doorway darkened by a lowly, bending figure, who, with\nfolded arms, glided into the room and sank down silently by the side of\nthe sick girl. The physicians and the old people moved as if to rise; but\nshe signed to them without opening her lips, and with moist, expressive\neyes, to keep their places; she looked long and lovingly in the face of\nthe wounded girl, stroked her white arm, and turning to the old woman\nsoftly whispered to her\n\n\"How pretty she is!\"\n\nThe paraschites' wife nodded assent, and the girl smiled and moved her\nlips as though she had caught the words and wished to speak.\n\nBent-Anat took a rose from her hair and laid it on her bosom.\n\nThe paraschites, who had not taken his hands from the feet of the sick\nchild, but who had followed every movement of the princess, now\nwhispered, \"May Hathor requite thee, who gave thee thy beauty.\"\n\nThe princess turned to him and said, \"Forgive the sorrow, I have caused\nyou.\"\n\nThe old man stood up, letting the feet of the sick girl fall, and asked\nin a clear loud voice:\n\n\"Art thou Bent-Anat?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am,\" replied the princess, bowing her head low, and in so gentle\na voice, that it seemed as though she were ashamed of her proud name.\n\nThe eyes of the old man flashed. Then he said softly but decisively:\n\n\"Leave my hut then, it will defile thee.\"\n\n\"Not till you have forgiven me for that which I did unintentionally.\"\n\n\"Unintentionally! I believe thee,\" replied the paraschites. \"The hoofs of\nthy horse became unclean when they trod on this white breast. Look\nhere--\" and he lifted the cloth from the girl's bosom, and showed her the\ndeep red wound, \"Look here--here is the first rose you laid on my\ngrandchild's bosom, and the second--there it goes.\"\n\nThe paraschites raised his arm to fling the flower through the door of\nhis hut. But Pentaur had approached him, and with a grasp of iron held\nthe old man's hand.\n\n\"Stay,\" he cried in an eager tone, moderated however for the sake of the\nsick girl. \"The third rose, which this noble hand has offered you, your\nsick heart and silly head have not even perceived. And yet you must know\nit if only from your need, your longing for it. The fair blossom of pure\nbenevolence is laid on your child's heart, and at your very feet, by this\nproud princess. Not with gold, but with humility. And whoever the\ndaughter of Rameses approaches as her equal, bows before her, even if he\nwere the first prince in the Land of Egypt. Indeed, the Gods shall not\nforget this deed of Bent-Anat. And you--forgive, if you desire to be\nforgiven that guilt, which you bear as an inheritance from your fathers,\nand for your own sins.\"\n\nThe paraschites bowed his head at these words, and when he raised it the\nanger had vanished from his well-cut features. He rubbed his wrist, which\nhad been squeezed by Pentaur's iron fingers, and said in a tone which\nbetrayed all the bitterness of his feelings:\n\n\"Thy hand is hard, Priest, and thy words hit like the strokes of a\nhammer. This fair lady is good and loving, and I know; that she did not\ndrive her horse intentionally over this poor girl, who is my grandchild\nand not my daughter. If she were thy wife or the wife of the leech there,\nor the child of the poor woman yonder, who supports life by collecting\nthe feet and feathers of the fowls that are slaughtered for sacrifice, I\nwould not only forgive her, but console her for having made herself like\nto me; fate would have made her a murderess without any fault of her own,\njust as it stamped me as unclean while I was still at my mother's breast.\nAye--I would comfort her; and yet I am not very sensitive. Ye holy three\nof Thebes!--[The triad of Thebes: Anion, Muth and Chunsu.]--how should I\nbe? Great and small get out of my way that I may not touch them, and\nevery day when I have done what it is my business to do they throw stones\nat me.\n\n   [The paraschites, with an Ethiopian knife, cuts the flesh of the\n   corpse as deeply as the law requires: but instantly takes to flight,\n   while the relatives of the deceased pursue him with stones, and\n   curses, as if they wished to throw the blame on him.]\n\n\"The fulfilment of duty--which brings a living to other men, which makes\ntheir happiness, and at the same time earns them honor, brings me every\nday fresh disgrace and painful sores. But I complain to no man, and must\nforgive--forgive--forgive, till at last all that men do to me seems quite\nnatural and unavoidable, and I take it all like the scorching of the sun\nin summer, and the dust that the west wind blows into my face. It does\nnot make me happy, but what can I do? I forgive all--\"\n\nThe voice of the paraschites had softened, and Bent-Anat, who looked down\non him with emotion, interrupted him, exclaiming with deep feeling:\n\n\"And so you will forgive me?--poor man!\"\n\nThe old man looked steadily, not at her, but at Pentaur, while he\nreplied: \"Poor man! aye, truly, poor man. You have driven me out of the\nworld in which you live, and so I made a world for myself in this hut. I\ndo not belong to you, and if I forget it, you drive me out as an\nintruder--nay as a wolf, who breaks into your fold; but you belong just\nas little to me, only when you play the wolf and fall upon me, I must\nbear it!\"\n\n\"The princess came to your hut as a suppliant, and with the wish of doing\nyou some good,\" said Pentaur.\n\n\"May the avenging Gods reckon it to her, when they visit on her the\ncrimes of her father against me! Perhaps it may bring me to prison, but\nit must come out. Seven sons were mine, and Rameses took them all from me\nand sent them to death; the child of the youngest, this girl, the light\nof my eyes, his daughter has brought to her death. Three of my boys the\nking left to die of thirst by the Tenat,\n\n   [Literally the \"cutting\" which, under Seti I., the father of\n   Rameses, was the first Suez Canal; a representation of it is found\n   on the northern outer wall of the temple of Karnak. It followed\n   nearly the same direction as the Fresh-water canal of Lesseps, and\n   fertilized the land of Goshen.]\n\nwhich is to join the Nile to the Red Sea, three were killed by the\nEthiopians, and the last, the star of my hopes, by this time is eaten by\nthe hyaenas of the north.\"\n\nAt these words the old woman, in whose lap the head of the girl rested,\nbroke out into a loud cry, in which she was joined by all the other\nwomen.\n\nThe sufferer started up frightened, and opened her eyes.\n\n\"For whom are you wailing?\" she asked feebly. \"For your poor father,\"\nsaid the old woman.\n\nThe girl smiled like a child who detects some well-meant deceit, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Was not my father here, with you? He is here, in Thebes, and looked at\nme, and kissed me, and said that he is bringing home plunder, and that a\ngood time is coming for you. The gold ring that he gave me I was\nfastening into my dress, when the chariot passed over me. I was just\npulling the knots, when all grew black before my eyes, and I saw and\nheard nothing more. Undo it, grandmother, the ring is for you; I meant to\nbring it to you. You must buy a beast for sacrifice with it, and wine for\ngrandfather, and eye salve\n\n   [The Egyptian mestem, that is stibium or antimony, which was\n   introduced into Egypt by the Asiatics at a very early period and\n   universally used.]\n\nfor yourself, and sticks of mastic,\n\n   [At the present day the Egyptian women are fond of chewing them, on\n   account of their pleasant taste. The ancient Egyptians used various\n   pills. Receipts for such things are found in the Ebers Papyrus.]\n\nwhich you have so long lead to do without.\"\n\nThe paraschites seemed to drink these words from the mouth of his\ngrandchild. Again he lifted his hand in prayer, again Pentaur observed\nthat his glance met that of his wife, and a large, warm tear fell from\nhis old eyes on to his callous hand. Then he sank down, for he thought\nthe sick child was deluded by a dream. But there were the knots in her\ndress.\n\nWith a trembling hand he untied them, and a gold ring rolled out on the\nfloor.\n\nBent-Anat picked it up, and gave it to the paraschites. \"I came here in a\nlucky hour,\" she said, \"for you have recovered your son and your child\nwill live.\"\n\n\"She will live,\" repeated the surgeon, who had remained a silent witness\nof all that had occurred.\n\n\"She will stay with us,\" murmured the old man, and then said, as he\napproached the princess on his knees, and looked up at her beseechingly\nwith tearful eyes:\n\n\"Pardon me as I pardon thee; and if a pious wish may not turn to a curse\nfrom the lips of the unclean, let me bless thee.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" said Bent-Anat, towards whom the old man raised his hand\nin blessing.\n\nThen she turned to Nebsecht, and ordered him to take anxious care of the\nsick girl; she bent over her, kissed her forehead, laid her gold bracelet\nby her side, and signing to Pentaur left the hut with him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nDuring the occurrence we have described, the king's pioneer and the young\nwife of Mena were obliged to wait for the princess.\n\nThe sun stood in the meridian, when Bent-Anat had gone into the hovel of\nthe paraschites.\n\nThe bare limestone rocks on each side of the valley and the sandy soil\nbetween, shone with a vivid whiteness that hurt the eyes; not a hand's\nbreadth of shade was anywhere to be seen, and the fan-beaters of the two,\nwho were waiting there, had, by command of the princess, staid behind\nwith the chariot and litters.\n\nFor a time they stood silently near each other, then the fair Nefert\nsaid, wearily closing her almond-shaped eyes:\n\n\"How long Bent-Anat stays in the but of the unclean! I am perishing here.\nWhat shall we do?\"\n\n\"Stay!\" said Paaker, turning his back on the lady; and mounting a block\nof stone by the side of the gorge, he cast a practised glance all round,\nand returned to Nefert: \"I have found a shady spot,\" he said, \"out\nthere.\"\n\nMena's wife followed with her eyes the indication of his hand, and shook\nher head. The gold ornaments on her head-dress rattled gently as she did\nso, and a cold shiver passed over her slim body in spite of the midday\nheat.\n\n\"Sechet is raging in the sky,\" said Paaker.\n\n   [A goddess with the head of a lioness or a cat, over which the Sun-\n   disk is usually found. She was the daughter of Ra, and in the form\n   of the Uraeus on her father's crown personified the murderous heat\n   of the star of day. She incites man to the hot and wild passion of\n   love, and as a cat or lioness tears burning wounds in the limbs of\n   the guilty in the nether world; drunkenness and pleasure are her\n   gifts She was also named Bast and Astarte after her sister-divinity\n   among the Phoenicians.]\n\n\"Let us avail ourselves of the shady spot, small though it be. At this\nhour of the day many are struck with sickness.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said Nefert, covering her neck with her hand. Then she went\ntowards two blocks of stone which leaned against each other, and between\nthem afforded the spot of shade, not many feet wide, which Paaker had\npointed out as a shelter from the sun. Paaker preceded her, and rolled a\nflat piece of limestone, inlaid by nature with nodules of flint, under\nthe stone pavilion, crushed a few scorpions which had taken refuge there,\nspread his head-cloth over the hard seat, and said, \"Here you are\nsheltered.\"\n\nNefert sank down on the stone and watched the Mohar, who slowly and\nsilently paced backwards and forward in front of her. This incessant to\nand fro of her companion at last became unendurable to her sensitive and\nirritated nerves, and suddenly raising her head from her hand, on which\nshe had rested it, she exclaimed\n\n\"Pray stand still.\"\n\nThe pioneer obeyed instantly, and looked, as he stood with his back to\nher, towards the hovel of the paraschites.\n\nAfter a short time Nefert said, \"Say something to me!\"\n\nThe Mohar turned his full face towards her, and she was frightened at the\nwild fire that glowed in the glance with which he gazed at her.\n\nNefert's eyes fell, and Paaker, saying:\n\n\"I would rather remain silent,\" recommenced his walk, till Nefert called\nto him again and said,\n\n\"I know you are angry with me; but I was but a child when I was betrothed\nto you. I liked you too, and when in our games your mother called me your\nlittle wife, I was really glad, and used to think how fine it would be\nwhen I might call all your possessions mine, the house you would have so\nsplendidly restored for me after your father's death, the noble gardens,\nthe fine horses in their stables, and all the male and female slaves!\"\n\nPaaker laughed, but the laugh sounded so forced and scornful that it cut\nNefert to the heart, and she went on, as if begging for indulgence:\n\n\"It was said that you were angry with us; and now you will take my words\nas if I had cared only for your wealth; but I said, I liked you. Do you\nno longer remember how I cried with you over your tales of the bad boys\nin the school; and over your father's severity? Then my uncle died;--then\nyou went to Asia.\"\n\nAnd you,\" interrupted Paaker, hardly and drily, \"you broke your\nbethrothal vows, and became the wife of the charioteer Mena. I know it\nall; of what use is talking?\"\n\n\"Because it grieves me that you should be angry, and your good mother\navoid our house. If only you could know what it is when love seizes one,\nand one can no longer even think alone, but only near, and with, and in\nthe very arms of another; when one's beating heart throbs in one's very\ntemples, and even in one's dreams one sees nothing--but one only.\"\n\n\"And do I not know it?\" cried Paaker, placing himself close before her\nwith his arms crossed. \"Do I not know it? and you it was who taught me to\nknow it. When I thought of you, not blood, but burning fire, coursed in\nmy veins, and now you have filled them with poison; and here in this\nbreast, in which your image dwelt, as lovely as that of Hathor in her\nholy of holies, all is like that sea in Syria which is called the Dead\nSea, in which every thing that tries to live presently dies and\nperishes.\"\n\nPaaker's eyes rolled as he spoke, and his voice sounded hoarsely as he\nwent on.\n\n\"But Mena was near to the king--nearer than I, and your mother--\"\n\n\"My mother!\"--Nefert interrupted the angry Mohar. \"My mother did not\nchoose my husband. I saw him driving the chariot, and to me he resembled\nthe Sun God, and he observed me, and looked at me, and his glance pierced\ndeep into my heart like a spear; and when, at the festival of the king's\nbirthday, he spoke to me, it was just as if Hathor had thrown round me a\nweb of sweet, sounding sunbeams. And it was the same with Mena; he\nhimself has told me so since I have been his wife. For your sake my\nmother rejected his suit, but I grew pale and dull with longing for him,\nand he lost his bright spirit, and was so melancholy that the king\nremarked it, and asked what weighed on his heart--for Rameses loves him\nas his own son. Then Mena confessed to the Pharaoh that it was love that\ndimmed his eye and weakened his strong hand; and then the king himself\ncourted me for his faithful servant, and my mother gave way, and we were\nmade man and wife, and all the joys of the justified in the fields of\nAalu\n\n   [The fields of the blest, which were opened to glorified souls. In\n   the Book of the Dead it is shown that in them men linger, and sow\n   and reap by cool waters.]\n\nare shallow and feeble by the side of the bliss which we two have\nknown--not like mortal men, but like the celestial gods.\"\n\nUp to this point Nefert had fixed her large eyes on the sky, like a\nglorified soul; but now her gaze fell, and she said softly--\n\n\"But the Cheta\n\n   [An Aramaean race, according to Schrader's excellent judgment. At\n   the time of our story the peoples of western Asia had allied\n   themselves to them.]\n\ndisturbed our happiness, for the king took Mena with him to the war.\nFifteen times did the moon, rise upon our happiness, and then--\"\n\n\"And then the Gods heard my prayer, and accepted my offerings,\" said\nPaaker, with a trembling voice, \"and tore the robber of my joys from you,\nand scorched your heart and his with desire. Do you think you can tell me\nanything I do not know? Once again for fifteen days was Mena yours, and\nnow he has not returned again from the war which is raging hotly in\nAsia.\"\n\n\"But he will return,\" cried the young wife.\n\n\"Or possibly not,\" laughed Paaker. \"The Cheta, carry sharp weapons, and\nthere are many vultures in Lebanon, who perhaps at this hour are tearing\nhis flesh as he tore my heart.\"\n\nNefert rose at these words, her sensitive spirit bruised as with stones\nthrown by a brutal hand, and attempted to leave her shady refuge to\nfollow the princess into the house of the parascllites; but her feet\nrefused to bear her, and she sank back trembling on her stone seat. She\ntried to find words, but her tongue was powerless. Her powers of\nresistance forsook her in her unutterable and soul-felt\ndistress--heart-wrung, forsaken and provoked.\n\nA variety of painful sensations raised a hot vehement storm in her bosom,\nwhich checked her breath, and at last found relief in a passionate and\nconvulsive weeping that shook her whole body. She saw nothing more, she\nheard nothing more, she only shed tears and felt herself miserable.\n\nPaaker stood over her in silence.\n\nThere are trees in the tropics, on which white blossoms hang close by the\nwithered fruit, there are days when the pale moon shows itself near the\nclear bright sun;--and it is given to the soul of man to feel love and\nhatred, both at the same time, and to direct both to the same end.\n\nNefert's tears fell as dew, her sobs as manna on the soul of Paaker,\nwhich hungered and thirsted for revenge. Her pain was joy to him, and yet\nthe sight of her beauty filled him with passion, his gaze lingered\nspell-bound on her graceful form; he would have given all the bliss of\nheaven once, only once, to hold her in his arms--once, only once, to hear\na word of love from her lips.\n\nAfter some minutes Nefert's tears grew less violent. With a weary, almost\nindifferent gaze she looked at the Mohar, still standing before her, and\nsaid in a soft tone of entreaty:\n\n'My tongue is parched, fetch me a little water.\"\n\n\"The princess may come out at any moment,\" replied Paaker.\n\n\"But I am fainting,\" said Nefert, and began again to cry gently.\n\nPaaker shrugged his shoulders, and went farther into the valley, which he\nknew as well as his father's house; for in it was the tomb of his\nmother's ancestors, in which, as a boy, he had put up prayers at every\nfull and new moon, and laid gifts on the altar.\n\nThe hut of the paraschites was prohibited to him, but he knew that\nscarcely a hundred paces from the spot where Nefert was sitting, lived an\nold woman of evil repute, in whose hole in the rock he could not fail to\nfind a drink of water.\n\nHe hastened forward, half intoxicated with had seen and felt within the\nlast few minutes.\n\nThe door, which at night closed the cave against the intrusions of the\nplunder-seeking jackals, was wide open, and the old woman sat outside\nunder a ragged piece of brown sail-cloth, fastened at one end to the rock\nand at the other to two posts of rough wood. She was sorting a heap of\ndark and light-colored roots, which lay in her lap. Near her was a wheel,\nwhich turned in a high wooden fork. A wryneck made fast to it by a little\nchain, and by springing from spoke to spoke kept it in continual\nmotion.--[From Theocritus' idyl: The Sorceress.]--A large black cat\ncrouched beside her, and smelt at some ravens' and owls' heads, from\nwhich the eyes had not long since been extracted.\n\nTwo sparrow-hawks sat huddled up over the door of the cave, out of which\ncame the sharp odor of burning juniper-berries; this was intended to\nrender the various emanations rising from the different strange\nsubstances, which were collected and preserved there, innocuous.\n\nAs Paaker approached the cavern the old woman called out to some one\nwithin:\n\n\"Is the wax cooking?\"\n\nAn unintelligible murmur was heard in answer.\n\nThen throw in the ape's eyes,\n\n   [The sentences and mediums employed by the witches, according to\n   papyrus-rolls which remain. I have availed myself of the Magic\n   papyrus of Harris, and of two in the Berlin collection, one of which\n   is in Greek. ]\n\nand the ibis feathers, and the scraps of linen with the black signs on\nthem. Stir it all a little; now put out the fire,\n\n\"Take the jug and fetch some water--make haste, here comes a stranger.\"\n\nA sooty-black negro woman, with a piece of torn colorless stuff hanging\nround her hips, set a large clay-jar on her grey woolly matted hair, and\nwithout looking at him, went past Paaker, who was now close to the cave.\n\nThe old woman, a tall figure bent with years, with a sharply-cut and\nwrinkled face, that might once have been handsome, made her preparations\nfor receiving the visitor by tying a gaudy kerchief over her head,\nfastening her blue cotton garment round her throat, and flinging a fibre\nmat over the birds' heads.\n\nPaaker called out to her, but she feigned to be deaf and not to hear his\nvoice. Only when he stood quite close to her, did she raise her shrewd,\ntwinkling eyes, and cry out:\n\n\"A lucky day! a white day that brings a noble guest and high honor.\"\n\n\"Get up,\" commanded Paaker, not giving her any greeting, but throwing a\nsilver ring among the roots that lay in her lap,\n\n   [The Egyptians had no coins before Alexander and the Ptolemies, but\n   used metals for exchange, usually in the form of rings.]\n\n\"and give me in exchange for good money some water in a clean vessel.\"\n\n\"Fine pure silver,\" said the old woman, while she held the ring, which\nshe had quickly picked out from the roots, close to her eyes; \"it is too\nmuch for mere water, and too little for my good liquors.\"\n\n\"Don't chatter, hussy, but make haste,\" cried Paaker, taking another ring\nfrom his money-bag and throwing it into her lap.\n\n\"Thou hast an open hand,\" said the old woman, speaking in the dialect of\nthe upper classes; \"many doors must be open to thee, for money is a\npass-key that turns any lock. Would'st thou have water for thy good\nmoney? Shall it protect thee against noxious beasts?--shall it help thee\nto reach down a star? Shall it guide thee to secret paths?--It is thy\nduty to lead the way. Shall it make heat cold, or cold warm? Shall it\ngive thee the power of reading hearts, or shall it beget beautiful\ndreams? Wilt thou drink of the water of knowledge and see whether thy\nfriend or thine enemy--ha! if thine enemy shall die? Would'st thou a\ndrink to strengthen thy memory? Shall the water make thee invisible? or\nremove the 6th toe from thy left foot?\"\n\n\"You know me?\" asked Paaker.\n\n\"How should I?\" said the old woman, \"but my eyes are sharp, and I can\nprepare good waters for great and small.\"\n\n\"Mere babble!\" exclaimed Paaker, impatiently clutching at the whip in his\ngirdle; \"make haste, for the lady for whom--\"\n\n\"Dost thou want the water for a lady?\" interrupted the old woman. \"Who\nwould have thought it?--old men certainly ask for my philters much\noftener than young ones--but I can serve thee.\"\n\nWith these words the old woman went into the cave, and soon returned with\na thin cylindrical flask of alabaster in her hand.\n\n\"This is the drink,\" she said, giving the phial to Paaker. \"Pour half\ninto water, and offer it to the lady. If it does not succeed at first, it\nis certain the second time. A child may drink the water and it will not\nhurt him, or if an old man takes it, it makes him gay. Ah, I know the\ntaste of it!\" and she moistened her lips with the white fluid. \"It can\nhurt no one, but I will take no more of it, or old Hekt will be tormented\nwith love and longing for thee; and that would ill please the rich young\nlord, ha! ha! If the drink is in vain I am paid enough, if it takes\neffect thou shalt bring me three more gold rings; and thou wilt return, I\nknow it well.\"\n\nPaaker had listened motionless to the old woman, and siezed the flask\neagerly, as if bidding defiance to some adversary; he put it in his money\nbag, threw a few more rings at the feet of the witch, and once more\nhastily demanded a bowl of Nile-water.\n\n\"Is my lord in such a hurry?\" muttered the old woman, once more going\ninto the cave. \"He asks if I know him? him certainly I do? but the\ndarling? who can it be hereabouts? perhaps little Uarda at the\nparaschites yonder. She is pretty enough; but she is lying on a mat, run\nover and dying. We must see what my lord means. He would have pleased me\nwell enough, if I were young; but he will reach the goal, for he is\nresolute and spares no one.\"\n\nWhile she muttered these and similar words, she filled a graceful cup of\nglazed earthenware with filtered Nile-water, which she poured out of a\nlarge porous clay jar, and laid a laurel leaf, on which was scratched two\nhearts linked together by seven strokes, on the surface of the limpid\nfluid. Then she stepped out into the air again.\n\nAs Paaker took the vessel from her looked at the laurel leaf, she said:\n\n\"This indeed binds hearts; three is the husband, four is the wife, seven\nis the chachach, charcharachacha.\"--[This jargon is fund in a\nmagic-papyrus at Berlin.]\n\nThe old woman sang this spell not without skill; but the Mohar appeared\nnot to listen to her jargon. He descended carefully into the valley, and\ndirected his steps to the resting place of the wife of Mena.\n\nBy the side of a rock, which hill him from Nefert, he paused, set the cup\non a flat block of stone, and drew the flask with the philter out of his\ngirdle.\n\nHis fingers trembled, but a thousand voices seemed to surge up and cry:\n\n\"Take it!--do it!--put in the drink!--now or never.\" He felt like a\nsolitary traveller, who finds on his road the last will of a relation\nwhose possessions he had hoped for, but which disinherits him. Shall he\nsurrender it to the judge, or shall he destroy it.\n\nPaaker was not merely outwardly devout; hitherto he had in everything\nintended to act according to the prescriptions of the religion of his\nfathers. Adultery was a heavy sin; but had not he an older right to\nNefert than the king's charioteer?\n\nHe who followed the black arts of magic, should, according to the law, be\npunished by death, and the old woman had a bad name for her evil arts;\nbut he had not sought her for the sake of the philter. Was it not\npossible that the Manes of his forefathers, that the Gods themselves,\nmoved by his prayers and offerings, had put him in possession by an\naccident--which was almost a miracle--of the magic potion efficacy he\nnever for an instant doubted?\n\nPaaker's associates held him to be a man of quick decision, and, in fact,\nin difficult cases he could act with unusual rapidity, but what guided\nhim in these cases, was not the swift-winged judgment of a prepared and\nwell-schooled brain, but usually only resulted from the outcome of a play\nof question and answer.\n\nAmulets of the most various kinds hung round his neck, and from his\ngirdle, all consecrated by priests, and of special sanctity or the\nhighest efficacy.\n\nThere was the lapis lazuli eye, which hung to his girdle by a gold chain;\nWhen he threw it on the ground, so as to lie on the earth, if its\nengraved side turned to heaven, and its smooth side lay on the ground, he\nsaid \"yes;\" in the other case, on the contrary, \"no.\" In his purse lay\nalways a statuette of the god Apheru, who opened roads; this he threw\ndown at cross-roads, and followed the direction which the pointed snout\nof the image indicated. He frequently called into council the seal-ring\nof his deceased father, an old family possession, which the chief priests\nof Abydos had laid upon the holiest of the fourteen graves of Osiris, and\nendowed with miraculous power. It consisted of a gold ring with a broad\nsignet, on which could be read the name of Thotmes III., who had long\nsince been deified, and from whom Paaker's ancestors had derived it. If\nit were desirable to consult the ring, the Mohar touched with the point\nof his bronze dagger the engraved sign of the name, below which were\nrepresented three objects sacred to the Gods, and three that were, on the\ncontrary, profane. If he hit one of the former, he concluded that his\nfather--who was gone to Osiris--concurred in his design; in the contrary\ncase he was careful to postpone it. Often he pressed the ring to his\nheart, and awaited the first living creature that he might meet,\nregarding it as a messenger from his father;--if it came to him from the\nright hand as an encouragement, if from the left as a warning.\n\nBy degrees he had reduced these questionings to a system. All that he\nfound in nature he referred to himself and the current of his life. It\nwas at once touching, and pitiful, to see how closely he lived with the\nManes of his dead. His lively, but not exalted fancy, wherever he gave it\nplay, presented to the eye of his soul the image of his father and of an\nelder brother who had died early, always in the same spot, and almost\ntangibly distinct.\n\nBut he never conjured up the remembrance of the beloved dead in order to\nthink of them in silent melancholy--that sweet blossom of the thorny\nwreath of sorrow; only for selfish ends. The appeal to the Manes of his\nfather he had found especially efficacious in certain desires and\ndifficulties; calling on the Manes of his brother was potent in certain\nothers; and so he turned from one to the other with the precision of a\ncarpenter, who rarely doubts whether he should give the preference to a\nhatchet or a saw.\n\nThese doings he held to be well pleasing to the Gods, and as he was\nconvinced that the spirits of his dead had, after their justification,\npassed into Osiris that is to say, as atoms forming part of the great\nworld-soul, at this time had a share in the direction of the universe--he\nsacrificed to them not only in the family catacomb, but also in the\ntemples of the Necropolis dedicated to the worship of ancestors, and with\nspecial preference in the House of Seti.\n\nHe accepted advice, nay even blame, from Ameni and the other priests\nunder his direction; and so lived full of a virtuous pride in being one\nof the most zealous devotees in the land, and one of the most pleasing to\nthe Gods, a belief on which his pastors never threw any doubt.\n\nAttended and guided at every step by supernatural powers, he wanted no\nfriend and no confidant. In the fleld, as in Thebes, he stood apart, and\npassed among his comrades for a reserved man, rough and proud, but with a\nstrong will.\n\nHe had the power of calling up the image of his lost love with as much\nvividness as the forms of the dead, and indulged in this magic, not only\nthrough a hundred still nights, but in long rides and drives through\nsilent wastes.\n\nSuch visions were commonly followed by a vehement and boiling overflow of\nhis hatred against the charioteer, and a whole series of fervent prayers\nfor his destruction.\n\nWhen Paaker set the cup of water for Nefert on the flat stone and felt\nfor the philter, his soul was so full of desire that there was no room\nfor hatred; still he could not altogether exclude the idea that he would\ncommit a great crime by making use of a magic drink. Before pouring the\nfateful drops into the water, he would consult the oracle of the ring.\nThe dagger touched none of the holy symbols of the inscription on the\nsignet, and in other circumstances he would, without going any farther,\nhave given up his project.\n\nBut this time he unwillingly returned it to its sheath, pressed the gold\nring to his heart, muttered the name of his brother in Osiris, and\nawaited the first living creature that might come towards him.\n\nHe had not long to wait, from the mountain slope opposite to him rose,\nwith heavy, slow wing-strokes, two light-colored vultures.\n\nIn anxious suspense he followed their flight, as they rose, higher and\nhigher. For a moment they poised motionless, borne up by the air, circled\nround each other, then wheeled to the left and vanished behind the\nmountains, denying him the fulfilment of his desire.\n\nHe hastily grasped the phial to fling it from him, but the surging\npassion in his veins had deprived him of his self-control. Nefert's image\nstood before him as if beckoning him; a mysterious power clenched his\nfingers close and yet closer round the phial, and with the same defiance\nwhich he showed to his associates, he poured half of the philter into the\ncup and approached his victim.\n\nNefert had meanwhile left her shady retreat and come towards him.\n\nShe silently accepted the water he offered her, and drank it with\ndelight, to the very dregs.\n\n\"'Thank you,\" she said, when she had recovered breath after her eager\ndraught.\n\n\"That has done me good! How fresh and acid the water tastes; but your\nhand shakes, and you are heated by your quick run for me--poor man.\"\n\nWith these words she looked at him with a peculiar expressive glance of\nher large eyes, and gave him her right hand, which he pressed wildly to\nhis lips.\n\n\"That will do,\" she said smiling; \"here comes the princess with a priest,\nout of the hovel of the unclean. With what frightful words you terrified\nme just now. It is true I gave you just cause to be angry with me; but\nnow you are kind again--do you hear?--and will bring your mother again to\nsee mine. Not a word. I shall see, whether cousin Paaker refuses me\nobedience.\"\n\nShe threatened him playfully with her finger, and then growing grave she\nadded, with a look that pierced Paaker's heart with pain, and yet with\necstasy, \"Let us leave off quarrelling. It is so much better when people\nare kind to each other.\"\n\nAfter these words she walked towards the house of the paraschites, while\nPaaker pressed his hands to his breast, and murmured:\n\n\"The drink is working, and she will be mine. I thank ye--ye Immortals!\"\n\nBut this thanksgiving, which hitherto he had never failed to utter when\nany good fortune had befallen him, to-day died on his lips. Close before\nhim he saw the goal of his desires; there, under his eyes, lay the magic\nspring longed for for years. A few steps farther, and he might slake at\nits copious stream his thirst both for love and for revenge.\n\nWhile he followed the wife of Mena, and replaced the phial carefully in\nhis girdle, so as to lose no drop of the precious fluid which, according\nto the prescription of the old woman, he needed to use again, warning\nvoices spoke in his breast, to which he usually listened as to a fatherly\nadmonition; but at this moment he mocked at them, and even gave outward\nexpression to the mood that ruled him--for he flung up his right hand\nlike a drunken man, who turns away from the preacher of morality on his\nway to the wine-cask; and yet passion held him so closely ensnared, that\nthe thought that he should live through the swift moments which would\nchange him from an honest man into a criminal, hardly dawned, darkly on\nhis soul. He had hitherto dared to indulge his desire for love and\nrevenge in thought only, and had left it to the Gods to act for\nthemselves; now he had taken his cause out of the hand of the Celestials,\nand gone into action without them, and in spite of them.\n\nThe sorceress Hekt passed him; she wanted to see the woman for whom she\nhad given him the philter. He perceived her and shuddered, but soon the\nold woman vanished among the rocks muttering.\n\n\"Look at the fellow with six toes. He makes himself comfortable with the\nheritage of Assa.\"\n\nIn the middle of the valley walked Nefert and the pioneer, with the\nprincess Bent-Anat and Pentaur who accompanied her.\n\nWhen these two had come out of the hut of the paraschites, they stood\nopposite each other in silence. The royal maiden pressed her hand to her\nheart, and, like one who is thirsty, drank in the pure air of the\nmountain valley with deeply drawn breath; she felt as if released from\nsome overwhelming burden, as if delivered from some frightful danger.\n\nAt last she turned to her companion, who gazed earnestly at the ground.\n\n\"What an hour!\" she said.\n\nPentaur's tall figure did not move, but he bowed his head in assent, as\nif he were in a dream. Bent-Anat now saw him for the first time in fall\ndaylight; her large eyes rested on him with admiration, and she asked:\n\n\"Art thou the priest, who yesterday, after my first visit to this house,\nso readily restored me to cleanness?\"\n\n\"I am he,\" replied Pentaur.\n\n\"I recognized thy voice, and I am grateful to thee, for it was thou that\ndidst strengthen my courage to follow the impulse of my heart, in spite\nof my spiritual guides, and to come here again. Thou wilt defend me if\nothers blame me.\"\n\n\"I came here to pronounce thee unclean.\"\n\n\"Then thou hast changed thy mind?\" asked Bent-Anat, and a smile of\ncontempt curled her lips.\n\n\"I follow a high injunction, that commands us to keep the old\ninstitutions sacred. If touching a paraschites, it is said, does not\ndefile a princess, whom then can it defile? for whose garment is more\nspotless than hers?\"\n\n\"But this is a good man with all his meanness,\" interrupted Bent-Anat,\n\"and in spite of the disgrace, which is the bread of life to him as honor\nis to us. May the nine great Gods forgive me! but he who is in there is\nloving, pious and brave, and pleases me--and thou, thou, who didst think\nyesterday to purge away the taint of his touch with a word--what prompts\nthee today to cast him with the lepers?\"\n\n\"The admonition of an enlightened man, never to give up any link of the\nold institutions; because thereby the already weakened chain may be\nbroken, and fall rattling to the ground.\"\n\n\"Then thou condemnest me to uncleanness for the sake of all old\nsuperstition, and of the populace, but not for my actions? Thou art\nsilent? Answer me now, if thou art such a one as I took the for, freely\nand sincerely; for it concerns the peace of my soul.\" Pentaur breathed\nhard; and then from the depths of his soul, tormented by doubts, these\ndeeply-felt words forced themselves as if wrung from him; at first\nsoftly, but louder as he went on.\n\n\"Thou dost compel me to say what I had better not even think; but rather\nwill I sin against obedience than against truth, the pure daughter of the\nSun, whose aspect, Bent-Anat, thou dost wear. Whether the paraschites is\nunclean by birth or not, who am I that I should decide? But to me this\nman appeared--as to thee--as one moved by the same pure and holy emotions\nas stir and bless me and mine, and thee and every soul born of woman; and\nI believe that the impressions of this hour have touched thy soul as well\nas mine, not to taint, but to purify. If I am wrong, may the many-named\nGods forgive me, Whose breath lives and works in the paraschites as well\nas in thee and me, in Whom I believe, and to Whom I will ever address my\nhumble songs, louder and more joyfully, as I learn that all that lives\nand breathes, that weeps and rejoices, is the image of their sublime\nnature, and born to equal joy and equal sorrow.\"\n\nPentaur had raised his eyes to heaven; now they met the proud and joyful\nradiance of the princess' glance, while she frankly offered him her hand.\nHe humbly kissed her robe, but she said:\n\n\"Nay--not so. Lay thy hand in blessing on mine. Thou art a man and a true\npriest. Now I can be satisfied to be regarded as unclean, for my father\nalso desires that, by us especially, the institutions of the past that\nhave so long continued should be respected, for the sake of the people.\nLet us pray in common to the Gods, that these poor people may be released\nfrom the old ban. How beautiful the world might be, if men would but let\nman remain what the Celestials have made him. But Paaker and poor Nefert\nare waiting in the scorching sun-come, follow me.\"\n\nShe went forward, but after a few steps she turned round to him, and\nasked:\n\n\"What is thy name?\"\n\n\"Pentaur.\"\n\n\"Thou then art the poet of the House of Seti?\"\n\n\"They call me so.\"\n\nBent-Anat stood still a moment, gazing full at him as at a kinsman whom\nwe meet for the first time face to face, and said:\n\n\"The Gods have given thee great gifts, for thy glance reaches farther and\npierces deeper than that of other men; and thou canst say in words what\nwe can only feel--I follow thee willingly!\"\n\nPentaur blushed like a boy, and said, while Paaker and Nefert came nearer\nto them:\n\n\"Till to-day life lay before me as if in twilight; but this moment shows\nit me in another light. I have seen its deepest shadows; and,\" he added\nin a low tone \"how glorious its light can be.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nAn hour later, Bent-Anat and her train of followers stood before the gate\nof the House of Seti.\n\nSwift as a ball thrown from a man's hand, a runner had sprung forward and\nhurried on to announce the approach of the princess to the chief priest.\nShe stood alone in her chariot, in advance of all her companions, for\nPentaur had found a place with Paaker. At the gate of the temple they\nwere met by the head of the haruspices.\n\nThe great doors of the pylon were wide open, and afforded a view into the\nforecourt of the sanctuary, paved with polished squares of stone, and\nsurrounded on three sides with colonnades. The walls and architraves, the\npillars and the fluted cornice, which slightly curved in over the court,\nwere gorgeous with many colored figures and painted decorations. In the\nmiddle stood a great sacrificial altar, on which burned logs of cedar\nwood, whilst fragrant balls of Kyphi\n\n   [Kyphi was a celebrated Egyptian incense. Recipes for its\n   preparation have been preserved in the papyrus of Ebers, in the\n   laboratories of the temples, and elsewhere. Parthey had three\n   different varieties prepared by the chemist, L. Voigt, in Berlin.\n   Kyphi after the formula of Dioskorides was the best. It consisted\n   of rosin, wine, rad, galangae, juniper berries, the root of the\n   aromatic rush, asphalte, mastic, myrrh, Burgundy grapes, and honey.]\n\nwere consumed by the flames, filling the wide space with their heavy\nperfume. Around, in semi-circular array, stood more than a hundred\nwhite-robed priests, who all turned to face the approaching princess, and\nsang heart-rending songs of lamentation.\n\nMany of the inhabitants of the Necropolis had collected on either side of\nthe lines of sphinxes, between which the princess drove up to the\nSanctuary. But none asked what these songs of lamentation might signify,\nfor about this sacred place lamentation and mystery for ever lingered.\n\"Hail to the child of Rameses!\"--\"All hail to the daughter of the Sun!\"\nrang from a thousand throats; and the assembled multitude bowed almost to\nthe earth at the approach of the royal maiden.\n\nAt the pylon, the princess descended from her chariot, and preceded by\nthe chief of the haruspices, who had gravely and silently greeted her,\npassed on to the door of the temple. But as she prepared to cross the\nforecourt, suddenly, without warning, the priests' chant swelled to a\nterrible, almost thundering loudness, the clear, shrill voice of the\nTemple scholars rising in passionate lament, supported by the deep and\nthreatening roll of the basses.\n\nBent-Anat started and checked her steps. Then she walked on again.\n\nBut on the threshold of the door, Ameni, in full pontifical robes, stood\nbefore her in the way, his crozier extended as though to forbid her\nentrance.\n\n\"The advent of the daughter of Rameses in her purity,\" he cried in loud\nand passionate tones, \"augurs blessing to this sanctuary; but this abode\nof the Gods closes its portals on the unclean, be they slaves or princes.\nIn the name of the Immortals, from whom thou art descended, I ask thee,\nBent-Anat, art thou clean, or hast thou, through the touch of the\nunclean, defiled thyself and contaminated thy royal hand?\"\n\nDeep scarlet flushed the maiden's cheeks, there was a rushing sound in\nher ears as of a stormy sea surging close beside her, and her bosom rose\nand fell in passionate emotion. The kingly blood in her veins boiled\nwildly; she felt that an unworthy part had been assigned to her in a\ncarefully-premeditated scene; she forgot her resolution to accuse herself\nof uncleanness, and already her lips were parted in vehement protest\nagainst the priestly assumption that so deeply stirred her to rebellion,\nwhen Ameni, who placed himself directly in front of the Princess, raised\nhis eyes, and turned them full upon her with all the depths of their\nindwelling earnestness.\n\nThe words died away, and Bent-Anat stood silent, but she endured the\ngaze, and returned it proudly and defiantly.\n\nThe blue veins started in Ameni's forehead; yet he repressed the\nresentment which was gathering like thunder clouds in his soul, and said,\nwith a voice that gradually deviated more and more from its usual\nmoderation:\n\n\"For the second time the Gods demand through me, their representative:\nHast thou entered this holy place in order that the Celestials may purge\nthee of the defilement that stains thy body and soul?\"\n\n\"My father will communicate the answer to thee,\" replied Bent-Anat\nshortly and proudly.\n\n\"Not to me,\" returned Ameni, \"but to the Gods, in whose name I now\ncommand thee to quit this sanctuary, which is defiled by thy presence.\"\n\nBent-Anat's whole form quivered. \"I will go,\" she said with sullen\ndignity.\n\nShe turned to recross the gateway of the Pylon. At the first step her\nglance met the eye of the poet. As one to whom it is vouchsafed to stand\nand gaze at some great prodigy, so Pentaur had stood opposite the royal\nmaiden, uneasy and yet fascinated, agitated, yet with secretly uplifted\nsoul. Her deed seemed to him of boundless audacity, and yet one suited to\nher true and noble nature. By her side, Ameni, his revered and admired\nmaster, sank into insignificance; and when she turned to leave the\ntemple, his hand was raised indeed to hold her back, but as his glance\nmet hers, his hand refused its office, and sought instead to still the\nthrobbing of his overflowing heart.\n\nThe experienced priest, meanwhile, read the features of these two\nguileless beings like an open book. A quickly-formed tie, he felt, linked\ntheir souls, and the look which he saw them exchange startled him. The\nrebellious princess had glanced at the poet as though claiming\napprobation for her triumph, and Pentaur's eyes had responded to the\nappeal.\n\nOne instant Ameni paused. Then he cried: \"Bent-Anat!\"\n\nThe princess turned to the priest, and looked at him gravely and\nenquiringly.\n\nAmeni took a step forward, and stood between her and the poet.\n\n\"Thou wouldst challenge the Gods to combat,\" he said sternly. \"That is\nbold; but such daring it seems to me has grown up in thee because thou\ncanst count on an ally, who stands scarcely farther from the Immortals\nthan I myself. Hear this:--to thee, the misguided child, much may be\nforgiven. But a servant of the Divinity,\" and with these words he turned\na threatening glance on Pentaur--\"a priest, who in the war of free-will\nagainst law becomes a deserter, who forgets his duty and his oath--he\nwill not long stand beside thee to support thee, for he--even though\nevery God had blessed him with the richest gifts--he is damned. We drive\nhim from among us, we curse him, we--\"\n\nAt these words Bent-Anat looked now at Ameni, trembling with excitement,\nnow at Pentaur standing opposite to her. Her face was red and white by\nturns, as light and shade chase each other on the ground when at noon-day\na palm-grove is stirred by a storm.\n\nThe poet took a step towards her.\n\nShe felt that if he spoke it would be to defend all that she had done,\nand to ruin himself. A deep sympathy, a nameless anguish seized her soul,\nand before Pentaur could open his lips, she had sunk slowly down before\nAmeni, saying in low tones:\n\n\"I have sinned and defiled myself; thou hast said it--as Pentaur said it\nby the hut of the paraschites. Restore me to cleanness, Ameni, for I am\nunclean.\"\n\nLike a flame that is crushed out by a hand, so the fire in the\nhigh-priest's eye was extinguished. Graciously, almost lovingly, he\nlooked down on the princess, blessed her and conducted her before the\nholy of holies, there had clouds of incense wafted round her, anointed\nher with the nine holy oils, and commanded her to return to the royal\ncastle.\n\nYet, said he, her guilt was not expiated; she should shortly learn by\nwhat prayers and exercises she might attain once more to perfect purity\nbefore the Gods, of whom he purposed to enquire in the holy place.\n\nDuring all these ceremonies the priests stationed in the forecourt\ncontinued their lamentations.\n\nThe people standing before the temple listened to the priest's chant, and\ninterrupted it from time to time with ringing cries of wailing, for\nalready a dark rumor of what was going on within had spread among the\nmultitude.\n\nThe sun was going down. The visitors to the Necropolis must soon be\nleaving it, and Bent-Anat, for whose appearance the people impatiently\nwaited, would not show herself. One and another said the princess had\nbeen cursed, because she had taken remedies to the fair and injured\nUarda, who was known to many of them.\n\nAmong the curious who had flocked together were many embalmers, laborers,\nand humble folk, who lived in the Necropolis. The mutinous and refractory\ntemper of the Egyptians, which brought such heavy suffering on them under\ntheir later foreign rulers, was aroused, and rising with every minute.\nThey reviled the pride of the priests, and their senseless, worthless,\ninstitutions. A drunken soldier, who soon reeled back into the tavern\nwhich he had but just left, distinguished himself as ringleader, and was\nthe first to pick up a heavy stone to fling at the huge brass-plated\ntemple gates. A few boys followed his example with shouts, and\nlaw-abiding men even, urged by the clamor of fanatical women, let\nthemselves be led away to stone-flinging and words of abuse.\n\nWithin the House of Seti the priests' chant went on uninterruptedly; but\nat last, when the noise of the crowd grew louder, the great gate was\nthrown open, and with a solemn step Ameni, in full robes, and followed by\ntwenty pastophori--[An order of priests]--who bore images of the Gods and\nholy symbols on their shoulders--Ameni walked into the midst of the\ncrowd.\n\nAll were silent.\n\n\"Wherefore do you disturb our worship?\" he asked loudly and calmly.\n\nA roar of confused cries answered him, in which the frequently repeated\nname of Bent-Anat could alone be distinguished.\n\nAmeni preserved his immoveable composure, and, raising his crozier, he\ncried--\n\n\"Make way for the daughter of Rameses, who sought and has found\npurification from the Gods, who behold the guilt of the highest as of the\nlowest among you. They reward the pious, but they punish the offender.\nKneel down and let us pray that they may forgive you, and bless both you\nand your children.\"\n\nAmeni took the holy Sistrum\n\n   [A rattling metal instrument used by the Egyptians in the service of\n   the Gods. Many specimens are extant in Museums. Plutarch describes\n   it correctly, thus: \"The Sistrum is rounded above, and the loop\n   holds the four bars which are shaken.\" On the bend of the Sistrum\n   they often set the head of a cat with a human face.]\n\nfrom one of the attendant pastophori, and held it on high; the priests\nbehind him raised a solemn hymn, and the crowd sank on their knees; nor\ndid they move till the chant ceased and the high-priest again cried out:\n\n\"The Immortals bless you by me their servant. Leave this spot and make\nway for the daughter of Rameses.\"\n\nWith these words he withdrew into the temple, and the patrol, without\nmeeting with any opposition, cleared the road guarded by Sphinxes which\nled to the Nile.\n\nAs Bent-Anat mounted her chariot Ameni said \"Thou art the child of kings.\nThe house of thy father rests on the shoulders of the people. Loosen the\nold laws which hold them subject, and the people will conduct themselves\nlike these fools.\"\n\nAmeni retired. Bent-Anat slowly arranged the reins in her hand, her eyes\nresting the while on the poet, who, leaning against a door-post, gazed at\nher in beatitude. She let her whip fall to the ground, that he might pick\nit up and restore it to her, but he did not observe it. A runner sprang\nforward and handed it to the princess, whose horses started off, tossing\nthemselves and neighing.\n\nPentaur remained as if spell-bound, standing by the pillar, till the\nrattle of the departing wheels on the flag-way of the Avenue of Sphinxes\nhad altogether died away, and the reflection of the glowing sunset\npainted the eastern hills with soft and rosy hues.\n\nThe far-sounding clang of a brass gong roused the poet from his ecstasy.\nIt was the tomtom calling him to duty, to the lecture on rhetoric which\nat this hour he had to deliver to the young priests. He laid his left\nhand to his heart, and pressed his right hand to his forehead, as if to\ncollect in its grasp his wandering thoughts; then silently and\nmechanically he went towards the open court in which his disciples\nawaited him. But instead of, as usual, considering on the way the subject\nhe was to treat, his spirit and heart were occupied with the occurrences\nof the last few hours. One image reigned supreme in his imagination,\nfilling it with delight--it was that of the fairest woman, who, radiant\nin her royal dignity and trembling with pride, had thrown herself in the\ndust for his sake. He felt as if her action had invested her whole being\nwith a new and princely worth, as if her glance had brought light to his\ninmost soul, he seemed to breathe a freer air, to be borne onward on\nwinged feet.\n\nIn such a mood he appeared before his hearers. When he found himself\nconfronting all the the well-known faces, he remembered what it was he\nwas called upon to do. He supported himself against the wall of the\ncourt, and opened the papyrus-roll handed to him by his favorite pupil,\nthe young Anana. It was the book which twenty-four hours ago he had\npromised to begin upon. He looked now upon the characters that covered\nit, and felt that he was unable to read a word.\n\nWith a powerful effort he collected himself, and looking upwards tried to\nfind the thread he had cut at the end of yesterday's lecture, and\nintended to resume to-day; but between yesterday and to-day, as it seemed\nto him, lay a vast sea whose roaring surges stunned his memory and powers\nof thought.\n\nHis scholars, squatting cross-legged on reed mats before him, gazed in\nastonishment on their silent master who was usually so ready of speech,\nand looked enquiringly at each other. A young priest whispered to his\nneighbor, \"He is praying--\" and Anana noticed with silent anxiety the\nstrong hand of his teacher clutching the manuscript so tightly that the\nslight material of which it consisted threatened to split.\n\nAt last Pentaur looked down; he had found a subject. While he was looking\nupwards his gaze fell on the opposite wall, and the painted name of the\nking with the accompanying title \"the good God\" met his eye. Starting\nfrom these words he put this question to his hearers, \"How do we\napprehend the Goodness of the Divinity?\"\n\nHe challenged one priest after another to treat this subject as if he\nwere standing before his future congregation.\n\nSeveral disciples rose, and spoke with more or less truth and feeling. At\nlast it came to Anana's turn, who, in well-chosen words, praised the\npurpose-full beauty of animate and inanimate creation, in which the\ngoodness of Amon\n\n   [Amon, that is to say, \"the hidden one.\" He was the God of Thebes,\n   which was under his aegis, and after the Hykssos were expelled from\n   the Nile-valley, he was united with Ra of Heliopolis and endowed\n   with the attributes of all the remaining Gods. His nature was more\n   and more spiritualized, till in the esoteric philosophy of the time\n   of the Rameses he is compared to the All filling and All guiding\n   intelligence. He is \"the husband of his mother, his own father, and\n   his own son,\" As the living Osiris, he is the soul and spirit of all\n   creation.]\n\nof Ra,\n\n   [Ra, originally the Sun-God; later his name was introduced into the\n   pantheistic mystic philosophy for that of the God who is the\n   Universe.]\n\nand Ptah,\n\n   [Ptah is the Greek Henhaistas, the oldest of the Gods, the great\n   maker of the material for the creation, the \"first beginner,\" by\n   whose side the seven Chnemu stand, as architects, to help him, and\n   who was named \"the lord of truth,\" because the laws and conditions\n   of being proceeded from him. He created also the germ of light, he\n   stood therefore at the head of the solar Gods, and was called the\n   creator of ice, from which, when he had cleft it, the sun and the\n   moan came forth. Hence his name \"the opener.\"]\n\nas well as of the other Gods, finds expression.\n\nPentaur listened to the youth with folded arms, now looking at him\nenquiringly, now adding approbation. Then taking up the thread of the,\ndiscourse when it was ended, he began himself to speak.\n\nLike obedient falcons at the call of the falconer, thoughts rushed down\ninto his mind, and the divine passion awakened in his breast glowed and\nshone through his inspired language that soared every moment on freer and\nstronger wings. Melting into pathos, exulting in rapture, he praised the\nsplendor of nature; and the words flowed from his lips like a limpid\ncrystal-clear stream as he glorified the eternal order of things, and the\nincomprehensible wisdom and care of the Creator--the One, who is one\nalone, and great and without equal.\n\n\"So incomparable,\" he said in conclusion, \"is the home which God has\ngiven us. All that He--the One--has created is penetrated with His own\nessence, and bears witness to His Goodness. He who knows how to find Him\nsees Him everywhere, and lives at every instant in the enjoyment of His\nglory. Seek Him, and when ye have found Him fall down and sing praises\nbefore Him. But praise the Highest, not only in gratitude for the\nsplendor of that which he has created, but for having given us the\ncapacity for delight in his work. Ascend the mountain peaks and look on\nthe distant country, worship when the sunset glows with rubies, and the\ndawn with roses, go out in the nighttime, and look at the stars as they\ntravel in eternal, unerring, immeasurable, and endless circles on silver\nbarks through the blue vault of heaven, stand by the cradle of the child,\nby the buds of the flowers, and see how the mother bends over the one,\nand the bright dew-drops fall on the other. But would you know where the\nstream of divine goodness is most freely poured out, where the grace of\nthe Creator bestows the richest gifts, and where His holiest altars are\nprepared? In your own heart; so long as it is pure and full of love. In\nsuch a heart, nature is reflected as in a magic mirror, on whose surface\nthe Beautiful shines in three-fold beauty. There the eye can reach far\naway over stream, and meadow, and hill, and take in the whole circle of\nthe earth; there the morning and evening-red shine, not like roses and\nrubies, but like the very cheeks of the Goddess of Beauty; there the\nstars circle on, not in silence, but with the mighty voices of the pure\neternal harmonies of heaven; there the child smiles like an infant-god,\nand the bud unfolds to magic flowers; finally, there thankfulness grows\nbroader and devotion grows deeper, and we throw ourselves into the arms\nof a God, who--as I imagine his glory--is a God to whom the sublime nine\ngreat Gods pray as miserable and helpless suppliants.\"\n\nThe tomtom which announced the end of the hour interrupted him.\n\nPentaur ceased speaking with a deep sigh, and for a minute not a scholar\nmoved.\n\nAt last the poet laid the papyrus roll out of his hand, wiped the sweat\nfrom his hot brow, and walked slowly towards the gate of the court, which\nled into the sacred grove of the temple. He had hardly crossed the\nthreshold when he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder.\n\nHe looked round. Behind him stood Ameni. \"You fascinated your hearers, my\nfriend,\" said the high-priest, coldly; \"it is a pity that only the Harp\nwas wanting.\"\n\nAmeni's words fell on the agitated spirit of the poet like ice on the\nbreast of a man in fever. He knew this tone in his master's voice, for\nthus he was accustomed to reprove bad scholars and erring priests; but to\nhim he had never yet so spoken.\n\n\"It certainly would seem,\" continued the high-priest, bitterly, \"as if in\nyour intoxication you had forgotten what it becomes the teacher to utter\nin the lecture-hall. Only a few weeks since you swore on my hands to\nguard the mysteries, and this day you have offered the great secret of\nthe Unnameable one, the most sacred possession of the initiated, like\nsome cheap ware in the open market.\"\n\n\"Thou cuttest with knives,\" said Pentaur.\n\n\"May they prove sharp, and extirpate the undeveloped canker, the rank\nweed from your soul,\" cried the high-priest. \"You are young, too young;\nnot like the tender fruit-tree that lets itself be trained aright, and\nbrought to perfection, but like the green fruit on the ground, which will\nturn to poison for the children who pick it up--yea even though it fall\nfrom a sacred tree. Gagabu and I received you among us, against the\nopinion of the majority of the initiated. We gainsaid all those who\ndoubted your ripeness because of your youth; and you swore to me,\ngratefully and enthusiastically, to guard the mysteries and the law.\nTo-day for the first time I set you on the battle-field of life beyond\nthe peaceful shelter of the schools. And how have you defended the\nstandard that it was incumbent on you to uphold and maintain?\"\n\n\"I did that which seemed to me to be right and true,\" answered Pentaur\ndeeply moved.\n\n\"Right is the same for you as for us--what the law prescribes; and what\nis truth?\"\n\n\"None has lifted her veil,\" said Pentaur, \"but my soul is the offspring\nof the soul-filled body of the All; a portion of the infallible spirit of\nthe Divinity stirs in my breast, and if it shows itself potent in me--\"\n\n\"How easily we may mistake the flattering voice of self-love for that of\nthe Divinity!\"\n\n\"Cannot the Divinity which works and speaks in me--as in thee--as in each\nof us--recognize himself and his own voice?\"\n\n\"If the crowd were to hear you,\" Ameni interrupted him, \"each would set\nhimself on his little throne, would proclaim the voice of the god within\nhim as his guide, tear the law to shreds, and let the fragments fly to\nthe desert on the east wind.\"\n\n\"I am one of the elect whom thou thyself hast taught to seek and to find\nthe One. The light which I gaze on and am blest, would strike the\ncrowd--I do not deny it--with blindness--\"\n\n\"And nevertheless you blind our disciples with the dangerous glare-\"\n\n\"I am educating them for future sages.\"\n\n\"And that with the hot overflow of a heart intoxicated with love!\"\n\n\"Ameni!\"\n\n\"I stand before you, uninvited, as your teacher, who reproves you out of\nthe law, which always and everywhere is wiser than the individual, whose\ndefender the king--among his highest titles--boasts of being, and to\nwhich the sage bows as much as the common man whom we bring up to blind\nbelief--I stand before you as your father, who has loved you from a\nchild, and expected from none of his disciples more than from you; and\nwho will therefore neither lose you nor abandon the hope he has set upon\nyou--\n\n\"Make ready to leave our quiet house early tomorrow morning. You have\nforfeited your office of teacher. You shall now go into the school of\nlife, and make yourself fit for the honored rank of the initiated which,\nby my error, was bestowed on you too soon. You must leave your scholars\nwithout any leave-taking, however hard it may appear to you. After the\nstar of Sothis\n\n   [The holy star of Isis, Sirius or the dog star, whose course in the\n   time of the Pharaohs coincided with the exact Solar year, and served\n   at a very early date as a foundation for the reckoning of time among\n   the Egyptians.]\n\nhas risen come for your instructions. You must in these next months try\nto lead the priesthood in the temple of Hatasu, and in that post to win\nback my confidence which you have thrown away. No remonstrance; to-night\nyou will receive my blessing, and our authority--you must greet the\nrising sun from the terrace of the new scene of your labors. May the\nUnnameable stamp the law upon your soul!\"\n\nAmeni returned to his room.\n\nHe walked restlessly to and fro.\n\nOn a little table lay a mirror; he looked into the clear metal pane, and\nlaid it back in its place again, as if he had seen some strange and\ndispleasing countenance.\n\nThe events of the last few hours had moved him deeply, and shaken his\nconfidence in his unerring judgment of men and things.\n\nThe priests on the other bank of the Nile were Bent-Anat's counsellors,\nand he had heard the princess spoken of as a devout and gifted maiden.\nHer incautious breach of the sacred institutions had seemed to him to\noffer a welcome opportunity for humiliating--a member of the royal\nfamily.\n\nNow he told himself that he had undervalued this young creature that he\nhad behaved clumsily, perhaps foolishly, to her; for he did not for a\nmoment conceal from himself that her sudden change of demeanor resulted\nmuch more from the warm flow of her sympathy, or perhaps of her,\naffection, than from any recognition of her guilt, and he could not\nutilize her transgression with safety to himself, unless she felt herself\nguilty.\n\nNor was he of so great a nature as to be wholly free from vanity, and his\nvanity had been deeply wounded by the haughty resistance of the princess.\n\nWhen he commanded Pentaur to meet the princess with words of reproof, he\nhad hoped to awaken his ambition through the proud sense of power over\nthe mighty ones of the earth.\n\nAnd now?\n\nHow had his gifted admirer, the most hopeful of all his disciples, stood\nthe test.\n\nThe one ideal of his life, the unlimited dominion of the priestly idea\nover the minds of men, and of the priesthood over the king himself, had\nhitherto remained unintelligible to this singular young man.\n\nHe must learn to understand it.\n\n\"Here, as the least among a hundred who are his superiors, all the powers\nof resistance of his soaring soul have been roused,\" said Ameni to\nhimself. \"In the temple of Hatasu he will have to rule over the inferior\norders of slaughterers of victims and incense-burners; and, by requiring\nobedience, will learn to estimate the necessity of it. The rebel, to whom\na throne devolves, becomes a tyrant!\"\n\n\"Pentuar's poet soul,\" so he continued to reflect \"has quickly yielded\nitself a prisoner to the charm of Bent-Anat; and what woman could resist\nthis highly favored being, who is radiant in beauty as Ra-Harmachis, and\nfrom whose lips flows speech as sweet as Techuti's. They ought never to\nmeet again, for no tie must bind him to the house of Rameses.\"\n\nAgain he paced to and fro, and murmured:\n\n\"How is this? Two of my disciples have towered above their fellows, in\ngenius and gifts, like palm trees above their undergrowth. I brought them\nup to succeed me, to inherit my labors and my hopes.\n\n\"Mesu fell away;\n\n   [Mesu is the Egyptian name of Moses, whom we may consider as a\n   contemporary of Rameses, under whose successor the exodus of the\n   Jews from Egypt took place.]\n\nand Pentaur may follow him. Must my aim be an unworthy one because it\ndoes not attract the noblest? Not so. Each feels himself made of better\nstuff than his companions in destiny, constitutes his own law, and fears\nto see the great expended in trifles; but I think otherwise; like a brook\nof ferruginous water from Lebanon, I mix with the great stream, and tinge\nit with my color.\"\n\nThinking thus Ameni stood still.\n\nThen he called to one of the so-called \"holy fathers,\" his private\nsecretary, and said:\n\n\"Draw up at once a document, to be sent to all the priests'-colleges in\nthe land. Inform them that the daughter of Rameses has lapsed seriously\nfrom the law, and defiled herself, and direct that public--you hear me\npublic--prayers shall be put up for her purification in every temple. Lay\nthe letter before me to be signed within in hour. But no! Give me your\nreed and palette; I will myself draw up the instructions.\"\n\nThe \"holy father\" gave him writing materials, and retired into the\nbackground. Ameni muttered: \"The King will do us some unheard-of\nviolence! Well, this writing may be the first arrow in opposition to his\nlance.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe moon was risen over the city of the living that lay opposite the\nNecropolis of Thebes.\n\nThe evening song had died away in the temples, that stood about a mile\nfrom the Nile, connected with each other by avenues of sphinxes and\npylons; but in the streets of the city life seemed only just really\nawake.\n\nThe coolness, which had succeeded the heat of the summer day, tempted the\ncitizens out into the air, in front of their doors or on the roofs and\nturrets of their houses; or at the tavern-tables, where they listened to\nthe tales of the story-tellers while they refreshed them selves with\nbeer, wine, and the sweet juice of fruits. Many simple folks squatted in\ncircular groups on the ground, and joined in the burden of songs which\nwere led by an appointed singer, to the sound of a tabor and flute.\n\nTo the south of the temple of Amon stood the king's palace, and near it,\nin more or less extensive gardens, rose the houses of the magnates of the\nkingdom, among which, one was distinguished by it splendor and extent.\n\nPaaker, the king's pioneer, had caused it to be erected after the death\nof his father, in the place of the more homely dwelling of his ancestors,\nwhen he hoped to bring home his cousin, and install her as its mistress.\nA few yards further to the east was another stately though older and less\nsplendid house, which Mena, the king's charioteer, had inherited from his\nfather, and which was inhabited by his wife Nefert and her mother\nIsatuti, while he himself, in the distant Syrian land, shared the tent of\nthe king, as being his body-guard. Before the door of each house stood\nservants bearing torches, and awaiting the long deferred return home of\ntheir masters.\n\nThe gate, which gave admission to Paaker's plot of ground through the\nwall which surrounded it, was disproportionately, almost ostentatiously,\nhigh and decorated with various paintings. On the right hand and on the\nleft, two cedar-trunks were erected as masts to carry standards; he had\nhad them felled for the purpose on Lebanon, and forwarded by ship to\nPelusium on the north-east coast of Egypt. Thence they were conveyed by\nthe Nile to Thebes.\n\nOn passing through the gate one entered a wide, paved court-yard, at the\nsides of which walks extended, closed in at the back, and with roofs\nsupported on slender painted wooden columns. Here stood the pioneer's\nhorses and chariots, here dwelt his slaves, and here the necessary store\nof produce for the month's requirements was kept.\n\nIn the farther wall of this store-court was a very high doorway, that led\ninto a large garden with rows of well-tended trees and trellised vines,\nclumps of shrubs, flowers, and beds of vegetables. Palms, sycamores, and\nacacia-trees, figs, pomegranates, and jasmine throve here particularly\nwell--for Paaker's mother, Setchem, superintended the labors of the\ngardeners; and in the large tank in the midst there was never any lack of\nwater for watering the beds and the roots of the trees, as it was always\nsupplied by two canals, into which wheels turned by oxen poured water day\nand night from the Nile-stream.\n\nOn the right side of this plot of ground rose the one-storied dwelling\nhouse, its length stretching into distant perspective, as it consisted of\na single row of living and bedrooms. Almost every room had its own door,\nthat opened into a veranda supported by colored wooden columns, and which\nextended the whole length of the garden side of the house. This building\nwas joined at a right angle by a row of store-rooms, in which the\ngarden-produce in fruits and vegetables, the wine-jars, and the\npossessions of the house in woven stuffs, skins, leather, and other\nproperty were kept.\n\nIn a chamber of strong masonry lay safely locked up the vast riches\naccumulated by Paaker's father and by himself, in gold and silver rings,\nvessels and figures of beasts. Nor was there lack of bars of copper and\nof precious stones, particularly of lapis-lazuli and malachite.\n\nIn the middle of the garden stood a handsomely decorated kiosk, and a\nchapel with images of the Gods; in the background stood the statues of\nPaaker's ancestors in the form of Osiris wrapped in mummy-cloths.\n\n   [The justified dead became Osiris; that is to say, attained to the\n   fullest union (Henosis) with the divinity.]\n\nThe faces, which were likenesses, alone distinguished these statues from\neach other.\n\nThe left side of the store-yard was veiled in gloom, yet the moonlight\nrevealed numerous dark figures clothed only with aprons, the slaves of\nthe king's pioneer, who squatted on the ground in groups of five or six,\nor lay near each other on thin mats of palm-bast, their hard beds.\n\nNot far from the gate, on the right side of the court, a few lamps\nlighted up a group of dusky men, the officers of Paaker's household, who\nwore short, shirt-shaped, white garments, and who sat on a carpet round a\ntable hardly two feet high. They were eating their evening-meal,\nconsisting of a roasted antelope, and large flat cakes of bread. Slaves\nwaited on them, and filled their earthen beakers with yellow beer. The\nsteward cut up the great roast on the table, offered the intendant of the\ngardens a piece of antelope-leg, and said:\n\n   [The Greeks and Romans report that the Egyptians were so addicted to\n   satire and pungent witticisms that they would hazard property and\n   life to gratify their love of mockery. The scandalous pictures in\n   the so-called kiosk of Medinet Habu, the caricatures in an\n   indescribable papyrus at Turin, confirm these statements. There is\n   a noteworthy passage in Flavius Vopiscus, that compares the\n   Egyptians to the French.]\n\n\"My arms ache; the mob of slaves get more and more dirty and refractory.\"\n\n\"I notice it in the palm-trees,\" said the gardener, \"you want so many\ncudgels that their crowns will soon be as bare as a moulting bird.\"\n\n\"We should do as the master does,\" said the head-groom, \"and get sticks\nof ebony--they last a hundred years.\"\n\n\"At any rate longer than men's bones,\" laughed the chief neat-herd, who\nhad come in to town from the pioneer's country estate, bringing with him\nanimals for sacrifices, butter and cheese. \"If we were all to follow the\nmaster's example, we should soon have none but cripples in the servant's\nhouse.\"\n\n\"Out there lies the lad whose collar-bone he broke yesterday,\" said the\nsteward, \"it is a pity, for he was a clever mat-platter. The old lord hit\nsofter.\"\n\n\"You ought to know!\" cried a small voice, that sounded mockingly behind\nthe feasters.\n\nThey looked and laughed when they recognized the strange guest, who had\napproached them unobserved.\n\nThe new comer was a deformed little man about as big as a five-year-old\nboy, with a big head and oldish but uncommonly sharply-cut features.\n\nThe noblest Egyptians kept house-dwarfs for sport, and this little wight\nserved the wife of Mena in this capacity. He was called Nemu, or \"the\ndwarf,\" and his sharp tongue made him much feared, though he was a\nfavorite, for he passed for a very clever fellow and was a good\ntale-teller.\n\n\"Make room for me, my lords,\" said the little man. \"I take very little\nroom, and your beer and roast is in little danger from me, for my maw is\nno bigger than a fly's head.\"\n\n\"But your gall is as big as that of a Nile-horse,\" cried the cook.\n\n\"It grows,\" said the dwarf laughing, \"when a turn-spit and spoon-wielder\nlike you turns up. There--I will sit here.\"\n\n\"You are welcome,\" said the steward, \"what do you bring?\"\n\n\"Myself.\"\n\n\"Then you bring nothing great.\"\n\n\"Else I should not suit you either!\" retorted the dwarf. \"But seriously,\nmy lady mother, the noble Katuti, and the Regent, who just now is\nvisiting us, sent me here to ask you whether Paaker is not yet returned.\nHe accompanied the princess and Nefert to the City of the Dead, and the\nladies are not yet come in. We begin to be anxious, for it is already\nlate.\"\n\nThe steward looked up at the starry sky and said: \"The moon is already\ntolerably high, and my lord meant to be home before sun-down.\"\n\n\"The meal was ready,\" sighed the cook. \"I shall have to go to work again\nif he does not remain all night.\"\n\n\"How should he?\" asked the steward. \"He is with the princess Bent-Anat.\"\n\n\"And my mistress,\" added the dwarf.\n\n\"What will they say to each other,\" laughed gardener; \"your chief\nlitter-bearer declared that yesterday on the way to the City of the Dead\nthey did not speak a word to each other.\"\n\n\"Can you blame the lord if he is angry with the lady who was betrothed to\nhim, and then was wed to another? When I think of the moment when he\nlearnt Nefert's breach of faith I turn hot and cold.\"\n\n\"Care the less for that,\" sneered the dwarf, \"since you must be hot in\nsummer and cold in winter.\"\n\n\"It is not evening all day,\" cried the head groom. \"Paaker never forgets\nan injury, and we shall live to see him pay Mena--high as he is--for the\naffront he has offered him.\n\n\"My lady Katuti,\" interrupted Nemu, \"stores up the arrears of her\nson-in-law.\"\n\nBesides, she has long wished to renew the old friendship with your house,\nand the Regent too preaches peace. Give me a piece of bread, steward. I\nam hungry!\"\n\n\"The sacks, into which Mena's arrears flow seem to be empty,\" laughed the\ncook.\n\n\"Empty! empty! much like your wit!\" answered the dwarf. \"Give me a bit of\nroast meat, steward; and you slaves bring me a drink of beer.\"\n\n\"You just now said your maw was no bigger than a fly's head,\" cried the\ncook, \"and now you devour meat like the crocodiles in the sacred tank of\nSeeland. You must come from a world of upside-down, where the men are as\nsmall as flies, and the flies as big as the giants of the past.\"\n\n\"Yet, I might be much bigger,\" mumbled the dwarf while he munched on\nunconcernedly, \"perhaps as big as your spite which grudges me the third\nbit of meat, which the steward--may Zefa bless him with great\npossessions--is cutting out of the back of the antelope.\"\n\n\"There, take it, you glutton, but let out your girdle,\" said the steward\nlaughing, \"I had cut the slice for myself, and admire your sharp nose.\"\n\n\"All noses,\" said the dwarf, \"they teach the knowing better than any\nharuspex what is inside a man.\"\n\n\"How is that?\" cried the gardener.\n\n\"Only try to display your wisdom,\" laughed the steward; for, if you want\nto talk, you must at last leave off eating.\"\n\n\"The two may be combined,\" said the dwarf. \"Listen then! A hooked nose,\nwhich I compare to a vulture's beak, is never found together with a\nsubmissive spirit. Think of the Pharaoh and all his haughty race. The\nRegent, on the contrary, has a straight, well-shaped, medium-sized nose,\nlike the statue of Amon in the temple, and he is an upright soul, and as\ngood as the Gods. He is neither overbearing nor submissive beyond just\nwhat is right; he holds neither with the great nor yet with the mean, but\nwith men of our stamp. There's the king for us!\"\n\n\"A king of noses!\" exclaimed the cook, \"I prefer the eagle Rameses. But\nwhat do you say to the nose of your mistress Nefert?\"\n\n\"It is delicate and slender and moves with every thought like the leaves\nof flowers in a breath of wind, and her heart is exactly like it.\"\n\n\"And Paaker?\" asked the head groom.\n\n\"He has a large short nose with wide open nostrils. When Seth whirls up\nthe sand, and a grain of it flies up his nose, he waxes angry--so it is\nPaaker's nose, and that only, which is answerable for all your blue\nbruises. His mother Setchem, the sister of my lady Katuti, has a little\nroundish soft--\"\n\n\"You pigmy,\" cried the steward interrupting the speaker, \"we have fed you\nand let you abuse people to your heart's content, but if you wag your\nsharp tongue against our mistress, I will take you by the girdle and\nfling you to the sky, so that the stars may remain sticking to your\ncrooked hump.\"\n\nAt these words the dwarf rose, turned to go, and said indifferently: \"I\nwould pick the stars carefully off my back, and send you the finest of\nthe planets in return for your juicy bit of roast. But here come the\nchariots. Farewell! my lords, when the vulture's beak seizes one of you\nand carries you off to the war in Syria, remember the words of the little\nNemu who knows men and noses.\"\n\nThe pioneer's chariot rattled through the high gates into the court of\nhis house, the dogs in their leashes howled joyfully, the head groom\nhastened towards Paaker and took the reins in his charge, the steward\naccompanied him, and the head cook retired into the kitchen to make ready\na fresh meal for his master.\n\nBefore Paaker had reached the garden-gate, from the pylon of the enormous\ntemple of Amon, was heard first the far-sounding clang of hard-struck\nplates of brass, and then the many-voiced chant of a solemn hymn.\n\nThe Mohar stood still, looked up to heaven, called to his servants--\"The\ndivine star Sothis is risen!\" threw himself on the earth, and lifted his\nwards the star in prayer.\n\nThe slaves and officers immediately followed his example.\n\nNo circumstance in nature remained unobserved by the priestly guides of\nthe Egyptian people. Every phenomenon on earth or in the starry heavens\nwas greeted by them as the manifestation of a divinity, and they\nsurrounded the life of the inhabitants of the Nile-valley--from morning\nto evening--from the beginning of the inundation to the days of\ndrought--with a web of chants and sacrifices, of processions and\nfestivals, which inseparably knit the human individual to the Divinity\nand its earthly representatives the priesthood.\n\nFor many minutes the lord and his servants remained on their knees in\nsilence, their eyes fixed on the sacred star, and listening to the pious\nchant of the priests.\n\nAs it died away Paaker rose. All around him still lay on the earth; only\none naked figure, strongly lighted by the clear moonlight, stood\nmotionless by a pillar near the slaves' quarters.\n\nThe pioneer gave a sign, the attendants rose; but Paaker went with hasty\nsteps to the man who had disdained the act of devotion, which he had so\nearnestly performed, and cried:\n\n\"Steward, a hundred strokes on the soles of the feet of this scoffer.\"\n\nThe officer thus addressed bowed and said: \"My lord, the surgeon\ncommanded the mat-weaver not to move and he cannot lift his arm. He is\nsuffering great pain. Thou didst break his collar-bone yesterday.\n\n\"It served him right!\" said Paaker, raising his voice so much that the\ninjured man could not fail to hear it. Then he turned his back upon him,\nand entered the garden; here he called the chief butler, and said: \"Give\nthe slaves beer for their night draught--to all of them, and plenty.\"\n\nA few minutes later he stood before his mother, whom he found on the roof\nof the house, which was decorated with leafy plants, just as she gave her\ntwo-years'-old grand daughter, the child of her youngest son, into the\narms of her nurse, that she might take her to bed.\n\nPaaker greeted the worthy matron with reverence. She was a woman of a\nfriendly, homely aspect; several little dogs were fawning at her feet.\nHer son put aside the leaping favorites of the widow, whom they amused\nthrough many long hours of loneliness, and turned to take the child in\nhis arms from those of the attendant. But the little one struggled with\nsuch loud cries, and could not be pacified, that Paaker set it down on\nthe ground, and involuntarily exclaimed:\n\n\"The naughty little thing!\"\n\n\"She has been sweet and good the whole afternoon,\" said his mother\nSetchem. \"She sees you so seldom.\"\n\n\"May be,\" replied Paaker; \"still I know this--the dogs love me, but no\nchild will come to me.\"\n\n\"You have such hard hands.\"\n\n\"Take the squalling brat away,\" said Paaker to the nurse. \"Mother, I want\nto speak to you.\"\n\nSetchem quieted the child, gave it many kisses, and sent it to bed; then\nshe went up to her son, stroked his cheeks, and said:\n\n\"If the little one were your own, she would go to you at once, and teach\nyou that a child is the greatest blessing which the Gods bestow on us\nmortals.\" Paaker smiled and said: \"I know what you are aiming at--but\nleave it for the present, for I have something important to communicate\nto you.\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked Setchem.\n\n\"To-day for the first time since--you know when, I have spoken to Nefert.\nThe past may be forgotten. You long for your sister; go to her, I have\nnothing more to say against it.\"\n\nSetchem looked at her son with undisguised astonishment; her eyes which\neasily filled with tears, now overflowed, and she hesitatingly asked:\n\"Can I believe my ears; child, have you?--\"\n\n\"I have a wish,\" said Paaker firmly, \"that you should knit once more the\nold ties of affection with your relations; the estrangement has lasted\nlong enough.\"\n\n\"Much too long!\" cried Setchem.\n\nThe pioneer looked in silence at the ground, and obeyed his mother's sign\nto sit down beside her.\n\n\"I knew,\" she said, taking his hand, \"that this day would bring us joy;\nfor I dreamt of your father in Osiris, and when I was being carried to\nthe temple, I was met, first by a white cow, and then by a wedding\nprocession. The white ram of Anion, too, touched the wheat-cakes that I\noffered him.\"--[It boded death to Germanicus when the Apis refused to eat\nout of his hand.]\n\n\"Those are lucky presages,\" said Paaker in a tone of conviction.\n\n\"And let us hasten to seize with gratitude that which the Gods set before\nus,\" cried Setchem with joyful emotion. \"I will go to-morrow to my sister\nand tell her that we shall live together in our old affection, and share\nboth good and evil; we are both of the same race, and I know that, as\norder and cleanliness preserve a house from ruin and rejoice the\nstranger, so nothing but unity can keep up the happiness of the family\nand its appearance before people. What is bygone is bygone, and let it be\nforgotten. There are many women in Thebes besides Nefert, and a hundred\nnobles in the land would esteem themselves happy to win you for a\nson-in-law.\"\n\nPaaker rose, and began thoughtfully pacing the broad space, while Setchem\nwent on speaking.\n\n\"I know,\" she said, that I have touched a wound in thy heart; but it is\nalready closing, and it will heal when you are happier even than the\ncharioteer Mena, and need no longer hate him. Nefert is good, but she is\ndelicate and not clever, and scarcely equal to the management of so large\na household as ours. Ere long I too shall be wrapped in mummy-cloths, and\nthen if duty calls you into Syria some prudent housewife must take my\nplace. It is no small matter. Your grandfather Assa often would say that\na house well-conducted in every detail was a mark of a family owning an\nunspotted name, and living with wise liberality and secure solidity, in\nwhich each had his assigned place, his allotted duty to fulfil, and his\nfixed rights to demand. How often have I prayed to the Hathors that they\nmay send you a wife after my own heart.\"\n\n\"A Setchem I shall never find!\" said Paaker kissing his mother's\nforehead, \"women of your sort are dying out.\"\n\n\"Flatterer!\" laughed Setchem, shaking her finger at her son. But it is\ntrue. Those who are now growing up dress and smarten themselves with\nstuffs from Kaft,--[Phoenicia]--mix their language with Syrian words, and\nleave the steward and housekeeper free when they themselves ought to\ncommand. Even my sister Katuti, and Nefert--\n\n\"Nefert is different from other women,\" interrupted Paaker, \"and if you\nhad brought her up she would know how to manage a house as well as how to\nornament it.\"\n\nSetchem looked at her son in surprise; then she said, half to herself:\n\"Yes, yes, she is a sweet child; it is impossible for any one to be angry\nwith her who looks into her eyes. And yet I was cruel to her because you\nwere hurt by her, and because--but you know. But now you have forgiven, I\nforgive her, willingly, her and her husband.\"\n\nPaaker's brow clouded, and while he paused in front of his mother he said\nwith all the peculiar harshness of his voice:\n\n\"He shall pine away in the desert, and the hyaenas of the North shall\ntear his unburied corpse.\"\n\nAt these words Setchem covered her face with her veil, and clasped her\nhands tightly over the amulets hanging round her neck. Then she said\nsoftly:\n\n\"How terrible you can be! I know well that you hate the charioteer, for I\nhave seen the seven arrows over your couch over which is written 'Death\nto Mena.'\n\n\"That is a Syrian charm which a man turns against any one whom he desires\nto destroy. How black you look! Yes, it is a charm that is hateful to the\nGods, and that gives the evil one power over him that uses it. Leave it\nto them to punish the criminal, for Osiris withdraws his favor from those\nwho choose the fiend for their ally.\"\n\n\"My sacrifices,\" replied Paaker, \"secure me the favor of the Gods; but\nMena behaved to me like a vile robber, and I only return to him the evil\nthat belongs to him. Enough of this! and if you love me, never again\nutter the name of my enemy before me. I have forgiven Nefert and her\nmother--that may satisfy you.\"\n\nSetchem shook her head, and said: \"What will it lead to! The war cannot\nlast for ever, and if Mena returns the reconciliation of to-day will turn\nto all the more bitter enmity. I see only one remedy. Follow my advice,\nand let me find you a wife worthy of you.\"\n\n\"Not now!\" exclaimed Paaker impatiently. \"In a few days I must go again\ninto the enemy's country, and do not wish to leave my wife, like Mena, to\nlead the life of a widow during my existence. Why urge it? my brother's\nwife and children are with you--that might satisfy you.\"\n\n\"The Gods know how I love them,\" answered Setchem; \"but your brother\nHorns is the younger, and you the elder, to whom the inheritance belongs.\nYour little niece is a delightful plaything, but in your son I should see\nat once the future stay of our race, the future head of the family;\nbrought up to my mind and your father's; for all is sacred to me that my\ndead husband wished. He rejoiced in your early betrothal to Nefert, and\nhoped that a son of his eldest son should continue the race of Assa.\"\n\n\"It shall be by no fault of mine that any wish of his remains\nunfulfilled. The stars are high, mother; sleep well, and if to-morrow you\nvisit Nefert and your sister, say to them that the doors of my house are\nopen to them. But stay! Katuti's steward has offered to sell a herd of\ncattle to ours, although the stock on Mena's land can be but small. What\ndoes this mean?\"\n\n\"You know my sister,\" replied Setchem. \"She manages Mena's possessions,\nhas many requirements, tries to vie with the greatest in splendor, sees\nthe governor often in her house, her son is no doubt extravagant--and so\nthe most necessary things may often be wanting.\"\n\nPaaker shrugged his shoulders, once more embraced his mother and left\nher.\n\nSoon after, he was standing in the spacious room in which he was\naccustomed to sit and to sleep when he was in Thebes. The walls of this\nroom were whitewashed and decorated with pious glyphic writing, which\nframed in the door and the windows opening into the garden.\n\nIn the middle of the farther wall was a couch in the form of a lion. The\nupper end of it imitated a lion's head, and the foot, its curling tail; a\nfinely dressed lion's skin was spread over the bell, and a headrest of\nebony, decorated with pious texts, stood on a high foot-step, ready for\nthe sleeper.\n\nAbove the bed various costly weapons and whips were elegantly displayed,\nand below them the seven arrows over which Setchem had read the words\n\"Death to Mena.\" They were written across a sentence which enjoined\nfeeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, and clothing the naked;\nwith loving-kindness, alike to the great and the humble.\n\nA niche by the side of the bed-head was closed with a curtain of purple\nstuff.\n\nIn each corner of the room stood a statue; three of them symbolized the\ntriad of Thebes-Anion, Muth, and Chunsu--and the fourth the dead father\nof the pioneer. In front of each was a small altar for offerings, with a\nhollow in it, in which was an odoriferous essence. On a wooden stand were\nlittle images of the Gods and amulets in great number, and in several\npainted chests lay the clothes, the ornaments and the papers of the\nmaster. In the midst of the chamber stood a table and several\nstool-shaped seats.\n\nWhen Paaker entered the room he found it lighted with lamps, and a large\ndog sprang joyfully to meet him. He let him spring upon him, threw him to\nthe ground, let him once more rush upon him, and then kissed his clever\nhead.\n\nBefore his bed an old negro of powerful build lay in deep sleep. Paaker\nshoved him with his foot and called to him as he awoke--\n\n\"I am hungry.\"\n\nThe grey-headed black man rose slowly, and left the room.\n\nAs soon as he was alone Paaker drew the philter from his girdle, looked\nat it tenderly, and put it in a box, in which there were several flasks\nof holy oils for sacrifice. He was accustomed every evening to fill the\nhollows in the altars with fresh essences, and to prostrate himself in\nprayer before the images of the Gods. To-day he stood before the statue\nof his father, kissed its feet, and murmured: \"Thy will shall be\ndone.--The woman whom thou didst intend for me shall indeed be mine--thy\neldest son's.\"\n\nThen he walked to and fro and thought over the events of the day.\n\nAt last he stood still, with his arms crossed, and looked defiantly at\nthe holy images; like a traveller who drives away a false guide, and\nthinks to find the road by himself.\n\nHis eye fell on the arrows over his bed; he smiled, and striking his\nbroad breast with his fist, he exclaimed, \"I--I--I--\"\n\nHis hound, who thought his master meant to call him, rushed up to him. He\npushed him off and said--\"If you meet a hyaena in the desert, you fall\nupon it without waiting till it is touched by my lance--and if the Gods,\nmy masters, delay, I myself will defend my right; but thou,\" he continued\nturning to the image of his father, \"thou wilt support me.\"\n\nThis soliloquy was interrupted by the slaves who brought in his meal.\n\nPaaker glanced at the various dishes which the cook had prepared for him,\nand asked: \"How often shall I command that not a variety, but only one\nlarge dish shall be dressed for me? And the wine?\"\n\n\"Thou art used never to touch it?\" answered the old negro.\n\n\"But to-day I wish for some,\" said the pioneer.\" Bring one of the old\njars of red wine of Kakem.\"\n\nThe slaves looked at each other in astonishment; the wine was brought,\nand Paaker emptied beaker after beaker. When the servants had left him,\nthe boldest among them said: \"Usually the master eats like a lion, and\ndrinks like a midge, but to-day--\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\" cried his companion, \"and come into the court, for\nPaaker has sent us out beer. The Hathors must have met him.\"\n\nThe occurrences of the day must indeed have taken deep hold on the inmost\nsoul of the pioneer; for he, the most sober of all the warriors of\nRameses, to whom intoxication was unknown, and who avoided the banquets\nof his associates--now sat at the midnight hours, alone at his table, and\ntoped till his weary head grew heavy.\n\nHe collected himself, went towards his couch and drew the curtain which\nconcealed the niche at the head of the bed. A female figure, with the\nhead-dress and attributes of the Goddess Hathor, made of painted\nlimestone, revealed itself.\n\nHer countenance had the features of the wife of Mena.\n\nThe king, four years since, had ordered a sculptor to execute a sacred\nimage with the lovely features of the newly-married bride of his\ncharioteer, and Paaker had succeeded in having a duplicate made.\n\nHe now knelt down on the couch, gazed on the image with moist eyes,\nlooked cautiously around to see if he was alone, leaned forward, pressed\na kiss to the delicate, cold stone lips; laid down and went to sleep\nwithout undressing himself, and leaving the lamps to burn themselves out.\n\nRestless dreams disturbed his spirit, and when the dawn grew grey, he\nscreamed out, tormented by a hideous vision, so pitifully, that the old\nnegro, who had laid himself near the dog at the foot of his bed, sprang\nup alarmed, and while the dog howled, called him by his name to wake him.\n\nPaaker awoke with a dull head-ache. The vision which had tormented him\nstood vividly before his mind, and he endeavored to retain it that he\nmight summon a haruspex to interpret it. After the morbid fancies of the\npreceding evening he felt sad and depressed.\n\nThe morning-hymn rang into his room with a warning voice from the temple\nof Amon; he cast off evil thoughts, and resolved once more to resign the\nconduct of his fate to the Gods, and to renounce all the arts of magic.\n\nAs he was accustomed, he got into the bath that was ready for him. While\nsplashing in the tepid water he thought with ever increasing eagerness of\nNefert and of the philter which at first he had meant not to offer to\nher, but which actually was given to her by his hand, and which might by\nthis time have begun to exercise its charm.\n\nLove placed rosy pictures--hatred set blood-red images before his eyes.\nHe strove to free himself from the temptations, which more and more\ntightly closed in upon him, but it was with him as with a man who has\nfallen into a bog, who, the more vehemently he tries to escape from the\nmire, sinks the deeper.\n\nAs the sun rose, so rose his vital energy and his self-confidence, and\nwhen he prepared to quit his dwelling, in his most costly clothing, he\nhad arrived once more at the decision of the night before, and had again\nresolved to fight for his purpose, without--and if need were--against the\nGods.\n\nThe Mohar had chosen his road, and he never turned back when once he had\nbegun a journey.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Blossom of the thorny wreath of sorrow\n     Eyes kind and frank, without tricks of glance\n     Money is a pass-key that turns any lock\n     Repugnance for the old laws began to take root in his heart\n     Thou canst say in words what we can only feel\n     Whether the form of our benevolence does more good or mischief\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nVolume 3.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nIt was noon: the rays of the sun found no way into the narrow shady\nstreets of the city of Thebes, but they blazed with scorching heat on the\nbroad dyke-road which led to the king's castle, and which at this hour\nwas usually almost deserted.\n\nTo-day it was thronged with foot-passengers and chariots, with riders and\nlitter-bearers.\n\nHere and there negroes poured water on the road out of skins, but the\ndust was so deep, that, in spite of this, it shrouded the streets and the\npassengers in a dry cloud, which extended not only over the city, but\ndown to the harbor where the boats of the inhabitants of the Necropolis\nlanded their freight.\n\nThe city of the Pharaohs was in unwonted agitation, for the storm-swift\nbreath of rumor had spread some news which excited both alarm and hope in\nthe huts of the poor as well as in the palaces of the great.\n\nIn the early morning three mounted messengers had arrived from the king's\ncamp with heavy letter-bags, and had dismounted at the Regent's palace.\n\n   [The Egyptians were great letter-writers, and many of their letters\n   have come down to us, they also had established postmen, and had a\n   word for them in their language \"fai chat.\"]\n\nAs after a long drought the inhabitants of a village gaze up at the black\nthunder-cloud that gathers above their heads promising the refreshing\nrain--but that may also send the kindling lightning-flash or the\ndestroying hail-storm--so the hopes and the fears of the citizens were\ncentred on the news which came but rarely and at irregular intervals from\nthe scene of war; for there was scarcely a house in the huge city which\nhad not sent a father, a son, or a relative to the fighting hosts of the\nking in the distant northeast.\n\nAnd though the couriers from the camp were much oftener the heralds of\ntears than of joy; though the written rolls which they brought told more\noften of death and wounds than of promotion, royal favors, and conquered\nspoil, yet they were expected with soul-felt longing and received with\nshouts of joy.\n\nGreat and small hurried after their arrival to the Regent's palace, and\nthe scribes--who distributed the letters and read the news which was\nintended for public communication, and the lists of those who had fallen\nor perished--were closely besieged with enquirers.\n\nMan has nothing harder to endure than uncertainty, and generally, when in\nsuspense, looks forward to bad rather than to good news. And the bearers\nof ill ride faster than the messengers of weal.\n\nThe Regent Ani resided in a building adjoining the king's palace. His\nbusiness-quarters surrounded an immensely wide court, and consisted of a\ngreat number of rooms opening on to this court, in which numerous scribes\nworked with their chief. On the farther side was a large, veranda-like\nhall open at the front, with a roof supported by pillars.\n\nHere Ani was accustomed to hold courts of justice, and to receive\nofficers, messengers, and petitioners. To-day he sat, visible to all\ncomers, on a costly throne in this hall, surrounded by his numerous\nfollowers, and overlooking the crowd of people whom the guardians of the\npeace guided with long staves, admitting them in troops into the court of\nthe \"High Gate,\" and then again conducting them out.\n\nWhat he saw and heard was nothing joyful, for from each group surrounding\na scribe arose a cry of woe. Few and far between were those who had to\ntell of the rich booty that had fallen to their friends.\n\nAn invisible web woven of wailing and tears seemed to envelope the\nassembly.\n\nHere men were lamenting and casting dust upon their heads, there women\nwere rending their clothes, shrieking loudly, and crying as they waved\ntheir veils \"oh, my husband! oh, my father! oh, my brother!\"\n\nParents who had received the news of the death of their son fell on each\nother's neck weeping; old men plucked out their grey hair and beard;\nyoung women beat their forehead and breast, or implored the scribes who\nread out the lists to let them see for themselves the name of the beloved\none who was for ever torn from them.\n\nThe passionate stirring of a soul, whether it be the result of joy or of\nsorrow, among us moderns covers its features with a veil, which it had no\nneed of among the ancients.\n\nWhere the loudest laments sounded, a restless little being might be seen\nhurrying from group to group; it was Nemu, Katuti's dwarf, whom we know.\n\nNow he stood near a woman of the better class, dissolved in tears because\nher husband had fallen in the last battle.\n\n\"Can you read?\" he asked her; \"up there on the architrave is the name of\nRameses, with all his titles. Dispenser of life,' he is called. Aye\nindeed; he can create--widows; for he has all the husbands killed.\"\n\nBefore the astonished woman could reply, he stood by a man sunk in woe,\nand pulling his robe, said \"Finer fellows than your son have never been\nseen in Thebes. Let your youngest starve, or beat him to a cripple, else\nhe also will be dragged off to Syria; for Rameses needs much good\nEgyptian meat for the Syrian vultures.\"\n\nThe old man, who had hitherto stood there in silent despair, clenched his\nfist. The dwarf pointed to the Regent, and said: \"If he there wielded the\nsceptre, there would be fewer orphans and beggars by the Nile. To-day its\nsacred waters are still sweet, but soon it will taste as salt as the\nnorth sea with all the tears that have been shed on its banks.\"\n\nIt almost seemed as if the Regent had heard these words, for he rose from\nhis seat and lifted his hands like a man who is lamenting.\n\nMany of the bystanders observed this action; and loud cries of anguish\nfilled the wide courtyard, which was soon cleared by soldiers to make\nroom for other troops of people who were thronging in.\n\nWhile these gathered round the scribes, the Regent Ani sat with quiet\ndignity on the throne, surrounded by his suite and his secretaries, and\nheld audiences.\n\nHe was a man at the close of his fortieth year and the favorite cousin of\nthe king.\n\nRameses I., the grandfather of the reigning monarch, had deposed the\nlegitimate royal family, and usurped the sceptre of the Pharaohs. He\ndescended from a Semitic race who had remained in Egypt at the time of\nthe expulsion of the Hyksos,\n\n   [These were an eastern race who migrated from Asia into Egypt,\n   conquered the lower Nile-valley, and ruled over it for nearly 500\n   years, till they were driven out by the successors of the old\n   legitimate Pharaohs, whose dominion had been confined to upper\n   Egypt.]\n\nand had distinguished itself by warlike talents under Thotmes and\nAmenophis. After his death he was succeeded by his son Seti, who sought\nto earn a legitimate claim to the throne by marrying Tuaa, the\ngrand-daughter of Amenophis III. She presented him with an only son, whom\nhe named after his father Rameses. This prince might lay claim to perfect\nlegitimacy through his mother, who descended directly from the old house\nof sovereigns; for in Egypt a noble family--even that of the\nPharaohs--might be perpetuated through women.\n\nSeti proclaimed Rameses partner of his throne, so as to remove all doubt\nas to the validity of his position. The young nephew of his wife Tuaa,\nthe Regent Ani, who was a few years younger than Rameses, he caused to be\nbrought up in the House of Seti, and treated him like his own son, while\nthe other members of the dethroned royal family were robbed of their\npossessions or removed altogether.\n\nAni proved himself a faithful servant to Seti, and to his son, and was\ntrusted as a brother by the warlike and magnanimous Rameses, who however\nnever disguised from himself the fact that the blood in his own veins was\nless purely royal than that which flowed in his cousin's.\n\nIt was required of the race of the Pharaohs of Egypt that it should be\ndescended from the Sun-god Ra, and the Pharaoh could boast of this high\ndescent only through his mother--Ani through both parents.\n\nBut Rameses sat on the throne, held the sceptre with a strong hand, and\nthirteen young sons promised to his house the lordship over Egypt to all\neternity.\n\nWhen, after the death of his warlike father, he went to fresh conquests\nin the north, he appointed Ani, who had proved himself worthy as governor\nof the province of Kush, to the regency of the kingdom.\n\nA vehement character often over estimates the man who is endowed with a\nquieter temperament, into whose nature he cannot throw himself, and whose\nexcellences he is unable to imitate; so it happened that the deliberate\nand passionless nature of his cousin impressed the fiery and warlike\nRameses.\n\nAni appeared to be devoid of ambition, or the spirit of enterprise; he\naccepted the dignity that was laid upon him with apparent reluctance, and\nseemed a particularly safe person, because he had lost both wife and\nchild, and could boast of no heir.\n\nHe was a man of more than middle height; his features were remarkably\nregular--even beautifully, cut, but smooth and with little expression.\nHis clear blue eyes and thin lips gave no evidence of the emotions that\nfilled his heart; on the contrary, his countenance wore a soft smile that\ncould adapt itself to haughtiness, to humility, and to a variety of\nshades of feeling, but which could never be entirely banished from his\nface.\n\nHe had listened with affable condescension to the complaint of a landed\nproprietor, whose cattle had been driven off for the king's army, and had\npromised that his case should be enquired into. The plundered man was\nleaving full of hope; but when the scribe who sat at the feet of the\nRegent enquired to whom the investigation of this encroachment of the\ntroops should be entrusted, Ani said: \"Each one must bring a victim to\nthe war; it must remain among the things that are done, and cannot be\nundone.\"\n\nThe Nomarch--[Chief of a Nome or district.]--of Suan, in the southern\npart of the country, asked for funds for a necessary, new embankment. The\nRegent listened to his eager representation with benevolence, nay with\nexpressions of sympathy; but assured him that the war absorbed all the\nfunds of the state, that the chests were empty; still he felt\ninclined--even if they had not failed--to sacrifice a part of his own\nincome to preserve the endangered arable land of his faithful province of\nSuan, to which he desired greeting.\n\nAs soon as the Nomarch had left him, he commanded that a considerable sum\nshould be taken out of the Treasury, and sent after the petitioner.\n\nFrom time to time in the middle of conversation, he arose, and made a\ngesture of lamentation, to show to the assembled mourners in the court\nthat he sympathized in the losses which had fallen on them.\n\nThe sun had already passed the meridian, when a disturbance, accompanied\nby loud cries, took possession of the masses of people, who stood round\nthe scribes in the palace court.\n\nMany men and women were streaming together towards one spot, and even the\nmost impassive of the Thebans present turned their attention to an\nincident so unusual in this place.\n\nA detachment of constabulary made a way through the crushing and yelling\nmob, and another division of Lybian police led a prisoner towards a side\ngate of the court. Before they could reach it, a messenger came up with\nthem, from the Regent, who desired to be informed as to what happened.\n\nThe head of the officers of public safety followed him, and with eager\nexcitement informed Ani, who was waiting for him, that a tiny man, the\ndwarf of the Lady Katuti, had for several hours been going about in the\ncourt, and endeavoring to poison the minds of the citizens with seditious\nspeeches.\n\nAni ordered that the misguided man should be thrown into the dungeon; but\nso soon as the chief officer had left him, he commanded his secretary to\nhave the dwarf brought into his presence before sundown.\n\nWhile he was giving this order an excitement of another kind seized the\nassembled multitude.\n\nAs the sea parted and stood on the right hand and on the left of the\nHebrews, so that no wave wetted the foot of the pursued fugitives, so the\ncrowd of people of their own free will, but as if in reverent submission\nto some high command, parted and formed a broad way, through which walked\nthe high-priest of the House of Seti, as, full robed and accompanied by\nsome of the \"holy fathers,\" he now entered the court.\n\nThe Regent went to meet him, bowed before him, and then withdrew to the\nback of the hall with him alone. \"It is nevertheless incredible,\" said\nAmeni, \"that our serfs are to follow the militia!\"\n\n\"Rameses requires soldiers--to conquer,\" replied the Regent.\n\n\"And we bread--to live,\" exclaimed the priest.\n\n\"Nevertheless I am commanded, at once, before the seed-time, to levy the\ntemple-serfs. I regret the order, but the king is the will, and I am only\nthe hand.\"\n\n\"The hand, which he makes use of to sequester ancient rights, and to open\na way to the desert over the fruitful land.\"\n\n   [\"With good management,\" said the first Napoleon, \"the Nile\n   encroaches upon the desert, with bad management the desert\n   encroaches upon the Nile.\"]\n\n\"Your acres will not long remain unprovided for. Rameses will win new\nvictories with the increased army, and the help of the Gods.\"\n\n\"The Gods! whom he insults!\"\n\n\"After the conclusion of peace he will reconcile the Gods by doubly rich\ngifts. He hopes confidently for an early end to the war, and writes to me\nthat after the next battle he wins he intends to offer terms to the\nCheta. A plan of the king's is also spoken of--to marry again, and,\nindeed, the daughter of the Cheta King Chetasar.\"\n\nUp to this moment the Regent had kept his eyes cast down. Now he raised\nthem, smiling, as if he would fain enjoy Ameni's satisfaction, and asked:\n\n\"What dost thou say to this project?\"\n\n\"I say,\" returned Ameni, and his voice, usually so stern, took a tone of\namusement, \"I say that Rameses seems to think that the blood of thy\ncousin and of his mother, which gives him his right to the throne, is\nincapable of pollution.\"\n\n\"It is the blood of the Sun-god!\"\n\n\"Which runs but half pure in his veins, but wholly pure in thine.\"\n\nThe Regent made a deprecatory gesture, and said softly, with a smile\nwhich resembled that of a dead man:\n\n\"We are not alone.\"\n\n\"No one is here,\" said Ameni, \"who can hear us; and what I say is known to\nevery child.\"\n\n\"But if it came to the king's ears--\" whispered Ani, \"he--\"\n\n\"He would perceive how unwise it is to derogate from the ancient rights\nof those on whom it is incumbent to prove the purity of blood of the\nsovereign of this land. However, Rameses sits on the throne; may life\nbloom for him, with health and strength!\"--[A formula which even in\nprivate letters constantly follows the name of the Pharaoh.]\n\nThe Regent bowed, and then asked:\n\n\"Do you propose to obey the demand of the Pharaoh without delay?\"\n\n\"He is the king. Our council, which will meet in a few days, can only\ndetermine how, and not whether we shall fulfil his command.\"\n\n\"You will retard the departure of the serfs, and Rameses requires them at\nonce. The bloody labor of the war demands new tools.\"\n\n\"And the peace will perhaps demand a new master, who understands how to\nemploy the sons of the land to its greatest advantage--a genuine son of\nRa.\"\n\nThe Regent stood opposite the high-priest, motionless as an image cast in\nbronze, and remained silent; but Ameni lowered his staff before him as\nbefore a god, and then went into the fore part of the hall.\n\nWhen Ani followed him, a soft smile played as usual upon his countenance,\nand full of dignity he took his seat on the throne.\n\n\"Art thou at an end of thy communications?\" he asked the high-priest.\n\n\"It remains for me to inform you all,\" replied Ameni with a louder voice,\nto be heard by all the assembled dignitaries, \"that the princess\nBent-Anat yesterday morning committed a heavy sin, and that in all the\ntemples in the land the Gods shall be entreated with offerings to take\nher uncleanness from her.\"\n\nAgain a shadow passed over the smile on the Regent's countenance. He\nlooked meditatively on the ground, and then said:\n\n\"To-morrow I will visit the House of Seti; till then I beg that this\naffair may be left to rest.\"\n\nAmeni bowed, and the Regent left the hall to withdraw to a wing of the\nking's palace, in which he dwelt.\n\nOn his writing-table lay sealed papers. He knew that they contained\nimportant news for him; but he loved to do violence to his curiosity, to\ntest his resolution, and like an epicure to reserve the best dish till\nthe last.\n\nHe now glanced first at some unimportant letters. A dumb negro, who\nsquatted at his feet, burned the papyrus rolls which his master gave him\nin a brazier. A secretary made notes of the short facts which Ani called\nout to him, and the ground work was laid of the answers to the different\nletters.\n\nAt a sign from his master this functionary quitted the room, and Ani then\nslowly opened a letter from the king, whose address: \"To my brother Ani,\"\nshowed that it contained, not public, but private information.\n\nOn these lines, as he well knew, hung his future life, and the road it\nshould follow.\n\nWith a smile, that was meant to conceal even from himself his deep inward\nagitation, he broke the wax which sealed the short manuscript in the\nroyal hand.\n\n\"What relates to Egypt, and my concern for my country, and the happy\nissue of the war,\" wrote the Pharaoh, \"I have written to you by the hand\nof my secretary; but these words are for the brother, who desires to be\nmy son, and I write to him myself. The lordly essence of the Divinity\nwhich dwells in me, readily brings a quick 'Yes' or 'No' to my lips, and\nit decides for the best. Now you demand my daughter Bent-Anat to wife,\nand I should not be Rameses if I did not freely confess that before I had\nread the last words of your letter, a vehement 'No' rushed to my lips. I\ncaused the stars to be consulted, and the entrails of the victims to be\nexamined, and they were adverse to your request; and yet I could not\nrefuse you, for you are dear to me, and your blood is royal as my own.\nEven more royal, an old friend said, and warned me against your ambition\nand your exaltation. Then my heart changed, for I were not Seti's son if\nI allow myself to injure a friend through idle apprehensions; and he who\nstands so high that men fear that he may try to rise above Rameses, seems\nto me to be worthy of Bent-Anat. Woo her, and, should she consent freely,\nthe marriage may be celebrated on the day when I return home. You are\nyoung enough to make a wife happy, and your mature wisdom will guard my\nchild from misfortune. Bent-Anat shall know that her father, and king,\nencourages your suit; but pray too to the Hathors, that they may\ninfluence Bent-Anat's heart in your favor, for to her decision we must\nboth submit.\"\n\nThe Regent had changed color several times while reading this letter. Now\nhe laid it on the table with a shrug of his shoulders, stood up, clasped\nhis hand behind him, and, with his eyes cast meditatively on the floor,\nleaned against one of the pillars which supported the beams of the roof.\n\nThe longer he thought, the less amiable his expression became. \"A pill\nsweetened with honey,\n\n   [Two recipes for pills are found in the papyri, one with honey for\n   women, and one without for men.]\n\nsuch as they give to women,\" he muttered to himself. Then he went back to\nthe table, read the king's letter through once more, and said: \"One may\nlearn from it how to deny by granting, and at the same time not to forget\nto give it a brilliant show of magnanimity. Rameses knows his daughter.\nShe is a girl like any other, and will take good care not to choose a man\ntwice as old as herself, and who might be her father. Rameses will\n'submit'--I am to I submit!'  And to what? to the judgment and the choice\nof a wilful child!\"\n\nWith these words he threw the letter so vehemently on to the table, that\nit slipped off on to the floor.\n\nThe mute slave picked it up, and laid it carefully on the table again,\nwhile his master threw a ball into a silver bason.\n\nSeveral attendants rushed into the room, and Ani ordered them to bring to\nhim the captive dwarf of the Lady Katuti. His soul rose in indignation\nagainst the king, who in his remote camp-tent could fancy he had made him\nhappy by a proof of his highest favor. When we are plotting against a man\nwe are inclined to regard him as an enemy, and if he offers us a rose we\nbelieve it to be for the sake, not of the perfume, but of the thorns.\n\nThe dwarf Nemu was brought before the Regent and threw himself on the\nground at his feet.\n\nAni ordered the attendants to leave him, and said to the little man\n\n\"You compelled me to put you in prison. Stand up!\" The dwarf rose and\nsaid, \"Be thanked--for my arrest too.\"\n\nThe Regent looked at him in astonishment; but Nemu went on half humbly,\nhalf in fun, \"I feared for my life, but thou hast not only not shortened\nit, but hast prolonged it; for in the solitude of the dungeon time seemed\nlong, and the minutes grown to hours.\"\n\n\"Keep your wit for the ladies,\" replied the Regent. \"Did I not know that\nyou meant well, and acted in accordance with the Lady Katuti's fancy, I\nwould send you to the quarries.\"\n\n\"My hands,\" mumbled the dwarf, \"could only break stones for a game of\ndraughts; but my tongue is like the water, which makes one peasant rich,\nand carries away the fields of another.\"\n\n\"We shall know how to dam it up.\"\n\n\"For my lady and for thee it will always flow the right way,\" said the\ndwarf. \"I showed the complaining citizens who it is that slaughters their\nflesh and blood, and from whom to look for peace and content. I poured\ncaustic into their wounds, and praised the physician.\"\n\n\"But unasked and recklessly,\" interrupted Ani; \"otherwise you have shown\nyourself capable, and I am willing to spare you for a future time. But\noverbusy friends are more damaging than intelligent enemies. When I need\nyour services I will call for you. Till then avoid speech. Now go to your\nmistress, and carry to Katuti this letter which has arrived for her.\"\n\n\"Hail to Ani, the son of the Sun!\" cried the dwarf kissing the Regent's\nfoot. \"Have I no letter to carry to my mistress Nefert?\"\n\n\"Greet her from me,\" replied the Regent. \"Tell Katuti I will visit her\nafter the next meal. The king's charioteer has not written, yet I hear\nthat he is well. Go now, and be silent and discreet.\"\n\nThe dwarf quitted the room, and Ani went into an airy hall, in which his\nluxurious meal was laid out, consisting of many dishes prepared with\nspecial care. His appetite was gone, but he tasted of every dish, and\ngave the steward, who attended on him, his opinion of each.\n\nMeanwhile he thought of the king's letter, of Bent-Anat, and whether it\nwould be advisable to expose himself to a rejection on her part.\n\nAfter the meal he gave himself up to his body-servant, who carefully\nshaved, painted, dressed, and decorated him, and then held the mirror\nbefore him.\n\nHe considered the reflection with anxious observation, and when he seated\nhimself in his litter to be borne to the house of his friend Katuti, he\nsaid to himself that he still might claim to be called a handsome man.\n\nIf he paid his court to Bent-Anat--if she listened to his suit--what\nthen?\n\nHe would refer it to Katuti, who always knew how to say a decisive word\nwhen he, entangled in a hundred pros and cons, feared to venture on a\nfinal step.\n\nBy her advice he had sought to wed the princess, as a fresh mark of\nhonor--as an addition to his revenues--as a pledge for his personal\nsafety. His heart had never been more or less attached to her than to any\nother beautiful woman in Egypt. Now her proud and noble personality stood\nbefore his inward eye, and he felt as if he must look up to it as to a\nvision high out of his reach. It vexed him that he had followed Katuti's\nadvice, and he began to wish his suit had been repulsed. Marriage with\nBent-Anat seemed to him beset with difficulties. His mood was that of a\nman who craves some brilliant position, though he knows that its\nrequirements are beyond his powers--that of an ambitious soul to whom\nkingly honors are offered on condition that he will never remove a heavy\ncrown from his head. If indeed another plan should succeed, if--and his\neyes flashed eagerly--if fate set him on the seat of Rameses, then the\nalliance with Bent-Anat would lose its terrors; there would he be her\nabsolute King and Lord and Master, and no one could require him to\naccount for what he might be to her, or vouchsafe to her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nDuring the events we have described the house of the charioteer Mena had\nnot remained free from visitors.\n\nIt resembled the neighboring estate of Paaker, though the buildings were\nless new, the gay paint on the pillars and walls was faded, and the large\ngarden lacked careful attention. In the vicinity of the house only, a few\nwell-kept beds blazed with splendid flowers, and the open colonnade,\nwhich was occupied by Katuti and her daughter, was furnished with royal\nmagnificence.\n\nThe elegantly carved seats were made of ivory, the tables of ebony, and\nthey, as well as the couches, had gilt feet. The artistically worked\nSyrian drinking vessels on the sideboard, tables, and consoles were of\nmany forms; beautiful vases full of flowers stood everywhere; rare\nperfumes rose from alabaster cups, and the foot sank in the thick pile of\nthe carpets which covered the floor.\n\nAnd over the apparently careless arrangement of these various objects\nthere reigned a peculiar charm, an indescribably fascinating something.\n\nStretched at full-length on a couch, and playing with a silky-haired\nwhite cat, lay the fair Nefert--fanned to coolness by a negro-girl--while\nher mother Katuti nodded a last farewell to her sister Setchem and to\nPaaker.\n\nBoth had crossed this threshold for the first time for four years, that\nis since the marriage of Mena with Nefert, and the old enmity seemed now\nto have given way to heartfelt reconciliation and mutual understanding.\n\nAfter the pioneer and his mother had disappeared behind the pomegranate\nshrubs at the entrance of the garden, Katuti turned to her daughter and\nsaid:\n\n\"Who would have thought it yesterday? I believe Paaker loves you still.\"\n\nNefert colored, and exclaimed softly, while she hit the kitten gently\nwith her fan--\n\n\"Mother!\"\n\nKatuti smiled.\n\nShe was a tall woman of noble demeanor, whose sharp but delicately-cut\nfeatures and sparkling eyes could still assert some pretensions to\nfeminine beauty. She wore a long robe, which reached below her ankles; it\nwas of costly material, but dark in color, and of a studied simplicity.\nInstead of the ornaments in bracelets, anklets, ear and finger-rings, in\nnecklaces and clasps, which most of the Egyptian ladies--and indeed her\nown sister and daughter--were accustomed to wear, she had only fresh\nflowers, which were never wanting in the garden of her son-in-law. Only a\nplain gold diadem, the badge of her royal descent, always rested, from\nearly morning till late at night, on her high brow--for a woman too high,\nthough nobly formed--and confined the long blue-black hair, which fell\nunbraided down her back, as if its owner contemned the vain labor of\narranging it artistically. But nothing in her exterior was\nunpremeditated, and the unbejewelled wearer of the diadem, in her plain\ndress, and with her royal figure, was everywhere sure of being observed,\nand of finding imitators of her dress, and indeed of her demeanor.\n\nAnd yet Katuti had long lived in need; aye at the very hour when we first\nmake her acquaintance, she had little of her own, but lived on the estate\nof her son-in-law as his guest, and as the administrator of his\npossessions; and before the marriage of her daughter she had lived with\nher children in a house belonging to her sister Setchem.\n\nShe had been the wife of her own brother,\n\n   [Marriages between brothers and sisters were allowed in ancient\n   Egypt. The Ptolemaic princes adopted this, which was contrary to\n   the Macedonian customs. When Ptolemy II. Philadelphus married his\n   sister Arsinoe, it seems to have been thought necessary to excuse it\n   by the relative positions of Venus and Saturn at that period, and\n   the constraining influences of these planets.]\n\nwho had died young, and who had squandered the greatest part of the\npossessions which had been left to him by the new royal family, in an\nextravagant love of display.\n\nWhen she became a widow, she was received as a sister with her children\nby her brother-in-law, Paaker's father. She lived in a house of her own,\nenjoyed the income of an estate assigned to her by the old Mohar, and\nleft to her son-in-law the care of educating her son, a handsome and\noverbearing lad, with all the claims and pretensions of a youth of\ndistinction.\n\nSuch great benefits would have oppressed and disgraced the proud Katuti,\nif she had been content with them and in every way agreed with the giver.\nBut this was by no means the case; rather, she believed that she might\npretend to a more brilliant outward position, felt herself hurt when her\nheedless son, while he attended school, was warned to work more\nseriously, as he would by and by have to rely on his own skill and his\nown strength. And it had wounded her when occasionally her brother-in-law\nhad suggested economy, and had reminded her, in his straightforward way,\nof her narrow means, and the uncertain future of her children.\n\nAt this she was deeply offended, for she ventured to say that her\nrelatives could never, with all their gifts, compensate for the insults\nthey heaped upon her; and thus taught them by experience that we quarrel\nwith no one more readily than with the benefactor whom we can never repay\nfor all the good he bestows on us.\n\nNevertheless, when her brother-in-law asked the hand of her daughter for\nhis son, she willingly gave her consent.\n\nNefert and Paaker had grown up together, and by this union she foresaw\nthat she could secure her own future and that of her children.\n\nShortly after the death of the Mohar, the charioteer Mena had proposed\nfor Nefert's hand, but would have been refused if the king himself had\nnot supported the suit of his favorite officer. After the wedding, she\nretired with Nefert to Mena's house, and undertook, while he was at the\nwar, to manage his great estates, which however had been greatly\nburthened with debt by his father.\n\nFate put the means into her hands of indemnifying herself and her\nchildren for many past privations, and she availed herself of them to\ngratify her innate desire to be esteemed and admired; to obtain admission\nfor her son, splendidly equipped, into a company of chariot-warriors of\nthe highest class; and to surround her daughter with princely\nmagnificence.\n\nWhen the Regent, who had been a friend of her late husband, removed into\nthe palace of the Pharaohs, he made her advances, and the clever and\ndecided woman knew how to make herself at first agreeable, and finally\nindispensable, to the vacillating man.\n\nShe availed herself of the circumstance that she, as well as he, was\ndescended from the old royal house to pique his ambition, and to open to\nhim a view, which even to think of, he would have considered forbidden as\na crime, before he became intimate with her.\n\nAni's suit for the hand of the princess Bent-Anat was Katuti's work. She\nhoped that the Pharoah would refuse, and personally offend the Regent,\nand so make him more inclined to tread the dangerous road which she was\nendeavoring to smooth for him. The dwarf Nemu was her pliant tool.\n\nShe had not initiated him into her projects by any words; he however gave\nutterance to every impulse of her mind in free language, which was\npunished only with blows from a fan, and, only the day before, had been\nso audacious as to say that if the Pharoah were called Ani instead of\nRameses, Katuti would be not a queen but a goddess for she would then\nhave not to obey, but rather to guide, the Pharaoh, who indeed himself\nwas related to the Immortals.\n\nKatuti did not observe her daughter's blush, for she was looking\nanxiously out at the garden gate, and said:\n\n\"Where can Nemu be! There must be some news arrived for us from the\narmy.\"\n\n\"Mena has not written for so long,\" Nefert said softly. \"Ah! here is the\nsteward!\"\n\nKatuti turned to the officer, who had entered the veranda through a side\ndoor:\n\n\"What do you bring,\" she asked.\n\n\"The dealer Abscha,\" was the answer, \"presses for payment. The new Syrian\nchariot and the purple cloth--\"\n\n\"Sell some corn,\" ordered Katuti.\n\n\"Impossible, for the tribute to the temples is not yet paid, and already\nso much has been delivered to the dealers that scarcely enough remains\nover for the maintenance of the household and for sowing.\"\n\n\"Then pay with beasts.\"\n\n\"But, madam,\" said the steward sorrowfully, \"only yesterday, we again\nsold a herd to the Mohar; and the water-wheels must be turned, and the\ncorn must be thrashed, and we need beasts for sacrifice, and milk,\nbutter, and cheese, for the use of the house, and dung for firing.\"\n\n   [In Egypt, where there is so little wood, to this day the dried dung\n   of beasts is the commonest kind of fuel.]\n\nKatuti looked thoughtfully at the ground.\n\n\"It must be,\" she said presently. \"Ride to Hermonthis, and say to the\nkeeper of the stud that he must have ten of Mena's golden bays driven\nover here.\"\n\n\"I have already spoken to him,\" said the steward, \"but he maintains that\nMena strictly forbade him to part with even one of the horses, for he is\nproud of the stock. Only for the chariot of the lady Nefert.\"\n\n\"I require obedience,\" said Katuti decidedly and cutting short the\nsteward's words, \"and I expect the horses to-morrow.\"\n\n\"But the stud-master is a daring man, whom Mena looks upon as\nindispensable, and he--\"\n\n\"I command here, and not the absent,\" cried Katuti enraged, \"and I\nrequire the horses in spite of the former orders of my son-in-law.\"\n\nNefert, during this conversation, pulled herself up from her indolent\nattitude. On hearing the last words she rose from her couch, and said,\nwith a decision which surprised even her mother--\n\n\"The orders of my husband must be obeyed. The horses that Mena loves\nshall stay in their stalls. Take this armlet that the king gave me; it is\nworth more than twenty horses.\"\n\nThe steward examined the trinket, richly set with precious stones, and\nlooked enquiringly at Katuti. She shrugged her shoulders, nodded consent,\nand said--\n\n\"Abscha shall hold it as a pledge till Mena's booty arrives. For a year\nyour husband has sent nothing of importance.\"\n\nWhen the steward was gone, Nefert stretched herself again on her couch\nand said wearily:\n\n\"I thought we were rich.\"\n\n\"We might be,\" said Katuti bitterly; but as she perceived that Nefert's\ncheeks again were glowing, she said amiably, \"Our high rank imposes great\nduties on us. Princely blood flows in our veins, and the eyes of the\npeople are turned on the wife of the most brilliant hero in the king's\narmy. They shall not say that she is neglected by her husband. How long\nMena remains away!\"\n\n\"I hear a noise in the court,\" said Nefert. \"The Regent is coming.\"\n\nKatuti turned again towards the garden.\n\nA breathless slave rushed in, and announced that Bent-Anat, the daughter\nof the king, had dismounted at the gate, and was approaching the garden\nwith the prince Rameri.\n\nNefert left her couch, and went with her mother to meet the exalted\nvisitors.\n\nAs the mother and daughter bowed to kiss the robe of the princess,\nBent-Anat signed them back from her. \"Keep farther from me,\" she said;\n\"the priests have not yet entirely absolved me from my uncleanness.\"\n\n\"And in spite of them thou art clean in the sight of Ra!\" exclaimed the\nboy who accompanied her, her brother of seventeen, who was brought up at\nthe House of Seti, which however he was to leave in a few weeks--and he\nkissed her.\n\n\"I shall complain to Ameni of this wild boy,\" said Bent-Anat smiling. \"He\nwould positively accompany me. Your husband, Nefert, is his model, and I\nhad no peace in the house, for we came to bring you good news.\"\n\n\"From Mena?\" asked the young wife, pressing her hand to her heart.\n\n\"As you say,\" returned Bent-Anat. \"My father praises his ability, and\nwrites that he, before all others, will have his choice at the dividing\nof the spoil.\"\n\nNefert threw a triumphant glance at her mother, and Katuti drew a deep\nbreath.\n\nBent-Anat stroked Nefert's cheeks like those of a child. Then she turned\nto Katuti, led her into the garden, and begged her to aid her, who had so\nearly lost her mother, with her advice in a weighty matter.\n\n\"My father,\" she continued, after a few introductory words, \"informs me\nthat the Regent Ani desires me for his wife, and advises me to reward the\nfidelity of the worthy man with my hand. He advises it, you understand-he\ndoes not command.\"\n\n\"And thou?\" asked Katuti.\n\n\"And I,\" replied Bent-Anat decidedly, \"must refuse him.\"\n\n\"Thou must!\"\n\nBent-Anat made a sign of assent and went on:\n\n\"It is quite clear to me. I can do nothing else.\"\n\n\"Then thou dost not need my counsel, since even thy father, I well know,\nwill not be able to alter thy decision.\"\n\n\"Not God even,\" said Anat firmly. \"But you are Ani's friend, and as I\nesteem him, I would save him from this humiliation. Endeavor to persuade\nhim to give up his suit. I will meet him as though I knew nothing of his\nletter to my father.\"\n\nKatuti looked down reflectively. Then she said--\"The Regent certainly\nlikes very well to pass his hours of leisure with me gossiping or playing\ndraughts, but I do not know that I should dare to speak to him of so\ngrave a matter.\"\n\n\"Marriage-projects are women's affairs,\" said Bent-Anat, smiling.\n\n\"But the marriage of a princess is a state event,\" replied the widow. \"In\nthis case it is true the uncle\n\n   [Among the Orientals--and even the Spaniards--it was and is common\n   to give the name of uncle to a parent's cousin.]\n\nonly courts his niece, who is dear to him, and who he hopes will make the\nsecond half of his life the brightest. Ani is kind and without severity.\nThou would'st win in him a husband, who would wait on thy looks, and bow\nwillingly to thy strong will.\"\n\nBent-Anat's eyes flashed, and she hastily exclaimed: \"That is exactly\nwhat forces the decisive irrevocable 'No' to my lips. Do you think that\nbecause I am as proud as my mother, and resolute like my father, that I\nwish for a husband whom I could govern and lead as I would? How little\nyou know me! I will be obeyed by my dogs, my servants, my officers, if\nthe Gods so will it, by my children. Abject beings, who will kiss my\nfeet, I meet on every road, and can buy by the hundred, if I wish it, in\nthe slave market. I may be courted twenty times, and reject twenty\nsuitors, but not because I fear that they might bend my pride and my\nwill; on the contrary, because I feel them increased. The man to whom I\ncould wish to offer my hand must be of a loftier stamp, must be greater,\nfirmer, and better than I, and I will flutter after the mighty\nwing-strokes of his spirit, and smile at my own weakness, and glory in\nadmiring his superiority.\"\n\nKatuti listened to the maiden with the smile by which the experienced\nlove to signify their superiority over the visionary.\n\n\"Ancient times may have produced such men,\" she said. \"But if in these\ndays thou thinkest to find one, thou wilt wear the lock of youth,\n\n   [The lock of youth was a curl of hair which all the younger members\n   of princely families wore at the side of the head. The young Horus\n   is represented with it.]\n\ntill thou art grey. Our thinkers are no heroes, and our heroes are no\nsages. Here come thy brother and Nefert.\"\n\n\"Will you persuade Ani to give up his suit!\" said the princess urgently.\n\n\"I will endeavor to do so, for thy sake,\" replied Katuti. Then, turning\nhalf to the young Rameri and half to his sister, she said:\n\n\"The chief of the House of Seti, Ameni, was in his youth such a man as\nthou paintest, Bent-Anat. Tell us, thou son of Rameses, that art growing\nup under the young sycamores, which shall some day over-shadow the\nland-whom dost thou esteem the highest among thy companions? Is there one\namong them, who is conspicuous above them all for a lofty spirit and\nstrength of intellect?\"\n\nThe young Rameri looked gaily at the speaker, and said laughing: \"We are\nall much alike, and do more or less willingly what we are compelled, and\nby preference every thing that we ought not.\"\n\n\"A mighty soul--a youth, who promises to be a second Snefru, a Thotmes,\nor even an Amem? Dost thou know none such in the House of Seti?\" asked\nthe widow. \"Oh yes!\" cried Rameri with eager certainty.\n\n\"And he is--?\" asked Katuti.\n\n\"Pentaur, the poet,\" exclaimed the youth. Bent-Anat's face glowed with\nscarlet color, while her, brother went on to explain.\n\n\"He is noble and of a lofty soul, and all the Gods dwell in him when he\nspeaks. Formerly we used to go to sleep in the lecture-hall; but his\nwords carry us away, and if we do not take in the full meaning of his\nthoughts, yet we feel that they are genuine and noble.\"\n\nBent-Anat breathed quicker at these words, and her eyes hung on the boy's\nlips.\n\n\"You know him, Bent-Anat,\" continued Rameri. \"He was with you at the\nparaschites' house, and in the temple-court when Ameni pronounced you\nunclean. He is as tall and handsome as the God Mentli, and I feel that he\nis one of those whom we can never forget when once we have seen them.\nYesterday, after you had left the temple, he spoke as he never spoke\nbefore; he poured fire into our souls. Do not laugh, Katuti, I feel it\nburning still. This morning we were informed that he had been sent from\nthe temple, who knows where--and had left us a message of farewell. It\nwas not thought at all necessary to communicate the reason to us; but we\nknow more than the masters think. He did not reprove you strongly enough,\nBent-Anat, and therefore he is driven out of the House of Seti. We have\nagreed to combine to ask for him to be recalled; Anana is drawing up a\nletter to the chief priest, which we shall all subscribe. It would turn\nout badly for one alone, but they cannot be at all of us at once. Very\nlikely they will have the sense to recall him. If not, we shall all\ncomplain to our fathers, and they are not the meanest in the land.\"\n\n\"It is a complete rebellion,\" cried Katuti. \"Take care, you lordlings;\nAmeni and the other prophets are not to be trifled with.\"\n\n\"Nor we either,\" said Rameri laughing, \"If Pentaur is kept in banishment,\nI shall appeal to my father to place me at the school at Heliopolis or\nChennu, and the others will follow me. Come, Bent-Anat, I must be back in\nthe trap before sunset. Excuse me, Katuti, so we call the school. Here\ncomes your little Nemu.\"\n\nThe brother and sister left the garden.\n\nAs soon as the ladies, who accompanied them, had turned their backs,\nBent-Anat grasped her brother's hand with unaccustomed warmth, and said:\n\n\"Avoid all imprudence; but your demand is just, and I will help you with\nall my heart.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nAs soon as Bent-Anat had quitted Mena's domain, the dwarf Nemu entered\nthe garden with a letter, and briefly related his adventures; but in such\na comical fashion that both the ladies laughed, and Katuti, with a lively\ngaiety, which was usually foreign to her, while she warned him, at the\nsame time praised his acuteness. She looked at the seal of the letter and\nsaid:\n\n\"This is a lucky day; it has brought us great things, and the promise of\ngreater things in the future.\" Nefert came close up to her and said\nimploringly: \"Open the letter, and see if there is nothing in it from\nhim.\"\n\nKatuti unfastened the wax, looked through the letter with a hasty glance,\nstroked the cheek of her child, and said:\n\n\"Perhaps your brother has written for him; I see no line in his\nhandwriting.\"\n\nNefert on her side glanced at the letter, but not to read it, only to\nseek some trace of the well-known handwriting of her husband.\n\nLike all the Egyptian women of good family she could read, and during the\nfirst two years of her married life she had often--very often--had the\nopportunity of puzzling, and yet rejoicing, over the feeble signs which\nthe iron hand of the charioteer had scrawled on the papyrus for her whose\nslender fingers could guide the reed pen with firmness and decision.\n\nShe examined the letter, and at last said, with tears in her eyes:\n\n\"Nothing! I will go to my room, mother.\"\n\nKatuti kissed her and said, \"Hear first what your brother writes.\"\n\nBut Nefert shook her head, turned away in silence, and disappeared into\nthe house.\n\nKatuti was not very friendly to her son-in-law, but her heart clung to\nher handsome, reckless son, the very image of her lost husband, the\nfavorite of women, and the gayest youth among the young nobles who\ncomposed the chariot-guard of the king.\n\nHow fully he had written to-day--he who weilded the reed-pen so\nlaboriously.\n\nThis really was a letter; while, usually, he only asked in the fewest\nwords for fresh funds for the gratification of his extravagant tastes.\n\nThis time she might look for thanks, for not long since he must have\nreceived a considerable supply, which she had abstracted from the income\nof the possessions entrusted to her by her son-in-law.\n\nShe began to read.\n\nThe cheerfulness, with which she had met the dwarf, was insincere, and\nhad resembled the brilliant colors of the rainbow, which gleam over the\nstagnant waters of a bog. A stone falls into the pool, the colors vanish,\ndim mists rise up, and it becomes foul and clouded.\n\nThe news which her son's letter contained fell, indeed, like a block of\nstone on Katuti's soul.\n\nOur deepest sorrows always flow from the same source as might have filled\nus with joy, and those wounds burn the fiercest which are inflicted by a\nhand we love.\n\nThe farther Katuti went in the lamentably incorrect epistle--which she\ncould only decipher with difficulty--which her darling had written to\nher, the paler grew her face, which she several times covered with her\ntrembling hands, from which the letter dropped.\n\nNemu squatted on the earth near her, and followed all her movements.\n\nWhen she sprang forward with a heart-piercing scream, and pressed her\nforehead to a rough palmtrunk, he crept up to her, kissed her feet, and\nexclaimed with a depth of feeling that overcame even Katuti, who was\naccustomed to hear only gay or bitter speeches from the lips of her\njester--\n\n\"Mistress! lady! what has happened?\"\n\nKatuti collected herself, turned to him, and tried to speak; but her pale\nlips remained closed, and her eyes gazed dimly into vacancy as though a\ncatalepsy had seized her.\n\n\"Mistress! Mistress!\" cried the dwarf again, with growing agitation.\n\"What is the matter? shall I call thy daughter?\"\n\nKatuti made a sign with her hand, and cried feebly: \"The wretches! the\nreprobates!\"\n\nHer breath began to come quickly, the blood mounted to her cheeks and her\nflashing eyes; she trod upon the letter, and wept so loud and\npassionately, that the dwarf, who had never before seen tears in her\neyes, raised himself timidly, and said in mild reproach: \"Katuti!\"\n\nShe laughed bitterly, and said with a trembling voice:\n\n\"Why do you call my name so loud! it is disgraced and degraded. How the\nnobles and the ladies will rejoice! Now envy can point at us with\nspiteful joy--and a minute ago I was praising this day! They say one\nshould exhibit one's happiness in the streets, and conceal one's misery;\non the contrary, on the contrary! Even the Gods should not know of one's\nhopes and joys, for they too are envious and spiteful!\"\n\nAgain she leaned her head against the palm-tree. \"Thou speakest of shame,\nand not of death,\" said Nemu, \"and I learned from thee that one should\ngive nothing up for lost excepting the dead.\"\n\nThese words had a powerful effect on the agitated woman. Quickly and\nvehemently she turned upon the dwarf saying.\n\n\"You are clever, and faithful too, so listen! but if you were Amon\nhimself there is nothing to be done--\"\n\n\"We must try,\" said Nemu, and his sharp eyes met those of his mistress.\n\n\"Speak,\" he said, \"and trust me. Perhaps I can be of no use; but that I\ncan be silent thou knowest.\"\n\n\"Before long the children in the streets will talk of what this tells\nme,\" said Katuti, laughing with bitterness, \"only Nefert must know\nnothing of what has happened--nothing, mind; what is that? the Regent\ncoming! quick, fly; tell him I am suddenly taken ill, very ill; I cannot\nsee him, not now! No one is to be admitted--no one, do you hear?\"\n\nThe dwarf went.\n\nWhen he came back after he had fulfilled his errand, he found his\nmistress still in a fever of excitement.\n\n\"Listen,\" she said; \"first the smaller matter, then the frightful, the\nunspeakable. Rameses loads Mena with marks of his favor. It came to a\ndivision of the spoils of war for the year; a great heap of treasure lay\nready for each of his followers, and the charioteer had to choose before\nall the others.\"\n\n\"Well?\" said the dwarf.\n\n\"Well!\" echoed Katuti. \"Well! how did the worthy householder care for his\nbelongings at home, how did he seek to relieve his indebted estate? It is\ndisgraceful, hideous! He passed by the silver, the gold, the jewels, with\na laugh; and took the captive daughter of the Danaid princes, and led her\ninto his tent.\"\n\n\"Shameful!\" muttered the dwarf.\n\n\"Poor, poor Nefert!\" cried Katuti, covering her face with her hands.\n\n\"And what more?\" asked Nemu hastily.\n\n\"That,\" said Katuti, \"that is--but I will keep calm--quite calm and\nquiet. You know my son. He is heedless, but he loves me and his sister\nmore than anything in the world. I, fool as I was, to persuade him to\neconomy, had vividly described our evil plight, and after that\ndisgraceful conduct of Mena he thought of us and of our anxieties. His\nshare of the booty was small, and could not help us. His comrades threw\ndice for the shares they had obtained--he staked his to win more for us.\nHe lost--all--all--and at last against an enormous sum, still thinking of\nus, and only of us, he staked the mummy of his dead father.\n\n   [It was a king of the fourth dynasty, named Asychis by Herodotus,\n   who it is admitted was the first to pledge the mummies of his\n   ancestors. \"He who stakes this pledge and fails to redeem the debt\n   shall, after his death, rest neither in his father's tomb nor in any\n   other, and sepulture shall be denied to his descendants.\" Herod.\n   11. 136.]\n\nHe lost. If he does not redeem the pledge before the expiration of the\nthird month, he will fall into infamy, the mummy will belong to the\nwinner, and disgrace and ignominy will be my lot and his.\"\n\nKatuti pressed her hands on her face, the dwarf muttered to himself, \"The\ngambler and hypocrite!\" When his mistress had grown calmer, he said:\n\n\"It is horrible, yet all is not lost. How much is the debt?\"\n\nIt sounded like a heavy curse, when Katuti replied, \"Thirty Babylonian\ntalents.\"--[L7000 sterling in 1881.]\n\nThe dwarf cried out, as if an asp had stung him. \"Who dared to bid\nagainst such a mad stake?\"\n\n\"The Lady Hathor's son, Antef,\" answered Katuti, \"who has already gambled\naway the inheritance of his fathers, in Thebes.\"\n\n\"He will not remit one grain of wheat of his claim,\" cried the dwarf.\n\"And Mena?\"\n\n\"How could my son turn to him after what had happened? The poor child\nimplores me to ask the assistance of the Regent.\"\n\n\"Of the Regent?\" said the dwarf, shaking his big head. \"Impossible!\"\n\n\"I know, as matters now stand; but his place, his name.\"\n\n\"Mistress,\" said the dwarf, and deep purpose rang in the words, \"do not\nspoil the future for the sake of the present. If thy son loses his honor\nunder King Rameses, the future King, Ani, may restore it to him. If the\nRegent now renders you all an important service, he will regard you as\namply paid when our efforts have succeeded, and he sits on the throne. He\nlets himself be led by thee now because thou hast no need of his help,\nand dost seem to work only for his sake, and for his elevation. As soon\nas thou hast appealed to him, and he has assisted thee, all thy\nconfidence and freedom will be gone, and the more difficult he finds it\nto raise so large a sum of money at once, the angrier he will be to think\nthat thou art making use of him. Thou knowest his circumstances.\"\n\n\"He is in debt,\" said Katuti. \"I know that.\"\n\n\"Thou should'st know it,\" cried the dwarf, \"for thou thyself hast forced\nhim to enormous expenses. He has won the people of Thebes with dazzling\nfestive displays; as guardian of Apis\n\n   [When Apis (the sacred bull) died under Ptolemy I. Soter, his\n   keepers spent not only the money which they had received for his\n   maintenance, in his obsequies but borrowed 50 talents of silver from\n   the king. In the time of Diodurus 100 talents were spent for the\n   same purpose.]\n\nhe gave a large donation to Memphis; he bestowed thousands on the leaders\nof the troops sent into Ethiopia, which were equipped by him; what his\nspies cost him at, the camp of the king, thou knowest. He has borrowed\nsums of money from most of the rich men in the country, and that is well,\nfor so many creditors are so many allies. The Regent is a bad debtor; but\nthe king Ani, they reckon, will be a grateful payer.\"\n\nKatuti looked at the dwarf in astonishment. \"You know men!\" she said.\n\n\"To my sorrow!\" replied Nemu. \"Do not apply to the Regent, and before\nthou dost sacrifice the labor of years, and thy future greatness, and\nthat of those near to thee, sacrifice thy son's honor.\"\n\n\"And my husband's, and my own?\" exclaimed Katuti. \"How can you know what\nthat is! Honor is a word that the slave may utter, but whose meaning he\ncan never comprehend; you rub the weals that are raised on you by blows;\nto me every finger pointed at me in scorn makes a wound like an ashwood\nlance with a poisoned tip of brass. Oh ye holy Gods! who can help us?\"\n\nThe miserable woman pressed her hands over her eyes, as if to shut out\nthe sight of her own disgrace. The dwarf looked at her compassionately,\nand said in a changed tone:\n\n\"Dost thou remember the diamond which fell out of Nefert's handsomest\nring? We hunted for it, and could not find it. Next day, as I was going\nthrough the room, I trod on something hard; I stooped down and found the\nstone. What the noble organ of sight, the eye, overlooked, the callous\ndespised sole of the foot found; and perhaps the small slave, Nemu, who\nknows nothing of honor, may succeed in finding a mode of escape which is\nnot revealed to the lofty soul of his mistress!\"\n\n\"What are you thinking of?\" asked Katuti.\n\n\"Escape,\" answered the dwarf. \"Is it true that thy sister Setchem has\nvisited thee, and that you are reconciled?\"\n\n\"She offered me her hand, and I took it?\"\n\n\"Then go to her. Men are never more helpful than after a reconciliation.\nThe enmity they have driven out, seems to leave as it were a\nfreshly-healed wound which must be touched with caution; and Setchem is\nof thy own blood, and kind-hearted.\"\n\n\"She is not rich,\" replied Katuti. \"Every palm in her garden comes from\nher husband, and belongs to her children.\"\n\n\"Paaker, too, was with you?\"\n\n\"Certainly only by the entreaty of his mother--he hates my son-in-law.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" muttered the dwarf, \"but if Nefert would ask him?\"\n\nThe widow drew herself up indignantly. She felt that she had allowed the\ndwarf too much freedom, and ordered him to leave her alone.\n\nNemu kissed her robe and asked timidly:\n\n\"Shall I forget that thou hast trusted me, or am I permitted to consider\nfurther as to thy son's safety?\" Katuti stood for a moment undecided,\nthen she said:\n\n\"You were clever enough to find what I carelessly dropped; perhaps some\nGod may show you what I ought to do. Now leave me.\"\n\n\"Wilt thou want me early to-morrow?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then I will go to the Necropolis, and offer a sacrifice.\"\n\n\"Go!\" said Katuti, and went towards the house with the fatal letter in\nher hand.\n\nNemu stayed behind alone; he looked thoughtfully at the ground, murmuring\nto himself.\n\n\"She must not lose her honor; not at present, or indeed all will be lost.\nWhat is this honor? We all come into the world without it, and most of us\ngo to the grave without knowing it, and very good folks notwithstanding.\nOnly a few who are rich and idle weave it in with the homely stuff of\ntheir souls, as the Kuschites do their hair with grease and oils, till it\nforms a cap of which, though it disfigures them, they are so proud that\nthey would rather have their ears cut off than the monstrous thing. I\nsee, I see--but before I open my mouth I will go to my mother. She knows\nmore than twenty prophets.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nBefore the sun had risen the next morning, Nemu got himself ferried over\nthe Nile, with the small white ass which Mena's deceased father had given\nhim many years before. He availed himself of the cool hour which precedes\nthe rising of the sun for his ride through the Necropolis.\n\nWell acquainted as he was with every stock and stone, he avoided the high\nroads which led to the goal of his expedition, and trotted towards the\nhill which divides the valley of the royal tombs from the plain of the\nNile.\n\nBefore him opened a noble amphitheatre of lofty lime-stone peaks, the\nbackground of the stately terrace-temple which the proud ancestress of\ntwo kings of the fallen family, the great Hatasu, had erected to their\nmemory, and to the Goddess Hathor.\n\nNemu left the sanctuary to his left, and rode up the steep hill-path\nwhich was the nearest way from the plain to the valley of the tombs.\n\nBelow him lay a bird's eye view of the terrace-building of Hatasu, and\nbefore him, still slumbering in cool dawn, was the Necropolis with its\nhouses and temples and colossal statues, the broad Nile glistening with\nwhite sails under the morning mist; and, in the distant east, rosy with\nthe coming sun, stood Thebes and her gigantic temples.\n\nBut the dwarf saw nothing of the glorious panorama that lay at his feet;\nabsorbed in thought, and stooping over the neck of his ass, he let the\npanting beast climb and rest at its pleasure.\n\nWhen he had reached half the height of the hill, he perceived the sound\nof footsteps coming nearer and nearer to him.\n\nThe vigorous walker had soon reached him, and bid him good morning, which\nhe civilly returned.\n\nThe hill-path was narrow, and when Nemu observed that the man who\nfollowed him was a priest, he drew up his donkey on a level spot, and\nsaid reverently:\n\n\"Pass on, holy father; for thy two feet carry thee quicker than my four.\"\n\n\"A sufferer needs my help,\" replied the leech Nebsecht, Pentaur's friend,\nwhom we have already seen in the House of Seti, and by the bed of the\nparaschites' daughter; and he hastened on so as to gain on the slow pace\nof the rider.\n\nThen rose the glowing disk of the sun above the eastern horizon, and from\nthe sanctuaries below the travellers rose up the pious many-voiced chant\nof praise.\n\nNemu slipped off his ass, and assumed an attitude of prayer; the priest\ndid the same; but while the dwarf devoutly fixed his eyes on the new\nbirth of the Sun-God from the eastern range, the priest's eyes wandered\nto the earth, and his raised hand fell to pick up a rare fossil shell\nwhich lay on the path.\n\nIn a few minutes Nebsecht rose, and Nemu followed him.\n\n\"It is a fine morning,\" said the dwarf; \"the holy fathers down there seem\nmore cheerful to-day than usual.\"\n\nThe surgeon laughed assent. \"Do you belong to the Necropolis?\" he said.\n\"Who here keeps dwarfs?\"\n\n\"No one,\" answered the little man. \"But I will ask thee a question. Who\nthat lives here behind the hill is of so much importance, that a leech\nfrom the House of Seti sacrifices his night's rest for him?\"\n\n\"The one I visit is mean, but the suffering is great,\" answered Nebsecht.\n\nNemu looked at him with admiration, and muttered, \"That is noble, that is\n----\" but he did not finish his speech; he struck his brow and exclaimed,\n\"You are going, by the desire of the Princess Bent-Anat, to the child of\nthe paraschites that was run over. I guessed as much. The food must have\nan excellent after-taste, if a gentleman rises so early to eat it. How is\nthe poor child doing?\"\n\nThere was so much warmth in these last words that Nebsecht, who had\nthought the dwarf's reproach uncalled for, answered in a friendly tone:\n\n\"Not so badly; she may be saved.\"\n\n\"The Gods be praised!\" exclaimed Nemu, while the priest passed on.\n\nNebsecht went up and down the hillside at a redoubled pace, and had long\ntaken his place by the couch of the wounded Uarda in the hovel of the\nparaschites, when Nemu drew near to the abode of his Mother Hekt, from\nwhom Paaker had received the philter.\n\nThe old woman sat before the door of her cave. Near her lay a board,\nfitted with cross pieces, between which a little boy was stretched in\nsuch a way that they touched his head and his feet.\n\nHekt understood the art of making dwarfs; playthings in human form were\nwell paid for, and the child on the rack, with his pretty little face,\npromised to be a valuable article.\n\nAs soon as the sorceress saw some one approaching, she stooped over the\nchild, took him up board and all in her arms, and carried him into the\ncave. Then she said sternly:\n\n\"If you move, little one, I will flog you. Now let me tie you.\"\n\n\"Don't tie me,\" said the child, \"I will be good and lie still.\"\n\n\"Stretch yourself out,\" ordered the old woman, and tied the child with a\nrope to the board. \"If you are quiet, I'll give you a honey-cake\nby-and-bye, and let you play with the young chickens.\"\n\nThe child was quiet, and a soft smile of delight and hope sparkled in his\npretty eyes. His little hand caught the dress of the old woman, and with\nthe sweetest coaxing tone, which God bestows on the innocent voices of\nchildren, he said:\n\n\"I will be as still as a mouse, and no one shall know that I am here; but\nif you give me the honeycake you will untie me for a little, and let me\ngo to Uarda.\"\n\n\"She is ill!--what do you want there?\"\n\n\"I would take her the cake,\" said the child, and his eyes glistened with\ntears.\n\nThe old woman touched the child's chin with her finger, and some\nmysterious power prompted her to bend over him to kiss him. But before\nher lips had touched his face she turned away, and said, in a hard tone:\n\n\"Lie still! by and bye we will see.\" Then she stooped, and threw a brown\nsack over the child. She went back into the open air, greeted Nemu,\nentertained him with milk, bread and honey, gave him news of the girl who\nhad been run over, for he seemed to take her misfortune very much to\nheart, and finally asked:\n\n\"What brings you here? The Nile was still narrow when you last found your\nway to me, and now it has been falling some time.\n\n   [This is the beginning of November. The Nile begins slowly to rise\n   early in June; between the 15th and 20th of July it suddenly swells\n   rapidly, and in the first half of October, not, as was formerly\n   supposed, at the end of September, the inundation reaches its\n   highest level. Heinrich Barth established these data beyond\n   dispute. After the water has begun to sink it rises once more in\n   October and to a higher level than before. Then it soon falls, at\n   first slowly, but by degrees quicker and quicker.]\n\nAre you sent by your mistress, or do you want my help? All the world is\nalike. No one goes to see any one else unless he wants to make use of\nhim. What shall I give you?\"\n\n\"I want nothing,\" said the dwarf, \"but--\"\n\n\"You are commissioned by a third person,\" said the witch, laughing. \"It\nis the same thing. Whoever wants a thing for some one else only thinks of\nhis own interest.\"\n\n\"May be,\" said Nemu. \"At any rate your words show that you have not grown\nless wise since I saw you last--and I am glad of it, for I want your\nadvice.\"\n\n\"Advice is cheap. What is going on out there?\" Nemu related to his mother\nshortly, clearly, and without reserve, what was plotting in his\nmistress's house, and the frightful disgrace with which she was\nthreatened through her son.\n\nThe old woman shook her grey head thoughtfully several times: but she let\nthe little man go on to the end of his story without interrupting him.\nThen she asked, and her eyes flashed as she spoke:\n\n\"And you really believe that you will succeed in putting the sparrow on\nthe eagle's perch--Ani on the throne of Rameses?\"\n\n\"The troops fighting in Ethiopia are for us,\" cried Nemu. \"The priests\ndeclare themselves against the king, and recognize in Ani the genuine\nblood of Ra.\"\n\n\"That is much,\" said the old woman.\n\n\"And many dogs are the death of the gazelle,\" said Nemu laughing.\n\n\"But Rameses is not a gazelle to run, but a lion,\" said the old woman\ngravely. \"You are playing a high game.\"\n\n\"We know it,\" answered Nemu. But it is for high stakes--there is much to\nwin.\"\n\n\"And all to lose,\" muttered the old woman, passing her fingers round her\nscraggy neck. \"Well, do as you please--it is all the same to me who it is\nsends the young to be killed, and drives the old folks' cattle from the\nfield. What do they want with me?\"\n\n\"No one has sent me,\" answered the dwarf. I come of my own free fancy to\nask you what Katuti must do to save her son and her house from dishonor.\"\n\n\"Hm!\" hummed the witch, looking at Nemu while she raised herself on her\nstick. \"What has come to you that you take the fate of these great people\nto heart as if it were your own?\"\n\nThe dwarf reddened, and answered hesitatingly, \"Katuti is a good\nmistress, and, if things go well with her, there may be windfalls for you\nand me.\"\n\nHekt shook her head doubtfully.\n\n\"A loaf for you perhaps, and a crumb for me!\" she said. \"There is more\nthan that in your mind, and I can read your heart as if you were a ripped\nup raven. You are one of those who can never keep their fingers at rest,\nand must knead everybody's dough; must push, and drive and stir\nsomething. Every jacket is too tight for you. If you were three feet\ntaller, and the son of a priest, you might have gone far. High you will\ngo, and high you will end; as the friend of a king--or on the gallows.\"\n\nThe old woman laughed; but Nemu bit his lips, and said:\n\n\"If you had sent me to school, and if I were not the son of a witch, and\na dwarf, I would play with men as they have played with me; for I am\ncleverer than all of them, and none of their plans are hidden from me. A\nhundred roads lie before me, when they don't know whether to go out or\nin; and where they rush heedlessly forwards I see the abyss that they are\nrunning to.\"\n\n\"And nevertheless you come to me?\" said the old woman sarcastically.\n\n\"I want your advice,\" said Nemu seriously. \"Four eyes see more than one,\nand the impartial looker-on sees clearer than the player; besides you are\nbound to help me.\"\n\nThe old woman laughed loud in astonishment. \"Bound!\" she said, \"I? and to\nwhat if you please?\"\n\n\"To help me,\" replied the dwarf, half in entreaty, and half in reproach.\n\"You deprived me of my growth, and reduced me to a cripple.\"\n\n\"Because no one is better off than you dwarfs,\" interrupted the witch.\n\nNemu shook his head, and answered sadly--\n\n\"You have often said so--and perhaps for many others, who are born in\nmisery like me--perhaps-you are right; but for me--you have spoilt my\nlife; you have crippled not my body only but my soul, and have condemned\nme to sufferings that are nameless and unutterable.\"\n\nThe dwarf's big head sank on his breast, and with his left hand he\npressed his heart.\n\nThe old woman went up to him kindly.\n\n\"What ails you?\" she asked, \"I thought it was well with you in Mena's\nhouse.\"\n\n\"You thought so?\" cried the dwarf. \"You who show me as in a mirror what I\nam, and how mysterious powers throng and stir in me? You made me what I\nam by your arts; you sold me to the treasurer of Rameses, and he gave me\nto the father of Mena, his brother-in-law. Fifteen years ago! I was a\nyoung man then, a youth like any other, only more passionate, more\nrestless, and fiery than they. I was given as a plaything to the young\nMena, and he harnessed me to his little chariot, and dressed me out with\nribbons and feathers, and flogged me when I did not go fast enough. How\nthe girl--for whom I would have given my life--the porter's daughter,\nlaughed when I, dressed up in motley, hopped panting in front of the\nchariot and the young lord's whip whistled in my ears wringing the sweat\nfrom my brow, and the blood from my broken heart. Then Mena's father\ndied, the boy, went to school, and I waited on the wife of his steward,\nwhom Katuti banished to Hermonthis. That was a time! The little daughter\nof the house made a doll of me,\n\n   [Dolls belonging to the time of the Pharaohs are preserved in the\n   museums, for instance, the jointed ones at Leyden.]\n\nlaid me in the cradle, and made me shut my eyes and pretend to sleep,\nwhile love and hatred, and great projects were strong within me. If I\ntried to resist they beat me with rods; and when once, in a rage, I\nforgot myself, and hit little Mertitefs hard, Mena, who came in, hung me\nup in the store-room to a nail by my girdle, and left me to swing there;\nhe said he had forgotten to take me down again. The rats fell upon me;\nhere are the scars, these little white spots here--look! They perhaps\nwill some day wear out, but the wounds that my spirit received in those\nhours have not yet ceased to bleed. Then Mena married Nefert, and, with\nher, his mother-in-law, Katuti, came into the house. She took me from the\nsteward, I became indispensable to her; she treats me like a man, she\nvalues my intelligence and listens to my advice,--therefore I will make\nher great, and with her, and through her, I will wax mighty. If Ani\nmounts the throne, we wilt guide him--you, and I, and she! Rameses must\nfall, and with him Mena, the boy who degraded my body and poisoned my\nsoul!\"\n\nDuring this speech the old woman had stood in silence opposite the dwarf.\nNow she sat down on her rough wooden seat, and said, while she proceeded\nto pluck a lapwing:\n\n\"Now I understand you; you wish to be revenged. You hope to rise high,\nand I am to whet your knife, and hold the ladder for you. Poor little\nman! there, sit down-drink a gulp of milk to cool you, and listen to my\nadvice. Katuti wants a great deal of money to escape dishonor. She need\nonly pick it up--it lies at her door.\" The dwarf looked at the witch in\nastonishment.\n\n\"The Mohar Paaker is her sister Setchem's son. Is he not?\"\n\n\"As you say.\"\n\n\"Katuti's daughter Nefert is the wife of your master Mena, and another\nwould like to tempt the neglected little hen into his yard.\"\n\n\"You mean Paaker, to whom Nefert was promised before she went after\nMena.\"\n\n\"Paaker was with me the day before yesterday.\"\n\n\"With you?\"\n\n\"Yes, with me, with old Hekt--to buy a love philter. I gave him one, and\nas I was curious I went after him, saw him give the water to the little\nlady, and found out her name.\"\n\n\"And Nefert drank the magic drink?\" asked the dwarf horrified. \"Vinegar\nand turnip juice,\" laughed the old witch. \"A lord who comes to me to win\na wife is ripe for any thing. Let Nefert ask Paaker for the money, and\nthe young scapegrace's debts are paid.\"\n\n\"Katuti is proud, and repulsed me severely when I proposed this.\"\n\n\"Then she must sue to Paaker herself for the money. Go back to him, make\nhim hope that Nefert is inclined to him, tell him what distresses the\nladies, and if he refuses, but only if he refuses, let him see that you\nknow something of the little dose.\"\n\nThe dwarf looked meditatively on the ground, and then said, looking\nadmiringly at the old woman: \"That is the right thing.\"\n\n\"You will find out the lie without my telling you,\" mumbled the witch;\n\"your business is not perhaps such a bad one as it seemed to me at first.\nKatuti may thank the ne'er-do-well who staked his father's corpse. You\ndon't understand me? Well, if you are really the sharpest of them all\nover there, what must the others be?\"\n\n\"You mean that people will speak well of my mistress for sacrificing so\nlarge a sum for the sake--?\"\n\n\"Whose sake? why speak well of her?\" cried the old woman impatiently.\n\"Here we deal with other things, with actual facts. There stands\nPaaker--there the wife of Mena. If the Mohar sacrifices a fortune for\nNefert, he will be her master, and Katuti will not stand in his way; she\nknows well enough why her nephew pays for her. But some one else stops\nthe way, and that is Mena. It is worth while to get him out of the way.\nThe charioteer stands close to the Pharaoh, and the noose that is flung\nat one may easily fall round the neck of the other too. Make the Mohar\nyour ally, and it may easily happen that your rat-bites may be paid for\nwith mortal wounds, and Rameses who, if you marched against him openly,\nmight blow you to the ground, may be hit by a lance thrown from an\nambush. When the throne is clear, the weak legs of the Regent may succeed\nin clambering up to it with the help of the priests. Here you\nsit-open-mouthed; and I have told you nothing that you might not have\nfound out for yourself.\"\n\n\"You are a perfect cask of wisdom!\" exclaimed the dwarf.\n\n\"And now you will go away,\" said Hekt, \"and reveal your schemes to your\nmistress and the Regent, and they will be astonished at your cleverness.\nTo-day you still know that I have shown you what you have to do;\nto-morrow you will have forgotten it; and the day after to-morrow you\nwill believe yourself possessed by the inspiration of the nine great\nGods. I know that; but I cannot give anything for nothing. You live by\nyour smallness, another makes his living with his hard hands, I earn my\nscanty bread by the thoughts of my brain. Listen! when you have half won\nPaaker, and Ani shows himself inclined to make use of him, then say to\nhim that I may know a secret--and I do know one, I alone--which may make\nthe Mohar the sport of his wishes, and that I may be disposed to sell\nit.\"\n\n\"That shall be done! certainly, mother,\" cried the dwarf. \"What do you\nwish for?\"\n\n\"Very little,\" said the old woman. \"Only a permit that makes me free to\ndo and to practise whatever I please, unmolested even by the priests, and\nto receive an honorable burial after my death.\"\n\n\"The Regent will hardly agree to that; for he must avoid everything that\nmay offend the servants of the Gods.\"\n\n\"And do everything,\" retorted the old woman, \"that can degrade Rameses in\ntheir sight. Ani, do you hear, need not write me a new license, but only\nrenew the old one granted to me by Rameses when I cured his favorite\nhorse. They burnt it with my other possessions, when they plundered my\nhouse, and denounced me and my belongings for sorcery. The permit of\nRameses is what I want, nothing more.\"\n\n\"You shall have it,\" said the dwarf. \"Good-by; I am charged to look into\nthe tomb of our house, and see whether the offerings for the dead are\nregularly set out; to pour out fresh essences and have various things\nrenewed. When Sechet has ceased to rage, and it is cooler, I shall come\nby here again, for I should like to call on the paraschites, and see how\nthe poor child is.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nDuring this conversation two men had been busily occupied, in front of\nthe paraschites' hut, in driving piles into the earth, and stretching a\ntorn linen cloth upon them.\n\nOne of them, old Pinem, whom we have seen tending his grandchild,\nrequested the other from time to time to consider the sick girl and to\nwork less noisily.\n\nAfter they had finished their simple task, and spread a couch of fresh\nstraw under the awning, they too sat down on the earth, and looked at the\nhut before which the surgeon Nebsecht was sitting waiting till the\nsleeping girl should wake.\n\n\"Who is that?\" asked the leech of the old man, pointing to his young\ncompanion, a tall sunburnt soldier with a bushy red beard.\n\n\"My son,\" replied the paraschites, \"who is just returned from Syria.\"\n\n\"Uarda's father?\" asked Nebsecht.\n\nThe soldier nodded assent, and said with a rough voice, but not without\ncordiality.\n\n\"No one could guess it by looking at us--she is so white and rosy. Her\nmother was a foreigner, and she has turned out as delicate as she was. I\nam afraid to touch her with my little finger--and there comes a chariot\nover the brittle doll, and does not quite crush her, for she is still\nalive.\"\n\n\"Without the help of this holy father,\" said the paraschites, approaching\nthe surgeon, and kissing his robe, \"you would never have seen her alive\nagain. May the Gods reward thee for what thou hast done for its poor\nfolks!\"\n\n\"And we can pay too,\" cried the soldier, slapping a full purse that hung\nat his gridle. \"We have taken plunder in Syria, and I will buy a calf,\nand give it to thy temple.\"\n\n\"Offer a beast of dough, rather.\"\n\n   [Hogs were sacrificed at the feasts of Selene (the Egyptian\n   Nechebt). The poor offer pigs made of dough. Herodotus II., 47.\n   Various kinds of cakes baked in the form of animals are represented\n   on the monuments.]\n\nreplied Nebsecht, \"and if you wish to show yourself grateful to me, give\nthe money to your father, so that he may feed and nurse your child in\naccordance with my instructions.\"\n\n\"Hm,\" murmured the soldier; he took the purse from his girdle, flourished\nit in his hand, and said, as he handed it to the paraschites:\n\n\"I should have liked to drink it! but take it, father, for the child and\nmy mother.\"\n\nWhile the old man hesitatingly put out his hand for the rich gift, the\nsoldier recollected himself and said, opening the purse:\n\n\"Let me take out a few rings, for to-day I cannot go dry. I have two or\nthree comrades lodging in the red Tavern. That is right. There,--take the\nrest of the rubbish.\"\n\nNebsecht nodded approvingly at the soldier, and he, as his father\ngratefully kissed the surgeon's hand, exclaimed:\n\n\"Make the little one sound, holy father! It, is all over with gifts and\nofferings, for I have nothing left; but there are two iron fists and a\nbreast like the wall of a fortress. If at any time thou dost want help,\ncall me, and I will protect thee against twenty enemies. Thou hast saved\nmy child--good! Life for life. I sign myself thy blood-ally--there.\"\n\nWith these words he drew his poniard out of his girdle. He scratched his\narm, and let a few drops of his blood run down on a stone at the feet of\nNebsecht--\"Look,\" he said. \"There is my bond, Kaschta has signed himself\nthine, and thou canst dispose of my life as of thine own. What I have\nsaid, I have said.\"\n\n\"I am a man of peace,\" Nebsecht stammered, \"And my white robe protects\nme. But I believe our patient is awake.\"\n\nThe physician rose, and entered the hut.\n\nUarda's pretty head lay on her grandmother's lap, and her large blue eyes\nturned contentedly on the priest.\n\n\"She might get up and go out into the air,\" said the old woman. \"She has\nslept long and soundly.\" The surgeon examined her pulse, and her wound,\non which green leaves were laid.\n\n\"Excellent,\" he said; \"who gave you this healing herb?\"\n\nThe old woman shuddered, and hesitated; but Uarda said fearlessly; \"Old\nHekt, who lives over there in the black cave.\"\n\n\"The witch!\" muttered Nebsecht. \"But we will let the leaves remain; if\nthey do good, it is no matter where they came from.\"\n\n\"Hekt tasted the drops thou didst give her,\" said the old woman, \"and\nagreed that they were good.\"\n\n\"Then we are satisfied with each other,\" answered Nebsecht, with a smile\nof amusement. \"We will carry you now into the open air, little maid; for\nthe air in here is as heavy as lead, and your damaged lung requires\nlighter nourishment.\"\n\n\"Yes, let me go out,\" said the girl. \"It is well that thou hast not\nbrought back the other with thee, who tormented me with his vows.\"\n\n\"You mean blind Teta,\" said Nebsecht, \"he will not come again; but the\nyoung priest who soothed your father, when he repulsed the princess, will\nvisit you. He is kindly disposed, and you should--you should--\"\n\n\"Pentaur will come?\" said the girl eagerly.\n\n\"Before midday. But how do you know his name?\"\n\n\"I know him,\" said Uarda decidedly.\n\nThe surgeon looked at her surprised.\n\n\"You must not talk any more,\" he said, \"for your cheeks are glowing, and\nthe fever may return. We have arranged a tent for you, and now we will\ncarry you into the open air.\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" said the girl. \"Grandmother, do my hair for me, it is so\nheavy.\"\n\nWith these words she endeavored to part her mass of long reddish-brown\nhair with her slender hands, and to free it from the straws that had got\nentangled in it.\n\n\"Lie still,\" said the surgeon, in a warning voice.\n\n\"But it is so heavy,\" said the sick girl, smiling and showing Nebsecht\nher abundant wealth of golden hair as if it were a fatiguing burden.\n\"Come, grandmother, and help me.\"\n\nThe old woman leaned over the child, and combed her long locks carefully\nwith a coarse comb made of grey horn, gently disengaged the straws from\nthe golden tangle, and at last laid two thick long plaits on her\ngranddaughter's shoulders.\n\nNebsecht knew that every movement of the wounded girl might do mischief,\nand his impulse was to stop the old woman's proceedings, but his tongue\nseemed spell-bound. Surprised, motionless, and with crimson cheeks, he\nstood opposite the girl, and his eyes followed every movement of her\nhands with anxious observation.\n\nShe did not notice him.\n\nWhen the old woman laid down the comb Uarda drew a long breath.\n\n\"Grandmother,\" she said, \"give me the mirror.\" The old woman brought a\nshard of dimly glazed, baked clay. The girl turned to the light,\ncontemplated the undefined reflection for a moment, and said:\n\n\"I have not seen a flower for so long, grandmother.\"\n\n\"Wait, child,\" she replied; she took from a jug the rose, which the\nprincess had laid on the bosom of her grandchild, and offered it to her.\nBefore Uarda could take it, the withered petals fell, and dropped upon\nher. The surgeon stooped, gathered them up, and put them into the child's\nhand.\n\n\"How good you are!\" she said; \"I am called Uarda--like this flower--and I\nlove roses and the fresh air. Will you carry me out now?\"\n\nNebsecht called the paraschites, who came into the hut with his son, and\nthey carried the girl out into the air, and laid her under the humble\ntent they had contrived for her. The soldier's knees trembled while he\nheld the light burden of his daughter's weight in his strong hands, and\nhe sighed when he laid her down on the mat.\n\n\"How blue the sky is!\" cried Uarda. \"Ah! grandfather has watered my\npomegranate, I thought so! and there come my doves! give me some corn in\nmy hand, grandmother. How pleased they are.\"\n\nThe graceful birds, with black rings round their reddish-grey necks, flew\nconfidingly to her, and took the corn that she playfully laid between her\nlips.\n\nNebsecht looked on with astonishment at this pretty play. He felt as if a\nnew world had opened to him, and some new sense, hitherto unknown to him,\nhad been revealed to him within his breast. He silently sat down in front\nof the but, and drew the picture of a rose on the sand with a reed-stem\nthat he picked up.\n\nPerfect stillness was around him; the doves even had flown up, and\nsettled on the roof. Presently the dog barked, steps approached; Uarda\nlifted herself up and said:\n\n\"Grandmother, it is the priest Pentaur.\"\n\n\"Who told you?\" asked the old woman.\n\n\"I know it,\" answered the girl decidedly, and in a few moments a sonorous\nvoice cried: \"Good day to you. How is your invalid?\"\n\nPentaur was soon standing by Uarda; pleased to hear Nebsecht's good\nreport, and with the sweet face of the girl. He had some flowers in his\nhand, that a happy maiden had laid on the altar of the Goddess Hathor,\nwhich he had served since the previous day, and he gave them to the sick\ngirl, who took them with a blush, and held them between her clasped\nhands.\n\n\"The great Goddess whom I serve sends you these,\" said Pentaur, \"and they\nwill bring you healing. Continue to resemble them. You are pure and fair\nlike them, and your course henceforth may be like theirs. As the sun\ngives life to the grey horizon, so you bring joy to this dark but.\nPreserve your innocence, and wherever you go you will bring love, as\nflowers spring in every spot that is trodden by the golden foot of\nHathor.\n\n   [Hathor is frequently called \"the golden,\" particularly at Dendera\n   She has much in common with the \"golden Aphrodite.\"]\n\nMay her blessing rest upon you!\"\n\nHe had spoken the last words half to the old couple and half to Uarda,\nand was already turning to depart when, behind a heap of dried reeds that\nlay close to the awning over the girl, the bitter cry of a child was\nheard, and a little boy came forward who held, as high as he could reach,\na little cake, of which the dog, who seemed to know him well, had\nsnatched half.\n\n\"How do you come here, Scherau?\" the paraschites asked the weeping boy;\nthe unfortunate child that Hekt was bringing up as a dwarf.\n\n\"I wanted,\" sobbed the little one, \"to bring the cake to Uarda. She is\nill--I had so much--\"\n\n\"Poor child,\" said the paraschites, stroking the boy's hair; \"there-give\nit to Uarda.\"\n\nScherau went up to the sick girl, knelt down by her, and whispered with\nstreaming eyes:\n\n\"Take it! It is good, and very sweet, and if I get another cake, and Hekt\nwill let me out, I will bring it to you.\n\n\"Thank you, good little Scherau,\" said Uarda, kissing the child. Then she\nturned to Pentaur and said:\n\n\"For weeks he has had nothing but papyrus-pith, and lotus-bread, and now\nhe brings me the cake which grandmother gave old Hekt yesterday.\"\n\nThe child blushed all over, and stammered:\n\n\"It is only half--but I did not touch it. Your dog bit out this piece,\nand this.\"\n\nHe touched the honey with the tip of his finger, and put it to his lips.\n\"I was a long time behind the reeds there, for I did not like to come out\nbecause of the strangers there.\" He pointed to Nebsecht and Pentaur. \"But\nnow I must go home,\" he cried.\n\nThe child was going, but Pentaur stopped him, seized him, lifted him up\nin his arms and kissed him; saying, as he turned to Nebsecht:\n\n\"They were wise, who represented Horus--the symbol of the triumph of good\nover evil and of purity over the impure--in the form of a child. Bless\nyou, my little friend; be good, and always give away what you have to\nmake others happy. It will not make your house rich--but it will your\nheart!\"\n\nScherau clung to the priest, and involuntarily raised his little hand to\nstroke Pentaur's cheek. An unknown tenderness had filled his little\nheart, and he felt as if he must throw his arms round the poet's neck and\ncry upon his breast.\n\nBut Pentaur set him down on the ground, and he trotted down into the\nvalley. There he paused. The sun was high in the heavens, and he must\nreturn to the witch's cave and his board, but he would so much like to go\na little farther--only as far as to the king's tomb, which was quite\nnear.\n\nClose by the door of this tomb was a thatch of palm-branches, and under\nthis the sculptor Batau, a very aged man, was accustomed to rest. The old\nman was deaf, but he passed for the best artist of his time, and with\njustice; he had designed the beautiful pictures and hieroglyphic\ninscriptions in Seti's splendid buildings at Abydos and Thebes, as well\nas in the tomb of that prince, and he was now working at the decoration\nof the walls in the grave of Rameses.\n\nScherau had often crept close up to him, and thoughtfully watched him at\nwork, and then tried himself to make animal and human figures out of a\nbit of clay.\n\nOne day the old man had observed him.\n\nThe sculptor had silently taken his humble attempt out of his hand, and\nhad returned it to him with a smile of encouragement.\n\nFrom that time a peculiar tie had sprung up between the two. Scherau\nwould venture to sit down by the sculptor, and try to imitate his\nfinished images. Not a word was exchanged between them, but often the\ndeaf old man would destroy the boy's works, often on the contrary improve\nthem with a touch of his own hand, and not seldom nod at him to encourage\nhim.\n\nWhen he staid away the old man missed his pupil, and Scherau's happiest\nhours were those which he passed at his side.\n\nHe was not forbidden to take some clay home with him. There, when the old\nwoman's back was turned, he moulded a variety of images which he\ndestroyed as soon as they were finished.\n\nWhile he lay on his rack his hands were left free, and he tried to\nreproduce the various forms which lived in his imagination, he forgot the\npresent in his artistic attempts, and his bitter lot acquired a flavor of\nthe sweetest enjoyment.\n\nBut to-day it was too late; he must give up his visit to the tomb of\nRameses.\n\nOnce more he looked back at the hut, and then hurried into the dark cave.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nPentauer also soon quitted the but of the paraschites.\n\nLost in meditation, he went along the hill-path which led to the temple\nwhich Ameni had put under his direction.\n\n   [This temple is well proportioned, and remains in good preservation.\n   Copies of the interesting pictures discovered in it are to be found\n   in the \"Fleet of an Egyptian queen\" by Dutnichen. Other details may\n   be found in Lepsius' Monuments of Egypt, and a plan of the place has\n   recently been published by Mariette.]\n\nHe foresaw many disturbed and anxious hours in the immediate future.\n\nThe sanctuary of which he was the superior, had been dedicated to her own\nmemory, and to the goddess Hathor, by Hatasu,\n\n   [The daughter of Thotmes I., wife of her brother Thotmes II., and\n   predecessor of her second brother Thotmes III. An energetic woman\n   who executed great works, and caused herself to be represented with\n   the helmet and beard-case of a man.]\n\na great queen of the dethroned dynasty.\n\nThe priests who served it were endowed with peculiar chartered\nprivileges, which hitherto had been strictly respected. Their dignity was\nhereditary, going down from father to son, and they had the right of\nchoosing their director from among themselves.\n\nNow their chief priest Rui was ill and dying, and Ameni, under whose\njurisdiction they came, had, without consulting them, sent the young poet\nPentaur to fill his place.\n\nThey had received the intruder most unwillingly, and combined strongly\nagainst him when it became evident that he was disposed to establish a\nsevere rule and to abolish many abuses which had become established\ncustoms.\n\nThey had devolved the greeting of the rising sun on the temple-servants;\nPentaur required that the younger ones at least should take part in\nchanting the morning hymn, and himself led the choir. They had trafficked\nwith the offerings laid on the altar of the Goddess; the new master\nrepressed this abuse, as well as the extortions of which they were guilty\ntowards women in sorrow, who visited the temple of Hathor in greater\nnumber than any other sanctuary.\n\nThe poet-brought up in the temple of Seti to self-control, order,\nexactitude, and decent customs, deeply penetrated with a sense of the\ndignity of his position, and accustomed to struggle with special zeal\nagainst indolence of body and spirit--was disgusted with the slothful\nlife and fraudulent dealings of his subordinates; and the deeper insight\nwhich yesterday's experience had given him into the poverty and sorrow of\nhuman existence, made him resolve with increased warmth that he would\nawake them to a new life.\n\nThe conviction that the lazy herd whom he commanded was called upon to\npour consolation into a thousand sorrowing hearts, to dry innumerable\ntears, and to clothe the dry sticks of despair with the fresh verdure of\nhope, urged him to strong measures.\n\nYesterday he had seen how, with calm indifference, they had listened to\nthe deserted wife, the betrayed maiden, to the woman, who implored the\nwithheld blessing of children, to the anxious mother, the forlorn\nwidow,--and sought only to take advantage of sorrow, to extort gifts for\nthe Goddess, or better still for their own pockets or belly.\n\nNow he was nearing the scene of his new labors.\n\nThere stood the reverend building, rising stately from the valley on four\nterraces handsomely and singularly divided, and resting on the western\nside against the high amphitheatre of yellow cliffs.\n\nOn the closely-joined foundation stones gigantic hawks were carved in\nrelief, each with the emblem of life, and symbolized Horus, the son of\nthe Goddess, who brings all that fades to fresh bloom, and all that dies\nto resurrection.\n\nOn each terrace stood a hall open to the east, and supported on two and\ntwenty archaic pillars.\n\n   [Polygonal pillars, which were used first in tomb-building under the\n   12th dynasty, and after the expulsion of the Hyksos under the kings\n   of the 17th and 18th, in public buildings; but under the subsequent\n   races of kings they ceased to be employed.]\n\nOn their inner walls elegant pictures and inscriptions in the finest\nsculptured work recorded, for the benefit of posterity, the great things\nthat Hatasu had done with the help of the Gods of Thebes.\n\nThere were the ships which she had to send to Punt\n\n   [Arabia; apparently also the coast of east Africa south of Egypt as\n   far as Somali. The latest of the lists published by Mariette, of\n   the southern nations conquered by Thotmes III., mentions it. This\n   list was found on the pylon of the temple of Karnak.]\n\nto enrich Egypt with the treasures of the east; there the wonders brought\nto Thebes from Arabia might be seen; there were delineated the houses of\nthe inhabitants of the land of frankincense, and all the fishes of the\nRed Sea, in distinct and characteristic outline.\n\nOn the third and fourth terraces were the small adjoining rooms of Hatasu\nand her brothers Thotmes II. and III., which were built against the rock,\nand entered by granite doorways. In them purifications were accomplished,\nthe images of the Goddess worshipped, and the more distinguished\nworshippers admitted to confess. The sacred cows of the Goddess were kept\nin a side-building.\n\nAs Pentaur approached the great gate of the terrace-temple, he became the\nwitness of a scene which filled him with resentment.\n\nA woman implored to be admitted into the forecourt, to pray at the altar\nof the Goddess for her husband, who was very ill, but the sleek\ngate-keeper drove her back with rough words.\n\n\"It is written up,\" said he, pointing to the inscription over the gate,\n\"only the purified may set their foot across this threshold, and you\ncannot be purified but by the smoke of incense.\"\n\n\"Then swing the censer for me,\" said the woman, and take this silver\nring--it is all I have.\"\n\n\"A silver ring!\" cried the porter, indignantly. \"Shall the goddess be\nimpoverished for your sake! The grains of Anta, that would be used in\npurifying you, would cost ten times as much.\"\n\n\"But I have no more,\" replied the woman, \"my husband, for whom I come to\npray, is ill; he cannot work, and my children--\"\n\n\"You fatten them up and deprive the goddess of her due,\" cried the\ngate-keeper. \"Three rings down, or I shut the gate.\"\n\n\"Be merciful,\" said the woman, weeping. \"What will become of us if Hathor\ndoes not help my husband?\"\n\n\"Will our goddess fetch the doctor?\" asked the porter. \"She has something\nto do besides curing sick starvelings. Besides, that is not her office.\nGo to Imhotep or to Chunsu the counsellor, or to the great Techuti\nherself, who helps the sick. There is no quack medicine to be got here.\"\n\n\"I only want comfort in my trouble,\" said the woman.\n\n\"Comfort!\" laughed the gate-keeper, measuring the comely young woman with\nhis eye. \"That you may have cheaper.\"\n\nThe woman turned pale, and drew back from the hand the man stretched out\ntowards her.\n\nAt this moment Pentaur, full of wrath, stepped between them.\n\nHe raised his hand in blessing over the woman, who bent low before him,\nand said, \"Whoever calls fervently on the Divinity is near to him. You\nare pure. Enter.\"\n\nAs soon as she had disappeared within the temple, the priest turned to\nthe gate-keeper and exclaimed: \"Is this how you serve the goddess, is\nthis how you take advantage of a heart-wrung woman? Give me the keys of\nthis gate. Your office is taken from you, and early to-morrow you go out\nin the fields, and keep the geese of Hathor.\"\n\nThe porter threw himself on his knees with loud outcries; but Pentaur\nturned his back upon him, entered the sanctuary, and mounted the steps\nwhich led to his dwelling on the third terrace.\n\nA few priests whom he passed turned their backs upon him, others looked\ndown at their dinners, eating noisily, and making as if they did not see\nhim. They had combined strongly, and were determined to expel the\ninconvenient intruder at any price.\n\nHaving reached his room, which had been splendidly decorated for his\npredecessor, Pentaur laid aside his new insignia, comparing sorrowfully\nthe past and the present.\n\nTo what an exchange Ameni had condemned him! Here, wherever he looked, he\nmet with sulkiness and aversion; while, when he walked through the courts\nof the House of Seti, a hundred boys would hurry towards him, and cling\naffectionately to his robe. Honored there by great and small, his every\nword had had its value; and when each day he gave utterance to his\nthoughts, what he bestowed came back to him refined by earnest discourse\nwith his associates and superiors, and he gained new treasures for his\ninner life.\n\n\"What is rare,\" thought he, \"is full of charm; and yet how hard it is to\ndo without what is habitual!\" The occurrences of the last few days passed\nbefore his mental sight. Bent-Anat's image appeared before him, and took\na more and more distinct and captivating form. His heart began to beat\nwildly, the blood rushed faster through his veins; he hid his face in his\nhands, and recalled every glance, every word from her lips.\n\n\"I follow thee willingly,\" she had said to him before the hut of the\nparaschites. Now he asked himself whether he were worthy of such a\nfollower.\n\nHe had indeed broken through the old bonds, but not to disgrace the house\nthat was dear to him, only to let new light into its dim chambers.\n\n\"To do what we have earnestly felt to be right,\" said he to himself, \"may\nseem worthy of punishment to men, but cannot before God.\"\n\nHe sighed and walked out into the terrace in a mood of lofty excitement,\nand fully resolved to do here nothing but what was right, to lay the\nfoundation of all that was good.\n\n\"We men,\" thought he, \"prepare sorrow when we come into the world, and\nlamentation when we leave it; and so it is our duty in the intermediate\ntime to fight with suffering, and to sow the seeds of joy. There are many\ntears here to be wiped away. To work then!\" The poet found none of his\nsubordinates on the upper terrace. They had all met in the forecourt of\nthe temple, and were listening to the gate-keeper's tale, and seemed to\nsympathize with his angry complaint--against whom Pentaur well knew.\n\nWith a firm step he went towards them and said:\n\n\"I have expelled this man from among us, for he is a disgrace to us.\nTo-morrow he quits the temple.\"\n\n\"I will go at once,\" replied the gate-keeper defiantly, \"and in behalf of\nthe holy fathers (here he cast a significant glance at the priests), ask\nthe high-priest Ameni if the unclean are henceforth to be permitted to\nenter this sanctuary.\"\n\nHe was already approaching the gate, but Pentaur stepped before him,\nsaying resolutely:\n\n\"You will remain here and keep the geese to-morrow, day after to-morrow,\nand until I choose to pardon you.\" The gate-keeper looked enquiringly at\nthe priests. Not one moved.\n\n\"Go back into your house,\" said Pentaur, going closer to him.\n\nThe porter obeyed.\n\nPentaur locked the door of the little room, gave the key to one of the\ntemple-servants, and said: \"Perform his duty, watch the man, and if he\nescapes you will go after the geese to-morrow too. See, my friends, how\nmany worshippers kneel there before our altars--go and fulfil your\noffice. I will wait in the confessional to receive complaints, and to\nadminister comfort.\"\n\nThe priests separated and went to the votaries. Pentaur once more mounted\nthe steps, and sat down in the narrow confessional which was closed by a\ncurtain; on its wall the picture of Hatasu was to be seen, drawing the\nmilk of eternal life from the udders of the cow Hathor.\n\nHe had hardly taken his place when a temple-servant announced the arrival\nof a veiled lady. The bearers of her litter were thickly veiled, and she\nhad requested to be conducted to the confession chamber. The servant\nhanded Pentaur a token by which the high-priest of the great temple of\nAnion, on the other bank of the Nile, granted her the privilege of\nentering the inner rooms of the temple with the Rechiu, and to\ncommunicate with all priests, even with the highest of the initiated.\n\nThe poet withdrew behind a curtain, and awaited the stranger with a\ndisquiet that seemed to him all the more singular that he had frequently\nfound himself in a similar position. Even the noblest dignitaries had\noften been transferred to him by Ameni when they had come to the temple\nto have their visions interpreted.\n\nA tall female figure entered the still, sultry stone room, sank on her\nknees, and put up a long and absorbed prayer before the figure of Hathor.\nPentaur also, seen by no one, lifted his hands, and fervently addressed\nhimself to the omnipresent spirit with a prayer for strength and purity.\n\nJust as his arms fell the lady raised her head. It was as though the\nprayers of the two souls had united to mount upwards together.\n\nThe veiled lady rose and dropped her veil.\n\nIt was Bent-Anat.\n\nIn the agitation of her soul she had sought the goddess Hathor, who\nguides the beating heart of woman and spins the threads which bind man\nand wife.\n\n\"High mistress of heaven! many-named and beautiful!\" she began to pray\naloud, \"golden Hathor! who knowest grief and ecstasy--the present and the\nfuture--draw near to thy child, and guide the spirit of thy servant, that\nhe may advise me well. I am the daughter of a father who is great and\nnoble and truthful as one of the Gods. He advises me--he will never\ncompel me--to yield to a man whom I can never love. Nay, another has met\nme, humble in birth but noble in spirit and in gifts--\"\n\nThus far, Pentaur, incapable of speech, had overheard the princess.\n\nOught he to remain concealed and hear all her secret, or should he step\nforth and show himself to her? His pride called loudly to him: \"Now she\nwill speak your name; you are the chosen one of the fairest and noblest.\"\nBut another voice to which he had accustomed himself to listen in severe\nself-discipline made itself heard, and said--\"Let her say nothing in\nignorance, that she need be ashamed of if she knew.\"\n\nHe blushed for her;--he opened the curtain and went forward into the\npresence of Bent-Anat.\n\nThe Princess drew back startled.\n\n\"Art thou Pentaur,\" she asked, \"or one of the Immortals?\"\n\n\"I am Pentaur,\" he answered firmly, \"a man with all the weakness of his\nrace, but with a desire for what is good. Linger here and pour out thy\nsoul to our Goddess; my whole life shall be a prayer for thee.\"\n\nThe poet looked full at her; then he turned quickly, as if to avoid a\ndanger, towards the door of the confessional.\n\nBent-Anat called his name, and he stayed his steps:\n\n\"The daughter of Rameses,\" she said, \"need offer no justification of her\nappearance here, but the maiden Bent-Anat,\" and she colored as she spoke,\n\"expected to find, not thee, but the old priest Rui, and she desired his\nadvice. Now leave me to pray.\"\n\nBent-Anat sank on her knees, and Pentaur went out into the open air.\n\nWhen the princess too had left the confessional, loud voices were heard\non the south side of the terrace on which they stood.\n\nShe hastened towards the parapet.\n\n\"Hail to Pentaur!\" was shouted up from below. The poet rushed forward,\nand placed himself near the princess. Both looked down into the valley,\nand could be seen by all.\n\n\"Hail, hail! Pentaur,\" was called doubly loud, \"Hail to our teacher! come\nback to the House of Seti. Down with the persecutors of Pentaur--down\nwith our oppressors!\"\n\nAt the head of the youths, who, so soon as they had found out whither the\npoet had been exiled, had escaped to tell him that they were faithful to\nhim, stood the prince Rameri, who nodded triumphantly to his sister, and\nAnana stepped forward to inform the honored teacher in a solemn and\nwell-studied speech, that, in the event of Ameni refusing to recall him,\nthey had decided requesting their fathers to place them at another\nschool.\n\nThe young sage spoke well, and Bent-Anat followed his words, not without\napprobation; but Pentaur's face grew darker, and before his favorite\ndisciple had ended his speech he interrupted him sternly.\n\nHis voice was at first reproachful, and then complaining, and loud as he\nspoke, only sorrow rang in his tones, and not anger.\n\n\"In truth,\" he concluded, \"every word that I have spoken to you I could\nbut find it in me to regret, if it has contributed to encourage you to\nthis mad act. You were born in palaces; learn to obey, that later you may\nknow how to command. Back to your school! You hesitate? Then I will come\nout against you with the watchman, and drive you back, for you do me and\nyourselves small honor by such a proof of affection. Go back to the\nschool you belong to.\"\n\nThe school-boys dared make no answer, but surprised and disenchanted\nturned to go home.\n\nBent-Anat cast down her eyes as she met those of her brother, who\nshrugged his shoulders, and then she looked half shyly, half\nrespectfully, at the poet; but soon again her eyes turned to the plain\nbelow, for thick dust-clouds whirled across it, the sound of hoofs and\nthe rattle of wheels became audible, and at the same moment the chariot\nof Septah, the chief haruspex, and a vehicle with the heavily-armed guard\nof the House of Seti, stopped near the terrace.\n\nThe angry old man sprang quickly to the ground, called the host of\nescaped pupils to him in a stern voice, ordered the guard to drive them\nback to the school, and hurried up to the temple gates like a vigorous\nyouth. The priests received him with the deepest reverence, and at once\nlaid their complaints before him.\n\nHe heard them willingly, but did not let them discuss the matter; then,\nthough with some difficulty, he quickly mounted the steps, down which\nBent-Anat came towards him.\n\nThe princess felt that she would divert all the blame and\nmisunderstanding to herself, if Septah recognized her; her hand\ninvoluntarily reached for her veil, but she drew it back quickly, looked\nwith quiet dignity into the old man's eyes, which flashed with anger, and\nproudly passed by him. The haruspex bowed, but without giving her his\nblessing, and when he met Pentaur on the second terrace, ordered that the\ntemple should be cleared of worshippers.\n\nThis was done in a few minutes, and the priests were witnesses of the\nmost painful, scene which had occurred for years in their quiet\nsanctuary.\n\nThe head of the haruspices of the House of Seti was the most determined\nadversary of the poet who had so early been initiated into the mysteries,\nand whose keen intellect often shook those very ramparts which the\nzealous old man had, from conviction, labored to strengthen from his\nyouth up. The vexatious occurrences, of which he had been a witness at\nthe House of Seti, and here also but a few minutes since, he regarded as\nthe consequence of the unbridled license of an ill-regulated imagination,\nand in stern language he called Pentaur to account for the \"revolt\" of\nthe school-boys.\n\n\"And besides our boys,\" he exclaimed, \"you have led the daughter of\nRameses astray. She was not yet purged of her uncleanness, and yet you\ntempt her to an assignation, not even in the stranger's quarters--but in\nthe holy house of this pure Divinity.\" Undeserved praise is dangerous to\nthe weak; unjust blame may turn even the strong from the right way.\nPentaur indignantly repelled the accusations of the old man, called them\nunworthy of his age, his position, and his name, and for fear that his\nanger might carry him too far, turned his back upon him; but the haruspex\nordered him to remain, and in his presence questioned the priests, who\nunanimously accused the poet of having admitted to the temple another\nunpurified woman besides Bent-Anat, and of having expelled the\ngate-keeper and thrown him into prison for opposing the crime.\n\nThe haruspex ordered that the \"ill-used man\" should be set at liberty.\n\nPentaur resisted this command, asserted his right to govern in this\ntemple, and with a trembling voice requested Septah to quit the place.\n\nThe haruspex showed him Ameni's ring, by which, during his residence in\nThebes, he made him his plenipotentiary, degraded Pentaur from his\ndignity, but ordered him not to quit the sanctuary till further notice,\nand then finally departed from the temple of Hatasu.\n\nPentaur had yielded in silence to the signet of his chief, and returned\nto the confessional in which he had met Bent-Anat. He felt his soul\nshaken to its very foundations, his thoughts were confused, his feelings\nstruggling with each other; he shivered, and when he heard the laughter\nof the priests and the gatekeeper, who were triumphing in their easy\nvictory, he started and shuddered like a man who in passing a mirror\nshould see a brand of disgrace on his brow.\n\nBut by degrees he recovered himself, his spirit grew clearer, and when he\nleft the little room to look towards the east--where, on the farther\nshore, rose the palace where Bent-Anat must be--a deep contempt for his\nenemies filled his soul, and a proud feeling of renewed manly energy. He\ndid not conceal from himself that he had enemies; that a time of struggle\nwas beginning for him; but he looked forward to it like a young hero to\nthe morning of his first battle.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Bearers of ill ride faster than the messengers of weal\n     Do not spoil the future for the sake of the present\n     Exhibit one's happiness in the streets, and conceal one's misery\n     Impartial looker-on sees clearer than the player\n     Learn to obey, that later you may know how to command\n     Man has nothing harder to endure than uncertainty\n     Many creditors are so many allies\n     One should give nothing up for lost excepting the dead\n     Our thinkers are no heroes, and our heroes are no sages\n     Overbusy friends are more damaging than intelligent enemies\n     Prepare sorrow when we come into the world\n     The experienced love to signify their superiority\n     We quarrel with no one more readily than with the benefactor\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nVolume 4.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nThe afternoon shadows were already growing long, when a splendid chariot\ndrew up to the gates of the terrace-temple. Paaker, the chief pioneer,\nstood up in it, driving his handsome and fiery Syrian horses. Behind him\nstood an Ethiopian slave, and his big dog followed the swift team with\nhis tongue out.\n\nAs he approached the temple he heard himself called, and checked the pace\nof his horses. A tiny man hurried up to him, and, as soon as he had\nrecognized in him the dwarf Nemu, he cried angrily:\n\n\"Is it for you, you rascal, that I stop my drive? What do you want?\"\n\n\"To crave,\" said the little man, bowing humbly, \"that, when thy business\nin the city of the dead is finished, thou wilt carry me back to Thebes.\"\n\n\"You are Mena's dwarf?\" asked the pioneer.\n\n\"By no means,\" replied Nemu. \"I belong to his neglected wife, the lady\nNefert. I can only cover the road very slowly with my little legs, while\nthe hoofs of your horses devour the way-as a crocodile does his prey.\"\n\n\"Get up!\" said Paaker. \"Did you come here on foot?\"\n\n\"No, my lord,\" replied Nemu, \"on an ass; but a demon entered into the\nbeast, and has struck it with sickness. I had to leave it on the road.\nThe beasts of Anubis will have a better supper than we to-night.\"\n\n\"Things are not done handsomely then at your mistress's house?\" asked\nPaaker.\n\n\"We still have bread,\" replied Nemu, \"and the Nile is full of water. Much\nmeat is not necessary for women and dwarfs, but our last cattle take a\nform which is too hard for human teeth.\"\n\nThe pioneer did not understand the joke, and looked enquiringly at the\ndwarf.\n\n\"The form of money,\" said the little man, \"and that cannot be chewed;\nsoon that will be gone too, and then the point will be to find a recipe\nfor making nutritious cakes out of earth, water, and palm-leaves. It\nmakes very little difference to me, a dwarf does not need much--but the\npoor tender lady!\"\n\nPaaker touched his horses with such a violent stroke of his whip that\nthey reared high, and it took all his strength to control their spirit.\n\n\"The horses' jaws will be broken,\" muttered the slave behind. \"What a\nshame with such fine beasts!\"\n\n\"Have you to pay for them?\" growled Paaker. Then he turned again to the\ndwarf, and asked:\n\n\"Why does Mena let the ladies want?\"\n\n\"He no longer cares for his wife,\" replied the dwarf, casting his eyes\ndown sadly. \"At the last division of the spoil he passed by the gold and\nsilver; and took a foreign woman into his tent. Evil demons have blinded\nhim, for where is there a woman fairer than Nefert?\"\n\n\"You love your mistress.\"\n\n\"As my very eyes!\"\n\nDuring this conversation they had arrived at the terrace-temple. Paaker\nthrew the reins to the slave, ordered him to wait with Nemu, and turned\nto the gate-keeper to explain to him, with the help of a handful of gold,\nhis desire of being conducted to Pentaur, the chief of the temple.\n\nThe gate-keeper, swinging a censer before him with a hasty action,\nadmitted him into the sanctuary. \"You will find him on the third terrace,\"\nhe said, \"but he is no longer our superior.\"\n\n\"They said so in the temple of Seti, whence I have just come,\" replied\nPaaker.\n\nThe porter shrugged his shoulders with a sneer, and said: \"The palm-tree\nthat is quickly set up falls down more quickly still.\" Then he desired a\nservant to conduct the stranger to Pentaur.\n\nThe poet recognized the Mohar at once, asked his will, and learned that\nhe was come to have a wonderful vision interpreted by him.\n\nPaaker explained before relating his dream, that he did not ask this\nservice for nothing; and when the priest's countenance darkened he added:\n\n\"I will send a fine beast for sacrifice to the Goddess if the\ninterpretation is favorable.\"\n\n\"And in the opposite case?\" asked Pentaur, who, in the House of Seti,\nnever would have anything whatever to do with the payments of the\nworshippers or the offerings of the devout.\n\n\"I will offer a sheep,\" replied Paaker, who did not perceive the subtle\nirony that lurked in Pentaur's words, and who was accustomed to pay for\nthe gifts of the Divinity in proportion to their value to himself.\n\nPentaur thought of the verdict which Gagabu, only two evenings since, had\npassed on the Mohar, and it occurred to him that he would test how far\nthe man's superstition would lead him. So he asked, while he suppressed a\nsmile:\n\n\"And if I can foretell nothing bad, but also nothing actually good?\"--\n\n\"An antelope, and four geese,\" answered Paaker promptly.\n\n\"But if I were altogether disinclined to put myself at your service?\"\nasked Pentaur. \"If I thought it unworthy of a priest to let the Gods be\npaid in proportion to their favors towards a particular person, like\ncorrupt officials; if I now showed you--you--and I have known you from a\nschool-boy, that there are things that cannot be bought with inherited\nwealth?\"\n\nThe pioneer drew back astonished and angry, but Pentaur continued\ncalmly--\n\n\"I stand here as the minister of the Divinity; and nevertheless, I see by\nyour countenance, that you were on the point of lowering yourself by\nshowing to me your violent and extortionate spirit.\n\n\"The Immortals send us dreams, not to give us a foretaste of joy or\ncaution us against danger, but to remind us so to prepare our souls that\nwe may submit quietly to suffer evil, and with heartfelt gratitude accept\nthe good; and so gain from each profit for the inner life. I will not\ninterpret your dream! Come without gifts, but with a humble heart, and\nwith longing for inward purification, and I will pray to the Gods that\nthey may enlighten me, and give you such interpretation of even evil\ndreams that they may be fruitful in blessing.\n\n\"Leave me, and quit the temple!\"\n\nPaaker ground his teeth with rage; but he controlled himself, and only\nsaid as he slowly withdrew:\n\n\"If your office had not already been taken from you, the insolence with\nwhich you have dismissed me might have cost you your place. We shall meet\nagain, and then you shall learn that inherited wealth in the right hand\nis worth more than you will like.\"\n\n\"Another enemy!\" thought the poet, when he found himself alone and stood\nerect in the glad consciousness of having done right.\n\nDuring Paaker's interview with the poet, the dwarf Nemu had chatted to\nthe porter, and had learned from him all that had previously occurred.\n\nPaaker mounted his chariot pale with rage, and whipped on his horses\nbefore the dwarf had clambered up the step; but the slave seized the\nlittle man, and set him carefully on his feet behind his master.\n\n\"The villian, the scoundrel! he shall repent it--Pentaur is he called!\nthe hound!\" muttered the pioneer to himself.\n\nThe dwarf lost none of his words, and when he caught the name of Pentaur\nhe called to the pioneer, and said--\n\n\"They have appointed a scoundrel to be the superior of this temple; his\nname is Pentaur. He was expelled from the temple of Seti for his\nimmorality, and now he has stirred up the younger scholars to rebellion,\nand invited unclean women into the temple. My lips hardly dare repeat it,\nbut the gate-keeper swore it was true--that the chief haruspex from the\nHouse of Seti found him in conference with Bent-Anat, the king's\ndaughter, and at once deprived him of his office.\"\n\n\"With Bent-Anat?\" replied the pioneer, and muttered, before the dwarf\ncould find time to answer, \"Indeed, with Bent-Anat!\" and he recalled the\nday before yesterday, when the princess had remained so long with the\npriest in the hovel of the paraschites, while he had talked to Nefert and\nvisited the old witch.\n\n\"I should not care to be in the priest's skin,\" observed Nemu, \"for\nthough Rameses is far away, the Regent Ani is near enough. He is a\ngentleman who seldom pounces, but even the dove won't allow itself to be\nattacked in is own nest.\"\n\nPaaker looked enquiringly at Nemu.\n\n\"I know,\" said the dwarf \"Ani has asked Rameses' consent to marry his\ndaughter.\"\n\n\"He has already asked it,\" continued the dwarf as Paaker smiled\nincredulously, \"and the king is not disinclined to give it. He likes\nmaking marriages--as thou must know pretty well.\"\n\n\"I?\" said Paaker, surprised.\n\n\"He forced Katuti to give her daughter as wife to the charioteer. That I\nknow from herself. She can prove it to thee.\"\n\nPaaker shook his head in denial, but the dwarf continued eagerly, \"Yes,\nyes! Katuti would have had thee for her son-in-law, and it was the king,\nnot she, who broke off the betrothal. Thou must at the same time have\nbeen inscribed in the black books of the high gate, for Rameses used many\nhard names for thee. One of us is like a mouse behind the curtain, which\nknows a good deal.\"\n\nPaaker suddenly brought his horses to a stand-still, threw the reins to\nthe slave, sprang from the chariot, called the dwarf to his side, and\nsaid:\n\n\"We will walk from here to the river, and you shall tell me all you know;\nbut if an untrue word passes your lips I will have you eaten by my dogs.\"\n\n\"I know thou canst keep thy word,\" gasped the little man. \"But go a\nlittle slower if thou wilt, for I am quite out of breath. Let Katuti\nherself tell thee how it all came about. Rameses compelled her to give\nher daughter to the charioteer. I do not know what he said of thee, but\nit was not complimentary. My poor mistress! she let herself be caught by\nthe dandy, the ladies' man-and now she may weep and wail. When I pass the\ngreat gates of thy house with Katuti, she often sighs and complains\nbitterly. And with good reason, for it soon will be all over with our\nnoble estate, and we must seek an asylum far away among the Amu in the\nlow lands; for the nobles will soon avoid us as outcasts. Thou mayst be\nglad that thou hast not linked thy fate to ours; but I have a faithful\nheart, and will share my mistress's trouble.\"\n\n\"You speak riddles,\" said Paaker, \"what have they to fear?\"\n\nThe dwarf now related how Nefert's brother had gambled away the mummy of\nhis father, how enormous was the sum he had lost, and that degradation\nmust overtake Katuti, and her daughter with her.\n\n\"Who can save them,\" he whimpered. \"Her shameless husband squanders his\ninheritance and his prize-money. Katuti is poor, and the little words\n\"Give me! scare away friends as the cry of a hawk scares the chickens. My\npoor mistress!\"\n\n\"It is a large sum,\" muttered Paaker to himself. \"It is enormous!\" sighed\nthe dwarf, \"and where is it to be found in these hard times? It would\nhave been different with us, if--ah if--. And it would be a form of\nmadness which I do not believe in, that Nefert should still care for her\nbraggart husband. She thinks as much of thee as of him.\"\n\nPaaker looked at the dwarf half incredulous and half threatening.\n\n\"Ay--of thee,\" repeated Nemu. \"Since our excursion to the Necropolis the\nday before yesterday it was--she speaks only of thee, praising thy\nability, and thy strong manly spirit. It is as if some charm obliged her\nto think of thee.\"\n\nThe pioneer began to walk so fast that his small companion once more had\nto ask him to moderate his steps.\n\nThey gained the shore in silence, where Paaker's boat was waiting, which\nalso conveyed his chariot. He lay down in the little cabin, called the\ndwarf to him, and said:\n\n\"I am Katuti's nearest relative; we are now reconciled; why does she not\nturn to me in her difficulty?\"\n\n\"Because she is proud, and thy blood flows in her veins. Sooner would she\ndie with her child--she said so--than ask thee, against whom she sinned,\nfor an \"alms.\"\n\n\"She did think of me then?\"\n\n\"At once; nor did she doubt thy generosity. She esteems thee highly--I\nrepeat it; and if an arrow from a Cheta's bow or a visitation of the Gods\nattained Mena, she would joyfully place her child in thine arms, and\nNefert believe me has not forgotten her playfellow. The day before\nyesterday, when she came home from the Necropolis, and before the letter\nhad come from the camp, she was full of thee--\n\n   [\"To be full (meh) of any one\" is used in the Egyptian language for\n   \"to be in love with any one.\"]\n\nnay called to thee in her dreams; I know it from Kandake, her black\nmaid.\" The pioneer looked down and said:\n\n\"How extraordinary! and the same night I had a vision in which your\nmistress appeared to me; the insolent priest in the temple of Hathor\nshould have interpreted it to me.\"\n\n\"And he refused? the fool! but other folks understand dreams, and I am\nnot the worst of them--Ask thy servant. Ninety-nine times out of a\nhundred my interpretations come true. How was the vision?\"\n\n\"I stood by the Nile,\" said Paaker, casting down his eyes and drawing\nlines with his whip through the wool of the cabin rug. \"The water was\nstill, and I saw Nefert standing on the farther bank, and beckoning to\nme. I called to her, and she stepped on the water, which bore her up as\nif it were this carpet. She went over the water dry-foot as if it were\nthe stony wilderness. A wonderful sight! She came nearer to me, and\nnearer, and already I had tried to take her hand, when she ducked under\nlike a swan. I went into the water to seize her, and when she came up\nagain I clasped her in my arms; but then the strangest thing\nhappened--she flowed away, she dissolved like the snow on the Syrian\nhills, when you take it in your hand, and yet it was not the same, for\nher hair turned to water-lilies, and her eyes to blue fishes that swam\naway merrily, and her lips to twigs of coral that sank at once, and from\nher body grew a crocodile, with a head like Mena, that laughed and\ngnashed its teeth at me. Then I was seized with blind fury; I threw\nmyself upon him with a drawn sword, he fastened his teeth in my flesh, I\npierced his throat with my weapon; the Nile was dark with our streaming\nblood, and so we fought and fought--it lasted an eternity--till I awoke.\"\n\nPaaker drew a deep breath as he ceased speaking; as if his wild dream\ntormented him again.\n\nThe dwarf had listened with eager attention, but several minutes passed\nbefore he spoke.\n\n\"A strange dream,\" he said, \"but the interpretation as to the future is\nnot hard to find. Nefert is striving to reach thee, she longs to be\nthine, but if thou dost fancy that she is already in thy grasp she will\nelude thee; thy hopes will melt like ice, slip away like sand, if thou\ndost not know how to put the crocodile out of the way.\"\n\nAt this moment the boat struck the landing-place. The pioneer started up,\nand cried, \"We have reached the end!\"\n\n\"We have reached the end,\" echoed the little man with meaning. \"There is\nonly a narrow bridge to step over.\"\n\nWhen they both stood on the shore, the dwarf said,\n\n\"I have to thank thee for thy hospitality, and when I can serve thee\ncommand me.\"\n\n\"Come here,\" cried the pioneer, and drew Nemu away with him under the\nshade of a sycamore veiled in the half light of the departing sun.\n\n\"What do you mean by a bridge which we must step over? I do not\nunderstand the flowers of speech, and desire plain language.\"\n\nThe dwarf reflected for a moment; and then asked, \"Shall I say nakedly\nand openly what I mean, and will you not be angry?\"\n\n\"Speak!\"\n\n\"Mena is the crocodile. Put him out of the world, and you will have\npassed the bridge; then Nefert will be thine--if thou wilt listen to me.\"\n\n\"What shall I do?\"\n\n\"Put the charioteer out of the world.\"\n\nPaaker's gesture seemed to convey that that was a thing that had long\nbeen decided on, and he turned his face, for a good omen, so that the\nrising moon should be on his right hand.\n\nThe dwarf went on.\n\n\"Secure Nefert, so that she may not vanish like her image in the dream,\nbefore you reach the goal; that is to say, ransom the honor of your\nfuture mother and wife, for how could you take an outcast into your\nhouse?\"\n\nPaaker looked thoughtfully at the ground.\n\n\"May I inform my mistress that thou wilt save her?\" asked Nemu. \"I\nmay?--Then all will be well, for he who will devote a fortune to love\nwill not hesitate to devote a reed lance with a brass point to it to his\nlove and his hatred together.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nThe sun had set, and darkness covered the City of the Dead, but the moon\nshone above the valley of the kings' tombs, and the projecting masses of\nthe rocky walls of the chasm threw sharply-defined shadows. A weird\nsilence lay upon the desert, where yet far more life was stirring than in\nthe noonday hour, for now bats darted like black silken threads through\nthe night air, owls hovered aloft on wide-spread wings, small troops of\njackals slipped by, one following the other up the mountain slopes. From\ntime to time their hideous yell, or the whining laugh of the hyena, broke\nthe stillness of the night.\n\nNor was human life yet at rest in the valley of tombs. A faint light\nglimmered in the cave of the sorceress Hekt, and in front of the\nparaschites' but a fire was burning, which the grandmother of the sick\nUarda now and then fed with pieces of dry manure. Two men were seated in\nfront of the hut, and gazed in silence on the thin flame, whose impure\nlight was almost quenched by the clearer glow of the moon; whilst the\nthird, Uarda's father, disembowelled a large ram, whose head he had\nalready cut off.\n\n\"How the jackals howl!\" said the old paraschites, drawing as he spoke the\ntorn brown cotton cloth, which he had put on as a protection against the\nnight air and the dew, closer round his bare shoulders.\n\n\"They scent the fresh meat,\" answered the physician, Nebsecht. \"Throw\nthem the entrails, when you have done; the legs and back you can roast.\nBe careful how you cut out the heart--the heart, soldier. There it is!\nWhat a great beast.\"\n\nNebsecht took the ram's heart in his hand, and gazed at it with the\ndeepest attention, whilst the old paraschites watched him anxiously. At\nlength:\n\n\"I promised,\" he said, \"to do for you what you wish, if you restore the\nlittle one to health; but you ask for what is impossible.\"\n\n\"Impossible?\" said the physician, \"why, impossible? You open the corpses,\nyou go in and out of the house of the embalmer. Get possession of one of\nthe canopi,\n\n   [Vases of clay, limestone, or alabaster, which were used for the\n   preservation of the intestines of the embalmed Egyptians, and\n   represented the four genii of death, Amset, Hapi, Tuamutef, and\n   Khebsennuf. Instead of the cover, the head of the genius to which\n   it was dedicated, was placed on each kanopus. Amset (tinder the\n   protection of Isis) has a human head, Hapi (protected by Nephthys)\n   an ape's head, Tuamutef (protected by Neith) a jackal's head, and\n   Khebsennuf (protected by Selk) a sparrow-hawk's head. In one of the\n   Christian Coptic Manuscripts, the four archangels are invoked in the\n   place of these genii.]\n\nlay this heart in it, and take out in its stead the heart of a human\nbeing. No one--no one will notice it. Nor need you do it to-morrow, or\nthe day after tomorrow even. Your son can buy a ram to kill every day\nwith my money till the right moment comes. Your granddaughter will soon\ngrow strong on a good meat-diet. Take courage!\"\n\n\"I am not afraid of the danger,\" said the old man, \"but how can I venture\nto steal from a dead man his life in the other world? And then--in shame\nand misery have I lived, and for many a year--no man has numbered them\nfor me--have I obeyed the commandments, that I may be found righteous in\nthat world to come, and in the fields of Aalu, and in the Sun-bark find\ncompensation for all that I have suffered here. You are good and\nfriendly. Why, for the sake of a whim, should you sacrifice the future\nbliss of a man, who in all his long life has never known happiness, and\nwho has never done you any harm?\"\n\n\"What I want with the heart,\" replied the physician, \"you cannot\nunderstand, but in procuring it for me, you will be furthering a great\nand useful purpose. I have no whims, for I am no idler. And as to what\nconcerns your salvation, have no anxiety. I am a priest, and take your\ndeed and its consequences upon myself; upon myself, do you understand? I\ntell you, as a priest, that what I demand of you is right, and if the\njudge of the dead shall enquire, 'Why didst thou take the heart of a\nhuman being out of the Kanopus?' then reply--reply to him thus, 'Because\nNebsecht, the priest, commanded me, and promised himself to answer for\nthe deed.'\"\n\nThe old man gazed thoughtfully on the ground, and the physician continued\nstill more urgently:\n\n\"If you fulfil my wish, then--then I swear to you that, when you die, I\nwill take care that your mummy is provided with all the amulets, and I\nmyself will write you a book of the Entrance into Day, and have it wound\nwithin your mummy-cloth, as is done with the great.\n\n   [The Books of the Dead are often found amongst the cloths, (by the\n   leg or under the arm), or else in the coffin trader, or near, the\n   mummy.]\n\nThat will give you power over all demons, and you will be admitted to the\nhall of the twofold justice, which punishes and rewards, and your award\nwill be bliss.\"\n\n\"But the theft of a heart will make the weight of my sins heavy, when my\nown heart is weighed,\" sighed the old man.\n\nNebsecht considered for a moment, and then said: \"I will give you a\nwritten paper, in which I will certify that it was I who commanded the\ntheft. You will sew it up in a little bag, carry it on your breast, and\nhave it laid with you in the grave. Then when Techuti, the agent of the\nsoul, receives your justification before Osiris and the judges of the\ndead, give him the writing. He will read it aloud, and you will be\naccounted just.\"\n\n   [The vignettes of Chapter 125 of the Book of the Dead represent the\n   Last Judgment of the Egyptians. Under a canopy Osiris sits\n   enthroned as Chief Judge, 42 assessors assist him. In the hall\n   stand the scales; the dog headed ape, the animal sacred to Toth,\n   guides the balance. In one scale lies the heart of the dead man, in\n   the other the image of the goddess of Truth, who introduces the soul\n   into the hall of justice Toth writs the record. The soul affirms\n   that it has not committed 42 deadly sins, and if it obtains credit,\n   it is named \"maa cheru,\" i.e. \"the truth-speaker,\" and is therewith\n   declared blessed. It now receives its heart back, and grows into a\n   new and divine life.]\n\n\"I am not learned in writing,\" muttered the paraschites with a slight\nmistrust that made itself felt in his voice.\n\n\"But I swear to you by the nine great Gods, that I will write nothing on\nthe paper but what I have promised you. I will confess that I, the priest\nNebsecht, commanded you to take the heart, and that your guilt is mine.\"\n\n\"Let me have the writing then,\" murmured the old man.\n\nThe physician wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and gave the\nparaschites his hand. \"To-morrow you shall have it,\" he said, \"and I will\nnot leave your granddaughter till she is well again.\"\n\nThe soldier engaged in cutting up the ram, had heard nothing of this\nconversation. Now he ran a wooden spit through the legs, and held them\nover the fire to roast them. The jackals howled louder as the smell of\nthe melting fat filled the air, and the old man, as he looked on, forgot\nthe terrible task he had undertaken. For a year past, no meat had been\ntasted in his house.\n\nThe physician Nebsecht, himself eating nothing but a piece of bread,\nlooked on at the feasters. They tore the meat from the bones, and the\nsoldier, especially, devoured the costly and unwonted meal like some\nravenous animal. He could be heard chewing like a horse in the manger,\nand a feeling of disgust filled the physician's soul.\n\n\"Sensual beings,\" he murmured to himself, \"animals with consciousness!\nAnd yet human beings. Strange! They languish bound in the fetters of the\nworld of sense, and yet how much more ardently they desire that which\ntranscends sense than we--how much more real it is to them than to us!\"\n\n\"Will you have some meat?\" cried the soldier, who had remarked that\nNebsecht's lips moved, and tearing a piece of meat from the bone of the\njoint he was devouring, he held it out to the physician. Nebsecht shrank\nback; the greedy look, the glistening teeth, the dark, rough features of\nthe man terrified him. And he thought of the white and fragile form of\nthe sick girl lying within on the mat, and a question escaped his lips.\n\n\"Is the maiden, is Uarda, your own child?\" he said.\n\nThe soldier struck himself on the breast. \"So sure as the king Rameses is\nthe son of Seti,\" he answered. The men had finished their meal, and the\nflat cakes of bread which the wife of the paraschites gave them, and on\nwhich they had wiped their hands from the fat, were consumed, when the\nsoldier, in whose slow brain the physician's question still lingered,\nsaid, sighing deeply:\n\n\"Her mother was a stranger; she laid the white dove in the raven's nest.\"\n\n\"Of what country was your wife a native?\" asked the physician.\n\n\"That I do not know,\" replied the soldier.\n\n\"Did you never enquire about the family of your own wife?\"\n\n\"Certainly I did: but how could she have answered me? But it is a long\nand strange story.\"\n\n\"Relate it to me,\" said Nebsecht, \"the night is long, and I like\nlistening better than talking. But first I will see after our patient.\"\n\nWhen the physician had satisfied himself that Uarda was sleeping quietly\nand breathing regularly, he seated himself again by the paraschites and\nhis son, and the soldier began:\n\n\"It all happened long ago. King Seti still lived, but Rameses already\nreigned in his stead, when I came home from the north. They had sent me\nto the workmen, who were building the fortifications in Zoan, the town of\nRameses.--[The Rameses of the Bible. Exodus i. ii.]--I was set over six\nmen, Amus,--[Semites]--of the Hebrew race, over whom Rameses kept such a\ntight hand.\n\n   [For an account of the traces of the Jews in Egypt, see Chabas,\n   Melanges, and Ebers, AEgypten und die Bucher Moses]\n\nAmongst the workmen there were sons of rich cattle-holders, for in\nlevying the people it was never: 'What have you?' but 'Of what race are\nyou?' The fortifications and the canal which was to join the Nile and the\nRed Sea had to be completed, and the king, to whom be long life, health,\nand prosperity, took the youth of Egypt with him to the wars, and left\nthe work to the Amus, who are connected by race with his enemies in the\neast. One lives well in Goshen, for it is a fine country, with more than\nenough of corn and grass and vegetables and fish and fowls, and I always\nhad of the best, for amongst my six people were two mother's darlings,\nwhose parents sent me many a piece of silver. Every one loves his\nchildren, but the Hebrews love them more tenderly than other people. We\nhad daily our appointed tale of bricks to deliver, and when the sun burnt\nhot, I used to help the lads, and I did more in an hour than they did in\nthree, for I am strong and was still stronger then than I am now.\n\n\"Then came the time when I was relieved. I was ordered to return to\nThebes, to the prisoners of war who were building the great temple of\nAmon over yonder, and as I had brought home some money, and it would take\na good while to finish the great dwelling of the king of the Gods, I\nthought of taking a wife; but no Egyptian. Of daughters of paraschites\nthere were plenty; but I wanted to get away out of my father's accursed\ncaste, and the other girls here, as I knew, were afraid of our\nuncleanness. In the low country I had done better, and many an Amu and\nSchasu woman had gladly come to my tent. From the beginning I had set my\nmind on an Asiatic.\n\n\"Many a time maidens taken prisoners in war were brought to be sold, but\neither they did not please me, or they were too dear. Meantime my money\nmelted away, for we enjoyed life in the time of rest which followed the\nworking hours. There were dancers too in plenty, in the foreign quarter.\n\n\"Well, it was just at the time of the holy feast of Amon-Chem, that a new\ntransport of prisoners of war arrived, and amongst them many women, who\nwere sold publicly to the highest bidder. The young and beautiful ones\nwere paid for high, but even the older ones were too dear for me.\n\n\"Quite at the last a blind woman was led forward, and a withered-looking\nwoman who was dumb, as the auctioneer, who generally praised up the\nmerits of the prisoners, informed the buyers. The blind woman had strong\nhands, and was bought by a tavern-keeper, for whom she turns the handmill\nto this day; the dumb woman held a child in her arms, and no one could\ntell whether she was young or old. She looked as though she already lay\nin her coffin, and the little one as though he would go under the grass\nbefore her. And her hair was red, burning red, the very color of Typhon.\nHer white pale face looked neither bad nor good, only weary, weary to\ndeath. On her withered white arms blue veins ran like dark cords, her\nhands hung feebly down, and in them hung the child. If a wind were to\nrise, I thought to myself, it would blow her away, and the little one\nwith her.\n\n\"The auctioneer asked for a bid. All were silent, for the dumb shadow was\nof no use for work; she was half-dead, and a burial costs money.\n\n\"So passed several minutes. Then the auctioneer stepped up to her, and\ngave her a blow with his whip, that she might rouse herself up, and\nappear less miserable to the buyers. She shivered like a person in a\nfever, pressed the child closer to her, and looked round at every one as\nthough seeking for help--and me full in the face. What happened now was a\nreal wonder, for her eyes were bigger than any that I ever saw, and a\ndemon dwelt in them that had power over me and ruled me to the end, and\nthat day it bewitched me for the first time.\n\n\"It was not hot and I had drunk nothing, and yet I acted against my own\nwill and better judgment when, as her eyes fell upon me, I bid all that I\npossessed in order to buy her. I might have had her cheaper! My\ncompanions laughed at me, the auctioneer shrugged his shoulders as he\ntook my money, but I took the child on my arm, helped the woman up,\ncarried her in a boat over the Nile, loaded a stone-cart with my\nmiserable property, and drove her like a block of lime home to the old\npeople.\n\n\"My mother shook her head, and my father looked as if he thought me mad;\nbut neither of them said a word. They made up a bed for her, and on my\nspare nights I built that ruined thing hard by--it was a tidy hut once.\nSoon my mother grew fond of the child. It was quite small, and we called\nit Pennu--[Pennu is the name for the mouse in old Egyptian]--because it\nwas so pretty, like a little mouse. I kept away from the foreign quarter,\nand saved my wages, and bought a goat, which lived in front of our door\nwhen I took the woman to her own hut.\n\n\"She was dumb, but not deaf, only she did not understand our language;\nbut the demon in her eyes spoke for her and understood what I said. She\ncomprehended everything, and could say everything with her eyes; but best\nof all she knew how to thank one. No high-priest who at the great hill\nfestival praises the Gods in long hymns for their gifts can return thanks\nso earnestly with his lips as she with her dumb eyes. And when she wished\nto pray, then it seemed as though the demon in her look was mightier than\never.\n\n\"At first I used to be impatient enough when she leaned so feebly against\nthe wall, or when the child cried and disturbed my sleep; but she had\nonly to look up, and the demon pressed my heart together and persuaded me\nthat the crying was really a song. Pennu cried more sweetly too than\nother children, and he had such soft, white, pretty little fingers.\n\n\"One day he had been crying for a long time, At last I bent down over\nhim, and was going to scold him, but he seized me by the beard. It was\npretty to see! Afterwards he was for ever wanting to pull me about, and\nhis mother noticed that that pleased me, for when I brought home anything\ngood, an egg or a flower or a cake, she used to hold him up and place his\nlittle hands on my beard.\n\n\"Yes, in a few months the woman had learnt to hold him up high in her\narms, for with care and quiet she had grown stronger. White she always\nremained and delicate, but she grew younger and more beautiful from day\nto day; she can hardly have numbered twenty years when I bought her. What\nshe was called I never heard; nor did we give her any name. She was 'the\nwoman,' and so we called her.\n\n\"Eight moons passed by, and then the little Mouse died. I wept as she\ndid, and as I bent over the little corpse and let my tears have free\ncourse, and thought--now he can never lift up his pretty little finger to\nyou again; then I felt for the first time the woman's soft hand on my\ncheek. She stroked my rough beard as a child might, and with that looked\nat me so gratefully that I felt as though king Pharaoh had all at once\nmade me a present of both Upper and Lower Egypt.\n\n\"When the Mouse was buried she got weaker again, but my mother took good\ncare of her. I lived with her, like a father with his child. She was\nalways friendly, but if I approached her, and tried to show her any\nfondness, she would look at me, and the demon in her eyes drove me back,\nand I let her alone.\n\n\"She grew healthier and stronger and more and more beautiful, so\nbeautiful that I kept her hidden, and was consumed by the longing to make\nher my wife. A good housewife she never became, to be sure; her hands\nwere so tender, and she did not even know how to milk the goat. My mother\ndid that and everything else for her.\n\n\"In the daytime she stayed in her hut and worked, for she was very\nskillful at woman's work, and wove lace as fine as cobwebs, which my\nmother sold that she might bring home perfumes with the proceeds. She was\nvery fond of them, and of flowers too; and Uarda in there takes after\nher.\n\n\"In the evening, when the folk from the other side had left the City of\nthe Dead, she would often walk down the valley here, thoughtful and often\nlooking up at the moon, which she was especially fond of.\n\n\"One evening in the winter-time I came home. It was already dark, and I\nexpected to find her in front of the door. All at once, about a hundred\nsteps behind old Hekt's cave, I heard a troop of jackals barking so\nfuriously that I said to myself directly they had attacked a human being,\nand I knew too who it was, though no one had told me, and the woman could\nnot call or cry out. Frantic with terror, I tore a firebrand from the\nhearth and the stake to which the goat was fastened out of the ground,\nrushed to her help, drove away the beasts, and carried her back senseless\nto the hut. My mother helped me, and we called her back to life. When we\nwere alone, I wept like a child for joy at her escape, and she let me\nkiss her, and then she became my wife, three years after I had bought\nher.\n\n\"She bore me a little maid, that she herself named Uarda; for she showed\nus a rose, and then pointed to the child, and we understood her without\nwords.\n\n\"Soon afterwards she died.\n\n\"You are a priest, but I tell you that when I am summoned before Osiris,\nif I am admitted amongst the blessed, I will ask whether I shall meet my\nwife, and if the doorkeeper says no, he may thrust me back, and I will go\ndown cheerfully to the damned, if I find her again there.\"\n\n\"And did no sign ever betray her origin?\" asked the physician.\n\nThe soldier had hidden his face in his hand; he was weeping aloud, and\ndid not hear the question. But, the paraschites answered:\n\n\"She was the child of some great personage, for in her clothes we found a\ngolden jewel with a precious stone inscribed with strange characters. It\nis very costly, and my wife is keeping it for the little one.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nIn the earliest glimmer of dawn the following clay, the physician\nNebsecht having satisfied himself as to the state of the sick girl, left\nthe paraschites' hut and made his way in deepest thought to the 'Terrace\nTemple of Hatasu, to find his friend Pentaur and compose the writing\nwhich he had promised to the old man.\n\nAs the sun arose in radiance he reached the sanctuary. He expected to\nhear the morning song of the priests, but all was silent. He knocked and\nthe porter, still half-asleep, opened the door.\n\nNebsecht enquired for the chief of the Temple. \"He died in the night,\"\nsaid the man yawning.\n\n\"What do you say?\" cried the physician in sudden terror, \"who is dead?\"\n\n\"Our good old chief, Rui.\"\n\nNebsecht breathed again, and asked for Pentaur.\n\n\"You belong to the House of Seti,\" said the doorkeeper, \"and you do not\nknow that he is deposed from his office? The holy fathers have refused to\ncelebrate the birth of Ra with him. He sings for himself now, alone up on\nthe watch-tower. There you will find him.\"\n\nNebsecht strode quickly up the stairs. Several of the priests placed\nthemselves together in groups as soon as they saw him, and began singing.\nHe paid no heed to them, however, but hastened on to the uppermost\nterrace, where he found his friend occupied in writing.\n\nSoon he learnt all that had happened, and wrathfully he cried: \"You are\ntoo honest for those wise gentlemen in the House of Seti, and too pure\nand zealous for the rabble here. I knew it, I knew what would come of it\nif they introduced you to the mysteries. For us initiated there remains\nonly the choice between lying and silence.\"\n\n\"The old error!\" said Pentaur, \"we know that the Godhead is One, we name\nit, 'The All,' 'The Veil of the All,' or simply 'Ra.' But under the name\nRa we understand something different than is known to the common herd;\nfor to us, the Universe is God, and in each of its parts we recognize a\nmanifestation of that highest being without whom nothing is, in the\nheights above or in the depths below.\"\n\n\"To me you can say everything, for I also am initiated,\" interrupted\nNebsecht.\n\n\"But neither from the laity do I withhold it,\" cried Pentaur, \"only to\nthose who are incapable of understanding the whole, do I show the\ndifferent parts. Am I a liar if I do not say, 'I speak,' but 'my mouth\nspeaks,' if I affirm, 'Your eye sees,' when it is you yourself who are\nthe seer. When the light of the only One manifests itself, then I\nfervently render thanks to him in hymns, and the most luminous of his\nforms I name Ra. When I look upon yonder green fields, I call upon the\nfaithful to give thanks to Rennut, that is, that active manifestation of\nthe One, through which the corn attains to its ripe maturity. Am I filled\nwith wonder at the bounteous gifts with which that divine stream whose\norigin is hidden, blesses our land, then I adore the One as the God Hapi,\nthe secret one. Whether we view the sun, the harvest, or the Nile,\nwhether we contemplate with admiration the unity and harmony of the\nvisible or invisible world, still it is always with the Only, the\nAll-embracing One we have to do, to whom we also ourselves belong as\nthose of his manifestations in which lie places his self-consciousness.\nThe imagination of the multitude is limited. . . . \"\n\n\"And so we lions,\n\n   [\"The priests,\" says Clement of Alexandria, \"allow none to be\n   participators in their mysteries, except kings or such amongst\n   themselves as are distinguished for virtue or wisdom.\" The same\n   thing is shown by the monuments in many places]\n\ngive them the morsel that we can devour at one gulp, finely chopped up,\nand diluted with broth as if for the weak stomach of a sick man.\"\n\n\"Not so; we only feel it our duty to temper and sweeten the sharp potion,\nwhich for men even is almost too strong, before we offer it to the\nchildren, the babes in spirit. The sages of old veiled indeed the highest\ntruths in allegorical forms, in symbols, and finally in a beautiful and\nrichly-colored mythos, but they brought them near to the multitude\nshrouded it is true but still discernible.\"\n\n\"Discernible?\" said the physician, \"discernible? Why then the veil?\"\n\n\"And do you imagine that the multitude could look the naked truth in the\nface,\n\n   [In Sais the statue of Athene (Neith) has the following,\n   inscription: \"I am the All, the Past, the Present, and the Future,\n   my veil has no mortal yet lifted.\" Plutarch, Isis and Osiris 9, a\n   similar quotation by Proclus, in Plato's Timaeus.]\n\nand not despair?\"\n\n\"Can I, can any one who looks straight forward, and strives to see the\ntruth and nothing but the truth?\" cried the physician. \"We both of us\nknow that things only are, to us, such as they picture themselves in the\nprepared mirror of our souls. I see grey, grey, and white, white, and\nhave accustomed myself in my yearning after knowledge, not to attribute\nthe smallest part to my own idiosyncrasy, if such indeed there be\nexisting in my empty breast. You look straight onwards as I do, but in\nyou each idea is transfigured, for in your soul invisible shaping powers\nare at work, which set the crooked straight, clothe the commonplace with\ncharm, the repulsive with beauty. You are a poet, an artist; I only seek\nfor truth.\"\n\n\"Only?\" said Pentaur, \"it is just on account of that effort that I esteem\nyou so highly, and, as you already know, I also desire nothing but the\ntruth.\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" said the physician nodding, \"but our ways run side by\nside without ever touching, and our final goal is the reading of a\nriddle, of which there are many solutions. You believe yourself to have\nfound the right one, and perhaps none exists.\"\n\n\"Then let us content ourselves with the nearest and the most beautiful,\"\nsaid Pentaur.\n\n\"The most beautiful?\" cried Nebsecht indignantly. \"Is that monster, whom\nyou call God, beautiful--the giant who for ever regenerates himself that\nhe may devour himself again? God is the All, you say, who suffices to\nhimself. Eternal he is and shall be, because all that goes forth from him\nis absorbed by him again, and the great niggard bestows no grain of sand,\nno ray of light, no breath of wind, without reclaiming it for his\nhousehold, which is ruled by no design, no reason, no goodness, but by a\ntyrannical necessity, whose slave he himself is. The coward hides behind\nthe cloud of incomprehensibility, and can be revealed only by himself--I\nwould I could strip him of the veil! Thus I see the thing that you call\nGod!\"\n\n\"A ghastly picture,\" said Pentaur, \"because you forget that we recognize\nreason to be the essence of the All, the penetrating and moving power of\nthe universe which is manifested in the harmonious working together of\nits parts, and in ourselves also, since we are formed out of its\nsubstance, and inspired with its soul.\"\n\n\"Is the warfare of life in any way reasonable?\" asked Nebsecht. \"Is this\neternal destruction in order to build up again especially well-designed\nand wise? And with this introduction of reason into the All, you provide\nyourself with a self-devised ruler, who terribly resembles the gracious\nmasters and mistresses that you exhibit to the people.\"\n\n\"Only apparently,\" answered Pentaur, \"only because that which transcends\nsense is communicable through the medium of the senses alone. When God\nmanifests himself as the wisdom of the world, we call him 'the Word,'\n'He, who covers his limbs with names,' as the sacred Text expresses\nitself, is the power which gives to things their distinctive forms; the\nscarabaeus, 'which enters life as its own son' reminds us of the ever\nself-renewing creative power which causes you to call our merciful and\nbenevolent God a monster, but which you can deny as little as you can the\nhappy choice of the type; for, as you know, there are only male scarabei,\nand this animal reproduces itself.\"\n\nNebsecht smiled. \"If all the doctrines of the mysteries,\" he said, \"have\nno more truth than this happily chosen image, they are in a bad way.\nThese beetles have for years been my friends and companions. I know their\nfamily life, and I can assure you that there are males and females\namongst them as amongst cats, apes, and human beings. Your 'good God' I\ndo not know, and what I least comprehend in thinking it over quietly is\nthe circumstance that you distinguish a good and evil principle in the\nworld. If the All is indeed God, if God as the scriptures teach, is\ngoodness, and if besides him is nothing at all, where is a place to be\nfound for evil?\"\n\n\"You talk like a school-boy,\" said Pentaur indignantly. \"All that is, is\ngood and reasonable in itself, but the infinite One, who prescribes his\nown laws and his own paths, grants to the finite its continuance through\ncontinual renewal, and in the changing forms of the finite progresses for\nevermore. What we call evil, darkness, wickedness, is in itself divine,\ngood, reasonable, and clear; but it appears in another light to our\nclouded minds, because we perceive the way only and not the goal, the\ndetails only, and not the whole. Even so, superficial listeners blame the\nmusic, in which a discord is heard, which the harper has only evoked from\nthe strings that his hearers may more deeply feel the purity of the\nsucceeding harmony; even so, a fool blames the painter who has colored\nhis board with black, and does not wait for the completion of the picture\nwhich shall be thrown into clearer relief by the dark background; even\nso, a child chides the noble tree, whose fruit rots, that a new life may\nspring up from its kernel. Apparent evil is but an antechamber to higher\nbliss, as every sunset is but veiled by night, and will soon show itself\nagain as the red dawn of a new day.\"\n\n\"How convincing all that sounds!\" answered the physician, \"all, even the\nterrible, wins charm from your lips; but I could invert your proposition,\nand declare that it is evil that rules the world, and sometimes gives us\none drop of sweet content, in order that we may more keenly feel the\nbitterness of life. You see harmony and goodness in everything. I have\nobserved that passion awakens life, that all existence is a conflict,\nthat one being devours another.\"\n\n\"And do you not feel the beauty of visible creation, and does not the\nimmutable law in everything fill you with admiration and humility?\"\n\n\"For beauty,\" replied Nebsecht, \"I have never sought; the organ is\nsomehow wanting in me to understand it of myself, though I willingly\nallow you to mediate between us. But of law in nature I fully appreciate\nthe worth, for that is the veritable soul of the universe. You call the\nOne 'Temt,' that is to say the total--the unity which is reached by the\naddition of many units; and that pleases me, for the elements of the\nuniverse and the powers which prescribe the paths of life are strictly\ndefined by measure and number--but irrespective of beauty or\nbenevolence.\"\n\n\"Such views,\" cried Pentaur troubled, \"are the result of your strange\nstudies. You kill and destroy, in order, as you yourself say, to come\nupon the track of the secrets of life. Look out upon nature, develop the\nfaculty which you declare to be wanting, in you, and the beauty of\ncreation will teach you without my assistance that you are praying to a\nfalse god.\"\n\n\"I do not pray,\" said Nebsecht, \"for the law which moves the world is as\nlittle affected by prayers as the current of the sands in your\nhour-glass. Who tells you that I do not seek to come upon the track of\nthe first beginning of things? I proved to you just now that I know more\nabout the origin of Scarabei than you do. I have killed many an animal,\nnot only to study its organism, but also to investigate how it has built\nup its form. But precisely in this work my organ for beauty has become\nblunt rather than keen. I tell you that the beginning of things is not\nmore attractive to contemplate than their death and decomposition.\"\n\nPentaur looked at the physician enquiringly.\n\n\"I also for once,\" continued Nebsecht, \"will speak in figures. Look at\nthis wine, how pure it is, how fragrant; and yet it was trodden from the\ngrape by the brawny feet of the vintagers. And those full ears of corn!\nThey gleam golden yellow, and will yield us snow-white meal when they are\nground, and yet they grew from a rotting seed. Lately you were praising\nto me the beauty of the great Hall of Columns nearly completed in the\nTemple of Amon over yonder in Thebes.\n\n   [Begun by Rameses I. continued by Seti I., completed by Rameses II.\n   The remains of this immense hall, with its 134 columns, have not\n   their equal in the world.]\n\nHow posterity will admire it! I saw that Hall arise. There lay masses of\nfreestone in wild confusion, dust in heaps that took away my breath, and\nthree months since I was sent over there, because above a hundred workmen\nengaged in stone-polishing under the burning sun had been beaten to\ndeath. Were I a poet like you, I would show you a hundred similar\npictures, in which you would not find much beauty. In the meantime, we\nhave enough to do in observing the existing order of things, and\ninvestigating the laws by which it is governed.\"\n\n\"I have never clearly understood your efforts, and have difficulty in\ncomprehending why you did not turn to the science of the haruspices,\"\nsaid Pentaur. \"Do you then believe that the changing, and--owing to the\nconditions by which they are surrounded--the dependent life of plants and\nanimals is governed by law, rule, and numbers like the movement of the\nstars?\"\n\n\"What a question! Is the strong and mighty hand, which compels yonder\nheavenly bodies to roll onward in their carefully-appointed orbits, not\ndelicate enough to prescribe the conditions of the flight of the bird,\nand the beating of the human heart?\"\n\n\"There we are again with the heart,\" said the poet smiling, \"are you any\nnearer your aim?\"\n\nThe physician became very grave. \"Perhaps tomorrow even,\" he said, \"I may\nhave what I need. You have your palette there with red and black color,\nand a writing reed. May I use this sheet of papyrus?\"\n\n\"Of course; but first tell me. . . . \"\n\n\"Do not ask; you would not approve of my scheme, and there would only be\na fresh dispute.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said the poet, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder, \"that\nwe have no reason to fear disputes. So far they have been the cement, the\nrefreshing dew of our friendship.\"\n\n\"So long as they treated of ideas only, and not of deeds.\"\n\n\"You intend to get possession of a human heart!\" cried the poet. \"Think\nof what you are doing! The heart is the vessel of that effluence of the\nuniversal soul, which lives in us.\"\n\n\"Are you so sure of that?\" cried the physician with some irritation,\n\"then give me the proof. Have you ever examined a heart, has any one\nmember of my profession done so? The hearts of criminals and prisoners of\nwar even are declared sacred from touch, and when we stand helpless by a\npatient, and see our medicines work harm as often as good, why is it?\nOnly because we physicians are expected to work as blindly as an\nastronomer, if he were required to look at the stars through a board. At\nHeliopolis I entreated the great Urma Rahotep, the truly learned chief of\nour craft, and who held me in esteem, to allow me to examine the heart of\na dead Amu; but he refused me, because the great Sechet leads virtuous\nSemites also into the fields of the blessed.\n\n   [According to the inscription accompanying the famous\n   representations of the four nations (Egyptians, Semites, Libyans,\n   and Ethiopians) in the tomb of Seti I.]\n\nAnd then followed all the old scruples: that to cut up the heart of a\nbeast even is sinful, because it also is the vehicle of a soul, perhaps a\ncondemned and miserable human soul, which before it can return to the\nOne, must undergo purification by passing through the bodies of animals.\nI was not satisfied, and declared to him that my great-grandfather\nNebsecht, before he wrote his treatise on the heart, must certainly have\nexamined such an organ. Then he answered me that the divinity had\nrevealed to him what he had written, and therefore his work had been\naccepted amongst the sacred writings of Toth,\n\n   [Called by the Greeks \"Hermetic Books.\" The Papyrus Ebers is the\n   work called by Clemens of Alexandria \"the Book of Remedies.\"]\n\nwhich stood fast and unassailable as the laws of the world; he wished to\ngive me peace for quiet work, and I also, he said, might be a chosen\nspirit, the divinity might perhaps vouchsafe revelations to me too. I was\nyoung at that time, and spent my nights in prayer, but I only wasted\naway, and my spirit grew darker instead of clearer. Then I killed in\nsecret--first a fowl, then rats, then a rabbit, and cut up their hearts,\nand followed the vessels that lead out of them, and know little more now\nthan I did at first; but I must get to the bottom of the truth, and I\nmust have a human heart.\"\n\n\"What will that do for you?\" asked Pentaur; \"you cannot hope to perceive\nthe invisible and the infinite with your human eyes?\"\n\n\"Do you know my great-grandfather's treatise?\"\n\n\"A little,\" answered the poet; \"he said that wherever he laid his finger,\nwhether on the head, the hands, or the stomach, he everywhere met with\nthe heart, because its vessels go into all the members, and the heart is\nthe meeting point of all these vessels. Then Nebsecht proceeds to state\nhow these are distributed in the different members, and shows--is it not\nso?--that the various mental states, such as anger, grief, aversion, and\nalso the ordinary use of the word heart, declare entirely for his view.\"\n\n\"That is it. We have already discussed it, and I believe that he is\nright, so far as the blood is concerned, and the animal sensations. But\nthe pure and luminous intelligence in us--that has another seat,\" and the\nphysician struck his broad but low forehead with his hand. \"I have\nobserved heads by the hundred down at the place of execution, and I have\nalso removed the top of the skulls of living animals. But now let me\nwrite, before we are disturbed.\"\n\n   [Human brains are prescribed for a malady of the eyes in the Ebers\n   papyrus. Herophilus, one of the first scholars of the Alexandrine\n   Museum, studied not only the bodies of executed criminals, but made\n   his experiments also on living malefactors. He maintained that the\n   four cavities of the human brain are the seat of the soul.]\n\nThe physician took the reed, moistened it with black color prepared from\nburnt papyrus, and in elegant hieratic characters\n\n   [At the time of our narrative the Egyptians had two kinds of\n   writing-the hieroglyphic, which was generally used for monumental\n   inscriptions, and in which the letters consisted of conventional\n   representations of various objects, mathematical and arbitrary\n   symbols, and the hieratic, used for writing on papyrus, and in\n   which, with the view of saving time, the written pictures underwent\n   so many alterations and abbreviations that the originals could\n   hardly be recognized. In the 8th century there was a further\n   abridgment of the hieratic writing, which was called the demotic, or\n   people's writing, and was used in commerce. Whilst the hieroglyphic\n   and hieratic writings laid the foundations of the old sacred\n   dialect, the demotic letters were only used to write the spoken\n   language of the people. E. de Rouge's Chrestomathie Egyptienne.\n   H. Brugsch's Hieroglyphische Grammatik. Le Page Renouf's shorter\n   hieroglyphical grammar. Ebers' Ueber das Hieroglyphische\n   Schriftsystem, 2nd edition, 1875, in the lectures of Virchow\n   Holtzendorff.]\n\nwrote the paper for the paraschites, in which he confessed to having\nimpelled him to the theft of a heart, and in the most binding manner\ndeclared himself willing to take the old man's guilt upon himself before\nOsiris and the judges of the dead.\n\nWhen he had finished, Pentaur held out his hand for the paper, but\nNebsecht folded it together, placed it in a little bag in which lay an\namulet that his dying mother had hung round his neck, and said, breathing\ndeeply:\n\n\"That is done. Farewell, Pentaur.\"\n\nBut the poet held the physician back; he spoke to him with the warmest\nwords, and conjured him to abandon his enterprise. His prayers, however,\nhad no power to touch Nebsecht, who only strove forcibly to disengage his\nfinger from Pentaur's strong hand, which held him as in a clasp of iron.\nThe excited poet did not remark that he was hurting his friend, until\nafter a new and vain attempt at freeing himself, Nebsecht cried out in\npain, \"You are crushing my finger!\"\n\nA smile passed over the poet's face, he loosened his hold on the\nphysician, and stroked the reddened hand like a mother who strives to\ndivert her child from pain.\n\n\"Don't be angry with me, Nebsecht,\" he said, \"you know my unlucky fists,\nand to-day they really ought to hold you fast, for you have too mad a\npurpose on hand.\"\n\n\"Mad?\" said the physician, whilst he smiled in his turn. \"It may be so;\nbut do you not know that we Egyptians all have a peculiar tenderness for\nour follies, and are ready to sacrifice house and land to them?\"\n\n\"Our own house and our own land,\" cried the poet: and then added\nseriously, \"but not the existence, not the happiness of another.\"\n\n\"Have I not told you that I do not look upon the heart as the seat of our\nintelligence? So far as I am concerned, I would as soon be buried with a\nram's heart as with my own.\"\n\n\"I do not speak of the plundered dead, but of the living,\" said the poet.\n\"If the deed of the paraschites is discovered, he is undone, and you\nwould only have saved that sweet child in the hut behind there, to fling\nher into deeper misery.\"\n\nNebsecht looked at the other with as much astonishment and dismay, as if\nhe had been awakened from sleep by bad tidings. Then he cried: \"All that\nI have, I would share with the old man and Uarda.\"\n\n\"And who would protect her?\"\n\n\"Her father.\"\n\n\"That rough drunkard who to-morrow or the day after may be sent no one\nknows where.\"\n\n\"He is a good fellow,\" said the physician interrupting his friend, and\nstammering violently. \"But who 'would do anything to the child? She is so\nso . . . .  She is so charming, so perfectly--sweet and lovely.\"\n\nWith these last words he cast down his eyes and reddened like a girl.\n\n\"You understand that,\" he said, \"better than I do; yes, and you also\nthink her beautiful! Strange! you must not laugh if I confess--I am but a\nman like every one else--when I confess, that I believe I have at length\ndiscovered in myself the missing organ for beauty of form--not believe\nmerely, but truly have discovered it, for it has not only spoken, but\ncried, raged, till I felt a rushing in my ears, and for the first time\nwas attracted more by the sufferer than by suffering. I have sat in the\nhut as though spell-bound, and gazed at her hair, at her eyes, at how she\nbreathed. They must long since have missed me at the House of Seti,\nperhaps discovered all my preparations, when seeking me in my room! For\ntwo days and nights I have allowed myself to be drawn away from my work,\nfor the sake of this child. Were I one of the laity, whom you would\napproach, I should say that demons had bewitched me. But it is not\nthat,\"--and with these words the physician's eyes flamed up--\"it is not\nthat! The animal in me, the low instincts of which the heart is the\norgan, and which swelled my breast at her bedside, they have mastered the\npure and fine emotions here--here in this brain; and in the very moment\nwhen I hoped to know as the God knows whom you call the Prince of\nknowledge, in that moment I must learn that the animal in me is stronger\nthan that which I call my God.\"\n\nThe physician, agitated and excited, had fixed his eyes on the ground\nduring these last words, and hardly noticed the poet, who listened to him\nwondering and full of sympathy. For a time both were silent; then Pentaur\nlaid his hand on his friend's hand, and said cordially:\n\n\"My soul is no stranger to what you feel, and heart and head, if I may\nuse your own words, have known a like emotion. But I know that what we\nfeel, although it may be foreign to our usual sensations, is loftier and\nmore precious than these, not lower. Not the animal, Nebsecht, is it that\nyou feel in yourself, but God. Goodness is the most beautiful attribute\nof the divine, and you have always been well-disposed towards great and\nsmall; but I ask you, have you ever before felt so irresistibly impelled\nto pour out an ocean of goodness on another being, whether for Uarda you\nwould not more joyfully and more self-forgetfully sacrifice all that you\nhave, and all that you are, than to father and mother and your oldest\nfriend?\"\n\nNebsecht nodded assentingly.\n\n\"Well then,\" cried Pentaur, \"follow your new and godlike emotion, be good\nto Uarda and do not sacrifice her to your vain wishes. My poor friend!\nWith your--enquiries into the secrets of life, you have never looked\nround upon itself, which spreads open and inviting before our eyes. Do\nyou imagine that the maiden who can thus inflame the calmest thinker in\nThebes, will not be coveted by a hundred of the common herd when her\nprotector fails her? Need I tell you that amongst the dancers in the\nforeign quarter nine out of ten are the daughters of outlawed parents?\nCan you endure the thought that by your hand innocence may be consigned\nto vice, the rose trodden under foot in the mud? Is the human heart that\nyou desire, worth an Uarda? Now go, and to-morrow come again to me your\nfriend who understands how to sympathize with all you feel, and to whom\nyou have approached so much the nearer to-day that you have learned to\nshare his purest happiness.\"\n\nPentaur held out his hand to the physician, who held it some time, then\nwent thoughtfully and lingeringly, unmindful of the burning glow of the\nmid-day sun, over the mountain into the valley of the king's graves\ntowards the hut of the paraschites.\n\nHere he found the soldier with his daughter. \"Where is the old man?\" he\nasked anxiously.\n\n\"He has gone to his work in the house of the embalmer,\" was the answer.\n\"If anything should happen to him he bade me tell you not to forget the\nwriting and the book. He was as though out of his mind when he left us,\nand put the ram's heart in his bag and took it with him. Do you remain\nwith the little one; my mother is at work, and I must go with the\nprisoners of war to Harmontis.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nWhile the two friends from the House of Seti were engaged in\nconversation, Katuti restlessly paced the large open hall of her\nson-in-law's house, in which we have already seen her. A snow-white cat\nfollowed her steps, now playing with the hem of her long plain dress, and\nnow turning to a large stand on which the dwarf Nemu sat in a heap; where\nformerly a silver statue had stood, which a few months previously had\nbeen sold.\n\nHe liked this place, for it put him in a position to look into the eyes\nof his mistress and other frill-grown people. \"If you have betrayed me!\nIf you have deceived me!\" said Katuti with a threatening gesture as she\npassed his perch.\n\n\"Put me on a hook to angle for a crocodile if I have. But I am curious to\nknow how he will offer you the money.\"\n\n\"You swore to me,\" interrupted his mistress with feverish agitation, that\nyou had not used my name in asking Paaker to save us?\"\n\n\"A thousand times I swear it,\" said the little man.\n\n\"Shall I repeat all our conversation? I tell thee he will sacrifice his\nland, and his house-great gate and all, for one friendly glance from\nNefert's eyes.\"\n\n\"If only Mena loved her as he does!\" sighed the widow, and then again she\nwalked up and down the hall in silence, while the dwarf looked out at the\ngarden entrance. Suddenly she paused in front of Nemu, and said so\nhoarsely that Nemu shuddered:\n\n\"I wish she were a widow.\" \"The little man made a gesture as if to\nprotect himself from the evil eye, but at the same instant he slipped\ndown from his pedestal, and exclaimed:\n\n\"There is a chariot, and I hear his big dog barking. It is he. Shall I\ncall Nefert?\"\n\n\"No!\" said Katuti in a low voice, and she clutched at the back of a chair\nas if for support.\n\nThe dwarf shrugged his shoulders, and slunk behind a clump of ornamental\nplants, and a few minutes later Paaker stood in the presence of Katuti,\nwho greeted him, with quiet dignity and self-possession.\n\nNot a feature of her finely-cut face betrayed her inward agitation, and\nafter the Mohar had greeted her she said with rather patronizing\nfriendliness:\n\n\"I thought that you would come. Take a seat. Your heart is like your\nfather's; now that you are friends with us again it is not by halves.\"\n\nPaaker had come to offer his aunt the sum which was necessary for the\nredemption of her husband's mummy. He had doubted for a long time whether\nhe should not leave this to his mother, but reserve partly and partly\nvanity had kept him from doing so. He liked to display his wealth, and\nKatuti should learn what he could do, what a son-in-law she had rejected.\n\nHe would have preferred to send the gold, which he had resolved to give\naway, by the hand of one of his slaves, like a tributary prince. But that\ncould not be done so he put on his finger a ring set with a valuable\nstone, which king Seti I., had given to his father, and added various\nclasps and bracelets to his dress.\n\nWhen, before leaving the house, he looked at himself in a mirror, he said\nto himself with some satisfaction, that he, as he stood, was worth as\nmuch as the whole of Mena's estates.\n\nSince his conversation with Nemu, and the dwarf's interpretation of his\ndream, the path which he must tread to reach his aim had been plain\nbefore him. Nefert's mother must be won with the gold which would save\nher from disgrace, and Mena must be sent to the other world. He relied\nchiefly on his own reckless obstinacy--which he liked to call firm\ndetermination--Nemu's cunning, and the love-philter.\n\nHe now approached Katuti with the certainty of success, like a merchant\nwho means to acquire some costly object, and feels that he is rich enough\nto pay for it. But his aunt's proud and dignified manner confounded him.\n\nHe had pictured her quite otherwise, spirit-broken, and suppliant; and he\nhad expected, and hoped to earn, Nefert's thanks as well as her mother's\nby his generosity. Mena's pretty wife was however absent, and Katuti did\nnot send for her even after he had enquired after her health.\n\nThe widow made no advances, and some time passed in indifferent\nconversation, till Paaker abruptly informed her that he had heard of her\nson's reckless conduct, and had decided, as being his mother's nearest\nrelation, to preserve her from the degradation that threatened her. For\nthe sake of his bluntness, which she took for honesty, Katuti forgave the\nmagnificence of his dress, which under the circumstances certainly seemed\nill-chosen; she thanked him with dignity, but warmly, more for the sake\nof her children than for her own; for life she said was opening before\nthem, while for her it was drawing to its close.\n\n\"You are still at a good time of life,\" said Paaker.\n\n\"Perhaps at the best,\" replied the widow, \"at any rate from my point of\nview; regarding life as I do as a charge, a heavy responsibility.\"\n\n\"The administration of this involved estate must give you many, anxious\nhours--that I understand.\" Katuti nodded, and then said sadly:\n\n\"I could bear it all, if I were not condemned to see my poor child being\nbrought to misery without being able to help her or advise her. You once\nwould willingly have married her, and I ask you, was there a maiden in\nThebes--nay in all Egypt--to compare with her for beauty? Was she not\nworthy to be loved, and is she not so still? Does she deserve that her\nhusband should leave her to starve, neglect her, and take a strange woman\ninto his tent as if he had repudiated her? I see what you feel about it!\nYou throw all the blame on me. Your heart says: 'Why did she break off\nour betrothal,' and your right feeling tells you that you would have\ngiven her a happier lot.\"\n\nWith these words Katuti took her nephew's hand, and went on with\nincreasing warmth.\n\n\"We know you to-day for the most magnanimous man in Thebes, for you have\nrequited injustice with an immense benefaction; but even as a boy you\nwere kind and noble. Your father's wish has always been dear and sacred\nto me, for during his lifetime he always behaved to us as an affectionate\nbrother, and I would sooner have sown the seeds of sorrow for myself than\nfor your mother, my beloved sister. I brought up my child--I guarded her\njealously--for the young hero who was absent, proving his valor in\nSyria--for you and for you only. Then your father died, my sole stay and\nprotector.\"\n\n\"I know it all!\" interrupted Paaker looking gloomily at the floor.\n\n\"Who should have told you?\" said the widow. \"For your mother, when that\nhad happened which seemed incredible, forbid us her house, and shut her\nears. The king himself urged Mena's suit, for he loves him as his own\nson, and when I represented your prior claim he commanded;--and who may\nresist the commands of the sovereign of two worlds, the Son of Ra? Kings\nhave short memories; how often did your father hazard his life for him,\nhow many wounds had he received in his service. For your father's sake he\nmight have spared you such an affront, and such pain.\"\n\n\"And have I myself served him, or not?\" asked the pioneer flushing\ndarkly.\n\n\"He knows you less,\" returned Katuti apologetically. Then she changed her\ntone to one of sympathy, and went on:\n\n\"How was it that you, young as you were, aroused his dissatisfaction, his\ndislike, nay his--\"\n\n\"His what?\" asked the pioneer, trembling with excitement.\n\n\"Let that pass!\" said the widow soothingly. \"The favor and disfavor of\nkings are as those of the Gods. Men rejoice in the one or bow to the\nother.\"\n\n\"What feeling have I aroused in Rameses besides dissatisfaction, and\ndislike? I insist on knowing!\" said Paaker with increasing vehemence.\n\n\"You alarm me,\" the widow declared. \"And in speaking ill of you, his only\nmotive was to raise his favorite in Nefert's estimation.\"\n\n\"Tell me what he said!\" cried the pioneer; cold drops stood on his brown\nforehead, and his glaring eyes showed the white eye-balls.\n\nKatuti quailed before him, and drew back, but he followed her, seized her\narm, and said huskily:\n\n\"What did he say?\"\n\n\"Paaker!\" cried the widow in pain and indignation. \"Let me go. It is\nbetter for you that I should not repeat the words with which Rameses\nsought to turn Nefert's heart from you. Let me go, and remember to whom\nyou are speaking.\"\n\nBut Paaker gripped her elbow the tighter, and urgently repeated his\nquestion.\n\n\"Shame upon you!\" cried Katuti, \"you are hurting me; let me go! You will\nnot till you have heard what he said? Have your own way then, but the\nwords are forced from me! He said that if he did not know your mother\nSetchem for an honest woman, he never would have believed you were your\nfather's son--for you were no more like him than an owl to an eagle.\"\n\nPaaker took his hand from Katuti's arm. \"And so--and so--\" he muttered\nwith pale lips.\n\n\"Nefert took your part, and I too, but in vain. Do not take the words too\nhardly. Your father was a man without an equal, and Rameses cannot forget\nthat we are related to the old royal house. His grandfather, his father,\nand himself are usurpers, and there is one now living who has a better\nright to the throne than he has.\"\n\n\"The Regent Ani!\" exclaimed Paaker decisively. Katuti nodded, she went up\nto the pioneer and said in a whisper:\n\n\"I put myself in your hands, though I know they may be raised against me.\nBut you are my natural ally, for that same act of Rameses that disgraced\nand injured you, made me a partner in the designs of Ani. The king robbed\nyou of your bride, me of my daughter. He filled your soul with hatred for\nyour arrogant rival, and mine with passionate regret for the lost\nhappiness of my child. I feel the blood of Hatasu in my veins, and my\nspirit is high enough to govern men. It was I who roused the sleeping\nambition of the Regent--I who directed his gaze to the throne to which he\nwas destined by the Gods. The ministers of the Gods, the priests, are\nfavorably disposed to us; we have--\"\n\nAt this moment there was a commotion in the garden, and a breathless\nslave rushed in exclaiming \"The Regent is at the gate!\"\n\nPaaker stood in stupid perplexity, but he collected himself with an\neffort and would have gone, but Katuti detained him.\n\n\"I will go forward to meet Ani,\" she said. \"He will be rejoiced to see\nyou, for he esteems you highly and was a friend of your father's.\"\n\nAs soon as Katuti had left the hall, the dwarf Nemu crept out of his\nhiding-place, placed himself in front of Paaker, and asked boldly:\n\n\"Well? Did I give thee good advice yesterday, or no?\"\n\nPut Paaker did not answer him, he pushed him aside with his foot, and\nwalked up and down in deep thought.\n\nKatuti met the Regent half way down the garden. He held a manuscript roll\nin his hand, and greeted her from afar with a friendly wave of his hand.\n\nThe widow looked at him with astonishment.\n\nIt seemed to her that he had grown taller and younger since the last time\nshe had seen him.\n\n\"Hail to your highness!\" she cried, half in joke half reverently, and she\nraised her hands in supplication, as if he already wore the double crown\nof Upper and Lower Egypt. \"Have the nine Gods met you? have the Hathors\nkissed you in your slumbers? This is a white day--a lucky day--I read it\nin your face!\" \"That is reading a cipher!\" said Ani gaily, but with\ndignity. \"Read this despatch.\"\n\nKatuti took the roll from his hand, read it through, and then returned\nit.\n\n\"The troops you equipped have conquered the allied armies of the\nEthiopians,\" she said gravely, \"and are bringing their prince in fetters\nto Thebes, with endless treasure, and ten thousand prisoners! The Gods be\npraised!\"\n\n\"And above all things I thank the Gods that my general Scheschenk--my\nfoster-brother and friend--is returning well and unwounded from the war.\nI think, Katuti, that the figures in our dreams are this day taking forms\nof flesh and blood!\"\n\n\"They are growing to the stature of heroes!\" cried the widow. \"And you\nyourself, my lord, have been stirred by the breath of the Divinity. You\nwalk like the worthy son of Ra, the Courage of Menth beams in your eyes,\nand you smile like the victorious Horus.\"\n\n\"Patience, patience my friend,\" said Ani, moderating the eagerness of the\nwidow; \"now, more than ever, we must cling to my principle of\nover-estimating the strength of our opponents, and underrating our own.\nNothing has succeeded on which I had counted, and on the contrary many\nthings have justified my fears that they would fail. The beginning of the\nend is hardly dawning on us.\"\n\n\"But successes, like misfortunes, never come singly,\" replied Katuti.\n\n\"I agree with you,\" said Ani. \"The events of life seem to me to fall in\ngroups. Every misfortune brings its fellow with it--like every piece of\nluck. Can you tell me of a second success?\"\n\n\"Women win no battles,\" said the widow smiling. \"But they win allies, and\nI have gained a powerful one.\"\n\n\"A God or an army?\" asked Ani.\n\n\"Something between the two,\" she replied. \"Paaker, the king's chief\npioneer, has joined us;\" and she briefly related to Ani the history of\nher nephew's love and hatred.\n\nAni listened in silence; then he said with an expression of much disquiet\nand anxiety:\n\n\"This man is a follower of Rameses, and must shortly return to him. Many\nmay guess at our projects, but every additional person who knows them may\nbe come a traitor. You are urging me, forcing me, forward too soon. A\nthousand well-prepared enemies are less dangerous than one untrustworthy\nally--\"\n\n\"Paaker is secured to us,\" replied Katuti positively. \"Who will answer\nfor him?\" asked Ani.\n\n\"His life shall be in your hand,\" replied Katuti gravely. \"My shrewd\nlittle dwarf Nemu knows that he has committed some secret crime, which\nthe law punishes by death.\"\n\nThe Regent's countenance cleared.\n\n\"That alters the matter,\" he said with satisfaction. \"Has he committed a\nmurder?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Katuti, \"but Nemu has sworn to reveal to you alone all that he\nknows. He is wholly devoted to us.\"\n\n\"Well and good,\" said Ani thoughtfully, but he too is imprudent--much too\nimprudent. You are like a rider, who to win a wager urges his horse to\nleap over spears. If he falls on the points, it is he that suffers; you\nlet him lie there, and go on your way.\"\n\n\"Or are impaled at the same time as the noble horse,\" said Katuti\ngravely. \"You have more to win, and at the same time more to lose than\nwe; but the meanest clings to life; and I must tell you, Ani, that I work\nfor you, not to win any thing through your success, but because you are\nas dear to me as a brother, and because I see in you the embodiment of my\nfather's claims which have been trampled on.\"\n\nAni gave her his hand and asked:\n\n\"Did you also as my friend speak to Bent-Anat? Do I interpret your\nsilence rightly?\"\n\nKatuti sadly shook her head; but Ani went on: \"Yesterday that would have\ndecided me to give her up; but to-day my courage has risen, and if the\nHathors be my friends I may yet win her.\"\n\nWith these words he went in advance of the widow into the hall, where\nPaaker was still walking uneasily up and down.\n\nThe pioneer bowed low before the Regent, who returned the greeting with a\nhalf-haughty, half-familiar wave of the hand, and when he had seated\nhimself in an arm-chair politely addressed Paaker as the son of a friend,\nand a relation of his family.\n\n\"All the world,\" he said, \"speaks of your reckless courage. Men like you\nare rare; I have none such attached to me. I wish you stood nearer to me;\nbut Rameses will not part with you, although--although--In point of fact\nyour office has two aspects; it requires the daring of a soldier, and the\ndexterity of a scribe. No one denies that you have the first, but the\nsecond--the sword and the reed-pen are very different weapons, one\nrequires supple fingers, the other a sturdy fist. The king used to\ncomplain of your reports--is he better satisfied with them now?\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" replied the Mohar; \"my brother Horus is a practised writer,\nand accompanies me in my journeys.\"\n\n\"That is well,\" said Ani. \"If I had the management of affairs I should\ntreble your staff, and give you four--five--six scribes under you, who\nshould be entirely at your command, and to whom you could give the\nmaterials for the reports to be sent out. Your office demands that you\nshould be both brave and circumspect; these characteristics are rarely\nunited; but there are scriveners by hundreds in the temples.\"\n\n\"So it seems to me,\" said Paaker.\n\nAni looked down meditatively, and continued--Rameses is fond of comparing\nyou with your father. That is unfair, for he--who is now with the\njustified--was without an equal; at once the bravest of heroes and the\nmost skilful of scribes. You are judged unjustly; and it grieves me all\nthe more that you belong, through your mother, to my poor but royal\nhouse. We will see whether I cannot succeed in putting you in the right\nplace. For the present you are required in Syria almost as soon as you\nhave got home. You have shown that you are a man who does not fear death,\nand who can render good service, and you might now enjoy your wealth in\npeace with your wife.\"\n\n\"I am alone,\" said Paaker.\n\n\"Then, if you come home again, let Katuti seek you out the prettiest wife\nin Egypt,\" said the Regent smiling. \"She sees herself every day in her\nmirror, and must be a connoisseur in the charms of women.\"\n\nAni rose with these words, bowed to Paaker with studied friendliness,\ngave his hand to Katuti, and said as he left the hall:\n\n\"Send me to-day the--the handkerchief--by the dwarf Nemu.\"\n\nWhen he was already in the garden, he turned once more and said to Paaker\n\n\"Some friends are supping with me to-day; pray let me see you too.\"\n\nThe pioneer bowed; he dimly perceived that he was entangled in invisible\ntoils. Up to the present moment he had been proud of his devotion to his\ncalling, of his duties as Mohar; and now he had discovered that the king,\nwhose chain of honor hung round his neck, undervalued him, and perhaps\nonly suffered him to fill his arduous and dangerous post for the sake of\nhis father, while he, notwithstanding the temptations offered him in\nThebes by his wealth, had accepted it willingly and disinterestedly. He\nknew that his skill with the pen was small, but that was no reason why he\nshould be despised; often had he wished that he could reconstitute his\noffice exactly as Ani had suggested, but his petition to be allowed a\nsecretary had been rejected by Rameses. What he spied out, he was told\nwas to be kept secret, and no one could be responsible for the secrecy of\nanother.\n\nAs his brother Horus grew up, he had followed him as his obedient\nassistant, even after he had married a wife, who, with her child,\nremained in Thebes under the care of Setchem.\n\nHe was now filling Paaker's place in Syria during his absence; badly\nenough, as the pioneer thought, and yet not without credit; for the\nfellow knew how to write smooth words with a graceful pen.\n\nPaaker, accustomed to solitude, became absorbed in thought, forgetting\neverything that surrounded him; even the widow herself, who had sunk on\nto a couch, and was observing him in silence.\n\nHe gazed into vacancy, while a crowd of sensations rushed confusedly\nthrough his brain. He thought himself cruelly ill-used, and he felt too\nthat it was incumbent on him to become the instrument of a terrible fate\nto some other person. All was dim 'and chaotic in his mind, his love\nmerged in his hatred; only one thing was clear and unclouded by doubt,\nand that was his strong conviction that Nefert would be his.\n\nThe Gods indeed were in deep disgrace with him. How much he had expended\nupon them--and with what a grudging hand they had rewarded him; he knew\nof but one indemnification for his wasted life, and in that he believed\nso firmly that he counted on it as if it were capital which he had\ninvested in sound securities. But at this moment his resentful feelings\nembittered the sweet dream of hope, and he strove in vain for calmness\nand clear-sightedness; when such cross-roads as these met, no amulet, no\ndivining rod could guide him; here he must think for himself, and beat\nhis own road before he could walk in it; and yet he could think out no\nplan, and arrive at no decision.\n\nHe grasped his burning forehead in his hands, and started from his\nbrooding reverie, to remember where he was, to recall his conversation\nwith the mother of the woman he loved, and her saying that she was\ncapable of guiding men.\n\n\"She perhaps may be able to think for me,\" he muttered to himself.\n\"Action suits me better.\"\n\nHe slowly went up to her and said:\n\n\"So it is settled then--we are confederates.\"\n\n\"Against Rameses, and for Ani,\" she replied, giving him her slender hand.\n\n\"In a few days I start for Syria, meanwhile you can make up your mind\nwhat commissions you have to give me. The money for your son shall be\nconveyed to you to-day before sunset. May I not pay my respects to\nNefert?\"\n\n\"Not now, she is praying in the temple.\"\n\n\"But to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Willingly, my dear friend. She will be delighted to see you, and to\nthank you.\"\n\n\"Farewell, Katuti.\"\n\n\"Call me mother,\" said the widow, and she waved her veil to him as a last\nfarewell.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nAs soon as Paaker had disappeared behind the shrubs, Katuti struck a\nlittle sheet of metal, a slave appeared, and Katuti asked her whether\nNefert had returned from the temple.\n\n\"Her litter is just now at the side gate,\" was the answer.\n\n\"I await her here,\" said the widow. The slave went away, and a few\nminutes later Nefert entered the hall.\n\n\"You want me?\" she said; and after kissing her mother she sank upon her\ncouch. \"I am tired,\" she exclaimed, \"Nemu, take a fan and keep the flies\noff me.\"\n\nThe dwarf sat down on a cushion by her couch, and began to wave the\nsemi-circular fan of ostrich-feathers; but Katuti put him aside and said:\n\n\"You can leave us for the present; we want to speak to each other in\nprivate.\"\n\nThe dwarf shrugged his shoulders and got up, but Nefert looked at her\nmother with an irresistible appeal.\n\n\"Let him stay,\" she said, as pathetically as if her whole happiness\ndepended upon it. \"The flies torment me so, and Nemu always holds his\ntongue.\"\n\nShe patted the dwarf's big head as if he were a lap-dog, and called the\nwhite cat, which with a graceful leap sprang on to her shoulder and stood\nthere with its back arched, to be stroked by her slender fingers.\n\nNemu looked enquiringly at his mistress, but Katuti turned to her\ndaughter, and said in a warning voice:\n\n\"I have very serious things to discuss with you.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" said her daughter, \"but I cannot be stung by the flies all the\nsame. Of course, if you wish it--\"\n\n\"Nemu may stay then,\" said Katuti, and her voice had the tone of that of\na nurse who gives way to a naughty child. \"Besides, he knows what I have\nto talk about.\"\n\n\"There now!\" said Nefert, kissing the head of the white cat, and she gave\nthe fan back to the dwarf.\n\nThe widow looked at her daughter with sincere compassion, she went up to\nher and looked for the thousandth time in admiration at her pretty face.\n\n\"Poor child,\" she sighed, \"how willingly I would spare you the frightful\nnews which sooner or later you must hear--must bear. Leave off your\nfoolish play with the cat, I have things of the most hideous gravity to\ntell you.\"\n\n\"Speak on,\" replied Nefert. \"To-day I cannot fear the worst. Mena's star,\nthe haruspex told me, stands under the sign of happiness, and I enquired\nof the oracle in the temple of Besa, and heard that my husband is\nprospering. I have prayed in the temple till I am quite content. Only\nspeak!--I know my brother's letter from the camp had no good news in it;\nthe evening before last I saw you had been crying, and yesterday you did\nnot look well; even the pomegranate flowers in your hair did not suit\nyou.\"\n\n\"Your brother,\" sighed Katuti, \"has occasioned me great trouble, and we\nmight through him have suffered deep dishonor--\"\n\n\"We-dishonor?\" exclaimed Nefert, and she nervously clutched at the cat.\n\n\"Your brother lost enormous sums at play; to recover them he pledged the\nmummy of your father--\"\n\n\"Horrible!\" cried Nefert. \"We must appeal at once to the king;--I will\nwrite to him myself; for Mena's sake he will hear me. Rameses is great\nand noble, and will not let a house that is faithfully devoted to him\nfall into disgrace through the reckless folly of a boy. Certainly I will\nwrite to him.\"\n\nShe said this in a voice of most childlike confidence, and desired Nemu\nto wave the fan more gently, as if this concern were settled.\n\nIn Katuti's heart surprise and indignation at the unnatural indifference\nof her daughter were struggling together; but she withheld all blame, and\nsaid carelessly:\n\n\"We are already released, for my nephew Paaker, as soon as he heard what\nthreatened us, offered me his help; freely and unprompted, from pure\ngoodness of heart and attachment.\"\n\n\"How good of Paaker!\" cried Nefert. \"He was so fond of me, and you know,\nmother, I always stood up for him. No doubt it was for my sake that he\nbehaved so generously!\"\n\nThe young wife laughed, and pulling the cat's face close to her own, held\nher nose to its cool little nose, stared into its green eyes, and said,\nimitating childish talk:\n\n\"There now, pussy--how kind people are to your little mistress.\"\n\nKatuti was vexed daughter's childish impulses.\n\n\"It seems to me,\" she said, \"that you might leave off playing and\ntrifling when I am talking of such serious matters. I have long since\nobserved that the fate of the house to which your father and mother\nbelong is a matter of perfect indifference to you; and yet you would have\nto seek shelter and protection under its roof if your husband--\"\n\n\"Well, mother?\" asked Nefert breathing more quickly.\n\nAs soon as Katuti perceived her daughter's agitation she regretted that\nshe had not more gently led up to the news she had to break to her; for\nshe loved her daughter, and knew that it would give her keen pain.\n\nSo she went on more sympathetically:\n\n\"You boasted in joke that people are good to you, and it is true; you win\nhearts by your mere being--by only being what you are. And Mena too loved\nyou tenderly; but 'absence,' says the proverb, 'is the one real enemy,'\nand Mena--\"\n\n\"What has Mena done?\" Once more Nefert interrupted her mother, and her\nnostrils quivered.\n\n\"Mena,\" said Katuti, decidedly, \"has violated the truth and esteem which\nhe owes you--he has trodden them under foot, and--\"\n\n\"Mena?\" exclaimed the young wife with flashing eyes; she flung the cat on\nthe floor, and sprang from her couch.\n\n\"Yes--Mena,\" said Katuti firmly. \"Your brother writes that he would have\nneither silver nor gold for his spoil, but took the fair daughter of the\nprince of the Danaids into his tent. The ignoble wretch!\"\n\n\"Ignoble wretch!\" cried Nefert, and two or three times she repeated her\nmother's last words. Katuti drew back in horror, for her gentle, docile,\nchildlike daughter stood before her absolutely transfigured beyond all\nrecognition.\n\nShe looked like a beautiful demon of revenge; her eyes sparkled, her\nbreath came quickly, her limbs quivered, and with extraordinary strength\nand rapidity she seized the dwarf by the hand, led him to the door of one\nof the rooms which opened out of the hall, threw it open, pushed the\nlittle man over the threshold, and closed it sharply upon him; then with\nwhite lips she came up to her mother.\n\n\"An ignoble wretch did you call him?\" she cried out with a hoarse husky\nvoice, \"an ignoble wretch! Take back your words, mother, take back your\nwords, or--\"\n\nKatuti turned paler and paler, and said soothingly:\n\n\"The words may sound hard, but he has broken faith with you, and openly\ndishonored you.\"\n\n\"And shall I believe it?\" said Nefert with a scornful laugh. \"Shall I\nbelieve it, because a scoundrel has written it, who has pawned his\nfather's body and the honor of big family; because it is told you by that\nnoble and brave gentleman! why a box on the ears from Mena would be the\ndeath of him. Look at me, mother, here are my eyes, and if that table\nthere were Mena's tent, and you were Mena, and you took the fairest woman\nliving by the hand and led her into it, and these eyes saw it--aye, over\nand over again--I would laugh at it--as I laugh at it now; and I should\nsay, 'Who knows what he may have to give her, or to say to her,' and not\nfor one instant would I doubt his truth; for your son is false and Mena\nis true. Osiris broke faith with Isis--but Mena may be favored by a\nhundred women--he will take none to his tent but me!\"\n\n\"Keep your belief,\" said Katuti bitterly, \"but leave me mine.\"\n\n\"Yours?\" said Nefert, and her flushed cheeks turned pale again. \"What do\nyou believe? You listen to the worst and basest things that can be said\nof a man who has overloaded you with benefits! A wretch, bah! an ignoble\nwretch? Is that what you call a man who lets you dispose of his estate as\nyou please!\"\n\n\"Nefert,\" cried Katuti angrily, \"I will--\"\n\n\"Do what you will,\" interrupted her indignant daughter, \"but do not\nvilify the generous man who has never hindered you from throwing away his\nproperty on your son's debts and your own ambition. Since the day before\nyesterday I have learned that we are not rich; and I have reflected, and\nI have asked myself what has become of our corn and our cattle, of our\nsheep and the rents from the farmers. The wretch's estate was not so\ncontemptible; but I tell you plainly I should be unworthy to be the wife\nof the noble Mena if I allowed any one to vilify his name under his own\nroof. Hold to your belief, by all means, but one of us must quit this\nhouse--you or I.\"\n\nAt these words Nefert broke into passionate sobs, threw herself on her\nknees by her couch, hid her face in the cushions, and wept convulsively\nand without intermission.\n\nKatuti stood behind her, startled, trembling, and not knowing what to\nsay. Was this her gentle, dreamy daughter? Had ever a daughter dared to\nspeak thus to her mother? But was she right or was Nefert? This question\nwas the pressing one; she knelt down by the side of the young wife, put\nher arm round her, drew her head against her bosom, and whispered\npitifully:\n\n\"You cruel, hard-hearted child; forgive your poor, miserable mother, and\ndo not make the measure of her wretchedness overflow.\"\n\nThen Nefert rose, kissed her mother's hand, and went silently into her\nown room.\n\nKatuti remained alone; she felt as if a dead hand held her heart in its\nicy grasp, and she muttered to herself:\n\n\"Ani is right--nothing turns to good excepting that from which we expect\nthe worst.\"\n\nShe held her hand to her head, as if she had heard something too strange\nto be believed. Her heart went after her daughter, but instead of\nsympathizing with her she collected all her courage, and deliberately\nrecalled all the reproaches that Nefert had heaped upon her. She did not\nspare herself a single word, and finally she murmured to herself: \"She\ncan spoil every thing. For Mena's sake she will sacrifice me and the\nwhole world; Mena and Rameses are one, and if she discovers what we are\nplotting she will betray us without a moment's hesitation. Hitherto all\nhas gone on without her seeing it, but to-day something has been unsealed\nin her--an eye, a tongue, an ear, which have hitherto been closed. She is\nlike a deaf and dumb person, who by a sudden fright is restored to speech\nand hearing. My favorite child will become the spy of my actions, and my\njudge.\"\n\nShe gave no utterance to the last words, but she seemed to hear them with\nher inmost ear; the voice that could speak to her thus, startled and\nfrightened her, and solitude was in itself a torture; she called the\ndwarf, and desired him to have her litter prepared, as she intended going\nto the temple, and visiting the wounded who had been sent home from\nSyria.\n\n\"And the handkerchief for the Regent?\" asked the little man.\n\n\"It was a pretext,\" said Katuti. \"He wishes to speak to you about the\nmatter which you know of with regard to Paaker. What is it?\"\n\n\"Do not ask,\" replied Nemu, \"I ought not to betray it. By Besa, who\nprotects us dwarfs, it is better that thou shouldst never know it.\"\n\n\"For to-day I have learned enough that is new to me,\" retorted Katuti.\n\"Now go to Ani, and if you are able to throw Paaker entirely into his\npower--good--I will give--but what have I to give away? I will be\ngrateful to you; and when we have gained our end I will set you free and\nmake you rich.\"\n\nNemu kissed her robe, and said in a low voice: \"What is the end?\"\n\n\"You know what Ani is striving for,\" answered the widow. \"And I have but\none wish!\"\n\n\"And that is?\"\n\n\"To see Paaker in Mena's place.\"\n\n\"Then our wishes are the same,\" said the dwarf and he left the Hall.\n\nKatuti looked after him and muttered:\n\n\"It must be so. For if every thing remains as it was and Mena comes home\nand demands a reckoning--it is not to be thought of! It must not be!\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Ardently they desire that which transcends sense\n     Every misfortune brings its fellow with it\n     Medicines work harm as often as good\n     No good excepting that from which we expect the worst\n     Obstinacy--which he liked to call firm determination\n     Only the choice between lying and silence\n     Patronizing friendliness\n     Principle of over-estimating the strength of our opponents\n     Provide yourself with a self-devised ruler\n     Successes, like misfortunes, never come singly\n     The beginning of things is not more attractive\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nVolume 5.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nAs Nemu, on his way back from his visit to Ani, approached his mistress's\nhouse, he was detained by a boy, who desired him to follow him to the\nstranger's quarter. Seeing him hesitate, the messenger showed him the\nring of his mother Hekt, who had come into the town on business, and\nwanted to speak with him.\n\nNemu was tired, for he was not accustomed to walking; his ass was dead,\nand Katuti could not afford to give him another. Half of Mena's beasts\nhad been sold, and the remainder barely sufficed for the field-labor.\n\nAt the corners of the busiest streets, and on the market-places, stood\nboys with asses which they hired out for a small sum;\n\n   [In the streets of modern Egyptian towns asses stand saddled for\n   hire. On the monuments only foreigners are represented as riding on\n   asses, but these beasts are mentioned in almost every list of the\n   possessions of the nobles, even in very early times, and the number\n   is often considerable. There is a picture extant of a rich old man\n   who rides on a seat supported on the backs of two donkeys. Lepsius,\n   Denkmaler, part ii. 126.]\n\nbut Nemu had parted with his last money for a garment and a new wig, so\nthat he might appear worthily attired before the Regent. In former times\nhis pocket had never been empty, for Mena had thrown him many a ring of\nsilver, or even of gold, but his restless and ambitious spirit wasted no\nregrets on lost luxuries. He remembered those years of superfluity with\ncontempt, and as he puffed and panted on his way through the dust, he\nfelt himself swell with satisfaction.\n\nThe Regent had admitted him to a private interview, and the little man\nhad soon succeeded in riveting his attention; Ani had laughed till the\ntears rolled down his cheeks at Nemu's description of Paaker's wild\npassion, and he had proved himself in earnest over the dwarf's further\ncommunications, and had met his demands half-way. Nemu felt like a duck\nhatched on dry land, and put for the first time into water; like a bird\nhatched in a cage, and that for the first time is allowed to spread its\nwings and fly. He would have swum or have flown willingly to death if\ncircumstances had not set a limit to his zeal and energy.\n\nBathed in sweat and coated with dust, he at last reached the gay tent in\nthe stranger's quarter, where the sorceress Hekt was accustomed to alight\nwhen she came over to Thebes.\n\nHe was considering far-reaching projects, dreaming of possibilities,\ndevising subtle plans--rejecting them as too subtle, and supplying their\nplace with others more feasible and less dangerous; altogether the little\ndiplomatist had no mind for the motley tribes which here surrounded him.\nHe had passed the temple in which the people of Kaft adored their goddess\nAstarte, and the sanctuary of Seth, where they sacrificed to Baal,\nwithout letting himself be disturbed by the dancing devotees or the noise\nof cymbals and music which issued from their enclosures. The tents and\nslightly-built wooden houses of the dancing girls did not tempt him.\nBesides their inhabitants, who in the evening tricked themselves out in\ntinsel finery to lure the youth of Thebes into extravagance and folly,\nand spent their days in sleeping till sun-down, only the gambling booths\ndrove a brisk business; and the guard of police had much trouble to\nrestrain the soldier, who had staked and lost all his prize money, or the\nsailor, who thought himself cheated, from such outbreaks of rage and\ndespair as must end in bloodshed. Drunken men lay in front of the\ntaverns, and others were doing their utmost, by repeatedly draining their\nbeakers, to follow their example.\n\nNothing was yet to be seen of the various musicians, jugglers,\nfire-eaters, serpent-charmers, and conjurers, who in the evening\ndisplayed their skill in this part of the town, which at all times had\nthe aspect of a never ceasing fair. But these delights, which Nemu had\npassed a thousand times, had never had any temptation for him. Women and\ngambling were not to his taste; that which could be had simply for the\ntaking, without trouble or exertion, offered no charms to his fancy, he\nhad no fear of the ridicule of the dancing-women, and their\nassociates--indeed, he occasionally sought them, for he enjoyed a war of\nwords, and he was of opinion that no one in Thebes could beat him at\nhaving the last word. Other people, indeed, shared this opinion, and not\nlong before Paaker's steward had said of Nemu:\n\n\"Our tongues are cudgels, but the little one's is a dagger.\"\n\nThe destination of the dwarf was a very large and gaudy tent, not in any\nway distinguished from a dozen others in its neighborhood. The opening\nwhich led into it was wide, but at present closed by a hanging of coarse\nstuff.\n\nNemu squeezed himself in between the edge of the tent and the yielding\ndoor, and found himself in an almost circular tent with many angles, and\nwith its cone-shaped roof supported on a pole by way of a pillar.\n\nPieces of shabby carpet lay on the dusty soil that was the floor of the\ntent, and on these squatted some gaily-clad girls, whom an old woman was\nbusily engaged in dressing. She painted the finger and toenails of the\nfair ones with orange-colored Hennah, blackened their brows and\neye-lashes with Mestem--[Antimony.]--to give brilliancy to their glance,\npainted their cheeks with white and red, and anointed their hair with\nscented oil.\n\nIt was very hot in the tent, and not one of the girls spoke a word; they\nsat perfectly still before the old woman, and did not stir a finger,\nexcepting now and then to take up one of the porous clay pitchers, which\nstood on the ground, for a draught of water, or to put a pill of Kyphi\nbetween their painted lips.\n\nVarious musical instruments leaned against the walls of the tent,\nhand-drums, pipes and lutes and four tambourines lay on the ground; on\nthe vellum of one slept a cat, whose graceful kittens played with the\nbells in the hoop of another.\n\nAn old negro-woman went in and out of the little back-door of the tent,\npursued by flies and gnats, while she cleared away a variety of earthen\ndishes with the remains of food--pomegranate-peelings, breadcrumbs, and\ngarlic-tops--which had been lying on one of the carpets for some hours\nsince the girls had finished their dinner.\n\nOld Hekt sat apart from the girls on a painted trunk, and she was saying,\nas she took a parcel from her wallet:\n\n\"Here, take this incense, and burn six seeds of it, and the vermin will\nall disappear--\" she pointed to the flies that swarmed round the platter\nin her hand. \"If you like I will drive away the mice too and draw the\nsnakes out of their holes better than the priests.\"\n\n   [Recipes for exterminating noxious creatures are found in the\n   papyrus in my possession.]\n\n\"Keep your magic to yourself,\" said a girl in a husky voice. \"Since you\nmuttered your words over me, and gave me that drink to make me grow\nslight and lissom again, I have been shaken to pieces with a cough at\nnight, and turn faint when I am dancing.\"\n\n\"But look how slender you have grown,\" answered Hekt, \"and your cough\nwill soon be well.\"\n\n\"When I am dead,\" whispered the girl to the old woman. \"I know that most\nof us end so.\"\n\nThe witch shrugged her shoulders, and perceiving the dwarf she rose from\nher seat.\n\nThe girls too noticed the little man, and set up the indescribable cry,\nsomething like the cackle of hens, which is peculiar to Eastern women\nwhen something tickles their fancy. Nemu was well known to them, for his\nmother always stayed in their tent whenever she came to Thebes, and the\ngayest of them cried out:\n\n\"You are grown, little man, since the last time you were here.\"\n\n\"So are you,\" said the dwarf sharply; \"but only as far as big words are\nconcerned.\"\n\n\"And you are as wicked as you are small,\" retorted the girl.\n\n\"Then my wickedness is small too,\" said the dwarf laughing, \"for I am\nlittle enough! Good morning, girls--may Besa help your beauty. Good day,\nmother--you sent for me?\"\n\nThe old woman nodded; the dwarf perched himself on the chest beside her,\nand they began to whisper together.\n\n\"How dusty and tired you are,\" said Hekt. I do believe you have come on\nfoot in the burning sun.\"\n\n\"My ass is dead,\" replied Nemu, \"and I have no money to hire a steed.\"\n\n\"A foretaste of future splendor,\" said the old woman with a sneer. \"What\nhave you succeeded in doing?\"\n\n\"Paaker has saved us,\" replied Nemu, \"and I have just come from a long\ninterview with the Regent.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"He will renew your letter of freedom, if you will put Paaker into his\npower.\"\n\n\"Good-good. I wish he would make up his mind to come and seek me--in\ndisguise, of course--I would--\"\n\n\"He is very timid, and it would not suggest to him anything so\nunpracticable.\"\n\n\"Hm--\" said Hekt, \"perhaps you are right, for when we have to demand a\ngood deal it is best only to ask for what is feasible. One rash request\noften altogether spoils the patron's inclination for granting favors.\"\n\n\"What else has occurred?\"\n\n\"The Regent's army has conquered the Ethiopians, and is coming home with\nrich spoils.\"\n\n\"People may be bought with treasure,\" muttered the old woman, \"I\ngood--good!\"\n\n\"Paaker's sword is sharpened; I would give no more for my master's life,\nthan I have in my pocket--and you know why I came on foot through the\ndust.\"\n\n\"Well, you can ride home again,\" replied his mother, giving the little\nman a small silver ring. \"Has the pioneer seen Nefert again?\"\n\n\"Strange things have happened,\" said the dwarf, and he told his mother\nwhat had taken place between Katuti and Nefert. Nemu was a good listener,\nand had not forgotten a word of what he had heard.\n\nThe old woman listened to his story with the most eager attention.\n\n\"Well, well,\" she muttered, \"here is another extraordinary thing. What is\ncommon to all men is generally disgustingly similar in the palace and in\nthe hovel. Mothers are everywhere she-apes, who with pleasure let\nthemselves be tormented to death by their children, who repay them badly\nenough, and the wives generally open their ears wide if any one can tell\nthem of some misbehavior of their husbands! But that is not the way with\nyour mistress.\"\n\nThe old woman looked thoughtful, and then she continued:\n\n\"In point of fact this can be easily explained, and is not at all more\nextraordinary than it is that those tired girls should sit yawning. You\ntold me once that it was a pretty sight to see the mother and daughter\nside by side in their chariot when they go to a festival or the\nPanegyrai; Katuti, you said, took care that the colors of their dresses\nand the flowers in their hair should harmonize. For which of them is the\ndress first chosen on such occasions?\"\n\n\"Always for the lady Katuti, who never wears any but certain colors,\"\nreplied Nemu quickly.\n\n\"You see,\" said the witch laughing, \"Indeed it must be so. That mother\nalways thinks of herself first, and of the objects she wishes to gain;\nbut they hang high, and she treads down everything that is in her\nway--even her own child--to reach them. She will contrive that Paaker\nshall be the ruin of Mena, as sure as I have ears to hear with, for that\nwoman is capable of playing any tricks with her daughter, and would marry\nher to that lame dog yonder if it would advance her ambitious schemes.\"\n\n\"But Nefert!\" said Nemu. \"You should have seen her. The dove became a\nlioness.\"\n\n\"Because she loves Mena as much as her mother loves herself,\" answered\nHekt. \"As the poets say, 'she is full of him.' It is really true of her,\nthere is no room for any thing else. She cares for one only, and woe to\nthose who come between him and her!\"\n\n\"I have seen other women in love,\" said Nemu, \"but--\"\n\n\"But,\" exclaimed the old witch with such a sharp laugh that the girls all\nlooked up, \"they behaved differently to Nefert--I believe you, for there\nis not one in a thousand that loves as she does. It is a sickness that\ngives raging pain--like a poisoned arrow in an open wound, and devours\nall that is near it like a fire-brand, and is harder to cure than the\ndisease which is killing that coughing wench. To be possessed by that\ndemon of anguish is to suffer the torture of the damned--or else,\" and\nher voice sank to softness, \"to be more blest than the Gods, happy as\nthey are. I know--I know it all; for I was once one of the possessed, one\nof a thousand, and even now--\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked the dwarf.\n\n\"Folly!\" muttered the witch, stretching herself as if awaking from sleep.\n\"Madness! He--is long since dead, and if he were not it would be all the\nsame to me. All men are alike, and Mena will be like the rest.\"\n\n\"But Paaker surely is governed by the demon you describe?\" asked the\ndwarf.\n\n\"May be,\" replied his mother; \"but he is self-willed to madness. He would\nsimply give his life for the thing because it is denied him. If your\nmistress Nefert were his, perhaps he might be easier; but what is the use\nof chattering? I must go over to the gold tent, where everyone goes now\nwho has any money in their purse, to speak to the mistress--\"\n\n\"What do you want with her?\" interrupted Nemu. \"Little Uarda over there,\"\nsaid the old woman, \"will soon be quite well again. You have seen her\nlately; is she not grown beautiful, wonderfully beautiful? Now I shall\nsee what the good woman will offer me if I take Uarda to her? the girl is\nas light-footed as a gazelle, and with good training would learn to dance\nin a very few weeks.\"\n\nNemu turned perfectly white.\n\n\"That you shall not do,\" said he positively.\n\n\"And why not?\" asked the old woman, \"if it pays well.\"\n\n\"Because I forbid it,\" said the dwarf in a choked voice.\n\n\"Bless me,\" laughed the woman; \"you want to play my lady Nefert, and\nexpect me to take the part of her mother Katuti. But, seriously, having\nseen the child again, have you any fancy for her?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Nemu. \"If we gain our end, Katuti will make me free, and\nmake me rich. Then I will buy Pinem's grandchild, and take her for my\nwife. I will build a house near the hall of justice, and give the\ncomplainants and defendants private advice, like the hunch-back Sent, who\nnow drives through the streets in his own chariot.\"\n\n\"Hm--\" said his mother, \"that might have done very well, but perhaps it\nis too late. When the child had fever she talked about the young priest\nwho was sent from the House of Seti by Ameni. He is a fine tall fellow,\nand took a great interest in her; he is a gardener's son, named Pentaur.\"\n\n\"Pentaur?\" said the dwarf. \"Pentaur? He has the haughty air and the\nexpression of the old Mohar, and would be sure to rise; but they are\ngoing to break his proud neck for him.\"\n\n\"So much the better,\" said the old woman. \"Uarda would be just the wife\nfor you, she is good and steady, and no one knows--\"\n\n\"What?\" said Nemu.\n\n\"Who her mother was--for she was not one of us. She came here from\nforeign parts, and when she died she left a trinket with strange letters\non it. We must show it to one of the prisoners of war, after you have got\nher safe; perhaps they could make out the queer inscription. She comes of\na good stock, that I am certain; for Uarda is the very living image of\nher mother, and as soon as she was born, she looked like the child of a\ngreat man. You smile, you idiot! Why thousands of infants have been in my\nhands, and if one was brought to me wrapped in rags I could tell if its\nparents were noble or base-born. The shape of the foot shows it--and\nother marks. Uarda may stay where she is, and I will help you. If\nanything new occurs let me know.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nWhen Nemu, riding on an ass this time, reached home, he found neither his\nmistress nor Nefert within.\n\nThe former was gone, first to the temple, and then into the town; Nefert,\nobeying an irresistible impulse, had gone to her royal friend Bent-Anat.\n\nThe king's palace was more like a little town than a house. The wing in\nwhich the Regent resided, and which we have already visited, lay away\nfrom the river; while the part of the building which was used by the\nroyal family commanded the Nile.\n\nIt offered a splendid, and at the same time a pleasing prospect to the\nships which sailed by at its foot, for it stood, not a huge and solitary\nmass in the midst of the surrounding gardens, but in picturesque groups\nof various outline. On each side of a large structure, which contained\nthe state rooms and banqueting hall, three rows of pavilions of different\nsizes extended in symmetrical order. They were connected with each other\nby colonnades, or by little bridges, under which flowed canals, that\nwatered the gardens and gave the palace-grounds the aspect of a town\nbuilt on islands.\n\nThe principal part of the castle of the Pharaohs was constructed of light\nNile-mud bricks and elegantly carved woodwork, but the extensive walls\nwhich surrounded it were ornamented and fortified with towers, in front\nof which heavily armed soldiers stood on guard.\n\nThe walls and pillars, the galleries and colonnades, even the roofs,\nblazed in many colored paints, and at every gate stood tall masts, from\nwhich red and blue flags fluttered when the king was residing there. Now\nthey stood up with only their brass spikes, which were intended to\nintercept and conduct the lightning.--[ According to an inscription first\ninterpreted by Dumichen.]\n\nTo the right of the principal building, and entirely surrounded with\nthick plantations of trees, stood the houses of the royal ladies, some\nmirrored in the lake which they surrounded at a greater or less distance.\nIn this part of the grounds were the king's storehouses in endless rows,\nwhile behind the centre building, in which the Pharaoh resided, stood the\nbarracks for his body guard and the treasuries. The left wing was\noccupied by the officers of the household, the innumerable servants and\nthe horses and chariots of the sovereign.\n\nIn spite of the absence of the king himself, brisk activity reigned in\nthe palace of Rameses, for a hundred gardeners watered the turf, the\nflower-borders, the shrubs and trees; companies of guards passed hither\nand thither; horses were being trained and broken; and the princess's\nwing was as full as a beehive of servants and maids, officers and\npriests.\n\nNefert was well known in this part of the palace. The gate-keepers let\nher litter pass unchallenged, with low bows; once in the garden, a lord\nin waiting received her, and conducted her to the chamberlain, who, after\na short delay, introduced her into the sitting-room of the king's\nfavorite daughter.\n\nBent-Anat's apartment was on the first floor of the pavilion, next to the\nking's residence. Her dead mother had inhabited these pleasant rooms, and\nwhen the princess was grown up it made the king happy to feel that she\nwas near him; so the beautiful house of the wife who had too early\ndeparted, was given up to her, and at the same time, as she was his\neldest daughter, many privileges were conceded to her, which hitherto\nnone but queens had enjoyed.\n\nThe large room, in which Nefert found the princess, commanded the river.\nA doorway, closed with light curtains, opened on to a long balcony with a\nfinely-worked balustrade of copper-gilt, to which clung a climbing rose\nwith pink flowers.\n\nWhen Nefert entered the room, Bent-Anat was just having the rustling\ncurtain drawn aside by her waiting-women; for the sun was setting, and at\nthat hour she loved to sit on the balcony, as it grew cooler, and watch\nwith devout meditation the departure of Ra, who, as the grey-haired Turn,\nvanished behind the western horizon of the Necropolis in the evening to\nbestow the blessing of light on the under-world.\n\nNefert's apartment was far more elegantly appointed than the princess's;\nher mother and Mena had surrounded her with a thousand pretty trifles.\nHer carpets were made of sky-blue and silver brocade from Damascus, the\nseats and couches were covered with stuff embroidered in feathers by the\nEthiopian women, which looked like the breasts of birds. The images of\nthe Goddess Hathor, which stood on the house-altar, were of an imitation\nof emerald, which was called Mafkat, and the other little figures, which\nwere placed near their patroness, were of lapis-lazuli, malachite, agate\nand bronze, overlaid with gold. On her toilet-table stood a collection of\nsalve-boxes, and cups of ebony and ivory finely carved, and everything\nwas arranged with the utmost taste, and exactly suited Nefert herself.\n\nBent-Anat's room also suited the owner.\n\nIt was high and airy, and its furniture consisted in costly but simple\nnecessaries; the lower part of the wall was lined with cool tiles of\nwhite and violet earthen ware, on each of which was pictured a star, and\nwhich, all together, formed a tasteful pattern. Above these the walls\nwere covered with a beautiful dark green material brought from Sais, and\nthe same stuff was used to cover the long divans by the wall. Chairs and\nstools, made of cane, stood round a very large table in the middle of\nthis room, out of which several others opened; all handsome, comfortable,\nand harmonious in aspect, but all betraying that their mistress took\nsmall pleasure in trifling decorations. But her chief delight was in\nfinely-grown plants, of which rare and magnificent specimens,\nartistically arranged on stands, stood in the corners of many of the\nrooms. In others there were tall obelisks of ebony, which bore saucers\nfor incense, which all the Egyptians loved, and which was prescribed by\ntheir physicians to purify and perfume their dwellings. Her simple\nbedroom would have suited a prince who loved floriculture, quite as well\nas a princess.\n\nBefore all things Bent-Anat loved air and light. The curtains of her\nwindows and doors were only closed when the position of the sun\nabsolutely required it; while in Nefert's rooms, from morning till\nevening, a dim twilight was maintained.\n\nThe princess went affectionately towards the charioteer's wife, who bowed\nlow before her at the threshold; she took her chin with her right hand,\nkissed her delicate narrow forehead, and said:\n\n\"Sweet creature! At last you have come uninvited to see lonely me! It is\nthe first time since our men went away to the war. If Rameses' daughter\ncommands there is no escape; and you come; but of your own free will--\"\n\nNefert raised her large eyes, moist with tears, with an imploring look,\nand her glance was so pathetic that Bent-Anat interrupted herself, and\ntaking both her hands, exclaimed:\n\n\"Do you know who must have eyes exactly like yours? I mean the Goddess\nfrom whose tears, when they fall on the earth, flowers spring.\"\n\nNefert's eyes fell and she blushed deeply.\n\n\"I wish,\" she murmured, \"that my eyes might close for ever, for I am very\nunhappy.\" And two large tears rolled down her cheeks.\n\n\"What has happened to you, my darling?\" asked the princess\nsympathetically, and she drew her towards her, putting her arm round her\nlike a sick child.\n\nNefert glanced anxiously at the chamberlain, and the ladies in waiting\nwho had entered the room with her, and Bent-Anat understood the look; she\nrequested her attendants to withdraw, and when she was alone with her sad\nlittle friend--\"Speak now,\" she said. \"What saddens your heart? how comes\nthis melancholy expression on your dear baby face? Tell me, and I will\ncomfort you, and you shall be my bright thoughtless plaything once more.\"\n\n\"Thy plaything!\" answered Nefert, and a flash of displeasure sparkled in\nher eyes. \"Thou art right to call me so, for I deserve no better name. I\nhave submitted all my life to be nothing but the plaything of others.\"\n\n\"But, Nefert, I do not know you again,\" cried Bent-Anat. \"Is this my\ngentle amiable dreamer?\"\n\n\"That is the word I wanted,\" said Nefert in a low tone. \"I slept, and\ndreamed, and dreamed on--till Mena awoke me; and when he left me I went\nto sleep again, and for two whole years I have lain dreaming; but to-day\nI have been torn from my dreams so suddenly and roughly, that I shall\nnever find any rest again.\"\n\nWhile she spoke, heavy tears fell slowly one after another over her\ncheeks.\n\nBent-Anat felt what she saw and heard as deeply as if Nefert were her own\nsuffering child. She lovingly drew the young wife down by her side on the\ndivan, and insisted on Nefert's letting her know all that troubled her\nspirit.\n\nKatuti's daughter had in the last few hours felt like one born blind, and\nwho suddenly receives his sight. He looks at the brightness of the sun,\nand the manifold forms of the creation around him, but the beams of the\nday-star blind its eyes, and the new forms, which he has sought to guess\nat in his mind, and which throng round him in their rude reality, shock\nhim and pain him. To-day, for the first time, she had asked herself\nwherefore her mother, and not she herself, was called upon to control the\nhouse of which she nevertheless was called the mistress, and the answer\nhad rung in her ears: \"Because Mena thinks you incapable of thought and\naction.\" He had often called her his little rose, and she felt now that\nshe was neither more nor less than a flower that blossoms and fades, and\nonly charms the eye by its color and beauty.\n\n\"My mother,\" she said to Bent-Anat, \"no doubt loves me, but she has\nmanaged badly for Mena, very badly; and I, miserable idiot, slept and\ndreamed of Mena, and saw and heard nothing of what was happening to\nhis--to our--inheritance. Now my mother is afraid of my husband, and\nthose whom we fear, says my uncle, we cannot love, and we are always\nready to believe evil of those we do not love. So she lends an ear to\nthose people who blame Mena, and say of him that he has driven me out of\nhis heart, and has taken a strange woman to his tent. But it is false and\na lie; and I cannot and will not countenance my own mother even, if she\nembitters and mars what is left to me--what supports me--the breath and\nblood of my life--my love, my fervent love for my husband.\"\n\nBent-Anat had listened to her without interrupting her; she sat by her\nfor a time in silence. Then she said:\n\n\"Come out into the gallery; then I will tell you what I think, and\nperhaps Toth may pour some helpful counsel into my mind. I love you, and\nI know you well, and though I am not wise, I have my eyes open and a\nstrong hand. Take it, come with me on to the balcony.\"\n\nA refreshing breeze met the two women as they stepped out into the air.\nIt was evening, and a reviving coolness had succeeded the heat of the\nday. The buildings and houses already cast long shadows, and numberless\nboats, with the visitors returning from the Necropolis, crowded the\nstream that rolled its swollen flood majestically northwards.\n\nClose below lay the verdant garden, which sent odors from the rose-beds\nup to the princess's balcony. A famous artist had laid it out in the time\nof Hatasu, and the picture which he had in his mind, when he sowed the\nseeds and planted the young shoots, was now realized, many decades after\nhis death. He had thought of planning a carpet, on which the palace\nshould seem to stand. Tiny streams, in bends and curves, formed the\noutline of the design, and the shapes they enclosed were filled with\nplants of every size, form, and color; beautiful plats of fresh green\nturf everywhere represented the groundwork of the pattern, and\nflower-beds and clumps of shrubs stood out from them in harmonious\nmixtures of colors, while the tall and rare trees, of which Hatasu's\nships had brought several from Arabia, gave dignity and impressiveness to\nthe whole.\n\nClear drops sparkled on leaf and flower and blade, for, only a short time\nbefore, the garden by Bent-Anat's house had been freshly watered. The\nNile beyond surrounded an island, where flourished the well-kept sacred\ngrove of Anion.\n\nThe Necropolis on the farther side of the river was also well seen from\nBent-Anat's balcony. There stood in long perspective the rows of\nsphinxes, which led from the landing-place of the festal barges to the\ngigantic buildings of Amenophis III. with its colossi--the hugest in\nThebes--to the House of Seti, and to the temple of Hatasu. There lay the\nlong workshops of the embalmers and closely-packed homes of the\ninhabitants of the City of the Dead. In the farthest west rose the Libyan\nmountains with their innumerable graves, and the valley of the kings'\ntombs took a wide curve behind, concealed by a spur of the hills.\n\nThe two women looked in silence towards the west. The sun was near the\nhorizon--now it touched it, now it sank behind the hills; and as the\nheavens flushed with hues like living gold, blazing rubies, and liquid\ngarnet and amethyst, the evening chant rang out from all the temples, and\nthe friends sank on their knees, hid their faces in the bower-rose\ngarlands that clung to the trellis, and prayed with full hearts.\n\nWhen they rose night was spreading over the landscape, for the twilight\nis short in Thebes. Here and there a rosy cloud fluttered across the\ndarkening sky, and faded gradually as the evening star appeared.\n\n\"I am content,\" said Bent-Anat. \"And you? have you recovered your peace\nof mind?\"\n\nNefert shook her head. The princess drew her on to a seat, and sank down\nbeside her. Then she began again \"Your heart is sore, poor child; they\nhave spoilt the past for you, and you dread the future. Let me be frank\nwith you, even if it gives you pain. You are sick, and I must cure you.\nWill you listen to me?\"\n\n\"Speak on,\" said Nefert.\n\n\"Speech does not suit me so well as action,\" replied the princess; \"but I\nbelieve I know what you need, and can help you. You love your husband;\nduty calls him from you, and you feel lonely and neglected; that is quite\nnatural. But those whom I love, my father and my brothers, are also gone\nto the war; my mother is long since dead; the noble woman, whom the king\nleft to be my companion, was laid low a few weeks since by sickness. Look\nwhat a half-abandoned spot my house is! Which is the lonelier do you\nthink, you or I?\"\n\n\"I,\" said Nefert. \"For no one is so lonely as a wife parted from the\nhusband her heart longs after.\"\n\n\"But you trust Mena's love for you?\" asked Bent-Anat.\n\nNefert pressed her hand to her heart and nodded assent:\n\n\"And he will return, and with him your happiness.\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" said Nefert softly.\n\n\"And he who hopes,\" said Bent Anat, \"possesses already the joys of the\nfuture. Tell me, would you have changed places with the Gods so long as\nMena was with you? No! Then you are most fortunate, for blissful\nmemories--the joys of the past--are yours at any rate. What is the\npresent? I speak of it, and it is no more. Now, I ask you, what joys can\nI look forward to, and what certain happiness am I justified in hoping\nfor?\n\n\"Thou dost not love any one,\" replied Nefert. \"Thou dost follow thy own\ncourse, calm and undeviating as the moon above us. The highest joys are\nunknown to thee, but for the same reason thou dost not know the bitterest\npain.\"\n\n\"What pain?\" asked the princess.\n\n\"The torment of a heart consumed by the fires of Sechet,\" replied Nefert.\n\nThe princess looked thoughtfully at the ground, then she turned her eyes\neagerly on her friend.\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" she said; \"I know what love and longing are. But you\nneed only wait till a feast day to wear the jewel that is your own, while\nmy treasure is no more mine than a pearl that I see gleaming at the\nbottom of the sea.\"\n\n\"Thou canst love!\" exclaimed Nefert with joyful excitement. \"Oh! I thank\nHathor that at last she has touched thy heart. The daughter of Rameses\nneed not even send for the diver to fetch the jewel out of the sea; at a\nsign from her the pearl will rise of itself, and lie on the sand at her\nslender feet.\"\n\nBent-Anat smiled and kissed Nefert's brow.\n\n\"How it excites you,\" she said, \"and stirs your heart and tongue! If two\nstrings are tuned in harmony, and one is struck, the other sounds, my\nmusic master tells me. I believe you would listen to me till morning if I\nonly talked to you about my love. But it was not for that that we came\nout on the balcony. Now listen! I am as lonely as you, I love less\nhappily than you, the House of Seti threatens me with evil times--and yet\nI can preserve my full confidence in life and my joy in existence. How\ncan you explain this?\"\n\n\"We are so very different,\" said Nefert.\n\n\"True,\" replied Bent-Anat, \"but we are both young, both women, and both\nwish to do right. My mother died, and I have had no one to guide me, for\nI who for the most part need some one to lead me can already command, and\nbe obeyed. You had a mother to bring you up, who, when you were still a\nchild, was proud of her pretty little daughter, and let her--as it became\nher so well-dream and play, without warning her against the dangerous\npropensity. Then Mena courted you. You love him truly, and in four long\nyears he has been with you but a month or two; your mother remained with\nyou, and you hardly observed that she was managing your own house for\nyou, and took all the trouble of the household. You had a great pastime\nof your own--your thoughts of Mena, and scope for a thousand dreams in\nyour distant love. I know it, Nefert; all that you have seen and heard\nand felt in these twenty months has centred in him and him alone. Nor is\nit wrong in itself. The rose tree here, which clings to my balcony,\ndelights us both; but if the gardener did not frequently prune it and tie\nit with palm-bast, in this soil, which forces everything to rapid growth,\nit would soon shoot up so high that it would cover door and window, and I\nshould sit in darkness. Throw this handkerchief over your shoulders, for\nthe dew falls as it grows cooler, and listen to me a little longer!--The\nbeautiful passion of love and fidelity has grown unchecked in your dreamy\nnature to such a height, that it darkens your spirit and your judgment.\nLove, a true love, it seems to me, should be a noble fruit-tree, and not\na rank weed. I do not blame you, for she who should have been the\ngardener did not heed--and would not heed--what was happening. Look,\nNefert, so long as I wore the lock of youth, I too did what I fancied--I\nnever found any pleasure in dreaming, but in wild games with my brothers,\nin horses and in falconry; they often said I had the spirit of a boy, and\nindeed I would willingly have been a boy.\"\n\n\"Not I--never!\" said Nefert.\n\n\"You are just a rose--my dearest,\" said Bent-Anat. \"Well! when I was\nfifteen I was so discontented, so insubordinate and full of all sorts of\nwild behavior, so dissatisfied in spite of all the kindness and love that\nsurrounded me--but I will tell you what happened. It is four years ago,\nshortly before your wedding with Mena; my father called me to play\ndraughts.\n\n   [At Medinet Habu a picture represents Rameses the Third, not Rameses\n   the Second, playing at draughts with his daughter.]\n\nYou know how certainly he could beat the most skilful antagonist; but\nthat day his thoughts were wandering, and I won the game twice following.\nFull of insolent delight, I jumped up and kissed his great handsome\nforehead, and cried 'The sublime God, the hero, under whose feet the\nstrange nations writhe, to whom the priests and the people pray--is\nbeaten by a girl!' He smiled gently, and answered 'The Lords of Heaven\nare often outdone by the Ladies, and Necheb, the lady of victory, is a\nwoman. Then he grew graver, and said: 'You call me a God, my child, but\nin this only do I feel truly godlike, that at every moment I strive to\nthe utmost to prove myself useful by my labors; here restraining, there\npromoting, as is needful. Godlike I can never be but by doing or\nproducing something great! These words, Nefert, fell like seeds in my\nsoul. At last I knew what it was that was wanting to me; and when, a few\nweeks later, my father and your husband took the field with a hundred\nthousand fighting men, I resolved to be worthy of my godlike father, and\nin my little circle to be of use too! You do not know all that is done in\nthe houses behind there, under my direction. Three hundred girls spin\npure flax, and weave it into bands of linen for the wounds of the\nsoldiers; numbers of children, and old women, gather plants on the\nmountains, and others sort them according to the instructions of a\nphysician; in the kitchens no banquets are prepared, but fruits are\npreserved in sugar for the loved ones, and the sick in the camp. Joints\nof meat are salted, dried, and smoked for the army on its march through\nthe desert. The butler no longer thinks of drinking-bouts, but brings me\nwine in great stone jars; we pour it into well-closed skins for the\nsoldiers, and the best sorts we put into strong flasks, carefully sealed\nwith pitch, that they may perform the journey uninjured, and warm and\nrejoice the hearts of our heroes. All that, and much more, I manage and\narrange, and my days pass in hard work. The Gods send me no bright\nvisions in the night, for after utter fatigue--I sleep soundly. But I\nknow that I am of use. I can hold my head proudly, because in some degree\nI resemble my great father; and if the king thinks of me at all I know he\ncan rejoice in the doings of his child. That is the end of it,\nNefert--and I only say, Come and join me, work with me, prove yourself of\nuse, and compel Mena to think of his wife, not with affection only, but\nwith pride.\" Nefert let her head sink slowly on Bent-Anat's bosom, threw\nher arms round her neck, and wept like a child. At last she composed\nherself and said humbly:\n\n\"Take me to school, and teach me to be useful.\" \"I knew,\" said the\nprincess smiling, \"that you only needed a guiding hand. Believe me, you\nwill soon learn to couple content and longing. But now hear this! At\npresent go home to your mother, for it is late; and meet her lovingly,\nfor that is the will of the Gods. To-morrow morning I will go to see you,\nand beg Katuti to let you come to me as companion in the place of my lost\nfriend. The day after to-morrow you will come to me in the palace. You\ncan live in the rooms of my departed friend and begin, as she had done,\nto help me in my work. May these hours be blest to you!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nAt the time of this conversation the leech Nebsecht still lingered in\nfront of the hovel of the paraschites, and waited with growing impatience\nfor the old man's return.\n\nAt first he trembled for him; then he entirely forgot the danger into\nwhich he had thrown him, and only hoped for the fulfilment of his\ndesires, and for wonderful revelations through his investigations of the\nhuman heart.\n\nFor some minutes he gave himself up to scientific considerations; but he\nbecame more and more agitated by anxiety for the paraschites, and by the\nexciting vicinity of Uarda.\n\nFor hours he had been alone with her, for her father and grandmother\ncould no longer stop away from their occupations. The former must go to\nescort prisoners of war to Hermonthis, and the old woman, since her\ngranddaughter had been old enough to undertake the small duties of the\nhousehold, had been one of the wailing-women, who, with hair all\ndishevelled, accompanied the corpse on its way to the grave, weeping, and\nlamenting, and casting Nile-mud on their forehead and breast. Uarda still\nlay, when the sun was sinking, in front of the hut.\n\nShe looked weary and pale. Her long hair had come undone, and once more\ngot entangled with the straw of her humble couch. If Nebsecht went near\nher to feel her pulse or to speak to her she carefully turned her face\nfrom him.\n\nNevertheless when the sun disappeared behind the rocks he bent over her\nonce more, and said:\n\n\"It is growing cool; shall I carry you indoors?\"\n\n\"Let me alone,\" she said crossly. \"I am hot, keep farther away. I am no\nlonger ill, and could go indoors by myself if I wished; but grandmother\nwill be here directly.\"\n\nNebsecht rose, and sat down on a hen-coop that was some paces from Uarda,\nand asked stammering, \"Shall I go farther off?\"\n\n\"Do as you please,\" she answered. \"You are not kind,\" he said sadly.\n\n\"You sit looking at me,\" said Uarda, \"I cannot bear it; and I am\nuneasy--for grandfather was quite different this morning from his usual\nself, and talked strangely about dying, and about the great price that\nwas asked of him for curing me. Then he begged me never to forget him,\nand was so excited and so strange. He is so long away; I wish he were\nhere, with me.\"\n\nAnd with these words Uarda began to cry silently. A nameless anxiety for\nthe paraschites seized Nebsecht, and it struck him to the heart that he\nhad demanded a human life in return for the mere fulfilment of a duty. He\nknew the law well enough, and knew that the old man would be compelled\nwithout respite or delay to empty the cup of poison if he were found\nguilty of the theft of a human heart.\n\nIt was dark: Uarda ceased weeping and said to the surgeon:\n\n\"Can it be possible that he has gone into the city to borrow the great\nsum of money that thou--or thy temple--demanded for thy medicine? But\nthere is the princess's golden bracelet, and half of father's prize, and\nin the chest two years' wages that grandmother had earned by wailing he\nuntouched. Is all that not enough?\"\n\nThe girl's last question was full of resentment and reproach, and\nNebsecht, whose perfect sincerity was part of his very being, was silent,\nas he would not venture to say yes. He had asked more in return for his\nhelp than gold or silver. Now he remembered Pentaur's warning, and when\nthe jackals began to bark he took up the fire-stick,\n\n   [The hieroglyphic sign Sam seems to me to represent the wooden stick\n   used to produce fire (as among some savage tribes) by rapid friction\n   in a hollow piece of wood.]\n\nand lighted some fuel that was lying ready. Then he asked himself what\nUarda's fate would be without her grandparents, and a strange plan which\nhad floated vaguely before him for some hours, began now to take a\ndistinct outline and intelligible form. He determined if the old man did\nnot return to ask the kolchytes or embalmers to admit him into their\nguild--and for the sake of his adroitness they were not likely to refuse\nhim--then he would make Uarda his wife, and live apart from the world,\nfor her, for his studies, and for his new calling, in which he hoped to\nlearn a great deal. What did he care for comfort and proprieties, for\nrecognition from his fellow-men, and a superior position!\n\nHe could hope to advance more quickly along the new stony path than on\nthe old beaten track. The impulse to communicate his acquired knowledge\nto others he did not feel. Knowledge in itself amply satisfied him, and\nhe thought no more of his ties to the House of Seti. For three whole days\nhe had not changed his garments, no razor had touched his chin or his\nscalp, not a drop of water had wetted his hands or his feet. He felt half\nbewildered and almost as if he had already become an embalmer, nay even a\nparaschites, one of the most despised of human beings. This\nself-degradation had an infinite charm, for it brought him down to the\nlevel of Uarda, and she, lying near him, sick and anxious, with her\ndishevelled hair, exactly suited the future which he painted to himself.\n\n\"Do you hear nothing?\" Uarda asked suddenly. He listened. In the valley\nthere was a barking of dogs, and soon the paraschites and his wife\nappeared, and, at the door of their hut, took leave of old Hekt, who had\nmet them on her return from Thebes.\n\n\"You have been gone a long time,\" cried Uarda, when her grandmother once\nmore stood before her. \"I have been so frightened.\"\n\n\"The doctor was with you,\" said the old woman going into the house to\nprepare their simple meal, while the paraschites knelt down by his\ngranddaughter, and caressed her tenderly, but yet with respect, as if he\nwere her faithful servant rather than her blood-relation.\n\nThen he rose, and gave to Nebsecht, who was trembling with excitement,\nthe bag of coarse linen which he was in the habit of carrying tied to him\nby a narrow belt.\n\n\"The heart is in that,\" he whispered to the leech; \"take it out, and give\nme back the bag, for my knife is in it, and I want it.\"\n\nNebsecht took the heart out of the covering with trembling hands and laid\nit carefully down. Then he felt in the breast of his dress, and going up\nto the paraschites he whispered:\n\n\"Here, take the writing, hang it round your neck, and when you die I will\nhave the book of scripture wrapped up in your mummy cloths like a great\nman. But that is not enough. The property that I inherited is in the\nhands of my brother, who is a good man of business, and I have not\ntouched the interest for ten years. I will send it to you, and you and\nyour wife shall enjoy an old age free from care.\"\n\n\"The paraschites had taken the little bag with the strip of papyrus, and\nheard the leech to the end. Then he turned from him saying: \"Keep thy\nmoney; we are quits. That is if the child gets well,\" he added humbly.\n\n\"She is already half cured,\" stammered Nebsecht. \"But why will you--why\nwon't you accept--\"\n\n\"Because till to day I have never begged nor borrowed,\" said the\nparaschites, \"and I will not begin in my old age. Life for life. But what\nI have done this day not Rameses with all his treasure could repay.\"\n\nNebsecht looked down, and knew not how to answer the old man.\n\nHis wife now came out; she set a bowl of lentils that she had hastily\nwarmed before the two men, with radishes and onions,\n\n   [Radishes, onions, and garlic were the hors-d'oeuvre of an Egyptian\n   dinner. 1600 talents worth were consumed, according to Herodotus.\n   during the building of the pyramid of Cheops--L360,000 (in 1881.)]\n\nthen she helped Uarda, who did not need to be carried, into the house,\nand invited Nebsecht to share their meal. He accepted her invitation, for\nhe had eaten nothing since the previous evening.\n\nWhen the old woman had once more disappeared indoors, he asked the\nparaschites:\n\n\"Whose heart is it that you have brought me, and how did it come into\nyour hands?\"\n\n\"Tell me first,\" said the other, \"why thou hast laid such a heavy sin\nupon my soul?\"\n\n\"Because I want to investigate the structure of the human heart,\" said\nNebsecht, \"so that, when I meet with diseased hearts, I may be able to\ncure them.\"\n\nThe paraschites looked for a long time at the ground in silence; then he\nsaid:\n\n\"Art thou speaking the truth?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the leech with convincing emphasis. \"I am glad,\" said the\nold man, \"for thou givest help to the poor.\"\n\n\"As willingly as to the rich!\" exclaimed Nebsecht. \"But tell me now where\nyou got the heart.\"\n\n\"I went into the house of the embalmer,\" said the old man, after he had\nselected a few large flints, to which, with crafty blows, he gave the\nshape of knives, \"and there I found three bodies in which I had to make\nthe eight prescribed incisions with my flint-knife. When the dead lie\nthere undressed on the wooden bench they all look alike, and the begger\nlies as still as the favorite son of a king. But I knew very well who lay\nbefore me. The strong old body in the middle of the table was the corpse\nof the Superior of the temple of Hatasu, and beyond, close by each other,\nwere laid a stone-mason of the Necropolis, and a poor girl from the\nstrangers' quarter, who had died of consumption--two miserable wasted\nfigures. I had known the Prophet well, for I had met him a hundred times\nin his gilt litter, and we always called him Rui, the rich. I did my duty\nby all three, I was driven away with the usual stoning, and then I\narranged the inward parts of the bodies with my mates. Those of the\nProphet are to be preserved later in an alabaster canopus,\n\n   [This vase was called canopus at a later date. There were four of\n   them for each mummy.]\n\nthose of the mason and the girl were put back in their bodies.\n\n\"Then I went up to the three bodies, and I asked myself, to which I\nshould do such a wrong as to rob him of his heart. I turned to the two\npoor ones, and I hastily went up to the sinning girl. Then I heard the\nvoice of the demon that cried out in my heart 'The girl was poor and\ndespised like you while she walked on Seb,\n\n   [Seb is the earth; Plutarch calls Seb Chronos. He is often spoken\n   of as the \"father of the gods\" on the monuments. He is the god of\n   time, and as the Egyptians regarded matter as eternal, it is not by\n   accident that the sign which represented the earth was also used for\n   eternity.]\n\nperhaps she may find compensation and peace in the other world if you do\nnot mutilate her; and when I turned to the mason's lean corpse, and\nlooked at his hands, which were harder and rougher than my own, the demon\nwhispered the same. Then I stood before the strong, stout corpse of the\nprophet Rui, who died of apoplexy, and I remembered the honor and the\nriches that he had enjoyed on earth, and that he at least for a time had\nknown happiness and ease. And as soon as I was alone, I slipped my hand\ninto the bag, and changed the sheep's heart for his.\n\n\"Perhaps I am doubly guilty for playing such an accursed trick with the\nheart of a high-priest; but Rui's body will be hung round with a hundred\namulets, Scarabaei\n\n   [Imitations of the sacred beetle Scarabaeus made of various\n   materials were frequently put into the mummies in the place of the\n   heart. Large specimens have often the 26th, 30th, and 64th chapters\n   of the Book of the Dead engraved on them, as they treat of the\n   heart.\n\nwill be placed over his heart, and holy oil and sacred sentences will\npreserve him from all the fiends on his road to\nAmenti,--[Underworld]--while no one will devote helping talismans to the\npoor. And then! thou hast sworn, in that world, in the hall of judgment,\nto take my guilt on thyself.\"\n\nNebsecht gave the old man his hand.\n\n\"That I will,\" said he, \"and I should have chosen as you did. Now take\nthis draught, divide it in four parts, and give it to Uarda for four\nevenings following. Begin this evening, and by the day after to-morrow I\nthink she will be quite well. I will come again and look after her. Now\ngo to rest, and let me stay a while out here; before the star of Isis is\nextinguished I will be gone, for they have long been expecting me at the\ntemple.\"\n\nWhen the paraschites came out of his but the next morning, Nebsecht had\nvanished; but a blood-stained cloth that lay by the remains of the fire\nshowed the old man that the impatient investigator had examined the heart\nof the high-priest during the night, and perhaps cut it up.\n\nTerror fell upon him, and in agony of mind he threw himself on his knees\nas the golden bark of the Sun-God appeared on the horizon, and he prayed\nfervently, first for Uarda, and then for the salvation of his imperilled\nsoul.\n\nHe rose encouraged, convinced himself that his granddaughter was\nprogressing towards recovery, bid farewell to his wife, took his flint\nknife and his bronze hook,\n\n   [The brains of corpses were drawn out of the nose with a hook.\n   Herodotus II. 87.]\n\nand went to the house of the embalmer to follow his dismal calling.\n\nThe group of buildings in which the greater number of the corpses from\nThebes went through the processes of mummifying, lay on the bare\ndesert-land at some distance from his hovel, southwards from the House of\nSeti at the foot of the mountain. They occupied by themselves a fairly\nlarge space, enclosed by a rough wall of dried mud-bricks.\n\nThe bodies were brought in through the great gate towards the Nile, and\ndelivered to the kolchytes,--[The whole guild of embalmers]--while the\npriests, paraschites, and tariclleutes,--[Salter of the bodies]--bearers\nand assistants, who here did their daily work, as well as innumerable\nwater-carriers who came up from the Nile, loaded with skins, found their\nway into the establishment by a side gate.\n\nAt the farthest northern building of wood, with a separate gate, in which\nthe orders of the bereaved were taken, and often indeed those of men\nstill in active life, who thought to provide betimes for their suitable\ninterment.\n\nThe crowd in this house was considerable. About fifty men and women were\nmoving in it at the present moment, all of different ranks, and not only\nfrom Thebes but from many smaller towns of Upper Egypt, to make purchases\nor to give commissions to the functionaries who were busy here.\n\nThis bazaar of the dead was well supplied, for coffins of every form\nstood up against the walls, from the simplest chest to the richly gilt\nand painted coffer, in form resembling a mummy. On wooden shelves lay\nendless rolls of coarse and fine linen, in which the limbs of the mummies\nwere enveloped, and which were manufactured by the people of the\nembalming establishment under the protection of the tutelar goddesses of\nweavers, Neith, Isis and Nephthys, though some were ordered from a\ndistance, particularly from Sais.\n\nThere was free choice for the visitors of this pattern-room in the matter\nof mummy-cases and cloths, as well as of necklets, scarabaei, statuettes,\nUza-eyes, girdles, head-rests, triangles, split-rings, staves, and other\nsymbolic objects, which were attached to the dead as sacred amulets, or\nbound up in the wrappings.\n\nThere were innumerable stamps of baked clay, which were buried in the\nearth to show any one who might dispute the limits, how far each grave\nextended, images of the gods, which were laid in the sand to purify and\nsanctify it--for by nature it belonged to Seth-Typhon--as well as the\nfigures called Schebti, which were either enclosed several together in\nlittle boxes, or laid separately in the grave; it was supposed that they\nwould help the dead to till the fields of the blessed with the pick-axe,\nplough, and seed-bag which they carried on their shoulders.\n\nThe widow and the steward of the wealthy Superior of the temple of\nHatasu, and with them a priest of high rank, were in eager discussion\nwith the officials of the embalming-House, and were selecting the most\ncostly of the patterns of mummy-cases which were offered to their\ninspection, the finest linen, and amulets of malachite, and lapis-lazuli,\nof blood-stone, carnelian and green felspar, as well as the most elegant\nalabaster canopi for the deceased; his body was to be enclosed first in a\nsort of case of papier-mache, and then in a wooden and a stone coffin.\nThey wrote his name on a wax tablet which was ready for the purpose, with\nthose of his parents, his wife and children, and all his titles; they\nordered what verses should be written on his coffin, what on the\npapyrus-rolls to be enclosed in it, and what should be set out above his\nname. With regard to the inscription on the walls of the tomb, the\npedestal of the statue to be placed there and the face of the\nstele--[Stone tablet with round pediment.]--to be erected in it, yet\nfurther particulars would be given; a priest of the temple of Seti was\ncharged to write them, and to draw up a catalogue of the rich offerings\nof the survivors. The last could be done later, when, after the division\nof the property, the amount of the fortune he had left could be\nascertained. The mere mummifying of the body with the finest oils and\nessences, cloths, amulets, and cases, would cost a talent of silver,\nwithout the stone sarcophagus.\n\nThe widow wore a long mourning robe, her forehead was lightly daubed with\nNile-mud, and in the midst of her chaffering with the functionaries of\nthe embalming-house, whose prices she complained of as enormous and\nrapacious, from time to time she broke out into a loud wail of grief--as\nthe occasion demanded.\n\nMore modest citizens finished their commissions sooner, though it was not\nunusual for the income of a whole year to be sacrificed for the embalming\nof the head of a household--the father or the mother of a family. The\nmummifying of the poor was cheap, and that of the poorest had to be\nprovided by the kolchytes as a tribute to the king, to whom also they\nwere obliged to pay a tax in linen from their looms.\n\nThis place of business was carefully separated from the rest of the\nestablishment, which none but those who were engaged in the processes\ncarried on there were on any account permitted to enter. The kolchytes\nformed a closely-limited guild at the head of which stood a certain\nnumber of priests, and from among them the masters of the many thousand\nmembers were chosen. This guild was highly respected, even the\ntaricheutes, who were entrusted with the actual work of embalming, could\nventure to mix with the other citizens, although in Thebes itself people\nalways avoided them with a certain horror; only the paraschites, whose\nduty it was to open the body, bore the whole curse of uncleanness.\nCertainly the place where these people fulfilled their office was dismal\nenough.\n\nThe stone chamber in which the bodies were opened, and the halls in which\nthey were prepared with salt, had adjoining them a variety of\nlaboratories and depositaries for drugs and preparations of every\ndescription.\n\nIn a court-yard, protected from the rays of the sun only by an awning,\nwas a large walled bason, containing a solution of natron, in which the\nbodies were salted, and they were then dried in a stone vault,\nartificially supplied with hot air.\n\nThe little wooden houses of the weavers, as well as the work-shops of the\ncase-joiners and decorators, stood in numbers round the pattern-room; but\nthe farthest off, and much the largest of the buildings of the\nestablishment, was a very long low structure, solidly built of stone and\nwell roofed in, where the prepared bodies were enveloped in their\ncerements, tricked out in amulets, and made ready for their journey to\nthe next world. What took place in this building--into which the laity\nwere admitted, but never for more than a few minutes--was to the last\ndegree mysterious, for here the gods themselves appeared to be engaged\nwith the mortal bodies.\n\nOut of the windows which opened on the street, recitations, hymns, and\nlamentations sounded night and day. The priests who fulfilled their\noffice here wore masks like the divinities of the under-world. Many were\nthe representatives of Anubis, with the jackal-head, assisted by boys\nwith masks of the so-called child-Horus. At the head of each mummy stood\nor squatted a wailing-woman with the emblems of Nephthys, and one at its\nfeet with those of Isis.\n\nEvery separate limb of the deceased was dedicated to a particular\ndivinity by the aid of holy oils, charms, and sentences; a specially\nprepared cloth was wrapped round each muscle, every drug and every\nbandage owed its origin to some divinity, and the confusion of sounds, of\ndisguised figures, and of various perfumes, had a stupefying effect on\nthose who visited this chamber. It need not be said that the whole\nembalming establishment and its neighborhood was enveloped in a cloud of\npowerful resinous fumes, of sweet attar, of lasting musk, and pungent\nspices.\n\nWhen the wind blew from the west it was wafted across the Nile to Thebes,\nand this was regarded as an evil omen, for from the south-west comes the\nwind that enfeebles the energy of men--the fatal simoon.\n\nIn the court of the pattern-house stood several groups of citizens from\nThebes, gathered round different individuals, to whom they were\nexpressing their sympathy. A new-comer, the superintendent of the victims\nof the temple of Anion, who seemed to be known to many and was greeted\nwith respect, announced, even before he went to condole with Rui's widow,\nin a tone full of horror at what had happened, that an omen, significant\nof the greatest misfortune, had occurred in Thebes, in a spot no less\nsacred than the very temple of Anion himself.\n\nMany inquisitive listeners stood round him while he related that the\nRegent Ani, in his joy at the victory of his troops in Ethiopia, had\ndistributed wine with a lavish hand to the garrison of Thebes, and also\nto the watchmen of the temple of Anion, and that, while the people were\ncarousing, wolves\n\n   [Wolves have now disappeared from Egypt; they were sacred animals,\n   and were worshipped and buried at Lykopolis, the present Siut, where\n   mummies of wolves have been found. Herodotus says that if a wolf\n   was found dead he was buried, and Aelian states that the herb\n   Lykoktonon, which was poisonous to wolves, might on no account be\n   brought into the city, where they were held sacred. The wolf\n   numbered among the sacral animals is the canis lupaster, which\n   exists in Egypt at the present day. Besides this species there are\n   three varieties of wild dogs, the jackal, fox, and fenek, canis\n   cerda.]\n\nhad broken into the stable of the sacred rams. Some were killed, but the\nnoblest ram, which Rameses himself had sent as a gift from Mendes when he\nset out for the war--the magnificent beast which Amon had chosen as the\ntenement of his spirit, was found, torn in pieces, by the soldiers, who\nimmediately terrified the whole city with the news. At the same hour news\nhad come from Memphis that the sacred bull Apis was dead.\n\nAll the people who had collected round the priest, broke out into a\nfar-sounding cry of woe, in which he himself and Rui's widow vehemently\njoined.\n\nThe buyers and functionaries rushed out of the pattern-room, and from the\nmummy-house the taricheutes, paraschites and assistants; the weavers left\ntheir looms, and all, as soon as they had learned what had happened, took\npart in the lamentations, howling and wailing, tearing their hair and\ncovering their faces with dust.\n\nThe noise was loud and distracting, and when its violence diminished, and\nthe work-people went back to their business, the east wind brought the\necho of the cries of the dwellers in the Necropolis, perhaps too, those\nof the citizens of Thebes itself.\n\n\"Bad news,\" said the inspector of the victims, cannot fail to reach us\nsoon from the king and the army; he will regret the death of the ram\nwhich we called by his name more than that of Apis. It is a bad--a very\nbad omen.\"\n\n\"My lost husband Rui, who rests in Osiris, foresaw it all,\" said the\nwidow. \"If only I dared to speak I could tell a good deal that many might\nfind unpleasant.\"\n\nThe inspector of sacrifices smiled, for he knew that the late superior of\nthe temple of Hatasu had been an adherent of the old royal family, and he\nreplied:\n\n\"The Sun of Rameses may be for a time covered with clouds, but neither\nthose who fear it nor those who desire it will live to see its setting.\"\n\nThe priest coldly saluted the lady, and went into the house of a weaver\nin which he had business, and the widow got into her litter which was\nwaiting at the gate.\n\nThe old paraschites Pinem had joined with his fellows in the lamentation\nfor the sacred beasts, and was now sitting on the hard pavement of the\ndissecting room to eat his morsel of food--for it was noon.\n\nThe stone room in which he was eating his meal was badly lighted; the\ndaylight came through a small opening in the roof, over which the sun\nstood perpendicularly, and a shaft of bright rays, in which danced the\nwhirling motes, shot down through the twilight on to the stone pavement.\nMummy-cases leaned against all the walls, and on smooth polished slabs\nlay bodies covered with coarse cloths. A rat scudded now and then across\nthe floor, and from the wide cracks between the stones sluggish scorpions\ncrawled out.\n\nThe old paraschites was long since blunted to the horror which pervaded\nthis locality. He had spread a coarse napkin, and carefully laid on it\nthe provisions which his wife had put into his satchel; first half a cake\nof bread, then a little salt, and finally a radish.\n\nBut the bag was not yet empty.\n\nHe put his hand in and found a piece of meat wrapped up in two\ncabbage-leaves. Old Hekt had brought a leg of a gazelle from Thebes for\nUarda, and he now saw that the women had put a piece of it into his\nlittle sack for his refreshment. He looked at the gift with emotion, but\nhe did not venture to touch it, for he felt as if in doing so he should\nbe robbing the sick girl. While eating the bread and the radish he\ncontemplated the piece of meat as if it were some costly jewel, and when\na fly dared to settle on it he drove it off indignantly.\n\nAt last he tasted the meat, and thought of many former noon-day meals,\nand how he had often found a flower in the satchel, that Uarda had placed\nthere to please him, with the bread. His kind old eyes filled with tears,\nand his whole heart swelled with gratitude and love. He looked up, and\nhis glance fell on the table, and he asked himself how he would have felt\nif instead of the old priest, robbed of his heart, the sunshine of his\nold age, his granddaughter, were lying there motionless. A cold shiver\nran over him, and he felt that his own heart would not have been too\ngreat a price to pay for her recovery. And yet! In the course of his long\nlife he had experienced so much suffering and wrong, that he could not\nimagine any hope of a better lot in the other world. Then he drew out the\nbond Nebsecht had given him, held it up with both hands, as if to show it\nto the Immortals, and particularly to the judges in the hall of truth and\njudgment, that they might not reckon with him for the crime he had\ncommitted--not for himself but for another--and that they might not\nrefuse to justify Rui, whom he had robbed of his heart.\n\nWhile he thus lifted his soul in devotion, matters were getting warm\noutside the dissecting room. He thought he heard his name spoken, and\nscarcely had he raised his head to listen when a taricheut came in and\ndesired him to follow him.\n\nIn front of the rooms, filled with resinous odors and incense, in which\nthe actual process of embalming was carried on, a number of taricheutes\nwere standing and looking at an object in an alabaster bowl. The knees of\nthe old man knocked together as he recognized the heart of the beast\nwhich he had substituted for that of the Prophet.\n\nThe chief of the taricheutes asked him whether he had opened the body of\nthe dead priest.\n\nPinem stammered out \"Yes.\" Whether this was his heart? The old man nodded\naffirmatively.\n\nThe taricheutes looked at each other, whispered together; then one of\nthem went away, and returned soon with the inspector of victims from the\ntemple of Anion, whom he had found in the house of the weaver, and the\nchief of the kolchytes.\n\n\"Show me the heart,\" said the superintendent of the sacrifices as he\napproached the vase. \"I can decide in the dark if you have seen rightly.\nI examine a hundred animals every day. Give it here!--By all the Gods of\nHeaven and Hell that is the heart of a ram!\"\n\n\"It was found in the breast of Rui,\" said one of the taricheutes\ndecisively. \"It was opened yesterday in the presence of us all by this\nold paraschites.\"\n\n\"It is extraordinary,\" said the priest of Anion. \"And incredible. But\nperhaps an exchange was effected.--Did you slaughter any victims here\nyesterday or--?\"\n\n\"We are purifying ourselves,\" the chief of the kolchytes interrupted, for\nthe great festival of the valley, and for ten days no beast can have been\nkilled here for food; besides, the stables and slaughterhouses are a long\nway from this, on the other side of the linen-factories.\"\n\n\"It is strange!\" replied the priest. \"Preserve this heart carefully,\nkolchytes: or, better still, let it be enclosed in a case. We will take\nit over to the chief prophet of Anion. It would seem that some miracle\nhas happened.\"\n\n\"The heart belongs to the Necropolis,\" answered the chief kolchytes, \"and\nit would therefore be more fitting if we took it to the chief priest of\nthe temple of Seti, Ameni.\"\n\n\"You command here!\" said the other. \"Let us go.\" In a few minutes the\npriest of Anion and the chief of the kolchytes were being carried towards\nthe valley in their litters. A taricheut followed them, who sat on a seat\nbetween two asses, and carefully carried a casket of ivory, in which\nreposed the ram's heart.\n\nThe old paraschites watched the priests disappear behind the tamarisk\nbushes. He longed to run after them, and tell them everything.\n\nHis conscience quaked with self reproach, and if his sluggish\nintelligence did not enable him to take in at a glance all the results\nthat his deed might entail, he still could guess that he had sown a seed\nwhence deceit of every kind must grow. He felt as if he had fallen\naltogether into sin and falsehood, and that the goddess of truth, whom he\nhad all his life honestly served, had reproachfully turned her back on\nhim. After what had happened never could he hope to be pronounced a\n\"truth-speaker\" by the judges of the dead. Lost, thrown away, was the aim\nand end of a long life, rich in self-denial and prayer! His soul shed\ntears of blood, a wild sighing sounded in his ears, which saddened his\nspirit, and when he went back to his work again, and wanted to remove the\nsoles of the feet\n\n   [One of the mummies of Prague which were dissected by Czermak, had\n   the soles of the feet removed and laid on the breast. We learn from\n   Chapter 125 of the Book of the Dead that this was done that the\n   sacred floor of the hall of judgment might not be defiled when the\n   dead were summoned before Osiris.]\n\nfrom a body, his hand trembled so that he could not hold the knife.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nThe news of the end of the sacred ram of Anion, and of the death of the\nbull Apis of Memphis, had reached the House of Seti, and was received\nthere with loud lamentation, in which all its inhabitants joined, from\nthe chief haruspex down to the smallest boy in the school-courts.\n\nThe superior of the institution, Ameni, had been for three days in\nThebes, and was expected to return to-day. His arrival was looked for\nwith anxiety and excitement by many. The chief of the haruspices was\neager for it that he might hand over the imprisoned scholars to condign\npunishment, and complain to him of Pentaur and Bent-Anat; the initiated\nknew that important transactions must have been concluded on the farther\nside of the Nile; and the rebellious disciples knew that now stern\njustice would be dealt to them.\n\nThe insurrectionary troop were locked into an open court upon bread and\nwater, and as the usual room of detention of the establishment was too\nsmall for them all, for two nights they had had to sleep in a loft on\nthin straw mats. The young spirits were excited to the highest pitch, but\neach expressed his feelings in quite a different manner.\n\nBent-Anat's brother, Rameses' son, Rameri, had experienced the same\ntreatment as his fellows, whom yesterday he had led into every sort of\nmischief, with even more audacity than usual, but to-day he hung his\nhead.\n\nIn a corner of the court sat Anana, Pentaur's favorite scholar, hiding\nhis face in his hands which rested on his knees. Rameri went up to him,\ntouched his shoulders and said:\n\n\"We have played the game, and now must bear the consequences for good and\nfor evil. Are you not ashamed of yourself, old boy? Your eyes are wet,\nand the drops here on your hands have not fallen from the clouds. You who\nare seventeen, and in a few months will be a scribe and a grown man!\"\n\nAnana looked at the prince, dried his eyes quickly; and said:\n\n\"I was the ring-leader. Ameni will turn me out of the place, and I must\nreturn disgraced to my poor mother, who has no one in the world but me.\"\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" said Rameri kindly. \"It was striking at random! If only\nour attempt had done Pentaur any good!\"\n\n\"We have done him harm, on the contrary,\" said Anana vehemently, \"and\nhave behaved like fools!\" Rameri nodded in full assent, looked thoughtful\nfor a moment, and then said:\n\n\"Do you know, Anana, that you were not the ringleader? The trick was\nplanned in this crazy brain; I take the whole blame on my own shoulders.\nI am the son of Rameses, and Ameni will be less hard on me than on you.\"\n\n\"He will examine us all,\" replied Anana, \"and I will be punished sooner\nthan tell a lie.\"\n\nRameri colored.\n\n\"Have you ever known my tongue sin against the lovely daughter of Ra?\" he\nexclaimed. \"But look here! did I stir up Antef, Hapi, Sent and all the\nothers or no? Who but I advised you to find out Pentaur? Did I threaten\nto beg my father to take me from the school of Seti or not? I was the\ninstigator of the mischief, I pulled the wires, and if we are questioned\nlet me speak first. Not one of you is to mention Anana's name; do you\nhear? not one of you, and if they flog us or deprive us of our food we\nall stick to this, that I was guilty of all the mischief.\"\n\n\"You are a brave fellow!\" said the son of the chief priest of Anion,\nshaking his right hand, while Anana held his left.\n\nThe prince freed himself laughing from their grasp.\n\n\"Now the old man may come home,\" he exclaimed, \"we are ready for him. But\nall the same I will ask my father to send me to Chennu, as sure as my\nname is Rameri, if they do not recall Pentaur.\"\n\n\"He treated us like school-boys!\" said the eldest of the young\nmalefactors.\n\n\"And with reason,\" replied Rameri, \"I respect him all the more for it.\nYou all think I am a careless dog--but I have my own ideas, and I will\nspeak the words of wisdom.\"\n\nWith these words he looked round on his companions with comical gravity,\nand continued--imitating Ameni's manner:\n\n\"Great men are distinguished from little men by this--they scorn and\ncontemn all which flatters their vanity, or seems to them for the moment\ndesirable, or even useful, if it is not compatible with the laws which\nthey recognize, or conducive to some great end which they have set before\nthem; even though that end may not be reached till after their death.\n\n\"I have learned this, partly from my father, but partly I have thought it\nout for myself; and now I ask you, could Pentaur as 'a great man' have\ndealt with us better?\"\n\n\"You have put into words exactly what I myself have thought ever since\nyesterday,\" cried Anana. \"We have behaved like babies, and instead of\ncarrying our point we have brought ourselves and Pentaur into disgrace.\"\n\nThe rattle of an approaching chariot was now audible, and Rameri\nexclaimed, interrupting Anana, \"It is he. Courage, boys! I am the guilty\none. He will not dare to have me thrashed--but he will stab me with\nlooks!\"\n\nAmeni descended quickly from his chariot. The gate-keeper informed him\nthat the chief of the kolchytes, and the inspector of victims from the\ntemple of Anion, desired to speak with him.\n\n\"They must wait,\" said the Prophet shortly. \"Show them meanwhile into the\ngarden pavilion. Where is the chief haruspex?\"\n\nHe had hardly spoken when the vigorous old man for whom he was enquiring\nhurried to meet him, to make him acquainted with all that had occurred in\nhis absence. But the high-priest had already heard in Thebes all that his\ncolleague was anxious to tell him.\n\nWhen Ameni was absent from the House of Seti, he caused accurate\ninformation to be brought to him every morning of what had taken place\nthere.\n\nNow when the old man began his story he interrupted him.\n\n\"I know everything,\" he said. \"The disciples cling to Pentaur, and have\ncommitted a folly for his sake, and you met the princess Bent-Anat with\nhim in the temple of Hatasu, to which he had admitted a woman of low rank\nbefore she had been purified. These are grave matters, and must be\nseriously considered, but not to-day. Make yourself easy; Pentaur will\nnot escape punishment; but for to-day we must recall him to this temple,\nfor we have need of him to-morrow for the solemnity of the feast of the\nvalley. No one shall meet him as an enemy till he is condemned; I desire\nthis of you, and charge you to repeat it to the others.\"\n\nThe haruspex endeavored to represent to his superior what a scandal would\narise from this untimely clemency; but Ameni did not allow him to talk,\nhe demanded his ring back, called a young priest, delivered the precious\nsignet into his charge, and desired him to get into his chariot that was\nwaiting at the door, and carry to Pentaur the command, in his name, to\nreturn to the temple of Seti.\n\nThe haruspex submitted, though deeply vexed, and asked whether the guilty\nboys were also to go unpunished.\n\n\"No more than Pentaur,\" answered Ameni. \"But can you call this\nschool-boy's trick guilt? Leave the children to their fun, and their\nimprudence. The educator is the destroyer, if he always and only keeps\nhis eyes open, and cannot close them at the right moment. Before life\ndemands of us the exercise of serious duties we have a mighty\nover-abundance of vigor at our disposal; the child exhausts it in play,\nand the boy in building wonder-castles with the hammer and chisel of his\nfancy, in inventing follies. You shake your head, Septah! but I tell you,\nthe audacious tricks of the boy are the fore-runners of the deeds of the\nman. I shall let one only of the boys suffer for what is past, and I\nshould let him even go unpunished if I had not other pressing reasons for\nkeeping him away from our festival.\"\n\nThe haruspex did not contradict his chief; for he knew that when Ameni's\neyes flashed so suddenly, and his demeanor, usually so measured, was as\nrestless as at present, something serious was brewing.\n\nThe high-priest understood what was passing in Septah's mind.\n\n\"You do not understand me now,\" said he. \"But this evening, at the\nmeeting of the initiated, you shall know all. Great events are stirring.\nThe brethren in the temple of Anion, on the other shore, have fallen off\nfrom what must always be the Holiest to us white-robed priests, and will\nstand in our way when the time for action is arrived. At the feast of the\nvalley we shall stand in competition with the brethren from Thebes. All\nThebes will be present at the solemn service, and it must be proved which\nknows how to serve the Divinity most worthily, they or we. We must avail\nourselves of all our resources, and Pentaur we certainly cannot do\nwithout. He must fill the function of Cherheb\n\n   [Cherheb was the title of the speaker or reciter at a festival. We\n   cannot agree with those who confuse this personage with the chief of\n   the Kolchytes.]\n\nfor to-morrow only; the day after he must be brought to judgment. Among\nthe rebellious boys are our best singers, and particularly young Anana,\nwho leads the voices of the choir-boys.\n\n\"I will examine the silly fellows at once. Rameri--Rameses' son--was\namong the young miscreants?\"\n\n\"He seems to have been the ring-leader,\" answered Septah.\n\nAmeni looked at the old man with a significant smile, and said:\n\n\"The royal family are covering themselves with honor! His eldest daughter\nmust be kept far from the temple and the gathering of the pious, as being\nunclean and refractory, and we shall be obliged to expel his son too from\nour college. You look horrified, but I say to you that the time for\naction is come. More of this, this evening. Now, one question: Has the\nnews of the death of the ram of Anion reached you? Yes? Rameses himself\npresented him to the God, and they gave it his name. A bad omen.\"\n\n\"And Apis too is dead!\" The haruspex threw up his arms in lamentation.\n\n\"His Divine spirit has returned to God,\" replied Ameni. \"Now we have much\nto do. Before all things we must prove ourselves equal to those in Thebes\nover there, and win the people over to our side. The panegyric prepared\nby us for to-morrow must offer some great novelty. The Regent Ani grants\nus a rich contribution, and--\"\n\n\"And,\" interrupted Septah, \"our thaumaturgists understand things very\ndifferently from those of the house of Anion, who feast while we\npractise.\"\n\nAmeni nodded assent, and said with a smile: \"Also we are more\nindispensable than they to the people. They show them the path of life,\nbut we smooth the way of death. It is easier to find the way without a\nguide in the day-light than in the dark. We are more than a match for the\npriests of Anion.\"\n\n\"So long as you are our leader, certainly,\" cried the haruspex.\n\n\"And so long as the temple has no lack of men of your temper!\" added\nAmeni, half to Septah, and half to the second prophet of the temple,\nsturdy old Gagabu, who had come into the room.\n\nBoth accompanied him into the garden, where the two priests were awaiting\nhim with the miraculous heart.\n\nAmeni greeted the priest from the temple of Anion with dignified\nfriendliness, the head kolchytes with distant reserve, listened to their\nstory, looked at the heart which lay in the box, with Septah and Gagabu,\ntouched it delicately with the tips of his fingers, carefully examining\nthe object, which diffused a strong perfume of spices; then he said\nearnestly:\n\n\"If this, in your opinion, kolchytes, is not a human heart, and if in\nyours, my brother of the temple of Anion, it is a ram's heart, and if it\nwas found in the body of Rui, who is gone to Osiris, we here have a\nmystery which only the Gods can solve. Follow me into the great court.\nLet the gong be sounded, Gagabu, four times, for I wish to call all the\nbrethren together.\"\n\nThe gong rang in loud waves of sound to the farthest limits of the group\nof buildings. The initiated, the fathers, the temple-servants, and the\nscholars streamed in, and in a few minutes were all collected. Not a man\nwas wanting, for at the four strokes of the rarely-sounded alarum every\ndweller in the House of Seti was expected to appear in the court of the\ntemple. Even the leech Nebsecht came; for he feared that the unusual\nsummons announced the outbreak of a fire.\n\nAmeni ordered the assembly to arrange itself in a procession, informed\nhis astonished hearers that in the breast of the deceased prophet Rui, a\nram's heart, instead of a man's, had been found, and desired them all to\nfollow his instructions. Each one, he said, was to fall on his knees and\npray, while he would carry the heart into the holiest of holies, and\nenquire of the Gods what this wonder might portend to the faithful.\n\nAmeni, with the heart in his hand, placed himself at the head of the\nprocession, and disappeared behind the veil of the sanctuary, the\ninitiated prayed in the vestibule, in front of it; the priests and\nscholars in the vast court, which was closed on the west by the stately\ncolonnade and the main gateway to the temple.\n\nFor fully an hour Ameni remained in the silent holy of holies, from which\nthick clouds of incense rolled out, and then he reappeared with a golden\nvase set with precious stones. His tall figure was now resplendent with\nrich ornaments, and a priest, who walked before him, held the vessel high\nabove his head.\n\nAmeni's eyes seemed spell-bound to the vase, and he followed it,\nsupporting himself by his crozier, with humble inflections.\n\nThe initiated bowed their heads till they touched the pavement, and the\npriests and scholars bent their faces down to the earth, when they beheld\ntheir haughty master so filled with humility and devotion. The\nworshippers did not raise themselves till Ameni had reached the middle of\nthe court and ascended the steps of the altar, on which the vase with the\nheart was now placed, and they listened to the slow and solemn accents of\nthe high-priest which sounded clearly through the whole court.\n\n\"Fall down again and worship! wonder, pray, and adore! The noble\ninspector of sacrifices of the temple of Anion has not been deceived in\nhis judgment; a ram's heart was in fact found in the pious breast of Rui.\nI heard distinctly the voice of the Divinity in the sanctuary, and\nstrange indeed was the speech that met my ear. Wolves tore the sacred ram\nof Anion in his sanctuary on the other bank of the river, but the heart\nof the divine beast found its way into the bosom of the saintly Rui. A\ngreat miracle has been worked, and the Gods have shown a wonderful sign.\nThe spirit of the Highest liked not to dwell in the body of this not\nperfectly holy ram, and seeking a purer abiding-place found it in the\nbreast of our Rui; and now in this consecrated vase. In this the heart\nshall be preserved till a new ram offered by a worthy hand enters the\nherd of Anion. This heart shall be preserved with the most sacred relics,\nit has the property of healing many diseases, and the significant words\nseem favorable which stood written in the midst of the vapor of incense,\nand which I will repeat to you word for word, 'That which is high shall\nrise higher, and that which exalts itself, shall soon fall down.' Rise,\npastophori! hasten to fetch the holy images, bring them out, place the\nsacred heart at the head of the procession, and let us march round the\nwalls of the temple with hymns of praise. Ye temple-servants, seize your\nstaves, and spread in every part of the city the news of the miracle\nwhich the Divinity has vouchsafed to us.\"\n\nAfter the procession had marched round the temple and dispersed, the\npriest of Anion took leave of Ameni; he bowed deeply and formally before\nhim, and with a coolness that was almost malicious said:\n\n\"We, in the temple of Anion, shall know how to appreciate what you heard\nin the holy of holies. The miracle has occurred, and the king shall learn\nhow it came to pass, and in what words it was announced.\"\n\n\"In the words of the Most High,\" said the high priest with dignity; he\nbowed to the other, and turned to a group of priests, who were discussing\nthe great event of the day.\n\nAmeni enquired of them as to the preparations for the festival of the\nmorrow, and then desired the chief haruspex to call the refractory pupils\ntogether in the school-court. The old man informed him that Pentaur had\nreturned, and he followed his superior to the released prisoners, who,\nprepared for the worst, and expecting severe punishment, nevertheless\nshook with laughter when Rameri suggested that, if by chance they were\ncondemned to kneel upon peas, they should get them cooked first.\n\n\"It will be long asparagus\n\n   [Asparagus was known to the Egyptians. Pliny says they held in\n   their mouths, as a remedy for toothache, wine in which asparagus had\n   been cooked.]\n\n--not peas,\" said another looking over his shoulder, and pretending to be\nflogging. They all shouted again with laughter, but it was hushed as soon\nas they heard Ameni's well-known footstep.\n\nEach feared the worst, and when the high-priest stood before them even\nRameri's mirth was quite quelled, for though Ameni looked neither angry\nnor threatening, his appearance commanded respect, and each one\nrecognized in him a judge against whose verdict no remonstrance was to be\nthought of.\n\nTo their infinite astonishment Ameni spoke kindly to the thoughtless\nboys, praised the motive of their action--their attachment to a\nhighly-endowed teacher--but then clearly and deliberately laid before\nthem the folly of the means they had employed to attain their end, and at\nwhat a cost. \"Only think,\" he continued, turning to the prince, \"if your\nfather sent a general, who he thought would be better in a different\nplace, from Syria to Kusch, and his troops therefore all went over to the\nenemy! How would you like that?\"\n\nSo for some minutes he continued to blame and warn them, and he ended his\nspeech by promising, in consideration of the great miracle that gave that\nday a special sanctity, to exercise unwonted clemency. For the sake of\nexample, he said, he could not let them pass altogether unpunished, and\nhe now asked them which of them had been the instigator of the deed; he\nand he only should suffer punishment.\n\nHe had hardly clone speaking, when prince Rameri stepped forward, and\nsaid modestly:\n\n\"We acknowledge, holy father, that we have played a foolish trick; and I\nlament it doubly because I devised it, and made the others follow me. I\nlove Pentaur, and next to thee there is no one like him in the\nsanctuary.\"\n\nAmeni's countenance grew dark, and he answered with displeasure:\n\n\"No judgment is allowed to pupils as to their teachers--nor to you. If\nyou were not the son of the king, who rules Egypt as Ra, I would punish\nyour temerity with stripes. My hands are tied with regard to you, and yet\nthey must be everywhere and always at work if the hundreds committed to\nmy care are to be kept from harm.\"\n\n\"Nay, punish me!\" cried Rameri. \"If I commit a folly I am ready to bear\nthe consequences.\"\n\nAmeni looked pleased at the vehement boy, and would willingly have shaken\nhim by the hand and stroked his curly head, but the penance he proposed\nfor Rameri was to serve a great end, and Ameni would not allow any\noverflow of emotion to hinder him in the execution of a well considered\ndesign. So he answered the prince with grave determination:\n\n\"I must and will punish you--and I do so by requesting you to leave the\nHouse of Seti this very day.\"\n\nThe prince turned pale. But Ameni went on more kindly:\n\n\"I do not expel you with ignominy from among us--I only bid you a\nfriendly farewell. In a few weeks you would in any case have left the\ncollege, and by the king's command have transferred your blooming life,\nhealth, and strength to the exercising ground of the chariot-brigade. No\npunishment for you but this lies in my power. Now give me your hand; you\nwill make a fine man, and perhaps a great warrior.\"\n\nThe prince stood in astonishment before Ameni, and did not take his\noffered hand. Then the priest went up to him, and said:\n\n\"You said you were ready to take the consequences of your folly, and a\nprince's word must be kept. Before sunset we will conduct you to the gate\nof the temple.\"\n\nAmeni turned his back on the boys, and left the school-court.\n\nRameri looked after him. Utter whiteness had overspread his blooming\nface, and the blood had left even his lips. None of his companions\napproached him, for each felt that what was passing in his soul at this\nmoment would brook no careless intrusion. No one spoke a word; they all\nlooked at him.\n\nHe soon observed this, and tried to collect himself, and then he said in\na low tone while he held out his hands to Anana and another friend:\n\n\"Am I then so bad that I must be driven out from among you all like\nthis--that such a blow must be inflicted on my father?\"\n\n\"You refused Ameni your hand!\" answered Anana. \"Go to him, offer him your\nhand, beg him to be less severe, and perhaps he will let you remain.\"\n\nRameri answered only \"No.\" But that \"No\" was so decided that all who knew\nhim understood that it was final.\n\nBefore the sun set he had left the school. Ameni gave him his blessing;\nhe told him that if he himself ever had to command he would understand\nhis severity, and allowed the other scholars to accompany him as far as\nthe Nile. Pentaur parted from him tenderly at the gate.\n\nWhen Rameri was alone in the cabin of his gilt bark with his tutor, he\nfelt his eyes swimming in tears.\n\n\"Your highness is surely not weeping?\" asked the official.\n\n\"Why?\" asked the prince sharply.\n\n\"I thought I saw tears on your highness' cheeks.\"\n\n\"Tears of joy that I am out of the trap,\" cried Rameri; he sprang on\nshore, and in a few minutes he was with his sister in the palace.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Ask for what is feasible\n     I know that I am of use\n     Like the cackle of hens, which is peculiar to Eastern women\n     Think of his wife, not with affection only, but with pride\n     Those whom we fear, says my uncle, we cannot love\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThis eventful day had brought much that was unexpected to our friends in\nThebes, as well as to those who lived in the Necropolis.\n\nThe Lady Katuti had risen early after a sleepless night. Nefert had come\nin late, had excused her delay by shortly explaining to her mother that\nshe had been detained by Bent-Anat, and had then affectionately offered\nher brow for a kiss of \"good-night.\"\n\nWhen the widow was about to withdraw to her sleeping-room, and Nemu had\nlighted her lamp, she remembered the secret which was to deliver Paaker\ninto Ani's hands. She ordered the dwarf to impart to her what he knew,\nand the little man told her at last, after sincere efforts at\nresistance--for he feared for his mother's safety--that Paaker had\nadministered half of a love-philter to Nefert, and that the remainder was\nstill in his hands.\n\nA few hours since this information would have filled Katuti with\nindignation and disgust; now, though she blamed the Mohar, she asked\neagerly whether such a drink could be proved to have any actual effect.\n\n\"Not a doubt of it,\" said the dwarf, \"if the whole were taken, but Nefert\nonly had half of it.\"\n\nAt a late hour Katuti was still pacing her bedroom, thinking of Paaker's\ninsane devotion, of Mena's faithlessness, and of Nefert's altered\ndemeanor; and when she went to bed, a thousand conjectures, fears, and\nanxieties tormented her, while she was distressed at the change which had\ncome over Nefert's love to her mother, a sentiment which of all others\nshould be the most sacred, and the most secure against all shock.\n\nSoon after sunrise she went into the little temple attached to the house,\nand made an offering to the statue, which, under the form of Osiris,\nrepresented her lost husband; then she went to the temple of Anion, where\nshe also prayed a while, and nevertheless, on her return home, found that\nher daughter had not yet made her appearance in the hall where they\nusually breakfasted together.\n\nKatuti preferred to be undisturbed during the early morning hours, and\ntherefore did not interfere with her daughter's disposition to sleep far\ninto the day in her carefully-darkened room.\n\nWhen the widow went to the temple Nefert was accustomed to take a cup of\nmilk in bed, then she would let herself be dressed, and when her mother\nreturned, she would find her in the veranda or hall, which is so well\nknown to the reader.\n\nTo-day however Katuti had to breakfast alone; but when she had eaten a\nfew mouthfuls she prepared Nefert's breakfast--a white cake and a little\nwine in a small silver beaker, carefully guarded from dust and insects by\na napkin thrown over it--and went into her daughter's room.\n\nShe was startled at finding it empty, but she was informed that Nefert\nhad gone earlier than was her wont to the temple, in her litter.\n\nWith a heavy sigh she returned to the veranda, and there received her\nnephew Paaker, who had come to enquire after the health of his relatives,\nfollowed by a slave, who carried two magnificent bunches of flowers, and\nby the great dog which had formerly belonged to his father. One bouquet\nhe said had been cut for Nefert, and the other for her mother.\n\n   [Pictures on the monuments show that in ancient Egypt, as at the\n   present time, bouquets of flowers were bestowed as tokens of\n   friendly feeling.]\n\nKatuti had taken quite a new interest in Paaker since she had heard of\nhis procuring the philter.\n\nNo other young man of the rank to which they belonged, would have allowed\nhimself to be so mastered by his passion for a woman as this Paaker was,\nwho went straight to his aim with stubborn determination, and shunned no\nmeans that might lead to it. The pioneer, who had grown up under her\neyes, whose weaknesses she knew, and whom she was accustomed to look down\nupon, suddenly appeared to her as a different man--almost a stranger--as\nthe deliverer of his friends, and the merciless antagonist of his\nenemies.\n\nThese reflections had passed rapidly through her mind. Now her eyes\nrested on the sturdy, strongly-knit figure of her nephew, and it struck\nher that he bore no resemblance to his tall, handsome father. Often had\nshe admired her brother-in-law's slender hand, that nevertheless could so\neffectually wield a sword, but that of his son was broad and ignoble in\nform.\n\nWhile Paaker was telling her that he must shortly leave for Syria, she\ninvoluntarily observed the action of this hand, which often went\ncautiously to his girdle as if he had something concealed there; this was\nthe oval phial with the rest of the philter. Katuti observed it, and her\ncheeks flushed when it occurred to her to guess what he had there.\n\nThe pioneer could not but observe Katuti's agitation, and he said in a\ntone of sympathy:\n\n\"I perceive that you are in pain, or in trouble. The master of Mena's\nstud at Hermonthis has no doubt been with you--No? He came to me\nyesterday, and asked me to allow him to join my troops. He is very angry\nwith you, because he has been obliged to sell some of Mena's gold-bays. I\nhave bought the finest of them. They are splendid creatures! Now he wants\nto go to his master 'to open his eyes,' as he says. Lie down a little\nwhile, aunt, you are very pale.\"\n\nKatuti did not follow this prescription; on the contrary she smiled, and\nsaid in a voice half of anger and half of pity:\n\n\"The old fool firmly believes that the weal or woe of the family depends\non the gold-bays. He would like to go with you? To open Mena's eyes? No\none has yet tried to bind them!\"\n\nKatuti spoke the last words in a low tone, and her glance fell. Paaker\nalso looked down, and was silent; but he soon recovered his presence of\nmind, and said:\n\n\"If Nefert is to be long absent, I will go.\"\n\n\"No--no, stay,\" cried the widow. \"She wished to see you, and must soon\ncome in. There are her cake and her wine waiting for her.\"\n\nWith these words she took the napkin off the breakfast-table, held up the\nbeaker in her hand, and then said, with the cloth still in her hand:\n\n\"I will leave you a moment, and see if Nefert is not yet come home.\"\n\nHardly had she left the veranda when Paaker, having convinced himself\nthat no one could see him, snatched the flask from his girdle, and, with\na short invocation to his father in Osiris, poured its whole contents\ninto the beaker, which thus was filled to the very brim. A few minutes\nlater Nefert and her mother entered the hall.\n\nPaaker took up the nosegay, which his slave had laid down on a seat, and\ntimidly approached the young woman, who walked in with such an aspect of\ndecision and self-confidence, that her mother looked at her in\nastonishment, while Paaker felt as if she had never before appeared so\nbeautiful and brilliant. Was it possible that she should love her\nhusband, when his breach of faith troubled her so little? Did her heart\nstill belong to another? Or had the love-philter set him in the place of\nMena? Yes! yes! for how warmly she greeted him. She put out her hand to\nhim while he was still quite far off, let it rest in his, thanked him\nwith feeling, and praised his fidelity and generosity.\n\nThen she went up to the table, begged Paaker to sit down with her, broke\nher cake, and enquired for her aunt Setchern, Paaker's mother.\n\nKatuti and Paaker watched all her movements with beating hearts.\n\nNow she took up the beaker, and lifted it to her lips, but set it down\nagain to answer Paaker's remark that she was breakfasting late.\n\n\"I have hitherto been a real lazy-bones,\" she said with a blush. But this\nmorning I got up early, to go and pray in the temple in the fresh dawn.\nYou know what has happened to the sacred ram of Amion. It is a frightful\noccurrence. The priests were all in the greatest agitation, but the\nvenerable Bek el Chunsu received me himself, and interpreted my dream,\nand now my spirit is light and contented.\"\n\n\"And you did all this without me?\" said Katuti in gentle reproof.\n\n\"I would not disturb you,\" replied Nefert. \"Besides,\" she added coloring,\n\"you never take me to the city and the temple in the morning.\"\n\nAgain she took up the wine-cup and looked into it, but without drinking\nany, went on:\n\n\"Would you like to hear what I dreamed, Paaker? It was a strange vision.\"\n\nThe pioneer could hardly breathe for expectation, still he begged her to\ntell her dream.\n\n\"Only think,\" said Nefert, pushing the beaker on the smooth table, which\nwas wet with a few drops which she had spilt, \"I dreamed of the\nNeha-tree, down there in the great tub, which your father brought me from\nPunt, when I was a little child, and which since then has grown quite a\ntall tree. There is no tree in the garden I love so much, for it always\nreminds me of your father, who was so kind to me, and whom I can never\nforget!\"\n\nPaaker bowed assent.\n\nNefert looked at him, and interrupted her story when she observed his\ncrimson cheeks.\n\n\"It is very hot! Would you like some wine to drink---or some water?\"\n\nWith these words she raised the wine-cup, and drank about half of the\ncontents; then she shuddered, and while her pretty face took a comical\nexpression, she turned to her mother, who was seated behind her and held\nthe beaker towards her.\n\n\"The wine is quite sour to-day!\" she said. \"Taste it, mother.\"\n\nKatuti took the little silver-cup in her hand, and gravely put it to her\nlips, but without wetting them. A smile passed over her face, and her\neyes met those of the pioneer, who stared at her in horror. The picture\nflashed before her mind of herself languishing for the pioneer, and of\nhis terror at her affection for him! Her selfish and intriguing spirit\nwas free from coarseness, and yet she could have laughed with all her\nheart even while engaged in the most shameful deed of her whole life. She\ngave the wine back to her daughter, saying good-humoredly:\n\n\"I have tasted sweeter, but acid is refreshing in this heat.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said the wife of Mena; she emptied the cup to the bottom,\nand then went on, as if refreshed, \"But I will tell you the rest of my\ndream. I saw the Neha-tree, which your father gave me, quite plainly; nay\nI could have declared that I smelt its perfume, but the interpreter\nassured me that we never smell in our dreams. I went up to the beautiful\ntree in admiration. Then suddenly a hundred axes appeared in the air,\nwielded by unseen hands, and struck the poor tree with such violence that\nthe branches one by one fell to the ground, and at last the trunk itself\nwas felled. If you think it grieved me you are mistaken. On the contrary,\nI was delighted with the flashing hatchets and the flying splinters. When\nat last nothing was left but the roots in the tub of earth, I perceived\nthat the tree was rising to new life. Suddenly my arms became strong, my\nfeet active, and I fetched quantities of water from the tank, poured it\nover the roots, and when, at last, I could exert myself no longer, a\ntender green shoot showed itself on the wounded root, a bud appeared, a\ngreen leaf unfolded itself, a juicy stem sprouted quickly, it became a\nfirm trunk, sent out branches and twigs, and these became covered with\nleaves and flowers, white, red and blue; then various birds came and\nsettled on the top of the tree, and sang. Ah! my heart sang louder than\nthe birds at that moment, and I said to myself that without me the tree\nwould have been dead, and that it owed its life to me.\"\n\n\"A beautiful dream,\" said Katuti; \"that reminds me of your girlhood, when\nyou would be awake half the night inventing all sorts of tales. What\ninterpretation did the priest give you?\"\n\n\"He promised me many things,\" said Nefert, \"and he gave me the assurance\nthat the happiness to which I am predestined shall revive in fresh beauty\nafter many interruptions.\"\n\n\"And Paaker's father gave you the Neha-tree?\" asked Katuti, leaving the\nveranda as she spoke and walking out into the garden.\n\n\"My father brought it to Thebes from the far cast,\" said Paaker, in\nconfirmation of the widow's parting words.\n\n\"And that is exactly what makes me so happy,\" said Nefert. \"For your\nfather was as kind, and as dear to me as if he had been my own. Do you\nremember when we were sailing round the pond, and the boat upset, and you\npulled me senseless out of the water? Never shall I forget the expression\nwith which the great man looked at me when I woke up in its arms; such\nwise true eyes no one ever had but he.\"\n\n\"He was good, and he loved you very much,\" said Paaker, recalling, for\nhis part, the moment when he had dared to press a kiss on the lips of the\nsweet unconscious child.\n\n\"And I am so glad,\" Nefert went on, \"that the day has come at last when\nwe can talk of him together again, and when the old grudge that lay so\nheavy in my heart is all forgotten. How good you are to us, I have\nalready learned; my heart overflows with gratitude to you, when I\nremember my childhood, and I can never forget that I was indebted to you\nfor all that was bright and happy in it. Only look at the big dog--poor\nDescher!--how he rubs against me, and shows that he has not forgotten me!\nWhatever comes from your house fills my mind with pleasant memories.\"\n\n\"We all love you dearly,\" said Paaker looking at her tenderly.\n\n\"And how sweet it was in your garden!\" cried Nefert. \"The nosegay here\nthat you have brought me shall be placed in water, and preserved a long\ntime, as greeting from the place in which once I could play carelessly,\nand dream so happily.\"\n\nWith these words she pressed the flowers to her lips; Paaker sprang\nforward, seized her hand, and covered it with burning kisses.\n\nNefert started and drew away her hand, but he put out his arm to clasp\nher to him. He had touched her with his trembling hand, when loud voices\nwere heard in the garden, and Nemu hurried in to announce he arrival of\nthe princess Bent-Anat.\n\nAt the same moment Katuti appeared, and in a few minutes the princess\nherself.\n\nPaaker retreated, and quitted the room before Nefert had time to express\nher indignation. He staggered to his chariot like a drunken man. He\nsupposed himself beloved by Mena's wife, his heart was full of triumph,\nhe proposed rewarding Hekt with gold, and went to the palace without\ndelay to crave of Ani a mission to Syria. There it should be brought to\nthe test--he or Mena.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nWhile Nefert, frozen with horror, could not find a word of greeting for\nher royal friend, Bent-Anat with native dignity laid before the widow her\nchoice of Nefert to fill the place of her lost companion, and desired\nthat Mena's wife should go to the palace that very day.\n\nShe had never before spoken thus to Katuti, and Katuti could not overlook\nthe fact that Bent-Anat had intentionally given up her old confidential\ntone.\n\n\"Nefert has complained of me to her,\" thought she to herself, \"and she\nconsiders me no longer worthy of her former friendly kindness.\"\n\nShe was vexed and hurt, and though she understood the danger which\nthreatened her, now her daughter's eyes were opened, still the thought of\nlosing her child inflicted a painful wound. It was this which filled her\neyes with tears, and sincere sorrow trembled in her voice as she replied:\n\n\"Thou hast required the better half of my life at my hand; but thou hast\nbut to command, and I to obey.\" Bent-Anat waved her hand proudly, as if\nto confirm the widow's statement; but Nefert went up to her mother, threw\nher arms round her neck, and wept upon her shoulder.\n\nTears glistened even in the princess's eyes when Katuti at last led her\ndaughter towards her, and pressed yet one more kiss on her forehead.\n\nBent-Anat took Nefert's hand, and did not release it, while she requested\nthe widow to give her daughter's dresses and ornaments into the charge of\nthe slaves and waiting-women whom she would send for them.\n\n\"And do not forget the case with the dried flowers, and my amulets, and\nthe images of the Gods,\" said Nefert. \"And I should like to have the Neha\ntree which my uncle gave me.\"\n\nHer white cat was playing at her feet with Paaker's flowers, which she\nhad dropped on the floor, and when she saw her she took her up and kissed\nher.\n\n\"Bring the little creature with you,\" said Bent-Anat. \"It was your\nfavorite plaything.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Nefert coloring.\n\nThe princess understood her, pressed her hand, and said while she pointed\nto Nemu:\n\n\"The dwarf is your own too: shall he come with you?\"\n\n\"I will give him to my mother,\" said Nefert. She let the little man kiss\nher robe and her feet, once more embraced Katuti, and quitted the garden\nwith her royal friend.\n\nAs soon as Katuti was alone, she hastened into the little chapel in which\nthe figures of her ancestors stood, apart from those of Mena. She threw\nherself down before the statue of her husband, half weeping, half\nthankful.\n\nThis parting had indeed fallen heavily on her soul, but at the same time\nit released her from a mountain of anxiety that had oppressed her breast.\nSince yesterday she had felt like one who walks along the edge of a\nprecipice, and whose enemy is close at his heels; and the sense of\nfreedom from the ever threatening danger, soon got the upperhand of her\nmaternal grief. The abyss in front of her had suddenly closed; the road\nto the goal of her efforts lay before her smooth and firm beneath her\nfeet.\n\nThe widow, usually so dignified, hastily and eagerly walked down the\ngarden path, and for the first time since that luckless letter from the\ncamp had reached her, she could look calmly and clearly at the position\nof affairs, and reflect on the measures which Ani must take in the\nimmediate future. She told herself that all was well, and that the time\nfor prompt and rapid action was now come.\n\nWhen the messengers came from the princess she superintended the packing\nof the various objects which Nefert wished to have, with calm\ndeliberation, and then sent her dwarf to Ani, to beg that he would visit\nher. But before Nemu had left Mena's grounds he saw the out-runners of\nthe Regent, his chariot, and the troop of guards following him.\n\nVery soon Katuti and her noble friend were walking up and down in the\ngarden, while she related to him how Bent-Anat had taken Nefert from her,\nand repeated to him all that she had planned and considered during the\nlast hour.\n\n\"You have the genius of a man,\" said Ani; \"and this time you do not urge\nme in vain. Ameni is ready to act, Paaker is to-day collecting his\ntroops, to-morrow he will assist at the feast of the Valley, and the next\nday he goes to Syria.\"\n\n\"He has been with you?\" Katuti asked.\n\n\"He came to the palace on leaving your house,\" replied Ani, \"with glowing\ncheeks, and resolved to the utmost; though he does not dream that I hold\nhim in my hand.\"\n\nThus speaking they entered the veranda, in which Nemu had remained, and\nhe now hid himself as usual behind the ornamental shrubs to overhear\nthem. They sat down near each other, by Nefert's breakfast table, and Ani\nasked Katuti whether the dwarf had told her his mother's secret. Katuti\nfeigned ignorance, listened to the story of the love-philter, and played\nthe part of the alarmed mother very cleverly. The Regent was of opinion,\nwhile he tried to soothe her, that there was no real love-potion in the\ncase; but the widow exclaimed:\n\n\"Now I understand, now for the first time I comprehend my daughter.\nPaaker must have poured the drink into her wine, for she had no sooner\ndrunk it this morning than she was quite altered her words to Paaker had\nquite a tender ring in them; and if he placed himself so cheerfully at\nyour disposal it is because he believes himself certainly to be beloved\nby my daughter. The old witch's potion was effectual.\"\n\n\"There certainly are such drinks--\" said Ani thoughtfully. \"But will they\nonly win hearts to young men! If that is the case, the old woman's trade\nis a bad one, for youth is in itself a charm to attract love. If I were\nonly as young as Paaker! You laugh at the sighs of a man--say at once of\nan old man! Well, yes, I am old, for the prime of life lies behind me.\nAnd yet Katuti, my friend, wisest of women--explain to me one thing. When\nI was young I was loved by many and admired many women, but not one of\nthem--not even my wife, who died young, was more to me than a toy, a\nplaything; and now when I stretch out my hand for a girl, whose father I\nmight very well be--not for her own sake, but simply to serve my\npurpose--and she refuses me, I feel as much disturbed, as much a fool\nas-as that dealer in love-philters, Paaker.\"\n\n\"Have you spoken to Bent-Anat?\" asked Katuti.\n\n\"And heard again from her own lips the refusal she had sent me through\nyou. You see my spirit has suffered!\"\n\n\"And on what pretext did she reject your suit?\" asked the widow.\n\n\"Pretext!\" cried Ani. \"Bent-Anat and pretext! It must be owned that she\nhas kingly pride, and not Ma--[The Goddess of Truth]--herself is more\ntruthful than she. That I should have to confess it! When I think of her,\nour plots seem to me unutterably pitiful. My veins contain, indeed, many\ndrops of the blood of Thotmes, and though the experience of life has\ntaught me to stoop low, still the stooping hurts me. I have never known\nthe happy feeling of satisfaction with my lot and my work; for I have\nalways had a greater position than I could fill, and constantly done less\nthan I ought to have done. In order not to look always resentful, I\nalways wear a smile. I have nothing left of the face I was born with but\nthe mere skin, and always wear a mask. I serve him whose master I believe\nI ought to be by birth; I hate Rameses, who, sincerely or no, calls me\nhis brother; and while I stand as if I were the bulwark of his authority\nI am diligently undermining it. My whole existence is a lie.\"\n\n\"But it will be truth,\" cried Katuti, \"as soon as the Gods allow you to\nbe--as you are--the real king of this country.\"\n\n\"Strange!\" said Ani smiling, Ameni, this very day, used almost exactly\nthe same words. The wisdom of priests, and that of women, have much in\ncommon, and they fight with the same weapons. You use words instead of\nswords, traps instead of lances, and you cast not our bodies, but our\nsouls, into irons.\"\n\n\"Do you blame or praise us for it?\" said the widow. \"We are in any case\nnot impotent allies, and therefore, it seems to me, desirable ones.\"\n\n\"Indeed you are,\" said Ani smiling. \"Not a tear is shed in the land,\nwhether it is shed for joy or for sorrow, for which in the first instance\na priest or a woman is not responsible. Seriously, Katuti--in nine great\nevents out of ten you women have a hand in the game. You gave the first\nimpulse to all that is plotting here, and I will confess to you that,\nregardless of all consequences, I should in a few hours have given up my\npretensions to the throne, if that woman Bent-Anat had said 'yes' instead\nof 'no.'\"\n\n\"You make me believe,\" said Katuti, \"that the weaker sex are gifted with\nstronger wills than the nobler. In marrying us you style us, 'the\nmistress of the house,' and if the elders of the citizens grow infirm, in\nthis country it is not the sons but the daughters that must be their\nmainstay. But we women have our weaknesses, and chief of these is\ncuriosity.--May I ask on what ground Bent-Anat dismissed you?\"\n\n\"You know so much that you may know all,\" replied Ani. \"She admitted me\nto speak to her alone. It was yet early, and she had come from the\ntemple, where the weak old prophet had absolved her from uncleanness; she\nmet me, bright, beautiful and proud, strong and radiant as a Goddess, and\na princess. My heart throbbed as if I were a boy, and while she was\nshowing me her flowers I said to myself: 'You are come to obtain through\nher another claim to the throne.' And yet I felt that, if she consented\nto be mine, I would remain the true brother, the faithful Regent of\nRameses, and enjoy happiness and peace by her side before it was too\nlate. If she refused me then I resolved that fate must take its way, and,\ninstead of peace and love, it must be war for the crown snatched from my\nfathers. I tried to woo her, but she cut my words short, said I was a\nnoble man, and a worthy suitor but--\"\n\n\"There came the but.\"\n\n\"Yes--in the form of a very frank 'no.' I asked her reasons. She begged\nme to be content with the 'no;' then I pressed her harder, till she\ninterrupted me, and owned with proud decision that she preferred some one\nelse. I wished to learn the name of the happy man--that she refused. Then\nmy blood began to boil, and my desire to win her increased; but I had to\nleave her, rejected, and with a fresh, burning, poisoned wound in my\nheart.\"\n\n\"You are jealous!\" said Katuti, \"and do you know of whom?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Ani. \"But I hope to find out through you. What I feel it is\nimpossible for me to express. But one thing I know, and that is this,\nthat I entered the palace a vacillating man--that I left it firmly\nresolved. I now rush straight onwards, never again to turn back. From\nthis time forward you will no longer have to drive me onward, but rather\nto hold me back; and, as if the Gods had meant to show that they would\nstand by me, I found the high-priest Ameni, and the chief pioneer Paaker\nwaiting for me in my house. Ameni will act for me in Egypt, Paaker in\nSyria. My victorious troops from Ethiopia will enter Thebes to-morrow\nmorning, on their return home in triumph, as if the king were at their\nhead, and will then take part in the Feast of the Valley. Later we will\nsend them into the north, and post them in the fortresses which protect\nEgypt against enemies coming from the east Tanis, Daphne, Pelusium,\nMigdol. Rameses, as you know, requires that we should drill the serfs of\nthe temples, and send them to him as auxiliaries. I will send him half of\nthe body-guard, the other half shall serve my own purposes. The garrison\nof Memphis, which is devoted to Rameses, shall be sent to Nubia, and\nshall be relieved by troops that are faithful to me. The people of Thebes\nare led by the priests, and tomorrow Ameni will point out to them who is\ntheir legitimate king, who will put an end to the war and release them\nfrom taxes. The children of Rameses will be excluded from the\nsolemnities, for Ameni, in spite of the chief-priest of Anion, still\npronounces Bent-Anat unclean. Young Rameri has been doing wrong and\nAmeni, who has some other great scheme in his mind, has forbidden him the\ntemple of Seti; that will work on the crowd! You know how things are\ngoing on in Syria: Rameses has suffered much at the hands of the Cheta\nand their allies; whole legions are weary of eternally lying in the\nfield, and if things came to extremities would join us; but, perhaps,\nespecially if Paaker acquits himself well, we may be victorious without\nfighting. Above all things now we must act rapidly.\"\n\n\"I no longer recognize the timid, cautious lover of delay!\" exclaimed\nKatuti.\n\n\"Because now prudent hesitation would be want of prudence,\" said Ani.\n\n\"And if the king should get timely information as to what is happening\nhere?\" said Katuti.\n\n\"I said so!\" exclaimed Ani; \"we are exchanging parts.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" said Katuti. \"I also am for pressing forwards; but I\nwould remind you of a necessary precaution. No letters but yours must\nreach the camp for the next few weeks.\"\n\n\"Once more you and the priests are of one mind,\" said Ani laughing; 'for\nAmeni gave me the same counsel. Whatever letters are sent across the\nfrontier between Pelusium and the Red Sea will be detained. Only my\nletters--in which I complain of the piratical sons of the desert who fall\nupon the messengers--will reach the king.\"\n\n\"That is wise,\" said the widow; \"let the seaports of the Red Sea be\nwatched too, and the public writers. When you are king, you can\ndistinguish those who are affected for or against you.\"\n\nAni shook his head and replied:\n\n\"That would put me in a difficult position; for it I were to punish those\nwho are now faithful to their king, and exalt the others, I should have\nto govern with unfaithful servants, and turn away the faithful ones. You\nneed not color, my kind friend, for we are kin, and my concerns are\nyours.\"\n\nKatuti took the hand he offered her and said:\n\n\"It is so. And I ask no further reward than to see my father's house once\nmore in the enjoyment of its rights.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we shall achieve it,\" said Ani; \"but in a short time\nif--if--Reflect, Katuti; try to find out, ask your daughter to help you\nto the utmost. Who is it that she--you know whom I mean--Who is it that\nBent-Anat loves?\"\n\nThe widow started, for Ani had spoken the last words with a vehemence\nvery foreign to his usual courtliness, but soon she smiled and repeated\nto the Regent the names of the few young nobles who had not followed the\nking, and remained in Thebes. \"Can it be Chamus?\" at last she said, \"he\nis at the camp, it is true, but nevertheless--\"\n\nAt this instant Nemu, who had not lost a word of the conversation, came\nin as if straight from the garden and said:\n\n\"Pardon me, my lady; but I have heard a strange thing.\"\n\n\"Speak,\" said Katuti.\n\nThe high and mighty princess Bent-Anat, the daughter of Rameses, is said\nto have an open love-affair with a young priest of the House of Seti.\"\n\n\"You barefaced scoundrel!\" exclaimed Ani, and his eyes sparkled with\nrage. \"Prove what you say, or you lose your tongue.\"\n\n\"I am willing to lose it as a slanderer and traitor according to the\nlaw,\" said the little man abjectly, and yet with a malicious laugh; \"but\nthis time I shall keep it, for I can vouch for what I say. You both know\nthat Bent-Anat was pronounced unclean because she stayed for an hour and\nmore in the house of a paraschites. She had an assignation there with the\npriest. At a second, in the temple of Hatasu, they were surprised by\nSeptah, the chief of the haruspices of the House of Seti.\"\n\n\"Who is the priest?\" asked Ani with apparent calmness.\n\n\"A low-born man,\" replied Nemu, \"to whom a free education was given at\nthe House of Seti, and who is well known as a verse-maker and interpreter\nof dreams. His name is Pentaur, and it certainly must be admitted that he\nis handsome and dignified. He is line for line the image of the pioneer\nPaaker's late father. Didst thou ever see him, my lord?\"\n\nThe Regent looked gloomily at the floor and nodded that he had. But\nKatuti cried out; \"Fool that I am! the dwarf is right! I saw how she\nblushed when her brother told her how the boys had rebelled on his\naccount against Ameni. It is Pentaur and none other!\"\n\n\"Good!\" said Ani, \"we will see.\"\n\nWith these words he took leave of Katuti, who, as he disappeared in the\ngarden, muttered to herself: \"He was wonderfully clear and decided\nto-day; but jealousy is already blinding him and will soon make him feel\nthat he cannot get on without my sharp eyes.\"\n\nNemu had slipped out after the Regent.\n\nHe called to him from behind a fig-tree, and hastily whispered, while he\nbowed with deep respect:\n\n\"My mother knows a great deal, most noble highness! The sacred Ibis\n\n   [Ibis religiosa. It has disappeared from Egypt There were two\n   varieties of this bird, which was sacred to Toth, and mummies of\n   both have been found in various places. Elian states that an\n   immortal Ibis was shown at Hermopolis. Plutarch says, the ibis\n   destroys poisonous reptiles, and that priests draw the water for\n   their purifications where the Ibis has drunk, as it will never touch\n   unwholesome water.]\n\nwades through the fen when it goes in search of prey, and why shouldst\nthou not stoop to pick up gold out of the dust? I know how thou couldst\nspeak with the old woman without being seen.\"\n\n\"Speak,\" said Ani.\n\n\"Throw her into prison for a day, hear what she has to say, and then\nrelease her--with gifts if she is of service to you--if not, with blows.\nBut thou wilt learn something important from her that she obstinately\nrefused to tell me even.\"\n\n\"We will see!\" replied the Regent. He threw a ring of gold to the dwarf\nand got into his chariot.\n\nSo large a crowd had collected in the vicinity of the palace, that Ani\napprehended mischief, and ordered his charioteer to check the pace of the\nhorses, and sent a few police-soldiers to the support of the out-runners;\nbut good news seemed to await him, for at the gate of the castle he heard\nthe unmistakable acclamations of the crowd, and in the palace court he\nfound a messenger from the temple of Seti, commissioned by Ameni to\ncommunicate to him and to the people, the occurrence of a great miracle,\nin that the heart of the ram of Anion, that had been torn by wolves, had\nbeen found again within the breast of the dead prophet Rui.\n\nAni at once descended from his chariot, knelt down before all the people,\nwho followed his example, lifted his arms to heaven, and praised the Gods\nin a loud voice. When, after some minutes, he rose and entered the\npalace, slaves came out and distributed bread to the crowd in Ameni's\nname.\n\n\"The Regent has an open hand,\" said a joiner to his neighbor; \"only look\nhow white the bread is. I will put it in my pocket and take it to the\nchildren.\"\n\n\"Give me a bit!\" cried a naked little scamp, snatching the cake of bread\nfrom the joiner's hand and running away, slipping between the legs of the\npeople as lithe as a snake.\n\n\"You crocodile's brat!\" cried his victim. \"The insolence of boys gets\nworse and worse every day.\"\n\n\"They are hungry,\" said the woman apologetically. \"Their fathers are gone\nto the war, and the mothers have nothing for their children but\npapyrus-pith and lotus-seeds.\"\n\n\"I hope they enjoy it,\" laughed the joiner. \"Let us push to the left;\nthere is a man with some more bread.\"\n\n\"The Regent must rejoice greatly over the miracle,\" said a shoemaker. \"It\nis costing him something.\"\n\n\"Nothing like it has happened for a long time,\" said a basket-maker. \"And\nhe is particularly glad it should be precisely Rui's body, which the\nsacred heart should have blessed. You ask why?--Hatasu is Ani's\nancestress, blockhead!\"\n\n\"And Rui was prophet of the temple of Hatasu,\" added the joiner.\n\n\"The priests over there are all hangers-on of the old royal house, that I\nknow,\" asserted a baker.\n\n\"That's no secret!\" cried the cobbler. \"The old times were better than\nthese too. The war upsets everything, and quite respectable people go\nbarefoot because they cannot pay for shoe-leather. Rameses is a great\nwarrior, and the son of Ra, but what can he do without the Gods; and they\ndon't seem to like to stay in Thebes any longer; else why should the\nheart of the sacred ram seek a new dwelling in the Necropolis, and in the\nbreast of an adherent of the old--\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue,\" warned the basket-maker. \"Here comes one of the\nwatch.\"\n\n\"I must go back to work,\" said the baker. \"I have my hands quite full for\nthe feast to-morrow.\"\n\n\"And I too,\" said the shoemaker with a sigh, \"for who would follow the\nking of the Gods through the Necropolis barefoot.\"\n\n\"You must earn a good deal,\" cried the basket-maker. \"We should do better\nif we had better workmen,\" replied the shoemaker, \"but all the good hands\nare gone to the war. One has to put up with stupid youngsters. And as for\nthe women! My wife must needs have a new gown for the procession, and\nbought necklets for the children. Of course we must honor the dead, and\nthey repay it often by standing by us when we want it--but what I pay for\nsacrifices no one can tell. More than half of what I earn goes in them--\"\n\n\"In the first grief of losing my poor wife,\" said the baker, \"I promised\na small offering every new moon, and a greater one every year. The\npriests will not release us from our vows, and times get harder and\nharder. And my dead wife owes me a grudge, and is as thankless as she was\nis her lifetime; for when she appears to me in a dream she does not give\nme a good word, and often torments me.\"\n\n\"She is now a glorified all-seeing spirit,\" said the basket-maker's wife,\n\"and no doubt you were faithless to her. The glorified souls know all\nthat happens, and that has happened on earth.\"\n\nThe baker cleared his throat, having no answer ready; but the shoemaker\nexclaimed:\n\n\"By Anubis, the lord of the under-world, I hope I may die before my old\nwoman! for if she finds out down there all I have done in this world, and\nif she may be changed into any shape she pleases, she will come to me\nevery night, and nip me like a crab, and sit on me like a mountain.\"\n\n\"And if you die first,\" said the woman, \"she will follow you afterwards\nto the under-world, and see through you there.\"\n\n\"That will be less dangerous,\" said the shoemaker laughing, \"for then I\nshall be glorified too, and shall know all about her past life. That will\nnot all be white paper either, and if she throws a shoe at me I will\nfling the last at her.\"\n\n\"Come home,\" said the basket-maker's wife, pulling her husband away. \"You\nare getting no good by hearing this talk.\"\n\nThe bystanders laughed, and the baker exclaimed:\n\n\"It is high time I should be in the Necropolis before it gets dark, and\nsee to the tables being laid for to-morrow's festival. My trucks are\nclose to the narrow entrance to the valley. Send your little ones to me,\nand I will give them something nice. Are you coming over with me?\"\n\n\"My younger brother is gone over with the goods,\" replied the shoemaker.\n\"We have plenty to do still for the customers in Thebes, and here am I\nstanding gossiping. Will the wonderful heart of the sacred ram be\nexhibited to-morrow do you know?\"\n\n\"Of course--no doubt,\" said the baker, \"good-bye, there go my cases!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nNotwithstanding the advanced hour, hundreds of people were crossing over\nto the Necropolis at the same time as the baker. They were permitted to\nlinger late on into the evening, under the inspection of the watch,\nbecause it was the eve of the great feast, and they had to set out their\ncounters and awnings, to pitch their tents, and to spread out their\nwares; for as soon as the sun rose next day all business traffic would be\nstopped, none but festal barges might cross from Thebes, or such boats as\nferried over pilgrims--men, women, and children whether natives or\nforeigners, who were to take part in the great procession.\n\nIn the halls and work-rooms of the House of Seti there was unusual stir.\nThe great miracle of the wonderful heart had left but a short time for\nthe preparations for the festival. Here a chorus was being practised,\nthere on the sacred lake a scenic representation was being rehearsed;\nhere the statues of the Gods were being cleaned and dressed,\n\n   [The dressing and undressing of the holy images was conducted in\n   strict accordance with a prescribed ritual. The inscriptions in the\n   seven sanctuaries of Abydos, published by Alariette, are full of\n   instruction as to these ordinances, which were significant in every\n   detail.]\n\nand the colors of the sacred emblems were being revived, there the\npanther-skins and other parts of the ceremonial vestments of the priests\nwere being aired and set out; here sceptres, censers and other\nmetal-vessels were being cleaned, and there the sacred bark which was to\nbe carried in the procession was being decorated. In the sacred groves of\nthe temple the school-boys, under the direction of the gardeners, wove\ngarlands and wreaths to decorate the landing-places, the sphinxes, the\ntemple, and the statues of the Gods. Flags were hoisted on the\nbrass-tipped masts in front of the pylon, and purple sails were spread to\ngive shadow to the court.\n\nThe inspector of sacrifices was already receiving at a side-door the\ncattle, corn and fruit, offerings which were brought as tribute to the\nHouse of Seti, by citizens from all parts of the country, on the occasion\nof the festival of the Valley, and he was assisted by scribes, who kept\nan account of all that was brought in by the able-bodied temple-servants\nand laboring serfs.\n\nAmeni was everywhere: now with the singers, now with the magicians, who\nwere to effect wonderful transformations before the astonished multitude;\nnow with the workmen, who were erecting thrones for the Regent, the\nemissaries from other collegiate foundations--even from so far as the\nDelta--and the prophets from Thebes; now with the priests, who were\npreparing the incense, now with the servants, who were trimming the\nthousand lamps for the illumination at night--in short everywhere; here\ninciting, there praising. When he had convinced himself that all was\ngoing on well he desired one of the priests to call Pentaur.\n\nAfter the departure of the exiled prince Rameri, the young priest had\ngone to the work-room of his friend Nebsecht.\n\nThe leech went uneasily from his phials to his cages, and from his cages\nback to his flasks. While he told Pentaur of the state he had found his\nroom in on his return home, he wandered about in feverish excitement,\nunable to keep still, now kicking over a bundle of plants, now thumping\ndown his fist on the table; his favorite birds were starved to death, his\nsnakes had escaped, and his ape had followed their example, apparently in\nhis fear of them.\n\n\"The brute, the monster!\" cried Nebsecht in a rage. He has thrown over\nthe jars with the beetles in them, opened the chest of meal that I feed\nthe birds and insects upon, and rolled about in it; he has thrown my\nknives, prickers, and forceps, my pins, compasses, and reed pens all out\nof window; and when I came in he was sitting on the cupboard up there,\nlooking just like a black slave that works night and day in a corn-mill;\nhe had got hold of the roll which contained all my observations on the\nstructure of animals--the result of years of study-and was looking at it\ngravely with his head on one side. I wanted to take the book from him,\nbut he fled with the roll, sprang out of window, let himself down to the\nedge of the well, and tore and rubbed the manuscript to pieces in a rage.\nI leaped out after him, but he jumped into the bucket, took hold of the\nchain, and let himself down, grinning at me in mockery, and when I drew\nhim up again he jumped into the water with the remains of the book.\"\n\n\"And the poor wretch is drowned?\" asked Pentaur.\n\n\"I fished him up with the bucket, and laid him to dry in the sun; but he\nhad been tasting all sorts of medicines, and he died at noon. My\nobservations are gone! Some of them certainly are still left; however, I\nmust begin again at the beginning. You see apes object as much to my\nlabors as sages; there lies the beast on the shelf.\"\n\nPentaur had laughed at his friend's story, and then lamented his loss;\nbut now he said anxiously:\n\n\"He is lying there on the shelf? But you forget that he ought to have\nbeen kept in the little oratory of Toth near the library. He belongs to\nthe sacred dogfaced apes,\n\n   [The dog faced baboon, Kynokephalos, was sacred to Toth as the\n   Moongod. Mummies of these apes have been found at Thebes and\n   Hermopolis, and they are often represented as reading with much\n   gravity. Statues of them have been found to great quantities, and\n   there is a particularly life-like picture of a Kynokephalos in\n   relief on the left wall of the library of the temple of Isis at\n   Philoe.]\n\nand all the sacred marks were found upon him. The librarian gave him into\nyour charge to have his bad eye cured.\"\n\n\"That was quite well,\" answered Nebsecht carelessly.\n\n\"But they will require the uninjured corpse of you, to embalm it,\" said\nPentaur.\n\n\"Will they?\" muttered Nebsecht; and he looked at his friend like a boy\nwho is asked for an apple that has long been eaten.\n\n\"And you have already been doing something with it,\" said Pentaur, in a\ntone of friendly vexation.\n\nThe leech nodded. \"I have opened him, and examined his heart.'\n\n\"You are as much set on hearts as a coquette!\" said Pentaur. \"What is\nbecome of the human heart that the old paraschites was to get for you?\"\n\nNebsecht related without reserve what the old man had done for him, and\nsaid that he had investigated the human heart, and had found nothing in\nit different from what he had discovered in the heart of beasts.\n\n\"But I must see it in connection with the other organs of the human\nbody,\" cried he; \"and my decision is made. I shall leave the House of\nSeti, and ask the kolchytes to take me into their guild. If it is\nnecessary I will first perform the duties of the lowest paraschites.\"\n\nPentaur pointed out to the leech what a bad exchange he would be making,\nand at last exclaimed, when Nebsecht eagerly contradicted him, \"This\ndissecting of the heart does not please me. You say yourself that you\nlearned nothing by it. Do you still think it a right thing, a fine\nthing--or even useful?\"\n\n\"I do not trouble myself about it,\" replied Nebsecht. \"Whether my\nobservations seem good or evil, right or heinous, useful or useless, I\nwant to know how things are, nothing more.\"\n\n\"And so for mere curiosity,\" cried Pentaur, \"you would endanger the\nblissful future of thousands of your fellow-men, take upon yourself the\nmost abject duties, and leave this noble scene of your labors, where we\nall strive for enlightenment, for inward knowledge and truth.\"\n\nThe naturalist laughed scornfully; the veins swelled angrily in Pentaur's\nforehead, and his voice took a threatening tone as he asked:\n\n\"And do you believe that your finger and your eyes have lighted on the\ntruth, when the noblest souls have striven in vain for thousands of years\nto find it out? You descend beneath the level of human understanding by\nmadly wallowing in the mire; and the more clearly you are convinced that\nyou have seized the truth, the more utterly you are involved in the toils\nof a miserable delusion.\"\n\n\"If I believed I knew the truth should I so eagerly seek it?\" asked\nNebsecht. \"The more I observe and learn, the more deeply I feel my want\nof knowledge and power.\"\n\n\"That sounds modest enough,\" said the poet, \"but I know the arrogance to\nwhich your labors are leading you. Everything that you see with your own\neyes and touch with your own hand, you think infallible, and everything\nthat escapes your observation you secretly regard as untrue, and pass by\nwith a smile of superiority. But you cannot carry your experiments beyond\nthe external world, and you forget that there are things which lie in a\ndifferent realm.\"\n\n\"I know nothing of those things,\" answered Nebsecht quietly.\n\n\"But we--the Initiated,\" cried Pentaur, \"turn our attention to them also.\nThoughts--traditions--as to their conditions and agency have existed\namong us for a thousand years; hundreds of generations of men have\nexamined these traditions, have approved them, and have handed them down\nto us. All our knowledge, it is true, is defective, and yet prophets have\nbeen favored with the gift of looking into the future, magic powers have\nbeen vouchsafed to mortals. All this is contrary to the laws of the\nexternal world, which are all that you recognize, and yet it can easily\nbe explained if we accept the idea of a higher order of things. The\nspirit of the Divinity dwells in each of us, as in nature. The natural\nman can only attain to such knowledge as is common to all; but it is the\ndivine capacity for serene discernment--which is omniscience--that works\nin the seer; it is the divine and unlimited power--which is\nomnipotence--that from time to time enables the magician to produce\nsupernatural effects!\"\n\n\"Away with prophets and marvels!\" cried Nebsecht.\n\n\"I should have thought,\" said Pentaur, \"that even the laws of nature\nwhich you recognize presented the greatest marvels daily to your eyes;\nnay the Supreme One does not disdain sometimes to break through the\ncommon order of things, in order to reveal to that portion of Himself\nwhich we call our soul, the sublime Whole of which we form part--Himself.\nOnly today you have seen how the heart of the sacred ram--\"\n\n\"Man, man!\" Nebsecht interrupted, \"the sacred heart is the heart of a\nhapless sheep that a sot of a soldier sold for a trifle to a haggling\ngrazier, and that was slaughtered in a common herd. A proscribed\nparaschites put it into the body of Rui, and--and--\" he opened the\ncupboard, threw the carcase of the ape and some clothes on to the floor,\nand took out an alabaster bowl which he held before the poet--\"the\nmuscles you see here in brine, this machine, once beat in the breast of\nthe prophet Rui. My sheep's heart wilt be carried to-morrow in the\nprocession! I would have told you all about it if I had not promised the\nold man to hold my tongue, and then--But what ails you, man?\" Pentaur had\nturned away from his friend, and covered his face with his hands, and he\ngroaned as if he were suffering some frightful physical pain. Nebsecht\ndivined what was passing in the mind of his friend. Like a child that has\nto ask forgiveness of its mother for some misdeed, he went close up to\nPentaur, but stood trembling behind him not daring to speak to him.\n\nSeveral minutes passed. Suddenly Pentaur raised his head, lifted his\nhands to heaven, and cried:\n\n\"O Thou! the One!--though stars may fall from the heavens in summer\nnights, still Thy eternal and immutable laws guide the never-resting\nplanets in their paths. Thou pure and all-prevading Spirit, that dwellest\nin me, as I know by my horror of a lie, manifest Thyself in me--as light\nwhen I think, as mercy when I act, and when I speak, as truth--always as\ntruth!\"\n\nThe poet spoke these words with absorbed fervor, and Nebsecht heard them\nas if they were speech from some distant and beautiful world. He went\naffectionately up to his friend, and eagerly held out his hand. Pentaur\ngrasped it, pressed it warmly, and said:\n\n\"That was a fearful moment! You do not know what Ameni has been to me,\nand now, now!\"\n\nHe hardly had ceased speaking when steps were heard approaching the\nphysician's room, and a young priest requested the friends to appear at\nonce in the meeting-room of the Initiated. In a few moments they both\nentered the great hall, which was brilliantly lighted.\n\nNot one of the chiefs of the House of Seti was absent.\n\nAmeni sat on a raised seat at a long table; on his right hand was old\nGagabu, on his left the third Prophet of the temple. The principals of\nthe different orders of priests had also found places at the table, and\namong them the chief of the haruspices, while the rest of the priests,\nall in snow-white linen robes, sat, with much dignity, in a large\nsemicircle, two rows deep. In the midst stood a statue of the Goddess of\ntruth and justice.\n\nBehind Ameni's throne was the many-colored image of the ibis-headed Toth,\nwho presided over the measure and method of things, who counselled the\nGods as well as men, and presided over learning and the arts. In a niche\nat the farther end of the hall were painted the divine Triad of Thebes,\nwith Rameses I. and his son Seti, who approached them with offerings. The\npriests were placed with strict regard to their rank, and the order of\ninitiation. Pentaur's was the lowest place of all.\n\nNo discussion of any importance had as yet taken place, for Ameni was\nmaking enquiries, receiving information, and giving orders with reference\nto the next day's festival. All seemed to be well arranged, and promised\na magnificent solemnity; although the scribes complained of the scarce\ninflux of beasts from the peasants, who were so heavily taxed for the\nwar, and although that feature would be wanting in the procession which\nwas wont to give it the greatest splendor--the presence of the king and\nthe royal family.\n\nThis circumstance aroused the disapprobation of some of the priests, who\nwere of opinion that it would be hazardous to exclude the two children of\nRameses, who remained in Thebes, from any share in the solemnities of the\nfeast.\n\nAmeni then rose.\n\n\"We have sent the boy Rameri,\" he said, \"away from this house. Bent-Anat\nmust be purged of her uncleanness, and if the weak superior of the temple\nof Anion absolves her, she may pass for purified over there, where they\nlive for this world only, but not here, where it is our duty to prepare\nthe soul for death. The Regent, a descendant of the great deposed race of\nkings, will appear in the procession with all the splendor of his rank. I\nsee you are surprised, my friends. Only he! Aye! Great things are\nstirring, and it may happen that soon the mild sun of peace may rise upon\nour war-ridden people.\"\n\n\"Miracles are happening,\" he continued, \"and in a dream I saw a gentle\nand pious man on the throne of the earthly vicar of Ra. He listened to\nour counsel, he gave us our due, and led back to our fields our serfs\nthat had been sent to the war; he overthrew the altars of the strange\ngods, and drove the unclean stranger out from this holy land.\"\n\n\"The Regent Ani!\" exclaimed Septah.\n\nAn eager movement stirred the assembly, but Ameni went on:\n\n\"Perhaps it was not unlike him, but he certainly was the One; he had the\nfeatures of the true and legitimate descendants of Ra, to whom Rui was\nfaithful, in whose breast the heart of the sacred ram found a refuge.\nTo-morrow this pledge of the divine grace shall be shown to the people,\nand another mercy will also be announced to them. Hear and praise the\ndispensations of the Most High! An hour ago I received the news that a\nnew Apis, with all the sacred marks upon him, has been found in the herds\nof Ani at Hermonthis.\"\n\nFresh excitement was shown by the listening conclave. Ameni let their\nastonishment express itself freely, but at last he exclaimed:\n\n\"And now to settle the last question. The priest Pentaur, who is now\npresent, has been appointed speaker at the festival to-morrow. He has\nerred greatly, yet I think we need not judge him till after the holy day,\nand, in consideration of his former innocence, need not deprive him of\nthe honorable office. Do you share my wishes? Is there no dissentient\nvoice? Then come forward, you, the youngest of us all, who are so highly\ntrusted by this holy assembly.\"\n\nPentaur rose and placed himself opposite to Ameni, in order to give, as\nhe was required to do, a broad outline of the speech he proposed to\ndeliver next day to the nobles and the people.\n\nThe whole assembly, even his opponents, listened to him with approbation.\nAmeni, too, praised him, but added:\n\n\"I miss only one thing on which you must dwell at greater length, and\ntreat with warmer feeling--I mean the miracle which has stirred our souls\nto-day. We must show that the Gods brought the sacred heart--\"\n\n\"Allow me,\" said Pentaur, interrupting the high-priest, and looking\nearnestly into those eyes which long since he had sung of--\"Allow me to\nentreat you not to select me to declare this new marvel to the people.\"\n\nAstonishment was stamped on the face of every member of the assembly.\nEach looked at his neighbor, then at Pentaur, and at last enquiringly at\nAmeni. The superior knew Pentaur, and saw that no mere whimsical fancy,\nbut some serious motive had given rise to this refusal. Horror, almost\naversion, had rung in his tone as he said the words 'new marvel.' He\ndoubted the genuineness of this divine manifestation!\n\nAmeni gazed long and enquiringly into Pentaur's eyes, and then said: \"You\nare right, my friend. Before judgment has been passed on you, before you\nare reinstated in your old position, your lips are not worthy to announce\nthis divine wonder to the multitude. Look into your own soul, and teach\nthe devout a horror of sin, and show them the way, which you must now\ntread, of purification of the heart. I myself will announce the miracle.\"\n\nThe white-robed audience hailed this decision of their master with\nsatisfaction. Ameni enjoined this thing on one, on another, that; and on\nall, perfect silence as to the dream which he had related to them, and\nthen he dissolved the meeting. He begged only Gagabu and Pentaur to\nremain.\n\nAs soon as they were alone Ameni asked the poet \"Why did you refuse to\nannounce to the people the miracle, which has filled all the priests of\nthe Necropolis with joy?\"\n\n\"Because thou hast taught me,\" replied Pentaur, \"that truth is the\nhighest aim we can have, and that there is nothing higher.\"\n\n\"I tell you so again now,\" said Ameni. \"And as you recognize this\ndoctrine, I ask you, in the name of the fair daughter of Ra. Do you doubt\nthe genuineness of the miracle that took place under our very eyes?\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" replied Pentaur.\n\n\"Remain on the high stand-point of veracity,\" continued Ameni, \"and tell\nus further, that we may learn, what are the scruples that shake thy\nfaith?\"\n\n\"I know,\" replied the poet with a dark expression, \"that the heart which\nthe crowd will approach and bow to, before which even the Initiated\nprostrate themselves as if it had been the incarnation of Ra, was torn\nfrom the bleeding carcass of a common sheep, and smuggled into the\nkanopus which contained the entrails of Rui.\"\n\nAmeni drew back a step, and Gagabu cried out \"Who says so? Who can prove\nit? As I grow older I hear more and more frightful things!\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said Pentaur decidedly. \"But I can, not reveal the name of\nhim from whom I learned it.\"\n\n\"Then we may believe that you are mistaken, and that some impostor is\nfooling you. We will enquire who has devised such a trick, and he shall\nbe punished! To scorn the voice of the Divinity is a sin, and he who\nlends his ear to a lie is far from the truth. Sacred and thrice sacred is\nthe heart, blind fool, that I purpose to-morrow to show to the people,\nand before which you yourself--if not with good will, then by\ncompulsion--shall fall, prostrate in the dust.\n\n\"Go now, and reflect on the words with which you will stir the souls of\nthe people to-morrow morning; but know one thing--Truth has many forms,\nand her aspects are as manifold as those of the Godhead. As the sun does\nnot travel over a level plain or by a straight path--as the stars follow\na circuitous course, which we compare with the windings of the snake\nMehen,--so the elect, who look out over time and space, and on whom the\nconduct of human life devolves, are not only permitted, but commanded, to\nfollow indirect ways in order to reach the highest aims, ways that you do\nnot understand, and which you may fancy deviate widely from the path of\ntruth. You look only at to-day, we look forward to the morrow, and what\nwe announce as truth you must needs believe. And mark my words: A lie\nstains the soul, but doubt eats into it.\"\n\nAmeni had spoken with strong excitement; when Pentaur had left the room,\nand he was alone with Gagabu, he exclaimed:\n\n\"What things are these? Who is ruining the innocent child-like spirit of\nthis highly favored youth?\"\n\n\"He is ruining it himself,\" replied Gagabu. \"He is putting aside the old\nlaw, for he feels a new one growing up in his own breast.\"\n\n\"But the laws,\" exclaimed Ameni, \"grow and spread like shadowy woods;\nthey are made by no one. I loved the poet, yet I must restrain him, else\nhe will break down all barriers, like the Nile when it swells too high.\nAnd what he says of the miracle--\"\n\n\"Did you devise it?\"\n\n\"By the Holy One--no!\" cried Ameni.\n\n\"And yet Pentaur is sincere, and inclined to faith,\" said the old man\ndoubtfully.\n\n\"I know it,\" returned Ameni. \"It happened as he said. But who did it, and\nwho told him of the shameful deed?\"\n\nBoth the priests stood thoughtfully gazing at the floor.\n\nAmeni first broke the silence.\n\n\"Pentaur came in with Nebsecht,\" he exclaimed, \"and they are intimate\nfriends. Where was the leech while I was staying in Thebes?\"\n\n\"He was taking care of the child hurt by Bent-Anat--the child of the\nparaschites Pinem, and he stayed there three days,\" replied Gagabu.\n\n\"And it was Pinem,\" said Ameni, \"that opened the body of Rui! Now I know\nwho has dimmed Pentaur's faith. It was that inquisitive stutterer, and he\nshall be made to repent of it. For the present let us think of\nto-morrow's feast, but the day after I will examine that nice couple, and\nwill act with iron severity.\"\n\n\"First let us examine the naturalist in private,\" said Gagabu. \"He is an\nornament to the temple, for he has investigated many matters, and his\ndexterity is wonderful.\"\n\n\"All that may be considered Ameni said, interrupting the old enough to\nthink of at present.\"\n\n\"And even more to consider later,\" retorted Gagabu. \"We have entered on a\ndangerous path. You know very well I am still hot-headed, though I am old\nin years, and alas! timidity was never my weakness; but Rameses is a\npowerful man, and duty compels me to ask you: Is it mere hatred for the\nking that has led you to take these hasty and imprudent steps?\"\n\n\"I have no hatred for Rameses,\" answered Ameni gravely. \"If he did not\nwear the crown I could love him; I know him too, as well as if I were his\nbrother, and value all that is great in him; nay I will admit that he is\ndisfigured by no littleness. If I did not know how strong the enemy is,\nwe might try to overthrow him with smaller means. You know as well as I\ndo that he is our enemy. Not yours, nor mine, nor the enemy of the Gods;\nbut the enemy of the old and reverend ordinances by which this people and\nthis country must be governed, and above all of those who are required to\nprotect the wisdom of the fathers, and to point out the right way to the\nsovereign--I mean the priesthood, whom it is my duty to lead, and for\nwhose rights I will fight with every weapon of the spirit. In this\ncontest, as you know, all that otherwise would be falsehood, treachery,\nand cunning, puts on the bright aspect of light and truth. As the\nphysician needs the knife and fire to heal the sick, we must do fearful\nthings to save the community when it is in danger. Now you will see me\nfight with every weapon, for if we remain idle, we shall soon cease to be\nthe leaders of the state, and become the slaves of the king.\"\n\nGagabu nodded assent, but Ameni went on with increasing warmth, and in\nthat rhythmical accent in which, when he came out of the holy of holies,\nhe was accustomed to declare the will of the Divinity, \"You were my\nteacher, and I value you, and so you now shall be told everything that\nstirred my soul, and made me first resolve upon this fearful struggle. I\nwas, as you know, brought up in this temple with Rameses--and it was very\nwise of Seti to let his son grow up here with other boys. At work and at\nplay the heir to the throne and I won every prize. He was quite my\nsuperior in swift apprehension--in keen perception--but I had greater\ncaution, and deeper purpose. Often he laughed at my laborious efforts,\nbut his brilliant powers appeared to me a vain delusion. I became one of\nthe initiated, he ruled the state in partnership with his father, and,\nwhen Seti died, by himself. We both grew older, but the foundation of our\ncharacters remained the same. He rushed to splendid victories, overthrew\nnations, and raised the glory of the Egyptian name to a giddy height,\nthough stained with the blood of his people; I passed my life in industry\nand labor, in teaching the young, and in guarding the laws which regulate\nthe intercourse of men and bind the people to the Divinity. I compared\nthe present with the past: What were the priests? How had they come to be\nwhat they are? What would Egypt be without them? There is not an art, not\na science, not a faculty that is not thought out, constructed, and\npractised by us. We crown the kings, we named the Gods, and taught the\npeople to honor them as divine--for the crowd needs a hand to lead it,\nand under which it shall tremble as under the mighty hand of Fate. We are\nthe willing ministers of the divine representative of Ra on the throne,\nso long as he rules in accordance with our institutions--as the One God\nreigns, subject to eternal laws. He used to choose his counsellors from\namong us; we told him what would benefit the country, he heard us\nwillingly, and executed our plans. The old kings were the hands, but we,\nthe priests, were the head. And now, my father, what has become of us? We\nare made use of to keep the people in the faith, for if they cease to\nhonor the Gods how will they submit to kings? Seti ventured much, his son\nrisks still more, and therefore both have required much succor from the\nImmortals. Rameses is pious, he sacrifices frequently, and loves prayer:\nwe are necessary to him, to waft incense, to slaughter hecatombs, to\noffer prayers, and to interpret dreams--but we are no longer his\nadvisers. My father, now in Osiris, a worthier high-priest than I, was\ncharged by the Prophets to entreat his father to give up the guilty\nproject of connecting the north sea by a navigable channel with the\nunclean waters of the Red Sea.\n\n   [The harbors of the Red Sea were in the hands of the Phoenicians,\n   who sailed from thence southwards to enrich themselves with the\n   produce of Arabia and Ophir. Pharaoh Necho also projected a Suez\n   canal, but does not appear to have carried it out, as the oracle\n   declared that the utility of the undertaking would be greatest to\n   foreigners.]\n\n\"Such things can only benefit the Asiatics. But Seti would not listen to\nour counsel. We desired to preserve the old division of the land, but\nRameses introduced the new to the disadvantage of the priests; we warned\nhim against fresh wars, and the king again and again has taken the field;\nwe had the ancient sacred documents which exempted our peasantry from\nmilitary service, and, as you know, he outrageously defies them. From the\nmost ancient times no one has been permitted to raise temples in this\nland to strange Gods, and Rameses favors the son of the stranger, and,\nnot only in the north country, but in the reverend city of Memphis and\nhere in Thebes, he has raised altars and magnificent sanctuaries, in the\nstrangers' quarter, to the sanguinary false Gods of the East.\"\n\n   [Human sacrifices, which had been introduced into Egypt by the\n   Phoenicians, were very early abolished.]\n\n\"You speak like a Seer,\" cried old Gagabu, \"and what you say is perfectly\ntrue. We are still called priests, but alas! our counsel is little asked.\n'You have to prepare men for a happy lot in the other world,' Rameses\nonce said; 'I alone can guide their destinies in this.'\"\n\n\"He did say so,\" answered Ameni, \"and if he had said no more than that he\nwould have been doomed. He and his house are the enemies of our rights\nand of our noble country. Need I tell you from whom the race of the\nPharaoh is descended? Formerly the hosts who came from the east, and fell\non our land like swarms of locusts, robbing and destroying it, were\nspoken of as 'a curse' and a 'pest.' Rameses' father was of that race.\nWhen Ani's ancestors expelled the Hyksos, the bold chief, whose children\nnow govern Egypt, obtained the favor of being allowed to remain on the\nbanks of the Nile; they served in the armies, they distinguished\nthemselves, and, at last, the first Rameses succeeded in gaining the\ntroops over to himself, and in pushing the old race of the legitimate\nsons of Ra, weakened as they were by heresy, from the throne. I must\nconfess, however unwillingly, that some priests of the true faith--among\nthem your grandfather, and mine--supported the daring usurper who clung\nfaithfully to the old traditions. Not less than a hundred generations of\nmy ancestors, and of yours, and of many other priestly families, have\nlived and died here by the banks of the Nile--of Rameses race we have\nseen ten, and only know of them that they descend from strangers, from\nthe caste of Amu! He is like all the Semitic race; they love to wander,\nthey call us ploughmen,--[The word Fellah (pl. Fellahin) means\nploughman]--and laugh to scorn the sober regularity with which we,\ntilling the dark soil, live through our lives to a tardy death, in honest\nlabor both of mind and body. They sweep round on foraying excursions,\nride the salt waves in ships, and know no loved and fixed home; they\nsettle down wherever they are tempted by rapine, and when there is\nnothing more to be got they build a house in another spot. Such was Seti,\nsuch is Rameses! For a year he will stop in Thebes, then he must set out\nfor wars in strange lands. He does not know how to yield piously, or to\ntake advice of wise counsellors, and he will not learn. And such as the\nfather is, so are the children! Think of the criminal behavior of\nBent-Anat!\"\n\n\"I said the kings liked foreigners. Have you duly considered the\nimportance of that to us? We strive for high and noble aims, and have\nwrenched off the shackles of the flesh in order to guard our souls. The\npoorest man lives secure under the shelter of the law, and through us\nparticipates in the gifts of the spirit; to the rich are offered the\npriceless treasures of art and learning. Now look abroad: east and west\nwandering tribes roam over the desert with wretched tents; in the south a\ndebased populace prays to feathers, and to abject idols, who are beaten\nif the worshipper is not satisfied. In the north certainly there are well\nregulated states, but the best part of the arts and sciences which they\npossess they owe to us, and their altars still reek with the loathsome\nsacrifice of human blood. Only backsliding from the right is possible\nunder the stranger, and therefore it is prudent to withdraw from him;\ntherefore he is hateful to our Gods. And Rameses, the king, is a\nstranger, by blood and by nature, in his affections, and in his\nappearance; his thoughts are always abroad--this country is too small for\nhim--and he will never perceive what is really best for him, clear as his\nintellect is. He will listen to no guidance, he does mischief to Egypt,\nand therefore I say: Down with him from the throne!\"\n\n\"Down with him!\"--Gagabu eagerly echoed the words. Ameni gave the old man\nhis hand, which trembled with excitement, and went on more calmly.\n\n\"The Regent Ani is a legitimate child of the soil, by his father and\nmother both. I know him well, and I am sure that though he is cunning\nindeed, he is full of true veneration, and will righteously establish us\nin the rights which we have inherited. The choice is easy: I have chosen,\nand I always carry through what I have once begun! Now you know all, and\nyou will second me.\"\n\n\"With body and soul!\" cried Gagabu.\n\n\"Strengthen the hearts of the brethren,\" said Ameni, preparing to go.\n\"The initiated may all guess what is going on, but it must never be\nspoken of.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nThe sun was up on the twenty-ninth morning of the second month of the\nover-flow of the Nile,\n\n   [The 29th Phaophi. The Egyptians divided the year into three\n   seasons of four months each. Flood-time, seed-time and Harvest.\n   (Scha, per and schemu.) The 29th Phaophi corresponds to the 8th\n   November.]\n\nand citizens and their wives, old men and children, freemen and slaves,\nled by priests, did homage to the rising day-star before the door of the\ntemple to which the quarter of the town belonged where each one dwelt.\n\nThe Thebans stood together like Huge families before the pylons, waiting\nfor the processions of priests, which they intended to join in order to\nmarch in their train round the great temple of the city, and thence to\ncross with the festal barks to the Necropolis.\n\nTo-day was the Feast of the Valley, and Anion, the great God of Thebes,\nwas carried over in solemn pomp to the City of the Dead, in order that\nhe--as the priests said--might sacrifice to his fathers in the other\nworld. The train marched westward; for there, where the earthly remains\nof man also found rest, the millions of suns had disappeared, each of\nwhich was succeeded daily by a new one, born of the night. The young\nluminary, the priests said, did not forget those that had been\nextinguished, and from whom he was descended; and Anion paid them this\nmark of respect to warn the devout not to forget those who were passed\naway, and to whom they owed their existence.\n\n\"Bring offerings,\" says a pious text, \"to thy father and thy mother who\nrest in the valley of the tombs; for such gifts are pleasing to the Gods,\nwho will receive them as if brought to themselves. Often visit thy dead,\nso that what thou dost for them, thy son may do for thee.\"\n\nThe Feast of the Valley was a feast of the dead; but it was not a\nmelancholy solemnity, observed with lamentation and wailing; on the\ncontrary, it was a cheerful festival, devoted to pious and sentimental\nmemories of those whom we cease not to love after death, whom we esteem\nhappy and blest, and of whom we think with affection; to whom too the\nthrong from Thebes brought offerings, forming groups in the chapel-like\ntombs, or in front of the graves, to eat and drink.\n\nFather, mother and children clung together; the house-slaves followed\nwith provisions, and with torches, which would light up the darkness of\nthe tomb and show the way home at night.\n\nEven the poorest had taken care to secure beforehand a place in one of\nthe large boats which conveyed the people across the stream; the barges\nof the rich, dressed in the gayest colors, awaited their owners with\ntheir households, and the children had dreamed all night of the sacred\nbark of Anion, whose splendor, as their mothers told them, was hardly\nless than that of the golden boat in which the Sun-God and his companions\nmake their daily voyage across the ocean of heaven. The broad landing\nplace of the temple of Anion was already crowded with priests, the shore\nwith citizens, and the river with boats; already loud music drowned the\ndin of the crowds, who thronged and pushed, enveloped in clouds of dust,\nto reach the boats; the houses and hovels of Thebes were all empty, and\nthe advent of the God through the temple-gates was eagerly expected; but\nstill the members of the royal family had not appeared, who were wont on\nthis solemn day to go on foot to the great temple of Anion; and, in the\ncrowd, many a one asked his neighbor why Bent-Anat, the fair daughter of\nRameses, lingered so long, and delayed the starting of the procession.\n\nThe priests had begun their chant within the walls, which debarred the\nouter world from any glimpse into the bright precincts of the temple; the\nRegent with his brilliant train had entered the sanctuary; the gates were\nthrown open; the youths in their short-aprons, who threw flowers in the\npath of the God, had come out; clouds of incense announced the approach\nof Anion--and still the daughter of Rameses appeared not.\n\nMany rumors were afloat, most of them contradictory; but one was\naccurate, and confirmed by the temple servants, to the great regret of\nthe crowd--Bent-Anat was excluded from the Feast of the Valley.\n\nShe stood on her balcony with her brother Rameri and her friend Nefert,\nand looked down on the river, and on the approaching God.\n\nEarly in the previous morning Bek-en-Chunsu, the old high-priest of the\ntemple of Anion had pronounced her clean, but in the evening he had come\nto communicate to her the intelligence that Ameni prohibited her entering\nthe Necropolis before she had obtained the forgiveness of the Gods of the\nWest for her offence.\n\nWhile still under the ban of uncleanness she had visited the temple of\nHathor, and had defiled it by her presence; and the stern Superior of the\nCity of the Dead was in the right--that Bek-en-Chunsu himself\nadmitted--in closing the western shore against her. Bent-Anat then had\nrecourse to Ani; but, though he promised to mediate for her, he came late\nin the evening to tell her that Ameni was inexorable. The Regent at the\nsame time, with every appearance of regret, advised her to avoid an open\nquarrel, and not to defy Ameni's lofty severity, but to remain absent\nfrom the festival.\n\nKatuti at the same time sent the dwarf to Nefert, to desire her to join\nher mother, in taking part in the procession, and in sacrificing in her\nfather's tomb; but Nefert replied that she neither could nor would leave\nher royal friend and mistress.\n\nBent-Anat had given leave of absence to the highest members of her\nhousehold, and had prayed them to think of her at the splendid solemnity.\n\nWhen, from her balcony, she saw the mob of people and the crowd of boats,\nshe went back into her room, called Rameri, who was angrily declaiming at\nwhat he called Ameni's insolence, took his hands in hers, and said:\n\n\"We have both done wrong, brother; let us patiently submit to the\nconsequences of our faults, and conduct ourselves as if our father were\nwith us.\"\n\n\"He would tear the panther-skin from the haughty priest's shoulders,\"\ncried Rameri, \"if he dared to humiliate you so in his presence;\" and\ntears of rage ran down his smooth cheeks as he spoke.\n\n\"Put anger aside,\" said Bent-Anat. \"You were still quite little the last\ntime my father took part in this festival.\"\n\n\"Oh! I remember that morning well,\" exclaimed Rameri, \"and shall never\nforget it.\"\n\n\"So I should think,\" said the princess. \"Do not leave us, Nefert--you are\nnow my sister. It was a glorious morning; we children were collected in\nthe great hall of the King, all in festival dresses; he had us called\ninto this room, which had been inhabited by my mother, who then had been\ndead only a few months. He took each of us by the hand, and said he\nforgave us everything we might have done wrong if only we were sincerely\npenitent, and gave us each a kiss on our forehead. Then he beckoned us\nall to him, and said, as humbly as if he were one of us instead of the\ngreat king, 'Perhaps I may have done one of you some injustice, or have\nkept you out of some right; I am not conscious of such a thing, but if it\nhas occurred I am very sorry'--we all rushed upon him, and wanted to kiss\nhim, but he put us aside smiling, and said, 'Each of you has enjoyed an\nequal share of one thing, that you may be sure--I mean your father's\nlove; and I see now that you return what I have given you.' Then he spoke\nof our mother, and said that even the tenderest father could not fill the\nplace of a mother. He drew a lovely picture of the unselfish devotion of\nthe dead mother, and desired us to pray and to sacrifice with him at her\nresting-place, and to resolve to be worthy of her; not only in great\nthings but in trifles too, for they make up the sum of life, as hours\nmake the days, and the years. We elder ones clasped each other's hands,\nand I never felt happier than in that moment, and afterwards by my\nmother's grave.\" Nefert raised her eyes that were wet with tears.\n\n\"With such a father it must be easy to be good,\" she said.\n\n\"Did your mother never speak good words that went to your heart on the\nmorning of this festival?\" asked Bent-Anat.\n\nNefert colored, and answered: \"We were always late in dressing, and then\nhad to hurry to be at the temple in time.\"\n\n\"Then let me be your mother to-day,\" cried the princess, \"and yours too,\nRameri. Do you not remember how my father offered forgiveness to the\nofficers of the court, and to all the servants, and how he enjoined us to\nroot out every grudge from our hearts on this day? 'Only stainless\ngarments,' he said, 'befit this feast; only hearts without spot.' So,\nbrother, I will not hear an evil word about Ameni, who is most likely\nforced to be severe by the law; my father will enquire into it all and\ndecide. My heart is so full, it must overflow. Come, Nefert, give me a\nkiss, and you too, Rameri. Now I will go into my little temple, in which\nthe images of our ancestors stand, and think of my mother and the blessed\nspirits of those loved ones to whom I may not sacrifice to-day.\"\n\n\"I will go with you,\" said Rameri.\n\n\"You, Nefert--stay here,\" said Bent-Anat, \"and cut as many flowers as you\nlike; take the best and finest, and make a wreath, and when it is ready\nwe will send a messenger across to lay it, with other gifts, on the grave\nof your Mena's mother.\"\n\nWhen, half-an-hour later, the brother and sister returned to the young\nwife, two graceful garlands hung in Nefert's bands, one for the grave of\nthe dead queen, and one for Mena's mother.\n\n\"I will carry over the wreaths, and lay them in the tombs,\" cried the\nprince.\n\n\"Ani thought it would be better that we should not show ourselves to the\npeople,\" said his sister. \"They will scarcely notice that you are not\namong the school-boys, but--\"\n\n\"But I will not go over as the king's son, but as a gardener's boy--\"\ninterrupted the prince. \"Listen to the flourish of trumpets! the God has\nnow passed through the gates.\"\n\nRameri stepped out into the balcony, and the two women followed him, and\nlooked down on the scene of the embarkation which they could easily see\nwith their sharp young eyes.\n\n\"It will be a thinner and poorer procession without either my father or\nus, that is one comfort,\" said Rameri. \"The chorus is magnificent; here\ncome the plume-bearers and singers; there is the chief prophet at the\ngreat temple, old Bek-en-Chunsu. How dignified he looks, but he will not\nlike going. Now the God is coming, for I, smell the incense.\"\n\nWith these words the prince fell on his knees, and the women followed his\nexample--when they saw first a noble bull in whose shining skin the sun\nwas reflected, and who bore between his horns a golden disk, above which\nstood white ostrich-feathers; and then, divided from the bull only by a\nfew fan-bearers, the God himself, sometimes visible, but more often\nhidden from sight by great semi-circular screens of black and white\nostrich-feathers, which were fixed on long poles, and with which the\npriests shaded the God.\n\nHis mode of progress was as mysterious as his name, for he seemed to\nfloat slowly on his gorgeous throne from the temple-gates towards the\nstream. His seat was placed on a platform, magnificently decorated with\nbunches and garlands of flowers, and covered with hangings of purple and\ngold brocade, which concealed the priests who bore it along with a slow\nand even pace.\n\nAs soon as the God had been placed on board his barge, Bent-Anat and her\ncompanions rose from their knees.\n\nThen came some priests, who carried a box with the sacred evergreen tree\nof Amon; and when a fresh outburst of music fell on her ear, and a cloud\nof incense was wafted up to her, Bent-Anat said: \"Now my father should be\ncoming.\"\n\n\"And you,\" cried Rameri, \"and close behind, Nefert's husband, Mena, with\nthe guards. Uncle Ani comes on foot. How strangely he has dressed himself\nlike a sphinx hind-part before!\"\n\n\"How so?\" asked Nefert.\n\n\"A sphinx,\" said Rameri laughing, it has the body of a lion, and the head\nof a man,\n\n   [There were no female sphinxes in Egypt. The sphinx was called Neb,\n   i. e., the lord. The lion-couchant had either a man's or a rams\n   head.]\n\nand my uncle has a peaceful priest's robe, and on his head the helmet of\na warrior.\"\n\n\"If the king were here, the distributor of life,\" said Nefert, \"you would\nnot be missing from among his supporters.\"\n\n\"No indeed!\" replied the prince, \"and the whole thing is altogether\ndifferent when my father is here. His heroic form is splendid on his\ngolden throne; the statues of Truth and justice spread their wings behind\nhim as if to protect him; his mighty representative in fight, the lion,\nlies peacefully before him, and over him spreads the canopy with the\nUrmus snake at the top. There is hardly any end to the haruspices, the\npastophori with the standards, the images of the Gods, and the flocks and\nherds for sacrifice. Only think, even the North has sent representatives\nto the feast, as if my father were here. I know all the different signs\non the standards. Do you recognize the images of the king's ancestors,\nNefert? No? no more do I; but it seemed to me that Ahmes I., who expelled\nthe Hyksos--from whom our grandmother was descended--headed the\nprocession, and not my grandfather Seti, as he should have done. Here\ncome the soldiers; they are the legions which Ani equipped, and who\nreturned victorious from Ethiopia only last night. How the people cheer\nthem! and indeed they have behaved valiantly. Only think, Bent-Anat and\nNefert, what it will be when my father comes home, with a hundred captive\nprinces, who will humbly follow his chariot, which your Mena will drive,\nwith our brothers and all the nobles of the land, and the guards in their\nsplendid chariots.\"\n\n\"They do not think of returning yet!\" sighed Nefert. While more and more\ntroops of the Regent's soldiers, more companies of musicians, and rare\nanimals, followed in procession, the festal bark of Amon started from the\nshore.\n\nIt was a large and gorgeous barge of wood, polished all over and overlaid\nwith gold, and its edge was decorated with glittering glass-beads, which\nimitated rubies and emeralds; the masts and yards were gilt, and purple\nsails floated from them. The seats for the priests were of ivory, and\ngarlands of lilies and roses hung round the vessel, from its masts and\nropes.\n\nThe Regent's Nile-boat was not less splendid; the wood-work shone with\ngilding, the cabin was furnished with gay Babylonian carpets; a\nlion's-head formed the prow, as formerly in Hatasu's sea-going vessels,\nand two large rubies shone in it, for eyes. After the priests had\nembarked, and the sacred barge had reached the opposite shore, the people\npressed into the boats, which, filled almost to sinking, soon so covered\nthe whole breadth of the river that there was hardly a spot where the sun\nwas mirrored in the yellow waters.\n\n\"Now I will put on the dress of a gardener,\" cried Rameri, \"and cross\nover with the wreaths.\"\n\n\"You will leave us alone?\" asked Bent-Anat.\n\n\"Do not make me anxious,\" said Rameri.\n\n\"Go then,\" said the princess. \"If my father were here how willingly I\nwould go too.\"\n\n\"Come with me,\" cried the boy. \"We can easily find a disguise for you\ntoo.\"\n\n\"Folly!\" said Bent-Anat; but she looked enquiringly at Nefert, who\nshrugged her shoulders, as much as to say: \"Your will is my law.\"\n\nRameri was too sharp for the glances of the friends to have escaped him,\nand he exclaimed eagerly:\n\n\"You will come with me, I see you will! Every beggar to-day flings his\nflower into the common grave, which contains the black mummy of his\nfather--and shall the daughter of Rameses, and the wife of the chief\ncharioteer, be excluded from bringing garlands to their dead?\"\n\n\"I shall defile the tomb by my presence,\" said Bent-Anat coloring.\n\n\"You--you!\" exclaimed Rameri, throwing his arms round his sister's neck,\nand kissing her. \"You, a noble generous creature, who live only to ease\nsorrow and to wipe away tears; you, the very image of my father--unclean!\nsooner would I believe that the swans down there are as black as crows,\nand the rose-wreaths on the balcony rank hemlock branches. Bek-en-Chunsu\npronounced you clean, and if Ameni--\"\n\n\"Ameni only exercises his rights,\" said Bent-Anat gently, \"and you know\nwhat we have resolved. I will not hear one hard word about him to-day.\"\n\n\"Very well! he has graciously and mercifully kept us from the feast,\"\nsaid Rameri ironically, and he bowed low in the direction of the\nNecropolis, \"and you are unclean. Do not enter the tombs and the temples\non my account; let us stay outside among the people. The roads over there\nare not so very sensitive; paraschites and other unclean folks pass over\nthem every day. Be sensible, Bent-Anat, and come. We will disguise\nourselves; I will conduct you; I will lay the garlands in the tombs, we\nwill pray together outside, we will see the sacred procession and the\nfeats of the magicians, and hear the festive discourse. Only think!\nPentaur, in spite of all they have said against him, is to deliver it.\nThe temple of Seti wants to do its best to-day, and Ameni knows very well\nthat Pentaur, when he opens his mouth, stirs the hearts of the people\nmore than all the sages together if they were to sing in chorus! Come\nwith me, sister.\"\n\n\"So be it then,\" said Bent-Anat with sudden decision.\n\nRameri was surprised at this quick resolve, at which however he was\ndelighted; but Nefert looked anxiously at her friend. In a moment her\neyes fell; she knew now who it was that her friend loved, and the fearful\nthought--\"How will it end?\" flashed through her mind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nAn hour later a tall, plainly dressed woman crossed the Nile, with a\ndark-skinned boy and a slender youth by her side. The wrinkles on her\nbrow and cheeks agreed little with her youthful features; but it would\nhave been difficult to recognize in these three the proud princess, the\nfair young prince, and the graceful Nefert, who looked as charming as\never in the long white robe of a temple-student.\n\nThey were followed by two faithful and sturdy head-servants from among\nthe litter-bearers of the princess, who were however commanded to appear\nas though they were not in any way connected with their mistress and her\ncompanions.\n\nThe passage across the Nile had been accomplished but slowly, and thus\nthe royal personages had experienced for the first time some of the many\ndifficulties and delays which ordinary mortals must conquer to attain\nobjects which almost fly to meet their rulers. No one preceded them to\nclear the river, no other vessel made way for them; on the contrary, all\ntried to take place ahead of them, and to reach the opposite shore before\nthem.\n\nWhen at last they reached the landing-place, the procession had already\npassed on to the temple of Seti; Ameni had met it with his chorus of\nsingers, and had received the God on the shore of the Nile; the prophets\nof the Necropolis had with their own hands placed him in the sacred\nSam-bark of the House of Seti, which was artistically constructed of\ncedar wood and electrum set with jewels; thirty pastophori took the\nprecious burden on their shoulders, and bore it up the avenue of\nSphinxes--which led from the river to the temple--into the sanctuary of\nSeti, where Amon remained while the emissaries from the different\nprovinces deposited their offerings in the forecourt. On his road from\nthe shore kolchytes had run before him, in accordance with ancient\ncustom, strewing sand in his path.\n\nIn the course of an hour the procession once more emerged into the open\nair, and turning to the south, rested first in the enormous temple of\nAnienophis III., in front of which the two giant statues stood as\nsentinels--they still remain, the colossi of the Nile valley. Farther to\nthe south it reached the temple of Thotmes the Great, then, turning\nround, it clung to the eastern face of the Libyan hills--pierced with\ntombs and catacombs; it mounted the terraces of the temple of Hatasu, and\npaused by the tombs of the oldest kings which are in the immediate\nneighborhood; thus by sunset it had reached the scene of the festival\nitself, at the entrance of the valley in which the tomb of Setitt had\nbeen made, and in whose westernmost recesses were some of the graves of\nthe Pharaohs of the deposed race.\n\nThis part of the Necropolis was usually visited by lamp-light, and under\nthe flare of torches, before the return of the God to his own temple and\nthe mystery-play on the sacred lake, which did not begin till midnight.\n\nBehind the God, in a vase of transparent crystal, and borne high on a\npole that all the multitude might see it, was the heart of the sacred\nram.\n\nOur friends, after they had laid their wreaths on the magnificent altars\nof their royal ancestors without being recognized, late in the afternoon\njoined the throng who followed the procession. They mounted the eastern\ncliff of the hills close by the tomb of Mena's forefathers, which a\nprophet of Amon, named Neferhotep--Mena's great-grandfather--had\nconstructed. Its narrow doorway was besieged by a crowd, for within the\nfirst of the rock-chambers of which it consisted, a harper was singing a\ndirge for the long-since buried prophet, his wife and his sister. The\nsong had been composed by the poet attached to his house; it was graven\nin the stone of the second rock-room of the tomb, and Neferhotep had left\na plot of ground in trust to the Necropolis, with the charge of\nadministering its revenues for the payment of a minstrel, who every-year\nat the feast of the dead should sing the monody to the accompaniment of\nhis lute.\n\n   [The tomb of Neferhotep is well preserved, and in it the inscription\n   from which the monody is translated.]\n\nThe charioteer well knew this dirge for his ancestor, and had often sung\nit to Nefert, who had accompanied him on her lute; for in their hours of\njoy also--nay especially--the Egyptians were wont to remember their dead.\n\nNow the three companions listened to the minstrel as he sang:\n\n       \"Now the great man is at rest,\n        Gone to practise sweeter duties.\n        Those that die are the elect\n        Since the Gods have left the earth.\n        Old men pass and young men come;\n        Yea, a new Sun rises daily\n        When the old sun has found rest\n        In the bosom of the night.\n\n       \"Hail, O Prophet! on this feast day\n        Odorous balsams, fragrant resins\n        Here we bring--and offer garlands,\n        Throwing flowers down before thee,\n        And before thy much-loved sister,\n        Who has found her rest beside thee.\n\n       \"Songs we sing, and strike the lyre\n        To thy memory, and thine honor.\n        All our cares are now forgotten,\n        Joy and hope our breasts are filling;\n        For the day of our departure\n        Now draws near, and in the silence\n        Of the farther shore is rest.\"\n\nWhen the song ceased, several people pressed into the little oratory to\nexpress their gratitude to the deceased prophet by laying a few flowers\non his altar. Nefert and Rameri also went in, and when Nefert had offered\na long and silent prayer to the glorified spirits of her dead, that they\nmight watch over Mena, she laid her garland beside the grave in which her\nhusband's mother rested.\n\nMany members of the court circle passed close to the royal party without\nrecognizing them; they made every effort to reach the scene of the\nfestival, but the crowd was so great that the ladies had several times to\nget into a tomb to avoid it. In each they found the altar loaded with\nofferings, and, in most, family-parties, who here remembered their dead,\nwith meat and fruits, beer and wine, as though they were departed\ntravellers who had found some far off rest, and whom they hoped sooner or\nlater to see again.\n\nThe sun was near setting when at last the princess and her companions\nreached the spot where the feast was being held. Here stood numbers of\nstalls and booths, with eatables of every sort, particularly sweet cakes\nfor the children, dates, figs, pomegranates, and other fruits. Under\nlight awnings, which kept off the sun, were sold sandals and kerchiefs of\nevery material and hue, ornaments, amulets, fans, and sun-shades, sweet\nessences of every kind, and other gifts for offerings or for the toilet.\nThe baskets of the gardeners and flower-girls were already empty, but the\nmoney-changers were full of business, and the tavern and gambling booths\nwere driving a brisk trade.\n\nFriends and acquaintances greeted each other kindly, while the children\nshowed each other their new sandals, the cakes they had won at the games,\nor the little copper rings they had had given to them, and which must now\nbe laid out. The largest crowd was gathered to see the magicians from the\nHouse of Seti, round which the mob squatted on the ground in a compact\ncircle, and the children were good-naturedly placed in the front row.\n\nWhen Bent-Anat reached the place all the religious solemnity was ended.\n\nThere stood the canopy under which the king and his family were used to\nlisten to the festal discourse, and under its shade sat to-day the Regent\nAni. They could see too the seats of the grandees, and the barriers which\nkept the people at a distance from the Regent, the priests, and the\nnobles.\n\nHere Ameni himself had announced to the multitude the miracle of the\nsacred heart, and had proclaimed that a new Apis had been found among the\nherds of the Regent Ani.\n\nHis announcement of these divine tokens had been repeated from mouth to\nmouth; they were omens of peace and happiness for the country through the\nmeans of a favorite of the Gods; and though no one said it, the dullest\ncould not fail to see that this favorite was none other than Ani, the\ndescendant of the great Hatasu, whose prophet had been graced by the\ntransfer to him of the heart of the sacred rain. All eyes were fixed on\nAni, who had sacrificed before all the people to the sacred heart, and\nreceived the high-priest's blessing.\n\nPentaur, too, had ended his discourse when Bent-Anat reached the scene of\nthe festival. She heard an old man say to his son:\n\n\"Life is hard. It often seems to me like a heavy burden laid on our poor\nbacks by the cruel Gods; but when I heard the young priest from the House\nof Seti, I felt that, after all, the Immortals are good, and we have much\nto thank them for.\"\n\nIn another place a priest's wife said to her son:\n\n\"Could you see Pentaur well, Hor-Uza? He is of humble birth, but he\nstands above the greatest in genius and gifts, and will rise to high\nthings.\"\n\nTwo girls were speaking together, and one said to the other:\n\n\"The speaker is the handsomest man I ever saw, and his voice sounds like\nsoft music.\"\n\n\"And how his eyes shone when he spoke of truth as the highest of all\nvirtues!\" replied the other. \"All the Gods, I believe, must dwell in\nhim.\"\n\nBent-Anat colored as these words fell on her ear. It was growing dark,\nand she wished to return home but Rameri wished to follow the procession\nas it marched through the western valley by torch-light, so that the\ngrave of his grandfather Seti should also be visited. The princess\nunwillingly yielded, but it would in any case have been difficult to\nreach the river while every one was rushing in the opposite direction; so\nthe two ladies, and Rameri, let themselves be carried along by the crowd,\nand by the time the daylight was gone, they found themselves in the\nwestern valley, where to-night no beasts of prey dared show themselves;\njackals and hyenas had fled before the glare of the torches, and the\nlanterns made of colored papyrus.\n\nThe smoke of the torches mingled with the dust stirred by a thousand\nfeet, and the procession moved along, as it were, in a cloud, which also\nshrouded the multitude that followed.\n\nThe three companions had labored on as far as the hovel of the\nparaschites Pinem, but here they were forced to pause, for guards drove\nback the crowd to the right and left with long staves, to clear a passage\nfor the procession as it approached.\n\n\"See, Rameri,\" said Bent-Anat, pointing out the little yard of the hut\nwhich stood only a few paces from them. \"That is where the fair, white\ngirl lives, whom I ran over. But she is much better. Turn round; there,\nbehind the thorn-hedge, by the little fire which shines full in your\n(her? D.W.) face--there she sits, with her grandfather.\"\n\nThe prince stood on tip-toe, looked into the humble plot of ground, and\nthen said in a subdued voice \"What a lovely creature! But what is she\ndoing with the old man? He seems to be praying, and she first holds a\nhandkerchief before his mouth, and then rubs his temples. And how unhappy\nshe looks!\"\n\n\"The paraschites must be ill,\" replied Bent-Anat. \"He must have had too\nmuch wine down at the feast,\" said Rameri laughing. \"No doubt of it! Only\nlook how his lips tremble, and his eyes roll. It is hideous--he looks\nlike one possessed.\"\n\n   [It was thought that the insane were possessed by demons. A stele\n   admirably treated by F. de Rouge exists at Paris, which relates\n   that the sister-in law of Rameses III., who was possessed by devils,\n   had them driven out by the statue of Chunsu, which was sent to her\n   in Asia.]\n\n\"He is unclean too!\" said Nefert.\n\n\"But he is a good, kind man, with a tender heart,\" exclaimed the princess\neagerly. \"I have enquired about him. He is honest and sober, and I am\nsure he is ill and not drunk.\"\n\n\"Now she is standing up,\" said Rameri, and he dropped the paper-lantern\nwhich he had bought at a booth. \"Step back, Bent-Anat, she must be\nexpecting some one. Did you ever see any one so very fair, and with such\na pretty little head. Even her red hair becomes her wonderfully; but she\nstaggers as she stands--she must be very weak. Now she has sat down again\nby the old man, and is rubbing his forehead. Poor souls! look how she is\nsobbing. I will throw my purse over to them.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" exclaimed Bent-Anat. \"I gave them plenty of money, and the\ntears which are shed there cannot be staunched with gold. I will send old\nAsnath over to-morrow to ask how we can help them. Look, here comes the\nprocession, Nefert. How rudely the people press! As soon as the God is\ngone by we will go home.\"\n\n\"Pray do,\" said Nefert. \"I am so frightened!\" and she pressed trembling\nto the side of the princess.\n\n\"I wish we were at home, too,\" replied Bent-Anat.\n\n\"Only look!\" said Rameri. \"There they are. Is it not splendid? And how\nthe heart shines, as if it were a star!\"\n\nAll the crowd, and with them our three friends, fell on their knees.\n\nThe procession paused opposite to them, as it did at every thousand\npaces; a herald came forward, and glorified, in a loud voice, the great\nmiracle, to which now another was added--the sacred heart since the night\nhad come on had begun to give out light.\n\nSince his return home from the embalming house, the paraschites had taken\nno nourishment, and had not answered a word to the anxious questions of\nthe two frightened women. He stared blindly, muttered a few\nunintelligible words, and often clasped his forehead in his hand. A few\nhours before he had laughed loud and suddenly, and his wife, greatly\nalarmed, had gone at once to fetch the physician Nebsecht.\n\nDuring her absence Uarda was to rub her grandfather's temples with the\nleaves which the witch Hekt had laid on her bruises, for as they had once\nproved efficacious they might perhaps a second time scare away the demon\nof sickness.\n\nWhen the procession, with its thousand lamps and torches, paused before\nthe hovel, which was almost invisible in the dusk, and one citizen said\nto another: \"Here comes the sacred heart!\" the old man started, and stood\nup. His eyes stared fixedly at the gleaming relic in its crystal case;\nslowly, trembling in every limb, and with outstretched neck he stood up.\n\nThe herald began his eulogy of the miracle.\n\nThen, while all the people were prostrate in adoration, listening\nmotionless to the loud voice of the speaker, the paraschites rushed out\nof his gate, striking his forehead with his fists, and opposite the\nsacred heart, he broke out into a mad, loud fit of scornful laughter,\nwhich re-echoed from the bare cliffs that closed in the valley.\n\nHorror full on the crowd, who rose timidly from their knees.\n\nAmeni, who too, was close behind the heart, started too and looked round\non the author of this hideous laugh. He had never seen the paraschites,\nbut he perceived the glimmer of his little fire through the dust and\ngloom, and he knew that he lived in this place. The whole case struck him\nat once; he whispered a few significant words to one of the officers who\nmarched with the troops on each side of the procession; then he gave the\nsignal, and the procession moved on as if nothing had happened.\n\nThe old man tried with still more loud and crazy laughter to reach and\nseize the heart, but the crowd kept him back; and while the last groups\npassed on after the priests, he contrived to slip back as far as the door\nof his hovel, though much damaged and hurt.\n\nThere he fell, and Uarda rushed out and threw herself over the old man,\nwho lay on the earth, scarcely recognizable in the dust and darkness.\n\n\"Crush the scoffer!\"\n\n\"Tear him in pieces!\"\n\n\"Burn down the foul den!\"\n\n\"Throw him and the wench into the fire!\" shouted the people who had been\ndisturbed in their devotions, with wild fury.\n\nTwo old women snatched the lanterns froth the posts, and flung them at\nthe unfortunate creatures, while an Ethiopian soldier seized Uarda by the\nhair, and tore her away from her grandfather.\n\nAt this moment Pinem's wife appeared, and with her Pentaur. She had found\nnot Nebsecht, but Pentaur, who had returned to the temple after his\nspeech. She had told him of the demon who had fallen upon her husband,\nand implored him to come with her. Pentaur immediately followed her in\nhis working dress, just as he was, without putting on the white priest's\nrobe, which he did not wish to wear on this expedition.\n\nWhen they drew near to the paraschites' hovel, he perceived the tumult\namong the people, and, loud above all the noise, heard Uarda's shrill cry\nof terror. He hurried forward, and in the dull light of the scattered\nfire-brands and colored lanterns, he saw the black hand of the soldier\nclutching the hair of the helpless child; quick as thought he gripped the\nsoldier's throat with his iron fingers, seized him round the body, swung\nhim in the air, and flung him like a block of stone right into the little\nyard of the hut.\n\nThe people threw themselves on the champion in a frenzy of rage, but he\nfelt a sudden warlike impulse surging up in him, which he had never felt\nbefore. With one wrench he pulled out the heavy wooden pole, which\nsupported the awning which the old paraschites had put up for his sick\ngrandchild; he swung it round his head, as if it were a reed, driving\nback the crowd, while he called to Uarda to keep close to him.\n\n\"He who touches the child is a dead man!\" he cried. \"Shame on\nyou!--falling on a feeble old man and a helpless child in the middle of a\nholy festival!\"\n\nFor a moment the crowd was silent, but immediately after rushed forward\nwith fresh impetus, and wilder than ever rose the shouts of:\n\n\"Tear him to pieces! burn his house down!\"\n\nA few artisans from Thebes closed round the poet, who was not\nrecognizable as a priest. He, however, wielding his tent-pole, felled\nthem before they could reach him with their fists or cudgels, and down\nwent every man on whom it fell. But the struggle could not last long, for\nsome of his assailants sprang over the fence, and attacked him in the\nrear. And now Pentaur was distinctly visible against a background of\nflaring light, for some fire-brands had fallen on the dry palm-thatch of\nthe hovel behind him, and roaring flames rose up to the dark heavens.\n\nThe poet heard the threatening blaze behind him. He put his left hand\nround the head of the trembling girl, who crouched beside him, and\nfeeling that now they both were lost, but that to his latest breath he\nmust protect the innocence and life of this frail creature, with his\nright hand he once more desperately swung the heavy stake.\n\nBut it was for the last time; for two men succeeded in clutching the\nweapon, others came to their support, and wrenched it from his hand,\nwhile the mob closed upon him, furious but unarmed, and not without great\nfear of the enormous strength of their opponent.\n\nUarda clung to her protector with shortened breath, and trembling like a\nhunted antelope. Pentaur groaned when he felt himself disarmed, but at\nthat instant a youth stood by his side, as if he bad sprung from the\nearth, who put into his hand the sword of the fallen soldier--who lay\nnear his feet--and who then, leaning his back against Pentaur's, faced\nthe foe on the other side. Pentaur pulled himself together, sent out a\nbattle-cry like some fighting hero who is defending his last stronghold,\nand brandished his new weapon. He stood with flaming eyes, like a lion at\nbay, and for a moment the enemy gave way, for his young ally Rameri, had\ntaken a hatchet, and held it up in a threatening manner.\n\n\"The cowardly murderers are flinging fire-brands,\" cried the prince.\n\"Come here, girl, and I will put out the pitch on your dress.\"\n\nHe seized Uarda's hand, drew her to him, and hastily put out the flame,\nwhile Pentaur protected them with his sword.\n\nThe prince and the poet stood thus back to back for a few moments, when a\nstone struck Pentaur's head; he staggered, and the crowd were rushing\nupon him, when the little fence was torn away by a determined hand, a\ntall womanly form appeared on the scene of combat, and cried to the\nastonished mob:\n\n\"Have done with this! I command you! I am Bent-Anat, the daughter of\nRameses.\"\n\nThe angry crowd gave way in sheer astonishment. Pentaur had recovered\nfrom the stunning blow, but he thought he must be under some illusion. He\nfelt as if he must throw himself on his knees before Bent-Anat, but his\nmind had been trained under Ameni to rapid reflection; he realized, in a\nflash of thought, the princess's position, and instead of bowing before\nher he exclaimed:\n\n\"Whoever this woman may be, good folks, she is not Bent-Anat the\nprincess, but I, though I have no white robe on, am a priest of Seti,\nnamed Pentaur, and the Cherheb of to-day's festival. Leave this spot,\nwoman, I command you, in right of my sacred office.\"\n\nAnd Bent-Anat obeyed.\n\nPentaur was saved; for just as the people began to recover from their\nastonishment just as those whom he had hurt were once more inciting the\nmob to fight just as a boy, whose hand he had crushed, was crying out:\n\"He is not a priest, he is a sword's-man. Down with the liar!\"\n\nA voice from the crowd exclaimed:\n\n\"Make way for my white robe, and leave the preacher Pentaur alone, he is\nmy friend. You most of you know me.\"\n\n\"You are Nebsecht the leech, who set my broken leg,\" cried a sailor.\n\n\"And cured my bad eye,\" said a weaver.\n\n\"That tall handsome man is Pentaur, I know him well,\" cried the girl,\nwhose opinion had been overheard by Bent-Anat.\n\n\"Preacher this, preacher that!\" shouted the boy, and he would have rushed\nforward, but the people held him back, and divided respectfully at\nNebsecht's command to make way for him to get at those who had been hurt.\n\nFirst he stooped over the old paraschites.\n\n\"Shame upon you!\" he exclaimed.--You have killed the old man.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said Pentaur, \"Have dipped my peaceful hand in blood to save his\ninnocent and suffering grandchild from a like fate.\"\n\n\"Scorpions, vipers, venomous reptiles, scum of men!\" shrieked Nebsecht,\nand he sprang wildly forward, seeking Uarda. When he saw her sitting safe\nat the feet of old Hekt, who had made her way into the courtyard, he drew\na deep breath of relief, and turned his attention to the wounded.\n\n\"Did you knock down all that are lying here?\" he whispered to his friend.\n\nPentaur nodded assent and smiled; but not in triumph, rather in shame;\nlike a boy, who has unintentionally squeezed to death in his hand a bird\nhe has caught.\n\nNebsecht looked round astonished and anxious. \"Why did you not say who\nyou were?\" he asked. \"Because the spirit of the God Menth possessed me,\"\nanswered Pentaur. \"When I saw that accursed villain there with his hand\nin the girl's hair, I heard and saw nothing, I--\"\n\n\"You did right,\" interrupted Nebsecht. \"But where will all this end?\"\n\nAt this moment a flourish of trumpets rang through the little valley. The\nofficer sent by Ameni to apprehend the paraschites came up with his\nsoldiers.\n\nBefore he entered the court-yard he ordered the crowd to disperse; the\nrefractory were driven away by force, and in a few minutes the valley was\ncleared of the howling and shouting mob, and the burning house was\nsurrounded by soldiers. Bent-Anat, Rameri, and Nefert were obliged to\nquit their places by the fence; Rameri, so soon as he saw that Uarda was\nsafe, had rejoined his sister.\n\nNefert was almost fainting with fear and excitement. The two servants,\nwho had kept near them, knit their hands together, and thus carried her\nin advance of the princess. Not one of them spoke a word, not even\nRameri, who could not forget Uarda, and the look of gratitude she bid\nsent after him. Once only Bent-Anat said:\n\n\"The hovel is burnt down. Where will the poor souls sleep to-night?\"\n\nWhen the valley was clear, the officer entered the yard, and found there,\nbesides Uarda and the witch Hekt, the poet, and Nebsecht, who was engaged\nin tending the wounded.\n\nPentaur shortly narrated the affair to the captain, and named himself to\nhim.\n\nThe soldier offered him his hand.\n\n\"If there were many men in Rameses' army,\" said he, who could strike such\na blow as you, the war with the Cheta would soon be at an end. But you\nhave struck down, not Asiatics, but citizens of Thebes, and, much as I\nregret it, I must take you as a prisoner to Ameni.\"\n\n\"You only do your duty,\" replied Pentaur, bowing to the captain, who\nordered his men to take up the body of the paraschites, and to bear it to\nthe temple of Seti.\n\n\"I ought to take the girl in charge too,\" he added, turning to Pentaur.\n\n\"She is ill,\" replied the poet.\n\n\"And if she does not get some rest,\" added Nebsecht, \"she will be dead.\nLeave her alone; she is under the particular protection of the princess\nBent-Anat, who ran over her not long ago.\"\n\n\"I will take her into my house,\" said Hekt, \"and will take care of her.\nHer grandmother is lying there; she was half choked by the flames, but\nshe will soon come to herself--and I have room for both.\"\n\n\"Till to-morrow,\" replied the surgeon. \"Then I will provide another\nshelter for her.\"\n\nThe old woman laughed and muttered: \"There are plenty of folks to take\ncare of her, it seems.\"\n\nThe soldiers obeyed the command of their leader, took up the wounded, and\nwent away with Pentaur, and the body of Pinem.\n\nMeanwhile, Bent-Anat and her party had with much difficulty reached the\nriver-bank. One of the bearers was sent to find the boat which was\nwaiting for them, and he was enjoined to make haste, for already they\ncould see the approach of the procession, which escorted the God on his\nreturn journey. If they could not succeed in finding their boat without\ndelay, they must wait at least an hour, for, at night, not a boat that\ndid not belong to the train of Amon--not even the barge of a noble--might\nventure from shore till the whole procession was safe across.\n\nThey awaited the messenger's signal in the greatest anxiety, for Nefert\nwas perfectly exhausted, and Bent-Anat, on whom she leaned, felt her\ntrembling in every limb.\n\nAt last the bearer gave the signal; the swift, almost invisible bark,\nwhich was generally used for wild fowl shooting, shot by--Rameri seized\none end of an oar that the rower held out to him, and drew the little\nboat up to the landing-place.\n\nThe captain of the watch passed at the same moment, and shouting out,\n\"This is the last boat that can put off before the passage of the God!\"\n\nBent-Anat descended the steps as quickly as Nefert's exhausted state\npermitted. The landing-place was now only dimly lighted by dull lanterns,\nthough, when the God embarked, it would be as light as day with cressets\nand torches. Before she could reach the bottom step, with Nefert still\nclinging heavily to her arm, a hard hand was laid on her shoulder, and\nthe rough voice of Paaker exclaimed:\n\n\"Stand back, you rabble! We are going first.\" The captain of the watch\ndid not stop him, for he knew the chief pioneer and his overbearing ways.\nPaaker put his finger to his lips, and gave a shrill whistle that sounded\nlike a yell in the silence.\n\nThe stroke of oars responded to the call, and Paaker called out to his\nboatmen:\n\n\"Bring the boat up here! these people can wait!\" The pioneer's boat was\nlarger and better manned than that of the princess.\n\n\"Jump into the boat!\" cried Rameri.\n\nBent-Anat went forward without speaking, for she did not wish to make\nherself known again for the sake of the people, and for Nefert's; but\nPaaker put himself in her way.\n\n\"Did I not tell you that you common people must wait till we are gone.\nPush these people's boat out into the stream, you men.\"\n\nBent-Anat felt her blood chill, for a loud squabble at once began on the\nlanding-steps.\n\nRameri's voice sounded louder than all the rest; but the pioneer\nexclaimed:\n\n\"The low brutes dare to resist? I will teach them manners! Here, Descher,\nlook after the woman and these boys!\"\n\nAt his call his great red hound barked and sprang forward, which, as it\nhad belonged to his father, always accompanied him when he went with his\nmother to visit the ancestral tomb. Nefert shrieked with fright, but the\ndog at once knew her, and crouched against her with whines of\nrecognition.\n\nPaaker, who had gone down to his boat, turned round in astonishment, and\nsaw his dog fawning at the feet of a boy whom he could not possibly\nrecognize as Nefert; he sprang back, and cried out:\n\n\"I will teach you, you young scoundrel, to spoil my dog with spells--or\npoison!\"\n\nHe raised his whip, and struck it across the shoulders of Nefert, who,\nwith one scream of terror and anguish, fell to the ground.\n\nThe lash of the whip only whistled close by the cheek of the poor\nfainting woman, for Bent-Anat had seized Paaker's arm with all her might.\n\nRage, disgust, and scorn stopped her utterance; but Rameri had heard\nNefert's shriek, and in two steps stood by the women.\n\n\"Cowardly scoundrel!\" he cried, and lifted the oar in his hand. Paaker\nevaded the blow, and called to the dog with a peculiar hiss:\n\n\"Pull him down, Descher.\"\n\nThe hound flew at the prince; but Rameri, who from his childhood, had\nbeen his father's companion in many hunts and field sports, gave the\nfurious brute such a mighty blow on the muzzle that he rolled over with a\nsnort.\n\nPaaker believed that he possessed in the whole world no more faithful\nfriend than this dog, his companion on all his marches across desert\ntracts or through the enemy's country, and when he saw him writhing on\nthe ground his rage knew no bounds, and he flew at the youngster with his\nwhip; but Rameri--madly excited by all the events of the night, full of\nthe warlike spirit of his fathers, worked up to the highest pitch by the\ninsults to the two ladies, and seeing that he was their only\nprotector--suddenly felt himself endowed with the strength of a man; he\ndealt the pioneer such a heavy blow on the left hand, that he dropped his\nwhip, and now seized the dagger in his girdle with his right.\n\nBent-Anat threw herself between the man and the stripling, who was hardly\nmore than a boy, once more declared her name, and this time her brother's\nalso, and commanded Paaker to make peace among the boatmen. Then she led\nNefert, who remained unrecognized, into the boat, entered it herself with\nher companions, and shortly after landed at the palace, while Paaker's\nmother, for whom he had called his boat, had yet a long time to wait\nbefore it could start. Setchem had seen the struggle from her litter at\nthe top of the landing steps, but without understanding its origin, and\nwithout recognizing the chief actors.\n\nThe dog was dead. Paaker's hand was very painful, and fresh rage was\nseething in his soul.\n\n\"That brood of Rameses!\" he muttered. \"Adventurers! They shall learn to\nknow me. Mena and Rameses are closely connected--I will sacrifice them\nboth.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Her white cat was playing at her feet\n     Human sacrifices, which had been introduced into Egypt by the\nPhoenicians\n     The dressing and undressing of the holy images\n     Thought that the insane were possessed by demons\n     Use words instead of swords, traps instead of lances\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nVolume 7.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nAt last the pioneer's boat got off with his mother and the body of the\ndog, which he intended to send to be embalmed at Kynopolis, the city in\nwhich the dog was held sacred above all animals;\n\n   [Kynopolis, or in old Egyptian Saka, is now Samalut; Anubis was the\n   chief divinity worshipped there. Plutarch relates a quarrel between\n   the inhabitants of this city, and the neighboring one of Oxyrynchos,\n   where the fish called Oxyrynchos was worshipped. It began because\n   the Kynopolitans eat the fish, and in revenge the Oxyrynchites\n   caught and killed dogs, and consumed them in sacrifices. Juvenal\n   relates a similar story of the Ombites--perhaps Koptites--and\n   Pentyrites in the 15th Satire.]\n\nPaaker himself returned to the House of Seti, where, in the night which\nclosed the feast day, there was always a grand banquet for the superior\npriests of the Necropolis and of the temples of eastern Thebes, for the\nrepresentatives of other foundations, and for select dignitaries of the\nstate.\n\nHis father had never failed to attend this entertainment when he was in\nThebes, but he himself had to-day for the first time received the\nmuch-coveted honor of an invitation, which--Ameni told him when he gave\nit--he entirely owed to the Regent.\n\nHis mother had tied up his hand, which Rameri had severely hurt; it was\nextremely painful, but he would not have missed the banquet at any cost,\nalthough he felt some alarm of the solemn ceremony. His family was as old\nas any in Egypt, his blood purer than the king's, and nevertheless he\nnever felt thoroughly at home in the company of superior people. He was\nno priest, although a scribe; he was a warrior, and yet he did not rank\nwith royal heroes.\n\nHe had been brought up to a strict fulfilment of his duty, and he devoted\nhimself zealously to his calling; but his habits of life were widely\ndifferent from those of the society in which he had been brought up--a\nsociety of which his handsome, brave, and magnanimous father had been a\nchief ornament. He did not cling covetously to his inherited wealth, and\nthe noble attribute of liberality was not strange to him, but the\ncoarseness of his nature showed itself most when he was most lavish, for\nhe was never tired of exacting gratitude from those whom he had attached\nto him by his gifts, and he thought he had earned the right by his\nliberality to meet the recipient with roughness or arrogance, according\nto his humor. Thus it happened that his best actions procured him not\nfriends but enemies.\n\nPaaker's was, in fact, an ignoble, that is to say, a selfish nature; to\nshorten his road he trod down flowers as readily as he marched over the\nsand of the desert. This characteristic marked him in all things, even in\nhis outward demeanor; in the sound of his voice, in his broad features,\nin the swaggering gait of his stumpy figure.\n\nIn camp he could conduct himself as he pleased; but this was not\npermissible in the society of his equals in rank; for this reason, and\nbecause those faculties of quick remark and repartee, which distinguished\nthem, had been denied to him, he felt uneasy and out of his element when\nhe mixed with them, and he would hardly have accepted Ameni's invitation,\nif it had not so greatly flattered his vanity.\n\nIt was already late; but the banquet did not begin till midnight, for the\nguests, before it began, assisted at the play which was performed by lamp\nand torch-light on the sacred lake in the south of the Necropolis, and\nwhich represented the history of Isis and Osiris.\n\nWhen he entered the decorated hall in which the tables were prepared, he\nfound all the guests assembled. The Regent Ani was present, and sat on\nAmeni's right at the top of the centre high-table at which several places\nwere unoccupied; for the prophets and the initiated of the temple of Amon\nhad excused themselves from being present. They were faithful to Rameses\nand his house; their grey-haired Superior disapproved of Ameni's severity\ntowards the prince and princess, and they regarded the miracle of the\nsacred heart as a malicious trick of the chiefs of the Necropolis against\nthe great temple of the capital for which Rameses had always shown a\npreference.\n\nThe pioneer went up to the table, where sat the general of the troops\nthat had just returned victorious from Ethiopia, and several other\nofficers of high rank, There was a place vacant next to the general.\nPaaker fixed his eyes upon this, but when he observed that the officer\nsigned to the one next to him to come a little nearer, the pioneer\nimagined that each would endeavor to avoid having him for his neighbor,\nand with an angry glance he turned his back on the table where the\nwarriors sat.\n\nThe Mohar was not, in fact, a welcome boon-companion. \"The wine turns\nsour when that churl looks at it,\" said the general.\n\nThe eyes of all the guests turned on Paaker, who looked round for a seat,\nand when no one beckoned him to one he felt his blood begin to boil. He\nwould have liked to leave the banqueting hall at once with a swingeing\ncurse. He had indeed turned towards the door, when the Regent, who had\nexchanged a few whispered words with Ameni, called to him, requested him\nto take the place that had been reserved for him, and pointed to the seat\nby his side, which had in fact been intended for the high-priest of the\ntemple of Amon.\n\nPaaker bowed low, and took the place of honor, hardly daring to look\nround the table, lest he should encounter looks of surprise or of\nmockery. And yet he had pictured to himself his grandfather Assa, and his\nfather, as somewhere near this place of honor, which had actually often\nenough been given up to them. And was he not their descendant and heir?\nWas not his mother Setchem of royal race? Was not the temple of Seti more\nindebted to him than to any one?\n\nA servant laid a garland of flowers round his shoulders, and another\nhanded him wine and food. Then he raised his eyes, and met the bright and\nsparkling glance of Gagabu; he looked quickly down again at the table.\n\nThen the Regent spoke to him, and turning to the other guests mentioned\nthat Paaker was on the point of starting next day for Syria, and resuming\nhis arduous labors as Mohar. It seemed to Paaker that the Regent was\nexcusing himself for having given him so high a place of honor.\n\nPresently Ani raised his wine-cup, and drank to the happy issue of his\nreconnoitring-expedition, and a victorious conclusion to every struggle\nin which the Mohar might engage. The high-priest then pledged him, and\nthanked him emphatically in the name of the brethren of the temple, for\nthe noble tract of arable land which he had that morning given them as a\nvotive offering. A murmur of approbation ran round the tables, and\nPaaker's timidity began to diminish.\n\nHe had kept the wrappings that his mother had applied round his still\naching hand.\n\n\"Are you wounded?\" asked the Regent.\n\n\"Nothing of importance,\" answered the pioneer. \"I was helping my mother\ninto the boat, and it happened--\"\n\n\"It happened,\" interrupted an old school-fellow of the Mohar's, who\nhimself held a high appointment as officer of the city-watch of\nThebes--\"It happened that an oar or a stake fell on his fingers.\"\n\n\"Is it possible!\" cried the Regent.\n\n\"And quite a youngster laid hands on him,\" continued the officer. \"My\npeople told me every detail. First the boy killed his dog--\"\n\n\"That noble Descher?\" asked the master of the hunt in a tone of regret.\n\"Your father was often by my side with that dog at a boar-hunt.\"\n\nPaaker bowed his head; but the officer of the watch, secure in his\nposition and dignity, and taking no notice of the glow of anger which\nflushed Paaker's face, began again:\n\n\"When the hound lay on the ground, the foolhardy boy struck your dagger\nout of your hand.\"\n\n\"And did this squabble lead to any disturbance?\" asked Ameni earnestly.\n\n\"No,\" replied the officer. \"The feast has passed off to-day with unusual\nquiet. If the unlucky interruption to the procession by that crazy\nparaschites had not occurred, we should have nothing but praise for the\npopulace. Besides the fighting priest, whom we have handed over to you,\nonly a few thieves have been apprehended, and they belong exclusively to\nthe caste,\n\n   [According to Diodorous (I. 80) there was a cast of thieves in\n   Thebes. All citizens were obliged to enter their names in a\n   register, and state where they lived, and the thieves did the same.\n   The names were enrolled by the \"chief of the thieves,\" and all\n   stolen goods had to be given up to him. The person robbed had to\n   give a written description of the object he had lost, and a\n   declaration as to when and where he had lost it. The stolen\n   property was then easily recovered, and restored to the owner on\n   the payment of one fourth of its value, which was given to the\n   thief. A similar state of things existed at Cairo within a\n   comparatively short time.]\n\nso we simply take their booty from them, and let them go. But say,\nPaaker, what devil of amiability took possession of you down by the\nriver, that you let the rascal escape unpunished.\"\n\n\"Did you do that?\" exclaimed Gagabu. \"Revenge is usually your--\"\n\nAmeni threw so warning a glance at the old man, that he suddenly broke\noff, and then asked the pioneer: \"How did the struggle begin, and who was\nthe fellow?\"\n\n\"Some insolent people,\" said Paaker, \"wanted to push in front of the boat\nthat was waiting for my mother, and I asserted my rights. The rascal fell\nupon me, and killed my dog and--by my Osirian father!--the crocodiles\nwould long since have eaten him if a woman had not come between us, and\nmade herself known to me as Bent-Anat, the daughter of Rameses. It was\nshe herself, and the rascal was the young prince Rameri, who was\nyesterday forbidden this temple.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" cried the old master of the hunt. \"Oho! my lord! Is this the way\nto speak of the children of the king?\"\n\nOthers of the company who were attached to Pharaoh's family expressed\ntheir indignation; but Ameni whispered to Paaker--\"Say no more!\" then he\ncontinued aloud:\n\n\"You never were careful in weighing your words, my friend, and now, as it\nseems to me, you are speaking in the heat of fever. Come here, Gagabu,\nand examine Paaker's wound, which is no disgrace to him--for it was\ninflicted by a prince.\"\n\nThe old man loosened the bandage from the pioneer's swollen hand.\n\n\"That was a bad blow,\" he exclaimed; \"three fingers are broken, and--do\nyou see?--the emerald too in your signet ring.\"\n\nPaaker looked down at his aching fingers, and uttered a sigh of rehef,\nfor it was not the oracular ring with the name of Thotmes III., but the\nvaluable one given to his father by the reigning king that had been\ncrushed. Only a few solitary fragments of the splintered stone remained\nin the setting; the king's name had fallen to pieces, and disappeared.\nPaaker's bloodless lips moved silently, and an inner voice cried out to\nhim: \"The Gods point out the way! The name is gone, the bearer of the\nname must follow.\"\n\n\"It is a pity about the ring,\" said Gagabu. \"And if the hand is not to\nfollow it--luckily it is your left hand--leave off drinking, let yourself\nbe taken to Nebsecht the surgeon, and get him to set the joints neatly,\nand bind them up.\"\n\nPaaker rose, and went away after Ameni had appointed to meet him on the\nfollowing day at the Temple of Seti, and the Regent at the palace.\n\nWhen the door had closed behind him, the treasurer of the temple said:\n\n\"This has been a bad day for the Mohar, and perhaps it will teach him\nthat here in Thebes he cannot swagger as he does in the field. Another\nadventure occurred to him to-day; would you like to hear it?\"\n\n\"Yes; tell it!\" cried the guests.\n\n\"You all knew old Seni,\" began the treasurer. \"He was a rich man, but he\ngave away all his goods to the poor, after his seven blooming sons, one\nafter another, had died in the war, or of illness. He only kept a small\nhouse with a little garden, and said that as the Gods had taken his\nchildren to themselves in the other world he would take pity on the\nforlorn in this. 'Feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the\nnaked' says the law; and now that Seni has nothing more to give away, he\ngoes through the city, as you know, hungry and thirsty himself, and\nscarcely clothed, and begging for his adopted children, the poor. We have\nall given to him, for we all know for whom he humbles himself, and holds\nout his hand. To-day he went round with his little bag, and begged, with\nhis kind good eyes, for alms. Paaker has given us a good piece of arable\nland, and thinks, perhaps with reason, that he has done his part. When\nSeni addressed him, he told him to go; but the old man did not give up\nasking him, he followed him persistently to the grave of his father, and\na great many people with him. Then the pioneer pushed him angrily back,\nand when at last the beggar clutched his garment, he raised his whip, and\nstruck him two or three times, crying out: 'There-that is your portion!'\nThe good old man bore it quite patiently, while he untied the bag, and\nsaid with tears in his eyes: 'My portion--yes--but not the portion of the\npoor!'\n\n\"I was standing near, and I saw how Paaker hastily withdrew into the\ntomb, and how his mother Setchem threw her full purse to Seni. Others\nfollowed her example, and the old man never had a richer harvest. The\npoor may thank the Mohar! A crowd of people collected in front of the\ntomb, and he would have fared badly if it had not been for the police\nguard who drove them away.\"\n\nDuring this narrative, which was heard with much approval--for no one is\nmore secure of his result than he who can tell of the downfall of a man\nwho is disliked for his arrogance--the Regent and the high-priest had\nbeen eagerly whispering to each other.\n\n\"There can be no doubt,\" said Ameni, that Bent-Anat did actually come to\nthe festival.\"\n\n\"And had also dealings with the priest whom you so warmly defend,\"\nwhispered the other.\n\n\"Pentaur shall be questioned this very night,\" returned the high-priest.\n\"The dishes will soon be taken away, and the drinking will begin. Let us\ngo and hear what the poet says.\"\n\n\"But there are now no witnesses,\" replied Ani.\n\n\"We do not need them,\" said Ameni. \"He is incapable of a lie.\"\n\n\"Let us go then,\" said the Regent smiling, \"for I am really curious about\nthis white negro, and how he will come to terms with the truth. You have\nforgotten that there is a woman in the case.\"\n\n\"That there always is!\" answered Ameni; he called Gagabu to him, gave him\nhis seat, begged him to keep up the flow of cheerful conversation, to\nencourage the guests to drink, and to interrupt all talk of the king, the\nstate, or the war.\n\n\"You know,\" he concluded, \"that we are not by ourselves this evening.\nWine has, before this, betrayed everything! Remember this--the mother of\nforesight looks backwards!\"\n\nAni clapped his hand on the old man's shoulder. \"There will be a space\ncleared to-night in your winelofts. It is said of you that you cannot\nbear to see either a full glass or an empty one; to-night give your\naversion to both free play. And when you think it is the right moment,\ngive a sign to my steward, who is sitting there in the corner. He has a\nfew jars of the best liquor from Byblos, that he brought over with him,\nand he will bring it to you. I will come in again and bid you\ngood-night.\" Ameni was accustomed to leave the hall at the beginning of\nthe drinking.\n\nWhen the door was closed behind him and his companion, when fresh\nrose-garlands had been brought for the necks of the company, when lotus\nblossoms decorated their heads, and the beakers were refilled, a choir of\nmusicians came in, who played on harps, lutes, flutes, and small drums.\nThe conductor beat the time by clapping his hands, and when the music had\nraised the spirits of the drinkers, they seconded his efforts by\nrhythmical clippings. The jolly old Gagabu kept up his character as a\nstout drinker, and leader of the feast.\n\nThe most priestly countenances soon beamed with cheerfulness, and the\nofficers and courtiers outdid each other in audacious jokes. Then the old\nman signed to a young temple-servant, who wore a costly wreath; he came\nforward with a small gilt image of a mummy, carried it round the circle\nand cried:\n\n\"Look at this, be merry and drink so long as you are on earth, for soon\nyou must be like this.\"\n\n   [A custom mentioned by Herodotus. Lucian saw such an image brought\n   in at a feast. The Greeks adopted the idea, but beautified it,\n   using a winged Genius of death instead of a mummy. The Romans also\n   had their \"larva.\"]\n\nGagabu gave another signal, and the Regent's steward brought in the wine\nfrom Byblos. Ani was much lauded for the wonderful choiceness of the\nliquor.\n\n\"Such wine,\" exclaimed the usually grave chief of the pastophori, \"is\nlike soap.\"\n\n   [This comparison is genuinely Eastern. Kisra called wine \"the soap\n   of sorrow.\" The Mohammedans, to whom wine is forbidden, have\n   praised it like the guests of the House of Seti. Thus Abdelmalik\n   ibn Salih Haschimi says: \"The best thing the world enjoys is wine.\"\n   Gahiz says: \"When wine enters thy bones and flows through thy limbs\n   it bestows truth of feeling, and perfects the soul; it removes\n   sorrow, elevates the mood, etc., etc.\" When Ibn 'Aischah was told\n   that some one drank no wine, he said: \"He has thrice disowned the\n   world.\" Ibn el Mu'tazz sang:\n\n   \"Heed not time, how it may linger, or how swiftly take its flight,\n   Wail thy sorrows only to the wine before thee gleaming bright.\n   But when thrice thou st drained the beaker watch and ward\n     keep o'er thy heart.\n   Lest the foam of joy should vanish, and thy soul with anguish smart,\n   This for every earthly trouble is a sovereign remedy,\n   Therefore listen to my counsel, knowing what will profit thee,\n   Heed not time, for ah, how many a man has longed in pain\n   Tale of evil days to lighten--and found all his longing vain.\"\n             --Translated by Mary J. Safford.]\n\n\"What a simile!\" cried Gagabu. \"You must explain it.\"\n\n\"It cleanses the soul of sorrow,\" answered the other. \"Good, friend!\"\nthey all exclaimed. \"Now every one in turn shall praise the noble juice\nin some worthy saying.\"\n\n\"You begin--the chief prophet of the temple of Atnenophis.\"\n\n\"Sorrow is a poison,\" said the priest, \"and wine is the antidote.\"\n\n\"Well said!--go on; it is your turn, my lord privy councillor.\"\n\n\"Every thing has its secret spring,\" said the official, \"and wine is the\nsecret of joy.\"\n\n\"Now you, my lord keeper of the seal.\"\n\n\"Wine seals the door on discontent, and locks the gates on sorrow.\"\n\n\"That it does, that it certainly does!--Now the governor of Hermothis,\nthe oldest of all the company.\"\n\n\"Wine ripens especially for us old folks, and not for you young people.\"\n\n\"That you must explain,\" cried a voice from the table of the military\nofficers.\n\n\"It makes young men of the old,\" laughed the octogenarian, \"and children\nof the young.\"\n\n\"He has you there, you youngsters,\" cried Gagabu. \"What have you to say,\nSeptah?\"\n\n\"Wine is a poison,\" said the morose haruspex, \"for it makes fools of wise\nmen.\"\n\n\"Then you have little to fear from it, alas!\" said Gagabu laughing.\n\"Proceed, my lord of the chase.\"\n\n\"The rim of the beaker,\" was the answer, \"is like the lip of the woman\nyou love. Touch it, and taste it, and it is as good as the kiss of a\nbride.\"\n\n\"General--the turn is yours.\"\n\n\"I wish the Nile ran with such wine instead of with water,\" cried the\nsoldier, \"and that I were as big as the colossus of Atnenophis, and that\nthe biggest obelisk of Hatasu were my drinking vessel, and that I might\ndrink as much as I would! But now--what have you to say of this noble\nliquor, excellent Gagabu?\"\n\nThe second prophet raised his beaker, and gazed lovingly at the golden\nfluid; he tasted it slowly, and then said with his eyes turned to heaven:\n\n\"I only fear that I am unworthy to thank the Gods for such a divine\nblessing.\"\n\n\"Well said!\" exclaimed the Regent Ani, who had re-entered the room\nunobserved. \"If my wine could speak, it would thank you for such a\nspeech.\"\n\n\"Hail to the Regent Ani!\" shouted the guests, and they all rose with\ntheir cups filled with his noble present.\n\nHe pledged them and then rose.\n\n\"Those,\" said he, \"who have appreciated this wine, I now invite to dine\nwith me to-morrow. You will then meet with it again, and if you still\nfind it to your liking, you will be heartily welcome any evening. Now,\ngood night, friends.\"\n\nA thunder of applause followed him, as he quitted the room.\n\nThe morning was already grey, when the carousing-party broke up; few of\nthe guests could find their way unassisted through the courtyard; most of\nthem had already been carried away by the slaves, who had waited for\nthem--and who took them on their heads, like bales of goods--and had been\nborne home in their litters; but for those who remained to the end,\ncouches were prepared in the House of Seti, for a terrific storm was now\nraging.\n\nWhile the company were filling and refilling the beakers, which raised\ntheir spirits to so wild a pitch, the prisoner Pentaur had been examined\nin the presence of the Regent. Ameni's messenger had found the poet on\nhis knees, so absorbed in meditation that he did not perceive his\napproach. All his peace of mind had deserted him, his soul was in a\ntumult, and he could not succeed in obtaining any calm and clear control\nover the new life-pulses which were throbbing in his heart.\n\nHe had hitherto never gone to rest at night without requiring of himself\nan account of the past day, and he had always been able to detect the\nmost subtle line that divided right from wrong in his actions. But\nto-night he looked back on a perplexing confusion of ideas and events,\nand when he endeavored to sort them and arrange them, he could see\nnothing clearly but the image of Bent-Anat, which enthralled his heart\nand intellect.\n\nHe had raised his hand against his fellow-men, and dipped it in blood, he\ndesired to convince himself of his sin, and to repent but he could not;\nfor each time he recalled it, to blame and condemn himself, he saw the\nsoldier's hand twisted in Uarda's hair, and the princess's eyes beaming\nwith approbation, nay with admiration, and he said to himself that he had\nacted rightly, and in the same position would do the same again\nto-morrow. Still he felt that he had broken through all the conditions\nwith which fate had surrounded his existence, and it seemed to him that\nhe could never succeed in recovering the still, narrow, but peaceful life\nof the past.\n\nHis soul went up in prayer to the Almighty One, and to the spirit of the\nsweet humble woman whom he had called his mother, imploring for peace of\nmind and modest content; but in vain--for the longer he remained\nprostrate, flinging up his arms in passionate entreaty, the keener grew\nhis longings, the less he felt able to repent or to recognize his guilt.\nAmeni's order to appear before him came almost as a deliverance, and he\nfollowed the messenger prepared for a severe punishment; but not\nafraid--almost joyful.\n\nIn obedience to the command of the grave high-priest, Pentaur related the\nwhole occurrence--how, as there was no leech in the house, he had gone\nwith the old wife of the paraschites to visit her possessed husband; how,\nto save the unhappy girl from ill-usage by the mob, he had raised his\nhand in fight, and dealt indeed some heavy blows.\n\n\"You have killed four men,\" said Ameni, \"and severely wounded twice as\nmany. Why did you not reveal yourself as a priest, as the speaker of the\nmorning's discourse? Why did you not endeavor to persuade the people with\nwords of warning, rather than with brute force?\"\n\n\"I had no priest's garment,\" replied Pentaur. \"There again you did\nwrong,\" said Ameni, \"for you know that the law requires of each of us\nnever to leave this house without our white robes. But you cannot pretend\nnot to know your own powers of speech, nor to contradict me when I assert\nthat, even in the plainest working-dress, you were perfectly able to\nproduce as much effect with words as by deadly blows!\" \"I might very\nlikely have succeeded,\" answered Pentaur, \"but the most savage temper\nruled the crowd; there was no time for reflection, and when I struck down\nthe villain, like some reptile, who had seized the innocent girl, the\nlust of fighting took possession of me. I cared no more for my own life,\nand to save the child I would have slain thousands.\"\n\n\"Your eyes sparkle,\" said Ameni, \"as if you had performed some heroic\nfeat; and yet the men you killed were only unarmed and pious citizens,\nwho were roused to indignation by a gross and shameless outrage. I cannot\nconceive whence the warrior-spirit should have fallen on a gardener's\nson--and a minister of the Gods.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" answered Pentaur, \"when the crowd rushed upon me, and I\ndrove them back, putting out all my strength, I felt something of the\nwarlike rage of the soldier, who repulses the pressing foe from the\nstandard committed to his charge. It was sinful in a priest, no doubt,\nand I will repent of it--but I felt it.\"\n\n\"You felt it--and you will repent of it, well and good,\" replied Ameni.\n\"But you have not given a true account of all that happened. Why have you\nconcealed that Bent-Anat--Rameses' daughter--was mixed up in the fray,\nand that she saved you by announcing her name to the people, and\ncommanding them to leave you alone? When you gave her the lie before all\nthe people, was it because you did not believe that it was Bent-Anat?\nNow, you who stand so firmly on so high a platform--now you\nstandard-bearer of the truth answer me.\"\n\nPentaur had turned pale at his master's words, and said, as he looked at\nthe Regent:\n\n\"We are not alone.\"\n\n\"Truth is one!\" said Ameni coolly. \"What you can reveal to me, can also\nbe heard by this noble lord, the Regent of the king himself. Did you\nrecognize Bent-Anat, or not?\"\n\n\"The lady who rescued me was like her, and yet unlike,\" answered the\npoet, whose blood was roused by the subtle irony of his Superior's words.\n\"And if I had been as sure that she was the princess, as I am that you\nare the man who once held me in honor, and who are now trying to\nhumiliate me, I would all the more have acted as I did to spare a lady\nwho is more like a goddess than a woman, and who, to save an unworthy\nwretch like me, stooped from a throne to the dust.\"\n\n\"Still the poet--the preacher!\" said Ameni. Then he added severely. \"I\nbeg for a short and clear answer. We know for certain that the princess\ntook part in the festival in the disguise of a woman of low rank, for she\nagain declared herself to Paaker; and we know that it was she who saved\nyou. But did you know that she meant to come across the Nile?\"\n\n\"How should I?\" asked Pentaur.\n\n\"Well, did you believe that it was Bent-Anat whom you saw before you when\nshe ventured on to the scene of conflict?\"\n\n\"I did believe it,\" replied Pentaur; he shuddered and cast down his eyes.\n\n\"Then it was most audacious to drive away the king's daughter as an\nimpostor.\"\n\n\"It was,\" said Pentaur. \"But for my sake she had risked the honor of her\nname, and that of her royal father, and I--I should not have risked my\nlife and freedom for--\"\n\n\"We have heard enough,\" interrupted Ameni.\n\n\"Not so,\" the Regent interposed. \"What became of the girl you had saved?\"\n\n\"An old witch, Hekt by name, a neighbor of Pinem's, took her and her\ngrandmother into her cave,\" answered the poet; who was then, by the\nhigh-priest's order, taken back to the temple-prison.\n\nScarcely had he disappeared when the Regent exclaimed:\n\n\"A dangerous man! an enthusiast! an ardent worshipper of Rameses!\"\n\n\"And of his daughter,\" laughed Ameni, but only a worshipper. Thou hast\nnothing to fear from him--I will answer for the purity of his motives.\"\n\n\"But he is handsome and of powerful speech,\" replied Ani. \"I claim him as\nmy prisoner, for he has killed one of my soldiers.\"\n\nAmeni's countenance darkened, and he answered very sternly:\n\n\"It is the exclusive right of our conclave, as established by our\ncharter, to judge any member of this fraternity. You, the future king,\nhave freely promised to secure our privileges to us, the champions of\nyour own ancient and sacred rights.\"\n\n\"And you shall have them,\" answered the Regent with a persuasive smile.\n\"But this man is dangerous, and you would not have him go unpunished.\"\n\n\"He shall be severely judged,\" said Ameni, \"but by us and in this house.\"\n\n\"He has committed murder!\" cried Ani. \"More than one murder. He is worthy\nof death.\"\n\n\"He acted under pressure of necessity,\" replied Ameni. \"And a man so\nfavored by the Gods as he, is not to be lightly given up because an\nuntimely impulse of generosity prompted him to rash conduct. I know--I\ncan see that you wish him ill. Promise me, as you value me as an ally,\nthat you will not attempt his life.\"\n\n\"Oh, willingly!\" smiled the Regent, giving the high-priest his hand.\n\n\"Accept my sincere thanks,\" said Ameni. \"Pentaur was the most promising\nof my disciples, and in spite of many aberrations I still esteem him\nhighly. When he was telling us of what had occurred to-day, did he not\nremind you of the great Assa, or of his gallant son, the Osirian father\nof the pioneer Paaker?\"\n\n\"The likeness is extraordinary,\" answered Ani, \"and yet he is of quite\nhumble birth. Who was his mother?\"\n\n\"Our gate-keeper's daughter, a plain, pious, simple creature.\"\n\n\"Now I will return to the banqueting hall,\" said Ani, after a fete\nmoments of reflection. \"But I must ask you one thing more. I spoke to you\nof a secret that will put Paaker into our power. The old sorceress Hekt,\nwho has taken charge of the paraschites' wife and grandchild, knows all\nabout it. Send some policeguards over there, and let her be brought over\nhere as a prisoner; I will examine her myself, and so can question her\nwithout exciting observation.\"\n\nAmeni at once sent off a party of soldiers, and then quietly ordered a\nfaithful attendant to light up the so-called audience-chamber, and to put\na seat for him in an adjoining room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nWhile the banquet was going forward at the temple, and Ameni's messengers\nwere on their way to the valley of the kings' tombs, to waken up old\nHekt, a furious storm of hot wind came up from the southwest, sweeping\nblack clouds across the sky, and brown clouds of dust across the earth.\nIt bowed the slender palm-trees as an archer bends his bow, tore the\ntentpegs up on the scene of the festival, whirled the light tent-cloths\nup in the air, drove them like white witches through the dark night, and\nthrashed the still surface of the Nile till its yellow waters swirled and\ntossed in waves like a restless sea.\n\nPaaker had compelled his trembling slaves to row him across the stream;\nseveral times the boat was near being swamped, but he had seized the helm\nhimself with his uninjured hand, and guided it firmly and surely, though\nthe rocking of the boat kept his broken hand in great and constant pain.\nAfter a few ineffectual attempts he succeeded in landing. The storm had\nblown out the lanterns at the masts--the signal lights for which his\npeople looked--and he found neither servants nor torch-bearers on the\nbank, so he struggled through the scorching wind as far as the gate of\nhis house. His big dog had always been wont to announce his return home\nto the door-keeper with joyful barking; but to-night the boatmen long\nknocked in vain at the heavy doer. When at last he entered the\ncourt-yard, he found all dark, for the wind had extinguished the lanterns\nand torches, and there were no lights but in the windows of his mother's\nrooms.\n\nThe dogs in their open kennels now began to make themselves heard, but\ntheir tones were plaintive and whining, for the storm had frightened the\nbeasts; their howling cut the pioneer to the heart, for it reminded him\nof the poor slain Descher, whose deep voice he sadly missed; and when he\nwent into his own room he was met by a wild cry of lamentation from the\nEthiopian slave, for the dog which he had trained for Paaker's father,\nand which he had loved.\n\nThe pioneer threw himself on a seat, and ordered some water to be\nbrought, that he might cool his aching hand in it, according to the\nprescription of Nebsecht.\n\nAs soon as the old man saw the broken fingers, he gave another yell of\nwoe, and when Paaker ordered him to cease he asked:\n\n\"And is the man still alive who did that, and who killed Descher?\"\n\nPaaker nodded, and while he held his hand in the cooling water he looked\nsullenly at the ground. He felt miserable, and he asked himself why the\nstorm had not swamped the boat, and the Nile had not swallowed him.\nBitterness and rage filled his breast, and he wished he were a child, and\nmight cry. But his mood soon changed, his breath came quickly, his breast\nheaved, and an ominous light glowed in his eyes. He was not thinking of\nhis love, but of the revenge that was even dearer to him.\n\n\"That brood of Rameses!\" he muttered. \"I will sweep them all away\ntogether--the king, and Mena, and those haughty princes, and many more--I\nknow how. Only wait, only wait!\" and he flung up his right fist with a\nthreatening gesture.\n\nThe door opened at this instant, and his mother entered the room; the\nraging of the storm had drowned the sound of her steps, and as she\napproached her revengeful son, she called his name in horror at the mad\nwrath which was depicted in his countenance. Paaker started, and then\nsaid with apparent composure:\n\n\"Is it you, mother? It is near morning, and it is better to be asleep\nthan awake in such an hour.\"\n\n\"I could not rest in my rooms,\" answered Setchem. \"The storm howled so\nwildly, and I am so anxious, so frightfully unhappy--as I was before your\nfather died.\"\n\nThen stay with me,\" said Paaker affectionately, and lie down on my\ncouch.\"\n\n\"I did not come here to sleep,\" replied Setchem. \"I am too unhappy at all\nthat happened to you on the larding-steps, it is frightful! No, no, my\nson, it is not about your smashed hand, though it grieves me to see you\nin pain; it is about the king, and his anger when he hears of the\nquarrel. He favors you less than he did your lost father, I know it well.\nBut how wildly you smile, how wild you looked when I came in! It went\nthrough my bones and marrow.\"\n\nBoth were silent for a time, and listened to the furious raging of the\nstorm. At last Setchem spoke. \"There is something else,\" she said, \"which\ndisturbs my mind. I cannot forget the poet who spoke at the festival\nto-day, young Pentaur. His figure, his face, his movements, nay his very\nvoice, are exactly like those of your father at the time when he was\nyoung, and courted me. It is as if the Gods were fain to see the best man\nthat they ever took to themselves, walk before them a second time upon\nearth.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lady,\" said the black slave; \"no mortal eye ever saw such a\nlikeness. I saw him fighting in front of the paraschites' cottage, and he\nwas more like my dead master than ever. He swung the tent-post over his\nhead, as my lord used to swing his battle-axe.\"\n\n\"Be silent,\" cried Paaker, \"and get out-idiot! The priest is like my\nfather; I grant it, mother; but he is an insolent fellow, who offended me\ngrossly, and with whom I have to reckon--as with many others.\"\n\n\"How violent you are!\" interrupted his mother, \"and how full of\nbitterness and hatred. Your father was so sweet-tempered, and kind to\neverybody.\"\n\n\"Perhaps they are kind to me?\" retorted Paaker with a short laugh. \"Even\nthe Immortals spite me, and throw thorns in my path. But I will push them\naside with my own hand, and will attain what I desire without the help of\nthe Gods and overthrow all that oppose me.\"\n\n\"We cannot blow away a feather without the help of the Immortals,\"\nanswered Setchem. \"So your father used to say, who was a very different\nman both in body and mind from you! I tremble before you this evening,\nand at the curses you have uttered against the children of your lord and\nsovereign, your father's best friend.\"\n\n\"But my enemy,\" shouted Paaker. \"You will get nothing from me but curses.\nAnd the brood of Rameses shall learn whether your husband's son will let\nhimself be ill-used and scorned without revenging him self. I will fling\nthem into an abyss, and I will laugh when I see them writhing in the sand\nat my feet!\"\n\n\"Fool!\" cried Setchem, beside herself. \"I am but a woman, and have often\nblamed myself for being soft and weak; but as sure as I am faithful to\nyour dead father--who you are no more like than a bramble is like a\npalm-tree--so surely will I tear my love for you out of my heart if\nyou--if you--Now I see! now I know! Answer me-murderer! Where are the\nseven arrows with the wicked words which used to hang here? Where are the\narrows on which you had scrawled 'Death to Mena?'\"\n\nWith these words Setchem breathlessly started forward, but the pioneer\ndrew back as she confronted him, as in his youthful days when she\nthreatened to punish him for some misdemeanor. She followed him up,\ncaught him by the girdle, and in a hoarse voice repeated her question. He\nstood still, snatched her hand angrily from his belt, and said defiantly:\n\n\"I have put them in my quiver--and not for mere play. Now you know.\"\n\nIncapable of words, the maddened woman once more raised her hand against\nher degenerate son, but he put back her arm.\n\n\"I am no longer a child,\" he said, \"and I am master of this house. I will\ndo what I will, if a hundred women hindered me!\" and with these words he\npointed to the door. Setchem broke into loud sobs, and turned her back\nupon him; but at the door once more she turned to look at him. He had\nseated himself, and was resting his forehead on the table on which the\nbowl of cold water stood.\n\nSetchem fought a hard battle. At last once more through her choking tears\nshe called his name, opened her arms wide and exclaimed:\n\n\"Here I am--here I am! Come to my heart, only give up these hideous\nthoughts of revenge.\"\n\nBut Paaker did not move, he did not look up at her, he did not speak, he\nonly shook his head in negation. Setchem's hands fell, and she said\nsoftly:\n\n\"What did your father teach you out of the scriptures? 'Your highest\npraise consists in this, to reward your mother for what she has done for\nyou, in bringing you up, so that she may not raise her hands to God, nor\nHe hear her lamentation.'\"\n\nAt these words, Paaker sobbed aloud, but he did not look at his mother.\nShe called him tenderly by his name; then her eyes fell on his quiver,\nwhich lay on a bench with other arms. Her heart shrunk within her, and\nwith a trembling voice she exclaimed:\n\n\"I forbid this mad vengeance--do you hear? Will you give it up? You do\nnot move? No! you will not! Ye Gods, what can I do?\"\n\nShe wrung her hands in despair; then she hastily crossed the room,\nsnatched out one of the arrows, and strove to break it. Paaker sprang\nfrom his seat, and wrenched the weapon from her hand; the sharp point\nslightly scratched the skin, and dark drops of blood flowed from it, and\ndropped upon the floor.\n\nThe Mohar would have taken the wounded hand, for Setchem, who had the\nweakness of never being able to see blood flow--neither her own nor\nanybody's else--had turned as pale as death; but she pushed him from her,\nand as she spoke her gentle voice had a dull estranged tone.\n\n\"This hand,\" she said--\"a mother's hand wounded by her son--shall never\nagain grasp yours till you have sworn a solemn oath to put away from you\nall thoughts of revenge and murder, and not to disgrace your father's\nname. I have said it, and may his glorified spirit be my witness, and\ngive me strength to keep my word!\"\n\nPaaker had fallen on his knees, and was engaged in a terrible mental\nstruggle, while his mother slowly went towards the door. There again she\nstood still for a moment; she did not speak, but her eyes appealed to him\nonce more.\n\nIn vain. At last she left the room, and the wind slammed the door\nviolently behind her. Paaker groaned, and pressed his hand over his eyes.\n\n\"Mother, mother!\" he cried. \"I cannot go back--I cannot.\"\n\nA fearful gust of wind howled round the house, and drowned his voice, and\nthen he heard two tremendous claps, as if rocks had been hurled from\nheaven. He started up and went to the window, where the melancholy grey\ndawn was showing, in order to call the slaves. Soon they came trooping\nout, and the steward called out as soon as he saw him:\n\n\"The storm has blown down the masts at the great gate!\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried Paaker.\n\n\"Yes, indeed!\" answered the servant. \"They have been sawn through close\nto the ground. The matmaker no doubt did it, whose collar-bone was\nbroken. He has escaped in this fearful night.\"\n\n\"Let out the dogs,\" cried the Mohar. \"All who have legs run after the\nblackguard! Freedom, and five handfuls of gold for the man who brings him\nback.\"\n\nThe guests at the House of Seti had already gone to rest, when Ameni was\ninformed of the arrival of the sorceress, and he at once went into the\nhall, where Ani was waiting to see her; the Regent roused himself from a\ndeep reverie when he heard the high-priest's steps.\n\n\"Is she come?\" he asked hastily; when Ameni answered in the affirmative\nAni went on meanwhile carefully disentangling the disordered curls of his\nwig, and arranging his broad, collar-shaped necklace:\n\n\"The witch may exercise some influence over me; will you not give me your\nblessing to preserve me from her spells? It is true, I have on me this\nHouss'-eye, and this Isis-charm, but one never knows.\"\n\n\"My presence will be your safe-guard,\" said Ameni. \"But-no, of course you\nwish to speak with her alone. You shall be conducted to a room, which is\nprotected against all witchcraft by sacred texts. My brother,\" he\ncontinued to one of the serving-priests, \"let the witch be taken into one\nof the consecrated rooms, and then, when you have sprinkled the\nthreshold, lead my lord Ani thither.\"\n\nThe high-priest went away, and into a small room which adjoined the hall\nwhere the interview between the Regent and the old woman was about to\ntake place, and where the softest whisper spoken in the larger room could\nbe heard by means of an ingeniously contrived and invisible tube.\n\nWhen Ani saw the old woman, he started back is horror; her appearance at\nthis moment was, in fact, frightful. The storm had tossed and torn her\ngarment and tumbled all her thick, white hair, so that locks of it fell\nover her face. She leaned on a staff, and bending far forward looked\nsteadily at the Regent; and her eyes, red and smarting from the sand\nwhich the wind had flung in her face, seemed to glow as she fixed them on\nhis. She looked as a hyaena might when creeping to seize its prey, and\nAni felt a cold shiver and he heard her hoarse voice addressing him to\ngreet him and to represent that he had chosen a strange hour for\nrequiring her to speak with him.\n\nWhen she had thanked him for his promise of renewing her letter of\nfreedom, and had confirmed the statement that Paaker had had a\nlove-philter from her, she parted her hair from off her face--it occurred\nto her that she was a woman.\n\nThe Regent sat in an arm-chair, she stood before him; but the struggle\nwith the storm had tired her old limbs, and she begged Ani to permit her\nto be seated, as she had a long story to tell, which would put Paaker\ninto his power, so that he would find him as yielding as wax. The Regent\nsigned her to a corner of the room, and she squatted down on the\npavement.\n\nWhen he desired her to proceed with her story, she looked at the floor\nfor some time in silence, and then began, as if half to herself:\n\n\"I will tell thee, that I may find peace--I do not want, when I die, to\nbe buried unembalmed. Who knows but perhaps strange things may happen in\nthe other world, and I would not wish to miss them. I want to see him\nagain down there, even if it were in the seventh limbo of the damned.\nListen to me! But, before I speak, promise me that whatever I tell thee,\nthou wilt leave me in peace, and will see that I am embalmed when I am\ndead. Else I will not speak.\"\n\nAni bowed consent.\n\n\"No-no,\" she said. \"I will tell thee what to swear 'If I do not keep my\nword to Hekt--who gives the Mohar into my power--may the Spirits whom she\nrules, annihilate me before I mount the throne.' Do not be vexed, my\nlord--and say only 'Yes.' What I can tell, is worth more than a mere\nword.\"\n\n\"Well then--yes!\" cried the Regent, eager for the mighty revelation.\n\nThe old woman muttered a few unintelligible words; then she collected\nherself, stretched out her lean neck, and asked, as she fixed her\nsparkling eyes on the man before her:\n\n\"Did'st thou ever, when thou wert young, hear of the singer Beki? Well,\nlook at me, I am she.\"\n\nShe laughed loud and hoarsely, and drew her tattered robe across her\nbosom, as if half ashamed of her unpleasing person.\n\n\"Ay!\" she continued. \"Men find pleasure in grapes by treading them down,\nand when the must is drunk the skins are thrown on the dung-hill.\nGrape-skins, that is what I am--but you need not look at me so pitifully;\nI was grapes once, and poor and despised as I am now, no one can take\nfrom me what I have had and have been. Mine has been a life out of a\nthousand, a complete life, full to overflowing of joy and suffering, of\nlove and hate, of delight, despair, and revenge. Only to talk of it\nraises me to a seat by thy throne there. No, let me be, I am used now to\nsquatting on the ground; but I knew thou wouldst hear me to the end, for\nonce I too was one of you. Extremes meet in all things--I know it by\nexperience. The greatest men will hold out a hand to a beautiful woman,\nand time was when I could lead you all as with a rope. Shall I begin at\nthe beginning? Well--I seldom am in the mood for it now-a-days. Fifty\nyears ago I sang a song with this voice of mine; an old crow like me?\nsing! But so it was. My father was a man of rank, the governor of Abydos;\nwhen the first Rameses took possession of the throne my father was\nfaithful to the house of thy fathers, so the new king sent us all to the\ngold mines, and there they all died--my parents, brothers, and sisters. I\nonly survived by some miracle. As I was handsome and sang well, a music\nmaster took me into his band, brought me to Thebes, and wherever there\nwas a feast given in any great house, Beki was in request. Of flowers and\nmoney and tender looks I had a plentiful harvest; but I was proud and\ncold, and the misery of my people had made me bitter at an age when\nusually even bad liquor tastes of honey. Not one of all the gay young\nfellows, princes' sons, and nobles, dared to touch my hand. But my hour\nwas to come; the handsomest and noblest man of them all, and grave and\ndignified too--was Assa, the old Mohar's father, and grandfather of\nPentaur--no, I should say of Paaker, the pioneer; thou hast known him.\nWell, wherever I sang, he sat opposite me, and gazed at me, and I could\nnot take my eyes off him, and--thou canst tell the rest! no! Well, no\nwoman before or after me can ever love a man as I loved Assa. Why dost\nthou not laugh? It must seem odd, too, to hear such a thing from the\ntoothless mouth of an old witch. He is dead, long since dead. I hate him!\nand yet--wild as it sounds--I believe I love him yet. And he loved\nme--for two years; then he went to the war with Seti, and remained a long\ntime away, and when I saw him again he had courted the daughter of some\nrich and noble house. I was handsome enough still, but he never looked at\nme at the banquets. I came across him at least twenty times, but he\navoided me as if I were tainted with leprosy, and I began to fret, and\nfell ill of a fever. The doctors said it was all over with me, so I sent\nhim a letter in which there was nothing but these words: 'Beki is dying,\nand would like to see Assa once more,' and in the papyrus I put his first\npresent--a plain ring. And what was the answer? a handful of gold!\nGold--gold! Thou may'st believe me, when I say that the sight of it was\nmore torturing to my eyes than the iron with which they put out the eyes\nof criminals. Even now, when I think of it--But what do you men, you\nlords of rank and wealth, know of a breaking heart? When two or three of\nyou happen to meet, and if thou should'st tell the story, the most\nrespectable will say in a pompous voice: 'The man acted nobly indeed; he\nwas married, and his wife would have complained with justice if he had\ngone to see the singer.' Am I right or wrong? I know; not one will\nremember that the other was a woman, a feeling human being; it will occur\nto no one that his deed on the one hand saved an hour of discomfort, and\non the other wrought half a century of despair. Assa escaped his wife's\nscolding, but a thousand curses have fallen on him and on his house. How\nvirtuous he felt himself when he had crushed and poisoned a passionate\nheart that had never ceased to love him! Ay, and he would have come if he\nhad not still felt some love for me, if he had not misdoubted himself,\nand feared that the dying woman might once more light up the fire he had\nso carefully smothered and crushed out. I would have grieved for him--but\nthat he should send me money, money!--that I have never forgiven; that he\nshall atone for in his grandchild.\" The old woman spoke the last words as\nif in a dream, and without seeming to remember her hearer. Ani shuddered,\nas if he were in the presence of a mad woman, and he involuntarily drew\nhis chair back a little way.\n\nThe witch observed this; she took breath and went on: \"You lords, who\nwalk in high places, do not know how things go on in the depths beneath\nyou; you do not choose to know.\n\n\"But I will shorten my story. I got well, but I got out of my bed thin\nand voiceless. I had plenty of money, and I spent it in buying of\neveryone who professed magic in Thebes, potions to recover Assa's love\nfor me, or in paying for spells to be cast on him, or for magic drinks to\ndestroy him. I tried too to recover my voice, but the medicines I took\nfor it made it rougher not sweeter. Then an excommunicated priest, who\nwas famous among the magicians, took me into his house, and there I\nlearned many things; his old companions afterwards turned upon him, he\ncame over here into the Necropolis, and I came with him. When at last he\nwas taken and hanged, I remained in his cave, and myself took to\nwitchcraft. Children point their fingers at me, honest men and women\navoid me, I am an abomination to all men, nay to myself. And one only is\nguilty of all this ruin--the noblest gentleman in Thebes--the pious Assa.\n\n\"I had practised magic for several years, and had become learned in many\narts, when one day the gardener Sent, from whom I was accustomed to buy\nplants for my mixtures--he rents a plot of ground from the temple of\nSeti--Sent brought me a new-born child that had been born with six toes;\nI was to remove the supernumerary toe by my art. The pious mother of the\nchild was lying ill of fever, or she never would have allowed it; I took\nthe screaming little wretch--for such things are sometimes curable. The\nnext morning, a few hours after sunrise, there was a bustle in front of\nmy cave; a maid, evidently belonging to a noble house, was calling me.\nHer mistress, she said, had come with her to visit the tomb of her\nfathers, and there had been taken ill, and had given birth to a child.\nHer mistress was lying senseless--I must go at once, and help her. I took\nthe little six-toed brat in my cloak, told my slavegirl to follow me with\nwater, and soon found myself--as thou canst guess--at the tomb of Assa's\nancestors. The poor woman, who lay there in convulsions, was his\ndaughter-in-law Setchem. The baby, a boy, was as sound as a nut, but she\nwas evidently in great danger. I sent the maid with the litter, which was\nwaiting outside, to the temple here for help; the girl said that her\nmaster, the father of the child, was at the war, but that the\ngrandfather, the noble Assa, had promised to meet the lady Setchem at the\ntomb, and would shortly be coming; then she disappeared with the litter.\nI washed the child, and kissed it as if it were my own. Then I heard\ndistant steps in the valley, and the recollection of the moment when I,\nlying at the point of death, had received that gift of money from Assa\ncame over me, and then I do not know myself how it happened--I gave the\nnew-born grandchild of Assa to my slave-girl, and told her to carry it\nquickly to the cave, and I wrapped the little six-toed baby in my rags\nand held it in my lap. There I sat--and the minutes seemed hours, till\nAssa came up; and when he stood before me, grown grey, it is true, but\nstill handsome and upright--I put the gardener's boy, the six-toed brat,\ninto his very arms, and a thousand demons seemed to laugh hoarsely within\nme. He thanked me, he did not know me, and once more he offered me a\nhandful of gold. I took it, and I listened as the priest, who had come\nfrom the temple, prophesied all sorts of fine things for the little one,\nwho was born in so fortunate an hour; and then I went back into my cave,\nand there I laughed till I cried, though I do not know that the tears\nsprang from the laughter.\n\n\"A few days after I gave Assa's grandchild to the gardener, and told him\nthe sixth toe had come off; I had made a little wound on his foot to take\nin the bumpkin. So Assa's grandchild, the son of the Mohar, grew up as\nthe gardener's child, and received the name of Pentaur, and he was\nbrought up in the temple here, and is wonderfully like Assa; but the\ngardener's monstrous brat is the pioneer Paaker. That is the whole\nsecret.\"\n\nAni had listened in silence to the terrible old woman.\n\nWe are involuntarily committed to any one who can inform us of some\nabsorbing fact, and who knows how to make the information valuable. It\ndid not occur to the Regent to punish the witch for her crimes; he\nthought rather of his older friends' rapture when they talked of the\nsinger Beki's songs and beauty. He looked at the woman, and a cold shiver\nran through all his limbs.\n\n\"You may live in peace,\" he said at last; \"and when you die I will see to\nyour being embalmed; but give up your black arts. You must be rich, and,\nif you are not, say what you need. Indeed, I scarcely dare offer you\ngold--it excites your hatred, as I understand.\"\n\n\"I could take thine--but now let me go!\"\n\nShe got up, and went towards the door, but the Regent called to her to\nstop, and asked:\n\n\"Is Assa the father of your son, the little Nemu, the dwarf of the lady\nKatuti?\"\n\nThe witch laughed loudly. \"Is the little wretch like Assa or like Beki? I\npicked him up like many other children.\"\n\n\"But he is clever!\" said Ani.\n\n\"Ay-that he is. He has planned many a shrewd stroke, and is devoted to\nhis mistress. He will help thee to thy purpose, for he himself has one\ntoo.\"\n\n\"And that is--?\"\n\n\"Katuti will rise to greatness with thee, and to riches through Paaker,\nwho sets out to-morrow to make the woman he loves a widow.\"\n\n\"You know a great deal,\" said Ani meditatively, \"and I would ask you one\nthing more; though indeed your story has supplied the answer--but perhaps\nyou know more now than you did in your youth. Is there in truth any\neffectual love-philter?\"\n\n\"I will not deceive thee, for I desire that thou should'st keep thy word\nto me,\" replied Hekt. \"A love potion rarely has any effect, and never but\non women who have never before loved. If it is given to a woman whose\nheart is filled with the image of another man her passion for him only\nwill grow the stronger.\"\n\n\"Yet another,\" said Ani. \"Is there any way of destroying an enemy at a\ndistance?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the witch. \"Little people may do mean things, and great\npeople can let others do things that they cannot do themselves. My story\nhas stirred thy gall, and it seems to me that thou dost not love the poet\nPentaur. A smile! Well then--I have not lost sight of him, and I know he\nis grown up as proud and as handsome as Assa. He is wonderfully like him,\nand I could have loved him--have loved as this foolish heart had better\nnever have loved. It is strange! In many women, who come to me, I see how\ntheir hearts cling to the children of men who have abandoned them, and we\nwomen are all alike, in most things. But I will not let myself love\nAssa's grandchild--I must not. I will injure him, and help everyone that\npersecutes him; for though Assa is dead, the wrongs he did me live in me\nso long as I live myself. Pentaur's destiny must go on its course. If\nthou wilt have his life, consult with Nemu, for he hates him too, and he\nwill serve thee more effectually than I can with my vain spells and silly\nharmless brews. Now let me go home!\"\n\nA few hours later Ameni sent to invite the Regent to breakfast.\n\n\"Do you know who the witch Hekt is?\" asked Ani.\n\n\"Certainly--how should I not know? She is the singer Beki--the former\nenchantress of Thebes. May I ask what her communications were?\"\n\nAni thought it best not to confide the secret of Pentaur's birth to the\nhigh-priest, and answered evasively. Then Ameni begged to be allowed to\ngive him some information about the old woman, and how she had had a hand\nin the game; and he related to his hearer, with some omissions and\nvariations--as if it were a fact he had long known--the very story which\na few hours since he had overheard, and learned for the first time. Ani\nfeigned great astonishment, and agreed with the high-priest that Paaker\nshould not for the present be informed of his true origin.\n\n\"He is a strangely constituted man,\" said Ameni, \"and he is not incapable\nof playing us some unforeseen trick before he has done his part, if he is\ntold who he is.\"\n\nThe storm had exhausted itself, and the sky, though covered still with\ntorn and flying clouds, cleared by degrees, as the morning went on; a\nsharp coolness succeeded the hot blast, but the sun as it mounted higher\nand higher soon heated the air. On the roads and in the gardens lay\nuprooted trees and many slightly-built houses which had been blown down,\nwhile the tents in the strangers' quarter, and hundreds of light\npalm-thatched roofs, had been swept away.\n\nThe Regent was returning to Thebes, and with him went Ameni, who desired\nto ascertain by his own eyes what mischief the whirlwind had done to his\ngarden in the city. On the Nile they met Paaker's boat, and Ani caused it\nand his own to be stopped, while he requested Paaker to visit him shortly\nat the palace.\n\nThe high-priest's garden was in no respect inferior in beauty and extent\nto that of the Mohar. The ground had belonged to his family from the\nremotest generations, and his house was large and magnificent. He seated\nhimself in a shady arbor, to take a repast with his still handsome wife\nand his young and pretty daughters.\n\nHe consoled his wife for the various damage done by the hurricane,\npromised the girls to build a new and handsomer clove-cot in the place of\nthe one which had been blown down, and laughed and joked with them all;\nfor here the severe head of the House of Seti, the grave Superior of the\nNecropolis, became a simple man, an affectionate husband, a tender\nfather, a judicious friend, among his children, his flowers, and his\nbirds. His youngest daughter clung to his right arm, and an older one to\nhis left, when he rose from table to go with them to the poultry-yard.\n\nOn the way thither a servant announced to him that the Lady Setchem\nwished to see him.\n\n\"Take her to your mistress,\" he said.\n\nBut the slave--who held in his hand a handsome gift in money--explained\nthat the widow wished to speak with him alone.\n\n\"Can I never enjoy an hour's peace like other men?\" exclaimed Ameni\nannoyed. \"Your mistress can receive her, and she can wait with her till I\ncome. It is true, girls--is it not?--that I belong to you just now, and\nto the fowls, and ducks, and pigeons?\"\n\nHis youngest daughter kissed him, the second patted him affectionately,\nand they all three went gaily forward. An hour later he requested the\nLady Setchem to accompany him into the garden.\n\nThe poor, anxious, and frightened woman had resolved on this step with\nmuch difficulty; tears filled her kind eyes, as she communicated her\ntroubles to the high-priest.\n\n\"Thou art a wise counsellor,\" she said, \"and thou knowest well how my son\nhonors the Gods of the temple of Seti with gifts and offerings. He will\nnot listen to his mother, but thou hast influence with him. He meditates\nfrightful things, and if he cannot be terrified by threats of punishment\nfrom the Immortals, he will raise his hand against Mena, and perhaps--\"\n\n\"Against the king,\" interrupted Ameni gravely. \"I know it, and I will\nspeak to him.\"\n\n\"Thanks, oh a thousand thanks!\" cried the widow, and she seized the\nhigh-priests robe to kiss it. \"It was thou who soon after his birth didst\ntell my husband that he was born under a lucky star, and would grow to be\nan honor and an ornament to his house and to his country. And now--now he\nwill ruin himself in this world, and the next.\"\n\n\"What I foretold of your son,\" said Ameni, \"shall assuredly be fulfilled,\nfor the ways of the Gods are not as the ways of men.\"\n\n\"Thy words do me good!\" cried Setchem. \"None can tell what fearful terror\nweighed upon my heart, when I made up my mind to come here. But thou dost\nnot yet know all. The great masts of cedar, which Paaker sent from\nLebanon to Thebes to bear our banners, and ornament our gateway, were\nthrown to the ground at sunrise by the frightful wind.\"\n\n\"Thus shall your son's defiant spirit be broken,\" said Ameni; \"But for\nyou, if you have patience, new joys shall arise.\"\n\n\"I thank thee again,\" said Setchem. But something yet remains to be said.\nI know that I am wasting the time that thou dost devote to thy family,\nand I remember thy saying once that here in Thebes thou wert like a\npack-Horse with his load taken off, and free to wander over a green\nmeadow. I will not disturb thee much longer--but the Gods sent me such a\nwonderful vision. Paaker would not listen to me, and I went back into my\nroom full of sorrow; and when at last, after the sun had risen, I fell\nasleep for a few minutes, I dreamed I saw before me the poet Pentaur, who\nis wonderfully like my dead husband in appearance and in voice. Paaker\nwent up to him, and abused him violently, and threatened him with his\nfist; the priest raised his arms in prayer, just as I saw him yesterday\nat the festival--but not in devotion, but to seize Paaker, and wrestle\nwith him. The struggle did not last long, for Paaker seemed to shrink up,\nand lost his human form, and fell at the poet's feet--not my son, but a\nshapeless lump of clay such as the potter uses to make jars of.\"\n\n\"A strange dream!\" exclaimed Ameni, not without agitation. \"A very\nstrange dream, but it bodes you good. Clay, Setchem, is yielding, and\nclearly indicates that which the Gods prepare for you. The Immortals will\ngive you a new and a better son instead of the old one, but it is not\nrevealed to me by what means. Go now, and sacrifice to the Gods, and\ntrust to the wisdom of those who guide the life of the universe, and of\nall mortal creatures. Yet--I would give you one more word of advice. If\nPaaker comes to you repentant, receive him kindly, and let me know; but\nif he will not yield, close your rooms against him, and let him depart\nwithout taking leave of you.\"\n\nWhen Setchem, much encouraged, was gone away, Ameni said to himself:\n\n\"She will find splendid compensation for this coarse scoundrel, and she\nshall not spoil the tool we need to strike our blow. I have often doubted\nhow far dreams do, indeed, foretell the future, but to-day my faith in\nthem is increased. Certainly a mother's heart sees farther than that of\nany other human being.\"\n\nAt the door of her house Setchem came up with her son's chariot. They saw\neach other, but both looked away, for they could not meet affectionately,\nand would not meet coldly. As the horses outran the litter-bearers, the\nmother and son looked round at each other, their eyes met, and each felt\na stab in the heart.\n\nIn the evening the pioneer, after he had had an interview with the\nRegent, went to the temple of Seti to receive Ameni's blessing on all his\nundertakings. Then, after sacrificing in the tomb of his ancestors, he\nset out for Syria.\n\nJust as he was getting into his chariot, news was brought him that the\nmat-maker, who had sawn through the masts at the gate, had been caught.\n\n\"Put out his eyes!\" he cried; and these were the last words he spoke as\nhe quitted his home.\n\nSetchem looked after him for a long time; she had refused to bid him\nfarewell, and now she implored the Gods to turn his heart, and to\npreserve him from malice and crime.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nThree days had passed since the pioneer's departure, and although it was\nstill early, busy occupation was astir in Bent-Anat's work-rooms.\n\nThe ladies had passed the stormy night, which had succeeded the exciting\nevening of the festival, without sleep.\n\nNefert felt tired and sleepy the next morning, and begged the princess to\nintroduce her to her new duties for the first time next day; but the\nprincess spoke to her encouragingly, told her that no man should put off\ndoing right till the morrow, and urged her to follow her into her\nworkshop.\n\n\"We must both come to different minds,\" said she. \"I often shudder\ninvoluntarily, and feel as if I bore a brand--as if I had a stain here on\nmy shoulder where it was touched by Paaker's rough hand.\"\n\nThe first day of labor gave Nefert a good many difficulties to overcome;\non the second day the work she had begun already had a charm for her, and\nby the third she rejoiced in the little results of her care.\n\nBent-Anat had put her in the right place, for she had the direction of a\nlarge number of young girls and women, the daughters, wives, and widows\nof those Thebans who were at the war, or who had fallen in the field, who\nsorted and arranged the healing herbs. Her helpers sat in little circles\non the ground; in the midst of each lay a great heap of fresh and dry\nplants, and in front of each work-woman a number of parcels of the\nselected roots, leaves, and flowers.\n\nAn old physician presided over the whole, and had shown Nefert the first\nday the particular plants which he needed.\n\nThe wife of Mena, who was fond of flowers, had soon learnt them all, and\nshe taught willingly, for she loved children.\n\nShe soon had favorites among the children, and knew some as being\nindustrious and careful, others as idle and heedless:\n\n\"Ay! ay!\" she exclaimed, bending over a little half-naked maiden with\ngreat almond-shaped eyes. \"You are mixing them all together. Your father,\nas you tell me, is at the war. Suppose, now, an arrow were to strike him,\nand this plant, which would hurt him, were laid on the burning wound\ninstead of this other, which would do him good--that would be very sad.\"\n\nThe child nodded her head, and looked her work through again. Nefert\nturned to a little idler, and said: \"You are chattering again, and doing\nnothing, and yet your father is in the field. If he were ill now, and has\nno medicine, and if at night when he is asleep he dreams of you, and sees\nyou sitting idle, he may say to himself: 'Now I might get well, but my\nlittle girl at home does not love me, for she would rather sit with her\nhands in her lap than sort herbs for her sick father.'\"\n\nThen Nefert turned to a large group of the girls, who were sorting\nplants, and said: \"Do you, children, know the origin of all these\nwholesome, healing herbs? The good Horus went out to fight against Seth,\nthe murderer of his father, and the horrible enemy wounded Horus in the\neye in the struggle; but the son of Osiris conquered, for good always\nconquers evil. But when Isis saw the bad wound, she pressed her son's\nhead to her bosom, and her heart was as sad as that of any poor human\nmother that holds her suffering child in her arms. And she thought: 'How\neasy it is to give wounds, and how hard it is to heal them!' and so she\nwept; one tear after another fell on the earth, and wherever they wetted\nthe ground there sprang up a kindly healing plant.\"\n\n\"Isis is good!\" cried a little girl opposite to her. Mother says Isis\nloves children when they are good.\"\n\n\"Your mother is right,\" replied Nefert. \"Isis herself has her dear little\nson Horus; and every human being that dies, and that was good, becomes a\nchild again, and the Goddess makes it her own, and takes it to her\nbreast, and nurses it with her sister Nephthys till he grows up and can\nfight for his father.\"\n\nNefert observed that while she spoke one of the women was crying. She\nwent up to her, and learned that her husband and her son were both dead,\nthe former in Syria, and the latter after his return to Egypt. \"Poor\nsoul!\" said Nefert. \"Now you will be very careful, that the wounds of\nothers may be healed. I will tell you something more about Isis. She\nloved her husband Osiris dearly, as you did your dead husband, and I my\nhusband Mena, but he fell a victim to the cunning of Seth, and she could\nnot tell where to find the body that had been carried away, while you can\nvisit your husband in his grave. Then Isis went through the land\nlamenting, and ah! what was to become of Egypt, which received all its\nfruitfulness from Osiris. The sacred Nile was dried up, and not a blade\nof verdure was green on its banks. The Goddess grieved over this beyond\nwords, and one of her tears fell in the bed of the river, and immediately\nit began to rise. You know, of course, that each inundation arises from a\ntear of Isis. Thus a widow's sorrow may bring blessing to millions of\nhuman beings.\"\n\nThe woman had listened to her attentively, and when Nefert ceased\nspeaking she said:\n\n\"But I have still three little brats of my son's to feed, for his wife,\nwho was a washerwoman, was eaten by a crocodile while she was at work.\nPoor folks must work for themselves, and not for others. If the princess\ndid not pay us, I could not think of the wounds of the soldiers, who do\nnot belong to me. I am no longer strong, and four mouths to fill--\"\n\nNefert was shocked--as she often was in the course of her new duties--and\nbegged Bent-Gnat to raise the wages of the woman.\n\n\"Willingly,\" said the princess. \"How could I beat down such an assistant.\nCome now with me into the kitchen. I am having some fruit packed for my\nfather and brothers; there must be a box for Mena too.\" Nefert followed\nher royal friend, found them packing in one case the golden dates of the\noasis of Amon, and in another the dark dates of Nubia, the king's\nfavorite sort. \"Let me pack them!\" cried Nefert; she made the servants\nempty the box again, and re-arranged the various-colored dates in\ngraceful patterns, with other fruits preserved in sugar.\n\nBent-Anat looked on, and when she had finished she took her hand.\n\"Whatever your fingers have touched,\" she exclaimed, \"takes some pretty\naspect. Give me that scrap of papyrus; I shall put it in the case, and\nwrite upon it:\n\n\"'These were packed for king Rameses by his daughter's clever helpmate,\nthe wife of Mena.'\"\n\nAfter the mid-day rest the princess was called away, and Nefert remained\nfor some hours alone with the work-women.\n\nWhen the sun went down, and the busy crowd were about to leave, Nefert\ndetained them, and said: \"The Sun-bark is sinking behind the western\nhills; come, let us pray together for the king and for those we love in\nthe field. Each of you think of her own: you children of your fathers,\nyou women of your sons, and we wives of our distant husbands, and let us\nentreat Amon that they may return to us as certainly as the sun, which\nnow leaves us, will rise again to-morrow morning.\"\n\nNefert knelt down, and with her the women and the children.\n\nWhen they rose, a little girl went up to Nefert, and said, pulling her\ndress: \"Thou madest us kneel here yesterday, and already my mother is\nbetter, because I prayed for her.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" said Nefert, stroking the child's black hair.\n\nShe found Bent-Anat on the terrace meditatively gazing across to the\nNecropolis, which was fading into darkness before her eyes. She started\nwhen she heard the light footsteps of her friend.\n\n\"I am disturbing thee,\" said Nefert, about to retire.\n\n\"No, stay,\" said Bent-Anat. \"I thank the Gods that I have you, for my\nheart is sad--pitifully sad.\"\n\n\"I know where your thoughts were,\" said Nefert softly. \"Well?\" asked the\nprincess.\n\n\"With Pentaur.\"\n\n\"I think of him--always of him,\" replied the princess, \"and nothing else\noccupies my heart. I am no longer myself. What I think I ought not to\nthink, what I feel I ought not to feel, and yet, I cannot command it, and\nI think my heart would bleed to death if I tried to cut out those\nthoughts and feelings. I have behaved strangely, nay unbecomingly, and\nnow that which is hard to endure is hanging over me, something\nstrange-which will perhaps drive you from me back to your mother.\"\n\n\"I will share everything with you,\" cried Nefert. \"What is going to\nhappen? Are you then no longer the daughter of Rameses?\"\n\n\"I showed myself to the people as a woman of the people,\" answered\nBent-Anat, \"and I must take the consequences. Bek en Chunsu, the\nhigh-priest of Amon, has been with me, and I have had a long conversation\nwith him. The worthy man is good to me, I know, and my father ordered me\nto follow his advice before any one's. He showed me that I have erred\ndeeply. In a state of uncleanness I went into one of the temples of the\nNecropolis, and after I had once been into the paraschites' house and\nincurred Ameni's displeasure, I did it a second time. They know over\nthere all that took place at the festival. Now I must undergo\npurification, either with great solemnity at the hands of Ameni himself,\nbefore all the priests and nobles in the House of Seti, or by performing\na pilgrimage to the Emerald-Hathor, under whose influence the precious\nstones are hewn from the rocks, metals dug out, and purified by fire. The\nGoddess shall purge me from my uncleanness as metal is purged from the\ndross. At a day's journey and more from the mines, an abundant stream\nflows from the holy mountain-Sinai,\" as it is called by the Mentut--and\nnear it stands the sanctuary of the Goddess, in which priests grant\npurification. The journey is a long one, through the desert, and over the\nsea; But Bek en Chunsu advises me to venture it. Ameni, he says, is not\namiably disposed towards me, because I infringed the ordinance which he\nvalues above all others. I must submit to double severity, he says,\nbecause the people look first to those of the highest rank; and if I went\nunpunished for contempt of the sacred institutions there might be\nimitators among the crowd. He speaks in the name of the Gods, and they\nmeasure hearts with an equal measure. The ell-measure is the symbol of\nthe Goddess of Truth. I feel that it is all not unjust; and yet I find it\nhard to submit to the priest's decree, for I am the daughter of Rameses!\"\n\n\"Aye, indeed!\" exclaimed Nefert, \"and he is himself a God!\"\n\n\"But he taught me to respect the laws!\" interrupted the princess. \"I\ndiscussed another thing with Bek en Chunsu. You know I rejected the suit\nof the Regent. He must secretly be much vexed with me. That indeed would\nnot alarm me, but he is the guardian and protector appointed over me by\nmy father, and yet can I turn to him in confidence for counsel, and help?\nNo! I am still a woman, and Rameses' daughter! Sooner will I travel\nthrough a thousand deserts than humiliate my father through his child. By\nto-morrow I shall have decided; but, indeed, I have already decided to\nmake the journey, hard as it is to leave much that is here. Do not fear,\ndear! but you are too tender for such a journey, and to such a distance;\nI might--\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Nefert. \"I am going, too, if you were going to the four\npillars of heaven, at the limits of the earth. You have given me a new\nlife, and the little sprout that is green within me would wither again if\nI had to return to my mother. Only she or I can be in our house, and I\nwill re-enter it only with Mena.\"\n\n\"It is settled--I must go,\" said the princess. \"Oh! if only my father\nwere not so far off, and that I could consult him!\"\n\n\"Yes! the war, and always the war!\" sighed Nefert. \"Why do not men rest\ncontent with what they have, and prefer the quiet peace, which makes life\nlovely, to idle fame?\"\n\n\"Would they be men? should we love them?\" cried Bent-Anat eagerly. \"Is\nnot the mind of the Gods, too, bent on war? Did you ever see a more\nsublime sight than Pentaur, on that evening when he brandished the stake\nhe had pulled up, and exposed his life to protect an innocent girl who\nwas in danger?\"\n\n\"I dared not once look down into the court,\" said Nefert. \"I was in such\nan agony of mind. But his loud cry still rings in my ears.\"\n\n\"So rings the war cry of heroes before whom the enemy quails!\" exclaimed\nBent-Anat.\n\n\"Aye, truly so rings the war cry!\" said prince Rameri, who had entered\nhis sister's half-dark room unperceived by the two women.\n\nThe princess turned to the boy. \"How you frightened me!\" she said.\n\n\"You!\" said Rameri astonished.\n\n\"Yes, me. I used to have a stout heart, but since that evening I\nfrequently tremble, and an agony of terror comes over me, I do not know\nwhy. I believe some demon commands me.\"\n\n\"You command, wherever you go; and no one commands you,\" cried Rameri.\n\"The excitement and tumult in the valley, and on the quay, still agitate\nyou. I grind my teeth myself when I remember how they turned me out of\nthe school, and how Paaker set the dog at us. I have gone through a great\ndeal today too.\"\n\n\"Where were you so long?\" asked Bent-Anat. \"My uncle Ani commanded that\nyou should not leave the palace.\"\n\n\"I shall be eighteen years old next month,\" said the prince, \"and need no\ntutor.\"\n\n\"But your father--\" said Bent-Anat.\n\n\"My father\"--interrupted the boy, \"he little knows the Regent. But I\nshall write to him what I have today heard said by different people. They\nwere to have sworn allegiance to Ani at that very feast in the valley,\nand it is quite openly said that Ani is aiming at the throne, and intends\nto depose the king. You are right, it is madness--but there must be\nsomething behind it all.\"\n\nNefert turned pale, and Bent-Anat asked for particulars. The prince\nrepeated all he had gathered, and added laughing: \"Ani depose my father!\nIt is as if I tried to snatch the star of Isis from the sky to light the\nlamps--which are much wanted here.\"\n\n\"It is more comfortable in the dark,\" said Nefert. \"No, let us have\nlights,\" said Bent-Anat. \"It is better to talk when we can see each other\nface to face. I have no belief in the foolish talk of the people; but you\nare right--we must bring it to my fathers knowledge.\"\n\n\"I heard the wildest gossip in the City of the Dead,\" said Rameri.\n\n\"You ventured over there? How very wrong!\"\n\n\"I disguised myself a little, and I have good news for you. Pretty Uarda\nis much better. She received your present, and they have a house of their\nown again. Close to the one that was burnt down, there was a tumbled-down\nhovel, which her father soon put together again; he is a bearded soldier,\nwho is as much like her as a hedgehog is like a white dove. I offered her\nto work in the palace for you with the other girls, for good wages, but\nshe would not; for she has to wait on her sick grandmother, and she is\nproud, and will not serve any one.\"\n\n\"It seems you were a long time with the paraschites' people,\" said\nBent-Anat reprovingly. \"I should have thought that what has happened to\nme might have served you as a warning.\"\n\n\"I will not be better than you!\" cried the boy. \"Besides, the paraschites\nis dead, and Uarda's father is a respectable soldier, who can defile no\none. I kept a long way from the old woman. To-morrow I am going again. I\npromised her.\"\n\n\"Promised who?\" asked his sister.\n\n\"Who but Uarda? She loves flowers, and since the rose which you gave her\nshe has not seen one. I have ordered the gardener to cut me a basket full\nof roses to-morrow morning, and shall take them to her myself.\"\n\n\"That you will not!\" cried Bent-Anat. \"You are still but half a\nchild--and, for the girl's sake too, you must give it up.\"\n\n\"We only gossip together,\" said the prince coloring, \"and no one shall\nrecognize me. But certainly, if you mean that, I will leave the basket of\nroses, and go to her alone. No--sister, I will not be forbidden this; she\nis so charming, so white, so gentle, and her voice is so soft and sweet!\nAnd she has little feet, as small as--what shall I say?--as small and\ngraceful as Nefert's hand. We talked most about Pentaur. She knows his\nfather, who is a gardener, and knows a great deal about him. Only think!\nshe says the poet cannot be the son of his parents, but a good spirit\nthat has come down on earth--perhaps a God. At first she was very timid,\nbut when I spoke of Pentaur she grew eager; her reverence for him is\nalmost idolatry--and that vexed me.\"\n\n\"You would rather she should reverence you so,\" said Nefert smiling.\n\n\"Not at all,\" cried Rameri. \"But I helped to save her, and I am so happy\nwhen I am sitting with her, that to-morrow, I am resolved, I will put a\nflower in her hair. It is red certainly, but as thick as yours,\nBent-Anat, and it must be delightful to unfasten it and stroke it.\"\n\nThe ladies exchanged a glance of intelligence, and the princess said\ndecidedly:\n\n\"You will not go to the City of the Dead to-morrow, my little son!\"\n\n\"That we will see, my little mother!\" He answered laughing; then he\nturned grave.\n\n\"I saw my school-friend Anana too,\" he said. \"Injustice reigns in the\nHouse of Seti! Pentaur is in prison, and yesterday evening they sat in\njudgment upon him. My uncle was present, and would have pounced upon the\npoet, but Ameni took him under his protection. What was finally decided,\nthe pupils could not learn, but it must have been something bad, for the\nson of the Treasurer heard Ameni saying, after the sitting, to old\nGagabu: 'Punishment he deserves, but I will not let him be overwhelmed;'\nand he can have meant no one but Pentaur. To-morrow I will go over, and\nlearn more; something frightful, I am afraid--several years of\nimprisonment is the least that will happen to him.\"\n\nBent-Anat had turned very pale.\n\n\"And whatever they do to him,\" she cried, \"he will suffer for my sake!\nOh, ye omnipotent Gods, help him--help me, be merciful to us both!\"\n\nShe covered her face with her hands, and left the room. Rameri asked\nNefert:\n\nWhat can have come to my sister? she seems quite strange to me; and you\ntoo are not the same as you used to be.\"\n\n\"We both have to find our way in new circumstances.\"\n\n\"What are they?\"\n\n\"That I cannot explain to you!--but it appears to me that you soon may\nexperience something of the same kind. Rumeri, do not go again to the\nparaschites.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nEarly on the following clay the dwarf Nemu went past the restored hut of\nUarda's father--in which he had formerly lived with his wife--with a man\nin a long coarse robe, the steward of some noble family. They went\ntowards old Hekt's cave-dwelling.\n\n\"I would beg thee to wait down here a moment, noble lord,\" said the\ndwarf, \"while I announce thee to my mother.\"\n\n\"That sounds very grand,\" said the other. \"However, so be it. But stay!\nThe old woman is not to call me by my name or by my title. She is to call\nme 'steward'--that no one may know. But, indeed, no one would recognize\nme in this dress.\"\n\nNemu hastened to the cave, but before he reached his mother she called\nout: \"Do not keep my lord waiting--I know him well.\"\n\nNemu laid his finger to his lips.\n\n\"You are to call him steward,\" said he.\n\n\"Good,\" muttered the old woman. \"The ostrich puts his head under his\nfeathers when he does not want to be seen.\"\n\n\"Was the young prince long with Uarda yesterday?\"\n\n\"No, you fool,\" laughed the witch, \"the children play together. Rameri is\na kid without horns, but who fancies he knows where they ought to grow.\nPentaur is a more dangerous rival with the red-headed girl. Make haste,\nnow; these stewards must not be kept waiting!\"\n\nThe old woman gave the dwarf a push, and he hurried back to Ani, while\nshe carried the child, tied to his board, into the cave, and threw the\nsack over him.\n\nA few minutes later the Regent stood before her. She bowed before him\nwith a demeanor that was more like the singer Beki than the sorceress\nHekt, and begged him to take the only seat she possessed.\n\nWhen, with a wave of his hand, he declined to sit down, she said:\n\n\"Yes--yes--be seated! then thou wilt not be seen from the valley, but be\nscreened by the rocks close by. Why hast thou chosen this hour for thy\nvisit?\"\n\n\"Because the matter presses of which I wish to speak,\" answered Ani; \"and\nin the evening I might easily be challenged by the watch. My disguise is\ngood. Under this robe I wear my usual dress. From this I shall go to the\ntomb of my father, where I shall take off this coarse thing, and these\nother disfigurements, and shall wait for my chariot, which is already\nordered. I shall tell people I had made a vow to visit the grave humbly,\nand on foot, which I have now fulfilled.\"\n\n\"Well planned,\" muttered the old woman.\n\nAni pointed to the dwarf, and said politely: \"Your pupil.\"\n\nSince her narrative the sorceress was no longer a mere witch in his eyes.\nThe old woman understood this, and saluted him with a curtsey of such\ncourtly formality, that a tame raven at her feet opened his black beak\nwide, and uttered a loud scream. She threw a bit of cheese within the\ncave, and the bird hopped after it, flapping his clipped wings, and was\nsilent.\n\n\"I have to speak to you about Pentaur,\" said Ani. The old woman's eyes\nflashed, and she eagerly asked, \"What of him?\"\n\n\"I have reasons,\" answered the Regent, \"for regarding him as dangerous to\nme. He stands in my way. He has committed many crimes, even murder; but\nhe is in favor at the House of Seti, and they would willingly let him go\nunpunished. They have the right of sitting in judgment on each other, and\nI cannot interfere with their decisions; the day before yesterday they\npronounced their sentence. They would send him to the quarries of Chennu.\n\n   [Chennu is now Gebel Silsileh; the quarries there are of enormous\n   extent, and almost all the sandstone used for building the temples\n   of Upper Egypt was brought from thence. The Nile is narrower there\n   than above, and large stela, were erected there by Rameses II. his\n   successor Mernephtah, on which were inscribed beautiful hymns to the\n   Nile, and lists of the sacrifices to be offered at the Nile-\n   festivals. These inscriptions can be restored by comparison, and my\n   friend Stern and I had the satisfaction of doing this on the spot\n   (Zeitschrift fur Agyptishe Sprache, 1873, p. 129.)]\n\n\"All my objections were disregarded, and now Nemu, go over to the grave\nof Anienophis, and wait there for me--I wish to speak to your mother\nalone.\"\n\nNemu bowed, and then went down the slope, disappointed, it is true, but\nsure of learning later what the two had discussed together.\n\nWhen the little man had disappeared, Ani asked:\n\n\"Have you still a heart true to the old royal house, to which your\nparents were so faithfully attached?\" The old woman nodded.\n\n\"Then you will not refuse your help towards its restoration. You\nunderstand how necessary the priesthood is to me, and I have sworn not to\nmake any attempt on Pentaur's life; but, I repeat it, he stands in my\nway. I have my spies in the House of Seti, and I know through them what\nthe sending of the poet to Chennu really means. For a time they will let\nhim hew sandstone, and that will only improve his health, for he is as\nsturdy as a tree. In Chennu, as you know, besides the quarries there is\nthe great college of priests, which is in close alliance with the temple\nof Seti. When the flood begins to rise, and they hold the great\nNile-festival in Chennu, the priests there have the right of taking three\nof the criminals who are working in the quarries into their house as\nservants. Naturally they will, next year, choose Pentaur, set him at\nliberty--and I shall be laughed at.\"\n\n\"Well considered!\" said aid Hekt.\n\n\"I have taken counsel with myself, with Katuti, and even with Nemu,\"\ncontinued Ani, \"but all that they have suggested, though certainly\npracticable, was unadvisable, and at any rate must have led to\nconjectures which I must now avoid. What is your opinion?\"\n\n\"Assa's race must be exterminated!\" muttered the old woman hoarsely.\n\nShe gazed at the ground, reflecting.\n\n\"Let the boat be scuttled,\" she said at last, \"and sink with the chained\nprisoners before it reaches Chennu.\"\n\n\"No-no; I thought of that myself, and Nemu too advised it,\" cried Ani.\n\"That has been done a hundred times, and Ameni will regard me as a\nperjurer, for I have sworn not to attempt Pentaur's life.\"\n\n\"To be sure, thou hast sworn that, and men keep their word--to each\nother. Wait a moment, how would this do? Let the ship reach Chennu with\nthe prisoners, but, by a secret order to the captain, pass the quarries\nin the night, and hasten on as fast as possible as far as Ethiopia. From\nSuan,--[The modern Assuan at the first cataract.]--the prisoners may be\nconducted through the desert to the gold workings. Four weeks or even\neight may pass before it is known here what has happened. If Ameni\nattacks thee about it, thou wilt be very angry at this oversight, and\ncanst swear by all the Gods of the heavens and of the abyss, that thou\nhast not attempted Pentaur's life. More weeks will pass in enquiries.\nMeanwhile do thy best, and Paaker do his, and thou art king. An oath is\neasily broken by a sceptre, and if thou wilt positively keep thy word\nleave Pentaur at the gold mines. None have yet returned from thence. My\nfather's and my brother's bones have bleached there.\"\n\n\"But Ameni will never believe in the mistake,\" cried Ani, anxiously\ninterrupting the witch.\n\n\"Then admit that thou gavest the order,\" exclaimed Hekt. \"Explain that\nthou hadst learned what they proposed doing with Pentaur at Chennu, and\nthat thy word indeed was kept, but that a criminal could not be left\nunpunished. They will make further enquiries, and if Assa's grandson is\nfound still living thou wilt be justified. Follow my advice, if thou wilt\nprove thyself a good steward of thy house, and master of its\ninheritance.\"\n\n\"It will not do,\" said the Regent. \"I need Ameni's support--not for\nto-day and to-morrow only. I will not become his blind tool; but he must\nbelieve that I am.\"\n\nThe old woman shrugged her shoulders, rose, went into her cave, and\nbrought out a phial.\n\n\"Take this,\" she said. \"Four drops of it in his wine infallibly destroys\nthe drinker's senses; try the drink on a slave, and thou wilt see how\neffectual it is.\"\n\n\"What shall I do with it?\" asked Ani.\n\n\"Justify thyself to Ameni,\" said the witch laughing. \"Order the ship's\ncaptain to come to thee as soon as he returns; entertain him with\nwine--and when Ameni sees the distracted wretch, why should he not\nbelieve that in a fit of craziness he sailed past Chennu?\"\n\n\"That is clever! that is splendid!\" exclaimed Ani. \"What is once\nremarkable never becomes common. You were the greatest of singers--you\nare now the wisest of women--my lady Beki.\"\n\n\"I am no longer Beki, I am Hekt,\" said the old woman shortly.\n\n\"As you will! In truth, if I had ever heard Beki's singing, I should be\nbound to still greater gratitude to her than I now am to Hekt,\" said Ani\nsmiling. \"Still, I cannot quit the wisest woman in Thebes without asking\nher one serious question. Is it given to you to read the future? Have you\nmeans at your command whereby you can see whether the great stake--you\nknow which I mean--shall be won or lost?\"\n\nHekt looked at the ground, and said after reflecting a short time:\n\n\"I cannot decide with certainty, but thy affair stands well. Look at\nthese two hawks with the chain on their feet. They take their food from\nno one but me. The one that is moulting, with closed, grey eyelids, is\nRameses; the smart, smooth one, with shining eyes, is thyself. It comes\nto this--which of you lives the longest. So far, thou hast the\nadvantage.\"\n\nAni cast an evil glance at the king's sick hawk; but Hekt said: \"Both\nmust be treated exactly alike. Fate will not be done violence to.\"\n\n\"Feed them well,\" exclaimed the Regent; he threw a purse into Hekt's lap,\nand added, as he prepared to leave her: \"If anything happens to either of\nthe birds let me know at once by Nemu.\"\n\nAni went down the hill, and walked towards the neighboring tomb of his\nfather; but Hekt laughed as she looked after him, and muttered to\nherself:\n\n\"Now the fool will take care of me for the sake of his bird! That\nsmiling, spiritless, indolent-minded man would rule Egypt! Am I then so\nmuch wiser than other folks, or do none but fools come to consult Hekt?\nBut Rameses chose Ani to represent him! perhaps because he thinks that\nthose who are not particularly clever are not particularly dangerous. If\nthat is what he thought, he was not wise, for no one usually is so\nself-confident and insolent as just such an idiot.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Age when usually even bad liquor tastes of honey\n     How easy it is to give wounds, and how hard it is to heal\n     Kisra called wine the soap of sorrow\n     No one so self-confident and insolent as just such an idiot\n     The mother of foresight looks backwards\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nVolume 8.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nAn hour later, Ani, in rich attire, left his father's tomb, and drove his\nbrilliant chariot past the witch's cave, and the little cottage of\nUarda's father.\n\nNemu squatted on the step, the dwarf's usual place. The little man looked\ndown at the lately rebuilt hut, and ground his teeth, when, through an\nopening in the hedge, he saw the white robe of a man, who was sitting by\nUarda.\n\nThe pretty child's visitor was prince Rameri, who had crossed the Nile in\nthe early morning, dressed as a young scribe of the treasury, to obtain\nnews of Pentaur--and to stick a rose into Uarda's hair.\n\nThis purpose was, indeed, the more important of the two, for the other\nmust, in point of time at any rate, be the second.\n\nHe found it necessary to excuse himself to his own conscience with a\nvariety of cogent reasons. In the first place the rose, which lay\ncarefully secured in a fold of his robe, ran great danger of fading if he\nfirst waited for his companions near the temple of Seti; next, a hasty\nreturn from thence to Thebes might prove necessary; and finally, it\nseemed to him not impossible that Bent-Anat might send a master of the\nceremonies after him, and if that happened any delay might frustrate his\npurpose.\n\nHis heart beat loud and violently, not for love of the maiden, but\nbecause he felt he was doing wrong. The spot that he must tread was\nunclean, and he had, for the first time, told a lie. He had given himself\nout to Uarda to be a noble youth of Bent-Anat's train, and, as one\nfalsehood usually entails another, in answer to her questions he had\ngiven her false information as to his parents and his life.\n\nHad evil more power over him in this unclean spot than in the House of\nSeti, and at his father's? It might very well be so, for all disturbance\nin nature and men was the work of Seth, and how wild was the storm in his\nbreast! And yet! He wished nothing but good to come of it to Uarda. She\nwas so fair and sweet--like some child of the Gods: and certainly the\nwhite maiden must have been stolen from some one, and could not possibly\nbelong to the unclean people.\n\nWhen the prince entered the court of the hut, Uarda was not to be seen,\nbut he soon heard her voice singing out through the open door. She came\nout into the air, for the dog barked furiously at Rameri. When she saw\nthe prince, she started, and said:\n\n\"You are here already again, and yet I warned you. My grandmother in\nthere is the wife of a paraschites.\"\n\n\"I am not come to visit her,\" retorted the prince, \"but you only; and you\ndo not belong to them, of that I am convinced. No roses grow in the\ndesert.\"\n\n\"And yet: am my father's child,\" said Uarda decidedly, \"and my poor dead\ngrandfather's grandchild. Certainly I belong to them, and those that do\nnot think me good enough for them may keep away.\"\n\nWith these words she turned to re-enter the house; but Rameri seized her\nhand, and held her back, saying:\n\n\"How cruel you are! I tried to save you, and came to see you before I\nthought that you might--and, indeed, you are quite unlike the people whom\nyou call your relations. You must not misunderstand me; but it would be\nhorrible to me to believe that you, who are so beautiful, and as white as\na lily, have any part in the hideous curse. You charm every one, even my\nmistress, Bent-Anat, and it seems to me impossible--\"\n\n\"That I should belong to the unclean!--say it out,\" said Uarda softly,\nand casting down her eyes.\n\nThen she continued more excitedly: \"But I tell you, the curse is unjust,\nfor a better man never lived than my grandfather was.\"\n\nTears sprang from her eyes, and Rameri said: \"I fully believe it; and it\nmust be very difficult to continue good when every one despises and\nscorns one; I at least can be brought to no good by blame, though I can\nby praise. Certainly people are obliged to meet me and mine with\nrespect.\"\n\n\"And us with contempt!\" exclaimed Uarda. \"But I will tell you something.\nIf a man is sure that he is good, it is all the same to him whether he be\ndespised or honored by other people. Nay--we may be prouder than you; for\nyou great folks must often say to yourselves that you are worth less than\nmen value you at, and we know that we are worth more.\"\n\n\"I have often thought that of you,\" exclaimed Rameri, \"and there is one\nwho recognizes your worth; and that is I. Even if it were otherwise, I\nmust always--always think of you.\"\n\n\"I have thought of you too,\" said Uarda. \"Just now, when I was sitting\nwith my sick grandmother, it passed through my mind how nice it would be\nif I had a brother just like you. Do you know what I should do if you\nwere my brother?\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"I should buy you a chariot and horse, and you should go away to the\nking's war.\"\n\n\"Are you so rich?\" asked Rameri smiling.\n\n\"Oh yes!\" answered Uarda. \"To be sure, I have not been rich for more than\nan hour. Can you read?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Only think, when I was ill they sent a doctor to me from the House of\nSeti. He was very clever, but a strange man. He often looked into my eyes\nlike a drunken man, and he stammered when he spoke.\"\n\n\"Is his name Nebsecht?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"Yes, Nebsecht. He planned strange things with grandfather, and after\nPentaur and you had saved us in the frightful attack upon us he\ninterceded for us. Since then he has not come again, for I was already\nmuch better. Now to-day, about two hours ago, the dog barked, and an old\nman, a stranger, came up to me, and said he was Nebsecht's brother, and\nhad a great deal of money in his charge for me. He gave me a ring too,\nand said that he would pay the money to him, who took the ring to him\nfrom me. Then he read this letter to me.\"\n\nRameri took the letter and read. \"Nebsecht to the fair Uarda.\"\n\n\"Nebsecht greets Uarda, and informs her that he owed her grandfather in\nOsiris, Pinem--whose body the kolchytes are embalming like that of a\nnoble--a sum of a thousand gold rings. These he has entrusted to his\nbrother Teta to hold ready for her at any moment. She may trust Teta\nentirely, for he is honest, and ask him for money whenever she needs it.\nIt would be best that she should ask Teta to take care of the money for\nher, and to buy her a house and field; then she could remove into it, and\nlive in it free from care with her grandmother. She may wait a year, and\nthen she may choose a husband. Nebsecht loves Uarda much. If at the end\nof thirteen months he has not been to see her, she had better marry whom\nshe will; but not before she has shown the jewel left her by her mother\nto the king's interpreter.\"\n\n\"How strange!\" exclaimed Rameri. \"Who would have given the singular\nphysician, who always wore such dirty clothes, credit for such\ngenerosity? But what is this jewel that you have?\"\n\nUarda opened her shirt, and showed the prince the sparkling ornament.\n\n\"Those are diamonds---it is very valuable!\" cried the prince; \"and there\nin the middle on the onyx there are sharply engraved signs. I cannot read\nthem, but I will show them to the interpreter. Did your mother wear\nthat?\"\n\n\"My father found it on her when she died,\" said Uarda. \"She came to Egypt\nas a prisoner of war, and was as white as I am, but dumb, so she could\nnot tell us the name of her home.\"\n\n\"She belonged to some great house among the foreigners, and the children\ninherit from the mother,\" cried the prince joyfully. \"You are a princess,\nUarda! Oh! how glad I am, and how much I love you!\"\n\nThe girl smiled and said, \"Now you will not be afraid to touch the\ndaughter of the unclean.\"\n\n\"You are cruel,\" replied the prince. \"Shall I tell you what I determined\non yesterday,--what would not let me sleep last night,--and for what I\ncame here today?\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\nRameri took a most beautiful white rose out of his robe and said:\n\n\"It is very childish, but I thought how it would be if I might put this\nflower with my own hands into your shining hair. May I?\"\n\n\"It is a splendid rose! I never saw such a fine one.\"\n\n\"It is for my haughty princess. Do pray let me dress your hair! It is\nlike silk from Tyre, like a swan's breast, like golden star-beams--there,\nit is fixed safely! Nay, leave it so. If the seven Hathors could see you,\nthey would be jealous, for you are fairer than all of them.\"\n\n\"How you flatter!\" said Uarda, shyly blushing, and looking into his\nsparkling eyes.\n\n\"Uarda,\" said the prince, pressing her hand to his heart. \"I have now but\none wish. Feel how my heart hammers and beats. I believe it will never\nrest again till you--yes, Uarda--till you let me give you one, only one,\nkiss.\"\n\nThe girl drew back.\n\n\"Now,\" she said seriously. \"Now I see what you want. Old Hekt knows men,\nand she warned me.\"\n\n\"Who is Hekt, and what can she know of me?\"\n\n\"She told me that the time would come when a man would try to make\nfriends with me. He would look into my eyes, and if mine met his, then he\nwould ask to kiss me. But I must refuse him, because if I liked him to\nkiss me he would seize my soul, and take it from me, and I must wander,\nlike the restless ghosts, which the abyss rejects, and the storm whirls\nbefore it, and the sea will not cover, and the sky will not receive,\nsoulless to the end of my days. Go away--for I cannot refuse you the\nkiss, and yet I would not wander restless, and without a soul!\"\n\n\"Is the old woman who told you that a good woman?\" asked Rameri.\n\nUarda shook her head.\n\n\"She cannot be good,\" cried the prince. \"For she has spoken a falsehood.\nI will not seize your soul; I will give you mine to be yours, and you\nshall give me yours to be mine, and so we shall neither of us be\npoorer--but both richer!\"\n\n\"I should like to believe it,\" said Uarda thoughtfully, \"and I have\nthought the same kind of thing. When I was strong, I often had to go late\nin the evening to fetch water from the landing-place where the great\nwater-wheel stands. Thousands of drops fall from the earthenware pails as\nit turns, and in each you can see the reflection of a moon, yet there is\nonly one in the sky. Then I thought to myself, so it must be with the\nlove in our hearts. We have but one heart, and yet we pour it out into\nother hearts without its losing in strength or in warmth. I thought of my\ngrandmother, of my father, of little Scherau, of the Gods, and of\nPentaur. Now I should like to give you a part of it too.\"\n\n\"Only a part?\" asked Rameri.\n\n\"Well, the whole will be reflected in you, you know,\" said Uarda, \"as the\nwhole moon is reflected in each drop.\"\n\n\"It shall!\" cried the prince, clasping the trembling girl in his arms,\nand the two young souls were united in their first kiss.\n\n\"Now do go!\" Uarda entreated.\n\n\"Let me stay a little while,\" said Rameri. \"Sit down here by me on the\nbench in front of the house. The hedge shelters us, and besides this\nvalley is now deserted, and there are no passers by.\"\n\n\"We are doing what is not right,\" said Uarda. \"If it were right we should\nnot want to hide ourselves.\"\n\n\"Do you call that wrong which the priests perform in the Holy of Holies?\"\nasked the prince. \"And yet it is concealed from all eyes.\"\n\n\"How you can argue!\" laughed Uarda. \"That shows you can write, and are\none of his disciples.\"\n\n\"His, his!\" exclaimed Rameri. \"You mean Pentaur. He was always the\ndearest to me of all my teachers, but it vexes me when you speak of him\nas if he were more to you than I and every one else. The poet, you said,\nwas one of the drops in which the moon of your soul finds a\nreflection--and I will not divide it with many.\"\n\n\"How you are talking!\" said Uarda. \"Do you not honor your father, and the\nGods? I love no one else as I do you--and what I felt when you kissed\nme--that was not like moon-light, but like this hot mid-day sun. When I\nthought of you I had no peace. I will confess to you now, that twenty\ntimes I looked out of the door, and asked whether my preserver--the kind,\ncurly-headed boy--would really come again, or whether he despised a poor\ngirl like me? You came, and I am so happy, and I could enjoy myself with\nyou to my heart's content. Be kind again--or I will pull your hair!\"\n\n\"You!\" cried Rameri. \"You cannot hurt with your little hands, though you\ncan with your tongue. Pentaur is much wiser and better than I, you owe\nmuch to him, and nevertheless I--\"\n\n\"Let that rest,\" interrupted the girl, growing grave. \"He is not a man\nlike other men. If he asked to kiss me, I should crumble into dust, as\nashes dried in the sun crumble if you touch them with a finger, and I\nshould be as much afraid of his lips as of a lion's. Though you may laugh\nat it, I shall always believe that he is one of the Immortals. His own\nfather told me that a great wonder was shown to him the very day after\nhis birth. Old Hekt has often sent me to the gardener with a message to\nenquire after his son, and though the man is rough he is kind. At first\nhe was not friendly, but when he saw how much I liked his flowers he grew\nfond of me, and set me to work to tie wreaths and bunches, and to carry\nthem to his customers. As we sat together, laying the flowers side by\nside, he constantly told me something about his son, and his beauty and\ngoodness and wisdom. When he was quite a little boy he could write poems,\nand he learned to read before any one had shown him how. The high-priest\nAmeni heard of it and took him to the House of Seti, and there he\nimproved, to the astonishment of the gardener; not long ago I went\nthrough the garden with the old man. He talked of Pentaur as usual, and\nthen stood still before a noble shrub with broad leaves, and said, My son\nis like this plant, which has grown up close to me, and I know not how. I\nlaid the seed in the soil, with others that I bought over there in\nThebes; no one knows where it came from, and yet it is my own. It\ncertainly is not a native of Egypt; and is not Pentaur as high above me\nand his mother and his brothers, as this shrub is above the other\nflowers? We are all small and bony, and he is tall and slim; our skin is\ndark and his is rosy; our speech is hoarse, his as sweet as a song. I\nbelieve he is a child of the Gods that the Immortals have laid in my\nhomely house. Who knows their decrees?' And then I often saw Pentaur at\nthe festivals, and asked myself which of the other priests of the temple\ncame near him in height and dignity? I took him for a God, and when I saw\nhim who saved my life overcome a whole mob with superhuman strength must\nI not regard him as a superior Being? I look up to him as to one of them;\nbut I could never look in his eyes as I do in yours. It would not make my\nblood flow faster, it would freeze it in my veins. How can I say what I\nmean! my soul looks straight out, and it finds you; but to find him it\nmust look up to the heavens. You are a fresh rose-garland with which I\ncrown myself--he is a sacred persea-tree before which I bow.\"\n\nRameri listened to her in silence, and then said, \"I am still young, and\nhave done nothing yet, but the time shall come in which you shall look up\nto me too as to a tree, not perhaps a sacred tree, but as to a sycamore\nunder whose shade we love to rest. I am no longer gay; I will leave you\nfor I have a serious duty to fulfil. Pentaur is a complete man, and I\nwill be one too. But you shall be the rose-garland to grace me. Men who\ncan be compared to flowers disgust me!\"\n\nThe prince rose, and offered Uarda his hand.\n\n\"You have a strong hand,\" said the girl. \"You will be a noble man, and\nwork for good and great ends; only look, my fingers are quite red with\nbeing held so tightly. But they too are not quite useless. They have\nnever done anything very hard certainly, but what they tend flourishes,\nand grandmother says they are 'lucky.' Look at the lovely lilies and the\npomegrenate bush in that corner. Grandfather brought the earth here from\nthe Nile, Pentaur's father gave me the seeds, and each little plant that\nventured to show a green shoot through the soil I sheltered and nursed\nand watered, though I had to fetch the water in my little pitcher, till\nit was vigorous, and thanked me with flowers. Take this pomegranate\nflower. It is the first my tree has borne; and it is very strange, when\nthe bud first began to lengthen and swell my grandmother said, 'Now your\nheart will soon begin to bud and love.' I know now what she meant, and\nboth the first flowers belong to you--the red one here off the tree, and\nthe other, which you cannot see, but which glows as brightly as this\ndoes.\"\n\nRameri pressed the scarlet blossom to his lips, and stretched out his\nhand toward Uarda; but she shrank back, for a little figure slipped\nthrough an opening in the hedge.\n\nIt was Scherau.\n\nHis pretty little face glowed with his quick run, and his breath was\ngone. For a few minutes he tried in vain for words, and looked anxiously\nat the prince.\n\nUarda saw that something unusual agitated him; she spoke to him kindly,\nsaying that if he wished to speak to her alone he need not be afraid of\nRameri, for he was her best friend.\n\n\"But it does not concern you and me,\" replied the child, \"but the good,\nholy father Pentaur, who was so kind to me, and who saved your life.\"\n\n\"I am a great friend of Pentaur,\" said the prince. \"Is it not true,\nUarda? He may speak with confidence before me.\"\n\n\"I may?\" said Scherau, \"that is well. I have slipped away; Hekt may come\nback at any moment, and if she sees that I have taken myself off I shall\nget a beating and nothing to eat.\"\n\n\"Who is this horrible Hekt?\" asked Rameri indignantly.\n\n\"That Uarda can tell you by and by,\" said the little one hurriedly. \"Now\nonly listen. She laid me on my board in the cave, and threw a sack over\nme, and first came Nemu, and then another man, whom she spoke to as\nSteward. She talked to him a long time. At first I did not listen, but\nthen I caught the name of Pentaur, and I got my head out, and now I\nunderstand it all. The steward declared that the good Pentaur was wicked,\nand stood in his way, and he said that Ameni was going to send him to the\nquarries at Chennu, but that that was much too small a punishment. Then\nHekt advised him to give a secret commission to the captain of the ship\nto go beyond Chennu, to the frightful mountain-mines, of which she has\noften told me, for her father and her brother were tormented to death\nthere.\"\n\n\"None ever return from thence,\" said the prince. \"But go on.\"\n\n\"What came next, I only half understood, but they spoke of some drink\nthat makes people mad. Oh! what I see and hear!--I would he contentedly\non my board all my life long, but all else is too horrible--I wish that I\nwere dead.\"\n\nAnd the child began to cry bitterly.\n\nUarda, whose cheeks had turned pale, patted him affectionately; but\nRameri exclaimed:\n\n\"It is frightful! unheard of! But who was the steward? did you not hear\nhis name? Collect yourself, little man, and stop crying. It is a case of\nlife and death. Who was the scoundrel? Did she not name him? Try to\nremember.\"\n\nScherau bit his red lips, and tried for composure. His tears ceased, and\nsuddenly he exclaimed, as he put his hand into the breast of his ragged\nlittle garment: \"Stay, perhaps you will know him again--I made him!\"\n\n\"You did what?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"I made him,\" repeated the little artist, and he carefully brought out an\nobject wrapped up in a scrap of rag, \"I could just see his head quite\nclearly from one side all the time he was speaking, and my clay lay by\nme. I always must model something when my mind is excited, and this time\nI quickly made his face, and as the image was successful, I kept it about\nme to show to the master when Hekt was out.\"\n\nWhile he spoke he had carefully unwrapped the figure with trembling\nfingers, and had given it to Uarda.\n\n\"Ani!\" cried the prince. \"He, and no other! Who could have thought it!\nWhat spite has he against Pentaur? What is the priest to him?\"\n\nFor a moment he reflected, then he struck his hand against his forehead.\n\n\"Fool that I am!\" he exclaimed vehemently. \"Child that I am! of course,\nof course; I see it all. Ani asked for Bent-Anat's hand, and she--now\nthat I love you, Uarda, I understand what ails her. Away with deceit! I\nwill tell you no more lies, Uarda. I am no page of honor to Bent-Anat; I\nam her brother, and king Rameses' own son. Do not cover your face with\nyour hands, Uarda, for if I had not seen your mother's jewel, and if I\nwere not only a prince, but Horus himself, the son of Isis, I must have\nloved you, and would not have given you up. But now other things have to\nbe done besides lingering with you; now I will show you that I am a man,\nnow that Pentaur is to be saved. Farewell, Uarda, and think of me!\"\n\nHe would have hurried off, but Scherau held him by the robe, and said\ntimidly: Thou sayst thou art Rameses' son. Hekt spoke of him too. She\ncompared him to our moulting hawk.\"\n\n\"She shall soon feel the talons of the royal eagle,\" cried Rameri. \"Once\nmore, farewell!\"\n\nHe gave Uarda his hand, she pressed it passionately to her lips, but he\ndrew it away, kissed her forehead, and was gone.\n\nThe maiden looked after him pale and speechless. She saw another man\nhastening towards her, and recognizing him as her father, she went\nquickly to meet him. The soldier had come to take leave of her, he had to\nescort some prisoners.\n\n\"To Chennu?\" asked Uarda.\n\n\"No, to the north,\" replied the man.\n\nHis daughter now related what she had heard, and asked whether he could\nhelp the priest, who had saved her.\n\n\"If I had money, if I had money!\" muttered the soldier to himself.\n\n\"We have some,\" cried Uarda; she told him of Nebsecht's gift, and said:\n\"Take me over the Nile, and in two hours you will have enough to make a\nman rich.\n\n   [It may be observed that among the Egyptian women were qualified to\n   own and dispose of property. For example a papyrus (vii) in the\n   Louvre contains an agreement between Asklepias (called Semmuthis),\n   the daughter or maid-servant of a corpse-dresser of Thebes, who is\n   the debtor, and Arsiesis, the creditor, the son of a kolchytes; both\n   therefore are of the same rank as Uarda.]\n\nBut no; I cannot leave my sick grandmother. You yourself take the ring,\nand remember that Pentaur is being punished for having dared to protect\nus.\"\n\n\"I remember it,\" said the soldier. \"I have but one life, but I will\nwillingly give it to save his. I cannot devise schemes, but I know\nsomething, and if it succeeds he need not go to the gold-mines. I will\nput the wine-flask aside--give me a drink of water, for the next few\nhours I must keep a sober head.\"\n\n\"There is the water, and I will pour in a mouthful of wine. Will you come\nback and bring me news?\"\n\n\"That will not do, for we set sail at midnight, but if some one returns\nto you with the ring you will know that what I propose has succeeded.\"\n\nUarda went into the hut, her father followed her; he took leave of his\nsick mother and of his daughter. When they went out of doors again, he\nsaid: \"You have to live on the princess's gift till I return, and I do\nnot want half of the physician's present. But where is your pomegranate\nblossom?\"\n\n\"I have picked it and preserved it in a safe place.\"\n\n\"Strange things are women!\" muttered the bearded man; he tenderly kissed\nhis child's forehead, and returned to the Nile down the road by which he\nhad come.\n\nThe prince meanwhile had hurried on, and enquired in the harbor of the\nNecropolis where the vessel destined for Chennu was lying--for the ships\nloaded with prisoners were accustomed to sail from this side of the\nriver, starting at night. Then he was ferried over the river, and\nhastened to Bent-Anat. He found her and Nefert in unusual excitement, for\nthe faithful chamberlain had learned--through some friends of the king in\nAni's suite--that the Regent had kept back all the letters intended for\nSyria, and among them those of the royal family.\n\nA lord in waiting, who was devoted to the king, had been encouraged by\nthe chamberlain to communicate to Bent-Anat other things, which hardly\nallowed any doubts as to the ambitious projects of her uncle; she was\nalso exhorted to be on her guard with Nefert, whose mother was the\nconfidential adviser of the Regent.\n\nBent-Anat smiled at this warning, and sent at once a message to Ani to\ninform him that she was ready to undertake the pilgrimage to the\n\"Emerald-Hathor,\" and to be purified in the sanctuary of that Goddess.\n\nShe purposed sending a message to her father from thence, and if he\npermitted it, joining him at the camp.\n\nShe imparted this plan to her friend, and Nefert thought any road best\nthat would take her to her husband.\n\nRameri was soon initiated into all this, and in return he told them all\nhe had learned, and let Bent-Anat guess that he had read her secret.\n\nSo dignified, so grave, were the conduct and the speech of the boy who\nhad so lately been an overhearing mad-cap, that Bent-Anat thought to\nherself that the danger of their house had suddenly ripened a boy into a\nman.\n\nShe had in fact no objection to raise to his arrangements. He proposed to\ntravel after sunset, with a few faithful servants on swift horses as far\nas Keft, and from thence ride fast across the desert to the Red Sea,\nwhere they could take a Phoenician ship, and sail to Aila. From thence\nthey would cross the peninsula of Sinai, and strive to reach the Egyptian\narmy by forced marches, and make the king acquainted with Ani's criminal\nattempts.\n\nTo Bent-Anat was given the task of rescuing Pentaur, with the help of the\nfaithful chamberlain.\n\nMoney was fortunately not wanting, as the high treasurer was on their\nside. All depended on their inducing the captain to stop at Chennu; the\npoet's fate would there, at the worst, be endurable. At the same time, a\ntrustworthy messenger was to be sent to the governor of Chennu,\ncommanding him in the name of the king to detain every ship that might\npass the narrows of Chennu by night, and to prevent any of the prisoners\nthat had been condemned to the quarries from being smuggled on to\nEthiopia.\n\nRameri took leave of the two women, and he succeeded in leaving Thebes\nunobserved.\n\nBent-Anat knelt in prayer before the images of her mother in Osiris, of\nHathor, and of the guardian Gods of her house, till the chamberlain\nreturned, and told her that he had persuaded the captain of the ship to\nstop at Chennu, and to conceal from Ani that he had betrayed his charge.\n\nThe princess breathed more freely, for she had come to a resolution that\nif the chamberlain had failed in his mission, she would cross over to the\nNecropolis forbid the departure of the vessel, and in the last extremity\nrouse the people, who were devoted to her, against Ani.\n\nThe following morning the Lady Katuti craved permission of the princess\nto see her daughter. Bent-Anat did not show herself to the widow, whose\nefforts failed to keep her daughter from accompanying the princess on her\njourney, or to induce her to return home. Angry and uneasy, the indignant\nmother hastened to Ani, and implored him to keep Nefert at home by force;\nbut the Regent wished to avoid attracting attention, and to let Bent-Anat\nset out with a feeling of complete security.\n\n\"Do not be uneasy,\" he said. \"I will give the ladies a trustworthy\nescort, who will keep them at the Sanctuary of the 'Emerald-Hathor' till\nall is settled. There you can deliver Nefert to Paaker, if you still like\nto have him for a son-in-law after hearing several things that I have\nlearned. As for me, in the end I may induce my haughty niece to look up\ninstead of down; I may be her second love, though for that matter she\ncertainly is not my first.\"\n\nOn the following day the princess set out.\n\nAni took leave of her with kindly formality, which she returned with\ncoolness. The priesthood of the temple of Amon, with old Bek en Chunsu at\ntheir head, escorted her to the harbor. The people on the banks shouted\nBent-Anat's name with a thousand blessings, but many insulting words were\nto be heard also.\n\nThe pilgrim's Nile-boat was followed by two others, full of soldiers, who\naccompanied the ladies \"to protect them.\"\n\nThe south-wind filled the sails, and carried the little procession\nswiftly down the stream. The princess looked now towards the palace of\nher fathers, now towards the tombs and temples of the Necropolis. At last\neven the colossus of Anienophis disappeared, and the last houses of\nThebes. The brave maiden sighed deeply, and tears rolled down her checks.\nShe felt as if she were flying after a lost battle, and yet not wholly\ndiscouraged, but hoping for future victory. As she turned to go to the\ncabin, a veiled girl stepped up to her, took the veil from her face, and\nsaid: \"Pardon me, princess; I am Uarda, whom thou didst run over, and to\nwhom thou hast since been so good. My grandmother is dead, and I am quite\nalone. I slipped in among thy maid-servants, for I wish to follow thee,\nand to obey all thy commands. Only do not send me away.\"\n\n\"Stay, dear child,\" said the princess, laying her hand on her hair.\n\nThen, struck by its wonderful beauty, she remembered her brother, and his\nwish to place a rose in Uarda's shining tresses.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\nTwo months had past since Bent-Anat's departure from Thebes, and the\nimprisonment of Pentaur. Ant-Baba is the name of the valley, in the\nwestern half of the peninsula of Sinai,\n\n   [I have described in detail the peninsula of Sinai, its history, and\n   the sacred places on it, in my book \"Durch Gosen zum Sinai,\"\n   published in 1872. In depicting this scenery in the present\n   romance, I have endeavored to reproduce the reality as closely as\n   possible. He who has wandered through this wonderful mountain\n   wilderness can never forget it. The valley now called \"Laba,\" bore\n   the same name in the time of the Pharaohs.]\n\nthrough which a long procession of human beings, and of beasts of burden,\nwended their way.\n\nIt was winter, and yet the mid-day sun sent down glowing rays, which were\nreflected from the naked rocks. In front of the caravan marched a company\nof Libyan soldiers, and another brought up the rear. Each man was armed\nwith a dagger and battle-axe, a shield and a lance, and was ready to use\nhis weapons; for those whom they were escorting were prisoners from the\nemerald-mines, who had been convoyed to the shores of the Red Sea to\ncarry thither the produce of the mines, and had received, as a\nreturn-load, provisions which had arrived from Egypt, and which were to\nbe carried to the storehouses of the mountain mines. Bent and panting,\nthey made their way along. Each prisoner had a copper chain riveted round\nhis ankles, and torn rags hanging round their loins, were the only\nclothing of these unhappy beings, who, gasping under the weight of the\nsacks they had to carry, kept their staring eyes fixed on the ground. If\none of them threatened to sink altogether under his burden, he was\nrefreshed by the whip of one of the horsemen, who accompanied the\ncaravan. Many a one found it hard to choose whether he could best endure\nthe suffering of mere endurance, or the torture of the lash.\n\nNo one spoke a word, neither the prisoners nor their guards; and even\nthose who were flogged did not cry out, for their powers were exhausted,\nand in the souls of their drivers there was no more impulse of pity than\nthere was a green herb on the rocks by the way. This melancholy\nprocession moved silently onwards, like a procession of phantoms, and the\near was only made aware of it when now and then a low groan broke from\none of the victims.\n\nThe sandy path, trodden by their naked feet, gave no sound, the mountains\nseemed to withhold their shade, the light of clay was a torment--every\nthing far and near seemed inimical to the living. Not a plant, not a\ncreeping thing, showed itself against the weird forms of the barren grey\nand brown rocks, and no soaring bird tempted the oppressed wretches to\nraise their eyes to heaven.\n\nIn the noontide heat of the previous day they had started with their\nloads from the harbor-creek. For two hours they had followed the shore of\nthe glistening, blue-green sea,\n\n   [The Red Sea--in Hebrew and Coptic the reedy sea--is of a lovely\n   blue green color. According to the Ancients it was named red either\n   from its red banks or from the Erythraeans, who were called the red\n   people. On an early inscription it is called \"the water of the Red\n   country.\" See \"Durch Gosen zum Sinai.\"]\n\nthen they had climbed a rocky shoulder and crossed a small plateau. They\nhad paused for their night's rest in the gorge which led to the mines;\nthe guides and soldiers lighted fires, grouped themselves round them, and\nlay down to sleep under the shelter of a cleft in the rocks; the\nprisoners stretched themselves on the earth in the middle of the valley\nwithout any shelter, and shivering with the cold which suddenly succeeded\nthe glowing heat of the day. The benumbed wretches now looked forward to\nthe crushing misery of the morning's labor as eagerly as, a few hours\nsince, they had longed for the night, and for rest.\n\nLentil-broth and hard bread in abundance, but a very small quantity of\nwater was given to them before they started; then they set out through\nthe gorge, which grew hotter and hotter, and through ravines where they\ncould pass only one by one. Every now and then it seemed as if the path\ncame to an end, but each time it found an outlet, and went on--as endless\nas the torment of the wayfarers.\n\nMighty walls of rock composed the view, looking as if they were formed of\nangular masses of hewn stone piled up in rows; and of all the miners one,\nand one only, had eyes for these curious structures of the ever-various\nhand of Nature.\n\nThis one had broader shoulders than his companions, and his burden\nWeighed on him comparatively lightly. \"In this solitude,\" thought he,\n\"which repels man, and forbids his passing his life here, the Chnemu, the\nlaborers who form the world, have spared themselves the trouble of\nfilling up the seams, and rounding off the corners. How is it that Man\nshould have dedicated this hideous land--in which even the human heart\nseems to be hardened against all pity--to the merciful Hathor? Perhaps\nbecause it so sorely stands in need of the joy and peace which the loving\ngoddess alone can bestow.\"\n\n\"Keep the line, Huni!\" shouted a driver.\n\nThe man thus addressed, closed up to the next man, the panting leech\nNebsecht. We know the other stronger prisoner. It is Pentaur, who had\nbeen entered as Huni on the lists of mine-laborers, and was called by\nthat name. The file moved on; at every step the ascent grew more rugged.\nRed and black fragments of stone, broken as small as if by the hand of\nman, lay in great heaps, or strewed the path which led up the almost\nperpendicular cliff by imperceptible degrees. Here another gorge opened\nbefore them, and this time there seemed to be no outlet.\n\n\"Load the asses less!\" cried the captain of the escort to the prisoners.\nThen he turned to the soldiers, and ordered them, when the beasts were\neased, to put the extra burthens on the men. Putting forth their utmost\nstrength, the overloaded men labored up the steep and hardly\ndistinguishable mountain path.\n\nThe man in front of Pentaur, a lean old man, when half way up the\nhill-side, fell in a heap under his load, and a driver, who in a narrow\ndefile could not reach the bearers, threw a stone at him to urge him to a\nrenewed effort.\n\nThe old man cried out at the blow, and at the cry--the paraschites\nstricken down with stones--his own struggle with the mob--and the\nappearance of Bent Anat flashed into Pentaur's memory. Pity and a sense\nof his own healthy vigor prompted him to energy; he hastily snatched the\nsack from the shoulders of the old man, threw it over his own, helped up\nthe fallen wretch, and finally men and beasts succeeded in mounting the\nrocky wall.\n\nThe pulses throbbed in Pentaur's temples, and he shuddered with horror,\nas he looked down from the height of the pass into the abyss below, and\nround upon the countless pinnacles and peaks, cliffs and precipices, in\nmany-colored rocks-white and grey, sulphurous yellow, blood-red and\nominous black. He recalled the sacred lake of Muth in Thebes, round which\nsat a hundred statues of the lion-headed Goddess in black basalt, each on\na pedestal; and the rocky peaks, which surrounded the valley at his feet,\nseemed to put on a semblance of life and to move and open their yawning\njaws; through the wild rush of blood in his ears he fancied he heard them\nroar, and the load beyond his strength which he carried gave him a\nsensation as though their clutch was on his breast.\n\nNevertheless he reached the goal.\n\nThe other prisoners flung their loads from their shoulders, and threw\nthemselves down to rest. Mechanically he did the same: his pulses beat\nmore calmly, by degrees the visions faded from his senses, he saw and\nheard once more, and his brain recovered its balance. The old man and\nNebsecht were lying beside him.\n\nHis grey-haired companion rubbed the swollen veins in his neck, and\ncalled down all the blessings of the Gods upon his head; but the captain\nof the caravan cut him short, exclaiming:\n\n\"You have strength for three, Huni; farther on, we will load you more\nheavily.\"\n\n\"How much the kindly Gods care for our prayers for the blessing of\nothers!\" exclaimed Nebsecht. \"How well they know how to reward a good\naction!\"\n\n\"I am rewarded enough,\" said Pentaur, looking kindly at the old man. \"But\nyou, you everlasting scoffer--you look pale. How do you feel?\"\n\n\"As if I were one of those donkeys there,\" replied the naturalist. \"My\nknees shake like theirs, and I think and I wish neither more nor less\nthan they do; that is to say--I would we were in our stalls.\"\n\n\"If you can think,\" said Pentaur smiling, \"you are not so very bad.\"\n\n\"I had a good thought just now, when you were staring up into the sky.\nThe intellect, say the priestly sages, is a vivifying breath of the\neternal spirit, and our soul is the mould or core for the mass of matter\nwhich we call a human being. I sought the spirit at first in the heart,\nthen in the brain; but now I know that it resides in the arms and legs,\nfor when I have strained them I find thought is impossible. I am too\ntired to enter on further evidence, but for the future I shall treat my\nlegs with the utmost consideration.\"\n\n\"Quarrelling again you two? On again, men!\" cried the driver.\n\nThe weary wretches rose slowly, the beasts were loaded, and on went the\npitiable procession, so as to reach the mines before sunset.\n\nThe destination of the travellers was a wide valley, closed in by two\nhigh and rocky mountain-slopes; it was called Ta Mafka by the Egyptians,\nDophka by the Hebrews. The southern cliff-wall consisted of dark granite,\nthe northern of red sandstone; in a distant branch of the valley lay the\nmines in which copper was found. In the midst of the valley rose a hill,\nsurrounded by a wall, and crowned with small stone houses, for the guard,\nthe officers, and the overseers. According to the old regulations, they\nwere without roofs, but as many deaths and much sickness had occurred\namong the workmen in consequence of the cold nights, they had been\nslightly sheltered with palm-branches brought from the oasis of the\nAlnalckites, at no great distance.\n\nOn the uttermost peak of the hill, where it was most exposed to the wind,\nwere the smelting furnaces, and a manufactory where a peculiar green\nglass was prepared, which was brought into the market under the name of\nMafkat, that is to say, emerald. The genuine precious stone was found\nfarther to the south, on the western shore of the Red Sea, and was highly\nprized in Egypt.\n\nOur friends had already for more than a month belonged to the\nmining-community of the Mafkat valley, and Pentaur had never learned how\nit was that he had been brought hither with his companion Nebsecht,\ninstead of going to the sandstone quarries of Chennu.\n\nThat Uarda's father had effected this change was beyond a doubt, and the\npoet trusted the rough but honest soldier who still kept near him, and\ngave him credit for the best intentions, although he had only spoken to\nhim once since their departure from Thebes.\n\nThat was the first night, when he had come up to Pentaur, and whispered:\n\"I am looking after you. You will find the physician Nebsecht here; but\ntreat each other as enemies rather than as friends, if you do not wish to\nbe parted.\"\n\nPentaur had communicated the soldier's advice to Nebsecht, and he had\nfollowed it in his own way.\n\nIt afforded him a secret pleasure to see how Pentaur's life contradicted\nthe belief in a just and beneficent ordering of the destinies of men; and\nthe more he and the poet were oppressed, the more bitter was the irony,\noften amounting to extravagance, with which the mocking sceptic attacked\nhim.\n\nHe loved Pentaur, for the poet had in his keeping the key which alone\ncould give admission to the beautiful world which lay locked up in his\nown soul; but yet it was easy to him, if he thought they were observed,\nto play his part, and to overwhelm Pentaur with words which, to the\ndrivers, were devoid of meaning, and which made them laugh by the strange\nblundering fashion in which he stammered them out.\n\n\"A belabored husk of the divine self-consciousness.\" \"An advocate of\nrighteousness hit on the mouth.\" \"A juggler who makes as much of this\nworst of all possible worlds as if it were the best.\" \"An admirer of the\nlovely color of his blue bruises.\" These and other terms of invective,\nintelligible only to himself and his butt, he could always pour out in\nnew combinations, exciting Pentaur to sharp and often witty rejoinders,\nequally unintelligible to the uninitiated.\n\nFrequently their sparring took the form of a serious discussion, which\nserved a double purpose; first their minds, accustomed to serious\nthought, found exercise in spite of the murderous pressure of the burden\nof forced labor, and secondly, they were supposed really to be enemies.\nThey slept in the same court-yard, and contrived, now and then, to\nexchange a few words in secret; but by day Nebsecht worked in the\nturquoise-diggings, and Pentaur in the mines, for the careful chipping\nout of the precious stones from their stony matrix was the work best\nsuited to the slight physician, while Pentaur's giant-strength was fitted\nfor hewing the ore out of the hard rock. The drivers often looked in\nsurprise at his powerful strokes, as he flung his pick against the stone.\n\nThe stupendous images that in such moments of wild energy rose before the\npoet's soul, the fearful or enchanting tones that rang in his spirit's\near-none could guess at.\n\nUsually his excited fancy showed him the form of Bent-Anat, surrounded by\na host of men--and these he seemed to fell to the earth, one-by-one,\nas-he hewed the rock. Often in the middle of his work he would stop,\nthrow down his pick-axe, and spread out his arms--but only to drop them\nwith a deep groan, and wipe the sweat from his brow.\n\nThe overseers did not know what to think of this powerful youth, who\noften was as gentle as a child, and then seemed possessed of that demon\nto which so many of the convicts fell victims. He had indeed become a\nriddle to himself; for how was it that he--the gardener's son, brought up\nin the peaceful temple of Seti--ever since that night by the house of the\nparaschites had had such a perpetual craving for conflict and struggle?\n\nThe weary gangs were gone to rest; a bright fire still blazed in front of\nthe house of the superintendent of the mines, and round it squatted in a\ncircle the overseers and the subalterns of the troops.\n\n\"Put the wine-jar round again,\" said the captain, \"for we must hold grave\ncouncil. Yesterday I had orders from the Regent to send half the guard to\nPelusium. He requires soldiers, but we are so few in number that if the\nconvicts knew it they might make short work of us, even without arms.\nThere are stones enough hereabouts, and by day they have their hammer and\nchisel. Things are worst among the Hebrews in the copper-mines; they are\na refractory crew that must be held tight. You know me well, fear is\nunknown to me--but I feel great anxiety. The last fuel is now burning in\nthis fire, and the smelting furnaces and the glass-foundry must not stand\nidle. Tomorrow we must send men to Raphidim\n\n   [The oasis at the foot of Horeb, where the Jews under Joshua's\n   command conquered the Amalekites, while Aaron and Hur held up Moses'\n   arms. Exodus 17, 8.]\n\nto obtain charcoal from the Amalekites. They owe us a hundred loads\nstill. Load the prisoners with some copper, to make them tired and the\nnatives civil. What can we do to procure what we want, and yet not to\nweaken the forces here too much?\"\n\nVarious opinions were given, and at last it was settled that a small\ndivision, guarded by a few soldiers, should be sent out every day to\nsupply only the daily need for charcoal.\n\nIt was suggested that the most dangerous of the convicts should be\nfettered together in pairs to perform their duties.\n\nThe superintendent was of opinion that two strong men fettered together\nwould be more to be feared if only they acted in concert.\n\n\"Then chain a strong one to a weak one,\" said the chief accountant of the\nmines, whom the Egyptians called the 'scribe of the metals.' \"And fetter\nthose together who are enemies.\"\n\n\"The colossal Huni, for instance, to that puny spat row, the stuttering\nNebsecht,\" said a subaltern.\n\n\"I was thinking of that very couple,\" said the accountant laughing.\n\nThree other couples were selected, at first with some laughter, but\nfinally with serious consideration, and Uarda's father was sent with the\ndrivers as an escort.\n\nOn the following morning Pentaur and Nebsecht were fettered together with\na copper chain, and when the sun was at its height four pairs of\nprisoners, heavily loaded with copper, set out for the Oasis of the\nAmalekites, accompanied by six soldiers and the son of the paraschites,\nto fetch fuel for the smelting furnaces.\n\nThey rested near the town of Alus, and then went forward again between\nbare walls of greyish-green and red porphyry. These cliffs rose higher\nand higher, but from time to time, above the lower range, they could see\nthe rugged summit of some giant of the range, though, bowed under their\nheavy loads, they paid small heed to it.\n\nThe sun was near setting when they reached the little sanctuary of the\n'Emerald-Hathor.'\n\nA few grey and black birds here flew towards them, and Pentaur gazed at\nthem with delight.\n\nHow long be had missed the sight of a bird, and the sound of their chirp\nand song! Nebsecht said: \"There are some birds--we must be near water.\"\n\nAnd there stood the first palm-tree!\n\nNow the murmur of the brook was perceptible, and its tiny sound touched\nthe thirsty souls of the travellers as rain falls on dry grass.\n\nOn the left bank of the stream an encampment of Egyptian soldiers formed\na large semicircle, enclosing three large tents made of costly material\nstriped with blue and white, and woven with gold thread. Nothing was to\nbe seen of the inhabitants of these tents, but when the prisoners had\npassed them, and the drivers were exchanging greetings with the\nout-posts, a girl, in the long robe of an Egyptian, came towards them,\nand looked at them.\n\nPentaur started as if he had seen a ghost; but Nebsecht gave expression\nto his astonishment in a loud cry.\n\nAt the same instant a driver laid his whip across their shoulders, and\ncried laughing:\n\n\"You may hit each other as hard as you like with words, but not with your\nhands.\"\n\nThen he turned to his companions, and said: \"Did you see the pretty girl\nthere, in front of the tent?\"\n\n\"It is nothing to us!\" answered the man he addressed. \"She belongs to the\nprincess's train. She has been three weeks here on a visit to the holy\nshrine of Hathor.\"\n\n\"She must have committed some heavy sin,\" replied the other. \"If she were\none of us, she would have been set to sift sand in the diggings, or grind\ncolors, and not be living here in a gilt tent. Where is our red-beard?\"\n\nUarda's father had lingered a little behind the party, for the girl had\nsigned to him, and exchanged a few words with him.\n\n\"Have you still an eye for the fair ones?\" asked the youngest of the\ndrivers when he rejoined the gang.\n\n\"She is a waiting maid of the princess,\" replied the soldier not without\nembarrassment. \"To-morrow morning we are to carry a letter from her to\nthe scribe of the mines, and if we encamp in the neighborhood she will\nsend us some wine for carrying it.\"\n\n\"The old red-beard scents wine as a fox scents a goose. Let us encamp\nhere; one never knows what may be picked up among the Mentu, and the\nsuperintendent said we were to encamp outside the oasis. Put down your\nsacks, men! Here there is fresh water, and perhaps a few dates and sweet\nManna for you to eat with it.\n\n   [\"Man\" is the name still given by the Bedouins of Sinai to the sweet\n   gum which exudes from the Tamarix mannifera. It is the result of\n   the puncture of an insect, and occurs chiefly in May. By many it is\n   supposed to be the Manna of the Bible.]\n\nBut keep the peace, you two quarrelsome fellows--Huni and Nebsecht.\"\n\nBent-Anat's journey to the Emerald-Hathor was long since ended. As far as\nKeft she had sailed down the Nile with her escort, from thence she had\ncrossed the desert by easy marches, and she had been obliged to wait a\nfull week in the port on the Red Sea, which was chiefly inhabited by\nPhoenicians, for a ship which had finally brought her to the little\nseaport of Pharan. From Pharan she had crossed the mountains to the\noasis, where the sanctuary she was to visit stood on the northern side.\n\nThe old priests, who conducted the service of the Goddess, had received\nthe daughter of Rameses with respect, and undertook to restore her to\ncleanness by degrees with the help of the water from the mountain-stream\nwhich watered the palm-grove of the Amalekites, of incense-burning, of\npious sentences, and of a hundred other ceremonies. At last the Goddess\ndeclared herself satisfied, and Bent-Anat wished to start for the north\nand join her father, but the commander of the escort, a grey-headed\nEthiopian field officer--who had been promoted to a high grade by\nAni--explained to the Chamberlain that he had orders to detain the\nprincess in the oasis until her departure was authorized by the Regent\nhimself.\n\nBent-Anat now hoped for the support of her father, for her brother\nRameri, if no accident had occurred to him, might arrive any day. But in\nvain.\n\nThe position of the ladies was particularly unpleasant, for they felt\nthat they had been caught in a trap, and were in fact prisoners. In\naddition to this their Ethiopian escort had quarrelled with the natives\nof the oasis, and every day skirmishes took place under their\neyes--indeed lately one of these fights had ended in bloodshed.\n\nBent-Anat was sick at heart. The two strong pinions of her soul, which\nhad always borne her so high above other women--her princely pride and\nher bright frankness--seemed quite broken; she felt that she had loved\nonce, never to love again, and that she, who had sought none of her\nhappiness in dreams, but all in work, had bestowed the best half of her\nidentity on a vision. Pentaur's image took a more and more vivid, and at\nthe same time nobler and loftier, aspect in her mind; but he himself had\ndied for her, for only once had a letter reached them from Egypt, and\nthat was from Katuti to Nefert. After telling her that late intelligence\nestablished the statement that her husband had taken a prince's daughter,\nwho had been made prisoner, to his tent as his share of the booty, she\nadded the information that the poet Pentaur, who had been condemned to\nforced labor, had not reached the mountain mines, but, as was supposed,\nhad perished on the road.\n\nNefert still held to her immovable belief that her husband was faithful\nto his love for her, and the magic charm of a nature made beautiful by\nits perfect mastery over a deep and pure passion made itself felt in\nthese sad and heavy days.\n\nIt seemed as though she had changed parts with Bent-Anat. Always hopeful,\nevery day she foretold help from the king for the next; in truth she was\nready to believe that, when Mena learned from Rameri that she was with\nthe princess, he himself would come to fetch them if his duties allowed\nit. In her hours of most lively expectation she could go so far as to\npicture how the party in the tents would be divided, and who would bear\nBent-Anat company if Mena took her with him to his camp, on what spot of\nthe oasis it would be best to pitch it, and much more in the same vein.\n\nUarda could very well take her place with Bent-Anat, for the child had\ndeveloped and improved on the journey. The rich clothes which the\nprincess had given her became her as if she had never worn any others;\nshe could obey discreetly, disappear at the right moment, and, when she\nwas invited, chatter delightfully. Her laugh was silvery, and nothing\nconsoled Bent-Anat so much as to hear it.\n\nHer songs too pleased the two friends, though the few that she knew were\ngrave and sorrowful. She had learned them by listening to old Hekt, who\noften used to play on a lute in the dusk, and who, when she perceived\nthat Uarda caught the melodies, had pointed out her faults, and given her\nadvice.\n\n\"She may some day come into my hands,\" thought the witch, \"and the better\nshe sings, the better she will be paid.\"\n\nBent-Anat too tried to teach Uarda, but learning to read was not easy to\nthe girl, however much pains she might take. Nevertheless, the princess\nwould not give up the spelling, for here, at the foot of the immense\nsacred mountain at whose summit she gazed with mixed horror and longing,\nshe was condemned to inactivity, which weighed the more heavily on her in\nproportion as those feelings had to be kept to herself which she longed\nto escape from in work. Uarda knew the origin of her mistress's deep\ngrief, and revered her for it, as if it were something sacred. Often she\nwould speak of Pentaur and of his father, and always in such a manner\nthat the princess could not guess that she knew of their love.\n\nWhen the prisoners were passing Bent-Anat's tent, she was sitting within\nwith Nefert, and talking, as had become habitual in the hours of dusk, of\nher father, of Mena, Rameri, and Pentaur.\n\n\"He is still alive,\" asserted Nefert. \"My mother, you see, says that no\none knows with certainty what became of him. If he escaped, he beyond a\ndoubt tried to reach the king's camp, and when we get there you will find\nhim with your father.\"\n\nThe princess looked sadly at the ground. Nefert looked affectionately at\nher, and asked:\n\n\"Are you thinking of the difference in rank which parts you from the man\nyou have chosen?\"\n\n\"The man to whom I offer my hand, I put in the rank of a prince,\" said\nBent-Anat. \"But if I could set Pentaur on a throne, as master of the\nworld, he would still be greater and better than I.\"\n\n\"But your father?\" asked Nefert doubtfully.\n\n\"He is my friend, he will listen to me and understand me. He shall know\neverything when I see him; I know his noble and loving heart.\"\n\nBoth were silent for some time; then Bent-Anat spoke:\n\n\"Pray have lights brought, I want to finish my weaving.\"\n\nNefert rose, went to the door of the tent, and there met Uarda; she\nseized Nefert's hand, and silently drew her out into the air.\n\n\"What is the matter, child? you are trembling,\" Nefert exclaimed.\n\n\"My father is here,\" answered Uarda hastily. \"He is escorting some\nprisoners from the mines of Mafkat. Among them there are two chained\ntogether, and one of them--do not be startled--one of them is the poet\nPentaur. Stop, for God's sake, stop, and hear me. Twice before I have\nseen my father when he has been here with convicts. To-day we must rescue\nPentaur; but the princess must know nothing of it, for if my plan\nfails--\"\n\n\"Child! girl!\" interrupted Nefert eagerly. \"How can I help you?\"\n\n\"Order the steward to give the drivers of the gang a skin of wine in the\nname of the princess, and out of Bent-Anat's case of medicines take the\nphial which contains the sleeping draught, which, in spite of your wish,\nshe will not take. I will wait here, and I know how to use it.\"\n\nNefert immediately found the steward, and ordered him to follow Uarda\nwith a skin of wine. Then she went back to the princess's tent, and\nopened the medicine case.\n\n   [A medicine case, belonging to a more ancient period than the reign\n   of Rameses, is preserved in the Berlin Museum.]\n\n\"What do you want?\" asked Bent-Anat.\n\n\"A remedy for palpitation,\" replied Nefert; she quietly took the flask\nshe needed, and in a few minutes put it into Uarda's hand.\n\nThe girl asked the steward to open the wine-skin, and let her taste the\nliquor. While she pretended to drink it, she poured the whole contents of\nthe phial into the wine, and then let Bent-Anat's bountiful present be\ncarried to the thirsty drivers.\n\nShe herself went towards the kitchen tent, and found a young Amalekite\nsitting on the ground with the princess's servants. He sprang up as soon\nas he saw the damsel.\n\n\"I have brought four fine partridges,\"\n\n   [A brook springs on the peak called by the Sinaitic monks Mr. St.\n   Katherine, which is called the partridge's spring, and of which many\n   legends are told. For instance, God created it for the partridges\n   which accompanied the angels who carried St. Katharine of Alexandria\n   to her tomb on Sinai.]\n\nhe said, \"which I snared myself, and I have brought this turquoise for\nyou--my brother found it in a rock. This stone brings good luck, and is\ngood for the eyes; it gives victory over our enemies, and keeps away bad\ndreams.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" said Uarda, and taking the boy's hand, as he gave her the\nsky-blue stone, she led him forward into the dusk.\n\n\"Listen, Salich\" she said softly, as soon as she thought they were far\nenough from the others. \"You are a good boy, and the maids told me that\nyou said I was a star that had come down from the sky to become a woman.\nNo one says such a thing as that of any one they do not like very much;\nand I know you like me, for you show me that you do every day by bringing\nme flowers, when you carry the game that your father gets to the steward.\nTell me, will you do me and the princess too a very great service?\nYes?--and willingly? Yes? I knew you would! Now listen. A friend of the\ngreat lady Bent-Anat, who will come here to-night, must be hidden for a\nday, perhaps several days, from his pursuers. Can he, or rather can they,\nfor there will probably be two, find shelter and protection in your\nfather's house, which lies high up there on the sacred mountain?\"\n\n\"Whoever I take to my father,\" said the boy, \"will be made welcome; and\nwe defend our guests first, and then ourselves. Where are the strangers?\"\n\n\"They will arrive in a few hours. Will you wait here till the moon is\nwell up?\"\n\n\"Till the last of all the thousand moons that vanish behind the hills is\nset.\"\n\n\"Well then, wait on the other side of the stream, and conduct the man to\nyour house, who repeats my name three times. You know my name?\"\n\n\"I call you Silver-star, but the others call you Uarda.\"\n\n\"Lead the strangers to your hut, and, if they are received there by your\nfather, come back and tell me. I will watch for you here at the door of\nthe tent. I am poor, alas! and cannot reward you, but the princess will\nthank your father as a princess should. Be watchful, Salich!\"\n\nThe girl vanished, and went to the drivers of the gang of prisoners,\nwished them a merry and pleasant evening, and then hastened back to\nBent-Anat, who anxiously stroked her abundant hair, and asked her why she\nwas so pale.\n\n\"Lie down,\" said the princess kindly, \"you are feverish. Only look,\nNefert, I can see the blood coursing through the blue veins in her\nforehead.\"\n\nMeanwhile the drivers drank, praised the royal wine, and the lucky day on\nwhich they drank it; and when Uarda's father suggested that the prisoners\ntoo should have a mouthful one of his fellow soldiers cried: \"Aye, let\nthe poor beasts be jolly too for once.\"\n\nThe red-beard filled a large beaker, and offered it first to a forger and\nhis fettered companion, then he approached Pentaur, and whispered:\n\n\"Do not drink any-keep awake!\"\n\nAs he was going to warn the physician too, one of his companions came\nbetween them, and offering his tankard to Nebsecht said:\n\n\"Here mumbler, drink; see him pull! His stuttering mouth is spry enough\nfor drinking!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\nThe hours passed gaily with the drinkers, then they grew more and more\nsleepy.\n\nEre the moon was high in the heavens, while they were all sleeping, with\nthe exception of Kaschta and Pentaur, the soldier rose softly.  He\nlistened to the breathing of his companions, then he approached the poet,\nunfastened the ring which fettered his ankle to that of Nebsecht, and\nendeavored to wake the physician, but in vain.\n\n\"Follow me!\" cried he to the poet; he took Nebsecht on his shoulders, and\nwent towards the spot near the stream which Uarda had indicated. Three\ntimes he called his daughter's name, the young Amalekite appeared, and\nthe soldier said decidedly: \"Follow this man, I will take care of\nNebsecht.\"\n\n\"I will not leave him,\" said Pentaur. \"Perhaps water will wake him.\" They\nplunged him in the brook, which half woke him, and by the help of his\ncompanions, who now pushed and now dragged him, he staggered and stumbled\nup the rugged mountain path, and before midnight they reached their\ndestination, the hut of the Amalekite.\n\nThe old hunter was asleep, but his son aroused him, and told him what\nUarda had ordered and promised.\n\nBut no promises were needed to incite the worthy mountaineer to\nhospitality. He received the poet with genuine friendliness, laid the\nsleeping leech on a mat, prepared a couch for Pentaur of leaves and\nskins, called his daughter to wash his feet, and offered him his own\nholiday garment in the place of the rags that covered his body.\n\nPentaur stretched himself out on the humble couch, which to him seemed\nsofter than the silken bed of a queen, but on which nevertheless he could\nnot sleep, for the thoughts and fancies that filled his heart were too\noverpowering and bewildering.\n\nThe stars still sparkled in the heavens when he sprang from his bed of\nskins, lifted Nebsecht on to it, and rushed out into the open air. A\nfresh mountain spring flowed close to the hunter's hut. He went to it,\nand bathed his face in the ice-cold water, and let it flow over his body\nand limbs. He felt as if he must cleanse himself to his very soul, not\nonly from the dust of many weeks, but from the rebellion and despondency,\nthe ignominy and bitterness, and the contact with vice and degradation.\nWhen at last he left the spring, and returned to the little house, he\nfelt clean and fresh as on the morning of a feast-day at the temple of\nSeti, when he had bathed and dressed himself in robes of snow-white\nlinen. He took the hunter's holiday dress, put it on, and went out of\ndoors again.\n\nThe enormous masses of rock lay dimly before him, like storm-clouds, and\nover his head spread the blue heavens with their thousand stars.\n\nThe soothing sense of freedom and purity raised his soul, and the air\nthat he breathed was so fresh and light, that he sprang up the path to\nthe summit of the peak as if he were borne on wings or carried by\ninvisible hands.\n\nA mountain goat which met him, turned from him, and fled bleating, with\nhis mate, to a steep peak of rock, but Pentaur said to the frightened\nbeasts:\n\n\"I shall do nothing to you--not I!\"\n\nHe paused on a little plateau at the foot of the jagged granite peak of\nthe mountain. Here again he heard the murmur of a spring, the grass under\nhis feet was damp, and covered with a film of ice, in which were mirrored\nthe stars, now gradually fading. He looked up at the lights in the sky,\nthose never-tarrying, and yet motionless wanderers-away, to the mountain\nheights around him-down, into the gorge below--and far off, into the\ndistance.\n\nThe dusk slowly grew into light, the mysterious forms of the\nmountain-chain took shape and stood up with their shining points, the\nlight clouds were swept away like smoke. Thin vapors rose from the oasis\nand the other valleys at his feet, at first in heavy masses, then they\nparted and were wafted, as if in sport, above and beyond him to the sky.\nFar below him soared a large eagle, the only living creature far or near.\n\nA solemn and utter silence surrounded him, and when the eagle swooped\ndown and vanished from his sight, and the mist rolled lower into the\nvalley, he felt that here, alone, he was high above all other living\nbeings, and standing nearer to the Divinity.\n\nHe drew his breath fully and deeply, he felt as he had felt in the first\nhours after his initiation, when for the first time he was admitted to\nthe holy of holies--and yet quite different.\n\nInstead of the atmosphere loaded with incense, he breathed a light pure\nair; and the deep stillness of the mountain solitude possessed his soul\nmore strongly than the chant of the priests.\n\nHere, it seemed to him, that the Divine being would hear the lightest\nmurmur of his lips, though indeed his heart was so full of gratitude and\ndevotion that his impulse was to give expression to his mighty flow of\nfeelings in jubilant song. But his tongue seemed tied; he knelt down in\nsilence, to pray and to praise.\n\nThen he looked at the panorama round him. Where was the east which in\nEgypt was clearly defined by the long Nile range? Down there where it was\nbeginning to be light over the oasis. To his right hand lay the south,\nthe sacred birth-place of the Nile, the home of the Gods of the\nCataracts; but here flowed no mighty stream, and where was there a shrine\nfor the visible manifestation of Osiris and Isis; of Horns, born of a\nlotus flower in a thicket of papyrus; of Rennut, the Goddess of\nblessings, and of Zeta? To which of them could he here lift his hands in\nprayer?\n\nA faint breeze swept by, the mist vanished like a restless shade at the\nword of the exorcist, the many-pointed crown of Sinai stood out in sharp\nrelief, and below them the winding valleys, and the dark colored rippling\nsurface of the lake, became distinctly visible.\n\nAll was silent, all untouched by the hand of man yet harmonized to one\ngreat and glorious whole, subject to all the laws of the universe,\npervaded and filled by the Divinity.\n\nHe would fain have raised his hand in thanksgiving to Apheru, \"the Guide\non the way;\" but he dared not; and how infinitely small did the Gods now\nseem to him, the Gods he had so often glorified to the multitude in\ninspired words, the Gods that had no meaning, no dwelling-place, no\ndominion but by the Nile.\n\n\"To ye,\" he murmured, \"I cannot pray! Here where my eye can pierce the\ndistance, as if I myself were a god-here I feel the presence of the One,\nhere He is near me and with me--I will call upon Him and praise him!\"\n\nAnd throwing up his arms he cried aloud: \"Thou only One! Thou only One!\nThou only One!\" He said no more; but a tide of song welled up in his\nbreast as he spoke--a flood of thankfulness and praise.\n\nWhen he rose from his knees, a man was standing by him; his eyes were\npiercing and his tall figure had the dignity of a king, in spite of his\nherdsman's dress.\n\n\"It is well for you!\" said the stranger in deep slow accents. \"You seek\nthe true God.\"\n\nPentaur looked steadily into the face of the bearded man before him.\n\n\"I know you now,\" he said. \"You are Mesu.--[Moses]--I was but a boy when\nyou left the temple of Seti, but your features are stamped on my soul.\nAmeni initiated me, as well as you, into the knowledge of the One God.\"\n\n\"He knows Him not,\" answered the other, looking thoughtfully to the\neastern horizon, which every moment grew brighter.\n\nThe heavens glowed with purple, and the granite peaks, each sheathed in a\nfilm of ice, sparkled and shone like dark diamonds that had been dipped\nin light.\n\nThe day-star rose, and Pentaur turned to it, and prostrated himself as\nhis custom was. When he rose, Mesu also was kneeling on the earth, but\nhis back was turned to the sun.\n\nWhen he had ended his prayer, Pentaur said, \"Why do you turn your back on\nthe manifestation of the Sun-god? We were taught to look towards him when\nhe approaches.\"\n\n\"Because I,\" said his grave companion, \"pray to another God than yours.\nThe sun and stars are but as toys in his hand, the earth is his\nfoot-stool, the storm is his breath, and the sea is in his sight as the\ndrops on the grass.\"\n\n\"Teach me to know the Mighty One whom you worship!\" exclaimed Pentaur.\n\n\"Seek him,\" said Mesu, \"and you will find him; for you have passed\nthrough misery and suffering, and on this spot on such a morning as this\nwas He revealed to me.\"\n\nThe stranger turned away, and disappeared behind a rock from the\nenquiring gaze of Pentaur, who fixed his eyes on the distance.\n\nThen he thoughtfully descended the valley, and went towards the hut of\nthe hunter. He stayed his steps when he heard men's voices, but the rocks\nhid the speakers from his sight.\n\nPresently he saw the party approaching; the son of his host, a man in\nEgyptian dress, a lady of tall stature, near whom a girl tripped lightly,\nand another carried in a litter by slaves.\n\nPentaur's heart beat wildly, for he recognized Bent-Anat and her\ncompanions. They disappeared by the hunter's cottage, but he stood still,\nbreathing painfully, spell-bound to the cliff by which he stood--a long,\nlong time--and did not stir.\n\nHe did not hear a light step, that came near to him, and died away again,\nhe did not feel that the sun began to cast fierce beams on him, and on\nthe porphyry cliff behind him, he did not see a woman now coming quickly\ntowards him; but, like a deaf man who has suddenly acquired the sense of\nhearing, he started when he heard his name spoken--by whose lips?\n\n\"Pentaur!\" she said again; the poet opened his arms, and Bent-Anat fell\nupon his breast; and he held her to him, clasped, as though he must hold\nher there and never part from her all his life long.\n\nMeanwhile the princess's companions were resting by the hunter's little\nhouse.\n\n\"She flew into his arms--I saw it,\" said Uarda. \"Never shall I forget it.\nIt was as if the bright lake there had risen up to embrace the mountain.\"\n\n\"Where do you find such fancies, child?\" cried Nefert.\n\n\"In my heart, deep in my heart!\" cried Uarda. \"I am so unspeakably\nhappy.\"\n\n\"You saved him and rewarded him for his goodness; you may well be happy.\"\n\n\"It is not only that,\" said Uarda. \"I was in despair, and now I see that\nthe Gods are righteous and loving.\"\n\nMena's wife nodded to her, and said with a sigh:\n\n\"They are both happy!\"\n\n\"And they deserve to be!\" exclaimed Uarda. \"I fancy the Goddess of Truth\nis like Bent-Anat, and there is not another man in Egypt like Pentaur.\"\n\nNefert was silent for awhile; then she asked softly: \"Did you ever see\nMena?\"\n\n\"How should I?\" replied the girl. \"Wait a little while, and your turn\nwill come. I believe that to-day I can read the future like a prophetess.\nBut let us see if Nebsecht lies there, and is still asleep. The draught I\nput into the wine must have been strong.\"\n\n\"It was,\" answered Nefert, following her into the hut.\n\nThe physician was still lying on the bed, and sleeping with his mouth\nwide open. Uarda knelt down by his side, looked in his face, and said:\n\n\"He is clever and knows everything, but how silly he looks now! I will\nwake him.\"\n\nShe pulled a blade of grass out of the heap on which he was lying, and\nsaucily tickled his nose.\n\nNebsecht raised himself, sneezed, but fell back asleep again; Uarda\nlaughed out with her clear silvery tones. Then she blushed--\"That is not\nright,\" she said, \"for he is good and generous.\"\n\nShe took the sleeper's hand, pressed it to her lips, and wiped the drops\nfrom his brow. Then he awoke, opened his eyes, and muttered half in a\ndream still:\n\n\"Uarda--sweet Uarda.\"\n\nThe girl started up and fled, and Nefert followed her.\n\nWhen Nebsecht at last got upon his feet and looked round him, he found\nhimself alone in a strange house. He went out of doors, where he found\nBent-Anat's little train anxiously discussing things past and to come.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI.\n\nThe inhabitants of the oasis had for centuries been subject to the\nPharaohs, and paid them tribute; and among the rights granted to them in\nreturn, no Egyptian soldier might cross their border and territory\nwithout their permission.\n\nThe Ethiopians had therefore pitched Bent-Anat's tents and their own camp\noutside these limits; but various transactions soon took place between\nthe idle warriors and the Amalekites, which now and then led to quarrels,\nand which one evening threatened serious consequences, when some drunken\nsoldiers had annoyed the Amalekite women while they were drawing water.\n\nThis morning early one of the drivers on awaking had missed Pentaur and\nNebsecht, and he roused his comrades, who had been rejoined by Uarda's\nfather. The enraged guard of the gang of prisoners hastened to the\ncommandant of the Ethiopians, and informed him that two of his prisoners\nhad escaped, and were no doubt being kept in concealment by the\nAmalekites.\n\nThe Amalekites met the requisition to surrender the fugitives, of whom\nthey knew nothing, with words of mockery, which so enraged the officer\nthat he determined to search the oasis throughout by force, and when he\nfound his emissaries treated with scorn he advanced with the larger part\nof his troops on to the free territory of the Amalekites.\n\nThe sons of the desert flew to arms; they retired before the close order\nof the Egyptian troops, who followed them, confident of victory, to a\npoint where the valley widens and divides on each side of a rocky hill.\nBehind this the larger part of the Amalekite forces were lying in ambush,\nand as soon as the unsuspicious Ethiopians had marched past the hill,\nthey threw themselves on the rear of the astonished invaders, while those\nin front turned upon them, and flung lances and arrows at the soldiers,\nof whom very few escaped.\n\nAmong them, however, was the commanding officer, who, foaming with rage\nand only slightly wounded, put himself at the head of the remainder of\nBent-Anat's body-guard, ordered the escort of the prisoners also to\nfollow him, and once more advanced into the oasis.\n\nThat the princess might escape him had never for an instant occurred to\nhim, but as soon as the last of her keepers had disappeared, Bent-Anat\nexplained to her chamberlain and her companions that now or never was the\nmoment to fly.\n\nAll her people were devoted to her; they loaded themselves with the most\nnecessary things for daily use, took the litters and beasts of burden\nwith them, and while the battle was raging in the valley, Salich guided\nthem up the heights of Sinai to his father's house.\n\nIt was on the way thither that Uarda had prepared the princess for the\nmeeting she might expect at the hunter's cottage, and we have seen how\nand where the princess found the poet.\n\nHand in hand they wandered together along the mountain path till they\ncame to a spot shaded by a projection of the rock, Pentaur pulled some\nmoss to make a seat, they reclined on it side by side, and there opened\ntheir hearts, and told each other of their love and of their sufferings,\ntheir wanderings and escapes.\n\nAt noonday the hunter's daughter came to offer them a pitcher full of\ngoat's milk, and Bent-Anat filled the gourd again and again for the man\nshe loved; and waiting upon him thus, her heart overflowed with pride,\nand his with the humble desire to be permitted to sacrifice his blood and\nlife for her.\n\nHitherto they had been so absorbed in the present and the past, that they\nhad not given a thought to the future, and while they repeated a hundred\ntimes what each had long since known, and yet could never tire of\nhearing, they forgot the immediate changes which was hanging over them.\n\nAfter their humble meal, the surging flood of feeling which, ever since\nhis morning devotions, had overwhelmed the poet's soul, grew calmer; he\nhad felt as if borne through the air, but now he set foot, so to speak,\non the earth again, and seriously considered with Bent-Anat what steps\nthey must take in the immediate future.\n\nThe light of joy, which beamed in their eyes, was little in accordance\nwith the grave consultation they held, as, hand in hand, they descended\nto the hut of their humble host.\n\nThe hunter, guided by his daughter, met them half way, and with him a\ntall and dignified man in the full armor of a chief of the Amalekites.\n\nBoth bowed and kissed the earth before Bent-Anat and Pentaur. They had\nheard that the princess was detained in the oasis by force by the\nEthiopian troops, and the desert-prince, Abocharabos, now informed them,\nnot without pride, that the Ethiopian soldiers, all but a few who were\nhis prisoners, had been exterminated by his people; at the same time he\nassured Pentaur, whom he supposed to be a son of the king, and Bent-Anat,\nthat he and his were entirely devoted to the Pharaoh Rameses, who had\nalways respected their rights.\n\n\"They are accustomed,\" he added, \"to fight against the cowardly dogs of\nKush; but we are men, and we can fight like the lions of our wilds. If we\nare outnumbered we hide like the goats in clefts of the rocks.\"\n\nBent-Anat, who was pleased with the daring man, his flashing eyes, his\naquiline nose, and his brown face which bore the mark of a bloody\nsword-cut, promised him to commend him and his people to her father's\nfavor, and told him of her desire to proceed as soon as possible to the\nking's camp under the protection of Pentaur, her future husband.\n\nThe mountain chief had gazed attentively at Pentaur and at Bent-Anat\nwhile she spoke; then he said: \"Thou, princess, art like the moon, and\nthy companion is like the Sun-god Dusare. Besides Abocharabos,\" and he\nstruck his breast, \"and his wife, I know no pair that are like you two. I\nmyself will conduct you to Hebron with some of my best men of war. But\nhaste will be necessary, for I must be back before the traitor who now\nrules over Mizraim,--[The Semitic name of Egypt]--and who persecutes you,\ncan send fresh forces against us. Now you can go down again to the tents,\nnot a hen is missing. To-morrow before daybreak we will be off.\"\n\nAt the door of the hut Pentaur was greeted by the princess's companions.\n\nThe chamberlain looked at him not without anxious misgiving.\n\nThe king, when he departed, had, it is true, given him orders to obey\nBent-Anat in every particular, as if she were the queen herself; but her\nchoice of such a husband was a thing unheard of, and how would the king\ntake it?\n\nNefert rejoiced in the splendid person of the poet, and frequently\nrepeated that he was as like her dead uncle--the father of Paaker, the\nchief-pioneer--as if he were his younger brother.\n\nUarda never wearied of contemplating him and her beloved princess. She no\nlonger looked upon him as a being of a higher order; but the happiness of\nthe noble pair seemed to her an embodied omen of happiness for Nefert's\nlove--perhaps too for her own.\n\nNebsecht kept modestly in the background. The headache, from which he had\nlong been suffering, had disappeared in the fresh mountain air. When\nPentaur offered him his hand he exclaimed:\n\n\"Here is an end to all my jokes and abuse! A strange thing is this fate\nof men. Henceforth I shall always have the worst of it in any dispute\nwith you, for all the discords of your life have been very prettily\nresolved by the great master of harmony, to whom you pray.\"\n\n\"You speak almost as if you were sorry; but every thing will turn out\nhappily for you too.\"\n\n\"Hardly!\" replied the surgeon, \"for now I see it clearly. Every man is a\nseparate instrument, formed even before his birth, in an occult workshop,\nof good or bad wood, skilfully or unskilfully made, of this shape or the\nother; every thing in his life, no matter what we call it, plays upon\nhim, and the instrument sounds for good or evil, as it is well or ill\nmade. You are an AEolian harp--the sound is delightful, whatever breath\nof fate may touch it; I am a weather-cock--I turn whichever way the wind\nblows, and try to point right, but at the same time I creak, so that it\nhurts my own ears and those of other people. I am content if now and then\na steersman may set his sails rightly by my indication; though after all,\nit is all the same to me. I will turn round and round, whether others\nlook at me or no--What does it signify?\"\n\nWhen Pentaur and the princess took leave of the hunter with many gifts,\nthe sun was sinking, and the toothed peaks of Sinai glowed like rubies,\nthrough which shone the glow of half a world on fire.\n\nThe journey to the royal camp was begun the next morning. Abocharabos,\nthe Amalekite chief, accompanied the caravan, to which Uarda's father\nalso attached himself; he had been taken prisoner in the struggle with\nthe natives, but at Bent-Anat's request was set at liberty.\n\nAt their first halting place he was commanded to explain how he had\nsucceeded in having Pentaur taken to the mines, instead of to the\nquarries of Chennu.\n\n\"I knew,\" said the soldier in his homely way, \"from Uarda where this man,\nwho had risked his life for us poor folks, was to be taken, and I said to\nmyself--I must save him. But thinking is not my trade, and I never can\nlay a plot. It would very likely have come to some violent act, that\nwould have ended badly, if I had not had a hint from another person, even\nbefore Uarda told me of what threatened Pentaur. This is how it was.\n\n\"I was to convoy the prisoners, who were condemned to work in the Mafkat\nmines, across the river to the place they start from. In the harbor of\nThebes, on the other side, the poor wretches were to take leave of their\nfriends; I have seen it a hundred times, and I never can get used to it,\nand yet one can get hardened to most things! Their loud cries, and wild\nhowls are not the worst--those that scream the most I have always found\nare the first to get used to their fate; but the pale ones, whose lips\nturn white, and whose teeth chatter as if they were freezing, and whose\neyes stare out into vacancy without any tears--those go to my heart.\nThere was all the usual misery, both noisy and silent. But the man I was\nmost sorry for was one I had known for a long time; his name was Huni,\nand he belonged to the temple of Amon, where he held the place of\noverseer of the attendants on the sacred goat. I had often met him when I\nwas on duty to watch the laborers who were completing the great pillared\nhall, and he was respected by every one, and never failed in his duty.\nOnce, however, he had neglected it; it was that very night which you all\nwill remember when the wolves broke into the temple, and tore the rams,\nand the sacred heart was laid in the breast of the prophet Rui. Some one,\nof course, must be punished, and it fell on poor Huni, who for his\ncarelessness was condemned to forced labor in the mines of Mafkat. His\nsuccessor will keep a sharp look out! No one came to see him off, though\nI know he had a wife and several children. He was as pale as this cloth,\nand was one of the sort whose grief eats into their heart. I went up to\nhim, and asked him why no one came with him. He had taken leave of them\nat home, he answered, that his children might not see him mixed up with\nforgers and murderers. Eight poor little brats were left unprovided for\nwith their mother, and a little while before a fire had destroyed\neverything they possessed. There was not a crumb to stop their little\nsqualling mouths. He did not tell me all this straight out; a word fell\nfrom him now and then, like dates from a torn sack. I picked it up bit by\nbit, and when he saw I felt for him he grew fierce and said: 'They may\nsend me to the gold mines or cut me to pieces, as far as I am concerned,\nbut that the little ones should starve that--that,' and he struck his\nforehead. Then I left him to say good bye to Uarda, and on the way I kept\nrepeating to myself 'that-that,' and saw before me the man and his eight\nbrats. If I were rich, thought I, there is a man I would help. When I got\nto the little one there, she told me how much money the leech Nebsecht\nhad given her, and offered to give it me to save Pentaur; then it passed\nthrough my mind--that may go to Hum's children, and in return he will let\nhimself be shipped off to Ethiopia. I ran to the harbor, spoke to the\nman, found him ready and willing, gave the money to his wife, and at\nnight when the prisoners were shipped I contrived the exchange Pentaur\ncame with me on my boat under the name of the other, and Huni went to the\nsouth, and was called Pentaur. I had not deceived the man into thinking\nhe would stop at Chennu. I told him he would be taken on to Ethiopia, for\nit is always impossible to play a man false when you know it is quite\neasy to do it. It is very strange! It is a real pleasure to cheat a\ncunning fellow or a sturdy man, but who would take in a child or a sick\nperson? Huni certainly would have gone into the fire-pots of hell without\ncomplaining, and he left me quite cheerfully. The rest, and how we got\nhere, you yourselves know. In Syria at this time of year you will suffer\na good deal from rain. I know the country, for I have escorted many\nprisoners of war into Egypt, and I was there five years with the troops\nof the great Mohar, father of the chief pioneer Paaker.\"\n\nBent-Anat thanked the brave fellow, and Pentaur and Nebsecht continued\nthe narrative.\n\n\"During the voyage,\" said Nebsecht, \"I was uneasy about Pentaur, for I\nsaw how he was pining, but in the desert he seemed to rouse himself, and\noften whispered sweet little songs that he had composed while we\nmarched.\"\n\n\"That is strange,\" said Bent-Anat, \"for I also got better in the desert.\"\n\n\"Repeat the verses on the Beytharan plant,\" said Nebsecht.\n\n\"Do you know the plant?\" asked the poet. \"It grows here in many places;\nhere it is. Only smell how sweet it is if you bruise the fleshy stem and\nleaves. My little verse is simple enough; it occurred to me like many\nother songs of which you know all the best.\"\n\n\"They all praise the same Goddess,\" said Nebsecht laughing.\n\n\"But let us have the verses,\" said Bent-Anat. The poet repeated in a low\nvoice:\n\n        \"How often in the desert I have seen\n        The small herb, Beytharan, in modest green!\n        In every tiny leaf and gland and hair\n        Sweet perfume is distilled, and scents the air.\n        How is it that in barren sandy ground\n        This little plant so sweet a gift has found?\n        And that in me, in this vast desert plain,\n        The sleeping gift of song awakes again?\"\n\n\"Do you not ascribe to the desert what is due to love?\" said Nefert.\n\n\"I owe it to both; but I must acknowledge that the desert is a wonderful\nphysician for a sick soul. We take refuge from the monotony that\nsurrounds us in our own reflections; the senses are at rest; and here,\nundisturbed and uninfluenced from without, it is given to the mind to\nthink out every train of thought to the end, to examine and exhaust every\nfeeling to its finest shades. In the city, one is always a mere particle\nin a great whole, on which one is dependent, to which one must\ncontribute, and from which one must accept something. The solitary\nwanderer in the desert stands quite alone; he is in a manner freed from\nthe ties which bind him to any great human community; he must fill up the\nvoid by his own identity, and seek in it that which may give his\nexistence significance and consistency. Here, where the present retires\ninto the background, the thoughtful spirit finds no limits however\nremote.\"\n\n\"Yes; one can think well in the desert,\" said Nebsecht. \"Much has become\nclear to me here that in Egypt I only guessed at.\"\n\n\"What may that be?\" asked Pentaur.\n\n\"In the first place,\" replied Nebsecht, \"that we none of us really know\nanything rightly; secondly that the ass may love the rose, but the rose\nwill not love the ass; and the third thing I will keep to myself, because\nit is my secret, and though it concerns all the world no one would\ntrouble himself about it. My lord chamberlain, how is this? You know\nexactly how low people must bow before the princess in proportion to\ntheir rank, and have no idea how a back-bone is made.\"\n\n\"Why should I?\" asked the chamberlain. \"I have to attend to outward\nthings, while you are contemplating inward things; else your hair might\nbe smoother, and your dress less stained.\"\n\nThe travellers reached the old Cheta city of Hebron without accident;\nthere they took leave of Abocharabos, and under the safe escort of\nEgyptian troops started again for the north. At Hebron Pentaur parted\nfrom the princess, and Bent-Anat bid him farewell without complaining.\n\nUarda's father, who had learned every path and bridge in Syria,\naccompanied the poet, while the physician Nebsecht remained with the\nladies, whose good star seemed to have deserted them with Pentaur's\ndeparture, for the violent winter rains which fell in the mountains of\nSamaria destroyed the roads, soaked through the tents, and condemned them\nfrequently to undesirable delays. At Megiddo they were received with high\nhonors by the commandant of the Egyptian garrison, and they were\ncompelled to linger here some days, for Nefert, who had been particularly\neager to hurry forward, was taken ill, and Nebsecht was obliged to forbid\nher proceeding at this season.\n\nUarda grew pale and thoughtful, and Bent-Anat saw with anxiety that the\ntender roses were fading from the cheeks of her pretty favorite; but when\nshe questioned her as to what ailed her she gave an evasive answer. She\nhad never either mentioned Rameri's name before the princess, nor shown\nher her mother's jewel, for she felt as if all that had passed between\nher and the prince was a secret which did not belong to her alone. Yet\nanother reason sealed her lips. She was passionately devoted to\nBent-Anat, and she told herself that if the princess heard it all, she\nwould either blame her brother or laugh at his affection as at a child's\nplay, and she felt as if in that case she could not love Rameri's sister\nany more.\n\nA messenger had been sent on from the first frontier station to the\nking's camp to enquire by which road the princess, and her party should\nleave Megiddo. But the emissary returned with a short and decided though\naffectionate letter written by the king's own hand, to his daughter,\ndesiring her not to quit Megiddo, which was a safe magazine and arsenal\nfor the army, strongly fortified and garrisoned, as it commanded the\nroads from the sea into North and Central Palestine. Decisive encounters,\nhe said, were impending, and she knew that the Egyptians always excluded\ntheir wives and daughters from their war train, and regarded them as the\nbest reward of victory when peace was obtained.\n\nWhile the ladies were waiting in Megiddo, Pentaur and his red-bearded\nguide proceeded northwards with a small mounted escort, with which they\nwere supplied by the commandant of Hebron.\n\nHe himself rode with dignity, though this journey was the first occasion\non which he had sat on horseback. He seemed to have come into the world\nwith the art of riding born with him. As soon as he had learned from his\ncompanions how to grasp the bridle, and had made himself familiar with\nthe nature of the horse, it gave him the greatest delight to tame and\nsubdue a fiery steed.\n\nHe had left his priest's robes in Egypt. Here he wore a coat of mail, a\nsword, and battle-axe like a warrior, and his long beard, which had grown\nduring his captivity, now flowed down over his breast. Uarda's father\noften looked at him with admiration, and said:\n\n\"One might think the Mohar, with whom I often travelled these roads, had\nrisen from the dead. He looked like you, he spoke like you, he called the\nmen as you do, nay he sat as you do when the road was too bad for his\nchariot,\n\n   [The Mohars used chariots in their journeys. This is positively\n   known from the papyrus Anastasi I. which vividly describes the\n   hardships experienced by a Mohar while travelling through Syria.]\n\nand he got on horseback, and held the reins.\"\n\nNone of Pentaur's men, except his red-bearded friend, was more to him\nthan a mere hired servant, and he usually preferred to ride alone, apart\nfrom the little troop, musing on the past--seldom on the future--and\ngenerally observing all that lay on his way with a keen eye. They soon\nreached Lebanon; between it and and Lebanon a road led through the great\nSyrian valley. It rejoiced him to see with his own eyes the distant\nshimmer of the white snow-capped peaks, of which he had often heard\nwarriors talk.\n\nThe country between the two mountain ranges was rich and fruitful, and\nfrom the heights waterfalls and torrents rushed into the valley. Many\nvillages and towns lay on his road, but most of them had been damaged in\nthe war. The peasants had been robbed of their teams of cattle, the\nflocks had been driven off from the shepherds, and when a vine-dresser,\nwho was training his vine saw the little troop approaching, he fled to\nthe ravines and forests.\n\nThe traces of the plough and the spade were everywhere visible, but the\nfields were for the most part not sown; the young peasants were under\narms, the gardens and meadows were trodden down by soldiers, the houses\nand cottages plundered and destroyed, or burnt. Everything bore the trace\nof the devastation of the war, only the oak and cedar forests lorded it\nproudly over the mountain-slopes, planes and locust-trees grew in groves,\nand the gorges and rifts of the thinly-wooded limestone hills, which\nbordered the fertile low-land, were filled with evergreen brushwood.\n\nAt this time of year everything was moist and well-watered, and Pentaur\ncompared the country with Egypt, and observed how the same results were\nattained here as there, but by different agencies. He remembered that\nmorning on Sinai, and said to himself again: \"Another God than ours rules\nhere, and the old masters were not wrong who reviled godless strangers,\nand warned the uninitiated, to whom the secret of the One must remain\nunrevealed, to quit their home.\"\n\nThe nearer he approached the king's camp, the more vividly he thought of\nBent-Anat, and the faster his heart beat from time to time when he\nthought of his meeting with the king. On the whole he was full of\ncheerful confidence, which he felt to be folly, and which nevertheless he\ncould not repress.\n\nAmeni had often blamed him for his too great diffidence and his want of\nambition, when he had willingly let others pass him by. He remembered\nthis now, and smiled and understood himself less than ever, for though he\nresolutely repeated to himself a hundred times that he was a low-born,\npoor, and excommunicated priest, the feeling would not be smothered that\nhe had a right to claim Bent-Anat for his own.\n\nAnd if the king refused him his daughter--if he made him pay for his\naudacity with his life?\n\nNot an eyelash, he well knew, would tremble under the blow of the axe,\nand he would die content; for that which she had granted him was his, and\nno God could take it from him!\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     An admirer of the lovely color of his blue bruises\n     Called his daughter to wash his feet\n     Desert is a wonderful physician for a sick soul\n     He is clever and knows everything, but how silly he looks now\n     If it were right we should not want to hide ourselves\n     None of us really know anything rightly\n     One falsehood usually entails another\n     Refreshed by the whip of one of the horsemen\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nVolume 9.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII.\n\nOnce or twice Pentaur and his companions had had to defend themselves\nagainst hostile mountaineers, who rushed suddenly upon them out of the\nwoods. When they were about two days' journey still from the end of their\nmarch, they had a bloody skirmish with a roving band of men that seemed\nto belong to a larger detachment of troops.\n\nThe nearer they got to Kadesh, the more familiar Kaschta showed himself\nwith every stock and stone, and he went forward to obtain information; he\nreturned somewhat anxious, for he had perceived the main body of the\nCheta army on the road which they must cross. How came the enemy here in\nthe rear of the Egyptian army? Could Rameses have sustained a defeat?\n\nOnly the day before they had met some Egyptian soldiers, who had told\nthem that the king was staying in the camp, and a great battle was\nimpending. This however could not have by this time been decided, and\nthey had met no flying Egyptians.\n\n\"If we can only get two miles farther without having to fight,\" said\nUarda's father. \"I know what to do. Down below, there is a ravine, and\nfrom it a path leads over hill and vale to the plain of Kadesh. No one\never knew it but the Mohar and his most confidential servants. About\nhalf-way there is a hidden cave, in which we have often stayed the whole\nday long. The Cheta used to believe that the Mohar possessed magic\npowers, and could make himself invisible, for when they lay in wait for\nus on the way we used suddenly to vanish; but certainly not into the\nclouds, only into the cave, which the Mohar used to call his Tuat. If you\nare not afraid of a climb, and will lead your horse behind you for a mile\nor two, I can show you the way, and to-morrow evening we will be at the\ncamp.\"\n\nPentaur let his guide lead the way; they came, without having occasion to\nfight, as far as the gorge between the hills, through which a full and\nfoaming mountain torrent rushed to the valley. Kaschta dropped from his\nhorse, and the others did the same. After the horses had passed through\nthe water, he carefully effaced their tracks as far as the road, then for\nabout half a mile he ascended the valley against the stream. At last he\nstopped in front of a thick oleander-bush, looked carefully about, and\nlightly pushed it aside; when he had found an entrance, his companions\nand their weary scrambling beasts followed him without difficulty, and\nthey presently found themselves in a grove of lofty cedars. Now they had\nto squeeze themselves between masses of rock, now they labored up and\ndown over smooth pebbles, which offered scarcely any footing to the\nhorses' hoofs; now they had to push their way through thick brushwood,\nand now to cross little brooks swelled by the winter-rains.\n\nThe road became more difficult at every step, then it began to grow dark,\nand heavy drops of rain fell from the clouded sky.\n\n\"Make haste, and keep close to me,\" cried Kaschta. \"Half an hour more,\nand we shall be under shelter, if I do not lose my way.\"\n\nThen a horse broke down, and with great difficulty was got up again; the\nrain fell with increased violence, the night grew darker, and the soldier\noften found himself brought to a stand-still, feeling for the path with\nhis hands; twice he thought he had lost it, but he would not give in till\nhe had recovered the track. At last he stood still, and called Pentaur to\ncome to him.\n\n\"Hereabouts,\" said he, \"the cave must be; keep close to me--it is\npossible that we may come upon some of the pioneer's people. Provisions\nand fuel were always kept here in his father's time. Can you see me? Hold\non to my girdle, and bend your head low till I tell you you may stand\nupright again. Keep your axe ready, we may find some of the Cheta or\nbandits roosting there. You people must wait, we will soon call you to\ncome under shelter.\"\n\nPentaur closely followed his guide, pushing his way through the dripping\nbrushwood, crawling through a low passage in the rock, and at last\nemerging on a small rocky plateau.\n\n\"Take care where you are going!\" cried Kaschta. \"Keep to the left, to the\nright there is a deep abyss. I smell smoke! Keep your hand on your axe,\nthere must be some one in the cave. Wait! I will fetch the men as far as\nthis.\"\n\nThe soldier went back, and Pentaur listened for any sounds that might\ncome from the same direction as the smoke. He fancied he could perceive a\nsmall gleam of light, and he certainly heard quite plainly, first a tone\nof complaint, then an angry voice; he went towards the light, feeling his\nway by the wall on his left; the light shone broader and brighter, and\nseemed to issue from a crack in a door.\n\nBy this time the soldier had rejoined Pentaur, and both listened for a\nfew minutes; then the poet whispered to his guide:\n\n\"They are speaking Egyptian, I caught a few words.\"\n\n\"All the better,\" said Kaschta. \"Paaker or some of his people are in\nthere; the door is there still, and shut. If we give four hard and three\ngentle knocks, it will be opened. Can you understand what they are\nsaying?\"\n\n\"Some one is begging to be set free,\" replied Pentaur, \"and speaks of\nsome traitor. The other has a rough voice, and says he must follow his\nmaster's orders. Now the one who spoke before is crying; do you hear? He\nis entreating him by the soul of his father to take his fetters off. How\ndespairing his voice is! Knock, Kaschta--it strikes me we are come at the\nright moment--knock, I say.\"\n\nThe soldier knocked first four times, then three times. A shriek rang\nthrough the cave, and they could hear a heavy, rusty bolt drawn back, the\nroughly hewn door was opened, and a hoarse voice asked:\n\n\"Is that Paaker?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the soldier, \"I am Kaschta. Do not you know me again,\nNubi?\"\n\nThe man thus addressed, who was Paaker's Ethiopian slave, drew back in\nsurprise.\n\n\"Are you still alive?\" he exclaimed. \"What brings you here?\"\n\n\"My lord here will tell you,\" answered Kaschta as he made way for Pentaur\nto enter the cave. The poet went up to the black man, and the light of\nthe fire which burned in the cave fell full on his face.\n\nThe old slave stared at him, and drew back in astonishment and terror. He\nthrew himself on the earth, howled like a dog that fawns at the feet of\nhis angry master, and cried out:\n\n\"He ordered it--Spirit of my master! he ordered it.\" Pentaur stood still,\nastounded and incapable of speech, till he perceived a young man, who\ncrept up to him on his hands and feet, which were bound with thongs, and\nwho cried to him in a tone, in which terror was mingled with a tenderness\nwhich touched Pentaur's very soul.\n\n\"Save me--Spirit of the Mohar! save me, father!\" Then the poet spoke.\n\n\"I am no spirit of the dead,\" said he. \"I am the priest Pentaur; and I\nknow you, boy; you are Horus, Paaker's brother, who was brought up with\nme in the temple of Seti.\"\n\nThe prisoner approached him trembling, looked at him enquiringly and\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Be you who you may, you are exactly like my father in person and in\nvoice. Loosen my bonds, and listen to me, for the most hideous,\natrocious, and accursed treachery threatens us the king and all.\"\n\nPentaur drew his sword, and cut the leather thongs which bound the young\nman's hands and feet. He stretched his released limbs, uttering thanks to\nthe Gods, then he cried:\n\n\"If you love Egypt and the king follow me; perhaps there is yet time to\nhinder the hideous deed, and to frustrate this treachery.\"\n\n\"The night is dark,\" said Kaschita, \"and the road to the valley is\ndangerous.\"\n\n\"You must follow me if it is to your death!\" cried the youth, and,\nseizing Pentaur's hand, he dragged him with him out of the cave.\n\nAs soon as the black slave had satisfied himself that Pentaur was the\npriest whom he had seen fighting in front of the paraschites' hovel, and\nnot the ghost of his dead master, he endeavored to slip past Paaker's\nbrother, but Horus observed the manoeuvre, and seized him by his woolly\nhair. The slave cried out loudly, and whimpered out:\n\n\"If thou dost escape, Paaker will kill me; he swore he would.\"\n\n\"Wait!\" said the youth. He dragged the slave back, flung him into the\ncave, and blocked up the door with a huge log which lay near it for that\npurpose.\n\nWhen the three men had crept back through the low passage in the rocks,\nand found themselves once more in the open air, they found a high wind\nwas blowing.\n\n\"The storm will soon be over,\" said Horus. \"See how the clouds are\ndriving! Let us have horses, Pentaur, for there is not a minute to be\nlost.\"\n\nThe poet ordered Kaschta to summon the people to start but the soldier\nadvised differently.\n\n\"Men and horses are exhausted,\" he said, \"and we shall get on very slowly\nin the dark. Let the beasts feed for an hour, and the men get rested and\nwarm; by that time the moon will be up, and we shall make up for the\ndelay by having fresh horses, and light enough to see the road.\"\n\n\"The man is right,\" said Horus; and he led Kaschta to a cave in the\nrocks, where barley and dates for the horses, and a few jars of wine, had\nbeen preserved. They soon had lighted a fire, and while some of the men\ntook care of the horses, and others cooked a warm mess of victuals, Horus\nand Pentaur walked up and down impatiently.\n\n\"Had you been long bound in those thongs when we came?\" asked Pentaur.\n\n\"Yesterday my brother fell upon me,\" replied Horus. \"He is by this time a\nlong way ahead of us, and if he joins the Cheta, and we do not reach the\nEgyptian camp before daybreak, all is lost.\"\n\n\"Paaker, then, is plotting treason?\"\n\n\"Treason, the foulest, blackest treason!\" exclaimed the young man. \"Oh,\nmy lost father!--\"\n\n\"Confide in me,\" said Pentaur going up to the unhappy youth who had\nhidden his face in his hands. \"What is Paaker plotting? How is it that\nyour brother is your enemy?\"\n\n\"He is the elder of us two,\" said Horus with a trembling voice. \"When my\nfather died I had only a short time before left the school of Seti, and\nwith his last words my father enjoined me to respect Paaker as the head\nof our family. He is domineering and violent, and will allow no one's\nwill to cross his; but I bore everything, and always obeyed him, often\nagainst my better judgment. I remained with him two years, then I went to\nThebes, and there I married, and my wife and child are now living there\nwith my mother. About sixteen months afterwards I came back to Syria, and\nwe travelled through the country together; but by this time I did not\nchoose to be the mere tool of my brother's will, for I had grown prouder,\nand it seemed to me that the father of my child ought not to be\nsubservient, even to his own brother. We often quarrelled, and had a bad\ntime together, and life became quite unendurable, when--about eight weeks\nsince--Paaker came back from Thebes, and the king gave him to understand\nthat he approved more of my reports than of his. From my childhood I have\nalways been softhearted and patient; every one says I am like my mother;\nbut what Paaker made me suffer by words and deeds, that is--I could\nnot--\" His voice broke, and Pentaur felt how cruelly he had suffered;\nthen he went on again:\n\n\"What happened to my brother in Egypt, I do not know, for he is very\nreserved, and asks for no sympathy, either in joy or in sorrow; but from\nwords he has dropped now and then I gather that he not only bitterly\nhates Mena, the charioteer--who certainly did him an injury--but has some\ngrudge against the king too. I spoke to him of it at once, but only once,\nfor his rage is unbounded when he is provoked, and after all he is my\nelder brother.\n\n\"For some days they have been preparing in the camp for a decisive\nbattle, and it was our duty to ascertain the position and strength of the\nenemy; the king gave me, and not Paaker, the commission to prepare the\nreport. Early yesterday morning I drew it out and wrote it; then my\nbrother said he would carry it to the camp, and I was to wait here. I\npositively refused, as Rameses had required the report at my hands, and\nnot at his. Well, he raved like a madman, declared that I had taken\nadvantage of his absence to insinuate myself into the king's favor, and\ncommanded me to obey him as the head of the house, in the name of my\nfather.\n\n\"I was sitting irresolute, when he went out of the cavern to call his\nhorses; then my eyes fell on the things which the old black slave was\ntying together to load on a pack-horse--among them was a roll of writing.\nI fancied it was my own, and took it up to look at it, when--what should\nI find? At the risk of my life I had gone among the Cheta, and had found\nthat the main body of their army is collected in a cross-valley of the\nOrontes, quite hidden in the mountains to the north-east of Kadesh; and\nin the roll it was stated, in Paaker's own hand-writing, that that valley\nis clear, and the way through it open, and well suited for the passage of\nthe Egyptian war-chariots; various other false details were given, and\nwhen I looked further among his things, I found between the arrows in his\nquiver, on which he had written 'death to Mena,' another little roll of\nwriting. I tore it open, and my blood ran cold when I saw to whom it was\naddressed.\"\n\n\"To the king of the Cheta?\" cried Pentaur in excitement.\n\n\"To his chief officer, Titure,\" continued Horus. \"I was holding both the\nrolls in my hand, when Paaker came back into the cave. 'Traitor!' I cried\nout to him; but he flung the lasso, with which he had been catching the\nstray horses, threw it round my neck, and as I fell choking on the\nground, he and the black man, who obeys him like a dog, bound me hand and\nfoot; he left the old negro to keep guard over me, took the rolls and\nrode away. Look, there are the stars, and the moon will soon be up.\"\n\n\"Make haste, men!\" cried Pentaur. \"The three best horses for me, Horus,\nand Kaschta; the rest remain here.\"\n\nAs the red-bearded soldier led the horses forward, the moon shone forth,\nand within an hour the travellers had reached the plain; they sprang on\nto the beasts and rode madly on towards the lake, which, when the sun\nrose, gleamed before them in silvery green. As they drew near to it they\ncould discern, on its treeless western shore, black masses moving hither\nand thither; clouds of dust rose up from the plain, pierced by flashes of\nlight, like the rays of the sun reflected from a moving mirror.\n\n\"The battle is begun!\" cried Horus; and he fell sobbing on his horse's\nneck.\n\n\"But all is not lost yet!\" exclaimed the poet, spurring his horse to a\nfinal effort of strength. His companions did the same, but first\nKaschta's horse fell under him, then Horus's broke down.\n\n\"Help may be given by the left wing!\" cried Horus. \"I will run as fast as\nI can on foot, I know where to find them. You will easily find the king\nif you follow the stream to the stone bridge. In the cross-valley about a\nthousand paces farther north--to the northwest of our stronghold--the\nsurprise is to be effected. Try to get through, and warn Rameses; the\nEgyptian pass-word is 'Bent-Anat,' the name of the king's favorite\ndaughter. But even if you had wings, and could fly straight to him, they\nwould overpower him if I cannot succeed in turning the left wing on the\nrear of the enemy.\"\n\nPentaur galloped onwards; but it was not long before his horse too gave\nway, and he ran forward like a man who runs a race, and shouted the\npass-word \"Bent-Anat\"--for the ring of her name seemed to give him vigor.\nPresently he came upon a mounted messenger of the enemy; he struck him\ndown from his horse, flung himself into the saddle, and rushed on towards\nthe camp; as if he were riding to his wedding.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII.\n\nDuring the night which had proved so eventful to our friends, much had\noccurred in the king's camp, for the troops were to advance to the\nlong-anticipated battle before sunrise.\n\nPaaker had given his false report of the enemy's movements to the Pharaoh\nwith his own hand; a council of war had been held, and each division had\nreceived instructions as to where it was to take up its position. The\ncorps, which bore the name of the Sungod Ra, advanced from the south\ntowards Schabatun,\n\n   [Kadesh was the chief city of the Cheta, i. e. Aramaans, round\n   which the united forces of all the peoples of western Asia had\n   collected. There were several cities called Kadesh. That which\n   frequently checked the forces of Thotmes III. may have been\n   situated farther to the south; but the Cheta city of Kadesh, where\n   Rameses II. fought so hard a battle, was undoubtedly on the\n   Orontes, for the river which is depicted on the pylon of the\n   Ramesseum as parting into two streams which wash the walls of the\n   fortress, is called Aruntha, and in the Epos of Pentaur it is stated\n   that this battle took place at Kadesh by the Orontes. The name of\n   the city survives, at a spot just three miles north of the lake of\n   Riblah. The battle itself I have described from the Epos of\n   Pentaur, the national epic of Egypt. It ends with these words:\n   \"This was written and made by the scribe Pentaur.\" It was so highly\n   esteemed that it is engraved in stone twice at Luqsor, and once at\n   Karnak. Copies of it on papyrus are frequent; for instance, papyrus\n   Sallier III. and papyrus Raifet--unfortunately much injured--in the\n   Louvre. The principal incident, the rescue of the king from the\n   enemy, is repeated at the Ramessetun at Thebes, and at Abu Simbel.\n   It was translated into French by Vicomte E. de Rouge. The camp of\n   Rameses is depicted on the pylons of Luqsor and the Ramesseum.]\n\nso as to surround the lake on the east, and fall on the enemy's flank;\nthe corps of Seth, composed of men from lower Egypt, was sent on to Arnam\nto form the centre; the king himself, with the flower of the\nchariot-guard, proposed to follow the road through the valley, which\nPaaker's report represented as a safe and open passage to the plain of\nthe Orontes. Thus, while the other divisions occupied the enemy, he could\ncross the Orontes by a ford, and fall on the rear of the fortress of\nKadesh from the north-west. The corps of Amon, with the Ethiopian\nmercenaries, were to support him, joining him by another route, which the\npioneer's false indications represented as connecting the line of\noperations. The corps of Ptah remained as a reserve behind the left wing.\n\nThe soldiers had not gone to rest as usual; heavily, armed troops, who\nbore in one hand a shield of half a man's height, and in the other a\nscimitar, or a short, pointed sword, guarded the camp,\n\n   [Representations of Rameses' camp are preserved on the pylons of the\n   temple of Luxor and the Ramesseum.]\n\nwhere numerous fires burned, round which crowded the resting warriors.\nHere a wine-skin was passed from hand to hand, there a joint was roasting\non a wooden spit; farther on a party were throwing dice for the booty\nthey had won, or playing at morra. All was in eager activity, and many a\nscuffle occurred amoung the excited soldiers, and had to be settled by\nthe camp-watch.\n\nNear the enclosed plots, where the horses were tethered, the smiths were\nbusily engaged in shoeing the beasts which needed it, and in sharpening\nthe points of the lances; the servants of the chariot-guard were also\nfully occupied, as the chariots had for the most part been brought over\nthe mountains in detached pieces on the backs of pack-horses and asses,\nand now had to be put together again, and to have their wheels greased.\nOn the eastern side of the camp stood a canopy, under which the standards\nwere kept, and there numbers of priests were occupied in their office of\nblessing the warriors, offering sacrifices, and singing hymns and\nlitanies. But these pious sounds were frequently overpowered by the loud\nvoices of the gamblers and revellers, by the blows of the hammers, the\nhoarse braying of the asses, and the neighing of the horses. From time to\ntime also the deep roar of the king's war-lions\n\n   [See Diodorus, 1. 47. Also the pictures of the king rushing to the\n   fight.]\n\nmight be heard; these beasts followed him into the fight, and were now\nhowling for food, as they had been kept fasting to excite their fury.\n\nIn the midst of the camp stood the king's tent, surrounded by foot and\nchariot-guards. The auxiliary troops were encamped in divisions according\nto their nationality, and between them the Egyptian legions of\nheavy-armed soldiers and archers. Here might be seen the black Ethiopian\nwith wooly matted hair, in which a few feathers were stuck--the handsome,\nwell proportioned \"Son of the desert\" from the sandy Arabian shore of the\nRed Sea, who performed his wild war-dance flourishing his lance, with a\npeculiar wriggle of his--hips pale Sardinians, with metal helmets and\nheavy swords--light colored Libyans, with tattooed arms and\nostrich-feathers on their heads-brown, bearded Arabs, worshippers of the\nstars, inseparable from their horses, and armed, some with lances, and\nsome with bows and arrows. And not less various than their aspect were\nthe tongues of the allied troops--but all obedient to the king's word of\ncommand.\n\nIn the midst of the royal tents was a lightly constructed temple with the\nstatues of the Gods of Thebes, and of the king's forefathers; clouds of\nincense rose in front of it, for the priests were engaged from the eve of\nthe battle until it was over, in prayers, and offerings to Amon, the king\nof the Gods, to Necheb, the Goddess of victory, and to Menth, the God of\nwar.\n\nThe keeper of the lions stood by the Pharaoh's sleeping-tent, and the\ntent, which served as a council chamber, was distinguished by the\nstandards in front of it; but the council-tent was empty and still, while\nin the kitchen-tent, as well as in the wine-store close by, all was in a\nbustle. The large pavilion, in which Rameses and his suite were taking\ntheir evening meal, was more brilliantly lighted than all the others; it\nwas a covered tent, a long square in shape, and all round it were colored\nlamps, which made it as light as day; a body-guard of Sardinians,\nLibyans, and Egyptians guarded it with drawn swords, and seemed too\nwholly absorbed with the importance of their office even to notice the\ndishes and wine-jars, which the king's pages--the sons of the highest\nfamilies in Egypt--took at the tent-door from the cooks and butlers.\n\nThe walls and slanting roof of this quickly-built and movable\nbanqueting-hall, consisted of a strong, impenetrable carpet-stuff, woven\nat Thebes, and afterwards dyed purple at Tanis by the Phoenicians. Saitic\nartists had embroidered the vulture, one of the forms in which Necheb\nappears, a hundred times on the costly material with threads of silver.\nThe cedar-wood pillars of the tent were covered with gold, and the ropes,\nwhich secured the light erection to the tent-pegs, were twisted of silk,\nand thin threads of silver. Seated round four tables, more than a hundred\nmen were taking their evening meal; at three of them the generals of the\narmy, the chief priests, and councillors, sat on light stools; at the\nfourth, and at some distance from the others, were the princes of the\nblood; and the king himself sat apart at a high table, on a throne\nsupported by gilt figures of Asiatic prisoners in chains. His table and\nthrone stood on a low dais covered with panther-skin; but even without\nthat Rameses would have towered above his companions. His form was\npowerful, and there was a commanding aspect in his bearded face, and in\nthe high brow, crowned with a golden diadem adorned with the heads of two\nUraeus-snakes, wearing the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt. A broad\ncollar of precious stones covered half his breast, the lower half was\nconcealed by a scarf or belt, and his bare arms were adorned with\nbracelets. His finely-proportioned limbs looked as if moulded in bronze,\nso smoothly were the powerful muscles covered with the shining\ncopper-colored skin. Sitting here among those who were devoted to him, he\nlooked with kind and fatherly pride at his blooming sons.\n\nThe lion was at rest--but nevertheless he was a lion, and terrible things\nmight be looked for when he should rouse himself, and when the mighty\nhand, which now dispensed bread, should be clenched for the fight. There\nwas nothing mean in this man, and yet nothing alarming; for, if his eye\nhad a commanding sparkle, the expression of his mouth was particularly\ngentle; and the deep voice which could make itself heard above the clash\nof fighting men, could also assume the sweetest and most winning tones.\nHis education had not only made him well aware of his greatness and\npower, but had left him also a genuine man, a stranger to none of the\nemotions of the human soul.\n\nBehind Pharaoh stood a man, younger than himself, who gave him his\nwine-cup after first touching it with his own lips; this was Mena, the\nking's charioteer and favorite companion. His figure was slight and yet\nvigorous, supple and yet dignified, and his finely-formed features and\nfrank bright eyes were full at once of self-respect and of benevolence.\nSuch a man might fail in reflection and counsel, but would be admirable\nas an honorable, staunch, and faithful friend.\n\nAmong the princes, Chamus sat nearest to the king;\n\n   [He is named Cha-em-Us on the monuments, i. e., 'splendor in\n   Thebes.' He became the Sam, or high-priest of Memphis. His mummy\n   was discovered by Mariette in the tomb of Apis at Saqqarah during ha\n   excavations of the Serapeum at Memphis.]\n\nhe was the eldest of his sons, and while still young had been invested\nwith the dignity of high-priest of Memphis. The curly-haired Rameri, who\nhad been rescued from imprisonment--into which he had fallen on his\njourney from Egypt--had been assigned a place with the younger princes at\nthe lowest end of the table.\n\n\"It all sounds very threatening!\" said the king. \"But though each of you\ncroakers speaks the truth, your love for me dims your sight. In fact, all\nthat Rameri has told me, that Bent-Anat writes, that Mena's stud-keeper\nsays of Ani, and that comes through other channels--amounts to nothing\nthat need disturb us. I know your uncle--I know that he will make his\nborrowed throne as wide as he possibly can; but when we return home he\nwill be quite content to sit on a narrow seat again. Great enterprises\nand daring deeds are not what he excels in; but he is very apt at\ncarrying out a ready-made system, and therefore I choose him to be my\nRegent.\"\n\n\"But Ameni,\" said Chamus, bowing respectfully to his father, \"seems to\nhave stirred up his ambition, and to support him with his advice. The\nchief of the House of Seti is a man of great ability, and at least half\nof the priesthood are his adherents.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" replied the king. \"Their lordships owe me a grudge because I\nhave called their serfs to arms, and they want them to till their acres.\nA pretty sort of people they have sent me! their courage flies with the\nfirst arrow. They shall guard the camp tomorrow; they will be equal to\nthat when it is made clear to their understanding that, if they let the\ntents be taken, the bread, meat and wines-skins will also fall into the\nhands of the enemy. If Kadesh is taken by storm, the temples of the Nile\nshall have the greater part of the spoil, and you yourself, my young\nhigh-priest of Memphis, shall show your colleagues that Rameses repays in\nbushels that which he has taken in handfuls from the ministers of the\nGods.\"\n\n\"Ameni's disaffection,\" replied Chamus, \"has a deeper root; thy mighty\nspirit seeks and finds its own way--\"\n\n\"But their lordships,\" interrupted Rameses, \"are accustomed to govern the\nking too, and I--I do not do them credit. I rule as vicar of the Lord of\nthe Gods, but--I myself am no God, though they attribute to me the honors\nof a divinity; and in all humility of heart I willingly leave it to them\nto be the mediators between the Immortals and me or my people. Human\naffairs certainly I choose to manage in my own way. And now no more of\nthem. I cannot bear to doubt my friends, and trustfulness is so dear, so\nessential to me, that I must indulge in it even if my confidence results\nin my being deceived.\"\n\nThe king glanced at Mena, who handed him a golden cup--which he emptied.\nHe looked at the glittering beaker, and then, with a flash of his grave,\nbright eyes, he added:\n\n\"And if I am betrayed--if ten such as Ameni and Ani entice my people into\na snare--I shall return home, and will tread the reptiles into dust.\"\n\nHis deep voice rang out the words, as if he were a herald proclaiming a\nvictorious deed of arms. Not a word was spoken, not a hand moved, when he\nceased speaking. Then he raised his cup, and said:\n\n\"It is well before the battle to uplift our hearts! We have done great\ndeeds; distant nations have felt our hand; we have planted our pillars of\nconquest by their rivers, and graven the record of our deeds on their\nrocks.\n\n   [Herodotus speaks of the pictures graven on the rocks in the\n   provinces conquered by Rameses II., in memory of his achievements.\n   He saw two, one of which remains on a rock near Beyrut.]\n\nYour king is great above all kings, and it is through the might of the\nGods, and your valor my brave comrades. May to-morrow's fight bring us\nnew glory! May the Immortals soon bring this war to a close! Empty your\nwine cups with me--To victory and a speedy return home in peace!\"\n\n\"Victory! Victory! Long life to the Pharaoh! Strength and health!\" cried\nthe guests of the king, who, as he descended from his throne, cried to\nthe drinkers:\n\n\"Now, rest till the star of Isis sets. Then follow me to prayer at the\naltar of Amon, and then-to battle.\"\n\nFresh cries of triumph sounded through the room, while Rameses gave his\nhand with a few words of encouragement to each of his sons in turn. He\ndesired the two youngest, Mernephtah and Rameri to follow him, and\nquitting the banquet with them and Mena, he proceeded, under the escort\nof his officers and guards, who bore staves before him with golden lilies\nand ostrich-feathers, to his sleeping-tent, which was surrounded by a\ncorps d'elite under the command of his sons. Before entering the tent he\nasked for some pieces of meat, and gave them with his own hand to his\nlions, who let him stroke them like tame cats.\n\nThen he glanced round the stable, patted the sleek necks and shoulders of\nhis favorite horses, and decided that 'Nura' and 'Victory to Thebes'\nshould bear him into the battle on the morrow.\n\n   [The horses driven by Rameses at the battle of Kadesh were in fact\n   thus named.]\n\nWhen he had gone into the sleeping-tent, he desired his attendants to\nleave him; he signed Mena to divest him of his ornaments and his arms,\nand called to him his youngest sons, who were waiting respectfully at the\ndoor of the tent.\n\n\"Why did I desire you to accompany me?\" he asked them gravely. Both were\nsilent, and he repeated his question.\n\n\"Because,\" said Rameri at length, \"you observed that all was not quite\nright between us two.\"\n\n\"And because,\" continued the king, \"I desire that unity should exist\nbetween my children. You will have enemies enough to fight with\nto-morrow, but friends are not often to be found, and are too often taken\nfrom us by the fortune of war. We ought to feel no anger towards the\nfriend we may lose, but expect to meet him lovingly in the other world.\nSpeak, Rameri, what has caused a division between you?\"\n\n\"I bear him no ill-will,\" answered Rameri. \"You lately gave me the sword\nwhich Mernephtah has there stuck in his belt, because I did my duty well\nin the last skirmish with the enemy. You know we both sleep in the same\ntent, and yesterday, when I drew my sword out of its sheath to admire the\nfine work of the blade, I found that another, not so sharp, had been put\nin its place.\"\n\n\"I had only exchanged my sword for his in fun,\" interrupted Mernephtah.\n\"But he can never take a joke, and declared I want to wear a prize that I\nhad not earned; he would try, he said, to win another and then--\"\n\n\"I have heard enough; you have both done wrong,\" said the King. \"Even in\nfun, Mernephtah, you should never cheat or deceive. I did so once, and I\nwill tell you what happened, as a warning.\n\n\"My noble mother, Tuaa, desired me, the first time I went into\nFenchu--[Phoenicia: on monuments of the 18th dynasty.]--to bring her a\npebble from the shore near Byblos, where the body of Osiris was washed.\nAs we returned to Thebes, my mother's request returned to my mind; I was\nyoung and thoughtless--I picked up a stone by the way-side, took it with\nme, and when she asked me for the remembrance from Byblos I silently gave\nher the pebble from Thebes. She was delighted, she showed it to her\nbrothers and sisters, and laid it by the statues of her ancestors; but I\nwas miserable with shame and penitence, and at last I secretly took away\nthe stone, and threw it into the water. All the servants were called\ntogether, and strict enquiry was made as to the theft of the stone; then\nI could hold out no longer, and confessed everything. No one punished me,\nand yet I never suffered more severely; from that time I have never\ndeviated from the exact truth even in jest. Take the lesson to heart,\nMernephtah--you, Rameri, take back your sword, and, believe me, life\nbrings us so many real causes of vexation, that it is well to learn early\nto pass lightly over little things if you do not wish to become a surly\nfellow like the pioneer Paaker; and that seems far from likely with a\ngay, reckless temper like yours. Now shake hands with each other.\"\n\nThe young princes went up to each other, and Rameri fell on his brother's\nneck and kissed him. The king stroked their heads. \"Now go in peace,\" he\nsaid, \"and to-morrow you shall both strive to win a fresh mark of honor.\"\n\nWhen his sons had left the tent, Rameses turned to his charioteer and\nsaid: \"I have to speak to you too before the battle. I can read your soul\nthrough your eyes, and it seems to me that things have gone wrong with\nyou since the keeper of your stud arrived here. What has happened in\nThebes?\" Mena looked frankly, but sadly at the king:\n\n\"My mother-in-law Katuti,\" he said, \"is managing my estate very badly,\npledging the land, and selling the cattle.\"\n\n\"That can be remedied,\" said Rameses kindly. \"You know I promised to\ngrant you the fulfilment of a wish, if Nefert trusted you as perfectly as\nyou believe. But it appears to me as if something more nearly concerning\nyou than this were wrong, for I never knew you anxious about money and\nlands. Speak openly! you know I am your father, and the heart and the eye\nof the man who guides my horses in battle, must be open without reserve\nto my gaze.\"\n\nMena kissed the king's robe; then he said:\n\n\"Nefert has left Katuti's house, and as thou knowest has followed thy\ndaughter, Bent-Anat, to the sacred mountain, and to Megiddo.\"\n\n\"I thought the change was a good one,\" replied Rameses. \"I leave\nBent-Anat in the care of Bent-Anat, for she needs no other guardianship,\nand your wife can have no better protector than Bent-Anat.\"\n\n\"Certainly not!\" exclaimed Mena with sincere emphasis. \"But before they\nstarted, miserable things occurred. Thou knowest that before she married\nme she was betrothed to her cousin, the pioneer Paaker, and he, during\nhis stay in Thebes, has gone in and out of my house, has helped Katuti\nwith an enormous sum to pay the debts of my wild brother-in-law, and-as\nmy stud-keeper saw with his own eyes-has made presents of flowers to\nNefert.\"\n\nThe king smiled, laid his hand on Mena's shoulder, and said, as he looked\nin his face: \"Your wife will trust you, although you take a strange woman\ninto your tent, and you allow yourself to doubt her because her cousin\ngives her some flowers! Is that wise or just? I believe you are jealous\nof the broad-shouldered ruffian that some spiteful Wight laid in the nest\nof the noble Mohar, his father.\"\n\n\"No, that I am not,\" replied Mena, \"nor does any doubt of Nefert disturb\nmy soul; but it torments me, it nettles me, it disgusts me, that Paaker\nof all men, whom I loathe as a venomous spider, should look at her and\nmake her presents under my very roof.\"\n\n\"He who looks for faith must give faith,\" said the king. \"And must not I\nmyself submit to accept songs of praise from the most contemptible\nwretches? Come--smooth your brow; think of the approaching victory, of\nour return home, and remember that you have less to forgive Paaker than\nhe to forgive you. Now, pray go and see to the horses, and to-morrow\nmorning let me see you on my chariot full of cheerful courage--as I love\nto see you.\"\n\nMena left the tent, and went to the stables; there he met Rameri, who was\nwaiting to speak to him. The eager boy said that he had always looked up\nto him and loved him as a brilliant example, but that lately he had been\nperplexed as to his virtuous fidelity, for he had been informed that Mena\nhad taken a strange woman into his tent--he who was married to the\nfairest and sweetest woman in Thebes.\n\n\"I have known her,\" he concluded, \"as well as if I were her brother; and\nI know that she would die if she heard that you had insulted and\ndisgraced her. Yes, insulted her; for such a public breach of faith is an\ninsult to the wife of an Egyptian. Forgive my freedom of speech, but who\nknows what to-morrow may bring forth--and I would not for worlds go out\nto battle, thinking evil of you.\"\n\nMena let Rameri speak without interruption, and then answered:\n\n\"You are as frank as your father, and have learned from him to hear the\ndefendant before you condemn him. A strange maiden, the daughter of the\nking of the Danaids,\n\n   [A people of the Greeks at the time of the Trojan war. They are\n   mentioned among the nations of the Mediterranean allied against\n   Rameses III. The Dardaneans were inhabitants of the Trojan\n   provinces of Dardanin, and whose name was used for the Trojans\n   generally.]\n\nlives in my tent, but I for months have slept at the door of your\nfather's, and I have not once entered my own since she has been there.\nNow sit down by me, and let me tell you how it all happened. We had\npitched the camp before Kadesh, and there was very little for me to do,\nas Rameses was still laid up with his wound, so I often passed my time in\nhunting on the shores of the lake. One day I went as usual, armed only\nwith my bow and arrow, and, accompanied by my grey-hounds, heedlessly\nfollowed a hare; a troop of Danaids fell upon me, bound me with cords,\nand led me into their camp.\n\n   [Grey-hounds, trained to hunt hares, are represented in the most\n   ancient tombs, for instance, the Mastaba at Meydum, belonging to the\n   time of Snefru (four centuries B. C.).]\n\nThere I was led before the judges as a spy, and they had actually\ncondemned me, and the rope was round my neck, when their king came up,\nsaw me, and subjected me to a fresh examination. I told him the facts at\nfull length--how I had fallen into the hands of his people while\nfollowing up my game, and not as an enemy, and he heard me favorably, and\ngranted me not only life but freedom. He knew me for a noble, and treated\nme as one, inviting me to feed at his own table, and I swore in my heart,\nwhen he let me go, that I would make him some return for his generous\nconduct.\n\n\"About a month after, we succeeded in surprising the Cheta position, and\nthe Libyan soldiers, among other spoil, brought away the Danaid king's\nonly daughter. I had behaved valiantly, and when we came to the division\nof the spoils Rameses allowed me to choose first. I laid my hand on the\nmaid, the daughter of my deliverer and host, I led her to my tent, and\nleft her there with her waiting-women till peace is concluded, and I can\nrestore her to her father.\"\n\n\"Forgive my doubts!\" cried Rameri holding out his hand. \"Now I understand\nwhy the king so particularly enquired whether Nefert believed in your\nconstancy to her.\"\n\n\"And what was your answer?\" asked Mena.\n\n\"That she thinks of you day and night, and never for an instant doubted\nyou. My father seemed delighted too, and he said to Chamus: 'He has won\nthere!\"\n\n\"He will grant me some great favor,\" said Mena in explanation, \"if, when\nshe hears I have taken a strange maiden to my tent her confidence in me\nis not shaken, Rameses considers it simply impossible, but I know that I\nshall win. Why! she must trust me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX.\n\nBefore the battle,\n\n   [The battle about to be described is taken entirely from the epos of\n   Pentaur.]\n\nprayers were offered and victims sacrificed for each division of the\narmy. Images of the Gods were borne through the ranks in their festal\nbarks, and miraculous relics were exhibited to the soldiers; heralds\nannounced that the high-priest had found favorable omens in the victims\noffered by the king, and that the haruspices foretold a glorious victory.\nEach Egyptian legion turned with particular faith to the standard which\nbore the image of the sacred animal or symbol of the province where it\nhad been levied, but each soldier was also provided with charms and\namulets of various kinds; one had tied to his neck or arm a magical text\nin a little bag, another the mystic preservative eye, and most of them\nwore a scarabaeus in a finger ring. Many believed themselves protected by\nhaving a few hairs or feathers of some sacred animal, and not a few put\nthemselves under the protection of a living snake or beetle carefully\nconcealed in a pocket of their apron or in their little provision-sack.\n\nWhen the king, before whom were carried the images of the divine Triad of\nThebes, of Menth, the God of War and of Necheb, the Goddess of Victory,\nreviewed the ranks, he was borne in a litter on the shoulders of\ntwenty-four noble youths; at his approach the whole host fell on their\nknees, and did not rise till Rameses, descending from his position, had,\nin the presence of them all, burned incense, and made a libation to the\nGods, and his son Chamus had delivered to him, in the name of the\nImmortals, the symbols of life and power. Finally, the priests sang a\nchoral hymn to the Sun-god Ra, and to his son and vicar on earth, the\nking.\n\nJust as the troops were put in motion, the paling stars appeared in the\nsky, which had hitherto been covered with thick clouds; and this\noccurrence was regarded as a favorable omen, the priests declaring to the\narmy that, as the coming Ra had dispersed the clouds, so the Pharaoh\nwould scatter his enemies.\n\nWith no sound of trumpet or drum, so as not to arouse the enemy, the\nfoot-soldiers went forward in close order, the chariot-warriors, each in\nhis light two-wheeled chariot drawn by two horses, formed their ranks,\nand the king placed himself at their head. On each side of the gilt\nchariot in which he stood, a case was fixed, glittering with precious\nstones, in which were his bows and arrows. His noble horses were richly\ncaparisoned; purple housings, embroidered with turquoise beads, covered\ntheir backs and necks, and a crown-shaped ornament was fixed on their\nheads, from which fluttered a bunch of white ostrich-feathers. At the end\nof the ebony pole of the chariot, were two small padded yokes, which\nrested on the necks of the horses, who pranced in front as if playing\nwith the light vehicle, pawed the earth with their small hoofs, and\ntossed and curved their slender necks.\n\nThe king wore a shirt of mail,\n\n   [The remains of a shirt of mail, dating from the time of Scheschenk\n   I. (Sesonchis), who belonged to the 22d dynasty, is in the British\n   Museum. It is made of leather, on which bronze scales are\n   fastened.]\n\nover which lay the broad purple girdle of his apron, and on his head was\nthe crown of Upper and Lower Egypt; behind him stood Mena, who, with his\nleft hand, tightly held the reins, and with his right the shield which\nwas to protect his sovereign in the fight.\n\nThe king stood like a storm-proof oak, and Mena by his side like a\nsapling ash.\n\nThe eastern horizon was rosy with the approaching sun-rise when they\nquitted the precincts of the camp; at this moment the pioneer Paaker\nadvanced to meet the king, threw himself on the ground before him, kissed\nthe earth, and, in answer to the king's question as to why he had come\nwithout his brother, told him that Horus was taken suddenly ill. The\nshades of dawn concealed from the king the guilty color, which changed to\nsallow paleness, on the face of the pioneer--unaccustomed hitherto to\nlying and treason.\n\n\"How is it with the enemy?\" asked Rameses.\n\n\"He is aware,\" replied Paaker, \"that a fight is impending, and is\ncollecting numberless hosts in the camps to the south and east of the\ncity. If thou could'st succeed in falling on the rear from the north of\nKadesh, while the foot soldiers seize the camp of the Asiatics from the\nsouth, the fortress will be thine before night. The mountain path that\nthou must follow, so as not to be discovered, is not a bad one.\"\n\n\"Are you ill as well as your brother, man?\" asked the king. \"Your voice\ntrembles.\"\n\n\"I was never better,\" answered the Mohar.\n\n\"Lead the way,\" commanded the king, and Paaker obeyed. They went on in\nsilence, followed by the vast troop of chariots through the dewy morning\nair, first across the plain, and then into the mountain range. The corps\nof Ra, armed with bows and arrows, preceeded them to clear the way; they\ncrossed the narrow bed of a dry torrent, and then a broad valley opened\nbefore them, extending to the right and left and enclosed by ranges of\nmountains.\n\n\"The road is good,\" said Rameses, turning to Mena. \"The Mohar has learned\nhis duties from his father, and his horses are capital. Now he leads the\nway, and points it out to the guards, and then in a moment he is close to\nus again.\"\n\n\"They are the golden-bays of my breed,\" said Mena, and the veins started\nangrily in his forehead. \"My stud-master tells me that Katuti sent them\nto him before his departure. They were intended for Nefert's chariot, and\nhe drives them to-day to defy and spite me.\"\n\n\"You have the wife--let the horses go,\" said Rameses soothingly.\n\nSuddenly a blast of trumpets rang through the morning air; whence it came\ncould not be seen, and yet it sounded close at hand.\n\nRameses started up and took his battle-axe from his girdle, the horses\npricked their ears, and Mena exclaimed:\n\n\"Those are the trumpets of the Cheta! I know the sound.\"\n\nA closed wagon with four wheels in which the king's lions were conveyed,\nfollowed the royal chariot. \"Let loose the lions!\" cried the king, who\nheard an echoing war cry, and soon after saw the vanguard which had\npreceded him, and which was broken up by the chariots of the enemy,\nflying towards him down the valley again.\n\nThe wild beasts shook their manes and sprang in front of their master's\nchariot with loud roars. Mena lashed his whip, the horses started forward\nand rushed with frantic plunges towards the fugitives, who however could\nnot be brought to a standstill, or rallied by the king's voice--the enemy\nwere close upon them, cutting them down.\n\n\"Where is Paaker?\" asked the king. But the pioneer had vanished as\ncompletely as if the earth had swallowed him and his chariot.\n\nThe flying Egyptians and the death-dealing chariots of the enemy came\nnearer and nearer, the ground trembled, the tramp of hoofs and the roar\nof wheels sounded louder and louder, like the roll of a rapidly\napproaching storm.\n\nThen Rameses gave out a war cry, that rang back from the cliffs on the\nright hand and on the left like the blast of a trumpet; his chariot-guard\njoined in the shout--for an instant the flying Egyptians paused, but only\nto rush on again with double haste, in hope of escape and safety:\nsuddenly the war-cry of the enemy was heard behind the king, mingling\nwith the trumpet-call of the Cheta, and out from a cross valley, which\nthe king had passed unheeded by--and into which Paaker had\ndisappeared--came an innumerable host of chariots which, before the king\ncould retreat, had broken through the Egyptian ranks, and cut him off\nfrom the body of his army. Behind him he could hear the roar and shock of\nthe battle, in front of him he saw the fugitives, the fallen, and the\nenemy growing each instant in numbers and fury. He saw the whole danger,\nand drew up his powerful form as if to prove whether it were an equal\nmatch for such a foe. Then, raising his voice to such a pitch, that it\nsounded above the cries and groans of the fighting men, the words of\ncommand, the neighing of the horses, the crash of overthrown chariots,\nthe dull whirr of lances and swords, their heavy blows on shields and\nhelmets, and the whole bewildering tumult of the battle--with a loud\nshout he drew his bow, and his first arrow pierced a Cheta chief.\n\nHis lions sprang forward, and carried confusion into the hosts that were\ncrowding down upon him, for many of their horses became unmanageable at\nthe roar of the furious brutes, overthrew the chariots, and so hemmed the\nadvance of the troops in the rear. Rameses sent arrow after arrow, while\nMena covered him with the shield from the shots of the enemy. His horses\nmeanwhile had carried him forward, and he could fell the foremost of the\nAsiatics with his battle-axe; close by his side fought Rameri and three\nother princes; in front of him were the lions.\n\nThe press was fearful, and the raging of the battle wild and deafening,\nlike the roar of the surging ocean when it is hurled by a hurricane\nagainst a rocky coast.\n\nMena seemed to be in two places at once, for, while he guided the horses\nforwards, backwards, or to either hand, as the exigences of the position\ndemanded, not one of the arrows shot at the king touched him. His eye was\neverywhere, the shield always ready, and not an eyelash of the young hero\ntrembled, while Rameses, each moment more infuriated, incited his lions\nwith wild war-cries, and with flashing eyes advanced farther and farther\ninto the enemy's ranks.\n\nThree arrows aimed, not at the king but at Mena himself, were sticking in\nthe charioteer's shield, and by chance he saw written on the shaft of one\nof them the words \"Death to Mena.\"\n\nA fourth arrow whizzed past him. His eye followed its flight, and as he\nmarked the spot whence it had come, a fifth wounded his shoulder, and he\ncried out to the king:\n\n\"We are betrayed! Look over there! Paaker is fighting with the Cheta.\"\n\nOnce more the Mohar had bent his bow, and came so near to the king's\nchariot that he could be heard exclaiming in a hoarse voice, as he let\nthe bowstring snap, \"Now I will reckon with you--thief! robber! My bride\nis your wife, but with this arrow I will win Mena's widow.\"\n\nThe arrow cut through the air, and fell with fearful force on the\ncharioteer's helmet; the shield fell from his grasp, and he put his hand\nto his head, feeling stunned; he heard Paaker's laugh of triumph, he felt\nanother of his enemy's arrows cut his wrist, and, beside himself with\nrage, he flung away the reins, brandished his battle-axe, and forgetting\nhimself and his duty, sprang from the chariot and rushed upon Paaker. The\nMohar awaited him with uplifted sword; his lips were white, his eyes\nbloodshot, his wide nostrils trembled like those of an over-driven horse,\nand foaming and hissing he flew at his mortal foe. The king saw the two\nengaged in a struggle, but he could not interfere, for the reins which\nMena had dropped were dragging on the ground, and his ungoverned horses,\nfollowing the lions, carried him madly onwards.\n\nMost of his comrades had fallen, the battle raged all round him, but\nRameses stood as firm as a rock, held the shield in front of him, and\nswung the deadly battle-axe; he saw Rameri hastening towards him with his\nhorses, the youth was fighting like a hero, and Rameses called out to\nencourage him: \"Well done! a worthy grandson of Seti!\"\n\n\"I will win a new sword!\" cried the boy, and he cleft the skull of one of\nhis antagonists. But he was soon surrounded by the chariots of the enemy;\nthe king saw the enemy pull down the young prince's horses, and all his\ncomrades--among whom were many of the best warriors--turn their horses in\nflight.\n\nThen one of the lions was pierced by a lance, and sank with a dying roar\nof rage and pain that was heard above all the tumult. The king himself\nhad been grazed by an arrow, a sword stroke had shivered his shield, and\nhis last arrow had been shot away.\n\nStill spreading death around him, he saw death closing in upon him, and,\nwithout giving up the struggle, he lifted up his voice in fervent prayer,\ncalling on Amon for support and rescue.\n\nWhile thus in the sorest need he was addressing himself to the Lords of\nHeaven, a tall Egyptian suddenly appeared in the midst of the struggle\nand turmoil of the battle, seized the reins, and sprang into the chariot\nbehind the king, to whom he bowed respectfully. For the first time\nRameses felt a thrill of fear. Was this a miracle? Had Amon heard his\nprayer?\n\nHe looked half fearfully round at his new charioteer, and when he fancied\nhe recognized the features of the deceased Mohar, the father of the\ntraitor Paaker, he believed that Amon had assumed this aspect, and had\ncome himself to save him.\n\n\"Help is at hand!\" cried his new companion. \"If we hold our own for only\na short time longer, thou art saved, and victory is ours.\"\n\nThen once more Rameses raised his war-cry, felled a Cheta, who was\nstanding close to him to the ground, with a blow on his skull, while the\nmysterious supporter by his side, who covered him with the shield, on his\npart also dealt many terrible strokes.\n\nThus some long minutes passed in renewed strife; then a trumpet sounded\nabove the roar of the battle, and this time Rameses recognized the call\nof the Egyptians; from behind a low ridge on his right rushed some\nthousands of men of the foot-legion of Ptah who, under the command of\nHorus, fell upon the enemy's flank. They saw their king, and the danger\nhe was in. They flung themselves with fury on the foes that surrounded\nhim, dealing death as they advanced, and putting the Cheta to flight, and\nsoon Rameses saw himself safe, and protected by his followers.\n\nBut his mysterious friend in need had vanished. He had been hit by an\narrow, and had fallen to the earth--a quite mortal catastrophe; but\nRameses still believed that one of the Immortals had come to his rescue.\n\nBut the king granted no long respite to his horses and his fighting-men;\nhe turned to go back by the way by which he had come, fell upon the\nforces which divided him from the main army, took them in the rear while\nthey were still occupied with his chariot-brigade which was already\ngiving way, and took most of the Asiatics prisoners who escaped the\narrows and swords of the Egyptians. Having rejoined the main body of the\ntroops, he pushed forwards across the plain where the Asiatic horse and\nchariot-legions were engaged with the Egyptian swordsmen, and forced the\nenemy back upon the river Orontes and the lake of Kadesh. Night-fall put\nan end to the battle, though early next morning the struggle was renewed.\n\nUtter discouragement had fallen upon the Asiatic allies, who had gone\ninto battle in full security of victory; for the pioneer Paaker had\nbetrayed his king into their hands.\n\nWhen the Pharaoh had set out, the best chariot-warriors of the Cheta were\ndrawn up in a spot concealed by the city, and sent forward against\nRameses through the northern opening of the valley by which he was to\npass, while other troops of approved valor, in all two thousand five\nhundred chariots, were to fall upon him from a cross valley where they\ntook up their position during the night.\n\nThese tactics had been successfully carried out, and notwithstanding the\nAsiatics had suffered a severe defeat--besides losing some of their\nnoblest heroes, among them Titure their Chancellor, and Chiropasar, the\nchronicler of the Cheta king, who could wield the sword as effectively as\nthe pen, and who, it was intended, should celebrate the victory of the\nallies, and perpetuate its glory to succeeding generations. Rameses had\nkilled one of these with his own hands, and his unknown companion the\nother, and besides these many other brave captains of the enemy's troops.\nThe king was greeted as a god, when he returned to the camp, with shouts\nof triumph and hymns of praise.\n\nEven the temple-servants, and the miserable troops from Upper\nEgypt-ground down by the long war, and bought over by Ani--were carried\naway by the universal enthusiasm, and joyfully hailed the hero and king\nwho had successfully broken the stiff necks of his enemies.\n\nThe next duty was to seek out the dead and wounded; among the latter was\nMena; Rameri also was missing, but news was brought next day that he had\nfallen into the hands of the enemy, and he was immediately exchanged for\nthe princess who had been sheltered in Mena's tent.\n\nPaaker had disappeared; but the bays which he had driven into the battle\nwere found unhurt in front of his ruined and blood-sprinkled chariot.\n\nThe Egyptians were masters of Kadesh, and Chetasar, the king of the\nCheta, sued to be allowed to treat for peace, in his own name and in that\nof his allies; but Rameses refused to grant any terms till he had\nreturned to the frontier of Egypt. The conquered peoples had no choice,\nand the representative of the Cheta king--who himself was wounded--and\ntwelve princes of the principal nations who had fought against Rameses,\nwere forced to follow his victorious train. Every respect was shown them,\nand they were treated as the king himself, but they were none the less\nhis prisoners. The king was anxious to lose no time, for sad suspicion\nfilled his heart; a shadow hitherto unknown to his bright and genial\nnature had fallen upon his spirit.\n\nThis was the first occasion on which one of his own people had betrayed\nhim to the enemy. Paaker's deed had shaken his friendly confidence, and\nin his petition for peace the Cheta prince had intimated that Rameses\nmight find much in his household to be set to rights--perhaps with a\nstrong hand.\n\nThe king felt himself more than equal to cope with Ani, the priests, and\nall whom he had left in Egypt; but it grieved him to be obliged to feel\nany loss of confidence, and it was harder to him to bear than any reverse\nof fortune. It urged him to hasten his return to Egypt.\n\nThere was another thing which embittered his victory. Mena, whom he loved\nas his own son, who understood his lightest sign, who, as soon as he\nmounted his chariot, was there by his side like a part of himself--had\nbeen dismissed from his office by the judgment of the commander-in-chief,\nand no longer drove his horses. He himself had been obliged to confirm\nthis decision as just and even mild, for that man was worthy of death who\nexposed his king to danger for the gratification of his own revenge.\n\nRameses had not seen Mena since his struggle with Paaker, but he listened\nanxiously to the news which was brought him of the progress of his sorely\nwounded officer.\n\nThe cheerful, decided, and practical nature of Rameses was averse to\nevery kind of dreaminess or self-absorption, and no one had ever seen\nhim, even in hours of extreme weariness, give himself up to vague and\nmelancholy brooding; but now he would often sit gazing at the ground in\nwrapt meditation, and start like an awakened sleeper when his reverie was\ndisturbed by the requirements of the outer world around him. A hundred\ntimes before he had looked death in the face, and defied it as he would\nany other enemy, but now it seemed as though he felt the cold hand of the\nmighty adversary on his heart. He could not forget the oppressive sense\nof helplessness which had seized him when he had felt himself at the\nmercy of the unrestrained horses, like a leaf driven by the wind, and\nthen suddenly saved by a miracle.\n\nA miracle? Was it really Amon who had appeared in human form at his call?\nWas he indeed a son of the Gods, and did their blood flow in his veins?\n\nThe Immortals had shown him peculiar favor, but still he was but a man;\nthat he realized from the pain in his wound, and the treason to which he\nhad been a victim. He felt as if he had been respited on the very\nscaffold. Yes; he was a man like all other men, and so he would still be.\nHe rejoiced in the obscurity that veiled his future, in the many\nweaknesses which he had in common with those whom he loved, and even in\nthe feeling that he, under the same conditions of life as his\ncontemporaries, had more responsibilities than they.\n\nShortly after his victory, after all the important passes and strongholds\nhad been conquered by his troops, he set out for Egypt with his train and\nthe vanquished princes. He sent two of his sons to Bent-Anat at Megiddo,\nto escort her by sea to Pelusium; he knew that the commandant of the\nharbor of that frontier fortress, at the easternmost limit of his\nkingdom, was faithful to him, and he ordered that his daughter should not\nquit the ship till he arrived, to secure her against any attempt on the\npart of the Regent. A large part of the material of war, and most of the\nwounded, were also sent to Egypt by sea.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL.\n\nNearly three months had passed since the battle of Kadesh, and to-day the\nking was expected, on his way home with his victorious army, at Pelusium,\nthe strong hold and key of Egyptian dominion in the east. Splendid\npreparations had been made for his reception, and the man who took the\nlead in the festive arrangements with a zeal that was doubly effective\nfrom his composed demeanor was no less a person than the Regent Ani.\n\nHis chariot was to be seen everywhere: now he was with the workmen, who\nwere to decorate triumphal arches with fresh flowers; now with the\nslaves, who were hanging garlands on the wooden lions erected on the road\nfor this great occasion; now--and this detained him longest--he watched\nthe progress of the immense palace which was being rapidly constructed of\nwood on the site where formerly the camp of the Hyksos had stood, in\nwhich the actual ceremony of receiving the king was to take place, and\nwhere the Pharaoh and his immediate followers were to reside. It had been\nfound possible, by employing several thousand laborers, to erect this\nmagnificent structure, in a few weeks, and nothing was lacking to it that\ncould be desired, even by a king so accustomed as Rameses to luxury and\nsplendor. A high exterior flight of steps led from the garden--which had\nbeen created out of a waste--to the vestibule, out of which the\nbanqueting hall opened.\n\nThis was of unusual height, and had a vaulted wooden ceiling, which was\npainted blue and sprinkled with stars, to represent the night heavens,\nand which was supported on pillars carved, some in the form of\ndate-palms, and some like cedars of Lebanon; the leaves and twigs\nconsisted of artfully fastened and colored tissue; elegant festoons of\nbluish gauze were stretched from pillar to pillar across the hall, and in\nthe centre of the eastern wall they were attached to a large shell-shaped\ncanopy extending over the throne of the king, which was decorated with\npieces of green and blue glass, of mother of pearl, of shining plates of\nmica, and other sparkling objects.\n\nThe throne itself had the shape of a buckler, guarded by two lions, which\nrested on each side of it and formed the arms, and supported on the backs\nof four Asiatic captives who crouched beneath its weight. Thick carpets,\nwhich seemed to have transported the sea-shore on to the dry land-for\ntheir pale blue ground was strewn with a variety of shells, fishes, and\nwater plants-covered the floor of the banqueting hall, in which three\nhundred seats were placed by the tables, for the nobles of the kingdom\nand the officers of the troops.\n\nAbove all this splendor hung a thousand lamps, shaped like lilies and\ntulips, and in the entrance hall stood a huge basket of roses to be\nstrewn before the king when he should arrive.\n\nEven the bed-rooms for the king and his suite were splendidly decorated;\nfinely embroidered purple stuffs covered the walls, a light cloud of pale\nblue gauze hung across the ceiling, and giraffe skins were laid instead\nof carpets on the floors.\n\nThe barracks intended for the soldiers and bodyguard stood nearer to the\ncity, as well as the stable buildings, which were divided from the palace\nby the garden which surrounded it. A separate pavilion, gilt and wreathed\nwith flowers, was erected to receive the horses which had carried the\nking through the battle, and which he had dedicated to the Sun-God.\n\nThe Regent Ani, accompanied by Katuti, was going through the whole of\nthese slightly built structures.\n\n\"It seems to me all quite complete,\" said the widow.\n\n\"Only one thing I cannot make up my mind about,\" replied Ani, \"whether\nmost to admire your inventive genius or your exquisite taste.\"\n\n\"Oh! let that pass,\" said Katuti smiling. \"If any thing deserves your\npraise it is my anxiety to serve you. How many things had to be\nconsidered before this structure at last stood complete on this marshy\nspot where the air seemed alive with disgusting insects and now it is\nfinished how long will it last?\"\n\nAni looked down. \"How long?\" he repeated. Then he continued: \"There is\ngreat risk already of the plot miscarrying. Ameni has grown cool, and\nwill stir no further in the matter; the troops on which I counted are\nperhaps still faithful to me, but much too weak; the Hebrews, who tend\ntheir flocks here, and whom I gained over by liberating them from forced\nlabor, have never borne arms. And you know the people. They will kiss the\nfeet of the conqueror if they have to wade up to there through the blood\nof their children. Besides--as it happens--the hawk which old Hekt keeps\nas representing me is to-day pining and sick--\"\n\n\"It will be all the prouder and brighter to-morrow if you are a man!\"\nexclaimed Katuti, and her eyes sparkled with scorn. \"You cannot now\nretreat. Here in Pelusium you welcome Rameses as if he were a God, and he\naccepts the honor. I know the king, he is too proud to be distrustful,\nand so conceited that he can never believe himself deceived in any man,\neither friend or foe. The man whom he appointed to be his Regent, whom he\ndesignated as the worthiest in the land, he will most unwillingly\ncondemn. Today you still have the car of the king; to-morrow he will\nlisten to your enemies, and too much has occurred in Thebes to be blotted\nout. You are in the position of a lion who has his keeper on one side,\nand the bars of his cage on the other. If you let the moment pass without\nstriking you will remain in the cage; but if you act and show yourself a\nlion your keepers are done for!\"\n\n\"You urge me on and on,\" said Ani. \"But supposing your plan were to fail,\nas Paaker's well considered plot failed?\"\n\n\"Then you are no worse off than you are now,\" answered Katuti. \"The Gods\nrule the elements, not men. Is it likely that you should finish so\nbeautiful a structure with such care only to destroy it? And we have no\naccomplices, and need none.\"\n\n\"But who shall set the brand to the room which Nemu and the slave have\nfilled with straw and pitch?\" asked Ani.\n\n\"I,\" said Katuti decidedly. \"And one who has nothing to look for from\nRameses.\"\n\n\"Who is that?\"\n\n\"Paaker.\"\n\n\"Is the Mohar here?\" asked the Regent surprised.\n\n\"You yourself have seen him.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" said Ani. \"I should--\"\n\n\"Do you recollect the one-eyed, grey-haired, blackman, who yesterday\nbrought me a letter? That was my sister's son.\"\n\nThe Regent struck his forehead--\"Poor wretch\" he muttered.\n\n\"He is frightfully altered,\" said Katuti. \"He need not have blackened his\nface, for his own mother would not know him again: He lost an eye in his\nfight with Mena, who also wounded him in the lungs with a thrust of his\nsword, so that he breathes and speaks with difficulty, his broad\nshoulders have lost their flesh, and the fine legs he swaggered about on\nhave shrunk as thin as a negro's. I let him pass as my servant without\nany hesitation or misgiving. He does not yet know of my purpose, but I am\nsure that he would help us if a thousand deaths threatened him. For God's\nsake put aside all doubts and fears! We will shake the tree for you, if\nyou will only hold out your hand to-morrow to pick up the fruit. Only one\nthing I must beg. Command the head butler not to stint the wine, so that\nthe guards may give us no trouble. I know that you gave the order that\nonly three of the five ships which brought the contents of your winelofts\nshould be unloaded. I should have thought that the future king of Egypt\nmight have been less anxious to save!\"\n\nKatuti's lips curled with contempt as she spoke the last words. Ani\nobserved this and said:\n\n\"You think I am timid! Well, I confess I would far rather that much which\nI have done at your instigation could be undone. I would willingly\nrenounce this new plot, though we so carefully planned it when we built\nand decorated this palace. I will sacrifice the wine; there are jars of\nwine there that were old in my father's time--but it must be so! You are\nright! Many things have occurred which the king will not forgive! You are\nright, you are right--do what seems good to you. I will retire after the\nfeast to the Ethiopian camp.\"\n\n\"They will hail you as king as soon as the usurpers have fallen in the\nflames,\" cried Katuti. \"If only a few set the example, the others will\ntake up the cry, and even though you have offended Ameni he will attach\nhimself to you rather than to Rameses. Here he comes, and I already see\nthe standards in the distance.\"\n\n\"They are coming!\" said the Regent. \"One thing more! Pray see yourself\nthat the princess Bent-Anat goes to the rooms intended for her; she must\nnot be injured.\"\n\n\"Still Bent-Anat?\" said Katuti with a smile full of meaning but without\nbitterness. \"Be easy, her rooms are on the ground floor, and she shall be\nwarned in time.\"\n\nAni turned to leave her; he glanced once more at the great hall, and said\nwith a sigh. \"My heart is heavy--I wish this day and this night were\nover!\"\n\n\"You are like this grand hall,\" said Katuti smiling, \"which is now empty,\nalmost dismal; but this evening, when it is crowded with guests, it will\nlook very different. You were born to be a king, and yet are not a king;\nyou will not be quite yourself till the crown and sceptre are your own.\"\n\nAni smiled too, thanked her, and left her; but Katuti said to herself:\n\n\"Bent-Anat may burn with the rest: I have no intention of sharing my\npower with her!\"\n\nCrowds of men and women from all parts had thronged to Pelusium, to\nwelcome the conqueror and his victorious army on the frontier. Every\ngreat temple-college had sent a deputation to meet Rameses, that from the\nNecropolis consisting of five members, with Ameni and old Gagabu at their\nhead. The white-robed ministers of the Gods marched in solemn procession\ntowards the bridge which lay across the eastern-Pelusiac-arm of the Nile,\nand led to Egypt proper--the land fertilized by the waters of the sacred\nstream.\n\nThe deputation from the temple of Memphis led the procession; this temple\nhad been founded by Mena, the first king who wore the united crowns of\nUpper and Lower Egypt, and Chamus, the king's son, was the high-priest.\nThe deputation from the not less important temple of Heliopolis came\nnext, and was followed by the representatives of the Necropolis of\nThebes.\n\nA few only of the members of these deputations wore the modest white robe\nof the simple priest; most of them were invested with the panther-skin\nwhich was worn by the prophets. Each bore a staff decorated with roses,\nlilies, and green branches, and many carried censers in the form of a\ngolden arm with incense in the hollow of the hand, to be burnt before the\nking. Among the deputies from the priesthood at Thebes were several women\nof high rank, who served in the worship of this God, and among them was\nKatuti, who by the particular desire of the Regent had lately been\nadmitted to this noble sisterhood.\n\nAmeni walked thoughtfully by the side of the prophet Gagabu.\n\n\"How differently everything has happened from what we hoped and\nintended!\" said Gagabu in a low voice. \"We are like ambassadors with\nsealed credentials--who can tell their contents?\"\n\n\"I welcome Rameses heartily and joyfully,\" said Ameni. \"After that which\nhappened to him at Kadesh he will come home a very different man to what\nhe was when he set out. He knows now what he owes to Amon. His favorite\nson was already at the head of the ministers of the temple at Memphis,\nand he has vowed to build magnificent temples and to bring splendid\nofferings to the Immortals. And Rameses keeps his word better than that\nsmiling simpleton in the chariot yonder.\"\n\n\"Still I am sorry for Ani,\" said Gagabu.\n\n\"The Pharaoh will not punish him--certainly not,\" replied the\nhigh-priest. \"And he will have nothing to fear from Ani; he is a feeble\nreed, the powerless sport of every wind.\"\n\n\"And yet you hoped for great things from him!\"\n\n\"Not from him, but through him--with us for his guides,\" replied Ameni in\na low voice but with emphasis. \"It is his own fault that I have abandoned\nhis cause. Our first wish--to spare the poet Pentaur--he would not\nrespect, and he did not hesitate to break his oath, to betray us, and to\nsacrifice one of the noblest of God's creatures, as the poet was, to\ngratify a petty grudge. It is harder to fight against cunning weakness\nthan against honest enmity. Shall we reward the man who has deprived the\nworld of Pentaur by giving him a crown? It is hard to quit the trodden\nway, and seek a better--to give up a half-executed plan and take a more\npromising one; it is hard, I say, for the individual man, and makes him\nseem fickle in the eyes of others; but we cannot see to the right hand\nand the left, and if we pursue a great end we cannot remain within the\nnarrow limits which are set by law and custom to the actions of private\nindividuals. We draw back just as we seem to have reached the goal, we\nlet him fall whom we had raised, and lift him, whom we had stricken to\nthe earth, to the pinnacle of glory, in short we profess--and for\nthousands of years have professed--the doctrine that every path is a\nright one that leads to the great end of securing to the priesthood the\nsupreme power in the land. Rameses, saved by a miracle, vowing temples to\nthe Gods, will for the future exhaust his restless spirit not in battle\nas a warrior, but in building as an architect. He will make use of us,\nand we can always lead the man who needs us. So I now hail the son of\nSeti with sincere joy.\"\n\nAmeni was still speaking when the flags were hoisted on the standards by\nthe triumphal arches, clouds of dust rolled up on the farther shore of\nthe Nile, and the blare of trumpets was heard.\n\nFirst came the horses which had carried Rameses through the fight, with\nthe king himself, who drove them. His eyes sparkled with joyful triumph\nas the people on the farther side of the bridge received him with shouts\nof joy, and the vast multitude hailed him with wild enthusiasm and tears\nof emotion, strewing in his path the spoils of their gardens-flowers,\ngarlands, and palm-branches.\n\nAni marched at the head of the procession that went forth to meet him; he\nhumbly threw himself in the dust before the horses, kissed the ground,\nand then presented to the king the sceptre that had been entrusted to\nhim, lying on a silk cushion. The king received it graciously, and when\nAni took his robe to kiss it, the king bent down towards him, and\ntouching the Regent's forehead with his lips, desired him to take the\nplace by his side in the chariot, and fill the office of charioteer.\n\nThe king's eyes were moist with grateful emotion. He had not been\ndeceived, and he could re-enter the country for whose greatness and\nwelfare alone he lived, as a father, loving and beloved, and not as a\nmaster to judge and punish. He was deeply moved as he accepted the\ngreetings of the priests, and with them offered up a public prayer. Then\nhe was conducted to the splendid structure which had been prepared for\nhim gaily mounted the outside steps, and from the top-most stair bowed to\nhis innumerable crowd of subjects; and while he awaited the procession\nfrom the harbor which escorted Bent-Anat in her litter, he inspected the\nthousand decorated bulls and antelopes which were to be slaughtered as a\nthank-offering to the Gods, the tame lions and leopards, the rare trees\nin whose branches perched gaily-colored birds, the giraffes, and chariots\nto which ostriches were harnessed, which all marched past him in a long\narray.\n\n   [The splendor of the festivities I make Ani prepare seems pitiful\n   compared with those Ptolemy Philadelphus, according to the report of\n   an eye witness, Callexenus, displayed to the Alexandrians on a\n   festal occasion.]\n\nRameses embraced his daughter before all the people; he felt as if he\nmust admit his subjects to the fullest sympathy in the happiness and deep\nthankfulness which filled his soul. His favorite child had never seemed\nto him so beautiful as this day, and he realized with deep emotion her\nstrong resemblance to his lost wife.--[Her name was Isis Nefert.]\n\nNefert had accompanied her royal friend as fanbearer, and she knelt\nbefore the king while he gave himself up to the delight of meeting his\ndaughter. Then he observed her, and kindly desired her to rise. \"How\nmuch,\" he said, \"I am feeling to-day for the first time! I have already\nlearned that what I formerly thought of as the highest happiness is\ncapable of a yet higher pitch, and I now perceive that the most beautiful\nis capable of growing to greater beauty! A sun has grown from Mena's\nstar.\"\n\nRameses, as he spoke, remembered his charioteer; for a moment his brow\nwas clouded, and he cast down his eyes, and bent his head in thought.\n\nBent-Anat well knew this gesture of her father's; it was the omen of some\nkindly, often sportive suggestion, such as he loved to surprise his\nfriends with.\n\nHe reflected longer than usual; at last he looked up, and his full eyes\nrested lovingly on his daughter as he asked her:\n\n\"What did your friend say when she heard that her husband had taken a\npretty stranger into his tent, and harbored her there for months? Tell me\nthe whole truth of it, Bent-Anat.\"\n\n\"I am indebted to this deed of Mena's, which must certainly be quite\nexcusable if you can smile when you speak of it,\" said the princess, \"for\nit was the cause of his wife's coming to me. Her mother blamed her\nhusband with bitter severity, but she would not cease to believe in him,\nand left her house because it was impossible for her to endure to hear\nhim blamed.\"\n\n\"Is this the fact?\" asked Rameses.\n\nNefert bowed her pretty head, and two tears ran down her blushing cheeks.\n\n\"How good a man must be,\" cried the king, \"on whom the Gods bestow such\nhappiness! My lord Chamberlain, inform Mena that I require his services\nat dinner to-day--as before the battle at Kadesh. He flung away the reins\nin the fight when he saw his enemy, and we shall see if he can keep from\nflinging down the beaker when, with his own eyes, he sees his beloved\nwife sitting at the table.--You ladies will join me at the banquet.\"\n\nNefert sank on her knees before the king; but he turned from her to speak\nto the nobles and officers who had come to meet him, and then proceeded\nto the temple to assist at the slaughter of the victims, and to solemnly\nrenew his vow in the presence of the priests and the people, to erect a\nmagnificent temple in Thebes as a thank-offering for his preservation\nfrom death. He was received with rapturous enthusiasm; his road led to\nthe harbor, past the tents in which lay the wounded, who had been brought\nhome to Egypt by ship, and he greeted them graciously from his chariot.\n\nAni again acted as his charioteer; they drove slowly through the long\nranks of invalids and convalescents, but suddenly Ani gave the reins an\ninvoluntary pull, the horses reared, and it was with difficulty that he\nsoothed them to a steady pace again.\n\nRameses looked round in anxious surprise, for at the moment when the\nhorses had started, he too had felt an agitating thrill--he thought he\nhad caught sight of his preserver at Kadesh.\n\nHad the sight of a God struck terror into the horses? Was he the victim\nof a delusion? or was his preserver a man of flesh and blood, who had\ncome home from the battle-field among the wounded!\n\nThe man who stood by his side, and held the reins, could have informed\nhim, for Ani had recognized Pentaur, and in his horror had given the\nreins a perilous jerk.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI.\n\nThe king did not return to the great pavilion till after sun-down; the\nbanqueting hall, illuminated with a thousand lamps, was now filled with\nthe gay crowd of guests who awaited the arrival of the king. All bowed\nbefore him, as he entered, more or less low, each according to his rank;\nhe immediately seated himself on his throne, surrounded by his children\nin a wide semicircle, and his officers and retainers all passed before\nhim; for each he had a kindly word or glance, winning respect from all,\nand filling every one with joy and hope.\n\n\"The only really divine attribute of my royal condition,\" said he to\nhimself, \"is that it is so easy to a king to make men happy. My\npredecessors chose the poisonous Uraeus as the emblem of their authority,\nfor we can cause death as quickly and certainly as the venomous snake;\nbut the power of giving happiness dwells on our own lips, and in our own\neyes, and we need some instrument when we decree death.\"\n\n\"Take the Uraeus crown from my head,\" he continued aloud, as he seated\nhimself at the feast. \"Today I will wear a wreath of flowers.\"\n\nDuring the ceremony of bowing to the king, two men had quitted the\nhall--the Regent Ani, and the high-priest Ameni.\n\nAni ordered a small party of the watch to go and seek out the priest\nPentaur in the tents of the wounded by the harbor, to bring the poet\nquietly to his tent, and to guard him there till his return. He still had\nin his possession the maddening potion, which he was to have given to the\ncaptain of the transport-boat, and it was open to him still to receive\nPentaur either as a guest or as a prisoner. Pentaur might injure him,\nwhether Katuti's project failed or succeeded.\n\nAmeni left the pavilion to go to see old Gagabu, who had stood so long in\nthe heat of the sun during the ceremony of receiving the conqueror, that\nhe had been at last carried fainting to the tent which he shared with the\nhigh-priest, and which was not far from that of the Regent. He found the\nold man much revived, and was preparing to mount his chariot to go to the\nbanquet, when the Regent's myrmidons led Pentaur past in front of him.\nAmeni looked doubtfully at the tall and noble figure of the prisoner, but\nPentaur recognized him, called him by his name, and in a moment they\nstood together, hand clasped in hand. The guards showed some uneasiness,\nbut Ameni explained who he was.\n\nThe high-priest was sincerely rejoiced at the preservation and\nrestoration of his favorite disciple, whom for many months he had mourned\nas dead; he looked at his manly figure with fatherly tenderness, and\ndesired the guards, who bowed to his superior dignity, to conduct his\nfriend, on his responsibility; to his tent instead of to Ani's.\n\nThere Pentaur found his old friend Gagabu, who wept with delight at his\nsafety. All that his master had accused him of seemed to be forgotten.\nAmeni had him clothed in a fresh white robe, he was never tired of\nlooking at him, and over and over again clapped his hand upon his\nshoulder, as if he were his own son that had been lost and found again.\n\nPentaur was at once required to relate all that had happened to him, and\nthe poet told the story of his captivity and liberation at Mount Sinai,\nhis meeting with Bent-Anat, and how he had fought in the battle of\nKadesh, had been wounded by an arrow, and found and rescued by the\nfaithful Kaschta. He concealed only his passion for Bent-Anat, and the\nfact that he had preserved the king's life.\n\n\"About an hour ago,\" he added, \"I was sitting alone in my tent, watching\nthe lights in the palace yonder, when the watch who are outside brought\nme an order from the Regent to accompany them to his tent. What can he\nwant with me? I always thought he owed me a grudge.\"\n\nGagabu and Ameni glanced meaningly at each other, and the high-priest\nthen hastened away, as already he had remained too long away from the\nbanquet. Before he got into his chariot he commanded the guard to return\nto their posts, and took it upon himself to inform the Regent that his\nguest would remain in his tent till the festival was over; the soldiers\nunhesitatingly obeyed him.\n\nAmeni arrived at the palace before them, and entered the banqueting-hall\njust as Ani was assigning a place to each of his guests. The high-priest\nwent straight up to him, and said, as he bowed before him:\n\n\"Pardon my long delay, but I was detained by a great surprise. The poet\nPentaur is living--as you know. I have invited him to remain in my tent\nas my guest, and to tend the prophet Gagabu.\"\n\nThe Regent turned pale, he remained speechless and looked at Ameni with a\ncold ghastly smile; but he soon recovered himself.\n\n\"You see,\" he said, \"how you have injured me by your unworthy suspicions;\nI meant to have restored your favorite to you myself to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Forgive me, then, for having anticipated your plan,\" said Ameni, taking\nhis seat near the king. Hundreds of slaves hurried to and fro loaded with\ncostly dishes. Large vessels of richly wrought gold and silver were\nbrought into the hall on wheels, and set on the side-boards. Children\nwere perched in the shells and lotus-flowers that hung from the painted\nrafters; and from between the pillars, that were hung with cloudy\ntransparent tissues, they threw roses and violets down on the company.\nThe sounds of harps and songs issued from concealed rooms, and from an\naltar, six ells high, in the middle of the hall, clouds of incense were\nwafted into space.\n\nThe king-one of whose titles was \"Son of the Sun,\"--was as radiant as the\nsun himself. His children were once more around him, Mena was his\ncupbearer as in former times, and all that was best and noblest in the\nland was gathered round him to rejoice with him in his triumph and his\nreturn. Opposite to him sat the ladies, and exactly in front of him, a\ndelight to his eyes, Bent-Anat and Nefert. His injunction to Mena to hold\nthe wine cup steadily seemed by no means superfluous, for his looks\nconstantly wandered from the king's goblet to his fair wife, from whose\nlips he as yet had heard no word of welcome, whose hand he had not yet\nbeen so happy as to touch.\n\nAll the guests were in the most joyful excitement. Rameses related the\ntale of his fight at Kadesh, and the high-priest of Heliopolis observed\nIn later times the poets will sing of thy deeds.\"\n\n\"Their songs will not be of my achievements,\" exclaimed the king, \"but of\nthe grace of the Divinity, who so miraculously rescued your sovereign,\nand gave the victory to the Egyptians over an innumerable enemy.\"\n\n\"Did you see the God with your own eyes? and in what form did he appear\nto you?\" asked Bent-Anat. \"It is most extraordinary,\" said the king, \"but\nhe exactly resembled the dead father of the traitor Paaker. My preserver\nwas of tall stature, and had a beautiful countenance; his voice was deep\nand thrilling, and he swung his battle-axe as if it were a mere\nplaything.\"\n\nAmeni had listened eagerly to the king's words, now he bowed low before\nhim and said humbly: \"If I were younger I myself would endeavor, as was\nthe custom with our fathers, to celebrate this glorious deed of a God and\nof his sublime son in a song worthy of this festival; but melting tones\nare no longer mine, they vanish with years, and the car of the listener\nlends itself only to the young. Nothing is wanting to thy feast, most\nlordly Ani, but a poet, who might sing the glorious deeds of our monarch\nto the sound of his lute, and yet--we have at hand the gifted Pentaur,\nthe noblest disciple of the House of Seti.\"\n\nBent-Anat turned perfectly white, and the priests who were present\nexpressed the utmost joy and astonishment, for they had long thought the\nyoung poet, who was highly esteemed throughout Egypt, to be dead.\n\nThe king had often heard of the fame of Pentaur from his sons and\nespecially from Rameri, and he willingly consented that Ameni should send\nfor the poet, who had himself borne arms at Kadesh, in order that he\nshould sing a song of triumph. The Regent gazed blankly and uneasily into\nhis wine cup, and the high-priest rose to fetch Pentaur himself into the\npresence of the king.\n\nDuring the high-priest's absence, more and more dishes were served to the\ncompany; behind each guest stood a silver bowl with rose water, in which\nfrom time to time he could dip his fingers to cool and clean them; the\nslaves in waiting were constantly at hand with embroidered napkins to\nwipe them, and others frequently changed the faded wreaths, round the\nheads and shoulders of the feasters, for fresh ones.\n\n\"How pale you are, my child!\" said Rameses turning to Bent-Anat. \"If you\nare tired, your uncle will no doubt allow you to leave the hall; though I\nthink you should stay to hear the performance of this much-lauded poet.\nAfter having been so highly praised he will find it difficult to satisfy\nhis hearers. But indeed I am uneasy about you, my child--would you rather\ngo?\" The Regent had risen and said earnestly, \"Your presence has done me\nhonor, but if you are fatigued I beg you to allow me to conduct you and\nyour ladies to the apartments intended for you.\"\n\n\"I will stay,\" said Bent-Anat in a low but decided tone, and she kept her\neyes on the floor, while her heart beat violently, for the murmur of\nvoices told her that Pentaur was entering the hall. He wore the long\nwhite robe of a priest of the temple of Seti, and on his forehead the\nostrich-feather which marked him as one of the initiated. He did not\nraise his eyes till he stood close before the king; then he prostrated\nhimself before him, and awaited a sign from the Pharaoh before he rose\nagain.\n\nBut Rameses hesitated a long time, for the youthful figure before him,\nand the glance that met his own, moved him strangely. Was not this the\ndivinity of the fight? Was not this his preserver? Was he again deluded\nby a resemblance, or was he in a dream?\n\nThe guests gazed in silence at the spellbound king, and at the poet; at\nlast Rameses bowed his head,\n\nPentaur rose to his feet, and the bright color flew to his face as close\nto him he perceived Bent-Anat.\n\n\"You fought at Kadesh?\" asked the king. \"As thou sayest,\" replied\nPentaur.\n\n\"You are well spoken of as a poet,\" said Rameses, \"and we desire to hear\nthe wonderful tale of my preservation celebrated in song. If you will\nattempt it, let a lute be brought and sing.\"\n\nThe poet bowed. \"My gifts are modest,\" he said, \"but I will endeavor to\nsing of the glorious deed, in the presence of the hero who achieved it,\nwith the aid of the Gods.\"\n\nRameses gave a signal, and Ameni caused a large golden harp to be brought\nin for his disciple. Pentaur lightly touched the strings, leaned his head\nagainst the top of the tall bow of the harp, for some time lest in\nmeditation; then he drew himself up boldly, and struck the chords,\nbringing out a strong and warlike music in broad heroic rhythm.\n\nThen he began the narrative: how Rameses had pitched his camp before\nKadesh, how he ordered his troops, and how he had taken the field against\nthe Cheta, and their Asiatic allies. Louder and stronger rose his tones\nwhen he reached the turning-point of the battle, and began to celebrate\nthe rescue of the king; and the Pharaoh listened with eager attention as\nPentaur sang:--[A literal translation of the ancient Egyptian poem called\n\"The Epos of Pentaur\"]\n\n     \"Then the king stood forth, and, radiant with courage,\n     He looked like the Sun-god armed and eager for battle.\n     The noble steeds that bore him into the struggle\n     'Victory to Thebes' was the name of one, and the other\n     Was called 'contented Nura'--were foaled in the stables\n     Of him we call 'the elect,' 'the beloved of Amon,'\n     'Lord of truth,' the chosen vicar of Ra.\n\n     Up sprang the king and threw himself on the foe,\n     The swaying ranks of the contemptible Cheta.\n     He stood alone-alone, and no man with him.\n     As thus the king stood forth all eyes were upon him,\n     And soon he was enmeshed by men and horses,\n     And by the enemy's chariots: two thousand five hundred.\n     The foe behind hemmed him in and enclosed him.\n     Dense the array of the contemptible Cheta,\n     Dense the swarm of warriors out of Arad,\n     Dense the Mysian host, the Pisidian legions.\n     Every chariot carried three bold warriors,\n     All his foes, and all allied like brothers.\n\n     \"Not a prince is with me, not a captain,\n     Not an archer, none to guide my horses!\n     Fled the riders! fled my troops and horse\n     By my side not one is now left standing.\"\n     Thus the king, and raised his voice in prayer.\n     \"Great father Amon, I have known Thee well.\n     And can the father thus forget his son?\n     Have I in any deed forgotten Thee?\n     Have I done aught without Thy high behest\n     Or moved or staid against Thy sovereign will?\n     Great am I--mighty are Egyptian kings\n     But in the sight of Thy commanding might,\n     Small as the chieftain of a wandering tribe.\n     Immortal Lord, crush Thou this unclean people;\n     Break Thou their necks, annihilate the heathen.\n\n     And I--have I not brought Thee many victims,\n     And filled Thy temple with the captive folk?\n     And for thy presence built a dwelling place\n     That shall endure for countless years to come?\n     Thy garners overflow with gifts from me.\n     I offered Thee the world to swell Thy glory,\n     And thirty thousand mighty steers have shed\n     Their smoking blood on fragrant cedar piles.\n     Tall gateways, flag-decked masts, I raised to Thee,\n     And obelisks from Abu I have brought,\n     And built Thee temples of eternal stone.\n     For Thee my ships have brought across the sea\n     The tribute of the nations. This I did--\n     When were such things done in the former time?\n\n     For dark the fate of him who would rebel\n     Against Thee: though Thy sway is just and mild.\n     My father, Amon--as an earthly son\n     His earthly father--so I call on Thee.\n     Look down from heaven on me, beset by foes,\n     By heathen foes--the folk that know Thee not.\n     The nations have combined against Thy son;\n     I stand alone--alone, and no man with me.\n     My foot and horse are fled, I called aloud\n     And no one heard--in vain I called to them.\n     And yet I say: the sheltering care of Amon\n     Is better succor than a million men,\n     Or than ten thousand knights, or than a thousand\n     Brothers and sons though gathered into one.\n     And yet I say: the bulwarks raised by men\n     However strong, compared to Thy great works\n     Are but vain shadows, and no human aid\n     Avails against the foe--but Thy strong hand.\n     The counsel of Thy lips shall guide my way;\n     I have obeyed whenever Thou hast ruled;\n     I call on Thee--and, with my fame, Thy glory\n     Shall fill the world, from farthest east to west.\"\n\n     Yea, his cry rang forth even far as Hermonthis,\n     And Amon himself appeared at his call; and gave him\n     His hand and shouted in triumph, saying to the Pharaoh:\n     \"Help is at hand, O Rameses. I will uphold thee--\n     I thy father am he who now is thy succor,\n     Bearing thee in my hands. For stronger and readier\n     I than a hundred thousand mortal retainers;\n     I am the Lord of victory loving valor?\n     I rejoice in the brave and give them good counsel,\n     And he whom I counsel certainly shall not miscarry.\"\n\n     Then like Menth, with his right he scattered the arrows,\n     And with his left he swung his deadly weapon,\n     Felling the foe--as his foes are felled by Baal.\n     The chariots were broken and the drivers scattered,\n     Then was the foe overthrown before his horses.\n     None found a hand to fight: they could not shoot\n     Nor dared they hurl the spear but fled at his coming\n     Headlong into the river.\"\n\n   [I have availed myself of the help of Prof. Lushington's translation\n   in \"Records of the past,\" edited by Dr. S. Birch. Translator.]\n\nA silence as of the grave reigned in the vast hall, Rameses fixed his\neyes on the poet, as though he would engrave his features on his very\nsoul, and compare them with those of another which had dwelt there\nunforgotten since the day of Kadesh. Beyond a doubt his preserver stood\nbefore him.\n\nSeized by a sudden impulse, he interrupted the poet in the midst of his\nstirring song, and cried out to the assembled guests:\n\n\"Pay honor to this man! for the Divinity chose to appear under his form\nto save your king when he 'alone, and no man with him,' struggled with a\nthousand.\"\n\n\"Hail to Pentaur!\" rang through the hall from the vast assembly, and\nNefert rose and gave the poet the bunch of flowers she had been wearing\non her bosom.\n\nThe king nodded approval, and looked enquiringly at his daughter;\nBent-Anat's eyes met his with a glance of intelligence, and with all the\nsimplicity of an impulsive child, she took from her head the wreath that\nhad decorated her beautiful hair, went up to Pentaur, and crowned him\nwith it, as it was customary for a bride to crown her lover before the\nwedding.\n\nRameses observed his daughter's action with some surprise, and the guests\nresponded to it with loud cheering.\n\nThe king looked gravely at Bent-Anat and the young priest; the eyes of\nall the company were eagerly fixed on the princess and the poet. The king\nseemed to have forgotten the presence of strangers, and to be wholly\nabsorbed in thought, but by degrees a change came over his face, it\ncleared, as a landscape is cleared from the morning mists under the\ninfluence of the spring sunshine. When he looked up again his glance was\nbright and satisfied, and Bent-Anat knew what it promised when it\nlingered lovingly first on her, and then on her friend, whose head was\nstill graced by the wreath that had crowned hers.\n\nAt last Rameses turned from the lovers, and said to the guests:\n\n\"It is past midnight, and I will now leave you. To-morrow evening I bid\nyou all--and you especially, Pentaur--to be my guests in this banqueting\nhall. Once more fill your cups, and let us empty them--to a long time of\npeace after the victory which, by the help of the Gods, we have won. And\nat the same time let us express our thanks to my friend Ani, who has\nentertained us so magnificently, and who has so faithfully and zealously\nadministered the affairs of the kingdom during my absence.\"\n\nThe company pledged the king, who warmly shook hands with the Regent, and\nthen, escorted by his wandbearers and lords in waiting, quitted the hall,\nafter he had signed to Mena, Ameni, and the ladies to follow him.\n\nNefert greeted her husband, but she immediately parted from the royal\nparty, as she had yielded to the urgent entreaty of Katuti that she\nshould for this night go to her mother, to whom she had so much to tell,\ninstead of remaining with the princess. Her mother's chariot soon took\nher to her tent.\n\nRameses dismissed his attendants in the ante-room of his apartments; when\nthey were alone he turned to Bent-Anat and said affectionately.\n\n\"What was in your mind when you laid your wreath on the poet's brow?\"\n\n\"What is in every maiden's mind when she does the like,\" replied\nBent-Anat with trustful frankness.\n\n\"And your father?\" asked the king.\n\n\"My father knows that I will obey him even if he demands of me the\nhardest thing--the sacrifice of all my--happiness; but I believe that\nhe--that you love me fondly, and I do not forget the hour in which you\nsaid to me that now my mother was dead you would be father and mother\nboth to me, and you would try to understand me as she certainly would\nhave understood me. But what need between us of so many words. I love\nPentaur--with a love that is not of yesterday--with the first perfect\nlove of my heart and he has proved himself worthy of that high honor. But\nwere he ever so humble, the hand of your daughter has the power to raise\nhim above every prince in the land.\"\n\n\"It has such power, and you shall exercise it,\" cried the king. \"You have\nbeen true and faithful to yourself, while your father and protector left\nyou to yourself. In you I love the image of your mother, and I learned\nfrom her that a true woman's heart can find the right path better than a\nman's wisdom. Now go to rest, and to-morrow morning put on a fresh\nwreath, for you will have need of it, my noble daughter.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     He who looks for faith must give faith\n     I have never deviated from the exact truth even in jest\n     Learn early to pass lightly over little things\n     Trustfulness is so dear, so essential to me\n\n\n\n\nUARDA\n\nVolume 10.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII\n\nThe cloudless vault of heaven spread over the plain of Pelusium, the\nstars were bright, the moon threw her calm light over the thousands of\ntents which shone as white as little hillocks of snow. All was silent,\nthe soldiers and the Egyptians, who had assembled to welcome the king,\nwere now all gone to rest.\n\nThere had been great rejoicing and jollity in the camp; three enormous\nvats, garlanded with flowers and overflowing with wine, which spilt with\nevery movement of the trucks on which they were drawn by thirty oxen,\nwere sent up and down the little streets of tents, and as the evening\nclosed in tavern-booths were erected in many spots in the camp, at which\nthe Regent's servants supplied the soldiers with red and white wine. The\ntents of the populace were only divided from the pavilion of the Pharaoh\nby the hastily-constructed garden in the midst of which it stood, and the\nhedge which enclosed it.\n\nThe tent of the Regent himself was distinguished from all the others by\nits size and magnificence; to the right of it was the encampment of the\ndifferent priestly deputations, to the left that of his suite; among the\nlatter were the tents of his friend Katuti, a large one for her own use,\nand some smaller ones for her servants. Behind Ani's pavilion stood a\ntent, enclosed in a wall or screen of canvas, within which old Hekt was\nlodged; Ani had secretly conveyed her hither on board his own boat. Only\nKatuti and his confidential servants knew who it was that lay concealed\nin the mysteriously shrouded abode.\n\nWhile the banquet was proceeding in the great pavilion, the witch was\nsitting in a heap on the sandy earth of her conical canvas dwelling; she\nbreathed with difficulty, for a weakness of the heart, against which she\nhad long struggled, now oppressed her more frequently and severely; a\nlittle lamp of clay burned before her, and on her lap crouched a sick and\nruffled hawk; the creature shivered from time to time, closing the filmy\nlids of his keen eyes, which glowed with a dull fire when Hekt took him\nup in her withered hand, and tried to blow some air into his hooked beak,\nstill ever ready to peck and tear her.\n\nAt her feet little Scherau lay asleep. Presently she pushed the child\nwith her foot. \"Wake up,\" she said, as he raised himself still half\nasleep. \"You have young ears--it seemed to me that I heard a woman scream\nin Ani's tent. Do you hear any thing?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" exclaimed the little one. \"There is a noise like crying,\nand that--that was a scream! It came from out there, from Nemu's tent.\"\n\n\"Creep through there,\" said the witch, \"and see what is happening!\"\n\nThe child obeyed: Hekt turned her attention again to the bird, which no\nlonger perched in her lap, but lay on one side, though it still tried to\nuse its talons, when she took him up in her hand.\n\n\"It is all over with him,\" muttered the old woman, \"and the one I called\nRameses is sleeker than ever. It is all folly and yet--and yet! the\nRegent's game is over, and he has lost it. The creature is stretching\nitself--its head drops--it draws itself up--one more clutch at my\ndress--now it is dead!\"\n\nShe contemplated the dead hawk in her lap for some minutes, then she took\nit up, flung it into a corner of the tent, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Good-bye, King Ani. The crown is not for you!\" Then she went on: \"What\nproject has he in hand now, I wonder? Twenty times he has asked me\nwhether the great enterprise will succeed; as if I knew any more than he!\nAnd Nemu too has hinted all kinds of things, though he would not speak\nout. Something is going on, and I--and I? There it comes again.\"\n\nThe old woman pressed her hand to her heart and closed her eyes, her\nfeatures were distorted with pain; she did not perceive Scherau's return,\nshe did not hear him call her name, or see that, when she did not answer\nhim, he left her again. For an hour or more she remained unconscious,\nthen her senses returned, but she felt as if some ice-cold fluid slowly\nran through her veins instead of the warm blood.\n\n\"If I had kept a hawk for myself too,\" she muttered, \"it would soon\nfollow the other one in the corner! If only Ani keeps his word, and has\nme embalmed!\n\n\"But how can he when he too is so near his end. They will let me rot and\ndisappear, and there will be no future for me, no meeting with Assa.\"\n\nThe old woman remained silent for a long time; at last she murmured\nhoarsely with her eyes fixed on the ground:\n\n\"Death brings release, if only from the torment of remembrance. But there\nis a life beyond the grave. I do not, I will not cease to hope. The dead\nshall all be equally judged, and subject to the inscrutable\ndecrees.--Where shall I find him? Among the blest, or among the damned?\nAnd I? It matters not! The deeper the abyss into which they fling me the\nbetter. Can Assa, if he is among the blest, remain in bliss, when he sees\nto what he has brought me? Oh! they must embalm me--I cannot bear to\nvanish, and rot and evaporate into nothingness!\"\n\nWhile she was still speaking, the dwarf Nemu had come into the tent;\nScherau, seeing the old woman senseless, had run to tell him that his\nmother was lying on the earth with her eyes shut, and was dying. The\nwitch perceived the little man.\n\n\"It is well,\" she said, \"that you have come; I shall be dead before\nsunrise.\"\n\n\"Mother!\" cried the dwarf horrified, \"you shall live, and live better\nthan you have done till now! Great things are happening, and for us!\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" said Hekt. \"Go away, Scherau--now, Nemu, whisper in my\near what is doing?\" The dwarf felt as if he could not avoid the influence\nof her eye, he went up to her, and said softly--\"The pavilion, in which\nthe king and his people are sleeping, is constructed of wood; straw and\npitch are built into the walls, and laid under the boards. As soon as\nthey are gone to rest we shall set the tinder thing on fire. The guards\nare drunk and sleeping.\"\n\n\"Well thought of,\" said Hekt. \"Did you plan it?\" \"I and my mistress,\"\nsaid the dwarf not without pride. \"You can devise a plot,\" said the old\nwoman, \"but you are feeble in the working out. Is your plan a secret?\nHave you clever assistants?\"\n\n\"No one knows of it,\" replied the dwarf, \"but Katuti, Paaker, and I; we\nthree shall lay the brands to the spots we have fixed upon. I am going to\nthe rooms of Bent-Anat; Katuti, who can go in and out as she pleases,\nwill set fire to the stairs, which lead to the upper story, and which\nfall by touching a spring; and Paaker to the king's apartments.\"\n\n\"Good-good, it may succeed,\" gasped the old woman. \"But what was the\nscream in your tent?\" The dwarf seemed doubtful about answering; but Hekt\nwent on:\n\n\"Speak without fear--the dead are sure to be silent.\" The dwarf,\ntrembling with agitation, shook off his hesitation, and said:\n\n\"I have found Uarda, the grandchild of Pinem, who had disappeared, and I\ndecoyed her here, for she and no other shall be my wife, if Ani is king,\nand if Katuti makes me rich and free. She is in the service of the\nPrincess Bent-Anat, and sleeps in her anteroom, and she must not be burnt\nwith her mistress. She insisted on going back to the palace, so, as she\nwould fly to the fire like a gnat, and I would not have her risk being\nburnt, I tied her up fast.\"\n\n\"Did she not struggle?\" said Hekt.\n\n\"Like a mad thing,\" said the dwarf. \"But the Regent's dumb slave, who was\nordered by his master to obey me in everything to-day, helped me. We tied\nup her mouth that she might not be heard screaming!\"\n\n\"Will you leave her alone when you go to do your errand?\"\n\n\"Her father is with her!\"\n\n\"Kaschta, the red-beard?\" asked the old woman in surprise. \"And did he\nnot break you in pieces like an earthenware pot?\"\n\n\"He will not stir,\" said Nemu laughing. \"For when I found him, I made him\nso drunk with Ani's old wine that he lies there like a mummy. It was from\nhim that I learned where Uarda was, and I went to her, and got her to\ncome with me by telling her that her father was very ill, and begged her\nto go to see him once more. She flew after me like a gazelle, and when\nshe saw the soldier lying there senseless she threw herself upon him, and\ncalled for water to cool his head, for he was raving in his dreams of\nrats and mice that had fallen upon him. As it grew late she wanted to\nreturn to her mistress, and we were obliged to prevent her. How handsome\nshe has grown, mother; you cannot imagine how pretty she is.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye!\" said Hekt. \"You will have to keep an eye upon her when she is\nyour wife.\"\n\n\"I will treat her like the wife of a noble,\" said Nemu. \"And pay a real\nlady to guard her. But by this time Katuti has brought home her daughter,\nMena's wife; the stars are sinking and--there--that was the first signal.\nWhen Katuti whistles the third time we are to go to work. Lend me your\nfire-box, mother.\"\n\n\"Take it,\" said Hekt. \"I shall never need it again. It is all over with\nme! How your hand shakes! Hold the wood firmly, or you will drop it\nbefore you have brought the fire.\"\n\nThe dwarf bid the old woman farewell, and she let him kiss her without\nmoving. When he was gone, she listened eagerly for any sound that might\npierce the silence of the night, her eyes shone with a keen light, and a\nthousand thoughts flew through her restless brain. When she heard the\nsecond signal on Katuti's silver whistle, she sat upright and muttered:\n\n\"That gallows-bird Paaker, his vain aunt and that villain Ani, are no\nmatch for Rameses, even when he is asleep. Ani's hawk is dead; he has\nnothing to hope for from Fortune, and I nothing to hope for from him. But\nif Rameses--if the real king would promise me--then my poor old\nbody--Yes, that is the thing, that is what I will do.\"\n\nShe painfully raised herself on her feet with the help of her stick, she\nfound a knife and a small flask which she slipped into her dress, and\nthen, bent and trembling, with a last effort of her remaining strength\nshe dragged herself as far as Nemu's tent. Here she found Uarda bound\nhand and foot, and Kaschta lying on the ground in a heavy drunken\nslumber.\n\nThe girl shrank together in alarm when she saw the old woman, and\nScherau, who crouched at her side, raised his hands imploringly to the\nwitch.\n\n\"Take this knife, boy,\" she said to the little one. \"Cut the ropes the\npoor thing is tied with. The papyrus cords are strong, saw them with the\nblade.\"\n\n   [Papyrus was used not only for writing on, but also for ropes. The\n   bridge of boats on which Xerxes crossed the Hellespont was fastened\n   with cables of papyrus.]\n\nWhile the boy eagerly followed her instructions with all his little\nmight, she rubbed the soldier's temples with an essence which she had in\nthe bottle, and poured a few drops of it between his lips. Kaschta came\nto himself, stretched his limbs, and stared in astonishment at the place\nin which he found himself. She gave him some water, and desired him to\ndrink it, saying, as Uarda shook herself free from the bonds:\n\n\"The Gods have predestined you to great things, you white maiden. Listen\nto what I, old Hekt, am telling you. The king's life is threatened, his\nand his children's; I purpose to save them, and I ask no reward but\nthis-that he should have my body embalmed and interred at Thebes. Swear\nto me that you will require this of him when you have saved him.\"\n\n\"In God's name what is happening?\" cried Uarda. \"Swear that you will\nprovide for my burial,\" said the old woman.\n\n\"I swear it!\" cried the girl. \"But for God's sake--\"\n\n\"Katuti, Paaker, and Nemu are gone to set fire to the palace when Rameses\nis sleeping, in three places. Do you hear, Kaschta! Now hasten, fly after\nthe incendiaries, rouse the servants, and try to rescue the king.\"\n\n\"Oh fly, father,\" cried the girl, and they both rushed away in the\ndarkness.\n\n\"She is honest and will keep her word,\" muttered Hekt, and she tried to\ndrag herself back to her own tent; but her strength failed her half-way.\nLittle Scherau tried to support her, but he was too weak; she sank down\non the sand, and looked out into the distance. There she saw the dark\nmass of the palace, from which rose a light that grew broader and\nbroader, then clouds of black smoke, then up flew the soaring flame, and\na swarm of glowing sparks.\n\n\"Run into the camp, child,\" she cried, \"cry fire, and wake the sleepers.\"\n\nScherau ran off shouting as loud as he could.\n\nThe old woman pressed her hand to her side, she muttered: \"There it is\nagain.\"\n\n\"In the other world--Assa--Assa,\" and her trembling lips were silent for\never.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIII.\n\nKatuti had kept her unfortunate nephew Paaker concealed in one of her\nservants' tents. He had escaped wounded from the battle at Kadesh, and in\nterrible pain he had succeeded, by the help of an ass which he had\npurchased from a peasant, in reaching by paths known to hardly any one\nbut himself, the cave where he had previously left his brother. Here he\nfound his faithful Ethiopian slave, who nursed him till he was strong\nenough to set out on his journey to Egypt. He reached Pelusium, after\nmany privations, disguised as an Ismaelite camel-driver; he left his\nservant, who might have betrayed him, behind in the cave.\n\nBefore he was permitted to pass the fortifications, which lay across the\nisthmus which parts the Mediterranean from the Red Sea, and which were\nintended to protect Egypt from the incursions of the nomad tribes of the\nChasu, he was subjected to a strict interrogatory, and among other\nquestions was asked whether he had nowhere met with the traitor Paaker,\nwho was minutely described to him. No one recognized in the shrunken,\ngrey-haired, one-eyed camel-driver, the broad-shouldered, muscular and\nthick-legged pioneer. To disguise himself the more effectually, he\nprocured some hair-dye--a cosmetic known in all ages--and blackened\nhimself.\n\n   [In my papyrus there are several recipes for the preparation of\n   hair-dye; one is ascribed to the Lady Schesch, the mother of Teta,\n   wife of the first king of Egypt. The earliest of all the recipes\n   preserved to us is a prescription for dyeing the hair.]\n\nKatuti had arrived at Pelusium with Ani some time before, to superintend\nthe construction of the royal pavilion. He ventured to approach her\ndisguised as a negro beggar, with a palm-branch in his hand. She gave him\nsome money and questioned him concerning his native country, for she made\nit her business to secure the favor even of the meanest; but though she\nappeared to take an interest in his answers, she did not recognize him;\nnow for the first time he felt secure, and the next day he went up to her\nagain, and told her who he was.\n\nThe widow was not unmoved by the frightful alteration in her nephew, and\nalthough she knew that even Ani had decreed that any intercourse with the\ntraitor was to be punished by death, she took him at once into her\nservice, for she had never had greater need than now to employ the\ndesperate enemy of the king and of her son-in-law.\n\nThe mutilated, despised, and hunted man kept himself far from the other\nservants, regarding the meaner folk with undiminished scorn. He thought\nseldom, and only vaguely of Katuti's daughter, for love had quite given\nplace to hatred, and only one thing now seemed to him worth living\nfor--the hope of working with others to cause his enemies' downfall, and\nof being the instrument of their death; so he offered himself to the\nwidow a willing and welcome tool, and the dull flash in his uninjured eye\nwhen she set him the task of setting fire to the king's apartments,\nshowed her that in the Mohar she had found an ally she might depend on to\nthe uttermost.\n\nPaaker had carefully examined the scene of his exploit before the king's\narrival. Under the windows of the king's rooms, at least forty feet from\nthe ground, was a narrow parapet resting on the ends of the beams which\nsupported the rafters on which lay the floor of the upper story in which\nthe king slept. These rafters had been smeared with pitch, and straw had\nbeen laid between them, and the pioneer would have known how to find the\nopening where he was to put in the brand even if he had been blind of\nboth eyes.\n\nWhen Katuti first sounded her whistle he slunk to his post; he was\nchallenged by no watchman, for the few guards who had been placed in the\nimmediate vicinity of the pavilion, had all gone to sleep under the\ninfluence of the Regent's wine. Paaker climbed up to about the height of\ntwo men from the ground by the help of the ornamental carving on the\noutside wall of the palace; there a rope ladder was attached, he\nclambered up this, and soon stood on the parapet, above which were the\nwindows of the king's rooms, and below which the fire was to be laid.\n\nRameses' room was brightly illuminated. Paaker could see into it without\nbeing seen, and could bear every word that was spoken within. The king\nwas sitting in an arm-chair, and looked thoughtfully at the ground;\nbefore him stood the Regent, and Mena stood by his couch, holding in his\nhand the king's sleeping-robe.\n\nPresently Rameses raised his head, and said, as he offered his hand with\nfrank affection to Ani:\n\n\"Let me bring this glorious day to a worthy end, cousin. I have found you\nmy true and faithful friend, and I had been in danger of believing those\nover-anxious counsellors who spoke evil of you. I am never prone to\ndistrust, but a number of things occurred together that clouded my\njudgment, and I did you injustice. I am sorry, sincerely sorry; nor am I\nashamed to apologize to you for having for an instant doubted your good\nintentions. You are my good friend--and I will prove to you that I am\nyours. There is my hand-take it; and all Egypt shall know that Rameses\ntrusts no man more implicitly than his Regent Ani. I will ask you to\nundertake to be my guard of honor to-night--we will share this room. I\nsleep here; when I lie down on my couch take your place on the divan\nyonder.\" Ani had taken Rameses' offered hand, but now he turned pale as\nhe looked down. Paaker could see straight into his face, and it was not\nwithout difficulty that he suppressed a scornful laugh.\n\nRameses did not observe the Regent's dismay, for he had signed to Mena to\ncome closer to him.\n\n\"Before I sleep,\" said the king, \"I will bring matters to an end with you\ntoo. You have put your wife's constancy to a severe test, and she has\ntrusted you with a childlike simplicity that is often wiser than the\narguments of sages, because she loved you honestly, and is herself\nincapable of guile. I promised you that I would grant you a wish if your\nfaith in her was justified. Now tell me what is your will?\"\n\nMena fell on his knees, and covered the king's robe with kisses.\n\n\"Pardon!\" he exclaimed. \"Nothing but pardon. My crime was a heavy one, I\nknow; but I was driven to it by scorn and fury--it was as if I saw the\ndishonoring hand of Paaker stretched out to seize my innocent wife, who,\nas I now know, loathes him as a toad--\"\n\n\"What was that?\" exclaimed the king. \"I thought I heard a groan outside.\"\n\nHe went up to the window and looked out, but he did not see the pioneer,\nwho watched every motion of the king, and who, as soon as he perceived\nthat his involuntary sigh of anguish had been heard, stretched himself\nclose under the balustrade. Mena had not risen from his knees when the\nking once more turned to him.\n\n\"Pardon me,\" he said again. \"Let me be near thee again as before, and\ndrive thy chariot. I live only through thee, I am of no worth but through\nthee, and by thy favor, my king, my lord, my father!\"\n\nRameses signed to his favorite to rise. \"Your request was granted,\" said\nhe, \"before you made it. I am still in your debt on your fair wife's\naccount. Thank Nefert--not me, and let us give thanks to the Immortals\nthis day with especial fervor. What has it not brought forth for us! It\nhas restored to me you two friends, whom I regarded as lost to me, and\nhas given me in Pentaur another son.\"\n\nA low whistle sounded through the night air; it was Katuti's last signal.\n\nPaaker blew up the tinder, laid it in the bole under the parapet, and\nthen, unmindful of his own danger, raised himself to listen for any\nfurther words.\n\n\"I entreat thee,\" said the Regent, approaching Rameses, \"to excuse me. I\nfully appreciate thy favors, but the labors of the last few days have\nbeen too much for me; I can hardly stand on my feet, and the guard of\nhonor--\"\n\n\"Mena will watch,\" said the king. \"Sleep in all security, cousin. I will\nhave it known to all men that I have put away from me all distrust of\nyou. Give the my night-robe, Mena. Nay-one thing more I must tell you.\nYouth smiles on the young, Ani. Bent-Anat has chosen a worthy husband, my\npreserver, the poet Pentaur. He was said to be a man of humble origin,\nthe son of a gardener of the House of Seti; and now what do I learn\nthrough Ameni? He is the true son of the dead Mohar, and the foul traitor\nPaaker is the gardener's son. A witch in the Necropolis changed the\nchildren. That is the best news of all that has reached me on this\npropitious day, for the Mohar's widow, the noble Setchem, has been\nbrought here, and I should have been obliged to choose between two\nsentences on her as the mother of the villain who has escaped us. Either\nI must have sent her to the quarries, or have had her beheaded before all\nthe people--In the name of the Gods, what is that?\"\n\nThey heard a loud cry in a man's voice, and at the same instant a noise\nas if some heavy mass had fallen to the ground from a great height.\nRameses and Mena hastened to the window, but started back, for they were\nmet by a cloud of smoke.\n\n\"Call the watch!\" cried the king.\n\n\"Go, you,\" exclaimed Mena to Ani. \"I will not leave the king again in\ndanger.\"\n\nAni fled away like an escaped prisoner, but he could not get far, for,\nbefore he could descend the stairs to the lower story, they fell in\nbefore his very eyes; Katuti, after she had set fire to the interior of\nthe palace, had made them fall by one blow of a hammer. Ani saw her robe\nas she herself fled, clenched his fist with rage as he shouted her name,\nand then, not knowing what he did, rushed headlong through the corridor\ninto which the different royal apartments opened.\n\nThe fearful crash of the falling stairs brought the King and Mena also\nout of the sleeping-room.\n\n\"There lie the stairs! that is serious!\" said the king cooly; then he\nwent back into his room, and looked out of a window to estimate the\ndanger. Bright flames were already bursting from the northern end of the\npalace, and gave the grey dawn the brightness of day; the southern wing\nor the pavilion was not yet on fire. Mena observed the parapet from which\nPaaker had fallen to the ground, tested its strength, and found it firm\nenough to bear several persons. He looked round, particularly at the wing\nnot yet gained by the flames, and exclaimed in a loud voice:\n\n\"The fire is intentional! it is done on purpose. See there! a man is\nsquatting down and pushing a brand into the woodwork.\"\n\nHe leaped back into the room, which was now filling with smoke, snatched\nthe king's bow and quiver, which he himself had hung up at the bed-head,\ntook careful aim, and with one cry the incendiary fell dead.\n\nA few hours later the dwarf Nemu was found with the charioteer's arrow\nthrough his heart. After setting fire to Bent-Anat's rooms, he had\ndetermined to lay a brand to the wing of the palace where, with the other\nprinces, Uarda's friend Rameri was sleeping.\n\nMena had again leaped out of window, and was estimating the height of the\nleap to the ground; the Pharaoh's room was getting more and more filled\nwith smoke, and flames began to break through the seams of the boards.\nOutside the palace as well as within every one was waking up to terror\nand excitement.\n\n\"Fire! fire! an incendiary! Help! Save the king!\" cried Kaschta, who\nrushed on, followed by a crowd of guards whom he had roused; Uarda had\nflown to call Bent-Anat, as she knew the way to her room. The king had\ngot on to the parapet outside the window with Mena, and was calling to\nthe soldiers.\n\n\"Half of you get into the house, and first save the princess; the other\nhalf keep the fire from catching the south wing. I will try to get\nthere.\"\n\nBut Nemu's brand had been effectual, the flames flared up, and the\nsoldiers strained every nerve to conquer them. Their cries mingled with\nthe crackling and snapping of the dry wood, and the roar of the flames,\nwith the trumpet calls of the awakening troops, and the beating of drums.\nThe young princes appeared at a window; they had tied their clothes\ntogether to form a rope, and one by one escaped down it.\n\nRameses called to them with words of encouragement, but he himself was\nunable to take any means of escape, for though the parapet on which he\nstood was tolerably wide, and ran round the whole of the building, at\nabout every six feet it was broken by spaces of about ten paces. The fire\nwas spreading and growing, and glowing sparks flew round him and his\ncompanion like chaff from the winnowing fan.\n\n\"Bring some straw and make a heap below!\" shouted Rameses, above the roar\nof the conflagration. \"There is no escape but by a leap down.\"\n\nThe flames rushed out of the windows of the king's room; it was\nimpossible to return to it, but neither the king nor Mena lost his\nself-possession. When Mena saw the twelve princes descending to the\nground, he shouted through his hands, using them as a speaking trumpet,\nand called to Rameri, who was about to slip down the rope they had\ncontrived, the last of them all.\n\n\"Pull up the rope, and keep it from injury till I come.\"\n\nRameri obeyed the order, and before Rameses could interfere, Mena had\nsprung across the space which divided one piece of the balustrade from\nanother. The king's blood ran cold as Mena, a second time, ventured the\nfrightful leap; one false step, and he must meet with the same fearful\ndeath as his enemy Paaker.\n\nWhile the bystanders watched him in breathless silence--while the\ncrackling of the wood, the roar of the flames, and the dull thump of\nfalling timber mingled with the distant chant of a procession of priests\nwho were now approaching the burning pile, Nefert roused by little\nScherau knelt on the bare ground in fervent and passionate prayer to the\nsaving Gods. She watched every movement of her husband, and she bit her\nlips till they bled not to cry out. She felt that he was acting bravely\nand nobly, and that he was lost if even for an instant his attention were\ndistracted from his perilous footing. Now he had reached Rameri, and\nbound one end of the rope made out of cloaks and handkerchiefs, round his\nbody; then he gave the other end to Rameri, who held fast to the\nwindow-sill, and prepared once more to spring. Nefert saw him ready to\nleap, she pressed her hands upon her lips to repress a scream, she shut\nher eyes, and when she opened them again he had accomplished the first\nleap, and at the second the Gods preserved him from falling; at the third\nthe king held out his hand to him, and saved him from a fall. Then\nRameses helped him to unfasten the rope from round his waist to fasten it\nto the end of a beam.\n\nRameri now loosened the other end, and followed Mena's example; he too,\npractised in athletic exercises in the school of the House of Seti,\nsucceeded in accomplishing the three tremendous leaps, and soon the king\nstood in safety on the ground. Rameri followed him, and then Mena, whose\nfaithful wife went to meet him, and wiped the sweat from his throbbing\ntemples.\n\nRameses hurried to the north wing, where Bent-Anat had her apartments; he\nfound her safe indeed, but wringing her hands, for her young favorite\nUarda had disappeared in the flames after she had roused her and saved\nher with her father's assistance. Kaschta ran up and down in front of the\nburning pavilion, tearing his hair; now calling his child in tones of\nanguish, now holding his breath to listen for an answer. To rush at\nrandom into the immense-burning building would have been madness. The\nking observed the unhappy man, and set him to lead the soldiers, whom he\nhad commanded to hew down the wall of Bent-Anat's rooms, so as to rescue\nthe girl who might be within. Kaschta seized an axe, and raised it to\nstrike.\n\nBut he thought that he heard blows from within against one of the\nshutters of the ground-floor, which by Katuti's orders had been securely\nclosed; he followed the sound--he was not mistaken, the knocking could be\ndistinctly heard.\n\nWith all his might he struck the edge of the axe between the shutter and\nthe wall, and a stream of smoke poured out of the new outlet, and before\nhim, enveloped in its black clouds, stood a staggering man who held Uarda\nin his arms. Kaschta sprang forward into the midst of the smoke and\nsparks, and snatched his daughter from the arms of her preserver, who\nfell half smothered on his knees. He rushed out into the air with his\nlight and precious burden, and as he pressed his lips to her closed\neyelids his eyes were wet, and there rose up before him the image of the\nwoman who bore her, the wife that had stood as the solitary green\npalm-tree in the desert waste of his life. But only for a few\nseconds-Bent-Anat herself took Uarda into her care, and he hastened back\nto the burning house.\n\nHe had recognized his daughter's preserver; it was the physician\nNebsecht, who had not quitted the princess since their meeting on Sinai,\nand had found a place among her suite as her personal physician.\n\nThe fresh air had rushed into the room through the opening of the\nshutter, the broad flames streamed out of the window, but still Nebsecht\nwas alive, for his groans could be heard through the smoke. Once more\nKaschta rushed towards the window, the bystanders could see that the\nceiling of the room was about to fail, and called out to warn him, but he\nwas already astride the sill.\n\n\"I signed myself his slave with my blood,\" he cried, \"Twice he has saved\nmy child, and now I will pay my debt,\" and he disappeared into the\nburning room.\n\nHe soon reappeared with Nebsecht in his arms, whose robe was already\nscorched by the flames. He could be seen approaching the window with his\nheavy burden; a hundred soldiers, and with them Pentaur, pressed forward\nto help him, and took the senseless leech out of the arms of the soldier,\nwho lifted him over the window sill.\n\nKaschta was on the point of following him, but before he could swing\nhimself over, the beams above gave way and fell, burying the brave son of\nthe paraschites.\n\nPentaur had his insensible friend carried to his tent, and helped the\nphysicians to bind up his burns. When the cry of fire had been first\nraised, Pentaur was sitting in earnest conversation with the high-priest;\nhe had learned that he was not the son of a gardener, but a descendant of\none of the noblest families in the land. The foundations of life seemed\nto be subverted under his feet, Ameni's revelation lifted him out of the\ndust and set him on the marble floor of a palace; and yet Pentaur was\nneither excessively surprised nor inordinately rejoiced; he was so well\nused to find his joys and sufferings depend on the man within him, and\nnot on the circumstances without.\n\nAs soon as he heard the cry of fire, he hastened to the burning pavilion,\nand when he saw the king's danger, he set himself at the head of a number\nof soldiers who had hurried up from the camp, intending to venture an\nattempt to save Rameses from the inside of the house. Among those who\nfollowed him in this hopeless effort was Katuti's reckless son, who had\ndistinguished himself by his valor before Kadesh, and who hailed this\nopportunity of again proving his courage. Falling walls choked up the way\nin front of these brave adventurers; but it was not till several had\nfallen choked or struck down by burning logs, that they made up their\nminds to retire--one of the first that was killed was Katuti's son,\nNefert's brother.\n\nUarda had been carried into the nearest tent. Her pretty head lay in\nBent-Anat's lap, and Nefert tried to restore her to animation by rubbing\nher temples with strong essences. Presently the girl's lips moved: with\nreturning consciousness all she had seen and suffered during the last\nhour or two recurred to her mind; she felt herself rushing through the\ncamp with her father, hurrying through the corridor to the princess's\nrooms, while he broke in the doors closed by Katuti's orders; she saw\nBent-Anat as she roused her, and conducted her to safety; she remembered\nher horror when, just as she reached the door, she discovered that she\nhad left in her chest her jewel, the only relic of her lost mother, and\nher rapid return which was observed by no one but by the leech Nebsecht.\n\nAgain she seemed to live through the anguish she had felt till she once\nmore had the trinket safe in her bosom, the horror that fell upon her\nwhen she found her escape impeded by smoke and flames, and the weakness\nwhich overcame her; and she felt as if the strange white-robed priest\nonce more raised her in his arms. She remembered the tenderness of his\neyes as he looked into hers, and she smiled half gratefully but half\ndispleased at the tender kiss which had been pressed on her lips before\nshe found herself in her father's strong arms.\n\n\"How sweet she is!\" said Bent-Anat. \"I believe poor Nebsecht is right in\nsaying that her mother was the daughter of some great man among the\nforeign people. Look what pretty little hands and feet, and her skin is\nas clear as Phoenician glass.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIV.\n\nWhile the friends were occupied in restoring Uarda to animation, and in\ntaking affectionate care of her, Katuti was walking restlessly backwards\nand forwards in her tent.\n\nSoon after she had slipped out for the purpose of setting fire to the\npalace, Scherau's cry had waked up Nefert, and Katuti found her\ndaughter's bed empty when, with blackened hands and limbs trembling with\nagitation, she came back from her criminal task.\n\nNow she waited in vain for Nemu and Paaker.\n\nHer steward, whom she sent on repeated messages of enquiry whether the\nRegent had returned, constantly brought back a negative answer, and added\nthe information that he had found the body of old Hekt lying on the open\nground. The widow's heart sank with fear; she was full of dark\nforebodings while she listened to the shouts of the people engaged in\nputting out the fire, the roll of drums, and the trumpets of the soldiers\ncalling each other to the help of the king.\n\nTo these sounds now was added the dull crash of falling timbers and\nwalls.\n\nA faint smile played upon her thin lips, and she thought to herself:\n\"There--that perhaps fell on the king, and my precious son-in-law, who\ndoes not deserve such a fate--if we had not fallen into disgrace, and if\nsince the occurrences before Kadesh he did not cling to his indulgent\nlord as a calf follows a cow.\"\n\nShe gathered fresh courage, and fancied she could hear the voice of\nEthiopian troops hailing the Regent as king--could see Ani decorated with\nthe crown of Upper and Lower Egypt, seated on Rameses' throne, and\nherself by his side in rich though unpretending splendor. She pictured\nherself with her son and daughter as enjoying Mena's estate, freed from\ndebt and increased by Ani's generosity, and then a new, intoxicating hope\ncame into her mind. Perhaps already at this moment her daughter was a\nwidow, and why should she not be so fortunate as to induce Ani to select\nher child, the prettiest woman in Thebes, for his wife? Then she, the\nmother of the queen, would be indeed unimpeachable, and all-powerful. She\nhad long since come to regard the pioneer as a tool to be cast aside, nay\nsoon to be utterly destroyed; his wealth might probably at some future\ntime be bestowed upon her son, who had distinguished himself at Kadesh,\nand whom Ani must before long promote to be his charioteer or the\ncommander of the chariot warriors.\n\nFlattered by these fancies, she forgot every care as she walked faster\nand faster to and fro in her tent. Suddenly the steward, whom she had\nthis time sent to the very scene of the fire, rushed into the tent, and\nwith every token of terror broke to her the news that the king and his\ncharioteer were hanging in mid air on a narrow wooden parapet, and that\nunless some miracle happened they must inevitably be killed. It was said\nthat incendiaries had occasioned the fire, and he, the steward, had\nhastened forward to prepare her for evil news as the mangled body of the\npioneer, which had been identified by the ring on his finger, and the\npoor little corpse of Nemu, pierced through by an arrow, had been carried\npast him.\n\nKatuti was silent for a moment.\n\n\"And the king's sons?\" she asked with an anxious sigh.\n\n\"The Gods be praised,\" replied the steward, \"they succeeded in letting\nthemselves down to the ground by a rope made of their garments knotted\ntogether, and some were already safe when I came away.\"\n\nKatuti's face clouded darkly; once more she sent forth her messenger. The\nminutes of his absence seemed like days; her bosom heaved in stormy\nagitation, then for a moment she controlled herself, and again her heart\nseemed to cease beating--she closed her eyes as if her anguish of anxiety\nwas too much for her strength. At last, long after sunrise, the steward\nreappeared.\n\nPale, trembling, hardly able to control his voice, he threw himself on\nthe ground at her feet crying out:\n\n\"Alas! this night! prepare for the worst, mistress! May Isis comfort\nthee, who saw thy son fall in the service of his king and father! May\nAmon, the great God of Thebes, give thee strength! Our pride, our hope,\nthy son is slain, killed by a falling beam.\"\n\nPale and still as if frozen, Katuti shed not a tear; for a minute she did\nnot speak, then she asked in a dull tone:\n\n\"And Rameses?\"\n\n\"The Gods be praised!\" answered the servant, \"he is safe-rescued by\nMena!\"\n\n\"And Ani?\"\n\n\"Burnt!--they found his body disfigured out of all recognition; they knew\nhim again by the jewels he wore at the banquet.\"\n\nKatuti gazed into vacancy, and the steward started back as from a mad\nwoman when, instead of bursting into tears, she clenched her small\njewelled hands, shook her fists in the air, and broke into loud, wild\nlaughter; then, startled at the sound of her own voice, she suddenly\nbecame silent and fixed her eyes vacantly on the ground. She neither saw\nnor heard that the captain of the watch, who was called \"the eyes and\nears of the king,\" had come in through the door of her tent followed by\nseveral officers and a scribe; he came up to her, and called her by her\nname. Not till the steward timidly touched her did she collect her senses\nlike one suddenly roused from deep sleep.\n\n\"What are you doing in my tent?\" she asked the officer, drawing herself\nup haughtily.\n\n\"In the name of the chief judge of Thebes,\" said the captain of the watch\nsolemnly. \"I arrest you, and hail you before the high court of justice,\nto defend yourself against the grave and capital charges of high treason,\nattempted regicide, and incendiarism.\"\n\n\"I am ready,\" said the widow, and a scornful smile curled her lips. Then\nwith her usual dignity she pointed to a seat and said:\n\n\"Be seated while I dress.\"\n\nThe officer bowed, but remained standing at the door of the tent while\nshe arranged her black hair, set her diadem on her brow, opened her\nlittle ointment chest, and took from it a small phial of the rapid poison\nstrychnine, which some months before she had procured through Nemu from\nthe old witch Hekt.\n\n\"My mirror!\" she called to a maid servant, who squatted in a corner of\nthe tent. She held the metal mirror so as to conceal her face from the\ncaptain of the watch, put the little flask to her lips and emptied it at\none mouthful. The mirror fell from her hand, she staggered, a deadly\nconvulsion seized her--the officer rushed forward, and while she fixed\nher dying look upon him she said:\n\n\"My game is lost, but Ameni--tell Ameni that he will not win either.\"\n\nShe fell forward, murmured Nefert's name, struggled convulsively and was\ndead.\n\nWhen the draught of happiness which the Gods prepare for some few men,\nseems to flow clearest and purest, Fate rarely fails to infuse into it\nsome drop of bitterness. And yet we should not therefore disdain it, for\nit is that very drop of bitterness which warns us to drink of the joys of\nlife thankfully, and in moderation.\n\nThe perfect happiness of Mena and Nefert was troubled by the fearful\ndeath of Katuti, but both felt as if they now for the first time knew the\nfull strength of their love for each other. Mena had to make up to his\nwife for the loss of mother and brother, and Nefert to restore to her\nhusband much that he had been robbed of by her relatives, and they felt\nthat they had met again not merely for pleasure but to be to each other a\nsupport and a consolation.\n\nRameses quitted the scene of the fire full of gratitude to the Gods who\nhad shown such grace to him and his. He ordered numberless steers to be\nsacrificed, and thanksgiving festivals to be held throughout the land;\nbut he was cut to the heart by the betrayal to which he had fallen a\nvictim. He longed--as he always did in moments when the balance of his\nmind had been disturbed--for an hour of solitude, and retired to the tent\nwhich had been hastily erected for him. He could not bear to enter the\nsplendid pavilion which had been Ani's; it seemed to him infested with\nthe leprosy of falsehood and treason.\n\nFor an hour he remained alone, and weighed the worst he had suffered at\nthe hands of men against that which was good and cheering, and he found\nthat the good far outweighed the evil. He vividly realized the magnitude\nof his debt of gratitude, not to the Immortals only, but also to his\nearthly friends, as he recalled every moment of this morning's\nexperience.\n\n\"Gratitude,\" he said to himself, \"was impressed on you by your mother;\nyou yourself have taught your children to be grateful. Piety is gratitude\nto the Gods, and he only is really generous who does not forget the\ngratitude he owes to men.\"\n\nHe had thrown off all bitterness of feeling when he sent for Bent-Anat\nand Pentaur to be brought to his tent. He made his daughter relate at\nfull length how the poet had won her love, and though he frequently\ninterrupted her with blame as well as praise, his heart was full of\nfatherly joy when he laid his darling's hand in that of the poet.\n\nBent-Anat laid her head in full content on the breast of the noble Assa's\ngrandson, but she would have clung not less fondly to Pentaur the\ngardener's son.\n\n\"Now you are one of my own children,\" said Rameses; and he desired the\npoet to remain with him while he commanded the heralds, ambassadors, and\ninterpreters to bring to him the Asiatic princes, who were detained in\ntheir own tents on the farther side of the Nile, that he might conclude\nwith them such a treaty of peace as might continue valid for generations\nto come. Before they arrived, the young princes came to their father's\ntent, and learned from his own lips the noble birth of Pentaur, and that\nthey owed it to their sister that in him they saw another brother; they\nwelcomed him with sincere affection, and all, especially Rameri, warmly\ncongratulated the handsome and worthy couple.\n\nThe king then called Rameri forward from among his brothers, and thanked\nhim before them all for his brave conduct during the fire. He had already\nbeen invested with the robe of manhood after the battle of Kadesh; he was\nnow appointed to the command of a legion of chariot-warriors, and the\norder of the lion to wear round his neck was bestowed on him for his\nbravery. The prince knelt, and thanked his father; but Rameses took the\ncurly head in his hands and said:\n\n\"You have won praise and reward by your splendid deeds from the father\nwhom you have saved and filled with pride. But the king watches over the\nlaws, and guides the destiny cf this land, the king must blame you, nay\nperhaps punish you. You could not yield to the discipline of school,\nwhere we all must learn to obey if we would afterwards exercise our\nauthority with moderation, and without any orders you left Egypt and\njoined the army. You showed the courage and strength of a man, but the\nfolly of a boy in all that regards prudence and foresight--things harder\nto learn for the son of a race of heroes than mere hitting and slashing\nat random; you, without experience, measured yourself against masters of\nthe art of war, and what was the consequence? Twice you fell a prisoner\ninto the hands of the enemy, and I had to ransom you.\n\n\"The king of the Danaids gave you up in exchange for his daughter, and he\nrejoices long since in the restoration of his child; but we, in losing\nher, lost the most powerful means of coercing the seafaring nations of\nthe islands and northern coasts of the great sea who are constantly\nincreasing in might and daring, and so diminished our chances of securing\na solid and abiding peace.\n\n\"Thus--through the careless wilfulness of a boy, the great work is\nendangered which I had hoped to have achieved. It grieves me particularly\nto humiliate your spirit to-day, when I have had so much reason to\nencourage you with praise. Nor will I punish you, only warn you and teach\nyou. The mechanism of the state is like the working of the cogged wheels\nwhich move the water-works on the shore of the Nile-if one tooth is\nmissing the whole comes to a stand-still however strong the beasts that\nlabor to turn it. Each of you--bear this in mind--is a main-wheel in the\ngreat machine of the state, and can serve an end only by acting\nunresistingly in obedience to the motive power. Now rise! we may perhaps\nsucceed in obtaining good security from the Asiatic king, though we have\nlost our hostage.\"\n\nHeralds at this moment marched into the tent, and announced that the\nrepresentative of the Cheta king and the allied princes were in\nattendance in the council tent; Rameses put on the crown of Upper and\nLower Egypt and all his royal adornments; the chamberlain who carried the\ninsignia of his power, and his head scribe with his decoration of plumes\nmarched before him, while his sons, the commanders in chief, and the\ninterpreters followed him. Rameses took his seat on his throne with great\ndignity, and the sternest gravity marked his demeanor while he received\nthe homage of the conquered and fettered kings.\n\nThe Asiatics kissed the earth at his feet, only the king of the Danaids\ndid no more than bow before him. Rameses looked wrathfully at him, and\nordered the interpreter to ask him whether he considered himself\nconquered or no, and the answer was given that he had not come before the\nPharaoh as a prisoner, and that the obeisance which Rameses required of\nhim was regarded as a degradation according to the customs of his\nfree-born people, who prostrated them selves only before the Gods. He\nhoped to become an ally of the king of Egypt, and he asked would he\ndesire to call a degraded man his friend?\n\nRameses measured the proud and noble figure before him with a glance, and\nsaid severely:\n\n\"I am prepared to treat for peace only with such of my enemies as are\nwilling to bow to the double crown that I wear. If you persist in your\nrefusal, you and your people will have no part in the favorable\nconditions that I am prepared to grant to these, your allies.\"\n\nThe captive prince preserved his dignified demeanor, which was\nnevertheless free from insolence, when these words of the king were\ninterpreted to him, and replied that he had come intending to procure\npeace at any cost, but that he never could nor would grovel in the dust\nat any man's feet nor before any crown. He would depart on the following\nday; one favor, however, he requested in his daughter's name and his\nown--and he had heard that the Egyptians respected women. The king knew,\nof course, that his charioteer Mena had treated his daughter, not as a\nprisoner but as a sister, and Praxilla now felt a wish, which he himself\nshared, to bid farewell to the noble Mena, and his wife, and to thank him\nfor his magnanimous generosity. Would Rameses permit him once more to\ncross the Nile before his departure, and with his daughter to visit Mena\nin his tent.\n\nRameses granted his prayer: the prince left the tent, and the\nnegotiations began.\n\nIn a few hours they were brought to a close, for the Asiatic and Egyptian\nscribes had agreed, in the course of the long march southwards, on the\nstipulations to be signed; the treaty itself was to be drawn up after the\narticles had been carefully considered, and to be signed in the city of\nRameses called Tanis--or, by the numerous settlers in its neighborhood,\nZoan. The Asiatic princes were to dine as guests with the king; but they\nsat at a separate table, as the Egyptians would have been defiled by\nsitting at the same table with strangers.\n\nRameses was not perfectly satisfied. If the Danaids went away without\nconcluding a treaty with him, it was to be expected that the peace which\nhe was so earnestly striving for would before long be again disturbed;\nand he nevertheless felt that, out of regard for the other conquered\nprinces, he could not forego any jot of the humiliation which he had\nrequired of their king, and which he believed to be due to\nhimself--though he bad been greatly impressed by his dignified manliness\nand by the bravery of the troops that had followed him into the field.\n\nThe sun was sinking when Mena, who that day had leave of absence from the\nking, came in great excitement up to the table where the princes were\nsitting and craved the king's permission to make an important\ncommunication. Rameses signed consent; the charioteer went close up to\nhim, and they held a short but eager conversation in a low voice.\n\nPresently the king stood up and said, speaking to his daughter:\n\n\"This day which began so horribly will end joyfully. The fair child who\nsaved you to-day, but who so nearly fell a victim to the flames, is of\nnoble origin.\"\n\n\"She cones of a royal house,\" said Rameri, disrespectfully interrupting\nhis father. Rameses looked at him reprovingly. \"My sons are silent,\" he\nsaid, \"till I ask them to speak.\"\n\nThe prince colored and looked down; the king signed to Bent-Anat and\nPentaur, begged his guests to excuse him for a short time, and was about\nto leave the tent; but Bent-Anat went up to him, and whispered a few\nwords to him with reference to her brother. Not in vain: the king paused,\nand reflected for a few moments; then he looked at Rameri, who stood\nabashed, and as if rooted to the spot where he stood. The king called his\nname, and beckoned him to follow him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLV.\n\nRameri had rushed off to summon the physicians, while Bent-Anat was\nendeavoring to restore the rescued Uarda to consciousness, and he\nfollowed them into his sister's tent. He gazed with tender anxiety into\nthe face of the half suffocated girl, who, though uninjured, still\nremained unconscious, and took her hand to press his lips to her slender\nfingers, but Bent-Anat pushed him gently away; then in low tones that\ntrembled with emotion he implored her not to send him away, and told her\nhow dear the girl whose life he had saved in the fight in the Necropolis\nhad become to him--how, since his departure for Syria, he had never\nceased to think of her night and day, and that he desired to make her his\nwife.\n\nBent-Anat was startled; she reminded her brother of the stain that lay on\nthe child of the paraschites and through which she herself had suffered\nso much; but Rameri answered eagerly:\n\n\"In Egypt rank and birth are derived through the mother and Kaschta's\ndead wife--\"\n\n\"I know,\" interrupted Bent-Anat. \"Nebsecht has already told us that she\nwas a dumb woman, a prisoner of war, and I myself believe that she was of\nno mean house, for Uarda is nobly formed in face and figure.\"\n\n\"And her skin is as fine as the petal of a flower,\" cried Rameri. \"Her\nvoice is like the ring of pure gold, and--Oh! look, she is moving. Uarda,\nopen your eyes, Uarda! When the sun rises we praise the Gods. Open your\neyes! how thankful, how joyful I shall be if those two suns only rise\nagain.\"\n\nBent-Anat smiled, and drew her brother away from the heavily-breathing\ngirl, for a leech came into the tent to say that a warm medicated bath\nhad been prepared and was ready for Uarda. The princess ordered her\nwaiting-women to help lift the senseless girl, and was preparing to\nfollow her when a message from her father required her presence in his\ntent. She could guess at the significance of this command, and desired\nRameri to leave her that she might dress in festal garments; she could\nentrust Uarda to the care of Nefert during her absence.\n\n\"She is kind and gentle, and she knows Uarda so well,\" said the princess,\n\"and the necessity of caring for this dear little creature will do her\ngood. Her heart is torn between sorrow for her lost relations, and joy at\nbeing united again to her love. My father has given Mena leave of absence\nfrom his office for several days, and I have excused her from her\nattendance on me, for the time during which we were so necessary to each\nother really came to an end yesterday. I feel, Rameri, as if we, after\nour escape, were like the sacred phoenix which comes to Heliopolis and\nburns itself to death only to soar again from its ashes young and\nradiant--blessed and blessing!\"\n\nWhen her brother had left her, she threw herself before the image of her\nmother and prayed long and earnestly; she poured an offering of sweet\nperfume on the little altar of the Goddess Hathor, which always\naccompanied her, had herself dressed in happy preparation for meeting her\nfather, and--she did not conceal it from herself--Pentaur, then she went\nfor a moment to Nefert's tent to beg her to take good care of Uarda, and\nfinally obeyed the summons of the king, who, as we know, fulfilled her\nutmost hopes.\n\nAs Rameri quitted his sister's tent he saw the watch seize and lead away\na little boy; the child cried bitterly, and the prince in a moment\nrecognized the little sculptor Scherau, who had betrayed the Regent's\nplot to him and to Uarda, and whom he had already fancied he had seen\nabout the place. The guards had driven him away several times from the\nprincess's tent, but he had persisted in returning, and this obstinate\nwaiting in the neighborhood had aroused the suspicions of an officer; for\nsince the fire a thousand rumors of conspiracies and plots against the\nking had been flying about the camp. Rameri at once freed the little\nprisoner, and heard from him that it was old Hekt who, before her death,\nhad sent Kaschta and his daughter to the rescue of the king, that he\nhimself had helped to rouse the troops, that now he had no home and\nwished to go to Uarda.\n\nThe prince himself led the child to Nefert, and begged her to allow him\nto see Uarda, and to let him stay with her servants till he himself\nreturned from his father's tent.\n\nThe leeches had treated Uarda with judgment, for under the influence of\nthe bath she recovered her senses; when she had been dressed again in\nfresh garments and refreshed by the essences and medicines which they\ngave her to inhale and to drink, she was led back into Nefert's tent,\nwhere Mena, who had never before seen her, was astonished at her peculiar\nand touching beauty.\n\n\"She is very like my Danaid princess,\" he said to his wife; \"only she is\nyounger and much prettier than she.\"\n\nLittle Scherau came in to pay his respects to her, and she was delighted\nto see the boy; still she was sad, and however kindly Nefert spoke to her\nshe remained in silent reverie, while from time to time a large tear\nrolled down her cheek.\n\n\"You have lost your father!\" said Nefert, trying to comfort her. \"And I,\nmy mother and brother both in one day.\"\n\n\"Kaschta was rough but, oh! so kind,\" replied Uarda. \"He was always so\nfond of me; he was like the fruit of the doom palm; its husk is hard and\nrough, but he who knows how to open it finds the sweet pulp within. Now\nhe is dead, and my grandfather and grandmother are gone before him, and I\nam like the green leaf that I saw floating on the waters when we were\ncrossing the sea; anything so forlorn I never saw, abandoned by all it\nbelonged to or had ever loved, the sport of a strange element in which\nnothing resembling itself ever grew or ever can grow.\"\n\nNefert kissed her forehead. \"You have friends,\" she said, \"who will never\nabandon you.\"\n\n\"I know, I know!\" said Uarda thoughtfully, \"and yet I am alone--for the\nfirst time really alone. In Thebes I have often looked after the wild\nswans as they passed across the sky; one flies in front, then comes the\nbody of the wandering party, and very often, far behind, a solitary\nstraggler; and even this last one I do not call lonely, for he can still\nsee his brethren in front of him. But when the hunters have shot down all\nthe low-flying loiterers, and the last one has lost sight of the flock,\nand knows that he never again can find them or follow them he is indeed\nto be pitied. I am as unhappy as the abandoned bird, for I have lost\nsight to-day of all that I belong to, and I am alone, and can never find\nthem again.\"\n\n\"You will be welcomed into some more noble house than that to which you\nbelong by birth,\" said Nefert, to comfort her.\n\nUarda's eyes flashed, and she said proudly, almost defiantly:\n\n\"My race is that of my mother, who was a daughter of no mean house; the\nreason I turned back this morning and went into the smoke and fire again\nafter I had escaped once into the open air--what I went back for, because\nI felt it was worth dying for, was my mother's legacy, which I had put\naway with my holiday dress when I followed the wretched Nemu to his tent.\nI threw myself into the jaws of death to save the jewel, but certainly\nnot because it is made of gold and precious stones--for I do not care to\nbe rich, and I want no better fare than a bit of bread and a few dates\nand a cup of water--but because it has a name on it in strange\ncharacters, and because I believe it will serve to discover the people\nfrom whom my mother was carried off; and now I have lost the jewel, and\nwith it my identity and my hopes and happiness.\"\n\nUarda wept aloud; Nefert put her arm around her affectionately.\n\n\"Poor child!\" she said, \"was your treasure destroyed in the flames?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Uarda eagerly. \"I snatched it out of my chest and held it\nin my hand when Nebsecht took me in his arms, and I still had it in my\nhand when I was lying safe on the ground outside the burning house, and\nBent-Anat was close to me, and Rameri came up. I remember seeing him as\nif I were in a dream, and I revived a little, and I felt the jewel in my\nfingers then.\"\n\n\"Then it was dropped on the way to the tent?\" said Nefert.\n\nUarda nodded; little Scherau, who had been crouching on the floor beside\nher, gave Uarda a loving glance, dimmed with tears, and quietly slipped\nout of the tent.\n\nTime went by in silence; Uarda sat looking at the ground, Nefert and Mena\nheld each other's hands, but the thoughts of all three were with the\ndead. A perfect stillness reigned, and the happiness of the reunited\ncouple was darkly overshadowed by their sorrow. From time to time the\nsilence was broken by a trumpet-blast from the royal tent; first when the\nAsiatic princes were introduced into the Council-tent, then when the\nDanaid king departed, and lastly when the Pharaoh preceded the conquered\nprinces to the banquet.\n\nThe charioteer remembered how his master had restored him to dignity and\nhonor, for the sake of his faithful wife; and gratefully pressed her\nhand.\n\nSuddenly there was a noise in front of the tent, and an officer entered\nto announce to Mena that the Danaid king and his daughter, accompanied by\nbody-guard, requested to see and speak with him and Nefert.\n\nThe entrance to the tent was thrown wide open. Uarda retired modestly\ninto the back-ground, and Mena and Nefert went forward hand in hand to\nmeet their unexpected guests.\n\nThe Greek prince was an old man, his beard and thick hair were grey, but\nhis movements were youthful and light, though dignified and deliberate.\nHis even, well-formed features were deeply furrowed, he had large,\nbright, clear blue eyes, but round his fine lips were lines of care.\nClose to him walked his daughter; her long white robe striped with purple\nwas held round her hips by a golden girdle, and her sunny yellow hair\nfell in waving locks over her neck and shoulders, while it was confined\nby a diadem which encircled her head; she was of middle height, and her\nmotions were measured and calm like her father's. Her brow was narrow,\nand in one line with her straight nose, her rosy mouth was sweet and\nkind, and beyond everything beautiful were the lines of her oval face and\nthe turn of her snow-white throat. By their side stood the interpreter\nwho translated every word of the conversation on both sides. Behind them\ncame two men and two women, who carried gifts for Mena and his wife.\n\nThe prince praised Mena's magnanimity in the warmest terms.\n\n\"You have proved to me,\" he said, \"that the virtues of gratitude, of\nconstancy, and of faith are practised by the Egyptians; although your\nmerit certainly appears less to me now that I see your wife, for he who\nowns the fairest may easily forego any taste for the fair.\"\n\nNefert blushed.\n\n\"Your generosity,\" she answered, \"does me more than justice at your\ndaughter's expense, and love moved my husband to the same injustice, but\nyour beautiful daughter must forgive you and me also.\"\n\nPraxilla went towards her and expressed her thanks; then she offered her\nthe costly coronet, the golden clasps and strings of rare pearls which\nher women carried; her father begged Mena to accept a coat of mail and a\nshield of fine silver work. The strangers were then led into the tent,\nand were there welcomed and entertained with all honor, and offered bread\nand wine. While Mena pledged her father, Praxilla related to Nefert, with\nthe help of the interpreter, what hours of terror she had lived through\nafter she had been taken prisoner by the Egyptians, and was brought into\nthe camp with the other spoils of war; how an older commander had\nasserted his claim to her, how Mena had given her his hand, had led her\nto his tent, and had treated her like his own daughter. Her voice shook\nwith emotion, and even the interpreter was moved as she concluded her\nstory with these words: \"How grateful I am to him, you will fully\nunderstand when I tell you that the man who was to have been my husband\nfell wounded before my eyes while defending our camp; but he has\nrecovered, and now only awaits my return for our wedding.\"\n\n\"May the Gods only grant it!\" cried the king, \"for Praxilla is the last\nchild of my house. The murderous war robbed me of my four fair sons\nbefore they had taken wives, my son-in-law was slain by the Egyptians at\nthe taking of our camp, and his wife and new-born son fell into their\nhands, and Praxilla is my youngest child, the only one left to me by the\nenvious Gods.\"\n\nWhile he was still speaking, they heard the guards call out and a child's\nloud cry, and at the same instant little Scherau rushed into the tent\nholding up his hand exclaiming.\n\n\"I have it! I have found it!\"\n\nUarda, who had remained behind the curtain which screened the sleeping\nroom of the tent--but who had listened with breathless attention to every\nword of the foreigners, and who had never taken her eyes off the fair\nPraxilla--now came forward, emboldened by her agitation, into the midst\nof the tent, and took the jewel from the child's hand to show it to the\nGreek king; for while she stood gazing at Praxilla it seemed to her that\nshe was looking at herself in a mirror, and the idea had rapidly grown to\nconviction that her mother had been a daughter of the Danaids. Her heart\nbeat violently as she went up to the king with a modest demeanor, her\nhead bent down, but holding her jewel up for him to see.\n\nThe bystanders all gazed in astonishment at the veteran chief, for he\nstaggered as she came up to him, stretched out his hands as if in terror\ntowards the girl, and drew back crying out:\n\n\"Xanthe, Xanthe! Is your spirit freed from Hades? Are you come to summon\nme?\"\n\nPraxilla looked at her father in alarm, but suddenly she, too, gave a\npiercing cry, snatched a chain from her neck, hurried towards Uarda, and\nseizing the jewel she held, exclaimed:\n\n\"Here is the other half of the ornament, it belonged to my poor sister\nXanthe!\"\n\nThe old Greek was a pathetic sight, he struggled hard to collect himself,\nlooking with tender delight at Uarda, his sinewy hands trembled as he\ncompared the two pieces of the necklet; they matched precisely--each\nrepresented the wing of an eagle which was attached to half an oval\ncovered with an inscription; when they were laid together they formed the\ncomplete figure of a bird with out-spread wings, on whose breast the\nlines exactly matched of the following oracular verse:\n\n  \"Alone each is a trifling thing, a woman's useless toy\n   But with its counterpart behold! the favorite bird of Zeus.\"\n\nA glance at the inscription convinced the king that he held in his hand\nthe very jewel which he had put with his own hands round the neck of his\ndaughter Xanthe on her marriage-day, and of which the other half had been\npreserved by her mother, from whom it had descended to Praxilla. It had\noriginally been made for his wife and her twin sister who had died young.\nBefore he made any enquiries, or asked for any explanations, he took\nUarda's head between his hands, and turning her face close to his he\ngazed at her features, as if he were reading a book in which he expected\nto find a memorial of all the blissful hours of his youth, and the girl\nfelt no fear; nor did she shrink when he pressed his lips to her\nforehead, for she felt that this man's blood ran in her own veins. At\nlast the king signed to the interpreter; Uarda was asked to tell all she\nknew of her mother, and when she said that she had come a captive to\nThebes with an infant that had soon after died, that her father had\nbought her and had loved her in spite of her being dumb, the prince's\nconviction became certainty; he acknowledged Uarda as his grandchild, and\nPraxilla clasped her in her arms.\n\nThen he told Mena that it was now twenty years since his son-in-law had\nbeen killed, and his daughter Xanthe, whom Uarda exactly resembled, had\nbeen carried into captivity. Praxilla was then only just born, and his\nwife died of the shock of such terrible news. All his enquiries for\nXanthe and her child had been fruitless, but he now remembered that once,\nwhen he had offered a large ransom for his daughter if she could be\nfound, the Egyptians had enquired whether she were dumb, and that he had\nanswered \"no.\" No doubt Xanthe had lost the power of speech through\ngrief, terror, and suffering.\n\nThe joy of the king was unspeakable, and Uarda was never tired of gazing\nat his daughter and holding her hand.\n\nThen she turned to the interpreter.\n\n\"Tell me,\" she said. \"How do I say 'I am so very happy?'\"\n\nHe told her, and she smilingly repeated his words. \"Now 'Uarda will love\nyou with all her heart?'\" and she said it after him in broken accents\nthat sounded so sweet and so heart-felt, that the old man clasped her to\nhis breast.\n\nTears of emotion stood in Nefert's eyes, and when Uarda flung herself\ninto her arms she said:\n\n\"The forlorn swan has found its kindred, the floating leaf has reached\nthe shore, and must be happy now!\" Thus passed an hour of the purest\nhappiness; at last the Greek king prepared to leave, and the wished to\ntake Uarda with him; but Mena begged his permission to communicate all\nthat had occurred to the Pharaoh and Bent-Anat, for Uarda was attached to\nthe princess's train, and had been left in his charge, and he dared not\ntrust her in any other hands without Bent-Anat's permission. Without\nwaiting for the king's reply he left the tent, hastened to the banqueting\ntent, and, as we know, Rameses and the princess had at once attended to\nhis summons.\n\nOn the way Mena gave them a vivid description of the exciting events that\nhad taken place, and Rameses, with a side glance at Bent-Anat, asked\nRameri:\n\n\"Would you be prepared to repair your errors, and to win the friendship\nof the Greek king by being betrothed to his granddaughter?\"\n\nThe prince could not answer a word, but he clasped his father's hand, and\nkissed it so warmly that Rameses, as he drew it away, said:\n\n\"I really believe that you have stolen a march on me, and have been\nstudying diplomacy behind my back!\"\n\nRameses met his noble opponent outside Mena's tent, and was about to\noffer him his hand, but the Danaid chief had sunk on his knees before him\nas the other princes had done.\n\n\"Regard me not as a king and a warrior,\" he exclaimed, \"only as a\nsuppliant father; let us conclude a peace, and permit me to take this\nmaiden, my grandchild, home with me to my own country.\"\n\nRameses raised the old man from the ground, gave him his hand, and said\nkindly:\n\n\"I can only grant the half of what you ask. I, as king of Egypt, am most\nwilling to grant you a faithful compact for a sound and lasting peace; as\nregards this maiden, you must treat with my children, first with my\ndaughter Bent-Anat, one of whose ladies she is, and then with your\nreleased prisoner there, who wishes to make Uarda his wife.\"\n\n\"I will resign my share in the matter to my brother,\" said Bent-Anat,\n\"and I only ask you, maiden, whether you are inclined to acknowledge him\nas your lord and master?\"\n\nUarda bowed assent, and looked at her grandfather with an expression\nwhich he understood without any interpreter.\n\n\"I know you well,\" he said, turning to Rameri. \"We stood face to face in\nthe fight, and I took you prisoner as you fell stunned by a blow from my\nsword. You are still too rash, but that is a fault which time will amend\nin a youth of your heroic temper. Listen to me now, and you too, noble\nPharaoh, permit me these few words; let us betroth these two, and may\ntheir union be the bond of ours, but first grant me for a year to take my\nlong-lost child home with me that she may rejoice my old heart, and that\nI may hear from her lips the accents of her mother, whom you took from\nme. They are both young; according to the usages of our country, where\nboth men and women ripen later than in your country, they are almost too\nyoung for the solemn tie of marriage. But one thing above all will\ndetermine you to favor my wishes; this daughter of a royal house has\ngrown up amid the humblest surroundings; here she has no home, no\nfamily-ties. The prince has wooed her, so to speak, on the highway, but\nif she now comes with me he can enter the palace of kings as suitor to a\nprincess, and the marriage feast I will provide shall be a right royal\none.\"\n\n\"What you demand is just and wise,\" replied Rameses. \"Take your\ngrand-child with you as my son's betrothed bride--my future daughter.\nGive me your hands, my children. The delay will teach you patience, for\nRameri must remain a full year from to-day in Egypt, and it will be to\nyour profit, sweet child, for the obedience which he will learn through\nhis training in the army will temper the nature of your future husband.\nYou, Rameri, shall in a year from to-day--and I think you will not forget\nthe date--find at your service a ship in the harbor of Pelusium, fitted\nand manned with Phoenicians, to convey you to your wedding.\"\n\n\"So be it!\" exclaimed the old man.  \"And by Zeus who hears me swear--I\nwill not withhold Xanthe's daughter from your son when he comes to claim\nher!\"\n\nWhen Rameri returned to the princes' tent he threw himself on their necks\nin turn, and when he found himself alone with their surly old\nhouse-steward, he snatched his wig from his head, flung it in the air,\nand then coaxingly stroked the worthy officer's cheeks as he set it on\nhis head again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVI.\n\nUarda accompanied her grandfather and Praxilla to their tent on the\nfarther side of the Nile, but she was to return next morning to the\nEgyptian camp to take leave of all her friends, and to provide for her\nfather's internment. Nor did she delay attending to the last wishes of\nold Hekt, and Bent-Anat easily persuaded her father, when he learnt how\ngreatly he had been indebted to her, to have her embalmed like a lady of\nrank.\n\nBefore Uarda left the Egyptian camp, Pentaur came to entreat her to\nafford her dying preserver Nebsecht the last happiness of seeing her once\nmore; Uarda acceded with a blush, and the poet, who had watched all night\nby his friend, went forward to prepare him for her visit.\n\nNebsecht's burns and a severe wound on his head caused him great\nsuffering; his cheeks glowed with fever, and the physicians told Pentaur\nthat he probably could not live more than a few hours.\n\nThe poet laid his cool hand on his friend's brow, and spoke to him\nencouragingly; but Nebsecht smiled at his words with the peculiar\nexpression of a man who knows that his end is near, and said in a low\nvoice and with a visible effort:\n\n\"A few breaths more and here, and here, will be peace.\" He laid his hand\non his head and on his heart.\n\n\"We all attain to peace,\" said Pentaur. \"But perhaps only to labor more\nearnestly and unweariedly in the land beyond the grave. If the Gods\nreward any thing it is the honest struggle, the earnest seeking after\ntruth; if any spirit can be made one with the great Soul of the world it\nwill be yours, and if any eye may see the Godhead through the veil which\nhere shrouds the mystery of His existence yours will have earned the\nprivilege.\"\n\n\"I have pushed and pulled,\" sighed Nebsecht, \"with all my might, and now\nwhen I thought I had caught a glimpse of the truth the heavy fist of\ndeath comes down upon me and shuts my eyes. What good will it do me to\nsee with the eye of the Divinity or to share in his omniscience? It is\nnot seeing, it is seeking that is delightful--so delightful that I would\nwillingly set my life there against another life here for the sake of\nit.\" He was silent, for his strength failed, and Pentaur begged him to\nkeep quiet, and to occupy his mind in recalling all the hours of joy\nwhich life had given him.\n\n\"They have been few,\" said the leech. \"When my mother kissed me and gave\nme dates, when I could work and observe in peace, when you opened my eyes\nto the beautiful world of poetry--that was good!\"\n\nAnd you have soothed the sufferings of many men, added Pentaur, \"and\nnever caused pain to any one.\"\n\nNebsecht shook his head.\n\n\"I drove the old paraschites,\" he muttered, \"to madness and to death.\"\n\nHe was silent for a long time, then he looked up eagerly and said: \"But\nnot intentionally--and not in vain! In Syria, at Megiddo I could work\nundisturbed; now I know what the organ is that thinks. The heart! What is\nthe heart? A ram's heart or a man's heart, they serve the same end; they\nturn the wheel of animal life, they both beat quicker in terror or in\njoy, for we feel fear or pleasure just as animals do. But Thought, the\ndivine power that flies to the infinite, and enables us to form and prove\nour opinions, has its seat here--Here in the brain, behind the brow.\"\n\nHe paused exhausted and overcome with pain. Pentaur thought he was\nwandering in his fever, and offered him a cooling drink while two\nphysicians walked round his bed singing litanies; then, as Nebsecht\nraised himself in bed with renewed energy, the poet said to him:\n\n\"The fairest memory of your life must surely be that of the sweet child\nwhose face, as you once confessed to me, first opened your soul to the\nsense of beauty, and whom with your own hands you snatched from death at\nthe cost of your own life. You know Uarda has found her own relatives and\nis happy, and she is very grateful to her preserver, and would like to\nsee him once more before she goes far away with her grandfather.\"\n\nThe sick man hesitated before he answered softly:\n\n\"Let her come--but I will look at her from a distance.\"\n\nPentaur went out and soon returned with Uarda, who remained standing with\nglowing cheeks and tears in her eyes at the door of the tent. The leech\nlooked at her a long time with an imploring and tender expression, then\nhe said:\n\n\"Accept my thanks--and be happy.\"\n\nThe girl would have gone up to him to take his hand, but he waved her off\nwith his right hand enveloped in wrappings.\n\n\"Come no nearer,\" he said, \"but stay a moment longer. You have tears in\nyour eyes; are they for me or only for my pain?\"\n\n\"For you, good noble man! my friend and my preserver!\" said Uarda. \"For\nyou dear, poor Nebsecht!\" The leech closed his eyes as she spoke these\nwords with earnest feeling, but he looked up once more as she ceased\nspeaking, and gazed at her with tender admiration; then he said softly:\n\n\"It is enough--now I can die.\"\n\nUarda left the tent, Pentaur remained with him listening to his hoarse\nand difficult breathing; suddenly:\n\nNebsecht raised himself, and said: \"Farewell, my friend,--my journey is\nbeginning, who knows whither?\"\n\n\"Only not into vacancy, not to end in nothingness!\" cried Pentaur warmly.\n\nThe leech shook his head. \"I have been something,\" he said, \"and being\nsomething I cannot become nothing. Nature is a good economist, and\nutilizes the smallest trifle; she will use me too according to her need.\nShe brings everything to its end and purpose in obedience to some rule\nand measure, and will so deal with me after I am dead; there is no waste.\nEach thing results in being that which it is its function to become; our\nwish or will is not asked--my head! when the pain is in my head I cannot\nthink--if only I could prove--could prove----\"\n\nThe last words were less and less audible, his breath was choked, and in\na few seconds Pentaur with deep regret closed his eyes.\n\nPentaur, as he quitted the tent where the dead man lay, met the\nhigh-priest Ameni, who had gone to seek him by his friend's bed-side, and\nthey returned together to gaze on the dead. Ameni, with much emotion, put\nup a few earnest prayers for the salvation of his soul, and then\nrequested Pentaur to follow him without delay to his tent. On the way he\nprepared the poet, with the polite delicacy which was peculiar to him,\nfor a meeting which might be more painful than joyful to him, and must in\nany case bring him many hours of anxiety and agitation.\n\nThe judges in Thebes, who had been compelled to sentence the lady\nSetchem, as the mother of a traitor, to banishment to the mines had,\nwithout any demand on her part, granted leave to the noble and most\nrespectable matron to go under an escort of guards to meet the king on\nhis return into Egypt, in order to petition for mercy for herself, but\nnot, as it was expressly added--for Paaker; and she had set out, but with\nthe secret resolution to obtain the king's grace not for herself but for\nher son.\n\n   [Agatharchides, in Diodorus III. 12, says that in many cases not\n   only the criminal but his relations also were condemned to labor in\n   the mines. In the convention signed between Rameses and the Cheta\n   king it is expressly provided that the deserter restored to Egypt\n   shall go unpunished, that no injury shall be done \"to his house, his\n   wife or his children, nor shall his mother be put to death.\"]\n\nAmeni had already left Thebes for the north when this sentence was\npronounced, or he would have reversed it by declaring the true origin of\nPaaker; for after he had given up his participation in the Regent's\nconspiracy, he no longer had any motive for keeping old Hekt's secret.\n\nSetchem's journey was lengthened by a storm which wrecked the ship in\nwhich she was descending the Nile, and she did not reach Pelusium till\nafter the king. The canal which formed the mouth of the Nile close to\nthis fortress and joined the river to the Mediterranean, was so\nover-crowded with the boats of the Regent and his followers, of the\nambassadors, nobles, citizens, and troops which had met from all parts of\nthe country, that the lady's boat could find anchorage only at a great\ndistance from the city, and accompanied by her faithful steward she had\nsucceeded only a few hours before in speaking to the high-priest.\n\nSetchem was terribly changed; her eyes, which only a few months since had\nkept an efficient watch over the wealthy Theban household, were now dim\nand weary, and although her figure had not grown thin it had lost its\ndignity and energy, and seemed inert and feeble. Her lips, so ready for a\nwise or sprightly saying, were closely shut, and moved only in silent\nprayer or when some friend spoke to her of her unhappy son. His deed she\nwell knew was that of a reprobate, and she sought no excuse or defence;\nher mother's heart forgave it without any. Whenever she thought of\nhim--and she thought of him incessantly all through the day and through\nher sleepless nights-her eyes overflowed with tears.\n\nHer boat had reached Pelusium just as the flames were breaking out in the\npalace; the broad flare of light and the cries from the various vessels\nin the harbor brought her on deck. She heard that the burning house was\nthe pavilion erected by Ani for the king's residence; Rameses she was\ntold was in the utmost danger, and the fire had beyond a doubt been laid\nby traitors.\n\nAs day broke and further news reached her, the names of her son and of\nher sister came to her ear; she asked no questions--she would not hear\nthe truth--but she knew it all the same; as often as the word \"traitor\"\ncaught her ear in her cabin, to which she had retreated, she felt as if\nsome keen pain shot through her bewildered brain, and shuddered as if\nfrom a cold chill.\n\nAll through that day she could neither eat nor drink, but lay with closed\neyes on her couch, while her steward--who had soon learnt what a terrible\nshare his former master had taken in the incendiarism, and who now gave\nup his lady's cause for lost--sought every where for the high-priest\nAmeni; but as he was among the persons nearest to the king it was\nimpossible to see him that day, and it was not till the next morning that\nhe was able to speak with him. Ameni inspired the anxious and sorrowful\nold retainer with, fresh courage, returned with him in his own chariot to\nthe harbor, and accompanied him to Setchem's boat to prepare her for the\nhappiness which awaited her after her terrible troubles. But he came too\nlate, the spirit of the poor lady was quite clouded, and she listened to\nhim without any interest while he strove to restore her to courage and to\nrecall her wandering mind. She only interrupted him over and over again\nwith the questions: \"Did he do it?\" or \"Is he alive?\"\n\nAt last Ameni succeeded in persuading her to accompany him in her litter\nto his tent, where she would find her son. Pentaur was wonderfully like\nher lost husband, and the priest, experienced in humanity, thought that\nthe sight of him would rouse the dormant powers of her mind. When she had\narrived at his tent, he told her with kind precaution the whole history\nof the exchange of Paaker for Pentaur, and she followed the story with\nattention but with indifference, as if she were hearing of the adventures\nof others who did not concern her. When Ameni enlarged on the genius of\nthe poet and on his perfect resemblance to his dead father she muttered:\n\n\"I know--I know. You mean the speaker at the Feast of the Valley,\" and\nthen although she had been told several times that Paaker had been\nkilled, she asked again if her son was alive.\n\nAmeni decided at last to fetch Pentaur himself,\n\nWhen he came back with him, fully prepared to meet his heavily-stricken\nmother, the tent was empty. The high-priest's servants told him that\nSetchem had persuaded the easily-moved old prophet Gagabu to conduct her\nto the place where the body of Paaker lay. Ameni was very much vexed, for\nhe feared that Setchem was now lost indeed, and he desired the poet to\nfollow him at once.\n\nThe mortal remains of the pioneer had been laid in a tent not far from\nthe scene of the fire; his body was covered with a cloth, but his pale\nface, which had not been injured in his fall, remained uncovered; by his\nside knelt the unhappy mother.\n\nShe paid no heed to Ameni when he spoke to her, and he laid his hand on\nher shoulder and said as he pointed to the body:\n\n\"This was the son of a gardener. You brought him up faithfully as if he\nwere your own; but your noble husband's true heir, the son you bore him,\nis Pentaur, to whom the Gods have given not only the form and features\nbut the noble qualities of his father. The dead man may be forgiven--for\nthe sake of your virtues; but your love is due to this nobler soul--the\nreal son of your husband, the poet of Egypt, the preserver of the king's\nlife.\"\n\nSetchem rose and went up to Pentaur, she smiled at him and stroked his\nface and breast.\n\n\"It is he,\" she said. \"May the Immortals bless him!\"\n\nPentaur would have clasped her in his arms, but she pushed him away as if\nshe feared to commit some breach of faith, and turning hastily to the\nbier she said softly:\n\nPoor Paaker--poor, poor Paaker!\"\n\n\"Mother, mother, do you not know your son?\" cried Pentaur deeply moved.\n\nShe turned to him again: \"It is his voice,\" she said. \"It is he.\"\n\nShe went up to Pentaur, clung to him, clasped her arm around his neck as\nhe bent over her, then kissing him fondly:\n\n\"The Gods will bless you!\" she said once more. She tore herself from him\nand threw herself down by the body of Paaker, as if she had done him some\ninjustice and robbed him of his rights.\n\nThus she remained, speechless and motionless, till they carried her back\nto her boat, there she lay down, and refused to take any nourishment;\nfrom time to time she whispered \"Poor Paaker!\" She no longer repelled\nPentaur, for she did not again recognize him, and before he left her she\nhad followed the rough-natured son of her adoption to the other world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVII.\n\nThe king had left the camp, and had settled in the neighboring city of\nRameses' Tanis, with the greater part of his army. The Hebrews, who were\nsettled in immense numbers in the province of Goshen, and whom Ani had\nattached to his cause by remitting their task-work, were now driven to\nlabor at the palaces and fortifications which Rameses had begun to build.\n\nAt Tanis, too, the treaty of peace was signed and was presented to\nRameses inscribed on a silver tablet by Tarthisebu, the representative of\nthe Cheta king, in the name of his lord and master.\n\nPentaur followed the king as soon as he had closed his mother's eyes, and\naccompanied her body to Heliopolis, there to have it embalmed; from\nthence the mummy was to be sent to Thebes, and solemnly placed in the\ngrave of her ancestors. This duty of children towards their parents, and\nindeed all care for the dead, was regarded as so sacred by the Egyptians,\nthat neither Pentaur nor Bent-Anat would have thought of being united\nbefore it was accomplished.\n\nOn the 21st day of the month Tybi, of the 21st year of the reign of\nRameses, the day on which the peace was signed, the poet returned to\nTanis, sad at heart, for the old gardener, whom he had regarded and loved\nas his father, had died before his return home; the good old man had not\nlong survived the false intelligence of the death of the poet, whom he\nhad not only loved but reverenced as a superior being bestowed upon his\nhouse as a special grace from the Gods.\n\nIt was not till seven months after the fire at Pelusium that Pentaur's\nmarriage with Bent-Anat was solemnized in the palace of the Pharaohs at\nThebes; but time and the sorrows he had suffered had only united their\nhearts more closely. She felt that though he was the stronger she was the\ngiver and the helper, and realized with delight that like the sun, which\nwhen it rises invites a thousand flowers to open and unfold, the glow of\nher presence raised the poet's oppressed soul to fresh life and beauty.\nThey had given each other up for lost through strife and suffering, and\nnow had found each other again; each knew how precious the other was. To\nmake each other happy, and prove their affection, was now the aim of\ntheir lives, and as they each had proved that they prized honor and\nright-doing above happiness their union was a true marriage, ennobling\nand purifying their souls. She could share his deepest thoughts and his\nmost difficult undertakings, and if their house were filled with children\nshe would know how to give him the fullest enjoyment of those small\nblessings which at the same time are the greatest joys of life.\n\nPentaur finding himself endowed by the king with superabundant wealth,\ngave up the inheritance of his fathers to his brother Horus, who was\nraised to the rank of chief pioneer as a reward for his interposition at\nthe battle of Kadesh; Horus replaced the fallen cedar-trees which had\nstood at the door of his house by masts of more moderate dimensions.\n\nThe hapless Huni, under whose name Pentaur had been transferred to the\nmines of Sinai, was released from the quarries of Chennu, and restored to\nhis children enriched by gifts from the poet.\n\nThe Pharaoh fully recognized the splendid talents of his daughter's\nhusband; she to his latest days remained his favorite child, even after\nhe had consolidated the peace by marrying the daughter of the Cheta king,\nand Pentaur became his most trusted adviser, and responsible for the\nweightiest affairs in the state.\n\nRameses learned from the papers found in Ani's tent, and from other\nevidence which was only too abundant, that the superior of the House of\nSeti, and with him the greater part of the priesthood, had for a long\ntime been making common cause with the traitor; in the first instance he\ndetermined on the severest, nay bloodiest punishment, but he was\npersuaded by Pentaur and by his son Chamus to assert and support the\nprinciples of his government by milder and yet thorough measures. Rameses\ndesired to be a defender of religion--of the religion which could carry\nconsolation into the life of the lowly and over-burdened, and give their\nexistence a higher and fuller meaning--the religion which to him, as\nking, appeared the indispensable means of keeping the grand significance\nof human life ever present to his mind--sacred as the inheritance of his\nfathers, and useful as the school where the people, who needed leading,\nmight learn to follow and obey.\n\nBut nevertheless no one, not even the priests, the guardians of souls,\ncould be permitted to resist the laws of which he was the bulwark, to\nwhich he himself was subject, and which enjoined obedience to his\nauthority; and before he left Tanis he had given Ameni and his followers\nto understand that he alone was master in Egypt.\n\nThe God Seth, who had been honored by the Semite races since the time of\nthe Hyksos, and whom they called upon under the name of Baal, had from\nthe earliest times never been allowed a temple on the Nile, as being the\nGod of the stranger; but Rameses--in spite of the bold remonstrances of\nthe priestly party who called themselves the 'true believers'--raised a\nmagnificent temple to this God in the city of Tanis to supply the\nreligious needs of the immigrant foreigners. In the same spirit of\ntoleration he would not allow the worship of strange Gods to be\ninterfered with, though on the other hand he was jealous in honoring the\nEgyptian Gods with unexampled liberality. He caused temples to be erected\nin most of the great cities of the kingdom, he added to the temple of\nPtah at Memphis, and erected immense colossi in front of its pylons in\nmemory of his deliverance from the fire.\n\n   [One of these is still in existence. It lies on the ground among\n   the ruins of ancient Memphis.]\n\nIn the Necropolis of Thebes he had a splendid edifice constructed-which\nto this day delights the beholder by the symmetry of its proportions in\nmemory of the hour when he escaped death as by a miracle; on its pylon he\ncaused the battle of Kadesh to be represented in beautiful pictures in\nrelief, and there, as well as on the architrave of the great\nbanqueting--hall, he had the history inscribed of the danger he had run\nwhen he stood \"alone and no man with him!\"\n\nBy his order Pentaur rewrote the song he had sung at Pelusium; it is\npreserved in three temples, and, in fragments, on several papyrus-rolls\nwhich can be made to complete each other. It was destined to become the\nnational epic--the Iliad of Egypt.\n\nPentaur was commissioned to transfer the school of the House of Seti to\nthe new votive temple, which was called the House of Rameses, and arrange\nit on a different plan, for the Pharaoh felt that it was requisite to\nform a new order of priests, and to accustom the ministers of the Gods to\nsubordinate their own designs to the laws of the country, and to the\ndecrees of their guardian and ruler, the king. Pentaur was made the\nsuperior of the new college, and its library, which was called \"the\nhospital for the soul,\" was without an equal; in this academy, which was\nthe prototype of the later-formed museum and library of Alexandria, sages\nand poets grew up whose works endured for thousands of years--and\nfragments of their writings have even come down to us. The most famous\nare the hymns of Anana, Pentaur's favorite disciple, and the tale of the\ntwo Brothers, composed by Gagabu, the grandson of the old Prophet.\n\nAmeni did not remain in Thebes. Rameses had been informed of the way in\nwhich he had turned the death of the ram to account, and the use he had\nmade of the heart, as he had supposed it, of the sacred animal, and he\ntranslated him without depriving him of his dignity or revenues to\nMendes, the city of the holy rams in the Delta, where, as he observed not\nwithout satirical meaning, he would be particularly intimate with these\nsacred beasts; in Mendes Ameni exerted great influence, and in spite of\nmany differences of opinion which threatened to sever them, he and\nPentaur remained fast friends to the day of his death.\n\nIn the first court of the House of Rameses there stands--now broken\nacross the middle--the wonder of the traveller, the grandest colossus in\nEgypt, made of the hardest granite, and exceeding even the well-known\nstatue of Memnon in the extent of its base. It represents Rameses the\nGreat. Little Scherau, whom Pentaur had educated to be a sculptor,\nexecuted it, as well as many other statues of the great sovereign of\nEgypt.\n\nA year after the burning of the pavilion at Pelusium Rameri sailed to the\nland of the Danaids, was married to Uarda, and then remained in his\nwife's native country, where, after the death of her grandfather, he\nruled over many islands of the Mediterranean and became the founder of a\ngreat and famous race. Uarda's name was long held in tender remembrance\nby their subjects, for having grown up in misery she understood the\nsecret of alleviating sorrow and relieving want, and of doing good and\ngiving happiness without humiliating those she benefitted.\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Drink of the joys of life thankfully, and in moderation\n     It is not seeing, it is seeking that is delightful\n     The man within him, and not on the circumstances without\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE COMPLETE \"UARDA\":\n\n     A dirty road serves when it makes for the goal\n     Age when usually even bad liquor tastes of honey\n     An admirer of the lovely color of his blue bruises\n     Ardently they desire that which transcends sense\n     Ask for what is feasible\n     Bearers of ill ride faster than the messengers of weal\n     Blossom of the thorny wreath of sorrow\n     Called his daughter to wash his feet\n     Colored cakes in the shape of beasts\n     Deficient are as guilty in their eyes as the idle\n     Desert is a wonderful physician for a sick soul\n     Do not spoil the future for the sake of the present\n     Drink of the joys of life thankfully, and in moderation\n     Every misfortune brings its fellow with it\n     Exhibit one's happiness in the streets, and conceal one's misery\n     Eyes kind and frank, without tricks of glance\n     For fear of the toothache, had his sound teeth drawn\n     Hatred for all that hinders the growth of light\n     Hatred between man and man\n     He is clever and knows everything, but how silly he looks now\n     He who looks for faith must give faith\n     Her white cat was playing at her feet\n     How easy it is to give wounds, and how hard it is to heal\n     How tender is thy severity\n     Human sacrifices, which had been introduced into Egypt by the\nPhoenicians\n     I know that I am of use\n     I have never deviated from the exact truth even in jest\n     If it were right we should not want to hide ourselves\n     Impartial looker-on sees clearer than the player\n     It is not seeing, it is seeking that is delightful\n     Judge only by appearances, and never enquire into the causes\n     Kisra called wine the soap of sorrow\n     Learn early to pass lightly over little things\n     Learn to obey, that later you may know how to command\n     Like the cackle of hens, which is peculiar to Eastern women\n     Man has nothing harder to endure than uncertainty\n     Many creditors are so many allies\n     Medicines work harm as often as good\n     Money is a pass-key that turns any lock\n     No good excepting that from which we expect the worst\n     No one so self-confident and insolent as just such an idiot\n     None of us really know anything rightly\n     Obstinacy--which he liked to call firm determination\n     Often happens that apparent superiority does us damage\n     One falsehood usually entails another\n     One should give nothing up for lost excepting the dead\n     Only the choice between lying and silence\n     Our thinkers are no heroes, and our heroes are no sages\n     Overbusy friends are more damaging than intelligent enemies\n     Patronizing friendliness\n     Prepare sorrow when we come into the world\n     Principle of over-estimating the strength of our opponents\n     Provide yourself with a self-devised ruler\n     Refreshed by the whip of one of the horsemen\n     Repugnance for the old laws began to take root in his heart\n     Seditious words are like sparks, which are borne by the wind\n     Successes, like misfortunes, never come singly\n     The beginning of things is not more attractive\n     The scholar's ears are at his back: when he is flogged\n     The man within him, and not on the circumstances without\n     The dressing and undressing of the holy images\n     The experienced love to signify their superiority\n     The mother of foresight looks backwards\n     Think of his wife, not with affection only, but with pride\n     Those whom we fear, says my uncle, we cannot love\n     Thou canst say in words what we can only feel\n     Thought that the insane were possessed by demons\n     Title must not be a bill of fare\n     Trustfulness is so dear, so essential to me\n     Use words instead of swords, traps instead of lances\n     We quarrel with no one more readily than with the benefactor\n     Whether the form of our benevolence does more good or mischief\n     Youth should be modest, and he was assertive\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS, Complete\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated from the German by Eleanor Grove\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE SECOND GERMAN EDITION\n\n          Aut prodesse volunt ant delectare poetae,\n          Aut simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitae.\n               Horat. De arte poetica v. 333.\n\nIt is now four years since this book first appeared before the public,\nand I feel it my duty not to let a second edition go forth into the world\nwithout a few words of accompaniment. It hardly seems necessary to assure\nmy readers that I have endeavored to earn for the following pages the\ntitle of a \"corrected edition.\" An author is the father of his book, and\nwhat father could see his child preparing to set out on a new and\ndangerous road, even if it were not for the first time, without\nendeavoring to supply him with every good that it lay in his power to\nbestow, and to free him from every fault or infirmity on which the world\ncould look unfavorably? The assurance therefore that I have repeatedly\nbestowed the greatest possible care on the correction of my Egyptian\nPrincess seems to me superfluous, but at the same time I think it\nadvisable to mention briefly where and in what manner I have found it\nnecessary to make these emendations. The notes have been revised,\naltered, and enriched with all those results of antiquarian research\n(more especially in reference to the language and monuments of ancient\nEgypt) which have come to our knowledge since the year 1864, and which my\nlimited space allowed me to lay before a general public. On the\nalteration of the text itself I entered with caution, almost with\ntimidity; for during four years of constant effort as academical tutor,\ninvestigator and writer in those severe regions of study which exclude\nthe free exercise of imagination, the poetical side of a man's nature may\nforfeit much to the critical; and thus, by attempting to remodel my tale\nentirely, I might have incurred the danger of removing it from the more\ngenial sphere of literary work to which it properly belongs. I have\ntherefore contented myself with a careful revision of the style, the\nomission of lengthy passages which might have diminished the interest of\nthe story to general readers, the insertion of a few characteristic or\nexplanatory additions, and the alteration of the proper names. These last\nI have written not in their Greek, but in their Latin forms, having been\nassured by more than one fair reader that the names Ibykus and Cyrus\nwould have been greeted by them as old acquaintances, whereas the\n\"Ibykos\" and \"Kyros\" of the first edition looked so strange and learned,\nas to be quite discouraging. Where however the German k has the same\nworth as the Roman c I have adopted it in preference. With respect to the\nEgyptian names and those with which we have become acquainted through the\ncuneiform inscriptions, I have chosen the forms most adapted to our\nGerman modes of speech, and in the present edition have placed those few\nexplanations which seemed to me indispensable to the right understanding\nof the text, at the foot of the page, instead of among the less easily\naccessible notes at the end.\n\nThe fact that displeasure has been excited among men of letters by this\nattempt to clothe the hardly-earned results of severer studies in an\nimaginative form is even clearer to me now than when I first sent this\nbook before the public. In some points I agree with this judgment, but\nthat the act is kindly received, when a scholar does not scorn to render\nthe results of his investigations accessible to the largest number of the\neducated class, in the form most generally interesting to them, is proved\nby the rapid sale of the first large edition of this work. I know at\nleast of no better means than those I have chosen, by which to instruct\nand suggest thought to an extended circle of readers. Those who read\nlearned books evince in so doing a taste for such studies; but it may\neasily chance that the following pages, though taken up only for\namusement, may excite a desire for more information, and even gain a\ndisciple for the study of ancient history.\n\nConsidering our scanty knowledge of the domestic life of the Greeks and\nPersians before the Persian war--of Egyptian manners we know more--even\nthe most severe scholar could scarcely dispense with the assistance of\nhis imagination, when attempting to describe private life among the\ncivilized nations of the sixth century before Christ. He would however\nescape all danger of those anachronisms to which the author of such a\nwork as I have undertaken must be hopelessly liable. With attention and\nindustry, errors of an external character may be avoided, but if I had\nchosen to hold myself free from all consideration of the times in which I\nand my readers have come into the world, and the modes of thought at\npresent existing among us, and had attempted to depict nothing but the\npurely ancient characteristics of the men and their times, I should have\nbecome unintelligible to many of my readers, uninteresting to all, and\nhave entirely failed in my original object. My characters will therefore\nlook like Persians, Egyptians, &c., but in their language, even more than\nin their actions, the German narrator will be perceptible, not always\nsuperior to the sentimentality of his day, but a native of the world in\nthe nineteenth century after the appearance of that heavenly Master,\nwhose teaching left so deep an impression on human thought and feeling.\n\nThe Persians and Greeks, being by descent related to ourselves, present\nfewer difficulties in this respect than the Egyptians, whose\ndwelling-place on the fruitful islands won by the Nile from the Desert,\ncompletely isolated them from the rest of the world.\n\nTo Professor Lepsius, who suggested to me that a tale confined entirely\nto Egypt and the Egyptians might become wearisome, I owe many thanks; and\nfollowing his hint, have so arranged the materials supplied by Herodotus\nas to introduce my reader first into a Greek circle. Here he will feel in\na measure at home, and indeed will entirely sympathize with them on one\nimportant point, viz.: in their ideas on the Beautiful and on Art.\nThrough this Hellenic portico he reaches Egypt, from thence passes on to\nPersia and returns finally to the Nile. It has been my desire that the\nthree nations should attract him equally, and I have therefore not\ncentred the entire interest of the plot in one hero, but have endeavored\nto exhibit each nation in its individual character, by means of a fitting\nrepresentative. The Egyptian Princess has given her name to the book,\nonly because the weal and woe of all my other characters were decided by\nher fate, and she must therefore be regarded as the central point of the\nwhole.\n\nIn describing Amasis I have followed the excellent description of\nHerodotus, which has been confirmed by a picture discovered on an ancient\nmonument. Herodotus has been my guide too in the leading features of\nCambyses' character; indeed as he was born only forty or fifty years\nafter the events related, his history forms the basis of my romance.\n\n\"Father of history\" though he be, I have not followed him blindly, but,\nespecially in the development of my characters, have chosen those paths\nwhich the principles of psychology have enabled me to lay down for\nmyself, and have never omitted consulting those hieroglyphic and\ncuneiform inscriptions which have been already deciphered. In most cases\nthese confirm the statements of Herodotus.\n\nI have caused Bartja's murder to take place after the conquest of Egypt,\nbecause I cannot agree with the usually received translation of the\nBehistun inscription. This reads as follows: \"One named Cambujiya, son of\nCuru, of our family, was king here formerly and had a brother named\nBartiya, of the same father and the same mother as Cambujiya. Thereupon\nCambujiya killed that Bartiya.\" In a book intended for general readers,\nit would not be well to enter into a discussion as to niceties of\nlanguage, but even the uninitiated will see that the word \"thereupon\" has\nno sense in this connection. In every other point the inscription agrees\nwith Herodotus' narrative, and I believe it possible to bring it into\nagreement with that of Darius on this last as well; but reserve my proofs\nfor another time and place.\n\nIt has not been ascertained from whence Herodotus has taken the name\nSmerdis which he gives to Bartja and Gaumata. The latter occurs again,\nthough in a mutilated form, in Justin.\n\nMy reasons for making Phanes an Athenian will be found in Note 90. Vol.\nI. This coercion of an authenticated fact might have been avoided in the\nfirst edition, but could not now be altered without important changes in\nthe entire text. The means I have adopted in my endeavor to make Nitetis\nas young as possible need a more serious apology; as, notwithstanding\nHerodotus' account of the mildness of Amasis' rule, it is improbable that\nKing Hophra should have been alive twenty years after his fall. Even this\nhowever is not impossible, for it can be proved that his descendants were\nnot persecuted by Amasis.\n\nOn a Stela in the Leyden Museum I have discovered that a certain Psamtik,\na member of the fallen dynasty, lived till the 17th year of Amasis'\nreign, and died at the age of seventy-five.\n\nLastly let me be permitted to say a word or two in reference to Rhodopis.\nThat she must have been a remarkable woman is evident from the passage in\nHerodotus quoted in Notes 10, and 14, Vol. I., and from the accounts\ngiven by many other writers. Her name, \"the rosy-cheeked one,\" tells us\nthat she was beautiful, and her amiability and charm of manner are\nexpressly praised by Herodotus. How richly she was endowed with gifts and\ngraces may be gathered too from the manner in which tradition and fairy\nlore have endeavored to render her name immortal. By many she is said to\nhave built the most beautiful of the Pyramids, the Pyramid of Mycerinus\nor Menkera. One tale related of her and reported by Strabo and AElian\nprobably gave rise to our oldest and most beautiful fairy tale,\nCinderella; another is near akin to the Loreley legend. An eagle,\naccording to AElian--the wind, in Strabo's tale,--bore away Rhodopis'\nslippers while she was bathing in the Nile, and laid them at the feet of\nthe king, when seated on his throne of justice in the open market. The\nlittle slippers so enchanted him that he did not rest until he had\ndiscovered their owner and made her his queen.\n\nThe second legend tells us how a wonderfully beautiful naked woman could\nbe seen sitting on the summit of one of the pyramids (ut in una ex\npyramidibus); and how she drove the wanderers in the desert mad through\nher exceeding loveliness.\n\nMoore borrowed this legend and introduces it in the following verse:\n\n       \"Fair Rhodope, as story tells--\n        The bright unearthly nymph, who dwells\n        'Mid sunless gold and jewels hid,\n        The lady of the Pyramid.\"\n\nFabulous as these stories sound, they still prove that Rhodopis must have\nbeen no ordinary woman. Some scholars would place her on a level with the\nbeautiful and heroic Queen Nitokris, spoken of by Julius Africanus,\nEusebius and others, and whose name, (signifying the victorious Neith)\nhas been found on the monuments, applied to a queen of the sixth dynasty.\nThis is a bold conjecture; it adds however to the importance of our\nheroine; and without doubt many traditions referring to the one have been\ntransferred to the other, and vice versa. Herodotus lived so short a time\nafter Rhodopis, and tells so many exact particulars of her private life\nthat it is impossible she should have been a mere creation of fiction.\nThe letter of Darius, given at the end of Vol. II., is intended to\nidentify the Greek Rhodopis with the mythical builder of the Pyramid. I\nwould also mention here that she is called Doricha by Sappho. This may\nhave been her name before she received the title of the \"rosy-cheeked\none.\"\n\nI must apologize for the torrent of verse that appears in the love-scenes\nbetween Sappho and Bartja; it is also incumbent upon me to say a few\nwords about the love-scenes themselves, which I have altered very\nslightly in the new edition, though they have been more severely\ncriticised than any other portion of the work.\n\nFirst I will confess that the lines describing the happy love of a\nhandsome young couple to whom I had myself become warmly attached, flowed\nfrom my pen involuntarily, even against my will (I intended to write a\nnovel in prose) in the quiet night, by the eternal Nile, among the palms\nand roses. The first love-scene has a story of its own to me. I wrote it\nin half an hour, almost unconsciously. It may be read in my book that the\nPersians always reflected in the morning, when sober, upon the\nresolutions formed the night before, while drunk. When I examined in the\nsunshine what had come into existence by lamplight, I grew doubtful of\nits merits, and was on the point of destroying the love-scenes\naltogether, when my dear friend Julius Hammer, the author of \"Schau in\nDich, und Schau um Dich,\" too early summoned to the other world by death,\nstayed my hand. Their form was also approved by others, and I tell myself\nthat the 'poetical' expression of love is very similar in all lands and\nages, while lovers' conversations and modes of intercourse vary according\nto time and place. Besides, I have to deal with one of those by no means\nrare cases, where poetry can approach nearer the truth than prudent,\nwatchful prose. Many of my honored critics have censured these scenes;\nothers, among whom are some whose opinion I specially value, have\nlavished the kindest praise upon them. Among these gentlemen I will\nmention A. Stahr, C. V. Holtei, M. Hartmann, E. Hoefer, W. Wolfsohn, C.\nLeemans, Professor Veth of Amsterdam, etc. Yet I will not conceal the\nfact that some, whose opinion has great weight, have asked: \"Did the\nancients know anything of love, in our sense of the word? Is not romantic\nlove, as we know it, a result of Christianity?\" The following sentence,\nwhich stands at the head of the preface to my first edition, will prove\nthat I had not ignored this question when I began my task.\n\n   \"It has often been remarked that in Cicero's letters and those of\n   Pliny the younger there are unmistakable indications of sympathy\n   with the more sentimental feeling of modern days. I find in them\n   tones of deep tenderness only, such as have arisen and will arise\n   from sad and aching hearts in every land and every age.\"\n\n               A. v. HUMBOLDT. Cosmos II. P. 19.\n\nThis opinion of our great scholar is one with which I cheerfully coincide\nand would refer my readers to the fact that love-stories were written\nbefore the Christian era: the Amor and Psyche of Apuleius for instance.\nIndeed love in all its forms was familiar to the ancients. Where can we\nfind a more beautiful expression of ardent passion than glows in Sappho's\nsongs? or of patient faithful constancy than in Homer's Penelope? Could\nthere be a more beautiful picture of the union of two loving hearts, even\nbeyond the grave, than Xenophon has preserved for us in his account of\nPanthea and Abradatas? or the story of Sabinus the Gaul and his wife,\ntold in the history of Vespasian? Is there anywhere a sweeter legend than\nthat of the Halcyons, the ice-birds, who love one another so tenderly\nthat when the male becomes enfeebled by age, his mate carries him on her\noutspread wings whithersoever he will; and the gods, desiring to reward\nsuch faithful love, cause the sun to shine more kindly, and still the\nwinds and waves on the \"Halcyon days\" during which these birds are\nbuilding their nest and brooding over their young? There can surely have\nbeen no lack of romantic love in days when a used-up man of the world,\nlike Antony, could desire in his will that wherever he died his body\nmight be laid by the side of his beloved Cleopatra: nor of the chivalry\nof love when Berenice's beautiful hair was placed as a constellation in\nthe heavens. Neither can we believe that devotion in the cause of love\ncould be wanting when a whole nation was ready to wage a fierce and\nobstinate war for the sake of one beautiful woman. The Greeks had an\ninsult to revenge, but the Trojans fought for the possession of Helen.\nEven the old men of Ilium were ready \"to suffer long for such a woman.\"\nAnd finally is not the whole question answered in Theocritus'\nunparalleled poem, \"the Sorceress?\" We see the poor love-lorn girl and\nher old woman-servant, Thestylis, cowering over the fire above which the\nbird supposed to possess the power of bringing back the faithless Delphis\nis sitting in his wheel. Simoetha has learnt many spells and charms from\nan Assyrian, and she tries them all. The distant roar of the waves, the\nstroke rising from the fire, the dogs howling in the street, the tortured\nfluttering bird, the old woman, the broken-hearted girl and her awful\nspells, all join in forming a night scene the effect of which is\nheightened by the calm cold moonshine. The old woman leaves the girl, who\nat once ceases to weave her spells, allows her pent-up tears to have\ntheir way, and looking up to Selene the moon, the lovers' silent\nconfidante, pours out her whole story: how when she first saw the\nbeautiful Delphis her heart had glowed with love, she had seen nothing\nmore of the train of youths who followed him, \"and,\" (thus sadly the poet\nmakes her speak)\n\n               \"how I gained my home\n        I knew not; some strange fever wasted me.\n        Ten days and nights I lay upon my bed.\n        O tell me, mistress Moon, whence came my love!\"\n\n\"Then\" (she continues) when Delphis at last crossed her threshold:\n\n                         \"I\n        Became all cold like snow, and from my brow\n        Brake the damp dewdrops: utterance I had none,\n        Not e'en such utterance as a babe may make\n        That babbles to its mother in its dreams;\n        But all my fair frame stiffened into wax,--\n        O tell me mistress Moon, whence came my love!\"\n\nWhence came her love? thence, whence it comes to us now. The love of the\ncreature to its Creator, of man to God, is the grand and yet gracious\ngift of Christianity. Christ's command to love our neighbor called into\nexistence not only the conception of philanthropy, but of humanity\nitself, an idea unknown to the heathen world, where love had been at\nwidest limited to their native town and country. The love of man and wife\nhas without doubt been purified and transfigured by Christianity; still\nit is possible that a Greek may have loved as tenderly and longingly as a\nChristian. The more ardent glow of passion at least cannot be denied to\nthe ancients. And did not their love find vent in the same expressions as\nour own? Who does not know the charming roundelay:\n\n          \"Drink the glad wine with me,\n          With me spend youth's gay hours;\n          Or a sighing lover be,\n          Or crown thy brow with flowers.\n          When I am merry and mad,\n          Merry and mad be you;\n          When I am sober and sad,\n          Be sad and sober too!\"\n\n--written however by no poet of modern days, but by Praxilla, in the\nfifth century before Christ. Who would guess either that Moore's little\nsong was modelled on one written even earlier than the date of our story?\n\n          \"As o'er her loom the Lesbian maid\n          In love-sick languor hung her head.\n          Unknowing where her fingers stray'd,\n          She weeping turned away and said,'\n          Oh, my sweet mother, 'tis in vain,\n\n          I cannot weave as once I wove;\n          So wilder'd is my heart and brain\n          With thinking of that youth I love.'\"\n\nIf my space allowed I could add much more on this subject, but will\npermit myself only one remark in conclusion. Lovers delighted in nature\nthen as now; the moon was their chosen confidante, and I know of no\nmodern poem in which the mysterious charm of a summer night and the magic\nbeauty which lies on flowers, trees and fountains in those silent hours\nwhen the world is asleep, is more exquisitely described than in the\nfollowing verses, also by Sappho, at the reading of which we seem forced\nto breathe more slowly, \"kuhl bis an's Herz hinan.\"\n\n          \"Planets, that around the beauteous moon\n          Attendant wait, cast into shade\n          Their ineffectual lustres, soon\n          As she, in full-orb'd majesty array'd,\n          Her silver radiance pours\n          Upon this world of ours.\"\n\nand:--\n\n          \"Thro' orchard plots with fragrance crown'd,\n          The clear cold fountain murm'ring flows;\n          And forest leaves, with rustling sound,\n          Invite to soft repose.\"\n\nThe foregoing remarks seemed to me due to those who consider a love such\nas that of Sappho and Bartja to have been impossible among the ancients.\nUnquestionably it was much rarer then than in these days: indeed I\nconfess to having sketched my pair of lovers in somewhat bright colors.\nBut may I not be allowed, at least once, to claim the poet's freedom?\n\nHow seldom I have availed myself of this freedom will be evident from the\nnotes included in each volume. They seemed to me necessary, partly in\norder to explain the names and illustrate the circumstances mentioned in\nthe text, and partly to vindicate the writer in the eyes of the learned.\nI trust they may not prove discouraging to any, as the text will be found\neasily readable without reference to the explanations.\n\n   Jena, November 23, 1868.\n               GEORG EBERS, DR.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE FOURTH GERMAN EDITION.\n\nTwo years and a half after the appearance of the third edition of \"An\nEgyptian Princess,\" a fourth was needed. I returned long since from the\njourney to the Nile, for which I was preparing while correcting the\nproof-sheets of the third edition, and on which I can look back with\nspecial satisfaction. During my residence in Egypt, in 1872-73, a lucky\naccident enabled me to make many new discoveries; among them one treasure\nof incomparable value, the great hieratic manuscript, which bears my\nname. Its publication has just been completed, and it is now in the\nlibrary of the Leipzig University.\n\nThe Papyrus Ebers, the second in size and the best preserved of all the\nancient Egyptian manuscripts which have come into our possession, was\nwritten in the 16th century B. C., and contains on 110 pages the hermetic\nbook upon the medicines of the ancient Egyptians, known also to the\nAlexandrine Greeks. The god Thoth (Hermes) is called \"the guide\" of\nphysicians, and the various writings and treatises of which the work is\ncomposed are revelations from him. In this venerable scroll diagnoses are\nmade and remedies suggested for the internal and external diseases of\nmost portions of the human body. With the drugs prescribed are numbers,\naccording to which they are weighed with weights and measured with hollow\nmeasures, and accompanying the prescriptions are noted the pious axioms\nto be repeated by the physician, while compounding and giving them to the\npatient. On the second line of the first page of our manuscript, it is\nstated that it came from Sais. A large portion of this work is devoted to\nthe visual organs. On the twentieth line of the fifty-fifth page begins\nthe book on the eyes, which fills eight large pages. We were formerly\ncompelled to draw from Greek and Roman authors what we knew about the\nremedies used for diseases of the eye among the ancient Egyptians. The\nportion of the Papyrus Ebers just mentioned is now the only Egyptian\nsource from whence we can obtain instruction concerning this important\nbranch of ancient medicine.\n\nAll this scarcely seems to have a place in the preface of a historical\nromance, and yet it is worthy of mention here; for there is something\nalmost \"providential\" in the fact that it was reserved for the author of\n\"An Egyptian Princess\" to bestow the gift of this manuscript upon the\nscientific world. Among the characters in the novel the reader will meet\nan oculist from Sais, who wrote a book upon the diseases of the visual\norgans. The fate of this valuable work exactly agrees with the course of\nthe narrative. The papyrus scroll of the Sais oculist, which a short time\nago existed only in the imagination of the author and readers of \"An\nEgyptian Princess,\" is now an established fact. When I succeeded in\nbringing the manuscript home, I felt like the man who had dreamed of a\ntreasure, and when he went out to ride found it in his path.\n\nA reply to Monsieur Jules Soury's criticism of \"An Egyptian Princess\" in\nthe Revue des deux Mondes, Vol. VII, January 1875, might appropriately be\nintroduced into this preface, but would scarcely be possible without\nentering more deeply into the ever-disputed question, which will be\nanswered elsewhere, whether the historical romance is ever justifiable.\nYet I cannot refrain from informing Monsieur Soury here that \"An Egyptian\nPrincess\" detained me from no other work. I wrote it in my sick-room,\nbefore entering upon my academic career, and while composing it, found\nnot only comfort and pleasure, but an opportunity to give dead scientific\nmaterial a living interest for myself and others.\n\nMonsieur Soury says romance is the mortal enemy of history; but this\nsentence may have no more justice than the one with which I think myself\njustified in replying: Landscape painting is the mortal enemy of botany.\nThe historical romance must be enjoyed like any other work of art. No one\nreads it to study history; but many, the author hopes, may be aroused by\nhis work to make investigations of their own, for which the notes point\nout the way. Already several persons of excellent mental powers have been\nattracted to earnest Egyptological researches by \"An Egyptian Princess.\"\nIn the presence of such experiences, although Monsieur Soury's clever\nstatements appear to contain much that is true, I need not apply his\nremark that \"historical romances injure the cause of science\" to the\npresent volume.\n\n     Leipzig, April 19, 1875.\n\n                    GEORG EBERS.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE FIFTH GERMAN EDITION.\n\nAgain a new edition of \"An Egyptian Princess\" has been required, and\nagain I write a special preface because the printing has progressed so\nrapidly as unfortunately to render it impossible for me to correct some\nerrors to which my attention was directed by the kindness of the\nwell-known botanist, Professor Paul Ascherson of Berlin, who has\ntravelled through Egypt and the Oases.\n\nIn Vol. I, page 7, I allow mimosas to grow among other plants in\nRhodopis' garden. I have found them in all the descriptions of the Nile\nvalley, and afterwards often enjoyed the delicious perfume of the golden\nyellow flowers in the gardens of Alexandria and Cairo. I now learn that\nthis very mimosa (Acacia farnesiana) originates in tropical America, and\nwas undoubtedly unknown in ancient Egypt. The bananas, which I mentioned\nin Vol. I, p. 64, among other Egyptian plants, were first introduced into\nthe Nile valley from India by the Arabs. The botanical errors occurring\nin the last volume I was able to correct. Helm's admirable work on\n\"Cultivated Plants and Domestic Animals\" had taught me to notice such\nthings. Theophrastus, a native of Asia Minor, gives the first description\nof a citron, and this proves that he probably saw the so-called\nparadise-apple, but not our citron, which I am therefore not permitted to\nmention among the plants cultivated in ancient Lydia. Palms and birches\nare both found in Asia Minor; but I permitted them to grow side by side,\nthereby committing an offense against the geographical possibility of\nvegetable existence. The birch, in this locality, flourishes in the\nmountainous region, the palm, according to Griesbach (Vegetation of the\nEarth, Vol. I, p. 319) only appears on the southern coast of the\npeninsula. The latter errors, as I previously mentioned, will be\ncorrected in the new edition. I shall of course owe special thanks to any\none who may call my attention to similar mistakes.\n\n   Leipzig, March 5, 1877\n\n                  GEORG EBERS\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE NINTH GERMAN EDITION.\n\nI have nothing to add to the ninth edition of \"An Egyptian Princess\"\nexcept that it has been thoroughly revised. My sincere thanks are due to\nDr. August Steitz of Frankfort on the Main, who has travelled through\nEgypt and Asia Minor, for a series of admirable notes, which he kindly\nplaced at my disposal. He will find that they have not remained unused.\n\n   Leipzig, November 13, 1879.\n                    GEORG EBERS\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThe Nile had overflowed its bed. The luxuriant corn-fields and blooming\ngardens on its shores were lost beneath a boundless waste of waters; and\nonly the gigantic temples and palaces of its cities, (protected from the\nforce of the water by dikes), and the tops of the tall palm-trees and\nacacias could be seen above its surface. The branches of the sycamores\nand plane-trees drooped and floated on the waves, but the boughs of the\ntall silver poplars strained upward, as if anxious to avoid the watery\nworld beneath. The full-moon had risen; her soft light fell on the Libyan\nrange of mountains vanishing on the western horizon, and in the north the\nshimmer of the Mediterranean could faintly be discerned. Blue and white\nlotus-flowers floated on the clear water, bats of all kinds darted softly\nthrough the still air, heavy with the scent of acacia-blossom and\njasmine; the wild pigeons and other birds were at roost in the tops of\nthe trees, while the pelicans, storks and cranes squatted in groups on\nthe shore under the shelter of the papyrus-reeds and Nile-beans. The\npelicans and storks remained motionless, their long bills hidden beneath\ntheir wings, but the cranes were startled by the mere beat of an oar,\nstretching their necks, and peering anxiously into the distance, if they\nheard but the song of the boatmen. The air was perfectly motionless, and\nthe unbroken reflection of the moon, lying like a silver shield on the\nsurface of the water, proved that, wildly as the Nile leaps over the\ncataracts, and rushes past the gigantic temples of Upper Egypt, yet on\napproaching the sea by different arms, he can abandon his impetuous\ncourse, and flow along in sober tranquillity.\n\nOn this moonlight night in the year 528 B. C. a bark was crossing the\nalmost currentless Canopic mouth of the Nile. On the raised deck at the\nstern of this boat an Egyptian was sitting to guide the long pole-rudder,\nand the half-naked boatmen within were singing as they rowed. In the open\ncabin, which was something like a wooden summer-house, sat two men,\nreclining on low cushions. They were evidently not Egyptians; their Greek\ndescent could be perceived even by the moonlight. The elder was an\nunusually tall and powerful man of more than sixty; thick grey curls,\nshowing very little attempt at arrangement, hung down over his short,\nfirm throat; he wore a simple, homely cloak, and kept his eyes gloomily\nfixed on the water. His companion, on the contrary, a man perhaps twenty\nyears younger, of a slender and delicate build, was seldom still.\nSometimes he gazed into the heavens, sometimes made a remark to the\nsteersman, disposed his beautiful purple chlanis in fresh folds, or\nbusied himself in the arrangement of his scented brown curls, or his\ncarefully curled beard.\n\n   [The chlanis was a light summer-mantle, worn especially by the more\n   elegant Athenians, and generally made of expensive materials. The\n   simpler cloak, the himation, was worn by the Doric Greeks, and\n   principally by the Spartans.]\n\nThe boat had left Naukratis, at that time the only Hellenic port in\nEgypt, about half an hour before.\n\n   [This town, which will form the scene of a part of our tale, lies in\n   the northwest of the Nile Delta, in the Saitic Nomos or district, on\n   the left bank of the Canopic mouth of the river. According to\n   Strabo and Eusebius it was founded by Milesians, and Bunsen reckons\n   749 B. C. It seems that in the earliest times Greek ships were only\n   allowed to enter this mouth of the Nile in case of necessity. The\n   entire intercourse of the Egyptians with the hated strangers was, at\n   that time, restricted to the little island of Pharos lying opposite\n   to the town of Thonis.]\n\nDuring their journey, the grey-haired, moody man had not spoken one word,\nand the other had left him to his meditations. But now, as the boat\nneared the shore, the restless traveller, rising from his couch, called\nto his companion: \"We are just at our destination, Aristomachus! That\npleasant house to the left yonder, in the garden of palms which you can\nsee rising above the waters, is the dwelling of my friend Rhodopis. It\nwas built by her husband Charaxus, and all her friends, not excepting the\nking himself, vie with one another in adding new beauties to it year by\nyear. A useless effort! Let them adorn that house with all the treasures\nin the world, the woman who lives within will still remain its best\nornament!\"\n\n   [We are writing of the month of October, when the Nile begins to\n   sink. The inundations can now be accurately accounted for,\n   especially since the important and laborious synoptical work of H.\n   Barth and S. Baker. They are occasioned by the tropical rains, and\n   the melting of the snows on the high mountain-ranges at the Equator.\n   In the beginning of June a gradual rising of the Nile waters can be\n   perceived; between the 15th and 20th June, this changes to a rapid\n   increase; in the beginning of October the waters reach their highest\n   elevation, a point, which, even after having begun their retreat,\n   they once more attempt to attain; then, at first gradually, and\n   afterwards with ever increasing rapidity, they continue to sink. In\n   January, February and March, the Nile is still drying up; and in May\n   is at its lowest point, when the volume of its waters is only one-\n   twentieth of that in October.]\n\nThe old man sat up, threw a passing glance at the building, smoothed the\nthick grey beard which clothed his cheeks and chin, but left the lips\nfree,--[The Spartans were not in the habit of wearing a beard on the\nupper lip.]--and asked abruptly: \"Why so much enthusiasm, Phanes, for\nthis Rhodopis? How long have the Athenians been wont to extol old women?\"\nAt this remark the other smiled, and answered in a self-satisfied tone,\n\"My knowledge of the world, and particularly of women, is, I flatter\nmyself, an extended one, and yet I repeat, that in all Egypt I know of no\nnobler creature than this grey-haired woman. When you have seen her and\nher lovely grandchild, and heard your favorite melodies sung by her\nwell-practised choir of slave-girls, I think you will thank me for having\nbrought you hither.\"--\"Yet,\" answered the Spartan gravely, \"I should not\nhave accompanied you, if I had not hoped to meet Phryxus, the Delphian,\nhere.\"\n\n\"You will find him here; and besides, I cannot but hope that the songs\nwill cheer you, and dispel your gloomy thoughts.\" Aristomachus shook his\nhead in denial, and answered: \"To you, sanguine Athenians, the melodies\nof your country may be cheering: but not so to me; as in many a sleepless\nnight of dreams, my longings will be doubled, not stilled by the songs of\nAlkman.\"\n\n   [Alkman (Attic, Alkmaeon) flourished in Sparta about 650 B. C. His\n   mother was a Lydian slave in Sardes, and he came into the possession\n   of Agesides, who gave him his freedom. His beautiful songs soon\n   procured him the rights of a Lacedaemonian citizen. He was\n   appointed to the head-directorship in the entire department of music\n   in Lacedaemon and succeeded in naturalizing the soft Lydian music.\n   His language was the Doric-Laconian. After a life devoted to song,\n   the pleasures of the table and of love, he is said to have died of\n   a fearful disease. From the frequent choruses of virgins\n   (Parthenien) said to have been originally introduced by him, his\n   frequent songs in praise of women, and the friendly relations in\n   which he stood to the Spartan women (more especially to the fair\n   Megalostrata), he gained the name of the woman's poet.]\n\n\"Do you think then,\" replied Phanes, \"that I have no longing for my\nbeloved Athens, for the scenes of our youthful games, for the busy life\nof the market? Truly, the bread of exile is not less distasteful to my\npalate than to yours, but, in the society afforded by this house, it\nloses some of its bitterness, and when the dear melodies of Hellas, so\nperfectly sung, fall on my ear, my native land rises before me as in a\nvision, I see its pine and olive groves, its cold, emerald green rivers,\nits blue sea, the shimmer of its towns, its snowy mountain-tops and\nmarble temples, and a half-sweet, half-bitter tear steals down my cheek\nas the music ceases, and I awake to remember that I am in Egypt, in this\nmonotonous, hot, eccentric country, which, the gods be praised, I am soon\nabout to quit. But, Aristomachus, would you then avoid the few Oases in\nthe desert, because you must afterwards return to its sands and drought?\nWould you fly from one happy hour, because days of sadness await you\nlater? But stop, here we are! Show a cheerful countenance, my friend, for\nit becomes us not to enter the temple of the Charites with sad\nhearts.\"--[The goddesses of grace and beauty, better known by their Roman\nname of \"Graces.\"]\n\nAs Phanes uttered these words, they landed at the garden wall, washed by\nthe Nile. The Athenian bounded lightly from the boat, the Spartan\nfollowing with a heavier, firmer tread. Aristomachus had a wooden leg,\nbut his step was so firm, even when compared with that of the\nlight-footed Phanes, that it might have been thought to be his own limb.\n\nThe garden of Rhodopis was as full of sound, and scent and blossom as a\nnight in fairy-land. It was one labyrinth of acanthus shrubs, yellow\nmimosa, the snowy gelder-rose, jasmine and lilac, red roses and\nlaburnums, overshadowed by tall palm-trees, acacias and balsam trees.\nLarge bats hovered softly on their delicate wings over the whole, and\nsounds of mirth and song echoed from the river.\n\nThis garden had been laid out by an Egyptian, and the builders of the\nPyramids had already been celebrated for ages for their skill in\nhorticulture. They well understood how to mark out neat flower-beds,\nplant groups of trees and shrubs in regular order, water the whole by\naqueducts and fountains, arrange arbors and summerhouses, and even\ninclose the walks with artistically clipped hedges, and breed goldfish in\nstone basins.\n\nAt the garden gate Phanes stopped, looked around him carefully and\nlistened; then shaking his head, \"I do not understand what this can\nmean,\" he said. \"I hear no voices, there is not a single light to be\nseen, the boats are all gone, and yet the flag is still flying at its gay\nflag-staff, there, by the obelisks on each side of the gate.\"\n\n   [Obelisks bearing the name of the owner were sometimes to be seen\n   near the gates of the Egyptian country-houses. Flags too were not\n   uncommon, but these were almost exclusively to be found at the gates\n   of the temples, where to this day the iron sockets for the flagstaff\n   can still be seen. Neither were flags unknown to the Greeks. It\n   appears from some inscriptions on the staffs of the Pylons, that if\n   the former were not actually erected for lightning-rods, it had been\n   noticed that they attracted the electricity.]\n\n\"Rhodopis must surely be from home; can they have forgotten?\"--Here a\ndeep voice suddenly interrupted him with the exclamation, \"Ha! the\ncommander of the body-guard!\"\n\n\"A pleasant evening to you, Knakais,\" exclaimed Phanes, kindly greeting\nthe old man, who now came up. \"But how is it that this garden is as still\nas an Egyptian tomb, and yet the flag of welcome is fluttering at the\ngate? How long has that white ensign waved for guests in vain?\"\n\n\"How long indeed?\" echoed the old slave of Rhodopis with a smile. \"So\nlong as the Fates graciously spare the life of my mistress, the old flag\nis sure to waft as many guests hither as the house is able to contain.\nRhodopis is not at home now, but she must return shortly. The evening\nbeing so fine, she determined on taking a pleasure-trip on the Nile with\nher guests. They started at sunset, two hours ago, and the evening meal\nis already prepared; they cannot remain away much longer. I pray you,\nPhanes, to have patience and follow me into the house. Rhodopis would not\neasily forgive me, if I allowed such valued guests to depart. You\nstranger,\" he added, turning to the Spartan, \"I entreat most heartily to\nremain; as friend of your friend you will be doubly welcome to my\nmistress.\"\n\nThe two Greeks, following the servant, seated themselves in an arbor, and\nAristomachus, after gazing on the scene around him now brilliantly\nlighted by the moon, said, \"Explain to me, Phanes, by what good fortune\nthis Rhodopis, formerly only a slave and courtesan can now live as a\nqueen, and receive her guests in this princely manner?\"\n\n   [The mistresses (Hetaere) of the Greeks must not be compared with\n   modern women of bad reputation. The better members of this class\n   represented the intelligence and culture of their sex in Greece, and\n   more especially in the Ionian provinces. As an instance we need\n   only recall Aspasia and her well-attested relation to Pericles and\n   Socrates. Our heroine Rhodopis was a celebrated woman. The\n   Hetaera, Thargalia of Miletus, became the wife of a Thessalian king.\n   Ptolemy Lagi married Thais; her daughter was called Irene, and her\n   sons Leontiskus and Lagus. Finally, statues were erected to many.]\n\n\"I have long expected this question,\" answered the Athenian. \"I shall be\ndelighted to make you acquainted with the past history of this woman\nbefore you enter her house. So long as we were on the Nile, I would not\nintrude my tale upon you; that ancient river has a wonderful power of\ncompelling to silence and quiet contemplation. Even my usually quick\ntongue was paralyzed like yours, when I took my first night-journey on\nthe Nile.\"\n\n\"I thank you for this,\" replied the Spartan. \"When I first saw the aged\npriest Epimenides, at Knossus in Crete, he was one hundred and fifty\nyears old, and I remember that his age and sanctity filled me with a\nstrange dread; but how far older, how far more sacred, is this hoary\nriver, the ancient stream 'Aigyptos'! Who would wish to avoid the power\nof his spells? Now, however, I beg you to give me the history of\nRhodopis.\"\n\nPhanes began: \"When Rhodopis was a little child playing with her\ncompanions on the Thracian sea-shore, she was stolen by some Phoenician\nmariners, carried to Samos, and bought by Iadmon, one of the geomori, or\nlanded aristocracy of the island. The little girl grew day by day more\nbeautiful, graceful and clever, and was soon an object of love and\nadmiration to all who knew her. AEsop, the fable-writer, who was at that\ntime also in bondage to Iadmon, took an especial pleasure in the growing\namiability and talent of the child, taught her and cared for her in the\nsame way as the tutors whom we keep to educate our Athenian boys.\n\nThe kind teacher found his pupil tractable and quick of comprehension,\nand the little slave soon practised the arts of music, singing and\neloquence, in a more charming and agreeable manner than the sons of her\nmaster Iadmon, on whose education the greatest care had been lavished. By\nthe time she had reached her fourteenth year, Rhodopis was so beautiful\nand accomplished, that the jealous wife of Iadmon would not suffer her to\nremain any longer in the house, and the Samian was forced, with a heavy\nheart, to sell her to a certain Xanthus. The government of Samos at that\ntime was still in the hands of the less opulent nobles; had Polykrates\nthen been at the head of affairs, Xanthus need not have despaired of a\npurchaser. These tyrants fill their treasuries as the magpies their\nnests! As it was, however, he went off with his precious jewel to\nNaukratis, and there gained a fortune by means of her wondrous charms.\nThese were three years of the deepest humiliation to Rhodopis, which she\nstill remembers with horror.\n\nNow it happened, just at the time when her fame was spreading through all\nGreece, and strangers were coming from far to Naukratis for her sake\nalone, that the people of Lesbos rose up against their nobles, drove them\nforth, and chose the wise Pittakus as their ruler.\n\n   [According to Herodotus the beauty of Rhodopis was so great that\n   every Greek knew her by name.]\n\nThe highest families of Lesbos were forced to leave the country, and\nfled, some to Sicily, some to the Greek provinces of Italy, and others to\nEgypt. Alcaeus, the greatest poet of his day, and Charaxus, the brother\nof that Sappho whose odes it was our Solon's last wish to learn by heart,\ncame here to Naukratis, which had already long been the flourishing\ncentre of commercial communication between Egypt and the rest of the\nworld. Charaxus saw Rhodopis, and soon loved her so passionately, that he\ngave an immense sum to secure her from the mercenary Xanthus, who was on\nthe point of returning with her to his own country; Sappho wrote some\nbiting verses, derisive of her brother and his purchase, but Alcaeus on\nthe other hand, approved, and gave expression to this feeling in glowing\nsongs on the charms of Rhodopis. And now Sappho's brother, who had till\nthen remained undistinguished among the many strangers at Naukratis,\nbecame a noted man through Rhodopis. His house was soon the centre of\nattraction to all foreigners, by whom she was overwhelmed with gifts. The\nKing Hophra, hearing of her beauty and talent, sent for her to Memphis,\nand offered to buy her of Charaxus, but the latter had already long,\nthough secretly, given Rhodopis her freedom, and loved her far too well\nto allow of a separation. She too, loved the handsome Lesbian and refused\nto leave him despite the brilliant offers made to her on all sides. At\nlength Charaxus made this wonderful woman his lawful wife, and continued\nto live with her and her little daughter Kleis in Naukratis, until the\nLesbian exiles were recalled to their native land by Pittakus. He then\nstarted homeward with his wife, but fell ill on the journey, and died\nsoon after his arrival at Mitylene. Sappho, who had derided her brother\nfor marrying one beneath him, soon became an enthusiastic admirer of the\nbeautiful widow and rivalled Alcaeus in passionate songs to her praise.\n\nAfter the death of the poetess, Rhodopis returned, with her little\ndaughter, to Naukratis, where she was welcomed as a goddess. During this\ninterval Amasis, the present king of Egypt, had usurped the throne of the\nPharaohs, and was maintaining himself in its possession by help of the\narmy, to which caste he belonged.\n\n   [Amasis, of whom much will be said in our text, reigned 570-526 B.\n   C. His name, in the hieroglyphic signs, was Aahmes or young moon\n   but the name by which he was commonly called was Sa-Nit \"Son of\n   Neith.\" His name, and pictures of him are to be found on stones in\n   the fortress of Cairo, on a relief in Florence, a statue in the\n   Vatican, on sarcophagi in Stockholm and London, a statue in the\n   Villa Albani and on a little temple of red granite at Leyden. A\n   beautiful bust of gray-wacke in our possession probably represents\n   the same king.]\n\nAs his predecessor Hophra had accelerated his fall, and brought the army\nand priesthood to open rebellion by his predilection for the Greek\nnation, and for intercourse with foreigners generally, (always an\nabomination in the eyes of the Egyptians), men felt confident that Amasis\nwould return to the old ways, would rigorously exclude foreigners from\nthe country, dismiss the Greek mercenaries, and instead of taking counsel\nfrom the Greeks, would hearken only to the commands of the priesthood.\nBut in this, as you must see yourself, the prudent Egyptians had guessed\nwide of the mark in their choice of a ruler; they fell from Scylla into\nCharybdis. If Hophra was called the Greeks' friend, Amasis must be named\nour lover. The Egyptians, especially the priests and the army, breathe\nfire and flame, and would fain strangle us one and all, off hand, This\nfeeling on the part of the soldiery does not disturb Amasis, for he knows\ntoo well the comparative value of their and our services; but with the\npriests it is another and more serious matter, for two reasons: first,\nthey possess an unbounded influence over the people; and secondly. Amasis\nhimself retains more affection than he likes to acknowledge to us, for\nthis absurd and insipid religion--a religion which appears doubly sacred\nto its adherents simply because it has existed in this eccentric\nland--unchanged for thousands of years. These priests make the king's\nlife burdensome to him; they persecute and injure us in every possible\nway; and indeed, if it had not been for the king's protection, I should\nlong ago have been a dead man. But I am wandering from my tale! As I said\nbefore, Rhodopis was received at Naukratis with open arms by all, and\nloaded with marks of favor by Amasis, who formed her acquaintance. Her\ndaughter Kleis, as is the case with the little Sappho now--was never\nallowed to appear in the society which assembled every evening at her\nmother's house, and indeed was even more strictly brought up than the\nother young girls in Naukratis. She married Glaucus, a rich Phocaean\nmerchant of noble family, who had defended his native town with great\nbravery against the Persians, and with him departed to the newly-founded\nMassalia, on the Celtic coast. There, however, the young couple both fell\nvictims to the climate, and died, leaving a little daughter, Sappho.\nRhodopis at once undertook the long journey westward, brought the orphan\nchild back to live with her, spent the utmost care on her education, and\nnow that she is grown up, forbids her the society of men, still feeling\nthe stains of her own youth so keenly that she would fain keep her\ngranddaughter (and this in Sappho's case is not difficult), at a greater\ndistance from contact with our sex than is rendered necessary, by the\ncustoms of Egypt. To my friend herself society is as indispensable as\nwater to the fish or air to the bird. Her house is frequented by all the\nstrangers here, and whoever has once experienced her hospitality and has\nthe time at command will never after be found absent when the flag\nannounces an evening of reception. Every Greek of mark is to be found\nhere, as it is in this house that we consult on the wisest measures for\nencountering the hatred of the priests and bringing the king round to our\nown views. Here you can obtain not only the latest news from home, but\nfrom the rest of the world, and this house is an inviolable sanctuary for\nthe persecuted, Rhodopis possessing a royal warrant which secures her\nfrom every molestation on the part of the police.\n\n   [A very active and strict police-force existed in Egypt, the\n   organization of which is said to have owed much to Amasis' care. We\n   also read in inscriptions and papyrus rolls, that a body of mounted\n   police existed, the ranks of which were generally filled by\n   foreigners in preference to natives.]\n\nOur own songs and our own language are to be heard here, and here we take\ncounsel on the best means for delivering Greece from the ever fresh\nencroachments of her tyrants.\n\nIn a word, this house is the centre of attraction for all Hellenic\ninterests in Egypt, and of more importance to us politically, than our\ntemple, the Hellenion itself, and our hall of commerce.\n\nIn a few minutes you will see this remarkable grandmother, and, if we\nshould be here alone, perhaps the grandchild too; you will then at once\nperceive that they owe everything to their own rare qualities and not to\nthe chances of good fortune. Ah! there they come! they are going towards\nthe house. Cannot you hear the slave-girls singing? Now they are going\nin. First let them quietly be seated, then follow me, and when the\nevening is over you shall say whether you repent of having come hither,\nand whether Rhodopis resembles more nearly a queen or a freed\nbond-woman.\"\n\nThe houses was built in the Grecian style. It was a rather long,\none-storied building, the outside of which would be called extremely\nplain in the present day; within, it united the Egyptian brilliancy of\ncoloring with the Greek beauty of form. The principal door opened into\nthe entrance-hall. To the left of this lay a large dining-room,\noverlooking the Nile, and, opposite to this last was the kitchen, an\napartment only to be found in the houses of the wealthier Greeks, the\npoorer families being accustomed to prepare their food at the hearth in\nthe front apartment. The hall of reception lay at the other end of the\nentrance-hall, and was in the form of a square, surrounded within by a\ncolonnade, into which various chambers opened. This was the apartment\ndevoted to the men, in the centre of which was the household fire,\nburning on an altar-shaped hearth of rich AEginetan metal-work.\n\nIt was lighted by an opening in the roof, which formed at the same time,\nan outlet for the smoke. From this room (at the opposite end to that on\nwhich it opened into the entrance-hall), a passage, closed by a\nwell-fastened door, led into the chamber of the women. This was also\nsurrounded by a colonnade within, but only on three sides, and here the\nfemale inhabitants were accustomed to pass their time, when not employed,\nspinning or weaving, in the rooms lying near the back or garden-door as\nit was termed. Between these latter and the domestic offices, which lay\non the right and left of the women's apartment, were the sleeping-rooms;\nthese served also as places of security for the valuables of the house.\nThe walls of the men's apartment were painted of a reddish-brown color,\nagainst which the outlines of some white marble carvings, the gift of a\nChian sculptor, stood out in sharp relief. The floor was covered with\nrich carpets from Sardis; low cushions of panthers' skins lay ranged\nalong the colonnade; around the artistically wrought hearth stood quaint\nEgyptian settees, and small, delicately-carved tables of Thya wood, on\nwhich lay all kinds of musical instruments, the flute, cithara and lyre.\nNumerous lamps of various and singular shapes, filled with Kiki oil, hung\nagainst the walls. Some represented fire-spouting dolphins; others,\nstrange winged monsters from whose jaws the flames issued; and these,\nblending their light with that from the hearth, illumined the apartment.\n\nIn this room a group of men were assembled, whose appearance and dress\ndiffered one from the other. A Syrian from Tyre, in a long crimson robe,\nwas talking animatedly to a man whose decided features and crisp, curly,\nblack hair proclaimed him an Israelite. The latter had come to Egypt to\nbuy chariots and horses for Zerubbabel, the governor of Judah--the\nEgyptian equipages being the most sought after at that time. Close to him\nstood three Greeks from Asia Minor, the rich folds of whose garments (for\nthey wore the costly dress of their native city Miletus), contrasted\nstrongly with the plain and unadorned robe of Phryxus, the deputy\ncommissioned to collect money for the temple of Apollo at Delphi, with\nwhom they were in earnest conversation. Ten years before, the ancient\ntemple had been consumed by fire; and at this time efforts were being\nmade to build another, and a more beautiful one.\n\nTwo of the Milesians, disciples of Anaximander and Anaximenes, were\nstaying then in Egypt, to study astronomy and the peculiar wisdom of the\nEgyptians at Heliopolis, and the third was a wealthy merchant and\nship-owner, named Theopompus, who had settled at Naukratis.\n\n   [Anaximander of Miletus, born 611-546, was a celebrated\n   geometrician, astronomer, philosopher and geographer. He was the\n   author of a book on natural phenomena, drew the first map of the\n   world on metal, and introduced into Greece a kind of clock which he\n   seems to have borrowed from the Babylonians. He supposes a primary\n   and not easily definable Being, by which the whole world is\n   governed, and in which, though in himself infinite and without\n   limits, everything material and circumscribed has its foundation.\n   \"Chaotic matter\" represents in his theory the germ of all created\n   things, from which water, earth, animals, nereids or fish-men, human\n   beings &c. have had their origin.]\n\nRhodopis herself was engaged in a lively conversation with two Samian\nGreeks: the celebrated worker in metals, sculptor and goldsmith\nTheodorus, and the Iambic poet Ibykus of Rhegium, who had left the court\nof Polykrates for a time in order to become acquainted with Egypt, and\nwere bearers of presents to Amasis from their ruler. Close to the fire\nlay Philoinus of Sybaris, a corpulent man with strongly-marked features\nand a sensual expression of face; he was stretched at full-length on a\ncouch covered with spotted furs, and amused himself by playing with his\nscented curls wreathed with gold, and with the golden chains which fell\nfrom his neck on to the long saffron-colored robe that clothed him down\nto his feet.\n\n   [Sybaris was a town in Lower Italy notorious throughout the ancient\n   world for its luxury. According to Strabo it was founded by\n   Achaeans 262. About 510 it was conquered and destroyed by the\n   Crotoniates and then rebuilt under the name of Thurii.]\n\nRhodopis had a kind word for each of her guests, but at present she\noccupied herself exclusively with the two celebrated Sarnians; their talk\nwas of art and poetry. The fire of youth still glowed in the eyes of the\nThracian woman, her tall figure was still full and unbent; her hair,\nthough grey, was wound round her beautifully formed head in luxuriant\nwaves, and laid together at the back in a golden net, and a sparkling\ndiadem shone above her lofty forehead.\n\nHer noble Greek features were pale, but still beautiful and without a\nwrinkle, notwithstanding her great age; indeed her small mouth with its\nfull lips, her white teeth, her eyes so bright and yet so soft, and her\nnobly-formed nose and forehead would have been beauty enough for a young\nmaiden.\n\nRhodopis looked younger than she really was, though she made no attempt\nto disavow her age. Matronly dignity was visible in every movement, and\nthe charm of her manner lay, not in a youthful endeavor to be pleasing,\nbut in the effort of age to please others, considering their wishes, and\nat the same time demanding consideration in return.\n\nOur two friends now presenting themselves in the hall, every eye turned\nupon them, and as Phanes entered leading his friend by the hand, the\nheartiest welcome met him from all sides; one of the Milesians indeed\nexclaimed: \"Now I see what it is that was wanting to our assembly. There\ncan be no merriment without Phanes.\"\n\nAnd Philoinus, the Sybarite, raising his deep voice, but not allowing\nhimself for a moment to be disturbed in his repose, remarked: \"Mirth is a\ngood thing, and if you bring that with you, be welcome to me also,\nAthenian.\"\n\n\"To me,\" said Rhodopis, turning to her new guests, \"you are heartily\nwelcome, but not more in your joy than if borne down by sadness. I know\nno greater pleasure than to remove the lines of care from a friend's\nbrow. Spartan, I venture to address you as a friend too, for the friends\nof my friends are my own.\" Aristomachus bowed in silence, but Phanes,\naddressing himself both to Rhodopis and to the Sybarite, answered: \"Well\nthen, my friends, I can content you both. To you, Rhodopis, I must come\nfor comfort, for soon, too soon I must leave you and your pleasant house;\nPhiloinus however can still enjoy my mirth, as I cannot but rejoice in\nthe prospect of seeing my beloved Hellas once more, and of quitting, even\nthough involuntarily, this golden mouse-trap of a country.\"\n\n\"You are going away! you have been dismissed? Whither are you going?\"\nechoed on all sides.\n\n\"Patience, patience, my friends,\" cried Phanes. \"I have a long story to\ntell, but I will rather reserve it for the evening meal. And indeed, dear\nfriend, my hunger is nearly as great as my distress at being obliged to\nleave you.\"\n\n\"Hunger is a good thing,\" philosophized the Sybarite once more, \"when a\nman has a good meal in prospect.\"\n\n\"On that point you may be at ease, Philoinus,\" answered Rhodopis. \"I told\nthe cook to do his utmost, for the most celebrated epicure from the most\nluxurious city in the world, no less a person than Philoinus of Sybaris,\nwould pass a stern judgment on his delicate dishes. Go, Knakias, tell\nthem to serve the supper. Are you content now, my impatient guests? As\nfor me, since I heard Phanes' mournful news, the pleasure of the meal is\ngone.\" The Athenian bowed, and the Sybarite returned to his philosophy.\n\"Contentment is a good thing when every wish can be satisfied. I owe you\nthanks, Rhodopis, for your appreciation of my incomparable native city.\nWhat says Anakreon?\n\n          \"To-day is ours--what do we fear?\n          To-day is ours--we have it here.\n          Let's treat it kindly, that it may\n          Wish at least with us to stay.\n          Let's banish business, banish sorrow;\n          To the gods belongs to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Eh! Ibykus, have I quoted your friend the poet correctly, who feasts\nwith you at Polykrates' banquets? Well, I think I may venture to say of\nmy own poor self that if Anakreon can make better verses, I understand\nthe art of living quite as well as he, though he writes so many poems\nupon it. Why, in all his songs there is not one word about the pleasures\nof the table! Surely they are as important as love and play! I confess\nthat the two last are clear to me also; still, I could exist without\nthem, though in a miserable fashion, but without food, where should we\nbe?\"\n\nThe Sybarite broke into a loud laugh at his own joke; but the Spartan\nturned away from this conversation, drew Phryxus into a corner, and quite\nabandoning his usually quiet and deliberate manner, asked eagerly whether\nhe had at last brought him the long wished for answer from the Oracle.\nThe serious features of the Delphian relaxed, and thrusting his hand into\nthe folds of his chiton,--[An undergarment resembling a shirt.]--he drew\nout a little roll of parchment-like sheepskin, on which a few lines were\nwritten.\n\nThe hands of the brave, strong Spartan trembled as he seized the roll,\nand his fixed gaze on its characters was as if it would pierce the skin\non which they were inscribed.\n\nThen, recollecting himself, he shook his head sadly and said: \"We\nSpartans have to learn other arts than reading and writing; if thou\ncanst, read the what Pythia says.\"\n\nThe Delphian glanced over the writing and replied: \"Rejoice! Loxias\n(Apollo) promises thee a happy return home; hearken to the prediction of\nthe priestess.\"\n\n  \"If once the warrior hosts from the snow-topped mountains descending\n   Come to the fields of the stream watering richly the plain,\n   Then shall the lingering boat to the beckoning meadows convey thee\n   Which to the wandering foot peace and a home will afford.\n   When those warriors come, from the snow-topped mountains descending,\n   Then will the powerful Five grant thee what long they refused.\"\n\nTo these words the Spartan listened with intense eagerness; he had them\nread over to him twice, then repeated them from memory, thanked Phryxus,\nand placed the roll within the folds of his garment.\n\nThe Delphian then took part in the general conversation, but Aristomachus\nrepeated the words of the Oracle unceasingly to himself in a low voice,\nendeavoring to impress them on his memory, and to interpret their obscure\nimport.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe doors of the supper-room now flew open. Two lovely, fair-haired boys,\nholding myrtle-wreaths, stood on each side of the entrance, and in the\nmiddle of the room was a large, low, brilliantly polished table,\nsurrounded by inviting purple cushions.\n\n   [It was most probably usual for each guest to have his own little\n   table; but we read even in Homer of large tables on which the meals\n   were served up. In the time of Homer people sat at table, but the\n   recumbent position became universal in later times.]\n\nRich nosegays adorned this table, and on it were placed large joints of\nroast meat, glasses and dishes of various shapes filled with dates, figs,\npomegranates, melons and grapes, little silver beehives containing honey,\nand plates of embossed copper, on which lay delicate cheese from the\nisland of Trinakria. In the midst was a silver table-ornament, something\nsimilar to an altar, from which arose fragrant clouds of incense.\n\nAt the extreme end of the table stood the glittering silver cup in which\nthe wine was to be mixed.\n\n   [The Greeks were not accustomed to drink unmingled wine. Zaleukus\n   forbade to all citizens the pure juice of the grape under penalty of\n   death, and Solon under very severe penalties, unless required as\n   medicine. The usual mixture was composed of three-fifths water to\n   two-fifths wine.]\n\nThis was of beautiful AEginetan workmanship, its crooked handles\nrepresenting two giants, who appeared ready to sink under the weight of\nthe bowl which they sustained.\n\nLike the altar, it was enwreathed with flowers, and a garland of roses or\nmyrtle had been twined around the goblet of each guest.\n\nThe entire floor was strewed with rose-leaves, and the room lighted by\nmany lamps which were hung against the smooth, white, stucco walls.\n\nNo sooner were the guests reclining on their cushions, than the\nfair-haired boys reappeared, wound garlands of ivy and myrtle around the\nheads and shoulders of the revellers, and washed their feet in silver\nbasins. The Sybarite, though already scented with all the perfumes of\nArabia, would not rest until he was completely enveloped in roses and\nmyrtle, and continued to occupy the two boys even after the carver had\nremoved the first joints from the table in order to cut them up; but as\nsoon as the first course, tunny-fish with mustard-sauce, had been served,\nhe forgot all subordinate matters, and became absorbed in the enjoyment\nof the delicious viands.\n\nRhodopis, seated on a chair at the head of the table, near the wine-bowl,\nnot only led the conversation, but gave directions to the slaves in\nwaiting.\n\n   [The women took their meals sitting. The Greeks, like the\n   Egyptians, had chairs with backs and arms. The form of the solia or\n   throne has become familiar to us from the discoveries at Pompeii and\n   the representations of many gods and distinguished persons. It had\n   a high, almost straight back, and supports for the arms.]\n\nShe gazed on her cheerful guests with a kind of pride, and seemed to be\ndevoting her attention to each exclusively, now asking the Delphian how\nhe had succeeded in his mission, then the Sybarite whether he was content\nwith the performances of her cook, and then listening eagerly to Ibykus,\nas he told how the Athenian, Phrynichus, had introduced the religious\ndramas of Thespis of Ikaria into common life, and was now representing\nentire histories from the past by means of choruses, recitative and\nanswer.\n\nThen she turned to the Spartan, remarking, that to him alone of all her\nguests, instead of an apology for the simplicity of the meal, she felt\nshe owed one for its luxury. The next time he came, her slave Knakias,\nwho, as an escaped Helot, boasted that he could cook a delicious\nblood-soup (here the Sybarite shuddered), should prepare him a true\nLacedaemonian repast.\n\nWhen the guests had eaten sufficiently they again washed their hands; the\nplates and dishes were removed, the floor cleansed, and wine and water\npoured into the bowl.\n\n   [The Symposium began after the real meal. Not till that was over\n   did the guests usually adorn themselves with wreaths, wash their\n   hands with Smegma or Smema (a kind of soap) and begin to drink.]\n\nAt last, when Rhodopis had convinced herself that the right moment was\ncome, she turned to Phanes, who was engaged in a discussion with the\nMilesians, and thus addressed him:\n\n\"Noble friend, we have restrained our impatience so long that it must\nsurely now be your duty to tell us what evil chance is threatening to\nsnatch you from Egypt and from our circle. You may be able to leave us\nand this country with a light heart, for the gods are wont to bless you\nIonians with that precious gift from your very birth, but we shall\nremember you long and sadly. I know of no worse loss than that of a\nfriend tried through years, indeed some of us have lived too long on the\nNile not to have imbibed a little of the constant, unchanging Egyptian\ntemperament. You smile, and yet I feel sure that long as you have desired\nto revisit your dear Hellas, you will not be able to leave us quite\nwithout regret. Ah, you admit this? Well, I knew I had not been deceived.\nBut now tell us why you are obliged to leave Egypt, that we may consider\nwhether it may not be possible to get the king's decree reversed, and so\nkeep you with us.\"\n\nPhanes smiled bitterly, and replied: \"Many thanks, Rhodopis, for these\nflattering words, and for the kind intention either to grieve over my\ndeparture, or if possible, to prevent it. A hundred new faces will soon\nhelp you to forget mine, for long as you have lived on the Nile, you are\nstill a Greek from the crown of the head to the sole of the foot, and may\nthank the gods that you have remained so. I am a great friend of\nconstancy too, but quite as great an enemy of folly, and is there one\namong you who would not call it folly to fret over what cannot be undone?\nI cannot call the Egyptian constancy a virtue, it is a delusion. The men\nwho treasure their dead for thousands of years, and would rather lose\ntheir last loaf than allow a single bone belonging to one of their\nancestors to be taken from them, are not constant, they are foolish. Can\nit possibly make me happy to see my friends sad? Certainly not! You must\nnot imitate the Egyptians, who, when they lose a friend, spend months in\ndaily-repeated lamentations over him. On the contrary, if you will\nsometimes think of the distant, I ought to say, of the departed, friend,\n(for as long as I live I shall never be permitted to tread Egyptian\nground again), let it be with smiling faces; do not cry, 'Ah! why was\nPhanes forced to leave us?' but rather, 'Let us be merry, as Phanes used\nto be when he made one of our circle!' In this way you must celebrate my\ndeparture, as Simonides enjoined when he sang:\n\n       \"If we would only be more truly wise,\n        We should not waste on death our tears and sighs,\n        Nor stand and mourn o'er cold and lifeless clay\n        More than one day.\n\n        For Death, alas! we have no lack of time;\n        But Life is gone, when scarcely at its prime,\n        And is e'en, when not overfill'd with care\n        But short and bare!\"\n\n\"If we are not to weep for the dead, how much less ought we to grieve for\nabsent friends! the former have left us for ever, but to the latter we\nsay at parting, 'Farewell, until we meet again'\"\n\nHere the Sybarite, who had been gradually becoming more and more\nimpatient, could not keep silent any longer, and called out in the most\nwoe begone tone: \"Will you never begin your story, you malicious fellow? I\ncannot drink a single drop till you leave off talking about death. I feel\ncold already, and I am always ill, if I only think of, nay, if I only\nhear the subject mentioned, that this life cannot last forever.\" The\nwhole company burst into a laugh, and Phanes began to tell his story:\n\n\"You know that at Sais I always live in the new palace; but at Memphis,\nas commander of the Greek body-guard which must accompany the king\neverywhere, a lodging was assigned me in the left wing of the old palace.\n\n\"Since Psamtik the First, Sais has always been the royal residence, and\nthe other palaces have in consequence become somewhat neglected. My\ndwelling was really splendidly situated, and beautifully furnished; it\nwould have been first-rate, if, from the first moment of my entrance, a\nfearful annoyance had not made its appearance.\n\n\"In the day-time, when I was seldom at home, my rooms were all that could\nbe wished, but at night it was impossible to sleep for the tremendous\nnoise made by thousands of rats and mice under the old floors, and\ncouches, and behind the hangings.\n\n\"Even in the first night an impudent mouse ran over my face.\n\n\"I was quite at a loss what to do, till an Egyptian soldier sold me two\nlarge cats, and these, in the course of many weeks, procured me some rest\nfrom my tormentors.\n\n\"Now, you are probably all aware that one of the charming laws of this\nmost eccentric nation, (whose culture and wisdom, you, my Milesian\nfriends, cannot sufficiently praise), declares the cat to be a sacred\nanimal. Divine honors are paid to these fortunate quadrupeds as well as\nto many other animals, and he who kills a cat is punished with the same\nseverity as the murderer of a human being.\"\n\nTill now Rhodopis had been smiling, but when she perceived that Phanes'\nbanishment had to do with his contempt for the sacred animals, her face\nbecame more serious. She knew how many victims, how many human lives, had\nalready been sacrificed to this Egyptian superstition, and how, only a\nshort time before, the king Amasis himself had endeavored in vain to\nrescue an unfortunate Samian, who had killed a cat, from the vengeance of\nthe enraged populace.\n\n   [The cat was probably the most sacred of all the animals worshipped\n   by the Egyptians. Herod tells that when a house was on fire the\n   Egyptians never thought of extinguishing the fire until their cats\n   were all saved, and that when a cat died, they shaved their heads in\n   sign of mourning. Whoever killed one of these animals, whether\n   intentionally or by accident, suffered the penalty, of death,\n   without any chance of mercy. Diod. (I. 81.) himself witnessed the\n   murder of a Roman citizen who had killed a cat, by the Egyptian\n   people; and this in spite of the authorities, who in fear of the\n   powerful Romans, endeavored to prevent the deed. The bodies of the\n   cats were carefully embalmed and buried, and their mummies are to be\n   found in every museum. The embalmed cat, carefully wrapped in linen\n   bandages, is oftener to be met with than any other of the many\n   animals thus preserved by the Egyptians. In spite of the great care\n   bestowed on cats, there can have been no lack of mice in Egypt. In\n   one nomos or province the shrew-mouse was sacred, and a satirical,\n   obscene papyrus in Turin shows us a war between the cats and mice;\n   the Papyrus Ebers contains poisons for mice. We ourselves possess a\n   shrew-mouse exquisitely wrought in bronze.]\n\n\"Everything was going well,\" continued the officer, \"when we left Memphis\ntwo years ago.\n\n\"I confided my pair of cats to the care of one of the Egyptian servants\nat the palace, feeling sure that these enemies of the rats would keep my\ndwelling clear for the future; indeed I began to feel a certain\nveneration for my deliverers from the plague of mice.\n\n\"Last year Amasis fell ill before the court could adjourn to Memphis, and\nwe remained at Sais.\n\n\"At last, about six week ago, we set out for the city of the Pyramids. I\nbetook me to my old quarters; not the shadow of a mouse's tail was to be\nseen there, but instead, they swarmed with another race of animals not\none whit dearer to me than their predecessors. The pair of cats had,\nduring my two years' absence, increased twelve-fold. I tried all in my\npower to dislodge this burdensome brood of all ages and colors, but in\nvain; every night my sleep was disturbed by horrible choruses of\nfour-footed animals, and feline war-cries and songs.\n\n\"Every year, at the period of the Bubastis festival, all superfluous cats\nmay be brought to the temple of the cat-headed goddess Pacht, where they\nare fed and cared for, or, as I believe, when they multiply too fast,\nquietly put out of the way. These priests are knaves!\n\n\"Unfortunately the journey to the said temple\" did not occur during the\ntime of our stay in Memphis; however, as I really could not tolerate this\narmy of tormentors any longer, I determined at least to get rid of two\nfamilies of healthy kittens with which their mothers had just presented\nme. My old slave Mus, from his very name a natural enemy of cats, was\ntold to kill the little creatures, put them into a sack, and throw them\ninto the Nile.\n\n\"This murder was necessary, as the mewing of the kittens would otherwise\nhave betrayed the contents of the sack to the palace-warders. In the\ntwilight poor Muss betook himself to the Nile through the grove of\nHathor, with his perilous burden. But alas! the Egyptian attendant who\nwas in the habit of feeding my cats, had noticed that two families of\nkittens were missing, and had seen through our whole plan.\n\n\"My slave took his way composedly through the great avenue of Sphinxes,\nand by the temple of Ptah, holding the little bag concealed under his\nmantle. Already in the sacred grove he noticed that he was being\nfollowed, but on seeing that the men behind him stopped before the temple\nof Ptah and entered into conversation with the priests, he felt perfectly\nreassured and went on.\n\n\"He had already reached the bank of the Nile, when he heard voices\ncalling him and a number of people running towards him in haste; at the\nsame moment a stone whistled close by his head.\n\n\"Mus at once perceived the danger which was threatening him. Summoning\nall his strength he rushed down to the Nile, flung the bag in, and then\nwith a beating heart, but as he imagined without the slightest evidence\nof guilt, remained standing on the shore. A few moments later he was\nsurrounded by at least a hundred priests.\n\n\"Even the high-priest of Ptah, my old enemy Ptahotep, had not disdained\nto follow the pursuers in person.\n\n\"Many of the latter, and amongst them the perfidious palace-servant,\nrushed at once into the Nile, and there, to our confusion, found the bag\nwith its twelve little corpses, hanging entirely uninjured among the\nPapyrus-reeds and bean-tendrils. The cotton coffin was opened before the\neyes of the high-priest, a troop of lower priests, and at least a\nthousand of the inhabitants of Memphis, who had hurried to the spot, and\nwhen the miserable contents were disclosed, there arose such fearful\nhowls of anguish, and such horrible cries of mingled lamentation and\nrevenge, that I heard them even in the palace.\n\n\"The furious multitude, in their wild rage, fell on my poor servant,\nthrew him down, trampled on him and would have killed him, had not the\nall-powerful high-priest-designing to involve me, as author of the crime,\nin the same ruin--commanded them to cease and take the wretched\nmalefactor to prison.\n\n\"Half an hour later I was in prison too.\n\n\"My old Mus took all the guilt of the crime on himself, until at last, by\nmeans of the bastinado, the high-priest forced him to confess that I had\nordered the killing of the kittens, and that he, as a faithful servant,\nhad not dared to disobey.\n\n\"The supreme court of justice, whose decisions the king himself has no\npower to reverse, is composed of priests from Memphis, Heliopolis and\nThebes: you can therefore easily believe that they had no scruple in\npronouncing sentence of death on poor Mus and my own unworthy Greek self.\nThe slave was pronounced guilty of two capital offences: first, of the\nmurder of the sacred animals, and secondly, of a twelve-fold pollution of\nthe Nile through dead bodies. I was condemned as originator of this, (as\nthey termed it) four-and-twenty-fold crime.\n\n   [According to the Egyptian law, the man who was cognizant of a crime\n   was held equally culpable with the perpetrator.]\n\n\"Mus was executed on the same day. May the earth rest lightly on him! I\nshall never think of him again as my slave, but as a friend and\nbenefactor! My sentence of death was read aloud in the presence of his\ndead body, and I was already preparing for a long journey into the nether\nworld, when the king sent and commanded a reprieve.\n\n   [This court of justice, which may be compared with the Areopagus at\n   Athens, and the Gerusia at Sparta, (Diod. I, 75.), was composed of\n   30 judges taken from the priestly caste, (10 from Heliopolis, 10\n   from Memphis, 10 from Thebes). The most eminent from among their\n   number was chosen by them as president. All complaints and defences\n   had to be presented in writing, that the judges might in no way be\n   influenced by word or gesture. This tribunal was independent, even\n   of the king's authority. Much information concerning the\n   administration of justice has been obtained from the Papyrus Abbott,\n   known by the name of the 'Papyrus judiciaire'. Particulars and an\n   account of their literature may be found in Ebers \"Durch Gosen zum\n   Sinai,\" p. 534 and following.]\n\n\"I was taken back to prison. One of my guards, an Arcadian Taxiarch, told\nme that all the officers of the guard and many of the soldiers,\n(altogether four thousand men) had threatened to send in their\nresignation, unless I, their commander, were pardoned.\n\n\"As it was beginning to grow dusk I was taken to the king.\n\n\"He received me graciously, confirmed the Taxiarch's statement with his\nown mouth, and said how grieved he should be to lose a commander so\ngenerally beloved. I must confess that I owe Amasis no grudge for his\nconduct to me, on the contrary I pity him. You should have heard how he,\nthe powerful king, complained that he could never act according to his\nown wishes, that even in his most private affairs he was crossed and\ncompromised by the priests and their influence.\n\n   [See the parallel in the history of 2000 years later in the reigns\n   of Henry III. and IV. confronting the Jesuit influence, finally\n   culminating in assassination. D.W.]\n\n\"Had it only depended on himself, he could easily have pardoned the\ntransgression of a law, which I, as a foreigner, could not be expected to\nunderstand, and might (though unjustly) esteem as a foolish superstition.\nBut for the sake of the priests he dare not leave me unpunished. The\nlightest penalty he could inflict must be banishment from Egypt.\n\n\"He concluded his complaint with these words: 'You little know what\nconcessions I must make to the priests in order to obtain your pardon.\nWhy, our supreme court of justice is independent even of me, its king!'\n\n\"And thus I received my dismissal, after having taken a solemn oath to\nleave Memphis that very day, and Egypt, at latest, in three weeks.\n\n\"At the palace-gate I met Psamtik, the crown-prince. He has long been my\nenemy, on account of some vexatious matters which I cannot divulge, (you\nknow them, Rhodopis). I was going to offer him my parting salutation, but\nhe turned his back upon me, saying: Once more you have escaped\npunishment, Athenian; but you cannot elude my vengeance. Whithersoever\nyou may go, I shall be able to find you!'--'That remains to be proved,' I\nanswered, and putting myself and my possessions on board a boat, came to\nNaukratis. Here, by good fortune, I met my old friend Aristomachus of\nSparta, who, as he was formerly in command of the Cyprian troops, will\nmost likely be nominated my successor. I should rejoice to know that such\na first-rate man was going to take my place, if I did not at the same\ntime fear that his eminent services will make my own poor efforts seem\neven more insignificant than they really were.\"\n\nBut here he was interrupted by Aristomachus, who called out: \"Praise\nenough, friend Phanes! Spartan tongues are stiff; but if you should ever\nstand in need of my help, I will give you an answer in deeds, which shall\nstrike the right nail on the head.\"\n\nRhodopis smiled her approval, and giving her hand to each, said:\n\"Unfortunately, the only conclusion to be drawn from your story, my poor\nPhanes, is that you cannot possibly remain any longer in this country. I\nwill not blame you for your thoughtlessness, though you might have known\nthat you were exposing yourself to great danger for a mere trifle. The\nreally wise and brave man never undertakes a hazardous enterprise, unless\nthe possible advantage and disadvantage that may accrue to him from it\ncan be reckoned at least as equal. Recklessness is quite as foolish, but\nnot so blamable as cowardice, for though both do the man an injury, the\nlatter alone can dishonor him.\n\n\"Your thoughtlessness, this time, has very nearly cost your life, a life\ndear to many, and which you ought to save for a nobler end. We cannot\nattempt to keep you here; we should thereby only injure ourselves without\nbenefitting you. This noble Spartan must now take your place as head and\nrepresentative of the Greek nation at the Egyptian court, must endeavor\nto protect us against the encroachment of the priests, and to retain for\nus the royal favor. I take your hand, Aristomachus, and will not let it\ngo till you have promised that you will protect, to the utmost of your\npower, every Greek, however humble, (as Phanes did before you), from the\ninsolence of the Egyptians, and will sooner resign your office than allow\nthe smallest wrong done to a Hellene to go unpunished. We are but a few\nthousands among millions of enemies, but through courage we are great,\nand unity must keep us strong. Hitherto the Greeks in Egypt have lived\nlike brothers; each has been ready to offer himself for the good of all,\nand all for each, and it is just this unity that has made us, and must\nkeep us, powerful.\n\n\"Oh! could we but bestow this precious gift on our mother-country and her\ncolonies! would the tribes of our native land but forget their Dorian,\nIonian or AEolian descent, and, contenting themselves with the one name\nof Hellenes, live as the children of one family, as the sheep of one\nflock,--then indeed we should be strong against the whole world, and\nHellas would be recognized by all nations as the Queen of the Earth!\"\n\n   [This longing desire for unity was by no means foreign to the\n   Greeks, though we seldom hear it expressed. Aristotle, for example,\n   says VII. 7.: \"Were the Hellenes united into one state, they could\n   command all the barbarous nations.\"]\n\nA fire glowed in the eyes of the grey-haired woman as she uttered these\nwords; and the Spartan, grasping her hand impetuously and stamping on the\nfloor with his wooden leg, cried: \"By Zeus, I will not let a hair of\ntheir heads be hurt; but thou, Rhodopis, thou art worthy to have been\nborn a Spartan woman.\"\n\n\"Or an Athenian,\" cried Phanes.\n\n\"An Ionian,\" said the Milesians, and the sculptor: \"A daughter of the\nSamian Geomori--\"\n\n\"But I am more, far more, than all these,\" cried the enthusiastic woman.\n\"I am a Hellene!\"\n\nThe whole company, even to the Jew and the Syrian, were carried away by\nthe intense feeling of the moment; the Sybarite alone remained unmoved,\nand, with his mouth so full as to render the words almost unintelligible,\nsaid:\n\n\"You deserve to be a Sybarite too, Rhodopis, for your roast beef is the\nbest I have tasted since I left Italy, and your Anthylla wine' relishes\nalmost as well as Vesuvian or Chian!\"\n\nEvery one laughed, except the Spartan, who darted a look of indignation\nand contempt at the epicure.\n\nIn this moment a deep voice, hitherto unknown to us, shouted suddenly\nthrough the window, \"A glad greeting to you, my friends!\"\n\n\"A glad greeting,\" echoed the chorus of revellers, questioning and\nguessing who this late arrival might prove to be.\n\nThey had not long to wait, for even before the Sybarite had had time\ncarefully to test and swallow another mouthful of wine, the speaker,\nKallias, the son of Phaenippus of Athens, was already standing by the\nside of Rhodopis. He was a tall thin man of over sixty, with a head of\nthat oval form which gives the impression of refinement and intellect.\nOne of the richest among the Athenian exiles, he had twice bought the\npossessions of Pisistratus from the state, and twice been obliged to\nsurrender them, on the tyrant's return to power. Looking round with his\nclear keen eyes on this circle of acquaintances, he exchanged friendly\ngreetings with all, and exclaimed:\n\n\"If you do not set a high value on my appearance among you this evening,\nI shall think that gratitude has entirely disappeared from the earth.\"\n\n\"We have been expecting you a long time,\" interrupted one of the\nMilesians. \"You are the first man to bring us news of the Olympic games!\"\n\n\"And we could wish no better bearer of such news than the victor of\nformer days?\" added Rhodopis. \"Take your seat,\" cried Phanes impatiently,\n\"and come to the point with your news at once, friend Kallias.\"\n\n\"Immediately, fellow-countryman,\" answered the other. \"It is some time\nago now since I left Olympia. I embarked at Cenchreae in a fifty-oared\nSamian vessel, the best ship that ever was built.\n\n\"It does not surprise me that I am the first Greek to arrive in\nNaukratis. We encountered terrific storms at sea, and could not have\nescaped with our lives, if the big-bellied Samian galley, with her Ibis\nbeak and fish's tail had not been so splendidly timbered and manned.\n\n\"How far the other homeward-bound passengers may have been driven out of\ntheir course, I cannot tell; we found shelter in the harbor of Samos, and\nwere able to put to sea again after ten days.\n\n\"We ran into the mouth of the Nile this morning. I went on board my own\nbark at once, and was so favored by Boreas, who at least at the end of my\nvoyage, seemed willing to prove that he still felt kindly towards his old\nKallias, that I caught sight of this most friendly of all houses a few\nmoments since. I saw the waving flag, the brightly lighted windows, and\ndebated within myself whether to enter or not; but Rhodopis, your\nfascination proved irresistible, and besides, I was bursting with all my\nuntold news, longing to share your feast, and to tell you, over the\nviands and the wine, things that you have not even allowed yourselves to\ndream of.\"\n\nKallias settled himself comfortably on one of the cushions, and before\nbeginning to tell his news, produced and presented to Rhodopis a\nmagnificent gold bracelet in the form of a serpent's, which he had bought\nfor a large sum at Samos, in the goldsmith's workshop of the very\nTheodorus who was now sitting with him at table.\n\n\"This I have brought for you,\"' he said, turning to the delighted\nRhodopis, \"but for you, friend Phanes, I have something still better.\nGuess, who won the four-horse chariot-race?\"\n\n\"An Athenian?\" asked Phanes, and his face glowed with excitement; for the\nvictory gained by one citizen at the Olympic games belonged to his whole\npeople, and the Olympic olive-branch was the greatest honor and happiness\nthat could fall to the lot, either of a single Hellene, or an entire\nGreek tribe.\n\n\"Rightly guessed, Phanes!\" cried the bringer of this joyful news, \"The\nfirst prize has been carried off by an Athenian; and not only so, your\nown cousin Cimon, the son of Kypselos, the brother of that Miltiades,\nwho, nine Olympiads ago, earned us the same honor, is the man who has\nconquered this year; and with the same steeds that gained him the prize\nat the last games.\n\n   [The second triumph won by the steeds of Cimon must have taken\n   place, as Duneker correctly remarks, about the year 528. The same\n   horses won the race for the third time at the next Olympic games,\n   consequently four years later. As token of his gratitude Cimon\n   caused a monument to be erected in their honor in \"the hollow way\"\n   near Athens. We may here remind our readers that the Greeks made\n   use of the Olympic games to determine the date of each year. They\n   took place every four years. The first was fixed 776 B. C. Each\n   separate year was named the 1st, 2nd, 3rd or 4th of such or such an\n   Olympiad.]\n\n\"The fame of the Alkmaeonidae is, verily, darkening more and more before\nthe Philaidae. Are not you proud, Phanes? do not you feel joy at the\nglory of your family?\"\n\nIn his delight Phanes had risen from his seat, and seemed suddenly to\nhave increased in stature by a whole head.\n\nWith a look of ineffable pride and consciousness of his own position, he\ngave his hand to the messenger of victory. The latter, embracing his\ncountryman, continued:\n\n\"Yes, we have a right to feel proud and happy, Phanes; you especially,\nfor no sooner had the judges unanimously awarded the prize to Cimon, than\nhe ordered the heralds to proclaim the tyrant Pisistratus as the owner of\nthe splendid team, and therefore victor in the race. Pisistratus at once\ncaused it to be announced that your family was free to return to Athens,\nand so now, Phanes, the long-wished for hour of your return home is\nawaiting you.\"\n\nBut at these words Phanes turned pale, his look of conscious pride\nchanged into one of indignation, and he exclaimed:\n\n\"At this I am to rejoice, foolish Kallias? rather bid me weep that a\ndescendant of Ajax should be capable of laying his well-won fame thus\nignominiously at a tyrant's feet! No! I swear by Athene, by Father Zeus,\nand by Apollo, that I will sooner starve in foreign lands than take one\nstep homeward, so long as the Pisistratidae hold my country in bondage.\nWhen I leave the service of Amasis, I shall be free, free as a bird in\nthe air; but I would rather be the slave of a peasant in foreign lands,\nthan hold the highest office under Pisistratus. The sovereign power in\nAthens belongs to us, its nobles; but Cimon by laying his chaplet at the\nfeet of Pisistratus has acknowledged the tyrants, and branded himself as\ntheir servant. He shall hear that Phanes cares little for the tyrant's\nclemency. I choose to remain an exile till my country is free, till her\nnobles and people govern themselves, and dictate their own laws. Phanes\nwill never do homage to the oppressor, though all the Philaidae, the\nAlkmaeonidae, and even the men of your own house, Kallias, the rich\nDaduchi, should fall down at his feet!\"\n\nWith flashing eyes he looked round on the assembly; Kallias too\nscrutinized the faces of the guests with conscious pride, as if he would\nsay:\n\n\"See, friends, the kind of men produced by my glorious country!\"\n\nTaking the hand of Phanes again, he said to him: \"The tyrants are as\nhateful to me as to you, my friend; but I have seen, that, so long as\nPisistratus lives, the tyranny cannot be overthrown. His allies, Lygdamis\nof Naxos and Polykrates of Samos, are powerful; but the greatest danger\nfor our freedom lies in his own moderation and prudence. During my recent\nstay in Greece I saw with alarm that the mass of the people in Athens\nlove their oppressor like a father. Notwithstanding his great power, he\nleaves the commonwealth in the enjoyment of Solon's constitution. He\nadorns the city with the most magnificent buildings. They say that the\nnew temple of Zeus, now being built of glorious marble by Kallaeschrus,\nAntistates and Porinus (who must be known to you, Theodorus), will\nsurpass every building that has yet been erected by the Hellenes. He\nunderstands how to attract poets and artists of all kinds to Athens, he\nhas had the poems of Homer put into writing, and the prophecies of\nMusaeus collected by Onomakritus. He lays out new streets and arranges\nfresh festivals; trade flourishes under his rule, and the people find\nthemselves well off, in spite of the many taxes laid upon them. But what\nare the people? a vulgar multitude who, like the gnats, fly towards every\nthing brilliant, and, so long as the taper burns, will continue to\nflutter round it, even though they burn their wings in doing so. Let\nPisistratus' torch burn out, Phanes, and I'll swear that the fickle crowd\nwill flock around the returning nobles, the new light, just as they now\ndo around the tyrant.\n\n\"Give me your hand once more, you true son of Ajax; for you, my friends,\nI have still many an interesting piece of news untold.\n\n\"The chariot-race, as I have just related, was won by Cimon who gave the\nolive-branch to Pisistratus. Four finer horses than his I never saw.\nArkesilaus of Cyrene, Kleosthenes of Epidamnus, Aster of Sybaris,\nHekataeus of Miletus and many more had also sent splendid teams. Indeed\nthe games this time were more than brilliant. All Hellas had sent\ndeputies. Rhoda of the Ardeates, in distant Iberia, the wealthy\nTartessus, Sinope in the far East on the shores of Pontus, in short,\nevery tribe that could boast of Hellenic descent was well represented.\nThe Sybarite deputies were of a dazzling beauty; the Spartans, homely and\nsimple, but handsome as Achilles, tall and strong as Hercules; the\nAthenians remarkable for their supple limbs and graceful movements, and\nthe men of Crotona were led by Milo, strongest of mortal birth. The\nSamian and Milesian deputies vied in splendor and gorgeousness of attire\nwith those from Corinth and Mitylene: the flower of the Greek youth was\nassembled there, and, in the space allotted to spectators, were seated,\nnot only men of every age, class and nation, but many virgins, fair and\nlovely maidens, who had come to Olympia, more especially from Sparta, in\norder to encourage the men during the games by their acclamations and\napplause. The market was set up beyond the Alphaeus, and there traders\nfrom all parts of the world were to be seen; Greeks, Carthaginians,\nLydians, Phrygians and shrewd Phoenicians from Palestine settled weighty\nbusiness transactions, or offered their goods to the public from tents\nand booths. But how can I possibly describe to you the surging throngs of\nthe populace, the echoing choruses, the smoking festal hecatombs, the\nbright and variegated costumes, the sumptuousness of the equipages, the\nclang of the different dialects and the joyful cries of friends meeting\nagain after years of separation; or the splendid appearance of the\nenvoys, the crowds of lookers-on and venders of small wares, the\nbrilliant effect produced by the masses of spectators, who filled to\noverflowing the space allotted to them, the eager suspense during the\nprogress of the games, and the never ending shouts of joy when the\nvictory was decided; the solemn investiture with the olive-branch, cut\nwith a golden knife by the Elean boy, (whose parents must both be\nliving), from the sacred tree in the Altis planted so many centuries ago\nby Hercules himself; or lastly, the prolonged acclamations which, like\npeals of thunder, resounded in the Stadium, when Milo of Crotona\nappeared, bearing on his shoulders the bronze statue of himself cast by\nDameas, and carried it through the Stadium into the Altis without once\ntottering. The weight of the metal would have crushed a bull to the\nearth: but borne by Milo it seemed like a child in the arms of its\nLacedaemonian nurse.\n\n\"The highest honors (after Cimon's) were adjudged to a pair of Spartan\nbrothers, Lysander and Maro, the sons of Aristomachus. Maro was victor in\nthe foot race, but Lysander presented himself, amidst the shouts of the\nspectators, as the opponent of Milo! Milo the invincible, victor at Pisa,\nand in the Pythian and Isthmian combats. Milo was taller and stouter than\nthe Spartan, who was formed like Apollo, and seemed from his great youth\nscarcely to have passed from under the hands of the schoolmaster.\n\n\"In their naked beauty, glistening with the golden oil, the youth and the\nman stood opposite to one another, like a panther and a lion preparing\nfor the combat. Before the onset, the young Lysander raised his hands\nimploringly to the gods, crying: 'For my father, my honor, and the glory\nof Sparta!' The Crotonian looked down on the youth with a smile of\nsuperiority; just as an epicure looks at the shell of the languste he is\npreparing to open.\n\n\"And now the wrestling began. For some time neither could succeed in\ngrasping the other. The Crotonian threw almost irresistible weight into\nhis attempts to lay hold of his opponent, but the latter slipped through\nthe iron grip like a snake. This struggle to gain a hold lasted long, and\nthe immense multitude watched silently, breathless from excitement. Not a\nsound was to be heard but the groans of the wrestlers and the singing of\nthe nightingales in the grove of the Altis. At last, the youth succeeded,\nby means of the cleverest trick I ever saw, in clasping his opponent\nfirmly. For a long time, Milo exerted all his strength to shake him oft,\nbut in vain, and the sand of the Stadium was freely moistened by the\ngreat drops of sweat, the result of this Herculean struggle.\n\n\"More and more intense waxed the excitement of the spectators, deeper and\ndeeper the silence, rarer the cries of encouragement, and louder the\ngroans of the wrestlers. At last Lysander's strength gave way.\nImmediately a thousand voices burst forth to cheer him on. He roused\nhimself and made one last superhuman effort to throw his adversary: but\nit was too late. Milo had perceived the momentary weakness. Taking\nadvantage of it, he clasped the youth in a deadly embrace; a full black\nstream of blood welled from Lysander's beautiful lips, and he sank\nlifeless to the earth from the wearied arms of the giant. Democedes, the\nmost celebrated physician of our day, whom you Samians will have known at\nthe court of Polycrates, hastened to the spot, but no skill could now\navail the happy Lysander,--he was dead.\n\n\"Milo was obliged to forego the victor's wreath\"; and the fame of this\nyouth will long continue to sound through the whole of Greece.\n\n   [By the laws of the games the wrestler, whose adversary died, had no\n   right to the prize of victory.]\n\nI myself would rather be the dead Lysander, son of Aristomachus, than the\nliving Kallias growing old in inaction away from his country. Greece,\nrepresented by her best and bravest, carried the youth to his grave, and\nhis statue is to be placed in the Altis by those of Milo of Crotona and\nPraxidamas of AEgina\". At length the heralds proclaimed the sentence of\nthe judges: 'To Sparta be awarded a victor's wreath for the dead, for the\nnoble Lysander hath been vanquished, not by Milo, but by Death, and he\nwho could go forth unconquered from a two hours' struggle with the\nstrongest of all Greeks, hath well deserved the olive-branch.'\"\n\nHere Kallias stopped a moment in his narrative. During his animated\ndescription of these events, so precious to every Greek heart, he had\nforgotten his listeners, and, gazing into vacancy, had seen only the\nfigures of the wrestlers as they rose before his remembrance. Now, on\nlooking round, he perceived, to his astonishment, that the grey-haired\nman with the wooden leg, whom he had already noticed, though without\nrecognizing him, had hidden his face in his hands and was weeping.\nRhodopis was standing at his right hand. Phanes at his left, and the\nother guests were gazing at the Spartan, as if he had been the hero of\nKallias's tale. In a moment the quick Athenian perceived that the aged\nman must stand in some very near relation to one or other of the victors\nat Olympia; but when he heard that he was Aristomachus-the father of that\nglorious pair of brothers, whose wondrous forms were constantly hovering\nbefore his eyes like visions sent down from the abodes of the gods, then\nhe too gazed on the sobbing old man with mingled envy and admiration, and\nmade no effort to restrain the tears which rushed into his own eyes,\nusually so clear and keen. In those days men wept, as well as women,\nhoping to gain relief from the balm of their own tears. In wrath, in\necstasy of delight, in every deep inward anguish, we find the mighty\nheroes weeping, while, on the other hand, the Spartan boys would submit\nto be scourged at the altar of Artemis Orthia, and would bleed and even\ndie under the lash without uttering a moan, in order to obtain the praise\nof the men.\n\nFor a time every one remained silent, out of respect to the old man's\nemotion. But at last the stillness was broken by Joshua the Jew, who\nbegan thus, in broken Greek:\n\n\"Weep thy fill, O man of Sparta! I also have known what it is to lose a\nson. Eleven years have passed since I buried him in the land of\nstrangers, by the waters of Babylon, where my people pined in captivity.\nHad yet one year been added unto the life of the beautiful child, he had\ndied in his own land, and had been buried in the sepulchres of his\nfathers. But Cyrus the Persian (Jehovah bless his posterity!) released us\nfrom bondage one year too late, and therefore do I weep doubly for this\nmy son, in that he is buried among the enemies of my people Israel. Can\nthere be an evil greater than to behold our children, who are unto us as\nmost precious treasure, go down into the grave before us? And, may the\nLord be gracious unto me, to lose so noble a son, in the dawn of his\nearly manhood, just at the moment he had won such brilliant renown, must\nindeed be a bitter grief, a grief beyond all others!\"\n\nThen the Spartan took away his hands from before his face; he was looking\nstern, but smiled through his tears, and answered:\n\n\"Phoenician, you err! I weep not for anguish, but for joy, and would have\ngladly lost my other son, if he could have died like my Lysander.\"\n\nThe Jew, horrified at these, to him, sinful and unnatural words, shook\nhis head disapprovingly; but the Greeks overwhelmed the old man with\ncongratulations, deeming him much to be envied. His great happiness made\nAristomachus look younger by many years, and he cried to Rhodopis:\n\"Truly, my friend, your house is for me a house of blessing; for this is\nthe second gift that the gods have allowed to fall to my lot, since I\nentered it.\"--\"What was the first?\" asked Rhodopis. \"A propitious\noracle.\"--\"But,\" cried Phanes, \"you have forgotten the third; on this day\nthe gods have blessed you with the acquaintance of Rhodopis. But, tell\nme, what is this about the oracle?\"--\"May I repeat it to our friends?\"\nasked the Delphian.\n\nAristomachus nodded assent, and Phryxus read aloud a second time the\nanswer of the Pythia:\n\n  \"If once the warrior hosts from the snow-topped mountains descending\n   Come to the fields of the stream watering richly the plain,\n   Then shall the lingering boat to the beckoning meadows convey thee\n   Which to the wandering foot peace and a home will afford.\n   When those warriors come from the snow-topped mountains descending\n   Then will the powerful Five grant thee what they long refused.\"\n\nScarcely was the last word out of his mouth, when Kallias the Athenian,\nspringing up, cried: \"In this house, too, you shall receive from me the\nfourth gift of the gods. Know that I have kept my rarest news till last:\nthe Persians are coming to Egypt!\"\n\nAt this every one, except the Sybarite, rushed to his feet, and Kallias\nfound it almost impossible to answer their numerous questions. \"Gently,\ngently, friends,\" he cried at last; \"let me tell my story in order, or I\nshall never finish it at all. It is not an army, as Phanes supposes, that\nis on its way hither, but a great embassy from Cambyses, the present\nruler of the most powerful kingdom of Persia. At Samos I heard that they\nhad already reached Miletus, and in a few days they will be here. Some of\nthe king's own relations, are among the number, the aged Croesus, king of\nLydia, too; we shall behold a marvellous splendor and magnificence!\nNobody knows the object of their coming, but it is supposed that King\nCambyses wishes to conclude an alliance with Amasis; indeed some say the\nking solicits the hand of Pharaoh's daughter.\"\n\n\"An alliance?\" asked Phanes, with an incredulous shrug of the shoulders.\n\"Why the Persians are rulers over half the world already. All the great\nAsiatic powers have submitted to their sceptre; Egypt and our own\nmother-country, Hellas, are the only two that have been shared by the\nconqueror.\"\n\n\"You forget India with its wealth of gold, and the great migratory\nnations of Asia,\" answered Kallias. \"And you forget moreover, that an\nempire, composed like Persia of some seventy nations or tribes of\ndifferent languages and customs, bears the seeds of discord ever within\nitself, and must therefore guard against the chance of foreign attack;\nlest, while the bulk of the army be absent, single provinces should seize\nthe opportunity and revolt from their allegiance. Ask the Milesians how\nlong they would remain quiet if they heard that their oppressors had been\ndefeated in any battle?\"\n\nTheopompus, the Milesian merchant, called out, laughing at the same time:\n\"If the Persians were to be worsted in one war, they would at once be\ninvolved in a hundred others, and we should not be the last to rise up\nagainst our tyrants in the hour of their weakness!\"\n\n\"Whatever the intentions of the envoys may be,\" continued Kallias, \"my\ninformation remains unaltered; they will be here at the latest in three\ndays.\"\n\n\"And so your oracle will be fulfilled, fortunate Aristomachus!\" exclaimed\nRhodopis, \"for see, the warrior hosts can only be the Persians. When they\ndescend to the shores of the Nile, then the powerful Five,' your Ephori,\nwill change their decision, and you, the father of two Olympian victors,\nwill be recalled to your native land.\n\n   [The five Ephori of Sparta were appointed to represent the absent\n   kings during the Messenian war. In later days the nobles made use\n   of the Ephori as a power, which, springing immediately from their\n   own body, they could oppose to the kingly authority. Being the\n   highest magistrates in all judicial and educational matters, and in\n   everything relating to the moral police of the country, the Ephori\n   soon found means to assert their superiority, and on most occasions\n   over that of the kings themselves. Every patrician who was past the\n   age of thirty, had the right to become a candidate yearly for the\n   office. Aristot. Potit, II. and IV. Laert. Diog. I. 68.]\n\n\"Fill the goblets again, Knakias. Let us devote this last cup to the\nmanes of the glorious Lysander; and then I advise you to depart, for it\nis long past midnight, and our pleasure has reached its highest point.\nThe true host puts an end to the banquet when his guests are feeling at\ntheir best. Serene and agreeable recollections will soon bring you hither\nagain; whereas there would be little joy in returning to a house where\nthe remembrance of hours of weakness, the result of pleasure, would\nmingle with your future enjoyment.\" In this her guests agreed, and Ibykus\nnamed her a thorough disciple of Pythagoras, in praise of the joyous,\nfestive evening.\n\nEvery one prepared for departure. The Sybarite, who had been drinking\ndeeply in order to counteract the very inconvenient amount of feeling\nexcited by the conversation, rose also, assisted by his slaves, who had\nto be called in for this purpose.\n\nWhile he was being moved from his former comfortable position, he\nstammered something about a \"breach of hospitality;\" but, when Rhodopis\nwas about to give him her hand at parting, the wine gained the ascendancy\nand he exclaimed, \"By Hercules, Rhodopis, you get rid of us as if we were\ntroublesome creditors. It is not my custom to leave a supper so long as I\ncan stand, still less to be turned out of doors like a miserable\nparasite!\"\n\n\"Hear reason, you immoderate Sybarite,\" began Rhodopis, endeavoring with\na smile to excuse her proceeding. But these words, in Philoinus'\nhalf-intoxicated mood, only increased his irritation; he burst into a\nmocking laugh, and staggering towards the door, shouted: \"Immoderate\nSybarite, you call me? good! here you have your answer: Shameless slave!\none can still perceive the traces of what you were in your youth.\nFarewell then, slave of Iadmon and Xanthus, freedwoman of Charaxus!\" He\nhad not however finished his sentence, when Aristomachus rushed upon him,\nstunned him with a blow of his fist, and carried him off like a child\ndown to the boat in which his slaves were waiting at the garden-gate.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Did the ancients know anything of love\n     Folly to fret over what cannot be undone\n     Go down into the grave before us (Our children)\n     He who kills a cat is punished (for murder)\n     In those days men wept, as well as women\n     Lovers delighted in nature then as now\n     Multitude who, like the gnats, fly towards every thing brilliant\n     Olympics--The first was fixed 776 B.C.\n     Papyrus Ebers\n     Pious axioms to be repeated by the physician, while compounding\n     Romantic love, as we know it, a result of Christianity\n     True host puts an end to the banquet\n     Whether the historical romance is ever justifiable\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe guests were all gone. Their departing mirth and joy had been smitten\ndown by the drunkard's abusive words, like fresh young corn beneath a\nhail storm. Rhodopis was left standing alone in the empty, brightly\ndecorated (supper-room). Knakias extinguished the colored lamps on the\nwalls, and a dull, mysterious half-light took the place of their\nbrilliant rays, falling scantily and gloomily on the piled-up plates and\ndishes, the remnants of the meal, and the seats and cushions, pushed out\nof their places by the retiring guests. A cold breeze came through the\nopen door, for the dawn was at hand, and just before sunrise, the air is\ngenerally unpleasantly cool in Egypt. A cold chill struck the limbs of\nthe aged woman through her light garments. She stood gazing tearlessly\nand fixedly into the desolate room, whose walls but a few minutes before\nhad been echoing with joy and gladness, and it seemed to her that the\ndeserted guest-chamber must be like her own heart. She felt as if a worm\nwere gnawing there, and the warm blood congealing into ice.\n\nLost in these thoughts, she remained standing till at last her old female\nslave appeared to light her to her sleeping apartment.\n\nSilently Rhodopis allowed herself to be undressed, and then, as silently,\nlifted the curtain which separated a second sleeping apartment from her\nown. In the middle of this second room stood a bedstead of maplewood, and\nthere, on white sheets spread over a mattress of fine sheep's wool, and\nprotected from the cold by bright blue coverlets's, lay a graceful,\nlovely girl asleep; this was Rhodopis' granddaughter, Sappho. The rounded\nform and delicate figure seemed to denote one already in opening\nmaidenhood, but the peaceful, blissful smile could only belong to a\nharmless, happy child.\n\nOne hand lay under her head, hidden among the thick dark brown hair, the\nother clasped unconsciously a little amulet of green stone, which hung\nround her neck. Over her closed eyes the long lashes trembled almost\nimperceptibly, and a delicate pink flush came and went on the cheek of\nthe slumberer. The finely-cut nostrils rose and fell with her regular\nbreathing, and she lay there, a picture of innocence, of peace, smiling\nin dreams, and of the slumber that the gods bestow on early youth, when\ncare has not yet come.\n\nSoftly and carefully, crossing the thick carpets on tiptoe, the\ngrey-haired woman approached, looked with unutterable tenderness into the\nsmiling, childish face, and, kneeling down silently by the side of the\nbed, buried her face in its soft coverings, so that the girl's hand just\ncame in contact with her hair. Then she wept, and without intermission;\nas though she hoped with this flood of tears to wash away not only her\nrecent humiliation, but with it all other sorrow from her mind.\n\nAt length she rose, breathed a light kiss on the sleeping girl's\nforehead, raised her hands in prayer towards heaven, and returned to her\nown room, gently and carefully as she had come.\n\nAt her own bedside she found the old slave-woman, still waiting for her.\n\n\"What do you want so late, Melitta?\" said Rhodopis, kindly, under her\nbreath. \"Go to bed; at your age it is not good to remain up late, and you\nknow that I do not require you any longer. Good night! and do not come\nto-morrow until I send for you. I shall not be able to sleep much\nto-night, and shall be thankful if the morning brings me a short repose.\"\n\nThe woman hesitated; it seemed that she had some thing on her mind which\nshe feared to utter.\n\n\"There is something you want to ask me?\" said Rhodopis.\n\nStill the old slave hesitated.\n\n\"Speak!\" said Rhodopis, \"speak at once, and quickly.\"\n\n\"I saw you weeping,\" said the slave-woman, \"you seem ill or sad; let me\nwatch this night by your bedside. Will you not tell me what ails you? You\nhave often found that to tell a sorrow lightens the heart and lessens the\npain. Then tell me your grief to-day too; it will do you good, it will\nbring back peace to your mind.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the other, \"I cannot utter it.\" And then she continued,\nsmiling bitterly: \"I have once more experienced that no one, not even a\ngod, has power to cancel the past of any human being, and that, in this\nworld, misfortune and disgrace are one and the same. Good night, leave\nme; Melitta!\"\n\nAt noon on the following day, the same boat, which, the evening before,\nhad carried the Athenian and the Spartan, stopped once more before\nRhodopis' garden.\n\nThe sun was shining so brightly, so warmly and genially in the dark blue\nEgyptian sky, the air was so pure and light, the beetles were humming so\nmerrily, the boatmen singing so lustily and happily, the shores of the\nNile bloomed in such gay, variegated beauty, and were so thickly peopled,\nthe palm-trees, sycamores, bananas and acacias were so luxuriant in\nfoliage and blossom, and over the whole landscape the rarest and most\nglorious gifts seemed to have been poured out with such divine\nmunificence, that a passer-by must have pronounced it the very home of\njoy and gladness, a place from which sadness and sorrow had been forever\nbanished.\n\nHow often we fancy, in passing a quiet village hidden among its orchards,\nthat this at least must be the abode of peace, and unambitious\ncontentment! But alas! when we enter the cottages, what do we find?\nthere, as everywhere else, distress and need, passion and unsatisfied\nlonging, fear and remorse, pain and misery; and by the side of these, Ah!\nhow few joys! Who would have imagined on coming to Egypt, that this\nluxuriant, laughing sunny land, whose sky is always unclouded, could\npossibly produce and nourish men given to bitterness and severity? that\nwithin the charming, hospitable house of the fortunate Rhodopis, covered\nand surrounded, as it was, with sweet flowers, a heart could have been\nbeating in the deepest sadness? And, still more, who among all the guests\nof that honored, admired Thracian woman, would have believed that this\nsad heart belonged to her? to the gracious, smiling matron, Rhodopis\nherself?\n\nShe was sitting with Phanes in a shady arbor near the cooling spray of a\nfountain. One could see that she had been weeping again, but her face was\nbeautiful and kind as ever. The Athenian was holding her hand and trying\nto comfort her.\n\nRhodopis listened patiently, and smiled the while; at times her smile was\nbitter, at others it gave assent to his words. At last however she\ninterrupted her well-intentioned friend, by saying:\n\n\"Phanes, I thank you. Sooner or later this last disgrace must be\nforgotten too. Time is clever in the healing art. If I were weak I should\nleave Naukratis and live in retirement for my grandchild alone; a whole\nworld, believe me, lies slumbering in that young creature. Many and many\na time already I have longed to leave Egypt, and as often have conquered\nthe wish. Not because I cannot live without the homage of your sex; of\nthat I have already had more than enough in my life, but because I feel\nthat I, the slave-girl and the despised woman once, am now useful,\nnecessary, almost indispensable indeed, to many free and noble men.\nAccustomed as I am, to an extended sphere of work, in its nature\nresembling a man's, I could not content myself in living for one being\nalone, however dear. I should dry up like a plant removed from a rich\nsoil into the desert, and should leave my grandchild desolate indeed,\nthree times orphaned, and alone in the world. No! I shall remain in\nEgypt.\n\n\"Now that you are leaving, I shall be really indispensable to our friends\nhere. Amasis is old; when Psamtik comes to the throne we shall have\ninfinitely greater difficulties to contend with than heretofore. I must\nremain and fight on in the fore-front of our battle for the freedom and\nwelfare of the Hellenic race. Let them call my efforts unwomanly if they\nwill. This is, and shall be, the purpose of my life, a purpose to which I\nwill remain all the more faithful, because it is one of those to which a\nwoman rarely dares devote her life. During this last night of tears I\nhave felt that much, very much of that womanly weakness still lingers in\nme which forms at once the happiness and misery of our sex. To preserve\nthis feminine weakness in my granddaughter, united with perfect womanly\ndelicacy, has been my first duty; my second to free myself entirely from\nit. But a war against one's own nature cannot be carried on without\noccasional defeat, even if ultimately successful. When grief and pain are\ngaining the upperhand and I am well nigh in despair, my only help lies in\nremembering my friend Pythagoras, that noblest among men, and his words:\n'Observe a due proportion in all things, avoid excessive joy as well as\ncomplaining grief, and seek to keep thy soul in tune and harmony like a\nwell-toned harp.'\"\n\n   [There is no question that Pythagoras visited Egypt during the reign\n   of Amasis, probably towards the middle of the 6th century (according\n   to our reckoning, about 536 B. C.) Herod. II. 81-123. Diod. I. 98.\n   Rich information about Pythagoras is to be found in the works of the\n   very learned scholar Roeth, who is however occasionally much too\n   bold in his conjectures. Pythagoras was the first among Greek\n   thinkers (speculators). He would not take the name of a wise man or\n   \"sage,\" but called himself \"Philosophos,\" or a \"friend of wisdom.\"]\n\n\"This Pythagorean inward peace, this deep, untroubled calm, I see daily\nbefore me in my Sappho; and struggle to attain it myself, though many a\nstroke of fate untunes the chords of my poor heart. I am calm now! You\nwould hardly believe what power the mere thought of that first of all\nthinkers, that calm, deliberate man, whose life acted on mine like sweet,\nsoft music, has over me. You knew him, you can understand what I mean.\nNow, mention your wish; my heart is as calmly quiet as the Nile waters\nwhich are flowing by so quietly, and I am ready to hear it, be it good or\nevil.\"\n\n\"I am glad to see you thus,\" said the Athenian. \"If you had remembered\nthe noble friend of wisdom, as Pythagoras was wont to call himself a\nlittle sooner, your soul would have regained its balance yesterday. The\nmaster enjoins us to look back every evening on the events, feelings and\nactions of the day just past.\n\n\"Now had you done this, you would have felt that the unfeigned admiration\nof all your guests, among whom were men of distinguished merit,\noutweighed a thousandfold the injurious words of a drunken libertine; you\nwould have felt too that you were a friend of the gods, for was it not in\nyour house that the immortals gave that noble old man at last, after his\nlong years of misfortune, the greatest joy that can fall to the lot of\nany human being? and did they not take from you one friend only in order\nto replace him in the same moment, by another and a better? Come, I will\nhear no contradiction. Now for my request.\n\n\"You know that people sometimes call me an Athenian, sometimes a\nHalikarnassian. Now, as the Ionian, AEolian and Dorian mercenaries have\nnever been on good terms with the Karians, my almost triple descent (if I\nmay call it so) has proved very useful to me as commander of both these\ndivisions. Well qualified as Aristomachus may be for the command, yet in\nthis one point Amasis will miss me; for I found it an easy matter to\nsettle the differences among the troops and keep them at peace, while he,\nas a Spartan, will find it very difficult to keep right with the Karian\nsoldiers.\n\n\"This double nationality of mine arises from the fact that my father\nmarried a Halikarnassian wife out of a noble Dorian family, and, at the\ntime of my birth, was staying with her in Halikarnassus, having come\nthither in order to take possession of her parental inheritance. So,\nthough I was taken back to Athens before I was three months old, I must\nstill be called a Karian, as a man's native land is decided by his\nbirthplace.\n\n\"In Athens, as a young nobleman, belonging to that most aristocratic and\nancient family, the Philaidae, I was reared and educated in all the pride\nof an Attic noble. Pisistratus, brave and clever, and though of equal,\nyet by no means of higher birth, than ourselves, for there exists no\nfamily more aristocratic than my father's, gained possession of the\nsupreme authority. Twice, the nobles, by uniting all their strength,\nsucceeded in overthrowing him, and when, the third time, assisted by\nLygdamis of Naxos, the Argives and Eretrians, he attempted to return, we\nopposed him again. We had encamped by the temple of Minerva at Pallene,\nand were engaged in sacrificing to the goddess, early, before our first\nmeal, when we were suddenly surprised by the clever tyrant, who gained an\neasy, bloodless victory over our unarmed troops. As half of the entire\narmy opposed to the tyrant was under my command, I determined rather to\ndie than yield, fought with my whole strength, implored the soldiers to\nremain steadfast, resisted without yielding a point, but fell at last\nwith a spear in my shoulder.\n\n\"The Pisistratidae became lords of Athens. I fled to Halikarnassus, my\nsecond home, accompanied by my wife and children. There, my name being\nknown through some daring military exploits, and, through my having once\nconquered in the Pythian games, I was appointed to a command in the\nmercenary troops of the King of Egypt; accompanied the expedition to\nCyprus, shared with Aristomachus the renown of having conquered the\nbirthplace of Aphrodite for Amasis, and finally was named\ncommander-in-chief of all the mercenaries in Egypt.\n\n\"Last summer my wife died; our children, a boy of eleven and a girl of\nten years, remained with an aunt in Halikarnassus. But she too has\nfollowed to the inexorable Hades, and so, only a few days ago I sent for\nthe little ones here. They cannot, however, possibly reach Naukratis in\nless than three weeks, and yet they will already have set out on their\njourney before a letter to countermand my first order could reach them.\n\n\"I must leave Egypt in fourteen days, and cannot therefore receive them\nmyself.\n\n\"My own intentions are to go to the Thracian Chersonese, where my uncle,\nas you know, has been called to fill a high office among the Dolonki. The\nchildren shall follow me thither; my faithful old slave Korax will remain\nin Naukratis on purpose to bring them to me.\n\n\"Now, if you will show to me that you are in deed and truth my friend,\nwill you receive the little ones and take care of them till the next ship\nsails for Thrace? But above all, will you carefully conceal them from the\neyes of the crown-prince's spies? You know that Psamtik hates me\nmortally, and he could easily revenge himself on the father through the\nchildren. I ask you for this great favor, first, because I know your\nkindness by experience; and secondly, because your house has been made\nsecure by the king's letter of guarantee, and they will therefore be safe\nhere from the inquiries of the police; notwithstanding that, by the laws\nof this most formal country, all strangers, children not excepted, must\ngive up their names to the officer of the district.\n\n\"You can now judge of the depth of my esteem, Rhodopis; I am committing\ninto your hands all that makes life precious to me; for even my native\nland has ceased to be dear while she submits so ignominiously to her\ntyrants. Will you then restore tranquillity to an anxious father's heart,\nwill you--?\"\n\n\"I will, Phanes, I will!\" cried the aged woman in undisguised delight.\n\"You are not asking me for any thing, you are presenting me with a gift.\nOh, how I look forward already to their arrival! And how glad Sappho will\nbe, when the little creatures come and enliven her solitude! But this I\ncan assure you, Phanes, I shall not let my little guests depart with the\nfirst Thracian ship. You can surely afford to be separated from them one\nshort half-year longer, and I promise you they shall receive the best\nlessons, and be guided to all that is good and beautiful.\"\n\n\"On that head I have no fear,\" answered Phanes, with a thankful smile.\n\"But still you must send off the two little plagues by the first ship; my\nanxiety as to Psamtik's revenge is only too well grounded. Take my most\nheartfelt thanks beforehand for all the love and kindness which you will\nshow to my children. I too hope and believe, that the merry little\ncreatures will be an amusement and pleasure to Sappho in her lonely\nlife.\"\n\n\"And more,\" interrupted Rhodopis looking down; \"this proof of confidence\nrepays a thousand-fold the disgrace inflicted on me last night in a\nmoment of intoxication.--But here comes Sappho!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nFive days after the evening we have just described at Rhodopis' house, an\nimmense multitude was to be seen assembled at the harbor of Sais.\n\nEgyptians of both sexes, and of every age and class were thronging to the\nwater's edge.\n\nSoldiers and merchants, whose various ranks in society were betokened by\nthe length of their white garments, bordered with colored fringes, were\ninterspersed among the crowd of half-naked, sinewy men, whose only\nclothing consisted of an apron, the costume of the lower classes. Naked\nchildren crowded, pushed and fought to get the best places. Mothers in\nshort cloaks were holding their little ones up to see the sight, which by\nthis means they entirely lost themselves; and a troop of dogs and cats\nwere playing and fighting at the feet of these eager sight-seers, who\ntook the greatest pains not to tread on, or in any way injure the sacred\nanimals.\n\n   [According to various pictures on the Egyptian monuments. The\n   mothers are from Wilkinson III. 363. Isis and Hathor, with the\n   child Horus in her lap or at her breast, are found in a thousand\n   representations, dating both from more modern times and in the Greek\n   style. The latter seem to have served as a model for the earliest\n   pictures of the Madonna holding the infant Christ.]\n\nThe police kept order among this huge crowd with long staves, on the\nmetal heads of which the king's name was inscribed. Their care was\nespecially needed to prevent any of the people from being pushed into the\nswollen Nile, an arm of which, in the season of the inundations, washes\nthe walls of Sais.\n\nOn the broad flight of steps which led between two rows of sphinxes down\nto the landing-place of the royal boats, was a very different kind of\nassembly.\n\nThe priests of the highest rank were seated there on stone benches. Many\nwore long, white robes, others were clad in aprons, broad jewelled\ncollars, and garments of panther skins. Some had fillets adorned with\nplumes that waved around brows, temples, and the stiff structures of\nfalse curls that floated over their shoulders; others displayed the\nglistening bareness of their smoothly-shaven skulls. The supreme judge\nwas distinguished by the possession of the longest and handsomest plume\nin his head-dress, and a costly sapphire amulet, which, suspended by a\ngold chain, hung on his breast.\n\nThe highest officers of the Egyptian army wore uniforms of gay colors,97\nand carried short swords in their girdles. On the right side of the steps\na division of the body-guard was stationed, armed with battleaxes,\ndaggers, bows, and large shields; on the left, were the Greek\nmercenaries, armed in Ionian fashion. Their new leader, our friend\nAristomachus, stood with a few of his own officers apart from the\nEgyptians, by the colossal statues of Psamtik I., which had been erected\non the space above the steps, their faces towards the river.\n\nIn front of these statues, on a silver chair, sat Psamtik, the heir to\nthe throne: He wore a close-fitting garment of many colors, interwoven\nwith gold, and was surrounded by the most distinguished among the king's\ncourtiers, chamberlains, counsellors, and friends, all bearing staves\nwith ostrich feathers and lotus-flowers.\n\nThe multitude gave vent to their impatience by shouting, singing, and\nquarrelling; but the priests and magnates on the steps preserved a\ndignified and solemn silence. Each, with his steady, unmoved gaze, his\nstiffly-curled false wig and beard, and his solemn, deliberate manner,\nresembled the two huge statues, which, the one precisely similar to the\nother, stood also motionless in their respective places, gazing calmly\ninto the stream.\n\nAt last silken sails, chequered with purple and blue, appeared in sight.\n\nThe crowd shouted with delight. Cries of, \"They are coming! Here they\nare!\" \"Take care, or you'll tread on that kitten,\" \"Nurse, hold the child\nhigher that she may see something of the sight.\" \"You are pushing me into\nthe water, Sebak!\" \"Have a care Phoenician, the boys are throwing burs\ninto your long beard.\" \"Now, now, you Greek fellow, don't fancy that all\nEgypt belongs to you, because Amasis allows you to live on the shores of\nthe sacred river!\" \"Shameless set, these Greeks, down with them!\" shouted\na priest, and the cry was at once echoed from many mouths. \"Down with the\neaters of swine's flesh and despisers of the gods!\"\n\n   [The Egyptians, like the Jews, were forbidden to eat swine's flesh.\n   This prohibition is mentioned in the Ritual of the Dead, found in a\n   grave in Abd-el-Qurnah, and also in other places. Porphyr. de\n   Abstin. IV. The swine was considered an especially unclean animal\n   pertaining to Typhon (Egyptian, Set) as the boar to Ares, and\n   swineherds were an especially despised race. Animals with bristles\n   were only sacrificed at the feasts of Osiris and Eileithyia. Herod.\n   I. 2. 47. It is probable that Moses borrowed his prohibition of\n   swine's flesh from the Egyptian laws with regard to unclean\n   animals.]\n\nFrom words they were proceeding to deeds, but the police were not to be\ntrifled with, and by a vigorous use of their staves, the tumult was soon\nstilled. The large, gay sails, easily to be distinguished among the\nbrown, white and blue ones of the smaller Nile-boats which swarmed around\nthem, came nearer and nearer to the expectant throng. Then at last the\ncrown-prince and the dignitaries arose from their seats. The royal band\nof trumpeters blew a shrill and piercing blast of welcome, and the first\nof the expected boats stopped at the landing-place.\n\nIt was a rather long, richly-gilded vessel, and bore a silver\nsparrow-hawk as figure-head. In its midst rose a golden canopy with a\npurple covering, beneath which cushions were conveniently arranged. On\neach deck in the forepart of the ship sat twelve rowers, their aprons\nattached by costly fastenings.\n\n   [Splendid Nile-boats were possessed, in greater or less numbers, by\n   all the men of high rank. Even in the tomb of Ti at Sakkara, which\n   dates from the time of the Pyramids, we meet with a chief overseer\n   of the vessels belonging to a wealthy Egyptian.]\n\nBeneath the canopy lay six fine-looking men in glorious apparel; and\nbefore the ship had touched the shore the youngest of these, a beautiful\nfair-haired youth, sprang on to the steps.\n\nMany an Egyptian girl's mouth uttered a lengthened \"Ah\" at this glorious\nsight, and even the grave faces of some of the dignitaries brightened\ninto a friendly smile.\n\nThe name of this much-admired youth was Bartja.\n\n   [This Bartja is better known under the name of Smerdis, but on what\n   account the Greeks gave him this name is not clear. In the\n   cuneiform inscriptions of Bisitun or Behistun, he is called Bartja,\n   or, according to Spiegel, Bardiya. We have chosen, for the sake of\n   the easy pronunciation, the former, which is Rawlinson's simplified\n   reading of the name.]\n\nHe was the son of the late, and brother of the reigning king of Persia,\nand had been endowed by nature with every gift that a youth of twenty\nyears could desire for himself.\n\nAround his tiara was wound a blue and white turban, beneath which hung\nfair, golden curls of beautiful, abundant hair; his blue eyes sparkled\nwith life and joy, kindness and high spirits, almost with sauciness; his\nnoble features, around which the down of a manly beard was already\nvisible, were worthy of a Grecian sculptor's chisel, and his slender but\nmuscular figure told of strength and activity. The splendor of his\napparel was proportioned to his personal beauty. A brilliant star of\ndiamonds and turquoises glittered in the front of his tiara. An upper\ngarment of rich white and gold brocade reaching just below the knees, was\nfastened round the waist with a girdle of blue and white, the royal\ncolors of Persia. In this girdle gleamed a short, golden sword, its hilt\nand scabbard thickly studded with opals and sky-blue turquoises. The\ntrousers were of the same rich material as the robe, fitting closely at\nthe ankle, and ending within a pair of short boots of light-blue leather.\n\nThe long, wide sleeves of his robe displayed a pair of vigorous arms,\nadorned with many costly bracelets of gold and jewels; round his slender\nneck and on his broad chest lay a golden chain.\n\nSuch was the youth who first sprang on shore. He was followed by Darius,\nthe son of Hystaspes, a young Persian of the blood royal, similar in\nperson to Bartja, and scarcely less gorgeously apparelled than he. The\nthird to disembark was an aged man with snow-white hair, in whose face\nthe gentle and kind expression of childhood was united, with the\nintellect of a man, and the experience of old age. His dress consisted of\na long purple robe with sleeves, and the yellow boots worn by the\nLydians;--his whole appearance produced an impression of the greatest\nmodesty and a total absence of pretension.\n\n   [On account of these boots, which are constantly mentioned, Croesus\n   was named by the oracle \"soft-footed.\"]\n\nYet this simple old man had been, but a few years before, the most envied\nof his race and age; and even in our day at two thousand years' interval,\nhis name is used as a synonyme for the highest point of worldly riches\nattainable by mankind. The old man to whom we are now introduced is no\nother than Croesus, the dethroned king of Lydia, who was then living at\nthe court of Cambyses, as his friend and counsellor, and had accompanied\nthe young Bartja to Egypt, in the capacity of Mentor.\n\nCroesus was followed by Prexaspes, the king's Ambassador, Zopyrus, the\nson of Megabyzus, a Persian noble, the friend of Bartja and Darius; and,\nlastly, by his own son, the slender, pale Gyges, who after having become\ndumb in his fourth year through the fearful anguish he had suffered on\nhis father's account at the taking of Sardis, had now recovered the power\nof speech.\n\nPsamtik descended the steps to welcome the strangers. His austere, sallow\nface endeavored to assume a smile. The high officials in his train bowed\ndown nearly to the ground, allowing their arms to hang loosely at their\nsides. The Persians, crossing their hands on their breasts, cast\nthemselves on the earth before the heir to the Egyptian throne. When the\nfirst formalities were over, Bartja, according to the custom of his\nnative country, but greatly to the astonishment of the populace, who were\ntotally unaccustomed to such a sight, kissed the sallow cheek of the\nEgyptian prince; who shuddered at the touch of a stranger's unclean lips,\nthen took his way to the litters waiting to convey him and his escort to\nthe dwelling designed for them by the king, in the palace at Sais.\n\nA portion of the crowd streamed after the strangers, but the larger\nnumber remained at their places, knowing that many a new and wonderful\nsight yet awaited them.\n\n\"Are you going to run after those dressed-up monkeys and children of\nTyphon, too?\" asked an angry priest of his neighbor, a respectable tailor\nof Sais. \"I tell you, Puhor, and the high-priest says so too, that these\nstrangers can bring no good to the black land! I am for the good old\ntimes, when no one who cared for his life dared set foot on Egyptian\nsoil. Now our streets are literally swarming with cheating Hebrews, and\nabove all with those insolent Greeks whom may the gods destroy!\n\n   [The Jews were called Hebrews (Apuriu) by the Egyptians; as brought\n   to light by Chabas. See Ebers, Aegypten I. p. 316. H. Brugsch\n   opposes this opinion.]\n\n\"Only look, there is the third boat full of strangers! And do you know\nwhat kind of people these Persians are? The high-priest says that in the\nwhole of their kingdom, which is as large as half the world, there is not\na single temple to the gods; and that instead of giving decent burial to\nthe dead, they leave them to be torn in pieces by dogs and vultures.\"\n\n   [These statements are correct, as the Persians, at the time of the\n   dynasty of the Achaemenidae, had no temples, but used fire-altars\n   and exposed their dead to the dogs and vultures. An impure corpse\n   was not permitted to defile the pure earth by its decay; nor might\n   it be committed to the fire or water for destruction, as their\n   purity would be equally polluted by such an act. But as it was\n   impossible to cause the dead bodies to vanish, Dakhmas or burying-\n   places were laid out, which had to be covered with pavement and\n   cement not less than four inches thick, and surrounded by cords to\n   denote that the whole structure was as it were suspended in the air,\n   and did not come in contact with the pure earth. Spiegel, Avesta\n   II.]\n\n\"The tailor's indignation at hearing this was even greater than his\nastonishment, and pointing to the landing-steps, he cried:\n\n\"It is really too bad; see, there is the sixth boat full of these\nforeigners!\"\n\n\"Yes, it is hard indeed!\" sighed the priest, \"one might fancy a whole\narmy arriving. Amasis will go on in this manner until the strangers drive\nhim from his throne and country, and plunder and make slaves of us poor\ncreatures, as the evil Hyksos, those scourges of Egypt, and the black\nEthiopians did, in the days of old.\"\n\n\"The seventh boat!\" shouted the tailor.\n\n\"May my protectress Neith, the great goddess of Sais, destroy me, if I\ncan understand the king,\" complained the priest. \"He sent three barks to\nNaukratis, that poisonous nest hated of the gods, to fetch the servants\nand baggage of these Persians; but instead of three, eight had to be\nprocured, for these despisers of the gods and profaners of dead bodies\nhave not only brought kitchen utensils, dogs, horses, carriages, chests,\nbaskets and bales, but have dragged with them, thousands of miles, a\nwhole host of servants. They tell me that some of them have no other work\nthan twining of garlands and preparing ointments. Their priests too, whom\nthey call Magi, are here with them. I should like to know what they are\nfor? of what use is a priest where there is no temple?\"\n\nThe old King Amasis received the Persian embassy shortly after their\narrival with all the amiability and kindness peculiar to him.\n\nFour days later, after having attended to the affairs of state, a duty\npunctually fulfilled by him every morning without exception, he went\nforth to walk with Croesus in the royal gardens. The remaining members of\nthe embassy, accompanied by the crown-prince, were engaged in an\nexcursion up the Nile to the city of Memphis.\n\nThe palace-gardens, of a royal magnificence, yet similar in their\narrangement to those of Rhodopis, lay in the north-west part of Sais,\nnear the royal citadel.\n\nHere, under the shadow of a spreading plane-tree, and near a gigantic\nbasin of red granite, into which an abundance of clear water flowed\nperpetually through the jaws of black basalt crocodiles, the two old men\nseated themselves.\n\nThe dethroned king, though in reality some years the elder of the two,\nlooked far fresher and more vigorous than the powerful monarch at his\nside. Amasis was tall, but his neck was bent; his corpulent body was\nsupported by weak and slender legs: and his face, though well-formed, was\nlined and furrowed. But a vigorous spirit sparkled in the small, flashing\neyes, and an expression of raillery, sly banter, and at times, even of\nirony, played around his remarkably full lips. The low, broad brow, the\nlarge and beautifully-arched head bespoke great mental power, and in the\nchanging color of his eyes one seemed to read that neither wit nor\npassion were wanting in the man, who, from his simple place as soldier in\nthe ranks, had worked his way up to the throne of the Pharaohs. His voice\nwas sharp and hard, and his movements, in comparison with the\ndeliberation of the other members of the Egyptian court, appeared almost\nmorbidly active.\n\nThe attitude and bearing of his neighbor Croesus were graceful, and in\nevery way worthy of a king. His whole manner showed that he had lived in\nfrequent intercourse with the highest and noblest minds of Greece.\nThales, Anaximander and Anaximenes of Miletus, Bias of Priene, Solon of\nAthens, Pittakus of Lesbos, the most celebrated Hellenic philosophers,\nhad in former and happier days been guests at the court of Croesus in\nSardis. His full clear voice sounded like pure song when compared with\nthe shrill tones of Amasis.\n\n   [Bias, a philosopher of Ionian origin, flourished about 560 B. C.\n   and was especially celebrated for his wise maxims on morals and law.\n   After his death, which took place during his defence of a friend in\n   the public court, a temple was erected to him by his countrymen.\n   Laert. Diog. I. 88.]\n\n\"Now tell me openly,\" began king Pharaoh--[In English \"great house,\" the\nhigh gate or \"sublime porte.\"]--in tolerably fluent Greek, \"what opinion\nhast thou formed of Egypt? Thy judgment possesses for me more worth than\nthat of any other man, for three reasons: thou art better acquainted with\nmost of the countries and nations of this earth; the gods have not only\nallowed thee to ascend the ladder of fortune to its utmost summit, but\nalso to descend it, and thirdly, thou hast long been the first counsellor\nto the mightiest of kings. Would that my kingdom might please thee so\nwell that thou wouldst remain here and become to me a brother. Verily,\nCroesus, my friend hast thou long been, though my eyes beheld thee\nyesterday for the first time!\"\n\n\"And thou mine,\" interrupted the Lydian. \"I admire the courage with which\nthou hast accomplished that which seemed right and good in thine eyes, in\nspite of opposition near and around thee. I am thankful for the favor\nshown to the Hellenes, my friends, and I regard thee as related to me by\nfortune, for hast thou not also passed through all the extremes of good\nand evil that this life can offer?\"\n\n\"With this difference,\" said Amasis smiling, \"that we started from\nopposite points; in thy lot the good came first, the evil later; whereas\nin my own this order has been reversed. In saying this, however,\" he\nadded, \"I am supposing that my present fortune is a good for me, and that\nI enjoy it.\"\n\n\"And I, in that case,\" answered Croesus, \"must be assuming that I am\nunhappy in what men call my present ill-fortune.\"\n\n\"How can it possibly be otherwise after the loss of such enormous\npossessions?\"\n\n\"Does happiness consist then in possession?\" asked Croesus. \"Is happiness\nitself a thing to be possessed? Nay, by no means! It is nothing but a\nfeeling, a sensation, which the envious gods vouchsafe more often to the\nneedy than to the mighty. The clear sight of the latter becomes dazzled\nby the glittering treasure, and they cannot but suffer continual\nhumiliation, because, conscious of possessing power to obtain much, they\nwage an eager war for all, and therein are continually defeated.\"\n\nAmasis sighed, and answered: \"I would I could prove thee in the wrong;\nbut in looking back on my past life I am fain to confess that its cares\nbegan with that very hour which brought me what men call my good\nfortune.\"--\"And I,\" interrupted Croesus, \"can assure thee that I am\nthankful thou delayedst to come to my help, inasmuch as the hour of my\noverthrow was the beginning of true, unsullied happiness. When I beheld\nthe first Persians scale the walls of Sardis, I execrated myself and the\ngods, life appeared odious to me, existence a curse. Fighting on, but in\nheart despairing, I and my people were forced to yield. A Persian raised\nhis sword to cleave my skull--in an instant my poor dumb son had thrown\nhimself between his father and the murderer, and for the first time after\nlong years of silence, I heard him speak. Terror had loosened his tongue;\nin that dreadful hour Gyges learnt once more to speak, and I, who but the\nmoment before had been cursing the gods, bowed down before their power. I\nhad commanded a slave to kill me the moment I should be taken prisoner by\nthe Persians, but now I deprived him of his sword. I was a changed man,\nand by degrees learnt ever more and more to subdue the rage and\nindignation which yet from time to time would boil up again within my\nsoul, rebellious against my fate and my noble enemies. Thou knowest that\nat last I became the friend of Cyrus, and that my son grew up at his\ncourt, a free man at my side, having entirely regained the use of his\nspeech. Everything beautiful and good that I had heard, seen or thought\nduring my long life I treasured up now for him; he was my kingdom, my\ncrown, my treasure. Cyrus's days of care, his nights so reft of sleep,\nreminded me with horror of my own former greatness, and from day to day\nit became more evident to me that happiness has nothing to do with our\noutward circumstances. Each man possesses the hidden germ in his own\nheart. A contented, patient mind, rejoicing much in all that is great and\nbeautiful and yet despising not the day of small things; bearing sorrow\nwithout a murmur and sweetening it by calling to remembrance former joy;\nmoderation in all things; a firm trust in the favor of the gods and a\nconviction that, all things being subject to change, so with us too the\nworst must pass in due season; all this helps to mature the germ of\nhappiness, and gives us power to smile, where the man undisciplined by\nfate might yield to despair and fear.\"\n\nAmasis listened attentively, drawing figures the while in the sand with\nthe golden flower on his staff. At last he spoke:\n\n\"Verily, Croesus, I the great god, the 'sun of righteousness,' 'the son\nof Neith,' 'the lord of warlike glory,' as the Egyptians call me, am\ntempted to envy thee, dethroned and plundered as thou art. I have been as\nhappy as thou art now. Once I was known through all Egypt, though only\nthe poor son of a captain, for my light heart, happy temper, fun and high\nspirits. The common soldiers would do anything for me, my superior\nofficers could have found much fault, but in the mad Amasis, as they\ncalled me, all was overlooked, and among my equals, (the other\nunder-officers) there could be no fun or merry-making unless I took a\nshare in it. My predecessor king Hophra sent us against Cyrene. Seized\nwith thirst in the desert, we refused to go on; and a suspicion that the\nking intended to sacrifice us to the Greek mercenaries drove the army to\nopen mutiny. In my usual joking manner I called out to my friends: 'You\ncan never get on without a king, take me for your ruler; a merrier you\nwill never find!' The soldiers caught the words. 'Amasis will be our\nking,' ran through the ranks from man to man, and, in a few hours more,\nthey came to me with shouts, and acclamations of 'The good, jovial Amasis\nfor our King!' One of my boon companions set a field-marshal's helmet on\nmy head: I made the joke earnest, and we defeated Hophra at Momempliis.\nThe people joined in the conspiracy, I ascended the throne, and men\npronounced me fortunate. Up to that time I had been every Egyptian's\nfriend, and now I was the enemy of the best men in the nation.\n\n\"The priests swore allegiance to me, and accepted me as a member of their\ncaste, but only in the hope of guiding me at their will. My former\nsuperiors in command either envied me, or wished to remain on the same\nterms of intercourse as formerly. But this would have been inconsistent\nwith my new position, and have undermined my authority. One day,\ntherefore, when the officers of the host were at one of my banquets and\nattempting, as usual, to maintain their old convivial footing, I showed\nthem the golden basin in which their feet had been washed before sitting\ndown to meat; five days later, as they were again drinking at one of my\nrevels, I caused a golden image of the great god Ra be placed upon the\nrichly-ornamented banqueting-table.\n\n   [Ra, with the masculine article Phra, must be regarded as the\n   central point of the sun-worship of the Egyptians, which we consider\n   to have been the foundation of their entire religion. He was more\n   especially worshipped at Heliopolis. Plato, Eudoxus, and probably\n   Pythagoras also, profited by the teaching of his priests. The\n   obelisks, serving also as memorial monuments on which the names and\n   deeds of great kings were recorded, were sacred to him, and Pliny\n   remarks of them that they represented the rays of the sun. He was\n   regarded as the god of light, the director of the entire visible\n   creation, over which he reigned, as Osiris over the world of\n   spirits.]\n\n\"On perceiving it, they fell down to worship. As they rose from their\nknees, I took the sceptre, and holding it up on high with much solemnity,\nexclaimed: 'In five days an artificer has transformed the despised vessel\ninto which ye spat and in which men washed your feet, into this divine\nimage. Such a vessel was I, but the Deity, which can fashion better and\nmore quickly than a goldsmith, has made me your king. Bow down then\nbefore me and worship. He who henceforth refuses to obey, or is unmindful\nof the reverence due to the king, is guilty of death!'\n\n\"They fell down before me, every one, and I saved my authority, but lost\nmy friends. As I now stood in need of some other prop, I fixed on the\nHellenes, knowing that in all military qualifications one Greek is worth\nmore than five Egyptians, and that with this assistance I should be able\nto carry out those measures which I thought beneficial.\n\n\"I kept the Greek mercenaries always round me, I learnt their language,\nand it was they who brought to me the noblest human being I ever met,\nPythagoras. I endeavored to introduce Greek art and manners among\nourselves, seeing what folly lay in a self-willed adherence to that which\nhas been handed down to us, when it is in itself bad and unworthy, while\nthe good seed lay on our Egyptian soil, only waiting to be sown.\n\n\"I portioned out the whole land to suit my purposes, appointed the best\npolice in the world, and accomplished much; but my highest aim, namely:\nto infuse into this country, at once so gay and so gloomy, the spirit and\nintellect of the Greeks, their sense of beauty in form, their love of\nlife and joy in it, this all was shivered on the same rock which\nthreatens me with overthrow and ruin whenever I attempt to accomplish\nanything new. The priests are my opponents, my masters, they hang like a\ndead weight upon me. Clinging with superstitious awe to all that is old\nand traditionary, abominating everything foreign, and regarding every\nstranger as the natural enemy of their authority and their teaching, they\ncan lead the most devout and religious of all nations with a power that\nhas scarcely any limits. For this I am forced to sacrifice all my plans,\nfor this I see my life passing away in bondage to their severe\nordinances, this will rob my death-bed of peace, and I cannot be secure\nthat this host of proud mediators between god and man will allow me to\nrest even in my grave!\"\n\n\"By Zeus our saviour, with all thy good fortune, thou art to be pitied!\"\ninterrupted Croesus sympathetically, \"I understand thy misery; for though\nI have met with many an individual who passed through life darkly and\ngloomily, I could not have believed that an entire race of human beings\nexisted, to whom a gloomy, sullen heart was as natural as a poisonous\ntooth to the serpent. Yet it is true, that on my journey hither and\nduring my residence at this court I have seen none but morose and gloomy\ncountenances among the priesthood. Even the youths, thy immediate\nattendants, are never seen to smile; though cheerfulness, that sweet gift\nof the gods, usually belongs to the young, as flowers to spring.\"\n\n\"Thou errest,\" answered Amasis, \"in believing this gloom to be a\nuniversal characteristic of the Egyptians. It is true that our religion\nrequires much serious thought. There are few nations, however, who have\nso largely the gift of bantering fun and joke: or who on the occasion of\na festival, can so entirely forget themselves and everything else but the\nenjoyments of the moment; but the very sight of a stranger is odious to\nthe priests, and the moroseness which thou observest is intended as\nretaliation on me for my alliance with the strangers. Those very boys, of\nwhom thou spakest, are the greatest torment of my life. They perform for\nme the service of slaves, and obey my slightest nod. One might imagine\nthat the parents who devote their children to this service, and who are\nthe highest in rank among the priesthood, would be the most obedient and\nreverential servants of the king whom they profess to honor as divine;\nbut believe me, Croesus, just in this very act of devotion, which no\nruler can refuse to accept without giving offence, lies the most crafty,\nscandalous calculation. Each of these youths is my keeper, my spy. They\nwatch my smallest actions and report them at once to the priests.\"\n\n\"But how canst thou endure such an existence? Why not banish these spies\nand select servants from the military caste, for instance? They would be\nquite as useful as the priests.\"\n\n\"Ah! if I only could, if I dared!\" exclaimed Amasis loudly. And then, as\nif frightened at his own rashness, he continued in a low voice, \"I\nbelieve that even here I am being watched. To-morrow I will have that\ngrove of fig-trees yonder uprooted. The young priest there, who seems so\nfond of gardening, has other fruit in his mind besides the half-ripe figs\nthat he is so slowly dropping into his basket. While his hand is plucking\nthe figs, his ear gathers the words that fall from the mouth of his\nking.\"\n\n\"But, by our father Zeus, and by Apollo--\"\n\n\"Yes, I understand thy indignation and I share it; but every position has\nits duties, and as a king of a people who venerate tradition as the\nhighest divinity, I must submit, at least in the main, to the ceremonies\nhanded down through thousands of years. Were I to burst these fetters, I\nknow positively that at my death my body would remain unburied; for, know\nthat the priests sit in judgment over every corpse, and deprive the\ncondemned of rest, even in the grave.\"\n\n   [This well-known custom among the ancient Egyptians is confirmed,\n   not only by many Greek narrators, but by the laboriously erased\n   inscriptions discovered in the chambers of some tombs.]\n\n\"Why care about the grave?\" cried Croesus, becoming angry. \"We live for\nlife, not for death!\"\n\n\"Say rather,\" answered Amasis rising from his seat, \"we, with our Greek\nminds, believe a beautiful life to be the highest good. But Croesus, I\nwas begotten and nursed by Egyptian parents, nourished on Egyptian food,\nand though I have accepted much that is Greek, am still, in my innermost\nbeing, an Egyptian. What has been sung to us in our childhood, and\npraised as sacred in our youth, lingers on in the heart until the day\nwhich sees us embalmed as mummies. I am an old man and have but a short\nspan yet to run, before I reach the landmark which separates us from that\nfarther country. For the sake of life's few remaining days, shall I\nwillingly mar Death's thousands of years? No, my friend, in this point at\nleast I have remained an Egyptian, in believing, like the rest of my\ncountrymen, that the happiness of a future life in the kingdom of Osiris,\ndepends on the preservation of my body, the habitation of the soul.\n\n   [Each human soul was considered as a part of the world-soul Osiris,\n   was united to him after the death of the body, and thenceforth took\n   the name of Osiris. The Egyptian Cosmos consisted of the three\n   great realms, the Heavens, the Earth and the Depths. Over the vast\n   ocean which girdles the vault of heaven, the sun moves in a boat or\n   car drawn by the planets and fixed stars. On this ocean too the\n   great constellations circle in their ships, and there is the kingdom\n   of the blissful gods, who sit enthroned above this heavenly ocean\n   under a canopy of stars. The mouth of this great stream is in the\n   East, where the sun-god rises from the mists and is born again as a\n   child every morning. The surface of the earth is inhabited by human\n   beings having a share in the three great cosmic kingdoms. They\n   receive their soul from the heights of heaven, the seat and source\n   of light; their material body is of the earth; and the appearance or\n   outward form by which one human being is distinguished from another\n   at sight--his phantom or shadow--belongs to the depths. At death,\n   soul, body, and shadow separate from one another. The soul to\n   return to the place from whence it came, to Heaven, for it is a part\n   of God (of Osiris); the body, to be committed to the earth from\n   which it was formed in the image of its creator; the phantom or\n   shadow, to descend into the depths, the kingdom of shadows. The\n   gate to this kingdom was placed in the West among the sunset hills,\n   where the sun goes down daily,--where he dies. Thence arise the\n   changeful and corresponding conceptions connected with rising and\n   setting, arriving and departing, being born and dying. The careful\n   preservation of the body after death from destruction, not only\n   through the process of inward decay, but also through violence or\n   accident, was in the religion of ancient Egypt a principal condition\n   (perhaps introduced by the priests on sanitary grounds) on which\n   depended the speedy deliverance of the soul, and with this her\n   early, appointed union with the source of Light and Good, which two\n   properties were, in idea, one and indivisible. In the Egyptian\n   conceptions the soul was supposed to remain, in a certain sense,\n   connected with the body during a long cycle of solar years. She\n   could, however, quit the body from time to time at will, and could\n   appear to mortals in various forms and places; these appearances\n   differed according to the hour, and were prescribed in exact words\n   and delineations.]\n\n\"But enough of these matters; thou wilt find it difficult to enter into\nsuch thoughts. Tell me rather what thou thinkest of our temples and\npyramids.\"\n\nCroesus, after reflecting a moment, answered with a smile: \"Those huge\npyramidal masses of stone seem to me creations of the boundless desert,\nthe gaily painted temple colonnades to be the children of the Spring; but\nthough the sphinxes lead up to your temple gates, and seem to point the\nway into the very shrines themselves, the sloping fortress-like walls of\nthe Pylons, those huge isolated portals, appear as if placed there to\nrepel entrance. Your many-colored hieroglyphics likewise attract the\ngaze, but baffle the inquiring spirit by the mystery that lies within\ntheir characters. The images of your manifold gods are everywhere to be\nseen; they crowd on our gaze, and yet who knows not that their real is\nnot their apparent significance? that they are mere outward images of\nthoughts accessible only to the few, and, as I have heard, almost\nincomprehensible in their depth? My curiosity is excited everywhere, and\nmy interest awakened, but my warm love of the beautiful feels itself in\nno way attracted. My intellect might strain to penetrate the secrets of\nyour sages, but my heart and mind can never be at home in a creed which\nviews life as a short pilgrimage to the grave, and death as the only true\nlife!\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said Amasis, \"Death has for us too his terrors, and we do all\nin our power to evade his grasp. Our physicians would not be celebrated\nand esteemed as they are, if we did not believe that their skill could\nprolong our earthly existence. This reminds me of the oculist Nebenchari\nwhom I sent to Susa, to the king. Does he maintain his reputation? is the\nking content with him?\"\n\n\"Very much so,\" answered Croesus. \"He has been of use to many of the\nblind; but the king's mother is alas! still sightless. It was Nebenchari\nwho first spoke to Cambyses of the charms of thy daughter Tachot. But we\ndeplore that he understands diseases of the eye alone. When the Princess\nAtossa lay ill of fever, he was not to be induced to bestow a word of\ncounsel.\"\n\n\"That is very natural; our physicians are only permitted to treat one\npart of the body. We have aurists, dentists and oculists, surgeons for\nfractures of the bone, and others for internal diseases. By the ancient\npriestly law a dentist is not allowed to treat a deaf man, nor a surgeon\nfor broken bones a patient who is suffering from a disease of the bowels,\neven though he should have a first rate knowledge of internal complaints.\nThis law aims at securing a great degree of real and thorough knowledge;\nan aim indeed, pursued by the priests (to whose caste the physicians\nbelong) with a most praiseworthy earnestness in all branches of science.\nYonder lies the house of the high-priest Neithotep, whose knowledge of\nastronomy and geometry was so highly praised, even by Pythagoras. It lies\nnext to the porch leading into the temple of the goddess Neith, the\nprotectress of Sais. Would I could show thee the sacred grove with its\nmagnificent trees, the splendid pillars of the temple with capitals\nmodelled from the lotus-flower, and the colossal chapel which I caused to\nbe wrought from a single piece of granite, as an offering to the goddess;\nbut alas! entrance is strictly refused to strangers by the priests. Come,\nlet us seek my wife and daughter; they have conceived an affection for\nthee, and indeed it is my wish that thou shouldst gain a friendly feeling\ntowards this poor maiden before she goes forth with thee to the strange\nland, and to the strange nation whose princess she is to become. Wilt\nthou not adopt and take her under thy care?\"\n\n\"On that thou may'st with fullest confidence rely,\" replied Croesus with\nwarmth, returning the pressure of Amasis' hand. \"I will protect thy\nNitetis as if I were her father; and she will need my help, for the\napartments of the women in the Persian palaces are dangerous ground. But\nshe will meet with great consideration. Cambyses may be contented with\nhis choice, and will be highly gratified that thou hast entrusted him\nwith thy fairest child. Nebenchari had only spoken of Tachot, thy second\ndaughter.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless I will send my beautiful Nitetis. Tachot is so tender, that\nshe could scarcely endure the fatigues of the journey and the pain of\nseparation. Indeed were I to follow the dictates of my own heart, Nitetis\nshould never leave us for Persia. But Egypt stands in need of peace, and\nI was a king before I became a father!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe other members of the Persian embassy had returned to Sais from their\nexcursion up the Nile to the pyramids. Prexaspes alone, the ambassador\nfrom Cambyses, had already set out for Persia, in order to inform the\nking of the successful issue of his suit.\n\nThe palace of Amasis was full of life and stir. The huge building was\nfilled in all parts by the followers of the embassy, nearly three hundred\nin number, and by the high guests themselves, to whom every possible\nattention was paid. The courts of the palace swarmed with guards and\nofficials, with young priests and slaves, all in splendid festal raiment.\n\nOn this day it was the king's intention to make an especial display of\nthe wealth and splendor of his court, at a festival arranged in honor of\nhis daughter's betrothal.\n\nThe lofty reception-hall opening on to the gardens, with its ceiling sown\nwith thousands of golden stars and supported by gaily-painted columns,\npresented a magic appearance. Lamps of colored papyrus hung against the\nwalls and threw a strange light on the scene, something like that when\nthe sun's rays strike through colored glass. The space between the\ncolumns and the walls was filled with choice plants, palms, oleanders,\npomegranates, oranges and roses, behind which an invisible band of harp\nand flute-players was stationed, who received the guests with strains of\nmonotonous, solemn music.\n\nThe floor of this hall was paved in black and white, and in the middle\nstood elegant tables covered with dishes of all kinds, cold roast meats,\nsweets, well-arranged baskets of fruit and cake, golden jugs of wine,\nglass drinking-cups and artistic flower-vases.\n\nA multitude of richly-dressed slaves under direction of the high-steward,\nbusied themselves in handing these dishes to the guests, who, either\nstanding around, or reclining on sumptuous seats, entertained themselves\nin conversation with their friends.\n\nBoth sexes and all ages were to be found in this assembly. As the women\nentered, they received charming little nosegays from the young priests in\nthe personal service of the king, and many a youth of high degree\nappeared in the hall with flowers, which he not only offered to her he\nloved best, but held up for her to smell.\n\nThe Egyptian men, who were dressed as we have already seen them at the\nreception of the Persian embassy, behaved towards the women with a\npoliteness that might almost be termed submissive. Among the latter few\ncould pretend to remarkable beauty, though there were many bewitching\nalmond-shaped eyes, whose loveliness was heightened by having their lids\ndyed with the eye-paint called \"mestem.\" The majority wore their hair\narranged in the same manner; the wealth of waving brown locks floated\nback over the shoulders and was brushed behind the ears, one braid being\nleft on each side to hang over the temples to the breast. A broad diadem\nconfined these locks, which as the maids knew, were quite as often the\nwig-maker's work as Nature's. Many ladies of the court wore above their\nforeheads a lotus-flower, whose stem drooped on the hair at the back.\n\nThey carried fans of bright feathers in their delicate hands. These were\nloaded with rings; the finger-nails were stained red, according to\nEgyptian custom, and gold or silver bands were worn above the elbow, and\nat the wrists and ankles.\n\n   [This custom (of staining finger-nails) is still prevalent in the\n   East; the plant Shenna, Laosonia spinosa, called by Pliny XIII.\n   Cyprus, being used for the purpose. The Egyptian government has\n   prohibited the dye, but it will be difficult to uproot the ancient\n   custom. The pigment for coloring the eyelids, mentioned in the\n   text, is also still employed. The Papyrus Ebers alludes to the\n   Arabian kohl or antimony, which is frequently mentioned under the\n   name of \"mestem\" on monuments belonging to the time of the\n   Pharaohs.]\n\nTheir robes were beautiful and costly, and in many cases so cut as to\nleave the right breast uncovered. Bartja, the young Persian prince, among\nthe men, and Nitetis, the Pharaoh's daughter, among the women, were\nequally conspicuous for their superior beauty, grace and charms. The\nroyal maiden wore a transparent rose-colored robe, in her black hair were\nfresh roses, she walked by the side of her sister, the two robed alike,\nbut Nitetis pale as the lotus-flower in her mother's hair.\n\nLadice, the queen, by birth a Greek, and daughter of Battus of Cyrene,\nwalked by the side of Amasis and presented the young Persians to her\nchildren. A light lace robe was thrown over her garment of purple,\nembroidered with gold; and on her beautiful Grecian head she wore the\nUrmus serpent, the ornament peculiar to Egyptian queens.\n\nHer countenance was noble yet charming, and every movement betrayed the\ngrace only to be imparted by a Greek education.\n\nAmasis, in making choice of this queen, after the death of his second\nwife, (the Egyptian Tentcheta, mother of Psamtik the heir to the throne,)\nhad followed his prepossession in favor of the Greek nation and defied\nthe wrath of the priests.\n\nThe two girls at Ladice's side, Tachot and Nitetis, were called\ntwin-sisters, but showed no signs of that resemblance usually to be found\nin twins.\n\nTachot was a fair, blue-eyed girl, small, and delicately built; Nitetis,\non the other hand, tall and majestic, with black hair and eyes, evinced\nin every action that she was of royal blood.\n\n\"How pale thou look'st, my child!\" said Ladice, kissing Nitetis' cheek.\n\"Be of good courage, and meet thy future bravely. Here is the noble\nBartja, the brother of thy future husband.\"\n\nNitetis raised her dark, thoughtful eyes and fixed them long and\nenquiringly on the beautiful youth. He bowed low before the blushing\nmaiden, kissed her garment, and said:\n\n\"I salute thee, as my future queen and sister! I can believe that thy\nheart is sore at parting from thy home, thy parents, brethren and\nsisters; but be of good courage; thy husband is a great hero, and a\npowerful king; our mother is the noblest of women, and among the Persians\nthe beauty and virtue of woman is as much revered as the life-giving\nlight of the sun. Of thee, thou sister of the lily Nitetis, whom, by her\nside I might venture to call the rose, I beg forgiveness, for robbing\nthee of thy dearest friend.\"\n\nAs he said these words he looked eagerly into Tachot's beautiful blue\neyes; she bent low, pressing her hand upon her heart, and gazed on him\nlong after Amasis had drawn him away to a seat immediately opposite the\ndancing-girls, who were just about to display their skill for the\nentertainment of the guests. A thin petticoat was the only clothing of\nthese girls, who threw and wound their flexible limbs to a measure played\non harp and tambourine. After the dance appeared Egyptian singers and\nbuffoons for the further amusement of the company.\n\nAt length some of the courtiers forsook the hall, their grave demeanor\nbeing somewhat overcome by intoxication.\n\n   [Unfortunately women, as well as men, are to be seen depicted on the\n   monuments in an intoxicated condition. One man is being carried\n   home, like a log of wood, on the heads of his servants. Wilkinson\n   II. 168. Another is standing on his head II. 169. and several\n   ladies are in the act of returning the excessive quantity which they\n   have drunk. Wilkinson II. 167. At the great Techu-festival at\n   Dendera intoxication seems to have been as much commanded as at the\n   festivals of Dionysus under the Ptolemies, one of whom (Ptolemy\n   Dionysus) threatened those who remained sober with the punishment of\n   death. But intoxication was in general looked upon by the Egyptians\n   as a forbidden and despicable vice. In the Papyrus Anastasi IV.,\n   for instance, we read these words on a drunkard: \"Thou art as a\n   sanctuary without a divinity, as a house without bread,\" and\n   further: \"How carefully should men avoid beer (hek).\" A number of\n   passages in the Papyrus denounce drunkards.]\n\nThe women were carried home in gay litters by slaves with torches; and\nonly the highest military commanders, the Persian ambassadors and a few\nofficials, especial friends of Amasis, remained behind. These were\nretained by the master of the ceremonies, and conducted to a\nrichly-ornamented saloon, where a gigantic wine-bowl standing on a table\nadorned in the Greek fashion, invited to a drinking-bout.\n\nAmasis was seated on a high arm-chair at the head of the table; at his\nleft the youthful Bartja, at his right the aged Croesus. Besides these\nand the other Persians, Theodorus and Ibykus, the friends of Polykrates,\nalready known to us, and Aristomachus, now commander of the Greek\nbody-guard, were among the king's guests.\n\nAmasis, whom we have just heard in such grave discourse with Croesus, now\nindulged in jest and satire. He seemed once more the wild officer, the\nbold reveller of the olden days.\n\nHis sparkling, clever jokes, at times playful, at times scornful, flew\nround among the revellers. The guests responded in loud, perhaps often\nartificial laughter, to their king's jokes, goblet after goblet was\nemptied, and the rejoicings had reached their highest point, when\nsuddenly the master of the ceremonies appeared, bearing a small gilded\nmummy; and displaying it to the gaze of the assembly, exclaimed. \"Drink,\njest, and be merry, for all too soon ye shall become like unto this!\"\n\n   [Wilkinson gives drawings of these mummies (II. 410.) hundreds of\n   which were placed in the tombs, and have been preserved to us.\n   Lucian was present at a banquet, when they were handed round. The\n   Greeks seem to have adopted this custom, but with their usual talent\n   for beautifying all they touched, substituted a winged figure of\n   death for the mummy. Maxims similar to the following one are by no\n   means rare. \"Cast off all care; be mindful only of pleasure until\n   the day cometh when then must depart on the journey, whose goal is\n   the realm of silence!\" Copied from the tomb of Neferhotep to Abd-\n   el-Qurnah.]\n\n\"Is it your custom thus to introduce death at all your banquets?\" said\nBartja, becoming serious, \"or is this only a jest devised for to-day by\nyour master of the ceremonies?\"\n\n\"Since the earliest ages,\" answered Amasis, \"it has been our custom to\ndisplay these mummies at banquets, in order to increase the mirth of the\nrevellers, by reminding them that one must enjoy the time while it is\nhere. Thou, young butterfly, hast still many a long and joyful year\nbefore thee; but we, Croesus, we old men, must hold by this firmly. Fill\nthe goblets, cup-bearer, let not one moment of our lives be wasted! Thou\ncanst drink well, thou golden-haired Persian! Truly the great gods have\nendowed thee not only with beautiful eyes, and blooming beauty, but with\na good throat! Let me embrace thee, thou glorious youth, thou rogue! What\nthinkest thou Croesus? my daughter Tachot can speak of nothing else than\nof this beardless youth, who seems to have quite turned her little head\nwith his sweet looks and words. Thou needest not to blush, young madcap!\nA man such as thou art, may well look at king's daughters; but wert thou\nthy father Cyrus himself, I could not allow my Tachot to leave me for\nPersia!\"\n\n\"Father!\" whispered the crown-prince Psamtik, interrupting this\nconversation. \"Father, take care what you say, and remember Phanes.\" The\nking turned a frowning glance on his son; but following his advice, took\nmuch less part in the conversation, which now became more general.\n\nThe seat at the banquet-table, occupied by Aristomachus, placed him\nnearly opposite to Croesus, on whom, in total silence and without once\nindulging in a smile at the king's jests, his eyes had been fixed from\nthe beginning of the revel. When the Pharaoh ceased to speak, he accosted\nCroesus suddenly with the following question: \"I would know, Lydian,\nwhether the snow still covered the mountains, when ye left Persia.\"\n\nSmiling, and a little surprised at this strange speech, Croesus answered:\n\"Most of the Persian mountains were green when we started for Egypt four\nmonths ago; but there are heights in the land of Cambyses on which, even\nin the hottest seasons, the snow never melts, and the glimmer of their\nwhite crests we could still perceive, as we descended into the plains.\"\n\nThe Spartan's face brightened visibly, and Croesus, attracted by this\nserious, earnest man, asked his name. \"My name is Aristomachus.\"\n\n\"That name seems known to me.\"\n\n\"You were acquainted with many Hellenes, and my name is common among\nthem.\"\n\n\"Your dialect would bespeak you my opinion a Spartan.\"\n\n\"I was one once.\"\n\n\"And now no more?\"\n\n\"He who forsakes his native land without permission, is worthy of death.\"\n\n\"Have you forsaken it with your own free-will?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"For what reason?\"\n\n\"To escape dishonor.\"\n\n\"What was your crime?\"\n\n\"I had committed none.\"\n\n\"You were accused unjustly?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Who was the author of your ill-fortune?\"\n\n\"Yourself.\"\n\nCroesus started from his seat. The serious tone and gloomy face of the\nSpartan proved that this was no jest, and those who sat near the\nspeakers, and had been following this strange dialogue, were alarmed and\nbegged Aristomachus to explain his words.\n\nHe hesitated and seemed unwilling to speak; at last, however, at the\nking's summons, he began thus:\n\n\"In obedience to the oracle, you, Croesus, had chosen us Lacedaemonians,\nas the most powerful among the Hellenes, to be your allies against the\nmight of Persia; and you gave us gold for the statue of Apollo on Mount\nThornax. The ephori, on this, resolved to present you with a gigantic\nbronze wine-bowl, richly wrought. I was chosen as bearer of this gift.\nBefore reaching Sardis our ship was wrecked in a storm. The wine-cup sank\nwith it, and we reached Samos with nothing but our lives. On returning\nhome I was accused by enemies, and those who grudged my good fortune, of\nhaving sold both ship and wine-vessel to the Samians. As they could not\nconvict me of the crime, and had yet determined on my ruin, I was\nsentenced to two days' and nights' exposure on the pillory. My foot was\nchained to it during the night; but before the morning of disgrace\ndawned, my brother brought me secretly a sword, that my honor might be\nsaved, though at the expense of my life. But I could not die before\nrevenging myself on the men who had worked my ruin; and therefore,\ncutting the manacled foot from my leg, I escaped, and hid in the rushes\non the banks of the Furotas. My brother brought me food and drink in\nsecret; and after two months I was able to walk on the wooden leg you now\nsee. Apollo undertook my revenge; he never misses his mark, and my two\nworst opponents died of the plague. Still I durst not return home, and at\nlength took ship from Gythium to fight against the Persians under you,\nCroesus. On landing at Teos, I heard that you were king no longer, that\nthe mighty Cyrus, the father of yonder beautiful youth, had conquered the\npowerful province of Lydia in a few weeks, and reduced the richest of\nkings to beggary.\"\n\nEvery guest gazed at Aristomachus in admiration. Croesus shook his hard\nhand; and Bartja exclaimed: \"Spartan, I would I could take you back with\nme to Susa, that my friends there might see what I have seen myself, the\nmost courageous, the most honorable of men!\"\n\n\"Believe me, boy,\" returned Aristomachus smiling, every Spartan would\nhave done the same. In our country it needs more courage to be a coward\nthan a brave man.\"\n\n\"And you, Bartja,\" cried Darius, the Persian king's cousin, \"could you\nhave borne to stand at the pillory?\" Bartja reddened, but it was easy to\nsee that he too preferred death to disgrace.\n\n\"Zopyrus, what say you?\" asked Darius of the third young Persian.\n\n\"I could mutilate my own limbs for love of you two,\" answered he,\ngrasping unobserved the hands of his two friends.\n\nWith an ironical smile Psamtik sat watching this scene--the pleased faces\nof Amasis, Croesus and Gyges, the meaning glances of the Egyptians, and\nthe contented looks with which Aristomachus gazed on the young heroes.\n\nIbykus now told of the oracle which had promised Aristomachus a return to\nhis native land, on the approach of the men from the snowy mountains, and\nat the same time, mentioned the hospitable house of Rhodopis.\n\nOn hearing this name Psamtik grew restless; Croesus expressed a wish to\nform the acquaintance of the Thracian matron, of whom AEsop had related\nso much that was praiseworthy; and, as the other guests, many of whom had\nlost consciousness through excessive drinking, were leaving the hall, the\ndethroned monarch, the poet, the sculptor and the Spartan hero made an\nagreement to go to Naukratis the next day, and there enjoy the\nconversation of Rhodopis.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nOn the night following the banquet just described, Amasis allowed himself\nonly three hours' rest. On this, as on every other morning, the young\npriests wakened him at the first cock-crow, conducted him as usual to the\nbath, arrayed him in the royal vestments and led him to the altar in the\ncourt of the palace, where in presence of the populace he offered\nsacrifice. During the offering the priests sang prayers in a loud voice,\nenumerated the virtues of their king, and, that blame might in no case\nlight on the head of their ruler, made his bad advisers responsible for\nevery deadly sin committed in ignorance.\n\nThey exhorted him to the performance of good deeds, while extolling his\nvirtues; read aloud profitable portions of the holy writings, containing\nthe deeds and sayings of great men, and then conducted him to his\napartments, where letters and information from all parts of the kingdom\nawaited him.\n\nAmasis was in the habit of observing most faithfully these daily-repeated\nceremonies and hours of work; the remaining portion of the day he spent\nas it pleased him, and generally in cheerful society.\n\nThe priests reproached him with this, alleging that such a life was not\nsuited to a monarch; and on one occasion he had thus replied to the\nindignant high-priest: \"Look at this bow! if always bent it must lose its\npower, but, if used for half of each day and then allowed to rest, it\nwill remain strong and useful till the string breaks.\"\n\nAmasis had just signed his name to the last letter, granting the petition\nof a Nornarch--[Administrator of a Province]--for money to carry on\ndifferent embankments rendered necessary by the last inundation, when a\nservant entered, bringing a request from the crown-prince Psamtik for an\naudience of a few minutes.\n\nAmasis, who till this moment had been smiling cheerfully at the cheering\nreports from all parts of the country, now became suddenly serious and\nthoughtful. After long delay he answered: \"Go and inform the prince that\nhe may appear.\"\n\nPsamtik appeared, pale and gloomy as ever; he bowed low and\nreverentially, on entering his father's presence.\n\nAmasis nodded silently in return, and then asked abruptly and sternly:\n\"What is thy desire? my time is limited.\"\n\n\"For your son, more than for others,\" replied the prince with quivering\nlips. \"Seven times have I petitioned for the great favor, which thou\ngrantest for the first time to-day.\"\n\n\"No reproaches! I suspect the reason of thy visit. Thou desirest an\nanswer to thy doubts as to the birth of thy sister Nitetis.\"\n\n\"I have no curiosity; I come rather to warn thee, and to remind thee that\nI am not the only one who is acquainted with this mystery.\"\n\n\"Speakest thou of Phanes?\"\n\n\"Of whom else should I speak? He is banished from Egypt and from his own\ncountry, and must leave Naukratis in a few days. What guarantee hast\nthou, that he will not betray us to the Persians?\"\n\n\"The friendship and kindness which I have always shown him.\"\n\n\"Dost thou believe in the gratitude of men?\"\n\n\"No! but I rely on my own discernment of character. Phanes will not\nbetray us! he is my friend, I repeat it!\"\n\n\"Thy friend perhaps, but my mortal enemy!\"\n\n\"Then stand on thy guard! I have nothing to fear from him.\"\n\n\"For thyself perhaps nought, but for our country! O father, reflect that\nthough as thy son I may be hateful in thine eyes, yet as Egypt's future I\nought to be near thy heart. Remember, that at thy death, which may the\ngods long avert, I shall represent the existence of this glorious land as\nthou dost now; my fall will be the ruin of thine house, of Egypt!\"\n\nAmasis became more and more serious, and Psamtik went on eagerly: \"Thou\nknowest that I am right! Phanes can betray our land to any foreign enemy;\nhe is as intimately acquainted with it as we are; and beside this, he\npossesses a secret, the knowledge of which would convert our most\npowerful ally into a most formidable enemy.\"\n\n\"There thou art in error. Though not mine, Nitetis is a king's daughter\nand will know how to win the love of her husband.\"\n\n\"Were she the daughter of a god, she could not save thee from Cambyses'\nwrath, if he discovers the treachery; lying is to a Persian the worst of\ncrimes, to be deceived the greatest disgrace; thou hast deceived the\nhighest and proudest of the nation, and what can one inexperienced girl\navail, when hundreds of women, deeply versed in intrigue and artifice,\nare striving for the favor of their lord?\"\n\n\"Hatred and revenge are good masters in the art of rhetoric,\" said Amasis\nin a cutting tone. \"And think'st thou then, oh, foolish son, that I\nshould have undertaken such a dangerous game without due consideration?\nPhanes may tell the Persians what he likes, he can never prove his point.\nI, the father, Ladice the mother must know best whether Nitetis is our\nchild or not. We call her so, who dare aver the contrary? If it please\nPhanes to betray our land to any other enemy beside the Persians, let\nhim; I fear nothing! Thou wouldst have me ruin a man who has been my\nfriend, to whom I owe much gratitude, who has served me long and\nfaithfully; and this without offence from his side. Rather will I shelter\nhim from thy revenge, knowing as I do the impure source from which it\nsprings.\"\n\n\"My father!\"\n\n\"Thou desirest the ruin of this man, because he hindered thee from taking\nforcible possession of the granddaughter of Rhodopis, and because thine\nown incapacity moved me to place him in thy room as commander of the\ntroops. Ah! thou growest pale! Verily, I owe Phanes thanks for confiding\nto me your vile intentions, and so enabling me to bind my friends and\nsupporters, to whom Rhodopis is precious, more firmly to my throne.\"\n\n\"And is it thus thou speakest of these strangers, my father? dost thou\nthus forget the ancient glory of Egypt? Despise me, if thou wilt; I know\nthou lovest me not; but say not that to be great we need the help of\nstrangers! Look back on our history! Were we not greatest when our gates\nwere closed to the stranger, when we depended on ourselves and our own\nstrength, and lived according to the ancient laws of our ancestors and\nour gods? Those days beheld the most distant lands subjugated by Rameses,\nand heard Egypt celebrated in the whole world as its first and greatest\nnation. What are we now? The king himself calls beggars and foreigners\nthe supporters of his throne, and devises a petty stratagem to secure the\nfriendship of a power over whom we were victorious before the Nile was\ninfested by these strangers. Egypt was then a mighty Queen in glorious\napparel; she is now a painted woman decked out in tinsel!\"\n\n   [Rameses the Great, son of Sethos, reigned over Egypt 1394-1328 B.\n   C. He was called Sesostris by the Greeks; see Lepsius (Chron. d.\n   Aegypter, p. 538.) on the manner in which this confusion of names\n   arose. Egypt attained the zenith of her power under this king,\n   whose army, according to Diodorus (I. 53-58). consisted of 600,000\n   foot and 24,000 horsemen, 27,000 chariots and 400 ships of war.\n   With these hosts he subdued many of the Asiatic and African nations,\n   carving his name and likeness, as trophies of victory, on the rocks\n   of the conquered countries. Herodotus speaks of having seen two of\n   these inscriptions himself (II. 102-106.) and two are still to be\n   found not far from Bairut.  His conquests brought vast sums of\n   tribute into Egypt. Tacitus annal. II. 60. and these enabled him to\n   erect magnificent buildings in the whole length of his land from\n   Nubia to Tanis, but more especially in Thebes, the city in which he\n   resided. One of the obelisks erected by Rameses at Heliopolis is\n   now standing in the Place de la Concorde at Paris, and has been\n   lately translated by E. Chabas. On the walls of the yet remaining\n   palaces and temples, built under this mighty king, we find, even to\n   this day, thousands of pictures representing himself, his armed\n   hosts, the many nations subdued by the power of his arms, and the\n   divinities to whose favor he believed these victories were owing.\n   Among the latter Ammon and Bast seem to have received his especial\n   veneration, and, on the other hand, we read in these inscriptions\n   that the gods were very willing to grant the wishes of their\n   favorite. A poetical description of the wars he waged with the\n   Cheta is to be found in long lines of hieroglyphics on the south\n   wall of the hall of columns of Rameses II. at Karnal, also at Luxor\n   and in the Sallier Papyrus, and an epic poem referring to his mighty\n   deeds in no less than six different places.]\n\n\"Have a care what thou sayest!\" shouted Amasis stamping on the floor.\n\"Egypt was never so great, so flourishing as now! Rameses carried our\narms into distant lands and earned blood; through my labors the products\nof our industry have been carried to all parts of the world and instead\nof blood, have brought us treasure and blessing. Rameses caused the blood\nand sweat of his subjects to flow in streams for the honor of his own\ngreat name; under my rule their blood flows rarely, and the sweat of\ntheir brow only in works of usefulness. Every citizen can now end his\ndays in prosperity and comfort. Ten thousand populous cities rise on the\nshores of the Nile, not a foot of the soil lies untilled, every child\nenjoys the protection of law and justice, and every ill-doer shuns the\nwatchful eye of the authorities.\n\n\"In case of attack from without, have we not, as defenders of those\ngod-given bulwarks, our cataracts, our sea and our deserts, the finest\narmy that ever bore arms? Thirty thousand Hellenes beside our entire\nEgyptian military caste? such is the present condition of Egypt! Rameses\npurchased the bright tinsel of empty fame with the blood and tears of his\npeople. To me they are indebted for the pure gold of a peaceful welfare\nas citizens--to me and to my predecessors, the Saitic kings!\"\n\n   [The science of fortification was very fairly understood by the\n   ancient Egyptians. Walled and battlemented forts are to be seen\n   depicted on their monuments. We have already endeavored to show\n   (see our work on Egypt. I. 78 and following) that, on the northeast,\n   Egypt defended from Asiatic invasion by a line of forts extending\n   from Pelusium to the Red Sea.]\n\n\"And yet I tell thee,\" cried the prince, \"that a worm is gnawing at the\nroot of Egypt's greatness and her life. This struggle for riches and\nsplendor corrupts the hearts of the people, foreign luxury has given a\ndeadly blow to the simple manners of our citizens, and many an Egyptian\nhas been taught by the Greeks to scoff at the gods of his fathers. Every\nday brings news of bloody strife between the Greek mercenaries and our\nnative soldiery, between our own people and the strangers. The shepherd\nand his flock are at variance; the wheels of the state machinery are\ngrinding one another and thus the state itself, into total ruin. This\nonce, father, though never again, I must speak out clearly what is\nweighing on my heart. While engaged in contending with the priests, thou\nhast seen with calmness the young might of Persia roll on from the East,\nconsuming the nations on its way, and, like a devouring monster, growing\nmore and more formidable from every fresh prey. Thine aid was not, as\nthou hadst intended, given to the Lydians and Babylonians against the\nenemy, but to the Greeks in the building of temples to their false gods.\nAt last resistance seemed hopeless; a whole hemisphere with its rulers\nlay in submission at the feet of Persia; but even then the gods willed\nEgypt a chance of deliverance. Cambyses desired thy daughter in marriage.\nThou, however, too weak to sacrifice thine own flesh and blood for the\ngood of all, hast substituted another maiden, not thine own child, as an\noffering to the mighty monarch; and at the same time, in thy\nsoft-heartedness, wilt spare the life of a stranger in whose hand he the\nfortunes of this realm, and who will assuredly work its ruin; unless\nindeed, worn out by internal dissension, it perish even sooner from its\nown weakness!\"\n\nThus far Amasis had listened to these revilings of all he held dearest in\nsilence, though pale, and trembling with rage; but now he broke forth in\na voice, the trumpet-like sound of which pealed through the wide hall:\n\"Know'st thou not then, thou boasting and revengeful son of evil, thou\nfuture destroyer of this ancient and glorious kingdom, know'st thou not\nwhose life must be the sacrifice, were not my children, and the dynasty\nwhich I have founded, dearer to me than the welfare of the whole realm?\nThou, Psamtik, thou art the man, branded by the gods, feared by men--the\nman to whose heart love and friendship are strangers, whose face is never\nseen to smile, nor his soul known to feel compassion! It is not, however,\nthrough thine own sin that thy nature is thus unblessed, that all thine\nundertakings end unhappily. Give heed, for now I am forced to relate what\nI had hoped long to keep secret from thine ears. After dethroning my\npredecessor, I forced him to give me his sister Tentcheta in marriage.\nShe loved me; a year after marriage there was promise of a child. During\nthe night preceding thy birth I fell asleep at the bedside of my wife. I\ndreamed that she was lying on the shores of the Nile, and complained to\nme of pain in the breast. Bending down, I beheld a cypress-tree springing\nfrom her heart. It grew larger and larger, black and spreading, twined\nits roots around thy mother and strangled her. A cold shiver seized me,\nand I was on the point of flying from the spot, when a fierce hurricane\ncame from the East, struck the tree and overthrew it, so that its\nspreading branches were cast into the Nile. Then the waters ceased to\nflow; they congealed, and, in place of the river, a gigantic mummy lay\nbefore me. The towns on its banks dwindled into huge funereal urns,\nsurrounding the vast corpse of the Nile as in a tomb. At this I awoke and\ncaused the interpreters of dreams to be summoned. None could explain the\nvision, till at last the priests of the Libyan Ammon gave me the\nfollowing interpretation 'Tentcheta will die in giving birth to a son.\nThe cypress, which strangled its mother, is this gloomy, unhappy man. In\nhis days a people shall come from the East and shall make of the Nile,\nthat is of the Egyptians, dead bodies, and of their cities ruinous heaps;\nthese are the urns for the dead, which thou sawest.\"\n\nPsamtik listened as if turned into stone; his father continued; \"Thy\nmother died in giving birth to thee; fiery-red hair, the mark of the sons\nof Typhon, grew around thy brow; thou becam'st a gloomy man. Misfortune\npursued thee and robbed thee of a beloved wife and four of thy children.\nThe astrologers computed that even as I had been born under the fortunate\nsign of Amman, so thy birth had been watched over by the rise of the\nawful planet Seb. Thou . . .\" But here Amasis broke off, for Psamtik, in\nthe anguish produced by these fearful disclosures had given way, and with\nsobs and groans, cried:\n\n\"Cease, cruel father! spare me at least the bitter words, that I am the\nonly son in Egypt who is hated by his father without cause!\"\n\nAmasis looked down on the wretched man who had sunk to the earth before\nhim, his face hidden in the folds of his robe, and the father's wrath was\nchanged to compassion. He thought of Psamtik's mother, dead forty years\nbefore, and felt he had been cruel in inflicting this poisonous wound on\nher son's soul. It was the first time for years, that he had been able to\nfeel towards this cold strange man, as a father and a comforter. For the\nfirst time he saw tears in the cold eyes of his son, and could feel the\njoy of wiping them away. He seized the opportunity at once, and bending\nclown over the groaning form, kissed his forehead, raised him from the\nground and said gently:\n\n\"Forgive my anger, my son! the words that have grieved thee came not from\nmy heart, but were spoken in the haste of wrath. Many years hast thou\nangered me by thy coldness, hardness and obstinacy; to-day thou hast\nwounded me again in my most sacred feelings; this hurried me into an\nexcess of wrath. But now all is right between us. Our natures are so\ndiverse that our innermost feelings will never be one, but at least we\ncan act in concert for the future, and show forbearance one towards the\nother.\"\n\nIn silence Psamtik bowed down and kissed his father's robe \"Not so,\"\nexclaimed the latter; \"rather let my lips receive thy kiss, as is meet\nand fitting between father and son! Thou needest not to think again of\nthe evil dream I have related. Dreams are phantoms, and even if sent by\nthe gods, the interpreters thereof are human and erring. Thy hand\ntrembles still, thy cheeks are white as thy robe. I was hard towards\nthee, harder than a father. . . .\"\n\n\"Harder than a stranger to strangers,\" interrupted his son. \"Thou hast\ncrushed and broken me, and if till now my face has seldom worn a smile,\nfrom this day forward it can be naught but a mirror of my inward misery.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" said Amasis, laying his hand on his son's shoulder. \"If I\nwound, I can also heal. Tell me the dearest wish of thy heart, it shall\nbe granted thee!\"\n\nPsamtik's eyes flashed, his sallow cheeks glowed for a moment, and he\nanswered without consideration, though in a voice still trembling from\nthe shock he had just received: \"Deliver Phanes, my enemy, into my\npower!\"\n\nThe king remained a few moments in deep thought, then answered: \"I knew\nwhat thou wouldst ask, and will fulfil thy desire: but I would rather\nthou hadst asked the half of my treasures. A thousand voices within warn\nme that I am about to do an unworthy deed and a ruinous--ruinous for\nmyself, for thee, the kingdom and our house. Reflect before acting, and\nremember, whatever thou mayst meditate against Phanes, not a hair of\nRhodopis' head shall be touched. Also, that the persecution of my poor\nfriend is to remain a secret from the Greeks. Where shall I find his\nequal as a commander, an adviser and a companion? He is not yet in thy\npower, however, and I advise thee to remember, that though thou mayst be\nclever for an Egyptian, Phanes is a clever Greek. I will remind thee too\nof thy solemn oath to renounce the grandchild of Rhodopis. Methinks\nvengeance is dearer to thee than love, and the amends I offer will\ntherefore be acceptable! As to Egypt, I repeat once again, she was never\nmore flourishing than now; a fact which none dream of disputing, except\nthe priests, and those who retail their foolish words. And now give ear,\nif thou wouldst know the origin of Nitetis. Self-interest will enjoin\nsecrecy.\"\n\nPsamtik listened eagerly to his father's communication, indicating his\ngratitude at the conclusion by a warm pressure of the hand.\n\n\"Now farewell,\" said Amasis. \"Forget not my words, and above all shed no\nblood! I will know nothing of what happens to Phanes, for I hate cruelty\nand would not be forced to stand in horror of my own son. But thou, thou\nrejoicest! My poor Athenian, better were it for thee, hadst thou never\nentered Egypt!\"\n\nLong after Psamtik had left, his father continued to pace the hall in\ndeep thought. He was sorry he had yielded; it already seemed as if he saw\nthe bleeding Phanes lying massacred by the side of the dethroned Hophra.\n\"It is true, he could have worked our ruin,\" was the plea he offered to\nthe accuser within his own breast, and with these words, he raised his\nhead, called his servants and left the apartment with a smiling\ncountenance.\n\nHad this sanguine man, this favorite of fortune, thus speedily quieted\nthe warning voice within, or was he strong enough to cloak his torture\nwith a smile?\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Avoid excessive joy as well as complaining grief\n     Cast off all care; be mindful only of pleasure\n     Creed which views life as a short pilgrimage to the grave\n     Does happiness consist then in possession\n     Happiness has nothing to do with our outward circumstances\n     In our country it needs more courage to be a coward\n     Observe a due proportion in all things\n     One must enjoy the time while it is here\n     Pilgrimage to the grave, and death as the only true life\n     Robes cut as to leave the right breast uncovered\n     The priests are my opponents, my masters\n     Time is clever in the healing art\n     We live for life, not for death\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nPsamtik went at once from his father's apartments to the temple of the\ngoddess Neith. At the entrance he asked for the high-priest and was\nbegged by one of the inferior priests to wait, as the great Neithotep was\nat that moment praying in the holiest sanctuary of the exalted Queen of\nHeaven.\n\n   [The temples of Egypt were so constructed as to intensify the\n   devotion of the worshipper by conducting him onward through a series\n   of halls or chambers gradually diminishing in size. \"The way\n   through these temples is clearly indicated, no digression is\n   allowed, no error possible. We wander on through the huge and\n   massive gates of entrance, between the ranks of sacred animals. The\n   worshipper is received into an ample court, but by degrees the walls\n   on either side approach one another, the halls become less lofty,\n   all is gradually tending towards one point. And thus we wander on,\n   the sights and sounds of God's world without attract us no longer,\n   we see nothing but the sacred representations which encompass us so\n   closely, feel only the solemnity of the temple in which we stand.\n   And the consecrated walls embrace us ever more and more closely,\n   until at last we reach the lonely, resonant chamber occupied by the\n   divinity himself, and entered by no human being save his priest.\"\n   Schnaase, Kunstaeschirhtc I. 394.]\n\nAfter a short time a young priest appeared with the intelligence that his\nsuperior awaited the Prince's visit. Psamtik had seated himself under the\nshadow of the sacred grove of silver poplars bordering the shores of the\nconsecrated lake, holy to the great Neith. He rose immediately, crossed\nthe temple-court, paved with stone and asphalte, on which the sun's rays\nwere darting like fiery arrows, and turned into one of the long avenues\nof Sphinxes which led to the isolated Pylons before the gigantic temple\nof the goddess. He then passed through the principal gate, ornamented, as\nwere all Egyptian temple-entrances, with the winged sun's disc. Above its\nwidely-opened folding doors arose on either side, tower-like buildings,\nslender obelisks and waving flags. The front of the temple, rising from\nthe earth in the form of an obtuse angle, had somewhat the appearance of\na fortress, and was covered with colored pictures and inscriptions.\nThrough the porch Psamtik passed on into a lofty entrance-chamber, and\nfrom thence into the great hall itself, the ceiling of which was strewn\nwith thousands of golden stars, and supported by four rows of lofty\npillars. Their capitals were carved in imitation of the lotus-flower, and\nthese, the shafts of the columns, the walls of this huge hall, and indeed\nevery niche and corner that met the eye were covered with brilliant\ncolors and hieroglyphics. The columns rose to a gigantic height, the eye\nseemed to wander through immeasurable space, and the air breathed by the\nworshippers was heavy with the fragrance of Kyphi and incense, and the\nodors which arose from the laboratory attached to the temple. Strains of\nsoft music, proceeding from invisible hands, flowed on unceasingly, only\noccasionally interrupted by the deep lowing of the sacred cows of Isis,\nor the shrill call of the sparrow-hawk of Horus, whose habitations were\nin one of the adjoining halls. No sooner did the prolonged low of a cow\nbreak like distant thunder on the ear, or the sharp cry of the\nsparrow-hawk shoot like a flash of lightning through the nerves of the\nworshippers, than each crouching form bent lower still, and touched the\npavement with his forehead. On a portion of this pavement, raised above\nthe rest, stood the priests, some wearing ostrich-feathers on their bald\nand shining heads; others panther-skins over their white-robed shoulders.\nMuttering and singing, bowing low and rising again, they swung the\ncensers and poured libations of pure water to the gods out of golden\nvessels. In this immense temple man seemed a dwarf in his own eyes. All\nhis senses even to the organs of respiration, were occupied by objects\nfar removed from daily life, objects that thrilled and almost oppressed\nhim. Snatched from all that was familiar in his daily existence, he\nseemed to grow dizzy and seek support beyond himself. To this the voice\nof the priests directed him and the cries of the sacred animals were\nbelieved to prove a divinity at hand.\n\nPsamtik assumed the posture of a worshipper on the low, gilded and\ncushioned couch set apart for him, but was unable to pay any real\ndevotion, and passed on to the adjoining apartment before mentioned,\nwhere the sacred cows of Isis-Neith and the sparrow-hawk of Horus were\nkept. These creatures were concealed from the gaze of the worshippers by\na curtain of rich fabric embroidered with gold; the people were only\nallowed an occasional and distant glimpse of the adorable animals. When\nPsamtik passed they were just being fed; cakes soaked in milk, salt and\nclover-blossoms were placed in golden cribs for the cows, and small birds\nof many-colored plumage in the beautifully-wrought and ornamented cage of\nthe sparrow-hawk. But, in his present mood, the heir to the throne of\nEgypt had no eye for these rare sights; but ascended at once, by means of\na hidden staircase, to the chambers lying near the observatory, where the\nhigh-priest was accustomed to repose after the temple-service.\n\nNeithotep, a man of seventy years, was seated in a splendid apartment.\nRich Babylonian carpets covered the floor and his chair was of gold,\ncushioned with purple. A tastefully-carved footstool supported his feet,\nhis hands held a roll covered with hieroglyphics, and a boy stood behind\nhim with a fan of ostrich-feathers to keep away the insects.\n\nThe face of the old man was deeply lined now, but it might once have been\nhandsome, and in the large blue eyes there still lay evidence of a quick\nintellect and a dignified self-respect.\n\nHis artificial curls had been laid aside, and the bald, smooth head\nformed a strange contrast to the furrowed countenance, giving an\nappearance of unusual height to the forehead, generally so very low among\nthe Egyptians. The brightly-colored walls of the room, on which numerous\nsentences in hieroglyphic characters were painted, the different statues\nof the goddess painted likewise in gay colors, and the snow-white\ngarments of the aged priest, were calculated to fill a stranger not only\nwith wonder, but with a species of awe.\n\nThe old man received the prince with much affection, and asked:\n\n\"What brings my illustrious son to the poor servant of the Deity?\"\n\n\"I have much to report to thee, my father;\" answered Psamtik with a\ntriumphant smile, \"for I come in this moment from Amasis.\"\n\n\"Then he has at length granted thee an audience?\"\n\n\"At length!\"\n\n\"Thy countenance tells me that thou hast been favorably received by our\nlord, thy father.\"\n\n\"After having first experienced his wrath. For, when I laid before him\nthe petition with which thou hadst entrusted me, he was exceeding wroth\nand nearly crushed me by his awful words.\"\n\n\"Thou hadst surely grieved him by thy language. Didst thou approach him\nas I advised thee, with lowliness, as a son humbly beseeching his\nfather?\"\n\n\"No, my father, I was irritated and indignant.\"\n\n\"Then was Amasis right to be wrathful, for never should a son meet his\nfather in anger; still less when he hath a request to bring before him.\nThou know'st the promise, 'The days of him that honoreth his father shall\nbe many.'\n\n   [This Egyptian command hears a remarkable resemblance to the fifth\n   in the Hebrew decalogue, both having a promise annexed. It occurs\n   in the Prisse Papyrus, the most ancient sacred writing extant.]\n\nIn this one thing, my scholar, thou errest always; to gain thine ends\nthou usest violence and roughness, where good and gentle words would more\nsurely prevail. A kind word hath far more power than an angry one, and\nmuch may depend on the way in which a man ordereth his speech. Hearken to\nthat which I will now relate. In former years there was a king in Egypt\nnamed Snefru, who ruled in Memphis. And it came to pass that he dreamed,\nand in his dream his teeth fell out of his mouth. And he sent for the\nsoothsayers and told them the dream. The first interpreter answered: 'Woe\nunto thee, O king, all thy kinsmen shall die before thee!' Then was\nSnefru wroth, caused this messenger of evil to be scourged, and sent for\na second interpreter. He answered: 'O king, live for ever, thy life shall\nbe longer than the life of thy kinsmen and the men of thy house!' Then\nthe king smiled and gave presents unto this interpreter, for though the\ninterpretations were one, yet he had understood to clothe his message in\na web of fair and pleasant words. Apprehendest thou? then hearken to my\nvoice, and refrain from harsh words, remembering that to the ear of a\nruler the manner of a man's speech is weightier than its matter.\"\n\n\"Oh my father, how often hast thou thus admonished me! how often have I\nbeen convinced of the evil consequences of my rough words and angry\ngestures! but I cannot change my nature, I cannot . . .\"\n\n\"Say rather: I will not; for he that is indeed a man, dare never again\ncommit those sins of which he has once repented. But I have admonished\nsufficiently. Tell me now how thou didst calm the wrath of Amasis.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest my father. When he saw that he had wounded me in the depths\nof my soul by his awful words, he repented him of his anger. He felt he\nhad been too hard, and desired to make amends at any price.\"\n\n\"He hath a kindly heart, but his mind is blinded, and his senses taken\ncaptive,\" cried the priest. \"What might not Amasis do for Egypt, would he\nbut hearken to our counsel, and to the commandments of the gods!\"\n\n\"But hear me, my father! in his emotion he granted me the life of\nPhanes!\"\n\n\"Thine eyes flash, Psamtik! that pleaseth me not. The Athenian must die,\nfor he has offended the gods; but though he that condemns must let\njustice have her way, he should have no pleasure in the death of the\ncondemned; rather should he mourn. Now speak; didst thou obtain aught\nfurther?\"\n\n\"The king declared unto me to what house Nitetis belongs.\"\n\n\"And further naught?\"\n\n\"No, my father; but art thou not eager to learn . . .?\"\n\n\"Curiosity is a woman's vice; moreover, I have long known all that thou\ncanst tell me.\"\n\n\"But didst thou not charge me but yesterday to ask my father this\nquestion?\"\n\n\"I did do so to prove thee, and know whether thou wert resigned to the\nDivine will, and wert walking in those ways wherein alone thou canst\nbecome worthy of initiation into the highest grade of knowledge. Thou\nhast told us faithfully all that thou hast heard, and thereby proved that\nthou canst obey--the first virtue of a priest.\"\n\n\"Thou knewest then the father of Nitetis?\"\n\n\"I myself pronounced the prayer over king Hophra's tomb.\"\n\n\"But who imparted the secret to thee?\"\n\n\"The eternal stars, my son, and my skill in reading them.\"\n\n\"And do these stars never deceive?\"\n\n\"Never him that truly understands them.\"\n\nPsamtik turned pale. His father's dream and his own fearful horoscope\npassed like awful visions through his mind. The priest detected at once\nthe change in his features and said gently: \"Thou deem'st thyself a lost\nman because the heavens prognosticated evil at thy birth; but take\ncomfort, Psamtik; I observed another sign in the heavens at that moment,\nwhich escaped the notice of the astrologers. Thy horoscope was a\nthreatening, a very threatening one, but its omens may be averted, they\nmay . . .\"\n\n\"O tell me, father, tell me how!\"\n\n\"They must turn to good, if thou, forgetful of all else, canst live alone\nto the gods, paying a ready obedience to the Divine voice audible to us\ntheir priests alone in the innermost and holiest sanctuary.\"\n\n\"Father, I am ready to obey thy slightest word.\"\n\n\"The great goddess Neith, who rules in Sais, grant this, my son!\"\nanswered the priest solemnly. \"But now leave me alone,\" he continued\nkindly, \"lengthened devotions and the weight of years bring weariness. If\npossible, delay the death of Phanes, I wish to speak with him before he\ndies. Yet one more word. A troop of Ethiopians arrived yesterday. These\nmen cannot speak a word of Greek, and under a faithful leader, acquainted\nwith the Athenians and the locality, they would be the best agents for\ngetting rid of the doomed man, as their ignorance of the language and the\ncircumstances render treachery or gossip impossible. Before starting for\nNaukratis, they must know nothing of the design of their journey; the\ndeed once accomplished, we can send them back to Kush.--[The Egyptian\nname for Ethiopia.] Remember, a secret can never be too carefully kept!\nFarewell.\" Psamtik had only left the room a few moments, when a young\npriest entered, one of the king's attendants.\n\n\"Have I listened well, father?\" he enquired of the old man.\n\n\"Perfectly, my son. Nothing of that which passed between Amasis and\nPsamtik has escaped thine ears. May Isis preserve them long to thee!\"\n\n\"Ah, father, a deaf man could have heard every word in the ante-chamber\nto-day, for Amasis bellowed like an ox.\"\n\n\"The great Neith has smitten him with the lack of prudence, yet I command\nthee to speak of the Pharaoh with more reverence. But now return, keep\nthine eyes open and inform me at once if Amasis, as is possible, should\nattempt to thwart the conspiracy against Phanes. Thou wilt certainly find\nme here. Charge the attendants to admit no one, and to say I am at my\ndevotions in the Holy of holies. May the ineffable One protect thy\nfootsteps!\"\n\n   [Isis, the wife or sister of Osiris, is the phenomena of nature, by\n   means of which the god is able to reveal himself to human\n   contemplation.]\n\n        ..................................\n\nWhile Psamtik was making every preparation for the capture of Phanes,\nCroesus, accompanied by his followers, had embarked on board a royal\nbark, and was on his way down the Nile to spend the evening with\nRhodopis.\n\nHis son Gyges and the three young Persians remained in Sais, passing the\ntime in a manner most agreeable to them.\n\nAmasis loaded them with civilities, allowed them, according to Egyptian\ncustom, the society of his queen and of the twin-sisters, as they were\ncalled, taught Gyges the game of draughts, and looking on while the\nstrong, dexterous, young heroes joined his daughters in the game of\nthrowing balls and hoops, so popular among Egyptian maidens, enlivened\ntheir amusements with an inexhaustible flow of wit and humor.\n\n   [The Pharaohs themselves, as well as their subjects, were in the\n   habit of playing at draughts and other similar games. Rosellini\n   gives its Rameses playing with his daughter; see also two Egyptians\n   playing together, Wilkinson II. 419. An especially beautiful\n   draught-board exists in the Egyptian collection at the Louvre\n   Museum. The Egyptians hoped to be permitted to enjoy these\n   pleasures even in the other world.]\n\n   [Balls that have been found in the tombs are still to be seen; some,\n   for instance, in the Museum at Leyden.]\n\n\"Really,\" said Bartja, as he watched Nitetis catching the slight hoop,\nornamented with gay ribbons, for the hundredth time on her slender ivory\nrod, \"really we must introduce this game at home. We Persians are so\ndifferent from you Egyptians. Everything new has a special charm for us,\nwhile to you it is just as hateful. I shall describe the game to Our\nmother Kassandane, and she will be delighted to allow my brother's wives\nthis new amusement.\"\n\n\"Yes, do, do!\" exclaimed the fair Tachot blushing deeply. \"Then Nitetis\ncan play too, and fancy herself back again at home and among those she\nloves; and Bartja,\" she added in a low voice, \"whenever you watch the\nhoops flying, you too must remember this hour.\"\n\n\"I shall never forget it,\" answered he with a smile, and then, turning to\nhis future sister-in-law, he called out cheerfully, \"Be of good courage,\nNitetis, you will be happier than you fancy with us. We Asiatics know how\nto honor beauty; and prove it by taking many wives.\"\n\nNitetis sighed, and the queen Ladice exclaimed, \"On the contrary, that\nvery fact proves that you understand but poorly how to appreciate woman's\nnature! You can have no idea, Bartja, what a woman feels on finding that\nher husband--the man who to her is more than life itself, and to whom she\nwould gladly and without reserve give up all that she treasures as most\nsacred--looks down on her with the same kind of admiration that he\nbestows on a pretty toy, a noble steed, or a well-wrought wine-bowl. But\nit is yet a thousand-fold more painful to feel that the love which every\nwoman has a right to possess for herself alone, must be shared with a\nhundred others!\"\n\n\"There speaks the jealous wife!\" exclaimed Amasis. \"Would you not fancy\nthat I had often given her occasion to doubt my faithfulness?\"\n\n\"No, no, my husband,\" answered Ladice, \"in this point the Egyptian men\nsurpass other nations, that they remain content with that which they have\nonce loved; indeed I venture to assert that an Egyptian wife is the\nhappiest of women.\n\n   [According to Diodorus (I. 27) the queen of Egypt held a higher\n   position than the king himself. The monuments and lists of names\n   certainly prove that women could rule with sovereign power. The\n   husband of the heiress to the throne became king. They had their\n   own revenues (Diodorus I. 52) and when a princess, after death, was\n   admitted among the goddesses, she received her own priestesses.\n   (Edict of Canopus.) During the reigns of the Ptolemies many coins\n   were stamped with the queen's image and cities were named for them.\n   We notice also that sons, in speaking of their descent, more\n   frequently reckon it from the mother's than the father's side, that\n   a married woman is constantly alluded to as the \"mistress\" or \"lady\"\n   of the house, that according to many a Greek Papyrus they had entire\n   disposal of all their property, no matter in what it consisted, in\n   short that the weaker sex seems to have enjoyed equal influence with\n   the stronger.]\n\nEven the Greeks, who in so many things may serve as patterns to us, do\nnot know how to appreciate woman rightly. Most of the young Greek girls\npass their sad childhood in close rooms, kept to the wheel and the loom\nby their mothers and those who have charge of them, and when\nmarriageable, are transferred to the quiet house of a husband they do not\nknow, and whose work in life and in the state allows him but seldom to\nvisit his wife's apartments. Only when the most intimate friends and\nnearest relations are with her husband, does she venture to appear in\ntheir midst, and then shyly and timidly, hoping to hear a little of what\nis going on in the great world outside. Ah, indeed! we women thirst for\nknowledge too, and there are certain branches of learning at least, which\nit cannot be right to withhold from those who are to be the mothers and\neducators of the next generation. What can an Attic mother, without\nknowledge, without experience, give to her daughters? Naught but her own\nignorance. And so it is, that a Hellene, seldom satisfied with the\nsociety of his lawful, but, mentally, inferior wife, turns for\nsatisfaction to those courtesans, who, from their constant intercourse\nwith men, have acquired knowledge, and well understand how to adorn it\nwith the flowers of feminine grace, and to season it with the salt of a\nwoman's more refined and delicate wit. In Egypt it is different. A young\ngirl is allowed to associate freely with the most enlightened men. Youths\nand maidens meet constantly on festive occasions, learn to know and love\none another. The wife is not the slave, but the friend of her husband;\nthe one supplies the deficiencies of the other. In weighty questions the\nstronger decides, but the lesser cares of life are left to her who is the\ngreater in small things. The daughters grow up under careful guidance,\nfor the mother is neither ignorant nor inexperienced. To be virtuous and\ndiligent in her affairs becomes easy to a woman, for she sees that it\nincreases his happiness whose dearest possession she boasts of being, and\nwho belongs to her alone. The women only do that which pleases us! but\nthe Egyptian men understand the art of making us pleased with that which\nis really good, and with that alone. On the shores of the Nile,\nPhocylides of Miletus and Hipponax of Ephesus would never have dared to\nsing their libels on women, nor could the fable of Pandora have been\npossibly invented here!\"\n\n   [Simonides of Amorgos, an Iambic poet, who delighted in writing\n   satirical verses on women. He divides them into different classes,\n   which he compares to unclean animals, and considers that the only\n   woman worthy of a husband and able to make him happy must be like\n   the bee. The well-known fable of Pandora owes its origin to\n   Simonides. He lived about 650 B. C. The Egyptians too, speak very\n   severely of bad women, comparing them quite in the Simonides style\n   to beasts of prey (hyenas, lions and panthers). We find this\n   sentence on a vicious woman: She is a collection of every kind of\n   meanness, and a bag full of wiles. Chabas, Papyr. magrque Harris.\n   p. 135. Phocylides of Miletus, a rough and sarcastic, but\n   observant man, imitated Simonides in his style of writing. But the\n   deformed Hipponax of Ephesus, a poet crushed down by poverty, wrote\n   far bitterer verses than Phocylides. He lived about 550 B. C. \"His\n   own ugliness (according to Bernhardy) is reflected in every one of\n   his Choliambics.\" ]\n\n\"How beautifully you speak!\" exclaimed Bartja. \"Greek was not easy to\nlearn, but I am very glad now that I did not give it up in despair, and\nreally paid attention to Croesus' lessons.\"\n\n\"Who could those men have been,\" asked Darius, \"who dared to speak evil of\nwomen?\"\n\n\"A couple of Greek poets,\" answered Amasis, \"the boldest of men, for I\nconfess I would rather provoke a lioness than a woman. But these Greeks\ndo not know what fear is. I will give you a specimen of Hipponax's\nPoetry:\n\n       \"There are but two days when a wife,\n        Brings pleasure to her husband's life,\n        The wedding-day, when hopes are bright,\n        And the day he buries her out of his sight.\"\n\n\"Cease, cease,\" cried Ladice stopping her ears, that is too had. Now,\nPersians, you can see what manner of man Amasis is. For the sake of a\njoke, he will laugh at those who hold precisely the same opinion as\nhimself. There could not be a better husband.\n\n\"Nor a worse wife,\" laughed Amasis. \"Thou wilt make men think that I am a\ntoo obedient husband. But now farewell, my children; our young heroes\nmust look at this our city of Sais; before parting, however, I will\nrepeat to them what the malicious Siuionides has sung of a good wife:\n\n     \"Dear to her spouse from youth to age she grows;\n     Fills with fair girls and sturdy boys his house;\n     Among all women womanliest seems,\n     And heavenly grace about her mild brow gleams.\n     A gentle wife, a noble spouse she walks,\n     Nor ever with the gossip mongers talks.\n     Such women sometimes Zeus to mortals gives,\n     The glory and the solace of their lives.\"\n\n\"Such is my Ladice! now farewell!\"\n\n\"Not yet!\" cried Bartja. \"Let me first speak in defence of our poor\nPersia and instil fresh courage into my future sister-in-law; but no!\nDarius, thou must speak, thine eloquence is as great as thy skill in\nfigures and swordsmanship!\"\n\n\"Thou speakst of me as if I were a gossip or a shopkeeper,\"--[This\nnickname, which Darius afterwards earned, is more fully spoken\nof]--answered the son of Hystaspes. \"Be it so; I have been burning all\nthis time to defend the customs of our country. Know then, Ladice, that\nif Auramazda dispose the heart of our king in his own good ways, your\ndaughter will not be his slave, but his friend. Know also, that in\nPersia, though certainly only at high festivals, the king's wives have\ntheir places at the men's table, and that we pay the highest reverence to\nour wives and mothers. A king of Babylon once took a Persian wife; in the\nbroad plains of the Euphrates she fell sick of longing for her native\nmountains; he caused a gigantic structure to be raised on arches, and the\nsummit thereof to be covered with a depth of rich earth; caused the\nchoicest trees and flowers to be planted there, and watered by artificial\nmachinery. This wonder completed, he led his wife thither; from its top\nshe could look down into the plains below, as from the heights of\nRachined, and with this costly gift he presented her. Tell me, could even\nan Egyptian give more?\"\n\n   [This stupendous erection is said to have been constructed by\n   Nebuchadnezzar for his Persian wife Amytis. Curtius V. 5.\n   Josephus contra Apion. I. 19. Antiquities X. II. 1. Diod. II. 10.\n   For further particulars relative to the hanging-gardens, see later\n   notes.]\n\n\"And did she recover?\" asked Nitetis, without raising her eyes.\n\n\"She recovered health and happiness; and you too will soon feel well and\nhappy in our country.\"\n\n\"And now,\" said Ladice with a smile, what, think you, contributed most to\nthe young queen's recovery? the beautiful mountain or the love of the\nhusband, who erected it for her sake?\"\n\n\"Her husband's love,\" cried the young girls.\n\n\"But Nitetis would not disdain the mountain either,\" maintained Bartja,\n\"and I shall make it my care that whenever the court is at Babylon, she\nhas the hanging-gardens for her residence.\"\n\n\"But now come,\" exclaimed Amasis, \"unless you wish to see the city in\ndarkness. Two secretaries have been awaiting me yonder for the last two\nhours. Ho! Sachons! give orders to the captain of the guard to accompany\nour noble guests with a hundred men.\"\n\n\"But why? a single guide, perhaps one of the Greek officers, would be\namply sufficient.\"\n\n\"No, my young friends, it is better so. Foreigners can never be too\nprudent in Egypt. Do not forget this, and especially be careful not to\nridicule the sacred animals. And now farewell, my young heroes, till we\nmeet again this evening over a merry wine-cup.\"\n\nThe Persians then quitted the palace, accompanied by their interpreter, a\nGreek, but who had been brought up in Egypt, and spoke both languages\nwith equal facility.\n\n   [Psamtik I. is said to have formed a new caste, viz.: the caste of\n   Interpreters, out of those Greeks who had been born and bred up in\n   Egypt. Herod. II. 154. Herodotus himself was probably conducted by\n   such a \"Dragoman.\"]\n\nThose streets of Sais which lay near the palace wore a pleasant aspect.\nThe houses, many of which were five stories high, were generally covered\nwith pictures or hieroglyphics; galleries with balustrades of carved and\ngaily-painted wood-work, supported by columns also brightly painted, ran\nround the walls surrounding the courts. In many cases the proprietor's\nname and rank was to be read on the door, which was, however, well closed\nand locked. Flowers and shrubs ornamented the flat roofs, on which the\nEgyptians loved to spend the evening hours, unless indeed, they preferred\nascending the mosquito-tower with which nearly every house was provided.\nThese troublesome insects, engendered by the Nile, fly low, and these\nlittle watch-towers were built as a protection from them.\n\nThe young Persians admired the great, almost excessive cleanliness, with\nwhich each house, nay, even the streets themselves, literally shone. The\ndoor-plates and knockers sparkled in the sun; paintings, balconies and\ncolumns all had the appearance of having been only just finished, and\neven the street-pavement looked as if it were often scoured.\n\n   [The streets of Egyptian towns seem to have been paved, judging from\n   the ruins of Alabastron and Memphis. We know at least with\n   certainty that this was the case with those leading to the temples.]\n\nBut as the Persians left the neighborhood of the Nile and the palace, the\nstreets became smaller. Sais was built on the slope of a moderately high\nhill, and had only been the residence of the Pharaohs for two centuries\nand a half, but, during that comparatively short interval, had risen from\nan unimportant place into a town of considerable magnitude.\n\nOn its river-side the houses and streets were brilliant, but on the\nhill-slope lay, with but few more respectable exceptions, miserable,\npoverty-stricken huts constructed of acacia-boughs and Nile-mud. On the\nnorth-west rose the royal citadel.\n\n\"Let us turn back here,\" exclaimed Gyges to his young companions. During\nhis father's absence he was responsible as their guide and protector, and\nnow perceived that the crowd of curious spectators, which had hitherto\nfollowed them, was increasing at every step.\n\n\"I obey your orders,\" replied the interpreter, \"but yonder in the valley,\nat the foot of that hill, lies the Saitic city of the dead, and for\nforeigners I should think that would be of great interest.\"\n\n\"Go forward!\" cried Bartja. \"For what did we leave Persia, if not to\nbehold these remarkable objects?\"\n\nOn arriving at an open kind of square surrounded by workmen's booths, and\nnot far from the city of the dead, confused cries rose among the crowd\nbehind them.\n\n   [Artisans, as well among the ancient as the modern Egyptians, were\n   accustomed to work in the open air.]\n\nThe children shouted for joy, the women called out, and one voice louder\nthan the rest was heard exclaiming: \"Come hither to the fore-court of the\ntemple, and see the works of the great magician, who comes from the\nwestern oases of Libya and is endowed with miraculous gifts by Chunsu,\nthe giver of good counsels, and by the great goddess Hekt.\"\n\n\"Follow me to the small temple yonder,\" said the interpreter, \"and you\nwill behold a strange spectacle.\" He pushed a way for himself and the\nPersians through the crowd, obstructed in his course by many a sallow\nwoman and naked child; and at length came back with a priest, who\nconducted the strangers into the fore-court of the temple. Here,\nsurrounded by various chests and boxes, stood a man in the dress of a\npriest; beside him on the earth knelt two negroes. The Libyan was a man\nof gigantic stature, with great suppleness of limb and a pair of piercing\nblack eyes. In his hand he held a wind-instrument resembling a modern\nclarionet, and a number of snakes, known in Egypt to be poisonous, lay\ncoiling themselves over his breast and arms.\n\nOn finding himself in the presence of the Persians he bowed low, inviting\nthem by a solemn gesture to gaze at his performances; he then cast off\nhis white robe and began all kinds of tricks with the snakes.\n\nHe allowed them to bite him, till the blood trickled down his cheeks;\ncompelled them by the notes of his flute to assume an erect position and\nperform a kind of dancing evolution; by spitting into their jaws he\ntransformed them to all appearance into motionless rods; and then,\ndashing them all on to the earth, performed a wild dance in their midst,\nyet without once touching a single snake.\n\nLike one possessed, he contorted his pliant limbs until his eyes seemed\nstarting from his head and a bloody foam issued from his lips.\n\nSuddenly he fell to the ground, apparently lifeless. A slight movement of\nthe lips and a low hissing whistle were the only signs of life; but, on\nhearing the latter, the snakes crept up and twined themselves like living\nrings around his neck, legs and body. At last he rose, sang a hymn in\npraise of the divine power which had made him a magician, and then laid\nthe greater number of his snakes in one of the chests, retaining a few,\nprobably his favorites, to serve as ornaments for his neck and arms.\n\nThe second part of this performance consisted of clever conjuring-tricks,\nin which he swallowed burning flax, balanced swords while dancing, their\npoints standing in the hollow of his eye; drew long strings and ribbons\nout of the noses of the Egyptian children, exhibited the well-known\ncup-and-ball trick, and, at length, raised the admiration of the\nspectators to its highest pitch, by producing five living rabbits from as\nmany ostrich-eggs.\n\nThe Persians formed no unthankful portion of the assembled crowd; on the\ncontrary, this scene, so totally new, impressed them deeply.\n\nThey felt as if in the realm of miracles, and fancied they had now seen\nthe rarest of all Egyptian rarities. In silence they took their way back\nto the handsomer streets of Sais, without noticing how many mutilated\nEgyptians crossed their path. These poor disfigured creatures were indeed\nno unusual sight for Asiatics, who punished many crimes by the amputation\nof a limb. Had they enquired however, they would have heard that, in\nEgypt, the man deprived of his hand was a convicted forger, the woman of\nher nose, an adulteress; that the man without a tongue had been found\nguilty of high treason or false witness; that the loss of the ears\ndenoted a spy, and that the pale, idiotic-looking woman yonder had been\nguilty of infanticide, and had been condemned to hold the little corpse\nthree days and three nights in her arms. What woman could retain her\nsenses after these hours of torture?--[Diodorus I. 77.]\n\nThe greater number of the Egyptian penal laws not only secured the\npunishment of the criminal, but rendered a repetition of the offence\nimpossible.\n\nThe Persian party now met with a hindrance, a large crowd having\nassembled before one of the handsomest houses in the street leading to\nthe temple of Neith. The few windows of this house that could be seen\n(the greater number opening on the garden and court) were closed with\nshutters, and at the door stood an old man, dressed in the plain white\nrobe of a priest's servant. He was endeavoring, with loud cries, to\nprevent a number of men of his own class from carrying a large chest out\nof the house.\n\n\"What right have you to rob my master?\" he shrieked indignantly. \"I am\nthe guardian of this house, and when my master left for Persia (may the\ngods destroy that land!) he bade me take especial care of this chest in\nwhich his manuscripts lay.\"\n\n\"Compose yourself, old Hib!\" shouted one of these inferior priests, the\nsame whose acquaintance we made on the arrival of the Asiatic Embassy.\n\"We are here in the name of the high-priest of the great Neith, your\nmaster's master. There must be queer papers in this box, or Neithotep\nwould not have honored us with his commands to fetch them.\"\n\n\"But I will not allow my master's papers to be stolen,\" shrieked the old\nman. \"My master is the great physician Nebenchari, and I will secure his\nrights, even if I must appeal to the king himself.\"\n\n\"There,\" cried the other, \"that will do; out with the chest, you fellows.\nCarry it at once to the high-priest; and you, old man, would do more\nwisely to hold your tongue and remember that the high-priest is your\nmaster as well as mine. Get into the house as quick as you can, or\nto-morrow we shall have to drag you off as we did the chest to-day!\" So\nsaying, he slammed the heavy door, the old man was flung backward into\nthe house and the crowd saw him no more.\n\nThe Persians had watched this scene and obtained an explanation of its\nmeaning from their interpreter. Zopyrus laughed on hearing that the\npossessor of the stolen chest was the oculist Nebenchari, the same who\nhad been sent to Persia to restore the sight of the king's mother, and\nwhose grave, even morose temper had procured him but little love at the\ncourt of Cambyses.\n\nBartja wished to ask Amasis the meaning of this strange robbery, but\nGyges begged him not to interfere in matters with which he had no\nconcern. Just as they reached the palace, and darkness, which in Egypt so\nquickly succeeds the daylight, was already stealing over the city, Gyges\nfelt himself hindered from proceeding further by a firm hand on his robe,\nand perceived a stranger holding his finger on his lips in token of\nsilence.\n\n\"When can I speak with you alone and unobserved?\" he whispered.\n\n\"What do you wish from me?\"\n\n\"Ask no questions, but answer me quickly. By Mithras,\" I have weighty\nmatters to disclose.\"\n\n\"You speak Persian, but your garments would proclaim you an Egyptian.\"\n\n\"I am a Persian, but answer me quickly or we shall be noticed. When can I\nspeak to you alone?\"\n\n\"To-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"That is too late.\"\n\n\"Well then, in a quarter of an hour, when it is quite dark, at this gate\nof the palace.\"\n\n\"I shall expect you.\"\n\nSo saying the man vanished. Once within the palace, Gyges left Bartja and\nZopyrus, fastened his sword into his girdle, begged Darius to do the same\nand to follow him, and was soon standing again under the great portico\nwith the stranger, but this time in total darkness.\n\n\"Auramazda be praised that you are there!\" cried the latter in Persian to\nthe young Lydian; \"but who is that with you?\"\n\n\"Darius, the son of Hystaspes, one of the Achaemenidae; and my friend.\"\n\nThe stranger bowed low and answered, \"It is well, I feared an Egyptian\nhad accompanied you.\"\n\n\"No, we are alone and willing to hear you; but be brief. Who are you and\nwhat do you want?\"\n\n\"My name is Bubares. I served as a poor captain under the great Cyrus. At\nthe taking of your father's city, Sardis, the soldiers were at first\nallowed to plunder freely; but on your wise father's representing to\nCyrus that to plunder a city already taken was an injury to the present,\nand not to the former, possessor, they were commanded on pain of death to\ndeliver up their booty to their captains, and the latter to cause\neverything of worth, when brought to them, to be collected in the\nmarket-place. Gold and silver trappings lay there in abundance, costly\narticles of attire studded with precious stones . . .\"\n\n\"Quick, quick, our time is short,\" interrupted Gyges.\n\n\"You are right. I must be more brief. By keeping for myself an\nointment-box sparkling with jewels, taken from your father's palace, I\nforfeited my life. Croesus, however, pleaded for me with his conqueror\nCyrus; my life and liberty were granted me, but I was declared a\ndishonored man. Life in Persia became impossible with disgrace lying\nheavily on my soul; I took ship from Smyrna to Cyprus, entered the army\nthere, fought against Amasis, and was brought hither by Phanes as a\nprisoner-of-war. Having always served as a horse-soldier, I was placed\namong those slaves who had charge of the king's horses, and in six years\nbecame an overseer. Never have I forgotten the debt of gratitude I owe to\nyour father; and now my turn has come to render him a service.\"\n\n\"The matter concerns my father? then speak--tell me, I beseech you!\"\n\n\"Immediately. Has Croesus offended the crown prince?\"\n\n\"Not that I am aware of.\"\n\n\"Your father is on a visit to Rhodopis this evening, at Naukratis?\"\n\n\"How did you hear this?\"\n\n\"From himself. I followed him to the boat this morning and sought to cast\nmyself at his feet.\"\n\n\"And did you succeed?\"\n\n\"Certainly. He spoke a few gracious words with me, but could not wait to\nhear what I would say, as his companions were already on board when he\narrived. His slave Sandon, whom I know, told me that they were going to\nNaukratis, and would visit the Greek woman whom they call Rhodopis.\"\n\n\"He spoke truly.\"\n\n\"Then you must speed to the rescue. At the time that the market-place was\nfull.\"\n\n   [The forenoon among the Greeks was regulated by the business of the\n   market. \"When the market-place begins to fill, when it is full,\n   when it becomes empty.\" It would be impossible to define this\n   division of time exactly according to our modern methods of\n   computation, but it seems certain that the market was over by the\n   afternoon. The busiest hours were probably from 10 till 1. At the\n   present day the streets of Athens are crowded during those hours;\n   but in Summer from two to four o'clock are utterly deserted.]\n\n\"Ten carriages and two boats, full of Ethiopian soldiers under the\ncommand of an Egyptian captain, were sent off to Naukratis to surround\nthe house of Rhodopis and make captives of her guests.\"\n\n\"Ha, treachery!\" exclaimed Gyges.\n\n\"But how can they wish to injure your father?\" said Darius. \"They know\nthat the vengeance of Cambyses--\"\n\n\"I only know,\" repeated Bubares, \"that this night the house of Rhodopis,\nin which your father is, will be surrounded by Ethiopian soldiers. I\nmyself saw to the horses which transport them thither and heard Pentaur,\none of the crown-prince's fan-bearers, call to them, 'Keep eyes and ears\nopen, and let the house of Rhodopis be surrounded, lest he should escape\nby the back door. If possible spare his life, and kill him only if he\nresist. Bring him alive to Sais, and you shall receive twenty rings of\ngold.'\"\n\n   [It is no longer a matter of question, that before the time of the\n   Persians, and therefore at this point of our history, no money had\n   been coined in Egypt. The precious metals were weighed out and used\n   as money in the shape of rings, animals, etc. On many of the\n   monuments we see people purchasing goods and weighing out the gold\n   in payment; while others are paying their tribute in gold rings.\n   These rings were in use as a medium of payment up to the time of the\n   Ptolemies. Pliny XXXIII. I. Balances with weights in the form of\n   animals may be seen in Wilkinson. During the reigns of the\n   Ptolemies many coins were struck.]\n\n\"But could that allude to my father?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" cried Darius.\n\n\"It is impossible to say,\" murmured Bubares. \"In this country one can\nnever know what may happen.\"\n\n\"How long does it take for a good horse to reach Naukratis?\"\n\n\"Three hours, if he can go so long, and the Nile has not overflowed the\nroad too much.\"\n\n\"I will be there in two.\"\n\n\"I shall ride with you,\" said Darius.\n\n\"No, you must remain here with Zopyrus for Bartja's protection. Tell the\nservants to get ready.\"\n\n\"But Gyges--\"\n\n\"Yes, you will stay here and excuse me to Amasis. Say I could not come to\nthe evening revel on account of headache, toothache, sickness, anything\nyou like.\"\n\n\"I shall ride Bartja's Nicaean horse; and you, Bubares, will follow me on\nDarius's. You will lend him, my brother?\"\n\n\"If I had ten thousand, you should have them all.\"\n\n\"Do you know the way to Naukratis, Bubares?\"\n\n\"Blindfold.\"\n\n\"Then go, Darius, and tell them to get your horse and Bartja's ready! To\nlinger would be sin. Farewell Darius, perhaps forever! Protect Bartja!\nOnce more, farewell!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nIt wanted two hours of midnight. Bright light was streaming through the\nopen windows of Rhodopis' house, and sounds of mirth and gaiety fell on\nthe ear. Her table had been adorned with special care in Croesus' honor.\n\nOn the cushions around it lay the guests with whom we are already\nacquainted: Theodorus, Ibykus, Phanes, Aristomachus, the merchant\nTheopompus of Miletus, Croesus and others, crowned with chaplets of\npoplar and roses.\n\nTheodorus the sculptor was speaking: \"Egypt seems to me,\" he said, \"like\na girl who persists in wearing a tight and painful shoe only because it\nis of gold, while within her reach he beautiful and well-fitting slippers\nin which she could move at ease, if she only would.\"\n\n\"You refer to the Egyptians' pertinacity in retaining traditional forms\nand customs?\" asked Croesus.\n\n\"Certainly I do,\" answered the sculptor. \"Two centuries ago Egypt was\nunquestionably the first of the nations. In Art and Science she far\nexcelled us; but we learnt their methods of working, improved on them,\nheld firm to no prescribed proportions, but to the natural types alone,\ngave freedom and beauty to their unbending outlines, and now have left\nour masters far behind us. But how was this possible? simply because the\nEgyptians, bound by unalterable laws, could make no progress; we, on the\ncontrary, were free to pursue our course in the wide arena of art as far\nas will and power would allow.\"\n\n\"But how can an artist be compelled to fashion statues alike, which are\nmeant to differ from each other in what they represent?\"\n\n\"In this case that can be easily explained. The entire human body is\ndivided by the Egyptians into 21 1/4 parts, in accordance with which\ndivision the proportion of each separate limb is regulated. I, myself,\nhave laid a wager with Amasis, in presence of the first Egyptian\nsculptor, (a priest of Thebes), that, if I send my brother Telekles, in\nEphesus, dimensions, proportion and attitude, according to the Egyptian\nmethod, he and I together can produce a statue which shall look as if\nsculptured from one block and by one hand, though Telekles is to carve\nthe lower half at Ephesus, and I the upper here in Sais, and under the\neye of Amasis.\"\n\n   [These numbers, and the story which immediately follows, are taken\n   from Diodorus I. 98. Plato tells us that, in his time, a law\n   existed binding the Egyptian artists to execute their works with\n   exactly the same amount of beauty or its reverse, as those which had\n   been made more than a thousand years before. This statement is\n   confirmed by the monuments; but any one well acquainted with\n   Egyptian art can discern a marked difference in the style of each\n   epoch. At the time of the ancient kingdom the forms were compressed\n   and stunted; under Seti I. beauty of proportion reached its highest\n   point. During, and after the 20th dynasty, the style declined in\n   beauty; in the 26th, under the descendants of Psammetichus, we meet\n   with a last revival of art, but the ancient purity of form was never\n   again attained.]\n\n\"And shall you win your wager?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. I am just going to begin this trick of art; it will as\nlittle deserve the name of a work of art, as any Egyptian statue.\"\n\n\"And yet there are single sculptures here which are of exquisite\nworkmanship; such, for instance, as the one Amasis sent to Samos as a\npresent to Polykrates. In Memphis I saw a statue said to be about three\nthousand years old, and to represent a king who built the great Pyramid,\nwhich excited my admiration in every respect. With what certainty and\nprecision that unusually hard stone has been wrought! the muscles, how\ncarefully carved! especially in the breast, legs and feet; the harmony of\nthe features too, and, above all, the polish of the whole, leave nothing\nto be desired.\"\n\n\"Unquestionably. In all the mechanism of art, such as precision and\ncertainty in working even the hardest materials, the Egyptians, though\nthey have so long stood still in other points, are still far before us;\nbut to model form with freedom, to breathe, like Prometheus, a soul into\nthe stone, they will never learn until their old notions on this subject\nhave been entirely abandoned. Even the pleasing varieties of corporeal\nlife cannot be represented by a system of mere proportions, much less\nthose which are inner and spiritual. Look at the countless statues which\nhave been erected during the last three thousand years, in all the\ntemples and palaces from Naukratis up to the Cataracts. They are all of\none type, and represent men of middle age, with grave but benevolent\ncountenances. Yet they are intended, some as statues of aged monarchs,\nothers to perpetuate the memory of young princes. The warrior and the\nlawgiver, the blood-thirsty tyrant and the philanthropist are only\ndistinguished from each other by a difference in size, by which the\nEgyptian sculptor expresses the idea of power and strength. Amasis orders\na statue just as I should a sword. Breadth and length being specified, we\nboth of us know quite well, before the master has begun his work, what we\nshall receive when it is finished. How could I possibly fashion an infirm\nold man like an eager youth? a pugilist like a runner in the foot-race? a\npoet like a warrior? Put Ibykus and our Spartan friend side by side, and\ntell me what you would say, were I to give to the stern warrior the\ngentle features and gestures of our heart-ensnaring poet.\"\n\n\"Well, and how does Amasis answer your remarks on this stagnation in\nart?\"\n\n\"He deplores it; but does not feel himself strong enough to abolish the\nrestrictive laws of the priests.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said the Delphian, \"he has given a large sum towards the\nembellishment of our new temple, expressly, (I use his own words) for the\npromotion of Hellenic art!\"\n\n\"That is admirable in him,\" exclaimed Croesus. \"Will the Alkmaeonidae\nsoon have collected the three hundred talents necessary for the\ncompletion of the temple? Were I as rich as formerly I would gladly\nundertake the entire cost; notwithstanding that your malicious god so\ncruelly deceived me, after all my offerings at his shrine. For when I\nsent to ask whether I should begin the war with Cyrus, he returned this\nanswer: I should destroy a mighty kingdom by crossing the river Halys. I\ntrusted the god, secured the friendship of Sparta according to his\ncommands, crossed the boundary stream, and, in so doing, did indeed\ndestroy a mighty kingdom; not however that of the Medes and Persians, but\nmy own poor Lydia, which, as a satrapy of Cambyses, finds its loss of\nindependence a hard and uncongenial yoke.\"\n\n\"You blame the god unjustly,\" answered Phryxus. It cannot be his fault\nthat you, in your human conceit, should have misinterpreted his oracle.\nThe answer did not say 'the kingdom of Persia,' but 'a kingdom' should be\ndestroyed through your desire for war. Why did you not enquire what\nkingdom was meant? Was not your son's fate truly prophesied by the\noracle? and also that on the day of misfortune he would regain his\nspeech? And when, after the fall of Sardis, Cyrus granted your wish to\nenquire at Delphi whether the Greek gods made a rule of requiting their\nbenefactors by ingratitude, Loxias answered that he had willed the best\nfor you, but was controlled by a mightier power than himself, by that\ninexorable fate which had foretold to thy great ancestor, that his fifth\nsuccessor was doomed to destruction.\"\n\n\"In the first days of my adversity I needed those words far more than\nnow,\" interrupted Croesus. \"There was a time when I cursed your god and\nhis oracles; but later, when with my riches my flatterers had left me,\nand I became accustomed to pronounce judgment on my own actions, I saw\nclearly that not Apollo, but my own vanity had been the cause of my ruin.\nHow could 'the kingdom to be destroyed' possibly mean mine, the mighty\nrealm of the powerful Croesus, the friend of the gods, the hitherto\nunconquered leader? Had a friend hinted at this interpretation of the\nambiguous oracle, I should have derided, nay, probably caused him to be\npunished. For a despotic ruler is like a fiery steed; the latter\nendeavors to kick him who touches his wounds with intent to heal; the\nformer punishes him who lays a hand on the weak or failing points of his\ndiseased mind. Thus I missed what, if my eyes had not been dazzled, I\nmight easily have seen; and now that my vision is clearer, though I have\nnothing to lose, I am far more often anxious than in the days when none\ncould possibly lose more than I. In comparison with those days, Phryxus,\nI may be called a poor man now, but Cambyses does not leave me to famish,\nand I can still raise a talent for your temple.\"\n\nPhryxus expressed his thanks, and Phanes remarked \"The Alkmaeonida; will\nbe sure to erect a beautiful edifice, for they are rich and ambitious,\nand desirous of gaining favor with the Amphiktyons, in order, by their\naid, to overthrow the tyrants, secure to themselves a higher position\nthan that of the family to which I belong, and with this, the guidance of\nstate-affairs.\"\n\n\"Is it true, as people say,\" asked Ibykus, \"that next to Agarista with\nwhom Megakles received so rich a dowry, you, Croesus, have been the\nlargest contributor to the wealth of the Alkmaeonidae?\"\n\n\"True enough,\" answered Croesus laughing.\n\n\"Tell us the story, I beg,\" said Rhodopis.\n\n\"Well,\" answered Croesus, \"Alkmaeon of Athens once appeared at my court;\nhis cheerfulness and cultivation pleased me well, and I retained him near\nme for some time. One day I showed him my treasure-chambers, at the sight\nof which he fell into despair, called himself a common beggar and\ndeclared that one good handful of these precious things would make him a\nhappy man. I at once allowed him to take as much gold away as he could\ncarry. What think you did Alkaemmon on this? sent for high Lydian\nriding-boots, an apron and a basket, had the one secured behind him, put\nthe others on, and filled them all with gold, till they could hold no\nmore. Not content with this, he strewed gold-dust in his hair and beard\nand filled his mouth to that extent that he appeared in the act of\nchoking. In each hand he grasped a golden dish, and thus laden dragged\nhimself out of the treasure-house, falling exhausted as he crossed the\nthreshold. Never have I laughed so heartily as at this sight.\"\n\n\"But did you grant him all these treasures?\" said Rhodopis.\n\n\"Yes, yes, my friend; and did not think even then, that I had paid too\ndearly for the experience that gold can make fools even of clever men.\"\n\n\"You were the most generous of monarchs,\" cried Phanes.\n\n\"And make a tolerably contented beggar,\" answered Croesus. \"But tell me,\nPhryxus, how much has Amasis contributed to your collection?\"\n\n\"He gave fifty tons of alum.\"\n\n\"A royal gift!\"\n\n\"And the prince Psamtik?\"\n\n\"On my appealing to him by his father's munificence, he turned his back\non me, and answered with a bitter laugh: 'Collect money for the\ndestruction of your temple, and I am ready to double my father's\ndonation!'\"\n\n\"The wretch!\"\n\n\"Say rather: the true Egyptian! to Psamtik everything foreign is an\nabomination.\"\n\n\"How much have the Greeks in Naukratis contributed?\"\n\n\"Beside munificent private donations, each community has given twenty\nminae.\"\n\n\"That is much.\"\n\n\"Philoinus, the Sybarite, alone sent me a thousand drachmm,\" and\naccompanied his gift with a most singular epistle. May I read it aloud,\nRhodopis?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" answered she, \"it will show you that the drunkard has\nrepented of his late behaviour.\"\n\nThe Delphian began: \"Philoinus to Phryxus: It grieves me that at\nRhodopis' house the other night I did not drink more; for had I done so I\nshould have lost consciousness entirely, and so have been unable to\noffend even the smallest insect. My confounded abstemiousness is\ntherefore to blame, that I can no longer enjoy a place at the best table\nin all Egypt. I am thankful, however, to Rhodopis for past enjoyment, and\nin memory of her glorious roastbeef (which has bred in me the wish to buy\nher cook at any price) I send twelve large spits for roasting\noxen,--[Rhodopis is said to have sent such a gift to Delphi. Herod.]--and\nbeg they may be placed in some treasure-house at Delphi as an offering\nfrom Rhodopis. As for myself, being a rich man, I sign my name for a\nthousand drachmae, and beg that my gift may be publicly announced at the\nnext Pythian games. To that rude fellow, Aristomachus of Sparta, express\nmy thanks for the effectual manner in which he fulfilled my intention in\ncoming to Egypt. I came hither for the purpose of having a tooth\nextracted by an Egyptian dentist said to take out teeth without causing\nmuch pain.\n\n   [The Egyptian dentists must have been very skilful. Artificial\n   teeth have been discovered in the jaws of mummies. See Blumenbach\n   on the teeth of the ancient Egyptians, and on mummies.]\n\nAristomachus, however, knocked out the defective tooth and so saved me\nfrom an operation, the thought of which had often made me tremble. On\nrecovering consciousness, I found that three teeth had been knocked into\nmy mouth, the diseased one and two others, which though healthy, would\nprobably at some future time have caused me pain. Salute Rhodopis and the\nhandsome Phanes from me. You I invite to an entertainment at my house in\nSybaris, this day year. We are accustomed to issue invitations somewhat\nearly, on account of my necessary preparations. I have caused this\nepistle to be written by my slave Sophotatus in an adjoining chamber, as\nmerely to behold the labor of writing causes cramp in my fingers.\"\n\nA burst of laughter arose at these words, but Rhodopis said: \"This letter\ngives me pleasure; it proves that Philoinus is not bad at heart. Brought\nup a Sybarite.\" . . . She was suddenly interrupted by the voice of a\nstranger, who had entered unperceived, and, after apologizing to the\nvenerable hostess and her guests for appearing without invitation among\nthem, continued thus: \"I am Gyges the son of Croesus; and it has not been\nmerely for pastime, that I have ridden over from Sais in two hours lest I\nshould arrive too late!\"\n\n\"Menon, a cushion for our guest!\" cried Rhodopis. \"Be welcome to my house\nand take some repose after your wild, thoroughly Lydian, ride.\"\n\n\"By the dog, Gyges!\" exclaimed Croesus.\n\n   [An oath of Rhadamanthus used in order to avoid mentioning the names\n   of the gods. Schol. Aristoph. Aves. 520.]\n\n\"What brings thee here at this hour? I begged thee not to quit Bartja's\nside. . . .  But how thou look'st! what is the matter? has aught happened?\nspeak, speak!\"\n\nIn the first moment Gyges could not answer a word. To see his beloved\nfather, for whose very life he had been in such anxiety, a safe and happy\nguest at this rich banquet, seemed to rob him of his speech a second\ntime. At last, however, he was able to say: \"The gods be praised, my\nfather, that I see thee safe once more! Think not I forsook my post\nthoughtlessly. Alas! I am forced to appear as a bird of evil omen in this\ncheerful assembly. Know at once, ye guests, for I dare not lose time in\npreparing my words, that a treacherous assault awaits ye!\"\n\nThey all sprang up as if struck by lightning. Aristomachus silently\nloosened his sword in its scabbard; Phanes extended his arms as if to\ndiscern whether the old athletic elasticity still dwelt there.\n\n\"What can it be?--what is their design?\" echoed from all sides.\n\n\"This house is surrounded by Ethiopian soldiers!\" answered Gyges. \"A\nfaithful fellow confided to me that the crown-prince had designs on one\nof your number; he was to be taken alive if possible, but killed if he\nresisted. Dreading lest thou shouldst be this victim, my father, I sped\nhither. The fellow had not lied. This house is surrounded. My horse shied\non reaching your garden-gate, Rhodopis, jaded as he was. I dismounted,\nand could discern behind every bush the glitter of weapons and the eager\neyes of men lying in ambush. They allowed us, however, to enter\nunmolested.\"\n\nAt this moment Knakias rushed in crying, \"Important news! On my way to\nthe Nile to fetch water with which to prepare the wine-cup, I have just\nmet a man who, in his haste, nearly ran over me.\n\n   [The water of the Nile has a very agreeable flavor. It is called by\n   one traveller the champagne among the waters. The ladies of the\n   Sultan's harem send for this water even from Constantinople, and the\n   Arabs say, that if Mahomet had drunk thereof he would have desired\n   to live for ever.]\n\nIt was an Ethiop, one of Phanes' boatmen, and he tells that just as he\nsprang out of the boat to bathe, a royal bark came alongside and a\nsoldier asked the rest of the crew in whose service they were. On the\nhelmsman answering, 'in Phanes' service,' the royal boat passed on\nslowly. He, however, (the rower who was bathing), seated himself in fun\non the rudder of the royal boat, and heard one Ethiopian soldier on board\nsay to another, 'Keep that craft well in sight; now we know where the\nbird sits, and it will be easy to catch him. Remember, Psamtik has\npromised us fifty gold rings if we bring the Athenian to Sais dead or\nalive.' This is the report of Sebek, who has been in your service seven\nyears, O Phanes.\"\n\nTo both these accounts Phanes listened calmly. Rhodopis trembled.\nAristomachus exclaimed, \"Not a hair of your head shall be touched, if\nEgypt perish for it!\" Croesus advised prudence. A tremendous excitement\nhad mastered the whole party.\n\nAt last Phanes broke silence, saying: \"Reflection is never more necessary\nthan in a time of danger. I have thought the matter over, and see clearly\nthat escape will be difficult. The Egyptians will try to get rid of me\nquietly. They know that I intend going on board a Phoecean trireme, which\nsets sail for Sigeum at a very early hour to-morrow morning, and have\ntherefore no time to lose, if they will seize me. Your garden, Rhodopis,\nis entirely surrounded, and were I to remain here, your house would no\nlonger be respected as a sanctuary; it would be searched and I taken in\nit. There can be no doubt that a watch has been set over the Phoecean\nship also. Blood shall not be shed in vain on my account.\"\n\n\"But you dare not surrender!\" cried Aristomachus.\n\n\"No, no, I have a plan,\" shouted Theopompus the Milesian merchant. \"At\nsunrise to-morrow a ship sails for Miletus laden with Egyptian corn, but\nnot from Naukratis, from Canopus. Take the noble Persian's horse and ride\nthither. We will cut a way for you through the garden.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Gyges, \"our little band is not strong enough to carry out\nsuch an attempt. We number in all ten men, and of these only three have\nswords; our enemies, on the other hand, number at least a hundred, and\nare armed to the teeth.\"\n\n\"Lydian!\" cried Aristomachus, \"wert thou ten times more fainthearted than\nthou art, and were our enemies double their number, I at least, will\nfight them!\"\n\nPhanes grasped his friend's hand. Gyges turned pale. This brave warrior\nhad called him fainthearted; and again he could find no words to answer;\nfor at every stirring emotion his tongue failed him. Suddenly the blood\nmounted to his face; his words came quickly and with decision: \"Athenian,\nfollow me! and thou, Spartan, who art not wont to use words heedlessly,\ncall no man fainthearted again before thou knowest him. Friends, Phanes\nis safe, Farewell, father!\"\n\nThe remaining guests surveyed these two departing men in silent wonder.\nAs they stood there, silently listening, the sound of two horses\ngalloping swiftly away fell on their ear, and after a longer interval a\nprolonged whistle from the Nile and a cry of distress.\n\n\"Where is Knakias?\" said Rhodopis to one of her slaves.\n\n\"He went into the garden with Phanes and the Persian,\" was the answer,\nand as it was being spoken, the old slave re-entered, pale and trembling.\n\n\"Have you seen my son?\" cried Croesus. \"Where is Phanes?\"\n\n\"I was to bid you farewell from them both.\"\n\n\"Then they are gone.--Whither? How was it possible?\" . . .\n\n\"The Athenian and the Persian,\" began the slave, \"had a slight dispute in\nthe anteroom. This over, I was told to divest both of their robes. Phanes\nthen put on the stranger's trousers, coat and girdle; on his own curls he\nplaced the pointed Persian cap. The stranger wrapped himself in the\nAthenian's chiton and mantle, placed the golden circlet above his brow,\ncaused the hair to be shaved from his upper lip, and ordered me to follow\nhim into the garden. Phanes, whom in his present dress, none could\nimagine to be other than a Persian, mounted one of the horses still\nwaiting before the gate; the stranger called after him, 'Farewell Gyges,\nfarewell beloved Persian, a pleasant journey to thee, Gyges!' The\nservant, who had been waiting, followed on the other horse. I could hear\nthe clatter of arms among the bushes, but the Athenian was allowed to\ndepart unmolested, the soldiers, without doubt, believing him to be a\nPersian.\n\n\"On returning to the house the stranger's orders were: 'Accompany me to\nPhanes' bark, and cease not to call me by the Athenian's name.' 'But the\nboatmen will betray you,' I said. 'Then go alone to them,' he answered,\n'and command them to receive me as their master, Phanes.' Then I prayed\nhim to allow me to take the dress of the fugitive and become a prey to\nthe pursuers; but he would by no means allow this, and said my gait and\ncarriage would betray me. There alas! he spoke truly, for only the free\nman can walk erect; the neck of the slave is bent; the schools in which\nthe noble and the freeborn learn grace and beauty of movement are not for\nhim. And so it must remain, the children must be even as the fathers; can\nthe unclean onion-root produce a rose, or the unsightly radish a\nhyacinth? Constant bondage bows the neck of the slave, but the\nconsciousness of freedom gives dignity to the stature.\"\n\n\"But what has become of my son?\" interrupted Croesus.\n\n\"He would not accept my poor offer, and took his seat in the bark,\nsending a thousand greetings unto thee, O king! I cried after him,\n'Farewell Phanes! I wish thee a prosperous journey, Phanes!' At that\nmoment a cloud crossed the moon; and from out the thick darkness I heard\nscreams, and cries for help; they did not, however, last long, a shrill\nwhistle followed, then all was silent; and the measured strokes of oars\nwere the only sounds that fell on my ear. I was on the point of returning\nto relate what I had seen, when the boatman Sebek swam up once more and\ntold as follows: The Egyptians had caused a leak to be made in Phanes'\nboat, and at a short distance from land it had filled and began to sink.\nOn the boatmen crying for help, the royal bark, which was following, had\ncome up and taken the supposed Phanes on board, but had prevented the\nrowers from leaving their benches. They all went down with the leaking\nboat, the daring Sebek alone excepted. Gyges is on board the royal boat;\nPhanes has escaped, for that whistle must have been intended for the\nsoldiers in ambush at the garden-gate. I searched the bushes, the\nsoldiers were gone, and I could hear the sound of their voices and\nweapons on their way back to Sais.\"\n\nThe guests listened with eager attention to this tale. At its close a\nmingled feeling of relief and anxiety was felt by all; relief that their\nfavorite companion had escaped so fearful a danger, anxiety for the brave\nyoung Lydian who had risked his life to save him. They praised his\ngenerosity, congratulated Croesus on possessing such a son, and finally\nagreed in the conclusion, that, when the crown-prince discovered the\nerror into which his emissaries had fallen, he must certainly release\nGyges, and even make him compensation for what he had suffered at their\nhands.\n\nThe friendship already shown by Amasis, and the fear in which he\nevidently stood of the Persian power, were the thoughts which had power\nto calm Croesus, who soon left, in order to pass the night at the house\nof Theopompus, the Milesian merchant. At parting, Aristomachus said:\n\"Salute Gyges in my name; tell him I ask his forgiveness, and hope one\nday either to enjoy his friendship, or, if that cannot be, to meet him as\na fair foe on the field of battle.\"\n\n\"Who knows what the future may bring?\" answered Croesus giving his hand\nto the Spartan.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nThe sun of a new day had risen over Egypt, but was still low in the east;\nthe copious dew, which, on the Nile, supplies the place of rain, lay\nsparkling like jewels on the leaves and blossoms, and the morning air,\nfreshened by a north-west wind, invited those to enjoy it who could not\nbear the heat of mid-day.\n\nThrough the door of the country-house, now so well known to us, two\nfemale figures have just passed; Melitta, the old slave, and Sappho, the\ngrandchild of Rhodopis.\n\nThe latter is not less lovely now, than when we saw her last, asleep. She\nmoves through the garden with a light quick step, her white morning robe\nwith its wide sleeves falling in graceful drapery over her lithe limbs,\nthe thick brown hair straying from beneath the purple kerchief over her\nhead, and a merry, roguish smile lurking round her rosy mouth and in the\ndimples of her cheeks and chin.\n\nShe stooped to pick a rose, dashed the dew from it into the face of her\nold nurse, laughing at her naughty trick till the clear bell-like tones\nrang through the garden; fixed the flower in her dress and began to sing\nin a wonderfully rich and sweet voice--\n\n          Cupid once upon a bed\n          Of roses laid his weary head;\n          Luckless urchin! not to see\n          Within the leaves a slumbering bee.\n          The bee awak'd--with anger wild\n          The bee awak'd, and stung the child.\n          Loud and piteous are his cries;\n          To Venus quick he runs, he flies;\n          \"Oh mother! I am wounded through--\n          \"I die with pain--in sooth I do!\n          \"Stung by some little angry thing.\n          \"Some serpent on a tiny wing,\n          \"A bee it was--for once, I know,\n          \"I heard a rustic call it so.\"\n\n\"Isn't that a very pretty song?\" asked the laughing girl. \"How stupid of\nlittle Eros to mistake a bee for a winged snake! Grandmother says that\nthe great poet Anacreon wrote another verse to this song, but she will\nnot teach it me. Tell me, Melitta, what can there be in that verse?\nThere, you are smiling; dear, darling Melitta, do sing me that one verse.\nPerhaps though, you don't know it yourself? No? then certainly you can't\nteach it me.\"\n\n\"That is a new song,\" answered the old woman, evading her darling's\nquestion, \"I only know the songs of the good old times. But hark! did not\nyou hear a knock at the gate?\"\n\n   [The last lines which contain the point of this song are:\n\n          Thus he spoke, and she, the while,\n          Heard him with a soothing smile;\n          Then said, \"My infant, if so much\n          \"Thou feel the little wild bee's touch,\n          \"How must the heart, ah! Cupid be,\n          \"The hapless heart that's stung by thee?\"\n\n   --Translation from one of Anacreon's songs]\n\n\"Yes, of course I did, and I think the sound of horses' hoofs too. Go and\nsee who seeks admission so early. Perhaps, after all, our kind Phanes did\nnot go away yesterday, and has come to bid us farewell once more.\"\n\n\"Phanes is gone,\" said Melitta, becoming serious, \"and Rhodopis has\nordered me to send you in when visitors arrive. Go child, that I may open\nthe gate. There, they have knocked again.\"\n\nSappho pretended to run in, but instead of obeying her nurse's orders,\nstopped and hid herself behind a rose-bush, hoping to catch sight of\nthese early guests. In the fear of needlessly distressing her, she had\nnot been told of the events of the previous evening, and at this early\nhour could only expect to see some very intimate friend of her\ngrandmother's.\n\nMelitta opened the gate and admitted a youth splendidly apparelled, and\nwith fair curling hair.\n\nIt was Bartja, and Sappho was so lost in wonder at his beauty, and the\nPersian dress, to her so strange, that she remained motionless in her\nhiding-place, her eyes fixed on his face. Just so she had pictured to\nherself Apollo with the beautiful locks, guiding the sun-chariot.\n\nAs Melitta and the stranger came nearer she thrust her little head\nthrough the roses to hear what the handsome youth was saying so kindly in\nhis broken Greek.\n\nShe heard him ask hurriedly after Croesus and his son; and then, from\nMelitta's answer, she gathered all that had passed the evening before,\ntrembled for Phanes, felt so thankful to the generous Gyges, and again\nwondered who this youth in royal apparel could possibly be. Rhodopis had\ntold her about Cyrus's heroic deeds, the fall of Croesus and the power\nand wealth of the Persians, but still she had always fancied them a wild,\nuncultivated people. Now, however, her interest in Persia increased with\nevery look at the handsome Bartja. At last Melitta went in to wake her\ngrandmother and announce the guest, and Sappho tried to follow her, but\nEros, the foolish boy whose ignorance she had been mocking a moment\nbefore, had other intentions. Her dress caught in the thorns, and before\nshe could disengage it, the beautiful Bartja was standing before her,\nhelping her to get free from the treacherous bush.\n\nSappho could not speak a word even of thanks; she blushed deeply, and\nstood smiling and ashamed, with downcast eyes.\n\nBartja, too, generally so full of fun and spirit, looked down at her\nwithout speaking, the color mounting to his cheeks.\n\nThe silence, however, did not last long, for Sappho, recovering from her\nfright, burst into a laugh of childish delight at the silent stranger and\nthe odd scene, and fled towards the house like a timid fawn.\n\nIn a moment Bartja was himself again; in two strides he reached the young\ngirl, quick as thought seized her hand and held it fast, notwithstanding\nall her struggles.\n\n\"Let me go!\" she cried half in earnest and half laughing, raising her\ndark eyes appealingly to him.\n\n\"Why should I?\" he answered. \"I took you from the rose-bush and shall\nhold you fast until you give me your sister there, the other rose, from\nyour bosom, to take home with me as a keepsake.\"\n\n\"Please let me go,\" repeated Sappho, \"I will promise nothing unless you\nlet my hand go.\"\n\n\"But if I do, you will not run away again?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I will give you your liberty, but now you must give me your\nrose.\"\n\n\"There are plenty on the bush yonder, and more beautiful ones; choose\nwhichever you like. Why do you want just this one?\"\n\n\"To keep it carefully in remembrance of the most beautiful maiden I ever\nsaw.\"\n\n\"Then I shall certainly not give it to you; for those are not my real\nfriends who tell me I am beautiful, only those who tell me I am good.\"\n\n\"Where did you learn that?\"\n\n\"From my grandmother Rhodopis.\"\n\n\"Very well, then I will tell you you are better than any other maiden in\nthe whole world.\"\n\n\"How can you say such things, when you don't know me at all? Oh,\nsometimes I am very naughty and disobedient. If I were really good I\nshould be indoors now instead of talking to you here. My grandmother has\nforbidden me ever to stay in the garden when visitors are here, and\nindeed I don't care for all those strange men who always talk about\nthings I cannot understand.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps you would like me to go away too?\"\n\n\"Oh no, I can understand you quite well; though you cannot speak half so\nbeautifully as our poor Phanes for example, who was obliged to escape so\nmiserably yesterday evening, as I heard Melitta saying just this minute.\"\n\n\"Did you love Phanes?\"\n\n\"Love him? Oh yes,--I was very fond of him. When I was little he always\nbrought me balls, dolls ninepins from Memphis and Sais; and now that I am\nolder he teaches me beautiful new songs.\"\n\n   [Jointed dolls for children. Wilkinson II. 427. Note 149. In the\n   Leyden Museum one of these jointed toys is to be seen, in very good\n   preservation.]\n\n\"As a parting gift he brought me a tiny Sicilian lapdog, which I am going\nto call Argos, because he is so white and swiftfooted. But in a few days\nwe are to have another present from the good Phanes, for. . . .  There, now\nyou can see what I am; I was just going to let out a great secret. My\ngrandmother has strictly forbidden me to tell any one what dear little\nvisitors we are expecting; but I feel as if I had known you a long time\nalready, and you have such kind eyes that I could tell you everything.\nYou see, when I am very happy, I have no one in the whole world to talk\nto about it, except old Melitta and my grandmother, and, I don't know how\nit is, that, though they love me so much, they sometimes cannot\nunderstand how trifles can make me so happy.\"\n\n\"That is because they are old, and have forgotten what made them happy in\ntheir youth. But have you no companions of your own age that you are fond\nof?\"\n\n\"Not one. Of course there are many other young girls beside me in\nNaukratis, but my grandmother says I am not to seek their acquaintance,\nand if they will not come to us I am not to go to them.\"\n\n\"Poor child! if you were in Persia, I could soon find you a friend. I\nhave a sister called Atossa, who is young and good, like you.\"\n\n\"Oh, what a pity that she did not come here with you!--But now you must\ntell me your name.\"\n\n\"My name is Bartja.\"\n\n\"Bartja! that is a strange name! Bartja-Bartja. Do you know, I like it.\nHow was the son of Croesus called, who saved our Phanes so generously?\"\n\n\"Gyges. Darius, Zopyrus and he are my best friends. We have sworn never\nto part, and to give up our lives for one another,\" and that is why I\ncame to-day, so early and quite in secret, to help my friend Gyges, in\ncase he should need me.\"\n\n\"Then you rode here for nothing.\"\n\n\"No, by Mithras, that indeed I did not, for this ride brought me to you.\nBut now you must tell me your name.\"\n\n\"I am called Sappho.\"\n\n\"That is a pretty name, and Gyges sings me sometimes beautiful songs by a\npoetess called Sappho. Are you related to her?\"\n\n\"Of course. She was the sister of my grandfather Charaxus, and is called\nthe tenth muse or the Lesbian swan. I suppose then, your friend Gyges\nspeaks Greek better than you do?\"\n\n\"Yes, he learnt Greek and Lydian together as a little child, and speaks\nthem both equally well. He can speak Persian too, perfectly; and what is\nmore, he knows and practises all the Persian virtues.\"\n\n\"Which are the highest virtues then according to you Persians?\"\n\n\"Truth is the first of all; courage the second, and the third is\nobedience; these three, joined with veneration for the gods, have made us\nPersians great.\"\n\n\"But I thought you worshipped no gods?\"\n\n\"Foolish child! who could live without a god, without a higher ruler?\nTrue, they do not dwell in houses and pictures like the gods of the\nEgyptians, for the whole creation is their dwelling. The Divinity, who\nmust be in every place, and must see and hear everything, cannot be\nconfined within walls.\"\n\n\"Where do you pray then and offer sacrifice, if you have no temples?\"\n\n\"On the grandest of all altars, nature herself; our favorite altar is the\nsummit of a mountain. There we are nearest to our own god, Mithras, the\nmighty sun, and to Auramazda, the pure creative light; for there the\nlight lingers latest and returns earliest.\"\n\n   [From Herodotus (I. 131 and 132.), and from many other sources, we\n   see clearly that at the time of the Achaemenidae the Persians had\n   neither temples nor images of their gods. Auramazda and\n   Angramainjus, the principles of good and evil, were invisible\n   existences filling all creation with their countless train of good\n   and evil spirits. Eternity created fire and water. From these\n   Ormusd (Auramazda), the good spirit, took his origin. He was\n   brilliant as the light, pure and good. After having, in the course\n   of 12000 years, created heaven, paradise and the stars, he became\n   aware of the existence of an evil spirit, Ahriman (Angramainjus),\n   black, unclean, malicious and emitting an evil odor. Ormusd\n   determined on his destruction, and a fierce strife began, in which\n   Ormusd was the victor, and the evil spirit lay 3000 years\n   unconscious from the effects of terror. During this interval Ormusd\n   created the sky, the waters, the earth, all useful plants, trees and\n   herbs, the ox and the first pair of human beings in one year.\n   Ahriman, after this, broke loose, and was overcome but not slain.\n   As, after death, the four elements of which all things are composed,\n   Earth, Air, Fire and Water, become reunited with their primitive\n   elements; and as, at the resurrection-day, everything that has been\n   severed combines once more, and nothing returns into oblivion, all\n   is reunited to its primitive elements, Ahriman could only have been\n   slain if his impurity could have been transmuted into purity, his\n   darkness into light. And so evil continued to exist, and to produce\n   impurity and evil wherever and whenever the good spirit created the\n   pure and good. This strife must continue until the last day; but\n   then Ahriman, too, will become pure and holy; the Diws or Daewa\n   (evil spirits) will have absorbed his evil, and themselves have\n   ceased to exist. For the evil spirits which dwell in every human\n   being, and are emanations from Ahriman, will be destroyed in the\n   punishment inflicted on men after death. From Vuller's Ulmai Islam\n   and the Zend-Avesta.]\n\n\"Light alone is pure and good; darkness is unclean and evil. Yes, maiden,\nbelieve me, God is nearest to us on the mountains; they are his favorite\nresting-place. Have you never stood on the wooded summit of a high\nmountain, and felt, amid the solemn silence of nature, the still and\nsoft, but awful breath of Divinity hovering around you? Have you\nprostrated yourself in the green forest, by a pure spring, or beneath the\nopen sky, and listened for the voice of God speaking from among the\nleaves and waters? Have you beheld the flame leaping up to its parent the\nsun, and bearing with it, in the rising column of smoke, our prayers to\nthe radiant Creator? You listen now in wonder, but I tell you, you would\nkneel and worship too with me, could I but take you to one of our\nmountain-altars.\"\n\n\"Oh! if I only could go there with you! if I might only once look down\nfrom some high mountain over all the woods and meadows, rivers and\nvalleys. I think, up there, where nothing could be hidden from my eyes, I\nshould feel like an all-seeing Divinity myself. But hark, my grandmother\nis calling. I must go.\"\n\n\"Oh, do not leave me yet!\"\n\n\"Is not obedience one of the Persian virtues?\"\n\n\"But my rose?\"\n\n\"Here it is.\"\n\n\"Shall you remember me?\"\n\n\"Why should I not?\"\n\n\"Sweet maiden, forgive me if I ask one more favor.\"\n\n\"Yes, but ask it quickly, for my grandmother has just called again.\"\n\n\"Take my diamond star as a remembrance of this hour.\"\n\n\"No, I dare not.\"\n\n\"Oh, do, do take it. My father gave it me as a reward, the first time\nthat I killed a bear with my own hand, and it has been my dearest\ntreasure till to-day, but now you shall have it, for you are dearer to me\nthan anything else in the world.\"\n\nSaying this, he took the chain and star from his breast, and tried to\nhang it round Sappho's neck. She resisted, but Bartja threw his arms\nround her, kissed her forehead, called her his only love, and looking\ndown deep into the eyes of the trembling child, placed it round her neck\nby gentle force.\n\nRhodopis called a third time. Sappho broke from the young prince's\nembrace, and was running away, but turned once more at his earnest\nentreaty and the question, \"When may I see you again?\" and answered\nsoftly, \"To-morrow morning at this rose-bush.\"\n\n\"Which held you fast to be my friend.\"\n\nSappho sped towards the house. Rhodopis received Bartja, and communicated\nto him all she knew of his friend's fate, after which the young Persian\ndeparted for Sais.\n\nWhen Rhodopis visited her grandchild's bed that evening, she did not find\nher sleeping peacefully as usual; her lips moved, and she sighed deeply,\nas if disturbed by vexing dreams.\n\nOn his way back, Bartja met Darius and Zopyrus, who had followed at once\non hearing of their friend's secret departure. They little guessed that\ninstead of encountering an enemy, Bartja had met his first love. Croesus\nreached Sais a short time before the three friends. He went at once to\nthe king and informed him without reserve of the events of the preceding\nevening. Amasis pretended much surprise at his son's conduct, assured his\nfriend that Gyges should be released at once, and indulged in some\nironical jokes at the discomfiture of Psamtik's attempt to revenge\nhimself.\n\nCroesus had no sooner quitted the king than the crown-prince was\nannounced.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nAmasis received his son with a burst of laughter, and without noticing\nPsamtik's pale and troubled countenance, shouted: \"Did not I tell thee,\nthat a simple Egyptian would find it no easy task to catch such a Greek\nfox? I would have given ten cities to have been by, when thy captive\nproved to be the stammering Lydian instead of the voluble Athenian.\"\n\nPsamtik grew paler and paler, and trembling with rage, answered in a\nsuppressed voice: \"Is it well, my father, thus to rejoice at an affront\noffered to thy son? I swear, by the eternal gods, that but for Cambyses'\nsake that shameless Lydian had not seen the light of another day. But\nwhat is it to thee, that thy son becomes a laughing-stock to these\nbeggarly Greeks!\"\n\n\"Abuse not those who have outwitted thee.\"\n\n\"Outwitted! my plan was so subtly laid, that . . .\n\n\"The finer the web, the sooner broken.\"\n\n\"That that intriguing Greek could not possibly have escaped, if, in\nviolation of all established precedents; the envoy of a foreign power had\nnot taken it upon himself to rescue a man whom we had condemned.\"\n\n\"There thou art in error, my son. We are not speaking of the execution of\na judicial sentence, but of the success or failure of an attempt at\npersonal revenge.\"\n\n\"The agents employed were, however, commissioned by the king, and\ntherefore the smallest satisfaction that I can demand of thee, is to\nsolicit from Cambyses the punishment of him who has interfered in the\nexecution of the royal decrees. In Persia, where men bow to the king's\nwill as to the will of a god, this crime will be seen in all its\nheinousness. The punishment of Gyges is a debt which Cambyses owes us.\"\n\n\"But I have no intention of demanding the payment of this debt,\" answered\nAmasis. \"On the contrary, I am thankful that Phanes has escaped. Gyges\nhas saved my soul from the guilt of shedding innocent blood, and thine\nfrom the reproach of having revenged thyself meanly on a man, to whom thy\nfather is indebted.\"\n\n\"Wilt thou then conceal the whole affair from Cambyses?\"\n\n\"No, I shall mention it jestingly in a letter, as my manner is, and at\nthe same time caution him against Phanes. I shall tell him that he has\nbarely escaped my vengeance, and will therefore certainly endeavor to\nstir up the power of Persia against Egypt; and shall entreat my future\nson-in-law to close his ears to this false accuser. Croesus and Gyges can\nhelp us by their friendship more than Phanes can injure by his hatred.\"\n\n\"Is this then thy final resolve? Can I expect no satisfaction?\"\n\n\"None. I abide by what I have said.\"\n\n\"Then tremble, not alone before Phanes, but before another--before one\nwho holds thee in his power, and who himself is in ours.\"\n\n\"Thou thinkest to alarm me; thou wouldst rend the bond formed only\nyesterday? Psamtik, Psamtik, I counsel thee to remember, that thou\nstandest before thy father and thy king.\"\n\n\"And thou, forget not that I am thy son! If thou compell'st me to forget\nthat the gods appointed thee to be my father--if I can hope for no help\nfrom thee, then I will resort to my own weapons.\"\n\n\"I am curious to learn what these may be.\"\n\n\"And I need not conceal them. Know then that the oculist Nebenchari is in\nour power.\"\n\nAmasis turned pale.\n\n\"Before thou couldst possibly imagine that Cambyses would sue for the\nhand of thy daughter, thou sentest this man to the distant realm of\nPersia, in order to rid thyself of one who shared thy knowledge of the\nreal descent of my, so-called, sister Nitetis. He is still there, and at\na hint from the priests will disclose to Cambyses that he has been\ndeceived, and that thou hast ventured to send him, instead of thine own,\nthe child of thy dethroned predecessor Hophra. All Nebenchari's papers\nare in our possession, the most important being a letter in thine own\nhand promising his father, who assisted at Nitetis' birth, a thousand\ngold rings, as an inducement to secrecy even from the priests.\"\n\n\"In whose hands are these papers?\" asked Amasis in a freezing tone.\n\n\"In the hands of the priesthood.\"\n\n\"Who speak by thy mouth?\"\n\n\"Thou hast said it.\"\n\n\"Repeat then thy requests.\"\n\n\"Entreat Cambyses to punish Gyges, and grant me free powers to pursue the\nescaped Phanes as it shall seem good in mine eyes.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"Bind thyself by a solemn oath to the priests, that the Greeks shall be\nprevented from erecting any more temples to their false gods in Egypt,\nand that the building of the temple to Apollo, in Memphis, shall be\ndiscontinued.\"\n\n\"I expected these demands. The priests have discovered a sharp weapon to\nwield against me. Well, I am prepared to yield to the wishes of my\nenemies, with whom thou hast leagued thyself, but only on two conditions.\nFirst, I insist that the letter, which I confess to have written to the\nfather of Nebenchari in a moment of inconsideration, be restored to me.\nIf left in the hands of thy party, it could reduce me from a king to the\ncontemptible slave of priestly intrigue.\"\n\n\"That wish is reasonable. The letter shall be returned to thee, if. . . . \"\n\n\"Not another if! on the contrary, know that I consider thy petition for\nthe punishment of Gyges so imprudent, that I refuse to grant it. Now\nleave me and appear not again before mine eyes until I summon thee!\nYesterday I gained a son, only to lose him to-day. Rise! I demand no\ntokens of a love and humility, which thou hast never felt. Go to the\npriests when thou needest comfort and counsel, and see if they can supply\na father's place. Tell Neithotep, in whose hands thou art as wax, that he\nhas found the best means of forcing me to grant demands, which otherwise\nI should have refused. Hitherto I have been willing to make every\nsacrifice for the sake of upholding Egypt's greatness; but now, when I\nsee that, to attain their own ends, the priests can strive to move me by\nthe threat of treachery to their own country, I feel inclined to regard\nthis privileged caste as a more dangerous enemy to Egypt, than even the\nPersians. Beware, beware! This once, having brought danger upon Egypt\nthrough my own fatherly weakness, I give way to the intrigues of my\nenemies; but, for the future, I swear by the great goddess Neith, that\nmen shall see and feel I am king; the entire priesthood shall be\nsacrificed rather than the smallest fraction of my royal will!\nSilence--depart!\"\n\nThe prince left, but this time a longer interval was necessary, before\nthe king could regain even outward cheerfulness sufficient to enable him\nto appear before his guests.\n\nPsamtik went at once to the commander of the native troops, ordered him\nto banish the Egyptian captain who had failed in executing his revengeful\nplans, to the quarries of Thebais, and to send the Ethiopians back to\ntheir native country. He then hurried to the high-priest of Neith, to\ninform him how much he had been able to extort from the king,\n\nNeithotep shook his head doubtfully on hearing of Amasis' threats, and\ndismissed the prince with a few words of exhortation, a practice he never\nomitted.\n\nPsamtik returned home, his heart oppressed and his mind clouded with a\nsense of unsatisfied revenge, of a new and unhappy rupture with his\nfather, a fear of foreign derision, a feeling of his subjection to the\nwill of the priests, and of a gloomy fate which had hung over his head\nsince his birth.\n\nHis once beautiful wife was dead; and, of five blooming children, only\none daughter remained to him, and a little son, whom he loved tenderly,\nand to whom in this sad moment he felt drawn. For the blue eyes and\nlaughing mouth of his child were the only objects that ever thawed this\nman's icy heart, and from these he now hoped for consolation and courage\non his weary road through life.\n\n\"Where is my son?\" he asked of the first attendant who crossed his path.\n\n\"The king has just sent for the Prince Necho and his nurse,\" answered the\nman.\n\nAt this moment the high-steward of the prince's household approached, and\nwith a low obeisance delivered to Psamtik a sealed papyrus letter, with\nthe words: \"From your father, the king.\"\n\nIn angry haste he broke the yellow wax of the seal bearing the king's\nname, and read: \"I have sent for thy son, that he may not become, like\nhis father, a blind instrument in the hands of the priesthood, forgetful\nof what is due to himself and his country. His education shall be my\ncare, for the impressions of childhood affect the whole of a man's later\nlife. Thou canst see him if thou wilt, but I must be acquainted with thy\nintention beforehand.\"\n\n   [Signet rings were worn by the Egyptians at a very early period.\n   Thus, in Genesis 41. 42., Pharaoh puts his ring on Joseph's hand.\n   In the Berlin Museum and all other collections of Egyptian\n   antiquities, numbers of these rings are to be found, many of which\n   are more than 4000 years old.]\n\nPsamtik concealed his indignation from the surrounding attendants with\ndifficulty. The mere wish of a royal father had, according to Egyptian\ncustom, as much weight as the strictest command. After reflecting a few\nmoments, he called for huntsmen, dogs, bows and lances, sprang into a\nlight chariot and commanded the charioteer to drive him to the western\nmarshes, where, in pursuing the wild beasts of the desert, he could\nforget the weight of his own cares and wreak on innocent creatures his\nhitherto baffled vengeance.\n\nGyges was released immediately after the conversation between his father\nand Amasis, and welcomed with acclamations of joy by his companions. The\nPharaoh seemed desirous of atoning for the imprisonment of his friend's\nson by doubling his favors, for on the same day Gyges received from the\nking a magnificent chariot drawn by two noble brown steeds, and was\nbegged to take back with him to Persia a curiously-wrought set of\ndraughts, as a remembrance of Sais. The separate pieces were made of\nebony and ivory, some being curiously inlaid with sentences, in\nhieroglyphics of gold and silver.\n\nAmasis laughed heartily with his friends at Gyges' artifice, allowed the\nyoung heroes to mix freely with his family, and behaved towards them\nhimself as a jovial father towards his merry sons. That the ancient\nEgyptian was not quite extinguished in him could only be discerned at\nmeal-times, when a separate table was allotted to the Persians. The\nreligion of his ancestors would have pronounced him defiled, had he eaten\nat the same table with men of another nation.\n\n   [Herodotus II. 41. says that the Egyptians neither kissed, nor ate\n   out of the same dish with foreigners, nay, indeed, that they refused\n   to touch meat, in the cutting up of which the knife of a Greek had\n   been used. Nor were the lesser dynasties of the Delta allowed,\n   according to the Stela of Pianchi, to cross the threshold of the\n   Pharaohs because they were unclean and ate fish. In the book of\n   Genesis, the brethren of Joseph were not allowed to eat bread with\n   the Egyptians.]\n\nWhen Amasis, at last, three days after the release of Gyges, declared\nthat his daughter Nitetis would be prepared to depart for Asia in the\ncourse of two more weeks, all the Persians regretted that their stay in\nEgypt was so near its close.\n\nCroesus had enjoyed the society of the Samian poets and sculptors. Gyges\nhad shared his father's preference for Greek art and artists. Darius, who\nhad formerly studied astronomy in Babylon, was one evening observing the\nheavens, when, to his surprise, he was addressed by the aged Neithotep\nand invited to follow him on to the temple-roof. Darius, ever eager to\nacquire knowledge, did not wait to be asked twice, and was to be found\nthere every night in earnest attention to the old priest's lessons.\n\nOn one occasion Psamtik met him thus with his master, and asked the\nlatter what could have induced him to initiate a Persian in the Egyptian\nmysteries.\n\n\"I am only teaching him,\" answered the high-priest, \"what is as well\nknown to every learned Chaldee in Babylon as to ourselves, and am thereby\ngaining the friendship of a man, whose stars as far outshine those of\nCambyses as the sun outshines the moon. This Darius, I tell thee, will be\na mighty ruler. I have even seen the beams of his planet shining over\nEgypt. The truly wise man extends his gaze into the future, regards the\nobjects lying on either side of his road, as well as the road itself.\nThou canst not know in which of the many houses by which thou passest\ndaily, a future benefactor may not have been reared for thee. Leave\nnought unnoticed that lies in thy path, but above all direct thy gaze\nupward to the stars. As the faithful dog lies in wait night after night\nfor thieves, so have I watched these pilgrims of the heavens fifty years\nlong--these foretellers of the fates of men, burning in ethereal space,\nand announcing, not only the return of summer and winter, but the arrival\nof good and bad fortune, honor and disgrace. These are the unerring\nguides, who have pointed out to me in Darius a plant, that will one day\nwax into a mighty tree.\"\n\nTo Bartja, Darius' nightly studies were especially welcome; they\nnecessitated more sleep in the morning, and so rendered Bartja's stolen\nearly rides to Naukratis, (on which Zopyrus, to whom he had confided his\nsecret, accompanied him), easier of accomplishment. During the interviews\nwith Sappho, Zopyrus and the attendants used all their endeavors to kill\na few snipes, jackals or jerboas. They could then, on their return,\nmaintain to their Mentor Croesus, that they had been pursuing\nfieldsports, the favorite occupation of the Persian nobility.\n\nThe change which the power of a first love had wrought in the innermost\ncharacter of Bartja, passed unnoticed by all but Tachot, the daughter of\nAmasis. From the first day on which they had spoken together she had\nloved him, and her quick feelings told her at once that something had\nhappened to estrange him from herself. Formerly his behavior had been\nthat of a brother, and he had sought her companionship; but now he\ncarefully avoided every approach to intimacy, for he had guessed her\nsecret and felt as if even a kind look would have been an offence against\nhis loyalty to Sappho.\n\nIn her distress at this change Tachot confided her sorrows to Nitetis.\nThe latter bade her take courage, and the two girls built many a castle\nin the air, picturing to themselves the happiness of being always\ntogether at one court, and married to two royal brothers. But as the days\nwent by, the visits of the handsome prince became more and more rare, and\nwhen he did come, his behavior to Tachot was cold and distant. Yet the\npoor girl could not but confess that Bartja had grown handsomer and more\nmanly during his stay in Egypt. An expression of proud and yet gentle\nconsciousness lay beaming in his large eyes, and a strange dreamy air of\nrest often took the place of his former gay spirits. His cheeks had lost\ntheir brilliant color, but that added to his beauty, while it lessened\nhers, who, like him, became paler from day to day.\n\nMelitta, the old slave, had taken the lovers under her protection. She\nhad surprised them one morning, but the prince had given her such rich\npresents, and her darling had begged, flattered and coaxed so sweetly,\nthat at last Melitta promised to keep their secret, and later, yielding\nto that natural impulse which moves all old women to favor lovers, had\neven given them every assistance in her power. She already saw her \"sweet\nchild\" mistress of a hemisphere, often addressed her as \"my Princess\" and\n\"my Queen\" when none were by to hear, and in many a weak moment imagined\na brilliant future for herself in some high office at the Persian court.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A kind word hath far more power than an angry one\n     Abuse not those who have outwitted thee\n     Cannot understand how trifles can make me so happy\n     Confess I would rather provoke a lioness than a woman\n     Curiosity is a woman's vice\n     I cannot. . . .  Say rather: I will not\n     In this immense temple man seemed a dwarf in his own eyes\n     Know how to honor beauty; and prove it by taking many wives\n     Mosquito-tower with which nearly every house was provided\n     Natural impulse which moves all old women to favor lovers\n     Sent for a second interpreter\n     Sing their libels on women (Greek Philosophers)\n     Those are not my real friends who tell me I am beautiful\n     Young Greek girls pass their sad childhood in close rooms\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nThree days before the time fixed for the departure of Nitetis, Rhodopis\nhad invited a large number of guests to her house at Naukratis, amongst\nwhom Croesus and Gyges were included.\n\nThe two lovers had agreed to meet in the garden, protected by the\ndarkness and the old slave, while the guests were occupied at the\nbanquet. Melitta, therefore, having convinced herself that the guests\nwere thoroughly absorbed in conversation, opened the garden-gate,\nadmitted the prince, brought Sappho to him, and then retired, promising\nto warn them of any intruder by clapping her hands.\n\n\"I shall only have you near me three days longer,\" whispered Sappho. \"Do\nyou know, sometimes it seems to me as if I had only seen you yesterday\nfor the first time; but generally I feel as if you had belonged to me for\na whole eternity, and I had loved you all my life.\"\n\n\"To me too it seems as if you had always been mine, for I cannot imagine\nhow I could ever have existed without you. If only the parting were over\nand we were together again!\"\n\n\"Oh, believe me, that will pass more quickly than you fancy. Of course it\nwill seem long to wait--very long; but when it is over, and we are\ntogether again, I think it will seem as if we had never been parted. So\nit has been with me every day. How I have longed for the morning to come\nand bring you with it! but when it came and you were sitting by my side,\nI felt as if I had had you all the time and your hand had never left my\nhead.\"\n\n\"And yet a strange feeling of fear comes over me, when I think of our\nparting hour.\"\n\n\"I do not fear it so very much. I know my heart will bleed when you say\nfarewell, but I am sure you will come back and will not have forgotten\nme. Melitta wanted to enquire of the Oracle whether you would remain\nfaithful; and to question an old woman who has just come from Phrygia and\ncan conjure by night from drawn cords, with incense, styrax, moon-shaped\ncakes, and wild-briar leaves; but I would have none of this, for my heart\nknows better than the Pythia, the cords, or the smoke of sacrifice, that\nyou will be true to me, and love me always.\"\n\n\"And your heart speaks the truth.\"\n\n\"But I have sometimes been afraid; and have blown into a poppy-leaf, and\nstruck it, as the young girls here do. If it broke with a loud crack I\nwas very happy, and cried, 'Ah! he will not forget!' but if the leaf tore\nwithout a sound I felt sad. I dare say I did this a hundred times, but\ngenerally the leaf gave the wished-for sound, and I had much oftener\nreason to be joyful than sad.\"\n\n\"May it be ever thus!\"\n\n\"It must be! but dearest, do not speak so loudly; I see Knakias going\ndown to the Nile for water and he will hear us.\"\n\n\"Well, I will speak low. There, I will stroke back your silky hair and\nwhisper in your ear 'I love you.' Could you understand?\"\n\n\"My grandmother says that it is easy to understand what we like to hear;\nbut if you had just whispered, 'I hate you,' your eyes would have told me\nwith a thousand glad voices that you loved me. Silent eyes are much more\neloquent than all the tongues in the world.\"\n\n\"If I could only speak the beautiful Greek language as you do, I would..\"\n\n\"Oh, I am so glad you cannot, for if you could tell me all you feel, I\nthink you would not look into my eyes so lovingly. Words are nothing.\nListen to the nightingale yonder! She never had the gift of speech and\nyet I think I can understand her.\"\n\n\"Will you confide her secret to me? I should like to know what Gulgul, as\nwe Persians call the nightingale, has to talk about to her mate in the\nrose-bush. May you betray her secret?\"\n\n\"I will whisper it softly. Philomel sings to her mate 'I love thee,' and\nhe answers, (don't you hear him?), 'Itys, ito, itys.'\"\n\n\"And what does that mean, 'Ito, ito?'\"\n\n\"I accept it.\"\n\n\"And Itys?\"\n\n\"Oh, that must be explained, to be rightly understood. Itys is a circle;\nand a circle, I was always taught, is the symbol of eternity, having\nneither beginning nor end; so the nightingale sings, 'I accept it for\neternity.'\"\n\n\"And if I say to you, 'I love thee?'\"\n\n\"Then I shall answer gladly, like the sweet nightingale, 'I accept it for\nto-day, to-morrow, for all eternity!'\"\n\n\"What a wonderful night it is! everything so still and silent; I do not\neven hear the nightingale now; she is sitting in the acacia-tree among\nthe bunches of sweet blossoms. I can see the tops of the palm-trees in\nthe Nile, and the moon's reflection between them, glistening like a white\nswan.\"\n\n\"Yes, her rays are over every living thing like silver fetters, and the\nwhole world lies motionless beneath them like a captive woman. Happy as I\nfeel now, yet I could not even laugh, and still less speak in a loud\nvoice.\"\n\n\"Then whisper, or sing!\"\n\n\"Yes, that is the best. Give me a lyre. Thank you. Now I will lean my\nhead on your breast, and sing you a little, quiet, peaceful song. It was\nwritten by Alkman, the Lydian, who lived in Sparta, in praise of night\nand her stillness. You must listen though, for this low, sweet\nslumber-song must only leave the lips like a gentle wind. Do not kiss me\nany more, please, till I have finished; then I will ask you to thank me\nwith a kiss:\n\n     \"Now o'er the drowsy earth still night prevails,\n     Calm sleep the mountain tops and shady vales,\n     The rugged cliffs and hollow glens;\n\n     The wild beasts slumber in their dens;\n     The cattle on the bill. Deep in the sea\n     The countless finny race and monster brood\n     Tranquil repose. Even the busy bee\n     Forgets her daily toil. The silent wood\n     No more with noisy hum of insect rings;\n     And all the feathered tribe, by gentle sleep subdued,\n     Roost in the glade and hang their drooping wings.\"\n               --Translation by Colonel Mure.\n\n\"Now, dearest, where is my kiss?\"\n\n\"I had forgotten it in listening, just as before I forgot to listen in\nkissing.\"\n\n\"You are too bad. But tell me, is not my song lovely?\"\n\n\"Yes, beautiful, like everything else you sing.\"\n\n\"And the Greek poets write?\"\n\n\"Yes, there you are right too, I admit.\"\n\n\"Are there no poets in Persia?\"\n\n\"How can you ask such a question? How could a nation, who despised song,\npretend to any nobility of feeling?\"\n\n\"But you have some very bad customs.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"You take so many wives.\"\n\n\"My Sappho . . .\"\n\n\"Do not misunderstand me. I love you so much, that I have no other wish\nthan to see you happy and be allowed to be always with you. If, by taking\nme for your only wife, you would outrage the laws of your country, if you\nwould thereby expose yourself to contempt, or even blame, (for who could\ndare to despise my Bartja!) then take other wives; but let me have you,\nfor myself alone, at least two, or perhaps even three years. Will you\npromise this, Bartja?\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\n\"And then, when my time has passed, and you must yield to the customs of\nyour country (for it will not be love that leads you to bring home a\nsecond wife), then let me be the first among your slaves. Oh! I have\npictured that so delightfully to myself. When you go to war I shall set\nthe tiara on your head, gird on the sword, and place the lance in your\nhand; and when you return a conqueror, I shall be the first to crown you\nwith the wreath of victory. When you ride out to the chase, mine will be\nthe duty of buckling on your spurs, and when you go to the banquet, of\nadorning and anointing you, winding the garlands of poplar and roses and\ntwining them around your forehead and shoulders. If wounded, I will be\nyour nurse; will never stir from your side if you are ill, and when I see\nyou happy will retire, and feast my eyes from afar on your glory and\nhappiness. Then perchance you will call me to your side, and your kiss\nwill say, 'I am content with my Sappho, I love her still.'\"\n\n\"O Sappho, wert thou only my wife now!--to-day! The man who possesses\nsuch a treasure as I have in thee, will guard it carefully, but never\ncare to seek for others which, by its side, can only show their miserable\npoverty. He who has once loved thee, can never love another: I know it is\nthe custom in my country to have many wives, but this is only allowed;\nthere is no law to enjoin it. My father had, it is true, a hundred female\nslaves, but only one real, true wife, our mother Kassandane.\"\n\n\"And I will be your Kassandane.\"\n\n\"No, my Sappho, for what you will be to me, no woman ever yet was to her\nhusband.\"\n\n\"When shall you come to fetch me?\"\n\n\"As soon as I can, and am permitted to do so.\"\n\n\"Then I ought to be able to wait patiently.\"\n\n\"And shall I ever hear from you?\"\n\n\"Oh, I shall write long, long letters, and charge every wind with loving\nmessages for you.\"\n\n\"Yes, do so, my darling; and as to the letters, give them to the\nmessenger who will bring Nitetis tidings from Egypt from time to time.\"\n\n\"Where shall I find him?\"\n\n\"I will see that a man is stationed at Naukratis, to take charge of\neverything you send to him. All this I will settle with Melitta.\"\n\n\"Yes, we can trust her, she is prudent and faithful; but I have another\nfriend, who is dearer to me than any one else excepting you, and who\nloves me too better than any one else does, but you--\"\n\n\"You mean your grandmother Rhodopis.\"\n\n\"Yes, my faithful guardian and teacher.\"\n\n\"Ah, she is a noble woman. Croesus considers her the most excellent among\nwomen, and he has studied mankind as the physicians do plants and herbs.\nHe knows that rank poison lies hidden in some, in others healing\ncordials, and often says that Rhodopis is like a rose which, while fading\naway herself, and dropping leaf after leaf, continues to shed perfume and\nquickening balsam for the sick and weak, and awaits in patience the wind\nwhich at last shall waft her from us.\"\n\n\"The gods grant that she may be with us for a long time yet! Dearest,\nwill you grant me one great favor?\"\n\n\"It is granted before I hear it.\"\n\n\"When you take me home, do not leave Rhodopis here. She must come with\nus. She is so kind and loves me so fervently, that what makes me happy\nwill make her so too, and whatever is dear to me, will seem to her worthy\nof being loved.\"\n\n\"She shall be the first among our guests.\"\n\n\"Now I am quite happy and satisfied, for I am necessary to my\ngrandmother; she could not live without her child. I laugh her cares and\nsorrows away, and when she is singing to me, or teaching me how to guide\nthe style, or strike the lute, a clearer light beams from her brow, the\nfurrows ploughed by grief disappear, her gentle eyes laugh, and she seems\nto forget the evil past in the happy present.\"\n\n\"Before we part, I will ask her whether she will follow us home.\"\n\n\"Oh, how glad that makes me! and do you know, the first days of our\nabsence from each other do not seem so very dreadful to me. Now you are\nto be my husband, I may surely tell you everything that pains or pleases\nme, even when I dare not tell any one else, and so you must know, that,\nwhen you leave, we expect two little visitors; they are the children of\nthe kind Phanes, whom your friend Gyges saved so nobly. I mean to be like\na mother to the little creatures, and when they have been good I shall\nsing them a story of a prince, a brave hero, who took a simple maiden to\nbe his wife; and when I describe the prince I shall have you in my mind,\nand though my little listeners will not guess it, I shall be describing\nyou from head to foot. My prince shall be tall like you, shall have your\ngolden curls and blue eyes, and your rich, royal dress shall adorn his\nnoble figure. Your generous heart, your love of truth, and your beautiful\nreverence for the gods, your courage and heroism, in short, every thing\nthat I love and honor in you, I shall give to the hero of my tale. How\nthe children will listen! and when they cry, 'Oh, how we love the prince,\nhow good and beautiful he must be! if we could only see him? then I shall\npress them close to my heart and kiss them as I kiss you now, and so they\nwill have gained their wish, for as you are enthroned in my heart, you\nmust be living within me and therefore near to them, and when they\nembrace me they will embrace you too.\"\n\n\"And I shall go to my little sister Atossa and tell her all I have seen\non my journey, and when I speak of the Greeks, their grace, their\nglorious works of art, and their beautiful women, I shall describe the\ngolden Aphrodite in your lovely likeness. I shall tell her of your\nvirtue, your beauty and modesty, of your singing, which is so sweet that\neven the nightingale is silent in order to listen to it, of your love and\ntenderness. But all this I shall tell her belongs to the divine Cypris,\nand when she cries, 'O Aphrodite, could I but see thee!' I too shall kiss\nmy sister.\"\n\n\"Hark, what was that? Melitta surely clapped her hands. Farewell, we must\nnot stay! but we shall soon see each other again.\"\n\n\"One more kiss!\"\n\n\"Farewell!\"\n\nMelitta had fallen asleep at her post, overcome by age and weariness. Her\ndreams were suddenly disturbed by a loud noise, and she clapped her hands\ndirectly to warn the lovers and call Sappho, as she perceived by the\nstars that the dawn was not far off.\n\nAs the two approached the house, they discovered that the noise which had\nawakened the old slave, proceeded from the guests, who were preparing for\ndeparture.\n\nUrging her to make the greatest haste, Melitta pushed the frightened girl\ninto the house, took her at once to her sleeping-room, and was beginning\nto undress her when Rhodopis entered.\n\n\"You are still up, Sappho?\" she asked.\n\n\"What is this, my child?\"\n\nMelitta trembled and had a falsehood ready on her lips, but Sappho,\nthrowing herself into her grandmother's arms, embraced her tenderly and\ntold the whole story of her love.\n\nRhodopis turned pale, ordered Melitta to leave the chamber, and, placing\nherself in front of her grandchild, laid both hands on her shoulders and\nsaid earnestly, \"Look into my eyes, Sappho. Canst thou look at me as\nhappily and as innocently, as thou couldst before this Persian came to\nus?\"\n\nThe girl raised her eyes at once with a joyful smile; then Rhodopis\nclasped her to her bosom, kissed her and continued: \"Since thou wert a\nlittle child my constant effort has been to train thee to a noble\nmaidenhood and guard thee from the approach of love. I had intended, in\naccordance with the customs of our country, to choose a fitting husband\nfor thee shortly myself, to whose care I should have committed thee; but\nthe gods willed differently.\n\n   [The Spartans married for love, but the Athenians were accustomed to\n   negotiate their marriages with the parents of the bride alone.]\n\nEros mocks all human efforts to resist or confine him; warm AEolian blood\nruns in thy veins and demands love; the passionate heart of thy Lesbian\nforefathers beats in thy breast.\n\n   [Charaxus, the grandfather of our heroine, and brother of the\n   poetess Sappho, was, as a Lesbian, an AEolian Greek.]\n\nWhat has happened cannot now be undone. Treasure these happy hours of a\nfirst, pure love; hold them fast in the chambers of memory, for to every\nhuman being there must come, sooner or later, a present so sad and\ndesolate, that the beautiful past is all he has to live upon. Remember\nthis handsome prince in silence, bid him farewell when he departs to his\nnative country, but beware of hoping to see him again. The Persians are\nfickle and inconstant, lovers of everything new and foreign. The prince\nhas been fascinated by thy sweetness and grace. He loves thee ardently\nnow, but remember, he is young and handsome, courted by every one, and a\nPersian. Give him up that he may not abandon thee!\"\n\n\"But how can I, grandmother? I have sworn to be faithful to him for\never.\"\n\n\"Oh, children! Ye play with eternity as if it were but a passing moment!\nI could blame thee for thus plighting thy troth, but I rejoice that thou\nregardest the oath as binding. I detest the blasphemous proverb: 'Zeus\npays no heed to lovers' oaths.' Why should an oath touching the best and\nholiest feelings of humanity be regarded by the Deity, as inferior in\nimportance to asseverations respecting the trifling questions of mine and\nthine? Keep thy promise then,--hold fast thy love, but prepare to\nrenounce thy lover.\"\n\n\"Never, grandmother! could I ever have loved Bartja, if I had not trusted\nhim? Just because he is a Persian and holds truth to be the highest\nvirtue, I may venture to hope that he will remember his oath, and,\nnotwithstanding those evil customs of the Asiatics, will take and keep me\nas his only wife.\"\n\n\"But if he should forget, thy youth will be passed in mourning, and with\nan embittered heart . . .\"\n\n\"O, dear kind grandmother, pray do not speak of such dreadful things. If\nyou knew him as well as I do, you would rejoice with me, and would tell\nme I was right to believe that the Nile may dry up and the Pyramids\ncrumble into ruins, before my Bartja can ever deceive me!\"\n\nThe girl spoke these words with such a joyful, perfect confidence, and\nher eyes, though filled with tears, were so brilliant with happiness and\nwarmth of feeling, that Rhodopis' face grew cheerful too.\n\nSappho threw her arms again round her grandmother, told her every word\nthat Bartja had said to her, and ended the long account by exclaiming:\n\"Oh, grandmother, I am so happy, so very happy, and if you will come with\nus to Persia, I shall have nothing more to wish from the Immortals.\"\n\n\"That will not last long,\" said Rhodopis. \"The gods cast envious glances\nat the happiness of mortals; they measure our portion of evil with lavish\nhands, and give us but a scanty allowance of good. But now go to bed, my\nchild, and let us pray together that all may end happily. I met thee this\nmorning as a child, I part from thee to-night a woman; and, when thou art\na wife, may thy kiss be as joyful as the one thou givest me now.\nTo-morrow I will talk the matter over with Croesus. He must decide\nwhether I dare allow thee to await the return of the Persian prince, or\nwhether I must entreat thee to forget him and become the domestic wife of\na Greek husband. Sleep well, my darling, thy grandmother will wake and\nwatch for thee.\"\n\nSappho's happy fancies soon cradled her to sleep; but Rhodopis remained\nawake watching the day dawn, and the sun rise, her mind occupied with\nthoughts which brought smiles and frowns across her countenance in rapid\nsuccession.\n\nThe next morning she sent to Croesus, begging him to grant her an hour's\ninterview, acquainted him with every particular she had heard from\nSappho, and concluded her tale with these words: \"I know not what demands\nmay be made on the consort of a Persian king, but I can truly say that I\nbelieve Sappho to be worthy of the first monarch of the world. Her father\nwas free and of noble birth, and I have heard that, by Persian law, the\ndescent of a child is determined by the rank of the father only. In\nEgypt, too, the descendants of a female slave enjoy the same rights as\nthose of a princess, if they owe their existence to the same father.\"\n\n\"I have listened to you in silence,\" answered Croesus, \"and must confess,\nthat, like yourself, I do not know in this moment whether to be glad or\nsorry for this attachment. Cambyses and Kassandane (the king's and\nBartja's mother) wished to see the prince married before we left Persia,\nfor the king has no children, and should he remain childless, the only\nhope for the family of Cyrus rests on Bartja, as the great founder of the\nPersian empire left but two sons,--Cambyses, and him who is now the\nsuitor of your granddaughter. The latter is the hope and pride of the\nentire Persian nation, high and low; the darling of the people; generous,\nand noble, handsome, virtuous, and worthy of their love. It is indeed\nexpected that the princes shall marry in their own family, the\nAchaemenidae; but the Persians have an unbounded predilection for\neverything foreign. Enchanted with the beauty of your granddaughter, and\nrendered indulgent by their partiality for Bartja, they would easily\nforgive this breach of an ancient custom. Indeed, if the king gives his\napproval, no objection on the part of his subjects can be entertained.\nThe history of Iran too offers a sufficient number of examples, in which\neven slaves became the mothers of kings. The queen mother, whose\nposition, in the eyes of the people, is nearly as high as that of the\nmonarch himself, will do nothing to thwart the happiness of her youngest\nand favorite son. When she sees that he will not give up Sappho,--that\nhis smiling face, in which she adores the image of her great husband\nCyrus, becomes clouded, I verily believe she would be ready to sanction\nhis taking even a Scythian woman to wife, if it could restore him to\ncheerfulness. Neither will Cambyses himself refuse his consent if his\nmother press the point at a right moment.\"\n\n\"In that case every difficulty is set aside,\" cried Rhodopis joyfully.\n\n\"It is not the marriage itself, but the time that must follow, which\ncauses me uneasiness,\" answered Croesus.\n\n\"Do you think then that Bartja . . .?\"\n\n\"From him I fear nothing. He has a pure heart, and has been so long proof\nagainst love, that now he has once yielded, he will love long and\nardently.\"\n\n\"What then do you fear?\"\n\n\"You must remember that, though the charming wife of their favorite will\nbe warmly received by all his friends of his own sex, there are thousands\nof idle women in the harems of the Persian nobles, who will endeavor, by\nevery artifice and intrigue in their power, to injure the newly-risen\nstar; and whose greatest joy it will be to ruin such an inexperienced\nchild and make her unhappy.\"\n\n\"You have a very bad opinion of the Persian women.\"\n\n\"They are but women, and will naturally envy her, who has gained the\nhusband they all desired either for themselves or for their daughters. In\ntheir monotonous life, devoid of occupation, envy easily becomes hatred,\nand the gratification of these evil passions is the only compensation\nwhich the poor creatures can obtain for the total absence of love and\nloss of freedom. I repeat, the more beautiful Sappho is, the more\nmalicious they will feel towards her, and, even if Bartja should love her\nso fervently as not to take a second wife for two or three years, she\nwill still have such heavy hours to encounter, that I really do not know\nwhether I dare congratulate you on her apparently brilliant future.\"\n\n\"That is quite my own feeling. A simple Greek would be more welcome to me\nthan this son of a mighty monarch.\"\n\nIn this moment Knakias brought Bartja into the room. He went to Rhodopis\nat once, besought her not to refuse him the hand of her granddaughter,\nspoke of his ardent love, and assured her that his happiness would be\ndoubled, if she would consent to accompany them to Persia. Then turning\nto Croesus, he seized his hand and entreated forgiveness for having so\nlong concealed his great happiness from one who had been like a father to\nhim, at the same time begging him to second his suit with Rhodopis.\n\nThe old man listened to the youth's passionate language with a smile, and\nsaid: \"Ah, Bartja, how often have I warned thee against love! It is a\nscorching fire.\"\n\n\"But its flame is bright and beautiful.\"\n\n\"It causes pain.\"\n\n\"But such pain is sweet.\"\n\n\"It leads the mind astray.\"\n\n\"But it strengthens the heart.\"\n\n\"Oh, this love!\" cried Rhodopis. \"Inspired by Eros, the boy speaks as if\nhe had been all his life studying under an Attic orator!\"\n\n\"And yet,\" answered Croesus, \"these lovers are the most unteachable of\npupils. Convince them as clearly as you will, that their passion is only\nanother word for poison, fire, folly, death, they still cry, 'Tis sweet,'\nand will not be hindered in their course.\"\n\nAs he was speaking Sappho came in. A white festal robe, with wide\nsleeves, and borders of purple embroidery, fell in graceful folds round\nher delicate figure, and was confined at the waist by a golden girdle.\nHer hair was adorned with fresh roses, and on her bosom lay her lover's\nfirst gift, the flashing diamond star.\n\nShe came up modestly and gracefully, and made a low obeisance to the aged\nCroesus. His eyes rested long on the maidenly and lovely countenance, and\nthe longer he gazed the kindlier became his gaze. For a moment he seemed\nto grow young again in the visions conjured up by memory, and\ninvoluntarily he went up to the young girl, kissed her affectionately on\nthe forehead, and, taking her by the hand, led her to Bartja with the\nwords: \"Take her, thy wife she must be, if the entire race of the\nAchaemenidae were to conspire against us!\"\n\n\"Have I no voice in the matter?\" said Rhodopis, smiling through her\ntears.\n\nOn hearing these words, Bartja and Sappho each took one of her hands, and\ngazed entreatingly into her face. She rose to her full stature, and like\na prophetess exclaimed: \"Eros, who brought you to each other, Zeus and\nApollo defend and protect you. I see you now like two fair roses on one\nstem, loving and happy in the spring of life. What summer, autumn and\nwinter may have in store for you, lies hidden with the gods. May the\nshades of thy departed parents, Sappho, smile approvingly when these\ntidings of their child shall reach them in the nether world.\"\n\n        .................................\n\nThree days later a densely packed crowd was once more surging round the\nSais landing-place. This time they had assembled to bid a last farewell\nto their king's daughter, and in this hour the people gave clear tokens\nthat, in spite of all the efforts of the priestly caste, their hearts\nremained loyal to their monarch and his house. For when Amasis and Ladice\nembraced Nitetis for the last time with tears--when Tachot, in presence\nof all the inhabitants of Sais, following her sister down the broad\nflight of steps that led to the river, threw her arms round her neck once\nmore and burst into sobs--when at last the wind filled the sails of the\nroyal boat and bore the princess, destined to be the great king's bride,\nfrom their sight, few eyes among that vast crowd remained dry.\n\nThe priests alone looked on at this sad scene with unmoved gravity and\ncoldness; but when the south wind at last bore away the strangers who had\nrobbed them of their princess, many a curse and execration followed from\nthe Egyptians on the shore; Tachot alone stood weeping there and waving\nher veil to them. For whom were these tears? for the play-fellow of her\nyouth, or for the handsome, beloved prince?\n\nAmasis embraced his wife and daughter in the eyes of all his people; and\nheld up his little grandson, Prince Necho, to their gaze, the sight\neliciting cries of joy on all sides. But Psamtik, the child's own father,\nstood by the while, tearless and motionless. The king appeared not to\nobserve him, until Neithotep approached, and leading him to his father,\njoined their hands and called down the blessing of the gods upon the\nroyal house.\n\nAt this the Egyptians fell on their knees with uplifted hands. Amasis\nclasped his son to his heart, and when the high-priest had concluded his\nprayer, the following colloquy between the latter and Amasis took place\nin low tones:\n\n\"Let peace be between us for our own and Egypt's sake!\"\n\n\"Hast thou received Nebenchari's letter?\"\n\n\"A Samian pirate-vessel is in pursuit of Phanes' trireme.\"\n\n\"Behold the child of thy predecessor Hophra, the rightful heiress of the\nEgyptian throne, departing unhindered to a distant land!\"\n\n\"The works of the Greek temple now building in Memphis shall be\ndiscontinued.\"\n\n\"May Isis grant us peace, and may prosperity and happiness increase in\nour land!\"\n\n          ............................\n\nThe Greek colonists in Naukratis had prepared a feast to celebrate the\ndeparture of their protector's daughter.\n\nNumerous animals had been slaughtered in sacrifice on the altars of the\nGreek divinities, and the Nile-boats were greeted with a loud cry of\n\"Ailinos\" on their arrival in the harbor.\n\nA bridal wreath, composed of a hoop of gold wound round with scented\nviolets, was presented to Nitetis by a troop of young girls in holiday\ndresses, the act of presentation being performed by Sappho, as the most\nbeautiful among the maidens of Naukratis.\n\nOn accepting the gift Nitetis kissed her forehead in token of gratitude.\nThe triremes were already waiting; she went on board, the rowers took\ntheir oars and began the Keleusma.\n\n   [The measure of the Keleusma was generally given by a flute-player,\n   the Trieraules. AEschylus, Persians 403. Laert. Diog. IV. 22. In\n   the Frogs of Aristophanes the inhabitants of the marshes are made to\n   sing the Keleusma, v. 205. The melody, to the measure of which the\n   Greek boatmen usually timed their strokes.]\n\nAilinos rang across the water from a thousand voices. Bartja stood on the\ndeck, and waved a last loving farewell to his betrothed; while Sappho\nprayed in silence to Aphrodite Euploia, the protectress of those who go\ndown to the sea in ships. A tear rolled down her cheek, but around her\nlips played a smile of love and hope, though her old slave Melitta, who\naccompanied her to carry her parasol, was weeping as if her heart would\nbreak. On seeing, however, a few leaves fall from her darling's wreath,\nshe forgot her tears for a moment and whispered softly: \"Yes, dear heart,\nit is easy to see that you are in love; when the leaves fall from a\nmaiden's wreath, 'tis a sure sign that her heart has been touched by\nEros.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nSeven weeks after Nitetis had quitted her native country, a long train of\nequipages and horsemen was to be seen on the king's highway from the west\nto Babylon, moving steadily towards that gigantic city, whose towers\nmight already be descried in the far distance.\n\n   [The great road called the \"king's road,\" of which we shall have\n   more to say, was made by Cyrus and carefully kept up by Darius.]\n\nThe principal object in this caravan was a richly-gilded, four-wheeled\ncarriage, closed in at the sides by curtains, and above by a roof\nsupported on wooden pillars. In this vehicle, called the Harmamaxa,\nresting on rich cushions of gold brocade, sat our Egyptian Princess.\n\n   [Harmamaxa--An Asiatic travelling carriage. The first mention of\n   these is in Xenophon's Anabasis, where we find a queen travelling in\n   such a vehicle. They were later adopted by the Romans and used for\n   the same object.]\n\nOn either side rode her escort, viz.: the Persian princes and nobles whom\nwe have already learnt to know during their visit to Egypt, Croesus and\nhis son.\n\nBehind these, a long train, consisting of fifty vehicles of different\nkinds and six hundred beasts of burden, stretched away into the distance,\nand the royal carriage was preceded by a troop of splendidly-mounted\nPersian cavalry.\n\nThe high-road followed the course of the Euphrates, passing through\nluxuriant fields of wheat, barley and sesame yielding fruit two, and\nsometimes even three, hundred-fold. Slender date-palms covered with\ngolden fruit were scattered in every direction over the fields, which\nwere thoroughly irrigated by means of canals and ditches.\n\nIt was winter, but the sun shone warm and bright from a cloudless sky.\nThe mighty river swarmed with craft of all sizes, either transporting the\nproducts of Upper Armenia to the plains of Mesopotamia, or the wares of\nGreece and Asia Minor from Thapsakus to Babylon.\n\n   [Thapsakus--An important commercial town on the Euphrates, and the\n   point of observation from which Eratosthenes took his measurements\n   of the earth.]\n\nPumps and water-wheels poured refreshing streams over the thirsty land,\nand pretty villages ornamented the shores of the river. Indeed every\nobject gave evidence that our caravan was approaching the metropolis of a\ncarefully governed and civilized state.\n\nNitetis and her retinue now halted at a long brick house, roofed with\nasphalte, and surrounded by a grove of plane-trees.\n\n   [Asphalte--Nearly all authorities, ancient as well as modern, report\n   that bitumen, which is still plentifully found in the neighborhood\n   of Babylon, was used by the Babylonians as mortar. See, besides the\n   accounts of ancient writers, W. Vaux, 'Nineveh and Persepolis'.\n   Burnt bitumen was used by Assyrians for cement in building.]\n\nHere Croesus was lifted from his horse, and approaching the carriage,\nexclaimed: \"Here we are at length at the last station! That high tower\nwhich you see on the horizon is the celebrated temple of Bel, next to the\nPyramids, one of the most gigantic works ever constructed by human hands.\nBefore sunset we shall have reached the brazen gates of Babylon. And now\nI would ask you to alight, and let me send your maidens into the house;\nfor here you must put on Persian apparel, to appear well-pleasing in the\neyes of Cambyses. In a few hours you will stand before your future\nhusband. But you are pale! Permit your maidens to adorn your cheeks with\na color that shall look like the excitement of joy. A first impression is\noften a final one, and this is especially true with regard to Cambyses.\nIf, which I doubt not, you are pleasing in his eyes at first, then you\nhave won his love for ever; but if you should displease him to-day he\nwill never look kindly on you again, for he is rough and harsh. But take\ncourage, my daughter, and above all, do not forget the advice I have\ngiven you.\" Nitetis dried her tears as she answered: \"How can I ever\nthank you, O Croesus, my second father, my protector and adviser, for all\nyour goodness? Oh, forsake me not in the days to come! and if the path of\nmy life should lead through grief and care, be near to help and guide me\nas you did on the mountain-passes of this long and dangerous journey. A\nthousand times I thank thee, O my father!\"\n\nAnd, as she said these words, the young girl threw her arms around the\nold man's neck and kissed him tenderly.\n\nOn entering the court-yard, a tall stout man, followed by a train of\nAsiatic serving-maidens, came forward to meet them. This was Boges, the\nchief of the eunuchs, an important official at the Persian court. His\nbeardless face wore a smile of fulsome sweetness; in his ears hung costly\njewelled pendents; his neck, arms, legs and his effeminately long\ngarments glittered all over with gold chains and rings, and his crisp,\nstiff curls, bound round by a purple fillet, streamed with powerful and\npenetrating perfumes.\n\nMaking a low and reverential obeisance before Nitetis, and holding, the\nwhile, his fat hands overloaded with rings before his mouth, he thus\naddressed her: \"Cambyses, lord of the world, hath sent me to thee, O\nQueen, that I may refresh thy heart with the dew of his salutations. He\nsendeth thee likewise by me, even by me the lowest of his servants,\nPersian raiment, that thou, as befitteth the consort of the mightiest of\nall rulers, mayest approach the gates of the Achaemenidae in Median\ngarments. These women whom thou seest are thy handmaidens, and only await\nthy bidding to transform thee from an Egyptian jewel into a Persian\npearl.\"\n\nThe master of the caravansary then appeared, bearing, in token of\nwelcome, a basket of fruits arranged with great taste.\n\nNitetis returned her thanks to both these men in kind and friendly words;\nthen entering the house laid aside the dress and ornaments of her native\nland, weeping as she did so, allowed the strangers to unloose the plait\nof hair which hung down at the left side of her head, and was the\ndistinctive mark of an Egyptian princess, and to array her in Median\ngarments.\n\n   [In almost all the Egyptian pictures, the daughters and sons of the\n   Pharaohs are represented with these locks of hair, plaited and\n   reaching from the forehead to the neck. Rosellini, Mon. stor. II.\n   123. Lepsius, Denkmaler. The daughter of Rameses II. is drawn\n   thus, and we have examples of the same in many other pictures.]\n\nIn the meantime, a repast had been commanded by the princes who\naccompanied her. Eager and agile attendants rushed to the\nbaggage-waggons, fetching thence, in a few moments, seats, tables, and\ngolden utensils of all kinds. The cooks vied with them and with each\nother, and as if by magic, in a short space of time a richly-adorned\nbanquet for the hungry guests appeared, at which even the flowers were\nnot wanting.\n\nDuring the entire journey our travellers had lived in a similar luxury,\nas their beasts of burden carried every imaginable convenience, from\ntents of water-proof materials inwrought with gold, down to silver\nfoot-stools; and in the vehicles which composed their train were not only\nbakers, cooks, cup-bearers and carvers, but perfumers, hair-dressers and\nweavers of garlands. Beside these conveniences, a well-fitted up\ncaravansary, or inn, was to be found about every eighteen miles along the\nwhole route, where disabled horses could be replaced, the plantations\naround which afforded a refreshing shelter from the noonday heat, or\ntheir hearths a refuge from the snow and cold on the mountain-passes.\n\nThe kingdom of Persia was indebted for these inns (similar to the\npost-stations of modern days) to Cyrus, who had endeavored to connect the\nwidely-distant provinces of his immense dominions by a system of\nwell-kept roads, and a regular postal service. At each of these stations\nthe horseman carrying the letter-bag was relieved by a fresh man on a\nfresh steed, to whom the letters were transferred, and who, in his turn,\ndarted off like the wind, to be again replaced at a similar distance by\nanother rider. These couriers, called Angari, were considered the\nswiftest horsemen in the world.\n\n   [Herodotus V. 14. 49-52. Persian milestones are still to be found\n   among the ruins of the old king's road, which led from Nineveh to\n   Ecbatana. The Kurds call them keli-Shin (blue pillars).]\n\nJust as the banqueters, amongst whom Boges had taken his seat, were\nrising from table, the door opened, and a vision appeared, which drew\nprolonged exclamation of surprise from all the Persians present. Nitetis,\nclad in the glorious apparel of a Median princess, proud in the\nconsciousness of her triumphant beauty, and yet blushing like a young\ngirl at the wondering admiration of her friends, stood before them.\n\nThe attendants involuntarily fell on their faces before her, according to\nthe custom of the Asiatics, and the noble Achaemenidae bowed low and\nreverentially; for it seemed as if Nitetis has laid aside all her former\nbashfulness and timidity with her simple Egyptian dress, and with the\nsplendid silken garments of a Persian princess, flashing as they were\nwith gold and jewels, had clothed herself in the majesty of a queen.\n\nThe deep reverence paid by all present seemed agreeable to her, and\nthanking her admiring friends by a gracious wave of the hand, she turned\nto the chief of the eunuchs and said in a kind tone but mingled with a\ntouch of pride; \"Thou hast performed thy mission well; I am content with\nthe raiment and the slaves that thou hast provided and shall commend thy\ncircumspection to the king, my husband. Receive this gold chain in the\nmeanwhile, as a token of my gratitude.\"\n\nThe eunuch kissed the hem of her garment, and accepted the gift in\nsilence. This man, hitherto omnipotent in his office, had never before\nencountered such pride in any of the women committed to his charge. Up to\nthe present time all Cambyses' wives had been Asiatics, and, well aware\nof the unlimited power of the chief of the eunuchs, had used every means\nwithin their reach to secure his favor by flattery and submission.\n\nBoges now made a second obeisance before Nitetis, of which, however, she\ntook no notice, and turning to Croesus said: \"Neither words nor gifts\ncould ever suffice to express my gratitude to you, kindest of friends,\nfor, if my future life at the court of Persia prove, I will not venture\nto say a happy, but even a peaceful one, it is to you alone that I shall\nowe it. Still, take this ring. It has never left my finger since I\nquitted Egypt, and it has a significance far beyond its outward worth.\nPythagoras, the noblest of the Greeks, gave it to my mother, when he was\ntarrying in Egypt to learn the wisdom of our priests, and it was her\nparting gift to me. The number seven is engraved upon the simple stone.\nThis indivisible number represents perfect health, both to soul and body\nfor health is likewise one and indivisible.\n\n   [Seven, the \"motherless\" number, which has no factor below ten.]\n\nThe sickness of one member is the sickness of all; one evil thought,\nallowed to take up its abode within our heart, destroys the entire\nharmony of the soul. When you see this seven therefore, let it recall my\nheart's wish that you may ever enjoy undisturbed bodily health, and long\nretain that loving gentleness which has made you the most virtuous, and\ntherefore the healthiest of men. No thanks, my father, for even if I\ncould restore to Croesus all the treasures that he once possessed, I\nshould still retrain his debtor. Gyges, to you I give this Lydian lyre;\nlet its tones recall the giver to your memory. For you, Zopyrus, I have a\ngolden chain; I have witnessed that you are the most faithful of friends;\nand we Egyptians are accustomed to place cords and bands in the hands of\nour lovely Hathor, the goddess of love and friendship, as symbols of her\ncaptivating and enchaining attributes. As Darius has studied the wisdom\nof Egypt and the signs of the starry heavens, I beg him to take this\ncirclet of gold, on which a skilful hand has traced the signs of the\nZodiac.\n\n   [Diodorus (I. 49.) tells, that in the tomb of Osymandyas (palace of\n   Rameses II. at Thebes) there lay a circle of gold, one ell thick and\n   365 ells in circumference, containing a complete astronomical\n   calendar. The circle of the zodiac from Dendera, which is now in\n   Paris,--an astronomical ceiling painting, which was believed at the\n   time of its discovery to be of great age, is not nearly so ancient\n   as was supposed, dating only from the end of the Ptolemaic dynasty.\n   Letronne was the first to estimate it correctly. See Lepsius,\n   Chron. p.63. and Lauth, 'les zodiaques de Dendera'. Munich 1865.]\n\nAnd lastly, to my dear brother-in-law Bartja I commit the most precious\njewel in my possession--this amulet of blue stone. My sister Tachot hung\nit round my neck as I kissed her on the last night before we parted; she\ntold me it could bring to its wearer the sweet bliss of love. And then,\nBartja, she wept! I do not know of whom she was thinking in that moment,\nbut I hope I am acting according to her wishes in giving you her precious\njewel. Take it as a gift from Tachot, and sometimes call to mind our\ngames in the Sais gardens.\"\n\nThus far she had been speaking Greek, but now, addressing the attendants\nwho remained standing in an attitude of deep reverence, she began in\nbroken Persian: \"Accept my thanks also. In Babylon you shall receive a\nthousand gold staters.\" Then turning to Boges, she added: \"Let this sum\nbe distributed among the attendants at latest by the day after to-morrow.\nTake me to my carriage, Croesus.\"\n\nThe old king hastened to do her bidding, and as he was leading her\nthither she pressed his arm and whispered gently, \"Are you pleased with\nme, my father?\"\n\n\"I tell you, girl,\" the old man answered, \"that no one but the king's\nmother can ever be your equal at this court, for a true and queenly pride\nreigns on your brow, and you have the power of using small means to\neffect great ends. Believe me, the smallest gift, chosen and bestowed as\nyou can choose and bestow, gives more pleasure to a noble mind than heaps\nof treasure merely cast down at his feet. The Persians are accustomed to\npresent and receive costly gifts. They understand already how to enrich\ntheir friends, but you can teach them to impart a joy with every gift.\nHow beautiful you are to-day! Are your cushions to your mind, or would\nyou like a higher seat? But what is that? There are clouds of dust in the\ndirection of the city. Cambyses is surely coming to meet you! Courage, my\ndaughter. Above all try to meet his gaze and respond to it. Very few can\nbear the lightning glance of those eyes, but, if you can return it freely\nand fearlessly, you have conquered. Fear nothing, my child, and may\nAphrodite adorn you with her most glorious beauty! My friends, we must\nstart, I think the king himself is coming.\" Nitetis sat erect in her\nsplendid, gilded carriage; her hands were pressed on her throbbing heart.\nThe clouds of dust came nearer and nearer, her eye caught the flash of\nweapons like lightning across a stormy sky. The clouds parted, she could\nsee single figures for a moment, but soon lost them as the road wound\nbehind some thickets and shrubs. Suddenly the troop of horsemen appeared\nin full gallop only a hundred paces before her, and distinctly visible.\n\nHer first impression was of a motley mass of steeds and men, glittering\nin purple, gold, silver and jewels. It consisted in reality of a troop of\nmore than two hundred horsemen mounted on pure white Nicaean horses,\nwhose bridles and saddle-cloths were covered with bells and bosses,\nfeathers, fringes, and embroidery. Their leader rode a powerful\ncoal-black charger, which even the strong will and hand of his rider\ncould not always curb, though in the end his enormous strength proved him\nthe man to tame even this fiery animal. This rider, beneath whose weight\nthe powerful steed trembled and panted, wore a vesture of scarlet and\nwhite, thickly embroidered with eagles and falcons in silver.\n\n   [Curtius III. 3. Xenoph. Cyrap, VIII. 3. 7. Aeschylus, Persians\n   835. 836. The king's dress and ornaments were worth 12,000 talents,\n   or L2,250,000 (estimate of 1880) according to Plutarch, Artaxerxes\n   24.]\n\nThe lower part of his dress was purple, and his boots of yellow leather.\nHe wore a golden girdle; in this hung a short dagger-like sword, the hilt\nand scabbard of which were thickly studded with jewels. The remaining\nornaments of his dress resembled those we have described as worn by\nBartja, and the blue and white fillet of the Achaemenidae was bound\naround the tiara, which surmounted a mass of thick curls, black as ebony.\nThe lower part of his face was concealed by an immense beard. His\nfeatures were pale and immovable, but the eyes, (more intensely black, if\npossible, than either hair or beard), glowed with a fire that was rather\nscorching than warming. A deep, fiery-red scar, given by the sword of a\nMassagetan warrior, crossed his high forehead, arched nose and thin upper\nlip. His whole demeanor expressed great power and unbounded pride.\n\nNitetis' gaze was at once riveted by this man. She had never seen any one\nlike him before, and he exercised a strange fascination over her. The\nexpression of indomitable pride, worn by his features, seemed to her to\nrepresent a manly nature which the whole world, but she herself above all\nothers, was created to serve. She felt afraid, and yet her true woman's\nheart longed to lean upon his strength as the vine upon the elm. She\ncould not be quite sure whether she had thus pictured to herself the\nfather of all evil, the fearful Seth, or the great god Ammon, the giver\nof light.\n\nThe deepest pallor and the brightest color flitted by turns across her\nlovely face, like the light and shadow when clouds pass swiftly over a\nsunny noonday sky. She had quite forgotten the advice of her fatherly old\nfriend, and yet, when Cambyses brought his unruly, chafing steed to a\nstand by the side of her carriage, she gazed breathless into the fiery\neyes of this man and felt at once that he was the king, though no one had\ntold her so.\n\nThe stern face of this ruler of half the known world relaxed, as Nitetis,\nmoved by an unaccountable impulse, continued to bear his piercing gaze.\nAt last he waved his hand to her in token of welcome, and then rode on to\nher escort, who had alighted from their horses and were awaiting him,\nsome having cast themselves down in the dust, and others, after the\nPersian manner, standing in an attitude of deep reverence, their hands\nconcealed in the wide sleeves of their robes.\n\nHe sprang from his horse, an example which was followed at once by his\nentire suite. The attendants, with the speed of thought, spread a rich\npurple carpet on the highway, lest the foot of the king should come in\ncontact with the dust of the earth, and then Cambyses proceeded to salute\nhis friends and relations by offering them his mouth to kiss.\n\nHe shook Croesus by the right hand, commanding him to remount and\naccompany him to the carriage, as interpreter between himself and\nNitetis.\n\nIn an instant his highest office-bearers were at hand to lift the king\nonce more on to his horse, and at a single nod from their lord, the train\nwas again in motion.\n\nCambyses and Croesus rode by the side of the carriage.\n\n\"She is beautiful, and pleases me well,\" began the king. \"Interpret\nfaithfully all her answers, for I understand only the Persian, Assyrian\nand Median tongues.\"\n\nNitetis caught and understood these words. A feeling of intense joy stole\ninto her heart, and before Croesus could answer, she began softly in\nbroken Persian and blushing deeply: \"Blessed be the gods, who have caused\nme to find favor in thine eyes. I am not ignorant of the speech of my\nlord, for the noble Croesus has instructed me in the Persian language\nduring our long journey. Forgive, if my sentences be broken and\nimperfect; the time was short, and my capacity only that of a poor and\nsimple maiden.\"\n\n   [Diodorus tells us that Themistocles learnt the Persian language\n   during the journey to Susa. We are not, therefore, requiring an\n   impossibility of Nitetis.]\n\nA smile passed over the usually serious mouth of Cambyses. His vanity was\nflattered by Nitetis' desire to win his approbation, and, accustomed as\nhe was to see women grow up in idleness and ignorance, thinking of\nnothing but finery and intrigue, her persevering industry seemed to him\nboth wonderful and praise worthy. So he answered with evident\nsatisfaction: \"I rejoice that we can speak without an interpreter.\nPersevere in learning the beautiful language of my forefathers. Croesus,\nwho sits at my table, shall still remain your instructor.\"\n\n\"Your command confers happiness!\" exclaimed the old man. \"No more eager\nor thankful pupil could be found, than the daughter of Amasis.\"\n\n\"She justifies the ancient report of the wisdom of Egypt,\" answered the\nking, \"and I can believe that she will quickly understand and receive\ninto her soul the religious instructions of our Magi.\"\n\nNitetis dropped her earnest gaze. Her fears were being realized. She\nwould be compelled to serve strange gods.\n\nBut her emotion passed unnoticed by Cambyses, who went on speaking: \"My\nmother Kassandane will tell you the duties expected from my wives.\nTo-morrow I myself will lead you to her. The words, which you innocently\nchanced to hear, I now repeat; you please me well. Do nothing to alienate\nmy affection. We will try to make our country agreeable, and, as your\nfriend, I counsel you to treat Boges whom I sent as my forerunner, in a\nkind and friendly manner. As head over the house of the women, you will\nhave to conform to his will in many things.\"\n\n\"Though he be head over the house of the women,\" answered Nitetis,\n\"surely your wife is bound to obey no other earthly will than yours. Your\nslightest look shall be for me a command; but remember that I am a king's\ndaughter, that in my native land the weaker and the stronger sex have\nequal rights, and that the same pride reigns in my breast, which I see\nkindling in your eyes, my lord and king! My obedience to you, my husband\nand my ruler, shall be that of a slave, but I can never stoop to sue for\nthe favor, or obey the orders of a venal servant, the most unmanly of his\nkind!\"\n\nCambyses' wonder and satisfaction increased. He had never heard any woman\nspeak in this way before, except his mother; the clever way in which\nNitetis acknowledged, and laid stress on, his right to command her every\nact, was very flattering to his self-love, and her pride found an echo in\nhis own haughty disposition. He nodded approvingly and answered: \"You\nhave spoken well. A separate dwelling shall be appointed you. I, and no\none else, will prescribe your rules of life and conduct. This day the\npleasant palace on the hanging-gardens shall be prepared for your\nreception.\"\n\n\"A thousand, thousand thanks,\" cried Nitetis. \"You little know the\nblessing you are bestowing in this permission. Again and again I have\nbegged your brother Bartja to repeat the story of these gardens, and the\nlove of the king who raised that verdant and blooming hill, pleased us\nbetter than all the other glories of your vast domains.\"\n\n\"To-morrow,\" answered the king, \"you can enter your new abode. But tell\nme now how my messengers pleased you and your countrymen.\"\n\n\"How can you ask? Who could know the noble Croesus without loving him?\nWho could fail to admire the beauty of the young heroes, your friends?\nThey have all become dear to us, but your handsome brother Bartja\nespecially, won all hearts. The Egyptians have no love for strangers, and\nyet the gaping crowd would burst into a murmur of admiration, when his\nbeautiful face appeared among them.\"\n\nAt these words the king's brow darkened; he struck his horse so sharply\nthat the creature reared, and then turning it quickly round he gallopped\nto the front and soon reached the walls of Babylon.\n\n          ...........................\n\nThough Nitetis had been brought up among the huge temples and palaces of\nEgypt, she was still astonished at the size and grandeur of this gigantic\ncity.\n\nIts walls seemed impregnable; they measured more than seventy-five\nfeet--[Fifty ells. The Greek ell is equal to one foot and a half\nEnglish.]--in height and their breadth was so great, that two chariots\ncould conveniently drive abreast upon them. These mighty defences were\ncrowned and strengthened by two hundred and fifty high towers, and even\nthese would have been insufficient, if Babylon had not been protected on\none side by impassable morasses. The gigantic city lay on both shores of\nthe Euphrates. It was more than forty miles in circumference, and its\nwalls enclosed buildings surpassing in size and grandeur even the\nPyramids and the temples of Thebes.\n\n   [These numbers and measurements are taken partly from Herodotus,\n   partly from Diodorus, Strabo and Arrian. And even the ruins of this\n   giant city, writes Lavard, are such as to allow a very fair\n   conclusion of its enormous size. Aristotle (Polit. III. I.) says\n   Babylon's dimensions were not those of a city, but of a nation.]\n\nThe mighty gates of brass, through which the royal train entered the\ncity, had opened wide to receive this noble company. This entrance was\ndefended on each side by a strong tower, and before each of these towers\nlay, as warder, a gigantic winged bull carved in stone, with a human\nhead, bearded and solemn. Nitetis gazed at these gates in astonishment,\nand then a joyful smile lighted up her face, as she looked up the long\nbroad street so brightly and beautifully decorated to welcome her.\n\nThe moment they beheld the king and the gilded carriage, the multitude\nburst into loud shouts of joy, but when Bartja, the people's darling,\ncame in sight, the shouts rose to thunder-peals and shrieks of delight,\nwhich seemed as if they would never end. It was long since the populace\nhad seen Cambyses, for in accordance with Median customs the king seldom\nappeared in public. Like the Deity, he was to govern invisibly, and his\noccasional appearance before the nation to be looked upon as a festival\nand occasion of rejoicing. Thus all Babylon had come out to-day to look\nupon their awful ruler and to welcome their favorite Bartja on his\nreturn. The windows were crowded with eager, curious women, who threw\nflowers before the approaching train, or poured sweet perfumes from above\nas they passed by. The pavement was thickly strewn with myrtle and palm\nbranches, trees of different kinds had been placed before the\nhouse-doors, carpets and gay cloths hung from the windows, garlands of\nflowers were wreathed from house to house, fragrant odors of incense and\nsandal-wood perfumed the air, and the way was lined with thousands of\ngaping Babylonians dressed in white linen shirts, gaily-colored woollen\npetticoats and short cloaks, and carrying long staves headed with\npomegranates, birds, or roses, of gold or silver.\n\nThe streets through which the procession moved were broad and straight,\nthe houses on either side, built of brick, tall and handsome. Towering\nabove every thing else, and visible from all points, rose the gigantic\ntemple of Bel. Its colossal staircase, like a huge serpent, wound round\nand round the ever-diminishing series of stories composing the tower,\nuntil it reached the summit crowned by the sanctuary itself.\n\n   [This temple of Bel, which many consider may have been the tower of\n   Babel of Genesis XI., is mentioned by Herodotus I. 181. 182. 183.\n   Diodorus II. 8. 9. (Ktesias), Strabo 738 and many other ancient\n   writers. The people living in its neighborhood now call the ruins\n   Birs Nimrod, the castle of Nimrod. In the text we have\n   reconstructed it as far as possible from the accounts of classical\n   writers. The first story, which is still standing, in the midst of\n   a heap of ruins, is 260 feet high. The walls surrounding the tower\n   are said to be still clearly recognizable, and were 4000 feet long\n   and 3000 broad. ]\n\nThe procession approached the royal palace. This corresponded in its\nenormous size to the rest of the vast city. The walls surrounding it were\ncovered with gaily-colored and glazed representations of strange figures\nmade up of human beings, birds, quadrupeds and fishes; hunting-scenes,\nbattles and solemn processions. By the side of the river towards the\nnorth, rose the hanging-gardens, and the smaller palace lay toward the\neast on the other bank of the Euphrates, connected with the larger one by\nthe wondrous erection, a firm bridge of stone.\n\nOur train passed on through the brazen gates of three of the walls\nsurrounding the palace, and then halted. Nitetis was lifted from her\ncarriage by bearers; she was at last in her new home, and soon after in\nthe apartments of the women's house assigned to her temporary use.\n\nCambyses, Bartja and their friends already known to us, were still\nstanding in the gaily-carpeted court of the palace, surrounded by at\nleast a hundred splendid dignitaries in magnificent dresses, when\nsuddenly a sound of loud female voices was heard, and a lovely Persian\ngirl richly dressed, her thick fair hair profusely wreathed with pearls,\nrushed into the court, pursued by several women older than herself. She\nran up to the group of men; Cambyses with a smile placed himself in her\npath, but the impetuous girl slipped adroitly past him, and in another\nmoment was hanging on Bartja's neck, crying and laughing by turns.\n\nThe attendants in pursuit prostrated themselves at a respectful distance,\nbut Cambyses, on seeing the caresses lavished by the young girl on her\nnewly-returned brother, cried: \"For shame, Atossa! remember that since\nyou began to wear ear-rings you have ceased to be a child!\n\n   [Ear-rings were given to the Persian girls in their fifteenth year,\n   the marriageable age. Vendid. Farlard XIV. 66. At this age too\n   boys as well as girls were obliged to wear the sacred cord, Kuctl or\n   Kosti as a girdle; and were only allowed to unloose it in the night.\n   The making of this cord is attended with many ceremonies, even among\n   the Persians of our own day. Seventy-two threads must be employed,\n   but black wool is prohibited.]\n\nIt is right that you should rejoice to see your brother again, but a\nking's daughter must never forget what is due to her rank, even in her\ngreatest joy. Go back to your mother directly. I see your attendants\nwaiting yonder. Go and tell them, that as this is a day of rejoicing I\nwill allow your heedless conduct to pass unpunished, but the next time\nyou appear unbidden in these apartments, which none may enter without\npermission, I shall tell Boges to keep you twelve days in confinement.\nRemember this, thoughtless child, and tell our mother, Bartja and I are\ncoming to visit her. Now give me a kiss. You will not? We shall see,\ncapricious little one!\" And so saying the king sprang towards his\nrefractory little sister, and seizing both her hands in one of his own,\nbent back her charming head with the other and kissed her in spite of her\nresistance. She screamed from the violence of his grasp, and ran away\ncrying to her attendants, who took her back to her apartments.\n\nWhen Atossa had disappeared, Bartja said; \"You were too rough with the\nlittle one, Cambyses. She screamed with pain!\"\n\nOnce more the king's face clouded, but suppressing the harsh words which\ntrembled on his lips, he only answered, turning towards the house: \"Let\nus come to our mother now; she begged me to bring you as soon as you\narrived. The women, as usual, are all impatience. Nitetis told me your\nrosy cheeks and fair curls had bewitched the Egyptian women too. I would\nadvise you to pray betimes to Mithras for eternal youth, and for his\nprotection against the wrinkles of age!\"\n\n\"Do you mean to imply by these words that I have no virtues which could\nmake an old age beautiful?\" asked Bartja.\n\n\"I explain my words to no one. Come.\"\n\n\"But I ask for an opportunity of proving, that I am inferior to none of\nmy nation in manly qualities.\"\n\n\"For that matter, the shouts of the Babylonians today will have been\nproof enough, that deeds are not wanted from you, in order to win their\nadmiration.\"\n\n\"Cambyses!\"\n\n\"Now come! We are just on the eve of a war with the Massagetae; there you\nwill have a good opportunity of proving what you are worth.\"\n\nA few minutes later, and Bartja was in the arms of his blind mother. She\nhad been waiting for her darling's arrival with a beating heart, and in\nthe joy of hearing his voice once more, and of being able to lay her\nhands again on that beloved head, she forgot everything else--even her\nfirst-born son who stood by smiling bitterly, as he watched the rich and\nboundless stream of a mother's love flowing out to his younger brother.\n\nCambyses had been spoiled from his earliest infancy. Every wish had been\nfulfilled, every look regarded as a command; and thus he grew up totally\nunable to brook contradiction, giving way to the most violent anger if\nany of his subjects (and he knew no human beings who were not his\nsubjects) dared to oppose him.\n\nHis father Cyrus, conqueror of half the world--the man whose genius had\nraised Persia from a small nation to the summit of earthly greatness--who\nhad secured for himself the reverence and admiration of countless\nsubjugated tribes--this great king was incapable of carrying out in his\nown small family-circle the system of education he had so successfully\nadopted towards entire countries. He could see nought else in Cambyses\nbut the future king of Persia, and commanded his subjects to pay him an\nunquestioning obedience, entirely forgetful of the fact that he who is to\ngovern well must begin by learning to obey.\n\nCambyses had been the first-born son of Kassandane, the wife whom Cyrus\nhad loved and married young; three daughters followed, and at last,\nfifteen years later, Bartja had come into the world. Their eldest son had\nalready outgrown his parents' caresses, when this little child appeared\nto engross all their care and love. His gentle, affectionate and clinging\nnature made him the darling of both father and mother: Cambyses was\ntreated with consideration by his parents, but their love was for Bartja.\nCambyses was brave; he distinguished himself often in the field, but his\ndisposition was haughty and imperious; men served him with fear and\ntrembling, while Bartja, ever sociable and sympathizing, converted all\nhis companions into loving friends. As to the mass of the people, they\nfeared the king, and trembled when he drew near, notwithstanding the\nlavish manner in which he showered rich gifts around him; but they loved\nBartja, and believed they saw in him the image of the great Cyrus the\n\"Father of his people.\"\n\nCambyses knew well that all this love, so freely given to Bartja, was not\nto be bought. He did not hate his younger brother, but he felt annoyed\nthat a youth who had as yet done nothing to distinguish himself, should\nbe honored and revered as if he were already a hero and public\nbenefactor. Whatever annoyed or displeased him he considered must be\nwrong; where he disapproved he did not spare his censures, and from his\nvery childhood, Cambyses' reproofs had been dreaded even by the mighty.\n\nThe enthusiastic shouts of the populace, the overflowing love of his\nmother and sister, and above all, the warm encomiums expressed by\nNitetis, had excited a jealousy which his pride had never allowed\nhitherto. Nitetis had taken his fancy in a remarkable degree. This\ndaughter of a powerful monarch, like himself disdaining everything mean\nand inferior, had yet acknowledged him to be her superior, and to win his\nfavor had not shrunk from the laborious task of mastering his native\nlanguage. These qualities, added to her peculiar style of beauty, which\nexcited his admiration from its rare novelty, half Egyptian half Greek,\n(her mother having been a Greek), had not failed to make a deep\nimpression on him. But she had been liberal in her praise of Bartja; that\nwas enough to disturb Cambyses' mind and prepare the way for jealousy.\n\nAs he and his brother were leaving the women's apartments, Cambyses\nadopted a hasty resolution and exclaimed: \"You asked me just now for an\nopportunity of proving your courage. I will not refuse. The Tapuri have\nrisen; I have sent troops to the frontier. Go to Rhagae, take the command\nand show what you are worth.\"\n\n\"Thanks, brother,\" cried Bartja. \"May I take my friends, Darius, Gyges\nand Zopyrus with me?\"\n\n\"That favor shall be granted too. I hope you will all do your duty\nbravely and promptly, that you may be back in three months to join the\nmain army in the expedition of revenge on the Massagetae. It will take\nplace in spring.\"\n\n\"I will start to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Then farewell.\"\n\n\"If Auramazda should spare my life and I should return victorious, will\nyou promise to grant me one favor?\"\n\n\"Yes, I will.\"\n\n\"Now, then, I feel confident of victory, even if I should have to stand\nwith a thousand men against ten thousand of the enemy.\" Bartja's eyes\nsparkled, he was thinking of Sappho.\n\n\"Well,\" answered his brother, \"I shall be very glad if your actions bear\nout these glowing words. But stop; I have something more to say. You are\nnow twenty years of age; you must marry. Roxana, daughter of the noble\nHydarnes, is marriageable, and is said to be beautiful. Her birth makes\nher a fitting bride for you.\"\n\n\"Oh! brother, do not speak of marriage; I . . .\" \"You must marry, for I\nhave no children.\"\n\n\"But you are still young; you will not remain childless. Besides, I do\nnot say that I will never marry. Do not be angry, but just now, when I am\nto prove my courage, I would rather hear nothing about women.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you must marry Roxana when you return from the North. But I\nshould advise you to take her with you to the field. A Persian generally\nfights better if he knows that, beside his most precious treasures, he\nhas a beautiful woman in his tent to defend.\"\n\n\"Spare me this one command, my brother. I conjure thee, by the soul of\nour father, not to inflict on me a wife of whom I know nothing, and never\nwish to know. Give Roxana to Zopyrus, who is so fond of women, or to\nDarius or Bessus, who are related to her father Hydarnes. I cannot love\nher, and should be miserable . . .\"\n\nCambyses interrupted him with a laugh, exclaiming: \"Did you learn these\nnotions in Egypt, where it is the custom to be contented with one wife?\nIn truth, I have long repented having sent a boy like you abroad. I am\nnot accustomed to bear contradiction, and shall listen to no excuses\nafter the war. This once I will allow you to go to the field without a\nwife. I will not force you to do what, in your opinion, might endanger\nyour valor. But it seems to me that you have other and more secret\nreasons for refusing my brotherly proposal. If that is the case, I am\nsorry for you. However, for the present, you can depart, but after the\nwar I will hear no remonstrances. You know me.\"\n\n\"Perhaps after the war I may ask for the very thing, which I am refusing\nnow--but never for Roxana! It is just as unwise to try to make a man\nhappy by force as it is wicked to compel him to be unhappy, and I thank\nyou for granting my request.\"\n\n\"Don't try my powers of yielding too often!--How happy you look! I really\nbelieve you are in love with some one woman by whose side all the others\nhave lost their charms.\"\n\nBartja blushed to his temples, and seizing his brother's hand, exclaimed:\n\"Ask no further now, accept my thanks once more, and farewell. May I bid\nNitetis farewell too, when I have taken leave of our mother and Atossa?\"\n\nCambyses bit his lip, looked searchingly into Bartja's face, and finding\nthat the boy grew uneasy under his glance, exclaimed abruptly and\nangrily: \"Your first business is to hasten to the Tapuri. My wife needs\nyour care no longer; she has other protectors now.\" So saying he turned\nhis back on his brother and passed on into the great hall, blazing with\ngold, purple and jewels, where the chiefs of the army, satraps, judges,\ntreasurers, secretaries, counsellors, eunuchs, door-keepers, introducers\nof strangers, chamberlains, keepers of the wardrobe, dressers,\ncup-bearers, equerries, masters of the chase, physicians, eyes and ears\nof the king, ambassadors and plenipotentiaries of all descriptions--were\nin waiting for him.\n\n   [The \"eyes and ears\" of the king may be compared to our police-\n   ministers. Darius may have borrowed the name from Egypt, where such\n   titles as \"the 2 eyes of the king for Upper Egypt, the 2 ears of the\n   king for Lower Egypt\" are to be found on the earlier monuments, for\n   instance in the tomb of Amen en, heb at Abd el Qurnah. And in\n   Herodotus II. 114. the boy Cyrus calls one of his playfellows \"the\n   eye of the king,\" Herod. (I, 100.)]\n\nThe king was preceded by heralds bearing staves, and followed by a host\nof fan, sedan and footstool-bearers, men carrying carpets, and\nsecretaries who the moment he uttered a command, or even indicated a\nconcession, a punishment or a reward, hastened to note it down and at\nonce hand it over to the officials empowered to execute his decrees.\n\nIn the middle of the brilliantly-lighted hall stood a gilded table, which\nlooked as if it must give way beneath the mass of gold and silver\nvessels, plates, cups and bowls which were arranged with great order upon\nit. The king's private table, the service on which was of immense worth\nand beauty, was placed in an apartment opening out of the large hall, and\nseparated from it by purple hangings. These concealed him from the gaze\nof the revellers, but did not prevent their every movement from being\nwatched by his eye. It was an object of the highest ambition to be one of\nthose who ate at the king's table, and even he to whom a portion was sent\nmight deem himself a highly-favored man.\n\nAs Cambyses entered the hall, nearly every one present prostrated\nthemselves before him; his relations alone, distinguished by the blue and\nwhite fillet on the tiara, contented themselves with a deferential\nobeisance.\n\nAfter the king had seated himself in his private apartment, the rest of\nthe company took their places, and then a tremendous revel began.\nAnimals, roasted whole, were placed on the table, and, when hunger was\nappeased, several courses of the rarest delicacies followed, celebrated\nin later times even among the Greeks under the name of \"Persian dessert.\"\n\n   [Herodotus (I. 133.) writes that the Persians fancied the Greeks'\n   hunger was never satisfied, because nothing special was brought to\n   the table at the end of the meal.]\n\nSlaves then entered to remove the remains of the food. Others brought in\nimmense jugs of wine, the king left his own apartment, took his seat at\nthe head of the table, numerous cup-bearers filled the golden\ndrinking-cups in the most graceful manner, first tasting the wine to\nprove that it was free from poison, and soon one of those drinking-bouts\nhad begun under the best auspices, at which, a century or two later,\nAlexander the Great, forgot not only moderation but even friendship\nitself.\n\nCambyses was unwontedly silent. The suspicion had entered his mind, that\nBartja loved Nitetis. Why had he, contrary to all custom, so decidedly\nrefused to marry a noble and beautiful girl, when his brother's\nchildlessness rendered marriage an evident and urgent duty for him? Why\nhad he wished to see the Egyptian princess again before leaving Babylon?\nand blushed as he expressed that wish? and why had she, almost without\nbeing asked, praised him so warmly?\n\nIt is well that he is going, thought the king; at least he shall not rob\nme of her love. If he were not my brother I would send him to a place\nfrom whence none can return.\n\nAfter midnight he broke up the banquet. Boges appeared to conduct him to\nthe Harem, which he was accustomed to visit at this hour, when\nsufficiently sober.\n\n\"Phaedime awaits you with impatience,\" said the eunuch.\n\n\"Let her wait!\" was the king's answer. \"Have you given orders that the\npalace on the hanging-gardens shall be set in order?\"\n\n\"It will be ready for occupation to-morrow.\"\n\n\"What apartments have been assigned to the Egyptian Princess?\"\n\n\"Those formerly occupied by the second wife of your father Cyrus, the\ndeceased Amytis.\"\n\n\"That is well. Nitetis is to be treated with the greatest respect, and to\nreceive no commands even from yourself, but such as I give you for her.\"\n\nBoges bowed low.\n\n\"See that no one, not even Croesus, has admission to her before my. . . .\nbefore I give further orders.\"\n\n\"Croesus was with her this evening.\"\n\n\"What may have been his business with my wife?\"\n\n\"I do not know, for I do not understand the Greek language, but I heard\nthe name of Bartja several times, and it seemed to me that the Egyptian\nhad received sorrowful intelligence. She was looking very sad when I\ncame, after Croesus had left, to inquire if she had any commands for me.\"\n\n\"May Ahriman blast thy tongue,\" muttered the king, and then turning his\nback on the eunuch he followed the torch-bearers and attendants, who were\nin waiting to disrobe him, to his own private apartments.\n\nAt noon on the following clay, Bartja, accompanied by his friends and a\ntroop of attendants, started on horseback for the frontier. Croesus went\nwith the young warriors as far as the city gates, and as their last\nfarewells and embraces were being exchanged, Bartja whispered to his old\nfriend: \"If the messenger from Egypt should have a letter for me in his\nbag, will you send it on?\"\n\n\"Shall you be able to decipher the Greek writing?\"\n\n\"Gyges and love will help me!\"\n\n\"When I told Nitetis of your departure she begged me to wish you\nfarewell, and tell you not to forget Egypt.\"\n\n\"I am not likely to do that.\"\n\n\"The gods take thee into their care, my son. Be prudent, do not risk your\nlife heedlessly, but remember that it is no longer only your own.\nExercise the gentleness of a father towards the rebels; they did not rise\nin mere self-will, but to gain their freedom, the most precious\npossession of mankind. Remember, too, that to shew mercy is better than\nto shed blood; the sword killeth, but the favor of the ruler bringeth joy\nand happiness. Conclude the war as speedily as possible, for war is a\nperversion of nature; in peace the sons outlive the fathers, but in war\nthe fathers live to mourn for their slain sons. Farewell, my young\nheroes, go forward and conquer!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nCambyses passed a sleepless night. The feeling of jealousy, so totally\nnew to him, increased his desire to possess Nitetis, but he dared not\ntake her as his wife yet, as the Persian law forbade the king to marry a\nforeign wife, until she had become familiar with the customs of Iran and\nconfessed herself a disciple of Zoroaster.\n\n   [Zoroaster, really Zarathustra or Zerethoschtro, was one of the\n   `greatest among founders of new religions and lawgivers. His name\n   signified \"golden star\" according to Anquetil du Perron. But this\n   interpretation is as doubtful, as the many others which have been\n   attempted. An appropriate one is given in the essay by Kern quoted\n   below, from zara golden, and thwistra glittering; thus \"the gold\n   glittering one.\" It is uncertain whether he was born in Bactria,\n   Media or Persia, Anquetil thinks in Urmi, a town in Aderbaijan. His\n   father's name was Porosehasp, his mother's Dogdo, and his family\n   boasted of royal descent. The time of his birth is very,--Spiegel\n   says \"hopelessly\"--dark. Anquetil, and many other scholars would\n   place it in the reign of Darius, a view which has been proved to be\n   incorrect by Spiegel, Duncker and v. Schack in his introduction.]\n\nAccording to this law a whole year must pass before Nitetis could become\nthe wife of a Persian monarch? but what was the law to Cambyses? In his\neyes the law was embodied in his own person, and in his opinion three\nmonths would be amply sufficient to initiate Nitetis in the Magian\nmysteries, after which process she could become his bride.\n\nTo-day his other wives seemed hateful, even loathsome, to him. From\nCambyses' earliest youth his house had been carefully provided with\nwomen. Beautiful girls from all parts of Asia, black-eyed Armenians,\ndazzlingly fair maidens from the Caucasus, delicate girls from the shores\nof the Ganges, luxurious Babylonian women, golden-haired Persians and the\neffeminate daughters of the Median plains; indeed many of the noblest\nAchaemenidae had given him their daughters in marriage.\n\nPhaedime, the daughter of Otanes, and niece of his own mother Kassandane,\nhad been Cambyses' favorite wife hitherto, or at least the only one of\nwhom it could be said that she was more to him than a purchased slave\nwould have been. But even she, in his present sated and disgusted state\nof feeling, seemed vulgar and contemptible, especially when he thought of\nNitetis.\n\nThe Egyptian seemed formed of nobler, better stuff than they all. They\nwere flattering, coaxing girls; Nitetis was a queen. They humbled\nthemselves in the dust at his feet; but when he thought of Nitetis, he\nbeheld her erect, standing before him, on the same proud level as\nhimself. He determined that from henceforth she should not only occupy\nPhaedime's place, but should be to him what Kassandane had been to his\nfather Cyrus.\n\nShe was the only one of his wives who could assist him by her knowledge\nand advice; the others were all like children, ignorant, and caring for\nnothing but dress and finery: living only for petty intrigues and useless\ntrifles. This Egyptian girl would be obliged to love him, for he would be\nher protector, her lord, her father and brother in this foreign land.\n\n\"She must,\" he said to himself, and to this despot to wish for a thing\nand to possess it seemed one and the same. \"Bartja had better take care,\"\nhe murmured, \"or he shall know what fate awaits the man who dares to\ncross my path.\"\n\nNitetis too had passed a restless night.\n\nThe common apartment of the women was next to her own, and the noise and\nsinging there had not ceased until nearly midnight. She could often\ndistinguish the shrill voice of Boges joking and laughing with these\nwomen, who were under his charge. At last all was quiet in the wide\npalace halls and then her thoughts turned to her distant home and her\npoor sister Tachot, longing for her and for the beautiful Bartja, who,\nCroesus had told her, was going to-morrow to the war and possibly to\ndeath. At last she fell asleep, overcome by the fatigue of the journey\nand dreaming of her future husband. She saw him on his black charger. The\nfoaming animal shied at Bartja who was lying in the road, threw his rider\nand dragged him into the Nile, whose waves became blood-red. In her\nterror she screamed for help; her cries were echoed back from the\nPyramids in such loud and fearful tones that she awoke.\n\nBut hark! what could that be? That wailing, shrill cry which she had\nheard in her dream,--she could hear it still.\n\nHastily drawing aside the shutters from one of the openings which served\nas windows, she looked out. A large and beautiful garden, laid out with\nfountains and shady avenues, lay before her, glittering with the early\ndew.\n\n   [The Persian gardens were celebrated throughout the old world, and\n   seem to have been laid out much less stiffly than the Egyptian.\n   Even the kings of Persia did not consider horticulture beneath their\n   notice, and the highest among the Achaemenidae took an especial\n   pleasure in laying out parks, called in Persian Paradises. Their\n   admiration for well-grown trees went so far, that Xerxes, finding on\n   his way to Greece a singularly beautiful tree, hung ornaments of\n   gold upon its branches. Firdusi, the great Persian epic poet,\n   compares human beauty to the growth of the cypress, as the highest\n   praise he can give. Indeed some trees were worshipped by the\n   Persians; and as the tree of life in the Hebrew and Egyptian, so we\n   find sacred trees in their Paradise.]\n\nNo sound was to be heard except the one which had alarmed her, and this\ntoo died away at last on the morning breeze. After a few minutes she\nheard cries and noise in the distance, then the great city awaking to its\ndaily work, which soon settled down into a deep, dull murmur like the\nroaring of the sea.\n\nNitetis was by this time so thoroughly awakened from the effect of the\nfresh morning air, that she did not care to lie down again. She went once\nmore to the window and perceived two figures coming out of the house. One\nshe recognized as the eunuch Boges; he was talking to a beautiful Persian\nwoman carelessly dressed. They approached her window. Nitetis hid herself\nbehind the half-opened shutter and listened, for she fancied she heard\nher own name.\n\n\"The Egyptian is still asleep.\" said Boges. \"She must be much fatigued by\nthe journey. I see too that one of her windows is still firmly closed.\"\n\n\"Then tell me quickly,\" said the Persian. \"Do you really think that this\nstranger's coming can injure me in any way?\"\n\n\"Certainly, I do, my pretty one.\"\n\n\"But what leads you to suppose this?\"\n\n\"She is only to obey the king's commands, not mine.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"No, my treasure. I know the king. I can read his features as the Magi\nread the sacred books.\"\n\n\"Then we must ruin her.\"\n\n\"More easily said than done, my little bird.\"\n\n\"Leave me alone! you are insolent.\"\n\n\"Well, but nobody can see us, and you know you can do nothing without my\nhelp.\"\n\n\"Very well then, I don't care. But tell me quickly what we can do.\"\n\n\"Thanks, my sweet Phaedime. Well, for the present we must be patient and\nwait our time. That detestable hypocrite Croesus seems to have\nestablished himself as protector of the Egyptian; when he is away, we\nmust set our snares.\"\n\nThe speakers were by this time at such a distance, that Nitetis could not\nunderstand what they said. In silent indignation she closed the shutter,\nand called her maidens to dress her. She knew her enemies now--she knew\nthat a thousand dangers surrounded her, and yet she felt proud and happy,\nfor was she not chosen to be the real wife of Cambyses? Her own worth\nseemed clearer to her than ever before, from a comparison with these\nmiserable creatures, and a wonderful certainty of ultimate victory stole\ninto her heart, for Nitetis was a firm believer in the magic power of\nvirtue.\n\n\"What was that dreadful sound I heard so early?\" she asked of her\nprincipal waiting-woman, who was arranging her hair.\n\n\"Do you mean the sounding brass, lady?\"\n\n\"Scarcely two hours ago I was awakened by a strange and frightful sound.\"\n\n\"That was the sounding brass, lady. It is used to awaken the young sons\nof the Persian nobles, who are brought up at the gate of the king. You\nwill soon become accustomed to it. We have long ceased even to hear it,\nand indeed on great festivals, when it is not sounded, we awake from the\nunaccustomed stillness. From the hanging-gardens you will be able to see\nhow the boys are taken to bathe every morning, whatever the weather may\nbe. The poor little ones are taken from their mothers when they are six\nyears old, to be brought up with the other boys of their own rank under\nthe king's eye.\"\n\n\"Are they to begin learning the luxurious manners of the court so early?\"\n\n\"Oh no! the poor boys lead a terrible life. They are obliged to sleep on\nthe hard ground, to rise before the sun. Their food is bread and water,\nwith very little meat, and they are never allowed to taste wine or\nvegetables. Indeed at times they are deprived of food and drink for some\ndays, simply to accustom them to privations. When the court is at\nEcbatana or Pasargadae, and the weather is bitterly cold, they are sure\nto be taken out to bathe, and here in Susa, the hotter the sun, the\nlonger and more difficult the marches they are compelled to take.\"\n\n   [The summer residences of the kings cf Persia, where it is sometimes\n   very cold. Ecbatana lies at the foot of the high Elburs (Orontes)\n   range of mountains in the neighborhood of the modern Hamadan;\n   Pasargadae not far from Rachmet in the highlands of Iran]\n\n\"And these boys, so simply and severely brought up, become in after life\nsuch luxurious men?\"\n\n\"Yes, that is always the case. A meal that has been waited for is all the\nmore relished when it comes. These boys see splendor and magnificence\naround them daily; they know how rich they are in reality, and yet have\nto suffer from hunger and privation. Who can wonder, if, when at last\nthey gain their liberty, they plunge into the pleasures of life with a\ntenfold eagerness? But on the other hand, in time of war, or when going\nto the chase, they never murmur at hunger or thirst, spring with a laugh\ninto the mud regardless of their thin boots and purple trousers, and\nsleep as soundly on a rock as on their beds of delicate Arabian wool. You\nmust see the feats these boys perform, especially when the king is\nwatching them! Cambyses will certainly take you if you ask him.\"\n\n\"I know those exercises already. In Egypt the girls as well as the boys\nare kept to such gymnastic exercises. My limbs were trained to\nflexibility by running, postures, and games with hoops and balls.\n\n\"How strange! Here, we women grow up just as we please, and are taught\nnothing but a little spinning and weaving. Is it true that most of the\nEgyptian women can read and write?\"\n\n\"Yes, nearly all.\"\n\n\"By Mithras, you must be a clever people! Scarcely any of the Persians,\nexcept the Magi and the scribes, learn these difficult arts. The sons of\nthe nobles are taught to speak the truth, to be courageous, obedient, and\nto reverence the gods; to hunt, ride, plant trees and discern between\nherbs; but whoever, like the noble Darius, wishes to learn the art of\nwriting, must apply to the Magi. Women are forbidden to turn their minds\nto such studies.--Now your dress is complete. This string of pearls,\nwhich the king sent this morning, looks magnificent in your raven-black\nhair, but it is easy to see that you are not accustomed to the full silk\ntrousers and high-heeled boots. If, however, you walk two or three times\nup and down the room you will surpass all the Persian ladies even in your\nwalk!\"\n\nAt this moment a knock was heard and Boges entered. He had come to\nconduct Nitetis to Kassandane's apartments, where Cambyses was waiting\nfor her.\n\nThe eunuch affected an abject humility, and poured forth a stream of\nflattering words, in which he likened the princess to the sun, the starry\nheavens, a pure fount of happiness, and a garden of roses. Nitetis\ndeigned him not a word in reply, but followed, with a beating heart, to\nthe queen's apartment.\n\nIn order to keep out the noonday sun and produce a salutary half-light\nfor the blind queen's eyes, her windows were shaded by curtains of green\nIndian silk. The floor was covered with a thick Babylonian carpet, soft\nas moss under the foot. The walls were faced with a mosaic of ivory,\ntortoise-shell, gold, silver, malachite, lapis-lazuli, ebony and amber.\nThe seats and couches were of gold covered with lions' skins, and a table\nof silver stood by the side of the blind queen. Kassandane was seated in\na costly arm-chair. She wore a robe of violet-blue, embroidered with\nsilver, and over her snow-white hair lay a long veil of delicate lace,\nwoven in Egypt, the ends of which were wound round her neck and tied in a\nlarge bow beneath her chin. She was between sixty and seventy years old;\nher face, framed, as it were, into a picture by the lace veil, was\nexquisitely symmetrical in its form, intellectual, kind and benevolent in\nits expression.\n\nThe blind eyes were closed, but those who gazed on her felt that, if\nopen, they would shine with the gentle light of stars. Even when sitting,\nher attitude and height showed a tall and stately figure. Indeed her\nentire appearance was worthy the widow of the great and good Cyrus.\n\nOn a low seat at her feet, drawing long threads from a golden spindle,\nsat the queen's youngest child Atossa, born to her late in life. Cambyses\nwas standing before her, and behind, hardly visible in the dim light,\nNebenchari, the Egyptian oculist.\n\nAs Nitetis entered, Cambyses came towards her and led her to his mother.\nThe daughter of Amasis fell on her knees before this venerable woman, and\nkissed her hand with real affection.\n\n\"Be welcome here!\" exclaimed the blind queen, feeling her way to the\nyoung girl's head, on which she laid her hand, \"I have heard much in your\npraise, and hope to gain in you a dear and loving daughter.\"\n\nNitetis kissed the gentle, delicate hand again, saying in a low voice: \"O\nhow I thank you for these words! Will you, the wife of the great Cyrus,\npermit me to call you mother? My tongue has been so long accustomed to\nthis sweet word; and now after long weeks of silence, I tremble with joy\nat the thought that I may say 'my mother' once more! I will indeed try to\ndeserve your love and kindness; and you--you will be to me all that your\nloving countenance seems to promise? Advise and teach me; let me find a\nrefuge at your feet, if sometimes the longing for home becomes too\nstrong, and my poor heart too weak to bear its grief or joy alone. Oh, be\nmy mother! that one word includes all else!\"\n\nThe blind queen felt the warm tears fall on her hand; she pressed her\nlips kindly on the weeping girl's forehead, and answered: \"I can\nunderstand your feelings. My apartments shall be always open to you, my\nheart ready to welcome you here. Come when you will, and call me your\nmother with the same perfect confidence with which I, from my whole\nheart, name you my daughter. In a few months you will be my son's wife,\nand then the gods may grant you that gift, which, by implanting within\nyou the feelings of a mother, will prevent you from feeling the need of\none.\"\n\n\"May Ormuszd hear and give his blessing!\" said Cambyses. \"I rejoice,\nmother, that my wife pleases you, and I know that when once she becomes\nfamiliar with our manners and customs she will be happy here. If Nitetis\npay due heed, our marriage can be celebrated in four months.\"\n\n\"But the law--\" began his mother.\n\n\"I command--in four months, and should like to see him who dare raise an\nobjection. Farewell! Nebenchari, use your best skill for the queen's\neyes, and if my wife permit, you, as her countryman, may visit her\nto-morrow. Farewell! Bartja sends his parting greetings. He is on the\nroad to the Tapuri.\"\n\nAtossa wiped away a tear in silence, but Kassandane answered: \"You would\nhave done well to allow the boy to remain here a few months longer. Your\ncommander, Megabyzus, could have subdued that small nation alone.\"\n\n\"Of that I have no doubt,\" replied the king, \"but Bartja desired an\nopportunity of distinguishing himself in the field; and for that reason I\nsent him.\"\n\n\"Would he not gladly have waited until the war with the Massageta; where\nmore glory might be gained?\" asked the blind woman.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Atossa, \"and if he should fall in this war, you will have\ndeprived him of the power of fulfilling his most sacred duty, of avenging\nthe soul of our father!\"\n\n\"Be silent!\" cried Cambyses in an overbearing tone, \"or I shall have to\nteach you what is becoming in women and children. Bartja is on far too\ngood terms with fortune to fall in the war. He will live, I hope, to\ndeserve the love which is now so freely flung into his lap like an alms.\"\n\n\"How canst thou speak thus?\" cried Kassandane. \"In what manly virtue is\nBartja wanting? Is it his fault, that he has had no such opportunity of\ndistinguishing himself in the field as thou hast had? You are the king\nand I am bound to respect your commands, but I blame my son for depriving\nhis blind mother of the greatest joy left to her in her old age. Bartja\nwould have gladly remained here until the Massagetan war, if your\nself-will had not determined otherwise.\"\n\n\"And what I will is good!\" exclaimed Cambyses interrupting his mother,\nand pale with anger, \"I desire that this subject be not mentioned again.\"\n\nSo saying, he left the room abruptly and went into the reception-hall,\nfollowed by the immense retinue which never quitted him, whithersoever he\nmight direct his steps.\n\nAn hour passed, and still Nitetis and the lovely Atossa were sitting side\nby side, at the feet of the queen. The Persian women listened eagerly to\nall their new friend could tell them about Egypt and its wonders.\n\n\"Oh! how I should like to visit your home!\" exclaimed Atossa. \"It must be\nquite, quite different from Persia and everything else that I have seen\nyet. The fruitful shores of your great river, larger even than the\nEuphrates, the temples with their painted columns, those huge artificial\nmountains, the Pyramids, where the ancient kings be buried--it must all\nbe wonderfully beautiful. But what pleases me best of all is your\ndescription of the entertainments, where men and women converse together\nas they like. The only meals we are allowed to take in the society of men\nare on New Year's Day and the king's birthday, and then we are forbidden\nto speak; indeed it is not thought right for us even to raise our eyes.\nHow different it is with you! By Mithras! mother, I should like to be an\nEgyptian, for we poor creatures are in reality nothing but miserable\nslaves; and yet I feel that the great Cyrus was my father too, and that I\nam worth quite as much as most men. Do I not speak the truth? can I not\nobey as well as command? have I not the same thirst and longing for\nglory? could not I learn to ride, to string a bow, to fight and swim, if\nI were taught and inured to such exercises?\"\n\nThe girl had sprung from her seat while speaking, her eyes flashed and\nshe swung her spindle in the air, quite unconscious that in so doing she\nwas breaking the thread and entangling the flax.\n\n\"Remember what is fitting,\" reminded Kassandane. \"A woman must submit\nwith humility to her quiet destiny, and not aspire to imitate the deeds\nof men.\"\n\n\"But there are women who lead the same lives as men,\" cried Atossa.\n\"There are the Amazons who live on the shores of the Thermodon in\nThemiscyra, and at Comana on the Iris; they have waged great wars, and\neven to this day wear men's armor.\"\n\n\"Who told you this?\"\n\n\"My old nurse, Stephanion, whom my father brought a captive from Sinope\nto Pasargadae.\"\n\n\"But I can teach you better,\" said Nitetis. \"It is true that in\nThemiscyra and Comana there are a number of women who wear soldier's\narmor; but they are only priestesses, and clothe themselves like the\nwarlike goddess they serve, in order to present to the worshippers a\nmanifestation of the divinity in human form. Croesus says that an army of\nAmazons has never existed, but that the Greeks, (always ready and able to\nturn anything into a beautiful myth), having seen these priestesses, at\nonce transformed the armed virgins dedicated to the goddess into a nation\nof fighting women.\"\n\n\"Then they are liars!\" exclaimed the disappointed girl.\n\n\"It is true, that the Greeks have not the same reverence for truth as you\nhave,\" answered Nitetis, \"but they do not call the men who invent these\nbeautiful stories liars; they are called poets.\"\n\n\"Just as it is with ourselves,\" said Kassandane. \"The poets, who sing the\npraises of my husband, have altered and adorned his early life in a\nmarvellous manner; yet no one calls them liars. But tell me, my daughter,\nis it true that these Greeks are more beautiful than other men, and\nunderstand art better even than the Egyptians?\"\n\n\"On that subject I should not venture to pronounce a judgment. There is\nsuch a great difference between the Greek and Egyptian works of art. When\nI went into our own gigantic temples to pray, I always felt as if I must\nprostrate myself in the dust before the greatness of the gods, and\nentreat them not to crush so insignificant a worm; but in the temple of\nHera at Samos, I could only raise my hands to heaven in joyful\nthanksgiving, that the gods had made the earth so beautiful. In Egypt I\nalways believed as I had been taught: 'Life is asleep; we shall not awake\nto our true existence in the kingdom of Osiris till the hour of death;'\nbut in Greece I thought: 'I am born to live and to enjoy this cheerful,\nbright and blooming world.'\"\n\n\"Ah! tell us something more about Greece,\" cried Atossa; \"but first\nNebenchari must put a fresh bandage on my mother's eyes.\"\n\nThe oculist, a tall, grave man in the white robes of an Egyptian priest,\ncame forward to perform the necessary operation, and after being kindly\ngreeted by Nitetis, withdrew once more silently into the background. At\nthe same time a eunuch entered to enquire whether Croesus might be\nallowed to pay his respectful homage to the king's mother.\n\nThe aged king soon appeared, and was welcomed as the old and tried friend\nof the Persian royal family. Atossa, with her usual impetuosity, fell on\nthe neck of the friend she had so sorely missed during his absence; the\nqueen gave him her hand, and Nitetis met him like a loving daughter.\n\n\"I thank the gods, that I am permitted to see you again,\" said Croesus.\n\"The young can look at life as a possession, as a thing understood and\nsure, but at my age every year must be accepted as an undeserved gift\nfrom the gods, for which a man must be thankful.\"\n\n\"I could envy you for this happy view of life,\" sighed Kassandane. \"My\nyears are fewer than yours, and yet every new day seems to me a\npunishment sent by the Immortals.\"\n\n\"Can I be listening to the wife of the great Cyrus?\" asked Croesus. \"How\nlong is it since courage and confidence left that brave heart? I tell\nyou, you will recover sight, and once more thank the gods for a good old\nage. The man who recovers, after a serious illness, values health a\nhundred-fold more than before; and he who regains sight after blindness,\nmust be an especial favorite of the gods. Imagine to yourself the delight\nof that first moment when your eyes behold once more the bright shining\nof the sun, the faces of your loved ones, the beauty of all created\nthings, and tell me, would not that outweigh even a whole life of\nblindness and dark night? In the day of healing, even if that come in old\nage, a new life will begin and I shall hear you confess that my friend\nSolon was right.\"\n\n\"In what respect?\" asked Atossa.\n\n\"In wishing that Mimnermos, the Colophonian poet, would correct the poem\nin which he has assigned sixty years as the limit of a happy life, and\nwould change the sixty into eighty.\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" exclaimed Kassandane. \"Even were Mithras to restore my sight,\nsuch a long life would be dreadful. Without my husband I seem to myself\nlike a wanderer in the desert, aimless and without a guide.\"\n\n\"Are your children then nothing to you, and this kingdom, of which you\nhave watched the rise and growth?\"\n\n\"No indeed! but my children need me no longer, and the ruler of this\nkingdom is too proud to listen to a woman's advice.\"\n\nOn hearing these words Atossa and Nitetis seized each one of the queen's\nhands, and Nitetis cried: \"You ought to desire a long life for our sakes.\nWhat should we be without your help and protection?\"\n\nKassandane smiled again, murmuring in a scarcely audible voice: \"You are\nright, my children, you will stand in need of your mother.\"\n\n\"Now you are speaking once more like the wife of the great Cyrus,\" cried\nCroesus, kissing the robe of the blind woman. \"Your presence will indeed\nbe needed, who can say how soon? Cambyses is like hard steel; sparks fly\nwherever he strikes. You can hinder these sparks from kindling a\ndestroying fire among your loved ones, and this should be your duty. You\nalone can dare to admonish the king in the violence of his passion. He\nregards you as his equal, and, while despising the opinion of others,\nfeels wounded by his mother's disapproval. Is it not then your duty to\nabide patiently as mediator between the king, the kingdom and your loved\nones, and so, by your own timely reproofs, to humble the pride of your\nson, that he may be spared that deeper humiliation which, if not thus\naverted, the gods will surely inflict.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" answered the blind woman, \"but I feel only too well that\nmy influence over him is but small. He has been so much accustomed to\nhave his own will, that he will follow no advice, even if it come from\nhis mother's lips.\"\n\n\"But he must at least hear it,\" answered Croesus, \"and that is much, for\neven if he refuse to obey, your counsels will, like divine voices,\ncontinue to make themselves heard within him, and will keep him back from\nmany a sinful act. I will remain your ally in this matter; for, as\nCambyses' dying father appointed me the counsellor of his son in word and\ndeed, I venture occasionally a bold word to arrest his excesses. Ours is\nthe only blame from which he shrinks: we alone can dare to speak our\nopinion to him. Let us courageously do our duty in this our office: you,\nmoved by love to Persia and your son, and I by thankfulness to that great\nman to whom I owe life and freedom, and whose son Cambyses is. I know\nthat you bemoan the manner in which he has been brought up; but such late\nrepentance must be avoided like poison. For the errors of the wise the\nremedy is reparation, not regret; regret consumes the heart, but the\neffort to repair an error causes it to throb with a noble pride.\"\n\n\"In Egypt,\" said Nitetis, \"regret is numbered among the forty-two deadly\nsins. One of our principal commandments is, 'Thou shalt not consume thine\nheart.'\"\n\n   [In the Ritual of the Dead (indeed in almost every Papyrus of the\n   Dead) we meet with a representation of the soul, whose heart is\n   being weighed and judged. The speech made by the soul is called the\n   negative justification, in which she assures the 42 judges of the\n   dead, that she has not committed the 42 deadly sins which she\n   enumerates. This justification is doubly interesting because it\n   contains nearly the entire moral law of Moses, which last, apart\n   from all national peculiarities and habits of mind, seems to contain\n   the quintessence of human morality--and this we find ready\n   paragraphed in our negative justification. Todtenbuch ed. Lepsius.\n   125. We cannot discuss this question philosophically here, but the\n   law of Pythagoras, who borrowed so much from Egypt, and the contents\n   of which are the same, speaks for our view. It is similar in form\n   to the Egyptian.]\n\n\"There you remind me,\" said Croesus \"that I have undertaken to arrange\nfor your instruction in the Persian customs, religion and language. I had\nintended to withdraw to Barene, the town which I received as a gift from\nCyrus, and there, in that most lovely mountain valley, to take my rest;\nbut for your sake and for the king's, I will remain here and continue to\ngive you instruction in the Persian tongue. Kassandane herself will\ninitiate you in the customs peculiar to women at the Persian court, and\nOropastes, the high-priest, has been ordered by the king to make you\nacquainted with the religion of Iran. He will be your spiritual, and I\nyour secular guardian.\"\n\nAt these words Nitetis, who had been smiling happily, cast down her eyes\nand asked in a low voice: \"Am I to become unfaithful to the gods of my\nfathers, who have never failed to hear my prayers? Can I, ought I to\nforget them?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Kassandane decidedly, \"thou canst, and it is thy bounden\nduty, for a wife ought to have no friends but those her husband calls\nsuch. The gods are a man's earliest, mightiest and most faithful friends,\nand it therefore becomes thy duty, as a wife, to honor them, and to close\nthine heart against strange gods and superstitions, as thou wouldst close\nit against strange lovers.\"\n\n\"And,\" added Croesus, \"we will not rob you of your deities; we will only\ngive them to you under other names. As Truth remains eternally the same,\nwhether called 'maa', as by the Egyptians, or 'Aletheia' as by the\nGreeks, so the essence of the Deity continues unchanged in all places and\ntimes. Listen, my daughter: I myself, while still king of Lydia, often\nsacrificed in sincere devotion to the Apollo of the Greeks, without a\nfear that in so doing I should offend the Lydian sun-god Sandon; the\nIonians pay their worship to the Asiatic Cybele, and, now that I have\nbecome a Persian, I raise my hands adoringly to Mithras, Ormuzd and the\nlovely Anahita. Pythagoras too, whose teaching is not new to you,\nworships one god only, whom he calls Apollo; because, like the Greek\nsun-god, he is the source of light and of those harmonies which\nPythagoras holds to be higher than all else. And lastly, Xenophanes of\nColophon laughs at the many and divers gods of Homer and sets one single\ndeity on high--the ceaselessly creative might of nature, whose essence\nconsists of thought, reason and eternity.\n\n   [A celebrated freethinker, who indulged in bold and independent\n   speculations, and suffered much persecution for his ridicule of the\n   Homeric deities. He flourished at the time of our history and lived\n   to a great age, far on into the fifth century. We have quoted some\n   fragments of his writings above. He committed his speculations also\n   to verse.]\n\n\"In this power everything has its rise, and it alone remains unchanged,\nwhile all created matter must be continually renewed and perfected. The\nardent longing for some being above us, on whom we can lean when our own\npowers fail,--the wonderful instinct which desires a faithful friend to\nwhom we can tell every joy and sorrow without fear of disclosure, the\nthankfulness with which we behold this beautiful world and all the rich\nblessings we have received--these are the feelings which we call\npiety--devotion.\n\n\"These you must hold fast; remembering, however, at the same time, that\nthe world is ruled neither by the Egyptian, the Persian, nor the Greek\ndivinities apart from each other, but that all these are one; and that\none indivisible Deity, how different soever may be the names and\ncharacters under which He is represented, guides the fate of men and\nnations.\"\n\nThe two Persian women listened to the old man in amazement. Their\nunpractised powers were unable to follow the course of his thoughts.\nNitetis, however, had understood him thoroughly, and answered: \"My mother\nLadice was the pupil of Pythagoras, and has told me something like this\nalready; but the Egyptian priests consider such views to be sacrilegious,\nand call their originators despisers of the gods. So I tried to repress\nsuch thoughts; but now I will resist them no longer. What the good and\nwise Croesus believes cannot possibly be evil or impious! Let Oropastes\ncome! I am ready to listen to his teaching. The god of Thebes, our Ammon,\nshall be transformed into Ormuzd,--Isis or Hathor, into Anahita, and\nthose among our gods for whom I can find no likeness in the Persian\nreligion, I shall designate by the name of 'the Deity.'\"\n\nCroesus smiled. He had fancied, knowing how obstinately the Egyptians\nclung to all they had received from tradition and education, that it\nwould have been more difficult for Nitetis to give up the gods of her\nnative land. He had forgotten that her mother was a Greek, and that the\ndaughters of Amasis had studied the doctrines of Pythagoras. Neither was\nhe aware how ardently Nitetis longed to please her proud lord and master.\nEven Amasis, who so revered the Samian philosopher, who had so often\nyielded to Hellenic influence, and who with good reason might be called a\nfree-thinking Egyptian, would sooner have exchanged life for death, than\nhis multiform gods for the one idea \"Deity.\"\n\n\"You are a teachable pupil,\" said Croesus, laying his hand on her head,\n\"and as a reward, you shall be allowed either to visit Kassandane, or to\nreceive Atossa in the hanging-gardens, every morning, and every afternoon\nuntil sunset.\"\n\nThis joyful news was received with loud rejoicings by Atossa, and with a\ngrateful smile by the Egyptian girl.\n\n\"And lastly,\" said Croesus, \"I have brought some balls and hoops with me\nfrom Sais, that you may be able to amuse yourselves in Egyptian fashion.\"\n\n\"Balls?\" asked Atossa in amazement; \"what can we do with the heavy wooden\nthings?\"\n\n\"That need not trouble you,\" answered Croesus, laughing. \"The balls I\nspeak of are pretty little things made of the skins of fish filled with\nair, or of leather. A child of two years old can throw these, but you\nwould find it no easy matter even to lift one of those wooden balls with\nwhich the Persian boys play. Are you content with me, Nitetis?\"\n\n   [In Persia games with balls are still reckoned among the amusements\n   of the men. One player drives a wooden hall to the other, as in the\n   English game of cricket. Chardin (Voyage en Perse. III. p. 226.)\n   saw the game played by 300 players.]\n\n\"How can I thank you enough, my father?\"\n\n\"And now listen to my plan for the division of your time. In the morning\nyou will visit Kassandane, chat with Atossa, and listen to the teaching\nof your noble mother.\"\n\nHere the blind woman bent her head in approval. \"Towards noon I shall\ncome to teach you, and we can talk sometimes about Egypt and your loved\nones there, but always in Persian. You would like this, would you not?\"\n\nNitetis smiled.\n\n\"Every second day, Oropastes will be in attendance to initiate you in the\nPersian religion.\"\n\n\"I will take the greatest pains to comprehend him quickly.\"\n\n\"In the afternoon you can be with Atossa as long as you like. Does that\nplease you too?\"\n\n\"O Croesus!\" cried the young girl and kissed the old man's hand.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A first impression is often a final one\n     Assigned sixty years as the limit of a happy life\n     At my age every year must be accepted as an undeserved gift\n     Cambyses had been spoiled from his earliest infancy\n     Devoid of occupation, envy easily becomes hatred\n     Easy to understand what we like to hear\n     Eros mocks all human efforts to resist or confine him\n     Eyes are much more eloquent than all the tongues in the world\n     For the errors of the wise the remedy is reparation, not regret\n     Greeks have not the same reverence for truth\n     He who is to govern well must begin by learning to obey\n     In war the fathers live to mourn for their slain sons\n     Inn, was to be found about every eighteen miles\n     Lovers are the most unteachable of pupils\n     The beautiful past is all he has to live upon\n     The gods cast envious glances at the happiness of mortals\n     Unwise to try to make a man happy by force\n     War is a perversion of nature\n     Ye play with eternity as if it were but a passing moment\n     Zeus pays no heed to lovers' oaths\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nThe next day Nitetis removed to the country-house in the hanging-gardens,\nand began a monotonous, but happy and industrious life there, according\nto the rules laid down by Croesus. Every day she was carried to\nKassandane and Atossa in a closely shut-up litter. Nitetis soon began to\nlook upon the blind queen as a beloved and loving mother, and the merry,\nspirited Atossa nearly made up to her for the loss of her sister Tachot,\nso far away on the distant Nile. She could not have desired a better\ncompanion than this gay, cheerful girl, whose wit and merriment\neffectually prevented homesickness or discontent from settling in her\nfriend's heart. The gravity and earnestness of Nitetis' character were\nbrightened by Atossa's gaiety, and Atossa's exuberant spirits calmed and\nregulated by the thoughtful nature of Nitetis.\n\nBoth Croesus and Kassandane were pleased and satisfied with their new\ndaughter and pupil, and Oropastes extolled her talents and industry daily\nto Cambyses. She learnt the Persian language unusually well and quickly;\nCambyses only visited his mother when he hoped to find Nitetis there, and\npresented her continually with rich dresses and costly jewels. But the\nhighest proof of his favor consisted in his abstaining from visiting her\nat her house in the hanging-gardens, a line of conduct which proved that\nhe meant to include Nitetis in the small number of his real and lawful\nwives, a privilege of which many a princess in his harem could not boast.\n\nThe grave, beautiful girl threw a strange spell over this strong,\nturbulent man. Her presence alone seemed enough to soften his stubborn\nwill, and he would watch their games for hours, his eyes fixed on her\ngraceful movements. Once, when the ball had fallen into the water, the\nking sprang in after it, regardless of his costly apparel. Nitetis\nscreamed on seeing his intention, but Cambyses handed her the dripping\ntoy with the words: \"Take care or I shall be obliged to frighten you\nagain.\" At the same time he drew from his neck a gold chain set with\njewels and gave it to the blushing girl, who thanked him with a look\nwhich fully revealed her feelings for her future husband.\n\nCroesus, Kassandane and Atossa soon noticed that Nitetis loved the king.\nHer former fear of this proud and powerful being had indeed changed into\na passionate admiration. She felt as if she must die if deprived of his\npresence. He seemed to her like a, glorious and omnipotent divinity, and\nher wish to possess him presumptuous and sacrilegious; but its fulfilment\nshone before her as an idea more beautiful even than return to her native\nland and reunion with those who, till now, had been her only loved ones.\n\nNitetis herself was hardly conscious of the strength of her feelings, and\nbelieved that when she trembled before the king's arrival it was from\nfear, and not from her longing to behold him once more. Croesus, however,\nhad soon discovered the truth, and brought a deep blush to his favorite's\ncheek by singing to her, old as he was, Anacreon's newest song, which he\nhad learnt at Sais from Ibykus\n\n       \"We read the flying courser's name\n        Upon his side in marks of flame;\n        And by their turban'd brows alone\n        The warriors of the East are known.\n        But in the lover's glowing eyes,\n        The inlet to his bosom lies;\n        Through them we see the tiny mark,\n        Where Love has dropp'd his burning spark\"\n                  --Paegnion 15\n\nAnd thus, in work and amusement, jest, earnest, and mutual love, the\nweeks and months passed with Nitetis. Cambyses' command that she was to\nbe happy in his land had fulfilled itself, and by the time the\nMesopotamian spring-tide (January, February and March), which succeeds\nthe rainy month of December, was over, and the principal festival of the\nAsiatics, the New Year, had been solemnized at the equinox, and the May\nsun had begun to glow in the heavens, Nitetis felt quite at home in\nBabylon, and all the Persians knew that the young Egyptian princess had\nquite displaced Phaedime, the daughter of Otanes, in the king's favor,\nand would certainly become his first and favorite wife.\n\nBoges sank considerably in public estimation, for it was known that\nCambyses had ceased to visit the harem, and the chief of the eunuchs had\nowed all his importance to the women, who were compelled to coax from\nCambyses whatever Boges desired for himself or others. Not a day passed\non which the mortified official did not consult with the supplanted\nfavorite Phaedime, as to the best means of ruining Nitetis, but their\nmost finely spun intrigues and artifices were baffled by the strength of\nking's love and the blameless life of his royal bride.\n\nPhaedime, impatient, mortified, and thirsting for vengeance, was\nperpetually urging Boges to some decided act; he, on the contrary,\nadvised patience.\n\nAt last, however, after many weeks, he came to her full of joy,\nexclaiming: \"I have devised a little plan which must ruin the Egyptian\nwoman as surely as my name is Boges. When Bartja comes back, my treasure,\nour hour will have arrived.\"\n\nWhile saying this the creature rubbed his fat, soft hands, and, with his\nperpetual fulsome smile, looked as if he were feasting on some good deed\nperformed. He did not, however, give Phaedime the faintest idea of the\nnature of his \"little plan,\" and only answered her pressing questions\nwith the words: \"Better lay your head in a lion's jaws, than your secret\nin the ears of a woman. I fully acknowledge your courage, but at the same\ntime advise you to remember that, though a man proves his courage in\naction, a woman's is shown in obedience. Obey my words and await the\nissue in patience.\" Nebenchari, the oculist, continued to attend the\nqueen, but so carefully abstained from all intercourse with the Persians,\nthat he became a proverb among them for his gloomy, silent ways. During\nthe day he was to be found in the queen's apartments, silently examining\nlarge rolls of papyri, which he called the book of Athotes and the sacred\nAmbres; at night, by permission of the king and the satraps of Babylon,\nhe often ascended one of the high towers on the walls, called\nTritantaechmes, in order to observe the stars.\n\nThe Chaldaean priests, the earliest astronomers, would have allowed him\nto take his observations from the summit of the great temple of Bel,\ntheir own observatory, but he refused this offer decidedly, and persisted\nin his haughty reserve. When Oropastes attempted to explain to him the\ncelebrated Babylonian sun-dial, introduced by Anaximander of Miletus into\nGreece, he turned from the Magian with a scornful laugh, saying: \"We knew\nall this, before you knew the meaning of an hour.\"\n\nNitetis had shown Nebenchari much kindness, yet he took no interest in\nher, seemed indeed to avoid her purposely, and on her asking whether she\nhad displeased or offended him, answered: \"For me you are a stranger. How\ncan I reckon those my friends, who can so gladly and so quickly forget\nthose they loved best, their gods, and the customs of their native land?\"\n\nBoges quickly discovered this state of feeling on the part of Nebenchari,\nand took much pains to secure him as an ally, but the physician rejected\nthe eunuch's flatteries, gifts, and attentions with dignity.\n\nNo sooner did an Angare appear in the court of the palace with despatches\nfor the king, than Boges hastened to enquire whether news from the Tapuri\nhad arrived.\n\nAt length the desired messenger appeared, bringing word that the rebels\nwere subdued, and Bartja on the point of returning.\n\nThree weeks passed--fresh messengers arrived from day to day announcing\nthe approach of the victorious prince; the streets glittered once more in\nfestal array, the army entered the gates of Babylon, Bartja thanked the\nrejoicing multitude, and a short time after was in the arms of his blind\nmother.\n\nCambyses received his brother with undisguised warmth, and took him to\nthe queen's apartments, when he knew that Nitetis would be there.\n\nFor he was sure the Egyptian girl loved him; his previous jealousy seemed\na silly fancy now, and he wished to give Bartja an opportunity of seeing\nhow entirely he trusted his bride.\n\nCambyses' love had made him mild and gentle, unwearied in giving and in\ndoing good. His wrath slumbered for a season, and around the spot where\nthe heads of those who had suffered capital punishment were exhibited as\na warning to their fellow-men, the hungry, screeching crows now wheeled,\nin vain.\n\nThe influence of the insinuating eunuchs (a race who had never been seen\nwithin the gates of Cyrus until the incorporation of Media, Lydia and\nBabylon, in which countries they had filled many of the highest offices\nat court and in the state), was now waning, and the importance of the\nnoble Achaemenidae increasing in proportion; for Cambyses applied oftener\nto the latter than to the former for advice in matters relating to the\nwelfare of the country.\n\nThe aged Hystaspes, father of Darius, governor of Persia proper and\ncousin to the king; Pharnaspes, Cambyses' grandfather on the mother's\nside; Otanes, his uncle and father-in-law. Intaphernes, Aspathines,\nGobryas, Hydarnes, the general Megabyzus, father of Zopyrus, the envoy\nPrexaspes, the noble Croesus, and the old warrior Araspes; in short, the\nflower of the ancient Persian aristocracy, were now at the court of\nCambyses.\n\nTo this must be added that the entire nobility of the realm, the satraps\nor governors of the provinces, and the chief priests from every town were\nalso assembled at Babylon to celebrate the king's birthday.\n\n   [The king's birthday was the principal feast among the Persians, and\n   called \"the perfect feast.\" Herod. I. 133. Birthdays were held in\n   much honor by the ancients, and more especially those of their\n   kings. Both the great bilingual Egyptian tablets, which we possess\n   (the Rosetta stone, line 10 of hieroglyphic text; Gr. text, line 46.\n   and the edict of Canopus ed. Lepsius, hieroglyphic text 1. 3. Gr.\n   text 1. 5.) mention the celebration of the birthday of one of the\n   Ptolemies; and even of Rameses II., so early as the 14th century B.\n   C. we read: \"There was joy in heaven on his birthday.\"]\n\nThe entire body of officials and deputies streamed from the provinces up\nto the royal city, bringing presents to their ruler and good wishes; they\ncame also to take part in the great sacrifices at which horses, stags,\nbulls and asses were slaughtered in thousands as offerings to the gods.\n\nAt this festival all the Persians received gifts, every man was allowed\nto ask a petition of the king, which seldom remained unfulfilled, and in\nevery city the people were feasted at the royal expense. Cambyses had\ncommanded that his marriage with Nitetis should be celebrated eight days\nafter the birthday, and all the magnates of the realms should be invited\nto the ceremony.\n\nThe streets of Babylon swarmed with strangers, the colossal palaces on\nboth shores of the Euphrates were overfilled, and all the houses stood\nadorned in festal brightness.\n\nThe zeal thus displayed by his people, this vast throng of human beings,\n--representing and bringing around him, as it were, his entire kingdom,\ncontributed not a little to raise the king's spirits.\n\nHis pride was gratified; and the only longing left in his heart had been\nstilled by Nitetis' love. For the first time in his life he believed\nhimself completely happy, and bestowed his gifts, not only from a sense\nof his duty as king of Persia, but because the act of giving was in\nitself a pleasure.\n\nMegabyzus could not extol the deeds of Bartja and his friends too highly.\nCambyses embraced the young warriors, gave them horses and gold chains,\ncalled them \"brothers\" and reminded Bartja, that he had promised to grant\nhim a petition if he returned victorious.\n\nAt this Bartja cast down his eyes, not knowing at first in what form to\nbegin his request, and the king answered laughing: \"Look, my friends; our\nyoung hero is blushing like a girl! It seems I shall have to grant\nsomething important; so he had better wait until my birthday, and then,\nat supper, when the wine has given him courage, he shall whisper in my\near what he is now afraid to utter. Ask much, Bartja, I am happy myself,\nand wish all my friends to be happy too.\" Bartja only smiled in answer\nand went to his mother; for he had not yet opened his heart to her on the\nmatter which lay so near it.\n\nHe was afraid of meeting with decided opposition; but Croesus had cleared\nthe way far him by telling Kassandane so much in praise of Sappho, her\nvirtues and her graces, her talents and skill, that Nitetis and Atossa\nmaintained she must have given the old man a magic potion, and\nKassandane, after a short resistance, yielded to her darling's\nentreaties.\n\n\"A Greek woman the lawful wife of a Persian prince of the blood!\" cried\nthe blind woman. \"Unheard of! What will Cambyses say? How can we gain his\nconsent?\"\n\n\"On that matter you may be at ease, my mother,\" answered Bartja, \"I am as\ncertain that my brother will give his consent, as I am that Sappho will\nprove an ornament and honor to our house.\"\n\n\"Croesus has already told me much in favor of this maiden,\" answered\nKassandane, \"and it pleases me that thou hast at last resolved to marry;\nbut never-the-less this alliance does not seem suitable for a son of\nCyrus. And have you forgotten that the Achaemenidae; will probably refuse\nto recognize the child of a Greek mother as their future king, if\nCambyses should remain childless?\"\n\n\"Mother, I fear nothing; for my heart is not set upon the crown. And\nindeed many a king of Persia has had a mother of far lower parentage than\nmy Sappho.\" I feel persuaded that when my relations see the precious\njewel I have won on the Nile, not one of them will chide me.\"\n\n\"The gods grant that Sappho may be equal to our Nitetis!\" answered\nKassandane, \"I love her as if she were my own child, and bless the day\nwhich brought her to Persia. The warm light of her eyes has melted your\nbrother's hard heart; her kindness and gentleness bring beauty into the\nnight of my blind old age, and her sweet earnestness and gravity have\nchanged your sister Atossa from an unruly child into a gentle maiden. But\nnow call them, (they are playing in the garden), and we will tell them of\nthe new friend they are to gain through you.\"\n\n\"Pardon me, my mother,\" answered Bartja, \"but I must beg you not to tell\nmy sister until we are sure of the king's consent.\"\n\n\"You are right, my son. We must conceal your wish, to save Nitetis and\nAtossa from a possible disappointment. A bright hope unfulfilled is\nharder to bear than an unexpected sorrow. So let us wait for your\nbrother's consent, and may the gods give their blessing!\" Early in the\nmorning of the king's birthday the Persians offered their sacrifices on\nthe shores of the Euphrates. A huge altar of silver had been raised on an\nartificial hill. On this a mighty fire had been kindled, from which\nflames and sweet odors rose towards heaven. White-robed magi fed the fire\nwith pieces of daintily-cut sandal-wood, and stirred it with bundles of\nrods.\n\nA cloth, the Paiti-dhana, was bound round the heads of the priests, the\nends of which covered the mouth, and thus preserved the pure fire from\npollution by human breath.\n\n   [The Persians were ordered to hold this little square piece of cloth\n   before their mouths when they prayed. It was from 2 to 7 fingers\n   broad. Anquetil gives a drawing of it in his Zend-Avesia. Strabo\n   speaks of the Paiti-dhana p. 733. He says the ends of the cloth\n   used as a covering for the head hung down over the mouth.]\n\nThe victims had been slaughtered in a meadow near the river, the flesh\ncut into pieces, sprinkled with salt, and laid out on tender grasses,\nsprouts of clover, myrtle-blossoms, and laurel-leaves, that the beautiful\ndaughter of Ormuzd, the patient, sacred Earth, might not be touched by\naught that was dead or bleeding.\n\nOropastes, the chief Destur,--[Priest]--now drew near the fire and cast\nfresh butter into it. The flames leapt up into the air and all the\nPersians fell on their knees and hid their faces, in the belief that the\nfire was now ascending to their great god and father. The Magian then\ntook a mortar, laid some leaves and stalks of the sacred herb Haomas\nwithin it, crushed them and poured the ruddy juice, the food of the gods,\ninto the flames.\n\nAfter this he raised his hands to heaven, and, while the other priests\ncontinually fed the flames into a wilder blaze by casting in fresh\nbutter, sang a long prayer out of the sacred books. In this prayer the\nblessing of the gods was called down on everything pure and good, but\nprincipally on the king and his entire realm. The good spirits of light,\nlife and truth; of all noble deeds; of the Earth, the universal giver; of\nthe refreshing waters, the shining metals, the pastures, trees and\ninnocent creatures, were praised: the evil spirits of darkness; of lying,\nthe deceiver of mankind; of disease, death and sin; of the rigid cold;\nthe desolating heat; of all odious dirt and vermin, were cursed, together\nwith their father the malignant Ahriman. At the end all present joined in\nsinging the festival prayer: \"Purity and glory are sown for them that are\npure and upright in heart.\"\n\nThe sacrificial ceremony was concluded with the king's prayer, and then\nCambyses, arrayed in his richest robes, ascended a splendid chariot drawn\nby four snow-white Nicoean horses, and studded with topazes, cornelian\nand amber, and was conveyed to the great reception-hall, where the\ndeputies and officers from the provinces awaited him.\n\nAs soon as the king and his retinue had departed, the priests selected,\nfor themselves, the best pieces of the flesh which had been offered in\nsacrifice, and allowed the thronging crowd to take the rest.\n\nThe Persian divinities disdained sacrifices in the light of food,\nrequiring only the souls of the slaughtered animals, and many a poor man,\nespecially among the priests, subsisted on the flesh of the abundant\nroyal sacrifices.\n\nThe prayer offered up by the Magian was a model for those of the Persian\npeople. No man was allowed to ask anything of the gods for himself alone.\nEvery pious soul was rather to implore blessings for his nation; for was\nnot each only a part of the whole? and did not each man share in the\nblessings granted to the whole kingdom? But especially they were\ncommanded to pray for the king, in whom the realm was embodied and\nshadowed forth. It was this beautiful surrender of self for the public\nweal, that had made the Persians great. The doctrines of the Egyptian\npriesthood represented the Pharaohs as actual divinities, while the\nPersian monarchs were only called \"sons of the gods;\" yet the power of\nthe latter was far more absolute and unfettered than that of the former;\nthe reason for this being that the Persians had been wise enough to free\nthemselves from priestly domination, while the Pharaohs, as we have seen,\nif not entirely under the dominion of the priestly caste, were yet under\nits influence in the most important matters.\n\nThe Egyptian intolerance of all strange religions was unknown in Asia.\nThe conquered Babylonians were allowed by Cyrus to retain their own gods,\nafter their incorporation in the great Asiatic kingdom. The Jews, Ionians\nand inhabitants of Asia Minor, in short, the entire mass of nations\nsubject to Cambyses remained unmolested in possession of their hereditary\nreligions and customs.\n\nBeside the great altar, therefore, might be seen many a smaller\nsacrificial flame, kindled in honor of their own divinities, by the\nenvoys from the conquered provinces to this great birthday feast.\n\nViewed from a distance, the immense city looked like a gigantic furnace.\nThick clouds of smoke hovered over its towers, obscuring the light of the\nburning May sun.\n\nBy the time the king had reached the palace, the multitude who had come\nto take part in the festival had formed themselves into a procession of\ninterminable length, which wandered on through the straight streets of\nBabylon towards the royal palace.\n\nTheir road was strewn with myrtle and palm-branches, roses, poppy and\noleander-blossoms, and with leaves of the silver poplar, palm and laurel;\nthe air perfumed with incense, myrrh, and a thousand other sweet odors.\nCarpets and flags waved and fluttered from the houses.\n\nMusic too was there; the shrill peal of the Median trumpet, and soft tone\nof the Phrygian flute; the Jewish cymbal and harp, Paphlagonian\ntambourines and the stringed instruments of Ionia; Syrian kettle-drums\nand cymbals, the shells and drums of the Arians from the mouth of the\nIndus, and the loud notes of the Bactrian battle-trumpets. But above all\nthese resounded the rejoicing shouts of the Babylonian multitude,\nsubjugated by the Persians only a few short years before, and yet, like\nall Asiatics, wearing their fetters with an air of gladness so long as\nthe fear of their tyrant was before their eyes.\n\nThe fragrant odors, the blaze of color and sparkling of gold and jewels,\nthe neighing of the horses, and shouts and songs of human beings, all\nunited to produce a whole, at once bewildering and intoxicating to the\nsenses and the feelings.\n\nThe messengers had not been sent up to Babylon empty-handed. Beautiful\nhorses, huge elephants and comical monkeys; rhinoceroses and buffaloes\nadorned with housings and tassels; double-humped Bactrian camels with\ngold collars on their shaggy necks; waggon-loads of rare woods and ivory,\nwoven goods of exquisite texture, casks of ingots and gold-dust, gold and\nsilver vessels, rare plants for the royal gardens, and foreign animals\nfor the preserves, the most remarkable of which were antelopes, zebras,\nand rare monkeys and birds, these last being tethered to a tree in full\nleaf and fluttering among the branches. Such were the offerings sent to\nthe great king of Persia.\n\nThey were the tribute of the conquered nations and, after having been\nshown to the king, were weighed and tested by treasurers and secretaries,\neither declared satisfactory, or found wanting and returned, in which\ncase the niggardly givers were condemned to bring a double tribute later.\n\n   [At the time of which we are writing, the kings of Persia taxed\n   their kingdom at whatever time and to whatever extent seemed good in\n   their own eyes. Cambyses' successor, Darius, was the first to\n   introduce a regular system of taxation, in consequence of which he\n   was nicknamed \"the shopkeeper.\" Up to a much later period it still\n   remained the duty of certain districts to send natural products to\n   the court Herod. I. 192. Xenoph. Anab. IV. 5.]\n\nThe palace-gates were reached without hindrance, the way being kept clear\nby lines of soldiers and whipbearers stationed on either side of the\nstreet.\n\nIf the royal progress to the place of sacrifice, when five hundred\nrichly-caprisoned horses had been led behind the king's chariot, could be\ncalled magnificent, and the march of the envoys a brilliant spectacle,\nthe great throne-room presented a vision of dazzling and magic beauty.\n\nIn the background, raised on six steps, each of which was guarded, as it\nwere, by two golden clogs, stood the throne of gold; above it, supported\nby four golden pillars studded with precious stones, was a purple canopy,\non which appeared two winged discs, the king's Feruer.\n\n   [The Feruer or Ferwer is the spiritual part of every man-his soul\n   and reason. It was in existence before the man was horn, joins him\n   at his birth and departs at his death. The Ferwer keeps up a war\n   with the Diws or evil spirits, and is the element of man's\n   preservation in life. The moment he departs, the body returns to\n   its original elements. After death he becomes immortal if he has\n   done well, but if his deeds have been evil he is cast into hell. It\n   is right to call upon the Ferwer and entreat his help. He will\n   bring the prayer before God and on this account is represented as a\n   winged disc.]\n\nFan-bearers, high in office at the court, stood behind the throne, and,\non either side, those who sat at the king's table, his relations and\nfriends, and the most important among the officers of state, the priestly\ncaste and the eunuchs.\n\nThe walls and ceiling of the entire hall were covered with plates of\nburnished gold, and the floor with purple carpets.\n\nBefore the silver gates lay winged bulls, and the king's body-guard-their\ndress consisting of a gold cuirass under a purple overcoat, and the high\nPersian cap, their swords in golden scabbards glittering with jewels, and\ntheir lances ornamented with gold and silver apples, were stationed in\nthe court of the palace. Among them the band of the \"Immortals\" was\neasily to be distinguished by their stately forms and dauntless bearing.\n\nOfficers, whose duty consisted in announcing and presenting strangers,\nand who carried short ivory staves, led the deputies into the hall, and\nup to the throne, where they cast themselves on the ground as though they\nwould kiss the earth, concealing their hands in the sleeves of their\nrobes. A cloth was bound over the mouth of every man before he was\nallowed to answer the king's questions, lest the pure person of the king\nshould be polluted by the breath of common men.\n\nCambyses' severity or mildness towards the deputations with whose chiefs\nhe spoke, was proportioned to the obedience of their province and the\nmunificence of their tribute-offerings. Near the end of the train\nappeared an embassy from the Jews, led by two grave men with sharply-cut\nfeatures and long beards. Cambyses called on them in a friendly tone to\nstop.\n\nThe first of these men was dressed in the fashion of the Babylonian\naristocracy. The other wore a purple robe woven without seam, trimmed\nwith bells and tassels, and held in at the waist by a girdle of blue, red\nand white. A blue garment was thrown over his shoulders and a little bag\nsuspended around his neck containing the sacred lots, the Urim and\nThummin, adorned with twelve precious stones set in gold, and bearing the\nnames of the tribes of Israel. The high-priest's brow was grave and\nthoughtful. A white cloth was wound round his head, the ends of which\nhung down to the shoulders.\n\n\"I rejoice to behold you once more, Belteshazzar,\" exclaimed the king to\nthe former of the two men. \"Since the death of my father you have not\nbeen seen at my gate.\"\n\nThe man thus addressed bowed humbly and answered: \"The favor of the king\nrejoices his servant! If it seem good unto thee, to cause the sun of thy\nfavor to shine on me, thine unworthy servant, so hearken unto my petition\nfor my nation, which thy great father caused to return unto the land of\ntheir fathers' sepulchres. This old man at my side, Joshua, the\nhigh-priest of our God, hath not feared the long journey to Babylon, that\nhe might bring his request before thy face. Let his speech be pleasing in\nthine ears and his words bring forth fruit in thine heart.\"\n\n\"I foresee what ye desire of me,\" cried the king. \"Am I wrong, priest, in\nsupposing that your petition refers to the building of the temple in your\nnative land?\"\n\n\"Nothing can be hidden from the eyes of my lord,\" answered the priest,\nbowing low. \"Thy servants in Jerusalem desire to behold the face of their\nruler, and beseech thee by my mouth to visit the land of their fathers,\nand to grant them permission to set forward the work of the temple,\nconcerning which thine illustrious father (the favor of our God rest upon\nhim), made a decree.\"\n\nThe king answered with a smile: \"You have the craft of your nation, and\nunderstand how to choose the right time and words for your petition. On\nmy birthday it is difficult for me to refuse my faithful people even one\nrequest. I promise you, therefore, so soon as possible to visit Jerusalem\nand the land of your fathers.\"\n\n\"By so doing thou wilt make glad the hearts of thy servants,\" answered\nthe priest; \"our vines and olives will bear more fruit at thine approach,\nour gates will lift up their heads to receive thee, and Israel rejoice\nwith shouts to meet his lord doubly blessed if as lord of the building--\"\n\n\"Enough, priest, enough!\" cried Cambyses. \"Your first petition, I have\nsaid it, shall not remain unfulfilled; for I have long desired to visit\nthe wealthy city of Tyre, the golden Sidon, and Jerusalem with its\nstrange superstitions; but were I to give permission for the building\nnow, what would remain for me to grant you in the coming year?\"\n\n\"Thy servants will no more molest thee by their petitions, if thou grant\nunto them this one, to finish the temple of the Lord their God,\" answered\nthe priest.\n\n\"Strange beings, these men of Palestine!\" exclaimed Cambyses. \"I have\nheard it said that ye believe in one God alone, who can be represented by\nno likeness, and is a spirit. Think ye then that this omnipresent Being\nrequires a house? Verily, your great spirit can be but a weak and\nmiserable creature, if he need a covering from the wind and rain, and a\nshelter from the heat which he himself has created. If your God be like\nours, omnipresent, fall down before him and worship as we do, in every\nplace, and feel certain that everywhere ye will be heard of him!\"\n\n\"The God of Israel hears his people in every place,\" exclaimed the\nhigh-priest. \"He heard us when we pined in captivity under the Pharaohs\nfar from our land; he heard us weeping by the rivers of Babylon. He chose\nthy father to be the instrument of our deliverance, and will hear my\nprayer this day and soften thine heart like wise. O mighty king, grant\nunto thy servants a common place of sacrifice, whither our twelve tribes\nmay repair, an altar on the steps of which they can pray together, a\nhouse in which to keep their holy feasts! For this permission we will\ncall down the blessing of God upon thine head and his curse upon thine\nenemies.\"\n\n\"Grant unto my brethren the permission to build their temple!\" added\nBelteshazzar, who was the richest and most honorable and respected of the\nJews yet remaining in Babylon; a man whom Cyrus had treated with much\nconsideration, and of whom he had even taken counsel from time to time.\n\n\"Will ye then be peaceable, if I grant your petition?\" asked the king.\n\"My father allowed you to begin the work and granted the means for its\ncompletion. Of one mind, happy and content, ye returned to your native\nland, but while pursuing your work strife and contention entered among\nyou. Cyrus was assailed by repeated letters, signed by the chief men of\nSyria, entreating him to forbid the work, and I also have been lately\nbesought to do the same. Worship your God when and where ye will, but\njust because I desire your welfare, I cannot consent to the prosecution\nof a work which kindles discord among you.\"\n\n\"And is it then thy pleasure on this day to take back a favor, which thy\nfather made sure unto us by a written decree?\" asked Belteshazzar.\n\n\"A written decree?\"\n\n\"Which will surely be found even to this day laid up in the archives of\nthy kingdom.\"\n\n\"Find this decree and show it me, and I will not only allow the building\nto be continued, but will promote the same,\" answered the king; \"for my\nfather's will is as sacred to me as the commands of the gods.\"\n\n\"Wilt thou allow search to be made in the house of the rolls at\nEcbatana?\" asked Belteshazzar. \"The decree will surely be found there.\"\n\n\"I consent, but I fear ye will find none. Tell thy nation, priest, that I\nam content with the equipment of the men of war they have sent to take\nthe field against the Massagetae. My general Megabyzus commends their\nlooks and bearing. May thy people prove as valiant now as in the wars of\nmy father! You, Belteshazzar, I bid to my marriage feast, and charge you\nto tell your fellows, Meshach and Abednego, next unto you the highest in\nthe city of Babylon, that I expect them this evening at my table.\"\n\n\"The God of my people Israel grant thee blessing and happiness,\" answered\nBelteshazzar bowing low before the king.\n\n\"A wish which I accept!\" answered the king, \"for I do not despise the\npower of your wonder-working great Spirit. But one word more,\nBelteshazzar. Many Jews have lately been punished for reviling the gods\nof the Babylonians. Warn your people! They bring down hatred on\nthemselves by their stiff-necked superstition, and the pride with which\nthey declare their own great spirit to be the only true God. Take example\nby us; we are content with our own faith and leave others to enjoy theirs\nin peace. Cease to look upon yourselves as better than the rest of the\nworld. I wish you well, for a pride founded on self-respect is pleasing\nin mine eyes; but take heed lest pride degenerate into vainglory.\nFarewell! rest assured of my favor.\"\n\nThe Jews then departed. They were disappointed, but not hopeless; for\nBelteshazzar knew well that the decree, relative to the building of the\ntemple, must be in the archives at Ecbatana.\n\nThey were followed by a deputation from Syria, and by the Greeks of\nIonia; and then, winding up the long train, appeared a band of\nwild-looking men, dressed in the skins of animals, whose features bespoke\nthem foreigners in Babylon. They wore girdles and shoulderbands of solid,\nunwrought gold; and of the same precious metal were their bow-cases,\naxes, lance-points, and the ornaments on their high fur caps. They were\npreceded by a man in Persian dress, whose features proved him, however,\nto be of the same race as his followers.\n\nThe king gazed at first on these envoys with wonder; then his brow\ndarkened, and beckoning the officer whose duty it was to present\nstrangers, he exclaimed \"What can these men have to crave of me? If I\nmistake not they belong to the Massagetae, to that people who are so soon\nto tremble before my vengeance. Tell them, Gobryas, that an armed host is\nstanding on the Median plains ready to answer their demands with the\nsword.\"\n\nGobryas answered, bowing low: \"These men arrived this morning during the\nsacrifice bringing huge burdens of the purest gold to purchase your\nforbearance. When they heard that a great festival was being celebrated\nin your honor, they urgently besought to be admitted into your presence,\nthat they might declare the message entrusted to them by their country.\"\n\nThe king's brow cleared and, after sharply scrutinizing the tall, bearded\nMassageta, he said: \"Let them come nearer. I am curious to know what\nproposals my father's murderers are about to make me.\"\n\nGobryas made a sign, and the tallest and eldest of the Massagetae came up\nclose to the throne and began to speak loudly in his native tongue. He\nwas accompanied by the man in a Persian dress, who, as one of Cyrus'\nprisoners of war, had learnt the Persian language, and now interpreted\none by one the sentences uttered by the spokesman of this wandering\ntribe.\n\n\"We know,\" began the latter, \"that thou, great king, art wroth with the\nMassagetae because thy father fell in war with our tribe--a war which he\nalone had provoked with a people who had done naught to offend him.\"\n\n\"My father was justified in punishing your nation,\" interrupted the king.\n\"Your Queen Tomyris had dared to refuse him her hand in marriage.\"\n\n\"Be not wroth, O King,\" answered the Massagetan, \"when I tell thee that\nour entire nation approved of that act. Even a child could see that the\ngreat Cyrus only desired to add our queen to the number of his wives,\nhoping, in his insatiable thirst for more territories, to gain our land\nwith her.\"\n\nCambyses was silent and the envoy went on. \"Cyrus caused a bridge to be\nmade over our boundary river, the Araxes. We were not dismayed at this,\nand Tomyris sent word that he might save himself this trouble, for that\nthe Massagetae were willing either to await him quietly in their own\nland, leaving the passage of the river free, or to meet him in his. Cyrus\ndecided, by the advice of the dethroned king of Lydia, (as we learnt\nafterwards, through some prisoners of war) on meeting us in our own land\nand defeating us by a stratagem. With this intention he sent at first\nonly a small body of troops, which could be easily dispersed and\ndestroyed by our arrows and lances, and allowed us to seize his camp\nwithout striking a blow. Believing we had defeated this insatiable\nconqueror, we feasted on his abundant stores, and, poisoned by the sweet\nunknown drink which you call wine, fell into a stupefied slumber, during\nwhich his soldiers fell upon us, murdered the greater number of our\nwarriors and took many captives. Among the latter was the brave, young\nSpargapises, our queen's son.\n\n\"Hearing in his captivity, that his mother was willing to conclude peace\nwith your nation as the price of his liberty, he asked to have his chains\ntaken off. The request was granted, and on obtaining the use of his hands\nhe seized a sword and stabbed himself, exclaiming: 'I sacrifice my life\nfor the freedom of my nation.'\"\n\n\"No sooner did we hear the news that the young prince we loved so well\nhad died thus, than we assembled all the forces yet left to us from your\nswords and fetters. Even old men and boys flew to arms to revenge our\nnoble Spargapises, and sacrifice themselves, after his example, for\nMassagetaen freedom. Our armies met; ye were worsted and Cyrus fell. When\nTomyris found his body lying in a pool of human blood, she cried:\n'Methinks, insatiable conqueror, thou art at last sated with blood!' The\ntroop, composed of the flower of your nobility, which you call the\nImmortals, drove us back and carried your father's dead body forth from\nour closest ranks. You led them on, fighting like a lion. I know you\nwell, and that wound across your manly face, which adorns it like a\npurple badge of honor, was made by the sword now hanging at my side.\"\n\nA movement passed through the listening crowd; they trembled for the bold\nspeaker's life. Cambyses, however, looked pleased, nodded approvingly to\nthe man and answered: \"Yes, I recognize you too now; you rode a red horse\nwith golden trappings. You shall see that the Persians know how to honor\ncourage. Bow down before this man, my friends, for never did I see a\nsharper sword nor a more unwearied arm than his; and such heroic courage\ndeserves honor from the brave, whether shown by friend or foe. As for\nyou, Massagetae, I would advise you to go home quickly and prepare for\nwar; the mere recollection of your strength and courage increases my\nlonging to test it once more. A brave foe, by Mithras, is far better than\na feeble friend. You shall be allowed to return home in peace; but beware\nof remaining too long within my reach, lest the thought of the vengeance\nI owe my father's soul should rouse my anger, and your end draw suddenly\nnigh.\"\n\nA bitter smile played round the bearded mouth of the warrior as he made\nanswer to this speech. \"The Massagetae deem your father's soul too well\navenged already. The only son of our queen, his people's pride, and in no\nway inferior to Cyrus, has bled for him. The shores of the Araxes have\nbeen fertilized by the bodies of fifty thousand of my countrymen, slain\nas offerings for your dead king, while only thirty thousand fell there on\nyour own side. We fought as bravely as you, but your armor is better able\nto resist the arrows which pierce our clothing of skins. And lastly, as\nthe most cruel blow of all, ye slew our queen.\"\n\n\"Tomyris is dead?\" exclaimed Cambyses interrupting him. \"You mean to tell\nme that the Persians have killed a woman? Answer at once, what has\nhappened to your queen?\"\n\n\"Tomyris died ten months ago of grief for the loss of her only son, and I\nhave therefore a right to say that she too fell a sacrifice to the war\nwith Persia and to your father's spirit.\"\n\n\"She was a great woman,\" murmured Cambyses, his voice unsteady from\nemotion. \"Verily, I begin to think that the gods themselves have\nundertaken to revenge my father's blood on your nation. Yet I tell you\nthat, heavy as your losses may seem, Spargapises, Tomyris and fifty\nthousand Massagetae can never outweigh the spirit of one king of Persia,\nleast of all of a Cyrus.\"\n\n\"In our country,\" answered the envoy, \"death makes all men equal. The\nspirits of the king and the slave are of equal worth. Your father was a\ngreat man, but we have undergone awful sufferings for his sake. My tale\nis not yet ended. After the death of Tomyris discord broke out among the\nMassagetae. Two claimants for the crown appeared; half our nation fought\nfor the one, half for the other, and our hosts were thinned, first by\nthis fearful civil war and then by the pestilence which followed in its\ntrack. We can no longer resist your power, and therefore come with heavy\nloads of pure gold as the price of peace.\"\n\n\"Ye submit then without striking a blow?\" asked Cambyses. \"Verily, I had\nexpected something else from such heroes; the numbers of my host, which\nwaits assembled on the plains of Media, will prove that. We cannot go to\nbattle without an enemy. I will dismiss my troops and send a satrap. Be\nwelcome as new subjects of my realm.\"\n\nThe red blood mounted into the cheeks of the Massagetan warrior on\nhearing these words, and he answered in a voice trembling with\nexcitement: \"You err, O King, if you imagine that we have lost our old\ncourage, or learnt to long for slavery. But we know your strength; we\nknow that the small remnant of our nation, which war and pestilence have\nspared, cannot resist your vast and well-armed hosts. This we admit,\nfreely and honestly as is the manner of the Massagetae, declaring however\nat the same time, that we are determined to govern ourselves as of yore,\nand will never receive laws or ordinances from a Persian satrap. You are\nwroth, but I can bear your angry gaze and yet repeat my declaration.\"\n\n\"And my answer,\" cried Cambyses, \"is this: Ye have but one choice: either\nto submit to my sceptre, become united to the kingdom of Persia under the\nname of the Massagetan province, and receive a satrap as my\nrepresentative with due reverence, or to look upon yourselves as my\nenemies, in which case you will be forced by arms to conform to those\nconditions which I now offer you in good part. To-day you could secure a\nruler well-affected to your cause, later you will find in me only a\nconqueror and avenger. Consider well before you answer.\"\n\n\"We have already weighed and considered all,\" answered the warrior, \"and,\nas free sons of the desert, prefer death to bondage. Hear what the\ncouncil of our old men has sent me to declare to you:--The Massageta;\nhave become too weak to oppose the Persians, not through their own fault,\nbut through the heavy visitation of our god, the sun. We know that you\nhave armed a vast host against us, and we are ready to buy peace and\nliberty by a yearly tribute. But if you persist in compelling us to\nsubmit by force of arms, you can only bring great damage on yourselves.\nThe moment your army nears the Araxes, we shall depart with our wives and\nchildren and seek another home, for we have no fixed dwellings like\nyours, but are accustomed to rove at will on our swift horses, and to\nrest in tents. Our gold we shall take with us, and shall fill up,\ndestroy, and conceal the pits in which you could find new treasures. We\nknow every spot where gold is to be found, and can give it in abundance,\nif you grant us peace and leave us our liberty; but, if you venture to\ninvade our territory, you win nothing but an empty desert and an enemy\nalways beyond your reach,--an enemy who may become formidable, when he\nhas had time to recover from the heavy losses which have thinned his\nranks. Leave us in peace and freedom and we are ready to give every year\nfive thousand swift horses of the desert, besides the yearly tribute of\ngold; we will also come to the help of the Persian nation when threatened\nby any serious danger.\"\n\nThe envoy ceased speaking. Cambyses did not answer at once; his eyes were\nfixed on the ground in deep thought. At last he said, rising at the same\ntime from his throne: \"We will take counsel on this matter over the wine\nto-night, and to-morrow you shall hear what answer you can bring to your\npeople. Gobryas, see that these men are well cared for, and send the\nMassagetan, who wounded me in battle, a portion of the best dishes from\nmy own table.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nDuring these events Nitetis had been sitting alone in her house on the\nhanging-gardens, absorbed in the saddest thoughts. To-day, for the first\ntime, she had taken part in the general sacrifice made by the king's\nwives, and had tried to pray to her new gods in the open air, before the\nfire-altars and amidst the sound of religious songs strange to her ears.\n\nMost of the inhabitants of the harem saw her to-day for the first time,\nand instead of raising their eyes to heaven, had fixed them on her during\nthe ceremony. The inquisitive, malevolent gaze of her rivals, and the\nloud music resounding from the city, disquieted and distracted her mind.\nHer thoughts reverted painfully to the solemn, sultry stillness of the\ngigantic temples in her native land where she had worshipped the gods of\nher childhood so earnestly at the side of her mother and sister; and much\nas she longed, just on this day, to pray for blessings on her beloved\nking, all her efforts were in vain; she could arouse no devotional\nfeeling. Kassandane and Atossa knelt at her side, joining heartily in the\nvery hymns which to Nitetis were an empty sound.\n\nIt cannot be denied, that many parts of these hymns contain true poetry;\nbut they become wearisome through the constant repetition and invocation\nof the names of good and bad spirits. The Persian women had been taught\nfrom childhood, to look upon these religious songs as higher and holier\nthan any other poetry. Their earliest prayers had been accompanied by\nsuch hymns, and, like everything else which has come down to us from our\nfathers, and which we have been told in the impressionable time of\nchildhood is divine and worthy of our reverence, they were still sacred\nand dear to them and stirred their most devotional feelings.\n\nBut for Nitetis, who had been spoilt for such things by an intimate\nacquaintance with the best Greek poets, they could have but little charm.\nWhat she had lately been learning in Persia with difficulty had not yet\nbecome a part of herself, and so, while Kassandane and Atossa went\nthrough all the outward rites as things of course and perfectly natural\nto them, Nitetis could only prevent herself from forgetting the\nprescribed ceremonials by a great mental effort, and dreaded lest she\nshould expose her ignorance to the jealous, watchful gaze of her rivals.\n\nAnd then, too, only a few minutes before the sacrifice, she had received\nher first letter from Egypt. It lay unread on her dressing-table, and\ncame into her mind whenever she attempted to pray. She could not help\nwondering what news it might bring her. How were her parents? and how had\nTachot borne the parting from herself, and from the prince she loved so\nwell?\n\nThe ceremony over, Nitetis embraced Kassandane and Atossa, and drew a\nlong, deep breath, as if delivered from some threatening danger. Then\nordering her litter, she was carried back to her dwelling, and hastened\neagerly to the table where her letter lay. Her principal attendant, the\nyoung girl who on the journey had dressed her in her first Persian robes,\nreceived her with a smile full of meaning and promise, which changed\nhowever, into a look of astonishment, on seeing her mistress seize the\nletter, without even glancing at the articles of dress and jewelery which\nlay on the table.\n\nNitetis broke the seal quickly and was sitting down, in order to begin\nthe difficult work of reading her letter, when the girl came up, and with\nclasped hands, exclaimed: \"By Mithras, my mistress, I cannot understand\nyou. Either you are ill, or that ugly bit of grey stuff must contain some\nmagic which makes you blind to everything else. Put that roll away and\nlook at the splendid presents that the great king (Auramazda grant him\nvictory!) has sent while you were at the sacrifice. Look at this\nwonderful purple robe with the white stripe and the rich silver\nembroidery; and then the tiara with the royal diamonds! Do not you know\nthe high meaning of these gifts? Cambyses begs, (the messenger said\n'begs,' not 'commands') you to wear these splendid ornaments at the\nbanquet to-day. How angry Phaedime will be! and how the others will look,\nfor they have never received such presents. Till now only Kassandane has\nhad a right to wear the purple and diamonds; so by sending you these\ngifts, Cambyses places you on a level with his mother, and chooses you to\nbe his favorite wife before the whole world.' O pray allow me to dress\nyou in these new and beautiful things. How lovely you will look! How\nangry and envious the others will feel! If I could only be there when you\nenter the hall! Come, my mistress, let me take off your simple dress, and\narray you, (only as a trial you know,) in the robes that as the new queen\nyou ought to wear.\"\n\nNitetis listened in silence to the chattering girl, and admired the gifts\nwith a quiet smile. She was woman enough to rejoice at the sight, for he,\nwhom she loved better than life itself, had sent them; and they were a\nproof that she was more to the king than all his other wives;--that\nCambyses really loved her. The long wished-for letter fell unread to the\nground, the girl's wish to dress her was granted without a word, and in a\nshort time the splendid toilette was completed. The royal purple added to\nher beauty, the high flashing tiara made her slender, perfect figure seem\ntaller than it really was, and when, in the metal mirror which lay on her\ndressing table, she beheld herself for the first time in the glorious\nlikeness of a queen, a new expression dawned on her features. It seemed\nas if a portion of her lord's pride were reflected there. The frivolous\nwaiting-woman sank involuntarily on her knees, as her eyes, full of\nsmiling admiration, met the radiant glance of Nitetis,--of the woman who\nwas beloved by the most powerful of men.\n\nFor a few moments Nitetis gazed on the girl, lying in the dust at her\nfeet; but soon shook her beautiful head, and blushing for shame, raised\nher kindly, kissed her forehead, gave her a gold bracelet, and then,\nperceiving her letter on the ground, told her she wished to be alone.\nMandane ran, rather than walked, out of the room in her eagerness to show\nthe splendid present she had just received to the inferior attendants and\nslaves; and Nitetis, her eyes glistening and her heart beating with\nexcess of happiness, threw herself on to the ivory chair which stood\nbefore her dressing-table, uttered a short prayer of thanksgiving to her\nfavorite Egyptian goddess, the beautiful Hathor, kissed the gold chain\nwhich Cambyses had given her after plunging into the water for her ball,\nthen her letter from home, and rendered almost over-confident by her\ngreat happiness, began to unroll it, slowly sinking back into the purple\ncushions as she did so and murmuring: \"How very, very happy I am! Poor\nletter, I am sure your writer never thought Nitetis would leave you a\nquarter of an hour on the ground unread.\"\n\nIn this happy mood she began to read, but her face soon grew serious and\nwhen she had finished, the letter fell once more to the ground.\n\nHer eyes, whose proud glance had brought the waiting-maid to her feet,\nwere dimmed by tears; her head, carried so proudly but a few minutes\nbefore, now lay on the jewels which covered the table. Tears rolled down\namong the pearls and diamonds, as strange a contrast as the proud tiara\nand its unhappy, fainting wearer.\n\nThe letter read as follows:\n\n\"Ladice the wife of Amasis and Queen of Upper and Lower Egypt, to her\ndaughter Nitetis, consort of the great King of Persia.\n\n\"It has not been our fault, my beloved daughter, that you have remained\nso long without news from home. The trireme by which we sent our letters\nfor you to AEgae was detained by Samian ships of war, or rather pirate\nvessels, and towed into the harbor of Astypalaea.\n\n\"Polykrates' presumption increases with the continual success of his\nundertakings, and since his victory over the Lesbians and Milesians, who\nendeavored to put a stop to his depredations, not a ship is safe from the\nattacks of his pirate vessels.\n\n\"Pisistratus is dead,\" but his sons are friendly to Polykrates. Lygdamis\nis under obligations to him, and cannot hold his own in Naxos without\nSamian help. He has won over the Amphiktyonic council to his side by\npresenting the Apollo of Delos with the neighboring island of Rhenea. His\nfifty-oared vessels, requiring to be manned by twenty-thousand men, do\nimmense damage to all the seafaring nations; yet not one dares to attack\nhim, as the fortifications of his citadel and his splendid harbor are\nalmost impregnable, and he himself always surrounded by a well-drilled\nbody-guard.\n\n\"Through the traders, who followed the fortunate Kolxus to the far west,\nand these pirate ships, Samos will become the richest of islands and\nPolykrates the most powerful of men, unless, as your father says, the\ngods become envious of such unchanging good fortune and prepare him a\nsudden and speedy downfall.\n\n\"In this fear Amasis advised Polykrates as his old friend, to put away\nfrom him the thing he held dearest, and in such a manner that he might be\nsure of never receiving it again. Polykrates adopted this advice and\nthrew into the sea, from the top of the round tower on his citadel, his\nmost valuable signet-ring, an unusually large sardonyx held by two\ndolphins. This ring was the work of Theodorus, and a lyre, the symbol of\nthe ruler, was exquisitely engraved on the stone.\"\n\n\"Six days later, however, the ring was found by Polykrates' cooks in the\nbody of a fish. He sent us news at once of this strange occurrence, but\ninstead of rejoicing your father shook his grey head sadly, saying: 'he\nsaw now it was impossible for any one to avoid his destiny!' On the same\nday he renounced the friendship of Polykrates and wrote him word, that he\nshould endeavor to forget him in order to avoid the grief of seeing his\nfriend in misfortune.\n\n\"Polykrates laughed at this message and returned the letters his pirates\nhad taken from our trireme, with a derisive greeting. For the future all\nyour letters will be sent by Syria.\n\n\"You will ask me perhaps, why I have told you this long story, which has\nso much less interest for you than any other home news. I answer: to\nprepare you for your father's state. Would you have recognized the\ncheerful, happy, careless Amasis in that gloomy answer to his Samian\nfriend?\n\n\"Alas, my husband has good reason to be sad, and since you left us, my\nown eyes have seldom been free from tears. My time is passed either at\nthe sick-bed of your sister or in comforting your father and guiding his\nsteps; and though much in need of sleep I am now taking advantage of\nnight to write these lines.\n\n\"Here I was interrupted by the nurses, calling me to your sister Tachot,\nyour own true friend.\n\n\"How often the dear child has called you in her feverish delirium; and\nhow carefully she treasures your likeness in wax, that wonderful portrait\nwhich bears evidence not only of the height to which Greek art has risen,\nbut of the master hand of the great Theodorus. To-morrow it will be sent\nto AEgina, to be copied in gold, as the soft wax becomes injured from\nfrequent contact with your sister's burning hands and lips.\n\n\"And now, my daughter, you must summon all your courage to hear what I\nneed all my strength of mind to tell-the sad story of the fate which the\ngods have decreed for our house.\n\n\"For three days after you left us Tachot wept incessantly. Neither our\ncomforting words nor your father's good advice--neither offerings nor\nprayers--could avail to lessen her grief or divert her mind. At last on\nthe fourth day she ceased to weep and would answer our questions in a low\nvoice, as if resigned; but spent the greater part of every day sitting\nsilently at her wheel. Her fingers, however, which used to be so skilful,\neither broke the threads they tried to spin, or lay for hours idle in her\nlap, while she was lost in dreams. Your father's jokes, at which she used\nto laugh so heartily, made no impression on her, and when I endeavored to\nreason with her she listened in anxious suspense.\n\n\"If I kissed her forehead and begged her to control herself, she would\nspring up, blushing deeply, and throw herself into my arms, then sit down\nagain to her wheel and begin to pull at the threads with almost frantic\neagerness; but in half an hour her hands would be lying idle in her lap\nagain and her eyes dreamily fixed, either on the ground, or on some spot\nin the air. If we forced her to take part in any entertainment, she would\nwander among the guests totally uninterested in everything that was\npassing.\n\n\"We took her with us on the great pilgrimage to Bubastis, during which\nthe Egyptians forget their usual gravity, and the shores of the Nile look\nlike a great stage where the wild games of the satyrs are being performed\nby choruses, hurried on in the unrestrained wantonness of intoxication.\nWhen she saw thus for the first time an entire people given up to the\nwildest and most unfettered mirth and enjoyment, she woke up from her\nsilent brooding thoughts and began to weep again, as in the first days\nafter you went away.\n\n\"Sad and perplexed, we brought our poor child back to Sais.\n\n\"Her looks were not those of a common mortal. She grew thinner, and we\nall fancied, taller; her complexion was white, and almost transparent,\nwith a tender bloom on her cheek, which I can only liken to a young\nrose-leaf or the first faint blush of sunrise. Her eyes are still\nwonderfully clear and bright. It always seems to me as if they looked\nbeyond the heaven and earth which we see.\n\n\"As she continued to suffer more and more from heat in the head and\nhands, while her tender limbs often shivered with a slight chill, we sent\nto Thebes for Thutmes, the most celebrated physician for inward\ncomplaints.\n\n\"The experienced priest shook his head on seeing your sister and foretold\na serious illness. He forbade her to spin or to speak much. Potions of\nall kinds were given her to drink, her illness was discussed and\nexorcised, the stars and oracles consulted, rich presents and sacrifices\nmade to the gods. The priest of Hathor from the island of Philae sent us\na consecrated amulet, the priest of Osiris in Abydos a lock of hair from\nthe god himself set in gold, and Neithotep, the high-priest of our own\nguardian goddess, set on foot a great sacrifice, which was to restore\nyour sister to health.\n\n\"But neither physicians nor charms were of any avail, and at last\nNeithotep confessed that Tachot's stars gave but little ground for hope.\nJust then, too, the sacred bull at Memphis died and the priests could\ndiscover no heart in his entrails, which they interpreted as\nprognosticating evil to our country. They have not yet succeeded in\nfinding a new Apis, and believe that the gods are wroth with your\nfather's kingdom. Indeed the oracle of Buto has declared that the\nImmortals will show no favor to Egypt, until all the temples that have\nbeen built in the black land for the worship of false gods are destroyed\nand their worshippers banished.\n\n   [Egypt was called by its ancient inhabitants Cham, the black,\n   or black-earthed.]\n\n\"These evil omens have proved, alas, only too true. Tachot fell ill of a\ndreadful fever and lay for nine days hovering between life and death; she\nis still so weak that she must be carried, and can move neither hand nor\nfoot.\n\n\"During the journey to Bubastis, Amasis' eyes, as so often happens here,\nbecame inflamed. Instead of sparing them, he continued to work as usual\nfrom sunrise until mid-day, and while your sister was so ill he never\nleft her bed, notwithstanding all our entreaties. But I will not enter\ninto particulars, my child. His eyes grew worse, and on the very day\nwhich brought us the news of your safe arrival in Babylon, Amasis became\ntotally blind.\n\n\"The cheerful, active man has become old, gloomy and decrepit since that\nday. The death of Apis, and the unfavorable constellations and oracles\nweigh on his mind; his happy temper is clouded by the unbroken night in\nwhich he lives; and the consciousness that he cannot stir a step alone\ncauses indecision and uncertainty. The daring and independent ruler will\nsoon become a mere tool, by means of which the priests can work their\nwill.\n\n\"He spends hours in the temple of Neith, praying and offering sacrifices;\na number of workmen are employed there in building a tomb for his mummy,\nand the same number at Memphis in levelling the temple which the Greeks\nhave begun building to Apollo. He speaks of his own and Tachot's\nmisfortunes as a just punishment from the Immortals.\n\n\"His visits to Tachot's sick-bed are not the least comfort to her, for\ninstead of encouraging her kindly, he endeavors to convince her that she\ntoo deserves punishment from the gods. He spends all his remarkable\neloquence in trying to persuade her, that she must forget this world\nentirely and only try to gain the favor of Osiris and the judges of the\nnether world by ceaseless prayers and sacrifices. In this manner he only\ntortures our poor sick child, for she has not lost her love of life.\nPerhaps I have still too much of the Greek left in me for a queen of\nEgypt; but really, death is so long and life so short, that I cannot help\ncalling even wise men foolish, when they devote the half of even this\nshort term to a perpetual meditation on the gloomy Hades.\n\n\"I have just been interrupted again. Our great physician, Thutmes, came\nto enquire after his patient. He gives very little hope, and seems\nsurprised that her delicate frame has been able to resist death so long.\nHe said yesterday: 'She would have sunk long ago if not kept up by her\ndetermined will, and a longing which gives her no rest. If she ceased to\ncare for life, she could allow death to take her, just as we dream\nourselves asleep. If, on the other hand, her wish could be gratified, she\nmight, (though this is hardly probable) live some years yet, but if it\nremain but a short time longer unfulfilled, it will certainly wear her to\ndeath.\n\n\"Have you any idea for whom she longs so eagerly? Our Tachot has allowed\nherself to be fascinated by the beautiful Bartja, the brother of your\nfuture husband. I do not mean to say by this that he has employed magic,\nas the priest Ameneman believes, to gain her love; for a youth might be\nfar less handsome and agreeable than Bartja, and yet take the heart of an\ninnocent girl, still half a child. But her passionate feeling is so\nstrong, and the change in her whole being so great, that sometimes I too\nam tempted to believe in the use of supernatural influence. A short time\nbefore you left I noticed that Tachot was fond of Bartja. Her distress at\nfirst we thought could only be for you, but when she sank into that\ndreamy state, Ibykus, who was still at our court, said she must have been\nseized by some strong passion.\n\n\"Once when she was sitting dreaming at her wheel, I heard him singing\nsoftly Sappho's little love-song to her:\n\n          \"I cannot, my sweet mother,\n          Throw shuttle any more;\n          My heart is full of longing,\n          My spirit troubled sore,\n          All for a love of yesterday\n          A boy not seen before.\"\n\n        [Sappho ed. Neue XXXII. Translation from Edwin Arnold's\n        Poets of Greece.]\n\n\"She turned pale and asked him: 'Is that your own song?'\n\n\"'No,' said he, 'Sappho wrote it fifty years ago.'\n\n\"'Fifty years ago,' echoed Tachot musingly.\n\n\"'Love is always the same,' interrupted the poet; 'women loved centuries\nago, and will love thousands of years to come, just as Sappho loved fifty\nyears back.'\n\n\"The sick girl smiled in assent, and from that time I often heard her\nhumming the little song as she sat at her wheel. But we carefully avoided\nevery question, that could remind her of him she loved. In the delirium\nof fever, however, Bartja's name was always on her burning lips. When she\nrecovered consciousness we told her what she had said in her delirium;\nthen she opened her heart to me, and raising her eyes to heaven like a\nprophetess, exclaimed solemnly: 'I know, that I shall not die till I have\nseen him again.'\n\n\"A short time ago we had her carried into the temple, as she longed to\nworship there again. When the service was over and we were crossing the\ntemple-court, we passed some children at play, and Tachot noticed a\nlittle girl telling something very eagerly to her companions. She told\nthe bearers to put down the litter and call the child to her.\n\n\"'What were you saying?' she asked the little one.\n\n\"I was telling the others something about my eldest sister.'\n\n\"'May I hear it too?' said Tachot so kindly, that the little girl began\nat once without fear: \"Batau, who is betrothed to my sister, came back\nfrom Thebes quite unexpectedly yesterday evening. Just as the Isis-star\nwas rising, he came suddenly on to our roof where Kerimama was playing at\ndraughts with my father; and he brought her such a beautiful golden\nbridal wreath.\"\n\n   [Among the Egyptians the planet Venus bore the name of the goddess\n   Isis. Pliny II. 6. Arist De mundo II. 7. Early monuments prove\n   that they were acquainted with the identity of the morning and\n   evening star. Lepsius, Chronologie p. 94.]\n\n\"Tachot kissed the child and gave her her own costly fan. When we were at\nhome again she smiled archly at me and said: 'You know, mother dear, that\nthe words children say in the temple-courts are believed to be oracles.'\nSo, if the little one spoke the truth, he must come; and did not you hear\nthat he is to bring the bridal-wreath? O mother, I am sure, quite sure,\nthat I shall see him again.'\n\n\"I asked her yesterday if she had any message for you, and she begged me\nto say that she sent you thousands of kisses, and messages of love, and\nthat when she was stronger she meant to write, as she had a great deal to\ntell you. She has just brought me the little note which I enclose; it is\nfor you alone, and has cost her much fatigue to write.\n\n\"But now I must finish my letter, as the messenger has been waiting for\nit some time.\n\n\"I wish I could give you some joyful news, but sadness and sorrow meet me\nwhichever way I turn. Your brother yields more and more to the priests'\ntyranny, and manages the affairs of state for your poor blind father\nunder Neithotep's guidance.\n\n\"Amasis does not interfere, and says it matters little whether his place\nbe filled a few days sooner or later by his successor.\n\n\"He did not attempt to prevent Psamtik from seizing the children of\nPhanes in Rhodopis' house, and actually allowed his son to enter into a\nnegotiation with the descendants of those two hundred thousand soldiers,\nwho emigrated to Ethiopia in the reign of Psamtik I. on account of the\npreference shown to the Greek mercenaries. In case they declared\nthemselves willing to return to their native land, the Greek mercenaries\nwere to have been dismissed. The negotiation failed entirely, but\nPsamtik's treatment of the children of Phanes has given bitter offence to\nthe Greeks. Aristomachus threatened to leave Egypt, taking with him ten\nthousand of his best troops, and on hearing that Phanes' son had been\nmurdered at Psamtik's command applied for his discharge. From that time\nthe Spartan disappeared, no one knows whither; but the Greek troops\nallowed themselves to be bribed by immense sums and are still in Egypt.\n\n\"Amasis said nothing to all this, and looked on silently from the midst\nof his prayers and sacrifices, while your brother was either offending\nevery class of his subjects or attempting to pacify them by means beneath\nthe dignity of a ruler. The commanders of the Egyptian and Greek troops,\nand the governors of different provinces have all alike assured me that\nthe present state of things is intolerable. No one knows what to expect\nfrom this new ruler; he commands today the very thing, which he angrily\nforbade the day before. Such a government must soon snap the beautiful\nbond, which has hitherto united the Egyptian people to their king.\n\n\"Farewell, my child, think of your poor friend, your mother; and forgive\nyour parents when you hear what they have so long kept secret from you.\nPray for Tachot, and remember us to Croesus and the young Persians whom\nwe know. Give a special message too from Tachot to Bartja; I beg him to\nthink of it as the last legacy of one very near death. If you could only\nsend her some proof, that he has not forgotten her! Farewell, once more\nfarewell and be happy in your new and blooming home.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nSad realities follow bright anticipations nearly as surely as a rainy day\nsucceeds a golden sunrise. Nitetis had been so happy in the thought of\nreading the very letter, which poured such bitter drops of wormwood into\nher cup of happiness.\n\nOne beautiful element in her life, the remembrance of her dear home and\nthe companions of her happy childhood, had been destroyed in one moment,\nas if by the touch of a magician's wand.\n\nShe sat there in her royal purple, weeping, forgetful of everything but\nher mother's grief, her father's misfortunes and her sister's illness.\nThe joyful future, full of love, joy, and happiness, which had been\nbeckoning her forward only a few minutes before, had vanished. Cambyses'\nchosen bride forgot her waiting, longing lover, and the future queen of\nPersia could think of nothing but the sorrows of Egypt's royal house.\n\nIt was long past mid-day, when the attendant Mandane came to put a last\ntouch to Nitetis' dress and ornaments.\n\n\"She is asleep,\" thought the girl. \"I can let her rest another quarter of\nan hour; the sacrifice this morning has tired her, and we must have her\nfresh and beautiful for the evening banquet; then she will outshine the\nothers as the moon does the stars.\"\n\nUnnoticed by her mistress she slipped out of the room, the windows of\nwhich commanded a splendid view over the hanging-gardens, the immense\ncity beneath, the river, and the rich and fruitful Babylonian plain, and\nwent into the garden.\n\nWithout looking round she ran to a flower-bed, to pluck some roses. Her\neyes were fixed on her new bracelet, the stones of which sparkled in the\nsun, and she did not notice a richly-dressed man peering in at one of the\nwindows of the room where Nitetis lay weeping. On being disturbed in his\nwatching and listening, he turned at once to the girl and greeted her in\na high treble voice.\n\nShe started, and on recognizing the eunuch Boges, answered: \"It is not\npolite, sir, to frighten a poor girl in this way. By Mithras, if I had\nseen you before I heard you, I think I should have fainted. A woman's\nvoice does not take me by surprise, but to see a man here is as rare as\nto find a swan in the desert.\"\n\nBoges laughed good-humoredly, though he well understood her saucy\nallusion to his high voice, and answered, rubbing his fat hands: \"Yes, it\nis very hard for a young and pretty bird like you, to have to live in\nsuch a lonely corner, but be patient, sweetheart. Your mistress will soon\nbe queen, and then she will look out a handsome young husband for you.\nAh, ha! you will find it pleasanter to live here alone with him, than\nwith your beautiful Egyptian.\"\n\n\"My mistress is too beautiful for some people's fancy, and I have never\nasked any one to look out a husband for me,\" she answered pertly. \"I can\nfind one without your help either.\"\n\n\"Who could doubt it? Such a pretty face is as good a bait for a man, as a\nworm for a fish.\"\n\n\"But I am not trying to catch a husband, and least of all one like you.\"\n\n\"That I can easily believe,\" he answered laughing. But tell me, my\ntreasure, why are you so hard on me? Have I done anything to vex you?\nWasn't it through me, that you obtained this good appointment, and are\nnot we both Medes?\"\n\n\"You might just as well say that we are both human beings, and have five\nfingers on each hand and a nose in the middle of our faces. Half the\npeople here are Medes, and if I had as many friends as I have countrymen,\nI might be queen to-morrow. And as to my situation here, it was not you,\nbut the high-priest Oropastes who recommended me to the great queen\nKassandane. Your will is not law here.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about, my sweet one? don't you know, that not a\nsingle waiting-woman can be engaged without my consent?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know that as well as you do, but . . .\"\n\n\"But you women are an unthankful race, and don't deserve our kindness.\"\n\n\"Please not to forget, that you are speaking to a girl of good family.\"\n\n\"I know that very well, my little one. I know that your father was a\nMagian and your mother a Magian's daughter; that they both died early and\nyou were placed under the care of the Destur Ixabates, the father of\nOropastes, and grew up with his children. I know too that when you had\nreceived the ear-rings, Oropastes' brother Gaumata, (you need not blush,\nGaumata is a pretty name) fell in love with your rosy face, and wanted to\nmarry you, though he was only nineteen. Gaumata and Mandane, how well the\ntwo names sound together! Mandane and Gaumata! If I were a poet I should\ncall my hero Gaumata and his lady-love Mandane.\"\n\n\"I insist on your ceasing to jest in this way,\" cried Mandane, blushing\ndeeply and stamping her foot.\n\n\"What, are you angry because I say the names sound well together? You\nought rather to be angry with the proud Oropastes, who sent his younger\nbrother to Rhagar and you to the court, that you might forget one\nanother.\"\n\n\"That is a slander on my benefactor.\"\n\n\"Let my tongue wither away, if I am not speaking the truth and nothing\nbut the truth! Oropastes separated you and his brother because he had\nhigher intentions for the handsome Gaumata, than a marriage with the\norphan daughter of an inferior Magian. He would have been satisfied with\nAmytis or Menische for a sister-in-law, but a poor girl like you, who\nowed everything to his bounty, would only have stood in the way of his\nambitious plans. Between ourselves, he would like to be appointed regent\nof Persia while the king is away at the Massagetan war, and would\ntherefore give a great deal to connect himself by marriage in some way or\nother with the Archemenidae. At his age a new wife is not to be thought\nof; but his brother is young and handsome, indeed people go so far as to\nsay, that he is like the Prince Bartja.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" exclaimed the girl. \"Only think, when we went out to meet\nmy mistress, and I saw Bartja for the first time from the window of the\nstation-house, I thought he was Gaumata. They are so like one another\nthat they might be twins, and they are the handsomest men in the\nkingdom.\"\n\n\"How you are blushing, my pretty rose-bud! But the likeness between them\nis not quite so great as all that. When I spoke to the high-priest's\nbrother this morning . . .\"\n\n\"Gaumata is here?\" interrupted the girl passionately. \"Have you really\nseen him or are you trying to draw me out and make fun of me?\"\n\n\"By Mithras! my sweet one, I kissed his forehead this very morning, and\nhe made me tell him a great deal about his darling. Indeed his blue eyes,\nhis golden curls and his lovely complexion, like the bloom on a peach,\nwere so irresistible that I felt inclined to try and work impossibilities\nfor him. Spare your blushes, my little pomegranate-blossom, till I have\ntold you all; and then perhaps in future you will not be so hard upon\npoor Boges; you will see that he has a good heart, full of kindness for\nhis beautiful, saucy little countrywoman.\"\n\n\"I do not trust you,\" she answered, interrupting these assurances. \"I\nhave been warned against your smooth tongue, and I do not know what I\nhave done to deserve this kind interest.\"\n\n\"Do you know this?\" he asked, showing her a white ribbon embroidered all\nover with little golden flames.\n\n\"It is the last present I worked for him,\" exclaimed Mandane.\n\n\"I asked him for this token, because I knew you would not trust me. Who\never heard of a prisoner loving his jailer?\"\n\n\"But tell me at once, quickly--what does my old playfellow want me to do?\nLook, the-western sky is beginning to glow. Evening is coming on, and I\nmust arrange my mistress's dress and ornaments for the banquet.\"\n\n\"Well, I will not keep you long,\" said the eunuch, becoming so serious\nthat Mandane was frightened. \"If you do not choose to believe that I\nwould run into any risk out of friendship to you, then fancy that I\nforward your love affair to humble the pride of Oropastes. He threatens\nto supplant me in the king's favor, and I am determined, let him plot and\nintrigue as he likes, that you shall marry Gaumata. To-morrow evening,\nafter the Tistar-star has risen, your lover shall come to see you. I will\nsee that all the guards are away, so that he can come without danger,\nstay one hour and talk over the future with you; but remember, only one\nhour. I see clearly that your mistress will be Cambyses' favorite wife,\nand will then forward your marriage, for she is very fond of you, and\nthinks no praise too high for your fidelity and skill. So to-morrow\nevening,\" he continued, falling back into the jesting tone peculiar to\nhim, \"when the Tistar-star rises, fortune will begin to shine on you. Why\ndo you look down? Why don't you answer? Gratitude stops your pretty\nlittle mouth, eh? is that the reason? Well, my little bird, I hope you\nwon't be quite so silent, if you should ever have a chance of praising\npoor Boges to your powerful mistress. And what message shall I bring to\nthe handsome Gaumata? May I say that you have not forgotten him and will\nbe delighted to see him again? You hesitate? Well, I am very sorry, but\nit is getting dark and I must go. I have to inspect the women's dresses\nfor the birthday banquet. Ah! one thing I forgot to mention. Gaumata must\nleave Babylon to-morrow. Oropastes is afraid, that he may chance to see\nyou, and told him to return to Rhage directly the festival was over.\nWhat! still silent? Well then, I really cannot help you or that poor\nfellow either. But I shall gain my ends quite as well without you, and\nperhaps after all it is better that you should forget one another.\nGood-bye.\"\n\nIt was a hard struggle for the girl. She felt nearly sure that Boges was\ndeceiving her, and a voice within warned her that it would be better to\nrefuse her lover this meeting. Duty and prudence gained the upper hand,\nand she was just going to exclaim: \"Tell him I cannot see him,\" when her\neye caught the ribbon she had once embroidered for her handsome\nplayfellow. Bright pictures from her childhood flashed through her mind,\nshort moments of intoxicating happiness; love, recklessness and longing\ngained the day in their turn over her sense of right, her misgivings and\nher prudence, and before Boges could finish his farewell, she called out,\nalmost in spite of herself and flying towards the house like a frightened\nfawn: \"I shall expect him.\"\n\nBoges passed quickly through the flowery paths of the hanging-gardens. He\nstopped at the parapet end cautiously opened a hidden trap-door,\nadmitting to a secret staircase which wound down through one of the huge\npillars supporting the hanging-gardens, and which had probably been\nintended by their original designer as a means of reaching his wife's\napartments unobserved from the shores of the river. The door moved easily\non its hinges, and when Boges had shut it again and strewed a few of the\nriver-shells from the garden walks over it, it would have been difficult\nto find, even for any one who had come with that purpose. The eunuch\nrubbed his jeweled hands, smiling the while as was his custom, and\nmurmured: \"It can't fail to succeed now; the girl is caught, her lover is\nat my beck and call, the old secret flight of steps is in good order,\nNitetis has been weeping bitterly on a day of universal rejoicing, and\nthe blue lily opens to-morrow night. Ah, ha! my little plan can't\npossibly fail now. And to-morrow, my pretty Egyptian kitten, your little\nvelvet paw will be fast in a trap set by the poor despised eunuch, who\nwas not allowed, forsooth, to give you any orders.\"\n\nHis eyes gleamed maliciously as he said these words and hurried from the\ngarden.\n\nAt the great flight of steps he met another eunuch, named Neriglissar,\nwho held the office of head-gardener, and lived at the hanging-gardens.\n\n\"How is the blue lily going on?\" asked Boges.\n\n\"It is unfolding magnificently!\" cried the gardener, in enthusiasm at the\nmere mention of his cherished flower. \"To-morrow, as I promised, when the\nTistar-star rises, it will be in all its beauty. My Egyptian mistress\nwill be delighted, for she is very fond of flowers, and may I ask you to\ntell the king and the Achaemenidae, that under my care this rare plant\nhas at last flowered? It is to be seen in full beauty only once in every\nten years. Tell the noble Achaemenidae; this, and bring them here.\"\n\n\"Your wish shall be granted,\" said Boges smiling, \"but I think you must\nnot reckon on the king, as I do not expect he will visit the\nhanging-gardens before his marriage with the Egyptian. Some of the\nArchimenidae, however, will be sure to come; they are such lovers of\nhorticulture that they would not like to miss this rare sight. Perhaps,\ntoo, I may succeed in bringing Croesus. It is true that he does not\nunderstand flowers or doat on them as the Persians do, but he makes\namends for this by his thorough appreciation of everything beautiful.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, bring him too,\" exclaimed the gardener. \"He will really be\ngrateful to you, for my queen of the night is the most beautiful flower,\nthat has ever bloomed in a royal garden. You saw the bud in the clear\nwaters of the reservoir surrounded by its green leaves; that bud will\nopen into a gigantic rose, blue as the sky. My flower . . .\"\n\nThe enthusiastic gardener would have said much more in praise of his\nflower, but Boges left him with a friendly nod, and went down the flight\nof steps. A two-wheeled wooden carriage was waiting for him there; he\ntook his seat by the driver, the horses, decked out with bells and\ntassels, were urged into a sharp trot and quickly brought him to the gate\nof the harem-garden.\n\nThat day was a busy, stirring one in Cambyses' harem. In order that the\nwomen might look their very best, Boges had commanded that they should\nall be taken to the bath before the banquet. He therefore went at once to\nthat wing of the palace, which contained the baths for the women.\n\nWhile he was still at some distance a confused noise of screaming,\nlaughing, chattering and tittering reached his ears. In the broad porch\nof the large bathing-room, which had been almost overheated, more than\nthree hundred women were moving about in a dense cloud of steam.\n\n   [We read in Diodorus XVII. 77. that the king of Persia had as many\n   wives as there are days in the year. At the battle of Issus,\n   Alexander the Great took 329 concubines, of the last Darius,\n   captive.]\n\nThe half-naked forms floated over the warm pavement like a motley crowd\nof phantoms. Their thin silken garments were wet through and clung to\ntheir delicate figures, and a warm rain descended upon them from the roof\nof the bath, rising up again in vapor when it reached the floor.\n\nGroups of handsome women, ten or twenty together, lay gossiping saucily\nin one part of the room; in another two king's wives were quarrelling\nlike naughty children. One beauty was screaming at the top of her voice\nbecause she had received a blow from her neighbor's dainty little\nslipper, while another was lying in lazy contemplation, still as death,\non the damp, warm floor. Six Armenians were standing together, singing a\nsaucy love-song in their native language with clear-toned voices, and a\nlittle knot of fair-haired Persians were slandering Nitetis so fearfully,\nthat a by-stander would have fancied our beautiful Egyptian was some\nawful monster, like those nurses used to frighten children.\n\nNaked female slaves moved about through the crowd, carrying on their\nheads well-warmed cloths to throw over their mistresses. The cries of the\neunuchs, who held the office of door-keepers, and were continually urging\nthe women to greater haste,--the screeching calls of those whose slaves\nhad not yet arrived,--the penetrating perfumes and the warm vapor\ncombined to produce a motley, strange and stupefying scene.\n\nA quarter of an hour later, however, the king's wives presented a very\ndifferent spectacle.\n\nThey lay like roses steeped in dew, not asleep, but quite still and\ndreaming, on soft cushions placed along the walls of an immense room. The\nwet perfumes still lay on their undried and flowing hair, and nimble\nfemale slaves were busied in carefully wiping away, with little bags made\nof soft camels' hair, the slightest outward trace of the moisture which\npenetrated deep into the pores of the skin.\n\nSilken coverlets were spread over their weary, beautiful limbs, and a\ntroop of eunuchs took good care that the dreamy repose of the entire body\nshould not be disturbed by quarrelsome or petulant individuals. Their\nefforts, however, were seldom so successful as to-day, when every one\nknew that a disturbance of the peace would be punished by exclusion from\nthe banquet. They had probably been lying a full hour in this dreamy\nsilence, when the sound of a gong produced another transformation.\n\nThe reposing figures sprang from their cushions, a troop of female slaves\npressed into the hall, the beauties were annointed and perfumed, their\nluxuriant hair ingeniously braided, plaited, and adorned with precious\nstones. Costly ornaments and silken and woolen robes in all the colors of\nthe rainbow were brought in, shoes stiff with rich embroidery of pearls\nand jewels were tied on to their tender feet, and golden girdles fastened\nround their waists.\n\n   [Some kings gave their wives the revenues of entire cities as\n   \"girdle-money\" (pin-money).]\n\nBy the time Boges came in, the greater number of the women were already\nfully adorned in their costly jewelry, which would have represented\nprobably, when taken together, the riches of a large kingdom.\n\nHe was greeted by a shrill cry of joy from many voices. Twenty of the\nwomen joined hands and danced round their smiling keeper, singing a\nsimple song which had been composed in the harem in praise of his\nvirtues. On this day it was customary for the king to grant each of his\nwives one reasonable petition. So when the ring of dancers had loosed\nhands, a troop of petitioners rushed in upon Boges, kissing his hands,\nstroking his cheeks, whispering in his ear all kinds of requests, and\ntrying by flattery to gain his intercession with the king. The woman's\ntyrant smiled at it all, stopped his ears and pushed them all back with\njests and laughter, promising Amytis the Median that Esther the\nPhoenician should be punished, and Esther the same of Amytis,--that\nParmys should have a handsomer set of jewels than Parisatys, and\nParisatys a more costly one than Parmys, but finding it impossible to get\nrid of these importunate petitioners, he blew a little golden whistle.\nIts shrill tones acted like magic on the eager crowd; the raised hands\nfell in a moment, the little tripping feet stood still, the opening lips\nclosed and the eager tumult was turned into a dead silence.\n\nWhoever disobeyed the sound of this little whistle, was certain of\npunishment. It was as important as the words \"Silence, in the king's\nname!\" or the reading of the riot-act. To-day it worked even more\neffectually than usual. Boges' self-satisfied smile showed that he had\nnoticed this; he then favored the assembly with a look expressive of his\ncontentment with their conduct, promised in a flowery speech to exert all\nhis influence with the king in behalf of his dear little white doves, and\nwound up by telling them to arrange themselves in two long rows.\n\nThe women obeyed and submitted to his scrutiny like soldiers on drill, or\nslaves being examined by their buyer.\n\nWith the dress and ornaments of most he was satisfied, ordering, however,\nto one a little more rouge, to another a little white powder to subdue a\ntoo healthy color, here a different arrangement of the hair--there a\ndeeper tinge to the eyebrows, or more pains to be taken in anointing the\nlips.\n\nWhen this was over he left the hall and went to Phaedime, who as one of\nthe king's lawful wives, had a private room, separated from those\nallotted to the concubines.\n\nThis former favorite,--this humbled daughter of the Achaemenidae, had\nbeen expecting him already some time.\n\nShe was magnificently dressed, and almost overloaded with jewels. A thick\nveil of gauze inwrought with gold hung from her little tiara, and\ninterlaced with this was the blue and white band of the Achaemenidae.\nThere could be no question that she was beautiful, but her figure was\nalready too strongly developed, a frequent result of the lazy harem life\namong Eastern women. Fair golden hair, interwoven with little silver\nchains and gold pieces, welled out almost too abundantly from beneath her\ntiara, and was smoothed over her white temples.\n\nShe sprang forward to meet Boges, trembling with eagerness, caught a\nhasty glance at herself in the looking-glass, and then, fixing her eyes\non the eunuch, asked impetuously: \"Are you pleased with me? Will he\nadmire me?\"\n\nBoges smiled his old, eternal smile and answered: \"You always please me,\nmy golden peacock, and the king would admire you too if he could see you\nas you were a moment ago. You were really beautiful when you called out,\n'Will he admire me?' for passion had turned your blue eyes black as\nnight, and your lip was curled with hatred so as to show two rows of\nteeth white as the snow on the Demawend!\"\n\nPhaedime was flattered and forced her face once more into the admired\nexpression, saying: \"Then take us at once to the banquet, for I know my\neyes will be darker and more brilliant, and my teeth will gleam more\nbrightly, when I see that Egyptian girl sitting where I ought to sit.\"\n\n\"She will not be allowed to sit there long.\"\n\n\"What! is your plan likely to succeed then? Oh, Boges, do not hide it any\nlonger from me--I will be as silent as the grave--I will help you--I\nwill--\"\n\n\"No, I cannot, I dare not tell you about it, but this much I will say in\norder to sweeten this bitter evening: we have dug the pit for our enemy,\nand if my golden Phaedime will only do what I tell her, I hope to give\nher back her old place, and not only that, but even a higher one.\"\n\n\"Tell me what I am to do; I am ready for anything and everything.\"\n\n\"That was well and bravely spoken; like a true lioness. If you obey me we\nmust succeed; and the harder the task, the higher the reward. Don't\ndispute what I am going to say, for we have not a minute to lose. Take\noff all your useless ornaments and only wear the chain the king gave you\non your marriage. Put on a dark simple dress instead of this bright one;\nand when you have prostrated yourself before Kassandane, bow down humbly\nbefore the Egyptian Princess too.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\"\n\n\"I will not be contradicted. Take off those ornaments at once, I entreat\nyou. There, that is right. We cannot succeed unless you obey me. How\nwhite your neck is! The fair Peri would look dark by your side.\"\n\n\"But--\"\n\n\"When your turn comes to ask a favor of the king, tell him you have no\nwishes, now that the sun of your life has withdrawn his light.\"\n\n\"Yes, that I will do.\"\n\n\"When your father asks after your welfare, you must weep.\"\n\n\"I will do that too.\"\n\n\"And so that all the Achaemenidae can see that you are weeping.\"\n\n\"That will be a fearful humiliation!\"\n\n\"Not at all; only a means by which to rise the more surely. Wash the red\ncolor from your cheeks and put on white powder. Make yourself pale--paler\nstill.\"\n\n\"Yes, I shall need that to hide my blushes. Boges, you are asking\nsomething fearful of me, but I will obey you if you will only give me a\nreason.\"\n\n\"Girl, bring your mistress's new dark green robe.\"\n\n\"I shall look like a slave.\"\n\n\"True grace is lovely even in rags.\"\n\n\"The Egyptian will completely eclipse me.\"\n\n\"Yes, every one must see that you have not the slightest intention of\ncomparing yourself with her. Then people will say: 'Would not Phaedime be\nas beautiful as this proud woman, if she had taken the same pains to make\nherself so?\"'\n\n\"But I cannot bow down to her.\"\n\n\"You must.\"\n\n\"You only want to humble and ruin me.\"\n\n\"Short-sighted fool! listen to my reasons and obey. I want especially to\nexcite the Achaemenidae against our enemy. How it will enrage your\ngrandfather Intaphernes, and your father Otanes to see you in the dust\nbefore a stranger! Their wounded pride will bring them over to our side,\nand if they are too 'noble,' as they call it, to undertake anything\nthemselves against a woman, still they will be more likely to help than\nto hinder us, if I should need their assistance. Then, when the Egyptian\nis ruined, if you have done as I wish, the king will remember your sad\npale face, your humility and forgetfulness of self. The Achaemenidae, and\neven the Magi, will beg him to take a queen from his own family; and\nwhere in all Persia is there a woman who can boast of better birth than\nyou? Who else can wear the royal purple but my bright bird of Paradise,\nmy beautiful rose Phaedime? With such a prize in prospect we must no more\nfear a little humiliation than a man who is learning to ride fears a fall\nfrom his horse.\"\n\nAnd she, princess as she was, answered: \"I will obey you.\"\n\n\"Then we are certain of victory,\" said the eunuch. \"There, now your eyes\nare flashing darkly again as I like to see them, my queen. And so\nCambyses shall see you when the tender flesh of the Egyptian shall have\nbecome food for dogs and the birds of the air, and when for the first\ntime after long months of absence, I bring him once more to the door of\nyour apartments. Here, Armorges! tell the rest of the women to get ready\nand enter their litters. I will go on and be there to show them their\nplaces.\"\n\n          ..........................\n\nThe great banqueting-hall was bright as day--even brighter, from the\nlight of thousands of candles whose rays were reflected in the gold\nplates forming the panelling of the walls. A table of interminable length\nstood in the middle of the hall, overloaded with gold and silver cups,\nplates, dishes, bowls, jugs, goblets, ornaments and incense-altars, and\nlooked like a splendid scene from fairy-land.\n\n\"The king will soon be here,\" called out the head-steward of the table,\nof the great court-lords, to the king's cup-bearer, who was a member of\nthe royal family. \"Are all the wine-jugs full, has the wine been tasted,\nare the goblets ranged in order, and the skins sent by Polykrates, have\nthey been emptied?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the cup-bearer, \"everything is ready, and that Chian wine\nis better than any I ever tasted; indeed, in my opinion, even the Syrian\nis not to be compared to it. Only taste it.\"\n\nSo saying he took a graceful little golden goblet from the table in one\nhand, raised a wine-pitcher of the same costly metal with the other,\nswung the latter high into the air and poured the wine so cleverly into\nthe narrow neck of the little vessel that not a drop was lost, though the\nliquid formed a wide curve in its descent. He then presented the goblet\nto the head-steward with the tips of his fingers, bowing gracefully as he\ndid so.\n\nThe latter sipped the delicious wine, testing its flavor with great\ndeliberation, and said, on returning the cup: \"I agree with you, it is\nindeed a noble wine, and tastes twice as well when presented with such\ninimitable grace. Strangers are quite right in saying that there are no\ncupbearers like the Persian.\"\n\n\"Thanks for this praise,\" replied the other, kissing his friend's\nforehead. \"Yes, I am proud of my office, and it is one which the king\nonly gives to his friends. Still it is a great plague to have to stay so\nlong in this hot, suffocating Babylon. Shall we ever be off for the\nsummer, to Ecbatana or Pasargada?\"\n\n\"I was talking to the king about it to-day. He had intended not to leave\nbefore the Massagetan war, and to go straight from Babylon into the\nfield, but to-day's embassy has changed matters; it is probable that\nthere may be no war, and then we shall go to Susa three days after the\nking's marriage--that is, in one week from the present time.\"\n\n\"To Susa?\" cried the cup-bearer. \"It's very little cooler there than\nhere, and besides, the old Memnon's castle is being rebuilt.\"\n\n\"The satrap of Susa has just brought word that the new palace is\nfinished, and that nothing so brilliant has ever been seen. Directly\nCambyses heard, it he said: Then we will start for Susa three days after\nour marriage. I should like to show the Egyptian Princess that we\nunderstand the art of building as well as her own ancestors. She is\naccustomed to hot weather on the Nile, and will not find our beautiful\nSusa too warm.' The king seems wonderfully fond of this woman.\"\n\n\"He does indeed! All other women have become perfectly indifferent to\nhim, and he means soon to make her his queen.\"\n\n\"That is unjust; Phaedime, as daughter of the Achaemenidae, has an older\nand better right.\"\n\n\"No doubt, but whatever the king wishes, must be right.\"\n\n\"The ruler's will is the will of God.\"\n\n\"Well said! A true Persian will kiss his king's hand, even when dripping\nwith the blood of his own child.\"\n\n\"Cambyses ordered my brother's execution, but I bear him no more ill-will\nfor it than I should the gods for depriving me of my parents. Here, you\nfellows! draw the curtains back; the guests are coming. Look sharp, you\ndogs, and do your duty! Farewell, Artabazos, we shall have warm work\nto-night.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Death is so long and life so short\n     No man was allowed to ask anything of the gods for himself\n     Take heed lest pride degenerate into vainglory\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThe principal steward of the banquet went forward to meet the guests as\nthey entered, and, assisted by other noble staff-bearers (chamberlains\nand masters of the ceremonies), led them to their appointed places.\n\nWhen they were all seated, a flourish of trumpets announced that the king\nwas near. As he entered the hall every one rose, and the multitude\nreceived him with a thundering shout of \"Victory to the king!\" again and\nagain repeated.\n\nThe way to his seat was marked by a purple Sardian carpet, only to be\ntrodden by himself and Kassandane. His blind mother, led by Croesus, went\nfirst and took her seat at the head of the table, on a throne somewhat\nhigher than the golden chair for Cambyses, which stood by it. The king's\nlawful wives sat on his left hand; Nitetis next to him, then Atossa, and\nby her side the pale, plainly-dressed Phaedime; next to this last wife of\nCambyses sat Boges, the eunuch. Then came the high-priest Oropastes, some\nof the principal Magi, the satraps of various provinces (among them the\nJew Belteshazzar), and a number of Persians, Medes and eunuchs, all\nholding high offices under the crown.\n\nBartja sat at the king's right hand, and after him Croesus, Hystaspes,\nGobryas, Araspes, and others of the Achaemenidae, according to their rank\nand age. Of the concubines, the greater number sat at the foot of the\ntable; some stood opposite to Cambyses, and enlivened the banquet by\nsongs and music. A number of eunuchs stood behind them, whose duty it was\nto see that they did not raise their eyes towards the men.\n\nCambyses' first glance was bestowed on Nitetis; she sat by him in all the\nsplendor and dignity of a queen, but looking very, very pale in her new\npurple robes.\n\nTheir eyes met, and Cambyses felt that such a look could only come from\none who loved him very dearly. But his own love told him that something\nhad troubled her. There was a sad seriousness about her mouth, and a\nslight cloud, which only he could see, seemed to veil the usually calm,\nclear and cheerful expression of her eyes. \"I will ask her afterwards\nwhat has happened,\" thought he, \"but it will not do to let my subjects\nsee how much I love this girl.\"\n\nHe kissed his mother, sister, brother and his nearest relations on the\nforehead--said a short prayer thanking the gods for their mercies and\nentreating a happy new year for himself and the Persians--named the\nimmense sum he intended to present to his countrymen on this day, and\nthen called on the staff bearers to bring the petitioners before his\nface, who hoped to obtain some reasonable request from the king on this\nday of grace.\n\nAs every petitioner had been obliged to lay his request before the\nprincipal staff bearer the day before, in order to ascertain whether it\nwas admissible, they all received satisfactory answers. The petitions of\nthe women had been enquired into by the eunuchs in the same manner, and\nthey too were now conducted before their lord and master by Boges,\nKassandane alone remaining seated.\n\nThe long procession was opened by Nitetis and Atossa, and the two\nprincesses were immediately followed by Phaedime and another beauty. The\nlatter was magnificently dressed and had been paired with Phaedime by\nBoges, in order to make the almost poverty-stricken simplicity of the\nfallen favorite more apparent.\n\nIntaphernes and Otanes looked as annoyed as Boges had expected, on seeing\ntheir grandchild and daughter so pale, and in such miserable array, in\nthe midst of all this splendor and magnificence.\n\nCambyses had had experience of Phaedime's former extravagance in matters\nof dress, and, when he saw her standing before him so plainly dressed and\nso pale, looked both angry and astonished. His brow darkened, and as she\nbent low before him, he asked her in an angry and tyrannical tone: \"What\nis the meaning of this beggarly dress at my table, on the day set apart\nin my honor? Have you forgotten, that in our country it is the custom\nnever to appear unadorned before the king? Verily, if it were not my\nbirthday, and if I did not owe you some consideration as the daughter of\nour dearest kinsman, I should order the eunuchs to take you back to the\nharem, that you might have time to think over your conduct in solitude.\"\n\nThese words rendered the mortified woman's task much easier. . . .  She began\nto weep loud and bitterly, raising her hands and eyes to her angry lord\nin such a beseeching manner that his anger was changed into compassion,\nand he raised her from the ground with the question: \"Have you a petition\nto ask of me?\"\n\n\"What can I find to wish for, now that the sun of my life has withdrawn\nhis light?\" was her faltering answer, hindered by sobs.\n\nCambyses shrugged his shoulders, and asked again \"Is there nothing then\nthat you wish for? I used to be able to dry your tears with presents; ask\nme for some golden comfort to-day.\"\n\n\"Phaedime has nothing left to wish for now. For whom can she put on\njewels when her king, her husband, withdraws the light of his\ncountenance?\"\n\n\"Then I can do nothing for you,\" exclaimed Cambyses, turning away angrily\nfrom the kneeling woman. Boges had been quite right in advising Phaedime\nto paint herself with white, for underneath the pale color her cheeks\nwere burning with shame and anger. But, in spite of all, she controlled\nher passionate feelings, made the same deep obeisance to Nitetis as to\nthe queen-mother, and allowed her tears to flow fast and freely in sight\nof all the Achaemenidae.\n\nOtanes and Intaphernes could scarcely suppress their indignation at\nseeing their daughter and grandchild thus humbled, and many an\nAchaemenidae looked on, feeling deep sympathy with the unhappy Phaedime\nand a hidden grudge against the favored, beautiful stranger.\n\nThe formalities were at last at an end and the feast began. Just before\nthe king, in a golden basket, and gracefully bordered round with other\nfruits, lay a gigantic pomegranate, as large as a child's head.\n\nCambyses noticed it now for the first time, examined its enormous size\nand rare beauty with the eye of a connoisseur, and said: \"Who grew this\nwonderful pomegranate?\"\n\n\"Thy servant Oropastes,\" answered the chief of the Magi, with a low\nobeisance. \"For many years I have studied the art of gardening, and have\nventured to lay this, the most beautiful fruit of my labors, at the feet\nof my king.\"\n\n\"I owe you thanks,\" cried the king: \"My friends, this pomegranate will\nassist me in the choice of a governor at home when we go out to war, for,\nby Mithras, the man who can cherish and foster a little tree so carefully\nwill do greater things than these. What a splendid fruit! Surely it's\nlike was never seen before. I thank you again, Oropastes, and as the\nthanks of a king must never consist of empty words alone, I name you at\nonce vicegerent of my entire kingdom, in case of war. For we shall not\ndream away our time much longer in this idle rest, my friends. A Persian\ngets low-spirited without the joys of war.\"\n\nA murmur of applause ran through the ranks of the Achaemenidae and fresh\nshouts of \"Victory to the king\" resounded through the hall. Their anger\non account of the humiliation of a woman was quickly forgotten; thoughts\nof coming battles, undying renown and conqueror's laurels to be won by\ndeeds of arms, and recollections of their former mighty deeds raised the\nspirits of the revellers.\n\nThe king himself was more moderate than usual to-day, but he encouraged\nhis guests to drink, enjoying their noisy merriment and overflowing\nmirth; taking, however, far more pleasure still in the fascinating beauty\nof the Egyptian Princess, who sat at his side, paler than usual, and\nthoroughly exhausted by the exertions of the morning and the unaccustomed\nweight of the high tiara. He had never felt so happy as on this day. What\nindeed could he wish for more than he already possessed? Had not the gods\ngiven him every thing that a man could desire? and, over and above all\nthis, had not they flung into his lap the precious gift of love? His\nusual inflexibility seemed to have changed into benevolence, and his\nstern severity into good-nature, as he turned to his brother Bartja with\nthe words: \"Come brother, have you forgotten my promise? Don't you know\nthat to-day you are sure of gaining the dearest wish of your heart from\nme? That's right, drain the goblet, and take courage! but do not ask\nanything small, for I am in the mood to give largely to-day. Ah, it is a\nsecret! come nearer then. I am really curious to know what the most\nfortunate youth in my entire kingdom can long for so much, that he\nblushes like a girl when his wish is spoken of.\"\n\nBartja, whose cheeks were really glowing from agitation, bent his head\nclose to his brother's ear, and whispered shortly the story of his love.\nSappho's father had helped to defend his native town Phocaea against the\nhosts of Cyrus, and this fact the boy cleverly brought forward, speaking\nof the girl he loved as the daughter of a Greek warrior of noble birth.\nIn so saying he spoke the truth, but at the same time he suppressed the\nfacts that this very father had acquired great riches by mercantile\nundertakings.\n\n   [The Persians were forbidden by law to contract debts, because\n   debtors were necessarily led to say much that was untrue. Herod. I.\n   For this reason they held all money transactions in contempt, such\n   occupations being also very uncongenial to their military tastes.\n   They despised commerce and abandoned it to the conquered nations.]\n\nHe then told his brother how charming, cultivated and loving his Sappho\nwas, and was just going to call on Croesus for a confirmation of his\nwords, when Cambyses interrupted him by kissing his forehead and saying:\n\"You need say no more, brother; do what your heart bids you. I know the\npower of love too, and I will help you to gain our mother's consent.\"\nBartja threw himself at his brother's feet, overcome with gratitude and\njoy, but Cambyses raised him kindly and, looking especially at Nitetis\nand Kassandane, exclaimed: \"Listen, my dear ones, the stem of Cyrus is\ngoing to blossom afresh, for our brother Bartja has resolved to put an\nend to his single life, so displeasing to the gods.\n\n   [The Persians were commanded by their religion to marry, and the\n   unmarried were held up to ridicule. Vendid. IV. Fargard. 130.\n   The highest duty of man was to create and promote life, and to have\n   many children was therefore considered praiseworthy. Herod. I.\n   136.]\n\nIn a few days the young lover will leave us for your country, Nitetis,\nand will bring back another jewel from the shores of the Nile to our\nmountain home.\"\n\n\"What is the matter, sister?\" cried Atossa, before her brother had\nfinished speaking. Nitetis had fainted, and Atossa was sprinkling her\nforehead with wine as she lay in her arms.\n\n\"What was it?\" asked the blind Kassandane, when Nitetis had awakened to\nconsciousness a few moments later.\n\n\"The joy--the happiness--Tachot,\" faltered Nitetis. Cambyses, as well as\nhis sister, had sprung to the fainting girl's help. When she had\nrecovered consciousness, he asked her to take some wine to revive her\ncompletely, gave her the cup with his own hand, and then went on at the\npoint at which he had left off in his account: \"Bartja is going to your\nown country, my wife--to Naukratis on the Nile--to fetch thence the\ngranddaughter of a certain Rhodopis, and daughter of a noble warrior, a\nnative of the brave town of Phocaea, as his wife.\"\n\n\"What was that?\" cried the blind queen-mother.\n\n\"What is the matter with you?\" exclaimed Atossa again, in an anxious,\nalmost reproachful tone.\n\n\"Nitetis!\" cried Croesus admonishingly. But the warning came too late;\nthe cup which her royal lover had given her slipped from her hands and\nfell ringing on the floor. All eyes were fixed on the king's features in\nanxious suspense. He had sprung from his seat pale as death; his lips\ntrembled and his fist was clenched. Nitetis looked up at her lover\nimploringly, but he was afraid of meeting those wonderful, fascinating\neyes, and turned his head away, saying in a hoarse voice: \"Take the women\nback to their apartments, Boges. I have seen enough of them--let us begin\nour drinking-bout--good-night, my mother; take care how you nourish\nvipers with your heart's blood. Sleep well, Egyptian, and pray to the\ngods to give you a more equal power of dissembling your feelings.\nTo-morrow, my friends, we will go out hunting. Here, cup-bearer, give me\nsome wine! fill the large goblet, but taste it well--yes, well--for\nto-day I am afraid of poison; to-day for the first time. Do you hear,\nEgyptian? I am afraid of poison! and every child knows--ah-ha--that all\nthe poison, as well as the medicine comes from Egypt.\"\n\nNitetis left the hall,--she hardly knew how,--more staggering than\nwalking. Boges accompanied her, telling the bearers to make haste.\n\nWhen they reached the hanging-gardens he gave her up to the care of the\neunuch in attendance, and took his leave, not respectfully as usual, but\nchuckling, rubbing his hands, and speaking in an intimate and\nconfidential tone: \"Dream about the handsome Bartja and his Egyptian\nlady-love, my white Nile-kitten! Haven't you any message for the\nbeautiful boy, whose love-story frightened you so terribly? Think a\nlittle. Poor Boges will very gladly play the go-between; the poor\ndespised Boges wishes you so well--the humble Boges will be so sorry when\nhe sees the proud palm-tree from Sais cut down. Boges is a prophet; he\nforetells you a speedy return home to Egypt, or a quiet bed in the black\nearth in Babylon, and the kind Boges wishes you a peaceful sleep.\nFarewell, my broken flower, my gay, bright viper, wounded by its own\nsting, my pretty fir-cone, fallen from the tall pine-tree!\"\n\n\"How dare you speak in this impudent manner?\" said the indignant\nprincess.\n\n\"Thank you,\" answered the wretch, smiling.\n\n\"I shall complain of your conduct,\" threatened Nitetis.\n\n\"You are very amiable,\" answered Boges. \"Go out of my sight,\" she cried.\n\n\"I will obey your kind and gentle hints;\" he answered softly, as if\nwhispering words of love into her ear. She started back in disgust and\nfear at these scornful words; she saw how full of terror they were for\nher, turned her back on him and went quickly into the house, but his\nvoice rang after her: \"Don't forget my lovely queen, think of me now and\nthen; for everything that happens in the next few days will be a keepsake\nfrom the poor despised Boges.\"\n\nAs soon as she had disappeared he changed his tone, and commanded the\nsentries in the severest and most tyrannical manner, to keep a strict\nwatch over the hanging-gardens. \"Certain death,\" said he, \"to whichever\nof you allows any one but myself to enter these gardens. No one,\nremember--no one--and least of all messengers from the queen-mother,\nAtossa or any of the great people, may venture to set foot on these\nsteps. If Croesus or Oropastes should wish to speak to the Egyptian\nPrincess, refuse them decidedly. Do you understand? I repeat it, whoever\nis begged or bribed into disobedience will not see the light of\nto-morrow's sun. Nobody may enter these gardens without express\npermission from my own mouth. I think you know me. Here, take these gold\nstaters, your work will be heavier now; but remember, I swear by Plithras\nnot to spare one of you who is careless or disobedient.\"\n\nThe men made a due obeisance and determined to obey; they knew that\nBoges' threats were never meant in joke, and fancied something great must\nbe coming to pass, as the stingy eunuch never spent his staters without\ngood reason.\n\nBoges was carried back to the banqueting-hall in the same litter, which\nhad brought Nitetis away.\n\nThe king's wives had left, but the concubines were all standing in their\nappointed place, singing their monotonous songs, though quite unheard by\nthe uproarious men.\n\nThe drinkers had already long forgotten the fainting woman. The uproar\nand confusion rose with every fresh wine-cup. They forgot the dignity of\nthe place where they were assembled, and the presence of their mighty\nruler.\n\nThey shouted in their drunken joy; warriors embraced one another with a\ntenderness only excited by wine, here and there a novice was carried away\nin the arms of a pair of sturdy attendants, while an old hand at the work\nwould seize a wine-jug instead of a goblet, and drain it at a draught\namid the cheers of the lookers-on.\n\nThe king sat on at the head of the table, pale as death, staring into the\nwine-cup as if unconscious of what was going on around hint. But at the\nsight of his brother his fist clenched.\n\nHe would neither speak to him, nor answer his questions. The longer he\nsat there gazing into vacancy, the firmer became his conviction that\nNitetis had deceived him,--that she had pretended to love him while her\nheart really belonged to Bartja. How shamefully they had made sport of\nhim! How deeply rooted must have been the faithlessness of this clever\nhypocrite, if the mere news that his brother loved some one else could\nnot only destroy all her powers of dissimulation, but actually deprive\nher of consciousness!\n\nWhen Nitetis left the hall, Otanes, the father of Phaedime had called\nout: \"The Egyptian women seem to take great interest in the love-affairs\nof their brothers-in-law. The Persian women are not so generous with\ntheir feelings; they keep them for their husbands.\"\n\nCambyses was too proud to let it be seen that he had heard these words;\nlike the ostrich, he feigned deafness and blindness in order not to seem\naware of the looks and murmurs of his guests, which all went to prove\nthat he had been deceived.\n\nBartja could have had no share in her perfidy; she had loved this\nhandsome youth, and perhaps all the more because she had not been able to\nhope for a return of her love. If he had had the slightest suspicion of\nhis brother, he would have killed him on the spot. Bartja was certainly\ninnocent of any share in the deception and in his brother's misery, but\nstill he was the cause of all; so the old grudge, which had only just\nbeen allowed to slumber, woke again; and, as a relapse is always more\ndangerous than the original illness, the newly-roused anger was more\nviolent than what he had formerly felt.\n\nHe thought and thought, but he could not devise a fitting punishment for\nthis false woman. Her death would not content his vengeance, she must\nsuffer something worse than mere death!\n\nShould he send her back to Egypt, disgraced and shamed? Oh, no! she loved\nher country, and she would be received by her parents with open arms.\nShould he, after she had confessed her guilt, (for he was determined to\nforce a confession from her) shut her up in a solitary dungeon? or should\nhe deliver her over to Boges, to be the servant of his concubines? Yes!\nnow he had hit upon the right punishment. Thus the faithless creature\nshould be disciplined, and the hypocrite, who had dared to make sport of\nhim--the All-powerful--forced to atone for her crimes.\n\nThen he said to himself: \"Bartja must not stay here; fire and water have\nmore in common than we two--he always fortunate and happy, and I so\nmiserable. Some day or other his descendants will divide my treasures,\nand wear my crown; but as yet I am king, and I will show that I am.\"\n\nThe thought of his proud, powerful position flashed through him like\nlightning. He woke from his dreams into new life, flung his golden goblet\nfar into the hall, so that the wine flew round like rain, and cried: \"We\nhave had enough of this idle talk and useless noise. Let us hold a\ncouncil of war, drunken as we are, and consider what answer we ought to\ngive the Massagetae. Hystaspes, you are the eldest, give us your opinion\nfirst.\"\n\n   [Herod. I. 134. The Persians deliberated and resolved when they\n   were intoxicated, and when they were sober reconsidered their\n   determinations. Tacitus tells the same of the old Germans. Germ,\n   c. 22.]\n\nHystaspes, the father of Darius, was an old man. He answered: \"It seems\nto me, that the messengers of this wandering tribe have left us no\nchoice. We cannot go to war against desert wastes; but as our host is\nalready under arms and our swords have lain long in their scabbards, war\nwe must have. We only want a few good enemies, and I know no easier work\nthan to make them.\"\n\nAt these words the Persians broke into loud shouts of delight; but\nCroesus only waited till the noise had ceased to say: \"Hystaspes, you and\nI are both old men; but you are a thorough Persian and fancy you can only\nbe happy in battle and bloodshed. You are now obliged to lean for support\non the staff, which used to be the badge of your rank as commander, and\nyet you speak like a hot-blooded boy. I agree with you that enemies are\neasy enough to find, but only fools go out to look for them. The man who\ntries to make enemies is like a wretch who mutilates his own body. If the\nenemies are there, let us go out to meet them like wise men who wish to\nlook misfortune boldly in the face; but let us never try to begin an\nunjust war, hateful to the gods. We will wait until wrong has been done\nus, and then go to victory or death, conscious that we have right on our\nside.\"\n\nThe old man was interrupted by a low murmur of applause, drowned however\nquickly by cries of \"Hystaspes is right! let us look for an enemy!\"\n\nIt was now the turn of the envoy Prexaspes to speak, and he answered\nlaughing: \"Let us follow the advice of both these noble old men. We will\ndo as Croesus bids us and not go out to seek an enemy, but at the same\ntime we will follow Hystaspes' advice by raising our claims and\npronouncing every one our enemy, who does not cheerfully consent to\nbecome a member of the kingdom founded by our great father Cyrus. For\ninstance, we will ask the Indians if they would feel proud to obey your\nsceptre, Cambyses. If they answer no, it is a sign that they do not love\nus, and whoever does not love us, must be our enemy.\"\n\n\"That won't do,\" cried Zopyrus. \"We must have war at any price.\"\n\n\"I vote for Croesus,\" said Gobryas. \"And I too,\" said the noble\nArtabazus.\n\n\"We are for Hystaspes,\" shouted the warrior Araspes, the old Intaphernes,\nand some more of Cyrus's old companions-in-arms.\n\n\"War we must have at any price,\" roared the general Megabyzus, the father\nof Zopyrus, striking the table so sharply with his heavy fist, that the\ngolden vessels rang again, and some goblets even fell; \"but not with the\nMassagetac--not with a flying foe.\"\n\n\"There must be no war with the Massagetae,\" said the high-priest\nOropastes. \"The gods themselves have avenged Cyrus's death upon them.\"\n\nCambyses sat for some moments, quietly and coldly watching the\nunrestrained enthusiasm of his warriors, and then, rising from his seat,\nthundered out the words: \"Silence, and listen to your king!\"\n\nThe words worked like magic on this multitude of drunken men. Even those\nwho were most under the influence of wine, listened to their king in a\nkind of unconscious obedience. He lowered his voice and went on: \"I did\nnot ask whether you wished for peace or war--I know that every Persian\nprefers the labor of war to an inglorious idleness--but I wished to know\nwhat answer you would give the Massagetan warriors. Do you consider that\nthe soul of my father--of the man to whom you owe all your greatness--has\nbeen sufficiently avenged?\"\n\nA dull murmur in the affirmative, interrupted by some violent voices in\nthe negative, was the answer. The king then asked a second question:\n\"Shall we accept the conditions proposed by their envoys, and grant peace\nto this nation, already so scourged and desolated by the gods?\" To this\nthey all agreed eagerly.\n\n\"That is what I wished to know,\" continued Cambyses. \"To-morrow, when we\nare sober, we will follow the old custom and reconsider what has been\nresolved on during our intoxication. Drink on, all of you, as long as the\nnight lasts. To-morrow, at the last crow of the sacred bird Parodar, I\nshall expect you to meet me for the chase, at the gate of the temple of\nBel.\"\n\nSo saying, the king left the hall, followed by a thundering \"Victory to\nthe king!\" Boges had slipped out quietly before him. In the forecourt he\nfound one of the gardener's boys from the hanging-gardens.\n\n\"What do you want here?\" asked Boges. \"I have something for the prince\nBartja.\"\n\n\"For Bartja? Has he asked your master to send him some seeds or slips?\"\n\nThe boy shook his sunburnt head and smiled roguishly.\n\n\"Some one else sent you then?\" said Boges becoming more attentive.\n\n\"Yes, some one else.\"\n\n\"Ah! the Egyptian has sent a message to her brother-in-law?\"\n\n\"Who told you that?\"\n\n\"Nitetis spoke to me about it. Here, give me what you have; I will give\nit to Bartja at once.\"\n\n\"I was not to give it to any one but the prince himself.\"\n\n\"Give it to me; it will be safer in my hands than in yours.\"\n\n\"I dare not.\"\n\n\"Obey me at once, or--\"\n\nAt this moment the king came up. Boges thought a moment, and then called\nin a loud voice to the whip-bearers on duty at the palace-gate, to take\nthe astonished boy up.\n\n\"What is the matter here?\" asked Cambyses.\n\n\"This fellow,\" answered the eunuch, \"has had the audacity to make his way\ninto the palace with a message from your consort Nitetis to Bartja.\"\n\nAt sight of the king, the boy had fallen on his knees, touching the\nground with his forehead.\n\nCambyses looked at him and turned deadly pale. Then, turning to the\neunuch, he asked: \"What does the Egyptian Princess wish from my brother?\"\n\n\"The boy declares that he has orders to give up what has been entrusted\nto him to no one but Bartja.\" On hearing this the boy looked imploringly\nup at the king, and held out a little papyrus roll.\n\nCambyses snatched it out of his hand, but the next moment stamped\nfuriously on the ground at seeing that the letter was written in Greek,\nwhich he could not read.\n\nHe collected himself, however, and, with an awful look, asked the boy who\nhad given him the letter. \"The Egyptian lady's waiting-woman Mandane,\" he\nanswered; \"the Magian's daughter.\"\n\n\"For my brother Bartja?\"\n\n\"She said I was to give the letter to the handsome prince, before the\nbanquet, with a greeting from her mistress Nitetis, and I was to tell him\n. . .\"\n\nHere the king stamped so furiously, that the boy was frightened and could\nonly stammer: \"Before the banquet the prince was walking with you, so I\ncould not speak to him, and now I am waiting for him here, for Mandane\npromised to give me a piece of gold if I did what she told me cleverly.\"\n\n\"And that you have not done,\" thundered the king, fancying himself\nshamefully deceived. \"No, indeed you have not. Here, guards, seize this\nfellow!\"\n\nThe boy begged and prayed, but all in vain; the whip-bearers seized him\nquick as thought, and Cambyses, who went off at once to his own\napartments, was soon out of reach of his whining entreaties for mercy.\n\nBoges followed his master, rubbing his fat hands, and laughing quietly to\nhimself.\n\nThe king's attendants began their work of disrobing him, but he told them\nangrily to leave him at once. As soon as they were gone, he called Boges\nand said in a low voice: \"From this time forward the hanging-gardens and\nthe Egyptian are under your control. Watch her carefully! If a single\nhuman being or a message reaches her without my knowledge, your life will\nbe the forfeit.\"\n\n\"But if Kassandane or Atossa should send to her?\"\n\n\"Turn the messengers away, and send word that every attempt to see or\ncommunicate with Nitetis will be regarded by me as a personal offence.\"\n\n\"May I ask a favor for myself, O King?\"\n\n\"The time is not well chosen for asking favors.\"\n\n\"I feel ill. Permit some one else to take charge of the hanging-gardens\nfor to-morrow only.\"\n\n\"No!--now leave me.\"\n\n\"I am in a burning fever and have lost consciousness three times during\nthe day--if when I am in that state any one should . . .\"\n\nBut who could take your place?\"\n\n\"The Lydian captain of the eunuchs, Kandaules. He is true as gold, and\ninflexibly severe. One day of rest would restore me to health. Have\nmercy, O King!\"\n\n\"No one is so badly served as the king himself. Kandaules may take your\nplace to-morrow, but give hum the strictest orders, and say that the\nslightest neglect will put his life in danger.--Now depart.\"\n\n\"Yet one word, my King: to-morrow night the rare blue lily in the\nhanging-gardens will open. Hystaspes, Intaphernes, Gobyras, Croesus and\nOropastes, the greatest horticulturists at your court, would very much\nlike to see it. May they be allowed to visit the gardens for a few\nminutes? Kandaules shall see that they enter into no communication with\nthe Egyptian.\"\n\n\"Kandaules must keep his eyes open, if he cares for his own life.--Go!\"\n\nBoges made a deep obeisance and left the king's apartment. He threw a few\ngold pieces to the slaves who bore the torches before him. He was so very\nhappy. Every thing had succeeded beyond his expectations:--the fate of\nNitetis was as good as decided, and he held the life of Kandaules, his\nhated colleague, in his own hands.\n\nCambyses spent the night in pacing up and down his apartment. By\ncock-crow he had decided that Nitetis should be forced to confess her\nguilt, and then be sent into the great harem to wait on the concubines.\nBartja, the destroyer of his happiness, should set off at once for Egypt,\nand on his return become the satrap of some distant provinces. He did not\nwish to incur the guilt of a brother's murder, but he knew his own temper\ntoo well not to fear that in a moment of sudden anger, he might kill one\nhe hated so much, and therefore wished to remove him out of the reach of\nhis passion.\n\nTwo hours after the sun had risen, Cambyses was riding on his fiery\nsteed, far in front of a Countless train of followers armed with shields,\nswords, lances, bows and lassos, in pursuit of the game which was to be\nfound in the immense preserves near Babylon, and was to be started from\nits lair by more than a thousand dogs.\n\n   [The same immense trains of followers of course accompanied the\n   kings on their hunting expeditions, as on their journeys. As the\n   Persian nobility were very fond of hunting, their boys were taught\n   this sport at an early age. According to Strabo, kings themselves\n   boasted of having been mighty hunters in the inscriptions on their\n   tombs. A relief has been found in the ruins of Persepolis, on which\n   the king is strangling a lion with his right arm, but this is\n   supposed to have a historical, not a symbolical meaning. Similar\n   representations occur on Assyrian monuments. Izdubar strangling a\n   lion and fighting with a lion (relief at Khorsabad) is admirably\n   copied in Delitzsch's edition of G. Smith's Chaldean Genesis.\n   Layard discovered some representations of hunting-scenes during his\n   excavations; as, for instance, stags and wild boars among the reeds;\n   and the Greeks often mention the immense troops of followers on\n   horse and foot who attended the kings of Persia when they went\n   hunting. According to Xenophon, Cyrop. I. 2. II. 4. every hunter\n   was obliged to be armed with a bow and arrows, two lances, sword and\n   shield. In Firdusi's Book of Kings we read that the lasso was also\n   a favorite weapon. Hawking was well known to the Persians more than\n   900 years ago. Book of Kabus XVIII. p. 495. The boomerang was\n   used in catching birds as well by the Persians as by the ancient\n   Egyptians and the present savage tribes of New Holland.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe hunt was over. Waggons full of game, amongst which were several\nenormous wild boars killed by the king's own hand, were driven home\nbehind the sports men. At the palace-gates the latter dispersed to their\nseveral abodes, in order to exchange the simple Persian leather\nhunting-costume for the splendid Median court-dress.\n\nIn the course of the day's sport Cambyses had (with difficulty\nrestraining his agitation) given his brother the seemingly kind order to\nstart the next day for Egypt in order to fetch Sappho and accompany her\nto Persia. At the same time he assigned him the revenues of Bactra,\nRhagae and Sinope for the maintenance of his new household, and to his\nyoung wife, all the duties levied from her native town Phocaea, as\npin-money.\n\nBartja thanked his generous brother with undisguised warmth, but Cambyses\nremained cold as ice, uttered a few farewell words, and then, riding off\nin pursuit of a wild ass, turned his back upon him.\n\nOn the way home from the chase the prince invited his bosom-friends\nCroesus, Darius, Zopyrus and Gyges to drink a parting-cup with him.\n\nCroesus promised to join them later, as he had promised to visit the blue\nlily at the rising of the Tistarstar.\n\nHe had been to the hanging-gardens that morning early to visit Nitetis,\nbut had been refused entrance by the guards, and the blue lily seemed now\nto offer him another chance of seeing and speaking to his beloved pupil.\nHe wished for this very much, as he could not thoroughly understand her\nbehavior the day before, and was uneasy at the strict watch set over her.\n\nThe young Achaemenidae sat cheerfully talking together in the twilight in\na shady bower in the royal gardens, cool fountains plashing round them.\nAraspes, a Persian of high rank, who had been one of Cyrus's friends, had\njoined them, and did full justice to the prince's excellent wine.\n\n\"Fortunate Bartja!\" cried the old bachelor, \"going out to a golden\ncountry to fetch the woman you love; while I, miserable old fellow, am\nblamed by everybody, and totter to my grave without wife or children to\nweep for me and pray the gods to be merciful to my poor soul.\"\n\n\"Why think of such things?\" cried Zopyrus, flourishing the wine-cup.\n\"There's no woman so perfect that her husband does not, at least once a\nday, repent that he ever took a wife. Be merry, old friend, and remember\nthat it's all your own fault. If you thought a wife would make you happy,\nwhy did not you do as I have done? I am only twenty-two years old and\nhave five stately wives and a troop of the most beautiful slaves in my\nhouse.\"\n\nAraspes smiled bitterly.\n\n\"And what hinders you from marrying now?\" said Gyges. \"You are a match\nfor many a younger man in appearance, strength, courage and perseverance.\nYou are one of the king's nearest relations too--I tell you, Araspes, you\nmight have twenty young and beautiful wives.\"\n\n\"Look after your own affairs,\" answered Araspes. \"In your place, I\ncertainly should not have waited to marry till I was thirty.\"\n\n\"An oracle has forbidden my marrying.\"\n\n\"Folly? how can a sensible man care for what an oracle says? It is only\nby dreams, that the gods announce the future to men. I should have\nthought that your own father was example enough of the shameful way in\nwhich those lying priests deceive their best friends.\"\n\n\"That is a matter which you do not understand, Araspes.\"\n\n\"And never wish to, boy, for you only believe in oracles because you\ndon't understand them, and in your short-sightedness call everything that\nis beyond your comprehension a miracle. And you place more confidence in\nanything that seems to you miraculous, than in the plain simple truth\nthat lies before your face. An oracle deceived your father and plunged\nhim into ruin, but the oracle is miraculous, and so you too, in perfect\nconfidence, allow it to rob you of happiness!\"\n\n\"That is blasphemy, Araspes. Are the gods to be blamed because we\nmisunderstand their words?\"\n\n\"Certainly: for if they wished to benefit us they would give us, with the\nwords, the necessary penetration for discovering their meaning. What good\ndoes a beautiful speech do me, if it is in a foreign language that I do\nnot understand?\"\n\n\"Leave off this useless discussion,\" said Darius, \"and tell us instead,\nAraspes, how it is that, though you congratulate every man on becoming a\nbridegroom, you yourself have so long submitted to be blamed by the\npriests, slighted at all entertainments and festivals, and abused by the\nwomen, only because you choose to live and die a bachelor?\"\n\nAraspes looked down thoughtfully, then shook himself, took a long draught\nfrom the wine-cup, and said, \"I have my reasons, friends, but I cannot\ntell them now.\"\n\n\"Tell them, tell them,\" was the answer.\n\n\"No, children, I cannot, indeed I cannot. This cup I drain to the health\nof the charming Sappho, and this second to your good fortune, my\nfavorite, Darius.\"\n\n\"Thanks, Araspes!\" exclaimed Bartja, joyfully raising his goblet to his\nlips.\n\n\"You mean well, I know,\" muttered Darius, looking down gloomily.\n\n\"What's this, you son of Hystaspes?\" cried the old man, looking more\nnarrowly at the serious face of the youth. \"Dark looks like these don't\nsit well on a betrothed lover, who is to drink to the health of his\ndearest one. Is not Gobryas' little daughter the noblest of all the young\nPersian girls after Atossa? and isn't she beautiful?\"\n\n\"Artystone has every talent and quality that a daughter of the\nAchaemenidae ought to possess,\" was Darius's answer, but his brow did not\nclear as he said the words.\n\n\"Well, if you want more than that, you must be very hard to please.\"\n\nDarius raised his goblet and looked down into the wine.\n\n\"The boy is in love, as sure as my name is Araspes!\" exclaimed the elder\nman.\n\n\"What a set of foolish fellows you are,\" broke in Zopyrus at this\nexclamation. \"One of you has remained a bachelor in defiance of all\nPersian customs; another has been frightened out of marrying by an\noracle; Bartja has determined to be content with only one wife; and\nDarius looks like a Destur chanting the funeral-service, because his\nfather has told him to make himself happy with the most beautiful and\naristocratic girl in Persia!\"\n\n\"Zopyrus is right,\" cried Araspes. \"Darius is ungrateful to fortune.\"\n\nBartja meanwhile kept his eyes fixed on the friend, who was thus blamed\nby the others. He saw that their jests annoyed him, and feeling his own\ngreat happiness doubly in that moment, pressed Darius's hand, saying: \"I\nam so sorry that I cannot be present at your wedding. By the time I come\nback, I hope you will be reconciled to your father's choice.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Darius, \"I may be able to show a second and even a third\nwife by that time.\"\n\n\"'Anahita' grant it!\" exclaimed Zopyrus. \"The Achaemenidae would soon\nbecome extinct, if every one were to follow such examples as Gyges and\nAraspes have set us. And your one wife, Bartja, is really not worth\ntalking about. It is your duty to marry three wives at once, in order to\nkeep up your father's family--the race of Cyrus.\"\n\n\"I hate our custom of marrying many wives,\" answered Bartja. \"Through\ndoing this, we make ourselves inferior to the women, for we expect them\nto remain faithful to us all our lives, and we, who are bound to respect\ntruth and faithfulness above every thing else, swear inviolable love to\none woman to-day, and to another to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" cried Zopyrus. \"I'd rather lose my tongue than tell a he to a\nman, but our wives are so awfully deceitful, that one has no choice but\nto pay them back in their own coin.\"\n\n\"The Greek women are different,\" said Bartja, \"because they are\ndifferently treated. Sappho told me of one, I think her name was\nPenelope, who waited twenty years faithfully and lovingly for her\nhusband, though every one believed he was dead, and she had fifty lovers\na day at her house.\"\n\n\"My wives would not wait so long for me,\" said Zopyrus laughing. \"To tell\nthe truth, I don't think I should be sorry to find an empty house, if I\ncame back after twenty years. For then I could take some new wives into\nmy harem, young and beautiful, instead of the unfaithful ones, who,\nbesides, would have grown old. But alas! every woman does not find some\none to run away with her, and our women would rather have an absent\nhusband than none at all.\"\n\n\"If your wives could hear what you are saying!\" said Araspes.\n\n\"They would declare war with me at once, or, what is still worse,\nconclude a peace with one another.\"\n\n\"How would that be worse?\"\n\n\"How? it is easy to see, that you have had no experience.\"\n\n\"Then let us into the secrets of your married life.\"\n\n\"With pleasure. You can easily fancy, that five wives in one house do not\nlive quite so peacefully as five doves in a cage; mine at least carry on\nan uninterrupted, mortal warfare. But I have accustomed myself to that,\nand their sprightliness even amuses me. A year ago, however, they came to\nterms with one another, and this day of peace was the most miserable in\nmy life.\"\n\n\"You are jesting.\"\n\n\"No, indeed, I am quite in earnest. The wretched eunuch who had to keep\nwatch over the five, allowed them to see an old jewel-merchant from Tyre.\nEach of them chose a separate and expensive set of jewels. When I came\nhome Sudabe came up and begged for money to pay for these ornaments. The\nthings were too dear, and I refused. Every one of the five then came and\nbegged me separately for the money; I refused each of them point blank\nand went off to court. When I came back, there were all my wives weeping\nside by side, embracing one another and calling each other\nfellow-sufferers. These former enemies rose up against me with the most\ntouching unanimity, and so overwhelmed me with revilings and threats that\nI left the room. They closed their doors against me. The next morning the\nlamentations of the evening before were continued. I fled once more and\nwent hunting with the king, and when I came back, tired, hungry and\nhalf-frozen--for it was in spring, we were already at Ecbatana, and the\nsnow was lying an ell deep on the Orontes--there was no fire on the\nhearth and nothing to eat. These noble creatures had entered into an\nalliance in order to punish me, had put out the fire, forbidden the cooks\nto do their duty and, which was worse than all--had kept the jewels! No\nsooner had I ordered the slaves to make a fire and prepare food, than the\nimpudent jewel-dealer appeared and demanded his money. I refused again,\npassed another solitary night, and in the morning sacrificed ten talents\nfor the sake of peace. Since that time harmony and peace among my beloved\nwives seems to me as much to be feared as the evil Divs themselves, and I\nsee their little quarrels with the greatest pleasure.\"\n\n\"Poor Zopyrus!\" cried Bartja.\n\n\"Why poor?\" asked this five-fold husband. \"I tell you I am much happier\nthan you are. My wives are young and charming, and when they grow old,\nwhat is to hinder me from taking others, still handsomer, and who, by the\nside of the faded beauties, will be doubly charming. Ho! slave--bring\nsome lamps. The sun has gone down, and the wine loses all its flavor when\nthe table is not brightly lighted.\"\n\nAt this moment the voice of Darius, who had left the arbor and gone out\ninto the garden, was heard calling: \"Come and hear how beautifully the\nnightingale is singing.\"\n\n\"By Mithras, you son of Hystaspes, you must be in love,\" interrupted\nAraspes. \"The flowery darts of love must have entered the heart of him,\nwho leaves his wine to listen to the nightingale.\"\n\n\"You are right there, father,\" cried Bartja. \"Philomel, as the Greeks\ncall our Gulgul, is the lovers' bird among all nations, for love has\ngiven her her beautiful song. What beauty were you dreaming of, Darius,\nwhen you went out to listen to the nightingale?\"\n\n\"I was not dreaming of any,\" answered he. \"You know how fond I am of\nwatching the stars, and the Tistar-star rose so splendidly to-night, that\nI left the wine to watch it. The nightingales were singing so loudly to\none another, that if I had not wished to hear them I must have stopped my\nears.\"\n\n\"You kept them wide open, however,\" said Araspes laughing. \"Your\nenraptured exclamation proved that.\"\n\n\"Enough of this,\" cried Darius, to whom these jokes were getting\nwearisome. \"I really must beg you to leave off making allusions to\nmatters, which I do not care to hear spoken of.\"\n\n\"Imprudent fellow!\" whispered the older man; \"now you really have\nbetrayed yourself. If you were not in love, you would have laughed\ninstead of getting angry. Still I won't go on provoking you--tell me what\nyou have just been reading in the stars.\"\n\nAt these words Darius looked up again into the starry sky and fixed his\neyes on a bright constellation hanging over the horizon. Zopyrus watched\nhim and called out to his friends, \"Something important must be happening\nup there. Darius, tell us what's going on in the heavens just now.\"\n\n\"Nothing good,\" answered the other. \"Bartja, I have something to say to\nyou alone.\"\n\n\"Why to me alone? Araspes always keeps his own counsel, and from the rest\nof you I never have any secrets.\"\n\n\"Still--\"\n\n\"Speak out.\"\n\n\"No, I wish you would come into the garden with me.\"\n\nBartja nodded to the others, who were still sitting over their wine, laid\nhis hand on Darius' shoulder and went out with him into the bright\nmoonlight. As soon as they were alone, Darius seized both his friend's\nhands, and said: \"To-day is the third time that things have happened in\nthe heavens, which bode no good for you. Your evil star has approached\nyour favorable constellation so nearly, that a mere novice in astrology\ncould see some serious danger was at hand. Be on your guard, Bartja, and\nstart for Egypt to-day; the stars tell me that the danger is here on the\nEuphrates, not abroad.\"\n\n\"Do you believe implicitly in the stars?\"\n\n\"Implicitly. They never lie.\"\n\n\"Then it would be folly to try and avoid what they have foretold.\"\n\n\"Yes, no man can run away from his destiny; but that very destiny is like\na fencing-master--his favorite pupils are those who have the courage and\nskill to parry his own blows. Start for Egypt to-day, Bartja.\"\n\n\"I cannot--I haven't taken leave of my mother and Atossa.\"\n\n\"Send them a farewell message, and tell Croesus to explain the reason of\nyour starting so quickly.\"\n\n\"They would call me a coward.\"\n\n\"It is cowardly to yield to any mortal, but to go out of the way of one's\nfate is wisdom.\"\n\n\"You contradict yourself, Darius. What would the fencing-master say to a\nrunaway-pupil?\"\n\n\"He would rejoice in the stratagem, by which an isolated individual tried\nto escape a superior force.\"\n\n\"But the superior force must conquer at last.--What would be the use of\nmy trying to put off a danger which, you say yourself, cannot be averted?\nIf my tooth aches, I have it drawn at once, instead of tormenting and\nmaking myself miserable for weeks by putting off the painful operation as\na coward or a woman would, till the last moment. I can await this coming\ndanger bravely, and the sooner it comes the better, for then I shall have\nit behind me.\"\n\n\"You do not know how serious it is.\"\n\n\"Are you afraid for my life?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then tell me, what you are afraid of.\"\n\n\"That Egyptian priest with whom I used to study the stars, once cast your\nhoroscope with me. He knew more about the heavens, than any man I ever\nsaw. I learnt a great deal from him, and I will not hide from you that\neven then he drew my attention to dangers that threaten you now.\"\n\n\"And you did not tell me?\"\n\n\"Why should I have made you uneasy beforehand? Now that your destiny is\ndrawing near, I warn you.\"\n\n\"Thank you,--I will be careful. In former times I should not have\nlistened to such a warning, but now that I love Sappho, I feel as if my\nlife were not so much my own to do what I like with, as it used to be.\"\n\n\"I understand this feeling . . .\"\n\n\"You understand it? Then Araspes was right? You don't deny?\"\n\n\"A mere dream without any hope of fulfilment.\"\n\n\"But what woman could refuse you?\"\n\n\"Refuse!\"\n\n\"I don't understand you. Do you mean to say that you--the boldest\nsportsman, the strongest wrestler--the wisest of all the young\nPersians--that you, Darius, are afraid of a woman?\"\n\n\"Bartja, may I tell you more, than I would tell even to my own father?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I love the daughter of Cyrus, your sister and the king's, Atossa.\"\n\n\"Have I understood you rightly? you love Atossa? Be praised for this, O\nye pure Amescha cpenta! Now I shall never believe in your stars again,\nfor instead of the danger with which they threatened me, here comes an\nunexpected happiness. Embrace me, my brother, and tell me the whole\nstory, that I may see whether I can help you to turn this hopeless dream,\nas you call it, into a reality.\"\n\n\"You will remember that before our journey to Egypt, we went with the\nentire court from Ecbatana to Susa. I was in command of the division of\nthe \"Immortals\" appointed to escort the carriages containing the king's\nmother and sister, and his wives. In going through the narrow pass which\nleads over the Orontes, the horses of your mother's carriage slipped. The\nyoke to which the horses were harnessed broke from the pole, and the\nheavy, four-wheeled carriage fell over the precipice without obstruction.\n\n   [There was a yoke at the end of the shaft of a Persian carriage,\n   which was fastened on to the backs of the horses and took the place\n   of our horse-collar and pole-chain.]\n\nOn seeing it disappear, we were horrified and spurred our horses to the\nplace as quickly as possible. We expected of course to see only fragments\nof the carriages and the dead bodies of its inmates, but the gods had\ntaken them into their almighty protection, and there lay the carriage,\nwith broken wheels, in the arms of two gigantic cypresses which had taken\nfirm root in the fissures of the slate rocks, and whose dark tops reached\nup to the edge of the carriage-road.\n\n\"As quick as thought I sprang from my horse and scrambled down one of the\ncypresses. Your mother and sister stretched their arms to me, crying for\nhelp. The danger was frightful, for the sides of the carriage had been so\nshattered by the fall, that they threatened every moment to give way, in\nwhich case those inside it must inevitably have fallen into the black,\nunfathomable abyss which looked like an abode for the gloomy Divs, and\nstretched his jaws wide to crush its beautiful victims.\n\n\"I stood before the shattered carriage as it hung over the precipice\nready to fall to pieces every moment, and then for the first time I met\nyour sister's imploring look. From that moment I loved her, but at the\ntime I was much too intent on saving them, to think of anything else, and\nhad no idea what had taken place within me. I dragged the trembling women\nout of the carriage, and one minute later it rolled down the abyss\ncrashing into a thousand pieces. I am a strong man, but I confess that\nall my strength was required to keep myself and the two women from\nfalling over the precipice until ropes were thrown to us from above.\nAtossa hung round my neck, and Kassandane lay on my breast, supported by\nmy left arm; with the right I fastened the rope round my waist, we were\ndrawn up, and I found myself a few minutes later on the high-road--your\nmother and sister were saved.\n\n\"As soon as one of the Magi had bound up the wounds cut by the rope in my\nside, the king sent for me, gave me the chain I am now wearing and the\nrevenues of an entire satrapy, and then took me to his mother and sister.\nThey expressed their gratitude very warmly; Kassandane allowed me to kiss\nher forehead, and gave me all the jewels she had worn at the time of the\naccident, as a present for my future wife. Atossa took a ring from her\nfinger, put it on mine and kissed my hand in the warmth of her\nemotion--you know how eager and excitable she is. Since that happy\nday--the happiest in my life--I have never seen your sister, till\nyesterday evening, when we sat opposite to each other at the banquet. Our\neyes met. I saw nothing but Atossa, and I think she has not forgotten the\nman who saved her. Kassandane . . .\"\n\n\"Oh, my mother would be delighted to have you for a son-in-law; I will\nanswer for that. As to the king, your father must apply to him; he is our\nuncle and has a right to ask the hand of Cyrus's daughter for his son.\"\n\n\"But have you forgotten your father's dream? You know that Cambyses has\nalways looked on me with suspicion since that time.\"\n\n\"Oh, that has been long forgotten. My father dreamt before his death that\nyou had wings, and was misled by the soothsayers into the fancy that you,\nthough you were only eighteen then, would try to gain the crown. Cambyses\nthought of this dream too; but, when you saved my mother and sister,\nCroesus explained to him that this must have been its fulfilment, as no\none but Darius or a winged eagle could possibly have possessed strength\nand dexterity enough to hang suspended over such an abyss.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I remember too that these words did not please your brother. He\nchooses to be the only eagle in Persia; but Croesus does not spare his\nvanity--\"\n\n\"Where can Croesus be all this time?\"\n\n\"In the hanging-gardens. My father and Gobryas have very likely detained\nhim.\"\n\nJust at that moment the voice of Zopyrus was heard exclaiming, \"Well, I\ncall that polite! Bartja invites us to a wine-party and leaves us sitting\nhere without a host, while he talks secrets yonder.\"\n\n\"We are coming, we are coming,\" answered Bartja. Then taking the hand of\nDarius heartily, he said: \"I am very glad that you love Atossa. I shall\nstay here till the day after to-morrow, let the stars threaten me with\nall the dangers in the world. To-morrow I will find out what Atossa\nfeels, and when every thing is in the right track I shall go away, and\nleave my winged Darius to his own powers.\"\n\nSo saying Bartja went back into the arbor, and his friend began to watch\nthe stars again. The longer he looked the sadder and more serious became\nhis face, and when the Tistar-star set, he murmured, \"Poor Bartja!\" His\nfriends called him, and he was on the point of returning to them, when he\ncaught sight of a new star, and began to examine its position carefully.\nHis serious looks gave way to a triumphant smile, his tall figure seemed\nto grow taller still, he pressed his hand on his heart and whispered:\n\"Use your pinions, winged Darius; your star will be on your side,\" and\nthen returned to his friends.\n\nA few minutes after, Croesus came up to the arbor. The youths sprang from\ntheir seats to welcome the old man, but when he saw Bartja's face by the\nbright moonlight, he stood as if transfixed by a flash of lightning.\n\n\"What has happened, father?\" asked Gyges, seizing his hand anxiously.\n\n\"Nothing, nothing,\" he stammered almost inaudibly, and pushing his son on\none side, whispered in Bartja's ear: \"Unhappy boy, you are still here?\ndon't delay any longer,--fly at once! the whip-bearers are close at my\nheels, and I assure you that if you don't use the greatest speed, you\nwill have to forfeit your double imprudence with your life.\"\n\n\"But Croesus, I have . . .\"\n\n\"You have set at nought the law of the land and of the court, and, in\nappearance at least, have done great offence to your brother's honor.\n. . .\"\n\n\"You are speaking . . .\"\n\n\"Fly, I tell you--fly at once; for if your visit to the hanging-gardens\nwas ever so innocently meant, you are still in the greatest danger. You\nknow Cambyses' violent temper so well; how could you so wickedly disobey\nhis express command?\"\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"No excuses,--fly! don't you know that, Cambyses has long been jealous of\nyou, and that your visit to the Egyptian to-night . . .\"\n\n\"I have never once set foot in the hanging-gardens, since Nitetis has\nbeen here.\"\n\n\"Don't add a lie to your offence, I . . .\"\n\n\"But I swear to you . . .\"\n\n\"Do you wish to turn a thoughtless act into a crime by adding the guilt\nof perjury? The whip-bearers are coming, fly!\"\n\n\"I shall remain here, and abide by my oath.\"\n\n\"You are infatuated! It is not an hour ago since I myself, Hystaspes, and\nothers of the Achaemenidae saw you in the hanging-gardens . . .\"\n\nIn his astonishment Bartja had, half involuntarily, allowed himself to be\nled away, but when he heard this he stood still, called his friends and\nsaid \"Croesus says he met me an hour ago in the hanging-gardens, you know\nthat since the sun set I have not been away from you. Give your\ntestimony, that in this case an evil Div must have made sport of our\nfriend and his companions.\"\n\n\"I swear to you, father,\" cried Gyges, \"that Bartja has not left this\ngarden for some hours.\"\n\n\"And we confirm the same,\" added Araspes, Zopyrus and Darius with one\nvoice.\n\n\"You want to deceive me?\" said Croesus getting very angry, and looking at\neach of them reproachfully: \"Do you fancy that I am blind or mad? Do you\nthink that your witness will outweigh the words of such men as Hystaspes,\nGobryas, Artaphernes and the high priest, Oropastes? In spite of all your\nfalse testimony, which no amount of friendship can justify, Bartja will\nhave to die unless he flies at once.\"\n\n\"May Angramainjus destroy me,\" said Araspes interrupting the old man, \"if\nBartja was in the hanging-gardens two hours ago!\" and Gyges added:\n\n\"Don't call me your son any longer, if we have given false testimony.\"\n\nDarius was beginning to appeal to the eternal stars, but Bartja put an\nend to this confusion of voices by saying in a decided tone: \"A division\nof the bodyguard is coming into the garden. I am to be arrested; I cannot\nescape because I am innocent, and to fly would lay me open to suspicion.\nBy the soul of my father, the blind eyes of my mother, and the pure light\nof the sun, Croesus, I swear that I am not lying.\"\n\n\"Am I to believe you, in spite of my own eyes which have never yet\ndeceived me? But I will, boy, for I love you. I do not and I will not\nknow whether you are innocent or guilty, but this I do know, you must\nfly, and fly at once. You know Cambyses. My carriage is waiting at the\ngate. Don't spare the horses, save yourself even if you drive them to\ndeath. The Soldiers seem to know what they have been sent to do; there\ncan be no question that they delay so long only in order to give their\nfavorite time to escape. Fly, fly, or it is all over with you.\"\n\nDarius, too, pushed his friend forward, exclaiming: \"Fly, Bartja, and\nremember the warning that the heavens themselves wrote in the stars for\nyou.\"\n\nBartja, however, stood silent, shook his handsome head, waved his friends\nback, and answered: \"I never ran away yet, and I mean to hold my ground\nto-day. Cowardice is worse than death in my opinion, and I would rather\nsuffer wrong at the hands of others than disgrace myself. There are the\nsoldiers! Well met, Bischen. You've come to arrest me, haven't you? Wait\none moment, till I have said good-bye to my friends.\"\n\nBischen, the officer he spoke to, was one of Cyrus's old captains; he had\ngiven Bartja his first lessons in shooting and throwing the spear, had\nfought by his side in the war with the Tapuri, and loved him as if he\nwere his own son. He interrupted him, saying: \"There is no need to take\nleave of your friends, for the king, who is raging like a madman, ordered\nme not only to arrest you, but every one else who might be with you.\"\n\nAnd then he added in a low voice: \"The king is beside himself with rage\nand threatens to have your life. You must fly. My men will do what I tell\nthem blindfold; they will not pursue you; and I am so old that it would\nbe little loss to Persia, if my head were the price of my disobedience.\"\n\n\"Thanks, thanks, my friend,\" said Bartja, giving him his hand; \"but I\ncannot accept your offer, because I am innocent, and I know that though\nCambyses is hasty, he is not unjust. Come friends, I think the king will\ngive us a hearing to-day, late as it is.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTwo hours later Bartja and his friends were standing before the king. The\ngigantic man was seated on his golden throne; he was pale and his eyes\nlooked sunken; two physicians stood waiting behind him with all kinds of\ninstruments and vessels in their hands. Cambyses had, only a few minutes\nbefore, recovered consciousness, after lying for more than an hour in one\nof those awful fits, so destructive both to mind and body, which we call\nepileptic.\n\n   [The dangerous disease to which Herodotus says Cambyses had been\n   subject from his birth, and which was called \"sacred\" by some, can\n   scarcely be other than epilepsy. See Herod, III. 33.]\n\nSince Nitetis' arrival he had been free from this illness; but it had\nseized him to-day with fearful violence, owing to the overpowering mental\nexcitement he had gone through.\n\nIf he had met Bartja a few hours before, he would have killed him with\nhis own hand; but though the epileptic fit had not subdued his anger it\nhad at least so far quieted it, that he was in a condition to hear what\nwas to be said on both sides.\n\nAt the right hand of the throne stood Hystaspes, Darius's grey-haired\nfather, Gobryas, his future father-in-law, the aged Intaphernes, the\ngrandfather of that Phaedime whose place in the king's favor had been\ngiven to Nitetis, Oropastes the high-priest, Croesus, and behind them\nBoges, the chief of the eunuchs. At its left Bartja, whose hands were\nheavily fettered, Araspes, Darius, Zopyrus and Gyges. In the background\nstood some hundred officials and grandees.\n\nAfter a long silence Cambyses raised his eyes, fixed a withering look on\nhis fettered brother, and said in a dull hollow voice: \"High-priest, tell\nus what awaits the man who deceives his brother, dishonors and offends\nhis king, and darkens his own heart by black lies.\"\n\nOropastes came forward and answered: \"As soon as such a one is proved\nguilty, a death full of torment awaits him in this world, and an awful\nsentence on the bridge Chinvat; for he has transgressed the highest\ncommands, and, by committing three crimes, has forfeited the mercy of our\nlaw, which commands that his life shall be granted to the man who has\nsinned but once, even though he be only a slave.\"\n\n   [On the third day after death, at the rising of the bright sun, the\n   souls are conducted by the Divs to the bridge Chinvat, where they\n   are questioned as to their past lives and conduct. Vendid.\n   Fargard. XIX. 93. On that spot the two supernatural powers fight\n   for the soul.]\n\n\"Then Bartja has deserved death. Lead him away, guards, and strangle him!\nTake him away! Be silent, wretch! never will I listen to that smooth,\nhypocritical tongue again, or look at those treacherous eyes. They come\nfrom the Divs and delude every one with their wanton glances. Off with\nhim, guards!\"\n\nBischen, the captain, came up to obey the order, but in the same moment\nCroesus threw himself at the king's feet, touched the floor with his\nforehead, raised his hands and cried: \"May thy days and years bring\nnought but happiness and prosperity; may Auramazda pour down all the\nblessings of this life upon thee, and the Amescha cpenta be the guardians\nof thy throne!\n\n   [The Amescha cpenta, \"holy immortal ones,\" maybe compared to the\n   archangels of the Hebrews. They surround the throne of Auramazda\n   and symbolize the highest virtues. Later we find their number fixed\n   at six.]\n\nDo not close thine ear to the words of the aged, but remember that thy\nfather Cyrus appointed me to be thy counsellor. Thou art about to slay\nthy brother; but I say unto thee, do not indulge anger; strive to control\nit. It is the duty of kings and of the wise, not to act without due\nenquiry. Beware of shedding a brother's blood; the smoke thereof will\nrise to heaven and become a cloud that must darken the days of the\nmurderer, and at last cast down the lightnings of vengeance on his head.\nBut I know that thou desirest justice, not murder. Act then as those who\nhave to pronounce a sentence, and hear both sides before deciding. When\nthis has been done, if the criminal is proved guilty and confesses his\ncrime, the smoke of his blood will rise to heaven as a friendly shadow,\ninstead of a darkening cloud, and thou wilt have earned the fame of a\njust judge instead of deserving the divine judgments.\"\n\nCambyses listened in silence, made a sign to Bischen to retire, and\ncommanded Boges to repeat his accusation.\n\nThe eunuch made an obeisance, and began: \"I was ill and obliged to leave\nthe Egyptian and the Hanging-gardens in the care of my colleague\nKandaules, who has paid for his negligence with his life. Finding myself\nbetter towards evening, I went up to the hanging-gardens to see if\neverything was in order there, and also to look at the rare flower which\nwas to blossom in the night. The king, (Auramazda grant him victory!) had\ncommanded that the Egyptian should be more strictly watched than usual,\nbecause she had dared to send the noble Bartja . . .\"\n\n\"Be silent,\" interrupted the king, \"and keep to the matter in hand.\"\n\n\"Just as the Tistar-star was rising, I came into the garden, and staid\nsome time there with these noble Achaemenidae, the high-priest and the\nking Croesus, looking at the blue lily, which was marvellously beautiful.\nI then called my colleague Kandaules and asked him, in the presence of\nthese noble witnesses, if everything was in order. He affirmed that this\nwas the case and added, that he had just come from Nitetis, that she had\nwept the whole day, and neither tasted food nor drink. Feeling anxious\nlest my noble mistress should become worse, I commissioned Kandaules to\nfetch a physician, and was just on the point of leaving the noble\nAchaemenidae, in order in person to ascertain my mistress's state of\nhealth, when I saw in the moon-light the figure of a man. I was so ill\nand weak, that I could hardly stand and had no one near to help me,\nexcept the gardener.\n\n\"My men were on guard at the different entrances, some distance from us.\n\n\"I clapped my hands to call some of them, but, as they did not come, I\nwent nearer to the house myself, under the protection of these\nnoblemen.--The man was standing by the window of the Egyptian Princess's\napartment, and uttered a low whistle when he heard us coming up. Another\nfigure appeared directly--clearly recognizable in the bright\nmoonlight--sprang out of the sleeping-room window and came towards us\nwith her companion.\n\n\"I could hardly believe my eyes on discovering that the intruder was no\nother than the noble Bartja. A fig-tree concealed us from the fugitives,\nbut we could distinctly see them, as they passed us at a distance of not\nmore than four steps. While I was thinking whether I should be justified\nin arresting a son of Cyrus, Croesus called to Bartja, and the two\nfigures suddenly disappeared behind a cypress. No one but your brother\nhimself can possibly explain the strange way in which he disappeared. I\nwent at once to search the house, and found the Egyptian lying\nunconscious on the couch in her sleeping-room.\"\n\nEvery one listened to this story in the greatest suspense. Cambyses\nground his teeth and asked in a voice of great emotion: \"Can you testify\nto the words of the eunuch, Hystaspes?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Why did you not lay hands on the offender?\"\n\n\"We are soldiers, not policemen.\"\n\n\"Or rather you care for every knave more than for your king.\"\n\n\"We honor our king, and abhor the criminal just as we formerly loved the\ninnocent son of Cyrus.\"\n\n\"Did you recognize Bartja distinctly?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you, Croesus, can you too give no other answer?\"\n\n\"No! I fancied I saw your brother in the moonlight then, as clearly as I\nsee him now; but I believe we must have been deceived by some remarkable\nlikeness.\" Boges grew pale at these words; Cambyses, however, shook his\nhead as if the idea did not please him, and said: \"Whom am I to believe\nthen, if the eyes of my best warriors fail them? and who would wish to be\na judge, if testimony such as yours is not to be considered valid?\"\n\n\"Evidence quite as weighty as ours, will prove that we must have been in\nerror.\"\n\n\"Will any one dare to give evidence in favor of such an outrageous\ncriminal?\" asked Cambyses, springing up and stamping his foot.\n\n\"We will,\" \"I,\" \"we,\" shouted Araspes, Darius, Gyges and Zopyrus with one\nvoice.\n\n\"Traitors, knaves!\" cried the king. But as he caught sight of Croesus'\nwarning eye fixed upon him, he lowered his voice, and said: \"What have\nyou to bring forward in favor of this fellow? Take care what you say, and\nconsider well what punishment awaits perjurers.\"\n\n\"We know that well enough,\" said Araspes, \"and yet we are ready to swear\nby Mithras, that we have not left Bartja or his garden one moment since\nwe came back from hunting.\"\n\n\"As for me,\" said Darius, \"I, the son of Hystaspes, have especially\nconvincing evidence to give in favor of your brother's innocence; I\nwatched the rising of the Tistar-star with him; and this, according to\nBoges, was the very star that shone on his flight.\"\n\nHystaspes gazed on his son in astonishment and doubt at hearing these\nwords, and Cambyses turned a scrutinizing eye first on the one and then\non the other party of these strange witnesses, who wished so much, and\nyet found it so impossible, to believe one another, himself unable to\ncome to a decision.\n\nBartja, who till now had remained perfectly silent, looking down sadly at\nhis chained hands, took advantage of the silence to say, making at the\nsame time a deep obeisance: \"May I be allowed to speak a few words, my\nKing?\"\n\n\"Speak!\"\n\n\"From our father we learnt to strive after that which was pure and good\nonly; so up to this time my life has been unstained. If you have ever\nknown me take part in an evil deed, you have a right not to believe me,\nbut if you find no fault in me then trust to what I say, and remember\nthat a son of Cyrus would rather die than tell a lie. I confess that no\njudge was ever placed in such a perplexing position. The best men in your\nkingdom testify against one another, friend against friend, father\nagainst son. But I tell you that were the entire Persian nation to rise\nup against you, and swear that Cambyses had committed this or that evil\ndeed, and you were to say, 'I did not commit it,' I, Bartja, would give\nall Persia the lie and exclaim, 'Ye are all false witnesses; sooner could\nthe sea cast up fire than a son of Cyrus allow his mouth to deal in\nlies.' No, Cambyses, you and I are so high-born that no one but yourself\ncan bear evidence against me; and you can only be judged out of your own\nmouth.\"\n\nCambyses' looks grew a little milder on hearing these words, and his\nbrother went on: \"So I swear to you by Mithras, and by all pure spirits,\nthat I am innocent. May my life become extinct and my race perish from\noff the earth, if I tell you a lie, when I say that I have not once set\nfoot in the hanging-gardens since my return!\"\n\nBartja's voice was so firm and his tone so full of assurance, as he\nuttered this oath that Cambyses ordered his chains to be loosened, and,\nafter a few moments' thought, said: \"I should like to believe you, for I\ncannot bear to imagine you the worst and most abandoned of men. To-morrow\nwe will summon the astrologers, soothsayers and priests. Perhaps they may\nbe able to discover the truth. Can you see any light in this darkness,\nOropastes?\"\n\n\"Thy servant supposes, that a Div has taken upon him the form of Bartja,\nin order to ruin the king's brother and stain thine own royal soul with\nthe blood of thy father's son.\"\n\nCambyses and every one present nodded their assent to this proposition,\nand the king was just going to offer his hand to Bartja, when a\nstaff-bearer came in and gave the king a dagger. A eunuch had found it\nunder the windows of Nitetis' sleeping-apartment.\n\nCambyses examined the weapon carefully. Its costly hilt was thickly set\nwith rubies and turquoises. As he looked he turned pale, and dashed the\ndagger on the ground before Bartja with such violence, that the stones\nfell out of their setting.\n\n\"This is your dagger, you wretch!\" he shrieked, seized by the same\nviolent passion as before. \"This very morning you used it to give the\nlast thrust to the wild boar, that I had mortally wounded. Croesus, you\nought to know it too, for my father brought it from your treasure-house\nat Sardis. At last you are really convicted, you liar!--you impostor! The\nDivs require no weapons, and such a dagger as this is not to be picked up\neverywhere. Ah, ha! you are feeling in your girdle! You may well turn\npale; your dagger is gone!\"\n\n\"Yes, it is gone. I must have lost it, and some enemy . . .\"\n\n\"Seize him, Bischen, put on his fetters! Take him to prison--the traitor,\nthe perjurer! He shall be strangled to-morrow. Death is the penalty of\nperjury. Your heads for theirs, you guards, if they escape. Not one word\nmore will I hear; away with you, you perjured villains! Boges, go at once\nto the hanging-gardens and bring the Egyptian to me. Yet no, I won't see\nthat serpent again. It is very near dawn now, and at noon she shall be\nflogged through the streets. Then I'll . . .\"\n\nBut here he was stopped by another fit of epilepsy, and sank down on to\nthe marble floor in convulsions. At this fearful moment Kassandane was\nled into the hall by the old general Megabyzus. The news of what had\nhappened had found its way to her solitary apartments, and,\nnotwithstanding the hour, she had risen in order to try and discover the\ntruth and warn her son against pronouncing a too hasty decision. She\nbelieved firmly that Bartja and Nitetis were innocent, though she could\nnot explain to herself what had happened. Several times she had tried to\nput herself in communication with Nitetis, but without avail. At last she\nhad been herself to the hanging-gardens, but the guards had actually had\nthe hardihood to refuse her admission.\n\nCroesus went at once to meet her, told her what had happened, suppressing\nas many painful details as possible, confirmed her in her belief of the\ninnocence of the accused, and then took her to the bedside of the king.\n\nThe convulsions had not lasted long this time. He lay on his golden bed\nunder purple silk coverlets, pale and exhausted. His blind mother seated\nherself at his side, Croesus and Oropastes took their station at the foot\nof the bell, and in another part of the room, four physicians discussed\nthe patient's condition in low whispers.\n\n   [It was natural, that medicine should be carefully studied among a\n   people who set such a high value upon life as did the Persians.\n   Pliny indeed, (XXX. I.) maintains, that the whole of Zoroaster's\n   religion was founded on the science of medicine, and it is true that\n   there are a great many medical directions to be found in the Avesta.\n   In the Vendidad, Farg. VII. there is a detailed list of medical\n   fees. \"The physician shall treat a priest for a pious blessing or\n   spell, the master of a house for a small draught animal, etc., the\n   lord of a district for a team of four oxen. If the physician cures\n   the mistress of the house, a female ass shall be his fee, etc.,\n   etc.\" We read in the same Fargard, that the physician had to pass a\n   kind of examination. If he had operated thrice successfully on bad\n   men, on whose bodies he had been permitted to try his skill, he was\n   pronounced \"capable for ever.\" If, on the other hand, three evil\n   Daevayacna (worshippers of the Divs) died under his hands, he was\n   pronounced \"incapable of healing for evermore.\"]\n\nKassandane was very gentle with her son; she begged him not to yield to\npassionate anger, and to remember what a sad effect every such outburst\nhad on his health.\n\n\"Yes, mother, you are right,\" answered the king, smiling bitterly; \"I see\nthat I must get rid of everything that rouses my anger. The Egyptian must\ndie, and my perfidious brother shall follow his mistress.\"\n\nKassandane used all her eloquence to convince him of the innocence of the\naccused, and to pacify his anger, but neither prayers, tears, nor her\nmotherly exhortations, could in the least alter his resolution to rid\nhimself of these murderers of his happiness and peace.\n\nAt last he interrupted her lamentations by saying: \"I feel fearfully\nexhausted; I cannot bear these sobs and lamentations any longer. Nitetis\nhas been proved guilty. A man was seen to leave her sleeping-apartment in\nthe night, and that man was not a thief, but the handsomest man in\nPersia, and one to whom she had dared to send a letter yesterday\nevening.\"\n\n\"Do you know the contents of that letter?\" asked Croesus, coming up to\nthe bed.\n\n\"No; it was written in Greek. The faithless creature made use of\ncharacters, which no one at this court can read.\"\n\n\"Will you permit me to translate the letter?\" Cambyses pointed to a small\nivory box in which the ominous piece of writing lay, saying: \"There it\nis; read it; but do not hide or alter a single word, for to-morrow I\nshall have it read over again by one of the merchants from Sinope.\"\n\nCroesus' hopes revived; he seemed to breathe again as he took the paper.\nBut when he had read it over, his eyes filled with tears and he murmured:\n\"The fable of Pandora is only too true; I dare not be angry any longer\nwith those poets who have written severely against women. Alas, they are\nall false and faithless! O Kassandane, how the Gods deceive us! they\ngrant us the gift of old age, only to strip us bare like trees in winter,\nand show us that all our fancied gold was dross and all our pleasant and\nrefreshing drinks poison!\"\n\nKassandane wept aloud and tore her costly robes; but Cambyses clenched\nhis fist while Croesus was reading the following words:\n\n\"Nitetis, daughter of Amasis of Egypt, to Bartja, son of the great Cyrus:\n\n\"I have something important to tell you; I can tell it to no one but\nyourself. To-morrow I hope I shall meet you in your mother's apartments.\nIt lies in your power to comfort a sad and loving heart, and to give it\none happy moment before death. I have a great deal to tell you, and some\nvery sad news; I repeat that I must see you soon.\"\n\nThe desperate laughter, which burst from her son cut his mother to the\nheart. She stooped down and was going to kiss him, but Cambyses resisted\nher caresses, saying: \"It is rather a doubtful honor, mother, to be one\nof your favorites. Bartja did not wait to be sent for twice by that\ntreacherous woman, and has disgraced himself by swearing falsely. His\nfriends, the flower of our young men, have covered themselves with\nindelible infamy for his sake; and through him, your best beloved\ndaughter . . . but no! Bartja had no share in the corruption of that\nfiend in Peri's form. Her life was made up of hypocrisy and deceit, and\nher death shall prove that I know how to punish. Now leave me, for I must\nbe alone.\"\n\nThey had scarcely left the room, when he sprang up and paced backwards\nand forwards like a madman, till the first crow of the sacred bird\nParodar. When the sun had risen, he threw himself on his bed again, and\nfell into a sleep that was like a swoon.\n\nMeanwhile Bartja had written Sappho a farewell letter, and was sitting\nover the wine with his fellow-prisoners and their elder friend Araspes.\n\"Let us be merry,\" said Zopyrus, \"for I believe it will soon be up with\nall our merriment. I would lay my life, that we are all of us dead by\nto-morrow. Pity that men haven't got more than one neck; if we'd two, I\nwould not mind wagering a gold piece or two on the chance of our\nremaining alive.\"\n\n\"Zopyrus is quite right,\" said Araspes; \"we will make merry and keep our\neyes open; who knows how soon they may be closed for ever?\"\n\n\"No one need be sad who goes to his death as innocently as we do,\" said\nGyges. \"Here, cup-bearer, fill my goblet!\"\n\n\"Ah! Bartja and Darius!\" cried Zopyrus, seeing the two speaking in a low\nvoice together, \"there you are at your secrets again. Come to us and pass\nthe wine-cup. By Mithras, I can truly say I never wished for death, but\nnow I quite look forward to the black Azis, because he is going to take\nus all together. Zopyrus would rather die with his friends, than live\nwithout them.\"\n\n\"But the great point is to try and explain what has really happened,\"\nsaid Darius.\n\n\"It's all the same to me,\" said Zopyrus, whether I die with or without an\nexplanation, so long as I know I am innocent and have not deserved the\npunishment of perjury. Try and get us some golden goblets, Bischen; the\nwine has no flavor out of these miserable brass mugs. Cambyses surely\nwould not wish us to suffer from poverty in our last hours, though he\ndoes forbid our fathers and friends to visit us.\"\n\n\"It's not the metal that the cup is made of,\" said Bartja, \"but the\nwormwood of death, that gives the wine its bitter taste.\"\n\n\"No, really, you're quite out there,\" exclaimed Zopyrus. \"Why I had\nnearly forgotten that strangling generally causes death.\" As he said\nthis, he touched Gyges and whispered: \"Be as cheerful as you can! don't\nyou see that it's very hard for Bartja to take leave of this world? What\nwere you saying, Darius?\"\n\n\"That I thought Oropastes' idea the only admissible one, that a Div had\ntaken the likeness of Bartja and visited the Egyptian in order to ruin\nus.\"\n\n\"Folly! I don't believe in such things.\"\n\n\"But don't you remember the legend of the Div, who took the beautiful\nform of a minstrel and appeared before king Kawus?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" cried Araspes. \"Cyrus had this legend so often recited at\nthe banquets, that I know it by heart.\n\n\"Kai Kawus hearkened to the words of the disguised Div and went to\nMasenderan, and was beaten there by the Divs and deprived of his\neyesight.\"\n\n\"But,\" broke in Darius, \"Rustem, the great hero, came and conquered\nErscheng and the other bad spirits, freed the captives and restored sight\nto the blind, by dropping the blood of the slaughtered Divs into their\neyes. And so it will be with us, my friends! We shall be set free, and\nthe eyes of Cambyses and of our blind and infatuated fathers will be\nopened to see our innocence. Listen, Bischen; if we really should be\nexecuted, go to the Magi, the Chaldwans, and Nebenchari the Egyptian, and\ntell them they had better not study the stars any longer, for that those\nvery stars had proved themselves liars and deceivers to Darius.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" interrupted Araspes, \"I always said that dreams were the only real\nprophecies. Before Abradatas fell in the battle of Sardis, the peerless\nPanthea dreamt that she saw him pierced by a Lydian arrow.\"\n\n\"You cruel fellow!\" exclaimed Zopyrus. \"Why do you remind us, that it is\nmuch more glorious to die in battle than to have our necks wrung off\"\n\n\"Quite right,\" answered the elder man; \"I confess that I have seen many a\ndeath, which I should prefer to our own,--indeed to life itself. Ah,\nboys, there was a time when things went better than they do now.\"\n\n\"Tell us something about those times.\"\n\n\"And tell us why you never married. It won't matter to you in the next\nworld, if we do let out your secret.\"\n\n\"There's no secret; any of your own fathers could tell you what you want\nto hear from me. Listen then. When I was young, I used to amuse myself\nwith women, but I laughed at the idea of love. It occurred, however, that\nPanthea, the most beautiful of all women, fell into our hands, and Cyrus\ngave her into my charge, because I had always boasted that my heart was\ninvulnerable. I saw her everyday, and learnt, my friends, that love is\nstronger than a man's will. However, she refused all my offers, induced\nCyrus to remove me from my office near her, and to accept her husband\nAbradatas as an ally. When her handsome husband went out to the war, this\nhigh-minded, faithful woman decked him out with all her own jewels and\ntold him that the noble conduct of Cyrus, in treating her like a sister,\nwhen she was his captive, could only be repaid by the most devoted\nfriendship and heroic courage. Abradatas agreed with her, fought for\nCyrus like a lion, and fell. Panthea killed herself by his dead body. Her\nservants, on hearing of this, put an end to their own lives too at the\ngrave of this best of mistresses. Cyrus shed tears over this noble pair,\nand had a stone set up to their memory, which you can see near Sardis. On\nit are the simple words: 'To Panthea, Abradatas, and the most faithful of\nservants.' You see, children, the man who had loved such a woman could\nnever care for another.\"\n\nThe young men listened in silence, and remained some time after Araspes\nhad finished, without uttering a word. At last Bartja raised his hands to\nheaven and cried: \"O thou great Auramazda! why dost thou not grant us a\nglorious end like Abradatas? Why must we die a shameful death like\nmurderers?\"\n\nAs he said this Croesus came in, fettered and led by whip-bearers. The\nfriends rushed to him with a storm of questions, and Bartja too went up\nto embrace the man who had been so long his tutor and guide. But the old\nman's cheerful face was severe and serious, and his eyes, generally so\nmild, had a gloomy, almost threatening, expression. He waved the prince\ncoldly back, saying, in a voice which trembled with pain and reproach:\n\"Let my hand go, you infatuated boy! you are not worth all the love I\nhave hitherto felt for you. You have deceived your brother in a fourfold\nmanner, duped your friends, betrayed that poor child who is waiting for\nyou in Naukratis, and poisoned the heart of Amasis' unhappy daughter.\"\n\nBartja listened calmly till he heard the word \"deceived\"; then his hand\nclenched, and stamping his foot, he cried: \"But for your age and\ninfirmities, and the gratitude I owe you, old man, these slanderous words\nwould be your last.\"\n\nCroesus beard this outbreak of just indignation unmoved, and answered:\n\"This foolish rage proves that you and Cambyses have the same blood in\nyour veins. It would become you much better to repent of your crimes, and\nbeg your old friend's forgiveness, instead of adding ingratitude to the\nunheard-of baseness of your other deeds.\"\n\nAt these words Bartja's anger gave way. His clenched hands sank down\npowerless at his side, and his cheeks became pale as death.\n\nThese signs of sorrow softened the old man's indignation. His love was\nstrong enough to embrace the guilty as well as the innocent Bartja, and\ntaking the young man's right hand in both his own, he looked at him as a\nfather would who finds his son, wounded on the battle-field, and said:\n\"Tell me, my poor, infatuated boy, how was it that your pure heart fell\naway so quickly to the evil powers?\"\n\nBartja shuddered. The blood came back to his face, but these words cut\nhim to the heart. For the first time in his life his belief in the\njustice of the gods forsook him.\n\nHe called himself the victim of a cruel, inexorable fate, and felt like a\nbunted animal driven to its last gasp and hearing the dogs and sportsmen\nfast coming nearer. He had a sensitive, childlike nature, which did not\nyet know how to meet the hard strokes of fate. His body and his physical\ncourage had been hardened against bodily and physical enemies; but his\nteachers had never told him how to meet a hard lot in life; for Cambyses\nand Bartja seemed destined only to drink out of the cup of happiness and\njoy.\n\nZopyrus could not bear to see his friend in tears. He reproached the old\nman angrily with being unjust and severe. Gyges' looks were full of\nentreaty, and Araspes stationed himself between the old man and the\nyouth, as if to ward off the blame of the elder from cutting deeper into\nthe sad and grieved heart of the younger man. Darius, however, after\nhaving watched them for some time, came up with quiet deliberation to\nCroesus, and said: \"You continue to distress and offend one another, and\nyet the accused does not seem to know with what offence he is charged,\nnor will the accuser hearken to his defence. Tell us, Croesus, by the\nfriendship which has subsisted between us up to this clay, what has\ninduced you to judge Bartja so harshly, when only a short time ago you\nbelieved in his innocence?\"\n\nThe old man told at once what Darius desired to know--that he had seen a\nletter, written in Nitetis' own hand, in which she made a direct\nconfession of her love to Bartja and asked him to meet her alone. The\ntestimony of his own eyes and of the first men in the realm, nay, even\nthe dagger found under Nitetis' windows, had not been able to convince\nhim that his favorite was guilty; but this letter had gone like a burning\nflash into his heart and destroyed the last remnant of his belief in the\nvirtue and purity of woman.\n\n\"I left the king,\" he concluded, \"perfectly convinced that a sinful\nintimacy must subsist between your friend and the Egyptian Princess,\nwhose heart I had believed to be a mirror for goodness and beauty alone.\nCan you find fault with me for blaming him who so shamefully stained this\nclear mirror, and with it his own not less spotless soul?\"\n\n\"But how can I prove my innocence?\" cried Bartja, wringing his hands. \"If\nyou loved me you would believe me; if you really cared for me. . . . \"\n\n\"My boy! in trying to save your life only a few minutes ago, I forfeited\nmy own. When I heard that Cambyses had really resolved on your death, I\nhastened to him with a storm of entreaties; but these were of no avail,\nand then I was presumptuous enough to reproach him bitterly in his\nirritated state of mind. The weak thread of his patience broke, and in a\nfearful passion he commanded the guards to behead me at once. I was\nseized directly by Giv, one of the whip-bearers; but as the man is under\nobligations to me, he granted me my life until this morning, and promised\nto conceal the postponement of the execution. I am glad, my sons, that I\nshall not outlive you, and shall die an innocent man by the side of the\nguilty.\"\n\nThese last words roused another storm of contradiction.\n\nAgain Darius remained calm and quiet in the midst of the tumult. He\nrepeated once more the story of the whole evening exactly, to prove that\nit was impossible Bartja could have committed the crime laid to his\ncharge. He then called on the accused himself to answer the charge of\ndisloyalty and perfidy. Bartja rejected the idea of an understanding with\nNitetis in such short, decided, and convincing words, and confirmed his\nassertion with such a fearful oath, that Croesus' persuasion of his guilt\nfirst wavered, then vanished, and when Bartja had ended, he drew a deep\nbreath, like a man delivered from a heavy burden, and clasped him in his\narms.\n\nBut with all their efforts they could come to no explanation of what had\nreally happened. In one thing, however, they were all agreed: that\nNitetis loved Bartja and had written the letter with a wrong intention.\n\n\"No one who saw her,\" cried Darius, \"when Cambyses announced that Bartja\nhad chosen a wife, could doubt for a moment that she was in love with\nhim. When she let the goblet fall, I heard Phaedime's father say that the\nEgyptian women seemed to take a great interest in the affairs of their\nbrothers-in-law.\"\n\nWhile they were talking, the sun rose and shone pleasantly into the\nprisoners' room.\n\nBartja murmured Mithras means to make our parting difficult.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Croesus, \"he only means to light us kindly on our way into\neternity.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThe innocent originator of all this complicated misery had passed many a\nwretched hour since the birthday banquet. Since those harsh words with\nwhich Cambyses had sent her from the hall, not the smallest fragment of\nnews had reached her concerning either her angry lover, or his mother and\nsister. Not a day had passed since her arrival in Babylon, that had not\nbeen spent with Kassandane and Atossa; but now, on her desiring to be\ncarried to them, that she might explain her strange conduct, her new\nguard, Kandaules, forbade her abruptly to leave the house. She had\nthought that a free and full account of the contents of her letter from\nhome, would clear up all these misunderstandings. She fancied she saw\nCambyses holding out his hand as if to ask forgiveness for his hastiness\nand foolish jealousy. And then a joyful feeling stole into her mind as\nshe remembered a sentence she had once heard Ibykus say: \"As fever\nattacks a strong man more violently than one of weaker constitution; so a\nheart that loves strongly and deeply can be far more awfully tormented by\njealousy, than one which has been only superficially seized by passion.\"\n\nIf this great connoisseur in love were right, Cambyses must love her\npassionately, or his jealousy could not have caught fire so quickly and\nfearfully. Sad thoughts about her home, however, and dark forebodings of\nthe future would mix with this confidence in Cambyses' love, and she\ncould not shut them out. Mid-day came, the sun stood high and burning in\nthe sky, but no news came from those she loved so well; and a feverish\nrestlessness seized her which increased as night came on. In the twilight\nBoges came to her, and told her, with bitter scorn, that her letter to\nBartja had come into the king's hands, and that the gardener's boy who\nbrought it had been executed. The tortured nerves of the princess could\nnot resist this fresh blow, and before Boges left, he carried the poor\ngirl senseless into her sleeping-room, the door of which he barred\ncarefully.\n\nA few minutes later, two men, one old, the other young, came up through\nthe trap-door which Boges had examined so carefully two days before. The\nold man remained outside, crouching against the palace, wall; a hand was\nseen to beckon from the window: the youth obeyed the signal, swung\nhimself over the ledge and into the room at a bound. Then words of love\nwere exchanged, the names Gaumata and Mandane whispered softly, kisses\nand vows given and received. At last the old man clapped his hands. The\nyouth obeyed, kissed and embraced Nitetis' waiting-maid once more, jumped\nout of the window into the garden, hurried past the admirers of the blue\nlily who were just coming up, slipped with his companion into the\ntrap-door which had been kept open, closed it carefully, and vanished.\n\nMandane hurried to the room in which her mistress generally spent the\nevening. She was well acquainted with her habits and knew that every\nevening, when the stars had risen, Nitetis was accustomed to go to the\nwindow looking towards the Euphrates, and spend hours gazing into the\nriver and over the plain; and that at that time she never needed her\nattendance. So she felt quite safe from fear of discovery in this\nquarter, and knowing she was under the protection of the chief of the\neunuchs himself, could wait for her lover calmly.\n\nBut scarcely had she discovered that her mistress had fainted, when she\nheard the garden filling with people, a confused sound of men's and\neunuchs' voices, and the notes of the trumpet used to summon the\nsentries. At first she was frightened and fancied her lover had been\ndiscovered, but Boges appearing and whispering: \"He has escaped safely,\"\nshe at once ordered the other attendants, whom she had banished to the\nwomen's apartments during her rendezvous, and who now came flocking back,\nto carry their mistress into her sleeping-room, and then began using all\nthe remedies she knew of, to restore her to consciousness. Nitetis had\nscarcely opened her eyes when Boges came in, followed by two eunuchs,\nwhom he ordered to load her delicate arms with fetters.\n\nNitetis submitted; she could not utter one word, not even when Boges\ncalled out as he was leaving the room: \"Make yourself happy in your cage,\nmy little imprisoned bird. They've just been telling your lord that a\nroyal marten has been making merry in your dove-cote. Farewell, and think\nof the poor tormented Boges in this tremendous heat, when you feel the\ncool damp earth. Yes, my little bird, death teaches us to know our real\nfriends, and so I won't have you buried in a coarse linen sack, but in a\nsoft silk shawl. Farewell, my darling!\"\n\nThe poor, heavily-afflicted girl trembled at these words, and when the\neunuch was gone, begged Mandane to tell her what it all meant. The girl,\ninstructed by Boges, said that Bartja had stolen secretly into the\nhanging-gardens, and had been seen by several of the Achaemenidae as he\nwas on the point of getting in at one of the windows. The king had been\ntold of his brother's treachery, and people were afraid his jealousy\nmight have fearful consequences. The frivolous girl shed abundant tears\nof penitence while she was telling the story, and Nitetis, fancying this\na proof of sincere love and sympathy, felt cheered.\n\nWhen it was over, however, she looked down at her fetters in despair, and\nit was long before she could think of her dreadful position quietly. Then\nshe read her letter from home again, wrote the words, \"I am innocent,\"\nand told the sobbing girl to give the little note containing them to the\nking's mother after her own death, together with her letter from home.\nAfter doing this she passed a wakeful night which seemed as if it would\nnever end. She remembered that in her box of ointments there was a\nspecific for improving the complexion, which, if swallowed in a\nsufficiently large quantity, would cause death. She had this poison\nbrought to her, and resolved calmly and deliberately, to take her own\nlife directly the executioner should draw near. From that moment she took\npleasure in thinking of her last hour, and said to herself: \"It is true\nhe causes my death; but he does it out of love.\" Then she thought she\nwould write to him, and confess all her love. He should not receive the\nletter until she was dead, that he might not think she had written it to\nsave her life. The hope that this strong, inflexible man might perhaps\nshed tears over her last words of love filled her with intense pleasure.\n\nIn spite of her heavy fetters, she managed to write the following words:\n\"Cambyses will not receive this letter until I am dead. It is to tell him\nthat I love him more than the gods, the world, yes, more than my own\nyoung life. Kassandane and Atossa must think of me kindly. They will see\nfrom my mother's letter that I am innocent, and that it was only for my\npoor sister's sake that I asked to see Bartja. Boges has told me that my\ndeath has been resolved upon. When the executioner approaches, I shall\nkill myself. I commit this crime against myself, Cambyses, to save you\nfrom doing a disgraceful deed.\"\n\nThis note and her mother's she gave to the weeping Mandane, and begged\nher to give both to Cambyses when she was gone. She then fell on her\nknees and prayed to the gods of her fathers to forgive her for her\napostasy from them.\n\nMandane begged her to remember her weakness and take some rest, but she\nanswered: \"I do not need any sleep, because, you know, I have such little\nwaking-time still left me.\"\n\nAs she went on praying and singing her old Egyptian hymns, her heart\nreturned more and more to the gods of her fathers, whom she had denied\nafter such a short struggle. In almost all the prayers with which she was\nacquainted, there was a reference to the life after death. In the nether\nworld, the kingdom of Osiris, where the forty-two judges of the dead\npronounce sentence on the worth of the soul after it has been weighed by\nthe goddess of truth and Thoth, who holds the office of writer in heaven,\nshe could hope to meet her dear ones again, but only in case her\nunjustified soul were not obliged to enter on the career of\ntransmigration through the bodies of different animals, and her body, to\nwhom the soul had been entrusted, remained in a state of preservation.\nThis, \"if\" filled her with a feverish restlessness. The doctrine that the\nwell-being of the soul depended on the preservation of the earthly part\nof every human being left behind at death, had been impressed on her from\nchildhood. She believed in this error, which had built pyramids and\nexcavated rocks, and trembled at the thought that, according to the\nPersian custom, her body would be thrown to the dogs and birds of prey,\nand so given up to the powers of destruction, that her soul must be\ndeprived of every hope of eternal life. Then the thought came to her,\nshould she prove unfaithful to the gods of her fathers again, and once\nmore fall down before these new spirits of light, who gave the dead body\nover to the elements and only judged the soul? And so she raised her\nhands to the great and glorious sun, who with his golden sword-like rays\nwas just dispersing the mists that hung over the Euphrates, and opened\nher lips to sing her newly-learnt hymns in praise of Mithras; but her\nvoice failed her, instead of Mithras she could only see her own great Ra,\nthe god she had so often worshipped in Egypt, and instead of a Magian\nhymn could only sing the one with which the Egyptian priests are\naccustomed to greet the rising sun.\n\nThis hymn brought comfort with it, and as she gazed on the young light,\nthe rays of which were not yet strong enough to dazzle her, she thought\nof her childhood, and the tears gathered in her eyes. Then she looked\ndown over the broad plain. There was the Euphrates with his yellow waves\nlooking so like the Nile; the many villages, just as in her own home,\npeeping out from among luxuriant cornfields and plantations of fig-trees.\nTo the west lay the royal hunting-park; she could see its tall cypresses\nand nut-trees miles away in the distance. The dew was glistening on every\nlittle leaf and blade of grass, and the birds sang deliciously in the\nshrubberies round her dwelling. Now and then a gentle breath of wind\narose, carrying the sweet scent of the roses across to her, and playing\nin the tops of the slender, graceful palms which grew in numbers on the\nbanks of the river and in the fields around.\n\nShe had so often admired these beautiful trees, and compared them to\ndancing-girls, as she watched the wind seizing their heavy tops and\nswaying the slender stems backwards and forwards. And she had often said\nto herself that here must be the home of the Phoenix, that wonderful bird\nfrom the land of palms, who, the priests said, came once in every five\nhundred years to the temple of Ra in Heliopolis and burnt himself in the\nsacred incense-flames, only to rise again from his own ashes more\nbeautiful than before, and, after three days, to fly back again to his\nhome in the East. While she was thinking of this bird, and wishing that\nshe too might rise again from the ashes of her unhappiness to a new and\nstill more glorious joy, a large bird with brilliant plumage rose out of\nthe dark cypresses, which concealed the palace of the man she loved and\nwho had made her so miserable, and flew towards her. It rose higher and\nhigher, and at last settled on a palmtree close to her window. She had\nnever seen such a bird before, and thought it could not possibly be a\nusual one, for a little gold chain was fastened to its foot, and its tail\nseemed made of sunbeams instead of feathers. It must be Benno, the bird\nof Ra! She fell on her knees again and sang with deep reverence the\nancient hymn to the Phoenix, never once turning her eyes from the\nbrilliant bird.\n\nThe bird listened to her singing, bending his little head with its waving\nplumes, wisely and inquisitively from side to side, and flew away\ndirectly she ceased. Nitetis looked after him with a smile. It was really\nonly a bird of paradise that had broken the chain by which he had been\nfastened to a tree in the park, but to her he was the Phoenix. A strange\ncertainty of deliverance filled her heart; she thought the god Ra had\nsent the bird to her, and that as a happy spirit she should take that\nform. So long as we are able to hope and wish, we can bear a great deal\nof sorrow; if the wished-for happiness does not come, anticipation is at\nleast prolonged and has its own peculiar sweetness. This feeling is of\nitself enough, and contains a kind of enjoyment which can take the place\nof reality. Though she was so weary, yet she lay down on her couch with\nfresh hopes, and fell into a dreamless sleep almost against her will,\nwithout having touched the poison.\n\nThe rising sun generally gives comfort to sad hearts who have passed the\nnight in weeping, but to a guilty conscience, which longs for darkness,\nhis pure light is an unwelcome guest. While Nitetis slept, Mandane lay\nawake, tormented by fearful remorse. How gladly she would have held back\nthe sun which was bringing on the day of death to this kindest of\nmistresses, and have spent the rest of her own life in perpetual night,\nif only her yesterday's deed could but have been undone!\n\nThe good-natured, thoughtless girl called herself a wretched murderess\nunceasingly, resolved again and again to confess the whole truth and so\nto save Nitetis; but love of life and fear of death gained the victory\nover her weak heart every time. To confess was certain death, and she\nfelt as if she had been made for life; she had so many hopes for the\nfuture, and the grave seemed so dreadful. She thought she could perhaps\nhave confessed the whole truth, if perpetual imprisonment had been all\nshe had to fear; but death! no, she could not resolve on that. And\nbesides, would her confession really save the already condemned Nitetis?\n\nHad she not sent a message to Bartja herself by that unfortunate\ngardener's boy? This secret correspondence had been discovered, and that\nwas enough of itself to ruin Nitetis, even if she, Mandane, had done\nnothing in the matter. We are never so clever as when we have to find\nexcuses for our own sins.\n\nAt sunrise, Mandane was kneeling by her mistress's couch, weeping\nbitterly and wondering that Nitetis could sleep so calmly.\n\nBoges, the eunuch, had passed a sleepless night too, but a very happy\none. His hated colleague, Kandaules, whom he had used as a substitute for\nhimself, had been already executed, by the king's command, for\nnegligence, and on the supposition that he had accepted a bribe; Nitetis\nwas not only ruined, but certain to die a shameful death. The influence\nof the king's mother had suffered a severe shock; and lastly, he had the\npleasure of knowing, not only that he had outwitted every one and\nsucceeded in all his plans, but that through his favorite Phaedime he\nmight hope once more to become the all-powerful favorite of former days.\nThat sentence of death had been pronounced on Croesus and the young\nheroes, was by no means an unwelcome thought either, as they might have\nbeen instrumental in bringing his intrigues to light.\n\nIn the grey of the morning he left the king's apartment and went to\nPhaedime. The proud Persian had taken no rest. She was waiting for him\nwith feverish anxiety, as a rumor of all that had happened had already\nreached the harem and penetrated to her apartments. She was lying on a\npurple couch in her dressing-room; a thin silken chemise and yellow\nslippers thickly sown with turquoises and pearls composed her entire\ndress. Twenty attendants were standing round her, but the moment she\nheard Boges she sent her slaves away, sprang up to meet him, and\noverwhelmed him with a stream of incoherent questions, all referring to\nher enemy Nitetis.\n\n\"Gently, gently, my little bird,\" said Boges, laying his hand on her\nshoulder. \"If you can't make up your mind to be as quiet as a little\nmouse while I tell my story, and not to ask one question, you won't hear\na syllable of it to-day. Yes, indeed, my golden queen, I've so much to\ntell that I shall not have finished till to-morrow, if you are to\ninterrupt me as often as you like. Ah, my little lamb, and I've still so\nmuch to do to-day. First I must be present at an Egyptian donkey-ride;\nsecondly, I must witness an Egyptian execution . . . but I see I am\nanticipating my story; I must begin at the beginning. I'll allow you to\ncry, laugh and scream for joy as much as you will, but you're forbidden\nto ask a single question until I have finished. I think really I have\ndeserved these caresses. There, now I am quite at my ease, and can begin.\nOnce upon a time there was a great king in Persia, who had many wives,\nbut he loved Phaedime better than the rest, and set her above all the\nothers. One day the thought struck him that he would ask for the hand of\nthe King of Egypt's daughter in marriage, and he sent a great embassy to\nSais, with his own brother to do the wooing for him--\"\n\n\"What nonsense!\" cried Phaedime impatiently; \"I want to know what has\nhappened now.\"\n\n\"Patience, patience, my impetuous March wind. If you interrupt me again,\nI shall go away and tell my story to the trees. You really need not\ngrudge me the pleasure of living my successes over again. While I tell\nthis story, I feel as happy as a sculptor when he puts down his hammer\nand gazes at his finished work.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" said Phaedime, interrupting him again. \"I cannot listen now to\nwhat I know quite well already. I am dying of impatience, and every fresh\nreport that the eunuchs and slave-girls bring makes it worse. I am in a\nperfect fever--I cannot wait. Ask whatever else you like, only deliver me\nfrom this awful suspense. Afterwards I will listen to you for days, if\nyou wish.\"\n\nBoges' smile at these words was one of great satisfaction; he rubbed his\nhands and answered: \"When I was a child I had no greater pleasure than to\nwatch a fish writhing on the hook; now I have got you, my splendid golden\ncarp, at the end of my line, and I can't let you go until I have sated\nmyself on your impatience.\"\n\nPhaedime sprang up from the couch which she had shared with Boges,\nstamping her foot and behaving like a naughty child. This seemed to amuse\nthe eunuch immensely; he rubbed his hands again and again, laughed till\nthe tears ran down over his fat cheeks, emptied many a goblet of wine to\nthe health of the tortured beauty, and then went on with his tale: \"It\nhad not escaped me that Cambyses sent his brother (who had brought\nNitetis from Egypt), out to the war with the Tapuri purely from jealousy.\nThat proud woman, who was to take no orders from me, seemed to care as\nlittle for the handsome, fair-haired boy as a Jew for pork, or an\nEgyptian for white beans. But still I resolved to nourish the king's\njealousy, and use it as a means of rendering this impudent creature\nharmless, as she seemed likely to succeed in supplanting us both in his\nfavor. It was long, however, before I could hit on a feasible plan.\n\n\"At last the new-year's festival arrived and all the priests in the\nkingdom assembled at Babylon. For eight days the city was full of\nrejoicing, feasting and merry-making. At court it was just the same, and\nso I had very little time to think of my plans. But just then, when I had\nhardly any hope of succeeding, the gracious Amescha cpenta sent a youth\nacross my path, who seemed created by Angramainjus himself to suit my\nplan. Gaumata, the brother of Oropastes, came to Babylon to be present at\nthe great new-year's sacrifice. I saw him first in his brother's house,\nwhither I had been sent on a message from the king, and his likeness to\nBartja was so wonderful, that I almost fancied I was looking at an\napparition. When I had finished my business with Oropastes the youth\naccompanied me to my carriage. I showed no signs of astonishment at this\nremarkable likeness, treated him however, with immense civility, and\nbegged him to pay me a visit. He came the very same evening. I sent for\nmy best wine, pressed him to drink, and experienced, not for the first\ntime, that the juice of the vine has one quality which outweighs all the\nrest: it can turn even a silent man into a chatter-box. The youth\nconfessed that the great attraction which had brought him to Babylon was,\nnot the sacrifice, but a girl who held the office of upper attendant to\nthe Egyptian Princess. He said he had loved her since he was a child; but\nhis ambitious brother had higher views for him, and in order to get the\nlovely Mandane out of his way, had procured her this situation. At last\nhe begged me to arrange an interview with her. I listened good-naturedly,\nmade a few difficulties, and at last asked him to come the next day and\nsee how matters were going on. He came, and I told him that it might be\npossible to manage it, but only if he would promise to do what I told him\nwithout a question. He agreed to everything, returned to Rhagae at my\nwish, and did not come to Babylon again until yesterday, when he arrived\nsecretly at my house, where I concealed him. Meanwhile Bartja had\nreturned from the war. The great point now was to excite the king's\njealousy again, and ruin the Egyptian at one blow. I roused the\nindignation of your relations through your public humiliation, and so\nprepared the way for my plan. Events were wonderfully in my favor. You\nknow how Nitetis behaved at the birthday banquet, but you do not know\nthat that very evening she sent a gardener's boy to the palace with a\nnote for Bartja. The silly fellow managed to get caught and was executed\nthat very night, by command of the king, who was almost mad with rage;\nand I took care that Nitetis should be as entirely cut off from all\ncommunication with her friends, as if she lived in the nest of the\nSimurg. You know the rest.\"\n\n\"But how did Gaumata escape?\"\n\n\"Through a trap-door, of which nobody knows but myself, and which stood\nwide open waiting for him. Everything turned out marvellously; I even\nsucceeded in getting hold of a dagger which Bartja had lost while\nhunting, and in laying it under Nitetis' window. In order to get rid of\nthe prince during these occurrences, and prevent him from meeting the\nking or any one else who might be important as a witness, I asked the\nGreek merchant Kolxus, who was then at Babylon with a cargo of Milesian\ncloth, and who is always willing to do me a favor, because I buy all the\nwoollen stuffs required for the harem of him, to write a Greek letter,\nbegging Bartja, in the name of her he loved best, to come alone to the\nfirst station outside the Euphrates gate at the rising of the\nTistar-star. But I had a misfortune with this letter, for the messenger\nmanaged the matter clumsily. He declares that he delivered the letter to\nBartja; but there can be no doubt that he gave it to some one else,\nprobably to Gaumata, and I was not a little dismayed to hear that Bartja\nwas sitting over the wine with his friends on that very evening. Still\nwhat had been done could not be undone, and I knew that the witness of\nmen like your father, Hystaslies, Croesus and Intaphernes, would far\noutweigh anything that Darius, Gyges and Araspes could say. The former\nwould testify against their friend, the latter for him. And so at last\neverything went as I would have had it. The young gentlemen are sentenced\nto death and Croesus, who as usual, presumed to speak impertinently to\nthe king, will have lived his last hour by this time. As to the Egyptian\nPrincess, the secretary in chief has just been commanded to draw up the\nfollowing order. Now listen and rejoice, my little dove! \"'Nitetis, the\nadulterous daughter of the King of Egypt, shall be punished for her\nhideous crimes according to the extreme rigor of the law, thus: She shall\nbe set astride upon an ass and led through the streets of Babylon; and\nall men shall see that Cambyses knows how to punish a king's daughter, as\nseverely as his magistrates would punish the meanest beggar.\n\n--To Boges, chief of the eunuchs, is entrusted the execution of this\norder.\n\nBy command of King Cambyses. Ariabignes, chief of the Secretaries'\n\n\"I had scarcely placed these lines in the sleeve of my robe, when the\nking's mother, with her garments rent, and led by Atossa, pressed hastily\ninto the hall. Weeping and lamentation followed; cries, reproaches,\ncurses, entreaties and prayers; but the king remained firm, and I verily\nbelieve Kassandane and Atossa would have been sent after Croesus and\nBartja into the other world, if fear of Cyrus's spirit had not prevented\nthe son, even in this furious rage, from laying hands on his father's\nwidow. Kassandane, however, did not say one word for Nitetis. She seems\nas fully convinced of her guilt as you and I can be. Neither have we\nanything to fear from the enamored Gaumata. I have hired three men to\ngive him a cool bath in the Euphrates, before he gets back to Rhagae. Ah,\nha! the fishes and worms will have a jolly time!\"\n\nPhaedime joined in Boges' laughter, bestowed on him all the flattering\nnames which she had caught from his own smooth tongue, and in token of\nher gratitude, hung a heavy chain studded with jewels round his neck with\nher own beautiful arms.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Call everything that is beyond your comprehension a miracle\n     Never so clever as when we have to find excuses for our own sins\n     So long as we are able to hope and wish\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 7.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nBefore the sun had reached his mid-day height, the news of what had\nhappened and of what was still to happen had filled all Babylon. The\nstreets swarmed with people, waiting impatiently to see the strange\nspectacle which the punishment of one of the king's wives, who had proved\nfalse and faithless, promised to afford. The whip-bearers were forced to\nuse all their authority to keep this gaping crowd in order. Later on in\nthe day the news that Bartja and his friends were soon to be executed\narrived among the crowd; they were under the influence of the palm-wine,\nwhich was liberally distributed on the king's birthday and the following\ndays, and could not control their excited feelings; but these now took\nquite another form.\n\nBands of drunken men paraded the streets, crying: \"Bartja, the good son\nof Cyrus, is to be executed!\" The women heard these words in their quiet\napartments, eluded their keepers, forgot their veils, and rushing forth\ninto the streets, followed the excited and indignant men with cries and\nyells. Their pleasure in the thought of seeing a more fortunate sister\nhumbled, vanished at the painful news that their beloved prince was\ncondemned to death. Men, women and children raged, stormed and cursed,\nexciting one another to louder and louder bursts of indignation. The\nworkshops were emptied, the merchants closed their warehouses, and the\nschool-boys and servants, who had a week's holiday on occasion of the\nking's birthday, used their freedom to scream louder than any one else,\nand often to groan and yell without in the least knowing why.\n\nAt last the tumult was so great that the whip-bearers were insufficient\nto cope with it, and a detachment of the body-guard was sent to patrol\nthe streets. At the sight of their shining armor and long lances, the\ncrowd retired into the side streets, only, however, to reassemble in\nfresh numbers when the troops were out of sight.\n\nAt the gate, called the Bel gate, which led to the great western\nhigh-road, the throng was thicker than at any other point, for it was\nsaid that through this gate, the one by which she had entered Babylon,\nthe Egyptian Princess was to be led out of the city in shame and\ndisgrace. For this reason a larger number of whipbearers were stationed\nhere, in order to make way for travellers entering the city. Very few\npeople indeed left the city at all on this day, for curiosity was\nstronger than either business or pleasure; those, on the other hand, who\narrived from the country, took up their stations near the gate on hearing\nwhat had drawn the crowd thither.\n\nIt was nearly mid-day, and only wanted a few hours to the time fixed for\nNitetis' disgrace, when a caravan approached the gate with great speed.\nThe first carriage was a so-called harmamaxa, drawn by four horses decked\nout with bells and tassels; a two-wheeled cart followed, and last in the\ntrain was a baggage-wagon drawn by mules. A fine, handsome man of about\nfifty, dressed as a Persian courtier, and another, much older, in long\nwhite robes, occupied the first carriage. The cart was filled by a number\nof slaves in simple blouses, and broad-brimmed felt hats, wearing the\nhair cut close to the head. An old man, dressed as a Persian servant,\nrode by the side of the cart. The driver of the first carriage had great\ndifficulty in making way for his gaily-ornamented horses through the\ncrowd; he was obliged to come to a halt before the gate and call some\nwhip-bearers to his assistance. \"Make way for us!\" he cried to the\ncaptain of the police who came up with some of his men; \"the royal post\nhas no time to lose, and I am driving some one, who will make you repent\nevery minute's delay.\"\n\n\"Softly, my son,\" answered the official. \"Don't you see that it's easier\nto-day to get out of Babylon, than to come in? Whom are you driving?\"\n\n\"A nobleman, with a passport from the king. Come, be quick and make way\nfor us.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that; your caravan does not look much like royalty.\"\n\n\"What have you to do with that? The pass. . . . \"\n\n\"I must see it, before I let you into the city.\" These words were half\nmeant for the traveller, whom he was scrutinizing very suspiciously.\n\nWhile the man in the Persian dress was feeling in his sleeve for the\npassport, the whip-bearer turned to some comrades who had just come up,\nand pointed out the scanty retinue of the travellers, saying: \"Did you\never see such a queer cavalcade? There's something odd about these\nstrangers, as sure as my name's Giv. Why, the lowest of the king's\ncarpet-bearers travels with four times as many people, and yet this man\nhas a royal pass and is dressed like one of those who sit at the royal\ntable.\"\n\nAt this moment the suspected traveller handed him a little silken roll\nscented with musk, sealed with the royal seal, and containing the king's\nown handwriting.\n\nThe whip-bearer took it and examined the seal. \"It is all in order,\" he\nmurmured, and then began to study the characters. But no sooner had he\ndeciphered the first letters than he looked even more sharply than before\nat the traveller, and seized the horses' bridles, crying out: \"Here, men,\nform a guard round the carriage! this is an impostor.\"\n\nWhen he had convinced himself that escape was impossible, he went up to\nthe stranger again and said: \"You are using a pass which does not belong\nto you. Gyges, the son of Croesus, the man you give yourself out for, is\nin prison and is to be executed to-day. You are not in the least like\nhim, and you will have reason to repent leaving tried to pass for him.\nGet out of your carriage and follow me.\"\n\nThe traveller, however, instead of obeying, began to speak in broken\nPersian, and begged the officer rather to take a seat by him in the\ncarriage, for that he had very important news to communicate. The man\nhesitated a moment; but on seeing a fresh band of whip-bearers come up,\nhe nodded to them to stand before the impatient, chafing horses, and got\ninto the carriage.\n\nThe stranger looked at him with a smile and said: \"Now, do I look like an\nimpostor?\"\n\n\"No; your language proves that you are not a Persian, but yet you look\nlike a nobleman.\"\n\n\"I am a Greek, and have come hither to render Cambyses an important\nservice. Gyges is my friend, and lent me his passport when he was in\nEgypt, in case I should ever come to Persia. I am prepared to vindicate\nmy conduct before the king, and have no reason for fear. On the contrary,\nthe news I bring gives me reason to expect much from his favor. Let me be\ntaken to Croesus, if this is your duty; he will be surety for me, and\nwill send back your men, of whom you seem to stand in great need to-day.\nDistribute these gold pieces among them, and tell me without further\ndelay what my poor friend Gyges has done to deserve death, and what is\nthe reason of all this crowd and confusion.\"\n\nThe stranger said this in bad Persian, but there lay so much dignity and\nconfidence in his tone, and his gifts were on such a large scale, that\nthe cringing and creeping servant of despotism felt sure he must be\nsitting opposite to a prince, crossed his arms reverentially, and,\nexcusing himself from his many pressing affairs, began to relate rapidly.\nHe had been on duty in the great hall during the examination of the\nprisoners the night before, and could therefore tell all that had\nhappened with tolerable accuracy. The Greek followed his tale eagerly,\nwith many an incredulous shake of his handsome head, however, when the\ndaughter of Amasis and the son of Cyrus were spoken of as having been\ndisloyal and false, that sentence of death had been pronounced,\nespecially on Croesus, distressed him visibly, but the sadness soon\nvanished from his quickly-changing features, and gave place to thought;\nthis in its turn was quickly followed by a joyful look, which could only\nbetoken that the thinker had arrived at a satisfactory result. His\ndignified gravity vanished in a moment; he laughed aloud, struck his\nforehead merrily, seized the hand of the astonished captain, and said:\n\n\"Should you be glad, if Bartja could be saved?\"\n\n\"More than I can say.\"\n\n\"Very well, then I will vouch for it, that you shall receive at least two\ntalents, if you can procure me an interview with the king before the\nfirst execution has taken place.\"\n\n\"How can you ask such a thing of me, a poor captain? . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, you must, you must!\"\n\n\"I cannot.\"\n\n\"I know well that it is very difficult, almost impossible, for a stranger\nto obtain an audience of your king; but my errand brooks no delay, for I\ncan prove that Bartja and his friends are not guilty. Do you hear? I can\nprove it. Do you think now, you can procure me admittance?\"\n\n\"How is it possible?\"\n\n\"Don't ask, but act. Didn't you say Darius was one of the condemned?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I have heard, that his father is a man of very high rank.\"\n\n\"He is the first in the kingdom, after the sons of Cyrus.\"\n\n\"Then take me to him at once. He will welcome me when he hears I am able\nto save his son.\"\n\n\"Stranger, you are a wonderful being. You speak with so much confidence\nthat . . .\"\n\n\"That you feel you may believe me. Make haste then, and call some of your\nmen to make way for us, and escort us to the palace.\"\n\nThere is nothing, except a doubt, which runs more quickly from mind to\nmind, than a hope that some cherished wish may be fulfilled, especially\nwhen this hope has been suggested to us by some one we can trust.\n\nThe officer believed this strange traveller, jumped out of the carriage,\nflourishing his scourge and calling to his men: \"This nobleman has come\non purpose to prove Bartja's innocence, and must be taken to the king at\nonce. Follow me, my friends, and make way for him!\"\n\nJust at that moment a troop of the guards appeared in sight. The captain\nof the whip-bearers went up to their commander, and, seconded by the\nshouts of the crowd, begged him to escort the stranger to the palace.\n\nDuring this colloquy the traveller had mounted his servant's horse, and\nnow followed in the wake of the Persians.\n\nThe good news flew like wind through the huge city. As the riders\nproceeded, the crowd fell back more willingly, and loader and fuller grew\nthe shouts of joy until at last their march was like a triumphal\nprocession.\n\nIn a few minutes they drew up before the palace; but before the brazen\ngates had opened to admit them, another train came slowly into sight. At\nthe head rode a grey-headed old man; his robes were brown, and rent, in\ntoken of mourning, the mane and tail of his horse had been shorn off and\nthe creature colored blue.--It was Hystaspes, coming to entreat mercy for\nhis son.\n\nThe whip-bearer, delighted at this sight, threw himself down before the\nold man with a cry of joy, and with crossed arms told him what confidence\nthe traveller had inspired him with.\n\nHystaspes beckoned to the stranger; he rode up, bowed gracefully and\ncourteously to the old man, without dismounting, and confirmed the words\nof the whip bearer. Hystaspes seemed to feel fresh confidence too after\nhearing the stranger, for he begged him to follow him into the palace and\nto wait outside the door of the royal apartment, while he himself,\nconducted by the head chamberlain, went in to the king.\n\nWhen his old kinsman entered, Cambyses was lying on his purple couch,\npale as death. A cup-bearer was kneeling on the ground at his feet,\ntrying to collect the broken fragments of a costly Egyptian drinking-cup\nwhich the king had thrown down impatiently because its contents had not\npleased his taste. At some distance stood a circle of court-officials, in\nwhose faces it was easy to read that they were afraid of their ruler's\nwrath, and preferred keeping as far from him as possible. The dazzling\nlight and oppressive heat of a Babylonian May day came in through the\nopen windows, and not a sound was to be heard in the great room, except\nthe whining of a large dog of the Epirote breed, which had just received\na tremendous kick from Cambyses for venturing to fawn on his master, and\nwas the only being that ventured to disturb the solemn stillness. Just\nbefore Hystaspes was led in by the chamberlain, Cambyses had sprung up\nfrom his couch. This idle repose had become unendurable, he felt\nsuffocated with pain and anger. The dog's howl suggested a new idea to\nhis poor tortured brain, thirsting for forgetfulness.\n\n\"We will go out hunting!\" he shouted to the poor startled courtiers. The\nmaster of the hounds, the equerries, and huntsmen hastened to obey his\norders. He called after them, \"I shall ride the unbroken horse Reksch;\nget the falcons ready, let all the dogs out and order every one to come,\nwho can throw a spear. We'll clear the preserves!\"\n\nHe then threw himself down on his divan again, as if these words had\nquite exhausted his powerful frame, and did not see that Hystaspes had\nentered, for his sullen gaze was fixed on the motes playing in the\nsunbeams that glanced through the window.\n\nHystaspes did not dare to address him; but he stationed himself in the\nwindow so as to break the stream of motes and thus draw attention to\nhimself.\n\nAt first Cambyses looked angrily at him and his rent garments, and then\nasked with a bitter smile; \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Victory to the king! Your poor servant and uncle has come to entreat his\nruler's mercy.\"\n\n\"Then rise and go! You know that I have no mercy for perjurers and false\nswearers. 'Tis better to have a dead son than a dishonorable one.\"\n\n\"But if Bartja should not be guilty, and Darius . . .\"\n\n\"You dare to question the justice of my sentence?\"\n\n\"That be far from me. Whatever the king does is good, and cannot be\ngainsaid; but still . . .\"\n\n\"Be silent! I will not hear the subject mentioned again. You are to be\npitied as a father; but have these last few hours brought me any joy? Old\nman, I grieve for you, but I have as little power to rescind his\npunishment as you to recall his crime.\"\n\n\"But if Bartja really should not be guilty--if the gods . . .\"\n\n\"Do you think the gods will come to the help of perjurers and deceivers?\"\n\n\"No, my King; but a fresh witness has appeared.\"\n\n\"A fresh witness? Verily, I would gladly give half my kingdom, to be\nconvinced of the innocence of men so nearly related to me.\"\n\n\"Victory to my lord, the eye of the realm! A Greek is waiting outside,\nwho seems, to judge by his figure and bearing, one of the noblest of his\nrace.\"\n\nThe king laughed bitterly: \"A Greek! Ah, ha! perhaps some relation to\nBartja's faithful fair one! What can this stranger know of my family\naffairs? I know these beggarly Ionians well. They are impudent enough to\nmeddle in everything, and think they can cheat us with their sly tricks.\nHow much have you had to pay for this new witness, uncle? A Greek is as\nready with a lie as a Magian with his spells, and I know they'll do\nanything for gold. I'm really curious to see your witness. Call him in.\nBut if he wants to deceive me, he had better remember that where the head\nof a son of Cyrus is about to fall, a Greek head has but very little\nchance.\" And the king's eyes flashed with anger as he said these words.\nHystaspes, however, sent for the Greek.\n\nBefore he entered, the chamberlains fastened the usual cloth before his\nmouth, and commanded him to cast himself on the ground before the king.\nThe Greek's bearing, as he approached, under the king's penetrating\nglance, was calm and noble; he fell on his face, and, according to the\nPersian custom, kissed the ground.\n\nHis agreeable and handsome appearance, and the calm and modest manner in\nwhich he bore the king's gaze, seemed to make a favorable impression on\nthe latter; he did not allow him to remain long on the earth, and asked\nhim in a by no means unfriendly tone: \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"I am a Greek nobleman. My name is Phanes, and Athens is my home. I have\nserved ten years as commander of the Greek mercenaries in Egypt, and not\ningloriously.\"\n\n\"Are you the man, to whose clever generalship the Egyptians were indebted\nfor their victories in Cyprus?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"What has brought you to Persia?\"\n\n\"The glory of your name, Cambyses, and the wish to devote my arms and\nexperience to your service.\"\n\n\"Nothing else? Be sincere, and remember that one single lie may cost your\nlife. We Persians have different ideas of truth from the Greeks.\"\n\n\"Lying is hateful to me too, if only, because, as a distortion and\ncorruption of what is noblest, it seems unsightly in my eyes.\"\n\n\"Then speak.\"\n\n\"There was certainly a third reason for my coming hither, which I should\nlike to tell you later. It has reference to matters of the greatest\nimportance, which it will require a longer time to discuss; but to-day--\"\n\n\"Just to-day I should like to hear something new. Accompany me to the\nchase. You come exactly at the right time, for I never had more need of\ndiversion than now.\"\n\n\"I will accompany you with pleasure, if. . .\"\n\n\"No conditions to the king! Have you had much practice in hunting?\"\n\n\"In the Libyan desert I have killed many a lion.\"\n\n\"Then come, follow me.\"\n\nIn the thought of the chase the king seemed to have thrown off all his\nweakness and roused himself to action; he was just leaving the hall, when\nHystaspes once more threw himself at his feet, crying with up-raised\nhands: \"Is my son--is your brother, to die innocent? By the soul of your\nfather, who used to call me his truest friend, I conjure you to listen to\nthis noble stranger.\"\n\nCambyses stood still. The frown gathered on his brow again, his voice\nsounded like a menace and his eyes flashed as he raised his hand and said\nto the Greek: \"Tell me what you know; but remember that in every untrue\nword, you utter your own sentence of death.\"\n\nPhanes heard this threat with the greatest calmness, and answered, bowing\ngracefully as he spoke: \"From the sun and from my lord the king, nothing\ncan be hid. What power has a poor mortal to conceal the truth from one so\nmighty? The noble Hystaspes has said, that I am able to prove your\nbrother innocent. I will only say, that I wish and hope I may succeed in\naccomplishing anything so great and beautiful. The gods have at least\nallowed me to discover a trace which seems calculated to throw light on\nthe events of yesterday; but you yourself must decide whether my hopes\nhave been presumptuous and my suspicions too easily aroused. Remember,\nhowever, that throughout, my wish to serve you has been sincere, and that\nif I have been deceived, my error is pardonable; that nothing is\nperfectly certain in this world, and every man believes that to be\ninfallible which seems to him the most probable.\"\n\n\"You speak well, and remind me of . . . curse her! there, speak and have\ndone with it! I hear the dogs already in the court.\"\n\n\"I was still in Egypt when your embassy came to fetch Nitetis. At the\nhouse of Rhodopis, my delightful, clever and celebrated countrywoman, I\nmade the acquaintance of Croesus and his son; I only saw your brother and\nhis friends once or twice, casually; still I remembered the young\nprince's handsome face so well, that some time later, when I was in the\nworkshop of the great sculptor Theodorus at Samos, I recognized his\nfeatures at once.\"\n\n\"Did you meet him at Samos?\"\n\n\"No, but his features had made such a deep and faithful impression on\nTheodorus' memory, that he used them to beautify the head of an Apollo,\nwhich the Achaemenidae had ordered for the new temple of Delphi.\"\n\n\"Your tale begins, at least, incredibly enough. How is it possible to\ncopy features so exactly, when you have not got them before you?\"\n\n\"I can only answer that Theodorus has really completed this master-piece,\nand if you wish for a proof of his skill would gladly send you a second\nlikeness of . . .\"\n\n\"I have no desire for it. Go on with your story.\"\n\n\"On my journey hither, which, thanks to your father's excellent\narrangements, I performed in an incredibly short time, changing horses\nevery sixteen or seventeen miles . . .\"\n\n\"Who allowed you, a foreigner, to use the posthorses?\"\n\n\"The pass drawn out for the son of Croesus, which came by chance into my\nhands, when once, in order to save my life, he forced me to change\nclothes with him.\"\n\n\"A Lydian can outwit a fox, and a Syrian a Lydian, but an Ionian is a\nmatch for both,\" muttered the king, smiling for the first time; \"Croesus\ntold me this story--poor Croesus!\" and then the old gloomy expression\ncame over his face and he passed his hand across his forehead, as if\ntrying to smooth the lines of care away. The Athenian went on: \"I met\nwith no hindrances on my journey till this morning at the first hour\nafter midnight, when I was detained by a strange occurrence.\"\n\nThe king began to listen more attentively, and reminded the Athenian, who\nspoke Persian with difficulty, that there was no time to lose.\n\n\"We had reached the last station but one,\" continued he, \"and hoped to be\nin Babylon by sunrise. I was thinking over my past stirring life, and was\nso haunted by the remembrance of evil deeds unrevenged that I could not\nsleep; the old Egyptian at my side, however, slept and dreamt peacefully\nenough, lulled by the monotonous tones of the harness bells, the sound of\nthe horses' hoofs and the murmur of the Euphrates. It was a wonderfully\nstill, beautiful night; the moon and stars were so brilliant, that our\nroad and the landscape were lighted up almost with the brightness of day.\nFor the last hour we had not seen a single vehicle, foot-passenger, or\nhorseman; we had heard that all the neighboring population had assembled\nin Babylon to celebrate your birthday, gaze with wonder at the splendor\nof your court, and enjoy your liberality. At last the irregular beat of\nhorses' hoofs, and the sound of bells struck my ear, and a few minutes\nlater I distinctly heard cries of distress. My resolve was taken at once;\nI made my Persian servant dismount, sprang into his saddle, told the\ndriver of the cart in which my slaves were sitting not to spare his\nmules, loosened my dagger and sword in their scabbards, and spurred my\nhorse towards the place from whence the cries came. They grew louder and\nlouder. I had not ridden a minute, when I came on a fearful scene. Three\nwild-looking fellows had just pulled a youth, dressed in the white robes\nof a Magian, from his horse, stunned him with heavy blows, and, just as I\nreached them, were on the point of throwing him into the Euphrates, which\nat that place washes the roots of the palms and fig-trees bordering the\nhigh-road. I uttered my Greek war-cry, which has made many an enemy\ntremble before now, and rushed on the murderers. Such fellows are always\ncowards; the moment they saw one of their accomplices mortally wounded,\nthey fled. I did not pursue them, but stooped down to examine the poor\nboy, who was severely wounded. How can I describe my horror at seeing, as\nI believed, your brother Bartja? Yes, they were the very same features\nthat I had seen, first at Naukratis and then in Theodorus' workshop, they\nwere . . .\"\n\n\"Marvellous!\" interrupted Hystaspes.\n\n\"Perhaps a little too much so to be credible,\" added the king. \"Take\ncare, Hellene! remember my arm reaches far. I shall have the truth of\nyour story put to the proof.\"\n\n\"I am accustomed,\" answered Phanes bowing low, \"to follow the advice of\nour wise philosopher Pythagoras, whose fame may perhaps have reached your\nears, and always, before speaking, to consider whether what I am going to\nsay may not cause me sorrow in the future.\"\n\n\"That sounds well; but, by Mithras, I knew some one who often spoke of\nthat great teacher, and yet in her deeds turned out to be a most faithful\ndisciple of Angramainjus. You know the traitress, whom we are going to\nextirpate from the earth like a poisonous viper to-day.\"\n\n\"Will you forgive me,\" answered Phanes, seeing the anguish expressed in\nthe king's features, \"if I quote another of the great master's maxims?\"\n\n\"Speak.\"\n\n\"Blessings go as quickly as they come. Therefore bear thy lot patiently.\nMurmur not, and remember that the gods never lay a heavier weight on any\nman than he can bear. Hast thou a wounded heart? touch it as seldom as\nthou wouldst a sore eye. There are only two remedies for\nheart-sickness:--hope and patience.\"\n\nCambyses listened to this sentence, borrowed from the golden maxims of\nPythagoras, and smiled bitterly at the word \"patience.\" Still the\nAthenian's way of speaking pleased him, and he told him to go on with his\nstory.\n\nPhanes made another deep obeisance, and continued: \"We carried the\nunconscious youth to my carriage, and brought him to the nearest station.\nThere he opened his eyes, looked anxiously at me, and asked who I was and\nwhat had happened to him? The master of the station was standing by, so I\nwas obliged to give the name of Gyges in order not to excite his\nsuspicions by belying my pass, as it was only through this that I could\nobtain fresh horses.\n\n\"This wounded young man seemed to know Gyges, for he shook his head and\nmurmured: 'You are not the man you give yourself out for.' Then he closed\nhis eyes again, and a violent attack of fever came on.\n\n\"We undressed, bled him and bound up his wounds. My Persian servant, who\nhad served as overlooker in Amasis' stables and had seen Bartja there,\nassisted by the old Egyptian who accompanied me, was very helpful, and\nasserted untiringly that the wounded man could be no other than your\nbrother. When we had cleansed the blood from his face, the master of the\nstation too swore that there could be no doubt of his being the younger\nson of your great father Cyrus. Meanwhile my Egyptian companion had\nfetched a potion from the travelling medicine-chest, without which an\nEgyptian does not care to leave his native country.\n\n   [A similar travelling medicine-chest is to be seen in the Egyptian\n   Museum at Berlin. It is prettily and compendiously fitted up, and\n   must be very ancient, for the inscription on the chest, which\n   contained it stated that it was made in the 11th dynasty (end of the\n   third century B. C.) in the reign of King Mentuhotep.]\n\nThe drops worked wonders; in a few hours the fever was quieted, and at\nsunrise the patient opened his eyes once more. We bowed down before him,\nbelieving him to be your brother, and asked if he would like to be taken\nto the palace in Babylon. This he refused vehemently, and asseverated\nthat he was not the man we took him for, but, . . .\"\n\n\"Who can be so like Bartja? tell me quickly,\" interrupted the king, \"I am\nvery curious to know this.\"\n\n\"He declared that he was the brother of your high-priest, that his name\nwas Gaumata, and that this would be proved by the pass which we should\nfind in the sleeve of his Magian's robe. The landlord found this document\nand, being able to read, confirmed the statement of the sick youth; he\nwas, however, soon seized by a fresh attack of fever, and began to speak\nincoherently.\"\n\n\"Could you understand him?\"\n\n\"Yes, for his talk always ran on the same subject. The hanging-gardens\nseemed to fill his thoughts. He must have just escaped some great danger,\nand probably had had a lover's meeting there with a woman called\nMandane.\"\n\n\"Mandane, Mandane,\" said Cambyses in a low voice; \"if I do not mistake,\nthat is the name of the highest attendant on Amasis' daughter.\"\n\nThese words did not escape the sharp ears of the Greek. He thought a\nmoment and then exclaimed with a smile; \"Set the prisoners free, my King;\nI will answer for it with my own head, that Bartja was not in the\nhanging-gardens.\"\n\nThe king was surprised at this speech but not angry. The free,\nunrestrained, graceful manner of this Athenian towards himself produced\nthe same impression, that a fresh sea-breeze makes when felt for the\nfirst time. The nobles of his own court, even his nearest relations,\napproached him bowing and cringing, but this Greek stood erect in his\npresence; the Persians never ventured to address their ruler without a\nthousand flowery and flattering phrases, but the Athenian was simple,\nopen and straightforward. Yet his words were accompanied by such a charm\nof action and expression, that the king could understand them,\nnotwithstanding the defective Persian in which they were clothed, better\nthan the allegorical speeches of his own subjects. Nitetis and Phanes\nwere the only human beings, who had ever made him forget that he was a\nking. With them he was a man speaking to his fellow-man, instead of a\ndespot speaking with creatures whose very existence was the plaything of\nhis own caprice. Such is the effect produced by real manly dignity,\nsuperior culture and the consciousness of a right to freedom, on the mind\neven of a tyrant. But there was something beside all this, that had\nhelped to win Cambyses' favor for the Athenian. This man's coming seemed\nas if it might possibly give him back the treasure he had believed was\nlost and more than lost. But how could the life of such a foreign\nadventurer be accepted as surety for the sons of the highest Persians in\nthe realm? The proposal, however, did not make him angry. On the\ncontrary, he could not help smiling at the boldness of this Greek, who in\nhis eagerness had freed himself from the cloth which hung over his mouth\nand beard, and exclaimed: \"By Mithras, Greek, it really seems as if you\nwere to prove a messenger of good for us! I accept your offer. If the\nprisoners, notwithstanding your supposition, should still prove guilty\nyou are bound to pass your whole life at my court and in my service, but\nif, on the contrary, you are able to prove what I so ardently long for, I\nwill make you richer than any of your countrymen.\"\n\nPhanes answered by a smile which seemed to decline this munificent offer,\nand asked: \"Is it permitted me to put a few questions to yourself and to\nthe officers of your court?\"\n\n\"You are allowed to say and ask whatever you wish.\"\n\nAt this moment the master of the huntsmen, one of those who daily ate at\nthe king's table, entered, out of breath from his endeavors to hasten the\npreparations, and announced that all was ready.\n\n\"They must wait,\" was the king's imperious answer. \"I am not sure, that\nwe shall hunt at all to-day. Where is Bischen, the captain of police?\"\n\nDatis, the so-called \"eye of the king,\" who held the office filled in\nmodern days by a minister of police, hurried from the room, returning in\na few minutes with the desired officer. These moments Phanes made use of\nfor putting various questions on important points to the nobles who were\npresent.\n\n\"What news can you bring of the prisoners?\" asked the king, as the man\nlay prostrate before him. \"Victory to the king! They await death with\ncalmness, for it is sweet to die by thy will.\"\n\n\"Have you heard anything of their conversation?\"\n\n\"Yes, my Ruler.\"\n\n\"Do they acknowledge their guilt, when speaking to each other?\"\n\n\"Mithras alone knows the heart; but you, my prince, if you could hear\nthem speak, would believe in their innocence, even as I the humblest of\nyour servants.\"\n\nThe captain looked up timidly at the king, fearing lest these words\nshould have excited his anger; Cambyses, however, smiled kindly instead\nof rebuking him. But a sudden thought darkened his brow again directly,\nand in a low voice he asked: \"When was Croesus executed?\"\n\nThe man trembled at this question; the perspiration stood on his\nforehead, and he could scarcely stammer the words: \"He is . . . he has\n. . . we thought. . . .\"\n\n\"What did you think?\" interrupted Cambyses, and a new light of hope\nseemed to dawn in his mind. \"Is it possible, that you did not carry out\nmy orders at once? Can Croesus still be alive? Speak at once, I must know\nthe whole truth.\"\n\nThe captain writhed like a worm at his lord's feet, and at last stammered\nout, raising his hands imploringly towards the king: \"Have mercy, have\nmercy, my Lord the king! I am a poor man, and have thirty children,\nfifteen of whom . . .\"\n\n\"I wish to know if Croesus is living or dead.\"\n\n\"He is alive! He has done so much for me, and I did not think I was doing\nwrong in allowing him to live a few hours longer, that he might. . . .\"\n\n\"That is enough,\" said the king breathing freely. \"This once your\ndisobedience shall go unpunished, and the treasurer may give you two\ntalents, as you have so many children.--Now go to the prisoners,--tell\nCroesus to come hither, and the others to be of good courage, if they are\ninnocent.\"\n\n\"My King is the light of the world, and an ocean of mercy.\"\n\n\"Bartja and his friends need not remain any longer in confinement; they\ncan walk in the court of the palace, and you will keep guard over them.\nYou, Datis, go at once to the hanging-gardens and order Boges to defer\nthe execution of the sentence on the Egyptian Princess; and further, I\nwish messengers sent to the post-station mentioned by the Athenian, and\nthe wounded man brought hither under safe escort.\"\n\nThe \"king's eye\" was on the point of departure, but Phanes detained\nhim, saying: \"Does my King allow me to make one remark?\"\n\n\"Speak.\"\n\n\"It appears to me, that the chief of the eunuchs could give the most\naccurate information. During his delirium the youth often mentioned his\nname in connection with that of the girl he seemed to be in love with.\"\n\n\"Go at once, Datis, and bring him quickly.\"\n\n\"The high-priest Oropastes, Gaumata's brother, ought to appear too; and\nMandane, whom I have just been assured on the most positive authority, is\nthe principal attendant of the Egyptian Princess.\"\n\n\"Fetch her, Datis.\"\n\n\"If Nitetis herself could . . .\"\n\nAt this the king turned pale and a cold shiver ran through his limbs. How\nhe longed to see his darling again! But the strong man was afraid of this\nwoman's reproachful looks; he knew the captivating power that lay in her\neyes. So he pointed to the door, saying \"Fetch Boges and Mandane; the\nEgyptian Princess is to remain in the hanging-gardens, under strict\ncustody.\"\n\nThe Athenian bowed deferentially; as if he would say: \"Here no one has a\nright to command but the king.\"\n\nCambyses looked well pleased, seated himself again on the purple divan,\nand resting his forehead on his hand, bent his eyes on the ground and\nsank into deep thought. The picture of the woman he loved so dearly\nrefused to be banished; it came again and again, more and more vividly,\nand the thought that these features could not have deceived him--that\nNitetis must be innocent--took a firmer root in his mind; he had already\nbegun to hope. If Bartja could be cleared, there was no error that might\nnot be conceivable; in that case he would go to the hanging-gardens, take\nher hand and listen to her defence. When love has once taken firm hold of\na man in riper years, it runs and winds through his whole nature like one\nof his veins, and can only be destroyed with his life.\n\nThe entrance of Croesus roused Cambyses from his dream; he raised the old\nman kindly from the prostrate position at his feet, into which he had\nthrown himself on entering, and said: \"You offended me, but I will be\nmerciful; I have not forgotten that my father, on his dying bed, told me\nto make you my friend and adviser. Take your life back as a gift from me,\nand forget my anger as I wish to forget your want of reverence. This man\nsays he knows you; I should like to hear your opinion of his\nconjectures.\"\n\nCroesus turned away much affected, and after having heartily welcomed the\nAthenian, asked him to relate his suppositions and the grounds on which\nthey were founded.\n\nThe old man grew more and more attentive as the Greek went on, and when\nhe had finished raised his hands to heaven, crying: \"Pardon me, oh ye\neternal gods, if I have ever questioned the justice of your decrees. Is\nnot this marvellous, Cambyses? My son once placed himself in great danger\nto save the life of this noble Athenian, whom the gods have brought\nhither to repay the deed tenfold. Had Phanes been murdered in Egypt, this\nhour might have seen our sons executed.\"\n\nAnd as he said this he embraced Hystaspes; both shared one feeling; their\nsons had been as dead and were now alive.\n\nThe king, Phanes, and all the Persian dignitaries watched the old men\nwith deep sympathy, and though the proofs of Bartja's innocence were as\nyet only founded on conjecture, not one of those present doubted it one\nmoment longer. Wherever the belief in a man's guilt is but slight, his\ndefender finds willing listeners.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE sharp-witted Athenian saw clearly how matters lay in this sad story;\nnor did it escape him that malice had had a hand in the affair. How could\nBartja's dagger have come into the hanging-gardens except through\ntreachery?\n\nWhile he was telling the king his suspicions, Oropastes was led into the\nhall.\n\nThe king looked angrily at him and without one preliminary word, asked:\n\"Have you a brother?\"\n\n\"Yes, my King. He and I are the only two left out of a family of six. My\nparents . . .\"\n\n\"Is your brother younger or older than yourself?\"\n\n\"I was the eldest of the family; my brother, the youngest, was the joy of\nmy father's old age.\"\n\n\"Did you ever notice a remarkable likeness between him and one of my\nrelations?\"\n\n\"Yes, my King. Gaumata is so like your brother Bartja, that in the school\nfor priests at Rhagae, where he still is, he was always called 'the\nprince.'\"\n\n\"Has he been at Babylon very lately?\"\n\n\"He was here for the last time at the New Year's festival.\"\n\n\"Are you speaking the truth?\"\n\n\"The sin of lying would be doubly punishable in one who wears my robes,\nand holds my office.\"\n\nThe king's face flushed with anger at this answer and he exclaimed:\n\"Nevertheless you are lying; Gaumata was here yesterday evening. You may\nwell tremble.\"\n\n\"My life belongs to the king, whose are all things; nevertheless I\nswear--the high-priest-by the most high God, whom I have served\nfaithfully for thirty years, that I know nothing of my brother's presence\nin Babylon yesterday.\"\n\n\"Your face looks as if you were speaking the truth.\"\n\n\"You know that I was not absent from your side the whole of that high\nholiday.\"\n\n\"I know it.\"\n\nAgain the doors opened; this time they admitted the trembling Mandane.\nThe high-priest cast such a look of astonishment and enquiry on her, that\nthe king saw she must be in some way connected with him, and therefore,\ntaking no notice of the trembling girl who lay at his feet, he asked: \"Do\nyou know this woman?\"\n\n\"Yes, my King. I obtained for her the situation of upper attendant to\nthe--may Auramazda forgive her!--King of Egypt's daughter.\"\n\n\"What led you,--a priest,--to do a favor to this girl?\"\n\n\"Her parents died of the same pestilence, which carried off my brothers.\nHer father was a priest, respected, and a friend of our family; so we\nadopted the little girl, remembering the words: 'If thou withhold help\nfrom the man who is pure in heart and from his widow and orphans, then\nshall the pure, subject earth cast thee out unto the stinging-nettles, to\npainful sufferings and to the most fearful regions!' Thus I became her\nfoster-father, and had her brought up with my youngest brother until he\nwas obliged to enter the school for priests.\"\n\nThe king exchanged a look of intelligence with Phanes, and asked: \"Why\ndid not you keep the girl longer with you?\"\n\n\"When she had received the ear-rings I, as priest, thought it more\nsuitable to send such a young girl away from my house, and to put her in\na position to earn her own living.\"\n\n\"Has she seen your brother since she has been grown up?\"\n\n\"Yes, my King. Whenever Gaumata came to see me I allowed him to be with\nher as with a sister; but on discovering later that the passionate love\nof youth had begun to mingle with the childish friendship of former days,\nI felt strengthened in my resolution to send her away.\"\n\n\"Now we know enough,\" said the king, commanding the high-priest by a nod\nto retire. He then looked down on the prostrate girl, and said\nimperiously: \"Rise!\"\n\nMandane rose, trembling with fear. Her fresh young face was pale as\ndeath, and her red lips were blue from terror.\n\n\"Tell all you know about yesterday evening; but remember, a lie and your\ndeath are one and the same.\"\n\nThe girl's knees trembled so violently that she could hardly stand, and\nher fear entirely took away the power of speaking.\n\n\"I have not much patience,\" exclaimed Cambyses. Mandane started, grew\npaler still, but could not speak. Then Phanes came forward and asked the\nangry king to allow him to examine the girl, as he felt sure that fear\nalone had closed her lips and that a kind word would open them.\n\nCambyses allowed this, and the Athenian's words proved true; no sooner\nhad he assured Mandane of the good-will of all present, laid his hand on\nher head and spoken kindly to her, than the source of her tears was\nunlocked, she wept freely, the spell which had seemed to chain her\ntongue, vanished, and she began to tell her story, interrupted only by\nlow sobs. She hid nothing, confessed that Boges had given her his\nsanction and assistance to the meeting with Gaumata, and ended by saying:\n\"I know that I have forfeited my life, and am the worst and most\nungrateful creature in the world; but none of all this would have\nhappened, if Oropastes had allowed his brother to marry me.\"\n\nThe serious audience, even the king himself, could not resist a smile at\nthe longing tone in which these words were spoken and the fresh burst of\nsobs which succeeded them.\n\nAnd this smile saved her life. But Cambyses would not have smiled, after\nhearing such a story, if Mandane, with that instinct which always seems\nto stand at a woman's command in the hour of her greatest danger, had not\nknown how to seize his weak side, and use it for her own interests, by\ndwelling much longer than was necessary, on the delight which Nitetis had\nmanifested at the king's gifts.\n\n\"A thousand times\" cried she, \"did my mistress kiss the presents which\nwere brought from you, O King; but oftenest of all did she press her lips\nto the nosegay which you plucked with your own hands for her, some days\nago. And when it began to fade, she took every flower separately, spread\nout the petals with care, laid them between woollen cloths, and, with her\nown hands, placed her heavy, golden ointment-box upon them, that they\nmight dry and so she might keep them always as a remembrance of your\nkindness.\"\n\nSeeing Cambyses' awful features grow a little milder at these words, the\ngirl took fresh courage, and at last began to put loving words into her\nmistress's mouth which the latter had never uttered; professing that she\nherself had heard Nitetis a hundred times murmur the word \"Cambyses\" in\nher sleep with indescribable tenderness. She ended her confession by\nsobbing and praying for mercy.\n\nThe king looked down at her with infinite contempt, though without anger,\nand pushing her away with his foot said: \"Out of my sight, you dog of a\nwoman! Blood like yours would soil the executioner's axe. Out of my\nsight!\"\n\nMandane needed no second command to depart. The words \"out of my sight\"\nsounded like sweet music in her ears. She rushed through the courts of\nthe palace, and out into the streets, crying like a mad woman \"I am free!\nI am free!\"\n\nShe, had scarcely left the hall, when Datis, the \"king's eye\" reappeared\nwith the news that the chief of the eunuchs was nowhere to be found. He\nhad vanished from the hanging-gardens in an unaccountable manner; but he,\nDatis, had left word with his subordinates that he was to be searched for\nand brought, dead or alive.\n\nThe king went off into another violent fit of passion at this news, and\nthreatened the officer of police, who prudently concealed the excitement\nof the crowd from his lord, with a severe punishment, if Boges were not\nin their hands by the next morning.\n\nAs he finished speaking, a eunuch was brought into the hall, sent by the\nking's mother to ask an interview for herself with her son.\n\nCambyses prepared at once to comply with his mother's wish, at the same\ntime giving Phanes his hand to kiss, a rare honor, only shown to those\nthat ate at the king's table, and saying: \"All the prisoners are to be\nset at liberty. Go to your sons, you anxious, troubled fathers, and\nassure them of my mercy and favor. I think we shall be able to find a\nsatrapy a-piece for them, as compensation for to-night's undeserved\nimprisonment. To you, my Greek friend, I am deeply indebted. In discharge\nof this debt, and as a means of retaining you at my court, I beg you to\naccept one hundred talents from my treasury.\"\n\n\"I shall scarcely be able to use so large a sum,\" said Phanes, bowing\nlow.\n\n\"Then abuse it,\" said the king with a friendly smile, and calling out to\nhim, \"We shall meet again at supper,\" he left the hall accompanied by his\ncourt.\n\n          ........................\n\nIn the meantime there had been sadness and mourning in the apartments of\nthe queen-mother. Judging from the contents of the letter to Bartja,\nKassandane had made up her mind that Nitetis was faithless, and her own\nbeloved son innocent. But in whom could she ever place confidence again,\nnow that this girl, whom she had looked upon as the very embodiment of\nevery womanly virtue, had proved reprobate and faithless--now that the\nnoblest youths in the realm had proved perjurers?\n\nNitetis was more than dead for her; Bartja, Croesus, Darius, Gyges,\nAraspes, all so closely allied to her by relationship and friendship, as\ngood as dead. And yet she durst not indulge her sorrow; she had to\nrestrain the despairing outbursts of grief of her impetuous child.\n\nAtossa behaved like one deprived of her senses when she heard of the\nsentences of death. The self-control which she had learnt from Nitetis\ngave way, and her old impetuosity burst forth again with double\nvehemence.\n\nNitetis, her only friend,--Bartja, the brother whom she loved with her\nwhole heart,--Darius, whom she felt now she not only looked up to as her\ndeliverer, but loved with all the warmth of a first affection--Croesus to\nwhom she clung like a father,--she was to lose every one she loved in one\nday.\n\nShe tore her dress and her hair, called Cambyses a monster, and every one\nwho could possibly believe in the guilt of such people, infatuated or\ninsane. Then her tears would burst out afresh, she would utter imploring\nsupplications to the gods for mercy, and a few minutes later, begin\nconjuring her mother to take her to the hanging-gardens, that they might\nhear Nitetis' defence of her own conduct.\n\nKassandane tried to soothe the violent girl, and assured her every\nattempt to visit the hanging-gardens would be in vain. Then Atossa began\nto rage again, until at last her mother was forced to command silence,\nand as morning had already began to dawn, sent her to her sleeping-room.\n\nThe girl obeyed, but instead of going to bed, seated herself at a tall\nwindow looking towards the hanging-gardens. Her eyes filled with tears\nagain, as she thought of her friend--her sister-sitting in that palace\nalone, forsaken, banished, and looking forward to an ignominious death.\nSuddenly her tearful, weary eyes lighted up as if from some strong\npurpose, and instead of gazing into the distance, she fixed them on a\nblack speck which flew towards her in a straight line from Nitetis'\nhouse, becoming larger and more distinct every moment; and finally\nsettling on a cypress before her window. The sorrow vanished at once from\nher lovely face and with a deep sigh of relief she sprang up, exclaiming:\n\n\"Oh, there is the Homai, the bird of good fortune! Now everything will\nturn out well.\"\n\nIt was the same bird of paradise which had brought so much comfort to\nNitetis that now gave poor Atossa fresh confidence.\n\nShe bent forward to see whether any one was in the garden; and finding\nthat she would be seen by no one but the old gardener, she jumped out,\ntrembling like a fawn, plucked a few roses and cypress twigs and took\nthem to the old man, who had been watching her performances with a\ndoubtful shake of the head.\n\nShe stroked his cheeks coaxingly, put her flowers in his brown hand, and\nsaid: \"Do you love me, Sabaces?\"\n\n\"O, my mistress!\" was the only answer the old man could utter, as he\npressed the hem of her robe to his lips.\n\n\"I believe you, my old friend, and I will show you how I trust my\nfaithful, old Sabaces. Hide these flowers carefully and go quickly to the\nking's palace. Say that you had to bring fruit for the table. My poor\nbrother Bartja, and Darius, the son of the noble Hystaspes, are in\nprison, near the guard-house of the Immortals. You must manage that these\nflowers reach them, with a warm greeting from me, but mind, the message\nmust be given with the flowers.\"\n\n\"But the guards will not allow me to see the prisoners.\"\n\n\"Take these rings, and slip them into their hands.\"\n\n\"I will do my best.\"\n\n\"I knew you loved me, my good Sabaces. Now make haste, and come back\nsoon.\"\n\nThe old man went off as fast as he could. Atossa looked thoughtfully\nafter him, murmuring to herself: \"Now they will both know, that I loved\nthem to the last. The rose means, 'I love you,' and the evergreen\ncypress, 'true and steadfast.'\" The old man came back in an hour;\nbringing her Bartja's favorite ring, and from Darius an Indian\nhandkerchief dipped in blood.\n\nAtossa ran to meet him; her eyes filled with tears as she took the\ntokens, and seating herself under a spreading plane-tree, she pressed\nthem by turns to her lips, murmuring: \"Bartja's ring means that he thinks\nof me; the blood-stained handkerchief that Darius is ready to shed his\nheart's blood for me.\"\n\nAtossa smiled as she said this, and her tears, when she thought of her\nfriends and their sad fate, were quieter, if not less bitter, than\nbefore.\n\nA few hours later a messenger arrived from Croesus with news that the\ninnocence of Bartja and his friends had been proved, and that Nitetis\nwas, to all intents and purposes, cleared also.\n\nKassandane sent at once to the hanging-gardens, with a request that\nNitetis would come to her apartments. Atossa, as unbridled in her joy as\nin her grief, ran to meet her friend's litter and flew from one of her\nattendants to the other crying: \"They are all innocent; we shall not lose\none of them--not one!\"\n\nWhen at last the litter appeared and her loved one, pale as death, within\nit, she burst into loud sobs, threw her arms round Nitetis as she\ndescended, and covered her with kisses and caresses till she perceived\nthat her friend's strength was failing, that her knees gave way, and she\nrequired a stronger support than Atossa's girlish strength could give.\n\nThe Egyptian girl was carried insensible into the queen-mother's\napartments. When she opened her eyes, her head-more like a marble piece\nof sculpture than a living head--was resting on the blind queen's lap,\nshe felt Atossa's warm kisses on her forehead, and Cambyses, who had\nobeyed his mother's call, was standing at her side.\n\nShe gazed on this circle, including all she loved best, with anxious,\nperplexed looks, and at last, recognizing them one by one, passed her\nhand across her pale fore head as if to remove a veil, smiled at each,\nand closed her eyes once more. She fancied Isis had sent her a beautiful\nvision, and wished to hold it fast with all the powers of her mind.\n\nThen Atossa called her by her name, impetuously and lovingly. She opened\nher eyes again, and again she saw those loving looks that she fancied had\nonly been sent her in a dream. Yes, that was her own Atossa--this her\nmotherly friend, and there stood, not the angry king, but the man she\nloved. And now his lips opened too, his stern, severe eyes rested on her\nso beseechingly, and he said: \"O Nitetis, awake! you must not--you cannot\npossibly be guilty!\" She moved her head gently with a look of cheerful\ndenial and a happy smile stole across her features, like a breeze of\nearly spring over fresh young roses.\n\n\"She is innocent! by Mithras, it is impossible that she can be guilty,\"\ncried the king again, and forgetful of the presence of others, he sank on\nhis knees.\n\nA Persian physician came up and rubbed her forehead with a sweet-scented\noil, and Nebenchari approached, muttering spells, felt her pulse, shook\nhis head, and administered a potion from his portable medicine-chest.\nThis restored her to perfect consciousness; she raised herself with\ndifficulty into a sitting posture, returned the loving caresses of her\ntwo friends, and then turning to Cambyses, asked: \"How could you believe\nsuch a thing of me, my King?\" There was no reproach in her tone, but deep\nsadness, and Cambyses answered softly, \"Forgive me.\"\n\nKassandane's blind eyes expressed her gratitude for this\nself-renunciation on the part of her son, and she said: \"My daughter, I\nneed your forgiveness too.\"\n\n\"But I never once doubted you,\" cried Atossa, proudly and joyfully\nkissing her friend's lips.\n\n\"Your letter to Bartja shook my faith in your innocence,\" added\nKassandane.\n\n\"And yet it was all so simple and natural,\" answered Nitetis. \"Here, my\nmother, take this letter from Egypt. Croesus will translate it for you.\nIt will explain all. Perhaps I was imprudent. Ask your mother to tell you\nwhat you would wish to know, my King. Pray do not scorn my poor, ill\nsister. When an Egyptian girl once loves, she cannot forget. But I feel\nso frightened. The end must be near. The last hours have been so very,\nvery terrible. That horrible man, Boges, read me the fearful sentence of\ndeath, and it was that which forced the poison into my hand. Ah, my\nheart!\"\n\nAnd with these words she fell back into the arms of Kassandane.\n\nNebenchari rushed forward, and gave her some more drops, exclaiming: \"I\nthought so! She has taken poison and her life cannot be saved, though\nthis antidote may possibly prolong it for a few days.\" Cambyses stood by,\npale and rigid, following the physician's slightest movements, and Atossa\nbathed her friend's forehead with her tears.\n\n\"Let some milk be brought,\" cried Nebenchari, \"and my large\nmedicine-chest; and let attendants be called to carry her away, for quiet\nis necessary, above all things.\"\n\nAtossa hastened into the adjoining room; and Cambyses said to the\nphysician, but without looking into his face: \"Is there no hope?\"\n\n\"The poison which she has taken results in certain death.\"\n\nOn hearing this the king pushed Nebenchari away from the sick girl,\nexclaiming: \"She shall live. It is my will. Here, eunuch! summon all the\nphysicians in Babylon--assemble the priests and Alobeds! She is not to\ndie; do you hear? she must live, I am the king, and I command it.\"\n\nNitetis opened her eyes as if endeavoring to obey her lord. Her face was\nturned towards the window, and the bird of paradise with the gold chain\non its foot, was still there, perched on the cypress-tree. Her eyes fell\nfirst on her lover, who had sunk down at her side and was pressing his\nburning lips to her right hand. She murmured with a smile: \"O, this great\nhappiness!\" Then she saw the bird, and pointed to it with tier left hand,\ncrying: \"Look, look, there is the Phoenix, the bird of Ra!\"\n\nAfter saying this she closed her eyes and was soon seized by a violent\nattack of fever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nPrexaspes, the king's messenger, and one of the highest officials at\ncourt, had brought Gaumata, Mandane's lover, whose likeness to Bartja was\nreally most wonderful, to Babylon, sick and wounded as he was. He was now\nawaiting his sentence in a dungeon, while Boges, the man who had led him\ninto crime, was nowhere to be found, notwithstanding all the efforts of\nthe police. His escape had been rendered possible by the trap-door in the\nhanging-gardens, and greatly assisted by the enormous crowds assembled in\nthe streets.\n\nImmense treasures were found in his house. Chests of gold and jewels,\nwhich his position had enabled him to obtain with great ease, were\nrestored to the royal treasury. Cambyses, however, would gladly have\ngiven ten times as much treasure to secure possession of the traitor.\n\nTo Phaedime's despair the king ordered all the inhabitants of the harem,\nexcept his mother, Atossa and the dying Nitetis, to be removed to Susa,\ntwo days after the accused had been declared innocent. Several eunuchs of\nrank were deposed from their offices. The entire caste was to suffer for\nthe sins of him who had escaped punishment.\n\nOropastes, who had already entered on his duties as regent of the\nkingdom, and had clearly proved his non-participation in the crime of\nwhich his brother had been proved guilty, bestowed the vacant places\nexclusively on the Magi. The demonstration made by the people in favor of\nBartja did not come to the king's ears until the crowd had long\ndispersed. Still, occupied as he was, almost entirely, by his anxiety for\nNitetis, he caused exact information of this illegal manifestation to be\nfurnished him, and ordered the ringleaders to be severely punished. He\nfancied it was a proof that Bartja had been trying to gain favor with the\npeople, and Cambyses would perhaps have shown his displeasure by some\nopen act, if a better impulse had not told him that he, not Bartja, was\nthe brother who stood in need of forgiveness. In spite of this, however,\nhe could not get rid of the feeling that Bartja, had been, though\ninnocent, the cause of the sad events which had just happened, nor of his\nwish to get him out of the way as far as might be; and he therefore gave\na ready consent to his brother's wish to start at once for Naukratis.\n\nBartja took a tender farewell of his mother and sister, and started two\ndays after his liberation. He was accompanied by Gyges, Zopyrus, and a\nnumerous retinue charged with splendid presents from Cambyses for Sappho.\nDarius remained behind, kept back by his love for Atossa. The day too was\nnot far distant, when, by his father's wish, he was to marry Artystone,\nthe daughter of Gobryas.\n\nBartja parted from his friend with a heavy heart, advising him to be very\nprudent with regard to Atossa. The secret had been confided to\nKassandane, and she had promised to take Darius' part with the king.\n\nIf any one might venture to raise his eyes to the daughter of Cyrus,\nassuredly it was the son of Hystaspes; he was closely connected by\nmarriage with the royal family, belonged like Cambyses to the Pasargadae,\nand his family was a younger branch of the reigning dynasty. His father\ncalled himself the highest noble in the realm, and as such, governed the\nprovince of Persia proper, the mother-country, to which this enormous\nworld-empire and its ruler owed their origin. Should the family of Cyrus\nbecome extinct, the descendants of Hystaspes would have a well-grounded\nright to the Persian throne. Darius therefore, apart from his personal\nadvantages, was a fitting claimant for Atossa's hand. And yet no one\ndared to ask the king's consent. In the gloomy state of mind into which\nhe had been brought by the late events, it was likely that he might\nrefuse it, and such an answer would have to be regarded as irrevocable.\nSo Bartja was obliged to leave Persia in anxiety about the future of\nthese two who were very dear to him.\n\nCroesus promised to act as mediator in this case also, and before Bartja\nleft, made him acquainted with Phanes.\n\nThe youth had heard such a pleasant account of the Athenian from Sappho,\nthat he met him with great cordiality, and soon won the fancy of the\nolder and more experienced man, who gave him many a useful hint, and a\nletter to Theopompus, the Milesian, at Naukratis. Phanes concluded by\nasking for a private interview.\n\nBartja returned to his friends looking grave and thoughtful; soon,\nhowever, he forgot his cause of anxiety and joked merrily with them over\na farewell cup. Before he mounted his horse the next morning, Nebenchari\nasked to be allowed an audience. He was admitted, and begged Bartja to\ntake the charge of a large written roll for king Amasis. It contained a\ndetailed account of Nitetis' sufferings, ending with these words: \"Thus\nthe unhappy victim of your ambitious plans will end her life in a few\nhours by poison, to the use of which she was driven by despair. The\narbitrary caprices of the mighty can efface all happiness from the life\nof a human creature, just as we wipe a picture from the tablet with a\nsponge. Your servant Nebenchari is pining in a foreign land, deprived of\nhome and property, and the wretched daughter of a king of Egypt dies a\nmiserable and lingering death by her own hand. Her body will be torn to\npieces by dogs and vultures, after the manner of the Persians. Woe unto\nthem who rob the innocent of happiness here and of rest beyond the\ngrave!\"\n\nBartja had not been told the contents of this letter, but promised to\ntake it with him; he then, amid the joyful shouts of the people, set up\noutside the city-gate the stones which, according to a Persian\nsuperstition, were to secure him a prosperous journey, and left Babylon.\n\nNebenchari, meanwhile, prepared to return to his post by Nitetis'\ndying-bed.\n\nJust as he reached the brazen gates between the harem-gardens and the\ncourts of the large palace, an old man in white robes came up to him. The\nsight seemed to fill Nebenchari with terror; he started as if the gaunt\nold man had been a ghost. Seeing, however, a friendly and familiar smile\non the face of the other, he quickened his steps, and, holding out his\nhand with a heartiness for which none of his Persian acquaintances would\nhave given him credit, exclaimed in Egyptian: \"Can I believe my eyes? You\nin Persia, old Hib? I should as soon have expected the sky to fall as to\nhave the pleasure of seeing you on the Euphrates. But now, in the name of\nOsiris, tell me what can have induced you, you old ibis, to leave your\nwarm nest on the Nile and set out on such a long journey eastward.\"\n\nWhile Nebenchari was speaking, the old man listened in a bowing posture,\nwith his arms hanging down by his side, and when he had finished, looked\nup into his face with indescribable joy, touched his breast with\ntrembling fingers, and then, falling on the right knee, laying one hand\non his heart and raising the other to heaven, cried: \"Thanks be unto\nthee, great Isis, for protecting the wanderer and permitting him to see\nhis master once more in health and safety. Ah, child, how anxious I have\nbeen! I expected to find you as wasted and thin as a convict from the\nquarries; I thought you would have been grieving and unhappy, and here\nyou are as well, and handsome and portly as ever. If poor old Hib had\nbeen in your place he would have been dead long ago.\"\n\n\"Yes, I don't doubt that, old fellow. I did not leave home of my own will\neither, nor without many a heartache. These foreigners are all the\nchildren of Seth. The good and gracious gods are only to be found in\nEgypt on the shores of the sacred, blessed Nile.\"\n\n\"I don't know much about its being so blessed,\" muttered the old man.\n\n\"You frighten me, father Hib. What has happened then?\"\n\n\"Happened! Things have come to a pretty pass there, and you'll hear of it\nsoon enough. Do you think I should have left house and grandchildren at\nmy age,--going on for eighty,--like any Greek or Phoenician vagabond, and\ncome out among these godless foreigners (the gods blast and destroy\nthem!), if I could possibly have staid on in Egypt?\"\n\n\"But tell me what it's all about.\"\n\n\"Some other time, some other time. Now you must take me to your own\nhouse, and I won't stir out of it as long as we are in this land of\nTyphon.\"\n\nThe old man said this with so much emphasis, that Nebenchiari could not\nhelp smiling and saying: \"Have they treated you so very badly then, old\nman?\"\n\n\"Pestilence and Khamsin!\" blustered the old man.\n\n   [The south-west wind, which does so much injury to the crops in the\n   Nile valley. It is known to us as the Simoom, the wind so perilous\n   to travellers in the desert.]\n\n\"There's not a more good-for-nothing Typhon's brood on the face of the\nearth than these Persians. I only wonder they're not all red-haired and\nleprous. Ah, child, two whole days I have been in this hell already, and\nall that time I was obliged to live among these blasphemers. They said no\none could see you; you were never allowed to leave Nitetis' sick-bed.\nPoor child! I always said this marriage with a foreigner would come to no\ngood, and it serves Amasis right if his children give him trouble. His\nconduct to you alone deserves that.\"\n\n\"For shame, old man!\"\n\n\"Nonsense, one must speak one's mind sometimes. I hate a king, who comes\nfrom nobody knows where. Why, when he was a poor boy he used to steal\nyour father's nuts, and wrench the name-plates off the house-doors. I saw\nhe was a good-for-nothing fellow then. It's a shame that such people\nshould be allowed to. . . .\"\n\n\"Gently, gently, old man. We are not all made of the same stuff, and if\nthere was such a little difference between you and Amasis as boys, it, is\nyour own fault that, now you are old men, he has outstripped you so far.\n\n\"My father and grandfather were both servants in the temple, and of\ncourse I followed in their footsteps.\"\n\n\"Quite right; it is the law of caste, and by that rule, Amasis ought\nnever to have become anything higher than a poor army-captain at most.\"\n\n\"It is not every one who's got such an easy conscience as this upstart\nfellow.\"\n\n\"There you are again! For shame, Hib! As long as I can remember, and that\nis nearly half a century, every other word with you has been an abusive\none. When I was a child your ill-temper was vented on me, and now the\nking has the benefit of it.\"\n\n\"Serves him right! All, if you only knew all! It's now seven months since\n. . .\"\n\n\"I can't stop to listen to you now. At the rising of the seven stars I\nwill send a slave to take you to my rooms. Till then you must stay in\nyour present lodging, for I must go to my patient.\"\n\n\"You must?--Very well,--then go and leave poor old Hib here to die. I\ncan't possibly live another hour among these creatures.\"\n\n\"What would you have me do then?\"\n\n\"Let me live with you as long as we are in Persia.\"\n\n\"Have they treated you so very roughly?\"\n\n\"I should think they had indeed. It is loathsome to think of. They forced\nme to eat out of the same pot with them and cut my bread with the same\nknife. An infamous Persian, who had lived many years in Egypt, and\ntravelled here with us, had given them a list of all the things and\nactions, which we consider unclean. They took away my knife when I was\ngoing to shave myself. A good-for-nothing wench kissed me on the\nforehead, before I could prevent it. There, you needn't laugh; it will be\na month at least before I can get purified from all these pollutions. I\ntook an emetic, and when that at last began to take effect, they all\nmocked and sneered at me. But that was not all. A cursed cook-boy nearly\nbeat a sacred kitten to death before my very eyes. Then an\nointment-mixer, who had heard that I was your servant, made that godless\nBubares ask me whether I could cure diseases of the eye too. I said yes,\nbecause you know in sixty years it's rather hard if one can't pick up\nsomething from one's master. Bubares was interpreter between us, and the\nshameful fellow told him to say that he was very much disturbed about a\ndreadful disease in his eyes. I asked what it was, and received for\nanswer that he could not tell one thing from another in the dark!\"\n\n\"You should have told him that the best remedy for that was to light a\ncandle.\"\n\n\"Oh, I hate the rascals! Another hour among them will be the death of\nme!\"\n\n\"I am sure you behaved oddly enough among these foreigners,\" said\nNebenchiari smiling, \"you must have made them laugh at you, for the\nPersians are generally very polite, well-behaved people. Try them again,\nonly once. I shall be very glad to take you in this evening, but I can't\npossibly do it before.\"\n\n\"It is as I thought! He's altered too, like everybody else! Osiris is\ndead and Seth rules the world again.\"\n\n\"Farewell! When the seven stars rise, our old Ethiopian slave, Nebununf,\nwill wait for you here.\"\n\n\"Nebununf, that old rogue? I never want to see him again.\"\n\n\"Yes, the very same.\"\n\n\"Him--well it's a good thing, when people stay as they were. To be sure I\nknow some people who can't say so much of themselves, and who instead of\nminding their own business, pretend to heal inward diseases, and when a\nfaithful old servant . . .\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue, and wait patiently till evening.\" These last words\nwere spoken seriously, and produced the desired impression. The old man\nmade another obeisance, and before his master left him, said: \"I came\nhere under the protection of Phanes, the former commander of the Greek\nmercenaries. He wishes very much to speak with you.\"\n\n\"That is his concern. He can come to me.\"\n\n\"You never leave that sick girl, whose eyes are as sound as . . .\"\n\n\"Hib!\"\n\n\"For all I care she may have a cataract in both. May Phanes come to you\nthis evening?\"\n\n\"I wished to be alone with you.\"\n\n\"So did I; but the Greek seems to be in a great hurry, and he knows\nnearly everything that I have to tell you.\"\n\n\"Have you been gossiping then?\"\n\n\"No--not exactly--but . . .\"\n\n\"I always thought you were a man to be trusted.\"\n\n\"So I was. But this Greek knows already a great deal of what I know, and\nthe rest . . .\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"The rest he got out of me, I hardly know how myself. If I did not wear\nthis amulet against an evil eye, I should have been obliged . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I know the Athenian--I can forgive you. I should like him to\ncome with you this evening. But I see the sun is already high in the\nheavens. I have no time to lose. Tell me in a few words what has\nhappened.\"\n\n\"I thought this evening . . .\"\n\n\"No, I must have at least a general idea of what has happened before I\nsee the Athenian. Be brief.\"\n\n\"You have been robbed!\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"Is not that enough?\"\n\n\"Answer me. Is that all?\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"Then farewell.\"\n\n\"But Nebenchari!\"\n\nThe physician did not even hear this exclamation; the gates of the harem\nhad already closed behind him.\n\nWhen the Pleiades had risen, Nebenchari was to be found seated alone in\none of the magnificent rooms assigned to his use on the eastern side of\nthe palace, near to Kassandane's apartments. The friendly manner in which\nhe had welcomed his old servant had given place to the serious expression\nwhich his face usually wore, and which had led the cheerful Persians to\ncall him a morose and gloomy man.\n\nNebenchari was an Egyptian priest through and through; a member of that\ncaste which never indulged in a jest, and never for a moment forgot to be\ndignified and solemn before the public; but when among their relations\nand their colleagues completely threw off this self-imposed restraint,\nand gave way at times even to exuberant mirth.\n\nThough he had known Phanes in Sais, he received him with cold politeness,\nand, after the first greeting was ended, told Hib to leave them alone.\n\n\"I have come to you,\" said the Athenian, \"to speak about some very\nimportant affairs.\"\n\n\"With which I am already acquainted,\" was the Egyptian's curt reply.\n\n\"I am inclined to doubt that,\" said Phanes with an incredulous smile.\n\n\"You have been driven out of Egypt, persecuted and insulted by Psamtik,\nand you have come to Persia to enlist Cambyses as an instrument of\nrevenge against my country.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken. I have nothing against your country, but all the more\nagainst Amasis and his house. In Egypt the state and the king are one, as\nyou very well know.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, my own observations have led me to think that the\npriests considered themselves one with the state.\"\n\n\"In that case you are better informed than I, who have always looked on\nthe kings of Egypt as absolute. So they are; but only in proportion as\nthey know how to emancipate themselves from the influence of your\ncaste.--Amasis himself submits to the priests now.\"\n\n\"Strange intelligence!\"\n\n\"With which, however, you have already long been made acquainted.\"\n\n\"Is that your opinion?\"\n\n\"Certainly it is. And I know with still greater certainty that once--you\nhear me--once, he succeeded in bending the will of these rulers of his to\nhis own.\"\n\n\"I very seldom hear news from home, and do not understand what you are\nspeaking of.\"\n\n\"There I believe you, for if you knew what I meant and could stand there\nquietly without clenching your fist, you would be no better than a dog\nwho only whimpers when he's kicked and licks the hand that torments him.\"\n\nThe physician turned pale. \"I know that Amasis has injured and insulted\nme,\" he said, \"but at the same time I must tell you that revenge is far\ntoo sweet a morsel to be shared with a stranger.\"\n\n\"Well said! As to my own revenge, however, I can only compare it to a\nvineyard where the grapes are so plentiful, that I am not able to gather\nthem all myself.\"\n\n\"And you have come hither to hire good laborers.\"\n\n\"Quite right, and I do not even yet give up the hope of securing you to\ntake a share in my vintage.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken. My work is already done. The gods themselves have\ntaken it in hand. Amasis has been severely enough punished for banishing\nme from country, friends and pupils into this unclean land.\"\n\n\"You mean by his blindness perhaps?\"\n\n\"Possibly.\"\n\n\"Then you have not heard that Petammon, one of your colleagues, has\nsucceeded in cutting the skin, which covered the pupil of the eye and so\nrestoring Amasis' sight?\"\n\nThe Egyptian started and ground his teeth; recovered his presence of\nmind, however, in a moment, and answered: \"Then the gods have punished\nthe father through the children.\"\n\n\"In what way? Psamtik suits his father's present mood very well. It is\ntrue that Tachot is ill, but she prays and sacrifices with her father all\nthe more for that; and as to Nitetis, you and I both know that her death\nwill not touch him very closely.\"\n\n\"I really do not understand you.\"\n\n\"Of course not, so long as you fancy that I believe your beautiful\npatient to be Amasis' daughter.\"\n\nThe Egyptian started again, but Phanes went on without appearing to\nnotice his emotion: \"I know more than you suppose. Nitetis is the\ndaughter of Hophra, Amasis' dethroned predecessor. Amasis brought her up\nas his own child-first, in order to make the Egyptians believe that\nHophra had died childless; secondly, in order to deprive her of her\nrights to the throne; for you know women are allowed to govern on the\nNile.\"\n\n\"These are mere suppositions.\"\n\n\"For which, however, I can bring irrefragable proofs. Among the papers\nwhich your old servant Hib brought with him in a small box, there must be\nsome letters from a certain Sonnophre, a celebrated accoucheur, your own\nfather, which . . .\"\n\n   [To judge from the pictures on the monuments and from the 1st Chap.\n   of Exodus, it would seem that in ancient, as in modern Egypt,\n   midwives were usually called in to assist at the birth of children;\n   but it is also certain, that in difficult cases physicians were\n   employed also. In the hieratic medical papyrus in Berlin, women are\n   often spoken of as assisting at such times. In the medical Papyrus\n   Ebers certain portions are devoted to diseases peculiar to women.\n   \"There were special rooms set aside in private houses for the birth\n   of children, as symbolical ones were reserved in the temples. These\n   chambers were called meschen, and from them was derived the name\n   given to midwives, to meschennu.]\n\n\"If that be the case, those letters are my property, and I have not the\nslightest intention of giving them up; besides which you might search\nPersia from one end to the other without finding any one who could\ndecipher my father's writing.\"\n\n\"Pardon me, if I point out one or two errors into which you have fallen.\nFirst, this box is at present in my hands, and though I am generally\naccustomed to respect the rights of property, I must assure you that, in\nthe present instance, I shall not return the box until its contents have\nserved my purpose. Secondly, the gods have so ordained, that just at this\nmoment there is a man in Babylon who can read every kind of writing known\nto the Egyptian priests. Do you perhaps happen to know the name of\nOnuphis?\"\n\nFor the third time the Egyptian turned pale. \"Are you certain,\" he said,\n\"that this man is still among the living?\"\n\n\"I spoke to him myself yesterday. He was formerly, you know, high-priest\nat Heliopolis, and was initiated into all your mysteries there. My wise\ncountryman, Pythagoras of Samos, came to Egypt, and after submitting to\nsome of your ceremonies, was allowed to attend the lessons given in the\nschools for priests. His remarkable talents won the love of the great\nOnuphis and he taught him all the Egyptian mysteries, which Pythagoras\nafterwards turned to account for the benefit of mankind. My delightful\nfriend Rhodopis and I are proud of having been his pupils. When the rest\nof your caste heard that Onuphis had betrayed the sacred mysteries, the\necclesiastical judges determined on his death. This was to be caused by a\npoison extracted from peach-kernels. The condemned man, however, heard of\ntheir machinations, and fled to Naukratis, where he found a safe asylum\nin the house of Rhodopis, whom he had heard highly praised by Pythagoras,\nand whose dwelling was rendered inviolable by the king's letter. Here he\nmet Antimenidas the brother of the poet Alcarus of Lesbos, who, having\nbeen banished by Pittakus, the wise ruler of Mitylene, had gone to\nBabylon, and there taken service in the army of Nebuchadnezzar, the King\nof Assyria. Antimenidas gave him letters to the Chaldians. Onuphis\ntravelled to the Euphrates, settled there, and was obliged to seek for\nsome means of earning his daily bread, as he had left Egypt a poor man.\nHe is now supporting himself in his old age, by the assistance which his\nsuperior knowledge enables him to render the Chaldoeans in their\nastronomical observations from the tower of Bel. Onuphis is nearly\neighty, but his mind is as clear as ever, and when I saw him yesterday\nand asked him to help me, his eyes brightened as he promised to do so.\nYour father was one of his judges, but he bears you no malice and sends\nyou a greeting.\"\n\nNebenchari's eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the ground during this tale.\nWhen Phanes had finished, he gave him a penetrating look and said: \"Where\nare my papers?\"\n\nThey are in Onuphis' hands. He is looking among them for the document I\nwant.\"\n\n\"I expected to hear that. Be so good as to tell me what the box is like,\nwhich Hib thought proper to bring over to Persia?\"\n\n\"It is a small ebony trunk, with an exquisitely-carved lid. In the centre\nis a winged beetle, and on the four corners . . .\"\n\n\"That contains nothing but a few of my father's notices and memorandums,\"\nsaid Nebenchari, drawing a deep breath of relief.\n\n\"They will very likely be sufficient for my purpose. I do not know\nwhether you have heard, that I stand as high as possible in Cambyses'\nfavor.\"\n\n\"So much the better for you. I can assure you, however, that the paper.\nwhich would have been most useful to you have all been left behind in\nEgypt.\"\n\n\"They were in a large chest made of sycamore-wood and painted in colors.\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"Because--now listen well to what I am going to say, Nebenchari--because\nI can tell you (I do not swear, for our great master Pythagoras forbade\noaths), that this very chest, with all it contained, was burnt in the\ngrove of the temple of Neith, in Sais, by order of the king.\"\n\nPhanes spoke slowly, emphasizing every syllable, and the words seemed to\nstrike the Egyptian like so many flashes of lightning. His quiet coolness\nand deliberation gave way to violent emotion; his cheeks glowed and his\neyes flashed. But only for one single minute; then the strong emotion\nseemed to freeze, his burning cheeks grew pale. \"You are trying to make\nme hate my friends, in order to gain me as your ally,\" he said, coldly\nand calmly. \"I know you Greeks very well. You are so intriguing and\nartful, that there is no lie, no fraud, too base, if it will only help to\ngain your purpose.\"\n\n\"You judge me and my countrymen in true Egyptian fashion; that is, they\nare foreigners, and therefore must be bad men. But this time your\nsuspicions happen to be misplaced. Send for old Hib; he will tell you\nwhether I am right or not.\"\n\nNebenchari's face darkened, as Hib came into the room.\n\n\"Come nearer,\" said he in a commanding tone to the old man.\n\nHib obeyed with a shrug of the shoulders.\n\n\"Tell me, have you taken a bribe from this man? Yes or no? I must know\nthe truth; it can influence my future for good or evil. You are an old\nand faithful servant, to whom I owe a great deal, and so I will forgive\nyou if you were taken in by his artifices, but I must know the truth. I\nconjure you to tell me by the souls of your fathers gone to Osiris!\"\n\nThe old man's sallow face turned ashy pale as he heard these words. He\ngulped and wheezed some time before he could find an answer, and at last,\nafter choking down the tears which had forced their way to his eyes,\nsaid, in a half-angry, half-whining tone: \"Didn't I say so? they've\nbewitched him, they've ruined him in this wicked land. Whatever a man\nwould do himself, he thinks others are capable of. Aye, you may look as\nangry as you like; it matters but little to me. What can it matter indeed\nto an old man, who has served the same family faithfully and honestly for\nsixty years, if they call him at last a rogue, a knave, a traitor, nay\neven a murderer, if it should take their fancy.\"\n\nAnd the scalding tears flowed down over the old man's cheeks, sorely\nagainst his will.\n\nThe easily-moved Phanes clapped him on the shoulder and said, turning to\nNebenchari: \"Hib is a faithful fellow. I give you leave to call me a\nrascal, if he has taken one single obolus from me.\"\n\nThe physician did not need Phanes' assurance; he had known his old\nservant too well and too long not to be able to read his simple, open\nfeatures, on which his innocence was written as clearly as in the pages\nof an open book. \"I did not mean to reproach you, old Hib,\" he said\nkindly, coming up to him. \"How can any one be so angry at a simple\nquestion?\"\n\n\"Perhaps you expect me to be pleased at such a shameful suspicion?\"\n\n\"No, not that; but at all events now you can tell me what has happened at\nour house since I left.\"\n\n\"A pretty story that is! Why only to think of it makes my mouth as\nbitter, as if I were chewing wormwood.\"\n\n\"You said I had been robbed.\"\n\n\"Yes indeed: no one was ever so robbed before. There would have been some\ncomfort if the knaves had belonged to the thieves' caste, for then we\nshould have got the best part of our property back again, and should not\nafter all have been worse off than many another; but when . . .\"\n\n   [The cunning son of the architect, who robbed the treasure-house of\n   Rhampsinitus was, according to Herodotus, (II. 120), severely\n   punished; but in Diod. I. 80. we see that when thieves acknowledged\n   themselves to the authorities to be such, they were not punished,\n   though a strict watch was set over them. According to Diodorus,\n   there was a president of the thieves' caste, from whom the stolen\n   goods could be reclaimed on relinquishment of a fourth part of the\n   same. This strange rule possibly owed its rise to the law, which\n   compelled every Egyptian to appear once in each year before the\n   authorities of his district and give an account of his means of\n   subsistence. Those who made false statements were punished with\n   death. Diod. I. 77. Thus no one who valued his life could escape\n   the watchful eye of the police, and the thief sacrificed the best\n   part of his gains in order to save his life.]\n\n\"Keep to the point, for my time is limited.\"\n\n\"You need not tell me that; I see old Hib can't do anything right here in\nPersia. Well, be it so, you're master; you must give orders; I am only\nthe servant, I must obey. I won't forget it. Well, as I was saying, it\nwas just at the time when the great Persian embassy came over to Sais to\nfetch Nitetis, and made everybody stare at them as if they were monsters\nor prodigies, that this shameful thing happened. I was sitting on the\nmosquito-tower just as the sun was setting, playing with my little\ngrandson, my Baner's eldest boy--he's a fine strapping little lad now,\nwonderfully sharp and strong for his age. The rogue was just telling me\nhow his father, the Egyptians do that when their wives leave the children\ntoo much alone--had hidden his mother's shoes, and I was laughing\nheartily, because my Baner won't let any of the little ones live with me,\nshe always says I spoil them, and so I was glad she should have the trick\nplayed her--when all of a sudden there was such a loud knocking at the\nhouse-door, that I thought there must be a fire and let the child drop\noff my lap. Down the stairs I ran, three steps at a time, as fast as my\nlong legs would carry me, and unbarred the door. Before I had time to ask\nthem what they wanted, a whole crowd of temple-servants and\npolicemen--there must have been at least fifteen of them--forced their\nway into the house. Pichi,--you know, that impudent fellow from the\ntemple of Neith,--pushed me back, barred the door inside and told the\npolice to put me in fetters if I refused to obey him. Of course I got\nangry and did not use very civil words to them--you know that's my way\nwhen I'm put out--and what does that bit of a fellow do--by our god\nThoth, the protector of knowledge who must know all, I'm speaking the\ntruth--but order them to bind my hands, forbid me--me, old Hib--to speak,\nand then tell me that he had been told by the high-priest to order me\nfive-and-twenty strokes, if I refused to do his bidding. He showed me the\nhigh-priest's ring, and so I knew there was nothing for it but to obey\nthe villain, whether I would or no. And what was his modest demand? Why,\nnothing less than to give him all the written papers you had left behind.\nBut old Hib is not quite so stupid as to let himself be caught in that\nway, though some people, who ought to know better, do fancy he can be\nbribed and is no better than the son of an ass. What did I do then? I\npretended to be quite crushed into submission by the sight of the\nsignet-ring, begged Pichi as politely as I could to unfasten my hands,\nand told him I would fetch the keys. They loosened the cords, I flew up\nthe stairs five steps at a time, burst open the door of your\nsleeping-room, pushed my little grandson, who was standing by it, into\nthe room and barred it within. Thanks to my long legs, the others were so\nfar behind that I had time to get hold of the black box which you had\ntold me to take so much care of, put it into the child's arms, lift him\nthrough the window on to the balcony which runs round the house towards\nthe inner court, and tell him to put it at once into the pigeon-house.\nThen I opened the door as if nothing had happened, told Pichi the child\nhad had a knife in his mouth, and that that was the reason I had run\nupstairs in such a hurry, and had put him out on the balcony to punish\nhim. That brother of a hippopotamus was easily taken in, and then he made\nme show him over the house. First they found the great sycamore-chest\nwhich you had told me to take great care of too, then the papyrus-rolls\non your writing-table, and so by degrees every written paper in the\nhouse. They made no distinction, but put all together into the great\nchest and carried it downstairs; the little black box, however, lay safe\nenough in the pigeon-house. My grandchild is the sharpest boy in all\nSais!\n\n\"When I saw them really carrying the chest downstairs, all the anger I'd\nbeen trying so hard to keep down burst out again. I told the impudent\nfellows I would accuse them before the magistrates, nay, even before the\nking if necessary, and if those confounded Persians, who were having the\ncity shown them, had not come up just then and made everybody stare at\nthem, I could have roused the crowd to take my side. The same evening I\nwent to my son-in-law-he is employed in the temple of Neith too, you\nknow,--and begged him to make every effort to find out what had become of\nthe papers. The good fellow has never forgotten the handsome dowry you\ngave my Baner when he married her, and in three days he came and told me\nhe had seen your beautiful chest and all the rolls it contained burnt to\nashes. I was so angry that I fell ill of the jaundice, but that did not\nhinder me from sending in a written accusation to the magistrates. The\nwretches,--I suppose only because they were priests too,--refused to take\nany notice of me or my complaint. Then I sent in a petition to the king,\nand was turned away there too with the shameful threat, that I should be\nconsidered guilty of high treason if I mentioned the papers again. I\nvalued my tongue too much to take any further steps, but the ground burnt\nunder my feet; I could not stay in Egypt, I wanted to see you, tell you\nwhat they had done to you, and call on you, who are more powerful than\nyour poor servant, to revenge yourself. And besides, I wanted to see the\nblack box safe in your hands, lest they should take that from me too. And\nso, old man as I am, with a sad heart I left my home and my grandchildren\nto go forth into this foreign Typhon's land. Ah, the little lad was too\nsharp! As I was kissing him, he said: 'Stay with us, grandfather. If the\nforeigners make you unclean, they won't let me kiss you any more.' Baner\nsends you a hearty greeting, and my son-in-law told me to say he had\nfound out that Psamtik, the crown-prince, and your rival, Petammon, had\nbeen the sole causes of this execrable deed. I could not make up my mind\nto trust myself on that Typhon's sea, so I travelled with an Arabian\ntrading caravan as far as Tadmor,--[Palmyra]--the Phoenician palm-tree\nstation in the wilderness,\" and then on to Carchemish, on the Euphrates,\nwith merchants from Sidon. The roads from Sardis and from Phoenicia meet\nthere, and, as I was sitting very weary in the little wood before the\nstation, a traveller arrived with the royal post-horses, and I saw at\nonce that it was the former commander of the Greek mercenaries.\"\n\n\"And I,\" interrupted Phanes, \"recognized just as soon in you, the longest\nand most quarrelsome old fellow that had ever come across my path. Oh,\nhow often I've laughed to see you scolding the children, as they ran\nafter you in the street whenever you appeared behind your master with the\nmedicine-chest. The minute I saw you too I remembered a joke which the\nking once made in his own way, as you were both passing by. 'The old\nman,' he said, reminds me of a fierce old owl followed by a flight of\nsmall teasing birds, and Nebenchari looks as if he had a scolding wife,\nwho will some day or other reward him for healing other people's eyes by\nscratching out his own!'\"\n\n\"Shameful!\" said the old man, and burst into a flood of execrations.\n\nNebenchari had been listening to his servant's tale in silence and\nthought. He had changed color from time to time and on hearing that the\npapers which had cost him so many nights of hard work had been burnt, his\nfists clenched and he shivered as if seized by biting frost. Not one of\nhis movements escaped the Athenian. He understood human nature; he knew\nthat a jest is often much harder to bear than a grave affront, and\ntherefore seized this opportunity to repeat the inconsiderate joke which\nAmasis had, it is true, allowed himself to make in one of his merry\nmoods. Phanes had calculated rightly, and had the pleasure of seeing,\nthat as he uttered the last words Nebenchari pressed his hand on a rose\nwhich lay on the table before him, and crushed it to pieces. The Greek\nsuppressed a smile of satisfaction, and did not even raise his eyes from\nthe ground, but continued speaking: \"Well, now we must bring the\ntravelling adventures of good old Hib to a close. I invited him to share\nmy carriage. At first he refused to sit on the same cushion with such a\ngodless foreigner, as I am, gave in, however, at last, had a good\nopportunity at the last station of showing the world how many clever\nprocesses of manipulation he had learnt from you and your father, in his\ntreatment of Oropastes' wounded brother; he reached Babylon at last safe\nand sound, and there, as we could not get sight of you, owing to the\nmelancholy poisoning of your country-woman, I succeeded in obtaining him\na lodging in the royal palace itself. The rest you knew already.\"\n\nNebenchari bowed assent and gave Hib a sign to leave the room, which the\nold man obeyed, grumbling and scolding in a low tone as he departed. When\nthe door had closed on him, Nebenchari, the man whose calling was to\nheal, drew nearer to the soldier Phanes, and said: \"I am afraid we cannot\nbe allies after all, Greek.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because I fear, that your revenge will prove far too mild when compared\nwith that which I feel bound to inflict.\"\n\n\"On that head there is no need for solicitude,\" answered the Athenian.\n\"May I call you my ally then?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the other; \"but only on one condition.\"\n\n\"And that is--?\"\n\n\"That you will procure me an opportunity of seeing our vengeance with my\nown eyes.\"\n\n\"That is as much as to say you are willing to accompany Cambyses' army to\nEgypt?\"\n\n\"Certainly I am; and when I see my enemies pining in disgrace and misery\nI will cry unto them, 'Ah ha, ye cowards, the poor despised and exiled\nphysician, Nebenchari, has brought this wretchedness upon you!' Oh, my\nbooks, my books! They made up to me for my lost wife and child. Hundreds\nwere to have learnt from them how to deliver the blind from the dark\nnight in which he lives, and to preserve to the seeing the sweetest gift\nof the gods, the greatest beauty of the human countenance, the receptacle\nof light, the seeing eye. Now that my books are burnt I have lived in\nvain; the wretches have burnt me in burning my works. O my books, my\nbooks!\" And he sobbed aloud in his agony. Phanes came up and took his\nband, saying: \"The Egyptians have struck you, my friend, but me they have\nmaltreated and abused--thieves have broken into your granaries, but my\nhearth and home have been burnt to ashes by incendiaries. Do you know,\nman, what I have had to suffer at their hands? In persecuting me, and\ndriving me out of Egypt, they only did what they had a right to do; by\ntheir law I was a condemned man; and I could have forgiven all they did\nto me personally, for I loved Amasis, as a man loves his friend. The\nwretch knew that, and yet he suffered them to commit a monstrous, an\nincredible act--an act that a man's brain refuses to take in. They stole\nlike wolves by night into a helpless woman's house--they seized my\nchildren, a girl and boy, the pride, the joy and comfort of my homeless,\nwandering life. And how think you, did they treat them? The girl they\nkept in confinement, on the pretext that by so doing they should prevent\nme from betraying Egypt to Cambyses. But the boy--my beautiful, gentle\nboy--my only son--has been murdered by Psamtik's orders, and possibly\nwith the knowledge of Amasis. My heart was withered and shrunk with exile\nand sorrow, but I feel that it expands--it beats more joyfully now that\nthere is a hope of vengeance.\"\n\nNebenchari's sullen but burning glance met the flashing eye of the\nAthenian as he finished his tale; he gave him his hand and said: \"We are\nallies.\"\n\nThe Greek clasped the offered hand and answered: \"Our first point now is\nto make sure of the king's favor.\"\n\n\"I will restore Kassandane's sight.\"\n\n\"Is that in your power?\"\n\n\"The operation which removed Amasis' blindness was my own discovery.\nPetammon stole it from my burnt papers.\"\n\n\"Why did you not exert your skill earlier?\"\n\n\"Because I am not accustomed to bestow presents on my enemies.\"\n\nPhanes shuddered slightly at these words, recovered himself, however, in\na moment, and said: \"And I am certain of the king's favor too. The\nMassagetan envoys have gone home to-day; peace has been granted them\nand. . . .\"\n\nWhile he was speaking the door was burst open and one of Kassandane's\neunuchs rushed into the room crying: \"The Princess Nitetis is dying!\nFollow me at once, there is not a moment to lose.\"\n\nThe physician made a parting sign to his confederate, and followed the\neunuch to the dying-bed of the royal bride.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Blessings go as quickly as they come\n     Hast thou a wounded heart? touch it seldom\n     Nothing is perfectly certain in this world\n     Only two remedies for heart-sickness:--hope and patience\n     Remember, a lie and your death are one and the same\n     Scarcely be able to use so large a sum--Then abuse it\n     Whatever a man would do himself, he thinks others are capable of\n     When love has once taken firm hold of a man in riper years\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe sun was already trying to break a path for his rays through the thick\ncurtains, that closed the window of the sick-room, but Nebenchari had not\nmoved from the Egyptian girl's bedside. Sometimes he felt her pulse, or\nspread sweet-scented ointments on her forehead or chest, and then he\nwould sit gazing dreamily into vacancy. Nitetis seemed to have sunk into\na deep sleep after an attack of convulsions. At the foot of her bed stood\nsix Persian doctors, murmuring incantations under the orders of\nNebenchari, whose superior science they acknowledged, and who was seated\nat the bed's head.\n\nEvery time he felt the sick girl's pulse he shrugged his shoulders, and\nthe gesture was immediately imitated by his Persian colleagues. From time\nto time the curtain was lifted and a lovely head appeared, whose\nquestioning blue eyes fixed at once on the physician, but were always\ndismissed with the same melancholy shrug. It was Atossa. Twice she had\nventured into the room, stepping so lightly as hardly to touch the thick\ncarpet of Milesian wool, had stolen to her friend's bedside and lightly\nkissed her forehead, on which the pearly dew of death was standing, but\neach time a severe and reproving glance from Nebenchari had sent her back\nagain into the next room, where her mother Kassandane was lying, awaiting\nthe end.\n\nCambyses had left the sick-room at sunrise, on seeing that Nitetis had\nfallen asleep; he flung himself on to his horse, and accompanied by\nPhanes, Prexaspes, Otanes, Darius, and a number of courtiers, only just\naroused from their sleep, took a wild ride through the game-park. He knew\nby experience, that he could best overcome or forget any violent mental\nemotion when mounted on an unmanageable horse.\n\nNebenchari started on hearing the sound of horses' hoofs in the distance.\nIn a waking dream he had seen Cambyses enter his native land at the head\nof immense hosts; he had seen its cities and temples on fire, and its\ngigantic pyramids crumbling to pieces under the powerful blows of his\nmighty hand. Women and children lay in the smouldering ruins, and\nplaintive cries arose from the tombs in which the very mummies moved like\nliving beings; and all these-priests, warriors, women, and children--the\nliving and the dead--all had uttered his,--Nebenchari's,--name, and had\ncursed him as a traitor to his country. A cold shiver struck to his\nheart; it beat more convulsively than the blood in the veins of the dying\ngirl at his side. Again the curtain was raised; Atossa stole in once more\nand laid her hand on his shoulder. He started and awoke. Nebenchari had\nbeen sitting three days and nights with scarcely any intermission by this\nsick-bed, and such dreams were the natural consequence.\n\nAtossa slipped back to her mother. Not a sound broke the sultry air of\nthe sick-room, and Nebenchiari's thoughts reverted to his dream. He told\nhimself that he was on the point of becoming a traitor and a criminal,\nthe visions he had just beheld passed before him again, but this time it\nwas another, and a different one which gained the foremost place. The\nforms of Amasis, who had laughed at and exiled him,--of Psamtik and the\npriests,--who had burnt his works,--stood near him; they were heavily\nfettered and besought mercy at his hands. His lips moved, but this was\nnot the place in which to utter the cruel words which rose to them. And\nthen the stern man wiped away a tear as he remembered the long nights, in\nwhich he had sat with the reed in his hand, by the dull light of the\nlamp, carefully painting every sign of the fine hieratic character in\nwhich he committed his ideas and experience to writing. He had discovered\nremedies for many diseases of the eye, spoken of in the sacred books of\nThoth and the writings of a famous old physician of Byblos as incurable,\nbut, knowing that he should be accused of sacrilege by his colleagues, if\nhe ventured on a correction or improvement of the sacred writings, he had\nentitled his work, \"Additional writings on the treatment of diseases of\nthe eye, by the great god Thoth, newly discovered by the oculist\nNebenchari.\"\n\nHe had resolved on bequeathing his works to the library at Thebes, that\nhis experience might be useful to his successors and bring forth fruit\nfor the whole body of sufferers. This was to be his reward for the long\nnights which he had sacrificed to science--recognition after death, and\nfame for the caste to which he belonged. And there stood his old rival\nPetammon, by the side of the crown-prince in the grove of Neith, and\nstirred the consuming fire, after having stolen his discovery of the\noperation of couching. Their malicious faces were tinged by the red glow\nof the flames, which rose with their spiteful laughter towards heaven, as\nif demanding vengeance. A little further off he saw in his dream Amasis\nreceiving his father's letters from the hands of the high-priest.\nScornful and mocking words were being uttered by the king; Neithotep\nlooked exultant.--In these visions Nebenchari was so lost, that one of\nthe Persian doctors was obliged to point out to him that his patient was\nawake. He nodded in reply, pointing to his own weary eyes with a smile,\nfelt the sick girl's pulse, and asked her in Egyptian how she had slept.\n\n\"I do not know,\" she answered, in a voice that was hardly audible. \"It\nseemed to me that I was asleep, and yet I saw and heard everything that\nhad happened in the room. I felt so weak that I hardly knew whether I was\nawake or asleep. Has not Atossa been here several times?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And Cambyses stayed with Kassandane until sunrise; then he went out,\nmounted his horse Reksch, and rode into the game-park.\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"I saw it.\"\n\nNebenchari looked anxiously into the girl's shining eyes. She went on: \"A\ngreat many dogs have been brought into the court behind this house.\"\n\n\"Probably the king has ordered a hunt, in order to deaden the pain which\nhe feels at seeing you suffer.\"\n\n\"Oh, no. I know better what it means. Oropastes taught me, that whenever\na Persian dies dogs' are brought in, that the Divs may enter into them.\"\n\n\"But you are living, my mistress, and . . .\"\n\n\"Oh, I know very well that I shall die. I knew that I had not many hours\nmore to live, even if I had not seen how you and the other physicians\nshrugged your shoulders whenever you looked at me. That poison is\ndeadly.\"\n\n\"You are speaking too much, my mistress, it will hurt you.\"\n\n\"Oh let me speak, Nebenchari! I must ask you to do something for me\nbefore I die.\"\n\n\"I am your servant.\"\n\n\"No, Nebenchari, you must be my friend and priest. You are not angry with\nme for having prayed to the Persian gods? Our own Hathor was always my\nbest friend still. Yes, I see by your face that you forgiven me. Then you\nmust promise not to allow my corpse to be torn in pieces by dogs and\nvultures. The thought is so very dreadful. You will promise to embalm my\nbody and ornament it with amulets?\"\n\n\"If the king allows.\"\n\n\"Of course he will. How could Cambyses possibly refuse my last request?\"\n\n\"Then my skill is at your service.\"\n\n\"Thank you; but I have still something else to ask.\"\n\n\"You must be brief. My Persian colleagues are already making signs to me,\nto enjoin silence on you.\"\n\n\"Can't you send them away for a moment?\"\n\n\"I will try to do so.\"\n\nNebenchari then went up and spoke to the Magi for a few minutes, and they\nleft the room. An important incantation, at which no one but the two\nconcerned might be present, and the application of a new and secret\nantidotal poison were the pretexts which he had used in order to get rid\nof them.\n\nWhen they were alone, Nitetis drew a breath of relief and said: \"Give me\nyour priestly blessing on my long journey into the nether world, and\nprepare me for my pilgrimage to Osiris.\"\n\nNebenchari knelt down by her bed and in a low voice repeated hymns,\nNitetis making devotional responses.\n\nThe physician represented Osiris, the lord of the nether world--Nitetis\nthe soul, justifying itself before him.\n\nWhen these ceremonies were ended the sick girl breathed more freely.\nNebenchari could not but feel moved in looking at this young suicide. He\nfelt confident that he had saved a soul for the gods of his native land,\nhad cheered the last sad and painful hours of one of God's good\ncreatures. During these last moments, compassion and benevolence had\nexcluded every bitter feeling; but when he remembered that this lovely\ncreature owed all her misery to Amasis too, the old black cloud of\nthought darkened his mind again.--Nitetis, after lying silent for some\ntime, turned to her new friend with a pleasant smile, and said: \"I shall\nfind mercy with the judges of the dead now, shall not I?\"\n\n\"I hope and believe so.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I may find Tachot before the throne of Osiris, and my\nfather. . . .\"\n\n\"Your father and mother are waiting for you there. Now in your last hour\nbless those who begot you, and curse those who have robbed you of your\nparents, your crown and your life.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you.\"\n\n\"Curse those who robbed you of your parents, crown and life, girl!\" cried\nthe physician again, rising to his full height, breathing hard as he said\nthe words, and gazing down on the dying girl. \"Curse those wretches,\ngirl! that curse will do more in gaining mercy from the judges of the\ndead, than thousands of good works!\" And as he said this he seized her\nhand and pressed it violently.\n\nNitetis looked up uneasily into his indignant face, and stammered in\nblind obedience, 'I curse.\"\n\n\"Those who robbed my parents of their throne and lives!\"\n\n\"Those who robbed my parents of their throne and their lives,\" she\nrepeated after him, and then crying, \"Oh, my heart!\" sank back exhausted\non the bed.\n\nNebenchari bent down, and before the royal physicians could return,\nkissed her forehead gently, murmuring: \"She dies my confederate. The gods\nhearken to the prayers of those who die innocent. By carrying the sword\ninto Egypt, I shall avenge king Hophra's wrongs as well as my own.\"\n\nWhen Nitetis opened her eyes once more, a few hours later, Kassandane was\nholding her right hand, Atossa kneeling at her feet, and Croesus standing\nat the head of her bed, trying, with the failing strength of old age, to\nsupport the gigantic frame of the king, who was so completely overpowered\nby his grief, that he staggered like a drunken man. The dying girl's eyes\nlighted up as she looked round on this circle. She was wonderfully\nbeautiful. Cambyses came closer and kissed her lips; they were growing\ncold in death. It was the first kiss he had ever given her, and the last.\nTwo large tears sprang to her eyes; their light was fast growing dim; she\nmurmured Cambyses' name softly, fell back in Atossa's arms, and died.\n\nWe shall not give a detailed account of the next few hours: it would be\nan unpleasant task to describe how, at a signal from the principal\nPersian doctor, every one, except Nebenchari and Croesus, hastily left\nthe room; how dogs were brought in and their sagacious heads turned\ntowards the corpse in order to scare the demon of death;--how, directly\nafter Nitetis' death, Kassandane, Atossa and their entire retinue moved\ninto another house in order to avoid defilement;--how fire was\nextinguished throughout the dwelling, that the pure element might be\nremoved from the polluting spirits of death;--how spells and exorcisms\nwere muttered, and how every person and thing, which had approached or\nbeen brought into contact with the dead body, was subjected to numerous\npurifications with water and pungent fluids.\n\nThe same evening Cambyses was seized by one of his old epileptic attacks.\nTwo days later he gave Nebenchari permission to embalm Nitetis' body in\nthe Egyptian manner, according to her last wish. The king gave way to the\nmost immoderate grief; he tore the flesh of his arms, rent his clothes\nand strewed ashes on his head, and on his couch. All the magnates of his\ncourt were obliged to follow his example. The troops mounted guard with\nrent banners and muffled drums. The cymbals and kettle-drums of the\n\"Immortals\" were bound round with crape. The horses which Nitetis had\nused, as well as all which were then in use by the court, were colored\nblue and deprived of their tails; the entire court appeared in mourning\nrobes of dark brown, rent to the girdle, and the Magi were compelled to\npray three days and nights unceasingly for the soul of the dead, which\nwas supposed to be awaiting its sentence for eternity at the bridge\nChinvat on the third night.\n\nNeither the king, Kassandane, nor Atossa shrank from submitting to the\nnecessary purifications; they repeated, as if for one of their nearest\nrelations, thirty prayers for the dead, while, in a house outside the\ncity gates Nebenchari began to embalm her body in the most costly manner,\nand according to the strictest rules of his art.\n\n   [Embalming was practised in three different ways. The first cost a\n   talent of silver (L225.); the second 20 Minae (L60.) and the third\n   was very inexpensive. Herod. II. 86-88. Diod. I. 9. The brain\n   was first drawn out through the nose and the skull filled with\n   spices. The intestines were then taken out, and the body filled in\n   like manner with aromatic spices. When all was finished, the corpse\n   was left 70 days in a solution of soda, and then wrapped in bandages\n   of byssus spread over with gum. The microscopical examinations of\n   mummy-bandages made by Dr. Ure and Prof. Czermak have proved that\n   byssus is linen, not cotton. The manner of embalming just described\n   is the most expensive, and the latest chemical researches prove that\n   the description given of it by the Greeks was tolerably correct. L.\n   Penicher maintains that the bodies were first somewhat dried in\n   ovens, and that then resin of the cedar-tree, or asphalte, was\n   poured into every opening. According to Herodotus, female corpses\n   were embalmed by women. Herod. II. 89. The subject is treated in\n   great detail by Pettigrew, History of Egyptian Mummies. London.\n   1834. Czermak's microscopical examinations of Egyptian mummies show\n   how marvellously the smallest portions of the bodies were preserved,\n   and confirm the statements of Herodotus on many points. The\n   monuments also contain much information in regard to embalming, and\n   we now know the purpose of nearly all the amulets placed with the\n   dead.]\n\nFor nine days Cambyses remained in a condition, which seemed little short\nof insanity. At times furious, at others dull and stupefied, he did not\neven allow his relations or the high-priest to approach him. On the\nmorning of the tenth day he sent for the chief of the seven judges and\ncommanded, that as lenient a sentence as possible should be pronounced on\nGaumata. Nitetis, on her dying-bed, had begged him to spare the life of\nthis unhappy youth.\n\nOne hour later the sentence was submitted to the king for ratification.\nIt ran thus: \"Victory to the king! Inasmuch as Cambyses, the eye of the\nworld and the sun of righteousness, hath, in his great mercy, which is as\nbroad as the heavens and as inexhaustible as the great deep, commanded us\nto punish the crime of the son of the Magi, Gaumata, with the indulgence\nof a mother instead of with the severity of a judge, we, the seven judges\nof the realm, have determined to grant his forfeited life. Inasmuch,\nhowever, as by the folly of this youth the lives of the noblest and best\nin this realm have been imperilled, and it may reasonably be apprehended\nthat he may again abuse the marvellous likeness to Bartja, the noble son\nof Cyrus, in which the gods have been pleased in their mercy to fashion\nhis form and face, and thereby bring prejudice upon the pure and\nrighteous, we have determined to disfigure him in such wise, that in the\ntime to come it will be a light matter to discern between this, the most\nworthless subject of the realm, and him who is most worthy. We therefore,\nby the royal Will and command, pronounce sentence, that both the ears of\nGaumata be cut off, for the honor of the righteous and shame of the\nimpure.\"\n\nCambyses confirmed this sentence at once, and it was executed the same\nday.\n\n   [With reference to Gaumata's punishment, the same which Herodotus\n   says was inflicted on the pretended Smerdis, we would observe that\n   even Persians of high rank were sometimes deprived of their ears.\n   In the Behistan inscription (Spiegel p. 15 and 21.) the ears, tongue\n   and nose of the man highest in rank among the rebels, were cut off.\n   Similar punishments are quoted by Brisson.]\n\nOropastes did not dare to intercede for his brother, though this\nignominious punishment mortified his ambitious mind more than even a\nsentence of death could have done. As he was afraid that his own\ninfluence and consideration might suffer through this mutilated brother,\nhe ordered him to leave Babylon at once for a country-house of his own on\nMount Arakadris.\n\nDuring the few days which had just passed, a shabbily-dressed and\nclosely-veiled woman had watched day and night at the great gate of the\npalace; neither the threats of the sentries nor the coarse jests of the\npalace-servants could drive her from her post. She never allowed one of\nthe less important officials to pass without eagerly questioning him,\nfirst as to the state of the Egyptian Princess, and then what had become\nof Gaumata. When his sentence was told her as a good joke by a chattering\nlamp-lighter, she went off into the strangest excitement, and astonished\nthe poor man so much by kissing his robe, that he thought she must be\ncrazed, and gave her an alms. She refused the money, but remained at her\npost, subsisting on the bread which was given her by the compassionate\ndistributors of food. Three days later Gaumata himself, with his head\nbound up, was driven out in a closed harmamaxa. She rushed to the\ncarriage and ran screaming by the side of it, until the driver stopped\nhis mules and asked what she wanted. She threw back her veil and showed\nthe poor, suffering youth her pretty face covered with deep blushes.\nGaumata uttered a low cry as he recognized her, collected himself,\nhowever, in a moment, and said: \"What do you want with me, Mandane?\"\n\nThe wretched girl raised her hands beseechingly to him, crying: \"Oh, do\nnot leave me, Gaumata! Take me with you! I forgive you all the misery you\nhave brought on me and my poor mistress. I love you so much, I will take\ncare of you and nurse you as if I were the lowest servant-girl.\"\n\nA short struggle passed in Gaumata's mind. He was just going to open the\ncarriage-door and clasp Mandane-his earliest love-in his arms, when the\nsound of horses' hoofs coming nearer struck on his ear, and looking round\nhe saw, a carriage full of Magi, among whom were several who had been his\ncompanions at the school for priests. He felt ashamed and afraid of being\nseen by the very youths, whom he had often treated proudly and haughtily\nbecause he was the brother of the high-priest, threw Mandane a purse of\ngold, which his brother had given him at parting, and ordered the driver\nto go on as fast as possible. The mules galloped off. Mandane kicked the\npurse away, rushed after the carriage and clung to it firmly. One of the\nwheels caught her dress and dragged her down. With the strength of\ndespair she sprang up, ran after the mules, overtook them on a slight\nascent which had lessened their speed, and seized the reins. The driver\nused his three-lashed whip, or scourge, the creatures reared, pulled the\ngirl down and rushed on. Her last cry of agony pierced the wounds of the\nmutilated man like a sharp lance-thrust.\n\n          .....................\n\nOn the twelfth day after Nitetis' death Cambyses went out hunting, in the\nhope that the danger and excitement of the sport might divert his mind.\nThe magnates and men of high rank at his court received him with thunders\nof applause, for which he returned cordial thanks. These few days of\ngrief had worked a great change in a man so unaccustomed to suffering as\nCambyses. His face was pale, his raven-black hair and beard had grown\ngrey, and the consciousness of victory which usually shone in his eyes\nwas dimmed. Had he not, only too painfully, experienced that there was a\nstronger will than his own, and that, easily as he could destroy, it did\nnot be in his power to preserve the life of the meanest creature? Before\nstarting, Cambyses mustered his troop of sportsmen, and calling Gobryas,\nasked why Phanes was not there.\n\n\"My King did not order . . .\"\n\n\"He is my guest and companion, once for all; call him and follow us.\"\n\nGobryas bowed, dashed back to the palace, and in half an hour reappeared\namong the royal retinue with Phanes.\n\nThe Athenian was warmly welcomed by many of the group, a fact which seems\nstrange when we remember that courtiers are of all men the most prone to\nenvy, and a royal favorite always the most likely object to excite their\nill will. But Phanes seemed a rare exception to this rule. He had met the\nAchaemenidae in so frank and winning a manner, had excited so many hopes\nby the hints he had thrown out of an expected and important war, and had\naroused so much merriment by well-told jests, such as the Persians had\nnever heard before, that there were very few who did not welcome his\nappearance gladly, and when--in company with the king--he separated from\nthe rest in chase of a wild ass, they openly confessed to one another,\nthat they had never before seen so perfect a man. The clever way in which\nhe had brought the innocence of the accused to light, the finesse which\nhe had shown in securing the king's favor, and the ease with which he had\nlearnt the Persian language in so short a time, were all subjects of\nadmiration. Neither was there one even of the Achaemenidae themselves,\nwho exceeded him in beauty of face or symmetry of figure. In the chase he\nproved himself a perfect horseman, and in a conflict with a bear an\nexceptionally courageous and skilful sportsman. On the way home, as the\ncourtiers were extolling all the wonderful qualities possessed by the\nking's favorite, old Araspes exclaimed, \"I quite agree with you that this\nGreek, who by the way has proved himself a better soldier than anything\nelse, is no common man, but I am sure you would not praise him half as\nmuch, if he were not a foreigner and a novelty.\"\n\nPhanes happened to be only separated from the speaker by some thick\nbushes, and heard these words. When the other had finished, he went up\nand said, smiling: \"I understood what you said and feel obliged to you\nfor your kind opinion. The last sentence, however, gave me even more\npleasure than the first, because it confirmed my own idea that the\nPersians are the most generous people in the world--they praise the\nvirtues of other nations as much, or even more, than their own.\"\n\nHis hearers smiled, well pleased at this flattering remark, and Phanes\nwent on: \"How different the Jews are now, for instance! They fancy\nthemselves the exclusive favorites of the gods, and by so doing incur the\ncontempt of all wise men, and the hatred of the whole world. And then the\nEgyptians! You have no idea of the perversity of that people. Why, if the\npriests could have their way entirely, (and they have a great deal of\npower in their hands) not a foreigner would be left alive in Egypt, nor a\nsingle stranger allowed to enter the country. A true Egyptian would\nrather starve, than eat out of the same dish with one of us. There are\nmore strange, astonishing and wonderful things to be seen in that country\nthan anywhere else in the world. And yet, to do it justice, I must say\nthat Egypt has been well spoken of as the richest and most highly\ncultivated land under the sun. The man who possesses that kingdom need\nnot envy the very gods themselves. It would be mere child's play to\nconquer that beautiful country. Ten years there gave me a perfect insight\ninto the condition of things, and I know that their entire military caste\nwould not be sufficient to resist one such troop as your Immortals. Well,\nwho knows what the future may bring! Perhaps we may all make a little\ntrip together to the Nile some day. In my opinion, your good swords have\nbeen rather long idle.\" These well-calculated words were received with\nsuch shouts of applause, that the king turned his horse to enquire the\ncause. Phanes answered quickly that the Achaemenidae were rejoicing in\nthe thought that a war might possibly be near at hand.\n\n\"What war?\" asked the king, with the first smile that had been seen on\nhis face for many days.\n\n\"We were only speaking in general of the possibility of such a thing,\"\nanswered Phanes carelessly; then, riding up to the king's side, his voice\ntook an impressive tone full of feeling, and looking earnestly into his\nface, he began: \"It is true, my Sovereign, that I was not born in this\nbeautiful country as one of your subjects, nor can I boast of a long\nacquaintance with the most powerful of monarchs, but yet I cannot resist\nthe presumptuous, perhaps criminal thought, that the gods at my birth\nappointed me to be your real friend. It is not your rich gifts that have\ndrawn me to you. I did not need them, for I belong to the wealthier class\nof my countrymen, and I have no son,--no heir,--to whom I can bequeath my\ntreasures. Once I had a boy--a beautiful, gentle child;--but I was not\ngoing to speak of that,--I . . . Are you offended at my freedom of\nspeech, my Sovereign?\"\n\n\"What is there to offend me?\" answered the king, who had never been\nspoken to in this manner before, and felt strongly attracted to the\noriginal foreigner.\n\n\"Till to-day I felt that your grief was too sacred to be disturbed, but\nnow the time has come to rouse you from it and to make your heart glow\nonce more. You will have to hear what must be very painful to you.\"\n\n\"There is nothing more now, that can grieve me.\"\n\n\"What I am going to tell you will not give you pain; on the contrary, it\nwill rouse your anger.\"\n\n\"You make me curious.\"\n\n\"You have been shamefully deceived; you and that lovely creature, who\ndied such an early death a few days ago.\"\n\nCambyses' eyes flashed a demand for further information.\n\n\"Amasis, the King of Egypt, has dared to make sport of you, the lord of\nthe world. That gentle girl was not his daughter, though she herself\nbelieved that she was; she . . .\"\n\n\"Impossible!\"\n\n\"It would seem so, and yet I am speaking the simple truth. Amasis spun a\nweb of lies, in which he managed to entrap, not only the whole world, but\nyou too, my Sovereign. Nitetis, the most lovely creature ever born of\nwoman, was the daughter of a king, but not of the usurper Amasis. Hophra,\nthe rightful king of Egypt, was the father of this pearl among women. You\nmay well frown, my Sovereign. It is a cruel thing to be betrayed by one's\nfriends and allies.\"\n\nCambyses spurred his horse, and after a silence of some moments, kept by\nPhanes purposely, that his words might make a deeper impression, cried,\n\"Tell me more! I wish to know everything.\"\n\n\"Hophra had been living twenty years in easy captivity in Sais after his\ndethronement, when his wife, who had borne him three children and buried\nthem all, felt that she was about to give birth to a fourth. Hophra, in\nhis joy, determined to offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving in the temple of\nPacht, the Egyptian goddess supposed to confer the blessing of children,\nwhen, on his way thither, a former magnate of his court, named\nPatarbemis, whom, in a fit of unjust anger, he had ignominiously\nmutilated, fell upon him with a troop of slaves and massacred him. Amasis\nhad the unhappy widow brought to his palace at once, and assigned her an\napartment next to the one occupied by his own queen Ladice, who was also\nexpecting soon to give birth to a child. A girl was born to Hophra's\nwidow, but the mother died in the same hour, and two days later Ladice\nbore a child also.--But I see we are in the court of the palace. If you\nallow, I will have the report of the physician, by whom this imposture\nwas effected, read before you. Several of his notes have, by a remarkable\nconjuncture of circumstances, which I will explain to you later, fallen\ninto my hands. A former high-priest of Heliopolis, Onuphis, is now living\nin Babylon, and understands all the different styles of writing in use\namong his countrymen. Nebenchari will, of course, refuse to help in\ndisclosing an imposture, which must inevitably lead to the ruin of his\ncountry.\"\n\n\"In an hour I expect to see you here with the man you have just spoken\nof. Croesus, Nebenchari, and all the Achaemenidae who were in Egypt, will\nhave to appear also. I must have certainty before I can act, and your\ntestimony alone is not sufficient, because I know from Amasis, that you\nhave cause to feel a grudge against his house.\"\n\nAt the time appointed all were assembled before the king in obedience to\nhis command.\n\nOnuphis, the former high-priest, was an old man of eighty. A pair of\nlarge, clear, intelligent, grey eyes looked out of a head so worn and\nwasted, as to be more like a mere skull than the head of a living man. He\nheld a large papyrus-roll in his gaunt hand, and was seated in an easy\nchair, as his paralyzed limbs did not allow of his standing, even in the\nking's presence. His dress was snow-white, as beseemed a priest, but\nthere were patches and rents to be seen here and there. His figure might\nperhaps once have been tall and slender, but it was now so bent and\nshrunk by age, privation and suffering, as to look unnatural and\ndwarfish, in comparison with the size of his head.\n\nNebenchari, who revered Onuphis, not only as a high-priest deeply\ninitiated in the most solemn mysteries, but also on account of his great\nage, stood by his side and arranged his cushions. At his left stood\nPhanes, and then Croesus, Darius and Prexaspes.\n\nThe king sat upon his throne. His face was dark and stern as he broke the\nsilence with the following words:--\"This noble Greek, who, I am inclined\nto believe, is my friend, has brought me strange tidings. He says that I\nhave been basely deceived by Amasis, that my deceased wife was not his,\nbut his predecessor's daughter.\"\n\nA murmur of astonishment ran through the assembly. \"This old man is here\nto prove the imposture.\" Onuphis gave a sign of assent.\n\n\"Prexaspes, my first question is to you. When Nitetis was entrusted to\nyour care, was it expressly said that she was the daughter of Amasis?\"\n\n\"Expressly. Nebenchari had, it is true, praised Tachot to the noble\nKassandane as the most beautiful of the twin sisters; but Amasis insisted\non sending Nitetis to Persia. I imagined that, by confiding his most\nprecious jewel to your care, he meant to put you under a special\nobligation; and as it seemed to me that Nitetis surpassed her sister, not\nonly in beauty but in dignity of character, I ceased to sue for the hand\nof Tachot. In his letter to you too, as you will remember, he spoke of\nconfiding to you his most beautiful, his dearest child.\"\n\n\"Those were his words.\"\n\n\"And Nitetis was, without question, the more beautiful and the nobler of\nthe two sisters,\" said Croesus in confirmation of the envoy's remark.\n\"But it certainly did strike me that Tachot was her royal parents'\nfavorite.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Darius, \"without doubt. Once, at a revel, Amasis joked Bartja\nin these words: 'Don't look too deep into Tachot's eyes, for if you were\na god, I could not allow you to take her to Persia!' Psamtik was evidently\nannoyed at this remark and said to the king, 'Father, remember Phanes.'\"\n\n\"Phanes!\"\n\n\"Yes, my Sovereign,\" answered the Athenian. \"Once, when he was\nintoxicated, Amasis let out his secret to me, and Psamtik was warning him\nnot to forget himself a second time.\"\n\n\"Tell the story as it occurred.\"\n\n\"On my return from Cyprus to Sais as a conqueror, a great entertainment\nwas given at court. Amasis distinguished me in every way, as having won a\nrich province for him, and even, to the dismay of his own countrymen,\nembraced me. His affection increased with his intoxication, and at last,\nas Psamtik and I were leading him to his private apartments, he stopped\nat the door of his daughter's room, and said: 'The girls sleep there. If\nyou will put away your own wife, Athenian, I will give you Nitetis. I\nshould like to have you for a son-in-law. There's a secret about that\ngirl, Phanes; she's not my own child.' Before his drunken father could\nsay more, Psamtik laid his hand before his mouth, and sent me roughly\naway to my lodging, where I thought the matter over and conjectured what\nI now, from reliable sources, know to be the truth. I entreat you,\ncommand this old man to translate those parts of the physician\nSonnophre's journal, which allude to this story.\"\n\nCambyses nodded his consent, and the old man began to read in a voice far\nlouder than any one could have supposed possible from his infirm\nappearance \"On the fifth day of the month Thoth, I was sent for by the\nking. I had expected this, as the queen was near her confinement. With my\nassistance she was easily and safely delivered of a child--a weakly girl.\nAs soon as the nurse had taken charge of this child, Amasis led me behind\na curtain which ran across his wife's sleeping-apartment. There lay\nanother infant, which I recognized as the child of Hophra's widow, who\nherself had died under my hands on the third day of the same month. The\nking then said, pointing to this strong child, 'This little creature has\nno parents, but, as it is written in the law that we are to show mercy to\nthe desolate orphans, Ladice and I have determined to bring her up as our\nown daughter. We do not, however, wish that this deed should be made\nknown, either to the world or to the child herself, and I ask you to keep\nthe secret and spread a report that Ladice has given birth to twins. If\nyou accomplish this according to our wish, you shall receive to-day five\nthousand rings of gold, and the fifth part of this sum yearly, during\nyour life. I made my obeisance in silence, ordered every one to leave the\nsick room, and, when I again called them in, announced that Ladice had\ngiven birth to a second girl. Amasis' real child received the name of\nTachot, the spurious one was called Nitetis.\"\n\nAt these words Cambyses rose from his seat, and strode through the hall;\nbut Onuphis continued, without allowing himself to be disturbed: \"Sixth\nday of the month Thoth. This morning I had just lain down to rest after\nthe fatigues of the night, when a servant appeared with the promised gold\nand a letter from the king, asking me to procure a dead child, to be\nburied with great ceremony as the deceased daughter of King Hophra. After\na great deal of trouble I succeeded, an hour ago, in obtaining one from a\npoor girl who had given birth to a child secretly in the house of the old\nwoman, who lives at the entrance to the City of the Dead. The little one\nhad caused her shame and sorrow enough, but she would not be persuaded to\ngive up the body of her darling, until I promised that it should be\nembalmed and buried in the most splendid manner. We put the little corpse\ninto my large medicine-chest, my son Nebenchari carried it this time\ninstead of my servant Hib, and so it was introduced into the room where\nHophra's widow had died. The poor girl's baby will receive a magnificent\nfuneral. I wish I might venture to tell her, what a glorious lot awaits\nher darling after death. Nebenchari has just been sent for by the king.\"\n\nAt the second mention of this name, Cambyses stopped in his walk, and\nsaid: \"Is our oculist Nebenchari the man whose name is mentioned in this\nmanuscript?\"\n\n\"Nebenchari,\" returned Phanes, \"is the son of this very Sonnophre who\nchanged the children.\"\n\nThe physician did not raise his eyes; his face was gloomy and sullen.\n\nCambyses took the roll of papyrus out of Onuphis' band, looked at the\ncharacters with which it was covered, shook his head, went up to\nNebenchari and said:\n\n\"Look at these characters and tell me if it is your father's writing.\"\n\nNebenchari fell on his knees and raised his hands.\n\n\"I ask, did your father paint these signs?\"\n\n\"I do not know-whether . . . Indeed . . .\"\n\n\"I will know the truth. Yes or no?\"\n\n\"Yes, my King; but . . .\"\n\n\"Rise, and be assured of my favor. Faithfulness to his ruler is the\nornament of a subject; but do not forget that I am your king now.\nKassandane tells me, that you are going to undertake a delicate operation\nto-morrow in order to restore her sight. Are you not venturing too much?\"\n\n\"I can depend on my own skill, my Sovereign.\"\n\n\"One more question. Did you know of this fraud?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you allowed me to remain in error?\"\n\n\"I had been compelled to swear secrecy and an oath . . .\"\n\n\"An oath is sacred. Gobryas, see that both these Egyptians receive a\nportion from my table. Old man, you seem to require better food.\"\n\n\"I need nothing beyond air to breathe, a morsel of bread and a draught of\nwater to preserve me from dying of hunger and thirst, a clean robe, that\nI may be pleasing in the eyes of the gods and in my own, and a small\nchamber for myself, that I may be a hindrance to no man. I have never\nbeen richer than to-day.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"I am about to give away a kingdom.\"\n\n\"You speak in enigmas.\"\n\n\"By my translation of to-day I have proved, that your deceased consort\nwas the child of Hophra. Now, our law allows the daughter of a king to\nsucceed to the throne, when there is neither son nor brother living; if\nshe should die childless, her husband becomes her legitimate successor.\nAmasis is a usurper, but the throne of Egypt is the lawful birthright of\nHophra and his descendants. Psamtik forfeits every right to the crown the\nmoment that a brother, son, daughter or son-in-law of Hophra appears. I\ncan, therefore, salute my present sovereign as the future monarch of my\nown beautiful native land.\"\n\nCambyses smiled self-complacently, and Onuphis went on: \"I have read in\nthe stars too, that Psamtik's ruin and your own accession to the throne\nof Egypt have been fore-ordained.\"\n\n\"We'll show that the stars were right,\" cried the king, \"and as for you,\nyou liberal old fellow, I command you to ask me any wish you like.\"\n\n\"Give me a conveyance, and let me follow your army to Egypt. I long to\nclose my eyes on the Nile.\"\n\n\"Your wish is granted. Now, my friends, leave me, and see that all those\nwho usually eat at my table are present at this evening's revel. We will\nhold a council of war over the luscious wine. Methinks a campaign in\nEgypt will pay better than a contest with the Massagetae.\"\n\nHe was answered by a joyful shout of \"Victory to the king!\" They all then\nleft the hall, and Cambyses, summoning his dressers, proceeded for the\nfirst time to exchange his mourning garments for the splendid royal\nrobes.\n\nCroesus and Phanes went into the green and pleasant garden lying on the\neastern side of the royal palace, which abounded in groves of trees,\nshrubberies, fountains and flower-beds. Phanes was radiant with delight;\nCroesus full of care and thought.\n\n\"Have you duly reflected,\" said the latter, \"on the burning brand that\nyou have just flung out into the world?\"\n\n\"It is only children and fools that act without reflection,\" was the\nanswer.\n\n\"You forget those who are deluded by passion.\"\n\n\"I do not belong to that number.\"\n\n\"And yet revenge is the most fearful of all the passions.\"\n\n\"Only when it is practised in the heat of feeling. My revenge is as cool\nas this piece of iron; but I know my duty.\"\n\n\"The highest duty of a good man, is to subordinate his own welfare to\nthat of his country.\"\n\n\"That I know.\"\n\n\"You seem to forget, however, that with Egypt you are delivering your own\ncountry over to the Persians.\"\n\n\"I do not agree with you there.\"\n\n\"Do you believe, that when all the rest of the Mediterranean coasts\nbelong to Persia, she will leave your beautiful Greece untouched?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, but I know my own countrymen; I believe them fully\ncapable of a victorious resistance to the hosts of the barbarians, and am\nconfident that their courage and greatness will rise with the nearness of\nthe danger. It will unite our divided tribes into one great nation, and\nbe the ruin of the tyrants.\"\n\n\"I cannot argue with you, for I am no longer acquainted with the state of\nthings in your native country, and besides, I believe you to be a wise\nman--not one who would plunge a nation into ruin merely for the\ngratification of his own ambition. It is a fearful thing that entire\nnations should have to suffer for the guilt of one man, if that man be\none who wears a crown. And now, if my opinion is of any importance to\nyou, tell me what the deed was which has roused your desire of\nvengeance.\"\n\n\"Listen then, and never try again to turn me from my purpose. You know\nthe heir to the Egyptian throne, and you know Rhodopis too. The former\nwas, for many reasons, my mortal enemy, the latter the friend of every\nGreek, but mine especially. When I was obliged to leave Egypt, Psamtik\nthreatened me with his vengeance; your son Gyges saved my life. A few\nweeks later my two children came to Naukratis, in order to follow me out\nto Sigeum. Rhodopis took them kindly under her protection, but some\nwretch had discovered the secret and betrayed it to the prince. The very\nnext night her house was surrounded and searched,--my children found and\ntaken captive. Amasis had meanwhile become blind, and allowed his\nmiserable son to do what he liked; the wretch dared to . . .\"\n\n\"Kill your only son?\"\n\n\"You have said it.\"\n\n\"And your other child?\"\n\n\"The girl is still in their hands.\"\n\n\"They will do her an injury when they hear . . .\"\n\n\"Let her die. Better go to one's grave childless, than unrevenged.\"\n\n\"I understand. I cannot blame you any longer. The boy's blood must be\nrevenged.\"\n\nAnd so saying, the old man pressed the Athenian's right hand. The latter\ndried his tears, mastered his emotion, and cried: \"Let us go to the\ncouncil of war now. No one can be so thankful for Psamtik's infamous\ndeeds as Cambyses. That man with his hasty passions was never made to be\na prince of peace.\"\n\n\"And yet it seems to me the highest duty of a king is to work for the\ninner welfare of his kingdom. But human beings are strange creatures;\nthey praise their butchers more than their benefactors. How many poems\nhave been written on Achilles! but did any one ever dream of writing\nsongs on the wise government of Pittakus?\"\n\n\"More courage is required to shed blood, than to plant trees.\"\n\n\"But much more kindness and wisdom to heal wounds, than to make them.--I\nhave still one question which I should very much like to ask you, before\nwe go into the hall. Will Bartja be able to stay at Naukratis when Amasis\nis aware of the king's intentions?\"\n\n\"Certainly not. I have prepared him for this, and advised his assuming a\ndisguise and a false name.\"\n\n\"Did he agree?\"\n\n\"He seemed willing to follow my advice.\"\n\n\"But at all events it would be well to send a messenger to put him on his\nguard.\"\n\n\"We will ask the king's permission.\"\n\n\"Now we must go. I see the wagons containing the viands of the royal\nhousehold just driving away from the kitchen.\"\n\n\"How many people are maintained from the king's table daily?\"\n\n\"About fifteen thousand.\"\n\n\"Then the Persians may thank the gods, that their king only takes one\nmeal a day.\"\n\n   [This immense royal household is said to have cost 400 talents, that\n   is (L90,000.) daily. Athenaus, Deipn. p. 607.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nSix weeks after these events a little troop of horsemen might have been\nseen riding towards the gates of Sardis. The horses and their riders were\ncovered with sweat and dust. The former knew that they were drawing near\na town, where there would be stables and mangers, and exerted all their\nremaining powers; but yet their pace did not seem nearly fast enough to\nsatisfy the impatience of two men, dressed in Persian costume, who rode\nat the head of the troop.\n\nThe well-kept royal road ran through fields of good black, arable land,\nplanted with trees of many different kinds. It crossed the outlying spurs\nof the Tmolus range of mountains. At their foot stretched rows of olive,\ncitron and plane-trees, plantations of mulberries and vines; at a higher\nlevel grew firs, cypresses and nut-tree copses. Fig-trees and date-palms,\ncovered with fruit, stood sprinkled over the fields; and the woods and\nmeadows were carpeted with brightly-colored and sweetly-scented flowers.\nThe road led over ravines and brooks, now half dried up by the heat of\nsummer, and here and there the traveller came upon a well at the side of\nthe road, carefully enclosed, with seats for the weary, and sheltering\nshrubs. Oleanders bloomed in the more damp and shady places; slender\npalms waved wherever the sun was hottest. Over this rich landscape hung a\ndeep blue, perfectly cloudless sky, bounded on its southern horizon by\nthe snowy peaks of the Tmolus mountains, and on the west by the Sipylus\nrange of hills, which gave a bluish shimmer in the distance.\n\nThe road went down into the valley, passing through a little wood of\nbirches, the stems of which, up to the very tree-top, were twined with\nvines covered with bunches of grapes.\n\nThe horsemen stopped at a bend in the road, for there, before them, in\nthe celebrated valley of the Hermus, lay the golden Sardis, formerly the\ncapital of the Lydian kingdom and residence of its king, Croesus.\n\nAbove the reed-thatched roofs of its numerous houses rose a black, steep\nrock; the white marble buildings on its summit could be seen from a great\ndistance. These buildings formed the citadel, round the threefold walls\nof which, many centuries before, King Meles had carried a lion in order\nto render them impregnable. On its southern side the citadel-rock was not\nso steep, and houses had been built upon it. Croesus' former palace lay\nto the north, on the golden-sanded Pactolus. This reddish-colored river\nflowed above the market-place, (which, to our admiring travellers, looked\nlike a barren spot in the midst of a blooming meadow), ran on in a\nwesterly direction, and then entered a narrow mountain valley, where it\nwashed the walls of the temple of Cybele.\n\nLarge gardens stretched away towards the east, and in the midst of them\nlay the lake Gygaeus, covered with gay boats and snowy swans, and\nsparkling like a mirror.\n\nA short distance from the lake were a great number of artificial mounds,\nthree of which were especially noticeable from their size and height.\n\n   [See also Hamilton's Asia Minor, I. P. 145. Herodotus (I. 93.)\n   calls the tombs of the Lydian kings the largest works of human\n   hands, next to the Egyptian and Babylonian. These cone-shaped hills\n   can be seen to this day, standing near the ruins of Sardis, not far\n   from the lake of Gygaea. Hamilton (Asia Minor, I. p. i) counted\n   some sixty of them, and could not ride round the hill of Alayattes\n   in less than ten minutes. Prokesch saw 100 such tumuli. The\n   largest, tomb of Alyattes, still measures 3400 feet in\n   circumference, and the length of its slope is 650 feet. According\n   to Prokesch, gigantic Phallus columns lie on some of these graves.]\n\n\"What can those strange-looking earth-heaps mean?\" said Darius, the\nleader of the troop, to Prexaspes, Cambyses' envoy, who rode at his side.\n\n\"They are the graves of former Lydian kings,\" was the answer. \"The middle\none is in memory of the princely pair Panthea and Abradatas, and the\nlargest, that one to the left, was erected to the father of Croesus,\nAlyattes. It was raised by the tradesmen, mechanics, and girls, to their\nlate king, and on the five columns, which stand on its summit, you can\nread how much each of these classes contributed to the work. The girls\nwere the most industrious. Gyges' grandfather is said to have been their\nespecial friend.\"\n\n\"Then the grandson must have degenerated very much from the old stock.\"\n\n\"Yes, and that seems the more remarkable, because Croesus himself in his\nyouth was by no means averse to women, and the Lydians generally are\ndevoted to such pleasures. You see the white walls of that temple yonder\nin the midst of its sacred grove. That is the temple of the goddess of\nSardis, Cybele or Ma, as they call her. In that grove there is many a\nsheltered spot where the young people of Sardis meet, as they say, in\nhonor of their goddess.\"\n\n\"Just as in Babylon, at the festival of Mylitta.\"\n\n\"There is the same custom too on the coast of Cyprus. When I landed there\non the way back from Egypt, I was met by a troop of lovely girls, who,\nwith songs, dances, and the clang of cymbals, conducted me to the sacred\ngrove of their goddess.\"\n\n\"Well, Zopyrus will not grumble at Bartja's illness.\"\n\n\"He will spend more of his time in the grove of Cybele, than at his\npatient's bedside. How glad I shall be to see that jolly fellow again!\"\n\n\"Yes, he'll keep you from falling into those melancholy fits that you\nhave been so subject to lately.\" \"You are quite right to blame me for\nthose fits, and I must not yield to them, but they are not without\nground. Croesus says we only get low-spirited, when we are either too\nlazy or too weak to struggle against annoyances, and I believe he is\nright. But no one shall dare to accuse Darius of weakness or idleness. If\nI can't rule the world, at least I will be my own master.\" And as he said\nthese words, the handsome youth drew himself up, and sat erect in his\nsaddle. His companion gazed in wonder at him.\n\n\"Really, you son of Hystaspes,\" he said, \"I believe you must be meant for\nsomething great. It was not by chance that, when you were still a mere\nchild, the gods sent their favorite Cyrus that dream which induced him to\norder you into safe keeping.\"\n\n\"And yet my wings have never appeared.\"\n\n\"No bodily ones, certainly; but mental ones, likely enough. Young man,\nyoung man, you're on a dangerous road.\"\n\n\"Have winged creatures any need to be afraid of precipices?\"\n\n\"Certainly; when their strength fails them.\"\n\n\"But I am strong.\"\n\n\"Stronger creatures than you will try to break your pinions.\"\n\n\"Let them. I want nothing but what is right, and shall trust to my star.\"\n\n\"Do you know its name?\"\n\n\"It ruled in the hour of my birth, and its name is Anahita.\"\n\n\"I think I know better. A burning ambition is the sun, whose rays guide\nall your actions. Take care; I tried that way myself once; it leads to\nfame or to disgrace, but very seldom to happiness. Fame to the ambitious\nis like salt water to the thirsty; the more he gets, the more he wants. I\nwas once only a poor soldier, and am now Cambyses' ambassador. But you,\nwhat can you have to strive for? There is no man in the kingdom greater\nthan yourself, after the sons of Cyrus . . . Do my eyes deceive me?\nSurely those two men riding to meet us with a troop of horsemen must be\nGyges and Zopyrus. The Angare, who left the inn before us, must have told\nthem of our coming.\"\n\n\"To be sure. Look at that fellow Zopyrus, how he's waving and beckoning\nwith that palm-leaf.\"\n\n\"Here, you fellows, cut us a few twigs from those bushes-quick. We'll\nanswer his green palm-leaf with a purple pomegranate-branch.\"\n\nIn a few minutes the friends had embraced one another, and the two bands\nwere riding together into the populous town, through the gardens\nsurrounding the lake Gygaeus, the Sardians' place of recreation. It was\nnow near sunset, a cooler breeze was beginning to blow, and the citizens\nwere pouring through the gates to enjoy themselves in the open air.\nLydian and Persian warriors, the former wearing richly-ornamented\nhelmets, the latter tiaras in the form of a cylinder, were following\ngirls who were painted and wreathed. Children were being led to the lake\nby their nurses, to see the swans fed. An old blind man was seated under\na plane-tree, singing sad ditties to a listening crowd and accompanying\nthem on the Magadis, the twenty-stringed Lydian lute. Youths were\nenjoying themselves at games of ball, ninepins, and dice, and half-grown\ngirls screaming with fright, when the ball hit one of their group or\nnearly fell into the water.\n\nThe travellers scarcely noticed this gay scene, though at another time it\nwould have delighted them. They were too much interested in enquiring\nparticulars of Bartja's illness and recovery.\n\nAt the brazen gates of the palace which had formerly belonged to Croesus,\nthey were met by Oroetes, the satrap of Sardis, in a magnificent\ncourt-dress overloaded with ornaments. He was a stately man, whose small\npenetrating black eyes looked sharply out from beneath a bushy mass of\neyebrow. His satrapy was one of the most important and profitable in the\nentire kingdom, and his household could bear a comparison with that of\nCambyses in richness and splendor. Though he possessed fewer wives and\nattendants than the king, it was no inconsiderable troop of guards,\nslaves, eunuchs and gorgeously-dressed officials, which appeared at the\npalace-gates to receive the travellers.\n\nThe vice-regal palace, which was still kept up with great magnificence,\nhad been, in the days when Croesus occupied it, the most splendid of\nroyal residences; after the taking of Sardis, however, the greater part\nof the dethroned king's treasures and works of art had been sent to\nCyrus's treasure-house in Pasargadae. When that time of terror had\npassed, the Lydians brought many a hidden treasure into the light of day\nonce more, and, by their industry and skill in art during the peaceful\nyears which they enjoyed under Cyrus and Cambyses, recovered their old\nposition so far, that Sardis was again looked upon as one of the\nwealthiest cities of Asia Minor, and therefore, of the world.\n\nAccustomed as Darius and Prexaspes were to royal splendor, they were\nstill astonished at the beauty and brilliancy of the satrap's palace. The\nmarble work, especially, made a great impression on them, as nothing of\nthe kind was to be found in Babylon, Susa or Ecbatane, where burnt brick\nand cedar-wood supply the place of the polished marble.\n\n   [The palace of Persepolis did not exist at the date of our story.\n   It was built partly of black stone from Mount Rachmed, and partly of\n   white marble; it was probably begun by Darius. The palace of Susa\n   was built of brick, (Strabo p. 728) that of Ecbatana of wood\n   overlaid with plates of gold of immense value, and roofed with tiles\n   made of the precious metals.]\n\nThey found Bartja lying on a couch in the great hall; he looked very\npale, and stretched out his arms towards them.\n\nThe friends supped together at the satrap's table and then retired to\nBartja's private room, in order to enjoy an undisturbed conversation.\n\n\"Well, Bartja, how did you come by this dangerous illness?\" was Darius'\nfirst question after they were seated.\n\n\"I was thoroughly well, as you know,\" said Bartja, \"when we left Babylon,\nand we reached Germa, a little town on the Sangarius, without the\nslightest hindrance. The ride was long and we were very tired, burnt too\nby the scorching May sun, and covered with dust; the river flows by the\nstation, and its waves looked so clear and bright--so inviting for a\nbathe--that in a minute Zopyrus and I were off our horses, undressed, and\nin the water. Gyges told us we were very imprudent, but we felt confident\nthat we were too much inured to such things to get any harm, and very\nmuch enjoyed our swim in the cool, green water. Gyges, perfectly calm as\nusual, let us have our own way, waited till our bath was over, and then\nplunged in himself.\n\n\"In two hours we were in our saddles again, pushing on as if for our very\nlives, changing horses at every station, and turning night into day.\n\n\"We were near Ipsus, when I began to feel violent pains in the head and\nlimbs. I was ashamed to say anything about it and kept upright on my\nsaddle, until we had to take fresh horses at Bagis. Just as I was in the\nvery act of mounting, I lost my senses and strength, and fell down on the\nground in a dead faint.\"\n\n\"Yes, a pretty fright you gave us,\" interrupted Zopyrus, \"by dropping\ndown in that fashion. It was fortunate that Gyges was there, for I lost\nmy wits entirely; he, of course, kept his presence of mind, and after\nrelieving his feelings in words not exactly flattering to us two, he\nbehaved like a circumspect general.--A fool of a doctor came running up\nand protested that it was all over with poor Bart, for which I gave him a\ngood thrashing.\"\n\n\"Which he didn't particularly object to,\" said the satrap, laughing,\n\"seeing that you told them to lay a gold stater on every stripe.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my pugnacity costs me very dear sometimes. But to our story.\nAs soon as Bartja had opened his eyes, Gyges sent me off to Sardis to\nfetch a good physician and an easy travelling-carriage. That ride won't\nso soon be imitated. An hour before I reached the gates my third horse\nknocked up under me, so I had to trust to my own legs, and began running\nas fast as I could. The people must all have thought me mad. At last I\nsaw a man on horseback--a merchant from Kelaenze--dragged him from his\nhorse, jumped into the saddle, and, before the next morning dawned, I was\nback again with our invalid, bringing the best physician in Sardis, and\nOroetes' most commodious travelling-carriage. We brought him to this\nhouse at a slow footpace, and here a violent fever came on, he became\ndelirious, talked all the nonsense that could possibly come into a human\nbrain, and made us so awfully anxious, that the mere remembrance of that\ntime brings the big drops of perspiration to my forehead.\"\n\nBartja took his friend's hand: \"I owe my life to him and Gyges,\" said he,\nturning to Darius. \"Till to-day, when they set out to meet you, they have\nnever left me for a minute; a mother could not have nursed her sick child\nmore carefully. And Oroetes, I am much obliged to you too; doubly so\nbecause your kindness subjected you to annoyance.\"\n\n\"How could that be?\" asked Darius.\n\n\"That Polykrates of Samos, whose name we heard so often in Egypt, has the\nbest physician that Greece has ever produced. While I was lying here ill,\nOroetes wrote to this Democedes, making him immense promises, if he would\nonly come to Sardis directly. The Sainian pirates, who infest the whole\nIonian coast, took the messenger captive and brought Oroetes' letter to\ntheir master Polykrates. He opened it, and sent the messenger back with\nthe answer, that Democedes was in his pay, and that if Oroetes needed his\nadvice he must apply to Polykrates himself. Our generous friend submitted\nfor my sake, and asked the Samian to send his physician to Sardis.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Prexaspes, \"and what followed?\" The proud island-prince sent\nhim at once. He cured me, as you see, and left us a few days ago loaded\nwith presents.\"\n\n\"Well,\" interrupted Zopyrus, \"I can quite understand, that Polykrates\nlikes to keep his physician near him. I assure you, Darius, it would not\nbe easy to find his equal. He's as handsome as Minutscher, as clever as\nPiran Wisa, as strong as Rustem, and as benevolent and helpful as the god\nSoma. I wish you could have seen how well he threw those round metal\nplates he calls discs. I am no weakling, but when we wrestled he soon\nthrew me. And then he could tell such famous stories--stories that made a\nman's heart dance within him.\"\n\n   [This very Oroetes afterwards succeeded in enticing Polykrates to\n   Sardis and there crucified him. Herod. III. 120-125. Valerius\n   Maximus VI. 9. 5.]\n\n\"We know just such a fellow too,\" said Darius, smiling at his friend's\nenthusiasm. \"That Athenian Phanes, who came to prove our innocence.\"\n\n\"The physician Democedes is from Crotona, a place which must be somewhere\nvery near the setting sun.\"\n\n\"But is inhabited by Greeks, like Athens.\" added Oroetes. \"Ah, my young\nfriends, you must beware of those fellows; they're as cunning, deceitful,\nand selfish, as they are strong, clever, and handsome.\"\n\n\"Democedes is generous and sincere,\" cried Zopyrus.\n\n\"And Croesus himself thinks Phanes not only an able, but a virtuous man,\"\nadded Darius.\n\n\"Sappho too has always, and only spoken well of the Athenian,\" said\nBartja, in confirmation of Darius's remark. \"But don't let us talk any\nmore about these Greeks,\" he went on. \"They give Oroetes so much trouble\nby their refractory and stubborn conduct, that he is not very fond of\nthem.\"\n\n\"The gods know that,\" sighed the satrap. \"It's more difficult to keep one\nGreek town in order, than all the countries between the Euphrates and the\nTigris.\"\n\nWhile Oroetes was speaking, Zopyrus had gone to the window. \"The stars\nare already high in the heavens,\" he said, \"and Bartja is tired; so make\nhaste, Darius, and tell us something about home.\"\n\nThe son of Hystaspes agreed at once, and began by relating the events\nwhich we have heard already. Bartja, especially, was distressed at\nhearing of Nitetis' sad end, and the discovery of Amasis' fraud filled\nthem all with astonishment. After a short pause, Darius went on:\n\n\"When once Nitetis' descent had been fully proved, Cambyses was like a\nchanged man. He called a council of war, and appeared at table in the\nroyal robes instead of his mourning garments. You can fancy what\nuniversal joy the idea of a war with Egypt excited. Even Croesus, who you\nknow is one of Amasis' well-wishers, and advises peace whenever it is\npossible, had not a word to say against it. The next morning, as usual,\nwhat had been resolved on in intoxication was reconsidered by sober\nheads; after several opinions had been given, Phanes asked permission to\nspeak, and spoke I should think for an hour. But how well! It was as if\nevery word he said came direct from the gods. He has learnt our language\nin a wonderfully short time, but it flowed from his lips like honey.\nSometimes he drew tears from every eye, at others excited stormy shouts\nof joy, and then wild bursts of rage. His gestures were as graceful as\nthose of a dancing-girl, but at the same time manly and dignified. I\ncan't repeat his speech; my poor words, by the side of his, would sound\nlike the rattle of a drum after a peal of thunder. But when at last,\ninspired and carried away by his eloquence, we had unanimously decided on\nwar, he began to speak once more on the best ways and means of\nprosecuting it successfully.\"\n\nHere Darius was obliged to stop, as Zopyrus had fallen on his neck in an\necstasy of delight. Bartja, Gyges and Oroetes were not less delighted,\nand they all begged him to go on with his tale.\n\n\"Our army,\" began Darius afresh, \"ought to be at the boundaries of Egypt\nby the month Farwardin, (March) as the inundation of the Nile, which\nwould hinder the march of our infantry, begins in Murdad (July). Phanes\nis now on his way to the Arabians to secure their assistance; in hopes\nthat these sons of the desert may furnish our army with water and guides\nthrough their dry and thirsty land. He will also endeavor to win the rich\nisland of Cyprus, which he once conquered for Amasis, over to our side.\nAs it was through his mediation that the kings of the island were allowed\nto retain their crowns, they will be willing to listen to his advice. In\nshort the Athenian leaves nothing uncared for, and knows every road and\npath as if he were the sun himself He showed us a picture of the world on\na plate of copper.\"\n\nOroetes nodded and said, \"I have such a picture of the world too. A\nMilesian named Hekataeus, who spends his life in travelling, drew it, and\ngave it me in exchange for a free-pass.\"\n\n   [Hekataeus of Miletus maybe called \"the father of geography,\" as\n   Herodotus was \"the father of history.\" He improved the map made by\n   Anaximander, and his great work, \"the journey round the world,\" was\n   much prized by the ancients; but unfortunately, with the exception\n   of some very small fragments, has now perished. Herodotus assures\n   us, (V. 36.) that Hekataeus was intimately acquainted with every\n   part of the Persian empire, and had also travelled over Egypt. he\n   lived at the date of our narrative, having been born at Miletus 550\n   B. C. He lived to see the fall of his native city in 4966 B. C.\n   His map has been restored by Klausen and can be seen also in Mure's\n   Lan. and Lit. of Ancient Greece. Vol. IV. Maps existed, however,\n   much earlier, the earliest known being one of the gold-mines, drawn\n   very cleverly by an Egyptian priest, and so well sketched as to give\n   a pretty clear idea of the part of the country intended. It is\n   preserved in the Egyptian Museum at Turin.]\n\n\"What notions these Greeks have in their heads!\" exclaimed Zopyrus, who\ncould not explain to himself what a picture of the world could look like.\n\n\"To-morrow I will show you my copper tablet, said Oroetes, but now we\nmust allow Darius to go on.\"\n\n\"So Phanes has gone to Arabia,\" continued Darius, \"and Prexaspes was sent\nhither not only to command you, Oroetes, to raise as many forces as\npossible, especially Ionians and Carians, of whom Phanes has offered to\nundertake the command, but also to propose terms of alliance to\nPolykrates.\"\n\n\"To that pirate!\" asked Oroetes, and his face darkened.\n\n\"The very same,\" answered Prexaspes, not appearing to notice the change\nin Oroetes' face. \"Phanes has already received assurances from this\nimportant naval power, which sound as if we might expect a favorable\nanswer to my proposal.\"\n\n\"The Phoenician, Syrian and Ionian ships of war would be quite sufficient\nto cope with the Egyptian fleet.\"\n\n\"There you are right; but if Polykrates were to declare against us, we\nshould not be able to hold our own at sea; you say yourself that he is\nall-powerful in the AEgean.\"\n\n\"Still I decidedly disapprove of entering into treaty with such a\nrobber.\"\n\n\"We want powerful allies, and Polykrates is very powerful at sea. It will\nbe time to humble him, when we have used him to help us in conquering\nEgypt. For the present I entreat you to suppress all personal feeling,\nand keep the success of our great plan alone in view. I am empowered to\nsay this in the king's name, and to show his ring in token thereof.\"\n\nOroetes made a brief obeisance before this symbol of despotism, and\nasked: \"What does Cambyses wish me to do?\"\n\n\"He commands you to use every means in your power to secure an alliance\nwith the Samian; and also to send your troops to join the main army on\nthe plains of Babylon as soon as possible.\"\n\nThe satrap bowed and left the room with a look betraying irritation and\ndefiance.\n\nWhen the echo of his footsteps had died away among the colonnades of the\ninner court, Zopyrus exclaimed: \"Poor fellow, it's really very hard for\nhim to have to meet that proud man, who has so often behaved insolently\nto him, on friendly terms. Think of that story about the physician for\ninstance.\"\n\n\"You are too lenient,\" interrupted Darius. \"I don't like this Oroetes. He\nhas no right to receive the king's commands in that way. Didn't you see\nhim bite his lips till they bled, when Prexaspes showed him the king's\nring?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" cried the envoy, \"he's a defiant, perverse man. He left the room\nso quickly, only because he could not keep down his anger any longer.\"\n\n\"Still,\" said Bartja, \"I hope you will keep his conduct a secret from my\nbrother, for he has been very good to me.\"\n\nPrexaspes bowed, but Darius said: \"We must keep an eye on the fellow.\nJust here, so far from the king's gate and in the midst of nations\nhostile to Persia, we want governors who are more ready to obey their\nking than this Oroetes seems to be. Why, he seems to fancy he is King of\nLydia!\"\n\n\"Do you dislike the satrap?\" said Zopyrus.\n\n\"Well, I think I do,\" was the answer. \"I always take an aversion or a\nfancy to people at first sight, and very seldom find reason to change my\nmind afterwards. I disliked Oroetes before I heard him speak a word, and\nI remember having the same feeling towards Psamtik, though Amasis took my\nfancy.\"\n\n\"There's no doubt that you're very different from the rest of us,\" said\nZopyrus laughing, \"but now, to please me, let this poor Oroetes alone.\nI'm glad he's gone though, because we can talk more freely about home.\nHow is Kassandane? and your worshipped Atossa? Croesus too, how is he?\nand what are my wives about? They'll soon have a new companion. To-morrow\nI intend to sue for the hand of Oroetes' pretty daughter. We've talked a\ngood deal of love with our eyes already. I don't know whether we spoke\nPersian or Syrian, but we said the most charming things to one another.\"\n\nThe friends laughed, and Darius, joining in their merriment, said: \"Now\nyou shall hear a piece of very good news. I have kept it to the last,\nbecause it is the best I have. Now, Bartja, prick up your ears. Your\nmother, the noble Kassandane, has been cured of her blindness! Yes, yes,\nit is quite true.--Who cured her? Why who should it be, but that crabbed\nold Nebenchari, who has become, if possible, moodier than ever. Come,\nnow, calm yourselves, and let me go on with my story; or it will be\nmorning before Bartja gets to sleep. Indeed. I think we had better\nseparate now: you've heard the best, and have something to dream about\nWhat, you will not? Then, in the name of Mithras, I must go on, though it\nshould make my heart bleed.\n\n\"I'll begin with the king. As long as Phanes was in Babylon, he seemed to\nforget his grief for Nitetis.\n\n\"The Athenian was never allowed to leave him. They were as inseparable as\nReksch and Rustem. Cambyses had no time to think of his sorrow, for\nPhanes had always some new idea or other, and entertained us all, as well\nas the king, marvellously. And we all liked him too; perhaps, because no\none could really envy him. Whenever he was alone, the tears came into his\neyes at the thought of his boy, and this made his great cheerfulness--a\ncheerfulness which he always managed to impart to the king, Bartja,--the\nmore admirable. Every morning he went down to the Euphrates with Cambyses\nand the rest of us, and enjoyed watching the sons of the Achaemenidae at\ntheir exercises. When he saw them riding at full speed past the\nsand-hills and shooting the pots placed on them into fragments with their\narrows, or throwing blocks of wood at one another and cleverly evading\nthe blows, he confessed that he could not imitate them in these\nexercises, but at the same time he offered to accept a challenge from any\nof us in throwing the spear and in wrestling. In his quick way he sprang\nfrom his horse, stripped off his clothes--it was really a shame--and, to\nthe delight of the boys, threw their wrestling-master as if he had been a\nfeather.\n\n   [In the East, nudity was, even in those days, held to be\n   disgraceful, while the Greeks thought nothing so beautiful as the\n   naked human body. The Hetaira Phryne was summoned before the judges\n   for an offence against religion. Her defender, seeing that sentence\n   was about to be pronounced against his client, suddenly tore away\n   the garment which covered her bosom. The artifice was successful.\n   The judges pronounced her not guilty, being convinced that such\n   wondrous grace and beauty could only belong to a favorite of\n   Aphrodite. Athen. XIII. p. 590]\n\n\"Then he knocked over a number of bragging fellows, and would have thrown\nme too if he had not been too fatigued. I assure you, I am really\nstronger than he is, for I can lift greater weights, but he is as nimble\nas an eel, and has wonderful tricks by which he gets hold of his\nadversary. His being naked too is a great help. If it were not so\nindecent, we ought always to wrestle stripped, and anoint our skins, as\nthe Greeks do, with the olive-oil. He beat us too in throwing the spear,\nbut the king, who you know is proud of being the best archer in Persia,\nsent his arrow farther. Phanes was especially pleased with our rule, that\nin a wrestling-match the one who is thrown must kiss the hand of his\nvictor. At last he showed us a new exercise:--boxing. He refused,\nhowever, to try his skill on any one but a slave, so Cambyses sent for\nthe biggest and strongest man among the servants--my groom, Bessus--a\ngiant who can bring the hind legs of a horse together and hold them so\nfirmly that the creature trembles all over and cannot stir. This big\nfellow, taller by a head than Phanes, shrugged his shoulders\ncontemptuously on hearing that he was to box with the little foreign\ngentleman. He felt quite sure of victory, placed himself opposite his\nadversary, and dealt him a blow heavy enough to kill an elephant. Phanes\navoided it cleverly, in the same moment hitting the giant with his naked\nfist so powerfully under the eyes, that the blood streamed from his nose\nand mouth, and the huge, uncouth fellow fell on the ground with a yell.\nWhen they picked him up his face looked like a pumpkin of a greenish-blue\ncolor. The boys shouted with delight at his discomfiture; but we admired\nthe dexterity of this Greek, and were especially glad to see the king in\nsuch good spirits; we noticed this most when Phanes was singing Greek\nsongs and dance-melodies to him accompanied by the lute.\n\n\"Meanwhile Kassandane's blindness had been cured, and this of course\ntended not a little to disperse the king's melancholy.\n\n\"In short it was a very pleasant time, and I was just going to ask for\nAtossa's hand in marriage, when Phanes went off to Arabia, and everything\nwas changed.\n\n\"No sooner had he turned his back on the gates of Babylon than all the\nevil Divs seemed to have entered into the king. He went about, a moody,\nsilent man, speaking to no one; and to drown his melancholy would begin\ndrinking, even at an early hour in the morning, quantities of the\nstrongest Syrian wine. By the evening he was generally so intoxicated\nthat he had to be carried out of the hall, and would wake up the next\nmorning with headache and spasms. In the day-time he would wander about\nas if looking for something, and in the night they often heard him\ncalling Nitetis. The physicians became very anxious about his health, but\nwhen they sent him medicine he threw it away. It was quite right of\nCroesus to say, as he did once 'Ye Magi and Chaldaeans! before trying to\ncure a sick man we must discover the seat of his disease. Do you know it\nin this case? No? Then I will tell you what ails the king. He has an\ninternal complaint and a wound. The former is called ennui, and the\nlatter is in his heart. The Athenian is a good remedy for the first, but\nfor the second I know of none; such wounds either scar over of\nthemselves, or the patient bleeds to death inwardly.'\"\n\n\"I know of a remedy for the king though,\" exclaimed Otanes when he heard\nthese words. \"We must persuade him to send for the women, or at least for\nmy daughter Phaedime, back from Susa. Love is good for dispersing\nmelancholy, and makes the blood flow faster.\" We acknowledged that he was\nright, and advised him to remind the king of his banished wives. He\nventured to make the proposal while we were at supper, but got such a\nharsh rebuff for his pains, that we all pitied him. Soon after this,\nCambyses sent one morning for all the Mobeds and Chaldaeans, and\ncommanded them to interpret a strange dream which he had bad. In his\ndream he had been standing in the midst of a dry and barren plain: barren\nas a threshing-floor, it did not produce a single blade of grass.\nDispleased at the desert aspect of the place, he was just going to seek\nother and more fruitful regions, when Atossa appeared, and, without\nseeing him, ran towards a spring which welled up through the arid soil as\nif by enchantment. While he was gazing in wonder at this scene, he\nnoticed that wherever the foot of his sister touched the parched soil,\ngraceful terebinths sprang up, changing, as they grew, into cypresses\nwhose tops reached unto heaven. As he was going to speak to Atossa, he\nawoke.\n\nThe Mobeds and Chaldaeans consulted together and interpreted the dream\nthus? 'Atossa would be successful in all she undertook.'\n\n\"Cambyses seemed satisfied with this answer, but, as the next night the\nvision appeared again, he threatened the wise men with death, unless they\ncould give him another and a different interpretation. They pondered\nlong, and at last answered, 'that Atossa would become a queen and the\nmother of mighty princes.'\n\n\"This answer really contented the king, and he smiled strangely to\nhimself as he told us his dream. 'The same day Kassandane sent for me and\ntold me to give up all thoughts of her daughter, as I valued my life.\n\n\"'Just as I was leaving the queen's garden I saw Atossa behind a\npomegranate-bush. She beckoned. I went to her; and in that hour we forgot\ndanger and sorrow, but said farewell to each other for ever. Now you know\nall; and now that I have given her up--now that I know it would be\nmadness even to think of her again--I am obliged to be very stern with\nmyself, lest, like the king, I should fall into deep melancholy for the\nsake of a woman. And this is the end of the story, the close of which we\nwere all expecting, when Atossa, as I lay under sentence of death, sent\nme a rose, and made me the happiest of mortals. If I had not betrayed my\nsecret then, when we thought our last hour was near, it would have gone\nwith me to my grave. But what am I talking about? I know I can trust to\nyour secrecy, but pray don't look at me so deplorably. I think I am still\nto be envied, for I have had one hour of enjoyment that would outweigh a\ncentury of misery. Thank you,--thank you: now let me finish my story as\nquickly as I can.\n\n\"Three days after I had taken leave of Atossa I had to marry Artystone,\nthe daughter of Gobryas. She is beautiful, and would make any other man\nhappy. The day after the wedding the Angare reached Babylon with the news\nof your illness. My mind was made up at once; I begged the king to let me\ngo to you, nurse you, and warn you of the danger which threatens your\nlife in Egypt--took leave of my bride, in spite of all my father-in-law's\nprotestations, and went off at full speed with Prexaspes, never resting\ntill I reached your side, my dear Bartja. Now I shall go with you and\nZopyrus to Egypt, for Gyges must accompany the ambassador to Samos, as\ninterpreter. This is the king's command; he has been in better spirits\nthe last few days; the inspection of the masses of troops coming up to\nBabylon diverts him, besides which, the Chaldaeans have assured him that\nthe planet Adar, which belongs to their war-god Chanon, promises a great\nvictory to the Persian arms. When do you think you shall be able to\ntravel, Bartja?\"\n\n\"To-morrow, if you like,\" was the answer. \"The doctors say the sea-voyage\nwill do me good, and the journey by land to Smyrna is very short.\"\n\n\"And I can assure you,\" added Zopyrus, \"that Sappho will cure you sooner\nthan all the doctors in the world.\"\n\n\"Then we will start in three days;\" said Darius after some consideration,\n\"we have plenty to do before starting. Remember we are going into what\nmay almost be called an enemy's country. I have been thinking the matter\nover, and it seems to me that Bartja must pass for a Babylonian\ncarpet-merchant, I for his brother, and Zopyrus for a dealer in Sardian\nred.\"\n\n\"Couldn't we be soldiers?\" asked Zopyrus. \"It's such an ignominious thing\nto be taken for cheating peddlers. How would it be, for instance, if we\npassed ourselves off for Lydian soldiers, escaped from punishment, and\nseeking service in the Egyptian army?\"\n\n\"That's not a bad idea,\" said Bartja, \"and I think too that we look more\nlike soldiers than traders.\"\n\n\"Looks and manner are no guide,\" said Gyges. \"Those great Greek merchants\nand ship-owners go about as proudly as if the world belonged to them. But\nI don't find Zopyrus' proposal a bad one.\"\n\n\"Then so let it be,\" said Darius, yielding. \"In that case Oroetes must\nprovide us with the uniform of Lydian Taxiarchs.\"\n\n\"You'd better take the splendid dress of the Chiliarchs at once, I\nthink,\" cried Gyges.\n\n\"Why, on such young men, that would excite suspicion directly.\"\n\n\"But we can't appear as common soldiers.\"\n\n\"No, but as Hekatontarchs.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Zopyrus laughing. \"Anything you like except a\nshop-keeper.--So in three days we are off. I am glad I shall just have\ntime to make sure of the satrap's little daughter, and to visit the grove\nof Cybele at last. Now, goodnight, Bartja; don't get up too early. What\nwill Sappho say, if you come to her with pale cheeks?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe sun of a hot midsummer-day had risen on Naukratis. The Nile had\nalready begun to overflow its banks, and the fields and gardens of the\nEgyptians were covered with water.\n\nThe harbor was crowded with craft of all kinds. Egyptian vessels were\nthere, manned by Phoenician colonists from the coasts of the Delta, and\nbringing fine woven goods from Malta, metals and precious stones from\nSardinia, wine and copper from Cyprus. Greek triremes laden with oil,\nwine and mastic-wood; metal-work and woollen wares from Chalcis,\nPhoenician and Syrian craft with gaily-colored sails, and freighted with\ncargoes of purple stuffs, gems, spices, glass-work, carpets and\ncedar-trees,--used in Egypt, where wood was very scarce, for building\npurposes, and taking back gold, ivory, ebony, brightly-plumaged tropical\nbirds, precious stones and black slaves,--the treasures of Ethiopia; but\nmore especially the far-famed Egyptian corn, Memphian chariots, lace from\nSais, and the finer sorts of papyrus. The time when commerce was carried\non merely by barter was now, however, long past, and the merchants of\nNaukratis not seldom paid for their goods in gold coin and\ncarefully-weighed silver.\n\nLarge warehouses stood round the harbor of this Greek colony, and\nslightly-built dwelling-houses, into which the idle mariners were lured\nby the sounds of music and laughter, and the glances and voices of\npainted and rouged damsels. Slaves, both white and colored, rowers and\nsteersmen, in various costumes, were hurrying hither and thither, while\nthe ships' captains, either dressed in the Greek fashion or in Phoenician\ngarments of the most glaring colors, were shouting orders to their crews\nand delivering up their cargoes to the merchants. Whenever a dispute\narose, the Egyptian police with their long staves, and the Greek warders\nof the harbor were quickly at hand. The latter were appointed by the\nelders of the merchant-body in this Milesian colony.\n\nThe port was getting empty now, for the hour at which the market opened\nwas near, and none of the free Greeks cared to be absent from the\nmarket-place then. This time, however, not a few remained behind,\ncuriously watching a beautifully-built Samian ship, the Okeia, with a\nlong prow like a swan's neck, on the front of which a likeness of the\ngoddess Hera was conspicuous. It was discharging its cargo, but the\npublic attention was more particularly attracted by three handsome\nyouths, in the dress of Lydian officers, who left the ship, followed by a\nnumber of slaves carrying chests and packages.\n\nThe handsomest of the three travellers, in whom of course our readers\nrecognize their three young friends, Darius, Bartja and Zopyrus, spoke to\none of the harbor police and asked for the house of Theopompus the\nMilesian, to whom they were bound on a visit.\n\nPolite and ready to do a service, like all the Greeks, the police\nfunctionary at once led the way across the market-place,--where the\nopening of business had just been announced by the sound of a bell,--to a\nhandsome house, the property of the Milesian, Theopompus, one of the most\nimportant and respected men in Naukratis.\n\nThe party, however, did not succeed in crossing the market-place without\nhindrance. They found it easy enough to evade the importunities of\nimpudent fishsellers, and the friendly invitations of butchers, bakers,\nsausage and vegetable-sellers, and potters. But when they reached the\npart allotted to the flower-girls, Zopyrus was so enchanted with the\nscene, that he clapped his hands for joy.\n\n   [Separate portions of the market were set apart for the sale of\n   different goods. The part appointed for the flower-sellers, who\n   passed in general for no better than they should be, was called the\n   \"myrtle-market.\" Aristoph. Thesmoph. 448.]\n\nThree wonderfully-lovely girls, in white dresses of some half-transparent\nmaterial, with colored borders, were seated together on low stools,\nbinding roses, violets and orange-blossoms into one long wreath. Their\ncharming heads were wreathed with flowers too, and looked very like the\nlovely rosebuds which one of them, on seeing the young men come up, held\nout to their notice.\n\n\"Buy my roses, my handsome gentlemen,\" she said in a clear, melodious\nvoice, \"to put in your sweethearts' hair.\"\n\nZopyrus took the flowers, and holding the girl's hand fast in his own,\nanswered, \"I come from a far country, my lovely child, and have no\nsweetheart in Naukratis yet; so let me put the roses in your own golden\nhair, and this piece of gold in your white little hand.\"\n\nThe girl burst into a merry laugh, showed her sister the handsome\npresent, and answered: \"By Eros, such gentlemen as you cannot want for\nsweethearts. Are you brothers?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"That's a pity, for we are sisters.\"\n\n\"And you thought we should make three pretty couples?\"\n\n\"I may have thought it, but I did not say so.\"\n\n\"And your sisters?\"\n\n   [This passage was suggested by the following epigram of Dionysius\n   \"Roses are blooming on thy cheek, with roses thy basket is laden,\n   Which dost thou sell? The flowers? Thyself? Or both, my pretty\n   maiden?\"]\n\nThe girls laughed, as if they were but little averse to such a\nconnection, and offered Bartja and Darius rosebuds too.\n\nThe young men accepted them, gave each a gold piece in return, and were\nnot allowed to leave these beauties until their helmets had been crowned\nwith laurel.\n\nMeanwhile the news of the strangers' remarkable liberality had spread\namong the many girls, who were selling ribbons, wreaths and flowers close\nby. They all brought roses too and invited the strangers with looks and\nwords to stay with them and buy their flowers.\n\nZopyrus, like many a young gentleman in Naukratis, would gladly have\naccepted their invitations, for most of these girls were beautiful, and\ntheir hearts were not difficult to win; but Darius urged him to come\naway, and begged Bartja to forbid the thoughtless fellow's staying any\nlonger. After passing the tables of the money-changers, and the stone\nseats on which the citizens sat in the open air and held their\nconsultations, they arrived at the house of Theopompus.\n\nThe stroke given by their Greek guide with the metal knocker on the\nhouse-door was answered at once by a slave. As the master was at the\nmarket, the strangers were led by the steward, an old servant grown grey\nin the service of Theopompus, into the Andronitis, and begged to wait\nthere until he returned.\n\nThey were still engaged in admiring the paintings on the walls, and the\nartistic carving of the stone floor, when Theopompus, the merchant whom\nwe first learnt to know at the house of Rhodopis, came back from the\nmarket, followed by a great number of slaves bearing his purchases.\n\n   [Men of high rank among the Greeks did not disdain to make purchases\n   at market, accompanied by their slaves, but respectable women could\n   not appear there. Female slaves were generally sent to buy what was\n   needed.]\n\nHe received the strangers with charming politeness and asked in what way\nhe could be of use to them, on which Bartja, having first convinced\nhimself that no unwished--for listeners were present, gave him the roll\nhe had received from Phanes at parting.\n\nTheopompus had scarcely read its contents, when he made a low bow to the\nprince, exclaiming: \"By Zeus, the father of hospitality, this is the\ngreatest honor that could have been conferred upon my house! All I\npossess is yours, and I beg you to ask your companions to accept with\nkindness what I can offer. Pardon my not having recognized you at once in\nyour Lydian dress. It seems to me that your hair is shorter and your\nbeard thicker, than when you left Egypt. Am I right in imagining that you\ndo not wish to be recognized? It shall be exactly as you wish. He is the\nbest host, who allows his guests the most freedom. All, now I recognize\nyour friends; but they have disguised themselves and cut their curls\nalso. Indeed, I could almost say that you, my friend, whose name--\"\n\n\"My name is Darius.\"\n\n\"That you, Darius, have dyed your hair black. Yes? Then you see my memory\ndoes not deceive me. But that is nothing to boast of, for I saw you\nseveral times at Sais, and here too, on your arrival and departure. You\nask, my prince, whether you would be generally recognized? Certainly not.\nThe foreign dress, the change in your hair and the coloring of your\neyebrows have altered you wonderfully. But excuse me a moment, my old\nsteward seems to have some important message to give.\"\n\nIn a few minutes Theopompus came back, exclaiming: \"No, no, my honored\nfriends, you have certainly not taken the wisest way of entering\nNaukratis incognito. You have been joking with the flower-girls and\npaying them for a few roses, not like runaway Lydian Hekatontarchs, but\nlike the great lords you are. All Naukratis knows the pretty, frivolous\nsisters, Stephanion, Chloris and Irene, whose garlands have caught many a\nheart, and whose sweet glances have lured many a bright obolus out of the\npockets of our gay young men. They're very fond of visiting the\nflower-girls at market-time, and agreements are entered into then for\nwhich more than one gold piece must be paid later; but for a few roses\nand good words they are not accustomed to be so liberal as you have been.\nThe girls have been boasting about you and your gifts, and showing your\ngood red gold to their stingier suitors. As rumor is a goddess who is\nvery apt to exaggerate and to make a crocodile out of a lizard, it\nhappened that news reached the Egyptian captain on guard at the market,\nthat some newly-arrived Lydian warriors had been scattering gold\nbroadcast among the flower-girls. This excited suspicion, and induced the\nToparch to send an officer here to enquire from whence you come, and what\nis the object of your journey hither. I was obliged to use a little\nstratagem to impose upon him, and told him, as I believe you wish, that\nyou were rich young men from Sardis, who had fled on account of having\nincurred the satrap's ill-will. But I see the government officer coming,\nand with him the secretary who is to make out passports which will enable\nyou to remain on the Nile unmolested. I have promised him a handsome\nreward, if he can help you in getting admitted into the king's\nmercenaries. He was caught and believed my story. You are so young, that\nnobody would imagine you were entrusted with a secret mission.\"\n\nThe talkative Greek had scarcely finished speaking when the clerk, a\nlean, dry-looking man, dressed in white, came in, placed himself opposite\nthe strangers and asked them from whence they came and what was the\nobject of their journey.\n\nThe youths held to their first assertion, that they were Lydian\nHekatontarchs, and begged the functionary to provide them with passes and\ntell them in what way they might most easily obtain admittance into the\nking's troop of auxiliaries.\n\nThe man did not hesitate long, after Theopompus had undertaken to be\ntheir surety, and the desired documents were made out.\n\nBartja's pass ran thus:\n\n\"Smerdis, the son of Sandon of Sardis, about 22 years of age--figure,\ntall and slender-face, well-formed:--nose, straight:--forehead, high with\na small scar in the middle:--is hereby permitted to remain in those parts\nof Egypt in which the law allows foreigners to reside, as surety has been\ngiven for him.\n             \"In the King's name.\n                    \"Sachons, Clerk.\"\n\nDarius and Zopyrus received passports similarly worded.\n\nWhen the government official had left the houses, Theopompus rubbed his\nhands and said: \"Now if you will follow my advice on all points you can\nstay in Egypt safely enough. Keep these little rolls as if they were the\napple of your eye, and never part from them. Now, however, I must beg you\nto follow me to breakfast and to tell me, if agreeable to you, whether a\nreport which has just been making the round of the market is not, as\nusual, entirely false. A trireme from Kolophon, namely, has brought the\nnews that your powerful brother, noble Bartja, is preparing to make war\nwith Amasis.\"\n\n          .........................\n\nOn the evening of the same day, Bartja and Sappho saw each other again.\nIn that first hour surprise and joy together made Sappho's happiness too\ngreat for words. When they were once more seated in the acanthus-grove\nwhose blossoming branches had so often seen and sheltered their young\nlove, she embraced him tenderly, but for a long time they did not speak\none word. They saw neither moon nor stars moving silently above them, in\nthe warm summer night; they did not even hear the nightingales who were\nstill repeating their favorite, flute-like, Itys-call to one another; nor\ndid they feel the dew which fell as heavily on their fair heads as on the\nflowers in the grass around them.\n\nAt last Bartja, taking both Sappho's hands in his own, looked long and\nsilently into her face, as if to stamp her likeness for ever on his\nmemory. When he spoke at last, she cast down her eyes, for he said: \"In\nmy dreams, Sappho, you have always been the most lovely creature that\nAuramazda ever created, but now I see you again, you are more lovely even\nthan my dreams.\"\n\nAnd when a bright, happy glance from her had thanked him for these words,\nhe drew her closer to him, asking: \"Did you often think of me?\"\n\n\"I thought only of you.\"\n\n\"And did you hope to see me soon?\"\n\n\"Yes; hour after hour I thought, 'now he must be coming.' Sometimes I\nwent into the garden in the morning and looked towards your home in the\nEast, and a bird flew towards me from thence and I felt a twitching in my\nright eyelid; or when I was putting my box to rights and found the laurel\ncrown which I put by as a remembrance, because you looked so well in\nit,--Melitta says such wreaths are good for keeping true love--then I\nused to clap my hands with joy and think, 'to-day he must come;' and I\nwould run down to the Nile and wave my handkerchief to every passing\nboat, for every boat I thought must be bringing you to me.\"\n\n   [A bird flying from the right side, and a twitching of the right eye\n   were considered fortunate omens. Theokrirus, III. 37]\n\n\"But you did not come, and then I went sadly home, and would sit down by\nthe fire on the hearth in the women's room, and sing, and gaze into the\nfire till grandmother would wake me out of my dream by saying: 'Listen to\nme, girl; whoever dreams by daylight is in danger of lying awake at\nnight, and getting up in the morning with a sad heart, a tired brain and\nweary limbs. The day was not given us for sleep, and we must live in it\nwith open eyes, that not a single hour may be idly spent. The past\nbelongs to the dead; only fools count upon the future; but wise men hold\nfast by the ever young present; by work they foster all the various gifts\nwhich Zeus, Apollo, Pallas, Cypris lend; by work they raise, and perfect\nand ennoble them, until their feelings, actions, words and thoughts\nbecome harmonious like a well-tuned lute. You cannot serve the man to\nwhom you have given your whole heart,--to whom in your great love you\nlook up as so much higher than yourself--you cannot prove the\nsteadfastness and faithfulness of that love better, than by raising and\nimproving your mind to the utmost of your power. Every good and beautiful\ntruth that you learn is an offering to him you love best, for in giving\nyour whole self, you give your virtues too. But no one gains this victory\nin dreams. The dew by which such blossoms are nourished is called the\nsweat of man's brow.' So she would speak to me, and then I started up\nashamed and left the hearth, and either took my lyre to learn new songs,\nor listened to my loving teacher's words--she is wiser than most\nmen--attentively and still. And so the time passed on; a rapid stream,\njust like our river Nile, which flows unceasingly, and brings such\nchanging scenes upon its waves, sometimes a golden boat with streamers\ngay,--sometimes a fearful, ravenous crocodile.\"\n\n\"But now we are sitting in the golden boat. Oh, if time's waves would\nonly cease to flow! If this one moment could but last for aye. You lovely\ngirl, how perfectly you speak, how well you understand and remember all\nthis beautiful teaching and make it even more beautiful by your way of\nrepeating it. Yes, Sappho, I am very proud of you. In you I have a\ntreasure which makes me richer than my brother, though half the world\nbelongs to him.\"\n\n\"You proud of me? you, a king's son, the best and handsomest of your\nfamily?\"\n\n\"The greatest worth that I can find in myself is, that you think me\nworthy of your love.\"\n\n\"Tell me, ye gods, how can this little heart hold so much joy without\nbreaking? 'Tis like a vase that's overfilled with purest, heaviest gold?\"\n\n\"Another heart will help you to bear it; and that is my own, for mine is\nagain supported by yours, and with that help I can laugh at every evil\nthat the world or night may bring.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't excite the envy of the gods; human happiness often vexes them.\nSince you left us we have passed some very, very sad days. The two poor\nchildren of our kind Phanes--a boy as beautiful as Eros, and a little\ngirl as fair and rosy as a summer morning's cloud just lit up by the\nsun,--came for some happy days to stay with us. Grandmother grew quite\nglad and young again while looking on these little ones, and as for me I\ngave them all my heart, though really it is your's and your's alone. But\nhearts, you know, are wonderfully made; they're like the sun who sends\nhis rays everywhere, and loses neither warmth nor light by giving much,\nbut gives to all their due. I loved those little ones so very much. One\nevening we were sitting quite alone with Theopompus in the women's room,\nwhen suddenly we heard aloud, wild noise. The good old Knakias, our\nfaithful slave, just reached the door as all the bolts gave way, and,\nrushing through the entrance-hall into the peristyle, the andronitis, and\nso on to us, crashing the door between, came a troop of soldiers.\nGrandmother showed them the letter by which Amasis secured our house from\nall attack and made it a sure refuge, but they laughed the writing to\nscorn and showed us on their side a document with the crown-prince's\nseal, in which we were sternly commanded to deliver up Phanes' children\nat once to this rough troop of men. Theopompus reproved the soldiers for\ntheir roughness, telling them that the children came from Corinth and had\nno connection with Phanes; but the captain of the troop defied and\nsneered at him, pushed my grandmother rudely away, forced his way into\nher own apartment, where among her most precious treasures, at the head\nof her own bed, the two children lay sleeping peacefully, dragged them\nout of their little beds and took them in an open boat through the cold\nnight-air to the royal city. In a few days we heard the boy was dead.\nThey say he has been killed by Psamtik's orders; and the little girl, so\nsweet and dear, is lying in a dismal dungeon, and pining for her father\nand for us. Oh, dearest, isn't it a painful thing that sorrows such as\nthese should come to mar our perfect happiness? My eyes weep joy and\nsorrow in the same moment, and my lips, which have just been laughing\nwith you, have now to tell you this sad story.\"\n\n\"I feel your pain with you, my child, but it makes my hand clench with\nrage instead of filling my eyes with tears. That gentle boy whom you\nloved, that little girl who now sits weeping in the dark dungeon, shall\nboth be revenged. Trust me; before the Nile has risen again, a powerful\narmy will have entered Egypt, to demand satisfaction for this murder.\"\n\n\"Oh, dearest, how your eyes are glowing! I never saw you look so\nbeautiful before. Yes, yes, the boy must be avenged, and none but you\nmust be his avenger.\"\n\n\"My gentle Sappho is becoming warlike too.\"\n\n\"Yes, women must feel warlike when wickedness is so triumphant; women\nrejoice too when such crimes are punished. Tell me has war been declared\nalready?\"\n\n\"Not yet; but hosts on hosts are marching to the valley of the Euphrates\nto join our main army.\"\n\n\"My courage sinks as quickly as it rose. I tremble at the word, the mere\nword, war. How many childless mothers Ares makes, how many young fair\nheads must wear the widow's veil, how many pillows are wet through with\ntears when Pallas takes her shield.\"\n\n\"But a man developes in war; his heart expands, his arm grows strong. And\nnone rejoice more than you when he returns a conqueror from the field.\nThe wife of a Persian, especially, ought to rejoice in the thought of\nbattle, for her husband's honor and fame are dearer to her than his\nlife.\"\n\n\"Go to the war. I shall pray for you there.\"\n\n\"And victory will be with the right. First we will conquer Pharaoh's\nhost, then release Phanes' little daughter . . .\"\n\n\"And then Aristomachus, the brave old man who succeeded Phanes when he\nfled. He has vanished, no one knows whither, but people say that the\ncrown-prince has either imprisoned him in a dismal dungeon on account of\nhis having uttered threats of retaliating the cruelty shown to Phanes'\nchildren, or--what would be worse--has had him dragged off to some\ndistant quarry. The poor old man was exiled from his home, not for his\nown fault, but by the malice of his enemies, and the very day on which we\nlost sight of him an embassy arrived here from the Spartan people\nrecalling Aristomachus to the Eurotas with all the honors Greece could\nbestow, because his sons had brought great glory to their country. A ship\nwreathed with flowers was sent to fetch the honored old man, and at the\nhead of the deputation was his own brave, strong son, now crowned with\nglory and fame.\"\n\n\"I know him. He's a man of iron. Once he mutilated himself cruelly to\navoid disgrace. By the Anahita star, which is setting so beautifully in\nthe east, he shall be revenged!\"\n\n\"Oh, can it be so late? To me the time has gone by like a sweet breeze,\nwhich kissed my forehead and passed away. Did not you hear some one call?\nThey will be waiting for us, and you must be at your friend's house in\nthe town before dawn. Good-bye, my brave hero.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, my dearest one. In five days we shall hear our marriage-hymn.\nBut you tremble as if we were going to battle instead of to our wedding.\"\n\n\"I'm trembling at the greatness of our joy; one always trembles in\nexpectation of anything unusually great.\"\n\n\"Hark, Rhodopis is calling again; let us go. I have asked Theopompus to\narrange everything about our wedding with her according to the usual\ncustom; and I shall remain in his house incognito until I can carry you\noff as my own dear wife.\"\n\n\"And I will go with you.\"\n\nThe next morning, as the three friends were walking with their host in\nhis garden, Zopyrus exclaimed: \"Wily, Bartja, I've been dreaming all\nnight of your Sappho. What a lucky fellow you are! Why I fancied my new\nwife in Sardis was no end of a beauty until I saw Sappho, and now when I\nthink of her she seems like an owl. If Araspes could see Sappho he would\nbe obliged to confess that even Panthea had been outdone at last. Such a\ncreature was never made before. Auramazda is an awful spendthrift; he\nmight have made three beauties out of Sappho. And how charmingly it\nsounded when she said 'good-night' to us in Persian.\"\n\n\"While I was away,\" said Bartja, \"she has been taking a great deal of\ntrouble to learn Persian from the wife of a Babylonian carpet-merchant, a\nnative of Susa, who is living at Naukratis, in order to surprise me.\n\n\"Yes, she is a glorious girl,\" said Theopompus. \"My late wife loved the\nlittle one as if she had been her own child. She would have liked to have\nhad her as a wife for our son who manages the affairs of my house at\nMiletus, but the gods have ordained otherwise! Ah, how glad she would\nhave been to see the wedding garland at Rhodopis' door!\"\n\n\"Is it the custom here to ornament a bride's house with flowers?\" said\nZopyrus.\n\n\"Certainly,\" answered Theopompus. \"When you see a door hung with flowers\nyou may always know that house contains a bride; an olive-branch is a\nsign that a boy has just come into the world, and a strip of woollen\ncloth hanging over the gate that a girl has been born; but a vessel of\nwater before the door is the token of death. But business-hour at the\nmarket is very near, my friends, and I must leave you, as I have affairs\nof great importance to transact.\"\n\n\"I will accompany you,\" said Zopyrus, \"I want to order some garlands for\nRhodopis' house.\"\n\n\"Aha,\" laughed the Milesian. \"I see, you want to talk to the flower-girls\nagain. Come, it's of no use to deny. Well, if you like you can come with\nme, but don't be so generous as you were yesterday, and don't forget that\nif certain news of war should arrive, your disguise may prove dangerous.\"\n\nThe Greek then had his sandals fastened on by his slaves and started for\nthe market, accompanied by Zopyrus. In a few hours he returned with such\na serious expression on his usually cheerful face, that it was easy to\nsee something very important had happened.\n\n\"I found the whole town in great agitation,\" he said to the two friends\nwho had remained at home; \"there is a report that Amasis is at the point\nof death. We had all met on the place of exchange in order to settle our\nbusiness, and I was on the point of selling all my stored goods at such\nhigh prices as to secure me a first-rate profit, with which, when the\nprospect of an important war had lowered prices again, I could have\nbought in fresh goods--you see it stands me in good stead to know your\nroyal brother's intentions so early--when suddenly the Toparch appeared\namong us, and announced that Amasis was not only seriously ill, but that\nthe physicians had given up all hope, and he himself felt he was very\nnear death. We must hold ourselves in readiness for this at any moment,\nand for a very serious change in the face of affairs. The death of Amasis\nis the severest loss that could happen to us Greeks; he was always our\nfriend, and favored us whenever he could, while his son is our avowed\nenemy and will do his utmost to expel us from the country. If his father\nhad allowed, and he himself had not felt so strongly the importance and\nvalue of our mercenary troops, he would have turned us hateful foreigners\nout long ago. Naukratis and its temples are odious to him. When Amasis is\ndead our town will hail Cambyses' army with delight, for I have had\nexperience already, in my native town Miletus, that you are accustomed to\nshow respect to those who are not Persians and to protect their rights.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Bartja, \"I will take care that all your ancient liberties\nshall be confirmed by my brother and new ones granted you.\"\n\n\"Well, I only hope he will soon be here,\" exclaimed the Greek, \"for we\nknow that Psamtik, as soon as he possibly can, will order our temples,\nwhich are an abomination to him, to be demolished. The building of a\nplace of sacrifice for the Greeks at Memphis has long been put a stop\nto.\"\n\n\"But here,\" said Darius, \"we saw a number of splendid temples as we came\nup from the harbor.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, we have several.--Ah, there comes Zopyrus; the slaves are\ncarrying a perfect grove of garlands behind him. He's laughing so\nheartily, he must have amused himself famously with the flower-girls.\nGood-morning, my friend. The sad news which fills all Naukratis does not\nseem to disturb you much.\"\n\n\"Oh, for anything I care, Amasis may go on living a hundred years yet.\nBut if he dies now, people will have something else to do beside looking\nafter us. When do you set off for Rhodopis' house, friends?\"\n\n\"At dusk.\"\n\n\"Then please, ask her to accept these flowers from me. I never thought I\ncould have been so taken by an old woman before. Every word she says\nsounds like music, and though she speaks so gravely and wisely it's as\npleasant to the ear as a merry joke. But I shan't go with you this time,\nBartja; I should only be in the way. Darius, what have you made up your\nmind to do?\"\n\n\"I don't want to lose one chance of a conversation with Rhodopis.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't blame you. You're all for learning and knowing everything,\nand I'm for enjoying. Friends, what do you say to letting me off this\nevening? You see. . . .\"\n\n\"I know all about it,\" interrupted Bartja laughing: \"You've only seen the\nflower-girls by daylight as yet, and you would like to know how they look\nby lamplight.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's it,\" said Zopyrus, putting on a grave face. \"On that point I\nam quite as eager after knowledge as Darius.\"\n\n\"Well, we wish you much pleasure with your three sisters.\"\n\n\"No, no, not all three, if you please; Stephanion, the youngest, is my\nfavorite.\"\n\nMorning had already dawned when Bartja, Darius and Theopompus left\nRhodopis' house. Syloson, a Greek noble who had been banished from his\nnative land by his own brother, Polykrates the tyrant, had been spending\nthe evening with them, and was now returning in their company to\nNaukratis, where he had been living many years.\n\nThis man, though an exile, was liberally supplied with money by his\nbrother, kept the most brilliant establishment in Naukratis, and was as\nfamous for his extravagant hospitality as for his strength and\ncleverness. Syloson was a very handsome man too, and so remarkable for\nthe good taste and splendor of his dress, that the youth of Naukratis\nprided themselves on imitating the cut and hang of his robes. Being\nunmarried, he spent many of his evenings at Rhodopis' house, and had been\ntold the secret of her granddaughter's betrothal.\n\nOn that evening it had been settled, that in four days the marriage\nshould be celebrated with the greatest privacy. Bartja had formally\nbetrothed himself to Sappho by eating a quince with her, on the same day\non which she had offered sacrifices to Zeus, Hera, and the other deities\nwho protected marriage. The wedding-banquet was to be given at the house\nof Theopompus, which was looked upon as the bridegroom's. The prince's\ncostly bridal presents had been entrusted to Rhodopis' care, and Bartja\nhad insisted on renouncing the paternal inheritance which belonged to his\nbride and on transferring it to Rhodopis, notwithstanding her determined\nresistance.\n\nSyloson accompanied the friends to Rhodopis' house, and was just about to\nleave them, when a loud noise in the streets broke the quiet stillness of\nthe night, and soon after, a troop of the watch passed by, taking a man\nto prison. The prisoner seemed highly indignant, and the less his broken\nGreek oaths and his utterances in some other totally unintelligible\nlanguage were understood by the Egyptian guards, the more violent he\nbecame.\n\nDirectly Bartja and Darius heard the voice they ran up, and recognized\nZopyrus at once.\n\nSyloson and Theopompus stopped the guards, and asked what their captive\nhad done. The officer on duty recognized them directly; indeed every\nchild in Naukratis knew the Milesian merchant and the brother of the\ntyrant Polykrates by sight; and he answered at once, with a respectful\nsalutation, that the foreign youth they were leading away had been guilty\nof murder.\n\nTheopompus then took him on one side and endeavored, by liberal promises,\nto obtain the freedom of the prisoner. The man, however, would concede\nnothing but a permission to speak with his captive. Meanwhile his friends\nbegged Zopyrus to tell them at once what had happened, and heard the\nfollowing story: The thoughtless fellow had visited the flower-girls at\ndusk and remained till dawn. He had scarcely closed their housedoor on\nhis way home, when he found himself surrounded by a number of young men,\nwho had probably been lying in wait for him, as he had already had a\nquarrel with one of them, who called himself the betrothed lover of\nStephanion, on that very morning. The girl had told her troublesome\nadmirer to leave her flowers alone, and had thanked Zopyrus for\nthreatening to use personal violence to the intruder. When the young\nAchaemenidae found himself surrounded, he drew his sword and easily\ndispersed his adversaries, as they were only armed with sticks, but\nchanced to wound the jealous lover, who was more violent than the rest,\nso seriously, that he fell to the ground. Meanwhile the watch had come\nup, and as Zopyrus' victim howled \"thieves\" and \"murder\" incessantly,\nthey proceeded to arrest the offender. This was not so easy. His blood\nwas up, and rushing on them with his drawn sword, he had already cut his\nway through the first troop when a second came up. He was not to be\ndaunted, attacked them too, split the skull of one, wounded another in\nthe arm and was taking aim for a third blow, when he felt a cord round\nhis neck. It was drawn tighter and tighter till at last he could not\nbreathe and fell down insensible. By the time he came to his senses he\nwas bound, and notwithstanding all his appeals to his pass and the name\nof Theopompus, was forced to follow his captors.\n\nWhen the tale was finished the Milesian did not attempt to conceal his\nstrong disapprobation, and told Zopyrus that his most unseasonable love\nof fighting might be followed by the saddest consequences. After saying\nthis, he turned to the officer and begged him to accept his own personal\nsecurity for the prisoner. The other, however, refused gravely, saying he\nmight forfeit his own life by doing so, as a law existed in Egypt by\nwhich the concealer of a murder was condemned to death. He must, he\nassured them, take the culprit to Sais and deliver him over to the\nNomarch for punishment. \"He has murdered an Egyptian,\" were his last\nwords, \"and must therefore be tried by an Egyptian supreme court. In any\nother case I should be delighted to render you any service in my power.\"\n\nDuring this conversation Zopyrus had been begging his friends not to take\nany trouble about him. \"By Mithras,\" he cried, when Bartja offered to\ndeclare himself to the Egyptians as a means of procuring his freedom, \"I\nvow I'll stab myself without a second thought, if you give yourselves up\nto those dogs of Egyptians. Why the whole town is talking about the war\nalready, and do you think that if Psamtik knew he'd got such splendid\ngame in his net, he would let you loose? He would keep you as hostages,\nof course. No, no, my friends. Good-bye; may Auramazda send you his best\nblessings! and don't quite forget the jovial Zopyrus, who lived and died\nfor love and war.\"\n\nThe captain of the band placed himself at the head of his men, gave the\norder to march, and in a few minutes Zopyrus was out of sight.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Corpse to be torn in pieces by dogs and vultures\n     He is the best host, who allows his guests the most freedom\n     The past belongs to the dead; only fools count upon the future\n     They praise their butchers more than their benefactors\n     We've talked a good deal of love with our eyes already\n     Wise men hold fast by the ever young present\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 9.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nAccording to the law of Egypt, Zopyrus had deserved death.\n\nAs soon as his friends heard this, they resolved to go to Sais and try to\nrescue him by stratagem. Syloson, who had friends there and could speak\nthe Egyptian language well, offered to help them.\n\nBartja and Darius disguised themselves so completely by dyeing their hair\nand eyebrows and wearing broad-brimmed felt-hats,--that they could\nscarcely recognize each other. Theopompus provided them with ordinary\nGreek dresses, and, an hour after Zopyrus' arrest, they met the\nsplendidly-got-up Syloson on the shore of the Nile, entered a boat\nbelonging to him and manned by his slaves, and, after a short sail,\nfavored by the wind, reached Sais,--which lay above the waters of the\ninundation like an island,--before the burning midsummer sun had reached\nits noonday height.\n\nThey disembarked at a remote part of the town and walked across the\nquarter appropriated to the artisans. The workmen were busy at their\ncalling, notwithstanding the intense noonday heat. The baker's men were\nat work in the open court of the bakehouse, kneading bread--the coarser\nkind of dough with the feet, the finer with the hands. Loaves of various\nshapes were being drawn out of the ovens-round and oval cakes, and rolls\nin the form of sheep, snails and hearts. These were laid in baskets, and\nthe nimble baker's boys would put three, four, or even five such baskets\non their heads at once, and carry them off quickly and safely to the\ncustomers living in other quarters of the city. A butcher was\nslaughtering an ox before his house, the creature's legs having been\npinioned; and his men were busy sharpening their knives to cut up a wild\ngoat. Merry cobblers were calling out to the passers-by from their\nstalls; carpenters, tailors, joiners and weavers--were all there, busy at\ntheir various callings. The wives of the work-people were going out\nmarketing, leading their naked children by the hand, and some soldiers\nwere loitering near a man who was offering beer and wine for sale.\n\nBut our friends took very little notice of what was going on in the\nstreets through which they passed; they followed Syloson in silence.\n\nAt the Greek guard-house he asked them to wait for him. Syloson,\nhappening to know the Taxiarch who was on duty that day, went in and\nasked him if he had heard anything of a man accused of murder having been\nbrought from Naukratis to Sais that morning.\n\n\"Of course,\" said the Greek. \"It's not more than half an hour since he\narrived. As they found a purse full of money in his girdle, they think he\nmust be a Persian spy. I suppose you know that Cambyses is preparing for\nwar with Egypt.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\"\n\n\"No, no, it's a fact. The prince-regent has already received information.\nA caravan of Arabian merchants arrived yesterday at Pelusium, and brought\nthe news.\"\n\n\"It will prove as false as their suspicions about this poor young Lydian.\nI know him well, and am very sorry for the poor fellow. He belongs to one\nof the richest families in Sardis, and only ran away for fear of the\npowerful satrap Oroetes, with whom he had had a quarrel. I'll tell you\nthe particulars when you come to see me next in Naukratis. Of course\nyou'll stay a few days and bring some friends. My brother has sent me\nsome wine which beats everything I ever tasted. It's perfect nectar, and\nI confess I grudge offering it to any one who's not, like you, a perfect\njudge in such matters.\" The Taxiarch's face brightened up at these words,\nand grasping Syloson's hand, he exclaimed. \"By the dog, my friend, we\nshall not wait to be asked twice; we'll come soon enough and take a good\npull at your wine-skins. How would it be if you were to ask Archidice,\nthe three flower-sisters, and a few flute-playing-girls to supper?\"\n\n   [Archidice--A celebrated Hetaira of Naukratis mentioned by Herod.\n   II. 135. Flute-playing girls were seldom missing at the young\n   Greeks' drinking-parties]\n\n\"They shall all be there. By the bye, that reminds me that the\nflower-girls were the cause of that poor young Lydian's imprisonment.\nSome jealous idiot attacked him before their house with a number of\ncomrades. The hot-brained young fellow defended himself . . . .\"\n\n\"And knocked the other down?\"\n\n\"Yes; and so that he'll never get up again.\"\n\n\"The boy must be a good boxer.\"\n\n\"He had a sword.\"\n\n\"So much the better for him.\"\n\n\"No, so much the worse; for his victim was an Egyptian.\"\n\n\"That's a bad job. I fear it can only have an unfortunate end. A\nforeigner, who kills an Egyptian, is as sure of death as if he had the\nrope already round his neck. However, just now he'll get a few days'\ngrace; the priests are all so busy praying for the dying king that they\nhave no time to try criminals.\"\n\n\"I'd give a great deal to be able to save that poor fellow. I know his\nfather.\"\n\n\"Yes, and then after all he only did his duty. A man must defend\nhimself.\"\n\n\"Do you happen to know where he is imprisoned?\"\n\n\"Of course I do. The great prison is under repair, and so he has been put\nfor the present in the storehouse between the principal guard-house of\nthe Egyptian body-guard and the sacred grove of the temple of Neith. I\nhave only just come home from seeing them take him there.\"\n\n\"He is strong and has plenty of courage; do you think he could get away,\nif we helped him?\"\n\n\"No, it would be quite impossible; he's in a room two stories high; the\nonly window looks into the sacred grove, and that, you know, is\nsurrounded by a ten-foot wall, and guarded like the treasury. There are\ndouble sentries at every gate. There's only one place where it is left\nunguarded during the inundation season, because, just here, the water\nwashes the walls. These worshippers of animals are as cautious as\nwater-wagtails.\"\n\n\"Well, it's a great pity, but I suppose we must leave the poor fellow to\nhis fate. Good-bye, Doemones; don't forget my invitation.\"\n\nThe Samian left the guard-room and went back directly to the two friends,\nwho were waiting impatiently for him.\n\nThey listened eagerly to his tidings, and when he had finished his\ndescription of the prison, Darius exclaimed: \"I believe a little courage\nwill save him. He's as nimble as a cat, and as strong as a bear. I have\nthought of a plan.\"\n\n\"Let us hear it,\" said Syloson, \"and let me give an opinion as to its\npracticability.\"\n\n\"We will buy some rope-ladders, some cord, and a good bow, put all these\ninto our boat, and row to the unguarded part of the temple-wall at dusk.\nYou must then help me to clamber over it. I shall take the things over\nwith me and give the eagle's cry. Zopyras will know at once, because,\nsince we were children, we have been accustomed to use it when we were\nriding or hunting together. Then I shall shoot an arrow, with the cord\nfastened to it, up into his window, (I never miss), tell him to fasten a\nweight to it and let it down again to me. I shall then secure the\nrope-ladder to the cord, Zopyrus will draw the whole affair up again, and\nhang it on an iron nail,--which, by the bye, I must not forget to send up\nwith the ladder, for who knows whether he may have such a thing in his\ncell. He will then come down on it, go quickly with me to the part of the\nwall where you will be waiting with the boat, and where there must be\nanother rope-ladder, spring into the boat, and there he is-safe!\"\n\n\"First-rate, first-rate!\" cried Bartja.\n\n\"But very dangerous,\" added Syloson. \"If we are caught in the sacred\ngrove, we are certain to be severely punished. The priests hold strange\nnightly festivals there, at which every one but the initiated is strictly\nforbidden to appear. I believe, however, that these take place on the\nlake, and that is at some distance from Zopyrus' prison.\"\n\n\"So much the better,\" cried Darius; \"but now to the main point. We must\nsend at once, and ask Theopompus to hire a fast trireme for us, and have\nit put in sailing order at once. The news of Cambyses' preparations have\nalready reached Egypt; they take us for spies, and will be sure not to\nlet either Zopyrus or his deliverers escape, if they can help it. It\nwould be a criminal rashness to expose ourselves uselessly to danger.\nBartja, you must take this message yourself, and must marry Sappho this\nvery day, for, come what may, we must leave Naukratis to-morrow. Don't\ncontradict me, my friend, my brother! You know our plan, and you must see\nthat as only one can act in it, your part would be that of a mere\nlooker-on. As it was my own idea I am determined to carry it out myself.\nWe shall meet again to-morrow, for Auramazda protects the friendship of\nthe pure.\"\n\nIt was a long time before they could persuade Bartja to leave his friends\nin the lurch, but their entreaties and representations at last took\neffect, and he went down towards the river to take a boat for Naukratis,\nDarius and Syloson going at the same time to buy the necessary implements\nfor their plan.\n\nIn order to reach the place where boats were to be hired, Bartja had to\npass by the temple of Neith. This was not easy, as an immense crowd was\nassembled at the entrance-gates. He pushed his way as far as the obelisks\nnear the great gate of the temple with its winged sun-disc and fluttering\npennons, but there the temple-servants prevented him from going farther;\nthey were keeping the avenue of sphinxes clear for a procession. The\ngigantic doors of the Pylon opened, and Bartja, who, in spite of himself,\nhad been pushed into the front row, saw a brilliant procession come out\nof the temple. The unexpected sight of many faces he had formerly known\noccupied his attention so much, that he scarcely noticed the loss of his\nbroad-brimmed hat, which had been knocked off in the crowd. From the\nconversation of two Ionian mercenaries behind him he learnt that the\nfamily of Amasis had been to the temple to pray for the dying king.\n\nThe procession was headed by richly-decorated priests, either wearing\nlong white robes or pantherskins. They were followed by men holding\noffice at the court, and carrying golden staves, on the ends of which\npeacocks' feathers and silver lotus-flowers were fastened, and these by\nPastophori, carrying on their shoulders a golden cow, the animal sacred\nto Isis. When the crowd had bowed down before this sacred symbol, the\nqueen appeared. She was dressed in priestly robes and wore a costly\nhead-dress with the winged disc and the Uraeus. In her left hand she held\na sacred golden sistrum, the tones of which were to scare away Typhon,\nand in her right some lotus-flowers. The wife, daughter and sister of the\nhigh-priest followed her, in similar but less splendid ornaments. Then\ncame the heir to the throne, in rich robes of state, as priest and\nprince; and behind him four young priests in white carrying Tachot, (the\ndaughter of Amasis and Ladice and the pretended sister of Nitetis,) in an\nopen litter. The heat of the day, and the earnestness of her prayers, had\ngiven the sick girl a slight color. Her blue eyes, filled with tears,\nwere fixed on the sistrum which her weak, emaciated hands had hardly\nstrength to hold.\n\nA murmur of compassion ran through the crowd; for they loved their dying\nking, and manifested openly and gladly the sympathy so usually felt for\nyoung lives from whom a brilliant future has been snatched by disease.\nSuch was Amasis' young, fading daughter, who was now being carried past\nthem, and many an eye grew dim as the beautiful invalid came in sight.\nTachot seemed to notice this, for she raised her eyes from the sistrum\nand looked kindly and gratefully at the crowd. Suddenly the color left\nher face, she turned deadly pale, and the golden sistrum fell on to the\nstone pavement with a clang, close to Bartja's feet. He felt that he had\nbeen recognized and for one moment thought of hiding himself in the\ncrowd; but only for one moment--his chivalrous feeling gained the day, he\ndarted forward, picked up the sistrum, and forgetting the danger in which\nhe was placing himself, held it out to the princess.\n\nTachot looked at him earnestly before taking the golden sistrum from his\nhands, and then said, in a low voice, which only he could understand:\n\"Are you Bartja? Tell me, in your mother's name--are you Bartja?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am,\" was his answer, in a voice as low as her own, \"your friend,\nBartja.\"\n\nHe could not say more, for the priests pushed him back among the crowd.\nWhen he was in his old place, he noticed that Tachot, whose bearers had\nbegun to move on again, was looking round at him. The color had come back\ninto her cheeks, and her bright eyes were trying to meet his. He did not\navoid them; she threw him a lotus-bud-he stooped to pick it up, and then\nbroke his way through the crowd, for this hasty act had roused their\nattention.\n\nA quarter of an hour later, he was seated in the boat which was to take\nhim to Sappho and to his wedding. He was quite at ease now about Zopyrus.\nIn Bartja's eyes his friend was already as good as saved, and in spite of\nthe dangers which threatened himself, he felt strangely calm and happy,\nhe could hardly say why.\n\nMeanwhile the sick princess had been carried home, had had her oppressive\nornaments taken off, and her couch carried on to one of the\npalace-balconies where she liked best to pass the hot summer days,\nsheltered by broad-leaved plants, and a kind of awning.\n\nFrom this veranda, she could look down into the great fore-court of the\npalace, which was planted with trees. To-day it was full of priests,\ncourtiers, generals and governors of provinces. Anxiety and suspense were\nexpressed in every face: Amasis' last hour was drawing very near.\n\nTachot could not be seen from below; but listening with feverish\neagerness, she could hear much that was said. Now that they had to dread\nthe loss of their king, every one, even the priests, were full of his\npraises. The wisdom and circumspection of his plans and modes of\ngovernment, his unwearied industry, the moderation he had always shown,\nthe keenness of his wit, were, each and all, subjects of admiration. \"How\nEgypt has prospered under Amasis' government!\" said a Nomarch. \"And what\nglory he gained for our arms, by the conquest of Cyprus and the war with\nthe Libyans!\" cried one of the generals. \"How magnificently he\nembellished our temples, and what great honors he paid to the goddess of\nSais!\" exclaimed one of the singers of Neith. \"And then how gracious and\ncondescending he was!\" murmured a courtier. \"How cleverly he managed to\nkeep peace with the great powers!\" said the secretary of state, and the\ntreasurer, wiping away a tear, cried: \"How thoroughly he understood the\nmanagement of the revenue! Since the reign of Rameses III. the treasury\nhas not been so well filled as now.\" \"Psamtik comes into a fine\ninheritance,\" lisped the courtier, and the soldier exclaimed, \"Yes, but\nit's to be feared that he'll not spend it in a glorious war; he's too\nmuch under the influence of the priests.\" \"No, you are wrong there,\"\nanswered the temple-singer. \"For some time past, our lord and master has\nseemed to disdain the advice of his most faithful servants.\" \"The\nsuccessor of such a father will find it difficult to secure universal\napprobation,\" said the Nomarch. \"It is not every one who has the\nintellect, the good fortune and the wisdom of Amasis.\" \"The gods know\nthat!\" murmured the warrior with a sigh.\n\nTachot's tears flowed fast. These words were a confirmation of what they\nhad been trying to hide from her: she was to lose her dear father soon.\n\nAfter she had made this dreadful certainty clear to her own mind, and\ndiscovered that it was in vain to beg her attendants to carry her to her\ndying father, she left off listening to the courtiers below, and began\nlooking at the sistrum which Bartja himself had put into her hand, and\nwhich she had brought on to the balcony with her, as if seeking comfort\nthere. And she found what she sought; for it seemed to her as if the\nsound of its sacred rings bore her away into a smiling, sunny landscape.\n\nThat faintness which so often comes over people in decline, had seized\nher and was sweetening her last hours with pleasant dreams.\n\nThe female slaves, who stood round to fan away the flies, said afterwards\nthat Tachot had never looked so lovely.\n\nShe had lain about an hour in this state, when her breathing became more\ndifficult, a slight cough made her breast heave, and the bright red blood\ntrickled down from her lips on to her white robe. She awoke, and looked\nsurprised and disappointed on seeing the faces round her. The sight of\nher mother, however, who came on to the veranda at that moment, brought a\nsmile to her face, and she said, \"O mother, I have had such a beautiful\ndream.\"\n\n\"Then our visit to the temple has done my dear child good?\" asked the\nqueen, trembling at the sight of the blood on the sick girl's lips.\n\n\"Oh, yes, mother, so much! for I saw him again.\" Ladice's glance at the\nattendants seemed to ask \"Has your poor mistress lost her senses?\" Tachot\nunderstood the look and said, evidently speaking with great difficulty:\n\"You think I am wandering, mother. No, indeed, I really saw and spoke to\nhim. He gave me my sistrum again, and said he was my friend, and then he\ntook my lotus-bud and vanished. Don't look so distressed and surprised,\nmother. What I say is really true; it is no dream.--There, you hear,\nTentrut saw him too. He must have come to Sais for my sake, and so the\nchild-oracle in the temple-court did not deceive me, after all. And now I\ndon't feel anything more of my illness; I dreamt I was lying in a field\nof blooming poppies, as red as the blood of the young lambs that are\noffered in sacrifice; Bartja was sitting by my side, and Nitetis was\nkneeling close to us and playing wonderful songs on a Nabla made of\nivory. And there was such a lovely sound in the air that I felt as if\nHorus, the beautiful god of morning, spring, and the resurrection, was\nkissing me. Yes, mother, I tell you he is coming soon, and when I am\nwell, then--then--ah, mother what is this? . . . I am dying!\"\n\nLadice knelt down by her child's bed and pressed her lips in burning\nkisses on the girl's eyes as they grew dim in death.\n\nAn hour later she was standing by another bedside--her dying husband's.\n\nSevere suffering had disfigured the king's features, the cold\nperspiration was standing on his forehead, and his hands grasped the\ngolden lions on the arms of the deep-seated invalid chair in which he was\nresting, almost convulsively.\n\nWhen Ladice came in he opened his eyes; they were as keen and intelligent\nas if he had never lost his sight.\n\n\"Why do not you bring Tachot to me?\" he asked in a dry voice.\n\n\"She is too ill, and suffers so much, that . . .\"\n\n\"She is dead! Then it is well with her, for death is not punishment; it\nis the end and aim of life,--the only end that we can attain without\neffort, but through sufferings!--the gods alone know how great. Osiris\nhas taken her to himself, for she was innocent. And Nitetis is dead too.\nWhere is Nebenchari's letter?\"\n\n\"Here is the place: 'She took her own life, and died calling down a heavy\ncurse on thee and thine. The poor, exiled, scorned and plundered oculist\nNebenchari in Babylon sends thee this intelligence to Egypt. It is as\ntrue as his own hatred of thee.' Listen to these words, Psamtik, and\nremember how on his dying bed thy father told thee that, for every drachm\nof pleasure purchased on earth by wrong-doing, the dying bed will be\nburdened by a talent's weight of remorse. Fearful misery is coming on\nEgypt for Nitetis' sake. Cambyses is preparing to make war on us. He will\nsweep down on Egypt like a scorching wind from the desert. Much, which I\nhave staked my nightly sleep and the very marrow of my existence to bring\ninto existence, will be annihilated. Still I have not lived in vain. For\nforty years I have been the careful father and benefactor of a great\nnation. Children and children's children will speak of Amasis as a great,\nwise and humane king; they will read my name on the great works which I\nhave built in Sais and Thebes, and will praise the greatness of my power.\nNeither shall I be condemned by Osiris and the forty-two judges of the\nnether world; the goddess of truth, who holds the balances, will find\nthat my good deeds outweigh my bad.\"--Here the king sighed deeply and\nremained silent for some time. Then, looking tenderly at his wife, he\nsaid: \"Ladice, thou hast been a faithful, virtuous wife to me. For this I\nthank thee, and ask thy forgiveness for much. We have often misunderstood\none another. Indeed it was easier for me to accustom myself to the Greek\nmodes of thought, than for a Greek to understand our Egyptian ideas. Thou\nknow'st my love of Greek art,--thou know'st how I enjoyed the society of\nthy friend Pythagoras, who was thoroughly initiated in all that we\nbelieve and know, and adopted much from us. He comprehended the deep\nwisdom which lies in the doctrines that I reverence most, and he took\ncare not to speak lightly of truths which our priests are perhaps too\ncareful to hide from the people; for though the many bow down before that\nwhich they cannot understand, they would be raised and upheld by those\nvery truths, if explained to them. To a Greek mind our worship of animals\npresents the greatest difficulty, but to my own the worship of the\nCreator in his creatures seems more just and more worthy of a human\nbeing, than the worship of his likeness in stone. The Greek deities are\nmoreover subject to every human infirmity; indeed I should have made my\nqueen very unhappy by living in the same manner as her great god Zeus.\"\n\nAt these words the king smiled, and then went on: \"And what has given\nrise to this? The Hellenic love of beauty in form, which, in the eye of a\nGreek, is superior to every thing else. He cannot separate the body from\nthe soul, because he holds it to be the most glorious of formed things,\nand indeed, believes that a beautiful spirit must necessarily inhabit a\nbeautiful body. Their gods, therefore, are only elevated human beings,\nbut we adore an unseen power working in nature and in ourselves. The\nanimal takes its place between ourselves and nature; its actions are\nguided, not, like our own, by the letter, but by the eternal laws of\nnature, which owe their origin to the Deity, while the letter is a device\nof man's own mind. And then, too, where amongst ourselves do we find so\nearnest a longing and endeavor to gain freedom, the highest good, as\namong the animals? Where such a regular and well-balanced life from\ngeneration to generation, without instruction or precept?\"\n\nHere the king's voice failed. He was obliged to pause for a few moments,\nand then continued: \"I know that my end is near; therefore enough of\nthese matters. My son and successor, hear my last wishes and act upon\nthem; they are the result of experience. But alas! how often have I seen,\nthat rules of life given by one man to another are useless. Every man\nmust earn his own experience. His own losses make him prudent, his own\nlearning wise. Thou, my son, art coming to the throne at a mature age;\nthou hast had time and opportunity to judge between right and wrong, to\nnote what is beneficial and what hurtful, to see and compare many things.\nI give thee, therefore, only a few wholesome counsels, and only fear that\nthough I offer them with my right hand, thou wilt accept them with the\nleft.\n\n\"First, however, I must say that, notwithstanding my blindness, my\nindifference to what has been going on during the past months has been\nonly apparent. I left you to your own devices with a good intention.\nRhodopis told me once one of her teacher AEsop's fables: 'A traveller,\nmeeting a man on his road, asked him how long it would be before he\nreached the nearest town.' 'Go on, go on,' cried the other. 'But I want\nto know first when I shall get to the town.' 'Go on, only go on,' was the\nanswer. The traveller left him with angry words and abuse; but he had not\ngone many steps when the man called after him: 'You will be there in an\nhour. I could not answer your question until I had seen your pace.'\n\n\"I bore this fable in my mind for my son's sake, and watched in silence\nat what pace he was ruling his people. Now I have discovered what I wish\nto know, and this is my advice: Examine into everything your self. It is\nthe duty of every man, but especially of a king, to acquaint himself\nintimately with all that concerns the weal or woe of his people. You, my\nson, are in the habit of using the eyes and ears of other men instead of\ngoing to the fountain-head yourself. I am sure that your advisers, the\npriests, only desire what is good; but . . . Neithotep, I must beg you to\nleave us alone for a few moments.\"\n\nWhen the priest was gone the king exclaimed \"They wish for what is good,\nbut good only for themselves. But we are not kings of priests and\naristocrats only, we are kings of a nation! Do not listen to the advice\nof this proud caste alone, but read every petition yourself, and, by\nappointing Nomarchs devoted to the king and beloved by the people, make\nyourself acquainted with the needs and wishes of the Egyptian nation. It\nis not difficult to govern well, if you are aware of the state of feeling\nin your land. Choose fit men to fill the offices of state. I have taken\ncare that the kingdom shall be properly divided. The laws are good, and\nhave proved themselves so; hold fast by these laws, and trust no one who\nsets himself above them; for law is invariably wiser than the individual\nman, and its transgressor deserves his punishment. The people understand\nthis well, and are ready to sacrifice themselves for us, when they see\nthat we are ready to give up our own will to the law. You do not care for\nthe people. I know their voice is often rude and rough, but it utters\nwholesome truths, and no one needs to hear truth more than a king. The\nPharaoh who chooses priests and courtiers for his advisers, will hear\nplenty of flattering words, while he who tries to fulfil the wishes of\nthe nation will have much to suffer from those around him; but the latter\nwill feel peace in his own heart, and be praised in the ages to come. I\nhave often erred, yet the Egyptians will weep for me, as one who knew\ntheir needs and considered their welfare like a father. A king who really\nknows his duties, finds it an easy and beautiful task to win the love of\nthe people--an unthankful one to gain the applause of the great--almost\nan impossibility to content both.\n\n\"Do not forget,--I say it again,--that kings and priests exist for the\npeople, and not the people for their kings and priests. Honor religion\nfor its own sake and as the most important means of securing the\nobedience of the governed to their governors; but at the same time show\nits promulgators that you look on them, not as receptacles, but as\nservants, of the Deity. Hold fast, as the law commands, by what is old;\nbut never shut the gates of your kingdom against what is new, if better.\nBad men break at once with the old traditions; fools only care for what\nis new and fresh; the narrowminded and the selfish privileged class cling\nindiscriminately to all that is old, and pronounce progress to be a sin;\nbut the wise endeavor to retain all that has approved itself in the past,\nto remove all that has become defective, and to adopt whatever is good,\nfrom whatever source it may have sprung. Act thus, my son. The priests\nwill try to keep you back--the Greeks to urge you forward. Choose one\nparty or the other, but beware of indecision--of yielding to the one\nto-day, to the other to-morrow. Between two stools a man falls to the\nground. Let the one party be your friends, the other your enemies; by\ntrying to please both, you will have both opposed to you. Human beings\nhate the man who shows kindness to their enemies. In the last few months,\nduring which you have ruled independently, both parties have been\noffended by your miserable indecision. The man who runs backwards and\nforwards like a child, makes no progress, and is soon weary. I have till\nnow--till I felt that death was near--always encouraged the Greeks and\nopposed the priests. In the active business of life, the clever, brave\nGreeks seemed to me especially serviceable; at death, I want men who can\nmake me out a pass into the nether regions. The gods forgive me for not\nbeing able to resist words that sound so like a joke, even in my last\nhour! They created me and must take me as I am. I rubbed my hands for joy\nwhen I became king; with thee, my son, coming to the throne is a graver\nmatter.--Now call Neithotep back; I have still something to say to you\nboth.\"\n\nThe king gave his hand to the high-priest as he entered, saving: \"I leave\nyou, Neithotep, without ill-will, though my opinion that you have been a\nbetter priest than a servant to your king, remains unaltered. Psamtik\nwill probably prove a more obedient follower than I have been, but one\nthing I wish to impress earnestly on you both: Do not dismiss the Greek\nmercenaries until the war with the Persians is over, and has ended we\nwill hope--in victory for Egypt. My former predictions are not worth\nanything now; when death draws near, we get depressed, and things begin\nto look a little black. Without the auxiliary troops we shall be\nhopelessly lost, but with them victory is not impossible. Be clever; show\nthe Ionians that they are fighting on the Nile for the freedom of their\nown country--that Cambyses, if victorious, will not be contented with\nEgypt alone, while his defeat may bring freedom to their own enslaved\ncountrymen in Ionia. I know you agree with me, Neithotep, for in your\nheart you mean well to Egypt.--Now read me the prayers. I feel exhausted;\nmy end must be very near. If I could only forget that poor Nitetis! had\nshe the right to curse us? May the judges of the dead-may Osiris--have\nmercy on our souls! Sit down by me, Ladice; lay thy hand on my burning\nforehead. And Psamtik, in presence of these witnesses, swear to honor and\nrespect thy step-mother, as if thou wert her own child. My poor wife!\nCome and seek me soon before the throne of Osiris. A widow and childless,\nwhat hast thou to do with this world? We brought up Nitetis as our own\ndaughter, and yet we are so heavily punished for her sake. But her curse\nrests on us--and only on us;--not on thee, Psamtik, nor on thy children.\nBring my grandson. Was that a tear? Perhaps; well, the little things to\nwhich one has accustomed one's self are generally the hardest to give\nup.\"\n\n          ......................\n\nRhodopis entertained a fresh guest that evening; Kallias, the son of\nPhoenippus, the same who first appeared in our tale as the bearer of news\nfrom the Olympic games.\n\nThe lively, cheerful Athenian had just come back from his native country,\nand, as an old and tried friend, was not only received by Rhodopis, but\nmade acquainted with the secret of Sappho's marriage.\n\nKnakias, her old slave, had, it is true, taken in the flag which was the\nsign of reception, two days ago; but he knew that Kallias was always\nwelcome to his mistress, and therefore admitted him just as readily as he\nrefused every one else.\n\nThe Athenian had plenty to tell, and when Rhodopis was called away on\nbusiness, he took his favorite Sappho into the garden, joking and teasing\nher gaily as they looked out for her lover's coming. But Bartja did not\ncome, and Sappho began to be so anxious that Kallias called old Melitta,\nwhose longing looks in the direction of Naukratis were, if possible, more\nanxious even than those of her mistress, and told her to fetch a musical\ninstrument which he had brought with him.\n\nIt was a rather large lute, made of gold and ivory, and as he handed it\nto Sappho, he said, with a smile: \"The inventor of this glorious\ninstrument, the divine Anakreon, had it made expressly for me, at my own\nwish. He calls it a Barbiton, and brings wonderful tones from its\nchords--tones that must echo on even into the land of shadows. I have\ntold this poet, who offers his life as one great sacrifice to the Muses,\nEros and Dionysus, a great deal about you, and he made me promise to\nbring you this song, which he wrote on purpose for you, as a gift from\nhimself.\n\n\"Now, what do you say to this song? But by Hercules, child, how pale you\nare! Have the verses affected you so much, or are you frightened at this\nlikeness of your own longing heart? Calm yourself, girl. Who knows what\nmay have happened to your lover?\"\n\n\"Nothing has happened,--nothing,\" cried a gay, manly voice, and in a few\nseconds Sappho was in the arms of him she loved.\n\nKallias looked on quietly, smiling at the wonderful beauty of these two\nyoung lovers.\n\n\"But now,\" said the prince, after Sappho had made him acquainted with\nKallias, \"I must go at once to your grandmother. We dare not wait four\ndays for our wedding. It must be to-day! There is danger in every hour of\ndelay. Is Theopompus here?\"\n\n\"I think he must be,\" said Sappho. \"I know of nothing else, that could\nkeep my grandmother so long in the house. But tell me, what is this about\nour marriage? It seems to me . . .\"\n\n\"Let us go in first, love. I fancy a thunder-storm must be coming on. The\nsky is so dark, and it's so intolerably sultry.\"\n\n\"As you like, only make haste, unless you mean me to die of impatience.\nThere is not the slightest reason to be afraid of a storm. Since I was a\nchild there has not been either lightning or thunder in Egypt at this\ntime of year.\"\n\n\"Then you will see something new to-day,\" said Kallias, laughing; for a\nlarge drop of rain has just fallen on my bald head, \"the Nile-swallows\nwere flying close to the water as I came here, and you see there is a\ncloud coming over the moon already. Come in quickly, or you will get wet.\nHo, slave, see that a black lamb is offered to the gods of the lower\nworld.\"\n\nThey found Theopompus sitting in Rhodopis' own apartment, as Sappho had\nsupposed. He had finished telling her the story of Zopyrus' arrest, and\nof the journey which Bartja and his friends had taken on his behalf.\n\nTheir anxiety on the matter was beginning to be so serious, that Bartja's\nunexpected appearance was a great relief. His words flew as he repeated\nthe events of the last few hours, and begged Theopompus to look out at\nonce for a ship in sailing order, to convey himself and his friends from\nEgypt.\n\n\"That suits famously,\" exclaimed Kallias. \"My own trireme brought me from\nNaukratis to-day; it is lying now, fully equipped for sea, in the port,\nand is quite at your service. I have only to send orders to the steersman\nto keep the crew together and everything in sailing order.--You are under\nno obligations to me; on the contrary it is I who have to thank you for\nthe honor you will confer on me. Ho, Knakias!--tell my slave Philomelus,\nhe's waiting in the hall,--to take a boat to the port, and order my\nsteersman Nausarchus to keep the ship in readiness for starting. Give him\nthis seal; it empowers him to do all that is necessary.\"\n\n\"And my slaves?\" said Bartja.\n\n\"Knakias can tell my old steward to take them to Kallias' ship,\" answered\nTheopompus.\n\n\"And when they see this,\" said Bartja, giving the old servant his ring,\n\"they will obey without a question.\"\n\nKnakias went away with many a deep obeisance, and the prince went on:\n\"Now, my mother, I have a great petition to ask of you.\"\n\n\"I guess what it is,\" said Rhodopis, with a smile. \"You wish your\nmarriage to be hastened, and I see that I dare not oppose your wish.\"\n\n\"If I'm not mistaken,\" said Kallias, \"we have a remarkable case here. Two\npeople are in great peril, and find that very peril a matter of\nrejoicing.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you are right there,\" said Bartja, pressing Sappho's hand\nunperceived. And then, turning to Rhodopis again, he begged her to delay\nno longer in trusting her dearest treasure to his care,--a treasure whose\nworth he knew so well.\n\nRhodopis rose, she laid her right hand on Sappho's head and her left on\nBartja's, and said: \"There is a myth which tells of a blue lake in the\nland of roses; its waves are sometimes calm and gentle, but at others\nthey rise into a stormy flood; the taste of its waters is partly sweet as\nhoney, partly bitter as gall. Ye will learn the meaning of this legend in\nthe marriage-land of roses. Ye will pass calm and stormy-sweet and bitter\nhours there. So long as thou wert a child, Sappho, thy life passed on\nlike a cloudless spring morning, but when thou becam'st a maiden, and\nhadst learnt to love, thine heart was opened to admit pain; and during\nthe long months of separation pain was a frequent guest there. This guest\nwill seek admission as long as life lasts. Bartja, it will be your duty\nto keep this intruder away from Sappho, as far as it lies in your power.\nI know the world. I could perceive,--even before Croesus told me of your\ngenerous nature,--that you were worthy of my Sappho. This justified me in\nallowing you to eat the quince with her; this induces me now to entrust\nto you, without fear, what I have always looked upon as a sacred pledge\ncommitted to my keeping. Look upon her too only as a loan. Nothing is\nmore dangerous to love, than a comfortable assurance of exclusive\npossession--I have been blamed for allowing such an inexperienced child\nto go forth into your distant country, where custom is so unfavorable to\nwomen; but I know what love is;--I know that a girl who loves, knows no\nhome but the heart of her husband;--the woman whose heart has been\ntouched by Eros no misfortune but that of separation from him whom she\nhas chosen. And besides, I would ask you, Kallias and Theopompus, is the\nposition of your own wives so superior to that of the Persian women? Are\nnot the women of Ionia and Attica forced to pass their lives in their own\napartments, thankful if they are allowed to cross the street accompanied\nby suspicious and distrustful slaves? As to the custom which prevails in\nPersia of taking many wives, I have no fear either for Bartja or Sappho.\nHe will be more faithful to his wife than are many Greeks, for he will\nfind in her what you are obliged to seek, on the one hand in marriage, on\nthe other in the houses of the cultivated Hetaere:--in the former,\nhousewives and mothers, in the latter, animated and enlivening\nintellectual society. Take her, my son. I give her to you as an old\nwarrior gives his sword, his best possession, to his stalwart son:--he\ngives it gladly and with confidence. Whithersoever she may go she will\nalways remain a Greek, and it comforts me to think that in her new home\nshe will bring honor to the Greek name and friends to our nation, Child,\nI thank thee for those tears. I can command my own, but fate has made me\npay an immeasurable price for the power of doing so. The gods have heard\nyour oath, my noble Bartja. Never forget it, but take her as your own,\nyour friend, your wife. Take her away as soon as your friends return; it\nis not the will of the gods that the Hymenaeus should be sung at Sappho's\nnuptial rites.\"\n\nAs she said these words she laid Sappho's hand in Bartja's, embraced her\nwith passionate tenderness, and breathed a light kiss on the forehead of\nthe young Persian. Then turning to her Greek friends, who stood by, much\naffected:\n\n\"That was a quiet nuptial ceremony,\" she said; \"no songs, no torch-light!\nMay their union be so much the happier. Melitta, bring the bride's\nmarriage-ornaments, the bracelets and necklaces which lie in the bronze\ncasket on my dressing-table, that our darling may give her hand to her\nlord attired as beseems a future princess.\"\n\n\"Yes, and do not linger on the way,\" cried Kallias, whose old\ncheerfulness had now returned. \"Neither can we allow the niece of the\ngreatest of Hymen's poets to be married without the sound of song and\nmusic. The young husband's house is, to be sure, too far off for our\npurpose, so we will suppose that the andronitis is his dwelling.\n\n   [The Hymenaeus was the wedding-song, so called because of its\n   refrain \"Hymen O! Hymenae' O!\" The god of marriage, Hymen, took\n   his origin and name from the hymn, was afterwards decked out richly\n   with myths, and finally, according to Catullus, received a seat on\n   Mount Helikon with the Muses.]\n\n   [A Greek bride was beautifully adorned for her marriage, and her\n   bridesmaids received holiday garments. Homer, Odyss. VI. 27.\n   Besides which, after the bath, which both bride and bridegroom were\n   obliged to take, she was anointed with sweet-smelling essences.\n   Thucyd. II. 15. Xenoph. Symp. II. 3.]\n\n\"We will conduct the maiden thither by the centre door, and there we will\nenjoy a merry wedding-feast by the family hearth. Here, slavegirls, come\nand form yourselves into two choruses. Half of your number take the part\nof the youths; the other half that of the maidens, and sing us Sappho's\nHymenaeus. I will be the torch-bearer; that dignity is mine by right. You\nmust know, Bartja, that my family has an hereditary right to carry the\ntorches at the Eleusinian mysteries and we are therefore called Daduchi\nor torch-bearers. Ho, slave! see that the door of the andronitis is hung\nwith flowers, and tell your comrades to meet us with a shower of\nsweetmeats as we enter. That's right, Melitta; why, how did you manage to\nget those lovely violet and myrtle marriage-crowns made so quickly? The\nrain is streaming through the opening above. You see, Hymen has persuaded\nZeus to help him; so that not a single marriage-rite shall be omitted.\nYou could not take the bath, which ancient custom prescribes for the\nbride and bridegroom on the morning of their wedding-day, so you have\nonly to stand here a moment and take the rain of Zeus as an equivalent\nfor the waters of the sacred spring. Now, girls, begin your song. Let the\nmaidens bewail the rosy days of childhood, and the youths praise the lot\nof those who marry young.\"\n\nFive well-practised treble voices now began to sing the chorus of virgins\nin a sad and plaintive tone.\n\nSuddenly the song was hushed, for a flash of lightning had shone down\nthrough the aperture beneath which Kallias had stationed the bride and\nbridegroom, followed by a loud peal of thunder. \"See!\" cried the\nDaduchus, raising his hand to heaven, \"Zeus himself has taken the\nnuptial-torch, and sings the Hymenaeus for his favorites.\"\n\nAt dawn the next morning, Sappho and Bartja left the house and went into\nthe garden. After the violent storm which had raged all night, the garden\nwas looking as fresh and cheerful in the morning light as the faces of\nthe newly-married pair.\n\nBartja's anxiety for his friends, whom he had almost forgotten in the\nexcitement of his marriage, had roused them so early.\n\nThe garden had been laid out on an artificial hill, which overlooked the\ninundated plain. Blue and white lotus-blossoms floated on the smooth\nsurface of the water, and vast numbers of water-birds hovered along the\nshores or over the flood. Flocks of white, herons appeared on the banks,\ntheir plumage gleaming like glaciers on distant mountain peaks; a\nsolitary eagle circled upward on its broad pinions through the pure\nmorning air, turtle-doves nestled in the tops of the palm-trees; pelicans\nand ducks fluttered screaming away, whenever a gay sail appeared. The air\nhad been cooled by the storm, a fresh north-wind was blowing, and,\nnotwithstanding the early hour, there were a number of boats sailing over\nthe deluged fields before the breeze. The songs of the rowers, the\nplashing strokes of their oars and the cries of the birds, all\ncontributed to enliven the watery landscape of the Nile valley, which,\nthough varied in color, was somewhat monotonous.\n\nBartja and Sappho stood leaning on each other by the low wall which ran\nround Rhodopis' garden, exchanging tender words and watching the scene\nbelow, till at last Bartja's quick eye caught sight of a boat making\nstraight for the house and coming on fast by the help of the breeze and\npowerful rowers.\n\nA few minutes later the boat put in to shore and Zopyrus with his\ndeliverers stood before them.\n\nDarius's plan had succeeded perfectly, thanks to the storm, which, by its\nviolence and the unusual time of its appearance, had scared the\nEgyptians; but still there was no time to be lost, as it might reasonably\nbe supposed that the men of Sais would pursue their fugitive with all the\nmeans at their command.\n\nSappho, therefore, had to take a short farewell of her grandmother, all\nthe more tender, however, for its shortness,--and then, led by Rartja and\nfollowed by old Melitta, who was to accompany her to Persia, she went on\nboard Syloson's boat. After an hour's sail they reached a\nbeautifully-built and fast-sailing vessel, the Hygieia, which belonged to\nKallias.\n\nHe was waiting for them on board his trireme. The leave-taking between\nhimself and his young friends was especially affectionate. Bartja hung a\nheavy and costly gold chain round the neck of the old man in token of his\ngratitude, while Syloson, in remembrance of the dangers they had shared\ntogether, threw his purple cloak over Darius' shoulders. It was a\nmaster-specimen of Tynan dye, and had taken the latter's fancy. Darius\naccepted the gift with pleasure, and said, as he took leave: \"You must\nnever forget that I am indebted to you, my Greek friend, and as soon as\npossible give me an opportunity of doing you service in return.\"\n\n\"You ought to come to me first, though,\" exclaimed Zopyrus, embracing his\ndeliverer. \"I am perfectly ready to share my last gold piece with you; or\nwhat is more, if it would do you a service, to sit a whole week in that\ninfernal hole from which you saved me. Ah! they're weighing anchor.\nFarewell, you brave Greek. Remember me to the flower-sisters, especially\nto the pretty, little Stephanion, and tell her her long-legged lover\nwon't be able to plague her again for some time to come at least. And\nthen, one more thing; take this purse of gold for the wife and children\nof that impertinent fellow, whom I struck too hard in the heat of the\nfray.\"\n\nThe anchors fell rattling on to the deck, the wind filled the sails, the\nTrieraules--[Flute-player to a trireme]--took his flute and set the\nmeasure of the monotonous Keleusma or rowing-song, which echoed again\nfrom the hold of the vessel. The beak of the ship bearing the statue of\nHygieia, carved in wood, began to move. Bartja and Sappho stood at the\nhelm and gazed towards Naukratis, until the shores of the Nile vanished\nand the green waves of the Hellenic sea splashed their foam over the deck\nof the trireme.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nOur young bride and bridegroom had not travelled farther than Ephesus,\nwhen the news reached them that Amasis was dead. From Ephesus they went\nto Babylon, and thence to Pasargadae, which Kassandane, Atossa and\nCroesus had made their temporary residence. Kassandane was to accompany\nthe army to Egypt, and wished, now that Nebenchari had restored her\nsight, to see the monument which had lately been built to her great\nhusband's memory after Croesus' design, before leaving for so long a\njourney. She rejoiced in finding it worthy of the great Cyrus, and spent\nhours every day in the beautiful gardens which had been laid out round\nthe mausoleum.\n\nIt consisted of a gigantic sarcophagus made of solid marble blocks, and\nresting like a house on a substructure composed of six high marble steps.\nThe interior was fitted up like a room, and contained, beside the golden\ncoffin in which were preserved such few remains of Cyrus as had been\nspared by the dogs, vultures, and elements, a silver bed and a table of\nthe same metal, on which were golden drinking-cups and numerous garments\nornamented with the rarest and most costly jewels.\n\nThe building was forty feet high. The shady paradises--[Persian\npleasure-gardens]--and colonnades by which it was surrounded had been\nplanned by Croesus, and in the midst of the sacred grove was a\ndwelling-house for the Magi appointed to watch over the tomb.\n\nThe palace of Cyrus could be seen in the distance--a palace in which he\nhad appointed that the future kings of Persia should pass at least some\nmonths of every year. It was a splendid building in the style of a\nfortress, and so inaccessibly placed that it had been fixed on as the\nroyal treasure-house.\n\nHere, in the fresh mountain air of a place dedicated to the memory of the\nhusband she had loved so much, Kassandane felt well and at peace; she was\nglad too to see that Atossa was recovering the old cheerfulness, which\nshe had so sadly lost since the death of Nitetis and the departure of\nDarius. Sappho soon became the friend of her new mother and sister, and\nall three felt very loath to leave the lovely Pasargadm.\n\nDarius and Zopyrus had remained with the army which was assembling in the\nplains of the Euphrates, and Bartja too had to return thither before the\nmarch began.\n\nCambyses went out to meet his family on their return; he was much\nimpressed with Sappho's great beauty, but she confessed to her husband\nthat his brother only inspired her with fear.\n\nThe king had altered very much in the last few months. His formerly pale\nand almost noble features were reddened and disfigured by the quantities\nof wine he was in the habit of drinking. In his dark eyes there was the\nold fire still, but dimmed and polluted. His hair and beard, formerly so\nluxuriant, and black as the raven's wing, hung down grey and disordered\nover his face and chin, and the proud smile which used so to improve his\nfeatures had given way to an expression of contemptuous annoyance and\nharsh severity.\n\nSometimes he laughed,--loudly, immoderately and coarsely; but this was\nonly when intoxicated, a condition which had long ceased to be unusual\nwith him.\n\nHe continued to retain an aversion to his wives; so much so that the\nroyal harem was to be left behind in Susa, though all his court took\ntheir favorite wives and concubines with them on the campaign. Still no\none could complain that the king was ever guilty of injustice; indeed he\ninsisted more eagerly now than before on the rigid execution of the law;\nand wherever he detected an abuse his punishments were cruel and\ninexorable. Hearing that a judge, named Sisamnes, had been bribed to\npronounce an unjust sentence, he condemned the wretched man to be flayed,\nordered the seat of justice to be covered with his skin, appointed the\nson to the father's vacant place and compelled him to occupy this fearful\nseat.--[Herodot. V. 25.]--Cambyses was untiring as commander of the\nforces, and superintended the drilling of the troops assembled near\nBabylon with the greatest rigor and circumspection.\n\nThe hosts were to march after the festival of the New Year, which\nCambyses celebrated this time with immense expense and profusion. The\nceremony over, he betook himself to the army. Bartja was there. He came\nup to his brother, beaming with joy, kissed the hem of his robe, and told\nhim in a tone of triumph that he hoped to become a father. The king\ntrembled as he heard the words, vouchsafed his brother no answer, drank\nhimself into unconsciousness that evening, and the next morning called\nthe soothsayers, Magi and Chaldaeans together, in order to submit a\nquestion to them. \"Shall I be committing a sin against the gods, if I\ntake my sister to wife and thus verify the promise of the dream, which ye\nformerly interpreted to mean that Atossa should bear a future king to\nthis realm?\"\n\nThe Magi consulted a short time together. Then Oropastes cast himself at\nthe king's feet and said, \"We do not believe, O King, that this marriage\nwould be a sin against the gods; inasmuch as, first: it is a custom among\nthe Persians to marry with their own kin; and secondly, though it be not\nwritten in the law that the pure man may marry his sister, it is written\nthat the king may do what seemeth good in his own eyes. That which\npleaseth thee is therefore always lawful.\"\n\nCambyses sent the Magi away with rich gifts, gave Oropastes full powers\nas regent of the kingdom in his absence, and soon after told his\nhorrified mother that, as soon as the conquest of Egypt and the\npunishment of the son of Amasis should have been achieved, he intended to\nmarry his sister Atossa.\n\nAt length the immense host, numbering more than 800,000 fighting men,\ndeparted in separate divisions, and reached the Syrian desert in two\nmonths. Here they were met by the Arabian tribes whom Phanes had\npropitiated--the Amalekites and Geshurites--bringing camels and horses\nladen with water for the host.\n\nAt Accho, in the land of the Canaanites, the fleets of the Syrians,\nPhoenicians and Ionians belonging to Persia, and the auxiliary ships from\nCyprus and Samos, won by the efforts of Phanes, were assembled. The case\nof the Samian fleet was a remarkable one. Polykrates saw in Cambyses'\nproposal a favorable opportunity of getting rid of all the citizens who\nwere discontented with his government, manned forty triremes with eight\nthousand malcontent Samians, and sent them to the Persians with the\nrequest that not one might be allowed to return home.--[Herod. III. 44.]\n\nAs soon as Phanes heard this he warned the doomed men, who at once,\ninstead of sailing to join the Persian forces, returned to Samos and\nattempted to overthrow Polykrates. They were defeated, however, on land,\nand escaped to Sparta to ask help against the tyrant.\n\nA full month before the time of the inundation, the Persian and Egyptian\narmies were standing face to face near Pelusium on the north-east coast\nof the Delta.\n\nPhanes' arrangements had proved excellent. The Arabian tribes had kept\nfaith so well that the journey through the desert, which would usually\nhave cost thousands of lives, had been attended with very little loss,\nand the time of year had been so well chosen that the Persian troops\nreached Egypt by dry roads and without inconvenience.\n\nThe king met his Greek friend with every mark of distinction, and\nreturned a friendly nod when Phanes said: \"I hear that you have been less\ncheerful than usual since the death of your beautiful bride. A woman's\ngrief passes in stormy and violent complaint, but the sterner character\nof a man cannot so soon be comforted. I know what you feel, for I have\nlost my dearest too. Let us both praise the gods for granting us the best\nremedy for our grief--war and revenge.\" Phanes accompanied the king to an\ninspection of the troops and to the evening revel. It was marvellous to\nsee the influence he exercised over this fierce spirit, and how calm--nay\neven cheerful--Cambyses became, when the Athenian was near.\n\nThe Egyptian army was by no means contemptible, even when compared with\nthe immense Persian hosts. Its position was covered on the right by the\nwalls of Pelusium, a frontier fortress designed by the Egyptian kings as\na defence against incursions from the east. The Persians were assured by\ndeserters that the Egyptian army numbered altogether nearly six hundred\nthousand men. Beside a great number of chariots of war, thirty thousand\nKarian and Ionian mercenaries, and the corps of the Mazai, two hundred\nand fifty thousand Kalasirians, one hundred and sixty thousand\nHermotybians, twenty thousand horsemen, and auxiliary troops, amounting\nto more than fifty thousand, were assembled under Psamtik's banner;\namongst these last the Libyan Maschawascha were remarkable for their\nmilitary deeds, and the Ethiopians for their numerical superiority.\n\nThe infantry were divided into regiments and companies, under different\nstandards, and variously equipped.\n\n   [In these and the descriptions immediately following, we have drawn\n   our information, either from the drawings made from Egyptian\n   monuments in Champollion, Wilkinson, Rosellini and Lepsius, or from\n   the monuments themselves. There is a dagger in the Berlin Museum,\n   the blade of which is of bronze, the hilt of ivory and the sheath of\n   leather. Large swords are only to be seen in the hands of the\n   foreign auxiliaries, but the native Egyptians are armed with small\n   ones, like daggers. The largest one of which we have any knowledge\n   is in the possession of Herr E. Brugsch at Cairo. It is more than\n   two feet long.]\n\nThe heavy-armed soldiers carried large shields, lances, and daggers; the\nswordsmen and those who fought with battle-axes had smaller shields and\nlight clubs; beside these, there were slingers, but the main body of the\narmy was composed of archers, whose bows unbent were nearly the height of\na man. The only clothing of the horse-soldiers was the apron, and their\nweapon a light club in the form of a mace or battle-axe. Those warriors,\non the contrary, who fought in chariots belonged to the highest rank of\nthe military caste, spent large sums on the decoration of their\ntwo-wheeled chariots and the harness of their magnificent horses, and\nwent to battle in their most costly ornaments. They were armed with bows\nand lances, and a charioteer stood beside each, so that their undivided\nattention could be bestowed upon the battle.\n\nThe Persian foot was not much more numerous than the Egyptian, but they\nhad six times the number of horse-soldiers.\n\nAs soon as the armies stood face to face, Cambyses caused the great\nPelusian plain to be cleared of trees and brushwood, and had the\nsand-hills removed which were to be found here and there, in order to\ngive his cavalry and scythe-chariots a fair field of action. Phanes'\nknowledge of the country was of great use. He had drawn up a plan of\naction with great military skill, and succeeded in gaining not only\nCambyses' approval, but that of the old general Megabyzus and the best\ntacticians among the Achaemenidae. His local knowledge was especially\nvaluable on account of the marshes which intersected the Pelusian plain,\nand might, unless carefully avoided, have proved fatal to the Persian\nenterprise. At the close of the council of war Phanes begged to be heard\nonce more: \"Now, at length,\" he said, \"I am at liberty to satisfy your\ncuriosity in reference to the closed waggons full of animals, which I\nhave had transported hither. They contain five thousand cats! Yes, you\nmay laugh, but I tell you these creatures will be more serviceable to us\nthan a hundred thousand of our best soldiers. Many of you are aware that\nthe Egyptians have a superstition which leads them rather to die than\nkill a cat, I, myself, nearly paid for such a murder once with my life.\nRemembering this, I have been making a diligent search for cats during my\nlate journey; in Cyprus, where there are splendid specimens, in Samos and\nin Crete. All I could get I ordered to be caught, and now propose that\nthey be distributed among those troops who will be opposed to the native\nEgyptian soldiers. Every man must be told to fasten one firmly to his\nshield and hold it out as he advances towards the enemy. I will wager\nthat there's not one real Egyptian, who would not rather fly from the\nbattle-field than take aim at one of these sacred animals.\"\n\nThis speech was met by a loud burst of laughter; on being discussed,\nhowever, it was approved of, and ordered to be carried out at once. The\ningenious Greek was honored by receiving the king's hand to kiss, his\nexpenses were reimbursed by a magnificent present, and he was urged to\ntake a daughter of some noble Persian family in marriage.\n\n   [Themistocles too, on coming to the Persian court, received a high-\n   born Persian wife in marriage. Diod. XI. 57.]\n\nThe king concluded by inviting him to supper, but this the Athenian\ndeclined, on the plea that he must review the Ionian troops, with whom he\nwas as yet but little acquainted, and withdrew.\n\nAt the door of his tent he found his slaves disputing with a ragged,\ndirty and unshaven old man, who insisted on speaking with their master.\nFancying he must be a beggar, Phanes threw him a piece of gold; the old\nman did not even stoop to pick it up, but, holding the Athenian fast by\nhis cloak, cried, \"I am Aristomachus the Spartan!\"\n\nCruelly as he was altered, Phanes recognized his old friend at once,\nordered his feet to be washed and his head anointed, gave him wine and\nmeat to revive his strength, took his rags off and laid a new chiton over\nhis emaciated, but still sinewy, frame.\n\nAristomachus received all in silence; and when the food and wine had\ngiven him strength to speak, began the following answer to Phanes' eager\nquestions.\n\nOn the murder of Phanes' son by Psamtik, he had declared his intention of\nleaving Egypt and inducing the troops under his command to do the same,\nunless his friend's little daughter were at once set free, and a\nsatisfactory explanation given for the sudden disappearance of the boy.\nPsamtik promised to consider the matter. Two days later, as Aristomachus\nwas going up the Nile by night to Memphis, he was seized by Egyptian\nsoldiers, bound and thrown into the dark hold of a boat, which, after a\nvoyage of many days and nights, cast anchor on a totally unknown shore.\nThe prisoners were taken out of their dungeon and led across a desert\nunder the burning sun, and past rocks of strange forms, until they\nreached a range of mountains with a colony of huts at its base. These\nhuts were inhabited by human beings, who, with chains on their feet, were\ndriven every morning into the shaft of a mine and there compelled to hew\ngrains of gold out of the stony rock. Many of these miserable men had\npassed forty years in this place, but most died soon, overcome by the\nhard work and the fearful extremes of heat and cold to which they were\nexposed on entering and leaving the mine.\n\n   [Diodorus (III. 12.) describes the compulsory work in the gold mines\n   with great minuteness. The convicts were either prisoners taken in\n   war, or people whom despotism in its blind fury found it expedient\n   to put out of the way. The mines lay in the plain of Koptos, not\n   far from the Red Sea. Traces of them have been discovered in modern\n   times. Interesting inscriptions of the time of Rameses the Great,\n   (14 centuries B. C.) referring to the gold-mines, have been found,\n   one at Radesich, the other at Kubnn, and have been published and\n   deciphered in Europe.]\n\n\"My companions,\" continued Aristomachus, \"were either condemned murderers\nto whom mercy had been granted, or men guilty of high treason whose\ntongues had been cut out, and others such as myself whom the king had\nreason to fear. Three months I worked among this set, submitting to the\nstrokes of the overseer, fainting under the fearful heat, and stiffening\nunder the cold dews of night. I felt as if picked out for death and only\nkept alive by the hope of vengeance. It happened, however, by the mercy\nof the gods, that at the feast of Pacht, our guards, as is the custom of\nthe Egyptians, drank so freely as to fall into a deep sleep, during which\nI and a young Jew who had been deprived of his right hand for having used\nfalse weights in trade, managed to escape unperceived; Zeus Lacedaemonius\nand the great God whom this young man worshipped helped us in our need,\nand, though we often heard the voices of our pursuers, they never\nsucceeded in capturing us. I had taken a bow from one of our guards; with\nthis we obtained food, and when no game was to be found we lived on\nroots, fruits and birds' eggs. The sun and stars showed us our road. We\nknew that the gold-mines were not far from the Red Sea and lay to the\nsouth of Memphis. It was not long before we reached the coast; and then,\npressing onwards in a northerly direction, we fell in with some friendly\nmariners, who took care of us until we were taken up by an Arabian boat.\nThe young Jew understood the language spoken by the crew, and in their\ncare we came to Eziongeber in the land of Edom. There we heard that\nCambyses was coming with an immense army against Egypt, and travelled as\nfar as Harma under the protection of an Amalekite caravan bringing water\nto the Persian army. From thence I went on to Pelusium in the company of\nsome stragglers from the Asiatic army, who now and then allowed me a seat\non their horses, and here I heard that you had accepted a high command in\nCambyses' army. I have kept my vow, I have been true to my nation in\nEgypt; now it is your turn to help old Aristomachus in gaining the only\nthing he still cares for--revenge on his persecutors.\"\n\n\"And that you shall have!\" cried Phanes, grasping the old man's hand.\n\"You shall have the command of the heavy-armed Milesian troops, and\nliberty to commit what carnage you like among the ranks of our enemies.\nThis, however, is only paying half the debt I owe you. Praised be the\ngods, who have put it in my power to make you happy by one single\nsentence. Know then, Aristomachus, that, only a few days after your\ndisappearance, a ship arrived in the harbor of Naukratis from Sparta. It\nwas guided by your own noble son and expressly sent by the Ephori in your\nhonor--to bring the father of two Olympic victors back to his native\nland.\"\n\nThe old man's limbs trembled visibly at these words, his eyes filled with\ntears and he murmured a prayer. Then smiting his forehead, he cried in a\nvoice trembling with feeling: \"Now it is fulfilled! now it has become a\nfact! If I doubted the words of thy priestess, O Phoebus Apollo! pardon\nmy sin! What was the promise of the oracle?\n\n   \"If once the warrior hosts from the snow-topped mountains\n   descending,\n   Come to the fields of the stream watering richly the plain,\n   Then shall the lingering boat to the beckoning meadows convey thee,\n   Which to the wandering foot peace and a home can afford.\n   When those warriors come, from the snow-topped mountains descending,\n   Then will the powerful Five grant thee what long they refused.\"\n\n\"The promise of the god is fulfilled. Now I may return home, and I will;\nbut first I raise my hands to Dice, the unchanging goddess of justice,\nand implore her not to deny me the pleasure of revenge.\"\n\n\"The day of vengeance will dawn to-morrow,\" said Phanes, joining in the\nold man's prayer. \"Tomorrow I shall slaughter the victims for the\ndead--for my son--and will take no rest until Cambyses has pierced the\nheart of Egypt with the arrows which I have cut for him. Come, my friend,\nlet me take you to the king. One man like you can put a whole troop of\nEgyptians to flight.\"\n\n          .......................\n\nIt was night. The Persian soldiers, their position being unfortified,\nwere in order of battle, ready to meet any unexpected attack. The\nfoot-soldiers stood leaning on their shields, the horsemen held their\nhorses saddled and bridled near the camp-fires. Cambyses was riding\nthrough the ranks, encouraging his troops by words and looks. Only one\npart of the army was not yet ranged in order of battle--the centre. It\nwas composed of the Persian body-guard, the apple-bearers, Immortals, and\nthe king's own relatives, who were always led into battle by the king in\nperson.\n\nThe Ionian Greeks too had gone to rest, at Phanes' command. He wanted to\nkeep his men fresh, and allowed them to sleep in their armor, while he\nkept watch. Aristomachus was welcomed with shouts of joy by the Greeks,\nand kindly by Cambyses, who assigned him, at the head of one half the\nGreek troops, a place to the left of the centre attack, while Phanes,\nwith the other half, had his place at the right. The king himself was to\ntake the lead at the head of the ten thousand Immortals, preceded by the\nblue, red and gold imperial banner and the standard of Kawe. Bartja was\nto lead the regiment of mounted guards numbering a thousand men, and that\ndivision of the cavalry which was entirely clothed in mail.\n\nCroesus commanded a body of troops whose duty it was to guard the camp\nwith its immense treasures, the wives of Cambyses' nobles, and his own\nmother and sister.\n\nAt last Mithras appeared and shed his light upon the earth; the spirits\nof the night retired to their dens, and the Magi stirred up the sacred\nfire which had been carried before the army the whole way from Babylon,\nuntil it became a gigantic flame. They and the king united in feeding it\nwith costly perfumes, Cambyses offered the sacrifice, and, holding the\nwhile a golden bowl high in the air, besought the gods to grant him\nvictory and glory. He then gave the password, \"Auramazda, the helper and\nguide,\" and placed himself at the head of his guards, who went into the\nbattle with wreaths on their tiaras. The Greeks offered their own\nsacrifices, and shouted with delight on hearing that the omens were\nauspicious. Their war-cry was \"Hebe.\"\n\nMeanwhile the Egyptian priests had begun their day also with prayer and\nsacrifice, and had then placed their army in order of battle.\n\nPsamtik, now King of Egypt, led the centre. He was mounted on a golden\nchariot; the trappings of his horses were of gold and purple, and plumes\nof ostrich feathers nodded on their proud heads. He wore the double crown\nof Upper and Lower Egypt, and the charioteer who stood at his left hand\nholding the reins and whip, was descended from one of the noblest\nEgyptian families.\n\nThe Hellenic and Karian mercenaries were to fight at the left of the\ncentre, the horse at the extreme of each wing, and the Egyptian and\nEthiopian foot were stationed, six ranks deep, on the right and left of\nthe armed chariots, and Greek mercenaries.\n\nPsamtik drove through the ranks of his army, giving encouraging and\nfriendly words to all the men. He drew up before the Greek division, and\naddressed them thus: \"Heroes of Cyprus and Libya! your deeds in arms are\nwell known to me, and I rejoice in the thought of sharing your glory\nto-day and crowning you with fresh laurels. Ye have no need to fear, that\nin the day of victory I shall curtail your liberties. Malicious tongues\nhave whispered that this is all ye have to expect from me; but I tell\nyou, that if we conquer, fresh favors will be shown to you and your\ndescendants; I shall call you the supporters of my throne. Ye are\nfighting to-day, not for me alone, but for the freedom of your own\ndistant homes. It is easy to perceive that Cambyses, once lord of Egypt,\nwill stretch out his rapacious hand over your beautiful Hellas and its\nislands. I need only remind you, that they be between Egypt and your\nAsiatic brethren who are already groaning under the Persian yoke. Your\nacclamations prove that ye agree with me already, but I must ask for a\nstill longer hearing. It is my duty to tell you who has sold, not only\nEgypt, but his own country to the King of Persia, in return for immense\ntreasures. The man's name is Phanes! You are angry and inclined to doubt?\nI swear to you, that this very Phanes has accepted Cambyses' gold and\npromised not only to be his guide to Egypt, but to open the gates of your\nown Greek cities to him. He knows the country and the people, and can be\nbribed to every perfidy. Look at him! there he is, walking by the side of\nthe king. See how he bows before him! I thought I had heard once, that\nthe Greeks only prostrated themselves before their gods. But of course,\nwhen a man sells his country, he ceases to be its citizen. Am I not\nright? Ye scorn to call so base a creature by the name of countryman?\nYes? then I will deliver the wretch's daughter into your hands. Do what\nye will with the child of such a villain. Crown her with wreaths of\nroses, fall down before her, if it please you, but do not forget that she\nbelongs to a man who has disgraced the name of Hellene, and has betrayed\nhis countrymen and country!\"\n\nAs he finished speaking the men raised a wild cry of rage and took\npossession of the trembling child. A soldier held her up, so that her\nfather--the troops not being more than a bow-shot apart--could see all\nthat happened. At the same moment an Egyptian, who afterwards earned\ncelebrity through the loudness of his voice, cried: \"Look here, Athenian!\nsee how treachery and corruption are rewarded in this country!\" A bowl of\nwine stood near, provided by the king, from which the soldiers had just\nbeen drinking themselves into intoxication. A Karian seized it, plunged\nhis sword into the innocent child's breast, and let the blood flow into\nthe bowl; filled a goblet with the awful mixture, and drained it, as if\ndrinking to the health of the wretched father. Phanes stood watching the\nscene, as if struck into a statue of cold stone. The rest of the soldiers\nthen fell upon the bowl like madmen, and wild beasts could not have\nlapped up the foul drink with greater eagerness.--[Herodotus tells this\nfearful tale (III. ii.)]\n\nIn the same moment Psamtik triumphantly shot off his first arrow into the\nPersian ranks.\n\nThe mercenaries flung the child's dead body on to the ground; drunk with\nher blood, they raised their battle-song, and rushed into the strife far\nahead of their Egyptian comrades.\n\nBut now the Persian ranks began to move. Phanes, furious with pain and\nrage, led on his heavy-armed troops, indignant too at the brutal\nbarbarity of their countrymen, and dashed into the ranks of those very\nsoldiers, whose love he had tried to deserve during ten years of faithful\nleadership.\n\nAt noon, fortune seemed to be favoring the Egyptians; but at sunset the\nPersians had the advantage, and when the full-moon rose, the Egyptians\nwere flying wildly from the battle-field, perishing in the marshes and in\nthe arm of the Nile which flowed behind their position, or being cut to\npieces by the swords of their enemies.\n\nTwenty thousand Persians and fifty thousand Egyptians lay dead on the\nblood-stained sea-sand. The wounded, drowned, and prisoners could\nscarcely be numbered.\n\n   [Herod. III. 12. Ktesias, Persica 9. In ancient history the loss\n   of the conquered is always far greater than that of the conquerors.\n   To a certain extent this holds good in the present day, but the\n   proportion is decidedly not so unfavorable for the vanquished.]\n\nPsamtik had been one of the last to fly. He was well mounted, and, with a\nfew thousand faithful followers, reached the opposite bank of the Nile\nand made for Memphis, the well-fortified city of the Pyramids.\n\nOf the Greek mercenaries very few survived, so furious had been Phanes'\nrevenge, and so well had he been supported by his Ionians. Ten thousand\nKarians were taken captive and the murderer of his little child was\nkilled by Phanes' own hand.\n\nAristomachus too, in spite of his wooden leg, had performed miracles of\nbravery; but, notwithstanding all their efforts, neither he, nor any of\nhis confederates in revenge, had succeeded in taking Psamtik prisoner.\n\nWhen the battle was over, the Persians returned in triumph to their\ntents, to be warmly welcomed by Croesus and the warriors and priests who\nhad remained behind, and to celebrate their victory by prayers and\nsacrifices.\n\nThe next morning Cambyses assembled his generals and rewarded them with\ndifferent tokens of distinction, such as costly robes, gold chains,\nrings, swords, and stars formed of precious stones. Gold and silver coins\nwere distributed among the common soldiers.\n\nThe principal attack of the Egyptians had been directed against the\ncentre of the Persian army, where Cambyses commanded in person; and with\nsuch effect that the guards had already begun to give way. At that moment\nBartja, arriving with his troop of horsemen, had put fresh courage into\nthe wavering, had fought like a lion himself, and by his bravery and\npromptitude decided the day in favor of the Persians.\n\nThe troops were exultant in their joy: they shouted his praises, as \"the\nconqueror of Pelusium\" and the \"best of the Achaemenidae.\"\n\nTheir cries reached the king's ears and made him very angry. He knew he\nhad been fighting at the risk of life, with real courage and the strength\nof a giant, and yet the day would have been lost if this boy had not\npresented him with the victory. The brother who had embittered his days\nof happy love, was now to rob him of half his military glory. Cambyses\nfelt that he hated Bartja, and his fist clenched involuntarily as he saw\nthe young hero looking so happy in the consciousness of his own\nwell-earned success.\n\nPhanes had been wounded and went to his tent; Aristomachus lay near him,\ndying.\n\n\"The oracle has deceived me, after all,\" he murmured. \"I shall die\nwithout seeing my country again.\"\n\n\"The oracle spoke the truth,\" answered Phanes. \"Were not the last words\nof the Pythia?\"\n\n   'Then shall the lingering boat to the beckoning meadows convey thee,\n   Which to the wandering foot peace and a home will afford?'\n\n\"Can you misunderstand their meaning? They speak of Charon's lingering\nboat, which will convey you to your last home, to the one great\nresting-place for all wanderers--the kingdom of Hades.\"\n\n\"Yes, my friend, you are right there. I am going to Hades.\"\n\n\"And the Five have granted you, before death, what they so long\nrefused,--the return to Lacedaemon. You ought to be thankful to the gods\nfor granting you such sons and such vengeance on your enemies. When my\nwound is healed, I shall go to Greece and tell your son that his father\ndied a glorious death, and was carried to the grave on his shield, as\nbeseems a hero.\"\n\n\"Yes, do so, and give him my shield as a remembrance of his old father.\nThere is no need to exhort him to virtue.\"\n\n\"When Psamtik is in our power, shall I tell him what share you had in his\noverthrow?\"\n\n\"No; he saw me before he took to flight, and at the unexpected vision his\nbow fell from his hand. This was taken by his friends as a signal for\nflight, and they turned their horses from the battle.\"\n\n\"The gods ordain, that bad men shall be ruined by their own deeds.\nPsamtik lost courage, for he must have believed that the very spirits of\nthe lower world were fighting against him.\"\n\n\"We mortals gave him quite enough to do. The Persians fought well. But\nthe battle would have been lost without the guards and our troops.\"\n\n\"Without doubt.\"\n\n\"I thank thee, O Zeus Lacedaemonius.\"\n\n\"You are praying?\"\n\n\"I am praising the gods for allowing me to die at ease as to my country.\nThese heterogeneous masses can never be dangerous to Greece. Ho,\nphysician, when am I likely to die?\"\n\nThe Milesian physician, who had accompanied the Greek troops to Egypt,\npointed to the arrow-head sticking fast in his breast, and said with a\nsad smile, \"You have only a few hours more to live. If I were to draw the\narrow from your wound, you would die at once.\"\n\nThe Spartan thanked him, said farewell to Phanes, sent a greeting to\nRhodopis, and then, before they could prevent him, drew the arrow from\nhis wound with an unflinching hand. A few moments later Aristomachus was\ndead.\n\nThe same day a Persian embassy set out for Memphis on board one of the\nLesbian vessels. It was commissioned to demand from Psamtik the surrender\nof his own person and of the city at discretion. Cambyses followed,\nhaving first sent off a division of his army under Megabyzus to invest\nSais.\n\nAt Heliopolis he was met by deputations from the Greek inhabitants of\nNaukratis and the Libyans, praying for peace and his protection, and\nbringing a golden wreath and other rich presents. Cambyses received them\ngraciously and assured them of his friendship; but repulsed the\nmessengers from Cyrene and Barka indignantly, and flung, with his own\nhand, their tribute of five hundred silver mince among his soldiers,\ndisdaining to accept so contemptible an offering.\n\nIn Heliopolis he also heard that, at the approach of his embassy, the\ninhabitants of Memphis had flocked to the shore, bored a hole in the\nbottom of the ship, torn his messengers in pieces without distinction, as\nwild beasts would tear raw flesh, and dragged them into the fortress. On\nhearing this he cried angrily: \"I swear, by Mithras, that these murdered\nmen shall be paid for; ten lives for one.\"\n\nTwo days later and Cambyses with his army stood before the gates of\nMemphis. The siege was short, as the garrison was far too small for the\ncity, and the citizens were discouraged by the fearful defeat at\nPelusium.\n\nKing Psamtik himself came out to Cambyses, accompanied by his principal\nnobles, in rent garments, and with every token of mourning. Cambyses\nreceived him coldly and silently, ordering him and his followers to be\nguarded and removed. He treated Ladice, the widow of Amasis, who appeared\nat the same time as her step-son, with consideration, and, at the\nintercession of Phanes, to whom she had always shown favor, allowed her\nto return to her native town of Cyrene under safe conduct. She remained\nthere until the fall of her nephew, Arcesilaus III. and the flight of her\nsister Pheretime, when she betook herself to Anthylla, the town in Egypt\nwhich belonged to her, and where she passed a quiet, solitary existence,\ndying at a great age.\n\nCambyses not only scorned to revenge the imposture which had been\npractised on him on a woman, but, as a Persian, had far too much respect\nfor a mother, and especially for the mother of a king, to injure Ladice\nin any way.\n\nWhile he was engaged in the siege of Sais, Psamtik passed his\nimprisonment in the palace of the Pharaohs, treated in every respect as a\nking, but strictly guarded.\n\nAmong those members of the upper class who had incited the people to\nresistance, Neithotep, the high-priest of Neith, had taken the foremost\nplace. He was therefore sent to Memphis and put in close confinement,\nwith one hundred of his unhappy confederates. The larger number of the\nPharaoh's court, on the other hand, did homage voluntarily to Cambyses at\nSais, entitled him Ramestu, \"child of the sun,\" and suggested that he\nshould cause himself to be crowned King of Upper and Lower Egypt, with\nall the necessary formalities, and admitted into the priestly caste\naccording to ancient custom. By the advice of Croesus and Phanes,\nCambyses gave in to these proposals, though much against his own will: he\nwent so far, indeed, as to offer sacrifice in the temple of Neith, and\nallowed the newly-created high-priest of the goddess to give him a\nsuperficial insight into the nature of the mysteries. Some of the\ncourtiers he retained near himself, and promoted different administrative\nfunctionaries to high posts; the commander of Amasis' Nile fleet\nsucceeded so well in gaining the king's favor, as to be appointed one of\nthose who ate at the royal table.\n\n   [On a statue in the Gregorian Museum in the Vatican, there is an\n   inscription giving an account of Cambyses' sojourn at Sais, which\n   agrees with the facts related in our text. He was lenient to his\n   conquered subjects, and, probably in order to secure his position as\n   the lawful Pharaoh, yielded to the wishes of the priests, was even\n   initiated into the mysteries and did much for the temple of Neith.\n   His adoption of the name Ramestu is also confirmed by this statue.\n   E. de Rough, Memoire sur la statuette naophore du musee Gregorian,\n   au Vatican. Revue Archeol. 1851.]\n\nOn leaving Sais, Cambyses placed Megabyzus in command of the city; but\nscarcely had the king quitted their walls than the smothered rage of the\npeople broke forth; they murdered the Persian sentinels, poisoned the\nwells, and set the stables of the cavalry on fire. Megabyzus at once\napplied to the king, representing that such hostile acts, if not\nrepressed by fear, might soon be followed by open rebellion. \"The two\nthousand noble youths from Memphis whom you have destined to death as an\nindemnification for our murdered ambassadors,\" said he, \"ought to be\nexecuted at once; and it would do no harm if the son of Psamtik were\nadded to the number, as he can some day become a rallying centre for the\nrebels. I hear that the daughters of the dethroned king and of the\nhigh-priest Neithotep have to carry water for the baths of the noble\nPhanes.\"\n\nThe Athenian answered with a smile: \"Cambyses has allowed me to employ\nthese aristocratic female attendants, my lord, at my own request.\"\n\n\"But has forbidden you to touch the life of one member of the royal\nhouse,\" added Cambyses. \"None but a king has the right to punish kings.\"\n\nPhanes bowed. The king turned to Megabyzus and ordered him to have the\nprisoners executed the very next day, as an example. He would decide the\nfate of the young prince later; but at all events he was to be taken to\nthe place of execution with the rest. \"We must show them,\" he concluded,\n\"that we know how to meet all their hostile manifestations with\nsufficient rigor.\"\n\nCroesus ventured to plead for the innocent boy. \"Calm yourself, old\nfriend,\" said Cambyses with a smile; \"the child is not dead yet, and\nperhaps will be as well off with us as your own son, who fought so well\nat Pelusium. I confess I should like to know, whether Psamtik bears his\nfate as calmly and bravely as you did twenty-five years ago.\"\n\n\"That we can easily discover, by putting him on trial,\" said Phanes. \"Let\nhim be brought into the palace-court to-morrow, and let the captives and\nthe condemned be led past him. Then we shall see whether he is a man or a\ncoward.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" answered Cambyses. \"I will conceal myself and watch him\nunobserved. You, Phanes, will accompany me, to tell me the name and rank\nof each of the captives.\"\n\nThe next morning Phanes accompanied the king on to a balcony which ran\nround the great court of the palace--the court we have already described\nas being planted with trees. The listeners were hidden by a grove of\nflowering shrubs, but they could see every movement that took place, and\nhear every word that was spoken beneath them. They saw Psamtik,\nsurrounded by a few of his former companions. He was leaning against a\npalm-tree, his eyes fixed gloomily on the ground, as his daughters\nentered the court. The daughter of Neithotep was with them, and some more\nyoung girls, all dressed as slaves; they were carrying pitchers of water.\nAt sight of the king, they uttered such a loud cry of anguish as to wake\nhim from his reverie. He looked up, recognized the miserable girls, and\nbowed his head lower than before; but only for a moment. Drawing himself\nup quickly, he asked his eldest daughter for whom she was carrying water.\nOn hearing that she was forced to do the work of a slave for Phanes, he\nturned deadly pale, nodded his head, and cried to the girls, \"Go on.\"\n\nA few minutes later the captives were led into the court, with ropes\nround their necks, and bridles in their mouths.\n\n   [This statement of Herodotus (III. 14.) is confirmed by the\n   monuments, on which we often see representations of captives being\n   led along with ropes round their necks. What follows is taken\n   entirely from the same passage in Herodotus.]\n\nAt the head of the train was the little prince Necho. He stretched his\nhands out to his father, begging him to punish the bad foreigners who\nwanted to kill him. At this sight the Egyptians wept in their exceeding\ngreat misery; but Psamtik's eyes were dry. He bowed his tearless face\nnearly to the earth, and waved his child a last farewell.\n\nAfter a short interval, the captives taken in Sais entered. Among them\nwas Neithotep, the once powerful high-priest, clothed in rags and moving\nwith difficulty by the help of a staff. At the entrance-gate he raised\nhis eyes and caught sight of his former pupil Darius. Reckless of all the\nspectators around him, he went straight up to the young man, poured out\nthe story of his need, besought his help, and ended by begging an alms.\nDarius complied at once, and by so doing, induced others of the\nAchaemenidae, who were standing by, to hail the old man jokingly and\nthrow him little pieces of money, which he picked up laboriously and\nthankfully from the ground.\n\nAt this sight Psamtik wept aloud, and smote upon his forehead, calling on\nthe name of his friend in a voice full of woe.\n\nCambyses was so astonished at this, that he came forward to the\nbalustrade of the veranda, and pushing the flowers aside, exclaimed:\n\"Explain thyself, thou strange man; the misfortunes of a beggar, not even\nakin to thee, move thy compassion, but thou canst behold thy son on the\nway to execution and thy daughters in hopeless misery without shedding a\ntear, or uttering a lament!\"\n\nPsamtik looked up at his conqueror, and answered: \"The misfortunes of my\nown house, O son of Cyrus, are too great for tears; but I may be\npermitted to weep over the afflictions of a friend, fallen, in his old\nage, from the height of happiness and influence into the most miserable\nbeggary.\"\n\nCambyses' face expressed his approval, and on looking round he saw that\nhis was not the only eye which was filled with tears. Croesus, Bartja,\nand all the Persians-nay, even Phanes himself, who had served as\ninterpreter to the kings-were weeping aloud.\n\nThe proud conqueror was not displeased at these signs of sympathy, and\nturning to the Athenian: \"I think, my Greek friend\" he said, \"we may\nconsider our wrongs as avenged. Rise, Psamtik, and endeavor to imitate\nyonder noble old man, (pointing to Croesus) by accustoming yourself to\nyour fate. Your father's fraud has been visited on you and your family.\nThe crown, which I have wrested from you is the crown of which Amasis\ndeprived my wife, my never-to-be-forgotten Nitetis. For her sake I began\nthis war, and for her sake I grant you now the life of your son--she\nloved him. From this time forward you can live undisturbed at our court,\neat at our table and share the privileges of our nobles. Gyges, fetch the\nboy hither. He shall be brought up as you were, years ago, among the sons\nof the Achaemenidae.\"\n\nThe Lydian was hastening to execute this delightful commission, but\nPhanes stopped him before he could reach the door, and placing himself\nproudly between the king and the trembling, thankful Psamtik, said: \"You\nwould be going on a useless errand, noble Lydian. In defiance of your\ncommand, my Sovereign, but in virtue of the full powers you once gave me,\nI have ordered the grandson of Amasis to be the executioner's first\nvictim. You have just heard the sound of a horn; that was the sign that\nthe last heir to the Egyptian throne born on the shores of the Nile has\nbeen gathered to his fathers. I am aware of the fate I have to expect,\nCambyses. I will not plead for a life whose end has been attained.\nCroesus, I understand your reproachful looks. You grieve for the murdered\nchildren. But life is such a web of wretchedness and disappointment, that\nI agree with your philosopher Solon in thinking those fortunate to whom,\nas in former days to Kleobis and Biton, the gods decree an early death.\n\n   [Croesus, after having shown Solon his treasures, asked him whom he\n   held to be the most fortunate of men, hoping to hear his own name.\n   The sage first named Tellus, a famous citizen of Athens, and then\n   the brothers Kleobis and Biton. These were two handsome youths, who\n   had gained the prize for wrestling, and one day, when the draught-\n   animals had not returned from the field, dragged their mother\n   themselves to the distant temple, in presence of the people. The\n   men of Argos praised the strength of the sons,--the women praised\n   the mother who possessed these sons. She, transported with delight\n   at her sons' deed and the people's praise, went to the statue of the\n   goddess and besought her to give them the best that could fall to\n   the lot of men. When her prayer was over and the sacrifice offered,\n   the youths fell asleep, and never woke again. They were dead.\n   Herod. I, 31. Cicero. Tuscul. I. 47.]\n\n\"If I have ever been dear to you, Cambyses--if my counsels have been of\nany use, permit me as a last favor to say a few more words. Psamtik knows\nthe causes that rendered us foes to each other. Ye all, whose esteem is\nworth so much to me, shall know them too. This man's father placed me in\nhis son's stead at the head of the troops which had been sent to Cyprus.\nWhere Psamtik had earned humiliation, I won success and glory. I also\nbecame unintentionally acquainted with a secret, which seriously\nendangered his chances of obtaining the crown; and lastly, I prevented\nhis carrying off a virtuous maiden from the house of her grandmother, an\naged woman, beloved and respected by all the Greeks. These are the sins\nwhich he has never been able to forgive; these are the grounds which led\nhim to carry on war to the death with me directly I had quitted his\nfather's service. The struggle is decided now. My innocent children have\nbeen murdered at thy command, and I have been pursued like a wild beast.\nThat has been thy revenge. But mine!--I have deprived thee of thy throne\nand reduced thy people to bondage. Thy daughter I have called my slave,\nthy son's death-warrant was pronounced by my lips, and my eyes have seen\nthe maiden whom thou persecutedst become the happy wife of a brave man.\nUndone, sinking ever lower and lower, thou hast watched me rise to be the\nrichest and most powerful of my nation. In the lowest depth of thine own\nmisery--and this has been the most delicious morsel of my vengeance--thou\nwast forced to see me--me, Phanes shedding tears that could not be kept\nback, at the sight of thy misery. The man, who is allowed to draw even\none breath of life, after beholding his enemy so low, I hold to be happy\nas the gods themselves I have spoken.\"\n\nHe ceased, and pressed his hand on his wound. Cambyses gazed at him in\nastonishment, stepped forward, and was just going to touch his girdle--an\naction which would have been equivalent to the signing of a death-warrant\nwhen his eye caught sight of the chain, which he himself had hung round\nthe Athenian's neck as a reward for the clever way in which he had proved\nthe innocence of Nitetis.\n\n   [The same sign was used by the last Darius to denote that his able\n   Greek general Memnon, who had offended him by his plainness of\n   speech, was doomed to death. As he was being led away, Memnon\n   exclaimed, in allusion to Alexander, who was then fast drawing near:\n   \"Thy remorse will soon prove my worth; my avenger is not far off.\"\n   Droysen, Alex. d. Grosse, Diod. XVII. 30. Curtius III. 2.]\n\nThe sudden recollection of the woman he loved, and of the countless\nservices rendered him by Phanes, calmed his wrath his hand dropped. One\nminute the severe ruler stood gazing lingeringly at his disobedient\nfriend; the next, moved by a sudden impulse, he raised his right hand\nagain, and pointed imperiously to the gate leading from the court.\n\nPhanes bowed in silence, kissed the king's robe, and descended slowly\ninto the court. Psamtik watched him, quivering with excitement, sprang\ntowards the veranda, but before his lips could utter the curse which his\nheart had prepared, he sank powerless on to the ground.\n\nCambyses beckoned to his followers to make immediate preparations for a\nlion-hunt in the Libyan mountains.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Between two stools a man falls to the ground\n     Human beings hate the man who shows kindness to their enemies\n     Misfortune too great for tears\n     Nothing is more dangerous to love, than a comfortable assurance\n     Ordered his feet to be washed and his head anointed\n     Rules of life given by one man to another are useless\n\n\n\n\nAN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 10.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nThe waters of the Nile had begun to rise again. Two months had passed\naway since Phanes' disappearance, and much had happened.\n\nThe very day on which he left Egypt, Sappho had given birth to a girl,\nand had so far regained strength since then under the care of her\ngrandmother, as to be able to join in an excursion up the Nile, which\nCroesus had suggested should take place on the festival of the goddess\nNeith. Since the departure of Phanes, Cambyses' behavior had become so\nintolerable, that Bartja, with the permission of his brother, had taken\nSappho to live in the royal palace at Memphis, in order to escape any\npainful collision. Rhodopis, at whose house Croesus and his son, Bartja,\nDarius and Zopyrus were constant guests, had agreed to join the party.\n\nOn the morning of the festival-day they started in a gorgeously decorated\nboat, from a point between thirty and forty miles below Memphis, favored\nby a good north-wind and urged rapidly forward by a large number of\nrowers.\n\nA wooden roof or canopy, gilded and brightly painted, sheltered them from\nthe sun. Croesus sat by Rhodopis, Theopompus the Milesian lay at her\nfeet. Sappho was leaning against Bartja. Syloson, the brother of\nPolykrates, had made himself a comfortable resting-place next to Darius,\nwho was looking thought fully into the water. Gyges and Zopyrus busied\nthemselves in making wreaths for the women, from the flowers handed them\nby an Egyptian slave.\n\n\"It seems hardly possible,\" said Bartja, \"that we can be rowing against\nthe stream. The boat flies like a swallow.\"\n\n\"This fresh north-wind brings us forward,\" answered Theopompus. \"And then\nthe Egyptian boatmen understand their work splendidly.\"\n\n\"And row all the better just because we are sailing against the stream,\"\nadded Croesus. \"Resistance always brings out a man's best powers.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Rhodopis, \"sometimes we even make difficulties, if the river\nof life seems too smooth.\"\n\n\"True,\" answered Darius. \"A noble mind can never swim with the stream. In\nquiet inactivity all men are equal. We must be seen fighting, to be\nrightly estimated.\"\n\n\"Such noble-minded champions must be very cautious, though,\" said\nRhodopis, \"lest they become contentious, and quarrelsome. Do you see\nthose melons lying on the black soil yonder, like golden balls? Not one\nwould have come to perfection if the sower had been too lavish with his\nseed. The fruit would have been choked by too luxuriant tendrils and\nleaves. Man is born to struggle and to work, but in this, as in\neverything else, he must know how to be moderate if his efforts are to\nsucceed. The art of true wisdom is to keep within limits.\"\n\n\"Oh, if Cambyses could only hear you!\" exclaimed Croesus. \"Instead of\nbeing contented with his immense conquests, and now thinking for the\nwelfare of his subjects, he has all sorts of distant plans in his head.\nHe wishes to conquer the entire world, and yet, since Phanes left,\nscarcely a day has passed in which he has not been conquered himself by\nthe Div of drunkenness.\"\n\n\"Has his mother no influence over him?\" asked Rhodopis. \"She is a noble\nwoman.\"\n\n\"She could not even move his resolution to marry Atossa, and was forced\nto be present at the marriage feast.\"\n\n\"Poor Atossa!\" murmured Sappho.\n\n\"She does not pass a very happy life as Queen of Persia,\" answered\nCroesus; \"and her own naturally impetuous disposition makes it all the\nmore difficult or her to live contentedly with this husband and mother; I\nam sorry to hear it said that Cambyses neglects her sadly, and treats her\nlike a child. But the marriage does not seem to have astonished the\nEgyptians, as brothers and sisters often marry here.\"\n\n\"In Persia too,\" said Darius, putting on an appearance of the most\nperfect composure, \"marriages with very near relations are thought to be\nthe best.\"\n\n\"But to return to the king,\" said Croesus, turning the conversation for\nDarius' sake. \"I can assure you, Rhodopis, that he may really be called a\nnoble man. His violent and hasty deeds are repented of almost as soon as\ncommitted, and the resolution to be a just and merciful ruler has never\nforsaken him. At supper, for instance, lately, before his mind was\nclouded by the influence of wine, he asked us what the Persians thought\nof him in comparison with his father.\"\n\n\"And what was the answer?\" said Rhodopis. \"Intaphernes got us out of the\ntrap cleverly enough,\" answered Zopyrus, laughing. \"He exclaimed: 'We are\nof opinion that you deserve the preference, inasmuch as you have not only\npreserved intact the inheritance bequeathed you by Cyrus, but have\nextended his dominion beyond the seas by your conquest of Egypt.' This\nanswer did not seem to please the king, however, and poor Intaphernes was\nnot a little horrified to hear him strike his fist on the table and cry,\n'Flatterer, miserable flatterer!' He then turned to Croesus and asked his\nopinion. Our wise friend answered at once: 'My opinion is that you have\nnot attained to the greatness of your father; for,' added he in a\npacifying tone, 'one thing is wanting to you--a son such as Cyrus\nbequeathed us in yourself.\"\n\n\"First-rate, first-rate,\" cried Rhodopis clapping her hands and laughing.\n\"An answer that would have done honor to the ready-witted Odysseus\nhimself. And how did the king take your honeyed pill?\"\n\n\"He was very much pleased, thanked Croesus, and called him his friend.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said Croesus taking up the conversation, \"used the favorable\nopportunity to dissuade him from the campaigns he has been planning\nagainst the long lived Ethiopians, the Ammonians and the Carthaginians.\nOf the first of these three nations we know scarcely anything but through\nfabulous tales; by attacking them we should lose much and gain little.\nThe oasis of Ammon is scarcely accessible to a large army, on account of\nthe desert by which it is surrounded; besides which, it seems to me\nsacrilegious to make war upon a god in the hope of obtaining possession\nof his treasures, whether we be his worshippers or not. As to the\nCarthaginians, facts have already justified my predictions. Our fleet is\nmanned principally by Syrians and Phoenicians, and they have, as might be\nexpected, refused to go to war against their brethren. Cambyses laughed\nat my reasons, and ended by swearing, when he was already somewhat\nintoxicated, that he could carry out difficult undertakings and subdue\npowerful nations, even without the help of Bartja and Phanes.\"\n\n\"What could that allusion to you mean, my son?\" asked Rhodopis.\n\n\"He won the battle of Pelusiam,\" cried Zopyrus, before his friend could\nanswer. \"He and no one else!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added Croesus, \"and you might have been more prudent, and have\nremembered that it is a dangerous thing to excite the jealousy of a man\nlike Cambyses. You all of you forget that his heart is sore, and that the\nslightest vexation pains him. He has lost the woman he really loved; his\ndearest friend is gone; and now you want to disparage the last thing in\nthis world that he still cares for,--his military glory.\"\n\n\"Don't blame him,\" said Bartja, grasping the old man's hand. \"My brother\nhas never been unjust, and is far from envying me what I must call my\ngood fortune, for that my attack arrived just at the right time can\nhardly be reckoned as a merit on my part. You know he gave me this\nsplendid sabre, a hundred thorough-bred horses, and a golden hand-mill as\nrewards of my bravery.\"\n\nCroesus' words had caused Sappho a little anxiety at first; but this\nvanished on hearing her husband speak so confidently, and by the time\nZopyrus had finished his wreath and placed it on Rhodopis' head, all her\nfears were forgotten.\n\nGyges had prepared his for the young mother. It was made of snow-white\nwater-lilies, and, when she placed it among her brown curls, she looked\nso wonderfully lovely in the simple ornament, that Bartja could not help\nkissing her on the forehead, though so many witnesses were present. This\nlittle episode gave a merry turn to the conversation; every one did his\nbest to enliven the others, refreshments of all kinds were handed round,\nand even Darius lost his gravity for a time and joined in the jests that\nwere passing among his friends.\n\nWhen the sun had set, the slaves set elegantly-carved chairs, footstools,\nand little tables on the open part of the deck. Our cheerful party now\nrepaired thither and beheld a sight so marvellously beautiful as to be\nquite beyond their expectations.\n\nThe feast of Neith, called in Egyptian \"the lamp-burning,\" was celebrated\nby a universal illumination, which began at the rising of the moon. The\nshores of the Nile looked like two long lines of fire. Every temple,\nhouse and but was ornamented with lamps according to the means of its\npossessors. The porches of the country-houses and the little towers on\nthe larger buildings were all lighted up by brilliant flames, burning in\npans of pitch and sending up clouds of smoke, in which the flags and\npennons waved gently backwards and forwards. The palm-trees and sycamores\nwere silvered by the moonlight and threw strange fantastic reflections on\nthe red waters of the Nile-red from the fiery glow of the houses on their\nshores. But strong and glowing as was the light of the illumination, its\nrays had not power to reach the middle of the giant river, where the boat\nwas making its course, and the pleasure-party felt as if they were\nsailing in dark night between two brilliant days. Now and then a\nbrightly-lighted boat would come swiftly across the river and seem, as it\nneared the shore, to be cutting its way through a glowing stream of\nmolten iron.\n\nLotus-blossoms, white as snow, lay on the surface of the river, rising\nand falling with the waves, and looking like eyes in the water. Not a\nsound could be heard from either shore. The echoes were carried away by\nthe north-wind, and the measured stroke of the oars and monotonous song\nof the rowers were the only sounds that broke the stillness of this\nstrange night--a night robbed of its darkness.\n\nFor a long time the friends gazed without speaking at the wonderful\nsight, which seemed to glide past them. Zopyrus was the first to break\nthe silence by saying, as he drew a long breath: \"I really envy you,\nBartja. If things were as they should be, every one of us would have his\ndearest wife at his side on such a night as this.\"\n\n\"And who forbade you to bring one of your wives?\" answered the happy\nhusband.\n\n\"The other five,\" said the youth with a sigh. \"If I had allowed Oroetes'\nlittle daughter Parysatis, my youngest favorite, to come out alone with\nme to-night, this wonderful sight would have been my last; tomorrow there\nwould have been one pair of eyes less in the world.\"\n\nBartja took Sappho's hand and held it fast, saying, \"I fancy one wife\nwill content me as long as I live.\" The young mother pressed his hand\nwarmly again, and said, turning to Zopyrus: \"I don't quite trust you, my\nfriend. It seems to me that it is not the anger of your wives you fear,\nso much as the commission of an offence against the customs of your\ncountry. I have been told that my poor Bartja gets terribly scolded in\nthe women's apartments for not setting eunuchs to watch over me, and for\nletting me share his pleasures.\"\n\n\"He does spoil you terribly,\" answered Zopyrus, \"and our wives are\nbeginning to quote him as an example of kindness and indulgence, whenever\nwe try to hold the reins a little tight. Indeed there will soon be a\nregular women's mutiny at the king's gate, and the Achaemenidae who\nescaped the swords and arrows of the Egyptians, will fall victims to\nsharp tongues and floods of salt tears.\"\n\n\"Oh! you most impolite Persian!\" said Syloson laughing. \"We must make you\nmore respectful to these images of Aphrodite.\"\n\n\"You Greeks! that's a good idea,\" answered the youth. \"By Mithras, our\nwives are quite as well off as yours. It's only the Egyptian women, that\nare so wonderfully free.\"\n\n\"Yes, you are quite right,\" said Rhodopis. \"The inhabitants of this\nstrange land have for thousands of years granted our weaker sex the same\nrights, that they demand for themselves. Indeed, in many respects, they\nhave given us the preference. For instance, by the Egyptian law it is the\ndaughters, not the sons, who are commanded to foster and provide for\ntheir aged parents, showing how well the fathers of this now humbled\npeople understood women's nature, and how rightly they acknowledged that\nshe far surpasses man in thoughtful solicitude and self-forgetful love.\nDo not laugh at these worshippers of animals. I confess that I cannot\nunderstand them, but I feel true admiration for a people in the teaching\nof whose priests, even Pythagoras, that great master in the art of\nknowledge, assured me lies a wisdom as mighty as the Pyramids.\"\n\n\"And your great master was right,\" exclaimed Darius. \"You know that I\nobtained Neithotep's freedom, and, for some weeks past, have seen him and\nOnuphis very constantly, indeed they have been teaching me. And oh, how\nmuch I have learnt already from those two old men, of which I had no idea\nbefore! How much that is sad I can forget, when I am listening to them!\nThey are acquainted with the entire history of the heavens and the earth.\nThey know the name of every king, and the circumstances of every\nimportant event that has occurred during the last four thousand years,\nthe courses of the stars, the works of their own artists and sayings of\ntheir sages, during the same immense period of time. All this knowledge\nis recorded in huge books, which have been preserved in a palace at\nThebes, called the 'place of healing for the soul.' Their laws are a\nfountain of pure wisdom, and a comprehensive intellect has been shown in\nthe adaptation of all their state institutions to the needs of the\ncountry. I wish we could boast of the same regularity and order at home.\nThe idea that lies at the root of all their knowledge is the use of\nnumbers, the only means by which it is possible to calculate the course\nof the stars, to ascertain and determine the limits of all that exists,\nand, by the application of which in the shortening and lengthening of the\nstrings of musical instruments, tones can be regulated.\n\n   [We agree with Iamblichus in supposing, that these Pythagorean views\n   were derived from the Egyptian mysteries.]\n\n\"Numbers are the only certain things; they can neither be controlled nor\nperverted. Every nation has its own ideas of right and wrong; every law\ncan be rendered invalid by circumstances; but the results obtained from\nnumbers can never be overthrown. Who can dispute, for instance, that\ntwice two make four? Numbers determine the contents of every existing\nthing; whatever is, is equal to its contents, numbers therefore are the\ntrue being, the essence of all that is.\"\n\n\"In the name of Mithras, Darius, do leave off talking in that style,\nunless you want to turn my brain,\" interrupted Zopyrus. \"Why, to hear\nyou, one would fancy you'd been spending your life among these old\nEgyptian speculators and had never had a sword in your hand. What on\nearth have we to do with numbers?\"\n\n\"More than you fancy,\" answered Rhodopis. \"This theory of numbers belongs\nto the mysteries of the Egyptian priests, and Pythagoras learnt it from\nthe very Onuphis who is now teaching you, Darius. If you will come to see\nme soon, I will show you how wonderfully that great Samian brought the\nlaws of numbers and of the harmonies into agreement. But look, there are\nthe Pyramids!\"\n\nThe whole party rose at these words, and stood speechless, gazing at the\ngrand sight which opened before them.\n\nThe Pyramids lay on the left bank of the Nile, in the silver moonshine,\nmassive and awful, as if bruising the earth beneath them with their\nweight; the giant graves of mighty rulers. They seemed examples of man's\ncreative power, and at the same time warnings of the vanity and\nmutability of earthly greatness. For where was Chufu now,--the king who\nhad cemented that mountain of stone with the sweat of his subjects? Where\nwas the long-lived Chafra who had despised the gods, and, defiant in the\nconsciousness of his own strength, was said to have closed the gates of\nthe temples in order to make himself and his name immortal by building a\ntomb of superhuman dimensions?\n\n   [Herodotus repeats, in good faith, that the builders of the great\n   Pyramids were despisers of the gods. The tombs of their faithful\n   subjects at the foot of these huge structures prove, however, that\n   they owe their bad repute to the hatred of the people, who could not\n   forget the era of their hardest bondage, and branded the memories of\n   their oppressors wherever an opportunity could be found. We might\n   use the word \"tradition\" instead of \"the people,\" for this it is\n   which puts the feeling and tone of mind of the multitude into the\n   form of history.]\n\nTheir empty sarcophagi are perhaps tokens, that the judges of the dead\nfound them unworthy of rest in the grave, unworthy of the resurrection,\nwhereas the builder of the third and most beautiful pyramid, Menkera, who\ncontented himself with a smaller monument, and reopened the gates of the\ntemples, was allowed to rest in peace in his coffin of blue basalt.\n\nThere they lay in the quiet night, these mighty pyramids, shone on by the\nbright stars, guarded by the watchman of the desert--the gigantic\nsphinx,--and overlooking the barren rocks of the Libyan stony mountains.\nAt their feet, in beautifully-ornamented tombs, slept the mummies of\ntheir faithful subjects, and opposite the monument of the pious Menkera\nstood a temple, where prayers were said by the priests for the souls of\nthe many dead buried in the great Memphian city of the dead. In the west,\nwhere the sun went down behind the Libyan mountains, where the fruitful\nland ended and the desert began--there the people of Memphis had buried\ntheir dead; and as our gay party looked towards the west they felt awed\ninto a solemn silence.\n\nBut their boat sped on before the north-wind; they left the city of the\ndead behind them and passed the enormous dikes built to protect the city\nof Menes from the violence of the floods; the city of the Pharaohs came\nin sight, dazzlingly bright with the myriads of flames which had been\nkindled in honor of the goddess Neith, and when at last the gigantic\ntemple of Ptah appeared, the most ancient building of the most ancient\nland, the spell broke, their tongues were loosed, and they burst out into\nloud exclamations of delight.\n\nIt was illuminated by thousands of lamps; a hundred fires burnt on its\nPylons, its battlemented walls and roofs. Burning torches flared between\nthe rows of sphinxes which connected the various gates with the main\nbuilding, and the now empty house of the god Apis was so surrounded by\ncolored fires that it gleamed like a white limestone rock in a tropical\nsunset. Pennons, flags and garlands waved above the brilliant picture;\nmusic and loud songs could be heard from below.\n\n\"Glorious,\" cried Rhodopis in enthusiasm, \"glorious! Look how the painted\nwalls and columns gleam in the light, and what marvellous figures the\nshadows of the obelisks and sphinxes throw on the smooth yellow\npavement!\"\n\n\"And how mysterious the sacred grove looks yonder!\" added Croesus. \"I\nnever saw anything so wonderful before.\"\n\n\"I have seen something more wonderful still,\" said Darius. \"You will\nhardly believe me when I tell you that I have witnessed a celebration of\nthe mysteries of Neith.\"\n\n\"Tell us what you saw, tell us!\" was the universal outcry.\n\n\"At first Neithotep refused me admission, but when I promised to remain\nhidden, and besides, to obtain the freedom of his child, he led me up to\nhis observatory, from which there is a very extensive view, and told me\nthat I should see a representation of the fates of Osiris and his wife\nIsis.\n\n\"He had scarcely left, when the sacred grove became so brightly\nilluminated by colored lights that I was able to see into its innermost\ndepths.\n\n\"A lake, smooth as glass, lay before me, surrounded by beautiful trees\nand flower-beds. Golden boats were sailing on this lake and in them sat\nlovely boys and girls dressed in snow-white garments, and singing sweet\nsongs as they passed over the water. There were no rowers to direct these\nboats, and yet they moved over the ripples of the lake in a graceful\norder, as if guided by some magic unseen hand. A large ship sailed in the\nmidst of this little fleet. Its deck glittered with precious stones. It\nseemed to be steered by one beautiful boy only, and, strange to say, the\nrudder he guided consisted of one white lotus-flower, the delicate leaves\nof which seemed scarcely to touch the water. A very lovely woman, dressed\nlike a queen, lay on silken cushions in the middle of the vessel; by her\nside sat a man of larger stature than that of ordinary mortals. He wore a\ncrown of ivy on his flowing curls, a panther-skin hung over his shoulders\nand he held a crooked staff in the right hand. In the back part of the\nship was a roof made of ivy, lotus-blossoms and roses; beneath it stood a\nmilk-white cow with golden horns, covered with a cloth of purple. The man\nwas Osiris, the woman Isis, the boy at the helm their son Horus, and the\ncow was the animal sacred to the immortal Isis. The little boats all\nskimmed over the water, singing glad songs of joy as they passed by the\nship, and receiving in return showers of flowers and fruits, thrown down\nupon the lovely singers by the god and goddess within. Suddenly I heard\nthe roll of thunder. It came crashing on, louder, and louder, and in the\nmidst of this awful sound a man in the skin of a wild boar, with hideous\nfeatures and bristling red hair, came out of the gloomiest part of the\nsacred grove, plunged into the lake, followed by seventy creatures like\nhimself, and swam up to the ship of Osiris.\n\n   [We have taken our description of this spectacle entirely from the\n   Osiris-myth, as we find it in Plutarch, Isis and Orisis 13-19.\n   Diod. I. 22. and a thousand times repeated on the monuments. Horus\n   is called \"the avenger of his father,\" &c. We copy the battle with\n   all its phases from an inscription at Edfu, interpreted by Naville.]\n\n\"The little boats fled with the swiftness of the wind, and the trembling\nboy helmsman dropped his lotus-blossom.\n\n\"The dreadful monster then rushed on Osiris, and, with the help of his\ncomrades, killed him, threw the body into a coffin and the coffin into\nthe lake, the waters of which seemed to carry it away as if by magic.\nIsis meanwhile had escaped to land in one of the small boats, and was now\nrunning hither and thither on the shores of the lake, with streaming\nhair, lamenting her dead husband and followed by the virgins who had\nescaped with her. Their songs and dances, while seeking the body of\nOsiris, were strangely plaintive and touching, and the girls accompanied\nthe dance by waving black Byssus scarfs in wonderfully graceful curves.\nNeither were the youths idle; they busied themselves in making a costly\ncoffin for the vanished corpse of the god, accompanying their work with\ndances and the sound of castanets. When this was finished they joined the\nmaidens in the train of the lamenting Isis and wandered on the shore with\nthem, singing and searching.\n\n\"Suddenly a low song rose from some invisible lips. It swelled louder and\nlouder and announced, that the body of the god had been transported by\nthe currents of the Mediterranean to Gebal in distant Phoenicia. This\nsinging voice thrilled to my very heart; Neithotep's son, who was my\ncompanion, called it 'the wind of rumor.'\n\n\"When Isis heard the glad news, she threw off her mourning garments and\nsang a song of triumphant rejoicing, accompanied by the voices of her\nbeautiful followers. Rumor had not lied; the goddess really found the\nsarcophagus and the dead body of her husband on the northern shore of the\nlake.\n\n   [It is natural, that Isis should find the body of her husband in the\n   north. The connection between Phoenicia and Egypt in this myth, as\n   it has been handed down to us by Plutarch, is very remarkable. We\n   consider the explanation of the close affinity between the Isis and\n   Osiris and the Adonis myths to be in the fact, that Egyptians and\n   Phoenicians lived together on the shores of the Delta where the\n   latter had planted their colonies. Plutarch's story of the finding\n   of Osiris' dead body is very charming. Isis and Osiris. Ed. Parth.\n   15.]\n\n\"They brought both to land with dances; Isis threw herself on the beloved\ncorpse, called on the name of Osiris and covered the mummy with kisses,\nwhile the youths wove a wonderful tomb of lotus-flowers and ivy.\n\n\"When the coffin had been laid under this beautiful vault, Isis left the\nsad place of mourning and went to look for her son. She found him at the\neast end of the lake, where for a long time I had seen a beautiful youth\npractising arms with a number of companions.\n\n\"While she was rejoicing over her newly-found child, a fresh peal of\nthunder told that Typhon had returned. This time the monster rushed upon\nthe beautiful flowering grave, tore the body out of its coffin, hewed it\ninto fourteen pieces, and strewed them over the shores of the lake.\n\n\"When Isis came back to the grave, she found nothing but faded flowers\nand an empty coffin; but at fourteen different places on the shore\nfourteen beautiful colored flames were burning. She and her virgins ran\nto these flames, while Horus led the youths to battle against Typhon on\nthe opposite shore.\n\n\"My eyes and ears hardly sufficed for all I had to see and hear. On the\none shore a fearful and interesting struggle, peals of thunder and the\nbraying of trumpets; on the other the sweet voices of the women, singing\nthe most captivating songs to the most enchanting dances, for Isis had\nfound a portion of her husband's body at every fire and was rejoicing.\n\n\"That was something for you, Zopyrus! I know of no words to describe the\ngrace of those girls' movements, or how beautiful it was to see them\nfirst mingling in intricate confusion, then suddenly standing in\nfaultless, unbroken lines, falling again into the same lovely tumult and\npassing once more into order, and all this with the greatest swiftness.\nBright rays of light flashed from their whirling ranks all the time, for\neach dancer had a mirror fastened between her shoulders, which flashed\nwhile she was in motion, and reflected the scene when she was still.\n\n\"Just as Isis had found the last limb but one of the murdered Osiris,\nloud songs of triumph and the flourish of trumpets resounded from the\nopposite shore.\n\n\"Horus had conquered Typhon, and was forcing his way into the nether\nregions to free his father. The gate to this lower world opened on the\nwest side of the lake and was guarded by a fierce female hippopotamus.\n\n\"And now a lovely music of flutes and harps came nearer and nearer,\nheavenly perfumes rose into the air, a rosy light spread over the sacred\ngrove, growing brighter every minute, and Osiris came up from the lower\nworld, led by his victorious son. Isis hastened to embrace her risen and\ndelivered husband, gave the beautiful Horus his lotus-flower again\ninstead of the sword, and scattered fruits and flowers over the earth,\nwhile Osiris seated himself under a canopy wreathed with ivy, and\nreceived the homage of all the spirits of the earth and of the Amenti.\"\n\n   [The lower world, in Egyptian Amenti, properly speaking, the West or\n   kingdom of death, to which the soul returns at the death of the\n   body, as the sun at his setting. In a hieroglyphic inscription of\n   the time of the Ptolemies the Amenti is called Hades.]\n\nDarius was silent. Rhodopis began:\n\n\"We thank you for your charming account; but this strange spectacle must\nhave a higher meaning, and we should thank you doubly if you would\nexplain that to us.\"\n\n\"Your idea is quite right,\" answered Darius, \"but what I know I dare not\ntell. I was obliged to promise Neithotep with an oath, not to tell tales\nout of school.\"\n\n\"Shall I tell you,\" asked Rhodopis, \"what conclusions various hints from\nPythagoras and Onuphis have led me to draw, as to the meaning of this\ndrama? Isis seems to me to represent the bountiful earth; Osiris,\nhumidity or the Nile, which makes the earth fruitful; Horus, the young\nspring; Typhon, the scorching drought. The bounteous earth, robbed of her\nproductive power, seeks this beloved husband with lamentations in the\ncooler regions of the north, where the Nile discharges his waters. At\nlast Horus, the young springing power of nature, is grown up and conquers\nTyphon, or the scorching drought. Osiris, as is the case with the\nfruitful principle of nature, was only apparently dead, rises from the\nnether regions and once more rules the blessed valley of the Nile, in\nconcert with his wife, the bounteous earth.\"\n\n\"And as the murdered god behaved properly in the lower regions,\" said\nZopyrus, laughing, \"he is allowed, at the end of this odd story, to\nreceive homage from the inhabitants of Hamestegan, Duzakh and Gorothman,\nor whatever they call these abodes for the Egyptian spirit-host.\"\n\n\"They are called Amenti,\" said Darius, falling into his friend's merry\nmood; but you must know that the history of this divine pair represents\nnot only the life of nature, but also that of the human soul, which, like\nthe murdered Osiris, lives an eternal life, even when the body is dead.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the other; \"I'll try to remember that if I should\nchance to die in Egypt. But really, cost what it may, I must see this\nwonderful sight soon.\"\n\n\"Just my own wish,\" said Rhodopis. \"Age is inquisitive.\"\n\n\"You will never be old,\" interrupted Darius. \"Your conversation and your\nfeatures have remained alike beautiful, and your mind is as clear and\nbright as your eyes.\"\n\n\"Forgive me for interrupting you,\" said Rhodopis, as if she had not heard\nhis flattering words, \"but the word 'eyes' reminds me of the oculist\nNebenchari, and my memory fails me so often, that I must ask you what has\nbecome of him, before I forget. I hear nothing now of this skilful\noperator to whom the noble Kassandane owes her sight.\"\n\n\"He is much to be pitied,\" replied Darius. \"Even before we reached\nPelusium he had begun to avoid society, and scorned even to speak with\nhis countryman Onuphis. His gaunt old servant was the only being allowed\nto wait on or be with him. But after the battle his whole behavior\nchanged. He went to the king with a radiant countenance, and asked\npermission to accompany him to Sais, and to choose two citizens of that\ntown to be his slaves. Cambyses thought he could not refuse anything to\nthe man, who had been such a benefactor to his mother, and granted him\nfull power to do what he wished. On arriving at Amasis' capital, he went\nat once to the temple of Neith, caused the high-priest (who had moreover\nplaced himself at the head of the citizens hostile to Persia), to be\narrested, and with him a certain oculist named Petammon. He then informed\nthem that, as punishment for the burning of certain papers, they would be\ncondemned to serve a Persian to whom he should sell them, for the term of\ntheir natural lives, and to perform the most menial services of slaves in\na foreign country. I was present at this scene, and I assure you I\ntrembled before the Egyptian as he said these words to his enemies.\nNeithotep, however, listened quietly, and when Nebenchari had finished,\nanswered him thus: If thou, foolish son, hast betrayed thy country for\nthe sake of thy burnt manuscripts, the deed has been neither just nor\nwise. I preserved thy valuable works with the greatest care, laid them up\nin our temple, and sent a complete copy to the library at Thebes. Nothing\nwas burnt but the letters from Amasis to thy father, and a worthless old\nchest. Psamtik and Petammon were present, and it was then and there\nresolved that a new family tomb in the city of the dead should be built\nfor thee as a compensation for the loss of papers, which, in order to\nsave Egypt, we were unfortunately forced to destroy. On its walls thou\ncanst behold pleasing paintings of the gods to whom thou hast devoted thy\nlife, the most sacred chapters from the book of the dead, and many other\nbeautiful pictures touching thine own life and character.\"\n\n\"The physician turned very pale--asked first to see his books, and then\nhis new and beautifully-fitted-up tomb. He then gave his slaves their\nfreedom, (notwithstanding which they were still taken to Memphis as\nprisoners of war), and went home, often passing his hand across his\nforehead on the way, and with the uncertain step of one intoxicated. On\nreaching his house he made a will, bequeathing all he possessed to the\ngrandson of his old servant Hib, and, alleging that he was ill, went to\nbed. The next morning he was found dead. He had poisoned himself with the\nfearful strychnos-juice.\"\n\n\"Miserable man\" said Croesus. \"The gods had blinded him, and he reaped\ndespair instead of revenge, as a reward for his treachery.\"\n\n\"I pity him,\" murmured Rhodopis. \"But look, the rowers are taking in\ntheir oars. We are at the end of our journey; there are your litters and\ncarriages waiting for you. It was a beautiful trip. Farewell, my dear\nones; come to Naukratis soon, I shall return at once with Theopompus and\nSyloson. Give little Parmys a thousand kisses from me, and tell Melitta\nnever to take her out at noon. It is dangerous for the eyes. Good-night,\nCroesus; good-night, friends, farewell my dear son.\"\n\nThe Persians left the vessel with many a nod and farewell word, and\nBartja, looking round once more, missed his footing and fell on the\nlanding-pier.\n\nHe sprang up in a moment without Zopyrus' help, who came running back,\ncalling out, \"Take care, Bartja! It's unlucky to fall in stepping ashore.\nI did the very same thing, when we left the ship that time at Naukratis.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nWhile our friends were enjoying their row on the Nile, Cambyses' envoy,\nPrexaspes, had returned from a mission to the long-lived Ethiopians. He\npraised their strength and stature, described the way to their country as\nalmost inaccessible to a large army, and had plenty of marvellous tales\nto tell. How, for instance; they always chose the strongest and\nhandsomest man in their nation for their king, and obeyed him\nunconditionally: how many of them reached the age of 120 years, and some\neven passed it: how they ate nothing but boiled flesh, drank new milk and\nwashed in a spring the waters of which had the scent of violets, gave a\nremarkable lustre to their skins, and were so light that wood could not\nswim in them: how their captives wore golden fetters, because other\nmetals were rare and dear in their country; and lastly, how they covered\nthe bodies of the dead with plaster or stucco, over which a coating of\nsome glass-like material was poured, and kept the pillars thus formed one\nyear in their houses, during which time sacrifices were offered them, and\nat the year's end they were placed in rows around the town.\n\nThe king of this strange people had accepted Cambyses' presents, saying,\nin a scornful tone, that he new well his friendship was of no importance\nto the Persians, and Prexaspes had only been sent to spy out the land. If\nthe prince of Asia were a just man, he would be contented with his own\nimmense empire and not try to subjugate a people who had done him no\nwrong. \"Take your king this bow,\" he said, \"and advise him not to begin\nthe war with us, until the Persians are able to bend such weapons as\neasily as we do. Cambyses may thank the gods, that the Ethiopians have\nnever taken it into their heads to conquer countries which do not belong\nto them.\"\n\nHe then unbent his mighty bow of ebony, and gave it to Prexaspes to take\nto his lord.\n\nCambyses laughed at the bragging African, invited his nobles to a trial\nof the bow the next morning, and awarded Prexaspes for the clever way in\nwhich he had overcome the difficulties of his journey and acquitted\nhimself of his mission. He then went to rest, as usual intoxicated, and\nfell into a disturbed sleep, in which he dreamed that Bartja was seated\non the throne of Persia, and that the crown of his head touched the\nheavens.\n\nThis was a dream, which he could interpret without the aid of soothsayer\nor Chaldean. It roused his anger first, and then made him thoughtful.\n\nHe could not sleep, and such questions as the following came into his\nmind: \"Haven't you given your brother reason to feel revengeful? Do you\nthink he can forget that you imprisoned and condemned him to death, when\nhe was innocent? And if he should raise his hand against you, would not\nall the Achaemenidae take his part? Have I ever done, or have I any\nintention of ever doing anything to win the love of these venal\ncourtiers? Since Nitetis died and that strange Greek fled, has there been\na single human being, in whom I have the least confidence or on whose\naffection I can rely?\"\n\nThese thoughts and questionings excited him so fearfully, that he sprang\nfrom his bed, crying: \"Love and I have nothing to do with one another.\nOther men maybe kind and good if they like; I must be stern, or I shall\nfall into the hands of those who hate me--hate me because I have been\njust, and have visited heavy sins with heavy chastisements. They whisper\nflattering words in my ear; they curse me when my back is turned. The\ngods themselves must be my enemies, or why do they rob me of everything I\nlove, deny me posterity and even that military glory which is my just\ndue? Is Bartja so much better than I, that everything which I am forced\nto give up should be his in hundred-fold measure? Love, friendship, fame,\nchildren, everything flows to him as the rivers to the sea, while my\nheart is parched like the desert. But I am king still. I can show him\nwhich is the stronger of us two, and I will, though his forehead may\ntouch the heavens. In Persia there can be only one great man. He or I,--I\nor he. In a few days I'll send him back to Asia and make him satrap of\nBactria. There he can nurse his child and listen to his wife's songs,\nwhile I am winning glory in Ethiopia, which it shall not be in his power\nto lessen. Ho, there, dressers! bring my robes and a good morning-draught\nof wine. I'll show the Persians that I'm fit to be King of Ethiopia, and\ncan beat them all at bending a bow. Here, give me another cup of wine.\nI'd bend that bow, if it were a young cedar and its string a cable!\" So\nsaying he drained an immense bowl of wine and went into the\npalace-garden, conscious of his enormous strength and therefore sure of\nsuccess.\n\nAll his nobles were assembled waiting for him there, welcomed him with\nloud acclamations, and fell on their faces to the ground before their\nking.\n\nPillars, connected by scarlet cords, had been quickly set up between the\nclosely-cut hedges and straight avenues. From these cords, suspended by\ngold and silver rings, yellow and dark blue hangings fluttered in the\nbreeze. Gilded wooden benches had been placed round in a large circle,\nand nimble cup-bearers handed wine in costly vessels to the company\nassembled for the shooting-match.\n\nAt a sign from the king the Achaemenidae rose from the earth.\n\nCambyses glanced over their ranks, and his face brightened on seeing that\nBartja was not there. Prexaspes handed him the Ethiopian bow, and pointed\nout a target at some distance. Cambyses laughed at the large size of the\ntarget, weighted the bow with his right hand, challenged his subjects to\ntry their fortune first, and handed the bow to the aged Hystaspes, as the\nhighest in rank among the Achaemenidae.\n\nWhile Hystaspes first, and then all the heads of the six other highest\nfamilies in Persia, were using their utmost efforts to bend this monster\nweapon in vain, the king emptied goblet after goblet of wine, his spirits\nrising as he watched their vain endeavors to solve the Ethiopian's\nproblem. At last Darius, who was famous for his skill in archery, took\nthe bow. Nearly the same result. The wood was inflexible as iron and all\nhis efforts only availed to move it one finger's breadth. The king gave\nhim a friendly nod in reward for his success, and then, looking round on\nhis friends and relations in a manner that betokened the most perfect\nassurance, he said: \"Give me the bow now, Darius. I will show you, that\nthere is only one man in Persia who deserves the name of king;--only one\nwho can venture to take the field against the Ethiopians;--only one who\ncan bend this bow.\"\n\nHe grasped it tightly with his left hand, taking the string, which was as\nthick as a man's finger and made from the intestines of a lion, in his\nright, fetched a deep breath, bent his mighty back and pulled and pulled;\ncollected all his strength for greater and greater efforts, strained his\nsinews till they threatened to break, and the veins in his forehead were\nswollen to bursting, did not even disdain to use his feet and legs, but\nall in vain. After a quarter of an hour of almost superhuman exertion,\nhis strength gave way, the ebony, which he had succeeded in bending even\nfarther than Darius, flew back and set all his further endeavors at\nnought. At last, feeling himself thoroughly exhausted, he dashed the bow\non to the ground in a passion, crying: \"The Ethiopian is a liar! no\nmortal man has ever bent that bow. What is impossible for my arm is\npossible for no other. In three days we will start for Ethiopia. I will\nchallenge the impostor to a single combat, and ye shall see which is the\nstronger. Take up the bow, Prexaspes, and keep it carefully. The black\nliar shall be strangled with his own bow-string. This wood is really\nharder than iron, and I confess that the man who could bend it, would\nreally be my master. I should not be ashamed to call him so, for he must\nbe of better stuff than I.\"\n\nAs he finished speaking, Bartja appeared in the circle of assembled\nPersians. His glorious figure was set off to advantage by his rich dress,\nhis features were bright with happiness and a feeling of conscious\nstrength. He passed through the ranks of the Achaemenidae with many a\nfriendly nod, which was warmly returned, and going straight to his\nbrother, kissed his robe, looked up frankly and cheerfully into his\ngloomy eyes, and said: \"I am a little late, and ask your forgiveness, my\nlord and brother. Or have I really come in time? Yes, yes, I see there's\nno arrow in the target yet, so I am sure you, the best archer in the\nworld, cannot have tried your strength yet. But you look so enquiringly\nat me. Then I will confess that our child kept me. The little creature\nlaughed to-day for the first time, and was so charming with its mother,\nthat I forgot how time was passing while I watched them. You have all\nfull leave to laugh at my folly; I really don't know how to excuse\nmyself. See, the little one has pulled my star from the chain. But I\nthink, my brother, you will give me a new one to-day if I should hit the\nbull's eye. Shall I shoot first, or will you begin, my Sovereign?\"\n\n\"Give him the bow, Prexaspes,\" said Cambyses, not even deigning to look\nat his brother.\n\nBartja took it and was proceeding to examine the wood and the string,\nwhen Cambyses suddenly called out, with a mocking laugh: \"By Mithras, I\nbelieve you want to try your sweet looks on the bow, and win its favor in\nthat fashion, as you do the hearts of men. Give it back to Prexaspes.\nIt's easier to play with beautiful women and laughing children, than with\na weapon like this, which mocks the strength even of real men.\"\n\nBartja blushed with anger and annoyance at this speech, which was uttered\nin the bitterest tone, picked up the giant arrow that lay before him,\nplaced himself opposite the target, summoned all his strength, bent the\nbow, by an almost superhuman effort, and sent the arrow into the very\ncentre of the target, where its iron point remained, while the wooden\nshaft split into a hundred shivers.\n\n   [Herodotus tells this story (III, 30.), and we are indebted to him\n   also for our information of the events which follow. The following\n   inscription, said to have been placed over the grave of Darius, and\n   communicated by Onesikritus, (Strabo 730.) proves that the Persians\n   were very proud of being reputed good archers: \"I was a friend to my\n   friends, the best rider and archer, a first-rate hunter; I could do\n   everything.\"]\n\nMost of the Achaemenidae burst into loud shouts of delight at this\nmarvellous proof of strength; but Bartja's nearest friends turned pale\nand were silent; they were watching the king, who literally quivered with\nrage, and Bartja, who was radiant with pride and joy.\n\nCambyses was a fearful sight at that moment. It seemed to him as if that\narrow, in piercing the target, had pierced his own heart, his strength,\ndignity and honor. Sparks floated before his eyes, in his ears was a\nsound like the breaking of a stormy sea on the shore; his cheeks glowed\nand he grasped the arm of Prexaspes who was at his side. Prexaspes only\ntoo well understood what that pressure meant, when given by a royal hand,\nand murmured: \"Poor Bartja!\"\n\nAt last the king succeeded in recovering his presence of mind. Without\nsaying a word, he threw a gold chain to his brother, ordered his nobles\nto follow him, and left the garden, but only to wander restlessly up and\ndown his apartments, and try to drown his rage in wine. Suddenly he\nseemed to have formed a resolution and ordered all the courtiers, except\nPrexaspes, to leave the hall. When they were alone, he called out in a\nhoarse voice and with a look that proved the extent of his intoxication:\n\"This life is not to be borne! Rid me of my enemy, and I will call you my\nfriend and benefactor.\"\n\nPrexaspes trembled, threw himself at the king's feet and raised his hands\nimploringly; but Cambyses was too intoxicated, and too much blinded by\nhis hatred to understand the action. He fancied the prostration was meant\nas a sign of devotion to his will, signed to him to rise, and whispered,\nas if afraid of hearing his own words: \"Act quickly and secretly; and, as\nyou value your life, let no one know of the upstart's death. Depart, and\nwhen your work is finished, take as much as you like out of the treasury.\nBut keep your wits about you. The boy has a strong arm and a winning\ntongue. Think of your own wife and children, if he tries to win you over\nwith his smooth words.\"\n\nAs he spoke he emptied a fresh goblet of pure wine, staggered through the\ndoor of the room, calling out as he turned his back on Prexaspes: \"Woe be\nto you if that upstart, that woman's hero, that fellow who has robbed me\nof my honor, is left alive.\"\n\nLong after he had left the hall, Prexaspes stood fixed on the spot where\nhe had heard these words. The man was ambitious, but neither mean nor\nbad, and he felt crushed by the awful task allotted to him. He knew that\nhis refusal to execute it would bring death or disgrace on himself and on\nhis family; but he loved Bartja, and besides, his whole nature revolted\nat the thought of becoming a common, hired murderer. A fearful struggle\nbegan in his mind, and raged long after he left the palace. On the way\nhome he met Croesus and Darius. He fancied they would see from his looks\nthat he was already on the way to a great crime, and hid himself behind\nthe projecting gate of a large Egyptian house. As they passed, he heard\nCroesus say: \"I reproached him bitterly, little as he deserves reproach\nin general, for having given such an inopportune proof of his great\nstrength. We may really thank the gods, that Cambyses did not lay violent\nhands on him in a fit of passion. He has followed my advice now and gone\nwith his wife to Sais. For the next few days Bartja must not come near\nthe king; the mere sight of him might rouse his anger again, and a\nmonarch can always find unprincipled servants . . .\"\n\nThe rest of the sentence died away in the distance, but the words he had\nheard were enough to make Prexaspes start, as if Croesus had accused him\nof the shameful deed. He resolved in that moment that, come what would,\nhis hands should not be stained with the blood of a friend. This\nresolution restored him his old erect bearing and firm gait for the time,\nbut when he reached the dwelling which had been assigned as his abode in\nSais his two boys ran to the door to meet him. They had stolen away from\nthe play-ground of the sons of the Achaemenidae, (who, as was always the\ncase, had accompanied the king and the army), to see their father for a\nmoment. He felt a strange tenderness, which he could not explain to\nhimself, on taking them in his arms, and kissed the beautiful boys once\nmore on their telling him that they must go back to their play-ground\nagain, or they should be punished. Within, he found his favorite wife\nplaying with their youngest child, a sweet little girl. Again the same\nstrange, inexplicable feeling of tenderness. He overcame it this time for\nfear of betraying his secret to his young wife, and retired to his own\napartment early.\n\nNight had come on.\n\nThe sorely-tried man could not sleep; he turned restlessly from side to\nside. The fearful thought, that his refusal to do the king's will would\nbe the ruin of his wife and children, stood before his wakeful eyes in\nthe most vivid colors. The strength to keep his good resolution forsook\nhim, and even Croesus' words, which, when he first heard them had given\nhis nobler feelings the victory, now came in as a power on the other\nside. \"A monarch can always find unprincipled servants.\" Yes, the words\nwere an affront, but at the same time a reminder, that though he might\ndefy the king's command a hundred others would be ready to obey it. No\nsooner had this thought become clear to him, than he started up, examined\na number of daggers which hung, carefully arranged, above his bed, and\nlaid the sharpest on the little table before him.\n\nHe then began to pace the room in deep thought, often going to the\nopening which served as a window, to cool his burning forehead and see if\ndawn were near.\n\nWhen at last daylight appeared, he heard the sounding brass calling the\nboys to early prayer. That reminded him of his sons and he examined the\ndagger a second time. A troop of gaily-dressed courtiers rode by on their\nway to the king. He put the dagger in his girdle; and at last, on hearing\nthe merry laughter of his youngest child sound from the women's\napartments, he set the tiara hastily on his head, left the house without\ntaking leave of his wife, and, accompanied by a number of slaves, went\ndown to the Nile. There he threw himself into a boat and ordered the\nrowers to take him to Sais.\n\n          .........................\n\nA few hours after the fatal shooting-match, Bartja had followed Croesus'\nadvice and had gone off to Sais with his young wife. They found Rhodopis\nthere. She had yielded to an irresistible impulse and, instead of\nreturning to Naukratis, had stopped at Sais. Bartja's fall on stepping\nashore had disturbed her, and she had with her own eyes seen an owl fly\nfrom the left side close by his head. These evil omens, to a heart which\nhad by no means outgrown the superstitions of the age, added to a\nconfused succession of distressing dreams which had disturbed her\nslumbers, and her usual wish to be always near Bartja and Sappho, led her\nto decide quickly on waiting for her granddaughter at Sais.\n\nBartja and Sappho were delighted to find such a welcome guest, and after\nshe had dandled and played with her great grandchild, the little Parmys,\nto her heart's content, they led her to the rooms which had been prepared\nfor her.\n\n   [Herodotus states, that beside Atossa, &c.. Darius took a daughter\n   of the deceased Bartja, named Parmys, to be his wife. Herod. III.\n   88. She is also mentioned VII. 78.]\n\nThey were the same in which the unhappy Tachot had spent the last months\nof her fading existence. Rhodopis could not see all the little trifles\nwhich showed, not only the age and sex of the former occupant, but her\ntastes and disposition, without feeling very sad. On the dressing-table\nwere a number of little ointment-boxes and small bottles for perfumes,\ncosmetics, washes and oils. Two larger boxes, one in the form of a\nNile-goose, and another on the side of which a woman playing on a lute\nhad been painted, had once contained the princess's costly golden\nornaments, and the metal mirror with a handle in the form of a sleeping\nmaiden, had once reflected her beautiful face with its pale pink flush.\nEverything in the room, from the elegant little couch resting on lions'\nclaws, to the delicately-carved ivory combs on the toilet-table, proved\nthat the outward adornments of life had possessed much charm for the\nformer owner of these rooms. The golden sisirum and the\ndelicately-wrought nabla, the strings of which had long ago been broken,\ntestified to her taste for music, while the broken spindle in the corner,\nand some unfinished nets of glass beads shewed that she had been fond of\nwoman's usual work.\n\nIt was a sad pleasure to Rhodopis to examine all these things, and the\npicture which she drew in her own mind of Tachot after the inspection,\ndiffered very little from the reality. At last interest and curiosity led\nher to a large painted chest. She lifted the light cover and found,\nfirst, a few dried flowers; then a ball, round which some skilful hand\nhad wreathed roses and leaves, once fresh and bright, now, alas, long ago\ndead and withered. Beside these were a number of amulets in different\nforms, one representing the goddess of truth, another containing spells\nwritten on a strip of papyrus and concealed in a little golden case. Then\nher eyes fell on some letters written in the Greek character. She read\nthem by the light of the lamp. They were from Nitetis in Persia to her\nsupposed sister, and were written in ignorance of the latter's illness.\nWhen Rhodopis laid them down her eyes were full of tears. The dead girl's\nsecret lay open before her. She knew now that Tachot had loved Bartja,\nthat he had given her the faded flowers, and that she had wreathed the\nball with roses because he had thrown it to her. The amulets must have\nbeen intended either to heal her sick heart, or to awaken love in his.\n\nAs she was putting the letters back in their old place, she touched some\ncloths which seemed put in to fill up the bottom of the chest, and felt a\nhard round substance underneath. She raised them, and discovered a bust\nmade of colored wax, such a wonderfully-exact portrait of Nitetis, that\nan involuntary exclamation of surprise broke from her, and it was long\nbefore she could turn her eyes away from Theodorus' marvellous work.\n\nShe went to rest and fell asleep, thinking of the sad fate of Nitetis,\nthe Egyptian Princess.\n\nThe next morning Rhodopis went into the garden--the same into which we\nled our readers during the lifetime of Amasis-and found Bartja and Sappho\nin an arbor overgrown with vines.\n\nSappho was seated in a light wicker-work chair. Her child lay on her lap,\nstretching out its little hands and feet, sometimes to its father, who\nwas kneeling on the ground before them, and then to its mother whose\nlaughing face was bent down over her little one.\n\nBartja was very happy with his child. When the little creature buried its\ntiny fingers in his curls and beard, he would draw his head back to feel\nthe strength of the little hand, would kiss its rosy feet, its little\nround white shoulders and dimpled arms. Sappho enjoyed the fun, always\ntrying to draw the little one's attention to its father.\n\nSometimes, when she stooped down to kiss the rosy baby lips, her forehead\nwould touch his curls and he would steal the kiss meant for the little\nParmys.\n\nRhodopis watched them a long time unperceived, and, with tears of joy in\nher eyes, prayed the gods that they might long be as happy as they now\nwere. At last she came into the arbor to wish them good-morning, and\nbestowed much praise on old Melitta for appearing at the right moment,\nparasol in hand, to take her charge out of the sunshine before it became\ntoo bright and hot, and put her to sleep.\n\nThe old slave had been appointed head-nurse to the high-born child, and\nacquitted herself in her new office with an amount of importance which\nwas very comical. Hiding her old limbs under rich Persian robes, she\nmoved about exulting in the new and delightful right to command, and kept\nher inferiors in perpetual motion.\n\nSappho followed Melitta into the palace, first whispering in her\nhusband's ear with her arm round his neck: \"Tell my grandmother\neverything and ask whether you are right.\"\n\nBefore he could answer, she had stopped his mouth with a kiss, and then\nhurried after the old woman who was departing with dignified steps.\n\nThe prince smiled as he watched her graceful walk and beautiful figure,\nand said, turning to Rhodopis: \"Does not it strike you, that she has\ngrown taller lately.\"\n\n\"It seems so,\" answered Rhodopis. \"A woman's girlhood has its own\npeculiar charm, but her true dignity comes with motherhood. It is the\nfeeling of having fulfilled her destiny, which raises her head and makes\nus fancy she has grown taller.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Bartja, \"I think she is happy. Yesterday our opinions\ndiffered for the first time, and as she was leaving us just now, she\nbegged me, privately, to lay the question before you, which I am very\nglad to do, for I honor your experience and wisdom just as much, as I\nlove her childlike inexperience.\"\n\nBartja then told the story of the unfortunate shooting-match, finishing\nwith these words: \"Croesus blames my imprudence, but I know my brother; I\nknow that when he is angry he is capable of any act of violence, and it\nis not impossible that at the moment when he felt himself defeated he\ncould have killed me; but I know too, that when his fierce passion has\ncooled, he will forget my boastful deed, and only try to excel me by\nothers of the same kind. A year ago he was by far the best marksman in\nPersia, and would be so still, if drink and epilepsy had not undermined\nhis strength. I must confess I feel as if I were becoming stronger every\nday.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" interrupted Rhodopis, \"pure happiness strengthens a man's arm,\njust as it adds to the beauty of a woman, while intemperance and mental\ndistress ruin both body and mind far more surely even than old age. My\nson, beware of your brother; his strong arm has become paralyzed, and his\ngenerosity can be forfeited too. Trust my experience, that the man who is\nthe slave of one evil passion, is very seldom master of the rest; besides\nwhich, no one feels humiliation so bitterly as he who is sinking--who\nknows that his powers are forsaking him. I say again, beware of your\nbrother, and trust the voice of experience more than that of your own\nheart, which, because it is generous itself, believes every one else to\nbe so.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Bartja, \"that you will take Sappho's side. Difficult as it\nwill be for her to part from you, she has still begged me to return with\nher to Persia. She thinks that Cambyses may forget his anger, when I am\nout of sight. I thought she was over-anxious, and besides, it would\ndisappoint me not to take part in the expedition against the Ethiopians.\"\n\n\"But I entreat you,\" interrupted Rhodopis, \"to follow her advice. The\ngods only know what pain it will give me to lose you both, and yet I\nrepeat a thousand times: Go back to Persia, and remember that none but\nfools stake life and happiness to no purpose. As to the war with\nEthiopia, it is mere madness; instead of subduing those black inhabitants\nof the south, you yourselves will be conquered by heat, thirst and all\nthe horrors of the desert. In saying this I refer to the campaigns in\ngeneral; as to your own share in them, I can only say that if no fame is\nto be won there, you will be putting your own life and the happiness of\nyour family in jeopardy literally for nothing, and that if, on the other\nhand, you should distinguish yourself again, it would only be giving\nfresh cause of jealousy and anger to your brother. No, go to Persia, as\nsoon as you can.\"\n\nBartja was just beginning to make various objections to these arguments,\nwhen he caught sight of Prexaspes coming up to them, looking very pale.\n\nAfter the usual greeting, the envoy whispered to Bartja, that he should\nlike to speak with him alone. Rhodopis left them at once, and he began,\nplaying with the rings on his right hand as he spoke, in a constrained,\nembarrassed way. \"I come from the king. Your display of strength\nirritated him yesterday, and he does not wish to see you again for some\ntime. His orders are, that you set out for Arabia to buy up all the\ncamels that are to be had.\n\n   [Camels are never represented on the Egyptian monuments, whereas\n   they were in great use among the Arabians and Persians, and are now\n   a necessity on the Nile. They must have existed in Egypt, however.\n   Hekekyan-Bey discovered the bones of a dromedary in a deep bore.\n   Representations of these creatures were probably forbid We know this\n   was the case with the cock, of which bird there were large numbers\n   in Egypt: It is remarkable, that camels were not introduced into\n   Barbary until after the birth of Christ.]\n\n\"As these animals can bear thirst very long, they are to be used in\nconveying food and water for our army on the Ethiopian campaign. There\nmust be no delay. Take leave of your wife, and (I speak by the king's\ncommand) be ready to start before dark. You will be absent at least a\nmonth. I am to accompany you as far as Pelusium. Kassandane wishes to\nhave your wife and child near her during your absence. Send them to\nMemphis as soon as possible; under the protection of the queen mother,\nthey will be in safety.\"\n\nPrexaspes' short, constrained way of speaking did not strike Bartja. He\nrejoiced at what seemed to him great moderation on the part of his\nbrother, and at receiving a commission which relieved him of all doubt on\nthe question of leaving Egypt, gave his friend, (as he supposed him to\nbe), his hand to kiss and an invitation to follow him into the palace.\n\nIn the cool of the evening, he took a short but very affectionate\nfarewell of Sappho and his child, who was asleep in Melitta's arms, told\nhis wife to set out as soon as possible on her journey to Kassandane,\ncalled out jestingly to his mother-in-law, that at least this time she\nhad been mistaken in her judgment of a man's character, (meaning his\nbrother's), and sprang on to his horse.\n\nAs Prexaspes was mounting, Sappho whispered to him, \"Take care of that\nreckless fellow, and remind him of me and his child, when you see him\nrunning into unnecessary danger.\"\n\n\"I shall have to leave him at Pelusium,\" answered the envoy, busying\nhimself with the bridle of his horse in order to avoid meeting her eyes.\n\n\"Then may the gods take him into their keeping!\" exclaimed Sappho,\nclasping her husband's hand, and bursting into tears, which she could not\nkeep back. Bartja looked down and saw his usually trustful wife in tears.\nHe felt sadder than he had ever felt before. Stooping down lovingly from\nhis saddle, he put his strong arm round her waist, lifted her up to him,\nand as she stood supporting herself on his foot in the stirrup, pressed\nher to his heart, as if for a long last farewell. He then let her safely\nand gently to the ground, took his child up to him on the saddle, kissed\nand fondled the little creature, and told her laughingly to make her\nmother very happy while he was away, exchanged some warm words of\nfarewell with Rhodopis, and then, spurring his horse till the creature\nreared, dashed through the gateway of the Pharaohs' palace, with\nPrexaspes at his side.\n\nWhen the sound of the horses' hoofs had died away in the distance, Sappho\nlaid her head on her grandmother's shoulder and wept uncontrollably.\nRhodopis remonstrated and blamed, but all in vain, she could not stop her\ntears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nOn the morning after the trial of the bow, Cambyses was seized by such a\nviolent attack of his old illness, that he was forced to keep his room\nfor two days and nights, ill in mind and body; at times raging like a\nmadman, at others weak and powerless as a little child.\n\nOn the third day he recovered consciousness and remembered the awful\ncharge he had laid on Prexaspes, and that it was only too possible he\nmight have executed it already. At this thought he trembled, as he had\nnever trembled in his life before. He sent at once for the envoy's eldest\nson, who was one of the royal cup-bearers. The boy said his father had\nleft Memphis, without taking leave of his family. He then sent for\nDarius, Zopyrus and Gyges, knowing how tenderly they loved Bartja, and\nenquired after their friend. On hearing from them that he was at Sais, he\nsent the three youths thither at once, charging them, if they met\nPrexaspes on the way, to send him back to Memphis without delay. This\nhaste and the king's strange behavior were quite incomprehensible to the\nyoung Achaemenidae; nevertheless they set out on their journey with all\nspeed, fearing that something must be wrong.\n\nCambyses, meanwhile, was miserably restless, inwardly cursed his habit of\ndrinking and tasted no wine the whole of that clay. Seeing his mother in\nthe palace-gardens, he avoided her; he durst not meet her eye.\n\nThe next eight days passed without any sign of Prexaspes' return; they\nseemed to the king like a year. A hundred times he sent for the young\ncup-bearer and asked if his father had returned; a hundred times he\nreceived the same disappointing answer.\n\nAt sunset on the thirteenth day, Kassandane sent to beg a visit from him.\nThe king went at once, for now he longed to look on the face of his\nmother; he fancied it might give him back his lost sleep.\n\nAfter he had greeted her with a tenderness so rare from him, that it\nastonished her, he asked for what reason she had desired his presence.\nShe answered, that Bartja's wife had arrived at Memphis under singular\ncircumstances and had said she wished to present a gift to Cambyses. He\ngave Sappho an audience at once, and heard from her that Prexaspes had\nbrought her husband an order to start for Arabia, and herself a summons\nto Memphis from the queen-mother. At these words the king turned very\npale, and his features were agitated with pain as he looked at his\nbrother's lovely young wife. She felt that something unusual was passing\nin his mind, and such dreadful forebodings arose in her own, that she\ncould only offer him the gift in silence and with trembling hands.\n\n\"My husband sends you this,\" she said, pointing to the\ningeniously-wrought box, which contained the wax likeness of Nitetis.\nRhodopis had advised her to take this to the king in Bartja's name, as a\npropitiatory offering.\n\nCambyses showed no curiosity as to the contents of the box, gave it in\ncharge to a eunuch, said a few words which seemed meant as thanks to his\nsister-in law, and left the women's apartments without even so much as\nenquiring after Atossa, whose existence he seemed to have forgotten.\n\nHe had come to his mother, believing that the visit would comfort and\ncalm his troubled mind, but Sappho's words had destroyed his last hope,\nand with that his last possibility of rest or peace. By this time either\nPrexaspes would already have committed the murder, or perhaps at that\nvery moment might be raising his dagger to plunge it into Bartja's heart.\n\nHow could he ever meet his mother again after Bartja's death? how could\nhe answer her questions or those of that lovely Sappho, whose large,\nanxious, appealing eyes had touched him so strangely?\n\nA voice within told him, that his brother's murder would be branded as a\ncowardly, unnatural, and unjust deed, and he shuddered at the thought. It\nseemed fearful, unbearable, to be called an assassin. He had already\ncaused the death of many a man without the least compunction, but that\nhad been done either in fair fight, or openly before the world. He was\nking, and what the king did was right. Had he killed Bartja with his own\nhand, his conscience would not have reproached him; but to have had him\nprivately put out of the way, after he had given so many proofs of\npossessing first-rate manly qualities, which deserved the highest\npraise--this tortured him with a feeling of rage at his own want of\nprinciple,-a feeling of shame and remorse which he had never known\nbefore. He began to despise himself. The consciousness of having acted,\nand wished to act justly, forsook him, and he began to fancy, that every\none who had been executed by his orders, had been, like Bartja, an\ninnocent victim of his fierce anger. These thoughts became so\nintolerable, that he began to drink once more in the hope of drowning\nthem. But now the wine had precisely the opposite effect, and brought\nsuch tormenting thoughts, that, worn out as he was already by epileptic\nfits and his habit of drinking, both body and mind threatened to give way\nto the agitation caused by the events of the last months. Burning and\nshivering by turns, he was at last forced to lie down. While the\nattendants were disrobing him, he remembered his brother's present, had\nthe box fetched and opened, and then desired to be left alone. The\nEgyptian paintings on the outside of the box reminded him of Nitetis, and\nthen he asked himself what she would have said to his deed. Fever had\nalready begun, and his mind was wandering as he took the beautiful wax\nbust out of the box. He stared in horror at the dull, immovable eyes. The\nlikeness was so perfect, and his judgment so weakened by wine and fever,\nthat he fancied himself the victim of some spell, and yet could not turn\nhis eyes from those dear features. Suddenly the eyes seemed to move. He\nwas seized with terror, and, in a kind of convulsion, hurled what he\nthought had become a living head against the wall. The hollow, brittle\nwax broke into a thousand fragments, and Cambyses sank back on to his bed\nwith a groan.\n\nFrom that moment the fever increased. In his delirium the banished Phanes\nappeared, singing a scornful Greek song and deriding him in such infamous\nwords, that his fists clenched with rage. Then he saw his friend and\nadviser, Croesus, threatening him in the very same words of warning,\nwhich he had used when Bartja had been sentenced to death by his command\non account of Nitetis: \"Beware of shedding a brother's blood; the smoke\nthereof will rise to heaven and become a cloud, that must darken the days\nof the murderer, and at last cast down the lightnings of heaven upon his\nhead.\"\n\nAnd in his delirious fancy this figure of speech became a reality. A rain\nof blood streamed down upon him from dark clouds; his clothes and hands\nwere wet with the loathsome moisture. He went down to the Nile to cleanse\nhimself, and suddenly saw Nitetis coming towards him. She had the same\nsweet smile with which Theodorus had modelled her. Enchanted with this\nlovely vision, he fell down before her and took her hand, but he had\nscarcely touched it, when drops of blood appeared at the tips of her\ndelicate fingers, and she turned away from him with every sign of horror.\nHe humbly implored her to forgive him and come back; she remained\ninexorable. He grew angry, and threatened her, first with his wrath, and\nthen with awful punishments. At last, as she only answered his threats by\na low scornful laugh, he ventured to throw his dagger at her. She\ncrumbled at once into a thousand pieces, like the wax statue. But the\nderisive laughter echoed on, and became louder. Many voices joined in it,\neach trying to outbid the other. And the voices of Bartja and Nitetis\nwere the loudest,--their tone the most bitter. At last he could bear\nthese fearful sounds no longer and stopped his ears; this was of no use,\nand he buried his head, first in the glowing desert-sand and then in the\nicy cold Nile-water, until his senses forsook him. On awaking, the actual\nstate of things seemed incomprehensible to him. He had gone to bed in the\nevening, and yet he now saw, by the direction of the sun's rays which\nfell on his bed, that, instead of dawning as he had expected, the day was\ngrowing dark. There could be no mistake; he heard the chorus of priests\nsinging farewell to the setting Mithras.\n\nThen he heard a number of people moving behind a curtain, which had been\nhung up at the head of his bed. He tried to turn in his bed, but could\nnot; he was too weak. At last, finding it impossible to discover whether\nhe was in real life or still in a dream, he called for his dressers and\nthe courtiers, who were accustomed to be present when he rose. They\nappeared in a moment, and with them his mother, Prexaspes, a number of\nthe learned among the Magi, and some Egyptians who were unknown to him.\nThey told him, that he had been lying in a violent fever for weeks, and\nhad only escaped death by the special mercy of the gods, the skill of the\nphysicians, and the unwearied nursing of his mother. He looked\nenquiringly first at Kassandane, then at Prexaspes, lost consciousness\nagain, and fell into a deep sleep, from which he awoke the next morning\nwith renewed strength.\n\nIn four days he was strong enough to sit up and able to question\nPrexaspes on the only subject, which occupied his thoughts.\n\nIn consideration of his master's weakness the envoy was beginning an\nevasive reply, when a threatening movement of the king's gaunt, worn\nhand, and a look which had by no means lost its old power of awing into\nsubmission, brought him to the point at once, and in the hope of giving\nthe king a great pleasure and putting his mind completely at rest, he\nbegan: \"Rejoice, O King! the youth, who dared to desire the disparagement\nof thy glory, is no more. This hand slew him and buried his body at\nBaal-Zephon. The sand of the desert and the unfruitful waves of the Red\nSea were the only witnesses of the deed; and no creature knows thereof\nbeside thyself, O King, thy servant Prexaspes, and the gulls and\ncormorants, that hover over his grave.\"\n\nThe king uttered a piercing shriek of rage, was seized by a fresh\nshivering-fit, and sank back once more in raving delirium.\n\nLong weeks passed, every day of which threatened its death. At last,\nhowever, his strong constitution gained the day, but his mind had given\nway, and remained disordered and weak up to his last hour.\n\nWhen he was strong enough to leave the sick-room and to ride and shoot\nonce more, he abandoned himself more than ever to the pleasure of\ndrinking, and lost every remnant of self-control.\n\nThe delusion had fixed itself in his disordered mind, that Bartja was not\ndead, but transformed into the bow of the King of Ethiopia, and that the\nFeruer (soul) of his father Cyrus had commanded him to restore Bartja to\nits original form, by subjugating the black nation.\n\nThis idea, which he confided to every one about him as a great secret,\npursued him day and night and gave him no rest, until he had started for\nEthiopia with an immense host. He was forced, however, to return without\nhaving accomplished his object, after having miserably lost the greater\npart of his army by heat and the scarcity of provisions. An historian,\nwho may almost be spoken of as contemporary, tells us that the wretched\nsoldiers, after having subsisted on herbs as long as they could, came to\ndeserts where there was no sign of vegetation, and in their despair\nresorted to an expedient almost too fearful to describe. Lots were drawn\nby every ten men, and he on whom the lot fell was killed and eaten by the\nother nine.\n\n   [Herodotus visited Egypt some 60 years after the death of Cambyses,\n   454 B.C. He describes the Ethiopian campaign, III. 25.]\n\nAt last things went so far, that his subjects compelled this madman to\nreturn, but only, with their slavish Asiatic feelings, to obey him all\nthe more blindly, when they found themselves once more in inhabited\nregions.\n\nOn reaching Memphis with the wreck of his army, he found the Egyptians in\nglorious apparel celebrating a festival. They had found a new Apis and\nwere rejoicing over the reappearance of their god, incarnate in the\nsacred bull.\n\nAs Cambyses had heard at Thebes, that the army he had sent against the\noasis of Ammon in the Libyan desert, had perished miserably in a Khamsin,\nor Simoom, and that his fleet, which was to conquer Carthage, had refused\nto fight with a people of their own race, he fancied that the Memphians\nmust be celebrating a festival of joy at the news of his misfortunes,\nsent for their principal men, and after reproaching them with their\nconduct, asked why they had been gloomy and morose after his victories,\nbut joyous at hearing of his misfortunes. The Memphians answered by\nexplaining the real ground for their merry-making, and told him, that the\nappearance of the sacred bull was always celebrated in Egypt with the\ngreatest rejoicings. Cambyses called them liars, and, as such, sentenced\nthem to death. He then sent for the priests; received, however, exactly\nthe same answer from them.\n\nWith the bitterest irony he asked to be allowed to make the acquaintance\nof this new god, and commanded them to bring him. The bull Apis was\nbrought and the king told that he was the progeny of a virgin cow and a\nmoonbeam, that he must be black, with a white triangular spot on the\nforehead, the likeness of an eagle on his back, and on his side the\ncrescent moon. There must be two kinds of hair on his tail, and on his\ntongue an excrescence in the form of the sacred beetle Scarabaeus.\n\nWhen Cambyses saw this deified creature he could discover nothing\nremarkable in him, and was so enraged that he plunged his sword into its\nside. As the blood streamed from the wound and the animal fell, he broke\nout into a piercing laugh, and cried: \"Ye fools! so your gods are flesh\nand blood; they can be wounded. Such folly is worthy of you. But ye shall\nfind, that it is not so easy to make a fool of me. Ho, guards! flog these\npriests soundly, and kill every one whom you find taking part in this mad\ncelebration.\" The command was obeyed and fearfully exasperated the\nEgyptians.\n\n   [According to Herod. III. 29. Cambyses' sword slipped and ran into\n   the leg of the sacred bull. As the king died also of a wound in the\n   thigh, this just suits Herodotus, who always tries to put the\n   retribution that comes after presumptuous crime in the strongest\n   light; but it is very unlikely that the bull should have died of a\n   mere thigh wound.]\n\nApis died of his wound; the Memphians buried him secretly in the vaults\nbelonging to the sacred bulls, near the Serapeum, and, led by Psamtik,\nattempted an insurrection against the Persians. This was very quickly put\ndown, however, and cost Psamtik his life,--a life the stains and\nseverities of which deserve to be forgiven, in consideration of his\nunwearied, ceaseless efforts to deliver his people from a foreign yoke,\nand his death in the cause of freedom.\n\nCambyses' madness had meanwhile taken fresh forms. After the failure of\nhis attempt to restore Bartja, (transformed as he fancied into a bow) to\nhis original shape, his irritability increased so frightfully that a\nsingle word, or even a look, was sufficient to make him furious. Still\nhis true friend and counsellor, Croesus, never left him, though the king\nhad more than once given him over to the guards for execution. But the\nguards knew their master; they took good care not to lay hands on the old\nman, and felt sure of impunity, as the king would either have forgotten\nhis command, or repented of it by the next day, Once, however, the\nmiserable whip bearers paid a fearful penalty for their lenity. Cambyses,\nwhile rejoicing that Croesus was saved, ordered his deliverers to be\nexecuted for disobedience without mercy.\n\nIt would be repugnant to us to repeat all the tales of barbarous\ncruelties, which are told of Cambyses at this insane period of his life;\nbut we cannot resist mentioning a few which seem to us especially\ncharacteristic.\n\nWhile sitting at table one day, already somewhat intoxicated, he asked\nPrexaspes what the Persians thought of him. The envoy, who in hopes of\ndeadening his tormenting conscience by the performance of noble and\ndangerous acts, let no opportunity pass of trying to exercise a good\ninfluence over his sovereign, answered that they extolled him on every\npoint, but thought he was too much addicted to wine.\n\nThese words, though spoken half in jest, put the king into a violent\npassion, and he almost shrieked: \"So the Persians say, that the wine has\ntaken away my senses, do they? on the contrary, I'll show them that\nthey've lost their own.\" And as he spoke he bent his bow, took aim for a\nmoment at Prexaspes' eldest son, who, as cup-bearer, was standing at the\nback of the hall waiting for and watching every look of his sovereign,\nand shot him in the breast. He then gave orders that the boy's body\nshould be opened and examined. The arrow had pierced the centre of his\nheart. This delighted the senseless tyrant, and he called out with a\nlaugh: \"Now you see, Prexaspes, it's the Persians who have lost their\njudgment, not I. Could any one have hit the mark better?\"\n\nPrexaspes stood there, pale and motionless, compelled to watch the horrid\nscene, like Niobe when chained to Sipylus. His servile spirit bowed\nbefore the ruler's power, instead of arming his right hand with the\ndagger of revenge, and when the frantic king asked him the same question\na second time, he actually answered, pressing his hand on his heart: \"A\ngod could not have hit the mark more exactly.\"\n\nA few weeks after this, the king went to Sais, and there was shown the\nrooms formerly occupied by his bride. This brought back all the old\npainful recollections in full force, and at the same time his clouded\nmemory reminded him, though without any clearness of detail, that Amasis\nhad deceived both Nitetis and himself. He cursed the dead king and\nfuriously demanded to be taken to the temple of Neith, where his mummy\nwas laid. There he tore the embalmed body out of its sarcophagus, caused\nit to be scourged, to be stabbed with pins, had the hair torn off and\nmaltreated it in every possible way. In conclusion, and contrary to the\nancient Persian religious law, which held the pollution of pure fire by\ncorpses to be a deadly sin, he caused Amasis' dead body to be burnt, and\ncondemned the mummy of his first wife, which lay in a sarcophagus at\nThebes, her native place, to the same fate.\n\nOn his return to Memphis, Cambyses did not shrink from personally\nill-treating his wife and sister, Atossa.\n\nHe had ordered a combat of wild beasts to take place, during which,\namongst other entertainments of the same kind, a dog was to fight with a\nyoung lion. The lion had conquered his antagonist, when another dog, the\nbrother of the conquered one, broke away from his chain, attacked the\nlion, and with the help of the wounded dog, vanquished him.\n\nThis scene delighted Cambyses, but Kassandane and Atossa, who had been\nforced by the king's command to be present, began to weep aloud.\n\nThe tyrant was astonished, and on asking the reason for their tears,\nreceived as answer from the impetuous Atossa, that the brave creature who\nhad risked its own life to save its brother, reminded her of Bartja. She\nwould not say by whom he had been murdered, but his murder had never been\navenged.\n\nThese words so roused the king's anger, and so goaded his conscience,\nthat in a fit of insane fury he struck the daring woman, and might\npossibly have killed her, if his mother had not thrown herself into his\narms and exposed her own body to his mad blows.\n\nHer voice and action checked his rage, for he had not lost reverence for\nhis mother; but her look of intense anger and contempt, which he clearly\nsaw and could not forget, begot a fresh delusion in his mind. He believed\nfrom that moment, that the eyes of women had power to poison him; he\nstarted and hid himself behind his companions whenever he saw a woman,\nand at last commanded that all the female inhabitants of the palace at\nMemphis, his mother not excepted, should be sent back to Ecbatana.\nAraspes and Gyges were appointed to be their escort thither.\n\n          ......................\n\nThe caravan of queens and princesses had arrived at Sais; they alighted\nat the royal palace. Croesus had accompanied them thus far on their way\nfrom Egypt.\n\nKassandane had altered very much during the last few years. Grief and\nsuffering had worn deep lines in her once beautiful face, though they had\nhad no power to bow her stately figure.\n\nAtossa, on the contrary, was more beautiful than ever, notwithstanding\nall she had suffered. The refractory and impetuous child, the daring\nspirited girl, had developed into a dignified, animated and determined\nwoman. The serious side of life, and three sad years passed with her\nungovernable husband and brother, had been first-rate masters in the\nschool of patience, but they had not been able to alienate her heart from\nher first love. Sappho's friendship had made up to her in some measure\nfor the loss of Darius.\n\nThe young Greek had become another creature, since the mysterious\ndeparture of her husband. Her rosy color and her lovely smile were both\ngone. But she was wonderfully beautiful, in spite of her paleness, her\ndowncast eyelashes and languid attitude. She looked like Ariadne waiting\nfor Theseus. Longing and expectation lay in every look, in the low tone\nof her voice, in her measured walk. At the sound of approaching steps,\nthe opening of a door or the unexpected tones of a man's voice, she would\nstart, get up and listen, and then sink back into the old waiting,\nlonging attitude, disappointed but not hopeless. She began to dream\nagain, as she had been so fond of doing in her girlish days.\n\nShe was her old self only when playing with her child. Then the color\ncame back to her cheeks, her eyes sparkled, she seemed once more to live\nin the present, and not only in the past or future.\n\nHer child was everything to her. In that little one Bartja seemed to be\nstill alive, and she could love the child with all her heart and\nstrength, without taking one iota from her love to him. With this little\ncreature the gods had mercifully given her an aim in life and a link with\nthe lower world, the really precious part of which had seemed to vanish\nwith her vanished husband. Sometimes, as she looked into her baby's blue\neyes, so wonderfully like Bartja's, she thought: Why was not she born a\nboy? He would have grown more like his father from day to day, and at\nlast, if such a thing indeed could ever be, a second Bartja would have\nstood before me.\n\nBut such thoughts generally ended soon in her pressing the little one\ncloser than ever to her heart, and blaming herself for ingratitude and\nfolly.\n\nOne day Atossa put the same idea in words, exclaiming: \"If Parmys were\nonly a boy! He would have grown up exactly like his father, and have been\na second Cyrus for Persia.\" Sappho smiled sadly at her friend, and\ncovered the little one with kisses, but Kassandane said: \"Be thankful to\nthe gods, my child, for having given you a daughter. If Parmys were a\nboy, he would be taken from you as soon as he had reached his sixth year,\nto be brought up with the sons of the other Achaemenidae, but your\ndaughter will remain your own for many years.\"\n\nSappho trembled at the mere thought of parting from her child; she\npressed its little fair curly head close to her breast, and never found,\nfault with her treasure again for being a girl.\n\nAtossa's friendship was a great comfort to her poor wounded heart. With\nher she could speak of Bartja as much and as often as she would, and was\nalways certain of a kind and sympathizing listener. Atossa had loved her\nvanished brother very dearly. And even a stranger would have enjoyed\nhearing Sappho tell of her past happiness. Her words rose into real\neloquence in speaking of those bright days; she seemed like an inspired\npoetess. Then she would take her lyre, and with her clear, sweet,\nplaintive voice sing the love-songs of the elder Sappho, in which all her\nown deepest feelings were so truly expressed, and fancy herself once more\nwith her lover sitting under the sweet-scented acanthus in the quiet\nnight, and forget the sad reality of her present life. And when, with a\ndeep sigh, she laid aside the lyre and came back out of this\ndream-kingdom, the tears were always to be seen in Kassandane's eyes,\nthough she did not understand the language in which Sappho had been\nsinging, and Atossa would bend down and kiss her forehead.\n\nThus three long years had passed, during which Sappho had seldom seen her\ngrandmother, for, as the mother of Parmys, she was by the king's command,\nforbidden to leave the harem, unless permitted and accompanied either by\nKassandane or the eunuchs.\n\nOn the present occasion Croesus, who had always loved, and loved her\nstill, like a daughter, had sent for Rhodopis to Sais. He, as well as\nKassandane, understood her wish to take leave of this, her dearest and\nmost faithful friend, before setting out for Persia; besides which\nKassandane had a great wish to see one in whose praise she had heard so\nmuch. When Sappho's tender and sad farewell was over therefore, Rhodopis\nwas summoned to the queen-mother.\n\nA stranger, who saw these two women together, would have thought both\nwere queens; it was impossible to decide which of the two had most right\nto the title.\n\nCroesus, standing as he did in as close a relation to the one as to the\nother, undertook the office of interpreter, and the ready intellect of\nRhodopis helped him to carry on an uninterrupted flow of conversation.\n\nRhodopis, by her own peculiar attractions, soon won the heart of\nKassandane, and the queen knew no better way of proving this than by\noffering, in Persian fashion, to grant her some wish.\n\nRhodopis hesitated a moment; then raising her hands as if in prayer, she\ncried: \"Leave me my Sappho, the consolation and beauty of my old age.\"\n\nKassandane smiled sadly. \"It is not in my power to grant that wish,\" she\nanswered. \"The laws of Persia command, that the children of the\nAchaemenidae shall be brought up at the king's gate. I dare not allow the\nlittle Parmys, Cyrus' only grandchild, to leave me, and, much as Sappho\nloves you, you know she would not part from her child. Indeed, she has\nbecome so dear to me now, and to my daughter, that though I well\nunderstand your wish to have her, I could never allow Sappho to leave\nus.\"\n\nSeeing that Rhodopis' eyes were filling with tears, Kassandane went on:\n\"There is, however, a good way out of our perplexity. Leave Naukratis,\nand come with us to Persia. There you can spend your last years with us\nand with your granddaughter, and shall be provided with a royal\nmaintenance.\"\n\nRhodopis shook her head, hoary but still so beautiful, and answered in a\nsuppressed voice: \"I thank you, noble queen, for this gracious\ninvitation, but I feel unable to accept it. Every fibre of my heart is\nrooted in Greece, and I should be tearing my life out by leaving it\nforever. I am so accustomed to constant activity, perfect freedom, and a\nstirring exchange of thought, that I should languish and die in the\nconfinement of a harem. Croesus had already prepared me for the gracious\nproposal you have just made, and I have had a long and difficult battle\nto fight, before I could decide on resigning my dearest blessing for my\nhighest good. It is not easy, but it is glorious, it is more worthy of\nthe Greek name--to live a good and beautiful life, than a happy one--to\nfollow duty rather than pleasure. My heart will follow Sappho, but my\nintellect and experience belong to the Greeks; and if you should ever\nhear that the people of Hellas are ruled by themselves alone, by their\nown gods, their own laws, the beautiful and the good, then you will know\nthat the work on which Rhodopis, in league with the noblest and best of\nher countrymen, has staked her life, is accomplished. Be not angry with\nthe Greek woman, who confesses that she would rather die free as a beggar\nthan live in bondage as a queen, though envied by the whole world.\"\n\nKassandane listened in amazement. She only understood part of what\nRhodopis had said, but felt that she had spoken well and nobly, and at\nthe conclusion gave her her hand to kiss. After a short pause, Kassandane\nsaid: \"Do what you think right, and remember, that as long as I and my\ndaughter live, your granddaughter will never want for true and faithful\nlove.\"\n\n\"Your noble countenance and the fame of your great virtue are warrant\nenough for that.\" answered Rhodopis.\n\n\"And also,\" added the queen, \"the duty which lies upon me to make good\nthe wrong, that has been done your Sappho.\"\n\nShe sighed painfully and went on: \"The little Parmys shall be carefully\neducated. She seems to have much natural talent, and can sing the songs\nof her native country already after her mother. I shall do nothing to\ncheck her love of music, though, in Persia the religious services are the\nonly occasions in which that art is studied by any but the lower\nclasses.\"\n\nAt these words Rhodopis' face glowed. \"Will you permit me to speak\nopenly, O Queen?\" she said. \"Speak without fear,\" was Kassandane's\nanswer. \"When you sighed so painfully just now in speaking of your dear\nlost son, I thought: Perhaps that brave young hero might have been still\nliving, if the Persians had understood better how to educate their sons.\nBartja told me in what that education consisted. To shoot, throw the\nspear, ride, hunt, speak the truth, and perhaps also to distinguish\nbetween the healing and noxious properties of certain plants: that is\ndeemed a sufficient educational provision for a man's life. The Greek\nboys are just as carefully kept to the practice of exercises for\nhardening and bracing the body; for these exercises are the founders and\npreservers of health, the physician is only its repairer and restorer.\nIf, however, by constant practice a Greek youth were to attain to the\nstrength of a bull, the truth of the Deity, and the wisdom of the most\nlearned Egyptian priest, we should still look down upon him were he\nwanting in two things which only early example and music, combined with\nthese bodily exercises, can give: grace and symmetry. You smile because\nyou do not understand me, but I can prove to you that music, which, from\nwhat Sappho tells me, is not without its moving power for your heart, is\nas important an element in education as gymnastics, and, strange as it\nmay sound, has an equal share in effecting the perfection of both body\nand mind. The man who devotes his attention exclusively to music will, if\nhe be of a violent disposition, lose his savage sternness at first; he\nwill become gentle and pliable as metal in the fire. But at last his\ncourage will disappear too; his passionate temper will have changed into\nirritability, and he will be of little worth as a warrior, the calling\nand character most desired in your country. If, on the other hand, he\nconfines himself to gymnastics only, he will, like Cambyses, excel in\nmanliness and strength; but his mind--here my comparison ceases--will\nremain obtuse and blind, his perceptions will be confused, He will not\nlisten to reason, but will endeavor to carry everything by force, and,\nlacking grace and proportion, his life will probably become a succession\nof rude and violent deeds. On this account we conclude that music is\nnecessary not only for the mind, and gymnastics not only for the body,\nbut that both, working together, elevate and soften the mind and\nstrengthen the body--give manly grace, and graceful manliness.\"\n\n   [The fundamental ideas of this speech are drawn from\n   Plato's ideal \"State.\"]\n\nAfter a moment's pause Rhodopis went on: \"The youth who has not received\nsuch an education, whose roughness has never been checked even in\nchildhood, who has been allowed to vent his temper on every one,\nreceiving flattery in return and never hearing reproof; who has been\nallowed to command before he has learnt to obey, and who has been brought\nup in the belief that splendor, power and riches are the highest good,\ncan never possibly attain to the perfect manhood, which we beseech the\ngods to grant our boys. And if this unfortunate being happens to have\nbeen born with an impetuous disposition, ungovernable and eager passions,\nthese will be only nourished and increased by bodily exercise\nunaccompanied by the softening influence of music, so that at last a\nchild, who possibly came into the world with good qualities, will, merely\nthrough the defects in his education, degenerate into a destructive\nanimal, a sensual self-destroyer, and a mad and furious tyrant.\"\n\nRhodopis had become animated with her subject. She ceased, saw tears in\nthe eyes of the queen, and felt that she had gone too far and had wounded\na mother's heart,--a heart full of noble feeling. She touched her robe,\nkissed its border, and said softly: \"Forgive me.\"\n\nKassandane looked her forgiveness, courteously saluted Rhodopis and\nprepared to leave the room. On the threshold, however, she stopped and\nsaid: \"I am not angry. Your reproaches are just; but you too must\nendeavor to forgive, for I can assure you that he who has murdered the\nhappiness of your child and of mine, though the most powerful, is of all\nmortals the most to be pitied. Farewell! Should you ever stand in need of\nought, remember Cyrus' widow, and how she wished to teach you, that the\nvirtues the Persians desire most in their children are magnanimity and\nliberality.\"\n\nAfter saying this she left the apartment.\n\nOn the same day Rhodopis heard that Phanes was dead. He had retired to\nCrotona in the neighborhood of Pythagoras and there passed his time in\nreflection, dying with the tranquillity of a philosopher.\n\nShe was deeply affected at this news and said to Croesus: \"Greece has\nlost one of her ablest men, but there are many, who will grow up to be\nhis equals. The increasing power of Persia causes me no fear; indeed, I\nbelieve that when the barbarous lust of conquest stretches out its hand\ntowards us, our many-headed Greece will rise as a giant with one head of\ndivine power, before which mere barbaric strength must bow as surely as\nbody before spirit.\"\n\nThree days after this, Sappho said farewell for the last time to her\ngrandmother, and followed the queens to Persia. Notwithstanding the\nevents which afterwards took place, she continued to believe that Bartja\nwould return, and full of love, fidelity and tender remembrance, devoted\nherself entirely to the education of her child and the care of her aged\nmother-in-law, Kassandane.\n\nLittle Parmys became very beautiful, and learnt to love the memory of her\nvanished father next to the gods of her native land, for her mother's\ntales had brought him as vividly before her as if he had been still alive\nand present with them.\n\nAtossa's subsequent good fortune and happiness did not cool her\nfriendship. She always called Sappho her sister. The hanging-gardens were\nthe latter's residence in summer, and in her conversations there with\nKassandane and Atossa one name was often mentioned--the name of her, who\nhad been the innocent cause of events which had decided the destinies of\ngreat kingdoms and noble lives--the Egyptian Princess.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nHere we might end this tale, but that we feel bound to give our readers\nsome account of the last days of Cambyses. We have already described the\nruin of his mind, but his physical end remains still to be told, and also\nthe subsequent fate of some of the other characters in our history.\n\nA short time after the departure of the queens, news reached Naukratis\nthat Oroetes, the satrap of Lydia, had, by a stratagem, allured his old\nenemy, Polykrates, to Sardis and crucified him there, thus fulfilling\nwhat Amasis had prophecied of the tyrant's mournful end. This act the\nsatrap had committed on his own responsibility, events having taken place\nin the Median kingdom which threatened the fall of the Achaemenidaean\ndynasty.\n\nThe king's long absence in a foreign country had either weakened or\nentirely dissipated, the fear which the mere mention of his name had\nformerly inspired in those who felt inclined to rebel. The awe that his\nsubjects had formerly felt for him, vanished at the tidings of his\nmadness, and the news that he had wantonly exposed the lives of thousands\nof their countrymen to certain death in the deserts of Libya and\nEthiopia, inspired the enraged Asiatics with a hatred which, when\nskilfully fed by the powerful Magi, soon roused, first the Medes and\nAssyrians, and then the Persians, to defection and open insurrection.\nMotives of self-interest led the ambitious high-priest, Oropastes, whom\nCambyses had appointed regent in his absence, to place himself at the\nhead of this movement. He flattered the people by remitting their taxes,\nby large gifts and larger promises, and finding his clemency gratefully\nrecognized, determined on an imposture, by which he hoped to win the\ncrown of Persia for his own family.\n\nHe had not forgotten the marvellous likeness between his brother Gaumata\n(who had been condemned to lose his ears) and Bartja, the son of Cyrus,\nand on hearing that the latter, the universal favorite, as he well knew,\nof the Persian nation, had disappeared, resolved to turn this to account\nby passing off his brother as the vanished prince, and setting him on the\nthrone in place of Cambyses. The hatred felt throughout the entire\nkingdom towards their insane king, and the love and attachment of the\nnation to Bartja, made this stratagem so easy of accomplishment, that\nwhen at last messengers from Oropastes arrived in all the provinces of\nthe empire declaring to the discontented citizens that, notwithstanding\nthe rumor they had heard, the younger son of Cyrus was still alive, had\nrevolted from his brother, ascended his father's throne and granted to\nall his subjects freedom from tribute and from military service during a\nperiod of three years, the new ruler was acknowledged throughout the\nkingdom with rejoicings.\n\nThe pretended Bartja, who was fully aware of his brother's mental\nsuperiority, had obeyed his directions in every particular, had taken up\nhis residence in the palace of Nisaea,--in the plains of Media, placed\nthe crown on his head, declared the royal harem his own, and had shown\nhimself once from a distance to the people, who were to recognize in him\nthe murdered Bartja. After that time, however, for fear of being at last\nunmasked, he concealed himself in his palace, giving himself up, after\nthe manner of Asiatic monarchs, to every kind of indulgence, while his\nbrother held the sceptre with a firm hand, and conferred all the\nimportant offices of state on his friends and family.\n\nNo sooner did Oropastes feel firm ground under his feet, than he\ndespatched the eunuch Ixabates to Egypt, to inform the army of the change\nof rulers that had taken place and persuade them to revolt in favor of\nBartja, who he knew had been idolized by the Soldiers.\n\nThe messenger had been well chosen, fulfilled his mission with much\nskill, and had already won over a considerable part of the army for the\nnew king, when he was taken prisoner by some Syrians, who brought him to\nMemphis in hopes of reward.\n\nOn arriving in the city of the Pyramids he was brought before the king,\nand promised impunity on condition of revealing the entire truth.\n\nThe messenger then confirmed the rumor, which had reached Egypt, that\nBartja had ascended the throne of Cyrus and had been recognized by the\ngreater part of the empire.\n\nCambyses started with terror at these tidings, as one who saw a dead man\nrise from his grave. He was by this time fully aware that Bartja had been\nmurdered by Prexaspes at his own command, but in this moment he began to\nsuspect that the envoy had deceived him and spared his brother's life.\nThe thought had no sooner entered his mind than he uttered it,\nreproaching Prexaspes so bitterly with treachery, as to elicit from him a\ntremendous oath, that he had murdered and buried the unfortunate Bartja\nwith his own hand.\n\nOropastes' messenger was next asked whether he had seen the new king\nhimself. He answered that he had not, adding that the supposed brother of\nCambyses had only once appeared in public, and had then shown himself to\nthe people from a distance. On hearing this, Prexaspes saw through the\nwhole web of trickery at once, reminded the king of the unhappy\nmisunderstandings to which the marvellous likeness between Bartja and\nGaumata had formerly given rise, and concluded by offering to stake his\nown life on the correctness of his supposition. The explanation pleased\nthe king, and from that moment his diseased mind was possessed by one new\nidea to the exclusion of all others--the seizure and slaughter of the\nMagi.\n\nThe host was ordered to prepare for marching. Aryandes,--one of the\nAchaemenidae, was appointed satrap of Egypt, and the army started\nhomeward without delay. Driven by this new delusion, the king took no\nrest by day or night, till at last his over-ridden and ill-used horse\nfell with him, and he was severely wounded in the fall by his own dagger.\n\nAfter lying insensible for some days, he opened his eyes and asked first\nto see Araspes, then his mother, and lastly Atossa, although these three\nhad set out on their journey home months before. From all he said it\nappeared that during the last four years, from the attack of fever until\nthe present accident, he had been living in a kind of sleep. He seemed\nastonished and pained at hearing what had happened during these years.\nBut of his brother's death he was fully aware. He knew that Prexaspes had\nkilled him by his--the king's--orders and had told him that Bartja lay\nburied on the shores of the Red Sea.--During the night which followed\nthis return to his senses it became clear to himself also, that his mind\nhad been wandering for along time. Towards morning he fell into a deep\nsleep, and this so restored his strength, that on waking he called for\nCroesus and required an exact relation of the events that had passed\nduring the last few years.\n\nHis old friend and adviser obeyed; he felt that Cambyses was still\nentrusted to his care, and in the hope, faint as it was, of bringing him\nback to the right way, he did not suppress one of the king's acts of\nviolence in his relation.\n\nHis joy was therefore great at perceiving, that his words made a deep\nimpression on the newly-awakened mind of the king. With tears in his\neyes, and with the ashamed look of a child, he grieved over his wrong\ndeeds and his madness, begged Croesus to forgive him, thanked him for\nhaving borne so long and faithfully with him, and commissioned him to ask\nKassandane and Sappho especially for forgiveness, but also, Atossa and\nall whom he had unjustly offended.\n\nThe old man wept too, but his tears were tears of joy and he repeatedly\nassured Cambyses that he would recover and have ample opportunity of\nmaking amends for the past. But to all this Cambyses shook his head\nresolutely, and, pale and wan as he looked, begged Croesus to have his\ncouch carried on to a rising ground in the open air, and then to summon\nthe Achaemenidae. When these orders, in spite of the physicians, had been\nobeyed, Cambyses was raised into an upright sitting position, and began,\nin a voice which could be heard at a considerable distance:\n\n\"The time to reveal my great secret has arrived, O ye Persians. Deceived\nby a vision, provoked and annoyed by my brother, I caused him to be\nmurdered in my wrath. Prexaspes wrought the evil deed by my command, but\ninstead of bringing me the peace I yearned for, that deed has tortured me\ninto madness and death. By this my confession ye will be convinced, that\nmy brother Bartja is really dead. The Magi have usurped the throne of the\nAchaemenidae. Oropastes, whom I left in Persia as my vicegerent and his\nbrother Gaumata, who resembles Bartja so nearly that even Croesus,\nIntaphernes and my uncle, the noble Hystaspes, were once deceived by the\nlikeness, have placed themselves at their head. Woe is me, that I have\nmurdered him who, as my nearest kinsman, should have avenged on the Magi\nthis affront to my honor. But I cannot recall him from the dead, and I\ntherefore appoint you the executors of my last will. By the Feruer of my\ndead father, and in the name of all good and pure spirits, I conjure you\nnot to suffer the government to fall into the hands of the unfaithful\nMagi. If they have obtained possession thereof by artifice, wrest it from\ntheir hands in like manner; if by force, use force to win it back. Obey\nthis my last will, and the earth will yield you its fruits abundantly;\nyour wives, your flocks and herds shall be blessed and freedom shall be\nyour portion. Refuse to obey it, and ye shall suffer the corresponding\nevils; yea, your end, and that of every Persian shall be even as mine.\"\n\nAfter these words the king wept and sank back fainting, on seeing which,\nthe Achaemenidae rent their clothes and burst into loud lamentations. A\nfew hours later Cambyses died in Croesus' arms. Nitetis was his last\nthought; he died with her name on his lips and tears of penitence in his\neyes. When the Persians had left the unclean corpse, Croesus knelt down\nbeside it and cried, raising his hand to heaven: \"Great Cyrus, I have\nkept my oath. I have remained this miserable man's faithful adviser even\nunto his end.\"\n\nThe next morning the old man betook himself, accompanied by his son\nGyges, to the town of Barene, which belonged to him, and lived there many\nyears as a father to his subjects, revered by Darius and praised by all\nhis contemporaries.\n\n          ........................\n\nAfter Cambyses' death the heads of the seven Persian tribes held a\ncouncil, and resolved, as a first measure, on obtaining certain\ninformation as to the person of the usurper. With this view, Otanes sent\na confidential eunuch to his daughter Phaedime, who, as they knew, had\ncome into the possession of the new king with the rest of Cambyses'\nharem.\n\n   [The names of the seven conspiring chiefs, given by Herodotus agree\n   for the most part with those in the cuneiform inscriptions. The\n   names are: Otanes, Intaphernes, Gobryas, Megabyzus, Aspatines,\n   Hydarnes and Darius Hystaspis. In the inscription Otana:\n   Vindafrand, Gaubaruva, Ardumams, Vidarna, Bagabukhsa and Darayavus.]\n\nBefore the messenger returned, the greater part of the army had\ndispersed, the soldiers seizing this favorable opportunity to return to\ntheir homes and families, after so many years of absence. At last,\nhowever, the long-expected messenger came back and brought for answer,\nthat the new king had only visited Phaedime once, but that during that\nvisit she had, at great personal risk, discovered that he had lost both\nears. Without this discovery, however, she could assert positively that\nthough there were a thousand points of similarity between the usurper and\nthe murdered Bartja, the former was in reality none other than Gaumata,\nthe brother of Oropastes. Her old friend Boges had resumed his office of\nchief of the eunuchs, and had revealed to her the secrets of the Magi.\nThe high-priest had met the former keeper of the women begging in the\nstreets of Susa, and had restored him to his old office with the words:\n\"You have forfeited your life, but I want men of your stamp.\" In\nconclusion. Phaedime entreated her father to use every means in his power\nfor the overthrow of the Magi, as they treated her with the greatest\ncontempt and she was the most miserable of women.\n\nThough none of the Achaemenidae hall really for a moment believed; that\nBartja was alive and had seized on the throne, so clear an account of the\nreal person of the usurper was very welcome to them, and they resolved at\nonce to march on Nisaea with the remnant of the army and overthrow the\nMagi either by craft or force.\n\nThey entered the new capital unassailed, and finding that the majority of\nthe people seemed content with the new government, they also pretended to\nacknowledge the king as the son of Cyrus, to whom they were prepared to\ndo homage. The Magi, however, were not deceived; they shut themselves up\nin their palace, assembled an army in the Nisaean plain, promised the\nsoldiers high pay, and used every effort to strengthen the belief of the\npeople in Gaumata's disguise. On this point no one could do them more\ninjury, or, if he chose, be more useful to them, than Prexaspes. He was\nmuch looked up to by the Persians, and his assurance, that he had not\nmurdered Bartja, would have been sufficient to tame the fast-spreading\nreport of the real way in which the youth had met his death. Oropastes,\ntherefore, sent for Prexaspes, who, since the king's dying words, had\nbeen avoided by all the men of his own rank and had led the life of an\noutlaw, and promised him an immense sum of money, if he would ascend a\nhigh tower and declare to the people, assembled in the court beneath,\nthat evil-disposed men had called him Bartja's murderer, whereas he had\nseen the new king with his own eyes and had recognized in him the younger\nson of his benefactor. Prexaspes made no objection to this proposal, took\na tender leave of his family while the people were being assembled,\nuttered a short prayer before the sacred fire-altar and walked proudly to\nthe palace. On his way thither he met the chiefs of the seven tribes and\nseeing that they avoided him, called out to them: \"I am worthy of your\ncontempt, but I will try to deserve your forgiveness.\"\n\nSeeing Darius look back, he hastened towards him, grasped his hand and\nsaid: \"I have loved you like a son; take care of my children when I am no\nmore, and use your pinions, winged Darius.\" Then, with the same proud\ndemeanor he ascended the tower.\n\nMany thousands of the citizens of Nisaea were within reach of his voice,\nas he cried aloud: \"Ye all know that the kings who have, up to the\npresent time, loaded you with honor and glory, belonged to the house of\nthe Achaemenidae. Cyrus governed you like a real father, Cambyses was a\nstern master, and Bartja would have guided you like a bridegroom, if I,\nwith this right hand which I now show you, had not slain him on the\nshores of the Red Sea. By Mithras, it was with a bleeding heart that I\ncommitted this wicked deed, but I did it as a faithful servant in\nobedience to the king's command. Nevertheless, it has haunted me by day\nand night; for four long years I have been pursued and tormented by the\nspirits of darkness, who scare sleep from the murderer's couch. I have\nnow resolved to end this painful, despairing existence by a worthy deed,\nand though even this may procure me no mercy at the bridge of Chinvat, in\nthe mouths of men, at least, I shall have redeemed my honorable name from\nthe stain with which I defiled it. Know then, that the man who gives\nhimself out for the son of Cyrus, sent me hither; he promised me rich\nrewards if I would deceive you by declaring him to be Bartja, the son of\nthe Achaemenidae. But I scorn his promises and swear by Mithras and the\nFeruers of the kings, the most solemn oaths I am acquainted with, that\nthe man who is now ruling you is none other than the Magian Gaumata, he\nwho was deprived of his ears, the brother of the king's vicegerent and\nhigh-priest, Oropastes, whom ye all know. If it be your will to forget\nall the glory ye owe to the Achaemenidae, if to this ingratitude ye\nchoose to add your own degradation, then acknowledge these creatures and\ncall them your kings; but if ye despise a lie and are ashamed to obey\nworthless impostors, drive the Magi from the throne before Mithras has\nleft the heavens, and proclaim the noblest of the Achaemenidae, Darius,\nthe exalted son of Hystaspes, who promises to become a second Cyrus, as\nyour king. And now, in order that ye may believe my words and not suspect\nthat Darius sent me hither to win you over to his side, I will commit a\ndeed, which must destroy every doubt and prove that the truth and glory\nof the Achaemenidae are clearer to me, than life itself. Blessed be ye if\nye follow my counsels, but curses rest upon you, if ye neglect to\nreconquer the throne from the Magi and revenge yourselves upon\nthem.--Behold, I die a true and honorable man!\"\n\nWith these words he ascended the highest pinnacle of the tower and cast\nhimself down head foremost, thus expiating the one crime of his life by\nan honorable death.\n\nThe dead silence with which the people in the court below had listened to\nhim, was now broken by shrieks of rage and cries for vengeance. They\nburst open the gates of the palace and were pressing in with cries of\n\"Death to the Magi,\" when the seven princes of the Persians appeared in\nfront of the raging crowd to resist their entrance.\n\nAt sight of the Achaemenidae the citizens broke into shouts of joy, and\ncried more impetuously than ever, \"Down with the Magi! Victory to King\nDarius!\"\n\nThe son of Hystaspes was then carried by the crowd to a rising ground,\nfrom which he told the people that the Magi had been slain by the\nAchaemenidae, as liars and usurpers. Fresh cries of joy arose in answer\nto these words, and when at last the bleeding heads of Oropastes and\nGaumata were shown to the crowd, they rushed with horrid yells through\nthe streets of the city, murdering every Magian they could lay hold of.\nThe darkness of night alone was able to stop this awful massacre.\n\nFour days later, Darius, the son of Hystaspes, was chosen as king by the\nheads of the Achaemenidae, in consideration of his high birth and noble\ncharacter, and received by the Persian nation with enthusiasm. Darius had\nkilled Gaumata with his own hand, and the highpriest had received his\ndeath-thrust from the hand of Megabyzus, the father of Zopyrus. While\nPrexaspes was haranguing the people, the seven conspiring Persian\nprinces, Otanes, Intaphernes, Gobryas, Megabyzus, Aspatines, Hydarnes and\nDarius, (as representative of his aged father Hystaspes), had entered the\npalace by a carelessly-guarded gate, sought out the part of the building\noccupied by the Magi, and then, assisted by their own knowledge of the\npalace, and the fact that most of the guards had been sent to keep watch\nover the crowd assembled to hear Prexaspes easily penetrated to the\napartments in which at that moment they were to be found. Here they were\nresisted by a few eunuchs, headed by Boges, but these were overpowered\nand killed to a man. Darius became furious on seeing Boges, and killed\nhim at once. Hearing the dying cries of these eunuchs, the Magi rushed to\nthe spot and prepared to defend themselves. Oropastes snatched a lance\nfrom the fallen Boges, thrust out one of Intaphernes' eyes and wounded\nAspatines in the thigh, but was stabbed by Megabyzus. Gaumata fled into\nanother apartment and tried to bar the door, but was followed too soon by\nDarius and Gobryas; the latter seized, threw him, and kept him down by\nthe weight of his own body, crying to Darius, who was afraid of making a\nfalse stroke in the half-light, and so wounding his companion instead of\nGaumata, \"Strike boldly, even if you should stab us both.\" Darius obeyed,\nand fortunately only hit the Magian.\n\nThus died Oropastes, the high-priest, and his brother Gaumata, better\nknown under the name of the \"pseudo\" or \"pretended Smerdis.\"\n\nA few weeks after Darius' election to the throne, which the people said\nhad been marvellously influenced by divine miracles and the clever\ncunning of a groom, he celebrated his coronation brilliantly at\nPasargadae, and with still more splendor, his marriage with his beloved\nAtossa. The trials of her life had ripened her character, and she proved\na faithful, beloved and respected companion to her husband through the\nwhole of that active and glorious life, which, as Prexaspes had foretold,\nmade him worthy of the names by which he was afterwards known--Darius the\nGreat, and a second Cyrus.\n\n   [Atossa is constantly mentioned as the favorite wife of Darius, and\n   be appointed her son Xerxes to be his successor, though he had three\n   elder sons by the daughter of Gobryas. Herodotus (VII. 3.) speaks\n   with emphasis of the respect and consideration in which Atossa was\n   held, and Aeschylus, in his Persians, mentions her in her old age,\n   as the much-revered and noble matron.]\n\nAs a general he was circumspect and brave, and at the same time\nunderstood so thoroughly how to divide his enormous realm, and to\nadminister its affairs, that he must be classed with the greatest\norganizers of all times and countries. That his feeble successors were\nable to keep this Asiatic Colossus of different countries together for\ntwo hundred years after his death, was entirely owing to Darius. He was\nliberal of his own, but sparing of his subjects' treasures, and made\ntruly royal gifts without demanding more than was his due. He introduced\na regular system of taxation, in place of the arbitrary exactions\npractised under Cyrus and Cambyses, and never allowed himself to be led\nastray in the carrying out of what seemed to him right, either by\ndifficulties or by the ridicule of the Achaemenidae, who nicknamed him\nthe \"shopkeeper,\" on account of what seemed, to their exclusively\nmilitary tastes, his petty financial measures. It is by no means one of\nhis smallest merits, that he introduced one system of coinage through his\nentire empire, and consequently through half the then known world.\n\nDarius respected the religions and customs of other nations. When the\nwriting of Cyrus, of the existence of which Cambyses had known nothing,\nwas found in the archives of Ecbatana, he allowed the Jews to carry on\nthe building of their temple to Jehovah; he also left the Ionian cities\nfree to govern their own communities independently. Indeed, he would\nhardly have sent his army against Greece, if the Athenians had not\ninsulted him.\n\nIn Egypt he had learnt much; among other things, the art of managing the\nexchequer of his kingdom wisely; for this reason he held the Egyptians in\nhigh esteem, and granted them many privileges, amongst others a canal to\nconnect the Nile with the Red Sea, which was greatly to the advantage of\ntheir commerce.\n\n   [Traces of this canal can be found as early as the days of Setos I;\n   his son Rameses II. caused the works to be continued. Under Necho\n   they were recommenced, and possibly finished by Darius. In the time\n   of the Ptolemies, at all events, the canal was already completed.\n   Herod. II. 158. Diod. I. 33. The French, in undertaking to\n   reconstruct the Suez canal, have had much to encounter from the\n   unfriendly commercial policy of the English and their influence over\n   the internal affairs of Egypt, but the unwearied energy and great\n   talent of Monsr. de Lesseps and the patriotism of the French nation\n   have at last succeeded in bringing their great work to a successful\n   close. Whether it will pay is another question. See G. Ebers, Der\n   Kanal von Suez. Nordische Revue, October 1864. The maritime canal\n   connecting the Mediterranean with the Red Sea has also been\n   completed since 1869. We were among those, who attended the\n   brilliant inauguration ceremonies, and now willingly recall many of\n   the doubts expressed in our work 'Durch Gosen zum Sinai'. The\n   number of ships passing through the canal is constantly increasing.]\n\nDuring the whole of his reign, Darius endeavored to make amends for the\nseverity with which Cambyses had treated the Egyptians; even in the later\nyears of his life he delighted to study the treasures of their wisdom,\nand no one was allowed to attack either their religion or customs, as\nlong as he lived. The old high-priest Neithotep enjoyed the king's favor\nto the last, and Darius often made use of his wise old master's\nastrological knowledge.\n\nThe goodness and clemency of their new ruler was fully acknowledged by\nthe Egyptians; they called him a deity, as they had called their own\nkings, and yet, in the last years of his reign, their desire for\nindependence led them to forget gratitude and to try to shake off his\ngentle yoke, which was only oppressive because it had originally been\nforced on them.\n\n   [The name of Darius occurs very often on the monuments as Ntariusch.\n   It is most frequently found in the inscriptions on the temple in the\n   Oasis el-Khargah, recently photographed by G. Rohlfs. The Egypto-\n   Persian memorial fragments, bearing inscriptions in the hieroglyphic\n   and cuneiform characters are very interesting. Darius' name in\n   Egyptian was generally \"Ra, the beloved of Ammon.\" On a porcelain\n   vessel in Florence, and in some papyri in Paris and Florence he is\n   called by the divine titles of honor given to the Pharaohs.]\n\nTheir generous ruler and protector did not live to see the end of this\nstruggle.\n\n   [The first rebellion in Egypt, which broke out under Aryandes, the\n   satrap appointed by Cambyses, was put down by Darius in person. He\n   visited Egypt, and promised 100 talents (L22,500.) to any one who\n   would find a new Apis. Polyaen. VII. ii. 7. No second outbreak\n   took place until 486 B.C. about 4 years before the death of Darius.\n   Herod. VI i. Xerxes conquered the rebels two years after his\n   accession, and appointed his brother Achaemenes satrap of Egypt.]\n\nIt was reserved for Xerxes, the successor and son of Darius and Atossa,\nto bring back the inhabitants of the Nile valley to a forced and\ntherefore insecure obedience.\n\nDarius left a worthy monument of his greatness in the glorious palace\nwhich he built on Mount Rachmed, the ruins of which are the wonder and\nadmiration of travellers to this day. Six thousand Egyptian workmen, who\nhad been sent to Asia by Cambyses, took part in the work and also\nassisted in building a tomb for Darius and his successors, the rocky and\nalmost inaccessible chambers of which have defied the ravages of time,\nand are now the resort of innumerable wild pigeons.\n\nHe caused the history of his deeds to be cut, (in the cuneiform character\nand in the Persian, Median and Assyrian languages), on the polished side\nof the rock of Bisitun or Behistan, not far from the spot where he saved\nAtossa's life. The Persian part of this inscription can still be\ndeciphered with certainty, and contains an account of the events related\nin the last few chapters, very nearly agreeing with our own and that of\nHerodotus. The following sentences occur amongst others: \"Thus saith\nDarius the King: That which I have done, was done by the grace of\nAuramazda in every way. I fought nineteen battles after the rebellion of\nthe kings. By the mercy of Auramazda I conquered them. I took nine kings\ncaptive. One was a Median, Gaumata by name. He lied and said: 'I am\nBardiya (Bartja), the son of Cyrus.' He caused Persia to rebel.\"\n\nSome distance lower down, he names the chiefs who helped him to dethrone\nthe Magi, and in another place the inscription has these words: \"Thus\nsaith the King Darius: That which I have done was done in every way by\nthe grace of Auramazda. Auramazda helped me, and such other gods as there\nbe. Auramazda and the other gods gave me help, because I was not swift to\nanger, nor a liar, nor a violent ruler, neither I nor my kinsmen. I have\nshown favor unto him who helped my brethren, and I have punished severely\nhim who was my enemy. Thou who shalt be king after me, be not merciful\nunto him who is a liar or a rebel, but punish him with a severe\npunishment. Thus saith Darius the King: Thou who shalt hereafter behold\nthis tablet which I have written, or these pictures, destroy them not,\nbut so long as thou shalt live preserve them, &c.\"\n\nIt now only remains to be told that Zopyrus, the son of Megabyzus,\ncontinued to the last the king's most faithful friend.\n\nA courtier once showed the king a pomegranate, and asked him of what one\ngift of fortune he would like so many repetitions, as there were seeds in\nthat fruit. Without a moment's hesitation Darius answered, \"Of my\nZopyrus.\"--[Plutarch]\n\nThe following story will prove that Zopyrus, on his part, well understood\nhow to return his royal friend's kindness. After the death of Cambyses,\nBabylon revolted from the Persian empire. Darius besieged the city nine\nmonths in vain, and was about to raise the siege, when one day Zopyrus\nappeared before him bleeding, and deprived of his ears and nose, and\nexplained that he had mutilated himself thus in order to cheat the\nBabylonians, who knew him well, as he had formerly been on intimate terms\nwith their daughters. He said he wished to tell the haughty citizens,\nthat Darius had thus disfigured him, and that he had come to them for\nhelp in revenging himself. He thought they would then place troops at his\ndisposal, with which he intended to impose upon them by making a few\nsuccessful sallies at first. His ultimate intention was to get possession\nof the keys, and open the Semiramis gate to his friends.\n\nThese words, which were spoken in a joking tone, contrasted so sadly with\nthe mutilated features of his once handsome friend, that Darius wept, and\nwhen at last the almost impregnable fortress was really won by Zopyrus'\nstratagem, he exclaimed: \"I would give a hundred Babylons, if my Zopyrus\nhad not thus mutilated himself.\"\n\nHe then appointed his friend lord of the giant city, gave him its entire\nrevenues, and honored him every year with the rarest presents. In later\ndays he used to say that, with the exception of Cyrus, who had no equal,\nno man had ever performed so generous a deed as Zopyrus.\n\n   [Herod. III. 160. Among other presents Zopyrus received a gold\n   hand-mill weighing six talents, the most honorable and distinguished\n   gift a Persian monarch could bestow upon a subject. According to\n   Ktesias, Megabaezus received this gift from Xerxes.]\n\nFew rulers possessed so many self-sacrificing friends as Darius, because\nfew understood so well how to be grateful.\n\nWhen Syloson, the brother of the murdered Polykrates, came to Susa and\nreminded the king of his former services, Darius received him as a\nfriend, placed ships and troops at his service, and helped him to recover\nSamos.\n\nThe Samians made a desperate resistance, and said, when at last they were\nobliged to yield: \"Through Syloson we have much room in our land.\"\n\nRhodopis lived to hear of the murder of Hipparchus, the tyrant of Athens,\nby Harmodius and Aristogiton, and died at last in the arms of her best\nfriends, Theopompus the Milesian and Kallias the Athenian, firm in her\nbelief of the high calling of her countrymen.\n\nAll Naukratis mourned for her, and Kallias sent a messenger to Susa, to\ninform the king and Sappho of her death.\n\nA few months later the satrap of Egypt received the following letter from\nthe hand of the king:\n\n   \"Inasmuch as we ourselves knew and honored Rhodopis, the Greek, who\n   has lately died in Naukratis,--inasmuch as her granddaughter, as\n   widow of the lawful heir to the Persian throne, enjoys to this day\n   the rank and honors of a queen,--and lastly, inasmuch as I have\n   lately taken the great-grandchild of the same Rhodopis, Parmys, the\n   daughter of Bartja and Sappho, to be my third lawful wife, it seems\n   to me just to grant royal honors to the ancestress of two queens. I\n   therefore command thee to cause the ashes of Rhodopis, whom we have\n   always esteemed as the greatest and rarest among women, to be buried\n   in the greatest and rarest of all monuments, namely, in one of the\n   Pyramids. The costly urn, which thou wilt receive herewith, is sent\n   by Sappho to preserve the ashes of the deceased.\"\n\n     Given in the new imperial palace at Persepolis.\n\n             DARIUS, son of Hystaspes.\n\n                  King.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A noble mind can never swim with the stream\n     Age is inquisitive\n     Apis the progeny of a virgin cow and a moonbeam\n     Be not merciful unto him who is a liar or a rebel\n     Canal to connect the Nile with the Red Sea\n     I was not swift to anger, nor a liar, nor a violent ruler\n     Introduced a regular system of taxation-Darius\n     Numbers are the only certain things\n     Resistance always brings out a man's best powers\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR AN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS, COMPLETE:\n\n     A kind word hath far more power than an angry one\n     A first impression is often a final one\n     A noble mind can never swim with the stream\n     Abuse not those who have outwitted thee\n     Age is inquisitive\n     Apis the progeny of a virgin cow and a moonbeam\n     Assigned sixty years as the limit of a happy life\n     At my age every year must be accepted as an undeserved gift\n     Avoid excessive joy as well as complaining grief\n     Be not merciful unto him who is a liar or a rebel\n     Between two stools a man falls to the ground\n     Blessings go as quickly as they come\n     Call everything that is beyond your comprehension a miracle\n     Cambyses had been spoiled from his earliest infancy\n     Canal to connect the Nile with the Red Sea\n     Cannot understand how trifles can make me so happy\n     Cast off all care; be mindful only of pleasure\n     Confess I would rather provoke a lioness than a woman\n     Corpse to be torn in pieces by dogs and vultures\n     Creed which views life as a short pilgrimage to the grave\n     Curiosity is a woman's vice\n     Death is so long and life so short\n     Devoid of occupation, envy easily becomes hatred\n     Did the ancients know anything of love\n     Does happiness consist then in possession\n     Easy to understand what we like to hear\n     Eros mocks all human efforts to resist or confine him\n     Eyes are much more eloquent than all the tongues in the world\n     Folly to fret over what cannot be undone\n     For the errors of the wise the remedy is reparation, not regret\n     Go down into the grave before us (Our children)\n     Greeks have not the same reverence for truth\n     Happiness has nothing to do with our outward circumstances\n     Hast thou a wounded heart? touch it seldom\n     He who kills a cat is punished (for murder)\n     He is the best host, who allows his guests the most freedom\n     He who is to govern well must begin by learning to obey\n     Human beings hate the man who shows kindness to their enemies\n     I cannot . . . Say rather: I will not\n     I was not swift to anger, nor a liar, nor a violent ruler\n     In war the fathers live to mourn for their slain sons\n     In our country it needs more courage to be a coward\n     In this immense temple man seemed a dwarf in his own eyes\n     In those days men wept, as well as women\n     Inn, was to be found about every eighteen miles\n     Introduced a regular system of taxation-Darius\n     Know how to honor beauty; and prove it by taking many wives\n     Lovers delighted in nature then as now\n     Lovers are the most unteachable of pupils\n     Misfortune too great for tears\n     Mosquito-tower with which nearly every house was provided\n     Multitude who, like the gnats, fly towards every thing brilliant\n     Natural impulse which moves all old women to favor lovers\n     Never so clever as when we have to find excuses for our own sins\n     No man was allowed to ask anything of the gods for himself\n     Nothing is more dangerous to love, than a comfortable assurance\n     Nothing is perfectly certain in this world\n     Numbers are the only certain things\n     Observe a due proportion in all things\n     Olympics--The first was fixed 776 B.C.\n     One must enjoy the time while it is here\n     Only two remedies for heart-sickness:--hope and patience\n     Ordered his feet to be washed and his head anointed\n     Papyrus Ebers\n     Pilgrimage to the grave, and death as the only true life\n     Pious axioms to be repeated by the physician, while compounding\n     Remember, a lie and your death are one and the same\n     Resistance always brings out a man's best powers\n     Robes cut as to leave the right breast uncovered\n     Romantic love, as we know it, a result of Christianity\n     Rules of life given by one man to another are useless\n     Scarcely be able to use so large a sum--Then abuse it\n     Sent for a second interpreter\n     Sing their libels on women (Greek Philosophers)\n     So long as we are able to hope and wish\n     Take heed lest pride degenerate into vainglory\n     The past belongs to the dead; only fools count upon the future\n     The priests are my opponents, my masters\n     The gods cast envious glances at the happiness of mortals\n     The beautiful past is all he has to live upon\n     They praise their butchers more than their benefactors\n     Those are not my real friends who tell me I am beautiful\n     Time is clever in the healing art\n     True host puts an end to the banquet\n     Unwise to try to make a man happy by force\n     War is a perversion of nature\n     We live for life, not for death\n     We've talked a good deal of love with our eyes already\n     Whatever a man would do himself, he thinks others are capable of\n     When love has once taken firm hold of a man in riper years\n     Whether the historical romance is ever justifiable\n     Wise men hold fast by the ever young present\n     Ye play with eternity as if it were but a passing moment\n     Young Greek girls pass their sad childhood in close rooms\n     Zeus pays no heed to lovers' oaths\n\n\n\n\nTHE SISTERS, Complete\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nTranslated from the German by Clara Bell\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION TO HERR EDUARD von HALLBERGER\n\nAllow me, my dear friend, to dedicate these pages to you. I present them\nto you at the close of a period of twenty years during which a warm and\nfast friendship has subsisted between us, unbroken by any disagreement.\nFour of my works have first seen the light under your care and have\nwandered all over the world under the protection of your name. This, my\nfifth book, I desire to make especially your own; it was partly written\nin your beautiful home at Tutzing, under your hospitable roof, and I\ndesire to prove to you by some visible token that I know how to value\nyour affection and friendship and the many happy hours we have passed\ntogether, refreshing and encouraging each other by a full and perfect\ninterchange of thought and sentiment.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nBy a marvellous combination of circumstances a number of fragments of the\nRoyal Archives of Memphis have been preserved from destruction with the\nrest, containing petitions written on papyrus in the Greek language;\nthese were composed by a recluse of Macedonian birth, living in the\nSerapeum, in behalf of two sisters, twins, who served the god as \"Pourers\nout of the libations.\"\n\nAt a first glance these petitions seem scarcely worthy of serious\nconsideration; but a closer study of their contents shows us that we\npossess in them documents of the greatest value in the history of\nmanners. They prove that the great Monastic Idea--which under the\ninfluence of Christianity grew to be of such vast moral and historical\nsignificance--first struck root in one of the centres of heathen\nreligious practices; besides affording us a quite unexpected insight into\nthe internal life of the temple of Serapis, whose ruined walls have, in\nour own day, been recovered from the sand of the desert by the\nindefatigable industry of the French Egyptologist Monsieur Mariette.\n\nI have been so fortunate as to visit this spot and to search through\nevery part of it, and the petitions I speak of have been familiar to me\nfor years. When, however, quite recently, one of my pupils undertook to\nstudy more particularly one of these documents--preserved in the Royal\nLibrary at Dresden--I myself reinvestigated it also, and this study\nimpressed on my fancy a vivid picture of the Serapeum under Ptolemy\nPhilometor; the outlines became clear and firm, and acquired color, and\nit is this picture which I have endeavored to set before the reader, so\nfar as words admit, in the following pages.\n\nI did not indeed select for my hero the recluse, nor for my heroines the\ntwins who are spoken of in the petitions, but others who might have lived\nat a somewhat earlier date under similar conditions; for it is proved by\nthe papyrus that it was not once only and by accident that twins were\nengaged in serving in the temple of Serapis, but that, on the contrary,\npair after pair of sisters succeeded each other in the office of pouring\nout libations.\n\nI have not invested Klea and Irene with this function, but have simply\nplaced them as wards of the Serapeum and growing up within its precincts.\nI selected this alternative partly because the existing sources of\nknowledge give us very insufficient information as to the duties that\nmight have been required of the twins, partly for other reasons arising\nout of the plan of my narrative.\n\nKlea and Irene are purely imaginary personages, but on the other hand I\nhave endeavored, by working from tolerably ample sources, to give a\nfaithful picture of the historical physiognomy of the period in which\nthey live and move, and portraits of the two hostile brothers Ptolemy\nPhilometor and Euergetes II., the latter of whom bore the nickname of\nPhyskon: the Stout. The Eunuch Eulaeus and the Roman Publius Cornelius\nScipio Nasica, are also historical personages.\n\nI chose the latter from among the many young patricians living at the\ntime, partly on account of the strong aristocratic feeling which he\ndisplayed, particularly in his later life, and partly because his\nnickname of Serapion struck me. This name I account for in my own way,\nalthough I am aware that he owed it to his resemblance to a person of\ninferior rank.\n\nFor the further enlightenment of the reader who is not familiar with this\nperiod of Egyptian history I may suggest that Cleopatra, the wife of\nPtolemy Philometor--whom I propose to introduce to the reader--must not\nbe confounded with her famous namesake, the beloved of Julius Caesar and\nMark Antony. The name Cleopatra was a very favorite one among the\nLagides, and of the queens who bore it she who has become famous through\nShakespeare (and more lately through Makart) was the seventh, the sister\nand wife of Ptolemy XIV. Her tragical death from the bite of a viper or\nasp did not occur until 134 years later than the date of my narrative,\nwhich I have placed 164 years B.C.\n\nAt that time Egypt had already been for 169 years subject to the rule of\na Greek (Macedonian) dynasty, which owed its name as that of the\nPtolemies or Lagides to its founder Ptolemy Soter, the son of Lagus. This\nenergetic man, a general under Alexander the Great, when his\nsovereign--333 B.C.--had conquered the whole Nile Valley, was appointed\ngovernor of the new Satrapy; after Alexander's death in 323 B.C., Ptolemy\nmounted the throne of the Pharaohs, and he and his descendants ruled over\nEgypt until after the death of the last and most famous of the\nCleopatras, when it was annexed as a province to the Roman Empire.\n\nThis is not the place for giving a history of the successive Ptolemies,\nbut I may remark that the assimilating faculty exercised by the Greeks\nover other nations was potent in Egypt; particularly as the result of the\npowerful influence of Alexandria, the capital founded by Alexander, which\ndeveloped with wonderful rapidity to be one of the most splendid centres\nof Hellenic culture and of Hellenic art and science.\n\nLong before the united rule of the hostile brothers Ptolemy Philometor\nand Euergetes--whose violent end will be narrated to the reader of this\nstory--Greek influence was marked in every event and detail of Egyptian\nlife, which had remained almost unaffected by the characteristics of\nformer conquerors--the Hyksos, the Assyrians and the Persians; and, under\nthe Ptolemies, the most inhospitable and exclusive nation of early\nantiquity threw open her gates to foreigners of every race.\n\nAlexandria was a metropolis even in the modern sense; not merely an\nemporium of commerce, but a focus where the intellectual and religious\ntreasures of various countries were concentrated and worked up, and\ntransmitted to all the nations that desired them. I have resisted the\ntemptation to lay the scene of my story there, because in Alexandria the\nEgyptian element was too much overlaid by the Greek, and the too splendid\nand important scenery and decorations might easily have distracted the\nreader's attention from the dramatic interest of the persons acting.\n\nAt that period of the Hellenic dominion which I have described, the kings\nof Egypt were free to command in all that concerned the internal affairs\nof their kingdom, but the rapidly-growing power of the Roman Empire\nenabled her to check the extension of their dominion, just as she chose.\n\nPhilometor himself had heartily promoted the immigration of Israelites\nfrom Palestine, and under him the important Jewish community in\nAlexandria acquired an influence almost greater than the Greek; and this\nnot only in the city but in the kingdom and over their royal protector,\nwho allowed them to build a temple to Jehovah on the shores of the Nile,\nand in his own person assisted at the dogmatic discussions of the\nIsraelites educated in the Greek schools of the city. Euergetes II., a\nhighly gifted but vicious and violent man, was, on the contrary, just as\ninimical to them; he persecuted them cruelly as soon as his brother's\ndeath left him sole ruler over Egypt. His hand fell heavily even on the\nmembers of the Great Academy--the Museum, as it was called--of\nAlexandria, though he himself had been devoted to the grave labors of\nscience, and he compelled them to seek a new home. The exiled sons of\nlearning settled in various cities on the shores of the Mediterranean,\nand thus contributed not a little to the diffusion of the intellectual\nresults of the labors in the Museum.\n\nAristarchus, the greatest of Philometor's learned contemporaries, has\nreported for us a conversation in the king's palace at Memphis. The\nverses about \"the puny child of man,\" recited by Cleopatra in chapter X.,\nare not genuinely antique; but Friedrich Ritschl--the Aristarchus of our\nown days, now dead--thought very highly of them and gave them to me, some\nyears ago, with several variations which had been added by an anonymous\nhand, then still in the land of the living. I have added to the first\nverse two of these, which, as I learned at the eleventh hour, were\ncomposed by Herr H. L. von Held, who is now dead, and of whom further\nparticulars may be learned from Varnhagen's 'Biographisclaen Denkmalen'.\nVol. VII. I think the reader will thank me for directing his attention to\nthese charming lines and to the genius displayed in the moral application\nof the main idea. Verses such as these might very well have been written\nby Callimachus or some other poet of the circle of the early members of\nthe Museum of Alexandria.\n\nI was also obliged in this narrative to concentrate, in one limited\ncanvas as it were, all the features which were at once the conditions and\nthe characteristics of a great epoch of civilization, and to give them\nform and movement by setting the history of some of the men then living\nbefore the reader, with its complications and its denouement. All the\npersonages of my story grew up in my imagination from a study of the\ntimes in which they lived, but when once I saw them clearly in outline\nthey soon stood before my mind in a more distinct form, like people in a\ndream; I felt the poet's pleasure in creation, and as I painted them\ntheir blood grew warm, their pulses began to beat and their spirit to\ntake wings and stir, each in its appropriate nature. I gave history her\ndue, but the historic figures retired into the background beside the\nhuman beings as such; the representatives of an epoch became vehicles for\na Human Ideal, holding good for all time; and thus it is that I venture\nto offer this transcript of a period as really a dramatic romance.\n\nLeipzig November 13, 1879.\nGEORG EBERS.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SISTERS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nOn the wide, desert plain of the Necropolis of Memphis stands the\nextensive and stately pile of masonry which constitutes the Greek temple\nof Serapis; by its side are the smaller sanctuaries of Asclepios, of\nAnubis and of Astarte, and a row of long, low houses, built of unburnt\nbricks, stretches away behind them as a troop of beggar children might\nfollow in the train of some splendidly attired king.\n\nThe more dazzlingly brilliant the smooth, yellow sandstone walls of the\ntemple appear in the light of the morning sun, the more squalid and mean\ndo the dingy houses look as they crouch in the outskirts. When the winds\nblow round them and the hot sunbeams fall upon them, the dust rises from\nthem in clouds as from a dry path swept by the gale. Even the rooms\ninside are never plastered, and as the bricks are of dried Nile-mud mixed\nwith chopped straw, of which the sharp little ends stick out from the\nwall in every direction, the surface is as disagreeable to touch as it is\nunpleasing to look at. When they were first built on the ground between\nthe temple itself and the wall which encloses the precincts, and which,\non the eastern side, divides the acacia-grove of Serapis in half, they\nwere concealed from the votaries visiting the temple by the back wall of\na colonnade on the eastern side of the great forecourt; but a portion of\nthis colonnade has now fallen down, and through the breach, part of these\nmodest structures are plainly visible with their doors and windows\nopening towards the sanctuary--or, to speak more accurately, certain\nrudely constructed openings for looking out of or for entering by. Where\nthere is a door there is no window, and where a gap in the wall serves\nfor a window, a door is dispensed with; none of the chambers, however, of\nthis long row of low one-storied buildings communicate with each other.\n\nA narrow and well-trodden path leads through the breach in the wall; the\npebbles are thickly strewn with brown dust, and the footway leads past\nquantities of blocks of stone and portions of columns destined for the\nconstruction of a new building which seems only to have been intermitted\nthe night before, for mallets and levers lie on and near the various\nmaterials. This path leads directly to the little brick houses, and ends\nat a small closed wooden door so roughly joined and so ill-hung that\nbetween it and the threshold, which is only raised a few inches above the\nground, a fine gray cat contrives to squeeze herself through by putting\ndown her head and rubbing through the dust. As soon as she finds herself\nonce more erect on her four legs she proceeds to clean and smooth her\nruffled fur, putting up her back, and glancing with gleaming eyes at the\nhouse she has just left, behind which at this moment the sun is rising;\nblinded by its bright rays she turns away and goes on with cautious and\nsilent tread into the court of the temple.\n\nThe hovel out of which pussy has crept is small and barely furnished; it\nwould be perfectly dark too, but that the holes in the roof and the rift\nin the door admit light into this most squalid room. There is nothing\nstanding against its rough gray walls but a wooden chest, near this a few\nearthen bowls stand on the ground with a wooden cup and a gracefully\nwrought jug of pure and shining gold, which looks strangely out of place\namong such humble accessories. Quite in the background lie two mats of\nwoven bast, each covered with a sheepskin. These are the beds of the two\ngirls who inhabit the room, one of whom is now sitting on a low stool\nmade of palm-branches, and she yawns as she begins to arrange her long\nand shining brown hair. She is not particularly skilful and even less\npatient over this not very easy task, and presently, when a fresh tangle\nchecks the horn comb with which she is dressing it, she tosses the comb\non to the couch. She has not pulled it through her hair with any haste\nnor with much force, but she shuts her eyes so tightly and sets her white\nteeth so firmly in her red dewy lip that it might be supposed that she\nhad hurt herself very much.\n\nA shuffling step is now audible outside the door; she opens wide her\ntawny-hazel eyes, that have a look of gazing on the world in surprise, a\nsmile parts her lips and her whole aspect is as completely changed as\nthat of a butterfly which escapes from the shade into the sunshine where\nthe bright beams are reflected in the metallic lustre of its wings.\n\nA hasty hand knocks at the ill-hung door, so roughly that it trembles on\nits hinges, and the instant after a wooden trencher is shoved in through\nthe wide chink by which the cat made her escape; on it are a thin round\ncake of bread and a shallow earthen saucer containing a little olive-oil;\nthere is no more than might perhaps be contained in half an ordinary\negg-shell, but it looks fresh and sweet, and shines in clear, golden\npurity. The girl goes to the door, pulls in the platter, and, as she\nmeasures the allowance with a glance, exclaims half in lament and half in\nreproach:\n\n\"So little! and is that for both of us?\"\n\nAs she speaks her expressive features have changed again and her flashing\neyes are directed towards the door with a glance of as much dismay as\nthough the sun and stars had been suddenly extinguished; and yet her only\ngrief is the smallness of the loaf, which certainly is hardly large\nenough to stay the hunger of one young creature--and two must share it;\nwhat is a mere nothing in one man's life, to another may be of great\nconsequence and of terrible significance.\n\nThe reproachful complaint is heard by the messenger outside the door, for\nthe old woman who shoved in the trencher over the threshold answers\nquickly but not crossly.\n\n\"Nothing more to-day, Irene.\"\n\n\"It is disgraceful,\" cries the girl, her eyes filling with tears, \"every\nday the loaf grows smaller, and if we were sparrows we should not have\nenough to satisfy us. You know what is due to us and I will never cease\nto complain and petition. Serapion shall draw up a fresh address for us,\nand when the king knows how shamefully we are treated--\"\n\n\"Aye! when he knows,\" interrupted the old woman. But the cry of the poor\nis tossed about by many winds before it reaches the king's ear. I might\nfind a shorter way than that for you and your sister if fasting comes so\nmuch amiss to you. Girls with faces like hers and yours, my little Irene,\nneed never come to want.\"\n\n\"And pray what is my face like?\" asked the girl, and her pretty features\nonce more seemed to catch a gleam of sunshine.\n\n\"Why, so handsome that you may always venture to show it beside your\nsister's; and yesterday, in the procession, the great Roman sitting by\nthe queen looked as often at her as at Cleopatra herself. If you had been\nthere too he would not have had a glance for the queen, for you are a\npretty thing, as I can tell you. And there are many girls would sooner\nhear those words then have a whole loaf--besides you have a mirror I\nsuppose, look in that next time you are hungry.\"\n\nThe old woman's shuffling steps retreated again and the girl snatched up\nthe golden jar, opened the door a little way to let in the daylight and\nlooked at herself in the bright surface; but the curve of the costly vase\nshowed her features all distorted, and she gaily breathed on the hideous\ntravestie that met her eyes, so that it was all blurred out by the\nmoisture. Then she smilingly put down the jar, and opening the chest took\nfrom it a small metal mirror into which she looked again and yet again,\narranging her shining hair first in one way and then in another; and she\nonly laid it down when she remembered a certain bunch of violets which\nhad attracted her attention when she first woke, and which must have been\nplaced in their saucer of water by her sister some time the day before.\nWithout pausing to consider she took up the softly scented blossoms,\ndried their green stems on her dress, took up the mirror again and stuck\nthe flowers in her hair.\n\nHow bright her eyes were now, and how contentedly she put out her hand\nfor the loaf. And how fair were the visions that rose before her young\nfancy as she broke off one piece after another and hastily eat them after\nslightly moistening them with the fresh oil. Once, at the festival of the\nNew Year, she had had a glimpse into the king's tent, and there she had\nseen men and women feasting as they reclined on purple cushions. Now she\ndreamed of tables covered with costly vessels, was served in fancy by\nboys crowned with flowers, heard the music of flutes and harps and--for\nshe was no more than a child and had such a vigorous young\nappetite--pictured herself as selecting the daintiest and sweetest\nmorsels out of dishes of solid gold and eating till she was satisfied,\naye so perfectly satisfied that the very last mouthful of bread and the\nvery last drop of oil had disappeared.\n\nBut so soon as her hand found nothing more on the empty trencher the\nbright illusion vanished, and she looked with dismay into the empty\noil-cup and at the place where just now the bread had been.\n\n\"Ah!\" she sighed from the bottom of her heart; then she turned the\nplatter over as though it might be possible to find some more bread and\noil on the other side of it, but finally shaking her head she sat looking\nthoughtfully into her lap; only for a few minutes however, for the door\nopened and the slim form of her sister Klea appeared, the sister whose\nmeagre rations she had dreamily eaten up, and Klea had been sitting up\nhalf the night sewing for her, and then had gone out before sunrise to\nfetch water from the Well of the Sun for the morning sacrifice at the\naltar of Serapis.\n\nKlea greeted her sister with a loving glance but without speaking; she\nseemed too exhausted for words and she wiped the drops from her forehead\nwith the linen veil that covered the back of her head as she seated\nherself on the lid of the chest. Irene immediately glanced at the empty\ntrencher, considering whether she had best confess her guilt to the\nwearied girl and beg for forgiveness, or divert the scolding she had\ndeserved by some jest, as she had often succeeded in doing before. This\nseemed the easier course and she adopted it at once; she went up to her\nsister quickly, but not quite unconcernedly, and said with mock gravity:\n\n\"Look here, Klea, don't you notice anything in me? I must look like a\ncrocodile that has eaten a whole hippopotamus, or one of the sacred\nsnakes after it has swallowed a rabbit. Only think when I had eaten my\nown bread I found yours between my teeth--quite unexpectedly--but now--\"\n\nKlea, thus addressed, glanced at the empty platter and interrupted her\nsister with a low-toned exclamation. \"Oh! I was so hungry.\"\n\nThe words expressed no reproof, only utter exhaustion, and as the young\ncriminal looked at her sister and saw her sitting there, tired and worn\nout but submitting to the injury that had been done her without a word of\ncomplaint, her heart, easily touched, was filled with compunction and\nregret. She burst into tears and threw herself on the ground before her,\nclasping her knees and crying, in a voice broken with sobs:\n\n\"Oh Klea! poor, dear Klea, what have I done! but indeed I did not mean\nany harm. I don't know how it happened. Whatever I feel prompted to do I\ndo, I can't help doing it, and it is not till it is done that I begin to\nknow whether it was right or wrong. You sat up and worried yourself for\nme, and this is how I repay you--I am a bad girl! But you shall not go\nhungry--no, you shall not.\"\n\n\"Never mind; never mind,\" said the elder, and she stroked her sister's\nbrown hair with a loving hand.\n\nBut as she did so she came upon the violets fastened among the shining\ntresses. Her lips quivered and her weary expression changed as she\ntouched the flowers and glanced at the empty saucer in which she had\ncarefully placed them the clay before. Irene at once perceived the change\nin her sister's face, and thinking only that she was surprised at her\npretty adornment, she said gaily: \"Do you think the flowers becoming to\nme?\"\n\nKlea's hand was already extended to take the violets out of the brown\nplaits, for her sister was still kneeling before her, but at this\nquestion her arm dropped, and she said more positively and distinctly\nthan she had yet spoken and in a voice, whose sonorous but musical tones\nwere almost masculine and certainly remarkable in a girl:\n\n\"The bunch of flowers belongs to me; but keep it till it is faded, by\nmid-day, and then return it to me.\"\n\n\"It belongs to you?\" repeated the younger girl, raising her eyes in\nsurprise to her sister, for to this hour what had been Klea's had been\nhers also. \"But I always used to take the flowers you brought home; what\nis there special in these?\"\n\n\"They are only violets like any other violets,\" replied Klea coloring\ndeeply. \"But the queen has worn them.\"\n\n\"The queen!\" cried her sister springing to her feet and clasping her\nhands in astonishment. \"She gave you the flowers? And you never told me\ntill now? To be sure when you came home from the procession yesterday you\nonly asked me how my foot was and whether my clothes were whole and then\nnot another mortal word did you utter. Did Cleopatra herself give you\nthis bunch?\"\n\n\"How should she?\" retorted Klea. \"One of her escort threw them to me; but\ndrop the subject pray! Give me the water, please, my mouth is parched and\nI can hardly speak for thirst.\"\n\nThe bright color dyed her cheeks again as she spoke, but Irene did not\nobserve it, for--delighted to make up for her evil doings by performing\nsome little service--she ran to fetch the water-jar; while Klea filled\nand emptied her wooden bowl she said, gracefully lifting a small foot, to\nshow to her sister:\n\n\"Look, the cut is almost healed and I can wear my sandal again. Now I\nshall tie it on and go and ask Serapion for some bread for you and\nperhaps he will give us a few dates. Please loosen the straps for me a\nlittle, here, round the ankle, my skin is so thin and tender that a\nlittle thing hurts me which you would hardly feel. At mid-day I will go\nwith you and help fill the jars for the altar, and later in the day I can\naccompany you in the procession which was postponed from yesterday. If\nonly the queen and the great foreigner should come again to look on at\nit! That would be splendid! Now, I am going, and before you have drunk\nthe last bowl of water you shall have some bread, for I will coax the old\nman so prettily that he can't say 'no.'\"\n\nIrene opened the door, and as the broad sunlight fell in it lighted up\ntints of gold in her chestnut hair, and her sister looking after her\ncould almost fancy that the sunbeams had got entangled with the waving\nglory round her head. The bunch of violets was the last thing she took\nnote of as Irene went out into the open air; then she was alone and she\nshook her head gently as she said to herself: \"I give up everything to\nher and what I have left she takes from me. Three times have I met the\nRoman, yesterday he gave me the violets, and I did want to keep those for\nmyself--and now--\" As she spoke she clasped the bowl she still held in\nher hand closely to her and her lips trembled pitifully, but only for an\ninstant; she drew herself up and said firmly: \"But it is all as it should\nbe.\"\n\nThen she was silent; she set down the water-jar on the chest by her side,\npassed the back of her hand across her forehead as if her head were\naching, then, as she sat gazing down dreamily into her lap, her weary\nhead presently fell on her shoulder and she was asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe low brick building of which the sisters' room formed a part, was\ncalled the Pastophorium, and it was occupied also by other persons\nattached to the service of the temple, and by numbers of pilgrims. These\nassembled here from all parts of Egypt, and were glad to pass a night\nunder the protection of the sanctuary.\n\nIrene, when she quitted her sister, went past many doors--which had been\nthrown open after sunrise--hastily returning the greetings of many\nstrange as well as familiar faces, for all glanced after her kindly as\nthough to see her thus early were an omen of happy augury, and she soon\nreached an outbuilding adjoining the northern end of the Pastophorium;\nhere there was no door, but at the level of about a man's height from the\nground there were six unclosed windows opening on the road. From the\nfirst of these the pale and much wrinkled face of an old man looked down\non the girl as she approached. She shouted up to him in cheerful accents\nthe greeting familiar to the Hellenes \"Rejoice!\" But he, without moving\nhis lips, gravely and significantly signed to her with his lean hand and\nwith a glance from his small, fixed and expressionless eyes that she\nshould wait, and then handed out to her a wooden trencher on which lay a\nfew dates and half a cake of bread.\n\n\"For the altar of the god?\" asked the girl. The old man nodded assent,\nand Irene went on with her small load, with the assurance of a person who\nknows exactly what is required of her; but after going a few steps and\nbefore she had reached the last of the six windows she paused, for she\nplainly heard voices and steps, and presently, at the end of the\nPastophorium towards which she was proceeding and which opened into a\nsmall grove of acacias dedicated to Serapis--which was of much greater\nextent outside the enclosing wall--appeared a little group of men whose\nappearance attracted her attention; but she was afraid to go on towards\nthe strangers, so, leaning close up to the wall of the houses, she\nawaited their departure, listening the while to what they were saying.\n\nIn front of these early visitors to the temple walked a man with a long\nstaff in his right hand speaking to the two gentlemen who followed, with\nthe air of a professional guide, who is accustomed to talk as if he were\nreading to his audience out of an invisible book, and whom the hearers\nare unwilling to interrupt with questions, because they know that his\nknowledge scarcely extends beyond exactly what he says. Of his two\nremarkable-looking hearers one was wrapped in a long and splendid robe\nand wore a rich display of gold chains and rings, while the other wore\nnothing over his short chiton but a Roman toga thrown over his left\nshoulder.\n\nHis richly attired companion was an old man with a full and beardless\nface and thin grizzled hair. Irene gazed at him with admiration and\nastonishment, but when she had feasted her eyes on the stuffs and\nornaments he wore, she fixed them with much greater interest and\nattention on the tall and youthful figure at his side.\n\n\"Like Hui, the cook's fat poodle, beside a young lion,\" thought she to\nherself, as she noted the bustling step of the one and the independent\nand elastic gait of the other. She felt irresistibly tempted to mimic the\nolder man, but this audacious impulse was soon quelled for scarcely had\nthe guide explained to the Roman that it was here that those pious\nrecluses had their cells who served the god in voluntary captivity, as\nbeing consecrated to Serapis, and that they received their food through\nthose windows--here he pointed upwards with his staff when suddenly a\nshutter, which the cicerone of this ill-matched pair had touched with his\nstick, flew open with as much force and haste as if a violent gust of\nwind had caught it, and flung it back against the wall.--And no less\nsuddenly a man's head-of ferocious aspect and surrounded by a shock of\ngray hair like a lion's mane--looked out of the window and shouted to him\nwho had knocked, in a deep and somewhat overloud voice.\n\n\"If my shutter had been your back, you impudent rascal, your stick would\nhave hit the right thing. Or if I had a cudgel between my teeth instead\nof a tongue, I would exercise it on you till it was as tired as that of a\npreacher who has threshed his empty straw to his congregation for three\nmortal hours. Scarcely is the sun risen when we are plagued by the\nparasitical and inquisitive mob. Why! they will rouse us at midnight\nnext, and throw stones at our rotten old shutters. The effects of my last\ngreeting lasted you for three weeks--to-day's I hope may act a little\nlonger. You, gentlemen there, listen to me. Just as the raven follows an\narmy to batten on the dead, so that fellow there stalks on in front of\nstrangers in order to empty their pockets--and you, who call yourself an\ninterpreter, and in learning Greek have forgotten the little Egyptian you\never knew, mark this: When you have to guide strangers take them to see\nthe Sphinx, or to consult the Apis in the temple of Ptah, or lead them to\nthe king's beast-garden at Alexandria, or the taverns at Hanopus, but\ndon't bring them here, for we are neither pheasants, nor flute-playing\nwomen, nor miraculous beasts, who take a pleasure in being stared at.\nYou, gentlemen, ought to choose a better guide than this chatter-mag that\nkeeps up its perpetual rattle when once you set it going. As to\nyourselves I will tell you one thing: Inquisitive eyes are intrusive\ncompany, and every prudent house holder guards himself against them by\nkeeping his door shut.\"\n\nIrene shrank back and flattened herself against the pilaster which\nconcealed her, for the shutter closed again with a slam, the recluse\npulling it to with a rope attached to its outer edge, and he was hidden\nfrom the gaze of the strangers; but only for an instant, for the rusty\nhinges on which the shutter was hanging were not strong enough to bear\nsuch violent treatment, and slowly giving way it was about to fall. The\nblustering hermit stretched out an arm to support it and save it; but it\nwas heavy, and his efforts would not have succeeded had not the young man\nin Roman dress given his assistance and lifted up the shutter with his\nhand and shoulder, without any effort, as if it were made of willow laths\ninstead of strong planks.\n\n\"A little higher still,\" shouted the recluse to his assistant. \"Let us\nset the thing on its edge! so, push away, a little more. There, I have\npropped up the wretched thing and there it may lie. If the bats pay me a\nvisit to-night I will think of you and give them your best wishes.\"\n\n\"You may save yourself that trouble,\" replied the young man with cool\ndignity. \"I will send you a carpenter who shall refix the shutter, and we\noffer you our apologies for having been the occasion of the mischief that\nhas happened.\"\n\nThe old man did not interrupt the speaker, but, when he had stared at him\nfrom head to foot, he said: \"You are strong and you speak fairly, and I\nmight like you well enough if you were in other company. I don't want\nyour carpenter; only send me down a hammer, a wedge, and a few strong\nnails. Now, you can do nothing more for me, so pack off\"\n\n\"We are going at once,\" said the more handsomely dressed visitor in a\nthin and effeminate voice. \"What can a man do when the boys pelt him with\ndirt from a safe hiding-place, but take himself off\"\n\n\"Be off, be off,\" said the person thus described, with a laugh. \"As far\noff as Samothrace if you like, fat Eulaeus; you can scarcely have\nforgotten the way there since you advised the king to escape thither with\nall his treasure. But if you cannot trust yourself to find it alone, I\nrecommend you your interpreter and guide there to show you the road.\"\n\nThe Eunuch Eulaeus, the favorite councillor of King Ptolemy--called\nPhilometor (the lover of his mother)--turned pale at these words, cast a\nsinister glance at the old man and beckoned to the young Roman; he\nhowever was not inclined to follow, for the scolding old oddity had taken\nhis fancy--perhaps because he was conscious that the old man, who\ngenerally showed no reserve in his dislikes, had a liking for him.\nBesides, he found nothing to object to in his opinion of his companions,\nso he turned to Eulaeus and said courteously:\n\n\"Accept my best thanks for your company so far, and do not let me detain\nyou any longer from your more important occupations on my account.\"\n\nEulaeus bowed and replied, \"I know what my duty is. The king entrusted me\nwith your safe conduct; permit me therefore to wait for you under the\nacacias yonder.\"\n\nWhen Eulaeus and the guide had reached the green grove, Irene hoped to\nfind an opportunity to prefer her petition, but the Roman had stopped in\nfront of the old man's cell, and had begun a conversation with him which\nshe could not venture to interrupt. She set down the platter with the\nbread and dates that had been entrusted to her on a projecting stone by\nher side with a little sigh, crossed her arms and feet as she leaned\nagainst the wall, and pricked up her ears to hear their talk.\n\n\"I am not a Greek,\" said the youth, \"and you are quite mistaken in\nthinking that I came to Egypt and to see you out of mere curiosity.\"\n\n\"But those who come only to pray in the temple,\" interrupted the other,\n\"do not--as it seems to me--choose an Eulaeus for a companion, or any\nsuch couple as those now waiting for you under the acacias, and invoking\nanything rather than blessings on your head; at any rate, for my own\npart, even if I were a thief I would not go stealing in their company.\nWhat then brought you to Serapis?\"\n\n\"It is my turn now to accuse you of curiosity!\"\n\n\"By all means,\" cried the old man, \"I am an honest dealer and quite\nwilling to take back the coin I am ready to pay away. Have you come to\nhave a dream interpreted, or to sleep in the temple yonder and have a\nface revealed to you?\"\n\n\"Do I look so sleepy,\" said the Roman, \"as to want to go to bed again\nnow, only an hour after sunrise?\"\n\n\"It may be,\" said the recluse, \"that you have not yet fairly come to the\nend of yesterday, and that at the fag-end of some revelry it occurred to\nyou that you might visit us and sleep away your headache at Serapis.\"\n\n\"A good deal of what goes on outside these walls seems to come to your\nears,\" retorted the Roman, \"and if I were to meet you in the street I\nshould take you for a ship's captain or a master-builder who had to\nmanage a number of unruly workmen. According to what I heard of you and\nthose like you in Athens and elsewhere, I expected to find you something\nquite different.\"\n\n\"What did you expect?\" said Serapion laughing. \"I ask you notwithstanding\nthe risk of being again considered curious.\"\n\n\"And I am very willing to answer,\" retorted the other, \"but if I were to\ntell you the whole truth I should run into imminent danger of being sent\noff as ignominiously as my unfortunate guide there.\"\n\n\"Speak on,\" said the old man, \"I keep different garments for different\nmen, and the worst are not for those who treat me to that rare dish--a\nlittle truth. But before you serve me up so bitter a meal tell me, what\nis your name?\"\n\n\"Shall I call the guide?\" said the Roman with an ironical laugh. \"He can\ndescribe me completely, and give you the whole history of my family. But,\njoking apart, my name is Publius.\"\n\n\"The name of at least one out of every three of your countrymen.\"\n\n\"I am of the Cornelia gens and of the family of the Scipios,\" continued\nthe youth in a low voice, as though he would rather avoid boasting of his\nillustrious name.\n\n\"Indeed, a noble gentleman, a very grand gentleman!\" said the recluse,\nbowing deeply out of his window. \"But I knew that beforehand, for at your\nage and with such slender ankles to his long legs only a nobleman could\nwalk as you walk. Then Publius Cornelius--\"\n\n\"Nay, call me Scipio, or rather by my first name only, Publius,\" the\nyouth begged him. \"You are called Serapion, and I will tell you what you\nwish to know. When I was told that in this temple there were people who\nhad themselves locked into their little chambers never to quit them,\ntaking thought about their dreams and leading a meditative life, I\nthought they must be simpletons or fools or both at once.\"\n\n\"Just so, just so,\" interrupted Serapion. \"But there is a fourth\nalternative you did not think of. Suppose now among these men there\nshould be some shut up against their will, and what if I were one of\nthose prisoners? I have asked you a great many questions and you have not\nhesitated to answer, and you may know how I got into this miserable cage\nand why I stay in it. I am the son of a good family, for my father was\noverseer of the granaries of this temple and was of Macedonian origin,\nbut my mother was an Egyptian. I was born in an evil hour, on the\ntwenty-seventh day of the month of Paophi, a day which it is said in the\nsacred books that it is an evil day and that the child that is born in it\nmust be kept shut up or else it will die of a snake-bite. In consequence\nof this luckless prediction many of those born on the same day as myself\nwere, like me, shut up at an early age in this cage. My father would very\nwillingly have left me at liberty, but my uncle, a caster of horoscopes\nin the temple of Ptah, who was all in all in my mother's estimation, and\nhis friends with him, found many other evil signs about my body, read\nmisfortune for me in the stars, declared that the Hathors had destined me\nto nothing but evil, and set upon her so persistently that at last I was\ndestined to the cloister--we lived here at Memphis. I owe this misery to\nmy dear mother and it was out of pure affection that she brought it upon\nme. You look enquiringly at me--aye, boy! life will teach you too the\nlesson that the worst hate that can be turned against you often entails\nless harm upon you than blind tenderness which knows no reason. I learned\nto read and write, and all that is usually taught to the priests' sons,\nbut never to accommodate myself to my lot, and I never shall.--Well, when\nmy beard grew I succeeded in escaping and I lived for a time in the\nworld. I have been even to Rome, to Carthage, and in Syria; but at last I\nlonged to drink Nile-water once more and I returned to Egypt. Why?\nBecause, fool that I was, I fancied that bread and water with captivity\ntasted better in my own country than cakes and wine with freedom in the\nland of the stranger.\n\n\"In my father's house I found only my mother still living, for my father\nhad died of grief. Before my flight she had been a tall, fine woman, when\nI came home I found her faded and dying. Anxiety for me, a miserable\nwretch, had consumed her, said the physician--that was the hardest thing\nto bear. When at last the poor, good little woman, who could so fondly\npersuade me--a wild scamp--implored me on her death-bed to return to my\nretreat, I yielded, and swore to her that I would stay in my prison\npatiently to the end, for I am as water is in northern countries, a child\nmay turn me with its little hand or else I am as hard and as cold as\ncrystal. My old mother died soon after I had taken this oath. I kept my\nword as you see--and you have seen too how I endure my fate.\"\n\n\"Patiently enough,\" replied Publius, \"I should writhe in my chains far\nmore rebelliously than you, and I fancy it must do you good to rage and\nstorm sometimes as you did just now.\"\n\n\"As much good as sweet wine from Chios!\" exclaimed the anchorite,\nsmacking his lips as if he tasted the noble juice of the grape, and\nstretching his matted head as far as possible out of the window. Thus it\nhappened that he saw Irene, and called out to her in a cheery voice:\n\n\"What are you doing there, child? You are standing as if you were waiting\nto say good-morning to good fortune.\"\n\nThe girl hastily took up the trencher, smoothed down her hair with her\nother hand, and as she approached the men, coloring slightly, Publius\nfeasted his eyes on her in surprise and admiration.\n\nBut Serapion's words had been heard by another person, who now emerged\nfrom the acacia-grove and joined the young Roman, exclaiming before he\ncame up with them:\n\n\"Waiting for good fortune! does the old man say? And you can hear it\nsaid, Publius, and not reply that she herself must bring good fortune\nwherever she appears.\"\n\nThe speaker was a young Greek, dressed with extreme care, and he now\nstuck the pomegranate-blossom he carried in his hand behind his ear, so\nas to shake hands with his friend Publius; then he turned his fair,\nsaucy, almost girlish face with its finely-cut features up to the\nrecluse, wishing to attract his attention to himself by his next speech.\n\n\"With Plato's greeting 'to deal fairly and honestly' do I approach you!\"\nhe cried; and then he went on more quietly: \"But indeed you can hardly\nneed such a warning, for you belong to those who know how to conquer\ntrue--that is the inner--freedom; for who can be freer than he who needs\nnothing? And as none can be nobler than the freest of the free, accept\nthe tribute of my respect, and scorn not the greeting of Lysias of\nCorinth, who, like Alexander, would fain exchange lots with you, the\nDiogenes of Egypt, if it were vouchsafed to him always to see out the\nwindow of your mansion--otherwise not very desirable--the charming form\nof this damsel--\"\n\n\"That is enough, young man,\" said Serapion, interrupting the Greek's flow\nof words. \"This young girl belongs to the temple, and any one who is\ntempted to speak to her as if she were a flute-player will have to deal\nwith me, her protector. Yes, with me; and your friend here will bear me\nwitness that it may not be altogether to your advantage to have a quarrel\nwith such as I. Now, step back, young gentlemen, and let the girl tell me\nwhat she needs.\"\n\nWhen Irene stood face to face with the anchorite, and had told him\nquickly and in a low voice what she had done, and that her sister Klea\nwas even now waiting for her return, Serapion laughed aloud, and then\nsaid in a low tone, but gaily, as a father teases his daughter:\n\n\"She has eaten enough for two, and here she stands, on her tiptoes,\nreaching up to my window, as if it were not an over-fed girl that stood\nin her garments, but some airy sprite. We may laugh, but Klea, poor\nthing, she must be hungry?\"\n\nIrene made no reply, but she stood taller on tiptoe than ever, put her\nface up to Serapion, nodding her pretty head at him again and again, and\nas she looked roguishly and yet imploringly into his eyes Serapion went\non:\n\n\"And so I am to give my breakfast to Klea, that is what you want; but\nunfortunately that breakfast is a thing of the past and beyond recall;\nnothing is left of it but the date-stones. But there, on the trencher in\nyour hand, is a nice little meal.\"\n\n\"That is the offering to Serapis sent by old Phibis,\" answered the girl.\n\n\"Hm, hm--oh! of course!\" muttered the old man. \"So long as it is for a\ngod--surely he might do without it better than a poor famishing girl.\"\n\nThen he went on, gravely and emphatically, as a teacher who has made an\nincautious speech before his pupils endeavors to rectify it by another of\nmore solemn import.\n\n\"Certainly, things given into our charge should never be touched;\nbesides, the gods first and man afterwards. Now if only I knew what to\ndo. But, by the soul of my father! Serapis himself sends us what we need.\nStep close up to me, noble Scipio--or Publius, if I may so call you--and\nlook out towards the acacias. Do you see my favorite, your cicerone, and\nthe bread and roast fowls that your slave has brought him in that\nleathern wallet? And now he is setting a wine-jar on the carpet he has\nspread at the big feet of Eulaeus--they will be calling you to share the\nmeal in a minute, but I know of a pretty child who is very hungry--for a\nlittle white cat stole away her breakfast this morning. Bring me half a\nloaf and the wing of a fowl, and a few pomegranates if you like, or one\nof the peaches Eulaeus is so judiciously fingering. Nay--you may bring\ntwo of them, I have a use for both.\"\n\n\"Serapion!\" exclaimed Irene in mild reproof and looking down at the\nground; but the Greek answered with prompt zeal, \"More, much more than\nthat I can bring you. I hasten--\"\n\n\"Stay here,\" interrupted Publius with decision, holding him back by the\nshoulder. \"Serapion's request was addressed to me, and I prefer to do my\nfriend's pleasure in my own person.\"\n\n\"Go then,\" cried the Greek after Publius as he hurried away. \"You will\nnot allow me even thanks from the sweetest lips in Memphis. Only look,\nSerapion, what a hurry he is in. And now poor Eulaeus has to get up; a\nhippopotamus might learn from him how to do so with due awkwardness.\nWell! I call that making short work of it--a Roman never asks before he\ntakes; he has got all he wants and Eulaeus looks after him like a cow\nwhose calf has been stolen from her; to be sure I myself would rather eat\npeaches than see them carried away! Oh if only the people in the Forum\ncould see him now! Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica, own grandson to the\ngreat Africanus, serving like a slave at a feast with a dish in each\nhand! Well Publius, what has Rome the all conquering brought home this\ntime in token of victory?\"\n\n\"Sweet peaches and a roast pheasant,\" said Cornelius laughing, and he\nhanded two dishes into the anchorite's window; \"there is enough left\nstill for the old man.\"\n\n\"Thanks, many thanks!\" cried Serapion, beckoning to Irene, and he gave\nher a golden-yellow cake of wheaten bread, half of the roast bird,\nalready divided by Eulaeus, and two peaches, and whispered to her: \"Klea\nmay come for the rest herself when these men are gone. Now thank this\nkind gentleman and go.\"\n\nFor an instant the girl stood transfixed, her face crimson with confusion\nand her glistening white teeth set in her nether lip, speechless, face to\nface with the young Roman and avoiding the earnest gaze of his black\neyes. Then she collected herself and said:\n\n\"You are very kind. I cannot make any pretty speeches, but I thank you\nmost kindly.\"\n\n\"And your very kind thanks,\" replied Publius, \"add to the delights of\nthis delightful morning. I should very much like to possess one of the\nviolets out of your hair in remembrance of this day--and of you.\"\n\n\"Take them all,\" exclaimed Irene, hastily taking the bunch from her hair\nand holding them out to the Roman; but before he could take them she drew\nback her hand and said with an air of importance:\n\n\"The queen has had them in her hand. My sister Klea got them yesterday in\nthe procession.\"\n\nScipio's face grew grave at these words, and he asked with commanding\nbrevity and sharpness:\n\n\"Has your sister black hair and is she taller than you are, and did she\nwear a golden fillet in the procession? Did she give you these flowers?\nYes--do you say? Well then, she had the bunch from me, but although she\naccepted them she seems to have taken very little pleasure in them, for\nwhat we value we do not give away--so there they may go, far enough!\"\n\nWith these words he flung the flowers over the house and then he went on:\n\n\"But you, child, you shall be held guiltless of their loss. Give me your\npomegranate-flower, Lysias!\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied the Greek. \"You chose to do pleasure to your\nfriend Serapion in your own person when you kept me from going to fetch\nthe peaches, and now I desire to offer this flower to the fair Irene with\nmy own hand.\"\n\n\"Take this flower,\" said Publius, turning his back abruptly on the girl,\nwhile Lysias laid the blossom on the trencher in the maiden's hand; she\nfelt the rough manners of the young Roman as if she had been touched by a\nhard hand; she bowed silently and timidly and then quickly ran home.\n\nPublius looked thoughtfully after her till Lysias called out to him:\n\n\"What has come over me? Has saucy Eros perchance wandered by mistake into\nthe temple of gloomy Serapis this morning?\"\n\n\"That would not be wise,\" interrupted the recluse, \"for Cerberus, who\nlies at the foot of our God, would soon pluck the fluttering wings of the\nairy youngster,\" and as he spoke he looked significantly at the Greek.\n\n\"Aye! if he let himself be caught by the three-headed monster,\" laughed\nLysias. \"But come away now, Publius; Eulaeus has waited long enough.\"\n\n\"You go to him then,\" answered the Roman, \"I will follow soon; but first\nI have a word to say to Serapion.\"\n\nSince Irene's disappearance, the old man had turned his attention to the\nacacia-grove where Eulaeus was still feasting. When the Roman addressed\nhim he said, shaking his great head with dissatisfaction:\n\n\"Your eyes of course are no worse than mine. Only look at that man\nmunching and moving his jaws and smacking his lips. By Serapis! you can\ntell the nature of a man by watching him eat. You know I sit in my cage\nunwillingly enough, but I am thankful for one thing about it, and that is\nthat it keeps me far from all that such a creature as Eulaeus calls\nenjoyment--for such enjoyment, I tell you, degrades a man.\"\n\n\"Then you are more of a philosopher than you wish to seem,\" replied\nPublius.\n\n\"I wish to seem nothing,\" answered the anchorite.\n\n\"For it is all the same to me what others think of me. But if a man who\nhas nothing to do and whose quiet is rarely disturbed, and who thinks his\nown thoughts about many things is a philosopher, you may call me one if\nyou like. If at any time you should need advice you may come here again,\nfor I like you, and you might be able to do me an important service.\"\n\n\"Only speak,\" interrupted the Roman, \"I should be glad from my heart to\nbe of any use to you.\"\n\n\"Not now,\" said Serapion softly. \"But come again when you have\ntime--without your companions there, of course--at any rate without\nEulaeus, who of all the scoundrels I ever came across is the very worst.\nIt may be as well to tell you at once that what I might require of you\nwould concern not myself but the weal or woe of the water-bearers, the\ntwo maidens you have seen and who much need protection.\"\n\n\"I came here for my parents' sake and for Klea's, and not on your\naccount,\" said Publius frankly. \"There is something in her mien and in\nher eyes which perhaps may repel others but which attracts me. How came\nso admirable a creature in your temple?\"\n\n\"When you come again,\" replied the recluse, \"I will tell you the history\nof the sisters and what they owe to Eulaeus. Now go, and understand me\nwhen I say the girls are well guarded. This observation is for the\nbenefit of the Greek who is but a heedless fellow; but you, when you know\nwho the girls are, will help me to protect them.\"\n\n\"That I would do as it is, with real pleasure,\" replied Publius; he took\nleave of the recluse and called out to Eulaeus.\n\n\"What a delightful morning it has been!\"\n\n\"It would have been pleasanter for me,\" replied Eulaeus, \"if you had not\ndeprived me of your company for such a long time.\"\n\n\"That is to say,\" answered the Roman, \"that I have stayed away longer\nthan I ought.\"\n\n\"You behave after the fashion of your race,\" said the other bowing low.\n\"They have kept even kings waiting in their ante-chambers.\"\n\n\"But you do not wear a crown,\" said Publius evasively. \"And if any one\nshould know how to wait it is an old courtier, who--\"\n\n\"When it is at the command of his sovereign,\" interrupted Eulaeus, the\nold courtier may submit, even when youngsters choose to treat him with\ncontempt.\"\n\n\"That hits us both,\" said Publius, turning to Lysias. \"Now you may answer\nhim, I have heard and said enough.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nIrene's foot was not more susceptible to the chafing of a strap than her\nspirit to a rough or an unkind word; the Roman's words and manner had\nhurt her feelings.\n\nShe went towards home with a drooping head and almost crying, but before\nshe had reached it her eyes fell on the peaches and the roast bird she\nwas carrying. Her thoughts flew to her sister and how much the famishing\ngirl would relish so savory a meal; she smiled again, her eyes shone with\npleasure, and she went on her way with a quickened step. It never once\noccurred to her that Klea would ask for the violets, or that the young\nRoman could be anything more to her sister than any other stranger.\n\nShe had never had any other companion than Klea, and after work, when\nother girls commonly discussed their longings and their agitations and\nthe pleasures and the torments of love, these two used to get home so\nutterly wearied that they wanted nothing but peace and sleep. If they had\nsometimes an hour for idle chat Klea ever and again would tell some story\nof their old home, and Irene, who even within the solemn walls of the\ntemple of Serapis sought and found many innocent pleasures, would listen\nto her willingly, and interrupt her with questions and with anecdotes of\nsmall events or details which she fancied she remembered of her early\nchildhood, but which in fact she had first learnt from her sister, though\nthe force of a lively imagination had made them seem a part and parcel of\nher own experience.\n\nKlea had not observed Irene's long absence since, as we know, shortly\nafter her sister had set out, overpowered by hunger and fatigue she had\nfallen asleep. Before her nodding head had finally sunk and her drooping\neyelids had closed, her lips now and then puckered and twitched as if\nwith grief; then her features grew tranquil, her lips parted softly and a\nsmile gently lighted up her blushing cheeks, as the breath of spring\nsoftly thaws a frozen blossom. This sleeper was certainly not born for\nloneliness and privation, but to enjoy and to keep love and happiness.\n\nIt was warm and still, very still in the sisters' little room. The buzz\nof a fly was audible now and again, as it flew round the little oil-cup\nIrene had left empty, and now and again the breathing of the sleeper,\ncoming more and more rapidly. Every trace of fatigue had vanished from\nKlea's countenance, her lips parted and pouted as if for a kiss, her\ncheeks glowed, and at last she raised both hands as if to defend herself\nand stammered out in her dream, \"No, no, certainly not--pray, do not! my\nlove--\" Then her arm fell again by her side, and dropping on the chest on\nwhich she was sitting, the blow woke her. She slowly opened her eyes with\na happy smile; then she raised her long silken lashes till her eyes were\nopen, and she gazed fixedly on vacancy as though something strange had\nmet her gaze. Thus she sat for some time without moving; then she started\nup, pressed her hand on her brow and eyes, and shuddering as if she had\nseen something horrible or were shivering with ague, she murmured in\ngasps, while she clenched her teeth:\n\n\"What does this mean? How come I by such thoughts? What demons are these\nthat make us do and feel things in our dreams which when we are waking we\nshould drive far, far from our thoughts? I could hate myself, despise and\nhate myself for the sake of those dreams since, wretch that I am! I let\nhim put his arm round me--and no bitter rage--ah! no--something quite\ndifferent, something exquisitely sweet, thrilled through my soul.\"\n\nAs she spoke, she clenched her fists and pressed them against her\ntemples; then again her arms dropped languidly into her lap, and shaking\nher head she went on in an altered and softened voice:\n\n\"Still-it was only in a dream and--Oh! ye eternal gods--when we are\nasleep--well! and what then? Has it come to this; to impure thoughts I am\nadding self-deception! No, this dream was sent by no demon, it was only a\ndistorted reflection of what I felt yesterday and the day before, and\nbefore that even, when the tall stranger looked straight into my\neyes--four times he has done so now--and then--how many hours ago, gave\nme the violets. Did I even turn away my face or punish his boldness with\nan angry look? Is it not sometimes possible to drive away an enemy with a\nglance? I have often succeeded when a man has looked after us; but\nyesterday I could not, and I was as wide awake then as I am at this\nmoment. What does the stranger want with me? What is it he asks with his\npenetrating glance, which for days has followed me wherever I turn, and\nrobs me of peace even in my sleep? Why should I open my eyes--the gates\nof the heart--to him? And now the poison poured in through them is\nseething there; but I will tear it out, and when Irene comes home I will\ntread the violets into the dust, or leave them with her; she will soon\npull them to pieces or leave them to wither miserably--for I will remain\npure-minded, even in my dreams--what have I besides in the world?\"\n\nAt these words she broke off her soliloquy, for she heard Irene's voice,\na sound that must have had a favorable effect on her spirit, for she\npaused, and the bitter expression her beautiful features had but just now\nworn disappeared as she murmured, drawing a deep breath:\n\n\"I am not utterly bereft and wretched so long as I have her, and can hear\nher voice.\"\n\nIrene, on her road home, had given the modest offerings of the anchorite\nPhibis into the charge of one of the temple-servants to lay before the\naltar of Serapis, and now as she came into the room she hid the platter\nwith the Roman's donation behind her, and while still in the doorway,\ncalled out to her sister:\n\n\"Guess now, what have I here?\"\n\n\"Bread and dates from Serapion,\" replied Klea.\n\n\"Oh, dear no!\" cried the other, holding out the plate to her sister, \"the\nvery nicest dainties, fit for gods and kings. Only feel this peach, does\nnot it feel as soft as one of little Philo's cheeks? If I could always\nprovide such a substitute you would wish I might eat up your breakfast\nevery day. And now do you know who gave you all this? No, that you will\nnever guess! The tall Roman gave them me, the same you had the violets\nfrom yesterday.\"\n\nKlea's face turned crimson, and she said shortly and decidedly:\n\n\"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"Because he told me so himself,\" replied Irene in a very altered tone,\nfor her sister's eyes were fixed upon her with an expression of stern\ngravity, such as Irene had never seen in her before.\n\n\"And where are the violets?\" asked Klea.\n\n\"He took them, and his friend gave me this pomegranate-flower,\" stammered\nIrene. \"He himself wanted to give it me, but the Greek--a handsome, merry\nman--would not permit it, and laid the flower there on the platter. Take\nit--but do not look at me like that any longer, for I cannot bear it!\"\n\n\"I do not want it,\" said her sister, but not sharply; then, looking down,\nshe asked in a low voice: \"Did the Roman keep the violets?\"\n\n\"He kept--no, Klea--I will not tell you a lie! He flung them over the\nhouse, and said such rough things as he did it, that I was frightened and\nturned my back upon him quickly, for I felt the tears coming into my\neyes. What have you to do with the Roman? I feel so anxious, so\nfrightened--as I do sometimes when a storm is gathering and I am afraid\nof it. And how pale your lips are! that comes of long fasting, no\ndoubt--eat now, as much as you can. But Klea! why do you look at me\nso--and look so gloomy and terrible? I cannot bear that look, I cannot\nbear it!\"\n\nIrene sobbed aloud, and her sister went up to her, stroked her soft hair\nfrom her brow, kissed her kindly, and said:\n\n\"I am not angry with you, child, and did not mean to hurt you. If only I\ncould cry as you do when clouds overshadow my heart, the blue sky would\nshine again with me as soon as it does with you. Now dry your eyes, go up\nto the temple, and enquire at what hour we are to go to the\nsinging-practice, and when the procession is to set out.\"\n\nIrene obeyed; she went out with downcast eyes, but once out she looked up\nagain brightly, for she remembered the procession, and it occurred to her\nthat she would then see again the Roman's gay acquaintance, and turning\nback into the room she laid her pomegranate-blossom in the little bowl\nout of which she had formerly taken the violets, kissed her sister as\ngaily as ever, and then reflected as to whether she would wear the flower\nin her hair or in her bosom. Wear it, at any rate, she must, for she must\nshow plainly that she knew how to value such a gift.\n\nAs soon as Klea was alone she seized the trencher with a vehement\ngesture, gave the roast bird to the gray cat, who had stolen back into\nthe room, turning away her head, for the mere smell of the pheasant was\nlike an insult. Then, while the cat bore off her welcome spoils into a\ncorner, she clutched a peach and raised her hand to fling it away through\na gap in the roof of the room; but she did not carry out her purpose, for\nit occurred to her that Irene and little Philo, the son of the\ngate-keeper, might enjoy the luscious fruit; so she laid it back on the\ndish and took up the bread, for she was painfully hungry.\n\nShe was on the point of breaking the golden-brown cake, but acting on a\nrapid impulse she tossed it back on the trencher saying to herself: \"At\nany rate I will owe him nothing; but I will not throw away the gifts of\nthe gods as he threw away my violets, for that would be a sin. All is\nover between him and me, and if he appears to-day in the procession, and\nif he chooses to look at me again I will compel my eyes to avoid meeting\nhis--aye, that I will, and will carry it through. But, Oh eternal gods!\nand thou above all, great Serapis, whom I heartily serve, there is\nanother thing I cannot do without your aid. Help me, oh! help me to\nforget him, that my very thoughts may remain pure.\"\n\nWith these words she flung herself on her knees before the chest, pressed\nher brow against the hard wood, and strove to pray.\n\nOnly for one thing did she entreat the gods; for strength to forget the\nman who had betrayed her into losing her peace of mind.\n\nBut just as swift clouds float across the sky, distracting the labors of\nthe star-gazer, who is striving to observe some remote planet--as the\nclatter of the street interrupts again and again some sweet song we fain\nwould hear, marring it with its harsh discords--so again and again the\nimage of the young Roman came across Klea's prayers for release from that\nvery thought, and at last it seemed to her that she was like a man who\nstrives to raise a block of stone by the exertion of his utmost strength,\nand who weary at last of lifting the stone is crushed to the earth by its\nweight; still she felt that, in spite of all her prayers and efforts, the\nenemy she strove to keep off only came nearer, and instead of flying from\nher, overmastered her soul with a grasp from which she could not escape.\n\nFinally she gave up the unavailing struggle, cooled her burning face with\ncold water, and tightened the straps of her sandals to go to the temple;\nnear the god himself she hoped she might in some degree recover the peace\nshe could not find here.\n\nJust at the door she met Irene, who told her that the singing-practice\nwas put off, on account of the procession which was fixed for four hours\nafter noon. And as Klea went towards the temple her sister called after\nher.\n\n\"Do not stay too long though, water will be wanted again directly for the\nlibations.\"\n\n\"Then will you go alone to the work?\" asked Klea; \"there cannot be very\nmuch wanted, for the temple will soon be empty on account of the\nprocession. A few jars-full will be enough. There is a cake of bread and\na peach in there for you; I must keep the other for little Philo.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nKlea went quickly on towards the temple, without listening to Irene's\nexcuses. She paid no heed to the worshippers who filled the forecourt,\npraying either with heads bent low or with uplifted arms or, if they were\nof Egyptian extraction, kneeling on the smooth stone pavement, for, even\nas she entered, she had already begun to turn in supplication to the\ndivinity.\n\nShe crossed the great hall of the sanctuary, which was open only to the\ninitiated and to the temple-servants, of whom she was one. Here all\naround her stood a crowd of slender columns, their shafts crowned with\ngracefully curved flower calyxes, like stems supporting lilies, over her\nhead she saw in the ceiling an image of the midnight sky with the bright,\nunresting and ever-restful stars; the planets and fixed stars in their\ngolden barks looked down on her silently. Yes! here were the twilight and\nstillness befitting a personal communion with the divinity.\n\nThe pillars appeared to her fancy like a forest of giant growth, and it\nseemed to her that the perfume of the incense emanated from the gorgeous\nfloral capitals that crowned them; it penetrated her senses, which were\nrendered more acute by fasting and agitation, with a sort of\nintoxication. Her eyes were raised to heaven, her arms crossed over her\nbosom as she traversed this vast hall, and with trembling steps\napproached a smaller and lower chamber, where in the furthest and darkest\nbackground a curtain of heavy and costly material veiled the brazen door\nof the holy of holies.\n\nEven she was forbidden to approach this sacred place; but to-day she was\nso filled with longing for the inspiring assistance of the god, that she\nwent on to the holy of holies in spite of the injunction she had never\nyet broken, not to approach it. Filled with reverent awe she sank down\nclose to the door of the sacred chamber, shrinking close into the angle\nformed between a projecting door-post and the wall of the great hall.\n\nThe craving desire to seek and find a power outside us as guiding the\npath of our destiny is common to every nation, to every man; it is as\nsurely innate in every being gifted with reason--many and various as\nthese are--as the impulse to seek a cause when we perceive an effect, to\nsee when light visits the earth, or to hear when swelling waves of sound\nfall on our ear. Like every other gift, no doubt that of religious\nsensibility is bestowed in different degrees on different natures. In\nKlea it had always been strongly developed, and a pious mother had\ncultivated it by precept and example, while her father always had taught\nher one thing only: namely to be true, inexorably true, to others as to\nherself.\n\nAfterwards she had been daily employed in the service of the god whom she\nwas accustomed to regard as the greatest and most powerful of all the\nimmortals, for often from a distance she had seen the curtain of the\nsanctuary pushed aside, and the statue of Serapis with the Kalathos on\nhis head, and a figure of Cerberus at his feet, visible in the half-light\nof the holy of holies; and a ray of light, flashing through the darkness\nas by a miracle, would fall upon his brow and kiss his lips when his\ngoodness was sung by the priests in hymns of praise. At other times the\ntapers by the side of the god would be lighted or extinguished\nspontaneously.\n\nThen, with the other believers, she would glorify the great lord of the\nother world, who caused a new sun to succeed each that was extinguished,\nand made life grow up out of death; who resuscitated the dead, lifting\nthem up to be equal with him, if on earth they had reverenced truth and\nwere found faithful by the judges of the nether world.\n\nTruth--which her father had taught her to regard as the best possession\nof life--was rewarded by Serapis above all other virtues; hearts were\nweighed before him in a scale against truth, and whenever Klea tried to\npicture the god in human form he wore the grave and mild features of her\nfather, and she fancied him speaking in the words and tones of the man to\nwhom she owed her being, who had been too early snatched from her, who\nhad endured so much for righteousness' sake, and from whose lips she had\nnever heard a single word that might not have beseemed the god himself.\nAnd, as she crouched closely in the dark angle by the holy of holies, she\nfelt herself nearer to her father as well as to the god, and accused\nherself pitilessly, in that unmaidenly longings had stirred her heart,\nthat she had been insincere to herself and Irene, nay in that if she\ncould not succeed in tearing the image of the Roman from her heart she\nwould be compelled either to deceive her sister or to sadden the innocent\nand careless nature of the impressionable child, whom she was accustomed\nto succor and cherish as a mother might. On her, even apparently light\nmatters weighed oppressively, while Irene could throw off even grave and\nserious things, blowing them off as it were into the air, like a feather.\nShe was like wet clay on which even the light touch of a butterfly leaves\na mark, her sister like a mirror from which the breath that has dimmed it\ninstantly and entirely vanishes.\n\n\"Great God!\" she murmured in her prayer, \"I feel as if the Roman had\nbranded my very soul. Help thou me to efface the mark; help me to become\nas I was before, so that I may look again in Irene's eyes without\nconcealment, pure and true, and that I may be able to say to myself, as I\nwas wont, that I had thought and acted in such a way as my father would\napprove if he could know it.\"\n\nShe was still praying thus when the footsteps and voices of two men\napproaching the holy of holies startled her from her devotions; she\nsuddenly became fully conscious of the fact that she was in a forbidden\nspot, and would be severely punished if she were discovered.\n\n\"Lock that door,\" cried one of the new-comers to his companion, pointing\nto the door which led from the prosekos into the pillared hall, \"none,\neven of the initiated, need see what you are preparing here for us--\"\n\nKlea recognized the voice of the high-priest, and thought for a moment of\nstepping forward and confessing her guilt; but, though she did not\nusually lack courage, she did not do this, but shrank still more closely\ninto her hiding-place, which was perfectly dark when the brazen door of\nthe room; which had no windows, was closed. She now perceived that the\ncurtain and door were opened which closed the inmost sanctuary, she heard\none of the men twirling the stick which was to produce fire, saw the\nfirst gleam of light from it streaming out of the holy of holies, and\nthen heard the blows of a hammer and the grating sound of a file.\n\nThe quiet sanctum was turned into a forge, but noisy as were the\nproceedings within, it seemed to Klea that the beating of her own heart\nwas even louder than the brazen clatter of the tools wielded by Krates;\nhe was one of the oldest of the priests of Serapis, who was chief in\ncharge of the sacred vessels, who was wont never to speak to any one but\nthe high-priest, and who was famous even among his Greek\nfellow-countrymen for the skill with which he could repair broken\nmetal-work, make the securest locks, and work in silver and gold.\n\nWhen the sisters first came into the temple five years since, Irene had\nbeen very much afraid of this man, who was so small as almost to be a\ndwarf, broad shouldered and powerfully knit, while his wrinkled face\nlooked like a piece of rough cork-bark, and he was subject to a painful\ncomplaint in his feet which often prevented his walking; her fears had\nnot vexed but only amused the priestly smith, who whenever he met the\nchild, then eleven years old, would turn his lips up to his big red nose,\nroll his eyes, and grunt hideously to increase the terror that came over\nher.\n\nHe was not ill-natured, but he had neither wife nor child, nor brother,\nnor sister, nor friend, and every human being so keenly desires that\nothers should have some feeling about him, that many a one would rather\nbe feared than remain unheeded.\n\nAfter Irene had got over her dread she would often entreat the old\nman--who was regarded as stern and inaccessible by all the other dwellers\nin the temple--in her own engaging and coaxing way to make a face for\nher, and he would do it and laugh when the little one, to his delight and\nher own, was terrified at it and ran away; and just lately when Irene,\nhaving hurt her foot, was obliged to keep her room for a few days, an\nunheard of thing had occurred: he had asked Klea with the greatest\nsympathy how her sister was getting on, and had given her a cake for her.\n\nWhile Krates was at his work not a word passed between him and the\nhigh-priest. At length he laid down the hammer, and said:\n\n\"I do not much like work of this kind, but this, I think, is successful\nat any rate. Any temple-servant, hidden here behind the altar, can now\nlight or extinguish the lamps without the illusion being detected by the\nsharpest. Go now and stand at the door of the great hall and speak the\nword.\"\n\nKlea heard the high-priest accede to this request and cry in a chanting\nvoice: \"Thus he commands the night and it becomes day, and the\nextinguished taper and lo! it flames with brightness. If indeed thou art\nnigh, Oh Serapis! manifest thyself to us.\"\n\nAt these words a bright stream of light flashed from the holy of holies,\nand again was suddenly extinguished when the high-priest sang: \"Thus\nshowest thou thyself as light to the children of truth, but dost punish\nwith darkness the children of lies.\"\n\n\"Again?\" asked Krates in a voice which conveyed a desire that the answer\nmight be 'No.'\n\n\"I must trouble you,\" replied the high-priest. \"Good! the performance\nwent much better this time. I was always well assured of your skill; but\nconsider the particular importance of this affair. The two kings and the\nqueen will probably be present at the solemnity, certainly Philometor and\nCleopatra will, and their eyes are wide open; then the Roman who has\nalready assisted four times at the procession will accompany them, and if\nI judge him rightly he, like many of the nobles of his nation, is one of\nthose who can trust themselves when it is necessary to be content with\nthe old gods of their fathers; and as regards the marvels we are able to\ndisplay to them, they do not take them to heart like the poor in spirit,\nbut measure and weigh them with a cool and unbiassed mind. People of that\nstamp, who are not ashamed to worship, who do not philosophize but only\nthink just so much as is necessary for acting rightly, those are the\nworst contemners of every supersensual manifestation.\"\n\n\"And the students of nature in the Museum?\" asked Krates. \"They believe\nnothing to be real that they cannot see and observe.\"\n\n\"And for that very reason,\" replied the high-priest, \"they are often\nsingularly easy to deceive by your skill, since, seeing an effect without\na cause, they are inclined to regard the invisible cause as something\nsupersensual. Now, open the door again and let us get out by the side\ndoor; do you, this time, undertake the task of cooperating with Serapis\nyourself. Consider that Philometor will not confirm the donation of the\nland unless he quits the temple deeply penetrated by the greatness of our\ngod. Would it be possible, do you think, to have the new censer ready in\ntime for the birthday of King Euergetes, which is to be solemnly kept at\nMemphis?\"\n\n\"We will see,\" replied Krates, \"I must first put together the lock of the\ngreat door of the tomb of Apis, for so long as I have it in my workshop\nany one can open it who sticks a nail into the hole above the bar, and\nany one can shut it inside who pushes the iron bolt. Send to call me\nbefore the performance with the lights begins; I will come in spite of my\nwretched feet. As I have undertaken the thing I will carry it out, but\nfor no other reason, for it is my opinion that even without such means of\ndeception--\"\n\n\"We use no deception,\" interrupted the high-priest, sternly rebuking his\ncolleague. \"We only present to short-sighted mortals the creative power\nof the divinity in a form perceptible and intelligible to their senses.\"\n\nWith these words the tall priest turned his back on the smith and quitted\nthe hall by a side door; Krates opened the brazen door, and as he\ngathered together his tools he said to himself, but loud enough for Klea\nto hear him distinctly in her hiding-place:\n\n\"It may be right for me, but deceit is deceit, whether a god deceives a\nking or a child deceives a beggar.\"\n\n\"Deceit is deceit,\" repeated Klea after the smith when he had left the\nhall and she had emerged from her corner.\n\nShe stood still for a moment and looked round her. For the first time she\nobserved the shabby colors on the walls, the damage the pillars had\nsustained in the course of years, and the loose slabs in the pavement.\n\nThe sweetness of the incense sickened her, and as she passed by an old\nman who threw up his arms in fervent supplication, she looked at him with\na glance of compassion.\n\nWhen she had passed out beyond the pylons enclosing the temple she turned\nround, shaking her head in a puzzled way as she gazed at it; for she knew\nthat not a stone had been changed within the last hour, and yet it looked\nas strange in her eyes as some landscape with which we have become\nfamiliar in all the beauty of spring, and see once more in winter with\nits trees bare of leaves; or like the face of a woman which we thought\nbeautiful under the veil which hid it, and which, when the veil is\nraised, we see to be wrinkled and devoid of charm.\n\nWhen she had heard the smith's words, \"Deceit is deceit,\" she felt her\nheart shrink as from a stab, and could not check the tears which started\nto her eyes, unused as they were to weeping; but as soon as she had\nrepeated the stern verdict with her own lips her tears had ceased, and\nnow she stood looking at the temple like a traveller who takes leave of a\ndear friend; she was excited, she breathed more freely, drew herself up\ntaller, and then turned her back on the sanctuary of Serapis, proudly\nthough with a sore heart.\n\nClose to the gate-keeper's lodge a child came tottering towards her with\nhis arms stretched up to her. She lifted him up, kissed him, and then\nasked the mother, who also greeted her, for a piece of bread, for her\nhunger was becoming intolerable. While she ate the dry morsel the child\nsat on her lap, following with his large eyes the motion of her hand and\nlips. The boy was about five years old, with legs so feeble that they\ncould scarcely support the weight of his body, but he had a particularly\nsweet little face; certainly it was quite without expression, and it was\nonly when he saw Klea coming that tiny Philo's eyes had lighted up with\npleasure.\n\n\"Drink this milk,\" said the child's mother, offering the young girl an\nearthen bowl. \"There is not much and I could not spare it if Philo would\neat like other children, but it seems as if it hurt him to swallow. He\ndrinks two or three drops and eats a mouthful, and then will take no more\neven if he is beaten.\"\n\n\"You have not been beating him again?\" said Klea reproachfully, and\ndrawing the child closer to her. \"My husband--\" said the woman, pulling\nat her dress in some confusion. \"The child was born on a good day and in\na lucky hour, and yet he is so puny and weak and will not learn to speak,\nand that provokes Pianchi.\"\n\n\"He will spoil everything again!\" exclaimed Klea annoyed. \"Where is he?\"\n\n\"He was wanted in the temple.\"\n\n\"And is he not pleased that Philo calls him 'father,' and you 'mother,'\nand me by my name, and that he learns to distinguish many things?\" asked\nthe girl.\n\n\"Oh, yes of course,\" said the woman. \"He says you are teaching him to\nspeak just as if he were a starling, and we are very much obliged to\nyou.\"\n\n\"That is not what I want,\" interrupted Klea. \"What I wish is that you\nshould not punish and scold the boy, and that you should be as glad as I\nam when you see his poor little dormant soul slowly waking up. If he goes\non like this, the poor little fellow will be quite sharp and intelligent.\nWhat is my name, my little one?\"\n\n\"Ke-ea,\" stammered the child, smiling at his friend. \"And now taste this\nthat I have in my hand; what is it?--I see you know. It is\ncalled--whisper in my ear. That's right, mil--mil-milk! to be sure, my\ntiny, it is milk. Now open your little mouth and say it prettily after\nme--once more--and again--say it twelve times quite right and I will give\nyou a kiss--Now you have earned a pretty kiss--will you have it here or\nhere? Well, and what is this? your ea-? Yes, your ear. And this?--your\nnose, that is right.\"\n\nThe child's eyes brightened more and more under this gentle teaching, and\nneither Klea nor her pupil were weary till, about an hour later, the\nre-echoing sound of a brass gong called her away. As she turned to go the\nlittle one ran after her crying; she took him in her arms and carried him\nback to his mother, and then went on to her own room to dress herself and\nher sister for the procession. On the way to the Pastophorium she\nrecalled once more her expedition to the temple and her prayer there.\n\n\"Even before the sanctuary,\" said she to herself, \"I could not succeed in\nreleasing my soul from its burden--it was not till I set to work to\nloosen the tongue of the poor little child. Every pure spot, it seems to\nme, may be the chosen sanctuary of some divinity, and is not an infant's\nsoul purer than the altar where truth is mocked at?\"\n\nIn their room she found Irene; she had dressed her hair carefully and\nstuck the pomegranate-flower in it, and she asked Klea if she thought she\nlooked well.\n\n\"You look like Aphrodite herself,\" replied Klea kissing her forehead.\nThen she arranged the folds of her sister's dress, fastened on the\nornaments, and proceeded to dress herself. While she was fastening her\nsandals Irene asked her, \"Why do you sigh so bitterly?\" and Klea replied,\n\"I feel as if I had lost my parents a second time.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe procession was over.\n\nAt the great service which had been performed before him in the Greek\nSerapeum, Ptolemy Philometor had endowed the priests not with the whole\nbut with a considerable portion of the land concerning which they had\napproached him with many petitions. After the court had once more quitted\nMemphis and the procession was broken up, the sisters returned to their\nroom, Irene with crimson cheeks and a smile on her lips, Klea with a\ngloomy and almost threatening light in her eyes.\n\nAs the two were going to their room in silence a temple-servant called to\nKlea, desiring her to go with him to the high-priest, who wished to speak\nto her. Klea, without speaking, gave her water-jar to Irene and was\nconducted into a chamber of the temple, which was used for keeping the\nsacred vessels in. There she sat down on a bench to wait. The two men who\nin the morning had visited the Pastophorium had also followed in the\nprocession with the royal family. At the close of the solemnities Publius\nhad parted from his companion without taking leave, and without looking\nto the right or to the left, he had hastened back to the Pastophorium and\nto the cell of Serapion, the recluse.\n\nThe old man heard from afar the younger man's footstep, which fell on the\nearth with a firmer and more decided tread than that of the\nsoftly-stepping priests of Serapis, and he greeted him warmly with signs\nand words.\n\nPublius thanked him coolly and gravely, and said, dryly enough and with\nincisive brevity:\n\n\"My time is limited. I propose shortly to quit Memphis, but I promised\nyou to hear your request, and in order to keep my word I have come to see\nyou; still--as I have said--only to keep my word. The water-bearers of\nwhom you desired to speak to me do not interest me--I care no more about\nthem than about the swallows flying over the house yonder.\"\n\n\"And yet this morning you took a long walk for Klea's sake,\" returned\nSerapion.\n\n\"I have often taken a much longer one to shoot a hare,\" answered the\nRoman. \"We men do not pursue our game because the possession of it is any\ntemptation, but because we love the sport, and there are sporting natures\neven among women. Instead of spears or arrows they shoot with flashing\nglances, and when they think they have hit their game they turn their\nback upon it. Your Klea is one of this sort, while the pretty little one\nI saw this morning looks as if she were very ready to be hunted, I\nhowever, no more wish to be the hunter of a young girl than to be her\ngame. I have still three days to spend in Memphis, and then I shall turn\nmy back forever on this stupid country.\"\n\n\"This morning,\" said Serapion, who began to suspect what the grievance\nmight be which had excited the discontent implied in the Roman's speech,\n\"This morning you appeared to be in less hurry to set out than now, so to\nme you seem to be in the plight of game trying to escape; however, I know\nKlea better than you do. Shooting is no sport of hers, nor will she let\nherself be hunted, for she has a characteristic which you, my friend\nPublius Scipio, ought to recognize and value above all others--she is\nproud, very proud; aye, and so she may be, scornful as you look--as if\nyou would like to say 'how came a water-carrier of Serapis by her pride,\na poor creature who is ill-fed and always engaged in service, pride which\nis the prescriptive right only of those, whom privilege raises above the\ncommon herd around them?--But this girl, you may take my word for it, has\nample reason to hold her head high, not only because she is the daughter\nof free and noble parents and is distinguished by rare beauty, not\nbecause while she was still a child she undertook, with the devotion and\nconstancy of the best of mothers, the care of another child--her own\nsister, but for a reason which, if I judge you rightly, you will\nunderstand better than many another young man; because she must uphold\nher pride in order that among the lower servants with whom unfortunately\nshe is forced to work, she may never forget that she is a free and noble\nlady. You can set your pride aside and yet remain what you are, but if\nshe were to do so and to learn to feel as a servant, she would presently\nbecome in fact what by nature she is not and by circumstances is\ncompelled to be. A fine horse made to carry burdens becomes a mere\ncart-horse as soon as it ceases to hold up its head and lift its feet\nfreely. Klea is proud because she must be proud; and if you are just you\nwill not contemn the girl, who perhaps has cast a kindly glance at\nyou--since the gods have so made you that you cannot fail to please any\nwoman--and yet who must repel your approaches because she feels herself\nabove being trifled with, even by one of the Cornelia gens, and yet too\nlowly to dare to hope that a man like you should ever stoop from your\nheight to desire her for a wife. She has vexed you, of that there can be\nno doubt; how, I can only guess. If, however, it has been through her\nrepellent pride, that ought not to hurt you, for a woman is like a\nsoldier, who only puts on his armor when he is threatened by an opponent\nwhose weapons he fears.\"\n\nThe recluse had rather whispered than spoken these words, remembering\nthat he had neighbors; and as he ceased the drops stood on his brow, for\nwhenever any thing disturbed him he was accustomed to allow his powerful\nvoice to be heard pretty loudly, and it cost him no small effort to\nmoderate it for so long.\n\nPublius had at first looked him in the face, and then had gazed at the\nground, and he had heard Serapion to the end without interrupting him;\nbut the color had flamed in his cheeks as in those of a schoolboy, and\nyet he was an independent and resolute youth who knew how to conduct\nhimself in difficult straits as well as a man in the prime of life. In\nall his proceedings he was wont to know very well, exactly what he\nwanted, and to do without any fuss or comment whatever he thought right\nand fitting.\n\nDuring the anchorite's speech the question had occurred to him, what did\nhe in fact expect or wish of the water-bearer; but the answer was\nwanting, he felt somewhat uncertain of himself, and his uncertainty and\ndissatisfaction with himself increased as all that he heard struck him\nmore and more. He became less and less inclined to let himself be thrown\nover by the young girl who for some days had, much against his will, been\nconstantly in his thoughts, whose image he would gladly have dismissed\nfrom his mind, but who, after the recluse's speech, seemed more desirable\nthan ever. \"Perhaps you are right,\" he replied after a short silence, and\nhe too lowered his voice, for a subdued tone generally provokes an\nequally subdued answer. \"You know the maiden better than I, and if you\ndescribe her correctly it would be as well that I should abide by my\ndecision and fly from Egypt, or, at any rate, from your protegees, since\nnothing lies before me but a defeat or a victory, which could bring me\nnothing but repentance. Klea avoided my eye to-day as if it shed poison\nlike a viper's tooth, and I can have nothing more to do with her: still,\nmight I be informed how she came into this temple? and if I can be of any\nservice to her, I will-for your sake. Tell me now what you know of her\nand what you wish me to do.\"\n\nThe recluse nodded assent and beckoned Publius to come closer to him, and\nbowing down to speak into the Roman's ear, he said softly: \"Are you in\nfavor with the queen?\" Publius, having said that he was, Serapion, with\nan exclamation of satisfaction, began his story.\n\n\"You learned this morning how I myself came into this cage, and that my\nfather was overseer of the temple granaries. While I was wandering abroad\nhe was deposed from his office, and would probably have died in prison,\nif a worthy man had not assisted him to save his honor and his liberty.\nAll this does not concern you, and I may therefore keep it to myself; but\nthis man was the father of Klea and Irene, and the enemy by whose\ninstrumentality my father suffered innocently was the villain Eulaeus.\nYou know--or perhaps indeed you may not know--that the priests have to\npay a certain tribute for the king's maintenance; you know? To be sure,\nyou Romans trouble yourselves more about matters of law and\nadministration than the culture of the arts or the subtleties of thought.\nWell, it was my father's duty to pay these customs over to Eulaeus, who\nreceived them; but the beardless effeminate vermin, the glutton--may\nevery peach he ever ate or ever is to eat turn to poison!--kept back half\nof what was delivered to him, and when the accountants found nothing but\nempty air in the king's stores where they hoped to find corn and woven\ngoods, they raised an alarm, which of course came to the ears of the\npowerful thief at court before it reached those of my poor father. You\ncalled Egypt a marvellous country, or something like it; and so in truth\nit is, not merely on account of the great piles there that you call\nPyramids and such like, but because things happen here which in Rome\nwould be as impossible as moonshine at mid-day, or a horse with his tail\nat the end of his nose! Before a complaint could be laid against Eulaeus\nhe had accused my father of the peculation, and before the Epistates and\nthe assessor of the district had even looked at the indictment, their\njudgment on the falsely accused man was already recorded, for Eulaeus had\nsimply bought their verdict just as a man buys a fish or a cabbage in the\nmarket. In olden times the goddess of justice was represented in this\ncountry with her eyes shut, but now she looks round on the world like a\nsquinting woman who winks at the king with one eye, and glances with the\nother at the money in the hand of the accuser or the accused. My poor\nfather was of course condemned and thrown into prison, where he was\nbeginning to doubt the justice of the gods, when for his sake the\ngreatest wonder happened, ever seen in this land of wonders since first\nthe Greeks ruled in Alexandria. An honorable man undertook without fear\nof persons the lost cause of the poor condemned wretch, and never rested\ntill he had restored him to honor and liberty. But imprisonment, disgrace\nand indignation had consumed the strength of the ill-used man as a worm\neats into cedar wood, and he fell into a decline and died. His preserver,\nKlea's father, as the reward of his courageous action fared even worse;\nfor here by the Nile virtues are punished in this world, as crimes are\nwith you. Where injustice holds sway frightful things occur, for the gods\nseem to take the side of the wicked. Those who do not hope for a reward\nin the next world, if they are neither fools nor philosophers--which\noften comes to the same thing--try to guard themselves against any change\nin this.\n\n\"Philotas, the father of the two girls, whose parents were natives of\nSyracuse, was an adherent of the doctrines of Zeno--which have many\nsupporters among you at Rome too--and he was highly placed as an\nofficial, for he was president of the Chrematistoi, a college of judges\nwhich probably has no parallel out of Egypt, and which has been kept up\nbetter than any other. It travels about from province to province\nstopping in the chief towns to administer justice. When an appeal is\nbrought against the judgment of the court of justice belonging to any\nplace--over which the Epistates of the district presides--the case is\nbrought before the Chrematistoi, who are generally strangers alike to the\naccuser and accused; by them it is tried over again, and thus the\ninhabitants of the provinces are spared the journey to Alexandria\nor--since the country has been divided--to Memphis, where, besides, the\nsupreme court is overburdened with cases.\n\n\"No former president of the Chrematistoi had ever enjoyed a higher\nreputation than Philotas. Corruption no more dared approach him than a\nsparrow dare go near a falcon, and he was as wise as he was just, for he\nwas no less deeply versed in the ancient Egyptian law than in that of the\nGreeks, and many a corrupt judge reconsidered matters as soon as it\nbecame known that he was travelling with the Chrematistoi, and passed a\njust instead of an unjust sentence.\n\n\"Cleopatra, the widow of Epiphanes, while she was living and acting as\nguardian of her sons Philometor and Euergetes--who now reign in Memphis\nand Alexandria--held Philotas in the highest esteem and conferred on him\nthe rank of 'relation to the king'; but she was just dead when this\nworthy man took my father's cause in hand, and procured his release from\nprison.\n\n\"The scoundrel Eulaeus and his accomplice Lenaeus then stood at the\nheight of power, for the young king, who was not yet of age, let himself\nbe led by them like a child by his nurse.\n\n\"Now as my father was an honest man, no one but Eulaeus could be the\nrascal, and as the Chrematistoi threatened to call him before their\ntribunal the miserable creature stirred up the war in Caelo-Syria against\nAntiochus Epiphanes, the king's uncle.\n\n\"You know how disgraceful for us was the course of that enterprise, how\nPhilometor was defeated near Pelusium, and by the advice of Eulaeus\nescaped with his treasure to Samothrace, how Philometor's brother\nEuergetes was set up as king in Alexandria, how Antiochus took Memphis,\nand then allowed his elder nephew to continue to reign here as though he\nwere his vassal and ward.\n\n\"It was during this period of humiliation, that Eulaeus was able to evade\nPhilotas, whom he may very well have feared, as though his own conscience\nwalked the earth on two legs in the person of the judge, with the sword\nof justice in his hand, and telling all men what a scoundrel he was.\n\n\"Memphis had opened her gates to Antiochus without offering much\nresistance, and the Syrian king, who was a strange man and was fond of\nmixing among the people as if he himself were a common man, applied to\nPhilotas, who was as familiar with Egyptian manners and customs as with\nthose of Greece, in order that he might conduct him into the halls of\njustice and into the market-places; and he made him presents as was his\nway, sometimes of mere rubbish and sometimes of princely gifts.\n\n\"Then when Philometor was freed by the Romans from the protection of the\nSyrian king, and could govern in Memphis as an independent sovereign,\nEulaeus accused the father of these two girls of having betrayed Memphis\ninto the hands of Antiochus, and never rested till the innocent man was\ndeprived of his wealth, which was considerable, and sent with his wife to\nforced labor in the gold mines of Ethiopia.\n\n\"When all this occurred I had already returned to my cage here; but I\nheard from my brother Glaucus--who was captain of the watch in the\npalace, and who learned a good many things before other people did--what\nwas going on out there, and I succeeded in having the daughters of\nPhilotas secretly brought to this temple, and preserved from sharing\ntheir parents' fate. That is now five years ago, and now you know how it\nhappens, that the daughters of a man of rank carry water for the altar of\nSerapis, and that I would rather an injury should be done to me than to\nthem, and that I would rather see Eulaeus eating some poisonous root than\nfragrant peaches.\"\n\n\"And is Philotas still working in the mines?\" asked the Roman, clenching\nhis teeth with rage.\n\n\"Yes, Publius,\" replied the anchorite. \"A 'yes' that it is easy to say,\nand it is just as easy too to clench one's fists in indignation--but it\nis hard to imagine the torments that must be endured by a man like\nPhilotas; and a noble and innocent woman--as beautiful as Hera and\nAphrodite in one--when they are driven to hard and unaccustomed labor\nunder a burning sun by the lash of the overseer. Perhaps by this time\nthey have been happy enough to die under their sufferings and their\ndaughters are already orphans, poor children! No one here but the\nhigh-priest knows precisely who they are, for if Eulaeus were to learn\nthe truth he would send them after their parents as surely as my name is\nSerapion.\"\n\n\"Let him try it!\" cried Publius, raising his right fist threateningly.\n\n\"Softly, softly, my friend,\" said the recluse, \"and not now only, but\nabout everything which you under take in behalf of the sisters, for a man\nlike Eulaeus hears not only with his own ears but with those of thousand\nothers, and almost everything that occurs at court has to go through his\nhands as epistolographer. You say the queen is well-disposed towards you.\nThat is worth a great deal, for her husband is said to be guided by her\nwill, and such a thing as Eulaeus cannot seem particularly estimable in\nCleopatra's eyes if princesses are like other women--and I know them\nwell.\"\n\n\"And even if he were,\" interrupted Publius with glowing cheeks, \"I would\nbring him to ruin all the same, for a man like Philotas must not perish,\nand his cause henceforth is my own. Here is my hand upon it; and if I am\nhappy in having descended from a noble race it is above all because the\nword of a son of the Cornelii is as good as the accomplished deed of any\nother man.\"\n\nThe recluse grasped the right hand the young man gave him and nodded to\nhim affectionately, his eyes radiant, though moistened with joyful\nemotion. Then he hastily turned his back on the young man, and soon\nreappeared with a large papyrus-roll in his hand. \"Take this,\" he said,\nhanding it to the Roman, \"I have here set forth all that I have told you,\nfully and truly with my own hand in the form of a petition. Such matters,\nas I very well know, are never regularly conducted to an issue at court\nunless they are set forth in writing. If the queen seems disposed to\ngrant you a wish give her this roll, and entreat her for a letter of\npardon. If you can effect this, all is won.\"\n\nPublius took the roll, and once more gave his hand to the anchorite, who,\nforgetting himself for a moment, shouted out in his loud voice:\n\n\"May the gods bless thee, and by thy means work the release of the\nnoblest of men from his sufferings! I had quite ceased to hope, but if\nyou come to our aid all is not yet wholly lost.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\"Pardon me if I disturb you.\"\n\nWith these words the anchorite's final speech was interrupted by Eulaeus,\nwho had come in to the Pastophorium softly and unobserved, and who now\nbowed respectfully to Publius.\n\n\"May I be permitted to enquire on what compact one of the noblest of the\nsons of Rome is joining hands with this singular personage?\"\n\n\"You are free to ask,\" replied Publius shortly and drily, \"but every one\nis not disposed to answer, and on the present occasion I am not. I will\nbid you farewell, Serapion, but not for long I believe.\"\n\n\"Am I permitted to accompany you?\" asked Eulaeus.\n\n\"You have followed me without any permission on my part.\"\n\n\"I did so by order of the king, and am only fulfilling his commands in\noffering you my escort now.\"\n\n\"I shall go on, and I cannot prevent your following me.\"\n\n\"But I beg of you,\" said Eulaeus, \"to consider that it would ill-become\nme to walk behind you like a servant.\"\n\n\"I respect the wishes of my host, the king, who commanded you to follow\nme,\" answered the Roman. \"At the door of the temple however you can get\ninto your chariot, and I into mine; an old courtier must be ready to\ncarry out the orders of his superior.\"\n\n\"And does carry them out,\" answered Eulaeus with deference, but his eyes\ntwinkled--as the forked tongue of a serpent is rapidly put out and still\nmore rapidly withdrawn--with a flash first of threatening hatred, and\nthen another of deep suspicion cast at the roll the Roman held in his\nhand.\n\nPublius heeded not this glance, but walked quickly towards the\nacacia-grove; the recluse looked after the ill-matched pair, and as he\nwatched the burly Eulaeus following the young man, he put both his hands\non his hips, puffed out his fat cheeks, and burst into loud laughter as\nsoon as the couple had vanished behind the acacias.\n\nWhen once Serapion's midriff was fairly tickled it was hard to reduce it\nto calm again, and he was still laughing when Klea appeared in front of\nhis cell some few minutes after the departure of the Roman. He was about\nto receive his young friend with a cheerful greeting, but, glancing at\nher face, he cried anxiously;\n\n\"You look as if you had met with a ghost; your lips are pale instead of\nred, and there are dark shades round your eyes. What has happened to you,\nchild? Irene went with you to the procession, that I know. Have you had\nbad news of your parents? You shake your head. Come, child, perhaps you\nare thinking of some one more than you ought; how the color rises in your\ncheeks! Certainly handsome Publius, the Roman, must have looked into your\neyes--a splendid youth is he--a fine young man--a capital good fellow--\"\n\n\"Say no more on that subject,\" Klea exclaimed, interrupting her friend\nand protector, and waving her hand in the air as if to cut off the other\nhalf of Serapion's speech. \"I can hear nothing more about him.\"\n\n\"Has he addressed you unbecomingly?\" asked the recluse.\n\n\"Yes!\" said Klea, turning crimson, and with a vehemence quite foreign to\nher usual gentle demeanor, \"yes, he persecutes me incessantly with\nchallenging looks.\"\n\n\"Only with looks?\" said the anchorite. \"But we may look even at the\nglorious sun and at the lovely flowers as much as we please, and they are\nnot offended.\"\n\n\"The sun is too high and the soulless flowers too humble for a man to\nhurt them,\" replied Klea. \"But the Roman is neither higher nor lower than\nI, the eye speaks as plain a language as the tongue, and what his eyes\ndemand of me brings the blood to my cheeks and stirs my indignation even\nnow when I only think of it.\"\n\n\"And that is why you avoid his gaze so carefully?\"\n\n\"Who told you that?\"\n\n\"Publius himself; and because he is wounded by your hard-heartedness he\nmeant to quit Egypt; but I have persuaded him to remain, for if there is\na mortal living from whom I expect any good for you and yours--\"\n\n\"It is certainly not he,\" said Klea positively. \"You are a man, and\nperhaps you now think that so long as you were young and free to wander\nabout the world you would not have acted differently from him--it is a\nman's privilege; but if you could look into my soul or feel with the\nheart of a woman, you would think differently. Like the sand of the\ndesert which is blown over the meadows and turns all the fresh verdure to\na hideous brown-like a storm that transforms the blue mirror of the sea\ninto a crisped chaos of black whirl pools and foaming ferment, this man's\nimperious audacity has cruelly troubled my peace of heart. Four times his\neyes pursued me in the processions; yesterday I still did not recognize\nmy danger, but to-day--I must tell you, for you are like a father to me,\nand who else in the world can I confide in?--to-day I was able to avoid\nhis gaze, and yet all through long endless hours of the festival I felt\nhis eyes constantly seeking mine. I should have been certain I was under\nno delusion, even if Publius Scipio--but what business has his name on my\nlips?--even if the Roman had not boasted to you of his attacks on a\ndefenceless girl. And to think that you, you of all others, should have\nbecome his ally! But you would not, no indeed you would not, if you knew\nhow I felt at the procession while I was looking down at the ground, and\nknew that his very look desecrated me like the rain that washed all the\nblossoms off the young vine-shoots last year. It was just as if he were\ndrawing a net round my heart--but, oh! what a net! It was as if the flax\non a distaff had been set on fire, and the flames spun out into thin\nthreads, and the meshes knotted of the fiery yarn. I felt every thread\nand knot burning into my soul, and could not cast it off nor even defend\nmyself. Aye! you may look grieved and shake your head, but so it was, and\nthe scars hurt me still with a pain I cannot utter.\"\n\n\"But Klea,\" interrupted Serapion, \"you are quite beside yourself--like\none possessed. Go to the temple and pray, or, if that is of no avail, go\nto Asclepios or Anubis and have the demon cast out.\"\n\n\"I need none of your gods!\" answered the girl in great agitation. \"Oh! I\nwish you had left me to my fate, and that we had shared the lot of our\nparents, for what threatens us here is more frightful than having to sift\ngold-dust in the scorching sun, or to crush quartz in mortars. I did not\ncome to you to speak about the Roman, but to tell you what the\nhigh-priest had just disclosed to me since the procession ended.\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked Serapion eager and almost frightened, stretching out his\nneck to put his head near to the girl's, and opening his eyes so wide\nthat the loose skin below them almost disappeared.\n\n\"First he told me,\" replied Klea, \"how meagrely the revenues of the\ntemple are supplied--\"\n\n\"That is quite true,\" interrupted the anchorite, \"for Antiochus carried\noff the best part of its treasure; and the crown, which always used to\nhave money to spare for the sanctuaries of Egypt, now loads our estates\nwith heavy tribute; but you, as it seems to me, were kept scantily\nenough, worse than meanly, for, as I know--since it passed through my\nhands--a sum was paid to the temple for your maintenance which would have\nsufficed to keep ten hungry sailors, not speak of two little pecking\nbirds like you, and besides that you do hard service without any pay.\nIndeed it would be a more profitable speculation to steal a beggar's rags\nthan to rob you! Well, what did the high-priest want?\"\n\n\"He says that we have been fed and protected by the priesthood for five\nyears, that now some danger threatens the temple on our account, and that\nwe must either quit the sanctuary or else make up our minds to take the\nplace of the twin-sisters Arsinoe and Doris who have hitherto been\nemployed in singing the hymns of lamentation, as Isis and Nephthys, by\nthe bier of the deceased god on the occasion of the festivals of the\ndead, and in pouring out the libations with wailing and outcries when the\nbodies were brought into the temple to be blessed. These maidens,\nAsclepiodorus says, are now too old and ugly for these duties, but the\ntemple is bound to maintain them all their lives. The funds of the temple\nare insufficient to support two more serving maidens besides them and us,\nand so Arsinoe and Doris are only to pour out the libations for the\nfuture, and we are to sing the laments, and do the wailing.\"\n\n\"But you are not twins!\" cried Serapion. \"And none but twins--so say the\nordinances--may mourn for Osiris as Isis and Neplithys.\"\n\n\"They will make twins of us!\" said Klea with a scornful turn of her lip.\n\"Irene's hair is to be dyed black like mine, and the soles of her sandals\nare to be made thicker to make her as tall as I am.\"\n\n\"They would hardly succeed in making you smaller than you are, and it is\neasier to make light hair dark than dark hair light,\" said Serapion with\nhardly suppressed rage. \"And what answer did you give to these\nexceedingly original proposals?\"\n\n\"The only one I could very well give. I said no--but I declared myself\nready, not from fear, but because we owe much to the temple, to perform\nany other service with Irene, only not this one.\"\n\n\"And Asclepiodorus?\"\n\n\"He said nothing unkind to me, and preserved his calm and polite demeanor\nwhen I contradicted him, though he fixed his eyes on me several times in\nastonishment as if he had discovered in me something quite new and\nstrange. At last he went on to remind me how much trouble the temple\nsinging-master had taken with us, how well my low voice went with Irene's\nhigh one, how much applause we might gain by a fine performance of the\nhymns of lamentation, and how he would be willing, if we undertook the\nduties of the twin-sisters, to give us a better dwelling and more\nabundant food. I believe he has been trying to make us amenable by\nsupplying us badly with food, just as falcons are trained by hunger.\nPerhaps I am doing him an injustice, but I feel only too much disposed\nto-day to think the worst of him and of the other fathers. Be that as it\nmay; at any rate he made me no further answer when I persisted in my\nrefusal, but dismissed me with an injunction to present myself before him\nagain in three days' time, and then to inform him definitively whether I\nwould conform to his wishes, or if I proposed to leave the temple. I\nbowed and went towards the door, and was already on the threshold when he\ncalled me back once more, and said: 'Remember your parents and their\nfate!' He spoke solemnly, almost threateningly, but he said no more and\nhastily turned his back on me. What could he mean to convey by this\nwarning? Every day and every hour I think of my father and mother, and\nkeep Irene in mind of them.\"\n\nThe recluse at these words sat muttering thoughtfully to himself for a\nfew minutes with a discontented air; then he said gravely:\n\n\"Asclepiodorus meant more by his speech than you think. Every sentence\nwith which he dismisses a refractory subordinate is a nut of which the\nshell must be cracked in order to get at the kernel. When he tells you to\nremember your parents and their sad fate, such words from his lips, and\nunder the present circumstances, can hardly mean anything else than this:\nthat you should not forget how easily your father's fate might overtake\nyou also, if once you withdrew yourselves from the protection of the\ntemple. It was not for nothing that Asclepiodorus--as you yourself told\nme quite lately, not more than a week ago I am sure--reminded you how\noften those condemned to forced labor in the mines had their relations\nsent after them. Ah! child, the words of Asclepiodorus have a sinister\nmeaning. The calmness and pride, with which you look at me make me fear\nfor you, and yet, as you know, I am not one of the timid and tremulous.\nCertainly what they propose to you is repulsive enough, but submit to it;\nit is to be hoped it will not be for long. Do it for my sake and for that\nof poor Irene, for though you might know how to assert your dignity and\ntake care of yourself outside these walls in the rough and greedy world,\nlittle Irene never could. And besides, Klea, my sweetheart, we have now\nfound some one, who makes your concerns his, and who is great and\npowerful--but oh! what are three clays? To think of seeing you turned\nout--and then that you may be driven with a dissolute herd in a filthy\nboat down to the burning south, and dragged to work which kills first the\nsoul and then the body! No, it is not possible! You will never let this\nhappen to me--and to yourself and Irene; no, my darling, no, my pet, my\nsweetheart, you cannot, you will not do so. Are you not my children, my\ndaughters, my only joy? and you, would you go away, and leave me alone in\nmy cage, all because you are so proud!\"\n\nThe strong man's voice failed him, and heavy drops fell from his eyes one\nafter another down his beard, and on to Klea's arm, which he had grasped\nwith both hands.\n\nThe girl's eyes too were dim with a mist of warm tears when she saw her\nrough friend weeping, but she remained firm and said, as she tried to\nfree her hand from his:\n\n\"You know very well, father Serapion, that there is much to tie me to\nthis temple; my sister, and you, and the door-keeper's child, little\nPhilo. It would be cruel, dreadful to have to leave you; but I would\nrather endure that and every other grief than allow Irene to take the\nplace of Arsinoe or the black Doris as wailing woman. Think of that\nbright child, painted and kneeling at the foot of a bier and groaning and\nwailing in mock sorrow! She would become a living lie in human form, an\nobject of loathing to herself, and to me--who stand in the place of a\nmother to her--from morning till night a martyrizing reproach! But what\ndo I care about myself--I would disguise myself as the goddess without\neven making a wry face, and be led to the bier, and wail and groan so\nthat every hearer would be cut to the heart, for my soul is already\npossessed by sorrow; it is like the eyes of a man, who has gone blind\nfrom the constant flow of salt tears. Perhaps singing the hymns of\nlamentation might relieve my soul, which is as full of sorrow as an\noverbrimming cup; but I would rather that a cloud should for ever darken\nthe sun, that mists should hide every star from my eyes, and the air I\nbreathe be poisoned by black smoke than disguise her identity, and darken\nher soul, or let her clear laugh be turned to shrieks of lamentation, and\nher fresh and childlike spirit be buried in gloomy mourning. Sooner will\nI go way with her and leave even you, to perish with my parents in misery\nand anguish than see that happen, or suffer it for a moment.\"\n\nAs she spoke Serapion covered his face with his hands, and Klea, hastily\nturning away from him, with a deep sigh returned to her room.\n\nIrene was accustomed when she heard her step to hasten to meet her, but\nto-day no one came to welcome her, and in their room, which was beginning\nto be dark as twilight fell, she did not immediately catch sight of her\nsister, for she was sitting all in a heap in a corner of the room, her\nface hidden, in her hands and weeping quietly.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked Klea, going tenderly up to the weeping child,\nover whom she bent, endeavoring to raise her.\n\n\"Leave me,\" said Irene sobbing; she turned away from her sister with an\nimpatient gesture, repelling her caress like a perverse child; and then,\nwhen Klea tried to soothe her by affectionately stroking her hair, she\nsprang up passionately exclaiming through her tears:\n\n\"I could not help crying--and, from this hour, I must always have to cry.\nThe Corinthian Lysias spoke to me so kindly after the procession, and\nyou--you don't care about me at all and leave me alone all this time in\nthis nasty dusty hole! I declare I will not endure it any longer, and if\nyou try to keep me shut up, I will run away from this temple, for outside\nit is all bright and pleasant, and here it is dingy and horrid!\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A mere nothing in one man's life, to another may be great\n     A subdued tone generally provokes an equally subdued answer\n     Air of a professional guide\n     Before you serve me up so bitter a meal (the truth)\n     Blind tenderness which knows no reason\n     By nature she is not and by circumstances is compelled to be\n     Deceit is deceit\n     Desire to seek and find a power outside us\n     Inquisitive eyes are intrusive company\n     Many a one would rather be feared than remain unheeded\n     Not yet fairly come to the end of yesterday\n     The altar where truth is mocked at\n     Virtues are punished in this world\n     Who can be freer than he who needs nothing\n     Who only puts on his armor when he is threatened\n\n\n\n\nTHE SISTERS\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nIn the very midst of the white wall with its bastions and ramparts, which\nformed the fortifications of Memphis, stood the old palace of the kings,\na stately structure built of bricks, recently plastered, and with courts,\ncorridors, chambers and halls without number, and veranda-like\nout-buildings of gayly-painted wood, and a magnificent pillared\nbanqueting-hall in the Greek style. It was surrounded by verdurous\ngardens, and a whole host of laborers tended the flower-beds and shady\nalleys, the shrubs and the trees; kept the tanks clean and fed the fish\nin them; guarded the beast-garden, in which quadrupeds of every kind,\nfrom the heavy-treading elephant to the light-footed antelope, were to be\nseen, associated with birds innumerable of every country and climate.\n\nA light white vapor rose from the splendidly fitted bath-house, loud\nbarkings resounded from the dog-kennels, and from the long array of open\nstables came the neighing of horses with the clatter and stamp of hoofs,\nand the rattle of harness and chains. A semicircular building of new\nconstruction adjoining the old palace was the theatre, and many large\ntents for the bodyguard, for ambassadors and scribes, as well as others,\nserving as banqueting-halls for the various court-officials, stood both\nwithin the garden and outside its enclosing walls. A large space leading\nfrom the city itself to the royal citadel was given up to the soldiers,\nand there, by the side of the shady court-yards, were the houses of the\npolice-guard and the prisons. Other soldiers were quartered in tents\nclose to the walls of the palace itself. The clatter of their arms and\nthe words of command, given in Greek, by their captain, sounded out at\nthis particular instant, and up into the part of the buildings occupied\nby the queen; and her apartments were high up, for in summer time\nCleopatra preferred to live in airy tents, which stood among the\nbroad-leaved trees of the south and whole groves of flowering shrubs, on\nthe level roof of the palace, which was also lavishly decorated with\nmarble statues. There was only one way of access to this retreat, which\nwas fitted up with regal splendor; day and night it was fanned by\ncurrents of soft air, and no one could penetrate uninvited to disturb the\nqueen's retirement, for veteran guards watched at the foot of the broad\nstair that led to the roof, chosen from the Macedonian \"Garde noble,\" and\nowing as implicit obedience to Cleopatra as to the king himself. This\nselect corps was now, at sunset, relieving guard, and the queen could\nhear the words spoken by the officers in command and the clatter of the\nshields against the swords as they rattled on the pavement, for she had\ncome out of her tent into the open air, and stood gazing towards the\nwest, where the glorious hues of the sinking sun flooded the bare, yellow\nlimestone range of the Libyan hills, with their innumerable tombs and the\nseparate groups of pyramids; while the wonderful coloring gradually\ntinged with rose-color the light silvery clouds that hovered in the clear\nsky over the valley of Memphis, and edged them as with a rile of living\ngold.\n\nThe queen stepped out of her tent, accompanied by a young Greek girl--the\nfair Zoe, daughter of her master of the hunt Zenodotus, and Cleopatra's\nfavorite lady-in-waiting--but though she looked towards the west, she\nstood unmoved by the magic of the glorious scene before her; she screened\nher eyes with her hand to shade them from the blinding rays, and said:\n\n\"Where can Cornelius be staying! When we mounted our chariots before the\ntemple he had vanished, and as far as I can see the road in the quarters\nof Sokari and Serapis I cannot discover his vehicle, nor that of Eulaeus\nwho was to accompany him. It is not very polite of him to go off in this\nway without taking leave; nay, I could call it ungrateful, since I had\nproposed to tell him on our way home all about my brother Euergetes, who\nhas arrived to-day with his friends. They are not yet acquainted, for\nEuergetes was living in Cyrene when Publius Cornelius Scipio landed in\nAlexandria. Stay! do you see a black shadow out there by the vineyard at\nKakem; That is very likely he; but no--you are right, it is only some\nbirds, flying in a close mass above the road. Can you see nothing more?\nNo!--and yet we both have sharp young eyes. I am very curious to know\nwhether Publius Scipio will like Euergetes. There can hardly be two\nbeings more unlike, and yet they have some very essential points in\ncommon.\"\n\n\"They are both men,\" interrupted Zoe, looking at the queen as if she\nexpected cordial assent to this proposition.\n\n\"So they are,\" said Cleopatra proudly. \"My brother is still so young\nthat, if he were not a king's son, he would hardly have outgrown the\nstage of boyhood, and would be a lad among other Epheboi,--[Youths above\n18 were so called]--and yet among the oldest there is hardly a man who is\nhis superior in strength of will and determined energy. Already, before I\nmarried Philometor, he had clutched Alexandria and Cyrene, which by right\nshould belong to my husband, who is the eldest of us three, and that was\nnot very brotherly conduct--and indeed we had other grounds for being\nangry with him; but when I saw him again for the first time after nine\nmonths of separation I was obliged to forget them all, and welcome him as\nthough he had done nothing but good to me and his brother--who is my\nhusband, as is the custom of the families of Pharaohs and the usage of\nour race. He is a young Titan, and no one would be astonished if he one\nday succeeded in piling Pelion upon Ossa. I know well enough how wild he\ncan often be, how unbridled and recalcitrant beyond all bounds; but I can\neasily pardon him, for the same bold blood flows in my own veins, and at\nthe root of all his excesses lies power, genuine and vigorous power. And\nthis innate pith and power are just the very thing we most admire in men,\nfor it is the one gift which the gods have dealt out to us with a less\nliberal hand than to men. Life indeed generally dams its overflowing\ncurrent, but I doubt whether this will be the case with the stormy\ntorrent of his energy; at any rate men such as he is rush swiftly\nonwards, and are strong to the end, which sooner or later is sure to\novertake them; and I infinitely prefer such a wild torrent to a shallow\nbrook flowing over a plain, which hurts no one, and which in order to\nprolong its life loses itself in a misty bog. He, if any one, may be\nforgiven for his tumultuous career; for when he pleases my brother's\ngreat qualities charm old and young alike, and are as conspicuous and as\nremarkable as his faults--nay, I will frankly say his crimes. And who in\nGreece or Egypt surpasses him in grasp and elevation of mind?\"\n\n\"You may well be proud of him,\" replied Zoe. \"Not even Publius Scipio\nhimself can soar to the height reached by Euergetes.\"\n\n\"But, on the other hand, Euergetes is not gifted with the steady, calm\nself-reliance of Cornelius. The man who should unite in one person the\ngood qualities of those two, need yield the palm, as it seems to me, not\neven to a god!\"\n\n\"Among us imperfect mortals he would indeed be the only perfect one,\"\nreplied Zoe. \"But the gods could not endure the existence of a perfect\nman, for then they would have to undertake the undignified task of\ncompeting with one of their own creatures.\"\n\n\"Here, however, comes one whom no one can accuse!\" cried the young queen,\nas she hastened to meet a richly dressed woman, older than herself, who\ncame towards her leading her son, a pale child of two years old. She bent\ndown to the little one, tenderly but with impetuous eagerness, and was\nabout to clasp him in her arms, but the fragile child, which at first had\nsmiled at her, was startled; he turned away from her and tried to hide\nhis little face in the dress of his nurse--a lady of rank-to whom he\nclung with both hands. The queen threw herself on her knees before him,\ntook hold of his shoulder, and partly by coaxing and partly by insistence\nstrove to induce him to quit the sheltering gown and to turn to her; but\nalthough the lady, his wet-nurse, seconded her with kind words of\nencouragement, the terrified child began to cry, and resisted his\nmother's caresses with more and more vehemence the more passionately she\ntried to attract and conciliate him. At last the nurse lifted him up, and\nwas about to hand him to his mother, but the wilful little boy cried more\nthan before, and throwing his arms convulsively round his nurse's neck he\nbroke into loud cries.\n\nIn the midst of this rather unbecoming struggle of the mother against the\nchild's obstinacy, the clatter of wheels and of horses' hoofs rang\nthrough the court-yard of the palace, and hardly had the sound reached\nthe queen's ears than she turned away from the screaming child, hurried\nto the parapet of the roof, and called out to Zoe:\n\n\"Publius Scipio is here; it is high time that I should dress for the\nbanquet. Will that naughty child not listen to me at all? Take him away,\nPraxinoa, and understand distinctly that I am much dissatisfied with you.\nYou estrange my own child from me to curry favor with the future king.\nThat is base, or else it proves that you have no tact, and are\nincompetent for the office entrusted to you. The office of wet-nurse you\nduly fulfilled, but I shall now look out for another attendant for the\nboy. Do not answer me! no tears! I have had enough of that with the\nchild's screaming.\" With these words, spoken loudly and passionately, she\nturned her back on Praxinoa--the wife of a distinguished Macedonian\nnoble, who stood as if petrified--and retired into her tent, where\nbranched lamps had just been placed on little tables of elegant\nworkmanship. Like all the other furniture in the queen's dressing-tent\nthese were made of gleaming ivory, standing out in fine relief from the\ntent-cloth which was sky-blue woven with silver lilies and ears of corn,\nand from the tiger-skins which covered all the cushions, while white\nwoollen carpets, bordered with a waving scroll in blue, were spread on\nthe ground.\n\nThe queen threw herself on a seat in front of her dressing-table, and sat\nstaring at herself in a mirror, as if she now saw her face and her\nabundant, reddish-fair hair for the first time; then she said, half\nturning to Zoe and half to her favorite Athenian waiting-maid, who stood\nbehind her with her other women:\n\n\"It was folly to dye my dark hair light; but now it may remain so, for\nPublius Scipio, who has no suspicion of our arts, thought this color\npretty and uncommon, and never will know its origin. That Egyptian\nheaddress with the vulture's head which the king likes best to see me in,\nthe young Greek Lysias and the Roman too, call barbaric, and so every one\nmust call it who is not interested in the Egyptians. But to-night we are\nonly ourselves, so I will wear the chaplet of golden corn with sapphire\ngrapes. Do you think, Zoe, that with that I could wear the dress of\ntransparent bombyx silk that came yesterday from Cos? But no, I will not\nwear that, for it is too slight a tissue, it hides nothing and I am now\ntoo thin for it to become me. All the lines in my throat show, and my\nelbows are quite sharp--altogether I am much thinner. That comes of\nincessant worry, annoyance, and anxiety. How angry I was yesterday at the\ncouncil, because my husband will always give way and agree and try to be\npleasant; whenever a refusal is necessary I have to interfere, unwilling\nas I am to do it, and odious as it is to me always to have to stir up\ndiscontent, disappointment, and disaffection, to take things on myself\nand to be regarded as hard and heartless in order that my husband may\npreserve undiminished the doubtful glory of being the gentlest and\nkindest of men and princes. My son's having a will of his own leads to\nagitating scenes, but even that is better than that Philopator should\nrush into everybody's arms. The first thing in bringing up a boy should\nbe to teach him to say 'no.' I often say 'yes' myself when I should not,\nbut I am a woman, and yielding becomes us better than refusal--and what\nis there of greater importance to a woman than to do what becomes her\nbest, and to seem beautiful?\n\n\"I will decide on this pale dress, and put over it the net-work of gold\nthread with sapphire knots; that will go well with the head-dress. Take\ncare with your comb, Thais, you are hurting me! Now--I must not chatter\nany more. Zoe, give me the roll yonder; I must collect my thoughts a\nlittle before I go down to talk among men at the banquet. When we have\njust come from visiting the realm of death and of Serapis, and have been\nreminded of the immortality of the soul and of our lot in the next world,\nwe are glad to read through what the most estimable of human thinkers has\nsaid concerning such things. Begin here, Zoe.\"\n\nCleopatra's companion, thus addressed, signed to the unoccupied\nwaiting-women to withdraw, seated herself on a low cushion opposite the\nqueen, and began to read with an intelligent and practised intonation;\nthe reading went on for some time uninterrupted by any sound but the\nclink of metal ornaments, the rustle of rich stuffs, the trickle of oils\nor perfumes as they were dropped into the crystal bowls, the short and\nwhispered questions of the women who were attiring the queen, or\nCleopatra's no less low and rapid answers.\n\nAll the waiting-women not immediately occupied about the queen's\nperson--perhaps twenty in all, young and old-ranged themselves along the\nsides of the great tent, either standing or sitting on the ground or on\ncushions, and awaiting the moment when it should be their turn to perform\nsome service, as motionless as though spellbound by the mystical words of\na magician. They only made signs to each other with their eyes and\nfingers, for they knew that the queen did not choose to be disturbed when\nshe was being read to, and that she never hesitated to cast aside\nanything or anybody that crossed her wishes or inclinations, like a tight\nshoe or a broken lutestring.\n\nHer features were irregular and sharp, her cheekbones too strongly\ndeveloped, and the lips, behind which her teeth gleamed pearly\nwhite-though too widely set--were too full; still, so long as she exerted\nher great powers of concentration, and listened with flashing eyes, like\nthose of a prophetess, and parted lips to the words of Plato, her face\nhad worn an indescribable glow of feeling, which seemed to have come upon\nher from a higher and better world, and she had looked far more beautiful\nthan now when she was fully dressed, and when her women crowded round\nleer--Zoe having laid aside the Plato--with loud and unmeasured flattery.\n\nCleopatra delighted in being thus feted, and, in order to enjoy the\nadulation of a throng, she would always when dressing have a great number\nof women to attend her toilet; mirrors were held up to her on every side,\na fold set right, and the jewelled straps of her sandals adjusted.\n\nOne praised the abundance of her hair, another the slenderness of her\nform, the slimness of her ankles, and the smallness of her tiny hands and\nfeet. One maiden remarked to another--but loud enough to be heard--on the\nbrightness of her eyes which were clearer than the sapphires on her brow,\nwhile the Athenian waiting-woman, Thais, declared that Cleopatra had\ngrown fatter, for her golden belt was less easy to clasp than it had been\nten days previously.\n\nThe queen presently signed to Zoe, who threw a little silver ball into a\nbowl of the same metal, elaborately wrought and decorated, and in a few\nminutes the tramp of the body-guard was audible outside the door of the\ntent.\n\nCleopatra went out, casting a rapid glance over the roof--now brightly\nilluminated with cressets and torches--and the white marble statues that\ngleamed out in relief against the dark clumps of shrubs; and then,\nwithout even looking at the tent where her children were asleep, she\napproached the litter, which had been brought up to the roof for her by\nthe young Macedonian nobles. Zoe and Thais assisted her to mount into it,\nand her ladies, waiting-women, and others who had hurried out of the\nother tents, formed a row on each side of the way, and hailed their\nmistress with loud cries of admiration and delight as she passed by,\nlifted high above them all on the shoulders of her bearers. The diamonds\nin the handle of her feather-fan sparkled brightly as Cleopatra waved a\ngracious adieu to her women, an adieu which did not fail to remind them\nhow infinitely beneath her were those she greeted. Every movement of her\nhand was full of regal pride, and her eyes, unveiled and untempered, were\nradiant with a young woman's pleasure in a perfect toilet, with\nsatisfaction in her own person, and with the anticipation of the festive\nhours before her.\n\nThe litter disappeared behind the door of the broad steps that led up to\nthe roof, and Thais, sighing softly, said to herself, \"If only for once I\ncould ride through the air in just such a pretty shell of colored and\nshining mother-of-pearl, like a goddess! carried aloft by young men, and\nhailed and admired by all around me! High up there the growing Selene\nfloats calmly and silently by the tiny stars, and just so did she ride\npast in her purple robe with her torch-bearers and flames and lights-past\nus humble creatures, and between the tents to the banquet--and to what a\nbanquet, and what guests! Everything up here greets her with rejoicing,\nand I could almost fancy that among those still marble statues even the\nstern face of Zeno had parted its lips, and spoken flattering words to\nher. And yet poor little Zoe, and the fair-haired Lysippa, and the\nblack-haired daughter of Demetrius, and even I, poor wretch, should be\nhandsomer, far handsomer than she, if we could dress ourselves with fine\nclothes and jewels for which kings would sell their kingdoms; if we could\nplay Aphrodite as she does, and ride off in a shell borne aloft on\nemerald-green glass to look as if it were floating on the waves; if\ndolphins set with pearls and turquoises served us for a footstool, and\nwhite ostrich-plumes floated over our heads, like the silvery clouds that\nfloat over Athens in the sky of a fine spring day. The transparent tissue\nthat she dared not put on would well become me! If only that were true\nwhich Zoe was reading yesterday, that the souls of men were destined to\nvisit the earth again and again in new forms! Then perhaps mine might\nsome day come into the world in that of a king's child. I should not care\nto be a prince, so much is expected of him, but a princess indeed! That\nwould be lovely!\"\n\nThese and such like were Thais' dreams, while Zoe stood outside the tent\nof the royal children with her cousin, the chief-attendant of prince\nPhilopator, carrying on an eager conversation in a low tone. The child's\nnurse from time to time dried her eyes and sobbed bitterly as she said:\n\"My own baby, my other children, my husband and our beautiful house in\nAlexandria--I left them all to suckle and rear a prince. I have\nsacrificed happiness, freedom, and my nights'-sleep for the sake of the\nqueen and of this child, and how am I repaid for all this? As if I were a\nlowborn wench instead of the daughter and wife of noble men; this woman,\nhalf a child still, scarcely yet nineteen, dismisses me from her service\nbefore you and all her ladies every ten days! And why? Because the\nungoverned blood of her race flows in her son's veins, and because he\ndoes not rush into the arms of a mother who for days does not ask for him\nat all, and never troubles herself about him but in some idle moment when\nshe has gratified every other whim. Princes distribute favor or disgrace\nwith justice only so long as they are children. The little one\nunderstands very well what I am to him, and sees what Cleopatra is. If I\ncould find it in my heart to ill-use him in secret, this mother--who is\nnot fit to be a mother--would soon have her way. Hard as it would be to\nme so soon to leave the poor feeble little child, who has grown as dear\nto my soul as my own--aye and closer, even closer, as I may well\nsay--this time I will do it, even at the risk of Cleopatra's plunging us\ninto ruin, my husband and me, as she has done to so many who have dared\nto contravene her will.\"\n\nThe wet-nurse wept aloud, but Zoe laid her hand on the distressed woman's\nshoulder, and said soothingly: \"I know you have more to submit to from\nCleopatra's humors than any of us all, but do not be overhasty. Tomorrow\nshe will send you a handsome present, as she so often has done after\nbeing unkind; and though she vexes and hurts you again and again, she\nwill try to make up for it again and again till, when this year is over,\nyour attendance on the prince will be at an end, and you can go home\nagain to your own family. We all have to practise patience; we live like\npeople dwelling in a ruinous house with to-day a stone and to-morrow a\nbeam threatening to fall upon our heads. If we each take calmly whatever\nbefalls us our masters try to heal our wounds, but if we resist may the\ngods have mercy on us! for Cleopatra is like a strung bow, which sets the\narrow flying as soon as a child, a mouse, a breath of air even touches\nit--like an over-full cup which brims over if a leaf, another drop, a\nsingle tear falls into it. We should, any one of us, soon be worn out by\nsuch a life, but she needs excitement, turmoil and amusement at every\nhour. She comes home late from a feast, spends barely six hours in\ndisturbed slumber, and has hardly rested so long as it takes a pebble to\nfall to the ground from a crane's claw before we have to dress her again\nfor another meal. From the council-board she goes to hear some learned\ndiscourse, from her books in the temple to sacrifice and prayer, from the\nsanctuary to the workshops of artists, from pictures and statues to the\naudience-chamber, from a reception of her subjects and of foreigners to\nher writing-room, from answering letters to a procession and worship once\nmore, from the sacred services back again to her dressing-tent, and\nthere, while she is being attired she listens to me while I read the most\nprofound works--and how she listens! not a word escapes her, and her\nmemory retains whole sentences. Amid all this hurry and scurry her spirit\nmust need be like a limb that is sore from violent exertion, and that is\npainfully tender to every rough touch. We are to her neither more nor\nless than the wretched flies which we hit at when they trouble us, and\nmay the gods be merciful to those on whom this queen's hand may fall!\nEuergetes cleaves with the sword all that comes in his way. Cleopatra\nstabs with the dagger, and her hand wields the united power of her own\nmight and of her yielding husband's. Do not provoke her. Submit to what\nyou cannot avert; just as I never complain when, if I make a mistake in\nreading, she snatches the book from my hand, or flings it at my feet. But\nI, of course, have only myself to fear for, and you have your husband and\nchildren as well.\"\n\nPraxinoa bowed her head at these words in sad assent, and said:\n\n\"Thank you for those words! I always think only from my heart, and you\nmostly from your head. You are right, this time again there is nothing\nfor me to do but to be patient; but when I have fulfilled the duties\nhere, which I undertook, and am at home again, I will offer a great\nsacrifice to Asclepias and Hygiea, like a person recovered from a severe\nillness; and one thing I know: that I would rather be a poor girl,\ngrinding at a mill, than change with this rich and adored queen who, in\norder to enjoy her life to the utmost, carelessly and restlessly hurries\npast all that our mortal lot has best to offer. Terrible, hideous to me\nseems such an existence with no rest in it! and the heart of a mother\nwhich is so much occupied with other things that she cannot win the love\nof her child, which blossoms for every hired nurse, must be as waste as\nthe desert! Rather would I endure anything--everything--with patience\nthan be such a queen!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\"What! No one to come to meet me?\" asked the queen, as she reached the\nfoot of the last flight of porphyry steps that led into the ante-chamber\nto the banqueting-hall, and, looking round, with an ominous glance, at\nthe chamberlains who had accompanied her, she clinched her small fist. \"I\narrive and find no one here!\"\n\nThe \"No one\" certainly was a figure of speech, since more than a hundred\nbody-guards-Macedonians in rich array of arms-and an equal number of\ndistinguished court-officials were standing on the marble flags of the\nvast hall, which was surrounded by colonnades, while the star-spangled\nnight-sky was all its roof; and the court-attendants were all men of\nrank, dignified by the titles of fathers, brothers, relatives, friends\nand chief-friends of the king.\n\nThese all received the queen with a many-voiced \"Hail!\" but not one of\nthem seemed worthy of Cleopatra's notice. This crowd was less to her than\nthe air we breathe in order to live--a mere obnoxious vapor, a whirl of\ndust which the traveller would gladly avoid, but which he must\nnevertheless encounter in order to proceed on his way.\n\nThe queen had expected that the few guests, invited by her selection and\nthat of her brother Euergetes to the evening's feast, would have welcomed\nher here at the steps; she thought they would have seen her--as she felt\nherself--like a goddess borne aloft in her shell, and that she might have\nexulted in the admiring astonishment of the Roman and of Lysias, the\nCorinthian: and now the most critical instant in the part she meant to\nplay that evening had proved a failure, and it suggested itself to her\nmind that she might be borne back to her roof-tent, and be floated down\nonce more when she was sure of the presence of the company. But there was\none thing she dreaded more even than pain and remorse, and that was any\nappearance of the ridiculous; so she only commanded the bearers to stand\nstill, and while the master of the ceremonies, waiving his dignity,\nhurried off to announce to her husband that she was approaching, she\nsigned to the nobles highest in rank to approach, that she might address\na few gracious words to them, with distant amiability. Only a few\nhowever, for the doors of thyia wood leading into the banqueting hall\nitself, presently opened, and the king with his friends came forward to\nmeet Cleopatra.\n\n\"How were we to expect you so early?\" cried Philometor to his wife.\n\n\"Is it really still early?\" asked the queen, \"or have I only taken you by\nsurprise, because you had forgotten to expect me?\"\n\n\"How unjust you are!\" replied the king. \"Must you now be told that, come\nas early as you will, you always come too late for my desires.\"\n\n\"But for ours,\" cried Lysias, \"neither too early nor too late, but at the\nvery right time--like returning health and happiness, or the victor's\ncrown.\"\n\n\"Health as taking the place of sickness?\" asked Cleopatra, and her eyes\nsparkled keenly and merrily. \"I perfectly understand Lysias,\" said\nPublius, intercepting the Greek. \"Once, on the field of Mars, I was flung\nfrom my horse, and had to lie for weeks on my couch, and I know that\nthere is no more delightful sensation than that of feeling our departed\nstrength returning as we recover. He means to say that in your presence\nwe must feel exceptionally well.\"\n\n\"Nay rather,\" interrupted Lysias, \"our queen seems to come to us like\nreturning health, since so long as she was not in our midst we felt\nsuffering and sick for longing. Thy presence, Cleopatra, is the most\neffectual remedy, and restores us to our lost health.\"\n\nCleopatra politely lowered her fan, as if in thanks, thus rapidly turning\nthe stick of it in her hand, so as to make the diamonds that were set in\nit sparkle and flash. Then she turned to the friends, and said:\n\n\"Your words are most amiable, and your different ways of expressing your\nmeaning remind me of two gems set in a jewel, one of which sparkles\nbecause it is skilfully cut, and reflects every light from its mirrorlike\nfacets, while the other shines by its genuine and intrinsic fire. The\ngenuine and the true are one, and the Egyptians have but one word for\nboth, and your kind speech, my Scipio--but I may surely venture to call\nyou Publius--your kind speech, my Publius seems to me to be truer than\nthat of your accomplished friend, which is better adapted to vainer ears\nthan mine. Pray, give me your hand.\"\n\nThe shell in which she was sitting was gently lowered, and, supported by\nPublius and her husband, the queen alighted and entered the\nbanqueting-hall, accompanied by her guests.\n\nAs soon as the curtains were closed, and when Cleopatra had exchanged a\nfew whispered words with her husband, she turned again to the Roman, who\nhad just been joined by Eulaeus, and said:\n\n\"You have come from Athens, Publius, but you do not seem to have followed\nvery closely the courses of logic there, else how could it be that you,\nwho regard health as the highest good--that you, who declared that you\nnever felt so well as in my presence--should have quitted me so promptly\nafter the procession, and in spite of our appointment? May I be allowed\nto ask what business--\"\n\n\"Our noble friend,\" answered Eulaeus, bowing low, but not allowing the\nqueen to finish her speech, \"would seem to have found some particular\ncharm in the bearded recluses of Serapis, and to be seeking among them\nthe key-stone of his studies at Athens.\"\n\n\"In that he is very right,\" said the queen. \"For from them he can learn\nto direct his attention to that third division of our existence,\nconcerning which least is taught in Athens--I mean the future--\"\n\n\"That is in the hands of the gods,\" replied the Roman. \"It will come soon\nenough, and I did not discuss it with the anchorite. Eulaeus may be\ninformed that, on the contrary, everything I learned from that singular\nman in the Serapeum bore reference to the things of the past.\"\n\n\"But how can it be possible,\" said Eulaeus, \"that any one to whom\nCleopatra had offered her society should think so long of anything else\nthan the beautiful present?\"\n\n\"You indeed have good reason,\" retorted Publius quickly, \"to enter the\nlists in behalf of the present, and never willingly to recall the past.\"\n\n\"It was full of anxiety and care,\" replied Eulaeus with perfect\nself-possession. \"That my sovereign lady must know from her illustrious\nmother, and from her own experience; and she will also protect me from\nthe undeserved hatred with which certain powerful enemies seem minded to\npursue me. Permit me, your majesty, not to make my appearance at the\nbanquet until later. This noble gentleman kept me waiting for hours in\nthe Serapeum, and the proposals concerning the new building in the temple\nof Isis at Philae must be drawn up and engrossed to-day, in order that\nthey may be brought to-morrow before your royal husband in council and\nyour illustrious brother Euergetes--\"\n\n\"You have leave, interrupted Cleopatra.\"\n\nAs soon as Eulaeus had disappeared, the queen went closer up to Publius,\nand said:\n\n\"You are annoyed with this man--well, he is not pleasant, but at any rate\nhe is useful and worthy. May I ask whether you only feel his personality\nrepugnant to you, or whether actual circumstances have given rise to your\naversion--nay, if I have judged rightly, to a very bitterly hostile\nfeeling against him?\"\n\n\"Both,\" replied Publius. \"In this unmanly man, from the very first, I\nexpected to find nothing good, and I now know that, if I erred at all, it\nwas in his favor. To-morrow I will ask you to spare me an hour when I can\ncommunicate to your majesty something concerning him, but which is too\nrepulsive and sad to be suitable for telling in an evening devoted to\nenjoyment. You need not be inquisitive, for they are matters that belong\nto the past, and which concern neither you nor me.\"\n\nThe high-steward and the cup-bearer here interrupted this conversation by\ncalling them to table, and the royal pair were soon reclining with their\nguests at the festal board.\n\nOriental splendor and Greek elegance were combined in the decorations of\nthe saloon of moderate size, in which Ptolemy Philometor was wont to\nprefer to hold high-festival with a few chosen friends. Like the great\nreception-hall and the men's hall-with its twenty doors and lofty\nporphyry columns--in which the king's guests assembled, it was lighted\nfrom above, since it was only at the sides that the walls--which had no\nwindows--and a row of graceful alabaster columns with Corinthian\nacanthus-capitals supported a narrow roof; the centre of the hall was\nquite uncovered. At this hour, when it was blazing with hundreds of\nlights, the large opening, which by day admitted the bright sunshine, was\nclosed over by a gold net-work, decorated with stars and a crescent moon\nof rock-crystal, and the meshes were close enough to exclude the bats and\nmoths which at night always fly to the light. But the illumination of the\nking's banqueting-hall made it almost as light as day, consisting of\nnumerous lamps with many branches held up by lovely little figures of\nchildren in bronze and marble. Every joint was plainly visible in the\nmosaic of the pavement, which represented the reception of Heracles into\nOlympus, the feast of the gods, and the astonishment of the amazed hero\nat the splendor of the celestial banquet; and hundreds of torches were\nreflected in the walls of polished yellow marble, brought from Hippo\nRegius; these were inlaid by skilled artists with costly stones, such as\nlapis lazuli and malachite, crystals, blood-stone, jasper, agates and\nchalcedony, to represent fruit-pieces and magnificent groups of game or\nof musical instruments; while the pilasters were decorated with masks of\nthe tragic and comic Muses, torches, thyrsi wreathed with ivy and vine,\nand pan-pipes. These were wrought in silver and gold, and set with costly\nmarbles, and they stood out from the marble background like metal work on\na leather shield, or the rich ornamentation on a sword-sheath. The\nfigures of a Dionysiac procession, forming the frieze, looked down upon\nthe feasters--a fine relievo that had been designed and modelled for\nPtolemy Soter by the sculptor Bryaxis, and then executed in ivory and\ngold.\n\nEverything that met the eye in this hall was splendid, costly, and above\nall of a genial aspect, even before Cleopatra had come to the throne; and\nshe--here as in her own apartments--had added the busts of the greatest\nGreek philosophers and poets, from Thales of Miletus down to Strato, who\nraised chance to fill the throne of God, and from Hesiod to Callimachus;\nshe too had placed the tragic mask side by side with the comic, for at\nher table--she was wont to say--she desired to see no one who could not\nenjoy grave and wise discourse more than eating, drinking, and laughter.\n\nInstead of assisting at the banquet, as other ladies used, seated on a\nchair or at the foot of her husband's couch, she reclined on a couch of\nher own, behind which stood busts of Sappho the poetess, and Aspasia the\nfriend of Pericles.\n\nThough she made no pretensions to be regarded as a philosopher nor even\nas a poetess, she asserted her right to be considered a finished\nconnoisseur in the arts of poetry and music; and if she preferred\nreclining to sitting how should she have done otherwise, since she was\nfully aware how well it became her to extend herself in a picturesque\nattitude on her cushions, and to support her head on her arm as it rested\non the back of her couch; for that arm, though not strictly speaking\nbeautiful, always displayed the finest specimens of Alexandrian\nworkmanship in gem-cutting and goldsmiths' work.\n\nBut, in fact, she selected a reclining posture particularly for the sake\nof showing her feet; not a woman in Egypt or Greece had a smaller or more\nfinely formed foot than she. For this reason her sandals were so made\nthat when she stood or walked they protected only the soles of her feet,\nand her slender white toes with the roseate nails and their polished\nwhite half-moons were left uncovered.\n\nAt the banquet she put off her shoes altogether, as the men did; hiding\nher feet at first however, and not displaying them till she thought the\nmarks left on her tender skin by the straps of the sandals had completely\ndisappeared.\n\nEulaeus was the greatest admirer of these feet; not, as he averred, on\naccount of their beauty, but because the play of the queen's toes showed\nhim exactly what was passing in her mind, when he was quite unable to\ndetect what was agitating her soul in the expression of her mouth and\neyes, well practised in the arts of dissimulation.\n\nNine couches, arranged three and three in a horseshoe, invited the guests\nto repose, with their arms of ebony and cushions of dull olive-green\nbrocade, on which a delicate pattern of gold and silver seemed just to\nhave been breathed.\n\nThe queen, shrugging her shoulders, and, as it would seem, by no means\nagreeably surprised at something, whispered to the chamberlain, who then\nindicated to each guest the place he was to occupy. To the right of the\ncentral group reclined the queen, and her husband took his place to the\nleft; the couch between the royal pair, destined for their brother\nEuergetes, remained unoccupied.\n\nOn one of the three couches which formed the right-hand angle with those\nof the royal family, Publius found a place next to Cleopatra; opposite to\nhim, and next the king, was Lysias the Corinthian. Two places next to him\nremained vacant, while on the side by the Roman reclined the brave and\nprudent Hierax, the friend of Ptolemy Euergetes and his most faithful\nfollower.\n\nWhile the servants strewed the couches with rose leaves, sprinkled\nperfumed waters, and placed by the couch of each guest a small table-made\nof silver and of a slab of fine, reddish-brown porphyry, veined with\nwhite-the king addressed a pleasant greeting to each guest, apologizing\nfor the smallness of the number.\n\n\"Eulaeus,\" he said, \"has been forced to leave us on business, and our\nroyal brother is still sitting over his books with Aristarchus, who came\nwith him from Alexandria; but he promised certainly to come.\"\n\n\"The fewer we are,\" replied Lysias, bowing low, \"the more honorable is\nthe distinction of belonging to so limited a number of your majesty's\nmost select associates.\"\n\n\"I certainly think we have chosen the best from among the good,\" said the\nqueen. \"But even the small number of friends I had invited must have\nseemed too large to my brother Euergetes, for he--who is accustomed to\ncommand in other folks' houses as he does in his own--forbid the\nchamberlain to invite our learned friends--among whom Agatharchides, my\nbrothers' and my own most worthy tutor, is known to you--as well as our\nJewish friends who were present yesterday at our table, and whom I had\nset down on my list. I am very well satisfied however, for I like the\nnumber of the Muses; and perhaps he desired to do you, Publius,\nparticular honor, since we are assembled here in the Roman fashion. It is\nin your honor, and not in his, that we have no music this evening; you\nsaid that you did not particularly like it at a banquet. Euergetes\nhimself plays the harp admirably. However, it is well that he is late in\ncoming as usual, for the day after tomorrow is his birthday, and he is to\nspend it here with us and not in Alexandria; the priestly delegates\nassembled in the Bruchion are to come from thence to Memphis to wish him\njoy, and we must endeavor to get up some brilliant festival. You have no\nlove for Eulaeus, Publius, but he is extremely skilled in such matters,\nand I hope he will presently return to give us his advice.\"\n\n\"For the morning we will have a grand procession,\" cried the king.\n\"Euergetes delights in a splendid spectacle, and I should be glad to show\nhim how much pleasure his visit has given us.\"\n\nThe king's fine features wore a most winning expression as he spoke these\nwords with heart-felt warmth, but his consort said thoughtfully: \"Aye! if\nonly we were in Alexandria--but here, among all the Egyptian people--\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nA loud laugh re-echoing from the marble walls of the state-room\ninterrupted the queen's speech; at first she started, but then smiled\nwith pleasure as she recognized her brother Euergetes, who, pushing aside\nthe chamberlains, approached the company with an elderly Greek, who\nwalked by his side.\n\n\"By all the dwellers on Olympus! By the whole rabble of gods and beasts\nthat live in the temples by the Nile!\" cried the new-comer, again\nlaughing so heartily that not only his fat cheeks but his whole immensely\nstout young frame swayed and shook. \"By your pretty little feet,\nCleopatra, which could so easily be hidden, and yet are always to be\nseen--by all your gentle virtues, Philometor, I believe you are trying to\noutdo the great Philadelphus or our Syrian uncle Antiochus, and to get up\na most unique procession; and in my honor! Just so! I myself will take a\npart in the wonderful affair, and my sturdy person shall represent Eros\nwith his quiver and bow. Some Ethiopian dame must play the part of my\nmother Aphrodite; she will look the part to perfection, rising from the\nwhite sea-foam with her black skin. And what do you think of a Pallas\nwith short woolly hair; of the Charities with broad, flat Ethiopian feet;\nand an Egyptian, with his shaven head mirroring the sun, as Phoebus\nApollo?\"\n\nWith these words the young giant of twenty years threw himself on the\nvacant couch between his brother and sister, and, after bowing, not\nwithout dignity, to the Roman, whom his brother named to him, he called\none of the young Macedonians of noble birth who served at the feast as\ncup-bearers, had his cup filled once and again and yet a third time,\ndrinking it off quickly and without setting it down; then he said in a\nloud tone, while he pushed his hands through his tossed, light brown\nhair, till it stood straight up in the air from his broad temples and\nhigh brow:\n\n\"I must make up for what you have had before I came.--Another cup-full\nDiocleides.\"\n\n\"Wild boy!\" said Cleopatra, holding up her finger at him half in jest and\nhalf in grave warning. \"How strange you look!\"\n\n\"Like Silenus without the goat's hoofs,\" answered Euergetes. \"Hand me a\nmirror here, Diocleides; follow the eyes of her majesty the queen, and\nyou will be sure to find one. There is the thing! And in fact the picture\nit shows me does not displease me. I see there a head on which besides\nthe two crowns of Egypt a third might well find room, and in which there\nis so much brains that they might suffice to fill the skulls of four\nkings to the brim. I see two vulture's eyes which are always keen of\nsight even when their owner is drunk, and that are in danger of no peril\nsave from the flesh of these jolly cheeks, which, if they continue to\nincrease so fast, must presently exclude the light, as the growth of the\nwood encloses a piece of money stuck into a rift in a tree-or as a\nshutter, when it is pushed to, closes up a window. With these hands and\narms the fellow I see in the mirror there could, at need, choke a\nhippopotamus; the chain that is to deck this neck must be twice as long\nas that worn by a well-fed Egyptian priest. In this mirror I see a man,\nwho is moulded out of a sturdy clay, baked out of more unctuous and solid\nstuff than other folks; and if the fine creature there on the bright\nsurface wears a transparent robe, what have you to say against it,\nCleopatra? The Ptolemaic princes must protect the import trade of\nAlexandria, that fact was patent even to the great son of Lagus; and what\nwould become of our commerce with Cos if I did not purchase the finest\nbombyx stuffs, since those who sell it make no profits out of you, the\nqueen--and you cover yourself, like a vestal virgin, in garments of\ntapestry. Give me a wreath for my head--aye and another to that, and new\nwine in the cup! To the glory of Rome and to your health, Publius\nCornelius Scipio, and to our last critical conjecture, my Aristarchus--to\nsubtle thinking and deep drinking!\"\n\n\"To deep thinking and subtle drinking!\" retorted the person thus\naddressed, while he raised the cup, looked into the wine with his\ntwinkling eyes and lifted it slowly to his nose--a long, well-formed and\nslightly aquiline nose--and to his thin lips.\n\n\"Oh! Aristarchus,\" exclaimed Euergetes, and he frowned. \"You please me\nbetter when you clear up the meaning of your poets and historians than\nwhen you criticise the drinking-maxims of a king. Subtle drinking is mere\nsipping, and sipping I leave to the bitterns and other birds that live\ncontent among the reeds. Do you understand me? Among reeds, I\nsay--whether cut for writing, or no.\"\n\n\"By subtle drinking,\" replied the great critic with perfect indifference,\nas he pushed the thin, gray hair from his high brow with his slender\nhand. \"By subtle drinking I mean the drinking of choice wine, and did you\never taste anything more delicate than this juice of the vines of\nAnthylla that your illustrious brother has set before us? Your\nparadoxical axiom commends you at once as a powerful thinker and as the\nbenevolent giver of the best of drinks.\"\n\n\"Happily turned,\" exclaimed Cleopatra, clapping her hands, \"you here see,\nPublius, a proof of the promptness of an Alexandrian tongue.\"\n\n\"Yes!\" said Euergetes, \"if men could go forth to battle with words\ninstead of spears the masters of the Museum in Alexander's city, with\nAristarchus at their head, they might rout the united armies of Rome and\nCarthage in a couple of hours.\"\n\n\"But we are not now in the battle-field but at a peaceful meal,\" said the\nking, with suave amiability. \"You did in fact overhear our secret\nEuergetes, and mocked at my faithful Egyptians, in whose place I would\ngladly set fair Greeks if only Alexandria still belonged to me instead of\nto you.--However, a splendid procession shall not be wanting at your\nbirthday festival.\"\n\n\"And do you really still take pleasure in these eternal goose-step\nperformances?\" asked Euergetes, stretching himself out on his couch, and\nfolding his hands to support the back of his head. \"Sooner could I\naccustom myself to the delicate drinking of Aristarchus than sit for\nhours watching these empty pageants. On two conditions only can I declare\nmyself ready and willing to remain quiet, and patiently to dawdle through\nalmost half a day, like an ape in a cage: First, if it will give our\nRoman friend Publius Cornelius Scipio any pleasure to witness such a\nperformance--though, since our uncle Antiochus pillaged our wealth, and\nsince we brothers shared Egypt between us, our processions are not to be\neven remotely compared to the triumphs of Roman victors--or, secondly, if\nI am allowed to take an active part in the affair.\"\n\n\"On my account, Sire,\" replied Publius, \"no procession need be arranged,\nparticularly not such a one as I should here be obliged to look on at.\"\n\n\"Well! I still enjoy such things,\" said Cleopatra's husband.\n\"Well-arranged groups, and the populace pleased and excited are a sight I\nam never tired of.\"\n\n\"As for me,\" cried Cleopatra, \"I often turn hot and cold, and the tears\neven spring to my eyes, when the shouting is loudest. A great mass of men\nall uniting in a common emotion always has a great effect. A drop, a\ngrain of sand, a block of stone are insignificant objects, but millions\nof them together, forming the sea, the desert or the pyramids, constitute\na sublime whole. One man alone, shouting for joy, is like a madman\nescaped from an asylum, but when thousands of men rejoice together it\nmust have a powerful effect on the coldest heart. How is it that you,\nPublius Scipio, in whom a strong will seems to me to have found a\npeculiarly happy development, can remain unmoved by a scene in which the\ngreat collective will of a people finds its utterance?\"\n\n\"Is there then any expression of will, think you,\" said the Roman, \"in\nthis popular rejoicing? It is just in such circumstances that each man\nbecomes the involuntary mimic and duplicate of his neighbor; while I love\nto make my own way, and to be independent of everything but the laws and\nduties laid upon me by the state to which I belong.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said Euergetes, \"from my childhood have always looked on at\nprocessions from the very best places, and so it is that fortune punishes\nme now with indifference to them and to everything of the kind; while the\npoor miserable devil who can never catch sight of anything more than the\nnose or the tip of a hair or the broad back of those who take part in\nthem, always longs for fresh pageants. As you hear, I need have no\nconsideration for Publius Scipio in this, willing as I should be to do\nso. Now what would you say, Cleopatra, if I myself took a part in my\nprocession--I say mine, since it is to be in my honor; that really would\nbe for once something new and amusing.\"\n\n\"More new and amusing than creditable, I think,\" replied Cleopatra dryly.\n\n\"And yet even that ought to please you,\" laughed Euergetes. \"Since,\nbesides being your brother, I am your rival, and we would sooner see our\nrivals lower themselves than rise.\"\n\n\"Do not try to justify yourself by such words,\" interrupted the king\nevasively, and with a tone of regret in his soft voice. \"We love you\ntruly; we are ready to yield you your dominion side by side with ours,\nand I beg you to avoid such speeches even in jest, so that bygones may be\nbygones.\"\n\n\"And,\" added Cleopatra, \"not to detract from your dignity as a king and\nyour fame as a sage by any such fool's pranks.\"\n\n\"Madam teacher, do you know then what I had in my mind? I would appear as\nAlcibiades, followed by a train of flute-playing women, with Aristarchus\nto play the part of Socrates. I have often been told that he and I\nresemble each other--in many points, say the more sincere; in every\npoint, say the more polite of my friends.\"\n\nAt these words Publius measured with his eye the frame of the royal young\nlibertine, enveloped in transparent robes; and recalling to himself, as\nhe gazed, a glorious statue of that favorite of the Athenians, which he\nhad seen in the Ilissus, an ironical smile passed over his lips. It was\nnot unobserved by Euergetes and it offended him, for there was nothing he\nliked better than to be compared to the nephew of Pericles; but he\nsuppressed his annoyance, for Publius Cornelius Scipio was the nearest\nrelative of the most influential men of Rome, and, though he himself\nwielded royal power, Rome exercised over him the sovereign will of a\ndivinity.\n\nCleopatra noticed what was passing in her brother's mind, and in order to\ninterrupt his further speech and to divert his mind to fresh thoughts,\nshe said cheerfully:\n\n\"Let us then give up the procession, and think of some other mode of\ncelebrating your birthday. You, Lysias, must be experienced in such\nmatters, for Publius tells me that you were the leader in all the games\nof Corinth. What can we devise to entertain Euergetes and ourselves?\"\n\nThe Corinthian looked for a moment into his cup, moving it slowly about\non the marble slab of the little table at his side, between an oyster\npasty and a dish of fresh asparagus; and then he said, glancing round to\nwin the suffrages of the company:\n\n\"At the great procession which took place under Ptolemy\nPhiladelphus--Agatharchides gave me the description of it, written by the\neye-witness Kallixenus, to read only yesterday--all kinds of scenes from\nthe lives of the gods were represented before the people. Suppose we were\nto remain in this magnificent palace, and to represent ourselves the\nbeautiful groups which the great artists of the past have produced in\npainting or sculpture; but let us choose those only that are least\nknown.\"\n\n\"Splendid,\" cried Cleopatra in great excitement, who can be more like\nHeracles than my mighty brother there--the very son of Alcmene, as\nLysippus has conceived and represented him? Let us then represent the\nlife of Heracles from grand models, and in every case assign to Euergetes\nthe part of the hero.\"\n\n\"Oh! I will undertake it,\" said the young king, feeling the mighty\nmuscles of his breast and arms, \"and you may give me great credit for\nassuming the part, for the demi-god who strangled the snakes was lacking\nin the most important point, and it was not without due consideration\nthat Lysippus represented him with a small head on his mighty body; but I\nshall not have to say anything.\"\n\n\"If I play Omphale will you sit at my feet?\" asked Cleopatra.\n\n\"Who would not be willing to sit at those feet?\" answered Euergetes. \"Let\nus at once make further choice among the abundance of subjects offered to\nus, but, like Lysias, I would warn you against those that are too\nwell-known.\"\n\n\"There are no doubt things commonplace to the eye as well as to the ear,\"\nsaid Cleopatra. \"But what is recognized as good is commonly regarded as\nmost beautiful.\"\n\n\"Permit me,\" said Lysias, \"to direct your attention to a piece of\nsculpture in marble of the noblest workmanship, which is both old and\nbeautiful, and yet which may be known to few among you. It exists on the\ncistern of my father's house at Corinth, and was executed many centuries\nsince by a great artist of the Peloponnesus. Publius was delighted with\nthe work, and it is in fact beautiful beyond description. It is an\nexquisite representation of the marriage of Heracles and Hebe--of the\nhero, raised to divinity, with sempiternal youth. Will Your Majesty allow\nyourself to be led by Pallas Athene and your mother Alcmene to your\nnuptials with Hebe?\"\n\n\"Why not?\" said Euergetes. \"Only the Hebe must be beautiful. But one\nthing must be considered; how are we to get the cistern from your\nfather's house at Corinth to this place by to-morrow or next day? Such a\ngroup cannot be posed from memory without the original to guide us; and\nthough the story runs that the statue of Serapis flew from Sinope to\nAlexandria, and though there are magicians still at Memphis--\"\n\n\"We shall not need them,\" interrupted Publius, \"while I was staying as a\nguest in the house of my friend's parents--which is altogether more\nmagnificent than the old castle of King Gyges at Sardis--I had some gems\nengraved after this lovely group, as a wedding-present for my sister.\nThey are extremely successful, and I have them with me in my tent.\"\n\n\"Have you a sister?\" asked the queen, leaning over towards the Roman.\n\"You must tell me all about her.\"\n\n\"She is a girl like all other girls,\" replied Publius, looking down at\nthe ground, for it was most repugnant to his feelings to speak of his\nsister in the presence of Euergetes.\n\n\"And you are unjust like all other brothers,\" said Cleopatra smiling,\n\"and I must hear more about her, for\"--and she whispered the words and\nlooked meaningly at Publius--\"all that concerns you must interest me.\"\n\nDuring this dialogue the royal brothers had addressed themselves to\nLysias with questions as to the marriage of Heracles and Hebe, and all\nthe company were attentive to the Greek as he went on: \"This fine work\ndoes not represent the marriage properly speaking, but the moment when\nthe bridegroom is led to the bride. The hero, with his club on his\nshoulder, and wearing the lion's skin, is led by Pallas Athene, who, in\nperforming this office of peace, has dropped her spear and carries her\nhelmet in her hand; they are accompanied by his mother Alcmene, and are\nadvancing towards the bride's train. This is headed by no less a\npersonage than Apollo himself, singing the praises of Hymenaeus to a\nlute. With him walks his sister Artemis and behind them the mother of\nHebe, accompanied by Hermes, the messenger of the gods, as the envoy of\nZeus. Then follows the principal group, which is one of the most lovely\nworks of Greek art that I am acquainted with. Hebe comes forward to meet\nher bridegroom, gently led on by Aphrodite, the queen of love. Peitho,\nthe goddess of persuasion, lays her hand on the bride's arm,\nimperceptibly urging her forward and turning away her face; for what she\nhad to say has been said, and she smiles to herself, for Hebe has not\nturned a deaf ear to her voice, and he who has once listened to Peitho\nmust do what she desires.\"\n\n\"And Hebe?\" asked Cleopatra.\n\n\"She casts down her eyes, but lifts up the arm on which the hand of\nPeitho rests with a warning movement of her fingers, in which she holds\nan unopened rose, as though she would say; 'Ah! let me be--I tremble at\nthe man'--or ask: 'Would it not be better that I should remain as I am\nand not yield to your temptations and to Aphrodite's power?' Oh! Hebe is\nexquisite, and you, O Queen! must represent her!\"\n\n\"I!\" exclaimed Cleopatra. \"But you said her eyes were cast down.\"\n\n\"That is from modesty and timidity, and her gait must also be bashful and\nmaidenly. Her long robe falls to her feet in simple folds, while Peitho\nholds hers up saucily, between her forefinger and thumb, as if stealthily\ndancing with triumph over her recent victory. Indeed the figure of Peitho\nwould become you admirably.\"\n\n\"I think I will represent Peitho,\" said the queen interrupting the\nCorinthian. \"Hebe is but a bud, an unopened blossom, while I am a mother,\nand I flatter myself I am something of a philosopher--\"\n\n\"And can with justice assure yourself,\" interrupted Aristarchus, \"that\nwith every charm of youth you also possess the characters attributed to\nPeitho, the goddess, who can work her spells not only on the heart but on\nthe intellect also. The maiden bud is as sweet to look upon as the rose,\nbut he who loves not merely color but perfume too--I mean refreshment,\nemotion and edification of spirit--must turn to the full-blown flower; as\nthe rose--growers of lake Moeris twine only the buds of their favorite\nflower into wreaths and bunches, but cannot use them for extracting the\noil of imperishable fragrance; for that they need the expanded blossom.\nRepresent Peitho, my Queen! the goddess herself might be proud of such a\nrepresentative.\"\n\n\"And if she were so indeed,\" cried Cleopatra, \"how happy am I to hear\nsuch words from the lips of Aristarchus. It is settled--I play Peitho. My\ncompanion Zoe may take the part of Artemis, and her grave sister that of\nPallas Athene. For the mother's part we have several matrons to choose\nfrom; the eldest daughter of Epitropes appears to me fitted for the part\nof Aphrodite; she is wonderfully lovely.\"\n\n\"Is she stupid too?\" asked Euergetes. \"That is also an attribute of the\never-smiling Cypria.\"\n\n\"Enough so, I think, for our purpose,\" laughed Cleopatra. \"But where are\nwe to find such a Hebe as you have described, Lysias? The daughter of\nAlimes the Arabarch is a charming child.\"\n\n\"But she is brown, as brown as this excellent wine, and too thoroughly\nEgyptian,\" said the high-steward, who superintended the young Macedonian\ncup-bearers; he bowed deeply as he spoke, and modestly drew the queen's\nattention to his own daughter, a maiden of sixteen. But Cleopatra\nobjected, that she was much taller than herself, and that she would have\nto stand by the Hebe, and lay her hand on her arm.\n\nOther maidens were rejected on various grounds, and Euergetes had already\nproposed to send off a carrier-pigeon to Alexandria to command that some\nfair Greek girl should be sent by an express quadriga to Memphis--where\nthe dark Egyptian gods and men flourish, and are more numerous than the\nfair race of Greeks--when Lysias exclaimed:\n\n\"I saw to-day the very girl we want, a Hebe that might have stepped out\nfrom the marble group at my father's, and have been endued with life and\nwarmth and color by some god. Young, modest, rose and white, and just\nabout as tall as Your Majesty. If you will allow me, I will not tell you\nwho she is, till after I have been to our tent to fetch the gems with the\ncopies of the marble.\"\n\n\"You will find them in an ivory casket at the bottom of my\nclothes-chest,\" said Publius; \"here is the key.\"\n\n\"Make haste,\" cried the queen, \"for we are all curious to hear where in\nMemphis you discovered your modest, rose and white Hebe.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nAn hour had slipped by with the royal party, since Lysias had quitted the\ncompany; the wine-cups had been filled and emptied many times; Eulaeus\nhad rejoined the feasters, and the conversation had taken quite another\nturn, since the whole of the company were not now equally interested in\nthe same subject; on the contrary, the two kings were discussing with\nAristarchus the manuscripts of former poets and of the works of the\nsages, scattered throughout Greece, and the ways and means of obtaining\nthem or of acquiring exact transcripts of them for the library of the\nMuseum. Hierax was telling Eulaeus of the last Dionysiac festival, and of\nthe representation of the newest comedy in Alexandria, and Eulaeus\nassumed the appearance--not unsuccessfully--of listening with both ears,\ninterrupting him several times with intelligent questions, bearing\ndirectly on what he had said, while in fact his attention was exclusively\ndirected to the queen, who had taken entire possession of the Roman\nPublius, telling him in a low tone of her life--which was consuming her\nstrength--of her unsatisfied affections, and her enthusiasm for Rome and\nfor manly vigor. As she spoke her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled,\nfor the more exclusively she kept the conversation in her own hands the\nbetter she thought she was being entertained; and Publius, who was\nnothing less than talkative, seldom interrupted her, only insinuating a\nflattering word now and then when it seemed appropriate; for he\nremembered the advice given him by the anchorite, and was desirous of\nwinning the good graces of Cleopatra.\n\nIn spite of his sharp ears Eulaeus could understand but little of their\nwhispered discourse, for King Euergetes' powerful voice sounded loud\nabove the rest of the conversation; but Eulaeus was able swiftly to\nsupply the links between the disjointed sentences, and to grasp the\ngeneral sense, at any rate, of what she was saying. The queen avoided\nwine, but she had the power of intoxicating herself, so to speak, with\nher own words, and now just as her brothers and Aristarchus were at the\nheight of their excited and eager question and answer--she raised her\ncup, touched it with her lips and handed it to Publius, while at the same\ntime she took hold of his.\n\nThe young Roman knew well enough all the significance of this hasty\naction; it was thus that in his own country a woman when in love was wont\nto exchange her cup with her lover, or an apple already bitten by her\nwhite teeth.\n\nPublius was seized with a cold shudder--like a wanderer who carelessly\npursues his way gazing up at the moon and stars, and suddenly perceives\nan abyss yawning; at his feet. Recollections of his mother and of her\nwarnings against the seductive wiles of the Egyptian women, and\nparticularly of this very woman, flashed through his mind like lightning;\nshe was looking at him--not royally by any means, but with anxious and\nlanguishing gaze, and he would gladly have kept his eyes fixed on the\nground, and have left the cup untouched; but her eye held his fast as\nthough fettering it with ties and bonds; and to put aside the cup seemed\nto the most fearless son of an unconquered nation a deed too bold to be\nattempted. Besides, how could he possibly repay this highest favor with\nan affront that no woman could ever forgive--least of all a Cleopatra?\n\nAye, many a life's happiness is tossed away and many a sin committed,\nbecause the favor of women is a grace that does honor to every man, and\nthat flatters him even when it is bestowed by the unloved and unworthy.\nFor flattery is a key to the heart, and when the heart stands half open\nthe voice of the tempter is never wanting to whisper: \"You will hurt her\nfeelings if you refuse.\"\n\nThese were the deliberations which passed rapidly and confusedly through\nthe young Roman's agitated brain, as he took the queen's cup and set his\nlips to the same spot that hers had touched. Then, while he emptied the\ncup in long draughts, he felt suddenly seized by a deep aversion to the\nover-talkative, overdressed and capricious woman before him, who thus\nforced upon him favors for which he had not sued; and suddenly there rose\nbefore his soul the image, almost tangibly distinct, of the humble\nwater-bearer; he saw Klea standing before him and looking far more\nqueenly as, proud and repellent, she avoided his gaze, than the sovereign\nby his side could ever have done, though crowned with a diadem.\n\nCleopatra rejoiced to mark his long slow draught, for she thought the\nRoman meant to imply by it that he could not cease to esteem himself\nhappy in the favor she had shown him. She did not take her eyes off him,\nand observed with pleasure that his color changed to red and white; nor\ndid she notice that Eulaeus was watching, with a twinkle in his eyes, all\nthat was going on between her and Publius. At last the Roman set down the\ncup, and tried with some confusion to reply to her question as to how he\nhad liked the flavor of the wine.\n\n\"Very fine--excellent--\" at last he stammered out, but he was no longer\nlooking at Cleopatra but at Euergetes, who just then cried out loudly:\n\n\"I have thought over that passage for hours, I have given you all my\nreasons and have let you speak, Aristarchus, but I maintain my opinion,\nand whoever denies it does Homer an injustice; in this place 'siu' must\nbe read instead of 'iu'.\"\n\nEuergetes spoke so vehemently that his voice outshouted all the other\nguests; Publius however snatched at his words, to escape the necessity\nfor feigning sentiments he could not feel; so he said, addressing himself\nhalf to the speaker and half to Cleopatra:\n\n\"Of what use can it be to decide whether it is one or the other--'iu' or\n'siu'. I find many things justifiable in other men that are foreign to my\nown nature, but I never could understand how an energetic and vigorous\nman, a prudent sovereign and stalwart drinker--like you, Euergetes--can\nsit for hours over flimsy papyrus-rolls, and rack his brains to decide\nwhether this or that in Homer should be read in one way or another.\"\n\n\"You exercise yourself in other things,\" replied Euergetes. \"I consider\nthat part of me which lies within this golden fillet as the best that I\nhave, and I exercise my wits on the minutest and subtlest questions just\nas I would try the strength of my arms against the sturdiest athletes. I\nflung five into the sand the last time I did so, and they quake now when\nthey see me enter the gymnasium of Timagetes. There would be no strength\nin the world if there were no obstacles, and no man would know that he\nwas strong if he could meet with no resistance to overcome. I for my part\nseek such exercises as suit my idiosyncrasy, and if they are not to your\ntaste I cannot help it. If you were to set these excellently dressed\ncrayfish before a fine horse he would disdain them, and could not\nunderstand how foolish men could find anything palatable that tasted so\nsalt. Salt, in fact, is not suited to all creatures! Men born far from\nthe sea do not relish oysters, while I, being a gourmand, even prefer to\nopen them myself so that they may be perfectly fresh, and mix their\nliquor with my wine.\"\n\n\"I do not like any very salt dish, and am glad to leave the opening of\nall marine produce to my servants,\" answered Publius. \"Thereby I save\nboth time and unnecessary trouble.\"\n\n\"Oh! I know!\" cried Euergetes. \"You keep Greek slaves, who must even read\nand write for you. Pray is there a market where I may purchase men, who,\nafter a night of carousing, will bear our headache for us? By the shores\nof the Tiber you love many things better than learning.\"\n\n\"And thereby,\" added Aristarchus, \"deprive yourselves of the noblest and\nsubtlest of pleasures, for the purest enjoyment is ever that which we\nearn at the cost of some pains and effort.\"\n\n\"But all that you earn by this kind of labor,\" returned Publius, \"is\npetty and unimportant. It puts me in mind of a man who removes a block of\nstone in the sweat of his brow only to lay it on a sparrow's feather in\norder that it may not be carried away by the wind.\"\n\n\"And what is great--and what is small?\" asked Aristarchus. \"Very opposite\nopinions on that subject may be equally true, since it depends solely on\nus and our feelings how things appear to us--whether cold or warm; lovely\nor repulsive--and when Protagoras says that 'man is the measure of all\nthings,' that is the most acceptable of all the maxims of the Sophists;\nmoreover the smallest matter--as you will fully appreciate--acquires an\nimportance all the greater in proportion as the thing is perfect, of\nwhich it forms a part. If you slit the ear of a cart-horse, what does it\nsignify? but suppose the same thing were to happen to a thoroughbred\nhorse, a charger that you ride on to battle!\n\n\"A wrinkle or a tooth more or less in the face of a peasant woman matters\nlittle, or not at all, but it is quite different in a celebrated beauty.\nIf you scrawl all over the face with which the coarse finger of the\npotter has decorated a water-jar, the injury to the wretched pot is but\nsmall, but if you scratch, only with a needle's point, that gem with the\nportraits of Ptolemy and Arsinoe, which clasps Cleopatra's robe round her\nfair throat, the richest queen will grieve as though she had suffered\nsome serious loss.\n\n\"Now, what is there more perfect or more worthy to be treasured than the\nnoblest works of great thinkers and great poets.\n\n\"To preserve them from injury, to purge them from the errors which, in\nthe course of time, may have spotted their immaculate purity, this is our\ntask; and if we do indeed raise blocks of stone it is not to weight a\nsparrow's feather that it may not be blown away, but to seal the door\nwhich guards a precious possession, and to preserve a gem from injury.\n\n\"The chatter of girls at a fountain is worth nothing but to be wafted\naway on the winds, and to be remembered by none; but can a son ever deem\nthat one single word is unimportant which his dying father has bequeathed\nto him as a clue to his path in life? If you yourself were such a son,\nand your ear had not perfectly caught the parting counsels of the\ndying-how many talents of silver would you not pay to be able to supply\nthe missing words? And what are immortal works of the great poets and\nthinkers but such sacred words of warning addressed, not to a single\nindividual, but to all that are not barbarians, however many they maybe.\nThey will elevate, instruct, and delight our descendants a thousand years\nhence as they do us at this day, and they, if they are not degenerate and\nungrateful will be thankful to those who have devoted the best powers of\ntheir life to completing and restoring all that our mighty forefathers\nhave said, as it must have originally stood before it was mutilated, and\nspoiled by carelessness and folly.\n\n\"He who, like King Euergetes, puts one syllable in Homer right, in place\nof a wrong one, in my opinion has done a service to succeeding\ngenerations--aye and a great service.\"\n\n\"What you say,\" replied Publius, \"sounds convincing, but it is still not\nperfectly clear to me; no doubt because I learned at an early age to\nprefer deeds to words. I find it more easy to reconcile my mind to your\npainful and minute labors when I reflect that to you is entrusted the\nrestoration of the literal tenor of laws, whose full meaning might be\nlost by a verbal error; or that wrong information might be laid before me\nas to one single transaction in the life of a friend or of a\nblood-relation, and it might lie with me to clear him of mistakes and\nmisinterpretation.\"\n\n\"And what are the works of the great singers of the deeds of the\nheroes-of the writers of past history, but the lives of our fathers\nrelated either with veracious exactness or with poetic adornments?\" cried\nAristarchus. \"It is to these that my king and companion in study devotes\nhimself with particular zeal.\"\n\n\"When he is neither drinking, nor raving, nor governing, nor wasting his\ntime in sacrificing and processions,\" interpolated Euergetes. \"If I had\nnot been a king perhaps I might have been an Aristarchus; as it is I am\nbut half a king--since half of my kingdom belongs to you, Philometor--and\nbut half a student; for when am I to find perfect quiet for thinking and\nwriting? Everything, everything in me is by halves, for I, if the scale\nwere to turn in my favor\"--and here he struck his chest and his forehead,\n\"I should be twice the man I am. I am my whole real self nowhere but at\nhigh festivals, when the wine sparkles in the cup, and bright eyes flash\nfrom beneath the brows of the flute-players of Alexandria or\nCyrene--sometimes too perhaps in council when the risk is great, or when\nthere is something vast and portentous to be done from which my brother\nand you others, all of you, would shrink--nay perhaps even the Roman.\nAye! so it is--and you will learn to know it.\"\n\nEuergetes had roared rather than spoken the last words; his cheeks were\nflushed, his eyes rolled, while he took from his head both the garland of\nflowers and the golden fillet, and once more pushed his fingers through\nhis hair.\n\nHis sister covered her ears with her hands, and said: \"You positively\nhurt me! As no one is contradicting you, and you, as a man of culture,\nare not accustomed to add force to your assertions, like the Scythians,\nby speaking in a loud tone, you would do well to save your metallic voice\nfor the further speech with which it is to be hoped you will presently\nfavor us. We have had to bow more than once already to the strength of\nwhich you boast--but now, at a merry feast, we will not think of that,\nbut rather continue the conversation which entertained us, and which had\nbegun so well. This eager defence of the interests which most delight the\nbest of the Hellenes in Alexandria may perhaps result in infusing into\nthe mind of our friend Publius Scipio--and through him into that of many\nyoung Romans--a proper esteem for a line of intellectual effort which he\ncould not have condemned had he not failed to understand it perfectly.\n\n\"Very often some striking poetical turn given to a subject makes it, all\nat once, clear to our comprehension, even when long and learned\ndisquisitions have failed; and I am acquainted with such an one, written\nby an anonymous author, and which may please you--and you too,\nAristarchus. It epitomizes very happily the subject of our discussion.\nThe lines run as follows:\n\n          \"Behold, the puny Child of Man\n          Sits by Time's boundless sea,\n          And gathers in his feeble hand\n          Drops of Eternity.\n\n          \"He overhears some broken words\n          Of whispered mystery\n          He writes them in a tiny book\n          And calls it 'History!'\n\n\"We owe these verses to an accomplished friend; another has amplified the\nidea by adding the two that follow:\n\n          \"If indeed the puny Child of Man\n          Had not gathered drops from that wide sea,\n          Those small deeds that fill his little span\n          Had been lost in dumb Eternity.\n\n          \"Feeble is his hand, and yet it dare\n          Seize some drops of that perennial stream;\n          As they fall they catch a transient gleam--\n          Lo! Eternity is mirrored there!\n\n\"What are we all but puny children? And those of us who gather up the\ndrops surely deserve our esteem no less than those who spend their lives\non the shore of that great ocean in mere play and strife--\"\n\n\"And love,\" threw in Eulaeus in a low voice, as he glanced towards\nPublius.\n\n\"Your poet's verses are pretty and appropriate,\" Aristarchus now said,\n\"and I am very happy to find myself compared to the children who catch\nthe falling drops. There was a time--which came to an end, alas! with the\ngreat Aristotle--when there were men among the Greeks, who fed the ocean\nof which you speak with new tributaries; for the gods had bestowed on\nthem the power of opening new sources, like the magician Moses, of whom\nOnias, the Jew, was lately telling us, and whose history I have read in\nthe sacred books of the Hebrews. He, it is true--Moses I mean--only\nstruck water from the rock for the use of the body, while to our\nphilosophers and poets we owe inexhaustible springs to refresh the mind\nand soul. The time is now past which gave birth to such divine and\ncreative spirits; as your majesties' forefathers recognized full well\nwhen they founded the Museum of Alexandria and the Library, of which I am\none of the guardians, and which I may boast of having completed with your\ngracious assistance. When Ptolemy Soter first created the Museum in\nAlexandria the works of the greatest period could receive no additions in\nthe form of modern writings of the highest class; but he set us--children\nof man, gathering the drops--the task of collecting and of sifting them,\nof eliminating errors in them--and I think we have proved ourselves equal\nto this task.\n\n\"It has been said that it is no less difficult to keep a fortune than to\ndeserve it; and so perhaps we, who are merely 'keepers' may nevertheless\nmake some credit--all the more because we have been able to arrange the\nwealth we found under hand, to work it profitably, to apply it well, to\nelucidate it, and to make it available. When anything new is created by\none of our circle we always link it on to the old; and in many\ndepartments we have indeed even succeeded in soaring above the ancients,\nparticularly in that of the experimental sciences. The sublime\nintelligence of our forefathers commanded a broad horizon--our narrower\nvision sees more clearly the objects that lie close to us. We have\ndiscovered the sure path for all intellectual labor, the true scientific\nmethod; and an observant study of things as they are, succeeds better\nwith us than it did with our predecessors. Hence it follows that in the\nprovinces of the natural sciences, in mathematics, astronomy, mechanics\nand geography the sages of our college have produced works of unsurpassed\nmerit. Indeed the industry of my associates--\"\n\n\"Is very great,\" cried Euergetes. \"But they stir up such a dust that all\nfree-thought is choked, and because they value quantity above all things\nin the results they obtain, they neglect to sift what is great from what\nis small; and so Publius Scipio and others like him, who shrug their\nshoulders over the labors of the learned, find cause enough to laugh in\ntheir faces. Out of every four of you I should dearly like to set three\nto some handicraft, and I shall do it too, one of these days--I shall do\nit, and turn them and all their miserable paraphernalia out of the\nMuseum, and out of my capital. They may take refuge with you, Philometor,\nyou who marvel at everything you cannot do yourself, who are always\ndelighted to possess what I reject, and to make much of those whom I\ncondemn--and Cleopatra I dare say will play the harp, in honor of their\nentering Memphis.\"\n\n\"I dare say!\" answered the queen, laughing bitterly. \"Still, it is to be\nexpected that your wrath may fall even on worthy men. Until then I will\npractise my music, and study the treatise on harmony that you have begun\nwriting. You are giving us proof to-day of how far you have succeeded in\nattaining unison in your own soul.\"\n\n\"I like you in this mood!\" cried Euergetes. \"I love you, sister, when you\nare like this! It ill becomes the eagle's brood to coo like the dove, and\nyou have sharp talons though you hide them never so well under your soft\nfeathers. It is true that I am writing a treatise on harmony, and I am\ndoing it with delight; still it is one of those phenomena which, though\naccessible to our perception, are imperishable, for no god even could\ndiscover it entire and unmixed in the world of realities. Where is\nharmony to be found in the struggles and rapacious strife of the life of\nthe Cosmos? And our human existence is but the diminished reflection of\nthat process of birth and decease, of evolution and annihilation, which\nis going on in all that is perceptible to our senses; now gradually and\ninvisibly, now violently and convulsively, but never harmonyously.\n\n\"Harmony is at home only in the ideal world--harmony which is unknown\neven among the gods harmony, whom I may know, and yet may never\ncomprehend--whom I love, and may never possess--whom I long for, and who\nflies from me.\n\n\"I am as one that thirsteth, and harmony as the remote, unattainable\nwell--I am as one swimming in a wide sea, and she is the land which\nrecedes as I deem myself near to it.\n\n\"Who will tell me the name of the country where she rules as queen,\nundisturbed and untroubled? And which is most in earnest in his pursuit\nof the fair one: He who lies sleeping in her arms, or he who is consumed\nby his passion for her?\n\n\"I am seeking what you deem that you possess.--Possess--!\n\n\"Look round you on the world and on life--look round, as I do, on this\nhall of which you are so proud! It was built by a Greek; but, because the\nsimple melody of beautiful forms in perfect concord no longer satisfies\nyou, and your taste requires the eastern magnificence in which you were\nborn, because this flatters your vanity and reminds you, each time you\ngaze upon it, that you are wealthy and powerful--you commanded your\narchitect to set aside simple grandeur, and to build this gaudy\nmonstrosity, which is no more like the banqueting-hall of a Pericles than\nI or you, Cleopatra, in all our finery, are like the simply clad gods and\ngoddesses of Phidias. I mean not to offend you, Cleopatra, but I must say\nthis; I am writing now on the subject of harmony, and perhaps I shall\nafterwards treat of justice, truth, virtue; although I know full well\nthat they are pure abstractions which occur neither in nature nor in\nhuman life, and which in my dealings I wholly set aside; nevertheless\nthey seem to me worthy of investigation, like any other delusion, if by\nresolving it we may arrive at conditional truth. It is because one man is\nafraid of another that these restraints--justice, truth, and what else\nyou will--have received these high-sounding names, have been stamped as\ncharacteristics of the gods, and placed under the protection of the\nimmortals; nay, our anxious care has gone so far that it has been taught\nas a doctrine that it is beautiful and good to cloud our free enjoyment\nof existence for the sake of these illusions. Think of Antisthenes and\nhis disciples, the dog-like Cynics--think of the fools shut up in the\ntemple of Serapis! Nothing is beautiful but what is free, and he only is\nnot free who is forever striving to check his inclinations--for the most\npart in vain--in order to live, as feeble cowards deem virtuously, justly\nand truthfully.\n\n\"One animal eats another when he has succeeded in capturing it, either in\nopen fight or by cunning and treachery; the climbing plant strangles the\ntree, the desert-sand chokes the meadows, stars fall from heaven, and\nearthquakes swallow up cities. You believe in the gods--and so do I after\nmy own fashion--and if they have so ordered the course of this life in\nevery class of existence that the strong triumph over the weak, why\nshould not I use my strength, why let it be fettered by those\nmuch-belauded soporifics which our prudent ancestors concocted to cool\nthe hot blood of such men as I, and to paralyze our sinewy fists.\n\n\"Euergetes--the well-doer--I was named at my birth; but if men choose to\ncall me Kakergetes--the evil-doer--I do not mind it, since what you call\ngood I call narrow and petty, and what you call evil is the free and\nunbridled exercise of power. I would be anything rather than lazy and\nidle, for everything in nature is active and busy; and as, with\nAristippus, I hold pleasure to be the highest good, I would fain earn the\nname of having enjoyed more than all other men; in the first place in my\nmind, but no less in my body which I admire and cherish.\"\n\nDuring this speech many signs of disagreement had found expression, and\nPublius, who for the first time in his life heard such vicious sentiments\nspoken, followed the words of the headstrong youth with consternation and\nsurprise. He felt himself no match for this overbearing spirit, trained\ntoo in all the arts of argument and eloquence; but he could not leave all\nhe had heard uncontroverted, and so, as Euergetes paused in order to\nempty his refilled cup, he began:\n\n\"If we were all to act on your principles, in a few centuries, it seems\nto me, there would be no one left to subscribe to them; for the earth\nwould be depopulated; and the manuscripts, in which you are so careful to\nsubstitute 'siu' for 'iu', would be used by strong-handed mothers, if any\nwere left, to boil the pot for their children--in this country of yours\nwhere there is no wood to burn. Just now you were boasting of your\nresemblance to Alcibiades, but that very gift which distinguished him,\nand made him dear to the Athenians--I mean his beauty--is hardly possible\nin connection with your doctrines, which would turn men into ravening\nbeasts. He who would be beautiful must before all things be able to\ncontrol himself and to be moderate--as I learnt in Rome before I ever saw\nAthens, and have remembered well. A Titan may perhaps have thought and\ntalked as you do, but an Alcibiades--hardly!\"\n\nAt these words the blood flew to Euergetes' face; but he suppressed the\nkeen and insulting reply that rose to his lips, and this little victory\nover his wrathful impulse was made the more easy as Lysias, at this\nmoment, rejoined the feasters; he excused himself for his long absence,\nand then laid before Cleopatra and her husband the gems belonging to\nPublius.\n\nThey were warmly admired; even Euergetes was not grudging of his praise,\nand each of the company admitted that he had rarely seen anything more\nbeautiful and graceful than the bashful Hebe with downcast eyes, and the\ngoddess of persuasion with her hand resting on the bride's arm.\n\n\"Yes, I will take the part of Peitho,\" said Cleopatra with decision.\n\n\"And I that of Heracles,\" cried Euergetes.\n\n\"But who is the fair one,\" asked King Philometor of Lysias, whom you have\nin your eye, as fulfilling this incomparably lovely conception of Hebe?\nWhile you were away I recalled to memory the aspect of every woman and\ngirl who frequents our festivals, but only to reject them all, one after\nthe other.\"\n\n\"The fair girl whom I mean,\" replied Lysias, \"has never entered this or\nany other palace; indeed I am almost afraid of being too bold in\nsuggesting to our illustrious queen so humble a child as fit to stand\nbeside her, though only in sport.\"\n\n\"I shall even have to touch her arm with my hand!\" said the queen\nanxiously, and she drew up her fingers as if she had to touch some\nunclean thing. If you mean a flower-seller or a flute-player or something\nof that kind--\"\n\n\"How could I dare to suggest anything so improper?\" Lysias hastily\ninterposed. \"The girl of whom I speak may be sixteen years old; she is\ninnocence itself incarnate, and she looks like a bud ready to open\nperhaps in the morning dew that may succeed this very night, but which as\nyet is still enfolded in its cup. She is of Greek race, about as tall as\nyou are, Cleopatra; she has wonderful gazelle-like eyes, her little head\nis covered by a mass of abundant brown hair, when she smiles she has\ndelicious dimples in her cheeks--and she will be sure to smile when such\na Peitho speaks to her!\"\n\n\"You are rousing our curiosity,\" cried Philometor. \"In what garden, pray,\ndoes this blossom grow?\"\n\n\"And how is it,\" added Cleopatra, \"that my husband has not discovered it\nlong since, and transplanted it to our palace.\"\n\n\"Probably,\" answered Lysias, \"because he who possesses Cleopatra, the\nfairest rose of Egypt, regards the violets by the roadside as too\ninsignificant to be worth glancing at. Besides, the hedge that fences\nround my bud grows in a gloomy spot; it is difficult of access and\nsuspiciously watched. To be brief: our Hebe is a water-bearer in the\ntemple of Serapis, and her name is Irene.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nLysias was one of those men from whose lips nothing ever sounds as if it\nwere meant seriously. His statement that he regarded a serving girl from\nthe temple of Serapis as fit to personate Hebe, was spoken as naturally\nand simply as if he were telling a tale for children; but his words\nproduced an effect on his hearers like the sound of waters rushing into a\nleaky ship.\n\nPublius had turned perfectly white, and it was not till his friend had\nuttered the name of Irene that he in some degree recovered his composure;\nPhilometor had struck his cup on the table, and called out in much\nexcitement:\n\n\"A water-bearer of Serapis to play Hebe in a gay festal performance! Do\nyou conceive it possible, Cleopatra?\"\n\n\"Impossible--it is absolutely out of the question,\" replied the queen,\ndecidedly. Euergetes, who also had opened his eyes wide at the\nCorinthian's proposition, sat for a long time gazing into his cup in\nsilence; while his brother and sister continued to express their surprise\nand disapprobation and to speak of the respect and consideration which\neven kings must pay to the priests and servants of Serapis.\n\nAt length, once more lifting his wreath and crown, he raised his curls\nwith both hands, and said, quite calmly and decisively;\n\n\"We must have a Hebe, and must take her where we find her. If you\nhesitate to allow the girl to be fetched it shall be done by my orders.\nThe priests of Serapis are for the most part Greeks, and the high-priest\nis a Hellene. He will not trouble himself much about a half-grown-up girl\nif he can thereby oblige you or me. He knows as well as the rest of us\nthat one hand washes the other! The only question now is--for I would\nrather avoid all woman's outcries--whether the girl will come willingly\nor unwillingly if we send for her. What do you think, Lysias?\"\n\n\"I believe she would sooner get out of prison to-day than to-morrow,\"\nreplied Lysias. \"Irene is a lighthearted creature, and laughs as clearly\nand merrily as a child at play--and besides that they starve her in her\ncage.\"\n\n\"Then I will have her fetched to-morrow!\" said Euergetes.\n\n\"But,\" interrupted Cleopatra, \"Asclepiodorus must obey us and not you;\nand we, my husband and I--\"\n\n\"You cannot spoil sport with the priests,\" laughed Euergetes. \"If they\nwere Egyptians, then indeed! They are not to be taken in their nests\nwithout getting pecked; but here, as I have said, we have to deal with\nGreeks. What have you to fear from them? For aught I care you may leave\nour Hebe where she is, but I was once much pleased with these\nrepresentations, and to-morrow morning, as soon as I have slept, I shall\nreturn to Alexandria, if you do not carry them into effect, and so\ndeprive me, Heracles, of the bride chosen for me by the gods. I have said\nwhat I have said, and I am not given to changing my mind. Besides, it is\ntime that we should show ourselves to our friends feasting here in the\nnext room. They are already merry, and it must be getting late.\"\n\nWith these words Euergetes rose from his couch, and beckoned to Hierax\nand a chamberlain, who arranged the folds of his transparent robe, while\nPhilometor and Cleopatra whispered together, shrugging their shoulders\nand shaking their heads; and Publius, pressing his hand on the\nCorinthian's wrist, said in his ear: \"You will not give them any help if\nyou value our friendship; we will leave as soon as we can do so with\npropriety.\"\n\nEuergetes did not like to be kept waiting. He was already going towards\nthe door, when Cleopatra called him back, and said pleasantly, but with\ngentle reproachfulness:\n\n\"You know that we are willing to follow the Egyptian custom of carrying\nout as far as possible the wishes of a friend and brother for his\nbirthday festival; but for that very reason it is not right in you to try\nto force us into a proceeding which we refuse with difficulty, and yet\ncannot carry out without exposing ourselves to the most unpleasant\nconsequences. We beg you to make some other demand on us, and we will\ncertainly grant it if it lies in our power.\"\n\nThe young colossus responded to his sister's appeal with a loud shout of\nlaughter, waved his arm with a flourish of his hand expressive of haughty\nindifference; and then he exclaimed:\n\n\"The only thing I really had a fancy for out of all your possessions you\nare not willing to concede, and so I must abide by my word--or I go on my\nway.\"\n\nAgain Cleopatra and her husband exchanged a few muttered words and rapid\nglances, Euergetes watching them the while; his legs straddled apart, his\nhuge body bent forward, and his hands resting on his hips. His attitude\nexpressed so much arrogance and puerile, defiant, unruly audacity, that\nCleopatra found it difficult to suppress an exclamation of disgust before\nshe spoke.\n\n\"We are indeed brethren,\" she said, \"and so, for the sake of the peace\nwhich has been restored and preserved with so much difficulty, we give\nin. The best way will be to request Asclepiodorus--\"\n\nBut here Euergetes interrupted the queen, clapping his hands loudly and\nlaughing:\n\n\"That is right, sister! only find me my Hebe! How you do it is your\naffair, and is all the same to me. To-morrow evening we will have a\nrehearsal, and the day after we will give a representation of which our\ngrandchildren shall repeat the fame. Nor shall a brilliant audience be\nlacking, for my complimentary visitors with their priestly splendor and\narray of arms will, it is to be hoped, arrive punctually. Come, my lords,\nwe will go, and see what there is good to drink or to listen to at the\ntable in the next room.\"\n\nThe doors were opened; music, loud talking, the jingle of cups, and the\nnoise of laughter sounded through them into the room where the princes\nhad been supping, and all the king's guests followed Euergetes, with the\nexception of Eulaeus. Cleopatra allowed them to depart without speaking a\nword; only to Publius she said: \"Till we meet again!\" but she detained\nthe Corinthian, saying:\n\n\"You, Lysias, are the cause of this provoking business. Try now to repair\nthe mischief by bringing the girl to us. Do not hesitate! I will guard\nher, protect her with the greatest care, rely upon me.\"\n\n\"She is a modest maiden,\" replied Lysias, \"and will not accompany me\nwillingly, I am sure. When I proposed her for the part of Hebe I\ncertainly supposed that a word from you, the king and queen, would\nsuffice to induce the head of the temple to entrust her to you for a few\nhours of harmless amusement. Pardon me if I too quit you now; I have the\nkey of my friend's chest still in my possession, and must restore it to\nhim.\"\n\n\"Shall we have her carried off secretly?\" asked Cleopatra of her husband,\nwhen the Corinthian had followed the other guests.\n\n\"Only let us have no scandal, no violence,\" cried Philometor anxiously.\n\"The best way would be for me to write to Asclepiodorus, and beg him in a\nfriendly manner to entrust this girl--Ismene or Irene, or whatever the\nill-starred child's name is--for a few days to you, Cleopatra, for your\npleasure. I can offer him a prospect of an addition to the gift of land I\nmade today, and which fell far short of his demands.\"\n\n\"Let me entreat your majesty,\" interposed Eulaeus, who was now alone with\nthe royal couple, \"let me entreat you not to make any great promises on\nthis occasion, for the moment you do so Asclepiodorus will attribute an\nimportance to your desire--\"\n\n\"Which it is far from having, and must not seem to have,\" interrupted the\nqueen. \"It is preposterous to waste so many words about a miserable\ncreature, a water-carrying girl, and to go through so much\ndisturbance--but how are we to put an end to it all? What is your advice,\nEulaeus?\"\n\n\"I thank you for that enquiry, noble princess,\" replied Eulaeus. \"My\nlord, the king, in my opinion, should have the girl carried off, but not\nwith any violence, nor by a man--whom she would hardly follow so\nimmediately as is necessary--but by a woman.\n\n\"I am thinking of the old Egyptian tale of 'The Two Brothers,' which you\nare acquainted with. The Pharaoh desired to possess himself of the wife\nof the younger one, who lived on the Mount of Cedars, and he sent armed\nmen to fetch her away; but only one of them came back to him, for Batau\nhad slain all the others. Then a woman was sent with splendid ornaments,\nsuch as women love, and the fair one followed her unresistingly to the\npalace.\n\n\"We may spare the ambassadors, and send only the woman; your lady in\nwaiting, Zoe, will execute this commission admirably. Who can blame us in\nany way if a girl, who loves finery, runs away from her keepers?\"\n\n\"But all the world will see her as Hebe,\" sighed Philometor, \"and\nproclaim us--the sovereign protectors of the worship of Serapis--as\nviolators of the temple, if Asclepiodorus leads the cry. No, no, the\nhigh-priest must first be courteously applied to. In the case of his\nraising any difficulties, but not otherwise, shall Zoe make the attempt.\"\n\n\"So be it then,\" said the queen, as if it were her part to express her\nconfirmation of her husband's proposition.\n\n\"Let your lady accompany me,\" begged Eulaeus, \"and prefer your request to\nAsclepiodorus. While I am speaking with the high-priest, Zoe can at any\nrate win over the girl, and whatever we do must be done to-morrow, or the\nRoman will be beforehand with us. I know that he has cast an eye on\nIrene, who is in fact most lovely. He gives her flowers, feeds his pet\nbird with pheasants and peaches and other sweetmeats, lets himself be\nlured into the Serapeum by his lady-love as often as possible, stays\nthere whole hours, and piously follows the processions, in order to\npresent the violets with which you graciously honored him by giving them\nto his fair one--who no doubt would rather wear royal flowers than any\nothers--\"\n\n\"Liar!\" cried the queen, interrupting the courtier in such violent\nexcitement and such ungoverned rage, so completely beside herself, that\nher husband drew back startled.\n\n\"You are a slanderer! a base calumniator! The Roman attacks you with\nnaked weapons, but you slink in the dark, like a scorpion, and try to\nsting your enemy in the heel. Apelles, the painter, warns us--the\ngrandchildren of Lagus--against folks of your kidney in the picture he\npainted against Antiphilus; as I look at you I am reminded of his Demon\nof Calumny. The same spite and malice gleam in your eyes as in hers, and\nthe same fury and greed for some victim, fire your flushed face! How you\nwould rejoice if the youth whom Apelles has represented Calumny as\nclutching by the hair, could but be Publius! and if only the lean and\nhollow-eyed form of Envy, and the loathsome female figures of Cunning and\nTreachery would come to your did as they have to hers! But I remember too\nthe steadfast and truthful glance of the boy she has flung to the ground,\nhis arms thrown up to heaven, appealing for protection to the goddess and\nthe king--and though Publius Scipio is man enough to guard himself\nagainst open attack, I will protect him against being surprised from an\nambush! Leave this room! Go, I say, and you shall see how we punish\nslanderers!\"\n\nAt these words Eulaeus flung himself at the queen's feet, but she,\nbreathing hurriedly and with quivering nostrils, looked away over his\nhead as if she did not even see him, till her husband came towards her,\nand said in a voice of most winning gentleness:\n\n\"Do not condemn him unheard, and raise him from his abasement. At least\ngive him the opportunity of softening your indignation by bringing the\nwater-bearer here without angering Asclepiodorus. Carry out this affair\nwell, Eulaeus, and you will find in me an advocate with Cleopatra.\"\n\nThe king pointed to the door, and Eulaeus retired, bowing deeply and\nfinding his way out backwards. Philometer, now alone with his wife, said\nwith mild reproach:\n\n\"How could you abandon yourself to such unmeasured anger? So faithful and\nprudent a servant--and one of the few still living of those to whom our\nmother was attached--cannot be sent away like a mere clumsy attendant.\nBesides, what is the great crime he has committed? Is it a slander which\nneed rouse you to such fury when a cautious old man says in all innocence\nof a young one--a man belonging to a world which knows nothing of the\nmysterious sanctity of Serapis--that he has taken a fancy to a girl, who\nis admired by all who see her, that he seeks her out, and gives her\nflowers--\"\n\n\"Gives her flowers?\" exclaimed Cleopatra, breaking out afresh. \"No, he is\naccused of persecuting a maiden attached to Serapis--to Serapis I say.\nBut it is simply false, and you would be as angry as I am if you were\never capable of feeling manly indignation, and if you did not want to\nmake use of Eulaeus for many things, some of which I know, and others\nwhich you choose to conceal from me. Only let him fetch the girl; and\nwhen once we have her here, and if I find that the Roman's indictment\nagainst Eulaeus--which I will hear to-morrow morning--is well founded,\nyou shall see that I have manly vigor enough for both of us. Come away\nnow; they are waiting for us in the other room.\"\n\nThe queen gave a call, and chamberlains and servants hurried in; her\nshell-shaped litter was brought, and in a few minutes, with her husband\nby her side, she was borne into the great peristyle where the grandees of\nthe court, the commanders of the troops, the most prominent of the\nofficials of the Egyptian provinces, many artists and savants, and the\nambassadors from foreign powers, were reclining on long rows of couches,\nand talking over their wine, the feast itself being ended.\n\nThe Greeks and the dark-hued Egyptians were about equally represented in\nthis motley assembly; but among them, and particularly among the learned\nand the fighting men, there were also several Israelites and Syrians.\n\nThe royal pair were received by the company with acclamations and marks\nof respect; Cleopatra smiled as sweetly as ever, and waved her fan\ngraciously as she descended from her litter; still she vouchsafed not the\nslightest attention to any one present, for she was seeking Publius, at\nfirst among those who were nearest to the couch prepared for her, and\nthen among the other Hellenes, the Egyptians, the Jews, the\nambassadors--still she found him not, and when at last she enquired for\nthe Roman of the chief chamberlain at her side, the official was sent for\nwho had charge of the foreign envoys. This was an officer of very high\nrank, whose duty it was to provide for the representatives of foreign\npowers, and he was now near at hand, for he had long been waiting for an\nopportunity to offer to the queen a message of leave-taking from Publius\nCornelius Scipio, and to tell her from him, that he had retired to his\ntent because a letter had come to him from Rome.\n\n\"Is that true?\" asked the queen letting her feather fan droop, and\nlooking her interlocutor severely in the face.\n\n\"The trireme Proteus, coming from Brundisium, entered the harbor of\nEunostus only yesterday,\" he replied; \"and an hour ago a mounted\nmessenger brought the letter. Nor was it an ordinary letter but a\ndespatch from the Senate--I know the form and seal.\"\n\n\"And Lysias, the Corinthian?\"\n\n\"He accompanied the Roman.\"\n\n\"Has the Senate written to him too?\" asked the queen annoyed, and\nironically. She turned her back on the officer without any kind of\ncourtesy, and turning again to the chamberlain she went on, in incisive\ntones, as if she were presiding at a trial:\n\n\"King Euergetes sits there among the Egyptians near the envoys from the\ntemples of the Upper Country. He looks as if he were giving them a\ndiscourse, and they hang on his lips. What is he saying, and what does\nall this mean?\"\n\n\"Before you came in, he was sitting with the Syrians and Jews, and\ntelling them what the merchants and scribes, whom he sent to the South,\nhave reported of the lands lying near the lakes through which the Nile is\nsaid to flow. He thinks that new sources of wealth have revealed\nthemselves not far from the head of the sacred river which can hardly\nflow in from the ocean, as the ancients supposed.\"\n\n\"And now?\" asked Cleopatra. \"What information is he giving to the\nEgyptians?\"\n\nThe chamberlain hastened towards Euergetes' couch, and soon returned to\nthe queen--who meanwhile had exchanged a few friendly words with Onias,\nthe Hebrew commander--and informed her in a low tone that the king was\ninterpreting a passage from the Timaeus of Plato, in which Solon\ncelebrates the lofty wisdom of the priests of Sais; he was speaking with\nmuch spirit, and the Egyptians received it with loud applause.\n\nCleopatra's countenance darkened more and more, but she concealed it\nbehind her fan, signed to Philometor to approach, and whispered to him:\n\n\"Keep near Euergetes; he has a great deal too much to say to the\nEgyptians. He is extremely anxious to stand well with them, and those\nwhom he really desires to please are completely entrapped by his\nportentous amiability. He has spoiled my evening, and I shall leave you\nto yourselves.\"\n\n\"Till to-morrow, then.\"\n\n\"I shall hear the Roman's complaint up on my roof-terrace; there is\nalways a fresh air up there. If you wish to be present I will send for\nyou, but first I would speak to him alone, for he has received letters\nfrom the Senate which may contain something of importance. So, till\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     And what is great--and what is small\n     Behold, the puny Child of Man\n     Evolution and annihilation\n     Flattery is a key to the heart\n     Hold pleasure to be the highest good\n     Man is the measure of all things\n     Museum of Alexandria and the Library\n     One hand washes the other\n     Prefer deeds to words\n     What are we all but puny children?\n\n\n\n\nTHE SISTERS\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nWhile, in the vast peristyle, many a cup was still being emptied, and the\ncarousers were growing merrier and noisier--while Cleopatra was abusing\nthe maids and ladies who were undressing her for their clumsiness and\nunreadiness, because every touch hurt her, and every pin taken out of her\ndress pricked her--the Roman and his friend Lysias walked up and down in\ntheir tent in violent agitation.\n\n\"Speak lower,\" said the Greek, \"for the very griffins woven into the\ntissue of these thin walls seem to me to be lying in wait, and listening.\n\n\"I certainly was not mistaken. When I came to fetch the gems I saw a\nlight gleaming in the doorway as I approached it; but the intruder must\nhave been warned, for just as I got up to the lantern in front of the\nservants' tent, it disappeared, and the torch which usually burns outside\nour tent had not been lighted at all; but a beam of light fell on the\nroad, and a man's figure slipped across in a black robe sprinkled with\ngold ornaments which I saw glitter as the pale light of the lantern fell\nupon them--just as a slimy, black newt glides through a pool. I have good\neyes as you know, and I will give one of them at this moment, if I am\nmistaken, and if the cat that stole into our tent was not Eulaeus.\"\n\n\"And why did you not have him caught?\" asked Publius, provoked.\n\n\"Because our tent was pitch-dark,\" replied Lysias, and that stout villain\nis as slippery as a badger with the dogs at his heels, Owls, bats and\nsuch vermin which seek their prey by night are all hideous to me, and\nthis Eulaeus, who grins like a hyaena when he laughs--\"\n\n\"This Eulaeus,\" said Publius, interrupting his friend, \"shall learn to\nknow me, and know too by experience that a man comes to no good, who\npicks a quarrel with my father's son.\"\n\n\"But, in the first instance, you treated him with disdain and\ndiscourtesy,\" said Lysias, \"and that was not wise.\"\n\n\"Wise, and wise, and wise!\" the Roman broke out. \"He is a scoundrel. It\nmakes no difference to me so long as he keeps out of my way; but when, as\nhas been the case for several days now, he constantly sticks close to me\nto spy upon me, and treats me as if he were my equal, I will show him\nthat he is mistaken. He has no reason to complain of my want of\nfrankness; he knows my opinion of him, and that I am quite inclined to\ngive him a thrashing. If I wanted to meet his cunning with cunning I\nshould get the worst of it, for he is far superior to me in intrigue. I\nshall fare better with him by my own unconcealed mode of fighting, which\nis new to him and puzzles him; besides it is better suited to my own\nnature, and more consonant to me than any other. He is not only sly, but\nis keen-witted, and he has at once connected the complaint which I have\nthreatened to bring against him with the manuscript which Serapion, the\nrecluse, gave me in his presence. There it lies--only look.\n\n\"Now, being not merely crafty, but a daring rascal too--two qualities\nwhich generally contradict each other, for no one who is really prudent\nlives in disobedience to the laws--he has secretly untied the strings\nwhich fastened it. But, you see, he had not time enough to tie the roll\nup again! He has read it all or in part, and I wish him joy of the\npicture of himself he will have found painted there. The anchorite wields\na powerful pen, and paints with a firm outline and strongly marked\ncoloring. If he has read the roll to the end it will spare me the trouble\nof explaining to him what I purpose to charge him with; if you disturbed\nhim too soon I shall have to be more explicit in my accusation. Be that\nas it may, it is all the same to me.\"\n\n\"Nay, certainly not,\" cried Lysias, \"for in the first case Eulaeus will\nhave time to meditate his lies, and bribe witnesses for his defence. If\nany one entrusted me with such important papers--and if it had not been\nyou who neglected to do it--I would carefully seal or lock them up. Where\nhave you put the despatch from the Senate which the messenger brought you\njust now?\"\n\n\"That is locked up in this casket,\" replied Publius, moving his hand to\npress it more closely over his robe, under which he had carefully hidden\nit.\n\n\"May I not know what it contain?\" asked the Corinthian.\n\n\"No, there is not time for that now, for we must first, and at once,\nconsider what can be done to repair the last mischief which you have\ndone. Is it not a disgraceful thing that you should betray the sweet\ncreature whose childlike embarrassment charmed us this morning--of whom\nyou yourself said, as we came home, that she reminded you of your lovely\nsister--that you should betray her, I say, into the power of the wildest\nof all the profligates I ever met--to this monster, whose pleasures are\nthe unspeakable, whose boast is vice? What has Euergetes--\"\n\n\"By great Poseidon!\" cried Lysias, eagerly interrupting his friend. \"I\nnever once thought of this second Alcibiades when I mentioned her. What\ncan the manager of a performance do, but all in his power to secure the\napplause of the audience? and, by my honor! it was for my own sake that I\nwanted to bring Irene into the palace--I am mad with love for her--she\nhas undone me.\"\n\n\"Aye! like Callista, and Phryne, and the flute-player Stephanion,\"\ninterrupted the Roman, shrugging his shoulders.\n\n\"How should it be different?\" asked the Corinthian, looking at his friend\nin astonishment. \"Eros has many arrows in his quiver; one strikes deeply,\nanother less deeply; and I believe that the wound I have received to-day\nwill ache for many a week if I have to give up this child, who is even\nmore charming than the much-admired Hebe on our cistern.\"\n\n\"I advise you however to accustom yourself to the idea, and the sooner\nthe better,\" said Publius gravely, as he set himself with his arms\ncrossed, directly in front of the Greek. \"What would you feel inclined to\ndo to me if I took a fancy to lure your pretty sister--whom Irene, I\nrepeat it, is said to resemble--to tempt her with base cunning from your\nparents' house?\"\n\n\"I protest against any such comparison,\" cried the Corinthian very\npositively, and more genuinely exasperated than the Roman had ever seen\nhim.\n\n\"You are angry without cause,\" replied Publius calmly and gravely. \"Your\nsister is a charming girl, the ornament of your illustrious house, and\nyet I dare compare the humble Irene--\"\n\n\"With her! do you mean to say?\" Lysias shouted again. \"That is a poor\nreturn for the hospitality which was shown to you by my parents and of\nwhich you formally sang the praises. I am a good-natured fellow and will\nsubmit to more from you than from any other man--I know not why,\nmyself;--but in a matter like this I do not understand a joke! My sister\nis the only daughter of the noblest and richest house in Corinth and has\nmany suitors. She is in no respect inferior to the child of your own\nparents, and I should like to know what you would say if I made so bold\nas to compare the proud Lucretia with this poor little thing, who carries\nwater like a serving-maid.\"\n\n\"Do so, by all means!\" interrupted Publius coolly, \"I do not take your\nrage amiss, for you do not know who these two sisters are, in the temple\nof Serapis. Besides, they do not fill their jars for men but in the\nservice of a god. Here--take this roll and read it through while I answer\nthe despatch from Rome. Here! Spartacus, come and light a few more\nlamps.\"\n\nIn a few minutes the two young men were sitting opposite each other at\nthe table which stood in the middle of their tent. Publius wrote busily,\nand only looked up when his friend, who was reading the anchorite's\ndocument, struck his hand on the table in disgust or sprang from his seat\nejaculating bitter words of indignation. Both had finished at the same\nmoment, and when Publius had folded and sealed his letter, and Lysias had\nflung the roll on to the table, the Roman said slowly, as he looked his\nfriend steadily in the face: \"Well?\"\n\n\"Well!\" repeated Lysias. I now find myself in the humiliating position of\nbeing obliged to deem myself more stupid than you--I must own you in the\nright, and beg your pardon for having thought you insolent and arrogant!\nNever, no never did I hear a story so infernally scandalous as that in\nthat roll, and such a thing could never have occurred but among these\naccursed Egyptians! Poor little Irene! And how can the dear little girl\nhave kept such a sunny look through it all! I could thrash myself like\nany school-boy to think that I--a fool among fools--should have directed\nthe attention of Euergetes to this girl, and he, the most powerful and\nprofligate man in the whole country. What can now be done to save Irene\nfrom him? I cannot endure the thought of seeing her abandoned to his\nclutches, and I will not permit it to happen.\n\n\"Do not you think that we ought to take the water-bearers under our\ncharge?\"\n\n\"Not only we ought but we must,\" said Publius decisively; \"and if we did\nnot we should be contemptible wretches. Since the recluse took me into\nhis confidence I feel as if it were my, duty to watch over these girls\nwhose parents have been stolen from them, as if I were their\nguardian--and you, my Lysias, shall help me. The elder sister is not now\nvery friendly towards me, but I do not esteem her the less for that; the\nyounger one seems less grave and reserved than Klea; I saw how she\nresponded to your smile when the procession broke up. Afterwards, you did\nnot come home immediately any more than I did, and I suspect that it was\nIrene who detained you. Be frank, I earnestly beseech you, and tell me\nall; for we must act in unison, and with thorough deliberation, if we\nhope to succeed in spoiling Euergetes' game.\"\n\n\"I have not much to tell you,\" replied the Corinthian. \"After the\nprocession I went to the Pastophorium--naturally it was to see Irene, and\nin order not to fail in this I allowed the pilgrims to tell me what\nvisions the god had sent them in their dreams, and what advice had been\ngiven them in the temple of Asclepius as to what to do for their own\ncomplaints, and those of their cousins, male and female.\n\n\"Quite half an hour had passed so before Irene came. She carried a little\nbasket in which lay the gold ornaments she had worn at the festival, and\nwhich she had to restore to the keeper of the temple-treasure. My\npomegranate-flower, which she had accepted in the morning, shone upon me\nfrom afar, and then, when she caught sight of me and blushed all over,\ncasting down her eyes, then it was that it first struck me 'just like the\nHebe on our cistern.'\n\n\"She wanted to pass me, but I detained her, begging her to show me the\nornaments in her hand; I said a number of things such as girls like to\nhear, and then I asked her if she were strictly watched, and whether they\ngave her delicate little hands and feet--which were worthy of better\noccupation than water-carrying--a great deal to do. She did not hesitate\nto answer, but with all she said she rarely raised her eyes. The longer\nyou look at her the lovelier she is--and yet she is still a mere\nchild-though a child certainly who no longer loves staying at home, who\nhas dreams of splendor, and enjoyment, and freedom while she is kept shut\nup in a dismal, dark place, and left to starve.\n\n\"The poor creatures may never quit the temple excepting for a procession,\nor before sunrise. It sounded too delightful when she said that she was\nalways so horribly tired, and so glad to go to sleep again after she was\nwaked, and had to go out at once just when it is coldest, in the twilight\nbefore sunrise. Then she has to draw water from a cistern called the Well\nof the Sun.\"\n\n\"Do you know where that cistern lies?\" asked Publius.\n\n\"Behind the acacia-grove,\" answered Lysias. \"The guide pointed it out to\nme. It is said to hold particularly sacred water, which must be poured as\na libation to the god at sunrise, unmixed with any other. The girls must\nget up so early, that as soon as dawn breaks water from this cistern\nshall not be lacking at the altar of Serapis. It is poured out on the\nearth by the priests as a drink-offering.\"\n\nPublius had listened attentively, and had not lost a word of his friend's\nnarrative. He now quitted him hastily, opened the tent-door, and went out\ninto the night, looking up to discover the hour from the stars which were\nsilently pursuing their everlasting courses in countless thousands, and\nsparkling with extraordinary brilliancy in the deep blue sky. The moon\nwas already set, and the morning-star was slowly rising--every night\nsince the Roman had been in the land of the Pyramids he had admired its\nmagnificent size and brightness.\n\nA cold breeze fanned the young man's brow, and as he drew his robe across\nhis breast with a shiver, he thought of the sisters, who, before long,\nwould have to go out in the fresh morning air. Once more he raised his\neyes from the earth to the firmament over his head, and it seemed to him\nthat he saw before his very eyes the proud form of Klea, enveloped in a\nmantle sown over with stars. His heart throbbed high, and he felt as if\nthe breeze that his heaving breast inhaled in deep breaths was as fresh\nand pure as the ether that floats over Elysium, and of a strange potency\nwithal, as if too rare to breathe. Still he fancied he saw before him the\nimage of Klea, but as he stretched out his hand towards the beautiful\nvision it vanished--a sound of hoofs and wheels fell upon his ear.\nPublius was not accustomed to abandon himself to dreaming when action was\nneeded, and this reminded him of the purpose for which he had come out\ninto the open air. Chariot after chariot came driving past as he returned\ninto his tent. Lysias, who during his absence had been pacing up and down\nand reflecting, met him with the question:\n\n\"How long is it yet till sunrise?\"\n\n\"Hardly two hours,\" replied the Roman. \"And we must make good use of them\nif we would not arrive too late.\"\n\n\"So I think too,\" said the Corinthian. \"The sisters will soon be at the\nWell of the Sun outside the temple walls, and I will persuade Irene to\nfollow me. You think I shall not be successful? Nor do I myself--but\nstill perhaps she will if I promise to show her something very pretty,\nand if she does not suspect that she is to be parted from her sister, for\nshe is like a child.\"\n\n\"But Klea,\" interrupted Publius thoughtfully, \"is grave and prudent; and\nthe light tone which you are so ready to adopt will be very little to her\ntaste, Consider that, and dare the attempt--no, you dare not deceive her.\nTell her the whole truth, out of Irene's hearing, with the gravity the\nmatter deserves, and she will not hinder her sister when she knows how\ngreat and how imminent is the danger that threatens her.\"\n\n\"Good!\" said the Corinthian. \"I will be so solemnly earnest that the most\nwrinkled and furrowed graybeard among the censors of your native city\nshall seem a Dionysiac dancer compared with me. I will speak like your\nCato when he so bitterly complained that the epicures of Rome paid more\nnow for a barrel of fresh herrings than for a yoke of oxen. You shall be\nperfectly satisfied with me!--But whither am I to conduct Irene? I might\nperhaps make use of one of the king's chariots which are passing now by\ndozens to carry the guests home.\"\n\n\"I also had thought of that,\" replied Publius. \"Go with the chief of the\nDiadoches, whose splendid house was shown to us yesterday. It is on the\nway to the Serapeum, and just now at the feast you were talking with him\nincessantly. When there, indemnify the driver by the gift of a gold\npiece, so that he may not betray us, and do not return here but proceed\nto the harbor. I will await you near the little temple of Isis with our\ntravelling chariot and my own horses, will receive Irene, and conduct her\nto some new refuge while you drive back Fuergetes' chariot, and restore\nit to the driver.\"\n\n\"That will not satisfy me by any means,\" said Lysias very gravely; \"I was\nready to give up my pomegranate-flower to you yesterday for Irene, but\nherself--\"\n\n\"I want nothing of her,\" exclaimed Publius annoyed. \"But you might--it\nseems to me--be rather more zealous in helping me to preserve her from\nthe misfortune which threatens her through your own blunder. We cannot\nbring her here, but I think that I have thought of a safe hiding-place\nfor her.\n\n\"Do you remember Apollodorus, the sculptor, to whom we were recommended\nby my father, and his kind and friendly wife who set before us that\ncapital Chios wine? The man owes me a service, for my father commissioned\nhim and his assistants to execute the mosaic pavement in the new arcade\nhe was having built in the capitol; and subsequently, when the envy of\nrival artists threatened his life, my father saved him. You yourself\nheard him say that he and his were all at my disposal.\"\n\n\"Certainly, certainly,\" said Lysias. \"But say, does it not strike you as\nmost extraordinary that artists, the very men, that is to say, who beyond\nall others devote themselves to ideal aims and efforts, are particularly\nready to yield to the basest impulses; envy, detraction, and--\"\n\n\"Man!\" exclaimed Publius, angrily interrupting the Greek, \"can you never\nfor ten seconds keep on the same subject, and never keep anything to\nyourself that comes into your head? We have just now, as it seems to me,\nmore important matters to discuss than the jealousy of each other shown\nby artists--and in my opinion, by learned men too. The sculptor\nApollodorus, who is thus beholden to me, has been living here for the\nlast six months with his wife and daughters, for he has been executing\nfor Philometor the busts of the philosophers, and the animal groups to\ndecorate the open space in front of the tomb of Apis. His sons are\nmanagers of his large factory in Alexandria, and when he next goes there,\ndown the Nile in his boat, as often happens, he can take Irene with him,\nand put her on board a ship.\n\n\"As to where we can have her taken to keep her safe from Euergetes, we\nwill talk that over afterwards with Apollodorus.\"\n\n\"Good, very good,\" agreed the Corinthian. \"By Heracles! I am not\nsuspicious--still it does not altogether please me that you should\nyourself conduct Irene to Apollodorus, for if you are seen in her company\nour whole project may be shipwrecked. Send the sculptor's wife, who is\nlittle known in Memphis, to the temple of Isis, and request her to bring\na veil and cloak to conceal the girl. Greet the gay Milesian from me too,\nand tell her--no, tell her nothing--I shall see her myself afterwards at\nthe temple of Isis.\"\n\nDuring the last words of this conversation, slaves had been enveloping\nthe two young men in their mantles. They now quitted the tent together,\nwished each other success, and set out at a brisk pace; the Roman to have\nhis horses harnessed, and Lysias to accompany the chief of the Diadoches\nin one of the king's chariots, and then to act on the plan he had agreed\nupon with Publius.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nChariot after chariot hurried out of the great gate of the king's palace\nand into the city, now sunk in slumber. All was still in the great\nbanqueting-hall, and dark-hued slaves began with brooms and sponges to\nclean the mosaic pavement, which was strewed with rose leaves and with\nthose that had fallen from the faded garlands of ivy and poplar; while\nhere and there the spilt wine shone with a dark gleam in the dim light of\nthe few lamps that had not been extinguished.\n\nA young flute-player, overcome with sleep and wine, still sat in one\ncorner. The poplar wreath that had crowned his curls had slipped over his\npretty face, but even in sleep he still held his flute clasped fast in\nhis fingers. The servants let him sleep on, and bustled about without\nnoticing him; only an overseer pointed to him, and said laughing:\n\n\"His companions went home no more sober than that one. He is a pretty\nboy, and pretty Chloes lover besides--she will look for him in vain this\nmorning.\"\n\n\"And to-morrow too perhaps,\" answered another; \"for if the fat king sees\nher, poor Damon will have seen the last of her.\"\n\nBut the fat king, as Euergetes was called by the Alexandrians, and,\nfollowing their example, by all the rest of Egypt, was not just then\nthinking of Chloe, nor of any such person; he was in the bath attached to\nhis splendidly fitted residence. Divested of all clothing, he was\nstanding in the tepid fluid which completely filled a huge basin of white\nmarble. The clear surface of the perfumed water mirrored statues of\nnymphs fleeing from the pursuit of satyrs, and reflected the shimmering\nlight of numbers of lamps suspended from the ceiling. At the upper end of\nthe bath reclined the bearded and stalwart statue of the Nile, over whom\nthe sixteen infant figures--representing the number of ells to which the\ngreat Egyptian stream must rise to secure a favorable\ninundation--clambered and played to the delight of their noble father\nNile and of themselves. From the vase which supported the arm of the\nvenerable god flowed an abundant stream of cold water, which five pretty\nlads received in slender alabaster vases, and poured over the head and\nthe enormously prominent muscles of the breast, the back and the arms of\nthe young king who was taking his bath.\n\n\"More, more--again and again,\" cried Euergetes, as the boys began to\npause in bringing and pouring the water; and then, when they threw a\nfresh stream over him, he snorted and plunged with satisfaction, and a\nperfect shower of jets splashed off him as the blast of his breath\nsputtered away the water that fell over his face.\n\nAt last he shouted out: \"Enough!\" flung himself with all his force into\nthe water, that spurted up as if a huge block of stone had been thrown\ninto it, held his head for a long time under water, and then went up the\nmarble steps of the bath shaking his head violently and mischievously in\nhis boyish insolence, so as thoroughly to wet his friends and servants\nwho were standing round the margin of the basin; he suffered himself to\nbe wrapped in snowy-white sheets of the thinnest and finest linen, to be\nsprinkled with costly essences of delicate odor, and then he withdrew\ninto a small room hung all round with gaudy hangings.\n\nThere he flung himself on a mound of soft cushions, and said with a\ndeep-drawn breath: \"Now I am happy; and I am as sober again as a baby\nthat has never tasted anything but its mother's milk. Pindar is right!\nthere is nothing better than water! and it slakes that raging fire which\nwine lights up in our brain and blood. Did I talk much nonsense just now,\nHierax?\"\n\nThe man thus addressed, the commander-in-chief of the royal troops, and\nthe king's particular friend, cast a hesitating glance at the bystanders;\nbut, Euergetes desiring him to speak without reserve, he replied:\n\n\"Wine never weakens the mind of such as you are to the point of folly,\nbut you were imprudent. It would be little short of a miracle if\nPhilometor did not remark--\"\n\n\"Capital!\" interrupted the king sitting up on his cushions. \"You, Hierax,\nand you, Komanus, remain here--you others may go. But do not go too far\noff, so as to be close at hand in case I should need you. In these days\nas much happens in a few hours as usually takes place in as many years.\"\n\nThose who were thus dismissed withdrew, only the king's dresser, a\nMacedonian of rank, paused doubtfully at the door, but Euergetes signed\nto him to retire immediately, calling after him:\n\n\"I am very merry and shall not go to bed. At three hours after sunrise I\nexpect Aristarchus--and for work too. Put out the manuscripts that I\nbrought. Is the Eunuch Eulaeus waiting in the anteroom? Yes--so much the\nbetter!\n\n\"Now we are alone, my wise friends Hierax and Komanus, and I must explain\nto you that on this occasion, out of pure prudence, you seem to me to\nhave been anything rather than prudent. To be prudent is to have the\ncommand of a wide circle of thought, so that what is close at hand is no\nmore an obstacle than what is remote. The narrow mind can command only\nthat which lies close under observation; the fool and visionary only that\nwhich is far off. I will not blame you, for even the wisest has his hours\nof folly, but on this occasion you have certainly overlooked that which\nis at hand, in gazing at the distance, and I see you stumble in\nconsequence. If you had not fallen into that error you would hardly have\nlooked so bewildered when, just now, I exclaimed 'Capital!'\n\n\"Now, attend to me. Philometor and my sister know very well what my humor\nis, and what to expect of me. If I had put on the mask of a satisfied man\nthey would have been surprised, and have scented mischief, but as it was\nI showed myself to them exactly what I always am and even more reckless\nthan usual, and talked of what I wanted so openly that they may indeed\nlook forward to some deed of violence at my hands but hardly to a\ntreacherous surprise, and that tomorrow; for he who falls on his enemy in\nthe rear makes no noise about it.\n\n\"If I believed in your casuistry, I might think that to attack the enemy\nfrom behind was not a particularly fine thing to do, for even I would\nrather see a man's face than his rear--particularly in the case of my\nbrother and sister, who are both handsome to look upon. But what can a\nman do? After all, the best thing to do is what wins the victory and\nmakes the game. Indeed, my mode of warfare has found supporters among the\nwise. If you want to catch mice you must waste bacon, and if we are to\ntempt men into a snare we must know what their notions and ideas are, and\nbegin by endeavoring to confuse them.\n\n\"A bull is least dangerous when he runs straight ahead in his fury; while\nhis two-legged opponent is least dangerous when he does not know what he\nis about and runs feeling his way first to the right and then to the\nleft. Thanks to your approval--for I have deserved it, and I hope to be\nable to return it, my friend Hierax. I am curious as to your report.\nShake up the cushion here under my head--and now you may begin.\"\n\n\"All appears admirably arranged,\" answered the general. \"The flower of\nour troops, the Diadoches and Hetairoi, two thousand-five hundred men,\nare on their way hither, and by to-morrow will encamp north of Memphis.\nFive hundred will find their way into the citadel, with the priests and\nother visitors to congratulate you on your birthday, the other two\nthousand will remain concealed in the tents. The captain of your brother\nPhilometor's Philobasilistes is bought over, and will stand by us; but\nhis price was high--Komanus was forced to offer him twenty talents before\nhe would bite.\"\n\n\"He shall have them,\" said the king laughing, \"and he shall keep them\ntoo, till it suits me to regard him as suspicious, and to reward him\naccording to his deserts by confiscating his estates. Well! proceed.\"\n\n\"In order to quench the rising in Thebes, the day before yesterday\nPhilometor sent the best of the mercenaries with the standards of\nDesilaus and Arsinoe to the South. Certainly it cost not a little to\nbribe the ringleaders, and to stir up the discontent to an outbreak.\"\n\n\"My brother will repay us for this outlay,\" interrupted the king, \"when\nwe pour his treasure into our own coffers. Go on.\"\n\n\"We shall have most difficulty with the priests and the Jews. The former\ncling to Philometor, because he is the eldest son of his father, and has\ngiven large bounties to the temples, particularly of Apollinopolis and\nPhilae; the Jews are attached to him, because he favors them more than\nthe Greeks, and he, and his wife--your illustrious sister--trouble\nthemselves with their vain religious squabbles; he disputes with them\nabout the doctrines contained in their book, and at table too prefers\nconversing with them to any one else.\"\n\n\"I will salt the wine and meat for them that they fatten on here,\" cried\nEuergetes vehemently, \"I forbade to-day their presence at my table, for\nthey have good eyes and wits as sharp as their noses. And they are most\ndangerous when they are in fear, or can reckon on any gains.\n\n\"At the same time it cannot be denied that they are honest and tenacious,\nand as most of them are possessed of some property they rarely make\ncommon cause with the shrieking mob--particularly here in Alexandria.\n\n\"Envy alone can reproach them for their industry and enterprise, for the\nactivity of the Hellenes has improved upon the example set by them and\ntheir Phoenician kindred.\n\n\"They thrive best in peaceful times, and since the world runs more\nquietly here, under my brother and sister, than under me, they attach\nthemselves to them, lend my brother money, and supply my sister with cut\nstones, sapphires and emeralds, selling fine stuffs and other woman's\ngear for a scrap of written papyrus, which will soon be of no more value\nthan the feather which falls from the wing of that green screaming bird\non the perch yonder.\n\n\"It is incomprehensible to me that so keen a people cannot perceive that\nthere is nothing permanent but change, nothing so certain as that nothing\nis certain; and that they therefore should regard their god as the one\nonly god, their own doctrine as absolutely and eternally true, and that\nthey contemn what other peoples believe.\n\n\"These darkened views make fools of them, but certainly good soldiers\ntoo--perhaps by reason indeed of this very exalted self-consciousness and\ntheir firm reliance on their supreme god.\"\n\n\"Yes, they certainly are,\" assented Hierax. \"But they serve your brother\nmore willingly, and at a lower price, than us.\"\n\n\"I will show them,\" cried the king, \"that their taste is a perverted and\nobnoxious one. I require of the priests that they should instruct the\npeople to be obedient, and to bear their privations patiently; but the\nJews,\" and at these words his eyes rolled with an ominous glare, \"the\nJews I will exterminate, when the time comes.\"\n\n\"That will be good for our treasury too,\" laughed Komanus.\n\n\"And for the temples in the country,\" added Euergetes, \"for though I seek\nto extirpate other foes I would rather win over the priests; and I must\ntry to win them if Philometor's kingdom falls into my hands, for the\nEgyptians require that their king should be a god; and I cannot arrive at\nthe dignity of a real god, to whom my swarthy subjects will pray with\nthorough satisfaction, and without making my life a burden to me by\ncontinual revolts, unless I am raised to it by the suffrages of the\npriests.\"\n\n\"And nevertheless,\" replied Hierax, who was the only one of Euergetes'\ndependents, who dared to contradict him on important questions,\n\"nevertheless this very day a grave demand is to be preferred on your\naccount to the high-priest of Serapis. You press for the surrender of a\nservant of the god, and Philometor will not neglect--\"\n\n\"Will not neglect,\" interrupted Euergetes, \"to inform the mighty\nAsclepiodorus that he wants the sweet creature for me, and not for\nhimself. Do you know that Eros has pierced my heart, and that I burn for\nthe fair Irene, although these eyes have not yet been blessed with the\nsight of her?\n\n\"I see you believe me, and I am speaking the exact truth, for I vow I\nwill possess myself of this infantine Hebe as surely as I hope to win my\nbrother's throne; but when I plant a tree, it is not merely to ornament\nmy garden but to get some use of it. You will see how I will win over\nboth the prettiest of little lady-loves and the high-priest who, to be\nsure, is a Greek, but still a man hard to bend. My tools are all ready\noutside there.\n\n\"Now, leave me, and order Eulaeus to join me here.\"\n\n\"You are as a divinity,\" said Komanus, bowing deeply, \"and we but as\nfrail mortals. Your proceedings often seem dark and incomprehensible to\nour weak intellect, but when a course, which to us seems to lead to no\ngood issue, turns out well, we are forced to admit with astonishment that\nyou always choose the best way, though often a tortuous one.\"\n\nFor a short time the king was alone, sitting with his black brows knit,\nand gazing meditatively at the floor. But as soon as he heard the soft\nfoot-fall of Eulaeus, and the louder step of his guide, he once more\nassumed the aspect of a careless and reckless man of the world, shouted a\njolly welcome to Eulaeus, reminded him of his, the king's, boyhood, and\nof how often he, Eulaeus, had helped him to persuade his mother to grant\nhim some wish she had previously refused him.\n\n\"But now, old boy,\" continued the king, \"the times are changed, and with\nyou now-a-days it is everything for Philometor and nothing for poor\nEuergetes, who, being the younger, is just the one who most needs your\nassistance.\"\n\nEulaeus bowed with a smile which conveyed that he understood perfectly\nhow little the king's last words were spoken in earnest, and he said:\n\n\"I purposed always to assist the weaker of you two, and that is what I\nbelieve myself to be doing now.\"\n\n\"You mean my sister?\"\n\n\"Our sovereign lady Cleopatra is of the sex which is often unjustly\ncalled the weaker. Though you no doubt were pleased to speak in jest when\nyou asked that question, I feel bound to answer you distinctly that it\nwas not Cleopatra that I meant, but King Philometor.\"\n\n\"Philometor? Then you have no faith in his strength, you regard me as\nstronger than he; and yet, at the banquet to-day, you offered me your\nservices, and told me that the task had devolved upon you of demanding\nthe surrender of the little serving-maiden of Serapis, in the king's\nname, of Asclepiodorus, the high-priest. Do you call that aiding the\nweaker? But perhaps you were drunk when you told me that?\n\n\"No? You were more moderate than I? Then some other change of views must\nhave taken place in you; and yet that would very much surprise me, since\nyour principles require you to aid the weaker son of my mother--\"\n\n\"You are laughing at me,\" interrupted the courtier with gentle\nreproachfulness, and yet in a tone of entreaty. \"If I took your side it\nwas not from caprice, but simply and expressly from a desire to remain\nfaithful to the one aim and end of my life.\"\n\n\"And that is?\"\n\n\"To provide for the welfare of this country in the same sense as did your\nillustrious mother, whose counsellor I was.\"\n\n\"But you forget to mention the other--to place yourself to the best\npossible advantage.\"\n\n\"I did not forget it, but I did not mention it, for I know how closely\nmeasured out are the moments of a king; and besides, it seems to me as\nself-evident that we think of our personal advantage as that when we buy\na horse we also buy his shadow.\"\n\n\"How subtle! But I no more blame you than I should a girl who stands\nbefore her mirror to deck herself for her lover, and who takes the same\nopportunity of rejoicing in her own beauty.\n\n\"However, to return to your first speech. It is for the sake of Egypt as\nyou think--if I understand you rightly--that you now offer me the\nservices you have hitherto devoted to my brother's interests?\"\n\n\"As you say; in these difficult times the country needs the will and the\nhand of a powerful leader.\"\n\n\"And such a leader you think I am?\"\n\n\"Aye, a giant in strength of will, body and intellect--whose desire to\nunite the two parts of Egypt in your sole possession cannot fail, if you\nstrike and grasp boldly, and if--\"\n\n\"If?\" repeated the king, looking at the speaker so keenly that his eyes\nfell, and he answered softly:\n\n\"If Rome should raise no objection.\"\n\nEuergetes shrugged his shoulders, and replied gravely:\n\n\"Rome indeed is like Fate, which always must give the final decision in\neverything we do. I have certainly not been behindhand in enormous\nsacrifices to mollify that inexorable power, and my representative,\nthrough whose hands pass far greater sums than through those of the\npaymasters of the troops, writes me word that they are not unfavorably\ndisposed towards me in the Senate.\"\n\n\"We have learned that from ours also. You have more friends by the Tiber\nthan Philometor, my own king, has; but our last despatch is already\nseveral weeks old, and in the last few days things have occurred--\"\n\n\"Speak!\" cried Euergetes, sitting bolt upright on his cushions. \"But if\nyou are laying a trap for me, and if you are speaking now as my brother's\ntool, I will punish you--aye! and if you fled to the uttermost cave of\nthe Troglodytes I would have you followed up, and you should be torn in\npieces alive, as surely as I believe myself to be the true son of my\nfather.\"\n\n\"And I should deserve the punishment,\" replied Eulaeus humbly. Then he\nwent on: \"If I see clearly, great events lie before us in the next few\ndays.\"\n\n\"Yes--truly,\" said Euergetes firmly.\n\n\"But just at present Philometor is better represented in Rome than he has\never been. You made acquaintance with young Publius Scipio at the king's\ntable, and showed little zeal in endeavoring to win his good graces.\"\n\n\"He is one of the Cornelii,\" interrupted the king, \"a distinguished young\nman, and related to all the noblest blood of Rome; but he is not an\nambassador; he has travelled from Athens to Alexandria, in order to learn\nmore than he need; and he carries his head higher and speaks more freely\nthan becomes him before kings, because the young fellows fancy it looks\nwell to behave like their elders.\"\n\n\"He is of more importance than you imagine.\"\n\n\"Then I will invite him to Alexandria, and there will win him over in\nthree days, as surely as my name is Euergetes.\"\n\n\"It will then be too late, for he has to-day received, as I know for\ncertain, plenipotentiary powers from the Senate to act in their name in\ncase of need, until the envoy who is to be sent here again arrives.\"\n\n\"And I only now learn this for the first time!\" cried the king springing\nup from his couch, \"my friends must be deaf, and blind and dull indeed,\nif still I have any, and my servants and emissaries too! I cannot bear\nthis haughty ungracious fellow, but I will invite him tomorrow\nmorning--nay I will invite him to-day, to a festive entertainment, and\nsend him the four handsomest horses that I have brought with me from\nCyrene. I will--\"\n\n\"It will all be in vain,\" said Eulaeus calmly and dispassionately. \"For\nhe is master, in the fullest and widest meaning of the word, of the\nqueen's favor--nay--if I may permit myself to speak out freely--of\nCleopatra's more than warm liking, and he enjoys this sweetest of gifts\nwith a thankful heart. Philometor--as he always does--lets matters go as\nthey may, and Cleopatra and Publius--Publius and Cleopatra triumph even\npublicly in their love; gaze into each other's eyes like any pair of\npastoral Arcadians, exchange cups and kiss the rim on the spot where the\nlips of the other have touched it. Promise and grant what you will to\nthis man, he will stand by your sister; and if you should succeed in\nexpelling her from the throne he would boldly treat you as Popilius\nLaenas did your uncle Antiochus: he would draw a circle round your\nperson, and say that if you dared to step beyond it Rome would march\nagainst you.\"\n\nEuergetes listened in silence, then, flinging away the draperies that\nwrapped his body, he paced up and down in stormy agitation, groaning from\ntime to time, and roaring like a wild bull that feels itself confined\nwith cords and bands, and that exerts all its strength in vain to rend\nthem.\n\nFinally he stood still in front of Eulaeus and asked him:\n\n\"What more do you know of the Roman?\"\n\n\"He, who would not allow you to compare yourself to Alcibiades, is\nendeavoring to out-do that darling of the Athenian maidens; for he is not\ncontent with having stolen the heart of the king's wife, he is putting\nout his hand to reach the fairest virgin who serves the highest of the\ngods. The water-bearer whom Lysias, the Roman's friend, recommended for a\nHebe is beloved by Publius, and he hopes to enjoy her favors more easily\nin your gay palace than he can in the gloomy temple of Serapis.\"\n\nAt these words the king struck his forehead with his hand, exclaiming:\n\"Oh! to be a king--a man who is a match for any ten! and to be obliged to\nsubmit with a patient shrug like a peasant whose grain my horsemen crush\ninto the ground!\n\n\"He can spoil everything; mar all my plans and thwart all my desires--and\nI can do nothing but clench my fist, and suffocate with rage. But this\nfuming and groaning are just as unavailing as my raging and cursing by\nthe death-bed of my mother, who was dead all the same and never got up\nagain.\n\n\"If this Publius were a Greek, a Syrian, an Egyptian--nay, were he my own\nbrother--I tell you, Eulaeus, he should not long stand in my way; but he\nis plenipotentiary from Rome, and Rome is Fate--Rome is Fate.\"\n\nThe king flung himself back on to his cushions with a deep sigh, and as\nif crushed with despair, hiding his face in the soft pillows; but Eulaeus\ncrept noiselessly up to the young giant, and whispered in his ear with\nsolemn deliberateness:\n\n\"Rome is Fate, but even Rome can do nothing against Fate. Publius Scipio\nmust die because he is ruining your mother's daughter, and stands in the\nway of your saving Egypt. The Senate would take a terrible revenge if he\nwere murdered, but what can they do if wild beasts fall on their\nplenipotentiary, and tear him to pieces?\"\n\n\"Grand! splendid!\" cried Euergetes, springing again to his feet, and\nopening his large eyes with radiant surprise and delight, as if heaven\nitself had opened before them, revealing the sublime host of the gods\nfeasting at golden tables.\n\n\"You are a great man, Eulaeus, and I shall know how to reward you; but do\nyou know of such wild beasts as we require, and do they know how to\nconduct themselves so that no one shall dare to harbor even the shadow of\na suspicion that the wounds torn by their teeth and claws were inflicted\nby daggers, pikes or spearheads?\"\n\n\"Be perfectly easy,\" replied Eulaeus. \"These beasts of prey have already\nhad work to do here in Memphis, and are in the service of the king--\"\n\n\"Aha! of my gentle brother!\" laughed Euergetes. \"And he boasts of never\nhaving killed any one excepting in battle--and now--\"\n\n\"But Philometor has a wife,\" interposed Eulaeus; and Euergetes went on.\n\n\"Aye, woman, woman! what is there that a man may not learn from a woman?\"\n\nThen he added in a lower tone: \"When can your wild beasts do their work?\"\n\n\"The sun has long since risen; before it sets I will have made my\npreparations, and by about midnight, I should think, the deed may be\ndone. We will promise the Roman a secret meeting, lure him out to the\ntemple of Serapis, and on his way home through the desert--\"\n\n\"Aye, then,--\" cried the king, making a thrust at his own breast as\nthough his hand held a dagger, and he added in warning: \"But your beasts\nmust be as powerful as lions, and as cautious-as cautious, as cats. If\nyou want gold apply to Komanus, or, better still, take this purse. Is it\nenough? Still I must ask you; have you any personal ground of hatred\nagainst the Roman?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Eulaeus decisively. \"He guesses that I know all about him\nand his doings, and he has attacked me with false accusations which may\nbring me into peril this very day. If you should hear that the queen has\ndecided on throwing me into prison, take immediate steps for my\nliberation.\"\n\n\"No one shall touch a hair of your head; depend upon that. I see that it\nis to your interest to play my game, and I am heartily glad of it, for a\nman works with all his might for no one but himself. And now for the last\nthing: When will you fetch my little Hebe?\"\n\n\"In an hour's time I am going to Asclepiodorus; but we must not demand\nthe girl till to-morrow, for today she must remain in the temple as a\ndecoy-bird for Publius Scipio.\"\n\n\"I will take patience; still I have yet another charge to give you.\nRepresent the matter to the high-priest in such a way that he shall think\nmy brother wishes to gratify one of my fancies by demanding--absolutely\ndemanding--the water-bearer on my behalf. Provoke the man as far as is\npossible without exciting suspicion, and if I know him rightly, he will\nstand upon his rights, and refuse you persistently. Then, after you, will\ncome Komanus from me with greetings and gifts and promises.\n\n\"To-morrow, when we have done what must be done to the Roman, you shall\nfetch the girl in my brother's name either by cunning or by force; and\nthe day after, if the gods graciously lend me their aid in uniting the\ntwo realms of Egypt under my own hand, I will explain to Asclepiodorus\nthat I have punished Philometor for his sacrilege against his temple, and\nhave deposed him from the throne. Serapis shall see which of us is his\nfriend.\n\n\"If all goes well, as I mean that it shall, I will appoint you Epitropon\nof the re-united kingdom--that I swear to you by the souls of my deceased\nancestors. I will speak with you to-day at any hour you may demand it.\"\n\nEulaeus departed with a step as light as if his interview with the king\nhad restored him to youth.\n\nWhen Hierax, Komanus, and the other officers returned to the room,\nEuergetes gave orders that his four finest horses from Cyrene should be\nled before noonday to his friend Publius Cornelius Scipio, in token of\nhis affection and respect. Then he suffered himself to be dressed, and\nwent to Aristarchus with whom he sat down to work at his studies.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nThe temple of Serapis lay in restful silence, enveloped in darkness,\nwhich so far hid its four wings from sight as to give it the aspect of a\nsingle rock-like mass wrapped in purple mist.\n\nOutside the temple precincts too all had been still; but just now a\nclatter of hoofs and rumble of wheels was audible through the silence,\notherwise so profound that it seemed increased by every sound. Before the\nvehicle which occasioned this disturbance had reached the temple, it\nstopped, just outside the sacred acacia-grove, for the neighing of a\nhorse was now audible in that direction.\n\nIt was one of the king's horses that neighed; Lysias, the Greek, tied him\nup to a tree by the road at the edge of the grove, flung his mantle over\nthe loins of the smoking beast; and feeling his way from tree to tree\nsoon found himself by the Well of the Sun where he sat down on the\nmargin.\n\nPresently from the east came a keen, cold breeze, the harbinger of\nsunrise; the gray gloaming began by degrees to pierce and part the tops\nof the tall trees, which, in the darkness, had seemed a compact black\nroof. The crowing of cocks rang out from the court-yard of the temple,\nand, as the Corinthian rose with a shiver to warm himself by a rapid walk\nbackwards and forwards, he heard a door creak near the outer wall of the\ntemple, of which the outline now grew sharper and clearer every instant\nin the growing light.\n\nHe now gazed with eager observation down the path which, as the day\napproached, stood out with increasing clearness from the surrounding\nshades, and his heart began to beat faster as he perceived a figure\napproaching the well, with rapid steps. It was a human form that advanced\ntowards him--only one--no second figure accompanied it; but it was not a\nman--no, a woman in a long robe. Still, she for whom he waited was surely\nsmaller than the woman, who now came near to him. Was it the elder and\nnot the younger sister, whom alone he was anxious to speak with, who came\nto the well this morning?\n\nHe could now distinguish her light foot-fall--now she was divided from\nhim by a young acacia-shrub which hid her from his gaze-now she set down\ntwo water-jars on the ground--now she briskly lifted the bucket and\nfilled the vessel she held in her left hand--now she looked towards the\neastern horizon, where the dim light of dawn grew broader and brighter,\nand Lysias thought he recognized Irene--and now--Praised be the gods! he\nwas sure; before him stood the younger and not the elder sister; the very\nmaiden whom he sought.\n\nStill half concealed by the acacia-shrub, and in a soft voice so as not\nto alarm her, he called Irene's name, and the poor child's blood froze\nwith terror, for never before had she been startled by a man here, and at\nthis hour. She stood as if rooted to the spot, and, trembling with\nfright, she pressed the cold, wet, golden jar, sacred to the god, closely\nto her bosom.\n\nLysias repeated her name, a little louder than before, and went on, but\nin a subdued voice:\n\n\"Do not be frightened, Irene; I am Lysias, the Corinthian--your friend,\nwhose pomegranate-blossom you wore yesterday, and who spoke to you after\nthe procession. Let me bid you good morning!\"\n\nAt these words the girl let her hand fall by her side, still holding the\njar, and pressing her right hand to her heart, she exclaimed, drawing a\ndeep breath:\n\n\"How dreadfully you frightened me! I thought some wandering soul was\ncalling me that had not yet returned to the nether world, for it is not\ntill the sun rises that spirits are scared away.\"\n\n\"But it cannot scare men of flesh and blood whose purpose is good. I, you\nmay believe me, would willingly stay with you, till Helios departs again,\nif you would permit me.\"\n\n\"I can neither permit nor forbid you anything,\" answered Irene. \"But, how\ncame you here at this hour?\"\n\n\"In a chariot,\" replied Lysias smiling.\n\n\"That is nonsense--I want to know what you came to the Well of the Sun\nfor at such an hour.\"\n\n\"I What but for you yourself? You told me yesterday that you were glad to\nsleep, and so am I; still, to see you once more, I have been only to glad\nto shorten my night's rest considerably.\"\n\n\"But, how did you know?\"\n\n\"You yourself told me yesterday at what time you were allowed to leave\nthe temple.\"\n\n\"Did I tell you? Great Serapis! how light it is already. I shall be\npunished if the water-jar is not standing on the altar by sunrise, and\nthere is Klea's too to be filled.\"\n\n\"I will fill it for you directly--there--that is done; and now I will\ncarry them both for you to the end of the grove, if you will promise me\nto return soon, for I have many things to ask you.\"\n\n\"Go on--only go on,\" said the girl; \"I know very little; but ask away,\nthough you will not find much to be made of any answers that I can give.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, indeed, I shall--for instance, if I asked you to tell me all\nabout your parents. My friend Publius, whom you know, and I also have\nheard how cruelly and unjustly they were punished, and we would gladly do\nmuch to procure their release.\"\n\n\"I will come--I will be sure to come,\" cried Irene loudly and eagerly,\n\"and shall I bring Klea with me? She was called up in the middle of the\nnight by the gatekeeper, whose child is very ill. My sister is very fond\nof it, and Philo will only take his medicine from her. The little one had\ngone to sleep in her lap, and his mother came and begged me to fetch the\nwater for us both. Now give me the jars, for none but we may enter the\ntemple.\"\n\n\"There they are. Do not disturb your sister on my account in her care of\nthe poor little boy, for I might indeed have one or two things to say to\nyou which she need not hear, and which might give you pleasure. Now, I am\ngoing back to the well, so farewell! But do not let me have to wait very\nlong for you.\" He spoke in a tender tone of entreaty, and the girl\nanswered low and rapidly as she hurried away from him:\n\n\"I will come when the sun is up.\"\n\nThe Corinthian looked after her till she had vanished within the temple,\nand his heart was stirred--stirred as it had not been for many years. He\ncould not help recalling the time when he would teaze his younger sister,\nthen still quite a child, putting her to the test by asking her, with a\nperfectly grave face, to give him her cake or her apple which he did not\nreally want at all. The little one had almost always put the thing he\nasked for to his mouth with her tiny hands, and then he had often felt\nexactly as he felt now.\n\nIrene too was still but a child, and no less guileless than his darling\nin his own home; and just as his sister had trusted him--offering him the\nbest she had to give--so this simple child trusted him; him, the\nprofligate Lysias, before whom all the modest women of Corinth cast down\ntheir eyes, while fathers warned their growing-up sons against him;\ntrusted him with her virgin self--nay, as he thought, her sacred person.\n\n\"I will do thee no harm, sweet child!\" he murmured to himself, as he\npresently turned on his heel to return to the well. He went forward\nquickly at first, but after a few steps he paused before the marvellous\nand glorious picture that met his gaze. Was Memphis in flames? Had fire\nfallen to burn up the shroud of mist which had veiled his way to the\ntemple?\n\nThe trunks of the acacia-trees stood up like the blackened pillars of a\nburning city, and behind them the glow of a conflagration blazed high up\nto the heavens. Beams of violet and gold slipped and sparkled between the\nboughs, and danced among the thorny twigs, the white racemes of flowers,\nand the tufts of leaves with their feathery leaflets; the clouds above\nwere fired with tints more pure and tender than those of the roses with\nwhich Cleopatra had decked herself for the banquet.\n\nNot like this did the sun rise in his own country! Or, was it perhaps\nonly that in Corinth or in Athens at break of day, as he staggered home\ndrunk from some feast, he had looked more at the earth than at the\nheavens?\n\nHis horses began now to neigh loudly as if to greet the steeds of the\ncoming Sun-god. Lysias hurried to them through the grove, patted their\nshining necks with soothing words, and stood looking down at the vast\ncity at his feet, over which hung a film of violet mist--at the solemn\nPyramids, over which the morning glow flung a gay robe of rose-color--on\nthe huge temple of Ptah, with the great colossi in front of its\npylons--on the Nile, mirroring the glory of the sky, and on the limestone\nhills behind the villages of Babylon and Troy, about which he had, only\nyesterday, heard a Jew at the king's table relating a legend current\namong his countrymen to the effect that these hills had been obliged to\ngive up all their verdure to grace the mounts of the sacred city\nHierosolyma.\n\nThe rocky cliffs of this barren range glowed at this moment like the fire\nin the heart of the great ruby which had clasped the festal robe of King\nEuergetes across his bull-neck, as it reflected the shimmer of the\ntapers: and Lysias saw the day-star rising behind the range with blinding\nradiance, shooting forth rays like myriads of golden arrows, to rout and\ndestroy his foe, the darkness of night.\n\nEos, Helios, Phoebus Apollo--these had long been to him no more than\nnames, with which he associated certain phenomena, certain processes and\nideas; for he when he was not luxuriating in the bath, amusing himself in\nthe gymnasium, at cock or quail-fights, in the theatre or at Dionysiac\nprocessions--was wont to exercise his wits in the schools of the\nphilosophers, so as to be able to shine in bandying words at\nentertainments; but to-day, and face to face with this sunrise, he\nbelieved as in the days of his childhood--he saw in his mind's eye the\ngod riding in his golden chariot, and curbing his foaming steeds, his\nshining train floating lightly round him, bearing torches or scattering\nflowers--he threw up his arms with an impulse of devotion, praying aloud:\n\n\"To-day I am happy and light of heart. To thy presence do I owe this, O!\nPhoebus Apollo, for thou art light itself. Oh! let thy favors continue--\"\n\nBut he here broke off in his invocation, and dropped his arms, for he\nheard approaching footsteps. Smiling at his childish weakness--for such\nhe deemed it that he should have prayed--and yet content from his pious\nimpulse, he turned his back on the sun, now quite risen, and stood face\nto face with Irene who called out to him:\n\n\"I was beginning to think that you had got out of patience and had gone\naway, when I found you no longer by the well. That distressed me--but you\nwere only watching Helios rise. I see it every day, and yet it always\ngrieves me to see it as red as it was to-day, for our Egyptian nurse used\nto tell me that when the east was very red in the morning it was because\nthe Sun-god had slain his enemies, and it was their blood that colored\nthe heavens, and the clouds and the hills.\"\n\n\"But you are a Greek,\" said Lysias, \"and you must know that it is Eos\nthat causes these tints when she touches the horizon with her rosy\nfingers before Helios appears. Now to-day you are, to me, the rosy dawn\npresaging a fine day.\"\n\n\"Such a ruddy glow as this,\" said Irene, \"forebodes great heat, storms,\nand perhaps heavy rain, so the gatekeeper says; and he is always with the\nastrologers who observe the stars and the signs in the heavens from the\ntowers near the temple-gates. He is poor little Philo's father. I wanted\nto bring Klea with me, for she knows more about our parents than I do;\nbut he begged me not to call her away, for the child's throat is almost\nclosed up, and if it cries much the physician says it will choke, and yet\nit is never quiet but when it is lying in Klea's arms. She is so\ngood--and she never thinks of herself; she has been ever since midnight\ntill now rocking that heavy child on her lap.\"\n\n\"We will talk with her presently,\" said the Corinthian. \"But to-day it\nwas for your sake that I came; you have such merry eyes, and your little\nmouth looks as if it were made for laughing, and not to sing\nlamentations. How can you bear being always in that shut up dungeon with\nall those solemn men in their black and white robes?\"\n\nThere are some very good and kind ones among them. I am most fond of old\nKrates, he looks gloomy enough at every one else; but with me only he\njokes and talks, and he often shows me such pretty and elegantly wrought\nthings.\"\n\n\"Ah! I told you just now you are like the rosy dawn before whom all\ndarkness must vanish.\"\n\n\"If only you could know how thoughtless I can be, and how often I give\ntrouble to Klea, who never scolds me for it, you would be far from\ncomparing me with a goddess. Little old Krates, too, often compares me to\nall sorts of pretty things, but that always sounds so comical that I\ncannot help laughing. I had much rather listen to you when you flatter\nme.\"\n\n\"Because I am young and youth suits with youth. Your sister is older, and\nso much graver than you are. Have you never had a companion of your own\nage whom you could play with, and to whom you could tell everything?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes when I was still very young; but since my parents fell into\ntrouble, and we have lived here in the temple, I have always been alone\nwith Klea. What do you want to know about my father?\"\n\n\"That I will ask you by-and-by. Now only tell me, have you never played\nat hide and seek with other girls? May you never look on at the merry\ndoings in the streets at the Dionysiac festivals? Have you ever ridden in\na chariot?\"\n\n\"I dare say I have, long ago--but I have forgotten it. How should I have\nany chance of such things here in the temple? Klea says it is no good\neven to think of them. She tells me a great deal about our parents--how\nmy mother took care of us, and what my father used to say. Has anything\nhappened that may turn out favorably for him? Is it possible that the\nking should have learned the truth? Make haste and ask your questions at\nonce, for I have already been too long out here.\"\n\nThe impatient steeds neighed again as she spoke, and Lysias, to whom this\nchat with Irene was perfectly enchanting, but who nevertheless had not\nfor a moment lost sight of his object, hastily pointed to the spot where\nhis horses were standing, and said:\n\n\"Did you hear the neighing of those mettlesome horses? They brought me\nhither, and I can guide them well; nay, at the last Isthmian games I won\nthe crown with my own quadriga. You said you had never ridden standing in\na chariot. How would you like to try for once how it feels? I will drive\nyou with pleasure up and down behind the grove for a little while.\"\n\nIrene heard this proposal with sparkling eyes and cried, as she clapped\nher hands:\n\n\"May I ride in a chariot with spirited horses, like the queen? Oh!\nimpossible! Where are your horses standing?\"\n\nIn this instant she had forgotten Klea, the duty which called her back to\nthe temple, even her parents, and she followed the Corinthian with winged\nsteps, sprang into the two-wheeled chariot, and clung fast to the\nbreastwork, as Lysias took his place by her side, seized the reins, and\nwith a strong and practised hand curbed the mettle of his spirited\nsteeds.\n\nShe stood perfectly guileless and undoubting by his side, and wholly at\nhis mercy as the chariot rattled off; but, unknown to herself, beneficent\npowers were shielding her with buckler and armor--her childlike\ninnocence, and that memory of her parents which her tempter himself had\nrevived in her mind, and which soon came back in vivid strength.\n\nBreathing deep with excitement, and filled with such rapture as a bird\nmay feel when it first soars from its narrow nest high up into the ether\nshe cried out again and again:\n\n\"Oh, this is delightful! this is splendid!\" and then:\n\n\"How we rush through the air as if we were swallows! Faster, Lysias,\nfaster! No, no--that is too fast; wait a little that I may not fall! Oh,\nI am not frightened; it is too delightful to cut through the air just as\na Nile boat cuts through the stream in a storm, and to feel it on my face\nand neck.\"\n\nLysias was very close to her; when, at her desire, he urged his horses to\ntheir utmost pace, and saw her sway, he involuntarily put out his hand to\nhold her by the girdle; but Irene avoided his grasp, pressing close\nagainst the side of the chariot next her, and every time he touched her\nshe drew her arm close up to her body, shrinking together like the\nfragile leaf of a sensitive plant when it is touched by some foreign\nobject.\n\nShe now begged the Corinthian to allow her to hold the reins for a little\nwhile, and he immediately acceded to her request, giving them into her\nhand, though, stepping behind her, he carefully kept the ends of them in\nhis own. He could now see her shining hair, the graceful oval of her\nhead, and her white throat eagerly bent forward; an indescribable longing\ncame over him to press a kiss on her head; but he forbore, for he\nremembered his friend's words that he would fulfil the part of a guardian\nto these girls. He too would be a protector to her, aye and more than\nthat, he would care for her as a father might. Still, as often as the\nchariot jolted over a stone, and he touched her to support her, the\nsuppressed wish revived, and once when her hair was blown quite close to\nhis lips he did indeed kiss it--but only as a friend or a brother might.\nStill, she must have felt the breath from his lips, for she turned round\nhastily, and gave him back the reins; then, pressing her hand to her\nbrow, she said in a quite altered voice--not unmixed with a faint tone of\nregret:\n\n\"This is not right--please now to turn the horses round.\"\n\nLysias, instead of obeying her, pulled at the reins to urge the horses to\na swifter pace, and before he could find a suitable answer, she had\nglanced up at the sun, and pointing to the east she exclaimed:\n\n\"How late it is already! what shall I say if I have been looked for, and\nthey ask me where I have been so long? Why don't you turn round--nor ask\nme anything about my parents?\"\n\nThe last words broke from her with vehemence, and as Lysias did not\nimmediately reply nor make any attempt to check the pace of the horses,\nshe herself seized the reins exclaiming:\n\n\"Will you turn round or no?\"\n\n\"No!\" said the Greek with decision. \"But--\"\n\n\"And this is what you intended!\" shrieked the girl, beside herself. \"You\nmeant to carry me off by stratagem--but wait, only wait--\"\n\nAnd before Lysias could prevent her she had turned round, and was\npreparing to spring from the chariot as it rushed onwards; but her\ncompanion was quicker than she; he clutched first at her robe and then\nher girdle, put his arm round her waist, and in spite of her resistance\npulled her back into the chariot.\n\nTrembling, stamping her little feet and with tears in her eyes, she\nstrove to free her girdle from his grasp; he, now bringing his horses to\na stand-still, said kindly but earnestly:\n\n\"What I have done is the best that could happen to you, and I will even\nturn the horses back again if you command it, but not till you have heard\nme; for when I got you into the chariot by stratagem it was because I was\nafraid that you would refuse to accompany me, and yet I knew that every\ndelay would expose you to the most hideous peril. I did not indeed take a\nbase advantage of your father's name, for my friend Publius Scipio, who\nis very influential, intends to do everything in his power to procure his\nfreedom and to reunite you to him. But, Irene, that could never have\nhappened if I had left you where you have hitherto lived.\"\n\nDuring this discourse the girl had looked at Lysias in bewilderment, and\nshe interrupted him with the exclamation:\n\n\"But I have never done any one an injury! Who can gain any benefit by\npersecuting a poor creature like me:\n\n\"Your father was the most righteous of men,\" replied Lysias, \"and\nnevertheless he was carried off into torments like a criminal. It is not\nonly the unrighteous and the wicked that are persecuted. Have you ever\nheard of King Euergetes, who, at his birth, was named the 'well-doer,'\nand who has earned that of the 'evil doer' by his crimes? He has heard\nthat you are fair, and he is about to demand of the high-priest that he\nshould surrender you to him. If Asclepiodorus agrees--and what can he do\nagainst the might of a king--you will be made the companion of\nflute-playing girls and painted women, who riot with drunken men at his\nwild carousals and orgies, and if your parents found you thus, better\nwould it be for them--\"\n\n\"Is it true, all you are telling me?\" asked Irene with flaming cheeks.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Lysias firmly. \"Listen Irene--I have a father and a dear\nmother and a sister, who is like you, and I swear to you by their\nheads--by those whose names never passed my lips in the presence of any\nother woman I ever sued to--that I am speaking the simple truth; that I\nseek nothing but only to save you; that if you desire it, as soon as I\nhave hidden you I will never see you again, terribly hard as that would\nbe to me--for I love you so dearly, so deeply--poor sweet little\nIrene--as you can never imagine.\"\n\nLysias took the girl's hand, but she withdrew it hastily, and raising her\neyes, full of tears, to meet his she said clearly and firmly:\n\n\"I believe you, for no man could speak like that and betray another. But\nhow do you know all this? Where are you taking me? Will Klea follow me?\"\n\n\"At first you shall be concealed with the family of a worthy sculptor. We\nwill let Klea know this very day of all that has happened to you, and\nwhen we have obtained the release of your parents then--but--Help us,\nprotecting Zeus! Do you see the chariot yonder? I believe those are the\nwhite horses of the Eunuch Eulaeus, and if he were to see us here, all\nwould be lost! Hold tight, we must go as fast as in a chariot race.\nThere, now the hill hides us, and down there, by the little temple of\nIsis, the wife of your future host is already waiting for you; she is no\ndoubt sitting in the closed chariot near the palm-trees.\n\n\"Yes, certainly, certainly, Klea shall hear all, so that she may not be\nuneasy about you! I must say farewell to you directly and then,\nafterwards, sweet Irene, will you sometimes think of the unhappy Lysias;\nor did Aurora, who greeted him this morning, so bright and full of happy\npromise, usher in a day not of joy but of sorrow and regret?\" The Greek\ndrew in rein as he spoke, bringing his horses to a sober pace, and looked\ntenderly in Irene's eyes. She returned his gaze with heart-felt emotion,\nbut her gunny glance was dimmed with tears.\n\n\"Say something,\" entreated the Greek. \"Will you not forget me? And may I\nsoon visit you in your new retreat?\"\n\nIrene would so gladly have said yes--and yes again, a thousand times yes;\nand yet she, who was so easily carried away by every little emotion of\nher heart, in this supreme moment found strength enough to snatch her\nhand from that of the Greek, who had again taken it, and to answer\nfirmly:\n\n\"I will remember you for ever and ever, but you must not come to see me\ntill I am once more united to my Klea.\"\n\n\"But Irene, consider, if now--\" cried Lysias much agitated.\n\n\"You swore to me by the heads of your nearest kin to obey my wishes,\"\ninterrupted the girl. \"Certainly I trust you, and all the more readily\nbecause you are so good to me, but I shall not do so any more if you do\nnot keep your word. Look, here comes a lady to meet us who looks like a\nfriend. She is already waving her hand to me. Yes, I will go with her\ngladly, and yet I am so anxious--so troubled, I cannot tell you--but I am\nso thankful too! Think of me sometimes, Lysias, and of our journey here,\nand of our talk, and of my parents: I entreat you, do for them all you\npossibly can. I wish I could help crying--but I cannot!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nLysias eyes had not deceived him. The chariot with white horses which he\nhad evaded during his flight with Irene belonged to Eulaeus. The morning\nbeing cool--and also because Cleopatra's lady-in-waiting was with him--he\nhad come out in a closed chariot, in which he sat on soft cushions side\nby side with the Macedonian lady, endeavoring to win her good graces by a\nconversation, witty enough in its way.\n\n\"On the way there,\" thought he, \"I will make her quite favorable to me,\nand on the way back I will talk to her of my own affairs.\"\n\nThe drive passed quickly and pleasantly for both, and they neither of\nthem paid any heed to the sound of the hoofs of the horses that were\nbearing away Irene.\n\nEulaeus dismounted behind the acacia-grove, and expressed a hope that Zoe\nwould not find the time very long while he was engaged with the\nhigh-priest; perhaps indeed, he remarked, she might even make some use of\nthe time by making advances to the representative of Hebe.\n\nBut Irene had been long since warmly welcomed in the house of\nApollodorus, the sculptor, by the time they once more found themselves\ntogether in the chariot; Eulaeus feigning, and Zoe in reality feeling,\nextreme dissatisfaction at all that had taken place in the temple. The\nhigh-priest had rejected Philometor's demand that he should send the\nwater-bearer to the palace on King Euergetes' birthday, with a\ndecisiveness which Eulaeus would never have given him credit for, for he\nhad on former occasions shown a disposition to measures of compromise;\nwhile Zoe had not even seen the waterbearer.\n\n\"I fancy,\" said the queen's shrewd friend, \"that I followed you somewhat\ntoo late, and that when I entered the temple about half an hour after\nyou--having been detained first by Imhotep, the old physician, and then\nby an assistant of Apollodorus, the sculptor, with some new busts of the\nphilosophers--the high-priest had already given orders that the girl\nshould be kept concealed; for when I asked to see her, I was conducted\nfirst to her miserable room, which seemed more fit for peasants or goats\nthan for a Hebe, even for a sham one--but I found it perfectly deserted.\n\n\"Then I was shown into the temple of Serapis, where a priest was\ninstructing some girls in singing, and then sent hither and thither, till\nat last, finding no trace whatever of the famous Irene, I came to the\ndwelling-house of the gate-keeper of the temple.\n\n\"An ungainly woman opened the door, and said that Irene had been gone\nfrom thence for some long time, but that her elder sister was there, so I\ndesired she might be fetched to speak with me. And what, if you please,\nwas the answer I received? The goddess Klea--I call her so as being\nsister to a Hebe--had to nurse a sick child, and if I wanted to see her I\nmight go in and find her.\n\n\"The tone of the message quite conveyed that the distance from her down\nto me was as great as in fact it is the other way. However, I thought it\nworth the trouble to see this supercilious water-bearing girl, and I went\ninto a low room--it makes me sick now to remember how it smelt of\npoverty--and there she sat with an idiotic child, dying on her lap.\nEverything that surrounded me was so revolting and dismal that it will\nhaunt my dreams with terror for weeks to come and spoil all my cheerful\nhours.\n\n\"I did not remain long with these wretched creatures, but I must confess\nthat if Irene is as like to Hebe as her elder sister is to Hera,\nEuergetes has good grounds for being angry if Asclepiodorus keeps the\ngirl from him.\n\n\"Many a queen--and not least the one whom you and I know so\nintimately-would willingly give half of her kingdom to possess such a\nfigure and such a mien as this serving-girl. And then her eyes, as she\nlooked at me when she rose with that little gasping corpse in her arms,\nand asked me what I wanted with her sister!\n\n\"There was an impressive and lurid glow in those solemn eyes, which\nlooked as if they had been taken out of some Medusa's head to be set in\nher beautiful face. And there was a sinister threat in them too which\nseemed to say: 'Require nothing of her that I do not approve of, or you\nwill be turned into stone on the spot.' She did not answer twenty words\nto my questions, and when I once more tasted the fresh air outside, which\nnever seemed to me so pleasant as by contrast with that horrible hole, I\nhad learnt no more than that no one knew--or chose to know--in what\ncorner the fair Irene was hidden, and that I should do well to make no\nfurther enquiries.\n\n\"And now, what will Philometor do? What will you advise him to do?\"\n\n\"What cannot be got at by soft words may sometimes be obtained by a\nsufficiently large present,\" replied Eulaeus. \"You know very well that of\nall words none is less familiar to these gentry than the little word\n'enough'; but who indeed is really ready to say it?\n\n\"You speak of the haughtiness and the stern repellent demeanor of our\nHebe's sister. I have seen her too, and I think that her image might be\nset up in the Stoa as a happy impersonation of the severest virtue: and\nyet children generally resemble their parents, and her father was the\nveriest peculator and the most cunning rascal that ever came in my way,\nand was sent off to the gold-mines for very sufficient reasons. And for\nthe sake of the daughter of a convicted criminal you have been driven\nthrough the dust and the scorching heat, and have had to submit to her\nscorn and contemptuous airs, while I am threatened with grave peril on\nher account, for you know that Cleopatra's latest whim is to do honor to\nthe Roman, Publius Scipio; he, on the other hand, is running after our\nHebe, and, having promised her that he will obtain an unqualified pardon\nfor her father, he will do his utmost to throw the odium of his robbery\nupon me.\n\n\"The queen is to give him audience this very day, and you cannot know how\nmany enemies a man makes who, like me, has for many years been one of the\nleading men of a great state. The king acknowledges, and with gratitude,\nall that I have done for him and for his mother; but if, at the moment\nwhen Publius Scipio accuses me, he is more in favor with her than ever, I\nam a lost man.\n\n\"You are always with the queen; do you tell her who these girls are, and\nwhat motives the Roman has for loading me with their father's crimes; and\nsome opportunity must offer for doing you and your belongings some\nfriendly office or another.\"\n\n\"What a shameless crew!\" exclaimed Zoe. \"Depend upon it I will not be\nsilent, for I always do what is just. I cannot bear seeing others\nsuffering an injustice, and least of all that a man of your merit and\ndistinction should be wounded in his honor, because a haughty foreigner\ntakes a fancy to a pretty little face and a conceited doll of a girl.\"\n\nZoe was in the right when she found the air stifling in the gate-keeper's\nhouse, for poor Irene, unaccustomed to such an atmosphere, could no more\nendure it than the pretentious maid of honor. It cost even Klea an effort\nto remain in the wretched room, which served as the dwelling-place of the\nwhole family; where the cooking was carried on at a smoky hearth, while,\nat night, it also sheltered a goat and a few fowls; but she had endured\neven severer trials than this for the sake of what she deemed right, and\nshe was so fond of little Philo--her anxious care in arousing by degrees\nhis slumbering intelligence had brought her so much soothing\nsatisfaction, and the child's innocent gratitude had been so tender a\nreward--that she wholly forgot the repulsive surroundings as soon as she\nfelt that her presence and care were indispensable to the suffering\nlittle one.\n\nImhotep, the most famous of the priest-physicians of the temple of\nAsclepius--a man who was as learned in Greek as in Egyptian medical lore,\nand who had been known by the name of \"the modern Herophilus\" since King\nPhilometor had summoned him from Alexandria to Memphis--had long since\nbeen watchful of the gradual development of the dormant intelligence of\nthe gate-keeper's child, whom he saw every day in his visits to the\ntemple. Now, not long after Zoe had quitted the house, he came in to see\nthe sick child for the third time. Klea was still holding the boy on her\nlap when he entered. On a wooden stool in front of her stood a brazier of\ncharcoal, and on it a small copper kettle the physician had brought with\nhim; to this a long tube was attached. The tube was in two parts, joined\ntogether by a leather joint, also tubular, in such a way that the upper\nportion could be turned in any direction. Klea from time to time applied\nit to the breast of the child, and, in obedience to Imhotep's\ninstructions, made the little one inhale the steam that poured out of it.\n\n\"Has it had the soothing effect it ought to have?\" asked the physician.\n\n\"Yes, indeed, I think so,\" replied Klea, \"There is not so much noise in\nthe chest when the poor little fellow draws his breath.\"\n\nThe old man put his ear to the child's mouth, laid his hand on his brow,\nand said:\n\n\"If the fever abates I hope for the best. This inhaling of steam is an\nexcellent remedy for these severe catarrhs, and a venerable one besides;\nfor in the oldest writings of Hermes we find it prescribed as an\napplication in such cases. But now he has had enough of it. Ah! this\nsteam--this steam! Do you know that it is stronger than horses or oxen,\nor the united strength of a whole army of giants? That diligent enquirer\nHero of Alexandria discovered this lately.\n\n\"But our little invalid has had enough of it, we must not overheat him.\nNow, take a linen cloth--that one will do though it is not very fine.\nFold it together, wet it nicely with cold water--there is some in that\nmiserable potsherd there--and now I will show you how to lay it on the\nchild's throat.\n\n\"You need not assure me that you understand me, Klea, for you have\nhands--neat hands--and patience without end! Sixty-five years have I\nlived, and have always had good health, but I could almost wish to be ill\nfor once, in order to be nursed by you. That poor child is well off\nbetter than many a king's child when it is sick; for him hireling nurses,\nno doubt, fetch and do all that is necessary, but one thing they cannot\ngive, for they have it not; I mean the loving and indefatigable patience\nby which you have worked a miracle on this child's mind, and are now\nworking another on his body. Aye, aye, my girl; it is to you and not me\nthat this woman will owe her child if it is preserved to her. Do you hear\nme, woman? and tell your husband so too; and if you do not reverence Klea\nas a goddess, and do not lay your hands beneath her feet, may you\nbe--no--I will wish you no ill, for you have not too much of the good\nthings of life as it is!\"\n\nAs he spoke the gate-keeper's wife came timidly up to the physician and\nthe sick child, pushed her rough and tangled hair off her forehead a\nlittle, crossed her lean arms at full length behind her back, and,\nlooking down with out-stretched neck at the boy, stared in dumb amazement\nat the wet cloths. Then she timidly enquired:\n\n\"Are the evil spirits driven out of the child?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied the physician. \"Klea there has exorcised them, and I\nhave helped her; now you know.\"\n\n\"Then I may go out for a little while? I have to sweep the pavement of\nthe forecourt.\"\n\nKlea nodded assent, and when the woman had disappeared the physician\nsaid:\n\n\"How many evil demons we have to deal with, alas! and how few good ones.\nMen are far more ready and willing to believe in mischievous spirits than\nin kind or helpful ones; for when things go ill with them--and it is\ngenerally their own fault when they do--it comforts them and flatters\ntheir vanity if only they can throw the blame on the shoulders of evil\nspirits; but when they are well to do, when fortune smiles on them of\ncourse, they like to ascribe it to themselves, to their own cleverness or\ntheir superior insight, and they laugh at those who admonish them of the\ngratitude they owe to the protecting and aiding demons. I, for my part,\nthink more of the good than of the evil spirits, and you, my child,\nwithout doubt are one of the very best.\n\n\"You must change the compress every quarter of an hour, and between\nwhiles go out into the open air, and let the fresh breezes fan your\nbosom--your cheeks look pale. At mid-day go to your own little room, and\ntry to sleep. Nothing ought to be overdone, so you are to obey me.\"\n\nKlea replied with a friendly and filial nod, and Imhotep stroked down her\nhair; then he left; she remained alone in the stuffy hot room, which grew\nhotter every minute, while she changed the wet cloths for the sick child,\nand watched with delight the diminishing hoarseness and difficulty of his\nbreathing. From time to time she was overcome by a slight drowsiness, and\nclosed her eyes for a few minutes, but only for a short while; and this\nhalf-awake and half-asleep condition, chequered by fleeting dreams, and\nbroken only by an easy and pleasing duty, this relaxation of the tension\nof mind and body, had a certain charm of which, through it all, she\nremained perfectly conscious. Here she was in her right place; the\nphysicians kind words had done her good, and her anxiety for the little\nlife she loved was now succeeded by a well-founded hope of its\npreservation.\n\nDuring the night she had already come to a definite resolution, to\nexplain to the high-priest that she could not undertake the office of the\ntwin-sisters, who wept by the bier of Osiris, and that she would rather\nendeavor to earn bread by the labor of her hands for herself and\nIrene--for that Irene should do any real work never entered her mind--at\nAlexandria, where even the blind and the maimed could find occupation.\nEven this prospect, which only yesterday had terrified her, began now to\nsmile upon her, for it opened to her the possibility of proving\nindependently the strong energy which she felt in herself.\n\nNow and then the figure of the Roman rose before her mind's eye, and\nevery time that this occurred she colored to her very forehead. But\nto-day she thought of this disturber of her peace differently from\nyesterday; for yesterday she had felt herself overwhelmed by him with\nshame, while to-day it appeared to her as though she had triumphed over\nhim at the procession, since she had steadily avoided his glance, and\nwhen he had dared to approach her she had resolutely turned her back upon\nhim. This was well, for how could the proud foreigner expose himself\nagain to such humiliation.\n\n\"Away, away--for ever away!\" she murmured to herself, and her eyes and\nbrow, which had been lighted up by a transient smile, once more assumed\nthe expression of repellent sternness which, the day before, had so\nstartled and angered the Roman. Soon however the severity of her features\nrelaxed, as she saw in fancy the young man's beseeching look, and\nremembered the praise given him by the recluse, and as--in the middle of\nthis train of thought--her eyes closed again, slumber once more falling\nupon her spirit for a few minutes, she saw in her dream Publius himself,\nwho approached her with a firm step, took her in his arms like a child,\nheld her wrists to stop her struggling hands, gathered her up with rough\nforce, and then flung her into a canoe lying at anchor by the bank of the\nNile.\n\nShe fought with all her might against this attack and seizure, screamed\naloud with fury, and woke at the sound of her own voice. Then she got up,\ndried her eyes that were wet with tears, and, after laying a freshly\nwetted cloth on the child's throat, she went out of doors in obedience to\nthe physician's advice.\n\nThe sun was already at the meridian, and its direct rays were fiercely\nreflected from the slabs of yellow sandstone that paved the forecourt. On\none side only of the wide, unroofed space, one of the colonnades that\nsurrounded it threw a narrow shade, hardly a span wide; and she would not\ngo there, for under it stood several beds on which lay pilgrims who, here\nin the very dwelling of the divinity, hoped to be visited with dreams\nwhich might give them an insight into futurity.\n\nKlea's head was uncovered, and, fearing the heat of noon, she was about\nto return into the door-keeper's house, when she saw a young white-robed\nscribe, employed in the special service of Asclepiodorus, who came across\nthe court beckoning eagerly to her. She went towards him, but before he\nhad reached her he shouted out an enquiry whether her sister Irene was in\nthe gate-keeper's lodge; the high-priest desired to speak with her, and\nshe was nowhere to be found. Klea told him that a grand lady from the\nqueen's court had already enquired for her, and that the last time she\nhad seen her had been before daybreak, when she was going to fill the\njars for the altar of the god at the Well of the Sun.\n\n\"The water for the first libation,\" answered the priest, \"was placed on\nthe altar at the right time, but Doris and her sister had to fetch it for\nthe second and third. Asclepiodorus is angry--not with you, for he knows\nfrom Imhotep that you are taking care of a sick child--but with Irene.\nTry and think where she can be. Something serious must have occurred that\nthe high-priest wishes to communicate to her.\"\n\nKlea was startled, for she remembered Irene's tears the evening before,\nand her cry of longing for happiness and freedom. Could it be that the\nthoughtless child had yielded to this longing, and escaped without her\nknowledge, though only for a few hours, to see the city and the gay life\nthere?\n\nShe collected herself so as not to betray her anxiety to the messenger,\nand said with downcast eyes:\n\n\"I will go and look for her.\"\n\nShe hurried back into the house, once more looked to the sick child,\ncalled his mother and showed her how to prepare the compresses, urging\nher to follow Imhotep's directions carefully and exactly till she should\nreturn; she pressed one loving kiss on little Philo's forehead--feeling\nas she did so that he was less hot than he had been in the morning--and\nthen she left, going first to her own dwelling.\n\nThere everything stood or lay exactly as she had left it during the\nnight, only the golden jars were wanting. This increased Klea's alarm,\nbut the thought that Irene should have taken the precious vessels with\nher, in order to sell them and to live on the proceeds, never once\nentered her mind, for her sister, she knew, though heedless and easily\npersuaded, was incapable of any base action.\n\nWhere was she to seek the lost girl? Serapion, the recluse, to whom she\nfirst addressed herself, knew nothing of her.\n\nOn the altar of Serapis, whither she next went, she found both the\nvessels, and carried them back to her room.\n\nPerhaps Irene had gone to see old Krates, and while watching his work and\nchattering to him, had forgotten the flight of time--but no, the\npriest-smith, whom she sought in his workshop, knew nothing of the\nvanished maiden. He would willingly have helped Klea to seek for his\nfavorite, but the new lock for the tombs of the Apis had to be finished\nby mid-day, and his swollen feet were painful.\n\nKlea stood outside the old man's door sunk in thought, and it occurred to\nher that Irene had often, in her idle hours, climbed up into the dove-cot\nbelonging to the temple, to look out from thence over the distant\nlandscape, to visit the sitting birds, to stuff food into the gaping\nbeaks of the young ones, or to look up at the cloud of soaring doves. The\npigeon-house, built up of clay pots and Nile-mud, stood on the top of the\nstorehouse, which lay adjoining the southern boundary wall of the temple.\n\nShe hastened across the sunny courts and slightly shaded alleys, and\nmounted to the flat roof of the storehouse, but she found there neither\nthe old dove-keeper nor his two grandsons who helped him in his work, for\nall three were in the anteroom to the kitchen, taking their dinner with\nthe temple-servants.\n\nKlea shouted her sister's name; once, twice, ten times--but no one\nanswered. It was just as if the fierce heat of the sun burnt up the sound\nas it left her lips. She looked into the first pigeon-house, the second,\nthe third, all the way to the last. The numberless little clay tenements\nof the brisk little birds threw out a glow like a heated oven; but this\ndid not hinder her from hunting through every nook and corner. Her cheeks\nwere burning, drops of perspiration stood on her brow, and she had much\ndifficulty in freeing herself from the dust of the pigeon-houses, still\nshe was not discouraged.\n\nPerhaps Irene had gone into the Anubidium, or sanctuary of Asclepius, to\nenquire as to the meaning of some strange vision, for there, with the\npriestly physicians, lived also a priestess who could interpret the\ndreams of those who sought to be healed even better than a certain\nrecluse who also could exercise that science. The enquirers often had to\nwait a long time outside the temple of Asclepius, and this consideration\nencouraged Klea, and made her insensible to the burning southwest wind\nwhich was now rising, and to the heat of the sun; still, as she returned\nto the Pastophorium--slowly, like a warrior returning from a defeat--she\nsuffered severely from the heat, and her heart was wrung with anguish and\nsuspense.\n\nWillingly would she have cried, and often heaved a groan that was more\nlike a sob, but the solace of tears to relieve her heart was still denied\nto her.\n\nBefore going to tell Asclepiodorus that her search had been unsuccessful,\nshe felt prompted once more to talk with her friend, the anchorite; but\nbefore she had gone far enough even to see his cell, the high-priest's\nscribe once more stood in her way, and desired her to follow him to the\ntemple. There she had to wait in mortal impatience for more than an hour\nin an ante room. At last she was conducted into a room where\nAsclepiodorus was sitting with the whole chapter of the priesthood of the\ntemple of Serapis.\n\nKlea entered timidly, and had to wait again some minutes in the presence\nof the mighty conclave before the high-priest asked her whether she could\ngive any information as to the whereabouts of the fugitive, and whether\nshe had heard or observed anything that could guide them on her track,\nsince he, Asclepiodorus, knew that if Irene had run away secretly from\nthe temple she must be as anxious about her as he was.\n\nKlea had much difficulty in finding words, and her knees shook as she\nbegan to speak, but she refused the seat which was brought for her by\norder of Asclepiodorus. She recounted in order all the places where she\nhad in vain sought her sister, and when she mentioned the sanctuary of\nAsclepius, and a recollection came suddenly and vividly before her of the\nfigure of a lady of distinction, who had come there with a number of\nslaves and waiting-maids to have a dream interpreted, Zoe's visit to\nherself flashed upon her memory; her demeanor--at first so over-friendly\nand then so supercilious--and her haughty enquiries for Irene.\n\nShe broke off in her narrative, and exclaimed:\n\n\"I am sure, holy father, that Irene has not fled of her own free impulse,\nbut some one perhaps may have lured her into quitting the temple and me;\nshe is still but a child with a wavering mind. Could it possibly be that\na lady of rank should have decoyed her into going with her? Such a person\ncame to-day to see me at the door-keeper's lodge. She was richly dressed\nand wore a gold crescent in her light wavy hair, which was plaited with a\nsilk ribband, and she asked me urgently about my sister. Imhotep, the\nphysician, who often visits at the king's palace, saw her too, and told\nme her name is Zoe, and that she is lady-in-waiting to Queen Cleopatra.\"\n\nThese words occasioned the greatest excitement throughout the conclave of\npriests, and Asclepiodorus exclaimed:\n\n\"Oh! women, women! You indeed were right, Philammon; I could not and\nwould not believe it! Cleopatra has done many things which are forgiven\nonly in a queen, but that she should become the tool of her brother's\nbasest passions, even you, Philammon, could hardly regard as likely,\nthough you are always prepared to expect evil rather than good. But now,\nwhat is to be done? How can we protect ourselves against violence and\nsuperior force?\"\n\nKlea had appeared before the priests with cheeks crimson and glowing from\nthe noontide heat, but at the high-priest's last words the blood left her\nface, she turned ashy-pale, and a chill shiver ran through her trembling\nlimbs. Her father's child--her bright, innocent Irene--basely stolen for\nEuergetes, that licentious tyrant of whose wild deeds Serapion had told\nher only last evening, when he painted the dangers that would threaten\nher and Irene if they should quit the shelter of the sanctuary.\n\nAlas, it was too true! They had tempted away her darling child, her\ncomfort and delight, lured her with splendor and ease, only to sink her\nin shame! She was forced to cling to the back of the chair she had\ndisdained, to save herself from falling.\n\nBut this weakness overmastered her for a few minutes only; she boldly\ntook two hasty steps up to the table behind which the high-priest was\nsitting, and, supporting herself with her right hand upon it, she\nexclaimed, while her voice, usually so full and sonorous, had a hoarse\ntone:\n\n\"A woman has been the instrument of making another woman unworthy of the\nname of woman! and you--you, the protectors of right and virtue--you who\nare called to act according to the will and mind of the gods whom you\nserve--you are too weak to prevent it? If you endure this, if you do not\nput a stop to this crime you are not worthy--nay, I will not be\ninterrupted--you, I say, are unworthy of the sacred title and of the\nreverence you claim, and I will appeal--\"\n\n\"Silence, girl!\" cried Asclepiodorus to the terribly excited Klea. \"I\nwould have you imprisoned with the blasphemers, if I did not well\nunderstand the anguish which has turned your brain. We will interfere on\nbehalf of the abducted girl, and you must wait patiently in silence. You,\nCallimachus, must at once order Ismael, the messenger, to saddle the\nhorses, and ride to Memphis to deliver a despatch from me to the queen;\nlet us all combine to compose it, and subscribe our names as soon as we\nare perfectly certain that Irene has been carried off from these\nprecincts. Philammon, do you command that the gong be sounded which calls\ntogether all the inhabitants of the temple; and you, my girl, quit this\nhall, and join the others.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nKlea obeyed the high-priest's command at once, and wandered--not knowing\nexactly whither--from one corridor to another of the huge pile, till she\nwas startled by the sound of the great brazen plate, struck with mighty\nblows, which rang out to the remotest nook and corner of the precincts.\nThis call was for her too, and she went forthwith into the great court of\nassembly, which at every moment grew fuller and fuller. The\ntemple-servants and the keepers of the beasts, the gate-keepers, the\nlitter-bearers, the water-carriers-all streamed in from their interrupted\nmeal, some wiping their mouths as they hurried in, or still holding in\ntheir hands a piece of bread, a radish, or a date which they hastily\nmunched; the washer-men and women came in with hands still wet from\nwashing the white robes of the priests, and the cooks arrived with brows\nstill streaming from their unfinished labors. Perfumes floated round from\nthe unwashed hands of the pastophori, who had been busied in the\nlaboratories in the preparation of incense, while from the library and\nwriting-rooms came the curators and scribes and the officials of the\ntemple counting-house, their hair in disorder, and their light\nworking-dress stained with red or black. The troop of singers, male and\nfemale, came in orderly array, just as they had been assembled for\npractice, and with them came the faded twins to whom Klea and Irene had\nbeen designated as successors by Asclepiodorus. Then came the pupils of\nthe temple-school, tumbling noisily into the court-yard in high delight\nat this interruption to their lessons. The eldest of these were sent to\nbring in the great canopy under which the heads of the establishment\nmight assemble.\n\nLast of all appeared Asclepiodorus, who handed to a young scribe a\ncomplete list of all the inhabitants and members of the temple, that he\nmight read it out. This he proceeded to do; each one answered with an\naudible \"Here\" as his name was called, and for each one who was absent\ninformation was immediately given as to his whereabouts.\n\nKlea had joined the singing-women, and awaited in breathless anxiety a\nlong-endlessly long-time for the name of her sister to be called; for it\nwas not till the very smallest of the school-boys and the lowest of the\nneat-herds had answered, \"Here,\" that the scribe read out, \"Klea, the\nwater-bearer,\" and nodded to her in answer as she replied \"Here!\"\n\nThen his voice seemed louder than before as he read. \"Irene, the\nwater-bearer.\"\n\nNo answer following on these words, a slight movement, like the bowing\nwave that flies over a ripe cornfield when the morning breeze sweeps\nacross the ears, was evident among the assembled inhabitants of the\ntemple, who waited in breathless silence till Asclepiodorus stood forth,\nand said in a distinct and audible voice:\n\n\"You have all met here now at my call. All have obeyed it excepting those\nholy men consecrated to Serapis, whose vows forbid their breaking their\nseclusion, and Irene, the water-bearer. Once more I call, 'Irene,' a\nsecond, and a third time--and still no answer; I now appeal to you all\nassembled here, great and small, men and women who serve Serapis. Can any\none of you give any information as to the whereabouts of this young girl?\nHas any one seen her since, at break of day, she placed the first\nlibation from the Well of the Sun on the altar of the god? You are all\nsilent! Then no one has met her in the course of this day? Now, one\nquestion more, and whoever can answer it stand forth and speak the words\nof truth.\n\n\"By which gate did this lady of rank depart who visited the temple early\nthis morning?--By the eastern gate--good.\n\n\"Was she alone?--She was.\n\n\"By which gate did the epistolographer Eulaeus depart?--By the east.\n\n\"Was he alone?--He was.\n\n\"Did any one here present meet the chariot either of the lady or of\nEulaeus?\"\n\n\"I did,\" cried a car-driver, whose daily duty it was to go to Memphis\nwith his oxen and cart to fetch provisions for the kitchen, and other\nnecessaries.\n\n\"Speak,\" said the high-priest.\n\n\"I saw,\" replied the man, \"the white horses of my Lord Eulaeus hard by\nthe vineyard of Khakem; I know them well. They were harnessed to a closed\nchariot, in which besides himself sat a lady.\"\n\n\"Was it Irene?\" asked Asclepiodorus.\n\n\"I do not know,\" replied the tarter, \"for I could not see who sat in the\nchariot, but I heard the voice of Eulaeus, and then a woman's laugh. She\nlaughed so heartily that I had to screw my mouth up myself, it tickled me\nso.\"\n\nWhile Klea supposed this description to apply to Irene's merry\nlaugh-which she had never thought of with regret till this moment--the\nhigh-priest exclaimed:\n\n\"You, keeper of the eastern gate, did the lady and Eulaeus enter and\nleave this sanctuary together?\"\n\n\"No,\" was the answer. \"She came in half an hour later than he did, and\nshe quitted the temple quite alone and long after the eunuch.\"\n\n\"And Irene did not pass through your gate, and cannot have gone out by\nit?--I ask you in the name of the god we serve!\"\n\n\"She may have done so, holy father,\" answered the gate-keeper in much\nalarm. \"I have a sick child, and to look after him I went into my room\nseveral times; but only for a few minutes at a time-still, the gate\nstands open, all is quiet in Memphis now.\"\n\n\"You have done very wrong,\" said Asclepiodorus severely, \"but since you\nhave told the truth you may go unpunished. We have learned enough. All\nyou gate-keepers now listen to me. Every gate of the temple must be\ncarefully shut, and no one--not even a pilgrim nor any dignitary from\nMemphis, however high a personage he may be--is to enter or go out\nwithout my express permission; be as alert as if you feared an attack,\nand now go each of you to his duties.\"\n\nThe assembly dispersed; these to one side, those to another.\n\nKlea did not perceive that many looked at her with suspicion as though\nshe were responsible for her sister's conduct, and others with\ncompassion; she did not even notice the twin-sisters, whose place she and\nIrene were to have filled, and this hurt the feelings of the good elderly\nmaidens, who had to perform so much lamenting which they did not feel at\nall, that they eagerly seized every opportunity of expressing their\nfeelings when, for once in a way, they were moved to sincere sorrow. But\nneither these sympathizing persons nor any other of the inhabitants of\nthe temple, who approached Klea with the purpose of questioning or of\npitying her, dared to address her, so stern and terrible was the solemn\nexpression of her eyes which she kept fixed upon the ground.\n\nAt last she remained alone in the great court; her heart beat faster\nunusual, and strange and weighty thoughts were stirring in her soul. One\nthing was clear to her: Eulaeus--her father's ruthless foe and\ndestroyer--was now also working the fall of the child of the man he had\nruined, and, though she knew it not, the high-priest shared her\nsuspicions. She, Klea, was by no means minded to let this happen without\nan effort at defence, and it even became clearer and clearer to her mind\nthat it was her duty to act, and without delay. In the first instance she\nwould ask counsel of her friend Serapion; but as she approached his cell\nthe gong was sounded which summoned the priests to service, and at the\nsame time warned her of her duty of fetching water.\n\nMechanically, and still thinking of nothing but Irene's deliverance, she\nfulfilled the task which she was accustomed to perform every day at the\nsound of this brazen clang, and went to her room to fetch the golden jars\nof the god.\n\nAs she entered the empty room her cat sprang to meet her with two leaps\nof joy, putting up her back, rubbing her soft head against her feet with\nher fine bushy tail ringed with black stripes set up straight, as cats\nare wont only when they are pleased. Klea was about to stroke the coaxing\nanimal, but it sprang back, stared at her shyly, and, as she could not\nhelp thinking, angrily with its green eyes, and then shrank back into the\ncorner close to Irene's couch.\n\n\"She mistook me!\" thought Klea. \"Irene is more lovable than I even to a\nbeast, and Irene, Irene--\" She sighed deeply at the name, and would have\nsunk down on her trunk there to consider of new ways and means--all of\nwhich however she was forced to reject as foolish and impracticable--but\non the chest lay a little shirt she had begun to make for little Philo,\nand this reminded her again of the sick child and of the duty of fetching\nthe water.\n\nWithout further delay she took up the jars, and as she went towards the\nwell she remembered the last precepts that had been given her by her\nfather, whom she had once been permitted to visit in prison. Only a few\ndetached sentences of this, his last warning speech, now came into her\nmind, though no word of it had escaped her memory; it ran much as\nfollows:\n\n\"It may seem as though I had met with an evil recompense from the gods\nfor my conduct in adhering to what I think just and virtuous; but it only\nseems so, and so long as I succeed in living in accordance with nature,\nwhich obeys an everlasting law, no man is justified in accusing me. My\nown peace of mind especially will never desert me so long as I do not set\nmyself to act in opposition to the fundamental convictions of my inmost\nbeing, but obey the doctrines of Zeno and Chrysippus. This peace every\none may preserve, aye, even you, a woman, if you constantly do what you\nrecognize to be right, and fulfil the duties you take upon yourself. The\nvery god himself is proof and witness of this doctrine, for he grants to\nhim who obeys him that tranquillity of spirit which must be pleasing in\nhis eyes, since it is the only condition of the soul in which it appears\nto be neither fettered and hindered nor tossed and driven; while he, on\nthe contrary, who wanders from the paths of virtue and of her daughter,\nstern duty, never attains peace, but feels the torment of an unsatisfied\nand hostile power, which with its hard grip drags his soul now on and now\nback.\n\n\"He who preserves a tranquil mind is not miserable, even in misfortune,\nand thankfully learns to feel con tented in every state of life; and that\nbecause he is filled with those elevated sentiments which are directly\nrelated to the noblest portion of his being--those, I mean--of justice\nand goodness. Act then, my child, in conformity with justice and duty,\nregardless of any ulterior object, without considering whether your\naction will bring you pleasure or pain, without fear of the judgment of\nmen or the envy of the gods, and you will win that peace of mind which\ndistinguishes the wise from the unwise, and may be happy even in adverse\ncircumstances; for the only real evil is the dominion of wickedness, that\nis to say the unreason which rebels against nature, and the only true\nhappiness consists in the possession of virtue. He alone, however, can\ncall virtue his who possesses it wholly, and sins not against it in the\nsmallest particular; for there is no difference of degrees either in good\nor in evil, and even the smallest action opposed to duty, truth or\njustice, though punishable by no law, is a sin, and stands in opposition\nto virtue.\n\n\"Irene,\" thus Philotas had concluded his injunctions, \"cannot as yet\nunderstand this doctrine, but you are grave and have sense beyond your\nyears. Repeat this to her daily, and when the time comes impress on your\nsister--towards whom you must fill the place of a mother--impress on her\nheart these precepts as your father's last will and testament.\"\n\nAnd now, as Klea went towards the well within the temple-wall to fetch\nwater, she repeated to herself many of these injunctions; she felt\nherself encouraged by them, and firmly resolved not to give her sister up\nto the seducer without a struggle.\n\nAs soon as the vessels for libation at the altar were filled she returned\nto little Philo, whose state seemed to her to give no further cause for\nanxiety; after staying with him for more than an hour she left the\ngate-keeper's dwelling to seek Serapion's advice, and to divulge to him\nall she had been able to plan and consider in the quiet of the sick-room.\n\nThe recluse was wont to recognize her step from afar, and to be looking\nout for her from his window when she went to visit him; but to-day he\nheard her not, for he was stepping again and again up and down the few\npaces which the small size of his tiny cell allowed him to traverse. He\ncould reflect best when he walked up and down, and he thought and thought\nagain, for he had heard all that was known in the temple regarding\nIrene's disappearance; and he would, he must rescue her--but the more he\ntormented his brain the more clearly he saw that every attempt to snatch\nthe kidnapped girl from the powerful robber must in fact be vain.\n\n\"And it must not, it shall not be!\" he had cried, stamping his great\nfoot, a few minutes before Klea reached his cell; but as soon as he was\naware of her presence he made an effort to appear quite easy, and cried\nout with the vehemence which characterized him even in less momentous\ncircumstances:\n\n\"We must consider, we must reflect, we must puzzle our brains, for the\ngods have been napping this morning, and we must be doubly wide-awake.\nIrene--our little Irene--and who would have thought it yesterday! It is a\ngood-for-nothing, unspeakably base knave's trick--and now, what can we do\nto snatch the prey from the gluttonous monster, the savage wild beast,\nbefore he can devour our child, our pet little one?\n\n\"Often and often I have been provoked at my own stupidity, but never,\nnever have I felt so stupid, such a godforsaken blockhead as I do now.\nWhen I try to consider I feel as if that heavy shutter had been nailed\nclown on my head. Have you had any ideas? I have not one which would not\ndisgrace the veriest ass--not a single one.\"\n\n\"Then you know everything?\" asked Klea, \"even that it is probably our\nfather's enemy, Eulaeus, who has treacherously decoyed the poor child to\ngo away with him?\"\n\n\"Yes, Yes!\" cried Serapion, \"wherever there is some scoundrel's trick to\nbe played he must have a finger in the pie, as sure as there must be meal\nfor bread to be made. But it is a new thing to me that on this occasion\nhe should be Euergetes' tool. Old Philammon told me all about it. Just\nnow the messenger came back from Memphis, and brought a paltry scrap of\npapyrus on which some wretched scribbler had written in the name of\nPhilometer, that nothing was known of Irene at court, and complaining\ndeeply that Asclepiodorus had not hesitated to play an underhand game\nwith the king. So they have no idea whatever of voluntarily releasing our\nchild.\"\n\n\"Then I shall proceed to do my duty,\" said Klea resolutely. \"I shall go\nto Memphis, and fetch my sister.\"\n\nThe anchorite stared at the girl in horror, exclaiming: \"That is folly,\nmadness, suicide! Do you want to throw two victims into his jaws instead\nof one?\"\n\n\"I can protect myself, and as regards Irene, I will claim the queen's\nassistance. She is a woman, and will never suffer--\"\n\n\"What is there in this world that she will not suffer if it can procure\nher profit or pleasure? Who knows what delightful thing Euergetes may not\nhave promised her in return for our little maid? No, by Serapis! no,\nCleopatra will not help you, but--and that is a good idea--there is one\nwho will to a certainty. We must apply to the Roman Publius Scipio, and\nhe will have no difficulty in succeeding.\"\n\n\"From him,\" exclaimed Klea, coloring scarlet, \"I will accept neither good\nnor evil; I do not know him, and I do not want to know him.\"\n\n\"Child, child!\" interrupted the recluse with grave chiding. \"Does your\npride then so far outweigh your love, your duty, and concern for Irene?\nWhat, in the name of all the gods, has Publius done to you that you avoid\nhim more anxiously than if he were covered with leprosy? There is a limit\nto all things, and now--aye, indeed--I must out with it come what may,\nfor this is not the time to pretend to be blind when I see with both eyes\nwhat is going on--your heart is full of the Roman, and draws you to him;\nbut you are an honest girl, and, in order to remain so, you fly from him\nbecause you distrust yourself, and do not know what might happen if he\nwere to tell you that he too has been hit by one of Eros' darts. You may\nturn red and white, and look at me as if I were your enemy, and talking\ncontemptible nonsense. I have seen many strange things, but I never saw\nany one before you who was a coward out of sheer courage, and yet of all\nthe women I know there is not one to whom fear is less known than my bold\nand resolute Klea. The road is a hard one that you must take, but only\ncover your poor little heart with a coat of mail, and venture in all\nconfidence to meet the Roman, who is an excellent good fellow. No doubt\nit will be hard to you to crave a boon, but ought you to shrink from\nthose few steps over sharp stones? Our poor child is standing on the edge\nof the abyss; if you do not arrive at the right time, and speak the right\nwords to the only person who is able to help in this matter, she will be\nthrust into the foul bog and sink in it, because her brave sister was\nfrightened at--herself!\"\n\nKlea had cast down her eyes as the anchorite addressed her thus; she\nstood for some time frowning at the ground in silence, but at last she\nsaid, with quivering lips and as gloomily as if she were pronouncing a\nsentence on herself.\n\n\"Then I will ask the Roman to assist me; but how can I get to him?\"\n\n\"Ah!--now my Klea is her father's daughter once more,\" answered Serapion,\nstretching out both his arms towards her from the little window of his\ncell; and then he went on: \"I can make the painful path somewhat smoother\nfor you. My brother Glaucus, who is commander of the civic guard in the\npalace, you already know; I will give you a few words of recommendation\nto him, and also, to lighten your task, a little letter to Publius\nScipio, which shall contain a short account of the matter in hand. If\nPublius wishes to speak with you yourself go to him and trust him, but\nstill more trust yourself.\n\n\"Now go, and when you have once more filled the water-jars come back to\nme, and fetch the letters. The sooner you can go the better, for it would\nbe well that you should leave the path through the desert behind you\nbefore nightfall, for in the dark there are often dangerous tramps about.\nYou will find a friendly welcome at my sister Leukippa's; she lives in\nthe toll-house by the great harbor--show her this ring and she will give\nyou a bed, and, if the gods are merciful, one for Irene too.\"\n\n\"Thank you, father,\" said Klea, but she said no more, and then left him\nwith a rapid step.\n\nSerapion looked lovingly after her; then he took two wooden tablets faced\nwith wax out of his chest, and, with a metal style, he wrote on one a\nshort letter to his brother, and on the other a longer one to the Roman,\nwhich ran as follows:\n\n\"Serapion, the recluse of Serapis, to Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica,\nthe Roman.\n\n\"Serapion greets Publius Scipio, and acquaints him that Irene, the\nyounger sister of Klea, the water-bearer, has disappeared from this\ntemple, and, as Serapion suspects, by the wiles of the epistolographer\nEulaeus, whom we both know, and who seems to have acted under the orders\nof King Ptolemy Euergetes. Seek to discover where Irene can be. Save her\nif thou canst from her ravishers, and conduct her back to this temple or\ndeliver her in Memphis into the hands of my sister Leukippa, the wife of\nthe overseer of the harbor, named Hipparchus, who dwells in the\ntoll-house. May Serapis preserve thee and thine.\"\n\nThe recluse had just finished his letters when Klea returned to him. The\ngirl hid them in the folds of the bosom of her robe, said farewell to her\nfriend, and remained quite grave and collected, while Serapion, with\ntears in his eyes, stroked her hair, gave her his parting blessing, and\nfinally even hung round her neck an amulet for good luck, that his mother\nhad worn--it was an eye in rock-crystal with a protective inscription.\nThen, without any further delay, she set out towards the temple gate,\nwhich, in obedience to the commands of the high priest, was now locked.\nThe gate-keeper--little Philo's father--sat close by on a stone bench,\nkeeping guard. In a friendly tone Klea asked him to open the gate; but\nthe anxious official would not immediately comply with her request, but\nreminded her of Asclepiodorus' strict injunctions, and informed her that\nthe great Roman had demanded admission to the temple about three hours\nsince, but had been refused by the high-priest's special orders. He had\nasked too for her, and had promised to return on the morrow.\n\nThe hot blood flew to Klea's face and eyes as she heard this news. Could\nPublius no more cease to think of her than she of him? Had Serapion\nguessed rightly? \"The darts of Eros\"--the recluse's phrase flashed\nthrough her mind, and struck her heart as if it were itself a winged\narrow; it frightened her and yet she liked it, but only for one brief\ninstant, for the utmost distrust of her own weakness came over her again\ndirectly, and she told herself with a shudder that she was on the\nhigh-road to follow up and seek out the importunate stranger.\n\nAll the horrors of her undertaking stood vividly before her, and if she\nhad now retraced her steps she would not have been without an excuse to\noffer to her own conscience, since the temple-gate was closed, and might\nnot be opened to any one, not even to her.\n\nFor a moment she felt a certain satisfaction in this flattering\nreflection, but as she thought again of Irene her resolve was once more\nconfirmed, and going closer up to the gate-keeper she said with great\ndetermination:\n\n\"Open the gate to me without delay; you know that I am not accustomed to\ndo or to desire anything wrong. I beg of you to push back the bolt at\nonce.\"\n\nThe man to whom Klea had done many kindnesses, and whom Imhotep had that\nvery day told that she was the good spirit of his house, and that he\nought to venerate her as a divinity--obeyed her orders, though with some\ndoubt and hesitation. The heavy bolt flew back, the brazen gate opened,\nthe water-bearer stepped out, flung a dark veil over her head, and set\nout on her walk.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     If you want to catch mice you must waste bacon\n     Man works with all his might for no one but himself\n     Nothing permanent but change\n     Nothing so certain as that nothing is certain\n     Priests that they should instruct the people to be obedient\n\n\n\n\nTHE SISTERS\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nA paved road, with a row of Sphinxes on each side, led from the Greek\ntemple of Serapis to the rock-hewn tombs of Apis, and the temples and\nchapels built over them, and near them; in these the Apis bull after its\ndeath--or \"in Osiris\" as the phrase went--was worshipped, while, so long\nas it lived, it was taken care of and prayed to in the temple to which it\nbelonged, that of the god Ptah at Memphis. After death these sacred\nbulls, which were distinguished by peculiar marks, had extraordinarily\ncostly obsequies; they were called the risen Ptah, and regarded as the\nsymbol of the soul of Osiris, by whose procreative power all that dies or\npasses away is brought to new birth and new life--the departed soul of\nman, the plant that has perished, and the heavenly bodies that have set.\nOsiris-Sokari, who was worshipped as the companion of Osiris, presided\nover the wanderings which had to be performed by the seemingly extinct\nspirit before its resuscitation as another being in a new form; and\nEgyptian priests governed in the temples of these gods, which were purely\nEgyptian in style, and which had been built at a very early date over the\ntomb-cave of the sacred bulls. And even the Greek ministers of Serapis,\nsettled at Memphis, were ready to follow the example of their rulers and\nto sacrifice to Osiris-Apis, who was closely allied to Serapis--not only\nin name but in his essential attributes. Serapis himself indeed was a\ndivinity introduced from Asia into the Nile valley by the Ptolemies, in\norder to supply to their Greek and Egyptian subjects alike an object of\nadoration, before whose altars they could unite in a common worship. They\ndevoted themselves to the worship of Apis in Osiris at the shrines, of\nGreek architecture, and containing stone images of bulls, that stood\noutside the Egyptian sanctuary, and they were very ready to be initiated\ninto the higher significance of his essence; indeed, all religious\nmysteries in their Greek home bore reference to the immortality of the\nsoul and its fate in the other world.\n\nJust as two neighboring cities may be joined by a bridge, so the Greek\ntemple of Serapis--to which the water-bearers belonged--was connected\nwith the Egyptian sanctuary of Osiris-Apis by the fine paved road for\nprocessions along which Klea now rapidly proceeded. There was a shorter\nway to Memphis, but she chose this one, because the mounds of sand on\neach side of the road bordered by Sphinxes--which every day had to be\ncleared of the desert-drift--concealed her from the sight of her\ncompanions in the temple; besides the best and safest way into the city\nwas by a road leading from a crescent, decorated with busts of the\nphilosophers, that lay near the principal entrance to the new Apis tombs.\n\nShe looked neither at the lion-bodies with men's heads that guarded the\nway, nor at the images of beasts on the wall that shut it in; nor did she\nheed the dusky-hued temple-slaves of Osiris-Apis who were sweeping the\nsand from the paved way with large brooms, for she thought of nothing but\nIrene and the difficult task that lay before her, and she walked swiftly\nonwards with her eyes fixed on the ground.\n\nBut she had taken no more than a few steps when she heard her name called\nquite close to her, and looking up in alarm she found herself standing\nopposite Krates, the little smith, who came close up to her, took hold of\nher veil, threw it back a little before she could prevent him, and asked:\n\n\"Where are you off to, child?\"\n\n\"Do not detain me,\" entreated Klea. \"You know that Irene, whom you are\nalways so fond of, has been carried off; perhaps I may be able to save\nher, but if you betray me, and if they follow me--\"\n\n\"I will not hinder you,\" interrupted the old man. \"Nay, if it were not\nfor these swollen feet I would go with you, for I can think of nothing\nelse but the poor dear little thing; but as it is I shall be glad enough\nwhen I am sitting still again in my workshop; it is exactly as if a\nworkman of my own trade lived in each of my great toes, and was dancing\nround in them with hammer and file and chisel and nails. Very likely you\nmay be so fortunate as to find your sister, for a crafty woman succeeds\nin many things which are too difficult for a wise man. Go on, and if they\nseek for you old Krates will not betray you.\"\n\nHe nodded kindly at Klea, and had already half turned his back on her\nwhen he once more looked round, and called out to her:\n\n\"Wait a minute, girl--you can do me a little service. I have just fitted\na new lock to the door of the Apis-tomb down there. It answers admirably,\nbut the one key to it which I have made is not enough; we require four,\nand you shall order them for me of the locksmith Heri, to be sent the day\nafter to-morrow; he lives opposite the gate of Sokari--to the left, next\nthe bridge over the canal--you cannot miss it. I hate repeating and\ncopying as much as I like inventing and making new things, and Heri can\nwork from a pattern just as well as I can. If it were not for my legs I\nwould give the man my commission myself, for he who speaks by the lips of\na go-between is often misunderstood or not understood at all.\"\n\n\"I will gladly save you the walk,\" replied Klea, while the Smith sat down\non the pedestal of one of the Sphinxes, and opening the leather wallet\nwhich hung by his side shook out the contents. A few files, chisels, and\nnails fell out into his lap; then the key, and finally a sharp, pointed\nknife with which Krates had cut out the hollow in the door for the\ninsertion of the lock; Krates touched up the pattern-key for the smith in\nMemphis with a few strokes of the file, and then, muttering thoughtfully\nand shaking his head doubtfully from side to side, he exclaimed:\n\n\"You still must come with me once more to the door, for I require\naccurate workmanship from other people, and so I must be severe upon my\nown.\"\n\n\"But I want so much to reach Memphis before dark,\" besought Klea.\n\n\"The whole thing will not take a minute, and if you will give me your arm\nI shall go twice as fast. There are the files, there is the knife.\"\n\n\"Give it me,\" Klea requested. \"This blade is sharp and bright, and as\nsoon as I saw it I felt as if it bid me take it with me. Very likely I\nmay have to come through the desert alone at night.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said the smith, \"and even the weakest feels stronger when he has a\nweapon. Hide the knife somewhere about you, my child, only take care not\nto hurt yourself with it. Now let me take your arm, and on we will\ngo--but not quite so fast.\"\n\nKlea led the smith to the door he indicated, and saw with admiration how\nunfailingly the bolt sprang forward when one half of the door closed upon\nthe other, and how easily the key pushed it back again; then, after\nconducting Krates back to the Sphinx near which she had met him, she went\non her way at her quickest pace, for the sun was already very low, and it\nseemed scarcely possible to reach Memphis before it should set.\n\nAs she approached a tavern where soldiers and low people were accustomed\nto resort, she was met by a drunken slave. She went on and past him\nwithout any fear, for the knife in her girdle, and on which she kept her\nhand, kept up her courage, and she felt as if she had thus acquired a\nthird hand which was more powerful and less timid than her own. A company\nof soldiers had encamped in front of the tavern, and the wine of Kbakem,\nwhich was grown close by, on the eastern declivity of the Libyan range,\nhad an excellent savor. The men were in capital spirits, for at noon\ntoday--after they had been quartered here for months as guards of the\ntombs of Apis and of the temples of the Necropolis--a commanding officer\nof the Diadoches had arrived at Memphis, who had ordered them to break up\nat once, and to withdraw into the capital before nightfall. They were not\nto be relieved by other mercenaries till the next morning.\n\nAll this Klea learned from a messenger from the Egyptian temple in the\nNecropolis, who recognized her, and who was going to Memphis,\ncommissioned by the priests of Osiris-Apis and Sokari to convey a\npetition to the king, praying that fresh troops might be promptly sent to\nreplace those now withdrawn.\n\nFor some time she went on side by side with this messenger, but soon she\nfound that she could not keep up with his hurried pace, and had to fall\nbehind. In front of another tavern sat the officers of the troops, whose\nnoisy mirth she had heard as she passed the former one; they were sitting\nover their wine and looking on at the dancing of two Egyptian girls, who\nscreeched like cackling hens over their mad leaps, and who so effectually\nriveted the attention of the spectators, who were beating time for them\nby clapping their hands, that Klea, accelerating her step, was able to\nslip unobserved past the wild crew. All these scenes, nay everything she\nmet with on the high-road, scared the girl who was accustomed to the\nsilence and the solemn life of the temple of Serapis, and she therefore\nstruck into a side path that probably also led to the city which she\ncould already see lying before her with its pylons, its citadel and its\nhouses, veiled in evening mist. In a quarter of an hour at most she would\nhave crossed the desert, and reach the fertile meadow land, whose emerald\nhue grew darker and darker every moment. The sun was already sinking to\nrest behind the Libyan range, and soon after, for twilight is short in\nEgypt, she was wrapped in the darkness of night. The westwind, which had\nbegun to blow even at noon, now rose higher, and seemed to pursue her\nwith its hot breath and the clouds of sand it carried with it from the\ndesert.\n\nShe must certainly be approaching water, for she heard the deep pipe of\nthe bittern in the reeds, and fancied she breathed a moister air. A few\nsteps more, and her foot sank in mud; and she now perceived that she was\nstanding on the edge of a wide ditch in which tall papyrus-plants were\ngrowing. The side path she had struck into ended at this plantation, and\nthere was nothing to be done but to turn about, and to continue her walk\nagainst the wind and with the sand blowing in her face.\n\nThe light from the drinking-booth showed her the direction she must\nfollow, for though the moon was up, it is true, black clouds swept across\nit, covering it and the smaller lights of heaven for many minutes at a\ntime. Still she felt no fatigue, but the shouts of the men and the loud\ncries of the women that rang out from the tavern filled her with alarm\nand disgust. She made a wide circuit round the hostelry, wading through\nthe sand hillocks and tearing her dress on the thorns and thistles that\nhad boldly struck deep root in the desert, and had grown up there like\nthe squalid brats in the hovel of a beggar. But still, as she hurried on\nby the high-road, the hideous laughter and the crowing mirth of the\ndancing-girls still rang in her mind's ear.\n\nHer blood coursed more swiftly through her veins, her head was on fire,\nshe saw Irene close before her, tangibly distinct--with flowing hair and\nfluttering garments, whirling in a wild dance like a Moenad at a\nDionysiac festival, flying from one embrace to another and shouting and\nshrieking in unbridled folly like the wretched girls she had seen on her\nway. She was seized with terror for her sister--an unbounded dread such\nas she had never felt before, and as the wind was now once more behind\nher she let herself be driven on by it, lifting her feet in a swift run\nand flying, as if pursued by the Erinnyes, without once looking round her\nand wholly forgetful of the smith's commission, on towards the city along\nthe road planted with trees, which as she knew led to the gate of the\ncitadel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nIn front of the gate of the king's palace sat a crowd of petitioners who\nwere accustomed to stay here from early dawn till late at night, until\nthey were called into the palace to receive the answer to the petition\nthey had drawn up. When Klea reached the end of her journey she was so\nexhausted and bewildered that she felt the imperative necessity of\nseeking rest and quiet reflection, so she seated herself among these\npeople, next to a woman from Upper Egypt. But hardly had she taken her\nplace by her with a silent greeting, when her talkative neighbor began to\nrelate with particular minuteness why she had come to Memphis, and how\ncertain unjust judges had conspired with her bad husband to trick\nher--for men were always ready to join against a woman--and to deprive\nher of everything which had been secured to her and her children by her\nmarriage-contract. For two months now, she said, she had been waiting\nearly and late before the sublime gate, and was consuming her last ready\ncash in the city where living was so dear; but it was all one to her, and\nat a pinch she would sell even her gold ornaments, for sooner or later\nher cause must come before the king, and then the wicked villain and his\naccomplices would be taught what was just.\n\nKlea heard but little of this harangue; a feeling had come over her like\nthat of a person who is having water poured again and again on the top of\nhis head. Presently her neighbor observed that the new-comer was not\nlistening at all to her complainings; she slapped her shoulder with her\nhand, and said:\n\n\"You seem to think of nothing but your own concerns; and I dare say they\nare not of such a nature as that you should relate them to any one else;\nso far as mine are concerned the more they are discussed, the better.\"\n\nThe tone in which these remarks were made was so dry, and at the same\ntime so sharp, that it hurt Klea, and she rose hastily to go closer to\nthe gate. Her neighbor threw a cross word after her; but she did not heed\nit, and drawing her veil closer over her face, she went through the gate\nof the palace into a vast courtyard, brightly lighted up by cressets and\ntorches, and crowded with foot-soldiers and mounted guards.\n\nThe sentry at the gate perhaps had not observed her, or perhaps had let\nher pass unchallenged from her dignified and erect gait, and the numerous\narmed men through whom she now made her way seemed to be so much occupied\nwith their own affairs, that no one bestowed any notice on her. In a\nnarrow alley, which led to a second court and was lighted by lanterns,\none of the body-guard known as Philobasilistes, a haughty young fellow in\nyellow riding-boots and a shirt of mail over his red tunic, came riding\ntowards her on his tall horse, and noticing her he tried to squeeze her\nbetween his charger and the wall, and put out his hand to raise her veil;\nbut Klea slipped aside, and put up her hands to protect herself from the\nhorse's head which was almost touching her.\n\nThe cavalier, enjoying her alarm, called out: \"Only stand still--he is\nnot vicious.\"\n\n\"Which, you or your horse?\" asked Klea, with such a solemn tone in her\ndeep voice that for an instant the young guardsman lost his\nself-possession, and this gave her time to go farther from the horse. But\nthe girl's sharp retort had annoyed the conceited young fellow, and not\nhaving time to follow her himself, he called out in a tone of\nencouragement to a party of mercenaries from Cyprus, whom the frightened\ngirl was trying to pass:\n\n\"Look under this girl's veil, comrades, and if she is as pretty as she is\nwell-grown, I wish you joy of your prize.\" He laughed as he pressed his\nknees against the flanks of his bay and trotted slowly away, while the\nCypriotes gave Klea ample time to reach the second court, which was more\nbrightly lighted even than the first, that they might there surround her\nwith insolent importunity.\n\nThe helpless and persecuted girl felt the blood run cold in her veins,\nand for a few minutes she could see nothing but a bewildering confusion\nof flashing eyes and weapons, of beards and hands, could hear nothing but\nwords and sounds, of which she understood and felt only that they were\nrevolting and horrible, and threatened her with death and ruin. She had\ncrossed her arms over her bosom, but now she raised her hands to hide her\nface, for she felt a strong hand snatch away the veil that covered her\nhead. This insolent proceeding turned her numb horror to indignant rage,\nand, fixing her sparkling eyes on her bearded opponents, she exclaimed:\n\n\"Shame upon you, who in the king's own house fall like wolves on a\ndefenceless woman, and in a peaceful spot snatch the veil from a young\ngirl's head. Your mothers would blush for you, and your sisters cry shame\non you--as I do now!\"\n\nAstonished at Klea's distinguished beauty, startled at the angry glare in\nher eyes, and the deep chest-tones of her voice which trembled with\nexcitement, the Cypriotes drew back, while the same audacious rascal that\nhad pulled away her veil came closer to her, and cried:\n\n\"Who would make such a noise about a rubbishy veil! If you will be my\nsweetheart I will buy you a new one, and many things besides.\"\n\nAt the same time he tried to throw his arm round her; but at his touch\nKlea felt the blood leave her cheeks and mount to her bloodshot eyes, and\nat that instant her hand, guided by some uncontrollable inward impulse,\ngrasped the handle of the knife which Krates had lent her; she raised it\nhigh in the air though with an unsteady arm, exclaiming:\n\n\"Let me go or, by Serapis whom I serve, I will strike you to the heart!\"\n\nThe soldier to whom this threat was addressed, was not the man to be\nintimidated by a blade of cold iron in a woman's hand; with a quick\nmovement he seized her wrist in order to disarm her; but although Klea\nwas forced to drop the knife she struggled with him to free herself from\nhis clutch, and this contest between a man and a woman, who seemed to be\nof superior rank to that indicated by her very simple dress, seemed to\nmost of the Cypriotes so undignified, so much out of place within the\nwalls of a palace, that they pulled their comrade back from Klea, while\nothers on the contrary came to the assistance of the bully who defended\nhimself stoutly. And in the midst of the fray, which was conducted with\nno small noise, stood Klea with flying breath. Her antagonist, though\nflung to the ground, still held her wrist with his left hand while he\ndefended himself against his comrades with the right, and she tried with\nall her force and cunning to withdraw it; for at the very height of her\nexcitement and danger she felt as if a sudden gust of wind had swept her\nspirit clear of all confusion, and she was again able to contemplate her\nposition calmly and resolutely.\n\nIf only her hand were free she might perhaps be able to take advantage of\nthe struggle between her foes, and to force her way out between their\nranks.\n\nTwice, thrice, four times, she tried to wrench her hand with a sudden\njerk through the fingers that grasped it; but each time in vain.\nSuddenly, from the man at her feet there broke a loud, long-drawn cry of\npain which re-echoed from the high walls of the court, and at the same\ntime she felt the fingers of her antagonist gradually and slowly slip\nfrom her arm like the straps of a sandal carefully lifted by the surgeon\nfrom a broken ankle.\n\n\"It is all over with him!\" exclaimed the eldest of the Cypriotes. \"A man\nnever calls out like that but once in his life! True enough--the dagger\nis sticking here just under the ninth rib! This is mad work! That is your\ndoing again, Lykos, you savage wolf!\"\n\n\"He bit deep into my finger in the struggle--\"\n\n\"And you are for ever tearing each other to pieces for the sake of the\nwomen,\" interrupted the elder, not listening to the other's excuses.\n\"Well, I was no better than you in my time, and nothing can alter it! You\nhad better be off now, for if the Epistrategist learns we have fallen to\nstabbing each other again--\"\n\nThe Cypriote had not ceased speaking, and his countrymen were in the very\nact of raising the body of their comrade when a division of the civic\nwatch rushed into the court in close order and through the passage near\nwhich the fight for the girl had arisen, thus stopping the way against\nthose who were about to escape, since all who wished to get out of the\ncourt into the open street must pass through the doorway into which Klea\nhad been forced by the horseman. Every other exit from this second court\nof the citadel led into the strictly guarded gardens and buildings of the\npalace itself.\n\nThe noisy strife round Klea, and the cry of the wounded man had attracted\nthe watch; the Cypriotes and the maiden soon found themselves surrounded,\nand they were conducted through a narrow side passage into the court-yard\nof the prison. After a short enquiry the men who had been taken were\nallowed to return under an escort to their own phalanx, and Klea gladly\nfollowed the commander of the watch to a less brilliantly illuminated\npart of the prison-yard, for in him she had recognized at once Serapion's\nbrother Glaucus, and he in her the daughter of the man who had done and\nsuffered so much for his father's sake; besides they had often exchanged\ngreetings and a few words in the temple of Serapis.\n\n\"All that is in my power,\" said Glaucus--a man somewhat taller but not so\nbroadly built as his brother--when he had read the recluse's note and\nwhen Klea had answered a number of questions, \"all that is in my power I\nwill gladly do for you and your sister, for I do not forget all that I\nowe to your father; still I cannot but regret that you have incurred such\nrisk, for it is always hazardous for a pretty young girl to venture into\nthis palace at a late hour, and particularly just now, for the courts are\nswarming not only with Philometor's fighting men but with those of his\nbrother, who have come here for their sovereign's birthday festival. The\npeople have been liberally entertained, and the soldier who has been\nsacrificing to Dionysus seizes the gifts of Eros and Aphrodite wherever\nhe may find them. I will at once take charge of my brother's letter to\nthe Roman Publius Cornelius Scipio, but when you have received his answer\nyou will do well to let yourself be escorted to my wife or my sister, who\nboth live in the city, and to remain till to-morrow morning with one or\nthe other. Here you cannot remain a minute unmolested while I am\naway--Where now--Aye! The only safe shelter I can offer you is the prison\ndown there; the room where they lock up the subaltern officers when they\nhave committed any offence is quite unoccupied, and I will conduct you\nthither. It is always kept clean, and there is a bench in it too.\"\n\nKlea followed her friend who, as his hasty demeanor plainly showed, had\nbeen interrupted in important business. In a few steps they reached the\nprison; she begged Glaucus to bring her the Roman's answer as quickly as\npossible, declared herself quite ready to remain in the dark--since she\nperceived that the light of a lamp might betray her, and she was not\nafraid of the dark--and suffered herself to be locked in.\n\nAs she heard the iron bolt creak in its brass socket a shiver ran through\nher, and although the room in which she found herself was neither worse\nnor smaller than that in which she and her sister lived in the temple,\nstill it oppressed her, and she even felt as if an indescribable\nsomething hindered her breathing as she said to herself that she was\nlocked in and no longer free to come and to go. A dim light penetrated\ninto her prison through the single barred window that opened on to the\ncourt, and she could see a little bench of palm-branches on which she sat\ndown to seek the repose she so sorely needed. All sense of discomfort\ngradually vanished before the new feeling of rest and refreshment, and\npleasant hopes and anticipations were just beginning to mingle themselves\nwith the remembrance of the horrors she had just experienced when\nsuddenly there was a stir and a bustle just in front of the prison--and\nshe could hear, outside, the clatter of harness and words of command. She\nrose from her seat and saw that about twenty horsemen, whose golden\nhelmets and armor reflected the light of the lanterns, cleared the wide\ncourt by driving the men before them, as the flames drive the game from a\nfired hedge, and by forcing them into a second court from which again\nthey proceeded to expel them. At least Klea could hear them shouting 'In\nthe king's name' there as they had before done close to her. Presently\nthe horsemen returned and placed themselves, ten and ten, as guards at\neach of the passages leading into the court. It was not without interest\nthat Klea looked on at this scene which was perfectly new to her; and\nwhen one of the fine horses, dazzled by the light of the lanterns, turned\nrestive and shied, leaping and rearing and threatening his rider with a\nfall--when the horseman checked and soothed it, and brought it to a\nstand-still--the Macedonian warrior was transfigured in her eyes to\nPublius, who no doubt could manage a horse no less well than this man.\n\nNo sooner was the court completely cleared of men by the mounted guard\nthan a new incident claimed Klea's attention. First she heard footsteps\nin the room adjoining her prison, then bright streaks of light fell\nthrough the cracks of the slight partition which divided her place of\nretreat from the other room, then the two window-openings close to hers\nwere closed with heavy shutters, then seats or benches were dragged about\nand various objects were laid upon a table, and finally the door of the\nadjoining room was thrown open and slammed to again so violently, that\nthe door which closed hers and the bench near which she was standing\ntrembled and jarred.\n\nAt the same moment a deep sonorous voice called out with a loud and\nhearty shout of laughter:\n\n\"A mirror--give me a mirror, Eulaeus. By heaven! I do not look much like\nprison fare--more like a man in whose strong brain there is no lack of\ndeep schemes, who can throttle his antagonist with a grip of his fist,\nand who is prompt to avail himself of all the spoil that comes in his\nway, so that he may compress the pleasures of a whole day into every\nhour, and enjoy them to the utmost! As surely as my name is Euergetes my\nuncle Antiochus was right in liking to mix among the populace. The\nsplendid puppets who surround us kings, and cover every portion of their\nown bodies in wrappings and swaddling bands, also stifle the expression\nof every genuine sentiment; and it is enough to turn our brain to reflect\nthat, if we would not be deceived, every word that we hear--and, oh dear!\nhow many words we must needs hear-must be pondered in our minds. Now, the\nmob on the contrary--who think themselves beautifully dressed in a\nthreadbare cloth hanging round their brown loins--are far better off. If\none of them says to another of his own class--a naked wretch who wears\nabout him everything he happens to possess--that he is a dog, he answers\nwith a blow of his fist in the other's face, and what can be plainer than\nthat! If on the other hand he tells him he is a splendid fellow, he\nbelieves it without reservation, and has a perfect right to believe it.\n\n\"Did you see how that stunted little fellow with a snub-nose and\nbandy-legs, who is as broad as he is long, showed all his teeth in a\ndelighted grin when I praised his steady hand? He laughs just like a\nhyena, and every respectable father of a family looks on the fellow as a\ngod-forsaken monster; but the immortals must think him worth something to\nhave given him such magnificent grinders in his ugly mouth, and to have\npreserved him mercifully for fifty years--for that is about the rascal's\nage. If that fellow's dagger breaks he can kill his victim with those\nteeth, as a fox does a duck, or smash his bones with his fist.\"\n\n\"But, my lord,\" replied Eulaeus dryly and with a certain matter-of-fact\ngravity to King Euergetes--for he it was who had come with him into the\nroom adjoining Klea's retreat, \"the dry little Egyptian with the thin\nstraight hair is even more trustworthy and tougher and nimbler than his\ncompanion, and, so far, more estimable. One flings himself on his prey\nwith a rush like a block of stone hurled from a roof, but the other,\nwithout being seen, strikes his poisoned fang into his flesh like an\nadder hidden in the sand. The third, on whom I had set great hopes, was\nbeheaded the day before yesterday without my knowledge; but the pair whom\nyou have condescended to inspect with your own eyes are sufficient. They\nmust use neither dagger nor lance, but they will easily achieve their end\nwith slings and hooks and poisoned needles, which leave wounds that\nresemble the sting of an adder. We may safely depend on these fellows.\"\n\nOnce more Euergetes laughed loudly, and exclaimed: What criticism!\nExactly as if these blood-hounds were tragic actors of which one could\nbest produce his effects by fire and pathos, and the other by the\nsubtlety of his conception. I call that an unprejudiced judgment. And why\nshould not a man be great even as a murderer? From what hangman's noose\ndid you drag out the neck of one, and from what headsman's block did you\nrescue the other when you found them?\n\n\"It is a lucky hour in which we first see something new to us, and, by\nHeracles! I never before in the whole course of my life saw such villains\nas these. I do not regret having gone to see them and talked to them as\nif I were their equal. Now, take this torn coat off me, and help me to\nundress. Before I go to the feast I will take a hasty plunge in my bath,\nfor I twitch in every limb, I feel as if I had got dirty in their\ncompany.\n\n\"There lie my clothes and my sandals; strap them on for me, and tell me\nas you do it how you lured the Roman into the toils.\"\n\nKlea could hear every word of this frightful conversation, and clasped\nher hand over her brow with a shudder, for she found it difficult to\nbelieve in the reality of the hideous images that it brought before her\nmind. Was she awake or was she a prey to some horrid dream?\n\nShe hardly knew, and, indeed, she scarcely understood half of all she\nheard till the Roman's name was mentioned. She felt as if the point of a\nthin, keen knife was being driven obliquely through her brain from right\nto left, as it now flashed through her mind that it was against him,\nagainst Publius, that the wild beasts, disguised in human form, were\ndirected by Eulaeus, and face to face with this--the most hideous, the\nmost incredible of horrors--she suddenly recovered the full use of her\nsenses. She softly slipped close to that rift in the partition through\nwhich the broadest beam of light fell into the room, put her ear close to\nit, and drank in, with fearful attention, word for word the report made\nby the eunuch to his iniquitous superior, who frequently interrupted him\nwith remarks, words of approval or a short laugh-drank them in, as a man\nperishing in the desert drinks the loathsome waters of a salt pool.\n\nAnd what she heard was indeed well fitted to deprive her of her senses,\nbut the more definite the facts to which the words referred that she\ncould overhear, the more keenly she listened, and the more resolutely she\ncollected her thoughts. Eulaeus had used her own name to induce the Roman\nto keep an assignation at midnight in the desert close to the Apis-tombs.\nHe repeated the words that he had written to this effect on a tile, and\nwhich requested Publius to come quite alone to the spot indicated, since\nshe dare not speak with him in the temple. Finally he was invited to\nwrite his answer on the other side of the square of clay. As Klea heard\nthese words, put into her own mouth by a villain, she could have sobbed\naloud heartily with anguish, shame, and rage; but the point now was to\nkeep her ears wide open, for Euergetes asked his odious tool:\n\n\"And what was the Roman's answer?\" Eulaeus must have handed the tile to\nthe king, for he laughed loudly again, and cried out:\n\n\"So he will walk into the trap--will arrive by half an hour after\nmidnight at the latest, and greets Klea from her sister Irene. He carries\non love-making and abduction wholesale, and buys water-bearers by the\npair, like doves in the market or sandals in a shoe maker's stall. Only\nsee how the simpleton writes Greek; in these few words there are two\nmistakes, two regular schoolboys' blunders.\n\n\"The fellow must have had a very pleasant day of it, since he must have\nbeen reckoning on a not unsuccessful evening--but the gods have an ugly\nhabit of clenching the hand with which they have long caressed their\nfavorites, and striking him with their fist.\n\n\"Amalthea's horn has been poured out on him today; first he snapped up,\nunder my very nose, my little Hebe, the Irene of Irenes, whom I hope\nto-morrow to inherit from him; then he got the gift of my best Cyrenaan\nhorses, and at the same time the flattering assurance of my valuable\nfriendship; then he had audience of my fair sister--and it goes more to\nthe heart of a republican than you would believe when crowned heads are\ngraciously disposed towards him--finally the sister of his pretty\nsweetheart invites him to an assignation, and she, if you and Zoe speak\nthe truth, is a beauty in the grand style. Now these are really too many\ngood things for one inhabitant of this most stingily provided world; and\nin one single day too, which, once begun, is so soon ended; and justice\nrequires that we should lend a helping hand to destiny, and cut off the\nhead of this poppy that aspires to rise above its brethren; the thousands\nwho have less good fortune than he would otherwise have great cause to\ncomplain of neglect.\"\n\n\"I am happy to see you in such good humor,\" said Eulaeus.\n\n\"My humor is as may be,\" interrupted the king. \"I believe I am only\nwhistling a merry tune to keep up my spirits in the dark. If I were on\nmore familiar terms with what other men call fear I should have ample\nreason to be afraid; for in the quail-fight we have gone in for I have\nwagered a crown-aye, and more than that even. To-morrow only will decide\nwhether the game is lost or won, but I know already to-day that I would\nrather see my enterprise against Philometor fail, with all my hopes of\nthe double crown, than our plot against the life of the Roman; for I was\na man before I was a king, and a man I should remain, if my throne, which\nnow indeed stands on only two legs, were to crash under my weight.\n\n\"My sovereign dignity is but a robe, though the costliest, to be sure, of\nall garments. If forgiveness were any part of my nature I might easily\nforgive the man who should soil or injure that--but he who comes too near\nto Euergetes the man, who dares to touch this body, and the spirit it\ncontains, or to cross it in its desires and purposes--him I will crush\nunhesitatingly to the earth, I will see him torn in pieces. Sentence is\npassed on the Roman, and if your ruffians do their duty, and if the gods\naccept the holocaust that I had slain before them at sunset for the\nsuccess of my project, in a couple of hours Publius Cornelius Scipio will\nhave bled to death.\n\n\"He is in a position to laugh at me--as a man--but I therefore--as a\nman--have the right, and--as a king--have the power, to make sure that\nthat laugh shall be his last. If I could murder Rome as I can him how\nglad should I be! for Rome alone hinders me from being the greatest of\nall the great kings of our time; and yet I shall rejoice to-morrow when\nthey tell me Publius Cornelius Scipio has been torn by wild beasts, and\nhis body is so mutilated that his own mother could not recognize it more\nthan if a messenger were to bring me the news that Carthage had broken\nthe power of Rome.\"\n\nEuergetes had spoken the last words in a voice that sounded like the roll\nof thunder as it growls in a rapidly approaching storm, louder, deeper,\nand more furious each instant. When at last he was silent Eulaeus said:\n\"The immortals, my lord, will not deny you this happiness. The brave\nfellows whom you condescended to see and to talk to strike as certainly\nas the bolt of our father Zeus, and as we have learned from the Roman's\nhorse-keeper where he has hidden Irene, she will no more elude your grasp\nthan the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt.--Now, allow me to put on your\nmantle, and then to call the body-guard that they may escort you as you\nreturn to your residence.\"\n\n\"One thing more,\" cried the king, detaining Eulaeus. \"There are always\ntroops by the Tombs of Apis placed there to guard the sacred places; may\nnot they prove a hindrance to your friends?\"\n\n\"I have withdrawn all the soldiers and armed guards to Memphis down to\nthe last man,\" replied Eulaeus, and quartered them within the White Wall.\nEarly tomorrow, before you proceed to business, they will be replaced by\na stronger division, so that they may not prove a reinforcement to your\nbrother's troops here if things come to fighting.\"\n\n\"I shall know how to reward your foresight,\" said Euergetes as Eulaeus\nquitted the room.\n\nAgain Klea heard a door open, and the sound of many hoofs on the pavement\nof the court-yard, and when she went, all trembling, up to the window,\nshe saw Euergetes himself, and the powerfully knit horse that was led in\nfor him. The tyrant twisted his hand in the mane of the restless and\npawing steed, and Klea thought that the monstrous mass could never mount\non to the horse's back without the aid of many men; but she was mistaken,\nfor with a mighty spring the giant flung himself high in the air and on\nto the horse, and then, guiding his panting steed by the pressure of his\nknees alone, he bounded out of the prison-yard surrounded by his splendid\ntrain.\n\nFor some minutes the court-yard remained empty, then a man hurriedly\ncrossed it, unlocked the door of the room where Klea was, and informed\nher that he was a subaltern under Glaucus, and had brought her a message\nfrom him.\n\n\"My lord,\" said the veteran soldier to the girl, \"bid me greet you, and\nsays that he found neither the Roman Publius Scipio, nor his friend the\nCorinthian at home. He is prevented from coming to you himself; he has\nhis hands full of business, for soldiers in the service of both the kings\nare quartered within the White Wall, and all sorts of squabbles break out\nbetween them. Still, you cannot remain in this room, for it will shortly\nbe occupied by a party of young officers who began the fray. Glaucus\nproposes for your choice that you should either allow me to conduct you\nto his wife or return to the temple to which you are attached. In the\nlatter case a chariot shall convey you as far as the second tavern in\nKhakem on the borders of the desert-for the city is full of drunken\nsoldiery. There you may probably find an escort if you explain to the\nhost who you are. But the chariot must be back again in less than an\nhour, for it is one of the king's, and when the banquet is over there may\nbe a scarcity of chariots.\"\n\n\"Yes--I will go back to the place I came from,\" said Klea eagerly,\ninterrupting the messenger. \"Take me at once to the chariot.\"\n\n\"Follow me, then,\" said the old man.\n\n\"But I have no veil,\" observed Klea, \"and have only this thin robe on.\nRough soldiers snatched my wrapper from my face, and my cloak from off my\nshoulders.\"\n\n\"I will bring you the captain's cloak which is lying here in the\norderly's room, and his travelling-hat too; that will hide your face with\nits broad flap. You are so tall that you might be taken for a man, and\nthat is well, for a woman leaving the palace at this hour would hardly\npass unmolested. A slave shall fetch the things from your temple\nto-morrow. I may inform you that my master ordered me take as much care\nof you as if you were his own daughter. And he told me too--and I had\nnearly forgotten it--to tell you that your sister was carried off by the\nRoman, and not by that other dangerous man, you would know whom he meant.\nNow wait, pray, till I return; I shall not be long gone.\"\n\nIn a few minutes the guard returned with a large cloak in which he\nwrapped Klea, and a broad-brimmed travelling-hat which she pressed down\non her head, and he then conducted her to that quarter of the palace\nwhere the king's stables were. She kept close to the officer, and was\nsoon mounted on a chariot, and then conducted by the driver--who took her\nfor a young Macedonian noble, who was tempted out at night by some\nassignation--as far as the second tavern on the road back to the\nSerapeum.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nWhile Klea had been listening to the conversation between Euergetes and\nEulaeus, Cleopatra had been sitting in her tent, and allowing herself to\nbe dressed with no less care than on the preceding evening, but in other\ngarments.\n\nIt would seem that all had not gone so smoothly as she wished during the\nday, for her two tire-women had red eyes. Her lady-in-waiting, Zoe, was\nreading to her, not this time from a Greek philosopher but from a Greek\ntranslation of the Hebrew Psalms: a discussion as to their poetic merit\nhaving arisen a few days previously at the supper-table. Onias, the\nIsraelite general, had asserted that these odes might be compared with\nthose of Alcman or of Pindar, and had quoted certain passages that had\npleased the queen. To-day she was not disposed for thought, but wanted\nsomething strange and out of the common to distract her mind, so she\ndesired Zoe to open the book of the Hebrews, of which the translation was\nconsidered by the Hellenic Jews in Alexandria as an admirable work--nay,\neven as inspired by God himself; it had long been known to her through\nher Israelite friends and guests.\n\nCleopatra had been listening for about a quarter of an hour to Zoe's\nreading when the blast of a trumpet rang out on the steps which led up\nher tent, announcing a visitor of the male sex. The queen glanced angrily\nround, signed to her lady to stop reading, and exclaimed:\n\n\"I will not see my husband now! Go, Thais, and tell the eunuchs on the\nsteps, that I beg Philometor not to disturb me just now. Go on, Zoe.\"\n\nTen more psalms had been read, and a few verses repeated twice or thrice\nby Cleopatra's desire, when the pretty Athenian returned with flaming\ncheeks, and said in an excited tone:\n\n\"It is not your husband, the king, but your brother Euergetes, who asks\nto speak with you.\"\n\n\"He might have chosen some other hour,\" replied Cleopatra, looking round\nat her maid. Thais cast down her eyes, and twitched the edge of her robe\nbetween her fingers as she addressed her mistress; but the queen, whom\nnothing could escape that she chose to see, and who was not to-day in the\nhumor for laughing or for letting any indiscretion escape unreproved,\nwent on at once in an incensed and cutting tone, raising her voice to a\nsharp pitch:\n\n\"I do not choose that my messengers should allow themselves to be\ndetained, be it by whom it may--do you hear! Leave Me this instant and go\nto your room, and stay there till I want you to undress me this evening.\nAndromeda--do you hear, old woman?--you can bring my brother to me, and\nhe will let you return quicker than Thais, I fancy. You need not leer at\nyourself in the glass, you cannot do anything to alter your wrinkles. My\nhead-dress is already done. Give me that linen wrapper, Olympias, and\nthen he may come! Why, there he is already! First you ask permission,\nbrother, and then disdain to wait till it is given you.\"\n\n\"Longing and waiting,\" replied Euergetes, \"are but an ill-assorted\ncouple. I wasted this evening with common soldiers and fawning\nflatterers; then, in order to see a few noble countenances, I went into\nthe prison, after that I hastily took a bath, for the residence of your\nconvicts spoils one's complexion more, and in a less pleasant manner,\nthan this little shrine, where everything looks and smells like\nAphrodite's tiring-room; and now I have a longing to hear a few good\nwords before supper-time comes.\"\n\n\"From my lips?\" asked Cleopatra.\n\n\"There are none that can speak better, whether by the Nile or the\nIlissus.\"\n\n\"What do you want of me?\"\n\n\"I--of you?\"\n\n\"Certainly, for you do not speak so prettily unless you want something.\"\n\n\"But I have already told you! I want to hear you say something wise,\nsomething witty, something soul-stirring.\"\n\n\"We cannot call up wit as we would a maid-servant. It comes unbidden, and\nthe more urgently we press it to appear the more certainly it remains\naway.\"\n\n\"That may be true of others, but not of you who, even while you declare\nthat you have no store of Attic salt, are seasoning your speech with it.\nAll yield obedience to grace and beauty, even wit and the sharp-tongued\nMomus who mocks even at the gods.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken, for not even my own waiting-maids return in proper\ntime when I commission them with a message to you.\"\n\n\"And may we not to be allowed to sacrifice to the Charites on the way to\nthe temple of Aphrodite?\"\n\n\"If I were indeed the goddess, those worshippers who regarded my\nhand-maidens as my equals would find small acceptance with me.\"\n\n\"Your reproof is perfectly just, for you are justified in requiring that\nall who know you should worship but one goddess, as the Jews do but one\ngod. But I entreat you do not again compare yourself to the brainless\nCyprian dame. You may be allowed to do so, so far as your grace is\nconcerned; but who ever saw an Aphrodite philosophizing and reading\nserious books? I have disturbed you in grave studies no doubt; what is\nthe book you are rolling up, fair Zoe?\"\n\n\"The sacred book of the Jews, Sire,\" replied Zoe; \"one that I know you do\nnot love.\"\n\nAnd you--who read Homer, Pindar, Sophocles, and Plato--do you like it?\"\nasked Euergetes.\n\n\"I find passages in it which show a profound knowledge of life, and\nothers of which no one can dispute the high poetic flight,\" replied\nCleopatra. \"Much of it has no doubt a thoroughly barbarian twang, and it\nis particularly in the Psalms--which we have now been reading, and which\nmight be ranked with the finest hymns--that I miss the number and rhythm\nof the syllables, the observance of a fixed metre--in short, severity of\nform. David, the royal poet, was no less possessed by the divinity when\nhe sang to his lyre than other poets have been, but he does not seem to\nhave known that delight felt by our poets in overcoming the difficulties\nthey have raised for themselves. The poet should slavishly obey the laws\nhe lays down for himself of his own free-will, and subordinate to them\nevery word, and yet his matter and his song should seem to float on a\nfree and soaring wing. Now, even the original Hebrew text of the Psalms\nhas no metrical laws.\"\n\n\"I could well dispense with them,\" replied Euergetes; \"Plato too\ndisdained to measure syllables, and I know passages in his works which\nare nevertheless full of the highest poetic beauty. Besides, it has been\npointed out to me that even the Hebrew poems, like the Egyptian, follow\ncertain rules, which however I might certainly call rhetorical rather\nthan poetical. The first member in a series of ideas stands in antithesis\nto the next, which either re-states the former one in a new form or sets\nit in a clearer light by suggesting some contrast. Thus they avail\nthemselves of the art of the orator--or indeed of the painter--who brings\na light color into juxtaposition with a dark one, in order to increase\nits luminous effect. This method and style are indeed not amiss, and that\nwas the least of all the things that filled me with aversion for this\nbook, in which besides, there is many a proverb which may be pleasing to\nkings who desire to have submissive subjects, and to fathers who would\nbring up their sons in obedience to themselves and to the laws. Even\nmothers must be greatly comforted by them,--who ask no more than that\ntheir children may get through the world without being jostled or pushed,\nand unmolested if possible, that they may live longer than the oaks or\nravens, and be blessed with the greatest possible number of descendants.\nAye! these ordinances are indeed precious to those who accept them, for\nthey save them the trouble of thinking for themselves. Besides, the great\ngod of the Jews is said to have dictated all that this book contains to\nits writers, just as I dictate to Philippus, my hump-backed secretary,\nall that I want said. They regard everyone as a blasphemer and desecrator\nwho thinks that anything written in that roll is erroneous, or even\nmerely human. Plato's doctrines are not amiss, and yet Aristotle had\ncriticised them severely and attempted to confute them. I myself incline\nto the views of the Stagyrite, you to those of the noble Athenian, and\nhow many good and instructive hours we owe to our discussions over this\ndifference of opinion! And how amusing it is to listen when the\nPlatonists on the one hand and the Aristotelians on the other, among the\nbusy threshers of straw in the Museum at Alexandria, fall together by the\nears so vehemently that they would both enjoy flinging their metal cups\nat each others' heads--if the loss of the wine, which I pay for, were not\ntoo serious to bear. We still seek for truth; the Jews believe they\npossess it entirely.\n\n\"Even those among them who most zealously study our philosophers believe\nthis; and yet the writers of this book know of nothing but actual\npresent, and their god--who will no more endure another god as his equal\nthan a citizen's wife will admit a second woman to her husband's\nhouse--is said to have created the world out of nothing for no other\npurpose but to be worshipped and feared by its inhabitants.\n\n\"Now, given a philosophical Jew who knows his Empedocles--and I grant\nthere are many such in Alexandria, extremely keen and cultivated\nmen--what idea can he form in his own mind of 'creation out of nothing?'\nMust he not pause to think very seriously when he remembers the\nfundamental axiom that 'out of nothing, nothing can come,' and that\nnothing which has once existed can ever be completely annihilated? At any\nrate the necessary deduction must be that the life of man ends in that\nnothingness whence everything in existence has proceeded. To live and to\ndie according to this book is not highly profitable. I can easily\nreconcile myself to the idea of annihilation, as a man who knows how to\nvalue a dreamless sleep after a day brimful of enjoyment--as a man who if\nhe must cease to be Euergetes would rather spring into the open jaws of\nnothingness--but as a philosopher, no, never!\"\n\n\"You, it is true,\" replied the queen, \"cannot help measuring all and\neverything by the intellectual standard exclusively; for the gods, who\nendowed you with gifts beyond a thousand others, struck with blindness or\ndeafness that organ which conveys to our minds any religious or moral\nsentiment. If that could see or hear, you could no more exclude the\nconviction that these writings are full of the deepest purport than I\ncan, nor doubt that they have a powerful hold on the mind of the reader.\n\n\"They fetter their adherents to a fixed law, but they take all bitterness\nout of sorrow by teaching that a stern father sends us suffering which is\nrepresented as being sometimes a means of education, and sometimes a\npunishment for transgressing a hard and clearly defined law. Their god,\nin his infallible but stern wisdom, sets those who cling to him on an\nevil and stony path to prove their strength, and to let them at last\nreach the glorious goal which is revealed to them from the beginning.\"\n\n\"How strange such words as these sound in the mouth of a Greek,\"\ninterrupted Euergetes. \"You certainly must be repeating them after the\nson of the Jewish high-priest, who defends the cause of his cruel god\nwith so much warmth and skill.\"\n\n\"I should have thought,\" retorted Cleopatra, \"that this overwhelming\nfigure of a god would have pleased you, of all men; for I know of no\nweakness in you. Quite lately Dositheos, the Jewish centurion--a very\nlearned man--tried to describe to my husband the one great god to whom\nhis nation adheres with such obstinate fidelity, but I could not help\nthinking of our beautiful and happy gods as a gay company of amorous\nlords and pleasure-loving ladies, and comparing them with this stern and\npowerful being who, if only he chose to do it, might swallow them all up,\nas Chronos swallowed his own children.\"\n\n\"That,\" exclaimed Euergetes, \"is exactly what most provokes me in this\nsuperstition. It crushes our light-hearted pleasure in life, and whenever\nI have been reading the book of the Hebrews everything has come into my\nmind that I least like to think of. It is like an importunate creditor\nthat reminds us of our forgotten debts, and I love pleasure and hate an\nimportunate reminder. And you, pretty one, life blooms for you--\"\n\n\"But I,\" interrupted Cleopatra, \"I can admire all that is great; and does\nit not seem a bold and grand thing even to you, that the mighty idea that\nit is one single power that moves and fills the world, should be freely\nand openly declared in the sacred writings of the Jews--an idea which the\nEgyptians carefully wrap up and conceal, which the priests of the Nile\nonly venture to divulge to the most privileged of those who are initiated\ninto their mysteries, and which--though the Greek philosophers indeed\nhave fearlessly uttered it--has never been introduced by any Hellene into\nthe religion of the people? If you were not so averse to the Hebrew\nnation, and if you, like my husband and myself, had diligently occupied\nyourself with their concerns and their belief you would be juster to them\nand to their scriptures, and to the great creating and preserving spirit,\ntheir god--\"\n\n\"You are confounding this jealous and most unamiable and ill-tempered\ntyrant of the universe with the Absolute of Aristotle!\" cried Euergetes;\n\"he stigmatises most of what you and I and all rational Greeks require\nfor the enjoyment of life as sin--sin upon sin. And yet if my easily\npersuadable brother governed at Alexandria, I believe the shrewd priests\nmight succeed in stamping him as a worshipper of that magnified\nschoolmaster, who punishes his untutored brood with fire and torment.\"\n\n\"I cannot deny,\" replied Cleopatra, \"that even to me the doctrine of the\nJews has something very fearful in it, and that to adopt it seems to me\ntantamount to confiscating all the pleasures of life.--But enough of such\nthings, which I should no more relish as a daily food than you do. Let us\nrejoice in that we are Hellenes, and let us now go to the banquet. I fear\nyou have found a very unsatisfactory substitute for what you sought in\ncoming up here.\"\n\n\"No--no. I feel strangely excited to-day, and my work with Aristarchus\nwould have led to no issue. It is a pity that we should have begun to\ntalk of that barbarian rubbish; there are so many other subjects more\npleasing and more cheering to the mind. Do you remember how we used to\nread the great tragedians and Plato together?\"\n\n\"And how you would often interrupt our tutor Agatharchides in his\nlectures on geography, to point out some mistake! Did you prosecute those\nstudies in Cyrene?\"\n\n\"Of course. It really is a pity, Cleopatra, that we should no longer live\ntogether as we did formerly. There is no one, not even Aristarchus, with\nwhom I find it more pleasant and profitable to converse and discuss than\nwith you. If only you had lived at Athens in the time of Pericles, who\nknows if you might not have been his friend instead of the immortal\nAspasia. This Memphis is certainly not the right place for you; for a few\nmonths in the year you ought to come to Alexandria, which has now risen\nto be superior to Athens.\"\n\n\"I do not know you to-day!\" exclaimed Cleopatra, gazing at her brother in\nastonishment. \"I have never heard you speak so kindly and brotherly since\nthe death of my mother. You must have some great request to make of us.\"\n\n\"You see how thankless a thing it is for me to let my heart speak for\nonce, like other people. I am like the boy in the fable when the wolf\ncame! I have so often behaved in an unbrotherly fashion that when I show\nthe aspect of a brother you think I have put on a mask. If I had had\nanything special to ask of you I should have waited till to-morrow, for\nin this part of the country even a blind beggar does not like to refuse\nhis lame comrade anything on his birthday.\"\n\n\"If only we knew what you wish for! Philometor and I would do it more\nthan gladly, although you always want something monstrous. Our\nperformance to-morrow will--at any rate--but--Zoe, pray be good enough to\nretire with the maids; I have a few words to say to my brother alone.\"\n\nAs soon as the queen's ladies had withdrawn, she went on:\n\n\"It is a real grief to use, but the best part of the festival in honor of\nyour birthday will not be particularly successful, for the priests of\nSerapis spitefully refuse us the Hebe about whom Lysias has made us so\ncurious. Asclepiodorus, it would seem, keeps her in concealment, and\ncarries his audacity so far as to tell us that someone has carried her\noff from the temple. He insinuates that we have stolen her, and demands\nher restitution in the name of all his associates.\"\n\n\"You are doing the man an injustice; our dove has followed the lure of a\ndove-catcher who will not allow me to have her, and who is now billing\nand cooing with her in his own nest. I am cheated, but I can scarcely be\nangry with the Roman, for his claim was of older standing than mine.\"\n\n\"The Roman?\" asked Cleopatra, rising from her seat and turning pale. \"But\nthat is impossible. You are making common cause with Eulaeus, and want to\nset me against Publius Scipio. At the banquet last night you showed\nplainly enough your ill-feeling against him.\"\n\n\"You seem to feel more warmly towards him. But before I prove to you that\nI am neither lying nor joking, may I enquire what has this man, this\nmany-named Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica, to recommend him above any\nhandsome well-grown Macedonian, who is resolute in my cause, in the whole\ncorps of your body guard, excepting his patrician pride? He is as bitter\nand ungenial as a sour apple, and all the very best that you--a subtle\nthinker, a brilliant and cultivated philosopher--can find to say is no\nmore appreciated by his meanly cultivated intellect than the odes of\nSappho by a Nubian boatman.\"\n\n\"It is exactly for that,\" cried the queen, \"that I value him; he is\ndifferent from all of us; we who--how shall I express myself--who always\nthink at second-hand, and always set our foot in the rut trodden by the\nmaster of the school we adhere to; who squeeze our minds into the moulds\nthat others have carved out, and when we speak hesitate to step beyond\nthe outlines of those figures of rhetoric which we learned at school! You\nhave burst these bonds, but even your mighty spirit still shows traces of\nthem. Publius Scipio, on the contrary, thinks and sees and speaks with\nperfect independence, and his upright sense guides him to the truth\nwithout any trouble or special training. His society revives me like the\nfresh air that I breathe when I come out into the open air from the\ntemple filled with the smoke of incense--like the milk and bread which a\npeasant offered us during our late excursion to the coast, after we had\nbeen living for a year on nothing but dainties.\"\n\n\"He has all the admirable characteristics of a child!\" interrupted\nEuergetes. \"And if that is all that appears estimable to you in the Roman\nyour son may soon replace the great Cornelius.\"\n\n\"Not soon! no, not till he shall have grown older than you are, and a\nman, a thorough man, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot,\nfor such a man is Publius! I believe--nay, I am sure--that he is\nincapable of any mean action, that he could not be false in word or even\nin look, nor feign a sentiment be did not feel.\"\n\n\"Why so vehement, sister? So much zeal is quite unnecessary on this\noccasion! You know well enough that I have my easy days, and that this\nexcitement is not good for you; nor has the Roman deserved that you\nshould be quite beside yourself for his sake. The fellow dared in my\npresence to look at you as Paris might at Helen before he carried her\noff, and to drink out of your cup; and this morning he no doubt did not\ncontradict what he conveyed to you last night with his eyes--nay, perhaps\nby his words. And yet, scarcely an hour before, he had been to the\nNecropolis to bear his sweetheart away from the temple of the gloomy\nSerapis into that of the smiling Eros.\"\n\n\"You shall prove this!\" cried the queen in great excitement. \"Publius is\nmy friend--\"\n\n\"And I am yours!\"\n\n\"You have often proved the reverse, and now again with lies and\ncheating--\"\n\n\"You seem,\" interrupted Euergetes, \"to have learned from your\nunphilosophical favorite to express your indignation with extraordinary\nfrankness; to-day however I am, as I have said, as gentle as a kitten--\"\n\n\"Euergetes and gentleness!\" cried Cleopatra with a forced laugh. \"No, you\nonly step softly like a cat when she is watching a bird, and your\ngentleness covers some ruthless scheme, which we shall find out soon\nenough to our cost. You have been talking with Eulaeus to-day; Eulaeus,\nwho fears and hates Publius, and it seems to me that you have hatched\nsome conspiracy against him; but if you dare to cast a single stone in\nhis path, to touch a single hair of his head, I will show you that even a\nweak woman can be terrible. Nemesis and the Erinnyes from Alecto to\nMegaera, the most terrible of all the gods, are women!\"\n\nCleopatra had hissed rather than spoken these words, with her teeth set\nwith rage, and had raised her small fist to threaten her brother; but\nEuergetes preserved a perfect composure till she had ceased speaking.\nThen he took a step closer to her, crossed his arms over his breast, and\nasked her in the deepest bass of his fine deep voice:\n\n\"Are you idiotically in love with this Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica,\nor do you purpose to make use of him and his kith and kin in Rome against\nme?\"\n\nTransported with rage, and without blenching in the least at her\nbrother's piercing gaze, she hastily retorted: \"Up to this moment only\nthe first perhaps--for what is my husband to me? But if you go on as you\nhave begun I shall begin to consider how I may make use of his influence\nand of his liking for me, on the shores of the Tiber.\"\n\n\"Liking!\" cried Euergetes, and he laughed so loud and violently that Zoe,\nwho was listening at the tent door, gave a little scream, and Cleopatra\ndrew back a step. \"And to think that you--the most prudent of the\nprudent--who can hear the dew fall and the grass grow, and smell here in\nMemphis the smoke of every fire that is lighted in Alexandria or in Syria\nor even in Rome--that you, my mother's daughter, should be caught over\nhead and ears by a broad-shouldered lout, for all the world like a clumsy\ntown-girl or a wench at a loom. This ignorant Adonis, who knows so well\nhow to make use of his own strange and resolute personality, and of the\npower that stands in his background, thinks no more of the hearts he sets\nin flames than I of the earthen jar out of which water is drawn when I am\nthirsty. You think to make use of him by the 'Tiber; but he has\nanticipated you, and learns from you all that is going on by the Nile and\neverything they most want to know in the Senate.\n\n\"You do not believe me, for no one ever is ready to believe anything that\ncan diminish his self-esteem--and why should you believe me? I frankly\nconfess that I do not hesitate to lie when I hope to gain more by untruth\nthan by that much-belauded and divine truth, which, according to your\nfavorite Plato, is allied to all earthly beauty; but it is often just as\nuseless as beauty itself, for the useful and the beautiful exclude each\nother in a thousand cases, for ten when they coincide. There, the gong is\nsounding for the third time. If you care for plain proof that the Roman,\nonly an hour before he visited you this morning, had our little Hebe\ncarried off from the temple, and conveyed to the house of Apollodorus,\nthe sculptor, at Memphis, you have only to come to see me in my rooms\nearly to-morrow after the first morning sacrifice. You will at any rate\nwish to come and congratulate me; bring your children with you, as I\npropose making them presents. You might even question the Roman himself\nat the banquet to-day, but he will hardly appear, for the sweetest gifts\nof Eros are bestowed at night, and as the temple of Serapis is closed at\nsunset Publius has never yet seen his Irene in the evening. May I expect\nyou and the children after morning sacrifice?\"\n\nBefore Cleopatra had time to answer this question another trumpet-blast\nwas heard, and she exclaimed: \"That is Philometor, come to fetch us to\nthe banquet. I will ere long give the Roman the opportunity of defending\nhimself, though--in spite of your accusations--I trust him entirely. This\nmorning I asked him solemnly whether it was true that he was in love with\nhis friend's charming Hebe, and he denied it in his firm and manly way,\nand his replies were admirable and worthy of the noblest mind, when I\nventured to doubt his sincerity. He takes truth more seriously than you\ndo. He regards it not only as beautiful and right to be truthful, he\nsays, but as prudent too; for lies can only procure us a small\nshort-lived advantage, as transitory as the mists of night which vanish\nas soon as the sun appears, while truth is like the sunlight itself,\nwhich as often as it is dimmed by clouds reappears again and again. And,\nhe says, what makes a liar so particularly contemptible in his eyes is,\nthat to attain his end, he must be constantly declaring and repeating the\nhorror he has of those who are and do the very same thing as he himself.\nThe ruler of a state cannot always be truthful, and I often have failed\nin truth; but my intercourse with Publius has aroused much that is good\nin me, and which had been slumbering with closed eyes; and if this man\nshould prove to be the same as all the rest of you, then I will follow\nyour road, Euergetes, and laugh at virtue and truth, and set the busts of\nAristippus and Strato on the pedestals where those of Zeno and\nAntisthenes now stand.\"\n\n\"You mean to have the busts of the philosophers moved again?\" asked King\nPhilometor, who, as he entered the tent, had heard the queen's last\nwords. \"And Aristippus is to have the place of honor? I have no\nobjection--though he teaches that man must subjugate matter and not\nbecome subject to it.--[\"Mihi res, non me rebus subjungere.\"]--This\nindeed is easier to say than to do, and there is no man to whom it is\nmore impossible than to a king who has to keep on good terms with Greeks\nand Egyptians, as we have, and with Rome as well. And besides all this to\navoid quarrelling with a jealous brother, who shares our kingdom! If men\ncould only know how much they would have to do as kings only in reading\nand writing, they would take care never to struggle for a crown! Up to\nthis last half hour I have been examining and deciding applications and\npetitions. Have you got through yours, Euergetes? Even more had\naccumulated for you than for us.\"\n\n\"All were settled in an hour,\" replied the other promptly. \"My eye is\nquicker than the mouth of your reader, and my decisions commonly consist\nof three words while you dictate long treatises to your scribes. So I had\ndone when you had scarcely begun, and yet I could tell you at once, if it\nwere not too tedious a matter, every single case that has come before me\nfor months, and explain it in all its details.\"\n\n\"That I could not indeed,\" said Philometor modestly, \"but I know and\nadmire your swift intelligence and accurate memory.\"\n\n\"You see I am more fit for a king than you are;\" laughed Euergetes. \"You\nare too gentle and debonair for a throne! Hand over your government to\nme. I will fill your treasury every year with gold. I beg you now, come\nto Alexandria with Cleopatra for good, and share with me the palace and\nthe gardens in the Bruchion. I will nominate your little Philopator heir\nto the throne, for I have no wish to contract a permanent tie with any\nwoman, as Cleopatra belongs to you. This is a bold proposal, but reflect,\nPhilometor, if you were to accept it, how much time it would give you for\nyour music, your disputations with the Jews, and all your other favorite\noccupations.\"\n\n\"You never know how far you may go with your jest!\" interrupted\nCleopatra. \"Besides, you devote quite as much time to your studies in\nphilology and natural history as he does to music and improving\nconversations with his learned friends.\"\n\n\"Just so,\" assented Philometor, \"and you may be counted among the sages\nof the Museum with far more reason than I.\"\n\n\"But the difference between us,\" replied Euergetes, \"is that I despise\nall the philosophical prattlers and rubbish-collectors in Alexandria\nalmost to the point of hating them, while for science I have as great a\npassion as for a lover. You, on the contrary, make much of the learned\nmen, but trouble yourself precious little about science.\"\n\n\"Drop the subject, pray,\" begged Cleopatra. \"I believe that you two have\nnever yet been together for half an hour without Euergetes having begun\nsome dispute, and Philometor having at last given in, to pacify him. Our\nguests must have been waiting for us a long time. Had Publius Scipio made\nhis appearance?\"\n\n\"He had sent to excuse himself,\" replied the king as he scratched the\npoll of Cleopatra's parrot, parting its feathers with the tips of his\nfingers. \"Lysias, the Corinthian, is sitting below, and he says he does\nnot know where his friend can be gone.\"\n\n\"But we know very well,\" said Euergetes, casting an ironical glance at\nthe queen. \"It is pleasant to be with Philometor and Cleopatra, but\nbetter still with Eros and Hebe. Sister, you look pale--shall I call for\nZoe?\"\n\nCleopatra shook her head in negation, but she dropped into a seat, and\nsat stooping, with her head bowed over her knees as if she were\ndreadfully tired. Euergetes turned his back on her, and spoke to his\nbrother of indifferent subjects, while she drew lines, some straight and\nsome crooked, with her fan-stick through the pile of the soft rug on the\nfloor, and sat gazing thoughtfully at her feet. As she sat thus her eye\nwas caught by her sandals, richly set with precious stones, and the\nslender toes she had so often contemplated with pleasure; but now the\nsight of them seemed to vex her, for in obedience to a swift impulse she\nloosened the straps, pushed off her right sandal with her left foot,\nkicked it from her, and said, turning to her husband:\n\n\"It is late and I do not feel well, and you may sup without me.\"\n\n\"By the healing Isis!\" exclaimed Philometor, going up to her. \"You look\nsuffering. Shall I send for the physicians? Is it really nothing more\nthan your usual headache? The gods be thanked! But that you should be\nunwell just to-day! I had so much to say to you; and the chief thing of\nall was that we are still a long way from completeness in our\npreparations for our performance. If this luckless Hebe were not--\"\n\n\"She is in good hands,\" interrupted Euergetes. \"The Roman, Publius\nScipio, has taken her to a place of safety; perhaps in order to present\nher to me to morrow morning in return for the horses from Cyrene which I\nsent him to-day. How brightly your eyes sparkle, sister--with joy no\ndoubt at this good idea. This evening, I dare say he is rehearsing the\nlittle one in her part that she may perform it well to-morrow. If we are\nmistaken--if Publius is ungrateful and proposes keeping the dove, then\nThais, your pretty Athenian waiting-woman, may play the part of Hebe.\nWhat do you think of that suggestion, Cleopatra?\"\n\n\"That I forbid such jesting with me!\" cried the queen vehemently. \"No one\nhas any consideration for me--no one pities me, and I suffer fearfully!\nEuergetes scorns me--you, Philometor, would be glad to drag me down! If\nonly the banquet is not interfered with, and so long as nothing spoils\nyour pleasure!--Whether I die or no, no one cares!\"\n\nWith these words the queen burst into tears, and roughly pushed away her\nhusband as he endeavored to soothe her. At last she dried her eyes, and\nsaid: \"Go down-the guests are waiting.\"\n\n\"Immediately, my love,\" replied Philometor. \"But one thing I must tell\nyou, for I know that it will arouse your sympathy. The Roman read to you\nthe petition for pardon for Philotas, the chief of the Chrematistes and\n'relative of the king,' which contains such serious charges against\nEulaeus. I was ready with all my heart to grant your wish and to pardon\nthe man who is the father of these miserable water-bearers; but, before\nhaving the decree drawn up, I had the lists of the exiles to the\ngold-mines carefully looked through, and there it was discovered that\nPhilotas and his wife have both been dead more than half a year. Death\nhas settled this question, and I cannot grant to Publius the first\nservice he has asked of me--asked with great urgency too. I am sorry for\nthis, both for his sake and for that of poor Philotas, who was held in\nhigh esteem by our mother.\"\n\n\"May the ravens devour them!\" answered Cleopatra, pressing her forehead\nagainst the ivory frame which surrounded the stuffed back of her seat.\n\"Once more I beg of you excuse me from all further speech.\" This time the\ntwo kings obeyed her wishes. When Euergetes offered her his hand she said\nwith downcast eyes, and poking her fan-stick into the wool of the carpet:\n\n\"I will visit you early to-morrow.\"\n\n\"After the first sacrifice,\" added Euergetes. \"If I know you well,\nsomething that you will then hear will please you greatly; very greatly\nindeed, I should think. Bring the children with you; that I ask of you as\na birthday request.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThe royal chariot in which Klea was standing, wrapped in the cloak and\nwearing the hat of the captain of the civic guard, went swiftly and\nwithout stopping through the streets of Memphis. As long as she saw\nhouses with lighted windows on each side of the way, and met riotous\nsoldiers and quiet citizens going home from the taverns, or from working\nlate in their workshops, with lanterns in their hands or carried by their\nslaves--so long her predominant feeling was one of hatred to Publius; and\nmixed with this was a sentiment altogether new to her--a sentiment that\nmade her blood boil, and her heart now stand still and then again beat\nwildly--the thought that he might be a wretched deceiver. Had he not\nattempted to entrap one of them--whether her sister or herself it was all\nthe same--wickedly to betray her, and to get her into his power!\n\n\"With me,\" thought she, \"he could not hope to gain his evil ends, and\nwhen he saw that I knew how to protect myself he lured the poor\nunresisting child away with him, in order to ruin her and to drag her\ninto shame and misery. Just like Rome herself, who seizes on one country\nafter another to make them her own, so is this ruthless man. No sooner\nhad that villain Eulaeus' letter reached him, than he thought himself\njustified in believing that I too was spellbound by a glance from his\neyes, and would spread my wings to fly into his arms; and so he put out\nhis greedy hand to catch me too, and threw aside the splendor and\ndelights of a royal banquet to hurry by night out into the desert, and to\nrisk a hideous death--for the avenging deities still punish the\nevildoer.\"\n\nBy this time she was shrouded in total darkness, for the moon was still\nhidden by black clouds. Memphis was already behind her, and the chariot\nwas passing through a tall-stemmed palm-grove, where even at mid-day deep\nshades intermingled with the sunlight. When, just at this spot, the\nthought once more pierced her soul that the seducer was devoted to death,\nshe felt as though suddenly a bright glaring light had flashed up in her\nand round her, and she could have broken out into a shout of joy like one\nwho, seeking retribution for blood, places his foot at last on the breast\nof his fallen foe. She clenched her teeth tightly and grasped her girdle,\nin which she had stuck the knife given her by the smith.\n\nIf the charioteer by her side had been Publius, she would have stabbed\nhim to the heart with the weapon with delight, and then have thrown\nherself under the horses' hoofs and the brazen wheels of the chariot.\n\nBut no! Still more gladly would she have found him dying in the desert,\nand before his heart had ceased to beat have shouted in his ear how much\nshe hated him; and then, when his breast no longer heaved a breath--then\nshe would have flung herself upon him, and have kissed his dimmed eyes.\n\nHer wildest thoughts of vengeance were as inseparable from tender pity\nand the warmest longings of a heart overflowing with love, as the dark\nwaters of a river are from the brighter flood of a stream with which it\nhas recently mingled. All the passionate impulses which had hitherto been\nslumbering in her soul were set free, and now raised their clamorous\nvoices as she was whirled across the desert through the gloom of night.\nThe wishes roused in her breast by her hatred appealing to her on one\nside and her love singing in her ear, in tempting flute-tones, on the\nother, jostled and hustled one another, each displacing the other as they\ncrowded her mind in wild confusion. As she proceeded on her journey she\nfelt that she could have thrown herself like a tigress on her victim, and\nyet--like an outcast woman--have flung herself at Publius' knees in\nsupplication for the love that was denied her. She had lost all idea of\ntime and distance, and started as from a wild and bewildering dream when\nthe chariot suddenly halted, and the driver said in his rough tones:\n\n\"Here we are, I must turn back again.\"\n\nShe shuddered, drew the cloak more closely round her, sprang out on to\nthe road, and stood there motionless till the charioteer said:\n\n\"I have not spared my horses, my noble gentleman. Won't you give me\nsomething to get a drop of wine?\" Klea's whole possessions were two\nsilver drachma, of which she herself owned one and the other belonged to\nIrene. On the last anniversary but one of his mother's death, the king\nhad given at the temple a sum to be divided among all the attendants,\nmale and female, who served Serapis, and a piece of silver had fallen to\nthe share of herself and her sister. Klea had them both about her in a\nlittle bag, which also contained a ring that her mother had given her at\nparting, and the amulet belonging to Serapion. The girl took out the two\nsilver coins and gave them to the driver, who, after testing the liberal\ngift with his fingers, cried out as he turned his horses:\n\n\"A pleasant night to you, and may Aphrodite and all the Loves be\nfavorable!\"\n\n\"Irene's drachma!\" muttered Klea to herself, as the chariot rolled away.\nThe sweet form of her sister rose before her mind; she recalled the hour\nwhen the girl--still but a child--had entrusted it to her, because she\nlost everything unless Klea took charge of it for her.\n\n\"Who will watch her and care for her now?\" she asked herself, and she\nstood thinking, trying to defend herself against the wild wishes which\nagain began to stir in her, and to collect her scattered thoughts. She\nhad involuntarily avoided the beam of light which fell across the road\nfrom the tavern-window, and yet she could not help raising her eyes and\nlooking along it, and she found herself looking through the darkness\nwhich enveloped her, straight into the faces of two men whose gaze was\ndirected to the very spot where she was standing. And what faces they\nwere that she saw! One, a fat face, framed in thick hair and a short,\nthick and ragged beard, was of a dusky brown and as coarse and brutal as\nthe other was smooth, colorless and lean, cruel and crafty. The eyes of\nthe first of these ruffians were prominent, weak and bloodshot, with a\nfixed glassy stare, while those of the other seemed always to be on the\nwatch with a restless and uneasy leer.\n\nThese were Euergetes' assassins--they must be! Spellbound with terror and\nrevulsion she stood quite still, fearing only that the ruffians might\nhear the beating of her heart, for she felt as if it were a hammer swung\nup and down in an empty space, and beating with loud echoes, now in her\nbosom and now in her throat.\n\n\"The young gentleman must have gone round behind the tavern--he knows the\nshortest way to the 'tombs. Let us go after him, and finish off the\nbusiness at once,\" said the broad-shouldered villain in a hoarse whisper\nthat broke down every now and then, and which seemed to Klea even more\nrepulsive than the monster's face.\n\n\"So that he may hear us go after him-stupid!\" answered the other. \"When\nhe has been waiting for his sweetheart about a quarter of an hour I will\ncall his name in a woman's voice, and at his first step towards the\ndesert do you break his neck with the sand-bag. We have plenty of time\nyet, for it must still be a good half hour before midnight.\"\n\n\"So much the better,\" said the other. \"Our wine-jar is not nearly empty\nyet, and we paid the lazy landlord for it in advance, before he crept\ninto bed.\"\n\n\"You shall only drink two cups more,\" said the punier villain. \"For this\ntime we have to do with a sturdy fellow, Setnam is not with us now to\nlend a hand in the work, and the dead meat must show no gaping thrusts or\ncuts. My teeth are not like yours when you are fasting--even cooked food\nmust not be too tough for them to chew it, now-a-days. If you soak\nyourself in drink and fail in your blow, and I am not ready with the\npoisoned stiletto the thing won't come off neatly. But why did not the\nRoman let his chariot wait?\"\n\n\"Aye! why did he let it go away?\" asked the other staring open-mouthed in\nthe direction where the sound of wheels was still to be heard. His\ncompanion mean while laid his hand to his ear, and listened. Both were\nsilent for a few minutes, then the thin one said:\n\n\"The chariot has stopped at the first tavern. So much the better. The\nRoman has valuable cattle in his shafts, and at the inn down there, there\nis a shed for horses. Here in this hole there is hardly a stall for an\nass, and nothing but sour wine and mouldy beer. I don't like the rubbish,\nand save my coin for Alexandria and white Mariotic; that is strengthening\nand purifies the blood. For the present I only wish we were as well off\nas those horses; they will have plenty of time to recover their breath.\"\n\n\"Yes, plenty of time,\" answered the other with a broad grin, and then he\nwith his companion withdrew into the room to fill his cup.\n\nKlea too could hear that the chariot which had brought her hither, had\nhalted at the farther tavern, but it did not occur to her that the driver\nhad gone in to treat himself to wine with half of Irene's drachma. The\nhorses should make up for the lost time, and they could easily do it, for\nwhen did the king's banquets ever end before midnight?\n\nAs soon as Plea saw that the assassins were filling their earthen cups,\nshe slipped softly on tiptoe behind the tavern; the moon came out from\nbehind the clouds for a few minutes, she sought and found the short way\nby the desert-path to the Apis-tombs, and hastened rapidly along it. She\nlooked straight before her, for whenever she glanced at the road-side,\nand her eye was caught by some dried up shrub of the desert, silvery in\nthe pale moonlight, she fancied she saw behind it the face of a murderer.\n\nThe skeletons of fallen beasts standing up out of the dust, and the\nbleached jawbones of camels and asses, which shone much whiter than the\ndesert-sand on which they lay, seemed to have come to life and motion,\nand made her think of the tiger-teeth of the bearded ruffian.\n\nThe clouds of dust driven in her face by the warm west wind, which had\nrisen higher, increased her alarm, for they were mingled with the colder\ncurrent of the night-breeze; and again and again she felt as if spirits\nwere driving her onwards with their hot breath, and stroking her face\nwith their cold fingers. Every thing that her senses perceived was\ntransformed by her heated imagination into a fearful something; but more\nfearful and more horrible than anything she heard, than any phantom that\nmet her eye in the ghastly moonlight, were her own thoughts of what was\nto be done now, in the immediate future--of the fearful fate that\nthreatened the Roman and Irene; and she was incapable of separating one\nfrom the other in her mind, for one influence alone possessed her, heart\nand soul: dread, dread; the same boundless, nameless, deadly dread--alike\nof mortal peril and irremediable shame, and of the airiest phantoms and\nthe merest nothings.\n\nA large black cloud floated slowly across the moon and utter darkness hid\neverything around, even the undefined forms which her imagination had\nturned to images of dread. She was forced to moderate her pace, and find\nher way, feeling each step; and just as to a child some hideous form that\nlooms before him vanishes into nothingness when he covers his eyes with\nhis hand, so the profound darkness which now enveloped her, suddenly\nreleased her soul from a hundred imaginary terrors.\n\nShe stood still, drew a deep breath, collected the whole natural force of\nher will, and asked herself what she could do to avert the horrid issue.\n\nSince seeing the murderers every thought of revenge, every wish to punish\nthe seducer with death, had vanished from her mind; one desire alone\npossessed her now--that of rescuing him, the man, from the clutches of\nthese ravening beasts. Walking slowly onwards she repeated to herself\nevery word she had heard that referred to Publius and Irene as spoken by\nEuergetes, Eulaeus, the recluse, and the assassins, and recalled every\nstep she had taken since she left the temple; thus she brought herself\nback to the consciousness that she had come out and faced danger and\nendured terror, solely and exclusively for Irene's sake. The image of her\nsister rose clearly before her mind in all its bright charm, undimmed by\nany jealous grudge which, indeed, ever since her passion had held her in\nits toils had never for the smallest fraction of a minute possessed her.\n\nIrene had grown up under her eye, sheltered by her care, in the sunshine\nof her love. To take care of her, to deny herself, and bear the severest\nfatigue for her had been her pleasure; and now as she appealed to her\nfather--as she wont to do--as if he were present, and asked him in an\ninaudible cry: \"Tell me, have I not done all for her that I could do?\"\nand said to herself that he could not possibly answer her appeal but with\nassent, her eyes filled with tears; the bitterness and discontent which\nhad lately filled her breast gradually disappeared, and a gentle, calm,\nrefreshing sense of satisfaction came over her spirit, like a cooling\nbreeze after a scorching day.\n\nAs she now again stood still, straining her eyes which were growing more\naccustomed to the darkness, to discover one of the temples at the end of\nthe alley of sphinxes, suddenly and unexpectedly at her right hand a\nsolemn and many-voiced hymn of lamentation fell upon her ear. This was\nfrom the priests of Osiris-Apis who were performing the sacred mysteries\nof their god, at midnight, on the roof of the temple. She knew the hymn\nwell--a lament for the deceased Osiris which implored him with urgent\nsupplication to break the power of death, to rise again, to bestow new\nlight and new vitality on the world and on men, and to vouchsafe to all\nthe departed a new existence.\n\nThe pious lament had a powerful effect on her excited spirit. Her parents\ntoo perhaps had passed through death, and were now taking part in the\nconduct of the destiny of the world and of men in union with the life\ngiving God. Her breath came fast, she threw up her arms, and, for the\nfirst time since in her wrath she had turned her back on the holy of\nholies in the temple of Serapis, she poured forth her whole soul with\npassionate fervor in a deep and silent prayer for strength to fulfil her\nduty to the end,--for some sign to show her the way to save Irene from\nmisfortune, and Publius from death. And as she prayed she felt no longer\nalone--no, it seemed to her that she stood face to face with the\ninvincible Power which protects the good, in whom she now again had\nfaith, though for Him she knew no name; as a daughter, pursued by foes,\nmight clasp her powerful father's knees and claim his succor.\n\nShe had not stood thus with uplifted arms for many minutes when the moon,\nonce more appearing, recalled her to herself and to actuality. She now\nperceived close to her, at hardly a hundred paces from where she stood,\nthe line of sphinxes by the side of which lay the tombs of Apis near\nwhich she was to await Publius. Her heart began to beat faster again, and\nher dread of her own weakness revived. In a few minutes she must meet the\nRoman, and, involuntarily putting up her hand to smooth her hair, she was\nreminded that she still wore Glaucus' hat on her head and his cloak\nwrapped round her shoulders. Lifting up her heart again in a brief prayer\nfor a calm and collected mind, she slowly arranged her dress and its\nfolds, and as she did so the key of the tomb-cave, which she still had\nabout her, fell under her hand. An idea flashed through her brain--she\ncaught at it, and with hurried breath followed it out, till she thought\nshe had now hit upon the right way to preserve from death the man who was\nso rich and powerful, who had given her nothing but taken everything from\nher, and to whom, nevertheless, she--the poor water-bearer whom he had\nthought to trifle with--could now bestow the most precious of the gifts\nof the immortals, namely, life.\n\nSerapion had said, and she was willing to believe, that Publius was not\nbase, and he certainly was not one of those who could prove ungrateful to\na preserver. She longed to earn the right to demand something of him, and\nthat could be nothing else but that he should give up her sister and\nbring Irene back to her.\n\nWhen could it be that he had come to an understanding with the\ninexperienced and easily wooed maiden? How ready she must have been to\nclasp the hand held out to her by this man! Nothing surprised her in\nIrene, the child of the present; she could comprehend too that Irene's\ncharm might quickly win the heart even of a grave and serious man.\n\nAnd yet--in all the processions it was never Irene that he had gazed at,\nbut always herself, and how came it to pass that he had given a prompt\nand ready assent to the false invitation to go out to meet her in the\ndesert at midnight? Perhaps she was still nearer to his heart than Irene,\nand if gratitude drew him to her with fresh force then--aye then--he\nmight perhaps woo her, and forget his pride and her lowly position, and\nask her to be his wife.\n\nShe thought this out fully, but before she had reached the half circle\nenclosed by the Philosophers' busts the question occurred to her mind.\nAnd Irene?\n\nHad she gone with him and quitted her without bidding her farewell\nbecause the young heart was possessed with a passionate love for\nPublius--who was indeed the most lovable of men? And he? Would he indeed,\nout of gratitude for what she hoped to do for him, make up his mind, if\nshe demanded it, to make her Irene his wife--the poor but more than\nlovely daughter of a noble house?\n\nAnd if this were possible, if these two could be happy in love and honor,\nshould she Klea come between the couple to divide them? Should she\njealously snatch Irene from his arms and carry her back to the gloomy\ntemple which now--after she had fluttered awhile in sportive freedom in\nthe sunny air--would certainly seem to her doubly sinister and\nunendurable? Should she be the one to plunge Irene into misery--Irene,\nher child, the treasure confided to her care, whom she had sworn to\ncherish?\n\n\"No, and again no,\" she said resolutely. \"She was born for happiness, and\nI for endurance, and if I dare beseech thee to grant me one thing more, O\nthou infinite Divinity! it is that Thou wouldst cut out from my soul this\nlove which is eating into my heart as though it were rotten wood, and\nkeep me far from envy and jealousy when I see her happy in his arms. It\nis hard--very hard to drive one's own heart out into the desert in order\nthat spring may blossom in that of another: but it is well so--and my\nmother would commend me and my father would say I had acted after his own\nheart, and in obedience to the teaching of the great men on these\npedestals. Be still, be still my aching heart--there--that is right!\"\n\nThus reflecting she went past the busts of Zeno and Chrysippus, glancing\nat their features distinct in the moonlight: and her eyes falling on the\nsmooth slabs of stone with which the open space was paved, her own shadow\ncaught her attention, black and sharply defined, and exactly resembling\nthat of some man travelling from one town to another in his cloak and\nbroad-brimmed hat.\n\n\"Just like a man!\" she muttered to herself; and as, at the same moment,\nshe saw a figure resembling her own, and, like herself, wearing a hat,\nappear near the entrance to the tombs, and fancied she recognized it as\nPublius, a thought, a scheme, flashed through her excited brain, which at\nfirst appalled her, but in the next instant filled her with the ecstasy\nwhich an eagle may feel when he spreads his mighty wings and soars above\nthe dust of the earth into the pure and infinite ether. Her heart beat\nhigh, she breathed deeply and slowly, but she advanced to meet the Roman,\ndrawn up to her full height like a queen, who goes forward to receive\nsome equal sovereign; her hat, which she had taken off, in her left hand,\nand the Smith's key in her right-straight on towards the door of the\nApis-tombs.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe man whom Klea had seen was in fact none other than Publius. He was\nnow at the end of a busy day, for after he had assured himself that Irene\nhad been received by the sculptor and his wife, and welcomed as if she\nwere their own child, he had returned to his tent to write once more a\ndispatch to Rome. But this he could not accomplish, for his friend Lysias\npaced restlessly up and down by him as he sat, and as often as he put the\nreed to the papyrus disturbed him with enquiries about the recluse, the\nsculptor, and their rescued protegee.\n\nWhen, finally, the Corinthian desired to know whether he, Publius,\nconsidered Irene's eyes to be brown or blue, he had sprung up\nimpatiently, and exclaimed indignantly:\n\n\"And supposing they were red or green, what would it matter to me!\"\n\nLysias seemed pleased rather than vexed with this reply, and he was on\nthe point of confessing to his friend that Irene had caused in his heart\na perfect conflagration--as of a forest or a city in flames--when a\nmaster of the horse had appeared from Euergetes, to present the four\nsplendid horses from Cyrene, which his master requested the noble Roman\nPublius Cornelius Scipio Nasica to accept in token of his friendship.\n\nThe two friends, who both were judges and lovers of horses, spent at\nleast an hour in admiring the fine build and easy paces of these valuable\nbeasts. Then came a chamberlain from the queen to invite Publius to go to\nher at once.\n\nThe Roman followed the messenger after a short delay in his tent, in\norder to take with him the gems representing the marriage of Hebe, for on\nhis way from the sculptor's to the palace it had occurred to him that he\nwould offer them to the queen, after he had informed her of the parentage\nof the two water-carriers. Publius had keen eyes, and the queen's\nweaknesses had not escaped him, but he had never suspected her of being\ncapable of abetting her licentious brother in forcibly possessing himself\nof the innocent daughter of a noble father. He now purposed to make her a\npresent--as in some degree a substitute for the representation his friend\nhad projected, and which had come to nothing--of the picture which she\nhad hoped to find pleasure in reproducing.\n\nCleopatra received him on her roof, a favor of which few could boast; she\nallowed him to sit at her feet while she reclined on her couch, and gave\nhim to understand, by every glance of her eyes and every word she spoke,\nthat his presence was a happiness to her, and filled her with passionate\ndelight. Publius soon contrived to lead the conversation to the subject\nof the innocent parents of the water-bearers, who had been sent off to\nthe goldmines; but Cleopatra interrupted his speech in their favor and\nasked him plainly, undisguisedly, and without any agitation, whether it\nwas true that he himself desired to win the youthful Hebe. And she met\nhis absolute denial with such persistent and repeated expressions of\ndisbelief, assuming at last a tone of reproach, that he grew vexed and\nbroke out into a positive declaration that he regarded lying as unmanly\nand disgraceful, and could endure any insult rather than a doubt of his\nveracity.\n\nSuch a vehement and energetic remonstrance from a man she had\ndistinguished was a novelty to Cleopatra, and she did not take it amiss,\nfor she might now believe--what she much wished to believe--that Publius\nwanted to have nothing to do with the fair Hebe, that Eulaeus had\nslandered her friend, and that Zoe had been in error when, after her vain\nexpedition to the temple--from which she had then just returned--she had\ntold her that the Roman was Irene's lover, and must at the earliest hour\nhave betrayed to the girl herself, or to the priests in the Serapeum,\nwhat was their purpose regarding her.\n\nIn the soul of this noble youth there was nothing false--there could be\nnothing false! And she, who was accustomed never to hear a word from the\nmen who surrounded her without asking herself with what aim it was\nspoken, and how much of it was dissimulation or downright falsehood,\ntrusted the Roman, and was so happy in her trust that, full of gracious\ngaiety, she herself invited Publius to give her the recluse's petition to\nread. The Roman at once gave her the roll, saying that since it contained\nso much that was sad, much as he hoped she would make herself acquainted\nwith it, he felt himself called upon also to give her some pleasure,\nthough in truth but a very small one. Thus speaking he produced the gems,\nand she showed as much delight over this little work of art as if,\ninstead of being a rich queen and possessed of the finest engraved gems\nin the world, she were some poor girl receiving her first gift of some\nlong-desired gold ornament.\n\n\"Exquisite, splendid!\" she cried again and again. \"And besides, they are\nan imperishable memorial of you, dear friend, and of your visit to Egypt.\nI will have them set with the most precious stones; even diamonds will\nseem worthless to me compared with this gift from you. This has already\ndecided my sentence as to Eulaeus and his unhappy victims before I read\nyour petition. Still I will read that roll, and read it attentively, for\nmy husband regards Eulaeus as a useful--almost an indispensable-tool, and\nI must give good reasons for my verdict and for the pardon. I believe in\nthe innocence of the unfortunate Philotas, but if he had committed a\nhundred murders, after this present I would procure his freedom all the\nsame.\"\n\nThe words vexed the Roman, and they made her who had spoken them in order\nto please him appear to him at that moment more in the light of a\ncorruptible official than of a queen. He found the time hang heavy that\nhe spent with Cleopatra, who, in spite of his reserve, gave him to\nunderstand with more and more insistence how warmly she felt towards him;\nbut the more she talked and the more she told him, the more silent he\nbecame, and he breathed a sigh of relief when her husband at last\nappeared to fetch him and Cleopatra away to their mid-day meal.\n\nAt table Philometor promised to take up the cause of Philotas and his\nwife, both of whom he had known, and whose fate had much grieved him;\nstill he begged his wife and the Roman not to bring Eulaeus to justice\ntill Euergetes should have left Memphis, for, during his brother's\npresence, beset as he was with difficulties, he could not spare him; and\nif he might judge of Publius by himself he cared far more to reinstate\nthe innocent in their rights, and to release them from their miserable\nlot--a lot of which he had only learned the full horrors quite recently\nfrom his tutor Agatharchides--than to drag a wretch before the judges\nto-morrow or the day after, who was unworthy of his anger, and who at any\nrate should not escape punishment.\n\nBefore the letter from Asclepiodorus--stating the mistaken hypothesis\nentertained by the priests of Serapis that Irene had been carried off by\nthe king's order--could reach the palace, Publius had found an\nopportunity of excusing himself and quitting the royal couple. Not even\nCleopatra herself could raise any objection to his distinct assurance\nthat he must write to Rome today on matters of importance. Philometor's\nfavor was easy to win, and as soon as he was alone with his wife he could\nnot find words enough in praise of the noble qualities of the young man,\nwho seemed destined in the future to be of the greatest service to him\nand to his interests at Rome, and whose friendly attitude towards himself\nwas one more advantage that he owed--as he was happy to acknowledge--to\nthe irresistible talents and grace of his wife.\n\nWhen Publius had quitted the palace and hurried back to his tent, he felt\nlike a journeyman returning from a hard day's labor, or a man acquitted\nfrom a serious charge; like one who had lost his way, and has found the\nright road again.\n\nThe heavy air in the arbors and alleys of the embowered gardens seemed to\nhim easier to breathe than the cool breeze that fanned Cleopatra's raised\nroof. He felt the queen's presence to be at once exciting and oppressive,\nand in spite of all that was flattering to himself in the advances made\nto him by the powerful princess, it was no more gratifying to his taste\nthan an elegantly prepared dish served on gold plate, which we are forced\nto partake of though poison may be hidden in it, and which when at last\nwe taste it is sickeningly sweet.\n\nPublius was an honest man, and it seemed to him--as to all who resemble\nhim--that love which was forced upon him was like a decoration of honor\nbestowed by a hand which we do not respect, and that we would rather\nrefuse than accept; or like praise out of all proportion to our merit,\nwhich may indeed delight a fool, but rouses the indignation rather than\nthe gratitude of a wise man. It struck him too that Cleopatra intended to\nmake use of him, in the first place as a toy to amuse herself, and then\nas a useful instrument or underling, and this so gravely incensed and\ndiscomfited the serious and sensitive young man that he would willingly\nhave quitted Memphis and Egypt at once and without any leave-taking.\nHowever, it was not quite easy for him to get away, for all his thoughts\nof Cleopatra were mixed up with others of Klea, as inseparably as when we\npicture to ourselves the shades of night, the tender light of the calm\nmoon rises too before our fancy.\n\nHaving saved Irene, his present desire was to restore her parents to\nliberty; to quit Egypt without having seen Klea once more seemed to him\nabsolutely impossible. He endeavored once more to revive in his mind the\nimage of her proud tall figure; he felt he must tell her that she was\nbeautiful, a woman worthy of a king--that he was her friend and hated\ninjustice, and was ready to sacrifice much for justice's sake and for her\nown in the service of her parents and herself. To-day again, before the\nbanquet, he purposed to go to the temple, and to entreat the recluse to\nhelp him to an interview with his adopted daughter.\n\nIf only Klea could know beforehand what he had been doing for Irene and\ntheir parents she must surely let him see that her haughty eyes could\nlook kindly on him, must offer him her hand in farewell, and then he\nshould clasp it in both his, and press it to his breast. Then would he\ntell her in the warmest and most inspired words he could command how\nhappy he was to have seen her and known her, and how painful it was to\nbid her farewell; perhaps she might leave her hand in his, and give him\nsome kind word in return. One kind word--one phrase of thanks from Klea's\nfirm but beautiful mouth--seemed to him of higher value than a kiss or an\nembrace from the great and wealthy Queen of Egypt.\n\nWhen Publius was excited he could be altogether carried away by a sudden\nsweep of passion, but his imagination was neither particularly lively nor\nglowing. While his horses were being harnessed, and then while he was\ndriving to the Serapeum, the tall form of the water-bearer was constantly\nbefore him; again and again he pictured himself holding her hand instead\nof the reins, and while he repeated to himself all he meant to say at\nparting, and in fancy heard her thank him with a trembling voice for his\nvaluable help, and say that she would never forget him, he felt his eyes\nmoisten--unused as they had been to tears for many years. He could not\nhelp recalling the day when he had taken leave of his family to go to the\nwars for the first time. Then it had not been his own eyes but his\nmother's that had sparkled through tears, and it struck him that Klea, if\nshe could be compared to any other woman, was most like to that noble\nmatron to whom he owed his life, and that she might stand by the side of\nthe daughter of the great Scipio Africanus like a youthful Minerva by the\nside of Juno, the stately mother of the gods.\n\nHis disappointment was great when he found the door of the temple closed,\nand was forced to return to Memphis without having seen either Klea or\nthe recluse.\n\nHe could try again to-morrow to accomplish what had been impossible\nto-day, but his wish to see the girl he loved, rose to a torturing\nlonging, and as he sat once more in his tent to finish his second\ndespatch to Rome the thought of Klea came again to disturb his serious\nwork. Twenty times he started up to collect his thoughts, and as often\nflung away his reed as the figure of the water-bearer interposed between\nhim and the writing under his hand; at last, out of patience with\nhimself, he struck the table in front of him with some force, set his\nfists in his sides hard enough to hurt himself, and held them there for a\nminute, ordering himself firmly and angrily to do his duty before he\nthought of anything else.\n\nHis iron will won the victory; by the time it was growing dusk the\ndespatch was written. He was in the very act of stamping the wax of the\nseal with the signet of his family--engraved on the sardonyx of his\nring--when one of his servants announced a black slave who desired to\nspeak with him. Publius ordered that he should be admitted, and the negro\nhanded him the tile on which Eulaeus had treacherously written Klea's\ninvitation to meet her at midnight near the Apis-tombs. His enemy's\ncrafty-looking emissary seemed to the young man as a messenger from the\ngods; in a transport of haste and, without the faintest shadow of a\nsuspicion he wrote, \"I will be there,\" on the luckless piece of clay.\n\nPublius was anxious to give the letter to the Senate, which he had just\nfinished, with his own hand, and privately, to the messenger who had\nyesterday brought him the despatch from Rome; and as he would rather have\nset aside an invitation to carry off a royal treasure that same night\nthan have neglected to meet Klea, he could not in any case be a guest at\nthe king's banquet, though Cleopatra would expect to see him there in\naccordance with his promise. At this juncture he was annoyed to miss his\nfriend Lysias, for he wished to avoid offending the queen; and the\nCorinthian, who at this moment was doubtless occupied in some perfectly\nuseless manner, was as clever in inventing plausible excuses as he\nhimself was dull in such matters. He hastily wrote a few lines to the\nfriend who shared his tent, requesting him to inform the king that he had\nbeen prevented by urgent business from appearing among his guests that\nevening; then he threw on his cloak, put on his travelling-hat which\nshaded his face, and proceeded on foot and without any servant to the\nharbor, with his letter in one hand and a staff in the other.\n\nThe soldiers and civic guards which filled the courts of the palace,\ntaking him for a messenger, did not challenge him as he walked swiftly\nand firmly on, and so, without being detained or recognized, he reached\nthe inn by the harbor, where he was forced to wait an hour before the\nmessenger came home from the gay strangers' quarter where he had gone to\namuse himself. He had a great deal to talk of with this man, who was to\nset out next morning for Alexandria and Rome; but Publius hardly gave\nhimself the necessary time, for he meant to start for the meeting place\nin the Necropolis indicated by Klea, and well-known to himself, a full\nhour before midnight, although he knew that he could reach his\ndestination in a very much shorter time.\n\nThe sun seems to move too slowly to those who long and wait, and a planet\nwould be more likely to fail in punctuality than a lover when called by\nlove.\n\nIn order to avoid observation he did not take a chariot but a strong mule\nwhich the host of the inn lent him with pleasure; for the Roman was so\nfull of happy excitement in the hope of meeting Klea that he had slipped\na gold piece into the small, lightly-closed fingers of the innkeeper's\npretty child, which lay asleep on a bench by the side of the table,\nbesides paying double as much for the country wine he had drunk as if it\nhad been fine Falernian and without asking for his reckoning. The host\nlooked at him in astonishment when, finally, he sprang with a grand leap\non to the back of the tall beast, without laying his hand on it; and it\nseemed even to Publius himself as though he had never since boyhood felt\nso fresh, so extravagantly happy as at this moment.\n\nThe road to the tombs from the harbor was a different one to that which\nled thither from the king's palace, and which Klea had taken, nor did it\nlead past the tavern in which she had seen the murderers. By day it was\nmuch used by pilgrims, and the Roman could not miss it even by night, for\nthe mule he was riding knew it well. That he had learned, for in answer\nto his question as to what the innkeeper kept the beast for he had said\nthat it was wanted every day to carry pilgrims arriving from Upper Egypt\nto the temple of Serapis and the tombs of the sacred bulls; he could\ntherefore very decidedly refuse the host's offer to send a driver with\nthe beast. All who saw him set out supposed that he was returning to the\ncity and the palace.\n\nPublius rode through the streets of the city at an easy trot, and, as the\nlaughter of soldiers carousing in a tavern fell upon his ear, he could\nhave joined heartily in their merriment. But when the silent desert lay\naround him, and the stars showed him that he would be much too early at\nthe appointed place, he brought the mule to a slower pace, and the nearer\nhe came to his destination the graver he grew, and the stronger his heart\nbeat. It must be something important and pressing indeed that Klea\ndesired to tell him in such a place and at such an hour. Or was she like\na thousand other women--was he now on the way to a lover's meeting with\nher, who only a few days before had responded to his glance and accepted\nhis violets?\n\nThis thought flashed once through his mind with importunate distinctness,\nbut he dismissed it as absurd and unworthy of himself. A king would be\nmore likely to offer to share his throne with a beggar than this girl\nwould be to invite him to enjoy the sweet follies of love-making with her\nin a secret spot.\n\nOf course she wanted above all things to acquire some certainty as to her\nsister's fate, perhaps too to speak to him of her parents; still, she\nwould hardly have made up her mind to invite him if she had not learned\nto trust him, and this confidence filled him with pride, and at the same\ntime with an eager longing to see her, which seemed to storm his heart\nwith more violence with every minute that passed.\n\nWhile the mule sought and found its way in the deep darkness with slow\nand sure steps, he gazed up at the firmament, at the play of the clouds\nwhich now covered the moon with their black masses, and now parted,\nfloating off in white sheeny billows while the silver crescent of the\nmoon showed between them like a swan against the dark mirror of a lake.\n\nAnd all the time he thought incessantly of Klea--thinking in a dreamy way\nthat he saw her before him, but different and taller than before, her\nform growing more and more before his eyes till at last it was so tall\nthat her head touched the sky, the clouds seemed to be her veil, and the\nmoon a brilliant diadem in her abundant dark hair. Powerfully stirred by\nthis vision he let the bridle fall on the mule's neck, and spread open\nhis arms to the beautiful phantom, but as he rode forwards it ever\nretired, and when presently the west wind blew the sand in his face, and\nhe had to cover his eyes with his hand it vanished entirely, and did not\nreturn before he found himself at the Apis-tombs.\n\nHe had hoped to find here a soldier or a watchman to whom he could\nentrust the beast, but when the midnight chant of the priests of the\ntemple of Osiris-Apis had died away not a sound was to be heard far or\nnear; all that lay around him was as still and as motionless as though\nall that had ever lived there were dead. Or had some demon robbed him of\nhis hearing? He could hear the rush of his own swift pulses in his\nears-not the faintest sound besides.\n\nSuch silence is there nowhere but in the city of the dead and at night,\nnowhere but in the desert.\n\nHe tied the mule's bridle to a stela of granite covered with\ninscriptions, and went forward to the appointed place. Midnight must be\npast--that he saw by the position of the moon, and he was beginning to\nask himself whether he should remain standing where he was or go on to\nmeet the water-bearer when he heard first a light footstep, and then saw\na tall erect figure wrapped in a long mantle advancing straight towards\nhim along the avenue of sphinxes. Was it a man or a woman--was it she\nwhom he expected? and if it were she, was there ever a woman who had come\nto meet a lover at an assignation with so measured, nay so solemn, a\nstep? Now he recognized her face--was it the pale moonlight that made it\nlook so bloodless and marble-white? There was something rigid in her\nfeatures, and yet they had never--not even when she blushingly accepted\nhis violets--looked to him so faultlessly beautiful, so regular and so\nnobly cut, so dignified, nay impressive.\n\nFor fully a minute the two stood face to face, speechless and yet quite\nnear to each other. Then Publius broke the silence, uttering with the\nwarmest feeling and yet with anxiety in his deep, pure voice, only one\nsingle word; and the word was her name \"Klea.\"\n\nThe music of this single word stirred the girl's heart like a message and\nblessing from heaven, like the sweetest harmony of the siren's song, like\nthe word of acquittal from a judge's lips when the verdict is life or\ndeath, and her lips were already parted to say 'Publius' in a tone no\nless deep and heartfelt-but, with all the force of her soul, she\nrestrained herself, and said softly and quickly:\n\n\"You are here at a late hour, and it is well that you have come.\"\n\n\"You sent for me,\" replied the Roman.\n\n\"It was another that did that, not I,\" replied Klea in a slow dull tone,\nas if she were lifting a heavy weight, and could hardly draw her breath.\n\"Now--follow me, for this is not the place to explain everything in.\"\n\nWith these words Klea went towards the locked door of the Apis-tombs, and\ntried, as she stood in front of it, to insert into the lock the key that\nKrates had given her; but the lock was still so new, and her fingers\nshook so much, that she could not immediately succeed. Publius meanwhile\nwas standing close by her side, and as he tried to help her his fingers\ntouched hers.\n\nAnd when he--certainly not by mistake--laid his strong and yet trembling\nhand on hers, she let it stay for a moment, for she felt as if a tide of\nwarm mist rose up in her bosom dimming her perceptions, and paralyzing\nher will and blurring her sight.\n\n\"Klea,\" he repeated, and he tried to take her left hand in his own; but\nshe, like a person suddenly aroused to consciousness after a short dream,\nimmediately withdrew the hand on which his was resting, put the key into\nthe lock, opened the door, and exclaimed in a voice of almost stern\ncommand, \"Go in first.\"\n\nPublius obeyed and entered the spacious antechamber of the venerable\ncave, hewn out of the rock and now dimly lighted. A curved passage of\nwhich he could not see the end lay before him, and on both sides, to the\nright and left of him, opened out the chambers in which stood the\nsarcophagi of the deceased sacred bulls. Over each of the enormous stone\ncoffins a lamp burnt day and night, and wherever a vault stood open their\nglimmer fell across the deep gloom of the cave, throwing a bright beam of\nlight on the dusky path that led into the heart of the rock, like a\ncarpet woven of rays of light.\n\nWhat place was this that Klea had chosen to speak with him in.\n\nBut though her voice sounded firm, she herself was not cool and\ninsensible as Orcus--which this place, which was filled with the fumes of\nincense and weighed upon his senses, much resembled--for he had felt her\nfingers tremble under his, and when he went up to her, to help her, her\nheart beat no less violently and rapidly than his own. Ah! the man who\nshould succeed in touching that heart of hard, but pure and precious\ncrystal would indeed enjoy a glorious draught of the most perfect bliss.\n\n\"This is our destination,\" said Klea; and then she went on in short\nbroken sentences. \"Remain where you are. Leave me this place near the\ndoor. Now, answer me first one question. My sister Irene has vanished\nfrom the temple. Did you cause her to be carried off?\"\n\n\"I did,\" replied Publius eagerly. \"She desired me to greet you from her,\nand to tell you how much she likes her new friends. When I shall have\ntold you--\"\n\n\"Not now\" interrupted Klea excitedly. \"Turn round--there where you see\nthe lamp-light.\" Publius did as he was desired, and a slight shudder\nshook even his bold heart, for the girl's sayings and doings seemed to\nhim not solemn merely, but mysterious like those of a prophetess. A\nviolent crash sounded through the silent and sacred place, and loud\nechoes were tossed from side to side, ringing ominously throughout the\ngrotto. Publius turned anxiously round, and his eye, seeking Klea, found\nher no more; then, hurrying to the door of the cave, he heard her lock it\non the outside.\n\nThe water-bearer had escaped him, had flung the heavy door to, and\nimprisoned him; and this idea was to the Roman so degrading and\nunendurable that, lost to every feeling but rage, wounded pride, and the\nwild desire to be free, he kicked the door with all his might, and called\nout angrily to Klea:\n\n\"Open this door--I command you. Let me free this moment or, by all the\ngods--\"\n\nHe did not finish his threat, for in the middle of the right-hand panel\nof the door a small wicket was opened through which the priests were wont\nto puff incense into the tomb of the sacred bulls--and twice, thrice,\nfinally, when he still would not be pacified, a fourth time, Klea called\nout to him:\n\n\"Listen to me--listen to me, Publius.\" Publius ceased storming, and she\nwent on:\n\n\"Do not threaten me, for you will certainly repent it when you have heard\nwhat I have to tell you. Do not interrupt me; I may tell you at once this\ndoor is opened every day before sunrise, so your imprisonment will not\nlast long; and you must submit to it, for I shut you in to save your\nlife--yes, your life which was in danger. Do you think my anxiety was\nfolly? No, Publius, it is only too well founded, and if you, as a man,\nare strong and bold, so am I as a woman. I never was afraid of an\nimaginary nothing. Judge yourself whether I was not right to be afraid\nfor you.\n\n\"King Euergetes and Eulaeus have bribed two hideous monsters to murder\nyou. When I went to seek out Irene I overheard all, and I have seen with\nmy own eyes the two horrible wolves who are lurking to fall upon you, and\nheard with these ears their scheme for doing it. I never wrote the note\non the tile which was signed with my name; Eulaeus did it, and you took\nhis bait and came out into the desert by night. In a few minutes the\nruffians will have stolen up to this place to seek their victim, but they\nwill not find you, Publius, for I have saved you--I, Klea, whom you first\nmet with smiles--whose sister you have stolen away--the same Klea that\nyou a minute since were ready to threaten. Now, at once, I am going into\nthe desert, dressed like a traveller in a coat and hat, so that in the\ndoubtful light of the moon I may easily be taken for you--going to give\nmy weary heart as a prey to the assassins' knife.\"\n\n\"You are mad!\" cried Publius, and he flung himself with his whole weight\non the door, and kicked it with all his strength. \"What you purpose is\npure madness open the door, I command you! However strong the villains\nmay be that Euergetes has bribed, I am man enough to defend myself.\"\n\n\"You are unarmed, Publius, and they have cords and daggers.\"\n\n\"Then open the door, and stay here with me till day dawns. It is not\nnoble, it is wicked to cast away your life. Open the door at once, I\nentreat you, I command you!\"\n\nAt any other time the words would not have failed of their effect on\nKlea's reasonable nature, but the fearful storm of feeling which had\nbroken over her during the last few hours had borne away in its whirl all\nher composure and self-command. The one idea, the one resolution, the one\ndesire, which wholly possessed her was to close the life that had been so\nfull of self-sacrifice by the greatest sacrifice of all--that of life\nitself, and not only in order to secure Irene's happiness and to save the\nRoman, but because it pleased her--her father's daughter--to make a noble\nend; because she, the maiden, would fain show Publius what a woman might\nbe capable of who loved him above all others; because, at this moment,\ndeath did not seem a misfortune; and her mind, overwrought by hours of\nterrific tension, could not free itself from the fixed idea that she\nwould and must sacrifice herself.\n\nShe no longer thought these things--she was possessed by them; they had\nthe mastery, and as a madman feels forced to repeat the same words again\nand again to himself, so no prayer, no argument at this moment would have\nprevailed to divert her from her purpose of giving up her young life for\nPublius and Irene. She contemplated this resolve with affection and pride\nas justifying her in looking up to herself as to some nobler creature.\nShe turned a deaf ear to the Roman's entreaty, and said in a tone of\nwhich the softness surprised him:\n\n\"Be silent Publius, and hear me further. You too are noble, and certainly\nyou owe me some gratitude for having saved your life.\"\n\n\"I owe you much, and I will pay it,\" cried Publius, \"as long as there is\nbreath in this body--but open the door, I beseech you, I implore you--\"\n\n\"Hear me to the end, time presses; hear me out, Publius. My sister Irene\nwent away with you. I need say nothing about her beauty, but how bright,\nhow sweet her nature is you do not know, you cannot know, but you will\nfind out. She, you must be told, is as poor as I am, but the child of\nfreeborn and noble parents. Now swear to me, swear--no, do not interrupt\nme--swear by the head of your father that you will never, abandon her,\nthat you will never behave to her otherwise than as if she were the\ndaughter of your dearest friend or of your own brother.\"\n\n\"I swear it and I will keep my oath--by the life of the man whose head is\nmore sacred to me than the names of all the gods. But now I beseech you,\nI command you open this door, Klea--that I may not lose you--that I may\ntell you that my whole heart is yours, and yours alone--that I love you,\nlove you unboundedly.\"\n\n\"I have your oath,\" cried the girl in great excitement, for she could now\nsee a shadow moving backwards and forwards at some distance in the\ndesert. \"You have sworn by the head of your father. Never let Irene\nrepent having gone with you, and love her always as you fancy now, in\nthis moment, that you love me, your preserver. Remember both of you the\nhapless Klea who would gladly have lived for you, but who now gladly dies\nfor you. Do not forget me, Publius, for I have never but this once opened\nmy heart to love, but I have loved you Publius, with pain and torment,\nand with sweet delight--as no other woman ever yet revelled in the\necstasy of love or was consumed in its torments.\" She almost shouted the\nlast words at the Roman as if she were chanting a hymn of triumph, beside\nherself, forgetting everything and as if intoxicated.\n\nWhy was he now silent, why had he nothing to answer, since she had\nconfessed to him the deepest secret of her breast, and allowed him to\nlook into the inmost sanctuary of her heart? A rush of burning words from\nhis lips would have driven her off at once to the desert and to death;\nhis silence held her back--it puzzled her and dropped like cool rain on\nthe soaring flames of her pride, fell on the raging turmoil of her soul\nlike oil on troubled water. She could not part from him thus, and her\nlips parted to call him once more by his name.\n\nWhile she had been making confession of her love to the Roman as if it\nwere her last will and testament, Publius felt like a man dying of\nthirst, who has been led to a flowing well only to be forbidden to\nmoisten his lips with the limpid fluid. His soul was filled with\npassionate rage approaching to despair, and as with rolling eyes he\nglanced round his prison an iron crow-bar leaning against the wall met\nhis gaze; it had been used by the workmen to lift the sarcophagus of the\nlast deceased Apis into its right place. He seized upon this tool, as a\ndrowning man flings himself on a floating plank: still he heard Klea's\nlast words, and did not lose one of them, though the sweat poured from\nhis brow as he inserted the metal lever like a wedge between the two\nhalves of the door, just above the threshold.\n\nAll was now silent outside; perhaps the distracted girl was already\nhurrying towards the assassins--and the door was fearfully heavy and\nwould not open nor yield. But he must force it--he flung himself on the\nearth and thrust his shoulder under the lever, pushing his whole body\nagainst the iron bar, so that it seemed to him that every joint\nthreatened to give way and every sinew to crack; the door rose--once more\nhe put forth the whole strength of his manly vigor, and now the seam in\nthe wood cracked, the door flew open, and Klea, seized with terror, flew\noff and away--into the desert--straight towards the murderers.\n\nPublius leaped to his feet and flung himself out of his prison; as he saw\nKlea escape he flew after her with, hasty leaps, and caught her in a few\nsteps, for her mantle hindered her in running, and when she would not\nobey his desire that she should stand still he stood in front of her and\nsaid, not tenderly but sternly and decidedly:\n\n\"You do not go a step farther, I forbid it.\"\n\n\"I am going where I must go,\" cried the girl in great agitation. \"Let me\ngo, at once!\"\n\n\"You will stay here--here with me,\" snarled Publius, and taking both her\nhands by the wrists he clasped them with his iron fingers as with\nhandcuffs. \"I am the man and you are the woman, and I will teach you who\nis to give orders here and who is to obey.\"\n\nAnger and rage prompted these quite unpremeditated words, and as\nKlea--while he spoke them with quivering lips--had attempted with the\nexertion of all her strength, which was by no means contemptible, to\nwrench her hands from his grasp, he forced her--angry as he still was,\nbut nevertheless with due regard for her womanliness--forced her by a\ngentle and yet irresistible pressure on her arms to bend before him, and\ncompelled her slowly to sink down on both knees.\n\nAs soon as she was in this position, Publius let her free; she covered\nher eyes with her aching hands and sobbed aloud, partly from anger, and\nbecause she felt herself bitterly humiliated.\n\n\"Now, stand up,\" said Publius in an altered tone as he heard her weeping.\n\"Is it then such a hard matter to submit to the will of a man who will\nnot and cannot let you go, and whom you love, besides?\" How gentle and\nkind the words sounded! Klea, when she heard them, raised her eyes to\nPublius, and as she saw him looking down on her as a supplicant her anger\nmelted and turned to grateful emotion--she went closer to him on her\nknees, laid her head against him and said:\n\n\"I have always been obliged to rely upon myself, and to guide another\nperson with loving counsel, but it must be sweeter far to be led by\naffection and I will always, always obey you.\"\n\n\"I will thank you with heart and soul henceforth from this hour!\" cried\nPublius, lifting her up. \"You were ready to sacrifice your life for me,\nand now mine belongs to you. I am yours and you are mine--I your husband,\nyou my wife till our life's end!\"\n\nHe laid his hands on her shoulders, and turned her face round to his; she\nresisted no longer, for it was sweet to her to yield her will to that of\nthis strong man. And how happy was she, who from her childhood had taken\nit upon herself to be always strong, and self-reliant, to feel herself\nthe weaker, and to be permitted to trust in a stronger arm than her own.\nSomewhat thus a young rose-tree might feel, which for the first time\nreceives the support of the prop to which it is tied by the careful\ngardener.\n\nHer eyes rested blissfully and yet anxiously on his, and his lips had\njust touched hers in a first kiss when they started apart in terror, for\nKlea's name was clearly shouted through the still night-air, and in the\nnext instant a loud scream rang out close to them followed by dull cries\nof pain.\n\n\"The murderers!\" shrieked Klea, and trembling for herself and for him she\nclung closely to her lover's breast. In one brief moment the self-reliant\nheroine--proud in her death-defying valor--had become a weak, submissive,\ndependent woman.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Created the world out of nothing for no other purpose\n     Dreamless sleep after a day brimful of enjoyment\n     Man must subjugate matter and not become subject to it\n     No one believes anything that can diminish his self-esteem\n     Praise out of all proportion to our merit\n     Save them the trouble of thinking for themselves\n     She no longer thought these things--she was possessed by them\n     Taken it upon herself to be always strong, and self-reliant\n     The most terrible of all the gods, are women\n     The sun seems to move too slowly to those who long and wait\n     We seek for truth; the Jews believe they possess it entirely\n     Who always think at second-hand\n     Why so vehement, sister? So much zeal is quite unnecessary\n\n\n\n\nTHE SISTERS\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nOn the roof of the tower of the pylon by the gate of the Serapeum stood\nan astrologer who had mounted to this, the highest part of the temple, to\nobserve the stars; but it seemed that he was not destined on this\noccasion to fulfil his task, for swiftly driving black clouds swept again\nand again across that portion of the heavens to which his observations\nwere principally directed. At last he impatiently laid aside his\ninstruments, his waxed tablet and style, and desired the gate-keeper--the\nfather of poor little Philo--whose duty it was to attend at night on the\nastrologers on the tower, to carry down all his paraphernalia, as the\nheavens were not this evening favorable to his labors.\n\n\"Favorable!\" exclaimed the gate-keeper, catching up the astrologer's\nwords, and shrugging his shoulders so high that his head disappeared\nbetween them.\n\n\"It is a night of horror, and some great disaster threatens us for\ncertain. Fifteen years have I been in my place, and I never saw such a\nnight but once before, and the very next day the soldiers of Antiochus,\nthe Syrian king, came and plundered our treasury. Aye--and to-night is\nworse even than that was; when the dog-star first rose a horrible shape\nwith a lion's mane flew across the desert, but it was not till midnight\nthat the fearful uproar began, and even you shuddered when it broke out\nin the Apis-cave. Frightful things must be coming on us when the sacred\nbulls rise from the dead and butt and storm at the door with their horns\nto break it open. Many a time have I seen the souls of the dead\nfluttering and wheeling and screaming above the old mausoleums, and\nrock-tombs of ancient times. Sometimes they would soar up in the air in\nthe form of hawks with men's heads, or like ibises with a slow lagging\nflight, and sometimes sweep over the desert like gray shapeless shadows,\nor glide across the sand like snakes; or they would creep out of the\ntombs, howling like hungry dogs. I have often heard them barking like\njackals or laughing like hyenas when they scent carrion, but to-night is\nthe first time I ever heard them shrieking like furious men, and then\ngroaning and wailing as if they were plunged in the lake of fire and\nsuffering horrible torments.\n\n\"Look there--out there--something is moving again! Oh! holy father,\nexorcise them with some mighty bann. Do you not see how they are growing\nlarger? They are twice the size of ordinary mortals.\" The astronomer took\nan amulet in his hand, muttered a few sentences to himself, seeking at\nthe same time to discover the figures which had so scared the\ngate-keeper.\n\n\"They are indeed tall,\" he said when he perceived them. \"And now they are\nmelting into one, and growing smaller and smaller--however, perhaps they\nare only men come to rob the tombs, and who happen to be particularly\ntall, for these figures are not of supernatural height.\"\n\n\"They are twice as tall as you, and you are not short,\" cried the\ngate-keeper, pressing his lips devoutly to the amulet the astrologer held\nin his hand, \"and if they are robbers why has no watchman called out to\nstop them? How is it their screams and groans have not waked the\nsentinels that are posted there every night? There--that was another\nfearful cry! Did you ever hear such tones from any human breast? Great\nSerapis, I shall die of fright! Come down with me, holy father, that I\nmay look after my little sick boy, for those who have seen such sights do\nnot escape unstricken.\"\n\nThe peaceful silence of the Necropolis had indeed been disturbed, but the\nspirits of the departed had no share in the horrors which had been\ntransacted this night in the desert, among the monuments and rocktombs.\nThey were living men that had disturbed the calm of the sacred place,\nthat had conspired with darkness in cold-blooded cruelty, greater than\nthat of evil spirits, to achieve the destruction of a fellow-man; but\nthey were living men too who, in the midst of the horrors of a most\nfearful night, had experienced the blossoming in their own souls of the\ndivinest germ which heaven implants in the bosom of its mortal children.\nThus in a day of battle amid blood and slaughter may a child be born that\nshall grow up blessed and blessing, the comfort and joy of his family.\n\nThe lion-maned monster whose appearance and rapid disappearance in the\ndesert had first alarmed the gate-keeper, had been met by several\ntravellers on its way to Memphis, and each and all, horrified by its\nuncanny aspect, had taken to flight or tried to hide themselves--and yet\nit was no more than a man with warm pulses, an honest purpose, and a true\nand loving heart. But those who met him could not see into his soul, and\nhis external aspect certainly bore little resemblance to that of other\nmen.\n\nHis feet, unused to walking, moved but clumsily, and had a heavy body to\ncarry, and his enormous beard and the mass of gray hair on his\nhead--which he turned now this way and now that--gave him an aspect that\nmight well scare even a bold man who should meet him unexpectedly. Two\nstall-keepers who, by day, were accustomed to offer their wares for sale\nnear the Serapeum to the pilgrims, met him close to the city.\n\n\"Did you see that panting object?\" said one to the other as they looked\nafter him. \"If he were not shut up fast in his cell I could declare it\nwas Serapion, the recluse.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" replied the other. \"He is tied faster by his oath than by\nchains and fetters. It must be one of the Syrian beggars that besiege the\ntemple of Astarte.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" answered his companion with indifference. \"Let us get on now,\nmy wife has a roast goose for supper this evening.\"\n\nSerapion, it is true, was fast tied to his cell, and yet the pedler had\njudged rightly, for he it was who hurried along the high-road frightening\nall he met. After his long captivity walking was very painful to him;\nbesides, he was barefoot, and every stone in the path hurt the soles of\nhis feet which had grown soft; nevertheless he contrived to make a by no\nmeans contemptible pace when in the distance he caught sight of a woman's\nfigure which he could fancy to be Klea. Many a man, who in his own\nparticular sphere of life can cut a very respectable figure, becomes a\nlaughing-stock for children when he is taken out of his own narrow\ncircle, and thrown into the turmoil of the world with all his\npeculiarities clinging to him. So it was with Serapion; in the suburbs\nthe street-boys ran after him mocking at him, but it was not till three\nsmart hussys, who were resting from their dance in front of a tavern,\nlaughed loudly as they caught sight of him, and an insolent soldier drove\nthe point of his lance through his flowing mane, as if by accident, that\nhe became fully conscious of his wild appearance, and it struck him\nforcibly that he could never in this guise find admission to the king's\npalace.\n\nWith prompt determination he turned into the first barber's stall that he\nsaw lighted up; at his appearance the barber hastily retreated behind his\ncounter, but he got his hair and beard cut, and then, for the first time\nfor many years, he saw his own face in the mirror that the barber held\nbefore him. He nodded, with a melancholy smile, at the face--so much\naged--that looked at him from the bright surface, paid what was asked,\nand did not heed the compassionate glance which the barber and his\nassistant sent after him. They both thought they had been exercising\ntheir skill on a lunatic, for he had made no answer to all their\nquestions, and had said nothing but once in a deep and fearfully loud\nvoice:\n\n\"Chatter to other people--I am in a hurry.\"\n\nIn truth his spirit was in no mood for idle gossip; no, it was full of\ngnawing anxiety and tender fears, and his heart bled when he reflected\nthat he had broken his vows, and forsworn the oath he had made to his\ndying mother.\n\nWhen he reached the palace-gate he begged one of the civic guard to\nconduct him to his brother, and as he backed his request with a gift of\nmoney he was led at once to the man whom he sought. Glaucus was\nexcessively startled to recognize Serapion, but he was so much engaged\nthat he could only give up a few minutes to his brother, whose\nproceedings he considered as both inexplicable and criminal.\n\nIrene, as the anchorite now learned, had been carried off from the\ntemple, not by Euergetes but by the Roman, and Klea had quitted the\npalace only a few minutes since in a chariot and would return about\nmidnight and on foot from the second tavern to the temple. And the poor\nchild was so utterly alone, and her way lay through the desert where she\nmight be attacked by dissolute soldiery or tomb-robbers or jackals and\nhyenas. Her walk was to begin from the second tavern, and that was the\nvery spot where low rioters were wont to assemble--and his darling was so\nyoung, so fair, and so defenceless!\n\nHe was once more a prey to the same unendurable dread that had come over\nhim, in his cell, after Klea had left the temple and darkness had closed\nin. At that moment he had felt all that a father could feel who from his\nprison-window sees his beloved and defenceless child snatched away by\nsome beast of prey. All the perils that could threaten her in the palace\nor in the city, swarming with drunken soldiers, had risen before his mind\nwith fearful vividness, and his powerful imagination had painted in\nglaring colors all the dangers to which his favorite--the daughter of a\nnoble and respected man--might be exposed.\n\nHe rushed up and down his cell like a wounded tiger, he flung himself\nagainst the walls, and then, with his body hanging far out of the window,\nhad looked out to see if the girl--who could not possibly have returned\nyet--were not come back again. The darker it grew, the more his anguish\nrose, and the more hideous were the pictures that stood before his fancy;\nand when, presently, a pilgrim in the Pastophorium who had fallen into\nconvulsions screamed out loud, he was no longer master of himself--he\nkicked open the door which, locked on the outside and rotten from age,\nhad been closed for years, hastily concealed about him some silver coins\nhe kept in his chest, and let himself down to the ground.\n\nThere he stood, between his cell and the outer wall of the temple, and\nnow it was that he remembered his vows, and the oath he had sworn, and\nhis former flight from his retreat. Then he had fled because the\npleasures and joys of life had tempted him forth--then he had sinned\nindeed; but now the love, the anxious care that urged him to quit his\nprison were the same as had brought him back to it. It was to keep faith\nthat he now broke faith, and mighty Serapis could read his heart, and his\nmother was dead, and while she lived she had always been ready and\nwilling to forgive.\n\nHe fancied so vividly that he could see her kind old face looking at him\nthat he nodded at her as if indeed she stood before him.\n\nThen, he rolled an empty barrel to the foot of the wall, and with some\ndifficulty mounted on it. The sweat poured down him as he climbed up the\nwall built of loose unbaked bricks to the parapet, which was much more\nthan a man's height; then, sliding and tumbling, he found himself in the\nditch which ran round it on the outside, scrambled up its outer slope,\nand set out at last on his walk to Memphis.\n\nWhat he had afterwards learned in the palace concerning Klea had but\nlittle relieved his anxiety on her account; she must have reached the\nborder of the desert so much sooner than he, and quick walking was so\ndifficult to him, and hurt the soles of his feet so cruelly! Perhaps he\nmight be able to procure a staff, but there was just as much bustle\noutside the gate of the citadel as by day. He looked round him, feeling\nthe while in his wallet, which was well filled with silver, and his eye\nfell on a row of asses whose drivers were crowding round the soldiers and\nservants that streamed out of the great gate.\n\nHe sought out the strongest of the beasts with an experienced eye, flung\na piece of silver to the owner, mounted the ass, which panted under its\nload, and promised the driver two drachmm in addition if he would take\nhim as quickly as possible to the second tavern on the road to the\nSerapeum. Thus--he belaboring the sides of the unhappy donkey with his\nsturdy bare legs, while the driver, running after him snorting and\nshouting, from time to time poked him up from behind with a\nstick--Serapion, now going at a short trot, and now at a brisk gallop,\nreached his destination only half an hour later than Klea.\n\nIn the tavern all was dark and empty, but the recluse desired no\nrefreshment. Only his wish that he had a staff revived in his mind, and\nhe soon contrived to possess himself of one, by pulling a stake out of\nthe fence that surrounded the innkeeper's little garden. This was a\nsomewhat heavy walking-stick, but it eased the recluse's steps, for\nthough his hot and aching feet carried him but painfully the strength of\nhis arms was considerable.\n\nThe quick ride had diverted his mind, had even amused him, for he was\neasily pleased, and had recalled to him his youthful travels; but now, as\nhe walked on alone in the desert, his thoughts reverted to Klea, and to\nher only.\n\nHe looked round for her keenly and eagerly as soon as the moon came out\nfrom behind the clouds, called her name from time to time, and thus got\nas far as the avenue of sphinxes which connected the Greek and Egyptian\ntemples; a thumping noise fell upon his ear from the cave of the\nApis-tombs. Perhaps they were at work in there, preparing for the\napproaching festival. But why were the soldiers, which were always on\nguard here, absent from their posts to-night? Could it be that they had\nobserved Klea, and carried her off?\n\nOn the farther side of the rows of sphinxes too, which he had now\nreached, there was not a man to be seen--not a watchman even though the\nwhite limestone of the tombstones and the yellow desert-sand shone as\nclear in the moonlight as if they had some internal light of their own.\n\nAt every instant he grew more and more uneasy, he climbed to the top of a\nsand-hill to obtain a wider view, and loudly called Klea's name.\n\nThere--was he deceived? No--there was a figure visible near one of the\nancient tomb-shrines--a form that seemed wrapped in a long robe, and when\nonce more he raised his voice in a loud call it came nearer to him and to\nthe row of sphinxes. In great haste and as fast as he could he got down\nagain to the roadway, hurried across the smooth pavement, on both sides\nof which the long perspective of man-headed lions kept guard, and\npainfully clambered up a sand-heap on the opposite side. This was in\ntruth a painful effort, for the sand crumbled away again and again under\nhis feet, slipping down hill and carrying him with it, thus compelling\nhim to find a new hold with hand and foot. At last he was standing on the\nouter border of the sphinx-avenue and opposite the very shrine where he\nfancied he had seen her whom he sought; but during his clamber it had\nbecome perfectly dark again, for a heavy cloud had once more veiled the\nmoon. He put both hands to his mouth, and shouted as loud as he could,\n\"Klea!\"--and then again, \"Klea!\"\n\nThen, close at his feet he heard a rustle in the sand, and saw a figure\nmoving before him as though it had risen out of the ground. This could\nnot be Klea, it was a man--still, perhaps, he might have seen his\ndarling--but before he had time to address him he felt the shock of a\nheavy blow that fell with tremendous force on his back between his\nshoulders. The assassin's sand-bag had missed the exact spot on the nape\nof the neck, and Serapion's strongly-knit backbone would have been able\nto resist even a stronger blow.\n\nThe conviction that he was attacked by robbers flashed on his\nconsciousness as immediately as the sense of pain, and with it the\ncertainty that he was a lost man if he did not defend himself stoutly.\n\nBehind him he heard another rustle in the sand. As quickly as he could he\nturned round with an exclamation of \"Accursed brood of vipers!\" and with\nhis heavy staff he fell upon the figure before him like a smith beating\ncold iron, for his eye, now more accustomed to the darkness, plainly saw\nit to be a man. Serapion must have hit straight, for his foe fell at his\nfeet with a hideous roar, rolled over and over in the sand, groaning and\npanting, and then with one shrill shriek lay silent and motionless.\n\nThe recluse, in spite of the dim light, could see all the movements of\nthe robber he had punished so severely, and he was bending over the\nfallen man anxiously and compassionately when he shuddered to feel two\nclammy hands touching his feet, and immediately after two sharp pricks in\nhis right heel, which were so acutely painful that he screamed aloud, and\nwas obliged to lift up the wounded foot. At the same time, however, he\ndid not overlook the need to defend himself. Roaring like a wounded bull,\ncursing and raging, he laid about him on all sides with his staff, but\nhit nothing but the ground. Then as his blows followed each other more\nslowly, and at last his wearied arms could no longer wield the heavy\nstake, and he found himself compelled to sink on his knees, a hoarse\nvoice addressed him thus:\n\n\"You have taken my comrade's life, Roman, and a two-legged serpent has\nstung you for it. In a quarter of an hour it will be all over with you,\nas it is with that fellow there. Why does a fine gentleman like you go to\nkeep an appointment in the desert without boots or sandals, and so make\nour work so easy? King Euergetes and your friend Eulaeus send you their\ngreetings. You owe it to them that I leave you even your ready money; I\nwish I could only carry away that dead lump there!\"\n\nDuring this rough speech Serapion was lying on the ground in great agony;\nhe could only clench his fists, and groan out heavy curses with his lips\nwhich were now getting parched. His sight was as yet undimmed, and he\ncould distinctly see by the light of the moon, which now shone forth from\na broad cloudless opening in the sky, that the murderer attempted to\ncarry away his fallen comrade, and then, after raising his head to listen\nfor a moment sprang off with flying steps away into the desert. But the\nrecluse now lost consciousness, and when some minutes later he once more\nopened his eyes his head was resting softly in the lap of a young girl,\nand it was the voice of his beloved Klea that asked him tenderly.\n\n\"You poor dear father! How came you here in the desert, and into the\nhands of these murderers? Do you know me--your Klea? And he who is\nlooking for your wounds--which are not visible at all--he is the Roman\nPublius Scipio. Now first tell us where the dagger hit you that I may\nbind it up quickly--I am half a physician, and understand these things as\nyou know.\"\n\nThe recluse tried to turn his head towards Klea's, but the effort was in\nvain, and he said in a low voice: \"Prop me up against the slanting wall\nof the tomb shrine yonder; and you, child, sit down opposite to me, for I\nwould fain look at you while I die. Gently, gently, my friend Publius,\nfor I feel as if all my limbs were made of Phoenician glass, and might\nbreak at the least touch. Thank you, my young friend--you have strong\narms, and you may lift me a little higher yet. So--now I can bear it;\nnay, I am well content, I am to be envied--for the moon shows me your\ndear face, my child, and I see tears on your cheeks, tears for me, a\nsurly old man. Aye, it is good, it is very good to die thus.\"\n\n\"Oh, father, father!\" cried Klea. \"You must not speak so. You must live,\nyou must not die; for see, Publius here asks me to be his wife, and the\nImmortals only can know how glad I am to go with him, and Irene is to\nstay with us, and be my sister and his. That must make you happy,\nfather.--But tell us, pray tell us where the wound hurts that the\nmurderer gave you?\"\n\n\"Children, children,\" murmured the anchorite, and a happy smile parted\nhis lips. \"The gracious gods are merciful in permitting me to see\nthat--aye, merciful to me, and to effect that end I would have died\ntwenty deaths.\"\n\nKlea pressed his now cold hand to her lips as he spoke and again asked,\nthough hardly able to control her voice for tears:\n\n\"But the wound, father--where is the wound?\" \"Let be, let be,\" replied\nSerapion. \"It is acrid poison, not a dagger or dart that has undone my\nstrength. And I can depart in peace, for I am no longer needed for\nanything. You, Publius, must now take my place with this child, and will\ndo it better than I. Klea, the wife of Publius Scipio! I indeed have\ndreamt that such a thing might come to pass, and I always knew, and have\nsaid to myself a thousand times that I now say to you my son: This girl\nhere, this Klea is of a good sort, and worthy only of the noblest. I give\nher to you, my son Publius, and now join your hands before me here--for I\nhave always been like a father to her.\"\n\n\"That you have indeed,\" sobbed Klea. \"And it was no doubt for my sake, and\nto protect me, that you quitted your retreat, and have met your death.\"\n\n\"It was fate, it was fate,\" stammered the old man.\n\n\"The assassins were in ambush for me,\" cried Publius, seizing Serapion's\nhand, \"the murderers who fell on you instead of me. Once more, where is\nyour wound?\"\n\n\"My destiny fulfils itself,\" replied the recluse. \"No locked-up cell, no\nphysician, no healing herb can avail against the degrees of Fate. I am\ndying of a serpent's sting as it was foretold at my birth; and if I had\nnot gone out to seek Klea a serpent would have slipped into my cage, and\nhave ended my life there. Give me your hands, my children, for a deadly\nchill is creeping over me, and its cold hand already touches my heart.\"\n\nFor a few minutes his voice failed him, and then he said softly:\n\n\"One thing I would fain ask of you. My little possessions, which were\nintended for you and Irene, you will now use to bury me. I do not wish to\nbe burnt, as they did with my father--no, I should wish to be finely\nembalmed, and my mummy to be placed with my mother's. If indeed we may\nmeet again after death--and I believe we shall--I would rather see her\nonce more than any one, for she loved me so much--and I feel now as if I\nwere a child again, and could throw my arms round her neck. In another\nlife, perhaps, I may not be the child of misfortune that I have been in\nthis--in another life--now it grips my heart--in another----Children\nwhatever joys have smiled on me in this, children, it was to you I have\nowed it--Klea, to you--and there is my little Irene too----\"\n\nThese were the last words of Serapion the recluse; he fell back with a\ndeep sigh and was dead. Klea and Publius tenderly closed his faithful\neyes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nThe unwonted tumult that had broken the stillness of the night had not\nbeen unobserved in the Greek Serapeum any more than in the Egyptian\ntemple adjoining the Apis-tombs; but perfect silence once more reigned in\nthe Necropolis, when at last the great gate of the sanctuary of\nOsiris-Apis was thrown open, and a little troop of priests arranged in a\nprocession came out from it with a vanguard of temple servants, who had\nbeen armed with sacrificial knives and axes.\n\nPublius and Klea, who were keeping faithful watch by the body of their\ndead friend, saw them approaching, and the Roman said:\n\n\"It would have been even less right in such a night as this to let you\nproceed to one of the temples with out my escort than to have let our\npoor friend remain unwatched.\"\n\n\"Once more I assure you,\" said Klea eagerly \"that we should have thrown\naway every chance of fulfilling Serapion's last wish as he intended, if\nduring our absence a jackal or a hyena had mutilated his body, and I am\nhappy to be able at least to prove to my friend, now he is dead, how\ngrateful I am for all the kindness he showed us while he lived. We ought\nto be grateful even to the departed, for how still and blissful has this\nhour been while guarding his body. Storm and strife brought us\ntogether--\"\n\n\"And here,\" interrupted Publius, \"we have concluded a happy and permanent\ntreaty of peace for the rest of our lives.\"\n\n\"I accept it willingly,\" replied Klea, looking down, \"for I am the\nvanquished party.\"\n\n\"But you have already confessed,\" said Publius, \"that you were never so\nunhappy as when you thought you had asserted your strength against mine,\nand I can tell you that you never seemed to me so great and yet so\nlovable as when in the midst of your triumph, you gave up the battle for\nlost. Such an hour as that, a man experiences but once in his lifetime. I\nhave a good memory, but if ever I should forget it, and be angry and\npassionate--as is sometimes my way--remind me of this spot, or of this\nour dead friend, and my hard mood will melt, and I shall remember that\nyou once were ready to give your life for mine. I will make it easy for\nyou, for in honor of this man, who sacrificed his life for yours and who\nwas actually murdered in my stead, I promise to add his name of Serapion\nto my own, and I will confirm this vow in Rome. He has behaved to us as a\nfather, and it behoves me to reverence his memory as though I had been\nhis son. An obligation was always unendurable to me, and how I shall ever\nmake full restitution to you for what you have done for me this night I\ndo not yet know--and yet I should be ready and willing every day and\nevery hour to accept from you some new gift of love. 'A debtor,' says the\nproverb, 'is half a prisoner,' and so I must entreat you to deal\nmercifully with your conquerer.\"\n\nHe took her hand, stroked back the hair from her forehead, and touched it\nlightly with his lips. Then he went on:\n\n\"Come with me now that we may commit the dead into the hands of these\npriests.\"\n\nKlea once more bent over the remains of the anchorite, she hung the\namulet he had given her for her journey round his neck, and then silently\nobeyed her lover. When they came up with the little procession Publius\ninformed the chief priest how he had found Serapion, and requested him to\nfetch away the corpse, and to cause it to be prepared for interment in\nthe costliest manner in the embalming house attached to their temple.\nSome of the temple-servants took their places to keep watch over the\nbody, and after many questions addressed to Publius, and after examining\ntoo the body of the assassin who had been slain, the priests returned to\nthe temple.\n\nAs soon as the two lovers were left alone again Klea seized the Roman's\nhand, and said passionately: \"You have spoken many tender words to me,\nand I thank you for them; but I am wont always to be honest, and less\nthan any one could I deceive you. Whatever your love bestows upon me will\nalways be a free gift, since you owe me nothing at all and I owe you\ninfinitely much; for I know now that you have snatched my sister from the\nclutches of the mightiest in the land while I, when I heard that Irene\nhad gone away with you, and that murder threatened your life, believed\nimplicitly that on the contrary you had lured the child away to become\nyour sweetheart, and then--then I hated you, and then--I must confess\nit\\--in my horrible distraction I wished you dead!\"\n\n\"And you think that wish can offend me or hurt me?\" said Publius. \"No, my\nchild; it only proves to me that you love me as I could wish to be loved.\nSuch rage under such circumstances is but the dark shadow cast by love,\nand is as inseparable from love as from any tangible body. Where it is\nabsent there is no such thing as real love present--only an airy vision,\na phantom, a mockery. Such an one as Klea does not love nor hate by\nhalves; but there are mysterious workings in your soul as in that of\nevery other woman. How did the wish that you could see me dead turn into\nthe fearful resolve to let yourself be killed in my stead?\"\n\n\"I saw the murderers,\" answered Klea, \"and I was overwhelmed with horror\nof them and of their schemes, and of all that had to do with them; I\nwould not destroy Irene's happiness, and I loved you even more deeply\nthan I hated you; and then--but let us not speak of it.\"\n\n\"Nay-tell me all.\"\n\n\"Then there was a moment--\"\n\n\"Well, Klea?\"\n\n\"Then--in these last hours, while we have been sitting hand in hand by\nthe body of poor Serapion, and hardly speaking, I have felt it all over\nagain--then the midnight hymn of the priests fell upon my heart, and as I\nlifted up my soul in prayer at their pious chant I felt as if all my\ninmost heart had been frozen and hardened, and was reviving again to new\nlife and tenderness and warmth. I could not help thinking of all that is\ngood and right, and I made up my mind to sacrifice myself for you and for\nIrene's happiness far more quickly and easily than I could give it up\nafterwards. My father was one of the followers of Zeno--\"\n\n\"And you,\" interrupted Publius, \"thought you were acting in accordance\nwith the doctrine of the Stoa. I also am familiar with it, but I do not\nknow the man who is so virtuous and wise that he can live and act, as\nthat teaching prescribes, in the heat of the struggle of life, or who is\nthe living representative in flesh and blood of the whole code of ethics,\nnot sinning against one of its laws and embodying it in himself. Did you\never hear of the peace of mind, the lofty indifference and equanimity of\nthe Stoic sages? You look as if the question offended you, but you did\nnot by any means know how to attain that magnanimity, for I have seen you\nfail in it; indeed it is contrary to the very nature of woman, and--the\ngods be thanked--you are not a Stoic in woman's dress, but a woman--a\ntrue woman, as you should be. You have learned nothing from Zeno and\nChrysippus but what any peasant girl might learn from an honest father,\nto be true I mean and to love virtue. Be content with that; I am more\nthan satisfied.\"\n\n\"Oh, Publius,\" exclaimed the girl, grasping her friend's hand. \"I\nunderstand you, and I know that you are right. A woman must be miserable\nso long as she fancies herself strong, and imagines and feels that she\nneeds no other support than her own firm will and determination, no other\ncounsel than some wise doctrines which she accepts and adheres to. Before\nI could call you mine, and went on my own way, proud of my own virtue, I\nwas--I cannot bear to think of it--but half a soul, and took it for a\nwhole; but now--if now fate were to snatch you from me, I should still\nknow where to seek the support on which I might lean in need and despair.\nNot in the Stoa, not in herself can a woman find such a stay, but in\npious dependence on the help of the gods.\"\n\n\"I am a man,\" interrupted Publius, \"and yet I sacrifice to them and yield\nready obedience to their decrees.\"\n\n\"But,\" cried Klea, \"I saw yesterday in the temple of Serapis the meanest\nthings done by his ministers, and it pained me and disgusted me, and I\nlost my hold on the divinity; but the extremest anguish and deepest love\nhave led me to find it again. I can no longer conceive of the power that\nupholds the universe as without love nor of the love that makes men happy\nas other than divine. Any one who has once prayed for a being they love\nas I prayed for you in the desert can never again forget how to pray.\nSuch prayers indeed are not in vain. Even if no god can hear them there\nis a strengthening virtue in such prayer itself.\n\n\"Now I will go contentedly back to our temple till you fetch me, for I\nknow that the discreetest, wisest, and kindest Beings will watch over our\nlove.\"\n\n\"You will not accompany me to Apollodorus and Irene?\" asked Publius in\nsurprise.\n\n\"No,\" answered Klea firmly. \"Rather take me back to the Serapeum. I have\nnot yet been released from the duties I undertook there, and it will be\nmore worthy of us both that Asclepiodorus should give you the daughter of\nPhilotas as your wife than that you should be married to a runaway\nserving-maid of Serapis.\"\n\nPublius considered for a moment, and then he said eagerly:\n\n\"Still I would rather you should come with me. You must be dreadfully\ntired, but I could take you on my mule to Apollodorus. I care little for\nwhat men say of me when I am sure I am doing right, and I shall know how\nto protect you against Euergetes whether you wish to be readmitted to the\ntemple or accompany me to the sculptor. But do come--it will be hard on\nme to part from you again. The victor does not lay aside the crown when\nhe has just won it in hard fight.\"\n\n\"Still I entreat you to take me back to the Serapeum,\" said Klea, laying\nher hand in that of Publius.\n\n\"Is the way to Memphis too long, are you utterly tired out?\"\n\n\"I am much wearied by agitation and terror, by anxiety and happiness,\nstill I could very well bear the ride; but I beg of you to take me back\nto the temple.\"\n\n\"What--although you feel strong enough to remain with me, and in spite of\nmy desire to conduct you at once to Apollodorus and Irene?\" asked Publius\nastonished, and he withdrew his hand. \"The mule is waiting out there.\nLean on my arm. Come and do as I request you.\"\n\n\"No, Publius, no. You are my lord and master, and I will always obey you\nunresistingly. In one thing only let me have my own way, now and in the\nfuture. As to what becomes a woman I know better than you, it is a thing\nthat none but a woman can decide.\"\n\nPublius made no reply to these words, but he kissed her, and threw his\narm round her; and so, clasped in each other's embrace, they reached the\ngate of the Serapeum, there to part for a few hours.\n\nKlea was let into the temple, and as soon as she had learned that little\nPhilo was much better, she threw herself on her humble bed.\n\nHow lonely her room seemed, how intolerably empty without Irene. In\nobedience to a hasty impulse she quitted her own bed, lay herself down on\nher sister's, as if that brought her nearer to the absent girl, and\nclosed her eyes; but she was too much excited and too much exhausted to\nsleep soundly. Swiftly-changing visions broke in again and again on her\nsincerely devotional thoughts and her restless half-sleep, painting to\nher fancy now wondrously bright images, and now most horrible ones--now\npictures of exquisite happiness, and again others of dismal melancholy.\nAnd all the time she imagined she heard distant music and was being\nrocked up and down by unseen hands.\n\nStill the image of the Roman overpowered all the rest.\n\nAt last a refreshing sleep sealed her eyes more closely, and in her dream\nshe saw her lover's house in Rolne, his stately father, his noble\nmother--who seemed to her to bear a likeness to her own mother--and the\nfigures of a number of tall and dignified senators. She felt herself much\nembarrassed among all these strangers, who looked enquiringly at her, and\nthen kindly held out their hands to her. Even the dignified matron came\nto meet her with effusion, and clasped her to her breast; but just as\nPublius had opened his to her and she flew to his heart, and she fancied\nshe could feel his lips pressed to hers, the woman, who called her every\nmorning, knocked at her door and awoke her.\n\nThis time she had been happy in her dream and would willingly have slept\nagain; but she forced herself to rise from her bed, and before the sun\nwas quite risen she was standing by the Well of the Sun and, not to\nneglect her duty, she filled both the jars for the altar of the god.\n\nTired and half-overcome by sleep, she set the golden vessels in their\nplace, and sat down to rest at the foot of a pillar, while a priest\npoured out the water she had brought, as a drink-offering on the ground.\n\nIt was now broad daylight as she looked out into the forecourt through\nthe many-pillared hall of the temple; the early sunlight played round the\ncolumns, and its slanting rays, at this hour, fell through the tall\ndoorway far into the great hall which usually lay in twilight gloom.\n\nThe sacred spot looked very solemn in her eyes, sublime, and as it were\nreconsecrated, and obeying an irresistible impulse she leaned against a\ncolumn, and lifting up her arms, and raising her eyes, she uttered her\nthankfulness to the god for his loving kindness, and found but one thing\nto pray for, namely that he would preserve Publius and Irene, and all\nmankind, from sorrow and anxiety and deception.\n\nShe felt as if her heart had till now been benighted and dark, and had\njust disclosed some latent light--as if it had been withered and dry, and\nwas now blossoming in fresh verdure and brightly-colored flowers.\n\nTo act virtuously is granted even to those who, relying on themselves.\nearnestly strive to lead moral, just and honest lives; but the happy\nunion of virtue and pure inner happiness is solemnized only in the heart\nwhich is able to seek and find a God--be it Serapis or Jehovah.\n\nAt the door of the forecourt Klea was met by Asclepiodorus, who desired\nher to follow him. The high-priest had learned that she had secretly\nquitted the temple: when she was alone with him in a quiet room he asked\nher gravely and severely, why she had broken the laws and left the\nsanctuary without his permission. Klea told him, that terror for her\nsister had driven her to Memphis, and that she there had heard that\nPublics Cornelius Scipio, the Roman who had taken up her father's cause,\nhad saved Irene from king Euergetes, and placed her in safety, and that\nthen she had set out on her way home in the middle of the night.\n\nThe high-priest seemed pleased at her news, and when she proceeded to\ninform him that Serapion had forsaken his cell out of anxiety for her,\nand had met his death in the desert, he said:\n\n\"I knew all that, my child. May the gods forgive the recluse, and may\nSerapis show him mercy in the other world in spite of his broken oath!\nHis destiny had to be fulfilled. You, child, were born under happier\nstars than he, and it is within my power to let you go unpunished. This I\ndo willingly; and Klea, if my daughter Andromeda grows up, I can only\nwish that she may resemble you; this is the highest praise that a father\ncan bestow on another man's daughter. As head of this temple I command\nyou to fill your jars to-day, as usual, till one who is worthy of you\ncomes to me, and asks you for his wife. I suspect he will not be long to\nwait for.\"\n\n\"How do you know, father,--\" asked Klea, coloring.\n\n\"I can read it in your eyes,\" said Asclepiodorus, and he gazed kindly\nafter her as, at a sign from him, she quitted the room.\n\nAs soon as he was alone he sent for his secretary and said:\n\n\"King Philometor has commanded that his brother Euergetes' birthday shall\nbe kept to-day in Memphis. Let all the standards be hoisted, and the\ngarlands of flowers which will presently arrive from Arsinoe be fastened\nup on the pylons; have the animals brought in for sacrifice, and arrange\na procession for the afternoon. All the dwellers in the temple must be\ncarefully attired. But there is another thing; Komanus has been here, and\nhas promised us great things in Euergetes' name, and declares that he\nintends to punish his brother Philometor for having abducted a\ngirl--Irene--attached to our temple. At the same time he requests me to\nsend Klea the water-bearer, the sister of the girl who was carried off,\nto Memphis to be examined--but this may be deferred. For to-day we will\nclose the temple gates, solemnize the festival among ourselves, and allow\nno one to enter our precincts for sacrifice and prayer till the fate of\nthe sisters is made certain. If the kings themselves make their\nappearance, and want to bring their troops in, we will receive them\nrespectfully as becomes us, but we will not give up Klea, but consign her\nto the holy of holies, which even Euergetes dare not enter without me;\nfor in giving up the girl we sacrifice our dignity, and with that\nourselves.\"\n\nThe secretary bowed, and then announced that two of the prophets of\nOsiris-Apis desired to speak with Asclepiodorus.\n\nKlea had met these men in the antechamber as she quitted the high-priest,\nand had seen in the hand of one of them the key with which she had opened\nthe door of the rock-tomb. She had started, and her conscience urged her\nto go at once to the priest-smith, and tell him how ill she had fulfilled\nher errand.\n\nWhen she entered his room Krates was sitting at his work with his feet\nwrapped up, and he was rejoiced to see her, for his anxiety for her and\nfor Irene had disturbed his night's rest, and towards morning his alarm\nhad been much increased by a frightful dream.\n\nKlea, encouraged by the friendly welcome of the old man, who was usually\nso surly, confessed that she had neglected to deliver the key to the\nsmith in the city, that she had used it to open the Apis-tombs, and had\nthen forgotten to take it out of the new lock. At this confession the old\nman broke out violently, he flung his file, and the iron bolt at which he\nwas working, on to his work-table, exclaiming:\n\n\"And this is the way you executed your commission. It is the first time I\never trusted a woman, and this is my reward! All this will bring evil on\nyou and on me, and when it is found out that the sanctuary of Apis has\nbeen desecrated through my fault and yours, they will inflict all sorts\nof penance on me, and with very good reason--as for you, they will punish\nyou with imprisonment and starvation.\"\n\n\"And yet, father,\" Klea calmly replied, \"I feel perfectly guiltless, and\nperhaps in the same fearful situation you might not have acted\ndifferently.\"\n\n\"You think so--you dare to believe such a thing?\" stormed the old man.\n\"And if the key and perhaps even the lock have been stolen, and if I have\ndone all that beautiful and elaborate work in vain?\"\n\n\"What thief would venture into the sacred tombs?\" asked Klea doubtfully.\n\n\"What! are they so unapproachable?\" interrupted Krates. \"Why, a miserable\ncreature like you even dared to open them. But only wait--only wait; if\nonly my feet were not so painful--\"\n\n\"Listen to me,\" said the girl, going closer up to the indignant smith.\n\"You are discreet, as you proved to me only yesterday; and if I were to\ntell you all I went through and endured last night you would certainly\nforgive me, that I know.\"\n\n\"If you are not altogether mistaken!\" shouted the smith. \"Those must be\nstrange things indeed which could induce me to let such neglect of duty\nand such a misdemeanor pass unpunished.\"\n\nAnd strange things they were indeed which the old man now had to hear,\nfor when Klea had ended her narrative of all that had occurred during the\npast night, not her eyes only but those of the old smith too were wet\nwith tears.\n\n\"These accursed legs!\" he muttered, as his eyes met the enquiring glance\nof the young girl, and he wiped the salt dew from his cheeks with the\nsleeve of his coat. \"Aye-a swelled foot like mine is painful, child, and\na cripple such as I am is not always strong-minded. Old women grow like\nmen, and old men grow like women. Ah! old age--it is bad to have such\nfeet as mine, but what is worse is that memory fades as years advance. I\nbelieve now that I left the key myself in the door of the Apis-tombs last\nevening, and I will send at once to Asclepiodorus, so that he may beg the\nEgyptians up there to forgive me--they are indebted to me for many small\njobs.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nAll the black masses of clouds which during the night had darkened the\nblue sky and hidden the light of the moon had now completely disappeared.\nThe north-east wind which rose towards morning had floated them away, and\nZeus, devourer of the clouds, had swallowed them up to the very last. It\nwas a glorious morning, and as the sun rose in the heavens, and pierced\nand burnt up with augmenting haste the pale mist that hovered over the\nNile, and the vapor that hung--a delicate transparent veil of bluish-grey\nbombyx-gauze--over the eastern slopes, the cool shades of night vanished\ntoo from the dusky nooks of the narrow town which lay, mile-wide, along\nthe western bank of the river. And the intensely brilliant sunlight which\nnow bathed the streets and houses, the palaces and temples, the gardens\nand avenues, and the innumerable vessels in the harbor of Memphis, was\nassociated with a glow of warmth which was welcome even there in the\nearly morning of a winter's day.\n\nBoats' captains and sailors--were hurrying down to the shore of the Nile\nto avail themselves of the northeast breeze to travel southwards against\nthe current, and sails were being hoisted and anchors heaved, to an\naccompaniment of loud singing. The quay was so crowded with ships that it\nwas difficult to understand how those that were ready could ever\ndisentangle themselves, and find their way through those remaining\nbehind; but each somehow found an outlet by which to reach the navigable\nstream, and ere long the river was swarming with boats, all sailing\nsouthwards, and giving it the appearance of an endless perspective of\ncamp tents set afloat.\n\nLong strings of camels with high packs, of more lightly laden asses, and\nof dark-colored slaves, were passing down the road to the harbor; these\nlast were singing, as yet unhurt by the burden of the day, and the\noverseers' whips were still in their girdles.\n\nOx-carts were being laden or coming down to the landing-place with goods,\nand the ship's captains were already beginning to collect round the\ndifferent great merchants--of whom the greater number were Greeks, and\nonly a few dressed in Egyptian costume--in order to offer their freight\nfor sale, or to hire out their vessels for some new expedition.\n\nThe greatest bustle and noise were at a part of the quay where, under\nlarge tents, the custom-house officials were busily engaged, for most\nvessels first cast anchor at Memphis to pay duty or Nile-toll on the\n\"king's table.\" The market close to the harbor also was a gay scene;\nthere dates and grain, the skins of beasts, and dried fish were piled in\ngreat heaps, and bleating and bellowing herds of cattle were driven\ntogether to be sold to the highest bidder.\n\nSoldiers on foot and horseback in gaudy dresses and shining armor,\nmingled with the busy crowd, like peacocks and gaudy cocks among the\nfussy swarm of hens in a farm yard; lordly courtiers, in holiday dresses\nof showy red, blue and yellow stuffs, were borne by slaves in litters or\nstanding on handsome gilt chariots; garlanded priests walked about in\nlong white robes, and smartly dressed girls were hurrying down to the\ntaverns near the harbor to play the flute or to dance.\n\nThe children that were playing about among this busy mob looked\ncovetously at the baskets piled high with cakes, which the bakers' boys\nwere carrying so cleverly on their heads. The dogs innumerable, put up\ntheir noses as the dealers in such dainties passed near them, and many of\nthem set up longing howls when a citizen's wife came by with her slaves,\ncarrying in their baskets freshly killed fowls, and juicy meats to roast\nfor the festival, among heaps of vegetables and fruits.\n\nGardeners' boys and young girls were bearing garlands of flowers,\nfestoons and fragrant nosegays, some piled on large trays which they\ncarried two and two, some on smaller boards or hung on cross poles for\none to carry; at that part of the quay where the king's barge lay at\nanchor numbers of workmen were busily employed in twining festoons of\ngreenery and flowers round the flag-staffs, and in hanging them with\nlanterns.\n\nLong files of the ministers of the god-representing the five phyla or\norders of the priesthood of the whole country--were marching, in holiday\nattire, along the harbor-road in the direction of the palace, and the\njostling crowd respectfully made way for them to pass. The gleams of\nfestal splendor seemed interwoven with the laborious bustle on the quay\nlike scraps of gold thread in a dull work-a-day garment.\n\nEuergetes, brother of the king, was keeping his birthday in Memphis\nto-day, and all the city was to take part in the festivities.\n\nAt the first hour after sunrise victims had been sacrificed in the temple\nof Ptah, the most ancient, and most vast of the sanctuaries of the\nvenerable capital of the Pharaohs; the sacred Apis-bull, but recently\nintroduced into the temple, was hung all over with golden ornaments;\nearly in the morning Euergetes had paid his devotions to the sacred\nbeast--which had eaten out of his hand, a favorable augury of success for\nhis plans; and the building in which the Apis lived, as well as the\nstalls of his mother and of the cows kept for him, had been splendidly\ndecked with flowers.\n\nThe citizens of Memphis were not permitted to pursue their avocations or\nply their trades beyond the hour of noon; then the markets, the booths,\nthe workshops and schools were to be closed, and on the great square in\nfront of the temple of Ptah, where the annual fair was held, dramas both\nsacred and profane, and shows of all sorts were to be seen, heard and\nadmired by men, women and children--provided at the expense of the two\nkings.\n\nTwo men of Alexandria, one an AEolian of Lesbos, and the other a Hebrew\nbelonging to the Jewish community, but who was not distinguishable by\ndress or accent from his Greek fellow-citizens, greeted each other on the\nquay opposite the landing-place for the king's vessels, some of which\nwere putting out into the stream, spreading their purple sails and\ndipping their prows inlaid with ivory and heavily gilt.\n\n\"In a couple of hours,\" said the Jew, \"I shall be travelling homewards.\nMay I offer you a place in my boat, or do you propose remaining here to\nassist at the festival and not starting till to-morrow morning? There are\nall kinds of spectacles to be seen, and when it is dark a grand\nillumination is to take place.\"\n\n\"What do I care for their barbarian rubbish?\" answered the Lesbian. \"Why,\nthe Egyptian music alone drives me to distraction. My business is\nconcluded. I had inspected the goods brought from Arabia and India by way\nof Berenice and Coptos, and had selected those I needed before the vessel\nthat brought them had moored in the Mariotic harbor, and other goods will\nhave reached Alexandria before me. I will not stay an hour longer than is\nnecessary in this horrible place, which is as dismal as it is huge.\nYesterday I visited the gymnasium and the better class of\nbaths--wretched, I call them! It is an insult to the fish-market and the\nhorse-ponds of Alexandria to compare them with them.\"\n\n\"And the theatre!\" exclaimed the Jew. \"The exterior one can bear to look\nat--but the acting! Yesterday they gave the 'Thals' of Menander, and I\nassure you that in Alexandria the woman who dared to impersonate the\nbewitching and cold-hearted Hetaira would have been driven off the\nstage--they would have pelted her with rotten apples. Close by me there\nsat a sturdy, brown Egyptian, a sugar-baker or something of the kind, who\nheld his sides with laughing, and yet, I dare swear, did not understand a\nword of the comedy. But in Memphis it is the fashion to know Greek, even\namong the artisans. May I hope to have you as my guest?\"\n\n\"With pleasure, with pleasure!\" replied the Lesbian. \"I was about to look\nout for a boat. Have you done your business to your satisfaction?\"\n\n\"Tolerably!\" answered the Jew. \"I have purchased some corn from Upper\nEgypt, and stored it in the granaries here. The whole of that row yonder\nwere to let for a mere song, and so we get off cheaply when we let the\nwheat lie here instead of at Alexandria where granaries are no longer to\nbe had for money.\"\n\n\"That is very clever!\" replied the Greek. \"There is bustle enough here in\nthe harbor, but the many empty warehouses and the low rents prove how\nMemphis is going down. Formerly this city was the emporium for all\nvessels, but now for the most part they only run in to pay the toll and\nto take in supplies for their crews. This populous place has a big\nstomach, and many trades drive a considerable business here, but most of\nthose that fail here are still carried on in Alexandria.\"\n\n\"It is the sea that is lacking,\" interrupted the Jew; \"Memphis trades\nonly with Egypt, and we with the whole world. The merchant who sends his\ngoods here only load camels, and wretched asses, and flat-bottomed\nNile-boats, while we in our harbors freight fine seagoing vessels. When\nthe winter-storms are past our house alone sends twenty triremes with\nEgyptian wheat to Ostia and to Pontus; and your Indian and Arabian goods,\nyour imports from the newly opened Ethiopian provinces, take up less\nroom, but I should like to know how many talents your trade amounted to\nin the course of the past year. Well then, farewell till we meet again on\nmy boat; it is called the Euphrosyne, and lies out there, exactly\nopposite the two statues of the old king--who can remember these stiff\nbarbarian names? In three hours we start. I have a good cook on board,\nwho is not too particular as to the regulations regarding food by which\nmy countrymen in Palestine live, and you will find a few new books and\nsome capital wine from Byblos.\"\n\n\"Then we need not dread a head-wind,\" laughed the Lesbian. \"We meet again\nin three hours.\"\n\nThe Israelite waved his hand to his travelling companion, and proceeded\nat first along the shore under the shade of an alley of sycamores with\ntheir broad unsymmetrical heads of foliage, but presently he turned aside\ninto a narrow street which led from the quay to the city. He stood still\nfor a moment opposite the entrance of the corner house, one side of which\nlay parallel to the stream while the other--exhibiting the front door,\nand a small oil-shop--faced the street; his attention had been attracted\nto it by a strange scene; but he had still much to attend to before\nstarting on his journey, and he soon hurried on again without noticing a\ntall man who came towards him, wearing a travelling-hat and a cloak such\nas was usually adapted only for making journeys.\n\nThe house at which the Jew had gazed so fixedly was that of Apollodorus,\nthe sculptor, and the man who was so strangely dressed for a walk through\nthe city at this hour of the day was the Roman, Publius Scipio. He seemed\nto be still more attracted by what was going on in the little stall by\nthe sculptor's front door, than even the Israelite had been; he leaned\nagainst the fence of the garden opposite the shop, and stood for some\ntime gazing and shaking his head at the strange things that were to be\nseen within.\n\nA wooden counter supported by the wall of the house-which was used by\ncustomers to lay their money on and which generally held a few\noil-jars-projected a little way into the street like a window-board, and\non this singular couch sat a distinguished looking youth in a light blue,\nsleeveless chiton, turning his back on the stall itself, which was not\nmuch bigger than a good sized travelling-chariot. By his side lay a\n\"Himation\"--[A long square cloak, and an indispensable part of the dress\nof the Greeks.]--of fine white woolen stuff with a blue border. His legs\nhung out into the street, and his brilliant color stood out in wonderful\ncontrast to the dark skin of a naked Egyptian boy, who crouched at his\nfeet with a cage full of doves.\n\nThe young Greek sitting on the window-counter had a golden fillet on his\noiled and perfumed curls, sandals of the finest leather on his feet, and\neven in these humble surroundings looked elegant--but even more merry\nthan elegant--for the whole of his handsome face was radiant with smiles\nwhile he tied two small rosy-grey turtle doves with ribands of\nrose-colored bombyx-silk to the graceful basket in which they were\nsitting, and then slipped a costly gold bracelet over the heads of the\nfrightened birds, and attached it to their wings with a white silk tie.\n\nWhen he had finished this work he held the basket up, looked at it with a\nsmile of satisfaction, and he was in the very act of handing it to the\nblack boy when he caught sight of Publius, who went up to him from the\ngarden-fence.\n\n\"In the name of all the gods, Lysias,\" cried the Roman, without greeting\nhis friend, what fool's trick are you at there again! Are you turned\noil-seller, or have you taken to training pigeons?\"\n\n\"I am the one, and I am doing the other,\" answered the Corinthian with a\nlaugh, for he it was to whom the Roman's speech was addressed. \"How do\nyou like my nest of young doves? It strikes me as uncommonly pretty, and\nhow well the golden circlet that links their necks becomes the little\ncreatures!\"\n\n\"Here, put out your claws, you black crocodile,\" he continued, turning to\nhis little assistant, \"carry the basket carefully into the house, and\nrepeat what I say, 'From the love-sick Lysias to the fair Irene'--Only\nlook, Publius, how the little monster grins at me with his white teeth.\nYou shall hear that his Greek is far less faultless than his teeth. Prick\nup your ears, you little ichneumon--now once more repeat what you are to\nsay in there--do you see where I am pointing with my finger?--to the\nmaster or to the lady who shall take the doves from you.\"\n\nWith much pitiful stammering the boy repeated the Corinthian's message to\nIrene, and as he stood there with his mouth wide open, Lysias, who was an\nexpert at \"ducks and drakes\" on the water, neatly tossed into it a silver\ndrachma. This mouthful was much to the little rascal's taste, for after\nhe had taken the coin out of his mouth he stood with wide-open jaws\nopposite his liberal master, waiting for another throw; Lysias however\nboxed him lightly on his ears, and chucked him under the chin, saying as\nhe snapped the boy's teeth together:\n\n\"Now carry up the birds and wait for the answer.\" \"This offering is to\nIrene, then?\" said Publius. \"We have not met for a long time; where were\nyou all day yesterday?\"\n\n\"It will be far more entertaining to hear what you were about all the\nnight long. You are dressed as if you had come straight here from Rome.\nEuergetes has already sent for you once this morning, and the queen\ntwice; she is over head and ears in love with you.\"\n\n\"Folly! Tell me now what you were doing all yesterday.\"\n\n\"Tell me first where you have been.\"\n\n\"I had to go some distance and will tell you all about it later, but not\nnow; and I encountered strange things on my way--aye, I must say\nextraordinary things. Before sunrise I found a bed in the inn yonder, and\nto my own great surprise I slept so soundly that I awoke only two hours\nsince.\"\n\n\"That is a very meagre report; but I know of old that if you do not\nchoose to speak no god could drag a syllable from you. As regards myself\nI should do myself an injury by being silent, for my heart is like an\noverloaded beast of burden and talking will relieve it. Ah! Publius, my\nfate to-day is that of the helpless Tantalus, who sees juicy pears\nbobbing about under his nose and tempting his hungry stomach, and yet\nthey never let him catch hold of them, only look-in there dwells Irene,\nthe pear, the peach, the pomegranate, and my thirsting heart is consumed\nwith longing for her. You may laugh--but to-day Paris might meet Helen\nwith impunity, for Eros has shot his whole store of arrows into me. You\ncannot see them, but I can feel them, for not one of them has he drawn\nout of the wound. And the darling little thing herself is not wholly\nuntouched by the winged boy's darts. She has confessed so much to me\nmyself. It is impossible for me to refuse her any thing, and so I was\nfool enough to swear a horrible oath that I would not try to see her till\nshe was reunited to her tall solemn sister, of whom I am exceedingly\nafraid. Yesterday I lurked outside this house just as a hungry wolf in\ncold weather sneaks about a temple where lambs are being sacrificed, only\nto see her, or at least to hear a word from her lips, for when she speaks\nit is like the song of nightingales--but all in vain. Early this morning\nI came back to the city and to this spot; and as hanging about forever\nwas of no use, I bought up the stock of the old oil-seller, who is asleep\nthere in the corner, and settled myself in his stall, for here no one can\nescape me, who enters or quits Apollodorus' house--and, besides, I am\nonly forbidden to visit Irene; she herself allows me to send her\ngreetings, and no one forbids me, not even Apollodorus, to whom I spoke\nan hour ago.\"\n\n\"And that basket of birds that your dusky errand-boy carried into the\nhouse just now, was such a 'greeting?\"\n\n\"Of course--that is the third already. First I sent her a lovely nosegay\nof fresh pomegranate-blossoms, and with it a few verses I hammered out in\nthe course of the night; then a basket of peaches which she likes very\nmuch, and now the doves. And there lie her answers--the dear, sweet\ncreature! For my nosegay I got this red riband, for the fruit this peach\nwith a piece bitten out. Now I am anxious to see what I shall get for my\ndoves. I bought that little brown scamp in the market, and I shall take\nhim with me to Corinth as a remembrance of Memphis, if he brings me back\nsomething pretty this time. There, I hear the door, that is he; come here\nyoungster, what have you brought?\" Publius stood with his arms crossed\nbehind his back, hearing and watching the excited speech and gestures of\nhis friend who seemed to him, to-day more than ever, one of those\ncareless darlings of the gods, whose audacious proceedings give us\npleasure because they match with their appearance and manner, and we feel\nthey can no more help their vagaries than a tree can help blossoming. As\nsoon as Lysias spied a small packet in the boy's hand he did not take it\nfrom him but snatched up the child, who was by no means remarkably small,\nby the leather belt that fastened up his loin-cloth, tossed him up as if\nhe were a plaything, and set him down on the table by his side,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"I will teach you to fly, my little hippopotamus! Now, show me what you\nhave got.\"\n\nHe hastily took the packet from the hand of the youngster, who looked\nquite disconcerted, weighed it in his hand and said, turning to Publius:\n\n\"There is something tolerably heavy in this--what can it contain?\"\n\n\"I am quite inexperienced in such matters,\" replied the Roman.\n\n\"And I much experienced,\" answered Lysias. \"It might be, wait-it might be\nthe clasp of her girdle in here. Feel, it is certainly something hard.\"\n\nPublius carefully felt the packet that the Corinthian held out to him,\nwith his fingers, and then said with a smile:\n\n\"I can guess what you have there, and if I am right I shall be much\npleased. Irene, I believe, has returned you the gold bracelet on a little\nwooden tablet.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" answered Lysias. \"The ornament was prettily wrought and of\nsome value, and every girl is fond of ornaments.\"\n\n\"Your Corinthian friends are, at any rate. But look what the wrapper\ncontains.\"\n\n\"Do you open it,\" said the Corinthian.\n\nPublius first untied a thread, then unfolded a small piece of white\nlinen, and came at last to an object wrapped in a bit of flimsy, cheap\npapyrus. When this last envelope was removed, the bracelet was in fact\ndiscovered, and under it lay a small wax tablet.\n\nLysias was by no means pleased with this discovery, and looked\ndisconcerted and annoyed at the return of his gift; but he soon mastered\nhis vexation, and said turning to his friend, who was not in the least\nmaliciously triumphant, but who stood looking thoughtfully at the ground.\n\n\"Here is something on the little tablet--the sauce no doubt to the\npeppered dish she has set before me.\"\n\n\"Still, eat it,\" interrupted Publius. \"It may do you good for the\nfuture.\"\n\nLysias took the tablet in his hand, and after considering it carefully on\nboth sides he said:\n\n\"It belongs to the sculptor, for there is his name. And there--why she\nhas actually spiced the sauce or, if you like it better the bitter dose,\nwith verses. They are written more clearly than beautifully, still they\nare of the learned sort.\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked the Roman with curiosity, as Lysias read the lines to\nhimself; the Greek did not look up from the writing but sighed softly,\nand rubbing the side of his finely-cut nose with his finger he replied:\n\n\"Very pretty, indeed, for any one to whom they are not directly\naddressed. Would you like to hear the distich?\"\n\n\"Read it to me, I beg of you.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" said the Corinthian, and sighing again he read aloud;\n\n     'Sweet is the lot of the couple whom love has united;\n     But gold is a debt, and needs must at once be restored.'\n\n\"There, that is the dose. But doves are not human creatures, and I know\nat once what my answer shall be. Give me the fibula, Publius, that clasps\nthat cloak in which you look like one of your own messengers. I will\nwrite my answer on the wax.\"\n\nThe Roman handed to Lysias the golden circlet armed with a strong pin,\nand while he stood holding his cloak together with his hands, as he was\nanxious to avoid recognition by the passers-by that frequented this\nstreet, the Corinthian wrote as follows:\n\n     \"When doves are courting the lover adorns himself only;\n     But when a youth loves, he fain would adorn his beloved.\"\n\n\"Am I allowed to hear it?\" asked Publius, and his friend at once read him\nthe lines; then he gave the tablet to the boy, with the bracelet which he\nhastily wrapped up again, and desired him to take it back immediately to\nthe fair Irene. But the Roman detained the lad, and laying his hand on\nthe Greek's shoulder, he asked him: \"And if the young girl accepts this\ngift, and after it many more besides--since you are rich enough to make\nher presents to her heart's content--what then, Lysias?\"\n\n\"What then?\" repeated the other with more indecision and embarrassment\nthan was his wont. \"Then I wait for Klea's return home and--Aye! you may\nlaugh at me, but I have been thinking seriously of marrying this girl,\nand taking her with me to Corinth. I am my father's only son, and for the\nlast three years he has given me no peace. He is bent on my mother's\nfinding me a wife or on my choosing one for myself. And if I took him the\npitch-black sister of this swarthy lout I believe he would be glad. I\nnever was more madly in love with any girl than with this little Irene,\nas true as I am your friend; but I know why you are looking at me with a\nfrown like Zeus the Thunderer. You know of what consequence our family is\nin Corinth, and when I think of that, then to be sure--\"\n\n\"Then to be sure?\" enquired the Roman in sharp, grave tone.\n\n\"Then I reflect that a water-bearer--the daughter of an outlawed man, in\nour house--\"\n\n\"And do you consider mine as being any less illustrious in Rome than your\nown is in Corinth?\" asked Publius sternly.\n\n\"On the contrary, Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica. We are important by\nour wealth, you by your power and estates.\"\n\n\"So it is--and yet I am about to conduct Irene's sister Klea as my lawful\nwife to my father's house.\"\n\n\"You are going to do that!\" cried Lysias springing from his seat, and\nflinging himself on the Roman's breast, though at this moment a party of\nEgyptians were passing by in the deserted street. \"Then all is well,\nthen--oh! what a weight is taken off my mind!--then Irene shall be my\nwife as sure as I live! Oh Eros and Aphrodite and Father Zeus and Apollo!\nhow happy I am! I feel as if the biggest of the Pyramids yonder had\nfallen off my heart. Now, you rascal, run up and carry to the fair Irene,\nthe betrothed of her faithful Lysias--mark what I say--carry her at once\nthis tablet and bracelet. But you will not say it right; I will write\nhere above my distich: 'From the faithful Lysias to the fair Irene his\nfuture wife.' There--and now I think she will not send the thing back\nagain, good girl that she is! Listen, rascal, if she keeps it you may\nswallow cakes to-day out on the Grand Square till you burst--and yet I\nhave only just paid five gold pieces for you. Will she keep the bracelet,\nPublius--yes or no?\"\n\n\"She will keep it.\"\n\nA few minutes later the boy came hurrying back, and pulling the Greek\nvehemently by his dress, he cried:\n\n\"Come, come with me, into the house.\" Lysias with a light and graceful\nleap sprang right over the little fellow's head, tore open the door, and\nspread out his arms as he caught sight of Irene, who, though trembling\nlike a hunted gazelle, flew down the narrow ladder-like stairs to meet\nhim, and fell on his breast laughing and crying and breathless.\n\nIn an instant their lips met, but after this first kiss she tore herself\nfrom his arms, rushed up the stairs again, and then, from the top step,\nshouted joyously:\n\n\"I could not help seeing you this once! now farewell till Klea comes,\nthen we meet again,\" and she vanished into an upper room.\n\nLysias turned to his friend like one intoxicated, he threw himself down\non his bench, and said:\n\n\"Now the heavens may fall, nothing can trouble me! Ye immortal gods, how\nfair the world is!\"\n\n\"Strange boy!\" exclaimed the Roman, interrupting his friend's rapture.\n\"You can not stay for ever in this dingy stall.\"\n\n\"I will not stir from this spot till Klea comes. The boy there shall\nfetch me victuals as an old sparrow feeds his young; and if necessary I\nwill lie here for a week, like the little sardines they preserve in oil\nat Alexandria.\"\n\n\"I hope you will have only a few hours to wait; but I must go, for I am\nplanning a rare surprise for King Euergetes on his birthday, and must go\nto the palace. The festival is already in full swing. Only listen how\nthey are shouting and calling down by the harbor; I fancy I can hear the\nname of Euergetes.\"\n\n\"Present my compliments to the fat monster! May we meet again\nsoon--brother-in-law!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nKing Euergetes was pacing restlessly up and down the lofty room which his\nbrother had furnished with particular magnificence to be his\nreception-room. Hardly had the sun risen on the morning of his birthday\nwhen he had betaken himself to the temple of Ptah with a numerous\nsuite--before his brother Philometor could set out--in order to sacrifice\nthere, to win the good graces of the high-priest of the sanctuary, and to\nquestion of the oracle of Apis. All had fallen out well, for the sacred\nbull had eaten out of his hand; and yet he would have been more\nglad--though it should have disdained the cake he offered it, if only\nEulaeus had brought him the news that the plot against the Roman's life\nhad been successful.\n\nGift after gift, addresses of congratulation from every district of the\ncountry, priestly decrees drawn up in his honor and engraved on tablets\nof hard stone, lay on every table or leaned against the walls of the vast\nball which the guests had just quitted. Only Hierax, the king's friend,\nremained with him, supporting himself, while he waited for some sign from\nhis sovereign, on a high throne made of gold and ivory and richly\ndecorated with gems, which had been sent to the king by the Jewish\ncommunity of Alexandria.\n\nThe great commander knew his master well and knew too that it was not\nprudent to address him when he looked as he did now. But Euergetes\nhimself was aware of the need for speech, and he began, without pausing\nin his walk or looking at his dignified friend:\n\n\"Even the Philobasilistes have proved corrupt; my soldiers in the citadel\nare more numerous and are better men too than those that have remained\nfaithful to Philometor, and there ought to be nothing more for me to do\nbut to stir up a brief clatter of swords on shields, to spring upon the\nthrone, and to have myself proclaimed king; but I will never go into the\nfield with the strongest division of the enemy in my rear. My brother's\nhead is on my sister's shoulders, and so long as I am not certain of\nher--\"\n\nA chamberlain rushed into the room as the king spoke, and interrupted him\nby shouting out:\n\n\"Queen Cleopatra.\"\n\nA smile of triumph flashed across the features of the young giant; he\nflung himself with an air of indifference on to a purple divan, and\ndesired that a magnificent lyre made of ivory, and presented to him by\nhis sister, should be brought to him; on it was carved with wonderful\nskill and delicacy a representation of the first marriage, that of Cadmus\nwith Harmonia, at which all the gods had attended as guests.\n\nEuergetes grasped the chords with wonderful vigor and mastery, and began\nto play a wedding march, in which eager triumph alternated with tender\nwhisperings of love and longing.\n\nThe chamberlain, whose duty it was to introduce the queen to her\nbrother's presence, wished to interrupt this performance of his\nsovereign's; but Cleopatra held him back, and stood listening at the door\nwith her children till Euergetes had brought the air to a rapid\nconclusion with a petulant sweep of the strings, and a loud and\near-piercing discord; then he flung his lute on the couch and rose with\nwell-feigned surprise, going forward to meet the queen as if, absorbed in\nplaying, he had not heard her approach.\n\nHe greeted his sister affectionately, holding out both his hands to her,\nand spoke to the children--who were not afraid of him, for he knew how to\nplay madcap games with them like a great frolicsome boy--welcoming them\nas tenderly as if he were their own father.\n\nHe could not weary of thanking Cleopatra for her thoughtful present--so\nappropriate to him, who like Cadmus longed to boast of having mastered\nHarmonia, and finally--she not having found a word to say--he took her by\nthe hand to exhibit to her the presents sent him by her husband and from\nthe provinces. But Cleopatra seemed to take little pleasure in all these\nthings, and said:\n\n\"Yes, everything is admirable, just as it has always been every year for\nthe last twenty years; but I did not come here to see but to listen.\"\n\nHer brother was radiant with satisfaction; she on the contrary was pale\nand grave, and, could only now and then compel herself to a forced smile.\n\n\"I fancied,\" said Euergetes, \"that your desire to wish me joy was the\nprincipal thing that had brought you here, and, indeed, my vanity\nrequires me to believe it. Philometor was with me quite early, and\nfulfilled that duty with touching affection. When will he go into the\nbanqueting-hall?\"\n\n\"In half an hour; and till then tell me, I entreat you, what yesterday\nyou--\"\n\n\"The best events are those that are long in preparing,\" interrupted her\nbrother. \"May I ask you to let the children, with their attendants,\nretire for a few minutes into the inner rooms?\"\n\n\"At once!\" cried Cleopatra eagerly, and she pushed her eldest boy, who\nclamorously insisted on remaining with his uncle, violently out of the\ndoor without giving his attendant time to quiet him or take him in her\narms.\n\nWhile she was endeavoring, with angry scolding and cross words, to hasten\nthe children's departure, Eulaeus came into the room. Euergetes, as soon\nas he saw him, set every limb with rigid resolve, and drew breath so\ndeeply that his broad chest heaved high, and a strong respiration parted\nhis lips as he went forward to meet the eunuch, slowly but with an\nenquiring look.\n\nEulaeus cast a significant glance at Hierax and Cleopatra, went quite\nclose up to the king, whispered a few words into his ear, and answered\nhis brief questions in a low voice.\n\n\"It is well,\" said Euergetes at last, and with a decisive gesture of his\nhand he dismissed Eulaeus and his friend from the room.\n\nThen he stood, as pale as death, his teeth set in his under-lip, and\ngazing blankly at the ground.\n\nHe had his will, Publius Cornelius Scipio lived no more; his ambition\nmight reach without hindrance the utmost limits of his desires, and yet\nhe could not rejoice; he could not escape from a deep horror of himself,\nand he struck his broad forehead with his clenched fists. He was face to\nface with his first dastardly murder.\n\n\"And what news does Eulaeus bring?\" asked Cleopatra in anxious\nexcitement, for she had never before seen her brother like this; but he\ndid not hear these words, and it was not till she had repeated them with\nmore insistence that he collected himself, stared at her from head to\nfoot with a fixed, gloomy expression, and then, letting his hand fall on\nher shoulder so heavily that her knees bent under her and she gave a\nlittle cry, asked her in a low but meaning tone:\n\n\"Are you strong enough to bear to hear great news?\"\n\n\"Speak,\" she said in a low voice, and her eyes were fixed on his lips\nwhile she pressed her hand on her heart. Her anxiety to hear fettered her\nto him, as with a tangible tie, and he, as if he must burst it by the\nforce of his utterance, said with awful solemnity, in his deepest tones\nand emphasizing every syllable:\n\n\"Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica is dead.\"\n\nAt these words Cleopatra's pale cheeks were suddenly dyed with a crimson\nglow, and clenching her little hands she struck them together, and\nexclaimed with flashing eyes:\n\n\"I hoped so!\"\n\nEuergetes withdrew a step from his sister, and said: \"You were right. It\nis not only among the race of gods that the most fearful of all are\nwomen!\"\n\n\"What have you to say?\" retorted Cleopatra. \"And am I to believe that a\ntoothache has kept the Roman away from the banquet yesterday, and again\nfrom coming to see me to-day? Am I to repeat, after you, that he died of\nit? Now, speak out, for it rejoices my heart to hear it; where and how\ndid the insolent hypocrite meet his end?\"\n\n\"A serpent stung him,\" replied Euergetes, turning from his sister. \"It\nwas in the desert, not far from the Apis-tombs.\"\n\n\"He had an assignation in the Necropolis at midnight--it would seem to\nhave begun more pleasantly than it ended?\"\n\nEuergetes nodded assent to the question, and added gravely:\n\n\"His fate overtook him--but I cannot see anything very pleasing in the\nmatter.\"\n\n\"No?\" asked the queen. \"And do you think that I do not know the asp that\nended that life in its prime? Do you think that I do not know, who set\nthe poisoned serpent on the Roman? You are the assassin, and Eulaeus and\nhis accomplices have helped you! Only yesterday I would have given my\nheart's blood for Publius, and would rather have carried you to the grave\nthan him; but to-day, now that I know the game that the wretch has been\nplaying with me, I would even have taken on myself the bloody deed which,\nas it is, stains your hands. Not even a god should treat your sister with\nsuch contempt--should insult her as he has done--and go unpunished!\nAnother has already met the same fate, as you know--Eustorgos, Hipparchon\nof Bithynia, who, while he seemed to be dying of love for me, was\ncourting Kallistrata my lady in waiting; and the wild beasts and serpents\nexercised their dark arts on him too. Eulaeus' intelligence has fallen on\nyou, who are powerful, like a cold hand on your heart; in me, the weak\nwoman, it rouses unspeakable delight. I gave him the best of all a woman\nhas to bestow, and he dared to trample it in the dust; and had I no right\nto require of him that he should pour out the best that he had, which was\nhis life, in the same way as he had dared to serve mine, which is my\nlove? I have a right to rejoice at his death. Aye! the heavy lids now\nclose those bright eyes which could be falser than the stern lips that\nwere so apt to praise truth. The faithless heart is forever still which\ncould scorn the love of a queen--and for what? For whom? Oh, ye pitiful\ngods!\"\n\nWith these words the queen sobbed aloud, hastily lifting her hands to\ncover her eyes, and ran to the door by which she had entered her\nbrother's rooms.\n\nBut Euergetes stood in her way, and said sternly and positively:\n\n\"You are to stay here till I return. Collect yourself, for at the next\nevent which this momentous day will bring forth it will be my turn to\nlaugh while your blood shall run cold.\" And with a few swift steps he\nleft the hall.\n\nCleopatra buried her face in the soft cushions of the couch, and wept\nwithout ceasing, till she was presently startled by loud cries and the\nclatter of arms. Her quick wit told her what was happening. In frantic\nhaste she flew to the door but it was locked; no shaking, no screaming,\nno thumping seemed to reach the ears of the guard whom she heard\nmonotonously walking up and down outside her prison.\n\nAnd now the tumult and clang of arms grew louder and louder, and the\nrattle of drums and blare of trumpets began to mingle with the sound. She\nrushed to the window in mortal fear, and looked down into the\npalace-yard; at that same instant the door of the great banqueting-hall\nwas flung open, and a flying crowd streamed out in distracted\nconfusion--then another, and a third--all troops in King Philometor's\nuniform. She ran to the door of the room into which she had thrust her\nchildren; that too was locked. In her desperation she once more sprang to\nthe window, shouted to the flying Macedonians to halt and make a\nstand--threatening and entreating; but no one heard her, and their number\nconstantly increased, till at length she saw her husband standing on the\nthreshold of the great hall with a gaping wound on his forehead, and\ndefending himself bravely and stoutly with buckler and sword against the\nbody-guard of his own brother, who were pressing him sorely. In agonized\nexcitement she shouted encouraging words to him, and he seemed to hear\nher, for with a strong sweep of his shield he struck his nearest\nantagonist to the earth, sprang with a mighty leap into the midst of his\nflying adherents, and vanished with them through the passage which led to\nthe palace-stables.\n\nThe queen sank fainting on her knees by the window, and, through the\ngathering shades of her swoon her dulled senses still were conscious of\nthe trampling of horses, of a shrill trumpet-blast, and at last of a\nswelling and echoing shout of triumph with cries of, \"Hail: hail to the\nson of the Sun--Hail to the uniter of the two kingdoms; Hail to the King\nof Upper and Lower Egypt, to Euergetes the god.\"\n\nBut at the last words she recovered consciousness entirely and started\nup. She looked down into the court again, and there saw her brother borne\nalong on her husband's throne-litter by dignitaries and nobles. Side by\nside with the traitor's body-guard marched her own and Philometor's\nPhilobasilistes and Diadoches.\n\nThe magnificent train went out of the great court of the palace, and\nthen--as she heard the chanting of priests--she realized that she had\nlost her crown, and knew whither her faithless brother was proceeding.\n\nShe ground her teeth as her fancy painted all that was now about to\nhappen. Euergetes was being borne to the temple of Ptah, and proclaimed\nby its astonished chief-priests, as King of Upper and Lower Egypt, and\nsuccessor to Philometor. Four pigeons would be let fly in his presence to\nannounce to the four quarters of the heavens that a new sovereign had\nmounted the throne of his fathers, and amid prayer and sacrifice a golden\nsickle would be presented to him with which, according to ancient custom,\nhe would cut an ear of corn.\n\nBetrayed by her brother, abandoned by her husband, parted from her\nchildren, scorned by the man she had loved, dethroned and powerless, too\nweak and too utterly crushed to dream of revenge--she spent two\ninterminably long hours in the keenest anguish of mind, shut up in her\nprison which was overloaded with splendor and with gifts. If poison had\nbeen within her reach, in that hour she would unhesitatingly have put an\nend to her ruined life. Now she walked restlessly up and down, asking\nherself what her fate would be, and now she flung herself on the couch\nand gave herself up to dull despair.\n\nThere lay the lyre she had given to her brother; her eye fell on the\nrelievo of the marriage of Cadmus and Harmonia, and on the figure of a\nwoman who was offering a jewel to the bride. The bearer of the gift was\nthe goddess of love, and the ornament she gave--so ran the\nlegend--brought misfortune on those who inherited it. All the darkest\nhours of her life revived in her memory, and the blackest of them all had\ncome upon her as the outcome of Aphrodite's gifts. She thought with a\nshudder of the murdered Roman, and remembered the moment when Eulaeus had\ntold her that her Bithynian lover had been killed by wild beasts. She\nrushed from one door to another--the victim of the avenging\nEumenides--shrieked from the window for rescue and help, and in that one\nhour lived through a whole year of agonies and terrors.\n\nAt last--at last, the door of the room was opened, and Euergetes came\ntowards her, clad in the purple, with the crown of the two countries on\nhis grand head, radiant with triumph and delight.\n\n\"All hail to you, sister!\" he exclaimed in a cheerful tone, and lifting\nthe heavy crown from his curling hair. \"You ought to be proud to-day, for\nyour own brother has risen to high estate, and is now King of Upper and\nLower Egypt.\"\n\nCleopatra turned from him, but he followed her and tried to take her\nhand. She however snatched it away, exclaiming:\n\n\"Fill up the measure of your deeds, and insult the woman whom you have\nrobbed and made a widow. It was with a prophecy on your lips that you\nwent forth just now to perpetrate your greatest crime; but it falls on\nyour own head, for you laugh over our misfortune--and it cannot regard\nme, for my blood does not run cold; I am not overwhelmed nor hopeless,\nand I shall--\"\n\n\"You,\" interrupted Euergetes, at first with a loud voice, which presently\nbecame as gentle as though he were revealing to her the prospect of a\nfuture replete with enjoyment, \"You shall retire to your roof-tent with\nyour children, and there you shall be read to as much as you like, eat as\nmany dainties as you can, wear as many splendid dresses as you can\ndesire, receive my visits and gossip with me as often as my society may\nseem agreeable to you--as yours is to me now and at all times. Besides\nall this you may display your sparkling wit before as many Greek and\nJewish men of letters or learning as you can command, till each and all\nare dazzled to blindness. Perhaps even before that you may win back your\nfreedom, and with it a full treasury, a stable full of noble horses, and\na magnificent residence in the royal palace on the Bruchion in gay\nAlexandria. It depends only on how soon our brother Philometor--who\nfought like a lion this morning--perceives that he is more fit to be a\ncommander of horse, a lute-player, an attentive host of word-splitting\nguests--than the ruler of a kingdom. Now, is it not worthy of note to\nthose who, like you and me, sister, love to investigate the phenomena of\nour spiritual life, that this man--who in peace is as yielding as wax, as\nweek as a reed--is as tough and as keen in battle as a finely tempered\nsword? We hacked bravely at each other's shields, and I owe this slash\nhere on my shoulder to him. If Hierax--who is in pursuit of him with his\nhorsemen--is lucky and catches him in time, he will no doubt give up the\ncrown of his own free will.\"\n\n\"Then he is not yet in your power, and he had time to mount a horse!\"\ncried Cleopatra, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction; \"then all is not\nyet lost for us. If Philometor can but reach Rome, and lay our case\nbefore the Senate--\"\n\n\"Then he might certainly have some prospect of help from the Republic,\nfor Rome does not love to see a strong king on the throne of Egypt,\" said\nEuergetes. \"But you have lost your mainstay by the Tiber, and I am about\nto make all the Scipios and the whole gens Cornelia my stanch allies, for\nI mean to have the deceased Roman burnt with the finest cedar-wood and\nArabian spices; sacrifices shall be slaughtered at the same time as if he\nhad been a reigning king, and his ashes shall be sent to Ostia and Rome\nin the costliest specimen of Vasa murrina that graces my treasure-house,\nand on a ship specially fitted, and escorted by the noblest of my\nfriends. The road to the rampart of a hostile city lies over corpses, and\nI, as general and king--\"\n\nEuergetes suddenly broke off in his sentence, for a loud noise and\nvehement talking were heard outside the door. Cleopatra too had not\nfailed to observe it, and listened with alert attention; for on such a\nday and in these apartments every dialogue, every noise in the king's\nantechamber might be of grave purport.\n\nEuergetes did not deceive himself in this matter any more than his\nsister, and he went towards the door holding the sacrificial sickle,\nwhich formed part of his regalia, in his right hand. But he had not\ncrossed the room when Eulaeus rushed in, as pale as death, and calling\nout to his sovereign:\n\n\"The murderers have betrayed us; Publius Scipio is alive, and insists on\nbeing admitted to speak with you.\"\n\nThe king's armed hand fell by his side, and for a moment he gazed blankly\ninto vacancy, but the next instant he had recovered himself, and roared\nin a voice which filled the room like rolling thunder:\n\n\"Who dares to hinder the entrance of my friend Publius Cornelius Scipio?\nAnd are you still here, Eulaeus--you scoundrel and you villain! The first\ncase that I, as King of Upper and Lower Egypt, shall open for trial will\nbe that which this man--who is your foe and my friend--proposes to bring\nagainst you. Welcome! most welcome on my birthday, my noble friend!\"\n\nThe last words were addressed to Publius, who now entered the room with\nstately dignity, and clad in the ample folds of the white toga worn by\nRomans of high birth. He held a sealed roll or despatch in his right\nhand, and, while he bowed respectfully to Cleopatra, he seemed entirely\nto overlook the hands King Euergetes held out in welcome. After his first\ngreeting had been disdained by the Roman, Euergetes would not have\noffered him a second if his life had depended on it. He crossed his arms\nwith royal dignity, and said:\n\n\"I am grieved to receive your good wishes the last of all that have been\noffered me on this happy day.\"\n\n\"Then you must have changed your mind,\" replied Publius, drawing up his\nslight figure, which was taller than the king's, \"You have no lack of\ndocile instruments, and last night you were fully determined to receive\nmy first congratulations in the realm of shades.\"\n\n\"My sister,\" answered Euergetes, shrugging his shoulders, \"was only\nyesterday singing the praises of your uncultured plainness of speech; but\nto-day it is your pleasure to speak in riddles like an Egyptian oracle.\"\n\n\"They cannot, however, be difficult to solve by you and your minions,\"\nreplied Publius coldly, as he pointed to Eulaeus. \"The serpents which you\ncommand have powerful poisons and sharp fangs at their disposal; this\ntime, however, they mistook their victim, and have sent a poor recluse of\nSerapis to Hades instead of one of their king's guests.\"\n\n\"Your enigma is harder than ever,\" cried the king. \"My intelligence at\nleast is unequal to solve it, and I must request you to speak in less\ndark language or else to explain your meaning.\"\n\n\"Later, I will,\" said Publius emphatically, \"but these things concern\nmyself alone, and I stand here now commissioned by the State of Rome\nwhich I serve. To-day Juventius Thalna will arrive here as ambassador\nfrom the Republic, and this document from the Senate accredits me as its\nrepresentative until his arrival.\"\n\nEuergetes took the sealed roll which Publius offered to him. While he\ntore it open, and hastily looked through its contents, the door was again\nthrown open and Hierax, the king's trusted friend, appeared on the\nthreshold with a flushed face and hair in disorder.\n\n\"We have him!\" he cried before he came in. \"He fell from his horse near\nHeliopolis.\"\n\n\"Philometor?\" screamed Cleopatra, flinging herself upon Hierax. \"He fell\nfrom his horse--you have murdered him?\"\n\nThe tone in which the words were said, so full of grief and horror that\nthe general said compassionately:\n\n\"Calm yourself, noble lady; your husband's wound in the forehead is not\ndangerous. The physicians in the great hall of the temple of the Sun\nbound it up, and allowed me to bring him hither on a litter.\"\n\nWithout hearing Hierax to the end Cleopatra flew towards the door, but\nEuergetes barred her way and gave his orders with that decision which\ncharacterized him, and which forbade all contradiction:\n\n\"You will remain here till I myself conduct you to him. I wish to have\nyou both near me.\"\n\n\"So that you may force us by every torment to resign the throne!\" cried\nCleopatra. \"You are in luck to-day, and we are your prisoners.\"\n\n\"You are free, noble queen,\" said the Roman to the poor woman, who was\ntrembling in every limb. \"And on the strength of my plenipotentiary\npowers I here demand the liberty of King Philometor, in the name of the\nSenate of Rome.\"\n\nAt these words the blood mounted to King Euergetes' face and eyes, and,\nhardly master of himself, he stammered out rather than said:\n\n\"Popilius Laenas drew a circle round my uncle Antiochus, and threatened\nhim with the enmity of Rome if he dared to overstep it. You might excel\nthe example set you by your bold countryman--whose family indeed was far\nless illustrious than yours--but I--I--\"\n\n\"You are at liberty to oppose the will of Rome,\" interrupted Publius with\ndry formality, \"but, if you venture on it, Rome, by me, will withdraw her\nfriendship. I stand here in the name of the Senate, whose purpose it is\nto uphold the treaty which snatched this country from the Syrians, and by\nwhich you and your brother pledged yourselves to divide the realm of\nEgypt between you. It is not in my power to alter what has happened here;\nbut it is incumbent on me so to act as to enable Rome to distribute to\neach of you that which is your due, according to the treaty ratified by\nthe Republic.\n\n\"In all questions which bear upon that compact Rome alone must decide,\nand it is my duty to take care that the plaintiff is not prevented from\nappearing alive and free before his protectors. So, in the name of the\nSenate, King Euergetes, I require you to permit King Philometor your\nbrother, and Queen Cleopatra your sister, to proceed hence, whithersoever\nthey will.\" Euergetes, breathing hard in impotent fury, alternately\ndoubling his fists, and extending his quivering fingers, stood opposite\nthe Roman who looked enquiringly in his face with cool composure; for a\nshort space both were silent. Then Euergetes, pushing his hands through\nhis hair, shook his head violently from side to side, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Thank the Senate from me, and say that I know what we owe to it, and\nadmire the wisdom which prefers to see Egypt divided rather than united\nin one strong hand--Philometor is free, and you also Cleopatra.\"\n\nFor a moment he was again silent, then he laughed loudly, and cried to\nthe queen:\n\n\"As for you sister--your tender heart will of course bear you on the\nwings of love to the side of your wounded husband.\"\n\nCleopatra's pale cheeks had flushed scarlet at the Roman's speech; she\nvouchsafed no answer to her brother's ironical address, but advanced\nproudly to the door. As she passed Publius she said with a farewell wave\nof her pretty hand.\n\n\"We are much indebted to the Senate.\"\n\nPublius bowed low, and she, turning away from him, quitted the room.\n\n\"You have forgotten your fan, and your children!\" the king called after\nher; but Cleopatra did not hear his words, for, once outside her\nbrother's apartment, all her forced and assumed composure flew to the\nwinds; she clasped her hands on her temples, and rushed down the broad\nstairs of the palace as if she were pursued by fiends.\n\nWhen the sound of her steps had died away, Euergetes turned to the Roman\nand said:\n\n\"Now, as you have fulfilled what you deem to be your duty, I beg of you\nto explain the meaning of your dark speeches just now, for they were\naddressed to Euergetes the man, and not the king. If I understood you\nrightly you meant to imply that your life had been attempted, and that\none of those extraordinary old men devoted to Serapis had been murdered\ninstead of you.\"\n\n\"By your orders and those of your accomplice Eulaeus,\" answered Publius\ncoolly.\n\n\"Eulaeus, come here!\" thundered the king to the trembling courtier, with\na fearful and threatening glare in his eyes. \"Have you hired murderers to\nkill my friend--this noble guest of our royal house--because he\nthreatened to bring your crimes to light?\"\n\n\"Mercy!\" whimpered Eulaeus sinking on his knees before the king.\n\n\"He confesses his crime!\" cried Euergetes; he laid his hand on the girdle\nof his weeping subordinate, and commanded Hierax to hand him over without\ndelay to the watch, and to have him hanged before all beholders by the\ngreat gate of the citadel. Eulaeus tried to pray for mercy and to speak,\nbut the powerful officer, who hated the contemptible wretch, dragged him\nup, and out of the room.\n\n\"You were quite right to lay your complaint before me,\" said Euergetes\nwhile Eulaeus cries and howls were still audible on the stairs. \"And you\nsee that I know how to punish those who dare to offend a guest.\"\n\n\"He has only met with the portion he has deserved for years,\" replied\nPublius. \"But now that we stand face to face, man to man, I must close my\naccount with you too. In your service and by your orders Eulaeus set two\nassassins to lie in wait for me--\"\n\n\"Publius Cornelius Scipio!\" cried the king, interrupting his enemy in an\nominous tone; but the Roman went on, calmly and quietly:\n\n\"I am saying nothing that I cannot support by witnesses; and I have truly\nset forth, in two letters, that king Euergetes during the past night has\nattempted the life of an ambassador from Rome. One of these despatches is\naddressed to my father, the other to Popilius Lamas, and both are already\non their way to Rome. I have given instructions that they are to be\nopened if, in the course of three months reckoned from the present date,\nI have not demanded them back. You see you must needs make it convenient\nto protect my life, and to carry out whatever I may require of you. If\nyou obey my will in everything I may demand, all that has happened this\nnight shall remain a secret between you and me and a third person, for\nwhose silence I will be answerable; this I promise you, and I never broke\nmy word.\"\n\n\"Speak,\" said the king flinging himself on the couch, and plucking the\nfeathers from the fan Cleopatra had forgotten, while Publius went on\nspeaking.\n\n\"First I demand a free pardon for Philotas of Syracuse, 'relative of the\nking,' and president of the body of the Chrematistes, his immediate\nrelease, with his wife, from their forced labor, and their return from\nthe mines.\"\n\n\"They both are dead,\" said Euergetes, \"my brother can vouch for it.\"\n\n\"Then I require you to have it declared by special decree that Philotas\nwas condemned unjustly, and that he is reinstated in all the dignities he\nwas deprived of. I farther demand that you permit me and my friend Lysias\nof Corinth, as well as Apollodorus the sculptor, to quit Egypt without\nlet or hindrance, and with us Klea and Irene, the daughters of Philotas,\nwho serve as water-bearers in the temple of Serapis.--Do you hesitate as\nto your reply?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the king, and he tossed up his hand. \"For this once I have\nlost the game.\"\n\n\"The daughters of Philotas, Klea and Irene,\" continued Publius with\nimperturbable coolness, \"are to have the confiscated estates of their\nparents restored to them.\"\n\n\"Then your sweetheart's beauty does not satisfy you!\" interposed\nEuergetes satirically.\n\n\"It amply satisfies me. My last demand is that half of this wealth shall\nbe assigned to the temple of Serapis, so that the god may give up his\nserving-maidens willingly, and without raising any objections. The other\nhalf shall be handed over to Dicearchus, my agent in Alexandria, because\nit is my will that Klea and Irene shall not enter my own house or that of\nLysias in Corinth as wives, without the dowry that beseems their rank.\nNow, within one hour, I must have both the decree and the act of\nrestitution in my hands, for as soon as Juventius Thalna arrives\nhere--and I expect him, as I told you this very day--we propose to leave\nMemphis, and to take ship at Alexandria.\"\n\n\"A strange conjuncture!\" cried Euergetes. \"You deprive me alike of my\nrevenge and my love, and yet I see myself compelled to wish you a\npleasant journey. I must offer a sacrifice to Poseidon, to the Cyprian\ngoddess, and to the Dioscurides that they may vouchsafe your ship a\nfavorable voyage, although it will carry the man who in the future, can\ndo us more injury at Rome by his bitter hostility, than any other.\"\n\n\"I shall always take the part of which ever of you has justice on his\nside.\"\n\nPublius quitted the room with a proud wave of his hand, and Euergetes, as\nsoon as the door had closed behind the Roman, sprang from his couch,\nshook his clenched fist in angry threat, and cried:\n\nYou, you obstinate fellow and your haughty patrician clan may do me\nmischief enough by the Tiber; and yet perhaps I may win the game in spite\nof you!\n\n\"You cross my path in the name of the Roman Senate. If Philometor waits\nin the antechambers of consuls and senators we certainly may chance to\nmeet there, but I shall also try my luck with the people and the\ntribunes.\n\n\"It is very strange! This head of mine hits upon more good ideas in an\nhour than a cool fellow like that has in a year, and yet I am beaten by\nhim--and if I am honest I can not but confess that it was not his luck\nalone, but his shrewdness that gained the victory. He may be off as soon\nas he likes with his proud Hera--I can find a dozen Aphrodites in\nAlexandria in her place!\n\n\"I resemble Hellas and he Rome, such as they are at present. We flutter\nin the sunshine, and seize on all that satisfies our intellect or\ngratifies our senses: they gaze at the earth, but walk on with a firm\nstep to seek power and profit. And thus they get ahead of us, and yet--I\nwould not change with them.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A debtor, says the proverb, is half a prisoner\n     Old women grow like men, and old men grow like women\n     They get ahead of us, and yet--I would not change with them\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE SISTERS, COMPLETE:\n\n     A subdued tone generally provokes an equally subdued answer\n     A mere nothing in one man's life, to another may be great\n     A debtor, says the proverb, is half a prisoner\n     Air of a professional guide\n     And what is great--and what is small\n     Before you serve me up so bitter a meal (the truth)\n     Behold, the puny Child of Man\n     Blind tenderness which knows no reason\n     By nature she is not and by circumstances is compelled to be\n     Deceit is deceit\n     Desire to seek and find a power outside us\n     Evolution and annihilation\n     Flattery is a key to the heart\n     Hold pleasure to be the highest good\n     If you want to catch mice you must waste bacon\n     Inquisitive eyes are intrusive company\n     Man is the measure of all things\n     Man works with all his might for no one but himself\n     Many a one would rather be feared than remain unheeded\n     Museum of Alexandria and the Library\n     Not yet fairly come to the end of yesterday\n     Nothing permanent but change\n     Nothing so certain as that nothing is certain\n     Old women grow like men, and old men grow like women\n     One hand washes the other\n     Prefer deeds to words\n     Priests that they should instruct the people to be obedient\n     The altar where truth is mocked at\n     They get ahead of us, and yet--I would not change with them\n     Virtues are punished in this world\n     What are we all but puny children?\n     Who can be freer than he who needs nothing\n     Who only puts on his armor when he is threatened\n\n\n\n\nJOSHUA, Complete\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary J. Safford\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nLast winter I resolved to complete this book, and while giving it the\nform in which it now goes forth into the world, I was constantly reminded\nof the dear friend to whom I intended to dedicate it. Now I am permitted\nto offer it only to the manes of Gustav Baur; for a few months ago death\nsnatched him from us.\n\nEvery one who was allowed to be on terms of intimacy with this man feels\nhis departure from earth as an unspeakably heavy loss, not only because\nhis sunny, cheerful nature and brilliant intellect brightened the souls\nof his friends; not only because he poured generously from the\noverflowing cornucopia of his rich knowledge precious gifts to those with\nwhom he stood in intellectual relations, but above all because of the\nloving heart which beamed through his clear eyes, and enabled him to\nshare the joys and sorrows of others, and enter into their thoughts and\nfeelings.\n\nTo my life's end I shall not forget that during the last few years,\nhimself physically disabled and overburdened by the duties imposed by the\noffice of professor and counsellor of the Consistory, he so often found\nhis way to me, a still greater invalid. The hours he then permitted me to\nspend in animated conversation with him are among those which, according\nto old Horace, whom he know so thoroughly and loved so well, must be\nnumbered among the 'good ones'. I have done so, and whenever I gratefully\nrecall them, in my ear rings my friend's question:\n\n\"What of the story of the Exodus?\"\n\nAfter I had told him that in the midst of the desert, while following the\ntraces of the departing Hebrews, the idea had occurred to me of treating\ntheir wanderings in the form of a romance, he expressed his approval in\nthe eager, enthusiastic manner natural to him. When I finally entered\nfarther into the details of the sketch outlined on the back of a camel,\nhe never ceased to encourage me, though he thoroughly understood my\nscruples and fully appreciated the difficulties which attended the\nfulfilment of my task.\n\nSo in a certain degree this book is his, and the inability to offer it to\nthe living man and hear his acute judgment is one of the griefs which\nrender it hard to reconcile oneself to the advancing years which in other\nrespects bring many a joy.\n\nHimself one of the most renowned, acute and learned students and\ninterpreters of the Bible, he was perfectly familiar with the critical\nworks the last five years have brought to light in the domain of Old\nTestament criticism. He had taken a firm stand against the views of the\nyounger school, who seek to banish the Exodus of the Jews from the\nprovince of history and represent it as a later production of the\nmyth-making popular mind; a theory we both believed untenable. One of his\nremarks on this subject has lingered in my memory and ran nearly as\nfollows:\n\n\"If the events recorded in the Second Book of Moses--which I believe are\ntrue--really never occurred, then nowhere and at no period has a\nhistorical event of equally momentous result taken place. For thousands\nof years the story of the Exodus has lived in the minds of numberless\npeople as something actual, and it still retains its vitality. Therefore\nit belongs to history no less certainty than the French Revolution and\nits consequences.\"\n\nNotwithstanding such encouragement, for a long series of years I lacked\ncourage to finish the story of the Exodus until last winter an unexpected\nappeal from abroad induced me to resume it. After this I worked\nuninterruptedly with fresh zeal and I may say renewed pleasure at the\nperilous yet fascinating task until its completion.\n\nThe locality of the romance, the scenery as we say of the drama, I have\ncopied as faithfully as possible from the landscapes I beheld in Goshen\nand on the Sinai peninsula. It will agree with the conception of many of\nthe readers of \"Joshua.\"\n\nThe case will be different with those portions of the story which I have\ninterwoven upon the ground of ancient Egyptian records. They will\nsurprise the laymen; for few have probably asked themselves how the\nevents related in the Bible from the standpoint of the Jews affected the\nEgyptians, and what political conditions existed in the realm of Pharaoh\nwhen the Hebrews left it. I have endeavored to represent these relations\nwith the utmost fidelity to the testimony of the monuments. For the\ndescription of the Hebrews, which is mentioned in the Scriptures, the\nBible itself offers the best authority. The character of the \"Pharaoh of\nthe Exodus\" I also copied from the Biblical narrative, and the portraits\nof the weak King Menephtah, which have been preserved, harmonize\nadmirably with it. What we have learned of later times induced me to\nweave into the romance the conspiracy of Siptah, the accession to the\nthrone of Seti II., and the person of the Syrian Aarsu who, according to\nthe London Papyrus Harris I., after Siptah had become king, seized the\ngovernment.\n\nThe Naville excavations have fixed the location of Pithom-Succoth beyond\nquestion, and have also brought to light the fortified store-house of\nPithom (Succoth) mentioned in the Bible; and as the scripture says the\nHebrews rested in this place and thence moved farther on, it must be\nsupposed that they overpowered the garrison of the strong building and\nseized the contents of the spacious granaries, which are in existence at\nthe present day.\n\nIn my \"Egypt and the Books of Moses\" which appeared in 1868, I stated\nthat the Biblical Etham was the same as the Egyptian Chetam, that is, the\nline of fortresses which protected the isthmus of Suez from the attacks\nof the nations of the East, and my statement has long since found\nuniversal acceptance. Through it, the turning back of the Hebrews before\nEtham is intelligible.\n\nThe mount where the laws were given I believe was the majestic Serbal,\nnot the Sinai of the monks; the reasons for which I explained fully in my\nwork \"Through Goshen to Sinai.\" I have also--in the same\nvolume--attempted to show that the halting-place of the tribes called in\nthe Bible \"Dophkah\" was the deserted mines of the modern Wadi Maghara.\n\nBy the aid of the mental and external experiences of the characters,\nwhose acts have in part been freely guided by the author's imagination,\nhe has endeavored to bring nearer to the sympathizing reader the human\nside of the mighty destiny of the nation which it was incumbent on him to\ndescribe. If he has succeeded in doing so, without belittling the\nmagnificent Biblical narrative, he has accomplished his desire; if he has\nfailed, he must content himself with the remembrance of the pleasure and\nmental exaltation he experienced during the creation of this work.\n\nTutzing on the Starnberger See,\nSeptember 20th, 1889.\n                  GEORG EBERS.\nJOSHUA.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\"Go down, grandfather: I will watch.\"\n\nBut the old man to whom the entreaty was addressed shook his shaven head.\n\n\"Yet you can get no rest here. . . .\n\n\"And the stars? And the tumult below? Who can think of rest in hours like\nthese? Throw my cloak around me! Rest--on such a night of horror!\"\n\n\"You are shivering. And how your hand and the instrument are shaking.\"\n\n\"Then support my arm.\"\n\nThe youth dutifully obeyed the request; but in a short time he exclaimed:\n\"Vain, all is vain; star after star is shrouded by the murky clouds.\nAlas, hear the wailing from the city. Ah, it rises from our own house\ntoo. I am so anxious, grandfather, feel how my head burns! Come down,\nperhaps they need help.\"\n\n\"Their fate is in the hands of the gods--my place is here.\n\n\"But there--there! Look northward across the lake. No, farther to the\nwest. They are coming from the city of the dead.\"\n\n\"Oh, grandfather! Father--there!\" cried the youth, a grandson of the\nastrologer of Amon-Ra, to whom he was lending his aid. They were standing\nin the observatory of the temple of this god in Tanis, the Pharaoh's\ncapital in the north of the land of Goshen. He moved away, depriving the\nold man of the support of his shoulder, as he continued: \"There, there!\nIs the sea sweeping over the land? Have the clouds dropped on the earth\nto heave to and fro? Oh, grandfather, look yonder! May the Immortals have\npity on us! The under-world is yawning, and the giant serpent Apep has\ncome forth from the realm of the dead. It is moving past the temple. I\nsee, I hear it. The great Hebrew's menace is approaching fulfilment. Our\nrace will be effaced from the earth. The serpent! Its head is turned\ntoward the southeast. It will devour the sun when it rises in the\nmorning.\"\n\nThe old man's eyes followed the youth's finger, and he, too, perceived a\nhuge, dark mass, whose outlines blended with the dusky night, come\nsurging through the gloom; he, too, heard, with a thrill of terror, the\nmonster's loud roar.\n\nBoth stood straining their eyes and ears to pierce the darkness; but\ninstead of gazing upward the star-reader's eye was bent upon the city,\nthe distant sea, and the level plain. Deep silence, yet no peace reigned\nabove them: the high wind now piled the dark clouds into shapeless\nmasses, anon severed that grey veil and drove the torn fragments far\nasunder. The moon was invisible to mortal eyes, but the clouds were\ntoying with the bright Southern stars, sometimes hiding them, sometimes\naffording a free course for their beams. Sky and earth alike showed a\nconstant interchange of pallid light and intense darkness. Sometimes the\nsheen of the heavenly bodies flashed brightly from sea and bay, the\nsmooth granite surfaces of the obelisks in the precincts of the temple,\nand the gilded copper roof of the airy royal palace, anon sea and river,\nthe sails in the harbor, the sanctuaries, the streets of the city, and\nthe palm-grown plain which surrounded it vanished in gloom. Eye and ear\nfailed to retain the impression of the objects they sought to discern;\nfor sometimes the silence was so profound that all life, far and near,\nseemed hushed and dead, then a shrill shriek of anguish pierced the\nsilence of the night, followed at longer or shorter intervals by the loud\nroar the youthful priest had mistaken for the voice of the serpent of the\nnether-world, and to which grandfather and grandson listened with\nincreasing suspense.\n\nThe dark shape, whose incessant motion could be clearly perceived\nwhenever the starlight broke through the clouds, appeared first near the\ncity of the dead and the strangers' quarter. Both the youth and the old\nman had been seized with terror, but the latter was the first to regain\nhis self-control, and his keen eye, trained to watch the stars, speedily\ndiscovered that it was not a single giant form emerging from the city of\nthe dead upon the plain, but a multitude of moving shapes that seemed to\nbe swaying hither and thither over the meadow lands. The bellowing and\nbleating, too, did not proceed from one special place, but came now\nnearer and now farther away. Sometimes it seemed to issue from the bowels\nof the earth, and at others to float from some airy height.\n\nFresh horror seized upon the old man. Grasping his grandson's right hand\nin his, he pointed with his left to the necropolis, exclaiming in\ntremulous tones: \"The dead are too great a multitude. The under-world is\noverflowing, as the river does when its bed is not wide enough for the\nwaters from the south. How they swarm and surge and roll onward! How they\nscatter and sway to and fro. They are the souls of the thousands whom\ngrim death has snatched away, laden with the curse of the Hebrew,\nunburied, unshielded from corruption, to descend the rounds of the ladder\nleading to the eternal world.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, those are their wandering ghosts,\" shrieked the youth in\nabsolute faith, snatching his hand from the grey-beard's grasp and\nstriking his burning brow, exclaiming, almost incapable of speech in his\nhorror: \"Ay, those are the souls of the damned. The wind has swept them\ninto the sea, whose waters cast them forth again upon the land, but the\nsacred earth spurns them and flings them into the air. The pure ether of\nShu hurls them back to the ground and now--oh look, listen--they are\nseeking the way to the wilderness.\"\n\n\"To the fire!\" cried the old astrologer. \"Purify them, ye flames; cleanse\nthem, water.\"\n\nThe youth joined his grandfather's form of exorcism, and while still\nchanting together, the trap-door leading to this observatory on the top\nof the highest gate of the temple was opened, and a priest of inferior\nrank called: \"Cease thy toil. Who cares to question the stars when the\nlight of life is departing from all the denizens of earth!\"\n\nThe old man listened silently till the priest, in faltering accents,\nadded that the astrologer's wife had sent him, then he stammered:\n\n\"Hora? Has my son, too, been stricken?\"\n\nThe messenger bent his head, and the two listeners wept bitterly, for the\nastrologer had lost his first-born son and the youth a beloved father.\n\nBut as the lad, shivering with the chill of fever, sank ill and powerless\non the old man's breast, the latter hastily released himself from his\nembrace and hurried to the trap-door. Though the priest had announced\nhimself to be the herald of death, a father's heart needs more than the\nmere words of another ere resigning all hope of the life of his child.\n\nDown the stone stairs, through the lofty halls and wide courts of the\ntemple he hurried, closely followed by the youth, though his trembling\nlimbs could scarcely support his fevered body. The blow that had fallen\nupon his own little circle had made the old man forget the awful vision\nwhich perchance menaced the whole universe with destruction; but his\ngrandson could not banish the sight and, when he had passed the\nfore-court and was approaching the outermost pylons his imagination,\nunder the tension of anxiety and grief, made the shadows of the obelisks\nappear to be dancing, while the two stone statues of King Rameses, on the\ncorner pillars of the lofty gate, beat time with the crook they held in\ntheir hands.\n\nThen the fever struck the youth to the ground. His face was distorted by\nthe convulsions which tossed his limbs to and fro, and the old man,\nfailing on his knees, strove to protect the beautiful head, covered with\nclustering curls, from striking the stone flags, moaning under his breath\n\"Now fate has overtaken him too.\"\n\nThen calming himself, he shouted again and again for help, but in vain.\nAt last, as he lowered his tones to seek comfort in prayer, he heard the\nsound of voices in the avenue of sphinxes beyond the pylons, and fresh\nhope animated his heart.\n\nWho was coming at so late an hour?\n\nLoud wails of grief blended with the songs of the priests, the clinking\nand tinkling of the metal sistrums, shaken by the holy women in the\nservice of the god, and the measured tread of men praying as they marched\nin the procession which was approaching the temple.\n\nFaithful to the habits of a long life, the astrologer raised his eyes\nand, after a glance at the double row of granite pillars, the colossal\nstatues and obelisks in the fore-court, fixed them on the starlit skies.\nEven amid his grief a bitter smile hovered around his sunken lips;\nto-night the gods themselves were deprived of the honors which were their\ndue.\n\nFor on this, the first night after the new moon in the month of\nPharmuthi, the sanctuary in bygone years was always adorned with flowers.\nAs soon as the darkness of this moonless night passed away, the high\nfestival of the spring equinox and the harvest celebration would begin.\n\nA grand procession in honor of the great goddess Neith, of Rennut, who\nbestows the blessings of the fields, and of Horus at whose sign the seeds\nbegin to germinate, passed, in accordance with the rules prescribed by\nthe Book of the Divine Birth of the Sun, through the city to the river\nand harbor; but to-day the silence of death reigned throughout the\nsanctuary, whose courts at this hour were usually thronged with men,\nwomen, and children, bringing offerings to lay on the very spot where\ndeath's finger had now touched his grandson's heart.\n\nA flood of light streamed into the vast space, hitherto but dimly\nillumined by a few lamps. Could the throng be so frenzied as to imagine\nthat the joyous festival might be celebrated, spite of the unspeakable\nhorrors of the night.\n\nYet, the evening before, the council of priests had resolved that, on\naccount of the rage of the merciless pestilence, the temple should not be\nadorned nor the procession be marshalled. In the afternoon many whose\nhouses had been visited by the plague had remained absent, and now while\nhe, the astrologer, had been watching the course of the stars, the pest\nhad made its way into this sanctuary, else why had it been forsaken by\nthe watchers and the other astrologers who had entered with him at\nsunset, and whose duty it was to watch through the night?\n\nHe again turned with tender solicitude to the sufferer, but instantly\nstarted to his feet, for the gates were flung wide open and the light of\ntorches and lanterns streamed into the court. A swift glance at the sky\ntold him that it was a little after midnight, yet his fears seemed to\nhave been true--the priests were crowding into the temples to prepare for\nthe harvest festival to-morrow.\n\nBut he was wrong. When had they ever entered the sanctuary for this\npurpose in orderly procession, solemnly chanting hymns? Nor was the train\ncomposed only of servants of the deity. The population had joined them,\nfor the shrill lamentations of women and wild cries of despair, such as\nhe had never heard before in all his long life within these sacred walls,\nblended in the solemn litany.\n\nOr were his senses playing him false? Was the groaning throng of restless\nspirits which his grandson had pointed out to him from the observatory,\npouring into the sanctuary of the gods?\n\nNew horror seized upon him; with arms flung upward to bid the specters\navaunt he muttered the exorcism against the wiles of evil spirits. But he\nsoon let his hands fall again; for among the throng he noted some of his\nfriends who yesterday, at least, had still walked among living men.\nFirst, the tall form of the second prophet of the god, then the women\nconsecrated to the service of Amon-Ra, the singers and the holy fathers\nand, when he perceived behind the singers, astrologers, and pastophori\nhis own brother-in-law, whose house had yesterday been spared by the\nplague, he summoned fresh courage and spoke to him. But his voice was\nsmothered by the shouts of the advancing multitude.\n\nThe courtyard was now lighted, but each individual was so engrossed by\nhis own sorrows that no one noticed the old astrologer. Tearing the cloak\nfrom his shivering limbs to make a pillow for the lad's tossing head, he\nheard, while tending him with fatherly affection, fierce imprecations on\nthe Hebrews who had brought this woe on Pharaoh and his people, mingling\nwith the chants and shouts of the approaching crowd and, recurring again\nand again, the name of Prince Rameses, the heir to the throne, while the\ntone in which it was uttered, the formulas of lamentation associated with\nit, announced the tidings that the eyes of the monarch's first-born son\nwere closed in death.\n\nThe astrologer gazed at his grandson's wan features with increasing\nanxiety, and even while the wailing for the prince rose louder and louder\na slight touch of gratification stirred his soul at the thought of the\nimpartial justice Death metes out alike to the sovereign on his throne\nand the beggar by the roadside. He now realized what had brought the\nnoisy multitude to the temple!\n\nWith as much swiftness as his aged limbs would permit, he hastened\nforward to meet the mourners; but ere he reached them he saw the\ngate-keeper and his wife come out of their house, carrying between them\non a mat the dead body of a boy. The husband held one end, his fragile\nlittle wife the other, and the gigantic warder was forced to stoop low to\nkeep the rigid form in a horizontal position and not let it slip toward\nthe woman. Three children, preceded by a little girl carrying a lantern,\nclosed the mournful procession.\n\nPerhaps no one would have noticed the group, had not the gate-keeper's\nlittle wife shrieked so wildly and piteously that no one could help\nhearing her lamentations. The second prophet of Amon, and then his\ncompanions, turned toward them. The procession halted, and as some of the\npriests approached the corpse the gate-keeper shouted loudly: \"Away, away\nfrom the plague! It has stricken our first-born son.\"\n\nThe wife meantime had snatched the lantern from her little girl's hand\nand casting its light full on the dead boy's rigid face, she screamed:\n\n\"The god hath suffered it to happen. Ay, he permitted the horror to enter\nbeneath his own roof. Not his will, but the curse of the stranger rules\nus and our lives. Look, this was our first-born son, and the plague has\nalso stricken two of the temple-servants. One already lies dead in our\nroom, and there lies Kamus, grandson of the astrologer Rameri. We heard\nthe old man call, and saw what was happening; but who can prop another's\nhouse when his own is falling? Take heed while there is time; for the\ngods have opened their own sanctuaries to the horror. If the whole world\ncrumbles into ruin, I shall neither marvel nor grieve. My lord priests, I\nam only a poor lowly woman, but am I not right when I ask: Do our gods\nsleep, or has some one paralyzed them, or what are they doing that they\nleave us and our children in the power of the base Hebrew brood?\"\n\n\"Overthrow them! Down with the foreigners! Death to the sorcerer\nMesu,--[Mesu is the Egyptian name of Moses]--hurl him into the sea.\" Such\nwere the imprecations that followed the woman's curse, as an echo follows\na shout, and the aged astrologer's brother-in-law Hornecht, captain of\nthe archers, whose hot blood seethed in his veins at the sight of the\ndying form of his beloved nephew, waved his short sword, crying\nfrantically: \"Let all men who have hearts follow me. Upon them! A life\nfor a life! Ten Hebrews for each Egyptian whom the sorcerer has slain!\"\n\nAs a flock rushes into a fire when the ram leads the way, the warrior's\nsummons fired the throng. Women forced themselves in front of the men,\npressing after him into the gateway, and when the servants of the temple\nlingered to await the verdict of the prophet of Amon, the latter drew his\nstately figure to its full height, and said calmly: \"Let all who wear\npriestly garments remain and pray with me. The populace is heaven's\ninstrument to mete out vengeance. We will remain here to pray for their\nsuccess.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nBai, the second prophet of Amon, who acted as the representative of the\naged and feeble chief-prophet and high-priest Rui, went into the holy of\nholies, the throng of inferior servants of the divinity pursued their\nvarious duties, and the frenzied mob rushed through the streets of the\ncity towards the distant Hebrew quarter.\n\nAs the flood, pouring into the valley, sweeps everything before it, the\npeople, rushing to seek vengeance, forced every one they met to join\nthem. No Egyptian from whom death had snatched a loved one failed to\nfollow the swelling torrent, which increased till hundreds became\nthousands. Men, women, and children, freedmen and slaves, winged by the\nardent longing to bring death and destruction on the hated Hebrews,\ndarted to the remote quarter where they dwelt.\n\nHow the workman had grasped a hatchet, the housewife an axe, they\nthemselves scarcely knew. They were dashing forward to deal death and\nruin and had had no occasion to search for weapons--they had been close\nat hand.\n\nThe first to feel the weight of their vengeance must be Nun, an aged\nHebrew, rich in herds, loved and esteemed by many an Egyptian whom he had\nbenefitted--but when hate and revenge speak, gratitude shrinks timidly\ninto the background.\n\nHis property, like the houses and hovels of his people, was in the\nstrangers' quarter, west of Tanis, and lay nearest to the streets\ninhabited by the Egyptians themselves.\n\nUsually at this hour herds of cattle and flocks of sheep were being\nwatered or driven to pasture and the great yard before his house was\nfilled with cattle, servants of both sexes, carts, and agricultural\nimplements. The owner usually overlooked the departure of the flocks and\nherds, and the mob had marked him and his family for the first victims of\ntheir fury.\n\nThe swiftest of the avengers had now reached his extensive\nfarm-buildings, among them Hornecht, captain of the archers,\nbrother-in-law of the old astrologer. House and barns were brightly\nillumined by the first light of the young day. A stalwart smith kicked\nviolently on the stout door; but the unbolted sides yielded so easily\nthat he was forced to cling to the door-post to save himself from\nfalling. Others, Hornecht among them, pressed past him into the yard.\nWhat did this mean?\n\nHad some new spell been displayed to attest the power of the Hebrew\nleader Mesu, who had brought such terrible plagues on the land,--and of\nhis God.\n\nThe yard was absolutely empty. The stalls contained a few dead cattle and\nsheep, killed because they had been crippled in some way, while a lame\nlamb limped off at sight of the mob. The carts and wagons, too, had\nvanished. The lowing, bleating throng which the priests had imagined to\nbe the souls of the damned was the Hebrew host, departing by night from\ntheir old home with all their flocks under the guidance of Moses.\n\nThe captain of the archers dropped his sword, and a spectator might have\nbelieved that the sight was a pleasant surprise to him; but his neighbor,\na clerk from the king's treasure-house, gazed around the empty space with\nthe disappointed air of a man who has been defrauded.\n\nThe flood of schemes and passions, which had surged so high during the\nnight, ebbed under the clear light of day. Even the soldier's quickly\nawakened wrath had long since subsided into composure. The populace might\nhave wreaked their utmost fury on the other Hebrews, but not upon Nun,\nwhose son, Hosea, had been his comrade in arms, one of the most\ndistinguished leaders in the army, and an intimate family friend. Had he\nthought of him and foreseen that his father's dwelling would be first\nattacked, he would never have headed the mob in their pursuit of\nvengeance; nay, he bitterly repented having forgotten the deliberate\njudgment which befitted his years.\n\nWhile many of the throng began to plunder and destroy Nun's deserted\nhome, men and women came to report that not a soul was to be found in any\nof the neighboring dwellings. Others told of cats cowering on the\ndeserted hearthstones, of slaughtered cattle and shattered furniture; but\nat last the furious avengers dragged out a Hebrew with his family and a\nhalf-witted grey-haired woman found hidden among some straw. The crone,\namid imbecile laughter, said her people had made themselves hoarse\ncalling her, but Meliela was too wise to walk on and on as they meant to\ndo; besides her feet were too tender, and she had not even a pair of\nshoes.\n\nThe man, a frightfully ugly Jew, whom few of his own race would have\npitied, protested, sometimes with a humility akin to fawning, sometimes\nwith the insolence which was a trait of his character, that he had\nnothing to do with the god of lies in whose name the seducer Moses had\nled away his people to ruin; he himself, his wife, and his child had\nalways been on friendly terms with the Egyptians. Indeed, many knew him,\nhe was a money-lender and when the rest of his nation had set forth on\ntheir pilgrimage, he had concealed himself, hoping to pursue his\ndishonest calling and sustain no loss.\n\nSome of his debtors, however, were among the infuriated populace, though\neven without their presence he was a doomed man; for he was the first\nperson on whom the excited mob could show that they were resolved upon\nrevenge. Rushing upon him with savage yells, the lifeless bodies of the\nluckless wretch and his family were soon strewn over the ground. Nobody\nknew who had done this first bloody deed; too many had dashed forward at\nonce.\n\nNot a few others who had remained in the houses and huts also fell\nvictims to the people's thirst for vengeance, though many had time to\nescape, and while streams of blood were flowing, axes were wielded, and\nwalls and doors were battered down with beams and posts to efface the\nabodes of the detested race from the earth.\n\nThe burning embers brought by some frantic women were extinguished and\ntrampled out; the more prudent warned them of the peril that would menace\ntheir own homes and the whole city of Tanis, if the strangers' quarter\nshould be fired.\n\nSo the Hebrews' dwellings escaped the flames; but as the sun mounted\nhigher dense clouds of white dust shrouded the abodes they had forsaken,\nand where, only yesterday, thousands of people had possessed happy homes\nand numerous herds had quenched their thirst in fresh waters, the glowing\nsoil was covered with rubbish and stone, shattered beams, and broken\nwoodwork. Dogs and cats left behind by their owners wandered among the\nruins and were joined by women and children who lived in the beggars'\nhovels on the edge of the necropolis close by, and now, holding their\nhands over their mouths, searched amid the stifling dust and rubbish for\nany household utensil or food which might have been left by the fugitives\nand overlooked by the mob.\n\nDuring the afternoon Fai, the second prophet of Amon, was carried past\nthe ruined quarter. He did not come to gloat over the spectacle of\ndestruction, it was his nearest way from the necropolis to his home. Yet\na satisfied smile hovered around his stern mouth as he noticed how\nthoroughly the people had performed their work. His own purpose, it is\ntrue, had not been fulfilled, the leader of the fugitives had escaped\ntheir vengeance, but hate, though never sated, can yet be gratified. Even\nthe smallest pangs of an enemy are a satisfaction, and the priest had\njust come from the grieving Pharaoh. He had not succeeded in releasing\nhim entirely from the bonds of the Hebrew magician, but he had loosened\nthem.\n\nThe resolute, ambitious man, by no means wont to hold converse with\nhimself, had repeated over and over again, while sitting alone in the\nsanctuary reflecting on what had occurred and what yet remained to be\ndone, these little words, and the words were: \"Bless me too!\"\n\nPharaoh had uttered them, and the entreaty had been addressed neither to\nold Rui, the chief priest, nor to himself, the only persons who could\npossess the privilege of blessing the monarch, nay--but to the most\natrocious wretch that breathed, to the foreigner the Hebrew, Mesu, whom\nhe hated more than any other man on earth.\n\n\"Bless me too!\" The pious entreaty, which wells so trustingly from the\nhuman heart in the hour of anguish, had pierced his soul like a dagger.\nIt had seemed as if such a petition, uttered by the royal lips to such a\nman, had broken the crozier in the hand of the whole body of Egyptian\npriests, stripped the panther-skin from their shoulders, and branded with\nshame the whole people whom he loved.\n\nHe knew full well that Moses was one of the wisest sages who had ever\ngraduated from the Egyptian schools, knew that Pharaoh was completely\nunder the thrall of this man who had grown up in the royal household and\nbeen a friend of his father Rameses the Great. He had seen the monarch\npardon deeds committed by Moses which would have cost the life of any\nother mortal, though he were the highest noble in the land--and what must\nthe Hebrew be to Pharaoh, the sun-god incarnate on the throne of the\nworld, when standing by the death-bed of his own son, he could yield to\nthe impulse to uplift his hands to him and cry \"Bless me too!\"\n\nHe had told himself all these things, maturely considered them, yet he\nwould not yield to the might of the strangers. The destruction of this\nman and all his race was in his eyes the holiest, most urgent duty--to\naccomplish which he would not shrink even from assailing the throne. Nay,\nin his eyes Pharaoh Menephtah's shameful entreaty: \"Bless me too!\" had\ndeprived him of all the rights of sovereignty.\n\nMoses had murdered Pharaoh's first-born son, but he and the aged\nchief-priest of Amon held the weal or woe of the dead prince's soul in\ntheir hands,--a weapon sharp and strong, for he knew the monarch's weak\nand vacillating heart. If the high-priest of Amon--the only man whose\nauthority surpassed his own--did not thwart him by some of the\nunaccountable whims of age, it would be the merest trifle to force\nPharaoh to yield; but any concession made to-day would be withdrawn\nto-morrow, should the Hebrew succeed in coming between the irresolute\nmonarch and his Egyptian advisers. This very day the unworthy son of the\ngreat Rameses had covered his face and trembled like a timid fawn at the\nbare mention of the sorcerer's name, and to-morrow he might curse him and\npronounce a death sentence upon him. Perhaps he might be induced to do\nthis, and on the following one he would recall him and again sue for his\nblessing.\n\nDown with such monarchs! Let the feeble reed on the throne be hurled into\nthe dust! Already he had chosen a successor from among the princes of the\nblood, and when the time was ripe--when Rui, the high-priest of Amon, had\npassed the limits of life decreed by the gods to mortals and closed his\neyes in death, he, Bai, would occupy his place, a new life for Egypt, and\nMoses and his race would commence would perish.\n\nWhile the prophet was absorbed in these reflections a pair of ravens\nfluttered around his head and, croaking loudly, alighted on the dusty\nruins of one of the shattered houses. He involuntarily glanced around him\nand noted that they had perched on the corpse of a murdered Hebrew, lying\nhalf concealed amid the rubbish. A smile which the priests of lower rank\nwho surrounded his litter knew not how to interpret, flitted over his\nshrewd, defiant countenance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nHornecht, commander of the archers, was among the prophet's companions.\nIndeed they were on terms of intimacy, for the soldier was a leader amid\nthe nobles who had conspired to dethrone Pharaoh.\n\nAs they approached Nun's ruined dwelling, the prophet pointed to the\nwreck and said: \"The former owner of this abode is the only Hebrew I\nwould gladly spare. He was a man of genuine worth, and his son,\nHosea. . . .\"\n\n\"Will be one of us,\" the captain interrupted. \"There are few better men\nin Pharaoh's army, and,\" he added, lowering his voice, \"I rely on him\nwhen the decisive hour comes.\"\n\n\"We will discuss that before fewer witnesses,\" replied Bai. \"But I am\ngreatly indebted to him. During the Libyan war--you are aware of the\nfact--I fell into the hands of the enemy, and Hosea, at the head of his\nlittle troop, rescued me from the savage hordes.\" Sinking his tones, he\nwent on in his most instructive manner, as though apologizing for the\nmischief wrought: \"Such is the course of earthly affairs! Where a whole\nbody of men merit punishment, the innocent must suffer with the guilty.\nUnder such circumstances the gods themselves cannot separate the\nindividual from the multitude; nay, even the innocent animals share the\npenalty. Look at the flocks of doves fluttering around the ruins; they\nare seeking their cotes in vain. And the cat with her kittens yonder. Go\nand take them, Beki; it is our duty to save the sacred animals from\nstarving to death.\"\n\nAnd this man, who had just been planning the destruction of so many of\nhis fellow-mortals, was so warmly interested in kindly caring for the\nsenseless beasts, that he stopped his litter and watched his servants\ncatch the cats.\n\nThis was less quickly accomplished than he had hoped; for one had taken\nrefuge in the nearest cellar, whose opening was too narrow for the men to\nfollow. The youngest, a slender Nubian, undertook the task; but he had\nscarcely approached the hole when he started back, calling: \"There is a\nhuman being there who seems to be alive. Yes, he is raising his hand. It\nis a boy or a youth, and assuredly no slave; his head is covered with\nlong waving locks, and--a sunbeam is shining into the cellar--I can see a\nbroad gold circlet on his arm.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is one of Nun's kindred, who has been forgotten,\" said\nHornecht, and Bai eagerly added:\n\n\"It is an interposition from the gods! Their sacred animals have pointed\nout the way by which I can render a service to the man to whom I am so\nmuch indebted. Try to get in, Beki, and bring the youth out.\"\n\nMeanwhile the Nubian had removed the stone whose fall had choked the\nopening, and soon after he lifted toward his companions a motionless\nyoung form which they brought into the open air and bore to a well whose\ncool water speedily restored consciousness.\n\nAs he regained his senses, he rubbed his eyes, gazed around him\nbewildered, as if uncertain where he was, then his head drooped as though\noverwhelmed with grief and horror, revealing that the locks at the back\nwere matted together with black clots of dried blood.\n\nThe prophet had the deep wound, inflicted on the lad by a falling stone,\nwashed at the well and, after it had been bandaged, summoned him to his\nown litter, which was protected from the sun.\n\nThe young Hebrew, bringing a message, had arrived at the house of his\ngrandfather Nun, before sunrise, after a long night walk from Pithom,\ncalled by the Hebrews Succoth, but finding it deserted had lain down in\none of the rooms to rest a while. Roused by the shouts of the infuriated\nmob, he had heard the curses on his race which rang through the whole\nquarter and fled to the cellar. The roof, which had injured him in its\nfall, proved his deliverance; for the clouds of dust which had concealed\neverything as it came down hid him from the sight of the rioters.\n\nThe prophet looked at him intently and, though the youth was unwashed,\nwan, and disfigured by the bloody bandage round his head, he saw that the\nlad he had recalled to life was a handsome, well-grown boy just nearing\nmanhood.\n\nHis sympathy was roused, and his stern glance softened as he asked kindly\nwhence he came and what had brought him to Tanis; for the rescued youth's\nfeatures gave no clue to his race. He might readily have declared himself\nan Egyptian, but he frankly admitted that he was a grandson of Nun. He\nhad just attained his eighteenth year, his name was Ephraim, like that of\nhis forefather, the son of Joseph, and he had come to visit his\ngrandfather. The words expressed steadfast self-respect and pride in his\nillustrious ancestry.\n\nHe delayed a short time ere answering the question whether he brought a\nmessage; but soon collected his thoughts and, looking the prophet\nfearlessly in the face, replied:\n\n\"Whoever you may be, I have been taught to speak the truth, so I will\ntell you that I have another relative in Tanis, Hosea, the son of Nun, a\nchief in Pharaoh's army, for whom I have a message.\"\n\n\"And I will tell you,\" the priest replied, \"that it was for the sake of\nthis very Hosea I tarried here and ordered my servants to bring you out\nof the ruined house. I owe him a debt of gratitude, and though most of\nyour nation have committed deeds worthy of the harshest punishment, for\nthe sake of his worth you shall remain among us free and unharmed.\"\n\nThe boy raised his eyes to the priest with a proud, fiery glance, but ere\nhe could find words, Bai went on with encouraging kindness.\n\n\"I believe I can read in your face, my lad, that you have come to seek\nadmittance to Pharaoh's army under your uncle Hosea. Your figure is\nwell-suited to the trade of war, and you surely are not wanting in\ncourage.\"\n\nA smile of flattered vanity rested on Ephraim's lips, and toying with the\nbroad gold bracelet on his arm, perhaps unconsciously, he replied with\neagerness:\n\n\"Ay, my lord, I have often proved my courage in the hunting field; but at\nhome we have plenty of sheep and cattle, which even now I call my own,\nand it seems to me a more enviable lot to wander freely and rule the\nshepherds than to obey the commands of others.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" said the priest. \"Perhaps Hosea may instil different and better\nviews. To rule--a lofty ambition for youth. The misfortune is that we who\nhave attained it are but servants whose burdens grow heavier with the\nincreasing number of those who obey us. You understand me, Hornecht, and\nyou, my lad, will comprehend my meaning later, when you become the\npalm-tree the promise of your youth foretells. But we are losing time.\nWho sent you to Hosea?\"\n\nThe youth cast down his eyes irresolutely, but when the prophet broke the\nsilence with the query: \"And what has become of the frankness you were\ntaught?\" he responded promptly and resolutely:\n\n\"I came for the sake of a woman whom you know not.\"\n\n\"A woman?\" the prophet repeated, casting an enquiring glance at Hornecht.\n\"When a bold warrior and a fair woman seek each other, the Hathors\"--[The\nEgyptian goddesses of love, who are frequently represented with cords in\ntheir hands,]--are apt to appear and use the binding cords; but it does\nnot befit a servant of the divinity to witness such goings on, so I\nforbear farther questioning. Take charge of the lad, captain, and aid him\nto deliver his message to Hosea. The only doubt is whether he is in the\ncity.\"\n\n\"No,\" the soldier answered, \"but he is expected with thousands of his men\nat the armory to-day.\"\n\n\"Then may the Hathors, who are partial to love messengers, bring these\ntwo together to-morrow at latest,\" said the priest.\n\nBut the lad indignantly retorted: \"I am the bearer of no love message.\"\n\nThe prophet, pleased with the bold rejoinder, answered pleasantly: \"I had\nforgotten that I was accosting a young shepherd-prince.\" Then he added in\ngraver tones: \"When you have found Hosea, greet him from me and tell him\nthat Bai, the second prophet of Amon sought to discharge a part of the\ndebt of gratitude he owed for his release from the hands of the Libyans\nby extending his protection to you, his nephew. Perhaps, my brave boy,\nyou do not know that you have escaped as if by a miracle a double peril;\nthe savage populace would no more have spared your life than would the\nstifling dust of the falling houses. Remember this, and tell Hosea also\nfrom me, Bai, that I am sure when he beholds the woe wrought by the magic\narts of one of your race on the house of Pharaoh, to which he vowed\nfealty, and with it on this city and the whole country, he will tear\nhimself with abhorrence from his kindred. They have fled like cowards,\nafter dealing the sorest blows, robbing of their dearest possessions\nthose among whom they dwelt in peace, whose protection they enjoyed, and\nwho for long years have given them work and ample food. All this they\nhave done and, if I know him aright, he will turn his back upon men who\nhave committed such crimes. Tell him also that this has been voluntarily\ndone by the Hebrew officers and men under the command of the Syrian\nAarsu. This very morning--Hosea will have heard the news from other\nsources--they offered sacrifices not only to Baal and Seth, their own\ngods, whom so many of you were ready to serve ere the accursed sorcerer,\nMesu, seduced you, but also to Father Amon and the sacred nine of our\neternal deities. If he will do the same, we will rise hand in hand to the\nhighest place, of that he may be sure--and well he merits it. The\nobligation still due him I shall gratefully discharge in other ways,\nwhich must for the present remain secret. But you may tell your uncle now\nfrom me that I shall find means to protect Nun, his noble father, when\nthe vengeance of the gods and of Pharaoh falls upon the rest of your\nrace. Already--tell him this also--the sword is whetted, and a pitiless\njudgment is impending. Bid him ask himself what fugitive shepherds can do\nagainst the power of the army among whose ablest leaders he is numbered.\nIs your father still alive, my son?\"\n\n\"No, he was borne to his last resting-place long ago,\" replied the youth\nin a faltering voice.\n\nWas the fever of his wound attacking him? Or did the shame of belonging\nto a race capable of acts so base overwhelm the young heart? Or did the\nlad cling to his kindred, and was it wrath and resentment at hearing them\nso bitterly reviled which made his color vary from red to pale and roused\nsuch a tumult in his soul that he was scarcely capable of speech? No\nmatter! This lad was certainly no suitable bearer of the message the\nprophet desired to send to his uncle, and Bai beckoned to Hornecht to\ncome with him under the shadow of a broad-limbed sycamore-tree.\n\nThe point was to secure Hosea's services in the army at any cost, so he\nlaid his hand on his friend's shoulder, saying:\n\n\"You know that it was my wife who won you and others over to our cause.\nShe serves us better and more eagerly than many a man, and while I\nappreciate your daughter's beauty, she never tires of lauding the winning\ncharm of her innocence.\"\n\n\"And Kasana is to take part in the plot?\" cried the soldier angrily.\n\n\"Not as an active worker, like my wife,--certainly not.\"\n\n\"She would be ill-suited to such a task,\" replied the other in a calmer\ntone, \"she is scarcely more than a child.\"\n\n\"Yet through her aid we might bring to our cause a man whose good-will\nseems to me priceless.\"\n\n\"You mean Hosea?\" asked the captain, his brow darkening again, but the\nprophet added:\n\n\"And if I do? Is he still a real Hebrew? Can you deem it unworthy the\ndaughter of a distinguished warrior to bestow her band on a man who, if\nour plans prosper, will be commander-in-chief of all the troops in the\nland?\"\n\n\"No, my lord!\" cried Hornecht. \"But one of my motives for rebelling\nagainst Pharaoh and upholding Siptah is that the king's mother was a\nforeigner, while our own blood courses through Siptah's veins. The mother\ndecides the race to which a man belongs, and Hosea's mother was a Hebrew\nwoman. He is my friend, I value his talents; Kasana likes him. . . .\"\n\n\"Yet you desire a more distinguished son-in-law?\" interrupted his\ncompanion. \"How is our arduous enterprise to prosper, if those who are to\nperil their lives for its success consider the first sacrifice too great?\nYou say that your daughter favors Hosea?\"\n\n\"Yes, she did care for him,\" the soldier answered; \"yes, he was her\nheart's desire. But I compelled her to obey me, and now that she is a\nwidow, am I to give her to the man whom--the gods alone know with how\nmuch difficulty--I forced her to resign? When was such an act heard of in\nEgypt?\"\n\n\"Ever since the men and women who dwell by the Nile have submitted, for\nthe sake of a great cause, to demands opposed to their wishes,\" replied\nthe priest.\n\n\"Consider all this, and remember that Hosea's ancestress--he boasted of\nit in your own presence--was an Egyptian, the daughter of a man of my own\nclass.\"\n\n\"How many generations have passed to the tomb since?\"\n\n\"No matter! It brings us into closer relations with him. That must\nsuffice. Farewell until this evening. Meanwhile, will you extend your\nhospitality to Hosea's nephew and commend him to your fair daughter's\nnursing; he seems in sore need of care.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThe house of Hornecht, like nearly every other dwelling in the city, was\nthe scene of the deepest mourning. The men had shaved their hair, and the\nwomen had put dust on their foreheads. The archer's wife had died long\nbefore, but his daughter and her women received him with waving veils and\nloud lamentations; for the astrologer, his brother-in-law, had lost both\nhis first-born son and his grandson, and the plague had snatched its\nvictims from the homes of many a friend.\n\nBut the senseless youth soon demanded all the care the women could\nbestow, and after bathing him and binding a healing ointment on the\ndangerous wound in his head, strong wine and food were placed before him,\nafter which, refreshed and strengthened, he obeyed the summons of the\ndaughter of his host.\n\nThe dust-covered, worn-out fellow was transformed into a handsome youth.\nHis perfumed hair fell in long curling locks from beneath the fresh white\nbandage, and gold-bordered Egyptian robes from the wardrobe of Kasana's\ndead husband covered his pliant bronzed limbs. He seemed pleased with the\nfinery of his garments, which exhaled a subtle odor of spikenard new to\nhis senses; for the eyes in his handsome face sparkled brilliantly.\n\nIt was many a day since the captain's daughter, herself a woman of\nunusual beauty and charm, had seen a handsomer youth. Within the year she\nhad married a man she did not love Kasana had returned a widow to her\nfather's house, which lacked a mistress, and the great wealth bequeathed\nto her, at her husband's death, made it possible for her to bring into\nthe soldier's unpretending home the luxury and ease which to her had now\nbecome a second nature.\n\nHer father, a stern man prone to sudden fits of passion, now yielded\nabsolutely to her will. Formerly he had pitilessly enforced his own,\ncompelling the girl of fifteen to wed a man many years her senior. This\nhad been done because he perceived that Kasana had given her young heart\nto Hosea, the soldier, and he deemed it beneath his dignity to receive\nthe Hebrew, who at that time held no prominent position in the army, as\nhis son-in-law. An Egyptian girl had no choice save to accept the husband\nchosen by her father and Kasana submitted, though she shed so many bitter\ntears that the archer rejoiced when, in obedience to his will, she had\nwedded an unloved husband.\n\nBut even as a widow Kasana's heart clung to the Hebrew. When the army was\nin the field her anxiety was ceaseless; day and night were spent in\nrestlessness and watching. When news came from the troops she asked only\nabout Hosea, and her father with deep annoyance attributed to her love\nfor the Hebrew her rejection of suitor after suitor. As a widow she had a\nright to the bestowal of her own hand, and the tender, gentle-natured\nwoman astonished Hornecht by the resolute decision displayed, not alone\nto him and lovers of her own rank, but to Prince Siptah, whose cause the\ncaptain had espoused as his own.\n\nTo-day Kasana expressed her delight at the Hebrew's return with such\nentire frankness and absence of reserve that the quick-tempered man\nrushed out of the house lest he might be tempted into some thoughtless\nact or word. His young guest was left to the care of his daughter and her\nnurse.\n\nHow deeply the lad's sensitive nature was impressed by the airy rooms,\nthe open verandas supported by many pillars, the brilliant hues of the\npainting, the artistic household utensils, the soft cushions, and the\nsweet perfume everywhere! All these things were novel and strange to the\nson of a herdsman who had always lived within the grey walls of a\nspacious, but absolutely plain abode, and spent months together in canvas\ntents among shepherds and flocks, nay was more accustomed to be in the\nopen air than under any shelter! He felt as though some wizard had borne\nhim into a higher and more beautiful world, where he was entirely at home\nin his magnificent garb, with his perfumed curls and limbs fresh from the\nbath. True, the whole earth was fair, even out in the pastures among the\nflocks or round the fire in front of the tent in the cool of the evening,\nwhen the shepherds sang, the hunters told tales of daring exploits, and\nthe stars sparkled brightly overhead.\n\nBut all these pleasures were preceded by weary, hateful labor; here it\nwas a delight merely to see and to breathe and, when the curtains parted\nand the young widow, giving him a friendly greeting, made him sit down\nopposite to her, sometimes questioning him and sometimes listening with\nearnest sympathy to his replies, he almost imagined his senses had failed\nhim as they had done under the ruins of the fallen house, and he was\nenjoying the sweetest of dreams. The feeling that threatened to stifle\nhim and frequently interrupted the flow of words was the rapture bestowed\nupon him by great Aschera, the companion of Baal, of whom the Phoenician\ntraders who supplied the shepherds with many good things had told him\nsuch marvels, and whom the stern Miriam forbade him ever to name at home.\n\nHis family had instilled into his young heart hatred of the Egyptians as\nthe oppressors of his race, but could they be so wicked, could he detest\na people among whom were creatures like this lovely, gentle woman, who\ngazed into his eyes so softly, so tenderly, whose voice fell on his ear\nlike harmonious music, and whose glance made his blood course so swiftly\nthat he could scarce endure it and pressed his hand upon his heart to\nquiet its wild pulsation.\n\nKasana sat opposite to him on a seat covered with a panther-skin, drawing\nthe fine wool from the distaff. He had pleased her and she had received\nhim kindly because he was related to the man whom she had loved from\nchildhood. She imagined that she could trace a resemblance between him\nand Hosea, though the youth lacked the grave earnestness of the man to\nwhom she had yielded her young heart, she knew not why nor when, though\nhe had never sought her love.\n\nA lotus blossom rested among her dark waving curls, and its stem fell in\na graceful curve on her bent neck, round which clustered a mass of soft\nlocks. When she lifted her eyes to his, he felt as though two springs had\nopened to pour floods of bliss into his young breast, and he had already\nclasped in greeting the dainty hand which held the yarn.\n\nShe now questioned him about Hosea and the woman who had sent the\nmessage, whether she was young and fair and whether any tie of love bound\nher to his uncle.\n\nEphraim laughed merrily. She who had sent him was so grave and earnest\nthat the bare thought of her being capable of any tender emotion wakened\nhis mirth. As to her beauty, he had never asked himself the question.\n\nThe young widow interpreted the laugh as the reply she most desired and,\nmuch relieved, laid aside the spindle and invited Ephraim to go into the\ngarden.\n\nHow fragrant and full of bloom it was, how well-kept were the beds, the\npaths, the arbors, and the pond.\n\nHis unpretending home adjoined a dreary yard, wholly unadorned and filled\nwith pens for sheep and cattle. Yet he knew that at some future day he\nwould be owner of great possessions, for he was the sole child and heir\nof a wealthy father and his mother was the daughter of the rich Nun. The\nmen servants had told him this more than once, and it angered him to see\nthat his own home was scarcely better than Hornecht's slave-quarters, to\nwhich Kasana had called his attention.\n\nDuring their stroll through the garden Ephraim was asked to help her cull\nthe flowers and, when the basket he carried was filled, she invited him\nto sit with her in a bower and aid her to twine the wreaths. These were\nintended for the dear departed. Her uncle and a beloved cousin--who bore\nsome resemblance to Ephraim--had been snatched away the night before by\nthe plague which his people had brought upon Tanis.\n\nFrom the street which adjoined the garden-wall they heard the wails of\nwomen lamenting the dead or bearing a corpse to the tomb. Once, when the\ncries of woe rose more loudly and clearly than ever, Kasana gently\nreproached him for all that the people of Tanis had suffered through the\nHebrews, and asked if he could deny that the Egyptians had good reason to\nhate a race which had brought such anguish upon them.\n\nIt was hard for Ephraim to find a fitting answer; he had been told that\nthe God of his race had punished the Egyptians to rescue his own people\nfrom shame and bondage, and he could neither condemn nor scorn the men of\nhis own blood. So he kept silence that he might neither speak falsely nor\nblaspheme; but Kasana allowed him no peace, and he at last replied that\naught which caused her sorrow was grief to him, but his people had no\npower over life and health, and when a Hebrew was ill, he often sent for\nan Egyptian physician. What had occurred was doubtless the will of the\ngreat God of his fathers, whose power far surpassed the might of any\nother deity. He himself was a Hebrew, yet she would surely believe his\nassurance that he was guiltless of the plague and would gladly recall her\nuncle and cousin to life, had he the power to do so. For her sake he\nwould undertake the most difficult enterprise.\n\nShe smiled kindly and replied:\n\n\"My poor boy! If I see any guilt in you, it is only that you are one of a\nrace which knows no ruth, no patience. Our beloved, hapless dead! They\nmust even lose the lamentations of their kindred; for the house where\nthey rest is plague-stricken and no one is permitted to enter.\"\n\nShe silently wiped her eyes and went on arranging her garlands, but tear\nafter tear coursed down her cheeks.\n\nEphraim knew not what to say, and mutely handed her the leaves and\nblossoms. Whenever his hand touched hers a thrill ran through his veins.\nHis head and the wound began to ache, and he sometimes felt a slight\nchill. He knew that the fever was increasing, as it had done once before\nwhen he nearly lost his life in the red disease; but he was ashamed to\nown it and battled bravely against his pain.\n\nWhen the sun was nearing the horizon Hornecht entered the garden. He had\nalready seen Hosea, and though heartily glad to greet his old friend once\nmore, it had vexed him that the soldier's first enquiry was for his\ndaughter. He did not withhold this from the young widow, but his flashing\neyes betrayed the displeasure with which he delivered the Hebrew's\nmessage. Then, turning to Ephraim, he told him that Hosea and his men\nwould encamp outside of the city, pitching their tents, on account of the\npestilence, between Tanis and the sea. They would soon march by. His\nuncle sent Ephraim word that he must seek him in his tent.\n\nWhen he noticed that the youth was aiding his daughter to weave the\ngarlands, he smiled, and said:\n\n\"Only this morning this young fellow declared his intention of remaining\nfree and a ruler all his life. Now he has taken service with you, Kasana.\nYou need not blush, young friend. If either your mistress or your uncle\ncan persuade you to join us and embrace the noblest trade--that of the\nsoldier--so much the better for you. Look at me! I've wielded the bow\nmore than forty years and still rejoice in my profession. I must obey, it\nis true, but it is also my privilege to command, and the thousands who\nobey me are not sheep and cattle, but brave men. Consider the matter\nagain. He would make a splendid leader of the archers. What say you,\nKasana?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied the young widow. And she was about to say more, but\nthe regular tramp of approaching troops was heard on the other side of\nthe garden-wall. A slight flush crimsoned Kasana's cheeks, her eyes\nsparkled with a light that startled Ephraim and, regardless of her father\nor her guest, she darted past the pond, across paths and flower-beds, to\na grassy bank beside the wall, whence she gazed eagerly toward the road\nand the armed host which soon marched by.\n\nHosea, in full armor, headed his men. As he passed Hornecht's garden he\nturned his grave head, and seeing Kasana lowered his battle-axe in\nfriendly salutation.\n\nEphraim had followed the captain of the archers, who pointed out the\nyouth's uncle, saying: \"Shining armor would become you also, and when\ndrums are beating, pipes squeaking shrilly, and banners waving, a man\nmarches as lightly as if he had wings. To-day the martial music is hushed\nby the terrible woe brought upon us by that Hebrew villain. True, Hosea\nis one of his race yet, though I cannot forget that fact, I must admit\nthat he is a genuine soldier, a model for the rising generation. Tell him\nwhat I think of him on this score. Now bid farewell to Kasana quickly and\nfollow the men; the little side-door in the wall is open.\" He turned\ntowards the house as he spoke, and Ephraim held out his hand to bid the\nyoung widow farewell.\n\nShe clasped it, but hurriedly withdrew her own, exclaiming anxiously:\n\"How burning hot your hand is! You have a fever!\"\n\n\"No, no,\" faltered the youth, but even while speaking he fell upon his\nknees and the veil of unconsciousness descended upon the sufferer's soul,\nwhich had been the prey of so many conflicting emotions.\n\nKasana was alarmed, but speedily regained her composure and began to cool\nhis brow and head by bathing them with water from the neighboring pond.\nYes, in his boyhood the man she loved must have resembled this youth. Her\nheart throbbed more quickly and, while supporting his head in her hands,\nshe gently kissed him.\n\nShe supposed him to be unconscious, but the refreshing water had already\ndispelled the brief swoon, and he felt the caress with a thrill of\nrapture. But he kept his eyes closed, and would gladly have lain for a\nlife-time with his head pillowed on her breast in the hope that her lips\nmight once more meet his. But instead of kissing him a second time she\ncalled loudly for aid. He raised himself, gave one wild, ardent look into\nher face and, ere she could stay him, rushed like a strong man to the\ngarden gate, flung it open, and followed the troops. He soon overtook the\nrear ranks, passed on in advance of the others, and at last reached their\nleader's side and, calling his uncle by name, gave his own. Hosea, in his\njoy and astonishment, held out his arms, but ere Ephraim could fall upon\nhis breast, he again lost consciousness, and stalwart soldiers bore the\nsenseless lad into the tent the quartermaster had already pitched on a\ndune by the sea.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nIt was midnight. A fire was blazing in front of Hosea's tent, and he sat\nalone before it, gazing mournfully now into the flames and anon over the\ndistant country. Inside the canvas walls Ephraim was lying on his uncle's\ncamp-bed.\n\nThe surgeon who attended the soldiers had bandaged the youth's wounds,\ngiven him an invigorating cordial, and commanded him to keep still; for\nthe violence with which the fever had attacked the lad alarmed him.\n\nBut in spite of the leech's prescription Ephraim continued restless.\nSometimes Kasana's image rose before his eyes, increasing the fever of\nhis over-heated blood, sometimes he recalled the counsel to become a\nwarrior like his uncle. The advice seemed wise--at least he tried to\npersuade himself that it was--because it promised honor and fame, but in\nreality he wished to follow it because it would bring her for whom his\nsoul yearned nearer to him.\n\nThen his pride rose as he remembered the insults which she and her father\nhad heaped on those to whom by every tie of blood and affection, he\nbelonged. His hand clenched as he thought of the ruined home of his\ngrandfather, whom he had ever regarded one of the noblest of men. Nor was\nhis message forgotten. Miriam had repeated it again and again, and his\nclear memory retained every syllable, for he had unweariedly iterated it\nto himself during his solitary walk to Tanis. He was striving to do the\nsame thing now but, ere he could finish, his mind always reverted to\nthoughts of Kasana. The leech had told Hosea to forbid the sufferer to\ntalk and, when the youth attempted to deliver his message, the uncle\nordered him to keep silence. Then the soldier arranged his pillow with a\nmother's tenderness, gave him his medicine, and kissed him on the\nforehead. At last he took his seat by the fire before the tent and only\nrose to give Ephraim a drink when he saw by the stars that an hour had\npassed.\n\nThe flames illumined Hosea's bronzed features, revealing the countenance\nof a man who had confronted many a peril and vanquished all by steadfast\nperseverance and wise consideration. His black eyes had an imperious\nlook, and his full, firmly-compressed lips suggested a quick temper and,\nstill more, the iron will of a resolute man. His broad-shouldered form\nleaned against some lances thrust crosswise into the earth, and when he\npassed his strong hand through his thick black locks or smoothed his dark\nbeard, and his eyes sparkled with ire, it was evident that his soul was\nstirred by conflicting emotions and that he stood on the threshold of a\ngreat resolve. The lion was resting, but when he starts up, let his foes\nbeware!\n\nHis soldiers had often compared their fearless, resolute leader, with his\nluxuriant hair, to the king of beasts, and as he now shook his fist,\nwhile the muscles of his bronzed arm swelled as though they would burst\nthe gold armlet that encircled them, and his eyes flashed fire, his\nawe-inspiring mien did not invite approach.\n\nWestward, the direction toward which his eyes were turned, lay the\nnecropolis and the ruined strangers' quarter. But a few hours ago he had\nled his troops through the ruins around which the ravens were circling\nand past his father's devastated home.\n\nSilently, as duty required, he marched on. Not until he halted to seek\nquarters for the soldiers did he hear from Hornecht, the captain of the\narchers, what had happened during the night. He listened silently,\nwithout the quiver of an eye-lash, or a word of questioning, until his\nmen had pitched their tents. He had but just gone to rest when a Hebrew\nmaiden, spite of the menaces of the guard, made her way in to implore\nhim, in the name of Eliab, one of the oldest slaves of his family, to go\nwith her to the old man, her grandfather. The latter, whose weakness\nprevented journeying, had been left behind, and directly after the\ndeparture of the Hebrews he and his wife had been carried on an ass to\nthe little but near the harbor, which generous Nun, his master, had\nbestowed on the faithful slave.\n\nThe grand-daughter had been left to care for the feeble pair, and now the\nold servant's heart yearned for one more sight of his lord's first-born\nson whom, when a child, he had carried in his arms. He had charged the\ngirl to tell Hosea that Nun had promised his people that his son would\nabandon the Egyptians and cleave to his own race. The tribe of Ephraim,\nnay the whole Hebrew nation had hailed these tidings with the utmost joy.\nEliab would give him fuller details; she herself had been well nigh dazed\nwith weeping and anxiety. He would earn the richest blessings if he would\nonly follow her.\n\nThe soldier realized at once that he must fulfil this desire, but he was\nobliged to defer his visit to the old slave until the nest morning. The\nmessenger, however, even in her haste, had told him many incidents she\nhad seen herself or heard from others.\n\nAt last she left him. He rekindled the fire and, so long as the flames\nburned brightly, his gaze was bent with a gloomy, thoughtful expression\nupon the west. Not till they had devoured the fuel and merely flickered\nwith a faint bluish light around the charred embers did he fix his eyes\non the whirling sparks. And the longer he did so, the deeper, the more\nunconquerable became the conflict in his soul, whose every energy, but\nyesterday, had been bent upon a single glorious goal.\n\nThe war against the Libyan rebels had detained him eighteen months from\nhis home, and he had seen ten crescent moons grow full since any news had\nreached him of his kindred. A few weeks before he had been ordered to\nreturn, and when to-day he approached nearer and nearer to the obelisks\ntowering above Tanis, the city of Rameses, his heart had pulsed with as\nmuch joy and hopefulness as if the man of thirty were once more a boy.\n\nWithin a few short hours he should again see his beloved, noble father,\nwho had needed great deliberation and much persuasion from Hosea's\nmother--long since dead--ere he would permit his son to follow the bent\nof his inclinations and enter upon a military life in Pharaoh's army. He\nhad anticipated that very day surprising him with the news that he had\nbeen promoted above men many years his seniors and of Egyptian lineage.\nInstead of the slights Nun had dreaded, Hosea's gallant bearing, courage\nand, as he modestly added, good-fortune had gained him promotion, yet he\nhad remained a Hebrew. When he felt the necessity of offering to some god\nsacrifices and prayer, he had bowed before Seth, to whose temple Nun had\nled him when a child, and whom in those days all the people in Goshen in\nwhose veins flowed Semitic blood had worshipped. But he also owed\nallegiance to another god, not the God of his fathers, but the deity\nrevered by all the Egyptians who had been initiated. He remained unknown\nto the masses, who could not have understood him; yet he was adored not\nonly by the adepts but by the majority of those who had obtained high\npositions in civil or military life-whether they were servants of the\ndivinity or not--and Hosea, the initiated and the stranger, knew him\nalso. Everybody understood when allusion was made to \"the God,\" the \"Sum\nof All,\" the \"Creator of Himself,\" and the \"Great One.\" Hymns extolled\nhim, inscriptions on the monuments, which all could read, spoke of him,\nthe one God, who manifested himself to the world, pervaded the universe,\nand existed throughout creation not alone as the vital spark animates the\nhuman organism, but as himself the sum of creation, the world with its\nperpetual growth, decay, and renewal, obeying the laws he had himself\nordained. His spirit, existing in every form of nature, dwelt also in\nman, and wherever a mortal gazed he could discern the rule of the \"One.\"\nNothing could be imagined without him, therefore he was one like the God\nof Israel. Nothing could be created nor happen on earth apart from him,\ntherefore, like Jehovah, he was omnipotent. Hosea had long regarded both\nas alike in spirit, varying only in name. Whoever adored one was a\nservant of the other, so the warrior could have entered his father's\npresence with a clear conscience, and told him that although in the\nservice of the king he had remained loyal to the God of his nation.\n\nAnother thought had made his heart pulse faster and more joyously as he\nsaw in the distance the pylons and obelisks of Tanis; for on countless\nmarches through the silent wilderness and in many a lonely camp he had\nbeheld in imagination a virgin of his own race, whom he had known as a\nsingular child, stirred by marvellous thoughts, and whom, just before\nleading his troops to the Libyan war, he had again met, now a dignified\nmaiden of stern and unapproachable beauty. She had journeyed from Succoth\nto Tanis to attend his mother's funeral, and her image had been deeply\nimprinted on his heart, as his--he ventured to hope--on hers. She had\nsince become a prophetess, who heard the voice of her God. While the\nother maidens of his people were kept in strict seclusion, she was free\nto come and go at will, even among men, and spite of her hate of the\nEgyptians and of Hosea's rank among them, she did not deny that it was\ngrief to part and that she would never cease thinking of him. His future\nwife must be as strong, as earnest, as himself. Miriam was both, and\nquite eclipsed a younger and brighter vision which he had once conjured\nbefore his memory with joy.\n\nHe loved children, and a lovelier girl than Kasana he had never met,\neither in Egypt or in alien lands. The interest with which the fair\ndaughter of his companion-in-arms watched his deeds and his destiny, the\nmodest yet ardent devotion afterwards displayed by the much sought-after\nyoung widow, who coldly repelled all other suitors, had been a delight to\nhim in times of peace. Prior to her marriage he had thought of her as the\nfuture mistress of his home, but her wedding another, and Hornecht's\noft-repeated declaration that he would never give his child to a\nforeigner, had hurt his pride and cooled his passion. Then he met Miriam\nand was fired with an ardent desire to make her his wife. Still, on the\nhomeward march the thought of seeing Kasana again had been a pleasant\none. It was fortunate he no longer wished to wed Hornecht's daughter; it\ncould have led to naught save trouble. Both Hebrews and Egyptians held it\nto be an abomination to eat at the same board, or use the same seats or\nknives. Though he himself was treated by his comrades as one of\nthemselves, and had often heard Kasana's father speak kindly of his\nkindred, yet \"strangers\" were hateful in the eyes of the captain of the\narchers, and of all free Egyptians.\n\nHe had found in Miriam the noblest of women. He hoped that Kasana might\nmake another happy. To him she would ever be the charming child from whom\nwe expect nothing save the delight of her presence.\n\nHe had come to ask from her, as a tried friend ever ready for leal\nservice, a joyous glance. From Miriam he would ask herself, with all her\nmajesty and beauty, for he had borne the solitude of the camp long\nenough, and now that on his return no mother's arms opened to welcome\nhim, he felt for the first time the desolation of a single life. He\nlonged to enjoy the time of peace when, after dangers and privations of\nevery kind, he could lay aside his weapons. It was his duty to lead a\nwife home to his father's hearth and to provide against the extinction of\nthe noble race of which he was the sole representative. Ephraim was the\nson of his sister.\n\nFilled with the happiest thoughts, he had advanced toward Tannis and, on\nreaching the goal of all his hopes and wishes, found it lying before him\nlike a ripening grain-field devastated by hail and swarms of locusts.\n\nAs if in derision, fate led him first to the Hebrew quarter. A heap of\ndusty ruins marked the site of the house where he had spent his\nchildhood, and for which his heart had longed; and where his loved ones\nhad watched his departure, beggars were now greedily searching for\nplunder among the debris.\n\nThe first man to greet him in Tanis was Kasana's father. Instead of a\nfriendly glance from her eyes, he had received from him tidings that\npierced his inmost heart. He had expected to bring home a wife, and the\nhouse where she was to reign as mistress was razed to the ground. The\nfather, for whose blessing he longed, and who was to have been gladdened\nby his advancement, had journeyed far away and must henceforward be the\nfoe of the sovereign to whom he owed his prosperity.\n\nHe had been proud of rising, despite his origin, to place and power. Now\nhe would be able, as leader of a great host, to show the prowess of which\nhe was capable. His inventive brain had never lacked schemes which, if\nexecuted by his superiors, would have had good results; now he could\nfulfil them according to his own will, and instead of the tool become the\nguiding power.\n\nThese reflections had awakened a keen sense of exultation in his breast\nand winged his steps on his homeward march and, now that he had reached\nthe goal, so long desired, must he turn back to join the shepherds and\nbuilders to whom--it now seemed a sore misfortune--he belonged by the\naccident of birth and ancestry, though, denial was futile, he felt as\nutterly alien to the Hebrews as he was to the Libyans whom he had\nconfronted on the battle-field. In almost every pursuit he valued, he had\nnothing in common with his people. He had believed he might truthfully\nanswer yes to his father's enquiry whether he had returned a Hebrew, yet\nhe now felt it would be only a reluctant and half-hearted assent.\n\nHe clung with his whole soul to the standards beneath which he had gone\nto battle and might now himself lead to victory. Was it possible to\nwrench his heart from them, renounce what his own deeds had won? Yet\nEliab's granddaughter had told him that the Hebrews expected him to leave\nthe army and join them. A message from his father must soon reach\nhim--and among the Hebrews a son never opposed a parent's command.\n\nThere was still another to whom implicit obedience was due, Pharaoh, to\nwhom he had solemnly vowed loyal service, sworn to follow his summons\nwithout hesitation or demur, through fire and water, by day and night.\n\nHow often he had branded the soldier who deserted to the foe or rebelled\nagainst the orders of his commander as a base scoundrel and villain, and\nby his orders many a renegade from his standard had died a shameful death\non the gallows under his own eyes. Was he now to commit the deed for\nwhich he had despised and killed others? His prompt decision was known\nthroughout the army, how quickly in the most difficult situations he\ncould resolve upon the right course and carry it into action; but during\nthis dark and lonely hour of the night he seemed to himself a mere\nswaying reed, and felt as helpless as a forsaken orphan.\n\nWrath against himself preyed upon him, and when he thrust a spear into\nthe flames, scattering the embers and sending a shower of bright sparks\nupward, it was rage at his own wavering will that guided his hand.\n\nHad recent events imposed upon him the virile duty of vengeance, doubt\nand hesitation would have vanished and his father's summons would have\nspurred him on to action; but who had been the heaviest sufferers here?\nSurely it was the Egyptians whom Moses' curse had robbed of thousands of\nbeloved lives, while the Hebrews had escaped their revenge by flight. His\nwrath had been kindled by the destruction of the Hebrews' houses, but he\nsaw no sufficient cause for a bloody revenge, when he remembered the\nunspeakable anguish inflicted upon Pharaoh and his subjects by the men of\nhis own race.\n\nNay; he had nothing to avenge; he seemed to himself like a man who\nbeholds his father and mother in mortal peril, owns that he cannot save\nboth, yet knows that while staking his life to rescue one he must leave\nthe other to perish. If he obeyed the summons of his people, he would\nlose his honor, which he had kept as untarnished as his brazen helm, and\nwith it the highest goal of his life; if he remained loyal to Pharaoh and\nhis oath, he must betray his own race, have all his future days darkened\nby his father's curse, and resign the brightest dream he cherished; for\nMiriam was a true child of her people and he would be blest indeed if her\nlofty soul could be as ardent in love as it was bitter in hate.\n\nStately and beautiful, but with gloomy eyes and hand upraised in warning,\nher image rose before his mental vision as he sat gazing over the\nsmouldering fire out into the darkness. And now the pride of his manhood\nrebelled, and it seemed base cowardice to cast aside, from dread of a\nwoman's wrath and censure, all that a warrior held most dear.\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" he murmured, and the scale containing duty, love, and filial\nobedience suddenly kicked the beam. He was what he was--the leader of ten\nthousand men in Pharaoh's army. He had vowed fealty to him--and to none\nother. Let his people fly from the Egyptian yoke, if they desired. He,\nHosea, scorned flight. Bondage had sorely oppressed them, but the highest\nin the land had received him as an equal and held him worthy of the\nloftiest honor. To repay them with treachery and desertion was foreign to\nhis nature and, drawing a long breath, he sprang to his feet with the\nconviction that he had chosen aright. A fair woman and the weak yearning\nof a loving heart should not make him a recreant to grave duties and the\nloftiest purposes of his life.\n\n\"I will stay!\" cried a loud voice in his breast. \"Father is wise and\nkind, and when he learns the reasons for my choice he will approve them\nand bless, instead of cursing me. I will write to him, and the boy Miriam\nsent me shall be the messenger.\"\n\nA call from the tent startled him and when, springing up, he glanced at\nthe stars, he found that he had forgotten his duty to the suffering lad\nand hurried to his couch.\n\nEphraim was sitting up in his bed, watching for him, and exclaimed: \"I\nhave been waiting a long, long time to see you. So many thoughts crowd my\nbrain and, above all, Miriam's message. I can get no rest until I have\ndelivered it--so listen now.\"\n\nHosea nodded assent and, after drinking the healing potion handed to him,\nEphraim began:\n\n\"Miriam the daughter of Amram and Jochebed greets the son of Nun the\nEphraimite. Thy name is Hosea, 'the Help,' and the Lord our God hath\nchosen thee to be the helper of His people. But henceforward, by His\ncommand, thou shalt be called Joshua,--[Jehoshua, he who helps\nJehova]--the help of Jehovah; for through Miriam's lips the God of her\nfathers, who is the God of thy fathers likewise, bids thee be the sword\nand buckler of thy people. In Him dwells all power, and he promises to\nsteel thine arm that He may smite the foe.\"\n\nEphraim had begun in a low voice, but gradually his tones grew more\nresonant and the last words rang loudly and solemnly through the\nstillness of the night.\n\nThus had Miriam uttered them, laying her hands on the lad's head and\ngazing earnestly into his face with eyes deep and dark as night, and\nwhile repeating them he had felt as though some secret power were\nconstraining him to shout them aloud to Hosea, just as he had heard them\nfrom the lips of the prophetess. Then, with a sigh of relief, he turned\nhis face toward the canvas wall of the tent, saying quietly:\n\n\"Now I will go to sleep.\"\n\nBut Hosea laid his hand on his shoulder, exclaiming imperiously: \"Say it\nagain.\"\n\nThe youth obeyed, but this time he repeated the words in a low, careless\ntone, then saying beseechingly:\n\n\"Let me rest now,\" put his hand under his cheek and closed his eyes.\n\nHosea let him have his way, carefully applied a fresh bandage to his\nburning head, extinguished the light, and flung more fuel on the\nsmouldering fire outside; but the alert, resolute man performed every act\nas if in a dream. At last he sat down, and propping his elbows on his\nknees and his head in his hands, stared alternately, now into vacancy,\nand anon into the flames.\n\nWho was this God who summoned him through Miriam's lips to be, under His\nguidance, the sword and shield of His people?\n\nHe was to be known by a new name, and in the minds of the Egyptians the\nname was everything \"Honor to the name of Pharaoh,\" not \"Honor to\nTharaoh\" was spoken and written. And if henceforward he was to be called\nJoshua, the behest involved casting aside his former self, and becoming a\nnew man.\n\nThe will of the God of his fathers announced to him by Miriam meant no\nless a thing than the command to transform himself from the Egyptian his\nlife had made him, into the Hebrew he had been when a lad. He must learn\nto act and feel like an Israelite! Miriam's summons called him back to\nhis people. The God of his race, through her, commanded him to fulfil his\nfather's expectations. Instead of the Egyptian troops whom he must\nforsake, he was in future to lead the men of his own blood forth to\nbattle! This was the meaning of her bidding, and when the noble virgin\nand prophetess who addressed him, asserted that God Himself spoke through\nher lips, it was no idle boast, she was really obeying the will of the\nMost High. And now the image of the woman whom he had ventured to love,\nrose in unapproachable majesty before him. Many things which he had heard\nin his childhood concerning the God of Abraham, and His promises returned\nto his mind, and the scale which hitherto had been the heavier, rose\nhigher and higher. The resolve just matured, now seemed uncertain, and he\nagain confronted the terrible conflict he had believed was overpast.\n\nHow loud, how potent was the call he heard! Ringing in his ears, it\ndisturbed the clearness and serenity of his mind, and instead of calmly\nreflecting on the matter, memories of his boyhood, which he had imagined\nwere buried long ago, raised their voices, and incoherent flashes of\nthought darted through his brain.\n\nSometimes he felt impelled to turn in prayer to the God who summoned him,\nbut whenever he attempted to calm himself and uplift his heart and eyes\nto Him, he remembered the oath he must break, the soldiers he must\nabandon to lead, instead of well-disciplined, brave, obedient bands of\nbrothers-in-arms, a wretched rabble of cowardly slaves, and rude,\nobstinate shepherds, accustomed to the heavy yoke of bondage.\n\nThe third hour after midnight had come, the guards had been relieved, and\nHosea thought he might now permit himself a few hours repose. He would\nthink all these things over again by daylight with his usual clear\njudgment, which he strove in vain to obtain now. But when he entered the\ntent and heard Ephraim's regular breathing, he fancied that the boy's\nsolemn message was again echoing in his ears. Startled, he was in the act\nof repeating it himself, when loud voices in violent altercation among\nthe sentinels disturbed the stillness of the night.\n\nThe interruption was welcome, and he hurried to the outposts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nHogla, the old slave's granddaughter, had come to beseech Hosea to go\nwith her at once to her grandfather, who had suddenly broken down, and\nwho feeling the approach of death could not perish without having once\nmore seen and blessed him.\n\nThe warrior told her to wait and, after assuring himself that Ephraim was\nsleeping quietly, ordered a trusty man to watch beside his bed and went\naway with Hogla.\n\nThe girl walked before him, carrying a small lantern, and as its light\nfell on her face and figure, he saw how unlovely she was, for the hard\ntoil of slavery had bowed the poor thing's back before its time. Her\nvoice had the harsh accents frequently heard in the tones of women whose\nstrength has been pitilessly tasked; but her words were kind and tender,\nand Hosea forgot her appearance when she told him that her lover had gone\nwith the departing tribes, yet she had remained with her grandparents\nbecause she could not bring herself to leave the old couple alone.\nBecause she had no beauty no man had sought her for his wife till Assir\ncame, who did not care for her looks because he toiled industriously,\nlike herself, and expected her to add to his savings. He would gladly\nhave stayed with her, but his father had commanded him to go forth, so\nthere was no choice for them save to obey and part forever.\n\nThe words were simple and the accents harsh, yet they pierced the heart\nof the man who was preparing to follow his own path in opposition to his\nfather's will.\n\nAs they approached the harbor and Hosea saw the embankments, and the vast\nfortified storehouses built by his own people, he remembered the ragged\nlaborers whom he had so often beheld crouching before the Egyptian\noverseers or fighting savagely among themselves. He had heard, too, that\nthey shrunk from no lies, no fraud to escape their toil, and how\ndifficult was the task of compelling them to obey and fulfil their duty.\n\nThe most repulsive forms among these luckless hordes rose distinctly\nbefore his vision, and the thought that it might henceforward be his\ndestiny to command such a wretched rabble seemed to him ignominy which\nthe lowest of his brave officers, the leader of but fifty men, would seek\nto avoid. True, Pharaoh's armies contained many a Hebrew mercenary who\nhad won renown for bravery and endurance; but these men were the sons of\nowners of herds or people who had once been shepherds. The toiling\nslaves, whose clay huts could be upset by a kick, formed the majority of\nthose to whom he was required to return.\n\nResolute in his purpose to remain loyal to the oath which bound him to\nthe Egyptian standard, yet moved to the very depths of his heart, he\nentered the slave's little hut, and his anger rose when he saw old Eliab\nsitting up, mixing some wine and water with his own hands. So he had been\nsummoned from his nephew's sick-bed, and robbed of his night's rest, on a\nfalse pretence, in order that a slave, in his eyes scarcely entitled to\nrank as a man, might have his way. Here he himself experienced a specimen\nof the selfish craft of which the Egyptians accused his people, and which\ncertainly did not attract him, Hosea, to them. But the anger of the just,\nkeen sighted-man quickly subsided at the sight of the girl's unfeigned\njoy in her grandfather's speedy recovery. Besides he soon learned from\nthe old man's aged wife that, shortly after Hogla's departure, she\nremembered the wine they had, and as soon as he swallowed the first\ndraught her husband, whom she had believed had one foot in the grave,\ngrew better and better. Now he was mixing some more of God's gift to\nstrengthen himself occasionally by a sip.\n\nHere Eliab interrupted her to say that they owed this and many more\nvaluable things to the goodness of Nun, Hosea's father, who had given\nthem, besides their little hut, wine, meal for bread, a milch cow, and\nalso an ass, so that he could often ride out into the fresh air. He had\nlikewise left them their granddaughter and some pieces of silver, so that\nthey could look forward without fear to the end of their days, especially\nas they had behind the house a bit of ground, where Hogla meant to raise\nradishes, onions, and leeks for their own table. But the best gift of all\nwas the written document making them and the girl free forever. Ay, Nun\nwas a true master and father to his people, and the blessing of Jehovah\nhad followed his gifts; for soon after the departure of the Hebrews, he\nand his wife had been brought hither unmolested by the aid of Assir,\nHogla's lover.\n\n\"We old people shall die here,\" Eliab's wife added. But Assir promised\nHogla that he would come back for her when she had discharged her filial\nduties to the end.\n\nThen, turning to her granddaughter, she said encouragingly: \"And we\ncannot live much longer now.\"\n\nHogla raised her blue gown to wipe the tears from her eyes, exclaiming\n\n\"May it be a long, long time yet. I am young and can wait.\"\n\nHosea heard the words, and again it seemed as though the poor, forsaken,\nunlovely girl was giving him a lesson.\n\nHe had listened patiently to the freed slaves' talk, but his time was\nlimited and he now asked whether Eliab had summoned him for any special\npurpose.\n\n\"Ay,\" he replied; \"I was obliged to send, not only to still the yearning\nof my old heart, but because my lord Nun commanded me to do so.\"\n\n\"Thou hast attained a grand and noble manhood, and hast now become the\nhope of Israel. Thy father promised the slaves and freedmen of his\nhousehold that after his death, thou wouldst be heir, lord and master.\nHis words were full of thy praise, and great rejoicing hailed his\nstatement that thou wouldst follow the departing Hebrews. And my lord\ndeigned to command me to tell thee, if thou should'st return ere his\nmessenger arrived, that Nun, thy father, expected his son. Whithersoever\nthy nation may wander, thou art to follow. Toward sunrise, or at latest\nby the noon-tide hour, the tribes will tarry to rest at Succoth. He will\nconceal in the hollow sycamore that stands in front of Amminadab's house\na letter which will inform thee whither they will next turn their steps.\nHis blessing and that of our God will attend thy every step.\"\n\nAs Eliab uttered the last words, Hosea bowed his head as if inviting\ninvisible hands to be laid upon it. Then he thanked the old man and\nasked, in subdued tones, whether all the Hebrews had willingly obeyed the\nsummons to leave house and lands.\n\nHis aged wife clasped her hands, exclaiming: \"Oh no, my lord, certainly\nnot. What wailing and weeping filled the air before their departure! Many\nrefused to go, others fled, or sought some hiding-place. But all\nresistance was futile. In the house of our neighbor Deuel--you know\nhim--his young wife had just given birth to their first son. How was she\nto fare on the journey? She wept bitterly and her husband uttered fierce\ncurses, but it was all in vain. She was put in a cart with her babe, and\nas the arrangements went on, both submitted like all the rest--even\nPhineas who crept into a pigeon-house with his wife and five children,\nand crooked grave-haunting Kusaja. Do you remember her? Adonai! She had\nseen father, mother, husband, and three noble sons, all that the Lord had\ngiven her to love, borne to the tomb. They lay side by side in our\nburying ground, and every morning and evening she went there and, sitting\non a log of wood which she had rolled close to the gravestones, moved her\nlips constantly, not in prayer--no, I have listened often when she did\nnot know I was near--no; she talked to the dead, as though they could\nhear her in the sepulchre, and understand her words like those who walk\nalive beneath the sun. She is near seventy, and for thrice seven years\nshe has gone by the name of grave-haunting Kusaja. It was in sooth a\nfoolish thing to do; yet perhaps that was why she found it all the harder\nto give it up, and go she would not, but hid herself among the bushes.\nWhen Ahieser, the overseer, dragged her out, her wailing made one's heart\nsore, yet when the time for departure came, the longing to go seized upon\nher also, and she found it as hard to resist as the others.\"\n\n\"What had happened to the poor creatures, what possessed them?\" asked\nHosea, interrupting the old wife's speech; for in imagination he again\nbeheld the people he must lead, if he valued his father's blessing as the\nmost priceless boon the world could offer, and beheld them in all their\nwretchedness.\n\nThe startled dame, fearing that she had offended her master's first-born\nson, the great and powerful chieftain, stammered:\n\n\"What possessed them, my lord? Ah, well--I am but a poor lowly\nslave-woman; yet, my lord, had you but seen it. . . . \"\n\n\"Well, even then?\" interrupted the warrior in harsh, impatient tones, for\nthis was the first time he had ever found himself compelled to act\nagainst his desires and belief.\n\nEliab tried to come to the assistance of the terrified woman, saying\ntimidly\n\n\"Ah, my lord, no tongue can relate, no human mind can picture it. It came\nfrom the Almighty and, if I could describe how great was its influence on\nthe souls of the people. . . . \"\n\n\"Try,\" Hosea broke in, \"but my time is brief. So they were compelled to\ndepart, and set forth reluctantly on their wanderings. Even the Egyptians\nhave long known that they obeyed the bidding of Moses and Aaron as the\nsheep follow the shepherd. Have those who brought the terrible pestilence\non so many guiltless human beings also wrought the miracle of blinding\nthe minds of you and of your wife?\"\n\nThe old man stretched out his hands to the soldier, and answered in a\ntroubled voice and a tone of the most humble entreaty:\n\n\"Oh, my lord, you are my master's first-born son, the greatest and\nloftiest of your race, if it is your pleasure you can trample me into the\ndust like a beetle, yet I must lift up my voice and say: 'You have heard\nfalse tales!' You were away in foreign lands when mighty things were done\nin our midst, and far from Zoan,--[The Hebrew name for Tanis]--as I hear,\nwhen the exodus took place. Any son of our people who witnessed it would\nrather his tongue should wither than mock at the marvels the Lord\npermitted him to behold. Ah, if you had patience to suffer me to tell the\ntale. . . .\"\n\n\"Speak on!\" cried Hosea, astonished at the old man's solemn fervor. Eliab\nthanked him with an ardent glance, exclaiming:\n\n\"Oh, would that Aaron, or Eleasar, or my lord your father were here in my\nstead, or would that Jehovah would bestow on me the might of their\neloquence! But be it as it is! True, I imagine I can again see and hear\neverything as though it were happening once more before my eyes, but how\nam I to describe it? How can such things be given in words? Yet, with\nGod's assistance, I will try.\"\n\nHere he paused and Hosea, noticing that the old man's hands and lips were\ntrembling, gave him the cup of wine, and Eliab gratefully quaffed it to\nthe dregs. Then, half-closing his eyes, he began his story and his\nwrinkled features grew sharper as he went on:\n\n\"My wife has already told you what occurred after the people learned the\ncommand that had been issued. We, too, were among those who lost courage\nand murmured. But last night, all who belonged to the household of\nNun--and also the shepherds, the slaves, and the poor--were summoned to a\nfeast, and there was abundance of roast lamb, fresh, unleavened bread,\nand wine, more than usual at the harvest festival, which began that\nnight, and which you, my lord, have often attended in your boyhood. We\nsat rejoicing, and our lord, your father, comforted us, and told us of\nthe God of our fathers and the wonders He had wrought for them. It was\nnow His will that we should go forth from this land where we had suffered\ncontempt and bondage. This was no sacrifice like that of Abraham when, at\nthe command of the Most High, he had whetted his knife to shed the blood\nof his son Isaac, though it would be hard for many of us to quit a home\nthat had grown dear to us and forego many a familiar custom. But it will\nbe a great happiness for us all. For, he said, we were not to journey\nforth to an unknown country, but to a beautiful region which God Himself\nhad set apart for us. He had promised us, instead of this place of\nbondage, a new and delightful home where we should dwell free men, amid\nfruitful fields and rich pastures, which would supply food to every man\nand his family and make all hearts rejoice. Just as laborers must work\nhard to earn high wages, we must endure a brief period of want and\nsuffering to gain for ourselves and for our children the beautiful new\nhome which the Lord had promised. God's own land it must be, for it was a\ngift of the Most High.\n\n\"Having spoken thus, he blessed us all and promised that thou, too,\nwouldst shake the dust from off thy feet, and join us to fight for our\ncause with a strong arm as a trained soldier and a dutiful son.\n\n\"Shouts of joy rang forth and, when we assembled in the market-place and\nfound that all the bondmen had escaped from the overseers, many gained\nfresh courage. Then Aaron stepped into our midst, stood upon the\nauctioneer's bench, and told us with his own lips all that we had heard\nfrom my master Nun at the festival. The words he uttered sounded\nsometimes like pealing thunder, and anon like the sweet melody of lutes,\nand every one felt that the Lord our God Himself was speaking through\nhim; for even the most rebellious were so deeply moved that they no\nlonger complained and murmured. And when he finally announced to the\nthrong that no erring mortal, but the Lord our God Himself would be our\nleader, and described the wonders of the land whose gates He would open\nunto us, and where we might live, trammelled by no bondage, as free and\nhappy men, owing no obedience to any ruler save the God of our fathers\nand those whom we ourselves chose for our leaders, every man present felt\nas though he were drunk with sweet wine, and, instead of faring forth\nacross a barren wilderness to an unknown goal, was on the way to a great\nfestal banquet, prepared by the Most High Himself. Even those who had not\nheard Aaron's words were inspired with wondrous faith; men and women\nbehaved even more joyously and noisily than usual at the harvest\nfestival, for every heart was overflowing with genuine gratitude.\n\n\"The old people caught the universal spirit! Your grandfather Elishama,\nbowed by the weight of his hundred years, who, as you know, has long sat\nbent and silent in his corner, straightened his drooping form, and with\nsparkling eyes poured forth a flood of eloquent words. The spirit of the\nLord had descended upon him and upon us all. I myself felt as though the\nvigor of youth had returned to mind and body, and when I passed the\nthrongs who were preparing to set forth, I saw the young mother Elisheba\nin her litter. Her face was as radiant as on her marriage morn, and she\nwas pressing her nursling to her breast, and rejoicing over his happy\nfate in growing up in freedom in the Promised Land. Her spouse, Deuel,\nwho had poured forth such bitter imprecations, now waved his staff,\nkissed his wife and child with tears of joy, and shouted with delight\nlike a vintager at the harvest season, when jars and wine skins are too\nfew to hold the blessing. Old grave-haunting Kusaja, who had been dragged\naway from the sepulchre of her kindred, was sitting in a cart with other\ninfirm folk, waving her veil and joining in the hymn of praise Elkanah\nand Abiasaph, the sons of Korah, had begun. So they went forth; we who\nwere left behind fell into each other's arms, uncertain whether the tears\nwe shed streamed from our eyes for grief or for sheer joy at seeing the\nthrong of our loved ones so full of hope and gladness.\n\n\"So it came to pass.\n\n\"As soon as the pitch torches borne at the head of the procession, which\nseemed to me to shine more brightly than the lamps lighted by the\nEgyptians on the gates of the temple of the great goddess Neith, had\nvanished in the darkness, we set out, that we might not delay Assir too\nlong, and while passing through the streets, which resounded with the\nwailing of the citizens, we softly sang the hymn of the sons of Korah,\nand great joy and peace filled our hearts, for we knew that the Lord our\nGod would defend and guide His people.\"\n\nThe old man paused, but his wife and Hogla, who had listened with\nsparkling eyes, leaned one on the other and, without any prompting, began\nthe hymn of praise of the sons of Korah, the old woman's faint voice\nmingling with touching fervor with the tones of the girl, whose harsh\nnotes thrilled with the loftiest enthusiasm.\n\nHosea felt that it would be criminal to interrupt the outpouring of these\nearnest hearts, but Eliab soon stopped them and gazed with evident\nanxiety into the stern face of his lord's first-born son.\n\nHad Hosea understood him?\n\nDid this warrior, who served under Pharaoh's banner, realize how entirely\nthe Lord God Himself had ruled the souls of his people at their\ndeparture.\n\nHad the life among the Egyptians so estranged him from his people and his\nGod, rendered him so degenerate, that he would bid defiance to the wishes\nand commands of his own father?\n\nWas the man on whom the Hebrews' highest hopes were fixed a renegade,\nforever lost to his people?\n\nHe received no verbal answer to these mute questions, but when Hosea\ngrasped his callous right hand in both his own and pressed it as he would\nhave clasped a friend's, when he bade him farewell with tearful eyes,\nmurmuring: \"You shall hear from me!\" he felt that he knew enough and,\noverwhelmed with passionate delight, he pressed kiss after kiss upon the\nwarrior's arms and clothing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nHosea returned to the camp with drooping head. The conflict in his soul\nwas at an end. He now knew what duty required. He must obey his father's\nsummons.\n\nAnd the God of his race!\n\nThe old man's tale had given new life to the memories of his childhood,\nand he now knew that He was not the same God as the Seth of the Asiatics\nin Lower Egypt, nor the \"One\" and the \"Sum of All\" of the adepts.\n\nThe prayers he had uttered ere he fell asleep, the history of the\ncreation of the world, which he could never hear sufficiently often,\nbecause it showed so clearly the gradual development of everything on\nearth and in heaven until man came to possess and enjoy all, the story of\nAbraham and Isaac, of Jacob, Esau, and his own ancestor, Joseph--how\ngladly he had listened to these tales as they fell from the lips of the\ngentle woman who had given him life, and from those of his nurse, and his\ngrandfather Elishama. Yet he imagined that they had faded from his memory\nlong ago.\n\nBut in old Eliab's hovel he could have repeated the stories word for\nword, and he now knew that there was indeed one invisible, omnipotent\nGod, who had preferred his race above all others, and had promised to\nmake them a mighty people.\n\nThe truths concealed by the Egyptians under the greatest mystery were the\ncommon property of his race. Every beggar, every slave might raise his\nhands in supplication to the one invisible God who had revealed Himself\nunto Abraham.\n\nShrewd Egyptians, who had divined His existence and shrouded His image\nwith monstrous shapes, born of their own thoughts and imaginations, had\ndrawn a thick veil over Him, hidden Him from the masses. Among the\nHebrews alone did He really live and display His power in all its mighty,\nheart-stirring grandeur.\n\nHe was not nature, with whom the initiated in the temples confounded Him.\nNo, the God of his fathers was far above all created things and the whole\nvisible universe, far above man, His last, most perfect work, whom He had\nformed in His own image; and every living creature was subject to His\nwill. The Mightiest of Kings, He ruled the universe with stern justice,\nand though He withdrew Himself from the sight and understanding of man,\nHis image, He was nevertheless a living, thinking, moving Being, though\nHis span of existence was eternity, His mind omniscience, His sphere of\nsovereignty infinitude.\n\nAnd this God had made Himself the leader of His people! There was no\nwarrior who could venture to cope with His might. If the spirit of\nprophecy had not deceived Miriam, and the Lord had indeed commanded Hosea\nto wield His sword, how dared he resist, what higher position could earth\noffer? And his people? The rabble of whom he had thought so scornfully,\nwhat a transformation seemed to have been wrought in them by the power of\nthe Most High, since he had listened to old Eliab's tale! Now he longed\nto be their leader, and midway to the camp he paused on a sand-hill,\nwhence he could see the limitless expanse of the sea shimmering under the\nsheen of the twinkling stars of heaven, and for the first time in many a\nlong, long year, he raised his arms and eyes to the God whom he had found\nonce more.\n\nHe began with a little prayer his mother had taught him; then he cried\nout to the Almighty as to a powerful counselor, imploring him with\nfervent zeal to point out the way in which he should walk without being\ndisobedient to Him or to his father, or breaking the oath he had sworn to\nPharaoh and becoming a dishonored man in the eyes of those to whom he\nowed so great a debt of gratitude.\n\n\"Thy chosen people praise Thee as the God of Truth, Who dost punish those\nwho forswear their oaths,\" he prayed. \"How canst Thou command me to be\nfaithless and break the vow that I have made. Whatever I am, whatever I\nmay accomplish, belongs to Thee, Oh Mighty Lord, and I am ready to devote\nmy blood, my life to my people. But rather than render me a dishonored\nand perjured man, take me away from earth and commit the work which Thou\nhast chosen Thy servant to perform, to the hands of one who is bound by\nno solemn oath.\"\n\nSo he prayed, and it seemed as if he clasped in his embrace a long-lost\nfriend. Then he walked on in silence through the vanishing dusk, and when\nthe first grey light of morning dawned, the flood of feeling ebbed, and\nthe clear-headed warrior regained his calmness of thought.\n\nHe had vowed to do nothing against the will of his father or his God, but\nhe was no less firmly resolved to be neither perjurer nor renegade. His\nduty was clear and plain. He must leave Pharaoh's service, first telling\nhis superiors that, as a dutiful son, he must obey his father's commands,\nand share his fate and that of his people.\n\nYet he did not conceal from himself that his request might be refused,\nthat he might be detained by force, nay, perchance, if he insisted on\ncarrying out his purpose with unshaken will, he might be menaced with\ndeath, or if the worst should come, even delivered over to the\nexecutioner. But if this should be his doom, if his purpose cost him his\nlife, he would still have done what was right, and his comrades, whose\nesteem he valued, could still think of him as a brave brother-in-arms.\nNor would his father and Miriam be angry with him, nay, they would mourn\nthe faithful son, the upright man, who chose death rather than dishonor.\n\nCalm and resolute, he gave the pass-word with haughty bearing to the\nsentinel and entered his tent. Ephraim was still lying on his couch,\nsmiling as if under the thrall of pleasant dreams. Hosea threw himself on\na mat beside him to seek strength for the hard duties of the coming day.\nSoon his eyes closed, too, and, after an hour's sound sleep, he woke\nwithout being roused and called for his holiday attire, his helmet, and\nthe gilt coat-of-mail he wore at great festivals or in the presence of\nEgypt's king.\n\nMeantime Ephraim, too, awoke, looked with mingled curiosity and delight\nat his uncle, who stood before him in all the splendor of his manhood and\nglittering panoply of war, and exclaimed:\n\n\"It must be a proud feeling to wear such garments and lead thousands to\nbattle.\"\n\nHosea shrugged his shoulders and replied:\n\n\"Obey thy God, give no man, from the loftiest to the lowliest, a right to\nregard you save with respect, and you can hold your head as high as the\nproudest warrior who ever wore purple robe and golden armor.\"\n\n\"But you have done great deeds among the Egyptians,\" Ephraim continued.\n\"They hold you in high regard; even captain Homecht and his daughter,\nKasana.\"\n\n\"Do they?\" asked the soldier smiling, and then bid his nephew keep quiet;\nfor his brow, though less fevered than the night before, was still\nburning.\n\n\"Don't go into the open air until the leech has seen you,\" Hosea added,\n\"and wait here till my return.\"\n\n\"Shall you be absent long?\" asked the lad.\n\nHosea paused for a moment, lost in thought then, with a kindly glance at\nhim answered, gravely \"Whoever serves a master knows not how long he may\nbe detained.\" Then, changing his tone, he continued less earnestly.\n\"To-day--this morning--perchance I may finish my business speedily and\nreturn in a few hours. If not, if I do not come back to you this evening\nor early to-morrow morning, then. . . . \" he laid his hand on the lad's\nshoulder as he spoke \"then go home at your utmost speed. When you reach\nSuccoth, if the people have gone before your coming, you will find in the\nhollow sycamore before Amminadab's house a letter which will tell you\nwhither they have turned their steps. When you overtake them, give my\ngreetings to my father, to my grandfather Elishama, and to Miriam. Tell\nthem that Hosea will be mindful of the commands of his God and of his\nfather. In future he will call himself Joshua--Joshua, do you hear? Tell\nthis to Miriam first. Finally, tell them that if I remain behind and am\nnot suffered to follow them, as I would like to, that the Most High has\nmade a different disposal of His servant and has broken the sword which\nHe had chosen, ere He used it. Do you understand me, boy?\"\n\nEphraim nodded, and answered:\n\n\"You mean that death alone can stay you from obeying the summons of God,\nand your father's command.\"\n\n\"Ay, that was my meaning,\" replied the chief. \"If they ask why I did not\nslip away from Pharaoh and escape his power, say that Hosea desired to\nenter on his new office as a true man, unstained by perjury or, if it is\nthe will of God, to die one. Now repeat the message.\"\n\nEphraim obeyed; his uncle's remarks must have sunk deep into his soul;\nfor he neither forgot nor altered a single word. But scarcely had he\nperformed the task of repetition when, with impetuous earnestness, he\ngrasped Hosea's hand and besought him to tell him whether he had any\ncause to fear for his life.\n\nThe warrior clasped him affectionately in his arms and answered that he\nhoped he had entrusted this message to him only to have it forgotten.\n\"Perhaps,\" he added, \"they will strive to keep me by force, but by God's\nhelp I shall soon be with you again, and we will ride to Succoth\ntogether.\"\n\nWith these words he hurried out, unheeding the questions his nephew\ncalled after him; for he had heard the rattle of wheels outside. Two\nchariots, drawn by mettled steeds, rapidly approached the tent and\nstopped directly before the entrance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe men who stepped from the chariots were old acquaintances of Hosea.\nThey were the head chamberlain and one of the king's chief scribes, come\nto summon him to the Sublime Porte.\n\n   [Palace of the king. The name of Pharaoh means \"the Sublime\n   Porte.\"]\n\nNo hesitation nor escape was possible, and Hosea, feeling more surprise\nthan anxiety, entered the second chariot with the chief scribe. Both\nofficials wore mourning robes, and instead of the white ostrich plume,\nthe insignia of office, black ones waved over the temples of both. The\nhorses and runners of the two-wheeled chariots were also decked with all\nthe emblems of the deepest woe. And yet the monarch's messengers seemed\ncheerful rather than depressed; for the eagle they were to bear to\nPharaoh was ready to obey his behest, and they had feared that they would\nfind his eyrie abandoned.\n\nSwift as the wind the long-limbed bays of royal breed bore the light\nvehicles over the uneven sandy road and the smooth highway toward the\npalace.\n\nEphraim, with the curiosity of youth, had gone out of the tent to view a\nscene so novel to his eyes. The soldiers were pleased by the Pharaoh's\nsending his own carriage for their commander, and the lad's vanity was\nflattered to see his uncle drive away in such state. But he was not\npermitted the pleasure of watching him long; dense clouds of dust soon\nhid the vehicles.\n\nThe scorching desert wind which, during the Spring months, so often blows\nthrough the valley of the Nile, had risen, and though the bright blue sky\nwhich had been visible by night and day was still cloudless, it was\nveiled by a whitish mist.\n\nThe sun, a motionless ball, glared down on the heads of men like a blind\nman's eye. The burning heat it diffused seemed to have consumed its rays,\nwhich to-day were invisible. The eye protected by the mist could gaze at\nit undazzled, yet its scorching power was undiminished. The light breeze,\nwhich usually fanned the brow in the morning, touched it now like the hot\nbreath of a ravening beast of prey. Loaded with the fine scorching sand\nborne from the desert, it transformed the pleasure of breathing into a\npainful torture. The air of an Egyptian March morning, which was wont to\nbe so balmy, now oppressed both man and beast, choking their lungs and\nseeming to weigh upon them like a burden destroying all joy in life.\n\nThe higher the pale rayless globe mounted into the sky, the greyer became\nthe fog, the more densely and swiftly blew the sand-clouds from the\ndesert.\n\nEphraim was still standing in front of the tent, gazing at the spot where\nPharaoh's chariots had disappeared. His knees trembled, but he attributed\nit to the wind sent by Seth-Typhon, at whose blowing even the strongest\nfelt an invisible burden clinging to their feet.\n\nHosea had gone, but he might come back in a few hours, then he, Ephraim,\nwould be obliged to go with him to Succoth, and the bright dreams and\nhopes which yesterday had bestowed and whose magical charms were\nheightened by his fevered brain, would be lost to him forever.\n\nDuring the night he had firmly resolved to enter Pharaoh's army, that he\nmight remain near Tanis and Kasana; but though he had only half\ncomprehended Hosea's message, he could plainly discern that he intended\nto turn his back upon Egypt and his high position and meant to take\nEphraim with him, should he make his escape. So he must renounce his\nlonging to see Kasana once more. But this thought was unbearable and an\ninward voice whispered that, having neither father nor mother, he was\nfree to act according to his own will. His guardian, his dead father's\nbrother, in whose household he had grown up, had died not long before,\nand no new guardian had been named because the lad was now past\nchildhood. He was destined at some future day to be one of the chiefs of\nhis proud tribe and until yesterday he had desired no better fate.\n\nHe had obeyed the impulse of his heart when, with the pride of a shepherd\nprince, he had refused the priest's suggestion that he should become one\nof Pharaoh's soldiers, but he now told himself that he had been childish\nand foolish to reject a thing of which he was ignorant, nay, which had\never been intentionally represented to him in a false and hateful light\nin order to bind him more firmly to his own people.\n\nThe Egyptians had always been described as detestable enemies and\noppressors, yet how enchanting everything seemed in the house of the\nfirst Egyptian warrior he had entered.\n\nAnd Kasana!\n\nWhat must she think of him, if he left Tanis without a word of greeting,\nof farewell. Must it not grieve and wound him to remain in her memory a\nclumsy peasant shepherd? Nay, it would be positively dishonest not to\nreturn the costly raiment she had lent him. Gratitude was reckoned among\nthe Hebrews also as the first duty of noble hearts. He would be worthy of\nhate his whole life long, if he did not seek her once more!\n\nBut there was need of haste. When Hosea returned, he must find him ready\nfor departure.\n\nHe at once began to bind his sandals on his feet, but he did it slowly,\nand could not understand why the task seemed so hard to-day.\n\nHe passed through the camp unmolested. The pylons and obelisks before the\ntemples, which appeared to quiver in the heated air, marked the direction\nhe was to pursue, and he soon reached the broad road which led to the\nmarket-place--a panting merchant whose ass was bearing skins of wine to\nthe troops, told him the way.\n\nDense clouds of dust lay on the road and whirled around him, the sun beat\nfiercely down on his bare head, his wound began to ache again, the fine\nsand which filled the air entered his eyes and mouth and stung his face\nand bare limbs like burning needles. He was tortured by thirst and was\noften compelled to stop, his feet grew so heavy. At last he reached a\nwell dug for travelers by a pious Egyptian, and though it was adorned\nwith the image of a god and Miriam had taught him that this was an\nabomination from which he should turn aside, he drank again and again,\nthinking he had never tasted aught so refreshing.\n\nThe fear of losing consciousness, as he had done the day before, passed\naway and, though his feet were still heavy, he walked rapidly toward the\nalluring goal. But soon his strength again deserted him, the sweat poured\nfrom his brow, his wound began to throb and beat, and he felt as though\nhis skull was compressed by an iron circle. His keen eyes, too, failed,\nfor the objects he tried to see blended with the dust of the road, the\nhorizon reeled up and down before his eyes, and he felt as though the\nhard pavement had turned to a yielding bog under his feet.\n\nYet he took little heed of all these things, for never before had such\nbright visions filled his mind. His thoughts grew marvellously vivid, and\nimage after image rose before the wide eyes of his soul, not at his own\nbehest, but as if summoned by a secret will outside of his consciousness.\nNow he fancied that he was lying at Kasana's feet, resting his head on\nher lap while he gazed upward into her lovely face--anon he saw Hosea\nstanding before him in his glittering armor, as he had beheld him a short\ntime ago, only his garb was still more gorgeous and, instead of the dim\nlight in the tent, a ruddy glow like that of fire surrounded him. Then\nthe finest oxen and rams in his herds passed before him and sentences\nfrom the messages he had learned darted through his mind; nay he\nsometimes imagined that they were being shouted to him aloud. But ere he\ncould grasp their import, some new dazzling vision or loud rushing noise\nseemed to fill his mental eye and ear.\n\nHe pressed onward, staggering like a drunken man, with drops of sweat\nstanding on his brow and with parched mouth. Sometimes he unconsciously\nraised his hand to wipe the dust from his burning eyes, but he cared\nlittle that he saw very indistinctly what was passing around him, for\nthere could be nothing more beautiful than what he beheld with his inward\nvision.\n\nTrue, he was often aware that he was suffering intensely, and he longed\nto throw himself exhausted on the ground, but a strange sense of\nhappiness sustained him. At last he was seized with the delusion that his\nhead was swelling and growing till it attained the size of the head of\nthe colossus he had seen the day before in front of a temple gate, then\nit rose to the height of the palm-trees by the road-side, and finally it\nreached the mist shrouding the firmament, then far above it. Then it\nsuddenly seemed as though this head of his was as large as the whole\nworld, and he pressed his hands on his temples to clasp his brow; for his\nneck and shoulders were too weak to support the weight of so enormous a\nhead and, mastered by this strange delusion, he shrieked aloud, his\nshaking knees gave way, and he fell unconscious in the dust.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Hate, though never sated, can yet be gratified\n     Omnipotent God, who had preferred his race above all others\n     When hate and revenge speak, gratitude shrinks timidly\n     Who can prop another's house when his own is falling\n\n\n\n\nJOSHUA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nAt the same hour a chamberlain was ushering Hosea into the audience\nchamber.\n\nUsually subjects summoned to the presence of the king were kept waiting\nfor hours, but the Hebrew's patience was not tried long. During this\nperiod of the deepest mourning the spacious rooms of the palace, commonly\ntenanted by a gay and noisy multitude, were hushed to the stillness of\ndeath; for not only the slaves and warders, but many men and women in\nclose attendance on the royal couple had fled from the pestilence,\nquitting the palace without leave.\n\nHere and there a solitary priest, official, or courtier leaned against a\npillar or crouched on the floor, hiding his face in his hands, while\nawaiting some order. Sentries paced to and fro with lowered weapons, lost\nin melancholy thoughts. Now and then a few young priests in mourning\nrobes glided through the infected rooms, silently swinging silver censers\nwhich diffused a pungent scent of resin and juniper.\n\nA nightmare seemed to weigh upon the palace and its occupants; for in\naddition to grief for their beloved prince, which saddened many a heart,\nthe dread of death and the desert wind paralyzed alike the energy of mind\nand body.\n\nHere in the immediate vicinity of the throne where, in former days, all\neyes had sparkled with hope, ambition, gratitude, fear, loyalty, or hate,\nHosea now encountered only drooping heads and downcast looks.\n\nBai, the second prophet of Amon, alone seemed untouched alike by sorrow,\nanxiety, or the enervating atmosphere of the day; he greeted the warrior\nin the ante-room as vigorously and cheerily as ever, and assured\nhim--though in the lowest whisper--that no one thought of holding him\nresponsible for the misdeeds of his people. But when Hosea volunteered\nthe acknowledgment that, at the moment of his summons to the king, he had\nbeen in the act of going to the commander-in-chief to beg a release from\nmilitary service, the priest interrupted him to remind him of the debt of\ngratitude he, Bai, owed to him as the preserver of his life. Then he\nadded that he would make every effort in his power to keep him in the\narmy and show that the Egyptians--even against Pharaoh's will, or which\nhe would speak farther with him privately--knew how to honor genuine\nmerit without distinction of person or birth.\n\nThe Hebrew had little time to repeat his resolve; the head chamberlain\ninterrupted them to lead Hosea into the presence of the \"good god.\"\n\nThe sovereign awaited Hosea in the smaller audience-room adjoining the\nroyal apartments.\n\nIt was a stately chamber, and to-day looked more spacious than when, as\nof yore, it was filled with obsequious throngs. Only a few courtiers and\npriests, with some of the queen's ladies-in-waiting, all clad in deep\nmourning, stood in groups near the throne. Opposite to Pharaoh, squatting\nin a circle on the floor, were the king's councillors and interpreters,\neach adorned with an ostrich plume.\n\nAll wore tokens of mourning, and the monotonous, piteous plaint of the\nwailing women, which ever and anon rose into a loud, shrill, tremulous\nshriek, echoed through the silent rooms within to this hall, announcing\nthat death had claimed a victim even in the royal dwelling.\n\nThe king and queen sat on a gold and ivory couch, heavily draped with\nblack. Instead of their usual splendid attire, both wore dark robes, and\nthe royal consort and mother, who mourned her first-born son, leaned\nmotionless, with drooping head, against her kingly husband's shoulder.\n\nPharaoh, too, gazed fixedly into space, as though lost in a dream. The\nsceptre had slipped from his hand and lay in his lap.\n\nThe queen had been torn away from the corpse of her son, which was now\ndelivered to the embalmers, and it was not until she reached the entrance\nof the audience-chamber that she had succeeded in checking her tears. She\nhad no thought of resistance; the inexorable ceremonial of court\netiquette required the queen to be present at any audience of importance.\nTo-day she would gladly have shunned the task, but Pharaoh had commanded\nher presence, and she knew and approved the course to be pursued; for she\nwas full of dread of the power of the Hebrew Mesu, called by his own\npeople Moses, and of his God, who had brought such terrible woe on the\nEgyptians. She had other children to lose, and she had known Mesu from\nher childhood, and was well aware how highly the great Rameses, her\nhusband's father and predecessor, had prized the wisdom of this stranger\nwho had been reared with his own sons.\n\nAh, if it were only possible to conciliate this man. But Mesu had\ndeparted with the Israelites, and she knew his iron will and had learned\nthat the terrible prophet was armed, not alone against Pharaoh's threats,\nbut also against her own fervent entreaties.\n\nShe was now expecting Hosea. He, the son of Nun, the foremost man of all\nthe Hebrews in Tanis, would succeed, if any one could, in carrying out\nthe plan which she and her royal husband deemed best for all parties,--a\nplan supported also by Rui, the hoary high-priest and first prophet of\nAmon, the head of the whole Egyptian priesthood, who held the offices of\nchief judge, chief treasurer, and viceroy of the kingdom, and had\nfollowed the court from Thebes to Tanis.\n\nEre going to the audience hall, she had been twining wreaths for her\nloved dead and the lotus flowers, larkspurs, mallow and willow-leaves,\nfrom which she was to weave them, had been brought there by her desire.\nThey were lying on a small table and in her lap; but she felt paralyzed,\nand the hand she stretched toward them refused to obey her will.\n\nRui, the first prophet of Amon, an aged man long past his ninetieth\nbirthday, squatted on a mat at Pharaoh's left hand. A pair of bright\neyes, shaded by bushy white brows, glittered in his brown face--seamed\nand wrinkled like the bark of a gnarled oaklike gay flowers amid withered\nleaves, forming a strange contrast to his lean, bowed, and shrivelled\nform.\n\nThe old man had long since resigned the management of business affairs to\nthe second prophet, Bai, but he held firmly to his honors, his seat at\nPharaoh's side, and his place in the council, where, though he said\nlittle, his opinion was more frequently followed than that of the\neloquent, ardent second prophet, who was many years his junior.\n\nThe old man had not quitted Pharaoh's side since the plague entered the\npalace, yet to-day he felt more vigorous than usual; the hot desert wind,\nwhich weakened others, refreshed him. He was constantly shivering,\ndespite the panther-skin which hung over his back and shoulders, and the\nheat of the day warmed his chilly old blood.\n\nMoses, the Hebrew, had been his pupil, and never had he instructed a\nnobler nature, a youth more richly endowed with all the gifts of\nintellect. He had initiated the Israelite into all the highest mysteries,\nanticipating the greatest results for Egypt and the priesthood, and when\nthe Hebrew one day slew an overseer who had mercilessly beaten one of his\nrace, and then fled into the desert, Rui had secretly mourned the evil\ndeed as if his own son had committed it and must suffer the consequences.\nHis intercession had secured Mesu's pardon; but when the latter returned\nto Egypt and the change had occurred which other priests termed his\n\"apostasy,\" the old man had grieved even more keenly than over his\nflight. Had he, Rui, been younger, he would have hated the man who had\nthus robbed him of his fairest hopes; but the aged priest, who read men's\nhearts like an open book and could judge the souls of his fellow-mortals\nwith the calm impartiality of an unclouded mind, confessed that he had\nbeen to blame in failing to foresee his pupil's change of thought.\n\nEducation and precept had made Mesu an Egyptian priest according to his\nown heart and that of the divinity; but after having once raised his hand\nin the defence of his own people against those to whom he had been bound\nonly by human craft and human will, he was lost to the Egyptians and\nbecame once more a true son of his race. And where this man of the strong\nwill and lofty soul led the way, others could not fail to follow.\n\nRui knew likewise full well what the renegade meant to give to his race;\nhe had confessed it himself to the priest-faith in the one God. Mesu had\nrejected the accusation of perjury, declaring that he would never betray\nthe mysteries to the Hebrews, his sole desire was to lead them back to\nthe God whom they had worshipped ere Joseph and his family came to Egypt.\nTrue, the \"One\" of the initiated resembled the God of the Hebrews in many\nthings, but this very fact had soothed the old sage; for experience had\ntaught him that the masses are not content with a single invisible God,\nan idea which many, even among the more advanced of his own pupils found\ndifficult to comprehend. The men and women of the lower classes needed\nvisible symbols of every important thing whose influence they perceived\nin and around them, and the Egyptian religion supplied these images. What\ncould an invisible creative power guiding the course of the universe be\nto a love-sick girl? She sought the friendly Hathor, whose gentle hands\nheld the cords that bound heart to heart, the beautiful mighty\nrepresentative of her sex--to her she could trustingly pour forth all the\nsorrows that burdened her bosom. What was the petty grief of a mother who\nsought to snatch her darling child from death, to the mighty and\nincomprehensible Deity who governed the entire universe? But the good\nIsis, who herself had wept her eyes red in bitter anguish, could\nunderstand her woe. And how often in Egypt it was the wife who determined\nher husband's relations to the gods!\n\nRui had frequently seen Hebrew men and women praying fervently in\nEgyptian temples. Even if Mesu should induce them to acknowledge his God,\nthe experienced sage clearly foresaw that they would speedily turn from\nthe invisible Spirit, who must ever remain aloof and incomprehensible,\nand return by hundreds to the gods they understood.\n\nNow Egypt was threatened with the loss of the laborers and builders she\nso greatly needed, but Rui believed that they might be won back.\n\n\"When fair words will answer our purpose, put aside sword and bow,\" he\nhad replied to Bai, who demanded that the fugitives should be pursued and\nslain. \"We have already too many corpses in our country; what we want is\nworkers. Let us hold fast what we seem on the verge of losing.\"\n\nThese mild words were in full harmony with the mood of Pharaoh, who had\nhad sufficient sorrow, and would have thought it wiser to venture unarmed\ninto a lion's cage than to again defy the wrath of the terrible Hebrew.\n\nSo he had closed his ears to the exhortations of the second prophet,\nwhose steadfast, energetic will usually exercised all the greater\ninfluence upon him on account of his own irresolution, and upheld old\nRui's suggestion that the warrior, Hosea, should be sent after his people\nto deal with them in Pharaoh's name--a plan that soothed his mind and\nrenewed his hopes.\n\nThe second prophet, Bai, had finally assented to the plan; for it\nafforded a new chance of undermining the throne he intended to overthrow.\nIf the Hebrews were once more settled in the land, Prince Siptah, who\nregarded no punishment too severe for the race he hated, might perhaps\nseize the sceptre of the cowardly king Menephtah.\n\nBut the fugitives must first be stopped, and Hosea was the right man to\ndo this. But in Bai's eyes no one would be more able to gain the\nconfidence of an unsuspicious soldier than Pharaoh and his royal consort.\nThe venerable high-priest Rui, though wholly unaware of the conspiracy,\nshared this opinion, and thus the sovereigns had been persuaded to\ninterrupt the mourning for the dead and speak in person to the Hebrew.\n\nHosea had prostrated himself before the throne and, when he rose, the\nking's weary face was bent toward him, sadly, it is true, yet graciously.\n\nAccording to custom, the hair and beard of the father who had lost his\nfirst-born son had been shaven. Formerly they had encircled his face in a\nframe of glossy black, but twenty years of anxious government had made\nthem grey, and his figure, too, had lost its erect carriage and seemed\nbent and feeble, though he had scarcely passed his fifth decade. His\nregular features were still beautiful in their symmetry, and there was a\ntouch of pathos in their mournful gentleness, so evidently incapable of\nany firm resolve, especially when a smile lent his mouth a bewitching\ncharm.\n\nThe languid indolence of his movements scarcely impaired the natural\ndignity of his presence, yet his musical voice was wont to have a feeble,\nbeseeching tone. He was no born ruler; thirteen older brothers had died\nere the throne of Pharaoh had become his heritage, and up to early\nmanhood he had led a careless, joyous existence--as the handsomest youth\nin the whole land, the darling of women, the light-hearted favorite of\nfortune. Then he succeeded his father the great Rameses, but he had\nscarcely grasped the sceptre ere the Libyans, with numerous allies,\nrebelled against Egypt. The trained troops and their leaders, who had\nfought in his predecessor's wars, gained him victory, but during the\ntwenty years which had now passed since Rameses' death, the soldiers had\nrarely had any rest. Insurrections constantly occurred, sometimes in the\nEast, anon in the West and, instead of living in Thebes, where he had\nspent many years of happiness, and following the bent of his inclination\nby enjoying in the splendid palace the blessing of peace and the society\nof the famous scholars and poets who then made that city their home, he\nwas compelled sometimes to lead his armies in the field, sometimes to\nlive in Tanis, the capital of Lower Egypt, to settle the disturbances of\nthe border land.\n\nThis was the desire of the venerable Rui, and the king willingly followed\nhis guidance. During the latter years of Rameses' reign, the temple at\nThebes, and with it the chief priest, had risen to power and wealth\ngreater than that possessed by royalty itself, and Menephtah's indolent\nnature was better suited to be a tool than a guiding hand, so long as he\nreceived all the external honors due to Pharaoh. These he guarded with a\ndetermination which he never roused himself to display in matters of\ngraver import.\n\nThe condescending graciousness of Pharaoh's reception awakened feelings\nof mingled pleasure and distrust in Hosea's mind, but he summoned courage\nto frankly express his desire to be relieved from his office and the oath\nhe had sworn to his sovereign.\n\nPharaoh listened quietly. Not until Hosea confessed that he was induced\nto take this step by his father's command did he beckon to the\nhigh-priest, who began in low, almost inaudible tones:\n\n\"The son who resigns great things to remain obedient to his father will\nbe the most loyal of the 'good god's' servants. Go, obey the summons of\nNun. The son of the sun, the Lord of Upper and Lower Egypt, sets you\nfree; but through me, the slave of his master, he imposes one condition.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" asked Hosea.\n\nPharaoh signed to Rui a second time and, as the monarch sank back upon\nhis throne, the old man, fixing his keen eyes on Hosea, replied:\n\n\"The demand which the lord of both worlds makes upon you by my lips is\neasy to fulfil. You must return to be once more his servant and one of\nus, as soon as your people and their leader, who have brought such\nterrible woe upon this land, shall have clasped the divine hand which the\nson of the sun extends to them in reconciliation, and shall have returned\nto the beneficent shadow of his throne. He intends to attach them to his\nperson and his realm by rich tokens of his favor, as soon as they return\nfrom the desert to which they have gone forth to sacrifice to their God.\nUnderstand me fully! All the burdens which have oppressed the people of\nyour race shall be removed. The 'great god' will secure to them, by a new\nlaw, privileges and great freedom, and whatever we promise shall be\nwritten down and witnessed on our part and yours as a new and valid\ncovenant binding on our children and our children's children. When such a\ncompact has been made with an honest purpose on our part to keep it for\nall time, and your tribes have consented to accept it, will you promise\nthat you will then be one of us again?\"\n\n\"Accept the office of mediator, Hosea,\" the queen here interrupted in a\nlow tone, with her sorrowful eyes fixed imploringly on Hosea's face. \"I\ndread the fury of Mesu, and everything in our power shall be done to\nregain his old friendship. Mention my name and recall the time when he\ntaught little Isisnefert the names of the plants she brought to him and\nexplained to her and her sister their beneficial or their harmful\nqualities, during his visits to the queen, his second mother, in the\nwomen's apartments. The wounds he has dealt our hearts shall be pardoned\nand forgotten. Be our envoy. Hosea, do not deny us.\"\n\n\"Such words from royal lips are a strict mandate,\" replied the Hebrew.\n\"And yet they make the heart rejoice. I will accept the office of\nmediator.\"\n\nThe hoary high-priest nodded approvingly, exclaiming:\n\n\"I hope a long period of blessing may arise from this brief hour. But\nnote this. Where potions can aid, surgery must be shunned. Where a bridge\nspans the stream, beware of swimming through the whirlpool.\"\n\n\"Yes, by all means shun the whirlpool,\" Pharaoh repeated, and the queen\nuttered the same words, then once more bent her eyes on the flowers in\nher lap.\n\nA council now began.\n\nThree private scribes took seats on the floor close by Rui, in order to\ncatch his low tones, and the scribes and councillors in the circle before\nthe throne seized their writing-materials and, holding the papyrus in\ntheir left hands, wrote with reed or brush; for nothing which was debated\nand determined in Pharaoh's presence was suffered to be left unrecorded.\n\nDuring the continuance of this debate no voice in the audience chamber\nwas raised above a whisper; the courtiers and guards stood motionless at\ntheir posts, and the royal pair gazed mutely into vacancy as though lost\nin reverie.\n\nNeither Pharaoh nor his queen could possibly have heard the muttered\nconversation between the men; yet the Egyptians, at the close of every\nsentence, glanced upward at the king as if to ensure his approbation.\nHosea, to whom the custom was perfectly familiar, did the same and, like\nthe rest, lowered his tones. Whenever the voices of Bai or of the chief\nof the scribes waxed somewhat louder, Pharaoh raised his head and\nrepeated the words of Rui: \"Where a bridge spans the stream, beware of\nswimming through the whirlpool;\" for this saying precisely expressed his\nown desires and those of the queen. No strife! Let us live at peace with\nthe Hebrews, and escape from the anger of their awful leader and his God,\nwithout losing the thousands of industrious workers in the departed\ntribes.\n\nSo the discussion went on, and when the murmuring of the debaters and the\nscratching of the scribes' reeds had continued at least an hour the queen\nremained in the same position; but Pharaoh began to move and lift up his\nvoice, fearing that the second prophet, who had detested the man whose\nbenedictions he had implored and whose enmity seemed so terrible, was\nimposing on the mediator requirements impossible to fulfil.\n\nYet he said nothing save to repeat the warning about the bridge, but his\nquestioning look caused the chief of the scribes to soothe him with the\nassurance that everything was progressing as well as possible. Hosea had\nonly requested that, in future, the overseers of the workmen should not\nbe of Libyan birth, but Hebrews themselves, chosen by the elders of their\ntribes with the approval of the Egyptian government.\n\nPharaoh cast a glance of imploring anxiety at Bai, the second prophet,\nand the other councillors; but the former shrugged his shoulders\ndeprecatingly and, pretending to yield his own opinion to the divine\nwisdom of Pharaoh, acceded to Hosea's request.\n\nThe divinity on the throne of the world accepted, with a grateful bend of\nthe head, this concession from a man whose wishes had so often opposed\nhis own, and after the \"repeater\" or herald had read aloud all the\nseparate conditions of the agreement, Hosea was forced to make a solemn\nvow to return in any case to Tanis, and report to the Sublime Porte how\nhis people had received the king's proposals.\n\nBut the wary chief, versed in the wiles and tricks with which the\ngovernment was but too well supplied, uttered the vow with great\nreluctance, and only after he had received a written assurance that,\nwhatever might be the result of the negotiations, his liberty should not\nbe restricted in any respect, after he had proved that he had used his\nutmost efforts to induce the leader of the Hebrews to accept the compact.\n\nAt last Pharaoh extended his hand for the warrior to kiss, and when the\nlatter had also pressed his lips to the edge of the queen's garments, Rui\nsigned to the head-chamberlain, who made obeisance to Pharaoh, and the\nsovereign knew that the hour had come when he might retire. He did so\ngladly and with a lighter heart; for he believed that he had done his\nbest to secure his own welfare and that of his people.\n\nA sunny expression flitted across his handsome, worn features, and when\nthe queen also rose and saw his smile of satisfaction it was reflected on\nher face. Pharaoh uttered a sigh of relief as he crossed the threshold of\nthe audience chamber and, accosting his wife, said:\n\n\"If Hosea wins his cause, we shall cross the bridge safely.\"\n\n\"And need not swim through the whirlpool,\" the queen answered in the same\ntone.\n\n\"And if the chief succeeds in soothing Mesu, and induces the Hebrews to\nstay in the land,\" Pharaoh added:\n\n\"Then you will enrol this Hosea--he looks noble and upright--among the\nkindred of the king,\" Isisnefert interrupted.\n\nBut upon this Pharaoh drew up his languid, drooping figure, exclaiming\neagerly:\n\n\"How can I? A Hebrew! Were we to admit him among the 'friends' or\n'fan-bearers' it would be the highest favor we could bestow! It is no\neasy matter in such a case to choose between too great or too small a\nrecompense.\"\n\nThe farther the royal pair advanced toward the interior of the palace,\nthe louder rose the wailing voices of the mourning women. Tears once more\nfilled the eyes of the queen; but Pharaoh continued to ponder over what\noffice at court he could bestow on Hosea, should his mission prove\nsuccessful.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nHosea was forced to hurry in order to overtake the tribes in time; for\nthe farther they proceeded, the harder it would be to induce Moses and\nthe leaders of the people to return and accept the treaty.\n\nThe events which had befallen him that morning seemed so strange that he\nregarded them as a dispensation of the God whom he had found again; he\nrecollected, too, that the name \"Joshua,\" \"he who helps Jehovah,\" had\nbeen received through Miriam's message. He would gladly bear it; for\nthough it was no easy matter to resign the name for which he had won\nrenown, still many of his comrades had done likewise. His new one was\nattesting its truth grandly; never had God's help been more manifest to\nhim than this morning. He had entered Pharaoh's palace expecting to be\nimprisoned or delivered over to the executioner, as soon as he insisted\nupon following his people, and how speedily the bonds that held him in\nthe Egyptian army had been sundered. And he had been appointed to\ndischarge a task which seemed in his eyes so grand, so lofty, that he was\non the point of believing that the God of his fathers had summoned him to\nperform it.\n\nHe loved Egypt. It was a fair country. Where could his people find a more\ndelightful home? It was only the circumstances under which they had lived\nthere which had been intolerable. Happier times were now in store. The\ntribes were given the choice between returning to Goshen, or settling on\nthe lake land west of the Nile, with whose fertility and ample supply of\nwater he was well acquainted. No one would have a right to reduce them to\nbondage, and whoever gave his labor to the service of the state was to\nhave for overseer no stern and cruel foreigner, but a man of his own\nblood.\n\nTrue, he knew that the Hebrews must remain under subjection to Pharaoh.\nBut had not Joseph, Ephraim, and his sons, Hosea's ancestors, been called\nhis subjects and lived content to be numbered among the Egyptians.\n\nIf the covenant was made, the elders of the tribes were to direct the\nprivate concerns of the people. Spite of Bai's opposition, Moses had been\nnamed regent of the new territory, while he, Hosea, himself was to\ncommand the soldiers who would defend the frontiers, and marshal fresh\ntroops from the Israelite mercenaries, who had already borne themselves\nvaliantly in many a fray. Ere he had quitted the palace, Bai had made\nvarious mysterious allusions, which though vague in purport, betrayed\nthat the priest was cherishing important plans and, as soon as the\nguidance of the government passed from old Rui's hands into his, a high\nposition, perhaps the command of the whole army, now led by a Syrian\nnamed Aarsu, would be conferred on him, Hosea.\n\nBut this prospect caused him more anxiety than pleasure, though great was\nhis satisfaction at having gained the concession that every third year\nthe eastern frontiers of the country should be thrown open to his people,\nthat they might go to the desert and there offer sacrifices to their God.\nMoses had seemed to lay the utmost stress upon this privilege, and\naccording to the existing law, no one was permitted to cross the narrow\nfortified frontier on the east without the permission of the government.\nPerhaps granting this desire of the mighty leader might win him to accept\na compact so desirable for his nation.\n\nDuring these negotiations Hosea had again realized his estrangement from\nhis people, he was not even aware--for what purpose the sacrifice in the\ndesert was offered. He also frankly acknowledged to Pharaoh's councillors\nthat he knew neither the grievances nor the requirements of the tribes, a\ncourse he pursued to secure to the Hebrews the right of changing or\nrevising in any respect the offers he was to convey.\n\nWhat better proposals could they or their leader desire?\n\nThe future was full of fresh hopes of happiness for his people and\nhimself. If the compact was made, the time had arrived for him to\nestablish a home of his own, and Miriam's image again appeared in all its\nloftiness and beauty. The thought of gaining this splendid maiden was\nfairly intoxicating, and he wondered whether he was worthy of her, and if\nit would not be presumptuous to aspire to the hand of the\ndivinely-inspired, majestic virgin and prophetess.\n\nHe was experienced in the affairs of life and knew full well how little\nreliance could be placed upon the promises of the vacillating man, who\nfound the sceptre too heavy for his feeble hand. But he had exercised\ncaution and, if the elders of the people could but be won over, the\nagreement would be inscribed on metal tables, sentence by sentence, and\nhung in the temple at Thebes, with the signatures of Pharaoh and the\nenvoys of the Hebrews, like every other binding agreement between Egypt\nand a foreign nation. Such documents--he had learned this from the treaty\nof peace concluded with the Cheta--assured and lengthened the brief\n\"eternity\" of national covenants. He had certainly neglected no\nprecaution to secure his people from treachery and perjury. Never had he\nfelt more vigorous, more confident, more joyous than when he again\nentered Pharaoh's chariot to take leave of his subordinates. Bai's\nmysterious hints and suggestions troubled him very little; he was\naccustomed to leave future anxieties to be cared for in the future. But\nat the camp he encountered a grief which belonged to the present;\nsurprised, angry, and troubled, he learned that Ephraim had secretly left\nthe tent, telling no one whither he was going. A hurried investigation\ndrew out the information that the youth had been seen on the road to\nTanis, and Hosea hastily bade his trusty shield-bearer search the city\nfor the youth and, if he found him, to order him to follow his uncle to\nSuccoth.\n\nAfter the chief had said farewell to his men, he set off, attended only\nby his old groom. He was pleased to have the adone--[Corresponding to the\nrank of adjutant.]--and subaltern officers who had been with him, the\nstern warriors, with whom he had shared everything in war and peace, in\nwant and privation, show so plainly the pain of parting. Tears streamed\ndown the bronzed cheeks of many a man who had grown grey in warfare, as\nhe clasped his hand for the last time. Many a bearded lip was pressed to\nthe hem of his robe, to his feet, and to the sleek skin of the noble\nLibyan steed which, pressing forward with arching neck only to be curbed\nby its rider's strength, bore him through the ranks. For the first time\nsince his mother's death his own eyes grew dim, as shouts of farewell\nrang warmly and loudly from the manly breasts of his soldiers.\n\nNever before had he so deeply realized how firmly he was bound to these\nmen, and how he loved his noble profession.\n\nYet the duty he was now fulfilling was also great and glorious, and the\nGod who had absolved him from his oath and smoothed the way for him to\nobey his father's commands as a true and upright man, would perhaps bring\nhim back to his comrades in arms, whose cordial farewell he still fancied\nhe heard long after he was out of reach of their voices.\n\nThe greatness of the work assigned to him, the enthusiasm of a man who\ndevotes himself with devout earnestness to the performance of a difficult\ntask, the rapturous joy of the lover, who with well-founded hopes of the\nfulfilment of the purest and fairest desires of his heart, hastens to\nmeet the woman of his choice, first dawned upon him when he had left the\ncity behind and was dashing at a rapid trot toward the south-east across\nthe flat, well-watered plain with its wealth of palm-groves.\n\nWhile forcing his steed to a slower pace as he passed through the streets\nof the capital, and the region near the harbor, his mind was so engrossed\nby his recent experiences and his anxiety concerning the runaway youth,\nthat he paid little attention to the throng of vessels lying at anchor,\nthe motley crowd of ship owners, traders, sailors, and laborers,\nrepresentatives of all the nations of Africa and Asia, who sought a\nlivelihood here, and the officials, soldiers, and petitioners, who had\nfollowed Pharaoh from Thebes to the city of Rameses.\n\nHe had even failed to see two men of high rank, though one, Hornecht, the\ncaptain of the archers, had waved his hand to him.\n\nThey had retired into the deep gateway formed by the pylons at the\nentrance of the temple of Seth, to escape the clouds of dust which the\ndesert wind was still blowing along the road.\n\nWhile Hornecht was vainly trying to arrest the horseman's attention, his\ncompanion, Bai, the second prophet of Amon, whispered: \"Let him go! He\nwill learn where his nephew is soon enough.\"\n\n\"As you desire,\" replied the soldier. Then he eagerly continued the story\nhe had just begun. \"When they brought the lad in, he looked like a piece\nof clay in the potter's workshop.\"\n\n\"No wonder,\" replied the priest; \"he had lain long enough in the road in\nthe dust of Typhon. But what was your steward seeking among the\nsoldiers?\"\n\n\"We had heard from my adon, whom I sent to the camp last evening, that\nthe poor youth was attacked by a severe fever, so Kasana put up some wine\nand her nurse's balsam, and dispatched the old creature with them to the\ncamp.\"\n\n\"To the youth or to Hosea?\" asked the prophet with a mischievous smile.\n\n\"To the sufferer,\" replied Hornecht positively, a frown darkening his\nbrow. But, restraining himself, he added as if apologizing: \"Her heart is\nas soft as wax, and the Hebrew youth--you saw him yesterday. . . . \"\n\n\"Is a splendid lad, just fitted to win a woman's heart!\" replied the\npriest laughing. \"Besides, whoever shows kindness to the nephew does not\nharm the uncle.\"\n\n\"That was not in her mind,\" replied Hornecht bluntly. \"But the invisible\nGod of the Hebrews is not less watchful of his children than the\nImmortals whom you serve; for he led Hotepu to the youth just as he was\nat the point of death. The dreamer would undoubtedly have ridden past\nhim; for the dust had already . . . .\"\n\n\"Transformed him into a bit of potter's clay. But then?\"\n\n\"Then the old man suddenly saw a glint of gold in the dusty heap.\"\n\n\"And the stiffest neck will stoop for that.\"\n\n\"Quite true. My Hotepu did so, and the broad gold circlet the lad wore\nflashed in the sunlight and preserved his life a second time.\"\n\n\"The luckiest thing is that we have the lad in our possession.\"\n\n\"Yes, I was rejoiced to have him open his eyes once more. Then his\nrecovery grew more and more rapid; the doctor says he is like a kitten,\nand all these mishaps will not cost him his life. But he is in a violent\nfever, and in his delirium says all sorts of senseless things, which even\nmy daughter's nurse, a native of Ascalon, cannot clearly comprehend. Only\nshe thought she caught Kasana's name.\"\n\n\"So it is once more a woman who is the source of the trouble.\"\n\n\"Stop these jests, holy father,\" replied Hornecht, biting his lips. \"A\nmodest widow, and that boy with the down still on his lips.\"\n\n\"At his age,\" replied the unabashed priest, \"fullblown roses have a\nstronger attraction for young beetles than do buds; and in this\ninstance,\" he added more gravely, \"it is a most fortunate accident. We\nhave Hosea's nephew in the snare, and it will be your part not to let him\nescape.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that we are to deprive him of his liberty?\" cried the\nwarrior.\n\n\"Even so.\"\n\n\"Yet you value his uncle?\"\n\n\"Certainly. But the state has a higher claim.\"\n\n\"This boy. . . .\"\n\n\"Is a desirable hostage. Hosea's sword was an extremely useful tool to\nus; but if the hand that guides it is directed by the man whose power\never greater things we know . . . .\"\n\n\"You mean the Hebrew, Mesu?\"\n\n\"Then Hosea will deal us wounds as deep as those he erst inflicted on our\nfoes.\"\n\n\"Yet I have heard you say more than once that he was incapable of\nperjury.\"\n\n\"And so I say still, he has given wonderful proof of it to-day. Merely\nfor the sake of being released from his oath, he thrust his head into the\ncrocodile's jaws. But though the son of Nun is a lion, he will find his\nmaster in Mesu. That man is the mortal foe of the Egyptians, the bare\nthought of him stirs my gall.\"\n\n\"The cries of the wailing women behind this door admonish us loudly\nenough to hate him.\"\n\n\"Yet the weakling on the throne has forgotten vengeance, and is now\nsending Hosea on an errand of reconciliation.\"\n\n\"With your sanction, I think?\"\n\n\"Ay,\" replied the priest with a mocking smile. \"We send him to build a\nbridge! Oh, this bridge! A grey-beard's withered brain recommends it to\nbe thrown across the stream, and the idea just suits this pitiful son of\na great father, who would certainly never have shunned swimming through\nthe wildest whirlpool, especially when revenge was to be sought. Let\nHosea essay the bridge! If it leads him back across the stream to us, I\nwill offer him a right warm and cordial welcome; but as soon as this one\nman stands on our shores, may its supports sink under the leaders of his\npeople; we, the only brave souls in Egypt, must see to that.\"\n\n\"So be it. Yet I fear we shall lose the chief, too, if justice overtakes\nhis people.\"\n\n\"It might almost seem so.\"\n\n\"You have greater wisdom than I.\"\n\n\"Yet here you believe me in error.\"\n\n\"How could I venture to . . . .\"\n\n\"As a member of the military council you are entitled to your own\nopinion, and I consider myself bound to show you the end of the path\nalong which you have hitherto followed us with blindfold eyes. So listen,\nand judge accordingly when your turn comes to speak in the council. The\nchief-priest Rui is old . . . .\"\n\n\"And you now fill half his offices.\"\n\n\"Would that he might soon be relieved of the last half of his burden. Not\non my own account. I love strife, but for the welfare of our native land.\nIt is a deep-seated feeling of our natures to regard the utterances and\nmandates of age as wisdom, so there are few among the councillors who do\nnot follow the old man's opinions; yet his policy limps on crutches, like\nhimself. All good projects are swamped under his weak, fainthearted\nguidance.\"\n\n\"That is the very reason my vote is at your disposal,\" cried the warrior.\n\"That is why I am ready to use all my might to hurl this sleeper from the\nthrone and get rid of his foolish advisers.\"\n\nThe prophet laid his finger on his lips to warn his companion to be more\ncautious, drew nearer to him, pointed to his litter, and said in a low,\nhurried tone:\n\n\"I am expected at the Sublime Porte, so listen. If Hosea's mission is\nsuccessful his people will return--the guilty with the innocent--and the\nlatter will suffer. Among the former we can include the whole of Hosea's\ntribe, who call themselves the sons of Ephraim, from old Nun down to the\nyouth in your dwelling.\"\n\n\"We may spare them; but Mesu, too, is a Hebrew, and what we do to\nhim. . . .\"\n\n\"Will not occur in the public street, and it is child's play to sow\nenmity between two men who desire to rule in the same sphere. I will make\nsure that Hosea shall shut his eyes to the other's death; but Pharaoh,\nwhether his name is Meneptah or\"--he lowered his voice--\"Siptah, must\nthen raise him to so great a height--and he merits it--that his giddy\neyes will never discern aught we desire to conceal. There is one dish\nthat never palls on any man who has once tasted it.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\n\"Power, Hornecht--mighty power! As ruler of a whole province, commander\nof all the mercenaries in Aarsu's stead, he will take care not to break\nwith us. I know him. If I can succeed in making him believe Mesu has\nwronged him--and the imperious man will afford some pretext for it--and\ncan bring him to the conviction that the law directs the punishment we\nmete out to the sorcerer and the worst of his adherents, he will not only\nassent but approve it.\"\n\n\"And if he fails in his mission?\"\n\n\"He will return at any rate; for he would not be false to his oath. But\nif Mesu, from whom we may expect anything, should detain him by force,\nthe boy will be of service to us; for Hosea loves him, his people value\nhis life, and he belongs to one of their noblest tribes. In any case\nPharaoh must threaten the lad; we will guard him, and that will unite his\nuncle to us by fresh ties and lead him to join those who are angry with\nthe king.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\"\n\n\"The surest way to attain our object will be by forging still another\nchain. In short--now I beg you to be quiet, your temper is far too hot\nfor your grey hairs--in short, our Hebrew brother-in-arms, the saviour of\nmy life, the ablest man in the army, who is certain to win the highest\nplace, must be your son-in-law. Kasana's heart is his--my wife has told\nme so.\" Hornecht frowned again, and struggled painfully to control his\nanger. He perceived that he must overcome his objection to giving his\ndaughter to the man whose birth he scorned, much as he liked and esteemed\nhis character. He could not refrain from uttering an oath under his\nbreath, but his answer to the prophet was more calm and sensible than the\nlatter had anticipated. If Kasana was so possessed by demons that this\nstranger infatuated her, let her have her will. But Hosea had not yet\nsued for her.\n\n\"By the red god Seth, and his seventy companions,\" he added wrathfully,\n\"neither you, nor any one shall induce me to offer my daughter, who has\ntwenty suitors, to a man who terms himself our friend, yet finds no\nleisure to greet us in our own house! To keep fast hold of the lad is\nanother thing, I will see to that.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nThe midnight heavens, decked with countless stars, spanned with their\ncloudless azure vault the flat plains of the eastern Delta and the city\nof Succoth, called by the Egyptians, from their sanctuary, the place of\nthe god Tum, or Pithom.\n\nThe March night was drawing toward its end, pallid mists floated over the\ncanal, the work of Hebrew bondmen which, as far as the eye could reach,\nintersected the plain, watering the fields and pastures along its course.\n\nEastward and southward the sky was shrouded by dense veils of mist that\nrose from the large lakes and from the narrow estuaries that ran far up\ninto the isthmus. The hot and dusty desert wind, which the day before had\nswept over the parched grass and the tents and houses of Succoth, had\nsubsided at nightfall; and the cool atmosphere which in March, even in\nEgypt, precedes the approach of dawn, made itself felt.\n\nWhoever had formerly entered, between midnight and morning, the humble\nfrontier hamlet with its shepherd tents, wretched hovels of Nile mud, and\nby no means handsome farms and dwellings, would scarcely have recognized\nit now. Even the one noticeable building in the place--besides the\nstately temple of the sungod Turn--the large fortified store-house,\npresented at this hour an unfamiliar aspect. Its long white-washed walls,\nit is true, glimmered through the gloom as distinctly as ever, but\ninstead of towering--as usual at this time--mute and lifeless above the\nslumbering town--the most active bustle was going on within and around\nit. It was intended also as a defense against the predatory hordes of the\nShasu,\n\n   [Bedouins, who dwelt as nomads in the desert adjacent to Egypt, now\n   regarded as part of Asia.]\n\nwho had made a circuit around the fortified works on the isthmus, and its\nindestructible walls contained an Egyptian garrison, who could easily\ndefend it against a force greatly superior in numbers.\n\nTo-day it looked as if the sons of the desert had assailed it; but the\nmen and women who were bustling about below and on the broad parapet of\nthe gigantic building were Hebrews, not Shasu. With loud outcries and\ngesticulations of delight they were seizing the thousands of measures of\nwheat, barley, rye, and durra, the stores of pulse, dates, and onions\nthey found in the well-filled granaries, and even before sunset had begun\nto empty the store-rooms and put their contents into sacks, pails, and\nskins, trays, jugs, and aprons, which were let down by ropes or carried\nto the ground on ladders.\n\nThe better classes took no share in this work, but among the busy throng,\nspite of the lateness of the hour, were children of all ages, carrying\naway in pots, jugs, and dishes-borrowed from their mothers' cooking\nutensils--as much as they could.\n\nAbove, beside the unroofed openings of the storerooms, into which the\nstars were shining, and also at the foot of the ladders, women held\ntorches or lanterns to light the others at their toil.\n\nPans of blazing pitch were set in front of the strong locked doors of the\nreal fortress, and in their light armed shepherds were pacing to and fro.\nWhen heavy stones or kicks belabored the brazen-bound door from within,\nand threats were uttered in the Egyptian tongue, the Hebrews outside did\nnot fail to retort in words of mockery and scorn.\n\nOn the day of the harvest festival, during the first evening watch,\nrunners arrived at Succoth and announced to the Israelites, whose numbers\nwere twenty-fold greater than those of the Egyptians, that they had\nquitted Tanis in the morning and the tribes intended to leave at night;\ntheir kindred in Succoth must be ready to go forth with them. There was\ngreat rejoicing among the Hebrews, who like those of their blood in the\ncity of Rameses, had assembled in every house at a festive repast on the\nnight of the new moon after the vernal equinox when the harvest festival\nusually began. The heads of the tribes had informed them that the day of\nliberation had arrived, and the Lord would lead them into the Promised\nLand.\n\nHere, too, as in Tanis, many had been faint-hearted and rebellious, and\nothers had endeavored to separate their lot from the rest and remain\nbehind; but here, too, they were carried away by the majority. Eleasar,\nthe son of Aaron, and the distinguished heads of the tribe of Judah, Hur\nand Naashon, had addressed the multitude, as Aaron and Nun had done in\nthe city of Rameses. But Miriam, the virgin, the sister of Moses, had\ngone from house to house, everywhere awakening the fire of enthusiasm in\nmen's hearts, and telling the women that the morrow's sun would usher in\nfor them and their children a new day of happiness, prosperity, and\nfreedom.\n\nFew had been deaf to the appeals of the prophetess; there was an air of\nmajesty, which compelled obedience, in the bearing of this maiden, whose\nlarge black eyes, surmounted by heavy dark eye-brows, which met in the\nmiddle, pierced the hearts of those on whom her gaze was bent and seemed\nto threaten the rebellious with their gloomy radiance.\n\nThe members of every household went to rest after the festival with\nhearts uplifted and full of hope. But what a change had passed over them\nduring the second day, the night that followed it, and the next morning!\nIt seemed as though the desert wind had buried all their courage and\nconfidence in the dust it swept before it. The dread of going forth to\nface an unknown future had stolen into every heart, and many a man who\nhad waved his staff full of trust and joyful enterprise was now held, as\nif with clamps and fetters, to his well-tilled garden, the home of his\nancestors, and the harvest in the fields, which had just been half\ngathered.\n\nThe Egyptian garrison in the fortified store-house had not failed to\nnotice that the Hebrews were under some special excitement, but they\nsupposed it due to the harvest festival. The commander of the garrison\nhad learned that Moses desired to lead his people into the wilderness to\noffer sacrifices to their God, and had asked for a reinforcement. But he\nknew nothing more; for until the morning when the desert wind blew, no\nHebrew had disclosed the plans of his kindred. But the more sorely the\nheat of the day oppressed them, the greater became the dread of the\nfaint-hearted of the pilgrimage through the hot, dusty, waterless desert.\nThe terrible day had given them a foretaste of what was impending and\nwhen, toward noon, the dust grew thicker, the air more and more\noppressive, a Hebrew trader, from whom the Egyptian soldiers purchased\ngoods, stole into the store-house to ask the commander to prevent his\npeople from rushing to their doom.\n\nEven among the leaders the voices of malcontents had grown loud. Asarja\nand Michael, with their sons, who grudged the power of Moses and Aaron,\nhad even gone from one to another to try to persuade them, ere departing,\nto summon the elders again and charge then to enter into fresh\nnegotiations with the Egyptians. While these malcontents were\nsuccessfully gathering adherents, and the traitor had sought the\ncommander of the Egyptian garrison, two more messengers arrived with\ntidings that the fugitives would arrive in Succoth between midnight and\nmorning.\n\nBreathless, speechless, dripping with perspiration, and with bleeding\nlips, the elder messenger sank on the threshold of Amminadab's house, now\nthe home of Miriam also. Both the exhausted men were refreshed with wine\nand food, ere the least wearied was fully capable of speech. Then, in a\nhoarse voice, but from a heart overflowing with gratitude and ardent\nenthusiasm, he reported the scenes which had occurred at the exodus, and\nhow the God of their fathers had filled every heart with His spirit, and\ninstilled new faith into the souls of the cowards.\n\nMiriam had listened to this story with sparkling eyes; at its close she\nflung her veil over her head and bade the servants of the household, who\nhad assembled around the messengers, to summon the whole Hebrew people\nunder the sycamore, whose broad summit, the growth of a thousand years,\nprotected a wide space of earth from the scorching sunbeams.\n\nThe desert wind was still blowing, but the glad news seemed to have\ndestroyed the baneful power it exerted on man, and when many hundreds of\npeople had flocked together under the sycamore, Miriam had given her hand\nto Eleasar, the son of her brother Aaron, sprung upon the bench which\nrested against the huge hollow trunk of the tree, raised her hands and\neyes toward heaven in an ecstasy, and began in a loud voice to address a\nprayer to the Lord, as if she beheld him with her earthly vision.\n\nThen she permitted the messenger to speak, and when the latter again\ndescribed the events which had occurred in the city of Rameses, and then\nannounced that the fugitives from Tanis would arrive in a few hours, loud\nshouts of joy burst from the throng. Eleasar, the son of Aaron,\nproclaimed with glowing enthusiasm what the Lord had done for his people\nand had promised to them, their children, and children's children.\n\nEach word from the lips of the inspired speaker fell upon the hearts of\nthe Hebrews like the fresh dew of morning on the parched grass. The\ntrusting hearers pressed around him and Miriam with shouts of joy, and\nthe drooping courage of the timorous appeared to put forth new wings.\nAsarja, Michael, and their followers no longer murmured, nay, most of\nthem had been infected by the general enthusiasm, and when a Hebrew\nmercenary stole out from the garrison of the store-house and disclosed\nwhat had been betrayed to his commander, Eleasar, Naashon, Hur, and\nothers took counsel together, gathered all the shepherds around them, and\nwith glowing words urged them to show in this hour that they were men\nindeed and did not fear, with their God's mighty aid, to fight for their\npeople and their liberty.\n\nThere was no lack of axes, clubs, sickles, brazen spears, heavy staves,\nslings, the shepherds' weapons of defence against the wild beasts of the\ndesert, or bows and arrows, and as soon as a goodly number of strong men\nhad joined him, Hur fell upon the Egyptian overseers who were watching\nthe labor of several hundred Hebrew slaves. Shouting: \"They are coming!\nDown with the oppressors! The Lord our God is our leader!\" they rushed\nupon the Lybian warders, put them to rout, and released their fellows who\nwere digging the earth, and laying bricks. As soon as the illustrious\nNaashon had pressed one of the oldest of these hapless men like a brother\nto his heart, the other liberated bondsmen had flung themselves into the\nshepherds' arms and thus, still shouting: \"They are coming!\" and \"The\nLord, the God of our fathers, is our leader!\" they pressed forward in an\nincreasing multitude. When at last the little band of shepherds had grown\nto a body of several thousand men, Hur led them against the Egyptian\nsoldiers, whom they largely outnumbered.\n\nThe Egyptian bowmen had already discharged a shower of arrows, and stones\nhurled from the slings of the powerful shepherds had dealt fatal wounds\nin the front ranks of the foe, when the blast of a trumpet rang out,\nsummoning the garrison of the fortress behind the sloping walls and solid\ndoor. The Hebrews seemed to the commander too superior a force to fight,\nbut duty required him to hold the fort until the arrival of the\nreinforcements he had requested.\n\nHur, however, had not been satisfied with his first victory. Success had\nkindled the courage of his followers, as a sharp gust of wind fans a\nsmouldering fire, and wherever an Egyptian showed himself on the\nbattlements of the store-house, the round stone from a shepherd's sling\nstruck heavily upon him. At Naashon's bidding ladders had been brought\nand, in the twinkling of an eye, hundreds climbed up the building from\nevery direction and, after a short, bloodless struggle, the granaries\nfell into the Hebrews' hands, though the Egyptians had succeeded in still\nretaining the fort. During the passage of these events the desert wind\nhad subsided. Some of the liberated bondsmen, furious with rage, had\nheaped straw, wood, and faggots against the gate of the courtyard into\nwhich the Egyptians had been forced. It would have been a light task for\nthe assailants to destroy every one of their foes by fire; but Hur,\nNaashon, and other prudent leaders had not suffered this to be done, lest\nthe provisions still in the store-rooms should be burned.\n\nIt had been no easy matter, in truth, to deter the younger of the\nill-treated bondsmen from this act of vengeance; but each one was a\nmember of some family, and when Hur's admonitions were supported by those\nof the fathers and mothers, they not only allowed themselves to be\npacified, but aided the elders to distribute the contents of the\nmagazines among the heads of families and pack them on the beasts of\nburden and into the carts which were to accompany the fugitives.\n\nThe work went forward amid the broad glare of torches, and became a new\nfestival; for neither Hur, Naashon, nor Eleasar could prevent the men and\nwomen from opening the wine-jars and skins. They succeeded, however, in\npreserving the lion's share of the precious booty for a time of need, and\nthus averted much drunkenness, though the spirit of the grape-juice and\nthe pleasure in obtaining so rich a prize doubtless enhanced the grateful\nexcitement of the throng. When Eleasar finally went among them for the\nsecond time to tell them of the Promised Land, men and women listened\nwith uplifted hearts, and joined in the hymn Miriam began to sing.\n\nDevout enthusiasm now took possession of every heart in Succoth, as it\nhad done in Tanis during the hour that preceded the exodus, and when\nseventy Hebrew men and women, who had concealed themselves in the temple\nof Turn, heard the jubilant hymn, they came forth into the open air,\njoined the others, and packed their possessions with as much glad\nhopefulness and warm trust in the God of their fathers, as if they had\nnever shrunk from the departure.\n\nAs the stars sank lower in the heavens, the joyous excitement increased.\nMen and women thronged the road to Tanis to meet their approaching\nkindred. Many a father led his boy by the hand, and many a mother carried\nher child in her arms; the multitude drawing near contained numerous\nbeloved relatives to be greeted, and the coming dawn could not fail to\nbring solemn hours of which one would wish no beloved heart to be\ndeprived, and which would linger in the souls of the little ones till\nthey themselves had children and grandchildren.\n\nNo bed in tent, hovel, or house was occupied; for everywhere the final\npacking was going on. The throng of workers at the granaries had\nlessened; most of them were now supplied with as much food as they could\ncarry.\n\nMen and women equipped for travelling lay around fires hurriedly lighted\nin front of many tents and houses, and in the larger farms shepherds were\ndriving the cattle and slaughtering the oxen and sheep which were unable\nto go with the people. The blows of axes and hammers and the creaking of\nsaws were heard in front of many a house; for litters to transport the\nsick and feeble must be made. Carts and wains were still to be loaded,\nand the heads of families had a hard task with the women; for a woman's\nheart often clings more closely to things apparently worthless than to\nthose of the greatest value. When the weaver Rebecca was more eager to\nfind room in the cart for the rude cradle in which her darling had died,\nthan for the beautiful ebony chest inlaid with ivory an Egyptian had\npawned to her husband, who could blame her?\n\nLight shone from all the window openings and tent doors, while from the\nroofs of the largest houses the blaze of torches or lanterns greeted the\napproaching Hebrews.\n\nAt the banquet served on the night of the harvest festival, no table had\nlacked a roast lamb; during this hour of waiting the housewife offered\nher family what she could.\n\nThe narrow streets of the humble little town were full of active life,\nand never had the setting stars shone upon features so cheerful, eyes\nsparkling so brightly with enthusiasm, and faces so transfigured by hope\nand devout piety.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nWhen morning dawned, all who had not gone down to meet the fugitives who\nwere to make their first long halt here, had assembled on the roof of one\nof the largest houses in Succoth.\n\nOne after another fleet-footed man or boy, hurrying in advance of the\nrest, had reached Succoth. Amminadab's house was the goal sought by the\nmajority. It consisted of two buildings, one occupied by Naashon, the\nowner's son, and his family, the other, a larger dwelling, which\nsheltered, besides the grey-haired owner and his wife, his son-in-law\nAaron with his wife, children, and grand-children, and Miriam. The aged\nleader of his tribe, who had assigned the duties of his position to his\nson Naashon, extended his hand to every messenger and listened to his\nstory with sparkling eyes, often dimmed by tears. He had induced his old\nwife to sit in the armchair in which she was to be carried after the\npeople, that she might become accustomed to it, and for the same reason\nhe now occupied his own.\n\nWhen the old dame heard the messengers boast that the fair future\npromised to the people was now close at hand, her eyes often sought her\nhusband, and she exclaimed: \"Yes, Moses!\" for she held her son-in-law's\nbrother in high esteem, and rejoiced to see his prophecy fulfilled. The\nold people were proud of Aaron, too; but all their love was lavished upon\nEleasar, their grandson, whom they beheld growing up into a second Moses.\nMiriam had been for some time a new and welcome member of the household.\nTrue, the warm-hearted old couple's liking for the grave maiden had not\nincreased to parental tenderness, and their daughter Elisheba, Aaron's\nactive wife, had no greater inclination to share the cares of the large\nfamily with the prophetess than her son Naashon's spouse, who, moreover,\ndwelt with her immediate family under her own roof. Yet the old people\nowed Miriam a debt of gratitude for the care she bestowed upon their\ngranddaughter Milcah, the daughter of Aaron and Elisheba, whom a great\nmisfortune had transformed from a merry-hearted child into a melancholy\nwoman, whose heart seemed dead to every joy.\n\nA few days after her marriage to a beloved husband the latter, carried\naway by passion, had raised his hand against an Egyptian tax-gatherer,\nwho, while Pharaoh was passing through Succoth toward the east, had\nattempted to drive off a herd of his finest cattle for \"the kitchen of\nthe lord of both worlds.\" For this act of self-defence the hapless man\nhad been conveyed to the mines as a prisoner of state, and every one knew\nthat the convicts there perished, soul and body, from torturing labor far\nbeyond their strength. Through the influence of old Nun, Hosea's father,\nthe wife and relatives of the condemned man had been saved from sharing\nhis punishment, as the law prescribed. But Milcah languished under the\nblow, and the only person who could rouse the pale, silent woman from\nbrooding over her grief was Miriam. The desolate heart clung to the\nprophetess, and she accompanied her when she practised in the huts of the\npoor the medical skill she had learned and took them medicines and alms.\n\nThe last messengers Amninadab and his wife received on the roof described\nthe hardships of the journey and the misery they had witnessed in dark\nhues; but if one, more tender-hearted than the rest, broke into\nlamentations over the sufferings endured by the women and children during\nthe prevalence of the desert wind, and recalling the worst horrors\nimpressed upon his memory, uttered mournful predictions for the future,\nthe old man spoke cheering words, telling him of the omnipotence of God,\nand how custom would inure one to hardship. His wrinkled features\nexpressed firm confidence, while one could read in Miriam's beautiful,\nyet stern countenance, little of the courageous hope, which youth is wont\nto possess in a far higher degree than age.\n\nDuring the arrival and departure of the messengers she did not quit the\nold couple's side, leaving to her sister-in-law Elisheba and her servants\nthe duty of offering refreshments to the wearied men. She herself\nlistened intently, with panting breath, but what she heard seemed to\nawaken her anxiety; for she knew that no one came to the house which\nsheltered Aaron save those who were adherents of her brothers, the\nleaders of the people. If such men's blitheness was already waning, what\nmust the outlook be to the lukewarm and refractory!\n\nShe rarely added a question of her own to those asked by the old man and,\nwhen she did so, the messengers who heard her voice for the first time\nlooked at her in surprise; though musical, the tones were unusually deep.\n\nAfter several messengers, in reply to her inquiries, declared that Hosea,\nthe son of Nun, had not come with the others, her head drooped and she\nasked nothing more, till pallid Milcah, who followed her everywhere,\nraised her dark eyes beseechingly and murmured the name of Reuben, her\ncaptive husband. The prophetess kissed the poor desolate wife's forehead,\nglanced at her as if she had neglected her in some way, and then\nquestioned the messengers with urgent eagerness concerning their news of\nReuben, who had been dragged to the mines. One only had learned from a\nreleased prisoner that Milcah's husband was living in the copper mines of\nthe province of Bech, in the neighborhood of Mt. Sinai, and Miriam seized\nupon these tidings to assure Milcah, with great vivacity and warmth, that\nif the tribes moved eastward they would surely pass the mines and release\nthe Hebrews imprisoned there.\n\nThese were welcome words, and Milcah, who nestled to her comforter's\nbreast, would gladly have heard more; but great restlessness had seized\nupon the people gazing into the distance from the roof of Amminadab's\nhouse; a dense cloud of dust was approaching from the north, and soon\nafter a strange murmur arose, then a loud uproar, and finally shouts and\ncries from thousands of voices, lowing, neighing, and bleating, such as\nnone of the listeners had ever heard,--and then on surged the many-limbed\nand many-voiced multitude, the endless stream of human beings and herds,\nwhich the astrologer's grandson on the observatory of the temple at Tanis\nhad mistaken for the serpent of the nether-world.\n\nNow, too, in the light of early dawn, it might easily have been imagined\na host of bodiless spirits driven forth from the realms of the dead; for\na whitish-grey column of dust extending to the blue vault of heaven moved\nbefore it, and the vast whole, with its many parts and voices, veiled by\nthe clouds of sand, had the appearance of a single form. Often, however,\na metal spear-head or a brazen kettle, smitten by a sunbeam, flashed\nbrightly, and individual voices, shouting loudly, fell upon the ear.\n\nThe foremost billows of the flood had now reached Amminadab's house,\nbefore which pasture lands extended as far as the eye could reach.\n\nWords of command rang on the air, the procession halted, dispersing as a\nmountain lake overflows in spring, sending rivulets and streams hither\nand thither; but the various small runlets speedily united, taking\npossession of broad patches of the dewy pastures, and wherever such\nportions of the torrent of human beings and animals rested, the shroud of\ndust which had concealed them disappeared.\n\nThe road remained hidden by the cloud a long time, but on the meadows the\nmorning sunlight shone upon men, women, and children, cattle and donkeys,\nsheep and goats, and soon tent after tent was pitched on the green sward\nin front of the dwellings of Amminadab and Naashon, herds were surrounded\nby pens, stakes and posts were driven into the hard ground, awnings were\nstretched, cows were fastened to ropes, cattle and sheep were led to\nwater, fires were lighted, and long lines of women, balancing jars on\ntheir heads, with their slender, beautifully curved arms, went to the\nwell behind the old sycamore or to the side of the neighboring canal.\n\nThis morning, as on every other working-day, a pied ox with a large hump\nwas turning the wheel that raised the water. It watered the land, though\nthe owner of the cattle intended to leave it on the morrow; but the slave\nwho drove it had no thought beyond the present and, as no one forbade\nhim, moistened as he was wont the grass for the foe into whose hands it\nwas to fall.\n\nHours elapsed ere the advancing multitude reached the camp, and Miriam\nwho stood describing to Amminadab, whose eyes were no longer keen enough\nto discern distant objects, what was passing below, witnessed many an\nincident from which she would fain have averted her gaze.\n\nShe dared not frankly tell the old man what she beheld, it would have\nclouded his joyous hope.\n\nRelying, with all the might of an inspired soul upon the God of her\nfathers and his omnipotence, she had but yesterday fully shared\nAmminadab's confidence; but the Lord had bestowed upon her spirit the\nfatal gift of seeing things and hearing words incomprehensible to all\nother human beings. Usually she distinguished them in dreams, but they\noften came to her also in solitary hours, when she was deeply absorbed by\nthoughts of the past or the future.\n\nThe words Ephraim had announced to Hosea in her name, as a message from\nthe Most High, had been uttered by unseen lips while she was thinking\nunder the sycamore of the exodus and the man whom she had loved from her\nchildhood--and when that day, between midnight and morning, she again sat\nbeneath the venerable tree and was overpowered by weariness, she had\nbelieved she heard the same voice. The words had vanished from her memory\nwhen she awoke, but she knew that their purport had been sorrowful and of\nill omen.\n\nSpite of the vagueness of the monition, it disturbed her, and the\noutcries rising from the pastures certainly were not evoked by joy that\nthe people had joined her brothers and the first goal of their wanderings\nhad been successfully gained, as the old man at her side supposed; no,\nthey were the furious shouts of wrathful, undisciplined men, wrangling\nand fighting with fierce hostility on the meadow for a good place to\npitch their tents or the best spot at the wells or on the brink of the\ncanals to water their cattle.\n\nWrath, disappointment, despair echoed in the shouts, and when her gaze\nsought the point whence they rose loudest, she saw the corpse of a woman\nborne on a piece of tent-cloth by railing bondmen and a pale,\ndeath-stricken infant held on the arm of a half naked, frantic man, its\nfather, who shook his disengaged hand in menace toward the spot where she\nsaw her brothers.\n\nThe next moment she beheld a grey-haired old man, bowed by heavy toil,\nraise his fist against Moses. He would have struck him, had he not been\ndragged away by others.\n\nShe could not bear to stay longer on the roof. Pale and panting for\nbreath, she hurried to the camp. Milcah followed, and wherever they\nencountered people who lived in Succoth, they received respectful\ngreetings.\n\nThe new comers from Zoan,--as the Hebrews called Tanis,--Pha-kos, and\nBubastis, whom they met on the way, did not know Miriam, yet the tall\nfigure and stately dignity of the prophetess led them also to make way\nrespectfully or pause to answer her questions.\n\nThe things she learned were evil and heart-rending; for joyously as the\nprocession had marched forward on the first day, it dragged along sadly\nand hopelessly on the second. The desert wind had robbed many of the\nstrong of their power of resistance and energy; others, like the\nbondman's wife and nursling, had been attacked by fever on the pilgrimage\nthrough the dust and the oppressive heat of the day, and they pointed out\nto her the procession which was approaching the burial-place of the\nHebrews of Succoth. Those who were being conveyed to the bourn whence\nthere is no return were not only women and children, or those who had\nbeen brought from their homes ill, that they might not be left behind,\nbut also men who were in robust health the day before and had broken down\nunder burdens too heavy for their strength, or who had recklessly exposed\nthemselves, while working, to the beams of the noon-day sun.\n\nIn one tent, where a young mother was shaking with the chill of a severe\nattack of fever, Miriam asked the pallid Milcah to bring her medicine\nchest, and the desolate wife went on her errand with joyous alacrity. On\nthe way she stopped many and timidly asked about her captive husband, but\ncould obtain no news of him. Miriam, however, heard from Nun, Hosea's\nfather, that Eliab, the freedman whom he had left behind, had informed\nhim that his son would be ready to join his people. She also learned that\nthe wounded Ephraim had found shelter in his uncle's tent.\n\nWas the lad's illness serious, or what other cause detained Hosea in\nTanis? These questions filled Miriam's heart with fresh anxiety, yet with\nrare energy she nevertheless lavished help and comfort wherever she went.\n\nOld Nun's cordial greeting had cheered her, and a more vigorous, kind,\nand lovable old man could not be imagined.\n\nThe mere sight of his venerable head, with its thick snow-white hair and\nbeard, his regular features, and eyes sparkling with the fire of youth,\nwas a pleasure to her, and as, in his vivacious, winning manner, he\nexpressed his joy at meeting her again, as he drew her to his heart and\nkissed her brow, after she had told him that, in the name of the Most\nHigh, she had called Hosea \"Joshua\" and summoned him back to his people\nthat he might command their forces, she felt as if she had found in him\nsome compensation for her dead father's loss, and devoted herself with\nfresh vigor to the arduous duties which everywhere demanded her\nattention.\n\nAnd it was no trivial matter for the high-souled maiden to devote\nherself, with sweet self-sacrifice, to those whose roughness and uncouth\nmanners wounded her. The women, it is true, gladly accepted her aid, but\nthe men, who had grown up under the rod of the overseer, knew neither\nreserve nor consideration. Their natures were as rude as their persons\nand when, as soon as they learned her name, they began to assail her with\nharsh reproaches, asserting that her brother had lured them from an\nendurable situation to plunge them into the most horrible position, when\nshe heard imprecations and blasphemy, and saw the furious wrath of the\nblack eyes that flashed in the brown faces framed by masses of tangled\nhair and beards, her heart failed her.\n\nBut she succeeded in mastering dread and aversion, and though her heart\nthrobbed violently, and she expected to meet the worst, she reminded\nthose who were repulsive to her and from whom her woman's weakness urged\nher to flee, of the God of their fathers and His promises.\n\nShe now thought she knew what the sorrowful warning voice under the\nsycamore had portended, and beside the couch of the young dying mother\nshe raised her hands and heart to Heaven and took an oath unto the Most\nHigh that she would exert every power of her being to battle against the\nfaint-hearted lack of faith and rude obstinacy, which threatened to\nplunge the people into sore perils. Jehovah had promised them the fairest\nfuture and they must not be robbed of it by the short-sightedness and\ndefiance of a few deluded individuals; but God himself could scarcely be\nwroth with those who, content if their bodily wants were satisfied, had\nunresistingly borne insults and blows like cattle. The multitude even now\ndid not realize that they must pass through the darkness of misery to be\nworthy of the bright day that awaited them.\n\nThe medicines administered by Miriam seemed to relieve the sufferer, and\nfilled with fresh confidence, she left the tent to seek her brothers.\n\nThere had been little change in the state of affairs in the camp, and she\nagain beheld scenes from which she recoiled and which made her regret\nthat the sensitive Milcah was her companion.\n\nSome rascally bondmen who had seized cattle and utensils belonging to\nothers had been bound to a palmtree, and the ravens that followed the\nprocession; and had found ample sustenance on the way, now croaked\ngreedily around the quickly established place of execution.\n\nNo one knew who had been judge or executioner of the sentence; but those\nwho took part in the swift retribution considered it well justified, and\nrejoiced in the deed.\n\nWith rapid steps and averted head Miriam drew the trembling Milcah on and\ngave her to the care of her uncle Naashon to lead home. The latter had\njust parted from the man who with him ruled the sons of Judah as a prince\nof the tribe--Hur, who at the head of the shepherds had won the first\nvictory against the Egyptians, and who now led to the maiden with joyful\npride a man and a boy, his son and grandson. Both had been in the service\nof the Egyptians, practising the trade of goldsmith and worker in metals\nfor Pharaoh at Memphis. The former's skill had won him the name of Uri,\nwhich in Egyptian means 'great', and this artificer's son Bezaleel, Hur's\ngrandson, though scarcely beyond boyhood, was reputed to surpass his\nfather in the gifts of genius.\n\nHur gazed with justifiable pride at son and grandson; for though both had\nattained much consideration among the Egyptians they had followed their\nfather's messenger without demur, leaving behind them many who were dear\nto their hearts, and the property gained in Memphis, to join their\nwandering nation and share its uncertain destiny.\n\nMiriam greeted the new arrivals with the utmost warmth, and the men who,\nrepresenting three generations, stood before her, presented a picture on\nwhich the eyes of any well-disposed person could not fail to rest with\npleasure.\n\nThe grandfather was approaching his sixtieth year, and though many\nthreads of silver mingled with his ebon-black hair, he held himself as\nerect as a youth, while his thin, sharply-cut features expressed the\nunyielding determination, which explained his son's and grandson's prompt\nobedience to his will.\n\nUri, too, was a stately man, and Bezaleel a youth who showed that he had\nindustriously utilized his nineteen years and already attained an\nindependent position. His artist eye sparkled with special brilliancy,\nand after he and his father had taken leave of Miriam to greet Caleb,\ntheir grandfather and great-grandfather, she heartily congratulated the\nman who was one of her brother's most loyal friends, upon such scions of\nhis noble race.\n\nHur seized her hand and, with a warmth of emotion gushing from a grateful\nheart that was by no means usual to the stern, imperious nature of this\nchief of an unruly shepherd tribe, exclaimed:\n\n\"Ay, they have remained good, true, and obedient. God has guarded them\nand prepared this day of happiness for me. Now it depends on you to make\nit the fairest of all festivals. You must have long perceived that my\neyes have followed you and that you have been dear to my heart. To work\nfor our people and their welfare is my highest aim as a man, yours as a\nwoman, and that is a strong bond. But I desired to have a still firmer\none unite us, and since your parents are dead, and I cannot go with the\nbridal dower to Amram, to buy you from him, I now bring my suit to you in\nperson, high-souled maiden. But ere you say yes or no, you should learn\nthat my son and grandson are ready to pay you the same honor as head of\nour household that they render me, and your brothers willingly permitted\nme to approach you as a suitor.\"\n\nMiriam had listened to this offer in silent surprise. She had a high\nesteem and warm regard for the man who so fervently desired her love.\nSpite of his age, he stood before her in the full flush of manhood and\nstately dignity, and the beseeching expression of eyes whose glance was\nwont to be so imperious and steadfast stirred the inmost depths of her\nsoul.\n\nShe, however, was waiting with ardent longing for another, so her sole\nanswer was a troubled shake of the head.\n\nBut this man of mature years, a prince of his tribe, who was accustomed\nto carry his plans persistently into execution, undeterred by her mute\nrefusal, continued even more warmly than before.\n\n\"Do not destroy in one short moment the yearning repressed with so much\ndifficulty for years! Do you object to my age?\"\n\nMiriam shook her head a second time, but Hur went on:\n\n\"That was the source of my anxiety, though I can still vie with many a\nyounger man in vigor. But, if you can overlook your lover's grey hairs,\nperhaps you may be induced to weigh the words he now utters. Of the faith\nand devotion of my soul I will say nothing. No man of my years woos a\nwoman, unless his heart's strong impulse urges him on. But there is\nsomething else which, meseems, is of equal import. I said that I would\nlead you to my house. Yonder it stands, a building firm and spacious\nenough; but from to-morrow a tent will be our home, the camp our\ndwelling-place, and there will be wild work enough within its bounds. No\none is secure, not even of life, least of all a woman, however strong she\nmay be, who has made common cause with those against whom thousands\nmurmur. Your parents are dead, your brothers might protect you, but\nshould the people lay hands on them, the same stones on which you cross\nthe stream would drag you down into the depths with them.\"\n\n\"And were I your wife, you also,\" replied Miriam, her thick eye-brows\ncontracting in a heavy frown.\n\n\"I will take the risk,\" Hur answered. \"The destinies of all are in God's\nhands, my faith is as firm as yours, and behind me stands the tribe of\nJudah, who follow me and Naashon as the sheep follow the shepherds. Old\nNun and the Ephraimites are with us, and should matters come to the\nworst, it would mean perishing according to God's will, or in faithful\nunion, power, and prosperity, awaiting old age in the Promised Land.\"\n\nMiriam fearlessly gazed full into his stern eyes, laid her hand on his\narm, and answered: \"Those words are worthy of the man whom I have honored\nfrom childhood, and who has reared such sons; but I cannot be your wife.\"\n\n\"You cannot?\"\n\n\"No, my lord, I cannot.\"\n\n\"A hard sentence, but it must suffice,\" replied the other, his head\ndrooping in sorrow; but Miriam exclaimed:\n\n\"Nay, Hur, you have a right to ask the cause of my refusal, and because I\nhonor you, I owe you the truth. Another man of our race reigns in my\nheart. He met me for the first time when I was still a child. Like your\nson and grandson, he has lived among the Egyptians, but the summons of\nour God and of his father reached him as did the message to your sons,\nand like Uri and Bezaleel, he showed himself obedient. If he still\ndesires to wed me, I shall become his wife, if it is the will of the God\nwhom I serve, and who shows me the favor of suffering me to hear his\nvoice. But I shall think of you with gratitude forever.\"\n\nHer large eyes had been glittering through tears as she uttered the\nwords, and there was a tremor in the grey-haired lover's voice as he\nasked in hesitating, embarrassed tones:\n\n\"And if the man for whom you are waiting--I do not ask his name--shuts\nhis ears to the call that has reached him, if he declines to share the\nuncertain destiny of his people?\"\n\n\"That will never happen!\" Miriam interrupted, a chill creeping through\nher veins, but Hur exclaimed:\n\n\"There is no 'never,' no 'surely,' save with God. If, spite of your firm\nfaith, the result should be different from your expectations, will you\nresign to the Lord the wish which began to stir in your heart, when you\nwere still a foolish child?\"\n\n\"He who has guided me until now will show me the right way.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" replied Hur, \"put your trust in Him, and if the man of your\nchoice is worthy of you, and becomes your lord, my soul will rejoice\nwithout envy when the Most High blesses your union. But if God wills\notherwise, and you need a strong arm for your support, I am here. The\ntent and the heart of Hur will ever be open to you.\"\n\nWith these words he turned away; but Miriam gazed thoughtfully after him\nas long as the old chief's stately figure was visible.\n\nAt last, still pondering, she moved toward her host's house, but at the\nroad leading to Tanis, she paused and gazed northward. The dust had\nsubsided, and she could see a long distance, but the one person whom it\nwas to lead back to her and to his people did not appear. Sighing sadly,\nshe moved onward with drooping head, and started violently when her\nbrother Moses' deep voice called to her from the old sycamore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nAaron and Eleasar, with fiery eloquence, had reminded the murmuring,\ndisheartened people of the power and promises of their God. Whoever had\nstretched his limbs undisturbed to comfortable rest, whoever had been\nstrengthened by food and drink regained the confidence that had been\nlost. The liberated bondmen were told of the hard labor and dishonoring\nblows which they had escaped and admonished that they must recognize as\nGod's dispensation, among other things, that Pharaoh had not pursued\nthem; but the rich booty still found in the plundered storehouse had no\nsmall share in the revival of their drooping courage, and the bondmen and\nlepers--for many of the latter had accompanied them and rested outside\nthe camp--in short, all for whose support Pharaoh had provided, saw\nthemselves safe for a long time from care and privation. Yet there was no\nlack of malcontents, and here and there, though no one knew who\ninstigated the question, loud discussion arose whether it would not be\nmore advisable to return to Pharaoh and rely on his favor. Whoever raised\nit, did the work secretly, and was often compelled to submit to sharp,\nthreatening retorts.\n\nMiriam had talked with her brothers and shared the heavy anxieties that\noppressed them. Why had the desert wind so speedily destroyed the courage\nof the people during their brief pilgrimage? How impatient, how weak in\nfaith, how rebellious they had showed themselves at the first obstacle\nthey had encountered, how uncontrollable they had been in following their\nfierce impulses. When summoned to prayer just before sunrise during their\njourney, some had turned toward the day-star rising in the east, others\nhad taken out a small idol they had brought with them, and others still\nhad uplifted their eyes to the Nile acacia, which in some provinces of\nEgypt was regarded as a sacred tree. What did they know of the God who\nhad commanded them to cast so much behind them and take upon themselves\nsuch heavy burdens? Even now many were despairing, though they had\nconfronted no serious dangers; for Moses had intended to lead the Hebrews\nin Succoth over the road to Philistia direct to the Promised Land in\nPalestine, but the conduct of the people forced him to resign this plan\nand form another.\n\nTo reach the great highway connecting Asia and Africa it was necessary to\ncross the isthmus, which rather divided than united the two continents;\nfor it was most thoroughly guarded from intruders and, partly by natural,\npartly by artificial obstacles, barred the path of every fugitive; a\nseries of deep lakes rolled their waves upon its soil, and where these\ndid not stay the march of the travelers strong fortifications, garrisoned\nby trained Egyptian troops, rose before them.\n\nThis chain of forts was called Chetam--or in the Hebrew tongue--Etham,\nand wayfarers leaving Succoth would reach the nearest and strongest of\nthese forts in a few hours.\n\nWhen the tribes, full of enthusiasm for their God, and ready for the most\narduous enterprises, shook off their chains and, exulting in their new\nliberty, rushed forward to the Promised Land Moses, and with him the\nmajority of the elders, had believed that, like a mountain torrent,\nbursting dams and sluices, they would destroy and overthrow everything\nthat ventured to oppose their progress. With these enthusiastic masses,\nto whom bold advance would secure the highest good, and timid hesitation\ncould bring nothing save death and ruin, they had expected to rush over\nthe Etham line as if it were a pile of faggots. But now since a short\nchain of difficulties and suffering had stifled the fire of their souls,\nnow that wherever the eye turned, there were two calm and five\ndissatisfied or anxious individuals to one upheld by joyous anticipation,\nto storm the Etham line would have cost rivers of blood and moreover\njeopardized all that had been already gained.\n\nThe overpowering of the little garrison in the storehouse of Pithom had\noccurred under specially favorable circumstances, which could hardly be\nexpected to happen again, so the original plan must be changed, and an\nattempt made to take a circuit around the fortifications. Instead of\nmoving toward the northeast, the tribes must turn southward.\n\nBut, ere carrying this plan into execution, Moses, accompanied by a few\ntrusty men, desired to examine the new route and ascertain whether it\nwould be passable for the great wandering people.\n\nThese matters were discussed under the great sycamore in front of\nAmminadab's house, and Miriam was present, a mute witness.\n\nWomen,--even those like herself,--were forced to keep silence when men\nwere holding counsel; yet it was hard for her to remain speechless when\nit was decided to abstain from attacking the forts, even should the\ntrained warrior, Hosea, whom God Himself had chosen to be his sword,\nreturn to his people.\n\n\"What avails the best leader, if there is no army to obey him?\" Naashon,\nAmminadab's son, had exclaimed, and the others shared his opinion.\n\nWhen the council finally broke up, Moses took leave of his sister with\nfraternal affection. She knew that he was in the act of plunging into\nfresh dangers and--in the modest manner in which she was always wont to\naccost the brother who so far surpassed all others in every gift of mind\nand body,--expressed her anxiety. He looked into her eyes with friendly\nreproach and raised his right hand toward heaven; but she understood his\nmeaning, and kissing his hand with grateful warmth, replied:\n\n\"You stand under the protection of the Most High, and I fear no longer.\"\n\nPressing his lips upon her brow, he bade her give him a tablet, wrote a\nfew words on it, flung it into the hollow trunk of the sycamore, and\nsaid:\n\n\"For Hosea, no, for Joshua, the son of Nun, if he comes while I am\nabsent. The Lord has great deeds for him to accomplish, when he learns to\nexpect loftier things from the Most High than from the mighty ones of\nearth.\"\n\nWith these words he left her; but Aaron who, as the oldest, was the head\nof her tribe, lingered and told her that a man of worth sought her hand.\nMiriam, with blanching face, replied:\n\n\"I know it. . . . \"\n\nHe looked at her in surprise and with earnest monition, added:\n\n\"As you choose; yet it will be wise to consider this. Your heart belongs\nto your God and to your people, and the man whom you wed must be ready,\nlike yourself, to serve both; for two must be one in marriage, and if the\nhighest aim of one is not also that of the other, they will remain two\ntill the end. The voice of the senses, which drew them together, will\nsoon be mute and nothing will be left to them save discord.\"\n\nHaving said this, he went away, and she, too, was preparing to leave the\nothers; for on the eve of departure she might be needed in the house\nwhose hospitality she enjoyed. But a new incident detained her, as though\nbound with fetters, under the sycamore.\n\nWhat cared she for the packing of perishable wares and providing for\nbodily needs, when affairs which occupied her whole soul were under\ndiscussion! Elisheba, Naashon's wife, any housekeeper and faithful slave\ncould attend to the former wants. Higher things were to be determined\nhere--the weal or woe of her people.\n\nSeveral men of distinction in the tribes had joined the elders under the\nsycamore; but Hur had already departed with Moses.\n\nUri, the son of the former, now appeared beneath the ancient tree. The\nworker in metals, who had just come from Egypt, had talked in Memphis\nwith persons who were near to the king and learned that Pharaoh was ready\nto remove great burdens from the Hebrews and grant them new favors, if\nMoses would render the God whom he served propitious to him and induce\nthe people to return after they had offered sacrifices in the wilderness.\nTherefore it would be advisable to send envoys to Tanis and enter into\nnegotiations with the Sublime Porte.\n\nThese proposals, which Uri had not yet ventured to moot to his father,\nhe, with good intentions, brought before the assembled elders; he hoped\nthat their acceptance might spare the people great suffering. But\nscarcely had he concluded his clear and convincing speech, when old Nun,\nHosea's father, who had with difficulty held his feelings in check, broke\nin.\n\nThe old man's face, usually so cheerful, glowed with wrath, and its fiery\nhue formed a strange contrast to the thick white locks which framed it. A\nfew hours before he had heard Moses repel similar propositions with harsh\ndecision and crushing reasons; now he had heard them again brought.\nforward and noted many a gesture of assent among the listeners, and saw\nthe whole great enterprise imperilled, the enterprise for whose success\nhe had himself risked and sacrificed more than any other man.\n\nThis was too much for the active old man who, with flashing eyes and hand\nupraised in menace, burst forth \"What do you mean? Are we to pick up the\nends of the rope the Lord our God has severed? Do you counsel us to\nfasten it anew, with a looser knot, which will hold as long as the whim\nof a vacillating weakling who has broken his promises to us and to Moses\na score of times? Do you wish to lead us back to the cage whence the\nAlmighty released us by a miracle? Are we to treat the Lord our God like\na bad debtor and prefer the spurious gold ring we are offered to the\nroyal treasures He promises? Oh, messenger from the Egyptians--I\nwould . . . .\"\n\nHere the hot-blooded grey-beard raised his clenched fist in menace but,\nere he had uttered the threat that hovered on his lips, he let his arm\nfall; for Gabriel, the oldest member of the tribe of Zebulun, shouted:\n\n\"Remember your own son, who is to-day among the foes of his people.\"\n\nThe words struck home; yet they only dimmed the fiery old man's glad\nself-reliance a moment and, amid the voices uttering disapproval of the\nmalicious Gabriel and the few who upheld the Zebulunite, he cried:\n\n\"And because I am perhaps in danger of losing, not only the ten thousand\nacres of land I flung behind me, but a noble son, it is my right to speak\nhere.\"\n\nHis broad chest heaved with his labored breathing and his eyes, shadowed\nby thick white brows, rested with a milder expression on the son of Hur,\nwhose face had paled at his vehement words, as he continued:\n\n\"Uri is a good and dutiful son to his father and has also been obliged to\nmake great sacrifices in leaving the place where his work was so much\npraised and his own house in Memphis. The blessing of the Most High will\nnot fail him. But for the very reason that he has hitherto obeyed the\ncommand, he must not now seek to destroy what we have commenced under the\nguidance of the Most High. To you, Gabriel, I answer that my son probably\nwill not tarry among our foes, but obedient to my summons, will join us,\nlike Uri, the first-born of Hur. What still detains him is doubtless some\nimportant matter of which Hosea will have as little cause to be ashamed\nas I, his father. I know and trust him, and whoever expects aught else\nwill sooner or later, by my son's course of action, be proved a liar.\"\n\nHere he paused to push his white hair back from his burning brow and, as\nno one contradicted him, he turned to the worker in metals, and added\nwith cordial friendliness:\n\n\"What angered me, Uri, was certainly not your purpose. That is a good\none; but you have measured the greatness and majesty of the God of our\nfathers by the standard of the false gods of the Egyptians, who die and\nrise again and, as Aaron has just said, represent only minor attributes\nof Him who is in all and transcends everything. To serve God, until Moses\ntaught me a better counsel, I deemed meant to sacrifice an ox, a lamb, or\na goose upon the altar like the Egyptians; but your eyes, as befell me\nthrough Moses, will not be opened to Him who rules the world and has made\nus His people, until, like me, you, and all of us, and probably my son\nalso, shall each have kindled in his own breast the sacrificial fire\nwhich never goes out and consumes everything that does not relate to Him\nin love and loyalty, faith and reverence. Through Moses, His servant, God\nhas promised us the greatest blessings--deliverance from bondage, the\nprivilege of ruling on our own land as free men in a beautiful country,\nour own possession and the heritage of our children. We are going forth\nto receive His gift, and whoever seeks to stop us on our way, whoever\nurges us to turn and creep back into the net whose brazen meshes we have\nburst, advises his people to run once more like sheep into the fire from\nwhich they have escaped. I am not angry with you; your face shows that\nyou perceive how foolishly you have erred; but all ye who are here must\nknow that I heard only a few hours ago from Moses' own lips these words:\n'Whoever counsels return and the making of covenants with the Egyptians,\nI will denounce as a scorner of Jehovah our God, and the destroyer and\nworst foe of his people!'\"\n\nUri went to the old man, gave him his hand, and deeply convinced of the\njustice of his reproaches, exclaimed: \"No treaty, no covenant with the\nEgyptians! I am grateful to you, Nun, for opening my eyes. To me, also,\nthe hour will doubtless come in which you, or some one who stands nearer\nto Him than I, will teach me to know your God, who is also mine.\"\n\nAs he ceased speaking, he went away with Nun, who put his arm around his\nshoulders; but Miriam had listened breathlessly to Uri's last words, and\nas he expressed a desire to know the God of his people, her eyes had\nsparkled with the light of enthusiasm. She felt that her soul was filled\nwith the greatness of the Most High and that she had the gift of speech\nto make another familiar with the knowledge she herself possessed. But\nthis time also custom required her to keep silence. Her heart ached, and\nas she again moved among the multitude and convinced herself that Hosea\nhad not yet come, she went home, as twilight was beginning to gather, and\njoined the others on the roof.\n\nNo one there appeared to have missed her, not even poor melancholy\nMilcah, and she felt unutterably lonely in this house.\n\nIf Hosea would only come, if she might have a strong breast on which to\nlean, if this sense of being a stranger in her own home, this useless\nlife beneath the roof she was obliged to call hers, though she never felt\nthoroughly at home under it, would but cease. Moses and Aaron, too, had\ngone away, taking Hur's grandson with them; but no one had deemed her,\nwho lived and breathed solely for her people and their welfare, worthy to\nlearn whither their journey led or what was its purpose.\n\nWhy had the God to whom she devoted her whole life and being made her a\nwoman, yet given her the mind and soul of a man?\n\nShe waited, as if to test whether any of the circle of kindly-natured\npeople to which she belonged really loved her, for some one of the elders\nor the children to accost her; but Eleasar's little ones were pressing\naround their grandparents, and she had never understood how to make\nherself agreeable to children. Elisheba was directing the slaves who were\nputting the finishing touches to the packing; Milcah sat with her cat in\nher lap, gazing into vacancy. No one heeded or spoke to her.\n\nBitter pain overpowered Miriam, and after she had shared the evening meal\nwith the others, and forced herself not to disturb by her own sorrowful\nmood, the joyous excitement of the children, who looked forward to the\npilgrimage as a great pleasure, she longed to go out of doors.\n\nClosely veiled, she passed alone through the camp and what she beheld\nthere was certainly ill-suited to dispel the mood that oppressed her.\nThere was plenty of noise, and though sometimes devout hymns, full of joy\nand hope, echoed on the air, she heard far more frequently savage\nquarrelling and rebellious words. When her ear caught threats or\nreproaches levelled against her noble brother, she quickened her pace,\nbut she could not escape her anxiety concerning what would happen at the\ndeparture after sunrise on the morrow, should the malcontents obtain\nsupremacy.\n\nShe knew that the people would be forced to press forward; but her dread\nof Pharaoh's military power had never permitted her to be at peace--to\nher it was as it were embodied in Hosea's heroic figure. If the Lord\nHimself did not fight in the ranks of the wretched bondmen and shepherds\nwho were quarrelling and disputing around her, how were they to withstand\nthe well-trained and equipped hosts of the Egyptians, with their horses\nand chariots?\n\nShe had heard that guards had been posted in all parts of the camp, with\norders to sound the horn or strike the cymbal at the approach of the foe,\nuntil the men had flocked to the spot whence the warning first echoed.\n\nShe had long listened for such an alarm, yet how much more intently for\nthe hoof-beats of a single steed, the firm step and deep voice of the\nwarrior for whom she yearned. On his account she constantly returned to\nthe northern part of the camp which adjoined the road coming from Tanis\nand where now, at Moses' bidding, the tents of most of the men capable of\nbearing arms were pitched. Here she had hoped to find true confidence;\nbut as she listened to the talk of the armed soldiers who surrounded the\ncamp-fires in dense circles, she heard that Uri's proposal had reached\nthem also. Most of them were husbands and fathers, had left behind a\nhouse, a bit of land, a business, or an office, and though many spoke of\nthe command of the Most High and the beautiful new home God had promised,\nnot a few were disposed to return. How gladly she would have gone among\nthese blinded mortals and exhorted them to obey with fresh faith and\nconfidence the command of the Lord and of her brother. But here, too, she\nwas forced to keep silence. She was permitted to listen only, and she was\nmost strongly attracted to the very places where she might expect to hear\nrebellious words and proposals.\n\nThere was a mysterious charm in this cruel excitement and she felt as if\nshe were deprived of something desirable when many a fire was\nextinguished, the soldiers went to sleep, and conversation ceased.\n\nShe now turned for the last time toward the road leading from Tanis; but\nnothing was stirring there save the sentries pacing to and fro.\n\nShe had not yet doubted Hosea's coming; for the summons she had sent to\nhim in the name of the Lord had undoubtedly reached him; but now that the\nstars showed her it was past midnight, the thought came vividly before\nher mind of the many years he had spent among the Egyptians, and that he\nmight perhaps deem it unworthy of a man to obey the call of a woman, even\nif she uplifted her voice in the name of the Most High. She had\nexperienced humiliations enough that day, why should not this be decreed\nalso?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nDeeply disturbed and tortured by such thoughts, Miriam walked toward\nAmminadab's house to seek repose; but just as she was in the act of\ncrossing the threshold, she paused and again listened for sounds coming\nfrom the north.\n\nHosea must arrive from that direction.\n\nBut she heard nothing save the footsteps of a sentinel and the voice of\nHur, who was patrolling the camp with a body of armed men.\n\nHe, too, had been unable to stay in the house.\n\nThe night was mild and starry, the time seemed just suited for dreams\nunder the sycamore. Her bench beneath the venerable tree was empty, and\nwith drooping head she approached the beloved resting-place, which she\nmust leave forever on the morrow.\n\nBut ere she had reached the spot so close at hand, she paused with her\nfigure drawn up to its full height and her hand pressed upon her\nthrobbing bosom. This time she was not mistaken, the beat of hoofs echoed\non the air, and it came from the north.\n\nWere Pharaoh's chariots approaching to attack the camp? Should she shout\nto wake the warriors? Or could it be he whom she so longingly expected?\nYes, yes, yes! It was the tramp of a single steed, and must be a new\narrival; for there were loud voices in the tents, the dogs barked, and\nshouts, questions, and answers came nearer and nearer with the rider.\n\nIt was Hosea, she felt sure. His riding alone through the night, released\nfrom the bonds that united him to Pharaoh and his comrades in arms, was a\nsign of his obedience! Love had steeled his will and quickened the pace\nof his steed, and the gratitude of answering affection, the reward she\ncould bestow, should be withheld no longer. In her arms he should\nblissfully perceive that he had resigned great possessions to obtain\nsomething still fairer and sweeter! She felt as though the darkness\naround had suddenly brightened into broad day, as her ear told her that\nthe approaching horseman was riding straight toward the house of her host\nAmminadab. She now knew that he was obeying her summons, that he had come\nto find her. Hosea was seeking her ere he went to his own father, who had\nfound shelter in the big empty house of his grandson, Ephraim.\n\nHe would gladly have dashed toward her at the swiftest pace of his steed,\nbut it would not do to ride rapidly through the camp. Ah, how long the\ntime seemed ere she at last saw the horseman, ere he swung himself to the\nground, and his companion flung the reins of the horse to a man who\nfollowed him.\n\nIt was he, it was Hosea!\n\nBut his companion--she had recognized him distinctly and shrank a\nlittle--his companion was Hur, the man who a few hours before had sought\nher for his wife.\n\nThere stood her two suitors side by side in the starlight, illumined by\nthe glare of the pitch torches blazing beside the carts and household\nutensils which had been packed for the morrow's journey.\n\nThe tall figure of the elder Hebrew towered over the sinewy form of the\nwarrior, and the shepherd prince bore himself no whit less erect than the\nEgyptian hero. Both voices sounded earnest and manly, yet her lover's\nseemed to Miriam stronger and deeper. They had now advanced so near that\nshe could understand their conversation.\n\nHur was telling the newcomer that Moses had gone on a reconnoitring\nexpedition, and Hosea was expressing his regret, because he had important\nmatters to discuss with him.\n\nThen he must set out with the tribes the next morning, Hur replied, for\nMoses intended to join them on the way.\n\nThen he pointed to Amminadab's house, from which no ray of light gleamed\nthrough the darkness, and asked Hosea to spend the remainder of the night\nbeneath his roof, as he probably would not wish yo disturb his aged\nfather at so late an hour.\n\nMiriam saw her friend hesitate and gaze intently up to the women's\napartments and the roof of her host's house. Knowing what he sought, she\ncould no longer resist the impulse of her heart, but stepped forth from\nthe shadow of the sycamore and gave Hosea a cordial and tender welcome.\n\nHe, too, disdained to conceal the joy of his heart, and Hur stood beside\nthe reunited lovers, as they clasped each other's hands, and exchanged\ngreetings, at first mutely, then with warm words.\n\n\"I knew you would come!\" cried the maiden, and Hosea answered with joyful\nemotion.\n\n\"You might easily suppose so, oh Prophetess; for your own voice was among\nthose that summoned me here.\"\n\nThen in a calmer tone, he added: \"I hoped to find your brother also; I am\nthe bearer of a message of grave import to him, to us, and to the people.\nI see that you, too, are ready to depart and should grieve to behold the\ncomfort of your aged hosts destroyed by hasty acts that may yet be\nneedless.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Hur, advancing a step nearer to the other. \"I\nmean,\" replied Hosea, \"that if Moses persists in leading the tribes\neastward, much blood will flow uselessly to-morrow; for I learned at\nTanis that the garrison of Etham has been ordered to let no man pass,\nstill less the countless throng, whose magnitude surprised me as I rode\nthrough the camp. I know Apu, who commands the fortifications and the\nlegions whom he leads. There would be a terrible, fruitless massacre of\nour half-armed, untrained people, there would be--in short, I have urgent\nbusiness to discuss with Moses, urgent and immediate, to avert the\nheaviest misfortune ere it is too late.\"\n\n\"What you fear has not escaped our notice,\" replied Hur, \"and it is in\norder to guard against this peril that Moses has set forth on a dangerous\nquest.\"\n\n\"Whither?\" asked Hosea.\n\n\"That is the secret of the leaders of the tribes.\"\n\n\"Of which my father is one.\"\n\n\"Certainly; and I have already offered to take you to him. If he assumes\nthe responsibility of informing you. . . .\"\n\n\"Should he deem it a breach of duty, he will keep silence. Who is to\ncommand the wandering hosts tomorrow?\"\n\n\"I.\"\n\n\"You?\" asked Hosea in astonishment, and Hur answered calmly:\n\n\"You marvel at the audacity of the shepherd who ventures to lead an army;\nbut the Lord of all armies, to whom we trust our cause, is our leader; I\nrely solely on His guidance.\"\n\n\"And so do I,\" replied Hosea. \"No one save the God through whom Miriam\nsummoned me to this spot, entrusted me--of that I am confident--with the\nimportant message which brings me here. I must find Moses ere it is too\nlate.\"\n\n\"You have already heard that he will be beyond the reach of any one,\nmyself included, until to-morrow, perhaps the day after. Will you speak\nto Aaron?\"\n\n\"Is he in the camp?\"\n\n\"No; but we expect his return before the departure of the people, that is\nin a few hours.\"\n\n\"Has he the power to decide important matters in Moses' absence?\"\n\n\"No, he merely announces to the people in eloquent language what his\nillustrious brother commands.\"\n\nThe warrior bent his eyes with a disappointed expression on the ground,\nand after a brief pause for reflection eagerly added, fixing his gaze on\nMiriam:\n\n\"It is Moses to whom the Lord our God announces his will; but to you, his\naugust maiden sister, the Most High also reveals himself, to you . . .\"\n\n\"Oh, Hosea!\" interrupted the prophetess, extending her hands toward him\nwith a gesture of mingled entreaty and warning; but the chief, instead of\nheeding her monition, went on:\n\n\"The Lord our God hath commanded you to summon me, His servant, back to\nthe people; He hath commanded you to give me the name for which I am to\nexchange the one my father and mother bestowed upon me, and which I have\nborne in honor for thirty years. Obedient to your summons, I have cast\naside all that could make me great among men; but on my way through\nEgypt,--bearing in my heart the image of my God and of you,--braving\ndeath, the message I now have to deliver was entrusted to me, and I\nbelieve that it came from the Most High Himself. It is my duty to convey\nit to the leaders of the people; but as I am unable to find Moses, I can\nconfide it to no better one than you who, though only a woman,\nstand,--next to your brother--nearest to the Most High, so I implore you\nto listen to me. The tidings I bring are not yet ripe for the ears of a\nthird person.\"\n\nHur drew his figure to a still greater height and, interrupting Hosea,\nasked Miriam whether she desired to hear the son of Nun without\nwitnesses; she answered with a quiet \"yes.\"\n\nThen Hur turned haughtily and coldly to the warrior:\n\n\"I think that Miriam knows the Lord's will, as well as her brother's, and\nis aware of what beseems the women of Israel. If I am not mistaken, it\nwas under this tree that your own father, the worthy Nun, gave to my son\nUri the sole answer which Moses must also make to every bearer of a\nmessage akin to yours.\"\n\n\"Do you know it?\" asked Hosea in a tone of curt reproof.\n\n\"No,\" replied the other, \"but I suspect its purport, and look here.\"\n\nWhile speaking he stooped with youthful agility and, raising two large\nstones with his powerful arms, propped them against each other, rolled\nseveral smaller ones to their sides, and then, with panting breath,\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Let this heap be a witness between me and thee, like the stones named\nMizpah which Jacob and Laban erected. And as the latter called upon the\nLord to watch between him and the other, so do I likewise. I point to\nthis heap that you may remember it, when we are parted one from the\nother. I lay my hand upon these stones and bear witness that I, Hur, son\nof Caleb and Ephrath, put my trust in no other than the Lord, the God of\nour fathers, and am ready to obey His command, which calls us forth from\nthe kingdom of Pharaoh into a land which He promised to us. But of thee,\nHosea, son of Nun, I ask and the Lord our God hears thee: Dost thou, too,\nexpect no other help save from the God of Abraham, who has made thy race\nHis chosen people? And wilt thou also testify whether thou wilt ever\nregard the Egyptians who oppressed us, and from whose bondage the Lord\nour God delivered us, as the mortal foes of thy God and of thy race?\"\n\nThe warrior's bearded features quivered, and he longed to overthrow the\nheap and answer the troublesome questioner with wrathful words, but\nMiriam had laid her hand on the top of the pile of stones, and clasping\nhis right hand, exclaimed:\n\n\"He is questioning you in the presence of our God and Lord, who is your\nwitness.\"\n\nHosea succeeded in controlling his wrath, and pressing the maiden's hand\nmore closely, he answered earnestly:\n\n\"He questions, but I may not answer; 'yea' or 'nay' will be of little\nservice here; but I, too, call God to witness, and before this heap you,\nMiriam, but you alone, shall hear what I propose and for what purpose I\nhave come. Look, Hur! Like you I lay my hand upon this heap and bear\nwitness that I, Hosea, son of Nun, put my sole trust in the Lord and God\nof our fathers. He stands as a witness between me and thee, and shall\ndecide whether my way is His, or that of an erring mortal. I will obey\nHis will, which He has made known to Moses and to this noble maiden. This\nI swear by an oath whose witness is the Lord our God.\"\n\nHur had listened intently and, impressed by the earnestness of the words,\nnow exclaimed:\n\n\"The Lord our God has heard your vow and against your oath I, in the\npresence of this heap, take another: If the hour comes when, mindful of\nthis heap of stones, you give the testimony you have refused me, there\nshall henceforward be no ill-will between us, and if it is in accordance\nwith the will of the Most High, I will cheerfully resign to you the\noffice of commander, which you, trained in many wars, would be better\nsuited to fill than I, who hitherto have ruled only my flocks and\nshepherds. But you, Miriam, I charge to remember that this heap of stones\nwill also be a witness of the colloquy you are to hold with this man in\nthe presence of God. I remind you of the reproving words you heard\nbeneath this tree from the lips of his father, and call God to witness\nthat I would have darkened the life of my son Uri, who is the joy of my\nheart, with a father's curse if he had gone among the people to induce\nthem to favor the message he brought; for it would have turned those of\nlittle faith from their God. Remember this, maiden, and let me say again:\n\n\"If you seek me you will find me, and the door I opened will remain open\nto you, whatever may happen!\"\n\nWith these words Hur turned his back upon Miriam and the warrior.\n\nNeither knew what had befallen them, but he who during the long ride\nbeset by many a peril had yearned with ardent anticipations for the hour\nwhich was to once more unite him to the object of his love, gazed on the\nground full of bewilderment and profound anxiety, while Miriam who, at\nhis approach, had been ready to bestow upon him the highest, sweetest\ngifts with which a loving woman rewards fidelity and love, had sunk to\nthe earth before the ominous pile of stones close beside the tree and\npressed her forehead against its gnarled, hollow trunk.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Brief \"eternity\" of national covenants\n     Choose between too great or too small a recompense\n     Regard the utterances and mandates of age as wisdom\n     There is no 'never,' no surely\n     Voice of the senses, which drew them together, will soon be mute\n\n\n\n\nJOSHUA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nFor a long time nothing was heard beneath the sycamore save Miriam's low\nmoans and the impatient footsteps of the warrior who, while struggling\nfor composure, did not venture to disturb her.\n\nHe could not yet understand what had suddenly towered like a mountain\nbetween him and the object of his love.\n\nHe had learned from Hur's words that his father and Moses rejected all\nmediation, yet the promises he was bearing to the people seemed to him a\nmerciful gift from the Most High. None of his race yet knew it and, if\nMoses was the man whom he believed him to be, the Lord must open his eyes\nand show him that he had chosen him, Hosea, to lead the people through\nhis mediation to a fairer future; nor did he doubt that He could easily\nwin his father over to his side. He would even have declared a second\ntime, with the firmest faith, that it was the Most High who had pointed\nout his path, and after reflecting upon all this he approached Miriam,\nwho had at last risen, with fresh confidence. His loving heart prompted\nhim to clasp her in his arms, but she thrust him back and her voice,\nusually so pure and clear, sounded harsh and muffled as she asked why he\nhad lingered so long and what he intended to confide to her.\n\nWhile cowering under the sycamore, she had not only struggled and prayed\nfor composure, but also gazed into her own soul. She loved Hosea, but she\nsuspected that he came with proposals similar to those of Uri, and the\nwrathful words of hoary Nun rang in her ears more loudly than ever. The\nfear that the man she loved was walking in mistaken paths, and the\nstartling act of Hur had made the towering waves of her passion subside\nand her mind, now capable of calmer reflection, desired first of all to\nknow what had so long detained him whom she had summoned in the name of\nher God, and why he came alone, without Ephraim.\n\nThe clear sky was full of stars, and these heavenly bodies, which seem to\nhave been appointed to look down upon the bliss of united human lovers,\nnow witnessed the anxious questions of a tortured girl and the impatient\nanswers of a fiery, bitterly disappointed man.\n\nHe began with the assurance of his love and that he had come to make her\nhis wife; but, though she permitted him to hold her hand in his clasp,\nshe entreated him to cease pleading his suit and first tell her what she\ndesired to know.\n\nOn his way he had received various reports concerning Ephraim through a\nbrother-in-arms from Tanis, so he could tell her that the lad had been\ndisobedient and, probably from foolish curiosity, had gone, ill and\nwounded, to the city, where he had found shelter and care in the house of\na friend. But this troubled Miriam, who seemed to regard it as a reproach\nto know that the orphaned, inexperienced lad, who had grown up under her\nown eyes and whom she herself had sent forth among strangers, was beneath\nan Egyptian roof.\n\nBut Hosea declared that he would undertake the task of bringing him back\nto his people and as, nevertheless she continued to show her anxiety,\nasked whether he had forfeited her confidence and love. Instead of giving\nhim a consoling answer, she began to put more questions, desiring to know\nwhat had delayed his coming, and so, with a sorely troubled and wounded\nheart, he was forced to make his report and, in truth, begin at the end\nof his story.\n\nWhile she listened, leaning against the trunk of the sycamore, he paced\nto and fro, urged by longing and impatience, sometimes pausing directly\nin front of her. Naught in this hour seemed to him worthy of being\nclothed in words, save the hope and passion which filled his heart. Had\nhe been sure that hers was estranged he would have dashed away again,\nafter having revealed his whole soul to his father, and risked the ride\ninto unknown regions to seek Moses. To win Miriam and save himself from\nperjury were his only desires, and momentous as had been his experiences\nand expectations, during the last few days, he answered her questions\nhastily, as if they concerned the most trivial things.\n\nHe began his narrative in hurried words, and the more frequently she\ninterrupted him, the more impatiently he bore it, the deeper grew the\nlines in his forehead.\n\nHosea, accompanied by his attendant, had ridden southward several hours\nfull of gladsome courage and rich in budding hopes, when just before dusk\nhe saw a vast multitude moving in advance of him. At first he supposed he\nhad encountered the rear-guard of the migrating Hebrews, and had urged\nhis horse to greater speed. But, ere he overtook the wayfarers, some\npeasants and carters who had abandoned their wains and beasts of burden\nrushed past him with loud outcries and shouts of warning which told him\nthat the people moving in front were lepers. And the fugitives' warning\nhad been but too well founded; for the first, who turned with the\nheart-rending cry: \"Unclean! Unclean!\" bore the signs of those attacked\nby the fell disease, and from their distorted faces covered with white\ndust and scurf, lustreless eyes, destitute of brows, gazed at him.\n\nHosea soon recognized individuals, here Egyptian priests with shaven\nheads, yonder Hebrew men and women. With the stern composure of a\nsoldier, he questioned both and learned that they were marching from the\nstone quarries opposite Memphis to their place of isolation on the\neastern shore of the Nile. Several of the Hebrews among them had heard\nfrom their relatives that their people had left Egypt and gone to seek a\nland which the Lord had promised them. Many had therefore resolved to put\ntheir trust also in the mighty God of their fathers and follow the\nwanderers; the Egyptian priests, bound to the Hebrews by the tie of a\ncommon misfortune, had accompanied them, and fixed upon Succoth as the\ngoal of their journey, knowing that Moses intended to lead his people\nthere first. But every one who could have directed them on their way had\nfled before them, so they had kept too far northward and wandered near\nthe fortress of Thabne. Hosea had met them a mile from this spot and\nadvised them to turn back, that they might not bring their misfortune\nupon their fugitive brethren.\n\nDuring this conversation, a body of Egyptian soldiers had marched from\nthe fortress toward the lepers to drive them from the road; but their\ncommander, who knew Hosea, used no violence, and both men persuaded the\nleaders of the lepers to accept the proposal to be guided to the\npeninsula of Sinai, where in the midst of the mountains, not far from the\nmines, a colony of lepers had settled. They had agreed to this plan\nbecause Hosea promised them that, if the tribes went eastward, they would\nmeet them and receive everyone who was healed; but if the Hebrews\nremained in Egypt, nevertheless the pure air of the desert would bring\nhealth to many a sufferer, and every one who recovered would be free to\nreturn home.\n\nThese negotiations had consumed much time, and the first delay was\nfollowed by many others; for as Hosea had been in such close contact with\nthe lepers, he was obliged to ride to Thabne, there with the commander of\nthe garrison, who had stood by his side, to be sprinkled with bird's\nblood, put on new garments, and submit to certain ceremonies which he\nhimself considered necessary and which could be performed only in the\nbright sunlight. His servant had been kept in the fortress because the\nkind-hearted man had shaken hands with a relative whom he met among the\nhapless wretches.\n\nThe cause of the delay had been both sorrowful and repulsive, and not\nuntil after Hosea had left Thabne in the afternoon and proceeded on his\nway to Succoth, did hope and joy again revive at the thought of seeing\nMiriam once more and bringing to his people a message that promised so\nmuch good.\n\nHis heart had never throbbed faster or with more joyous anticipation than\non the nocturnal ride which led him to his father and the woman he loved,\nand on reaching his goal, instead of the utmost happiness, he now found\nonly bitter disappointment.\n\nHe had reluctantly described in brief, disconnected sentences his meeting\nwith the lepers, though he believed he had done his best for the welfare\nof these unfortunates. All of his warrior comrades had uttered a word of\npraise; but when he paused she whose approval he valued above aught else,\npointed to a portion of the camp and said sadly: \"They are of our blood,\nand our God is theirs. The lepers in Zoan, Pha-kos and Phibeseth followed\nthe others at a certain distance, and their tents are pitched outside the\ncamp. Those in Succoth--there are not many--will also be permitted to go\nforth with us; for when the Lord promised the people the Land for which\nthey long, He meant lofty and lowly, poor and humble, and surely also the\nhapless ones who must now remain in the hands of the foe. Would you not\nhave done better to separate the Hebrews from the Egyptians, and guide\nthose of our own blood to us?\"\n\nThe warrior's manly pride rebelled and his answer sounded grave and\nstern: \"In war we must resolve to sacrifice hundreds in order to save\nthousands. The shepherds separate the scabby sheep to protect the flock.\"\n\n\"True,\" replied Miriam eagerly; \"for the shepherd is a feeble man, who\nknows no remedy against contagion; but the Lord, who calls all His\npeople, will suffer no harm to arise from rigid obedience.\"\n\n\"That is a woman's mode of thought,\" replied Hosea; \"but what pity\ndictates to her must not weigh too heavily in the balance in the councils\nof men. You willingly obey the voice of the heart, which is most proper,\nbut you should not forget what befits you and your sex.\"\n\nA deep flush crimsoned Miriam's cheeks; for she felt the sting contained\nin this speech with two-fold pain because it was Hosea who dealt the\nthrust. How many pangs she had been compelled to endure that day on\naccount of her sex, and now he, too, made her feel that she was not his\npeer because she was a woman. In the presence of the stones Hur had\ngathered, and on which her hand now rested, he had appealed to her\nverdict, as though she were one of the leaders of the people, and now he\nabruptly thrust her, who felt herself inferior to no man in intellect and\ntalent, back into a woman's narrow sphere.\n\nBut he, too, felt his dignity wounded, and her bearing showed him that\nthis hour would decide whether he or she would have the mastery in their\nfuture union. He stood proudly before her, his mien stern in its\nmajesty--never before had he seemed so manly, so worthy of admiration.\nYet the desire to battle for her insulted womanly dignity gained\nsupremacy over every other feeling, and it was she who at last broke the\nbrief, painful silence that had followed his last words, and with a\ncomposure won only by the exertion of all her strength of will, she\nbegan:\n\n\"We have both forgotten what detains us here so late at night. You wished\nto confide to me what brings you to your people and to hear, not what\nMiriam, the weak woman, but the confidante of the Lord decides.\"\n\n\"I hoped also to hear the voice of the maiden on whose love I rely,\" he\nanswered gloomily.\n\n\"You shall hear it,\" she replied quickly, taking her hand from the\nstones. \"Yet it may be that I cannot agree with the opinion of the man\nwhose strength and wisdom are so far superior to mine, yet you have just\nshown that you cannot tolerate the opposition of a woman, not even mine.\"\n\n\"Miriam,\" he interrupted reproachfully, but she continued still more\neagerly: \"I have felt it, and because it would be the greatest grief of\nmy life to lose your heart, you must learn to understand me, ere you call\nupon me to express my opinion.\"\n\n\"First hear my message.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" she answered quickly. \"The reply would die upon my lips. Let me\nfirst tell you of the woman who has a loving heart, and yet knows\nsomething else that stands higher than love. Do you smile? You have a\nright to do so, you have so long been a stranger to the secret I mean to\nconfide. . . .\"\n\n\"Speak then!\" he interrupted, in a tone which betrayed how difficult it\nwas for him to control his impatience.\n\n\"I thank you,\" she answered warmly. Then leaning against the trunk of the\nancient tree, while he sank down on the bench, gazing alternately at the\nground and into her face, she began:\n\n\"Childhood already lies behind me, and youth will soon follow. When I was\na little girl, there was not much to distinguish me from others. I played\nlike them and, though my mother had taught me to pray to the God of our\nfathers, I was well pleased to listen to the other children's tales of\nthe goddess Isis. Nay, I stole into her temple, bought spices, plundered\nour little garden for her, anointed her altar, and brought flowers for\nofferings. I was taller and stronger than many of my companions, and was\nalso the daughter of Amram, so they followed me and readily did what I\nsuggested. When I was eight years old, we moved hither from Zoan. Ere I\nagain found a girl-playfellow, you came to Gamaliel, your sister's\nhusband, to be cured of the wound dealt by a Libyan's lance. Do you\nremember that time when you, a youth, made the little girl a companion? I\nbrought you what you needed and prattled to you of the things I knew, but\nyou told me of bloody battles and victories, of flashing armor, and the\nsteeds and chariots of the warrior, You showed me the ring your daring\nhad won, and when the wound in your breast was cured, we roved over the\npastures. Isis, whom you also loved, had a temple here, and how often I\nsecretly slipped into the forecourt to pray for you and offer her my\nholiday-cakes. I had heard so much from you of Pharaoh and his splendor,\nof the Egyptians, and their wisdom, their art, and luxurious life, that\nmy little heart longed to live among them in the capital; besides, it had\nreached my ears that my brother Moses had received great favors in\nPharaoh's palace and risen to distinction in the priesthood. I no longer\ncared for our own people; they seemed to me inferior to the Egyptians in\nall respects.\n\n\"Then came the parting from you and, as my little heart was devout and\nexpected all good gifts from the divine power, no matter what name it\nbore, I prayed for Pharaoh and his army, in whose ranks you were\nfighting.\n\n\"My mother sometimes spoke of the God of our fathers as a mighty\nprotector, to whom the people in former days owed much gratitude, and\ntold me many beautiful tales of Him; but she herself often offered\nsacrifices in the temple of Seth, or carried clover blossoms to the\nsacred bull of the sun-god. She, too, was kindly disposed toward the\nEgyptians, among whom her pride and joy, our Moses, had attained such\nhigh honors.\n\n\"So in happy intercourse with the others I reached my fifteenth year. In\nthe evening, when the shepherds returned home, I sat with the young\npeople around the fire, and was pleased when the sons of the shepherd\nprinces preferred me to my companions and sought my love; but I refused\nthem all, even the Egyptian captain who commanded the garrison of the\nstorehouse; for I remembered you, the companion of my youth. My best\npossession would not have seemed too dear a price to pay for some magic\nspell that would have brought you to us when, at the festal games, I\ndanced and sang to the tambourine while the loudest shouts of applause\ngreeted me. Whenever many were listening I thought of you--then I poured\nforth like the lark the feelings that filled my heart, then my song was\ninspired by you and not by the fame of the Most High, to whom it was\nconsecrated.\"\n\nHere passion, with renewed power, seized the man, to whom the woman he\nloved was confessing so many blissful memories. Suddenly starting up, he\nextended his arms toward her; but she sternly repulsed him, that she\nmight control the yearning which threatened to overpower her also.\n\nYet her deep voice had gained a new, strange tone as, at first rapidly\nand softly, then in louder and firmer accents, she continued:\n\n\"So I attained my eighteenth year and was no longer satisfied to dwell in\nSuccoth. An indescribable longing, and not for you only, had taken\npossession of my soul. What had formerly afforded me pleasure now seemed\nshallow, and the monotony of life here in the remote frontier city amid\nshepherds and flocks, appeared dull and pitiful.\n\n\"Eleasar, Aaron's son, had taught me to read and brought me books, full\nof tales which could never have happened, yet which stirred the heart.\nMany also contained hymns and fervent songs such as one lover sings to\nanother. These made a deep impression on my soul and, whenever I was\nalone in the evening, or at noon-day when the shepherds and flocks were\nfar away in the fields, I repeated these songs or composed new ones, most\nof which were hymns in praise of the deity. Sometimes they extolled Amon\nwith the ram's head, sometimes cow-headed Isis, and often, too, the great\nand omnipotent God who revealed Himself to Abraham, and of whom my mother\nspoke more and more frequently as she advanced in years. To compose such\nhymns in quiet hours, wait for visions revealing God's grandeur and\nsplendor, or beautiful angels and horrible demons, became my favorite\noccupation. The merry child had grown a dreamy maiden, who let household\naffairs go as they would. And there was no one who could have warned me,\nfor my mother had followed my father to the grave; and I now lived alone\nwith my old aunt Rachel, unhappy myself, and a source of joy to no one.\nAaron, the oldest of our family, had removed to the dwelling of his\nfather-in-law Amminadab: the house of Amram, his heritage, had become too\nsmall and plain for him and he left it to me. My companions avoided me;\nfor my mirthfulness had departed and I patronized them with wretched\narrogance because I could compose songs and beheld more in my visions\nthan all the other maidens.\n\n\"Nineteen years passed and, on the evening of my birthday, which no one\nremembered save Milcah, Eleasar's daughter, the Most High for the first\ntime sent me a messenger. He came in the guise of an angel, and bade me\nset the house in order; for a guest, the person dearest to me on earth,\nwas on the way.\n\n\"It was early and under this very tree; but I went home and, with old\nRachel's help, set the house in order, and provided food, wine, and all\nelse we offer to an honored guest. Noon came, the afternoon passed away,\nevening deepened into night, and morning returned, yet I still waited for\nthe guest. But when the sum of that day was nearing the western horizon,\nthe dogs began to bark loudly, and when I went to the door a powerful\nman, with tangled grey hair and beard, clad in the tattered white robes\nof a priest, hurried toward me. The dogs shrank back whining; but I\nrecognized my brother.\n\n\"Our meeting after so long a separation at first brought me more fear\nthan pleasure; for Moses was flying from the officers of the law because\nhe had slain the overseer. You know the story.\n\n\"Wrath still glowed in his flashing eyes. He seemed to me like the god\nSeth in his fury, and each one of his slow words was graven upon my soul\nas by a hammer and chisel. Thrice seven days and nights he remained under\nmy roof, and as I was alone with him and deaf Rachel, and he was\ncompelled to remain concealed, no one came between us, and he taught me\nto know Him who is the God of our fathers.\n\n\"Trembling and despairing, I listened to his powerful words, which seemed\nto fall like rocks upon my breast, when he admonished me of God's\nrequirements, or described the grandeur and wrath of Him whom no mind can\ncomprehend, and no name can describe. Ah, when he spoke of Him and of the\nEgyptian gods, it seemed as if the God of my people stood before me like\na giant, whose head touched the sky, and the other gods were creeping in\nthe dust at his feet like whining curs.\n\n\"He taught me also that we alone were the people whom the Lord had\nchosen, we and no other. Then for the first time I was filled with pride\nat being a descendant of Abraham, and every Hebrew seemed a brother,\nevery daughter of Israel a sister. Now, too, I perceived how cruelly my\npeople had been enslaved and tortured. I had been blind to their\nsuffering, but Moses opened my eyes and sowed in my heart hate, intense\nhate of their oppressors, and from this hate sprang love for the victims.\nI vowed to follow my brother and await the summons of my God. And lo, he\ndid not tarry and Jehovah's voice spoke to me as with tongues.\n\n\"Old Rachel died. At Moses' bidding I gave up my solitary life and\naccepted the invitation of Aaron and Amminadab.\n\n\"So I became a guest in their household, yet led a separate life among\nthem all. They did not interfere with me, and the sycamore here on their\nland became my special property. Beneath its shadow God commanded me to\nsummon you and bestow on you the name \"Help of Jehovah\"--and you, no\nlonger Hosea, but Joshua, will obey the mandate of God and His\nprophetess.\"\n\nHere the warrior interrupted the maiden's words, to which he had listened\nearnestly, yet with increasing disappointment:\n\n\"Ay, I have obeyed you and the Most High. But what it cost me you disdain\nto ask. Your story has reached the present time, yet you have made no\nmention of the days following my mother's death, during which you were\nour guest in Tanis. Have you forgotten what first your eyes and then your\nlips confessed? Have the day of your departure and the evening on the\nsea, when you bade me hope for and remember you, quite vanished from your\nmemory? Did the hatred Moses implanted in your heart kill love as well as\nevery other feeling?\"\n\n\"Love?\" asked Miriam, raising her large eyes mournfully to his. \"Oh no.\nHow could I forget that time, the happiest of my life! Yet from the day\nMoses returned from the wilderness by God's command to release the people\nfrom bondage--three months after my separation from you--I have taken no\nnote of years and months, days and nights.\"\n\n\"Then you have forgotten those also?\" Hosea asked harshly.\n\n\"Not so,\" Miriam answered, gazing beseechingly into his face. \"The love\nthat grew up in the child and did not wither in the maiden's heart,\ncannot be killed; but whoever consecrates one's life to the Lord. . . . \"\n\nHere she suddenly paused, raised her hands and eyes rapturously, as if\nborne out of herself, and cried imploringly: \"Thou art near me,\nOmnipotent One, and seest my heart! Thou knowest why Miriam took no note\nof days and years, and asked nothing save to be Thy instrument until her\npeople, who are, also, this man's people, received what Thou didst\npromise.\"\n\nDuring this appeal, which rose from the inmost depths of the maiden's\nheart, the light wind which precedes the coming of dawn had risen, and\nthe foliage in the thick crown of the sycamore above Miriam's head\nrustled; but Hosea fairly devoured with his eyes the tall majestic\nfigure, half illumined, half veiled by the faint glimmering light. What\nhe heard and saw seemed like a miracle. The lofty future she anticipated\nfor her people, and which must be realized ere she would permit herself\nto yield to the desire of her own heart, he believed that he was hearing\nto them as a messenger of the Lord. As if rapt by the noble enthusiasm of\nher soul, he rushed toward her, seized her hand, and cried in glad\nemotion: \"Then the hour has come which will again permit you to\ndistinguish months from days and listen to the wishes of your own soul.\nFor to I, Joshua, no longer Hosea, but Joshua, come as the envoy of the\nLord, and my message promises to the people whom I will learn to love as\nyou do, new prosperity, and thus fulfils the promise of a new and better\nhome, bestowed by the Most High.\"\n\nMiriam's eyes sparkled brightly and, overwhelmed with grateful joy, she\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Thou hast come to lead us into the land which Jehovah promised to His\npeople? Oh Lord, how measureless is thy goodness! He, he comes as Thy\nmessenger.\"\n\n\"He comes, he is here!\" Joshua enthusiastically replied, and she did not\nresist when he clasped her to his breast and, thrilling with joy, she\nreturned his kiss.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nFear of her own weakness soon made Miriam release herself from her\nlover's embrace, but she listened with eager happiness, seeking some new\nsign from the Most High in Joshua's brief account of everything he had\nfelt and experienced since her summons.\n\nHe first described the terrible conflict he endured, then how he regained\nentire faith and, obedient to the God of his people and his father's\nsummons, went to the palace expecting imprisonment or death, to obtain\nrelease from his oath.\n\nHe told her how graciously the sorrowing royal pair had received him, and\nhow he had at last taken upon himself the office of urging the leaders of\nhis nation to guide them into the wilderness for a short time only, and\nthen take them home to Egypt, where a new and beautiful region on the\nwestern bank of the river should be allotted to them. There no foreign\noverseer should henceforward oppress the workmen, but the affairs of the\nHebrews should be directed by their own elders, and a man chosen by\nthemselves appointed their head.\n\nLastly he said that he, Joshua, would be placed in command of the Hebrew\nforces and, as regent, mediate and settle disputes between them and the\nEgyptians whenever it seemed necessary.\n\nUnited to her, a happy husband, he would care in the new land for even\nthe lowliest of his race. On the ride hither he had felt as men do after\na bloody battle, when the blast of trumpets proclaim victory. He had\nindeed a right to regard himself as the envoy of the Most High.\n\nHere, however, he interrupted himself; for Miriam, who at first had\nlistened with open ears and sparkling eyes, now showed a more and more\nanxious and troubled mien. When he at last spoke of making the people\nhappy as her husband, she withdrew her hand, gazed timidly at his manly\nfeatures, glowing with joyful excitement, and then as if striving to\nmaintain her calmness, fixed her eyes upon the ground.\n\nWithout suspecting what was passing in her mind, Hosea drew nearer. He\nsupposed that her tongue was paralyzed by maidenly shame at the first\ntoken of favor she had bestowed upon a man. But when at his last words,\ndesignating himself as the true messenger of God, she shook her head\ndisapprovingly, he burst forth again, almost incapable of self-control in\nhis sore disappointment:\n\n\"So you believe that the Lord has protected me by a miracle from the\nwrath of the mightiest sovereign, and permitted me to obtain from his\npowerful hand favors for my people, such as the stronger never grant to\nthe weaker, simply to trifle with the joyous confidence of a man whom he\nHimself summoned to serve Him.\"\n\nMiriam, struggling to force back her tears, answered in a hollow tone:\n\"The stronger to the weaker! If that is your opinion, you compel me to\nask, in the words of your own father: 'Who is the more powerful, the Lord\nour God or the weakling on the throne, whose first-born son withered like\ngrass at a sign from the Most High. Oh, Hosea! Hosea!'\"\n\n\"Joshua!\" he interrupted fiercely. \"Do you grudge me even the name your\nGod bestowed? I relied upon His help when I entered the palace of the\nmighty king. I sought under God's guidance rescue and salvation for the\npeople, and I found them. But you, you . . . .\"\n\n\"Your father and Moses, nay, all the believing heads of the tribes, see\nno salvation for us among the Egyptians,\" she answered, panting for\nbreath. \"What they promise the Hebrews will be their ruin. The grass\nsowed by us withers where their feet touch it! And you, whose honest\nheart they deceive, are the whistler whom the bird-catcher uses to decoy\nhis feathered victims into the snare. They put the hammer into your hand\nto rivet more firmly than before the chains which, with God's aid, we\nhave sundered. Before my mind's eye I perceive . . . .\"\n\n\"Too much!\" replied the warrior, grinding his teeth with rage. \"Hate dims\nyour clear intellect. If the bird-catcher really--what was your\ncomparison--if the bird-catcher really made me his whistler, deceived and\nmisled me, he might learn from you, ay, from you! Encouraged by you, I\nrelied upon your love and faith. From you I hoped all things--and where\nis this love? As you spared me nothing that could cause me pain, I will,\npitiless to myself, confess the whole truth to you. It was not alone\nbecause the God of my fathers called me, but because His summons reached\nme through you and my father that I came. You yearn for a land in the far\nuncertain distance, which the Lord has promised you; but I opened to the\npeople the door of a new and sure home. Not for their sakes--what\nhitherto have they been to me?--but first of all to live there in\nhappiness with you whom I loved, and my old father. Yet you, whose cold\nheart knows naught of love, with my kiss still on your lips, disdain what\nI offer, from hatred of the hand to which I owe it. Your life, your\nconflicts have made you masculine. What other women would trample the\nhighest blessings under foot?\"\n\nMiriam could bear no more and, sobbing aloud, covered her convulsed face\nwith her hands.\n\nAt the grey light of dawn the sleepers in the camp began to stir, and men\nand maid servants came out of the dwellings of Amminadab and Naashon. All\nwhom the morning had roused were moving toward the wells and watering\nplaces, but she did not see them.\n\nHow her heart had expanded and rejoiced when her lover exclaimed that he\nhad come to lead them to the land which the Lord had promised to his\npeople. Gladly had she rested on his breast to enjoy one brief moment of\nthe greatest bliss; but how quickly had bitter disappointment expelled\njoy! While the morning breeze had stirred the crown of the sycamore and\nJoshua had told her what Pharaoh would grant to the Hebrews, the rustling\namong the branches had seemed to her like the voice of God's wrath and\nshe fancied she again heard the angry words of hoary-headed Nun. The\nlatter's reproaches had dismayed Uri like the flash of lightning, the\nroll of thunder, yet how did Joshua's proposition differ from Uri's?\n\nThe people--she had heard it also from the lips of Moses--were lost if,\nfaithless to their God, they yielded to the temptations of Pharaoh. To\nwed a man who came to destroy all for which she, her brothers, and his\nown father lived and labored, was base treachery. Yet she loved Joshua\nand, instead of harshly repulsing him, she would have again nestled ah,\nhow gladly, to the heart which she knew loved her so ardently.\n\nBut the leaves in the top of the tree continued to rustle and it seemed\nas if they reminded her of Aaron's warning, so she forced herself to\nremain firm.\n\nThe whispering above came from God, who had chosen her for His\nprophetess, and when Joshua, in passionate excitement, owned that the\nlonging for her was his principal motive for toiling for the people, who\nwere as unknown to him as they were dear to her, her heart suddenly\nseemed to stop beating and, in her mortal agony, she could not help\nsobbing aloud.\n\nUnheeding Joshua, or the stir in the camp, she again flung herself down\nwith uplifted arms under the sycamore, gazing upward with dilated,\ntearful eyes, as if expecting a new revelation. But the morning breeze\ncontinued to rustle in the summit of the tree, and suddenly everything\nseemed as bright as sunshine, not only within but around her, as always\nhappened when she, the prophetess, was to behold a vision. And in this\nlight she saw a figure whose face startled her, not Joshua, but another\nto whom her heart did not incline. Yet there he stood before the eyes of\nher soul in all his stately height, surrounded by radiance, and with a\nsolemn gesture he laid his hand on the stones he had piled up.\n\nWith quickened breath, she gazed upward to the face, yet she would gladly\nhave closed her eyes and lost her hearing, that she might neither see it\nnor catch the voices from the tree. But suddenly the figure vanished, the\nvoices died away, and she appeared to behold in a bright, fiery glow, the\nfirst man her virgin lips had kissed, as with uplifted sword, leading the\nshepherds of her people, he dashed toward an invisible foe.\n\nSwiftly as the going and coming of a flash of lightning, the vision\nappeared and vanished, yet ere it had wholly disappeared she knew its\nmeaning.\n\nThe man whom she called \"Joshua\" and who seemed fitted in every respect\nto be the shield and leader of his people, must not be turned aside by\nlove from the lofty duty to which the Most High had summoned him. None of\nthe people must learn the message he brought, lest it should tempt them\nto turn aside from the dangerous path they had entered.\n\nHer course was as plain as the vision which had just vanished. And, as if\nthe Most High desired to show her that she had rightly understood its\nmeaning, Hur's voice was heard near the sycamore--ere she had risen to\nprepare her lover for the sorrow to which she must condemn herself and\nhim--commanding the multitude flocking from all directions to prepare for\nthe departure.\n\nThe way to save him from himself lay before her; but Joshua had not yet\nventured to disturb her devotions.\n\nHe had been wounded and angered to the inmost depths of his soul by her\ndenial. But as he gazed down at her and saw her tall figure shaken by a\nsudden chill, and her eyes and hands raised heavenward as though,\nspell-bound, he had felt that something grand and sacred dwelt within her\nbreast which it would be sacrilege to disturb; nay, he had been unable to\nresist the feeling that it would be presumptuous to seek to wed a woman\nunited to the Lord by so close a tie. It must be bliss indeed to call\nthis exalted creature his own, yet it would be hard to see her place\nanother, even though it were the Almighty Himself, so far above her lover\nand husband.\n\nMen and cattle had already passed close by the sycamore and just as he\nwas in the act of calling Miriam and pointing to the approaching throng,\nshe rose, turned toward him, and forced from her troubled breast the\nwords:\n\n\"I have communed with the Lord, Joshua, and now know His will. Do you\nremember the words by which God called you?\"\n\nHe bent his head in assent; but she went on:\n\n\"Well then, you must also know what the Most High confided to your\nfather, to Moses, and to me. He desires to lead us out of the land of\nEgypt, to a distant country where neither Pharaoh nor his viceroy shall\nrule over us, and He alone shall be our king. That is His will, and if He\nrequires you to serve Him, you must follow us and, in case of war,\ncommand the men of our people.\"\n\nJoshua struck his broad breast, exclaiming in violent agitation: \"An oath\nbinds me to return to Tanis to inform Pharaoh how the leaders of the\npeople received the message with which I was sent forth. Though my heart\nshould break, I cannot perjure myself.\"\n\n\"And mine shall break,\" gasped Miriam, \"ere I will be disloyal to the\nLord our God. We have both chosen, so let what once united us be sundered\nbefore these stones.\"\n\nHe rushed frantically toward her to seize her hand; but with an imperious\ngesture she waved him back, turned away, and went toward the multitude\nwhich, with sheep and cattle, were pressing around the wells.\n\nOld and young respectfully made way for her as, with haughty bearing, she\napproached Hur, who was giving orders to the shepherds; but he came\nforward to meet her and, after hearing the promise she whispered, he laid\nhis hand upon her head and said with solemn earnestness:\n\n\"Then may the Lord bless our alliance.\"\n\nHand in hand with the grey-haired man to whom she had given herself,\nMiriam approached Joshua. Nothing betrayed the deep emotion of her soul,\nsave the rapid rise and fall of her bosom, for though her cheeks were\npale, her eyes were tearless and her bearing was as erect as ever.\n\nShe left to Hur to explain to the lover whom she had forever resigned\nwhat she had granted him, and when Joshua heard it, he started back as\nthough a gulf yawned at his feet.\n\nHis lips were bloodless as he stared at the unequally matched pair. A\njeering laugh seemed the only fitting answer to such a surprise, but\nMiriam's grave face helped him to repress it and conceal the tumult of\nhis soul by trivial words.\n\nBut he felt that he could not long succeed in maintaining a successful\ndisplay of indifference, so he took leave of Miriam. He must greet his\nfather, he said hastily, and induce him to summon the elders.\n\nEre he finished several shepherds hurried up, disputing wrathfully and\nappealed to Hur to decide what place in the procession belonged to each\ntribe. He followed them, and as soon as Miriam found herself alone with\nJoshua, she said softly, yet earnestly, with beseeching eyes:\n\n\"A hasty deed was needful to sever the tie that bound us, but a loftier\nhope unites us. As I sacrificed what was dearest to my heart to remain\nfaithful to my God and people, do you, too, renounce everything to which\nyour soul clings. Obey the Most High, who called you Joshua! This hour\ntransformed the sweetest joy to bitter grief; may it be the salvation of\nour people! Remain a son of the race which gave you your father and\nmother! Be what the Lord called you to become, a leader of your race! If\nyou insist on fulfilling your oath to Pharaoh, and tell the elders the\npromises with which you came, you will win them over, I know. Few will\nresist you, but of those few the first will surely be your own father. I\ncan hear him raise his voice loudly and angrily against his own dear son;\nbut if you close your ears even to his warning, the people will follow\nyour summons instead of God's, and you will rule the Hebrews as a mighty\nman. But when the time comes that the Egyptian casts his promises to the\nwinds, when you see your people in still worse bondage than before and\nbehold them turn from the God of their fathers to again worship\nanimal-headed idols, your father's curse will overtake you, the wrath of\nthe Most High will strike the blinded man, and despair will be the lot of\nhim who led to ruin the weak masses for whose shield the Most High chose\nhim. So I, a feeble woman, yet the servant of the Most High and the\nmaiden who was dearer to you than life, cry in tones of warning: Fear\nyour father's curse and the punishment of the Lord! Beware of tempting\nthe people.\"\n\nHere she was interrupted by a female slave, who summoned her to her\nhouse--and she added in low, hurried accents: \"Only this one thing more.\nIf you do not desire to be weaker than the woman whose opposition roused\nyour wrath, sacrifice your own wishes for the welfare of yonder\nthousands, who are of the same blood! With your hand on these stones you\nmust swear . . . .\"\n\nBut here her voice failed. Her hands groped vainly for some support, and\nwith a loud cry she sank on her knees beside Hur's token.\n\nJoshua's strong arms saved her from falling prostrate, and several women\nwho hurried up at his shout soon recalled the fainting maiden to life.\n\nHer eyes wandered restlessly from one to another, and not until her\nglance rested on Joshua's anxious face did she become conscious where she\nwas and what she had done. Then she hurriedly drank the water a\nshepherd's wife handed to her, wiped the tears from her eyes, sighed\npainfully, and with a faint smile whispered to Joshua: \"I am but a weak\nwoman after all.\"\n\nThen she walked toward the house, but after the first few steps turned,\nbeckoned to the warrior, and said softly:\n\n\"You see how they are forming into ranks. They will soon begin to move.\nIs your resolution still unshaken? There is still time to call the\nelders.\"\n\nHe shook his head, and as he met her tearful, grateful glance, answered\ngently:\n\n\"I shall remember these stones and this hour, wife of Hur. Greet my\nfather for me and tell him that I love him. Repeat to him also the name\nby which his son, according to the command of the Most High, will\nhenceforth be called, that its promise of Jehovah's aid may give him\nconfidence when he hears whither I am going to keep the oath I have\nsworn.\"\n\nWith these words he waved his hand to Miriam and turned toward the camp,\nwhere his horse had been fed and watered; but she called after him: \"Only\none last word: Moses left a message for you in the hollow trunk of the\ntree.\"\n\nJoshua turned back to the sycamore and read what the man of God had\nwritten for him. \"Be strong and steadfast\" were the brief contents, and\nraising his head he joyfully exclaimed: \"Those words are balm to my soul.\nWe meet here for the last time, wife of Hur, and, if I go to my death, be\nsure that I shall know how to die strong and steadfast; but show my old\nfather what kindness you can.\"\n\nHe swung himself upon his horse and while trotting toward Tanis, faithful\nto his oath, his soul was free from fear, though he did not conceal from\nhimself that he was going to meet great perils. His fairest hopes were\ndestroyed, yet deep grief struggled with glad exaltation. A new and lofty\nemotion, which pervaded his whole being, had waked within him and was but\nslightly dimmed, though he had experienced a sorrow bitter enough to\ndarken the light of any other man's existence. Naught could surpass the\nnoble objects to which he intended to devote his blood and life--his God\nand his people. He perceived with amazement this new feeling which had\npower to thrust far into the background every other emotion of his\nbreast--even love.\n\nTrue, his head often drooped sorrowfully when he thought of his old\nfather; but he had done right in repressing the eager yearning to clasp\nhim to his heart. The old man would scarcely have understood his motives,\nand it was better for both to part without seeing each other rather than\nin open strife.\n\nOften it seemed as though his experiences had been but a dream, and while\nhe felt bewildered by the excitements of the last few hours, his strong\nframe was little wearied by the fatigues he had undergone.\n\nAt a well-known hostelry on the road, where he met many soldiers and\namong them several military commanders with whom he was well acquainted,\nhe at last allowed his horse and himself a little rest and food; and as\nhe rode on refreshed active life asserted its claims; for as far as the\ngate of the city of Rameses he passed bands of soldiers, and learned that\nthey were ordered to join the cohorts he had himself brought from Libya.\n\nAt last he rode into the capital and as he passed the temple of Amon he\nheard loud lamentations, though he had learned on the way that the plague\nhad ceased. What many a sign told him was confirmed at last by some\npassing guards--the first prophet and high-priest of Amon, the\ngrey-haired Rui, had died in the ninety-eighth year of his life. Bai, the\nsecond prophet, who had so warmly protested his friendship and gratitude\nto Hosea, had now become Rui's successor and was high-priest and judge,\nkeeper of the seals and treasurer, in short, the most powerful man in the\nrealm.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\"Help of Jehovah!\" murmured a state-prisoner, laden with heavy chains,\nfive days later, smiling bitterly as, with forty companions in\nmisfortune, he was led through the gate of victory in Tanis toward the\neast.\n\nThe mines in the Sinai peninsula, where more convict labor was needed,\nwere the goal of these unfortunate men.\n\nThe prisoner's smile lingered a short time, then drawing up his muscular\nframe, his bearded lips murmured: \"Strong and steadfast!\" and as if he\ndesired to transmit the support he had himself found he whispered to the\nyouth marching at his side: \"Courage, Ephraim, courage! Don't gaze down\nat the dust, but upward, whatever may come.\"\n\n\"Silence in the ranks!\" shouted one of the armed Libyan guards, who\naccompanied the convicts, to the older prisoner, raising his whip with a\nsignificant gesture. The man thus threatened was Joshua, and his\ncompanion in suffering Ephraim, who had been sentenced to share his fate.\n\nWhat this was every child in Egypt knew, for \"May I be sent to the\nmines!\" was one of the most terrible oaths of the common people, and no\nprisoner's lot was half so hard as that of the convicted state-criminals.\n\nA series of the most terrible humiliations and tortures awaited them. The\nvigor of the robust was broken by unmitigated toil; the exhausted were\nforced to execute tasks so far beyond their strength that they soon found\nthe eternal rest for which their tortured souls longed. To be sent to the\nmines meant to be doomed to a slow, torturing death; yet life is so dear\nto men that it was considered a milder punishment to be dragged to forced\nlabor in the mines than to be delivered up to the executioner.\n\nJoshua's encouraging words had little effect upon Ephraim; but when, a\nfew minutes later, a chariot shaded by an umbrella, passed the prisoners,\na chariot in which a slender woman of aristocratic bearing stood beside a\nmatron behind the driver, he turned with a hasty movement and gazed after\nthe equipage with sparkling eyes till it vanished in the dust of the\nroad.\n\nThe younger woman had been closely veiled, but Ephraim thought he\nrecognized her for whose sake he had gone to his ruin, and whose lightest\nsign he would still have obeyed.\n\nAnd he was right; the lady in the chariot was Kasana, the daughter of\nHornecht, captain of the archers, and the matron was her nurse.\n\nAt a little temple by the road-side, where, in the midst of a grove of\nNile acacias, a well was maintained for travellers, she bade the matron\nwait for her and, springing lightly from the chariot which had left the\nprisoners some distance behind, she began to pace up and down with\ndrooping head in the shadow of the trees, until the whirling clouds of\ndust announced the approach of the convicts.\n\nTaking from her robe the gold rings she had ready for this purpose, she\nwent to the man who was riding at its head on an ass and who led the\nmournful procession. While she was talking with him and pointing to\nJoshua, the guard cast a sly glance at the rings which had been slipped\ninto his hand, and seeing a welcome yellow glitter when his modesty had\nexpected only silver, his features instantly assumed an expression of\nobliging good-will.\n\nTrue, his face darkened at Kasana's request, but another promise from the\nyoung widow brightened it again, and he now turned eagerly to his\nsubordinates, exclaiming: \"To the well with the moles, men! Let them\ndrink. They must be fresh and healthy under the ground!\"\n\nThen riding up to the prisoners, he shouted to Joshua:\n\n\"You once commanded many soldiers, and look more stiff-necked now than\nbeseems you and me. Watch the others, guards, I have a word or two to say\nto this man alone.\"\n\nHe clapped his hands as if he were driving hens out of a garden, and\nwhile the prisoners took pails and with the guards, enjoyed the\nrefreshing drink, their leader drew Joshua and Ephraim away from the\nroad--they could not be separated on account of the chain which bound\ntheir ancles together.\n\nThe little temple soon hid them from the eyes of the others, and the\nwarder sat down on a step some distance off, first showing the two\nHebrews, with a gesture whose meaning was easily understood, the heavy\nspear he carried in his hand and the hounds which lay at his feet.\n\nHe kept his eyes open, too, during the conversation that followed. They\ncould say whatever they chose; he knew the duties of his office and\nthough, for the sake of good money he could wink at a farewell, for\ntwenty years, though there had been many attempts to escape, not one of\nhis moles--a name he was fond of giving to the future miners--had\nsucceeded in eluding his watchfulness.\n\nYonder fair lady doubtless loved the stately man who, he had been told,\nwas formerly a chief in the army. But he had already numbered among his\n\"moles,\" personages even more distinguished, and if the veiled woman\nmanaged to slip files or gold into the prisoner's hands, he would not\nobject, for that very evening the persons of both would be thoroughly\nsearched, even the youth's black locks, which would not have remained\nunshorn, had not everything been in confusion prior to the departure of\nthe convicts, which took place just before the march of Pharaoh's army.\n\nThe watcher could not hear the whispered words exchanged between the\ndegraded chief and the lady, but her humble manner and bearing led him to\nsuppose that it was she who had brought the proud warrior to his ruin.\nAh, these women! And the fettered youth! The looks he fixed upon the\nslender figure were ardent enough to scorch her veil. But patience!\nMighty Father Amon! His moles were going to a school where people learned\nmodesty!\n\nNow the lady had removed her veil. She was a beautiful woman! It must be\nhard to part from such a sweetheart. And now she was weeping.\n\nThe rude warder's heart grew as soft as his office permitted; but he\nwould fain have raised his scourge against the older prisoner; for was it\nnot a shame to have such a sweetheart and stand there like a stone?\n\nAt first the wretch did not even hold out his hand to the woman who\nevidently loved him, while he, the watcher, would gladly have witnessed\nboth a kiss and an embrace.\n\nOr was this beauty the prisoner's wife who had betrayed him? No, no! How\nkindly he was now gazing at her. That was the manner of a father speaking\nto his child; but his mole was probably too young to have such a\ndaughter. A mystery! But he felt no anxiety concerning its solution;\nduring the march he had the power to make the most reserved convict an\nopen book.\n\nYet not only the rude gaoler, but anyone would have marvelled what had\nbrought this beautiful, aristocratic woman, in the grey light of dawn,\nout on the highway to meet the hapless man loaded with chains.\n\nIn sooth, nothing would have induced Kasana to take this step save the\ntorturing dread of being scorned and execrated as a base traitress by the\nman whom she loved. A terrible destiny awaited him, and her vivid\nimagination had shown her Joshua in the mines, languishing, disheartened,\ndrooping, dying, always with a curse upon her on his lips.\n\nOn the evening of, the day Ephraim bad been brought to the house,\nshivering with the chill caused by burning fever, and half stifled with\nthe dust of the road, her father lead told her that in the youthful\nHebrew they possessed a hostage to compel Hosea to return to Tanis and\nsubmit to the wishes of the prophet Bai, with whom she knew her father\nwas leagued in a secret conspiracy. He also confided to her that not only\ngreat distinction and high offices, but a marriage with herself had been\narrranged to bind Hosea to the Egyptians and to a cause from which the\nchief of the archers expected the greatest blessings for himself, his\nhouse, and his whole country.\n\nThese tidings had filled her heart with joyous hope of a long desired\nhappiness, and she confessed it to the prisoner with drooping head amid\nfloods of tears, by the little wayside temple; for he was now forever\nlost to her, and though he did not return the love she had lavished on\nhim from his childhood, he must not hate and condemn her without having\nheard her story.\n\nJoshua listened willingly and assured her that nothing would lighten his\nheart more than to have her clear herself from the charge of having\nconsigned him and the youth at his side to their most terrible fate.\n\nKasana sobbed aloud and was forced to struggle hard for composure ere she\nsucceeded in telling her tale with some degree of calmness.\n\nShortly after Hosea's departure the chief-priest died and, on the same\nday Bai, the second prophet, became his successor. Many changes now took\nplace, and the most powerful man in the kingdom filled Pharaoh with\nhatred of the Hebrews and their leader, Mesu, whom he and the queen had\nhitherto protected and feared. He had even persuaded the monarch to\npursue the fugitives, and an army had been instantly summoned to compel\ntheir return. Kasana had feared that Hosea could not be induced to fight\nagainst the men of his own blood, and that he must feel incensed at being\nsent to make treaties which the Egyptians began to violate even before\nthey knew whether their offers had been accepted.\n\nWhen he returned--as he knew only too well--Pharaoh had had him watched\nlike a prisoner and would not suffer him to leave his presence until he\nhad sworn to again lead his troops and be a faithful servant to the king.\nBai, the new chief priest, however, had not forgotten that Hosea had\nsaved his life and showed himself well disposed and grateful to him; she\nknew also that he hoped to involve him in a secret enterprise, with which\nher father, too, was associated. It was Bai who had prevailed upon\nPharaoh, if Hosea would renew his oath of fealty, to absolve him from\nfighting against his own race, put him in command of the foreign\nmercenaries and raise him to the rank of a \"friend of the king.\" All\nthese events, of course, were familiar to him; for the new chief priest\nhad himself set before him the tempting dishes which, with such strong,\nmanly defiance, he had thrust aside.\n\nHer father had also sided with him, and for the first time ceased to\nreproach him with his origin.\n\nBut, on the third day after Hosea's return, Hornecht had gone to talk\nwith him and since then everything had changed for the worse. He must be\nbest aware what had caused the man of whom she, his daughter, must think\nno evil, to be changed from a friend to a mortal foe.\n\nShe had looked enquiringly at him as she spoke, and he did not refuse to\nanswer--Hornecht had told him that he would be a welcome son-in-law.\n\n\"And you?\" asked Kasana, gazing anxiously into his face.\n\n\"I,\" replied the prisoner, \"was forced to say that though you had been\ndear and precious to me from your childhood, many causes forbade me to\nunite a woman's fate to mine.\"\n\nKasana's eyes flashed, and she exclaimed:\n\n\"Because you love another, a woman of your own people, the one who sent\nEphraim to you!\"\n\nBut Joshua shook his head and answered pleasantly:\n\n\"You are wrong, Kasana! She of whom you speak is the wife of another.\"\n\n\"Then,\" cried the young widow with fresh animation, gazing at him with\nloving entreaty, \"why were you compelled to rebuff my father so harshly?\"\n\n\"That was far from my intention, dear child,\" he replied warmly, laying\nhis hand on her head. \"I thought of you with all the tenderness of which\nmy nature is capable. If I could not fulfil his wish, it was because\ngrave necessity forbids me to yearn for the peaceful happiness by my own\nhearth-stone for which others strive. Had they given me my liberty, my\nlife would have been one of restlessness and conflict.\"\n\n\"Yet how many bear sword and shield,\" replied Kasana, \"and still, on\ntheir return, rejoice in the love of their wives and the dear ones\nsheltered beneath their roof.\"\n\n\"True, true,\" he answered gravely; \"but special duties, unknown to the\nEgyptians, summon me. I am a son of my people.\"\n\n\"And you intend to serve them?\" asked Kasana. \"Oh, I understand you.\nYet. . . .  why then did you return to Tanis? Why did you put yourself into\nPharaoh's power?\"\n\n\"Because a sacred oath compelled me, poor child,\" he answered kindly.\n\n\"An oath,\" she cried, \"which places death and imprisonment between you\nand those whom you love and still desire to serve. Oh, would that you had\nnever returned to this abode of injustice, treachery, and ingratitude! To\nhow many hearts this vow will bring grief and tears! But what do you men\ncare for the suffering you inflict on others? You have spoiled all the\npleasure of life for my hapless self, and among your own people dwells a\nnoble father whose only son you are. How often I have seen the dear old\nman, the stately figure with sparkling eyes and snow-white hair. So would\nyou look when you, too, had reached a ripe old age, as I said to myself,\nwhen I met him at the harbor, or in the fore-court of the palace,\ndirecting the shepherds who were driving the cattle and fleecy sheep to\nthe tax-receiver's table. And now his son's obstinacy must embitter every\nday of his old age.\"\n\n\"Now,\" replied Joshua, \"he has a son who is going, laden with chains, to\nendure a life of misery, but who can hold his head higher than those who\nbetrayed him. They, and Pharaoh at their head, have forgotten that he has\nshed his heart's blood for them on many a battlefield, and kept faith\nwith the king at every peril. Menephtah, his vice-roy and chief, whose\nlife I saved, and many who formerly called me friend, have abandoned and\nhurled me and this guiltless boy into wretchedness, but those who have\ndone this, woman, who have committed this crime, may they all. . . .\"\n\n\"Do not curse them!\" interrupted Kasana with glowing cheeks.\n\nBut Joshua, unheeding her entreaty, exclaimed \"Should I be a man, if I\nforgot vengeance?\"\n\nThe young widow clung anxiously to his arm, gasping in beseeching\naccents:\n\n\"How could you forgive him? Only you must not curse him; for my father\nbecame your foe through love for me. You know his hot blood, which so\neasily carries him to extremes, despite his years. He concealed from me\nwhat he regarded as an insult; for he saw many woo me, and I am his\ngreatest treasure. Pharaoh can pardon rebels more easily than my father\ncan forgive the man who disdained his jewel. He behaved like one\npossessed when he returned. Every word he uttered was an invective. He\ncould not endure to stay at home and raged just as furiously elsewhere.\nBut no doubt he would have calmed himself at last, as he so often did\nbefore, had not some one who desired to pour oil on the flames met him in\nthe fore-court of the palace. I learned all this from Bai's wife; for\nshe, too, repents what she did to injure you; her husband used every\neffort to save you. She, who is as brave as any man, was ready to aid him\nand open the door of your prison; for she has not forgotten that you\nsaved her husband's life in Libya. Ephraim's chains were to fall with\nyours, and everything was ready to aid your flight.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" Hosea interrupted gloomily, \"and I will thank the God of my\nfathers if those were wrong from whom I heard that you are to blame,\nKasana, for having our dungeon door locked more firmly.\"\n\n\"Should I be here, if that were so!\" cried the beautiful, grieving woman\nwith impassioned eagerness. True, resentment did stir within me as it\ndoes in every woman whose lover scorns her; but the misfortune that\nbefell you speedily transformed resentment into compassion, and fanned\nthe old flames anew. So surely as I hope for a mild judgment before the\ntribunal of the dead, I am innocent and have not ceased to hope for your\nliberation. Not until yesterday evening, when all was too late, did I\nlearn that Bai's proposal had been futile. The chief priest can do much,\nbut he will not oppose the man who made himself my father's ally.\"\n\n\"You mean Prince Siptah, Pharaoh's nephew!\" cried Joshua in excited\ntones. \"They intimated to me the scheme they were weaving in his\ninterest; they wished to put me in the place of the Syrian Aarsu, the\ncommander of the mercenaries, if I would consent to let them have their\nway with my people and desert those of my own blood. But I would rather\ndie twenty deaths than sully myself with such treachery. Aarsu is better\nsuited to carry out their dark plans, but he will finally betray them\nall. So far as I am concerned, the prince has good reason to hate me.\"\n\nKasana laid her hand upon his lips, pointed anxiously to Ephraim and the\nguide, and said gently:\n\n\"Spare my father! The prince--what roused his enmity. . . . \"\n\n\"The profligate seeks to lure you into his snare and has learned that you\nfavor me,\" the warrior broke in. She bent her head with a gesture of\nassent, and added blushing:\n\n\"That is why Aarsu, whom he has won over to his cause, watches you so\nstrictly.\"\n\n\"And the Syrian will keep his eyes sufficiently wide open,\" cried Joshua.\n\"Now let us talk no more of this. I believe you and thank you warmly for\nfollowing us hapless mortals. How fondly I used to think, while serving\nin the field, of the pretty child, whom I saw blooming into maidenhood.\"\n\n\"And you will think of her still with neither wrath nor rancor?\"\n\n\"Gladly, most gladly.\"\n\nThe young widow, with passionate emotion, seized the prisoner's hand to\nraise it to her lips, but he withdrew it; and, gazing at him with tears\nin her eyes, she said mournfully:\n\n\"You deny me the favor a benefactor does not refuse even to a beggar.\"\nThen, suddenly drawing herself up to her full height, she exclaimed so\nloudly that the warder started and glanced at the sun: \"But I tell you\nthe time will come when you will sue for the favor of kissing this hand\nin gratitude. For when the messenger arrives bringing to you and to this\nyouth the liberty for which you have longed, it will be Kasana to whom\nyou owe it.\"\n\nRapt by the fervor of the wish that animated her, her beautiful face\nglowed with a crimson flush. Joshua seized her right hand, exclaiming:\n\n\"Ah, if you could attain what your loyal soul desires! How could I\ndissuade you from mitigating the great misfortune which overtook this\nyouth in your house? Yet, as an honest man, I must tell you that I shall\nnever return to the service of the Egyptians; for, come what may, I shall\nin future cleave, body and soul, to those you persecute and despise, and\nto whom belonged the mother who bore me.\"\n\nKasana's graceful head drooped; but directly after she raised it again,\nsaying:\n\n\"No other man is so noble, so truthful, that I have known from my\nchildhood. If I can find no one among my own nation whom I can honor, I\nwill remember you, whose every thought is true and lofty, whose nature is\nfaultless. Put if poor Kasana succeeds in liberating you, do not scorn\nher, if you find her worse than when you left her, for however she may\nhumiliate herself, whatever shame may come upon her . . . .\"\n\n\"What do you intend?\" Hosea anxiously interrupted; but she had no time to\nanswer; for the captain of the guard had risen and, clapping his hands,\nshouted: \"Forward, you moles!\" and \"Step briskly.\"\n\nThe warrior's stout heart was overwhelmed with tender sadness and,\nobeying a hasty impulse, he kissed the beautiful unhappy woman on the\nbrow and hair, whispering:\n\n\"Leave me in my misery, if our freedom will cost your humiliation. We\nshall probably never meet again; for, whatever may happen, my life will\nhenceforth be nothing but battle and sacrifice. Darkness will shroud us\nin deeper and deeper gloom, but however black the night may be, one star\nwill still shine for this boy and for me--the remembrance of you, my\nfaithful, beloved child.\"\n\nHe pointed to Ephraim as he spoke and the youth, as if out of his senses,\npressed his lips on the hand and arm of the sobbing woman.\n\n\"Forward!\" shouted the leader again, and with a grateful smile helped the\ngenerous lady into the chariot, marvelling at the happy, radiant gaze\nwith which her tearful eyes followed the convicts.\n\nThe horses started, fresh shouts arose, blows from the whips fell on bare\nshoulders, now and then a cry of pain rang on the morning air, and the\ntrain of prisoners again moved eastward. The chain on the ancles of the\ncompanions in suffering stirred the dust, which shrouded the little band\nlike the grief, hate, and fear darkening the soul of each.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nA long hour's walk beyond the little temple where the prisoners had\nrested the road, leading to Succoth and the western arm of the Red Sea,\nbranched off from the one that ran in a southeasterly direction past the\nfortifications on the isthmus to the mines.\n\nShortly after the departure of the prisoners, the army which had been\ngathered to pursue the Hebrews left the city of Rameses, and as the\nconvicts had rested some time at the well, the troops almost overtook\nthem. They had not proceeded far when several runners came hurrying up to\nclear the road for the advancing army. They ordered the prisoners to move\naside and defer their march until the swifter baggage train, bearing\nPharaoh's tents and travelling equipments, whose chariot wheels could\nalready be heard, had passed them.\n\nThe prisoners' guards were glad to stop, they were in no hurry. The day\nwas hot, and if they reached their destination later, it would be the\nfault of the army.\n\nThe interruption was welcome to Joshua, too; for his young companion had\nbeen gazing into vacancy as if bewildered, and either made no answer to\nhis questions or gave such incoherent ones that the older man grew\nanxious; he knew how many of those sentenced to forced labor went mad or\nfell into melancholy. Now a portion of the army would pass them, and the\nspectacle was new to Ephraim and promised to put an end to his dull\nbrooding.\n\nA sand-hill overgrown with tamarisk bushes rose beside the road, and\nthither the leader guided the party of convicts. He was a stern man, but\nnot a cruel one, so he permitted his \"moles\" to lie down on the sand, for\nthe troops would doubtless be a long time in passing. As soon as the\nconvicts had thrown themselves on the ground the rattle of wheels, the\nneighing of fiery steeds, shouts of command, and sometimes the\ndisagreeable braying of an ass were heard.\n\nWhen the first chariots appeared Ephraim asked if Pharaoh was coming; but\nJoshua, smiling, informed him that when the king accompanied the troops\nto the field, the camp equipage followed directly behind the vanguard,\nfor Pharaoh and his dignitaries wished to find the tents pitched and the\ntables laid, when the day's march was over and the soldiers and officers\nexpected a night's repose.\n\nJoshua had not finished speaking when a number of empty carts and unladen\nasses appeared. They were to carry the contributions of bread and meal,\nanimals and poultry, wine and beer, levied on every village the sovereign\npassed on the march, and which had been delivered to the tax-gatherers\nthe day before.\n\nSoon after a division of chariot warriors followed. Every pair of horses\ndrew a small, two-wheeled chariot, cased in bronze, and in each stood a\nwarrior and the driver of the team. Huge quivers were fastened to the\nfront of the chariots, and the soldiers leaned on their lances or on\ngigantic bows. Shirts covered with brazen scales, or padded coats of mail\nwith gay overmantle, a helmet, and the front of the chariot protected the\nwarrior from the missiles of the foe. This troop, which Joshua said was\nthe van, went by at a slow trot and was followed by a great number of\ncarts and wagons, drawn by horses, mules, or oxen, as well as whole\ntroops of heavily-laden asses.\n\nThe uncle now pointed out to his nephew the long masts, poles, and heavy\nrolls of costly stuffs intended for the royal tent, and borne by numerous\nbeasts of burden, as well as the asses and carts with the kitchen\nutensils and field forges. Among the baggage heaped on the asses, which\nwere followed by nimble drivers, rode the physicians, tailors,\nsalve-makers, cooks, weavers of garlands, attendants, and slaves\nbelonging to the camp. Their departure had been so recent that they were\nstill fresh and inclined to jest, and whoever caught sight of the\nconvicts, flung them, in the Egyptian fashion, a caustic quip which many\nsought to palliate by the gift of alms. Others, who said nothing, also\nsent by the ass-drivers fruit and trifling gifts; for those who were free\nto-day might share the fate of these hapless men to-morrow. The captain\npermitted it, and when a passing slave, whom Joshua had sold for\nthieving, shouted the name of Hosea, pointing to him with a malicious\ngesture, the rough but kind-hearted officer offered his insulted prisoner\na sip of wine from his own flask.\n\nEphraim, who had walked from Succoth to Tanis with a staff in his hand,\nand a small bundle containing bread, dried lamb, radishes, and dates,\nexpressed his amazement at the countless people and things a single man\nneeded for his comfort, and then relapsed into his former melancholy\nuntil his uncle roused him with farther explanations.\n\nAs soon as the baggage train had passed, the commander of the band of\nprisoners wished to set off, but the \"openers of the way,\" who preceded\nthe archers, forbade him, because it was not seemly for convicts to\nmingle with soldiers. So they remained on their hillock and continued to\nwatch the troops.\n\nThe archers were followed by heavily-armed troops, bearing shields\ncovered with strong hide so large that they extended from the feet to\nabove the middle of the tallest men, and Hosea now told the youth that in\nthe evening they set them side by side, thus surrounding the royal tent\nlike a fence. Besides this weapon of defence they carried a lance, a\nshort dagger-like sword, or a battle-sickle, and as these thousands were\nsucceeded by a body of men armed with slings Ephraim for the first time\nspoke without being questioned and said that the slings the shepherds had\ntaught him to make were far better than those of the soldiers and,\nencouraged by his uncle, he described in language so eager that the\nprisoners lying by his side listened, how he had succeeded in slaying not\nonly jackals, wolves, and panthers, but even vultures, with stones hurled\nfrom a sling. Meanwhile he interrupted himself to ask the meaning of the\nstandards and the names of the separate divisions.\n\nMany thousands had already passed, when another troop of warriors in\nchariots appeared, and the chief warder of the prisoners exclaimed:\n\n\"The good god! The lord of two worlds! May life, happiness, and health be\nhis!\" With these words he fell upon his knees in the attitude of worship,\nwhile the convicts prostrated themselves to kiss the earth and be ready\nto obey the captain's bidding and join at the right moment in the cry:\n\"Life, happiness, and health!\"\n\nBut they had a long time to wait ere the expected sovereign appeared;\nfor, after the warriors in the chariots had passed, the body-guard\nfollowed, foot-soldiers of foreign birth with singular ornaments on their\nhelmets and huge swords, and then numerous images of the gods, a large\nband of priests and wearers of plumes. They were followed by more\nbody-guards, and then Pharaoh appeared with his attendants. At their head\nrode the chief priest Bai in a gilded battle-chariot drawn by magnificent\nbay stallions. He who had formerly led troops in the field, had assumed\nthe command of this pursuing expedition ordered by the gods and, though\nclad in priestly robes, he also wore the helmet and battle-axe of a\ngeneral. At last, directly behind his equipage, came Pharaoh himself; but\nhe did not go to battle like his warlike predecessors in a war-chariot,\nbut preferred to be carried on a throne. A magnificent canopy protected\nhim above, and large, thick, round ostrich feather fans, carried by his\nfan-bearers, sheltered him on both sides from the scorching rays of the\nsun.\n\nAfter Menephtah had left the city and the gate of victory behind him, and\nthe exulting acclamations of the multitude had ceased to amuse him, he\nhad gone to sleep and the shading fans would have concealed his face and\nfigure from the prisoners, had not their shouts been loud enough to rouse\nhim and induce him to turn his head toward them. The gracious wave of his\nright hand showed that he had expected to see different people from\nconvicts and, ere the shouts of the hapless men had died away, his eyes\nagain closed.\n\nEphraim's silent brooding had now yielded to the deepest interest, and as\nthe empty golden war-chariot of the king, before which pranced the most\nsuperb steeds he had ever seen, rolled by, he burst into loud\nexclamations of admiration.\n\nThese noble animals, on whose intelligent heads large bunches of feathers\nnodded, and whose rich harness glittered with gold and gems, were indeed\na splendid sight. The large gold quivers set with emeralds, fastened on\nthe sides of the chariot, were filled with arrows.\n\nThe feeble man to whose weak hand the guidance of a great nation was\nentrusted, the weakling who shrunk from every exertion, regained his lost\nenergy whenever hunting was in prospect; he considered this campaign a\nchase on the grandest scale and as it seemed royal pastime to discharge\nhis arrows at the human beings he had so lately feared, instead of at\ngame, he had obeyed the chief priest's summons and joined the expedition.\nIt had been undertaken by the mandate of the great god Amon, so he had\nlittle to dread from Mesu's terrible power.\n\nWhen he captured him he would make him atone for having caused Pharaoh\nand his queen to tremble before him and shed so many tears on his\naccount.\n\nWhile Joshua was still telling the youth from which Phoenician city the\ngolden chariots came, he suddenly felt Ephraim's right hand clutch his\nwrist, and heard him exclaim: \"She! She! Look yonder! It is she!\" The\nyouth had flushed crimson, and he was not mistaken; the beautiful Kasana\nwas passing amid Pharaoh's train in the same chariot in which she had\npursued the convicts, and with her came a considerable number of ladies\nwho had joined what the commander of the foot-soldiers, a brave old\nwarrior, who had served under the great Rameses, termed \"a pleasure\nparty.\"\n\nOn campaigns through the desert and into Syria, Libya, or Ethiopia the\nsovereign was accompanied only by a chosen band of concubines in\ncurtained chariots, guarded by eunuchs; but this time, though the queen\nhad remained at home, the wife of the chief priest Bai and other\naristocratic ladies had set the example of joining the troops, and it was\ndoubtless tempting enough to many to enjoy the excitements of war without\nperil.\n\nKasana had surprised her friend by her appearance an hour before; only\nyesterday the young widow could not be persuaded to accompany the troops.\nObeying an inspiration, without consulting her father, so unprepared that\nshe lacked the necessary traveling equipments, she had joined the\nexpedition, and it seemed as if a man whom she had hitherto avoided,\nthough he was no less a personage than Siptah, the king's nephew, had\nbecome a magnet to her.\n\nWhen she passed the prisoners, the prince was standing in the chariot\nbeside the young beauty in her nurse's place, explaining in jesting tones\nthe significance of the flowers in a bouquet, which Kasana declared could\nnot possibly have been intended for her, because an hour and a quarter\nbefore she had not thought of going with the army.\n\nBut Siptah protested that the Hathors had revealed at sunrise the\nhappiness in store for him, and that the choice of each single blossom\nproved his assertion.\n\nSeveral young courtiers who were walking in front of their chariots,\nsurrounded them and joined in the laughter and merry conversation, in\nwhich the vivacious wife of the chief priest shared, having left her\nlarge travelling-chariot to be carried in a litter.\n\nNone of these things escaped Joshua's notice and, as he saw Kasana, who a\nshort time before had thought of the prince with aversion, now saucily\ntap his hand with her fan, his brow darkened and he asked himself whether\nthe young widow was not carelessly trifling with his misery.\n\nBut the prisoners' chief warder had now noticed the locks on Siptah's\ntemples, which marked him as a prince of the royal household and his loud\n\"Hail! Hall!\" in which the other guards and the captives joined, was\nheard by Kasana and her companions. They looked toward the\ntamarisk-bushes, whence the cry proceeded, and Joshua saw the young widow\nturn pale and then point with a hasty gesture to the convicts. She must\nundoubtedly have given Siptah some command, for the latter at first\nshrugged his shoulders disapprovingly then, after a somewhat lengthy\ndiscussion, half grave, half jesting, he sprang from the chariot and\nbeckoned to the chief gaoler.\n\n\"Have these men,\" he called from the road so loudly that Kasana could not\nfail to hear, \"seen the face of the good god, the lord of both worlds?\"\nAnd when he received a reluctant answer, he went on arrogantly:\n\n\"No matter! At least they beheld mine and that of the fairest of women,\nand if they hope for favor on that account they are right. You know who I\nam. Let the chains that bind them together be removed.\" Then, beckoning\nto the man, he whispered:\n\n\"But keep your eyes open all the wider; I have no liking for the fellow\nbeside the bush, the ex-chief Hosea. After returning home, report to me\nand bring news of this man. The quieter he has become, the deeper my hand\nwill sink in my purse. Do you understand?\"\n\nThe warder bowed, thinking: \"I'll take care, my prince, and also see that\nno one attempts to take the life of any of my moles. The greater the rank\nof these gentlemen, the more bloody and strange are their requests! How\nmany have come to me with similar ones. He releases the poor wretches'\nfeet, and wants me to burden my soul with a shameful murder. Siptah has\ntried the wrong man! Here, Heter, bring the bag of tools and open the\nmoles' chains.\"\n\nWhile the files were grating on the sand-hill by the road and the\nprisoners were being released from the fetters on their ancles,--though\nfor the sake of security each man's arms were bound together,--Pharaoh's\nhost marched by.\n\nKasana had commanded Prince Siptah to release from their iron burden the\nunfortunates who were being dragged to a life of misery, openly\nconfessing that she could not bear to see a chief who had so often been a\nguest of her house so cruelly humiliated. Bai's wife had supported her\nwish, and the prince was obliged to yield.\n\nJoshua knew to whom he and Ephraim owed this favor, and received it with\ngrateful joy.\n\nWalking had been made easier for him, but his mind was more and more\nsorely oppressed with anxious cares.\n\nThe army passing yonder would have been enough to destroy down to the\nlast man a force ten times greater than the number of his people. His\npeople, and with them his father and Miriam,--who had caused him such\nkeen suffering, yet to whom he was indebted for having found the way\nwhich, even in prison, he had recognized as the only right one--seemed to\nhim marked out for a bloody doom; for, however powerful might be the God\nwhose greatness the prophetess had praised in such glowing words, and to\nwhom he himself had learned to look up with devout admiration,--untrained\nand unarmed bands of shepherds must surely and hopelessly succumb to the\nassault of this army. This certainty, strengthened by each advancing\ndivision, pierced his very soul. Never before had he felt such burning\nanguish, which was terribly sharpened when he beheld the familiar faces\nof his own troops, which he had so lately commanded, pass before him\nunder the leadership of another. This time they were taking the field to\nhew down men of his own blood. This was pain indeed, and Ephraim's\nconduct gave him cause for fresh anxiety; since Kasana's appearance and\ninterference in behalf of him and his companions in suffering, the youth\nhad again lapsed into silence and gazed with wandering eyes at the army\nor into vacancy.\n\nNow he, too, was freed from the chain, and Joshua asked in a whisper if\nhe did not long to return to his people to help them resist so powerful a\nforce, but Ephraim merely answered:\n\n\"When confronted with those hosts, they can do nothing but yield. What\ndid we lack before the exodus? You were a Hebrew, and yet became a mighty\nchief among the Egyptians ere you obeyed Miriam's summons. In your place,\nI would have pursued a different course.\"\n\n\"What would you have done?\" asked Joshua sternly.\n\n\"What?\" replied the youth, the fire of his young soul blazing. \"What?\nOnly this, I would have remained where there is honor and fame and\neverything beautiful. You might have been the greatest of the great, the\nhappiest of the happy--this I have learned, but you made a different\nchoice.\"\n\n\"Because duty commanded it,\" Joshua answered gravely, \"because I will no\nlonger serve any one save the people among whom I was born.\"\n\n\"The people?\" exclaimed Ephraim, contemptuously. \"I know them, and you\nmet them at Succoth. The poor are miserable wretches who cringe under the\nlash; the rich value their cattle above all else and, if they are the\nheads of the tribes, quarrel with one another. No one knows aught of what\npleases the eye and the heart. They call me one of the richest of the\nrace and yet I shudder when I think of the house I inherited, one of the\nbest and largest. One who has seen more beautiful ones ceases to long for\nsuch an abode.\"\n\nThe vein on Joshua's brow swelled, and he wrathfully rebuked the youth\nfor denying his own blood, and being a traitor to his people.\n\nThe guard commanded silence, for Joshua had raised his reproving voice\nlouder, and this order seemed welcome to the defiant youth. When, during\ntheir march, his uncle looked sternly into his face or asked whether he\nhad thought of his words, he turned angrily away, and remained mute and\nsullen until the first star had risen, the night camp had been made under\nthe open sky, and the scanty prison rations had been served.\n\nJoshua dug with his hands a resting place in the sand, and with care and\nskill helped the youth to prepare a similar one.\n\nEphraim silently accepted this help; but as they lay side by side, and\nthe uncle began to speak to his nephew of the God of his people on whose\naid they must rely, if they were not to fall victims to despair in the\nmines, the youth interrupted him, exclaiming in low tones, but with\nfierce resolution:\n\n\"They will not take me to the mines alive! I would rather die, while\nmaking my escape, than pine away in such wretchedness.\"\n\nJoshua whispered words of warning, and again reminded him of his duties\nto his people. But Ephraim begged to be let alone; yet soon after he\ntouched his uncle and asked softly:\n\n\"What are they planning with Prince Siptah?\"\n\n\"I don't know; nothing good, that is certain.\"\n\n\"And where is Aarsu, the Syrian, your foe, who commands the Asiatic\nmercenaries, and who was to watch us with such fierce zeal? I did not see\nhim with the others.\"\n\n\"He remained in Tanis with his troops.\"\n\n\"To guard the palace?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly.\"\n\n\"Then he commands many soldiers, and Pharaoh has confidence in him?\"\n\n\"The utmost, though he ill deserves it.\"\n\n\"And he is a Syrian, and therefore of our blood.\"\n\n\"And more closely allied to us than to the Egyptians, at least so far as\nlanguage and appearance are concerned.\"\n\n\"I should have taken him for a man of our race, yet he is, as you were,\none of the leaders in the army.\"\n\n\"Other Syrians and Libyans command large troops of mercenaries, and the\nherald Ben Mazana, one of the highest dignitaries of the court--the\nEgyptians call him Rameses in the sanctuary of Ra--has a Hebrew father.\"\n\n\"And neither he nor the others are scorned on account of their birth?\"\n\n\"This is not quite so. But why do you ask these questions?\"\n\n\"I could not sleep.\"\n\n\"And so such thoughts came to you. But you have some definite idea in\nyour mind and, if my inference is correct, it would cause me pain. You\nwished to enter Pharaoh's service!\"\n\nBoth were silent a long time, then Ephraim spoke again and, though he\naddressed Joshua, it seemed as if he were talking to himself:\n\n\"They will destroy our people; bondage and shame await those who survive.\nMy house is now left to ruin, not a head of my splendid herds of cattle\nremains, and the gold and silver I inherited, of which there was said to\nbe a goodly store, they are carrying with them, for your father has\ncharge of my wealth, and it will soon fall as booty into the hands of the\nEgyptians. Shall I, if I obtain my liberty, return to my people and make\nbricks? Shall I bow my back and suffer blows and abuse?\"\n\nJoshua eagerly whispered:\n\n\"You must appeal to the God of your fathers, that he may protect and\ndefend His people. Yet, if the Most High has willed the destruction of\nour race, be a man and learn to hate with all the might of your young\nsoul those who trample your people under their feet. Fly to the Syrians,\noffer them your strong young arm, and take no rest till you have avenged\nyourself on those who have shed the blood of your people and load you,\nthough innocent, with chains.\"\n\nAgain silence reigned for some time, nothing was heard from Ephraim's\nrude couch save a dull, low moan from his oppressed breast; but at last\nhe answered softly:\n\n\"The chains no longer weigh upon us, and how could I hate her who\nreleased us from them?\"\n\n\"Remain grateful to Kasana,\" was the whispered reply, \"but hate her\nnation.\"\n\nHosea heard the youth toss restlessly, and again sigh heavily and moan.\n\nIt was past midnight, the waxing moon rode high in the heavens, and the\nsleepless man did not cease to listen for sounds from the youth; but the\nlatter remained silent, though slumber had evidently fled from him also;\nfor a noise as if he were grinding his teeth came from his place of rest.\nOr had mice wandered to this barren place, where hard brown blades of\ngrass grew between the crusts of salt and the bare spots, and were\ngnawing the prisoners' hard bread?\n\nSuch gnawing and grinding disturb the sleep of one who longs for slumber;\nbut Joshua desired to keep awake to continue to open the eyes of the\nblinded youth, yet he waited in vain for any sign of life from his\nnephew.\n\nAt last he was about to lay his hand on the lad's shoulder, but paused as\nby the moonlight he saw Ephraim raise one arm though, before he lay down,\nboth hands were tied more firmly than before.\n\nJoshua now knew that it was the youth's sharp teeth gnawing the rope\nwhich had caused the noise that had just surprised him, and he\nimmediately stood up and looked first upward and then around him.\n\nHolding his breath, the older man watched every movement, and his heart\nbegan to throb anxiously. Ephraim meant to fly, and the first step toward\nescape had already succeeded! Would that the others might prosper too!\nBut he feared that the liberated youth might enter the wrong path. He was\nthe only son of his beloved sister, a fatherless and motherless lad, so\nhe had never enjoyed the uninterrupted succession of precepts and lessons\nwhich only a mother can give and a defiant young spirit will accept from\nher alone. The hands of strangers had bound the sapling to a stake and it\nhad shot straight upward, but a mother's love would have ennobled it with\ncarefully chosen grafts. He had grown up beside another hearth than his\nparents', yet the latter is the only true home for youth. What marvel if\nhe felt himself a stranger among his people.\n\nAmid such thoughts a great sense of compassion stole over Joshua and,\nwith it, the consciousness that he was deeply accountable for this youth\nwho, for his sake, while on the way to bring him a message, had fallen\ninto such sore misfortune. But much as he longed to warn him once more\nagainst treason and perjury, he refrained, fearing to imperil his\nsuccess. Any noise might attract the attention of the guards, and he took\nas keen an interest in the attempt at liberation, as if Ephraim had made\nit at his suggestion.\n\nSo instead of annoying the youth with fruitless warnings, he kept watch\nfor him; life had taught him that good advice is more frequently unheeded\nthan followed, and only personal experiences possess resistless power of\ninstruction.\n\nThe chief's practiced eye soon showed him the way by which Ephraim, if\nfortune favored him, could escape.\n\nHe called softly, and directly after his nephew whispered:\n\n\"I'll loose your ropes, if you will hold up your hands to me. Mine are\nfree!\"\n\nJoshua's tense features brightened.\n\nThe defiant lad was a noble fellow, after all, and risked his own chance\nin behalf of one who, if he escaped with him, threatened to bar the way\nin which, in youthful blindness, he hoped to find happiness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nJoshua gazed intently around him. The sky was still bright, but if the\nnorth wind continued to blow, the clouds which seemed to be rising from\nthe sea must soon cover it.\n\nThe air had grown sultry, but the guards kept awake and regularly\nrelieved one another. It was difficult to elude their attention; yet\nclose by Ephraim's couch, which his uncle, for greater comfort, had\nhelped him make on the side of a gently sloping hill, a narrow ravine ran\ndown to the valley. White veins of gypsum and glittering mica sparkled in\nthe moonlight along its bare edges. If the agile youth could reach this\ncleft unseen, and crawl through as far as the pool of saltwater,\novergrown with tall grass and tangled desert shrubs, at which it ended,\nhe might, aided by the clouds, succeed.\n\nAfter arriving at this conviction Joshua considered, as deliberately as\nif the matter concerned directing one of his soldiers on his way, whether\nhe himself, in case he regained the use of his hands, could succeed in\nfollowing Ephraim without endangering his project. And he was forced to\nanswer this question in the negative; for the guard who sometimes sat,\nsometimes paced to and fro on a higher part of the crest of the hill a\nfew paces away, could but too easily perceive, by the moonlight, the\nyouth's efforts to loose the firmly-knotted bonds. The cloud approaching\nthe moon might perhaps darken it, ere the work was completed. Thus\nEphraim might, on his account, incur the peril of losing the one\nfortunate moment which promised escape. Would it not be the basest of\ncrimes, merely for the sake of the uncertain chance of flight, to bar the\npath to liberty of the youth whose natural protector he was? So he\nwhispered to Ephraim:\n\n\"I cannot go with you. Creep through the chasm at your right to the\nsalt-pool. I will watch the guards. As soon as the cloud passes over the\nmoon and I clear my throat, start off. If you escape, join our people.\nGreet my old father, assure him of my love and fidelity, and tell him\nwhere I am being taken. Listen to his advice and Miriam's; theirs is the\nbest counsel. The cloud is approaching the moon,--not another word now!\"\n\nAs Ephraim still continued to urge him in a whisper to hold up his\npinioned arms, he ordered him to keep silence and, as soon as the moon\nwas obscured and the guard, who was pacing to and fro above their heads\nbegan a conversation with the man who came to relieve him, Joshua cleared\nhis throat and, holding his breath, listened with a throbbing heart for\nsome sound in the direction of the chasm.\n\nHe first heard a faint scraping and, by the light of the fire which the\nguards kept on the hill-top as a protection against wild beasts, he saw\nEphraim's empty couch.\n\nHe uttered a sigh of relief; for the youth must have entered the ravine.\nBut though he strained his ears to follow the crawling or sliding of the\nfugitive he heard nothing save the footsteps and voices of the warders.\n\nYet he caught only the sound, not the meaning of their words, so intently\ndid he fix his powers of hearing upon the course taken by the fugitive.\nHow nimbly and cautiously the agile fellow must move! He was still in the\nchasm, yet meanwhile the moon struggled victoriously with the clouds and\nsuddenly her silver disk pierced the heavy black curtain that concealed\nher from the gaze of men, and her light was reflected like a slender,\nglittering pillar from the motionless pool of salt-water, enabling the\nwatching Joshua to see what was passing below; but he perceived nothing\nthat resembled a human form.\n\nHad the fugitive encountered any obstacle in the chasm? Did some\nprecipice or abyss hold him in its gloomy depths? Had--and at the thought\nhe fancied that his heart had stopped beating--Had some gulf swallowed\nthe lad when he was groping his way through the night?\n\nHow he longed for some noise, even the faintest, from the ravine! The\nsilence was terrible. But now! Oh, would that it had continued! Now the\nsound of falling stones and the crash of earth sliding after echoed\nloudly through the still night air. Again the moonlight burst through the\ncloud-curtain, and Joshua perceived near the pool a living creature which\nresembled an animal more than a human being, for it seemed to be crawling\non four feet. Now the water sent up a shower of glittering spray. The\nfigure below had leaped into the pool. Then the clouds again swallowed\nthe lamp of night, and darkness covered everything.\n\nWith a sigh of relief Joshua told himself that he had seen the flying\nEphraim and that, come what might, the escaping youth had gained a\nconsiderable start of his pursuers.\n\nBut the latter neither remained inert nor allowed themselves to be\ndeceived; for though, to mislead them, he had shouted loudly: \"A jackal!\"\nthey uttered a long, shrill whistle, which roused their sleeping\ncomrades. A few seconds later the chief warder stood before him with a\nburning torch, threw its light on his face, and sighed with relief when\nhe saw him. Not in vain had he bound him with double ropes; for he would\nhave been called to a severe reckoning at home had this particular man\nescaped.\n\nBut while he was feeling the ropes on the prisoner's arms, the glare of\nthe burning torch, which lighted him, fell on the fugitive's rude,\ndeserted couch. There, as if in mockery, lay the gnawed rope. Taking it\nup, he flung it at Joshua's feet, blew his whistle again and again, and\nshouted: \"Escaped! The Hebrew! Young Curly-head!\"\n\nPaying no farther heed to Joshua, he began the pursuit. Hoarse with fury,\nhe issued order after order, each one sensible and eagerly obeyed.\n\nWhile some of the guards dragged the prisoners together, counted them,\nand tied them with ropes, their commander, with the others and his dogs,\nset off on the track of the fugitive.\n\nJoshua saw him make the intelligent animals smell Ephraim's gnawed bonds\nand resting-place, and beheld them instantly rush to the ravine. Gasping\nfor breath, he also noted that they remained in it quite a long time, and\nat last--the moon meanwhile scattered the clouds more and more--darted\nout of the ravine, and dashed to the water. He felt that it was fortunate\nEphraim had waded through instead of passing round it; for at its edge\nthe dogs lost the scent, and minute after minute elapsed while the\ncommander of the guards walked along the shore with the eager animals,\nwhich fairly thrust their noses into the fugitive's steps, in order to\nagain get on the right trail. Their loud, joyous barking at last\nannounced that they had found it. Yet, even if they persisted in\nfollowing the runaway, the captive warrior no longer feared the worst,\nfor Ephraim had gained a long advance of his pursuers. Still, his heart\nbeat loudly enough and time seemed to stand still until the chief-warder\nreturned exhausted and unsuccessful.\n\nThe older man, it is true, could never have overtaken the swift-footed\nyouth, but the youngest and most active guards had been sent after the\nfugitive. This statement the captain of the guards himself made with an\nangry jeer.\n\nThe kindly-natured man seemed completely transformed,--for he felt what\nhad occurred as a disgrace which could scarcely be overcome, nay, a\npositive misfortune.\n\nThe prisoner who had tried to deceive him by the shout of 'jackal!' was\ndoubtless the fugitive's accomplice. Prince Siptah, too, who had\ninterfered with the duties of his office, he loudly cursed. But nothing\nof the sort should happen again; and he would make the whole band feel\nwhat had fallen to his lot through Ephraim. Therefore he ordered the\nprisoners to be again loaded with chains, the ex-chief fastened to a\ncoughing old man, and all made to stand in rank and file before the fire\ntill morning dawned.\n\nJoshua gave no answer to the questions his new companion-in-chains\naddressed to him; he was waiting with an anxious heart for the return of\nthe pursuers. At times he strove to collect his thoughts to pray, and\ncommended to the God who had promised His aid, his own destiny and that\nof the fugitive boy. True, he was often rudely interrupted by the captain\nof the guards, who vented his rage upon him.\n\nYet the man who had once commanded thousands of soldiers quietly\nsubmitted to everything, forcing himself to accept it like the\nunavoidable discomfort of hail or rain; nay, it cost him an effort to\nconceal his joyful emotion when, toward sunrise, the young warders sent\nin pursuit returned with tangled hair, panting for breath, and bringing\nnothing save one of the dogs with a broken skull.\n\nThe only thing left for the captain of the guards to do was to report\nwhat had occurred at the first fortress on the Etham border, which the\nprisoners were obliged in any case to pass, and toward this they were now\ndriven.\n\nSince Ephraim's flight a new and more cruel spirit had taken possession\nof the warders. While yesterday they had permitted the unfortunate men to\nmove forward at an easy pace, they now forced them to the utmost possible\nspeed. Besides, the atmosphere was sultry, and the scorching sun\nstruggled with the thunderclouds gathering in heavy masses at the north.\n\nJoshua's frame, inured to fatigues of every kind, resisted the tortures\nof this hurried march; but his weaker companion, who had grown grey in a\nscribe's duties, often gave way and at last lay prostrate beside him.\n\nThe captain was obliged to have the hapless man placed on an ass and\nchain another prisoner to Joshua. He was his former yoke-mate's brother,\nan inspector of the king's stables, a stalwart Egyptian, condemned to the\nmines solely on account of the unfortunate circumstance of being the\nnearest blood relative of a state criminal.\n\nIt was easier to walk with this vigorous companion, and Joshua listened\nwith deep sympathy and tried to comfort him when, in a low voice, he made\nhim the confidant of his yearning, and lamented the heaviness of heart\nwith which he had left wife and child in want and suffering. Two sons had\ndied of the pestilence, and it sorely oppressed his soul that he had been\nunable to provide for their burial--now his darlings would be lost to him\nin the other world also and forever.\n\nAt the second halt the troubled father became franker still. An ardent\nthirst for vengeance filled his soul, and he attributed the same feeling\nto his stern-eyed companion, whom he saw had plunged into misfortune from\na high station in life. The ex-inspector of the stables had a\nsister-in-law, who was one of Pharaoh's concubines, and through her and\nhis wife, her sister, he had learned that a conspiracy was brewing\nagainst the king in the House of the Separated.--[Harem]. He even knew\nwhom the women desired to place in Menephtah's place.\n\nAs Joshua looked at him, half questioning, half doubting, his companion\nwhispered. \"Siptah, the king's nephew, and his noble mother, are at the\nhead of the plot. When I am once more free, I will remember you, for my\nsister-in-law certainly will not forget me.\" Then he asked what was\ntaking his companion to the mines, and Joshua frankly told his name. But\nwhen the Egyptian learned that he was fettered to a Hebrew, he tore\nwildly at his chain and cursed his fate. His rage, however, soon subsided\nin the presence of the strange composure with which his companion in\nmisfortune bore the rudest insults, and Joshua was glad to have the other\nbeset him less frequently with complaints and questions.\n\nHe now walked on for hours undisturbed, free to yield to his longing to\ncollect his thoughts, analyze the new and lofty emotions which had ruled\nhis soul during the past few days, and accommodate himself to his novel\nand terrible position.\n\nThis quiet reflection and self-examination relieved him and, during the\nfollowing night, he was invigorated by a deep, refreshing sleep.\n\nWhen he awoke the setting stars were still in the sky and reminded him of\nthe sycamore in Succoth, and the momentous morning when his lost love had\nwon him for his God and his people. The glittering firmament arched over\nhis head, and he had never so distinctly felt the presence of the Most\nHigh. He believed in His limitless power and, for the first time, felt a\ndawning hope that the Mighty Lord who had created heaven and earth would\nfind ways and means to save His chosen people from the thousands of the\nEgyptian hosts.\n\nAfter fervently imploring God to extend His protecting hand over the\nfeeble bands who, obedient to His command, had left so much behind them\nand marched so confidently through an unknown and distant land, and\ncommended to His special charge the aged father whom he himself could not\ndefend, a wonderful sense of peace filled his soul.\n\nThe shouts of the guards, the rattling of the chain, his wretched\ncompanions in misfortune, nay, all that surrounded him, could not fail to\nrecall the fate awaiting him. He was to grow grey in slavish toil within\na close, hot pit, whose atmosphere choked the lungs, deprived of the\nbliss of breathing the fresh air and beholding the sunlight; loaded with\nchains, beaten and insulted, starving and thirsting, spending days and\nnights in a monotony destructive alike to soul and body,--yet not for one\nmoment did he lose the confident belief that this horrible lot might\nbefall any one rather than himself, and something must interpose to save\nhim.\n\nOn the march farther eastward, which began with the first grey dawn of\nmorning, he called this resolute confidence folly, yet strove to retain\nit and succeeded.\n\nThe road led through the desert, and at the end of a few hours' rapid\nmarch they reached the first fort, called the Fortress of Seti. Long\nbefore, they had seen it through the clear desert air, apparently within\na bowshot.\n\nUnrelieved by the green foliage of bush or palmtree, it rose from the\nbare, stony, sandy soil, with its wooden palisades, its rampart, its\nescarped walls, and its lookout, with broad, flat roof, swarming with\narmed warriors. The latter had heard from Pithom that the Hebrews were\npreparing to break through the chain of fortresses on the isthmus and had\nat first mistaken the approaching band of prisoners for the vanguard of\nthe wandering Israelites.\n\nFrom the summits of the strong projections, which jutted like galleries\nfrom every direction along the entire height of the escarped walls to\nprevent the planting of scaling-ladders, soldiers looked through the\nembrasures at the advancing convicts; yet the archers had replaced their\narrows in the quivers, for the watchmen in the towers perceived how few\nwere the numbers of the approaching troop, and a messenger had already\ndelivered to the commander of the garrison an order from his superior\nauthorizing him to permit the passage of the prisoners.\n\nThe gate of the palisade was now opened, and the captain of the guards\nallowed the prisoners to lie down on the glowing pavement within.\n\nNo one could escape hence, even if the guards withdrew; for the high\nfence was almost insurmountable, and from the battlements on the top of\nthe jutting walls darts could easily reach a fugitive.\n\nThe ex-chief did not fail to note that everything was ready, as if in the\nmidst of war, for defence against a foe. Every man was at his post, and\nbeside the huge brazen disk on the tower stood sentinels, each holding in\nhis hand a heavy club to deal a blow at the approach of the expected\nenemy; for though as far as the eye could reach, neither tree nor house\nwas visible, the sound of the metal plate would be heard at the next\nfortress in the Etham line, and warn or summon its garrison.\n\nTo be stationed in the solitude of this wilderness was not a punishment,\nbut a misfortune; and the commander of the army therefore provided that\nthe same troops should never remain long in the desert.\n\nJoshua himself, in former days, had been in command of the most southerly\nof these fortresses, called the Migdol of the South; for each one of the\nfortifications bore the name of Migdol, which in the Semitic tongue means\nthe tower of a fortress.\n\nHis people were evidently expected here; and it was not to be supposed\nthat Moses had led the tribes back to Egypt. So they must have remained\nin Succoth or have turned southward. But in that direction rolled the\nwaters of the Bitter Lakes and the Red Sea, and how could the Hebrew\nhosts pass through the deep waters?\n\nHosea's heart throbbed anxiously at this thought, and all his fears were\nto find speedy confirmation; for he heard the commander of the fortress\ntell the captain of the prisoners' guards, that the Hebrews had\napproached the line of fortifications several days before, but soon\nafter, without assaulting the garrison, had turned southward. Since then\nthey seemed to have been wandering in the desert between Pithom and the\nRed Sea.\n\nAll this had been instantly reported at Tanis, but the king was forced to\ndelay the departure of the army for several days until the week of\ngeneral mourning for the heir to the throne had expired. The fugitives\nmight have turned this to account, but news had come by a carrier dove\nthat the blinded multitude had encamped at Pihahiroth, not far from the\nRed Sea. So it would be easy for the army to drive them into the water\nlike a herd of cattle; there was no escape for them in any other\ndirection.\n\nThe captain listened to these tidings with satisfaction; then he\nwhispered a few words to the commander of the fortress and pointed with\nhis finger to Joshua, who had long recognized him as a brother-in-arms\nwho had commanded a hundred men in his own cohorts and to whom he had\ndone many a kindness. He was reluctant to reveal his identity in this\nwretched plight to his former subordinate, who was also his debtor; but\nthe commander flushed as he saw him, shrugged his shoulders as though he\ndesired to express to Joshua regret for his fate and the impossibility of\ndoing anything for him, and then exclaimed so loudly that he could not\nfail to hear:\n\n\"The regulations forbid any conversation with prisoners of state, but I\nknew this man in better days, and will send you some wine which I beg you\nto share with him.\"\n\nAs he walked with the other to the gate, and the latter remarked that\nHosea deserved such favor less than the meanest of the band, because he\nhad connived at the escape of the fugitive of whom he had just spoken,\nthe commander ran his hand through his hair, and answered:\n\n\"I would gladly have shown him some kindness, though he is much indebted\nto me; but if that is the case, we will omit the wine; you have rested\nlong enough at any rate.\"\n\nThe captain angrily gave the order for departure, and drove the hapless\nband deeper into the desert toward the mines.\n\nThis time Joshua walked with drooping head. Every fibre of his being\nrebelled against the misfortune of being dragged through the wilderness\nat this decisive hour, far from his people and the father whom he knew to\nbe in such imminent danger. Under his guidance the wanderers might\nperchance have found some means of escape. His fist clenched when he\nthought of the fettered limbs which forbade him to utilize the plans his\nbrain devised for the welfare of his people; yet he would not lose\ncourage, and whenever he said to himself that the Hebrews were lost and\nmust succumb in this struggle, he heard the new name God Himself had\nbestowed upon him ring in his ears and at the same moment the flames of\nhate and vengeance on all Egyptians, which had been fanned anew by the\nfortress commander's base conduct, blazed up still more brightly. His\nwhole nature was in the most violent tumult and as the captain noted his\nflushed cheeks and the gloomy light in his eyes he thought that this\nstrong man, too, had been seized by the fever to which so many convicts\nfell victims on the march.\n\nWhen, at the approach of darkness, the wretched band sought a night's\nrest in the midst of the wilderness, a terrible conflict of emotions was\nseething in Joshua's soul, and the scene around him fitly harmonized with\nhis mood; for black clouds had again risen in the north from the sea and,\nbefore the thunder and lightning burst forth and the rain poured in\ntorrents, howling, whistling winds swept masses of scorching sand upon\nthe recumbent prisoners.\n\nAfter these dense clouds had been their coverlet, pools and ponds were\ntheir beds. The guards had bound them together hand and foot and,\ndripping and shivering, held the ends of the ropes in their hands; for\nthe night was as black as the embers of their fire which the rain had\nextinguished, and who could have pursued a fugitive through such darkness\nand tempest.\n\nBut Joshua had no thought of secret flight. While the Egyptians were\ntrembling and moaning, when they fancied they heard the wrathful voice of\nSeth, and the blinding sheets of fire flamed from the clouds, he only\nfelt the approach of the angry God, whose fury he shared, whose hatred\nwas also his own. He felt himself a witness of His all-destroying\nomnipotence, and his breast swelled more proudly as he told himself that\nhe was summoned to wield the sword in the service of this Mightiest of\nthe Mighty.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A school where people learned modesty\n     But what do you men care for the suffering you inflict on others\n     Childhood already lies behind me, and youth will soon follow\n     Good advice is more frequently unheeded than followed\n     Precepts and lessons which only a mother can give\n     Should I be a man, if I forgot vengeance?\n     To the mines meant to be doomed to a slow, torturing death\n     What had formerly afforded me pleasure now seemed shallow\n\n\n\n\nJOSHUA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThe storm which had risen as night closed in swept over the isthmus. The\nwaves in its lakes dashed high, and the Red Sea, which thrust a bay\nshaped like the horn of a snail into it from the south, was lashed to the\nwildest fury.\n\nFarther northward, where Pharaoh's army, protected by the Migdol of the\nSouth, the strongest fort of the Etham line, had encamped a short time\nbefore, the sand lashed by the storm whirled through the air and, in the\nquarter occupied by the king and his great officials, hammers were\nconstantly busy driving the tent-pins deeper into the earth; for the\nbrocades, cloths, and linen materials which formed the portable houses of\nPharaoh and his court, struck by the gale, threatened to break from the\npoles by which they were supported.\n\nBlack clouds hung in the north, but the moon and stars were often\nvisible, and flashes of distant lightning frequently brightened the\nhorizon. Even now the moisture of heaven seemed to avoid this rainless\nregion and in all directions fires were burning, which the soldiers\nsurrounded in double rows, like a living shield, to keep the storm from\nscattering the fuel.\n\nThe sentries had a hard duty; for the atmosphere was sultry, in spite of\nthe north wind, which still blew violently, driving fresh clouds of sand\ninto their faces.\n\nOnly two sentinels were pacing watchfully to and fro at the most northern\ngate of the camp, but they were enough; for, on account of the storm, no\none had appeared for a long time to demand entrance or egress. At last,\nthree hours after sunset, a slender figure, scarcely beyond boyhood,\napproached the guards with a firm step and, showing a messenger's pass,\nasked the way to Prince Siptah's tent.\n\nHe seemed to have had a toilsome journey; for his thick black locks were\ntangled and his feet were covered with dust and dried clay. Yet he\nexcited no suspicion; for his bearing was that of a self-reliant freeman,\nhis messenger's pass was perfectly correct, and the letter he produced\nwas really directed to Prince Siptah; a scribe of the corn storehouses,\nwho was sitting at the nearest fire with other officials and subordinate\nofficers, examined it.\n\nAs the youth's appearance pleased most of those present, and he came from\nTanis and perhaps brought news, a seat at the fire and a share in the\nmeal were offered; but he was in haste.\n\nDeclining the invitation with thanks, he answered the questions curtly\nand hurriedly and begged the resting soldiers for a guide. One was placed\nat his disposal without delay. But he was soon to learn that it would not\nbe an easy matter to reach a member of the royal family; for the tents of\nPharaoh, his relatives, and dignitaries stood in a special spot in the\nheart of the camp, hedged in by the shields of the heavily-armed troops.\n\nWhen he entered he was challenged again and again, and his messenger's\npass and the prince's letter were frequently inspected. The guide, too,\nwas sent back, and his place was filled by an aristocratic lord, called I\nthe 'eye and ear of the king,' who busied himself with the seal of the\nletter. But the messenger resolutely demanded it, and as soon as it was\nagain in his hand, and two tents standing side by side rocking in the\ntempest had been pointed out to him, one as Prince Siptah's, the other as\nthe shelter of Masana, the daughter of Hornecht, for whom he asked, he\nturned to the chamberlain who came out of the former one, showed him the\nletter, and asked to be taken to the prince; but the former offered to\ndeliver the letter to his master--whose steward he was--and Ephraim--for\nhe was the messenger--agreed, if he would obtain him immediate admission\nto the young widow.\n\nThe steward seemed to lay much stress upon getting possession of the\nletter and, after scanning Ephraim from top to toe, he asked if Kasana\nknew him, and when the other assented, adding that he brought her a\nverbal message, the Egyptian said smiling:\n\n\"Well then; but we must protect our carpets from such feet, and you seem\nweary and in need of refreshment. Follow me.\"\n\nWith these words he took him to a small tent, before which an old slave\nand one scarcely beyond childhood were sitting by the fire, finishing\ntheir late meal with a bunch of garlic.\n\nThey started up as they saw their master; but he ordered the old man to\nwash the messenger's feet, and bade the younger ask the prince's cook in\nhis name for meat, bread, and wine. Then he led Ephraim to his tent,\nwhich was lighted by a lantern, and asked how he, who from his appearance\nwas neither a slave nor a person of mean degree, had come into such a\npitiable plight. The messenger replied that on his way he had bandaged\nthe wounds of a severely injured man with the upper part of his apron,\nand the chamberlain instantly went to his baggage and gave him a piece of\nfinely plaited linen.\n\nEphraim's reply, which was really very near the truth, had cost him so\nlittle thought and sounded so sincere, that it won credence, and the\nsteward's kindness seemed to him so worthy of gratitude that he made no\nobjection when the courtier, without injuring the seal, pressed the roll\nof papyrus with a skilful hand, separating the layers and peering into\nthe openings to decipher the contents. While thus engaged, the corpulent\ncourtier's round eyes sparkled brightly and it seemed to the youth as if\nthe countenance of the man, whose comfortable plumpness and smooth\nrotundity at first appeared like a mirror of the utmost kindness of\nheart, now had the semblance of a cat's.\n\nAs soon as the steward had completed his task, he begged the youth to\nrefresh himself in all comfort, and did not return until Ephraim had\nbathed, wrapped a fresh linen upper-garment around his hips, perfumed and\nanointed his hair, and, glancing into the mirror, was in the act of\nslipping a broad gold circlet upon his arm.\n\nHe had hesitated some time ere doing this; for he was aware that he would\nencounter great perils; but this circlet was his one costly possession\nand, during his captivity, it had been very difficult for him to hide it\nunder his apron. It might be of much service to him but, if he put it on,\nit would attract attention and increase the danger of being recognized.\n\nYet the reflection he beheld in the mirror, vanity, and the desire to\nappear well in Kasana's eyes, conquered caution and prudent\nconsideration, and the broad costly ornament soon glittered on his arm.\n\nThe steward stood in astonishment before the handsome, aristocratic\nyouth, so haughty in his bearing, who had taken the place of the\nunassuming messenger. The question whether he was a relative of Kasana\nsprang to his lips, and receiving an answer in the negative, he asked to\nwhat family he belonged.\n\nEphraim bent his eyes on the ground for some time in embarrassment, and\nthen requested the Egyptian to spare him an answer until he had talked\nwith Hornecht's daughter.\n\nThe other, shaking his head, looked at him again, but pressed him no\nfarther; for what he had read in the letter was a secret which might\nbring death to whoever was privy to it, and the aristocratic young\nmessenger was doubtless the son of a dignitary who belonged to the circle\nof the fellow-conspirators of Prince Siptah, his master.\n\nA chill ran through the courtier's strong, corpulent body, and he gazed\nwith mingled sympathy and dread at the blooming human flower associated\nthus early in plans fraught with danger.\n\nHis master had hitherto only hinted at the secret, and it would still be\npossible for him to keep his own fate separate from his. Should he do so,\nan old age free from care lay before him; but, if he joined the prince\nand his plan succeeded, how high he might rise! Terribly momentous was\nthe choice confronting him, the father of many children, and beads of\nperspiration stood on his brow as, incapable of any coherent thought, he\nled Ephraim to Kasana's tent, and then hastened to his master.\n\nSilence reigned within the light structure, which was composed of poles\nand gay heavy stuffs, tenanted by the beautiful widow.\n\nWith a throbbing heart Ephraim approached the entrance, and when he at\nlast summoned courage and drew aside the curtain fastened firmly to the\nearth, which the wind puffed out like a sail, he beheld a dark room, from\nwhich a similar one opened on the right and left. The one on the left was\nas dark as the central one; but a flickering light stole through numerous\nchinks of the one on the right. The tent was one of those with a flat\nroof, divided into three apartments, which he had often seen, and the\nwoman who irresistibly attracted him was doubtless in the lighted one.\n\nTo avoid exposing himself to fresh suspicion, he must conquer his timid\ndelay, and he had already stooped and loosed the loop which fastened the\ncurtain to the hook in the floor, when the door of the lighted room\nopened and a woman's figure entered the dark central chamber.\n\nWas it she?\n\nShould he venture to speak to her? Yes, it must be done.\n\nPanting for breath and clenching his hands, he summoned up his courage as\nif he were about to steal unbidden into the most sacred sanctuary of a\ntemple. Then he pushed the curtain aside, and the woman whom he had just\nnoticed greeted him with a low cry.\n\nBut he speedily regained his composure, for a ray of light had fallen on\nher face, revealing that the person who stood before him was not Kasana,\nbut her nurse, who had accompanied her to the prisoners and then to the\ncamp. She, too, recognized him and stared at him as though he had risen\nfrom the grave.\n\nThey were old acquaintances; for when he was first brought to the\narcher's house she had prepared his bath and moistened his wound with\nbalsam, and during his second stay beneath the same roof, she had joined\nher mistress in nursing him. They had chatted away many an hour together,\nand he knew that she was kindly disposed toward him; for when midway\nbetween waking and sleeping, in his burning fever, her hand had stroked\nhim with maternal tenderness, and afterwards she had never wearied of\nquestioning him about his people and at last had acknowledged that she\nwas descended from the Syrians, who were allied to the Hebrews. Nay, even\nhis language was not wholly strange to her; for she had been a woman of\ntwenty when dragged to Egypt with other prisoners of Rameses the Great.\nEphraim, she was fond of saying, reminded her of her own son when he was\nstill younger.\n\nThe youth had no ill to fear from her, so grasping her hand, he whispered\nthat he had escaped from his guards and come to ask counsel from her\nmistress and herself.\n\nThe word \"escaped\" was sufficient to satisfy the old woman; for her idea\nof ghosts was that they put others to flight, but did not fly themselves.\nRelieved, she stroked the youth's curls and, ere his whispered\nexplanation was ended, turned her back upon him and hurried into the\nlighted room to tell her mistress whom she had found outside.\n\nA few minutes after Ephraim was standing before the woman who had become\nthe guiding star of his life. With glowing cheeks he gazed into the\nbeautiful face, still flushed by weeping, and though it gave his heart a\npang when, before vouchsafing him a greeting, she enquired whether Hosea\nhad accompanied him, he forgot the foolish pain when he saw her gaze\nwarmly at him. Yet when the nurse asked whether she did not think he\nlooked well and vigorous, and withal more manly in appearance, it seemed\nas though he had really grown taller, and his heart beat faster and\nfaster.\n\nKasana desired to learn the minutest details of his uncle's experiences;\nbut after he had done her bidding and finally yielded to the wish to\nspeak of his own fate, she interrupted him to consult the nurse\nconcerning the means of saving him from unbidden looks and fresh\ndangers--and the right expedient was soon found.\n\nFirst, with Ephraim's help, the old woman closed the main entrance of the\ntent as firmly as possible, and then pointed to the dark room into which\nhe must speedily and softly retire as soon as she beckoned to him.\n\nMeanwhile Kasana had poured some wine into a goblet, and when he came\nback with the nurse she made him sit down on the giraffe skin at her feet\nand asked how he had succeeded in evading the guards, and what he\nexpected from the future. She would tell him in advance that her father\nhad remained in Tanis, so he need not fear recognition and betrayal.\n\nHer pleasure in this meeting was evident to both eyes and ears; nay, when\nEphraim commenced his story by saying that Prince Siptah's command to\nremove the prisoners' chains, for which they were indebted solely to her,\nhad rendered his escape possible, she clapped her hands like a child.\nThen her face clouded and, with a deep sigh, she added that ere his\narrival her heart had almost broken with grief and tears; but Hosea\nshould learn what a woman would sacrifice for the most ardent desire of\nher heart.\n\nShe repaid with grateful words Ephraim's assurance that, before his\nflight, he had offered to release his uncle from his bonds and, when she\nlearned that Joshua had refused to accept his nephew's aid, lest it might\nendanger the success of the plan he had cleverly devised for him, she\ncried out to her nurse, with tearful eyes, that Hosea alone would have\nbeen capable of such a deed.\n\nTo the remainder of the fugitive's tale she listened intently, often\ninterrupting him with sympathizing questions.\n\nThe torturing days and nights of the past, which had reached such a happy\ntermination, seemed now like a blissful dream, a bewildering fairy-tale,\nand the goblet she constantly replenished was not needed to lend fire to\nhis narrative.\n\nNever before had he been so eloquent as while describing how, in the\nravine, he had stepped on some loose stones and rolled head foremost down\ninto the chasm with them. On reaching the bottom he had believed that all\nwas lost; for soon after extricating himself from the rubbish that had\nburied him, in order to hurry to the pool, he had heard the whistle of\nthe guards.\n\nYet he had been a good runner from his childhood, had learned in his\nnative pastures to guide himself by the light of the stars, so without\nglancing to the right or to the left, he had hastened southward as fast\nas his feet would carry him. Often in the darkness he had fallen over\nstones or tripped in the hollows of the desert sand, but only to rise\nagain quickly and dash onward, onward toward the south, where he knew he\nshould find her, Kasana, her for whose sake he recklessly flung to the\nwinds what wiser-heads had counselled, her for whom he was ready to\nsacrifice liberty and life.\n\nWhence he derived the courage to confess this, he knew not, and neither\nthe blow from her fan, nor the warning exclamation of the nurse: \"Just\nlook at the boy!\" sobered him. Nay, his sparkling eyes sought hers still\nmote frequently as he continued his story.\n\nOne of the hounds which attacked him he had flung against a rock, and the\nother he pelted with stones till it fled howling into a thicket. He had\nseen no other pursuers, either that night, or during the whole of the\nnext day. At last he again reached a travelled road and found country\npeople who told him which way Pharaoh's army had marched. At noon,\noverwhelmed by fatigue, he had fallen asleep under the shade of a\nsycamore, and when he awoke the sun was near its setting. He was very\nhungry, so he took a few turnips from a neighboring field. But their\nowner suddenly sprang from a ditch near by, and he barely escaped his\npursuit.\n\nHe had wandered along during a part of the night, and then rested beside\na well on the roadside, for he knew that wild beasts shun such frequented\nplaces.\n\nAfter sunrise he continued his march, following the road taken by the\narmy. Everywhere he found traces of it, and when, shortly before noon,\nexhausted and faint from hunger, he reached a village in the cornlands\nwatered by the Seti-canal, he debated whether to sell his gold armlet,\nobtain more strengthening food, and receive some silver and copper in\nchange. But he was afraid of being taken for a thief and again\nimprisoned, for his apron had been tattered by the thorns, and his\nsandals had long since dropped from his feet. He had believed that even\nthe hardest hearts could not fail to pity his misery so, hard as it was\nfor him, he had knocked at a peasant's door and begged. But the man gave\nhim nothing save the jeering counsel that a strong young fellow like him\nought to use his arms and leave begging to the old and weak. A second\npeasant had even threatened to beat him; but as he walked on with\ndrooping bead, a young woman whom he had noticed in front of the\nbarbarian's house followed him, thrust some bread and dates into his\nhand, and whispered hastily that heavy taxes had been levied on the\nvillage when Pharaoh marched through, or she would have given him\nsomething better.\n\nThis unexpected donation, which he had eaten at the next well, had not\ntasted exactly like a festal banquet, but he did not tell Kasana that it\nhad been embittered by the doubt whether to fulfil Joshua's commission\nand return to his people or yield to the longing that drew him to her.\n\nHe moved forward irresolutely, but fate seemed to have undertaken to\npoint out his way; for after walking a short half hour, the latter\nportion of the time through barren land, he had found by the wayside a\nyouth of about his own age who, moaning with pain, held his foot clasped\nbetween both hands. Pity led him to go to him and, to his astonishment,\nhe recognized the runner and messenger of Kasana's father, with whom he\nhad often talked.\n\n\"Apu, our nimble Nubian runner?\" cried the young widow, and Ephraim\nassented and then added that the messenger had been despatched to convey\na letter to Prince Siptah as quickly as possible, and the swift-footed\nlad, who was wont to outstrip his master's noble steeds, had shot over\nthe road like an arrow and would have reached his destination in two\nhours more, had he not stepped on the sharp edge of a bottle that had\nbeen shattered by a wagon-wheel--and made a deep and terrible wound.\n\n\"And you helped him?\" asked Kasana.\n\n\"How could I do otherwise?\" replied Ephraim. \"He had already lost a great\ndeal of blood and was pale as death. So I carried him to the nearest\nditch, washed the gaping wound, and anointed it with his balsam.\"\n\n\"I put the little box in his pouch myself a year ago,\" said the nurse who\nwas easily moved, wiping her eyes. Ephraim confirmed the statement, for\nApu had gratefully told him of it. Then he went on.\n\n\"I tore my upper garment into strips and bandaged the wound as well as I\ncould. Meanwhile he constantly urged haste, held out the pass and letter\nhis master had given him and, knowing nothing of the misfortune which had\nbefallen me, charged me to deliver the roll to the prince in his place.\nOh, how willingly I undertook the task and, soon after the second hour\nhad passed, I reached the camp. The letter is in the prince's hands, and\nhere am I--and I can see that you are glad! But no one was ever so happy\nas I to sit here at your feet, and look up to you, so grateful as I am\nthat you have listened to me so kindly, and if they load me with chains\nagain I will bear it calmly, if you will but care for me. Ah, my\nmisfortune has been so great! I have neither father nor mother, no one\nwho loves me. You, you alone are dear, and you will not repulse me, will\nyou?\"\n\nHe had fairly shouted the last words, as if beside himself, and carried\naway by the might of passion and rendered incapable by the terrible\nexperiences of the past few hours of controlling the emotions that\nassailed him, the youth, still scarcely beyond childhood, who saw himself\ntorn away from and bereft of all that had usually sustained and supported\nhim, sobbed aloud, and like a frightened birdling seeking protection\nunder its mother's wings, hid his head, amid floods of tears, in Kasana's\nlap.\n\nWarm compassion seized upon the tender-hearted young widow, and her own\neyes grew dim. She laid her hands kindly upon his head, and feeling the\ntremor that shook the frame of the weeping lad, she raised his head with\nboth hands, kissed his brow and cheeks, looked smilingly into his eyes\nwith tears in her own, and exclaimed:\n\n\"You poor, foolish fellow! Why should I not care for you, why should I\nrepel you? Your uncle is the most beloved of men to me, and you are like\nhis son. For your sakes I have already accepted what I should otherwise\nhave thrust far, far from me! But now I must go on, and must not care\nwhat others may think or say of me, if only I can accomplish the one\nthing for which I am risking person, life, all that I once prized! Wait,\nyou poor, impulsive fellow!\"--and here she again kissed him on the\ncheeks--\"I shall succeed in smoothing the path for you also. That is\nenough now!\"\n\nThis command sounded graver, and was intended to curb the increasing\nimpetuosity of the ardent youth. But she suddenly started up, exclaiming\nwith anxious haste: \"Go, go, at once!\"\n\nThe footsteps of men approaching the tent, and a warning word from the\nnurse had brought this stern order to the young widow's lips, and\nEphraim's quick ear made him understand her anxiety and urged him to join\nthe old nurse in the dark room. There he perceived that a few moments'\ndelay would have betrayed him; for the curtain of the tent was drawn\naside and a man passed through the central space straight to the lighted\napartment, where Kasana--the youth heard it distinctly--welcomed the new\nguest only too cordially, as though his late arrival surprised her.\n\nMeanwhile the nurse had seized her own cloak, flung it over the\nfugitive's bare shoulders, and whispered:\n\n\"Be near the tent just before sunrise, but do not enter it until I call\nyou, if you value your life. You have neither mother nor father, and my\nchild Kasana ah, what a dear, loving heart she has!--she is the best of\nall good women; but whether she is fit to be the guide of an\ninexperienced young blusterer, whose heart is blazing like dry straw with\nlove for her, is another question. I considered many things, while\nlistening to your story, and on account of my liking for you I will tell\nyou this. You have an uncle who--my child is right there--is the best of\nmen, and I know mankind. Whatever he advised, do; for it will surely\nbenefit you. Obey him! If his bidding leads you far away from here and\nKasana, so much the better for you. We are walking in dangerous paths,\nand had it not been done for Hosea's sake, I would have tried to hold her\nback with all my might. But for him--I am an old woman; but I would go\nthrough fire myself for that man. I am more grieved than I can tell, both\nfor the pure, sweet child and for yourself, whom my own son was once so\nmuch like, so I repeat: Obey your uncle, boy! Do that, or you will go to\nruin, and that would be a pity!\"\n\nWith these words, without waiting for an answer, she drew the curtain of\nthe tent aside, and waited until Ephraim had slipped through. Then,\nwiping her eyes, she entered, as if by chance, the lighted chamber; but\nKasana and her late guest had matters to discuss that brooked no\nwitnesses, and her \"dear child\" only permitted her to light her little\nlamp at the three-armed candelabra, and then sent her to rest.\n\nShe promptly obeyed and, in the dark room, where her couch stood beside\nthat of her mistress, she sank down, hid her face in her hands, and wept.\n\nShe felt as though the world was upside down. She no longer understood\nher darling Kasana; for she was sacrificing purity and honor for the sake\nof a man whom--she knew it--her soul abhorred.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nEphriam cowered in the shadow of the tent, from which he had slipped, and\npressed his ear close to the wall. He had cautiously ripped a small\nopening in a seam of the cloth, so he could see and hear what was passing\nin the lighted room of the woman he loved. The storm kept every one\nwithin the tents whom duty did not summon into the open air, and Ephraim\nhad less reason to fear discovery on account of the deep shadow that\nrested on the spot where he lay. The nurse's cloak covered him and,\nthough shiver after shiver shook his young limbs, it was due to the\nbitter anguish that pierced his soul.\n\nThe man on whose breast he saw Kasana lay her head was a prince, a person\nof high rank and great power, and the capricious beauty did not always\nrepel the bold man, when his lips sought those for whose kiss Ephraim so\nardently longed.\n\nShe owed him nothing, it is true, yet her heart belonged to his uncle,\nwhom she had preferred to all others. She had declared herself ready to\nendure the most terrible things for his liberation; and now his own eyes\ntold him that she was false and faithless, that she granted to another\nwhat belonged to one alone. She had bestowed caresses on him, too, but\nthese were only the crumbs that fell from Hosea's table, a robbery--he\nconfessed it with a blush--he had perpetrated on his uncle, yet he felt\noffended, insulted, deceived, and consumed to his inmost soul with fierce\njealousy on behalf of his uncle, whom he honored, nay, loved, though he\nhad opposed his wishes.\n\nAnd Hosea? Why, he too, like himself, this princely suitor, and all other\nmen, must love her, spite of his strange conduct at the well by the\nroadside--it was impossible for him to do otherwise--and now, safe from\nthe poor prisoner's resentment, she was basely, treacherously enjoying\nanother's tender caresses.\n\nSiptah, he had heard at their last meeting, was his uncle's foe, and it\nwas to him that she betrayed the man she loved!\n\nThe chink in the tent was ready to show him everything that occurred\nwithin, but he often closed his eyes that he might not behold it. Often,\nit is true, the hateful scene held him in thrall by a mysterious spell\nand he would fain have torn the walls of the tent asunder, struck the\ndetested Egyptian to the ground, and shouted into the faithless woman's\nface the name of Hosea, coupled with the harshest reproaches.\n\nThe fervent passion which had taken possession of him was suddenly\ntransformed to hate and scorn. He had believed himself to be the happiest\nof mortals, and he had suddenly become the most miserable; no one, he\nbelieved, had ever experienced such a fall from the loftiest heights to\nthe lowest depths.\n\nThe nurse had been right. Naught save misery and despair could come to\nhim from so faithless a woman.\n\nOnce he started up to fly, but he again heard the bewitching tones of her\nmusical laugh, and mysterious powers detained him, forcing him to listen.\n\nAt first the seething blood had throbbed so violently in his ears that he\nfelt unable to follow the dialogue in the lighted tent. But, by degrees,\nhe grasped the purport of whole sentences, and now he understood all that\nthey said, not a word of their further conversation escaped him, and it\nwas absorbing enough, though it revealed a gulf from which he shrank\nshuddering.\n\nKasana refused the bold suitor many favors for which he pleaded, but this\nonly impelled him to beseech her more fervently to give herself to him,\nand the prize he offered in return was the highest gift of earth, the\nplace by his side as queen on the throne of Egypt, to which he aspired.\nHe said this distinctly, but what followed was harder to understand; for\nthe passionate suitor was in great haste and often interrupted his hasty\nsentences to assure Kasana, to whose hands in this hour he was committing\nhis life and liberty, of his changeless love, or to soothe her when the\nboldness of his advances awakened fear and aversion. But he soon began to\nspeak of the letter whose bearer Ephraim had been and, after reading it\naloud and explaining it, the youth realized with a slight shudder that he\nhad become an accomplice in the most criminal of all plots, and for a\nmoment the longing stole over him to betray the traitors and deliver them\ninto the hand of the mighty sovereign whose destruction they were\nplotting. But he repelled the thought and merely sunned himself in the\npleasurable consciousness--the first during this cruel hour-of holding\nKasana and her royal lover in his hand as one holds a beetle by a string.\nThis had a favorable effect on him and restored the confidence and\ncourage he had lost. The baser the things he continued to hear, the more\nclearly he learned to appreciate the value of the goodness and truth\nwhich he had lost. His uncle's words, too, came back to his memory.\n\n\"Give no man, from the loftiest to the lowliest, a right to regard you\nsave with respect, and you can hold your head as high as the proudest\nwarrior who ever wore purple robe and golden armor.\"\n\nOn the couch in Kasana's house, while shaking with fever, he had\nconstantly repeated this sentence; but in the misery of captivity, and on\nhis flight it had again vanished from his memory. In the courtier's tent\nwhen, after he had bathed and perfumed himself, the old slave held a\nmirror before him, he had given it a passing thought; but now it mastered\nhis whole soul. And strange to say, the worthless traitor within wore a\npurple coat and golden mail, and looked like a military hero, but he\ncould not hold his head erect, for the work he sought to accomplish could\nonly succeed in the secrecy that shuns the light, and was like the labor\nof the hideous mole which undermines the ground in the darkness.\n\nHis tool was the repulsive cloven-footed trio, falsehood, fraud, and\nfaithlessness, and she whom he had chosen for his help-mate was the\nwoman--it shamed him to his inmost soul-for whom he had been in the act\nof sacrificing all that was honorable, precious, and dear to him.\n\nThe worst infamies which he had been taught to shun were the rounds of\nthe ladder on which this evil man intended to mount.\n\nThe roll the youth had brought to the camp contained two letters. The\nfirst was from the conspirators in Tanis, the second from Siptah's\nmother.\n\nThe former desired his speedy return and told him that the Syrian Aarsu,\nthe commander of the foreign mercenaries, who guarded the palace, as well\nas the women's house, was ready to do him homage. If the high-priest of\nAmon, who was at once chief-judge, viceroy and keeper of the seal,\nproclaimed him king, he was sovereign and could enter the palace which\nstood open to him and ascend the throne without resistance. If Pharaoh\nreturned, the body-guards would take him prisoner and remove him as\nSiptah, who liked no halfway measures, had secretly directed, while the\nchief-priest insisted upon keeping him in mild imprisonment.\n\nNothing was to be feared save the premature return from Thebes of Seti,\nthe second son of Menephtah; for the former, after his older brother's\ndeath, had become heir to the throne, and carrier doves had brought news\nyesterday that he was now on his way. Therefore Siptah and the powerful\npriest who was to proclaim him king were urged to the utmost haste.\n\nThe necessary measures had been adopted in case of possible resistance\nfrom the army; for as soon as the Hebrews had been destroyed, the larger\nportion of the troops, without any suspicion of the impending\ndethronement of their commander-in-chief, would be sent to their former\nstations. The body-guards were devoted to Siptah, and the others who\nentered the capital, should worst come to worst, could be easily\noverpowered by Aarsu and his mercenaries.\n\n\"There is nothing farther for me to do,\" said the prince, \"stretching\nhimself comfortably, like a man who has successfully accomplished a\ntoilsome task,\" except to rush back to Tanis in a few hours with Bai,\nhave myself crowned and proclaimed king in the temple of Amon, and\nfinally received in the palace as Pharaoh. The rest will take care of\nitself. Seti, whom they call the heir to the throne, is just such another\nweakling as his father, and must submit to a fixed fact, or if necessary,\nbe forced to do so. The captain of the body-guards will see that\nMenephtah does not again enter the palace in the city of Rameses.\n\nThe second letter which was addressed to the Pharaoh, had been written by\nthe mother of the prince in order to recall her son and the chief-priest\nBai to the capital as quickly as possible, without exposing the former to\nthe reproach of cowardice for having quitted the army so shortly before\nthe battle. Though she had never been better, she protested with\nhypocritical complaints and entreaties, that the hours of her life were\nnumbered, and besought the king to send her son and the chief-priest Bai\nto her without delay, that she might be permitted to bless her only child\nbefore her death.\n\nShe was conscious of many a sin, and no one, save the high-priest,\npossessed the power of winning the favor of the gods for her, a dying\nwoman. Without his intercession she would perish in despair.\n\nThis letter, too, the base robber of a crown read aloud, called it a\nclever bit of feminine strategy, and rubbed his hands gleefully.\n\nTreason, murder, hypocrisy, fraud, shameful abuse of the most sacred\nfeelings, nay all that was evil must serve Siptah to steal the throne,\nand though Kasana had wrung her hands and shed tears when she heard that\nhe meant to remove Pharaoh from his path, she grew calmer after the\nprince had represented that her own father had approved of his\narrangements for the deliverance of Egypt from the hand of the king, her\ndestroyer.\n\nThe letter from the prince's mother to Pharaoh, the mother who urged her\nown son to the most atrocious crimes, was the last thing Ephraim heard;\nfor it roused in the young Hebrew, who was wont to consider nothing purer\nand more sacred than the bonds which united parents and children, such\nfierce indignation, that he raised his fist threateningly and, springing\nup, opened his lips in muttered invective.\n\nHe did not hear that Kasana made the prince swear that, if he attained\nthe sovereign power, he would grant her first request. It should cost him\nneither money nor lands, and only give her the right to exercise mercy\nwhere her heart demanded it; for things were in store which must\nchallenge the wrath of the gods and he must leave her to soothe it.\n\nEphraim could not endure to see or hear more of these abominable things.\n\nFor the first time he felt how great a danger he ran of being dragged\ninto this marsh and becoming a lost, evil man; but never, he thought,\nwould he have been so corrupt, so worthless, as this prince. His uncle's\nwords again returned to his mind, and he now raised his head proudly and\narched his chest as if to assure himself of his own unbroken vigor,\nsaying meanwhile, with a long breath, that he was of too much worth to\nruin himself for the sake of a wicked woman, even though, like Kasana,\nshe was the fairest and most bewitching under the sun.\n\nAway, away from the neighborhood of this net, which threatened to\nentangle him in murder and every deed of infamy.\n\nResolved to seek his people, he turned toward the gate of the camp, but\nafter a few hasty steps paused, and a glance at the sky showed him that\nit was the second hour past midnight. Every surrounding object was buried\nin silence save that from the neighboring Dens of the royal steeds, came\nthe sound of the rattle of a chain, or of the stamp of a stallion's hoof.\n\nIf he risked escaping from the camp now, he could not fail to be seen and\nstopped. Prudence commanded him to curb his impatience and, as he glanced\naround, his eyes rested on the chamberlain's tent from which the old\nslave had just emerged to look for his master, who was still waiting in\nthe prince's tent for his lord's return.\n\nThe old man had treated Ephraim kindly, and now asked him with\ngood-natured urgency to come in and rest; for the youth needed sleep.\n\nAnd Ephraim accepted the well-meant invitation. He felt for the first\ntime how weary his feet were, and he had scarcely stretched himself upon\nthe mat which the old slave--it was his own--spread on the floor of the\ntent for him, ere the feeling came over him that his limbs were relaxing;\nand yet he had expected to find here time and rest for calm deliberation.\n\nHe began, too, to think of the future and his uncle's commission.\n\nThat he must join his people without delay was decided. If they escaped\nPharaoh's army, the others could do what they pleased, his duty was to\nsummon his shepherds, servants, and the youths of his own age, and with\nthem hurry to the mines to break Joshua's chains and bring him back to\nhis old father and the people who needed him. He already saw himself with\na sling in his girdle and a battle-axe in his hand, rushing on in advance\nof the others, when sleep overpowered him and bound the sorely wearied\nyouth so firmly and sweetly that even dreams remained aloof from his\ncouch and when morning came the old slave was obliged to shake him to\nrouse him.\n\nThe camp was already pervaded with bustling life. Tents were struck,\nasses and ox-carts laden, steeds curried and newly-shod, chariots washed,\nweapons and harnesses cleaned, breakfast was distributed and eaten.\n\nAt intervals the blare of trumpets was heard in one direction, loudly\nshouted commands in another, and from the eastern portion of the camp\nechoed the chanting of the priests, who devoutly greeted the new-born\nsun-god.\n\nA gilded chariot, followed by a similar one, drove up to the costly\npurple tent beside Kasana's, which active servants were beginning to take\ndown.\n\nPrince Siptah and the chief-priest Bai had received Pharaoh's permission\nto set off for Tanis, to fulfil the wish of a \"dying woman.\"\n\nSoon after Ephraim took leave of the old slave and bade him give Kasana's\nnurse the cloak and tell her that the messenger had followed her advice\nand his uncle's.\n\nThen he set off on his walk.\n\nHe escaped unchallenged from the Egyptian camp and, as he entered the\nwilderness, he heard the shout with which he called his shepherds in the\npastures. The cry, resounding far over the plain, startled a sparrow-hawk\nwhich was gazing into the distance from a rock and, as the bird soared\nupward, the youth fancied that if he stretched out his arms, wings must\nunfold strong enough to bear him also through the air. Never had he felt\nso light and active, so strong and free, nay had the priest at this hour\nasked him the question whether he would accept the office of a captain of\nthousands in the Egyptian army, he would undoubtedly have answered, as he\ndid before the ruined house of Nun, that his sole desire was to remain a\nshepherd and rule his flocks and servants.\n\nHe was an orphan, but he had a nation, and where his people were was his\nhome.\n\nLike a wanderer, who, after a long journey, sees his home in the\ndistance, he quickened his pace.\n\nHe had reached Tanis on the night of the new moon and the round silver\nshield which was paling in the morning light was the same which had then\nrisen before his eyes. Yet it seemed as though years lay between his\nfarewell of Miriam and the present hour, and the experiences of a life\nhad been compressed into these few days.\n\nHe had left his tribe a boy; he returned a man; yet, thanks to this one\nterrible night, he had remained unchanged, he could look those whom he\nloved and reverenced fearlessly in the face.\n\nNay, more!\n\nHe would show the man whom he most esteemed that he, too, Ephraim, could\nhold his head high. He would repay Joshua for what he had done, when he\nremained in chains and captivity that he, his nephew, might go forth as\nfree as a bird.\n\nAfter hurrying onward an hour, he reached a ruined watch-tower, climbed\nto its summit, and saw, at a short distance beyond the mount of\nBaal-zephon, which had long towered majestically on the horizon, the\nglittering northern point of the Red Sea.\n\nThe storm, it is true, had subsided, but he perceived by the surging of\nits emerald surface that the sea was by no means calm, and single black\nclouds in the sky, elsewhere perfectly clear, seemed to indicate an\napproaching tempest.\n\nHe gazed around him asking himself what the leader of the people probably\nintended, if--as the prince had told Kasana--they had encamped between\nPihahiroth--whose huts and tents rose before him on the narrow gulf the\nnorthwestern arm of the Red Sea thrust into the land--and the mount of\nBaal-zephon.\n\nHad Siptah lied in this too?\n\nNo. This time the malicious traitor had departed from his usual custom;\nfor between the sea and the village, where the wind was blowing slender\ncolumns of smoke asunder, his falcon-eye discovered many light spots\nresembling a distant flock of sheep, and among and beside them a singular\nmovement to and fro upon the sands.\n\nIt was the camp of his people.\n\nHow short seemed the distance that separated him from them!\n\nYet the nearer it was, the greater became his anxiety lest the great\nmultitude, with the women and children, herds and tents, could not escape\nthe vast army which must overtake them in a few hours.\n\nHis heart shrank as he gazed around him; for neither to the east, where a\ndeeper estuary was surging, nor southward, where the Red Sea tossed its\nangry waves, nor even toward the north, whence Pharaoh's army was\nmarching, was escape possible. To the west lay the wilderness of Aean,\nand if the wanderers escaped in that direction, and were pressed farther,\nthey would again enter Egyptian soil and the exodus would be utterly\ndefeated.\n\nSo there was nothing left save to risk a battle, and at the thought a\nchill ran through the youth's veins; for he knew how badly armed,\nuntrained, savage, unmanageable, and cowardly were the men of his race,\nand had witnessed the march of the powerful, well-equipped Egyptian army,\nwith its numerous foot-soldiers and superb war-chariots.\n\nTo him now, as to his uncle a short time before, his people seemed doomed\nto certain destruction, unless succored by the God of his fathers. In\nformer years, and just before his departure, Miriam, with sparkling eyes\nand enthusiastic words, had praised the power and majesty of this\nomnipotent Lord, who preferred his people above all other nations; but\nthe lofty words of the prophetess had filled his childish heart with a\nslight fear of the unapproachable greatness and terrible wrath of this\nGod.\n\nIt had been easier for him to uplift his soul to the sun-god, when his\nteacher, a kind and merry-hearted Egyptian priest, led him to the temple\nof Pithom. In later years he had felt no necessity of appealing to any\ngod; for he lacked nothing, and while other boys obeyed their parents'\ncommands, the shepherds, who well knew that the flocks they tended\nbelonged to him, called him their young master, and first in jest, then\nin earnest, paid him all the honor due a ruler, which prematurely\nincreased his self-importance and made him an obstinate fellow.\n\nHe whom stalwart, strong men obeyed, was sufficient unto himself, and\nfelt that others needed him and, as nothing was more difficult for him\nthan to ask a favor, great or small, from any one, he rebelled against\npraying to a God so far off and high above him.\n\nBut now, when his heart was oppressed by the terrible destiny that\nthreatened his people, he was overwhelmed by the feeling that only the\nGreatest and Mightiest could deliver them from this terrible, unspeakable\nperil, as if no one could withstand this powerful army, save He whose\nmight could destroy heaven and earth.\n\nWhat were they that the Most High, whom Miriam and Hosea described as so\npre-eminently great, should care for them? Yet his people numbered many\nthousands, and God had not disdained to make them His, and promise great\nthings for them in the future. Now they were on the verge of destruction,\nand he, Ephraim, who came from the camp of the enemy, was perhaps the\nsole person who saw the full extent of the danger.\n\nSuddenly he was filled with the conviction that it was incumbent upon\nhim, above all others, to tell the God of his fathers,--who perhaps in\ncaring for earth and heaven, sun and stars, had forgotten the fate of His\npeople--of the terrible danger impending, and beseech Him to save them.\nHe was still standing on the top of the ruined tower, and raised his arms\nand face toward heaven.\n\nIn the north he saw the black clouds which he had noticed in the blue sky\nswiftly massing and rolling hither and thither. The wind, which had\nsubsided after sunrise, was increasing in strength and power, and rapidly\nbecoming a storm. It swept across the isthmus in gusts, which followed\none another more and more swiftly, driving before them dense clouds of\nyellow sand.\n\nHe must lift up his voice loudly, that the God to whom he prayed might\nhear him in His lofty heaven, so, with all the strength of his young\nlungs, he shouted into the storm:\n\n\"Adonai, Adonai! Thou, whom they call Jehovah, mighty God of my fathers,\nhear me, Ephraim, a young inexperienced lad, of whom, in his\ninsignificance, Thou hast probably never thought. I ask nothing for\nmyself. But the people, whom Thou dost call Thine, are in sore peril.\nThey have left durable houses and good pastures because Thou didst\npromise them a better and more beautiful land, and they trusted in Thee\nand Thy promises. But now the army of Pharaoh is approaching, so great a\nhost that our people will never be able to resist it. Thou must believe\nthis, Eli, my Lord. I have seen it and been in its midst. So surely as I\nstand here, I know that it is too mighty for Thy people. Pharaoh's power\nwill crush them as the hoofs of the cattle trample the grain on the\nthreshing-floor. And my people, who are also Thine, are encamped in a\nspot where Pharaoh's warriors can cut them down from all directions, so\nthat there is no way for them to fly, not one. I saw it distinctly from\nthis very spot. Hear me now, Adonai. But canst Thou hear my words, oh\nLord, in such a tempest? Surely Thou canst; for they call Thee omnipotent\nand, if Thou dost hear me and dost understand the meaning of my words,\nThou wilt see with Thy mighty eyes, if such is Thy will, that I speak the\ntruth. Then Thou wilt surely remember the vow Thou didst make to the\npeople through Thy servant Moses.\n\n\"Among the Egyptians, I have witnessed treachery and murder and shameful\nwiles; their deeds have filled me, who am myself but a sinful,\ninexperienced youth, with horror and indignation. How couldst Thou, from\nwhom all good is said to proceed, and whom Miriam calls truth itself, act\nlike those abominable men and break faith with those who trusted in Thee?\nI know, Thou great and mighty One, that this is far from Thee, nay,\nperhaps it is a sin even to cherish such a thought. Hear me, Adonai! Look\nnorthward at the troops of the Egyptians, who will surely soon leave\ntheir camp and march forward, and southward to the peril of Thy people,\nfor whom escape is no longer possible, and Thou wilt rescue them by Thy\nomnipotence and great wisdom; for Thou hast promised them a new country,\nand if they are destroyed, how can they reach it?\"\n\nWith these words he finished his prayer, which, though boyish and\nincoherent, gushed from the inmost depths of his heart. Then he sprang\nwith long leaps from the ruined tower to the barren plain at his feet,\nand ran southward as fleetly as if he were escaping from captivity a\nsecond time. He felt how the wind rushing from the north-east urged him\nforward, and told himself that it would also hasten the march of\nPharaoh's soldiers. Perhaps the leaders of his people did not yet know\nhow vast was the military power that threatened them, and undervalued the\ndanger in which their position placed them. But he saw it, and could give\nthem every information. Haste was necessary, and he felt as though he had\ngained wings in this race with the storm.\n\nThe village of Pihahiroth was soon gained, and while dashing by it\nwithout pausing, he noticed that its huts and tents were deserted by men\nand cattle. Perhaps its inhabitants had fled with their property to a\nplace of safety before the advancing Egyptian troops or the hosts of his\nown people.\n\nThe farther he went, the more cloudy became the sky,--which here so\nrarely failed to show a sunny vault of blue at noonday,--the more\nfiercely howled the tempest. His thick locks fluttered wildly around his\nburning head, he panted for breath, yet flew on, on, while his sandals\nseemed to him to scarcely touch the ground.\n\nThe nearer he came to the sea, the louder grew the howling and whistling\nof the storm, the more furious the roar of the waves dashing against the\nrocks of Baal-zephon. Now--a short hour after he had left the tower--he\nreached the first tents of the camp, and the familiar cry: \"Unclean!\" as\nwell as the mourning-robes of those whose scaly, disfigured faces looked\nforth from the ruins of the tents which the storm had overthrown,\ninformed him that he had reached the lepers, whom Moses had commanded to\nremain outside the camp.\n\nYet so great was his haste that, instead of making a circuit around their\nquarter, he dashed straight through it at his utmost speed. Nor did he\npause even when a lofty palm, uprooted by the tempest, fell to the ground\nso close beside him that the fan-shaped leaves in its crown brushed his\nface.\n\nAt last he gained the tents and pinfolds of his people, not a few of\nwhich had also been overthrown, and asked the first acquaintances he met\nfor Nun, the father of his dead mother and of Joshua.\n\nHe had gone down to the shore with Moses and other elders of the people.\nEphraim followed him there, and the damp, salt sea-air refreshed him and\ncooled his brow.\n\nYet he could not instantly get speech with him, so he collected his\nthoughts, and recovered his breath, while watching the men whom he sought\ntalking eagerly with some gaily-clad Phoenician sailors. A youth like\nEphraim might not venture to interrupt the grey-haired heads of the\npeople in the discussion, which evidently referred to the sea; for the\nHebrews constantly pointed to the end of the bay, and the Phoenicians\nsometimes thither, sometimes to the mountain and the sky, sometimes to\nthe north, the center of the still increasing tempest.\n\nA projecting wall sheltered the old men from the hurricane, yet they\nfound it difficult to stand erect, even while supported by their staves\nand clinging to the stones of the masonry.\n\nAt last the conversation ended and while the youth saw the gigantic\nfigure of Moses go with slow, yet firm steps among the leaders of the\nHebrews down to the shore of the sea, Nun, supported by one of his\nshepherds, was working his way with difficulty, but as rapidly as\npossible toward the camp. He wore a mourning-robe, and while the others\nlooked joyous and hopeful when they parted, his handsome face, framed by\nits snow-white beard and hair, had the expression of one whose mind and\nbody were burdened by grief.\n\nNot until Ephraim called him did he raise his drooping leonine head, and\nwhen he saw him he started back in surprise and terror, and clung more\nfirmly to the strong arm of the shepherd who supported him.\n\nTidings of the cruel fate of his son and grandson had reached him through\nthe freed slaves he had left in Tanis; and the old man had torn his\ngarments, strewed ashes on his head, donned mourning robes, and grieved\nbitterly for his beloved, noble, only son and promising grandson.\n\nNow Ephraim was standing before him; and after Nun had laid his hand on\nhis shoulders, and kissed him again and again, he asked if his son was\nstill alive and remembered him and his people.\n\nAs soon as the youth had joyfully assured him that such was the case, Nun\nthrew his arms around the boy's shoulders, that henceforth his own blood,\ninstead of a stranger, should protect him from the violence of the storm.\n\nHe had grave and urgent duties to fulfil, from which nothing might\nwithhold him. Yet as the fiery youth shouted into his ear, through the\nroar of the hurricane, on their way through the camp, that he would\nsummon his shepherds and the companions of his own age to release Hosea,\nwho now called himself Joshua, old Nun's impetuous spirit awoke and,\nclasping Ephraim closer to his heart, he cried out that though an old man\nhe was not yet too aged to swing an axe and go with Ephraim's youthful\nband to liberate his son. His eyes sparkled through his tears, and waving\nhis free arm aloft, he cried:\n\n\"The God of my fathers, on whom I learned to rely, watches over His\nfaithful people. Do you see the sand, sea-weed, and shells yonder at the\nend of the estuary? An hour ago the place was covered with water, and\nroaring waves were dashing their white spray upward. That is the way,\nboy, which promises escape; if the wind holds, the water--so the\nexperienced Phoenicians assure us--will recede still farther toward the\nsea. Their god of the north wind, they say, is favorable to us, and their\nboys are already lighting a fire to him on the summit of Baal-zephon\nyonder, but we know that it is Another, Who is opening to us a path to\nthe desert. We were in evil case, my boy!\"\n\n\"Yes, grandfather!\" cried the youth. \"You were trapped like lions in the\nsnare, and the Egyptian host--it passed me from the first man to the\nlast--is mighty and unconquerable. I hurried as fast as my feet could\ncarry me to tell you how many heavily-armed troops, bowmen, steeds, and\nchariots. . . . \"\n\n\"We know, we know,\" the old man interrupted, \"but here we are.\"\n\nHe pointed to an overturned tent which his servants were trying to prop,\nand beside which an aged Hebrew, his father Elishama, wrapped in cloth,\nsat in the chair in which he was carried by bearers.\n\nNun hastily shouted a few words and led Ephraim toward him. But while the\nyouth was embracing his great-grandfather, who hugged and caressed him,\nNun, with youthful vivacity, was issuing orders to the shepherds and\nservants:\n\n\"Let the tent fall, men! The storm has begun the work for you! Wrap the\ncovering round the poles, load the carts and beasts of burden. Move\nbriskly, You, Gaddi, Shamma, and Jacob, join the others! The hour for\ndeparture has come! Everybody must hasten to harness the animals, put\nthem in the wagons, and prepare all things as fast as possible. The\nAlmighty shows us the way, and every one must hasten, in His name and by\nthe command of Moses. Keep strictly to the old order. We head the\nprocession, then come the other tribes, lastly the strangers and leprous\nmen and women. Rejoice, oh, ye people; for our God is working a great\nmiracle and making the sea dry land for us, His chosen people. Let\neveryone thank Him while working, and pray from the depths of the heart\nthat He will continue to protect us. Let all who do not desire to be\nslain by the sword and crushed by the weight of Pharaoh's chariots put\nforth their best strength and forget rest! That will await us as soon as\nwe have escaped the present peril. Down with the tent-cover yonder; I'll\nroll it up myself. Lay hold, boy! Look across at the children of\nManasseh, they are already packing and loading. That's right, Ephraim,\nyou know how to use your hands!\n\n\"What more have we to do! My head, my forgetful old head! So much has\ncome upon me at once! You have nimble feet, Raphu;--I undertook to warn\nthe strangers to prepare for a speedy departure. Run quickly and hurry\nthem, that they may not linger too far behind the people. Time is\nprecious! Lord, Lord, my God, extend Thy protecting hand over Thy people,\nand roll the waves still farther back with the tempest, Thy mighty\nbreath! Let every one pray silently while working, the Omnipresent One,\nWho sees the heart, will hear it. That load is too heavy for you,\nEphraim, you are lifting beyond your strength. No. The youth has mastered\nit. Follow his example, men, and ye of Succoth, rejoice in your master's\nstrength.\"\n\nThe last words were addressed to Ephraim's shepherds, men and maid\nservants, most of whom shouted a greeting to him in the midst of their\nwork, kissed his arm or hand, and rejoiced at his return. They were\nengaged in packing and wrapping their goods, and in gathering,\nharnessing, and loading the animals, which could only be kept together by\nblows and shouts.\n\nThe people from Succoth wished to vie with their young master, those from\nTanis with their lord's grandson, and the other owners of flocks and\nlesser men of the tribe of Ephraim, whose tents surrounded that of their\nchief Nun, did the same, in order not to be surpassed by others; yet\nseveral hours elapsed ere all the tents, household utensils, and\nprovisions for man and beast were again in their places on the animals\nand in the carts, and the aged, feeble and sick had been laid on litters\nor in wagons.\n\nSometimes the gale bore from the distance to the spot where the\nEphraimites were busily working the sound of Moses' deep voice or the\nhigher tones of Aaron. But neither they nor the men of the tribe of Judah\nheeded the monition; for the latter were ruled by Hur and Naashon, and\nbeside the former stood his newly-wedded wife Miriam. It was different\nwith the other tribes and the strangers, to the obstinacy and cowardice\nof whose chiefs was due the present critical position of the people.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nTo break through the center of the Etham line of fortifications and march\ntoward the north-east along the nearest road leading to Palestine had\nproved impossible; but Moses' second plan of leading the people around\nthe Migdol of the South had also been baffled; for spies had reported\nthat the garrison of the latter had been greatly strengthened. Then the\nmultitude had pressed around the man of God, declaring that they would\nrather return home with their families and appeal to Pharaoh's mercy than\nto let themselves, their wives, and their families be slaughtered.\n\nSeveral days had been spent in detaining them; but when other messengers\nbrought tidings that Pharaoh was approaching with a powerful army the\ntime seemed to have come when the wanderers, in the utmost peril, might\nbe forced to break through the forts, and Moses exerted the full might of\nhis commanding personality, Aaron the whole power of his seductive\neloquence, while old Nun and Hur essayed to kindle the others with their\nown bold spirit.\n\nBut the terrible news had robbed the majority of the last vestige of self\nreliance and trust in God, and they had already resolved to assure\nPharaoh of their repentance when the messengers whom, without their\nleader's knowledge, they had sent forth, returned, announcing that the\napproaching army had been commanded to spare no Hebrew, and to show by\nthe sharp edge of the sword, even to those who sued for mercy, how\nPharaoh punished the men by whose shameful sorcery misery and woe had\ncome upon so many Egyptians.\n\nThen, too late, they became aware that to return would ensure more speedy\ndestruction than to boldly press forward. But when the men capable of\nbearing arms followed Hur and Nun to the Migdol of the South, they turned\nto fly at the defiant blare of the Egyptian war trumpets. When they came\nback to the camp with weary limbs, depressed and disheartened, new and\nexaggerated reports of Pharaoh's military force had reached the people,\nand now terror and despair had taken possession of the bolder men. Every\nadmonition was vain, every threat derided, and the rebellious people had\nforced their leaders to go with them till, after a short march, they\nreached the Red Sea, whose deep green waves had forced them to pause in\ntheir southward flight.\n\nSo they had encamped between Pihahiroth and Baal-zephon, and here the\nleaders again succeeded in turning the attention of the despairing people\nto the God of their fathers.\n\nIn the presence of sure destruction, from which no human power could save\nthem, they had again learned to raise their eyes to Heaven; but Moses'\nsoul had once more been thrilled with anxiety and compassion for the\npoor, sorely afflicted bands who had followed his summons. During the\nnight preceding, he had climbed one of the lower peaks of Baal-zephon\nand, amid the raging of the tempest and the roar of the hissing surges,\nsought the Lord his God, and felt his presence near him. He, too, had not\nwearied of pleading the need of his people and adjuring him to save them.\n\nAt the same hour Miriam, the wife of Hur, had gone to the sea-shore\nwhere, under a solitary palmtree, she addressed the same petition to her\nGod, whose trusted servant she still felt herself. Here she besought Him\nto remember the women and children who, trusting in Him, had wandered\nforth into distant lands. She had also knelt to pray for the friend of\nher youth, languishing in terrible captivity; but had only cried in low,\ntimid accents: \"Oh, Lord, do not forget the hapless Hosea, whom at Thy\nbidding I called Joshua, though he showed himself less obedient to Thy\nwill than Moses, my brother, and Hur, my husband. Remember also the\nyouthful Ephraim, the grandson of Nun, Thy faithful servant.\"\n\nThen she returned to the tent of the chief, her husband, while many a\nlowly man and poor anxious woman, before their rude tents or on their\nthin, tear-drenched mats, uplifted their terrified souls to the God of\ntheir fathers and besought His care for those who were dearest to their\nhearts.\n\nSo, in this night of utmost need, the camp had become a temple in which\nhigh and low, the heads of families and the housewives, masters and\nslaves, nay, even the afflicted lepers sought and found their God.\n\nAt last the morning came on which Ephraim had shouted his childish prayer\namid the roaring of the storm, and the waters of the sea had begun to\nrecede.\n\nWhen the Hebrews beheld with their own eyes the miracle that the Most\nHigh was working for His chosen people, even the discouraged and\ndespairing became believing and hopeful.\n\nNot only the Ephraimites, but the other tribes, the foreigners, and\nlepers felt the influence of the newly-awakened joyous confidence, which\nurged each individual to put forth all his powers to prepare for the\njourney and, for the first time, the multitude gathered and formed into\nranks without strife, bickering, deeds of violence, curses, and tears.\n\nAfter sunset Moses, holding his staff uplifted, and Aaron, singing and\npraying, entered at the head of the procession the end of the bay.\n\nThe storm, which continued to rage with the same violence, had swept the\nwater out of it and blew the flame and smoke of the torches carried by\nthe tribes toward the south-west.\n\nThe chief leaders, on whom all eyes rested with trusting eagerness, were\nfollowed by old Nun and the Ephraimites. The bottom of the sea on which\nthey trod was firm, moist sand, on which even the herds could walk as if\nit were a smooth road, sloping gently toward the sea.\n\nEphraim, in whom the elders now saw the future chief, had been entrusted,\nat his grandfather's suggestion, with the duty of seeing that the\nprocession did not stop and, for this purpose, had been given a leader's\nstaff; for the fishermen whose huts stood at the foot of Baal-zephon,\nlike the Phoenicians, believed that when the moon reached her zenith the\nsea would return to its old bed, and therefore all delay was to be\navoided.\n\nThe youth enjoyed the storm, and when his locks fluttered and he battled\nvictoriously against the gale in rushing hither and thither, as his\noffice required, it seemed to him a foretaste of the venture he had in\nview.\n\nSo the procession moved on through the darkness which had speedily\nfollowed the dusk of evening. The acrid odor of the sea-weed and fishes\nwhich had been left stranded pleased the boy,--who felt that he had\nmatured into manhood,--better than the sweet fragrance of spikenard in\nKasana's tent. Once the memory of it flashed through his brain, but with\nthat exception there was not a moment during these hours which gave him\ntime to think of her.\n\nHe had his hands full of work; sometimes a heap of sea-weed flung on the\npath by a wave must be removed; sometimes a ram, the leader of a flock,\nrefused to step on the wet sand and must be dragged forward by the horns,\nor cattle and beasts of burden must be driven through a pool of water\nfrom which they shrank.\n\nOften, too, he was obliged to brace his shoulder against a heavily-laden\ncart, whose wheels had sunk too deeply into the soft sand; and when, even\nduring this strange, momentous march, two bands of shepherds began to\ndispute about precedence close to the Egyptian shore, he quickly settled\nthe dispute by making them draw lots to decide which party should go\nfirst.\n\nTwo little girls who, crying bitterly, refused to wade through a pool of\nwater, while their mother was busy with the infant in her arms, he\ncarried with prompt decision through the shallow puddle, and the cart\nwith a broken wheel he had moved aside by the light of the torches and\ncommanded some stalwart bondmen, who were carrying only small bundles, to\nload themselves with the sacks and bales, nay, even the fragments of the\nvehicle. He uttered a word of cheer to weeping women and children and,\nwhen the light of a torch fell upon the face of a companion of his own\nage, whose aid he hoped to obtain for the release of Joshua, he briefly\ntold him that there was a bold adventure in prospect which he meant to\ndare in concert with him.\n\nThe torch-bearers who usually headed the procession this time were\nobliged to close its ranks, for the storm raging from the northeast would\nhave blown the smoke into the people's faces. They stood on the Egyptian\nshore, and already the whole train had passed them except the lepers who,\nfollowing the strangers, were the last of the whole multitude.\n\nThese \"strangers\" were a motley crew, comprising Asiatics of Semitic\nblood, who had escaped from the bondage or severe punishments which the\nEgyptian law imposed, traders who expected to find among the wanderers\npurchasers of their wares, or Shasu shepherds, whose return was\nprohibited by the officials on the frontier. Ephraim had much trouble\nwith them, for they refused to leave the firm land until the lepers had\nbeen forced to keep farther away from them; yet the youth, with the aid\nof the elders of the tribe of Benjamin, who preceded them, brought them\nalso to obedience by threatening them with the prediction of the\nPhoenicians and the fishermen that the moon, when it had passed its\nzenith, would draw the sea back to its old bed.\n\nFinally he persuaded the leader of the lepers, who had once been an\nEgyptian priest, to keep at least half the distance demanded.\n\nMeanwhile the tempest had continued to blow with increased violence, and\nits howling and whistling, blended with the roar of the dashing waves and\nthe menacing thunder of the surf, drowned the elders' shouts of command,\nthe terrified shrieks of the children, the lowing and bleating of the\ntrembling herds, and the whining of the dogs. Ephraim's voice could be\nheard only by those nearest and, moreover, many of the torches were\nextinguished, while others were kept burning with the utmost difficulty.\nSeeking to recover his wind and get a little rest, he walked slowly for a\ntime over the damp sand behind the last lepers, when he heard some one\ncall his name and, turning, he saw one of his former playmates, who was\nreturning from a reconnoitring expedition and who, with the sweat pouring\nfrom his brow and panting breath, shouted into the ear of the youth, in\nwhose hand he saw the staff of a leader, that Pharaoh's chariots were\napproaching at the head of his army. He had left them at Pihahiroth and,\nif they did not stop there to give the other troops time to join them,\nthey might overtake the fugitives at any moment. With these words he\ndarted past the lepers to join the leaders; but Ephraim stopped in the\nmiddle of the road, pressing his hand upon his brow, while a new burden\nof care weighed heavily upon his soul.\n\nHe knew that the approaching army would crush the men, women, and\nchildren whose touching fear and helplessness he had just beheld, as a\nman's foot tramples on an ant-bill, and again every instinct of his being\nurged him to pray, while from his oppressed heart the imploring cry rose\nthrough the darkness:\n\n\"Eli, Eli, great God most high! Thou knowest--for I have told Thee, and\nThine all-seeing eye must perceive it, spite of the darkness of this\nnight--the strait of Thy people, whom Thou hast promised to lead into a\nnew country. Remember Thy vow, Jehovah! Be merciful unto us, Thou great\nand mighty one! Our foe is approaching with resistless power! Stay him!\nSave us! Protect the poor women and children! Save us, be merciful to\nus!\"\n\nDuring this prayer he had raised his eyes heavenward and saw on the\nsummit of Baal-zephon the red blaze of a fire. It had been lighted by the\nPhoenicians to make the Baal of the north-wind favorable to the men of\nkindred race and hostile to the hated Egyptians. This was a kindly deed;\nbut he put his trust in another God and, as his eye glanced over the\nvault of heaven and noted the grey and black storm-clouds scurrying,\ngathering, parting, and then rushing in new directions, he perceived\nbetween two dispersing masses of clouds the silvery light of the full\nmoon, which had now attained her zenith.\n\nFresh anxiety assailed him; for he remembered the prediction of men\nskilled in the changes of winds and waves. If the sea should now return\nto its ancient bed, his people would be lost; for there was no escape,\neven toward the north, where deep pools of water were standing amid the\nmire and cliffs. Should the waves flow back within the next hour, the\nseed of Abraham would be effaced from the earth, as writing inscribed on\nwax disappears from the tablet under the pressure of a warm hand.\n\nYet was not this people thus marked for destruction, the nation which the\nLord had chosen for His own? Could He deliver it into the hand of those\nwho were also His own foes?\n\nNo, no, a thousand times no!\n\nAnd the moon, which was to cause this destruction, had but a short time\nbefore been the ally of his flight and favored him. Only let him keep up\nhis hope and faith and not lose confidence.\n\nNothing, nothing was lost as yet.\n\nCome what might, the whole nation need not perish, and his own tribe,\nwhich marched at the head of the procession, certainly would not; for\nmany must have reached the opposite shore, nay, perhaps more than he\nsupposed; for the bay was not wide, and even the lepers, the last of the\ntrain, had already advanced some distance across the wet sand.\n\nEphraim now remained alone behind them all to listen to the approach of\nthe hostile chariots. He laid his ear to the ground on the shore of the\nbay, and he could trust to the sharpness of his hearing; how often, in\nthis attitude, he had caught the distant tramp of stray cattle or, while\nhunting, the approach of a herd of antelopes or gazelles.\n\nAs the last, he was in the greatest danger; but what cared he for that?\n\nHow gladly he would have sacrificed his young life to save the others.\n\nSince he had held in his hand the leader's staff, it seemed to him as if\nhe had assumed the duty of watching over his people, so he listened and\nlistened till he could hear a slight trembling of the ground and finally\na low rumble. That was the foe, that must be Pharaoh's chariots, and how\nswiftly the proud steeds whirled them forward.\n\nSpringing up as if a lash had struck him, he dashed on to urge the others\nto hasten.\n\nHow oppressively sultry the air had grown, spite of the raging storm\nwhich extinguished so many torches! The moon was concealed by clouds, but\nthe flickering fire on the summit of the lofty height of Baal-zephon\nblazed brighter and brighter. The sparks that rose from the midst of the\nflames glittered as they swept westward; for the wind now came more from\nthe east.\n\nScarcely had he noticed this, when he hurried back to the boys bearing\npans of pitch who closed the procession, to command them in the utmost\nhaste to fill the copper vessels afresh and see that the smoke rose in\ndense, heavy clouds; for, he said to himself, the storm will drive the\nsmoke into the faces of the stallions who draw the chariots and frighten\nor stop them.\n\nNo means seemed to him too insignificant, every moment that could be\ngained was precious; and as soon as he had convinced himself that the\nsmoke-clouds were pouring densely from the vessels and making it\ndifficult to breathe the air of the path over which the people had\npassed, he hurried forward, shouting to the elders whom he overtook that\nPharaoh's chariots were close at hand and the march must be hastened. At\nonce pedestrians, bearers, drivers, and shepherds exerted all their\nstrength to advance faster; and though the wind, which blew more and more\nfrom the east, impeded their progress, all struggled stoutly against it,\nand dread of their approaching pursuers doubled their strength.\n\nThe youth seemed to the heads of the tribes, who nodded approval wherever\nhe appeared, like a shepherd dog guarding and urging the flock; and when\nhe had slipped through the moving bands and battled his way forward\nagainst the storm, the east wind bore to his ears as if in reward a\nstrange shout; for the nearer he came to its source, the louder it rang,\nand the more surely he perceived that it was a cry of joy and exultation,\nthe first that had burst from a Hebrew's breast for many a long day.\n\nIt refreshed Ephraim like a cool drink after long thirsting, and he could\nnot refrain from shouting aloud and crying joyously to the others:\n\"Saved, saved!\" Two tribes had already reached the eastern shore of the\nbay and were raising the glad shouts which, with the fires blazing in\nhuge pans on the shore, kindled the courage of the approaching fugitives\nand braced their failing strength. Ephraim saw by their light the\nmajestic figure of Moses on a hill by the sea, extending his staff over\nthe waters, and the spectacle impressed him, like all the other\nfugitives, from the highest to the lowest, more deeply than aught else\nand strongly increased the courage of his heart. This man was indeed the\ntrusted servant of the Most High, and so long as he held his staff\nuplifted, the waves seemed spell-bound, and through him God forbade their\nreturn.\n\nHe, Ephraim, need no longer appeal to the Omnipotent One--that was the\nappointed task of this great and exalted personage; but he must continue\nto fulfil his little duty of watching the progress of individuals.\n\nBack against the stream of fugitives to the lepers and torch-bearers he\nhastened, shouting to each division, \"Saved! Saved! They have gained the\ngoal. Moses' staff is staying the waves. Many have already reached the\nshore. Thank the Lord! Forward, that you, too, may join in the rejoicing!\nFix your eyes on the two red beacons! The rescued ones lighted them! The\nservant of the Lord is standing between them with uplifted staff.\"\n\nThen, kneeling on the wet sand, he again pressed his ear to the ground,\nand now heard distinctly, close at hand, the rattle of wheels and the\nswift beat of horses' hoofs.\n\nBut while still listening, the noise gradually ceased, and he heard\nnothing save the howling of the furious storm and the threatening dash of\nthe surging waves, or a single cry borne by the east wind.\n\nThe chariots had reached the dry portion of the bay and lingered some\ntime ere they continued their way along this dangerous path; but suddenly\nthe Egyptian war-cry rang out, and the rattle of wheels was again heard.\nThey advanced more slowly than before but faster than the people could\nwalk.\n\nFor the Egyptians also the road remained dry; but if his people only kept\na short distance in advance he need feel no anxiety; during the night the\nrescued tribes could disperse among the mountains and hide in places\nwhere no chariots nor horses could follow. Moses knew this region where\nhe had lived so long as a fugitive; it was only necessary to inform him\nof the close vicinity of the foe. So he trusted one of his play-fellows\nof the tribe of Benjamin with the message, and the latter had not far to\ngo to reach the shore. He himself remained behind to watch the\napproaching army; for already, without stooping or listening, spite of\nthe storm raging around him, he heard the rattle of wheels and the\nneighing of the horses. But the lepers, whose ears also caught the sound,\nwailed and lamented, feeling themselves in imagination flung to the\nground, crushed by the chariots, or crowded into a watery grave, for the\npathway had grown narrower and the sea seemed to be trying in earnest to\nregain the land it had lost.\n\nThe men and cattle could no longer advance in ranks as wide as before,\nand while the files of the hurrying bodies narrowed they lengthened, and\nprecious time was lost. Those on the right were already wading through\nthe rising water in haste and terror; for already the commands of the\nEgyptian leaders were heard in the distance.\n\nBut the enemy was evidently delayed, and Ephraim easily perceived the\ncause of their diminished speed; for the road constantly grew softer and\nthe narrow wheels of the chariots cut deeply into it and perhaps sank to\nthe axles.\n\nProtected by the darkness, he glided forward toward the pursuers, as far\nas he could, and heard here a curse, yonder a fierce command to ply the\nlash more vigorously; at last he distinctly heard one leader exclaim to\nthe man next him:\n\n\"Accursed folly! If they had only let us start before noon, and not\nwaited until the omen had been consulted and Anna had been installed with\nall due solemnity in Bai's place, it would have been easy work, and we\nshould have caught them like a flock of quail! The chief-priest was wont\nto bear himself stoutly in the field, and now he gives up the command\nbecause a dying woman touches his heart.\"\n\n\"Siptah's mother!\" said another soothingly. \"Yet, after all, twenty\nprincesses ought not to have turned him from his duty to us. Had he\nremained, there would have been no need of scourging our steeds to death,\nand that at an hour when every sensible leader lets his men gather round\nthe camp-fires to eat their suppers and play draughts. Look to the\nhorses, Heter! We are fast in the sand again!\"\n\nA loud out-cry rose behind the first chariot, and Ephraim heard another\nvoice shout:\n\n\"Forward, if it costs the horses their lives!\"\n\n\"If return were possible,\" said the commander of the chariot-soldiers, a\nrelative of the king, \"I would go back now. But as matters are, one would\ntumble over the other. So forward, whatever it may cost. We are close on\ntheir heels. Halt! Halt! That accursed stinging smoke! Wait, you dogs! As\nsoon as the pathway widens, we'll run you down with scant ceremony, and\nmay the gods deprive me of a day of life for each one I spare! Another\ntorch out! One can't see one's hand before one's face! At a time like\nthis a beggar's crutch would be better than a leader's staff\"\n\n\"And an executioner's noose round the neck rather than a gold chain!\"\nsaid another with a fierce oath.\n\n\"If the moon would only appear again! Because the astrologers predicted\nthat it would shine in full splendor from evening till morning, I myself\nadvised the late departure, turning night into day. If it were only\nlighter! . . . .\"\n\nBut this sentence remained unfinished, for a gust of wind, bursting like\na wild beast from the south-eastern ravine of Mount Baal-zephon, rushed\nupon the fugitives, and a high wave drenched Ephraim from head to foot.\n\nGasping for breath, he flung back his hair and wiped his eyes; but loud\ncries of terror rang from the lips of the Egyptians behind him; for the\nsame wave that struck the youth had hurled the foremost chariots into the\nsea.\n\nEphraim began to fear for his people and, while running forward to join\nthem again, a brilliant flash of lightning illumined the bay, Mount\nBaal-zephon, and every surrounding object. The thunder was somewhat long\nin following, but the storm soon came nearer, and at last the lightning\nno longer flashed through the darkness in zigzag lines, but in shapeless\nsheets of flame, and ere they faded the deafening crash of the thunder\npealed forth, reverberating in wild uproar amid the hard, rocky\nprecipices of the rugged mountain, and dying away in deep, muttering\nechoes along the end of the bay and the shore.\n\nWhenever the clouds, menacing destruction, discharged their lightnings,\nsea and land, human beings and animals, far and near, were illumined by\nthe brilliant glare, while the waters and the sky above were tinged with\na sulphurous yellow hue through which the vivid lightning shone and\nflamed as through a wall of yellow glass.\n\nEphraim now thought he perceived that the blackest thunder-clouds came\nfrom the south and not from the north, but the glare of the lightning\nshowed behind him a span of frightened horses rushing into the sea, one\nchariot shattered against another, and farther on several jammed firmly\ntogether to the destruction of their occupants, while they barred the\nprogress of others.\n\nYet the foe still advanced, and the space which separated pursued and\npursuers did not increase. But the confusion among the latter had become\nso great that the warriors' cries of terror and their leaders' shouts of\nencouragement and menace were distinctly heard whenever the fierce\ncrashing of the thunder died away.\n\nYet, black as were the clouds on the southern horizon, fiercely as the\ntempest raged, the gloomy sky still withheld its floods and the fugitives\nwere wet, not with the water from the clouds but by the waves of the sea,\nwhose surges constantly dashed higher and more and more frequently washed\nthe dry bed of the bay.\n\nNarrower and narrower grew the pathway, and with it the end of the\nprocession.\n\nMeanwhile the flames blazing in the pitch pans continued to show the\nterrified fugitives the goal of escape and remind them of Moses and the\nstaff God had given him. Every step brought them nearer to it. Now a loud\nshout of joy announced that the tribe of Benjamin had also reached the\nshore; but they had at last been obliged to wade, and were drenched by\nthe foaming surf. It had cost unspeakable effort to save the oxen from\nthe surging waves, get the loaded carts forward, and keep the cattle\ntogether; but now man and beast stood safe on shore. Only the strangers\nand the lepers were still to be rescued. The latter possessed no herds of\ntheir own, but the former had many and both sheep and cattle were so\nterrified by the storm that they struggled against passing through the\nwater, now a foot deep over the road. Ephraim hurried to the shore,\ncalled on the shepherds to follow him and, under his direction, they\nhelped drive the herds forward.\n\nThe attempt was successful and, amid the thunder and lightning, greeted\nwith loud cheers, the last man and the last head of cattle reached the\nland.\n\nThe lepers were obliged to wade through water rising to their knees and\nat last to their waists and, ere they had gained the shore, the sluices\nof heaven opened and the rain poured in torrents. Yet they, too, arrived\nat the goal and though many a mother who had carried her child a long\ntime in her arms or on her shoulder, fell upon her knees exhausted on the\nland, and many a hapless sufferer who, aided by a stronger companion in\nmisery, had dragged the carts through the yielding sand or wading in the\nwater carried a litter, felt his disfigured head burn with fever, they,\ntoo, escaped destruction.\n\nThey were to wait beyond the palm-trees, whose green foliage appeared on\nthe hilly ground at the edge of some springs near the shore; the others\nwere to be led farther into the country to begin, at a given signal, the\njourney toward the southeast into the mountains, through whose\ninhospitable stony fastnesses a regular army and the war-chariots could\nadvance only with the utmost difficulty.\n\nHur had assembled his shepherds and they stood armed with lances, slings,\nand short swords, ready to attack the enemy who ventured to step on\nshore. Horses and men were to be cut down and a high wall was to be made\nof the fragments of the chariots to bar the way of the pursuing\nEgyptians.\n\nThe pans of burning pitch on the shore were shielded and fed so\nindustriously that neither the pouring rain nor the wind extinguished\nthem. They were to light the shepherds who had undertaken to attack the\nchariot-soldiers, and were commanded by old Nun, Hur, and Ephraim.\n\nBut they waited in vain for the pursuers, and when the youth, first of\nall, perceived by the light of the torches that the way by which the\nrescued fugitives had come was now a wide sea, and the smoke was blown\ntoward the north instead of toward the southwest--it was at the time of\nthe first morning watch--his heart, surcharged with joy and gratitude,\nsent forth the jubilant shout: \"Look at the pans. The wind has shifted!\nIt is driving the sea northward. Pharaoh's army has been swallowed by the\nwaves!\"\n\nThe group of rescued Hebrews remained silent for a short time; but\nsuddenly Nun's loud voice exclaimed:\n\n\"He has seen aright, children! What are we mortals! Lord, Lord! Stern and\nterrible art Thou in judgment upon Thy foes!\"\n\nHere loud cries interrupted him; for at the springs where Moses leaned\nexhausted against a palm-tree, and Aaron was resting with many others,\nthe people had also perceived what Ephraim had noticed--and from lip to\nlip ran the glad, terrible, incredible, yet true tidings, which each\npassing moment more surely confirmed.\n\nMany an eye was raised toward the sky, across which the black clouds were\nrushing farther and farther northward.\n\nThe rain was ceasing; instead of the lightning and thunder only a few\npale flashes were seen over the isthmus and the distant sea at the north,\nwhile in the south the sky was brightening.\n\nAt last the setting moon emerged from the grey clouds, and her peaceful\nlight silvered the heights of Baal-zephon and the shore of the bay, whose\nbottom was once more covered with tossing waves.\n\nThe raging, howling storm had passed into the low sighing of the morning\nbreeze, and the sea, which had dashed against the rocks like a roaring\nwild-beast, now lay quivering with broken strength at the stone base of\nthe mountain.\n\nFor a short time the sea still spread a dark pall over the many Egyptian\ncorpses, but the paling moon, ere her setting, splendidly embellished the\nbriny resting-place of a king and his nobles; for her rays illumined and\nbordered their coverlet, the sea, with a rich array of sparkling diamonds\nin a silver setting.\n\nWhile the east was brightening and the sky had clothed itself in the\nglowing hues of dawn, the camp had been pitched; but little time remained\nfor a hasty meal for, shortly after sunrise, the gong had summoned the\npeople and, as soon as they gathered near the springs, Miriam swung her\ntimbrel, shaking the bells and striking the calf-skin till it resounded\nagain. As she moved lightly forward, the women and maidens followed her\nin the rhythmic step of the dance; but she sang:\n\n\"I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously: the horse\nand his rider hath he thrown into the sea.\n\n\"The Lord is my strength and song, and he is become my salvation: he is\nmy God, and I will prepare him an habitation; my father's God, and I will\nexalt him.\n\n\"The Lord is a man of war: the Lord is his name. Pharaoh's chariots and\nhis host hath he cast into the sea: his chosen captains also are drowned\nin the Red Sea.\n\n\"The depths have covered them: they sank into the bottom as a stone.\n\n\"Thy right hand, O Lord, is become glorious in power: thy right hand, O\nLord, hath dashed in pieces the enemy.\n\n\"And in the greatness of thine excellency thou hast overthrown them that\nrose up against thee: thou sentest forth thy wrath, which consumed them\nas stubble.\n\n\"And with the blast of thy nostrils the waters were gathered together,\nthe floods stood upright as an heap, and the depths were congealed in the\nheart of the sea.\n\n\"The enemy said, I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the spoil;\nmy lust shall be satisfied upon them; I will draw my sword, my hand shall\ndestroy them.\n\n\"Thou didst blow with thy wind, the sea covered them: they sank as lead\nin the mighty waters.\n\n\"Who is like unto thee, O Lord, among the gods? Who is like thee,\nglorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders?\n\n\"Thou stretchedst out thy right hand, the earth swallowed them.\n\n\"Thou, in thy mercy hast led forth the people which thou hast redeemed:\nthou hast guided them in thy strength unto thy holy habitation.\"\n\nMen and women joined in the song, when she repeated the words:\n\n\"I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously: the horse\nand his rider hath he thrown into the sea.\"\n\nThis song and this hour of rejoicing were never forgotten by the Hebrews,\nand each heart was filled with the glory of God and the glad and grateful\nanticipation of better, happier days.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nThe hymn of praise had died away, but though the storm had long since\nraged itself into calmness, the morning sky, which had been beautiful in\nthe rosy flush of dawn, was again veiled by grey mists, and a strong wind\nstill blew from the southwest, lashing the sea and shaking and swaying\nthe tops of the palm-trees beside the springs.\n\nThe rescued people had paid due honor to the Most High, even the most\nindifferent and rebellious had joined in Miriam's song of praise; yet,\nwhen the ranks of the dancers approached the sea, many left the\nprocession to hurry to the shore, which presented many attractions.\n\nHundreds had now gathered on the strand, where the waves, like generous\nrobbers, washed ashore the booty they had seized during the night.\n\nEven the women did not allow the wind to keep them back; for the two\nstrongest impulses of the human heart, avarice and the longing for\nvengeance, drew them to the beach.\n\nSome new object of desire appeared every moment; here lay the corpse of a\nwarrior, yonder his shattered chariot. If the latter had belonged to a\nman of rank, its gold or silver ornaments were torn off, while the short\nsword or battle-axe was drawn from the girdle of the lifeless owner, and\nmen and women of low degree, male and female slaves belonging to the\nHebrews and foreigners, robbed the corpses of the clasps and circlets of\nthe precious metal, or twisted the rings from the swollen fingers of the\ndrowned.\n\nThe ravens which had followed the wandering tribes and vanished during\nthe storm, again appeared and, croaking, struggled against the wind to\nmaintain their places above the prey whose scent had attracted them.\n\nBut the dregs of the fugitive hordes were still more greedy than they,\nand wherever the sea washed a costly ornament ashore, there were fierce\noutcries and angry quarrelling. The leaders kept aloof; the people, they\nthought, had a right to this booty, and whenever one of them undertook to\ncontrol their rude greed, he received no obedience.\n\nThe pass to which the Egyptians had brought them within the last few\nhours had been so terrible, that even the better natures among the\nHebrews did not think of curbing the thirst for vengeance. Even\ngrey-bearded men of dignified bearing, and wives and mothers whose looks\naugured gentle hearts thrust back the few hapless foes who had succeeded\nin reaching the land on the ruins of the war-chariots or baggage-wagons.\nWith shepherds' crooks and travelling staves, knives and axes, stones and\ninsults they forced their hands from the floating wood, and the few who\nnevertheless reached the land were flung by the furious mob into the sea\nwhich had taken pity on them in vain.\n\nTheir wrath was so great, and vengeance so sacred a duty, that no one\nthought of the respect, the pity, the consideration, which are\nmisfortune's due, and not a word was uttered to appeal to generosity or\ncompassion or even to remind the people of the profit which might be\nderived from holding the rescued soldiers as prisoners of war.\n\n\"Death to our mortal foes! Destruction to them! Down with them! Feed the\nfishes with them! You drove us into the sea with our children, now try\nthe salt waves yourselves!\"\n\nSuch were the shouts that rose everywhere, and which no one opposed, not\neven Miriam and Ephraim, who had also gone down to the shore to witness\nthe scene it presented.\n\nThe maiden had become the wife of Hur, but her new condition had made\nlittle change in her nature and conduct. The fate of her people and the\nintercourse with God, whose prophetess she felt herself to be, were still\nher highest aims. Now that all for which she had hoped and prayed was\nfulfilled; now that at the first great triumph of her efforts she had\nexpressed the feelings of the faithful in her song, she felt as if she\nwere the leader of the grateful multitude at whose head she had marched\nsinging and as if she had attained the goal of her life.\n\nEphraim had reminded her of Hosea and, while talking with him about the\nprisoner, she moved on as proudly as a queen, answering the greetings of\nthe throng with majestic dignity. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and her\nfeatures wore an expression of compassion only at brief intervals, when\nthe youth spoke of the greatest sufferings which he had borne with his\nuncle. She doubtless still remembered the man she had loved, but he was\nno longer necessary to the lofty goal of her aspirations.\n\nEphraim had just spoken of the beautiful Egyptian, who had loved Hosea\nand at whose intercession the prisoner's chains had been removed, when\nloud outcries were heard at a part of the strand where many of the people\nhad gathered. Shouts of joy mingled with yells of fury; and awakened the\nconjecture that the sea had washed some specially valuable prize ashore.\n\nCuriosity drew both to the spot, and as Miriam's stately bearing made the\nthrong move respectfully aside, they soon saw the mournful contents of a\nlarge travelling-chariot, which had lost its wheels. The linen canopy\nwhich had protected it was torn away, and on the floor lay two elderly\nEgyptian women; a third, who was much younger, leaned against the back of\nthe vehicle thus strangely transformed into a boat. Her companions lay\ndead in the water which had covered its floor, and several Hebrew women\nwere in the act of tearing the costly gold ornaments from the neck and\narms of one of the corpses. Some chance had preserved this young woman's\nlife, and she was now giving her rich jewels to the Israelites. Her pale\nlips and slender, half-frozen hands trembled as she did so, and in low,\nmusical tones she promised the robbers to yield them all she possessed\nand pay a large ransom, if they would spare her. She was so young, and\nshe had shown kindness to a Hebrew surely they might listen to her.\n\nIt was a touching entreaty, but so often interrupted by threats and\ncurses that only a few could hear it. Just as Ephraim and Miriam reached\nthe shore she shrieked aloud--a rude hand had torn the gold serpent from\nher ear.\n\nThe cry pierced the youth's heart like a dagger-thrust and his cheeks\npaled, for he recognized Kasana. The bodies beside her were those of her\nnurse and the wife of the chief priest Bai.\n\nScarcely able to control himself, Ephraim thrust aside the men who\nseparated him from the object of the moment's assault, sprang on the\nsand-hill at whose foot the chariot had rested, and shouted with glowing\ncheeks in wild excitement:\n\n\"Back! Woe to any one who touches her!\"\n\nBut a Hebrew woman, the wife of a brickmaker whose child had died in\nterrible convulsions during the passage through the sea, had already\nsnatched the dagger from her girdle, and with the jeering cry \"This for\nmy little Ruth, you jade!\" dealt her a blow in the back. Then she raised\nthe tiny blood-stained weapon for a second stroke; but ere she could give\nher enemy another thrust, Ephraim flung himself between her and her\nvictim and wrenched the dagger from her grasp. Then planting himself\nbefore the wounded girl, he swung the blade aloft exclaiming in loud,\nthreatening tones:\n\n\"Whoever touches her, you robbers and murderers, shall mingle his blood\nwith this woman's.\" Then he flung himself beside Kasana's bleeding form,\nand finding that she had lost consciousness, raised her in his arms and\ncarried her to Miriam.\n\nThe astonished plunderers speechlessly made way for a few minutes, but\nere he reached the prophetess shouts of: \"Vengeance! Vengeance!\" were\nheard in all directions. \"We found the woman: the booty belongs to us\nalone!--How dares the insolent Ephraimite call us robbers and\nmurderers?--Wherever Egyptian blood can be spilled, it must flow!--At\nhim!--Snatch the girl from him!\"\n\nThe youth paid no heed to these outbursts of wrath until he had laid\nKasana's head in the lap of Miriam, who had seated herself on the nearest\nsand-hill, and as the angry throng, the women in front of the men,\npressed upon him, he again waved his dagger, crying: \"Back--I command\nyou. Let all of the blood of Ephraim and Judah rally around me and\nMiriam, the wife of their chief! That's right, brothers, and woe betide\nany hand that touches her. Do you shriek for vengeance? Has it not been\nyours through yonder monster who murdered the poor defenceless one? Do\nyou want your victim's jewels? Well, well; they belong to you, and I will\ngive you mine to boot, if you will leave the wife of Hur to care for this\ndying girl!\"\n\nWith these words he bent over Kasana, took off the clasps and rings she\nstill wore, and gave them to the greedy hands outstretched to seize them.\nLastly he stripped the broad gold circlet from his arm, and holding it\naloft exclaimed:\n\n\"Here is the promised payment. If you will depart quietly and leave this\nwoman to Miriam, I will give you the gold, and you can divide it among\nyou. If you thirst for more blood, come on; but I will keep the armlet.\"\n\nThese words did not fail to produce their effect. The furious women\nlooked at the heavy broad gold armlet, then at the handsome youth, and\nthe men of Judah and Ephraim who had gathered around him, and finally\nglanced enquiringly into one another's faces. At last the wife of a\nforeign trader cried:\n\n\"Let him give us the gold, and we'll leave the handsome young chief his\nbleeding sweetheart.\"\n\nTo this decision the others agreed, and though the brickmaker's\ninfuriated wife, who thought as the avenger of her child she had done an\nact pleasing in the sight of God, and was upbraided for it as a\nmurderess, reviled the youth with frantic gestures, she was dragged away\nby the crowd to the shore where they hoped to find more booty.\n\nDuring this threatening transaction, Miriam had fearlessly examined\nKasana's wound and bound it up with skilful hands, The dagger which\nPrince Siptah had jestingly given the beautiful lady of his love, that\nshe might not go to war defenceless, had inflicted a deep wound under the\nshoulder, and the blood had flowed so abundantly that the feeble spark of\nlife threatened to die out at any moment.\n\nBut she still lived, and in this condition was borne to the tent of Nun,\nwhich was the nearest within reach.\n\nThe old chief had just been supplying weapons to the shepherds and youths\nwhom Ephraim had summoned to go to the relief of the imprisoned Hosea,\nand had promised to join them, when the mournful procession approached.\n\nAs Kasana loved the handsome old man, the latter had for many years kept\na place in his heart for Captain Homecht's pretty daughter.\n\nShe had never met him without gladdening him by a greeting which he\nalways returned with kind words, such as: \"The Lord bless you, child!\"\nor: \"It is a delightful hour when an old man meets so fair a creature.\"\nMany years before--she had then worn the curls of childhood--he had even\nsent her a lamb, whose snowy fleece was specially silky, after having\nbartered the corn from her father's lands for cattle of his most famous\nbreed--and what his son had told him of Kasana had been well fitted to\nincrease his regard for her.\n\nHe beheld in the archer's daughter the most charming young girl in Tanis\nand, had she been the child of Hebrew parents, he would have rejoiced to\nwed her to his son.\n\nTo find his darling in such a state caused the old man grief so profound\nthat bright tears ran down upon his snowy beard and his voice trembled\nas, while greeting her, he saw the blood-stained bandage on her shoulder.\n\nAfter she had been laid on his couch, and Nun had placed his own chest of\nmedicines at the disposal of the skilful prophetess, Miriam asked the men\nto leave her alone with the suffering Egyptian, and when she again called\nthem into the tent she had revived the strength of the severely-wounded\ngirl with cordials, and bandaged the hurt more carefully than had been\npossible before.\n\nKasana, cleansed from the blood-stains and with her hair neatly arranged,\nlay beneath the fresh linen coverings like a sleeping child just on the\nverge of maidenhood.\n\nShe was still breathing, but the color had not returned to cheeks or\nlips, and she did not open her eyes until she had drunk the cordial\nMiriam mixed for her a second time.\n\nThe old man and his grandson stood at the foot of her couch, and each\nwould fain have asked the other why he could not restrain his tears\nwhenever he looked at this stranger's face.\n\nThe certainty that Kasana was wicked and faithless, which had so\nunexpectedly forced itself upon Ephraim, had suddenly turned his heart\nfrom her and startled him back into the right path which he had\nabandoned. Yet what he had heard in her tent had remained a profound\nsecret, and as he told his grandfather and Miriam that she had\ncompassionately interceded for the prisoners, and both had desired to\nhear more of her, he had felt like a father who had witnessed the crime\nof a beloved son, and no word of the abominable things he had heard had\nescaped his lips.\n\nNow he rejoiced that he had kept silence; for whatever he might have seen\nand heard, this fair creature certainly was capable of no base deed.\n\nTo the old man she had never ceased to be the lovely child whom he had\nknown, the apple of his eye and the joy of his heart. So he gazed with\ntender anxiety at the features convulsed by pain and, when she at last\nopened her eyes, smiled at her with paternal affection. Her glance showed\nthat she instantly recognized both him and Ephraim, but weakness baffled\nher attempt to nod to them. Yet her expressive face revealed surprise and\njoy, and when Miriam had given her the cordial a third time and bathed\nher brow with a powerful essence, her large eyes wandered from face to\nface and, noticing the troubled looks of the men, she managed to whisper:\n\n\"The wound aches--and death--must I die?\" One looked enquiringly at\nanother, and the men would gladly have concealed the terrible truth; but\nshe went on:\n\n\"Oh, let me know. Ah, I pray you, tell me the truth!\"\n\nMiriam, who was kneeling beside her, found courage to answer:\n\n\"Yes, you poor young creature, the wound is deep, but whatever my skill\ncan accomplish shall be done to preserve your life as long as possible.\"\n\nThe words sounded kind and full of compassion, yet the deep voice of the\nprophetess seemed to hurt Kasana; for her lips quivered painfully while\nMiriam was speaking, and when she ceased, her eyes closed and one large\ntear after another ran down her cheeks. Deep, anxious silence reigned\naround her until she again raised her lashes and, fixing her eyes wearily\non Miriam, asked softly, as if perplexed by some strange spectacle:\n\n\"You are a woman, and yet practise the art of the leech.\"\n\n\"My God has commanded me to care for the suffering ones of our people,\"\nreplied the other.\n\nThe dying girl's eyes began to glitter with a restless light, and she\ngasped in louder tones, nay with a firmness that surprised the others:\n\n\"You are Miriam, the woman who sent for Hosea.\" And when the other\nanswered promptly and proudly: \"It is as you say!\" Kasana continued:\n\n\"And you possess striking, imperious beauty, and much influence. He\nobeyed your summons, and you--you consented to wed another?\"\n\nAgain the prophetess answered, this time with gloomy earnestness: \"It is\nas you say.\"\n\nThe dying girl closed her eyes once more, and a strange proud smile\nhovered around her lips. But it soon vanished and a great and painful\nrestlessness seized upon her. The fingers of her little hands, her lips,\nnay, even her eyelids moved perpetually, and her smooth, narrow forehead\ncontracted as if some great thought occupied her mind.\n\nAt last the ideas that troubled her found utterance and, as if roused\nfrom her repose, she exclaimed in terrified accents:\n\n\"You are Ephraim, who seemed like his son, and the old man is Nun, his\ndear father. There you stand and will live on. . . .  But I--I . . . Oh,\nit is so hard to leave the light. . . . Anubis will lead me before the\njudgment seat of Osiris. My heart will be weighed, and then. . . .\"\n\nHere she shuddered and opened and closed her trembling hands; but she\nsoon regained her composure and began to speak again. Miriam, however,\nsternly forbade this, because it would hasten her death.\n\nThen the sufferer, summoning all her strength, exclaimed hastily, as\nloudly as her voice would permit, after measuring the prophetess' tall\nfigure with a long glance: \"You wish to prevent me from doing my\nduty--you?\"\n\nThere had been a slight touch of mockery in the question; but Kasana\ndoubtless felt that it was necessary to spare her strength; for she\ncontinued far more quietly, as though talking to herself:\n\n\"I cannot die so, I cannot! How it happened; why I sacrificed all,\nall. . . .  I must atone for it; I will not complain, if he only learns how\nit came to pass. Oh, Nun, dear old Nun, who gave me the lamb when I was a\nlittle thing--I loved it so dearly--and you, Ephraim, my dear boy, I will\ntell you everything.\"\n\nHere a painful fit of coughing interrupted her; but as soon as she\nrecovered her breath, she turned to Miriam, and called in a tone which so\nplainly expressed bitter dislike, that it would have surprised any one\nwho knew her kindly nature:\n\n\"But you, yonder,--you tall woman with the deep voice who are a\nphysician, you lured him from Tanis, from his soldiers and from me. He,\nhe obeyed your summons. And you . . . you became another's wife;\nprobably after his arrival . . . yes! For when Ephraim summoned him, he\ncalled you a maiden . . . I don't know whether this caused him, Hosea,\npain. . . .  But there is one thing I do know, and that is that I want to\nconfess something and must do so, ere it is too late. . . .  And no one must\nhear it save those who love him, and I--do you hear--I love him, love him\nbetter than aught else on earth! But you? You have a husband, and a God\nwhose commands you eagerly obey--you say so yourself. What can Hosea be\nto you? So I beseech you to leave us. I have met few who repelled me, but\nyou--your voice, your eyes--they pierce me to the heart--and if you were\nnear I could not speak as I must. . . .  and oh, talking hurts me so! But\nbefore you go--you are a leech--let me know this one thing--I have many\nmessages to leave for him ere I die. . . .  Will it kill me to talk?\"\n\nAgain the prophetess found no other words in answer except the brief: \"It\nis as you say,\" and this time they sounded harsh and ominous.\n\nWhile wavering between the duty which, as a physician, she owed the\nsufferer and the impulse not to refuse the request of a dying woman, she\nread in old Nun's eyes an entreaty to obey Kasana's wish, and with\ndrooping head left the tent. But the bitter words of the hapless girl\npursued her and spoiled the day which had begun so gloriously and also\nmany a later hour; nay, to her life's end she could not understand why,\nin the presence of this poor, dying woman, she had been overpowered by\nthe feeling that she was her inferior and must take a secondary place.\n\nAs soon as Kasana was left alone with Nun and Ephraim, and the latter had\nflung himself on his knees beside her couch, while the old man kissed her\nbrow, and bowed his white head to listen to her low words, she began:\n\n\"I feel better now. That tall woman . . . those gloomy brows that meet in\nthe middle . . . those nightblack eyes . . . they glow with so fierce a fire,\nyet are so cold. . . .  That woman . . . did Hosea love her, father? Tell me; I\nam not asking from idle curiosity!\"\n\n\"He honored her,\" replied the old man in a troubled tone, \"as did our\nwhole nation; for she has a lofty spirit, and our God suffers her to hear\nHis voice; but you, my darling, have been dear to him from childhood, I\nknow.\"\n\nA slight tremor shook the dying girl. She closed her eyes for a short\ntime and a sunny smile hovered around her lips.\n\nShe lay in this attitude so long that Nun feared death had claimed her\nand, holding the medicine in his hand, listened to hear her breathing.\n\nKasana did not seem to notice it; but when she finally opened her eyes,\nshe held out her hand for the cordial, drank it, and then began again:\n\n\"It seemed just as if I had seen him, Hosea. He wore the panoply of war\njust as he did the first time he took me into his arms. I was a little\nthing and felt afraid of him, he looked so grave, and my nurse had told\nme that he had slain a great many of our foes. Yet I was glad when he\ncame and grieved when he went away. So the years passed, and love grew\nwith my growth. My young heart was so full of him, so full. . . .  Even when\nthey forced me to wed another, and after I had become a widow.\"\n\nThe last words had been scarcely audible, and she rested some time ere\nshe continued:\n\n\"Hosea knows all this, except how anxious I was when he was in the field,\nand how I longed for him ere he returned. At last, at last he came home,\nand how I rejoiced! But he, Hosea . . . ? That woman--Ephraim told me\nso--that tall, arrogant woman summoned him to Pithom. But he returned,\nand then. . . .  Oh, Nun, your son. . . .  that was the hardest thing\n. . . ! He refused my hand, which my father offered. . . . And how that\nhurt me. . . ! I can say no more . . . ! Give me the drink!\"\n\nHer cheeks had flushed crimson during these painful confessions, and when\nthe experienced old man perceived how rapidly the excitement under which\nshe was laboring hastened the approach of death, he begged her to keep\nsilence; but she insisted upon profiting by the time still allowed her,\nand though the sharp pain with which a short cough tortured her forced\nher to press her hand upon her breast, she continued:\n\n\"Then hate came; but it did not last long--and never did I love him more\nardently than when I drove after the poor convict--you remember, my boy.\nThen began the horrible, wicked, evil time . . . of which I must tell him\nthat he may not despise me, if he hears about it. I never had a mother,\nand there was no one to warn me. . . .  Where shall I begin? Prince\nSiptah--you know him, father--that wicked man will soon rule over my\ncountry. My father is in a conspiracy with him . . . merciful gods, I can\nsay no more!\"\n\nTerror and despair convulsed her features as she uttered these words; but\nEphraim interrupted her and, with tearful eyes and faltering voice,\nconfessed that he knew all. Then he repeated what he had heard while\nlistening outside of her tent, and her glance confirmed the tale.\n\nWhen he finally spoke of the wife of the viceroy and chief-priest Bai,\nwhose body had been borne to the shore with her, Kasana interrupted him\nwith the low exclamation:\n\n\"She planned it all. Her husband was to be the greatest man in the\ncountry and rule even Pharaoh; for Siptah is not the son of a king.\"\n\n\"And,\" the old man interrupted, to quiet her and help her tell what she\ndesired to say, \"as Bai raised, he can overthrow him. He will become,\neven more certainly than the dethroned monarch, the tool of the man who\nmade him king. But I know Aarsu the Syrian, and if I see aright, the time\nwill come when he will himself strive, in distracted Egypt, rent by\ninternal disturbances, for the power which, through his mercenaries, he\naided others to grasp. But child, what induced you to follow the army and\nthis shameful profligate?\"\n\nThe dying girl's eyes sparkled, for the question brought her directly to\nwhat she desired to tell, and she answered as loudly and quickly as her\nweakness permitted:\n\n\"I did it for your son's sake, for love of him, to liberate Hosea. The\nevening before I had steadily and firmly refused the wife of Bai. But\nwhen I saw your son at the well and he, Hosea. . . . Oh, at last he was so\naffectionate and kissed me so kindly . . . and then--then. . . . My poor\nheart! I saw him, the best of men, perishing amid contumely and disease.\n\n\"And when he passed with chains one thought darted through my mind. . . .\"\n\n\"You determined, you dear, foolish, misguided child,\" cried the old man,\n\"to win the heart of the future king in order, through him, to release my\nson, your friend?\"\n\nThe dying girl again smiled assent and softly exclaimed:\n\n\"Yes, yes, I did it for that, for that alone. And the prince was so\nabhorrent to me. And the shame, the disgrace--oh, how terrible it was!\"\n\n\"And you incurred it for my son's sake,\" the old man interrupted, raising\nher hand, wet with his tears, to his lips; but she fixed her eyes on\nEphraim, sobbing softly:\n\n\"I thought of him too. He is so young, and it is so horrible in the\nmines.\"\n\nShe shuddered again as she spoke; but the youth covered her burning hand\nwith kisses, while she gazed affectionately at him and the old man,\nadding in faltering accents:\n\n\"Oh, all is well now, and if the gods grant him freedom. . . .\"\n\nHere Ephraim interrupted her to exclaim in fiery tones:\n\n\"We are going to the mines this very day. I and my comrades, and my\ngrandfather with us, will put his guards to flight.\"\n\n\"And he shall hear from my lips,\" Nun added, \"how faithfully Kasana loved\nhim, and that his life will be too short to thank her for such a\nsacrifice.\"\n\nHis voice failed him--but every trace of suffering had vanished from the\ncountenance of the dying girl, and for a long time she gazed heavenward\nsilently with a happy look. By degrees, however, her smooth brow\ncontracted in an anxious frown, and she gasped in low tones:\n\n\"Well, all is well . . . only one thing . . . my body . . . unembalmed\n . . . without the sacred amulets. . . .\"\n\nBut the old man answered:\n\n\"As soon as you have closed your eyes, I will give it, carefully wrapped,\nto the Phoenician captain now tarrying here, that he may deliver it to\nyour father.\"\n\nKasana tried to turn her head toward him to thank him with a loving\nglance, but she suddenly pressed both hands on her breast, crimson blood\nwelled from her lips, her cheeks varied from livid white to fiery scarlet\nand, after a brief, painful convulsion, she sank back. Death laid his\nhand on the loving heart, and her features gained the expression of a\nchild whose mother has forgiven its fault and clasped it to her heart ere\nit fell asleep.\n\nThe old man, weeping, closed the dead girl's eyes. Ephraim, deeply moved,\nkissed the closed lids, and after a short silence Nun said:\n\n\"I do not like to enquire about our fate beyond the grave, which Moses\nhimself does not know; but whoever has lived so that his or her memory is\ntenderly cherished in the souls of loved ones, has, I think, done the\nutmost possible to secure a future existence. We will remember this dead\ngirl in our most sacred hours. Let us do for her corpse what we promised,\nand then set forth to show the man for whom Kasana sacrificed what she\nmost valued that we do not love him less than this Egyptian woman.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     I do not like to enquire about our fate beyond the grave\n     Then hate came; but it did not last long\n\n\n\n\nJOSHUA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThe prisoners of state who were being transported to the mines made slow\nprogress. Even the experienced captain of the guards had never had a more\ntoilsome trip or one more full of annoyances, obstacles, and mishaps.\n\nOne of his moles, Ephraim, had escaped; he had lost his faithful hounds,\nand after his troop had been terrified and drenched by a storm such as\nscarcely occurred in these desert regions once in five years, a second\nhad burst the next evening--the one which brought destruction on\nPharaoh's army--and this had been still more violent and lasting.\n\nThe storm had delayed the march and, after the last cloud-burst, several\nconvicts and guards had been attacked by fever owing to their wet\nnight-quarters in the open air. The Egyptian asses, too, who were unused\nto rain, had suffered and some of the best had been left on the road.\n\nFinally they had been obliged to bury two dead prisoners, and place three\nwho were dangerously ill on the remaining asses; and the other prisoners\nwere laden with the stores hitherto carried by the beasts of burden. This\nwas the first time such a thing had happened during the leader's service\nof five and twenty years, and he expected severe reproofs.\n\nAll these things exerted a baneful influence on the disposition of the\nman, who was usually reputed one of the kindest-hearted of his companions\nin office; and Joshua, the accomplice of the bold lad whose flight was\nassociated with the other vexations, suffered most sorely from his\nill-humor.\n\nPerhaps the irritated man would have dealt more gently with him, had he\ncomplained like the man behind him, or burst into fierce oaths like his\nyoke-mate, who made threatening allusions to the future when his\nsister-in-law would be in high favor with Pharaoh and know how to repay\nthose who ill-treated her dear relative.\n\nBut Hosea had resolved to bear whatever the rude fellow and his mates\nchose to inflict with the same equanimity that he endured the scorching\nsun which, ever since he had served in the army, had tortured him during\nmany a march through the desert, and his steadfast, manly character\nhelped him keep this determination.\n\nIf the captain of the gang loaded him with extra heavy burdens, he\nsummoned all the strength of his muscles and tottered forward without a\nword of complaint until his knees trembled under him; then the captain\nwould rush to him, throw several packages from his shoulders, and exclaim\nthat he understood his spite; he was only trying to be left on the road,\nto get him into fresh difficulties; but he would not allow himself to be\nrobbed of the lives of the men who were needed in the mines.\n\nOnce the captain inflicted a wound that bled severely; but he instantly\nmade every effort to cure it, gave him wine to restore his strength, and\ndelayed the march half a day to permit him to rest.\n\nHe had not forgotten Prince Siptah's promise of a rich reward to any one\nwho brought him tidings of Hosea's death, but this was the very reason\nthat induced the honest-hearted man to watch carefully over his\nprisoner's life; for the consciousness of having violated his duty for\nthe sake of reaping any advantage would have robbed him of all pleasure\nin food and drink, as well as of the sound sleep which were his greatest\nblessings.\n\nSo though the Hebrew prisoner was tortured, it was never beyond the\nlimits of the endurable, and he had the pleasure of rendering, by his own\ngreat strength, many a service to his weaker companions.\n\nHe had commended his fate to the God who had summoned him to His service;\nbut he was well aware that he must not rest content with mere pious\nconfidence, and therefore thought by day and night of escape. But the\nchain that bound him to his companions in suffering was too firmly\nforged, and was so carefully examined and hammered every morning and\nevening, that the attempt to escape would only have plunged him into\ngreater misery.\n\nThe prisoners had at first marched through a hilly region, then climbed\nupward, with a long mountain chain in view, and finally reached a desert\ncountry from which truncated sandstone cones rose singly from the rocky\nground.\n\nOn the fifth evening they encamped near a large mountain which Nature\nseemed to have piled up from flat layers of stone and, as the sun of the\nsixth day rose, they turned into a side valley leading to the mines in\nthe province of Bech.\n\nDuring the first few days they had been overtaken by a messenger from the\nking's silver-house; but on the other hand they had met several little\nbands bearing to Egypt malachite, turquoise, and copper, as well as the\ngreen glass made at the mines.\n\nAmong those whom they met at the entrance of the cross-valley into which\nthey turned on the last morning was a married couple on their way\nhomeward, after having received a pardon from the king. The captain of\nthe guards pointed them out to encourage his exhausted moles, but the\nspectacle produced the opposite effect; for the tangled locks of the man,\nwho had scarcely passed his thirtieth year, were grey, his tall figure\nwas bowed and emaciated, and his naked back was covered with scars and\nbleeding wales; the wife, who had shared his misery, was blind. She sat\ncowering on an ass, in the dull torpor of insanity, and though the\npassing of the convicts made a startling interruption to the silence of\nthe wilderness, and her hearing had remained keen, she paid no heed, but\ncontinued to stare indifferently into vacancy.\n\nThe sight of the hapless pair placed Hosea's own terrible future before\nhim as if in a mirror, and for the first time he groaned aloud and\ncovered his face with his hands.\n\nThe captain of the guards perceived this and, touched by the horror of\nthe man whose resolution had hitherto seemed peerless, called to him:\n\n\"They don't all come home like that, no indeed!\"\n\n\"Because they are even worse off,\" he thought. \"But the poor wights\nneedn't know it beforehand. The next time I come this way I'll ask for\nHosea; I shall want to know what has become of this bull of a man. The\nstrongest and the most resolute succumb the most quickly.\"\n\nThen, like a driver urging an unharnessed team forward, he swung the lash\nover the prisoners, but without touching them, and pointing to a column\nof smoke which rose behind a cliff at the right of the road, he\nexclaimed:\n\n\"There are the smelting furnaces! We shall reach our destination at noon.\nThere will be no lack of fire to cook lentils, and doubtless you may have\na bit of mutton, too; for we celebrate to-day the birth of the good god,\nthe son of the sun; may life, health, and prosperity be his!\"\n\nFor the next half-hour their road led between lofty cliffs through the\ndry bed of a river, down which, after the last rains, a deep mountain\ntorrent had poured to the valley; but now only a few pools still\nremained.\n\nAfter the melancholy procession had passed around a steep mountain whose\nsummit was crowned with a small Egyptian temple of Hathor and a number of\nmonuments, it approached a bend in the valley which led to the ravine\nwhere the mines were located.\n\nFlags, hoisted in honor of Pharaoh's birth-day, were waving from tall\nmasts before the gates of the little temple on the mountain; and when\nloud shouts, uproar, and clashing greeted the travellers in the valley of\nthe mines, which was wont to be so silent, the captain of the guards\nthought that the prisoners' greatest festival was being celebrated in an\nunusually noisy way and communicated this conjecture to the other guards\nwho had paused to listen.\n\nThen the party pressed forward without delay, but no one raised his head;\nthe noon-day sun blazed so fiercely, and the dazzling walls of the ravine\nsent forth a reflected glow as fierce as if they were striving to surpass\nthe heat of the neighboring smelting furnaces.\n\nSpite of the nearness of the goal the prisoners tottered forward as if\nasleep, only one held his breath in the intensity of suspense.\n\nAs the battle-charger in the plough arches his neck, and expands his\nnostrils, while his eyes flash fire, so Joshua's bowed figure, spite of\nthe sack that burdened his shoulders, straightened itself, and his\nsparkling eyes were turned toward the spot whence came the sounds the\ncaptain of the guards had mistaken for the loud tumult of festal mirth.\n\nHe, Joshua, knew better. Never could he mistake the roar echoing there;\nit was the war-cry of Egyptian soldiers, the blast of the trumpet\nsummoning the warriors, the clank of weapons, and the battle-shouts of\nhostile hordes.\n\nReady for prompt action, he bent toward his yokemate, and whispered\nimperiously:\n\n\"The hour of deliverance is at hand. Take heed, and obey me blindly.\"\n\nStrong excitement overpowered his companion also, and Hosea had scarcely\nglanced into the side-valley ere he bade him hold himself in readiness.\n\nThe first look into the ravine had showed him, on the summit of a cliff,\na venerable face framed in snowy locks--his father's. He would have\nrecognized him among thousands and at a far greater distance! But from\nthe beloved grey head he turned a swift glance at the guide, who had\nstopped in speechless horror, and supposing that a mutiny had broken out\namong the prisoners, with swift presence of mind shouted hoarsely to the\nother guards:\n\n\"Keep behind the convicts and cut down every one who attempts to escape!\"\n\nBut scarcely had his subordinates hurried to the end of the train, ere\nJoshua whispered to his companion:\n\n\"At him!\"\n\nAs he spoke the Hebrew, who, with his yoke-mate, headed the procession,\nattacked the astonished leader, and ere he was aware of it, Joshua seized\nhis right arm, the other his left.\n\nThe strong man, whose powers were doubled by his rage, struggled\nfuriously to escape, but Joshua and his companion held him in an iron\ngrasp.\n\nA single rapid glance had showed the chief the path he must take to join\nhis people True, it led past a small band of Egyptian bow-men, who were\ndischarging their arrows at the Hebrews on the opposite cliff, but the\nenemy would not venture to fire at him and his companion; for the\npowerful figure of the captain of the guards, clearly recognizable by his\ndress and weapons, shielded them both.\n\n\"Lift the chain with your right hand,\" whispered Joshua, \"I will hold our\nliving buckler. We must ascend the cliff crab-fashion.\"\n\nHis companion obeyed, and as they advanced within bow-shot of the\nenemy--moving sometimes backward, sometimes sideways--they held the\nEgyptian before them and with the ringing shout: \"The son of Nun is\nreturning to his father and to his people!\" Joshua step by step drew\nnearer to the Hebrew combatants.\n\nNot one of the Egyptians who knew the captain of the prisoners' guard had\nventured to send an arrow at the escaping prisoners. While the fettered\npair were ascending the cliff backward, Joshua heard his name shouted in\njoyous accents, and directly after Ephraim, with a band of youthful\nwarriors, came rushing down the height toward him.\n\nTo his astonishment Joshua saw the huge shield, sword, or battle-axe of\nan Egyptian heavily-armed soldier in the hands of each of these sons of\nhis people, but the shepherd's sling and the bag of round stones also\nhung from many girdles.\n\nEphraim led his companions and, before greeting his uncle, formed them\ninto two ranks like a double wall between Joshua and the hostile bow-men.\n\nThen he gave himself up to the delight of meeting, and a second glad\ngreeting soon followed; for old Nun, protected by the tall Egyptian\nshields which the sea had washed ashore, had been guided to the\nprojecting rock in whose shelter strong hands were filing the fetters\nfrom Joshua and his companion, while Ephraim, with several others, bound\nthe captain.\n\nThe unfortunate man had given up all attempt at resistance and submitted\nto everything as if utterly crushed. He only asked permission to wipe his\neyes ere his arms were bound behind his back; for tear after tear was\nfalling on the grey beard of the warder who, outwitted and overpowered,\nno longer felt capable of discharging the duties of his office.\n\nNun clasped to his heart with passionate fervor the rescued son whom he\nhad already mourned as lost. Then, releasing him, he stepped back and\nnever wearied of feasting his eyes on him and hearing him repeat that,\nfaithful to his God, he had consecrated himself to the service of his\npeople.\n\nBut it was for a brief period only that they gave themselves up to the\nbliss of this happy meeting; the battle asserted its rights, and its\ndirection fell, as a matter of course, to Joshua.\n\nHe had learned with grateful joy, yet not wholly untinged with\nmelancholy, of the fate which had overtaken the brave army among whose\nleaders he had long proudly numbered himself, and also heard that another\nbody of armed shepherds, under the command of Hur, Miriam's husband, had\nattacked the turquoise mines of Dophkah, which situated a little farther\ntoward the south, could be reached in a few hours. If they conquered,\nthey were to join the young followers of Ephraim before sunset.\n\nThe latter was burning with eagerness to rush upon the Egyptians, but the\nmore prudent Joshua, who had scanned the foe, though he did not doubt\nthat they must succumb to the fiery shepherds, who were far superior to\nthem in numbers, was anxious to shed as little blood as possible in this\nconflict, which was waged on his account, so he bade Ephraim cut a palm\nfrom the nearest tree, ordered a shield to be handed to him and then,\nwaving the branch as an omen of peace, yet cautiously protecting himself,\nadvanced alone to meet the foe.\n\nThe main body were drawn up in front of the mines and, familiar with the\nsignal which requested negotiations, asked their commander for an\ninterview.\n\nThe latter was ready to grant it, but first desired to know the contents\nof a letter which had just been handed to him and must contain evil\ntidings. This was evident from the messenger's looks and the few words\nwhich, though broken, were pregnant with meaning, that he had whispered\nto his countryman.\n\nWhile some of Pharaoh's warriors offered refreshments to the exhausted,\ndust-covered runner, and listened with every token of horror to the\ntidings he hoarsely gasped, the commander of the troops read the letter.\n\nHis features darkened and, when he had finished, he clenched the papyrus\nfiercely; for it had announced tidings no less momentous than the\ndestruction of the army, the death of Pharaoh Menephtah, and the\ncoronation of his oldest surviving son as Seti II., after the attempt of\nPrince Siptah to seize the throne had been frustrated. The latter had\nfled to the marshy region of the Delta, and Aarsu, the Syrian, after\nabandoning him and supporting the new king, had been raised to the chief\ncommand of all the mercenaries. Bai, the high-priest and chief-judge, had\nbeen deprived of his rank and banished by Seti II. Siptah's confederates\nhad been taken to the Ethiopian gold mines instead of to the copper\nmines. It was also stated that many women belonging to the House of the\nSeparated had been strangled; and Siptah's mother had undoubtedly met the\nsame fate. Every soldier who could be spared from the mines was to set\noff at once for Tanis, where veterans were needed for the new legions.\n\nThis news exerted a powerful influence; for after Joshua had told the\ncommander that he was aware of the destruction of the Egyptian army and\nexpected reinforcements which had been sent to capture Dophkah to arrive\nwithin a few hours, the Egyptian changed his imperious tone and\nendeavored merely to obtain favorable conditions for retreat. He was but\ntoo well aware of the weakness of the garrison of the turquoise mines and\nknew that he could expect no aid from home. Besides, the mediator\ninspired him with confidence; therefore, after many evasions and threats,\nhe expressed himself satisfied with the assurance that the garrison,\naccompanied by the beasts of burden and necessary provisions, should be\nallowed to depart unharmed. This, however, was not to be done until after\nthey had laid down their arms and showed the Hebrews all the galleries\nwhere the prisoners were at work.\n\nThe young Hebrews, who twice outnumbered the Egyptians, at once set about\ndisarming them; and many an old warrior's eyes grew dim, many a man broke\nhis lance or snapped his arrows amid execrations and curses, while some\ngrey-beards who had formerly served under Joshua and recognized him,\nraised their clenched fists and upbraided him as a traitor.\n\nThe dregs of the army were sent for this duty in the wilderness and most\nof the men bore in their faces the impress of corruption and brutality.\nThose in authority on the Nile knew how to choose soldiers whose duty it\nwas to exercise pitiless severity against the defenceless.\n\nAt last the mines were opened and Joshua himself seized a lamp and\npressed forward into the hot galleries where the naked prisoners of\nstate, loaded with fetters, were hewing the copper ore from the walls.\n\nAlready he could hear in the distance the picks, whose heads were shaped\nlike a swallow's tail, bite the hard rock. Then he distinguished the\npiteous wails of tortured men and women; for cruel overseers had followed\nthem into the mine and were urging the slow to greater haste.\n\nTo-day, Pharaoh's birthday, they had been driven to the temple of Hathor\non the summit of the neighboring height, to pray for the king who had\nplunged them into the deepest misery, and they would have been released\nfrom labor until the next morning, had not the unexpected attack induced\nthe commander to force them back into the mines. Therefore to-day the\nwomen, who were usually obliged merely to crush and sift the ores needed\nto make glass and dyes, were compelled to labor in the galleries.\n\nWhen the convicts heard Joshua's shouts and footsteps, which echoed from\nthe bare cliffs, they were afraid that some fresh misfortune was\nimpending, and wailing and lamentations arose in all directions. But the\ndeliverer soon reached the first convicts, and the glad tidings that he\nhad come to save them from their misery speedily extended to the inmost\ndepths of the mines.\n\nWild exultation filled the galleries which were wont to witness only\nsorrowful moans and burning tears; yet loud cries for help, piteous\nwailings, groans, and the death-rattle reached Joshua's ear; for a\nhot-blooded man had rushed upon the overseer most hated and felled him\nwith his pick-axe. His example quickly inflamed the others' thirst for\nvengeance and, ere it could be prevented, the same fate overtook the\nother officials. But they had defended themselves and the corpse of many\na prisoner strewed the ground beside their tormentors.\n\nObeying Joshua's call, the liberated multitude at last emerged into the\nlight of day. Savage and fierce were the outcries which blended in\nsinister discord with the rattling of the chains they dragged after them.\nEven the most fearless among the Hebrews shrank in horror as they beheld\nthe throng of hapless sufferers in the full radiance of the sunlight; for\nthe dazzled, reddened eyes of the unfortunate sufferers,--many of whom\nhad formerly enjoyed in their own homes or at the king's court every\nearthly blessing; who had been tender mothers and fathers, rejoiced in\ndoing good, and shared all the blessings of the civilization of a richly\ngifted people,--these dazzled eyes which at first glittered through tears\ncaused by the swift transition from the darkness of the mines to the\nglare of the noon-day sun, soon sparkled as fiercely and greedily as\nthose of starving owls.\n\nAt first, overwhelmed by the singular change in their destiny, they\nstruggled for composure and did not resist the Hebrews, who, at Joshua's\nsignal, began to file the fetters from their ankles; but when they\nperceived the disarmed soldiers and overseers who, guarded by Ephraim and\nhis companions, were ranged at the base of a cliff, a strange excitement\noverpowered them. Amid shrieks and yells which no name can designate, no\nwords describe, they broke from those who were trying to remove their\nfetters and, though no glance or word had been exchanged between them,\nobeyed the same terrible impulse, and unheeding the chains that burdened\nthem, rushed upon the defenceless Egyptians. Before the Hebrews could\nprevent it, each threw himself upon the one who had inflicted the worst\nsuffering upon him; and here might be seen an emaciated man clutching the\nthroat of his stronger foe, yonder a band of nude women horribly\ndisfigured by want and neglect, rush upon the man who had most rudely\ninsulted, beaten, and abused them, and with teeth and nails wreak upon\nhim their long repressed fury.\n\nIt seemed as though the flood-tide of hate had burst its dam and,\nunfettered, was demanding its victims.\n\nThere was a horrible scene of attack and defence, a ferocious, bloody\nconflict on foot and amid the red sand of the desert, shrieks, yells, and\nhowls pierced the ear; nay, it was difficult to distinguish individuals\nin this motley confusion of men and women, animated on the one side by\nthe wildest passion, a yearning for vengeance amounting to\nblood-thirstiness, and on the other by the dread of death and the\nnecessity for self-defence.\n\nOnly a few of the prisoners had succeeded in controlling themselves; but\nthey, too, shouted irritating words to their fellows, reviled the\nEgyptians in violent excitement, and shook their clenched fists at the\ndisarmed foe.\n\nThe fury with which the liberated serfs rushed upon their tormentors was\nas unprecedented as the cruelties they had suffered.\n\nBut Joshua had deprived the Egyptians of their weapons, and they were\ntherefore under his protection.\n\nSo he commanded his men to separate the combatants, if possible without\nbloodshed; but the task was no easy one, and many new and horrible deeds\nwere committed. At last, however, it was accomplished, and they now\nperceived how terribly rage had increased the strength of the exhausted\nand feeble sufferers; for though no weapons had been used in the conflict\na number of corpses strewed the spot, and most of the guards were\nbleeding from terrible wounds.\n\nAfter quiet had been restored, Joshua asked the wounded commander for the\nlist of prisoners, but he pointed to the clerk of the mines, whom none of\nthe convicts had assailed. He had been their physician and treated them\nkindly-an elderly man, he had himself undergone sore trials and, knowing\nthe pain of suffering, was ready to alleviate the pangs of others.\n\nHe willingly read aloud the names of the prisoners, among which were\nseveral Hebrew ones, and after each individual had responded, many\ndeclared themselves ready to join the wandering tribes.\n\nWhen the disarmed soldiers and guards at last set out on their way home,\nthe captain of the band that had escorted Joshua and his companions left\nthe other Egyptians, and with drooping head and embarrassed mien\napproached old Nun and his son, and begged permission to go with them;\nfor he could expect no favor at home and there was no God in Egypt so\nmighty as theirs. It had not escaped his notice that Hosea, who had once\nbeen a chief in the Egyptian service, had raised his hands in the sorest\nstraits to this God, and never had he witnessed the same degree of\nresolution that he possessed. Now he also knew that this same mighty God\nhad buried Pharaoh's powerful army in the sea to save His people. Such a\nGod was acceptable to his heart, and he desired nothing better than to\nremain henceforward with those who served Him.\n\nJoshua willingly allowed him to join the Hebrews. Then it appeared that\nthere were fifteen of the latter among the liberated prisoners and, to\nEphraim's special delight, Reuben, the husband of poor melancholy Milcah,\nwho clung so closely to Miriam. His reserved, laconic disposition had\nstood him in good stead, and the arduous forced labor seemed to have\ninflicted little injury on his robust frame.\n\nThe exultation of victory, the joy of success, had taken full possession\nof Ephraim and his youthful band; but when the sun set and there was\nstill no sign of Hur and his band, Nun and his followers were seized with\nanxiety.\n\nEphraim had already proposed to go with some of his companions in quest\nof tidings, when a messenger announced that Hur's men had lost courage at\nthe sight of the well-fortified Egyptian citadel. Their leader, it is\ntrue, had urged them to the assault, but his band had shrunk from the\nperil and, unless Nun and his men brought aid, they would return with\ntheir mission unfulfilled.\n\nIt was therefore resolved to go to the assistance of the timorous. With\njoyous confidence they marched forward and, during the journey through\nthe cool night, Ephraim and Nun described to Joshua how they had found\nKasana and how she had died. What she had desired to communicate to the\nman she loved was now made known to him, and the warrior listened with\ndeep emotion and remained silent and thoughtful until they reached\nDophkah, the valley of the turquoise mines, from whose center rose the\nfortress which contained the prisoners.\n\nHur and his men had remained concealed in a side-valley, and after Joshua\nhad divided the Hebrew force into several bodies and assigned to each a\ncertain task, he gave at dawn the signal for the assault.\n\nAfter a brief struggle the little garrison was overpowered and the\nfortress taken. The disarmed Egyptians, like their companions at the\ncopper mines, were sent home. The prisoners were released and the lepers,\nwhose quarters were in a side-valley beyond the mines--among them were\nthose who at Joshua's bidding had been brought here--were allowed to\nfollow the conquerors at a certain distance.\n\nWhat Hur, Miriam's husband, could not accomplish, Joshua had done, and\nere the young soldiers departed with Ephraim, old Nun assembled them to\noffer thanks to the Lord. The men under Hur's command also joined in the\nprayer and wherever Joshua appeared Ephraim's companions greeted him with\ncheers.\n\n\"Hail to our chief!\" often rang on the air, as they marched forward:\n\"Hail to him whom the Most High Himself has chosen for His sword! We will\ngladly follow him; for through him God leads us to victory.\"\n\nHur's men also joined in these shouts, and he did not forbid them; nay,\nafter the storming of the fortress, he had thanked Joshua and expressed\nhis pleasure in his liberation.\n\nAt the departure, the younger man had stepped back to let the older one\nprecede him; but Hur had entreated grey-haired Nun, who was greatly his\nsenior, to take the head of the procession, though after the deliverance\nof the people on the shore of the Red Sea he had himself been appointed\nby Moses and the elders to the chief command of the Hebrew soldiers.\n\nThe road led first through a level mountain valley, then it crossed the\npass known as the \"Sword-point \", which was the only means of\ncommunication between the mines and the Red Sea.\n\nThe rocky landscape was wild and desolate, and the path to be climbed\nsteep. Joshua's old father, who had grown up on the flat plains of Goshen\nand was unaccustomed to climbing mountains, was borne amid the joyous\nacclamations of the others, in the arms of his son and grandson, to the\nsummit of the pass; but Miriam's husband who, at the head of his men,\nfollowed the division of Ephraim's companions, heard the shouts of the\nyouths yet moved with drooping head and eyes bent on the ground.\n\nAt the summit they were to rest and wait for the people who were to be\nled through the wilderness of Sin to Dophkah.\n\nThe victors gazed from the top of the pass in search of the travellers;\nbut as yet no sign of them appeared. But when they looked back along the\nmountain path whence they had come a different spectacle presented\nitself, a scene so grand, so marvellous, that it attracted every eye as\nthough by a magic spell; for at their feet lay a circular valley,\nsurrounded by lofty cliffs, mountain ridges, peaks, and summits, which\nhere white as chalk, yonder raven-black, here grey and brown, yonder red\nand green, appeared to grow upward from the sand toward the azure sky of\nthe wilderness, steeped in dazzling light, and unshadowed by the tiniest\ncloudlet.\n\nAll that the eye beheld was naked and bare, silent and lifeless. On the\nslopes of the many-colored rocks, which surrounded the sandy valley, grew\nno blade of grass nor smallest plant. Neither bird, worm, nor beetle\nstirred in these silent tracts, hostile to all life. Here the eye\ndiscerned no cultivation,--nothing that recalled human existence. God\nseemed to have created for Himself alone these vast tracts which were of\nservice to no living creature. Whoever penetrated into this wilderness\nentered a spot which the Most High had perchance chosen for a place of\nrest and retreat, like the silent, inaccessible Holy of Holies of the\ntemple.\n\nThe young men had gazed mutely at the wonderful scene at their feet. Now\nthey prepared to encamp and showed themselves diligent in serving old\nNun, whom they sincerely loved. Resting among them under a hastily\nerected canopy he related, with sparkling eyes, the deeds his son had\nperformed.\n\nMeanwhile Joshua and Hur were still standing at the top of the pass, the\nformer gazing silently down into the dreary, rocky valley, which\noverarched by the blue dome of the sky, surrounded by the mountain\npillars and columns from God's own workshop, opened before him as the\nmightiest of temples.\n\nThe old man had long gazed gloomily at the ground, but he suddenly\ninterrupted the silence and said:\n\n\"In Succoth I erected a heap of stones and called upon the Lord to be a\nwitness between us. But in this spot, amid this silence, it seems to me\nthat without memorial or sign we are sure of His presence.\" Here he drew\nhis figure to a greater height and continued: \"And I now raise mine eyes\nto Thee, Adonai, and address my humble words to Thee, Jehovah, Thou God\nof Abraham and of our fathers, that Thou mayst a second time be a witness\nbetween me and this man whom Thou Thyself didst summon to Thy service,\nthat he might be Thy sword.\"\n\nHe had uttered these words with eyes and hands uplifted, then turning to\nthe other, he said with solemn earnestness:\n\n\"So I ask thee Hosea, son of Nun, dost thou remember the vow which thou\nand I made before the stones in Succoth?\"\n\n\"I do,\" was the reply. \"And in sore disaster and great peril I perceived\nwhat the Most High desired of me, and am resolved to devote to Him all\nthe strength of body and soul with which He has endowed me, to Him alone,\nand to His people, who are also mine. Henceforward I will be called\nJoshua . . . nor will I seek service with the Egyptians or any foreign\nking; for the Lord our God through the lips of thy wife bestowed this\nname upon me.\"\n\nThen Hur, with solemn earnestness, broke in: \"That is what I expected to\nhear and as, in this place also, the Most High is a witness between me\nand thee and hears this conversation, let the vow I made in His presence\nbe here fulfilled. The heads of the tribes and Moses, the servant of the\nLord, appointed me to the command of the fighting-men of our people. But\nnow thou dost call thyself Joshua, and hast vowed to serve no other than\nthe Lord our God. I am well aware thou canst accomplish far greater\nthings as commander of an army than I, who have grown grey in driving\nherds, or than any other Hebrew, by whatever name he is known, so I will\nfulfil the vow sworn at Succoth. I will ask Moses, the servant of the\nLord, and the elders to confide to thee the office of commander. In their\nhands will I place the decision and, because I feel that the Most High\nbeholds my heart, let me confess that I have thought of thee with secret\nrancor. Yet, for the welfare of the people, I will forget what lies\nbetween us and offer thee my hand.\"\n\nWith these words he held out his hand to Joshua and the latter, grasping\nit, replied with generous candor:\n\n\"Thy words are manly and mine shall be also. For the sake of the people\nand the cause we both serve, I will accept thy offer. Yet since thou hast\nsummoned the Most High as a witness and He hears me, I, too, will not\nwithhold one iota of the truth. The Lord Himself has summoned me to the\noffice of commander of the fighting-men which thou dost desire to commit\nto me. It was done through Miriam, thy wife, and is my due. Yet I\nrecognize thy willingness to yield thy dignity to me as a praiseworthy\ndeed, since I know how hard it is for a man to resign power, especially\nin favor of a younger one whom he does not love. Thou hast done this, and\nI am grateful. I, too, have thought of thee with secret rancor; for\nthrough thee I lost another possession harder for a man to renounce than\noffice: the love of woman.\"\n\nThe hot blood mounted into Hur's cheeks, as he exclaimed:\n\n\"Miriam! I did not force her into marriage; nay I did not even purchase\nher, according to the custom of our fathers, with the bridal dowry--she\nbecame my wife of her own free will.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" replied Joshua quietly, \"yet there was one man who had\nyearned to make her his longer and more ardently than thou, and the fire\nof jealousy burned fiercely in his heart. But have no anxiety; for wert\nthou now to give her a letter of divorce and lead her to me that I might\nopen my arms and tent to receive her, I would exclaim:\n\n\"Why hast thou done this thing to thyself and to me? For a short time ago\nI learned what woman's love is, and that I was mistaken when I believed\nMiriam shared the ardor of my heart. Besides, during the march with\nfetters on my feet, in the heaviest misfortune, I vowed to devote all the\nstrength and energy of soul and body to the welfare of our people. Nor\nshall the love of woman turn me from the great duty I have taken upon\nmyself. As for thy wife, I shall treat her as a stranger unless, as a\nprophetess, she summons me to announce a new message from the Lord.\"\n\nWith these words he held out his hand to his companion and, as Hur\ngrasped it, loud voices were heard from the fighting-men, for messengers\nwere climbing the mountain, who, shouting and beckoning, pointed to the\nvast cloud of dust that preceded the march of the tribes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nThe Hebrews came nearer and nearer, and many of the young combatants\nhastened to meet them. These were not the joyous bands, who had joined\ntriumphantly in Miriam's song of praise, no, they tottered toward the\nmountain slowly, with drooping heads. They were obliged to scale the pass\nfrom the steeper side, and how the bearers sighed; how piteously the\nwomen and children wailed, how fiercely the drivers swore as they urged\nthe beasts of burden up the narrow, rugged path; how hoarsely sounded the\nvoices of the half fainting men as they braced their shoulders against\nthe carts to aid the beasts of burden.\n\nThese thousands who, but a few short days before, had so gratefully felt\nthe saving mercy of the Lord, seemed to Joshua, who stood watching their\napproach, like a defeated army.\n\nBut the path they had followed from their last encampment, the harbor by\nthe Red Sea, was rugged, arid, and to them, who had grown up among the\nfruitful plains of Lower Egypt, toilsome and full of terror.\n\nIt had led through the midst of the bare rocky landscape, and their eyes,\naccustomed to distant horizons and luxuriant green foliage, met narrow\nboundaries and a barren wilderness.\n\nSince passing through the Gate of Baba, they had beheld on their way\nthrough the valley of the same name and their subsequent pilgrimage\nthrough the wilderness of Sin, nothing save valleys with steep precipices\non either side. A lofty mountain of the hue of death had towered, black\nand terrible, above the reddish-brown slopes, which seemed to the\nwanderers like the work of human hands, for the strata of stones rose at\nregular intervals. One might have supposed that the giant builders whose\nhands had toiled here in the service of the Sculptor of the world had\nbeen summoned away ere they had completed the task, which in this\nwilderness had no searching eye to fear and seemed destined for the\nservice of no living creature. Grey and brown granite cliffs and ridges\nrose on both sides of the path, and in the sand which covered it lay\nheaps of small bits of red porphyry and coal-black stones that seemed as\nif they had been broken by the blows of a hammer and resembled the dross\nfrom which metal had been melted. Greenish masses of rock, most peculiar\nin form, surrounded the narrow, cliff circled mountain valleys, which\nopened into one another. The ascending path pierced them; and often the\nHebrews, as they entered, feared that the lofty cliffs in the distance\nwould compel them to return. Then murmurs and lamentations arose, but the\nmode of egress soon appeared and led to another rock-valley.\n\nOn departing from the harbor at the Red Sea they had often found thorny\ngum acacias and an aromatic desert plant, which the animals relished; but\nthe farther they entered the rocky wilderness, the more scorching and\narid the sand became, and at last the eye sought in vain for herbs and\ntrees.\n\nAt Elim fresh springs and shade-giving palms were found, and at the Red\nSea there were well-filled cisterns; but here at the camp in the\nwilderness of Sin nothing had been discovered to quench the thirst, and\nat noon it seemed as though an army of spiteful demons had banished every\ninch of shade cast by the cliffs; for every part of the valleys and\nravines blazed and glowed, and nowhere was there the slightest protection\nfrom the scorching sun.\n\nThe last water brought with them had been distributed among the human\nbeings and animals, and when the procession started in the morning not a\ndrop could be found to quench their increasing thirst.\n\nThen the old doubting rancor and rebelliousness took possession of the\nmultitude. Curses directed against Moses and the elders, who had led them\nfrom the comfort of well-watered Egypt to this misery, never ceased; but\nwhen they climbed the pass of the \"Swordpoint\" their parched throats had\nbecome too dry for oaths and invectives.\n\nMessengers from old Nun, Ephraim, and Hur had already informed the\napproaching throngs that the young men had gained a victory and liberated\nJoshua and the other captives; but their discouragement had become so\ngreat that even this good news made little change, and only a flitting\nsmile on the bearded lips of the men, or a sudden flash of the old light\nin the dark eyes of the women appeared.\n\nMiriam, accompanied by melancholy Milcah, had remained with her\ncompanions instead of, as usual, calling upon the women to thank the Most\nHigh.\n\nReuben, the husband of her sorrowful ward whom fear of disappointment\nstill deterred from yielding to his newly-awakened hopes, was a quiet,\nreticent man, so the first messenger did not know whether he was among\nthe liberated prisoners. But great excitement overpowered Milcah and,\nwhen Miriam bade her be patient, she hurried from one playmate to another\nassailing them with urgent questions. When even the last could give her\nno information concerning the husband she had loved and lost, she burst\ninto loud sobs and fled back to the prophetess. But she received little\nconsolation, for the woman who was expecting to greet her own husband as\na conqueror and see the rescued friend of her childhood, was\nabsent-minded and troubled, as if some heavy burden oppressed her soul.\n\nMoses had left the tribes as soon as he learned that the attack upon the\nmines had succeeded and Joshua was rescued; for it had been reported that\nthe warlike Amalekites, who dwelt in the oasis at the foot of Mt. Sinai,\nwere preparing to resist the Hebrews' passage through their well-watered\ntract in the wilderness with its wealth of palms. Accompanied by a few\npicked men he set off across the mountains in quest of tidings, expecting\nto join his people between Alush and Rephidim in the valley before the\noasis.\n\nAbidan, the head of the tribe of Benjamin, with Hur and Nun, the princes\nof Judah and Ephraim after their return from the mines--were to represent\nhim and his companions.\n\nAs the people approached the steep pass Hur, with more of the rescued\nprisoners, came to meet them, and hurrying in advance of all the rest was\nyoung Reuben, Milcah's lost husband. She had recognized him in the\ndistance as he rushed down the mountain and, spite of Miriam's protest,\ndarted into the midst of the tribe of Simeon which marched in front of\nhers.\n\nThe sight of their meeting cheered many a troubled spirit and when at\nlast, clinging closely to each other, they hurried to Miriam and the\nlatter beheld the face of her charge, it seemed as though a miracle had\nbeen wrought; for the pale lily had become in the hue of her cheeks a\nblooming rose. Her lips, too, which she had but rarely and timidly opened\nfor a question or an answer, were in constant motion; for how much she\ndesired to know, how many questions she had to ask the silent husband who\nhad endured such terrible suffering.\n\nThey were a handsome, happy pair, and it seemed to them as if, instead of\npassing naked rocks over barren desert paths, they were journeying\nthrough a vernal landscape where springs were gushing and birds carolling\ntheir songs.\n\nMiriam, who had done everything in her power to sustain the grieving\nwife, was also cheered by the sight of her happiness. But every trace of\njoyous sympathy soon vanished from her features; for while Reuben and\nMilcah, as if borne on wings, seemed scarcely to touch the soil of the\nwilderness, she moved forward with drooping head, oppressed by the\nthought that it was her own fault that no like happiness could bloom for\nher in this hour.\n\nShe told herself that she had made a sore sacrifice, worthy of the\nhighest reward and pleasing in the sight of God, when she refused to obey\nthe voice of her heart, yet she could not banish from her memory the\ndying Egyptian who had denied her right to be numbered among those who\nloved Hosea, the woman who for his sake had met so early a death.\n\nShe, Miriam, lived, yet she had killed the most fervent desire of her\nsoul; duty forbade her thinking with ardent longing of him who lingered\nup yonder, devoted to the cause of his people and the God of his fathers,\na free, noble man, perhaps the future leader of the warriors of her race,\nand if Moses so appointed, next to him the first and greatest of all the\nHebrews, but lost, forever lost to her.\n\nHad she on that fateful night obeyed the yearning of her woman's heart\nand not the demands of the vocation which placed her far above all other\nwomen, he would long since have clasped her in his arms, as quiet Reuben\nembraced his poor, feeble Milcah, now so joyous as she walked stoutly at\nhis side.\n\nWhat thoughts were these?\n\nShe must drive them back to the inmost recesses of her heart, seek to\ncrush them; for it was a sin for her to long so ardently to meet another.\nShe wished for her husband's presence, as a saviour from herself and the\nforbidden desires of this terrible hour.\n\nHur, the prince of the tribe of Judah, was her husband, not the former\nEgyptian, the liberated captive. What had she to ask from the Ephraimite,\nwhom she had forever refused?\n\nWhy should it hurt her that the liberated prisoner did not seek her; why\ndid she secretly cherish the foolish hope that momentous duties detained\nhim?\n\nShe scarcely saw or heard what was passing around her, and Milcah's\ngrateful greeting to her husband first informed her that Hur was\napproaching.\n\nHe had waved his hand to her while still afar, but he came alone, without\nHosea or Joshua, she cared not what the rescued man called himself; and\nit angered her to feel that this hurt her, nay, pierced her to the heart.\nYet she esteemed her elderly husband and it was not difficult for her to\ngive him a cordial welcome.\n\nHe answered her greeting joyously and tenderly; but when she pointed to\nthe re-united pair and extolled him as victor and deliverer of Reuben and\nso many hapless men, he frankly owned that he had no right to this\npraise, it was the due of \"Joshua,\" whom she herself had summoned in the\nname of the Most High to command the warriors of the people.\n\nMiriam turned pale and, in spite of the steepness of the road, pressed\nher husband with questions. When she heard that Joshua was resting on the\nheights with his father and the young men and refreshing themselves with\nwine, and that Hur had promised to resign voluntarily, if Moses desired\nto entrust the command to him, her heavy eye-brows contracted in a gloomy\nfrown beneath her broad forehead and, with curt severity, she exclaimed:\n\n\"You are my lord, and it is not seemly for me to oppose you, not even if\nyou forget your own wife so far that you give place to the man who once\nventured to raise his eyes to her.\"\n\n\"He no longer cares for you,\" Hur eagerly interrupted; \"nay, were I to\ngive you a letter of divorce, he would no longer desire to possess you.\"\n\n\"Would he not?\" asked Miriam with a forced smile. \"Do you owe this\ninformation to him?\"\n\n\"He has devoted himself, body and soul, to the welfare of the people and\nrenounces the love of woman,\" replied Hur. But his wife exclaimed:\n\n\"Renunciation is easy, where desire would bring nothing save fresh\nrejection and shame. Not to him who, in the hour of the utmost peril,\nsought aid from the Egyptians is the honor of the chief command of the\nwarriors due, but rather to you, who led the tribes to the first victory\nat the store-house in Succoth and to whom the Lord Himself, through Moses\nHis servant, confided the command.\"\n\nHur looked anxiously at the woman for whom a late, fervent love had fired\nhis heart, and seeing her glowing cheeks and hurried breathing, knew not\nwhether to attribute these symptoms to the steep ascent or to the\npassionate ambition of her aspiring soul, which she now transferred to\nhim, her husband.\n\nThat she held him in so much higher esteem than the younger hero, whose\nreturn he had dreaded, pleased him, but he had grown grey in the strict\nfulfilment of duty, and would not deviate from what he considered right.\nHis mere hints had been commands to the wife of his youth whom he had\nborne to the grave a few years before, and as yet he had encountered no\nopposition from Miriam. That Joshua was best fitted to command the\nfighting-men of the people was unquestionable, so he answered, with\npanting breath, for the ascent taxed his strength also:\n\n\"Your good opinion is an honor and a pleasure to me; but even should\nMoses and the elders confer the chief command upon me, remember the heap\nof stones at Succoth and my vow. I have ever been mindful of and shall\nkeep it.\"\n\nMiriam looked angrily aside, and said nothing more till they had reached\nthe summit of the pass.\n\nThe victorious youths were greeting their approaching kindred with loud\nshouts.\n\nThe joy of meeting, the provisions captured, and the drink which, though\nsparingly distributed, was divided among the greatest sufferers, raised\nthe drooping courage of the exhausted wayfarers; and the thirsting\nHebrews shortened the rest at the summit of the pass in order to reach\nDophkah more quickly. They had heard from Joshua that they would find\nthere not only ruined cisterns, but also a hidden spring whose existence\nhad been revealed to him by the ex-captain of the prisoners' guards.\n\nThe way led down the mountain. \"Haste\" was the watchword of the fainting\nHebrews on their way to a well; and thus, soon after sunset, they reached\nthe valley of the turquoise mines, where they encamped around the hill\ncrowned by the ruined fortress and burned store-houses of Dophkah.\n\nThe spring in an acacia grove dedicated to the goddess Hathor was\nspeedily found, and fire after fire was quickly lighted. The wavering\nhearts which, in the desert of Sin, had been on the verge of despair were\nagain filled with the anticipation of life, hope, and grateful faith. The\nbeautiful acacias, it is true, had been felled to afford easier access to\nthe spring whose refreshing waters had effected this wonderful change.\n\nAt the summit of the pass Joshua and Miriam had met again, but found time\nonly for a hasty greeting. In the camp they were brought into closer\nrelations.\n\nJoshua had appeared among the people with his father. The heir of the\nprincely old man who was held in such high esteem received joyous\ngreetings from all sides, and his counsel to form a vanguard of the\nyouthful warriors, a rear-guard of the older ones, and send out chosen\nbands of the former on reconnoitering expeditions was readily adopted.\n\nHe had a right to say that he was familiar with everything pertaining to\nthe guidance and defence of a large army. God Himself had entrusted him\nwith the chief command, and Moses, by sending him the monition to be\nstrong and steadfast, had confirmed the office. Hur, too, who now\npossessed it, was willing to transfer it to him, and this man's promise\nwas inviolable, though he had omitted to repeat it in the presence of the\nelders. Joshua was treated as if he held the chief command, and he\nhimself felt his own authority supreme.\n\nAfter the assembly dispersed, Hur had invited him, spite of the late\nhour, to go to his tent and the warrior accompanied him, for he desired\nto talk with Miriam. He would show her, in her husband's presence, that\nhe had found the path which she had so zealously pointed out to him.\n\nIn the presence of another's wife the tender emotions of a Hebrew were\nsilent. Hur's consort must be made aware that he, Joshua, no longer\ncherished any love for her. Even in his solitary hours, he had wholly\nceased to think of her.\n\nHe confessed that she was a noble, a majestic woman, but the very memory\nof this grandeur now sent a chill through his veins.\n\nHer actions, too, appeared in a new light. Nay, when at the summit of the\npass she had greeted him with a cold smile, he felt convinced that they\nwere utterly estranged from one another, and this feeling grew stronger\nand stronger beside the blazing fire in the stately tent of the chief,\nwhere they met a second time.\n\nThe rescued Reuben and his wife Milcah had deserted Miriam long before\nand, during her lonely waiting, many thoughts had passed through her mind\nwhich she meant to impress upon the man to whom she had granted so much\nthat its memory now weighed on her heart like a crime.\n\nWe are most ready to be angry with those to whom we have been unjust, and\nthis woman regarded the gift of her love as something so great, so\nprecious, that it behooved even the man whom she had rejected never to\ncease to remember it with gratitude. But Joshua had boasted that he no\nlonger desired, even were she offered to him, the woman whom he had once\nso fervently loved and clasped in his embrace. Nay, he had confirmed this\nassertion by leisurely waiting, without seeking her.\n\nAt last he came, and in company with her husband, who was ready to cede\nhis place to him.\n\nBut she was present, ready to watch with open eyes for the welfare of the\ntoo generous Hur.\n\nThe elderly man, to whose fate she had linked her own, and whose faithful\ndevotion touched her, should be defrauded by no rival of the position\nwhich was his due, and which he must retain, if only because she rebelled\nagainst being the wife of a man who could no longer claim next to her\nbrothers the highest rank in the tribes.\n\nNever before had the much-courted woman, who had full faith in her gift\nof prophesy, felt so bitter, sore, and irritated. She did not admit it\neven to herself, yet it seemed as if the hatred of the Egyptians with\nwhich Moses had inspired her, and which was now futile, had found a new\npurpose and was directed against the only man whom she had ever loved.\n\nBut a true woman can always show kindness to everyone whom she does not\nscorn, so though she blushed deeply at the sight of the man whose kiss\nshe had returned, she received him cordially, and with sympathetic\nquestions.\n\nMeanwhile, however, she addressed him by his former name Hosea, and when\nhe perceived it was intentional, he asked if she had forgotten that it\nwas she herself who, as the confidante of the Most High, had commanded\nhim henceforward to call himself \"Joshua.\"\n\nHer features grew sharper with anxiety as she replied that her memory was\ngood but he reminded her of a time which she would prefer to forget. He\nhad himself forfeited the name the Lord had given him by preferring the\nfavor of the Egyptians to the help which God had promised. Faithful to\nthe old custom, she would continue to call him \"Hosea.\"\n\nThe honest-hearted soldier had not expected such hostility, but he\nmaintained a tolerable degree of composure and answered quietly that he\nwould rarely afford her an opportunity to address him by this or any\nother name. Those who were his friends readily adopted that of Joshua.\n\nMiriam replied that she, too, would be ready to do so if her husband\napproved and he himself insisted upon it; for the name was only a\ngarment. Of course offices and honors were another matter.\n\nWhen Joshua then declared that he still believed God Himself had summoned\nhim, through the lips of His prophetess, to command the Hebrew soldiers\nand that he would admit the right of no one save Moses to deprive him of\nhis claim to this office, Hur assented and held out his hand to him.\n\nThen Miriam dropped the restraint she had hitherto imposed on herself\nand, with defiant eagerness, continued:\n\n\"There I am of a different opinion. You did not obey the summons of the\nMost High. Can you deny this? And when the Omnipresent One found you at\nthe feet of Pharaoh, instead of at the head of His people, He deprived\nyou of the office with which He had entrusted you. He, the mightiest of\ngenerals, summoned the tempest and the waves, and they swallowed up the\nfoe. So perished those who were your friends till their heavy fetters\nmade you realize their true disposition toward you and your race. But I,\nmeanwhile, was extolling the mercy of the Most High, and the people\njoined in my hymn of praise. On that very day the Lord summoned another\nto command the fighting-men in your stead, and that other, as you know,\nis my husband. If Hur has never learned the art of war, God will surely\nguide his arm, and it is He and none other who bestows victory.\n\n\"My husband--hear it again--is the sole commander of the hosts and if, in\nthe abundance of his generosity, he has forgotten it, he will retain his\noffice when he remembers whose hand chose him, and when I, his wife,\nraise my voice and recall it to his memory.\"\n\nJoshua turned to go, in order to end the painful discussion, but Hur\ndetained him, protesting that he was deeply incensed by his wife's\nunseemly interference in the affairs of men, and that he insisted on his\npromise. \"A woman's disapproving words were blown away by the wind. It\nwould be Moses' duty to declare whom Jehovah had chosen to be commander.\"\n\nWhile making this reply Hur had gazed at his wife with stern dignity, as\nif admonishing discretion, and the look seemed to have effected its\npurpose; for Miriam had alternately flushed and paled as she listened;\nnay, she even detained the guest by beckoning him with a trembling hand\nto approach, as though she desired to soothe him.\n\n\"Let me say one thing more,\" she began, drawing a long breath, \"that you\nmay not misunderstand my meaning. I call everyone our friend who devotes\nhimself to the cause of the people, and how self-sacrificingly you intend\nto do this, Hur has informed me. It was your confidence in Pharaoh's\nfavor that parted us--therefore I know how to prize your firm and\ndecisive breach with the Egyptians, but I did not correctly estimate the\nfull grandeur of this deed until I learned that not only long custom, but\nother bonds, united you to the foe.\"\n\n\"What is the meaning of these words?\" replied Joshua, convinced that she\nhad just fitted to the bowstring another shaft intended to wound him. But\nMiriam, unheeding the question, calmly continued with a defiant keenness\nof glance that contradicted her measured speech:\n\n\"After the Lord's guidance had delivered us from the enemy, the Red Sea\nwashed ashore the most beautiful woman we have seen for a long time. I\nbandaged the wound a Hebrew woman dealt her and she acknowledged that her\nheart was filled with love for you, and that on her dying bed she\nregarded you as the idol of her soul.\"\n\nJoshua, thoroughly incensed, exclaimed: \"If this is the whole truth, wife\nof Hur, my father has given me a false report; for according to what I\nheard from him, the hapless woman made her last confession only in the\npresence of those who love me; not in yours. And she was right to shun\nyou--you would never have understood her.\"\n\nHere he saw a smile of superiority hover around Miriam's lips; but he\nrepelled it, as he went on:\n\n\"Ah, your intellect is tenfold keener than poor Kasana's ever was. But\nyour heart, which was open to the Most High, had no room for love. It\nwill grow old and cease to beat without having learned the feeling. And,\nspite of your flashing eyes, I will tell you you are more than a woman,\nyou are a prophetess. I cannot boast of gifts so lofty. I am merely a\nplain man, who understands the art of fighting better than that of\nforetelling the future. Yet I can see what is to come. You will foster\nthe hatred of me that glows in your breast, and will also implant it in\nyour husband's heart and zealously strive to fan it there. And I know\nwhy. The fiery ambition which consumes you will not suffer you to be the\nwife of a man who is second to any other. You refuse to call me by the\nname I owe to you. But if hatred and arrogance do not stifle in your\nbreast the one feeling that still unites us--love for our people, the day\nwill come when you will voluntarily approach and, unasked, by the free\nimpulse of your heart, call me 'Joshua.'\"\n\nWith these words he took leave of Miriam and her husband by a short wave\nof the hand, and vanished in the darkness of the night.\n\nHur gazed gloomily after him in silence until the footsteps of the\nbelated guest had died away in the sleeping camp; then the ill-repressed\nwrath of the grave man, who had hitherto regarded his young wife with\ntender admiration, knew no bounds.\n\nWith two long strides he stood directly before her as she gazed with a\ntroubled look into the fire, her face even paler than his own. His voice\nhad lost its metallic harmony, and sounded shrill and sharp as he\nexclaimed:\n\n\"I had the courage to woo a maiden who supposed herself to be nearer to\nGod than other women, and now that she has become my wife she makes me\natone for such presumption.\"\n\n\"Atone?\" escaped Miriam's livid lips, and a defiant glance blazed at him\nfrom her black eyes. But, undismayed, he continued, grasping her hand\nwith so firm a pressure that it hurt her:\n\n\"Aye, you make me atone for it!--Shame on me, if I permit this\ndisgraceful hour to be followed by similar ones.\"\n\nMiriam strove to wrest her hand from his clasp, but he would not release\nit, and went on:\n\n\"I sought you, that you might be the pride of my house. I expected to sow\nhonor, and I reap disgrace; for what could be more humiliating to a man\nthan to have a wife who rules him, who presumes to wound with hostile\nwords the heart of the friend who is protected by the laws of\nhospitality? A woman of different mould, a simple-hearted, upright wife,\nwho looked at her husband's past life, instead of planning how to\nincrease his greatness, that she might share it with him, need not have\nhad me shout into her ears that Hur has garnered honors and dignities\nenough, during his long existence, to be able to spare a portion of them\nwithout any loss of esteem. It is not the man who holds the chief\ncommand, but the one who shows the most self-sacrificing love for the\npeople that is greatest in the eyes of Jehovah. You desire a high place,\nyou seek to be honored by the multitude as one who is summoned by the\nLord. I shall not forbid it, so long as you do not forget what the duty\nof a wife commands. You owe me love also; for you vowed to give it on\nyour marriage day; but the human heart can bestow only what it possesses,\nand Hosea is right when he says that love, which is warm itself and warms\nothers, is a feeling alien to your cold nature.\"\n\nWith these words he turned his back upon her and went to the dark portion\nof the tent, while Miriam remained standing by the fire, whose flickering\nlight illumined her beautiful, pallid face.\n\nWith clenched teeth and hands pressed on her heaving bosom, she stood\ngazing at the spot where he had disappeared.\n\nHer grey-haired husband had confronted her in the full consciousness of\nhis dignity, a noble man worthy of reverence, a true, princely chief of\nhis tribe, and infinitely her superior. His every word had pierced her\nbosom like the thrust of a lance. The power of truth had given each its\nfull emphasis and held up to Miriam a mirror that showed her an image\nfrom which she shrank.\n\nNow she longed to rush after him and beg him to restore the love with\nwhich he had hitherto surrounded her--and which the lonely woman had\ngratefully felt.\n\nShe knew that she could reciprocate his costly gift; for how ardently she\nlonged to have one kind, forgiving word from his lips.\n\nHer soul seemed withered, parched, torpid, like a corn-field on which a\npoisonous mildew has fallen; yet it had once been green and blooming.\n\nShe thought of the tilled fields in Goshen which, after having borne an\nabundant harvest, remained arid and bare till the moisture of the river\ncame to soften the soil and quicken the seed which it had received. So it\nhad been with her soul, only she had flung the ripening grain into the\nfire and, with blasphemous hand, erected a dam between the fructifying\nmoisture and the dry earth.\n\nBut there was still time!\n\nShe knew that he erred in one respect; she knew she was like all other\nwomen, capable of yearning with ardent passion for the man she loved. It\ndepended solely on herself to make him feel this in her arms.\n\nNow, it is true, he was justified in thinking her harsh and unfeeling,\nfor where love had once blossomed in her soul, a spring of bitterness now\ngushed forth poisoning all it touched.\n\nWas this the vengeance of the heart whose ardent wishes she had\nheroically slain?\n\nGod had disdained her sorest sacrifice; this it was impossible to doubt;\nfor His majesty was no longer revealed to her in visions that exalted the\nheart, and she was scarcely entitled to call herself His prophetess. This\nsacrifice had led her, the truth-loving woman, into falsehood and plunged\nher who, in the consciousness of seeking the right path lived at peace\nwith herself, into torturing unrest. Since that great and difficult deed\nshe, who had once been full of hope, had obtained nothing for which she\nlonged. She, who recognized no woman as her superior, had been obliged to\nyield in shame her place to a poor dying Egyptian. She had been kindly\ndisposed toward all who were of her blood, and were devoted to the sacred\ncause of her people, and now her hostile bitterness had wounded one of\nthe best and noblest. The poorest bondman's wife rejoiced to bind more\nand more closely the husband who had once loved her--she had wickedly\nestranged hers.\n\nSeeking protection she had approached his hearthstone shivering, but she\nhad found it warmer than she had hoped, and his generosity and love fell\nupon her wounded soul like balm. True, he could not restore what she had\nlost, but he could give a welcome compensation.\n\nAh, he no longer believed her capable of a tender emotion, yet she needed\nlove in order to live, and no sacrifice seemed to her too hard to regain\nhis. But pride was also a condition of her very existence, and whenever\nshe prepared to humbly open her heart to her husband, the fear of\nhumiliating herself overpowered her, and she stood as though spell-bound\ntill the blazing wood at her feet fell into smoking embers and darkness\nsurrounded her.\n\nThen a strange anxiety stole over her.\n\nTwo bats, which had come from the mines and circled round the fire darted\npast her like ghosts. Everything urged her back to the tent, to her\nhusband, and with hasty resolution she entered the spacious room lighted\nby a lamp. But it was empty, and the female slave who received her said\nthat Hur would spend the time until the departure of the people with his\nson and grandson.\n\nA keen pang pierced her heart, and she lay down to rest with a sense of\nhelplessness and shame which she had not felt since her childhood.\n\nA few hours after the camp was astir and when her husband, in the grey\ndawn of morning, entered the tent with a curt greeting, pride again\nraised its head and her reply sounded cold and formal.\n\nHe did not come alone; his son Uri was with him.\n\nBut he looked graver than was his wont; for the men of Judah had\nassembled early and adjured him not to give up the chief command to any\nman who belonged to another tribe.\n\nThis had been unexpected. He had referred them to Moses' decision, and\nhis desire that it might be adverse to him was intensified, as his young\nwife's self-reliant glance stirred fresh wrath in his soul.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nEarly the following morning the people resumed their march with fresh\nvigor and renewed courage; but the little spring which, by digging, had\nat last been forced to flow was completely exhausted.\n\nHowever, its refusal to bestow a supply of water to take with them was of\nno consequence; they expected to find another well at Alush.\n\nThe sun had risen in radiant majesty in a cloudless sky. The light showed\nits awakening power on the hearts of men, and the rocks and the yellow\nsand of the road sparkled like the blue vault above. The pure, light,\nspicy air of the desert, cooled by the freshness of the night, expanded\nthe breasts of the wayfarers, and walking became a pleasure.\n\nThe men showed greater confidence, and the eyes of the women sparkled\nmore brightly than they had done for a long time; for the Lord had again\nshowed the people that He remembered them in their need; and fathers and\nmothers gazed proudly at the sons who had conquered the foe. Most of the\ntribes had greeted in the band of prisoners some one who had long been\ngiven up as lost, and it was a welcome duty to make amends for the\ninjuries the terrible forced labor had inflicted. There was special\nrejoicing, not only among the Ephraimites, but everywhere, over the\nreturn of Joshua, as all, save the men of the tribe of Judah, now called\nhim, remembering the cheering promise the name conveyed.\n\nThe youths who under his command had put the Egyptians to rout, told\ntheir relatives what manner of man the son of Nun was, how he thought of\neverything and assigned to each one the place for which he was best\nsuited. His eye kindled the battle spirit in every one on whom it fell,\nand the foe retreated at his mere war-cry.\n\nThose who spoke of old Nun and his grandson also did so with sparkling\neyes. The tribe of Ephraim, whose lofty pretensions had been a source of\nmuch vexation, was willingly allowed precedence on this march, and only\nthe men of Judah were heard to grumble. Doubtless there was reason for\ndissatisfaction; for Hur, the prince of their tribe, and his young wife\nwalked as if oppressed by a heavy burden; whoever asked them anything\nwould have been wiser to have chosen another hour.\n\nSo long as the sun's rays were oblique, there was still a little shade at\nthe edge of the sandstone rocks which bordered the road on both sides or\ntowered aloft in the center; and as the sons of Korah began a song of\npraise, young and old joined in, and most gladly and gratefully of all\nMilcah, now no longer pale, and Reuben, her happy, liberated husband.\n\nThe children picked up golden-yellow bitter apples, which having fallen\nfrom the withered vines, lay by the wayside as if they had dropped from\nthe sky, and brought them to their parents. But they were bitter as gall\nand a morose old man of the tribe of Zebulun, who nevertheless kept their\nfirm shells to hold ointment, said:\n\n\"These are a symbol of to-day. It looks pleasant now; but when the sun\nmounts higher and we find no water, we shall taste the bitterness.\"\n\nHis prediction was verified only too soon; for as the road which, after\nleaving the sandstone region, began to lead upward through a rocky\nlandscape which resembled walls of red brick and grey stone, grew\nsteeper, the sun rose higher and higher and the heat of the day hourly\nincreased.\n\nNever had the sun sent sharper arrows upon the travellers, and pitiless\nwas their fall upon bare heads and shoulders.\n\nHere an old man, yonder a younger one, sank prostrate under its scorching\nblaze or, supported by his friends, staggered on raving with his hand\npressed to his brow like a drunken man. The blistered skin peeled from\nthe hands and faces of men and women, and there was not one whose palate\nand tongue were not parched by the heat, or whose vigorous strength and\nnewly-awakened courage it did not impair.\n\nThe cattle moved forward with drooping heads and dragging feet or rolled\non the ground till the shepherds' lash compelled them to summon their\nfailing powers.\n\nAt noon the people were permitted to rest, but there was not a hand's\nbreadth of shade where they sought repose. Whoever lay down in the\nnoonday heat found fresh tortures instead of relief. The sufferers\nthemselves urged a fresh start for the spring at Alush.\n\nHitherto each day, after the sun had begun its course toward the west\nthrough the cloudless sky of the desert, the heat had diminished, and ere\nthe approach of twilight a fresher breeze had fanned the brow; but to-day\nthe rocks retained the glow of noonday for many hours, until a light cool\nbreeze blew from sea at the west. At the same time the vanguard which, by\nJoshua's orders, preceded the travellers, halted, and the whole train\nstopped.\n\nMen, women, and children fixed their eyes and waved hands, staves, and\ncrutches toward the same spot, where the gaze was spell-bound by a\nwondrous spectacle never beheld before.\n\nA cry of astonishment and admiration echoed from the parched weary lips,\nwhich had long since ceased to utter question or answer; and it soon rang\nfrom rank to rank, from tribe to tribe, to the very lepers at the end of\nthe procession and the rear-guard which followed it. One touched another,\nand whispered a name familiar to every one, that of the sacred mountain\nwhere the Lord had promised Moses to \"bring them unto a good land and a\nlarge, unto a land flowing with milk and honey.\"\n\nNo one had told the weary travellers, yet all knew that for the first\ntime they beheld Horeb and the peak of Sinai, the most sacred summit of\nthis granite range.\n\nThough a mountain, it was also the throne of the omnipotent God of their\nfathers.\n\nThe holy mountain itself seemed at this hour to be on fire like the bush\nwhence He had spoken to His chosen servant. Its summit, divided into\nseven peaks, towered majestically aloft in the distance, dominating the\nheights and valleys far and near, glowing before the people like a giant\nruby, irradiated by the light of a conflagration which was consuming the\nworld.\n\nNo eye had ever beheld a similar spectacle. Then the sun sank lower and\nlower, till it set in the sea concealed behind the mountains. The glowing\nruby was transformed into a dark amethyst, and at last assumed the deep\nhue of a violet; but the eyes of the people continued to dwell on the\nsacred scenes as though spell-bound. Nay, when the day-star had\ncompletely disappeared, and its reflection gilded a long cloud with\nshining edges, their eyes dilated still more, for a man of the tribe of\nBenjamin, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the spectacle, beheld in it the\nfloating gold-bordered mantle of Jehovah, and the neighbors to whom he\nshowed it, believed him, and shared his pious excitement.\n\nThis inspiring sight had made the Hebrews for a short time forget thirst\nand weariness. But the highest exaltation was soon to be transformed into\nthe deepest discouragement; for when night closed in and Alush was\nreached after a short march it appeared that the desert tribe which dwelt\nthere, ere striking their tents the day before, had filled the brackish\nspring with pebbles and rubbish.\n\nEverything fit to drink which had been brought with them had been\nconsumed at Dophkah, and the exhausted spring at the mines had afforded\nno water to fill the skins. Thirst not only parched their palates but\nbegan to fever their bowels. Their dry throats refused to receive the\nsolid food of which there was no lack. Scenes that could not fail to\nrouse both ruth and anger were seen and heard on all sides.\n\nHere men and women raved and swore, wailed and moaned, yonder they gave\nthemselves up to dull despair. Others, whose crying children shrieked for\nwater, had gone to the choked spring and were quarrelling around a little\nspot on the ground, whence they hoped to collect a few drops of the\nprecious fluid in a shallow dish. The cattle, too, lowed so mournfully\nand beseechingly that it pierced the shepherds' hearts like a reproach.\n\nFew took the trouble to pitch a tent. The night was so warm, and the\nsooner they pressed forward the better, for Moses had promised to join\nthem a few leagues hence. He alone could aid, it was his duty to protect\nman and beast from perishing.\n\nIf the God who had promised them such splendid gifts left them to die in\nthe wilderness with their cattle, the man to whose guidance they had\ncommitted themselves was a cheat; and the God whose might and mercy he\nnever ceased extolling was more false and powerless than the idols with\nheads of human beings and animals, to whom they had prayed in Egypt.\n\nThreats, too, were loudly uttered amid curses and blasphemies. Wherever\nAaron, who had returned to the people, appeared and addressed them,\nclenched fists were stretched toward him.\n\nMiriam, too, by her husband's bidding, was compelled to desist from\ncomforting the women with soothing words, after a mother whose infant was\nexpiring at her dry breast, picked up a stone and others followed her\nexample.\n\nOld Nun and his son found more attentive hearers. Both agreed that Joshua\nmust fight, no matter in what position Moses placed him; but Hur himself\nled him to the warriors, who joyously greeted him.\n\nBoth the old man and the younger one understood how to infuse confidence.\nThey told them of the well-watered oasis of the Amalekites, which was not\nfar distant, and pointed to the weapons in their hands, with which the\nLord Himself had furnished them. Joshua assured them that they greatly\noutnumbered the warriors of the desert tribe. If the young men bore\nthemselves as bravely as they had done at the copper mines and at\nDophkah, with God's aid the victory would be theirs.\n\nAfter midnight Joshua, having taken counsel with the elders, ordered the\ntrumpets which summoned the fighting-men to be sounded. Under the bright\nstarry sky he reviewed them, divided them into bands, gave to each a\nfitting leader, and impressed upon them the importance of the orders they\nwere to obey.\n\nThey had assembled torpidly, half dead with thirst, but the new\noccupation to which their sturdy commander urged them, the hope of\nvictory, and the great value of the prize: a piece of land at the foot of\nthe sacred mountain, rich in springs and palm-trees, wonderfully\nstrengthened their lost energy.\n\nEphraim was among them animating others by his tireless vigor. But when\nthe ex-chief of the Egyptians--whom the Lord had already convinced that\nHe considered him worthy of the aid his name promised--adjured them to\nrely on God's omnipotence, his words produced a very different effect\nfrom those uttered by Aaron whose monitions they had heard daily since\ntheir departure.\n\nWhen Joshua had spoken, many youthful lips, though parched with thirst,\nshouted enthusiastically:\n\n\"Hail to the chief! You are our captain; we will obey no other.\"\n\nBut he now explained gravely and resolutely that the obedience he exacted\nfrom them he intended to practise rigidly himself. He would willingly\ntake the last place in the ranks, if such was the command of Moses.\n\nThe stars were still shining brightly in a cloudless sky when the sound\nof the horns warned the people to set out on their march. Meanwhile the\nvanguard had been sent forward to inform Moses of the condition of the\ntribes, and after the review was over, Ephraim followed them.\n\nDuring the march Joshua kept the warriors together as closely as though\nan attack might be expected; profiting meanwhile by every moment to give\nthe men and their captains instructions for the coming battle, to inspect\nthem, and range their ranks in closer order. Thus he kept them and their\nattention on the alert till the stars paled.\n\nOpposition or complaint was rare among the warriors, but the murmurs,\ncurses, and threats grew all the louder among those who bore no weapons.\nEven before the grey dawn of morning the thirsting men, whose knees\ntrembled with weakness, and who beheld close before their eyes the\nsuffering of their wives and children, shouted more and more frequently:\n\n\"On to Moses! We'll stone him when we find him!\"\n\nMany, with loud imprecations and flashing eyes, picked up bits of rock\nalong the road, and the fury of the multitude at last expressed itself so\nfiercely and passionately that Hur took counsel with the well-disposed\namong the elders, and then hurried forward with the fighting-men of Judah\nto protect Moses, in case of extremity, from the rebels by force of arms.\n\nJoshua was commissioned to detain the bands of rioters who, amid threats\nand curses, were striving to force their way past the warriors.\n\nWhen the sun at last rose with dazzling splendor, the march had become a\npitiful creeping and tottering onward. Even the soldiers moved as though\nthey were paralysed. Only when the rebels tried to press onward, they did\ntheir duty and forced them back with swords and lances.\n\nOn both sides of the valley through which the Hebrews were passing\ntowered lofty cliffs of grey granite, which glittered and flashed\nmarvellously when the slanting sunbeams struck the bits of quartz thickly\nimbedded in the primeval rock.\n\nAt noon the heat could not fail to be scorching again between the bare\nprecipices which in many places jutted very near one another; but the\ncoolness of the morning still lingered. The cattle at least found some\nrefreshment; for many a bush of the juicy, fragrant betharan--[Cantolina\nfragrantissima]--afforded them food, and the shepherd-lads lifted their\nshort frocks, filled the aprons thus made with them and, spite of their\nown exhaustion, held them up to the hungry mouths of the animals.\n\nThey had passed an hour in this way, when a loud shout of joy suddenly\nrang out, passing from the vanguard through rank after rank till it\nreached the last roan in the rear.\n\nNo one had heard in words to what event it was due, yet every one knew\nthat it meant nothing else than the discovery of fresh water.\n\nEphraim now returned to confirm the glad tidings, and what an effect it\nproduced upon the discouraged hearts!\n\nThey straightened their bent figures and struggled onward with redoubled\nspeed, as if they had already drained the water jar in long draughts. The\nbands of fighting-men put no farther obstacles in their way, and joyously\ngreeted those who crowded past them.\n\nBut the swiftly flowing throng was soon dammed; for the spot which\nafforded refreshment detained the front ranks, which blocked the whole\nprocession as thoroughly as a wall or moat.\n\nThe multitude became a mighty mob that filled the valley. At last men and\nwomen, with joyous faces, appeared bearing full jars and pails in their\nhands and on their heads, beckoning gaily to their friends, shouting\nwords of cheer, and trying to force their way through the crowd to their\nrelatives; but many had the precious liquid torn from them by force ere\nthey reached their destination.\n\nJoshua and his band had forced their way to the vicinity of the spring,\nto maintain order among the greedy drawers of water. But they were\nobliged to have patience for a time, for the strong men of the tribe of\nJudah, with whom Hur had led the way in advance of all the rest, were\nstill swinging their axes and straining at the levers hastily prepared\nfrom the trunks of the thorny acacias to move huge blocks out of the way\nand widen the passage to the flow of water that was gushing from several\nclefts in the rock.\n\nAt first the spring had lost itself in a heap of moss-covered granite\nblocks and afterwards in the earth; but now the overflow and trickling\naway of the precious fluid had been stopped and a reservoir formed whence\nthe cattle also could drink.\n\nWhoever had already succeeded in filling a jar had obtained the water\nfrom the overflow which had escaped through the quickly-made dam. Now the\nmen appointed to guard the camp were keeping every one back to give the\nwater in the large new reservoir into which it flowed in surprising\nabundance, time to grow clear.\n\nIn the presence of the gift of God for which they had so passionately\nshouted, it was easy to be patient. They had discovered the treasure and\nonly needed to preserve it. No word of discontent, murmuring, or reviling\nwas heard; nay, many looked with shame and humiliation at the new gift of\nthe Most High.\n\nLoud, gladsome shouts and words echoed from the distance; but the man of\nGod, who knew better than any one else, the valleys and rocks, pastures\nand springs of the Horeb region and had again obtained so great a\nblessing for the people, had retired into a neighboring ravine; he was\nseeking refuge from the thanks and greetings which rose with increasing\nenthusiasm from ever widening circles, and above all peace and calmness\nfor his own deeply agitated soul.\n\nSoon fervent hymns of praise to the Lord sounded from the midst of the\nrefreshed, reinvigorated bands overflowing with ardent gratitude, who had\nnever encamped richer in hope and joyous confidence.\n\nSongs, merry laughter, jests, and glad shouts accompanied the pitching of\nevery tent, and the camp sprung up as quickly as if it had been conjured\nfrom the earth by some magic spell.\n\nThe eyes of the young men sparkled with eagerness for the fray, and many\na head of cattle was slaughtered to make the meal a festal banquet.\nMothers who had done their duty in the camp, leading their children by\nthe hand went to the spring and showed them the spot where Moses' staff\nhad pointed out to his people the water gushing from the clefts in the\ngranite. Many men also stood with hands and eyes uplifted around the\nplace where Jehovah had shown Himself so merciful to His people; among\nthem many a rebel who had stooped for the bit of rock with which he meant\nto stone the trusted servant of God. No one doubted that a new and great\nmiracle had been performed.\n\nOld people enjoined the young never to forget this day and this drink,\nand a grandmother sprinkled her grandchildren's brows at the edge of the\nspring with water to secure for them divine protection throughout their\nfuture lives.\n\nHope, gratitude, and warm confidence reigned wherever the gaze was\nturned, even fear of the warlike sons of Amalek had vanished; for what\nevil could befall those who trusted to the favor of such an Omnipotent\nDefender.\n\nOne tent alone, the stateliest of all, that of the prince of the tribe of\nJudah, did not share the joy of the others.\n\nMiriam sat alone among her women, after having silently served the meal\nto the men who were overflowing with grateful enthusiasm; she had learned\nfrom Reuben, Milcah's husband, that Moses had given to Joshua in the\npresence of all the elders, the office of commander-in-chief. Hur, her\nhusband, she had heard farther, had joyfully yielded the guidance of the\nwarriors to the son of Nun.\n\nThis time the prophetess had held aloof from the people's hymns of\npraise. When Milcah and her women had urged her to accompany them to the\nspring, she had commanded the petitioners to go alone. She was expecting\nher husband and wished to greet him alone; she must show him that she\ndesired his forgiveness. But he did not return home; for after the\ncouncil of the elders had separated, he helped the new commander to\nmarshal the soldiers and did so as an assistant, subordinate to Hosea,\nwho owed to her his summons and the name of Joshua.\n\nHer servants, who had returned, were now drawing threads from the\ndistaff: but this humble toil was distasteful to her, and while she let\nher hands rest and gazed idly into vacancy, the hours dragged slowly\nalong, while she felt her resolution of meekly approaching her husband\nbecome weaker and weaker. She longed to pray for strength to bow before\nthe man who was her lord and master; but the prophetess, who was\naccustomed to fervent pleading, could not find inspiration. Whenever she\nsucceeded in collecting her thoughts and uplifting her heart, she was\ndisturbed. Each fresh report that reached her from the camp increased her\ndispleasure. When evening at last closed in, a messenger arrived and told\nher not to prepare the supper which, however, had long stood ready. Hur,\nhis son, and grandson had accepted the invitation of Nun and Joshua.\n\nIt was a hard task for her to restrain her tears. But had she permitted\nthem to flow uncontrolled, they would have been those of wrath and\ninsulted womanly dignity, not of grief and longing.\n\nDuring the hours of the evening watch soldiers marched past, and from\ntroop after troop cheers for Joshua reached her.\n\nEven when the words \"strong and steadfast!\" were heard, they recalled the\nman who had once been dear to her, and whom now--she freely admitted\nit--she hated. The men of his own tribe only had honored her husband with\na cheer. Was this fitting gratitude for the generosity with which he had\ndivested himself, for the sake of the younger man, of a dignity that\nbelonged to him alone? To see her husband thus slighted pierced her to\nthe heart and caused her more pain than Hur's leaving her, his\nnewly-wedded wife, to solitude.\n\nThe supper before the tent of the Ephraimites lasted a long time. Miriam\nsent her women to rest before midnight, and lay down to await Hur's\nreturn and to confess to him all that had wounded and angered her,\neverything for which she longed.\n\nShe thought it would be an easy matter to keep awake while suffering such\nmental anguish. But the great fatigues and excitements of the last few\ndays asserted their rights, and in the midst of a prayer for humility and\nher husband's love sleep overpowered her. At last, at the time of the\nfirst morning watch, just as day was dawning, the sound of trumpets\nannouncing peril close at hand, startled her from sleep.\n\nShe rose hurriedly and glancing at her husband's couch found it empty.\nBut it had been used, and on the sandy soil--for mats had been spread\nonly in the living room of the tent--she saw close beside her own bed the\nprints of Hur's footsteps.\n\nSo he had stood close by it and perhaps, while she was sleeping, gazed\nyearningly into her face.\n\nAy, this had really happened; her old female slave told her so unasked.\nAfter she had roused Hur, she had seen him hold the light cautiously so\nthat it illumined Miriam's face and then stoop over her a long time as if\nto kiss her.\n\nThis was good news, and so rejoiced the solitary woman that she forgot\nthe formality which was peculiar to her and pressed her lips to the\nwrinkled brow of the crooked little crone who had served her parents.\nThen she had her hair arranged, donned the light-blue festal robe Hur had\ngiven her, and hurried out to bid him farewell.\n\nMeanwhile the troops had formed in battle array.\n\nThe tents were being struck and for a long time Miriam vainly sought her\nhusband. At last she found him; but he was engaged in earnest\nconversation with Joshua, and when she saw the latter a chill ran through\nthe prophetess' blood, and she could not bring herself to approach the\nmen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nA severe struggle was impending; for as the spies reported, the\nAmalekites had been joined by other desert tribes. Nevertheless the\nHebrew troops were twice their number. But how greatly inferior in\nwarlike skill were Joshua's bands to the foes habituated to battle and\nattack.\n\nThe enemy was advancing from the south, from the oasis at the foot of the\nsacred mountain, which was the ancient home of their race, their\nsupporter, the fair object of their love, their all, well worthy that\nthey should shed their last drop of blood in her defence.\n\nJoshua, now recognized by Moses and the whole Hebrew people as the\ncommander of the fighting-men, led his new-formed troops to the widest\nportion of the valley, which permitted him to derive more advantage from\nthe superior number of his force.\n\nHe ordered the camp to be broken up and again pitched in a narrower spot\non the plain of Rephidim at the northern end of the battle-field, where\nit would be easier to defend the tents. The command of this camp and the\nsoldiers left for its protection he confided to his cautious father.\n\nHe had wished to leave Moses and the older princes of the tribes within\nthe precincts of the well-guarded camp, but the great leader of the\npeople had anticipated him and, with Hur and Aaron, had climbed a granite\ncliff from whose lofty summit the battle could be witnessed. So the\ncombatants saw Moses and his two companions on the peak dominating the\nvalley, and knew that the trusted servant of the Most High would not\ncease to commend their cause to Him and pray for their success and\ndeliverance.\n\nBut every private soldier in the army, every woman and old man in the\ncamp knew how to find the God of their fathers in this hour of peril, and\nthe war-cry Joshua had chosen: \"Jehovah our standard!\" bound the hearts\nof the warriors to the Ruler of Battles, and reminded the most despairing\nand untrained Hebrew that he could take no step and deal no blow which\nthe Lord did not guide.\n\nThe trumpets and horns of the Hebrews sounded louder and louder; for the\nAmalekites were pressing into the plain which was to be the scene of the\nbattle.\n\nIt was a strange place of conflict, which the experienced soldier would\nnever have selected voluntarily; for it was enclosed on both sides by\nlofty, steep, grey granite cliffs. If the enemy conquered, the camp would\nbe lost, and the aids the art of war afforded must be used within the\nsmallest conceivable space.\n\nTo make a circuit round the foe or attack him unexpectedly in the flank\nseemed impossible; but the rocks themselves were made to serve Joshua;\nfor he had commanded his skilful slingers and trained archers to climb\nthe precipices to a moderate height and wait for the signal when they\nwere to mingle in the battle.\n\nAt the first glance Joshua perceived that he had not overestimated the\nfoe; for those who began the fray were bearded men with bronzed, keen,\nmanly features, whose black eyes blazed with the zest of battle and\nfierce hatred of the enemy.\n\nLike their grey-haired, scarred leader, all were slenderly formed and\nlithe of limb. They swung, like trained warriors, the brazen\nsickle-shaped sword, the curved shield of heavy wood, or the lance decked\nbelow its point with a bunch of camel's hair. The war-cry rang loud,\nfierce, and defiant, from the steadfast breasts of these sons of the\ndesert, who must either conquer or lose their dearest possession.\n\nThe first assault was met by Joshua at the head of men, whom he had armed\nwith the heavy shields and lances of the Egyptians; incited by their\nbrave leader they resisted a long time--while the narrow entrance to the\nbattle field prevented the savage foe from using his full strength.\n\nBut when the foe on foot retreated, and a band of warriors mounted on\nswift dromedaries dashed upon the Hebrews many were terrified by the\nstrange aspect of the huge unwieldy beasts, known to them only by report.\n\nWith loud outcries they flung down their shields and fled. Wherever a gap\nappeared in the ranks the rider of a dromedary urged it in, striking\ndownward with his long keen weapon at the foe. The shepherds, unused to\nsuch assaults, thought only of securing their own safety, and many turned\nto fly; for sudden terror seized them as they beheld the flaming eyes or\nheard the shrill, fierce shriek of one of the infuriated Amalekite women,\nwho had entered the battle to fire the courage of their husbands and\nterrify the foe. Clinging with the left hand to leather thongs that hung\nfrom the saddles, they allowed themselves to be dragged along by the\nhump-backed beasts wherever they were guided. Hatred seemed to have\nsteeled the weak women's hearts against the fear of death, pity, and\nfeminine dread; and the furious yells of these Megaerae destroyed the\ncourage of many of the braver Hebrews.\n\nBut scarcely did Joshua see his men yield than, profiting by the\ndisaster, he commanded them to retreat still farther and give the foe\nadmittance to the valley; for he told himself that he could turn the\nsuperior number of his forces to better account as soon as it was\npossible to press the enemy in front and on both sides at the same time,\nand allow the slingers and bowmen to take part in the fray.\n\nEphraim and his bravest comrades, who surrounded him as messengers, were\nnow despatched to the northern end of the valley to inform the captains\nof the troops stationed there of Joshua's intention and command them to\nadvance.\n\nThe swift-footed shepherd lads darted off as nimbly as gazelles, and it\nwas soon evident that the commander had adopted the right course for, as\nsoon as the Amalekites reached the center of the valley, they were\nattacked on all sides, and many who boldly rushed forward fell on the\nsand while still waving sword or lance, struck by the round stones or\nkeen arrows discharged by the slingers and archers stationed on the\ncliffs.\n\nMeanwhile Moses, with Aaron and Hur, remained on the cliff overlooking\nthe battle-field.\n\nThence the former watched the conflict in which, grown grey in the arts\nof peace, he shared only with his heart and soul.\n\nNo movement, no uplifted or lowered sword of friend or foe escaped his\nwatchful gaze; but when the attack began and the commander, with wise\npurpose, left the way to the heart of his army open to the enemy, Hur\nexclaimed to the grey-haired man of God:\n\n\"The lofty intellect of my wife and your sister perceived the right\ncourse. The son of Nun is unworthy of the summons of the Most High. What\nstrategy! Our force is superior, yet the foe is pressing unimpeded into\nthe midst of the army. Our troops are dividing as the waters of the Red\nSea parted at God's command, and apparently by their leader's order.\"\n\n\"To swallow up the Amalekites as the waves of the sea engulfed the\nEgyptians,\" was Moses' answer. Then, stretching his arms toward heaven,\nhe cried: \"Look down, Jehovah, upon Thy people who are in fresh need.\nSteel the arm and sharpen the eyes of him whom Thou didst choose for Thy\nsword! Lend him the help Thou didst promise, when Thou didst name him\nJoshua! And if it is no longer Thy will that he who shows himself strong\nand steadfast, as beseems Thy captain, should lead our forces to the\nbattle, place Thyself, with the hosts of Heaven, at the head of Thy\npeople, that they may crush their foes.\"\n\nThus the man of God prayed with arms uplifted, never ceasing to beseech\nand appeal to God, whose lofty will guided his own, and soon Aaron\nwhispered that their foes were sore beset and the Hebrews' courage was\nshowing itself in magnificent guise.\n\nJoshua was now here, now there, and the ranks of the enemy were already\nthinning, while the numbers of the Hebrews seemed increasing.\n\nHur confirmed these words, adding that the tireless zeal and heroic scorn\nof death displayed by the son of Nun could not be denied. He had just\nfelled one of the fiercest Amalekites with his battle-axe.\n\nThen Moses uttered a sigh of relief, let his arms fall, and eagerly\nwatched the farther progress of the battle, which was surging, raging and\nroaring beneath him.\n\nMeanwhile the sun had reached its zenith and shone with scorching fire\nupon the combatants. The grey granite walls of the valley exhaled fiercer\nand fiercer heat and drops of perspiration had long been pouring from the\nburning brows of the three men on the cliff. How the noon-tide heat must\nburden those who were fighting and struggling below; how the bleeding\nwounds of those who had fallen in the dust must burn!\n\nMoses felt all this as if he were himself compelled to endure it; for his\nimmovably steadfast soul was rich in compassion, and he had taken into\nhis heart, as a father does his child, the people of his own blood for\nwhom he lived and labored, prayed and planned.\n\nThe wounds of the Hebrews pained him, yet his heart throbbed with joyous\npride, when he beheld how those whose cowardly submission had so\npowerfully stirred his wrath a short time before, had learned to act on\nthe defensive and offensive; and saw one youthful band after another\nshouting: \"Jehovah our standard!\" rush upon the enemy.\n\nIn Joshua's proud, heroic figure he beheld the descendants of his people\nas he had imagined and desired them, and now he no longer doubted that\nthe Lord Himself had summoned the son of Nun to the chief command. His\neye had rarely beamed as brightly as in this hour.\n\nBut what was that?\n\nA cry of alarm escaped the lips of Aaron, and Hur rose and gazed\nnorthward in anxious suspense for thence, where the tents of the people\nstood, fresh war-cries rose, blended with loud, piteous shrieks which\nseemed to be uttered, not only by men, but by women and children.\n\nThe camp had been attacked.\n\nLong before the commencement of the battle a band of Amalekites had\nseparated from the others and made their way to it through a path in the\nmountains with which they were familiar.\n\nHur thought of his young wife, while before Aaron's mind rose Elisheba,\nhis faithful spouse, his children and grandchildren; and both, with\nimploring eyes, mutely entreated Moses to dismiss them to hasten to aid\ntheir dear ones; but the stern leader refused and detained them.\n\nThen, drawing his figure to its full height, Moses again raised his hands\nand eyes to Heaven, appealing to the Most High with fervent warmth, and\nnever ceasing in his prayers, which became more and more ardent as time\npassed on, for the vantage gained by the soldiers seemed lost. Each new\nglance at the battle-field, everything his companions told him, while his\nsoul, dwelling with the Lord, had rendered him blind to the scene at his\nfeet, increased the burden of his anxieties.\n\nJoshua, at the head of a strong detachment, had retreated from the\nbattle, accompanied by Bezaleel, Hur's grandson, Aholiab, his most\nbeloved comrade, the youthful Ephraim, and Reuben, Milcah's husband.\n\nHur's eyes had followed them, while his heart was full of blessings; for\nthey had evidently quitted the battle to save the camp. With straining\nears he listened to the sounds from the north, as if suspecting how\nnearly he was affected by the broken cries and moans borne by the wind\nfrom the tents.\n\nOld Nun had defended himself against the Amalekite troop that assailed\nthe camp, and fought valiantly; but when he perceived that the men whom\nJoshua had placed under his command could no longer hold out against the\nattack of the enemy, he sent to ask for aid; Joshua instantly entrusted\nthe farther guidance of the battle to the second head of the tribe of\nJudah, Naashon, and Uri the son of Hur, who had distinguished himself by\ncourage and discretion and hastened, with other picked men, to his\nfather's relief.\n\nHe had not lost a moment, yet the conflict was decided when he appeared\non the scene of action; for when he approached the camp the Amalekites\nhad already broken through his father's troops, cut it off from them, and\nrushed in.\n\nJoshua first saved the brave old man from the foe; then the next thing\nwas to drive the sons of the desert from the tents and, in so doing,\nthere was a fierce hand to hand struggle of man against man, and as he\nhimself could be in only one place he was forced to leave the young men\nto shift for themselves.\n\nHere, too, he raised the war-cry: \"Jehovah our standard!\" and rushed upon\nthe tent of Hur,--which the enemy had seized first and where the battle\nraged most fiercely.\n\nMany, corpses already strewed the ground at its entrance, and furious\nAmalekites were still struggling with a band of Hebrews; but wild shrieks\nof terror rang from within its walls.\n\nJoshua dashed across the threshold as if his feet were winged and beheld\na scene which filled even the fearless man with horror; for at the left\nof the spacious floor Hebrews and Amalekites rolled fighting on the\nblood-stained mats, while at the right he saw Miriam and several of her\nwomen whose hands had been bound by the foe.\n\nThe men had desired to bear them away as a costly prize; but an Amalekite\nwoman, frantic with rage and jealousy and thirsting for revenge, wished\nto devote the foreign women to a fiery death; fanning the embers upon the\nhearth she had brought them, with the help of the veil torn from Miriam's\nhead, to a bright blaze.\n\nA terrible uproar filled the spacious enclosure, when Joshua sprang into\nthe tent.\n\nHere furious men were fighting, yonder the female servants of the\nprophetess were shrieking loudly or, as they saw the approaching warrior,\nscreaming for help and rescue.\n\nTheir mistress, deadly pale, knelt before the hostile chief whose wife\nhad threatened her with death by fire. She gazed at her preserver as if\nshe beheld a ghost that had just risen from the earth and what now\nhappened remained imprinted on Miriam's memory as a series of bloody,\nhorrible, disconnected, yet superb visions.\n\nIn the first place the Amalekite chieftain who had bound her was a\nstrangely heroic figure.\n\nThe bronzed warrior, with his bold hooked nose, black beard, and fiery\neyes, looked like an eagle of his own mountains. But another was soon to\ncope with him, and that other the man who had been dear to her heart.\n\nShe had often compared him to a lion, but never had he seemed more akin\nto the king of the wilderness.\n\nBoth were mighty and terrible men. No one could have predicted which\nwould be the victor and which the vanquished; but she was permitted to\nwatch their conflict, and already the hot-blooded son of the desert had\nraised his war-cry and rushed upon the more prudent Hebrew.\n\nEvery child knows that life cannot continue if the heart ceases to throb\nfor a minute; yet Miriam felt that her own stood still as if benumbed and\nturned to stone, when the lion was in danger of succumbing to the eagle,\nand when the latter's glittering knife flashed, and she saw the blood\ngushing from the other's shoulder.\n\nBut the frozen heart had now begun to beat again, nay it pulsed faster\nthan ever; for suddenly the leonine warrior, toward whom she had just\nfelt such bitter hatred, had again become, as if by a miracle, the friend\nof her youth. With blast of trumpets and clash of cymbals love had again\nset forth to enter, with triumphant joy, the soul which had of late been\nso desolate, so impoverished. All that separated her from him was\nsuddenly forgotten and buried, and never was a more fervent appeal\naddressed to the Most High than during the brief prayer for him which\nrose from her heart at that moment. And the swiftness with which the\npetition was granted equalled its ardor; for the eagle had fallen and\nlowered its pinions beneath the superior might of the lion.\n\nThen darkness veiled Miriam's eyes and she felt as if in a dream Ephraim\nsever the ropes around her wrists.\n\nSoon after she regained her full consciousness, and now beheld at her\nfeet the bleeding form of the conquered chieftain; while on the other\nside of the tent the floor was strewed with dead and wounded men, Hebrews\nand Amalekites, among them many of her husband's slaves. But beside the\nfallen men stood erect, and exulting in victory, the stalwart warriors of\nher people, among them the venerable form of Nun, and Joshua, whose\nfather was binding up his wounds.\n\nTo do this she felt was her duty and hers only, and a deep sense of\nshame, a burning grief took possession of her as she remembered how she\nhad sinned against this man.\n\nShe knew not how she who had caused him such deep suffering could atone\nfor it, how she could repay what she owed him.\n\nHer whole heart was overflowing with longing for one kind word from his\nmouth, and she approached him on her knees across the blood-stained\nfloor; but the lips of the prophetess, usually so eloquent, seemed\nparalyzed and could not find the right language till at last from her\nburdened breast the cry escaped in loud imploring accents:\n\n\"Joshua, oh, Joshua! I have sinned heavily against you and will atone for\nit all my life; but do not disdain my gratitude! Do not cast it from you\nand, if you can, forgive me.\"\n\nShe had been unable to say more; then--never would she forget it--burning\ntears had gushed from her eyes and he had raised her from the floor with\nirresistible strength, yet as gently as a mother touches her fallen\nchild, and from his lips mild, gentle words, full of forgiveness, echoed\nin her ears. The very touch of his right hand had assured her that he was\nno longer angry.\n\nShe still felt the pressure of his hand, and heard his assurance that\nfrom no lips would he more gladly hear the name of Joshua than from hers.\n\nWith the war-cry \"Jehovah our standard!\" he at last turned his back upon\nher; for a long time its clear tones and the enthusiastic shouts of his\nsoldiers echoed in her ears.\n\nFinally everything around her had lapsed into silence and she only knew\nthat never had she shed such bitter, burning tears as in this hour. And\nshe made two solemn vows in the presence of the God who had summoned her\nto be His prophetess. Meanwhile both the men whom they concerned were\nsurrounded by the tumult of battle.\n\nOne had again led his troops from the rescued camp against the foe; the\nother was watching with the leader of the people the surging to and fro\nof the ever-increasing fury of the conflict.\n\nJoshua found his people in sore stress. Here they were yielding, yonder\nthey were still feebly resisting the onslaught of the sons of the desert;\nbut Hur gazed with increasing and redoubled anxiety at the progress of\nthe battle; for in the camp he beheld wife and grandson, and below his\nson, in mortal peril.\n\nHis paternal heart ached as he saw Uri retreat, then as he pressed\nforward again and repelled the foe by a well-directed assault, it\nthrobbed joyously, and he would gladly have shouted words of praise.\n\nBut whose ear would have been sharp enough to distinguish the voice of a\nsingle man amid the clash of arms and war-cries, the shrieks of women,\nthe wails of the wounded, the discordant grunting of the camels, the\nblasts of horns and trumpets mingling below?\n\nNow the foremost band of the Amalekites had forced itself like a wedge\ninto the rear ranks of the Hebrews.\n\nIf the former succeeded in opening a way for those behind and joined the\ndivision which was attacking the camp, the battle was lost, and the\ndestruction of the people sealed; for a body of Amalekites who had not\nmingled in the fray were still stationed at the southern entrance of the\nvalley, apparently for the purpose of defending the oasis against the foe\nin case of need.\n\nA fresh surprise followed.\n\nThe sons of the desert had fought their way forward so far that the\nmissiles of the slingers and bowmen could scarcely reach them. If these\nmen were not to be idle, it was needful that they should be summoned to\nthe battle-field.\n\nHur had long since shouted to Uri to remember them and use their aid\nagain; but now the figure of a youth suddenly appeared approaching from\nthe direction of the camp as nimbly as a mountain goat, by climbing and\nleaping from one rock to another.\n\nAs soon as he reached the first ones he spoke to them, and made signs to\nthe next, who passed the message on, and at last they all climbed down\ninto the valley, scaled the western cliff to the height of several men,\nand suddenly vanished as though the rock had swallowed them.\n\nThe youth whom the slingers and archers had followed was Ephraim.\n\nA black shadow on the cliff where he had disappeared with the others must\nbe the opening of a ravine, through which they were doubtless to be\nguided to the men who had followed Joshua to the succor of the camp.\n\nSuch was the belief, not only of Hur but of Aaron, and the former again\nbegan to doubt Joshua's fitness for the Lord's call; for what benefited\nthose in the tents weakened the army whose command devolved upon his son\nUri and his associate in office Naashon. The battle around the camp had\nalready lasted for hours and Moses had not ceased to pray with hands\nuplifted toward heaven, when the Amalekites succeeded in gaining a\nconsiderable vantage.\n\nThen the leader of the Hebrews summoned his strength for a new and more\nearnest appeal to the Most High; but the exhausted man's knees tottered\nand his wearied arms fell. But his soul had retained its energy, his\nheart the desire not to cease pleading to the Ruler of Battles.\n\nMoses was unwilling to remain inactive during this conflict and his\nweapon was prayer.\n\nLike a child who will not cease urging its mother until she grants what\nit unselfishly beseeches for its brothers and sisters, he clung imploring\nto the Omnipotent One, who had hitherto proved Himself a father to him\nand to his people and wonderfully preserved them from the greatest\nperils.\n\nBut his physical strength was exhausted, so he summoned his companions\nwho pushed forward a rock on which he seated himself, in order to assail\nthe heart of the Most High with fresh prayers.\n\nThere he sat and though his wearied limbs refused their service, his soul\nwas obedient and rose with all its fire to the Ruler of the destinies of\nmen.\n\nBut his arms grew more and more paralysed, and at last fell as if\nweighted with lead; for years it had become a necessity to him to stretch\nthem heavenward when he appealed with all his fervor to God on high.\n\nThis his companions knew, and they fancied they perceived that whenever\nthe great leader's hands fell the sons of Amalek gained a fresh\nadvantage.\n\nTherefore they eagerly supported his arms, one at the right side, the\nother at the left, and though the mighty man could no longer lift his\nvoice in intelligible words, though his giant frame reeled to and fro,\nand though more than once it seemed to him as if the stone which\nsupported him, the valley and the whole earth rocked, still his hands and\neyes remained uplifted. Not a moment did he cease to call upon the Most\nHigh till suddenly loud shouts of victory, which echoed clearly from the\nrocky sides of the valley, rose from the direction of the camp.\n\nJoshua had again appeared on the battle-field and, at the head of his\nwarriors, rushed with resistless energy upon the foe.\n\nThe battle now assumed a new aspect.\n\nThe result was still uncertain, and Moses could not cease uplifting his\nheart and arms to heaven, but at last, at last this long final struggle\ncame to an end. The ranks of the Amalekites wavered and finally,\nscattered and disheartened, dashed toward the southern entrance of the\nvalley whence they had come.\n\nThere also cries were heard and from a thousand lips rang the glad shout:\n\"Jehovah our standard! Victory!\" and again \"Victory!\"\n\nThen the man of God removed his arms from the supporting shoulders of his\ncompanions, swung them aloft freely and with renewed and wonderfully\ninvigorated strength shouted:\n\n\"I thank Thee, my God and my Lord! Jehovah our standard! The people are\nsaved!\"\n\nThen darkness veiled the eyes of the exhausted man. But a little later he\nagain opened them and saw Ephraim, with the slingers and bowmen, attack\nthe body of Amalekites at the southern entrance of the valley, while\nJoshua drove the main army of the sons of the desert toward their\nretreating comrades.\n\nJoshua had heard through some captives of a ravine which enabled good\nclimbers to reach a defile which led to the southern end of the\nbattle-field; and Ephraim, obedient to his command, had gone with the\nslingers and bowmen along this difficult path to assail in the rear the\nlast band of foemen who were still capable of offering resistance.\n\nPressed, harassed from two sides, and disheartened, the sons of Amalek\ngave up the conflict and now the Hebrews beheld how these sons of the\ndesert, who had grown up in this mountain region, understood how to use\ntheir feet; for at a sign from their leader they spurred the dromedaries\nand flew away like leaves blown by the wind. Rough mountain heights which\nseemed inaccessible to human beings they scaled on their hands and feet\nlike nimble lizards; many others escaped through the ravine which the\ncaptured slaves had betrayed to Joshua.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nThe larger portion of the Amalekites had perished or lay wounded on the\nbattle-field. Joshua knew that the other desert tribes, according to\ntheir custom, would abandon their defeated companions and return to their\nown homes.\n\nYet it seemed probable that despair would give the routed warriors\ncourage not to let their oasis fall into the hands of the Hebrews without\nstriking a blow.\n\nBut Joshua's warriors were too much exhausted for it to be possible to\nlead them onward at once.\n\nHe himself was bleeding from several slight wounds, and the exertions of\nthe last few days were making themselves felt even on his hardened frame.\n\nBesides the sun, which when the battle began had just risen, was already\nsinking to rest and should it prove necessary to force an entrance into\nthe oasis it was not advisable to fight in darkness.\n\nWhat he and still more his brave warriors needed was rest until the grey\ndawn of early morning.\n\nHe saw around him only glad faces, radiant with proud self-reliance, and\nas he commanded the troops to disband, in order to celebrate the victory\nin the camp with their relatives, each body that filed slowly and wearily\npast him burst into cheers as fresh and resonant as though they had\nforgotten the exhaustion which so short a time before had bowed every\nhead and burdened every foot.\n\n\"Hail to Joshua! Hail to the victor!\" still echoed from the cliffs after\nthe last band had disappeared from his gaze. But far more distinctly the\nwords with which Moses had thanked him rang in his soul. They were:\n\n\"Thou bast proved thyself a true sword of the Most High, strong and\nsteadfast. So long as the Lord is thy help and Jehovah is our standard,\nwe need fear no foes.\"\n\nHe fancied he still felt on his brow and hair the kiss of the mighty man\nof God who had clasped him to his breast in the presence of all the\npeople, and it was no small thing to master the excitement which the\nclose of this momentous day awakened in him.\n\nA strong desire to regain perfect self-possession ere he again mingled in\nthe jubilant throng and met his father, who shared every lofty emotion\nthat stirred his own soul, detained him on the battle-field.\n\nIt was a scene where dread and horror reigned; for all save himself who\nlingered there were held by death or severe wounds.\n\nThe ravens which had followed the wanderers hovered above the corpses and\nalready ventured to swoop nearer to the richly-spread banquet. The scent\nof blood had lured the beasts of prey from the mountains and dens in the\nrocks and their roaring and greedy growling were heard in all directions.\n\nAs darkness followed dusk lights began to flit over the blood-soaked\nground. These were to aid the slaves and those who missed a relative to\ndistinguish friend from foe, the wounded from the dead; and many a groan\nfrom the breast of some sorely-wounded man mingled with the croaking of\nthe sable birds, and the howls of the hungry jackals and hyenas, foxes\nand panthers.\n\nBut Joshua was familiar with the horrors of the battle-field and did not\nheed them.\n\nLeaning against a rock, he saw the same stars rise which had shone upon\nhim before the tent in the camp at Tanis, when in the sorest conflict\nwith himself he confronted the most difficult decision of his life.\n\nA month had passed since then, yet that brief span of time had witnessed\nan unprecedented transformation of his whole inner and outward life.\n\nWhat had seemed to him grand, lofty, and worthy of the exertion of all\nhis strength on that night when he sat before the tent where lay the\ndelirious Ephraim, to-day lay far behind him as idle and worthless.\n\nHe no longer cared for the honors, dignities and riches which the will of\nthe whimsical, weak king of a foreign people could bestow upon him. What\nto him was the well-ordered and disciplined army, among whose leaders be\nhad numbered himself with such joyous pride?\n\nHe could scarcely realize that there had been a time when he aspired to\nnothing higher than to command more and still more thousands of\nEgyptians, when his heart had swelled at the bestowal of a new title or\nglittering badge of honor by those whom he held most unworthy of his\nesteem.\n\nFrom the Egyptians he had expected everything, from his own people\nnothing.\n\nThat very night before his tent the great mass of the men of his own\nblood had been repulsive to him as pitiful slaves languishing in\ndishonorable, servile toil. Even the better classes he had arrogantly\npatronized; for they were but shepherds and as such contemptible to the\nEgyptians, whose opinions he shared.\n\nHis own father was also the owner of herds and, though he held him in\nhigh esteem, it was in spite of his position and only because his whole\ncharacter commanded reverence; because the superb old man's fiery vigor\nwon love from every one, and above all from him, his grateful son.\n\nHe had never ceased to gladly acknowledge his kinship to him, but in\nother respects he had striven to so bear himself among his\nbrothers-in-arms that they should forget his origin and regard him in\neverything as one of themselves. His ancestress Asenath, the wife of\nJoseph, had been an Egyptian and he had boasted of the fact.\n\nAnd now,--to-day?\n\nHe would have made any one feel the weight of his wrath who reproached\nhim with being an Egyptian; and what at the last new moon he would only\ntoo willingly have cast aside and concealed, as though it were a\ndisgrace, made him on the night of the next new moon whose stars were\njust beginning to shine, raise his head with joyous pride.\n\nWhat a lofty emotion it was to feel himself with just complacency the man\nhe really was!\n\nHis life and deeds as an Egyptian chief now seemed like a perpetual lie,\na constant desertion of his ideal.\n\nHis truthful nature exulted in the consciousness that the base denial and\nconcealment of his birth was at an end.\n\nWith joyous gratitude he felt that he was one of the people whom the Most\nHigh preferred to all others, that he belonged to a community, whose\nhumblest members, nay even the children, could raise their hands in\nprayer to the God whom the loftiest minds among the Egyptians surrounded\nwith the barriers of secrecy, because they considered their people too\nfeeble and dull of intellect to stand before His mighty grandeur and\ncomprehend it.\n\nAnd this one sole God, before whom all the whole motley world of Egyptian\ndivinities sank into insignificance, had chosen him, the son of Nun, from\namong the thousands of his race to be the champion and defender of His\nchosen people and bestowed on him a name that assured him of His aid.\n\nNo man, he thought, had ever had a loftier aim than, obedient to his God\nand under His protection, to devote his blood and life to the service of\nhis own people. His black eyes sparkled more brightly and joyously as he\nthought of it. His heart seemed too small to contain all the love with\nwhich he wished to make amends to his brothers for his sins against them\nin former years.\n\nTrue, he had lost to another a grand and noble woman whom he had hoped to\nmake his own; but this did not in the least sadden the joyous enthusiasm\nof his soul; for he had long ceased to desire her as his wife, high as\nher image still stood in his mind. He now thought of her with quiet\ngratitude only; for he willingly admitted that his new life had begun on\nthe decisive night when Miriam set him the example of sacrificing\neverything, even the dearest object of love, to God and the people.\n\nMiriam's sins against him were effaced from his memory; for he was wont\nto forget what he had forgiven. Now he felt only the grandeur of what he\nowed her. Like a magnificent tree, towering skyward on the frontier of\ntwo hostile countries, she stood between his past and his present life.\nThough love was buried, he and Miriam could never cease to walk hand in\nhand over the same road toward the same destination.\n\nAs he again surveyed the events of the past, he could truly say that\nunder his leadership pitiful bondmen had speedily become brave warriors\nIn the field they had been willing and obedient and, after the victory,\nbehaved with manliness. And they could not fail to improve with each\nfresh success. To-day it seemed to him not only desirable, but quite\npossible, to win in battle at their head a land which they could love and\nwhere, in freedom and prosperity, they could become the able men he\ndesired to make them.\n\nAmid the horrors of the battle-field in the moonless night joy as bright\nas day entered his heart and with the low exclamation: \"God and my\npeople!\" and a grateful glance upward to the starry firmament he left the\ncorpse-strewn valley of death like a conqueror walking over palms and\nflowers scattered by a grateful people on the path of victory.\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\nThere was an active stir in the camp.\n\nFires surrounded by groups of happy human beings were burning in front of\nthe tents, and many a beast was slain, here as a thank-offering, yonder\nfor the festal supper.\n\nWherever Joshua appeared glad cheers greeted him; but he did not find his\nfather, for the latter had accepted an invitation from Hur, so it was\nbefore the prince of Judah's tent that the son embraced the old man, who\nwas radiant with grateful joy.\n\nEre Joshua sat down Hur beckoned him aside, ordered a slave who had just\nkilled a calf to divide it into two pieces and pointing to it, said:\n\n\"You have accomplished great deeds for the people and for me, son of Nun,\nand my life is too short for the gratitude which is your due from my wife\nand myself. If you can forget the bitter words which clouded our peace at\nDophkah--and you say you have done so--let us in future keep together\nlike brothers and stand by each other in joy and grief, in need and\nperil. The chief command henceforth belongs to you alone, Joshua, and to\nno other, and this is a source of joy to the whole people, above all to\nmy wife and to me. So if you share my wish to form a brotherhood, walk\nwith me, according to the custom of our fathers, between the halves of\nthis slaughtered animal.\"\n\nJoshua willingly accepted this invitation, and Miriam was the first to\njoin in the loud acclamations of approval commenced by the grey-haired\nNun. She did so with eager zeal; for it was she who had inspired her\nhusband, before whom she had humbled herself, and whose love she now once\nmore possessed, with the idea of inviting Joshua to the alliance both had\nnow concluded.\n\nThis had not been difficult for her; for the two vows she had made after\nthe son of Nun, whom she now gladly called \"Joshua,\" had saved her from\nthe hand of the foe were already approaching fulfilment, and she felt\nthat she had resolved upon them in a happy hour.\n\nThe new and pleasant sensation of being a woman, like any other woman,\nlent her whole nature a gentleness hitherto foreign to it, and this\nretained the love of the husband whose full value she had learned to know\nduring the sad time in which he had shut his heart against her.\n\nIn the self-same hour which made Hur and Joshua brothers, a pair of\nfaithful lovers who had been sundered by sacred duties were once more\nunited; for while the friends were still feasting before the tent of Hur,\nthree of the people asked permission to speak to Nun, their master. These\nwere the old freedwoman, who had remained in Tanis, her granddaughter\nHogla and Assir, the latter's betrothed husband, from whom the girl had\nparted to nurse her grandparents.\n\nHoary Eliab had soon died, and the grandmother and Hogla--the former on\nthe old man's ass--had followed the Hebrews amid unspeakable\ndifficulties.\n\nNun welcomed the faithful couple with joy and gave Hogla to Assir for his\nwife.\n\nSo this blood-stained day had brought blessings to many, yet it was to\nend with a shrill discord.\n\nWhile the fires in the camp were burning, loud voices were heard, and\nduring the whole journey not an evening had passed without strife and\nsanguinary quarrels.\n\nWounds and fatal blows had often been given when an offended man revenged\nhimself on his enemy, or a dishonest one seized the property of others or\ndenied the obligations he had sworn to fulfil.\n\nIn such cases it had been difficult to restore peace and call the\ncriminals to account; for the refractory refused to recognize any one as\njudge. Whoever felt himself injured banded with others, and strove to\nobtain justice by force.\n\nOn that festal evening Hur and his guests at first failed to notice the\nuproar to which every one was accustomed. But when close at hand, amid\nthe fiercest yells, a bright glare of light arose, the chiefs began to\nfear for the safety of the camp, and rising to put an end to the\ndisturbance, they became witnesses of a scene which filled some with\nwrath and horror, and the others with grief.\n\nThe rapture of victory had intoxicated the multitude.\n\nThey longed to express their gratitude to the deity, and in vivid\nremembrance of the cruel worship of their home, a band of Phoenicians\namong the strangers had kindled a huge fire to their Moloch and were in\nthe act of hurling into the flames several Amalekite captives as the most\nwelcome sacrifice to their god.\n\nClose beside it the Israelites had erected on a tall wooden pillar a clay\nimage of the Egyptian god Seth, which one of his Hebrew worshippers had\nbrought with him to protect himself and his family.\n\nDirectly after their return to the camp Aaron had assembled the people to\nsing hymns of praise and offer prayers of thanksgiving; but to many the\nnecessity of beholding, in the old-fashioned way, an image of the god to\nwhom they were to uplift their souls, had been so strong that the mere\nsight of the clay idol had sufficed to bring them to their knees, and\nturn them from the true God.\n\nAt the sight of the servants of Moloch, who were already binding the\nhuman victims to hurl them into the flames, Joshua was seized with wrath\nand, when the deluded men resisted, he ordered the trumpets to be sounded\nand with his young men who blindly obeyed him and were by no means\nfriendly to the strangers, drove them back, without bloodshed, to their\nquarters in the camp.\n\nThe impressive warnings of old Nun, Hur, and Naashon diverted the Hebrews\nfrom the crime which ingratitude made doubly culpable. Yet many of the\nlatter found it hard to control themselves when the fiery old man\nshattered the idol which was dear to them, and had it not been for the\nlove cherished for him, his son, and his grandson, and the respect due\nhis snow-white hair, many a hand would doubtless have been raised against\nhim.\n\nMoses had retired to a solitary place, as was his wont after every great\ndanger from which the mercy of the Most High brought deliverance, and\ntears filled Miriam's eyes as she thought of the grief which the tidings\nof such apostasy and ingratitude would cause her noble brother.\n\nA gloomy shadow had also darkened Joshua's joyous confidence. He lay\nsleepless on the mat in his father's tent, reviewing the past.\n\nHis warrior-soul was elevated by the thought that a single, omnipotent,\nnever-erring Power guided the universe and the lives of men and exacted\nimplicit obedience from the whole creation. Every glance at nature and\nlife showed him that everything depended upon One infinitely great and\npowerful Being, at whose sign all creatures rose, moved, or sank to rest.\n\nTo him, the chief of a little army, his God was the highest and most\nfar-sighted of rulers, the only One, who was always certain of victory.\n\nWhat a crime it was to offend such a Lord and repay His benefits with\napostasy!\n\nYet the people had committed before his eyes this heinous sin and, as he\nrecalled to mind the events which had compelled him to interpose, the\nquestion arose how they were to be protected from the wrath of the Most\nHigh, how the eyes of the dull multitude could be opened to His wonderful\ngrandeur, which expanded the heart and the soul.\n\nBut he found no answer, saw no expedient, when he reflected upon the\nlawlessness and rebellion in the camp, which threatened to be fatal to\nhis people.\n\nHe had succeeded in making his soldiers obedient. As soon as the trumpets\nsummoned them, and he himself in full armor appeared at the head of his\nmen, they yielded their own obstinate wills to his. Was there then\nnothing that could keep them, during peaceful daily life, within the\nbounds which in Egypt secured the existence of the meanest and weakest\nhuman beings and protected them from the attacks of those who were bolder\nand stronger?\n\nAmid such reflections he remained awake until early morning; when the\nstars set, he started up, ordered the trumpets to be sounded, and as on\nthe preceding days, the new-made troops assembled without opposition and\nin full force.\n\nHe was soon marching at their head through the narrow, rocky valley, and\nafter moving silently an hour through the gloom the warriors enjoyed the\nrefreshing coolness which precedes the young day.\n\nThen the grey light of early dawn glimmered in the east, the sky began to\nbrighten, and in the glowing splendor of the blushing morning rose\nsolemnly in giant majesty the form of the sacred mountain.\n\nClose at hand and distinctly visible it towered before the Hebrews with\nits brown masses of rock, cliffs, and chasms, while above the seven peaks\nof its summit hovered a pair of eagles on whose broad pinions the young\nday cast a shimmering golden glow.\n\nA thrill of pious awe made the whole band halt as they had before Alush,\nand every man, from the first rank to the last, in mute devotion raised\nhis hands to pray.\n\nThen they moved on with hearts uplifted, and one shouted joyously to\nanother as some pretty dark birds flew twittering toward them, a sign of\nthe neighborhood of fresh water.\n\nThey had scarcely marched half an hour longer when they beheld the\nbluish-green foliage of tamarisk bushes and the towering palm-trees; at\nlast, the most welcome of all sounds in the wilderness fell on their\nlistening ears--the ripple of flowing water.\n\nThis cheered their hearts, and the majestic spectacle of Mount Sinai,\nwhose heaven-touching summit was now concealed by a veil of blue mist,\nfilled with devout amazement the souls of the men who had grown up on the\nflat plains of Goshen.\n\n   [The mountain known at the present day as Serbal, not the Sinai of\n   the monks which in our opinion was first declared in the reign of\n   Justinian to be the mount whence the laws were given. The detailed\n   reasons for our opinion that Serbal is the Sinai of the Scriptures,\n   which Lepsius expressed before its and others share with us may be\n   found in our works: \"Durch Gosen zum Sinai, aus dem Wanderbuch and\n   der Bibliothek.\" 2 Aufl. Leipzig. 1882. Wilh. Engelmann.]\n\nThey pressed cautiously forward; for the remainder of the defeated\nAmalekites might be lying in ambush. But no foe was seen or heard, and\nthe Hebrews found some tokens of the thirst for vengeance of the sons of\nthe wilderness in their ruined houses, the superb palm-trees felled, and\nlittle gardens destroyed. It was necessary now to remove from the road\nthe slender trunks with their huge leafy crowns, that they might not\nimpede the progress of the people; and, when this work was done, Joshua\nascended through a ravine which led to the brook in the valley, up to the\nfirst terrace of the mountain, that he might gaze around him far and near\nfor a view of the enemy.\n\nThe steep pathway led past masses of red granite, intersected by veins of\ngreenish diorite, until he reached a level plateau high above the oasis,\nwhere, beside a clear spring, green bushes and delicate mountain flowers\nadorned the barren wilderness.\n\nHere he intended to rest and, as he gazed around him, he perceived in the\nshadow of an overhanging cliff a man's tall figure.\n\nIt was Moses.\n\nThe flight of his thoughts had rapt him so far away from the present and\nhis surroundings, that he did not perceive Joshua's approach, and the\nlatter was restrained by respectful awe from approaching the man of God.\n\nHe waited patiently till the latter raised his bearded face and greeted\nhim with friendly dignity.\n\nThen they gazed together at the oasis and the desolate stony valleys of\nthe mountain region at their feet. The emerald waters of a small portion\nof the Red Sea, which washed the western slope of the mountain, also\nglittered beneath them.\n\nMeanwhile they talked of the people and the greatness and omnipotence of\nthe God who had so wonderfully guided them, and as they looked northward,\nthey beheld the endlessly long stream of Hebrews, which, following the\ncurves of the rocky valley, was surging slowly toward the oasis.\n\nThen Joshua opened his heart to the man of God and told him the questions\nhe had asked himself during the past sleepless night, and to which he had\nfound no answer. The latter listened quietly, and in deep, faltering\ntones answered in broken sentences:\n\n\"The lawlessness in the camp--ay, it is ruining the people! But the Lord\nplaced the power to destroy it in our hands. Woe betide him who resists.\nThey must feel this power, which is as sublime as yonder mountain, as\nimmovable as its solid rock.\"\n\nThen Moses' wrathful words ceased.\n\nAfter both had gazed silently into vacancy a long time, Joshua broke the\nsilence by asking:\n\n\"And what is the name of this power?\"\n\nLoudly and firmly from the bearded lips of the man of God rang the words;\n\"THE LAW!\"\n\nHe pointed with his staff to the summit of the mountain.\n\nThen, waving his hand to his companion, he left him. Joshua completed his\nsearch for the foe and saw on the yellow sands of the valley dark figures\nmoving to and fro.\n\nThey were the remnants of the defeated Amalekite bands seeking new\nabodes.\n\nHe watched them a short time and, after convincing himself that they were\nquitting the oasis, he thoughtfully returned to the valley.\n\n\"The law!\" he repeated again and again.\n\nAy, that was what the wandering tribes lacked. It was doubtless reserved\nfor its severity to transform the hordes which had escaped bondage into a\npeople worthy of the God who preferred them above the other nations of\nthe earth.\n\nHere the chief's reflections were interrupted; for human voices, the\nlowing and bleating of herds, the barking of dogs, and the heavy blows of\nhammers rose to his ears from the oasis.\n\nThey were pitching the tents, a work of peace, for which no one needed\nhim.\n\nLying down in the shadow of a thick tamarisk bush, above which a tall\npalm towered proudly, he stretched his limbs comfortably to rest in the\nassurance that the people were now provided for, in war by his good\nsword, in peace by the Law. This was much, it renewed his hopes; yet, no,\nno--it was not all, could not be the final goal. The longer he reflected,\nthe more profoundly he felt that this was not enough to satisfy him\nconcerning those below, whom he cherished in his heart as if they were\nbrothers and sisters. His broad brow again clouded, and roused from his\nrepose by fresh doubts, he gently shook his head.\n\nNo, again no! The Law could not afford to those who were so dear to him\neverything that he desired for them. Something else was needed to make\ntheir future as dignified and beautiful as he had beheld it before his\nmind's eye on his journey to the mines.\n\nBut what was it, what name did this other need bear?\n\nHe began to rack his brain to discover it, and while, with closed lids,\nhe permitted his thoughts to rove to the other nations whom he had known\nin war and peace, in order to seek among them the one thing his own\npeople lacked, sleep overpowered him and a dream showed him Miriam and a\nlovely girl, who looked like Kasana as she had so often rushed to meet\nhim when a sweet, innocent child, followed by the white lamb which Nun\nhad given to his favorite many years before.\n\nBoth figures offered him a gift and asked him to choose one or the other.\nMiriam's hand held a heavy gold tablet, at whose top was written in\nflaming letters: \"The Law!\" and which she offered with stern severity.\nThe child extended one of the beautifully-curved palm-leaves which he had\noften waved as a messenger of peace.\n\nThe sight of the tablet filled him with pious awe, the palm-branch waved\na friendly greeting and he quickly grasped it. But scarcely was it in his\nhand ere the figure of the prophetess melted into the air like mist,\nwhich the morning breeze blows away. In painful astonishment he now gazed\nat the spot where she had stood, and surprised and troubled by his\nstrange choice, though he felt that he had made the right one, he asked\nthe child what her gift imported to him and to the people.\n\nShe waved her hand to him, pointed into the distance, and uttered three\nwords whose gentle musical sound sank deep into his heart. Yet hard as he\nstrove to catch their purport, he did not succeed, and when he asked the\nchild to explain them the sound of his own voice roused him and he\nreturned to the camp, disappointed and thoughtful.\n\nAfterwards he often tried to remember these words, but always in vain.\nAll his great powers, both mental and physical, he continued to devote to\nthe people; but his nephew Ephraim, as a powerful prince of his tribe,\nwho well deserved the high honors he enjoyed in after years,\nfounded a home of his own, where old Nun watched the growth of\ngreat-grand-children, who promised a long perpetuation of his noble race.\n\nEveryone is familiar with Joshua's later life, so rich in action, and how\nhe won in battle a new home for his people.\n\nThere in the Promised Land many centuries later was born, in Bethlehem,\nanother Jehoshua who bestowed on all mankind what the son of Nun had\nvainly sought for the Hebrew nation.\n\nThe three words uttered by the child's lips which the chief had been\nunable to comprehend were:\n\n\"Love, Mercy, Redemption!\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Asenath, the wife of Joseph, had been an Egyptian\n     Most ready to be angry with those to whom we have been unjust\n     Pleasant sensation of being a woman, like any other woman\n     Woman's disapproving words were blown away by the wind\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE JOSHUA:\n\n     A school where people learned modesty\n     Asenath, the wife of Joseph, had been an Egyptian\n     Brief \"eternity\" of national covenants\n     But what do you men care for the suffering you inflict on others\n     Childhood already lies behind me, and youth will soon follow\n     Choose between too great or too small a recompense\n     Good advice is more frequently unheeded than followed\n     Hate, though never sated, can yet be gratified\n     I do not like to enquire about our fate beyond the grave\n     Most ready to be angry with those to whom we have been unjust\n     Omnipotent God, who had preferred his race above all others\n     Pleasant sensation of being a woman, like any other woman\n     Precepts and lessons which only a mother can give\n     Regard the utterances and mandates of age as wisdom\n     Should I be a man, if I forgot vengeance?\n     Then hate came; but it did not last long\n     There is no 'never,' no surely\n     To the mines meant to be doomed to a slow, torturing death\n     Voice of the senses, which drew them together, will soon be mute\n     What had formerly afforded me pleasure now seemed shallow\n     When hate and revenge speak, gratitude shrinks timidly\n     Who can prop another's house when his own is falling\n     Woman's disapproving words were blown away by the wind\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary J. Safford\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nIf the author should be told that the sentimental love of our day was\nunknown to the pagan world, he would not cite last the two lovers, Antony\nand Cleopatra, and the will of the powerful Roman general, in which he\nexpressed the desire, wherever he might die, to be buried beside the\nwoman whom he loved to his latest hour. His wish was fulfilled, and the\nlove-life of these two distinguished mortals, which belongs to history,\nhas more than once afforded to art and poesy a welcome subject.\n\nIn regard to Cleopatra, especially, life was surrounded with an\natmosphere of romance bordering on the fabulous. Even her bitterest foes\nadmire her beauty and rare gifts of intellect. Her character, on the\ncontrary, presents one of the most difficult problems of psychology. The\nservility of Roman poets and authors, who were unwilling frankly to\nacknowledge the light emanating so brilliantly from the foe of the state\nand the Imperator, solved it to her disadvantage. Everything that bore\nthe name of Egyptian was hateful or suspicious to the Roman, and it was\nhard to forgive this woman, born on the banks of the Nile, for having\nseen Julius Caesar at her feet and compelled Mark Antony to do her\nbidding. Other historians, Plutarch at their head, explained the enigma\nmore justly, and in many respects in her favour.\n\nIt was a delightful task to the author to scan more closely the\npersonality of the hapless Queen, and from the wealth of existing\ninformation shape for himself a creature in whom he could believe. Years\nelapsed ere he succeeded; but now that he views the completed picture, he\nthinks that many persons might be disposed to object to the brightness of\nhis colours. Yet it would not be difficult for the writer to justify\nevery shade which he has used. If, during his creative work, he learned\nto love his heroine, it was because, the more distinctly he conjured\nbefore his mind the image of this wonderful woman, the more keenly he\nfelt and the more distinctly he perceived how fully she merited not only\nsympathy and admiration, but, in spite of all her sins and weaknesses,\nthe self-sacrificing affection which she inspired in so many hearts.\n\nIt was an author of no less importance than Horace who called Cleopatra\n\"non humilis mulier\"--a woman capable of no baseness. But the phrase\ngains its greatest importance from the fact that it adorns the hymn which\nthe poet dedicated to Octavianus and his victory over Antony and\nCleopatra. It was a bold act, in such an ode, to praise the victor's foe.\nYet he did it, and his words, which are equivalent to a deed, are among\nthis greatly misjudged woman's fairest claims to renown.\n\nUnfortunately it proved less potent than the opinion of Dio, who often\ndistorted what Plutarch related, but probably followed most closely the\nfarce or the popular tales which, in Rome, did not venture to show the\nEgyptian in a favourable light.\n\nThe Greek Plutarch, who lived much nearer the period of our heroine than\nDio, estimated her more justly than most of the Roman historians. His\ngrandfather had heard many tales of both Cleopatra and Antony from his\ncountryman Philotas, who, during the brilliant days when they revelled in\nAlexandria, had lived there as a student. Of all the writers who describe\nthe Queen, Plutarch is the most trustworthy, but even his narrative must\nbe used with caution. We have closely followed the clear and\ncomprehensive description given by Plutarch of the last days of our\nheroine. It bears the impress of truth, and to deviate widely from it\nwould be arbitrary.\n\nUnluckily, Egyptian records contain nothing which could have much weight\nin estimating the character of Cleopatra, though we have likenesses\nrepresenting the Queen alone, or with her son Caesarion. Very recently\n(in 1892) the fragment of a colossal double statue was found in\nAlexandria, which can scarcely be intended for any persons except\nCleopatra and Antony hand in hand. The upper part of the female figure is\nin a state of tolerable preservation, and shows a young and attractive\nface. The male figure was doubtless sacrificed to Octavianus's command to\ndestroy Antony's statues. We are indebted to Herr Dr. Walther, in\nAlexandria, for an excellent photograph of this remarkable piece of\nsculpture. Comparatively few other works of plastic art, in which we here\ninclude coins, that could render us familiar with our heroine's\nappearance, have been preserved.\n\nThough the author must especially desire to render his creation a work of\nart, it is also requisite to strive for fidelity. As the heroine's\nportrait must reveal her true character, so the life represented here\nmust correspond in every line with the civilization of the period\ndescribed. For this purpose we placed Cleopatra in the centre of a larger\ngroup of people, whom she influences, and who enable her personality to\nbe displayed in the various relations of life.\n\nShould the author succeed in making the picture of the remarkable woman,\nwho was so differently judged, as \"lifelike\" and vivid as it stamped\nitself upon his own imagination, he might remember with pleasure the\nhours which he devoted to this book.\n\n                  GEORG EBERS\n\nTUTZING ON THE STARNBERGER SEE, October 5, 1893.\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nGorgias, the architect, had learned to bear the scorching sunbeams of the\nEgyptian noonday. Though not yet thirty, he had directed--first as his\nlate father's assistant and afterwards as his successor--the construction\nof the huge buildings erected by Cleopatra in Alexandria.\n\nNow he was overwhelmed with commissions; yet he had come hither ere the\nhours of work were over, merely to oblige a youth who had barely passed\nthe confines of boyhood.\n\nTrue, the person for whom he made this sacrifice was Caesarion, the son\nwhom Cleopatra had given to Julius Caesar. Antony had honoured him with\nthe proud title of \"King of kings\"; yet he was permitted neither to rule\nnor even to issue orders, for his mother kept him aloof from affairs of\nstate, and he himself had no desire to hold the sceptre.\n\nGorgias had granted his wish the more readily, because it was apparent\nthat he wanted to speak to him in private, though he had not the least\nidea what Caesarion desired to confide, and, under any circumstances, he\ncould give him only a brief interview. The fleet, at whose head the Queen\nhad set sail, with Mark Antony, for Greece, must have already met\nOctavianus's galleys, and doubtless a battle wherein the destiny of the\nworld was decided had also been fought upon the land, Gorgias believed\nthat the victory would fall to Antony and the Queen, and wished the noble\npair success with his whole heart. He was even obliged to act as if the\nbattle had been already determined in their favour, for the architectural\npreparations for the reception of the conquerors were entrusted to his\ncharge, and that very day must witness the decision of the location of\nthe colossal statues which represented Antony hand in hand with his royal\nlove.\n\nThe epitrop Mardion, a eunuch, who as Regent, represented Cleopatra; and\nZeno, the Keeper of the Seal, who rarely opposed him, wished to have the\npiece of sculpture erected in a different place from the one he favoured.\nThe principal objection to the choice made by the powerful head of the\ngovernment was that it had fallen on land owned by a private individual.\nThis might lead to difficulties, and Gorgias opposed it. As an artist,\ntoo, he did not approve Mardion's plan; for though, on Didymus's land,\nthe statues would have faced the sea, which the Regent and the Keeper of\nthe Seal regarded as very important, no fitting background could have\nbeen obtained.\n\nAt any rate, the architect could now avail himself of Caesarion's\ninvitation to overlook from the appointed place of meeting--the lofty\nsteps of the Temple of Isis--the Bruchium, and seek the best site for the\ntwin statues. He was anxious to select the most suitable one; the master\nwho had created this work of art had been his friend, and had closed his\neyes in death shortly after its completion.\n\nThe sanctuary whence Gorgias commenced his survey was in one of the\nfairest portions of the Bruchium, the Alexandrian quarter, where stood\nthe royal palace with its extensive annexes, the finest temples--except\nthe Serapeum, situated in another part of the city-and the largest\ntheatres; the Forum invited the council of Macedonian citizens to its\nassemblies, and the Museum afforded a resort for the scholars.\n\nThe little square closed in the east by the Temple of Isis was called the\n\"Corner of the Muses,\" on account of the two marble statues of women\nbefore the entrance of the house, which, with its large garden facing the\nsquare northward and extending along the sea, belonged to Didymus, an old\nand highly respected scholar and member of the Museum.\n\nThe day had been hot, and the shade of the Temple of Isis was very\nwelcome to the architect.\n\nThis sanctuary rested upon a lofty foundation, and a long flight of steps\nled to the cella. The spot afforded Gorgias a wide prospect.\n\nMost of the buildings within his vision belonged to the time of Alexander\nand his successors in the house of the Ptolemies, but some, and by no\nmeans the least stately, were the work of Gorgias himself or of his\nfather. The artist's heart swelled with enthusiastic delight at the sight\nof this portion of his native city.\n\nHe had been in Rome, and visited many other places numbered among the\nworld's fairest and most populous cities; but not one contained so many\nsuperb works of art crowded together in so small a space.\n\n\"If one of the immortals themselves,\" he murmured, \"should strive to\nerect for the inhabitants of Olympus a quarter meet for their grandeur\nand beauty, it could scarcely be much more superb or better fitted to\nsatisfy the artistic needs which we possess as their gift, and it would\nsurely be placed on the shore of such a sea.\"\n\nWhile speaking, he shaded his keen eyes with his hand. The architect, who\nusually devoted his whole attention to the single object that claimed his\nnotice, now permitted himself the pleasure of enjoying the entire picture\nin whose finishing touches he had himself borne a part; and, as his\npractised eye perceived in every temple and colonnade the studied and\nfinished harmony of form, and the admirable grouping of the various\nbuildings and statues, he said to himself, with a sigh of satisfaction,\nthat his own art was the noblest and building the highest of royal\npleasures. No doubt this belief was shared by the princes who, three\ncenturies before, had endeavoured to obtain an environment for their\npalaces which should correspond with their vast power and overflowing\nwealth, and at the same time give tangible expression to their reverence\nfor the gods and their delight in art and beauty. No royal race in the\nuniverse could boast of a more magnificent abode. These thoughts passed\nthrough Gorgias's mind as the deep azure hue of sea and sky blended with\nthe sunlight to bring into the strongest relief all that the skill and\nbrains of man, aided by exhaustless resources, had here created.\n\nWaiting, usually a hard task for the busy architect, became a pleasure in\nthis spot; for the rays streaming lavishly in all directions from the\ndiadem of the sovereign sun flooded with dazzling radiance the thousands\nof white marble statues on the temples and colonnades, and were reflected\nfrom the surfaces of the polished granite of the obelisks and the equally\nsmooth walls of the white, yellow, and green marble, the syenite, and the\nbrown, speckled porphyry of sanctuaries and palaces. They seemed to be\nstriving to melt the bright mosaic pictures which covered every foot Of\nthe ground, where no highway intersected and no tree shaded it, and\nflashed back again from the glimmering metal or the smooth glaze in the\ngay tiles on the roofs of the temples and houses. Here they glittered on\nthe metal ornaments, yonder they seemed to be trying to rival the\nbrilliancy of the gilded domes, to lend to the superb green of the\ntarnished bronze surfaces the sparkling lustre of the emerald, or to\ntransform the blue and red lines of the white marble temples into\nlapis-lazuli and coral and their gilded decorations into topaz. The\npictures in the mosaic pavement of the squares, and on the inner walls of\nthe colonnades, were doubly effective against the light masses of marble\nsurrounding them, which in their turn were indebted to the pictures for\naffording the eye an attractive variety instead of dazzling monotony.\n\nHere the light of the weltering sun enhanced the brilliancy of colour in\nthe flags and streamers which fluttered beside the obelisks and Egyptian\npylons, over the triumphal arches and the gates of the temples and\npalaces. Yet even the exquisite purplish blue of the banner waving above\nthe palace on the peninsula of Lochias, now occupied by Cleopatra's\nchildren, was surpassed by the hue of the sea, whose deep azure near the\nshore merged far away into bands of lighter and darker blue, blending\nwith dull or whitish green.\n\nGorgias was accustomed to grasp fully whatever he permitted to influence\nhim, and though still loyal to his custom of associating with his art\nevery remarkable work of the gods or man, he had not forgotten in his\nenjoyment of the familiar scene the purpose of his presence in this spot.\n\nNo, the garden of Didymus was not the proper place for his friend's last\nwork.\n\nWhile gazing at the lofty plane, sycamore, and mimosa trees which\nsurrounded the old scholar's home, the quiet square below him suddenly\nbecame astir with noisy life, for all classes of the populace were\ngathering in front of the sequestered house, as if some unusual spectacle\nattracted them.\n\nWhat could they want of the secluded philosopher?\n\nGorgias gazed earnestly at them, but soon turned away again; a gay voice\nfrom below called his name.\n\nA singular procession had approached the temple--a small body of armed\nmen, led by a short, stout fellow, whose big head, covered with bushy\ncurls, was crowned with a laurel wreath. He was talking eagerly to a\nyounger man, but had paused with the others in front of the sanctuary to\ngreet the architect. The latter shouted a few pleasant words in reply.\nThe laurel-crowned figure made a movement as if he intended to join him,\nbut his companion checked him, and, after a short parley, the older man\ngave the younger one his hand, flung his heavy head back, and strutted\nonward like a peacock, followed by his whole train.\n\nThe other looked after him, shrugging his shoulders; then called to\nGorgias, asking what boon he desired from the goddess.\n\n\"Your presence,\" replied the architect blithely.\n\n\"Then Isis will show herself gracious to you,\" was the answer, and the\nnext instant the two young men cordially grasped each other's hands.\n\nBoth were equally tall and well formed; the features bore witness to\ntheir Greek origin; nay, they might have been taken for brothers, had not\nthe architect's whole appearance seemed sturdie and plainer than that of\nhis companion, whom he called \"Dion\" and friend. As the latter heaped\nmerry sarcasms upon the figure wearing the laurel wreath who had just\nleft him, Anaxenor, the famous zither-player, on whom Antony had bestowed\nthe revenues of four cities and permission to keep body-guard, and\nGorgias's deeper voice sometime assented, sometimes opposed with sensible\nobjections, the difference between these two men of the same age and race\nbecame clearly apparent.\n\nBoth showed a degree of self-reliance unusual, at their age; but the\narchitect's was the assurance which a man gains by toil and his own\nmerit, Dion's that which is bestowed by large possession and a high\nposition in society. Those who were ignorant that the weight of Dion's\ncarefully prepared speech had more than once turned the scale in the city\ncouncils would probably have been disposed to take him for one of the\ncareless worldlings who had no lack of representatives among the gilded\nyouth of Alexandria; while the architect's whole exterior, from his keen\neye to the stouter leather of his sandals, revealed earnest purpose and\nunassuming ability.\n\nTheir friendship had commenced when Gorgias built a new palace for Dion.\nDuring long business association people become well acquainted, even\nthough their conversations relate solely to direction and execution. But\nin this case, he who gave the orders had been only the inspirer and\nadviser, the architect the warm-hearted friend, eager to do his utmost to\nrealize what hovered before the other's mind as the highest attainable\nexcellence. So the two young men became first dear, and finally almost\nindispensable to each other. As the architect discovered in the wealthy\nman of the world many qualities whose existence he had not suspected, the\nlatter was agreeably surprised to find in the artist, associated with his\nsolidity of character, a jovial companion, who--this first made him\nreally beloved by his friend--had no lack of weaknesses.\n\nWhen the palace was completed to Dion's satisfaction and became one of\nthe most lauded ornaments of the city, the young men's friendship assumed\na new form, and it would have been difficult to say which received the\nmost benefit.\n\nDion had just been stopped by the zither-player to ask for confirmation\nof the tidings that the united forces of Antony and Cleopatra had gained\na great victory on sea and land.\n\nIn the eating-house at Kanopus, where he had breakfasted, everyone was\nfull of the joyful news, and rivers of wine had been drunk to the health\nof the victors and the destruction of the malicious foe. \"In these days,\"\ncried Dion, \"not only weak-brained fellows, like the zither-player,\nbelieve me omniscient, but many sensible men also. And why? Because,\nforsooth, I am the nephew of Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, who is on the\nbrink of despair because he himself knows nothing, not even the veriest\ntrifle.\"\n\n\"Yet he stands nearest to the Regent,\" observed Gorgias, \"and must learn,\nif any one does, how the fleet fares.\"\n\n\"You too!\" sighed his friend. \"Had I been standing so far above the\nground as you, the architect--by the dog, I should not have failed to\nnote the quarter whence the wind blew! It has been southerly a whole\nfortnight, and keeps back the galleys coming from the north. The Regent\nknows nothing, absolutely nothing, and my uncle, of course, no more. But\nif they do learn anything they will be shrewd enough not to enrich me\nwith it.\"\n\n\"True, there are other rumours afloat,\" said the architect thoughtfully.\n\"If I were in Mardion's place--\"\n\n\"Thank the Olympians that you are not,\" laughed his companion. \"He has as\nmany cares as a fish has scales. And one, the greatest. That pert young\nAntyllus was over-ready with his tongue yesterday at Barine's. Poor\nfellow! He'll have to answer for it to his tutor at home.\"\n\n\"You mean the remark about the Queen's accompanying the fleet?\"\n\n\"St!\" said Dion, putting his finger on his lips, for many men and women\nwere now ascending the temple steps. Several carried flowers and cakes,\nand the features of most expressed joyful emotion. The news of the\nvictory had reached their ears, and they wanted to offer sacrifices to\nthe goddess whom Cleopatra, \"the new Isis,\" preferred to all others.\n\nThe first court-yard of the sanctuary was astir with life. They could\nhear the ringing of the sistrum bells and the murmuring chant of the\npriests. The quiet fore-court of the little temple of the goddess, which\nhere, in the Greek quarter of palaces, had as few visitors as the great\nTemple of Isis in the Rhakotis was overcrowded, had now become the worst\npossible rendezvous for men who stood so near the rulers of the\ngovernment. The remark made about the Queen the evening before by\nAntyllus, Antony's nineteen-year-old son, at the house of Barine, a\nbeautiful young woman who attracted all the prominent men in Alexandria,\nwas the more imprudent because it coincided with the opinion of all the\nwisest heads. The reckless youth enthusiastically reverenced his father,\nbut Cleopatra, the object of Antony's love, and--in the Egyptians'\neyes--his wife, was not Antyllus's mother. He was the son of Fulvia, his\nfather's first wife, and feeling himself a Roman, would have preferred a\nthousand times to live on the banks of the Tiber. Besides, it was\ncertain--Antony's stanchest friends made no attempt to conceal the\nfact--that the Queen's presence with the army exerted a disturbing\ninfluence, and could not fail to curb the daring courage of the brave\ngeneral. Antyllus, with the reckless frankness inherited from his father,\nhad expressed this view in the presence of all Barine's guests, and in a\nform which would be only too quickly spread throughout Alexandria, whose\ninhabitants relished such speeches.\n\nThese remarks would be slow in reaching the plain people who were\nattracted to the temple by the news of the victory, yet many doubtless\nknew Caesarion, whom the architect was awaiting here. It would be wiser\nto meet the prince at the foot of the steps. Both men, therefore, went\ndown to the square, though the crowds seeking the temple and thronging\nthe space before Didymus's house made it more and more difficult to pace\nto and fro.\n\nThey were anxious to learn whether the rumour that Didymus's garden was\nto be taken for the twin statues had already spread abroad, and their\nfirst questions revealed that this was the case. It was even stated that\nthe old sage's house was to be torn down, and within a few hours. This\nwas vehemently contradicted; but a tall, scrawny man seemed to have\nundertaken to defend the ruler's violence.\n\nThe friends knew him well. It was the Syrian Philostratus, a clever\nextempore speaker and agitator of the people, who placed his clever\ntongue at the disposal of the highest bidder.\n\n\"The rascal is probably now in my uncle's employ,\" said Dion. \"The idea\nof putting the piece of sculpture there originated with him, and it is\ndifficult to turn him from such plans. There is some secret object to be\ngained here. That is why they have brought Philostratus. I wonder\nif the conspiracy is connected in any way with Barine, whose\nhusband--unfortunately for her--he was before he cast her off.\"\n\n\"Cast her off!\" exclaimed Gorgias wrathfully. \"How that sounds! True, he\ndid it, but to persuade him the poor woman sacrificed half the fortune\nher father had earned by his brush. You know as well as I that life with\nthat scoundrel would be unbearable.\"\n\n\"Very true,\" replied Dion quietly. \"But as all Alexandria melted into\nadmiration after her singing of the 'yalemos' at the Adonis festival, she\nno longer needed her contemptible consort.\"\n\n\"How can you take pleasure, whenever it is possible, in casting such\nslurs upon a woman, whom but yesterday you called blameless, charming,\npeerless?\"\n\n\"That the light she sheds may not dazzle your eyes. I know how sensitive\nthey are.\"\n\n\"Then spare, instead of irritating them. Besides, your suggestion gives\nfood for thought Barine is the granddaughter of the man whose garden they\nwant, and the advocate would probably be glad to injure both. But I'll\nspoil his game. It is my business to choose the site for the statues.\"\n\n\"Yours?\" replied Dion. \"Unless some on who is more powerful opposes you.\nI would try to win my uncle, but there are others superior to him. The\nQueen has gone, it is true; but Iras, whose commands do not die away in\nempty air, told me this morning that she had her own ideas about the\nerection of the statue.\"\n\n\"Then you bring Philostratus here!\" cried the architect.\n\n\"I?\" asked the other in amazement.\n\n\"Ay, you,\" asserted Gorgias. \"Did not you say that Iras, with whom you\nplayed when a boy is now becoming troublesome by watching your every\nstep? And then--you visit Barine constantly and she so evidently prefers\nyou, that the fact might easily reach the ears of Iras.\"\n\n\"As Argus has a hundred, jealousy has a thousand eyes,\" interrupted Dion,\n\"yet I seek nothing from Barine, save two pleasant hours when the day is\ndrawing towards its close. No matter; Iras, I suppose, heard that I was\nfavoured by this much-admired woman. Iras herself has some little regard\nfor me, so she bought Philostratus. She is willing to pay something for\nthe sake of injuring the woman who stands between us, or the old man who\nhas the good or evil fortune of being her rival's grandfather. No, no;\nthat would be too base! And believe me, if Iras desired to ruin Barine,\nshe need not make so long a circuit. Besides, she is not really a wicked\nwoman. Or is she? All I know is that where any advantage is to be gained\nfor the Queen, she does not shrink even from doubtful means, and also\nthat the hours speed swiftly for any one in her society. Yes, Iras,\nIras--I like to utter the name. Yet I do not love her, and she--loves\nonly herself, and--a thing few can say--another still more. What is the\nworld, what am I to her, compared with the Queen, the idol of her heart?\nSince Cleopatra's departure, Iras seems like the forsaken Ariadne, or a\nyoung roe which has strayed from its mother. But stop; she may have a\nhand in the game: the Queen trusted her as if she were her sister, her\ndaughter. No one knows what she and Charmian are to her. They are called\nwaiting-women, but are their sovereign's dearest friends. When, on the\ndeparture of the fleet, Cleopatra was compelled to leave Iras here--she\nwas ill with a fever--she gave her the charge of her children, even those\nwhose beards were beginning to grow, the 'King of kings' Caesarion, whose\ntutor punishes him for every act of disobedience; and the unruly lad\nAntyllus, who has forced his way the last few evenings into our friend's\nhouse.\"\n\n\"Antony, his own father, introduced him to her.\"\n\n\"Very true, and Antyllus took Caesarion there. This vexed Iras, like\neverything which may disturb the Queen. Barine is troublesome on account\nof Cleopatra, whom she wishes to spare every, annoyance, and perhaps she\ndislikes her a little for my sake. Now she wants to inflict on the old\nman, Barine's grandfather, whom she loves, some injury which the spoiled,\nimprudent woman will scarcely accept quietly, and which will rouse her to\ncommit some folly that can be used against her. Iras will hardly seek her\nlife, but she may have in mind exile or something of that kind. She knows\npeople as well as I know her, my neighbour and playmate, whom many a time\nI was obliged to lift down from some tree into which the child had\nclimbed as nimbly as a kitten.\"\n\n\"I myself suggested this conjecture, yet I cannot credit her with such\nunworthy intrigues,\" cried Gorgias.\n\n\"Credit her?\" repeated Dion, shrugging his shoulders. \"I only transport\nmyself in imagination to the court and to the soul of the woman who helps\nmake rain and sunshine there. You have columns rounded and beams hewed\nthat they may afterwards support the roof to which in due time you wish\nto direct attention. She and all who have a voice in the management of\ncourt affairs look first at the roof and then seek anything to raise and\nsupport it, though it should be corpses, ruined lives, and broken hearts.\nThe point is that the roof shall stand until the architect, the Queen,\nsees and approves it. As to the rest--But there is the carriage--It\ndoubtless brings--You were--\"\n\nHe paused, laid his hand on his friend's arm, and whispered hastily:\n\"Iras is undoubtedly at the bottom of this, and it is not Antyllus, but\nyonder dreaming lad, for whom she is moving. When she spoke of the\nstatues just now, she asked in the same breath where I had seen him on\nthe evening of the day before yesterday, and that was the very time he\ncalled on Barine. The plot was made by her, and Iras is doing all the\nwork. The mouse is not caught while the trap is closed, and she is just\nraising her little hand to open it.\"\n\n\"If only she does not use some man's hand,\" replied the architect\nwrathfully, and then turned towards the carriage and the elderly man who\nhad just left it, and was now approaching the two friends.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nWhen Caesarion's companion reached Dion and Gorgias, the former modestly\nmade a movement to retire. But Archibius was acquainted with both, and\nbegged him to remain. There was an air of precision and clearness in the\nvoice and quiet movements of this big, broad-shouldered man, with his\nrobust frame and well-developed limbs. Though only a few years beyond\nforty, not merely his grey hair but the calm, impressive dignity of his\nwhole manner indicated a more advanced age.\n\n\"The young King yonder,\" he began in a deep, musical voice, motioning\ntowards the equipage, \"wished to speak to you here in person, Gorgias,\nbut by my advice he refrained from mingling with the crowd. I have\nbrought him hither in a closed carriage. If the plan suits you, enter it\nand talk with him while I keep watch here. Strange things seem to be\noccurring, and yonder--or am I mistaken? Has the monster dragged along\nthere any connection with the twin statues of the Queen and her friend?\nWas it you who selected that place for them?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the architect. \"The order was issued over my head and\nagainst my will.\"\n\n\"I thought so,\" replied the other. \"This is the very matter of which\nCaesarion wishes to speak. If you can prevent the erection of the statues\non Didymus's land, so much the better. I will do everything in my power\nto aid you, but in the Queen's absence that is little.\"\n\n\"Then what can be said of my influence?\" asked the architect. \"Who, in\nthese days, knows whether the sky will be blue or grey to-morrow? I can\nguarantee one thing only: I will do my best to prevent this injury of an\nestimable citizen, interference with the laws of our city, and violation\nof good taste.\"\n\n\"Say so to the young King, but express yourself cautiously,\" replied\nArchibius as the architect turned towards the carriage.\n\nAs soon as Dion and the older man were alone, the latter inquired the\ncause of the increasing uproar, and as, like every well-disposed\nAlexandrian, he esteemed Archibius, and knew that he was intimately\nacquainted with the owner of the imperilled garden, and therefore with\nhis granddaughter Barine, he confided his anxiety to him without reserve.\n\n\"Iras is your niece, it is true,\" he said in his open-hearted manner,\n\"but I know that you understand her character. It suits her now to fling\na golden apple into the path of a person whom she dislikes and believes\nincautious, that she may pick it up and thus afford her an opportunity to\nbring a charge of theft.\"\n\nNoting the inquiring glance Archibius fixed upon him as he made this\ncomparison, he changed his tone and continued more earnestly: \"Zeus is\ngreat, but destiny is superior even to him. Zeus can accomplish much, but\nwhen Iras and your sister Charmian, who unfortunately is now with the\nQueen, wish to effect anything, he, like the Regent Mardion, must give\nway. The more lovable Cleopatra is, the more surely every one prizes a\nposition near her person above aught else, especially such trifles as law\nand justice.\"\n\n\"These are harsh words,\" responded Archibius, and seem the more bitter in\nproportion to the germ of truth which they contain. Our court shares the\nfate of every other in the East, and those to whom Rome formerly set the\nexample of holding law and justice sacred--\"\n\n\"Can now go there,\" interrupted Dion, \"to learn how rudely both are\ntrampled under foot. The sovereigns here and there may smile at one\nanother like the augurs. They are like brothers--\"\n\n\"But with the difference,\" Archibius broke in, \"that the head of our\npublic affairs is the very embodiment of affability and grace; while in\nRome, on the contrary, harsh severity and bloody arrogance, or even\nrepulsive servility, guide the reins.\"\n\nHere Archibius interrupted himself to point to the shouting throng\nadvancing towards them. \"You are right,\" Dion answered. \"Let us defer\nthis discussion till we can pursue it in the house of the charming\nBarine. But I rarely meet you there, though by blood you are so nearly\nallied to her father. I am her friend--at my age that might easily mean\nher lover. But in our case the comparison would not suit. Yet perhaps you\nwill believe me, for you have the right to call yourself the friend of\nthe most bewitching of women.\"\n\nA sorrowful smile flitted over the grave, set features of the older man,\nwho, raising his hand as if in protest, answered carelessly: \"I grew up\nwith Cleopatra, but a private citizen loves a queen only as a divinity. I\nbelieve in your friendship for Barine, though I deem it dangerous.\"\n\n\"If you mean that it might injure the lovely woman,\" replied Dion,\nraising his head more proudly as if to intimate that he required no\nwarning, even from him, \"perhaps you are right. Only I beg you not to\nmisunderstand me. I am not vain enough to suppose that I could win her\nheart, but unfortunately there are many who cannot forgive the power of\nattraction which she exerts over me as well as upon all. So many men\ngladly visit Barine's house that there are an equal number of women who\nwould rejoice to close it. Among them, of course, is Iras. She dislikes\nmy friend; nay, I fear that what you witness yonder is the apple she\nflung in order, if not to ruin, at least to drive her from the city, ere\nthe Queen--may the gods grant her victory!--ere Cleopatra returns. You\nknow your niece Iras. Like your sister Charmian, she will shrink from\nnothing to remove an annoyance from her mistress's pathway, and it will\nhardly please Cleopatra when she learns that the two youths whose welfare\nlies nearest her heart--Antyllus and Caesarion--seek Barine's house, no\nmatter how stainless the latter's reputation may be.\"\n\n\"I have just heard of it,\" replied Archibius, \"and I, too, am anxious.\nAntony's son has inherited much of his father's insatiable love of\npleasure. But Caesarion! He has not yet ventured out of the dreamland\nwhich surrounds him into actual life. What others scarcely perceive deals\nhim a serious blow. I fear Eros is sharpening arrows for him which will\npierce deep into his heart. While talking with me he seemed strangely\nchanged. His dreamy eyes glittered like a drunkard's when he spoke of\nBarine. I fear, I fear--\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried Dion, in surprise, nay, almost terror. \"If that is\nthe case, Iras is not wholly wrong, and we must deal with the matter\ndifferently. But it is of the first importance to conceal the fact that\nCaesarion has any interest in the affairs of the old house-owner. To seek\nto maintain the old man's right to his own property is a matter of\ncourse, and I will undertake to do this and try to get yonder orator home\nJust see how the braggart is swinging his arms in Iras's service! As for\nBarine, it will be well to induce her to leave of her own free will a\ncity where it will be made unpleasant for her. Try to persuade her to\npursue this course. If I went to her with such a suggestion, I, who\nyesterday--No, no! Besides, she might hear that Iras and I--She would\nimagine all sorts of absurdities. You know what jealousy means. To you,\nwhom she esteems, she would surely listen, and she need not go far from\nthe city. If the heart of this enthusiastic boy--who might some day\ndesire to be 'King of kings' not only in name--should really be fired\nwith love for Barine, what serious misfortune might follow! We must\nsecure her from him. She could not go to my country house among the\npapyrus plantations at Sebennys. It would afford too much license for\nevil tongues. But you--your villa at Kanopus is too near--but, if I am\nnot mistaken, you have--\"\n\n\"My estate in the lake region is remote enough, and will be at her\ndisposal,\" interrupted the other. \"The house is always kept ready for my\nreception. I will do my best to persuade her, for your advice is prudent.\nShe must be withdrawn from the boy's eyes.\"\n\n\"I shall learn the result of your mission tomorrow,\" cried Dion\neagerly--\"nay, this evening. If she consents, I will tell Iras, as if by\naccident, that Barine has gone to Upper Egypt to drink new milk, or\nsomething of that kind. Iras is a shrewd woman, and will be glad if she\ncan keep aloof from such trifles during the time which will decide the\nfate of Cleopatra and of the world.\"\n\n\"My thoughts, too, are always with the army,\" said Archibius. \"How\ntrivial everything else seems compared with the result which will be\ndetermined in the next few days! But life is made up of trifles. They are\nfood, drink, maintenance. Should the Queen return triumphant, and find\nCaesarion in wrong paths--\"\n\n\"We must close them against him,\" exclaimed Dion.\n\n\"That the boy may not follow Barine?\" asked Archibius, shaking his head.\n\"I think we need feel no anxiety on that score. He will doubtless eagerly\ndesire to do so, but with him there is a wide gulf between the wish and\nits fulfilment. Antyllus is differently constituted. He would be quite\ncapable of ordering a horse to be saddled, or the sails of a boat to be\nspread in order to pursue her--beyond the Cataract if necessary. So we\nmust maintain the utmost secrecy concerning the place to which Barine\nvoluntarily exiles herself.\"\n\n\"But she is not yet on her way,\" replied Dion with a faint sigh. \"She is\nbound to this city by many ties.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" answered Archibius, confirming his companion's fear. The\nlatter, pointing to the equipage, said in a rapid, earnest tone: \"Gorgias\nis beckoning. But, before we part, let me beseech you to do everything to\npersuade Barine to leave here. She is in serious danger. Conceal nothing\nfrom her, and say that her friends will not leave her too long in\nsolitude.\"\n\nArchibius, with a significant glance, shook his finger at the young man\nin playful menace, and then went up to the carriage.\n\nCaesarion's clear-cut but pallid face, whose every feature resembled that\nof his father, the great Caesar, bent towards them from the opening above\nthe door, as he greeted both with a formal bend of the head and a\npatronizing glance. His eyes had sparkled with boyish glee when he first\ncaught sight of the friend from whom he had been separated several weeks,\nbut to the stranger he wished to assume the bearing which beseemed a\nking. He desired to make him feel his superior position, for he was\nill-disposed towards him. He had seen him favoured by the woman whom he\nimagined he loved, and whose possession he had been promised by the\nsecret science of the Egyptians, whose power to unveil the mysteries of\nthe future he firmly believed. Antyllus, Antony's son, had taken him to\nBarine, and she had received him with the consideration due his rank.\nSpite of her bright graciousness, boyish timidity had hitherto prevented\nany word of love to the young beauty whom he saw surrounded by so many\ndistinguished men of mature years. Yet his beaming, expressive eyes must\nhave revealed his feelings to her. Doubtless his glances had not been\nunobserved, for only a few hours before an Egyptian woman had stopped him\nat the temple of his father, Caesar, to which, according to the fixed\nrules governing the routine of his life, he went daily at a certain hour\nto pray, to offer sacrifices, to anoint the stone of the altar, or to\ncrown the statue of the departed emperor.\n\nCaesarion had instantly recognized her as the female slave whom he had\nseen in Barine's atrium, and ordered his train to fall back.\n\nFortunately his tutor, Rhodon, had not fulfilled his duty of accompanying\nhim. So the youth had ventured to follow the slave woman, and in the\nshadow of the mimosas, in the little grove beside the temple, he found\nBarine's litter. His heart throbbed violently as, full of anxious\nexpectation, he obeyed her signal to draw nearer. Still, she had granted\nhim nothing save the favour of gratifying one of her wishes. But his\nheart had swelled almost to bursting when, resting her beautiful white\narm on the door of her litter, she had told him that unjust men were\nstriving to rob her grandfather Didymus of his garden, and she expected\nhim, who bore the title of the \"King of kings\" to do his best to prevent\nsuch a crime.\n\nIt had been difficult for him to grasp her meaning while she was\nspeaking. There was a roaring sound in his ears as if, instead of being\nin the silent temple grove, he was standing on a stormy day upon the\nsurf-beaten promontory of Lochias. He had not ventured to raise his eyes\nand look into her face. Not until she closed with the question whether\nshe might hope for his assistance did her gaze constrain him to glance\nup. Ah, what had he not fancied he read in her imploring blue eyes! how\nunspeakably beautiful she had appeared!\n\nHe had stood before her as if bereft of his senses. His sole knowledge\nwas that he had promised, with his hand on his heart, to do everything in\nhis power to prevent what threatened to cause her pain. Then her little\nhand, with its sparkling rings, was again stretched towards him, and he\nhad resolved to kiss it; but while he glanced around at his train, she\nhad already waved him a farewell, and the litter was borne away.\n\nHe stood motionless, like the figure of a man on one of his mother's\nancient vases, staring in bewilderment after the flying figure of\nHappiness, whom he might easily have caught by her floating locks. How he\nraged over the miserable indecision which had defrauded him of so much\njoy! Yet nothing was really lost. If he succeeded in fulfilling her\nwishes, she could not fail to be grateful; and then--\n\nHe pondered over the person to whom he should apply--Mardion, the Regent,\nor the Keeper of the Seal? No, they had planned the erection of the group\nof sculpture in the philosopher's garden. To Iras, his mother's\nconfidante? Nay, last of all to her. The cunning woman would have\nperceived his purpose and betrayed it to the Regent. Ah, if Charmian, his\nmother's other attendant, had been present! but she was with the fleet,\nwhich perhaps was even now engaged in battle with the enemy.\n\nAt this recollection his eyes again sought the ground--he had not been\npermitted to take the place in the army to which his birth entitled him,\nwhile his mother and Charmian--But he did not pursue this painful current\nof thought; for a serious reproach had forced itself upon him and sent\nthe blood to his cheeks. He wished to be considered a man, and yet, in\nthese fateful days, which would determine the destiny of his mother, his\nnative city, Egypt, and that Rome which he, the only son of Caesar, was\ntaught to consider his heritage, he was visiting a beautiful woman,\nthinking of her, and of her alone. His days and half the nights were\npassed in forming plans for securing her love, forgetful of what should\nhave occupied his whole heart.\n\nOnly yesterday Iras had sharply admonished him that, in times like these,\nit was the duty of every friend of Cleopatra, and every foe of her foes,\nto be with the army at least in mind.\n\nHe had remembered this, but, instead of heeding the warning, the thought\nof her had merely recalled her uncle, Archibius, who possessed great\ninfluence, not merely on account of his wealth but because every one also\nknew his high standing in the regard of the Queen. Besides, the clever,\nkindly man had always been friendly to him from childhood, and like a\nrevelation came the idea of applying to him, and to the architect\nGorgias, who had a voice in the matter, and by whom he had been strongly\nattracted during the period while he was rebuilding the wing assigned to\nthe prince in the palace at Lochias.\n\nSo one of the attendants was instantly despatched with the little tablet\nwhich invited Gorgias to the interview at the Temple of Isis.\n\nThen, in the afternoon, Caesarion went secretly in a boat to the little\npalace of Archibius, situated on the seashore at Kanopus, and now as the\nlatter, with his friend, stood beside the carriage door, he explained to\nthem that he was going with the architect to old Didymus to assure him of\nhis assistance.\n\nThis was unadvisable in every respect, but it required all the weight of\nthe older man's reasons to induce the prince to yield. The consequences\nwhich might ensue, should the populace discover that he was taking sides\nagainst the Regent, would be incalculable. But submission and withdrawal\nwere especially difficult to the young \"King of kings.\" He longed to pose\nas a man in Dion's presence, and as this could not be, he strove to\nmaintain the semblance of independence by yielding his resolve only on\nthe plea of not desiring to injure the aged scholar and his\ngranddaughter. Finally, he again entreated the architect to secure\nDidymus in the possession of his property. When at last he drove away\nwith Archibius, twilight was already gathering, torches were lighted in\nfront of the temple and the little mausoleum adjoining the cella, and\npitch-pans were blazing in the square.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\"The lad is in an evil plight,\" said Gorgias, shaking his head\nthoughtfully as the equipage rolled over the stone pavement of the Street\nof the King.\n\n\"And over yonder, added Dion,\" \"the prospect is equally unpleasing.\nPhilostratus is setting the people crazy. But the hired mischief-maker\nwill soon wish he had been less ready to seize Iras's gold coins.\"\n\n\"And to think,\" cried the architect, \"that Barine was this scoundrel's\nwife! How could it--\"\n\n\"She was but a child when they married her,\" interrupted Dion. \"Who\nconsults a girl of fifteen in the choice of a husband? And\nPhilostratus--he was my classmate at Rhodus--at that time had the fairest\nprospects. His brother Alexas, Antony's favourite, could easily advance\nhim. Barine's father was dead, her mother was accustomed to follow\nDidymus's counsel, and the clever fellow had managed to strew dust in the\nold man's eyes. Long and lank as he is, he is not bad-looking even now.\n\n\"When he appeared as an orator he pleased his hearers. This turned his\nhead, and a spendthrift's blood runs in his veins. To bring his fair\nyoung bride to a stately mansion, he undertook the bad cause of the\nthievish tax-collector Pyrrhus, and cleared him.\"\n\n\"He bought a dozen false witnesses.\"\n\n\"There were sixteen. Afterwards they became as numerous as the open\nmouths you see shouting yonder. It is time to silence them. Go to the old\nman's house and soothe him--Barine also, if she is there. If you find\nmessengers from the Regent, raise objections to the unprecedented decree.\nYou know the portions of the law which can be turned to Didymus's\nadvantage.\"\n\n\"Since the reign of Euergetes II, registered landed property has been\nunassailable, and his was recorded.\"\n\n\"So much the better. Tell the officials also, confidentially, that you\nknow of objections just discovered which may perhaps change the Regent's\nviews.\"\n\n\"And, above all, I shall insist upon my right to choose the place for the\ntwin statues. The Queen herself directed the others to heed my opinion.\"\n\n\"That will cast the heaviest weight into the scale. We shall meet later.\nYou will prefer to keep away from Barine to-night. If you see her, tell\nher that Archibius said he would visit her later--for an object I will\nexplain afterwards. I shall probably go to Iras to bring her to reason.\nIt will be better not to mention Caesarion's wish.\"\n\n\"Certainly--and you will give nothing to yonder brawler.\"\n\n\"On the contrary. I feel very generous. If Peitho will aid me, the\ninsatiate fellow will get more than may be agreeable to him.\"\n\nThen grasping the architect's hand, Dion forced his way through the\nthrong surrounding the high platform on wheels, upon which the closely\ncovered piece of sculpture had been rolled up. The gate of the scholar's\nhouse stood open, for an officer in the Regent's service had really\nentered a short time before, but the Scythian guards sent by the exegetus\nDemetrius, one of Barine's friends, were keeping back the throng of\ncurious spectators.\n\nTheir commander knew Gorgias, and he was soon standing in the impluvium\nof the scholar's house, an oblong, rootless space, with a fountain in the\ncentre, whose spray moistened the circular bed of flowers around it. The\nold slave had just lighted some three-branched lamps which burned on tall\nstands. The officers sent by the Regent to inform Didymus that his garden\nwould be converted into a public square had just arrived.\n\nWhen Gorgias entered, these magistrates, their clerks, and the witnesses\naccompanying them--a group of twenty men, at whose head was Apollonius, a\ndistinguished officer of the royal treasury--were in the house. The slave\nwho admitted the architect informed him of it.\n\nIn the atrium a young girl, doubtless a member of the household, stopped\nhim. He was not mistaken in supposing that she was Helena, Didymus's\nyounger granddaughter, of whom Barine had spoken. True, she resembled her\nsister neither in face nor figure, for while the young matron's hair was\nfair and waving, the young girl's thick black tresses were wound around\nher head in a smooth braid. Very unlike Barine's voice, too, were the\ndeep, earnest tones trembling with emotion, in which she confronted him\nwith the brief question, concealing a faint reproach, \"Another demand?\"\n\nAfter first ascertaining that he was really speaking to Helena, his\nfriend's sister, he hastily told her his name, adding that, on the\ncontrary, he had come to protect her grandfather from a serious\nmisfortune.\n\nWhen his glance first rested upon her in the dimly lighted room, the\nimpression she made upon him was by no means favourable. The pure brow,\nwhich seemed to him too high for a woman's face, wore an indignant frown;\nand though her mouth was beautiful in form, its outlines were often\nmarred by a passionate tremor that lent the exquisitely chiselled\nfeatures a harsh, nay, bitter expression. But she had scarcely heard the\nmotive of his presence ere, pressing her hand upon her bosom with a sigh\nof relief, she eagerly exclaimed:\n\n\"Oh, do what you can to avert this terrible deed! No one knows how the\nold man loves this house. And my grandmother! They will die if it is\ntaken from them.\"\n\nHer large eyes rested upon him with a warm, imploring light; and the\nstern, almost repellent voice thrilled with love for her relatives. He\nmust lend his aid here, and how gladly he would do so! He assured her of\nthis; and Helena, who had heard him mentioned as a man of ability, saw in\nhim a helper in need, and begged him, with touching fervour, to show her\ngrandfather, when he came before the officers, that all was not lost.\n\nThe astonished architect asked if Didymus did not know what was\nimpending, and Helena hastily replied:\n\n\"He is working in the summer-house by the sea. Apollonius is a\nkind-hearted man, and will wait until I have prepared my grandfather. I\nmust go to him. He has already sent Philotas--his pupil, who finds and\nunrolls his books--a dozen times to inquire the cause of the tumult\noutside; but I replied that the crowds were flocking to the harbour on\naccount of the Queen. There is often a mob shouting madly; but nothing\ndisturbs my grandfather when he is absorbed in his work; and his pupil--a\nyoung student from Amphissa--loves him and does what I bid him. My\ngrandmother, too, knows nothing yet. She is deaf, and the female slaves\ndare not tell her. After her recent attack of giddiness, the doctor said\nthat any sudden shock might injure her. If only I can find the right\nwords, that my grandfather may not be too sorely hurt!\"\n\n\"Shall I accompany you?\" asked Gorgias kindly.\n\n\"No,\" she answered hurriedly. \"He needs time ere he will trust strangers.\nOnly, if Apollonius discloses the terrible truth, and his grief threatens\nto overpower him, comfort him, and show him that we still have friends\nwho are ready to protect us from such disaster.\"\n\nShe waved her hand in token of gratitude, and hurried through the little\nside gate into the garden. Gorgias looked after her with sparkling eyes,\nand drew a long breath. How good this girl must be, how wisely she cared\nfor her relatives! How energetically the young creature behaved! He had\nseen his new acquaintance only in the dim light, but she must be\nbeautiful. Her eyes, lips, and hair certainly were. How his heart\nthrobbed as he asked himself the question whether this young girl, who\nwas endowed with every gift which constituted the true worth of\nwomanhood, was not preferable to her more attractive sister Barine!--when\nthe thought darted through his mind that he had cause to be grateful to\nthe beard which covered his chin and cheeks, for he felt that he, a\nsedate, mature man, must have blushed. And he knew why. Only half an hour\nbefore he had felt and admitted to Dion that he considered Barine the\nmost desirable of women, and now another's image cast a deep shadow over\nhers and filled his heart with new, perhaps stronger emotions.\n\nHe had had similar experiences only too often, and his friends, Dion at\ntheir head, had perceived his weakness and spoiled many an hour for him\nby their biting jests. The series of tall and short, fair and dark\nbeauties who had fired his fancy was indeed of considerable length, and\nevery one on whom he had bestowed his quickly kindled affections had\nseemed to him the one woman he must make his own, if he would be a happy\nman. But ere he had reached the point of offering his hand, the question\nhad arisen in his mind whether he might not love another still more\nardently. So he had begun to persuade himself that his heart yearned for\nno individual, but the whole sex--at least the portion which was young\nand could feel love--and therefore he would scarcely be wise to bind\nhimself to any one. True, he knew that he was capable of fidelity, for he\nclung to his friends with changeless loyalty, and was ready to make any\nsacrifice in their behalf. With women, however, he dealt differently. Was\nHelena's image, which now floated before him so bewitchingly, destined to\nfade as swiftly? The contrary would have been remarkable. Yet he firmly\nbelieved that this time Eros meant honestly by him. The laughing loves\nwho twined their rose garlands around him and Helena's predecessors had\nnothing to do with this grave maiden.\n\nThese reflections darted through his brain with the speed of lightning,\nand still stirred his heart when he was ushered into the impluvium, where\nthe magistrates were impatiently awaiting the owner of the house. With\nthe lucidity peculiar to him, he explained his reasons for hoping that\ntheir errand would be vain, and Apollonius replied that no one would\nrejoice more than he himself if the Regent should authorize him, on the\nmorrow, to countermand his mission. He would gladly wait there longer to\nafford the old man's granddaughter an opportunity to soften the tidings\nof the impending misfortune.\n\nThe kind-hearted man's patience, however, was not tested too long; for\nwhen Helena entered the summer-house Didymus had already been informed of\nthe disaster which threatened him and his family. The philosopher\nEuphranor, an elderly member of the Museum, had reached him through the\ngarden gate, and, spite of Philotas's warning sign, told him what was\noccurring. But Didymus knew the old philosopher, who, a recluse from the\nworld like himself, was devoting the remainder of his life and strength\nto the pursuit of science. So he only shook his head incredulously,\npushed back the thin locks of grey hair which hung down on his cheeks\nover the barest part of his skull, and exclaimed reproachfully, though as\nif the matter under discussion was of the most trivial importance: \"What\nhave you been hearing? We'll see about it!\"\n\nHe had risen as he spoke, and too abruptly surprised by the news to\nremember the sandals on the mat and the upper robe which lay on a chest\nof drawers at the end of the room, he was in the act of quitting it, when\nhis friend, who had silently watched his movements, stopped him, and\nHelena entered.\n\nThe grey-haired sage turned to her, and, vexed by his friend's doubts,\nbegged her to convince her grandfather that even matters which do not\nplease us may nevertheless be of some importance. She did so as\nconsiderately as possible, thinking meanwhile of the architect and his\nhopes.\n\nDidymus, with his eyes bent on the ground, shook his grey head again and\nagain. Then, suddenly raising it, he rushed to the door, and without\nheeding the upper garment which Helena still held in her hand, tore it\nopen, shouting, \"But things must and shall be changed!\"\n\nEuphranor and his granddaughter followed. Though his head was bowed, he\ncrossed the little garden with a swift, firm tread, and, without noticing\nthe questions and warnings of his companions, walked at once to the\nimpluvium. The bright light dazzled his weakened eyes, and his habit of\ngazing into vacancy or on the ground compelled him to glance from side to\nside for some time, ere he could accustom himself to it. Apollonius\napproached, greeted him respectfully, and assured him that he deeply\nregretted having interrupted him in the work for which the whole world\nwas waiting, but he had come on important business.\n\n\"I know, I know,\" the old scholar answered with a smile of superiority.\n\"What is all this ado about?\"\n\nAs he spoke he looked around the group of spectators, among whom he knew\nno one except Apollonius, who had charge of the museum accounts, and the\narchitect, for whom he had composed the inscription on the Odeum, which\nhe had recently built. But when his eyes met only unfamiliar faces, the\nconfidence which hitherto had sustained him began to waver, though still\nconvinced that a demand such as the philosopher suggested could not\npossibly be made upon him, he continued: \"It is stated that there is a\nplan for turning my garden into a public square. And for what purpose? To\nerect a piece of sculpture. But there can be nothing serious in the\nrumour, for my property is recorded in the land register, and the law--\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" Apollonius broke in, \"if I interrupt you. We know the\nordinance to which you refer, but this case is an exceptional one. The\nRegent desires to take nothing from you. On the contrary, he offers, in\nthe name of the Queen, any compensation you yourself may fix for the\npiece of land which is to be honoured by the statues of the highest\npersonages in the country--Cleopatra and Antony, hand in hand. The piece\nof sculpture has already been brought here. A work by the admirable\nartist Lysander, who passed too early to the nether world, certainly will\nnot disfigure your house. The little summer-house by the sea must be\nremoved to-morrow, it is true; you know that our gracious Queen may\nreturn any day-victorious if the immortals are just. This piece of\nsculpture, which is created in her honour, to afford her pleasure, must\ngreet her on her arrival, so the Regent send me to-day to communicate his\nwish, which, as he represents the Queen--\"\n\n\"Yet,\" interrupted the architect, who had again warmly assured the old\nman's granddaughter of his aid, \"yet your friends will endeavour to\npersuade the Regent to find another place for the statues.\"\n\n\"They are at liberty to do so,\" said the officer. \"What will happen later\nthe future will show. My office merely requires me to induce the worthy\nowner of this house and garden to submit to-day to the Queen's command,\nwhich the Regent and my own heart bid me clothe in the form of a\nrequest.\"\n\nDuring this conversation the old man had at first listened silently to\nthe magistrate's words, gazing intently into his face. So it was true.\nThe demand to yield up his garden, and even the little house, for fifty\nyears the scene of his study and creative work, for the sake of a statue,\nwould be made. Since this had become a certainty, he had stood with his\neyes fixed upon the ground. Grief had paralyzed his tongue, and Helena,\nwho felt this, for the aged head seemed as if it were bending under a\nheavy burden, had drawn close to his side.\n\nThe shouts and howls of the throng outside echoed through the open roof\nof the impluvium, but the old man did not seem to hear them, and did not\neven notice his granddaughter. Yet, no sooner did he feel her touch than\nhe hurriedly shrank away, flung back his drooping head, and gazed around\nthe circle of intruders.\n\nThe dull, questioning eyes of the old commentator and writer of many\nbooks now blazed with the hot fire of youthful passion and, like a\nwrestler who seeks the right grip, he measured Apollonius and his\ncompanions with wrathful glances. The fragile recluse seemed transformed\ninto a warrior ready for battle. His lips and the nostrils of his\ndelicate nose quivered, and when Apollonius began to say that it would be\nwise to remove the contents of the summer-house that day, as it would be\ntorn down early the next morning, Didymus raised his arms, exclaiming:\n\n\"That will not be done. Not a single roll shall be removed! They will\nfind me at work as usual early to-morrow morning, and if it is still your\nwish to rob me of my property you must use violence to attain your\npurpose.\"\n\n\"Calm yourself,\" replied Apollonius. \"Every one beneath the moon must\nsubmit to a higher power; the gods bow to destiny, we mortals to the\nsovereign. You are a sage; I, merely mindful of the behests of duty,\nadminister my office. But I know life, and if I may offer my counsel, you\nwill accept what cannot be averted, and I will wager ten to one that you\nwill have the best of it; that the Queen will place in your hands\nmeans--\"\n\n\"Sufficient to build a palace on the site of the little house of which I\nwas robbed,\" Didymus interrupted bitterly. Then rage burst forth afresh\n\"What do I care for your money? I want my rights, my good, guaranteed\nrights. I insist upon them, and whoever assails the ground which my\ngrandfather and father bequeathed to me--\"\n\nHe hesitated, for the throng outside had burst into a loud shout of joy;\nand when it died away, and the old man began once more defiantly to claim\nhis rights, he was interrupted by a woman's clear tones, addressing him\nwith the Greek greeting, \"Rejoice!\"--a voice so gay and musical that it\nseemed to dispel the depression which rested like a grey fog on the whole\ncompany.\n\nWhile Didymus was listening to the excited populace, and the new-comer\nwas gazing at the old man whose rigid obstinacy could scarcely be\nconquered by kindness, the younger men were looking at the beautiful\nwoman who joined them. Her haste had flushed her cheeks, and from beneath\nthe turquoise-blue kerchief that covered her fair locks a bewitching face\nsmiled at her sister, the architect, and her grandfather.\n\nApollonius and many of his companions felt as if happiness in person had\nentered this imperilled house, and many an eye brightened when the\ninfuriated old man exclaimed in an altered tone, \"You here, Barine?\" and\nshe, without heeding the presence of the others, kissed his cheek with\ntender affection.\n\nHelena, Gorgias, and the old philosopher Euphranor, had approached her,\nand when the latter asked with loving reproach, \"Why, Barine, how did you\nget through the howling mob?\" she answered gaily: \"That a learned member\nof the Museum may receive me with the query whether I am here, though\nfrom childhood a kind or--what do you think, grandfather?--a malign fate\nhas preserved me from being overlooked, and some one else reprovingly\nasks how I passed through the shouting mob, as if it were a crime to wade\ninto the water to hold out a helping hand to those we love best when it\nis up to their chins! But, oh! dear, this howling is too hideous!\"\n\nWhile speaking, she pressed her little hands on the part of the kerchief\nwhich concealed her ears, and said no more until the noise subsided,\nalthough she declared that she was in a hurry, and had only come to learn\nhow matters were. Meanwhile it seemed as if she was so full of quick,\npulsing life, that it was impossible to leave even a moment unused, if it\nwere merely to bestow or answer a friendly glance.\n\nThe architect and her sister were obliged to return hurried answers to\nhasty questions; and as soon as she ascertained what had brought the\nstrangers there she thanked Apollonius, and said that old friends would\ndo their best to spare her grandfather such a sorrow.\n\nIn reply to repeated inquiries from the two old men in regard to her\narrival there, she answered: \"Nobody will believe it, because in this\nhurry I could not keep my mouth shut; but I acted like a mute fish and\nreached the water.\" Then, drawing her grandfather aside, she whispered to\nhim that, when she left her boat at the harbour, Archibius had seen her\nfrom his carriage, and instantly stopped it to inform her of his intended\nvisit that evening. He was coming to discuss an important matter.\nTherefore she must receive the worthy man, whom she sincerely liked, so\nshe could not stay. Then turning to the others still with her kerchief on\nher head ready for departure--she asked what the people meant by their\noutcries. The architect replied that Philostratus had endeavoured to make\nthe crowd believe that the only appropriate site for the statues of which\nshe had heard was her grandfather's garden, and he thought he knew in\nwhose behalf the fellow was acting.\n\n\"Certainly not in the Regent's,\" said Apollonius, in a tone of sincere\nconviction; but Barine, over whose sunny brow a shadow had flitted when\nGorgias uttered the orator's name, assented with a slight bend of the\nhead, and then whispered hurriedly, yet earnestly, that she would answer\nfor the old man's allowing himself to be persuaded, if he had only time\nto collect his thoughts.\n\nThe next morning, when the market was crowded, the officer might commence\nhis negotiations afresh, if the Regent insisted on his plan. Meanwhile\nshe would do her best to persuade her grandfather to yield, though he was\nnot exactly one of the class who are easily guided. Apollonius might\nremind the Regent that it would be advisable at this time to avoid a\npublic scandal, to remember Didymus's age, and the validity of his claim.\n\nWhile Apollonius was talking with his companions, Barine beckoned to the\narchitect, and hastily took leave of the others, protesting that she was\nin no danger, since she would slip away again like a fish, only this time\nshe would use her tongue, and hoped by its means to win to the support of\nDidymus's just cause a man who would already have ended all the trouble\nhad the Queen only been in Alexandria.\n\nUntil now the eyes and ears of the whole company had been fixed upon\nBarine. No one had desired anything better than to gaze at and listen to\nher.\n\nNot until she had quitted the room with Gorgias did the officials discuss\nthe matter together, and soon after Apollonius went away with his\ncompanions, to hold another conference with the Regent about this\nunpleasant business. This time the architect had followed the young\nbeauty with very mingled feelings. Only an hour before he would have\nrejoiced to be permitted to accompany and protect Barine; now he would\nhave gladly remained with her sister, who had returned his farewell\ngreeting so gratefully and yet with such maidenly modesty. But even the\nmost vacillating man cannot change one fancy for another as he would\nreplace a black piece on the draughtboard with a white one, and he still\nfound it delightful to be so near Barine. Only the thought that Helena\nmight believe that he stood on very intimate terms with her sister had\ndarted with a disquieting influence through his brain when the latter\ninvited him to accompany her.\n\nIn the garden Barine begged him, before they went to the landing-place\nwhere the boat was moored, to help her ascend the narrow flight of steps\nleading to the flat roof of the gatekeeper's little house.\n\nHere they could watch unseen the tumult in the square below, for it was\nsurrounded by dense laurel bushes. Bright flames were blazing in the\npitch-pans before the two temples at the side of the Corner of the Muses,\nand their light was increased by the torches held in the hands of\nScythians. Yet no individuals could be distinguished in the throng. The\nmarble walls of the temples shimmered, the statues at Didymus's gate, and\nthe hermae along the street of the King which passed the threatened house\nand connected the north of the Corner of the Muses with the sea-shore,\nloomed from the darkness in the brilliancy of the reflected light, but\nthe smoke of the torches darkened the sky and dimmed the starlight.\n\nThe only persons distinctly visible were Dion, who had stationed himself\non the lofty framework of the platform on which the muffled statues had\nbeen drawn hither, and the attorney Philostratus, who stood on the\npedestal of one of the dolphins which surrounded the fountain between the\nTemple of Isis and the street. The space, a dozen paces wide, which\ndivided them, permitted the antagonists to understand each other, and the\nattention of the whole throng was fixed upon the wranglers.\n\nThese verbal battles were one of the greatest pleasures of the\nAlexandrians, and they greeted every clever turn of speech with shouts of\napplause, every word which displeased them with groans, hisses, and\ncat-calls.\n\nBarine could see and hear what was passing below. She had pushed aside\nthe foliage of the laurel bushes which concealed her, and, with her hand\nraised to her ear, stood listening to the two disputants. When the\nscoundrel whom she had called husband, and for whom her contempt had\nbecome too deep for hate, sneeringly assailed her family as having been\nfed from generation to generation from the corn-bin of the Museum, she\nbit her lips. But they soon curled, as if what she heard aroused her\ndisgust, for the speaker now turned to Dion and accused him of preventing\nthe kindly disposed Regent from increasing the renown of the great Queen\nand affording her noble heart a pleasure.\n\n\"My tongue,\" he cried, \"is the tool which supports me. Why am I using it\nhere till it is weary and almost paralyzed? In honour of Cleopatra, our\nillustrious Queen, and her generous friend, to whom we all owe a debt of\ngratitude. Let all who love her and the divine Antony, the new Herakles\nand Dionysus--both will soon make their entry among us crowned with the\nlaurels of victory--join the Regent and every well-disposed person in\nseizing yonder bit of land so meanly withheld by base avarice and a\nsentiment--a sentiment, do you hear?--which I do not name more plainly,\nsimply because wickedness is repulsive to me, and I do not stand here as\nan accuser. Whoever upholds the word-monger who spouts forth books as the\ndolphin at my side does water, may do so. I shall not envy him. But first\nlook at Didymus's ally and panegyrist. There he stands opposite to me. It\nwould have been better for him had the dolphin at his feet taught him\nsilence. Then he might have remained in the obscurity which befits him.\n\n\"But whether willing or not, I must drag him forth, and I will show you\nDion, fellow-citizens, though I would far rather have you see things\nwhich arouse less ire. The dim light prevents your distinguishing the\ncolour of his robe, but I know it, for I saw it in the glare of day. It\nis hyacinthine purple. You know what that costs. It would support the\nwives and children of many among you for ten long years. 'How heavy must\nbe the purse which can expose such a treasure to sun and rain!' is the\nthought of every one who sees him strutting about as proudly as a\npeacock. And his purse is loaded with many talents. Only it is a pity\nthat, day after day, most of you must give your children a little less\nbread and deprive yourselves of many a draught of wine to deck him out so\nbravely. His father, Eumenes, was a tax-collector, and what the leech\nextorted from you and your children, the son now uses to drive, clad in\nhyacinthine purple, a four-horse chariot, which splashes the mire from\nthe street into your faces as it rolls onward. By the dog! the gentleman\ndoes not weigh so very much, yet he needs four horses to drag him. And,\nfellow-citizens, do you know why? I'll tell you. He's afraid of sticking\nfast everywhere, even in his speech.\"\n\nHere Philostratus lowered his voice, for the phrase \"sticking fast\" had\ndrawn a laugh from some of his hearers; but Dion, whose father had really\namassed, in the high position of a receiver of taxes, the handsome\nfortune which his son possessed, did not delay his reply.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" he retorted scornfully, \"yonder Syrian babbler hit the mark\nthis time. He stands before me, and who does not easily stick fast when\nmarsh and mire are so near? As for the hyacinthine purple cloak, I wear\nit because I like it. His crocus-yellow one is less to my taste, though\nhe certainly looks fine enough in it in the sunlight. It shines like a\nbuttercup in the grass. You know the plant. When it fades--and I ask\nwhether you think Philostratus looks like a bud--when it fades, it leaves\na hollow spiral ball which a child's breath could blow away. Suppose in\nfuture we should call the round buttercup seed-vessels 'Philostratus\nheads'? You like the suggestion? I am glad, fellow-citizens, and I thank\nyou. It proves your good taste. Then we will stick to the comparison.\nEvery head contains a tongue, and Philostratus says that his is the tool\nwhich supports him.\"\n\n\"Hear the money-bag, the despiser of the people!\" interrupted\nPhilostratus furiously. \"The honest toil by which a citizen earns a\nlivelihood is a disgrace in his eyes.\"\n\n\"Honest toil, my good friend,\" replied Dion, \"is scarcely in question\nhere. I spoke only of your tongue.--You understand me, fellow-citizens.\nOr, if any of you are not yet acquainted with this worthy man, I will\nshow him to you, for I know him well. He is my foe, yet I can sincerely\nrecommend him to many of you. If any one has a very bad, shamefully\ncorrupt cause to bring before the courts, I most earnestly counsel him to\napply to the buttercup man perched on yonder fountain. He will thank me\nfor it. Believe me, Didymus's cause is just, precisely because this\nadvocate so eagerly assails it. I told you just now the matter under\ndiscussion. Which of you who owns a garden can say in future, 'It is\nmine,' if, during the absence of the Queen, it is allowable to take it\naway to be used for any other purpose? But this is what threatens\nDidymus. If this is to be the custom here, let every one beware of sowing\na radish or planting a bush or a tree, for should the wife of some great\nnoble desire to dry her linen there, he may be deprived of it ere the\nformer can ripen or the latter give shade.\"\n\nLoud applause followed this sentence, but Philostratus shouted in a voice\nthat echoed far and wide: \"Hear me, fellow-citizens; do not allow your\nselves to be deceived! No one is to be robbed here. The project is to\npurchase, at a high price, the spot which the city needs for her\nadornment, and to honour and please the Queen. Are the Regent and the\ncitizens to lose this opportunity of expressing the gratitude of years,\nand the rejoicing over the greatest of victories, of which we shall soon\nhear, because an evil-disposed person--the word must be uttered--a foe to\nhis country, opposes it?\"\n\n\"Now the mire is coming too near me,\" Dion angrily responded, \"and I\nmight really stick fast, as I was warned; for I do not envy the ready\npresence of mind of any person whose tongue would not falter when the\nbasest slander scattered its venom over him. You all know,\nfellow-citizens, through how many generations the Didymus family has\nlived to the honour of this city, doing praiseworthy work in yonder\nhouse. You know that the good old man who dwells there was one of the\nteachers of the royal children.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" cried Philostratus, \"only the day before yesterday he walked\narm in arm in the Paneum garden with Arius, the tutor of Octavianus, our\nown and our Queen's most hated foe. In my presence, and before I know not\nhow many others, Didymus distinguished this Arius as his most beloved\npupil.\"\n\n\"To give you that title,\" retorted Dion, \"would certainly fill any\nteacher with shame and anger, no matter how far you had surpassed him in\nwisdom and knowledge. Nay, had you been committed to the care of the\nherring dealers, instead of the rhetoricians, every honest man among them\nwould disown you, for they sell only good wares for good money, while you\ngive the poorest in exchange for glittering gold. This time you trample\nunder foot the fair name of an honourable man. But I will not suffer it;\nand you hear, fellow-citizens, I now challenge this Syrian to prove that\nDidymus ever betrayed his native land, or I will brand him in your\npresence a base slanderer, an infamous, venal destroyer of character!\"\n\n\"An insult from such lips is easily borne,\" replied Philostratus in a\ntone of scornful superiority; but there was a pause ere he again turned\nto the listening throng, and with all the warmth he could throw into his\nvoice continued: \"What do I desire, then, fellow-citizens? What is the\nsole object of my words? I stand here with clean hands, impelled solely\nby the impulse of my heart, to plead for the Queen. In order to secure\nthe only suitable site for the statues to be erected to Cleopatra's\nhonour and fame, I enter into judgment with her foes, expose myself to\nthe insult with which boastful insolence is permitted to vent its wrath\nupon me. But I am not dismayed, though, in pursuing this course, I am\nacting against the law of Nature; for the infamous man against whom I\nraise my voice was my teacher, too, and ere he turned from the path of\nright and virtue--under influences which I will not mention here--he\nnumbered me also, in the presence of many witnesses, among his best\npupils. I was certainly one of the most grateful--I chose his\ngranddaughter--the truth must be spoken--for my wife. The possession--\"\n\n\"Possession!\" interrupted Dion in a loud, excited tone. \"The corpse cast\nashore by the waves might as well boast possession of the sea!\"\n\nThe dim torchlight was sufficient to reveal Philostratus's pallor to the\nbystanders. For a moment the orator seemed to lose his self-control, but\nhe quickly recovered himself, and shouted: \"Fellow-citizens, dear\nfriends! I was about to make you witnesses of the misery which a woman,\nwhose wickedness is even greater than her beauty, brought upon an\ninexperienced--\"\n\nBut he went no further; for his hearers--many of whom knew the brilliant,\ngenerous Dion, and Barine, the fair singer at the last Adonis\nfestival--gave the orator tokens of their indignation, which were all the\nmore pitiless because of the pleasure they felt in seeing an expert\nvanquished by an untrained foe. The wordy war would not have ended so\nquickly, however, had not restlessness and alarm taken possession of the\ncrowd. The shout, \"Back! disperse!\" ran through the multitude, and\ndirectly after the trampling of hoofs and the commands of the leader of a\ntroop of Libyan cavalry were heard. The matter at stake was not\nsufficiently important to induce the populace to offer an armed force\nresistance which might have entailed serious danger. Besides, the\nblustering war of tongues had reached a merry close, and loud laughter\nblended with the shouts of fear and warning; for the surging throng had\nswept with unexpected speed towards the fountain and plunged Philostratus\ninto the basin. Whether this was due to the wrath of some enemy, or to\nmere accident, could not be learned; the vain efforts of the luckless man\nto crawl out of the water up the smooth marble were so comical, and his\ngestures, after helping hands had dragged him dripping upon the pavement\nof the square, were so irresistibly funny, that more laughing than angry\nvoices were heard, especially when some one cried, \"His hands were soiled\nby blackening Didymus, so the washing will do him good.\" \"Some wise\nphysicians flung him into the water,\" retorted an other; \"he needed the\ncold application after the blows Dion dealt him.\"\n\nThe Regent, who had sent the troop of horsemen to drive the crowd away\nfrom Didymus's house, might well be pleased that the violent measure\nencountered so little resistance.\n\nThe throng quickly scattered, and was speedily attracted by something new\nat the Theatre of Dionysus--the zither-player Anaxenor had just announced\nfrom its steps that Cleopatra and Antony had won the most brilliant\nvictory, and had sung to the accompaniment of his lute a hymn which had\ndeeply stirred all hearts. He had composed it long before, and seized the\nfirst opportunity--the report had reached his ears while breakfasting in\nKanopus--to try its effect.\n\nAs soon as the square began to empty, Barine left her post of\nobservation. It was long since her heart had throbbed so violently. Not\none of the many suitors for her favour had been so dear to her as Dion;\nbut she now felt that she loved him.\n\nWhat he had just done for her and her grandfather was worthy of the\ndeepest gratitude; it proved that he did not come to her house, like most\nof her guests, merely to while away the evening hours.\n\nIt had been no small matter for the young aristocrat, in the presence of\nthe whole multitude, to enter into a debate with the infamous\nPhilostratus, and how well he had succeeded in silencing the dreaded\norator! Besides, Dion had even taken her part against his own powerful\nuncle, and perhaps by his deed drawn upon himself the hostility of his\nenemy's brother, Alexas, Antony's powerful favourite. Barine might assure\nherself that he, who was the peer of any Macedonian noble in the city,\nwould have done this for no one else.\n\nShe felt as if the act had ransomed her.\n\nWhen, after an unhappy marriage and many desolate days, she had regained\nher former bright cheerfulness and saw her house become the centre of the\nintellectual life of the city, she had striven until now to extend the\nsame welcome to all her guests. She had perceived that she ought not to\ngive any one the power over her which is possessed by the man who knows\nthat he is beloved, and even to Dion she had granted little more than to\nthe others. But now she saw plainly that she would resign the pleasure of\nbeing a universally admired woman, whose modest home attracted the most\ndistinguished men in the city, for the far greater happiness which would\nbe hers as Dion's beloved wife.\n\nWith him, cherished by his love, she believed that she could find far\ngreater joy in solitude than in the gay course of her present life.\n\nShe knew now what she must do if Dion sought her, and the architect, for\nthe first time, found her a silent companion. He had willingly\naccompanied her back to her grandfather's house, where he had again met\nher sister Helena, while she had quitted it disappointed, because her\nbrave defender had not returned there.\n\nAfter the interruption of the debate Dion had been in a very cheerful\nmood. The pleasant sensation of having championed a good cause, and the\ndelightful consciousness of success were not new to him, but he had\nrarely felt so uplifted as now. He most ardently longed for his next\nmeeting with Barine, and imagined how he would describe what had happened\nand claim her gratitude for his friendly service. The scene had risen\nclearly before his mind, but scarcely had the radiant vision of the\nfuture faded when the unusually bright expression of his manly face was\nclouded by a grave and troubled one.\n\nThe darkness of the night, illumined only by the flare of the pitch-pans,\nhad surrounded him, yet it had seemed as if he were standing with Barine\nin the full light of noon in the blossoming garden of his own palace,\nand, after asking a reward for his sturdy championship, she had clung to\nhim with deep emotion, and he had passionately kissed her tearful face.\n\nThe face had quickly vanished, yet it had been as distinct as the most\nvivid picture in a dream. Was Barine more to him than he supposed? Had he\nnot been drawn to her, during the past few months, by the mere charm of\nher pliant intellect and her bright beauty? Had a new, strong passion\nawakened within him? Was he in danger of seeing the will which urged him\nto preserve his freedom conquered? Had he cause to fear that some day,\nconstrained by a mysterious, invincible power, in defiance of the\nopposition of calm reason, he might perhaps bind himself for life to this\nBarine, the woman who had once been the wife of a Philostratus, and who\nbestowed her smiles on all who found admittance to her house seeking a\nfeast for the eye, a banquet for the ear, a pleasant entertainment?\n\nThough her honor was as stainless as the breast of a swan--and he had no\nreason to doubt it--she would still be classed with Aspasia and other\nwomen whose guests sought more than songs and agreeable conversations.\nThe gifts with which the gods had so lavishly endowed her had already\nbeen shared with too many to permit him, the last scion of a noble\nMacedonian house, to think of leading her, as mistress, to the palace\nwhose erection he had so carefully and successfully planned with Gorgias.\n\nSurely it lacked nothing save the gracious rule of a mistress.\n\nBut if she should consent to become his without the blessing of Hymen?\nNo.\n\nHe could not thus dishonor the granddaughter of Didymus, the man who had\nbeen his father's revered teacher, a woman whom he had always rejoiced\nthat, spite of the gay freedom with which she received so many admirers,\nhe could still esteem. He would not do so, though his friends would have\ngreeted such scruples with a smile of superiority. Who revered the\nsacredness of marriage in a city whose queen was openly living for the\nsecond time with the husband of another? Dion himself had formed many a\nbrief connection, but for that very reason he could not place a woman\nlike Barine on the same footing with those whose love he had perhaps owed\nsolely to his wealth. He had never lacked courage and resolution, but he\nfelt that this time he would have to resist a power with which he had\nnever coped.\n\nThat accursed face! Again and again it rose before his mental vision,\nsmiling and beckoning so sweetly that the day must come when the yearning\nto realize the dream would conquer all opposition. If he remained near\nher he would inevitably do what he might afterwards regret, and therefore\nhe would fain have offered a sacrifice to Peitho to induce her to enhance\nArchibius's powers of persuasion and induce Barine to leave Alexandria.\nIt would be hard for him to part from her, yet much would be gained if\nshe went into the country. Between the present and the distant period of\na second meeting lay respite from peril, and perhaps the possibility of\nvictory. Dion did not recognize himself. He seemed as unstable as a\nswaying reed, because he had conquered his wish to re-enter old Didymus's\nhouse and encourage him, and passed on to his own home. But he would\nprobably have found Barine still with her grandfather, and he would not\nmeet her, though every fibre of his being longed for her face, her voice,\nand a word of gratitude from her beloved lips. Instead of joy, he was\nfilled with the sense of dissatisfaction which overpowers a man standing\nat a crossing in the roads, who sees before him three goals, yet can be\nfully content with neither.\n\nThe Street of the King, along which he suffered himself to be carried by\nthe excited throng, ran between the sea and the Theatre of Dionysus. The\nthought darted through his mind that his friend the architect desired to\nerect the luckless statues of the royal lovers in front of this stately\nbuilding. He would divert his thoughts by examining the site which\nGorgias had chosen.\n\nThe zither-player finished his hymn just as Dion approached the theatre,\nand the crowd began to disperse. Every one was full of the joyful tidings\nof victory, and one shouted to another what Anaxenor, the favourite of\nthe great Antony, who must surely know, had just recited in thrilling\nverse. Many a joyous Io and loud Evoe to Cleopatra, the new Isis, and\nAntony, the new Dionysus, resounded through the air, while bearded and\nsmooth, delicate Greek and thick Egyptian lips joined in the shout, \"To\nthe Sebasteum!\" This was the royal palace, which faced the government\nbuilding containing the Regent's residence. The populace desired to have\nthe delightful news confirmed, and to express, by a public demonstration,\nthe grateful joy which filled every heart.\n\nDion, too, was eager to obtain certainty, and, though usually averse to\nmingling with the populace during such noisy outbursts of feeling, he was\npreparing to follow the crowd thronging towards the Sebasteum, when the\nshouts of runners clearing a passage for a closed litter fell upon his\near.\n\nIt was occupied by Iras, the Queen's trusted attendant. If any one could\ngive accurate information, it was she; yet it would hardly be possible to\ngain an opportunity of conversing with her in this throng. But Iras must\nhave had a different opinion; she had seen Dion, and now called him to\nher side. There were hoarse tones in her voice, usually so clear and\nmusical, which betrayed the emotion raging in her breast as she assailed\nthe young Macedonian noble with a flood of questions. Without giving him\nthe usual greeting, she hastily desired to know what was exciting the\npeople, who had brought the tidings of victory, and whither the multitude\nwas flocking?\n\nDion had found it difficult not to be forced from the litter while\nanswering. Iris perceived this, and as they were just passing the\nMaeander, the labyrinth, which was closed after sunset, she ordered her\nbearers to carry the litter to the entrance, made herself known to the\nwatchman, ordered the outer court to be opened, the litter to be placed\nthere, and the bearers and runners to wait outside for her summons, which\nwould soon be given.\n\nThis unusual haste and excitement filled Dion with just solicitude. She\nrefused his invitation to alight and walk up and down, declaring that\nlife offered so many labyrinths that one need not seek them. He, too,\nseemed to be following paths which were scarcely straight ones. \"Why,\"\nshe concluded, thrusting her head far out of the opening in the litter,\n\"are you rendering it so difficult for the Regent and your own uncle to\nexecute their plans, making common cause with the populace, like a paid\nagitator?\"\n\n\"Like Philostratus, you mean, on whom I bestowed a few blows in addition\nto the golden guerdon received from your hand?\"\n\n\"Ay, like him, for aught I care. Probably it was you, too, who had him\nflung into the water, after you had vented your wrath on him? You managed\nyour cause well. What we do for love's sake is usually successful. No\nmatter, if only his brother Alexas does not rouse Antony against you. For\nmy part, I merely desire to know why and for whom all this was done.\"\n\n\"For whom save the good old man who was my father's preceptor, and his\njust claim?\" replied Dion frankly. \"Moreover--for no site more unsuitable\ncould be found than his garden-in behalf of good taste.\"\n\nIras laughed a shrill, short laugh, and her narrow, regularly formed\nface, which might have been called beautiful, had not the bridge of the\nstraight delicate nose been too long and the chin too small, darkened\nslightly, as she exclaimed, \"That is frank at least.\"\n\n\"You ought to be accustomed to that from me,\" replied Dion calmly. \"In\nthis case, however, the expert, Gorgias, fully shares my opinion.\"\n\n\"I heard that too. You are both the most constant visitors of--what is\nthe woman's name?--the bewitching Barine.\"\n\n\"Barine?\" repeated Dion, as if the mention of the name surprised him.\n\"You take care, my friend, that our conversation does honour to its\nscene, the labyrinth. I speak of works of the sculptor's art, and you\npretend that I am referring to what is most certainly a very successful\nliving work from the creative hands of the gods. I was very far from\nthinking of the granddaughter of the old scholar for whom I interceded.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" she scornfully retorted, \"young gentlemen in your position, and\nwith your habits of life, always think of their fathers estimable\nteachers rather than of the women who, ever since Pandora opened her box,\nhave brought all sorts of misfortunes into the world. But,\" she added,\npushing back her dark locks from her high forehead, \"I don't understand\nmyself, how, with the mountain of care that now burdens my soul, I can\nwaste even a single word upon such trifles. I care as little for the aged\nscholar as I do for his legion of commentaries and books, though they are\nnot wholly unfamiliar to me. For any concern of mine he might have as\nmany grandchildren as there are evil tongues in Alexandria, were it not\nthat just at this time it is of the utmost importance to remove\neverything which might cast a shadow on the Queen's pathway. I have just\ncome from the palace of the royal children at Lochias, and what I learned\nthere. But that--I will not, I cannot believe it. It fairly stifles me!\"\n\n\"Have you received bad news from the fleet?\" questioned Dion, with\nsincere anxiety; but she only bent her head in assent, laying her fan of\nostrich-plumes on her lips to enjoin silence, at the same time shivering\nso violently that he perceived it, even in the dusk. It was evident that\nspeech was difficult, as she added in a muffled tone: \"It must be kept\nsecret--Rhodian sailors--thank the gods, it is still very doubtful--it\ncannot, must not be true--and yet-the prattle of that zither-player,\nwhich has filled the multitude with joyous anticipation, is\nabominable--the great ones of the earth are often most sorely injured by\nthose who owe them the most gratitude. I know you can be silent, Dion.\nYou could as a boy, if anything was to be hidden from our parents. Would\nyou still be ready to plunge into the water for me, as in those days?\nScarcely. Yet you may be trusted, and, even in this labyrinth, I will do\nso. My heart is heavy. But not one word to any person. I need no\nconfidant and could maintain silence even towards you, but I am anxious\nthat you should understand me, you who have just taken such a stand.\nBefore I entered my litter at Lochias, the boy returned, and I talked\nwith him.\"\n\n\"Young Caesarion loves Barine,\" replied Dion with grave earnestness.\n\n\"Then this horrible folly is known?\" asked Iras excitedly. \"A passion far\ndeeper than I should ever have expected this dreamer to feel has taken\npossession of him. And if the Queen should now return--perhaps less\nsuccessful than we desire--if she looks to those from whom she still\nexpects pleasure, satisfaction, lofty deeds, and learns what has befallen\nthe boy--for what does not that sun-bright intellect learn and perceive?\nHe is dear to her, dearer than any of you imagine. How it will increase\nher anxiety, perhaps her suffering! With what good reason she will be\nangered against those whom duty and love should have commanded to guard\nthe boy!\"\n\n\"And therefore,\" added Dion, \"the stone of offence must be removed. Your\nfirst step to secure this object was the attack on Didymus.\"\n\nHe had judged correctly and perceived that, in her assault upon the old\nscholar, she had at first intended to play into the hands of the rulers,\nwork against the old philosopher and his relatives, among whose number\nwas Barine; for the Egyptian law permitted the relatives of those who\nwere convicted of any crime against the sovereign or the government to be\nbanished with the criminal. This attack upon an innocent person was\ndisgraceful, yet every word Iras uttered made Dion feel, every feature of\nher face betrayed, that it was not merely base jealousy, but a nobler\nemotion, that caused her to assail the guiltless sage--love for her\nmistress, the desire which dominated her whole being to guard Cleopatra\nfrom grief and trouble in these trying times. He knew Iras's iron will\nand the want of consideration with which she had learned to pursue her\npurpose at the court. His first object was to protect Barine from the\ndanger which threatened her; but he also wished to relieve the anxiety of\nIras, the daughter of Krates, his father's neighbour, with whom he had\nplayed in boyhood and for whom he had never ceased to feel a tender\ninterest.\n\nHis remark surprised her. She saw that her plot was detected by the man\nwhose esteem she most valued, and a loving woman is glad to recognize the\nsuperiority of her lover. Besides, from her earliest childhood--and she\nwas only two years younger than Dion--she had belonged to circles where\nno quality was more highly prized than mental pliancy and keenness. Her\ndark eyes, which at first had glittered distrustfully and questioningly\nand afterwards glowed with a gloomy light, now gained a new expression.\nHer gaze sought her friend's with a tender, pleading look as, admitting\nhis charge, she began: \"Yes! Dion, the philosopher's granddaughter must\nnot stay here. Or do you see any other way to protect the unhappy boy\nfrom incalculable misfortune? You know me well enough to be aware that,\nlike you, I am reluctant to infringe another's rights, that except in\ncase of necessity I am not cruel. I value your esteem. No one is more\ntruthful, and yesterday you averred that Eros had no part in your visits\nto the much-admired young woman, that you joined her guests merely\nbecause the society you found at her house afforded a pleasant stimulus\nto the mind. I have ceased to believe in many things, but not in you and\nyour words, and if hearing that you had taken sides with the grandfather,\nI fancied that you were secretly seeking the thanks and gratitude of the\ngranddaughter, why--surely the atrocious maxim that Zeus does not hear\nthe vows of lovers comes from you men--why, suspicion again reared its\nhead. Now you seem to share my opinion--\"\n\n\"Like you,\" Dion interrupted, \"I believe that Barine ought to be\nwithdrawn from the boy's pursuit, which cannot be more unpleasant to you\nthan to her. As Caesarion neither can nor ought to leave Alexandria while\naffairs are so threatening, nothing is left except to remove the young\nwoman--but, of course, in all kindness.\"\n\n\"In a golden chariot, garlanded with roses, if you so desire,\" cried Iras\neagerly.\n\n\"That might attract attention,\" answered Dion, smiling and raising his\nhand as if to enjoin moderation. \"Your mode of action does not please me,\neven now that I know its purpose, but I will gladly aid you to attain\nyour object. Your crooked paths also lead to the goal, and perhaps one is\nless likely to stumble in them; but straight ways suit me better, and I\nthink I have already found the right one. A friend will invite Barine to\nan estate far away from here, perhaps in the lake regions.\"\n\n\"You?\" cried Iras, her narrow eyebrows suddenly contracting.\n\n\"Do you imagine that she would go with me?\" he asked, in a faintly\nreproachful tone. \"No. Fortunately, we have older friends, and at their\nhead is one who happens to be your uncle and at the same time is wax in\nthe hands of the Queen.\"\n\n\"Archibius?\" exclaimed Iras. \"Ah! if he could persuade her to do so!\"\n\n\"He will try. He, too, is anxious about the lad. While we are talking\nhere, he is inviting Barine to his estate. The country air will benefit\nher.\"\n\n\"May she bloom there like a young shepherdess!\"\n\n\"You are right to wish her the best fortune; for if the Queen does not\nreturn victorious, the irritability of our Alexandrians will be doubled.\nWhen you laid hands on Didymus's garden, you were so busily engaged in\nbuilding the triumphal arch that you forgot--\"\n\n\"Who would have doubted the successful issue of this war?\" cried Iras.\n\"And they will, they will conquer. The Rhodian said that the fleet was\nscattered. The disaster happened on the Acharnanian coast. How positive\nit sounded! But he had it only at second and third hand. And what are\nmere rumours? The source of the false tidings is discovered later.\nBesides, even if the naval battle were really lost, the powerful army,\nwhich is far superior to Octavianus's forces, still remains. Which of the\nenemy's generals could cope with Antony on the land? How he will fight\nwhen all is at stake-fame, honour, sovereignty, hate, and love! Away with\nthis fear, based on mere rumour! After Dyrrachium Caesar's cause was\ndeemed lost, and how soon Pharsalus made him master of the world! Is it\nworthy of a sensible person to suffer courage to be depressed by a\nsailor's gossip? And yet--yet! It began while I was ill. And then the\nswallows on the Antonias, the admiral's ship. We have already spoken of\nit. Mardiou and your uncle Zeno saw with their own eyes the strange\nswallows drive away those which had built their nest on the helm of the\nAntonias, and kill the young ones with their cruel beaks. An evil omen!\n\n\"I cannot forget it. And my dream, while I lay ill with fever far away\nfrom my mistress! But I have already lingered here too long. No, Dion,\nno. I am grateful for the rest here--I can now feel at ease about\nCaesarion. Place the monument where you choose. The people shall see and\nhear that we respect their opposition, that we are just and friendly.\nHelp me to turn this matter to the advantage of the Queen, and if\nArchibius succeeds in getting Barine away and keeping her in the country,\nthen--if I had aught that seemed to you desirable it should be yours. But\nwhat does the petted Dion care for his fading playfellow?\"\n\n\"Fading?\" he repeated in a tone of indignant reproach. \"Say rather the\nfully developed flower has learned from her royal friend the secret of\neternal youth.\"\n\nWith a swift impulse of gratitude Iras bent her face towards him in the\ndusk, extending the slender white hand--next to Cleopatra's famed as the\nmost beautiful at court--for him to kiss, but when he merely pressed his\nlips lightly on it with no shadow of tenderness, she hastily withdrew it,\nexclaiming as if overwhelmed by sudden repentance: \"This idle, hollow\ndalliance at such a time, with such a burden of anxiety oppressing the\nheart! It is un worthy, shameful! If Barine goes with Archibius, her time\nwill scarcely hang heavy on his estates. I think I know some one who will\nspeedily follow to bear her company.--Here, Sasis! the bearers! To the\nTower of Nilus, before the Gate of the Sun!\"\n\nDion gazed after her litter a short time, then passed his hand through\nhis waving brown hair, walked swiftly to the shore and, without pausing\nlong to choose, sprang into one of the boats which were rented for\npleasure voyages. Ordering the sailors who were preparing to accompany\nhim to remain on shore, he stretched the sail with a practised hand, and\nran out towards the mouth of the harbour. He needed some strong\nexcitement, and wished to go himself in search of news.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Contempt had become too deep for hate\n     Jealousy has a thousand eyes\n     Zeus does not hear the vows of lovers\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThe house facing the garden of the Paneum, where Barine lived, was the\nproperty of her mother, who had inherited it from her parents. The artist\nLeonax, the young beauty's father, son of the old philosopher Didymus,\nhad died long before.\n\nAfter Barine's unhappy marriage with Philostratus was dissolved, she had\nreturned to her mother, who managed the affairs of the household. She\ntoo, belonged to a family of scholars and had a brother who had won high\nrepute as a philosopher, and had directed the studies of the young\nOctavianus. This had occurred long before the commencement of the\nhostility which separated the heirs of Caesar and Mark Antony. But even\nafter the latter had deserted Octavia, the sister of Octavianus, to\nreturn to Cleopatra, the object of his love, and there was an open breach\nbetween the two rivals for the sovereignty of the world, Antony had been\nfriendly to Arius and borne him no grudge for his close relations to his\nrival. The generous Roman had even given his enemy's former tutor a fine\nhouse, to show him that he was glad to have him in Alexandria and near\nhis person.\n\nThe widow Berenike, Barine's mother, was warmly attached to her only\nbrother, who often joined her daughter's guests. She was a quiet, modest\nwoman whose happiest days had been passed in superintending the education\nof her children, Barine, the fiery Hippias, and the quiet Helena, who for\nseveral years had lived with her grandparents and, with faithful\ndevotion, assumed the duty of caring for them. She had been more easily\nguided than the two older children; for the boy's aspiring spirit had\noften drawn him beyond his mother's control, and the beautiful, vivacious\ngirl had early possessed charms so unusual that she could not remain\nunnoticed.\n\nHippias had studied oratory, first in Alexandria and later in Athens and\nRhodes. Three years before, his uncle Arius had sent him with excellent\nletters of introduction to Rome to become acquainted with the life of the\ncapital and try whether, in spite of his origin, his brilliant gifts of\neloquence would forward his fortunes there.\n\nTwo miserable years with an infamous, unloved husband had changed the\nwild spirits of Barine's childhood into the sunny cheerfulness now one of\nher special charms. Her mother was conscious of having desired only her\nbest good in uniting the girl of sixteen to Philostratus, whom the\ngrandfather Didymus then considered a very promising young man, and whose\nadvancement, in addition to his own talents, his brother Alexas, Antony's\nfavourite, promised to aid. She had believed that this step would afford\nthe gay, beautiful girl the best protection from the perils of the\ncorrupt capital; but the worthless husband had caused both mother and\ndaughter much care and sorrow, while his brother Alexas, who constantly\npursued his young sister-in-law with insulting attentions, was the source\nof almost equal trouble. Berenike often gazed in silent astonishment at\nthe child, who, spite of such sore grief and humiliation, had preserved\nthe innocent light-heartedness which made her seem as if life had offered\nher only thornless roses.\n\nHer father, Leonax, had been one of the most distinguished artists of the\nday, and Barine had inherited from him the elastic artist temperament\nwhich speedily rebounds from the heaviest pressure. To him also she owed\nthe rare gift of song, which had been carefully cultivated and had\nalready secured her the first position in the woman's chorus at the\nfestival of the great goddesses of the city. Every one was full of her\npraises, and after she had sung the Yalemos in the palace over the waxen\nimage of the favourite of the gods, slain by the boar, her name was\neagerly applauded. To have heard her was esteemed a privilege, for she\nsang only in her own house or at religious ceremonials \"for the honour of\nthe gods.\"\n\nThe Queen, too, had heard her, and, after the Adonis festival, her uncle\nArius had presented her to Antony, who expressed his admiration with all\nthe fervour of his frank nature, and afterwards came to her house a\nsecond time, accompanied by his son Antyllus. Doubtless he would have\ncalled on her frequently and tested upon her heart his peculiar power\nover women, had he not been compelled to leave the city on the day after\nhis last visit.\n\nBerenike had reproved her brother for bringing the Queen's lover to\nBarine, for her anxiety was increased by the repeated visits of Antony's\nson, and still more aroused by that of Caesarion, who was presented by\nAntyllus.\n\nThese youths were not numbered among the guests whose presence she\nwelcomed and whose conversation afforded her pleasure. It was flattering\nthat they should honour her simple home by their visits, but she knew\nthat Caesarion came without his tutor's knowledge, and perceived, by the\nexpression of his eyes, what drew him to her daughter. Besides, Berenike,\nin rearing the two children, who had been the source of so much anxiety\nhad lost the joyous confidence which had characterized her own youth.\nWhenever life presented any new phase, she saw the dark side first. If a\nburning candle stood before her, the shadow of the candlestick caught her\neye before the light. Her whole mental existence became a chain of fears,\nbut the kind-hearted woman loved her children too tenderly to permit them\nto see it. Only it was a relief to her heart when some of her evil\nforebodings were realized, to say that she had foreseen it all.\n\nNo trace of this was legible in her face, a countenance still pretty and\npleasing in its unruffled placidity. She talked very little, but what she\ndid say was sensible, and proved how attentively she understood how to\nlisten. So she was welcome among Barine's guests. Even the most\ndistinguished received something from her, because he felt that the quiet\nwoman understood him.\n\nBefore Barine had returned that evening, something had occurred which\nmade her mother doubly regret the accident to her brother Arius the day\nbefore. On his way home from his sister's he had been run over by a\nchariot darting recklessly along the Street of the King, and was carried,\nseverely injured, to his home, where he now lay helpless and fevered. Nor\ndid it lessen his sufferings to hear his two sons threaten to take\nvengeance on the reckless fellow who had wrought their father this\nmischief, for he had reason to believe Antyllus the perpetrator of the\ndeed, and a collision between the youths and the son of Antony could only\nresult in fresh disaster to him and his, especially as the young Roman\nseemed to have inherited little of his father's magnanimous generosity.\nYet Arius could not be vexed with his sons for stigmatizing, in the\nharshest terms, the conduct of the man who had gone on without heeding\nthe accident. He had cautioned his sister against the utterly unbridled\nyouth whose father he had himself brought to her house. With what good\nreason he had raised his voice in warning was now evident. At sunset that\nvery day several guests had arrived as usual, followed by Antyllus, a\nyouth of nineteen. When the door-keeper refused to admit him, he had\nrudely demanded to see Barine, thrust aside the prudent old porter, who\nendeavoured to detain him, and, in spite of his protestations, forced his\nway into his dead master's work-room, where the ladies usually received\ntheir visitors. Not until he found it empty would he retire, and then he\nfirst fastened a bouquet of flowers he had brought to a statue of Eros in\nburnt clay, which stood there. Both the porter and Barine's waiting-maid\ndeclared that he was drunk; they saw it when he staggered away with the\ncompanions who had waited for him in the garden outside.\n\nThis unseemly and insulting conduct filled Berenike with the deepest\nindignation. It must not remain unpunished, and, while waiting for her\ndaughter, she imagined what evil consequences might ensue if Antyllus\nwere forbidden the house and accused to his tutor, and how unbearable, on\nthe other hand, he might become if they omitted to do so.\n\nShe was full of sad presentiments, and as, with such good reason, she\nfeared the worst, she cherished a faint hope that her daughter might\nperhaps bring home some pleasant tidings; for she had had the experience\nthat events which had filled her with the utmost anxiety sometimes\nresulted in good fortune.\n\nAt last Barine appeared, and it was indeed long since she had clasped her\nmother in her arms with such joyous cheerfulness.\n\nThe widow's troubled heart grew lighter. Her daughter must have met with\nsomething unusually gratifying, she looked so happy, although she had\nsurely heard what had happened here; for her cloak was laid aside and her\nhair newly arranged, so she must have been to her chamber, where she was\ndressed by her loquacious Cyprian slave, who certainly could not keep to\nherself anything that was worth mentioning. The nimble maid had shown her\nskill that day.\n\n\"Any stranger would take her for nineteen,\" thought her mother. \"How\nbecoming the white robe and blue-bordered peplum are to her; how softly\nthe azure bombyx ribbon is wound around the thick waves of her hair! Who\nwould believe that no curling-irons had touched the little golden locks\nthat rest so gracefully on her brow, that no paint-brush had any share in\nproducing the rose and white hues on her cheek, or the alabaster glimmer\nof her arms? Such beauty easily becomes a Danae dower; but it is a\nmagnificent gift of the gods! Yet why did she put on the bracelet which\nAntony gave her after his last visit? Scarcely on my account. She can\nhardly expect Dion at so late an hour. Even while I am rejoicing in the\nsight of her beauty, some new misfortune may be impending.\"\n\nSo ran the current of her thoughts while her daughter was gaily\ndescribing what she had witnessed at her grandfather's. Meanwhile she had\nnestled comfortably among the cushions of a lounge; and when she\nmentioned Antyllus's unseemly conduct, she spoke of it, with a\ncarelessness that startled Berenike, as a vexatious piece of rudeness\nwhich must not occur again.\n\n\"But who is to prevent it?\" asked the mother anxiously.\n\n\"Who, save ourselves?\" replied Barine. \"He will not be admitted.\"\n\n\"And if he forced his way in?\"\n\nBarine's big blue eyes flashed angrily, and there was no lack of decision\nin her voice as she exclaimed, \"Let him try it!\"\n\n\"But what power have we to restrain the son of Antony?\" asked Berenike.\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"I do,\" replied her daughter. \"I will be brief, for a visitor is coming.\"\n\n\"So late?\" asked the mother anxiously.\n\n\"Archibius wishes to discuss an important matter with us.\"\n\nThe lines on the brow of the older woman smoothed, but it contracted\nagain as she exclaimed inquiringly: \"Important business at so unusual an\nhour! Ah, I have expected nothing good since early morning! On my way to\nmy brother's a raven flew up before me and fluttered towards the left\ninto the garden.\"\n\n\"But I,\" replied Barine, after receiving, in reply to her inquiry, a\nfavourable report concerning her uncle's health-\"I met seven--there were\nneither more nor less; for seven is the best of numbers--seven snow-white\ndoves, which all flew swiftly towards the right. The fairest of all came\nfirst, bearing in its beak a little basket which contained the power that\nwill keep Antony's son away from us. Don't look at me in such amazement,\nyou dear receptacle of every terror.\"\n\n\"But, child, you said that Archibius was coming so late to discuss an\nimportant matter,\" rejoined the mother.\n\n\"He must be here soon.\"\n\n\"Then cease this talking in riddles; I do not guess them quickly.\"\n\n\"You will solve this one,\" returned Barine; \"but we really have no time\nto lose. So-my beautiful dove was a good, wise thought, and what it\ncarried in its basket you shall hear presently. You see, mother, many\nwill blame us, though here and there some one may pity; but this state of\nthings must not continue. I feel it more and more plainly with each\npassing day; and several years must yet elapse ere this scruple becomes\nwholly needless. I am too young to welcome as a guest every one whom this\nor that man presents to me. True, our reception-hall was my father's\nwork-room and you, my own estimable, blameless mother, are the hostess\nhere; but though superior to me in every respect, you are so modest that\nyou shield yourself behind your daughter until the guests think of you\nonly when you are absent. So those who seek us both merely say, 'I am\ngoing to visit Barine'--and there are too many who say this--I can no\nlonger choose, and this thought--\"\n\n\"Child! child!\" interrupted her mother joyfully, \"what god met you as you\nwent out this morning?\"\n\n\"Surely you know,\" she answered gaily; \"it was seven doves, and, when I\ntook the little basket from the bill of the first and prettiest one, it\ntold me a story. Do you want to hear it?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; but be quick, or we shall be interrupted.\"\n\nThen Barine leaned farther back among the cushions, lowered her long\nlashes, and began: \"Once upon a time there was a woman who had a garden\nin the most aristocratic quarter of the city--here near the Paneum, if\nyou please. In the autumn, when the fruit was ripening, she left the gate\nopen, though all her neighbours did the opposite. To keep away unbidden\nlovers of her nice figs and dates, she fastened on the gate a tablet\nbearing the inscription: 'All may enter and enjoy the sight of the\ngarden; but the dogs will bite any one who breaks a flower, treads upon\nthe grass, or steals the fruit.'\n\n\"The woman had nothing but a lap-dog, and that did not always obey her.\nBut the tablet fulfilled its purpose; for at first none came except her\nneighbours in the aristocratic quarter. They read the threat, and\nprobably without it would have respected the property of the woman who so\nkindly opened the door to them. Thus matters went on for a time, until\nfirst a beggar came, and then a Phoenician sailor, and a thievish\nEgyptian from the Rhakotis--neither of whom could read. So the tablet\ntold them nothing; and as, moreover, they distinguished less carefully\nbetween mine and thine, one trampled the turf and another snatched from\nthe boughs a flower or fruit. More and more of the rabble came, and you\ncan imagine what followed. No one punished them for the crime, for they\ndid not fear the barking of the lap-dog, and this gave even those who\ncould read, courage not to heed the warning. So the woman's pretty garden\nsoon lost its peculiar charm; and the fruit, too, was stolen. When the\nrain at last washed the inscription from the tablet, and saucy boys\nscrawled on it, there was no harm done; for the garden no longer offered\nany attractions, and no one who looked into it cared to enter. Then the\nowner closed her gate like the neighbours, and the next year she again\nenjoyed the green grass and the bright hues of the flowers. She ate her\nfruit herself, and the lap-dog no longer disturbed her by its barking.\"\n\n\"That is,\" said her mother, \"if everybody was as courteous and as well\nbred as Gorgias, Lysias, and the others, we would gladly continue to\nreceive them. But since there are rude fellows like Antyllus--\"\n\n\"You have understood the story correctly,\" Barine interrupted. \"We are\ncertainly at liberty to invite to our house those who have learned to\nread our inscription. To-morrow visitors will be informed that we can no\nlonger receive them as before.\"\n\n\"Antyllus's conduct affords an excellent pretext,\" her mother added.\n\"Every fair-minded person must understand--\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Barine, \"and if you, shrewdest of women, will do your\npart--\n\n\"Then for the first time we can act as we please in our own home. Believe\nme, child--if you only do not--\"\n\n\"No ifs!--not this time!\" cried the young beauty, raising her hand\nbeseechingly. \"It gives me such delight to think of the new life, and if\nmatters come to pass as I hope and wish--then--do not you also believe,\nmother, that the gods owe me reparation?\"\n\n\"For what?\" asked the deep voice of Archibius, who had entered\nunannounced, and was now first noticed by the widow and her daughter.\n\nBarine hastily rose and held out both hands to her old friend,\nexclaiming, \"Since they bring you to us, they are already beginning the\npayment.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nAn artist, especially a great artist, finds it easy to give his house an\nattractive appearance. He desires comfort in it, and only the beautiful\nis comfortable to him. Whatever would disturb harmony offends his eye,\nand to secure the noblest ornament of his house he need not invite any\nstranger to cross its threshold. The Muse, the best of assistants, joins\nhim unbidden.\n\nLeonax, Barine's father, had been thus aided to transform the interior of\nhis house into a very charming residence. He had painted on the walls of\nhis own work-room incidents in the life of Alexander the Great, the\nfounder of his native city, and on the frieze a procession of dancing\nCupids.\n\nHere Barine now received her guests, and the renown of these paintings\nwas not one of the smallest inducements which had led Antony to visit the\nyoung beauty and to take his son, in whom he wished to awaken at least a\nfleeting pleasure in art. He also knew how to prize her beauty and her\nsinging, but the ardent passion which had taken possession of him in his\nmature years was for Cleopatra alone. He whose easily won heart and\nsusceptible fancy had urged him from one commonplace love to another had\nbeen bound by the Queen with chains of indestructible and supernatural\npower. By her side a Barine seemed to him merely a work of art endowed\nwith life and a voice that charmed the ear. Yet he owed her some pleasant\nhours, and he could not help bestowing gifts upon any one to whom he was\nindebted for anything pleasant. He liked to be considered the most\ngenerous spendthrift on earth, and the polished bracelet set with a gem,\non which was carved Apollo playing on his lyre, surrounded by the\nlistening Muses, looked very simple, but was really an ornament of\npriceless value, for the artist who made it was deemed the best\nstone-cutter in Alexandria in the time of Philadelphus, and each one of\nthe tiny figures sculptured on the bit of onyx scarcely three fingers\nwide was a carefully executed masterpiece of the most exquisite beauty.\nAntony had chosen it because he deemed it a fitting gift for the woman\nwhose song had pleased him. He had not thought of asking its value;\nindeed, only a connoisseur would have perceived it; and as the circlet\nwas not showy and well became her beautiful arm, Barine liked to wear it.\n\nHad not the war taken him away, Antony's second visit would certainly not\nhave been his last. Besides the singing which enthralled him, the\nconversation had been gay and brilliant, and in addition to Leonax's\npaintings, he had seen other beautiful works of art which the former had\nobtained by exchanging with many distinguished companions.\n\nNor was there any lack of plastic creations in the spacious apartment, to\nwhich the flashing of the water poured by a powerful man from the\ngoatskin bottle on his shoulder into a shell lent a special charm.\n\nThe master who had carved this stooping Nubian had also created the\nmuch-discussed statues of the royal lovers. The clay Eros, who with bent\nknee was aiming at a victim visible to himself alone, was also his work.\nAntony, when paying his second visit, had laughingly laid the garland he\nwore before \"the greatest of human conquerors,\" while a short time ago\nhis son Antyllus had rudely thrust his bouquet of flowers into the\nopening of the curved right arm which was drawing the string. In doing so\nthe statue had been injured. Now the flowers lay unheeded upon the little\naltar at the end of the large room, lighted only by a single lamp; for\nthe ladies had left it with their guest. They were in Barine's favourite\napartment, a small room, where there were several pictures by her dead\nfather.\n\nAntyllus's bouquet, and the damage to the clay statue of Eros, had played\na prominent part in the conversation between the three, and rendered\nArchibius's task easier.\n\nBerenike had greeted the guest with a complaint of the young Roman's\nrecklessness and unseemly conduct, to which Barine added the declaration\nthat they had now sacrificed enough to Zeus Xenios, the god of\nhospitality. She meant to devote her future life to the modest household\ngods and to Apollo, to whom she owed the gift of song.\n\nArchibius had listened silently in great surprise until she had finished\nher explanation and declared that henceforth she intended to live alone\nwith her mother, instead of having her father's workshop filled with\nguests.\n\nThe young beauty's vivid imagination transported her to this new and\nquieter life. But, spite of the clear and glowing hues in which she\ndescribed her anticipations, her grey-haired listener could not have\nbelieved in them fully. A subtle smile sometimes flitted over his grave,\nsomewhat melancholy face--that of a man who has ceased to wrestle in the\narena of life, and after severe conflict now preferred to stand among the\nspectators and watch others win or lose the prize of victory. Doubtless\nthe wounds which he had received still ached, yet his sorrowful\nexperiences did not prevent his being an attentive observer. The\nexpression of his clear eyes showed that he mentally shared whatever\naroused his sympathy. Whoever understood how to listen thus, and,\nmoreover--the prominence of the brow above the nose showed it--was also a\ntrained thinker, could not fail to be a good counsellor, and as such he\nwas regarded by many, and first of all by the Queen.\n\nThe wise deliberation, which was one of his characteristic traits, showed\nitself on this occasion; for though he had come to persuade Barine try a\ncountry residence, he refrained from doing until she had exhausted the\nstory of her own affairs and inquired the important cause of his visit.\n\nIn the principal matter his request was granted ere he made it. So he\ncould begin with the query whether the mother and daughter did not think\nthat the transition to the new mode of life could be effected more easily\nif they were absent from the city a short time. It would awaken comment\nthey should close their house against guests on the morrow, and as the\ntrue reason could not be given, many would be offended. If, on the\ncontrary, they could resolve to quit the capital for a few weeks, many,\nit is true, would lament their decision, but what was alloted to all\nalike could be resented by no one.\n\nBerenike eagerly assented, but Barine grew thoughtful. Then Archibius\nbegged her to speak frankly, and after she had asked where they could he\nproposed his country estate.\n\nHis keen grey eyes had perceived that something, bound her so firmly to\nthe city that in the case of a true woman like Barine it must be an\naffair of the heart. He had evidently judged correctly, for, at his\nprediction that there would be no lack of visits from her dearest\nfriends, she raised her head, her blue eyes sparkled brightly, and when\nArchibius paused she to her mother, exclaiming gaily \"We will go!\"\n\nAgain the vivid imagination daughter conjured the future before her in\ndistinct outlines. She alone knew whom she meant when she spoke of the\nvisitor she expected at Irenia, Archibius's estate. The name meant \"The\nplace of peace,\" and it pleased her.\n\nArchibius listened smilingly; but when she began to assign him also a\npart in driving the little Sardinian horses and pursuing the birds, he\ninterrupted her with the statement that whether he could speedily allow\nhimself a pleasure which he should so keenly enjoy--that of breathing the\ncountry air with such charming guests--would depend upon the fate of\nanother. Thank the gods, he had been able to come here with a lighter\nheart, because, just before his departure, he had heard of a splendid\nvictory gained by the Queen. The ladies would perhaps permit him to\nremain a little longer, as he was expecting confirmation of the news.\n\nIt was evident that he awaited it in great suspense, and that his heart\nwas by no means free from anxiety.\n\nBerenike shared it, and her pleasant face, which had hitherto reflected\nher delight at her daughter's sensible resolution, was now clouded with\ncare as Archibius began: \"The object of my presence here? You are making\nit very easy for me to attain it. If I deemed it honest, I could now\nconceal the fact that I had sought you to induce you to leave the city. I\nsee no peril from the boyish insolence of the son of Antony. The point in\nquestion, child, is merely to put yourself out of the reach of\nCaesarion.\"\n\n\"If you could place me in the moon, it would please me best, as far as he\nis concerned,\" replied Barine eagerly. \"That is just what induced me to\nchange our mode of life, since my door cannot be closed against the boy\nwho, though still under a tutor, uses his rank as a key to open it. And\njust think of being compelled to address that dreamer, with eyes pleading\nfor help, by the title of 'king'!\"\n\n\"Yet what mighty impulse might not be slumbering in the breast of a son\nof Julius Caesar and Cleopatra?\" said Archibius. \"And passion--I know, my\nchild, that it is no fault of yours--has now awakened within him.\nWhatever the result may be, it must fill his mother's heart with anxiety.\nThat is why it is needful to hasten your departure, and to keep your\ndestination a secret. He will attempt no violence; but--he is the child\nof his parents--and some unexpected act may be anticipated from him.\"\n\n\"You startle me!\" cried Barine. \"You transform the cooing dove which\nentered my house into a dangerous griffin.\"\n\n\"As such you may regard him,\" said the other, warningly. \"You will be a\nwelcome guest, Barine, but I invited you, whom I have loved from your\nearliest childhood, the daughter of my dearest friend, not merely to do\nyou a service at Irenia, but to save from grief or even annoyance the\nperson to whom--who is not aware of it--I owe everything.\"\n\nThe words conveyed to both ladies the knowledge that, though they were\ndear to Archibius, he would sacrifice them, and with them, perhaps, all\nthe rest of the world, for the peace and happiness of the Queen.\n\nBarine had expected nothing else. She knew that Cleopatra had made the\nphilosopher's son a wealthy man and the owner of extensive estates; but\nshe also felt that the source of his loyal devotion to the Queen, over\nwhom he watched like a tender father, was due to other causes. Cleopatra\nprized him also. Had he been ambitious, he could have stood at the helm\nof the ship of state, as Epitrop long ago, but--the whole city knew\nit--he had more than once refused to accept a permanent office, because\nhe believed that he could serve his mistress better as an unassuming,\nunnoticed counsellor. Berenike had told Barine that the relations between\nCleopatra and Archibius dated back to their childhood, but she had\nlearned no particulars. Various rumours were afloat which, in the course\nof time, had been richly adorned and interwoven with anecdotes, and\nBarine naturally lent the most ready credence to those which asserted\nthat the princess, in her earliest youth, had cherished a childish love\nfor the philosopher's son. Now her friend's conduct led her to believe\nit.\n\nWhen Archibius paused, the young beauty assured him that she understood\nhim; and as the alabaster hanging lamp and a three-branched light cast a\nbrilliant glow upon the portrait which her father had painted of the\nnineteen-year-old Queen, and afterwards copied for his own household, she\npointed to it, and, pursuing the current of her own thoughts, asked the\nquestion:\n\n\"Was she not marvellously beautiful at that time?\"\n\n\"As your father's work represents her,\" was the reply. \"Leonax painted\nthe portrait of Octavia, on the opposite side, the same year, and perhaps\nthe artist deemed the Roman the fairer woman.\" He pointed as he spoke to\na likeness of Octavianus's sister, whom Barine's father had painted as\nthe young wife of Marcellus, her first husband.\n\n\"Oh, no!\" said Berenike. \"I still remember perfectly how Leonax returned\nin those days. What woman might not have been jealous of his enthusiasm\nfor the Roman Hera? At that time I had not seen the portrait, and when I\nasked whether he thought Octavia more beautiful than the Queen, for whom\nEros had inflamed his heart, as in the case of most of the beautiful\nwomen he painted, he exclaimed--you know his impetuous manner--'Octavia\nstands foremost in the ranks of those who are called \"beautiful\" or \"less\nbeautiful\"; the other, Cleopatra, stands alone, and can be compared with\nno one.'\"\n\nArchibius bent his head in assent, then said firmly, \"But, as a child,\nwhen I first saw her, she would have been the fairest even in the dance\nof the young gods of love.\"\n\n\"How old was she then?\" asked Barine, eagerly.\n\n\"Eight years,\" he answered. \"How far in the past it is, yet I have not\nforgotten a single hour!\" Barine now earnestly entreated him to tell them\nthe story of those days, but Archibius gazed thoughtfully at the floor\nfor some time ere he raised his head and answered: \"Perhaps it will be\nwell if you learn more of the woman for whose sake I ask a sacrifice at\nyour hands. Arius is your brother and uncle. He stands near to\nOctavianus, for he was his intellectual guide, and I know that he reveres\nthe Roman's sister, Octavia, as a goddess. Antony is now struggling with\nOctavianus for the sovereignty of the world. Octavia succumbed in the\nconflict against the woman of whom you desire to hear. It is not my place\nto judge her, but I may instruct and warn. Roman nations burn incense to\nOctavia, and, when Cleopatra's name is uttered, they veil their faces\nindignantly. Here in Alexandria many imitate them. Whoever upholds\nshining purity may hope to win a share of the radiance emanating from it.\nThey call Octavia the lawful wife, and Cleopatra the criminal who robbed\nher of her husband's heart.\"\n\n\"Not I!\" exclaimed Barine eagerly. \"How often I have heard my uncle say\nthat Antony and Cleopatra were fired with the most ardent love for each\nother! Never did the arrows of Eros pierce two hearts more deeply. Then\nit became necessary to save the state from civil war and bloodshed.\nAntony consented to form an alliance with his rival, and, as security for\nthe sincerity of the reconciliation, he gave his hand in marriage to\nOctavia, whose first husband, Marcellus, had just died--his hand, I say,\nonly his hand, for his heart was captive to the Queen of Egypt. And if\nAntony was faithless to the wife to whom statecraft had bound him, he\nkept his pledge to the other, who had an earlier, better title. If\nCleopatra did not give up the man to whom she had sworn fidelity forever,\nshe was right--a thousand times right! In my eyes--no matter how often my\nmother rebukes me--Cleopatra, in the eyes of the immortals, is and always\nwill be Antony's real wife; the other, though on her marriage day no\ncustom, no word, no stroke of the stylus, no gesture was omitted, is the\nintruder in a bond of love which rejoices the gods, however it may anger\nmortals, and--forgive me, mother--virtuous matrons.\"\n\nBerenike had listened with blushing cheeks to her vivacious daughter; now\nwith timid earnestness she interrupted: \"I know that those are the views\nof the new times; that Antony in the eyes of the Egyptians, and probably\nalso according to their customs, is the rightful husband of the Queen. I\nknow, too, that you are both against me. Yet Cleopatra is in reality a\nGreek, and therefore--eternal gods!--I can sincerely pity her; but the\nmarriage has been solemnized, and I cannot blame Octavia. She rears and\ncherishes, as if they were her own, the children of her faithless husband\nand Fulvia, his first wife, who have no claim upon her. It is more than\nhuman to take the stones from the path of the man who became her foe, as\nshe does. No woman In Alexandria can pray more fervently than I that\nCleopatra and her friend may conquer Octavianus. His cold nature, highly\nas my brother esteems him, is repellent to me. But when I gaze at\nOctavia's beautiful, chaste, queenly, noble countenance, the mirror of\ntrue womanly purity--\"\n\n\"You can rejoice,\" Archibius added, completing the sentence, and laying\nhis right hand soothingly on the arm of the excited woman, \"only it would\nbe advisable at this time to put the portrait elsewhere, and rest\nsatisfied with confiding your opinion of Octavia to your brother and a\nfriend as reliable as myself. If we conquer, such things may pass; if\nnot--The messenger tarries long--\"\n\nHere Barine again entreated him to use the time. She had only once had\nthe happiness of being noticed by the Queen--just after her song at the\nAdonis festival. Then Cleopatra had advanced to thank her. She said only\na few kind words, but in a voice which seemed to penetrate the inmost\ndepths of her heart and bind her with invisible threads. Meanwhile\nBarine's eyes met those of her sovereign, and at first they roused an\nardent desire to press her lips even on the hem of her robe, but\nafterwards she felt as if a venomous serpent had crawled out of the most\nbeautiful flower.\n\nHere Archibius interrupted her with the remark that he remembered\nperfectly how, after the song, Antony had addressed her at the same time\nas the Queen, and Cleopatra lacked no feminine weakness.\n\n\"Jealousy?\" asked Barine, in astonishment. \"I was not presumptuous enough\nto admit it. I secretly feared that Alexas, the brother of Philostratus,\nhad prejudiced her. He is as ill-disposed towards me as the man who was\nmy husband. But everything connected with those two is so base and\nshameful that I will not allow it to cloud this pleasant hour. Yet the\nfear that Alexas might have slandered me to the Queen is not groundless.\n\n\"He is as shrewd as his brother, and through Antony, into whose favour he\ningratiated himself, is always in communication with Cleopatra. He went\nto the war with him.\"\n\n\"I learned that too late, and am utterly powerless against Antony,\"\nreplied Archibius.\n\n\"But was it not natural that I should fear he had prejudiced the Queen?\"\nasked Barine. \"At any rate, I imagined that I detected a hostile\nexpression in her eyes, and it repelled me, though at first I had been so\nstrongly attracted towards her.\"\n\n\"And had not that other stepped between you, you could not have turned\nfrom her again!\" said Archibius. \"The first time I saw her I was but a\nmere boy, and she--as I have already said--a child eight years old.\"\n\nBarine nodded gratefully to Archibius, brought the distaff to her mother,\npoured water into the wine in the mixing vessel, and after at first\nleaning comfortably back among the cushions, she soon bent forward in a\nlistening attitude, with her elbow propped on her knee, and her chin\nsupported by her hand. Berenike drew the flax from the distaff, at first\nslowly, then faster and faster.\n\n\"You know my country-house in the Kanopus,\" the guest began. \"It was\noriginally a small summer palace belonging to the royal family, and\nunderwent little change after we moved into it. Even the garden is\nunaltered. It was full of shady old trees. Olympus, the leech, had chosen\nthis place, that my father might complete within its walls the work of\neducation entrusted to him. You shall hear the story. At that time\nAlexandria was in a state of turmoil, for Rome had not recognized the\nKing, and ruled over us like Fate, though it had not acknowledged the\nwill by which the miserable Alexander bequeathed Egypt to him like a\nfield or a slave.\n\n\"The King of Egypt, who called himself 'the new Dionysus,' was a weak\nman, whose birth did not give him the full right to the sovereignty. You\nknow that the people called him the 'fluteplayer.' He really had no\ngreater pleasure than to hear music and listen to his own performances.\nHe played by no means badly on more than one instrument, and, moreover,\nas a reveller did honour to the other name. Whoever kept sober at the\nfestival of Dionysus, whose incarnate second self he regarded himself,\nincurred his deepest displeasure.\n\n\"The flute-player's wife, Queen Tryphoena, and her oldest daughter--she\nbore your name, Berenike--ruined his life. Compared with them, the King\nwas worthy and virtuous. What had become of the heroes and the\nhigh-minded princes of the house of Ptolemy? Every passion and crime had\nfound a home in their palaces!\n\n\"The flute-player, Cleopatra's father, was by no means the worst. He was\na slave to his own caprices; no one had taught him to bridle his\npassions. Where it served his purpose, even death was summoned to his\naid; but this was a custom of the last sovereigns of his race. In one\nrespect he was certainly superior to most of them--he still possessed a\ncapacity to feel a loathing for the height of crime, to believe in virtue\nand loftiness of soul, and the possibility of implanting them in youthful\nhearts. When a boy, he had been under the influence of an excellent\nteacher, whose precepts had lingered in his memory and led him to\ndetermine to withdraw his favourite children--two girls--from their\nmother's sway, at least as far as possible.\n\n\"I learned afterwards that it had been his desire to confide the\nprincesses wholly to my parents' care. But an invincible power opposed\nthis. Though Greeks might be permitted to instruct the royal children in\nknowledge, the Egyptians would not yield the right to their religious\neducation. The leech Olympus--you know the good old man--had insisted\nthat the delicate Cleopatra must spend the coldest winter months in Upper\nEgypt, where the sky was never clouded, and the summer near the sea in a\nshady garden. The little palace at Kanopus was devoted to this purpose.\n\n\"When we moved there it was entirely unoccupied, but the princesses were\nsoon to be brought to us. During the winter Olympus preferred the island\nof Philae, on the Nubian frontier, because the famous Temple of Isis was\nthere, and its priests willingly undertook to watch over the children.\n\n\"The Queen would not listen to any of these plans. Leaving Alexandria and\nspending the winter on a lonely island in the tropics was an utterly\nincomprehensible idea. So she let the King have his way, and no doubt was\nglad to be relieved from the care of the children; for, even after her\nroyal husband's exile from the city, she never visited her daughters.\nTrue, death allowed her only a short time to do so.\n\n\"Her oldest daughter, Berenike, who became her successor, followed her\nexample, and troubled herself very little about her sisters. I heard\nafter wards that she was very glad to know that they were in charge of\npersons who filled their minds with other thoughts than the desire to\nrule. Her brothers were reared at Lochias by our countryman Theodotus,\nunder the eyes of their guardian, Pothinus.\n\n\"Our family life was of course wholly transformed by the reception of the\nroyal children. In the first place, we moved from our house in the Museum\nSquare into the little palace at Kanopus, and the big, shady garden\ndelighted us. I remember, as though it were but yesterday, the morning--I\nwas then a boy of fifteen--when my father told us that two of the King's\ndaughters would soon become members of the household. There were three of\nus children--Charmian, who went to the war with the Queen, because Iras,\nour niece, was ill; I myself; and Straton, who died long ago. We were\nurged to treat the princesses with the utmost courtesy and consideration,\nand we perceived that their reception really demanded respect; for the\npalace, which we had found empty and desolate, was refurnished from roof\nto foundation.\n\n\"The day before they were expected horses, chariots, and litters came,\nwhile boats and a splendid state galley, fully manned, arrived by sea.\nThen a train of male and female slaves appeared, among them two fat\neunuchs.\n\n\"I can still see the angry look with which my father surveyed all these\npeople. He drove at once to the city, and on his return his clear eyes\nwere as untroubled as ever. A court official accompanied him, and only\nthat portion of the useless amount of luggage and number of persons that\nmy father desired remained.\n\n\"The princesses were to come the next morning--it was at the end of\nFebruary--flowers were blooming in the grass and on the bushes, while the\nfoliage of the trees glittered with the fresh green which the rising sap\ngives to the young leaves. I was sitting on a strong bough of a\nsycamore-tree, which grew opposite to the house, watching for them. Their\narrival was delayed and, as I gazed meanwhile over the garden, I thought\nit must surely please them, for not a palace in the city had one so\nbeautiful.\n\n\"At last the litters appeared; they had neither runners nor attendants,\nas my father had requested, and when the princesses alighted--both at the\nsame moment--I knew not which way to turn my eyes first, for the creature\nthat fluttered like a dragon-fly rather than stepped from the first\nlitter, was not a girl like other mortals--she seemed like a wish, a\nhope. When the dainty, beautiful creature turned her head hither and\nthither, and at last gazed questioningly, as if beseeching help, into the\nfaces of my father and mother, who stood at the gate to receive her, it\nseemed to me that such must have been the aspect of Psyche when she stood\npleading for mercy at the throne of Zeus.\n\n\"But it was worth while to look at the other also. Was that Cleopatra?\nShe might have been the elder, for she was as tall as her sister, but how\nutterly unlike! From the waving hair to every movement of the hands and\nbody the former--it was Cleopatra--had seemed to me as if she were\nflying. Everything about the second figure, on the contrary, was solid,\nnay, even seemed to offer positive resistance. She sprang from the litter\nand alighted on the ground with both feet at once, clung firmly to the\ndoor, and haughtily flung back her head, crowned with a wealth of dark\nlocks. Her complexion was pink and white, and her blue eyes sparkled\nbrightly enough; but the expression with which she gazed at my parents\nwas defiant rather than questioning, and as she glanced around her red\nlips curled scornfully as though she deemed her surroundings despicable\nand unworthy of her royal birth.\n\n\"This irritated me against the seven-year-old child, yet I said to myself\nthat, though it was very beautiful here--thanks to my father's\ncare--perhaps it appeared plain and simple when compared with the marble,\ngold, and purple of the royal palace whence she came. Her features, too,\nwere regular and beautiful, and she would have attracted attention by her\nloveliness among a multitude. When I soon heard her issue imperious\ncommands and defiantly insist upon the fulfilment of every wish, I\nthought, in my boyish ignorance, that Arsinoe must be the elder; for she\nwas better suited to wield a sceptre than her sister. I said so to my\nbrother and Charmian; but we all soon saw which really possessed queenly\nmajesty; for Arsinoe, if her will were crossed, wept, screamed, and raged\nlike a lunatic, or, if that proved useless, begged and teased; while if\nCleopatra wanted anything she obtained it in a different way. Even at\nthat time she knew what weapons would give her victory and, while using\nthem, she still remained the child of a king.\n\n\"No artisan's daughter could have been further removed from airs of\nmajestic pathos than this embodiment of the most charming childlike\ngrace; but if anything for which her passionate nature ardently longed\nwas positively refused, she understood how to attain it by the melody of\nher voice, the spell of her eyes, and in extreme cases by a silent tear.\nWhen to such tears were added uplifted hands and a few sweet words, such\nas, 'It would make me happy,' or, 'Don't you see how it hurts me?'\nresistance was impossible; and in after-years also her silent tears and\nthe marvellous music of her voice won her a victory in the decisive\nquestions of life.\n\n\"We children were soon playmates and friends, for my parents did not wish\nthe princesses to begin their studies until after they felt at home with\nus. This pleased Arsinoe, although she could already read and write; but\nCleopatra more than once asked to hear something from my father's store\nof wisdom, of which she had been told.\n\n\"The King and her former teacher had cherished the highest expectations\nfrom the brilliant intellect of this remarkable child, and Olympus once\nlaid his hand on my curls and bade me take care that the princess did not\noutstrip the philosopher's son. I had always occupied one of the foremost\nplaces, and laughingly escaped, assuring him that there was no danger.\n\n\"But I soon learned that this warning was not groundless. You will think\nthat the old fool's heart has played him a trick, and in the magic garden\nof childish memories the gifted young girl was transformed into a\ngoddess. That she certainly was not; for the immortals are free from the\nfaults and weaknesses of humanity.\"\n\n\"And what robbed Cleopatra of the renown of resembling the gods?\" asked\nBarine eagerly.\n\nA subtle smile, not wholly free from reproach, accompanied Archibius's\nreply: \"Had I spoken of her virtues, you would hardly have thought of\nasking further details. But why should I try to conceal what she has\ndisplayed to the world openly enough throughout her whole life? Falsehood\nand hypocrisy were as unfamiliar to her as fishing is to the sons of the\ndesert. The fundamental principles which have dominated this rare\ncreature's life and character to the present day are two ceaseless\ndesires: first, to surpass every one, even in the most difficult\nachievements; and, secondly, to love and to be loved in return. From them\nemanated what raised her above all other women. Ambition and love will\nalso sustain her like two mighty wings on the proud height to which they\nhave borne her, so long as they dwell harmoniously in her fiery soul.\nHitherto a rare favour of destiny has permitted this, and may the\nOlympians grant that thus it may ever be!\"\n\nHere Archibius paused, wiped the perspiration from his brow, asked if the\nmessenger had arrived, and ordered him to be admitted as soon as he\nappeared. Then he went on as calmly as before:\n\n\"The princesses were members of our household, and in the course of time\nthey seemed like sisters. During the first winter the King allowed them\nto spend only the most inclement months at Philae, for he was unwilling\nto live without them. True, he saw them rarely enough; weeks often\nelapsed without a visit; but, on the other hand, he often came day after\nday to our garden, clad in plain garments, and borne in an unpretending\nlitter, for these visits were kept secret from every one save the leech\nOlympus.\n\n\"I often saw the tall, strong man, with red, bloated face, playing with\nhis children like a mechanic who had just returned from work. But he\nusually remained only a short time, seeming to be satisfied with having\nseen them again. Perhaps he merely wished to assure himself that they\nwere comfortable with us. At any rate, no one was permitted to go near\nthe group of plane-trees where he talked with them.\n\n\"But it is easy to hide amid the dense foliage of these trees, so my\nknowledge that he questioned them is not solely hearsay.\n\n\"Cleopatra was happy with us from the beginning; Arsinoe needed a longer\ntime; but the King valued only the opinion of his older child, his\ndarling, on whom he feasted his eyes and ears like a lover. He often\nshook his heavy head at the sight of her, and when she gave him one of\nher apt replies, he laughed so loudly that the sound of his deep,\nresonant voice was heard as far as the house.\n\n\"Once I saw tear after tear course down his flushed cheeks, and yet his\nvisit was shorter than usual. The closed 'harmamaxa' in which he came\nbore him from our house directly to the vessel which was to convey him to\nCyprus and Rome. The Alexandrians, headed by the Queen, had forced him to\nleave the city and the country.\n\n\"He was indeed unworthy of the crown, but he loved his little daughter\nlike a true father. Still, it was terrible, monstrous for him to invoke\ncurses upon the mother and sister of the children, in their presence, and\nin the same breath command them to hate and execrate them, but to love\nand never forget him.\n\n\"I was then seventeen and Cleopatra ten years old. I, who loved my\nparents better than my life, felt an icy chill run through my veins and\nthen a touch upon my heart like balsam, as I heard little Arsinoe, after\nher father had gone, whisper to her sister, 'We will hate them--may the\ngods destroy them!' and when Cleopatra answered with tearful eyes, 'Let\nus rather be better than they, very good indeed, Arsinoe, that the\nimmortals may love us and bring our father back.'\n\n\"'Because then he will make you Queen,' replied Arsinoe sneeringly, still\ntrembling with angry excitement.\n\n\"Cleopatra gazed at her with a troubled look.\n\n\"Her tense features showed that she was weighing the meaning of the\nwords, and I can still see her as she suddenly drew up her small figure,\nand said proudly, 'Yes, I will be Queen!'\n\n\"Then her manner changed, and in the sweetest tones of her soft voice,\nshe said beseechingly, 'You won't say such naughty things again, will\nyou?'\n\n\"This was at the time that my father's instruction began to take\npossession of her mind. The prediction of Olympus was fulfilled. True, I\nattended the school of oratory, but when my father set the royal maiden a\nlesson, I was permitted to repeat mine on the same subject, and\nfrequently I could not help admitting that Cleopatra had succeeded better\nthan I.\n\n\"Soon there were difficult problems to master, for the intellect of this\nwonderful child demanded stronger food, and she was introduced into\nphilosophy. My father himself belonged to the school of Epicurus, and\nsucceeded far beyond his expectations in rousing Cleopatra's interest in\nhis master's teachings. She had been made acquainted with the other great\nphilosophers also, but always returned to Epicurus, and induced the rest\nof us to live with her as a true disciple of the noble Samian.\n\n\"Your father and brother have doubtless made you familiar with the\nprecepts of the Stoa; yet you have certainly heard that Epicurus spent\nthe latter part of his life with his friends and pupils in quiet\nmeditation and instructive conversation in his garden at Athens. We,\ntoo--according to Cleopatra's wish--were to live thus and call ourselves\n'disciples of Epicurus.'\n\n\"With the exception of Arsinoe, who preferred gayer pastimes, into which\nshe drew my brother Straton--at that time a giant in strength--we all\nliked the plan. I was chosen master, but I perceived that Cleopatra\ndesired the position, so she took my place.\n\n\"During our next leisure afternoon we paced up and down the garden, and\nthe conversation about the chief good was so eager, Cleopatra directed it\nwith so much skill, and decided doubtful questions so happily, that we\nreluctantly obeyed the brazen gong which summoned us to the house, and\nspent the whole evening in anticipating the next afternoon.\n\n\"The following morning my father saw several country people assembled\nbefore the secluded garden; but he did not have time to inquire what they\nwanted; for Timagenes, who shared the instruction in history--you know he\nwas afterwards taken to Rome as a prisoner of war--rushed up to him,\nholding out a tablet which bore the inscription Epicurus had written on\nthe gate of his garden: 'Stranger, here you will be happy; here is the\nchief good, pleasure.'\n\n\"Cleopatra had written this notice in large letters on the top of a small\ntable before sunrise, and a slave had secretly fastened it on the gate\nfor her.\n\n\"This prank might have easily proved fatal to our beautiful\ncompanionship, but it had been done merely to make our game exactly like\nthe model.\n\n\"My father did not forbid our continuing this pastime, but strictly\nprohibited our calling ourselves 'Epicureans' outside of the garden, for\nthis noble name had since gained among the people a significance wholly\nalien. Epicurus says that true pleasure is to be found only in peace of\nmind and absence of pain.\"\n\n\"But every one,\" interrupted Barine, \"believes that people like the\nwealthy Isidorus, whose object in life is to take every pleasure which\nhis wealth can procure, are the real Epicureans. My mother would not have\nconfided me long to a teacher by whose associates 'pleasure' was deemed\nthe chief good.\"\n\n\"The daughter of a philosopher,\" replied Archibius, gently shaking his\nhead, \"ought to understand what pleasure means in the sense of Epicurus,\nand no doubt you do. True, those who are further removed from these\nthings cannot know that the master forbids yearning for individual\npleasure. Have you an idea of his teachings? No definite one? Then permit\nme a few words of explanation. It happens only too often that Epicurus is\nconfounded with Aristippus, who places sensual pleasure above\nintellectual enjoyment, as he holds that bodily pain is harder to endure\nthan mental anguish. Epicurus, on the contrary, considers intellectual\npleasure to be the higher one; for sensual enjoyment, which he believes\nfree to every one, can be experienced only in the present, while\nintellectual delight extends to both the past and the future. To the\nEpicureans the goal of life, as has already been mentioned, is to attain\nthe chief blessings, peace of mind, and freedom from pain. He is to\npractise virtue only because it brings him pleasure; for who could remain\nvirtuous without being wise, noble, and just?--and whoever is all these\ncannot have his peace of mind disturbed, and must be really happy in the\nexact meaning of the master. I perceived long since the peril lurking in\nthis system of instruction, which takes no account of moral excellence;\nbut at that time it seemed to me also the chief good.\n\n\"How all this charmed the mind of the thoughtful child, still untouched\nby passion! It was difficult to supply her wonderfully vigorous intellect\nwith sufficient sustenance, and she really felt that to enrich it was the\nhighest pleasure. And to her, who could scarcely endure to have a rude\nhand touch her, though a small grief or trivial disappointment could not\nbe averted, the freedom from pain which the master had named as the first\ncondition for the existence of every pleasure, and termed the chief good,\nseemed indeed the first condition of a happy life.\n\n\"Yet this child, whom my father once compared to a thinking flower, bore\nwithout complaint her sad destiny--her father's banishment, her mother's\ndeath, her sister Berenike's profligacy. Even to me, in whom she found a\nsecond brother and fully trusted, she spoke of these sorrowful things\nonly in guarded allusions. I know that she understood what was passing\nfully and perfectly, and how deeply she felt it; but pain placed itself\nbetween her and the 'chief good,' and she mastered it. And when she sat\nat work, with what tenacious power the delicate creature struggled until\nshe had conquered the hardest task and outstripped Charmian and even me!\n\n\"In those days I understood why, among the gods, a maiden rules over\nlearning, and why she is armed with the weapons of war. You have heard\nhow many languages Cleopatra speaks. A remark of Timagenes had fallen\ninto her soul like a seed. 'With every language you learn,' he had said,\n'you will gain a nation.' But there were many peoples in her father's\nkingdom, and when she was Queen they must all love her. True, she began\nwith the tongue of the conquerors, not the conquered. So it happened that\nwe first learned Lucretius, who reproduces in verse the doctrines of\nEpicurus. My father was our teacher, and the second year she read\nLucretius as if it were a Greek book. She had only half known Egyptian;\nnow she speedily acquired it. During our stay at Philae she found a\ntroglodyte who was induced to teach her his language. There were Jews\nenough here in Alexandria to instruct her in theirs, and she also learned\nits kindred tongue, Arabic.\n\n\"When, many years later, she visited Antony at Tarsus, the warriors\nimagined that some piece of Egyptian magic was at work, for she addressed\neach commander in his own tongue, and talked with him as if she were a\nnative of the same country.\n\n\"It was the same with everything. She outstripped us in every branch of\nstudy. To her burning ambition it would have been unbearable to lag\nbehind.\n\n\"The Roman Lucretius became her favourite poet, although she was no more\nfriendly to his nation than I, but the self-conscious power of the foe\npleased her, and once I heard her exclaim 'Ah! if the Egyptians were\nRomans, I would give up our garden for Berenike's throne.'\n\n\"Lucretius constantly led her back to Epicurus, and awakened a severe\nconflict in her unresting mind. You probably know that he teaches that\nlife in itself is not so great a blessing that it must be deemed a\nmisfortune not to live. It is only spoiled by having death appear to us\nas the greatest of misfortunes. Only the soul which ceases to regard\ndeath as a misfortune finds peace. Whoever knows that thought and feeling\nend with life will not fear death; for, no matter how many dear and\nprecious things the dead have left here below, their yearning for them\nhas ceased with life. He declares that providing for the body is the\ngreatest folly, while the Egyptian religion, in which Anubis strove to\nstrengthen her faith, maintained precisely the opposite.\n\n\"To a certain degree he succeeded, for his personality exerted a powerful\ninfluence over her; and besides, she naturally took great pleasure in\nmystical, supernatural things, as my brother Straton did in physical\nstrength, and you, Barine, enjoy the gift of song. You know Anubis by\nsight. What Alexandrian has not seen this remarkable man? and whoever has\nonce met his eyes does not easily forget him. He does indeed rule over\nmysterious powers, and he used them in his intercourse with the young\nprincess. It is his work if she cleaves to the religious belief of her\npeople, if she who is a Hellene to the last drop of blood loves Egypt,\nand is ready to make any sacrifice for her independence and grandeur. She\nis called 'the new Isis,' but Isis presides over the magic arts of the\nEgyptians, and Anubis initiated Cleopatra into this secret science, and\neven persuaded her to enter the observatory and the laboratory--\n\n\"But all these things had their origin in our garden of Epicurus, and my\nfather did not venture to forbid it; for the King had sent a message from\nRome to say that he was glad to have Cleopatra find pleasure in her own\npeople and their secret knowledge.\n\n\"The flute-player, during his stay on the Tiber, had given his gold to\nthe right men or bound them as creditors to his interest. After Pompey,\nCaesar, and Crassus had concluded their alliance, they consented at Lucca\nto the restoration of the Ptolemy. Millions upon millions would not have\nseemed to him too large a price for this object. Pompey would rather have\ngone to Egypt himself, but the jealousy of the others would not permit\nit. Gabinius, the Governor of Syria, received the commission.\n\n\"But the occupants of the Egyptian throne were not disposed to resign it\nwithout a struggle. You know that meanwhile Queen Berenike, Cleopatra's\nsister, had been twice married. She had her miserable first husband\nstrangled--a more manly spouse had been chosen by the Alexandrians for\nher second consort. He bravely defended his rights, and lost his life on\nthe field of battle.\n\n\"The senate learned speedily enough that Gabinius had brought the Ptolemy\nback to his country; the news reached us more slowly. We watched for\nevery rumour with the same passionate anxiety as now.\n\n\"At that time Cleopatra was fourteen, and had developed magnificently.\nYonder portrait shows the perfect flower, but the bud possessed, if\npossible, even more exquisite charm. How clear and earnest was the gaze\nof her bright eyes! When she was gay they could shine like stars, and\nthen her little red mouth had an indescribably mischievous expression,\nand in each cheek came one of the tiny dimples which still delight every\none. Her nose was more delicate than it is now, and the slight curve\nwhich appears in the portrait, and which is far too prominent in the\ncoins, was not visible. Her hair did not grow dark until later in life.\nMy sister Charmian had no greater pleasure than to arrange its wavy\nabundance. It was like silk, she often said, and she was right. I know\nthis, for when at the festival of Isis, Cleopatra, holding the sistrum,\nfollowed the image of the goddess, she was obliged to wear it unconfined.\nOn her return home she often shook her head merrily, and her hair fell\nabout her like a cataract, veiling her face and figure. Then, as now, she\nwas not above middle height, but her form possessed the most exquisite\nsymmetry, only it was still more delicate and pliant.\n\n\"She had understood how to win all hearts. Yet, though she seemed to\nesteem our father higher, trust me more fully, look up to Anubis with\ngreater reverence, and prefer to argue with the keen-witted Timagenes,\nshe still appeared to hold all who surrounded her in equal favour, while\nArsinoe left me in the lurch if Straton were present, and whenever the\nhandsome Melnodor, one of my father's pupils, came to us, she fairly\ndevoured him with her glowing eyes.\n\n\"As soon as it was rumoured that the Romans were bringing the King back,\nQueen Berenike came to us to take the young girls to the city. When\nCleopatra entreated her to leave her in our parents' care and not\ninterrupt her studies, a scornful smile flitted over Berenike's face, and\nturning to her husband Archelaus, she said scornfully, 'I think books\nwill prove to be the smallest danger.'\n\n\"Pothinus, the guardian of the two princesses' brothers, had formerly\npermitted them at times to visit their sisters. Now they were no longer\nallowed to leave Lochias, but neither Cleopatra nor Arsinoe made many\ninquiries about them. The little boys always retreated from their\ncaresses, and the Egyptian locks on their temples, which marked the age\nof childhood, and the Egyptian garments which Pothinus made them wear,\nlent them an unfamiliar aspect.\n\n\"When it was reported that the Romans were advancing from Gaza, both\ngirls were overpowered by passionate excitement. Arsinoe's glittered in\nevery glance; Cleopatra understood how to conceal hers, but her colour\noften varied, and her face, which was not pink and white like her\nsister's, but--how shall I express it?\"\n\n\"I know what you mean,\" Barine interrupted. \"When I saw her, nothing\nseemed to me more charming than that pallid hue through which the crimson\nof her cheeks shines like the flame through yonder alabaster lamp, the\ntint of the peach through the down. I have seen it often in\nconvalescents. Aphrodite breathes this hue on the faces and figures of\nher favourites only, as the god of time imparts the green tinge to the\nbronze. Nothing is more beautiful than when such women blush.\"\n\n\"Your sight is keen,\" replied Archibius, smiling. \"It seemed indeed as if\nnot Eos, but her faint reflection in the western horizon, was tinting the\nsky, when joy or shame sent the colour to her cheeks, But when wrath took\npossession of her--and ere the King's return this often happened--she\ncould look as if she were lifeless, like a marble statue, with lips as\ncolourless as those of a corpse.\n\n\"My father said that the blood of Physkon and other degenerate ancestors,\nwho had not learned to control their passions, was asserting itself in\nher also. But I must continue my story, or the messenger will interrupt\nme too soon.\n\n\"Gabinius was bringing back the King. But from the time of his approach\nwith the Roman army and the auxiliary troops of the Ethnarch of Judea,\nnothing more was learned of him or of Antipater, who commanded the forces\nof Hyrkanus; every one talked constantly of the Roman general Antony. He\nhad led the troops successfully through the deserts between Syria and the\nEgyptian Delta without losing a single man on the dangerous road by the\nSirbonian Sea and Barathra, where many an army had met destruction. Not\nto Antipater, but to him, had the Jewish garrison of Pelusium surrendered\ntheir city without striking a blow. He had conquered in two battles; and\nthe second, where, as you know, Berenike's husband fell after a brave\nresistance, had decided the destiny of the country.\n\n\"From the time his name was first mentioned, neither of the girls could\nhear enough about him. It was said that he was the most aristocratic of\naristocratic Romans, the most reckless of the daring, the wildest of the\nriotous, and the handsomest of the handsome.\n\n\"The waiting-maid from Mantua, with whom Cleopatra practised speaking the\nRoman language, had often seen him, and had heard of him still more\nfrequently--for his mode of life was the theme of gossip among all\nclasses of Roman men and women. His house was said to have descended in a\ndirect line from Hercules, and his figure and magnificent black beard\nrecalled his ancestor. You know him, and know that the things reported of\nhim are those which a young girl cannot hear with indifference, and at\nthat time he was nearly five lustra younger than he is to-day.\n\n\"How eagerly Arsinoe listened when his name was uttered! How Cleopatra\nflushed and paled when Timagenes condemned him as an unprincipled\nlibertine! True, Antony was opening her father's path to his home.\n\n\"The flute-player had not forgotten his daughters. He had remained aloof\nfrom the battle, but as soon as the victory was decided, he pressed on\ninto the city.\n\n\"The road led past our garden.\n\n\"The King had barely time to send a runner to his daughters, fifteen\nminutes before his arrival, to say that he desired to greet them. They\nwere hurriedly attired in festal garments, and both presented an\nappearance that might well gladden a father's heart.\n\n\"Cleopatra was not yet as tall as Arsinoe, but, though only fourteen, she\nlooked like a full-grown maiden, while her sister's face and figure\nshowed that in years she was still a child. But she was no longer one in\nheart. Bouquets for the returning sovereign had been arranged as well as\nhaste permitted. Each one of the girls held one in her hand when the\ntrain approached.\n\n\"My parents accompanied them to the garden gate. I could see what was\npassing, but could hear distinctly only the voices of the men.\n\n\"The King alighted from the travelling chariot, which was drawn by eight\nwhite Median steeds. The chamberlain who attended him was obliged to\nsupport him. His face, reddened by his potations, fairly beamed as he\ngreeted his daughters. His joyful surprise at the sight of both, but\nespecially of Cleopatra, was evident. True, he kissed and embraced\nArsinoe, but after that he had eyes and ears solely for Cleopatra.\n\n\"Yet his younger daughter was very beautiful. Away from her sister, she\nwould have commanded the utmost admiration; but Cleopatra was like the\nsun, beside which every other heavenly body pales. Yet, no; she should\nnot be compared to the sun. It was part of the fascination she exerted\nthat every one felt compelled to gaze at her, to discover the source of\nthe charm which emanated from her whole person.\n\n\"Antony, too, was enthralled by the spell as soon as he heard the first\nwords from her lips. He had dashed up to the King's chariot, and seeing\nthe two daughters by their father's side, he greeted them with a hasty\nsalute. When, in reply to the question whether he might hope for her\ngratitude for bringing her father back to her so quickly, she said that\nas a daughter she sincerely rejoiced, but as an Egyptian the task would\nbe harder, he gazed more keenly at her.\n\n\"I did not know her answer until later; but ere the last sound of her\nvoice had died away, I saw the Roman spring from his charger and fling\nthe bridle to Ammonius--the chamberlain who had assisted the King from\nthe chariot--as if he were his groom. The woman-hunter had met with rare\ngame in his pursuit of the fairest, and while he continued his\nconversation with Cleopatra her father sometimes joined in, and his deep\nlaughter was often heard.\n\n\"No one would have recognized the earnest disciple of Epicurus. We had\noften heard apt replies and original thoughts from Cleopatra's lips, but\nshe had rarely answered Timagenes's jests with another. Now she\nfound--one could see it by watching the speakers--a witty answer to many\nof Antony's remarks. It seemed as if, for the first time, she had met\nsome one for whom she deemed it worth while to bring into the field every\ngift of her deep and quick intelligence. Yet she did not lose for a\nmoment her womanly dignity; her eyes did not sparkle one whit more\nbrightly than during an animated conversation with me or our father.\n\n\"It was very different with Arsinoe. When Antony flung himself from his\nhorse, she had moved nearer to her sister, but, as the Roman continued to\noverlook her, her face crimsoned, she bit her scarlet lips. Her whole\nattitude betrayed the agitation that mastered her, and I, who knew her,\nsaw by the expression of her eyes and her quivering nostrils that she was\non the point of bursting into tears. Though Cleopatra stood so much\nnearer to my heart, I felt sorry for her, and longed to touch the arm of\nthe haughty Roman, who indeed looked like the god of war, and whisper to\nhim to take some little notice of the poor child, who was also a daughter\nof the King.\n\n\"But a still harder blow was destined to fall upon Arsinoe; for when the\nKing, who had been holding both bouquets, warned Antony that it was time\nto depart, he took one, and I heard him say in his deep, loud tones,\n'Whoever calls such flowers his daughters does not need so many others.'\nThen he gave Cleopatra the blossoms and, laying his hand upon his heart,\nexpressed the hope of seeing her in Alexandria, and swung himself upon\nthe charger which the chamberlain, pale with fury, was still holding by\nthe bridle.\n\n\"The flute-player was delighted with his oldest daughter, and told my\nfather he would have the young princess conveyed to the city on the day\nafter the morrow. The next day he had things to do of which he desired\nher to have no knowledge. Our father, in token of his gratitude, should\nretain for himself and his heirs the summer palace and the garden. He\nwould see that the change of owner was entered in the land register. This\nwas really done that very day. It was, indeed, his first act save\none--the execution of his daughter Berenike.\n\n\"This ruler, who would have seemed to any one who beheld his meeting with\nhis children a warm-hearted man and a tender father, at that time would\nhave put half Alexandria to the sword, had not Antony interposed. He\nforbade the bloodshed, and honoured Berenike's dead husband by a stately\nfuneral.\n\n\"As the steed bore him away, he turned back towards Cleopatra; he could\nnot have saluted Arsinoe, for she had rushed into the garden, and her\nswollen face betrayed that she had shed burning tears.\n\n\"From that hour she bitterly hated Cleopatra.\n\n\"On the day appointed, the King brought the princesses to the city with\nregal splendour. The Alexandrians joyously greeted the royal sisters, as,\nseated on a golden throne, over which waved ostrich-feathers, they were\nborne in state down the Street of the King, surrounded by dignitaries,\narmy commanders, the body-guard, and the senate of the city. Cleopatra\nreceived the adulation of the populace with gracious majesty, as if she\nwere already Queen. Whoever had seen her as, with floods of tears, she\nbade us all farewell, assuring us of her gratitude and faithful\nremembrance, the sisterly affection she showed me--I had just been\nelected commander of the Ephebi--\" Here Archibius was interrupted by a\nslave, who announced the arrival of the messenger, and, rising hurriedly,\nhe went to Leonax's workshop, to which the man had been conducted, that\nhe might speak to him alone.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Shadow of the candlestick caught her eye before the light\n     Soul which ceases to regard death as a misfortune finds peace\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThe men sent by Archibius to obtain news had brought back no definite\ninformation; but a short time before, a royal runner had handed him a\ntablet from Iras, requesting him to visit her the next day. Disquieting,\nbut fortunately as yet unverified tidings had arrived. The Regent was\ndoing everything in his power to ascertain the truth; but he (Archibius)\nwas aware of the distrust of the government, and everything connected\nwith it, felt by the sailors and all the seafaring folk at the harbour.\nAn independent person like himself could often learn more than the chief\nof the harbour police, with all his ships and men.\n\nThe little tablet was accompanied by a second, which, in the Regent's\nname, authorized the bearer to have the harbour chains raised anywhere,\nto go out into the open sea and return without interference.\n\nThe messenger, the overseer of Archibius's galley slaves, was an\nexperienced man. He undertook to have the \"Epicurus\"--a swift vessel,\nwhich Cleopatra had given to her friend--ready for a voyage to the open\nsea within two hours. The carriage should be sent for his master, that no\ntime might be lost.\n\nWhen Archibius had returned to the ladies and asked whether it would be\nan abuse of their hospitality, if--it was now nearly midnight--he should\nstill delay his departure for a time, they expressed sincere pleasure,\nand begged him to continue his narrative.\n\n\"I must hasten,\" he hurriedly began, after eating the lunch which\nBerenike had ordered while he was talking with the messenger, \"but the\nevents of the next few years are hardly worth mentioning. Besides, my\ntime was wholly occupied by my studies in the museum.\n\n\"As for Cleopatra and Arsinoe, they stood like queens at the head of all\nthe magnificence of the court. The day on which they left our house was\nthe last of their childhood.\n\n\"Who would venture to determine whether her father's restoration, or the\nmeeting with Antony, had wrought the great change which took place at\nthat time in Cleopatra?\n\n\"Just before she left us, my mother had lamented that she must give her\nto a father like the flute-player, instead of to a worthy mother; for the\nbest could not help regarding herself happy in the possession of such a\ndaughter. Afterwards her character and conduct were better suited to\ndelight men than to please a mother. The yearning for peace of mind\nseemed over. Only the noisy festivals, the singing and music, of which\nthere was never any cessation in the palace of the royal virtuoso, seemed\nto weary her and at such times she appeared at our house and spent\nseveral days beneath its roof. Arsinoe never accompanied her; her heart\nwas sometimes won by a golden-haired officer in the ranks of the German\nhorsemen whom Gabinius had left among the garrison of Alexandria,\nsometimes by a Macedonian noble among the youths who, at that time,\nperformed the service of guarding the palace.\n\n\"Cleopatra lived apart from her, and Arsinoe openly showed her hostility\nfrom the time that she entreated her to put an end to the scandal caused\nby her love affairs.\n\n\"Cleopatra held aloof from such things.\n\n\"Though she had devoted much time to the magic arts of the Egyptians, her\nclear intellect had rendered her so familiar with the philosophy of the\nHellenes that it was a pleasure to hear her converse or argue in the\nmuseum-as she often did-with the leaders of the various schools. Her\nself-confidence had become very strong. Though, while with us, she said\nthat she longed to return to the days of the peaceful Garden of Epicurus,\nshe devoted herself eagerly enough to the events occurring in the world\nand to statecraft. She was familiar with everything in Rome, the desires\nand struggles of the contending parties, as well as the characters of the\nmen who were directing affairs, their qualities, views, and aims.\n\n\"She followed Antony's career with the interest of love, for she had\nbestowed on him the first affection of her young heart. She had expected\nthe greatest achievements, but his subsequent course seemed to belie\nthese lofty hopes. A tinge of scorn coloured her remarks concerning him\nat that time, but here also her heart had its share.\n\n\"Pompey, to whom her father owed his restoration to the throne, she\nconsidered a lucky man, rather than a great and wise one. Of Julius\nCaesar, on the contrary, long before she met him, she spoke with ardent\nenthusiasm, though she knew that he would gladly have made Egypt a Roman\nprovince. The greatest deed which she expected from the energetic Julius\nwas that he would abolish the republic, which she hated, and soar upward\nto tyrannize over the arrogant rulers of the world--only she would fain\nhave seen Antony in his place. How often in those days she used magic art\nto assure herself of his future! Her father was interested in these\nthings, especially as, through them, and the power of the mighty Isis, he\nexpected to obtain relief from his many and severe sufferings.\n\n\"Cleopatra's brothers were still mere boys, completely dependent upon\ntheir guardian, Pothinus, to whom the King left the care of the\ngovernment, and their tutor, Theodotus, a clever but unprincipled\nrhetorician. These two men and Achillas, the commander of the troops,\nwould gladly have aided Dionysus, the King's oldest male heir, to obtain\nthe control of the state, in order afterwards to rule him, but the\nflute-player baffled their plans. You know that in his last will he made\nCleopatra, his favourite child, his successor, but her brother Dionysus\nwas to share the throne as her husband. This caused much scandal in Rome,\nthough it was an old custom of the house of Ptolemy, and suited the\nEgyptians.\n\n\"The flute-player died. Cleopatra became Queen, and at the same time the\nwife of a husband ten years old, for whom she did not even possess the\nnatural gift of sisterly tenderness. But with the obstinate child who had\nbeen told by his counsellors that the right to rule should be his alone,\nshe also married the former governors of the country.\n\n\"Then began a period of sore suffering. Her life was a perpetual battle\nagainst notorious intrigues, the worst of which owed their origin to her\nsister. Arsinoe had surrounded herself with a court of her own, managed\nby the eunuch Ganymedes, an experienced commander, and at the same time a\nshrewd adviser, wholly devoted to her interest. He understood how to\nbring her into close relations with Pothinus and other rulers of the\nstate, and thus at last united all who possessed any power in the royal\npalace in an endeavour to thrust Cleopatra from the throne. Pothinus,\nTheodotus, and Achillas hated her because she saw their failings and made\nthem feel the superiority of her intellect. Their combined efforts might\nhave succeeded in overthrowing her before, had not the Alexandrians,\nheaded by the Ephebi, over whom I still had some influence, stood by her\nso steadfastly. Whoever could still be classed as a youth glowed with\nenthusiasm for her, and most of the Macedonian nobles in the body-guard\nwould have gone to death for her sake, though she had forced them to gaze\nhopelessly up to her as if she were some unapproachable goddess.\n\n\"When her father died she was seventeen, but she knew how to resist\noppressors and foes as if she were a man. My sister, Charmian, whom she\nhad appointed to a place in her service, loyally aided her. At that time\nshe was a beautiful and lovable girl, but the spell exerted by the Queen\nfettered her like chains and bonds. She voluntarily resigned the love of\na noble man--he afterwards became your husband, Berenike--in order not to\nleave her royal friend at a time when she so urgently needed her. Since\nthen my sister has shut her heart against love. It belonged to Cleopatra.\nShe lives, thinks, cares for her alone. She is fond of you, Barine,\nbecause your father was so dear to her. Iras, whose name is so often\nassociated with hers, is the daughter of my oldest sister, who was\nalready married when the King entrusted the princesses to our father's\ncare. She is thirteen years younger than Cleopatra, but her mistress\nholds the first place in her heart also. Her father, the wealthy Krates,\nmade every effort to keep her from entering the service of the Queen, but\nin vain. A single conversation with this marvellous woman had bound her\nforever.\n\n\"But I must be brief. You have doubtless heard how completely Cleopatra\nbewitched Pompey's son during his visit to Alexandria. She had not been\nso gracious to any man since her meeting with Antony, and it was not from\naffection, but to maintain the independence of her beloved native land.\nAt that time the father of Gnejus was the man who possessed the most\npower, and statecraft commanded her to win him through his son. The young\nRoman also took his leave 'full of her,' as the Egyptians say. This\npleased her, but the visit greatly aided her foes. There was no slander\nwhich was not disseminated against her. The commanders of the body-guard,\nwhom she had always treated as a haughty Queen, had seen her associate\nwith Pompey's son in the theatre as if he were a friend of equal rank;\nand on many other occasions the Alexandrians saw her repay his courtesies\nin the same coin. But in those days hatred of Rome surged high. The\nregents, leagued with Arsinoe, spread the rumour that Cleopatra would\ndeliver Egypt up to Pompey, if the senate would secure to her the sole\nsovereignty of the new province, and leave her free to rid herself of her\nroyal brother and husband.\n\n\"She was compelled to fly, and went first to the Syrian frontier, to gain\nfriends for her cause among the Asiatic princes. My brother Straton--you\nremember the noble youth who won the prize for wrestling at Olympia,\nBerenike--and I were commissioned to carry the treasure to her. We\ndoubtless exposed ourselves to great peril, but we did so gladly, and\nleft Alexandria with a few camels, an ox-cart, and some trusted slaves.\nWe were to go to Gaza, where Cleopatra was already beginning to collect\nan army, and had disguised ourselves as Nabataean merchants. The\nlanguages which I had learned, in order not to be distanced by Cleopatra,\nwere now of great service.\n\n\"Those were stirring times. The names of Caesar and Pompey were in every\nmouth. After the defeat at Dyrrachium the cause of Julius seemed lost,\nbut the Pharsalian battle again placed him uppermost, unless the East\nrose in behalf of Pompey. Both seemed to be favourites of Fortune. The\nquestion now was to which the goddess would prove most faithful.\n\n\"My sister Charmian was with the Queen, but through one of Arsinoe's\nmaids, who was devoted to her, we had learned from the palace that\nPompey's fate was decided. He had come a fugitive from the defeat of\nPharsalus, and begged the King of Egypt--that is, the men who were acting\nin his name--for a hospitable reception. Pothinus and his associates had\nrarely confronted a greater embarrassment. The troops and ships of the\nvictorious Caesar were close at hand; many of Gabinius' men were serving\nin the Egyptian army. To receive the vanquished Pompey kindly was to make\nthe victorious Caesar a foe. I was to witness the terrible solution of\nthis dilemma. The infamous words of Theodotus, 'Dead dogs no longer\nbite,' had turned the scale.\n\n\"My brother and I reached Mount Casius with our precious freight, and\npitched our tents to await a messenger, when a large body of armed men\napproached from the city. At first we feared that we were pursued; but a\nspy reported that the King himself was among the soldiery, and at the\nsame time a large Roman galley drew near the coast. It must be Pompey's.\nSo they had changed their views, and the King was coming in person to\nreceive their guest. The troops encamped on the flat shore on which stood\nthe Temple of the Casian Amon.\n\n\"The September sun shone brightly, and was reflected from the weapons.\nFrom the high bank of the dry bed of the river, where we had pitched our\ntent, we saw something scarlet move to and fro. It was the King's mantle.\nThe waves, stirred by the autumn breeze, rippled lightly, blue as\ncornflowers, over the yellow sand of the dunes; but the King stood still,\nshading his eyes with his hand as he gazed at the galley. Meanwhile,\nAchillas, the commander of the troops, and Septimius, the tribune, who\nbelonged to the Roman garrison in Alexandria, and who, I knew, had served\nunder Pompey and owed him many favours, had entered a boat and put off to\nthe vessel, which could not come nearer the land on account of the\nshallow water.\n\n\"The conference now began, and Achillas's offer of hospitality must have\nbeen very warm and well calculated to inspire confidence, for a tall\nlady--it was Cornelia, the wife of the Imperator--waved her hand to him\nin token of gratitude.\"\n\nHere the speaker paused, drew a long breath, and, pressing his hand to\nhis brow, continued \"What follows--alas, that it was my fate to witness\nthe dreadful scene! How often a garbled account has been given, and yet\nthe whole was so terribly simple!\n\n\"Fortune makes her favourites confiding. Pompey was also. Though more\nthan fifty years old--he lacked two years of sixty--he sprang into the\nboat quickly enough, with merely a little assistance from a freedman. A\nsailor--he was a negro--shoved the skiff off from the side of the huge\nship as violently as if the pole he used for the purpose was a spear, and\nthe galley his foe. The boat, urged by his companions' oars, had already\nmoved forward, and he stumbled, the brown cap falling from his woolly\nhead in the act.\n\n\"It seems as if I could still see him. Ere I clearly realized that this\nwas an evil omen, the boat stopped.\n\n\"The water was shallow. I saw Achillas point to the shore. It could be\nreached by a single bound. Pompey looked towards the King. The freedman\nput his hand under his arm to help him rise. Septimius also stood up. I\nthought he intended to assist him. But no! What did this mean? Something\nflashed by the Imperator's silver-grey hair as if a spark had fallen from\nthe sky. Would Pompey defend himself, or why did he raise his hand? It\nwas to draw around him the toga, with which he silently covered his face.\nThe tribune's arm was again raised high into the air, and then--what\nconfusion! Here, there, yonder, hands suddenly appeared aloft, bright\nflashes darted through the clear air. Achillas, the general, dealt blows\nwith his dagger as if he were skilled in murder. The Imperator's stalwart\nfigure sank forward. The freedman supported him.\n\n\"Then shouts arose, here a cry of fury, yonder a wail of grief, and,\nrising above all, a woman's shriek of anguish. It came from the lips of\nCornelia, the murdered man's wife. Shouts of applause from the King's\ncamp followed, then the blast of a trumpet; the Egyptians drew back from\nthe shore. The scarlet cloak again appeared. Septimius, bearing in his\nhand a bleeding head, went towards it and held the ghastly trophy aloft.\n\n\"The royal boy gazed into the dull eyes of the victim, who had guided the\ndestinies of many a battlefield, of Rome, of two quarters of the globe.\nThe sight was probably too terrible for the child upon the throne, for he\naverted his head. The ship moved away from the land, the Egyptians formed\ninto ranks and marched off. Achillas cleansed his blood-stained hands in\nthe sea-water. The freedman beside him washed his master's headless\ntrunk. The general shrugged his shoulders as the faithful fellow heaped\nreproaches on him.\"\n\nHere Archibius paused, drawing a long breath. Then he continued more\ncalmly:\n\n\"Achillas did not lead the troops back to Alexandria, but eastward,\ntowards Pelusium, as I learned later.\n\n\"My brother and I stood on the rocky edge of the ravine. It was long ere\neither spoke. A cloud of dust concealed the King and his body-guard, the\nsails of the galley disappeared. Twilight closed in, and Straton pointed\nwestward towards Alexandria. Then the sun set. Red! red! It seemed as if\na torrent of blood was pouring over the city.\n\n\"Night followed. A scanty fire was glimmering on the strand. Where had\nthe wood been gathered in this desert? How had it been kindled? A\nwrecked, mouldering boat had lain close beside the scene of the murder.\nThe freedman and his companions had broken it up and fed the flames with\nwithered boughs, the torn garments of the murdered man, and dry sea-weed.\nA blaze soon rose, and a body was carefully placed upon the wretched\nfuneral pyre. It was the corpse of the great Pompey. One of the\nImperator's veterans aided the faithful servant.\"\n\nHere Archibius sank back again among the cushions, adding in explanation:\n\n\"Cordus, the man's name was Servius Cordus. He fared well later. The\nQueen provided for him. The others? Fate overtook them all soon enough.\nTheodotus was condemned by Brutus to a torturing death. Amid his loud\nshrieks of agony one of Pompey's veterans shouted, 'Dead dogs no longer\nbite, but they howl when dying!'\n\n\"It was worthy of Caesar that he averted his face in horror from the head\nof his enemy, which Theodotus sent to him. Pothinus, too, vainly awaited\nthe reward of his infamous deed.\n\n\"Julius Caesar had cast anchor before Alexandria shortly after the King's\nreturn. Not until after his arrival in Egypt did he learn how Pompey had\nbeen received there. You know that he remained nine months. How often I\nhave heard it said that Cleopatra understood how to chain him here! This\nis both true and false. He was obliged to stay half a year; the following\nthree months he did indeed give to the woman whom he loved. Ay, the heart\nof the man of fifty-four had again opened to a great passion. Like all\nwounds, those inflicted by the arrows of Eros heal more slowly when youth\nlies behind the stricken one. It was not only the eyes and the senses\nwhich attracted a couple so widely separated by years, but far more the\nmental characteristics of both. Two winged intellects had met. The genius\nof one had recognized that of the other. The highest type of manhood had\nmet perfect womanhood. They could not fail to attract each other. I\nexpected it; for Cleopatra had long watched breathlessly the flight of\nthis eagle who soared so far above the others, and she was strong enough\nto keep at his side.\n\n\"We succeeded in joining Cleopatra, and heard that, spite of the\nhostility of our citizens, Caesar had occupied the palace of the\nPtolemies and was engaged in restoring order.\n\n\"We knew in what way Pothinus, Achillas, and Arsinoe would seek to\ninfluence him. Cleopatra had good reason to fear that her foes might\ndeliver Egypt unconditionally to Rome, if Caesar should leave the reins\nof government in their hands and shut her out. She had cause to dread\nthis, but she also had the courage to act in person in her own behalf.\n\n\"The point now was to bring her into the city, the palace-nay, into\ndirect communication with the dictator. Children tell the tale of the\nstrong man who bore Cleopatra in a sack through the palace portals. It\nwas not a sack which concealed her, but a Syrian carpet. The strong man\nwas my brother Straton. I went first, to secure a free passage.\n\n\"Julius Caesar and she saw and found each other. Fate merely drew the\nconclusion which must result from such premises. Never have I seen\nCleopatra happier, more exalted in mind and heart, yet she was menaced on\nall sides by serious perils. It required all the military genius of\nCaesar to conquer the fierce hostility which he encountered here. It was\nthis, not the thrall of Cleopatra, I repeat, which first bound him to\nEgypt. What would have prevented him--as he did later--from taking the\nobject of his love to Rome, had it been possible at that time? But this\nwas not the case. The Alexandrians provided for that.\n\n\"He had recognized the flute-player's will, nay, had granted more to the\nroyal house than could have been given to the former. Cleopatra and her\nbrother-husband, Dionysus, were to share the government, and he also\nbestowed on Arsinoe and her youngest brother the island of Cyprus, which\nhad been wrested from their uncle Ptolemy by the republic. Rome was, of\ncourse, to remain the guardian of the brothers and sisters.\n\n\"This arrangement was unendurable to Pothinus and the former rulers of\nthe state. Cleopatra as Queen, and Rome--that is Caesar, the dictator,\nher friend, as guardian--meant their removal from power, their\ndestruction, and they resisted violently.\n\n\"The Egyptians and even the Alexandrians supported them. The young King\nhated nothing more than the yoke of the unloved sister, who was so\ngreatly his superior. Caesar had come with a force by no means equal to\ntheirs, and it might be possible to draw the mighty general into a snare.\nThey fought with all the power at their command, with such passionate\neagerness, that the dictator had never been nearer succumbing to peril.\nBut Cleopatra certainly did not paralyze his strength and cautious\ndeliberation. No! He had never been greater; never proved the power of\nhis genius so magnificently. And against what superior power, what hatred\nhe contended! I myself saw the young King, when he heard that Cleopatra\nhad succeeded in entering the palace and meeting Caesar, rush into the\nstreet, fairly crazed by rage, tear the diadem from his head, hurl it on\nthe pavement, and shriek to the passers-by that he was betrayed, until\nCaesar's soldiers forced him back into the palace, and dispersed the mob.\n\n\"Arsinoe had received more than she could venture to expect; but she was\nagain most deeply angered. After Caesar's entry into the palace, she had\nreceived him as Queen, and hoped everything from his favour. Then her\nhated sister had come and, as so often happened, she was forgotten for\nCleopatra's sake.\n\n\"This was too much, and with the eunuch Ganymedes, her confidant, and--as\nI have already said--an able warrior, she left the palace and joined the\ndictator's foes.\n\n\"There were severe battles on land and sea; in the streets of the city,\nfor the drinkable water excavated by the foe; and against the\nconflagration which destroyed part of the Bruchium and the library of the\nmuseum. Yet, half dead with thirst, barely escaped from drowning,\nthreatened on all sides by fierce hatred, he stood firm, and remained\nvictor also in the open field, after the young King had placed himself at\nthe head of the Egyptians and collected an army.\n\n\"You know that the boy was drowned in the flight.\n\n\"In battle and mortal peril, amid blood and the clank of arms, Caesar and\nCleopatra spent half a year ere they were permitted to pluck the fruit of\ntheir common labour. The dictator now made her Queen of Egypt, and gave\nher, as co-regent, her youngest brother, a boy not half her own age. To\nArsinoe he granted the life she had forfeited, but sent her to Italy.\n\n\"Peace followed the victory. Now, it is true, grave duties must have\nsummoned the statesman back to Rome, but he tarried three full months\nlonger.\n\n\"Whoever knows the life of the ambitious Julius, and is aware what this\ndelay might have cost him, may well strike his brow with his hand, and\nask, 'Is it true and possible that he used this precious time to take a\ntrip with the woman he loved up the Nile, to the island of Isis, which is\nso dear to the Queen, to the extreme southern frontier of the country?'\nYet it was so, and I myself went in the second ship, and not only saw\nthem together, but more than once shared their banquets and their\nconversation. It was giving and taking, forcing down and elevating, a\nsuccession of discords, not unpleasant to hear, because experience taught\nthat they would finally terminate in the most beautiful harmony. It was a\nfestal day for all the senses.\"\n\n\"I imagine the whole Nile journey,\" interrupted Barine, \"to be like the\nfairy voyage, when the purple silk sails of Cleopatra's galley bore\nAntony along the Cydnus.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied Archibius, \"she first learned from Antony the art of\nfilling this earthly existence with fleeting pleasures. Caesar demanded\nmore. Her intellect offered him the highest enjoyment.\"\n\nHere he hesitated.\n\n\"True, the skill with which, to please Antony, she daily offered him for\nyears fresh charms for every sense, was not a matter of accident.\"\n\n\"And this,\" cried Barine, \"this was undertaken by the woman who had\nrecognized the chief good in peace of mind!\"\n\n\"Ay,\" replied Archibius thoughtfully, \"yet this was the inevitable\nresult. Pleasure had been the young girl's object in life. Ere passion\nawoke in her soul, peace of mind was the chief good she knew. When the\nhour arrived that this proved unattainable, the firmly rooted yearning\nfor happiness still remained the purpose of her existence. My father\nwould have been wiser to take her to the Stoa and impress it upon her\nthat, if life must have a goal, it should be only to live in accordance\nwith the sensibly arranged course of the world, and in harmony with one's\nown nature. He should have taught her to derive happiness from virtue. He\nshould have stamped goodness upon the soul of the future Queen as the\nfundamental law of her being. He omitted to do this, because in his\nsecluded life he had succeeded in finding the happiness which the master\npromises to his disciples. From Athens to Cyrene, from Epicurus to\nAristippus, is but a short step, and Cleopatra took it when she forgot\nthat the master was far from recognizing the chief good in the enjoyment\nof individual pleasure. The happiness of Epicurus was not inferior to\nthat of Zeus, if he had only barley bread and water to appease his hunger\nand thirst.\n\n\"Yet she still considered herself a follower of Epicurus, and later, when\nAntony had gone to the Parthian war, and she was a long time alone, she\nonce more began to strive for freedom from pain and peace of mind, but\nthe state, her children, the marriage of Antony--who had long been her\nlover--to Octavia, the yearning of her own heart, Anubis, magic, and the\nEgyptian teachings of the life after death, above all, the burning\nambition, the unresting desire to be loved, where she herself loved, to\nbe first among the foremost--\"\n\nHere he was interrupted by the messenger, who informed him that the ship\nwas ready.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nArchibius had buried himself so deeply in the past that it was several\nminutes ere he could bring himself back to the present. When he did so,\nhe hastily discussed with the two ladies the date of their departure.\n\nIt was hard for Berenike to leave her injured brother, and Barine longed\nto see Dion once more before the journey. Both were reluctant to quit\nAlexandria ere decisive news had arrived from the army and the fleet. So\nthey requested a few days' delay; but Archibius cut them short, requiring\nthem, with a resolution which transformed the amiable friend into a stern\nmaster, to be ready for the journey the next day at sunset. His Nile boat\nwould await them at the Agathodaemon harbour on Lake Mareotis, and his\ntravelling chariot would convey them thither, with as much luggage and as\nmany female slaves as they desired to take with them. Then softening his\ntone, he briefly reminded the ladies of the great annoyances to which a\nlonger stay would expose them, excused his rigour on the plea of haste,\npressed the hands of the mother and daughter, and retired without heeding\nBarine, who called after him, yet could desire nothing save to plead for\na longer delay. The carriage bore him swiftly to the great harbour.\n\nThe waxing moon was mirrored like a silver column, now wavering and\ntremulous, now rent by the waves tossing under a strong southeast wind,\nand illumined the warm autumn night. The sea outside was evidently\nrunning high. This was apparent by the motion of the vessels lying at\nanchor in the angle which the shore in front of the superb Temple of\nPoseidon formed with the Choma. This was a tongue of land stretched like\na finger into the sea, on whose point stood a little palace which\nCleopatra, incited by a chance remark of Antony, had had built there to\nsurprise him.\n\nAnother, of white marble, glimmered in the moonlight from the island of\nAntirrhodus; and farther still a blazing fire illumined the darkness. Its\nflames flared from the top of the famous lighthouse on the island of\nPharos at the entrance of the harbour, and, swayed to and fro by the\nwind, steeped the horizon and the outer edge of the dark water in the\nharbour with moving masses of light which irradiated the gloomy distance,\nsometimes faintly, anon more brilliantly.\n\nSpite of the late hour, the harbour was full of bustle, though the wind\noften blew the men's cloaks over their heads, and the women were obliged\nto gather their garments closely around them. True, at this hour commerce\nhad ceased; but many had gone to the port in search of news, or even to\ngreet before others the first ship returning from the victorious fleet;\nfor that Antony had defeated Octavianus in a great battle was deemed\ncertain.\n\nGuards were watching the harbour, and a band of Syrian horsemen had just\npassed from the barracks in the southern part of the Lochias to the\nTemple of Poseidon.\n\nHere the galleys lay at anchor, not in the harbour of Eunostus, which was\nseparated from the other by the broad, bridge-like dam of the\nHeptastadium, that united the city and the island of Pharos. Near it were\nthe royal palaces and the arsenal, and any tidings must first reach this\nspot. The other harbour was devoted to commerce, but, in order to prevent\nthe spread of false reports, newly arrived ships were forbidden to enter.\n\nTrue, even at the great harbour, news could scarcely be expected, for a\nchain stretching from the end of the Pharos to a cliff directly opposite\nin the Alveus Steganus, closed the narrow opening. But it could be raised\nif a state galley arrived with an important message, and this was\nexpected by the throng on the shore.\n\nDoubtless many came from banquets, cookshops, taverns, or the nocturnal\nmeeting-places of the sects that practised the magic arts, yet the weight\nof anxious expectation seemed to check the joyous activity, and wherever\nArchibius glanced he beheld eager, troubled faces. The wind forced many\nto bow their heads, and, wherever they turned their eyes, flags and\nclouds of dust were fluttering in the air, increasing the confusion.\n\nAs the galley put off from the shore, and the flutes summoned the oarsmen\nto their toil, its owner felt so disheartened that he did not even\nventure to hope that he was going in quest of good tidings.\n\nLong-vanished days had, as it were, been called from the grave, and many\na scene from the past rose before him as he lay among the cushions on the\npoop, gazing at the sky, across which dark, swiftly sailing clouds\nsometimes veiled the stars and again revealed them.\n\n\"How much we can conceal by words without being guilty of falsehood!\" he\nmurmured, while recalling what he had told the women.\n\nAy, he had been Cleopatra's confidant in his early youth, but how he had\nloved her, how, even as a boy, he had been subject to her, body and soul!\nHe had allowed her to see it, displayed, confessed it; and she had\naccepted it as her rightful due. She had repelled with angry pride his\nonly attempt to clasp her, in his overflowing affection, in his arms; but\nto show his love for her is a crime for which the loftiest woman pardons\nthe humblest suitor, and a few hours later Cleopatra had met him with the\nold affectionate familiarity.\n\nAgain he recalled the torments which he had endured when compelled to\nwitness how completely she yielded to the passion which drew her to\nAntony. At that time the Roman had merely swept through her life like a\nswiftly passing meteor, but many things betrayed that she did not forget\nhim; and while Archibius had seen without pain her love for the great\nCaesar bud and grow, the torturing feeling of jealousy again stirred in\nhis heart, though youth was past, when at Tarsus, on the river Cydnus,\nshe renewed the bond which still united her to Antony.\n\nNow his hair had grown grey, and though nothing had clouded his\nfriendship for the Queen, though he had always been ready to serve her,\nthis foolish feeling had not been banished, and again and again mastered\nhis whole being. He by no means undervalued Antony's attractions; but he\nsaw his foibles no less clearly. All in all, whenever he thought of this\npair, he felt like the lover of art who entrusts the finest gem in his\ncollection to a rich man who knows not how to prize its real value, and\nputs it in the wrong place.\n\nYet he wished the Roman the most brilliant victory; for his defeat would\nhave been Cleopatra's also, and would she endure the consequences of such\na disaster?\n\nThe galley was approaching the flickering circle of light at the foot of\nthe Pharos, and Archibius was just producing the token which was to\nsecure the lifting of the chain, when his name echoed through the\nstillness of the night.\n\nIt was Dion hailing him from a boat tossing near the mouth of the harbour\non the waves surging in from the turbulent sea. He had recognized\nArchibius's swift galley from the bust of Epicurus which was illumined by\nthe light of the lantern in the prow. Cleopatra had had it placed upon\nthe ship which, by her orders, had been built for her friend.\n\nDion now desired to join him, and was soon standing on the deck at his\nside. He had landed on the island of Pharos, and entered a sailors'\ntavern to learn what was passing. But no one could give him any definite\ninformation, for the wind was blowing from the land and allowed large\nvessels to approach the Egyptian coast only by the aid of oars. Shortly\nbefore the breeze had veered from south to southeast, and an experienced\nRhodian would \"never again lift cup of wine to his lips\" if it did not\nblow from the north to-morrow or the day after. Then ships bearing news\nmight reach Alexandria by the dozen--that is, the greybeard added with a\ndefiant glance at the daintily clad city gentleman--if they were allowed\nto pass the Pharos or go through the Poseidon basin into the Eunostus. He\nhad fancied that he saw sails on the horizon at sunset, but the swiftest\ngalley became a hedgehog when the wind blew against its prow, and even\nchecked the oars.\n\nOthers, too, had fancied that they had seen sails, and Dion would gladly\nhave gone out to sea to investigate, but he was entirely alone in a frail\nhired boat, and this would not have been permitted to pass beyond the\nharbour. The expectation that every road would be open to Archibius had\nnot deceived him, and the harbour chain was drawn aside for the Epicurus.\nWith swelling sails, urged by the strong wind blowing from the southeast,\nits keel cut the rolling waves.\n\nSoon a faint, tremulous light appeared in the north. It must be a ship;\nand though the helmsman in the tavern at Pharos, who looked as though he\nhad not always steered peaceful trading-vessels, had spoken of some which\ndid not let the ships they caught pass unscathed, the men on the\nwell-equipped, stately Epicurus did not fear pirates, especially as\nmorning was close at hand, and it had just shot by two clumsy men-of-war\nwhich had been sent out by the Regent.\n\nThe strong wind filled every sail, rowing would have been useless labour,\nand the light in front seemed to be coming nearer.\n\nA wan glimmer was already beginning to brighten the distant east when the\nEpicurus approached the vessel with the light, but it seemed to wish to\navoid the Alexandrian, and turned suddenly towards the northeast.\n\nArchibius and Dion now discussed whether it would be worth while to\npursue the fugitive. It was a small ship, which, as the dark masses of\nclouds became bordered with golden edges, grew more distinct and appeared\nto be a Cilician pirate of the smallest size.\n\nAs to its crew, the tried sailors on the Epicurus, a much larger vessel,\nwhich lacked no means of defence, showed no signs of alarm, the helmsman\nespecially, who had served in the fleet of Sextus Pompey, and had sprung\nupon the deck of many a pirate ship.\n\nArchibius deemed it foolish to commence a conflict unnecessarily. But\nDion was in the mood to brave every peril.\n\nIf life and death were at stake, so much the better!\n\nHe had informed his friend of Iras's fears.\n\nThe fleet must be in a critical situation, and if the little Cilician had\nhad nothing to conceal she would not have shunned the Epicurus.\n\nIt was worth while to learn what had induced her to turn back just before\nreaching the harbour. The warlike helmsman also desired to give chase,\nand Archibius yielded, for the uncertainty was becoming more and more\nunbearable. Dion's soul was deeply burdened too. He could not banish\nBarine's image; and since Archibius had told him that he had found her\nresolved to shut her house against guests, and how willingly she had\naccepted his invitation to the country, again and again he pondered over\nthe question what should prevent his marrying the quiet daughter of a\ndistinguished artist, whom he loved?\n\nArchibius had remarked that Barine would be glad to greet her most\nintimate friends--among whom he was included--in her quiet country.\n\nDion did not doubt this, but he was equally sure that the greeting would\nbind him to her and rub him of his liberty, perhaps forever. But would\nthe Alexandrian possess the lofty gift of freedom, if the Romans ruled\nhis city as they governed Carthage or Corinth? If Cleopatra were\ndefeated, and Egypt became a Roman province, a share in the business of\nthe council, which was still addressed as \"Macedonian men,\" and which was\ndear to Dion, could offer nothing but humiliation, and no longer afford\nsatisfaction.\n\nIf a pirate's spear put an end to bondage under the Roman yoke and to\nthis unworthy yearning and wavering, so much the better!\n\nOn this autumn morning, under this grey sky, from which sank a damp,\nlight fog, with these hopes and fears in his heart, he beheld in both the\npresent and future naught save shadows.\n\nThe Epicurus overtook and captured the fugitive. The slight resistance\nthe vessel might have offered was relinquished when Archibius's helmsman\nshouted that the Epicurus did not belong to the royal navy, and had come\nin search of news.\n\nThe Cilician took in his oars; Archibius and Dion entered the vessel and\nquestioned the commander.\n\nHe was an old, weather-beaten seaman, who would give no information until\nafter he had learned what his pursuers really desired.\n\nAt first he protested that he had witnessed on the Peloponnesian coast a\ngreat victory gained by the Egyptian galleys over those commanded by\nOctavianus; but the queries of the two friends involved him in\ncontradictions, and he then pretended to know nothing, and to have spoken\nof a victory merely to please the Alexandrian gentlemen.\n\nDion, accompanied by a few men from the crew of the Epicurus, searched\nthe ship, and found in the little cabin a man bound and gagged, guarded\nby one of the pirates.\n\nIt was a sailor from the Pontus, who spoke only his native language.\nNothing intelligible could be obtained from him; but there were important\nsuggestions in a letter, found in a chest in the cabin, among clothing,\njewels, and other stolen articles.\n\nThe letter-Dion could scarcely believe his own eyes-was addressed to his\nfriend, the architect Gorgias. The pirate, being ignorant of writing, had\nnot opened it, but Dion tore the wax from the cord without delay.\nAristocrates, the Greek rhetorician, who had accompanied Antony to the\nwar, had written from Taenarum, in the south of the Peloponnesus,\nrequesting the architect, in the general's name, to set the little palace\nat the end of the Choma in order, and surround it on the land side with a\nhigh wall.\n\nNo door would be necessary. Communication with the dwelling could be had\nby water. He must do his utmost to complete the work speedily.\n\nThe friends gazed at each other in astonishment, as they read this\ncommission.\n\nWhat could induce Antony to give so strange an order? How did it fall\ninto the hands of the pirates?\n\nThis must be understood.\n\nWhen Archibius, whose gentle nature, so well adapted to inspire\nconfidence, quickly won friends, burst into passionate excitement, the\nunexpected transition rarely failed to produce its effect, especially as\nhis tall, strong figure and marked features made a still more threatening\nimpression.\n\nEven the captain gazed at him with fear, when the Alexandrian threatened\nto recall all his promises of consideration and mercy if the pirate\nwithheld even the smallest trifle connected with this letter. The man\nspeedily perceived that it would be useless to make false statements; for\nthe captive from Pontus, though unable to speak Greek, understood the\nlanguage, and either confirmed every remark of the other with vehement\ngestures, or branded it in the same manner as false.\n\nThus it was discovered that the pirate craft, in company with a much\nlarger vessel, owned by a companion, had lurked behind the promontory of\nCrete for a prize. They had neither seen nor heard aught concerning the\ntwo fleets, when a dainty galley, \"the finest and fleetest that ever\nsailed in the sea\"--it was probably the \"Swallow,\" Antony's\ndespatch-boat-had run into the snare. To capture her was an easy task.\nThe pirates had divided their booty, but the lion's share of goods and\nmen had fallen to the larger ship.\n\nA pouch containing letters and money had been taken from a gentleman of\naristocratic appearance--probably Antony's messenger--who had received a\nsevere wound, died, and had been flung into the sea. The former had been\nused to light the fire, and only the one addressed to the architect\nremained.\n\nThe captured sailors had said that the fleet of Octavianus had defeated\nCleopatra's, and the Queen had fled, but that the land forces were still\nuntouched, and might yet decide the conflict in Antony's favour. The\npirate protested that he did not know the position of the army--it might\nbe at Taenarum, whence the captured ship came. It was a sin and a shame,\nbut his own crew had set it on fire, and it sank before his eyes.\n\nThis report seemed to be true, yet the Acharnanian coast, where the\nbattle was said to have been fought, was so far from the southern point\nof the Peloponnesus, whence Antony's letter came, that it must have been\nwritten during the flight. One thing appeared to be certain--the fleet\nhad been vanquished and dispersed on the 2d or 3d of September.\n\nWhere would the Queen go now? What had become of the magnificent galleys\nwhich had accompanied her to the battle?\n\nEven the contrary winds would not have detained them so long, for they\nwere abundantly supplied with rowers.\n\nHad Octavianus taken possession of them? Were they burned or sunk?\n\nBut in that case how had Antony reached Taenarum?\n\nThe pirate could give no answer to these questions, which stirred both\nheart and brain. Why should he conceal what had reached his ears?\n\nAt last Archibius ordered the property stolen from Antony's ship, and the\nliberated sailor to be brought on board the Epicurus, but the pirate was\nobliged to swear not to remain in the waters between Crete and\nAlexandria. Then he was suffered to pursue his way unmolested.\n\nThis adventure had occupied many hours, and the return against the wind\nwas slow; for, during the chase the Epicurus had been carried by the\nstrong breeze far out to sea. Yet, when still several miles from the\nmouth of the harbour at the Pharos, it was evident that the Rhodian\nhelmsman in the island tavern had predicted truly; for the weather\nchanged with unusual speed, and the wind now blew from the north. The sea\nfairly swarmed with ships, some belonging to the royal fleet, some to\ncurious Alexandrians, who had sailed out to take a survey. Archibius and\nDion had spent a sleepless night and day. The heavy air, pervaded by a\nfine mist, had grown cool. After refreshing themselves by a repast, they\npaced up and down the deck of the Epicurus.\n\nFew words were exchanged, and they wrapped their cloaks closer around\nthem. Both had quaffed large draughts of the fiery wine with which the\nEpicurus was well supplied, but it would not warm them. Even the fire,\nblazing brightly in the richly furnished cabin, could scarcely do so.\n\nArchibius's thoughts lingered with his beloved Queen, and his vivid power\nof imagination conjured before his mind everything which could distress\nher. No possible chance, not even the most terrible, was forgotten, and\nwhen he saw her sinking in the ship, stretching her beautiful arms\nimploringly towards him, to whom she had so long turned in every perilous\nposition, when he beheld her a captive in the presence of the hostile,\ncold-hearted Octavianus, the blood seemed to freeze in his veins. At last\nhe dropped his felt mantle and, groaning aloud, struck his brow with his\nclenched hand. He had fancied her walking with gold chains on her slender\nwrists before the victor's four-horse chariot, and heard the exulting\nshouts of the Roman populace.\n\nThat would have been the most terrible of all. To pursue this train of\nthought was beyond the endurance of the faithful friend, and Dion turned\nin surprise as he heard him sob and saw the tears which bedewed his face.\n\nHis own heart was heavy enough, but he knew his companion's warm devotion\nto the Queen; so, passing his arm around his shoulder, he entreated him\nto maintain that peace of soul and mind which he had so often admired. In\nthe most critical situations he had seen him stand high above them, as\nyonder man who fed the flames on the summit of the Pharos stood above the\nwild surges of the sea. If he would reflect over what had happened as\ndispassionately as usual, he could not fail to see that Antony must be\nfree and in a position to guide his own future, since he directed the\npalace in the Choma to be put in order. He did not understand about the\nwall, but perhaps he was bringing home some distinguished captive whom he\nwished to debar from all communication with the city. It might prove that\neverything was far better than they feared, and they would yet smile at\nthese grievous anxieties. His heart, too, was heavy, for he wished the\nQueen the best fortune, not only for her own sake, but because with her\nand her successful resistance to the greed of Rome was connected the\nliberty of Alexandria.\n\n\"My love and anxiety, like yours,\" he concluded, \"have ever been given to\nher, the sovereign of this country. The world will be desolate, life will\nno longer be worth living, if the iron foot of Rome crushes our\nindependence and freedom.\" The words had sounded cordial and sincere, and\nArchibius followed Dion's counsel. Calm thought convinced him that\nnothing had yet happened which compelled belief in the worst result; and,\nas one who needs consolation often finds relief in comforting another,\nArchibius cheered his own heart by representing to his younger friend\nthat, even if Octavianus were the victor and should deprive Egypt of her\nindependence, he would scarcely venture to take from the citizens of\nAlexandria the free control of their own affairs. Then he explained to\nDion that, as a young, resolute, independent man, he might render himself\ndoubly useful if it were necessary to guard the endangered liberty of the\ncity, and told him how many beautiful things life still held in store.\n\nHis voice expressed anxious tenderness for his young friend. No one had\nspoken thus to Dion since his father's death.\n\nThe Epicurus would soon reach the mouth of the harbour, and after landing\nhe must again leave Archibius.\n\nThe decisive hour which often unites earnest men more firmly than many\nprevious years had come to both. They had opened their hearts to each\nother. Dion had withheld only the one thing which, at the first sight of\nthe houses in the city, filled his soul with fresh uneasiness.\n\nIt was long since he had sought counsel from others. Many who had asked\nhis, had left him with thanks, to do exactly the opposite of what he had\nadvised, though it would have been to their advantage. More than once he,\ntoo, had done the same, but now a powerful impulse urged him to confide\nin Archibius. He knew Barine, and wished her the greatest happiness.\nPerhaps it would be wise to let another person, who was kindly disposed,\nconsider what his own heart so eagerly demanded and prudence forbade.\n\nHastily forming his resolution, he again turned to his friend, saying:\n\n\"You have shown yourself a father to me. Imagine that I am indeed your\nson, and, as such wished to confess that a woman had become dear to my\nheart, and to ask whether you would be glad to greet her as a daughter.\"\n\nHere Archibius interrupted him with the exclamation: \"A ray of light amid\nall this gloom? Grasp what you have too long neglected as soon as\npossible! It befits a good citizen to marry. The Greek does not attain\nfull manhood till he becomes husband and father. If I have remained\nunwedded, there was a special reason for it, and how often I have envied\nthe cobbler whom I saw standing before his shop in the evening, holding\nhis child in his arms, or the pilot, to whom large and small hands were\nstretched in greeting when he returned home! When I enter my dwelling\nonly my dogs rejoice. But you, whose beautiful palace stands empty, to\nwhose proud family it is due that you should provide for its\ncontinuance--\"\n\n\"That is just what brings me into a state of indecision, which is usually\nforeign to my nature,\" interrupted Dion. \"You know me and my position in\nthe world, and you have also known from her earliest childhood the woman\nto whom I allude.\"\n\n\"Iras?\" asked his companion, hesitatingly. His sister, Charmian, had told\nhim of the love felt by the Queen's younger waiting-woman.\n\nBut Dion eagerly denied this, adding I am speaking of Barine, the\ndaughter of your dead friend Leonax. \"I love her, yet my pride is\nsensitive, and I know that it will extend to my future wife. The\ncontemptuous glances which others might cast at her I should scorn, for I\nknow her worth. Surely you remember my mother: she was a very different\nwoman. Her house, her child, the slaves, her loom, were everything to\nher. She rigidly exacted from other women the chaste reserve which was a\nmarked trait in her own character. Yet she was gentle, and loved me, her\nonly son, beyond aught else. I think she would have opened her arms to\nBarine, had she believed that she was necessary to my happiness. But\nwould the young beauty, accustomed to gay intercourse with distinguished\nmen, have been able to submit to her demands? When I consider that she\ncannot help taking into her married life the habit of being surrounded\nand courted; when I think that the imprudence of a woman accustomed to\nperfect freedom might set idle tongues in motion, and cast a shadow upon\nthe radiant purity of my name; when I even--\" and he raised his clenched\nright hand. But Archibius answered soothingly:\n\n\"That anxiety is groundless if Barine warmly and joyfully gives you her\nwhole heart. It is a sunny, lovable, true woman's heart, and therefore\ncapable of a great love. If she bestows it on you--and I believe she\nwill--go and offer sacrifices in your gratitude; for the immortals\ndesired your happiness when they guided your choice to her and not to\nIras, my own sister's child. If you were really my son, I would now\nexclaim, 'You could not bring me a dearer daughter, if--I repeat it--if\nyou are sure of her love.'\"\n\nDion gazed into vacancy a short time, and then cried firmly: \"I am!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe Epicurus anchored before the Temple of Poseidon. The crew had been\nordered to keep silence, though they knew nothing, except that a letter\nfrom Antony, commanding the erection of a wall, had been found on board\nthe pirate. This might be regarded as a good omen, for people do not\nthink of building unless they anticipate a time of peace.\n\nThe light rain had ceased, but the wind blew more strongly from the\nnorth, and the air had grown cool. A dense throng still covered the quay\nfrom the southern end of the Heptastadium to the promontory of Lochias.\nThe strongest pressure was between the peninsula of the Choma and the\nSebasteum; for this afforded a view of the sea, and the first tidings\nmust reach the residence of the Regent, which was connected with the\npalace.\n\nA hundred contradictory rumours had been in circulation that morning; and\nwhen, at the third hour in the afternoon, the Epicurus arrived, it was\nsurrounded by a dense multitude eager to hear what news the ship had\nbrought from without.\n\nOther vessels shared the same fate, but none could give reliable tidings.\n\nTwo swift galleys from the royal fleet reported meeting a Samian trireme,\nwhich had given news of a great victory gained by Antony on the land and\nCleopatra on the sea, and, as men are most ready to believe what they\ndesire, throngs of exulting men and women moved to and fro along the\nshore, strengthening by their confidence many a timorous spirit. Prudent\npeople, who had regarded the long delay of the first ships of the fleet\nwith anxiety, had opened their ears to the tales of evil, and looked\nforward to the future with uneasiness. But they avoided giving expression\nto their fears, for the overseer of an establishment for gold embroidery,\nwho had ventured to warn the people against premature rejoicing, had\nlimped home badly beaten, and two other pessimists who had been flung in\nthe sea had just been dragged out dripping wet.\n\nNor could the multitude be blamed for this confidence; for at the\nSerapeum, the theatre of Dionysus, the lofty pylons of the Sebasteum, the\nmain door of the museum, in front of the entrance of the palace in the\nBruchium, and before the fortress-like palaces in the Lochias, triumphal\narches had been erected, adorned with gods of victory and trophies\nhastily constructed of plaster, inscriptions of congratulations and\nthanks to the deities, garlands of foliage and flowers. The wreathing of\nthe Egyptian pylons and obelisks, the principal temple, and the favourite\nstatues in the city had been commenced during the night. The last touches\nwere now being given to the work.\n\nGorgias, like his friend Dion, had not closed his eyes since the night\nbefore; for he had had charge of all the decorations of the Bruchium,\nwhere one superb building adjoined another.\n\nSleep had also fled from the couches of the occupants of the Sebasteum,\nthe royal palace where Iras lived during the absence of the Queen, and\nthe practorium, facing its southern front, which contained the official\nresidence of the Regent.\n\nWhen Archibius was conducted to the Queen's waiting-woman, her appearance\nfairly startled him. She had been his guest in Kanopus only the day\nbefore yesterday, and how great was the alteration within this brief\ntime! Her oval face seemed to have lengthened, the features to have grown\nsharper; and this woman of seven-and-twenty years, who had hitherto\nretained all the charms of youth, appeared suddenly to have aged a\ndecade. There was a feverish excitement in her manner, as, holding out\nher hand to her uncle, in greeting, she exclaimed hastily, \"You, too,\nbring no good tidings?\"\n\n\"Nor any evil ones,\" he answered quietly. \"But, child, I do not like your\nappearance--the dark circles under your keen eyes. You have had news\nwhich rouses your anxiety?\"\n\n\"Worse than that,\" she answered in a low tone.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Read!\" gasped Iras, her lips and nostrils quivering as she handed\nArchibius a small tablet. With a gesture of haste very unusual in him, he\nsnatched it from her hand and, as his eyes ran over the words traced upon\nit, every vestige of colour vanished from his cheeks and lips.\n\nThey were written by Cleopatra's own hand, and contained the following\nlines:\n\n\"The naval battle was lost--and by my fault. The land forces might still\nsave us, but not under his command. He is with me, uninjured, but\napparently exhausted; like a different being, bereft of courage, listless\nas if utterly crushed. I foresee the beginning of the end. As soon as\nthis reaches you, arrange to have some unpretending litters ready for us\nevery evening at sunset. Make the people believe that we have conquered\nuntil trustworthy intelligence arrives concerning the fate of Canidius\nand the army. When you kiss the children in my name, be very tender with\nthem. Who knows how soon they may be orphaned? They already have an\nunhappy mother; may they be spared the memory of a cowardly one! Trust no\none except those whom I left in authority, and Archibius, not even\nCaesarion or Antyllus. Provide for having every one whose aid may be\nvaluable to me within reach when I come. I cannot close with the familiar\n'Rejoice'--the 'Fresh Courage' placed on many a tombstone seems more\nappropriate. You who did not envy me in my happiness will help me to bear\nmisfortune. Epicurus, who believes that the gods merely watch the destiny\nof men inactively from their blissful heights, is right. Were it\notherwise, how could the love and loyalty which cleave to the hapless,\ndefeated woman, be repaid with anguish of heart and tears? Yet continue\nto love her.\"\n\nArchibius, pale and silent, let the tablet fall. It was long ere he\ngasped hoarsely: \"I foresaw it; yet now that it is here--\" His voice\nfailed, and violent, tearless sobs shook his powerful frame.\n\nSinking on a couch he buried his face amid the cushions.\n\nIras gazed at the strong man and shook her head. She, too, loved the\nQueen; the news had brought tears to her eyes also; but even while she\nwept, a host of plans coping with this disaster had darted through her\nrestless brain. A few minutes after the arrival of the message of\nmisfortune she had consulted with the members of Cleopatra's council, and\nadopted measures for sustaining the people's belief in the naval victory.\n\nWhat was she, the delicate, by no means courageous girl, compared to this\nman of iron strength who, she was well aware, had braved the greatest\nperils in the service of the Queen? Yet there he lay with his face hidden\nin the pillows as if utterly overwhelmed.\n\nDid a woman's soul rebound more quickly after being crushed beneath the\nburdens of the heaviest suffering, or was hers of a special character,\nand her slender body the casket of a hero's nature?\n\nShe had reason to believe so when she recalled how the Regent and the\nKeeper of the Seal had received the terrible news. They had rushed\nfrantically up and down the vast hall as if desperate; but Mardion the\neunuch had little manhood, and Zeno was a characterless old author who\nhad won the Queen's esteem, and the high office which he occupied solely\nby the vivid power of imagination, that enabled him constantly to devise\nnew exhibitions, amusements, and entertainments, and present them with\nmagical splendour.\n\nBut Archibius, the brave, circumspect counsellor and helper?\n\nHis shoulders again quivered as if they had received a blow, and Iras\nsuddenly remembered what she had long known, but never fully\nrealized--that yonder grey-haired man loved Cleopatra, loved her as she\nherself loved Dion; and she wondered whether she would have been strong\nenough to maintain her composure if she had learned that a cruel fate\nthreatened to rob him of life, liberty, and honour.\n\nHour after hour she had vainly awaited the young Alexandrian, yet he had\nwitnessed her anxiety the day before. Had she offended him? Was he\ndetained by the spell of Didymus's granddaughter?\n\nIt seemed a great wrong that, amid the unspeakably terrible misfortune\nwhich had overtaken her mistress, she could not refrain from thinking\ncontinually of Dion. Even as his image filled her heart, Cleopatra's\nruled her uncle's mind and soul, and she said to herself that it was not\nalone among women that love paid no heed to years, or whether the locks\nwere brown or tinged with grey.\n\nBut Archibius now raised himself, left the couch, passed his hand across\nhis brow, and in the deep, calm tones natural to his voice, began with a\nsorrowful smile: \"A man stricken by an arrow leaves the fray to have his\nwound bandaged. The surgeon has now finished his task. I ought to have\nspared you this pitiable spectacle, child. But I am again ready for the\nbattle. Cleopatra's account of Antony's condition renders a piece of news\nwhich we have just received somewhat more intelligible.\"\n\n\"We?\" replied Iras. \"Who was your companion?\"\n\n\"Dion,\" answered Archibius; but when he was about to describe the\nincidents of the preceding night, she interrupted him with the question\nwhether Barine had consented to leave the city. He assented with a curt\n\"Yes,\" but Iras assumed the manner of having expected nothing different,\nand requested him to continue his story.\n\nArchibius now related everything which they had experienced, and their\ndiscovery in the pirate ship. Dion was even now on the way to carry\nAntony's order to his friend Gorgias.\n\n\"Any slave might have attended to that matter equally well,\" Iras\nremarked in an irritated tone. \"I should think he would have more reason\nto expect trustworthy tidings here. But that's the way with men!\"\n\nHere she hesitated but, meeting an inquiring glance from her uncle, she\nwent on eagerly; \"Nothing, I believe, binds them more firmly to one\nanother than mutual pleasure. But that must now be over. They will seek\nother amusements, whether with Heliodora or Thais I care not. If the\nwoman had only gone before! When she caught young Caesarion--\"\n\n\"Stay, child,\" her uncle interrupted reprovingly. \"I know how much she\nwould rejoice if Antyllus had never brought the boy to her house.\"\n\n\"Now--because the poor deluded lad's infatuation alarms her.\"\n\n\"No, from his first visit. Immature boys do not suit the distinguished\nmen whom she receives.\"\n\n\"If the door is always kept open, thieves will enter the house.\"\n\n\"She received only old acquaintances, and the friends whom they\npresented. Her house was closed to all others. So there was no trouble\nwith thieves. But who in Alexandria could venture to refuse admittance to\na son of the Queen?\"\n\n\"There is a wide difference between quiet admittance and fanning a\npassion to madness. Wherever a fire is burning, there has certainly been\na spark to kindle it. You men do not detect such women's work. A glance,\na pressure of the hand, even the light touch of a garment, and the flame\nblazes, where such inflammable material lies ready.\"\n\n\"We lament the violence of the conflagration. You are not well disposed\ntowards Barine.\"\n\n\"I care no more for her than this couch here cares for the statue of\nMercury in the street!\" exclaimed Iras, with repellent arrogance. \"There\ncould be no two things in the world more utterly alien than we. Between\nthe woman whose door stands open, and me, there is nothing in common save\nour sex.\"\n\n\"And,\" replied Archibius reprovingly, \"many a beautiful gift which the\ngods bestowed upon her as well as upon you. As for the open door, it was\nclosed yesterday. The thieves of whom you spoke spoiled her pleasure in\ngranting hospitality. Antyllus forced himself with noisy impetuosity into\nher house. This made her dread still more unprecedented conduct in the\nfuture. In a few hours she will be on the way to Irenia. I am glad for\nCaesarion's sake, and still more for his mother's, whom we have wronged\nby forgetting so long for another.\"\n\n\"To think that we should be forced to do so!\" cried Iras excitedly--\"\nnow, at this hour, when every drop of blood, every thought of this poor\nbrain should belong to the Queen! Yet it could not be avoided. Cleopatra\nis returning to us with a heart bleeding from a hundred wounds, and it is\nterrible to think that a new arrow must strike her as soon as she steps\nupon her native soil. You know how she loves the boy, who is the living\nimage of the great man with whom she shared the highest joys of love.\nWhen she learns that he, the son of Caesar, has given his young heart to\nthe cast-off wife of a street orator, a woman whose home attracted men as\nripe dates lure birds, it will be--I know--like rubbing salt into her\nfresh wounds. Alas! and the one sorrow will not be all. Antony, her\nhusband, also found the way to Barine. He sought her more than once. You\ncannot know it as I do; but Charmian will tell you how sensitive she has\nbecome since the flower of her youthful charms--you don't perceive it--is\nlosing one leaf after another. Jealousy will torture her, and--I know her\nwell--perhaps no one will ever render the siren a greater service than I\ndid when I compelled her to leave the city.\"\n\nThe eyes of Archibius's clever niece had glittered with such hostile\nfeeling as she spoke that he thought with just anxiety of his dead\nfriend's daughter. What did not yet threaten Barine as serious danger\nIras had the power to transform into grave peril.\n\nDion had begged him to maintain strict secrecy; but even had he been\npermitted to speak, he would not have done so now. From his knowledge of\nIras's character she might be expected, if she learned that some one had\ncome between her and the friend of her youth, to shrink from no means of\nspoiling her game. He remembered the noble Macedonian maiden whom the\nQueen had begun to favour, and who was hunted to death by Iras's hostile\nintrigues. Few were more clever, and--if she once loved--more loyal and\ndevoted, more yielding, pliant, and in happy hours more bewitching, yet\neven in childhood she had preferred a winding path to a straight one. It\nseemed as if her shrewdness scorned to attain the end desired by the\nsimple method lying close at hand. How willingly his mother and his\nyounger sister Charmian had cared for the slaves and nursed them when\nthey were ill; nay, Charmian had gained in her Nubian maid Aniukis a\nfriend who would have gone to death for her sake! Cleopatra, too, when a\nchild, had found sincere delight in taking a bouquet to his parents' sick\nold housekeeper and sitting by her bedside to shorten the time for her\nwith merry talk. She had gone to her unasked, while Iras had often been\npunished because she had made the lives of numerous slaves in her\nparents' household still harder by unreasonable harshness. This trait in\nher character had roused her uncle's anxiety and, in after-years, her\ntreatment of her inferiors had been such that he could not number her\namong the excellent of her sex. Therefore he was the more joyfully\nsurprised by the loyal, unselfish love with which she devoted herself to\nthe service of the Queen. Cleopatra had gratified Charmian's wish to have\nher niece for an assistant; and Iras, who had never been a loving\ndaughter to her own faithful mother, had served her royal mistress with\nthe utmost tenderness.\n\nArchibius valued this loyalty highly, but he knew what awaited any one\nwho became the object of her hatred, and the fear that it would involve\nBarine in urgent peril was added to his still greater anxiety for\nCleopatra.\n\nWhen about to depart, burdened by the sorrowful conviction that he was\npowerless against his niece's malevolent purpose, he was detained by the\nrepresentation that every fresh piece of intelligence would first reach\nthe Sebasteum and her. Some question might easily arise which his calm,\nprudent mind could decide far better than hers, whose troubled condition\nresembled a shallow pool disturbed by stones flung into the waves.\n\nThe apartments of his sister Charmian, which were connected with his by a\ncorridor, were empty, and Iras begged him to remain there a short time.\nThe anxiety and dread that oppressed her heart would kill her. To know\nthat he was near would be the greatest comfort.\n\nWhen Archibius hesitated because he deemed it his duty to urge Caesarion,\nover whom he possessed some influence, to give up his foolish wishes for\nhis mother's sake, Iras assured him that he would not find the youth. He\nhad gone hunting with Antyllus and some other friends. She had approved\nthe plan, because it removed him from the city and Barine's dangerous\nhouse.\n\n\"As the Queen does not wish him to know the terrible news yet,\" she\nconcluded, \"his presence would only have caused us embarrassment. So\nstay, and when it grows dark go with us to the Lochias. I think it will\nplease the sorrowing woman, when she lands, to see your familiar face,\nwhich will remind her of happier days. Do me the favour to stay.\" She\nheld out both hands beseechingly as she spoke, and Archibius consented.\n\nA repast was served, and he shared it with his niece; but Iras did not\ntouch the carefully chosen viands, and Archibius barely tasted them.\nThen, without waiting for dessert, he rose to go to his sister's\napartments. But Iras urged him to rest on the divan in the adjoining\nroom, and he yielded. Yet, spite of the softness of the pillows and his\ngreat need of sleep, he could not find it; anxiety kept him awake, and\nthrough the curtain which divided the room in which Iras remained from\nthe one he occupied he sometimes heard her light footsteps pacing\nrestlessly to and fro, sometimes the coming and going of messengers in\nquest of news.\n\nAll his former life passed before his mind. Cleopatra had been his sun,\nand now black clouds were rising which would dim its light, perchance\nforever. He, the disciple of Epicurus, who had not followed the doctrines\nof other masters until later in life, held the same view of the gods as\nhis first master. To him also they had seemed immortal beings sufficient\nunto themselves, dwelling free from anxiety in blissful peace, to whom\nmortals must look upward on account of their supreme grandeur, but who\nneither troubled themselves about the guidance of the world, which was\nfixed by eternal laws, nor the fate of individuals. Had he been convinced\nof the contrary, he would have sacrificed everything he possessed in\norder, by lavish offerings, to propitiate the immortals in behalf of her\nto whom he had devoted his life and every faculty of his being.\n\nLike Iras, he, too, could find no rest upon his couch, and when she heard\nhis step she called to him and asked why he did not recover the sleep\nwhich he had lost. No one knew the demands the next night might make upon\nhim.\n\n\"You will find me awake,\" he answered quietly.\n\nThen he went to the window which, above the pylons that rose before the\nmain front of the Sebasteum, afforded a view of the Bruchium and the sea.\nThe harbour was now swarming with vessels of every size, garlanded with\nflowers and adorned with gay flags and streamers. The report of the\nsuccessful issue of the first naval battle was believed, and many desired\nto greet the victorious fleet and hail their sovereign as she entered the\nharbour.\n\nMany people, equipages, and litters had also gathered on the shore,\nbetween the lofty pylons and the huge door of the Sebasteum. They were\nrepresentatives of the aristocracy of the city; for the majority were\nattended by richly attired slaves. Many wore costly garlands, and\nnumerous chariots and litters were adorned with gold or silver ornaments,\ngems, and glittering paste. The stir and movement in front of the palace\nwere ceaseless, and Iras, who was now standing beside her uncle, waved\nher hand towards it, saying: \"The wind of rumour! Yesterday only one or\ntwo came; to-day every one who belongs to the 'Inimitable Livers' flocks\nhither in person to get news. The victory was proclaimed in the\nmarket-place, at the theatre, the gymnasium, and the camp. Every one who\nwears garlands or weapons heard of a battle won. Yesterday, among all the\nthousands, there was scarcely a single doubter; but to-day-how does it\nhappen? Even among those who as 'Inimitables' have shared all the\npleasures, entertainments, and festivities of our noble pair, faith\nwavers; for if they were firmly convinced of the brilliant victory which\nwas announced loudly enough, they would not come themselves to watch, to\nspy, to listen. Just look down! There is the litter of Diogenes--yonder\nthat of Ammonius. The chariot beyond belongs to Melampous. The slaves in\nthe red bombyx garments serve Hermias. They all belong to the society\nof--'Inimitables,' and shared our banquets. That very Apollonius who, for\nthe last half hour, has been trying to question the palace servants, day\nbefore yesterday ordered fifty oxen to be slaughtered to Ares, Nike, and\nthe great Isis, as the Queen's goddess, and when I met him in the temple\nhe exclaimed that this was the greatest piece of extravagance he had ever\ncommitted; for even without the cattle Cleopatra and Antony would be sure\nof victory. But now the wind of rumour has swept away his beautiful\nconfidence also. They are not permitted to see me. The doorkeepers say\nthat I am in the country. The necessity of showing every one a face\nradiant with the joy of victory would kill me. There comes Apollonius.\nHow his fat face beams! He believes in the victory, and after sunset none\nof yonder throng will appear here; he is already giving orders to his\nslaves. He will invite all his friends to a banquet, and won't spare his\ncostly wines. Capital! At least no one from that company can disturb us.\nDion is his cousin, and will be present also. We shall see what these\npleasure-lovers will do when they are forced to confront, the terrible\nreality.\"\n\n\"I think,\" replied Archibius, \"they will afford the world a remarkable\nspectacle; friends won in prosperity who remain constant in adversity.\"\n\n\"Do you?\" asked Iras, with sparkling eyes. \"If that proves true, how I\nwould praise and value men--the majority of whom without their wealth\nwould be poorer than beggars. But look at yonder figure in the white robe\nbeside the left obelisk--is it not Dion? The crowd is bearing him away--I\nthink it was he.\"\n\nBut she had been deceived; the man whom she fancied she had seen, because\nher heart so ardently yearned for him, was not near the Sebasteum, and\nhis thoughts were still farther away.\n\nAt first he had intended to give the architect the letter which was\naddressed to him. He would be sure to find him at the triumphal arch\nwhich was being erected on the shore of the Bruchium. But on reaching the\nformer place he learned that Gorgias had gone to remove the statues of\nCleopatra and Antony from the house of Didymus, and erect them in front\nof the Theatre of Dionysus. The Regent, Mardion, had ordered it. Gorgias\nwas already superintending the erection of the foundation.\n\nThe huge hewn stones which he required for this purpose had been taken\nfrom the Temple of Nemesis, which he was supervising. Whatever number of\ngovernment slaves he needed were at his disposal, so Gorgias's foreman\nreported, proudly adding that before the sun went down, the architect\nwould have shown the Alexandrians the marvel of removing the twin statues\nfrom one place to another in a single day, and yet establishing them as\nfirmly as the Colossus which had been in Thebes a thousand years.\n\nDion found the piece of sculpture in front of Didymus's garden, ready for\nremoval, but the slaves who had placed before the platform the rollers on\nwhich it was to be moved had already been kept waiting a long time by the\narchitect.\n\nThis was his third visit to the old philosopher's house. First, he had\nbeen obliged to inform him and his family that their property was no\nlonger in danger; then he had come to tell them at what hour he would\nremove the statues, which still attracted many curious spectators; and,\nfinally, he had again appeared, to announce that they were to be taken\naway at once. His foreman or a slave could probably have done this, but\nHelena--Didymus's granddaughter, Barine's sister--drew him again and\nagain to the old man's home. He would gladly have come still more\nfrequently, for at every meeting he had discovered fresh charms in the\nbeautiful, quiet, thoughtful maiden, who cared so tenderly for her aged\ngrandparents. He believed that he loved her, and she seemed glad to\nwelcome him. But this did not entitle him to seek her hand, though his\nlarge, empty house so greatly needed a mistress. His heart had glowed\nwith love for too many. He wished first to test whether this new fancy\nwould prove more lasting. If he succeeded in remaining faithful even a\nfew days, he would, as it were, reward himself for it, and appear before\nDidymus as a suitor.\n\nHe excused his frequent visits to himself on the pretext of the necessity\nof becoming acquainted with his future wife, and Helena made the task\neasier for him. The usual reserve of her manner lessened more and more;\nnay, the great confidence with which he at first inspired her was\nincreased by his active assistance. When he entered just now, she had\neven held out her hand to him, and inquired about the progress of his\nwork.\n\nHe was overwhelmed with business, but so great was his pleasure in\ntalking with her that he lingered longer than he would have deemed right\nunder any other circumstances, and regarded it as an unpleasant\ninterruption when Barine--for whom his heart had throbbed so warmly only\nyesterday--entered the tablinum.\n\nThe young beauty was by no means content with a brief greeting; but drew\nHelena entirely away from him. Never had he seen her embrace and kiss her\nsister so passionately as while hurriedly telling her that she had come\nto bid farewell to the loved ones in her grandparents' house.\n\nBerenike had arrived with her, but went first to the old couple.\n\nWhile Barine was telling Helena and Gorgias, also, why all this plan had\nbeen formed so hastily, Gorgias was silently comparing the two sisters.\nHe found it natural that he had once believed that he loved Barine; but\nshe would not have been a fitting mistress of his house. Life at her side\nwould have been a chain of jealous emotions and anxieties, and her\nstimulating remarks and searching questions, which demanded absolute\nattention, would not have permitted him, after his return home, wearied\nby arduous toil, to find the rest for which he longed. His eye wandered\nfrom her to her sister, as if testing the space between two newly erected\npillars; and Barine, who had noticed his strange manner, suddenly laughed\nmerrily, and asked whether they might know what building was occupying\nhis thoughts, while a good friend was telling him that the pleasant hours\nin her house were over.\n\nGorgias started, and the apology he stammered showed so plainly how\ninattentively he had listened, that Barine would have had good reason to\nfeel offended. But one glance at her sister and another at him enabled\nher speedily to guess the truth. She was pleased; for she esteemed\nGorgias, and had secretly feared that she might be forced to grieve him\nby a refusal, but he seemed as if created for her sister. Her arrival had\nprobably interrupted them so, turning to Helena, she exclaimed: \"I must\nsee my mother and our grandparents. Meanwhile entertain our friend here.\nWe know each other well. He is one of the few men who can be trusted.\nThat is my honest opinion, Gorgias, and I say it to you also, Helena.\"\n\nWith these words she nodded to both, and Gorgias was again alone with the\nmaiden whom he loved.\n\nIt was difficult to begin the conversation anew, and when, spite of many\nefforts, it would not flow freely, the shout of the overseer, which\nreached his ear through the opening of the roof, urging the men to work,\nwas like a deliverance. Promising to return again soon, as eagerly as if\nhe had been requested to do so, he took his leave and opened the door\nleading into the adjoining room. But on the threshold he started back,\nand Helena, who had followed him, did the same, for there stood his\nfriend Dion, and Barine's beautiful head lay on his breast, while his\nhand rested as if in benediction on her fair hair. And--no, Gorgias was\nnot mistaken-the slender frame of the lovely woman, whose exuberant\nvivacity had so often borne him and others away with it, trembled as if\nshaken by deep and painful emotion.\n\nWhen Dion perceived his friend, and Barine raised her head, turning her\nface towards him, it was indeed wet with tears, but their source could\nnot be sorrow; for her blue eyes were sparkling with a happy light.\n\nYet Gorgias found something in her features which he was unable to\nexpress in words--the reflection of the ardent gratitude that had taken\npossession of her soul and filled it absolutely. While seeking the\narchitect, Dion had met Barine, who was on her way to her grandparents,\nand what he had dreaded the day before happened. The first glance from\nher eyes which met his forced the decisive question from his lips.\n\nIn brief, earnest words he confessed his love for her, and his desire to\nmake her his own, as the pride and ornament of his house.\n\nThen, in the intensity of her bliss, her eyes overflowed and, under the\nspell of a great miracle wrought in her behalf, she found no words to\nanswer; but Dion had approached, clasped her right hand in both of his,\nand frankly acknowledged how, with the image of his strict mother before\nhis eyes, he had wavered and hesitated until love had overmastered him.\nNow, full of the warmest confidence, he asked whether she would consent\nto rule as mistress of his home, the honour and ornament of his ancient\nname? He knew that her heart was his, but he must hear one thing more\nfrom her lips--\n\nHere she had interrupted him with the cry, \"This one thing--that your\nwife, in joy and in sorrow, will live for you and you alone? The whole\nworld can vanish for her, now that you have raised her to your side and\nshe is yours.\"\n\nAfter this assurance, which sounded like an oath, Dion felt as if a heavy\nburden had fallen from his heart, and clasping her in his arms with\npassionate tenderness, he repeated, \"In joy and in sorrow!\"\n\nThus Gorgias and Helena had surprised them, and the architect felt for\nthe first time that there is no distinction between our own happiness and\nthat of those whom we love.\n\nHis friend Helena seemed to have the same feeling, when she saw what this\nday had given her sister; and the philosopher's house, so lately shadowed\nby anxiety, and many a fear, would soon ring with voices uttering joyous\ncongratulations. The architect no longer felt that he had a place in this\ncircle, which was now pervaded by a great common joy, and after Dion made\na brief explanation, Gorgias's voice was soon heard outside loudly\nissuing orders to the workmen.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     From Epicurus to Aristippus, is but a short step\n     Preferred a winding path to a straight one\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nGorgias went to his work without delay. When the twin statues were only\nwaiting to be erected in front of the Theatre of Dionysus, Dion sought\nhim. Some impulse urged him to talk to his old friend before leaving the\ncity with his betrothed bride. Since they parted the latter had\naccomplished the impossible; for the building of the wall on the Choma,\nordered by Antony, was commenced, the restoration of the little palace at\nthe point, and many other things connected with the decoration of the\ntriumphal arches, were arranged. His able and alert foreman found it\ndifficult to follow him as he dictated order after order in his\nwriting-tablet.\n\nThe conversation with his friend was not a long one, for Dion had\npromised Barine and her mother to accompany them to the country.\nNotwithstanding the betrothal, they were to start that very day; for\nCaesarion had called upon Barine twice that morning. She had not received\nhim, but the unfortunate youth's conduct induced her to hasten the\npreparations for her departure.\n\nTo avoid attracting attention, they were to use Archibius's large\ntravelling chariot and Nile boat, although Dion's were no less\ncomfortable.\n\nThe marriage was to take place in the \"abode of peace.\" The young\nAlexandrian's own ship, which was to convey the newly wedded pair to\nAlexandria, bore the name of Peitho, the goddess of persuasion, for Dion\nliked to be reminded of his oratorical powers in the council.\nHenceforward it would be called the Barine, and was to receive many an\nembellishment.\n\nDion confided to his friend what he had learned in relation to the fate\nof the Queen and the fleet, and, notwithstanding the urgency of the\nclaims upon Gorgias's time, he lingered to discuss the future destiny of\nthe city and her threatened liberty; for these things lay nearest to his\nheart.\n\n\"Fortunately,\" cried Dion, \"I followed my inclination; now it seems to me\nthat duty commands every true man to make his own house a nursery for the\ncultivation of the sentiments which he inherited from his forefathers and\nwhich must not die, so long as there are Macedonian citizens in\nAlexandria. We must submit if the superior might of Rome renders Egypt a\nprovince of the republic, but we can preserve to our city and her council\nthe lion's share of their freedom. Whatever may be the development of\naffairs, we are and shall remain the source whence Rome draws the largest\nshare of the knowledge which enriches her brain.\"\n\n\"And the art which adorns her rude life,\" replied Gorgias. \"If she is\nfree to crush us without pity, she will fare, I think, like the maiden\nwho raises her foot to trample on a beautiful, rare flower, and then\nwithdraws it because it would be a crime to destroy so exquisite a work\nof the Creator.\"\n\n\"And what does the flower owe to your maiden,\" cried Dion, \"or our city\nto Rome? Let us meet her claims with dignified resolution, then I think\nwe shall not have the worst evils to fear.\"\n\n\"Let us hope so. But, my friend, keep your eyes open for other than Roman\nfoes. Now that it will become known that you do not love her, beware of\nIras. There is something about her which reminds me of the jackal.\nJealousy!--I believe she would be capable of the worst--\"\n\n\"Yet,\" Dion interrupted, \"Charmian will soften whatever injury Iras plans\nto do me, and, though I cannot rely much upon my uncle, Archibius is\nabove both and favours us and our marriage.\"\n\nGorgias uttered a sigh of relief, and exclaimed, \"Then on to happiness!\"\n\n\"And you must also begin to provide for yours,\" replied Dion warmly.\n\"Forbid your heart to continue this wandering, nomad life. The tent which\nthe wind blows down is not fit for the architect's permanent residence.\nBuild yourself a fine house, which will defy storms, as you built my\npalace. I shall not grudge it, and have already said, the times demand\nit.\"\n\n\"I will remember the advice,\" replied Gorgias. \"But six eyes are again\nbent upon me for direction. There are so many important things to be done\nwhile we waste the hours in building triumphal arches for the\ndefeated--trophies for an overthrow. But your uncle has just issued\norders to complete the work in the most magnificent style. The ways of\ndestiny and the great are dark; may the brightest sunshine illumine\nyours! A prosperous journey! We shall hear, of course, when you celebrate\nthe wedding, and if I can I shall join you in the Hymenaeus. Lucky fellow\nthat you are! Now I'm summoned from over yonder! May Castor and Pollux,\nand all the gods favourable to travel, Aphrodite, and all the Loves\nattend your trip to Irenia, and protect you in the realm of Eros and\nHymen!\"\n\nWith these words the warm-hearted man clasped his friend to his breast\nfor the first time. Dion cordially responded, and at last shook his hard\nright hand with the exclamation:\n\n\"Farewell, then, till we meet in Irenia on the wedding day, you dear,\nfaithful fellow.\"\n\nThen he entered the chariot which stood waiting, and Gorgias gazed after\nhim thoughtfully. The hyacinthine purple cloak which Dion wore that day\nhad not vanished from his sight when a loud crashing, rattling, and\nroaring arose behind him. A hastily erected scaffold, which was to\nsupport the pulleys for raising the statues, had collapsed. The damage\ncould be easily repaired, but the accident aroused a troubled feeling in\nthe architect's mind. He was a child of his time, a period when duty\ncommanded the prudent man to heed omens. Experience also taught him that\nwhen such a thing happened in his work something unpleasant was apt to\noccur within the circle of his friends. The veil of the future concealed\nwhat might be in store for the beloved couple; but he resolved to keep\nhis eyes open on Dion's behalf and to request Archibius to do the same.\n\nThe pressure of work, however, soon silenced the sense of uneasiness. The\ndamage was speedily repaired, and later Gorgias, sometimes with one,\nsometimes with another tablet or roll of MS. in his hand, issued the most\nvaried orders.\n\nGradually the light of this dismal day faded. Ere the night, which\nthreatened to bring rain and storm, closed in, he again rode on his mule\nto the Bruchium to overlook the progress of the work in the various\nbuildings and give additional directions, for the labour was to be\ncontinued during the night.\n\nThe north wind was now blowing so violently from the sea that it was\ndifficult to keep the torches and lamps lighted. The gale drove the drops\nof rain into his face, and a glance northward showed him masses of black\nclouds beyond the harbour and the lighthouse. This indicated a bad night,\nand again the boding sense of coming misfortune stole over him. Yet he\nset to work swiftly and prudently, helping with his own hands when\noccasion required.\n\nNight closed in. Not a star was visible in the sky, and the air, chilled\nby the north wind, grew so cold that Gorgias at last permitted his body\nslave to wrap his cloak around him. While drawing the hood over his head,\nhe gazed at a procession of litters and men moving towards Lochias.\n\nPerhaps the Queen's children were returning home from some expedition.\nBut probably they were rather private citizens on their way to some\nfestival celebrating the victory; for every one now believed in a great\nbattle and a successful issue of the war. This was proved by the shouts\nand cheers of the people, who, spite of the storm, were still moving to\nand fro near the harbour.\n\nThe last of the torch-bearers had just passed Gorgias, and he had told\nhimself that a train of litters belonging to the royal family would not\nmove through the darkness so faintly lighted, when a single man, bearing\nin his hand a lantern, whose flickering rays shone on his wrinkled face,\napproached rapidly from the opposite direction. It was old Phryx,\nDidymus's house slave, with whom the architect had become acquainted,\nwhile the aged scholar was composing the inscription for the Odeum which\nGorgias had erected. The aged servant had brought him many alterations of\nhis master's first sketch, and Gorgias had reminded him of it the\nprevious day.\n\nThe workmen by whom the statues had been raised to the pedestal, amid the\nbright glare of torches, to the accompaniment of a regular chant, had\njust dropped the ropes, windlasses, and levers, when the architect\nrecognized the slave.\n\nWhat did the old man want at so late an hour on this dark night? The fall\nof the scaffold again returned to his mind.\n\nWas the slave seeking for a member of the family? Did Helena need\nassistance? He stopped the gray-haired man, who answered his question\nwith a heavy sigh, followed by the maxim, \"Misfortunes come in pairs,\nlike oxen.\" Then he continued: \"Yesterday there was great anxiety. Today,\nwhen there was so much rejoicing on account of Barine, I thought\ndirectly, 'Sorrow follows joy, and the second misfortune won't be spared\nus.' And so it proved.\"\n\nGorgias anxiously begged him to relate what had happened, and the old\nman, drawing nearer, whispered that the pupil and assistant of\nDidymus--young Philotas of Amphissa, a student, and, moreover, a\ncourteous young man of excellent family--had gone to a banquet to which\nAntyllus, the son of Antony, had invited several of his classmates. This\nhad already happened several times, and he, Phryx, had warned him, for,\nwhen the lowly associate with the lofty, the lowly rarely escape kicks\nand blows. The young fellow, who usually had behaved no worse than the\nother Ephebi, had always returned from such festivities with a flushed\nface and unsteady steps, but to-night he had not even reached his room in\nthe upper story. He had darted into the house as though pursued by the\nwatch, and, while trying to rush up the stairs--it was really only a\nladder-he had made a misstep and fell. He, Phryx, did not believe that he\nwas hurt, for none of his limbs ached, even when they were pulled and\nstretched, and Dionysus kindly protected drunkards; but some demon must\nhave taken possession of him, for he howled and groaned continually, and\nwould answer no questions. True, he was aware, from the festivals of\nDionysus, that the young man was one of those who, when intoxicated, weep\nand lament; but this time something unusual must have occurred, for in\nthe first place his handsome face was coloured black and looked hideous,\nsince his tears had washed away the soot in many places, and then he\ntalked nothing but a confused jargon. It was a pity.\n\nWhen an attempt was made, with the help of the garden slave, to carry him\nto his room, he dealt blows and kicks like a lunatic. Didymus now also\nbelieved that he was possessed by demons, as often happens to those who,\nin falling, strike their heads against the ground, and thus wake the\ndemons in the earth. Well, yes, they might be demons, but only those of\nwine. The student was just \"crazy drunk,\" as people say. But the old\ngentleman was very fond of his pupil, and had ordered him, Pliryx, to go\nto Olympus, who, ever since he could remember, had been the family\nphysician.\n\n\"The Queen's leech?\" asked Gorgias, disapprovingly, and when the slave\nassented, the architect exclaimed in a positive tone: \"It is not right to\nforce the old man out of doors in such a north wind. Age is not specially\nconsiderate to age. Now that the statues stand yonder, I can leave my\npost for half an hour and will go with you. I don't think a leech is\nneeded to drive out these demons.\"\n\n\"True, my lord, true!\" cried the slave, \"but Olympus is our friend. He\nvisits few patients, but he will come to our house in any weather. He has\nlitters, chariots, and splendid mules. The Queen gives him whatever is\nbest and most comfortable. He is skilful, and perhaps can render speedy\nhelp. People must use what they have.\"\n\n\"Only where it is necessary,\" replied the architect. \"There are my two\nmules; follow me on the second. If I don't drive out the demons, you will\nhave plenty of time to trot after Olympus.\"\n\nThis proposal pleased the old slave, and a short time after Gorgias\nentered the venerable philosopher's tablinum.\n\nHelena welcomed him like an intimate friend. Whenever he appeared she\nthought the peril was half over. Didymus, too, greeted him warmly, and\nconducted him to the little room where the youth possessed by demons lay\non a divan.\n\nHe was still groaning and whimpering. Tears were streaming down his\ncheeks, and, whenever any member of the household approached, he pushed\nhim away.\n\nWhen Gorgias held his hands and sternly ordered him to confess what wrong\nhe had done, he sobbed out that he was the most ungrateful wretch on\nearth. His baseness would ruin his kind parents, himself, and all his\nfriends.\n\nThen he accused himself of having caused the destruction of Didymus's\ngranddaughter. He would not have gone to Antyllus again had not his\nrecent generosity bound him to him, but now he must atone-ay, atone.\nThen, as if completely crushed, he continued to mumble the word, \"atone!\"\nand for a time nothing more could be won from him.\n\nDidymus, however, had the key to the last sentence. A few weeks before,\nPhilotas and several other pupils of the rhetorician whose lectures in\nthe museum he attended had been invited to breakfast with Antyllus. When\nthe young student loudly admired the beautiful gold and silver beakers in\nwhich the wine was served, the reckless host cried: \"They are yours; take\nthem with you.\" When the guests departed the cup-bearer asked Philotas,\nwho had been far from taking the gift seriously, to receive his property.\nAntyllus had intended to bestow the goblets; but he advised the youth to\nlet him pay their value in money, for among them were several ancient\npieces of most artistic workmanship, which Antony, the extravagant young\nfellow's father, might perhaps be unwilling to lose.\n\nThereupon several rolls of gold solidi were paid to the astonished\nstudent--and they had been of little real benefit, since they had made it\npossible for him to keep pace with his wealthy and aristocratic\nclassmates and share many of their extravagances. Yet he had not ceased\nto fulfil his duty to Didymus.\n\nThough he sometimes turned night into day, he gave no serious cause for\nreproof. Small youthful errors were willingly pardoned; for he was a\ngood-looking, merry young fellow, who knew how to make himself agreeable\nto the entire household, even to the women.\n\nWhat had befallen the poor youth that day? Didymus was filled with\ncompassion for him, and, though he gladly welcomed Gorgias, he gave him\nto understand that the leech's absence vexed him.\n\nBut, during a long bachelor career in Alexandria, a city ever gracious to\nthe gifts of Bacchus, Gorgias had become familiar with attacks like those\nof Philotas and their treatment, and after several jars of water had been\nbrought and he had been left alone a short time with the sufferer, the\nphilosopher secretly rejoiced that he had not summoned the grey-haired\nleech into the stormy night for Gorgias led forth his pupil with dripping\nhair, it is true, but in a state of rapid convalescence.\n\nThe youth's handsome face was freed from soot, but his eyes were bent in\nconfusion on the ground, and he sometimes pressed his hand upon his\naching brow. It needed all the old philosopher's skill in persuasion to\ninduce him to speak, and Philotas, before he began, begged Helena to\nleave the room.\n\nHe intended to adhere strictly to the truth, though he feared that the\nreckless deed into which he had suffered himself to be drawn might have a\nfatal effect upon his future life.\n\nBesides, he hoped to obtain wise counsel from the architect, to whom he\nowed his speedy recovery, and whose grave, kindly manner inspired him\nwith confidence; and, moreover, he was so greatly indebted to Didymus\nthat duty required him to make a frank confession--yet he dared not\nacknowledge one of the principal motives of his foolish act.\n\nThe plot into which he had been led was directed against Barine, whom he\nhad long imagined he loved with all the fervour of his twenty years. But,\njust before he went to the fatal banquet, he had heard that the young\nbeauty was betrothed to Dion. This had wounded him deeply; for in many a\nquiet hour it had seemed possible to win her for himself and lead her as\nhis wife to his home in Amphissa. He was very little younger than she,\nand if his parents once saw her, they could not fail to approve his\nchoice. And the people in Amphissa! They would have gazed at Barine as if\nshe were a goddess.\n\nAnd now this fine gentleman had come to crush his fairest hopes. No word\nof love had ever been exchanged between him and Barine, but how kindly\nshe had always looked at him, how willingly she had accepted trivial\nservices! Now she was lost. At first this had merely saddened him, but\nafter he had drunk the wine, and Antyllus, Antony's son, in the\npresence of the revellers, over whom Caesarion presided as\n\"symposiarch\"--[Director of a banquet.]--had accused Barine of capturing\nhearts by magic spells, he had arrived at the conviction that he, too,\nhad been shamefully allured and betrayed.\n\nHe had served for a toy, he said to himself, unless she had really loved\nhim and merely preferred Dion on account of his wealth. In any case, he\nfelt justified in cherishing resentment against Barine, and with the\nnumber of goblets which he drained his jealous rage increased.\n\nWhen urged to join in the escapade which now burdened his conscience he\nconsented with a burning brain in order to punish her for the wrong\nwhich, in his heated imagination, she had done him.\n\nAll this he withheld from the older men and merely briefly described the\nsplendid banquet which Caesarion, pallid and listless as ever, had\ndirected, and Antyllus especially had enlivened with the most reckless\nmirth.\n\nThe \"King of kings\" and Antony's son had escaped from their tutors on the\npretext of a hunting excursion, and the chief huntsman had not grudged\nthem the pleasure--only they were obliged to promise him that they would\nbe ready to set out for the desert early the next morning.\n\nWhen, after the banquet, the mixing-vessels were brought out and the\nbeakers were filled more rapidly, Antyllus whispered several times to\nCaesarion and then turned the conversation upon Barine, the fairest of\nthe fair, destined by the immortals for the greatest and highest of\nmankind. This was the \"King of kings,\" Caesarion, and he also claimed the\nfavour of the gods for himself. But everybody knew that Aphrodite deemed\nherself greater than the highest of kings, and therefore Barine ventured\nto close her doors upon their august symposiarch in a manner which could\nnot fail to be unendurable, not only to him but to all the youth of\nAlexandria. Whoever boasted of being one of the Ephebi might well clench\nhis fist with indignation, when he heard that the insolent beauty kept\nyoung men at a distance because she considered only the older ones worthy\nof her notice. This must not be! The Ephebi of Alexandria must make her\nfeel the power of youth. This was the more urgently demanded, because\nCaesarion would thereby be led to the goal of his wishes.\n\nBarine was going into the country that very evening. Insulted Eros\nhimself was smoothing their way. He commanded them to attack the arrogant\nfair one's carriage and lead her to him who sought her in the name of\nyouth, in order to show her that the hearts of the Ephebi, whom she\ndisdainfully rejected, glowed more ardently than those of the older men\non whom she bestowed her favours.\n\nHere Gorgias interrupted the speaker with a loud cry of indignation, but\nold Didymus's eyes seemed to be fairly starting from their sockets as he\nhoarsely shouted an impatient:\n\n\"Go on!\"\n\nAnd Philotas, now completely sobered, described with increasing animation\nthe wonderful change that had taken place in the quiet Caesarion, as if\nsome magic spell had been at work; for scarcely had the revellers greeted\nAntyllus's words with shouts of joy, declaring themselves ready to avenge\ninsulted youth upon Barine, than the \"King of kings\" suddenly sprang from\nthe cushions on which he had listlessly reclined, and with flashing eyes\nshouted that whoever called himself his friend must aid him in the\nattack.\n\nHere he was urged to still greater haste by another impatient \"Go on!\"\nfrom his master, and hurriedly continued his story, describing how they\nhad blackened their faces and armed themselves with Antyllus's swords and\nlances. As the sun was setting they went in a covered boat through the\nAgathodamon Canal to Lake Mareotis. Everything must have been arranged in\nadvance; for they landed precisely at the right hour.\n\nAs, during the trip, they had kept up their courage by swallowing the\nmost fiery wine, Philotas had staggered on shore with difficulty and then\nbeen dragged forward by the others. After this he knew nothing more,\nexcept that he had rushed with the rest upon a large harmamaxa,--[A\nclosed Asiatic travelling-carriage with four wheels]--and in so doing\nfell. When he rose from the earth all was over.\n\nAs if in a dream he saw Scythians and other guardians of the peace seize\nAntyllus, while Caesarion was struggling on the ground with another man.\nIf he was not mistaken it was Dion, Barine's betrothed husband.\n\nThese communications were interrupted by many exclamations of impatience\nand wrath; but now Didymus, fairly frantic with alarm, cried:\n\n\"And the child--Barine?\"\n\nBut when Philotas's sole reply to this question was a silent shake of the\nhead, indignation conquered the old philosopher, and clutching his\npupil's chiton with both hands, he shook him violently, exclaiming\nfuriously:\n\n\"You don't know, scoundrel? Instead of defending her who should be dear\nto you as a child of this household, you joined the rascally scorners of\nmorality and law as the accomplice of this waylayer in purple!\"\n\nHere the architect soothed the enraged old man with expostulations, and\nthe assertion that everything must now yield to the necessity of\nsearching for Barine and Dion. He did not know which way to turn, in the\namount of labour pressing upon him, but he would have a hasty talk with\nthe foreman and then try to find his friend.\n\n\"And I,\" cried the old man, \"must go at once to the unfortunate child.-My\ncloak, Phryx, my sandals!\"\n\nIn spite of Gorgias's counsel to remember his age and the inclement\nweather, he cried angrily:\n\n\"I am going, I say! If the tempest hurls me to the earth, and the bolts\nof Zeus strike me, so be it. One misfortune more or less matters little\nin a life which has been a chain of heavy blows of Fate. I buried three\nsons in the prime of manhood, and two have been slain in battle. Barine,\nthe joy of my heart, I myself, fool that I was, bound to the scoundrel\nwho blasted her joyous existence; and now that I believed she would be\nprotected from trouble and misconstruction by the side of a worthy\nhusband, these infamous rascals, whose birth protects them from\nvengeance, have wounded, perhaps killed her betrothed lover. They trample\nin the dust her fair name and my white hair!--Phryx, my hat and staff.\"\n\nThe storm had long been raging around the house, which stood close by the\nsea, and the sailcloth awning which was stretched over the impluvium\nnoisily rattled the metal rings that confined it. Now so violent a gust\nswept from room to room that two of the flames in the three-branched lamp\nwent out. The door of the house had been opened, and drenched with rain,\na hood drawn over his black head, Barine's Nubian doorkeeper crossed the\nthreshold.\n\nHe presented a pitiable spectacle and at first could find no answer to\nthe greetings and questions of the men, who had been joined by Helena,\nher grandmother leaning on her arm; his rapid walk against the fury of\nthe storm had fairly taken away his breath.\n\nHe had little, however, to tell. Barine merely sent a message to her\nrelatives that, no matter what tales rumour might bring, she and her\nmother were unhurt. Dion had received a wound in the shoulder, but it was\nnot serious. Her grandparents need have no anxiety; the attack had\ncompletely failed.\n\nDoris, who was deaf, had listened vainly, holding her hand to her ear, to\ncatch this report; and Didymus now told his granddaughter as much as he\ndeemed it advisable for her to know, that she might communicate it to her\ngrandmother, who understood the movements of her lips.\n\nThe old man was rejoiced to learn that his granddaughter had escaped so\ngreat a peril uninjured, yet he was still burdened by sore anxiety. The\narchitect, too, feared the worst, but by dint of assuring him that he\nwould return at once with full details when he had ascertained the fate\nof Dion and his betrothed bride, he finally persuaded the old man to give\nup the night walk through the tempest.\n\nPhilotas, with tears in his eyes, begged them to accept his services as\nmessenger or for any other purpose; but Didymus ordered him to go to bed.\nAn opportunity would be found to enable him to atone for the offence so\nrecklessly committed.\n\nThe scholar's peaceful home was deprived of its nocturnal repose, and\nwhen Gorgias had gone and Didymus had refused Helena's request to have\nthe aged porter take her to her sister, the old man remained alone with\nhis wife in the tablinum.\n\nShe had been told nothing except that thieves had attacked her\ngranddaughter, Barine, and slightly wounded her lover; but her own heart\nand the manner of the husband, at whose side she had grown grey, showed\nthat many things were being concealed. She longed to know the story more\nfully, but it was difficult for Didymus to talk a long time in a loud\ntone, so she silenced her desire to learn the whole truth. But, in order\nto await the architect's report, they did not go to rest.\n\nDidymus had sunk into an armchair, and Doris sat near at her spindle, but\nwithout drawing any threads from her distaff. When she heard her husband\nsigh and saw him bury his face in his hands, she limped nearer to him,\ndifficult as it was for her to move, and stroked his head, now nearly\nbald, with her hand. Then she uttered soothing words, and, as the\nanxious, troubled expression did not yet pass from his wrinkled face, she\nreminded him in faltering yet tender tones how often they had thought\nthey must despair, and yet everything had resulted well.\n\n\"Ah! husband,\" she added, \"I know full well that the clouds hanging over\nus are very black, and I cannot even see them clearly, because you show\nthem at such a distance. Yet I feel that they threaten us with sore\ntribulation. But, after all, what harm can they do us, if we only keep\nclose together, we two old people and the children of the children whom\nHades rent from us? We need only to grow old to perceive that life has a\nhead with many faces. The ugly one of to-day can last no longer than you\ncan keep that deeply furrowed brow. But you need not coerce yourself for\nmy sake, husband. Let it be so. I need merely close my eyes to see how\nsmooth and beautiful it was in youth, and how pleasant it will look when\nbetter days say, 'Here we are!'\"\n\nDidymus, with a mournful smile, kissed her grey hair and shouted into her\nleft ear, which was a little less deaf than the other:\n\n\"How young you are still, wife!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe tempest swept howling from the north across the island of Pharos, and\nthe shallows of Diabathra in the great harbour of Alexandria. The water,\nusually so placid, rose in high waves, and the beacon on the lighthouse\nof Sastratus sent the rent abundance of its flames with hostile\nimpetuosity towards the city. The fires in the pitch-pans and the torches\non the shore sometimes seemed on the point of being extinguished, at\nothers burst with a doubly brilliant blaze through the smoke which\nobscured them.\n\nThe royal harbour, a fine basin which surrounded in the form of a\nsemicircle the southern part of the Lochias and a portion of the northern\nshore of the Bruchium, was brightly illuminated every night; but this\nevening there seemed to be an unusual movement among the lights on its\nwestern shore, the private anchorage of the royal fleet.\n\nWas it the storm that stirred them? No. How could the wind have set one\ntorch in the place of another, and moved lights or lanterns in a\ndirection opposite to its violent course? Only a few persons, however,\nperceived this; for, though joyous anticipation or anxious fears urged\nmany thither, who would venture upon the quay on such a tempestuous\nnight? Besides, no one would have found admittance to the royal port,\nwhich was closed on all sides. Even the mole which, towards the west,\nserved as the string to the bow of land surrounding it, had but a single\nopening and--as every one knew--that was closed by a chain in the same\nway as the main entrance to the harbour between the Pharos and Alveus\nSteganus.\n\nAbout two hours before midnight, spite of the increasing fury of the\ntempest, the singular movement of the lights diminished, but rarely had\nthe hearts of those for whom they burned throbbed so anxiously. These\nwere the dignitaries and court officials who stood nearest to\nCleopatra--about twenty men and a single woman, Iras. Mardion and she had\nsummoned them because the Queen's letter permitted those to whom she had\ngiven authority to offer her a quiet reception. After a long consultation\nthey had not invited the commanders of the little Roman garrison left\nbehind. It was doubtful whether those whom they expected would return\nthat night, and the Roman soldiers who were loyal to Antony had gone with\nhim to the war.\n\nThe hall in the centre of the private roadstead of the royal harbour,\nwhere they had assembled, was furnished with regal magnificence; for it\nwas a favourite resort of the Queen. The spacious apartment lacked no\nrequisite of comfort, and most of those who were waiting used the\nwell-cushioned couches, while others, harassed by mental anxiety, paced\nto and fro.\n\nAs the room had remained unused for months, bats had made nests there,\nand now that it was lighted, dazzled by the glare of the lamps and\ncandles, they darted to and fro above the heads of the assembly. Iras had\nordered the commander of the Mellakes, or youths, a body-guard composed\nof the sons of aristocratic Macedonian families, to expel the troublesome\ncreatures, and it diverted the thoughts of these devoted soldiers of the\nQueen to strike at them with their swords.\n\nOthers preferred to watch this futile battle rather than give themselves\nup to the anxiety which filled their minds. The Regent was gazing mutely\nat the ground; Iras, pale and absent-minded, was listening to Zeno's\nstatements; and Archibius had gone out of doors, and, unheeding the\nstorm, was looking across the tossing waves of the harbour for the\nexpected ships.\n\nIn a wooden shed, whose roof was supported by gaily painted pillars,\nthrough which the wind whistled, the servants, from the porters to the\nlitter-bearers, had gathered in groups under the flickering light of the\nlanterns. The Greeks sat on wooden stools, the Egyptians upon mats on the\nfloor. The largest circle contained the parties who attended to the\nQueen's luggage and the upper servants, among whom were several maids.\n\nThey had been told that the Queen was expected that night, because it was\npossible that the strong north wind would bear her ship home with\nunexpected speed after the victory. But they were better informed:\npalaces have chinks in doors and curtains, and are pervaded by a very\npeculiar echo which bears even a whisper distinctly from ear to ear.\n\nThe body-slave of the commander-in-chief Seleukus was the principal\nspokesman. His master had reached Alexandria but a few hours ago from the\nfrontier fortress of Pelusium, which he commanded. A mysterious order\nfrom Lucilius, Antony's most faithful friend, brought from Taenarum by a\nswift galley, had summoned him hither.\n\nThe freedman Beryllus, a loquacious Sicilian, who, as an actor, had seen\nbetter days ere pirates robbed him of his liberty, had heard many new\nthings, and his hearers listened eagerly; for ships coming from the\nnorth, which touched at Pelusium, had confirmed and completed the evil\ntidings that had penetrated the Sebasteum.\n\nAccording to his story, he was as well informed as if he had been an\neye-witness of the naval battle; for he had been present during his\nmaster's conversation with many ship-captains and messengers from Greece.\nHe even assumed the air of a loyal, strictly silent servant, who would\nonly venture to confirm and deny what the Alexandrians had already\nlearned. Yet his knowledge consisted merely of a confused medley of false\nand true occurrences. While the Egyptian fleet had been defeated at\nActium, and Antony, flying with Cleopatra, had gone first to Taenarum at\nthe end of the Peloponnesian coast, he asserted that the army and fleet\nhad met on the Peloponnesian coast and Octavianus was pursuing Antony,\nwho had turned towards Athens, while Cleopatra was on her way to\nAlexandria.\n\nHis \"trustworthy intelligence\" had been patched together from a few words\ncaught from Seleukus at table, or while receiving and dismissing\nmessengers. In other matters his information was more accurate.\n\nWhile for several days the harbour of Alexandria had been closed, vessels\nwere permitted to enter Pelusium, and all captains of newly arrived ships\nand caravans were compelled to report to Beryllus's master, the\ncommandant of the important frontier fortress.\n\nHe had quitted Pelusium the night before. The strong wind had driven the\ntrireme before it so swiftly that it was difficult for even the sea gulls\nto follow. It was easy for the listeners to believe this; for the storm\noutside howled louder and louder, whistling through the open hall where\nthe servants had gathered. Most of the lamps and torches had been blown\nout, the pitch-pans only sent forth still blacker clouds of smoke, lit by\nred and yellow flames, and the closed lanterns alone continued to diffuse\na flickering light. So the wide space, dim with smoke, was illumined only\nby a dull, varying glimmer.\n\nOne of the porters had furnished wine to shorten the hours of waiting;\nbut it could only be drunk in secret, so there were no goblets. The jars\nwandered from mouth to mouth, and every sip was welcome, for the wind\nblew keenly, and besides, the smoke irritated their throats.\n\nThe freedman, Beryllus, was often interrupted by paroxysms of coughing,\nespecially from the women, while relating the evil omens which were told\nto his master in Pelusium. Each was well authenticated and surpassed its\npredecessor in significance.\n\nHere one of Iras's maids interrupted him to tell the story of the\nswallows on the \"Antonius,\" Cleopatra's admiral galley. He could scarcely\nreport from Pelusium an omen of darker presage.\n\nBut Beryllus gazed at her with a pitying smile, which so roused the\nexpectations of the others that the overseer of the litter and baggage\nporters, who were talking loudly together, hoarsely shouted, \"Silence!\"\n\nSoon no sound was heard in the open space save the shrill whistling of\nthe wind, a word of command to the harbour-guards, and the freedman's\nvoice, which he lowered to increase the charm of the mysterious events he\nwas describing.\n\nHe began with the most fulsome praise of Cleopatra and Antony, reminding\nhis hearers that the Imperator was a descendant of Herakles. The\nAlexandrians especially were aware that their Queen and Antony claimed\nand desired to be called \"The new Isis\" and \"The new Dionysus.\" But every\none who beheld the Roman must admit that in face and figure he resembled\na god far more than a man.\n\nThe Imperator had appeared as Dionysus, especially to the Athenians. In\nthe proscenium of the theatre in that city was a huge bas-relief of the\nBattle of the Giants, the famous work of an ancient sculptor--he,\nBeryllus, had seen it--and from amid the numerous figures in this piece\nof sculpture the tempest had torn but a single one--which? Dionysus, the\ngod as whose mortal image Antony had once caroused in a vine-clad arbour\nin the presence of the Athenians. The storm to-night was at the utmost\nlike the breath of a child, compared with the hurricane which could wrest\nfrom the hard marble the form of Dionysus. But Nature gathers all her\nforces when she desires to announce to short-sighted mortals the approach\nof events which are to shake the world.\n\nThe last words were quoted from his master who had studied in Athens.\nThey had escaped from his burdened soul when he heard of another portent,\nof which a ship from Ostia had brought tidings. The flourishing city\nPisaura--\n\nHere, however, he was interrupted, for several of those present had\nlearned, weeks before, that this place had sunk in the sea, but merely\npitied the unfortunate inhabitants.\n\nBeryllus quietly permitted them to free themselves from the suspicion\nthat people in Alexandria had had tidings of so remarkable an event later\nthan those in Pelusium, and at first answered their query what this had\nto do with the war merely by a shrug of the shoulders; but when the\noverseer of the porters also put the question, he went on \"The omen made\na specially deep impression upon our minds, for we know what Pisaura is,\nor rather how it came into existence. The hapless city which dark Hades\ningulfed really belonged to Antony, for in the days of its prosperity he\nwas its founder.\"\n\nHe measured the group with a defiant glance, and there was no lack of\nevidences of horror; nay, one of the maid-servants shrieked aloud, for\nthe storm had just snatched a torch from the iron rings in the wall and\nhurled it on the floor close beside the listener.\n\nSuspense seemed to have reached its height. Yet it was evident that\nBeryllus had not yet drawn his last arrow from the quiver.\n\nThe maid-servant, whose scream had startled the others, had regained her\ncomposure and seemed eager to hear some other new and terrible omen, for,\nwith a beseeching glance, she begged the freedman not to withhold the\nknew.\n\nHe pointed to the drops of perspiration which, spite of the wind sweeping\nthrough the hall, covered her brow: \"You must use your handkerchief.\nMerely listening to my tale will dampen your skin. Stone statues are made\nof harder material, but a soul dwells within them too. Their natures may\nbe harsher or more gentle; they bring us woe or heal heavy sorrows,\naccording to their mood. Every one learns this who raises his hands to\nthem in prayer. One of these statues stands in Alba. It represents Mark\nAntony, in whose honour it was erected by the city. And it foresaw what\nmenaced the man whose stone double it is. Ay, open your ears! About four\ndays ago a ship's captain came to my master and in my presence this man\nreported--he grew as pale as ashes while he spoke--what he himself had\nwitnessed. Drops of perspiration had oozed from the statue of Antony in\nAlba. Horror seized all the citizens; men and women came to wipe the brow\nand cheeks of the statue, but the drops of perspiration did not cease to\ndrip, and this continued several days and nights. The stone image had\nfelt what was impending over the living Mark Antony. It was a horrible\nspectacle, the man said.\"\n\nHere the speaker paused, and the group of listeners started, for the\nclang of a gong was heard outside, and the next instant all were on their\nfeet hastening to their posts.\n\nThe officials in the magnificent hall had also risen. Here the silence\nhad been interrupted only by low whispers. The colour had faded from most\nof the grave, anxious faces, and their timid glances shunned one another.\n\nArchibius had first perceived, by the flames of the Pharos, the red\nglimmer which announced the approach of the royal galley. It had not been\nexpected so early, but was already passing the islands into the great\nharbour. It was probably the Antonius, the ship on which the old swallows\nhad pecked the young ones to death.\n\nThough the waves were running high, even in the sheltered harbour, they\nscarcely rocked the massive vessel. An experienced pilot must have\nsteered it past the shallows and cliffs on the eastern side of the\nroadstead, for instead of passing around the island of Antirrhodus as\nusual, it kept between the island and the Lochias, steering straight\ntowards the entrance into the little royal harbour. The pitch-pans on\nboth sides had been filled with fresh resin and tow to light the way. The\nwatchers on the shore could now see its outlines distinctly.\n\nIt was the Antonius, and yet it was not.\n\nZeno, the Keeper of the Seal, who was standing beside Iras, wrapped his\ncloak closer around his shivering limbs, pointed to it, and whispered,\n\n\"Like a woman who leaves her parents' house in the rich array of a bride,\nand returns to it an impoverished widow.\"\n\nIras drew herself up, and with cutting harshness replied, \"Like the sun\nveiled by mists, but which will soon shine forth again more radiantly\nthan ever.\"\n\n\"Spoken from the depths of my soul,\" said the old courtier eagerly, \"so\nfar as the Queen is concerned. Of course, I did not allude to her\nMajesty, but to the ship. You were ill when it left the harbour,\ngarlanded with flowers and adorned with purple sails. And now! Even this\nflickering light shows the wounds and rents. I am the last person whom\nyou need tell that our sun Cleopatra will soon regain its old radiance,\nbut at present it is very chilly and cold here by the water's edge in\nthis stormy air; and when I think of our first moment of meeting--\n\n\"Would it were over!\" murmured Iras, wrapping herself closer in her\ncloak. Then she drew back shivering, for the rattle of the heavy chain,\nwhich was drawn aside from the opening of the harbour, echoed with an\nuncanny sound through the silence of the night. A mountain seemed to\nweigh upon the watchers' breasts, for the wooden monster which now\nentered the little harbour moved forward as slowly and silently as a\nspectral ship. It seemed as if life were extinct on the huge galley\nusually swarming with a numerous crew; as if a vessel were about to cast\nanchor whose sailors had fallen victims to the plague. Nothing was heard\nsave an occasional word of command, and the signal whistles of the\nfluteplayer who directed the rowers. A few lanterns burned with a\nwavering light on the vast length of her decks. The brilliant\nillumination which usually shone through the darkness would have\nattracted the attention of the Alexandrians.\n\nNow it was close to the landing. The group on shore watched every inch of\nits majestic progress with breathless suspense, but when the first rope\nwas flung to the slaves on shore several men in Greek robes pressed\nforward hurriedly among the courtiers.\n\nThey had come with a message, whose importance would permit no delay, to\nthe Regent Mardion, who stood between Zeno and Iras, gazing gloomily at\nthe ground with a frowning brow. He was pondering over the words in which\nto address the Queen, and within a few minutes the ship would have made\nher landing, and Cleopatra might cross the bridge. To disturb him at that\nmoment was an undertaking few who knew the irritable, uncertain temper of\nthe eunuch would care to risk. But the tall Macedonian, who for a short\ntime attracted the eyes of most of the spectators from the galley,\nventured to do so. It was the captain of the nightwatch, the aristocratic\ncommander of the police force of the city.\n\n\"Only a word, my lord,\" he whispered to the Regent, \"though the time may\nbe inopportune.\"\n\n\"As inopportune as possible,\" replied the eunuch with repellent\nharshness.\n\n\"We will say as inopportune as the degree of haste necessary for its\ndecision. The King Caesarion, with Antyllus and several companions,\nattacked a woman. Blackened faces. A fight. Caesarion and the woman's\ncompanion--an aristocrat, member of the Council--slightly wounded.\nLictors interfered just in time. The young gentlemen were arrested. At\nfirst they refused to give their names--\"\n\n\"Caesarion slightly, really only slightly wounded?\" asked the eunuch with\neager haste.\n\n\"Really and positively. Olympus was summoned at once. A knock on the\nhead. The man who was attacked flung him on the pavement in the\nstruggle.\"\n\n\"Dion, the son of Eumenes, is the man,\" interrupted Iras, whose quick ear\nhad caught the officer's report. \"The woman is Barine, the daughter of\nthe artist Leonax.\"\n\n\"Then you know already?\" asked the Macedonian in surprise.\n\n\"So it seems,\" answered Mardion, gazing into the girl's face with a\nsignificant glance. Then, turning to her rather than to the Macedonian,\nhe added, \"I think we will have the young rascals set free and brought to\nLochias with as little publicity as possible.\"\n\n\"To the palace?\" asked the Macedonian.\n\n\"Of course,\" replied Iras firmly. \"Each to his own apartments, where they\nmust remain until further orders.\"\n\n\"Everything else must be deferred until after the reception,\" added the\neunuch, and the Macedonian, with a slight, haughty nod, drew back.\n\n\"Another misfortune,\" sighed the eunuch.\n\n\"A boyish prank,\" Iras answered quickly, \"but even a still greater\nmisfortune is less than nothing so long as we are not conscious of it.\nThis unpleasant occurrence must be concealed for the present from the\nQueen. Up to this time it is a vexation, nothing more--and it can and\nmust remain so; for we have it in our power to uproot the poisonous tree\nwhence it emanates.\"\n\n\"You look as if no one could better perform the task,\" the Regent\ninterrupted, with a side glance at the galley, \"so you shall have the\ncommission. It is the last one I shall give, during the Queen's absence,\nin her name.\"\n\n\"I shall not fail,\" she answered firmly.\n\nWhen Iras again looked towards the landing-place she saw Archibius\nstanding alone, with his eyes fixed upon the ground. Impulse prompted her\nto tell her uncle what had happened; but at the first step she paused,\nand her thin lips uttered a firm \"No.\"\n\nHer friend had become a stone in her path. If necessary, she would find\nmeans to thrust him also aside, spite of his sister Charmian and the old\ntie which united him to Cleopatra. He had grown weak, Charmian had always\nbeen so.\n\nShe would have had time enough now to consider what step to take first,\nhad not her heart ached so sorely.\n\nAfter the huge galley lay moored, several minutes elapsed ere two\npastophori of the goddess Isis, who guarded the goblet of Nektanebus,\ntaken from the temple treasures and borne along in a painted chest,\nstepped upon the bridge, followed by Cleopatra's first chamberlain, who\nin a low tone announced the approach of the Queen and commanded the\nwaiting groups to make way. A double line of torch-bearers had been\nstationed from the landing to the gate leading into the Bruchium, and the\nother on the north, which was the entrance to the palaces on the Lochias,\nsince it was not known where Cleopatra would desire to go. The\nchamberlain, however, said that she would spend the night at Lochias,\nwhere the children lived, and ordered all the flickering, smoking\ntorches, save a few, to be extinguished.\n\nMardion, the Keeper of the Seal, Archibius, and Iras were standing by the\nbridge a little in advance of the others, when voices were heard on the\nship, and the Queen appeared, preceded by several lantern-bearers and\nfollowed by a numerous train of court officials, pages, maids, and female\nslaves. Cleopatra's little hand rested on Charmian's arm, as, with a\nhaughty carriage of the head, she moved towards the shore. A thick veil\ncovered her face, and a large, dark cloak concealed her figure. How\nelastic her step was still! how proud yet graceful was the gesture with\nwhich she waved a greeting to Mardion and Zeno.\n\nExtending her hand to raise Iras, who had sunk prostrate before her, she\nkissed her on the forehead, whispering, \"The children?\"\n\n\"All is well with them,\" replied the girl.\n\nThen the returning sovereign greeted the others with a gracious gesture,\nbut vouchsafed a word to no one until the eunuch stepped before her to\ndeliver his address of welcome. She motioned him aside with a curt\n\"Later\"; and when Zeno held open the door of the litter, she said in a\nstifled tone: \"I will walk. After the rocking of the galley in this\ntempest, I feel reluctant to enter the litter. There are many things to\nbe considered to-day. An idea came to me on the way home. Summon the\ncaptain of the harbour and his chief counsellors, the heads of the war\noffice, the superintendent of the fortifications on land and water,\nespecially the Aristarch and Gorgias--I want to see them. Time presses.\nThey must be here in two hours-no, in an hour and a half. I wish to\nexamine all their plans and charts of the eastern frontier, especially\nthe river channels and canals in the Delta.\"\n\nThen she turned to Archibius, who had approached the litter, laid her\nhand upon his arm, and though her veil prevented him from seeing her\nsparkling eyes, he felt them shining deep into his heart, as the voice\nwhose melody had often enthralled his soul cried, \"We will take it as a\nfavourable omen that it is again you who lead me to this palace in a time\nof trouble.\"\n\nHis overflowing heart found expression in the warm reply, \"Whenever it\nmay be, forever and ever this arm and this life are yours!\" And the Queen\nanswered in a tone of earnest belief, \"I know it.\"\n\nThen, with her hand still resting on his arm, she moved forward; but when\nhe began to ask whether she really had cause to speak of a time of\ntrouble, she cut him short with the entreaty \"Not now. Let us say\nnothing. It is worse than bad--as evil as possible. Yet no. Few are\npermitted, in an hour of trouble, to lean on the arm of a faithful\nfriend.\"\n\nThe words were accompanied with a light pressure of her little hand, and\nit seemed as if his old heart was growing young.\n\nHe dared not speak, for her wish was law; but while moving silently at\nher side, first along the shore, then through the gate, and finally over\nthe marble flagstones which led to the palace portal, it seemed as if he\nbeheld, instead of the veiled head of the hapless Queen, the soft,\nlight-brown locks which floated around the face of a happy child. Before\nhis mental vision rose the little mistress of the garden of Epicurus. He\nsaw the sparkle of her large blue eyes, which never ceased to question,\nyet appeared to contain the mystery of the world. He fancied he heard\nonce more the silvery cadence of her voice and the bewitching magic of\nher pure, childlike laughter, and it was hard to remember what she had\nbecome.\n\nSnatched away from the present, yet conscious that Fate had granted him a\ngreat boon in this sorrowful hour, he moved on at her side and led her\nthrough the main entrance, the spacious inner court-yard of the palace.\nAt the rear was the great door opening into the Queen's apartments,\nbefore which Mardion, Iras, and their companions had already stationed\nthemselves. At the left was a smaller one leading into the wing occupied\nby the children.\n\nArchibius was about to conduct Cleopatra across the lighted court-yard,\nbut she motioned towards the children's rooms, and he understood her.\n\nAt the threshold her hand fell from his arm, and when he bowed as if to\nretire, she said kindly: \"There is Charmian. You both deserve to\naccompany me to the spot where childhood is dreaming and peace of mind\nand painlessness have their abode. But respect for the Queen has\nprevented the brother and sister from greeting each other after so long a\nseparation. Do so now! Then, follow me.\"\n\nWhile speaking, she hastened with the swift step of youth into the atrium\nand up the staircase which led to the sleeping-rooms of the princes and\nprincesses.\n\nArchibius and Charmian obeyed her bidding; the brother clasped his sister\naffectionately in his arms, and in hurried tones, with tears streaming\nfrom her eyes, she informed him that to her all seemed lost.\n\nAntony had behaved in a manner for which no words of condemnation or\nregret were adequate. Probably he would follow Cleopatra; the fleet, and\nperhaps the army also, were destroyed. Her fate lay in the hands of\nOctavianus.\n\nThen she preceded him towards the staircase, where Iras was standing with\na tall Syrian, who bore a striking resemblance to Philostratus, Barine's\nformer husband. It was his brother Alexas, the trusted favourite of Mark\nAntony. His place should now have been with him, and Archibius asked his\nsister with a hasty look how this man chanced to be in the Queen's train.\n\n\"His skill in reading the stars,\" was the reply. \"His flattering tongue.\nHe is a parasite of the worst kind, but he tells her many things, he\ndiverts her, and she tolerates him near her person.\"\n\nAs soon as Iras saw the direction in which Cleopatra had turned, she had\nhastened after her to accompany her to the children. The Syrian Alexas\nhad stopped her to express his joy in meeting her again. Even before the\noutbreak of the war he had devoted himself zealously to her, and he now\nplainly showed that during the long period of separation his feelings had\nby no means cooled. Like his brother, he had a head too small for his\nbody, but his well-formed features were animated by a pair of eyes\nsparkling with a keen, covetous expression.\n\nIras, too, seemed glad to welcome the favourite, but ere the brother and\nsister reached the staircase she left him to embrace Charmian, her aunt\nand companion, with the affection of a daughter.\n\nThey found the Queen in the anteroom of the children's apartments.\nEuphronion, their tutor, had awaited her there, and hurriedly gave, in\nthe most rapturous terms, his report of them and the wonderful gifts\nwhich became more and more apparent in each, now as a heritage from their\nmother, now from their father.\n\nCleopatra had interrupted the torrent of his enthusiastic speech with\nmany a question, meanwhile endeavouring to loose the veil wound about her\nhead; but the little hands, unaccustomed to the task, failed. Iras\nnoticed it from the stairs and, hastening up the last steps, skilfully\nreleased her from the long web of lace.\n\nThe Queen acknowledged the service by a gracious nod, but when the chief\neunuch opened the door leading into the children's rooms, she called\njoyously to the brother and sister, \"Come!\" The tutor, who was obliged to\nleave the charge of his pupils' sleeping apartments to the eunuchs and\nnurses, drew back, but Iras felt it a bitter affront to be excluded from\nthis visit. Her cheeks flushed and paled; her thin lips were more firmly\ncompressed, and she gazed intently at the basket of fruit in the mosaic\nfloor at her feet as if she were counting the cherries that filled it.\nBut she suddenly pushed the little curls back from her forehead, darted\nswiftly down the stairs, and called to Alexas just as he was about to\nleave the atrium.\n\nThe Syrian hastened towards her, extolling the good fortune that made his\nsun rise for him a second time that night, but she cut him short with the\nwords; \"Cease this foolish love-making. It would be far better for us\nboth to become allies in serious, bitter earnest. I am ready.\"\n\n\"So am I!\" cried the Syrian rapturously, pressing his hand upon his\nheart.\n\nMeanwhile Cleopatra had entered the chamber where the children lay\nsleeping. Deep silence pervaded the lofty hall hung with bright-hued\ncarpets, and softly lighted by three lamps with rose-colored globes. An\narch, supported by pillars of Libyan marble, divided the wide space. In\nthe first, near a window closely muffled with draperies, stood two ivory\nbeds, surmounted with crowns of gold and silver set with pearls and\nturquoises. Around the edge, carved by the hands of a great artist, ran a\nline of happy children dancing to the songs of birds in blossoming\nbushes.\n\nThe couches were separated by a heavy curtain which the eunuchs had\nraised at the approach of the Queen. Cleopatra could now see them all at\na single glance, and the picture was indeed one of exquisite charm; for\non these beautiful couches slept the twins, the ten-year-old children of\nCleopatra and Antony--Antonius Helios and Cleopatra Selene. The girl was\npink and white, fair and wonderfully lovely; the boy no less beautiful,\nbut with ebon-black hair, like his father. Both curly heads were turned\ntowards the side, and rested on a dimpled hand pressed upon the silken\npillow.\n\nUpon a third bed, beyond the arch, was Alexander, the youngest prince, a\nlovely boy of six, the Queen's darling.\n\nAfter gazing a long while at the twins, and pressing a light kiss upon\ncheeks flushed with slumber, she turned to the youngest child and sank\nbeside his couch as if forced to bend the knee before some apparition\nwhich Heaven had vouchsafed to her. Tears streamed from her eyes as,\ndrawing the child carefully towards her, she kissed his mouth, eyes, and\ncheeks, and then laid him gently back upon the pillows. The boy, however,\ndid not instantly relapse into slumber, but threw his little plump arms\naround his mother's neck, murmuring incomprehensible words. She joyously\nsubmitted to his caresses, till sleep again overpowered him, and his\nlittle hands fell back upon the bed.\n\nShe lingered a short time longer, with her brow resting on the ivory of\nthe couch, praying for this child and his brother and sister. When she\nrose again her cheeks were wet with tears, and she pressed her hand upon\nher breast. Then, beckoning to Charmian and Archibius, she motioned\ntowards Alexander and the twins, saying, as she saw tears glittering in\nthe eyes of both: \"I know you have lost this happiness for my sake. For\neach one of these children a great empire would not be too high a price;\nfor them all----What does earth contain that I would not bestow? Yet what\ncan I still call my own?\"\n\nHer smiling face clouded as she asked the question. The vision of the\nlost battle again rose before her mind. Her own power was lost,\nforfeited, and with it the independence of the native land which she\nloved. Rome was already stretching out her hand to add it to the others\nas a new province. But this should not be! Her twin children yonder,\nsleeping beneath crowns, must wear them! And the boy slumbering on the\npillows? How many kingdoms Antony had bestowed! What remained for her to\ngive?\n\nAgain she bent to the child. A beautiful dream must have hovered over\nhim, for he was smiling in his sleep. A flood of maternal love welled up\nin her agitated heart, and, as she saw the companions of her childhood\nalso gazing tenderly at the little steeper, she remembered the days of\nher own youth, and the quiet happiness which she had enjoyed in her\ngarden of Epicurus.\n\nPower and splendour had begun for her beyond its confines, but the\ngreater the heights of worldly grandeur she attained, the more distant,\nthe more irrecoverable became the consciousness of the happiness which\nshe had once gratefully enjoyed, and for which she had never ceased to\nlong. And as she now gazed once more at the peaceful, smiling face,\nwhence all pain and anxiety seemed worlds away, and all the love which\nher heart contained appeared to be pouring towards him, the question\narose in her mind whether this boy, for whom she possessed no crown,\nmight not be the only happy mortal of them all-happy in the sense of the\nmaster. Deeply moved by this thought, she turned to Archibius and\nCharmian, exclaiming in a subdued tone, in order not to rouse the\nsleeper: \"Whatever destiny may await us, I commend this child to your\nspecial love and care. If Fate denies him the lustre of the crown and the\nelation of power, teach him to enjoy that other happiness, which--how\nlong ago it is!--your father unfolded to his mother.\"\n\nArchibius kissed her robe, and Charmian her hands; but Cleopatra, drawing\na long breath, said: \"The mother has already taken too much time from the\nQueen. I have ordered the news of my arrival to be kept from Caesarion.\nThis was well. The most important matters will be settled before our\nmeeting. Everything relating to me and to the state must be decided\nwithin an hour. But, first, I am something more than mother and Queen.\nThe woman also asserts her claim. I will find time for you, my friend,\nto-morrow!-To my chamber first, Charmian. But you need rest still more\nthan I. Go with your brother. Send Iras to me. She will be glad to use\nher skilful fingers again in her mistress's service.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nThe Queen had left her bath. Iras had arranged the still abundant waves\nof her hair, now dark-brown in hue, and robed her magnificently to\nreceive the dignitaries whom, spite of the late hour of the night, she\nexpected.\n\nHow wonderfully she had retained her beauty! It seemed as if Time had not\nventured to touch this masterpiece of feminine loveliness; yet the\nGreek's keen eye detected here and there some token of the vanishing\nspell of youth. She loved her mistress, yet her inmost soul rejoiced\nwhenever she detected in her the same changes which began to appear in\nherself, the woman of seven-and-twenty, so many years her sovereign's\njunior. She would gladly have given Cleopatra everything at her command,\nyet she felt as if she must praise Nature for an act of justice, when she\nperceived that even her royal favourite was not wholly relieved from the\nlaw which applied to all.\n\n\"Cease your flattery,\" said Cleopatra, smiling mournfully. \"They say that\nthe works of the Pharaohs here on the Nile flout Time. The inexorable\ndestroyer is less willing to permit this from the Queen of Egypt. These\nare grey hairs, and they came from this head, however eagerly you may\ndeny it. Whose save my own are these lines around the corners of the eyes\nand on the brow? What say you to the tooth which my lips do not hide so\nkindly as you assert? It was injured the night before the luckless\nbattle. My dear, faithful, skilful Olympus, the prince of leeches, is the\nonly one who can conceal such things. But it would not do to take the old\nman to the war, and Glaucus is far less adroit. How I missed Olympus\nduring those fatal hours! I seemed a monster even to myself, and\nhe--Antony's eye is only too keen for such matters. What is the love of\nmen? A blackened tooth may prove its destruction. An aspect obnoxious to\nthe gaze will pour water on the fiercest fire. What hours I experienced,\nIras! Many a glance from him seemed an insult, and, besides, my heart was\nfilled with torturing anxiety.\n\n\"Something had evidently come between us! I felt it. The trouble began\nsoon after he left Alexandria. It gnawed my soul like a worm, and now\nthat I am here again I must see clearly. He will follow me in a few days,\nI know. Pinarius Scarpus, with his untouched legions, is in Paraetonium,\nwhither he went. At Taenarum he resolved to retire from the world which\nhe, on whom it had bestowed so much that is great, hates because he has\ngiven it cause for many a shake of the head. But the old spirit woke\nagain, and if Fortune, usually so faithful, still aids him, a large force\nwill soon join the new African army. The Asiatic princes--But the ruler\nof the state must be silent. I entered this room to give the woman her\njust rights, and the woman shall have them. He will soon be here. He\ncannot live without me. It is not alone the beaker of Nektanebus which\ndraws him after me!\"\n\n\"When the greatest of the great, Julius Caesar, sued for your love in\nAlexandria, and Antony on the Cydnus, you did not possess the goblet,\"\nobserved Iras. \"It is two years since Anubis permitted you to borrow the\nmasterpiece from the temple treasures, and within a few days you will be\nobliged to restore it. That a mysterious spell emanates from the cup is\ncertain, but one still more powerful dwells in the magic of your own\nnature.\"\n\n\"Would that it might assert itself to-day!\" cried the Queen. \"At any rate\nthe power of the beaker impelled Antony to do many things. I am not vain\nenough to believe that it was love, that it was solely the spell of my\nown personality which drew him to me in that disastrous hour. That\nbattle, that incomprehensible, disgraceful battle! You were ill, and\ncould not see our fleet when it set sail; but even experienced spectators\nsaid that handsomer, larger vessels were never beheld. I was right in\ninsisting that the decision of the conflict should be left to them. I was\nentitled to call them mine. Had we conquered, what a proud delight it\nwould have been to say, 'The weapons which you gave to the man you loved\ngained him the sovereignty of the world!' Besides, the stars had assured\nme that good fortune would attend us on the sea. They had given the same\nmessage to Anubis here and to Alexas upon Antony's galley. I also trusted\nthe spell of the goblet, which had already compelled Antony to do many\nthings he opposed. So I succeeded in having the decision of the conflict\nleft to the fleet, but the prediction was false, false, false!--how\nutterly, was to be proved only too soon.\n\n\"If I had only been told in time what I learned later! After the defeat\npeople were more loquacious. That one remark of a veteran commander of\nthe foot-soldiers would probably have sufficed to open my eyes. He had\nasked Mark Antony why he fixed his hopes on miserable wood, exclaiming,\n'Let the Phoenician's and Egyptians war on the water, but leave us the\nland where we are accustomed, with our feet firmly set upon the earth, to\nfight, conquer, or die!' This alone, I am sure, would have changed my\nresolve in a happy hour. But it was kept from me.\n\n\"The conflict began. Our troops had lost patience. The left wing of the\nfleet advanced. At first I watched the battle eagerly, with a throbbing\nheart. How proudly the huge galleys moved forward! Everything was going\nadmirably. Antony had made an address, assuring the warriors that, even\nwithout soldiers, our ships would destroy the foe by their mere height\nand size. What orator can so carry his hearers with him! I, too, was\nstill fearless. Who cherishes anxiety when confidently expecting victory?\nWhen he went on board his own ship, after bidding me farewell far less\ncordially than usual, I became more troubled. I thought it was evident\nthat his love was waning. What had I become since we left Alexandria, and\nOlympus no longer attended me! Matters could not continue in this way. I\nwould leave the direction of the war to him, and vanish from his eyes.\nAfter he had looked into the beaker of Nektanebus, he yielded to my will,\nbut often with indignation. The unconcealed, ineffaceable lines, and the\nyears, the cruel years!\"\n\n\"What thoughts are these?\" cried Iras. \"Let me take oath, my sovereign\nmistress, that as you stand before me--\"\n\n\"Thanks to this toilet-table and the new compounds of Olympus in these\nboxes! At that time, I tell you, I was fairly startled at the sight of my\nown face. Trouble does not enhance beauty, and what condemnation the\nRomans had heaped on the woman who meddled with war, the craft of man! I\nhad answers for them, but I would not endure it longer. I had previously\ndetermined to hold aloof from the battle on land; but even at the\ncommencement of the conflict, spite of its favourable promise, I longed\nto leave Antony and return to the children. They do not heed the colour\nof their mother's hair, nor her wrinkles; and he, when he had looked for\nand called me in vain, would feel for the first time what he possessed in\nme, would miss me, and with the longing the old love would awaken with\nfresh ardour. As soon as the fleet had gained the victory I would have\nthe prow of my galley turned southward and, without a farewell,\nexclaiming only, 'We will meet in Alexandria!' set sail for Egypt.\n\n\"I summoned Alexas, who had remained with me, and ordered him to give me\na signal as soon as the battle was decided in our favour. I remained on\ndeck. Then I saw the ships of the foe describing a wide circle. The\nnauarch told me that Agrippa was trying to surround us. This roused a\nfeeling of discomfort. I began to repent having meddled with men's work.\n\n\"Antony looked across at me from his galley. I waved my hand to point out\nthe peril, but instead of eagerly and lovingly answering the greeting, as\nof yore, he turned his back, and in a short time after the wildest uproar\narose around me. One ship became entangled with another, planks and poles\nshattered with a loud crash. Shouts, the cries and moans of the\ncombatants and the wounded, mingled with the thunder of the stones hurled\nby the catapults, and the sharp notes of the signals which sounded like\ncalls for help. Two soldiers, stricken by arrows, fell beside me. It was\nhorrible! Yet my courage remained steadfast, even when a squadron--it was\ncommanded by Aruntius--pressed upon the fleet. I saw another line of\ngalleys steering directly towards us, and a Roman vessel assailed by one\nof mine--I had named her the Selene--turn on her side and sink. This\npleased me and seemed like the first presage of victory. I again ordered\nAlexas to have the ship's prow turned as soon as the result of the battle\nwas decided. Ere I had ceased speaking, Jason, the steward--you know\nhim--appeared with refreshments. I took the beaker, but, ere I could\nraise it to my lips, he fell to the deck with a cloven skull, mingling\nhis blood with the spilled juice of the grape. My blood seemed fairly to\nfreeze in my veins, and Alexas, trembling and deadly pale, asked, 'Do you\ncommand us to quit the battle?'\n\n\"Every fibre of my being urged me to give the order, but I controlled\nmyself, and asked the nauarch, who was standing on the bridge before me,\n'Are we gaining the advantage?' The reply was a positive 'Yes.' I thought\nthe fitting time had come, and called to him to steer the galley\nsouthward. But the man did not seem to understand. Meanwhile the noise of\nthe conflict had grown louder and louder. So, in spite of Charmian, who\nbesought me not to interfere in the battle, I sent Alexas to the\ncommander on the bridge, and while he talked with the grey-bearded\nseaman, who wrathfully answered I know not what, I glanced at the nearest\nship--I no longer knew whether it was friend or foe--and as I saw the\nrows of restless oars moving in countless numbers to and fro, it seemed\nas if every ship had become a huge spider, and the long wooden handles of\nthe oars were its legs and feet. Each of these monsters appeared to be\nseeking to snare me in a horrible net, and when the nauarch came to\nbeseech me to wait, I imperiously commanded him to obey my orders.\n\n\"The luckless man bowed, and performed his Queen's behest. The giant was\nturned, and forced a passage through the maze.\n\n\"I breathed more freely.\n\n\"What had threatened me like the legs of huge spiders became oars once\nmore. Alexas led me under a roof, where no missiles could reach me. My\ndesire was fulfilled. I had escaped Antony's eyes, and we were going\ntowards Alexandria and my children. When I at last looked around I saw\nthat my other ships were following. I had not given this order, and was\nterribly startled. When I sought Alexas, he had vanished. The centurion\nwhom I sent to order the nauarch to give the signal to the other ships to\nreturn to the battle, reported that the captain's dead body has just been\nborne away, but that the command should be given. How this was done I do\nnot know, but it produced no effect, and no one noticed the anxious\nwaving of my handkerchief.\n\n\"We had left Antony's galley--he was standing on the bridge--far behind.\n\n\"I had waved my hand as we passed close by, and he hurried down to bend\nfar over the bulwark and shout to me. I can still see his hands raised to\nhis bearded lips. I did not understand what he said, and only pointed\nsouthward and in spirit wished him victory and that this separation might\ntend to the welfare of our love. But he shook his head, pressed his hand\ndespairingly to his brow, and waved his arms as though to give me a sign,\nbut the Antonias swept far ahead of his ship and steered straight towards\nthe south.\n\n\"I breathed more freely, in the pleasant consciousness of escaping a\ntwo-fold danger. Had I remained long before Antony's eyes, looking as I\ndid then, it might--\n\n\"Wretched blunder of a wretched woman, I say now. But at that time I\ncould not suspect what a terrible doom I had brought down in that hour\nupon ourselves, my children, perhaps the whole world; so I remained under\nthe thrall of these petty fears and thoughts until wounded men were\ncarried past me. The sight distressed me; you know how sensitive I am,\nand with what difficulty I endure and witness suffering.\n\n\"Charmian led me to the cabin. There I first realized what I had done. I\nhad hoped to aid in crushing the hated foe, and now perhaps it was I who\nhad built for him the bridge to victory, to sovereignty, to our\ndestruction. Pursued by such thoughts, as if by the Furies, I paced\nrestlessly to and fro.\n\n\"Suddenly I heard a loud noise on deck. A crashing blow seemed to shake\nthe huge ship. We were pursued! A Roman galley had boarded mine! This was\nmy thought as I grasped the dagger Antony had given me.\n\n\"But Charmian came back with tidings which seemed scarcely less terrible\nthan the baseless fear. I had angrily commanded her to leave me because\nshe had urged me to revoke the command to turn back. Now, deadly pale,\nshe announced that Mark Antony had left his galley, followed me in a\nlittle five-oared boat, and come on board our ship.\n\n\"My blood froze in my veins.\n\n\"He had come, I imagined, to force me to return to the battle and,\ndrawing a long breath, my defiant pride urged me to show him that I was\nthe Queen and would obey only my own will, while my heart impelled me to\nsink at his feet and beseech him, without heeding me, to issue any order\nwhich promised to secure a victory.\n\n\"But he did not come.\n\n\"I sent Charmian up again. Antony had been unable to continue the\nconflict when parted from me. Now he sat in front of the cabin with his\nhead resting on his hands, staring at the planks of the deck like one\ndistraught. He, he--Antony! The bravest horseman, the terror of the foe,\nlet his arms fall like a shepherd-boy whose sheep are stolen by the\nwolves. Mark Antony, the hero who had braved a thousand dangers, had\nflung down his sword. Why, why? Because a woman had yielded to idle\nfears, obeyed the yearning of a mother's heart, and fled? Of all human\nweaknesses, not one had been more alien than cowardice to the man whose\nrecklessness had led him to many an unprecedented venture. And now? No, a\nthousand times no! Fire and water would unite sooner than Mark Antony and\ncowardice! He had been under the coercive power of a demon; a mysterious\nspell had forced him--\"\n\n\"The mightiest power, love,\" interrupted Iras with enthusiastic\nwarmth--\"a love as great and overmastering as ever subjugated the soul of\nman.\"\n\n\"Ay, love,\" repeated Cleopatra, in a hollow tone. Then her lips curled\nwith a faint tinge of derision, and her voice expressed the very\nbitterness of doubt, as she continued: \"Had it been merely the love which\nmakes two mortals one, transfers the heart of one to the other, it might\nperchance have borne my timorous soul into the hero's breast! But no.\nViolent tempests had raged before the battle. It had not been possible\nalways to appear before him in the guise in which we would fain be seen\nby those whom we love.\n\n\"Even now, when your skilful hands have served me--there is the\nmirror--the image it reflects--seems to me like a carefully preserved\nwreck--\"\n\n\"O my royal mistress,\" cried Iras, raising her hands beseechingly, \"must\nI again declare that neither the grey hairs which are again brown, nor\nthe few lines which Olympus will soon render invisible, nor whatever else\nperhaps disturbs you in the image you behold reflected, impairs your\nbeauty? Unclouded and secure of victory, the spell of your godlike\nnature--\"\n\n\"Cease, cease!\" interrupted Cleopatra. \"I know what I know. No mortal can\nescape the great eternal laws of Nature. As surely as birth commences\nlife, everything that exists moves onward to destruction and decay.\"\n\n\"Yet the gods,\" Iras persisted, \"give to their works different degrees of\nexistence. The waterlily blooms but a single day, yet how full of vigour\nis the sycamore in the garden of the Paneum, which has flourished a\nthousand years! Not a petal in the blossoms of your youth has faded, and\nis it conceivable that there is even the slightest diminution in the love\nof him who cast away all that man holds dearest because he could not\nendure to part, even for days or weeks, from the woman whom he\nworshipped?\"\n\n\"Would that he had done so!\" cried Cleopatra mournfully. \"But are you so\nsure that it was love which made him follow me? I am of a different\nopinion. True love does not paralyze, but doubles the high qualities of\nman. I learned this when Caesar was prisoned by a greatly superior force\nwithin this very palace, his ships burned, his supply of water cut off.\nIn him also, in Antony, I was permitted to witness this magnificent\nspectacle twenty--what do I say?-a hundred times, so long as he loved me\nwith all the ardour of his fiery soul. But what happened at Actium? That\nshameful flight of the cooing dove after his mate, at which generations\nyet unborn will point in mockery! He who does not see more deeply will\nattribute to the foolish madness of love this wretched forgetfulness of\nduty, honour, fame, the present and the future; but I, Iras--and this is\nthe thought which whitens one hair after another, which will speedily\ndestroy the remnant of your mistress's former beauty by the exhaustion of\nsleepless nights--I know better. It was not love which drew Antony after\nme, not love that trampled in the dust the radiant image of reckless\ncourage, not love that constrained the demigod to follow the pitiful\ntrack of a fugitive woman.\"\n\nHere her voice fell, and seizing the girl's wrist with a painful\npressure, she drew her closer to her side and whispered:\n\n\"The goblet of Nektanebus is connected with it. Ay, tremble! The powers\nthat emanate from the glittering wonder are as terrible as they are\nunnatural. The magic spell exerted by the beaker has transformed the\nheroic son of Herakles, the more than mortal, into the whimpering coward,\nthe crushed, broken nonentity I found upon the galley's deck. You are\nsilent? Your nimble tongue finds no reply. How could you have forgotten\nthat you aided me to win the wager which forced Antony to gaze into the\nbeaker before I filled it for him? How grateful I was to Anubis when he\nfinally consented to trust to my care this marvel of the temple\ntreasures, when the first trial succeeded, and Antony, at my bidding,\nplaced the magnificent wreath which he wore upon the bald brow of that\ncrabbed old follower of Aristoteles, Diomedes, whom he detested in his\ninmost soul! It was scarcely a year ago, and you know how rarely at first\nI used the power of the terrible vessel. The man whom I loved obeyed my\nslightest glance, without its aid. But later--before the battle--I felt\nhow gladly he would have sent me, who might ruin all, back to Egypt.\nBesides, I felt--I have already said so--that something had come between\nus. Yet, often as he was on the point of sacrificing me to the\nimportunate Romans, I need only bid him gaze into the beaker, and exclaim\n'You will not send me hence. We belong together. Whither one goes, the\nother will follow!' and he besought me not to leave him. The very morning\nbefore the battle I gave him the drinking cup, urging him, whatever might\nhappen, never, never to leave me. And he obeyed this time also, though\nthe person to whom a magic spell bound him was a fleeing woman. It is\nterrible. And yet, have I a right to execrate the thrall of the beaker?\nScarcely! For without the Magian's glittering vessel--a secret voice in\nmy soul has whispered the warning a thousand times during the sleepless\nnights--he would have taken another on the galley. And I believe I know\nthis other--I mean the woman whose singing enthralled my heart too at the\nAdonis festival just before our departure. I noticed the look with which\nhis eyes sought hers. Now I know that it was not merely my old deceitful\nfoe, jealousy, which warned me against her. Alexas, the most faithful of\nhis friends, also confirmed what I merely feared--ah! and he told me\nother things which the stars had revealed to him. Besides, he knows the\nsiren, for she was the wife of his own brother. To protect his honour, he\ncast off the coquettish Circe.\"\n\n\"Barine!\" fell in resolute tones from the lips of Iras.\n\n\"So you know her?\" asked Cleopatra, eagerly. The girl raised her clasped\nhands beseechingly to the Queen, exclaiming:\n\n\"I know this woman only too well, and how my heart rages against her! O\nmy mistress, that I, too, should aid in darkening this hour! Yet it must\nbe said. That Antony visited the singer, and even took his son there more\nthan once, is known throughout the city. Yet that is not the worst. A\nBarine entering into rivalry with you! It would be too ridiculous. But\nwhat bounds can be set to the insatiate greed of these women? No rank, no\nage is sacred. It was dull in the absence of the court and the army.\nThere were no men who seemed worth the trouble of catching, so she cast\nher net for boys, and the one most closely snared was the King\nCaesarion.\"\n\n\"Caesarion!\" exclaimed Cleopatra, her pale cheeks flushing. \"And his\ntutor Rhodon? My strict commands?\"\n\n\"Antyllus secretly presented him to her,\" replied Iras. \"But I kept my\neyes open. The boy clung to the singer with insensate passion. The only\nexpedient was to remove her from the city. Archibius aided me.\"\n\n\"Then I shall be spared sending her away.\"\n\n\"Nay, that must still be done; for, on the journey to the country\nCaesarion, with several comrades, attacked her.\"\n\n\"And the reckless deed was successful?\"\n\n\"No, my royal mistress. I wish it had been. A love-sick fool who\naccompanied her drew his sword in her defence, raised his hand against\nthe son of Caesar, and wounded him. Calm yourself, I beseech you, I\nconjure you--the wound is slight. The boy's mad passion makes me far more\nanxious.\"\n\nThe Queen's pouting scarlet lips closed so firmly that her mouth lost the\nwinning charm which was peculiar to it, and she answered in a firm,\nresolute tone: \"It is the mother's place to protect the son against the\ntemptress. Alexas is right. Her star stands in the path of mine. A woman\nlike this casts a deep shadow on her Queen's course. I will defend\nmyself. It is she who has placed herself between us; she has won Antony.\nBut no! Why should I blind myself? Time and the charms he steals from\nwomen are far more powerful than twenty such little temptresses. Then,\nthere are the circumstances which prevented my concealing the defects\nthat wounded the eyes of this most spoiled of all spoiled mortals. All\nthese things aided the singer. I feel it. In her pursuit of men she had\nat her command all the means which aid us women to conceal what is\nunlovely and enhance what is beautiful in a lover's eyes, while I was at\na disadvantage, lacking your aid and the long-tested skill of Olympus.\nThe divinity on the ship, amid the raging of the storm, was forced more\nthan once to appear before the worshipper ungarlanded, without ornament\nfor the head, or incense.\"\n\n\"But though she used all the combined arts of Aphrodite and Isis, she\ncould not vie with you, my royal mistress!\" cried Iras. \"How little is\nrequired to delude the senses of one scarcely more than a child!\"\n\n\"Poor boy!\" sighed the Queen, gently. \"Had he not been wounded, and were\nit not so hard to resign what we love, I should rejoice that he, too,\nunderstands how to plan and act. Perhaps--O Iras, would that it might be\nso!--now that the gate is burst open, the brain and energy of the great\nCaesar will enter his living image. As the Egyptians call Horus 'the\navenger of his father,' perhaps he may become his mother's defender and\navenger. If Caesar's spirit wakes within him, he will wrest from the\ndissembler Octavianus the heritage of which the nephew robbed the son.\nYou swear that the wound is but a slight one?\"\n\n\"The physicians have said so.\"\n\n\"Well, then we will hope so. Let him enter the conflict of life. We will\nafford him ample opportunity to test his powers. No foolish passion shall\nprevent the convalescent youth from following his father upward along the\npathway of fame. But send for the woman who ensnared him, the audacious\ncharmer whose aspirations mount to those I hold dearest. We will see how\nshe appears beside me!\"\n\n\"These are grievous times,\" said Iras, who saw in amazement the Queen's\neyes sparkle with the confident light of victory. \"Grant your foot its\nright. Let it crush her! Monsters enough, on whom you cannot set your\nfoot, throng your path. Hence to Hades, in these days of conflict, with\nall who can be quickly removed!\"\n\n\"Murder?\" asked Cleopatra, her noble brow contracting in a frown.\n\n\"If it must be, ay,\" replied Iras, sharply. \"If possible, banishment to\nan island, an oasis. If necessity requires, to the mines with the siren!\"\n\n\"If necessity requires?\" repeated the Queen. \"I think that means, if it\nproves that she has deserved the harshest punishment.\"\n\n\"She has brought it upon herself by every hour of my sovereign's life\nclouded through her wiles. In the mines the desire to set snares for\nhusbands and sons soon vanishes.\"\n\n\"And people languish in the most terrible torture till death ends their\nsuffering,\" added Cleopatra, in a tone of grave reproof. \"No, girl, this\nvictory is too easy. I will not send even my foe to death without a\nhearing, especially at this time, which teaches me what it is to await\nthe verdict of one who is more powerful. This woman who, as it were,\nsummons me to battle, shall have her wish. I am curious to see the singer\nagain, and to learn the means by which she has succeeded in chaining to\nher triumphal car so many captives, from boys up to the most exacting\nmen.\"\n\n\"What do you intend, my royal mistress?\" cried Iras in horror.\n\n\"I intend,\" said Cleopatra imperiously, \"to see the daughter of Leonax,\nthe granddaughter of Didymus, two men whom I hold in high esteem, ere I\ndecide her destiny. I wish to behold, test, and judge my rival, heart and\nmind, ere I condemn her. I will engage in the conflict to which she\nchallenged the loving wife and mother! But--this is my right--I will\ncompel her to show herself to me as Antony so often saw me during the\npast few weeks, unaided and unimproved by the arts which we both have at\ncommand.\"\n\nThen, without paying any further heed to her attendant, she went to a\nwindow, and, after a swift glance at the sky, added quietly: \"The first\nhour after midnight is drawing to a close. The council will begin\nimmediately. The matter to be under discussion is a venture which might\nsave much from the wreck. The council will last two hours, perchance only\none. The singer can wait. Where does she live?\"\n\n\"In the house which belonged to her father, the artist Leonax, in the\ngarden of the Paneum,\" replied Iras hoarsely. \"But, O my Queen, if ever\nmy opinion had the slightest weight with you--\"\n\n\"I desire no counsel now, but demand the fulfilment of my orders!\" cried\nCleopatra resolutely. \"As soon as those whom I expect are here--\"\n\nThe Queen was interrupted by a chamberlain, who announced the arrival of\nthe men whom she had summoned, and Cleopatra bade him tell them that she\nwas on her way to the council chamber. Then she turned again to Iras and\nin rapid words commanded her to go at once in a closed carriage,\naccompanied by a reliable person, to Barine's house. She must be brought\nto the palace without the least delay--Iras would understand--even if it\nshould be necessary to rouse her from her sleep. \"I wish to see her as if\na storm had forced her suddenly upon the deck of a ship,\" she said in\nconclusion.\n\nThen snatching a small tablet from the dressing-table, she scrawled upon\nthe wax with a rapid hand: \"Cleopatra, the Queen, desires to see Barine,\nthe daughter of Leonax, without delay. She must obey any command of Iras,\nCleopatra's messenger, and her companion.\"\n\nThen, closing the diptychon, she handed it to her attendant, asking:\n\n\"Whom will you take?\"\n\nShe answered without hesitation, \"Alexas.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" answered Cleopatra. \"Do not allow her a moment for\npreparations, whatever they may be. But do not forget--I command\nyou--that she is a woman.\"\n\nWith these words she turned to follow the chamberlain, but Iras hurried\nafter her to adjust the diadem upon her head and arrange some of the\nfolds of her robe.\n\nCleopatra submitted, saying kindly, \"Something else, I see, is weighing\non your heart.\"\n\n\"O my mistress!\" cried the girl. \"After these tempests of the soul, these\nharassing months, you are turning night into day and assuming fresh\nlabours and anxieties. If the leech Olympus--\"\n\n\"It must be,\" interrupted Cleopatra kindly. \"The last two weeks seemed\nlike a single long and gloomy night, during which I sometimes left my\ncouch for a few hours. One who seeks to drag what is dearest from the\nriver does not consider whether the cold bath is agreeable. If we\nsuccumb, it does not matter whether we are well or ill; if, on the\ncontrary, we succeed in gathering another army and saving Egypt, let it\ncost health and life. The minutes I intend to grant to the woman will be\nthrown into the bargain. Whatever may come, I shall be ready to meet my\nfate. I am at one of life's great turning points. At such a time we\nfulfil our obligations and demands, both great and small.\"\n\nA few minutes later Cleopatra entered the throne-room and saluted the men\nwhom she had roused from their slumber in order to lay before them a bold\nplan which, in the lowest depths of misfortune, her yearning to offer\nfresh resistance to the victorious foe had caused her vigorous, restless\nmind to evoke.\n\nWhen, many years before, the boy with whom, according to her father's\nwill, she shared the throne, and his guardian Pothinus, had compelled her\nto fly from Alexandria, she had found in the eastern frontier of the\nDelta, on the isthmus which united Egypt to Asia, the remains of the\ncanal which the energetic Pharaohs of former times had constructed to\nconnect the Mediterranean with the Red Sea.\n\nEven at that period she had deemed this ruinous work worthy of notice,\nhad questioned the AEnites who dwelt there about the remains, and even\nvisited some of them herself during the leisure hours of waiting.\n\nFrom this survey it had seemed possible, by a great expenditure of\nlabour, to again render navigable the canal which the Pharaohs had used\nto reach both seas in the same galleys, and by which, less than five\nhundred years before, Darius, the founder of the Persian Empire, had\nbrought his fleet to his support.\n\nWith the tireless desire for knowledge characteristic of her, Cleopatra\nhad sought information concerning all these matters, and in quiet hours\nhad more than once pondered over plans for again uniting the Grecian and\nArabian seas.\n\nClearly, plainly, fully, with more thorough knowledge of many details\nthan even the superintendent of the water works, she explained her design\nto the assembled professionals. If it proved practicable, the rescued\nships of the fleet, with others lying in the roadstead of Alexandria,\ncould be conveyed across the isthmus into the Red Sea, and thus saved to\nEgypt and withdrawn from the foe. Supported by this force, many things\nmight be attempted, resistance might be considerably prolonged, and the\ntime thus gained used in gathering fresh aid and allies.\n\nIf the opportunity to make an attack arrived, a powerful fleet would be\nat her disposal, for which smaller ships also should now be built at\nKlysma, on the basis of the experience gained at Actium. The men who had\nbeen robbed of their night's rest listened in amazement to the melodious\nwords of this woman who, in the deepest disaster, had devised a plan of\nescape so daring in its grandeur, and understood how to explain it better\nthan any one of their number could have done. They followed every\nsentence with the keenest attention, and Cleopatra's language grew more\nimpassioned, gained greater power and depth, the more plainly she\nperceived the unfeigned, enthusiastic admiration paid her by her\nlisteners.\n\nEven the oldest and most experienced men did not consider the surprising\nproposal utterly impossible and impracticable. Some, among them Gorgias,\nwho during the restoration of the Serapeum had helped his father on the\neastern frontier of the Delta, and thus became familiar with the\nneighbourhood of Heroonopolis, feared the difficulties which an elevation\nof the earth in the centre of the isthmus would place in the way of the\nenterprise. Yet, why should an undertaking which was successful in the\ndays of Sesostris appear unattainable?\n\nThe shortness of the time at their disposal was a still greater source of\nanxiety, and to this was added the information that one hundred and\ntwenty thousand workmen had perished during the restoration of the canal\nwhich Pharaoh Necho nearly completed. The water way was not finished at\nthat period, because an oracle had asserted that it would benefit only\nthe foreigners, the Phoenicians.\n\nAll these points were duly considered, but could not shake the opinion\nthat, under specially favourable conditions, the Queen's plan would be\npracticable; though, to execute it, obstacles mountain-high were to be\nconquered. All the labourers in the fields, who had not been pressed into\nthe army, must be summoned to the work.\n\nNot an hour's delay was permitted. Where there was no water to bear the\nships, an attempt must be made to convey them across the land. There was\nno lack of means. The mechanics who had understood how to move the\nobelisks and colossi from the cataract to Alexandria, could here again\nfind opportunity to test their brains and former skill.\n\nNever had Cleopatra's kindling spirit roused more eager, nay, more\npassionate sympathy, in any counsellors gathered around her than during\nthis nocturnal meeting, and when at last she paused, the loud\nacclamations of excited men greeted her. The Queen's return, and the\ntidings of the lost battle which she had communicated, were to be kept\nsecret.\n\nGorgias had been appointed one of the directors of the enterprise, and\nthe intellect, voice, and winning charm of Cleopatra had so enraptured\nhim that he already fancied he saw the commencement of a new love which\nwould be fatal to his regard for Helena.\n\nIt was foolish to raise his wishes so high, but he told himself that he\nhad never beheld a woman more to be desired. Yet he cherished a very warm\nmemory of the philosopher's grand-daughter, and lamented that he would\nscarcely find it possible to bid her farewell.\n\nZeno, the Keeper of the Seal, Dion's uncle, had questioned him about his\nnephew in a very mysterious manner as soon as he entered the council\nchamber, and received the reply that the wound in the shoulder, which\nCaesarion had dealt with a short Roman sword, though severe, was--so the\nphysicians assured them-not fatal.\n\nThis seemed to satisfy Zeno, and ere Gorgias could urge him to extend a\nprotecting hand over his nephew, he excused himself and, with a message\nto the wounded man, turned his back upon him.\n\nThe courtier had not yet learned what view the Queen would take of this\nunfortunate affair, and besides, he was overloaded with business. The new\nenterprise required the issue of a large number of documents conferring\nauthority, which all passed through his hands.\n\nCleopatra addressed a few kind, encouraging words to each one of the\nexperts who had been entrusted with the execution of her plan. Gorgias,\ntoo, was permitted to kiss her robe, which stirred his blood afresh. He\nwould fain have flung himself at the feet of this marvellous woman and,\nwith his services, place his life at her disposal. And Cleopatra noticed\nthe enthusiastic ardour of his glance.\n\nHe, too, had been mentioned in the list of Barine's admirers. There must\nbe something unusual about this woman! But could she have fired a body of\ngrave men in behalf of a great, almost impossible deed, roused them to\nsuch enthusiastic admiration as she, the vanquished, menaced Queen?\nCertainly not.\n\nShe felt in the right mood to confront Barine as judge and rival.\n\nIn the midst of the deepest misery she had spent one happy hour. She had\nagain felt, with joyous pride, that her intellect, fresh and unclouded,\nwould be capable of outstripping the best powers, and in truth she needed\nno magic goblet to win hearts.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Aspect obnoxious to the gaze will pour water on the fire\n     Everything that exists moves onward to destruction and decay\n     Trouble does not enhance beauty\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nBarine had been an hour in the palace. The magnificently furnished room\nto which she was conducted was directly above the council chamber, and\nsometimes, in the silence of the night, the voice of the Queen or the\nloud cheers of men were distinctly heard.\n\nBarine listened without making the slightest effort to catch the meaning\nof the words which reached her ears. She longed only for something to\ndivert her thoughts from the deep and bitter emotion which filled her\nsoul. Ay, she was roused to fury, and yet she felt how completely this\npassionate resentment contradicted her whole nature.\n\nTrue, the shameless conduct of Philostratus during their married life had\noften stirred the inmost depths of her placid, kindly spirit, and after\nwards his brother Alexas had come to drive her, by his disgraceful\nproposals, to the verge of despair; rage was added to the passionate\nagitation of her soul, and for this she had cause to rejoice--but for\nthis mighty resentment during the time of struggle she might have,\nperhaps, succumbed from sheer weariness and the yearning desire to rest.\n\nAt last, at last, she and her friends, by means of great sacrifices, had\nsucceeded in releasing her from these tortures. Philostratus's consent to\nliberate her was purchased. Alexas's persecution had ceased long before;\nhe had first been sent away as envoy by his patron Antony, and afterwards\nbeen compelled to accompany him to the war.\n\nHow she had enjoyed the peaceful days in her mother's house! How quickly\nthe bright cheerfulness which she had supposed lost had returned to her\nsoul!--and to-day Fate had blessed her with the greatest happiness life\nhad ever offered. True, she had had only a few brief hours in which to\nenjoy it, for the attack of the unbridled boys and the wound inflicted\nupon her lover had cast a heavy shadow on her bliss.\n\nHer mother had again proved to be in the right when she so confidently\npredicted a second misfortune which would follow the first only too soon.\n\nBarine had been torn at midnight from her peaceful home and her wounded\nlover's bedside. This was done by the Queen's command, and, full of angry\nexcitement, she said to herself that the men were right who cursed\ntyranny because it transformed free human beings into characterless\nchattels.\n\nThere could be nothing good awaiting her; that was proved by the\nmessengers whom Cleopatra had sent to summon her at this unprecedented\nhour. They were her worst enemies: Iras, who desired to wed her\nlover--Dion had told her so after the assault--and Alexas, whose suit she\nhad rejected in a way which a man never forgives.\n\nShe had already learned Iras's feelings. The slender figure with the\nnarrow head, long, delicate nose, small chin, and pointed fingers, seemed\nto her like a long, sharp thorn. This strange comparison had entered her\nhead as Iras stood rigidly erect, reading aloud in a shrill, high voice\nthe Queen's command. Everything about this hard, cold face appeared as\nsharp as a sting, and ready to destroy her.\n\nHer removal from her mother's house to the royal palace had been swift\nand simple.\n\nAfter the attack--of which she saw little, because, overpowered by fear\nand horror, she closed her eyes--she had driven home with her lover,\nwhere the leech had bandaged his injuries, and Berenike had quickly and\ncarefully transformed her own sleeping chamber into a sick-room.\n\nBarine, after changing her dress, did not leave Dion's side. She had\nattired herself carefully, for she knew his delight in outward adornment.\nWhen she returned from her grandparents, before sunset, she was alone\nwith him, and he, kissing her arm, had murmured that wherever the Greek\ntongue was spoken there was not one more beautiful. The gem was worthy of\nits loveliness. So she had opened her baggage to take out the circlet\nwhich Antony had given, and it again enclasped her arm when she entered\nthe sick-room.\n\nBecause Dion had told her that he deemed her fairest in the simple white\nrobe she had worn a few days before, when there were no guests save\nhimself and Gorgias, and she had sung until after midnight his favourite\nsongs as though all were intended for him alone, her choice had fallen\nupon this garment. And she rejoiced that she had worn it--the wounded\nman's eyes rested upon her so joyously when she sat down opposite to him.\n\nThe physician had forbidden him to talk, and urged him to sleep if\npossible. So Barine only held his hand in silence, whispering, whenever\nhe opened his eyes, a tender word of love and encouragement.\n\nShe had remained with him for hours, leaving her place at his side merely\nto give him his medicine, or, with her mother's aid, place poultices on\nhis wounds.\n\nWhen his manly face was distorted by suffering, she shared his pain; but\nduring most of the time a calm, pleasant sense of happiness pervaded her\nmind. She felt safe and sheltered in the possession of the man whom she\nloved, though fully aware of the perils which threatened him, and,\nperhaps, her also. But the assurance of his love completely filled her\nheart and cast every care entirely into the shade. Many men had seemed\nestimable and agreeable, a few even desirable husbands, but Dion was the\nfirst to awaken love in her ardent but by no means passionate soul. She\nregarded the experiences of the past few days as a beautiful miracle. How\nshe had yearned and pined until the most fervent desire of her heart was\nfulfilled! Now Dion had offered her his love, and nothing could rob her\nof it.\n\nGorgias and the sons of her uncle Arius had disturbed her a short time.\nAfter they had gone with a good report, Berenike had entreated her\ndaughter to lie down and let her take her place. But Barine would not\nleave her lover's couch, and had just loosed her hair to brush it again\nand fasten the thick, fair braids around her head, when, two hours after\nmidnight, some one knocked loudly on the window shutters. Berenike was in\nthe act of removing the poultice, so Barine herself went into the atrium\nto wake the doorkeeper.\n\nBut the old man was not asleep, and had anticipated her. She recognized,\nwith a low cry of terror, the first person who entered the lighted\nvestibule--Alexas. Iras followed, her head closely muffled, for the storm\nwas still howling through the streets. Last of all a lantern-bearer\ncrossed the threshold.\n\nThe Syrian saluted the startled young beauty with a formal bow, but Iras,\nwithout a greeting or even a single word of preparation, delivered the\nQueen's command, and then read aloud, by the light of the lantern, what\nCleopatra had scrawled upon the wax tablet.\n\nWhen Barine, pallid and scarcely able to control her emotion, requested\nthe messengers who had arrived at so late an hour to enter, in order to\ngive her time to prepare for the night drive and take leave of her\nmother, Iras vouchsafed no reply, but, as if she had the right to rule\nthe house, merely ordered the doorkeeper to bring his mistress's cloak\nwithout delay.\n\nWhile the old man, with trembling knees, moved away, Iras asked if the\nwounded Dion was in the dwelling; and Barine, her self-control restored\nby the question, answered, with repellent pride, that the Queen's orders\ndid not command her to submit to an examination in her own house.\n\nIras shrugged her shoulders and said, sneeringly, to Alexas:\n\n\"In truth, I asked too much. One who attracts so many men of all ages can\nscarcely be expected to know the abode of each individual.\"\n\n\"The heart has a faithful memory,\" replied the Syrian in a tone of\ncorrection, but Iras echoed, contemptuously, \"The heart!\"\n\nThen all were silent until, instead of the doorkeeper, Berenike herself\ncame hurrying in, bringing the cloak. With pallid face and bloodless lips\nshe wrapped it around her daughter's shoulders, whispering, amid floods\nof tears, almost inaudible words of love and encouragement, which Iras\ninterrupted by requesting Barine to follow her to the carriage.\n\nThe mother and daughter embraced and kissed each other, then the closed\nequipage bore the persecuted woman through the storm and darkness to\nLochias.\n\nNot a word was exchanged between Barine and the Queen's messengers until\nthey reached the room where the former was to await Cleopatra; but here\nIras again endeavoured to induce her to speak. At the first question,\nhowever, Barine answered that she had no information to give.\n\nThe room was as bright as if it were noonday, though the lights flickered\nconstantly, for the wind found its way through the thin shutters closing\nthe windows on both sides of the corner room, and a strong, cold draught\nswept in. Barine wrapped her cloak more closely around her; the storm\nwhich howled about the sea-washed palace harmonized with the vehement\nagitation of her soul. Whether she had looked within or without, there\nwas nothing which could have soothed her save the assurance of being\nloved--an assurance that held fear at bay. Now, indignation prevented\ndread from overpowering her, yet calm consideration could not fail to\nshow her that danger threatened on every hand. The very manner in which\nIras and Alexas whispered together, without heeding her presence, boded\nperil, for courtiers show such contempt only to those whom they know are\nthreatened with the indifference or resentment of the sovereign. Barine,\nduring her married life with a man devoid of all delicacy of feeling, and\nwith a disposition as evil as his tongue was ready, had learned to endure\nmany things which were hard to bear; yet when, after a remark from Iras\nevidently concerning her, she heard Alexas laugh, she was compelled to\nexert the utmost self-restraint to avoid telling her enemy how utterly\nshe despised the cowardly cruelty of her conduct. But she succeeded in\nkeeping silent. Still, the painful constraint she imposed on herself must\nfind vent in some way, and, as the tortured anguish of her soul reached\nits height, large tears rolled down her cheeks.\n\nThese, too, were noticed by her enemy and made the target of her wit; but\nthis time the sarcasm failed to produce its effect upon the Syrian, for,\ninstead of laughing, he grew grave, and whispered something which seemed\nto Barine a reproof or a warning. Iras's reply was merely a contemptuous\nshrug of the shoulders.\n\nBarine had noticed long before that her mother, in her fear and\nbewilderment, had brought her own cloak instead of her daughter's, and\nthis circumstance also did not seem to her foe too trivial for a sneer.\n\nBut the childish insolence that seemed to have taken possession of one\nwho usually by no means lacked dignity, was merely the mask beneath which\nshe concealed her own suffering. A grave motive was the source of the\nmirth by which she affected to be moved at the sight of her enemy's\ncloak. The grey, ill-fitting garment disfigured Barine, and she desired\nthat the Queen should feel confident of surpassing her rival even in\noutward charms. No one, not even Cleopatra, could dispense with a\nprotecting wrap in this cold draught, and nothing suited her better than\nthe purple mantle in whose delicate woollen fabric black and gold dragons\nand griffins were embroidered. Iras had taken care that it lay ready.\nBarine could not fail to appear like a beggar in comparison, though\nAlexas said that her blue kerchief was marvellously becoming.\n\nHe was a base-minded voluptuary, who, aided by rich gifts of mind and\nwide knowledge, had shunned no means of ingratiating himself with Antony,\nthe most lavish of patrons. The repulse which this man, accustomed to\nsuccess, had received from Barine had been hard to forget, yet he did not\nresign the hope of winning her. Never had she seemed more desirable than\nin her touching weakness. Even base natures are averse to witnessing the\ntorture of the defenceless, and when Iras had aimed another poisoned\nshaft at her, he ventured, at the risk of vexing his ally, to say, under\nhis breath:\n\n\"Condemned criminals are usually granted, before their end, a favourite\ndish. I have no cause to wish Barine anything good; but I would not\ngrudge that. You, on the contrary, seem to delight in pouring wormwood on\nher last mouthful.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" she answered, her eyes sparkling brightly. \"Malice is the\npurest of pleasures; at least to me, when exercised on this woman.\"\n\nThe Syrian, with a strange smile, held out his hand, saying: \"Keep your\ngood-will towards me, Iras.\"\n\n\"Because,\" she retorted with a sneer, \"evil may follow my enmity. I think\nso, too. I am not especially sensitive concerning myself, but whoever\ndares\"--here she raised her voice--\"to harm one whom I--Just listen to\nthe cheers! How she carries all hearts with her! Though Fate had made her\na beggar, she would still be peerless among women. She is like the sun.\nThe clouds which intrude upon her pathway of radiance are consumed and\ndisappear.\"\n\nWhile uttering the last sentence she had turned towards Barine, whose ear\nthe sharp voice again pierced like a thorn, as she commanded her to\nprepare for the examination.\n\nAlmost at the same moment the door, caught by the wind, closed with a\nloud bang. The \"introducer\"--[Marshal of the court.]--had opened it, and,\nafter a hasty glance, exclaimed:\n\n\"The audience will not be given in this meeting place for all the winds\nof heaven! Her Majesty desires to receive her late visitor in the Hall of\nShells.\"\n\nWith these words he bowed courteously to Barine, and ushered her and her\ntwo companions through several corridors and apartments into a\nwell-heated anteroom.\n\nHere even the windows were thoroughly protected from the storm. Several\nbody-guards and pages belonging to the corps of the \"royal boys\" stood\nwaiting to receive them.\n\n\"This is comfortable.\" said Alexas, turning to Iras. \"Was the winter we\nhave just experienced intended to fill us with twofold gratitude for the\ndelights of the mild spring in this blessed room?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" she answered sullenly, and then added in a low tone: \"Here\nat Lochias the seasons do not follow their usual course. They change\naccording to the pleasure of the supreme will. Instead of four, the\nEgyptians, as you know, have but three; in the palaces on the Nile they\nare countless. What is the meaning of this sudden entry of summer? Winter\nwould have pleased me better.\"\n\nThe Queen--Iras knew not why--had changed her arrangements for Barine's\nreception. This vexed her, and her features assumed a gloomy, threatening\nexpression as the young beauty, casting aside her cloak and kerchief,\nstood awaiting Cleopatra in a white robe of fine material and perfect\nfit. The thick, fair braids, wound simply around her shapely head, gave\nher an appearance of almost childish youth, and the sight made Iras feel\nas if she, and Cleopatra also, were outwitted.\n\nIn the dimly lighted atrium of the house near the Paneum garden, she had\nnoticed only that Barine wore something white. Had it been merely a night\nrobe, so much the better. But she might have appeared in her present garb\nat the festival of Isis. The most careful deliberation could have\nselected nothing more suitable or becoming. And did this vain woman go to\nrest with costly gold ornaments? Else how did the circlet chance to be on\nher arm? Each of Cleopatra's charms seemed to Iras, who knew them all,\nlike a valuable possession of her own. To see even the least of them\nsurpassed by another vexed her; and to behold in yonder woman a form\nwhich she could not deny was no less beautiful, enraged, nay, pierced her\nto the heart.\n\nSince she had known that because of Barine she could hope for nothing\nmore from the man to whose love she believed she possessed a claim dating\nfrom their childhood, she had hated the young beauty. And now to the many\nthings which contributed to increase her hostile mood, was added the\ndisagreeable consciousness that during the last few hours she had treated\nher contemptibly. Had she only seen earlier what her foe's cloak\nconcealed, she would have found means to give her a different appearance.\nBut she must remain as she was; for Chairman had already entered. Other\nhours, however, would follow, and if the next did not decide the fate of\nthe woman whom she hated, future ones should.\n\nFor this purpose she did not need the aid of Charmian, her uncle\nArchibius's sister, who had hitherto been a beloved associate and\nmaternal friend. But what had happened? Iras fancied that her pleasant\nfeatures wore a repellent expression which she had never seen before. Was\nthis also the singer's fault? And what was the cause?\n\nThe older woman's manner decided the question whether she should still\nbestow upon her returned relative the love of a grateful niece. No, she\nwould no longer put any restraint upon herself. Charmian should feel that\nshe (Iras) considered any favour shown to her foe an insult. To work\nagainst her secretly was not in her nature. She had courage to show an\nenemy her aversion, and she did not fear Charmian enough to pursue a\ndifferent course. She knew that the artist Leonax, Barine's father, had\nbeen Charmian's lover; but this did not justify her favouring the woman\nwho had robbed her niece of the heart of the man whom she--as Charmian\nknew--had loved from childhood.\n\nCharmian had just had a long conversation with her brother, and had also\nlearned in the palace that Barine had been summoned to the Queen's\npresence in the middle of the night; so, firmly persuaded that evil was\nintended to the young woman who had already passed through so many\nagitating scenes of joy and sorrow, she entered the waiting-room, and her\npleasant though no longer youthful face, framed in smooth, grey hair, was\ngreeted by Barine as the shipwrecked mariner hails the sight of land.\n\nAll the emotions which had darkened and embittered her soul were soothed.\nShe hastened towards her friend's sister, as a frightened child seeks its\nmother, and Charmian perceived what was stirring in her heart.\n\nIt would not do, under existing circumstances, to kiss her in the palace,\nbut she drew Leonax's daughter towards her to show Iras that she was\nready to extend a protecting hand over the persecuted woman. But Barine\ngazed at her with pleading glances, beseeching aid, whispering amid her\ntears: \"Help me, Charmian. She has tortured, insulted, humiliated me with\nlooks and words--so cruelly, so spitefully! Help me; I can bear no more.\"\n\nCharmian shook her kind head and urged her in a whisper to calm herself.\nShe had robbed Iras of her lover; she should remember that. Cost what it\nmight, she must not shed another tear. The Queen was gracious. She,\nCharmian, would aid her. Everything would depend on showing herself to\nCleopatra as she was, not as slander represented her. She must answer her\nas she would Archibius or herself.\n\nThe kindly woman, as she spoke, stroked her brow and eyes with maternal\ntenderness, and Barine felt as if goodness itself had quelled the tempest\nin her soul. She gazed around her as though roused from a troubled dream,\nand now for the first time perceived the richly adorned room in which she\nstood, the admiring glances of the boys in the Macedonian corps of pages,\nand the bright fire blazing cheerily on the hearth. The howling of the\nstorm increased the pleasant sense of being under a firm roof, and Iras,\nwho had whispered to the \"introducer\" at the door, no longer seemed like\na sharp thorn or a spiteful demon, but a woman by no means destitute of\ncharm, who repulsed her, but on whom she had inflicted the keenest pang a\nwoman's heart can suffer. Then she again thought of her wounded lover at\nhome, and remembered that, whatever might happen, his heart did not\nbelong to Iras, but to her alone. Lastly, she recalled Archibius's\ndescription of Cleopatra's childhood, and this remembrance was followed\nby the conviction that the omnipotent sovereign would be neither cruel\nnor unjust, and that it would depend upon herself to win her favour.\nCharmian, too, was the Queen's confidante; and if the manner of Iras and\nAlexas had alarmed her, Charmian's might well inspire confidence.\n\nAll these thoughts darted through her brain with the speed of lightning.\nOnly a brief time for consideration remained; for, even as she bowed her\nhead on the bosom of her friend, the \"introducer\" entered the room,\ncrying, \"Her illustrious Majesty will expect those whom she summoned in a\nfew minutes!\"\n\nSoon after a chamberlain appeared, waving a fan of ostrich feathers and,\npreceded by the court official, they passed through several brilliantly\nlighted, richly furnished rooms.\n\nBarine again breathed freely and moved with head erect; and when the\nwide, lofty folding doors of ebony, against whose deep black surface the\ninlaid figures of Tritons, mermaids, shells, fish, and sea monsters were\nsharply relieved, she beheld a glittering, magnificent scene, for the\nhall which Cleopatra had chosen for her reception was completely covered\nwith various marine forms, from the shells to coral and starfish.\n\nA wide, lofty structure, composed of masses of stalactites and unhewn\nblocks of stone, formed a deep grotto at the end of the hall, whence\npeered the gigantic head of a monster whose open jaws formed the\nfireplace of the chimney. Logs of fragrant Arabian wood were blazing\nbrightly on the hearth, and the dragon's ruby glass eyes diffused a red\nlight through the apartment which, blended with the rays of the white and\npink lamps in the shape of lotus flowers fastened among gold and silver\ntendrils and groups of sedges on the walls and ceiling, filling the\nspacious apartment with the soft light whose roseate hue was specially\nbecoming to Cleopatra's waxen complexion.\n\nSeveral stewards and cup-bearers, the master of the hunt, chamberlains,\nfemale attendants, eunuchs, and other court officials were awaiting the\nQueen, and pages who belonged to the Macedonian cadet corps of royal boys\nstood sleepily, with drooping heads, around the small throne of gold,\ncoral, and amber which, placed opposite to the chimney, awaited the\nsovereign.\n\nBarine had already seen this magnificent hall, and others still more\nbeautiful in the Sebasteum, and the splendour therefore neither excited\nnor abashed her; only she would fain have avoided the numerous train of\ncourtiers. Could it be Cleopatra's intention to question her before the\neyes of all these men, women, and boys?\n\nShe no longer felt afraid, but her heart still throbbed quickly. It had\nbeat in the same way in her girlhood, when she was asked to sing in the\npresence of strangers.\n\nAt last she heard doors open, and an invisible hand parted the heavy\ncurtains at her right. She expected to see the Regent, the Keeper of the\nSeal, and the whole brilliantly adorned train of attendants who always\nsurrounded the Queen on formal occasions, enter the magnificent hall.\nElse why had it been selected as the scene of this nocturnal trial?\n\nBut what was this?\n\nWhile she was still recalling the display at the Adonis festival, the\ncurtains began to close again. The courtiers around the throne\nstraightened their bowed figures, the pages forgot their fatigue, and all\njoined in the Greek salutation of welcome, and the \"Life! happiness!\nhealth!\" with which the Egyptians greeted their sovereign.\n\nThe woman of middle height who now appeared before the curtain, and who,\nas she crossed the wide hall alone and unattended, seemed to Barine even\nsmaller than when surrounded by the gay throng at the Adonis festival,\nmust be the Queen. Ay, it was she!\n\nIras was already standing by her side, and Charmian was approaching with\nthe \"introducer.\" The women rendered her various little services thus\nIras took from her shoulders the purple mantle, with its embroidery of\nblack and gold dragons. What an exquisite masterpiece of the loom it must\nbe!\n\nAll the dangers against which she must defend herself flashed swiftly\nthrough Barine's mind; yet, for an instant, she felt the foolish feminine\ndesire to see and handle the costly mantle.\n\nBut Iras had already laid it on the arm of one of the waiting maids, and\nCleopatra now glanced around her, and with a youthful, elastic step\napproached the throne.\n\nOnce more the feeling of timidity which she had had in her girlhood\noverpowered Barine, but with it came the memory of the garden of\nEpicurus, and Archibius's assurance that she, too, would have left the\nQueen with her heart overflowing with warm enthusiasm had not a\ndisturbing influence interposed between them.\n\nYet, had this disturbing influence really existed? No. It was created\nsolely by Cleopatra's jealous imagination. If she would only permit her\nto speak freely now, she should hear that Antony cared as little for her\nas she, Barine, for the boy Caesarion. What prevented her from confessing\nthat her heart was another's? Iras had no one to blame save herself if\nshe spoke the truth pitilessly in her presence.\n\nCleopatra now turned to the \"introducer,\" waving her hand towards the\nthrone and those who surrounded it.\n\nAy, she was indeed beautiful. How bright and clear was the light of her\nlarge eyes, in spite of the harassing days through which she had passed\nand the present night of watching!\n\nCleopatra's heart was still elated by the reception of her bold idea of\nescape, and she approached Barine with gentler feelings and intentions.\nShe had chosen a pleasanter room for the interview than the one Iras had\nselected. She desired a special environment to suit each mood, and as\nsoon as she saw the group of courtiers who surrounded the throne she\nordered their dismissal.\n\nThe \"introducer,\" to carry out the usual ceremonial, had commanded their\npresence in the audience chamber, but their attendance had given the\nmeeting a form which was now distasteful to the Queen. She wished to\nquestion, not to condemn.\n\nAt so happy an hour it was a necessity of her nature to be gracious.\nPerhaps she had been unduly anxious concerning this singer. It even\nseemed probable; for a man who loved her like Antony could scarcely yearn\nfor the favour of another woman. This view had been freshly confirmed by\na brief conversation with the chief Inspector of Sacrifices, an estimable\nold man, who, after hearing how Antony had hurried in pursuit of her at\nActium, raised his eyes and hands as if transported with rapture,\nexclaiming: \"Unhappy Queen! Yet happiest of women! No one was ever so\nardently beloved; and when the tale is told of the noble Trojan who\nendured such sore sufferings for a woman's sake, future generations will\nlaud the woman whose resistless spell constrained the greatest man of his\nday, the hero of heroes, to cast aside victory, fame, and the hope of the\nworld's sovereignty, as mere worthless rubbish.\"\n\nPosterity, whose verdict she dreaded--this wise old reader of the future\nwas right--must extol her as the most fervently beloved, the most\ndesirable of women.\n\nAnd Mark Antony? Even had the magic power of Nektanebus's goblet forced\nhim to follow her and to leave the battle, there still remained his will,\na copy of which--received from Rome--Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, had\nshowed to her at the close of the council. \"Wherever he might die,\" so\nran the words, \"he desired to be buried by the side of Cleopatra.\"\nOctavianus had wrested it from the Vestal Virgins, to whose care it had\nbeen entrusted, in order to fill the hearts of Roman citizens and matrons\nwith indignation against his foe. The plot had succeeded, but the\ndocument had reminded Cleopatra that her heart had given this man the\nfirst of its flowers, that love for him had been the sunshine of her\nlife. So, with head erect, she had crossed the threshold where she was to\nmeet the woman who had ventured to sow tares in her garden. She intended\nto devote only a short time to the interview, which she anticipated with\nthe satisfaction of the strong who are confident of victory.\n\nAs she approached the throne, her train left the hall; the only persons\nwho remained were Charmian, Iras, Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, and the\n\"introducer.\"\n\nCleopatra cast a rapid glance at the throne, to which an obsequious\ngesture of the courtier's hand invited her; but she remained standing,\ngazing keenly at Barine.\n\nWas it the coloured rays from the ruby eyes of the dragon in the\nfireplace which shed the roseate glow on Cleopatra's cheeks? It certainly\nenhanced the beauty of a face now only too frequently pallid and\ncolourless, when rouge did not lend its aid; but Barine understood\nArchibius's ardent admiration for this rare woman, when Cleopatra, with a\nfaint smile, requested her to approach.\n\nNothing more winning could be imagined than the frank kindness, wholly\nuntinged by condescending pride, of this powerful sovereign.\n\nThe less Barine had expected such a reception the more deeply it moved\nher; nay, her eyes grew dim with grateful emotion, which lent them so\nbeautiful a lustre, she looked so lovely in her glad surprise, that\nCleopatra thought the months which had elapsed since her first meeting\nwith the singer had enhanced her charms. And how young she was! The Queen\nswiftly computed the years which Barine must have lived as the wife of\nPhilostratus, and afterwards as the attractive mistress of a hospitable\nhouse, and found it difficult to reconcile the appearance of this\nblooming young creature with the result of the calculation.\n\nShe was surprised, too, to note the aristocratic bearing whose possession\nno one could deny the artist's daughter. This was apparent even in her\ndress, yet Iras had roused her in the middle of the night, and certainly\nhad given her no time for personal adornment.\n\nShe had expected lack of refinement and boldness, in the woman who was\nsaid to have attracted so many men, but even the most bitter prejudice\ncould have detected no trace of it. On the contrary, the embarrassment\nwhich she could not yet wholly subdue lent her an air of girlish\ntimidity. All in all, Barine was a charming creature, who bewitched men\nby her vivacity, her grace, and her exquisite voice, not by coquetry and\npertness. That she possessed unusual mental endowments Cleopatra did not\nbelieve. Barine had only one advantage over her--youth.\n\nTime had not yet robbed the former of a single charm, while from the\nQueen he had wrested many; their number was known only to herself and her\nconfidantes, but at this hour she did not miss them.\n\nBarine, with a low, modest bow, advanced towards the Queen, who commenced\nthe conversation by graciously apologizing for the late hour at which she\nhad summoned her. \"But,\" she added, \"you belong to the ranks of the\nnightingales, who during the night most readily and exquisitely reveal to\nus what stirs their hearts--\"\n\nBarine gazed silently at the floor a moment, and when she raised her eyes\nher voice was faint and timid. \"I sing, it is true, your Majesty, but I\nhave nothing else in common with the birds. The wings which, when a\nchild, bore me wherever I desired, have lost their strength. They do not\nwholly refuse their service, but they now require favourable hours to\nmove.\"\n\n\"I should not have expected that in the time of your youth, your most\nbeautiful possession,\" replied the Queen. \"Yet it is well. I too--how\nlong ago it seems!--was a child, and my imagination outstripped even the\nflight of the eagle. It could dare the risk unpunished. Now----Whoever\nhas reached mature life is wise to let these wings remain idle. The\nmortal who ventures to use them may easily approach too near the sun,\nand, like Icarus, the wax will melt from his pinions. Let me tell you\nthis: To the child the gift of imagination is nourishing bread. In later\nyears we need it only as salt, as spice, as stimulating wine. Doubtless\nit points out many paths, and shows us their end; but, of a hundred\nrambles to which it summons him, scarcely one pleases the mature man. No\ntroublesome parasite is more persistently and sharply rebuffed. Who can\nblame the ill-treated friend if it is less ready to serve us as the years\ngo on? The wise man will keep his ears ever open, but rarely lend it his\nactive hand. To banish it from life is to deprive the plant of blossoms,\nthe rose of its fragrance, the sky of its stars.\"\n\n\"I have often said the same things to myself, though in a less clear and\nbeautiful form, when life has been darkened,\" replied Barine, with a\nfaint blush; for she felt that these words were doubtless intended to\nwarn her against cherishing too aspiring wishes. \"But, your Majesty, here\nalso the gods place you, the great Queen, far above us. We should often\nfind existence bare indeed but for the fancy which endows us with\nimaginary possessions. You have the power to secure a thousand things\nwhich to us common mortals only the gift of imagination pictures as\nattainable.\"\n\n\"You believe that happiness is like wealth, and that the happiest person\nis the one who receives the largest number of the gifts of fortune,\"\nanswered the Queen. \"The contrary, I think, can be easily proved. The\nmaxim that the more we have the less we need desire, is also false,\nthough in this world there are only a certain number of desirable things.\nHe who already possesses one of ten solidi which are to be divided, ought\nreally to desire only nine, and therefore would be poorer by a wish than\nanother who has none. True, it cannot be denied that the gods have\nburdened or endowed me with a greater number of perishable gifts than you\nand many others. You seem to set a high value upon them. Doubtless there\nmay be one or another which you could appropriate only by the aid of the\nimagination. May I ask which seems to you the most desirable?\"\n\n\"Spare me the choice, I beseech you,\" replied Barine in an embarrassed\ntone. \"I need nothing from your treasures, and, as for the other\npossessions I lack many things; but it is uncertain how the noblest and\nhighest gifts in the possession of the marvellously endowed favourite of\nthe gods would suit the small, commonplace ones I call mine, and I know\nnot--\"\n\n\"A sensible doubt!\" interrupted the Queen. \"The lame man, who desired a\nhorse, obtained one, and on his first ride broke his neck. The only\nblessing--the highest of all--which surely bestows happiness can neither\nbe given away nor transferred from one to another. He who has gained it\nmay be robbed of it the next moment.\"\n\nThe last sentence had fallen from the Queen's lips slowly and\nthoughtfully, but Barine, remembering Archibius's tale, said modestly,\n\"You are thinking of the chief good mentioned by Epicurus--perfect peace\nof mind.\"\n\nCleopatra's eyes sparkled with a brighter light as she asked eagerly, \"Do\nyou, the granddaughter of a philosopher, know the system of the master?\"\n\n\"Very superficially, your Majesty. My intellect is far inferior to yours.\nIt is difficult for me thoroughly to comprehend all the details of any\nsystem of philosophy.\"\n\n\"Yet you have attempted it?\"\n\n\"Others endeavoured to introduce me into the doctrines of the Stoics. I\nhave forgotten most of what I learned; only one thing lingered in my\nmemory, and I know why--because it pleased me.\"\n\n\"And that?\"\n\n\"Was the wise law of living according to the dictates of our own natures.\nThe command to shun everything contradictory to the simple fundamental\ntraits of our own characters pleased me, and wherever I saw affectation,\nartificiality, and mannerism I was repelled, while from my grandfather's\nteaching I drew the principle that I could do nothing better than to\nremain, so far as life would permit, what I had been as a child ere I had\nheard the first word of philosophy, or felt the constraint which society\nand its forms impose.\"\n\n\"So the system of the Stoics leads to this end also!\" cried the Queen\ngaily, and, turning to the companion of her own studies, she added: \"Did\nyou hear, Charmian? If we had only succeeded in perceiving the wisdom and\ncalm, purposeful order of existence which the Stoics, amid so much that\nis perverse, unhealthy, and provocative of contradiction, nevertheless\nset above everything else! How can I, in order to live wisely, imitate\nNature, when in her being and action I encounter so much that is\ncontradictory to my human reason, which is a part of the divine?\"\n\nHere she hesitated, and the expression of her face suddenly changed.\n\nShe had advanced close to Barine and, while standing directly in front of\nher, her eyes had rested on the gem which adorned her arm above the\nelbow.\n\nWas it this which agitated Cleopatra so violently that her voice lost its\nbewitching melody, as she went on in a harsh, angry tone?--\"So that is\nthe source of all this misfortune. Even as a child I detested that sort\nof arbitrary judgment which passes under the mask of stern morality.\nThere is an example! Do you hear the howling of the storm? In human\nnature, as well as in the material world, there are tempests and\nvolcanoes which bring destruction, and, if the original character of any\nindividual is full of such devastating forces, like the neighbourhood of\nVesuvius or Etna, the goal to which his impulses would lead him is\nclearly visible. Ay, the Stoic is not allowed to destroy the harmony and\norder of things in existence, any more than to disturb those which are\nestablished by the state. But to follow our natural impulses wherever\nthey lead us is so perilous a venture, that whoever has the power to fix\na limit to it betimes is in duty bound to do so. This power is mine, and\nI will use it!\"\n\nThen, with iron severity, she asked: \"As it seems to be one of the\ndemands of your nature, woman, to allure and kindle the hearts of all who\nbear the name of man, even though they have not yet donned the garb of\nthe Ephebi, so, too, you seem to appear to delight in idle ornaments.\nOr,\" and as she spoke she touched Barine's shoulder\"--or why should you\nwear, during the hours of slumber, that circlet on your arm?\"\n\nBarine had watched with increasing anxiety the marked change in the\nmanner and language of the Queen. She now beheld a repetition of what she\nhad experienced at the Adonis festival, but this time she knew what had\nroused Cleopatra's jealousy. She, Barine, wore on her arm a gift from\nAntony. With pallid face she strove to find a fitting answer, but ere she\ncould do so Iras advanced to the side of the incensed Queen, saying:\n\"That circlet is the counterpart of the one your august husband bestowed\nupon you. The singer's must also be a gift from Mark Antony. Like every\none else in the world, she deems the noble Imperator the greatest man of\nhis day. Who can blame her for prizing it so highly that she does not\nremove it even while she sleeps?\"\n\nAgain Barine felt as if a thorn had pierced her; but though the\nresentment which she had previously experienced once more surged hotly\nwithin her heart, she forced herself to maintain seemly external\ncomposure, and struggled for some word in answer; but she found none\nsuitable, and remained silent.\n\nShe had told the truth. From early youth she had followed the impulses of\nher own nature without heeding the opinion of mortals, as the teachings\nof the Stoics directed, and she had been allowed to do so because this\nnature was pure, truthful, alive to the beautiful, and, moreover, free\nfrom those unbridled, volcanic impulses to which the Queen alluded. The\ncheerful patience of her soul had found ample satisfaction in the\ncultivation of her art, and in social intercourse with men who permitted\nher to share their own intellectual life. Today she had learned that the\nfirst great passion of her heart had met with a response. Now she was\nbound to her lover, and knew herself to be pure and guiltless, far better\nentitled to demand respect from sterner judges of morality than the woman\nwho condemned her, or the spiteful Iras, who had not ceased to offer her\nlove to Dion.\n\nThe sorrowful feeling of being misunderstood and unjustly condemned,\nmingled with fear of the terrible fate to which she might be sentenced by\nthe omnipotent sovereign, whose clear intellect was clouded by jealousy\nand the resentment of a mother's wounded heart, paralyzed her tongue.\nBesides, she was confused by the angry emotion which the sight of Iras\nawakened. Twice, thrice she strove to utter a few words of explanation,\ndefence, but her voice refused to obey her will.\n\nWhen Charmian at last approached to encourage her, it was too late; the\nindignant Queen had turned away, exclaiming to Iras: \"let her be taken\nback to Lochias. Her guilt is proved; but it does not become the injured\nperson, the accuser, to award the punishment. This must be left to the\njudges before whom we will bring her.\"\n\nThen Barine once more recovered the power of speech. How dared Cleopatra\nassert that she was convicted of a crime, without hearing her defence?\n\nAs surely as she felt her own innocence she must succeed in proving it,\nand with this consciousness she cried out to the Queen in a tone of\ntouching entreaty: \"O your Majesty, do not leave me without hearing me!\nAs truly as I believe in your justice, I can ask you to listen to me once\nmore. Do not give me up to the woman who hates me because the man whom\nshe--\"\n\nHere Cleopatra interrupted her. Royal dignity forbade her to hear one\nwoman's jealous accusation of another, but, with the subtle discernment\nwith which women penetrate one another's moods, she heard in Barine's\npiteous appeal a sincere conviction that she was too severely condemned.\nDoubtless she also had reason to believe in Iras's hate, and Cleopatra\nknew how mercilessly she pursued those who had incurred her displeasure.\nShe had rejected and still shuddered at her advice to remove the singer\nfrom her path; for an inner voice warned her not to burden her soul now\nwith a fresh crime, which would disturb its peace. Besides, she had at\nfirst been much attracted by this charming, winning creature; but the\nirritating thought that Antony had bestowed the same gift upon the\nsovereign and the artist's daughter still so incensed her, that it taxed\nto the utmost her graciousness and self-control as, without addressing\nany special person, she exclaimed, glancing back into the hall: \"This\nexamination will be followed by another. When the time comes, the accused\nmust appear before the judges; therefore she must remain at Lochias and\nin custody. It is my will that no harm befalls her. You are her friend,\nCharmian. I will place her in your charge. Only\"--here she raised her\nvoice--\"on pain of my anger, do not allow her by any possibility to leave\nthe palace, even for a moment, or to hold intercourse with any person\nsave yourself.\"\n\nWith these words she passed out of the hall and went into her own\napartments. She had turned the night into day, not only to despatch\nspeedily matters which seemed to her to permit of no delay, but even more\nbecause, since the battle of Actium, she dreaded the restless hours upon\nher lonely couch. They seemed endless; and though before she had\nremembered with pleasure the unprecedented display and magnificence with\nwhich she had surrounded her love-life with Antony, she now in these\nhours reproached herself for having foolishly squandered the wealth of\nher people. The present appeared unbearable, and from the future a host\nof black cares pressed upon her.\n\nThe following days were overcrowded with business details.\n\nHalf of her nights were spent in the observatory. She had not asked again\nfor Barine. On the fifth night she permitted Alexas to conduct her once\nmore to the little observatory which had been erected for her father at\nLochias, and Antony's favourite knew how to prove that a star which had\nlong threatened her planet was that of the woman whom she seemed to have\nforgotten as completely as she had ignored his former warning against\nthis very foe.\n\nThe Queen denied this, but Alexas eagerly continued: \"The night after\nyour return home your kindness was again displayed in its inexhaustible\nand--to us less noble souls--incomprehensible wealth. Deeply agitated, we\nwatched during the memorable examination the touching spectacle of the\ngreatest heart making itself the standard by which to measure what is\npetty and ignoble. But ere the second trial takes place the wanderers\nabove, who know the future, bid me warn you once more; for that woman's\nevery look was calculated, every word had its fixed purpose, every tone\nof her voice was intended to produce a certain effect. Whatever she said\nor may yet say had no other design than to deceive my royal mistress. As\nyet there have been no definite questions and answers. But you will have\nher examined, and then----What may she not make of the story of Mark\nAntony, Barine, and the two armlets? Perhaps it will be a masterpiece.\"\n\n\"Do you know its real history?\" asked Cleopatra, clasping her fingers\nmore closely around the pencil in her hand.\n\n\"If I did,\" replied Alexas, smiling significantly, \"the receiver of\nstolen goods should not betray the thief.\"\n\n\"Not even if the person who has been robbed--the Queen--commands you to\ngive up the dishonestly acquired possession?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, even then I should be forced to withhold obedience; for\nconsider, my royal mistress, there are but two great luminaries around\nwhich my dark life revolves. Shall I betray the moon, when I am sure of\ngaining nothing thereby save to dim the warm light of the sun?\"\n\n\"That means that your revelations would wound me, the sun?\"\n\n\"Unless your lofty soul is too great to be reached by shadows which\nsurround less noble women with an atmosphere of indescribable torture.\"\n\n\"Do you intend to render your words more attractive by the veil with\nwhich you shroud them? It is transparent, and dims the vision very\nlittle. My soul, you think, should be free from jealousy and the other\nweaknesses of my sex. There you are mistaken. I am a woman, and wish to\nremain one. As Terence's Chremes says he is a human being, and nothing\nhuman is unknown to him, I do not hesitate to confess all feminine\nfrailties. Anubis told me of a queen in ancient times who would not\npermit the inscriptions to record 'she,' but 'he came,' or 'he, the\nruler, conquered.' Fool! Whatever concerns me, my womanhood is not less\nlofty than the crown. I was a woman ere I became Queen. The people\nprostrate themselves before my empty litters; but when, in my youth, I\nwandered in disguise with Antony through the city streets and visited\nsome scene of merrymaking, while the men gazed admiringly at me, and we\nheard voices behind us murmur, 'A handsome couple!' I returned home full\nof joy and pride. But there was something greater still for the woman to\nlearn, when the heart in the breast of the Queen forgot throne and\nsceptre and, in the hours consecrated to Eros, tasted joys known to\nwomanhood alone. How can you men, who only command and desire, understand\nthe happiness of sacrifice? I am a woman; my birth does not exalt me\nabove any feeling of my sex; and what I now ask is not as Queen but as\nwoman.\"\n\n\"If that is the case,\" Alexas answered with his hand upon his heart, \"you\nimpose silence upon me; for were I to confess to the woman Cleopatra what\nagitates my soul, I should be guilty of a double crime--I would violate a\npromise and betray the friend who confided his noble wife to my\nprotection.\"\n\n\"Now the darkness is becoming too dense for me,\" replied Cleopatra,\nraising her head with repellent pride. \"Or, if I choose to raise the\nveil, I must point out to you the barriers--\n\n\"Which surround the Queen,\" replied the Syrian with an obsequious bow.\n\"There you behold the fact. It is an impossibility to separate the woman\nfrom the princess. So far as I am concerned, I do not wish to anger the\nformer against the presumptuous adorer, and I desire to yield to the\nlatter the obedience which is her due. Therefore I entreat you to forget\nthe armlet and its many painful associations, and pass to the\nconsideration of other matters. Perhaps the fair Barine will voluntarily\nconfess everything, and even add how she managed to ensnare the amiable\nson of the greatest of men, and the most admirable of mothers, the young\nKing Caesarion.\"\n\nCleopatra's eyes flashed more brightly, and she angrily exclaimed: \"I\nfound the boy just now as though he were possessed by demons. He was\nready to tear the bandage from his wound, if he were refused the woman\nwhom he loved. A magic potion was the first thought, and his tutor of\ncourse attributes everything to magic arts. Charmian, on the contrary,\ndeclares that his visits annoyed and even alarmed Barine. Nothing except\na rigid investigation can throw light upon this subject. We will await\nthe Imperator's return. Do you think that he will again seek the singer?\nYou are his most trusted confidant. If you desire his best good, and care\nfor my favour, drop your hesitation and answer this question.\"\n\nThe Syrian assumed the manner of a man who had reached a decision, and\nanswered firmly: \"Certainly he will, unless you prevent him. The simplest\nway would be--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"To inform him, as soon as he lands, that she is no longer to be found. I\nshould be especially happy to receive this commission from my royal sun.\"\n\n\"And do you think it would dim the light of your moon a little, were he\nto seek her here in vain?\"\n\n\"As surely as that the contrary would be the case if he were always as\ngratefully aware of the peerless brilliancy of his sun as it deserves.\nHelios suffers no other orb to appear so long as he adorns the heavens.\nHis lustre quenches all the rest. Let my sun so decree, and Barine's\nlittle star will vanish.\"\n\n\"Enough! I know your aim now. But a human life is no small thing, and\nthis woman, too, is the child of a mother. We must consider, earnestly\nconsider, whether our purpose cannot be gained without proceeding to\nextremes. This must be done with zeal and a kindly intention--But I--Now,\nwhen the fate of this country, my own, and the children's is hanging in\nthe balance, when I have not fifteen minutes at my command, and there is\nno end of writing and consulting, I can waste no time on such matters.\"\n\n\"The reflective mind must be permitted to use its mighty wings\nunimpeded,\" cried the Syrian eagerly. \"Leave the settlement of minor\nmatters to trustworthy friends.\"\n\nHere they were interrupted by the \"introducer,\" who announced the eunuch\nMardion. He had come on business which, spite of the late hour, permitted\nno delay.\n\nAlexas accompanied the Queen to the tablinum, where they found the\neunuch. A slave attended him, carrying a pouch filled with letters which\nhad just been brought by two messengers from Syria. Among them were some\nwhich must be answered without delay. The Keeper of the Seal and the\nExegetus were also waiting. Their late visit was due to the necessity of\nholding a conference in relation to the measures to be adopted to calm\nthe excited citizens. All the galleys which had escaped from the battle\nhad entered the harbour the day before, wreathed with garlands as if a\ngreat victory had been won. Loud acclamations greeted them, yet tidings\nof the defeat at Actium spread with the swiftness of the wind. Crowds\nwere now gathering, threatening demonstrations had been made in front of\nthe Sebasteum, and on the square of the Serapeum the troops had been\ncompelled to interfere, and blood had flowed.\n\nThere lay the letters. Zeno remarked that more papers conferring\nauthority were required for the work on the canal, and the Exegetus\nearnestly besought definite instruction.\n\n\"It is much--much,\" murmured Cleopatra. Then, drawing herself up to her\nfull height, she exclaimed, \"Well, then, to work!\"\n\nBut Alexas did not permit her to do this at once. Humbly advancing as she\ntook her seat at the large writing-table, he whispered: \"And with all\nthis, must my royal mistress devote time and thought to the destroyer of\nher peace. To disturb your Majesty with this trifle is a crime; yet it\nmust be committed, for should the affair remain unheeded longer, the\ntrickling rivulet may become a mountain torrent--\"\n\nHere Cleopatra, whose glance had just rested upon a fateful letter from\nKing Herod, turned her face half towards her husband's favourite,\nexclaiming curtly, with glowing cheeks, \"Presently.\"\n\nThen she glanced rapidly over the letter, pushed it excitedly aside, and\ndismissed the waiting Syrian with the impatient words: \"Attend to the\ntrial and the rest. No injustice, but no untimely mildness. I will look\ninto this unpleasant matter myself before the Imperator returns.\"\n\n\"And the authority?\" asked the Syrian, with another low bow.\n\n\"You have it. If you need a written one, apply to Zeno. We will discuss\nthe affair further at some less busy hour.\"\n\nThe Syrian retired; but Cleopatra turned to the eunuch and, flushed with\nemotion, cried, pointing to the King of Judea's letter: \"Did you ever\nwitness baser ingratitude? The rats think the ship is sinking, and it is\ntime to leave it. If we succeed in keeping above water, they will return\nin swarms; and this must, must, must be done, for the sake of this\nbeloved country and her independence. Then the children, the children!\nAll our powers must now be taxed, every expedient must be remembered and\nused. We will hammer each feeble hope until it becomes the strong steel\nof certainty. We will transform night into day. The canal will save the\nfleet. Mark Antony will find in Africa Pinarius Scarpus with untouched\nloyal legions. The gladiators are faithful to us. We can easily make them\nours, and my brain is seething with other plans. But first we will attend\nto the Alexandrians. No violence!\"\n\nThis exclamation was followed by order after order, and the promise that,\nif necessary, she would show herself to the people.\n\nThe Exegetus was filled with admiration as he received the clear,\nsagacious directions. After he had retired with his companions, the Queen\nagain turned to the Regent, saying: \"We did wisely to make the people\nhappy at first with tidings of victory. The unexpected news of terrible\ndisaster might have led them to some unprecedented deed of madness.\nDisappointment is a more common pain, for which less powerful remedies\nwill suffice. Besides, many things could be arranged ere they knew that I\nwas here. How much we have accomplished already, Mardion! But I have not\neven granted myself the joy of seeing my children. I was forced to defer\nthe pleasure of the companionship of my oldest friends, even Archibius.\nWhen he comes again he will be admitted. I have given the order. He knows\nRome thoroughly. I must hear his opinion of pending negotiations.\"\n\nShe shivered as she spoke, and pressing her hand upon her brow,\nexclaimed: \"Octavianus victor, Cleopatra vanquished! I, who was\neverything to Caesar, beseeching mercy from his heir. I, a petitioner to\nOctavia's brother! Yet, no, no! There are still a hundred chances of\navoiding the horrible doom. But whoever wishes to compel the field to\nbear fruits must dig sturdily, draw the buckets from the well, plough,\nand sow the seed. To work, then, to work! When Antony returns he must\nfind all things ready. The first success will restore his lost energy. I\nglanced through yonder letter while talking with the Exegetus; now I will\ndictate the answer.\"\n\nSo she sat reading, writing, and dictating, listening, answering, and\ngiving orders, until the east brightened with the approach of dawn, the\nmorning star grew pale, and the Regent, utterly exhausted, entreated her\nto consider her own health and his years, and permit him a few hours'\nrest.\n\nThen she, too, allowed herself to be led into her darkened chamber, and\nthis time a friendly, dreamless slumber closed her weary eyes and held\nher captive until roused by the loud shouts of the multitude, who had\nheard of the Queen's return and flocked to Lochias.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Without heeding the opinion of mortals\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nDuring these hours of rest Iras and Charmian had watched in turn beside\nCleopatra. When she rose, the younger attendant rendered her the\nnecessary services. She was to devote herself to her mistress until the\nevening; for her companion, who now stood in her way, was not to return\nearlier. Before Charmian left, she had seen that her apartments--in which\nBarine, since the Queen had placed her in her charge, had been a welcome\nguest--were carefully watched. The commander of the Macedonian guard, who\nyears before had vainly sought her favour, and finally had become the\nmost loyal of her friends, had promised to keep them closely.\n\nYet Iras knew how to profit by her mistress's sleep and the absence of\nher aunt. She had learned that she would be shut out of her apartments,\nand therefore from Barine also. Ere any step could be taken against the\nprisoner, she must first arrange the necessary preliminaries with Alexas.\nThe failure of her expectation of seeing her rival trampled in the dust\nhad transformed her jealous resentment into hatred, and though she was\nher niece, she even transferred a portion of it to Charmian, who had\nplaced herself between her and her victim.\n\nShe had sent for the Syrian, but he, too, had gone to rest at a late hour\nand kept her waiting a long time. The reception which the impatient girl\nbestowed was therefore by no means cordial, but her manner soon grew more\nfriendly.\n\nFirst Alexas boasted of having induced the Queen to commit Barine's fate\nto him. If he should try her at noon and find her guilty, there was\nnothing to prevent him from compelling her to drink the poisoned cup or\nhaving her strangled before evening. But the matter would be dangerous,\nbecause the singer's friends were numerous and by no means powerless.\nYet, in the depths of her heart, Cleopatra desired nothing more ardently\nthan to rid herself of her dangerous rival. But he knew the great ones of\nthe earth. If he acted energetically and brought matters to a speedy\nclose, the Queen, to avoid evil gossip, would burden him with her own\nact. Antony's mood could not be predicted, and the Syrian's weal or woe\ndepended on his favour. Besides, the execution of the singer at the last\nAdonis festival might have a dangerous effect upon the people of\nAlexandria. They were already greatly excited, and his brother, who knew\nthem, said that some were overwhelmed with sorrow, and others ready, in\ntheir fury, to rise in a bloody rebellion. Everything was to be feared\nfrom this rabble, but Philostratus understood how to persuade them to\nmany things, and Alexas had just secured his aid.\n\nAlexas had really succeeded in the work of reconciliation. During the\norator's married life with Barine she had forbidden her brother-in-law\nthe house, and her husband had quarrelled with the brother who sought his\nwife. But after the latter had risen to a high place in Antony's favour,\nand been loaded with gold by his lavish hand, Philostratus had again\napproached him to claim his share of the new wealth. And the source from\nwhich Alexas drew flowed so abundantly that his favourite did not find it\ndifficult to give. Both men were as unprincipled as they were lavish, and\nexperience taught them that base natures always have at their disposal a\nplank with which to bridge chasms. If it is of gold, it will be crossed\nthe more speedily. Such was the case here, and of late it had become\nspecially firm; for each needed the other's aid.\n\nAlexas loved Barine, while Philostratus no longer cared for her. On the\nother hand, he hated Dion with so ardent a thirst for revenge that, to\nobtain it, he would have resigned even the hope of fresh gains. The\nhumiliation inflicted upon him by the arrogant Macedonian noble, and the\nderision which through his efforts had been heaped upon him, haunted him\nlike importunate pursuers; and he felt that he could only rid himself of\nthem with the source of his disgrace. Without his brother's aid, he would\nhave been content to assail Dion with his slandering tongue; with his\npowerful assistance he could inflict a heavier injury upon him, perhaps\neven rob him of liberty and life. They had just made an agreement by\nwhich Philostratus pledged himself to reconcile the populace to any\npunishment that might be inflicted upon Barine, and Alexas promised to\nhelp his brother take a bloody vengeance upon Dion the Macedonian.\n\nBarine's death could be of no service to Alexas. The sight of her beauty\nhad fired his heart a second time, and he was resolved to make her his\nown. In the dungeon, perhaps by torture, she should be forced to grasp\nhis helping hand. All this would permit no delay. Everything must be done\nbefore the return of Antony, who was daily expected. Alexas's lavish\npatron had made him so rich that he could bear to lose his favour for the\nsake of this object. Even without it, he could maintain a household with\nroyal magnificence in some city of his Syrian home.\n\nOn receiving the favourite's assurance that he would remove Barine from\nCharmian's protection on the morrow, Iras became more gracious. She could\nmake no serious objection to his statement that the new trial might not,\nit is true, end in a sentence of death, but the verdict would probably be\ntransportation to the mines, or something of the sort.\n\nThen Alexas cautiously tested Iras's feelings towards his brother's\nmortal foe. They were hostile; yet when the favourite intimated that he,\ntoo, ought to be given up to justice, she showed so much hesitation, that\nAlexas stopped abruptly and turned the conversation upon Barine. Here she\npromised assistance with her former eager zeal, and it was settled that\nthe arrest should be made the following morning during the hours of\nCharmian's attendance upon the Queen.\n\nIras had valuable counsel to offer. She was familiar with one of the\nprisons, whose doors she had opened to many a hapless mortal whose\ndisappearance, in her opinion, might be of service to the Queen. She had\ndeemed it a duty, aided by the Keeper of the Seal, to anticipate her\nmistress in cases where her kind heart would have found it difficult to\npronounce a severe sentence, and Cleopatra had permitted it, though\nwithout commendation or praise. What happened within its walls--thanks to\nthe silence of the warder--never passed beyond the portals. If Barine\ncursed her life there, she would still fare better than she, Iras, who\nduring the past few nights had been on the brink of despair whenever she\nthought of the man who had disdained her love and abandoned her for\nanother.\n\nAs the Syrian held out his hand to take leave, she asked bluntly\n\n\"And Dion?\"\n\n\"He cannot be set free,\" was the reply, \"for he loves Barine; nay, the\nfool was on the eve of leading her home to his beautiful palace as its\nmistress.\"\n\n\"Is that true, really true?\" asked Iras, whose cheeks and lips lost every\ntinge of colour, though she succeeded in maintaining her composure.\n\n\"He confessed it yesterday in a letter to his uncle, the Keeper of the\nSeal, in which he entreated him to do his utmost for his chosen bride,\nwhom he would never resign. But Zeno has no liking for this niece. Do you\nwish to see the letter?\"\n\n\"Then, of course, he cannot be set at liberty,\" replied Iras, and there\nwas additional shrillness in her voice. \"He will do everything in his\npower for the woman he loves, and that is much--far more than you, who\nare half a stranger here, suspect. The Macedonian families stand by each\nother. He is a member of the council. The bands of the Ephebi will\nsupport him to a man. And the populace?--He lately spoiled the game of\nyour brother, who was acting for me, in a way. He was finally dragged out\nof the basin of the fountain, dripping with water and overwhelmed with\nshame.\"\n\n\"For that very reason his mouth must be closed.\"\n\nIras nodded assent, but after a short pause she exclaimed angrily: \"I\nwill help you to silence him, but not forever. Do you hear? Theodotus's\nsaying about the dead dogs which do not bite brought no blessing to any\none who followed it. There are other ways of getting rid of this man.\"\n\n\"A bird sang that you were not unfriendly to him.\"\n\n\"A bird? Then it was probably an owl, which cannot see in the daylight.\nHis worst enemy, your brother, would probably sacrifice himself for his\nwelfare sooner than I.\"\n\n\"Then I shall begin to feel sympathy for this Dion.\"\n\n\"I saw recently that your compassion surpassed mine. Death is not the\nhardest punishment.\"\n\n\"Is that the cause of this gracious respite?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so. But there are other matters to be considered here. First,\nthe condition of the times. Everything is tottering, even the royal\npower, which a short time ago was a wall which concealed many things and\nafforded shelter from every assault. Then Dion himself. I have already\nnumbered those who will support him. Since the defeat at Actium, the\nQueen can no longer exclaim to that many-headed monster, the people, 'You\nmust,' but 'I entreat.' The others--\"\n\n\"The first considerations are enough; but may I be permitted to know what\nmy wise friend has awarded to the hapless wight from whom she withdrew\nher favour?\"\n\n\"First, imprisonment here at Lochias. He has stained his hands with the\nblood of Caesarion, the King of kings. That is high treason, even in the\neyes of the people. Try to obtain the order for the arrest this very\nday.\"\n\n\"Whenever I can disturb the Queen with such matters.\"\n\n\"Not for nay sake, but to save her from injury. Away with everything\nwhich can cloud her intellect in these decisive days! First, away with\nBarine, who spoiled her return home; and then let us take care of the man\nwho would be capable, for this woman's sake, of causing an insurrection\nin Alexandria. The great cares associated with the state and the throne\nare hers; for the minor ones of the toilet and the heart I will provide.\"\n\nHere she was interrupted by one of Cleopatra's waiting-maids. The Queen\nhad awakened, and Iras hastened to her post.\n\nAs she passed Charmian's apartments and saw two handsome soldiers,\nbelonging to the Macedonian body-guard, pacing to and fro on duty before\nthem, her face darkened. It was against her alone that Charmian was\nprotecting Barine. She had been harshly reproved by the older woman on\naccount of the artist's daughter, who had been the source of so many\nincidents which had caused her pain, and Iras regretted that she had ever\nconfided to her aunt her love for Dion. But, no matter what might happen,\nthe upas-tree whence emanated all these tortures, anxieties, and\nvexations, must be rooted out--stricken from the ranks of the living.\n\nEre she entered the Queen's anteroom she had mentally pronounced sentence\nof death on her enemy. Her inventive brain was now busy in devising means\nto induce the Syrian to undertake its execution. If this stone of offence\nwas removed it would again be possible to live in harmony with Charmian.\nDion would be free, and then, much as he had wounded her, she would\ndefend him from the hatred of Philostratus and his brother.\n\nShe entered the Queen's presence with a lighter heart. The death of a\ncondemned person had long since ceased to move her deeply. While\nrendering the first services to her mistress, who had been much refreshed\nby her sleep, her face grew brighter and brighter; for Cleopatra\nvoluntarily told her that she was glad to have her attendance, and not be\nconstantly annoyed by the same disagreeable matter, which must soon be\nsettled.\n\nIn fact, Charmian, conscious that no one else at court would have\nventured to do so, had never grown weary, spite of many a rebuff, of\npleading Barine's cause until, the day before, Cleopatra, in a sudden fit\nof anger, had commanded her not to mention the mischief-maker again.\n\nWhen Charmian soon after requested permission to let Iras take her place\nthe following day, the Queen already regretted the harsh reproof she had\ngiven her friend, and, while cordially granting the desired leave, begged\nher to attribute her angry impatience to the cares which burdened her.\n\"And when you show me your kind, faithful face again,\" she concluded,\n\"you will have remembered that a true friend withholds from an unhappy\nwoman whom she loves whatever will shadow more deeply her already clouded\nlife. This Barine's very name sounds like a jeer at the composure I\nmaintain with so much difficulty. I do not wish to hear it again.\"\n\nThe words were uttered in a tone so affectionate and winning, that\nCharmian's vexation melted like ice in the sun. Yet she left the Queen's\npresence anxious and troubled; for ere she quitted the room Cleopatra\nremarked that she had committed the singer's affairs to Alexas. She was\nnow doubly eager to obtain a day's freedom, for she knew the unprincipled\nfavourite's feelings towards the young beauty, and longed to discuss with\nArchibius the best means of guarding her from the worst perils.\n\nWhen at a late hour she went to rest, she was served by the Nubian maid,\nwho had accompanied her to the court from her parents' home. She came\nfrom the Cataract, where she had been bought when the family of Alypius\naccompanied the child Cleopatra to the island of Philae. Anukis was given\nto Charmian, who at the time was just entering womanhood, as the first\nservant who was her sole property, and she had proved so clever, skilful,\napt to learn, and faithful, that her mistress took her, as her personal\nattendant, to the palace.\n\nCharmian's warm, unselfish love for the Queen was equalled by Anukis's\ndevotion to the mistress who had long since made her free, and had become\nso strongly attached to her that the Nubian's interests were little less\nregarded than her own. Her sound, keen judgment and natural wit had\ngained a certain renown in the palace, and as Cleopatra often\ncondescended to rouse her to an apt answer, Antony had done so, too; and\nsince the slight crook in the back, which she had from childhood, had\ngrown into a hump, he gave her the name of Aisopion--the female AEsop.\nAll the Queen's attendants now used it, and though others of lower rank\ndid the same, she permitted it, though her ready wit would have supplied\nher tongue with a retort sharp enough to respond to any word which\ndispleased her.\n\nBut she knew the life and fables of AEsop, who had also once been a\nslave, and deemed it an honour to be compared with him.\n\nWhen Charmian had left Cleopatra and sought her chamber, she found Barine\nsound asleep, but Anukis was awaiting her, and her mistress told her with\nwhat deep anxiety for Barine she had quitted the presence of the Queen.\nShe knew that the Nubian was fond of the young matron, whom in her\nchildhood she had carried in her arms, and whose father, Leonax, had\noften jested with her. The maid had watched her career with much\ninterest, and while Barine had been her mistress's guest her efforts to\namuse and soothe her were unceasing.\n\nShe had gone every morning to Berenike to ask tidings of Dion's health,\nand always brought favourable news. Anukis knew Philostratus and his\nbrother, too, and as she liked Antony, who jested with her so kindly, she\ngrieved to see an unprincipled fellow like Alexas his chief confidant.\nShe knew the plots with which the Syrian had persecuted Barine, and when\nCharmian told her that the Queen had committed the young beauty's fate to\nthis man's keeping her dark face grew fairly livid; but she forced\nherself to conceal the terror which the news inspired. Her mistress was\nalso aware what this choice meant to Barine. But Anukis would have\nthought it wrong to disturb Charmian's sleep by revealing her own\ndistress. It was fortunate that she was going early the next morning to\nseek the aid of Archibius, whom Anukis believed to be the wisest of men;\nbut this by no means soothed her. She knew the fable of the lion and the\nmouse, which had been told in her home long before the time of the author\nfor whom she was nicknamed, and already more than once she had been in a\nposition to render far greater and more powerful persons an important\nservice. To soothe Charmian to sleep and turn her thoughts in another\ndirection, she told her about Dion, whom she had found much better that\nday, how tenderly he seemed to love Barine, and how touchingly patient\nand worthy of her father the daughter of Leonax had been.\n\nAfter her mistress had fallen asleep she went to the hall where, spite of\nthe late hour, she expected to meet some of the servants--sure of being\ngreeted as a welcome guest. When, a short time later, Alexas's body-slave\nappeared, she filled his wire cup, sat down by his side, and tried with\nall the powers at her command to win his confidence. And so well did the\nelderly Nubian succeed that Marsyas, a handsome young Ligurian, after she\nhad gone, declared that Aisopion's jokes and stories were enough to bring\nthe dead to life, and it was as pleasant to talk seriously with the\nbrown-skinned monster as to dally with a fair-haired sweetheart.\n\nAfter Charmian had left the palace the following morning, Anukis again\nsought Marsyas and learned from him for what purpose and at what hour\nIras had summoned Alexas. His master was continually whispering with the\nlanguishing Macedonian.\n\nWhen Anukis returned, Barine seemed troubled because she brought no\ntidings from her mother and Dion; but the Nubian entreated her to have\npatience, and gave her some books and a spindle, that she might have\noccupation in her solitude. She, Anukis, must go to the kitchen, because\nshe had heard yesterday that the cook had bought some mushrooms, which\nmight be poisonous; she knew the fungi and wanted to see them.\n\nThen, passing into Charmian's chamber, she glided through the corridor\nwhich connected the apartments of Cleopatra's confidential attendants,\nand slipped into Iras's room. When Alexas entered she was concealed\nbehind one of the hangings which covered the walls of the reception-room.\n\nAfter the Syrian had retired and Iras had been called away, Anukis\nreturned to Barine and said that the mushrooms had really been poisonous,\nand of the deadliest species. They had been cooked, and she must go out\nto seek an antidote. Since a precious human life might be at stake,\nBarine would not wish to keep her.\n\n\"Go,\" said the latter, kindly. \"But if you are the old obliging Aisopion,\nyou won't object to going a little farther.\"\n\n\"And inquiring at the house near the Paneum garden,\" added Anukis. \"That\nwas already settled. Longing is also a poison for a loving heart, and its\nantidote is good news.\"\n\nWith these laughing words she left her favourite; but as soon as she was\nout of doors her black brow became lined with earnest thought, and she\nstood pondering a long time. At last she went to the Bruchium to hire a\ndonkey to ride to Kanopus, where she hoped to find Archibius. It was\ndifficult to reach the nearest stand; for a great crowd had assembled on\nthe quay between the Lochias and the Corner of the Muses, and groups of\nthe common people, sailors, and slaves were constantly flocking hither.\nBut she at last forced her way to the spot and, while the driver was\nhelping her to mount the animal she had chosen, she asked what had\nattracted the throng, and he answered:\n\n\"They are tearing down the house of the old Museum fungus, Didymus.\"\n\n\"How can that be?\" cried the startled woman. \"The good old man!\"\n\n\"Good?\" repeated the driver, scornfully. \"He's a traitor, who has caused\nall the trouble. Philostratus, the brother of the great Alexas, a friend\nof Mark Antony, told us so. He wanted to prove it, so it must be true.\nHear the shouts, and how the stones are flying! Yes, yes. His\ngranddaughter and her lover set an ambush for the King Caesarion. They\nwould have killed him, but the watch interfered, and now he lies wounded\non his couch. If mighty Isis does not lend her aid, the young prince's\nlife will soon be over.\"\n\nThen, turning to the donkey, he dealt him two severe blows on the right\nand left haunches, shouting: \"Hi, Grey! It does one good to hear that\nroyal backs have room for the cudgel too.\"\n\nMeanwhile, the Nubian was hesitating whether she should not first turn\nthe donkey to the right and seek Didymus; but Barine was threatened by\ngreater peril, and her life was of more value than the welfare of the\naged pair. This decided the question, and she rode forward.\n\nThe donkey and his driver did their best, but they came too late; for in\nthe little palace at Kanopus, Anukis learned from the porter that\nArchibius had gone to the city with his old friend Timagenes, the\nhistorian, who lived in Rome, and seemed to have come to Alexandria as an\nenvoy.\n\nCharmian, too, had been here, but also failed to find the master of the\nhouse, and followed him. Evil tidings-which, owing to the loss of time\ninvolved, might prove fatal. If the donkey had only been swifter! True,\nArchibius's stable was full of fine animals, but who was she that she\nshould presume to use them? Yet she had gained something which rendered\nher the equal of many who were born free and occupied a higher\nstation--the reputation for trustworthiness and wisdom; and relying upon\nthis, she told the faithful old steward, as far as possible, what was at\nstake, and soon after he himself took her, both mounted on swift mules,\nto the city and the Paneum garden.\n\nHe chose the nearest road thither through the Gate of the Sun and the\nKanopic Way. Usually at this hour it was crowded with people, but to-day\nfew persons were astir. All the idlers had thronged to the Bruchium and\nthe harbour to see the returning ships of the vanquished fleet, hear\nsomething new, witness the demonstrations of joy, the sacrifices and\nprocessions, and--if Fortune favoured--meet the Queen and relieve their\noverflowing hearts by acclamations.\n\nWhen the carriage turned towards the left and approached the Paneum,\nprogress for the first time became difficult. A dense crowd had gathered\naround the hill on whose summit the sanctuary of Pan dominated the\nspacious garden. Anukis's eye perceived the tall figure of Philostratus.\nWas the mischief-maker everywhere? This time he seemed to encounter\nopposition, for loud shouts interrupted his words. Just as the carriage\npassed he pointed to the row of houses in which the widow of Leonax\nlived, but violent resistance followed the gesture.\n\nAnukis perceived what restrained the crowd; for, as the equipage\napproached its destination, a body of armed youths stopped it. Their\nfinely-formed limbs, steeled by the training of the Palaestra, and the\nraven, chestnut, and golden locks floating around their well-shaped\nheads, were indeed beautiful. They were a band of the Ephebi, formerly\ncommanded by Archibius, and to whose leadership more recently Dion had\nbeen elected. The youths had heard what had occurred--that imprisonment,\nperhaps even worse disaster, threatened him. At any other time it would\nscarcely have been possible to oppose the decree of the Government and\nguard their imperilled friend, but in these dark days the rulers must\ndeal with them. Though they were loyal to the Queen, and had resolved,\nspite of her defeat, to support her cause, as soon as she needed them,\nthey would not suffer Dion to be punished for a crime which, in their\neyes, was an honour. Their determination to protect him grew more eager\nwith every vexatious delay on the part of the city council to deal with a\nmatter which concerned one of their own body. They had not yet decided\nwhether to demand a full pardon or only a mild sentence for the man who\nhad wounded the \"King of kings,\" the son of the sovereign. Moreover, the\nquiet Caesarion, still subject to his tutor, had not understood how to\nwin the favour of the Ephebi. The weakling never appeared in the\nPalaestra, which even the great Mark Antony did not disdain to visit. The\nlatter had more than once given the youths assembled there proofs of his\ngiant strength, and his son Antyllus also frequently shared their\nexercises. Dion had merely dealt Caesarion with his clenched fist one of\nthe blows which every one must encounter in the arena.\n\nPhilotas of Amphissa, the pupil of Didymus, had been the first to inform\nthem of the attack and, with fiery zeal, had used his utmost power to\natone for the wrong done to his master's granddaughter. His appeal had\nroused the most eager sympathy. The Ephebi believed themselves strong\nenough to defend their friend against any one and, if the worst should\ncome, they knew they would be sustained by the council, the Exegetus, the\ncaptain of the guard--a brave Macedonian, who had once been an ornament\nof their own band--and the numerous clients of Dion and his family. There\nwas not a single weakling among them. They had already found an\nopportunity to prove this; for, though they had arrived too late to\nprotect Didymus's property from injury, they had checked the fury of the\nmob whose passions Philostratus had aroused, and forced back the crowd\nwhom the Syrian led to Barine's dwelling to devote it to the same fate.\n\nAnother equipage was already standing before the door of Berenike's\nhouse--one of the carriages which were always at the disposal of the\nQueen's officials--when Anukis left Archibius's vehicle. Had some of\nAlexas's myrmidons arrived, or was he himself on the way to examine Dion,\nor even arrest him? The driver, like all the palace servants, knew\nAnukis, and she learned from him that he had brought Gorgias, the\narchitect.\n\nAnukis had never met the latter, though, during the rebuilding of\nCaesarion's apartments, she had often seen him, and heard much of him;\namong other things, that Dion's beautiful palace was his work. He was a\nfriend of the wounded man, so she need not fear him.\n\nWhen she entered the atrium she heard that Berenike had gone out to drive\nwith Archibius and his Roman friend. The leech had forbidden his patient\nto see many visitors. No one had been admitted except Gorgias and one of\nDion's freedmen.\n\nBut time pressed; people of the same rank and disposition understand one\nanother; the old porter and the Nubian were both loyal to their\nemployers, and, moreover, were natives of the same country; so it\nrequired only a few words to persuade the door-keeper to conduct her\nwithout delay to the bedside of the wounded man.\n\nThe freedman, a tall, weather-beaten greybeard, simply clad, who looked\nlike a pilot, was waiting outside the sick-room. He had not yet been\nadmitted to Dion's presence, but this did not appear to vex him, for he\nstood leaning quietly against the wall beside the door, gazing at the\nbroad-brimmed sailor's hat which he was slowly turning in his hands.\n\nScarcely had Dion heard Anukis's name, when an eager \"Let her come in\"\nreached her ears through the half-open door.\n\nThe Nubian waited to be summoned, but her dark face must have showed\ndistinctly that something important and urgent had brought her here, for\nthe wounded man added to his first words of greeting the expression of a\nfear that she had no good news.\n\nHer reply was an eager nod of assent, accompanied by a doubtful glance at\nGorgias; and Dion now curtly told the architect the name of the newcomer,\nand assured her that his friend might hear everything, even the greatest\nsecret.\n\nAnukis uttered a sigh of relief and then, in a tone of the most earnest\nwarning, poured forth the story of the impending danger. She would not be\nsatisfied when he spoke of the Ephebi, who were ready to defend him, and\nthe council, which would make the cause of one of its members its own,\nbut entreated him to seek some safe place of refuge, no matter where; for\npowers against whom no resistance would avail were stretching their hands\ntowards him. Even this statement, however, proved useless, for Dion was\nconvinced that the influence of his uncle, the Keeper of the Seal, would\nguard him from any serious danger. Then Anukis resolved to confess what\nshe had overheard; but she told the story without mentioning Barine, and\nthe peril threatening her also. Finally, with all the warmth of a really\nanxious heart, she entreated him to heed her warning.\n\nEven while she was still speaking, the friends exchanged significant\nglances; but scarcely had the last words fallen from her lips when the\ngiant figure of the freedman passed through the door, which had remained\nopen.\n\n\"You here, Pyrrhus?\" cried the wounded man kindly.\n\n\"Yes, master, it is I,\" replied the stalwart fellow, twirling his sailor\nhat still faster. \"Listening isn't exactly my trade, and I don't usually\nenter your presence uninvited; but I couldn't help hearing what came\nthrough the door, and the croaking of the old raven drew me in.\"\n\n\"I wish you had heard more cheerful things,\" replied Dion; \"but the\nbrown-skinned bird of ill omen usually sings pleasant songs, and they all\ncome from a faithful heart. But when my silent Pyrrhus opens his mouth so\nfar, something important must surely follow, and you can speak freely in\nher presence.\"\n\nThe sailor cleared his throat, gripped his coarse felt hat in his sinewy\nhands, and said, in such a tremulous, embarrassed tone that his heavy\nchin quivered and his voice sometimes faltered: \"If the woman is to be\ntrusted, you must leave here, master, and seek some safe hiding-place. I\ncame to offer one. On my way I heard your name. It was said that you had\nwounded the Queen's son, and it might cost you your life. Then I thought:\n'No, no, not that, so long as Pyrrhus lives, who taught his young master\nDion to use the oars and to set his first sail--Pyrrhus and his family.'\nWhy repeat what we both know well enough? From my first boat and the land\non our island to the liberty you bestowed upon us, we owe everything to\nyour father and to you, and a blessing has rested upon your gift and our\nlabour, and what is mine is yours. No more words are needed. You know our\ncliff beyond the Alveus Steganus, north of the great harbour--the Isle of\nSerpents. It is quickly gained by any one who knows the course through\nthe water, but is as inaccessible to others as the moon and stars. People\nare afraid of the mere name, though we rid the island of the vermin long\nago. My boys Dionysus, Dionichus, and Dionikus--they all have 'Dion' in\ntheir name--are waiting in the fish market, and when it grows dusk--\"\nHere the wounded man interrupted the speaker by holding out his hand and\nthanking him warmly for his fidelity and kindness, though he refused the\nwell-meant invitation. He admitted that he knew no safer hiding-place\nthan the cliff surrounded by fluttering sea-gulls, where Pyrrhus lived\nwith his family and earned abundant support by fishing and serving as\npilot. But anxiety concerning his future wife prevented his leaving the\ncity.\n\nThe freedman however gave him no rest. He represented how quickly the\nharbour could be reached from his island, that fish were brought thence\nfrom it daily, and he would therefore always have news of what was\npassing. His sons were like him, and never used any unnecessary words;\ntalking did not suit them. The women of the household rarely left the\nisland. So long as it sheltered their beloved guest, they should not set\nfoot away from it. If occasion should require, the master could be in\nAlexandria again quickly enough to put anything right.\n\nThis suggestion pleased the architect, who joined in the conversation to\nurge the freedman's request. But Dion, for Barine's sake, obstinately\nrefused, until Anukis, who had long been anxious to go in pursuit of\nArchibius, thought it time to give her opinion.\n\n\"Go with the man, my lord!\" she cried. \"I know what I know. I will tell\nour Barine of your faithful resolution; but how can she show her\ngratitude for it if you are a dead man?\"\n\nThis question and the information which followed it turned the scale;\nand, as soon as Dion had consented to accompany the freedman, the Nubian\nprepared to continue her errands, but the wounded man detained her to\ngive many messages for Barine, and then she was stopped by the architect,\nwho thought he had found in her the right assistant for numerous plans he\nhad in his mind.\n\nHe had returned early that morning from Heroonpolis, where, with other\nmembers of his profession, he had inspected the newly constructed\nwaterway. The result of the first investigation had been unfavourable to\nthe verge of discouragement; and, in behalf of the others, he had gone to\nthe Queen to persuade her to give up the enterprise which, though so full\nof promise, was impracticable in the short time at their disposal.\n\nHe had travelled all night, and was received as soon as Cleopatra rose\nfrom her couch. He had driven from the Lochias in the carriage placed at\nhis disposal because he had business at the arsenal and various points\nwhere building was going on, in order to inspect the wall erected for\nAntony on the Choma, and the Temple of Isis at the Corner of the Muses,\nto which Cleopatra desired to add a new building. But scarcely had he\nquitted the Bruchium when he was detained by the crowd assailing the\nhouse of Didymus with beams and rams, and at the same time keeping off\nthe Ephebi who had attacked them.\n\nHe had forced his way through the raging mob to aid the old couple and\ntheir granddaughter. The slave Phryx had been busily preparing the boats\nwhich lay moored in the harbour of the seawashed estate, but Gorgias had\nfound it difficult to persuade the grey-haired philosopher to go with him\nand his family to the shore. He was ready to face the enraged rioters\nand--though it should cost his life--cry out that they were shamefully\ndeceived and were staining themselves with a disgraceful crime. Not until\nthe architect represented that it was unworthy of a Didymus to expose to\nbestial violence a life on which helpless women and the whole world--to\nwhom his writings were guide-posts to the realms of truth--possessed a\nclaim, could he be induced to yield. Nevertheless, the sage and his\nrelatives almost fell into the hands of the furious rabble, for Didymus\nwould not depart until he had saved this, that, and the other precious\nbook, till the number reached twenty or thirty. Besides, his old deaf\nwife, who usually submitted quietly when her defective hearing prevented\nher comprehension of many things, insisted upon knowing what was\noccurring. She ordered everybody who came near her to explain what had\nhappened, thus detaining her granddaughter Helena, who was trying to save\nthe most valuable articles in the dwelling. So the departure was delayed,\nand only the brave defence of young Philotas, Didymus's assistant, and\nsome of the Ephebi, who joined him, enabled them to escape unharmed.\n\nThe Scythian guards, which at last put a stop to the frantic rage of the\ndeluded populace, arrived too late to prevent the destruction of the\nhouse, but they saved Philotas and the other youths from the fists and\nstones of the rabble. When the boats had gone farther out into the\nharbour the question of finding a home for the philosopher and his family\nwas discussed. Berenike's house was also threatened, and the rules of the\nmuseum prevented the reception of women. Five servants had accompanied\nthe family, and none of Didymus's learned friends had room for so many\nguests. When the old man and Helena began to enumerate the lodgings of\nwhich they could think, Gorgias interposed with an entreaty that they\nwould come to his house.\n\nHe had inherited the dwelling from his father. It was very large and\nspacious, almost empty, and they could reach it speedily, as it stood on\nthe seashore, north of the Forum. The fugitives would be entirely at\nliberty there, since he had work on hand which would permit him to spend\nno time under his own roof except at night. He soon overcame the trivial\nobjections made by the philosopher and, fifteen minutes after they had\nleft the Corner of the Muses, he was permitted to open the door of his\nhouse to his guests, and he did so with genuine pleasure. The old\nhousekeeper and the grey-haired steward, who had been in his father's\nservice, looked surprised, but worked zealously after Gorgias had\nconfided the visitors to their charge. The pressure of business forbade\nhis fulfilling the duties of host in his own person.\n\nDidymus and his family had reason to be grateful; and when the old sage\nfound in the large library which the architect placed at his disposal\nmany excellent books and among them some of his own, he ceased his\nrestless pacing to and fro and forced himself to settle down. Then he\nremembered that, by the advice of a friend, he had placed his property in\nthe keeping of a reliable banker and, though life still seemed dark grey,\nit no longer looked as black as before.\n\nGorgias briefly related all this to the Nubian, and Dion added that she\nwould find Archibius with his Roman friend at the house of Berenike's\nbrother, the philosopher Arius. Like himself, the latter was suffering\nfrom an injury inflicted by a reckless trick of Antyllus. Barine's mother\nwas there also, so Anukis could inform them of the fate of Didymus and\nhis brother, and tell them that he, Dion, intended to leave her house and\nthe city an hour after sunset.\n\n\"But,\" interrupted Gorgias, \"no one, not even your hostess Berenike and\nher brother, must know your destination.--You look as if you could keep a\nsecret, woman.\"\n\n\"Though she owes her nickname Aisopion to her nimble tongue,\" replied\nDion.\n\n\"But this tongue is like the little silver fish with scarlet spots in the\npalace garden,\" said Anukis. \"They dart to and fro nimbly enough; but as\nsoon as danger threatens they keep as quiet in the water as though they\nwere nailed fast. And--by mighty Isis!--we have no lack of peril in these\ntrying times. Would you like to see the lady Berenike and the others\nbefore your departure?\"\n\n\"Berenike, yes; but the sons of Arius--they are fine fellows--would be\nwise to keep aloof from this house to-day.\"\n\n\"Yes indeed!\" the architect chimed in. \"It will be prudent for their\nfather, too, to seek some hiding-place. He is too closely connected with\nOctavianus. It may indeed happen that the Queen will desire to make use\nof him. In that case he may be able to aid Barine, who is his sister's\nchild. Timagenes, too, who comes from Rome as a mediator, may have some\ninfluence.\"\n\n\"The same thoughts entered my poor brain also,\" said Anukis. \"I am now\ngoing to show the gentlemen the danger which threatens her, and if I\nsucceed--Yet what could a serving-woman of my appearance accomplish?\nStill--my house is nearer to the brink of the stream than the dwelling of\nmost others, and if I fling in a loaf, perhaps the current will bear it\nto the majestic sea.\"\n\n\"Wise Aisopion!\" cried Dion; but the worthy maid-servant shrugged her\ncrooked shoulders, saying: \"We needn't be free-born to find pleasure in\nwhat is right; and if being wise means using one's brains to think, with\nthe intention of promoting right and justice, you can always call me so.\nThen you will start after sundown?\"\n\nWith these words she was about to leave the room, but the architect, who\nhad watched her every movement, had formed a plan and begged her to\nfollow him.\n\nWhen they reached the next room he asked for a faithful account of Barine\nand the dangers threatening her. After consulting her as if she were an\nequal, he held out his hand in farewell, saying: \"If it is possible to\nbring her to the Temple of Isis unseen, these clouds may scatter. I shall\nbe in the sanctuary of the goddess from the first hour after sunset. I\nhave some measurements to take there. When you say you know that the\nimmortals will have pity on the innocent woman whom they have led to the\nverge of the abyss, perhaps you may be right. It seems as if matters here\nwere combining in a way which would be apt to rob the story-teller of his\nlistener's faith.\"\n\nAfter Aisopion had gone, Gorgias returned to Dion's room and asked the\nfreedman to be ready with his boat at a place on the shore which he\ncarefully described.\n\nThe friends were again alone. Gorgias had his hands full of work, but he\ncould not help expressing his surprise at the calm bearing which Dion\nmaintained. \"You behave as if you were going to an oyster supper at\nKanopus,\" he said, shaking his head as though perplexed by some\nincomprehensible problem.\n\n\"What else would you have me do?\" asked the Macedonian. \"The vivid\nimagination of you artists shows you the future according to your own\nvarying moods. If you hope, you transform a pleasant garden into the\nElysian fields; if you fear anything you behold in a burning roof the\nconflagration of a world. We, from whose cradle the Muse was absent, who\nuse only sober reason to provide for the welfare of the household and the\nstate, as well as for our own, see facts as they are and treat them like\nfigures in a sum. I know that Barine is in danger. That might drive me\nfrantic; but beyond her I see Archibius and Charmian spreading their\nprotecting wings over her head; I perceive the fear of my faction,\nincluding the museum, of the council of which I am a member, of my\nclients and the conditions of the times, which precludes arousing the\nwrath of the citizens. The product which results from the correct\naddition of all these known quantities--\"\n\n\"Will be correct,\" interrupted his friend, \"so long as the most\nincalculable of all factors, passion, does not blend with them--the\npassion of a woman--and the Queen belongs to the sex which is certainly\nmore powerful in that domain.\"\n\n\"Granted! But as soon as Mark Antony returns it will be proved that her\njealousy was needless.\"\n\n\"We will hope so. It is only the misled, deceived, abused Cleopatra whom\nI fear; for she herself is matchless in divine goodness. The charm by\nwhich she ensnares hearts is indescribable, and the iron power of her\nintellect! I tell you, Dion--\"\n\n\"Friend, friend,\" was the laughing interruption. \"How high your wishes\nsoar! For three years I have kept an account of the conflagrations in\nyour heart. I believe we had reached seventeen; but this last one is\nequal to two.\"\n\n\"Folly!\" cried Gorgias in an irritated tone: \"May not a man admire what\nis magnificent, wonderful, unique? She is all these things! Just now--how\nlong ago is it?--she appeared before me in a radiance of beauty--\"\n\n\"Which should have made you shade both eyes. Yet you have been speaking\nso warmly of your young guest, her loving caution, her gentle calmness in\nthe midst of peril--\"\n\n\"Do you suppose I wish to recall a single syllable?\" the architect\nindignantly broke in. \"Helena has no peer among the maidens of\nAlexandria--but the other--Cleopatra--is elevated in her divine majesty\nabove all ordinary mortals. You might spare me and yourself that scornful\ncurl of the lip. Had she gazed into your face with those tearful,\nsorrowful eyes, as she did into mine, and spoken of her misery, you would\nhave gone through fire and water, hand in hand with me, for her sake. I\nam not a man who is easily moved, and since my father's death the only\ntears I have seen have been shed by others; but when she talked of the\nmausoleum I was to build for her because Fate, she knew not how soon,\nmight force her to seek refuge in the arms of death, my calmness\nvanished. Then, when she cumbered me among the friends on whom she could\nrely and held out her hand--a matchless hand--oh! laugh if you choose--I\nfelt I know not how, and kneeling at her feet I kissed it; it was wet\nwith my tears. I am not ashamed of this emotion, and my lips seem\nconsecrated since they touched the little white hand which spoke a\nlanguage of its own and stands before my eyes wherever I gaze.\"\n\nPushing back his thick locks from his brow as he spoke, he shook his head\nas though dissatisfied with himself and, in an altered tone, hurriedly\ncontinued: \"But this is a time ill-suited for such ebullitions of\nfeeling. I mentioned the mausoleum, whose erection the Queen desires. She\nwill see the first hasty sketch to-morrow. It is already before my mind's\neye. She wished to have it adjoin the Temple of Isis, her goddess--I\nproposed the great sanctuary in the Rhakotis quarter, but she\nobjected--she wished to have it close to the palace at Lochias. She had\nthought of the temple at the Corner of the Muses, but the house occupied\nby Didymus stood in the way of a larger structure. If this were removed\nit would be possible to carry the street through the old man's garden,\nperhaps even to the sea-shore, and we should have had space for a\ngigantic edifice and still left room for a fine garden. But we had\nlearned how the philosopher loved his family estate. The Queen is\nunwilling to use violence towards the old man. She is just, and perhaps\nother reasons, of which I am ignorant, influence her. So I promised to\nlook for another site, though I saw how much she desired to have her tomb\nconnected with the sanctuary of her favourite goddess Then--I have\nalready told the clever brown witch--then the immortals, Divinity, Fate,\nor whatever we call the power which guides the world and our lives\naccording to eternal laws and its own mysterious, omnipotent will,\npermitted a rascally deed, from which I think may come deliverance for\nyou and a source of pleasure to the Queen in these days of trial.\"\n\n\"Man, man! Where will this new passion lead you? The horses are stamping\nimpatiently outside; duty summons the most faithful of men, and he stands\nlike a prophet, indulging in mysterious sayings!\"\n\n\"Whose meaning and purport, spite of your calm calculations of existing\ncircumstances, will soon seem no less wonderful to you than to me, whose\nunruly artist nature, according to your opinion, is playing me a trick,\"\nretorted the architect. \"Now listen to this explanation: Didymus's house\nwill be occupied at once by my workmen, but I shall examine the lower\nrooms of the Temple of Isis. I have with me a document requiring\nobedience to my orders. Cleopatra herself laid the plans before me, even\nthe secret portion showing the course of the subterranean chambers. It\nwill cast some light upon my mysterious sayings if I bear you away from\nthe enemy through one of the secret corridors. They were right in\nconcealing from you by how slender a thread, spite of the power of your\nexample in mathematics, the sword hangs above your head. Now that I see a\npossibility of removing it, I can show it to you. Tomorrow you would have\nfallen, without hope of rescue, into the hands of cruel foes and been\nshamefully abandoned by your own weak uncle, had not the most implacable\nof all your enemies permitted himself the infamous pleasure of laying\nhands on an old man's house, and the Queen, in consequence of an\nagitating message, had the idea suggested of building her own mausoleum.\nThe corridor\"--here he lowered his voice--\"of which I spoke leads to the\nsea at a spot close beside Didymus's garden, and through it I will guide\nyou, and, if possible, Barine also, to the shore. This could be\naccomplished in the usual way only by the greatest risk. If we use the\npassage we can reach a dark place on the strand unseen, and unless some\nspecial misfortune pursues us our flight will be unnoticed. The litters\nand your tottering gait would betray everything if we were to enter the\nboat anywhere else in the great harbour.\"\n\n\"And we, sensible folk, refuse to believe in miracles!\" cried Dion,\nholding out his wan hand to the architect. \"How shall I thank you, you\ndear, clever, most loyal of friends to your male friends, though your\nheart is so faithless to fair ones? Add that malicious speech to the\nformer ones, for which I now crave your pardon. What you intend to\naccomplish for Barine and me gives you a right to do and say to me\nwhatever ill you choose all the rest of my life. Anxiety for her would\nsurely have bound me to this house and the city when the time came to\nmake the escape, for without her my life would now be valueless. But when\nI think that she might follow me to Pyrrhus's cliff--\"\n\n\"Don't flatter yourself with this hope,\" pleaded Gorgias. \"Serious\nobstacles may interpose. I am to have another talk with the Nubian later.\nWith no offence to others, I believe her advice will be the best. She\nknows how matters stand with the lofty, and yet herself belongs to the\nlowly. Besides, through Charmian the way to the Queen lies open, and\nnothing which happens at court escapes her notice. She showed me that we\nmust consider Barine's delivery to Alexas a piece of good fortune. How\neasily jealousy might have led to a fatal crime one whose wish promptly\nbecomes action, unless she curbs the undue zeal of her living tools!\nThose on whom Fate inflicts so many blows rarely are in haste to spare\nothers. Would the anxieties which weigh upon her like mountains interpose\nbetween the Queen and the jealous rancour which is too petty for her\ngreat soul?\"\n\n\"What is great or petty to the heart of a loving woman?\" asked Dion. \"In\nany case you will do what you can to remove Barine from the power of the\nenraged princess--I know.\"\n\nGorgias pressed his friend's hand closely, then, yielding to a sudden\nimpulse, kissed him on the forehead and hurried to the door.\n\nOn the threshold a faint moan from the wounded man stopped him. Would he\nbe strong enough to follow the long passage leading to the sea?\n\nDion protested that he confidently expected to do so, but his deeply\nflushed face betrayed that the fever which had once been conquered had\nreturned.\n\nGorgias's eyes sought the floor in deep thought. Many sick persons were\nborne to the temple in the hope of cure; so Dion's appearance would cause\nno special surprise. On the other hand, to have strangers carry him\nthrough the passage seemed perilous. He himself was strong, but even the\nstrongest person would have found it impossible to support the heavy\nburden of a grown man to the sea, for the gallery was low and of\nconsiderable length. Still, if necessary, he would try. With the\ncomforting exclamation, \"If your strength does not suffice, another way\nwill be found,\" he took his leave, gave Barine's maid and the wounded\nman's body-slave the necessary directions, commanded the door-keeper to\nadmit no one save the physician, and stepped into the open air.\n\nA little band of Ephebi were pacing to and fro before the house. Others\nhad flung themselves down in an open space surrounded by shrubbery in the\nPaneum garden, and were drinking the choice wine which Dion's cellarer,\nby his orders, had brought and was pouring out for the crowd.\n\nIt was an animated scene, for the clients of the sufferer, who, after\nexpressing their sympathy, had been dismissed by the porter, and\nbedizened girls had joined the youths. There was no lack of jests and\nlaughter, and when some pretty young mother or female slave passed by\nleading children, with whom the garden was a favourite playground, many a\nmerry word was exchanged.\n\nGorgias waved his hands gaily to the youths, pleased with the\ncheerfulness with which the brave fellows transformed duty into a\nfestival, and many raised their wine-cups, shouting a joyous \"Io\" and\n\"Evoe,\" to drink the health of the famous artist who not long ago had\nbeen one of themselves.\n\nThe others were led by a slender youth, the student Philotas, from\nAmphissa, Didymus's assistant, whom the architect, a few days before, had\nhelped to liberate from the demons of wine. Even while Gorgias was\nbeckoning to him from the two-wheeled chariot, the thought entered his\nmind that yonder handsome youth, who had so deeply wronged Barine and\nDion, would be the very person to help carry his friend through the\nlow-roofed passage to the sea. If Philotas was the person Gorgias\nbelieved him to be, he would deem it a special favour to make amends for\nhis crime to those whom he had injured, and he was not mistaken; for,\nafter the youth had taken a solemn oath not to betray the secret to any\none, the architect asked him to aid in Dion's rescue. Philotas,\noverflowing with joyful gratitude, protested his willingness to do so,\nand promised to wait at the appointed spot in the Temple of Isis at the\ntime mentioned.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nWhile Gorgias was examining the subterranean chambers in the Temple of\nIsis, Charmian returned to Lochias earlier than she herself had expected.\nShe had met her brother, whom she did not find at Kanopus, at Berenike's,\nand after greeting Dion on his couch of pain, she told Archibius of her\nanxiety. She confided to him alone that the Queen had committed Barine's\nfate to Alexas, for the news might easily have led the mother of the\nendangered woman to some desperate venture; but even Archibius's\ncomposure, so difficult to disturb, was not proof against it. He would\nhave sought the Queen's presence at once--if necessary, forced his way to\nit; but the historian Timagenes, who had just come from Rome, was\nexpecting him, and he had not returned to his birthplace as a private\ncitizen, but commissioned by Octavianus to act as mediator in putting an\nend to the struggle which had really been decided in his favour at the\nbattle of Actium. The choice of this mediator was a happy one; for he had\ntaught Cleopatra in her childhood, and was the self-same quick-witted man\nwho had so often roused her to argument. His share in a popular\ninsurrection against the Roman rule had led to his being carried as a\nslave to the Tiber. There he soon purchased his freedom, and attained\nsuch distinction that Octavianus entrusted this important mission to the\nman who was so well known in Alexandria. Archibius was to meet him at the\nhouse of Arius, who was still suffering from the wounds inflicted by the\nchariot-wheels of Antyllus, and Berenike had accompanied Timagenes to her\nbrother.\n\nCharmian did not venture to go there; a visit to Octavianus's former\nteacher would have been misinterpreted, and it was repugnant to her own\ndelicacy of feeling to hold intercourse at this time with the foe and\nconqueror of her royal mistress. She therefore let her brother drive with\nBerenike to the injured man's; but before his departure Archibius had\npromised, if the worst came, to dare everything to open the eyes of the\nQueen, who had forbidden her, Charmian, to speak in behalf of Barine and\nthwart the plans of Alexas.\n\nFrom the Paneum garden she was carried to the Kanopic Way and the Jewish\nquarter, where she had many important purchases to make for Cleopatra. It\nwas long after noon when the litter was again borne to Lochias.\n\nOn the way she had severely felt her own powerlessness. Without having\naccomplished anything herself, she was forced to wait for the success of\nothers; and she had scarcely crossed the threshold of the palace ere\nfresh cares were added to those which already burdened her soul.\n\nShe understood how to read the faces of courtiers, and the door-keeper's\nhad taught her that since her departure something momentous had occurred.\nShe disliked to question the slaves and lower officials, so she\nrefrained, though the interior of the palace was crowded with guards,\nofficials of every grade, attendants, and slaves. Many who saw her gazed\nat her with the timidity inspired by those over whom some disaster is im\npending. Others, whose relations were more intimate, pressed forward to\nenjoy the mournful satisfaction of being the first messengers of evil\ntidings. But she passed swiftly on, keeping them back with grave words\nand gestures, until, before the door of the great anteroom thronged with\nGreek and Egyptian petitioners, she met Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal.\nCharmian stopped him and inquired what had happened.\n\n\"Since when?\" asked the old courtier. \"Every moment has brought some\nfresh tidings and all are mournful. What terrible times, Charmian, what\ndisasters!\"\n\n\"No messenger had arrived when I left the Lochias,\" replied Charmian.\n\"Now it seems as though the old monster of a palace, accustomed to so\nmany horrors, is holding its breath in dread. Tell me the main thing, at\nleast, before I meet the Queen.\"\n\n The main thing? Pestilence or famine--which shall we call the worse?\"\n\n\"Quick, Zeno! I am expected.\"\n\n\"I, too, am in haste, and really there is nothing to relate over which\nthe tongue would care to dwell. Candidus arrived first. Came himself\nstraight from Actium. The fellow is bold enough.\"\n\n\"Is the army defeated also?\"\n\n\"Defeated, dispersed, deserted to the foe--King Herod with his legions in\nthe van.\"\n\nCharmian covered her face with her hands and groaned aloud, but Zeno\ncontinued:\n\n\"You were with her in the flight. When Mark Antony left you, he sailed\nwith the ships which joined him for Paraetonium. A large body of troops\non which the Queen and Mardion had fixed their hopes was encamped there.\nReinforcements could easily be gained and we should once more have a fine\narmy at our disposal.\"\n\n\"Pinarius Scarpus, a cautious soldier, was in command; and I, too,\nbelieved--\"\n\n\"The more you trusted him, the greater would be your error. The shameless\nrascal--he owes everything to Antony--had received tidings of Actium ere\nthe ships arrived, and had already made overtures to Octavianus when the\nImperator came. The veterans who opposed the treachery were hewn down by\nthe wretch's orders, but the brave garrison of the city could not be won\nover to the monstrous crime. It is due to these men that Mark Antony\nstill lives and did not come to a miserable end at the hands of his own\ntroops. The twice-defeated general--a courier brought the news--will\narrive to-night. Strangely enough, he will not come to Lochias, but to\nthe little palace on the Choma.\"\n\n\"Poor, poor Queen!\" cried Charmian; \"how did she bear all this?\"\n\n\"In the presence of the defeated Candidus and Antony's messenger like a\nheroine. But afterwards----Her raving did not last long; but the mute,\ndespairing silence! Ere she had fully recovered her self-command she sent\nus all away, and I have not seen her since. But all the thoughts and\nfeelings which dwell here\"--he pointed to his brow and breast--\"have left\ntheir abode and linger with her. I totter from place to place like a\nsoulless body. O Charmian! what has befallen us? Where are the days when\ncare and trouble lay buried with the other dead--the days and nights when\nmy brain united with that of the Queen to transform this desolate earth\ninto the beautiful Elysian Fields, every-day life to a festival,\nfestivals to the very air of Olympus? What unprecedented scenes of\nsplendour had I not devised for the celebration of the victory, the\ntriumph--nay, even the entry into Rome! Whole chests are filled with the\nsketches, programmes, drawings, and verses. All who handle brush and\nchisel, compose and execute music, would have lent their aid, and--you\nmay believe me-the result would have been something which future\ngenerations would have discussed, lauded, and extolled in song. And\nnow--now?\"\n\n\"Now we will double our efforts to save what is yet to be rescued!\"\n\n\"Rescued?\" repeated the courtier in a hollow tone. \"The Queen, too, still\nclings to this fine word. When I saw her at work yesterday, it seemed as\nif I beheld her drawing water with the bottomless vessel of the Danaides.\nTrue, today, when I left her, her arms had fallen--and in this attitude\nshe now stands before me with her tearful eyes. And besides, I can't get\nmy nephew Dion out of my mind. Cares--nothing but cares concerning him!\nAnd my intentions towards him were so kind! My will gives him my entire\nfortune; but now he actually wants to marry the singer, the daughter of\nthe artist Leonax. You have taken her under your protection, but surely\nyour own niece, Iras, is dearer to you, so you will approve of my\ndestroying the will if Dion insists upon his own way. He shall not have a\nsolidus of my property if he does not give up the woman who is a thorn in\nthe Queen's flesh. And his choice does not suit our ancient race. Iras,\non the contrary, was Dion's playfellow, and I have long destined her for\nhis wife. No better match, nor one more acceptable to the Queen, could be\nfound for him. He cared for her until the singer bewitched him. Bring\nthem together, and they shall be like my own children. If the fool\nresists his uncle, whose sole desire is to benefit him, I will withdraw\nmy aid. Whatever intrigues his foes may weave, I shall fold my arms and\nnot interfere. I stand in the place of his father, my dead brother, and\ndemand obedience. The Queen is my universe, and her favour is of more\nvalue than twenty refractory nephews.\"\n\n\"You will retain her Majesty's favour, even if you intercede for your\nbrother's son.\"\n\n\"And Iras? When she finds herself deceived--and she will soon discover\nit--she will not rest--\"\n\n\"Until she has brought ruin upon him,\" interrupted Charmian, in a tone of\nsorrow rather than reproach as though she already beheld the impending\ndisaster. \"But Iras has no greater influence with the Queen than I, and\nif you and I unite to protect the brave young fellow, who is of your own\nblood--\"\n\n\"Then, of course--no doubt, on account of your longer period of service,\nyou have more influence with her Majesty than Iras--however--such matters\nmust be considered--and I have already said--my mind leaves its abode to\nfollow the Queen like her shadow. It heeds only what concerns her. Let\neverything else go as it will. The fleet the same as destroyed, Candidus\ndefeated, Herod a deserter, treason on treason--the African legions lost!\nWhat in the name of the god who tried to roll back the wheel dashing down\nthe mountain-side!--And yet! Let us offer sacrifices, my friend, and hope\nfor better days!\"\n\nZeno retired as he spoke, but Charmian moved forward with a drooping head\nto find Barine and her faithful Anukis, and weep her fill ere she went to\nperform the duty of consoling and sustaining her beloved mistress. Yet\nshe herself so sorely needed comfort. Wherever she turned her eyes she\nbeheld disaster, peril, treachery, and base intrigues. She felt as if she\nhad lived long enough, and that her day was over. Hitherto her gentle\nnature, her intellect, which yearned to expand, gather new riches, and\nexchange what it had gained with others, had possessed much to offer to\nthe Queen. She had not only been Cleopatra's confidante, but necessary to\nher to discuss questions far in advance of the demands of the times,\nwhich occupied her restless mind. Now the Queen's attention was wholly\nabsorbed by events--hard, cruel facts--which she must resist or turn to\nher own advantage. Her life had become a conflict, and Charmian felt that\nshe was by no means combative. The hard, supple, keenly polished\nintellect of Iras now asserted its value, and the elderly woman told\nherself that she was in danger of being held in less regard than her\nyounger companion. To resign her office would have given her peace of\nmind, but she repelled the thought. For the very reason that these days\nwere so full of misery and perhaps drawing nearer to the end, she must\nremain, first for the sake of the Queen, but also to watch over Barine.\n\nNow she longed to go to Cleopatra. Her mere presence, she knew, would do\nher sore heart good. The silvery laugh of a child reached her ears\nthrough the open gate of the garden which she was rapidly approaching.\nLittle six-year-old Alexander ran towards her with open arms, hugged her\nclosely, pressed his curly head against her, and gazed into her face with\nhis large clear eyes.\n\nCharmian's heart swelled; and as she raised the child in her arms and\nkissed him, she thought of the sad fate impending, and the composure\nmaintained with so much difficulty gave way; tears streamed from her eyes\nand, sobbing violently, she pressed the boy closer to her breast.\n\nThe prince, accustomed to bright faces and tender caresses, broke away\nfrom her in terror to run back to his brother and sisters. But he had a\nkind little heart, and, knowing that no one weeps and sobs unless in\npain, Alexander pitied Charmian, whom he loved, and hurried to her again.\n\nWhat he meant to show her had pleased his mother, too, and dried the\ntears in her eyes. So he took Charmian by the hand and drew her along,\nsaying that he wanted her to see the prettiest thing. She willingly\nallowed herself to be led over the paths, strewn with red sand, of the\nlittle garden which Antony had had laid out for his children in the\nmagnificent style which pleased his love of splendour, and filled with\nrare and beautiful things.\n\nThere was a pond with tiny gold and silver fish, where the rare lotus\nflowers with pink blossoms arose from amid their smooth green leaves, and\nanother where dwarf ducks of every colour, which seemed as if they had\nbeen created for children, swam to and fro. A bit of the sea which washed\nits shore had been enclosed by a gilded latticework, and on its surface\nfloated a number of snow-white swans and black ones with scarlet bills.\nNative and Indian flowers of every hue adorned the beds, and the narrow\npaths were shaded by arbours made of gold wire, over which ran climbing\nvines filled with bright blossoms.\n\nA grotto of stalactites behind the dense foliage of an Indian tree\noffered a resting-place, and beside it was a little house where the\nchildren could stay. The interior lacked none of the requisites of\nliving, not even the cooking utensils in the kitchen, and the family\nportraits in the tablinum, delicately painted by an artist on small ivory\nslabs. Everything was made to suit the size of children, but of the most\ncostly material and careful workmanship.\n\nBehind the house was a little stable where four tiny horses with spotted\nskins, the rarest and prettiest creatures imaginable--a gift from the\nKing of Media--were stamping the ground.\n\nIn another place was an enclosure containing gazelles, ostriches, young\ngiraffes, and other grass-eating animals. Bright-plumaged birds and\nmonkeys filled the tops of the trees, gay balls rose and fell on the jets\nof the fountains, and child genii and images of the gods in bronze and\nmarble peered from the foliage. This whole enchanted world was comprised\nwithin a narrow space, and, with its radiance of colour and wealth of\nform, its perfume, songs, and warbling, exerted a bewildering influence\nupon the excited imaginations of grown people as well as children.\n\nLittle Alexander, without even casting a glance at all this, drew\nCharmian forward. He did not pause until he reached the shore of the\nlotus pond; then, putting his fingers on his lips, he said: \"There, now,\nI'll show you. Look here!\"\n\nRising cautiously upon tip-toe as he spoke, he pointed to the hollow in\nthe trunk of a tree. A pair of finches had built their nest in it, and\nfive young ones with big yellow beaks stretched their ugly little heads\nhungrily upward.\n\n\"That's so pretty!\" cried the prince. \"And you must see the old ones come\nto feed them.\" The beautiful boy's sweet face fairly beamed with delight,\nand Charmian kissed him tenderly. Yet, even as she did so, she thought of\nthe young swallows hacked to death in his mother's galley, and a chill\nran through her veins.\n\nJust at that moment voices were heard calling Alexander from a neglected\nspot behind the dainty little house built for the children, and the boy\nexclaimed peevishly:\n\n\"There, now, I showed you the little nest, so I forgot. Agatha fell\nasleep and Smerdis went away, so we were alone. Then they sent me to\nHorus, the gate-keeper, to get some of his spelt bread. He never says no\nto anything, and it does taste so good. We're peasants, and have been\nusing the axe and the hoe, so we want something to eat. Have you seen our\nhouse? We built it ourselves. Selene, Helios, Jotape, my future wife, and\nI--yes, I! They let me help, and we finished it alone, all alone!\nEverything is here. We shall build the shed for the cow to-morrow. The\nothers mustn't see it, but I may show it to you.\"\n\nWhile speaking, he drew her forward again, and Charmian obediently\nfollowed. The twins and little Jotape, who had been chosen for the future\nbride of the six-year-old Prince Alexandera pretty, delicate, fair-haired\nchild of his own age, the daughter of the Median king, who had been\nbetrothed to the boy after the Parthian war, and now remained as a\nhostage at Cleopatra's court--welcomed her with joyous shouts. With the\nexception of the little Median princess, Charmian had witnessed their\nbirth, and they all loved her dearly.\n\nThe little royal labourers showed their work with proud delight, and it\nreally was well done.\n\nThey had toiled at it for weeks, paying no heed to the garden and all its\ncostly rarities. They pointed with special pride to the two planks which\nHelios, aided by Alexander, had fished out of the sea after the last\nstorm, when they were left alone, and to the lock on the door which they\nhad secretly managed to wrench from an old gate. Selene herself had woven\nthe curtain in front of the door. Now they were going to build a hearth\ntoo.\n\nCharmian praised their skill, while they--all talking merrily\ntogether--told her how they had conquered the greatest difficulties.\nTheir bright eyes sparkled with pleasure while describing the work of\ntheir own hands, and they were so absorbed in eager delight that they did\nnot notice the approach of a man until startled by his words: \"Enough of\nthis idle sport now, your Highnesses. Too much time has already been\nwasted on it.\"\n\nThen, turning to the Queen, who had accompanied him, he continued in a\ntone of apology: \"This amusement might seem somewhat hazardous, yet there\nis much to be said in its favour. Besides, it appeared to afford the\nroyal children so much pleasure that I permitted it for a short time. But\nif your Majesty commands:\n\n\"Let them have their pleasure,\" the Queen interrupted kindly; and as soon\nas the children saw their mother they rushed forward, crowded around her\nwith fearless love, thanked her, and eagerly assured her that nothing in\nthe whole garden was half so dear to them as their little house. They\nmeant to build a stable too.\n\n\"That might be too much,\" said the tutor Euphronion, a grey-haired man\nwith a shrewd, kindly face. \"We must remember how many things are yet to\nbe learned, that we may reach the goal fixed for your Majesty's birthday\nand pass the examination.\"\n\nBut all the children now joined in the entreaty to be allowed to build\nthe stable too, and it was granted.\n\nWhen the tutor at last began to lead them away, the royal mother stopped\nthem, asking \"Suppose, instead of this garden, I should give you a bit of\nbare land, such as the peasants till, where, after your lessons, you\nmight dig and build as much as you please?\"\n\nLoud shouts of joy from the children answered the question; but the\nlittle Median girl, Jotape, said hesitatingly:\n\n\"Could I take my doll too--only the oldest, Atossa? She has lost one arm,\nyet I love her the best.\"\n\n\"Deprive us of anything you choose!\" cried Helios, drawing little\nAlexander towards him, to show that they, the men, were of the same mind,\n\"only give us some ground and let us build.\"\n\n\"We will consider whether it can be done,\" replied Cleopatra. \"Perhaps,\nEuphronion, you would be the right person--But we will discuss the matter\nat a more quiet hour.\"\n\nThe tutor withdrew and the children, who followed, looked back, waving\ntheir hands and calling to their mother for a long time.\n\nWhen they had disappeared behind the shrubbery in the garden Charmian\nexclaimed, \"However dark the sky may be, so long as you possess these\nlittle ones you can never lack sunshine.\"\n\n\"If,\" replied Cleopatra, gazing pensively at the ground, \"with a thought\nof them another did not blend which makes the gloom become deeper still.\nYou know the tidings this terrible day has brought?\"\n\n\"All,\" replied Charmian, sighing heavily.\n\n\"Then you know the abyss on whose verge we are walking; and to see\nthem--them also dragged into the yawning gulf by their unhappy\nmother--Oh, Charmian, Charmian!\"\n\nShe sobbed aloud, threw her arms around the neck of her friend and\nplayfellow, and laid her head upon her bosom like a child seeking\nconsolation. Cleopatra wept for several minutes, and when she again\nraised her tear-stained face she said softly:\n\n\"That did me good! O, Charmian! no one needs love as I do. On your warm\nheart my own has already grown calmer.\"\n\n\"Use it, nestle there whenever you need it, to the end,\" cried Charmian,\ndeeply moved.\n\n\"To the end,\" repeated Cleopatra, wiping her eyes. \"It began to-day, I\nthink. I have just spent an hour alone. I meant to commit a crime, and\nyou know how impatiently passion sweeps me along. But what misfortunes\nhave assailed me! The army destroyed; the desertion of Herod and\nPinarius; Antony's generous, trusting heart torn by base treachery, his\nsoul darkened; the reconstruction of the canal, the last hope--Gorgias\nbrought the news--the same as destroyed. Just then little Alexander came\nto show me his bird's nest. Everything else in the garden seemed to him\nworthless by comparison. This awakened new thoughts, and now here is the\nlittle house which the children have built with their own hands. All\nthese things forced me by some mysterious power to look back along the\ncourse of my life to the distant days in your father's house--I--These\nchildren! Upon what different foundations our lives have been built! I\nmade them begin at the point I had gained when youth lay behind me. My\nchildhood commenced among the disorders of the government, clouded by my\nfather's exile and my mother's death, on the brink of ruin. That of the\ntwins--they are ten years old--will soon be over--and now, after enjoying\npleasures not one of which was bestowed on me, they must endure the same\nsorrow. But did not we have better ones? What they daily possessed we\nonly dreamed of in our simple garden. How often I let you share the\nradiant visions which my soul revealed to me! You willingly accompanied\nme into the splendid fairy world of my dreams. All that my imagination\nconjured up during the years of quiet and repose accompanied me into my\nafter-life. Again and again I have beheld them, rich and powerful, upon\nthe throne. The means of rendering the vision a varity were at hand; and\nwhen I met the man whose own life resembled the realization of a dream, I\nrecalled those childish fancies and made them facts. The marvels with\nwhich I adorned my lover's existence were childish dreams to which I gave\ntangible form. This garden is an image of the life to which I intended to\nrise; in reality, fell. We collected within the limits of this bit of\nearth everything which can delight the senses; not a single one is\nomitted in this narrow space, whose crowded maze of pleasures fairly\nimpede freedom of movement. Yet in your home, and guided by your wise\nfather, I had learned to be content with so little, and commenced the\nstruggle to attain peace. That painless peace--our chief good--whence\ncame it? Through me it was lost to you both But the children--I made them\nbegin their lives in an arena of every disturbing influence; and now I\nsee how their own healthy natures yearn to escape from the dazzling\nwealth of colour, the stupefying fragrance, the bewildering songs and\ntwittering. They long to return to the untilled earth, where the life of\nstruggling mortals began.\n\n\"The boy casts away the baubles, to test his own creative powers. The\ngirl follows his example, and clings fast only to the doll in which she\nsees the living child, in order to do justice to the maternal instinct,\nthe token of her sex. But what they so eagerly desire is right, and shall\nbe granted. When I was ten years old, like the twins, my life and efforts\nwere already directed towards one fixed goal. They are still blindly\nfollowing the objects set before them. Let them return to the place\nwhence their mother started, where she received everything good which is\nstill hers. They shall go to the garden of Epicurus, no matter whether it\nis the old one in Kanopus or elsewhere. All that their mother beheld in\nvivid dreams, which she often strove with wanton extravagance to realize,\nhas surrounded them from their birth and early satiated them. When they\nenter life, they will scorn what merely stirs and dazzles the senses, and\ncling to the aspiration for painless peace of mind, if a wise guide\ndirects them and protects them from the dangers which the teachings of\nEpicurus contain for youth. I have found this guide, and you, too, will\ntrust him--I mean your brother Archibius.\"\n\n\"Archibius?\" asked Charmian in surprise. \"Yes, he who grew up in the\ngarden of Epicurus, and in life and philosophy found the support which\nhas preserved his peace of mind during all the conflicts of existence--he\nwho loves the mother, and to whom the children are also dear--he to whom\nthe boys and girls cling with affectionate confidence. I wish to place\nthe children under his protection and, if he will consent to grant this\ndesire of the most hapless of women, I shall look forward calmly to the\nend. It is approaching! I feel, I know it! Gorgias is already at work\nupon the plan for my tomb.\"\n\n\"O my Queen!\" cried Charmian sorrowfully. Whatever may happen, your\nillustrious life cannot be in danger! The generous heart of Mark Antony\ndoes not throb in Octavianus's breast, but he is not cruel, and for the\nvery reason that cool calculation curbs ambition he will spare you. He\nknows that you are the idol of the city, the whole country; and if he\nreally succeeds in adding fresh victories to this first conquest, if the\nimmortals permit your throne and--may they avert it!--your sacred person,\ntoo, to fall into his power--\"\n\n\"Then,\" cried Cleopatra, her clear eyes flashing, \"then he shall learn\nwhich of us two is the greater--then I shall know how to maintain the\nright to despise him, though blind Fate should make the whole power of\nthe world subject to him who robbed my son and Caesar's of his heritage!\"\n\nHer eyes had blazed with anger as she uttered the words; then, letting\nher little clenched hand fall, she went on in an altered tone:\n\n\"Months may pass before he is strong enough to risk the attack, and the\nimmortals themselves approved the erection of the monument. The only\nobstacle in the way, the house of the old philosopher Didymus, was\ndestroyed. A messenger from Gorgias brought the news. It is to be the\nsecond monument in Alexandria worthy of notice. The other contains the\nbody of the great Alexander, to whom the city owes its origin and name.\nHe who subjected half the world to his power and the genius of the\nGreeks, was younger than I when he died. Whence do I, by whose miserable\nweakness the battle of Actium was lost, derive the right to walk longer\nbeneath the sun? Perhaps Mark Antony will arrive in a few hours.\"\n\n\"And will you meet the disheartened hero in this mood?\" interrupted\nCharmian.\n\n\"He does not wish to be received,\" answered Cleopatra bitterly. \"He even\nrefused to let me greet him, and I understand the denial. But what must\nhave overwhelmed this joyous nature, so friendly to all mankind, that he\nlongs for solitude and avoids meeting those who are nearest and dearest?\nIras is now at the Choma--whither he wishes to retire--to see that\neverything is in order. She will also provide a supply of the flowers he\nloves. It is hard, cruelly hard, not to welcome him as usual. Oh,\nCharmian, what joy it was when, with open arms and overflowing heart, he\nswung his mighty figure ashore like a youth, while his handsome, heroic\nface beamed with ardent love for me! And then--you do not forget it\neither--when he raised his deep voice to shout the first greeting, why,\nit seemed as if the very fish in the water must join in, and the\npalm-trees on the shore wave their feathery tops in joyous sympathy. And\nhere! The dreams of my childhood, which I made reality for him, received\nus, and our existence, wreathed with love and roses, became a fairy tale.\nSince the day he rode towards us at Kanopus and offered me the first\nbouquet, with his sunny glance wooing my love, his image has stood before\nmy soul as the embodiment of the virile strength which conquers\neverything, and the bright, undimmed joy which renders the whole world\nhappy. And now--now? Do you remember the dull dreamer whom we left ere he\nset forth for Paraetonium? But no, no, a thousand times no, he must not\nremain so! Not with bowed head, but erect as in the days of happiness,\nmust he cross the threshold of Hades, hand in hand with her whom he\nloved. And he does love me still. Else would he have followed me hither,\nthough no magic goblet drew him after me? And I? The heart which, in the\nbreast of the child, gave him its first young love, is still his, and\nwill be forever. Might I not go to the harbour and await him there? Look\nme in the face, Charmian, and answer me as fearlessly as a mirror: did\nOlympus really succeed in effacing the wrinkles?\"\n\n\"They were scarcely visible before,\" was the reply, \"and even the keenest\neye could no longer discover them. I have brought the pomade, too, and\nthe prescription Olympus gave me for--\"\n\n\"Hush, hush!\" interrupted Cleopatra softly. \"There are many living\ncreatures in this garden, and they say that even the birds are good\nlisteners.\"\n\nA roguish smile deepened the dimples in her cheeks as she spoke, and\ndelight in her bewitching grace forced from Charmian's lips the\nexclamation:\n\n\"If Mark Antony could only see you now!\"\n\n\"Flatterer!\" replied the Queen with a grateful smile. But Charmian felt\nthat the time had now come to plead once more for Barine, and she began\neagerly:\n\n\"No, I certainly do not flatter. No one in Alexandria, no matter what\nname she bears, could venture to vie even remotely with your charms. So\ncease the persecution of the unfortunate woman whom you confided to my\ncare. It is an insult to Cleopatra--\"\n\nBut here an indignant \"Again!\" interrupted her.\n\nCleopatra's face, which during the conversation had mirrored every\nemotion of a woman's soul, from the deepest sorrow to the most\nmischievous mirth, assumed an expression of repellent harshness, and,\nwith the curt remark, \"You are forgetting what I had good reason to\nforbid--I must go to my work,\" she turned her back upon the companion of\nher youth.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     See facts as they are and treat them like figures in a sum\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 7.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nCharmain went towards her own apartments. How often she had had a similar\nexperience! In the midst of the warmest admiration for this rare woman's\ndepth of feeling, masculine strength of intellect, tireless industry,\nwatchful care for her native land, steadfast loyalty, and maternal\ndevotion, she had been sobered in the most pitiable way.\n\nShe had been forced to see Cleopatra, for the sake of realizing a\nchildish dream, and impressing her lover, squander vast sums, which\ndiminished the prosperity of her subjects; place great and important\nmatters below the vain, punctilious care of her own person; forget, in\npetty jealousy, the justice and kindness which were marked traits in her\ncharacter; and, though the most kindly and womanly of sovereigns, suffer\nherself to be urged by angry excitement to inflict outrage on a subject\nwhose acts had awakened her displeasure. The lofty ambition which had\ninspired her noblest and most praiseworthy deeds had more than once been\nthe source of acts which she herself regretted. When a child, she could\nnot endure to be surpassed in difficult tasks, and still deemed it a\nnecessity to be first and peerless. Hence the unfortunate circumstance\nthat Antony had given Barine the counterpart of an armlet which she\nherself wore as a gift from her lover, was perhaps the principal cause of\nher bitter resentment against the hapless woman.\n\nCharmian had seen Cleopatra forgive freely and generously many a wrong,\nnay, many an affront, inflicted upon her; but to see herself placed by\nher husband on the same plane as a Barine, even in the most trivial\nmatter, might easily seem to her an unbearable insult; and the mishap\nwhich had befallen Caesarion, in consequence of his foolish passion for\nthe young beauty, gave her a right to punish her rival.\n\nDeeply anxious concerning the fate of the woman in her care--greatly\nagitated, moreover, and exhausted physically and mentally--Charmian\nsought her own apartments.\n\nHere she hoped to find solace in Barine's cheerful and equable nature;\nhere the helpful hands of her dark-skinned maid and confidante awaited\nher.\n\nThe sun was low in the western horizon when she entered the anteroom. The\nmembers of the body-guard who were on duty told her that nothing unusual\nhad occurred, and with a sigh of relief she passed into the sitting-room.\n\nBut the Ethiopian, who usually came to meet her with words of welcome,\ntook her veil and wraps, and removed her shoes, was absent. Today no one\ngreeted her. Not until she entered the second room, which she had\nassigned to her guest, did she find Barine, who was weeping bitterly.\n\nDuring Charmian's absence the latter had received a letter from Alexas,\nin which he informed her that he was ordered by the Queen to subject her\nto an examination the next morning. Her cause looked dark but, if she did\nnot render his duty harder by the harshness which had formerly caused him\nmuch pain, he would do his utmost to protect her from imprisonment,\nforced labour in the mines, or even worse misfortunes. The imprudent game\nwhich she had played with King Caesarion had unfortunately roused the\npeople against her. The depth of their indignation was shown by the fury\nwith which they had assailed the house of her grandfather, Didymus.\nNothing could save Dion, who had audaciously attacked the illustrious son\nof their beloved Queen, from the rage of the populace. He, Alexas, knew\nthat in this Dion she would lose a friend and protector, but he would be\ndisposed to take his place if her conduct did not render it impossible\nfor him to unite mercy with justice.\n\nThis shameful letter, which promised Barine clemency in return for her\nfavour without unmasking him in his character of judge, explained to\nCharmian the agitation in which she found her friend's daughter.\n\nIt was doubtless a little relief to Barine to express her loathing and\nabhorrence of Alexas as eagerly as her gentle nature would permit, but\nfear, grief, and indignation continued to struggle for the mastery in her\noppressed soul.\n\nIt would have been expected that the keen-witted woman would have eagerly\ninquired what Charmian had accomplished with the Queen and Archibius, and\nwhat new events had happened to affect Cleopatra, the state, and the\ncity; but she questioned her with far deeper interest concerning the\nwelfare of her lover, desiring information in regard to many things of\nwhich her friend could give no tidings. In her brief visit to Dion's\ncouch she had not learned how he bore his own misfortunes and Barine's,\nwhat view he took of the future, or what he expected from the woman he\nloved.\n\nCharmian's ignorance and silence in regard to these very matters\nincreased the anxiety of the endangered woman, who saw not only her own\nlife, but those dearest to her, seriously threatened. So she entreated\nher hostess to relieve her from the uncertainty which was harder to\nendure than the most terrible reality; but the latter either could not or\nwould not give her any further details of Cleopatra's intentions, or the\nfate and present abode of her grandparents and Helena. This increased her\nanxiety, for if Alexas's information was correct, her family must be\nhomeless. When Charmian at last admitted that she had seen Dion only a\nfew minutes, the tortured Barine's power of quiet endurance gave way.\n\nShe, whose nature was so hopeful that, when the glow of the sunset faded,\nshe already anticipated with delight the rosy dawn of the next day, now\nbeheld in Cleopatra's hand the reed which was to sign the death-sentence\nof Dion and herself. Her mental vision conjured up her relatives wounded\nby the falling house or bleeding under the stones hurled by the raging\npopulace. She heard Alexas command the executioner to subject her to the\nrack, and fancied that Anukis had not returned because she had failed to\nfind Dion. The Queen's soldiers had probably carried him to prison,\nloaded with chains, if Philostratus had not already instigated the mob to\ndrag him through the streets.\n\nWith feverish impetuosity, which alarmed Charmian the more because it was\nso unlike her old friend's daughter, Barine described all the spectres\nwith which her imagination--agitated by terror, longing, love, and\nloathing--terrified her; but the former exerted all the power of\neloquence she possessed, by turns reproving her and loading her with\ncaresses, in order to soothe her and rouse her from her despair. But\nnothing availed. At last she succeeded in persuading the unhappy woman to\ngo with her to the window, which afforded a most beautiful view.\nWestward, beyond the Heptastadium, the sun was sinking below the forests\nof masts in the harbour of the Eunostus; and Charmian, who had learned\nfrom her intercourse with the royal children how to soothe a troubled\nyoung heart, to divert Barine's thoughts, directed her attention to the\ncrimson glow in the western sky, and told her how her father, the artist,\nhad showed her the superb brilliancy which colours gained at this hour of\nthe day, even when the west was less radiant than now. But Barine, who\nusually could never gaze her fill at such a spectacle, did not thank her,\nfor this sunset reminded her of another which she had lately watched at\nDion's side, and she again broke into convulsive sobs.\n\nCharmian, not knowing what to do, passed her arm around her. Just at that\nmoment the door was hurriedly thrown open, and Anukis, the Nubian,\nentered.\n\nHer mistress knew that something unusual must have happened to detain her\nso long from her post at Barine's side, and her appearance showed that\nshe had been attending to important matters which had severely taxed her\nstrength. Her shining dark skin looked ashen grey, her high forehead,\nsurrounded by tangled woolly locks, was dripping with perspiration, and\nher thick lips were pale. Although she must have undergone great fatigue,\nshe did not seem in need of rest; for, after greeting the ladies,\napologizing for her long absence, and telling Barine that this time Dion\nhad seemed to her half on the way to recovery, a rapid side glance at her\nmistress conveyed an entreaty that she would follow her into the next\nroom.\n\nBut the language of the Nubian's eyes had not escaped the suspicious\nwatchfulness of the anxious Barine and, overwhelmed with fresh terror,\nshe begged that she might hear all.\n\nCharmian ordered her maid to speak openly; but Anukis, ere she began,\nassured them that she had received the news she brought from a most\ntrustworthy source--only it would make a heavy demand upon the resolution\nand courage of Barine, whom she had hoped to find in a very different\nmood. There was no time to lose. She was expected at the appointed place\nan hour after sunset.\n\nHere Charmian interrupted the maid with the exclamation \"Impossible!\" and\nreminded her of the guards which Alexas, aided by Iras, who was\nthoroughly familiar with the palace, had stationed the day before in the\nanteroom, at all the doors--nay, even beneath the windows.\n\nThe Nubian replied that everything had been considered; but, to gain\ntime, she must beg Barine to let her colour her skin and curl her hair\nwhile she was talking.\n\nThe surprise visible in the young beauty's face caused her to exclaim:\n\"Only act with entire confidence. You shall learn everything directly.\nThere is so much to tell! On the way here I had planned how to relate the\nwhole story in regular order, but it can't be done now. No, no! Whoever\nwants to save a flock of sheep from a burning shed must lead out the\nbell-wether first--the main thing, I mean--so I will begin with that,\nthough it really comes last. The explanation of how all this--\"\n\nHere, like a cry of joy, Barine's exclamation interrupted her:\n\n\"I am to fly, and Dion knows it and will follow me! I see it in your\nface.\"\n\nIn fact, every feature of the dusky maid-servant's ugly face betrayed\nthat pleasant thoughts were agitating her mind. Her black eyes flashed\nwith fearless daring, and a smile beautified her big mouth and thick lips\nas she replied:\n\n\"A loving heart like yours understands the art of prophecy better than\nthe chief priest of the great Serapis. Yes, my young mistress, he of whom\nyou speak must disappear from this wicked city where so much evil\nthreatens you both. He will certainly escape and, if the immortals aid us\nand we are wise and brave, you also. Whence the help comes can be told\nlater. Now, the first thing is to transform you--don't be reluctant--into\nthe ugliest woman in the world--black Anukis. You must escape from the\npalace in this disguise.--Now you know the whole plan, and while I get\nwhat is necessary from my chest of clothes, I beg you, mistress, to\nconsider how we are to obtain the black stains for that ivory skin and\ngolden hair.\"\n\nWith these words she left the room, but Barine flung herself into her\nfriend's arms, exclaiming, amid tears and laughter: \"Though I should be\nforced to remain forever as black and crooked as faithful Aisopion, if he\ndid not withdraw his love, though I were obliged to go through fire and\nwater--I would O Charmian! what changes so quickly as joy and sorrow? I\nwould fain show some kindness to every one in the world, even to your\nQueen, who has brought all these troubles upon me.\"\n\nThe new-born hope had transformed the despairing woman into a happy one,\nand Charmian perceived it with grateful joy, secretly wishing that\nCleopatra had listened to her appeal.\n\nWhile examining the hair-dyes used by the Queen she saw, lurking in the\nbackground of what was still unexplained, and therefore confused her\nmind, fresh and serious perils. Barine, on the contrary, gazed across\nthem to the anticipated meeting with her lover, and was full of the\ngayest expectation until the maid-servant's return.\n\nThe work of disfigurement began without delay. Anukis moved her lips as\nbusily as her hands, and described in regular order all that had befallen\nher during the eventful day.\n\nBarine listened with rising excitement, and her joy increased as she\nbeheld the path which had been smoothed for her by the care and wisdom of\nher friends. Charmian, on the contrary, became graver and more quiet the\nmore distinctly she perceived the danger her favourite must encounter.\nYet she could not help admitting that it would be a sin against Barine's\nsafety, perhaps her very life, to withhold her from this well-considered\nplan of escape.\n\nThat it must be tried was certain; but as the moment which was to\nendanger the woman she loved drew nearer, and she could not help saying\nto herself that she was aiding an enterprise in opposition to the express\ncommand of the Queen and helping to execute a plan which threatened to\nrouse the indignation, perhaps the fury, of Cleopatra, a feeling of\nsorrow overpowered her. She feared nothing for herself. Not for a single\ninstant did she think of the unpleasant consequences which Barine's\nescape might draw upon her. The burden on her soul was due only to the\nconsciousness of having, for the first time, opposed the will of the\nsovereign, to fulfil whose desires and to promote whose aims had been the\nbeloved duty of her life. Doubtless the thought crossed her mind that, by\naiding Barine's escape, she was guarding Cleopatra from future\nrepentance; probably she felt sure that it was her duty to help rescue\nthis beautiful young life, whose bloom had been so cruelly assailed by\ntempest and hoar-frost, and which now had a prospect of the purest\nhappiness; yet, though in itself commendable, the deed brought her into\nsharp conflict with the loftiest aims and aspirations of her life. And\nhow much nearer than the other was the woman--she shrank from the\nword--whom she was about to betray, how much greater was Cleopatra's\nclaim to her love and gratitude! Could she have any other emotion than\nthankfulness if the plan of escape succeeded? Yet she was reluctant to\nperform the task of making Barine's beautiful, symmetrical figure\nresemble the hunch-backed Nubian's, or to dip her fingers into the pomade\nintended for Cleopatra; and it grieved her to mar the beauty of Barine's\nluxuriant tresses by cutting off part of her thick fair braids.\n\nTrue, these things could not be avoided, if the flight was to succeed,\nand the further Anukis advanced in her story, the fewer became her\nmistress's objections to the plan.\n\nThe conversation between Iras and Alexas, which had been overheard by the\nmaid, already made it appear necessary to withdraw Barine and her lover\nfrom the power of such foes. The faithful man whom Anukis had found with\nDion, whose name she did not mention and of whose home she said only that\nno safer hiding-place could be found, even by the mole which burrowed in\nthe earth, really seemed to have been sent with Gorgias to Dion's couch\nby Fate itself. The control of the subterranean chambers in the Temple of\nIsis which had been bestowed on the architect, also appeared like a\nmiracle.\n\nUpon a small tablet, which the wise Aisopion had intentionally delayed\nhanding to her mistress until now, were the lines: \"Archibius greets his\nsister Charmian. If I know your heart, it will be as hard for you as for\nme to share this plot, yet it must be done for the sake of her father, to\nsave the life and happiness of his child. So it must fall to your lot to\nbring Barine to the Temple of Isis at the Corner of the Muses. She will\nfind her lover there and, if possible, be wedded to him. As the sanctuary\nis so near, you need leave the palace only a short time. Do not tell\nBarine what we have planned. The disappointment would be too great if it\nshould prove impracticable.\"\n\nThis letter and the arrangement it proposed transformed the serious\nscruples which shadowed Charmian's good-will into a joyous, nay,\nenthusiastic desire to render assistance. Barine's marriage to the man\nwho possessed her heart was close at hand, and she was the daughter of\nLeonax, who had once been dear to her. Fear and doubt vanished as if\nscattered to the four winds, and when Aisopion's work of transformation\nwas completed and Barine stood before her as the high-shouldered,\ndark-visaged, wrinkled maid, she could not help admitting that it would\nbe easy to escape from the palace in that disguise.\n\nShe now told Barine that she intended to accompany her herself; and\nthough the former's stained face forced her to refrain from kissing her\nfriend, she plainly expressed to her and the faithful freedwoman the\noverflowing gratitude which filled her heart.\n\nAnukis was left alone. After carefully removing all the traces of her\noccupation, as habit dictated, she raised her arms in prayer, beseeching\nthe gods of her native land to protect the beautiful woman to whom she\nhad loaned her own misshapen form, which had now been of genuine service,\nand who had gone forth to meet so many dangers, but also a happiness\nwhose very hope had been denied to her.\n\nCharmian had told her maid that if the Queen should inquire for her\nbefore Iras returned from the Choma to say that she had been obliged to\nleave the palace, and to supply her place. During their absence, when\nCharmian had been attacked by sickness, Cleopatra had often entrusted the\ncare of her toilet to Aisopion, and had praised her skill.\n\nThe Queen's confidential attendant was followed as usual when she went\nout by a dark-skinned maid. Lanterns and lamps had already been lighted\nin the corridors of the spacious palace, and the court-yards were ablaze\nwith torches and pitch-pans; but, brilliantly as they burned in many\nplaces, and numerous as were the guards, officers, eunuchs, clerks,\nsoldiers, cooks, attendants, slaves, door-keepers, and messengers whom\nthey passed, not one gave them more than a careless glance.\n\nSo they reached the last court-yard, and then came a moment when the\nhearts of both women seemed to stop beating--for the man whom they had\nmost cause to dread, Alexas the Syrian, approached.\n\nAnd he did not pass the fugitives, but stopped Charmian, and courteously,\neven obsequiously, informed her that he wished to get rid of the\ntroublesome affair of her favourite, which had been assigned to him\nagainst his will, and therefore had determined to bring Barine to trial\nearly the following morning.\n\nThe Syrian's body-servant attended his master, and while the former was\ntalking with Charmian the latter turned to the supposed Nubian, tapped\nher lightly on the shoulder, and whispered: \"Come this evening, as you\ndid yesterday. You haven't finished the story of Prince Setnau.\"\n\nThe fugitive felt as if she had grown dumb and could never more regain\nthe power of speech. Yet she managed to nod, and directly after the\nfavourite bowed a farewell to Charmian. The Ligurian was obliged to\nfollow his master, while Charmian and Barine passed through the gateway\nbetween the last pylons into the open air.\n\nHere the sea-breeze seemed to waft her a joyous greeting from the realm\nof liberty and happiness, and the timid woman, amid all the perils which\nsurrounded her, regained sufficient presence of mind to tell her friend\nwhat Alexas's slave had whispered--that Aisopion might remind him of it\nthe same evening, and thus strengthen his belief that the Nubian had\naccompanied the Queen's confidante.\n\nThe way to the Temple of Isis was short. The stars showed that they would\nreach their destination in time; but a second delay unexpectedly\noccurred. From the steps leading to the cella of the sanctuary a\nprocession, whose length seemed endless, came towards them. At the head\nof the train marched eight pastophori, bearing the image of Isis. Then\ncame the basket-bearers of the goddess with several other priestesses,\nfollowed by the reader with an open book-roll. Behind him appeared the\nquaternary number of prophets, whose head, the chief priest, moved with\nstately dignity beneath a canopy. The rest of the priestly train bore in\ntheir hands manuscripts, sacred vessels, standards, and wreaths. The\npriestesses--some of whom, with garlands on their flowing hair, were\nalready shaking the sistrum of Isis--mingled with the line of priests,\ntheir high voices blending with the deep notes of the men. Neokori, or\ntemple servants, and a large number of worshippers of Isis, closed the\nprocession, all wearing wreaths and carrying flowers. Torch and lantern\nbearers lighted the way, and the perfume of the incense rising from the\nlittle pan of charcoal in the hand of a bronze arm, which the pastophori\nwaved to and fro, surrounded and floated after the procession.\n\nThe two women waiting for the train to pass saw it turn towards Lochias,\nand the conversation of the bystanders informed them that its object was\nto convey to \"the new Isis,\" the Queen, the greeting of the goddess, and\nassure the sovereign of the divinity's remembrance of her in the hour of\nperil.\n\nCleopatra could not help accepting this friendly homage, and it was\nincumbent upon her to receive it wearing on her head the crown of Upper\nand Lower Egypt, and robed in all the ecclesiastical vestments which only\nher two most trusted attendants knew how to put on with the attention to\ndetails that custom required. This had never been entrusted to maids of\ninferior position like the Nubian; so Cleopatra would miss Charmian.\n\nThe thought filled her with fresh uneasiness and, when the steps were at\nlast free, she asked herself anxiously how all this would end.\n\nIt seemed as if the fugitive and her companion had exposed themselves to\nthis great peril in vain; for some of the temple servants were forcing\nback those who wished to enter the sanctuary, shouting that it would be\nclosed until the return of the procession. Barine gazed timidly into\nCharmian's face; but, ere she could express her opinion, the tall figure\nof a man appeared on the temple steps. It was Archibius, who with grave\ncomposure bade them follow him, and silently led them around the\nsanctuary to a side door, through which, a short time before, a litter\nhad passed, accompanied by several attendants.\n\nAscending a flight of steps within the long building, they reached the\ndimly lighted cella.\n\nAs in the Temple of Osiris at Abydos seven corridors, here three led to\nthe same number of apartments, the holy place of the sanctuary. The\ncentral one was dedicated to Isis, that on the left to her husband\nOsiris, and that on the right to Horus, the son of the great goddess.\nBefore it, scarcely visible in the dim light, stood the altars, loaded\nwith sacrifices by Archibius.\n\nBeside that of Horus was the litter which had been borne into the temple\nbefore the arrival of the women. From it, supported by two friends,\ndescended a slender young man.\n\nA hollow sound echoed through the pillared hall. The iron door at the\nmain entrance of the temple had been closed. The shrill rattle that\nfollowed proceeded from the metal bolts which an old servant of the\nsanctuary had shot into the sockets.\n\nBarine started, but neither inquired the cause of the noise nor perceived\nthe wealth of objects here presented to the senses; for the man who,\nleaning on another's arm, approached the altar, was Dion, the lover who\nhad perilled his life for her sake. Her eyes rested intently on his\nfigure, her whole heart yearned towards him and, unable to control\nherself,--she called his name aloud.\n\nCharmian gazed anxiously around the group, but soon uttered a sigh of\nrelief; for the tall man whose arm supported Dion was Gorgias, the worthy\narchitect, his best friend, and the other, still taller and stronger, her\nown brother Archibius. Yonder figure, emerging from the disguise of\nwraps, was Berenike, Barine's mother. All trustworthy confidants! The\nonly person whom she did not know was the handsome young man standing at\nher brother's side.\n\nBarine, whose arm she still held, had struggled to escape to rush to her\nmother and lover; but Archibius had approached, and in a whisper warned\nher to be patient and to refrain from any greeting or question,\n\"supposing,\" he added, \"that you are willing to be married at this altar\nto Dion, the son of Eumenes.\"\n\nCharmian felt Barine's arm tremble in hers at this suggestion, but the\nyoung beauty obeyed her friend's directions. She did not know what had\nbefallen her, or whether, in the excess of happiness which overwhelmed\nher, to shout aloud in her exultant joy, or melt into silent tears of\ngratitude and emotion.\n\nNo one spoke. Archibius took a roll of manuscript from Dion's hand,\npresented himself before the assembled company as the bride's kyrios, or\nguardian, and asked Barine whether she so recognized him. Then he\nreturned to Dion the marriage contract, whose contents he knew and\napproved, and informed those present that, in the marriage about to be\nsolemnized, they must consider him the paranymphos, or best man, and\nBerenike as the bridesmaid, and they instantly lighted a torch at the\nfires burning on one of the altars. Archibius, as kyrios, joined the\nlovers' hands in the Egyptian--Barine's mother, as bridesmaid, in the\nGreek-manner, and Dion gave his bride a plain iron ring. It was the same\none which his father had bestowed at his own wedding, and he whispered:\n\"My mother valued it; now it is your turn to honour the ancient\ntreasure.\"\n\nAfter stating that the necessary sacrifices had been offered to Isis and\nSerapis, Zeus, Hera, and Artemis, and that the marriage between Dion, son\nof Eumenes, and Barine, daughter of Leonax, was concluded, Archibius\nshook hands with both.\n\nHaste seemed necessary, for he permitted Berenike and his sister only\ntime for a brief embrace, and Gorgias to clasp her hand and Dion's. Then\nhe beckoned, and the newly made bride's mother followed him in tears,\nCharmian bewildered and almost stupefied. She did not fully realize the\nmeaning of the event she had just witnessed until an old neokori had\nguided her and the others into the open air.\n\nBarine felt as if every moment might rouse her from a blissful dream, and\nyet she gladly told herself that she was awake, for the man walking\nbefore her, leaning on the arm of a friend, was Dion. True, she saw, even\nin the faint light of the dim temple corridor, that he was suffering.\nWalking appeared to be so difficult that she rejoiced when, yielding to\nGorgias's entreaties, he entered the litter.\n\nBut where were the bearers?\n\nShe was soon to learn; for, even while she looked for them, the architect\nand the youth, in whom she had long since recognized Philotas, her\ngrandfather's assistant, seized the poles.\n\n\"Follow us,\" said Gorgias, under his breath, and she obeyed, keeping\nclose behind the litter, which was borne first down a broad and then a\nnarrow staircase, and finally along a passage. Here a door stopped the\nfugitives; but the architect opened it and helped his friend out of the\nlitter, which before proceeding farther he placed in a room filled with\nvarious articles discovered during his investigation of the subterranean\ntemple chambers.\n\nHitherto not a word had been spoken. Now Gorgias called to Barine: \"This\npassage is low--you must stoop. Cover your head, and don't be afraid if\nyou meet bats. They have long been undisturbed. We might have taken you\nfrom the temple to the sea, and waited there, but it would probably have\nattracted attention and been dangerous. Courage, young wife of Dion! The\ncorridor is long, and walking through it is difficult; but compared with\nthe road to the mines, it is as smooth and easy as the Street of the\nKing. If you think of your destination, the bats will seem like the\nswallows which announce the approach of spring.\"\n\nBarine nodded gratefully to him; but she kissed the hand of Dion, who was\nmoving forward painfully, leaning on the arm of his friend. The light of\nthe torch carried by Gorgias's faithful foreman, who led the way, had\nfallen on her blackened arm, and when the little party advanced she kept\nbehind the others. She thought it might be unpleasant for her lover to\nsee her thus disfigured, and spared him, though she would gladly have\nremained nearer. As soon as the passage grew lower, the wounded man's\nfriends took him in their arms, and their task was a hard one, for they\nwere not only obliged to move onward bending low under the heavy burden,\nbut also to beat off the bats which, frightened by the foreman's torch,\nflew up in hosts.\n\nBarine's hair was covered, it is true, but at any other time the hideous\ncreatures, which often brushed against her head and arms, would have\nfilled her with horror and loathing. Now she scarcely heeded them; her\neyes were fixed on the recumbent figure in the bearers' arms, the man to\nwhom she belonged, body and soul, and whose patient suffering pierced her\ninmost heart. His head rested on the breast of Gorgias, who walked\ndirectly in front of her; the architect's stooping posture concealed his\nface, but his feet were visible and, whenever they twitched, she fancied\nhe was in pain. Then she longed to press forward to his side, wipe the\nperspiration from his brow in the hot, low corridor, and whisper words of\nlove and encouragement.\n\nThis she was sometimes permitted to do when the friends put down their\nheavy burden. True, they allowed themselves only brief intervals of rest,\nbut they were long enough to show her how the sufferer's strength was\nfailing. When they at last reached their destination, Philotas was forced\nto exert all his strength to support the exhausted man, while Gorgias\ncautiously opened the door. It led to a flight of sea-washed steps close\nto the garden of Didymus, which as a child she had often used with her\nbrother to float a little boat upon the water.\n\nThe architect opened the door only a short distance; he was expected, for\nBarine soon heard him whisper, and suddenly the door was flung wide. A\ntall man raised Dion and bore him into the open air. While she was still\ngazing after him, a second figure of equal size approached her and,\nhastily begging her permission, lifted her in his arms like a child, and\nas she inhaled the cool night air and felt the water through which her\nbearer waded splash up and wet her feet, her eyes sought her new-made\nhusband--but in vain; the night was very dark, and the lights on the\nshore did not reach this spot so far below the walls of the quay.\n\nBarine was frightened; but a few minutes after the outlines of a large\nfishing boat loomed through the darkness, dimly illumined by the harbour\nlights, and the next instant the giant who carried her placed her on the\ndeck, and a deep voice whispered: \"All's well. I'll bring some wine at\nonce.\"\n\nThen Barine saw her husband lying motionless on a couch which had been\nprepared for him in the prow of the boat. Bending over him, she perceived\nthat he had fainted, and while rubbing his forehead with the wine,\nraising his head on her lap, cheering him, and afterwards by the light of\na small lantern carefully renewing the bandage on his shoulder, she did\nnot notice that the vessel was moving through the water until the boatman\nset the triangular sail.\n\nShe had not been told where the boat was bearing her, and she did not\nask. Any spot that she could share with Dion was welcome. The more lonely\nthe place, the more she could be to him. How her heart swelled with\ngratitude and love! When she bent over him, kissed his forehead, and felt\nhow feverishly it burned, she thought, \"I will nurse you back to health,\"\nand raised her eyes and soul to her favourite god, to whom she owed the\ngift of song, and who understood everything beautiful and pure, to thank\nPhoebus Apollo and beseech him to pour his rays the next morning on a\nconvalescent man. While she was still engaged in prayer the boat touched\nthe shore. Again strong arms bore her and Dion to the land, and when her\nfoot touched the solid earth, her rescuer, the freedman Pyrrhus, broke\nthe silence, saying: \"Welcome, wife of Dion, to our island! True, you\nmust be satisfied to take us as we are. But if you are as content with us\nas we are glad to serve you and your lord, who is ours also, the hour of\nleave-taking will be far distant.\"\n\nThen, leading the way to the house, he showed her as her future\napartments two large whitewashed rooms, whose sole ornament was their\nexquisite neatness. On the threshold stood Pyrrhus's grey-haired wife, a\nyoung woman, and a girl scarcely beyond childhood; but the older one\nmodestly welcomed Barine, and also begged her to accept their\nhospitality. Recovery was rapid in the pure air of the Serpent Isle. She\nherself, and--she pointed to the others--her oldest son's wife, and her\nown daughter, Dione, would be ready to render her any service.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nBrothers and sisters are rarely talkative when they are together. As\nCharmian went to Lochias with Archibius, it was difficult for her to find\nwords, the events of the past few hours had agitated her so deeply.\nArchibius, too, could not succeed in turning his thoughts in any other\ndirection, though important and far more momentous things claimed his\nattention.\n\nThey walked on silently side by side. In reply to his sister's inquiry\nwhere the newly wedded pair were to be concealed, he had answered that,\nspite of her trustworthiness, this must remain a secret. To her second\nquery, how had it been possible to use the interior of the Temple of Isis\nwithout interruption, he also made a guarded reply.\n\nIn fact, it was the control of the subterranean corridors of the\nsanctuary which had suggested to Gorgias the idea of carrying Dion\nthrough them to Pyrrhus's fishing-boat. To accomplish this it was only\nnecessary to have the Temple of Isis, which usually remained open day and\nnight, left to the fugitive's friends for a short time; and this was\nsuccessfully managed.\n\nThe historian Timagenes, who had come from Rome as ambassador and claimed\nthe hospitality of his former pupil Archibius, had been empowered to\noffer Cleopatra recognition of her own and her children's right to the\nthrone, and a full pardon, if she would deliver Mark Antony into the\nhands of Octavianus, or have him put to death.\n\nThe Alexandrian Timagenes considered this demand both just and desirable,\nbecause it promised to deliver his native city from the man whose\ndespotic arrogance menaced its freedom, and whose lavish generosity and\nboundless love of splendour diminished its wealth. To Rome, as whose\nrepresentative the historian appeared, this man's mere existence meant\nconstant turmoil and civil war. At the restoration of the flute-player by\nGabinius and Mark Antony, Timagenes had been carried into slavery. Later,\nwhen, after his freedom had been purchased by the son of Sulla, he\nsucceeded in attaining great influence in Rome, he still remained hostile\nto Mark Antony, and it had been a welcome charge to work against him in\nAlexandria. He hoped to find an ally in Archibius, whose loyal devotion\nto the Queen he knew. Arius, Barine's uncle and Octavianus's former\ntutor, would also aid him. The most powerful support of his mission,\nhowever, could be rendered by the venerable chief priest, the head of the\nwhole Egyptian hierarchy. He had shown the latter that Antony, in any\ncase, was a lost man, and Egypt was in the act of dropping like a ripe\nfruit into the lap of Octavianus. It would soon be in his power to give\nthe country whatever degree of liberty and independence he might choose.\nThe Caesar had the sole disposal of the Queen's fate also, and whoever\ndesired to see her remain on the throne must strive to gain the good-will\nof Octavianus.\n\nThe wise Anubis had considered all these things, but he owed to Timagenes\nthe hint that Arius was the man whom Octavianus most trusted. So the\naugust prelate secretly entered into communication with Barine's uncle.\nBut the dignity of his high office, and the feebleness of extreme age,\nforbade Anubis to seek the man who was suspected of friendship for the\nRomans. He had therefore sent his trusted secretary, the young Serapion,\nto make a compact as his representative with the friend of Octavianus,\nwhose severe injuries prevented his leaving the house to go to the chief\npriest.\n\nDuring Timagenes's negotiations with the secretary and Arius, Archibius\ncame to entreat Barine's uncle to do everything in his power to save his\nniece; and, as all the Queen's friends were anxious to prevent an act\nwhich, in these times of excitement, could not fail, on account of its\nconnection with Dion, a member of the Council, to rouse a large number of\nthe citizens against her, Serapion, as soon as he was made aware of the\nmatter, eagerly protested his readiness to do his best to save the\nimperilled lovers. He cared nothing for Barine or Dion as individuals,\nbut he doubtless would have been ready to make a still greater sacrifice\nto win the influential Archibius, and especially Arius, who would have\ngreat power through Octavianus, the rising sun.\n\nThe men had just begun to discuss plans for saving Barine, when the\nNubian appeared and told Archibius what had been arranged beside Dion's\nsick-bed by the freedman and Gorgias. The escape of the fugitives\ndepended solely upon their reaching the boat unseen, and the surest way\nto accomplish this was to use the subterranean passage which the\narchitect had again opened.\n\nArchibius, to whom the representative of the chief priest had offered his\naid, now took the others into his confidence, and Arius proposed that\nBarine should marry Dion in the Temple of Isis, and the couple should\nafterwards be guided through the secret passage to the boat. This\nproposal was approved, and Serapion promised to reserve the sanctuary for\nthe wedding of the fugitives for a short time after the departure of the\nprocession, which was to take place at sunset. In return for this service\nanother might perhaps soon be requested from the friend of Octavianus,\nwho greeted his promise with grateful warmth.\n\n\"The priesthood,\" said Serapion, \"takes sides with all who are unjustly\npersecuted, and in this case bestows aid the more willingly on account of\nits great anxiety to guard the Queen from an act which would be difficult\nto approve.\" As for the fugitives, so far as he could see, only two\npossibilities were open to them: Cleopatra would cleave to Mark Antony\nand go--would that the immortals might avert it!--to ruin, or she would\nsacrifice him and save her throne and life. In both cases the endangered\nlovers could soon return uninjured--the Queen had a merciful heart, and\nnever retained anger long if no guilt existed.\n\nThe details of the plan were then settled by Archibius, Anukis, and\nBerenike, who was with the family of Arius, and the decision was\ncommunicated to the architect. Archibius had maintained the same silence\nconcerning the destination of the fugitives towards the men composing the\ncouncil and Barine's mother as to his sister. With regard to the mission\nof Timagenes and the political questions which occupied his mind, he gave\nCharmian only the degree of information necessary to explain the plan she\nso lovingly promoted; but she had no desire to know more. On the way home\nher mind was wholly absorbed by the fear that Cleopatra had missed her\nservices and discovered Barine's flight. True, she mentioned the Queen's\ndesire to place her children in Archibius's charge, but she could not\ngive him full particulars until she reached her own apartments.\n\nHer absence had not been noticed. The Regent Mardion had received the\nprocession in the Queen's name, for Cleopatra had driven into the city,\nno one knew where.\n\nCharmian entered her apartments with a lighter heart. Anukis opened the\ndoor to them. She had remained undisturbed, and it was a pleasure to\nArchibius to give the faithful, clever freedwoman an account of the\nmatter with his own lips. He could have bestowed no richer reward upon\nthe modest servant, who listened to his words as if they were a\nrevelation. When she disclaimed the thanks with which he concluded,\nprotesting that she was the person under obligation, the expression was\nsincere. Her keen intellect instantly recognized the aristocrat's manner\nof addressing an equal or an inferior; and he who, in her eyes, was the\nfirst of men, had described the course of events as though she had stood\non the same level. The Queen herself might have been satisfied with the\nreport.\n\nWhen she left Charmian's rooms to join the other servants, she told\nherself that she was an especially favoured mortal; and when a young cook\nteased her about her head being sunk between her shoulders, she answered,\nlaughing--\"My shoulders have grown so high because I shrug them so often\nat the fools who jeer at me and yet are not half so happy and grateful.\"\n\nCharmian, sorely wearied, had flung herself into an arm-chair, and\nArchibius took his place opposite to her. They were happy in each other's\nsociety, even when silent; but to-day the hearts of both were so full\nthat they fared like those who are so worn out by fatigue that they\ncannot sleep. How much they had to tell each other!--yet it was long ere\nCharmian broke the silence and returned to the subject of the Queen's\nwish, describing to her brother Cleopatra's visit to the house which the\nchildren had built, how kind and cordial she had been; yet, a few minutes\nlater, incensed by the mere mention of Barine's name, she had dismissed\nher so ungraciously.\n\n\"I do not know what you intend,\" she said in conclusion, \"but,\nnotwithstanding my love for her, I must perhaps decide in favour of what\nis most difficult, for--when she learns that it was I who withdrew the\ndaughter of Leonax from her and the base Alexas--what treatment can I\nexpect, especially as Iras no longer gives me the same affection, and\nshows that she has forgotten my love and care? This will increase, and\nthe worst of the matter is, that if the Queen begins to favour her, I\ncannot justly reproach her, for Iras is keener-witted, and has a more\nactive brain. Statecraft was always odious to me. Iras, on the contrary,\nis delighted with the opportunity to speak on subjects connected with the\ngovernment of the country, and especially the ceaseless, momentous game\nwith Rome and the men who guide her destiny.\"\n\n\"That game is lost,\" Archibius broke in with so much earnestness that\nCharmian started, repeating in a low, timid tone:\n\n\"Lost?\"\n\n\"Forever,\" said Archibius, \"unless--\n\n\"The Olympians be praised--that there is still a doubt.\"\n\n\"Unless Cleopatra can decide to commit an act which will force her to be\nfaithless to herself, and destroy her noble image through all future\ngenerations.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Whenever you learn it, will be too soon.\"\n\n\"And suppose she should do it, Archibius? You are her most trusted\nconfidant. She will place in your charge what she loves more than she\ndoes herself.\"\n\n\"More? You mean, I suppose, the children?\"\n\n\"The children! Yes, a hundred times yes. She loves them better than aught\nelse on earth. For them, believe me, she would be ready to go to her\ndeath.\"\n\n\"Let us hope so.\"\n\n\"And you--were she to commit the horrible deed--I can only suspect what\nit is. But should she descend from the height which she has hitherto\noccupied--would you still be ready--\"\n\n\"With me,\" he interrupted quietly, \"what she does or does not do matters\nnothing. She is unhappy and will be plunged deeper and deeper into\nmisery. I know this, and it constrains me to exert my utmost powers in\nher service. I am hers as the hermit consecrated to Serapis belongs to\nthe god. His every thought must be devoted to him. To the deity who\ncreated him he dedicates body and soul until the death to which he dooms\nhim. The bonds which unite me to this woman--you know their origin--are\nnot less indestructible. Whatever she desires whose fulfilment will not\nforce me to despise myself is granted in advance.\"\n\n\"She will never require such things from the friend of her childhood,\"\ncried Charmian. Then, approaching him with both arms extended joyfully,\nshe exclaimed: \"Thus you ought to speak and feel, and therein is the\nanswer to the question which has agitated my soul since yesterday.\nBarine's flight, the favour and disfavour of Cleopatra, Iras, my poor\nhead, which abhors politics, while at this time the Queen needs\nkeen-sighted confidants--\"\n\n\"By no means,\" her brother interrupted. \"It is for men alone to give\ncounsel in these matters. Accursed be women's gossip over their toilet\ntables. It has already scattered to the four winds many a well-considered\nplan of the wisest heads, and an Iras could never be more fatal to\nstatecraft than just at the present moment, had not Fate already uttered\nthe final verdict.\"\n\n\"Then hence with these scruples,\" cried Charmian eagerly; \"my doubts are\nat an end! As usual, you point out the right path. I had thought of\nreturning to the country estate we call Irenia--the abode of peace--or to\nour beloved little palace at Kanopus, to spend the years which may still\nbe allotted to me, and return to everything that made my childhood\nbeautiful. The philosophers, the flowers in the garden, the poets--even\nthe new Roman ones, of whose works Timagenes sent us such charming\nspecimens--would enliven the solitude. The child, the daughter of the man\nwhose love I renounced, and afterwards perhaps her sons and daughters,\nwould fill the place of my own. As they would have been dear to Leonax,\nI, too, would have loved them! This is the guise in which the future has\nappeared to me in many a quiet hour. But shall Charmian--who, when her\nheart throbbed still more warmly and life lay fair before her, laid her\nfirst love upon the altar of sacrifice for her royal playfellow--abandon\nCleopatra in misfortune from mere selfish scruples? No, no!--Like you, I\ntoo belong--come what may--to the Queen.\"\n\nShe gazed into her brother's face, sure of his approval but, waving his\nuplifted hand, he answered gravely: \"No, Charmian! What I, a man, can\nassume, might be fatal to you, a woman. The present is not sweet enough\nfor me to embitter it with wormwood from the future. And yet you must\ncast one glance into its gloomy domain, in order to understand me. You\ncan be silent, and what you now learn will be a secret between us. Only\none thing\"--here he lowered the loud tones of his deep voice--\"only one\nthing can save her: the murder of Antony, or an act of shameless\ntreachery which would deliver him into Octavianus's power. This is the\nproposal Timagenes brought.\"\n\n\"This?\" she asked in a hollow tone, her grey head drooping.\n\n\"This,\" he repeated firmly. \"And if she succumbs to the temptation, she\nwill be faithless to the love which has coursed through her whole life as\nthe Nile flows through the land of her ancestors. Then, Charmian, stay,\nstay under any circumstances, cling to her more firmly than ever, for\nthen, then, my sister, she will be more wretched--ten, a hundred fold\nmore wretched than if Octavianus deprives her of everything, perhaps even\nlife itself.\"\n\n\"Nor will I leave her, come what may. I will remain at her side until the\nend,\" cried Charmian eagerly. But Archibius, without noticing the\nenthusiastic ardor, so unusual to his sister's quiet nature, calmly\ncontinued: \"She won your heart also, and it seems impossible for you to\ndesert her. Many have shared our feelings; and it is no disgrace to any\none. Misfortune is a weapon which cleaves base natures like a sword, yet\nlike a hammer welds noble ones more closely. To you, therefore, it now\nseems doubly difficult to leave her, but you need love. The right to live\nand guard yourself from the most pitiable retrogression is your due, as\nmuch as that of the rare woman on the throne. So long as you are sure of\nher love, remain with her, and show your devotion in every situation\nuntil the end. But the motives which were drawing you away to books,\nflowers, and children, weigh heavily in the balance, and if you lack the\nanchor of her favour and love, I shall see you perish miserably. The\nfrost emanating from Cleopatra, if her heart grew cold to you, the\npin-pricks with which Iras would assail you, were you defenceless, would\nkill you. This must not be, sister; we will guard against it Do not\ninterrupt me. The counsel I advise you to follow has been duly weighed.\nIf you see that the Queen still loves you as in former days, cling to\nher; but should you learn the contrary, bid her farewell to-morrow. My\nIrenia is yours--\"\n\n\"But she does love me, and even should she no longer--\"\n\n\"The test is at hand. We will leave the decision to her. You shall\nconfess that you were the culprit who aided Barine to escape her power to\npunish.\"\n\n\"Archibius!\"\n\n\"If you did not, a series of falsehoods must ensue. Try whether the petty\nqualities in her nature, which urged her to commit the fate of Leonax's\ndaughter to unworthy hands, are more powerful than the nobler ones. Try\nwhether she is worthy of the self-sacrificing fidelity which you have\ngiven her all your life. If she remains the same as before, spite of this\nadmission--\"\n\nHere he was interrupted by Anukis, who asked if her mistress would see\nIras at this late hour. \"Admit her,\" replied Archibius, after hastily\nexchanging glances with his sister, whose face had paled at his demand.\nHe perceived it and, as the servant withdrew, he clasped her hand, saying\nwith earnest affection: \"I gave you my opinion, but at our age we must\ntake counsel with ourselves, and you will find the right path.\"\n\n\"I have already found it,\" she answered softly with downcast eyes. \"This\nvisitor brought a speedy decision. I must not feel ashamed in Iras's\npresence.\"\n\nShe had scarcely finished speaking when the Queen's younger confidante\nentered. She was excited and, after casting a searching glance around the\nfamiliar room, she asked, after a curt greeting:\n\n\"No one knows where the Queen has gone. Mardion received the procession\nin her place. Did she take you into her confidence?\"\n\nCharmian answered in the negative, and inquired whether Antony had\narrived, and how she had found him.\n\n\"In a pitiable state,\" was the reply. \"I hastened hither to prevent the\nQueen from visiting him, if possible. She would have received a rebuff.\nIt is horrible.\"\n\n\"The disappointment of Paraetonium is added to the other burdens,\"\nobserved Archibius.\n\n\"A feather compared with the rest,\" cried Iras indignantly. \"What a\nspectacle! A shrivelled soul, never too large, in the body of a powerful\ngiant. Disaster crushes the courage of the descendant of Herakles. The\nweakling will drag the Queen's splendid courage with him into the dust.\"\n\n\"We will do our best to prevent it,\" replied Archibius firmly. \"The\nimmortals have placed you and Charmian at her side to sustain her, if her\nown strength fails. The time to test your powers has arrived.\"\n\n\"I know my duty,\" replied Iras austerely.\n\n\"Prove it!\" said Archibius earnestly. \"You think you have cause for anger\nagainst Charmian.\"\n\n\"Whoever treats my foes so tenderly can doubtless dispense with my\naffection. Where is your ward?\"\n\n\"That you shall learn later,\" replied Charmian advancing. \"But when you\ndo know, you will have still better reason to doubt my love; yet it was\nonly to save one dear to me from misery, certainly not to grieve you,\nthat I stepped between you and Barine. And now let me say--had you\nwounded me to the quick, and everything dear to the Greek heart called to\nme for vengeance--I should impose upon myself whatever constraint might\nbe necessary to deny the impulse, because this breast contains a love\nstronger, more powerful, than the fiercest hate. And this love we both\nshare. Hate me, strive to wound and injure one at whose side you have\nhitherto stood like a daughter, but beware of robbing me of the strength\nand freedom which I need, to be and to offer to my royal mistress all the\nassistance in my power. I have just been consulting my brother about\nleaving Cleopatra's service.\"\n\n\"Now?\" Iras broke in vehemently. \"No, no! Not that! It must not be! She\ncannot spare you now.\"\n\n\"More easily, perhaps, than you,\" replied Charmian; \"yet in many things\nmy services might be hard to replace.\"\n\n\"Nothing under the sun could do it,\" cried Iras eagerly. \"If, in these\ndays of trouble, she should lose you too--\"\n\n\"Still darker ones are approaching,\" interrupted Archibius positively.\n\"Perhaps you will learn all to-morrow. Whether Charmian yields to her\ndesire for rest, or continues in the service of the Queen, depends on\nyou. If you wish her to remain you must not render it too hard for her to\ndo so. We three, my child, are perhaps the only persons at this court to\nwhom the Queen's happiness is more than their own, and therefore we\nshould permit no incident, whatever name it may bear, to cloud our\nharmony.\"\n\nIras threw back her head with angry pride, exclaiming passionately: \"Was\nit I who injured you? I do not know in what respect. But you and\nCharmian--though you have so long been aware that this heart was closed\nagainst every love save one--stepped between me and the man for whom I\nhave yearned since childhood, and built the bridge which united Dion and\nBarine. I held the woman I hated in my grasp, and thanked the immortals\nfor the boon; but you two--it is not difficult to guess the secret you\nare still trying to keep from me--you aided her to escape. You have\nrobbed me of my revenge; you have again placed the singer in the path\nwhere she must find the man to whom I have a better and older claim, and\nwho perhaps may still be considering which of us two will be the better\nmistress of his house, if Alexas and his worthy brother do not arrange\nmatters so that we must both content ourselves with thinking tenderly of\na dead man. That is why I believe that I am no longer indebted to you,\nthat Charmian has more than repaid herself for all the kindness she has\never showed me.\"\n\nWith these words she hurried to the door, but paused on the threshold,\nexclaiming: \"This is the state of affairs; yet I am ready to serve the\nQueen hand in hand with you as before; for you two--as I have said--are\nnecessary to her. In other respects--I shall follow my own path.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nCleopatra had sought the venerable Anubis, who now, as the priest of\nAlexander, at the age of eighty, ruled the whole hierarchy of the\ncountry. It was difficult for him to leave his arm-chair, but he had been\ncarried to the observatory to examine the adverse result of the\nobservation made by the Queen herself. The position of the stars,\nhowever, had been so unfavourable that the more deeply Cleopatra entered\ninto these matters, the less easy he found it to urge the mitigating\ninfluences of distant planets, which he had at first pointed out.\n\nIn his reception-hall, however, the chief priest had assured her that the\nindependence of Egypt and the safety of her own person lay in her hands;\nonly--the planets showed this--a terrible sacrifice was required--a\nsacrifice of which his dignity, his eighty years, and his love for her\nalike forbade him to speak. Cleopatra was accustomed to hear these\nmysterious sayings from his lips, and interpreted them in her own way.\nMany motives had induced her to seek the venerable prelate at this late\nhour. In difficult situations he had often aided her with good counsel;\nbut this time she was not led to him by the magic cup of Nektanebus,\nwhich the eight pastophori who accompanied it had that day restored to\nthe temple, for since the battle of Actium the superb vessel had been a\nsource of constant anxiety to her.\n\nCleopatra had now asked the teacher of her childhood the direct question\nwhether the cup--a wide, shallow vessel, with a flat, polished bottom\ncould really have induced Antony to leave the battle and follow her ere\nthe victory was decided. She had used it just before the conflict between\nthe galleys, and this circumstance led Anubis to answer positively in the\naffirmative.\n\nLong ago the marvellous chalice had been exhibited to her among the\ntemple treasures, and she was told that every one who induced another\nperson to be reflected from its shining surface obtained the mastery over\nhis will. Her wish to possess it, however, was not gratified, and she did\nnot ask for it again until the limitless devotion and ardent love of\nAntony had seemed less fervent than of yore. From that time she had never\nceased to urge her aged friend to place the wondrous cup in her keeping.\nAt first he had absolutely refused, predicting that its use would bring\nmisfortune upon her; but when her request was followed by an imperative\ncommand, and the goblet was entrusted to her, Anubis himself believed\nthat this one vessel did possess the magic power attributed to it. He\ndeemed that the drinking-cup afforded the strongest proof of the magic\nart, far transcending human ability, of the great goddess by whose aid\nKing Nektanebus--who, according to tradition, was the father of Alexander\nthe Great--was said to have made the vessel in the Isis island of Philoe.\n\nAnubis had intended to remind Cleopatra of his refusal, and show her the\ngreat danger incurred by mortals who strove to use powers beyond their\nsphere. It had been his purpose to bid her remember Phaeton, who had\nalmost kindled a conflagration in the world, when he attempted, in the\nchariot of his father, Phoebus Apollo, to guide the horses of the sun.\nBut this was unnecessary, for he had scarcely assented to the question\nere, with passionate vehemence, she ordered him to destroy before her\neyes the cup which had brought so much misfortune.\n\nThe priest feigned that her desire harmonized with a resolution which he\nhad himself formed. In fact, before her arrival, he had feared that the\ngoblet might be used in some fatal manner if Octavianus should take\npossession of the city and country, and the wonder-working vessel should\nfall into his hands. Nektanebus had made the cup for Egypt. To wrest it\nfrom the foreign ruler was acting in the spirit of the last king in whose\nveins had flowed the blood of the Pharaohs, and who had toiled with\nenthusiastic devotion for the independence and liberty of his people. To\ndestroy this man's marvellous work rather than deliver it to the Roman\nconqueror seemed to the chief priest, after the Queen's command, a sacred\nduty, and as such he represented it to be when he commanded the smelting\nfurnace to be fired and the cup transformed into a shapeless mass before\nthe eyes of Cleopatra.\n\nWhile the metal was melting he eagerly told the Queen how easily she\ncould dispense with the vessel which owed its magic power to the mighty\nIsis.\n\nThe spell of woman's charms was also a gift of the goddess. It would\nsuffice to render Antony's heart soft and yielding as the fire melted the\ngold. Perhaps the Imperator had forfeited, with the Queen's respect, her\nlove--the most priceless of blessings. He, Anubis, would regard this as a\ngreat boon of the Deity; \"for,\" he concluded, \"Mark Antony is the cliff\nwhich will shatter every effort to secure to my royal mistress\nundiminished the heritage which has come to her and her children from\ntheir ancestors, and preserve the independence and prosperity of this\nbeloved land. This cup was a costly treasure. The throne and prosperity\nof Egypt are worthy of greater sacrifices. But I know that there is none\nharder for a woman to make than her love.\"\n\nThe meaning of the old man's words Cleopatra learned the following\nmorning, when she granted the first interview to Timagenes, Octavianus's\nenvoy.\n\nThe keen-witted, brilliant man, who had been one of her best teachers and\nwith whom, when a pupil, she had had many an argument, was kindly\nreceived, and fulfilled his commission with consummate skill.\n\nThe Queen listened attentively to his representations, showed him that\nher own intellect had not lost in flexibility, though it had gained\npower; and when she dismissed him, with rich gifts and gracious words,\nshe knew that she could preserve the independence of her beloved native\nland and retain the throne for herself and her children if she would\nsurrender Antony to the conqueror or to him, as \"the person acting,\"\nor--these were Timagenes's own words--\"remove him forever from the play\nwhose end she had the power to render either brilliant or fateful.\"\n\nWhen she was again alone her heart throbbed so passionately and her soul\nwas in such a tumult of agitation that she felt unable to attend the\nappointed meeting of the Council of the crown. She deferred the session\nuntil the following day, and resolved to go out upon the sea, to\nendeavour to regain her composure.\n\nAntony had refused to see her. This wounded her. The thought of the\ngoblet and its evil influences had by no means passed from her memory\nwith the destruction of the vessel caused by one of those outbursts of\npassion to which, in these days of disaster, she yielded more frequently\nthan usual. On the contrary, she felt the necessity of being alone, to\ncollect her thoughts and strive to dispel the clouds from her troubled\nsoul.\n\nThe beaker had been one of the treasures of Isis, and the memory of it\nrecalled hours during which, in former days, she had often found\ncomposure in the temple of the goddess. She wished to seek the sanctuary\nunnoticed and, accompanied only by Iras and the chief Introducer, went,\nclosely veiled, to the neighbouring temple at the Corner of the Muses.\n\nBut she failed to find the object of her pilgrimage. The throng which\nfilled it to pray and offer sacrifices, and the fear of being recognized,\ndestroyed her calmness.\n\nShe was in the act of retiring, when Gorgias, the architect, followed by\nan assistant carrying surveying instruments, advanced towards her. She\ninstantly called him to her side, and he informed her how wonderfully\nFate itself seemed to favour her plan of building. The mob had destroyed\nthe house of the old philosopher Didymus, and the grey-haired sage, to\nwhom he had offered the shelter of his home, was now ready to transfer\nthe property inherited from his ancestors, if her Majesty would assure\nhim and his family of her protection.\n\nThen she asked to see the architect's plan for joining the museum to the\nsanctuary, and became absorbed in the first sketch, to which he had\ndevoted part of the night and morning. He showed it, and with eager\nurgency Cleopatra commanded him to begin the building as soon as possible\nand pursue the work night and day. What usually required months must be\ncompleted in weeks.\n\nIras and the \"Introducer,\" clad in plain garments, had waited for her in\nthe temple court and, joined by the architect, accompanied her to the\nunpretending litter standing at one of the side gates but, instead of\nentering it, she ordered Gorgias to attend her to the garden.\n\nThe inspection proved that the architect was right and, even if the\nmausoleum occupied a portion of it, and the street which separated it\nfrom the Temple of Isis were continued along the shore of the sea, the\nremainder would still be twice as large as the one belonging to the\npalace at Lochias.\n\nCleopatra's thorough examination showed Gorgias that she had some\ndefinite purpose in view. Her inquiry whether it would be possible to\nconnect it with the promontory of Lochias indicated what she had in mind,\nand the architect answered in the affirmative. It was only necessary to\ntear down some small buildings belonging to the Crown and a little temple\nof Berenike at the southern part of the royal harbour. The arm of the\nAgathodaemon Canal which entered here had been bridged long ago.\n\nThe new scene which would result from this change had been conjured\nbefore the Queen's mental vision with marvellous celerity, and she\ndescribed it in brief, vivid language to the architect. The garden should\nremain, but must be enlarged from the Lochias to the bridge. Thence a\ncovered colonnade would lead to the palace. After Gorgias had assured her\nthat all this could easily be arranged, she gazed thoughtfully at the\nground for a time, and then gave orders that the work should be commenced\nat once, and requested him to spare neither means nor men.\n\nGorgias foresaw a period of feverish toil, but it did not daunt him. With\nsuch a master builder he was ready to roof the whole city. Besides, the\ncommission delighted him because it proved that the woman whose mausoleum\nwas to rise from the earth so swiftly still thought of enhancing the\npleasures of existence; for, though she wished the garden to remain\nunchanged, she desired to see the colonnade and the remainder of the work\nconstructed of costly materials and in beautiful forms. When she bade him\nfarewell, Gorgias kissed her robe with ardent enthusiasm.\n\nWhat a woman! True, she had not even raised her veil, and was attired in\nplain dark clothing, but every gesture revealed the most perfect grace.\n\nThe arm and hand with which she pointed now here, now there, again seemed\nto him fairly instinct with life; and he, who deemed perfection of form\nof so much value, found it difficult to avert his eyes from her\nmarvellous symmetry. And her whole figure! What lines, what genuine\naristocratic elegance, and warm, throbbing life!\n\nThat morning when Helena, now an inmate of his own home, greeted him, he\nhad essayed to compare her, mentally, with Cleopatra, but speedily\ndesisted. The man to whom Hebe proffers nectar does not ask for even the\nbest wine of Byblus. A feeling of grateful, cheerful satisfaction,\ndifficult to describe, stole over him when the reserved, quiet Helena\naddressed him so warmly and cordially; but the image of Cleopatra\nconstantly thrust itself between them, and it was difficult for him to\nunderstand himself. He had loved many women in succession, and now his\nheart throbbed for two at once, and the Queen was the brighter of the two\nstars whose light entranced him. Therefore his honest soul would have\nconsidered it a crime to woo Helena now.\n\nCleopatra knew what an ardent admirer she had won in the able architect,\nand the knowledge pleased her. She had used no goblet to gain him.\nDoubtless he would begin to build the mausoleum the next morning. The\nvault must have space for several coffins. Antony had more than once\nexpressed the desire to be buried beside her, wherever he might die, and\nthis had occurred ere she possessed the beaker. She must in any case\ngrant him the same favour, no matter in what place or by whose hand he\nmet death, and the bedimmed light of his existence was but too evidently\nnearing extinction. If she spared him, Octavianus would strike him from\nthe ranks of the living, and she----Again she was overpowered by the\nterrible, feverish restlessness which had induced her to command the\ndestruction of the goblet, and had brought her to the temple. She could\nnot return in this mood to meet her councillors, receive visitors, greet\nher children. This was the birthday of the twins; Charmian had reminded\nher of it and undertaken to provide the gifts. How could she have found\ntime and thought for such affairs? She had returned from the chief priest\nlate in the evening, yet had asked for a minute description of the\ncondition in which they found Mark Antony. The report made by Iras\nharmonized with the state in which she had herself seen him during and\nafter the battle. Ay, his brooding gloom seemed to have deepened.\nCharmian had helped her dress in the morning, and had been on the point\nof making her difficult confession, and owning that she had aided Barine\nto escape the punishment of her royal mistress; but ere she could begin,\nTimagenes was announced, for Cleopatra had not risen from her couch until\na late hour.\n\nThe object for which the Queen had sought the temple had not been gained;\nbut the consultation with Gorgias had diverted her mind, and the emotions\nwhich the thought of her last resting-place had evoked now drowned\neverything else, as the roar of the surf dominates the twittering of the\nswallows on the rocky shore.\n\nAy, she needed calmness! She must weigh and ponder over many things in\nabsolute quietude, and this she could not obtain at Lochias. Then her\nglance rested upon the little sanctuary of Berenike, which she had\nordered removed to make room for a garden near at hand, where the\nchildren could indulge their love of creative work. It was empty. She\nneed fear no interruption there. The interior contained only a single,\nquiet, pleasant chamber, with the image of Berenike. The \"Introducer\"\ncommanded the guard to admit no other visitors, and soon the little white\nmarble, circular room with its vaulted roof received the Queen. She sank\ndown on one of the bronze benches opposite to the statue. All was still;\nin this cool silence her mind, trained to thought, could find that for\nwhich it longed--clearness of vision, a plain understanding of her own\nfeelings and position in the presence of the impending decision.\n\nAt first her thoughts wandered to and fro like a dove ere it chooses the\ndirection of its flight; but after the question why she was having a tomb\nbuilt so hurriedly, when she would be permitted to live, her mind found\nthe right track. Among the Scythian guards, the Mauritanians, and\nBlemmyes in the army there were plenty of savage fellows whom a word from\nher lips and a handful of gold would have set upon the vanquished Antony,\nas the huntsman's \"Seize him!\" urges the hounds. A hint, and among the\nwretched magicians and Magians in the Rhakotis, the Egyptian quarter of\nthe city, twenty men would have assassinated him by poison or wily\nsnares; one command to the Macedonians in the guard of the Mellakes or\nyouths, and he would be a captive that very day, and to-morrow, if she so\nordered, on the way to Asia, whither Octavianus, as Timagenes told her,\nhad gone.\n\nWhat prevented her from grasping the gold, giving the hint, issuing the\ncommand?\n\nDoubtless she thought of the magic goblet, now melted, which had\nconstrained him to cast aside honour, fame, and power, as worthless\nrubbish, in order to obey her behest not to leave her; but though this\nremembrance burdened her soul, it had no decisive influence. It was no\none thing which prisoned her hand and lips, but every fibre of her being,\nevery pulsation of her heart, every glance back into the past to the\nconfines of childhood.\n\nYet she listened to other thoughts also. They reminded her of her\nchildren, the elation of power, love for the land of her ancestors, and\nthe peril which menaced it without her, the bliss of seeing the light,\nand the darkness, the silence, the dull rigidity of death, the\ndestruction of the body and the mind cherished and developed with so much\ncare and toil, the horrible torture which might be associated with the\ntransition from life to death--the act of dying. And what lay before her\nin the existence which lasted an eternity? When she no longer breathed\nbeneath the sun, even if the death hour was deferred, and she found that\nnot Epicurus, who believed that with death all things ended, had been\nright, but the ancient teachings of the Egyptians, what would await her\nin that world beyond the grave if she purchased a few more years of life\nby the murder or betrayal of her lover, her husband?\n\nYet perhaps the punishments inflicted upon the condemned were but\nbugbears invented by the priesthood, which guarded the regulation of the\nstate in order to curb the unruly conduct of the populace and terrify the\nturbulent transgressors of the law. And, whispered the daring Greek\nspirit, in the abode of the condemned, not in the Garden of Aalu, the\nElysian Fields of the Egyptians, she would meet her father and mother and\nall her wicked ancestors down to Euergetes I., who was succeeded by the\ninfamous Philopater. Thus the thought of the other world became an\nantecedent so uncertain as to permit no definite inference, and might\ntherefore be left out of the account. How would--this must be the form of\nthe question--the years purchased by the murder or betrayal of one whom\nshe loved shape themselves for her?\n\nDuring the night the image of the murdered man would drive sleep from her\ncouch, and the Furies, the Dirx, as the Roman Antony called them, who\npursue murderers with the serpent scourge, were no idle creations of\npoetic fancy, but fully symbolized the restlessness of the criminal,\ndriven to and fro by the pangs of conscience. The chief good, the\npainless happiness of the Epicureans, was forever lost to those burdened\nby such guilt.\n\nAnd during the hours of the day and evening? Ay, then she would be free\nto heap pleasure on pleasure. But for whom were the festivals to be\ncelebrated; with whom could she share them? For many a long year no\nbanquet, no entertainment had given her enjoyment without Mark Antony.\nFor whom did she adorn herself or strive to stay the vanishing charm? And\nhow soon would anguish of soul utterly destroy the spell, which was\nslowly, slowly, yet steadily diminishing, and, when the mirror revealed\nwrinkles which the skill of no Olympus could efface, when she----No, she\nwas not created to grow old! Did the few years of life which must contain\nso much misery really possess a value great enough to surrender the right\nof being called by present and future generations the bewitching\nCleopatra, the most irresistible of women?\n\nAnd the children?\n\nYes, it would have been delightful to see them grow up and occupy the\nthrone, but serious, decisive doubts soon blended even with an idea so\nrich in joy.\n\nHow glorious to greet Caesarion as sovereign of the world in Octavianus's\nplace! But how could the dreamer, whose first love affair had caused the\ntotal sacrifice of dignity and violation of the law, and who now seemed\nto have once more relapsed into the old state of torpor, attain the\nposition?\n\nThe other children inspired fair hopes, and how beautiful it appeared to\nthe mother's heart to see Antonius Helios as King of Egypt; Cleopatra\nSelene with her first child in her arms; and little Alexander a noble\nstatesman and hero, rich in virtue and talents! Yet, what would they,\nAntony's children, whose education she hoped Archibius would direct, feel\nfor the mother who had been their father's murderess?\n\nShe shuddered at the thought, remembering the hours when her childish\nheart had shed tears of blood over the infamous mother whom her father\nhad execrated. And Queen Tryphoena, whom history recorded as a monster,\nhad not killed her husband, but merely thrust him from the throne.\n\nArsinoe's execrations of her mother and sister came back to her memory,\nand the thought that the rosy lips of the twins and her darling Alexander\ncould ever open to curse her,--the idea that the children would ever\nraise their beloved hands to point at her, the wicked murderess of their\nfather, with horror and scorn--No, no, and again no! She would not\npurchase a few more years of valueless life at the cost of this\nhumiliation and shame.\n\nPurchase of whom?\n\nOf that Octavianus who had robbed her son of the heritage of his father,\nCaesar, and whose mention in the will was like an imputation on her\nfidelity--the cold-hearted, calculating upstart, whose nature from their\nfirst meeting in Rome had repelled, rebuffed, chilled her; of the man by\nwhose cajolery and power her husband--for in her own eyes and those of\nthe Egyptians Antony held this position--had been induced to wed his\nsister, Octavia, and thereby stamp her, Cleopatra, as merely his love,\ncast a doubt upon the legitimate birth of her children; of the false\nfriend of the trusting Antony who, before the battle of Actium, had most\ndeeply humiliated and insulted both!\n\nOn the contrary, her royal pride rebelled against obeying the command of\nsuch a man to commit the most atrocious deed; and from childhood this\npride had been as much a part of her nature as her breath and the\npulsation of her heart. And yet, for her children's sake, she might\nperhaps have incurred this disgrace, had it not been at the same time the\ngrave of the best and noblest things which she desired to implant in the\nyoung souls of the twins and Alexander.\n\nWhile thinking of the children's curses she had risen from her seat. Why\nshould she reflect and consider longer? She had found the clear\nperception she sought. Let Gorgias hasten the building of the tomb.\nShould Fate demand her life, she would not resist if she were permitted\nto preserve it only at the cost of murder or base treachery. Her lover's\nwas already forfeited. At his side she had enjoyed a radiant, glowing,\npeerless bliss, of which the world still talked with envious amazement.\nAt his side, when all was over, she would rest in the grave, and compel\nthe world to remember with respectful sympathy the royal lovers, Antony\nand Cleopatra. Her children should be able to think of her with\nuntroubled hearts, and not even the shadow of a bitter feeling, a warning\nthought, should deter them from adorning their parents' grave with\nflowers, weeping at its foot, invoking and offering sacrifices to their\nspirits.\n\nThen she glanced at the statue of Berenike, who had also once worn on her\nbrow the double crown of Egypt. She, too, had early died a violent death;\nshe, too, had known how to love. The vow to sacrifice her beautiful hair\nto Aphrodite if her husband returned uninjured from the Syrian war had\nrendered her name illustrious. \"Berenike's Hair\" was still to be seen as\na constellation in the night heavens.\n\nThough this woman had sinned often and heavily, one act of loyal love had\nmade her an honoured, worshipped princess. She--Cleopatra would do\nsomething still greater. The sacrifice which she intended to impose upon\nherself would weigh far more heavily in the balance than a handful of\nbeautiful tresses, and would comprise sovereignty and life.\n\nWith head erect and a sense of proud self-reliance she gazed at the noble\nmarble countenance of the Cyrenian queen. Ere entering the sanctuary she\nhad imagined that she knew how the criminals whom she had sentenced to\ndeath must feel. Now that she herself had done with life, she felt as if\nshe were relieved from a heavy burden, and yet her heart ached,\nand--especially when she thought of her children--she was overwhelmed\nwith the emotion which is the most painful of all forms of\ncompassion--pity for herself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nWhen Cleopatra left the temple, Iras marvelled at the change in her\nappearance. The severe tension which had given her beautiful face a shade\nof harshness had yielded to an expression of gentle sadness that enhanced\nits charm, yet her features quickly brightened as her attendant pointed\nto the procession which was just entering the forecourt of the palace.\n\nIn Alexandria and throughout Egypt birthdays were celebrated as far as\npossible. Therefore, to do honour to the twins, the children of the city\nhad been sent to offer their congratulations, and at the same time to\nassure their royal mother of the love and devotion of the citizens.\n\nThe return to the palace occupied only a few minutes, and as Cleopatra,\nhastily donning festal garments, gazed down at the bands of children, it\nseemed as if Fate by this fair spectacle had given her a sign of approval\nof her design.\n\nShe was soon standing hand in hand with the twins upon the balcony before\nwhich the procession had halted. Hundreds of boys and girls of the same\nage as the prince and princess had flocked thither, the former bearing\nbouquets, the latter small baskets filled with lilies and roses. Every\nhead was crowned with a wreath, and many of the girls wore garlands of\nflowers. A chorus of youths and maidens sang a festal hymn, beseeching\nthe gods to grant the royal mother and children every happiness; the\nleader of the chorus of girls made a short address in the name of the\ncity, and during this speech the children formed in ranks, the tallest in\nthe rear, the smallest in the front, and the others between according to\ntheir height. The scene resembled a living garden, in which rosy faces\nwere the beautiful flowers.\n\nCleopatra thanked the citizens for the charming greeting sent to her by\nthose whom they held dearest, and assured them that she returned their\nlove. Her eyes grew dim with tears as she went with her three children to\nthe throng who offered their congratulations, and an unusually pretty\nlittle girl whom she kissed threw her arms around her as tenderly as if\nshe were her own mother. And how beautiful was the scene when the girls\nstrewed the contents of their little baskets on the ground before her,\nand the boys, with many a ringing shout and loving wish, offered the\nbouquets to her and the twins!\n\nCharmian had not forgotten to provide the gifts; and when the\nchamberlains and waiting-women led the children into a large hall to\noffer them refreshments, the Queen's eyes sparkled so brightly that the\ncompanion of her childhood ventured to make her difficult confession.\n\nAnd, as so often happens, the event we most dread shows, when it actually\noccurs, a friendly or indifferent aspect; this was the case now. Nothing\nin life is either great or small--the one may be transformed to the\nother, according to the things with which it is compared. The tallest man\nbecomes a dwarf beside a rocky giant of the mountain chain, the smallest\nis a Titan to the swarming ants in the forest. The beggar seizes as a\ntreasure what the rich man scornfully casts aside. That which the day\nbefore yesterday seemed to Cleopatra unendurable, roused her keenest\nanxiety, robbed her of part of her night's repose, and induced her to\nadopt strenuous measures, now appeared trivial and scarcely worthy of\nconsideration.\n\nYesterday and to-day had brought events and called up questions which\nforced Barine's disappearance into the realm of unimportant matters.\n\nCharmian's confession was preceded by the statement that she longed for\nrest yet, nevertheless, was ready to remain with her royal friend, in\nevery situation, until she no longer desired her services and sent her\naway. But she feared that this moment had come.\n\nCleopatra interrupted her with the assurance that she was speaking of\nsomething utterly impossible; and when Charmian disclosed Barine's\nescape, and admitted that it was she who had aided the flight of the\ninnocent and sorely threatened granddaughter of Didymus, the Queen\nstarted up angrily and frowned, but it was only for a moment. Then, with\na smile, she shook her finger at her friend, embraced her, and gravely\nbut kindly assured her that, of all vices, ingratitude was most alien to\nher nature. The companion of her childhood had bestowed so many proofs of\nfaithfulness, love, self-sacrifice, and laborious service in her behalf\nthat they could not be long outweighed by a single act of wilful\ndisobedience. An abundant supply would still remain, by virtue of which\nshe might continue to sin without fearing that Cleopatra would ever part\nfrom her Charmian.\n\nThe latter again perceived that nothing on earth could be hostile or\nsharp enough to sever the bond which united her to this woman. When her\nlips overflowed with the gratitude which filled her heart, Cleopatra\nadmitted that it seemed as if, in aiding Barine's escape, she had\nrendered her a service. The caution with which Charmian had concealed\nBarine's refuge had not escaped her notice, and she did not ask to learn\nit. It was enough for her that the dangerous beauty was out of\nCaesarion's reach. As for Antony, a wall now separated him from the\nworld, and consequently from the woman who, spite of Alexas's\naccusations, had probably never stood closer to his heart.\n\nCharmian now eagerly strove to show the Queen what had induced the Syrian\nto pursue Barine so vindictively. It was evident--and scarcely needed\nproof--that Mark Antony's whole acquaintanceship with the old scholar's\ngranddaughter had been far from leading to any tender relation. But\nCleopatra gave only partial attention. The man whom she had loved with\nevery pulsation of her heart already seemed to her only a dear memory.\nShe did not forget the happiness enjoyed with and through him, or the\nwrong she had done by the use of the magic goblet; yet with the wall on\nthe Choma, which divided him from her and the rest of the world, and her\ncommand to have the mausoleum built, she imagined that the season of love\nwas over. Any new additions to this chapter of the life of her heart were\nbut the close. Even the jealousy which had clouded the happiness of her\nlove like a fleeting, rapidly changing shadow, she believed she had now\nrenounced forever.\n\nWhile Charmian protested that no one save Dion had ever been heard with\nfavour by Barine, and related many incidents of her former life,\nCleopatra's thoughts were with Antony. Like the image of the beloved\ndead, the towering figure of the Roman hero rose before her mind, but she\nrecalled him only as he was prior to the battle of Actium. She desired\nand expected nothing more from the broken-spirited man, whose condition\nwas perhaps her own fault. But she had resolved to atone for her guilt,\nand would do so at the cost of throne and life. This settled the account.\nWhatever her remaining span of existence might add or subtract, was part\nof the bargain.\n\nThe entrance of Alexas interrupted her. With fiery passion he expressed\nhis regret that he had been defrauded by base intrigues of the right\nbestowed upon him to pass sentence upon a guilty woman. This was the more\ndifficult to bear because he was deprived of the possibility of providing\nfor the pursuit of the fugitive. Antony had honoured him with the\ncommission to win Herod back to his cause. He was to leave Alexandria\nthat very night. As nothing could be expected in this matter from the\nmisanthropic Imperator, he hoped that the Queen would avenge such an\noffence to her dignity, and adopt severe measures towards the singer and\nher last lover, Dion, who with sacrilegious hands had wounded the son of\nCaesar.\n\nBut Cleopatra, with royal dignity, kept him within the limits of his\nposition, commanded him not to mention the affair to her again, and then,\nwith a sorrowful smile, wished him success with Herod, in whose return to\nthe lost cause of Antony, however, much as she prized the skill of the\nmediator, she did not believe.\n\nWhen he had retired, she exclaimed to Charmian: \"Was I blind? This man is\na traitor! We shall discover it. Wherever Dion has taken his young wife,\nlet her be carefully concealed, not from me, but from this Syrian. It is\neasier to defend one's self against the lion than the scorpion. You, my\nfriend, will see that Archibius seeks me this very day. I must talk with\nhim, and--you no longer have any thought of a parting? Another will come\nsoon enough, which will forever forbid these lips from kissing your dear\nface.\"\n\nAs she spoke, she again clasped the companion of her childhood in her\narms, and when Iras entered to request an audience for Lucilius, Antony's\nmost faithful friend, Cleopatra, who had noticed the younger woman's\nenvious glance at the embrace, said: \"Was I mistaken in fancying that you\nimagined yourself slighted for Charmian, who is an older friend? That\nwould be wrong; for I love and need you both. You are her niece, and\nindebted to her for much kindness from your earliest childhood. So, even\nthough you will lose the joy of revenge upon a hated enemy, forget what\nhas happened, as I did, and maintain your former affectionate\ncompanionship. I will reward you for it with the only thing that the\ndaughter of the wealthy Krates cannot purchase, yet which she probably\nrates at no low value--the love of her royal friend.\"\n\nWith these words she clasped Iras also in a close embrace, and when the\nlatter left the room to summon Lucilius, she thought: \"No woman has ever\nwon so much love; perhaps that is why she possesses so great a treasure\nof it, and can afford such unspeakable happiness by its bestowal. Or is\nshe so much beloved because she entered the world full of its wealth, and\ndispenses it as the sun diffuses light? Surely that must be the case. I\nhave reason to believe it, for whom did I ever love save the Queen? No\none, not even myself, and I know no one in whose love for me I can\nbelieve. But why did Dion, whom I loved so fervently, disdain me? Fool!\nWhy did Mark Antony prefer Cleopatra to Octavia, who was not less fair,\nwhose heart was his, and whose hand held the sovereignty of half the\nworld?\"\n\nPassing on as she spoke, she soon returned, ushering the Roman Lucilius\ninto the presence of the Queen. A gallant deed had bound this man to\nAntony. After the battle of Philippi, when the army of the republicans\nfled, Brutus had been on the point of being seized by the enemy's\nhorsemen; but Lucilius, at the risk of being cut down, had personated\nhim, and thereby, though but for a short time, rescued him. This had\nseemed to Antony unusual and noble and, in his generous manner, he had\nnot only forgiven him, but bestowed his favour upon him. Lucilius was\ngrateful, and gave him the same fidelity he had showed to Brutus. At\nActium he had risked Antony's favour to prevent his deserting Cleopatra\nafter the battle, and then accompanied him in his flight. Now he was\nbearing him company in his seclusion on the Choma.\n\nThe grey-haired man who, but a short time before, had retained all the\nvigour of youth, approached the Queen with bowed head and saddened heart.\nHis face, so regular in its contours, had undergone a marked change\nwithin the past few weeks. The cheeks were sunken, the features had grown\nsharper, and there was a sorrowful expression in the eyes, which, when\ninforming Cleopatra of his friend's condition, glittered with tears.\n\nBefore the hapless battle he was one of Cleopatra's most enthusiastic\nadmirers; but since he had been forced to see his friend and benefactor\nrisk fame, happiness, and honour to follow the Queen, he had cherished a\nfeeling of bitter resentment towards her. He would certainly have spared\nhimself this mission, had he not been sure that she who had brought her\nlover to ruin was the only person who could rouse him from spiritless\nlanguor to fresh energy and interest in life.\n\nFrom motives of friendship, urged by no one, he came unbidden to the\nwoman whom he had formerly so sincerely admired, to entreat her to cheer\nthe unfortunate man, rouse him, and remind him of his duty. He had little\nnews to impart; for on the voyage she had herself witnessed long enough\nthe pitiable condition of her husband. Now Antony was beginning to be\ncontent in it, and this was what most sorely troubled the faithful\nfriend.\n\nThe Imperator had called the little palace which he occupied on the Choma\nhis Timonium, because he compared himself with the famous Athenian\nmisanthrope who, after fortune abandoned him, had also been betrayed by\nmany of his former friends. Even at Taenarum he had thought of returning\nto the Choma, and by means of a wall, which would separate it from the\nmainland, rendering it as inaccessible as--according to rumour--the grave\nof Timon at Halae near Athens. Gorgias had erected it, and whoever wished\nto visit the hermit was forced to go by sea and request admittance, which\nwas granted to few.\n\nCleopatra listened to Lucilius with sympathy, and then asked whether\nthere was no way of cheering or comforting the wretched man.\n\n\"No, your Majesty,\" he replied. \"His favourite occupation is to recall\nwhat he once possessed, but only to show the uselessness of these\nmemories. 'What joys has life not offered me?' he asks, and then adds:\n'But they were repeated again and again, and after being enjoyed for the\ntenth time they became monotonous and lost their charm. Then they caused\nsatiety to the verge of loathing.' Only necessary things, such as bread\nand water, he says, possess real value; but he desires neither, because\nhe has even less taste for them than for the dainties which spoil a man's\nmorrow. Yesterday in a specially gloomy hour, he spoke of gold. This was\nperhaps most worthy of desire. The mere sight of it awakened pleasant\nhopes, because it might afford so many gratifications. Then he laughed\nbitterly, exclaiming that those joys were the very ones which produced\nthe most disagreeable satiety. Even gold was not worth the trouble of\nstretching out one's hand.\n\n\"He is fond of enlarging upon such fancies, and finds images to make his\nmeaning clear.\n\n\"'In the snow upon the highest mountain-peak the feet grow cold,' he\nsaid. 'In the mire they are warm, but the dark mud is ugly and clings to\nthem.'\n\n\"Then I remarked that between the morass and the mountain-snows lie sunny\nvalleys where life would be pleasant; but he flew into a rage, vehemently\nprotesting that he would never be content with the pitiable middle course\nof Horace. Then he exclaimed: 'Ay, I am vanquished. Octavianus and his\nAgrippa are the conquerors; but if a rock mutilates or an elephant's\nclumsy foot crushes me, I am nevertheless of a higher quality than\neither.'\"\n\n\"There spoke the old Mark Antony!\" cried Cleopatra; but again Lucilius's\nloyal heart throbbed with resentment against the woman who had fostered\nthe recklessness which had brought his powerful friend to ruin, and he\ncontinued:\n\n\"But he often sees himself in a different light. 'No writer could invent\na more unworthy life than mine,' he exclaimed recently. 'A farce ending\nin a tragedy.'\"\n\nLucilius might have added still harsher sayings, but the sorrowful\nexpression in the tearful eyes of the afflicted Queen silenced them upon\nhis lips.\n\nYet Cleopatra's name blended with most of the words uttered by the\nbroken-spirited man. Sometimes it was associated with the most furious\nreproaches, but more frequently with expressions of boundless delight and\nwild outbursts of fervent longing, and this was what inspired Lucilius\nwith the hope that the Queen's influence would be effectual with his\nfriend. Therefore he repeated some especially ardent words, to which\nCleopatra listened with grateful joy.\n\nYet, when Lucilius paused, she remarked that doubtless the misanthropist\nhad spoken of her, and probably of Octavia also, in quite a different\nway. She was prepared for the worst, for she was one of the rocks against\nwhich his greatness had been shattered.\n\nThis reminded Lucilius of the comment Antony had made upon the three\nwomen whom he had wedded, and he answered reluctantly: \"Fulvia, the wife\nof his youth--I knew the bold, hot-blooded woman, the former wife of\nClodius--he called the tempest which swelled his sails.\"\n\n\"Yes, Yes!\" cried Cleopatra. 'So she did. He owes her much; but I, too,\nam indebted to the dead Fulvia. She taught him to recognize and yield to\nwoman's power.\"\n\n\"Not always to his advantage,\" retorted Lucilius, whose resentment was\nrevived by the last sentence and, without heeding the faint flush on the\nQueen's cheek, he added: \"Of Octavia he said that she was the straight\npath which leads to happiness, and those who are content to walk in it\nare acceptable to gods and men.\"\n\n\"Then why did he not suffer it to content him?\" cried Cleopatra\nwrathfully.\n\n\"Fulvia's school,\" replied the Roman, \"was probably the last where he\nwould learn the moderation which--as you know--is so alien to his nature.\nHis opinion of the quiet valleys and middle course you have just heard.\"\n\n\"But I, what have I been to him?\" urged the Queen.\n\nLucilius bent his gaze for a short time on the floor, then answered\nhesitatingly:\n\n\"You asked to hear, and the Queen's command must be obeyed. He compared\nyour Majesty to a delicious banquet given to celebrate a victory, at\nwhich the guests, crowned with garlands, revel before the battle--\"\n\n\"Which is lost,\" said the Queen hurriedly, in a muffled voice. \"The\ncomparison is apt. Now, after the defeat, it would be absurd to prepare\nanother feast. The tragedy is closing, so the play (doubtless he said so)\nwhich preceded it would be but a wearisome repetition if performed a\nsecond time. One thing, it is true, seems desirable--a closing act of\nreconciliation. If you think it is in my power to recall my husband to\nactive life, rely upon me. The banquet of which he spoke occupied long\nyears. The dessert will consume little time, but I am ready to serve it.\nWhen I asked permission to visit him he refused. What plan of meeting\nhave you arranged?\"\n\n\"That I will leave to your feminine delicacy of feeling,\" replied\nLucilius. \"Yet I have come with a request whose fulfilment will perhaps\ncontain the answer. Eros, Mark Antony's faithful body-slave, humbly\npetitions your Majesty to grant him a few minutes' audience. You know the\nworthy fellow. He would die for you and his master, and he--I once heard\nfrom your lips the remark of King Antiochus, that no man was great to his\nbody-slave--thus Eros sees his master's weaknesses and lofty qualities\nfrom a nearer point of view than we, and he is shrewd. Antony gave him\nhis freedom long ago, and if your Majesty does not object to receiving a\nman so low in station--\"\n\n\"Let him come,\" replied Cleopatra. \"Your demand upon me is just.\nUnhappily, I am but too well aware of the atonement due your friend.\nBefore you came, I was engaged in making preparations for the fulfilment\nof one of his warmest wishes.\"\n\nWith these words she dismissed the Roman. Her feelings as she watched his\ndeparture were of very mingled character. The yearning for the happiness\nof which she had been so long deprived had again awaked, while the unkind\nwords which he had applied to her still rankled in her heart. But the\ndoor had scarcely closed behind Lucilius when the usher announced a\ndeputation of the members of the museum.\n\nThe learned gentlemen came to complain of the wrong which had been done\nto their colleague, Didymus, and also to express their loyalty during\nthese trying times. Cleopatra assured them of her favour, and said that\nshe had already offered ample compensation to the old philosopher. In a\ncertain sense she was one of themselves. They all knew that, from early\nyouth, she had honoured and shared their labours. In proof of this, she\nwould present to the library of the museum the two hundred thousand\nvolumes from Pergamus, one of the most valuable gifts Mark Antony had\never bestowed upon her, and which she had hitherto regarded merely as a\nloan. This she hoped would repay Didymus for the injury which, to her\ndeep regret, had been inflicted upon him, and at least partially repair\nthe loss sustained by the former library of the museum during the\nconflagration in the Bruchium.\n\nThe sages, eagerly assuring her of their gratitude and devotion, retired.\nMost of them were personally known to Cleopatra who, to their mutual\npleasure and advantage, had measured her intellectual powers with the\nmost brilliant minds of their body.\n\nThe sun had already set, when a procession of the priests of Serapis, the\nchief god of the city, whose coming had been announced the day before,\nappeared at Lochias. Accompanied by torch and lantern bearers, it moved\nforward with slow and solemn majesty. In harmony with the nature of\nSerapis, there were many reminders of death.\n\nThe meaning of every image, every standard, every shrine, every\npeculiarity of the music and singing, was familiar to the Queen. Even the\nchanging colours of the lights referred to the course of growth and decay\nin the universe and in human life, and the magnificent close of the chant\nof homage which represented the reception of the royal soul into the\nessence of the deity, the apotheosis of the sovereign, was well suited to\nstir the heart; for a sea of light unexpectedly flooded the whole\nprocession and, while its glow irradiated the huge pile of the palace,\nthe sea with its forest of ships and masts, and the shore with its\ntemples, pylons, obelisks, and superb buildings, all the choruses,\naccompanied by the music of sackbuts, cymbals, and lutes, blended in a\nmighty hymn, whose waves of sound rose to the star-strewn sky and reached\nthe open sea beyond the Pharos.\n\nMany a symbolical image suggested death and the resurrection, defeat and\na victory following it by the aid of great Serapis; and when the torches\nretired, vanishing in the darkness, with the last, notes of the chanting\nof the priests, Cleopatra, raised her head, feeling as if the vow she had\nmade during the gloomy singing of the aged men and the extinguishing of\nthe torches had received the approval of the deity brought by her\nforefathers to Alexandria and enthroned there to unite in his own person\nthe nature of the Greek and the Egyptian gods.\n\nHer tomb was to be built and, if destiny was fulfilled, to receive her\nlover and herself. She had perceived from Antony's bitter words, as well\nas the looks and tones of Lucilius, that he, as well as the man to whom\nher heart still clung with indissoluble bonds, held her responsible for\nActium and the fall of his greatness.\n\nThe world, she knew, would imitate them, but it should learn that if love\nhad robbed the greatest man of his day of fame and sovereignty, that love\nhad been worthy of the highest price.\n\nThe belief which had just been symbolically represented to her--that it\nwas allotted to the vanishing light to rise again in new and radiant\nsplendour--she would maintain for the present, though the best success\ncould scarcely lead to anything more than merely fanning the glimmering\nspark and deferring its extinction.\n\nFor herself there was no longer any great victory to win which would be\nworth the conflict. Yet the weapons must not rest until the end. Antony\nmust not perish, growling, like a second Timon, or a wild beast caught in\na snare. She would rekindle, though but for the last blaze, the fire of\nhis hero-nature, which blind love for her and the magic spell that had\nenabled her to bind his will had covered for a time with ashes.\n\nWhile listening to the resurrection hymn of the priests of Serapis, she\nhad asked herself if it might not be possible to give Antony, when he had\nbeen roused to fresh energy, the son of Caesar as a companion in arms.\nTrue, she had found the boy in a mood far different from the one for\nwhich she had hoped. If he had once been carried on to a bold deed, it\nseemed to have exhausted his energy; for he remained absorbed in the most\npitiable love-sickness. Yet he had not recovered from his illness. When\nhe was better he would surely wake to active interest in the events which\nthreatened to exert so great an influence on his own existence and, like\nthe humblest slave, lament the defeat of Actium. Hitherto he had listened\nto the tidings of battle which had reached his ears with an indifference\nthat seemed intelligible and pardonable only when attributed to his\nwound.\n\nHis tutor Rhodon had just requested a leave of absence, remarking that\nCaesarion would not lack companions, since he was expecting Antyllus and\nother youths of his own age. A flood of light streamed from the windows\nof the reception hall of the \"King of kings.\" There was still time to\nseek him and make him understand what was at stake. Ah! if she could but\nsucceed in awaking his father's spirit! If that culpable attack should\nprove the harbinger of future deeds of manly daring!\n\nNo interview with him as yet had encouraged this expectation, but a\nmother's heart easily sees, even in disappointment, a step which leads to\na new hope. When Charmian entered to announce Antony's body-slave, she\nsent word to him to wait, and requested her friend to accompany her to\nher son.\n\nAs they approached the apartments occupied by Caesarion, Antyllus's loud\nvoice reached them through the open door, whose curtain was only half\ndrawn. The first word which the Queen distinguished was her own name; so,\nmotioning to her companion, she stood still. Barine was again the subject\nof conversation.\n\nAntony's son was relating what Alexas had told him. Cleopatra, the Syrian\nhad asserted, intended to send the young beauty to the mines or into\nexile, and severely punish Dion; but both had made their escape. The\nEphebi had behaved treacherously by taking sides with their foe. But this\nwas because they were not yet invested with their robes. He hoped to\ninduce his father to do this as soon as he shook off his pitiable\nmisanthropy. And he must also be persuaded to direct the pursuit of the\nfugitives. \"This will not be difficult,\" he cried insolently, \"for the\nold man appreciates beauty, and has himself cast an eye on the singer. If\nthey capture her, I'll guarantee nothing, you 'King of kings!' for, spite\nof his grey beard, he can cut us all out with the women, and Barine--as\nwe have heard--doesn't think a man of much importance until his locks\nbegin to grow thin. I gave Derketaeus orders to send all his men in\npursuit. He's as cunning as a fox, and the police are compelled to obey\nhim.\"\n\n\"If I were not forced to lie here like a dead donkey, I would soon find\nher,\" sighed Caesarion. \"Night or day, she is never out of my mind. I\nhave already spent everything I possessed in the search. Yesterday I sent\nfor the steward Seleukus. What is the use of being my mother's son, and\nthe fat little fellow isn't specially scrupulous! He will do nothing, yet\nthere must be gold enough. The Queen has sunk millions in the sand on the\nSyrian frontier of the Delta. There is to be a square hole or something\nof the sort dug there to hide the fleet. I only half understand the\nabsurd plan. The money might have paid hundreds of spies. So talents are\nthrown away, and the strong-box is locked against the son. But I'll find\none that will open to me. I must have her, though I risk the crown. It\nalways sounds like a jeer when they call me the King of kings. I am not\nfit for sovereignty. Besides, the throne will be seized ere I really\nascend it. We are conquered, and if we succeed in concluding a peace,\nwhich will secure us life and a little more, we must be content. For my\npart, I shall be satisfied with a country estate on the water, a\nsufficient supply of money and, above all, Barine. What do I care for\nEgypt? As Caesar's son I ought to have ruled Rome; but the immortals knew\nwhat they were doing when they prompted my father to disinherit me. To\ngovern the world one must have less need of sleep. Really--you know it--I\nalways feel tired, even when I am well. People must let me alone! Your\nfather, too, Antyllus, is laying down his arms and letting things go as\nthey will.\"\n\n\"Ah, so he is!\" cried Antony's son indignantly. \"But just wait! The\nsleeping lion will wake again, and, when he uses his teeth and paws--\"\n\n\"My mother will run away, and your father will follow her,\" replied\nCaesarion with a melancholy smile, wholly untinged by scorn. \"All is\nlost. But conquered kings and queens are permitted to live. Caesar's son\nwill not be exhibited to the Quirites in the triumphal procession. Rhodon\nsays that there would be an insurrection if I appeared in the Forum. If I\ngo there again, it certainly will not be in Octavianus's train. I am not\nsuited for that kind of ignominy. It would stifle me and, ere I would\ngrant any man the pleasure of dragging the son of Caesar behind him to\nincrease his own renown, I would put an end--ten, nay, a hundred times\nover, in the good old Roman fashion, to my life, which is by no means\nespecially attractive. What is sweeter than sound sleep, and who will\ndisturb and rouse me when Death has lowered his torch before me? But now\nI think I shall be spared this extreme. Whatever else they may inflict\nupon me will scarcely exceed my powers of endurance. If any one has\nlearned contentment it is I. The King of kings and Co-Regent of the Great\nQueen has been trained persistently, and with excellent success, to be\ncontent. What should I be, and what am I? Yet I do not complain, and wish\nto accuse no one. We need not summon Octavianus, and when he is here let\nhim take what he will if he only spares the lives of my mother, the\ntwins, and little Alexander, whom I love, and bestows on me the\nestate--the main thing is that it must be full of fishponds--of which I\nspoke. The private citizen Caesarion, who devotes his time to fishing and\nthe books he likes to read, will gladly be allowed to choose a wife to\nsuit his own taste. The more humble her origin, the more easily I shall\nwin the consent of the Roman guardian.\"\n\n\"Do you know, Caesarion,\" interrupted Antony's unruly son, leaning back\non the cushions and stretching his feet farther in front of him, \"if you\nwere not the King of kings I should be inclined to call you a base,\nmean-natured fellow! One who has the good fortune to be the son of Julius\nCaesar ought not to forget it so disgracefully. My gall overflows at your\nwhimpering. By the dog! It was one of my most senseless pranks to take\nyou to the singer. I should think there would be other things to occupy\nthe mind of the King of kings. Besides, Barine cares no more for you than\nthe last fish you caught. She showed that plainly enough. I say once\nmore, if Derketaeus's men succeed in capturing the beauty who has robbed\nyou of your senses, she won't go with you to your miserable estate to\ncook the fish you catch, for if we have her again, and my father holds\nout his hand to her, all your labour will be in vain. He saw the fair\nenchantress only twice, and had no time to become better acquainted, but\nshe captured his fancy and, if I remind him of her, who knows what will\nhappen?\"\n\nHere Cleopatra beckoned to her companion and returned to her apartments\nwith drooping head. On reaching them, she broke the silence, saying:\n\"Listening, Charmian, is unworthy of a Queen; but if all listeners heard\nthings so painful, one need no longer guard keyholes and chinks of doors.\nI must recover my calmness ere I receive Eros. One thing more. Is\nBarine's hiding-place secure?\"\n\n\"I don't know--Archibius says so.\"\n\n\"Very well. They are searching for her zealously enough, as you heard,\nand she must not be found. I am glad that she did not set a snare for the\nboy. How a jealous heart leads us astray! Were she here, I would grant\nher anything to make amends for my unjust suspicion of her and Antony.\nAnd to think that Alexas--but for your interposition he would have\nsucceeded--meant to send her to the mines! It is a terrible warning to be\non my guard. Against whom? First of all, my own weakness. This is a day\nof recognition. A noble aim, but on the way the feet bleed, and the\nheart--ah! Charmian, the poor, weak, disappointed heart!\"\n\nShe sighed heavily, and supported her head on the arm resting upon the\ntable at her side. The polished, exquisitely grained surface of thya-wood\nwas worth a large estate; the gems in the rings and bracelets which\nglittered on her hand and arm would have purchased a principality. This\nthought entered her mind and, overpowered by a feeling of angry disgust,\nshe would fain have cast all the costly rubbish into the sea or the\ndestroying flames.\n\nShe would gladly have been a beggar, content with the barley bread of\nEpicurus, she said to herself, if in return she could but have inspired\nher son even with the views of the reckless blusterer Antyllus. Her worst\nfears had not pictured Caesarion so weak, so insignificant. She could no\nlonger rest upon her cushions; and while, with drooping head, she gazed\nbackward over the past, the accusing voice in her own breast cried out\nthat she was reaping what she had sowed. She had repressed, curbed the\nboy's awakening will to secure his obedience; understood how to prevent\nany exercise of his ability or efforts in wider circles.\n\nTrue, it had been done on many a pretext. Why should not her son taste\nthe quiet happiness which she had enjoyed in the garden of Epicurus? And\nwas not the requirement that whoever is to command must first learn to\nobey, based upon old experiences?\n\nBut this was a day of reckoning and insight, and for the first time she\nfound courage to confess that her own burning ambition had marked out the\ncourse of Caesarion's education. She had not repressed his talents from\ncool calculation, but it had been pleasant to her to see him grow up free\nfrom aspirations. She had granted the dreamer repose without arousing\nhim. How often she had rejoiced over the certainty that this son, on whom\nAntony, after his victory over the Parthians, had bestowed the title of\nCo-Regent, would never rebel against his mother's guardianship! The\nwelfare of the state had doubtless been better secured in her trained\nhands than in those of an inexperienced boy. And the proud consciousness\nof power! Her heart swelled. So long as she lived she would remain Queen.\nTo transfer the sovereignty to another, whatever name he might bear, had\nseemed to her impossible. Now she knew how little her son yearned for\nlofty things. Her heart contracted. The saying \"You reap what you sowed\"\ngave her no peace, and wherever she turned in her past life she perceived\nthe fruit of the seeds which she had buried in the ground. The field was\nsinking under the burden of the ears of misfortune. The harvest was ripe\nfor the reaper; but, ere he raised the sickle, the owner's claim must be\npreserved. Gorgias must hasten the building of the tomb; the end could\nnot be long deferred. How to shape this worthily, if the victor left her\nno other choice, had just been pointed out by the son of whom she was\nashamed. His father's noble blood forbade him to bear the deepest\nignominy with the patience his mother had inculcated.\n\nIt had grown late ere she admitted Antony's body-slave, but for her the\nbusiness of the night was just commencing. After he had gone she would be\nengaged for hours with the commanders of the army, the fleet, the\nfortifications. The soliciting of allies, too, must be carried on by\nmeans of letters containing the most stirring appeals to the heart.\n\nEros, Antony's body-slave, appeared. His kind eyes filled with tears at\nthe sight of the Queen. Grief had not lessened the roundness of his\nhandsome face, but the expression of mischievous, often insolent, gaiety\nhad given place to a sorrowful droop of the lips, and his fair hair had\nbegun to turn grey.\n\nLucilius's information that Cleopatra had consented to make advances to\nAntony had seemed like the rising of the sun after a long period of\ndarkness. In his eyes, not only his master, but everything else, must\nyield to the power of the Queen. He had heard Antony at Tarsus inveigh\nagainst \"the Egyptian serpent,\" protesting that he would make her pay so\ndearly for her questionable conduct towards himself and the cause of\nCaesar that the treasure-houses on the Nile should be like an empty\nwine-skin; yet, a few hours after, body and soul had been in her toils.\nSo it had continued till the battle of Actium. Now there was nothing more\nto lose; but what might not Cleopatra bestow upon his master? He thought\nof the delightful years during which his face had grown so round, and\nevery day fresh pleasures and spectacles, such as the world would never\nagain witness, had satiated eye and ear, palate and nostril,--nay, even\ncuriosity. If they could be repeated, even in a simpler form, so much the\nbetter. His main--nay, almost his sole-desire was to release his lord\nfrom this wretched solitude, this horrible misanthropy, so ill suited to\nhis nature.\n\nCleopatra had kept him waiting two hours, but he would willingly have\nloitered in the anteroom thrice as long if she only determined to follow\nhis counsel. It was worth considering, and Eros did not hesitate to give\nit. No one could foresee how Antony would greet Cleopatra herself, so he\nproposed that she should send Charmian--not alone, but with her clever\nhunch-backed maid, to whom the Imperator himself had given the name\n\"Aisopion.\" He liked Charmian, and could never see the dusky maid without\njesting with her. If his master could once be induced to show a cheerful\nface to others besides himself, Eros, and perceived how much better it\nwas to laugh than to lapse into sullen reverie and anger, much would be\ngained, and Charmian would do the rest, if she brought a loving message\nfrom her royal mistress.\n\nHitherto Cleopatra had not interrupted him; but when she expressed the\nopinion that a slave's nimble tongue would have little power to change\nthe deep despondency of a man overwhelmed by the most terrible disaster,\nEros waved his short, broad hand, saying:\n\n\"I trust your Majesty will pardon the frankness of a man so humble in\ndegree, but those in high station often permit us to see what they hide\nfrom one another. Only the loftiest and the lowliest, the gods and the\nslaves, behold the great without disguise. May my ears be cropped if the\nImperator's melancholy and misanthropy are so intense! All this is a\ndisguise which pleases him. You know how, in better days, he enjoyed\nappearing as Dionysus, and with what wanton gaiety he played the part of\nthe god. Now he is hiding his real, cheerful face behind the mask of\nunsocial melancholy, because he thinks the former does not suit this time\nof misfortune. True, he often says things which make your skin creep, and\nfrequently broods mournfully over his own thoughts. But this never lasts\nlong when we are alone. If I come in with a very funny story, and he\ndoesn't silence me at once, you can rely on his surpassing it with a\nstill more comical one. A short time ago I reminded him of the fishing\nparty when your Majesty had a diver fasten a salted herring on his hook.\nYou ought to have heard him laugh, and exclaim what happy days those\nwere. The lady Charmian need only remind him of them, and Aisopion spice\nthe allusion with a jest. I'll give my nose--true, it's only a small one,\nbut everybody values that feature most--if they don't persuade him to\nleave that horrible crow's nest in the middle of the sea. They must\nremind him of the twins and little Alexander; for when he permits me to\ntalk about them his brow smooths most speedily. He still speaks very\noften to Lucilius and his other friends of his great plans of forming a\npowerful empire in the East, with Alexandria as its principal city. His\nwarrior blood is not yet calm. A short time ago I was even ordered to\nsharpen the curved Persian scimitar he likes to wield. One could not know\nwhat service it might be, he said. Then he swung his mighty arm. By the\ndog! The grey-haired giant still has the strength of three youths. When\nhe is once more with you, among warriors and battle chargers, all will be\nwell.\"\n\n\"Let us hope so.\" replied Cleopatra kindly, and promised to follow his\nadvice.\n\nWhen Iras, who had taken Charmian's place, accompanied the Queen to her\nchamber after several hours of toil, she found her silent and sad. Lost\nin thought, she accepted her attendant's aid, breaking her silence only\nafter she had gone to her couch. \"This has been a hard day, Iras,\" she\nsaid; \"it brought nothing save the confirmation of an old saying, perhaps\nthe most ancient in the world: 'Every one wilt reap only what he sows.\nThe plant which grows from the seed you place in the earth may be\ncrushed, but no power in the world will compel the seed to develop\ndifferently or produce fruit unlike what Nature has assigned to it.' My\nseed was evil. This now appears in the time of harvest. But we will yet\nbring a handful of good wheat to the storehouses. We will provide for\nthat while there is time. I will talk with Gorgias early to-morrow\nmorning. While we were building, you showed good taste and often\nsuggested new ideas. When Gorgias brings the plans for the mausoleum you\nshall examine them with me. You have a right to do so, for, if I am not\nmistaken, few will visit the finished structure more frequently than my\nIras.\"\n\nThe girl started up and, raising her hand as if taking a vow, exclaimed:\n\"Your tomb will vainly wait my visit; your end will be mine also.\"\n\n\"May the gods preserve your youth from it!\" replied the Queen in a tone\nof grave remonstrance. \"We still live and will do battle.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Epicurus, who believed that with death all things ended\n     No, she was not created to grow old\n     Nothing in life is either great or small\n     Priests: in order to curb the unruly conduct of the populace\n     She would not purchase a few more years of valueless life\n     To govern the world one must have less need of sleep\n     What changes so quickly as joy and sorrow\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nNight brought little sleep to Cleopatra. Memory followed memory, plan was\nadded to plan. The resolve made the day before was the right one. To-day\nshe would begin its execution. Whatever might happen, she was prepared\nfor every contingency.\n\nEre she went to her work she granted a second audience to the Roman\nenvoy. Timagenes exerted all his powers of eloquence, skill in\npersuasion, wit, and ingenuity. He again promised to Cleopatra life and\nliberty, and to her children the throne; but when he insisted upon the\nsurrender or death of Mark Antony as the first condition of any further\nnegotiations, Cleopatra remained steadfast, and the ambassador set forth\non his way home without any pledge.\n\nAfter he had gone, the Queen and Iras looked over the plans for the tomb\nbrought by Gorgias, but the intense agitation of her soul distracted\nCleopatra's attention, and she begged him to come again at a later hour.\nWhen she was alone, she took out the letters which Caesar and Antony had\nwritten to her. How acute, subtle, and tender were those of the former;\nhow ardent, impassioned, yet sincere were those of the mighty and fiery\norator, whose eloquence swept the listening multitudes with him, yet whom\nher little hand had drawn wherever she desired!\n\nHer heart throbbed faster when she thought of the meeting with Antony,\nnow close at hand; for Charmian had gone with the Nubian to invite him to\njoin her again. They had started several hours ago, and she awaited their\nreturn with increasing impatience. She had summoned him for their last\nmutual battle. That he would come she did not doubt. But could she\nsucceed in rekindling his courage? Two persons so closely allied should\nsink and perish, still firmly united, in the final battle, if victory was\ndenied.\n\nArchibius was now announced.\n\nIt soothed her merely to gaze into the faithful countenance, which\nrecalled so many of her happiest memories.\n\nShe opened her whole soul to him without reserve, and he drew himself up\nto his full height, as if restored to youth; while when she told him that\nshe would never sully herself by treachery to her lover and husband, and\nhad resolved to die worthy of her name, the expression of his eyes\nrevealed that she had chosen the right path.\n\nEre she had made the request that he should undertake the education and\nguidance of the children, he voluntarily proposed to devote his best\npowers to them. The plan of uniting Didymus's garden with the Lochias and\ngiving it to the little ones also met with his approval. His sister had\nalready told him that Cleopatra had determined to build her tomb. He\nhoped, he added, that its doors would not open to her for many years.\n\nShe shook her head sorrowfully, exclaiming \"Would that I could read every\nface as I do yours! My friend Archibius wishes me a long life, if any one\ndoes; but he is as wise as he is faithful, and therefore will consider\nthat earthly life is by no means a boon in every case. Besides, he says\nto himself: 'Events are impending over this Queen and woman, my friend,\nwhich will perhaps render it advisable to make use of the great privilege\nwhich the immortals bestow on human beings when it becomes desirable for\nthem to leave the stage of life. So let her build her tomb.' Have I read\nthe old familiar book aright?\"\n\n\"On the whole, yes,\" he answered gravely. \"But it is inscribed upon its\npages that a great princess and faithful mother can be permitted to set\nforth on the last journey, whence there is no return, only when--\"\n\n\"When,\" she interrupted, \"a shameful end threatens to fall upon the fair\nbeginning and brilliant middle period, as a swarm of locusts darkens the\nair and devours and devastates the fields. I know it, and will act\naccordingly.\"\n\n\"And,\" added Archibius, \"this end also (faithful to your nature) you will\nshape regally.--On my way here I met my sister near the Choma. You sent\nher to your husband. He will grasp the proffered hand. Now that it is\nnecessary to stake everything or surrender, the grandson of Herakles will\nagain display his former heroic power. Perhaps, stimulated and encouraged\nby the example of the woman he loves, he will even force hostile Fate to\nshow him fresh favour.\"\n\n\"Destiny will pursue its course,\" interrupted Cleopatra firmly. \"But\nAntony must help me to heap fresh obstacles in the pathway, and when he\nwishes to use his giant strength, what masses of rock his mighty arm can\nhurl!\"\n\n\"And if your lofty spirit smooths the path for him, then, my royal\nmistress--\"\n\n\"Even then the close of the tragedy will be death, and every scene a\ndisappointment. Was not the plan of bringing the fleet across the isthmus\nbold and full of promise? Even the professional engineers greeted it with\napplause, and yet it proved impracticable. Destiny dug its grave. And the\nterrible omens before and after Actium, and the stars--the stars!\nEverything points to speedy destruction, everything! Every hour brings\nnews of the desertion of some prince or general. As if from a\nwatch-tower, I now overlook what is growing from the seed I sowed.\nSterile ears or poisonous vegetation, wherever I turn my eyes. And yet!\nYou, who know my life from its beginning, tell me--must I veil my head in\nshame when the question is asked, what powers of intellect, what talents\nindustry, and desire for good Cleopatra displayed?\"\n\n\"No, my royal mistress, a thousand times no!\"\n\n\"Yet the fruit of every tree I planted degenerated and decayed. Caesarion\nis withering in the flower of his youth--by whose fault I know only too\nwell. You will now take charge of the education of the other children. So\nit is for you to consider what brought me where I now stand, and how to\nguard their life-bark from wandering and shipwreck.\"\n\n\"Let me train them to be human beings,\" replied Archibius gravely, \"and\npreserve them from the desire to enter the lists with the gods. From the\nsimple Cleopatra in the garden of Epicurus, who was a delight to the good\nand wise, you became the new Isis, to whom the multitude raised hearts,\neyes, and hands, dazzled and blinded. We will transfer the twins, Helios\nand Selene, the sun and the moon, from heaven to earth; they must become\nmortals--Greeks. I will not transplant them to the garden of Epicurus,\nbut to another, where the air is more bracing. The inscription on its\nportals shall not be, 'Here pleasure is the chief good,' but 'This is an\narena for character.' He who leaves this garden shall not owe to it the\nyearning for happiness and comfort, but an immovably steadfast moral\ndiscipline. Your children, like yourself, were born in the East, which\nloves what is monstrous, superhuman, exaggerated. If you entrust them to\nme, they must learn to govern themselves. At the helm stands moral\nearnestness, which, however, does not exclude the joyous cheerfulness\nnatural to our people; the sails will be trimmed by moderation, the\nnoblest quality of the Greek nation.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" Cleopatra interrupted, with drooping head. \"Interwoven\nwith the means of securing the children's welfare, you set before the\nmother's eyes the qualities she has lacked. I know that long ago you\nabandoned the teachings of Epicurus and the Stoa, and with an earnest aim\nbefore your eyes sought your own paths. The tempest of life swept me far\naway from the quiet garden where we sought the purest delight. Now I have\nlearned to know the perils which threaten those who see the chief good in\nhappiness. It stands too high for mortals, for in the changeful stir of\nlife it remains unattainable, and yet it is too low an aim for their\nstruggles, for there are worthier objects. Yet one saying of Epicurus we\nboth believed, and it has always stood us in good stead: 'Wisdom can\nobtain no more precious contribution to the happiness of mortal life than\nthe possession of friendship.'\"\n\nShe held out her hand as she spoke, and while, deeply agitated, he raised\nit to his lips, she went on: \"You know I am on the eve of the last\ndesperate battle--if the gods will--shoulder to shoulder with Antony.\nTherefore I shall not be permitted to watch your work of education; yet I\nwill aid it. When the children question you about their mother, you will\nbe obliged to restrain yourself from saying: 'Instead of striving for the\npainless peace of mind, the noble pleasure of Epicurus, which once seemed\nto her the highest good, she constantly pursued fleeting amusements. The\nOriental recklessly squandered her once noble gifts of intellect and the\nwealth of her people, yielded to the hasty impulses of her passionate\nnature.' But you shall also say to them: 'Your mother's heart was full of\nardent love, she scorned what was base, strove for the highest goal, and\nwhen she fell, preferred death to treachery and disgrace.'\"\n\nHere she paused, for she thought she heard footsteps approaching, and\nthen exclaimed anxiously: \"I am waiting--expecting. Perhaps Antony cannot\nescape from the paralyzing grasp of despair. To fight the last battle\nwithout him, and yet under the gaze of his wrathful, gloomy eyes, once so\nfull of sunshine, would be the greatest sorrow of my life. Archibius, I\nmay confess this to you, the friend who saw love for this man develop in\nthe breast of the child--But what does this mean? An uproar! Have the\npeople rebelled? Yesterday the representatives of the priesthood, the\nmembers of the museum, and the leaders of the army assured me of their\nchangeless fidelity and love. Dion belonged to the Macedonian men of the\nCouncil; yet I have already declared, in accordance with the truth, that\nI never intended to persecute him on Caesarion's account. I do not even\nknow--and do not desire to know the refuge of the lately wedded pair. Or\nhas the new tax levied, the command to seize the treasures of the temple,\ndriven them to extremities? What am I to do? We need gold to bid the foe\ndefiance, to preserve the independence of the throne, the country, and\nthe people. Or have tidings from Rome? It is becoming serious--and the\nnoise is growing louder.\"\n\n\"Let me see what they want,\" Archibius anxiously interrupted, hastening\nto the door; but just at that moment the Introducer opened it, crying,\n\"Mark Antony is approaching the Lochias, attended by half Alexandria!\"\n\n\"The noble Imperator is returning!\" fell from the bearded lips of the\ncommander of the guard, ere the courtier's words had died away; and even\nwhile he spoke Iras pressed past him, shrieking as if half frantic: \"He\nis coming! He is here! I knew he would come! How they are shouting and\ncheering! Out with you, men! If you are willing, my royal mistress, we\nwill greet him from the balcony of Berenike. If we only had--\"\n\n\"The twins--little Alexander!\" interrupted Cleopatra, with blanched face\nand faltering voice. \"Put on their festal garments.\"\n\n\"Quick--the children, Zoe!\" cried Iras, completing the order and clapping\nher hands. Then she turned to the Queen with the entreaty: \"Be calm, my\nroyal mistress, be calm, I beseech you. We have ample time. Here is the\nvulture crown of Isis, and here the other. Antony's slave, Eros, has just\ncome in, panting for breath. The Imperator, he says, will appear as the\nnew Dionysus. It would certainly please his master--though he had not\ncommissioned him to request it--if you greeted him as the new Isis.--Help\nme, Hathor. Nephoris, tell the usher to see that the fan-bearers and the\nother attendants, women and men, are in their places.--Here are the pearl\nand diamond necklaces for your throat and bosom. Take care of the robe.\nThe transparent bombyx is as delicate as a cobweb, and if you tear it No,\nyou must not refuse. We all know how it pleases him to see his goddess in\ndivine majesty and beauty.\" Cleopatra, with glowing cheeks and throbbing\nheart, made no further objection to donning the superb festal robe,\nstrewn with glimmering pearls and glittering gems. It would have been\nmore in harmony with her feelings to meet the returning Antony in the\nplain, dark garb which, since her arrival at home, she had exchanged for\na richer one only on festal occasions; but Antony was coming as the new\nDionysus, and Eros knew what would please his master.\n\nEight nimble hands, which were often aided by Iras's skilful fingers,\ntoiled busily, and soon the latter could hold up the mirror before\nCleopatra, exclaiming from the very depths of her heart, \"Like the\nfoam-born Aphrodite and the golden Hathor!\"\n\nThen Iras, who, in adorning her beloved mistress, had forgotten love,\nhate, and envy, and amid her eager haste barely found time for a brief,\nfervent prayer for a happy issue of this meeting, threw the broad\nfolding-doors as wide as if she were about to reveal to the worshippers\nin the temple the image of the god in the innermost sanctuary.\n\nA long, echoing shout of surprise and delight greeted the Queen, for the\ncourtiers, hastily summoned, were already awaiting her without, from the\ngrey-haired epistolograph to the youngest page. Regally attired women in\nher service raised the floating train of her cloak; others, in sacerdotal\nrobes, were testing the ease of movement of the rings on the sistrum\nrods, men and boys were forming into lines according to the rank of each\nindividual, and the chief fan-bearer gave the signal for departure. After\na short walk through several halls and corridors, the train reached the\nfirst court-yard of the palace, and there ascended the few steps leading\nto the broad platform at the entrance-gate which overlooked the whole\nBruchium and the Street of the King, down which the expected hero would\napproach.\n\nThe distant uproar of the multitude had sounded threatening, but now,\namid the deafening din, they could distinguish every shout of welcome,\nevery joyous greeting, every expression of delight, surprise, applause,\nadmiration, and homage, known to the Greek and Egyptian tongues.\n\nOnly the centre and end of the procession were visible. The head had\nreached the Corner of the Muses, where, concealed by the old trees in the\ngarden, it moved on between the Temple of Isis and the land owned by\nDidymus. The end still extended to the Choma, whence it had started.\n\nAll Alexandria seemed to have joined it.\n\nMen large and small, of high and low degree, old and young, the lame and\nthe crippled, mingled with the throng, sweeping onward among horses and\ncarriages, carts and beasts of burden, like a mountain torrent dashing\nwildly down to the valley. Here a loud shriek rang from an overturned\nlitter, whose bearers had fallen. Yonder a child thrown to the ground\nscreamed shrilly, there a dog trodden under the feet of the crowd howled\npiteously. So clear and resonant were the shouts of joy that they rose\nhigh above the flutes and tambourines, the cymbals and lutes of the\nmusicians, who followed the man approaching in the robes of a god.\n\nThe head of the procession now passed beyond the Corner of the Muses and\ncame within view of the platform.\n\nThere could be no doubt to whom this ovation was given, for the returning\nhero was in the van, high above all the other figures. From the golden\nthrone borne on the shoulders of twelve black slaves he waved his long\nthyrsus in greeting to the exulting multitude. Before the bacchanalian\ntrain which accompanied him, and behind the musicians who followed, moved\ntwo elephants bearing between them, as a light burden, some\nunrecognizable object covered with a purple cloth. Now the column had\npassed between the pylons through the lofty gateway which separated the\npalace from the Street of the King, and stopped opposite to the platform.\n\nWhile officials, Scythians, and body-guards of all shades of complexion,\non foot and on horseback, kept back the throng by force where friendly\nwarning did not avail, Cleopatra saw her lover descend from the throne\nand give a signal to the Indian slave who guided the elephants. The cloth\nwas flung aside, revealing to the astonished eyes of the spectators a\nbouquet of flowers such as no Alexandrian had ever beheld. It consisted\nentirely of blossoming rose-bushes. The red flowers formed a circle in\nthe centre, surrounded by a broad light garland of white ones. The whole\ngigantic work rested like an egg in its cup in a holder of palm fronds\nwhich, as it were, framed it in graceful curving outlines. More than a\nthousand blossoms were united in this peerless bouquet, and the singular\ngigantic gift was characteristic of its giver.\n\nHe advanced on foot to the platform, his figure towering above the brown,\nlight-hued, and black freedmen and slaves who followed as, on the\nmonuments of the Pharaohs, the image of the sovereign dominates those of\nthe subjects and foes.\n\nHe could look down upon the tallest men, and the width of his shoulders\nwas as remarkable as his colossal height. A long, gold-broidered purple\nmantle, floating to his ancles, increased his apparent stature. Powerful\narms, with the swelling muscles of an athlete, were extended from his\nsleeveless robe towards the beloved Queen.\n\nThe well-formed head, thick dark hair, and magnificent beard corresponded\nwith the powerful figure. Formerly these locks had adorned the head of\nthe youth with the blue-black hue of the raven's plumage; now the threads\nof grey scattered abundantly through them were concealed by the aid of\ndye. A thick wreath of vine leaves rested on the Imperator's brow, and\nleafy vine branches, to which clung several dark bunches of grapes, fell\nover his broad shoulders and down his back, which was covered like a\ncloak, not by a leopard-skin, but that of a royal Indian tiger of great\nsize--he had slain it himself in the arena. The head and paws of the\nanimal were gold, the eyes two magnificent sparkling sapphires. The clasp\nof the chain, by which the skin was suspended, as well as that of the\ngold belt which circled the Imperator's body above the hips, was covered\nwith rubies and emeralds. The wide armlets above his elbows, the\nornaments on his broad breast, nay, even his red morocco boots, glittered\nand flashed with gems.\n\nRadiant magnificent as his former fortunes seemed the attire of this\nmighty fallen hero, who but yesterday had shrunk timidly and sadly from\nthe eyes of his fellow-men. His features, too, were large, noble, and\nbeautiful in outline; but, though his pale cheeks were adorned with the\nborrowed crimson of youth, half a century of the maddest pursuit of\npleasure and the torturing excitement of the last few weeks had left\ntraces only too visible; for the skin hung in loose bags beneath the\nlarge eyes; wrinkles furrowed his brow and radiated in slanting lines\nfrom the corners of his eyes across his temples.\n\nYet not one of those whom this bedizened man of fifty was approaching\nthought of seeing in him an aged, bedecked dandy; it was an instinct of\nhis nature to surround himself with pomp and splendour and, moreover, his\nwhole appearance was so instinct with power that scorn and mockery shrank\nabashed before it.\n\nHow frank, gracious, and kindly was this man's face, how sincere the\nheart-felt emotion which sparkled in his eyes, still glowing with the\nfire of youth, at the sight of the woman from whom he had been so long\nparted! Every feature beamed with the most ardent tenderness for the\nroyal wife whom he was approaching, and the expression on the lips of the\ngiant varied so swiftly from humble, sorrowful anguish of mind to\ngratitude and delight, that even the hearts of his foes were touched. But\nwhen, pressing his hand on his broad breast, he advanced towards the\nQueen, bending so low that it seemed as if he would fain kiss her feet,\nwhen in fact the colossal figure did sink kneeling before her, and the\npowerful arms were outstretched with fervent devotion like a child\nbeseeching help, the woman who had loved him throughout her whole life\nwith all the ardour of her passionate soul was overpowered by the feeling\nthat everything which stood between them, all their mutual offences, had\nvanished. He saw the sunny smile that brightened her beloved,\never-beautiful face, and then--then his own name reached his ears from\nthe lips to which he owed the greatest bliss love had ever offered. At\nlast, as if intoxicated by the tones of her voice, which seemed to him\nmore musical than the songs of the Muses; half smiling at the jest which,\neven in the most serious earnest, he could not abandon; half moved to the\ndepths of his soul by the power of his newly awakening happiness after\nsuch sore sorrow, he pointed to the gigantic bouquet, which three slaves\nhad lifted down from the elephant and were bearing to the Queen.\nCleopatra, too, was overwhelmed with emotion.\n\nThis floral gift imitated, on an immense scale, the little bouquet which\nthe famous young general had taken from her father's hand before the gate\nof the garden of Epicurus to present to her as his first gift. That had\nalso been composed of red roses, surrounded by white ones. Instead of\npalm fronds, it had been encircled only by fern leaves. This was one of\nthe beautiful offerings which Antony's gracious nature so well understood\nhow to choose. The bouquet was a symbol of the unprecedented generosity\nnatural to this large-minded man. No magic goblet had compelled him to\napproach her thus and with such homage. Nothing had constrained him, save\nhis overflowing heart, his constant, fadeless love.\n\nAs if restored to youth, transported by some magic spell to the happy\ndays of early girlhood, she forgot her royal dignity and the hundreds of\neyes which rested upon him as if spell-bound; and, obedient to an\nirresistible impulse of the heart, she sank upon the broad, heaving\nbreast of the kneeling hero. Laughing joyously in the clear, silvery\ntones which are usually heard only in youth, he clasped her in his strong\narms, raised her slender figure in its floating royal mantle from the\nground, kissed her lips and eyes, held her aloft in the soaring attitude\nof the Goddess of Victory, as if to display his happiness to the eyes of\nall, and at last placed her carefully on her feet again like some\ntreasured jewel.\n\nThen, turning to the children, who were waiting at their mother's side,\nhe lifted first little Alexander, then the twins, to kiss them; and,\nwhile holding Helios and Selene in his arms, as if the joy of seeing them\nagain had banished their weight, the shouts which had arisen when the\nQueen sank on his breast again burst forth.\n\nThe ancient walls of the Lochias palace had never heard such\nacclamations. They passed from lip to lip, from hundreds to hundreds and,\nthough those more distant did not know the cause, they joined in the\nshouts. Along the whole vast stretch from the Lochias to the Choma the\ncheers rang out like a single, heart-stirring, inseparable cry, echoing\nacross the harbour, the ships lying at anchor, the towering masts, to the\ncliff amid the sea where Barine was nursing her new-made husband.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThe property of the freedman Pyrrhus was a flat rock in the northern part\nof the harbour, scarcely larger than the garden of Didymus at the Corner\nof the Muses, a desolate spot where neither tree nor blade of grass grew.\nIt was called the Serpent Island, though the inhabitants had long since\nrid it of these dangerous guests, which lived in great numbers in the\nneighbouring cliffs. Not even the poorest crops would grow in soil so\nhostile to life, and those who chose it for a home were compelled to\nbring even the drinking-water from the continent.\n\nThis desert, around which hovered gulls, sea-swallows, and sea-eagles,\nhad been for several weeks the abode of the fugitives, Dion and Barine.\nThey still occupied the two rooms which had been assigned to them on\ntheir arrival. During the day the sun beat fiercely down upon the yellow\nchalky rock. There was no shade save in the house and at the foot of a\ntowering cliff in the southern part of the island, the fishermen's\nwatch-tower.\n\nThere were no works of human hands save a little Temple of Poseidon, an\naltar of Isis, the large house owned by Pyrrhus, solidly constructed by\nAlexandrian masons, and a smaller one for the freedman's married sons and\ntheir families. A long wooden frame, on which nets were strung to dry,\nrose on the shore. Near it, towards the north, in the open sea, was the\nanchorage of the larger sea-going ships and the various skiffs and boats\nof the fisher folk. Dionikos, Pyrrhus's youngest son, who was still\nunmarried, built new boats and repaired the old ones.\n\nHis two strong, taciturn brothers, with their wives and children, his\nfather Pyrrhus, his wife and their youngest child, a daughter, Dione, a\nfew dogs, cats, and chickens, composed the population of the Serpent\nIsland.\n\nSuch were the surroundings of the newly wedded pair, who had been reared\nin the capital. At first many things were strange to them, but they\naccommodated themselves to circumstances with a good grace, and both had\nadmitted to each other, long before, that life had never been so equable\nand peaceful.\n\nDuring the first week Dion's wound and fever still harassed him, but the\nprediction of Pyrrhus that the pure, fresh sea-air would benefit the\nsufferer had been fulfilled, and the monotonous days had passed swiftly\nenough to the young bride in caring for the invalid.\n\nThe wife of Pyrrhus--\"mother,\" as they all called her--had proved to be a\nskilful nurse, and her daughters-in-law and young Dione were faithful and\nnimble assistants. During the time of anxiety and nursing, Barine had\nformed a warm friendship for them. If the taciturn men avoided using a\nsingle unnecessary word, the women were all the more ready to gossip; and\nit was a pleasure to talk to pretty Dione, who had grown up on the island\nand was eager to hear about the outside world.\n\nDion had long since left his couch and the house, and each day looked\nhappier, more content with himself and his surroundings. At first his\nfeverish visions had shown him his dead mother, pointing anxiously at his\nnew-made wife, as if to warn him against her. During his convalescence he\nremembered them and they conjured up the doubt whether Barine could\nendure the solitude of this desolate cliff, whether she would not lose\nthe bright serenity of soul whose charm constantly increased. Would it be\nany marvel if she should pine with longing in this solitude, and even\nsuffer physically from their severe privations?\n\nThe perception that love now supplied the place of all which she had lost\npleased him, but he forbade himself to expect that this condition of\naffairs could be lasting. Nothing save exaggerated self-conceit would\ninduce the hope. But he must have undervalued his own power of\nattraction--or Barine's love--for with each passing week the cheerful\nserenity of her disposition gained fresh steadfastness and charm. He,\ntoo, had the same experience; it was long since he had felt so vigorous,\nuntrammelled, and free from care. His sole regret was the impossibility\nof sharing the political life of the city at this critical period; and at\ntimes he felt some little anxiety concerning the fate and management of\nhis property, though, even if his estates were confiscated, he would\nstill retain a competence which he had left in the hands of a trustworthy\nmoney-changer. Barine shared everything that concerned him, even these\nmoods, and this led him to tell her about the affairs of the city and the\nstate, in which she had formerly taken little interest, his property in\nAlexandria and the provinces. With what glad appreciation she listened,\nwhen she went out with him from the northern anchorage on the open sea,\nor sat during long winter evenings making nets, an art which she had\nlearned from Dione!\n\nHer lute had been sent to her from the city, and what pleasure her\nsinging afforded her husband and herself; how joyously their hosts, old\nand young, listened to the melody!\n\nA few book-rolls had also come, and Dion enjoyed discussing their\ncontents with Barine. He himself read very little, for he was rarely\nindoors during the day. The fourth week after his arrival he was able to\naid, with arms whose muscles had been steeled in the pakestra, the men in\ntheir fishing, and Dionikos in his boat-building.\n\nThe close, constant, uninterrupted companionship of the married pair\nrevealed to each unexpected treasures in the other, which, perhaps, might\nhave remained forever concealed in city life. Here each was everything to\nthe other, and this undisturbed mutual life soon inspired that blissful\nconsciousness of inseparable union which usually appears only after\nyears, as the fairest fruit of a marriage founded on love.\n\nDoubtless there were hours when Barine longed to see her mother and\nothers who were dear to her, but the letters which arrived from time to\ntime prevented this yearning from becoming a source of actual pain.\n\nPrudence required them to restrict their intercourse with the city. But,\nwhenever Pyrrhus went to market, letters reached the island delivered at\nthe fish auction in the harbour by Anukis, Charmian's Nubian maid, to the\nold freedman, who had become her close friend.\n\nSo the time came when Dion could say without self-deception that Barine\nwas content in this solitude, and that his love and companionship\nsupplied the place of the exciting, changeful life of the capital. Though\nletters came from her mother, sister, or Charmian, her grandfather,\nGorgias, or Archibius, not one transformed the wish to leave her desolate\nhiding-place into actual homesickness, but each brought fresh subjects\nfor conversation, and among them many which, by arousing the interest of\nboth, united them more firmly.\n\nThe second month of their flight a letter arrived from Archibius, in\nwhich he informed them that they might soon form plans for their return,\nfor Alexas, the Syrian, had proved a malicious traitor. He had not\nperformed the commission entrusted to him of winning Herod to Antony's\ncause, but treacherously deserted his patron and remained with the King\nof the Jews. When, with unprecedented shamelessness, he sought Octavianus\nto sell the secrets of his Egyptian benefactor, he was arrested and\nexecuted in his own home, Laodicea.\n\nNow, their friend continued, Cleopatra's eyes as well as her husband's\nwere opened to the true character of Barine's most virulent accuser. The\ninfluence of Philostratus, too, was of course destroyed by his brother's\ninfamous deed. Yet they must wait a little longer; for Caesarion had\njoined the Ephebi, and Antyllus had been invested with the toga virilis.\nThey could now undertake many things independently, and Caesarion often\nmade remarks which showed that he would not cease to lay plots for\nBarine.\n\nDion feared nothing from the royal boy on his own account, but for his\nwife's sake he dared not disregard his friend's warning. This was hard;\nfor though he still felt happy on the island, he longed to install the\nwoman he loved in his own house, and every impulse of his nature urged\nhim to be present at the meetings of the Council in these fateful times.\nTherefore he was more than ready to risk returning to the city, but\nBarine entreated him so earnestly not to exchange the secure happiness\nthey enjoyed here for a greater one, behind which might lurk the heaviest\nmisfortune, that he yielded. Another letter from Charmian soon proved the\nabsolute necessity of continuing to exercise caution.\n\nEven from the island they could perceive that everything known as festal\npleasure was rife in Alexandria, and bore along in its mad revelry the\ncourt and the citizens. When the wind blew from the south, it brought\nsingle notes of inspiring music or indistinct sounds of the wildest\npopular rejoicing.\n\nThe fisherman's daughter, Dione, often called them to the strand to\nadmire the galleys adorned with fabulous splendour, garlanded with\nflowers, and echoing with the music of lutes and the melody of songs.\nSails of purple embroidered silk bore the vessels over the smooth tide.\nOnce the watchers even distinguished, upon a barge richly adorned with\ngilded carving, young female slaves who, with floating hair and\ntransparent sea-green robes, handled, in the guise of Nereids, light\nsandal-wood oars with golden blades. Often the breeze bore to the island\nthe perfumes which surrounded the galleys, and on calm nights the\nmagnificent ships, surrounded by the magical illumination of many-hued\nlamps, swept across the mirror-like surface of the waves, Among the\nvoyagers were gods, goddesses, and heroes who, standing or reclining in\nbeautiful groups, represented scenes from the myths and history. On the\ndeck of the Queen's superb vessel guests crowned with wreaths lay on\npurple couches, under garlands of flowers, eating choice viands and\ndraining golden wine-cups.\n\nOn other nights the illumination of the shore of the Bruchium rendered it\nas bright as day. The huge dome of the Serapeum on the Rhakotis, covered\nwith lamps, towered above the flat roofs of the city like the starry\nfirmament of a smaller world which had descended to earth. Every temple\nand palace was transformed into a giant candelabrum, and the rows of\nlamps on the quay stretched like tendrils of light from the dazzlingly\nilluminated marble Temple of Poseidon to the palace at Lochias, steeped\nin radiance.\n\nWhen Pyrrhus or one of his sons returned from market they described the\nfestivals and shows, banquets, races, and endless pleasure excursions\narranged by the court, which made the citizens fairly hold their breath.\nIt was a prosperous time for the fishermen; the Queen's cooks took all\ntheir wares and paid a liberal price.\n\nJanuary had come, when another letter arrived from Charmian. Dion and\nBarine had watched in vain for any unusual events on Cleopatra's birth\nday, but on Antony's, a few days later, there was plenty of music and\nshouting, and in the evening an unusually magnificent illumination.\n\nTwo days after, this letter was delivered to Pyrrhus by his dusky friend\nAnukis.\n\nHer inquiry whether he thought it prudent to convey visitors to his\nguests was answered in the negative, for since Octavianus had been in\nAsia, the harbour swarmed with the boats of spies, and a single act of\nimprudence might bring ruin.\n\nCharmian's letter, too, was even better calculated to curb Dion's\nincreasing desire to return home than the fisherman's warning.\n\nTrue, the beginning contained good news of Barine's relatives, and then\ninformed Dion that his uncle, the Keeper of the Seal, was fairly\nrevelling in bliss. His inventive gifts were taxed more than ever. Every\nday brought a festival, every night magnificent banquets. One spectacle,\nexcursion, or hunting party followed another. In the theatres, the Odeum,\nthe Hippodrome, no more brilliant performances, races, naval battles,\ngladiatorial struggles, and combats between beasts had been given, even\nbefore Actium. Dion himself had formerly attended the entertainments of\nthose who belonged to the court circle, the society of \"Inimitable\nLivers.\" It had been revived again, but Antony called them the \"Comrades\nof Death.\" This was significant. Every one knows that the end is drawing\nnear, and imitates the Pharaoh to whom the oracle promised six years of\nlife, and who convicted it of falsehood and made them twelve by carousing\nduring the night also.\n\nThe Queen's meeting with her husband, which she had previously reported,\nhad been magnificent. \"At that time,\" she wrote, \"we hoped that a more\nnoble life would begin, and Mark Antony, awakened and elevated by his\nrekindled love, would regain his former heroic power; but we were\nmistaken; Cleopatra, it is true, toiled unceasingly, but her lover with\nhis enormous bunch of roses gave the signal for the maddest revelry which\nthe imagination of the wildest devotee of pleasure could conceive. The\nperformances of the Inimitable Livers were far surpassed by those of the\n\"Comrades of Death.\"\n\n\"Antony is at their head, and he, whose giant frame resists even the most\nunprecedented demands, succeeds in stupefying himself and forgetting the\nimpending ruin. When he comes to us after a night of revelry his eyes\nsparkle as brightly, his deep voice has as clear a ring, as at the\nbeginning of the banquet. The Queen is his goddess; and who could remain\nunmoved when the giant bows obediently to the nod of his delicate\nsovereign, and devises and offers the most unprecedented things to win a\nsmile from her lips? The changeful, impetuous wooing of youth lies far\nbehind him, but his homage, which the Ephebi of today would perhaps term\nantiquated, has always seemed to me as if a mountain were bending before\na star. The stranger who sees her in his company believes her a happy\nwoman. Amid the fabulous radiance of the festal array, when all who\nsurround her admire, worship, and strew flowers in her path, one might\nbelieve that the old sunny days had returned; but when we are alone, how\nrarely I see her smile! Then she plans for the tomb which, under\nGorgias's direction, is rapidly rising, and considers with him the best\nmethod of rendering it an inaccessible place of retreat.\n\n\"She decided everything, down to the carving on the stone sarcophagi. In\naddition, there are to be rooms and chambers in the lower story for the\nreception of her treasures. Beneath them she has had corridors made for\nthe pitch and straw which, if the worst should come, are to be lighted.\nShe will then give to the flames the gold and silver, gems and jewels,\nebony and ivory, the costly spices--in short, all her valuables. The\npearls alone are worth many kingdoms. Who can blame her if she prefers to\ndestroy them rather than leave them for the foe\"\n\n\"The garden in which you grew up, Barine, is now the scene of the happy,\nbusy life led by Alexander and the twins. There, under my brother's\nguidance, they frolic, build, and dig. Cleopatra goes to it whenever she\nlongs for repose after the pursuit of pleasures which have lost their\nzest.\n\n\"When, the day before yesterday, Antony, crowned with ivy as the new\nDionysus, drove up the Street of the King in the golden chariot drawn by\ntamed lions, to bring her, the new Isis, from the Lochias in a lotus\nflower made of silver and white paste, drawn by four snow-white steeds,\nshe pointed to the glittering train and said: 'Between the quiet of the\nphilosopher's garden, where I began my life and still feel most at ease,\nand the grave, where nothing disturbs my last repose, stretches the\nStreet of the King, with this deafening tumult, this empty splendour. It\nis mine.'\n\n\"O child, it was very different in former days! She loved Mark Antony\nwith passionate ardour. He was the first man in the world, and yet he\nbowed before the supremacy of her will. The longing of the awakening\nheart, the burning ambition which already kindled the soul of the child,\nhad alike found satisfaction, and the world beheld how the mortal woman,\nCleopatra, for her lover and herself, could steep this meagre life with\nthe joys of the immortals. He was grateful for them, and the most\ngenerous of men laid at the feet of the 'Great Queen of the East' the\nmight of Rome and the kings of two quarters of the globe.\n\n\"These years were spent by both in one long revel. His marriage with\nOctavia brought the first awakening. It was hard and painful. He had not\ndeserted Cleopatra for a woman's sake, but on account of his endangered\npower and sovereignty. But the unloved Octavia constrained him to look up\nto her with respectful admiration--nay, she became dear to him.\n\n\"A fierce battle for him and his heart arose between the two. It was\nfought with very different weapons, and Cleopatra conquered. The revel,\nthe dream began again. Then came Actium, the disenchantment, the\nawakening, the fall, the flight from the world. Our object was not to let\nhim relapse into intoxication, to rouse the hero's strength and courage\nfrom their slumber, render him for love's sake a fellow-combatant in the\ncommon cause.\n\n\"But he had become accustomed to see in her the giver of ecstasy. The\nonly thing that he still desired was to drain the cup of pleasure in her\nsociety till all was over. She sees this, grieves over it, and leaves no\nmeans of rousing him to fresh energy untried; yet how rarely he rallies\nhis powers to earnest labour!\n\n\"While she is fortifying the mouths of the Nile and the frontiers of the\ncountry, building ship after ship, arming and negotiating, she can not\nresist him when he summons her to new pleasures.\n\n\"Though so many of the traits which rendered him great and noble have\nvanished, she can not give up the old love and clings steadfastly to him\nbecause, because--I know not why. A woman's loving heart does not\nquestion motives and laws. Besides, he is the father of her children and,\nin playing with them, he regains the old joyousness of mood so\nenthralling to the heart.\n\n\"Since Archibius has taken charge of them, they can dispense with\nEuphronion, their tutor. The clever man knows Rome, Octavianus, and those\nwho surround him, so he was chosen as an envoy. His object was to induce\nthe conqueror to transfer the sovereignty of Egypt to the boys Antonius\nHelios, and Alexander, but Caesar vouchsafed no answer to the mediator in\nAntony's affairs--nay, did not even grant him an audience.\n\n\"To Cleopatra Octavianus promised friendly treatment, and the fulfilment\nof her wish concerning the boys if--and now came the repetition of the\nold demand--she would put Antony out of the world or deliver him into his\nhands.\n\n\"This demand, which contains base treachery, was impossible for her noble\nsoul. Since she had resolved to build the tomb, granting it became\nimpossible, yet Octavianus made every effort to tempt her to the base\ndeed. True, the death of this one man would have spared much bloodshed.\nThe Caesar knows how to choose his tools. He sent here as negotiator a\nclever young man, who possessed great charms of mind and person. No plan\nto prejudice the Queen against her husband and persuade her to commit the\ntreachery was left untried. He went so far as to assure Cleopatra that in\nformer years she had won the Caesar's heart, and that he still loved her.\nShe accepted these assurances at their true value and remained steadfast.\n\n\"Antony at first paid no heed to the intriguer. But when he learned what\nmeans he employed, and especially how he made use of the surrender of one\nof Caesar's murderers, which he himself had long regretted, to brand him\nas an ungrateful traitor, he would not have been Mark Antony if he had\naccepted it quietly. He was completely his old self when he ordered the\nsmooth fellow--who, however, had come as the ambassador of the mighty\nvictor--to be scourged, sent him back to Rome, and wrote a letter to\nOctavianus, in which he complained of the man's arrogance and\npresumption, adding--spite of my heavy heart I can not help smiling when\nI think of it--that misfortune had rendered him unusually irritable; yet\nif his action perhaps displeased Caesar, he might treat his freedman\nHipparchus, who was in his power, as he had served Thyrsus!\n\n\"You see that his gay arrogance has not deserted him. Trouble slips away\nfrom him as rain is shaken from the coarse military cloak which he wore\nin the Parthian war, and therefore it cannot exert its purifying power.\n\n\"When we consider that, a few years ago, this man, as it were, doubled\nhimself when peril was most threatening, his conduct now, on the eve of\nthe decisive struggle, is intelligible only to those who know him as we\ndo. If he fights, he will no longer do so to save himself, or even to\nconquer, but to die an honourable death. If he still enjoys the pleasures\noffered, he believes that he can thus mitigate for himself the burden of\ndefeat, and diminish the grandeur of the conqueror's victory. In the eyes\nof the world, at least, a man who can still revel like Antony is only\nhalf vanquished. Yet the lofty tone of his mind was lowered. The\nsurrender of the murderer of Caesar--his name was Turullius--proves it.\n\n\"And this, Barine--tell your husband so--this is what fills me with\nanxiety and compels me to entreat you not to think of returning home yet.\n\n\"Antony is now the jovial companion of his son, and permits Antyllus to\nshare all his own pleasures. Of course, he heard of Caesarion's passion,\nand is disposed to help the poor fellow. He has often said that nothing\nwould better serve to rouse the dreamer from torpor than your charming\nvivacity. As the earth could scarcely have swallowed you up, you would be\nfound; he, too, should be glad to hear you sing again. I know that search\nwill be made for you.\n\n\"How imperiously this state of affairs requires you to exercise caution\nneeds no explanation. On the other hand, you may find comfort in the\ntidings that Cleopatra intends to send Caesarion with his tutor Rhodon to\nEthiopia, by way of the island of Philae. Archibius heard through\nTimagenes that Octavianus considers the son of Caesar, whose face so\nwonderfully resembles his father's, a dangerous person, and this opinion\nis the boy's death-warrant. Antyllus, too, is going on a journey. His\ndestination is Asia, where he is to seek to propitiate Octavianus and\nmake him new offers. As you know, he was betrothed to his daughter Julia.\nThe Queen ceased long ago to believe in the possibility of victory, yet,\nspite of all the demands of the \"Comrades of Death\" and her own cares,\nshe toils unweariedly in preparing for the defence of the country. She is\ndoubtless the only member of that society who thinks seriously of the\napproaching end.\n\n\"Now that the tomb is rising, she ponders constantly upon death. She, who\nwas taught by Epicurus to strive for freedom from pain and is so\nsensitive to the slightest bodily suffering, is still seeking a path\nwhich, with the least agony, will lead to the eternal rest for which she\nlongs. Iras and the younger pupils of Olympus are aiding her. The old man\nfurnishes all sorts of poisons, which she tries upon various\nanimals--nay, recently even on criminals sentenced to death. All these\nexperiments seem to prove that the bite of the uraeus serpent, whose\nimage on the Egyptian crown symbolizes the sovereign's instant power over\nlife and death, stills the heart most swiftly and with the least\nsuffering.\n\n\"How terrible these things are! What pain it causes to see the being one\nloves most, the mother of the fairest children, so cruelly heighten the\nanguish of parting, choose death, as it were, for a constant companion,\namid the whirl of the gayest amusements! She daily looks all his terrors\nin the face, yet with proud contempt turns her back upon the bridge which\nmight perhaps enable her for a time to escape the monster. This is grand,\nworthy of her, and never have I loved her more tenderly.\n\n\"You, too, must think of her kindly. She deserves it. A noble heart which\nsees itself forced to pity a foe, easily forgives; and was she ever your\nenemy?\n\n\"I have written a long, long letter to solace your seclusion from the\nworld and relieve my own heart. Have patience a little while longer. The\ntime is not far distant when Fate itself will release you from exile. How\noften your relatives, Archibius and Gorgias, whom I now see frequently in\nthe presence of the Queen, long to visit you!--but they, too, believe\nthat it might prove a source of danger.\"\n\nThe warnings in this letter were confirmed by another from Archibius, and\nsoon after they heard that Caesarion had really sailed up the Nile for\nEthiopia with his tutor Rhodon, and Antyllus had been sent to Asia to\nvisit Octavianus. The latter had received him, it is true; but sent him\nhome without making any pledges.\n\nThese tidings were not brought by letter, but by Gorgias himself, whose\nvisit surprised them one evening late in March.\n\nRarely had a guest received a more joyous welcome. When he entered the\nbare room, Barine was making a net and telling the fisherman's daughter\nDione the story of the wanderings of Ulysses. Dion, too, listened\nattentively, now and then correcting or explaining her descriptions,\nwhile carving a head of Poseidon for the prow of a newly built boat.\n\nAs Gorgias unexpectedly crossed the threshold, the dim light of the lamp\nfed by kiki-oil seemed transformed into sunshine. How brightly their eyes\nsparkled, how joyous were their exclamations of welcome and surprise!\nThen came questions, answers, news! Gorgias was obliged to share the\nfamily supper, which had only waited the return of the father who had\nbrought the guest.\n\nThe fresh oysters, langustae, and other dishes served tasted more\ndelicious to the denizen of the city than the most delicious banquets of\nthe \"Comrades of Death\" to which he was now frequently invited by the\nQueen.\n\nAll that Pyrrhus said voluntarily and told his sons in reply to their\nquestions was so sensible and related to matters which, because they were\nnew to Gorgias, seemed so fascinating that, when Dion's good wine was\nserved, he declared that if Pyrrhus would receive him he, too, would\nsearch for pursuers and be banished here.\n\nWhen the three again sat alone before the plain clay mixing vessel it\nseemed to the lonely young couple as if the best part of the city life\nwhich they had left behind had found its way to them, and what did they\nnot have to say to one another! Dion and Barine talked of their hermit\nlife, Gorgias of the Queen and the tomb, which was at the same time a\ntreasure chamber. The slanting walls were built as firmly as if they were\nintended to last for centuries and defy a violent assault. The centre of\nthe lower story was formed by a lofty hall of vast dimensions, in whose\nmidst were the large marble sarcophagi. Men were working busily upon the\nfigures in relief intended for the decoration of the sides and lids. This\nhall, whose low arched ceiling was supported by three pairs of heavy\ncolumns, was furnished like a reception-room. The couches, candelabra,\nand altars were already being made. Charmian had kept the fugitives well\ninformed. In the subterranean chambers at the side of the hall, and in\nthe second story, which could not be commenced until the ceiling was\ncompleted, store-rooms were to be made, and below and beside them were\npassages for ventilation and the storage of combustible materials.\n\nGorgias regretted that he could not show his friend the hall, which was\nperhaps the handsomest and most costly he had ever created. The noblest\nmaterial-brown porphyry, emerald-green serpentine, and the dark varieties\nof marble-had been used, and the mosaic and brass doors, which were\nnearing completion, were masterpieces of Alexandrian art. To have all\nthis destroyed was a terrible thought, but even more unbearable was that\nof its object--to receive the body of the Queen.\n\nAgain rapturous admiration of this greatest and noblest of women led\nGorgias to enthusiastic rhapsodies, until Dion exercised his office of\nsoberer, and Barine asked tidings of her mother, her grandparents, and\nher sister. There was nothing but good news to be told. True, the\narchitect had to wage a daily battle with the old philosopher, who termed\nit an abuse of hospitality to remain so long at his friend's with his\nwhole family; but thus far Gorgias had won the victory, even against\nBerenike, who wished to take her father and his household to her own\nhome.\n\nCleopatra had purchased the house and garden of Didymus at thrice their\nvalue, the architect added. He was now a wealthy man, and had\ncommissioned him to build a new mansion. The land facing the sea and near\nthe museum had been found, but the handsome residence would not be\ncompleted until summer. The dry Egyptian air would have permitted him to\nroof it sooner, but there were many of Helena's wishes--most of them very\nsensible ones--to be executed.\n\nBarine and Dion glanced significantly at each other; but the architect,\nperceiving it, exclaimed: \"Your mute language is intelligible enough, and\nI confess that for five months Helena has seemed to me the most\nattractive of maidens. I see, too, that she has some regard for me. But\nas soon as I stand before her--the Queen, I mean--and hear her voice, it\nseems as if a tempest swept away every thought of Helena, and it is not\nin my nature to deceive any one. How can I woo a girl whom I so deeply\nhonour--your sister, Barine--when the image of another rules my soul?\"\n\nDion reminded him of his own words that the Queen was loved only as a\ngoddess and, without waiting for his reply, turned the conversation to\nother topics.\n\nIt was three hours after midnight when Pyrrhus warned Gorgias that it was\ntime for departure. When the fisherman's fleetest boat was at last\nbearing him back to the city he wondered whether girls who, before\nmarriage, lived like Helena in undisturbed seclusion, would really be\nbetter wives and more content with every lot than the much-courted\nBarine, whom Dion had led from the gayest whirl of life in the capital to\nthe most desolate solitude.\n\nThis delightful evening was followed by a day of excitement and grave\nanxiety. It had been necessary to conceal the young couple from the\ncollector's officials, who took from Pyrrhus part of his last year's\nsavings, and the large new boat which he used to go out on the open sea.\nThe preparations for war required large sums; all vessels suitable for\nthe purpose were seized for the fleet, and all residents of the city and\ncountry shared the same fate as Pyrrhus.\n\nEven the temple treasures were confiscated, and yet no one could help\nsaying to himself that the vast sums which, through these pitiless\nextortions, flowed into the treasury, were used for the pleasures of the\ncourt as well as for the equipment of the fleet and the army.\n\nYet so great was the people's love for the Queen, so high their regard\nfor the independence of Egypt, so bitter their hate of Rome, that there\nwas no rebellion.\n\nHow earnestly Cleopatra, amid all the extravagant revels, from which she\ncould not too frequently absent herself, toiled to advance the military\npreparations, could be seen even by the exiles from their cliff; for work\nin two dock-yards was continued day and night, and the harbour was filled\nwith vessels. Ships of war were continually moving to and fro, and from\nthe Serpent Island they witnessed constantly, often by starlight, the\ndrilling of the oarsmen and of whole squadrons upon the open sea.\nSometimes a magnificent state galley appeared, on whose deck was Antony,\nwho inspected the hastily equipped fleet to make the newly recruited\nsailors one of those kindling speeches in which he was a master hard to\nsurpass. Two sons of Pyrrhus were now numbered in the crews of the\nrecently built war ships. They had been impressed into the service in\nApril, and though Dion had placed a large sum at their father's disposal\nto secure their release, the attempt was unsuccessful.\n\nSo there had been sorrow and tears in the contented little colony of\nhuman beings on the lonely cliff, and when Dionysus and Dionichos had a\nday's leave of absence to visit their relatives, they complained of the\ncruel haste with which the young men were drilled and wearied to\nexhaustion, and spoke of the sons of citizens and peasants who had been\ndragged from their villages, their parents, and their business to be\ntrained for seamen. There was great indignation among them, and they\nlistened only too readily to the agitators who whispered how much better\nthey would have fared on the galleys of Octavianus.\n\nPyrrhus entreated his sons not to join any attempt at mutiny; the women,\non the contrary, would have approved anything which promised to release\nthe youths from their severe service, and their bright cheerfulness was\ntransformed into anxious depression. Barine, too, was no longer the same.\nShe had lost her joyous activity, her eyes were often wet with tears, and\nshe moved with drooping head as if some heavy care oppressed her.\n\nWas it the heat of April, with its desert winds, which had brought the\ntransformation? Had longing for the changeful, exciting life of former\ndays at last overpowered her? Was solitude becoming unendurable? Was her\nhusband's love no longer sufficient to replace the many pleasures she had\nsacrificed?--No! It could not be that; never had she gazed with more\ndevoted tenderness into Dion's face than when entirely alone with him in\nshady nooks. She who in such hours looked the very embodiment of\nhappiness and contentment, certainly was neither ill nor sorrowful.\n\nDion, on the contrary, held his head high early and late, and appeared as\nproud and self-conscious as though life was showing him its fairest face.\nYet he had heard that his estates had been sequestrated, and that he owed\nit solely to the influence of Archibius and his uncle, that his property,\nlike that of so many others, had not been added to the royal treasures.\nBut what disaster could he not have speedily vanquished in these days?\n\nA great joy--the greatest which the immortals can bestow upon human\nbeings--was dawning for him and his young wife, and in May the women on\nthe island shared her blissful hope.\n\nPyrrhus brought from the city an altar and a marble statue of Ilythyia,\nthe Goddess of Birth, called by the Romans Lucina, which his friend\nAnukis had given him, in Charmian's name, for the young wife. She had\nagain spoken of the serpents which lived in such numbers in the\nneighbouring islands, and her question whether it would be difficult to\ncapture one alive was answered by the freedman in the negative.\n\nThe image of the goddess and the altar were erected beside the other\nsanctuaries, and how often the stone was anointed by Barine and the women\nof the fisherman's family!\n\nDion vowed to the goddess a beautiful temple on the cliff and in the city\nif she would be gracious to his beloved young wife.\n\nWhen, in June, the noonday sun blazed most fiercely, the fisherman\nbrought to the cliff Helena, Barine's sister, and Chloris, Dion's nurse,\nwho had been a faithful assistant of his mother, and afterwards managed\nthe female slaves of the household.\n\nHow joyously and gratefully Barine held out her arms to her sister! Her\nmother had been prevented from coming only by the warning that her\ndisappearance would surely attract the attention of the spies. And the\nlatter were very alert; for Mark Antony had not yet given up the pursuit\nof the singer, nor had the attorney Philostratus recalled the\nproclamation offering two talents for the capture of Dion, and both the\nlatter's palace and Berenike's house were constantly watched.\n\nIt seemed more difficult for the quiet Helena to accommodate herself to\nthis solitude than for her gayer-natured sister. Plainly as she showed\nher love for Barine, she often lapsed into reverie, and every evening she\nwent to the southern side of the cliff and gazed towards the city, where\nher grandparents doubtless sorely missed her, spite of the careful\nattention bestowed upon them in Gorgias's house.\n\nEight days had passed since her arrival, and life in this wilderness\nseemed more distasteful than on the first and the second; the longing for\nher grandparents, too, appeared to increase; for that day she had gone to\nthe shore, even under the burning rays of the noonday sun, to gaze\ntowards the city.\n\nHow dearly she loved the old people!\n\nBut Dion's conjecture that the tears sparkling in Helena's eyes when she\nentered their room at dusk were connected with another resident of the\ncapital, spite of his wife's indignant denial, appeared to be correct;\nfor, a short time after, clear voices were heard in front of the-house,\nand when a deep, hearty laugh rang out, Dion started up, exclaiming,\n\"Gorgias never laughs in that way, except when he has had some unusual\npiece of good fortune!\"\n\nHe hurried out as he spoke, and gazed around; but, notwithstanding the\nbright moonlight, he could see nothing except Father Pyrrhus on his way\nback to the anchorage.\n\nBut Dion's ears were keen, and he fancied he heard subdued voices on the\nother side of the dwelling. He followed the sound without delay and, when\nhe turned the corner of the building, stopped short in astonishment,\nexclaiming as a low cry rose close before him:\n\n\"Good-evening, Gorgias! I'll see you later. I won't interrupt you.\"\n\nA few rapid steps took him back to Barine, and as he whispered, \"I saw\nHelena out in the moonlight, soothing her longing for her grandparents in\nGorgias's arms,\" she clapped her hands and said, smiling:\n\n\"That's the way one loses good manners in this solitude. To disturb the\nfirst meeting of a pair of lovers! But Gorgias treated us in the same way\nin Alexandria, so he is now paid in his own coin.\"\n\nThe architect soon entered the room, with Helena leaning on his arm. Hour\nby hour he had missed her more and more painfully, and on the eighth day\nfound it impossible to endure life's burden longer without her. He now\nprotested that he could approach her mother and grandparents as a suitor\nwith a clear conscience; for on the third day after Helena's departure\nthe relation between him and the Queen had changed. In Cleopatra's\npresence the image of the granddaughter of Didymus became even more vivid\nthan that of the peerless sovereign had formerly been in Helena's.\nOutside of the pages of poetry he had never experienced longing like that\nwhich had tortured him during the past few days.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThis time the architect could spend only a few hours on the Serpent\nIsland, for affairs in the city were beginning to wear a very serious\naspect, and the building of the monument was pushed forward even during\nthe night. The interior of the first story was nearly completed and the\nrough portion of the second was progressing. The mosaic workers, who were\nmaking the floor of the great hall, had surpassed themselves. It was\nimpossible to wait longer for the sculptures which were to adorn the\nwalls. At present slabs of polished black marble were to occupy the\nplaces intended for bronze reliefs; the utmost haste was necessary.\n\nOctavianus had already reached Pelusium; even if Seleukus, the commander\nof the garrison, held the strong fortress a long time, a part of the\nhostile army might appear before Alexandria the following week.\n\nA considerable force, however, was ready to meet him. The fleet seemed\nequal to that of the enemy; the horsemen whom Antony had led before the\nQueen would delight the eye of any one versed in military affairs; and\nthe Imperator hoped much from the veterans who had served under him in\nformer times, learned to know his generosity and open hand in the hour of\nprosperity, and probably had scarcely forgotten the eventful days when he\nhad cheerfully and gaily shared their perils and privations.\n\nHelena remained on the cliff, and her longing for the old couple had\nmaterially diminished. Her hands moved nimbly, and her cheerful glance\nshowed that the lonely life on the island was beginning to unfold its\ncharms to her.\n\nThe young husband, however, had grown very uneasy. He concealed it before\nthe women, but old Pyrrhus often had much difficulty in preventing his\nmaking a trip to the city which might imperil, on the eve of the final\ndecision, the result of their long endurance and privation. Dion had\noften wished to set sail with his wife for a great city in Syria or\nGreece, but fresh and mighty obstacles had deterred him. A special danger\nlay in the fact that every large vessel was thoroughly searched before it\nleft the harbour, and it was impossible to escape from it without passing\nthrough the narrow straits east of the Pharos or the opening in the\nHeptastadium, both of which were easily guarded. The calm moderation that\nusually distinguished the young counsellor had been transformed into\nfeverish restlessness, and the heart of his faithful old monitor had also\nlost its poise; for an encounter between the fleet in which his sons\nserved and that of Octavianus was speedily expected.\n\nOne day he returned from the city greatly excited. Pelusium was said to\nhave fallen.\n\nWhen he ascended the cliff he found everything quiet. No one, not even\nDione, came to meet him.\n\nWhat had happened here?\n\nHad the fugitives been discovered and dragged with his family to the city\nto be thrown into prison, perhaps sent to the stone quarries?\n\nDeadly pale, but erect and composed, he walked towards the house. He owed\nto Dion and his father the greatest blessing in life, liberty, and the\nfoundation of everything else he possessed. But if his fears were\nverified, if he was bereft of friends and property, even as a lonely\nbeggar he might continue to enjoy his freedom. If, for the sake of those\nto whom he owed his best possession, he must surrender the rest, it was\nhis duty to bear fate patiently.\n\nIt was still light.\n\nEven when he had approached very near the house he heard no sound save\nthe joyous barking of his wolf-hound, Argus, which leaped upon him.\n\nHe now laid his hand upon the lock of the door--but it was flung open\nfrom the inside.\n\nDion had seen him coming and, enraptured by the new happiness with which\nthis day had blessed him, he flung himself impetuously on the breast of\nhis faithful friend, exclaiming: \"A boy, a splendid boy! We will call him\nPyrrhus.\"\n\nBright tears of joy streamed down the freedman's face and fell on his\ngrey beard; and when his wife came towards him with her finger on her\nlips, he whispered in a tremulous voice: \"When I brought them here you\nwere afraid that the city people would drag us into ruin, but\nnevertheless you received them as they deserved to be, and--he's going to\nname him Pyrrhus--and now!--What has a poor fellow like me done to have\nsuch great and beautiful blessings fall to my lot?\"\n\n\"And I--I?\" sobbed his wife. \"And the child, the darling little\ncreature!\"\n\nThis day of sunny happiness was followed by others of quiet joy, of the\npurest pleasure, yet mingled with the deepest anxiety. They also brought\nmany an hour in which Helena found an opportunity to show her prudence,\nwhile old Chloris and the fisherman's wife aided her by their experience.\n\nEvery one, down to the greybeard whose name the little one bore, declared\nthat there had never been a lovelier young mother than Barine or a\nhandsomer child than the infant Pyrrhus; but Dion could no longer endure\nto remain on the cliff.\n\nA thousand things which he had hitherto deemed insignificant and allowed\nto pass unheeded now seemed important and imperatively in need of his\npersonal attention. He was a father, and any negligence might be harmful\nto his son.\n\nWith his bronzed complexion and long hair and beard he required little\naid to disguise him from his friends. In the garments shabby by long use,\nand with his delicate hands calloused by work in the dock-yard, any one\nwould have taken him for a real fisherman.\n\nPerhaps it was foolish, but the desire to show himself in the character\nof a father to Barine's mother and grandparents and to Gorgias seemed\nworth risking a slight danger; so, without informing Barine, who was now\nable to walk about her room, he set out for the city after sunset on the\nlast day of July.\n\nHe knew that Octavianus was encamped in the Hippodrome east of\nAlexandria. The white mounds which had risen there had been recognized as\ntents, even from the Serpent Island. Pyrrhus had returned in the\nafternoon with tidings that Antony's mounted troops had defeated those of\nOctavianus. This time the news of victory could be trusted, for the\npalace at Lochias was illuminated for a festival and when Dion landed\nthere was a great bustle on the quay. One shouted to another that all\nwould be well. Mark Antony was his old self again. He had fought like a\nhero.\n\nMany who yesterday had cursed him, to-day mingled their voices in the\nshouts of \"Evoe!\" which rang out for the new Dionysus, who had again\nproved his claim to godship.\n\nThe late visitor found the grandparents alone in the house of Gorgias.\nThey had been informed of Barine's new happiness long before. Now they\nrejoiced with Dion, and wanted to send at once for their host and future\nson-in-law, who was in the city attending a meeting of the Ephebi,\nalthough he had ceased some time ago to be a member of their company. But\nDion wished to greet him among the youths who had invited the architect\nto give them his aid in deciding the question of the course they were to\npursue in the impending battle.\n\nYet he did not leave the old couple immediately; he was expecting two\nvisitors--Barine's mother and Charmian's Nubian maid who, since the birth\nof little Pyrrhus, had come to the philosopher's every evening. The\nformer's errand was to ask whether any news of the mother and child had\nbeen received during the day; the latter, to get the letters which she\ndelivered the next morning at the fish-market to her friend Pyrrhus or\nhis sons.\n\nAnukis was the first to appear. She relieved her sympathizing heart by a\nbrief expression of congratulations; but, gladly as she would have\nlistened to the most minute details concerning the beloved young mother\nfrom the lips of Dion himself, she repressed her own wishes for her\nmistress's sake, and returned to Charmian as quickly as possible to\ninform her of the arrival of the unexpected guest.\n\nBerenike bore her new dignity of grandmother with grateful joy, yet\nto-night she came oppressed by a grave anxiety, which was not solely due\nto her power of imagining gloomy events. Her brother Arius and his sons\nwere concealed in the house of a friend, for they seemed threatened by a\nserious peril. Hitherto Antony had generously borne the philosopher no\nill-will on the score of his intimate relations with Octavianus; but now\nthat Octavianus was encamped outside the city, the house of the man who,\nduring the latter's years of education, had been his mentor and\ncounsellor, and later a greatly valued friend, was watched, by Mardion's\norders, by the Scythian guard. He and his family were forbidden to enter\nthe city, and his escape to his friend had been effected under cover of\nthe darkness and with great danger.\n\nThe anxious woman feared the worst for her brother if Mark Antony should\nconquer, and yet, with her whole heart, she wished the Queen to gain the\nvictory. She, who always feared the worst, saw in imagination the\nfortunes of war change--and there was reason for the belief. The bold\ngeneral who had gained so many victories, and whom the defeat of Actium\nhad only humbled, was said to have regained his former elasticity. He had\ndashed forward at the head of his men with the heroic courage of former\ndays--nay, with reckless impetuosity. Rumour reported that, with the huge\nsword he wielded, he had dealt from his powerful charger blows as\nterrible as those inflicted five-and-twenty years before when, not far\nfrom the same spot, he struck Archelaus on the head. The statement that,\nin his golden armour, with the gold helmet framing his bearded face, he\nresembled his ancestor Herakles, was confirmed by Charmian, who had been\nborne quickly hither by a pair of the Queen's swift horses. Cleopatra\nmight need her soon, yet she had left the Lochias to question the father\nabout many things concerning the young mother and her boy, who was\nalready dear to her as the first grandson of the man whose suit, it is\ntrue, she had rejected, but to whom she owed the delicious consciousness\nof having loved and been loved in the springtime of life.\n\nDion found her changed. The trying months which she had described in her\nletters to Barine had completely blanched her grey hair, her cheeks were\nsunken, and a deep line between her mouth and nose gave her pleasant face\na sorrowful expression. Besides, she seemed to have been weeping and, in\nfact, heart-rending events had just occurred.\n\nShe had stolen away from Lochias in the midst of a revel.\n\nAntony's victory was being celebrated. He himself presided at the\nbanquet. Again his head and breast were wreathed with a wealth of fresh\nleaves and superb flowers. At his side reclined Cleopatra, robed in\nlight-blue garments adorned with lotus-flowers which, like the little\ncoronet on her head, glittered with sapphires and pearls. Charmian said\nshe had rarely looked more beautiful. But she did not add that the Queen\nhad been obliged to have rouge applied to her pale, bloodless cheeks.\n\nIt was touching to see Antony after his return from the battle, still in\nhis suit of mail, clasp her in his arms as joyously as if he had won her\nback, a prize of victory, and with his vanished heroic power regained her\nand their mutual love. Her eyes, too, had been radiant with joy and, in\nthe elation of her heart, she had given the horseman who, for a deed of\nspecial daring, was presented to her, a helmet and coat of mail of solid\ngold.\n\nYet, even before the revel began, she had been forced to acknowledge to\nherself that the commencement of the end was approaching; for, a few\nhours after she had so generously rewarded the man, he had deserted to\nthe foe. Then Antony had challenged Octavianus to a duel, and received\nthe unfeeling reply that he would find many roads to death open.\n\nThis was the language of the cold-hearted foe, secure of superior power.\nHow sadly, too, she had been disappointed in the hope--that the veterans\nwho had served under Antony would desert their new commander at the first\nsummons and flock to his standard!--for all her husband's efforts in this\ndirection, spite of the bewitching power of his eloquence, failed, while\nevery hour brought tidings of the treacherous desertion from his army of\nindividual warriors and whole maniples. His foe deemed his cause so weak\nthat he did not even resist Mark Antony's attempts to win the soldiers by\npromises.\n\nFrom all these signs Cleopatra now saw plainly, in her lover's victory,\nonly the last flicker of a dying fire; but so long as it burned he should\nsee her follow its light.\n\nTherefore she had entered the festal hall with the victor of the day. She\nhad witnessed a strange festival. It began with tears and reminded\nCleopatra of the saying that she herself resembled a banquet served to\ncelebrate a victory before the battle was won. The cup-bearers had\nscarcely advanced to the guests with their golden vessels when Antony\nturned to them, exclaiming: \"Pour generously, men; perhaps to-morrow you\nwill serve another master!\"\n\nThen, unlike his usual self, he grew thoughtful and murmured under his\nbreath, \"And I shall probably be lying outside a corpse, a miserable\nnothing.\"\n\nLoud sobs from the cup-bearers and servants followed these words; but he\naddressed them calmly, assuring them that he would not take them into a\nbattle from which he expected an honourable death rather than rescue and\nvictory.\n\nAt this Cleopatra's tears flowed also. If this reckless man of pleasure,\nthis notorious spendthrift and disturber of the public peace, with his\ninsatiate desires, had inspired bitter hostility, few had gained the warm\nlove of so many hearts. One glance at his heroic figure; one memory of\nthe days when even his foes conceded that he was never greater than in\nthe presence of the most imminent peril, never more capable of awakening\nin others the hope of brighter times than amid the sorest privations; one\ntone of the orator's deep, resonant voice, which so often came from the\nheart and therefore gained hearts with such resistless power; the\nrecollection of numberless instances of the bright cheerfulness of his\nnature and his boundless generosity sufficiently explained the\nlamentations which burst forth at that banquet, the tears which\nflowed--tears of genuine feeling. They were also shed for the beautiful\nQueen who, unmindful of the spectators, rested her noble brow, with its\ncoronal of pearls, upon his mighty shoulder.\n\nBut the grief did not last long, for Mark Antony, shouted: \"Hence with\nmelancholy! We do not need the larva!\n\n   [At the banquets of the Egyptians a small figure in the shape of a\n   mummy was passed around to remind the guests that they, too, would\n   soon be in the same condition, and have no more time to enjoy life\n   and its pleasures. The Romans imitated this custom by sending the\n   larva, a statuette in the form of a skeleton, to make the round of\n   the revellers. The Greek love of beauty converted this ugly\n   scarecrow into a winged genius.]\n\nWe know, without its aid, that pleasure will soon be over!--Xuthus, a\njoyous festal song!--And you, Metrodor, lead the dancers! The first\nbeaker to the fairest, the best, the wisest, the most cherished, the most\nfervently beloved of women!\" As he spoke he waved his goblet aloft, the\nflute-player, Xuthus, beckoned to the chorus, and the dancer Metrodor, in\nthe guise of a butterfly, led forth a bevy of beautiful girls, who, in\nthe cloud of ample robes of transparent coloured bombyx which floated\naround them, executed the most graceful figures and now hovered like\nmists, now flitted to and fro as if borne on wings, affording the most\ncharming variety to the delighted spectators.\n\nThe \"Comrades of Death\" had again become companions in pleasure; and when\nCharmian, who did not lose sight of her mistress, noticed the sorrowful\nquiver of her lips and glided out of the circle of guests, the faithful\nNubian had approached to inform her of Dion's arrival.\n\nThen--but this she concealed from her friends--she hastened to her own\napartments to prepare to go out, and when Iras opened the door to enter\nher rooms she went to speak to her about the night attendance upon the\nQueen. But her niece had not perceived her; shaken by convulsive sobs,\nshe had pressed her face among the cushions of a couch, and there\nsuffered the fierce anguish which had stirred the inmost depths of her\nbeing to rave itself out with the full vehemence of her passionate\nnature. Charmian called her name and, weeping herself, ripened her arms\nto her, and for the first time since her return from Actium her sister's\ndaughter again sank upon her breast, and they held each other in a close\nembrace until Charmian's exclamation, \"With her, for her unto death!\" was\nanswered by Iras's \"To the tomb!\"\n\nThis was a word which, in many an hour of the silent night, had stirred\nthe soul of the woman who had been the youthful playmate of the Queen\nwho, with bleeding heart, sat below among the revellers at the noisy\nbanquet and forced her to ask the question: \"Is not your fate bound to\nhers? What can life offer you without her?\"\n\nNow, this word was spoken by other lips, and, like an echo of Iras's\nexclamation, came the answer: \"Unto death, like you, if she precedes us\nto the other world. Whatever may follow dying, nowhere shall she lack\nCharmian's hand and heart.\"\n\n\"Nor the love and service of Iras,\" was the answering assurance.\n\nSo they had parted, and the agitation of this fateful moment was still\nvisible in the features of the woman who had formerly sacrificed to her\nroyal playfellow her love, and now offered her life.\n\nWhen, ere leaving Gorgias's house, she bade her friend farewell, she\npressed Dion's hand with affectionate warmth and, as he accompanied her\nto the carriage, she informed him that, before the first encounter of the\ntroops, Archibius had taken the royal children to his estate of Irenia,\nwhere they were at present.\n\n\"Rarely has it been my fate to experience a more sorrowful hour than when\nI beheld the Queen, her heart torn with anguish, bid them fare well. What\nfate is impending over the dear ones, who are so worthy of the greatest\nhappiness? To see the twins and little Alexander recognized and saved\nfrom death and insult, and your boy in Barine's arms, is the last wish\nwhich I still cherish.\"\n\nOn returning to Lochias, Charmian had a long time to wait ere the Queen\nretired. She dreaded the mood in which she would leave the banquet. For\nmonths past Cleopatra had returned from the revels of the \"Comrades of\nDeath\" saddened to tears, or in a blaze of indignation. How must this\nlast banquet, which began so mournfully and continued with such reckless\nmirth, affect her?\n\nAt last, the second hour after midnight, Cleopatra appeared.\n\nCharmian believed that she must be the sport of some delusion, for the\nQueen's eyes which, when she had left her, were full of tears, now\nsparkled with the radiant light of joy and, as her friend took the crown\nfrom her head, she exclaimed:\n\n\"Why did you depart from the banquet so early? Perhaps it was the last,\nbut I remember no festival more brilliant. It was like the springtime of\nmy love. Mark Antony would have touched the heart of a stone statue by\nthat blending of manly daring and humble devotion which no woman can\nresist. As in former days, hours shrivelled into moments. We were again\nyoung, once more united. We were together here at Lochias to-night, and\nyet in distant years and other places. The notes of the singers, the\nmelodies of the musicians, the figures executed by the dancers, were lost\nupon us. We soared back, hand in hand, to a magic world, and the fairy\ndrama in the realms of the blessed, which passed before us in dazzling\nsplendour and blissful joy, was the dream which I loved best when a\nchild, and at the same time the happiest portion of the life of the Queen\nof Egypt.\n\n\"It began before the gate of the garden of Epicurus, and continued on the\nriver Cydnus. I again beheld myself on the golden barge, garlanded with\nwreaths of flowers, reclining on the purple couch with roses strewn\naround me and beneath my jewelled sandals. A gentle breeze swelled the\nsilken sails; my female companions raised their clear voices in song to\nthe accompaniment of lutes; the perfumes floating around us were borne by\nthe wind to the shore, conveying the tidings that the bliss believed by\nmortals to be reserved for the gods alone was drawing near. And even as\nhis heart and his enraptured senses yielded to my sway, his mind, as he\nhimself confessed, was under the thrall of mine. We both felt happy,\nunited by ties which nothing, not even misfortune, could sever. He, the\nruler of the world, was conquered, and delighted to obey the behests of\nthe victor, because he felt that she before whom he bowed was his own\nobedient slave. And no magic goblet effected all this. I breathed more\nfreely, as if relieved from the oppressive delusion--the fire had\nconsumed it also--which had burdened my soul until a few hours ago. No\nmagic spell, only the gifts of mind and soul which the vanquished victor,\nthe woman Cleopatra, owed to the favour of the immortals, had compelled\nhis lofty manhood to yield.\n\n\"From the Cydnus he brought me hither to the blissful days which we were\npermitted to pass in my city of Alexandria. A thousand sunny hours,\nmusical, echoing surges which long since dashed down the stream of Time,\nhe recalled to life, and I--I did the same, and our memories blended into\none. What never-to-be-forgotten moments we experienced when, with\nreckless mirth, we mingled unrecognized among the joyous throng! What\nOlympic delight elated our hearts when the plaudits of thousands greeted\nus! What joys satiated our minds and senses in our own apartments! What\npure, unalloyed nectar of the soul was bestowed upon us by our\nchildren--bliss which we shared with and imparted to each other until\nneither knew which was the giver and which the receiver! Everything sad\nand painful seemed to be effaced from the book of memory; and the child's\ndream, the fairy-tale woven by the power of imagination, stood before my\nsoul as a reality--the same reality, I repeat, which I call my past life.\n\n\"And, Charmian, if death comes to-morrow, should I say that he appeared\ntoo early--summoned me ere he permitted life to bestow all its best gifts\nupon me? No, no, and again no! Whoever, in the last hour of existence,\ncan say that the fairest dreams of childhood were surpassed by a long\nportion of actual life, may consider himself happy, even in the deepest\nneed and on the verge of the grave.\n\n\"The aspiration to be first and highest among the women of her own time,\nwhich had already thrilled the young girl's heart, was fulfilled. The\nardent longing for love which, even at that period, pervaded my whole\nbeing, was satisfied when I became a loving wife, mother, and Queen, and\nfriendship, through the favour of Destiny, also bestowed upon me its\ngreatest blessings by the hands of Archibius, Charmian, and Iras.\n\n\"Now I care not what may happen. This evening taught me that life had\nfulfilled its pledges. But others, too, must be enabled to remember the\nmost brilliant of queens, who was also the most fervently beloved of\nwomen. For this I will provide: the mausoleum which Gorgias is erecting\nfor me will stand like an indestructible wall between the Cleopatra who\nto-day still proudly wears the crown and her approaching humiliation and\ndisgrace.\n\n\"Now I will go to sleep. If my awakening brings defeat, sorrow, and\ndeath, I have no reason to accuse my fate. It denied me one thing only\nthe painless peace which the child and the young girl recognized as the\nchief good; yet Cleopatra will possess that also. The domain of death,\nwhich, as the Egyptians say, loves silence, is opening its doors to me.\nThe most absolute peace begins upon its threshold--who knows where it\nends? The vision of the intellect does not extend far enough to discover\nthe boundary where, at the end of eternity--which in truth is endless--it\nis replaced by something else.\"\n\nWhile speaking, the Queen had motioned to her friend to accompany her\ninto her chamber, from which a door led into the children's room. An\nirresistible impulse constrained her to open it and gaze into the dark,\nempty apartment.\n\nShe felt an icy chill run through her veins. Taking a light from the hand\nof one of the maids who attended her, she went to little Alexander's\ncouch. Like the others, it was empty, deserted. Her head sank on her\nbreast, the courageous calmness with which she had surveyed her whole\npast life failed and, like the luxuriant riot in the sky of the most\nbrilliant hues, ere the glow of sunset suddenly yields to darkness,\nCleopatra's soul, after the lofty elation of the last few hours,\nunderwent a sudden transition and, overwhelmed by deep, sorrowful\ndepression, she threw herself down before the twins' bed, where she lay\nweeping softly until Charmian, as day began to dawn, urged her to retire\nto rest. Cleopatra slowly rose, dried her eyes, and said: \"My past life\nseemed to me just now like a magnificent garden, but how many serpents\nsuddenly stretched out their flat heads with glittering eyes and forked\ntongues! Who tore away the flowers beneath which they lay concealed? I\nthink, Charmian, it was a mysterious power which here, in the children's\napartment, rules so strongly the most trivial as well as the strongest\nemotions, it was--when did I last hear that ominous word?--it was\nconscience. Here, in this abode of innocence and purity, whatever\nresembles a spot stands forth distinctly before the eyes. Here, O\nCharmian!--if the children were but here! If I could only--yet, no, no!\nIt is fortunate, very fortunate that they have gone. I must be strong;\nand their sweet grace would rob me of my energy. But the light grows\nbrighter and brighter. Dress me for the day. It would be easier for me to\nsleep in a falling house than with such a tumult in my heart.\"\n\nWhile she was being attired in the dark robes she had ordered, loud\nshouts arose from the royal harbour below, blended with the blasts of the\ntuba and other signals directing the movements of the fleet and the army,\na large body of troops having been marched during the night to the\nneighbouring hills overlooking the sea.\n\nThe notes sounded bold and warlike. The well-armed galleys presented a\nstately appearance. How often Cleopatra had seen unexpected events occur,\napparent impossibilities become possible! Had not the victory of\nOctavianus at Actium been a miracle? What if Fate, like a capricious\nruler, now changed from frowns to smiles? What if Antony proved himself\nthe hero of yesterday, the general he had been in days of yore?\n\nShe had refused to see him again before the battle, that she might not\ndivert his thoughts from the great task approaching. But now, as she\nbeheld him, clad in glittering armour like the god of war himself, ride\nbefore the troops on his fiery Barbary charger, greeting them with the\ngay salutation whose warmth sprung from the heart and which had so often\nkindled the warriors to glowing enthusiasm, she was forced to do violence\nto her own feelings to avoid calling him and saying that her thoughts\nwould follow his course. But she refrained, and when his purple cloak\nvanished from her sight her head drooped again. How different in former\ndays were the cheers of the troops when he showed himself to them! This\nlukewarm response to his gay, glad greeting was no omen of victory.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nDion, too, witnessed the departure of the troops. Gorgias, whom he had\nfound among the Ephebi, accompanied him and, like the Queen, they saw, in\nthe cautious manner with which the army greeted the general, a bad omen\nfor the result of the battle. The architect had presented Dion to the\nyouths as the ghost of a dead man, who, as soon as he was asked whence he\ncame or whither he was going, would be compelled to vanish in the form of\na fly. He could venture to do this; he knew the Ephebi--there was no\ntraitor in their ranks.\n\nDion, the former head of the society, had been welcomed like a beloved\nbrother risen from the dead, and he had the gratification, after so long\na time, of turning the scale as speaker in a debate. True, he had\nencountered very little opposition, for the resolve to hold aloof from\nthe battle against the Romans had been urged upon the Ephebi by the Queen\nherself through Antyllus, who, however, had already left the meeting when\nDion joined it. It had seemed to Cleopatra a crime to claim the blood of\nthe noblest sons of the city for a cause which she herself deemed lost.\nShe knew the parents of many, and feared that Octavianus would inflict a\nterrible punishment upon them if, not being enrolled in the army, they\nfell into his power with arms in their hands.\n\nThe stars were already setting when the Ephebi accompanied their friend,\nsinging in chorus the Hymenaeus, which they had been unable to chant on\nhis wedding day. The melody of lutes accompanied the voices, and this\nnocturnal music was the source of the rumour that the god Dionysus, to\nwhom Mark Antony felt specially akin, and in whose form he had so often\nappeared to the people, had abandoned him amid songs and music.\n\nThe youths left Dion in front of the Temple of Isis. Gorgias alone\nremained with him. The architect led his friend to the Queen's mausoleum\nnear the sanctuary, where men were toiling busily by torchlight. Alight\nscaffolding still surrounded it, but the lofty first story, containing\nthe real tomb, was completed, and Dion admired the art with which the\nexterior of the edifice suggested its purpose. Huge blocks of dark-grey\ngranite formed the walls. The broad front-solemn, almost gloomy in\naspect-rose, sloping slightly, above the massive lofty door, surmounted\nby a moulding bearing the winged disk of the sun. On either side were\nniches containing statues of Antony and Cleopatra cast in dark bronze,\nand above the cornice were brazen figures of Love and Death, Fame and\nSilence, ennobling the Egyptian forms with exquisite works of Hellenic\nart.\n\nThe massive door, adorned with brass figures in relief, would have\nresisted a battering-ram. On the side of the steps leading to it lay\nSphinxes of dark-green diorite. Everything connected with this building,\ndedicated to death, was grave and massive, suggesting by its\nindestructibility the idea of eternity.\n\nThe second story was not yet finished; masons and stone-cutters were\nengaged in covering the strong walls with dark serpentine and black\nmarble. The huge windlass stood ready to raise a masterpiece of\nAlexandrian art. This was intended for the pediment, and represented\nVenus Victrix with helmet, shield, and lance, leading a band of winged\ngods of love, little archers at whose head Eros himself was discharging\narrows, and victoriously fighting against the three-headed Cerberus,\ndeath, already bleeding from many wounds.\n\nThere was no time to see the interior of the building, for Pyrrhus\nexpected his guest to join him at the harbour at sunrise, and the eastern\nsky was already brightening with the approach of dawn.\n\nAs the friends reached the landing-place the brass dome of the Serapeum,\nwhich towered above everything, was glittering with dazzling splendour.\n\nThe pennons and masts of the fleet which was about to set sail from the\nharbour seemed steeped in a sea of golden light. Tremulous reflections of\nthe brazen and gilded figures on the prows of the vessels were mirrored\nin the undulating surface of the sea, and the long shadows of the banks\nof oars united galley after galley on the surface of the water like the\nmeshes of a net.\n\nHere the friends parted, and Dion walked down the quay alone to meet the\nfreedman, who must have found it difficult to guide his boat out of this\nlabyrinth of vessels. The inspection of the mausoleum had detained the\nyoung father too long and, though disguised beyond recognition, he\nreproached himself for having recklessly incurred a danger whose\nconsequences--he felt this to-day for the first time--would not injure\nhimself alone. The whole fleet was awaiting the signal for departure. The\nvessels which did not belong to it had been obliged to moor in front of\nthe Temple of Poseidon, and all were strictly forbidden to leave the\nanchorage.\n\nPyrrhus's fishing-boat was in the midst, and return to the Serpent Island\nwas impossible at present.\n\nHow vexatious! Barine was ignorant of his trip to the city, and to be\ncompelled to leave her alone while a naval battle was in progress\ndirectly before her eyes distressed him as much as it could not fail to\nalarm her.\n\nIn fact, the young mother had waited from early dawn with increasing\nanxiety for her husband. As the sun rose higher, and the strokes of the\noars propelling two hundred galleys, the shrill whistle of the flutes\nmarking the time, the deep voices of the captains shouting orders, and\nthe blasts of the trumpets filling the air, were heard far and near\naround the island, she became so overwhelmed with uneasiness that she\ninsisted upon going to the shore, though hitherto she had not been\npermitted to take the air except under the awning stretched for the\npurpose on the shady side of the house.\n\nIn vain the women urged her not to let her fears gain the mastery and to\nhave patience. But she would have resisted even force in order to look\nfor him who, with her child, now comprised her world.\n\nWhen, leaning on Helena's arm, she reached the shore, no boat was in\nsight. The sea was covered with ships of war, floating fortresses, moving\nonward like dragons with a thousand legs whose feet were the countless\nrowers arranged in three or five sets. Each of the larger galleys was\nsurrounded by smaller ones, from most of which darted dazzling flashes of\nlight, for they were crowded with armed men, and from the prows of the\nstrong boarding vessels the sunbeams glittered on the large shining metal\npoints whose office was to pierce the wooden sides of the foe. The gilded\nstatues in the prows of the large galleys shone and sparkled in the broad\nradiance of the day-star, and flashes of light also came from the low\nhills on the shore. Here Mark Antony's soldiers were stationed, and the\nsunbeams reflected from the helmets, coats of mail, and lance-heads of\nthe infantry, and the armour of the horsemen quivered with dazzling\nbrilliancy in the hot air of the first day of an Egyptian August.\n\nAmid this blazing, flashing, and sparkling in the morning air, so steeped\nin warmth and radiance, the sounds of warlike preparations from the land\nand fleet constantly grew louder. Barine, exhausted, had just sunk into a\nchair which Dione, the fisherman's daughter, had placed in the shade of\nthe highest rock on the northwestern shore of the flat island, when a\ncrashing blast of the tuba suddenly echoed from all the galleys in the\nEgyptian fleet, and the whole array of vessels filed past the Pharos at\nthe opening of the harbour into the open sea.\n\nThere the narrow ranks of the wooden giants separated and moved onward in\nbroader lines. This was done quietly and in the same faultless order as a\nfew days before, when a similar manoeuvre had been executed under the\neyes of Mark Antony.\n\nThe longing for combat seemed to urge them steadily forward.\n\nThe hostile fleet, lying motionless, awaited the attack. But the Egyptian\nassailants had advanced majestically only a few ships lengths towards the\nRoman foe when another signal rent the air. The women whose ears caught\nthe waves of sound said afterwards that it seemed like a cry of agony--it\nhad given the signal for a deed of unequalled treachery. The slaves,\ncriminals, and the basest of the mercenaries on the rowers' benches in\nthe hold had doubtless long listened intently for it, and, when it\nfinally came, the men on the upper benches raised their long oars and\nheld them aloft, which stopped the work of those below, and every galley\npaused, pointing at the next with the wooden oars outstretched like\nfingers, as if seized with horror. The celerity and faultless order with\nwhich the raising of the oars was executed and vessel after vessel\nbrought to a stand would have been a credit to an honourable captain, but\nthe manoeuvre introduced one of the basest acts ever recorded in history;\nand the women, who had witnessed many a naumachza and understood its\nmeaning, exclaimed as if with a single voice: \"Treachery! They are going\nover to the enemy!\"\n\nMark Antony's fleet, created for him by Cleopatra, surrendered, down to\nthe last galley, to Caesar's heir, the victor of Actium; and the man to\nwhom the sailors had vowed allegiance, who had drilled them, and only\nyesterday had urged them to offer a gallant resistance, saw from one of\nthe downs on the shore the strong weapons on which he had based the\nfairest hopes, not shattered, but delivered into the hands of the enemy!\n\nThe surrender of the fleet to the foe--he knew it--sealed his\ndestruction; and the women on the shore of the Serpent Island, who were\nso closely connected with those on whom this misfortune fell, suspected\nthe same thing. The hearts of both were stirred, and their eyes grew dim\nwith tears of indignation and sorrow. They were Alexandrians, and did not\ndesire to be ruled by Rome. Cleopatra, daughter of the Macedonian house\nof the Ptolemies, had the sole right to govern the city of her ancestors,\nfounded by the great Macedonian. The sorrow they had themselves endured\nthrough her sank into insignificance beside the tremendous blow of Fate\nwhich in this hour reached the Queen.\n\nThe Roman and Egyptian fleet returned to the harbour as one vast squadron\nunder the same commander, and anchored in the roadstead of the city,\nwhich was now its precious booty.\n\nBarine had seen enough, and returned to the house with drooping head. Her\nheart was heavy, and her anxiety for the man she loved hourly increased.\n\nIt seemed as if the very day-star shrank from illuminating so infamous a\ndeed with friendly light; for the dazzling, searching sun of the first of\nAugust veiled its radiant face with a greyish-white mist, and the\ndesecrated sea wrinkled its brow, changed its pure azure robe to\nyellowish grey and blackish green, while the white foam hissed on the\ncrests of the angry waves.\n\nAs twilight began to approach, the anxiety of the deserted wife became\nunendurable. Not only Helena's wise words of caution, but the sight of\nher child, failed to exert their usual influence; and Barine had already\nsummoned the son of Pyrrhus to persuade him to take her in his boat to\nthe city, when Dione saw a boat approaching the Serpent Island from the\ndirection of the sea.\n\nA short time after, Dion sprang on shore and kissed from his young wife's\nlips the reproaches with which she greeted him.\n\nHe had heard of the treachery of the fleet while entering a hired boat\nwith the freedman in the harbour of Eunostus, Pyrrhus's having been\ndetained with the other craft before the Temple of Poseidon.\n\nThe experienced pilot had been obliged to steer the boat in a wider curve\nagainst the wind through the open sea, and was delayed a long time by a\nnumber of the war vessels of the fleet.\n\nDanger and separation were now passed, and they rejoiced in the happiness\nof meeting, yet could not feel genuine joy. Their souls were oppressed by\nanxiety concerning the fate of the Queen and their native city.\n\nAs night closed in the dogs barked violently, and they heard loud voices\non the shore. Dion, with a presentiment that misfortune was threatening\nhimself and his dear ones, obeyed the summons.\n\nNo star illumined the darkness. Only the wavering light of a lantern on\nthe strand and another on the nearest island illumined the immediate\nvicinity, while southward the lights in the city shone as brightly as\never.\n\nPyrrhus and his youngest son were just pushing a boat into the water to\nrelease from the sands another which had run aground in a shallow near\nthe neighbouring island.\n\nDion sprang in with them, and soon recognized in the hail the voice of\nthe architect Gorgias.\n\nThe young father shouted a joyous greeting to his friend, but there was\nno reply.\n\nSoon after, Pyrrhus landed his belated guest on the shore. He had\nescaped--as the fisherman explained--a great danger; for had he gone to\nthe other island, which swarmed with venomous serpents, he might easily\nhave fallen a victim to the bite of one of the reptiles.\n\nGorgias grasped Dion's hand but, in reply to his gay invitation to\naccompany him to the house at once, he begged him to listen to his story\nbefore joining the ladies.\n\nDion was startled. He knew his friend. When his deep voice had such a\ntone of gloomy discouragement, and his head drooped so mournfully, some\nterrible event had befallen him.\n\nHis foreboding had been correct. The first tidings pierced his own soul\ndeeply.\n\nHe was not surprised to learn that the Romans ruled Alexandria; but a\nsmall band of the conquerors, who had been ordered to conduct themselves\nas if they were in a friendly country, had forced their way into the\narchitect's large house to occupy the quarters assigned to them. The deaf\ngrandmother of Helena and Barine, who had but half comprehended what\nthreatened the citizens, terrified by the noisy entrance of the soldiers,\nhad had another attack of apoplexy, and closed her eyes in death before\nGorgias set out for the island.\n\nBut it was not only this sad event, which must grieve the hearts of the\ntwo sisters, that had brought the architect in a stranger's boat to the\nSerpent Island at so late an hour. His soul was so agitated by the\nhorrible incidents of the day that he needed to seek consolation among\nthose from whom he was sure to find sympathy.\n\nNor was it wholly the terrible things Fate had compelled him to witness\nwhich induced him to venture out upon the sea so recklessly, but still\nmore the desire to bring to the fugitives the happy news that they might\nreturn with safety to their native city.\n\nDeeply agitated--nay, confused and overpowered by all he had seen and\nexperienced--the architect, usually so clear and, with all his mental\nvivacity, so circumspect, began his story. A remonstrance from Dion\ninduced him to collect his thoughts and describe events in the order in\nwhich they had befallen him.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Fairest dreams of childhood were surpassed\n     Golden chariot drawn by tamed lions\n     Life had fulfilled its pledges\n     Until neither knew which was the giver and which the receiver\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 9.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nAfter accompanying Dion to the harbour, the architect had gone to the\nForum to converse with the men he met there, and learn what they feared\nand expected in regard to the future fate of the city.\n\nAll news reached this meeting-place first, and he found a large number of\nMacedonian citizens who, like himself, wished to discuss passing events\nin these decisive hours.\n\nThe scene was very animated, for the most contradictory messages were\nconstantly arriving from the fleet and the army.\n\nAt first they were very favourable; then came the news of the treason,\nand soon after of the desertion of the cavalry and foot soldiers.\n\nA distinguished citizen had seen Mark Antony, accompanied by several\nfriends, dashing down the quay. The goal of their flight was the little\npalace on the Choma.\n\nGrave men, whose opinion met with little opposition, thought that it was\nthe duty of the Imperator--now that Fate had decided against him, and\nnothing remained save a life sullied by disgrace--to put himself to death\nwith his own hand, like Brutus and so many other noble Romans. Tidings\nsoon came that he had attempted to do what the best citizens expected.\n\nGorgias could not endure to remain longer in the Forum, but hastened to\nthe Choma, though it was difficult to force his way to the wall, where a\nbreach had been made. He had found the portion of the shore from which\nthe promontory ran densely crowded with people--from whom he learned that\nAntony was no longer in the palace--and the sea filled with boats.\n\nA corpse was just being borne out of the little palace on the Street of\nthe King and, among those who followed, Gorgias recognized one of\nAntony's slaves. The man's eyes were red with weeping. He readily obeyed\nthe architect's sign and, sobbing bitterly, told him that the hapless\ngeneral, after his army had betrayed him, fled hither. When he heard in\nthe palace that Cleopatra had preceded him to Hades, he ordered his\nbody-slave Eros to put an end to his life also. The worthy man drew back,\npierced his own breast with his sword, and sank dying at his master's\nfeet; but Antony, exclaiming that Eros's example had taught him his duty,\nthrust the short sword into his breast with his own hand. Yet deep and\nsevere as was the wound, it did not destroy the tremendous vitality of\nthe gigantic Roman. With touching entreaties he implored the bystanders\nto kill him, but no one could bring himself to commit the deed. Meanwhile\nCleopatra's name, coupled with the wish to follow her, was constantly on\nthe lips of the Imperator.\n\nAt last Diomedes, the Queen's private secretary, appeared, to bring him,\nby her orders, to the mausoleum where she had taken refuge.\n\nAntony, as if animated with fresh vigour, assented, and while being\ncarried thither gave orders that Eros should have a worthy burial. Even\nthough dying, it would have been impossible for the most generous of\nmasters to permit any kindness rendered to pass unrequited.\n\nThe slave again wept aloud as he uttered the words, but Gorgias hastened\nat once to the tomb. The nearest way, the Street of the King, had become\nso crowded with people who had been forced back by Roman soldiers,\nbetween the Theatre of Dionysus and the Corner of the Muses, that he had\nbeen compelled to reach the building through a side street.\n\nThe quay was already unrecognizable, and even in the other streets the\npopulace showed a foreign aspect. Instead of peaceful citizens, Roman\nsoldiers in full armour were met everywhere. Instead of Greek, Egyptian,\nand Syrian faces, fair and dark visages of alien appearance were seen.\n\nThe city seemed transformed into a camp. Here he met a cohort of\nfair-haired Germans; yonder another with locks of red whose home he did\nnot know; and again a vexil of Numidian or Pannonian horsemen.\n\nAt the Temple of the Dioscuri he was stopped. A Hispanian maniple had\njust seized Antony's son Antyllus and, after a hasty court-martial,\nkilled him. His tutor, Theodotus, had betrayed him to the Romans, but the\ninfamous fellow was being led with bound hands after the corpse of the\nhapless youth, because he was caught in the act of hiding in his girdle a\ncostly jewel which he had taken from his neck. Before his departure for\nthe island Gorgias heard that the scoundrel had been sentenced to\ncrucifixion.\n\nAt last he succeeded in forcing a passage to the tomb, which he found\nsurrounded on all sides by Roman lictors and the Scythian guards of the\ncity, who, however, permitted him, as the architect, to pass.\n\nThe numerous obstacles by which he had been delayed spared him from\nbecoming an eye-witness of the most terrible scenes of the tragedy which\nhad just ended; but he received a minute description from the Queen's\nprivate secretary, a well-disposed Macedonian, who had accompanied the\nwounded Antony, and with whom Gorgias had become intimately acquainted\nduring the building of the mausoleum.\n\nCleopatra had fled to the tomb as soon as the fortune of war turned in\nfavour of Octavianus. No one was permitted to accompany her except\nCharmian and Iras, who had helped her close the heavy brazen door of the\nmassive building. The false report of her death, which had induced Antony\nto put an end to his life, had perhaps arisen from the fact that the\nQueen was literally in the tomb.\n\nWhen, borne in the arms of his faithful servants, he reached the\nmausoleum, mortally wounded, the Queen and her attendants vainly\nendeavoured to open the heavy brazen portal. But Cleopatra ardently\nlonged to see her dying lover. She wished to have him near to render the\nlast services, assure him once more of her devotion, close his eyes, and,\nif it was so ordered, die with him.\n\nSo she and her attendants had searched the place, and when Iras spoke of\nthe windlass which stood on the scaffold to raise the heavy brass plate\nbearing the bas-relief of Love conquering Death, the Queen and her\nfriends hastened up the stairs, the bearer below fastened the wounded man\nto the rope, and Cleopatra herself stood at the windlass to raise him,\naided by her faithful companions.\n\nDiomedes averred that he had never beheld a more piteous spectacle than\nthe gigantic man hovering between heaven and earth in the agonies of\ndeath and, while suffering the most terrible torture, extending his arms\nlongingly towards the woman he loved. Though scarcely able to speak, he\ntenderly called her name, but she made no reply; like Iras and Charmian,\nshe was exerting her whole strength at the windlass in the most\npassionate effort to raise him. The rope running over the pulley cut her\ntender hands; her beautiful face was terribly distorted; but she did not\npause until they had succeeded in lifting the burden of the dying man\nhigher and higher till he reached the floor of the scaffolding. The\nfrantic exertion by which the three women had succeeded in accomplishing\nan act far beyond their strength, though it was doubled by the power of\nthe most earnest will and ardent longing, would nevertheless have failed\nin attaining its object had not Diomedes, at the last moment, come to\ntheir assistance. He was a strong man, and by his aid the dying Roman was\nseized, drawn upon the scaffolding, and carried down the staircase to the\ntomb in the first story.\n\nWhen the wounded general had been laid on one of the couches with which\nthe great hall was already furnished, the private secretary retired, but\nremained on the staircase, an unnoticed spectator, in order to be at hand\nin case the Queen again needed his assistance. Flushed from the terrible\nexertion which she had just made, with tangled, dishevelled locks,\ngasping and moaning, Cleopatra, as if out of her senses, tore open her\nrobe, beat her breast, and lacerated it with her nails. Then, pressing\nher own beautiful face on her lover's wound to stanch the flowing blood,\nshe lavished upon him all the endearing names which she had bestowed on\ntheir love.\n\nHis terrible suffering made her forget her own and the sad fate\nimpending. Tears of pity fell like the refreshing drops of a shower upon\nthe still unwithered blossoms of their love, and brought those which,\nduring the preceding night, had revived anew, to their last magnificent\nunfolding.\n\nBoundless, limitless as her former passion for this man, was now the\ngrief with which his agonizing death filled her heart.\n\nAll that Mark Antony had been to her in the heyday of life, all their\nmutual experiences, all that each had received from the other, had\nreturned to her memory in clear and vivid hues during the banquet which\nhad closed a few hours ago. Now these scenes, condensed into a narrow\ncompass, again passed before her mental vision, but only to reveal more\ndistinctly the depth of misery of this hour. At last anguish forced even\nthe clearest memories into oblivion: she saw nothing save the tortures of\nher lover; her brain, still active, revealed solely the gulf at her feet,\nand the tomb which yawned not only for Antony, but for herself.\n\nUnable to think of the happiness enjoyed in the past or to hope for it in\nthe future, she gave herself up to uncontrolled despair, and no woman of\nthe people could have yielded more absolutely to the consuming grief\nwhich rent her heart, or expressed it in wilder, more frantic language,\nthan did this great Queen, this woman who as a child had been so\nsensitive to the slightest suffering, and whose after-life had certainly\nnot taught her to bear sorrow with patience. After Charmian, at the dying\nman's request, had given him some wine, he found strength to speak\ncoherently, instead of moaning and sighing.\n\nHe tenderly urged Cleopatra to secure her own safety, if it could be done\nwithout dishonour, and mentioned Proculejus as the man most worthy of her\nconfidence among the friends of Octavianus. Then he entreated her not to\nmourn for him, but to consider him happy; for he had enjoyed the richest\nfavours of Fortune. He owed his brightest hours to her love; but he had\nalso been the first and most powerful man on earth. Now he was dying in\nthe arms of Love, honourable as a Roman who succumbed to Romans.\n\nIn this conviction he died after a short struggle.\n\nCleopatra had watched his last breath, closed his eyes, and then thrown\nherself tearlessly on her lover's body. At last she fainted, and lay\nunconscious with her head upon his marble breast.\n\nThe private secretary had witnessed all this, and then returned with\ntearful eyes to the second story. There he met Gorgias, who had climbed\nthe scaffolding, and told him what he had seen and heard from the stairs.\nBut his story was scarcely ended when a carriage stopped at the Corner of\nthe Muses and an aristocratic Roman alighted. This was the very\nProculejus whom the dying Antony had recommended to the woman he loved as\nworthy of her confidence.\n\n\"In fact,\" Gorgias continued, \"he seemed in form and features one of the\nnoblest of his haughty race. He came commissioned by Octavianus, and is\nsaid to be warmly devoted to the Caesar, and a well-disposed man. We have\nalso heard him mentioned as a poet and a brother-in-law of Maecenas. A\nwealthy aristocrat, he is a generous patron of literature, and also holds\nart and science in high esteem. Timagenes lauds his culture and noble\nnature. Perhaps the historian was right; but where the object in question\nis the state and its advantage, what we here regard as worthy of a free\nman appears to be considered of little moment at the court of Octavianus.\nThe lord to whom he gives his services intrusted him with a difficult\ntask, and Proculejus doubtless considered it his duty to make every\neffort to perform it--and yet----If I see aright, a day will come when he\nwill curse this, and the obedience with which he, a free man, aided\nCaesar But listen.\n\n\"Erect and haughty in his splendid suit of armour, he knocked at the door\nof the tomb. Cleopatra had regained consciousness and asked--she must\nhave known him in Rome--what he desired.\n\n\"He had come, he answered courteously, by the command of Octavianus, to\nnegotiate with her, and the Queen expressed her willingness to listen,\nbut refused to admit him into the mausoleum.\n\n\"So they talked with each other through the door. With dignified\ncomposure, she asked to have the sons whom she had given to Antony--not\nCaasarion--acknowledged as Kings of Egypt.\n\n\"Proculejus instantly promised to convey her wishes to Caesar, and gave\nhopes of their fulfilment.\n\n\"While she was speaking of the children and their claims--she did not\nmention her own future--the Roman questioned her about Mark Antony's\ndeath, and then described the destruction of the dead man's army and\nother matters of trivial importance. Proculejus did not look like a\nbabbler, but I felt a suspicion that he was intentionally trying to hold\nthe attention of the Queen. This proved to be his design; he had been\nmerely waiting for Cornelius Gallus, the commander of the fleet, of whom\nyou have heard. He, too, ranks among the chief men in Rome, and yet he\nmade himself the accomplice of Proculejus.\n\n\"The latter retired as soon as he had presented the new-comer to the\nhapless woman.\n\n\"I remained at my post and now heard Gallus assure Cleopatra of his\nmaster's sympathy. With the most bombastic exaggeration he described how\nbitterly Octavianus mourned in Mark Antony the friend, the\nbrother-in-law, the co-ruler and sharer in so many important enterprises.\nHe had shed burning tears over the tidings of his death. Never had more\nsincere ones coursed down any man's cheeks.\n\n\"Gallus, too, seemed to me to be intentionally prolonging the\nconversation.\n\n\"Then, while I was listening intently to understand Cleopatra's brief\nreplies, my foreman, who, when the workmen were driven away by the\nRomans, had concealed himself between two blocks of granite, came to me\nand said that Proculejus had just climbed a ladder to the scaffold in the\nrear of the monument. Two servants followed, and they had all stolen down\ninto the hall.\n\n\"I hastily started up. I had been lying on the floor with my head\noutstretched to listen.\n\n\"Cost what it might, the Queen must be warned. Treachery was certainly at\nwork here.\n\n\"But I came too late.\n\n\"O Dion! If I had only been informed a few minutes before, perhaps\nsomething still more terrible might have happened, but the Queen would\nhave been spared what now threatens her. What can she expect from the\nconqueror who, in order to seize her alive, condescends to outwit a\nnoble, defenceless woman, who has succumbed to superior power?\n\n\"Death would have released the unhappy Queen from sore trouble and\nhorrible shame. And she had already raised the dagger against her life.\nBefore my eyes she flung aloft her beautiful arm with the flashing steel,\nwhich glittered in the light of the candles in the many-branched\ncandelabra beside the sarcophagi. But I will try to remain calm! You\nshall hear what happened in regular order. My thoughts grow confused as\nthe terrible scene recurs to my memory. To describe it as I saw it, I\nshould need to be a poet, an artist in words; for what passed before me\nhappened on a stage--you know, it was a tomb. The walls were of dark\nstone-dark, too, were the pillars and ceiling--all dark and glittering;\nmost portions were smoothly polished stone, shining like a mirror. Near\nthe sarcophagi, and around the candelabra as far as the vicinity of the\ndoor, where the rascally trick was played, the light was brilliant as in\na festal hall. Every blood-stain on the hand, every scratch, every wound\nwhich the desperate woman had torn with her own nails on her bosom, which\ngleamed snow-white from her black robes, was distinctly visible. Farther\naway, on the right and left, the light was dim, and near the side walls\nthe darkness was as intense as in a real tomb. On the smooth porphyry\ncolumns, the glittering black marble and serpentine--here, there, and\neverywhere--flickered the wavering reflection of the candlelight. The\ndraught kept it continually in motion, and it wavered to and fro in the\nhall, like the restless souls of the damned. Wherever the eye turned it\nmet darkness. The end of the hall seemed black--black as the anteroom of\nHades--yet through it pierced a brilliant moving bar; sunbeams which\nstreamed from the stairway into the tomb and amid which danced tiny\nmotes. How the scene impressed the eye! The home of gloomy Hecate! And\nthe Queen and her impending fate. A picture flooded with light, standing\nforth in radiant relief against the darkness of the heavy, majestic forms\nsurrounding it in a wide circle. This tomb in this light would be a\npalace meet for the gloomy rule of the king of the troop of demons\nconjured up by the power of a magician--if they have a ruler. But where\nam I wandering? 'The artist!' I hear you exclaim again, 'the artist!\nInstead of rushing forward and interposing, he stands studying the light\nand its effects in the royal tomb.' Yes, yes; I had come too late, too\nlate--far too late! On the stairs leading to the lower story of the\nbuilding I saw it, but I was not to blame for the delay--not in the\nleast!\n\n\"At first I had been unable to see the men--or even a shadow; but I\nbeheld plainly in the brightest glare of the light the body of Mark\nAntony on the couch and, in the dusk farther towards the right, Iras and\nCharmian trying to raise a trapdoor. It was the one which closed the\npassage leading to the combustible materials stored in the cellar. A sign\nfrom the Queen had commanded them to fire it. The first steps of the\nstaircase, down which I was hastening, were already behind me--then--then\nProculejus, with two men, suddenly dashed from the intense darkness on\nthe other side. Scarcely able to control myself, I sprang down the\nremaining steps, and while Iras's shrill cry, 'Poor Cleopatra, they will\ncapture you!' still rang in my ears, I saw the betrayed Queen turn from\nthe door through which, resolved on death, she was saying something to\nGallus, perceive Proculejus close behind her, thrust her hand into her\ngirdle, and with the speed of lightning--you have already heard so--throw\nup her arm with the little dagger to bury the sharp blade in her breast.\nWhat a picture! In the full radiance of the brilliant light, she\nresembled a statue of triumphant victory or of noble pride in great deeds\naccomplished; and then, then, only an instant later, what an outrage was\ninflicted!\n\n\"Like a robber, an assassin, Proculejus rushed upon her, seized her arm,\nand wrested the weapon from her grasp. His tall figure concealed her from\nme. But when, struggling to escape from the ruffian's clutch, she again\nturned her face towards the hall, what a transformation had occurred! Her\neyes--you know how large they are--were twice their usual size, and\nblazed with scorn, fury, and hatred for the traitor. The cheering light\nhad become a consuming fire. So I imagine the vengeance, the curse which\ncalls down ruin upon the head of a foe. And Proculejus, the great lord,\nthe poet whose noble nature is praised by the authors on the banks of the\nTiber, held the defenceless woman, the worthy daughter of a brilliant\nline of kings, in a firm grasp, as if it required the exertion of all his\nstrength to master this delicate embodiment of charming womanhood. True,\nthe proud blood of the outwitted lioness urged her to resist this\nprofanation, and Proculejus--an enviable honour--made her feel the\nsuperior strength of his arm. I am no prophet, but Dion, I repeat, this\nshameful struggle and the glances which flashed upon him will be\nremembered to his dying hour. Had they been darted at me, I should have\ncursed my life.\n\n\"They blanched even the Roman's cheeks. He was lividly pale as he\ncompleted what he deemed his duty. His own aristocratic hands were\ndegraded to the menial task of searching the garments of a woman, the\nQueen, for forbidden wares, poisons or weapons. He was aided by one of\nCaesar's freedmen, Epaphroditus, who is said to stand so high in the\nfavour of Octavianus.\n\n\"The scoundrel also searched Iras and Charmian, yet all the time both\nRomans constantly spoke in cajoling terms of Caesar's favour; and his\ndesire to grant Cleopatra everything which was due a Queen.\n\n\"At last she was taken back to Lochias, but I felt like a madman; for the\nimage of the unfortunate woman pursued me like my shadow. It was no\nlonger a vision of the bewitching sovereign nay, it resembled the\nincarnation of despair, tearless anguish, wrath demanding vengeance. I\nwill not describe it; but those eyes, those flashing, threatening eyes,\nand the tangled hair on which Antony's blood had flowed-terrible,\nhorrible! My heart grew chill, as if I had seen upon Athene's shield the\nhead of the Medusa with its serpent locks.\n\n\"It had been impossible for me to warn her in time, or even to seize the\ntraitor's arm--I have already said so--and yet, yet her shining image\ngazed reproachfully at me for my cowardly delay. Her glance still haunts\nme, robbing me of calmness and peace. Not until I gaze into Helena's\npure, calm eyes will that terrible vision of the face, flooded by light\nin the midst of the tomb, cease to haunt me.\"\n\nHis friend laid his hand on his arm, spoke soothingly to him, and\nreminded him of the blessings which this terrible day--he had said so\nhimself--had brought.\n\nDion was right to give this warning; for Gorgias's bearing and the very\ntone of his voice changed as he eagerly declared that the frightful\nevents had been followed by more than happy ones for the city, his\nfriend, and Barine.\n\nThen, with a sigh of relief, he continued: \"I pursued my way home like a\ndrunken man. Every attempt to approach the Queen or her attendants was\nbaffled, but I learned from Charmian's clever Nubian that Cleopatra had\nbeen permitted, in Caesar's name, to choose the palace she desired to\noccupy, and had selected the one at Lochias.\n\n\"I did not make much progress towards my house; the crowd in front of the\ngreat gymnasium stopped me. Octavianus had gone into the city, and the\npeople, I heard, had greeted him with acclamations and flung themselves\non their knees before him. Our stiff-necked Alexandrians in the dust\nbefore the victor! It enraged me, but my resentment was diminished.\n\n\"The members of the gymnasium all knew me. They made way and, ere I was\naware of it, I had passed through the door. Tall Phryxus had drawn my arm\nthrough his. He appears and vanishes at will, is as alert as he is rich,\nsees and hears everything, and manages to secure the best places. This\ntime he had again succeeded; for when he released me we were standing\nopposite to a newly erected tribune.\n\n\"They were waiting for Octavianus, who was still in the hypostyle of\nEuergetes receiving the homage of the epitrop, the members of the\nCouncil, the gymnasiarch, and I know not how many others.\n\n\"Phryxus said that on Caesar's entry he had held out his hand to his\nformer tutor, bade him accompany him, and commanded that his sons should\nbe presented. The philosopher had been distinguished above every one\nelse, and this will benefit you and yours; for he is Berenike's brother,\nand therefore your wife's uncle. What he desires is sure to be granted.\nYou will hear at once how studiously the Caesar distinguishes him. I do\nnot grudge it to the man; he interceded boldly for Barine; he is lauded\nas an able scholar, and he does not lack courage. In spite of Actium and\nthe only disgraceful deed with which, to my knowledge, Mark Antony could\nbe reproached--I mean the surader of Turullius--Arius remained here,\nthough the Imperator might have held the friend of Julius Caesar's nephew\nas a hostage as easily as he gave up the Emperor's assassin.\n\n\"Since Octavianus encamped before the city, your uncle has been in\nserious danger, and his sons shared his peril. Surely you must know the\nhandsome, vigorous young Ephebi.\n\n\"We were not obliged to wait long in the gymnasium ere the Caesar\nappeared on the platform; and now--if your hand clenches, it is only what\nI expect--now all fell on their knees. Our turbulent, rebellious rabble\nraised their hands like pleading beggars, and grave, dignified men\nfollowed their example. Whoever saw me and Phryxus will remember us among\nthe kneeling lickspittles; for had we remained standing we should\ncertainly have been dragged down. So we followed the example of the\nothers.\"\n\n\"And Octavianus?\" asked Dion eagerly.\n\n\"A man of regal bearing and youthful aspect; beardless face of the finest\nchiselling, a profile as beautiful as if created for the coin-maker; all\nthe lines sharp and yet pleasing; every inch an aristocrat; but the very\nmirror of a cold nature, incapable of any lofty aspiration, any warm\nemotion, any tenderness of feeling. All in all, a handsome, haughty,\ncalculating man, whose friendship would hardly benefit the heart, but\nfrom whose enmity may the immortals guard all we love!\n\n\"Again he led Arius by the hand. The philosopher's sons followed the\npair. When he stood on the stage, looking down upon the thousands\nkneeling before him, not a muscle of his noble face--it is certainly\nthat--betrayed the slightest emotion. He gazed at us like a farmer\nsurveying his flocks and, after a long silence, said curtly in excellent\nGreek that he absolved the Alexandrians from all guilt towards him:\nfirst--he counted as if he were summoning individual veterans to reward\nthem--from respect for the illustrious founder of our city, Alexander,\nthe conqueror of the world; secondly, because the greatness and beauty of\nAlexandria filled him with admiration; and, thirdly--he turned to Arius\nas he spoke--to give pleasure to his admirable and beloved friend.\n\n\"Then shouts of joy burst forth.\n\n\"Every one, from the humblest to the greatest, had had a heavy burden\nremoved from his mind, and the throng had scarcely left the gymnasium\nwhen they were again laughing saucily enough, and there was no lack of\nbiting and innocent jests.\n\n\"The fat carpenter, Memnon--who furnished the wood-work for your\npalace--exclaimed close beside me that formerly a dolphin had saved Arius\nfrom the pirates; now Arius was saving marine Alexandria from the\nrobbers. So the sport went on. Philostratus, Barine's first husband,\noffered the best butt for jests. The agitator had good reason to fear the\nworst; and now, clad in black mourning robes, ran after Arius, whom but a\nfew months ago he persecuted with the most vindictive hatred, continually\nrepeating this shallow bit of verse:\n\n     \"'If he is a wise man, let the wise aid the wise.'\n\n\"Reaching home was not easy. The street was swarming with Roman soldiers.\nThey fared well enough; for in the joy of their hearts many a prosperous\ncitizen who saw his property saved invited individual warriors, or even a\nwhole maniple, to the taverns or cook-shops, and the stock of wine in\nAlexandrian cellars will be considerably diminished to-night.\n\n\"Many, as I have already said, had been quartered in the houses, with\norders to spare the property of the citizens; and it was in this way that\nthe misfortune with which I commenced my narrative befell the\ngrandmother. She died before my departure.\n\n\"All the gates of the city will now stand open to you, and the niece of\nArius and her husband will be received with ovations. I don't grudge\nBarine the good fortune; for the way in which your noble wife, who had\ncast her spell over me too, flung aside what is always dear to the\nadmired city beauty and found on the loneliest of islands a new world in\nlove, is worthy of all admiration and praise. For yourself, I dread new\nhappiness and honours; if they are added to those which Fate bestowed\nupon you in such a wife and your son Pyrrhus, the gods would not be\nthemselves if they did not pursue you with their envy. I have less reason\nto fear them.\"\n\n\"Ungrateful fellow!\" interrupted his friend. \"There will be numerous\nmortals to grudge you Helena. As for me, I have already felt many a\nslight foreboding; but we have already paid by no means a small tribute\nto the divine ones. The lamp is still burning in the sitting-room. Inform\nthe sisters of their grandmother's death, and tell them the pleasant\ntidings you have brought us, but reserve until the morning a description\nof the terrible scenes you witnessed. We will not spoil their sleep. Mark\nmy words! Helena's silent grief and her joy at our escape will lighten\nyour heart.\"\n\nAnd so it proved. True, Gorgias lived over again in his dreams the\nfrightful spectacle witnessed the day before; but when the sun of the 2d\nday of August rose in full radiance over Alexandria and, early in the\nmorning, boat after boat reached the Serpent Island, landing first\nBerenike and her nephews, the sons of the honoured philosopher Arius,\nthen clients, officials, and friends of Dion, and former favourite guests\nof Barine, to greet the young pair and escort them from the refuge which\nhad so long sheltered them back to the city and their midst, new and\npleasant impressions robbed the gloomy picture of a large portion of its\nterrors.\n\n\"Tall Phryxus\" had rapidly spread the news of the place where Dion and\nBarine had vanished, and that they had long been happily wedded. Many\ndeemed it well worth a short voyage to see the actors in so strange an\nadventure and be the first to greet them. Besides, those who knew Barine\nand her husband were curious to learn how two persons accustomed to the\nlife of a great capital had endured for months such complete solitude.\nMany feared or expected to see them emaciated and careworn, haggard or\nsunk in melancholy, and hence there were a number of astonished faces\namong those whose boats the freedman Pyrrhus guided as pilot through the\nshallows which protected his island.\n\nThe return of this rare couple to their home would have afforded an\nexcellent opportunity for gay festivities. Sincerely as the majority of\nthe populace mourned the fate of the Queen, and gravely as the more\nthoughtful feared for Alexandria's freedom under Roman rule, all rejoiced\nover the lenient treatment of the city. Their lives and property were\nsafe, and the celebration of festivals had become a life habit with all\nclasses. But the news of the death of Didymus's wife and the illness of\nthe old man, who could not bear up under the loss of his faithful\ncompanion, gave Dion a right to refuse any gay welcome at his home.\n\nBarine's sorrow was his also, and Didymus died a few days after his wife,\nwith whom he had lived in the bonds of love for more than half a\ncentury--people said, \"of a broken heart.\"\n\nSo Dion and his young wife entered his beautiful palace with no noisy\nfestivities. Instead of the jubilant hymenaeus, the voice of his own\nchild greeted him on the threshold.\n\nThe mourning garments in which Barine welcomed him in the women's\napartment reminded him of the envy of the gods which his friend had\nfeared for him. But he often fancied that his mother's statue in the\ntablinum looked specially happy when the young mistress of the house\nentered it.\n\nBarine, too, felt that her happiness as wife and mother in her\nmagnificent home would have been overwhelming had not a wise destiny\nimposed upon her, just at this time, grief for those whom she loved.\n\nDion instantly devoted himself again to the affairs of the city and his\nown business. He and the woman he loved, who had first become really his\nown during a time of sore privation, had run into the harbour and gazed\nquietly at the storms of life. The anchor of love, which moored their\nship to the solid earth, had been tested in the solitude of the Serpent\nIsland.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThe fisherman and his family had watched the departure of their beloved\nguests with sorrowful hearts, and the women had shed many tears, although\nthe sons of Pyrrhus had been dismissed from the fleet and were again\nhelping their father at home, as in former times.\n\nBesides, Dion had made the faithful freedman a prosperous man, and given\nhis daughter, Dione, a marriage dowry. She was soon to become the wife of\nthe captain of the Epicurus, Archibius's swift galley, whose acquaintance\nshe had made when the vessel, on several occasions, brought Charmian's\nNubian maid to the island. Anukis's object in making these visits was not\nonly to see her friend, but to induce him to catch one of the poisonous\nserpents in the neighbouring island and keep it ready for the Queen.\n\nSince Cleopatra had ascertained that no poison caused a less painful\ndeath than the fangs of the asp, she had resolved that the bite of one of\nthese reptiles should release her from the burden of life. The clever\nEthiopian had thought of inducing her friend Pyrrhus to procure the\nadder, but it had required all Aisopion's skill in persuasion, and the\ntouching manner in which she understood how to describe the Queen's\nterrible situation and severe suffering, to conquer the reluctance of the\nupright man. At last she succeeded in persuading him to measure a queen\nby a different standard from a woman of the people, and inducing him to\narrange the manner and time of conveying the serpent into the\nwell-guarded palace. A signal was to inform him when the decisive hour\narrived. After that he was to be ready with the asp in the fish-market\nevery day. Probably his service would soon be claimed; for Octavianus's\ndelay was scarcely an indication of a favourable decision of Cleopatra's\nfate.\n\nTrue, she was permitted to live in royal state at Lochias, and had even\nbeen allowed to have the children, the twins, and little Alexander sent\nback to her with the promise that life and liberty would be granted them;\nbut Caesarion--whose treacherous tutor Rhodon lured him from the journey\nsouthward back to Alexandria by all sorts of representations, among them\nthe return of Barine--was held prisoner in his father's temple, where he\nhad sought refuge. This news, and the fact that Octavianus had condemned\nto death the youth who bore so striking a resemblance to Caesar, had not\nremained concealed from the unhappy mother. She was also informed of the\nwords in which the philosopher Arius had encouraged Caesar's desire to\nrid himself of the son of his famous uncle. They referred to the Homeric\nsaying concerning the disadvantage of having many rulers.\n\nEverything which Cleopatra desired to know concerning events in the city\nreached her ears; for she was allowed much liberty-only she was closely\nwatched day and night, and all the servants and officials to whom she\ngranted an audience were carefully searched to keep from her all means of\nself-destruction.\n\nTrue, it was very evident that she had closed her account with life. Her\nattempt to take no food and die of starvation must have been noticed.\nThreats directed against the children, through whom she could be most\neasily influenced, finally induced her to eat again. Octavianus was\ninformed of all these things, and his conduct proved his anxiety to keep\nher from suicide.\n\nSeveral Asiatic princes vied with each other in the desire to honour Mark\nAntony by a magnificent funeral, but Octavianus had allowed Cleopatra to\nprovide the most superb obsequies. In the time of her deepest anguish it\nafforded her comfort and satisfaction to arrange everything herself, and\neven perform some offices with her own hands. The funeral had been as\ngorgeous as the dead man's love of splendour could have desired.\n\nIras and Charmian were often unable to understand how the Queen--who,\nsince Antony's death, had suffered not only from the wounds she had\ninflicted upon herself in her despair, but also after her baffled attempt\nat starvation from a slow fever--had succeeded in resisting the severe\nexertions and mental agitation to which she had been subjected by\nAntony's funeral.\n\nThe return of Archibius with the children, however, had visibly\nreanimated her flagging energy. She often went to Didymus's garden, which\nwas now connected with the palace at Lochias, to watch their work and\nshare whatever interested their young hearts.\n\nBut the gayest of mothers, who had understood how to enter so thoroughly\ninto her children's pursuits, had now become a sorrowful, grave monitor.\nThough the lessons she urged upon them were often beautiful and wise,\nthey were little suited to the ages of Archibius's pupils, for they\nusually referred to death and to questions of philosophy not easily\nunderstood by children.\n\nShe herself felt that she no longer struck the right key; but whenever\nshe tried to change it and jest with them as usual, she could endure the\nforced gaiety only a short time; a painful revulsion, frequently\naccompanied by tears, followed, and she was obliged to leave her\ndarlings.\n\nThe life her foe granted her seemed like an intrusive gift, an oppressive\ndebt, which we desire to pay a troublesome creditor as soon as possible.\nShe seemed calmer and apparently content only when permitted to talk with\nthe companions of her youth concerning bygone days, or with them and Iras\nof death, and how it would be possible to put an end to an unwelcome\nexistence.\n\nAfter such conversations Iras and Charmian left her with bleeding hearts.\nThey had long since resolved to share the fate of their royal mistress,\nwhatever it might be. Their common suffering was the bond which again\nunited them in affection. Iras had provided poisoned pins which had\nspeedily destroyed the animals upon which they had been tried. Cleopatra\nknew of their existence, but she herself preferred the painless death\nbestowed by the serpent's bite, and it was long since her friends had\nseen the eyes of their beloved sovereign sparkle so brightly as when\nCharmian told her that away had been found to obtain the uraeus serpent\nas soon as it was needed. Put it was not yet imperative to adopt the last\nexpedient. Octavianus wished to be considered lenient, and perhaps might\nstill be prevailed upon to grant the Queen and her children a future meet\nfor their royal birth.\n\nCleopatra's reply was an incredulous smile, yet a faint hope which saved\nher from despair began to bud in her soul.\n\nDolabella, an aristocratic Roman, a scion of the noble Cornelius family,\nwas in the Caesar's train, and had been presented to the Egyptian Queen.\nIn former years his father was a friend of Cleopatra; nay, she had placed\nhim under obligations by sending him, after the murder of Julius Caesar,\nthe military force at her command to be used against Cassius. True, her\nlegions, by messengers from Dolabella himself, were despatched in another\ndirection; but Cleopatra had not withdrawn her favour from Dolabella's\nfather on that account. The latter had known her in Rome before the death\nof Caesar, and had enthusiastically described the charms of the\nbewitching Egyptian sovereign. Though the youth found her only a mourning\nwidow, ill in body and mind, he was so strongly attracted and deeply\nmoved by her beauty, her brilliant intellect, her grace of bearing, her\nmisfortunes and sufferings, that he devoted many hours to her, and would\nhave considered it a happiness to render her greater services than\ncircumstances permitted. He often accompanied her to the children, whose\nhearts had been completely won by his frank, cheerful nature; and so it\nhappened that he soon became one of the most welcome guests at Lochias.\nHe confided without reserve every feeling that stirred his soul to the\nwarm-hearted woman who was so many years his senior, and through him she\nlearned many things connected with Octavianus and his surroundings.\nWithout permitting himself to be used as a tool, he became an advocate\nfor the unfortunate woman whom he so deeply esteemed.\n\nIn intercourse with her he made every effort to inspire confidence in\nOctavianus, who favoured him, enjoyed his society, and in whose\nmagnanimity the youth firmly believed.\n\nHe anticipated the best results from an interview between the Queen and\nthe Caesar; for he deemed it impossible that the successful conqueror\ncould part untouched, and with no desire to mitigate her sad fate, from\nthe woman who, in earlier years, had so fascinated his father, and whom\nhe himself, though she might almost have been his mother, deemed peerless\nin her bewitching and gracious charm.\n\nCleopatra, on the contrary, shrank from meeting the man who had brought\nso much misfortune upon Mark Antony and herself, and inflicted upon her\ninsults which were only too well calculated to make her doubt his\nclemency and truth. On the other hand, she could not deny Dolabella's\nassertion that it would be far less easy for Octavianus to refuse her in\nperson the wishes she cherished for her children's future than through\nmediators. Proculejus had learned that Antony had named him to the Queen\nas the person most worthy of her confidence, and more keenly felt the\nwrong which, as the tool and obedient friend of Octavianus, he had\ninflicted upon the hapless woman. The memory of his unworthy deed, which\nhistory would chronicle, had robbed the sensitive man, the author and\npatron of budding Roman poetry, of many an hour's sleep, and therefore he\nalso now laboured zealously to oblige the Queen and mitigate her hard\nfate. He, like the freedman Epaphroditus, who by Caesar's orders watched\ncarefully to prevent any attempt upon her life, seemed to base great\nhopes on such an interview, and endeavoured to persuade her to request an\naudience from the Caesar.\n\nArchibius said that, even in the worst case, it could not render the\npresent state of affairs darker. Experience, he said to Charmian, proved\nthat no man of any feeling could wholly resist the charm of her nature,\nand to him at least she had never seemed more winning than now. Who could\nhave gazed unmoved into the beautiful face, so eloquent in its silent\nsuffering, whose soul would not have been deeply touched by the sorrowful\ntones of her sweet voice? Besides, her sable mourning robes were so well\nsuited to the slight tinge of melancholy which pervaded her whole aspect.\nWhen the fever flushed her cheeks, Archibius, spite of the ravages which\ngrief, anxiety, and fear had made upon her charms, thought that he had\nnever seen her look more beautiful. He knew her thoroughly, and was aware\nthat her desire to follow the man she loved into the realm of death was\nsincere; nay, that it dominated her whole being. She clung to life only\nto die as soon as possible. The decision which, after her resolve to\nbuild the monument, she had recognized in the temple of Berenike as the\nright one, had become the rule of conduct of her life. Every thought,\nevery conversation, led her back to the past. The future seemed to exist\nno longer. If Archibius succeeded in directing her thoughts to\napproaching days she occupied herself wholly with her children's fate.\nFor herself she expected nothing, felt absolved from every duty except\nthe one of protecting herself and her name from dishonour and\nhumiliation.\n\nThe fact that Octavianus, when he doomed Caesarion to death, permitted\nthe other children to return to her with the assurance that no harm\nshould befall them, proved that he made a distinction between them and\nhis uncle's son, and had no fears that they threatened his own safety.\nShe might expect important results in their favour from an interview with\nOctavianus, so she at last authorized Proculejus to request an audience.\n\nThe Imperator's answer came the very same day. It was his place to seek\nher--so ran the Caesar's message. This meeting must decide her fate.\nCleopatra was aware of this, and begged Charmian to remember the asp.\n\nHer attendants had been forbidden to leave Lochias, but Epaphroditus\npermitted them to receive visitors. The Nubian's merry, amusing talk had\nmade friends for her among the Roman guards, who allowed her to pass in\nand out unmolested. On her return, of course, she was searched with the\nutmost care, like every one who entered Lochias.\n\nThe decisive hour was close at hand. Charmian knew what she must do in\nany event, but there was still one desire for whose fulfilment she\nlonged. She wished to greet Barine and see her boy.\n\nTo spare Iras, she had hitherto refrained from sending for Dion's wife.\nThe sight of the mother and child might have reopened wounds still\nunhealed, and she would not inflict this sorrow upon her niece, who for a\nlong time had once more been loyally devoted to her.\n\nOctavianus did not hasten to fulfil his assurance. But, at the end of a\nweek, Proculejus brought the news that he could promise a visit from the\nCaesar that afternoon. The Queen was deeply agitated, and desired before\nthe interview to pay a visit to her tomb. Iras offered to accompany her,\nand as Cleopatra intended to remain an hour or longer, Charmian thought\nit a favourable opportunity to see Barine and her boy.\n\nDion's wife had been informed of her friend's wish, and Anukis, who was\nto take her to Lochias, did not wait long for the mother and child.\n\nDidymus's garden--now the property of the royal children--was the scene\nof the meeting. In the shade of the familiar trees the young mother sank\nupon the breast of her faithful friend, and Charmian could not gaze her\nfill at the boy, or weary of tracing in his features a resemblance to his\ngrandfather Leonax.\n\nHow much these two women, to whom Fate had allotted lives so widely\ndifferent, found to tell each other! The older felt transported to the\npast, the younger seemed to have naught save a present rich in blessing\nand a future green with hope. She had good news to tell of her sister\nalso. Helena had long been the happy wife of Gorgias who, however, spite\nof the love with which he surrounded the young mistress of his house,\nnumbered among his most blissful hours those which were devoted to\noverseeing the progress of the work on the mausoleum, where he met\nCleopatra.\n\nTime flew swiftly to the two women, and it was a painful surprise when\none of the eunuchs on guard announced that the Queen had returned. Again\nCharmian embraced her lover's grandson, blessed him and the young mother,\nsent messages of remembrance to Dion, begged Barine to think of her\naffectionately when she had passed from earth and, if her heart prompted\nher to the act, to anoint or adorn with a ribbon or flower the tombstone\nof the woman who had no friend to render her such a service.\n\nDeeply moved by the firmness with which Charmian witnessed the approach\nof death, Barine listened in silence, but suddenly started as the sharp\ntones of a well-known voice called her friend's name and, as she turned,\nIras stood before her. Pallid and emaciated, she looked in her long,\nfloating black robes the very incarnation of misery.\n\nThe sight pierced the heart of the happy wife and mother. She felt as if\nmuch of the joy which Iras lacked had fallen to her own lot, and all the\ngrief and woe she had ever endured had been transferred to her foe. She\nwould fain have approached humbly and said something very kind and\nfriendly; but when she saw the tall, haggard woman gazing at her child,\nand noticed the disagreeable expression which had formerly induced her to\ncompare her to a sharp thorn, a terrible dread of this woman's evil eye\nwhich might harm her boy seized the mother's heart and, overwhelmed by an\nimpulse beyond control, she covered his face with her own veil.\n\nIras saw it, and after Barine had answered her question, \"Dion's child?\"\nin the affirmative, with a glance beseeching forbearance, the girl drew\nup her slender figure, saying with arrogant coldness \"What do I care for\nthe child? We have more important matters on our hearts.\"\n\nThen she turned to Charmian to inform her, in the tone of an official\nannouncement, that during the approaching interview the Queen desired her\nattendance also.\n\nOctavianus had appointed sunset for the interview, and it still lacked\nseveral hours of the time. The suffering Queen felt wearied by her visit\nto the mausoleum, where she had implored the spirit of Antony, if he had\nany power over the conqueror's heart, to induce him to release her from\nthis torturing uncertainty and promise the children a happy fate.\n\nTo Dolabella, who had accompanied her from the tomb to the palace, she\nsaid that she expected only one thing from this meeting, and then won\nfrom him a promise which strengthened her courage and seemed the most\nprecious boon which could be granted at this time.\n\nShe had expressed the fear that Octavianus would still leave her in\ndoubt. The youth spoke vehemently in Caesar's defence, and closed with\nthe exclamation, \"If he should still keep you in suspense, he would be\nnot only cool and circumspect--\"\n\n\"Then,\" Cleopatra interrupted, \"be nobler, be less cruel, and release\nyour father's friend from these tortures. If he does not reveal to me\nwhat awaits me and you learn it, then--you will not say no, you cannot\nrefuse me--then you, yes, you will inform me?\"\n\nPromptly and firmly came the reply: \"What have I been able to do for you\nuntil now? But I will release you from this torture, if possible.\" Then\nhe hastily turned his back, that he might not be compelled to see the\neunuchs stationed at the palace gate search the garments of the royal\ncaptive.\n\nHis promise sustained the failing courage of the wearied, anxious Queen,\nand she reclined upon the cushions of a lounge to recover from the\nexhausting expedition; but she had scarcely closed her eyes when the\npavement of the court-yard rang under the hoofs of the four horses which\nbore the Caesar to Lochias. Cleopatra had not expected the visit so\nearly.\n\nShe had just been consulting with her attendants about the best mode of\nreceiving him. At first she had been disposed to do so on the throne,\nclad in her royal attire, but she afterwards thought that she was too ill\nand weak to bear the heavy ornaments. Besides, the man and successful\nconqueror would show himself more indulgent and gracious to the suffering\nwoman than to the princess.\n\nThere was much to palliate the course which she had pursued in former\ndays, and she had carefully planned the defence by which she hoped to\ninfluence his calm but not unjust nature. Many things in her favour were\ncontained in the letters from Caesar and Antony which, after her\nhusband's death, she had read again and again during so many wakeful\nnights, and they had just been brought to her.\n\nBoth Archibius and the Roman Proculejus had counselled her not to receive\nhim entirely alone. The latter did not express his opinion in words, but\nhe knew that Octavianus was more readily induced to noble and lenient\ndeeds when there was no lack of witnesses to report them to the world. It\nwas advisable to provide spectators for the most consummate actor of his\nday.\n\nTherefore the Queen had retained Iras, Charmian, and some of the\nofficials nearest to her person, among them the steward Seleukus, who\ncould give information if any question arose concerning the delivery of\nthe treasure.\n\nShe had also intended, after she had somewhat recovered from the visit to\nthe tomb, to be robed in fresh garments. This was prevented by the\nCaesar's unexpected arrival. Now, even had time permitted, she would have\nbeen unable to have her hair arranged, she felt so weak and yet so\nfeverishly excited.\n\nThe blood coursed hotly through her veins and flushed her cheeks. When\ntold that the Caesar was close at hand, she had only time to raise\nherself a little higher on her cushions, push back her hair, and let\nIras, with a few hasty touches, adjust the folds of her mourning robes.\nHad she attempted to advance to meet him, her limbs would have failed to\nsupport her.\n\nWhen the Caesar at last entered, she could greet him only by a wave of\nher hand; but Octavianus, who had uttered the usual salutations from the\nthreshold, quickly broke the painful silence, saying with a courteous\nbow:\n\n\"You summoned me--I came. Every one is subject to beauty--even the\nvictor.\"\n\nCleopatra's head drooped in shame as she answered distinctly, yet in a\ntone of modest denial: \"I only asked the favour of an audience. I did not\nsummon. I thank you for granting the request. If it is dangerous for man\nto bow to woman's charms, no peril threatens you here. Beauty cannot\nwithstand tortures such as those which have been imposed on me--barely\ncan life remain. But you prevented my casting it from me. If you are\njust, you will grant to the woman whom you would not permit to die an\nexistence whose burden will not exceed her power to endure.\"\n\nThe Caesar again bowed silently and answered courteously:\n\n\"I intend to make it worthy of you.\"\n\n\"Then,\" cried Cleopatra impetuously, \"release me from this torturing\nuncertainty. You are not one of the men who never look beyond to-day and\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"You are thinking,\" said Octavianus harshly, \"of one who perhaps would\nstill be among us, if with wiser caution--\"\n\nCleopatra's eyes, which hitherto had met the victor's cold gaze with\nmodest entreaty, flashed angrily, and a majestic: \"Let the past rest!\"\ninterrupted him.\n\nBut she soon mastered the indignation which had stirred her passionate\nblood, and in a totally different tone, not wholly free from gentle\npersuasion, she continued:\n\n\"The provident intellect of the man whose nod the universe obeys grasps\nthe future as well as the present. Must not he, therefore, have decided\nthe children's fate ere he consented to see their mother? The only\nobstacle in your path, the son of your great uncle--\"\n\n\"His doom was a necessity,\" interrupted the conqueror in a tone of\nsincere regret. \"As I mourned Antony, I grieve for the unfortunate boy.\"\n\n\"If that is true,\" replied Cleopatra eagerly, \"it does honour to the\nkindness of your heart. When Proculejus wrested the dagger from my grasp\nhe blamed me because I attributed to the most clement of conquerors\nharshness and implacability.\"\n\n\"Two qualities,\" the Caesar protested, \"which are wholly alien to my\nnature.\"\n\n\"And which--even if you possessed them--you neither could nor ought to\nuse,\" cried Cleopatra, \"if you really mean the beautiful words you so\noften utter that, as the nephew and heir of the great Julius Caesar, you\nintend to walk in his footsteps. Caesarion--there is his bust--was the\nimage in every feature of his father, your illustrious model. To me, the\nhapless woman now awaiting my sentence from his nephew's lips, the gods\ngranted, as the most precious of all gifts, the love of your divine\nuncle. And what love! The world knew not what I was to his great heart,\nbut my wish to defend myself from misconception bids me show it to you,\nhis heir. From you I expect my sentence. You are the judge. These letters\nare my strongest defence. I rely upon them to show myself to you as I was\nand am, not as envy and slander describe me.--The little ivory casket,\nIras! It contains the precious proofs of Caesar's love, his letters to\nme.\"\n\nShe raised the lid with trembling hands and, as these mementoes carried\nher back to the past, she continued in lower tones:\n\n\"Among all my treasures this simple little coffer has been for half a\nlifetime my most valued jewel. He gave it to me. It was in the midst of\nthe fierce contest here at the Bruchium.\"\n\nThen, while unfolding the first roll, she directed Octavianus's attention\nto it and the remainder of the contents of the little casket, exclaiming:\n\n\"Silent pages, yet how eloquent! Each one a peerless picture, the\npowerful thinker, the man of action, who permits his restless intellect\nto repose, and suffers his heart to overflow with the love of youth! Were\nI vain, Octavianus, I might call each one of these letters a trophy of\nvictory, an Olympic garland. The woman to whom Julius Caesar owned his\nsubjugation might well hold her head higher than the unhappy, vanquished\nQueen who, save the permission to die--\"\n\n\"Do not part with the letters,\" said Octavianus kindly. \"Who can doubt\nthat they are a precious treasure--\"\n\n\"The most precious and at the same time the advocate of the accused,\"\nreplied Cleopatra eagerly; \"on them--as you have already heard--rests my\nvindication. I will commence with their contents. How terrible it is to\nmake what is sacred to us and intended only to elevate our own hearts\nserve a purpose, to do what has always been repugnant to us! But I need\nan advocate and, Octavianus, these letters will restore to the wretched,\nsuffering beggar the dignity and majesty of the Queen. The world knows\nbut two powers to which Julius Caesar bowed--the thrall of the pitiable\nwoman on this couch, and of all-conquering death. An unpleasant\nfellowship--but I do not shrink from it; for death robbed him of life,\nand from my hand--I ask only a brief moment. How gladly I would spare\nmyself my own praises, and you the necessity of listening to them! Yes,\nhere it is: 'Through you, you irresistible woman,' he writes, 'I learned\nfor the first time, after youth was over, how beautiful life can be.'\"\n\nCleopatra, as she spoke, handed Caesar the letter. But while she was\nstill searching hastily for another he returned the first, saying:\n\n\"I understand only too well your reluctance to allow such confidential\neffusions to play the part of defender. I can imagine their purport, and\nthey shall influence me as if I had read them all. However eloquent they\nmay be, they are needless witnesses. Is any written testimony required in\nbehalf of charms whose magic is still potent?\"\n\nA bewitching smile, which seemed like a confirmation of the haughty young\nconqueror's flattering words, flitted over Cleopatra's face. Octavianus\nnoticed it. This woman indeed possessed enthralling charms, and he felt\nthe slight flush that suffused his cheeks.\n\nThis unhappy captive, this suffering supplicant, could still draw into\nher net any man who did not possess the cool watchfulness which panoplied\nhis soul. Was it the marvellous melody of her voice, the changeful lustre\nof her tearful eyes, the aristocratic grace of the noble figure, the\nexquisite symmetry of the hands and feet, the weakness of the prostrate\nsufferer, strangely blended with truly royal majesty, or the thought that\nlove for her had found earth's greatest and loftiest men with\nindissoluble fetters, which lent this fragile woman, who had long since\npassed the boundaries of youth, so powerful a spell of attraction?\n\nAt any rate, however certain of himself he might be, he must guard his\nfeelings. He understood how to bridle passion far better than the uncle\nwho was so greatly his superior.\n\nYet it was of the utmost importance to keep her alive, and therefore to\nmaintain her belief in his admiration. He wished to show the world and\nthe Great Queen of the East, who had just boasted of conquering, like\ndeath, even the most mighty, its own supremacy as man and victor. But he\nmust also be gentle, in order not to endanger the object for which he\nwanted her. She must accompany him to Rome. She and her children promised\nto render his triumph the most brilliant and memorable one which any\nconqueror had ever displayed to the senate and the people. In a light\ntone which, however, revealed the emotion of his soul, he answered: \"My\nillustrious uncle was known as a friend of fair women. His stern life was\ncrowned with flowers by many hands, and he acknowledged these favours\nverbally and perhaps--as he did to you in all these letters--with the\nreed. His genius was greater, at any rate more many-sided and mobile,\nthan mine. He succeeded, too, in pursuing different objects at the same\ntime with equal devotion. I am wholly absorbed in the cares of state, of\ngovernment, and war. I feel grateful when I can permit our poets to adorn\nmy leisure for a brief space. Overburdened with toil, I have no time to\nyield myself captive, as my uncle did in these very rooms, to the most\ncharming of women. If I could follow my own will, you would be the first\nfrom whom I would seek the gifts of Eros. But it may not be! We Romans\nlearn to curb even the most ardent wishes when duty and morality command.\nThere is no city in the world where half so many gods are worshipped as\nhere; and what strange deities are numbered among them! It needs a\nspecial effort of the intellect to understand them. But the simple duties\nof the domestic hearth!--they are too prosaic for you Alexandrians, who\nimbibe philosophy with your mothers' milk. What marvel, if I looked for\nthem in vain? True, they would find little satisfaction--our household\ngods I mean--here, where the rigid demands of Hymen are mute before the\nardent pleadings of Eros. Marriage is scarcely reckoned among the sacred\nthings of life. But this opinion seems to displease you.\"\n\n\"Because it is false,\" cried Cleopatra, repressing with difficulty a\nfresh outburst of indignation. \"Yet, if I see aright, your reproach is\naimed only at the bond which united me to the man who was called your\nsister's husband. But I will I would gladly remain silent, but you force\nme to speak, and I will do so, though your own friend, Proculejus, is\nsigning to me to be cautious. I--I, Cleopatra, was the wife of Mark\nAntony according to the customs of this country, when you wedded him to\nthe widow of Marcellus, who had scarcely closed his eyes. Not she, but I,\nwas the deserted wife--I to whom his heart belonged until the hour of his\ndeath, not the unloved consort wedded--\" Here her voice fell. She had\nyielded to the passionate impulse which urged her to express her feelings\nin the matter, and now continued in a tone of gentle explanation: \"I know\nthat you proposed this alliance solely for the peace and welfare of\nRome--\"\n\n\"To guard both, and to spare the blood of tens of thousands,\" Octavianus\nadded with proud decision. \"Your clear brain perceived the true state of\naffairs. If, spite of the grave importance of these motives, you--But\nwhat voices would not that of the heart silence with you women! The man,\nthe Roman, succeeded in closing his ears to its siren song. Were it\notherwise, I would never have chosen for my sister a husband by whom I\nknew her happiness would be so ill-guarded--I would, as I have already\nsaid, be unable to master my own admiration of the loveliest of women.\nBut I ought scarcely to boast of that. I fear that a heart like yours\nopens less quickly to the modest Octavianus than to a Julius Caesar or\nthe brilliant Mark Antony. Yet I may be permitted to confess that perhaps\nI might have avoided conducting this unhappy war against my friend to the\nend under my own guidance, and appearing myself in Egypt, had I not been\nurged by the longing to see once more the woman who had dazzled my boyish\neyes. Now, in my mature manhood, I desired to comprehend those marvellous\ngifts of mind, that matchless sagacity--\"\n\n\"Sagacity!\" interrupted the Queen, shrugging her shoulders mournfully.\n\"You possess a far greater share of what is commonly called by that name.\nMy fate proves it. The pliant intellect which the gods bestowed on me\nwould ill sustain the test in this hour of anguish. But if you really\ncare to learn what mental power Cleopatra once possessed, relieve me of\nthis terrible burden of uncertainty, and grant me a position in life\nwhich will permit my paralyzed soul to move freely once more.\"\n\n\"It depends solely on yourself,\" Octavian eagerly responded, \"to make\nyour future life, not only free from care, but beautiful.\"\n\n\"On me?\" asked Cleopatra in astonishment.  Our weal and woe are in your\nhands alone. I am modest and ask nothing save to know what you intend for\nour future, what you mean by the lot which you term beautiful.\"\n\n\"Nothing less,\" replied the Caesar quietly, \"than what seems to lie\nnearest to your own heart--a life of that freedom of soul to which you\naspire.\"\n\nThe breath of the agitated Queen began come more quickly and, no longer\nable to contr the impatience which overpowered her, she exclaimed, \"With\nthe assurance of your favour on your lips, you refuse to discuss the\nquestion which interests, me beyond any other--for which, if any you must\nhave been prepared when you came here--\"\n\n\"Reproaches?\" asked Octavianus with we feigned surprise. \"Would it not\nrather be my place to complain? It is precisely because I am thoroughly\nsincere in the friendly disposition which you read aright from my words,\nthat some of your measures cannot fail to wound me. Your treasures were\nto be committed to the flames. It would be unfair to expect tokens of\nfriendship from the vanquished; but can you deny that even the bitterest\nhatred could scarcely succeed in devising anything more hostile?\"\n\n\"Let the past rest! Who would not seek in war to diminish the enemy's\nbooty?\" pleaded the Queen in a soothing tone. But as Octavianus delayed\nhis answer, she continued more eagerly: \"It is said that the ibex in the\nmountains, when in mortal peril, rushes upon the hunter and hurls him\nwith it down the precipice. The same impulse is natural to human beings,\nand praiseworthy, I think, in both. Forget the past, as I will try to do,\nI repeat with uplifted hands. Say that you will permit the sons whom I\ngave to Antony to ascend the Egyptian throne, not under their mother's\nguardianship, but that of Rome, and grant me freedom wherever I may live,\nand I will gladly transfer to you, down to the veriest trifles, all the\nproperty and treasures I possess.\"\n\nShe clenched her little hand impatiently under the folds of her robe as\nshe spoke; but Octavianus lowered his eyes, saying carelessly: \"In war\nthe victor disposes of the property of the vanquished; but my heart\nrestrains me from applying the universal law to you, who are so far above\nordinary mortals. Your wealth is said to be vast, though the foolish war\nwhich Antony, with your aid, so greatly prolonged, devoured vast sums. In\nthis country squandered gold seems like the grass which, when mowed,\nsprings up anew.\"\n\n\"You speak,\" replied Cleopatra, more and more deeply incensed, with proud\ncomposure, \"of the treasures which my ancestors, the powerful monarchs of\na wealthy country, amassed during three hundred years for their noble\nrace and for the adornment of the women of their line. Parsimony did not\naccord with the generosity and lofty nature of an Antony, yet avarice\nitself would not deem the portion still remaining insignificant. Every\narticle is registered.\"\n\nWhile speaking, she took a manuscript from the hand of Seleukus and\npassed it to Octavianus who, with a slight bend of the head, received it\nin silence. But he had scarcely begun to read it when the steward, a\nlittle corpulent man with twinkling eyes half buried in his fat cheeks,\nraised his short forefinger, pointed insolently at the Queen, and\nasserted that she was trying to conceal some things, and had ordered him\nnot to place them on the list. Every tinge of colour faded from the lips\nand cheeks of the agitated and passionate woman; tortured by feverish\nimpatience and no longer able to control her emotions, she raised herself\nand, with her own dainty hand, struck the accuser--whom she had lifted\nfrom poverty and obscurity to his present high position--again and again\nin the face, till Octavianus, with a smile of superiority, begged her,\nmuch as the man deserved his punishment, to desist.\n\nThe unfortunate woman, thus thrown off her guard, flung herself back on\nher couch and, panting for breath, with tears streaming from her eyes,\nsobbed aloud, declaring that in the presence of such unendurable insult,\nsuch contemptible baseness, she fairly loathed herself. Then pressing her\nclenched hands upon her temples, she exclaimed \"Before the eyes of the\nfoe my royal dignity, which I have maintained all my life, falls from me\nlike a borrowed mantle. Yet what am I? What shall I be to-morrow, what\nlater? But who beneath the sun who has warm blood in his veins can\npreserve his composure when juicy grapes are held before his thirsting\nlips to be withdrawn, as from Tantalus, ere he can taste them? You came\nhither with the assurance of your favour; but the flattering words of\npromise which you bestowed upon the unhappy woman were probably only the\ndrops of poppy-juice given to soothe the ravings of fever. Was the favour\nwhich you permitted me to see and anticipate for the future merely\nintended to delude a miserable--\"\n\nBut she went no further; Octavianus, with dignified bearing and loud,\nclear tones, interrupted \"Whoever believes the heir of Caesar capable of\nshamefully deceiving a noble woman, a queen, the object of his\nillustrious uncle's love, insults and wounds him; but the just anger\nwhich overmastered you may serve as your apology. Ay,\" he added in a\ntotally different tone, \"I might even have cause to be grateful for this\nindignation, and to wish for another opportunity to witness the outbreak\nof passion though in its unbridled fierceness--the royal lioness is\nscarcely aware of her own beauty when the tempest of wrath sweeps her\naway. What must she be when it is love that constrains the flame of her\nglowing soul to burst into a blaze?\"\n\n\"Her glowing soul!\" Cleopatra eagerly repeated, and the desire awoke to\nsubjugate this man who had so confidently boasted of his power of\nresistance. Though he might be stronger than many others, he certainly\nwas not invincible. And aware of her still unbroken sway over the hearts\nof men, her eyes sparkled with the alluring radiance of love, and a\nbewitching smile brightened her face.\n\nThe young Imperator's heart began to chafe under the curb and to beat\nmore quickly, his cheeks flushed and paled by turns. How she gazed at\nhim! What if she loved the nephew as she had once loved the uncle who,\nthrough her, had learned what bliss life can offer? Ay, it must be\nhappiness to kiss those lips, to be clasped in those exquisite arms, to\nhear one's own name tenderly spoken by those musical tones. Even the\nmagnificent marble statue of Ariadne, which he had seen in Athens, had\nnot displayed to his gaze lines more beautiful than those of the woman\nreclining on yonder pillows. Who could venture to speak in her presence\nof vanished charms? Ah, no! The spell which had conquered Julius Caesar\nwas as vivid, as potent as ever. He himself felt its power; he was young,\nand after such unremitting exertions he too yearned to quaff the nectar\nof the noblest joys, to steep body and soul in peerless bliss.\n\nSo, with a hasty movement, he took one step towards her couch, resolved\nto grasp her hands and raise them to his lips. His ardent gaze answered\nhers; but surprised by the power which, though so heavily burdened with\nphysical and mental suffering, she still possessed over the strongest and\ncoldest of men, she perceived what was passing in his soul, and a smile\nof triumph, blended with the most bitter contempt, hovered around her\nbeautiful lips. Should she dupe him into granting her wishes by feigning\nlove for the first time? Should she yield to the man who had insulted\nher, in order to induce him to accord the children their rights? Should\nshe, to gratify her lover's foe, relinquish the sacred grief which was\ndrawing her after him, give posterity and her children the right to call\nher, instead of the most loyal of the loyal, a dishonoured woman, who\nsold herself for power?\n\nTo all these questions came a prompt denial. The single stride which\nOctavianus had made towards her, his eyes aflame with love, gave her the\nright to feel that she had vanquished the victor, and the proud delight\nof triumph was too plainly reflected in her mobile features to escape the\npenetrating, distrustful gaze of the subjugated Caesar.\n\nBut he had scarcely perceived what threatened him, and remembered her\nwords concerning his famous uncle's surrender only to her and to death,\nwhen he succeeded in conquering his quickly kindled senses. Blushing at\nhis own weakness, he averted his eyes from the Queen, and when he met\nthose of Proculejus and the other witnesses of the scene, he realized the\nabyss on whose verge he stood. He had half succumbed to the danger of\nlosing, by a moment's weakness, the fruit of great sacrifices and severe\nexertions.\n\nHis expressive eyes, which had just rested rapturously upon a beautiful\nwoman, now scanned the spectators with the stern glance of a monarch and,\napparently wishing to moderate an excess of flattering recognition which\nmight be misinterpreted, he said in an almost pedagogical tone:\n\n\"Yet we would rather see the noble lioness in the majestic repose which\nbest suits all sovereigns. It is difficult for a calm, deliberate nature\nlike mine to understand an ardent, quickly kindling heart.\"\n\nCleopatra had watched this sudden transition with more surprise than\ndisappointment. Octavianus had half surrendered to her, but recovered his\nself-command in time, and a man of his temperament does not readily\nsuccumb twice to a danger which he barely escaped. And this was well! He\nshould learn that he had misunderstood the glance which fired his heart;\nso she answered distantly, with majestic dignity:\n\n\"Misery such as mine quenches all ardour. And love? Woman's heart is ever\nopen to it, save where it has lost the desire for power and pleasure. You\nare young and happy, therefore your soul still yearns for love--I know\nthat--though not for mine. To me, on the contrary, one suitor only is\nwelcome, he with the lowered torch, whom you keep aloof from me. With him\nalone is to be found the boon for which this soul has longed from\nchildhood--painless peace! You smile. My past gives you the right to do\nso. I will not lessen it. Each individual lives his or her own life. Few\nunderstand the changes of their own existence, far less those of a\nstranger's. The world has witnessed how Peace fled from my path, or I\nfrom hers, and yet I see the possibility of finding the way. I am safe\nfrom the only things which would debar me from those joys--humiliation\nand disgrace.\" Here she hesitated; then, as if in explanation, continued\nin the sweetest tones at her command: \"Your generosity, I think, will\nguard from these two foes the woman whom just now--I did not fail to see\nit--you considered worthy of a more than gracious glance. I shall\ntreasure it among memories which will never fade. But now, illustrious\nImperator! tell me, what is your decision concerning me and the children?\nWhat may we hope from your favour?\"\n\n\"That Octavianus will be more and more warmly animated by the desire to\naccord you and yours a worthy destiny, the more firmly you expect that he\nwill attest his generosity.\"\n\n\"And if I fulfil this desire and expect from you everything that is great\nand noble--the condition is not difficult--what proofs of your\ngraciousness will then await us?\"\n\n\"Paint them with all the fervour of that vivid power of imagination which\ninterpreted even my glance in your favour, and devised the marvels by\nwhich you rendered the greatest and most brilliant man in Rome the\nhappiest of mortals. But--by Zeus!--it is the fourth hour after noonday!\"\n\nA glance from the window had caused the exclamation. Then, pressing his\nhand upon his heart, he continued in a tone of the most sincere regret\n\"How gladly I would prolong this fascinating conversation, but important\nmatters which, unfortunately, cannot be deferred, summon me--\"\n\n\"And your answer?\" cried Cleopatra, panting for breath and gazing at him\nwith eyes full of expectation.\n\n\"Must I repeat it?\" he asked with impatient haste. \"Very well, then. In\nreturn for implicit confidence on your part, favour, forgiveness,\ncordiality, every consideration which you can justly desire. Your heart\nis so rich in warmth of feeling, grant me but a small share of it and ask\ntangible gifts in return. They are already bestowed.\" Then greeting her\nlike a friend who is reluctant to say farewell, he hastily left the\napartment.\n\n\"Gone--gone!\" cried Iras as the door closed behind him. \"An eel that\nslips from the hand which strives to hold him.\"\n\n\"Northern ice,\" added Cleopatra gloomily as Charmian aided her to find a\nmore comfortable position. \"As smooth as it is cold; there is nothing\nmore to hope.\"\n\n\"Yes, my royal mistress, yes,\" Iras eagerly protested. \"Dolabella is\nwaiting for him in the Philadelphus court-yard. From him--you have his\npromise--we shall learn what Octavianus has in store for you.\"\n\nIn truth, the Caesar did find the youth at the first gate of the palace,\ninspecting his superb Cyrenean horses.\n\n\"Magnificent animals!\" cried Octavianus; \"a gift from the city! Will you\ndrive with me?--A remarkable, a very remarkable woman!\"\n\n\"Isn't she?\" asked Dolabella eagerly.\n\n\"Undoubtedly,\" replied the Caesar. \"But though she might almost be your\nmother, an uncommonly dangerous one for youths of your age. What a\nmelting voice, what versatility, what fervour! And yet such regal grace\nin every movement! But I wish to stifle, not to fan, the spark which\nperhaps has already fallen into your heart. And the play, the farce which\nshe just enacted before me in the midst of most serious matters!\"\n\nHe uttered a low, short laugh; but Dolabella exclaimed expectantly: \"You\nrarely laugh, but this conversation--apparently--excites your mirth. So\nthe result was satisfactory?\"\n\n\"Let us hope so. I was as gracious to her as possible.\"\n\n\"That is delightful. May I know in what manner your kindness and wisdom\nhave shaped her future? Or, rather, what did you promise the vanquished\nQueen?\"\n\n\"My favour, if she will trust me.\"\n\n\"Proculejus and I will continue to strengthen her confidence. And if we\nsucceed--?\"\n\n\"Then, as I have said, she will have my favour--a generous abundance of\nfavour.\"\n\n\"But her future destiny? What fate will you bestow on her and her\nchildren?\"\n\n\"Whatever the degree of her confidence deserves.\"\n\nHere he hesitated, for he met Dolabella's earnest, troubled gaze, which\nwas blended with a shade of reproach.\n\nOctavianus desired to retain the enthusiastic admiration of the youth,\nwho perhaps was destined to lofty achievements, so he continued in a\nconfidential tone: \"To you, my young friend, I can venture to speak more\nfrankly. I will gladly grant the most aspiring wishes of this fascinating\nand, I repeat, very remarkable woman, but first I need her for my\ntriumph. The Romans would have cause to reproach me if I deprived them of\nthe sight of this Queen, this peerless woman, in many respects the first\nof her time. We shall soon set out for Syria. The Queen and her children\nI shall send in three days to Rome. If, in the triumphal procession\nthere, she creates the sensation I anticipate from a spectacle so worthy\nof admiration, she shall learn how I reward those who oblige me.\"\n\nDolabella had listened in silence. When the Caesar entered the carriage,\nhe requested permission to remain behind.\n\nOctavianus drove alone eastward to the camp where, in the vicinity of the\nHippodrome, men were surveying the ground on which the suburb of\nNikopolis--city of victory--was to be built to commemorate for future\ngenerations the victory of the first Emperor over Antony and Cleopatra.\nIt grew, but never attained any great importance.\n\nThe noble Cornelius gazed indignantly after his sovereign's fiery steeds;\nthen, drawing up his stately figure to its full height, he entered the\npalace with a firm step. The act might cost him his life, but he would do\nwhat he believed to be his duty to the noble woman who had honoured him\nwith her friendship. This rare sovereign was too good to feast the eyes\nof the rabble.\n\nA few minutes later Cleopatra knew her impending ignominy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nThe next morning the Queen had many whispered conversations with\nCharmian, and the latter with Anukis. The day before, Archibius's\ngardener had brought to his master's sister some unusually fine figs,\nwhich grew in the old garden of Epicurus. This fruit was also mentioned,\nand Anukis went to Kanopus, and thence, in the steward's carriage, with a\nbasket of the very best ones to the fish-market. There she had a great\ndeal to say to Pyrrhus, and the freedman went to his boat with the figs.\n\nShortly after the Nubian's return the Queen came back to the palace from\nthe mausoleum. Her features bore an impress of resolution usually alien\nto them; nay, the firmly compressed lips gave them an expression of\nactual sternness. She knew what duty required, and regarded her\napproaching end as an inevitable necessity. Death seemed to her like a\njourney which she must take in order to escape the most terrible\ndisgrace. Besides, life after the death of Antony was no longer the same;\nit had been only a tiresome delay and waiting for the children's sake.\n\nThe visit to the tomb had been intended, as it were, to announce her\ncoming to her husband. She had remained a long time in the silent hall,\nwhere she had garlanded the coffin with flowers, kissed it, talked to the\ndead man as if he were still alive, and told him that the day had come\nwhen what he had mentioned in his will as the warmest desire of his\nheart--to rest beside her in the same tomb--would be fulfilled. Among the\nthousand forms of suffering which had assailed her, nothing had seemed so\nhard to bear as to be deprived of his society and love.\n\nThen she had gone into the garden, embraced and kissed the children, and\nentreated them to remember her tenderly. Her purpose had not been\nconcealed from Archibius, but Charmian had told him the menace of the\nfuture, and he approved her decision. By the exertion of all his innate\nstrength of will, he succeeded in concealing the grief which rent his\nfaithful heart. She must die. The thought of seeing her adorn the\ntriumphal procession of Octavianus was unbearable to him also. Her thanks\nand entreaties to be an affectionate guardian to the children were\nreceived with an external calmness which afterwards seemed to him utterly\nincomprehensible.\n\nWhen she spoke of her approaching meeting with her lover, he asked\nwhether she had entirely abandoned the teachings of Epicurus, who\nbelieved that death absolutely ended existence.\n\nCleopatra eagerly assented, saying: \"Absence of pain has ceased to appear\nto me the chief earthly blessing, since I have known that love does not\nbring pleasure only, since I have learned that pain is the inseparable\ncompanion of love. I will not give it up, nor will I part from my lover.\nWhoever experiences what fate has allotted to me has learned to know\nother gods than those whom the master described as dwelling happily in\nundisturbed repose. Rather eternal torture in another world, united to\nthe man I love, than painless, joyless mere existence in a desolate,\nincomprehensible, unknown region! You will be the last to teach the\nchildren to yearn for freedom from pain--\"\n\n\"Because, like you,\" cried Archibius, \"I have learned how great a\nblessing is love, and that love is pain.\"\n\nAs he spoke he bent over her hand to kiss it, but she took his temples\nbetween her hands and, bending hastily, pressed her lips on his broad\nbrow.\n\nThen his self-control vanished, and, sobbing aloud, he hurried back to\nthe children.\n\nCleopatra gazed after him with a sorrowful smile, and leaning on\nCharmian's arm, she entered the palace.\n\nThere she was bathed and, robed in costly mourning garments, reclined\namong her cushions to take breakfast, which was usually served at this\nhour. Iras and Charmian shared it.\n\nWhen dessert was carried in, the Nubian brought a basket filled with\ndelicious figs. A peasant, she told Epaphroditus, who was watching the\nmeal, had given them to her because they were so remarkably fine. Some\nhad already been snatched by the guards.\n\nThe Queen and her companions ate a little of the fruit, and Proculejus,\nwho had come to greet Cleopatra, was also persuaded to taste one of the\nfinest figs.\n\nAt the end of the meal Cleopatra wished to rest. The Roman gentlemen and\nthe guards retired. At last the women were alone, and gazed at each other\nsilently.\n\nCharmian timidly lifted the upper layer of the fruit, but the Queen said\nmournfully:\n\n\"The wife of Antony dragged through the streets of Rome behind the\nvictor's chariot, a spectacle for the populace and envious matrons!\"\nThen, starting up, she exclaimed: \"What a thought! Was it too great for\nOctavianus, or too petty? He who so loudly boasts his knowledge of\nmankind expects this impossibility from the woman who revealed her inmost\nsoul to him as fully as he concealed his from her. We will show him how\nsmall is his comprehension of human nature, and teach him modesty.\"\n\nA contemptuous smile flitted over her beautiful lips as, with rapid\nmovements, she flung handful after handful of figs on the table, till she\nsaw some thing stirring under the fruit, and with a sigh of relief\nexclaimed under her breath:\n\n\"There it is!\" as with hasty resolution she held out her arm towards the\nasp, which hissed at her.\n\nWhile gazing intently at the movements of the viper, which seemed afraid\nto fulfil the dread office, she said to her attendants:\n\n\"I thank you-thank you for everything. Be calm. You know, Iras, it will\ncause no pain. They say it is like falling asleep.\" Then she shuddered\nslightly, adding: \"Death is a solemn thing; yet it must be. Why does the\nserpent delay? There, there; I will keep firm. Ambition and love were the\nmoving forces of my life. Men shall praise my memory.--I follow you, Mark\nAntony!\" Charmian bent over the left arm of her royal mistress, which\nhung loosely at her side, and, weeping aloud, covered it with kisses,\nwhile Cleopatra, watching the motions of the asp still more closely,\nadded:\n\n\"The peace of our garden of Epicurus will begin to-day. Whether it will\nbe painless, who can tell? Yet--there I agree with Archibius--life's\ngreatest joy--love--is blended with pain, as yonder branch of exquisite\nroses from Dolabella, the last gift of friendship, has its sharp thorns.\nI think you have both experienced this. The twins and my little\ndarling--When they think of their mother and her end, will not the\nchildren--\"\n\nHere she uttered a low cry. The asp had struck its fangs into the upper\npart of her arm like an icy flash of lightning, and a few instants later\nCleopatra sank back upon her pillows lifeless.\n\nIras, pale but calm, pointed to her, saying \"Like a sleeping child.\nBewitching even in death. Fate itself was constrained to do her will and\nfulfil the last desire of the great Queen, the victorious woman, whom no\nheart resisted. Its decree shatters the presumptuous plan of Octavianus.\nThe victor will show himself to the Romans without thee, thou dear one.\"\n\nSobbing violently, she bent over the inanimate form, closed the eyes, and\nkissed the lips and brow. The weeping Charmian did the same.\n\nThen the footsteps of men were heard in the anteroom, and Iras, who was\nthe first to notice them, cried eagerly:\n\n\"The moment is approaching! I am glad it is close at hand. Does it not\nseem to you also as if the very sun in the heavens was darkened?\"\nCharmian nodded assent, and whispered, \"The poison?\"\n\n\"Here!\" replied Iras calmly, holding out a plain pin. \"One little prick,\nand the deed will be done. Look! But no. You once inflicted the deepest\nsuffering upon me. You know--Dion, the playmate of my childhood--It is\nforgiven. But now--you will do me a kindness. You will spare my using the\npin myself. Will you not? I will repay you. If you wish, my hand shall\nrender you the same service.\"\n\nCharmian clasped her niece to her heart, kissed her, pricked her arm\nlightly, and gave her the other pin, saying:\n\n\"Now it is your turn. Our hearts were filled with love for one who\nunderstood how to bestow it as none other ever did, and our love was\nreturned. What matters all else that we sacrificed? Those on whom the sun\nshines need no other light. Love is pain,\" she said in dying, \"but this\npain--especially that of renunciation for love's sake--bears with it a\njoy, an exquisite joy, which renders death easy. To me it seems as if it\nwere merely following the Queen to--Oh, that hurt!\" Iras's pin had\npricked her.\n\nThe poison did its work quickly. Iras was seized with giddiness, and\ncould scarcely stand. Charmian had just sunk on her knees, when some one\nknocked loudly at the closed door, and the voices of Epaphroditus and\nProculejus imperiously demanded admittance.\n\nWhen no answer followed, the lock was hastily burst open.\n\nCharmian was found lying pale and distorted at the feet of her royal\nmistress; but Iras, tottering and half stupefied by the poison, was\nadjusting the diadem, which had slipped from its place. To keep from her\nbeloved Queen everything that could detract from her beauty had been her\nlast care.\n\nEnraged, fairly frantic with wrath, the Romans rushed towards the women.\nEpaphroditus had seen Iras still occupied in arranging Cleopatra's\nornaments. Now he endeavoured to raise her companion, saying\nreproachfully, \"Charmian, was this well done?\" Summoning her last\nstrength, she answered in a faltering voice, \"Perfectly well, and worthy\na descendant of Egyptian kings.\" Her eyes closed, but Proculejus, the\nauthor, who had gazed long with deep emotion into the beautiful proud\nface of the Queen whom he had so greatly wronged, said: \"No other woman\non earth was ever so admired by the greatest, so loved by the loftiest.\nHer fame echoed from nation to nation throughout the world. It will\ncontinue to resound from generation to generation; but however loudly men\nmay extol the bewitching charm, the fervour of the love which survived\ndeath, her intellect, her knowledge, the heroic courage with which she\npreferred the tomb to ignominy--the praise of these two must not be\nforgotten. Their fidelity deserves it. By their marvellous end they\nunconsciously erected the most beautiful monument to their mistress; for\nwhat genuine goodness and lovableness must have been possessed by the\nwoman who, after the greatest reverses, made it seem more desirable to\nthose nearest to her person to die than to live without her!\"\n\n   [The Roman's exclamation and the answer of the loyal dying Charmian\n   are taken literally from Plutarch's narrative.]\n\nThe news of the death of their beloved, admired sovereign transformed\nAlexandria into a house of mourning. Obsequies of unprecedented\nmagnificence and solemnity, at which many tears of sincere grief flowed,\nhonoured her memory. One of Octavianus's most brilliant plans was\nfrustrated by her death, and he had raved furiously when he read the\nletter in which Cleopatra, with her own hand, informed him of her\nintention to die. But he owed it to his reputation for generosity to\ngrant her a funeral worthy of her rank. To the dead, who had ceased to be\ndangerous, he was ready to show an excess of magnanimity.\n\nThe treatment which he accorded to Cleopatra's children also won the\nworld's admiration. His sister Octavia received them into her own house\nand intrusted their education to Archibius.\n\nWhen the order to destroy the statues of Antony and Cleopatra was issued,\nOctavianus gave his contemporaries another proof of his disposition to be\nlenient, for he ordered that the numerous statues of the Queen in\nAlexandria and Egypt should be preserved. True, he had been influenced by\nthe large sum of two thousand talents paid by an Alexandrian to secure\nthis act of generosity. Archibius was the name of the rare friend who had\nimpoverished himself to render this service to the memory of the beloved\ndead.\n\nIn later times the statues of the unfortunate Queen adorned the places\nwhere they had been erected.\n\nThe sarcophagi of Cleopatra and Mark Antony, by whose side rested Iras\nand Charmian, were constantly heaped with flowers and offerings to the\ndead. The women of Alexandria, especially, went to the tomb of their\nbeloved Queen as if it were a pilgrimage; but in after-days faithful\nmourners also came from a distance to visit it, among them the children\nof the famous lovers whom death here united--Cleopatra Selene, now the\nwife of the learned Numidian Prince Juba, Helios Antony, and Alexander,\nwho had reached manhood. Their friend and teacher, Archibius, accompanied\nthem. He taught them to hold their mother's memory dear, and had so\nreared them that, in their maturity, he could lead them with head erect\nto the sarcophagus of the friend who had confided them to his charge.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Pain is the inseparable companion of love\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE COMPLETE CLEOPATRA:\n\n     Aspect obnoxious to the gaze will pour water on the fire\n     Contempt had become too deep for hate\n     Epicurus, who believed that with death all things ended\n     Everything that exists moves onward to destruction and decay\n     Fairest dreams of childhood were surpassed\n     From Epicurus to Aristippus, is but a short step\n     Golden chariot drawn by tamed lions\n     Jealousy has a thousand eyes\n     Life had fulfilled its pledges\n     No, she was not created to grow old\n     Nothing in life is either great or small\n     Pain is the inseparable companion of love\n     Preferred a winding path to a straight one\n     Priests: in order to curb the unruly conduct of the populace\n     See facts as they are and treat them like figures in a sum\n     Shadow of the candlestick caught her eye before the light\n     She would not purchase a few more years of valueless life\n     Soul which ceases to regard death as a misfortune finds peace\n     To govern the world one must have less need of sleep\n     Trouble does not enhance beauty\n     Until neither knew which was the giver and which the receiver\n     What changes so quickly as joy and sorrow\n     Without heeding the opinion of mortals\n     Zeus does not hear the vows of lovers\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR, Complete\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated by Clara Bell\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nIt is now fourteen years since I planned the story related in these\nvolumes, the outcome of a series of lectures which I had occasion to\ndeliver on the period of the Roman dominion in Egypt. But the pleasures\nof inventive composition were forced to give way to scientific labors,\nand when I was once more at leisure to try my wings with increase of\npower I felt more strongly urged to other flights. Thus it came to pass\nthat I did I not take the time of Hadrian for the background of a tale\ntill after I had dealt with the still later period of the early monastic\nmove in \"Homo Sum.\" Since finishing that romance my old wish to depict,\nin the form of a story, the most important epoch of the history of that\nvenerable nation to which I have devoted nearly a quarter century of my\nlife, has found its fulfilment. I have endeavored to give a picture of\nthe splendor of the Pharaonic times in \"Uarda,\" of the subjection of\nEgypt to the new Empire of the Persians in \"An Egyptian Princess,\" of the\nHellenic period under the Lagides in \"The Sisters,\" of the Roman dominion\nand the early growth of Christianity in \"The Emperor,\" and of the\nanchorite spirit--in the deserts and rocks of the Sinaitic Peninsula--in\n\"Homo Sum.\" Thus the present work is the last of which the scene will be\nlaid in Egypt. This series of romances will not only have introduced the\nreader to a knowledge of the history of manners and culture in Egypt, but\nwill have facilitated his comprehension of certain dominant ideas which\nstirred the mind of the Ancients. How far I may have succeeded in\nrendering the color of the times I have described and in producing\npictures that realize the truth, I myself cannot venture to judge; for\nsince even present facts are differently reflected in different minds,\nthis must be still more emphatically the case with things long since past\nand half-forgotten. Again and again, when historical investigation has\nrefused to afford me the means of resuscitating some remotely ancient\nscene, I have been obliged to take counsel of imagination and remember\nthe saying that 'the Poet must be a retrospective Seer,' and could allow\nmy fancy to spread her wings, while I remained her lord and knew the\nlimits up to which I might permit her to soar. I considered it my lawful\nprivilege to paint much that was pure invention, but nothing that was not\npossible at the period I was representing. A due regard for such\npossibility has always set the bounds to fancy's flight; wherever\nexisting authorities have allowed me to be exact and faithful I have\nalways been so, and the most distinguished of my fellow-professors in\nGermany, England, France and Holland, have more than once borne witness\nto this. But, as I need hardly point out, poetical and historical truth\nare not the same thing; for historical truth must remain, as far as\npossible, unbiassed by the subjective feeling of the writer, while\npoetical truth can only find expression through the medium of the\nartist's fancy.\n\nAs in my last two romances, so in \"The Emperor,\" I have added no notes: I\ndo this in the pleasant conviction of having won the confidence of my\nreaders by my historical and other labors. Nothing has encouraged me to\nfresh imaginative works so much as the fact that through these romances\nthe branch of learning that I profess has enlisted many disciples whose\nnames are now mentioned with respect among Egyptologists. Every one who\nis familiar with the history of Hadrian's time will easily discern by\ntrifling traits from what author or from which inscription or monument\nthe minor details have been derived, and I do not care to interrupt the\ncourse of the narrative and so spoil the pleasure of the larger class of\nreaders. It would be a happiness to me to believe that this tale deserves\nto be called a real work of art, and, as such, its first function should\nbe to charm and elevate the mind. Those who at the same time enrich their\nknowledge by its study ought not to detect the fact that they are\nlearning.\n\nThose who are learned in the history of Alexandria under the Romans may\nwonder that I should have made no mention of the Therapeutai on Lake\nMareotis. I had originally meant to devote a chapter to them, but Luca's\nrecent investigations led me to decide on leaving it unwritten. I have\ngiven years of study to the early youth of Christianity, particularly in\nEgypt, and it affords me particular satisfaction to help others to\nrealize how, in Hadrian's time, the pure teaching of the Saviour, as yet\nlittle sullied by the contributions of human minds, conquered--and could\nnot fail to conquer--the hearts of men. Side by side with the triumphant\nFaith I have set that noble blossom of Greek life and culture--Art which\nin later ages, Christianity absorbed in order to dress herself in her\nbeautiful forms. The statues and bust of Antinous which remain to us of\nthat epoch, show that the drooping tree was still destined to put forth\nnew leaves under Hadrian's rule.\n\nThe romantic traits which I have attributed to the character of my hero,\nwho travelled throughout the world, climbing mountains to rejoice in the\nsplendor of he rising sun, are authentic. One of the most difficult tasks\nI have ever set myself was to construct from the abundant but essentially\ncontradictory accounts of Hadian a human figure in which I could myself\nat all believe; still, how gladly I set to work to do so! There was much\nto be considered in working out this narrative, but the story itself has\nflowed straight from the heart of the writer; I can only hope it may find\nits way to that of the reader.\n\n   LEIPZIG, November, 1880.\n\n                    GEORG EBERS.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThe morning twilight had dawned into day, and the sun had risen on the\nfirst of December of the year of our Lord 129, but was still veiled by\nmilk-white mists which rose from the sea, and it was cold.\n\nKasius, a mountain of moderate elevation, stands on a tongue of land that\nprojects from the coast between the south of Palestine and Egypt. It is\nwashed on the north by the sea which, on this day, is not gleaming, as is\nits wont, in translucent ultramarine; its more distant depths slowly\nsurge in blue-black waves, while those nearer to shore are of quite a\ndifferent hue, and meet their sisters that lie nearer to the horizon in a\ndull greenish-grey, as dusty plains join darker lava beds. The\nnortheasterly wind, which had risen as the sun rose, now blew more\nkeenly, wreaths of white foam rode on the crests of the waves, though\nthese did not beat wildly and stormily on the mountain-foot, but rolled\nheavily to the shore in humped ridges, endlessly long, as if they were of\nmolten lead. Still the clear bright spray splashed up when the gulls\ndipped their pinions in the water as they floated above it, hither and\nthither, restless and uttering shrill little cries, as though driven by\nterror.\n\nThree men were walking slowly along the causeway which led from the top\nof the hill down into the valley, but it was only the eldest, who walked\nin front of the other two, who gave any heed to the sky, the sea, the\ngulls, and the barren plain that lay silent at his feet. He stopped, and\nas soon as he did so, the others followed his example. The landscape\nbelow him seemed to rivet his gaze, and it justified the disapproval with\nwhich he gently shook his head, which was somewhat sunk into his beard. A\nnarrow strip of desert stretched westward before him as far as the eye\ncould reach, dividing two levels of water. Along this natural dyke a\ncaravan was passing, and the elastic feet of the camels fell noiselessly\non the road they trod. The leader, wrapped in his white mantle, seemed\nasleep, and the camel-drivers to be dreaming; the dull-colored eagles by\nthe road-side did not stir at their approach. To the right of the stretch\nof flat coast along which the road ran from Syria to Egypt, lay the\ngloomy sea, overhung by grey clouds; to the left lay the desert, a\nstrange and mysterious feature in the landscape, of which the eye could\nnot see the end, either to the east or to the west, and which looked here\nlike a stretch of snow, there like standing water, and again like a\nthicket of rushes.\n\nThe eldest of our travellers gazed constantly towards heaven or into the\ndistance; the second, a slave who carried rugs and cloaks on his broad\nshoulders, never took his eyes off his master; and the third, a young,\nfree-man, looked wearily and dreamily down the road.\n\nA broad path, leading to a stately temple, crossed that which led from\nthe summit of the mountain to the coast, and the bearded pedestrian\nturned up it; but he followed it only for a few steps, then he turned his\nhead with a dissatisfied air, muttered a few unintelligible words into\nhis beard, turned round and hastily retraced his steps to the narrow way,\ndown which he went towards the valley. His young companion followed him\nwithout raising his head or interrupting his reverie, as if he were his\nshadow, but the slave lifted his cropped fair head and a stolen smile\ncrossed his lips as on the left hand side of the Kasius road he caught\nsight of a black kid, and close beside it an old woman who, at the\napproach of the three men covered her wrinkled face in alarm with her\ndark blue veil.\n\n\"That is the reason then!\" said the slave to himself with a nod, and\nblowing a kiss into the air to a black-haired girl who crouched at the\nold woman's feet. But she, for whom the greeting was intended, did not\nobserve this mute courtship, for her eyes followed the travellers, and\nespecially the young man, as if spellbound. As soon as the three were far\nenough off not to hear her, the girl asked with a shiver, as if some\ndesert-spectre had passed by-and in a low voice \"Grandmother, who was\nthat?\"\n\nThe old woman raised her veil, laid her hand on her grandchild's mouth,\nand whispered:\n\n\"It was he.\"\n\n\"The Emperor?\"\n\nThe old woman answered with a significant nod, but the girl squeezed\nherself up, against her grandmother, with vehement curiosity stretching\nout her dusky head to see better, and asked softly: \"The young one?\"\n\n\"Silly child! the one in front with a grey beard.\"\n\n\"He? Oh, I wish the young one was the Emperor!\"\n\nIt was in fact Hadrian, the Roman Emperor, who walked on in silence\nbefore his escort, and it seemed as though his advent had given life to\nthe desert, for as he approached the reed-swamp, the kites flew up in the\nair, and from behind a sand-hill on the edge of the broader road which\nHadrian had avoided, came two men in priestly robes. They both belonged\nto the temple of Baal of Kariotis, a small structure of solid stone,\nwhich faced the sea, and which the Emperor had yesterday visited.\n\n\"Do you think he has lost his way?\" said one to the other, in the\nPhoenician tongue.\n\n\"Hardly,\" was the answer. \"Master said that he could always find a road\nagain by which he had once gone, even in the dark.\"\n\n\"And yet he is gazing more at the clouds than at the road.\"\n\n\"Still, he promised us yesterday.\"\n\n\"He promised nothing for certain,\" interrupted the other.\n\n\"Indeed he did; at parting he called out--and I heard him distinctly:\n'Perhaps I shall return and consult your oracle.'\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"I think he said 'probably.'\"\n\n\"Who knows whether some sign he has seen up in the sky may not have\nturned him back; he is going to the camp by the sea.\"\n\n\"But the banquet is standing ready for him in our great hall.\"\n\n\"He will find what he needs down there. Come, it is a wretched morning,\nand I am being frozen.\"\n\n\"Wait a little longer-look there.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"He does not even wear a hat to cover his grey hair.\"\n\n\"He has never yet been seen to travel with anything on his head.\"\n\n\"And his grey cloak is not very imperial looking.\"\n\n\"He always wears the purple at a banquet.\"\n\n\"Do you know who his walk and appearance remind me of?\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Of our late high-priest, Abibaal; he used to walk in that ponderous,\nmeditative way, and wear a beard like the Emperor's.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--and had the same piercing grey eye.\"\n\n\"He too used often to gaze up at the sky. They have both the same broad\nforehead, too; but Abibaal's nose was more aquiline, and his hair curled\nless closely.\"\n\n\"And our governor's mouth was grave and dignified, while Hadrian's lips\ntwitch and curl at all he says and hears, as if he were laughing at it\nall.\"\n\n\"Look, he is speaking now to his favorite--Antonius I think they call the\npretty boy.\"\n\n\"Antinous, not Antonius. He picked him up in Bithynia, they say.\"\n\n\"He is a beautiful youth.\"\n\n\"Incomparably beautiful! What a figure and what a face! Still, I cannot\nwish that he were my son.\"\n\n\"The Emperor's favorite!\"\n\n\"For that very reason. Why, he looks already as if he had tried every\npleasure, and could never know any farther enjoyment.\"\n\n          ............................\n\nOn a little level close to the sea-shore, and sheltered by crumbling\ncliffs from the east wind, stood a number of tents. Between them fires\nwere burning, round which were gathered groups of Roman soldiers and\nimperial servants. Half-naked boys, the children of the fishermen and\ncamel-drivers who dwelt in this wilderness, were running busily hither\nand thither, feeding the flames with dry stems of sea-grass and dead\ndesert-shrubs; but though the blaze flew high, the smoke did not rise;\nbut driven here and there by the squalls of wind, swirled about close to\nthe ground in little clouds, like a flock of scattered sheep. It seemed\nas though it feared to rise in the grey, damp, uninviting atmosphere. The\nlargest of the tents, in front of which Roman sentinels paced up and\ndown, two and two, on guard, was wide open on the side towards the sea.\nThe slaves who came out of the broad door-way with trays on their cropped\nheads-loaded with gold and silver vessels, plates, wine-jars, goblets,\nand the remains of a meal had to hold them tightly with both hands that\nthey might not be blown over.\n\nThe inside of the tent was absolutely unadorned. The Emperor lay on a\ncouch near the right wall, which was blown in and bulged by the wind; his\nbloodless lips were tightly set, his arms crossed over his breast, and\nhis eyes half closed. But he was not asleep, for he often opened his\nmouth and smacked his lips, as if tasting the flavor of some viand. From\ntime to time he raised his eyelids--long, finely wrinkled, and\nblue-veined--turning his eyes up to heaven or rolling them to one side\nand then downwards towards the middle of the tent. There, on the skin of\na huge bear trimmed with blue cloth, lay Hadrian's favorite Antinous. His\nbeautiful head rested on that of the beast, which had been slain by his\nsovereign, and its skull and skin skilfully preserved, his right leg,\nsupported on his left knee, he flourished freely in the air, and his\nhands were caressing the Emperor's bloodhound, which had laid its\nsage-looking head on the boy's broad, bare breast, and now and then tried\nto lick his soft lips to show its affection. But this the youth would not\nallow; he playfully held the beast's muzzle close with his hands or\nwrapped its head in the end of his mantle, which had slipped back from\nhis shoulders.\n\nThe dog seemed to enjoy the game, but once when Antinous had drawn the\ncloak more tightly round its head and it strove in vain to be free from\nthe cloth that impeded its breathing, it set up a loud howl, and this\ndoleful cry made the Emperor change his attitude and cast a glance of\ndispleasure at the boy lying on the bear-skin, but only a glance, not a\nword of blame. And soon the expression, even of his eyes, changed, and he\nfixed them on the lads's figure with a gaze of loving contemplation, as\nthough it were some noble work of art that he could never tire of\nadmiring. And truly the Immortals had moulded this child of man to such a\ntype; every muscle of that throat, that chest, those arms and legs was a\nmarvel of softness and of power; no human countenance could be more\nregularly chiselled. Antinous observing that his master's attention had\nbeen attracted to his play with the dog, let the animal go and turned his\nlarge, but not very brilliant, eyes on the Emperor.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" asked Hadrian kindly.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said the boy.\n\n\"No one can do nothing. Even if we fancy we have succeeded in doing\nnothing we still continue to think that we are unoccupied, and to think\nis a good deal.\"\n\n\"But I cannot even think.\"\n\nEvery one can think; besides you were not doing nothing, for you were\nplaying.\"\n\n\"Yes, with the dog.\" With these words Antinous stretched out his legs on\nthe ground, pushed away the dog, and raised his curly head on both hands.\n\n\"Are you tired?\" asked the Emperor.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"We both kept watch for an equal portion of the night, and I, who am so\nmuch older, feel quite wide awake.\"\n\n\"It was only yesterday that you were saying that old soldiers were the\nbest for night-watches.\"\n\nThe Emperor nodded, and then said:\n\n\"At your age while we are awake we live three times as fast as at mine,\nand so we need to sleep twice as long. You have every right to be tired.\nTo be sure it was not till three hours after midnight that we climbed the\nmountain, and how often a supper party is not over before that.\"\n\n\"It was very cold and uncomfortable up there.\"\n\n\"Not till after the sun had risen.\"\n\n\"Ah! before that you did not notice it, for till then you were busy\nthinking of the stars.\"\n\n\"And you only of yourself--very true.\"\n\n\"I was thinking of your health too when that cold wind rose before Helios\nappeared.\"\n\n\"I was obliged to await his rising.\"\n\n\"And can you discern future events by the way and manner of the rising of\nthe sun?\"\n\nHadrian looked in surprise at the speaker, shook his head in negation,\nlooked up at the top of the tent, and after a long pause said, in abrupt\nsentences, with frequent interruptions:\n\n\"Day is the present merely, and the future is evolved out of darkness;\nthe corn grows from the clods of the field; the rain falls from the\ndarkest clouds; a new generation is born of the mother's womb; the limbs\nrecover their vigor in sleep. And what is begotten of the darkness of\ndeath--who can tell?\"\n\nWhen, after saying this, the Emperor had remained for some time silent,\nthe youth asked him:\n\n\"But if the sunrise teaches you nothing concerning the future why should\nyou so often break your night's rest and climb the mountain to see it?\"\n\n\"Why? Why?\" repeated Hadrian, slowly and meditatively, stroking his\ngrizzled beard; then he went on as if speaking to himself:\n\n\"That is a question which reason fails to answer, before which my lips\nfind no words; and, if I had them at my command, who among the rabble\nwould understand me? Such questions can best be answered by means of\nparables. Those who take part in life are actors, and the world is their\nstage. He who wants to look tall on it wears the cothurnus, and is not a\nmountain the highest vantage ground that a man can find for the sole of\nhis foot? Kasius there is but a hill, but I have stood on greater giants\nthan he, and seen the clouds rise below me, like Jupiter on Olympus.\"\n\n\"But you need climb no mountains to feel yourself a god,\" cried Antinous;\n\"the godlike is your title--you command and the world must obey. With a\nmountain beneath his feet a man is nearer to heaven no doubt than he is\non the plain.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"I dare not say what came into my mind.\"\n\n\"Speak out.\"\n\n\"I knew a little girl who when I took her on my shoulder would stretch\nout her arms and exclaim, 'I am so tall!' She fancied that she was taller\nthan I then, and yet was only little Panthea.\"\n\n\"But in her own conception of herself, it was she who was tall, and that\ndecides the issue, for to each of us a thing is only that which it seems\nto us. It is true they call me godlike, but I feel every day, and a\nhundred times a day, the limitations of the power and nature of man, and\nI cannot get beyond them. On the top of a mountain I cease to feel them;\nthere I feel as if I were great, for nothing is higher than my head, far\nor near. And when, as I stand there, the night vanishes before my eyes,\nwhen the splendor of the young sun brings the world into new life for me,\nby restoring to my consciousness all that just before had been engulfed\nin gloom, then a deeper breath swells my breast, and my lungs fill with\nthe purer and lighter air of the heights. Up there, alone and in silence,\nno hint can reach me of the turmoil below, and I feel myself one with the\ngreat aspect of nature spread before me. The surges of the sea come and\ngo, the tree-tops in the forest bow and rise, fog and mist roll away and\npart asunder hither and thither, and up there I feel myself so merged\nwith the creation that surrounds me that often it even seems as though it\nwere my own breath that gives it life. Like the storks and the swallows,\nI yearn for the distant land, and where should the human eye be more\nlikely to be permitted, at least in fancy, to discern the remote goal\nthan from the summit of a mountain?\n\n\"The limitless distance which the spirit craves for seems there to assume\na form tangible to the senses, and the eye detects its border line. My\nwhole being feels not merely elevated, but expanded, and that vague\nlonging which comes over me as soon as I mix once more in the turmoil of\nlife, and when the cares of state demand my strength, vanishes. But you\ncannot understand it, boy. These are things which no other mortal can\nshare with me.\"\n\n\"And it is only to me that you do not scorn to reveal them!\" cried\nAntinous, who had turned round to face the Emperor, and who with wide\neyes had not lost one word.\n\n\"You?\" said Hadrian, and a smile, not absolutely free from mockery,\nparted his lips. \"From you I should no more have a secret than from the\nCupid by Praxiteles, in my study at Rome.\"\n\nThe blood mounted to the lad's cheeks and dyed them flaming crimson. The\nEmperor observed this and said kindly:\n\n\"You are more to me than the statue, for the marble cannot blush. In the\ntime of the Athenians Beauty governed life, but in you I can see that the\ngods are pleased to give it a bodily existence, even in our own days, and\nto look at you reconciles me to the discords of existence. It does me\ngood. But how should I expect to find that you understand me; your brow\nwas never made to be furrowed by thought; or did you really understand\none word of all I said?\"\n\nAntinous propped himself on his left arm, and lifting his right hand, he\nsaid emphatically:\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And which,\" asked Hadrian.\n\n\"I know what longing is.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"For many things.\"\n\n\"Tell me one.\"\n\n\"Some enjoyment that is not followed by depression. I do not know of\none.\"\n\n\"That is a desire you share with all the youth of Rome, only they are apt\nto postpone the reaction. Well, and what next?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell you.\"\n\n\"What prevents your speaking openly to me?\"\n\n\"You, yourself did.\"\n\"I?\"\n\n\"Yes, you; for you forbid me to speak of my home, my mother, and my\npeople.\"\n\nThe Emperor's brow darkened, and he answered sternly:\n\n\"I am your father and your whole soul should be given to me.\"\n\n\"It is all yours,\" answered the youth, falling back on to the bear-skin,\nand drawing the pallima closely over his shoulders, for a gust blew\ncoldly in at the side of the tent, through which Phlegon, the Emperor's\nprivate secretary, now entered and approached his master. He was followed\nby a slave with several sealed rolls under his arms.\n\n\"Will it be agreeable to you, Caesar, to consider the despatches and\nletters that have just arrived?\" asked the official, whose\ncarefully-arranged hair had been tossed by the sea-breeze.\n\n\"Yes, and then we can make a note of what I was able to observe in the\nheavens last night. Have you the tablets ready?\"\n\n\"I left them in the tent set up especially for the work, Caesar.\"\n\n\"The storm has become very violent.\"\n\n\"It seems to blow from the north and east both at once, and the sea is\nvery rough. The Empress will have a bad voyage.\"\n\n\"When did she set out?\"\n\n\"The anchor was weighed towards midnight. The vessel which is to fetch\nher to Alexandria is a fine ship, but rolls from side to side in a very\nunpleasant manner.\"\n\nHadrian laughed loudly and sharply at this, and said:\n\n\"That will turn her heart and her stomach upside down. I wish I were\nthere to see--but no, by all the gods, no! for she will certainly forget\nto paint this morning; and who will construct that edifice of hair if all\nher ladies share her fate. We will stay here to-day, for if I meet her\nsoon after she has reached Alexandria she will be undiluted gall and\nvinegar.\"\n\nWith these words Hadrian rose from his couch, and waving his hand to\nAntinous, went out of the tent with his secretary.\n\nA third person standing at the back of the tent had heard the Emperor's\nconversation with his favorite; this was Mastor, a Sarmatian of the race\nof the Taryges. He was a slave, and no more worthy of heed than the dog\nwhich had followed Hadrian, or than the pillows on which the Emperor had\nbeen reclining. The man, who was handsome and well grown, stood for some\ntime twisting the ends of his long red moustache, and stroking his round,\nclosely-cropped head with his bands; then he drew the open chiton\ntogether over his broad breast, which seemed to gleam from the remarkable\nwhiteness of the skin. He never took his eyes off Antinous, who had\nturned over, and covering his face with his hands had buried them in the\nbear's hairy mane.\n\nMastor had something he wanted to say to him, but he dared not address\nhim for the young favorite's demeanor could not be reckoned on. Often he\nwas ready to listen to him and talk with him as a friend, but often, too,\nhe repulsed him more sharply than the haughtiest upstart would repel the\nmeanest of his servants. At last the slave took courage and called the\nlad by his name, for it seemed less hard to submit to a scolding than to\nsmother the utterance of a strong, warm feeling, unimportant as it might\nbe, which was formed in words in his mind. Antinous raised his head a\nlittle on his hands and asked:\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"I only wanted to tell you,\" replied the Sarmatian, \"that I know who the\nlittle girl was that you so often took upon your shoulders. It was your\nlittle sister, was it not, of whom you were speaking to me lately?\"\n\nThe lad nodded assent, and then once more buried his head in his hands,\nand his shoulders heaved so violently that it would seem that he was\nweeping.--Mastor remained silent for a few minutes, then he went up to\nAntinous and said:\n\n\"You know I have a son and a little daughter at home, and I am always\nglad to hear about little girls. We are alone and if it will relieve your\nheart.\"\n\n\"Let me alone, I have told you a dozen times already about my mother and\nlittle Parthea,\" replied Antinous, trying to look composed.\n\n\"Then do so confidently for the thirteenth,\" said the slave. \"In the camp\nand in the kitchen I can talk about my people as much as I like. But\nyou--tell me, what do you call the little dog that Panthea made a scarlet\ncloak for?\"\n\n\"We called it Kallista,\" cried Antinous wiping his eyes with the back of\nhis hand. \"My father would not allow it but we persuaded my mother. I was\nher favorite, and when I put my arms round her and looked at her\nimploringly she always said 'yes' to anything I asked her.\"\n\nA bright light shone in the boy's weary eyes; he had remembered a whole\nwealth of joys which left no depression behind them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nOne of the palaces built in Alexandria by the Ptolemaic kings stood on\nthe peninsula called Lochias which stretched out into the blue sea like a\nfinger pointing northwards; it formed the eastern boundary of the great\nharbor. Here there was never any lack of vessels but to-day they were\nparticularly numerous, and the quay-road paved with smooth blocks of\nstone, which led from the palatial quarter of the town--the Bruchiom as\nit was called--which was bathed by the sea, to the spit of land was so\ncrowded with curious citizens on foot and in vehicles, that all\nconveyances were obliged to stop in their progress before they had\nreached the private harbor reserved for the Emperor's vessels.\n\nBut there was something out of the common to be seen at the\nlanding-place, for there lying under the shelter of the high mole were\nthe splendid triremes, galleys, long boats and barges which had brought\nHadrian's wife and the suite of the imperial couple to Alexandria. A very\nlarge vessel with a particularly high cabin on the after deck and having\nthe head of a she-wolf on the lofty and boldly-carved prow excited the\nutmost attention. It was carved entirely in cedar wood, richly decorated\nwith bronze and ivory, and named the Sabina. A young Alexandrian pointed\nto the name written in gold letters on the stern, nudging his companion\nand saying with a laugh:\n\n\"Sabina has a wolf's head then!\"\n\n\"A peacock's would suit her better. Did you see her on her way to the\nCaesareum?\" replied the other.\n\n\"Alas! I did,\" said the first speaker, but he said no more perceiving,\nclose behind him, a Roman lictor who bore over his left shoulder his\nfasces, a bundle of elmrods skilfully tied together, and who, with a wand\nin his right-hand and the assistance of his comrades, was endeavoring to\npart the crowd and make room for the chariot of his master, Titianus, the\nimperial prefect, which came slowly in the rear. This high official had\noverheard the citizens' heedless words, and turning to the man who stood\nbeside him, while with a light fling he threw the end of his toga into\nfresh folds, he said:\n\n\"An extraordinary people! I cannot feel annoyed with them, and yet I\nwould rather walk from here to Canopus on the edge of a knife than on\nthat of an Alexandrian's tongue.\"\n\n\"Did you hear what the stout man was saying about Verus?\"\n\n\"The lictor wanted to take him up, but nothing is to be done with them by\nviolence. If they had to pay only a sesterce for every venomous word, I\ntell you Pontius, the city would be impoverished and our treasury would\nsoon be fuller than that of Gyges at Sardis.\"\n\n\"Let them keep their money,\" cried the other, the chief architect of the\ncity, a man of about thirty years of age with highly-arched brows and\neager piercing eyes; and grasping the roll he held in his hand with a\nstrong grip, he continued:\n\n\"They know how to work, and sweat is bitter. While they are busy they\nhelp each other, in idleness they bite each other, like unbroken horses\nharnessed to the same pole. The wolf is a fine brute, but if you break\nout his teeth he becomes a mangy hound.\"\n\n\"You speak after my own heart,\" cried the prefect. \"But here we are,\neternal gods! I never imagined anything so bad as this. From a distance\nit always looked handsome enough!\"\n\nTitianus and the architect descended from the chariot, the former desired\na lictor to call the steward of the palace, and then he and his companion\ninspected first the door which led into it. It looked fine enough with\nits double columns which supported a lofty pediment, but, all the same,\nit did not present a particularly pleasing aspect, for the stucco had, in\nseveral places, fallen from the walls, the capitals of the marble columns\nwere lamentably injured and the tall doors, overlaid with metal, hung\naskew on their hinges. Pontius inspected every portion of the door-way\nwith a keen eye and then, with the prefect, went into the first court of\nthe palace, in which, in the time of the Ptolemies, the tents had stood\nfor ambassadors, secretaries, and the officers in waiting on the king.\nThere they met with an unexpected hindrance, for across the paved\ncourt-yard, where the grass grew in tufts, and tall thistles were in\nbloom, a number of ropes were stretched aslant from the little house in\nwhich dwelt the gate-keeper; and on these ropes were hung newly-washed\ngarments of every size and shape.\n\n\"A pretty residence for an Emperor,\" sighed Titianus, shrugging his\nshoulders, but stopping the lictor, who had raised his fasces to cut the\nropes.\n\n\"It is not so bad as it looks,\" said the architect positively.\n\"Gate-keeper! hi, gate-keeper! Where is the lazy fellow hiding himself?\"\n\nWhile he called out and the lictor hurried forward into the interior of\nthe palace, Pontius went towards the gate-keeper's lodge, and having made\nhis way in a stooping attitude through the damp clothes, there he stood\nstill. Ever since he had come in at the gate annoyance and vexation had\nbeen stamped on his countenance, but now his large mouth spread into a\nsmile, and he called to the prefect in an undertone:\n\n\"Titianus, just take the trouble to come here.\"\n\nThe elderly dignitary, whose tall figure exceeded that of the architect\nin height by a full head, did not find it quite so easy to pass under the\nropes with his head bent down; but he did it with good humor, and while\ncarefully avoiding pulling down the wet linen, he called out:\n\n\"I am beginning to feel some respect for children's shirts; one can at\nany rate get through them without breaking one's spine. Oh! this is\ndelicious--quite delicious!\"\n\nThis exclamation was caused by the sight which the architect had invited\nthe prefect to come and enjoy, and which was certainly droll enough. The\nfront of the gate-keeper's house was quite grown over with ivy which\nframed the door and window in its long runners. Amidst the greenery hung\nnumbers of cages with starlings, blackbirds, and smaller singing-birds.\nThe wide door of the little house stood open, giving a view into a\ntolerably spacious and gaily-painted room. In the background stood a clay\nmodel of an Apollo of admirable workmanship; above, and near this, the\nwall was hung with lutes and lyres of various size and form.\n\nIn the middle of the room, and near the open door, was a table, on which\nstood a large wicker cage containing several nests of young goldfinches,\nand with green food twined among the osiers. There were, too, a large\nwine-jar and an ivory goblet decorated with fine carving. Close to the\ndrinking-vessels, on the stone top of the table, rested the arm of an\nelderly woman who had fallen asleep in the arm-chair in which she sat.\nNotwithstanding the faint grey moustache that marked her upper-lip and\nthe pronounced ruddiness of her fore head and cheeks, she looked pleasant\nand kind. She must have been dreaming of something that pleased her, for\nthe expression of her lips and of her eyes-one being half open and the\nother closely shut-gave her a look of contentment. In her lap slept a\nlarge grey cat, and by its side--as though discord never could enter this\nbright little abode which exhaled no savor of poverty, but, on the\ncontrary, a peculiar and fragrant scent--lay a small shaggy dog, whose\nsnowy whiteness of coat could only be due to the most constant care. Two\nother dogs, like this one, lay stretched on the floor at the old lady's\nfeet, and seemed no less soundly asleep.\n\nAs the prefect came up, the architect pointed to this study of\nstill-life, and said in a whisper:\n\n\"If we had a painter here it would make a lovely little picture.\"\n\n\"Incomparable,\" answered Titianus, \"only the vivid scarlet on the dame's\ncheeks seems to me suspicious, considering the ample proportions of the\nwine-jar at her elbow.\"\n\n\"But did you ever see a calmer, kindlier, or more contented countenance?\"\n\n\"Baucis must have slept like that when Philemon allowed himself leave of\nabsence for once! or did that devoted spouse always remain at home?\"\n\n\"Apparently he did. Now, peace is at an end.\" The approach of the two\nfriends had waked one of the little dogs. He gave tongue, and his\ncompanion immediately jumped up and barked as if for a wager. The old\nwoman's pet sprang out of her lap, but neither his mistress nor the cat\nlet themselves be disturbed by the noise, and slept on.\n\n\"A watcher among a thousand!\" said the architect, laughing.\n\n\"And this phalanx of dogs which guard the palace of a Caesar,\" added\nTitianus, \"might be vanquished with a blow. Take heed, the worthy matron\nis about to wake.\"\n\nThe dame had in fact been disturbed by the barking. She sat up a little,\nlifted her hands, and then, half singing, half muttering a few words, she\nsank back again in her chair.\n\n\"This is delicious!\" cried the prefect.\n\n\"Begone dull care\" she sang in her sleep.\n\n\"How may this rare specimen of humanity look when she is awake?\"\n\n\"I should be sorry to drive the old lady out of her nest!\" said the\narchitect unrolling his scroll.\n\n\"You shall touch nothing in the little house,\" cried the prefect eagerly.\n\"I know Hadrian; he delights in such queer things and queer people, and I\nwill wager he will make friends with the old woman in his own way. Here\nat last comes the steward of this palace.\"\n\nThe prefect was not mistaken; the hasty step he had heard was that of the\nofficial they awaited. At some little distance they could already hear\nthe man, panting as he hurried up, and as he came, before Titianus could\nprevent him, he had snatched down the cords that were stretched across\nthe court and flung all the washing on the ground. As soon as the curtain\nhad thus dropped which had divided him from the Emperor's representative\nand his companion, he bowed to the former as low as the rotund dimensions\nof his person would allow; but his hasty arrival, the effort of strength\nhe had made, and his astonishment at the appearance of the most powerful\npersonage in the Nile Province in the building entrusted to his care, so\nutterly took away his breath--of which he at all times was but\n\"scant\"--that he was unable even to stammer out a suitable greeting.\nTitianus gave him a little time, and then, after expressing his regret at\nthe sad plight of the washing, now strewn upon the ground, and mentioning\nto the steward the name and position of his friend Pontius, he briefly\nexplained to him that the Emperor wished to take up his abode in the\npalace now in his charge; that he--Titianus--was cognizant of the bad\ncondition in which it then was, and had come to take council with him and\nthe architect as to what could be done in the course of a few days to\nmake the dilapidated residence habitable for Hadrian, and to repair, at\nany rate, the more conspicuous damage. He then desired the steward to\nlead him through the rooms.\n\n\"Directly--at once,\" answered the Greek, who had attained his present\nponderous dimensions through many years of rest: \"I will hasten to fetch\nthe keys.\" And as he went, puffing and panting, he re-arranged with his\nshort, fat fingers the still abundant hair on the right side of his head.\nPontius looked after him.\n\n\"Call him back, Titianus,\" said he. \"We disturbed him in the midst of\ncurling his hair; only one side was done when the lictor called him away,\nand I will wager my own head that he will have the other side frizzled\nbefore he comes back. I know your true Greek!\"\n\n\"Well, let him,\" answered Titianus. \"If you have taken his measure\nrightly he will not be able to give his attention without reserve to our\nquestions till the other half of his hair is curled. I know, too, how to\ndeal with a Hellene.\"\n\n\"Better than I, I perceive,\" said the architect in a tone of conviction.\n\"A statesman is used to deal with men as we do with lifeless materials.\nDid you see the fat fellow turn pale when you said that it would be but a\nfew days before the Emperor would make his entry here? Things must look\nwell in the old house there. Every hour is precious, and we have lingered\nhere too long.\"\n\nThe prefect nodded agreement and followed the architect into the inner\ncourt of the palace. How grand and well-proportioned was the plan of this\nimmense building through which the steward Keraunus, who returned with\nhis fine curls complete all round, now led the Romans. It stood on an\nartificial hill in the midst of the peninsula of Lochias, and from many a\nwindow and many a balcony there were lovely prospects of the streets and\nopen squares, the houses, palaces and public buildings of the metropolis,\nand of the harbor, swarming with ships. The outlook from Lochias was\nrich, gay and varied to the south and west, but east and north from the\nplatform of the palace of the Ptolemies, the gaze fell on the\nnever-wearying prospect of the eternal sea, limited only by the vault of\nheaven. When Hadrian had sent a special messenger from Mount Kasius to\ndesire his prefect Titianus to have this particular building prepared for\nhis reception, he knew full well what advantages its position offered; it\nwas the part of his officials to restore order in the interior of the\npalace, which had remained uninhabited from the time of Cleopatra's\ndownfall. He gave them for the purpose eight, or perhaps nine,\ndays--little more than a week. And in what a condition did Titianus and\nPontius find this now dilapidated and plundered scene of former\nmagnificence--the sweat pouring from their foreheads with their exertions\nas they inspected and sketched, questioned and made notes of it all.\n\nThe pillars and steps in the interior were tolerably well preserved, but\nthe rain had poured in through the open roofs of the banqueting and\nreception-lulls, the fine mosaic pavements had started here and there,\nand in other places a perfect little meadow had grown in the midst of a\nhall, or an arcade; for Octavianus Augustus, Tiberius, Vespasian, Titus\nand a whole series of prefects, had already carefully removed the finest\nof the mosaics from the famous palace of the Ptolemies, and carried them\nto Rome or to the provinces, to decorate their town houses or country\nvillas. In the same way the best of the statues were gone, with which a\nfew centuries previously the art-loving Lagides had decorated this\nresidence--besides which they had another, still larger, on the Bruchiom.\n\nIn the midst of a vast marbled hall stood an elegantly-wrought fountain,\nconnected with the fine aqueduct of the city. A draught of air rushed\nthrough this hall, and in stormy weather switched the water all over the\nfloor, now robbed of its mosaics, and covered, wherever the foot could\ntread, with a thin, dark green, damp and slippery coating of mossy plants\nand slime. It was here that Keraunus leaned breathless against the wall,\nand, wiping his brow, panted rather than said: \"At last, this is the\nend!\"\n\nThe words sounded as if he meant his own end and not that of their\nexcursion through the palace, and it seemed like a mockery of the man\nhimself when Pontius unhesitatingly replied with decision:\n\n\"Good, then we can begin our re-examination here, at once.\"\n\nKeraunus did not contradict him, but, as he remembered the number of\nstairs to be climbed over again, he looked as if sentence of death had\nbeen passed upon him.\n\n\"Is it necessary that I should remain with you during the rest of your\nlabors, which must be principally directed to details?\" asked the prefect\nof the architect.\n\n\"No,\" answered Pontius, \"provided you will take the trouble to look at\nonce at my plan, so as to inform yourself on the whole of what I propose,\nand to give me full powers to dispose of men and means in each case as it\narises.\"\n\n\"That is granted,\" said Titianus. \"I know that Pontius will not demand a\nman or a sesterce more or less than is needed for the purpose.\"\n\nThe architect bowed in silence and Titianus went on.\n\n\"But above all things, do you think you can accomplish your task in eight\ndays and nine nights?\"\n\n\"Possibly, at a pinch; and if I could only have four days more at my\ndisposal, most probably.\"\n\n\"Then all that is needed is to delay Hadrian's arrival by four days and\nnights.\"\n\n\"Send some interesting people--say the astronomer Ptolemaeus, and\nFavorinus, the sophist, who await him here--to meet him at Pelusium. They\nwill find some way of detaining him there.\"\n\n\"Not a bad idea! We will see. But who can reckon on the Empress's moods?\nAt any rate, consider that you have only eight days to dispose of.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\n\"Where do you hope to be able to lodge Hadrian?\"\n\n\"Well, a very small portion of the old building is, strictly speaking,\nfit to use.\"\n\n\"Of that, I regret to say, I have fully convinced myself,\" said the\nprefect emphatically, and turning to the steward, he went on in a tone\nless of stern reproof than of regret.\n\n\"It seems to me, Keraunus, that it would have been your duty to inform me\nearlier of the ruinous condition of the building.\"\n\n\"I have already lodged a complaint,\" replied the man, \"but I was told in\nanswer to my report that there were no means to apply to the purpose.\"\n\n\"I know nothing of these things,\" cried Titianus.\n\n\"When did you forward your petition to the prefect's office?\"\n\n\"Under your predecessor, Haterius Nepos.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said the prefect with a drawl.\n\n\"So long ago. Then, in your place, I should have repeated my application\nevery year, without any reference to the appointment of a new prefect.\nHowever, we have now no time for talking. During the Emperor's residence\nhere, I shall very likely send one of my subordinates to assist you!\"\n\nTitianus turned his back on the steward, and asked the architect:\n\n\"Well, my good Pontius, what part of the palace have you your eye upon?\"\n\n\"The inner halls and rooms are in the best repair.\"\n\n\"But they are the last that can be thought of,\" cried Titianus. \"The\nEmperor is satisfied with everything in camp, but where fresh air and a\ndistant prospect are to be had, he must have them.\"\n\n\"Then let us choose the western suite; hold the plan my worthy friend.\"\n\nThe steward slid as he was desired, the architect took his pencil and\nmade a vigorous line in the air above the left side of the sketch,\nsaying:\n\n\"This is the west front of the palace which you see from the harbor. From\nthe south you first come into the lofty peristyle, which may be used as\nan antechamber; it is surrounded with rooms for the slaves and\nbody-guard. The next smaller sitting-rooms by the side of the main\ncorridor we may assign to the officers and scribes, in this spacious\nhypaethral hall--the one with the Muses--Hadrian may give audience and\nthe guests may assemble there whom he may admit to eat at his table in\nthis broad peristyle. The smaller and well-preserved rooms, along this\nlong passage leading to the steward's house, will do for the pages,\nsecretaries and other attendants on Caesar's person, and this long\nsaloon, lined with fine porphyry and green marble, and adorned with the\nbeautiful frieze in bronze will, I fancy, please Hadrian as a study and\nprivate sitting-room.\"\n\n\"Admirable!\" cried Titianus, \"I should like to show your plan to the\nEmpress.\"\n\n\"In that case, instead of eight days I must have as many weeks,\" said\nPontius coolly.\n\n\"That is true,\" answered the prefect laughing. \"But tell me, Keraunus,\nhow comes it that the doors are wanting to all the best rooms?\"\n\n\"They were of fine thyra wood, and they were wanted in Rome.\"\n\n\"I must have seen one or another of them there,\" muttered the prefect.\n\n\"Your cabinet-workers will have a busy time, Pontius.\"\n\n\"Nay, the hanging-makers may be glad; wherever we can we will close the\ndoor-ways with heavy curtains.\"\n\n\"And what will you do with this damp abode of fogs, which, if I mistake\nnot, must adjoin the dining-hall?\"\n\n\"We will turn it into a garden filled with ornamental foliage.\"\n\n\"That is quite admissable--and the broken statues?\"\n\n\"We will get rid of the worst.\"\n\nThe Apollo and the nine Muses stand in the room you intend for an\naudience-hall--do they not?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"They are in fairly good condition, I think.\"\n\n\"Urania is wanting entirely,\" said the steward, who was still holding the\nplan out in front of him.\n\n\"And what became of her?\" asked Titianus, not without excitement.\n\n\"Your predecessor, the prefect Haterius Nepos, took a particular fancy to\nit and carried it with him to Rome.\"\n\n\"Why Urania of all others?\" cried Titianus angrily. She, above all, ought\nnot to be missing from the hall of audience of Caesar the pontiff of\nheaven! What is to be done?\"\n\n\"It will be difficult to find an Urania ready-made as tall as her\nsisters, and we have no time to search one out, a new one must be made.\"\n\n\"In eight days?\"\n\n\"And eight nights.\"\n\n\"But my good friend, only to get the marble--\"\n\n\"Who thinks of marble? Papias will make us one of straw, rags and\ngypsum--I know his magic hand--and in order that the others may not be\ntoo unlike their new-born sister they shall be whitewashed.\"\n\n\"Capital--but why choose Papias when we have Harmodius?\"\n\n\"Harmodius takes art in earnest, and we should have the Emperor here\nbefore he had completed his sketches. Papias works with thirty assistants\nat anything that is ordered of him, so long as it brings him money. His\nlast things certainly amaze me, particularly the Hygyeia for Dositheus\nthe Jew, and the bust of Plutarch put up in the Caesareum. they are full\nof grace and power. But who can distinguish what is his work and what\nthat of his scholars? Enough, he knows how things should be done; and if\na good sum is to be got by it he will hew you out a whole sea-fight in\nmarble in five days.\"\n\n\"Then give Papias the commission but the hapless mutilated pavements-what\nwill you do with them?\"\n\n\"Gypsum and paint must mend them,\" said Pontius, \"and where that will not\ndo, we must lay carpets on the floor in the Eastern fashion. Merciful\nnight! how dark it is growing; give me the plan Keraunus and provide us\nwith torches and lamps for to-day, and the next following ones must have\ntwenty-four hours apiece, full measure. I must ask you for half a dozen\ntrustworthy slaves Titianus; I shall want them for messengers. What are\nyou standing there for man? Lights, I said. You have had half a lifetime\nto rest in, and when Caesar is gone you will have as many more years for\nthe same laudable purpose--\"\n\nAs he spoke the steward had silently gone off, but the architect did not\nspare him the end of the sentence; he shouted after him:\n\n\"Unless by that time you are smothered in your own fat. Is it Nile-mud or\nblood that runs in that huge mortal's veins?\"\n\n\"I am sure I do not care,\" said the prefect, \"so long as the glorious\nfire that flows in yours only holds out till the work is done. Do not\nallow yourself to be overworked at first, nor require the impossible of\nyour strength, for Rome and the world still expect great things of you. I\ncan now write in perfect security to the Emperor that all will be ready\nfor him in Lochias, and as a farewell speech, I can only say, it is folly\nto be discouraged if only Pontius is at hand to support and assist me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe prefect ordered the lictors, who were awaiting him with his chariot,\nto hasten to his house, and to conduct to Pontius several most worthy\nslaves, familiar with Alexandria--some of whom he named--and at the same\ntime to send the architect a good couch with pillows and coverlets, and\nto despatch a good meal and fine wine to the old palace at Lochias. Then\nhe mounted his chariot and drove through the Bruchiom along the shore to\nthe great edifice known as the Caesareum. He got on but slowly, for the\nnearer he approached his destination the denser was the crowd of\ninquisitive citizens, who stood closely packed round the vast\ncircumference of the building. Quite from a distance the prefect could\nsee a bright light; it rose to heaven from the large pans of pitch which\nwere placed on the towers on each side of the tall gate of the Caesareum\nwhich faced the sea. To the right and left of this gate stood a tall\nobelisk, and on each of these, men were lighting lamps which had been\nattached to the sides and placed on the top, on the previous day.\n\n\"In honor of Sabina,\" said the prefect to himself. \"All that this Pontius\ndoes is thoroughly done, and there is no more complete sinecure than the\nsupervision of his arrangements.\"\n\nFully persuaded of this he did not think it necessary to go up to the\nilluminated door-way which led into the temple erected by Octavian in\nhonor of Julius Caesar; on the contrary, he directed the charioteer to\nstop at a door built in the Egyptian style, which faced the garden of the\npalace of the Ptolemies, and which led to the imperial residence that had\nbeen built by the Alexandrians for Tiberius, and had been greatly\nextended and beautified under the later Caesars. A sacred grove divided\nit from the temple of Caesar, with which it communicated by a covered\ncolonnade. Before this door there were several chariots and horses, and a\nwhole host of slaves, black and white, were in attendance with their\nmasters' litters. Here lictors kept back the sight-seeking crowd,\nofficers were lounging against the pillars, and the Roman guard were just\nassembling with a clatter of arms, to the sound of a trumpet within the\ndoor, to await their dismissal.\n\nEverything gave way respectfully before the chariot of the prefect, and\nas Titianus walked through the illuminated arcades of the Caesareum,\npassing by the masterpieces of statuary placed there, and the rows of\npictures--and reached the halls in which the library of the palace was\nkept, he could not help thinking of all the care and trouble which with\nthe assistance of Pontius, he had for months devoted to rendering this\npalace which had not been used since Titus had set out for Judaea, fit\nquarters for Hadrian's reception. The Empress now lived in the rooms\nintended for her husband, and decorated with the choicest works of art,\nand Titianus reflected with regret that, after Sabina had once become\naware of their presence there, it would be quite impossible to transfer\nthem to Lochias. At the door of the splendid room which he had intended\nfor Hadrian he was met by Sabina's chamberlain who undertook to conduct\nhim at once into the presence of his mistress.\n\nThe roof of the hall in which the prefect found the Empress, in summer\nwas open to the sky; but at this season was suitably covered in by a\nmovable copper roof, partly to keep off the rain of the Alexandrian\nwinter, and partly too because, even in the warmer season Sabina was wont\nto complain of cold; but beneath it a wide opening allowed the air free\nentrance and exit. As Titianus entered the room a comfortable warmth and\nsubtle perfume met his senses; the warmth was produced by stoves of a\npeculiar form standing in the middle of the room; one of these\nrepresented Vulcan's forge. Brightly glowing charcoal lay in front of the\nbellows which were worked by an automaton, at short regular intervals,\nwhile the god and his assistants modelled in brass, stood round the\ngenial fire with tongs and hammers. The other stove was a large silver\nbird's-nest, in which likewise charcoal was burning. Above the glowing\nfuel a phoenix, also in brass, and in the likeness of an eagle, seemed\nstriving to soar heavenwards. Besides these a number of lamps lighted the\nsaloon, which in truth looked too large for the number of people\nassembled in it, and which was lavishly furnished with gracefully-formed\nseats, couches, and tables, vases of flowers and statues.\n\nThe prefect and Pontius had intended a quite different room to serve for\nsmaller assemblies, and had fitted it up suitably for the purpose, but\nthe Empress had preferred the great hall to the smaller room. The\nvenerable and nobly-born statesman was filled with vexation, nay, with an\nembarrassment that made him feel estranged, when he had to glance round\nthe room to find the persons in it, collected, as they were, into small\nknots. He could hear nothing but hushed voices; here an unintelligible\nmurmur and there a suppressed laugh, but from no one a frank speech or\nfull utterance. For a moment he felt as if he had found admittance to the\nabode of whispering calumny, and yet he knew why here no one dared to\nspeak out or above a murmur. Loud voices hurt the Empress, and a clear\nvoice was a misery to her, and yet few men possessed so loud and\npenetrating a chest voice as her husband, who was not wont to lay\nrestraint upon himself for any human being, not even for his wife.\n\nSabina sat on a large divan, more like a couch than a chair; her feet\nwere buried in the shaggy fell of a buffalo, and her knees and ankles\nwrapped round with down-cushions covered with silk. Her head she held\nvery upright, and it was difficult to imagine how her slender throat\ncould support it, loaded as it was with strings of pearls and precious\nstones which were braided in the tall structure of her reddish-gold hair,\nthat was arranged in long cylindrical curls pinned closely side by side.\nThe Empress's thin face looked particularly small under the mass of\nnatural and artificial adornment which towered above her brow. Beautiful\nshe could never have been, even in her youth, but her features were\nregular, and the prefect confessed to himself as he looked at Sabina's\nface, marked as it was with minute wrinkles and touched up with red and\nwhite, that the sculptor who a few years previously had been commissioned\nto represent her as 'Venus Victrix' might very well have given the\ngoddess a certain amount of resemblance to the imperial model. If only\nher eyes, which were absolutely bereft of lashes, had not been quite so\nsmall and keen--in spite of the dark lines painted round them--and if\nonly the sinews in her throat had not stood out quite so conspicuously\nfrom the flesh which formerly had covered them!\n\nWith a deep bow Titianus took the Empress's right hand, covered with\nrings; but she withdrew it quickly from that of her husband's friend and\nrelative, as if she feared that the carefully-cherished limb--useless as\nit was for any practical purpose, a mere toy among hands--might suffer\nsome injury, and wrapped it and her arm in her upper-robe. But she\nreturned the prefect's friendly greeting with all the warmth at her\ncommand. Though formerly at Rome she had been accustomed to see Titianus\nevery day at her house, this was their first meeting in Alexandria; for\nthe previous day, exhausted by the sufferings of her sea-voyage, she had\nbeen carried in a closed litter to the Caesareum, and this morning she\nhad declined to receive his visit, as her whole time was given up to her\nphysicians, bathing-women, and coiffeurs.\n\n\"How can you survive in this country?\" she said in a low but harsh voice,\nwhich always made the hearer feel that it was that of a dull, fractious,\nchildless woman. \"At noon the sun burns you up, and in the evening it is\nso cold--so intolerably cold!' As she spoke she drew her robe closer\nround her, but Titianus, pointing to the stoves in the middle of the\nhall, said:\n\n\"I hoped we had succeeded in cutting the bowstrings of the Egyptian\nwinter, and it is but a feeble weapon.\"\n\n\"Still young, still imaginative, still a poet!\" said the Empress wearily.\n\"I saw your wife a couple of hours since. Africa seems to suit her less\nwell; I was shocked to see Julia, the handsome matron, so altered. She\ndoes not look well.\"\n\n\"Years are the foe of beauty.\"\n\n\"Frequently they are, but true beauty often resists their attacks.\"\n\n\"You are yourself the living proof of your assertion.\"\n\n\"That is as much as to say that I am growing old.\"\n\n\"Nay--only that you know the secret of remaining beautiful.\"\n\n\"You are a poet!\" murmured the Empress with a twitch of her thin\nunder-lip.\n\n\"Affairs of state do not favor the Muses.\"\n\n\"But I call any man a poet who sees things more beautiful than they are,\nor who gives them finer names than they deserve--a poet, a dreamer, a\nflatterer--for it comes to that.\"\n\n\"Ah! modesty can always find words to repel even well-merited\nadmiration.\"\n\n\"Why this foolish bandying of words?\" sighed Sabina, flinging herself\nback in her chair. \"You have been to school under the hair-splitting\nlogicians in the Museum here, and I have not. Over there sits Favorinus,\nthe sophist; I dare say he is proving to Ptolemaeus that the stars are\nmere specks of blood in our eyes, which we choose to believe are in the\nsky. Florus, the historian, is taking note of this weighty discussion;\nPancrates, the poet, is celebrating the great thoughts of the\nphilosopher. As to what part the philologist there can find to take in\nthis important event you know better than I. What is the man's name?\"\n\n\"Apollonius.\"\n\n\"Hadrian has nick-named him 'the obscure.' The more difficult it is to\nunderstand the discourses of these gentlemen the more highly are they\nesteemed.\"\n\n\"One must dive to obtain what lies at the bottom of the water--all that\nfloats on the surface is borne by the waves, a plaything for children.\nApollonius is a very learned man.\"\n\n\"Then my husband ought to leave him among his disciples and his books. It\nwas his wish that I should invite these people to my table. Florus and\nPancrates I like--not the others.\"\n\n\"I can easily relieve you of the company of Favorinus and Ptolemaeus;\nsend them to meet the Emperor.\"\n\n\"To what end?\"\n\n\"To entertain him.\"\n\n\"He has his plaything with him,\" said Sabina, and her thin lips curled\nwith an expression of bitter contempt.\n\n\"His artistic eye delights in the beauty of Antinous, which is\ncelebrated, but which it has not yet been my privilege to see.\"\n\n\"And you are very anxious to see this marvel?\"\n\n\"I cannot deny it.\"\n\n\"And yet you want to postpone your meeting with Caesar?\" said Sabina, and\na keen glance of inquiry and distrust twinkled in her little eyes.\n\n\"Why do you want to delay my husband's arrival?\"\n\n\"Need I tell you,\" said Titianus eagerly, \"how greatly I shall rejoice to\nsee once more my sovereign, the companion of my youth, the greatest and\nwisest of men, after a separation of four years? What would I not give if\nhe were here already! And yet I would rather that he should arrive in\nfourteen days than in eight.\"\n\n\"What reason can you have?\"\n\n\"A mounted messenger brought me a letter to-day in which the Emperor\ntells me that he proposes to inhabit the old palace at Lochias, and not\nthe Caesareum.\"\n\nAt these words Sabina's forehead clouded, her gaze, dark and blank, was\nfixed on her lap, and biting her under-lip, she muttered:\n\n\"Because I am here.\"\n\nTitianus made as though he had not heard these words, and continued in an\neasy tone:\n\n\"There he has a wide outlook into the distance, which is what he has\nloved from his youth up. But the old building is much dilapidated, and\nthough I have already begun to exert all the forces at my command, with\nthe assistance of our admirable architect, Pontius, to restore a portion\nof it at any rate, and make it a habitable and not too uncomfortable\nresidence, the time is too short to do anything thoroughly worthy--\"\n\n\"I wish to see my husband here, and the sooner the better,\" interrupted\nthe Empress with decision. Then she turned towards the row of pillars\nwhich stood by the right-hand wall of the hall, and which were at some\ndistance from her couch, calling out \"Verus.\" But her voice was so weak\nthat it did not reach the person addressed, so turning to the prefect,\nshe said: \"I beg of you to call Verus to me, the praetor Lucius Aurelius\nVerus.\" Titianus immediately obeyed.\n\nAs he entered the hall he had already exchanged friendly greetings with\nthe man to whom the Empress wished to speak. He now did not succeed in\nattracting his attention till he stood close at his elbow, for he formed\nthe centre of a small group of men and women who were hanging on his\nwords. What he was saying in a subdued voice must have been\nextraordinarily diverting, for it could be seen that his hearers were\nmaking the greatest efforts to keep their suppressed laughter from\nbreaking out into a shout that would shake the very hall, a noise the\nEmpress detested. When the prefect came up to Verus, a young girl, whose\npretty head was crowned by a perfect thicket of little ringlets, was just\nlaying her hand on his arm and saying:\n\n\"Nay-that is too much; if you go on like this, for the future whenever\nyou speak I shall stop my ears with my hands, as sure as my name is\nBalbilla.\"\n\n\"And as sure as you are descended from King Antiochus,\" added Verus\nbowing.\n\n\"Always the same,\" laughed the prefect, nodding to the audacious jester.\n\n\"Sabina wants to speak to you.\"\n\n\"Directly, directly,\" said Verus. \"My story is a true one, and you all\nought to be grateful to me for having released you from that tedious\nphilologer who has now button-holed my witty friend Favorinus. I like\nyour Alexandria, Titianus; still it is not a great capital like Rome. The\npeople have not yet learned not to be astonished; they are perpetually in\namazement. When I go out driving--\"\n\n\"Your runners ought to fly before you with roses in their hair and wings\non their shoulders like Cupids.\"\n\n\"In honor of the Alexandrian ladies?\"\n\n\"As if the Roman ladies in Rome, and the fair Greeks at Athens,\"\ninterrupted Balbilla.\n\n\"The praetor's runners go faster than Parthian horses,\" cried the\nEmpress's chamberlain. \"He has named them after the winds.\"\n\n\"As they deserve,\" added Verus \"Come, Titianus.\" He laid his hand in a\nconfidential manner on the arm of the prefect, to whom he was related;\nand as they went towards Sabina he whispered in his ear:\n\n\"I can keep her waiting as if I were the Emperor.\"\n\nFavorinus who had been engaged in talk with Ptolemaeus, the astronomer,\nApollonius, and the philosopher and poet Pancrates in another part of the\nhall, looked after the two men and said:\n\n\"A handsome couple. One the personification of imperial and dignified\nRome; the other with his Hermes-like figure.\"\n\n\"The other\"--interrupted the philologist with stern displeasure, \"the\nother is the very incarnation of the haughtiness, the luxury pushed to\ninsanity, and the infamous depravity of the metropolis. That dissipated\nladies-man.\"\n\n\"I will not defend his character,\" said Favorinus in his pleasant voice,\nand with an elegance in his pronunciation of Greek which delighted even\nthe grammarian. \"His ways and doings are disgraceful; still you must\nallow that his manners are tinged with the charm of Hellenic beauty, that\nthe Charites kissed him at his birth, and though, by the stern laws of\nvirtue we must condemn him, he deserves to be crowned with praise and\ngarlands from the point of view of the feeling for beauty.\"\n\n\"Oh! for the artist who wants a model he is a choice morsel.\"\n\n\"The Athenian judges acquitted Phryne because she was beautiful.\"\n\n\"They did wrong.\"\n\n\"Hardly in the eyes of the gods, whose fairest works must deserve our\nrespect.\"\n\n\"Still poison may be kept in the most beautiful vessels.\"\n\n\"And yet body and soul always to a certain extent correspond.\"\n\n\"And can you dare to call the handsome Verus the admirable Verus?\"\n\n\"No, but the reckless Lucius Aurelius Verus is at the same time the\ngayest and pleasantest of all the Romans, free alike from spite or\ncarefulness, he troubles himself with no doctrines of virtue, and as when\na thing pleases him, he desires to possess it, he endeavors to give\npleasure to every one else.\"\n\n\"He has wasted his pains so far as I am concerned.\"\n\n\"I do as he wishes.\"\n\nThe last words both of the philologer and the sophist were spoken\nsomewhat louder than was usual in the presence of the Empress. Sabina,\nwho had just told the praetor which residence her husband had decided on\ninhabiting, drew up her shoulders and pinched her lips as if in pain,\nwhile Verus turned a face of indignation--a face which was manly in spite\nof all the delicacy and regularity of the features--on the two speakers,\nand his fine bright eyes caught the hostile glance of Apollonius.\n\nAn intimation of aversion to his person was one of the things which to\nhim were past endurance; he hastily passed his hand through his\nblue-black hair, which was only slightly grizzled at the temples and\nflowed uncurled, but in soft waving locks round his head, and said, not\nheeding Sabina's question as to his opinion of her husband's latest\ninstructions:\n\n\"He is a repulsive fellow, that wrangling logician; he has an evil eye\nthat threatens mischief to us all, and his trumpet voice cannot hurt you\nmore than it does me. Must we endure him at table with us every day?\"\n\n\"So Hadrian desires.\"\n\n\"Then I shall start for Rome,\" said Verus decidedly. \"My wife wants to be\nback with her children, and as praetor, it is more fitting that I should\nstay by the Tiber than by the Nile.\"\n\nThe words were spoken as lightly as though they were nothing more than a\nproposition to go to supper, but they seemed to agitate the Empress\ndeeply, for her head, which had seemed almost a fixture during her\nconversation with Titianus, now shook so violently that the pearls and\njewels rattled in the erection of curls. There she sat for some seconds\nstaring into her lap.\n\nVerus stooped to pick up a gem that had fallen from her hair, and as he\ndid so she said hastily:\n\n\"You are right. Apollonius is intolerable. Let us send him to meet my\nhusband.\"\n\n\"Then I will remain,\" answered Verus, as pleased as a wilful boy who has\ngot his own way.\n\n\"Fickle as the wind,\" murmured Sabina, threatening him with her finger.\n\"Show me the stone--it is one of the largest and finest; you may keep\nit.\"\n\nWhen an hour later, Verus quitted the hall with the prefect, Titianus\nsaid:\n\n\"You have done me a service cousin, without knowing it. Now can you\ncontrive that Ptolemaeus and Favorinus shall go with Apollonius to meet\nthe Emperor at Pelusium?\"\n\n\"Nothing easier\" was the answer.\n\nAnd the same evening the prefect's steward conveyed to Pontius the\ninformation that he might count on having probably fourteen days for his\nwork, instead of eight or nine only.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nIn the Caesareum, where the Empress dwelt, the lights were extinguished\none after another; but in the palace of Lochias they grew more numerous\nand brighter. In festal illuminations of the harbor pitch cressets on the\nroof, and long rows of lamps that accumulated architectonic features of\nthe noble structure, were always kindled; but inside it, no blaze so\nbrilliant had ever lighted it within the memory of man. The harbor\nwatchmen at first gazed anxiously up at Lochias, for they feared that a\nfire must have broken out in the old palace; they were soon reassured\nhowever, by one of the prefect's lictors, who brought them a command to\nkeep open the harbor gates that night, and every night till the Emperor\nshould have arrived, to all who might wish to proceed from Lochias to the\ncity, or from the city to the peninsula, under the orders of Pontius the\narchitect. And till long past midnight not a quarter of an hour passed in\nwhich the people whom the architect had summoned to his aid were not\nknocking at the harbor gates, which, though not locked were all guarded.\nThe little house belonging to the gate-keeper was also brightly lighted\nup; the birds and cats belonging to the old woman whom the prefect and\nhis companions had found slumbering by her wine-jar, were now fast\nasleep, but the little dogs still flew loudly yelping into the yard each\ntime a new-comer entered by the open gate.\n\n\"Come, Aglaia, what will folks think of you? Thalia, my beauty, behave\nlike a good dog; come here, Euphrosyne, and don't be so silly!\" cried the\nold lady in a voice which was both pleasant and peremptory, as she\nstood-wide awake now-behind her table, folding together the dried\nclothes. The little barking beasts who were thus endowed with the names\nof the three Graces did not trouble themselves much about her\naffectionate admonitions; to their sorrow, for it happened more than once\nto each of them, when they had got under the feet of some new-comer, to\ncreep, whining and howling, into the house again to seek consolation from\ntheir mistress, who would pick up the sufferer and soothe it with kisses\nand coaxing.\n\nThe old lady was no longer alone, for in the background, on a long and\nnarrow couch which stood in front of the statue of Apollo, lay a tall,\nlean man, wearing a red chiton. A little lamp hanging from the ceiling\nthrew a dull light on him and on the lute he was playing. To the faint\nsound of the instrument, which was rather a large one, and which he had\npropped on the pillow by his side, he was singing, or rather murmuring a\nlong ditty. Twice, thrice, four times he repeated it in the same way. Now\nand again he suddenly let his voice sound more loudly--and though his\nhair was quite grey his voice was not unpleasing--and sang a few phrases\nfull of expression and with artistic delivery; and then, when the dogs\nbarked too vehemently, he would spring up, and with his lute in his\nleft-hand and a long pliable rattan in his right, he would rush into the\ncourt-yard, shout the names of the dogs, and raise his cane as if he\nwould kill them; but he always took care not to hit them, only to beat on\nthe pavement near them. When, returning from such an excursion, he\nstretched himself again on his couch, the old woman, pointing to the\nhanging-lamp which the impatient creature often knocked with his head,\nwould call out, \"Euphorion, mind the oil.\"\n\nAnd he each time answered with the same threatening gesture and the same\nglare in his black eyes:\n\n\"The little brutes!\"\n\nThe singer had been diligently practising his musical exercises for about\nan hour, when the dogs rushed into the court-yard, not barking this time,\nbut yelping loudly with joy. The old woman laid aside the washing and\nlistened, but the tall man said:\n\n\"As many birds come flying before the Emperor as gulls before a storm. If\nonly they would leave us in peace--\"\n\n\"Hark, that is Pollux; I know by the dogs,\" said the woman, hastening as\nfast as she could over the threshold and out to meet him. But the\nexpected visitor was already at the door. He picked up the three\nfour-footed Graces who leaped round him, one after the other by the skin\nof the neck, and gave each a tap on its nose. Then, seeing the old woman,\nhe took her head between his hands, and kissed her forehead, saying,\n\"Good-evening, little Mother,\" and shook hands with the singer, adding,\n\"How are you, great, big Father?\"\n\n\"You are as big as I am,\" replied the man thus addressed, and he drew the\nyounger man towards him, and laid one of his broad hands on his own grey\nhead and the other on that of his first-born, with its wealth of brown\nhair.\n\n\"As if we were cast in the same mould,\" cried the youth; and in fact he\nwas very like his father--like, no doubt, as a noble hunter is like a\nworn-out hack--as marble is like limestone--as a cedar is like a\nfir-tree. Both were remarkably tall, had thick hair, dark eyes, and\nstrongly aquiline noses, exactly of the same shape; but the cheerful\nbrightness which irradiated the countenance of the youth had certainly\nnot been inherited from the lute-player, but from the little woman who\nlooked up into his face and patted his arm.\n\nBut whence did he derive the powerful, but indescribable something which\ngave nobility to his head, and of which it was impossible to say whether\nit lay in his eye, or in the lofty brow, arched so differently to that of\neither parent?\n\n\"I knew you would come,\" cried his mother. \"This afternoon I dreamed it,\nand I can prove that I expected you, for there, on the brazier, stands\nthe stewed cabbage and sausage waiting for you.\"\n\n\"I cannot stay now,\" replied Pollux. \"Really, I cannot, though your kind\nlooks would persuade me, and the sausage winks at me out of the\ncabbage-pan. My master, Papias, is gone on ahead, and in the palace there\nwe are to work wonders in less time than it generally takes to consider\nwhich end the work should be begun at.\"\n\n\"Then I will carry the cabbage into the palace for you,\" said Doris,\nstanding on tip-toe to hold a sausage to the lips of her tall son. Pollux\nbit off a large mouthful and said, as he munched it:\n\n\"Excellent! I only wish that the thing I am to construct up there may\nturn out as good a statue as this savory cylinder--now fast\ndisappearing--was a superior and admirable sausage.\"\n\n\"Have another?\" said Doris.\n\n\"No mother; and you must not bring the cabbage either. Up to midnight not\na minute must be lost, and if I then leave off for a little while you\nmust by that time be dreaming of all sorts of pleasant things.\"\n\n\"I will carry you the cabbage then,\" said his father, \"for I shall not be\nin bed so early at any rate. The hymn to Sabina, composed by Mesomedes,\nis to be performed with the chorus, as soon as the Empress visits the\ntheatre, and I am to lead the upper part of the old men, who grow young\nagain at the sight of her. The rehearsal is fixed for to-morrow, and I\nknow nothing about it yet. Old music, note for note, is ready and safe in\nmy throat, but new things--new things!\"\n\n\"It is according to circumstances,\" said Pollux, laughing.\n\n\"If only they would perform your father's Satyr-play, or his Theseus!\"\ncried Doris.\n\n\"Only wait a little, I will recommend him to Caesar as soon as he is\nproud to call me his friend, as the Phidias of the age. Then, when he\nasks me 'Who is the happy man who begot you?' I will answer: It is\nEuphorion, the divine poet and singer; and my mother, too, is a worthy\nmatron, the gate-keeper of your palace, Doris, the enchantress, who turns\ndingy clothes into snow-white linen.\"\n\nThese last words the young artist sang in a fine and powerful voice to a\nmode invented by his father.\n\n\"If only you had been a singer!\" exclaimed Euphorion.\n\n\"Then I should have enjoyed the prospect,\" retorted Pollux, \"of spending\nthe evening of my life as your successor in this little abode.\"\n\n\"And now for wretched pay, you plant the laurels with which Papias crowns\nhimself!\" answered the old man shrugging his shoulders.\n\n\"His hour is coming, too,\" cried Doris, \"his merit will be recognized; I\nsaw him in my dreams, with a great garland on his curly head!\"\n\n\"Patience, father-patience,\" said the young man, grasping his father's\nhand. \"I am young and strong, and do all I can. Here, behind this\nforehead, good ideas are seething; what I have succeeded in carrying out\nby myself, has at any rate brought credit and fame to others, although it\nis all far from resembling the ideal of beauty that here--here--I seem to\nsee far away and behind a cloud; still I feel that if, in a moment of\nkindness, Fortune will but shed a few fresh drops of dew on it all I\nshall, at any rate, turn out something better than the mere ill-paid\nright-hand of Papias, who, without me does not know what he ought to do,\nor how to do it.\"\n\n\"Only keep your eyes open and work hard,\" cried Doris.\n\n\"It is of no use without luck,\" muttered the singer, shrugging his\nshoulders.\n\nThe young artist bid his parents good-night, and was about to leave, but\nhis mother detained him to show him the young goldfinches, hatched only\nthe day before. Pollux obeyed her wish, not merely to please her, but\nbecause he liked to watch the gay little bird that sat warming and\nsheltering her nestlings. Close to the cage stood the huge wine-jar and\nhis mother's cup, decorated by his own hand. His eye fell on these, and\nhe pushed them aside in silence. Then, taking courage, he said, laughing:\n\"The Emperor will often pass by here, mother; give up celebrating your\nDionysiac festival. How would it do if you filled the jar with one-fourth\nwine and three-fourths water? It does not taste badly.\"\n\n\"Spoiling good gifts,\" replied his mother.\n\n\"One-fourth wine-to please me,\" Pollux entreated, taking his mother by\nthe shoulders and kissing her forehead.\n\n\"To please you, you great boy!\" said Doris, as her eyes filled with\ntears. \"Why for you, if I must, I would drink nothing but wretched water.\nEuphorion you may finish what is left in the jar presently.\"\n\n          .........................\n\nPontius had already begun his labors, at first with aid only of his\nassistants who had followed him on foot. Measuring, estimating, sending\nshort notes and writing figures, names and suggestions on the plan, and\non his folding wax-tablets, he was not idle for an instant, though\nfrequently interrupted by the appointed superintendents of the workshops\nand manufactures in Lochias, whose co-operation he required. They only\ncame at this late hour because they were called upon by the prefect's\norders.\n\nPapias, the sculptor, introduced himself among the latest, though Pontius\nhad written to him with his own hand that he had to communicate to him a\nvery remunerative and particularly pressing commission for the Emperor,\nwhich might, perhaps, be taken in hand that very night. The matter in\nquestion was a statue of Urania, which must be completed in eight days by\nthe same method which Papias had introduced at the last festival of\nAdonis, and to the scale which he, Pontius, indicated, in the palace of\nLochias itself. With regard to several works of restoration which had to\nbe carried out with equal rapidity, and as to the price to be paid, they\ncould agree at the same time and place.\n\nThe sculptor was a man of foresight and did not appear on the scene alone\nbut with his best assistant, Pollux, the son of the worthy couple at the\ngate, and several slaves who dragged after him sundry trunks and carts\nloaded with tools, boards, clay, gypsum and other raw materials of his\nart. On the road to Lochias he had informed the young sculptor of the\nbusiness in hand, and had told him in a condescending tone that he would\nbe permitted to try his skill in reconstructing the Urania. At the gate\nhe had permitted Pollux to greet his parents, and had gone alone into the\npalace to open his bargain with the architect without the presence of\nwitnesses.\n\nThe young artist perfectly understood his master. He knew that he would\nbe expected to carry out the statue of Urania, while his task-master,\nafter making some trifling alterations in the completed work, would\ndeclare that it was his own. Pollux had for two years been obliged, more\nthan once, to put up with similar treatment; and now, as usual, he\nsubmitted to this dishonest manoeuvre because, under his master there was\nplenty to do, and the delight of work was to him the greatest he could\nhave.\n\nPapias, to whom he had gone early as an apprentice and to whom he owed\nthe knowledge he possessed, was no miser, still Pollux needed money, not\nfor himself alone but because he had taken on himself the charge of a\nwidowed sister and her children as if they were his own family. He was\nalways glad to take some comfort into the narrow home of his parents, who\nwere poor, and to maintain his younger brother Teuker--who had devoted\nhimself to the same art--during the years of his apprenticeship. Again\nand again he had thought of telling his master that he should start on\nhis own footing and earn laurels for himself, but what then would become\nof those who relied on his help, if he gave up his regular earnings and\nif he got no commissions when there were so many unknown beginners eager\nfor them? Of what avail were all his ability and the most honest\ngood-will if no opportunity offered for his executing his work in noble\nmaterials? With his own means he certainly was in no position to do so.\n\nWhile he was talking to his parents Papias had opened his transactions\nwith the architect. Pontius explained to the sculptor what was required\nand Papias listened attentively; he never interrupted the speaker, but\nonly stroked his face from time to time, as if to make it smoother than\nit was already, though it was shaved with peculiar care and formed and\ncolored like a warm mask; meanwhile draping the front of his rich blue\ntoga, which he wore in the fashion of a Roman senator, into fresh folds.\n\nBut when Pontius showed him, at the end of the rooms destined for the\nEmperor, the last of the statues to be restored, and which needed a new\ngrin, Papias said decisively:\n\n\"It cannot be done.\"\n\n\"That is a rash verdict,\" replied the architect. \"Do you not know the\nproverb, which, being such a good one, is said to have been first uttered\nby more than one sage: 'That it shows more ill-judgment to pronounce a\nthing impossible than to boast that we can achieve a task however much it\nmay seem to transcend our powers.'\"\n\nPapias smiled and looked down at his gold-embroidered shoes as he said:\n\n\"It is more difficult to us sculptors to imagine ourselves waging Titanic\nwarfare against the impossible, than it is to you who work with enormous\nmasses. I do not yet see the means which would give me courage to begin\nthe attack.\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" replied Pontius quickly and decidedly. \"On your side\ngood-will, plenty of assistants and night-watchers; on ours, the Caesar's\napproval and plenty of gold.\"\n\nAfter this the transaction came to a prompt and favorable issue, and the\narchitect could but express his entire approbation, in most cases, of the\nsculptor's judicious and well-considered suggestions.\n\n\"Now I must go home,\" concluded Papias. \"My assistants will proceed at\nonce with the necessary preparations. The work must be carried on behind\nscreens, so that no one may disturb us or hinder us with remarks.\"\n\nHalf an hour later a scaffolding was already erected in the middle of the\nhall where the Urania was to stand.\n\nIt was concealed from; public gaze by thick linen stretched on tall\nwooden frames, and behind these screens Pollux was busied in framing a\nsmall model in wax, while his master had returned home to make\narrangements for the labors of the following day.\n\nIt wanted only an hour of midnight, and still the supper sent to the\npalace for the architect by the prefect remained untouched. Pontius was\nhungry enough, but before attacking the meal that a slave had set out on\na marble table--the roast meat which looked so inviting, the orange-red\ncrayfish, the golden-brown pasty and the many-hued fruits--he conceived\nit his duty to inspect the rooms to be restored. It was needful to see\nwhether the slaves who had been set, in the first place to clean out all\nthe rooms, were being intelligently directed by the men set over them,\nwhether they were doing their duty and had all that they required; they\nhad got some hours to work, then they were to rest and to begin again at\nsunrise, reinforced by other laborers both slave and free.\n\nMore and better lighting was universally demanded, and when, in the hall\nof the Muses, the men who were cleaning the pavement and scraping the\ncolumns loudly clamored for torches and lamps, a young man's head peered\nover the screen which shut in the place reserved for the restoration of\nthe Urania, and a lamentable voice cried out:\n\n\"My Muse, with her celestial sphere, is the guardian of star-gazers and\nis happiest in the dark--but not till she is finished. To form her we\nmust have light and more light--and when it is lighter here the voice of\nthe people down there, which does not sound very delightful up in this\nhollow space, will diminish somewhat also. Give light, then, O, men!\nLight for my goddess, and for your scrubbers and scourers.\"\n\nPontius looked up smiling at Pollux, who had uttered this appeal, and\nanswered:\n\nYour cry of distress is fully justified, my friend. But do you really\nbelieve in the power of light to diminish noise?\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" replied Pollux, \"where it is absent, that is to say in the\ndark, every noise seems redoubled.\"\n\n\"That is true, but there are other reasons for that,\" answered the\narchitect. \"To-morrow in an interval of work we will discuss these\nmatters. Now I will go to provide you with lamps and lights.\"\n\n\"Urania, the protectress of the fine arts, will be beholden to you,\"\ncried Pollux as the architect went away.\n\nPontius meanwhile sought his chief foreman to ask him whether he had\ndelivered his orders to Keraunus, the palace-steward, to come to him, and\nto put the cressets and lamps commonly used for the external\nilluminations, at the service of his workmen.\n\n\"Three times,\" was the answer \"have I been myself to the man, but each\ntime he puffed himself out like a frog and answered me not a word, but\nonly sent me into a little room with his daughter--whom you must see, for\nshe is charming--and a miserable black slave, and there I found these few\nwretched lamps that are now burning.\"\n\n\"Did you order him to come to me?\"\n\n\"Three hours ago, and again a second time, when you were talking with\nPapias.\"\n\nThe architect turned his back upon the foreman in angry haste, unrolled\nthe plan of the palace, quickly found upon it the abode of the\nrecalcitrant steward, seized a small red-clay lamp that was standing near\nhim, and being quite accustomed to guide himself by a plan, went straight\nthrough the rooms, which were not a few, and by a long corridor from the\nhall of the Muses, to the lodging of the negligent official. An unclosed\ndoor led him into a dark ante-chamber followed by another room, and\nfinally into a large, well-furnished apartment. All these door-ways, into\nwhat seemed to be at once the dining and sitting-room of the steward,\nwere bereft of doors, and could only be closed by stuff curtains, just\nnow drawn wide open. Pontius could therefore look in, unhindered and\nunperceived, at the table on which a three-branched bronze lamp was\nstanding between a dish and some plates. The stout man was sitting with\nhis rubicund moon-face towards the architect, who, indignant as he was,\nwould have gone straight up to him with swift decision, if, before\nentering the second room, a low but pitiful sob had not fallen on his\near.\n\nThe sob proceeded from a slight young girl who came forward from a door\nbeyond the sitting-room, and who now placed a platter with a loaf on the\ntable by the steward.\n\n\"Come, do not cry, Selene,\" said the steward, breaking the bread slowly\nand with an evident desire to soothe his child.\n\n\"How can I help crying,\" said the girl. \"But tomorrow morning let me buy\na piece of meat for you; the physician forbade you to eat bread.\"\n\n\"Man must be filled,\" replied the fat man, \"and meat is dear. I have nine\nmouths to fill, not counting the slaves. And where am I to get the money\nto fill us all with meat?\"\n\n\"We need none, but for you it is necessary.\"\n\n\"It is of no use, child. The butcher will not trust us any more, the\nother creditors press us, and at the end of the month we shall have just\nten drachmae left us.\"\n\nThe girl turned pale, and asked in anxiety:\n\n\"But, father, it was only to-day that you showed me the three gold pieces\nwhich you said had been given you as a present out of the money\ndistributed on the arrival of the Empress.\"\n\nThe steward absently rolled a piece of bread-crumb between his fingers\nand said:\n\n\"I spent that on this fibula with an incised onyx--and as cheap as dirt,\nI can tell you. If Caesar comes he must see who and what I am; and if I\ndie any one will give you twice as much for it as I paid. I tell you the\nEmpress's money was well laid out on the thing.\" Selene made no answer,\nbut she sighed deeply, and her eye glanced at a quantity of useless\nthings which her father had acquired and brought home because they were\ncheap, while she and her seven sisters wanted the most necessary things.\n\n\"Father,\" the girl began again after a short silence, \"I ought not to go\non about it, but even if it vexes you, I must--the architect, who is\nsettling all the work out there, has sent for you twice already.\"\n\n\"Be silent!\" shouted the fat man, striking his hand on the table. \"Who is\nthis Pontius, and who am I!\"\n\n\"You are of a noble Macedonian family, related perhaps even to the\nPtolemies; you have your seat in the Council of the Citizens--but do,\nthis time, be condescending and kind. The man has his hands full, he is\ntired out.\"\n\n\"Nor have I been able to sit still the whole day, and what is fitting, is\nfitting. I am Keraunus the son of Ptolemy, whose father came into Egypt\nwith Alexander the Great, and helped to found this city, and every one\nknows it. Our possessions were diminished; but it is for that very reason\nthat I insist on our illustrious blood being recognized. Pontius sends to\ncommand the presence of Keraunus! If it were not infuriating it would be\nlaughable--for who is this man, who? I have told you his father was a\nfreedman of the former prefect Claudius Balbillus, and by the favor of\nthe Roman his father rose and grew rich. He is the descendant of slaves,\nand you expect that I shall be his obedient humble servant, whenever he\nchooses to call me?\"\n\nBut father, my dear father, it is not the son of Ptolemy, but the\npalace-steward that he desires shall go to hire.\"\n\n\"Mere chop-logic!--you have nothing to say, not a step do I take to go to\nhim.\"\n\nThe girl clasped her hands over her face, and sobbed loudly and\npitifully. Keraunus started up and cried out, beside himself.\n\n\"By great Serapis. I can bear this no longer. What are you whimpering\nabout?\"\n\nThe girl plucked up courage and going up to the indignant man she said,\nthough more than once interrupted by tears.\n\n\"You must go father--indeed you must. I spoke to the foreman, and he told\nme coolly and decidedly that the architect was placed here in Caesar's\nname, and that if you do not obey him you will at once be superseded in\nyour office. And if that were to happen, if that--O father, father, only\nthink of blind Helios and poor Berenice! Arsinoe and I could earn our\nbread, but the little ones--the little ones.\"\n\nWith these words the girl fell on her knees lifting her hands in entreaty\nto her obstinate parent. The blood had mounted to the man's face and\neyes, and pressing his hand to his purple forehead he sank back in his\nchair as if stricken with apoplexy. His daughter sprang up and offered\nhim the cup full of wine and water which was standing on the table; but\nKeraunus pushed it aside with his hands, and panted out, while he\nstruggled for breath:\n\n\"Supersede me--in my place--turn me out of this palace! Why there, in\nthat ebony trunk, lies the rescript of Euergetes which confers the\nstewardship of this residence on my ancestor Philip, and as a hereditary\ndignity in his family. Now Philip's wife had the honor of being the\nking's mistress--or, as some say, his daughter. There lies the document,\ndrawn up in red and black ink on yellow papyrus and ratified with the\nseal and signature of Euergetes the Second. All the princes of the\nLagides have confirmed it, all the Roman prefects have respected it, and\nnow--now.\"\n\n\"But father\" said the girl interrupting her father, and wringing her\nhands in despair, \"you still hold the place and if you will only give\nin.\"\n\n\"Give in, give in,\" shrieked the corpulent steward shaking his fat hands\nabove his blood-shot face. \"I will give in--I will not bring you all to\nmisery--for my children's sake I will allow myself to be ill-treated and\ndown-trodden, I will go--I will go directly. Like the pelican I will feed\nmy children with my heart's blood. But you ought to know what it costs\nme, to humiliate myself thus; it is intolerable to me, and my heart is\nbreaking--for the architect, the architect has trampled upon me as if I\nwere his servant; he wished--I heard him with these ears--he shrieked\nafter me a villainous hope that I might be smothered in my own fat--and\nthe physician has told me I may die of apoplexy! Leave me, leave me. I\nknow those Romans are capable of anything. Well--here I am; fetch me my\nsaffron-colored pallium, that I wear in the council, fetch me my gold\nfillet for my head. I will deck myself like a beast for sacrifice, and I\nwill show him--\"\n\nNot a word of this harangue had escaped the ears of the architect who had\nbeen at first indignant and then moved to laughter, and withal it had\ntouched his heart. A sluggish and torpid character was repugnant to his\nvigorous nature, and the deliberate and indifferent demeanor of the stout\nsteward, on an occasion which had prompted him and all concerned to act\nas quickly and energetically as possible, had brought words to his lips\nwhich he now wished that he had never spoken. It is true that the\nsteward's false pride had roused his indignation, and who can listen\ncalmly to any comment on a stain on his birth? But the appeal of this\nmiserable father's daughter had gone to his heart. He pitied the fatuous\nsimpleton whom, with a turn of his hand, he could reduce to beggary, and\nwho had evidently been far more deeply hurt by his words than Pontius had\nbeen by what he had overheard, and so he followed the kindly impulse of a\nnoble nature to spare the unfortunate.\n\nHe rapped loudly with his knuckles on the inside of the door-post of the\nante-room, coughed loudly, and then said, bowing deeply to the steward on\nthe threshold of the sitting-room:\n\n\"Noble Keraunus--I have come, as beseems me, to pay you my respects.\nExcuse the lateness of the hour, but you can scarcely imagine how busy I\nhave been since we parted.\"\n\nKeraunus had at first started at the late visitor, then he stared at him\nin consternation. He now went towards him, stretched out both hands as if\nsuddenly relieved of a nightmare, and a bright expression of such warm\nand sincere satisfaction overspread his countenance that Pontius wondered\nhow he could have failed to observe what a well-cut face this fat\noriginal had.\n\n\"Take a seat at our humble table,\" said Keraunus. \"Go Selene and call the\nslaves. Perhaps there is yet a pheasant in the house, a roast fowl or\nsomething of the kind--but the hour, it is true, is late.\"\n\n\"I am deeply obliged to you,\" replied the architect, smiling. \"My supper\nis waiting for me in the hall of the Muses, and I must return to my\nwork-people. I should be grateful to you if you would accompany me. We\nmust consult together as to the lighting of the rooms, and such matters\nare best discussed over a succulent roast and a flask of wine.\"\n\n\"I am quite at your service,\" said Keraunus with a bow.\n\n\"I will go on ahead,\" said the architect, \"but first will you have the\ngoodness to give all that you have in the way of cressets, lights and\nlamps to the slaves, who, in a few minutes, shall await your orders at\nyour door.\"\n\nWhen Pontius had departed, Selene exclaimed with a deep sigh\n\n\"Oh! what a fright I have had! I will go now and find the lamps. How\nterribly it might have ended.\"\n\n\"It is well that he should have come,\" murmured Keraunus. \"Considering\nhis birth and origin, the architect is certainly a well-bred man.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Facts are differently reflected in different minds\n     Have not yet learned not to be astonished\n     Ill-judgment to pronounce a thing impossible\n     Years are the foe of beauty\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nPontius had gone to the steward's room, with a frowning brow, but it was\nwith a smile on his strongly-marked lips, and a brisk step that he\nreturned to his work-people. The foreman came to meet him with looks of\nenquiry as he said. \"The steward was a little offended and with reason;\nbut now we are capital friends and he will do what he can in the matter\nof lighting.\"\n\nIn the hall of the Muses he paused outside the screen, behind which\nPollux was working, and called out:\n\n\"Friend sculptor, listen to me, it is high time to have supper.\"\n\n\"It is, indeed,\" replied Pollux, \"else it will be breakfast.\"\n\n\"Then lay aside your tools for a quarter of an hour and help me and the\npalace-steward to demolish the food that has been sent me.\"\n\n\"You will need no second assistant if Keraunus is there. Food melts\nbefore him like ice before the sun.\"\n\n\"Then come and save him from an overloaded stomach.\"\n\n\"Impossible, for I am just now dealing most unmercifully with a bowl full\nof cabbage and sausages. My mother had cooked that food of the gods and\nmy father has brought it in to his first-born son.\"\n\n\"Cabbage and sausages!\" repeated the architect, and its tone betrayed\nthat his hungry stomach would fain have made closer acquaintance with the\nsavory mess.\n\n\"Come in here,\" continued Pollux, \"and be my guest. The cabbage has\nexperienced the process which is impending over this palace--it has been\nwarmed up.\"\n\n\"Warmed-up cabbage is better than freshly-cooked, but the fire over which\nwe must try to make this palace enjoyable again, burns too hotly and must\nbe too vigorously stirred. The best things have been all taken out, and\ncannot be replaced.\"\n\n\"Like the sausages, I have fished out of my cabbages,\" laughed the\nsculptor. \"After all I cannot invite you to be my guest, for it would be\na compliment to this dish if I were now to call it cabbage with sausages.\nI have worked it like a mine, and now that the vein of sausages is nearly\nexhausted, little remains but the native soil in which two or three\nmiserable fragments remain as memorials of past wealth. But my mother\nshall cook you a mess of it before long, and she prepares it with\nincomparable skill.\"\n\n\"A good idea, but you are my guest.\"\n\n\"I am replete.\"\n\n\"Then come and spice our meal with your good company.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, sir; leave me rather here behind my screen. In the first\nplace, I am in a happy vein, and on the right track; I feel that\nsomething good will come of this night's work.\"\n\n\"And tomorrow--\"\n\n\"Hear me out.\"\n\n\"Well.\"\n\n\"You would be doing your other guest an ill-service by inviting me.\"\n\n\"Do you know the steward then?\"\n\n\"From my earliest youth, I am the son of the gatekeeper of the palace.\"\n\n\"Oh, ho! then you came from that pretty little lodge with the ivy and the\nbirds, and the jolly old lady.\"\n\n\"She is my mother--and the first time the butcher kills she will concoct\nfor you and me a dish of sausages and cabbage without an equal.\"\n\n\"A very pleasing prospect.\"\n\n\"Here comes a hippopotamus--on closer inspection Keraunus, the steward.\"\n\n\"Are you his enemy?\"\n\n\"I, no; but he is mine--yes,\" replied Pollux. \"It is a foolish story.\nWhen we sup together don't ask me about it if you care to have a jolly\ncompanion And do not tell Keraunus that I am here, it will lead to no\ngood.\"\n\n\"As you wish, and here are our lamps too.\"\n\n\"Enough to light the nether world,\" exclaimed Pollux, and waving his hand\nto the architect in farewell he vanished behind the screens to devote\nhimself entirely to his model.\n\nIt was long past midnight, and the slaves who had set to work with much\nzeal had finished their labors in the hall of the Muses. They were now\nallowed to rest for some hours on straw that had been spread for them in\nanother wing of the building. The architect himself wished to take\nadvantage of this time to refresh himself by a short sleep, for the\nexertions of the morrow, but between this intention and its fulfilment an\nobstacle was interposed, the preposterous dimensions namely of his guest.\nHe had invited the steward on purpose to give him his fill of meat, and\nKeraunus had shown himself amenable to encouragement in this respect. But\nafter the last dish bad been removed the steward thought that good\nmanners demanded that he should honor his entertainer by his illustrious\npresence, and at the same time the prefect's good wine loosened the\ntongue of the man, who was not usually communicative.\n\nFirst he spoke of the manifold infirmities which tormented him and\nendangered his life, and when Pontius, to divert his talk into other\nchannels, was so imprudent as to allude to the Council of Citizens,\nKeraunus gave full play to his eloquence, and, while he emptied cup after\ncup of wine, tried to lay down the reasons which had made him and his\nfriends decide on staking everything in order to deprive the members of\nthe extensive community of Jews in the city of their rights as citizens,\nand to expel them, if possible, from Alexandria. So warm was his zeal\nthat he totally forgot the presence of the architect, and his humble\norigin, and declared to be indispensable, that even the descendants of\nfreed-slaves should be disenfranchised.\n\nPontius saw in the steward's inflamed eyes and cheeks that it was the\nwine which spoke within him, and he made no answer; and determined that\nthe rest he needed should not be thus abridged, he rose from table and\nbriefly excusing himself he retired to the room in which the couch had\nbeen prepared for him. After he had undressed he desired his slave to see\nwhat Keraunus was about, and soon received the reassuring information\nthat the steward was fast asleep and snoring.\n\n\"Only listen,\" said the slave, to confirm his report. \"You can hear him\ngrunting and snuffing as far as this. I pushed a cushion under his head,\nfor otherwise, so full as he is, the stout gentleman might come to some\nharm.\"\n\nLove is a plant which springs up for many who have never sown it, and\ngrows into a spreading tree for many who have neither fostered nor tended\nit. How little had Keraunus ever done to win the heart of his daughter,\nhow much on the contrary which could not fail to overshadow and trouble\nher young life. And yet Selene, whose youth--for she was but\nnineteen--needed repose and to whom the evening with the reprieve of\nsleep brought more pleasure than the morning with its load of cares and\nlabor, sat by the three-branched lamp and watched, and tormented herself\nmore and more as it grew later and later, at her father's long absence.\nAbout a week before the strong man had suddenly lost consciousness; only,\nit is true, for a few minutes, and the physician had told her that though\nhe appeared to be in superabundant health, the attack indicated that he\nmust follow his prescriptions strictly and avoid all kinds of excess. A\nsingle indiscretion, he had declared, might swiftly and suddenly cut the\nthread of his existence. After her father had gone out in obedience to\nthe architect's invitation, Selene had brought out her youngest brothers'\nand sisters' garments, in order to mend them. Her sister Arsinoe, who was\nher junior by two years, and whose fingers were as nimble as her own,\nmight indeed have helped her, but she had gone to bed early and was\nsleeping by the children who could not be left untended at night. Her\nfemale slave, who had been in her grandmother's service, ought to have\nassisted her; but the old half-blind negress saw even worse by lamp-light\nthan by daylight, and after a few stitches could do no more. Selene sent\nher to bed and sat down alone to her work.\n\nFor the first hour she sewed away without looking up, considering,\nmeanwhile, how she could best contrive to support the family till the end\nof the month on the few drachmae she could dispose of. As it got later\nshe grew wearier and wearier, but still she sat at the work, though her\npretty head often sank upon her breast. She must await her father's\nreturn, for a potion prepared by the physician stood waiting for him, and\nshe feared he would forget it if she did not remind him.\n\nBy the end of the second hour sleep overcame her, and she felt as if the\nchair she was sitting on was giving way under her, and as if it was\nsinking at first slowly and then quicker and quicker, into a deep abyss\nthat opened beneath her. Looking up for help in her dream, she could see\nnothing but her father's face, which looked aside with indifference. As\nher dream went on she called him and called him again, but for a long\ntime he did not seem to hear her. At last he looked down at her and when\nhe perceived her he smiled, but instead of helping her he picked up\nstones and clods from the edge of the gulf and threw them on her hands\nwith which she had clutched the brambles and roots that grew out of the\nrift of the rocks. She entreated him to cease, implored him, shrieked to\nhim to spare her, but not a muscle moved in the face above her; it seemed\nset in a vacant smile, and even his heart was dead too, for he ruthlessly\nflung down now a pebble, now a clod, one after the other, till her hands\nwere losing their last feeble hold and she was on the point of falling\ninto the fatal gulf below. Her own cry of terror aroused her, but during\nthe brief process of returning from her dream to actuality, she saw\nthrough swiftly parting mists--only for an instant, and yet quite\nplainly--the tall grass of a meadow, spangled with ox-eye daisies, white\nand gold, with violet-hued blue bells and scarlet poppies, among which\nshe was lying--as in a soft green bed, while near the sward lay a\nsparkling blue lake and behind it rose beautiful swelling hills, with red\ncliffs, and green groves, and meadows bright in the clear sunshine. A\nclear sky, across which a soft breeze gently blew light silvery flakes of\ncloud, bent over the lovely but fleeting picture, which she could not\ncompare with anything she had ever seen near her own home.\n\nShe had only slept for a short time, but when, once more thoroughly\nawake, she rubbed her eyes, she thought her dream must have lasted for\nhours.\n\nOne flame of the three-branched lamp had flickered into extinction and\nthe wick of another was beginning to waste. She hastily put it out with a\npair of tongs that hung by a chain, and then after pouring fresh oil into\nthe lamp that was still burning she carried the light into her father's\nsleeping room.\n\nHe had not yet returned. She was seized with a mortal terror. Had the\narchitect's wine bereft him of his senses? Had he on his way back to his\nrooms been seized with a fresh attack of giddiness? In spirit she saw the\nheavy man incapable of raising himself, dying perhaps where he had\nfallen.\n\nNo choice remained to her; she must go at once to the hall of the Muses\nand see what had happened to her father, pick him up, give him help\nor--if he still were feasting--endeavor to tempt him back by any excuse\nshe could find. Everything was at stake; her father's life and with it\nmaintenance and shelter for eight helpless creatures.\n\nThe December night was stormy, a keen and bitter wind blew through the\nill-closed opening in the roof of the room as Selene, before she began\nher expedition, tied a handkerchief over her head and threw over her\nshoulders a white mantle which had been worn by her dead mother. In the\nlong corridor which lay between her father's rooms and the front portion\nof the palace, she had to screen the flickering light of the little lamp\nwith her left hand, carrying it in her right; the flame blown about by\nthe draught and her own figure were mirrored here and there in the\npolished surface of the dark marble. The thick sandals she had tied on to\nher feet roused loud echoes in the empty rooms as they fell on the stone\npavements, and terror possessed Selene's anxious soul. Her fingers\ntrembled as they held the lamp and her heart beat audibly as, with bated\nbreath, she went through the cupolaed hall in which Ptolemy Euergetes\n'the fat' was said, some years ago, to have murdered his own son, and in\nwhich even a deep breath roused an echo.\n\nBut even in this room she did not forget to look to the right and left\nfor her father. She breathed a sigh of relief when she perceived a streak\nof light which shone through the gaping rift of a cracked side-door of\nthe hall of the Muses and fell in a broken reflection on the floor and\nthe wall of the last room through which she had to pass. She now entered\nthe large hall which was dimly lighted by the lamps behind the sculptor's\nscreen, and by several tapers, now burnt down low. These were standing on\na table knocked together out of blocks of wood and planks at the extreme\nend of the hall, and behind this her father was sound asleep.\n\nThe deep notes brought out of the sleeper's broad chest, were echoed in a\nvery uncanny way from the bare walls of the vast empty room, and she was\nfrightened by them and still more by the long black shadows of the\npillars, that lay, like barriers, across her path. She stood listening in\nthe middle of the hall and soon recognized in the alarming tones a sound\nthat was only too familiar. Without a moment's hesitation she started to\nrun, and hastened to the sleeper, shook him, pushed him, called him,\nsprinkled his forehead with water, and appealed to him by the tenderest\nnames with which her sister Arsinoe was wont to coax him. When, in spite\nof all this, he neither spoke nor stirred, she flung the full light of\nthe lamp on his face. Then she thought she perceived that a bluish tinge\nhad overspread his bloated features, and she broke into the deep,\nagonized, weeping which, a few hours previously had touched the\narchitect's heart.\n\nThere was a sudden stir behind the screens which enclosed the sculptor\nand the work in progress. Pollux had been working for a long time with\nzeal and pleasure, but at last the steward's snoring had begun to disturb\nhim. The body of the Muse had already taken a definite form and he could\nbegin to work out the head with the earliest dawn of day. He now dropped\nhis arms wearily, for as soon as he ceased to create with his whole heart\nand mind he felt tired, and saw plainly that without a model he could do\nnothing satisfactory with the drapery of his Urania. So he pulled his\nstool up to a great chest full of gypsum to get a little repose by\nleaning against it.\n\nBut sleep avoided the artist who was too much excited by his rapid\nnight's work, and as soon as Selene opened the door he sat upright and\npeeped through an opening between the frames of his place of retirement.\nWhen he saw the tall draped figure in whose hand a lamp was trembling,\nwhen he watched her cross the spacious hall, and then suddenly stand\nstill, he was not a little startled, but this did not hinder him from\nnoting every step of the nocturnal spectre with far more curiosity than\nalarm. Then, when Selene looked round her, and the lamp illuminated her\nface, be recognized the steward's daughter, and immediately knew what she\nmust be seeking.\n\nHer vain attempts to rouse the sleeper, though somewhat pathetic, had in\nthem at the same time something irresistibly ludicrous, and Pollux felt\nsorely tempted to laugh. But as soon as Selene began to weep so bitterly\nhe hastily pushed apart two of the laths of the screen, went up and\ncalled her name, at first softly not to frighten her, and then more\nloudly. When she turned her head he begged her warmly not to be alarmed\nfar he was no ghost, only a very humble and ordinary mortal, in fact-as\nshe might see--nothing more, alas! than the son of Euphorian, the\ngate-keeper, good for nothing as yet, but treading the path to something\nbetter.\n\n\"You, Pollux?\" asked the girl with surprise.\n\n\"The very man. But you--can I help you?\"\n\n\"My poor father,\" sobbed Selene. \"He does not stir, he is immovable--and\nhis face--oh! merciful gods.\"\n\n\"A man who snores is not dead,\" said the sculptor. \"But the doctor told\nhim--\"\n\n\"He is not even ill! Pontius only gave him stronger wine to drink than he\nis used to. Let him be; he is sleeping with the pillow under his neck, as\ncomfortably as a child. When he began just now to trumpet a little too\nloud I whistled as loud as a plover, for that often silences a snorer;\nbut I could more easily have made those stone Muses dance than have\nroused him.\"\n\n\"If only we could get him to bed.\"\n\n\"Well, if you have four horses at hand.\"\n\n\"You are as bad as you ever were!\"\n\n\"A little less so, Selene, only you must become accustomed again to my\nway of speaking. This time I only mean that we two together are not\nstrong enough to carry him away.\"\n\n\"But what can I do, then? The doctor said--\"\n\n\"Never mind the doctor. The complaint your father is suffering from is\none I know well. It will be gone to-morrow, perhaps by sundown, and the\nonly pain it will leave behind, he will feel under his wig. Only leave\nhim to sleep.\"\n\n\"But it is so cold here.\"\n\n\"Take my cloak and cover him with that.\"\n\n\"Then you will be frozen.\"\n\n\"I am used to it. How long has Keraunus had dealings with the doctor?\"\n\nSelene related the accident that had befallen her father and how\njustified were her fears. The sculptor listened to her in silence and\nthen said in a quite altered tone:\n\n\"I am truly sorry to hear it. Let us put some cold water on his forehead,\nand until the slaves come back again I will change the wet cloth every\nquarter of an hour. Here is a jar and a handkerchief--good, they might\nhave been left on purpose. Perhaps, too, it will wake him, and if not the\npeople shall carry him to his own rooms.\"\n\n\"Disgraceful, disgraceful!\" sighed the girl.\n\n\"Not at all; the high-priest of Serapis even is sometimes unwell. Only\nlet me see to it.\"\n\n\"It will excite him afresh if he sees you. He is so angry with you--so\nvery angry.\"\n\n\"Omnipotent Zeus, what harm have I done you, fat father! The gods forgive\nthe sins of the wise, and a man will not forgive the fault committed by a\nstupid lad in a moment of imprudence.\"\n\n\"You mocked at him.\"\n\n\"I set a clay head that was like him on the shoulders of the fat Silenus\nnear the gate, that had lost its own head. It was my first piece of\nindependent work.\"\n\n\"But you did it to vex my father.\"\n\n\"Certainly not, Selene; I was delighted with the joke and nothing more.\"\n\n\"But you knew how touchy he is.\"\n\n\"And does a wild boy of fifteen ever reflect on the consequences of his\naudacity? If he had but given me a thrashing his annoyance would have\ndischarged itself like thunder and lightning, and the air would have been\nclear again. But, as it was, he cut the face off the work with a knife,\nand deliberately trod the pieces under foot as they lay on the ground. He\ngave me one single blow--with his thumb--which I still feel, it is true,\nand then he treated me and my parents with such scorn, so coldly and\nhardly, with such bitter contempt--\"\n\n\"He never is really violent, but wrath seems to eat him inwardly, and I\nhave rarely seen him so angry as he was that time.\"\n\n\"But if he had only settled the account with me on the spot! but my\nfather was by, and hot words fell like rain, and my mother added her\nshare, and from that time there has been utter hostility between our\nlittle house and you up here. What hurt me most was that you and your\nsister were forbidden to come to see us and to play with me.\"\n\n\"That has spoilt many pleasant hours for me, too.\"\n\n\"It was nice when we used to dress up in my father's theatrical finery\nand cloaks.\"\n\n\"And when you made us dolls out of clay.\".\n\n\"Or when we performed the Olympian games.\"\n\n\"I was always the teacher when we played at school with our little\nbrothers and sisters.\"\n\n\"Arsinoe gave you most trouble.\"\n\n\"Oh! and what fun when we went fishing!\"\n\n\"And when we brought home the fishes and mother gave us meal and raisins\nto cook them.\"\n\n\"Do you remember the festival of Adonis, and how I stopped the runaway\nhorse of that Numidian officer?\"\n\n\"The horse had knocked over Arsinoe, and when we got home mother gave you\nan almond-cake.\"\n\n\"And your ungrateful sister bit a great piece out of it and left me only\na tiny morsel. Is Arsinoe as pretty as she promised to become? It is two\nyears since I last saw her; at our place we never have time to leave work\ntill it is dark. For eight months I had to work for the master at\nPtolemais, and often saw the old folks but once in the month.\"\n\n\"We go out very little, too, and we are not allowed to go into your\nparents' house. My sister--\"\n\n\"Is she pretty?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think she is. Whenever she can get hold of a piece of ribbon she\nplaits it in her hair, and the men in the street turn round to look at\nher. She is sixteen now.\"\n\n\"Sixteen! What, little Arsinoe! Why, how long then is it since your\nmother died?\"\n\n\"Four years and eight months.\"\n\n\"You remember the date very exactly; such a mother is not easily\nforgotten, indeed. She was a good woman and a kinder I never met. I know,\ntoo, that she tried to mollify your father's feeling, but she could not\nsucceed, and then she need must die!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Selene gloomily. \"How could the gods decree it! They are\noften more cruel than the hardest hearted man.\"\n\n\"Your poor little brothers and sisters!\"\n\nThe girl bowed her head sadly and Pollux stood for some time with his\neyes fixed on the ground. Then he raised his head and exclaimed:\n\n\"I have something for you that will please you.\"\n\n\"Nothing ever pleases me now she is dead.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes indeed,\" replied the young sculptor eagerly. \"I could not\nforget the good soul, and once in my idle moments I modelled her bust\nfrom memory. To-morrow I will bring it to you.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Selene, and her large heavy eyes brightened with a sunny\ngleam.\n\n\"Now, is not it true, you are pleased?\"\n\n\"Yes indeed, very much. But when my father learns that it is you who have\ngiven me the portrait--\"\n\n\"Is he capable of destroying it?\"\n\n\"If he does not destroy it, he will not suffer it in the house as soon as\nhe knows that you made it.\" Pollux took the handkerchief from the\nsteward's head, moistened it afresh, and exclaimed as he rearranged it on\nthe forehead of the sleeping man:\n\n\"I have an idea. All that matters is that my bust should serve to remind\nyou often of your mother; the bust need not stand in your rooms. The\nbusts of the women of the house of Ptolemy stand on the rotunda, which\nyou can see from your balcony, and which you can pass whenever you\nplease; some of them are badly mutilated and must be got rid of. I will\nundertake to restore the Berenice and put your mother's head on her\nshoulders. Then you have only to go out and look at her. Will that do?\"\n\n\"Yes, Pollux; you are a good man.\"\n\n\"So I told you just now. I am beginning to improve. But time--time! if I\nam to undertake to repair Berenice I must begin by saving the minutes.\"\n\n\"Go back to your work now; I know how to apply a wet compress only too\nwell.\"\n\nWith these words Selene threw back her mantle over her shoulders so as to\nleave her hands free for use, and stood with her slender figure, her pale\nface, and the fine broadly-flowing folds of rich stuff, like a statue in\nthe eyes of the young sculptor.\n\n\"Stop--stay so--just so,\" cried Pollux to the astonished girl, so loudly\nand eagerly that she was startled.\n\n\"Your cloak hangs with a wonderfully-free flow from your shoulders--in\nthe name of all the gods do not touch it. If only I might model from it I\nshould in a few minutes gain a whole day for our Berenice. I will wet the\nhandkerchief at intervals in the pauses.\" Without waiting for Selene's\nanswer the sculptor hastened into his nook and returned first with one of\nthe lamps he worked by in each hand, and some small tools in his mouth,\nand then fetched his wax model which he placed on the outer side of the\ntable, behind which the steward was sleeping. The tapers were put out,\nthe lamps pushed aside, and raised or lowered, and when at last a\ntolerably suitable light was procured Pollux threw himself on a stool,\nstraddled his legs, craned his head forward as far as his neck would\nallow, looking, with his hooked nose, like a vulture that strives to\ndescry his distant prey-cast his eyes down, raised them again to take in\nsomething fresh, and after a long gaze looked down again while his\nfingers and nails moved over the surface of the wax-figure, sinking into\nthe plastic material, applying new pieces to apparently complete\nportions, removing others with a decided nip and rounding them off with\nbewildering rapidity to use them for a fresh purpose.\n\nHe seemed to be seized with cramp in his hands, but still under his\nknotted brow his eye shone earnest, resolute and calm, and yet full of\nprofound and speechless inspiration. Selene had said not a word that\npermitted his using her as a model; but, as if his enthusiasm was\ninfectious, she remained motionless, and when, as he worked, his gaze met\nhers she could detect the stern earnestness which at this moment\npossessed her eager companion.\n\nNeither of them opened their lips for some time. At last he stood back\nfrom his work, stooping low to look first at Selene and then at his\nstatuette with keen examination from head to foot; and then, drawing a\ndeep breath, and rubbing the wax over with his finger, he said:\n\n\"There, that is how it must go! Now I will wet your father's handkerchief\nand then we can go on again. If you are tired you can rest.\"\n\nShe availed herself but little of this permission and presently he began\nwork again. As he proceeded carefully to replace some folds of her\ndrapery which had fallen out of place, she moved her foot as if to draw\nback, but he begged her earnestly to stand still and she obeyed his\nrequest.\n\nPollux now used his fingers and modelling tools more calmly; his gaze was\nless wistful and he began to talk again.\n\n\"You are very pale,\" he said. \"To be sure the lamp-light and a sleepless\nnight have something to do with it.\"\n\n\"I look just the same by daylight, but I am not ill.\"\n\n\"I thought Arsinoe would have been like your mother, but now I see many\nfeatures of her face in yours again. The oval of their form is the same\nand, in both, the line of the nose runs almost straight to the forehead;\nyou have her eyes and the same bend of the brow, but your mouth is\nsmaller and more sharply cut, and she could hardly have made such a heavy\nknot of her hair. I fancy, too, that yours is lighter than hers.\"\n\n\"As a girl she must have had still more hair, and perhaps she may have\nbeen as fair as I was--I am brown now.\"\n\n\"Another thing you inherit from her is that your hair, without being\ncurly, lies upon your head in such soft waves.\"\n\n\"It is easy to keep in order.\"\n\n\"Are not you taller than she was?\"\n\n\"I fancy so, but as she was stouter she looked shorter. Will you soon\nhave done?\"\n\n\"You are getting tired of standing?\"\n\n\"Not very.\"\n\n\"Then have a little more patience. Your face reminds me more and more of\nour early years; I should be glad to see Arsinoe once more. I feel at\nthis moment as if time had moved backwards a good piece. Have you the\nsame feeling?\"\n\nSelene shook her head.\n\n\"You are not happy?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I know full well that you have very heavy duties to perform for your\nage.\"\n\n\"Things go as they may.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay. I know you do not let things go haphazard. You take care of\nyour brothers and sisters like a mother.\"\n\n\"Like a mother!\" repeated Selene, and she smiled a bitter negative.\n\n\"Of course a mother's love is a thing by itself, but your father and the\nlittle ones have every reason to be satisfied with yours.\"\n\n\"The little ones are perhaps, and Helios who is blind, but Arsinoe does\nwhat she can.\"\n\n\"You certainly are not content, I can hear it in your voice, and you used\nformerly to be as merry and happy as your sister, though perhaps not so\nsaucy.\"\n\n\"Formerly--\"\n\n\"How sadly that sounds! And yet you are handsome, you are young, and life\nlies before you.\"\n\n\"But what a life!\"\n\n\"Well, what?\" asked the sculptor, and taking his hands from his work he\nlooked ardently at the fair pale girl before him and cried out fervently:\n\n\"A life which might be full of happiness and satisfied affection.\"\n\nThe girl shook her head in negation and answered coldly:\n\n\"'Love is joy,' says the Christian woman who superintends us at work in\nthe papyrus factory, and since my mother died I have had no love. I\nenjoyed all my share of happiness once for all in my childhood, now I am\ncontent if only we are spared the worst misfortunes. Otherwise I take\nwhat each day brings, because I can not do otherwise. My heart is empty,\nand if I ever feel anything keenly, it is dread. I have long since ceased\nto expect any thing good of the future.\"\n\n\"Girl!\" exclaimed Pollux. \"Why, what has been happening to you? I do not\nunderstand half of what you are saying. How came you in the papyrus\nfactory?\"\n\n\"Do not betray me,\" begged Selene. \"If my father were to hear of it.\"\n\n\"He is asleep, and what you confide to me no one will ever hear of\nagain.\"\n\n\"Why should I conceal it? I go every day with Arsinoe for two hours to\nthe manufactory, and we work there to earn a little money.\"\n\n\"Behind your father's back?\"\n\n\"Yes, he would rather that we should starve than allow it. Every day I\nfeel the same loathing for the deceit; but we could not get on without\nit, for Arsinoe thinks of nothing but herself, plays draughts with my\nfather, curls his hair, plays with the children as if they were dolls,\nbut it is my part to take care of them.\"\n\n\"And you, you say, have no share of love. Happily no one believes you,\nand I least of all. Only lately my mother was telling me about you, and I\nthought you were a girl who might turn out just such a wife as a woman\nought to be.\"\n\n\"And now?\"\n\n\"Now, I know it for certain.\"\n\n\"You may be mistaken.\"\n\n\"No, no! your name is Selene, and you are as gentle as the kindly\nmoonlight; names, even, have their significance.\"\n\n\"And my blind brother who has never even seen the light is called\nHelios!\" answered the girl.\n\nPollux had spoken with much warmth, but Selene's last words startled him\nand checked the effervescence of his feelings. Finding he did not answer\nher bitter exclamation, she said, at first coolly, but with increasing\nwarmth:\n\n\"You are beginning to believe me, and you are right, for what I do for\nthe children is not done out of love, or out of kindness, or because I\nset their welfare above my own. I have inherited my father's pride, and\nit would be odious to me if my brothers and sisters went about in rags,\nand people thought we were as poor and helpless as we really are. What is\nmost horrible to me is sickness in the house, for that increases the\nanxiety I always feel and swallows up my last coin; the children must not\nperish for want of it. I do not want to make myself out worse than I am;\nit grieves me too to see them drooping. But nothing that I do brings me\nhappiness--at most it moderates my fears. You ask what I am afraid\nof?--of everything, everything that can happen to me, for I have no\nreason to look forward to anything good. When there is a knock, it may be\na creditor; when people look at Arsinoe in the street, I seem to see\ndishonor lurking round her; when my father acts against the advice of the\nphysician I feel as if we were standing already roofless in the open\nstreet. What is there that I can do with a happy mind? I certainly am not\nidle, still I envy the woman who can sit with her hands in her lap and be\nwaited on by slaves, and if a golden treasure fell into my possession, I\nwould never stir a finger again, and would sleep every day till the sun\nwas high and make slaves look after my father and the children. My life\nis sheer misery. If ever we see better days I shall be astonished, and\nbefore I have got over my astonishment it will all be over.\"\n\nThe sculptor felt a cold chill, and his heart which had opened wide to\nhis old playfellow shrank again within him. Before he could find the\nright words of encouragement which he sought, they heard in the hall,\nwhere the workmen and slaves were sleeping, the blast of a trumpet\nintended to awake them. Selene started, drew her mantle more closely\nround her, begged Pollux to take care of her father, and to hide the\nwine-jar which was standing near him from the work-people and then,\nforgetting her lamp, she went hastily toward the door by which she had\nentered. Pollux hurried after her to light the way and while he\naccompanied her as far as the door of her rooms, by his warm and urgent\nwords which appealed wonderfully to her heart, he extracted from her a\npromise to stand once more in her mantle as his model.\n\nA quarter of an hour later the steward was safe in bed and still sleeping\nsoundly, while Pollux, who had stretched himself on a mattress behind his\nscreen, could not for a long time cease to think of the pale girl with\nher benumbed soul. At last sleep overcame him too, and a sweet dream\nshowed him pretty little Arsinoe, who but for him must infallibly have\nbeen killed by the Numidian's restive horse, taking away her sister\nSelene's almond-cake and giving it to him. The pale girl submitted\nquietly to the robbery and only smiled coldly and silently to herself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nAlexandria was in the greatest excitement.\n\nThe Emperor's visit now immediately impending had tempted the busy hive\nof citizens away from the common round of life in which, day after\nday,--swarming, hurrying, pushing each other on, or running each other\ndown--they raced for bread and for the means of filling their hours of\nleisure with pleasures and amusements. The unceasing wheel of industry\nto-day had pause in the factories, workshops, storehouses and courts of\njustice, for all sorts and conditions of men were inspired by the same\ndesire to celebrate Hadrian's visit with unheard-of splendor. All that\nthe citizens could command of inventive skill, of wealth, and of beauty\nwas called forth to be displayed in the games and processions which were\nto fill up a number of days. The richest of the heathen citizens had\nundertaken the management of the pieces to be performed in the Theatre,\nof the mock fight on the lake, and of the sanguinary games in the\nAmphitheatre; and so great was the number of opulent persons that many\nmore were prepared to pay for smaller projects, for which there was no\nopening. Nevertheless the arrangements for certain portions of the\nprocession, in which even the less wealthy were to take a share, the\nerection of the building in the Hippodrome, the decorations in the\nstreets, and the preparations for entertaining the Roman visitors\nabsorbed sums so large that they seemed extravagant even to the prefect\nTitianus, who was accustomed to see his fellow-officials in Rome squander\nmillions.\n\nAs the Emperor's viceroy it behoved him to give his assent to all that\nwas planned to feast his sovereign's eye and ear. On the whole, he left\nthe citizens of the great town free to act as they would; but he had,\nmore than once, to exert a decided opposition to their overdoing the\nthing; for though the Emperor might be able to endure a vast amount of\npleasure, what the Alexandrians originally proposed to provide for him to\nsee and hear would have exhausted the most indefatigable human energy.\n\nThat which gave the greatest trouble, not merely to him, but also to the\nmasters of the revels chosen by the municipality, were the never-dormant\nhostility between the heathen and the Jewish sections of the inhabitants,\nand the processions, since no division chose to come last, nor would any\nnumber be satisfied to be only the third or the fourth.\n\nIt was from a meeting, where his determined intervention had at last\nbrought all these preliminaries to a decision beyond appeal, that\nTitianus proceeded to the Caesareum to pay the Empress the visit which\nshe expected of him daily. He was glad to have come to some conclusion,\nat any rate provisionally, with regard to these matters, for six days had\nslipped away since the works had been begun in the palace of Lochias, and\nHadrian's arrival was nearing rapidly.\n\nHe found Sabina, as usual, on her divan, but on this occasion the Empress\nwas sitting upright on her cushions. She seemed quite to have got over\nthe fatigues of the sea-voyage, and in token that she felt better she had\napplied more red to her cheeks and lips than three days ago, and because\nshe was to receive a visit from the sculptors, Papias and Aristeas, she\nhad had her hair arranged as it was worn in the statue of Venus Victrix,\nwith whose attributes she had, five years previously--though not, it is\ntrue, without some resistance--been represented in marble. When a copy of\nthis statue had been erected in Alexandria, an evil tongue had made a\nspeech which was often repeated among the citizens.\n\n\"This Aphrodite is triumphant to be sure, for all who see her make haste\nto fly; she should be called Cypris the scatterer.\"\n\nTitianus was still under the excitement of the embittered squabbles and\nunpleasing exhibitions of character at which he had just been present\nwhen he entered the presence of the Empress, whom he found in a small\nroom with no one but the chamberlain and a few ladies-in-waiting. To the\nprefect's respectful inquiries after her health, she shrugged her\nshoulders and replied:\n\n\"How should I be? If I said well it would not be true; if I said ill, I\nshould be surrounded with pitiful faces, which are not pleasant to look\nat. After all we must endure life. Still, the innumerable doors in these\nrooms will be the death of me if I am compelled to remain here long.\"\n\nTitianus glanced at the two doors of the room in which the Empress was\nsitting, and began to express his regrets at their bad condition, which\nhad escaped his notice; but Sabina interrupted him, saying:\n\n\"You men never do observe what hurts us women. Our Verus is the only man\nwho can feel and understand--who can divine it, as I might say. There are\nfive and thirty doors in my rooms! I had them counted-five and thirty! If\nthey were not old and made of valuable wood I should really believe they\nhad been made as a practical joke on me.\"\n\n\"Some of them might be supplemented with curtains.\"\n\n\"Oh! never mind--a few miseries, more or less in any life do not matter.\nAre the Alexandrians ready at last with their preparations?\"\n\n\"I am sure I hope so,\" said the prefect with a sigh. They are bent on\ngiving all that is their best; but in the endeavor to outvie each other\nevery one is at war with his neighbor, and I still feel the effects of\nthe odious wrangling which I have had to listen to for hours, and that I\nhave been obliged to check again and again with threats of 'I shall be\ndown upon you.'\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said the Empress with a pinched smile, as if she had heard some\nthing that pleased her.\n\n\"Tell me something about your meeting. I am bored to death, for Verus,\nBalbilla and the others have asked for leave of absence that they may go\nto inspect the work doing at Lochias; I am accustomed to find that people\nwould rather be any where than with me. Can I wonder then that my\npresence is not enough to enable a friend of my husband's to forget a\nlittle annoyance--the impression left by some slight misunderstanding?\nBut my fugitives are a long time away; there must be a great deal that is\nbeautiful to be seen at Lochias.\"\n\nThe prefect suppressed his annoyance and did not express his anxiety lest\nthe architect and his assistants should be disturbed, but began in the\ntone of the messenger in a tragedy:\n\n\"The first quarrel was fought over the order of the procession.\"\n\n\"Sit a little farther off,\" said Sabina pressing her jewelled right-hand\non her ear, as if she were suffering a pain in it. The prefect colored\nslightly, but he obeyed the desire of Caesar's wife and went on with his\nstory, pitching his voice in a somewhat lower key than before:\n\n\"Well, it was about the procession, that the first breach of the peace\narose.\"\n\n\"I have heard that once already,\" replied the lady, yawning. \"I like\nprocessions.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the prefect, a man in the beginning of the sixties--and he\nspoke with some irritation, \"here as in Rome and every where else, where\nthey are not controlled by the absolute will of a single individual,\nprocessions are the children of strife, and they bring forth strife, even\nwhen they are planned in honor of a festival of Peace.\"\n\n\"It seems to annoy you that they should be organized in honor of\nHadrian?\"\n\n\"You are in jest; it is precisely because I care particularly that they\nshould be carried out with all possible splendor, that I am troubling\nmyself about them in person, even as to details; and to my great\nsatisfaction I have been able even to subdue the most obstinate; still it\nwas scarcely my duty--\"\n\n\"I fancied that you not only served the state but were my husband's\nfriend.\"\n\n\"I am proud to call myself so.\"\n\n\"Aye--Hadrian has many, very many friends since he has worn the purple.\nHave you got over your ill temper Titianus? You must have become very\ntouchy. Poor Julia has an irritable husband!\"\n\n\"She is less to be pitied than you think,\" said Titianus with dignity,\n\"for my official duties so entirely claim my time that she is not often\nlikely to know what disturbs me. If I have forgotten to dissimulate my\nvexation before you, I beg you to pardon me, and to attribute it to my\nzeal in securing a worthy reception for Hadrian.\"\n\n\"As if I had scolded you! But to return to your wife--as I understand she\nshares the fate I endure. We poor women have nothing to expect from our\nhusbands, but the stale leavings that remain after business has absorbed\nthe rest! But your story--go on with your story.\"\n\n\"The worst moments I had at all were given me by the bad feeling of the\nJews towards the other citizens.\"\n\n\"I hate all these infamous sects--Jews, Christians or whatever they are\ncalled! Do they dare to grudge their money for the reception of Caesar?\"\n\n\"On the contrary Alabarchos, their wealthy chief, has offered to defray\nall the cost of the Naumachia and his co-religionist Artemion.\"\n\n\"Well, take their money, take their money.\"\n\n\"The Greek citizens feel that they are rich enough to pay all the\nexpenses, which will amount to many millions of sesterces, and they wish\nto exclude the Jews, if possible, from all the processions and games.\"\n\n\"They are perfectly right.\"\n\n\"But allow me to ask you whether it is just to prohibit half the\npopulation of Alexandria doing honor to their Emperor!\"\n\n\"Oh! Hadrian will, with pleasure, dispense with the honor. Our conquering\nheroes have thought it redounded to their glory to be called Africanus,\nGermanicus and Dacianus, but Titus refused to be called Judaicus when he\nhad destroyed Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"That was because he dreaded the remembrance of the rivers of blood which\nhad to be shed in order to break the fearfully obstinate resistance of\nthat nation. The besieged had to be conquered limb by limb, and finger by\nfinger, before they would make up their minds to yield.\"\n\n\"Again you are speaking half poetically, or have these people elected you\nas their advocate?\"\n\n\"I know them and make every effort to secure them justice, just as much\nas any other citizen of this country which I govern in the name of the\nEmpire and of Caesar. They pay taxes as well as the rest of the\nAlexandrians; nay more, for there are many wealthy men among them who are\nhonorably prominent in trade, in professions, learning and art, and I\ntherefore mete to them the same measure as to the other inhabitants of\nthis city. Their superstition offends me no more than that of the\nEgyptians.\"\n\n\"But it really is above all measure. At Aelia Capitolina which Hadrian\nhad decorated with several buildings, they refused to sacrifice to the\nstatues of Zeus and Hera. That is to say they scorn to do homage to me\nand my husband!\"\n\n\"They are forbidden to worship any other divinity than their own God.\nAelia rose up on the very soil where their ruined Jerusalem had stood,\nand the statues of which you speak stand in their holy places.\"\n\n\"What has that to do with us?\"\n\n\"You know that even Caius--[Caligula]--could not reduce them by placing\nhis statue in the Holy of Holies of their temple; and Petronius, the\ngovernor, had to confess that to subdue them meant to exterminate them.\"\n\n\"Then let them meet with the fate they deserve, let them be\nexterminated!\" cried Sabina.\n\n\"Exterminated?\" asked the prefect. \"In Alexandria they constitute nearly\nhalf of the citizens, that is to say several hundred thousand of obedient\nsubjects, exterminated!\"\n\n\"So many?\" asked the Empress in alarm. \"But that is frightful. Omnipotent\nJove! supposing that mass were to revolt against us! No one ever told me\nof this danger. In Cyrenaica, and at Salamis in Cyprus, they killed their\nfellow-citizens by thousands.\"\n\n\"They had been provoked to extremities and they were superior to their\noppressors in force.\"\n\n\"And in their own land one revolt after another is organized.\"\n\n\"By reason of the sacrifices of which we were speaking.\"\n\n\"Tinnius Rufus is at present the legate in Palestine. He has a horribly\nshrill voice--but he looks like a man who will stand no trifling, and\nwill know how to quell the venomous brood.\"\n\n\"Possibly\" replied Titianus. \"But I fear that he will never attain his\nend by mere severity; and if he should he will have depopulated his\nprovince.\"\n\n\"There are already too many men in the empire.\"\n\n\"But never enough good and useful citizens.\"\n\n\"Outrageous contemners of the gods and useless citizens!\"\n\n\"Here in Alexandria, where many have accommodated themselves to Greek\nhabits of life and thought, and where all have adopted the Greek tongue,\nthey are undoubtedly good citizens, and wholly devoted to Caesar.\"\n\n\"Do they take part in the rejoicings?\"\n\n\"Yes, as far as the Greek citizens will allow them.\"\n\n\"And the arrangement of the water-fight?\"\n\n\"That will not be given over to them, but Artemion will be permitted to\nsupply the wild beasts for the games in the Amphitheatre.\"\n\n\"And he was not avaricious about it?\"\n\n\"So far from it that you will be astonished. The man must know the secret\nof Midas, of turning stones into gold.\"\n\n\"And are there many like him among your Jews?\"\n\n\"A good number.\"\n\n\"Then I wish that they would attempt a revolt, for if this led to the\ndestruction of the rich ones, their gold, at any rate, would remain.\"\n\n\"Meanwhile I will try and keep them alive, as being good rate-payers.\"\n\n\"And does Hadrian share your wish?\"\n\n\"Without doubt.\"\n\n\"Your successor may perhaps bring him to another mind.\"\n\n\"He always acts according to his own judgment, and for the present I am\nin office,\" answered Titianus haughtily.\n\n\"And may the God of the Jews long preserve you in it!\" retorted Sabina\nscornfully.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nBefore Titianus could open his lips to reply, the principal door of the\nroom was opened cautiously but widely, and the praetor Lucius Aurelius\nVerus, his wife Domitia Lucilla, the young Balbilla and, last of all,\nAnnaeus Florus, the historian, entered. All four were in the best\nspirits, and immediately after the preliminary greetings, were eager to\nreport what they had seen at Lochias; but Sabina waved silence with her\nhand, and breathed out:\n\n\"No, no; not at present. I feel quite exhausted. This long waiting, and\nthen--my smelling-bottle, Verus. Leukippe, bring me a cup of water with\nsome fruit-syrup--but not so sweet as usual.\"\n\nThe Greek slave-girl hastened to execute this command, and the Empress,\nas she waved an elegant bottle carved in onyx, under her nostrils, went\non:\n\n\"It is a little eternity--is it not, Titianus, that we have been\ndiscussing state affairs? You all know how frank I am and that I cannot\nbe silent when I meet with perverse opinions. While you have been away I\nhave had much to hear and to say; it would have exhausted the strength of\nthe strongest. I only wonder you don't find me more worn out, for what\ncan be more excruciating for a woman, that to be obliged to enter the\nlists for manly decisiveness against a man who is defending a perfectly\nantagonistic view? Give me water, Leukippe.\"\n\nWhile the Empress drank the syrup with tiny sips twitching her thin lips\nover it, Verus went up to the prefect and asked him in an under tone:\n\n\"You were a long while alone with Sabina, cousin?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Titianus, and he set his teeth as he spoke and clenched his\nfist so hard that the praetor could not misunderstand, and replied in a\nlow voice:\n\n\"She is much to be pitied, and particularly just now she has hours--\"\n\n\"What sort of hours?\" asked Sabina taking the cup from her lips.\n\n\"These,\" replied Verus quickly, \"in which I am not obliged to occupy\nmyself in the senate or with the affairs of state. To whom do I owe them\nbut to you?\"\n\nWith these words he approached the mature beauty, and taking the goblet\nout of her hand with affectionate subservience, as a son might wait on\nhis honored and suffering mother, he gave it to the Greek slave. The\nEmpress bowed her thanks again and again to the praetor with much\naffability, and then said, with a slight infusion of cheerfulness in her\ntones:\n\n\"Well--and what is there to be seen at Lochias?\"\n\n\"Wonderful things,\" answered Balbilla readily and clasping her little\nhands.\n\n\"A swarm of bees, a colony of ants, have taken possession of the palace.\nHands black, white and brown--more than we could count, are busy there\nand of all the hundreds of workmen which are astir there, not one got in\nthe way of another, for one little man orders and manages them all, just\nas the prescient wisdom of the gods guides the stars through the\n'gracious and merciful night' so that they may never push or run against\neach other.\"\n\n\"I must put in a word on behalf of Pontius the architect,\" interposed\nVerus. \"He is a man of at least average height.\"\n\n\"Let us admit it to satisfy your sense of justice,\" returned Balbilla.\n\"Let us admit it--a man of average height, with a papyrus-roll in his\nright-hand and a stylus in the left, controls them. Now, does my way of\nstating it please you better?\"\n\n\"It can never displease me,\" answered the praetor. \"Let Balbilla go on\nwith her story,\" commanded the Empress.\n\n\"What we saw was chaos,\" continued the girl, \"still in the confusion we\ncould divine the elements of an orderly creation in the future; nay, it\nwas even visible to the eye.\"\n\n\"And not unfrequently stumbled over with the foot,\" laughed the praetor.\n\"If it had been dark, and if the laborers had been worms, we must have\ntrodden half of them to death--they swarmed so all over the pavement.\"\n\n\"What were they doing?\"\n\n\"Every thing,\" answered Balbilla quickly. \"Some were polishing damaged\npieces, others were laying new bits of mosaic in the empty places from\nwhich it had formerly been removed, and skilled artists were painting\ncolored figures on smooth surfaces of plaster. Every pillar and every\nstatue was built round with a scaffolding reaching to the ceiling on\nwhich men were climbing and crowding each other just as the sailors climb\ninto the enemy's ships in the Naumachia.\"\n\nThe girl's pretty cheeks had flushed with her eager reminiscence of what\nshe had seen, and, as she spoke, moving her hands with expressive\ngestures, the tall structure of curls which crowned her small head shook\nfrom side to side.\n\n\"Your description begins to be quite poetical,\" said the Empress,\ninterrupting her young companion. \"Perhaps the Muse may even inspire you\nwith verse.\"\n\n\"All the Pierides,\" said the praetor, \"are represented at Lochias. We saw\neight of them, but the ninth, that patroness of the arts, who protects\nthe stargazer, the lofty Urania, has at present, in place of a\nhead--allow me to leave it to you to guess divine Sabina?\"\n\n\"Well--what?\"\n\n\"A wisp of straw.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" sighed the Empress. \"What do you say, Florus? Are there not among\nyour learned and verse spinning associates certain men who resemble this\nUrania?\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" replied Florus, \"we are more prudent than the goddess, for\nwe conceal the contents of our heads in the hard nut of the skull, and\nunder a more or less abundant thatch of hair. Urania displays her straw\nopenly.\"\n\n\"That almost sounds,\" said Balbilla laughing and pointing to her abundant\nlocks, \"as if I especially needed to conceal what is covered by my hair.\"\n\n\"Even the Lesbian swan was called the fair-haired,\" replied Florus.\n\n\"And you are our Sappho,\" said the praetor's wife, drawing the girl's arm\nto her bosom.\n\n\"Really! and will you not write in verse all that you have seen to-day?\"\nasked the Empress.\n\nBalbilla looked down on the ground a minute and then said brightly: \"It\nmight inspire me, everything strange that I meet with prompts me to write\nverse.\"\n\n\"But follow the counsel of Apollonius the philologer,\" advised Florus.\n\"You are the Sappho of our day, and therefore you should write in the\nancient Aeolian dialect and not Attic Greek.\" Verus laughed, and the\nEmpress, who never was strongly moved to laughter, gave a short sharp\ngiggle, but Balbilla said eagerly:\n\n\"Do you think that I could not acquire it and do so? To-morrow morning I\nwill begin to practise myself in the old Aeolian forms.\"\n\n\"Let it alone,\" said Domitia Lucilla; \"your simplest songs are always the\nprettiest.\"\n\n\"No one shall laugh at me!\" declared Balbilla pertinaciously. \"In a few\nweeks I will know how to use the Aeolian dialect, for I can do anything I\nam determined to do--anything, anything.\"\n\n\"What a stubborn little head we have under our curls!\" exclaimed the\nEmpress, raising a graciously threatening finger.\n\n\"And what powers of apprehension,\" added Florus.\n\n\"Her master in language and metre told me his best pupil was a woman of\nnoble family and a poetess besides--Balbilla in short.\"\n\nThe girl colored at the words, and said with pleased excitement:\n\n\"Are you flattering me or did Hephaestion really say that?\"\n\n\"Woe is me!\" cried the praetor, \"for Hephaestion was my master too, and I\nam one of the masculine scholars beaten by Balbilla. But it is no news to\nme, for the Alexandrian himself told me the same thing as Florus.\"\n\n\"You follow Ovid and she Sappho,\" said Florus; \"you write in Latin and\nshe in Greek. Do you still always carry Ovid's love-poems about with\nyou?\"\n\n\"Always,\" replied Verus, \"as Alexander did his Homer.\"\n\n\"And out of respect for his master your husband endeavors, by the grace\nof Venus, to live like him,\" added Sabina, addressing herself to Domitia\nLucilla.\n\nThe tall and handsome Roman lady only shrugged her shoulders slightly in\nanswer to this not very kindly-meant speech; but Verus said, while he\npicked up Sabina's silken coverlet, and carefully spread it over her\nknees:\n\n\"My happiest fortune consists in this: that Venus Victrix favors me. But\nwe are not yet at the end of our story; our Lesbian swan met at Lochias\nwith another rare bird, an artist in statuary.\"\n\n\"How long have the sculptors been reckoned among birds?\" asked Sabina.\n\"At the utmost can they be compared to woodpeckers.\"\n\n\"When they work in wood,\" laughed Verus. \"Our artist, however, is an\nassistant of Papias, and handles noble materials in the grand style. On\nthis occasion, however, he is building a statue out of a very queer\nmixture of materials.\"\n\n\"Verus may very well call our new acquaintance a bird,\" interrupted\nBalbilla, \"for as we approached the screen behind which he is working he\nwas whistling a tune with his lips, so pure and cheery, and loud, that it\nrang through the empty hall above all the noise of the workmen. A\nnightingale does not pipe more sweetly. We stood still to listen till the\nmerry fellow, who had no idea that we were by, was silent again; and then\nhearing the architect's voice, he called to him over the screen. 'Now we\nmust clap Urania's head on; I saw it clearly in my mind and would have\nhad it finished with a score of touches, but Papias said he had one in\nthe workshop. I am curious to see what sort of a sugarplum face, turned\nout by the dozen, he will stick on my torso--which will please me, at any\nrate, for a couple of days. Find me a good model for the bust of the\nSappho I am to restore. A thousand gadflies are buzzing in my brain--I am\nso tremendously excited! What I am planning now will come to something!'\"\n\nBalbilla, as she spoke the last words, tried to mimic a man's deep voice,\nand seeing the Empress smile she went on eagerly.\n\n\"It all came out so fresh, from a heart full to bursting of happy\nvigorous creative joy, that it quite fired me, and we all went up to the\nscreen and begged the sculptor to let us see his work.\"\n\n\"And you found?\" asked Sabina.\n\n\"He positively refused to let us into his retreat,\" replied the praetor;\n\"but Balbilla coaxed the permission out of him, and the tall young fellow\nseems to have really learnt something. The fall of the drapery that\ncovers the Muse's figure is perfectly thought out with reference to\npossibility--rich, broadly handled, and at the same time of surprising\ndelicacy. Urania has drawn her mantle closely round her, as if to protect\nherself from the keen night-air while gazing at the stars. When he has\nfinished his Muse, he is to repair some mutilated busts of women; he was\nfixing the head of a finished Berenice to-day, and I proposed to him to\ntake Balbilla as the model for his Sappho.\"\n\n\"A good idea\" said the Empress. \"If the bust is successful I will take\nhim with me to Rome.\"\n\n\"I will sit to him with pleasure,\" said the girl. \"The bright young\nfellow took my fancy.\"\n\n\"And Balbilla his,\" added the praetor's wife; he gazed at her as a\nmarvel, and she promised him that, with your permission, she would place\nher face at his disposal for three hours to-morrow.\"\n\n\"He begins with the head,\" interposed Verus. \"What a happy man is an\nartist such as he! He may turn about her head, or lay her peplum in folds\nwithout reproof or repulse, and to-day when we had to get past bogs of\nplaster, and lakes of wet paint, she scarcely picked up the hem of her\ndress, and never once allowed me--who would so willingly have supported\nher--to lift her over the worst places.\"\n\nBalbilla reddened and said angrily:\n\n\"Really Verus, in good earnest, I will not allow you to speak to me in\nthat way, so now you know it once for all; I have so little liking for\nwhat is not clean that I find it quite easy to avoid it without\nassistance.\"\n\n\"You are too severe,\" interrupted the Empress with a hideous smile. \"Do\nnot you think Domitia Lucilla, that she ought to allow your husband to be\nof service to her?\"\n\n\"If the Empress thinks it right and fitting,\" replied the lady raising\nher shoulders, and with an expressive movement of her hands. Sabina quite\ntook her meaning, and suppressing another yawn she said angrily:\n\n\"In these days we must be indulgent toward a husband who has chosen\nOvid's amatory poems as his faithful companion. What is the matter\nTitianus?\"\n\nWhile Balbilla had been relating her meeting with the sculptor Pollux, a\nchamberlain had brought in to the prefect an important letter, admitting\nof no delay. The state official had withdrawn to the farther side of the\nroom with it, had broken the strong seal and had just finished reading\nit, when the Empress asked her question.\n\nNothing of what went on around her escaped Sabina's little eyes, and she\nhad observed that while the governor was considering the document\naddressed to him he had moved uneasily. It must contain something of\nimportance.\n\n\"An urgent letter,\" replied Titianus, \"calls me home. I must take my\nleave, and I hope ere long to be able to communicate to you something\nagreeable.\"\n\n\"What does that letter contain?\"\n\n\"Important news from the provinces,\" said Titianus.\n\n\"May I inquire what?\"\n\n\"I grieve to say that I must answer in the negative. The Emperor\nexpressly desired that this matter should be kept secret. Its settlement\ndemands the promptest haste, and I am therefore unfortunately obliged to\nquit you immediately.\"\n\nSabina returned the prefect's parting salutations with icy coldness and\nimmediately desired to be conducted to her private rooms to dress herself\nfor supper.\n\nBalbilla escorted her, and Florus betook himself to the \"Olympian table,\"\nthe famous eating-house kept by Lycortas, of whom he had been told\nwonders by the epicures at Rome.\n\nWhen Verus was alone with his wife he went up in a friendly manner and\nsaid:\n\n\"May I drive you home again?\"\n\nDomitia Lucilla had thrown herself on a couch, and covered her face with\nher hands, and she made no reply. \"May I?\" repeated the praetor. As his\nwife persisted in her silence, he went nearer to her, laid his hand on\nher slender fingers that concealed her face, and said:\n\n\"I believe you are angry with me!\" She pushed away his hand, with a\nslight movement, and said: \"Leave me.\"\n\n\"Yes, unfortunately I must leave you. Business takes me into the city and\nI will--\"\n\n\"You will let the young Alexandrians, with whom you revelled through the\nnight, introduce you to new fair ones--I know it.\"\n\n\"There are in fact women here of incredible charm,\" replied Verus quite\ncoolly. White, brown, copper-colored, black--and all delightful in their\nway. I could never be tired of admiring them.\"\n\n\"And your wife?\" asked Lucilla, facing him, sternly. \"My wife? yes, my\nfairest. Wife is a solemn title of honor and has nothing to do with the\njoys of life. How could I mention your name in the same hour with those\nof the poor children who help me to beguile an idle hour.\"\n\nDomitia Lucilla was used to such phrases, and yet on this occasion they\ngave her a pang. But she concealed it, and crossing her arms she said\nresolutely and with dignity:\n\n\"Go your way--through life with your Ovid, and your gods of love, but do\nnot attempt to crush innocence under the wheels of your chariot.\"\n\n\"Balbilla do you mean,\" asked the praetor with a loud laugh. \"She knows\nhow to take care of herself and has too much spirit to let herself get\nentangled in erotics. The little son of Venus has nothing to say to two\npeople who are such good friends as she and I are.\"\n\n\"May I believe you?\"\n\n\"My word for it, I ask nothing of her but a kind word,\" cried he, frankly\noffering his hand to his wife. Lucilla only touched it lightly with her\nfingers and said:\n\n\"Send me back to Rome. I have an unutterable longing to see my children,\nparticularly the boys.\"\n\n\"It cannot be,\" said Verus. \"Not at present; but in a few weeks, I hope.\"\n\n\"Why not sooner?\"\n\n\"Do not ask me.\"\n\n\"A mother may surely wish to know why she is separated from her baby in\nthe cradle.\"\n\n\"That cradle is at present in your mother's house, and she is taking care\nof our little ones. Have patience, a little longer for that which I am\nstriving after, for you, and for me, and not last, for our son, is so\ngreat, so stupendously great and difficult that it might well outweigh\nyears of longing.\"\n\nVerus spoke the last words in a low tone, but with a dignity which\ncharacterized him only in decisive moments, but his wife, even before he\nhad done speaking, clasped his right-hand in both of hers and said in a\nlow frightened voice:\n\n\"You aim at the purple?\" He nodded assent.\n\n\"That is what it means then!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Sabina and you--\"\n\n\"Not on that account only; she is hard and sharp to others, but to me she\nhas shown nothing but kindness, ever since I was a boy.\"\n\n\"She hates me.\"\n\n\"Patience, Lucilla; patience! The day is coming when the daughter of\nNigrinus, the wife of Caesar, and the former Empress--but I will not\nfinish. I am, as you know, warmly attached to Sabina, and sincerely wish\nthe Emperor a long life.\"\n\n\"And he will adopt.\"\n\n\"Hush!--he is thinking of it, and his wife wishes It.\"\n\n\"Is it likely to happen soon?\"\n\n\"Who can tell at this moment what Caesar may decide on in the very next\nhour. But probably his decision may be made on the thirtieth of\nDecember.\"\n\n\"Your birthday.\"\n\n\"He asked what day it was, and he is certainly casting my horoscope, for\nthe night when my mother bore me--\"\n\n\"The stars then are to seal our fate?\"\n\n\"Not they alone. Hadrian must also be inclined to read them in my favor.\"\n\n\"How can I be of use to you?\"\n\n\"Show yourself what you really are in your intercourse with the Emperor\"\n\n\"I thank you for those words--and I beg you do not provoke me any more.\nIf it might yet be something more than a mere post of honor to be the\nwife of Verus, I would not ask for the new dignity of becoming wife to\nCaesar.\"\n\n\"I will not go into the town to-day; I will stay with you. Now are you\nhappy?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" cried she, and she raised her arm to throw it round her\nhusband's neck, but he held her aside and whispered:\n\n\"That will do. The idyllic is out of place in the race for the purple.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTitianus had ordered his charioteer to drive at once to Lochias. The road\nled past the prefect's palace, his residence on the Bruchiom, and he\npaused there; for the letter which lay hidden in the folds of his toga,\ncontained news, which, within a few hours, might put him under the\nnecessity of not returning home till the following morning. Without\nallowing himself to be detained by the officials, subalterns, or lictors,\nwho were awaiting his return to make communications, or to receive his\norders, he went straight through the ante-room and the large public rooms\nfor men, to find his wife in the women's apartments which looked upon the\ngarden. He met her at the door of her room, for she had heard his step\napproaching and came out to receive him.\n\n\"I was not mistaken,\" said the matron with sincere pleasure. \"How\npleasant that you have been released so early to-day. I did not expect\nyou till supper was over.\"\n\n\"I have come only to go again,\" replied Titianus, entering his wife's\nroom. \"Have some bread brought to me and a cup of mixed wine;\nwhy--really! here stands all I want ready as if I had ordered it. You are\nright, I was with Sabina a shorter time than usual; but she exerted\nherself in that short time to utter as many sour words as if we had been\ntalking for half a day. And in five minutes I must quit you again, till\nwhen?--the gods alone know when I shall return. It is hard even to speak\nthe words, but all our trouble and care, and all poor Pontius' zeal and\npains-taking labor are in vain.\"\n\nAs he spoke the prefect threw himself on a couch; his wife handed him the\nrefreshment he had asked for, and said, as she passed her hand over his\ngrey hair:\n\n\"Poor man! Has Hadrian then determined after all to inhabit the\nCaesareum?\"\n\n\"No. Leave us, Syra--you shall see directly. Please read me Caesar's\nletter once more. Here it is.\" Julia unfolded the papyrus, which was of\nelegant quality, and began:\n\n\"Hadrian to his friend Titianus, the Governor of Egypt. The deepest\nsecrecy--Hadrian greets Titianus, as he has so often done for years at\nthe beginning of disagreeable business letters, and only with half his\nheart. But to-morrow he hopes to greet the dear friend of his youth, his\nprudent vicegerent, not merely with his whole soul, but with hand and\ntongue. And now to be more explicit, as follows: I come to-morrow\nmorning, the fifteenth of December, towards evening, to Alexandria, with\nnone but Antinous, the slave Mastor, and my private secretary, Phlegon.\nWe land at Lochias, in the little harbor, and you will know my ship by a\nlarge silver star at the prow. If night should fall before I arrive\nthere, three red lanterns at the end of the mast shall inform you of the\nfriend that is approaching. I have sent home the learned and witty men\nwhom you sent to meet me, in order to detain me, and gain time for the\nrestoration of the old nest in which I had a fancy to roost with\nMinerva's birds--which have not, I hope, all been driven out of it--in\norder that Sabina and her following may not lack entertainment, nor the\nfamous gentlemen themselves be unnecessarily disturbed in their labors. I\nneed them not. If perchance it was not you who sent them, I ask your\npardon. An error in this matter would certainly involve some humiliation,\nfor it is easier to explain what has happened than to foresee what is to\ncome. Or is the reverse the truth? I will indemnify the learned men for\ntheir useless journey by disputing this question with them and their\nassociates in the Museum. The rapid movement to which the philologer was\nprompted on my account will prolong his existence; he bristles with\nlearning at the tip of every hair, and he sits still more than is good\nfor him.\n\n\"We shall arrive in modest disguise and will sleep at Lochias; you know\nthat I have rested more than once on the bare earth, and, if need be, can\nsleep as well on a mat as on a couch. My pillow follows at my heels--my\nbig dog, which you know; and some little room, where I can meditate\nundisturbed on my designs for next year, can no doubt be found.\n\n\"I entreat you to keep my secret strictly. To none--man nor woman--and I\nbeseech you as urgently as friend or Caesar ever besought a favor--let\nthe least suspicion of my arrival be known. Nor must the smallest\npreparation betray whom it is you receive. I cannot command so dear a\nfriend as Titianus, but I appeal to his heart to carry out my wishes.\n\n\"I rejoice to see you again; what delight I shall find in the whirl of\nconfusion that I hope to find at Lochias. You shall take me to see the\nartists, who are, no doubt, swarming in the old castle, as the architect\nClaudius Venator from Rome, who is to assist Pontius with his advice. But\nthis Pontius, who carried out such fine works for Herodes Atticus, the\nrich Sophist, met me at his house, and will certainly recognize me. Tell\nhim, therefore, what I propose doing. He is a serious and trustworthy\nman, not a chatterbox or scatter-brained simpleton who loses his head.\nThus you may take him into the secret, but not till my vessel is in\nsight. May all be well with you.\"\n\n\"Well, what do you say to that?\" asked Titianus, taking the letter from\nhis wife's hand. \"Is it not more than vexatious--our work was going on so\nsplendidly.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Julia thoughtfully and with a meaning smile. \"Perhaps it\nmight not have been finished in time. As matters now stand it need not be\ncomplete, and Hadrian will see the good intention all the same. I am glad\nabout the letter, for it takes a great responsibility off your otherwise\noverloaded shoulders.\"\n\n\"You always see the right side,\" cried the prefect. \"It is well that I\ncame home, for I can await Caesar with a much lighter heart. Let me lock\nup the letter, and then farewell. This parting is for some hours from\nyou, and from all peace for many days.\"\n\nTitianus gave her his hand. She held it firmly and said:\n\n\"Before you go I must confess to you that I am very proud.\"\n\n\"You have every right to be.\"\n\n\"But you have not said a word to me about keeping silence.\"\n\n\"Because you have kept other tests--still, to be sure, you are a woman,\nand a very handsome one besides.\"\n\n\"An old grandmother, with grey hair!\"\n\n\"And still more upright and more charming than a thousand of the most\nadmired younger beauties.\"\n\n\"You are trying to convert my pride into vanity, in my old age.\"\n\n\"No, no! I was only looking at you with an examining eye, as our talk led\nme to do, and I remembered that Sabina had lamented that handsome Julia\nwas not looking well. But where is there another woman of your age with\nsuch a carriage, such unwrinkled features, so clear a brow, such deep\nkind eyes, such beautifully-polished arms--\"\n\n\"Be quiet,\" exclaimed his wife. \"You make me blush.\"\n\n\"And may I not be proud that a grandmother, who is a Roman, as my wife\nis, can find it so easy to blush? You are quite different from other\nwomen.\"\n\n\"Because you are different from other men.\"\n\n\"You are a flatterer; since all our children have left us, it is as if we\nwere newly married again.\"\n\n\"Ah! the apple of discord is removed.\"\n\n\"It is always over what he loves best that man is most prompt to be\njealous. But now, once more, farewell.\"\n\nTitianus kissed his wife's forehead and hurried towards the door; Julia\ncalled him back and said:\n\n\"One thing at any rate we can do for Caesar. I send food every day down\nto the architect at Lochias, and to-day there shall be three times the\nquantity.\"\n\n\"Good; do so.\"\n\n\"Farewell, then.\"\n\n\"And we shall meet again, when it shall please the gods and the Emperor.\"\n\n          ........................\n\nWhen the prefect reached the appointed spot, no vessel with a silver star\nwas to be seen.\n\nThe sun went down and no ship with three red lanterns was visible.\n\nThe harbor-master, into whose house Titianus went, was told that he\nexpected a great architect from Rome, who was to assist Pontius with his\ncounsel in the works at Lochias, and he thought it quite intelligible\nthat the governor should do a strange artist the honor of coming to meet\nhim; for the whole city was well aware of the incredible haste and the\nlavish outlay of means that were being given to the restoration of the\nancient palace of the Ptolemies as a residence for the Emperor.\n\nWhile he was waiting, Titianus remembered the young sculptor Pollux,\nwhose acquaintance he had made, and his mother in the pretty little\ngate-house. Well disposed towards them as he felt, he sent at once to old\nDoris, desiring her not to retire to rest early that evening, since he,\nthe prefect, would be going late to Lochias.\n\n\"Tell her, too, as from yourself and not from me,\" Titianus instructed\nthe messenger, \"that I may very likely look in upon her. She may light up\nher little room and keep it in order.\"\n\nNo one at Lochias had the slightest suspicion of the honor which awaited\nthe old palace.\n\nAfter Verus had quitted it with his wife and Balbilla, and when he had\nagain been at work for about an hour the sculptor Pollux came out of his\nnook, stretching himself, and called out to Pontius, who was standing on\na scaffold:\n\n\"I must either rest or begin upon something new. One cures me of fatigue\nas much as the other. Do you find it so?\"\n\n\"Yes, just as you do,\" replied the architect, as he continued to direct\nthe work of the slave-masons, who were fixing a new Corinthian capital in\nthe place of an old one which had been broken.\n\n\"Do not disturb yourself,\" Pollux cried up to him. \"I only request you to\ntell my master Papias when he comes here with Gabinius, the dealer in\nantiquities, that he will find me at the rotunda that you inspected with\nme yesterday. I am going to put the head on to the Berenice; my\napprentice must long since have completed his preparations; but the\nrascal came into the world with two left-hands, and as he squints with\none eye everything that is straight looks crooked to him, and--according\nto the law of optics--the oblique looks straight. At any rate, he drove\nthe peg which is to support the new head askew into the neck, and as no\nhistorian has recorded that Berenice ever had her neck on one side, like\nthe old color-grinder there, I must see to its being straight myself. In\nabout half an hour, as I calculate, the worthy Queen will no longer be\none of the headless women.\"\n\n\"Where did you get the new head?\" asked Pontius. \"From the secret\narchives of my memory,\" replied Pollux. \"Have you seen it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And do you like it?\"\n\n\"Very much.\"\n\n\"Then it is worthy to live,\" sang the sculptor, and, as he quitted the\nhall, he waved his left-hand to the architect, and with his right-hand\nstuck a pink, which he had picked in the morning, behind his ear.\n\nAt the rotunda his pupil had done his business better than his master\ncould have expected, but Pollux was by no means satisfied with his own\narrangements. His work, like several others standing on the same side of\nthe platform, turned its back on the steward's balcony, and the only\nreason why he had parted with the portrait of Selene's mother, of which\nhe was so fond, was that his playfellow might gaze at the face whenever\nshe chose. He found, however, to his satisfaction, that the busts were\nheld in their places on their tall pedestals only by their own weight,\nand he then resolved to alter the historical order of the portrait-heads\nby changing their places, and to let the famous Cleopatra turn her back\nupon the palace, so that his favorite bust might look towards it.\n\nIn order to carry out this purpose then and there, he called some slaves\nup to help him in the alteration. This gave rise, more than once, to a\nwarning cry, and the loud talking and ordering on this spot, for so many\nyears left solitary and silent, attracted an inquirer, who, soon after\nthe apprentice had begun his work, had shown herself on the balcony, but\nwho had soon retreated after casting a glance at the dirty lad, splashed\nfrom head to foot with plaster. This time, however, she remained to\nwatch, following every movement of Pollux as he directed the slaves;\nthough, all the time and whatever he was doing, he turned his back upon\nher.\n\nAt last the portrait-head had found its right position, shrouded still in\na cloth to preserve it from the marks of workmen's hands. With a deep\nbreath the artist turned full on the steward's house, and immediately a\nclear merry voice called out:\n\n\"What, tall Pollux! It really is tall Pollux; how glad I am!\"\n\nWith these words the girl on the balcony loudly clapped her hands; and as\nthe sculptor hailed her in return, and shouted:\n\n\"And you are little Arsinoe, eternal gods! What the little thing has come\nto!\" She stood on tip-toe to seem taller, nodded at him pleasantly, and\nlaughed out: \"I have not done growing yet; but as for you, you look quite\ndignified with the beard on your chin, and your eagle's nose. Selene did\nnot tell me till to-day that you were living down there with the others.\"\n\nThe artist's eyes were fixed on the girl, as if spellbound. There are\npoetic natures in which the imagination immediately transmutes every new\nthing that strikes the eyes or the intelligence, into a romance, or\nrapidly embodies it in verse; and Pollux, like many of his calling, could\nnever set his eyes on a fine human form and face, without instantly\nassociating them with his art.\n\n\"A Galatea--a Galatea without an equal!\" thought he, as he stood with his\neyes fixed on Arsinoe's face and figure. \"Just as if she had this instant\nrisen from the sea--that form is just as fresh, and joyous, and healthy;\nand her little curls wave back from her brow as if they were still\nfloating on the water; and now as she stoops, how full and supple in\nevery movement. It is like a daughter of Nereus following the line of the\nas the waves as they rise into crests and dip again into watery valleys.\nShe is like Selene and her mother in the shape of her head and the Greek\ncut of her face, but the elder sister is like the statue of Prometheus\nbefore it had a soul, and Arsinoe is like the Master's work after the\ncelestial fire coursed through her veins.\"\n\nThe artist had felt and thought all this out in a few seconds, but the\ngirl found her speechless admirer's silence too long, and exclaimed\nimpatiently:\n\n\"You have not yet offered me any proper greeting. What are you doing down\nthere?\"\n\n\"Look here,\" he replied, lifting the cloth from the portrait, which was a\nstriking likeness.\n\nArsinoe leaned far over the parapet of the balcony, shaded her eyes with\nher hand and was silent for more than a minute. Then she suddenly cried\nout loudly and exclaiming:\n\n\"Mother--it is my mother!\" She flew into the room behind her.\n\n\"Now she will call her father and destroy all poor Selene's comfort,\"\nthought Pollux, as he pushed the heavy marble bust on which his gypsum\nhead was fixed, into its right place.\n\n\"Well, let him come. We are the masters here now, and Keraunus dare not\ntouch the Emperor's property.\" He crossed his arms and stood gazing at\nthe bust, muttering to himself:\n\n\"Patchwork--miserable patchwork. We are cobbling up a robe for the\nEmperor out of mere rags; we are upholsterers and not artists.  If it\nwere only for Hadrian, and not for Diotima and her children, not another\nfinger would I stir in the place.\"\n\nThe path from the steward's residence led through some passages and up a\nfew steps to the rotunda, on which the sculptor was standing, but in\nlittle more than a minute from Arsinoe's disappearance from the balcony\nshe was by his side. With a heightened color she pushed the sculptor away\nfrom his work and put herself in the place where he had been standing, to\nbe able to gaze at her leisure at the beloved features. Then she\nexclaimed again:\n\n\"It is mother--mother!\" and the bright tears ran over her cheeks, without\nrestraint from the presence of the artist, or the laborers and slaves\nwhom she had flown past on her way, and who stared at her with as much\nalarm as if she were possessed.\n\nPollux did not disturb her. His heart was softened as he watched the\ntears running down the cheeks of this light-hearted child, and he could\nnot help reflecting that goodness was indeed well rewarded when it could\nwin such tender and enduring love as was cherished for the poor dead\nmother on the pedestal before him.\n\nAfter looking for some time at the sculptor's work Arsinoe grew calmer,\nand turning to Pollux she asked:\n\n\"Did you make it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, looking down.\n\n\"And entirely from memory?\"\n\n\"To be sure.\"\n\n\"Do you know what?\"\n\n\"Well.\"\n\n\"This shows that the Sibyl at the festival of Adonis was right when she\nsang in the Jalemus that the gods did half the work of the artist.\"\n\n\"Arsinoe!\" cried Pollux, for her words made him feel as if a hot spring\nwere seething in his heart, and he gratefully seized her hand; but she\ndrew it away, for her sister Selene had come out on the balcony and was\ncalling her.\n\nIt was for his elder playfellow and not for Arsinoe that Pollux had set\nhis work in this place, but, just now, her gaze fell like a disturbing\nchill on his excited mood.\n\n\"There stands your mother's portrait,\" he called up to the balcony in an\nexplanatory tone, pointing to the bust.\n\n\"I see it,\" she replied coldly. \"I will look at it presently more\nclosely. Come up Arsinoe, father wants to speak to you.\"\n\nAgain Pollux stood alone.\n\nAs Selene withdrew into the room, she gently shook her pale head, and\nsaid to herself:\n\n\"'It was to be for me,' Pollux said; something for me, for once--and even\nthis pleasure is spoilt.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nThe palace-steward, to whom Selene had called up his younger daughter,\nhad just returned from the meeting of the citizens; and his old black\nslave, who always accompanied him when he went out, took the\nsaffron-colored pallium from his shoulders, and from his head the golden\ncirclet, with which he loved to crown his curled hair when he quitted the\nhouse. Keraunus still looked heated, his eyes seemed more prominent than\nusual and large drops of sweat stood upon his brow, when his daughter\nentered the room where he was. He absently responded to Arsinoe's\naffectionate greeting with a few unmeaning words, and before making the\nimportant communication he had to disclose to his daughters, he walked up\nand down before them for some time, puffing out his fat cheeks and\ncrossing his arms. Selene was alarmed, and Arsinoe had long been out of\npatience, when at last he began:\n\n\"Have you heard of the festivals which are to be held in Caesar's honor?\"\n\nSelene nodded and her sister exclaimed:\n\n\"Of course we have! Have you secured places for us on the seats kept for\nthe town council?\"\n\n\"Do not interrupt me,\" the steward crossly ordered his daughter. \"There\nis no question of staring at them. All the citizens are required to allow\ntheir daughters to take part in the grand things that are to be carried\nout, and we all were asked how many girls we had.\"\n\n\"And how are we to take part in the show?\" cried Arsinoe, joyfully\nclapping her hands.\n\n\"I wanted to withdraw before the summons was proclaimed, but Tryphon, the\nshipwright, who has a workshop down by the King's Harbor, held me back\nand called out to the assembly that his sons said that I had two pretty\nyoung daughters. Pray how did he know that?\"\n\nWith these words the steward lifted his grey brows and his face grew red\nto the roots of his hair. Selene shrugged her shoulders, but Arsinoe\nsaid:\n\n\"Tryphon's shipyard lies just below and we often pass it; but we do not\nknow him or his sons. Have you ever seen them Selene? At any rate it is\npolite of him to speak of us as pretty.\"\n\n\"Nobody need trouble themselves about your appearance unless they want to\nask my permission to marry you,\" replied the steward with a growl.\n\n\"And what did you say to Tryphon?\" asked Selene.\n\n\"I did as I was obliged. Your father is steward of a palace which at\npresent belongs to Rome and the Emperor; hence I must receive Hadrian as\na guest in this, the dwelling of my fathers, and therefore I, less than\nany other citizen--cannot withhold my share in the honors which the city\ncouncil has decreed shall be paid to him.\"\n\n\"Then we really may,\" said Arsinoe, and she went up to her father to give\nhim a coaxing pat. But Keraunus was not in the humor to accept caresses;\nhe pushed her aside with an angry: \"Leave me alone,\" and then went on:\n\n\"If Hadrian were to ask me 'Where are your daughters on the occasion of\nthe festival?' and if I had to reply, 'They were not among the daughters\nof the noble citizens,' it would be an insult to Caesar, to whom in fact\nI feel very well disposed. All this I had to consider, and I gave your\nnames and promised to send you to the great Theatre to the assembly of\nyoung girls. There you will be met by the noblest matrons and maidens of\nthe city, and the first painters and sculptors will decide to what part\nof the performance your air and appearance are best fitted.\"\n\n\"But, father,\" cried Selene, \"we cannot show ourselves in such an\nassembly in our common garments, and where are we to find the money to\nbuy new ones?\"\n\n\"We can quite well show ourselves by any other girls, in clean, white\nwoollen dresses, prettily smartened with fresh ribbons,\" declared\nArsinoe, interposing between her father and her sister.\n\n\"It is not that which troubles me,\" replied the steward; \"it is the\ncostumes, the costumes! It is only the daughters of the poorer citizens\nwho will be paid by the council, and it would be a disgrace to be\nnumbered among the poor--you understand me, children.\"\n\n\"I will not take part in the procession,\" said Selene resolutely, but\nArsinoe interrupted her.\n\n\"It is inconvenient and horrible to be poor, but it certainly is no\ndisgrace! The most powerful Romans of ancient times, regarded it as\nhonorable to die poor. Our Macedonian descent remains to us even if the\nstate should pay for our costumes.\"\n\n\"Silence,\" cried the steward. \"This is not the first time that I have\ndetected this low vein of feeling in you. Even the noble may submit to\nthe misfortunes entailed by poverty, but the advantages it brings with it\nhe can never enjoy unless he resigns himself to being so no longer.\"\n\nIt had cost the steward much trouble to give due expression to this idea,\nwhich he did not recollect to have heard from another, which seemed new\nto him, and which nevertheless fully represented what he felt; and he\nslowly sank, with all the signs of exhaustion, into a couch which formed\na divan round a side recess in the spacious sitting-room.\n\nIn this room Cleopatra might have held with Antony those banquets of\nwhich the unequalled elegance and refinement had been enhanced by every\ngrace of art and wit. On the very spot where Keraunus now reclined the\ndining-couch of the famous lovers had probably stood; for, though the\nwhole hall had a carefully-laid pavement, in this recess there was a\nmosaic of stones of various colors of such beauty and delicacy of finish\nthat Keraunus had always forbidden his children to step upon it. This, it\nis true, was less out of regard for the fine work of art than because his\nfather had always prohibited his doing so, and his father again before\nhim. The picture represented the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, and the\ndivan only covered the outer border of the picture, which was decorated\nwith graceful little Cupids.\n\nKeraunus desired his daughter to fetch him a cup of wine, but she mixed\nthe juice of the grape with a judicious measure of water. After he had\nhalf drunk the diluted contents of the goblet, with many faces of\ndisgust, he said:\n\n\"Would you like to know what each of your dresses will cost if it is to\nbe in no respect inferior to those of the others?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Arsinoe anxiously.\n\n\"About seven hundred drachmae;--[$115 in 1880]--Philinus, the tailor, who\nis working for the theatre, tells me it will be impossible to do anything\nwell for less.\"\n\n\"And you are really thinking of such insane extravagance,\" cried Selene.\n\"We have no money, and I should like to know the man who would lend us\nany more.\"\n\nThe steward's younger daughter looked doubtfully at the tips of her\nfingers and was silent, but her eyes swimming in tears betrayed what she\nfelt. Keraunus was rejoiced at the silent consent which Arsinoe seemed to\naccord to his desire to let her take part in the display at whatever\ncost. He forgot that he had just reproached her for her low sentiments,\nand said:\n\n\"The little one always feels what is right. As for you, Selene, I beg you\nto reflect seriously that I am your father, and that I forbid you to use\nthis admonishing tone to me; you have accustomed yourself to it with the\nchildren and to them you may continue to use it. Fourteen hundred\ndrachmae certainly, at the first thought of it, seems a very large sum,\nbut if the material and the trimming required are bought with judgment,\nafter the festival we may very likely sell it back to the man with\nprofit.\"\n\n\"With profit!\" cried Selene bitterly, \"not half is to be got for old\nthings-not a quarter! And even if you turn me out of the house--I will\nnot help to drag us into deeper wretchedness; I will take no part in the\nperformances.\"\n\nThe steward did not redden this time, he was not even violent; on the\ncontrary, he simply raised his head and compared his daughters as they\nstood--not without an infusion of satisfaction. He was accustomed to love\nhis daughters in his own way, Selene as the useful one, and Arsinoe as\nthe beauty; and as on this occasion all he cared for was to satisfy his\nvanity, and as this end could be attained through his younger daughter\nalone, he said:\n\n\"Stay with the children then, for all I care. We will excuse you on the\nscore of weak health, and certainly, child, you do look extremely pale. I\nwould far rather find the means for the little one only.\"\n\nTwo sweet dimples again began to show in Arsinoe's cheeks, but Selene's\nlips were as white as her bloodless cheeks as she exclaimed:\n\n\"But, father--father! neither the baker nor the butcher has had a coin\npaid him for the last two months, and you will squander seven hundred\ndrachmae!\"\n\n\"Squander!\" cried Keraunus indignantly, but still in a tone of disgust\nrather than anger. \"I have already forbidden you to speak to me in that\nway. The richest of our noble youths will take part in the games; Arsinoe\nis handsome and perhaps one of them may choose her for his wife. And do\nyou call it squandering, when a father does his utmost to find a suitable\nhusband for his daughter. After all, what do you know of what I may\npossess?\"\n\n\"We have nothing, so I cannot know of it,\" cried the girl beside herself.\n\n\"Indeed!\" drawled Keraunus with an embarrassed smile. \"And is that\nnothing which lies in the cup board there, and stands on the cornice\nshelf? For your sakes I will part with these--the onyx fibula, the rings,\nthe golden chaplet, and the girdle of course.\"\n\n\"They are of mere silver-gilt!\" Selene interrupted, ruthlessly. \"All my\ngrandfather's real gold you parted with when my mother died.\"\n\n\"She had to be cremated and buried as was due to our rank,\" answered\nKeraunus; \"but I will not think now of those melancholy days.\"\n\n\"Nay, do think of them, father.\"\n\n\"Silence! All that belongs to my own adornment of course I cannot do\nwithout, for I must be prepared to meet Caesar in a dress befitting my\nrank; but the little bronze Eros there must be worth something,\nPlutarch's ivory cup, which is beautifully carved, and above all, that\npicture; its former possessor was convinced that it had been painted by\nApelles himself herein Alexandria. You shall know at once what these\nlittle things are worth, for, as the gods vouchsafed, on my way home I\nmet, here in the palace, Gabinius of Nicaea, the dealer in such objects.\nHe promised me that when he had done his business with the architect he\nwould come to me to inspect my treasures, and to pay money down for\nanything that might suit him. If my Apelles pleases him, he will give ten\ntalents for that alone, and if he buys it for only the half or even the\ntenth of that sum, I will make you enjoy yourself for once, Selene.\"\n\n\"We will see,\" said the pale girl, shrugging her shoulders, and her\nsister exclaimed:\n\n\"Show him the sword too, that you always declared belonged to Caesar, and\nif he gives you a good sum for it you will buy me a gold bracelet.\"\n\n\"And Selene shall have one, too. But I have the very slenderest hopes of\nthe sword, for a connoisseur would hardly pronounce it genuine. But I\nhave other things, many others. Hark! that is Gabinius, no doubt. Quick,\nSelene, throw the chiton round me again. My chaplet, Arsinoe. A\nwell-to-do man always gets a higher price than a poor one. I have ordered\nthe slave to await him in the ante-room; it is always done in the best\nhouses.\"\n\nThe curiosity dealer was a small, lean man, who, by prudence and good\nluck, had raised himself to be one of the most esteemed of his class and\na rich man. Having matured his knowledge by industry, and experience, he\nknew better than any man how to distinguish what was good from what was\nindifferent or bad, what was genuine from what was spurious. No one had a\nkeener eye; but he was abrupt in his dealings with those from whom he had\nnothing to gain. In circumstances where there was profit in view, he\ncould, to be sure, be polite even to subservience and show inexhaustible\npatience. He commanded himself so far as to listen with an air of\nconviction to the steward as he told him in a condescending tone that he\nwas tired of his little possessions, that he could just as well keep them\nas part with them; he merely wanted to show them to him as a connoisseur\nand would only part with them if a good round sum were offered for what\nwas in fact idle capital. One piece after another passed through the\ndealer's slender fingers, or was placed before him that he might\ncontemplate it; but the man spoke not, and only shook his head as he\nexamined every fresh object. And when Keraunus told him whence this or\nthat specimen of his treasures had been obtained, he only\nmurmured--\"Indeed\" or \"Really.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" After the last piece of property had passed through\nhis hands, the steward asked:\n\n\"Well, what do you think of them?\"\n\nThe beginning of the sentence was spoken confidently, the end almost in\nfear, for the dealer only smiled and shook his head again before he said:\n\n\"There are some genuine little things among them, but nothing worth\nspeaking of. I advise you to keep them, because you have an affection for\nthem, while I could get very little by them.\"\n\nKeraunus avoided looking towards Selene, whose large eyes, full of dread,\nhad been fixed on the dealer's lips; but Arsinoe, who had followed his\nmovements with no less attention, was less easily discouraged, and\npointing to her father's Apelles, she said: And that picture, is that\nworth nothing?\"\n\n\"It grieves me that I cannot tell so fair a damsel that it is inestimably\nvaluable,\" said the dealer, stroking his gray whiskers. \"But we have here\nonly a very feeble copy. The original is in the Villa belonging to\nPhinius on the Lake of Larius, and which he calls Cothurnus. I have no\nuse whatever for this piece.\"\n\n\"And this carved cup?\" asked Keraunus. \"It came from among the\npossessions of Plutarch, as I can prove, and it is said to have been the\ngift of the Emperor Trajan.\"\n\n\"It is the prettiest thing in your collection,\" replied Gabinius; \"but it\nis amply paid for with four hundred drachmae.\"\n\n\"And this cylinder from Cyprus, with the elegant incised work?\" The\nsteward was about to take up the polished crystal, but his hand was\ntrembling with agitation and pushed instead of lifting it from the table.\nIt rolled away on the floor and across the smooth mosaic picture as far\nas the couches. Keraunus was about to stoop to pick it up, but his\ndaughters both held him back, and Selene cried out:\n\n\"Father, you must not; the physician strictly forbade it.\"\n\nWhile the steward pushed the girls away grumbling, the dealer had gone\ndown on his knees to pick up the cylinder, but it seemed to cost the\nslightly-built man much less effort to stoop than to get up again, for\nsome minutes had elapsed before he once more stood on his feet, in front\nof Keraunus. His countenance had put on an expression of eager attention,\nand he once more took up the painting attributed to Apelles, sat down\nwith it on the couch, and appeared wholly absorbed in the contemplation\nof the picture, which hid his face from the bystanders.\n\nBut his eye was not resting on the work before him, but on the\nmarriage-scene at his feet, in which he detected each moment some fresh\nand unique beauty. As the dealer sat there for some minutes with the\nlittle picture on his knee, the steward's face brightened, Selene drew a\ndeep breath, and Arsinoe went up to her father to cling to his arm and\nwhisper in his ear:\n\n\"Do not let him have the Apelles cheap--remember my bracelet.\"\n\nGabinius now rose, glanced at the various objects lying on the table and\nsaid in a much shorter and more business-like tone than before:\n\n\"For all these things I can give you--wait a minute--twenty-seventy-four\nhundred--four hundred and fifty--I can give you six hundred and fifty\ndrachmae, not a sesterce more!\"\n\n\"You are joking,\" cried Keraunus.\n\n\"Not a sesterce more,\" answered the other coldly. \"I do not want to make\nanything, but you as a business man will understand that I do not wish to\nbuy with a certain prospect of loss. As regards the Apelles--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"It may be of some value to me, but only under certain conditions. The\ncase is quite different as regards buying pictures. Your two young\ndamsels know of course that my line of business leads me to admire and\nvalue all that is beautiful, but still I must request you to leave me\nalone with your father for a little while. I want to speak with him about\nthis curious painting.\" Keraunus signed to his daughters, who immediately\nleft the room. Before the door was closed upon them the dealer called\nafter them:\n\n\"It is already growing dark, might I ask you to send me as bright a light\nas possible by one of your slaves.\"\n\n\"What about the picture?\" asked Keraunus.\n\n\"Till the light is brought let us talk of something else,\" said Gabinius.\n\n\"Then take a seat on the couch,\" said Keraunus. \"You will be doing me a\npleasure and perhaps yourself as well.\"\n\nAs soon as the two men were seated on the divan, Gabinius began:\n\n\"Those little things which we have collected with particular liking, we\ndo not readily part with--that I know by long experience. Many a man who\nhas come into some property after he has sold all his little antiquities\nhas offered me ten times the price I have paid him to get them back\nagain, generally in vain, unfortunately. Now, what is true of others is\ntrue of you, and if you had not been in immediate need of money you would\nhardly have offered me these things.\"\n\n\"I must entreat you,\" began the steward, but the dealer interrupted him,\nsaying:\n\n\"Even the richest are sometimes in want of ready money; no one knows that\nbetter than I, for I--I must confess--have large means at my command.\nJust at present it would be particularly easy for me to free you from all\nembarrassment.\"\n\n\"There stands my Apelles,\" exclaimed the steward. \"It is yours if you\nmake a bid that suits me.\"\n\n\"The light--here comes the light!\" exclaimed Gabinius, taking from the\nslave's hand the three-branched lamp which Selene had hastily supplied\nwith a fresh wick, and he placed it, while he murmured to Keraunus, \"By\nyour leave,\" down on the centre of the mosaic. The steward looked at the\nman on his left hand, with puzzled inquiry, but Gabinius heeded him not\nbut went down on his knees again, felt the mosaic over with his hand, and\ndevoured the picture of the marriage of Peleus with his eyes.\n\n\"Have you lost anything?\" asked Keraunus.\n\n\"No-nothing whatever. There in the corner--now I am satisfied. Shall I\nplace the lamp there, on the table? So--and now to return to business.\"\n\n\"I beg to do so, but I may as well begin by telling you that in my case\nit is a question not of drachmae but of Attic talents.\"--[ The Attic\ntalent was worth about L200, or $1000 dollars in the 1880 exchange rate.]\n\n\"That is a matter of course, and I will offer you five; that is to say a\nsum for which you could buy a handsome roomy house.\"\n\nOnce more the blood mounted to the steward's head; for a few minutes he\ncould not utter a word, for his heart thumped violently; but presently be\nso far controlled himself as to be able to answer. This time at any rate,\nhe was determined to seize Fortune by the forelock and not to be taken\nadvantage of, so he said:\n\n\"Five talents will not do; bid higher.\"\n\n\"Then let us say six.\"\n\n\"If you say double that we are agreed.\"\n\n\"I cannot put it beyond ten talents; why, for that sum you might build a\nsmall palace.\"\n\n\"I stand out for twelve.\"\n\n\"Well, be it so, but not a sesterce more.\"\n\n\"I cannot bear to part with my splendid work of art,\" sighed Keraunus.\n\"But I will take your offer, and give you my Apelles.\"\n\n\"It is not that picture I am dealing for,\" replied Gabinius. \"It is of\ntrifling value, and you may continue to enjoy the possession of it. It is\nanother work of art in this room that I wish to have, and which has\nhitherto seemed to you scarcely worth notice. I have discovered it, and\none of my rich customers has asked me to find him just such a thing.\"\n\n\"I do not know what it is.\"\n\n\"Does everything in this room belong to you?\"\n\n\"Whom else should it belong to?\"\n\n\"Then you may dispose of it as you please?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly.\"\n\n\"Very well, then--the twelve Attic talents which I offer you are to be\npaid for the picture that is under our feet.\"\n\n\"The mosaic! that? It belongs to the palace.\"\n\n\"It belongs to your residence, and that, I heard you say yourself, has\nbeen inhabited for more than a century by your forefathers. I know the\nlaw; it pronounces that everything which has remained in undisputed\npossession in one family, for a hundred years, becomes their property.\"\n\n\"This mosaic belongs to the palace.\"\n\n\"I assert the contrary. It is an integral portion of your family\ndwelling, and you may freely dispose of it.\"\n\n\"It belongs to the palace.\"\n\n\"No, and again no; you are the owner. Tomorrow morning early you shall\nreceive twelve Attic talents in gold, and, with the help of my son, later\nin the day I will take up the picture, pack it, and when it grows dark,\ncarry it away. Procure a carpet to cover the empty place for the present.\nAs to the secrecy of the transaction--I must of course insist on it as\nstrongly--and more so--than yourself.\"\n\n\"The mosaic belongs to the palace,\" cried the steward, this time in a\nlouder voice, \"Do you hear? it belongs to the palace, and whoever dares\ntouch it, I will break his bones.\"\n\nAs he spoke Keraunus stood up, his huge chest panting, his cheeks and\nforehead dyed purple, and his fist, which he held in the dealer's face,\nwas trembling. Gabinius drew back startled, and said:\n\n\"Then you will not have the twelve talents!\"\n\n\"I will--I will!\" gasped Keraunus, \"I will show you how I beat those who\ntake me for a rogue. Out of my sight, villain, and let me hear not\nanother word about the picture, and the robbery in the dark, or I will\nsend the prefect's lictors after you and have you thrown into irons, you\nrascally thief!\"\n\nGabinius hurried to the door, but he there turned round once more to the\ngroaning and gasping colossus, and cried out, as he stood on the\nthreshold:\n\n\"Keep your rubbish! we shall have more to say to each other yet.\"\n\nWhen Selene and Arsinoe returned to the sitting-room they found their\nfather breathing hard and sitting on the couch, with his head drooping\nforward. Much alarmed, they went close up to him, but he exclaimed quite\ncoherently:\n\n\"Water--a drink of water!--the thief!--the scoundrel!\"\n\nThough hardly pressed, it had not cost him a struggle or a pang to refuse\nwhat would have placed him and his children in a position of ease; and\nyet he would not have hesitated to borrow it, aye, or twice the sum, from\nrich or poor, though he knew full certainly that he would never be in a\nposition to restore it. Nor was he even proud of what he had done; it\nseemed to him quite natural in a Macedonian noble. It was to him\naltogether out of the pale of possibility that he should entertain the\ndealer's proposition for an instant.\n\nBut where was he to get the money for Arsinoe's outfit? how could he keep\nthe promise given at the meeting?\n\nHe lay meditating on the divan for an hour; then he took a wax tablet out\nof a chest and began to write a letter on it to the prefect. He intended\nto offer the precious mosaic picture which had been discovered in his\nabode, to Titianus for the Emperor, but he did not bring his composition\nto an end, for he became involved in high-flown phrases. At last he\ndoubted whether it would do at all, flung the unfinished letter back into\nthe chest, and disposed himself to sleep.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A well-to-do man always gets a higher price than a poor one\n     I must either rest or begin upon something new\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nWhile anxiety and trouble were brooding over the steward's dwelling,\nwhile dismay and disappointment were clouding the souls of its\ninhabitants, the hall of the Muses was merry with feasting and laughter.\n\nJulia, the prefect's wife, had supplied the architect at Lochias with a\ncarefully-prepared meal,--sufficient to fill six hungry maws, and\nPontius' slave--who had received it on its arrival and had unpacked it\ndish after dish, and set them out on the humblest possible table had then\nhastened to fetch his master to inspect all these marvels of the cook's\nart. The architect shook his head as he contemplated the superabundant\nblessing, and muttered to himself:\n\n\"Titianus must take me for a crocodile, or rather for two crocodiles,\"\nand he went to the sculptor's little tabernacle, where Papias the master\nwas also, to invite the two men to share his supper.\n\nBesides them he asked two painters, and the chief mosaic worker of the\ncity, who all day long had been busied in restoring the old and faded\npictures on the ceilings and pavements, and under the influence of good\nwine and cheerful chat they soon emptied the dishes and bowls and\ntrenchers. A man who for several hours has been using his hands or his\nmind, or both together, waxes hungry, and all the artists whom Pontius\nhad brought together at Lochias had now been working for several days\nalmost to the verge of exhaustion. Each had done his best, in the first\nplace, no doubt, to give satisfaction to Pontius, whom all esteemed, and\nto himself; but also in the hope of giving proof of his powers to the\nEmperor and of showing him how things could be done in Alexandria. When\nthe dishes had been removed and the replete feasters had washed and dried\ntheir hands, they filled their cups out of a jar of mixed wine, of which\nthe dimensions answered worthily to the meal they had eaten. One of the\npainters then proposed that they should hold a regular drinking-bout, and\nelect Papias, who was as well known as a good table orator as he was as\nan artist, to be the leader of the feast. However, the master declared\nthat he could not accept the honor, for that it was due to the worthiest\nof their company; to the man namely, who, only a few days since, had\nentered this empty palace and like a second Deucalion had raised up\nillustrious artists, such as he then saw around him in great numbers, and\nskilled workmen by hundreds, not out of plastic stone but out of nothing.\nAnd then--while declaring that he understood the use of the hammer and\nchisel better than that of the tongue, and that he had never studied the\nart of making speeches--he expressed his wish that Pontius would lead the\nrevel, in the most approved form.\n\nBut he was not allowed to get to the end of this evidence of his skill,\nfor Euphorion the door-keeper of the palace, Euphorion the father of\nPollux, ran hastily into the hall of the Muses with a letter in his hand\nwhich he gave to the architect.\n\n\"To be read without an instant's delay,\" he added, bowing with theatrical\ndignity to the assembled artists. \"One of the prefect's lictors brought\nthis letter, which, if my wishes be granted, brings nothing that is\nunwelcome. Hold your noise you little blackguards or I will be the death\nof you.\"\n\nThese words, which so far as the tone was concerned, formed a somewhat\ninharmonious termination to a speech intended for the ears of great\nartists, were addressed to his wife's four-footed Graces who had followed\nhim against his wish, and were leaping round the table barking for the\nslender remains of the consumed food.\n\nPontius was fond of animals and had made friends with the old woman's\npets, so, as he opened the prefect's letter, he said:\n\n\"I invite the three little guests to the remains of our feast. Give them\nanything that is fit for them, Euphorion, and whatever seems to you most\nsuitable to your own stomach you may put into it.\"\n\nWhile the architect first rapidly glanced through the letter and then\nread it carefully, the singer had collected a variety of good morsels for\nhis wife's favorites on a plate, and finally carried the last remaining\npasty, with the dish on which it reposed, to the vicinity of his own\nhooked nose.\n\n\"For men or for dogs?\" he asked his son, as he pointed to it with a rigid\nfinger.\n\n\"For the gods!\" replied Pollux. \"Take it to mother; she will like to eat\nambrosia for once.\"\n\n\"A jolly evening to you!\" cried the singer, bowing to the artists who\nwere emptying their cups, and he quitted the hall with his pasty and his\ndogs. Before he had fairly left the hall with his long strides, Papias,\nwhose speech had been interrupted, once more raised his wine-cup and\nbegan again:\n\n\"Our Deucalion, our more than Deucalion--\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" interrupted Pontius. \"If I once more stop your discourse\nwhich began so promisingly; this letter contains important news and our\nrevels must be over for the night. We must postpone our symposium and\nyour drinking-speech.\"\n\n\"It was not a drinking-speech, for if ever there was a moderate man--\"\nPapias began. But Pontius stopped him again, saying:\n\n\"Titianus writes me word that he proposes coming to Lochias this evening.\nHe may arrive at any moment; and not alone, but with my fellow-artist,\nClaudius Venator from Rome, who is to assist me with his advice.\"\n\n\"I never even heard his name,\" said Papias, who was wont to trouble\nhimself as little about the persons as about the works of other artists.\n\n\"I wonder at that,\" said Pontius, closing the double tablets which\nannounced the Emperor's advent.\n\n\"Can he do anything?\" asked Pollux.\n\n\"More than any one of us,\" replied Pontius. \"He is a mighty man.\"\n\n\"That is splendid!\" exclaimed Pollux. \"I like to see great men. When one\nlooks me in the eye I always feel as if some of his superabundance\noverflowed into me, and irresistibly I draw myself up and think how fine\nit would be if one day I might reach as high as that man's chin.\"\n\n\"Beware of morbid ambition,\" said Papias to his pupil in a warning voice.\n\"It is not the man who stands on tiptoe, but he who does his duty\ndiligently, that can attain anything great.\"\n\n\"He honestly does his,\" said the architect rising, and he laid his hand\non the young sculptor's shoulder. \"We all do; to-morrow by sunrise each\nmust be at his post again. For my colleague's sake it will be well that\nyou should all be there in good time.\"\n\nThe artists rose, expressing their thanks and regrets. \"You will not\nescape the continuation of this evening's entertainment,\" cried one of\nthe painters, and Papias, as he parted from Pontius, said:\n\n\"When we next meet I will show you what I understand by a\ndrinking-speech. It will do perhaps for your Roman guest. I am curious to\nhear what he will say about our Urania. Pollux has done his share of the\nwork very well, and I have already devoted an hour's work to it, which\nhas improved it. The more humble our material, the better I shall be\npleased if the work satisfies Caesar; he himself has tried his hand at\nsculpture.\"\n\n\"If only Hadrian could hear that!\" cried one of the painters. \"He likes\nto think himself a great artist--one of the foremost of our time. It is\nsaid that he caused the life of the great architect, Apollodorus--who\ncarried out such noble works for Trajan--to be extinguished--and why?\nbecause formerly that illustrious man had treated the imperial bungler as\na mere dabbler, and would not accept his plan for the temple of Venus at\nRome.\"\n\n\"Mere talk!\" answered Pontius to this accusation. \"Apollodorus died in\nprison, but his incarceration had little enough to do with the Emperor's\nproductions--excuse me, gentlemen, I must once more look through the\nsketches and plans.\"\n\nThe architect went away, but Pollux continued the conversation that had\nbeen begun by saying:\n\n\"Only I cannot understand how a man who practises so many arts at once as\nHadrian does, and at the same time looks after the state and its\ngovernment, who is a passionate huntsman and who dabbles in every kind of\nmiscellaneous learning, contrives, when he wants to practise one\nparticular form of art, to recall all his five senses into the nest from\nwhich he has let them fly, here, there, and everywhere. The inside of his\nhead must be like that salad-bowl--which we have reduced to emptiness--in\nwhich Papias discovered three sorts of fish, brown and white meat,\noysters and five other substances.\"\n\n\"And who can deny,\" added Papias, \"that if talent is the father, and meat\nthe mother of all productiveness, practice must be the artist's teacher!\nSince Hadrian took to sculpture and painting it has become the universal\nfashion here to practise these arts, and among the wealthier youth who\ncome to my workroom, many have very good abilities; but not one of them\nbrings anything to any good issue, because so much of their time is taken\nup by the gymnasium, the bath, the quail-fights, the suppers, and I know\nnot what besides, so that they do nothing by way of practice.\"\n\n\"True,\" said a painter. \"Without the restraint and worry of\napprenticeship no one can ever rise to happy and independent\ncreativeness; and in the schools of rhetoric or in hunting or fighting no\none can study drawing. It is not till a pupil has learned to sit steady\nand worry himself over his work for six hours on end that I begin to\nbelieve he will ever do any good work. Have you any of you seen the\nEmperor's work?\"\n\n\"I have,\" answered a mosaic worker. \"Many years ago Hadrian sent a\npicture to me that he had painted; I was to make a mosaic from it. It was\na fruit piece. Melons, gourds, apples, and green leaves. The drawing was\nbut so-so, and the color impossibly vivid, still the composition was\npleasing from its solidity and richness. And after all, when one sees it,\none cannot but feel that such superfluity is better than meagreness and\nfeebleness. The larger fruits, especially under the exuberant sappy\nfoliage, were so huge that they might have been grown in the garden of\nluxury itself, still the whole had a look of reality. I mitigated the\ncolors somewhat in my transcript; you may still see a copy of the picture\nat my house, it hangs in the studio where my men draw. Nealkes, the rich\nhanging-maker, has had a tapestry woven from it which Pontius proposes to\nuse as a hanging for a wall of the work-room, but I have made a fine\nframe on purpose for it.\"\n\n\"Say rather for its designer.\"\n\n\"Or yet rather,\" added the most loquacious of the painters, \"for the\nvisit he may possibly pay your workshops.\"\n\n\"I only wish the Emperor may come to ours too! I should like to sell him\nmy picture of Alexander saluted by the priests in the temple of Jupiter\nAmmon.\"\n\n\"I hope that when you agree about the price you will remember we are\npartners,\" said his fellow-artist smugly.\n\n\"I will follow your example strictly,\" replied the other.\n\n\"Then you will certainly not be a loser,\" cried Papias, \"for Eustorgius\nis fully aware of the worth of his works. And if Hadrian is to order\nworks from every master whose art he dabbles in, he will require a fleet\non purpose to carry his purchases to Rome.\"\n\n\"It is said,\" continued Eustorgius, laughing, \"that he is a painter among\npoets, a sculptor among painters, an astronomer among musicians, and a\nsophist among artists--that is to say, that he pursues every art and\nscience with some success as his secondary occupation.\"\n\nAs he spoke the last words Pontius returned to the table where the\nartists were standing round the winejar; he had heard the painter's last\nremark and interrupted him by saying:\n\n\"But my friend you forget that he is a monarch among monarchs--and not\nmerely among those of today--in the fullest meaning of the word. Each of\nus separately can produce something better and more perfect in his own\nline; but how great is the man who by earnestness and skill can even\napprehend everything that the mind has ever been able to conceive of, or\nthe creative spirit of the artist to embody! I know him, and I know that\nhe loves a really thorough master, and tries to encourage him with\nprincely liberality. But his ears are everywhere, and he promptly becomes\nthe implacable enemy of those who provoke his resentment. So bridle your\nrestive Alexandrian tongues, and let me tell you that my colleague from\nRome is in the closest intimacy with Hadrian. He is of the same age,\nresembles him greatly, and repeats to him everything that he hears said\nabout him. So cease talking about Caesar and pass no severer judgments on\ndilettanti in the purple than on your wealthy pupils, who paint and\nchisel for the mere love of it, and for whom you find it so easy to lisp\nout 'charming,' or 'wonderfully pretty,' or 'remarkably nice.' Take my\nwarning in good part, you know I mean it well.\"\n\nHe spoke the last words with a cordial, manly feeling, of which his voice\nwas peculiarly capable, and which was always certain to secure him the\nconfidence even of the recalcitrant.\n\nThe artists exchanged greetings and hand-shakings and left the hall; a\nslave carried away the wine-jar and wiped the table, on which Pontius\nproceeded to lay out his sketches and plans. But he was not alone, for\nPollux was soon at his side, and with a comical expression of pathos and\nlaying his finger on his nose, he said:\n\n\"I have come out of my cage to say something more to you.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"The hour is approaching when I may hope to repay the beneficent deeds,\nwhich, at various times, you have done to my interior. My mother will\nto-morrow morning, set before you that dish of cabbage. It could not be\ndone sooner, because the only perfect sausage-maker, the very king of his\ntrade, prepares these savory cylinders only once a week. A few hours ago\nhe completed the making of the sausages, and to-morrow morning my mother\nwill warm up for our breakfasts the noble mess, which she is preparing\nfor us this evening--for, as I have told you, it is in its warmed-up\nstate that it is the ideal of its kind. What will follow by way of sweets\nwe shall owe again to my mother's art; but the cheering and invigorating\nelement--I mean the wine that I drives dull care away, we owe to my\nsister.\"\n\n\"I will come,\" said Pontius, \"if my guest leaves me an hour free, and I\nshall enjoy the excellent dish. But what does a gay bird like you know of\ndull care?\"\n\n\"The words fit into the metre,\" replied Pollux. \"I inherit from my\nfather--who, when he is not gate-keeping, sings and recites--a\ntroublesome tendency whenever anything incites me to drift into rhythm.\"\n\n\"But to-day you have been more silent than usual, and yet you seemed to\nme to be extraordinarily content. Not your face only, but your whole\nlength--a good measure--from the sole of your foot to the crown of your\nhead was like a brimming cask of satisfaction.\"\n\n\"Well, there is much that is lovely in this world!\" cried Pollux,\nstretching himself comfortably and lifting his arms with his hands\nclasped far above his head towards heaven.\n\n\"Has anything specially pleasant happened to you?\"\n\n\"There is no need for that! Here I live in excellent company, the work\nprogresses, and--well, why should I deny it? There was something\nspecially to mark to-day; I met an old acquaintance again.\"\n\n\"An old one?\"\n\n\"I have already known her sixteen years; but when I first saw her she was\nin swaddling clothes.\"\n\n\"Then this venerable damsel friend is more than sixteen, perhaps\nseventeen! Is Eros the friend of the happy, or does happiness only follow\nin his train?\" As the architect thoughtfully said these words to himself,\nPollux listened attentively to a noise outside, and said:\n\n\"Who can be passing out there at this hour? Do you not hear the bark of a\nbig dog mingle with the snapping of the three Graces?\"\n\n\"It is Titianus conducting the architect from Rome,\" replied Pontius\nexcitedly.\n\n\"I will go to meet him. But one thing more my friend, you too have an\nAlexandrian tongue. Beware of laughing at the Emperor's artistic efforts\nin the presence of this Roman. I repeat it: the man who is now coming is\nsuperior to us all, and there is nothing more repellant to me than when a\nsmall man assumes a strutting air of importance because he fancies he has\ndiscovered in some great man a weak spot where his own little body\nhappens to be sound. The artist I am expecting is a grand man, but the\nEmperor Hadrian is a grander. Now retire behind your screens, and\ntomorrow morning I will be your guest.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nPontius threw his pallium over the chiton he commonly wore at his work\nand went forward to meet the sovereign of the world, whose arrival had\nbeen announced to him in the prefect's letter. He was perfectly calm, and\nif his heart beat a little faster than usual, it was only because he was\npleased once more to meet the wonderful man whose personality had made a\ndeep impression on him before.\n\nIn the happy consciousness of having done all that lay in his power and\nof deserving no blame, he went through the ante-chambers and chief\nentrance of the palace into the fore-court, where a crowd of slaves were\nbusied by torch-light in laying new marble slabs. Neither these workmen\nnor their overseers had paid any heed to the barking of the dogs and the\nloud talking which had for some little time been audible in the vicinity\nof the gate-keeper's lodge; for a special rate of payment had been\npromised to the laborers and their foremen if they should have finished a\nset piece of the new pavement by a certain hour, to the satisfaction of\nthe architect. No one who heard the deep man's-voice ring through the\ncourt from the doorway guessed to whom it belonged.\n\nThe Emperor had been delayed by adverse winds and had not run into the\nharbor till a little before midnight.\n\nTitianus, who was watching for him, he greeted as an old friend with\nheartfelt warmth, and with him and Antinous he stepped into the prefect's\nchariot, while Phlegon the secretary, Hermogenes his physician, and\nMastor with the luggage, among which were their campbeds, were to follow\nin another vehicle. The harbor watchmen hastened to array themselves\nindignantly to oppose the chariot, as it rolled noisily along the street,\nand the huge dog that destroyed the peace of the night with its baying;\nbut as soon as they recognized Titianus they respectfully made way. The\ngate-keeper and his wife, obedient to the prefect's warning, had remained\nup, and as soon as the singer heard the chariot approaching which bore\nthe Emperor, he hastened to open the palace-gates. The broken-up pavement\nand the swarms of men engaged in repairing it, obliged Titianus and his\ncompanions to quit the chariot here and to pass close to the little\ngate-house. Hadrian, whose observation nothing ever escaped which came in\nhis way and seemed worth noticing, stood still before Euphorion's door\nand looked into the comfortable little room, with its decoration of\nflowers and birds and the statue of Apollo; while dame Doris in her\nnewest garments, stood on the threshold to watch for the prefect. And\nTitianus greeted her warmly, for he was wont whenever he came to Lochias\nto exchange a few merry or wise words with her. The little dogs had\nalready crept into their basket, but as soon as they caught sight of a\nstrange dog they rushed past their mistress into the open air, and dame\nDoris found herself obliged, while she returned the kindly greeting of\nher patron, to shout at Euphrosyne, Thalia and Aglaia more than once by\ntheir pretty names.\n\n\"Splendid, splendid!\" cried Hadrian, pointing into the little house. \"An\nidyl, a perfect idyl. Who would have expected to find such a smiling nook\nof peace in the most restless and busy town in the empire.\"\n\n\"I and Pontius were equally surprised at this little nest, and we\ntherefore left it untouched,\" said the prefect.\n\n\"Intelligent people understand each other, and I owe you thanks for\npreserving this little home,\" answered the Emperor. \"What an omen, what a\nfavorable, in every way favorable augury, it offers me. The Graces\nreceive me here into these old walls, Aglaia, Thalia and Euphrosyne!\"\n\n\"Good luck to you, Master,\" old Doris called out to the prefect.\n\n\"We come late,\" said Hadrian.\n\n\"That does not matter,\" said the old woman. \"Here at Lochias for the last\nweek we have quite forgotten to distinguish day from night, and a\nblessing can never come too late.\"\n\n\"I have brought with me to-day an illustrious guest,\" said Titianus. \"The\ngreat Roman architect Claudius Venator. He only disembarked a few minutes\nsince.\"\n\n\"Then a draught of wine will do him good. We have in the house some good\nwhite Mareotic from my daughter's garden by the lake. If your friend will\ndo us humble folks so much honor, I beg he will step into our room; it is\nclean, is it not sir? and the cup I will give him to drink it out of\nwould not disgrace the Emperor himself. Who knows what you will find up\nin the midst of all the muddle yonder?\"\n\n\"I will accept your invitation with pleasure,\" answered Hadrian. \"I can\nsee by your face that you have a pleasure in entertaining us, and any one\nmight envy you your little house.\"\n\n\"When the climbing-rose and the honey-suckle are out it is much\nprettier,\" said Doris, as she filled the cup. \"Here is some water for\nmixing.\"\n\nThe Emperor took the cup carved by Pollux, looked at it with admiration,\nand before putting it to his lips said:\n\n\"A masterpiece, dame; what would Caesar find to drink out of here where\nthe gate-keeper uses such a treasure? Who executed this admirable work,\npray?\"\n\n\"My son carved it for me in his spare time.\"\n\n\"He is a highly-skilled sculptor,\" Titianus explained.\n\nWhen the Emperor had half emptied the cup with much satisfaction he set\nit on the table, and said:\n\n\"A very noble drink! I thank you, mother.\"\n\n\"And I you, for styling me mother: there is no better title a woman can\nhave who has brought up good children; and I have three who need never be\nashamed to be seen.\"\n\n\"I wish you all luck with them, good little mother,\" replied the Emperor.\n\n\"We shall meet again, for I am going to spend some days at Lochias.\"\n\n\"Now, in all this bustle?\" asked Doris.\n\n\"This great architect,\" said Titianus, in explanation, \"is to advise and\nhelp our Pontius.\"\n\n\"He needs no help!\" cried the old woman. \"He is a man of the best stamp.\nHis foresight and energy, my son says, are incomparable. I have seen him\ngiving his orders myself, and I know a man when I see him!\"\n\n\"And what particularly pleased you in him?\" asked Hadrian, who was much\namused with the shrewd old woman's freedom.\n\n\"He never for a moment loses his temper in all the hurry, never speaks a\nword too much or too little; he can be stern when it is necessary, but he\nis kind to his inferiors. What his merits are as an artist I am not\ncapable of judging, but I am quite certain that he is a just and able\nman.\"\n\n\"I know him myself,\" replied Caesar, \"and you describe him rightly; but\nhe seemed to me sterner than he has shown himself to you.\"\n\n\"Being a man he must be able to be severe; but he is so only when it is.\nnecessary, and how kind he can be he shows himself every day. A man grows\nto the mould of his own mind when he is a great deal alone; and this I\nhave noticed, that a man who is repellant and sharp to those beneath him\nis not in himself anything really great; for it shows that he considers\nit necessary to guard against the danger of being looked upon as of no\nmore consequence than the poorer folks he deals with. Now, a man of real\nworth knows that it can be seen in his bearing, even when he treats one\nof us as an equal. Pontius does so, and Titianus, and you who are his\nfriend, no less. It is a good thing that you should have come--but, as I\nsaid before, the architect up there can do very well without you.\"\n\n\"You do not seem to rate my capacity very highly, and I regret it, for\nyou have lived with your eyes open and have learned to judge men keenly.\"\n\nDoris looked shrewdly at the Emperor with her kindly glance, as if taking\nhis mental measure, and then answered confidently:\n\n\"You--you are a great man too--it is quite possible that you might see\nthings that would escape Pontius. There are a few choice souls whom the\nMuses particularly love and you are one of them.\"\n\n\"What leads you to suppose so?\"\n\n\"I see it in your gaze--in your brow.\"\n\n\"You have the gift of divination, then?\"\n\n\"No, I am not one of that sort; but I am the mother of two sons on whom\nalso the Immortals have bestowed the special gift, which I cannot exactly\ndescribe. It was in them I first saw it, and wherever I have met with it\nsince in other men and artists--they have been the elect of their circle.\nAnd you too--I could swear to it, that you are foremost of the men among\nwhom you live.\"\n\n\"Do not swear lightly,\" laughed the Emperor. \"We will meet and talk\ntogether again little mother, and when I depart I will ask you again\nwhether you have not been deceived in me. Come now, Telemachus, the\ndame's birds seem to delight you very much.\"\n\nThese words were addressed to Antinous, who had been going from cage to\ncage contemplating the feathered pets, all sleeping snugly, with much\ncuriosity and pleasure.\n\n\"Is that your son?\" asked Doris.\n\n\"No, dame, he is only my pupil; but I feel as if he were my son.\"\n\n\"He is a beautiful lad!\"\n\n\"Why, the old lady still looks after the young men!\"\n\n\"We do not give that up till we are a hundred or till the Parcae cut the\nthread of life.\"\n\n\"What a confession!\"\n\n\"Let me finish my speech.--We never cease to take pleasure in seeing a\nhandsome young fellow, but so long as we are young we ask ourselves what\nhe may have in store for us, and as we grow old we are perfectly\nsatisfied to be able to show him kindness. Listen young master. You will\nalways find me here if you want anything in which I can serve you. I am\nlike a snail and very rarely leave my shell.\"\n\n\"Till our next meeting,\" cried Hadrian, and he and his companions went\nout into the court.\n\nThere the difficulty was to find a footing on the disjointed pavement.\nTitianus went on in front of the Emperor and Antinous, and so but few\nwords of friendly pleasure could be exchanged by the monarch and his\nvicegerent on the occasion of their meeting again. Hadrian stepped\ncautiously forward, his face wearing meanwhile a satisfied smile. The\nverdict passed by the simple shrewd woman of the people had given him far\ngreater pleasure than the turgid verse in which Mesomedes and his\ncompeers were wont to sing his praises, or the flattering speeches with\nwhich he was loaded by the sophists and rhetoricians.\n\nThe old woman had taken him for no more than an artist; she could not\nknow who he was, and yet she had recognized--or had Titianus been\nindiscreet? Did she know or suspect whom she was talking to? Hadrian's\ndeeply suspicious nature was more and more roused; he began to fancy that\nthe gate-keeper's wife had learnt her speech by heart, and that her\nwelcome had been preconcerted; he suddenly paused and desired the prefect\nto wait for him, and Antinous to remain behind with the clog. He turned\nround, retraced his steps to the gatehouse and slipped close up to it in\na very unprincely way. He stood still by the door of the little house\nwhich was still open, and listened to the conversation between Doris and\nher husband.\n\n\"A fine tall man,\" said Euphorion, \"he is a little like the Emperor.\"\n\n\"Not a bit,\" replied Doris. \"Only think of the full-length statue of\nHadrian in the garden of the Paneum; it has a dissatisfied satirical\nexpression, and the architect has a grave brow, it is true, but pure\nfriendly kindness lights up his features. It is only the beard that\nreminds you of the one when you look at the other. Hadrian might be very\nglad if he were like the prefect's guest.\"\n\n\"Yes, he is handsomer--how shall I say it--more like the gods than that\ncold marble figure,\" Euphorion declared. \"A grand noble, he is no doubt,\nbut still an artist too; I wonder whether he could be induced by Pontius\nor Papias or Aristeas or one of the great painters to take the part of\nCalchas the soothsayer in our group at the festival? He would perform it\nin quite another way than that dry stick Philemon the ivory carver. Hand\nme my lute; I have already forgotten again the beginning of the last\nverse. Oh! my wretched memory! Thank you.\"\n\nEuphorion loudly struck the strings and sang in a voice that was still\ntolerably sweet and very well trained:\n\n\"'Sabina hail! Oh Sabina!--Hail; victorious hail to the conquering\ngoddess Sabina!' If only Pollux were here he would remind me of the right\nwords. 'Hail; victorious hail, to the thousand-fold Sabina!'--That is\nnonsense. 'Hail, hail! divine hail to thee O all-conquering Sabina.' No\nit was not that either. If a crocodile would only swallow this Sabina I\nwould give him that hot cake in yonder dish with pleasure, for his\npudding. But stay--I have it. 'Hail, a thousand-fold hail to the\nconquering goddess Sabina!'\"\n\nHadrian had heard all he wanted; while Euphorion went on repeating his\nline a score or more of times to impress it on his recalcitrant memory.\nCaesar turned his back on the gate-house, and while he and his companions\npicked their way not without difficulty through the workmen who squatted\nhere and there and everywhere on the ground, he clapped Titianus more\nthan once on his shoulder, and after he had been received and welcomed by\nPontius, he exclaimed:\n\n\"I bless my decision to come here now! I have had a good evening, a quite\ndelightful evening.\"\n\nThe Emperor had not felt so cheerful and free from care for years as on\nthis occasion, and when in spite of the late hour he found the workmen\nstill busy everywhere, and saw all that had already been restored in the\nold palace and what was being done for its renovation, the restless man\ncould not resist expressing his satisfaction, and exclaimed to Antinous:\n\n\"Here we may see that even in our sordid times miracles may be wrought by\ngood-will, industry, and skill. Explain to me my good Pontius how you\nwere able to construct that enormous scaffold.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nMore pleasant hours were to follow on the amusing arrival of the Emperor\nat his half-finished residence at Lochias that night. Pontius proposed to\nhim to inspect several well-preserved rooms, which had in the first\ninstance been reserved for the gentlemen of his suite; and one of these\nwith an open outlook on the harbor, the town, and the island of\nAntirrhodus he suggested should be provisionally furnished for the\nEmperor's reception. Thanks to the architect's foresight, to Mastor's\npractised hand, and to the numbers of men employed in the palace who were\naccustomed to all kinds of service--provision was soon made for the\nnight, for Hadrian and his companions. The comfortable couch which the\nprefect had sent to Lochias for Pontius was carried into the Emperor's\nsleeping-room, and the camp-beds for Antinous and the suite were soon set\nup in the other rooms. Tables, pillows, and various household vessels\nwhich had already been sent in from the manufactories of Alexandria, and\nwhich stood packed in bales and cases in the large central court of the\npalace were soon taken out, and so far as they were applicable for use\nwere carried into the hastily-arranged rooms. Even before Hadrian, under\nthe prefect's guidance, had reached the last room in which restorations\nwere being carried out, Pontius was ready with his arrangements, and\ncould assure the Emperor that to-night he would find a good bed and very\ntolerable quarters, and that by to-morrow he should have a really\nelegantly-furnished room.\n\n\"Charming, quite delightful,\" cried the Emperor, as he entered his room.\n\"One might fancy you had some industrious demons at your command. Pour\nsome water over my hands, Mastor, and then to supper! I am as hungry as a\nbeggar's clog.\"\n\n\"I think we shall find all you need,\" replied Titianus, while Hadrian\nwashed his hands and his bearded face.\n\n\"Have you eaten all that I sent down to Lochias to-day, my dear Pontius?\"\n\n\"Alas! we have,\" sighed Pontius.\n\n\"But I gave orders that a supper for five should be sent.\"\n\n\"It sufficed for six hungry artists,\" answered the architect, \"if only I\ncould have guessed for whom the food was intended! And now what is to be\ndone? There are wine and bread still in the hall of the Muses, meanwhile\"\n\n\"That must satisfy us,\" said the Emperor, as he wiped his face. \"In the\nDacian war, in Numidia, and often when out hunting, I have been glad if\nonly one or the other was to be obtained.\"\n\nAntinous, who was very hungry and tired, made a melancholy face at these\nwords of his master, and Hadrian perceiving it, added with a smile:\n\n\"But youth needs something more to live upon than bread and wine. You\npointed out to me just now the residence of the palace-steward. Might we\nnot find there a morsel of meat or cheese, or something of the kind?\"\n\n\"Hardly,\" replied Pontius. \"For the man stuffs his fat stomach and his\neight children with bread and porridge. But an attempt will at any rate\nbe worth making.\"\n\n\"Then send to him; but conduct us at once to the hall where the Muses\nhave preserved some bread and wine for me and these good fellows, though\nthey do not always provide them for their disciples.\"\n\nPontius at once conducted the Emperor into the hall. On the way thither,\nHadrian asked:\n\n\"Is the steward so miserably paid that he is forced to content himself\nwith such meagre fare?\"\n\n\"He has a residence rent free, and two hundred drachmae a month.\"\n\n\"That is not so very little. What is the man's name, and of what kith and\nkin is he?\"\n\n\"He is called Keraunus, and is of ancient Macedonian descent. His\nancestors from time immemorial have held the office he now fills, and he\neven supposes himself to be related to the extinct royal dynasty through\nthe mistress of some one of the Lagides. Keraunus sits in the town\ncouncil and never stirs out in the streets without his slave, who is one\nof the sort which the merchants in the slave market throw into the\nbargain with the buyer. He is as fat as a stuffed pig, dresses like a\nsenator, loves antiquities and curiosities, for which he will let himself\nbe cheated of his last coin, and bears his poverty with more of pride\nthan of dignity; and still he is an honorable man, and can be made\nuseful, if he is taken on the right side.\"\n\n\"Altogether a queer fellow. And you say he is fat, is he jolly?\"\n\n\"As far from it as possible.\"\n\n\"Ah, people who are fat and cross are my aversion. What is this by way of\nan erection?\"\n\n\"Behind that screen works Papias' best scholar. His name is Pollux, and\nhe is the son of the couple who keep the gate-house. You will be pleased\nwith him.\"\n\n\"Call him here,\" said the Emperor.\n\nBut before the architect could comply with his desire the sculptor's head\nhad appeared above the screen. The young man had heard the approaching\nvoices and steps; he greeted the prefect respectfully from his elevated\nposition, and after satisfying his curiosity was about to spring down\nfrom the stool on which he had climbed when Pontius called to him that\nClaudius Venator, the architect from Rome, wished to make his\nacquaintance.\n\n\"That is very kind in him, and still more kind in you,\" Pollux answered\nfrom above, \"since it is only from you that he can know that I exist\nbeneath the moon, and use the hammer and chisel. Allow me to descend from\nmy four-legged cothurnus, for at present you are forced to look up to me,\nand from all I have heard of your talents from Pontius, nothing can be\nmore absolutely the reverse of what it ought to be.\"\n\n\"Nay, stop where you are,\" answered Hadrian. \"We, as fellow-artists, may\nwaive ceremony.--What are you doing in there?\"\n\n\"I will push the screen back in a moment and show you our Urania. It is\nvery good for an artist to hear the opinion of a man who thoroughly\nunderstands the thing.\"\n\n\"Presently, friend-presently; first let me enjoy a scrap of bread, for\nthe severity of my hunger might very possibly influence my judgment.\"\n\nAs he was speaking the architect offered the Emperor a salver with bread,\nsalt, and a cup of wine, which his own slave had carried to him. When\nPollux observed this modest meal, he called out:\n\n\"That is prisoners' fare, Pontius; have we nothing better in the house\nthan that?\"\n\n\"Possibly you yourself assisted in demolishing the dainty dishes I had\nsent down for the architect,\" cried Titianus, pretending to threaten him.\n\n\"You are defacing a fair memory,\" sighed the sculptor, with mock\nmelancholy. \"But, by Hercules, I did my fair share of the work of\ndestruction. If only now--but stay! I have an idea worthy of Aristotle\nhimself! that breakfast, to which I invited you to-morrow morning, most\nnoble Pontius, is all ready at my mother's, and can be warmed up in a few\nminutes. Do not be alarmed, worthy sir, but the dish in question is\ncabbage with sausages--a mess which, like the soul of an Egyptian,\npossesses at the instant of resurrection, nobler qualities than when it\nfirst sees the light.\"\n\n\"Excellent,\" cried Hadrian. \"Cabbage and sausages!\" He wiped his full\nlips with his hand, smiling with gratification, and he broke into a\nhearty laugh of amusement as he heard a loud \"Ah!\" of satisfaction from\nAntinous, who drew nearer to the canvas screen. \"There is another whose\nmouth waters and whose imagination revels in a happy future,\" said the\nEmperor to the prefect, pointing to his favorite.\n\nBut he had misinterpreted the lad's exclamation, for it was the mere name\nof the dish--which his mother had often set on the table of his humble\nhome in Bithynia--which reminded him of his native country and his\nchildhood, and transplanted him in thought back into their midst. It was\na swift leap at his heart, and not merely the pleasant watering of his\ngums, that had forced the \"Ah\" to his lips. Still, he was glad to see his\nnative dish again, and would not have exchanged it against the richest\nbanquet. Pollux had meanwhile come out of his nook, and said:\n\n\"In a quarter of an hour I shall set before you the breakfast which has\nbeen turned into a supper. Mitigate your worst hunger with some bread and\nsalt, and then my mother's cabbage-stew will not only satisfy you, but\nwill be enjoyed with calm appreciation.\"\n\n\"Greet dame Doris from me,\" Hadrian called after the sculptor; and when\nPollux had quitted the hall he turned to Titianus and Pontius and said:\n\n\"What a splendid young fellow. I am curious to see what he can do as an\nartist.\"\n\n\"Then follow me,\" replied Pontius, leading the way.\n\n\"What do you say to this Urania? Papias made the head of the Muse, but\nthe figure and the drapery Pollux formed with his own hand in a few\ndays.\"\n\nThe imperial artist stood in front of the statue, with his arms crossed,\nand remained there for some time in silence. Then he nodded his bearded\nhead approvingly, and said gravely:\n\n\"A well-considered work, and carried out with remarkable freedom; this\nmantle drawn over the bosom would not disgrace a Phidias. All is broad,\ncharacteristic and true. Did the young artist work from the model here at\nLochias?\"\n\n\"I have seen no model, and I believe that he evolved the whole figure out\nof his head,\" replied Pontius.\n\n\"Impossible, perfectly impossible,\" cried the Emperor, in the tone of a\nman who knows well what he is talking about. \"Such lines, such forms not\nPraxiteles himself could have invented. He must have seen them, have\nformed them as he stood face to face with the living copy. We will ask\nhim. What is to be made out of that newly-set-up mass of clay?\"\n\n\"Possibly the bust of some princess of the house of the Lagides.\nTo-morrow you shall see a head of Berenice by our young friend, which\nseems to me to be one of the best things ever done in Alexandria.\"\n\n\"And is the lad a proficient in magic?\" asked Hadrian. \"It seems to me\nsimply impossible that he should have completed this statue and a woman's\nbust in these few days.\"\n\nPontius explained to the Emperor that Pollux had mounted the head on a\nbust already to hand, and as he answered his questions without reserve,\nhe revealed to him what stupendous exertions of the arts had been called\ninto requisition to give the dilapidated palace a suitable and, in its\nkind, even brilliant appearance. He frankly confessed that here he was\nworking only for effect, and talked to Hadrian exactly as he would have\ndiscussed the same subject with any other fellow-artist.\n\nWhile the Emperor and the architect were thus eagerly conversing, and the\nprefect was hearing from Phlegon, the secretary, all the experience of\ntheir journey, Pollux reappeared in the hall of the Muses accompanied by\nhis father. The singer carried before him a steaming mess, fresh cakes of\nbread, and the pasty which a few hours previously he had carried home to\nhis wife from the architect's table. Pollux held to his breast a\ntolerably large two-handled jar full of Mareotic wine, which he had\nhastily wreathed with branches of ivy.\n\nA few minutes later the Emperor was reclining on a mattress that had been\nlaid for him, and was making his way valiantly through the savory mess.\nHe was in the happiest humor; he called Antinous and his secretary,\nheaped abundant portions with his own hand on their plates, which he bade\nthem hold out to him, declaring as he did so that it was to prevent their\nfishing the best of the sausages out of the cabbage for themselves. He\nalso spoke highly of the Mareotic wine. When they came to opening the\npasty the expression of his face changed; he frowned and asked the\nprefect in a suspicious tone, severely and sternly:\n\n\"How came these people by such a pasty as this?\"\n\n\"Where did you get it from?\" asked the prefect of the singer.\n\n\"From the banquet which the architect gave to the artists here,\" answered\nEuphorion. \"The bones were given to the Graces and this dish, which had\nnot been touched, to me and my wife. She devoted it with pleasure to\nPontius' guest.\"\n\nTitianus laughed and exclaimed:\n\n\"This then accounts for the total disappearance of the handsome supper\nwhich we sent down to the architect. This pasty-allow me to look at\nit--this pasty was prepared by a recipe obtained from Verus. He invited\nus to breakfast yesterday and instructed my cook how to prepare it.\"\n\n\"No Platonist ever propagated his master's doctrines with greater zeal\nthan Verus does the merits of this dish,\" said the Emperor, who had\nrecovered his good humor as soon as he perceived that no artful\npreparation for his arrival was to be suspected in this matter. \"What\nfollies that spoilt child of fortune can commit! Does he still insist on\ncooking with his own hands?\"\n\n\"No, not quite that,\" replied the prefect. \"But he had a couch placed for\nhim in the kitchen on which he stretched himself at full length and told\nmy cook exactly how to prepare the pasty, of which you are--I should say,\nof which the Emperor is particularly fond. It consists of pheasant, ham,\ncow's udder and a baked crust.\"\n\n\"I am quite of Hadrian's opinion,\" laughed the Emperor; doing all justice\nto the excellent pie. \"You entertain me splendidly my friend, and I am\nvery much your debtor. What did you say your name is young man?\"\n\n\"Pollux.\"\n\n\"Your Urania, Pollux, is a fine piece of work, and Pontius says you\nexecuted the drapery without a model. I said, and I repeat, that it is\nsimply impossible.\"\n\n\"You judge rightly, a young girl stood for it.\"\n\nThe Emperor glanced at the architect, as much as to say, I knew it!\n\nPontius asked in astonishment:\n\n\"When? I have never seen a female form within these walls.\"\n\n\"Recently.\"\n\n\"But I have never quitted Lochias for a minute. I have never gone to rest\nbefore midnight, and have been on my legs again long before sunrise.\"\n\n\"But still there were several hours between your going to sleep, and\nwaking up again,\" replied Pollux. \"Ah, youth--youth!\" exclaimed the\nEmperor, and a satirical smile played upon his lips.\n\n\"Part Damon and Phyllis by iron doors, and they will find their way to\neach other through the key-hole.\"\n\nEuphorion looked seriously at his son, the architect shook his head and\nrefrained from further questions, but Hadrian rose from his couch,\ndismissed Antinous and his secretary to bed, requested Titianus to go\nhome and to give his wife his kindly greetings, and then desired Pollux\nto conduct him within this screen, since he himself was not tired and was\naccustomed to do with only a few hours sleep.\n\nThe young sculptor was strongly attracted by this commanding personage.\nIt had not escaped him that the gray-bearded stranger greatly resembled\nthe Emperor; but Pontius had prepared him for the likeness, and in fact\nthere was much in the eyes and mouth of the Roman architect that he had\nnever traced in any portrait of Hadrian 'Imperator.' And as they stood\nbefore his scarcely-finished statue his respect increased for the new\nvisitor to Lochias; for, with earnest frankness, he pointed out to him\ncertain faults, and while praising the merits of the rapidly-executed\nfigure he explained in a few brief and pithy phrases his own conception\nof the ideal Urania. Then shortly but clearly, he stated his views as to\nhow the plastic artist must deal with the problems of his art.\n\nThe young man's heart beat faster, and more than once he turned hot and\ncold by turns as he heard things uttered by the bearded lips of this\nimposing man, in a rich voice and in lucid phrases, which he had often\ndivined or vaguely felt, but for which, while learning, observing, and\nworking, he had never sought expression in words. And how kindly the\ngreat master took up his timid observations, how convincingly he answered\nthem. Such a man as this he had never met, never had he bowed with such\nfull consent before the superiority and sovereign power of another mind.\n\nThe second hour after midnight had begun, when Hadrian, standing before\nthe rough-cast clay bust, asked Pollux:\n\n\"What is this to be?\"\n\n\"A portrait of a girl.\"\n\n\"Probably of the complaisant model who ventures into Lochias at night?\"\n\n\"No; a lady of rank will sit to me.\"\n\n\"An Alexandrian?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. A beauty in the train of the Empress.\"\n\n\"What is her name? I know all the Roman ladies.\"\n\n\"Balbilla.\"\n\n\"Balbilla? There are many of that name. What is she like, the lady you\nmean?\" asked Hadrian, with a cunning glance of amusement.\n\n\"That is easier to ask than to answer,\" replied the artist, who, seeing\nhis gray-bearded companion smile, recovered his gay vivacity, \"But\nstay--you have seen a peacock spread its tail--now only imagine that\nevery eye in the train of Hera's bird was a graceful round curl, and that\nin the middle of the circle there was a charming, intelligent girl's\nface, with a merry little nose, and a rather too high forehead, and you\nwill have the portrait of the young damsel who has graciously permitted\nme to model from her person.\"\n\nHadrian laughed heartily, threw off his cloak, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Stand aside--I know your maiden--and if I mean a different one you shall\ntell me.\"\n\nWhile he was still speaking he had plunged his powerful hands into the\nyielding clay, and kneading and pinching like a practised modeller,\nwiping off and pressing on, he formed a woman's face with a towering\nstructure of curls, which resembled Balbilla, but which reproduced every\nconspicuous peculiarity with such whimsical exaggeration that Pollux\ncould not contain his delight. When at last Hadrian stepped back from the\nhappy caricature and called upon him to say whether that were not indeed\nthe Roman lady, Pollux exclaimed:\n\n\"It is as surely she, as you are not merely a great architect, but an\nadmirable sculptor. The thing is coarse, but unmistakably\ncharacteristic.\"\n\nThe Emperor himself seemed to enjoy his artistic joke hugely, for he\nlooked at it, and laughed again and again. Pontius, however, seemed to\nview it differently; he had listened with eager sympathy to the\nconversation between Hadrian and the sculptor, and had watched the former\nas he began his work; but as it went on he turned away, for he hated that\ndistortion of fine forms, which he often found that the Egyptians took a\nspecial delight in. It was positively painful to him to see a graceful,\nhighly-gifted and defenceless creature, to whom, too, he felt himself\nbound by ties of gratitude, mocked at in this way by such a man as\nHadrian. He had only to-day met Balbilla for the first time, but he had\nheard from Titianus that she was staying at the Caesareum with the\nEmpress, and the prefect had also told him that she was the granddaughter\nof that same governor, Claudius Balbillus, who had granted freedom to his\nown grandfather, a learned Greek slave.\n\nHe had met her with grateful sympathy and devotion; her bright and lively\nnature had delighted him, and at each thoughtless word she uttered he\nwould have liked to give her some warning sign, as though she were near\nto him through some tie of blood, or some old established friendship that\nmight warrant his right to do so. The defiant, half gallant way in which\nVerus, the dissipated lady-killer, had spoken to her had enraged him and\nfilled him with anxiety, and long after the illustrious visitors had left\nLochias he had thought of her again and again, and had resolved, if it\nwere possible, to keep a watchful eye on the descendant of the benefactor\nof his family. He felt it as a sacred duty to shelter and protect her,\nseeming to him as she did, an airy, pretty, defenceless song-bird.\n\nThe Emperor's caricature had the same effect on his feelings as though\nsome one had insulted and scorned, before his eyes, something that ought\nto be regarded as sacred. And there stood the monarch, a man no longer\nyoung, gazing at his performance and never weary of the amusement it\nafforded him. It pained Pontius keenly, for like all noble natures, he\ncould not bear to discover anything mean or vulgar in a man to whom he\nhad always looked up as to a strong exceptional character. As an artist\nHadrian ought not to have vilified beauty, as a man he ought not to have\ninsulted unprotected innocence.\n\nIn the soul of the architect, who had hitherto been one of the Emperor's\nwarmest admirers, a slight aversion began to dawn, and he was glad, when,\nat last, Hadrian decided to withdraw to rest.\n\nThe Emperor found in his room every requisite he was accustomed to use,\nand while his slave undressed him, lighted his night-lamp and adjusted\nhis pillows, he said:\n\n\"This is the best evening I have enjoyed for years. Is Antinous\ncomfortably in bed?\"\n\n\"As much so as in Rome.\"\n\n\"And the big dog?\"\n\n\"I will lay his rug in the passage at your door.\"\n\n\"Has he had any food?\"\n\n\"Bones, bread and water.\"\n\n\"I hope you have had something to eat this evening.\"\n\n\"I was not hungry, and there was plenty of bread and wine.\"\n\n\"To-morrow we shall be better supplied. Now, good-night. Weigh your words\nfor fear you should betray me. A few days here undisturbed would be\ndelightful!\"\n\nWith these words the Emperor turned over on his couch and was soon\nasleep.\n\nMastor, too, lay down to rest after he had spread a rug for the dog in\nthe corridor outside the Emperor's sleeping-room. His head rested on a\ncurved shield of stout cowhide under which lay his short sword; the bed\nwas but a hard one, but Mastor had for years been used to rest on nothing\nbetter, and still had enjoyed the dreamless slumbers of a child; but\nto-night sleep avoided him, and from time to time he pressed his hand on\nhis wearily open eyes to wipe away the salt dew which rose to them again\nand again. For a long time he had restrained these tears bravely enough,\nfor the Emperor liked to see none but cheerful faces among his servants;\nnay, he had once said that it was in consequence of his bright eyes that\nhe had entrusted to him the care of his person. Poor, cheerful Mastor! He\nwas nothing but a slave, still he had a heart which lay open to joy and\nsuffering, to pleasure and trouble, to hatred and to love.\n\nIn his childhood his native village had fallen into the hands of the foes\nof his race. He and his brother had been carried away as slaves, first\ninto Asia Minor, and then as they were both particularly pretty\nfair-haired boys, to Rome. There they had been bought for the Emperor;\nMastor had been chosen to wait on Hadrian's person, his brother had been\nput to work in the gardens. Nothing was lacking to either except his\nliberty; nothing tormented them but their longing for their native home,\nand even this altogether faded away after he had married the pretty\nlittle daughter of a superintendent of the gardens, a slave like himself.\nShe was a lively little woman with sparkling eyes, whom no one could pass\nby without noticing.\n\nThe slave's duties left him but little time to enjoy the society of his\npretty partner and of the two children she bore him, but the\nconsciousness of possessing them made him happy when he followed his\nmaster to the chase, or in the journeys through the empire. Now, for\nseven months he had heard nothing of his family; but a short letter had\nreached him at Pelusium, which had been sent with the despatches for the\nEmperor from Ostia to Egypt. He could not read, and in consequence of the\nEmperor's rapid travelling, it was not till he reached Lochias, that he\nwas put in possession of its contents.\n\nBefore going to rest Antinous had read him the letter, which had been\nwritten for his brother by a public scribe, and its contents were enough\nto wreck the heart even of a slave. His pretty little wife had fled from\nher home and from the Emperor's service to follow a Greek ship's captain\nacross the world; his eldest child, a boy, the darling of his heart, was\ndead; and his fair-haired tender little Tullia, with her pearly teeth,\nher round little arms, and her pretty tiny fingers that had often tried\nto pull his close-cropped hair, and had fondly stroked and patted it, had\nbeen carried off to the miserable refuge, under whose squalid roof the\nchildren of deceased slaves were reared. Only two hours since, and in\nfancy he had possessed a home, and a group of human beings, whom he could\nlove. Now, this was all over and with however hard a hand the deepest\nwoes might fall on him, he might not sob or groan aloud, or even roll\nfrom side to side as again and again he was violently prompted to do, for\nhis lord slept lightly and the least noise might wake him. At sunrise he\nmust appear before the Emperor as cheerful as usual, and yet he felt as\nif he must himself perish miserably as his happiness had done. His heart\nwas bursting with anguish, still he neither groaned nor stirred.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nThe night had been almost as sleepless to Keraunus' daughter Selene as it\nhad been to the hapless slave. Her father's vain wish to let Arsinoe take\na part with the daughters of the wealthier citizens had filled the girl's\nheart with fresh terrors. It was the final blow which would demolish the\nstructure of their social existence, standing as it did on quaking\nground, and which must fling her family and herself into disgrace and\nwant. When their last treasure of any value was sold, and the creditors\ncould no longer be put off, particularly during the Emperor's presence in\nthe city, when they should try to sell up all her father's little\nproperty, or to carry him off to a debtor's prison, was it not then as\ngood as certain that some one else would be appointed to fill his place,\nand that she and the other children would fall into misery? And there lay\nArsinoe by her side, and slept with as calm and deep a breath as blind\nHelios and the other little ones.\n\nBefore going to bed she had tried with all the fervency and eloquence of\nwhich she was mistress, to persuade, entreat, and implore the heedless\ngirl to refuse as positively as she herself had refused to take any part\nin the processions; but Arsinoe had at first repulsed her crossly, and\nfinally had defiantly declared that means might yet very likely be found,\nand that what her father permitted, Selene had no right to interfere in,\nstill less to forbid. And when afterwards she saw Arsinoe sleeping so\ncalmly by her side, she felt as if she would like to shake her; but she\nwas so accustomed to bear all the troubles of the family alone, and to be\nunkindly repelled by her sister whenever she attempted to admonish her,\nthat she forbore.\n\nArsinoe had a good and tender heart, but she was young, pretty, and vain.\nWith affectionate persuasion she might be won over to anything, but\nSelene, when ever she remonstrated with her, made her feel her\nsuperiority over herself, acquired from her care of the family and her\nmaternal character. Thus, not a day passed without some quarrelling and\ntears between these two sisters who were so dissimilar, and yet, both so\nwell disposed. Arsinoe was always the first to offer her hand for a\nreconciliation, but Selene would rarely have a kinder answer ready to her\naffectionate advances than, \"Let be,\" or \"Oh yes, I know!\" and their\noutward intercourse bore an aspect of coolness, which was easily worked\nup to an outbreak of hostile speeches. Hundreds of times they would go to\nbed without wishing each other 'good-night,' and still more often would\nthey avoid any morning greeting when they first met in the day.\n\nArsinoe liked talking, but in Selene's presence she was taciturn; there\nwere few things in which Selene took pleasure, while her sister delighted\nin every thing which can charm youth. It was the steward's eldest\ndaughter who attended to the daily needs of the children, their food and\nclothes; it was the second who superintended their games, and their\ndolls. The eldest watched and taught them with anxious care, detecting in\nevery little fault the germ of some evil tendency in the future, while\nthe other enticed them into follies, it is true, but opened their minds\nto joyous impressions, and attained more by kisses and kind words than\nSelene could by fault-finding. The children would call Selene when they\nwanted her, but would fly to Arsinoe as soon as they saw her. Their\nhearts were hers, and Selene felt this bitterly; it seemed to her to be\nunjust, for she saw clearly that her sister could reap, from mere\nfrivolous play in her idle hours, a sweeter reward than she could earn by\nthe anxiety, trouble and exhausting toil, in which she often spent her\nnights.\n\nBut children are not unjust in this way. It is true that they keep an\naccount in their heart and not in their head. Those who give them the\nwarmth of affection they pay back most honestly.\n\nOn this particular night it was not, it is certain, with very sisterly\nfeelings that Selene looked at the sleeping Arsinoe, and the words on the\ngirl's lips as she had dropped asleep, had sounded very unkind; but,\nnevertheless, they felt warmly towards each other, and any one who should\nhave attempted to say a word against the one in the presence of the other\nwould soon have found out how close a bond held together these two\nhearts, dissimilar as they were. But no girl of nineteen can pass a night\naltogether without sleeping, however sadly she may turn and turn over and\nover again in her bed. So slumber overmastered Selene every now and then\nfor a quarter of an hour, and each time she dreamed of her sister.\n\nOnce she saw Arsinoe dressed out like a queen, followed by beggar\nchildren and pelted with bad words--then she saw her on the rotunda below\nthe balcony romping with Pollux, and in their bold sport they broke her\nmother's bust. At last she dreamed that she herself was playing--as in\nthe days of her childhood--in the gate-keeper's garden with the sculptor.\nThey were making cakes of sand together, and Arsinoe jumped on the cakes\nas soon as they were made, and trod them all into dust.\n\nThe pretty pale girl had for a long time ceased to know the refreshing,\ndreamless, sound sleep of youth, for the sweetest slumbers are more apt\nto seek out those who by day have some rest, than those who are worn out\nby fatigue, and evening after evening Selene was one of these. Every\nnight she had dreams, but tonight they were almost exclusively sad in\ncharacter, and so terrifying that she woke herself repeatedly with her\nown groaning, or disturbed Arsinoe's peaceful sleep by loud cries.\n\nThese cries did not disturb her father, he--to-night, as every night--had\nbegun to snore soon after he had gone to rest, never to cease till it was\ntime to rise again.\n\nSelene was always busy in the house before any one, even before the\nslaves; and the approach of day this time seemed to the sleepless girl a\nreal release. When she rose it was still perfectly dark, but she knew\nthat the rising of the December sun could not be long to wait for.\n\nWithout paying any heed to the sleepers, or making any special effort to\ntread noiselessly, or to do what she had to do without disturbing them,\nshe lighted her little lamp, at the night-lamp, washed herself, arranged\nher hair, and then knocked at the doors of the old slaves.\n\nAs soon as they had yawned out \"directly,\" or a sleepy \"very well,\" she\nwent into her father's room and took his jug to fetch him fresh water in\nit. The best well in the palace was on a small terrace on the west side;\nit was supplied by the city aqueducts, and was constructed of five marble\nmonsters, bearing up on twisted fishtails a huge shell, in which sat a\nbearded river-god. Their horse-shaped heads poured water into a vast\nbasin, which, in the lapse of centuries, had grown full of a green and\nfilmy vegetation.\n\nIn order to reach this fountain, Selene had to go along the corridor\nwhere lay the rooms occupied by the Emperor and his followers. She only\nknew that an architect from Rome had taken up his quarters at Lochias,\nfor, some time after midnight, she had been to get out meat and salt for\nhim, but in what rooms the strangers had been lodged no one had told her.\nBut this morning as she followed the path she was accustomed to tread day\nby day at the same hour, she felt an anxious shiver. She felt as if\neverything were not quite the same as usual, and just as she had set her\nfoot on the cop step of the flight leading to the corridor, she raised\nher lamp to discover whence came the sound she thought she could hear,\nshe perceived in the gloom a fearful something which as she approached\nit resembled a dog, and which was larger--much larger--than a dog should\nbe.\n\nHer blood ran cold with terror; for a few moments she stood as if\nspellbound, and was only conscious that the growling and snarling that\nshe heard meant mischief and threatening to herself. At last she found\nstrength to turn to fly, but at the same instant a loud and furious bark\nechoed behind her and she heard the monster's quick leaps as he flew\nafter her along the stone pavement.\n\nShe felt a violent shock, the pitcher flew out of her hand and was\nshattered into a thousand fragments, and she sank to the ground under the\nweight of a warm, rough, heavy mass. Her loud cries of alarm resounded\nfrom the hard bare walls, and roused the sleepers and brought them to her\nside.\n\n\"See what it is,\" cried Hadrian to his slave, who had immediately sprung\nup and seized his shield and sword.\n\n\"The dog has attacked a woman who wanted to come this way,\" replied\nMastor.\n\n\"Hold him off, but do not beat him,\" the Emperor shouted after him.\n\"Argus has only done his duty.\" The slave hastened down the passage as\nfast as possible, loudly calling the dog by his name. But another had\nbeen beforehand and had dragged him off his victim, and this was\nAntinous, whose room was close to the scene of action, and who, as soon\nas he had heard the dog's bark and Selene's scream, had hurried to hold\nback the brute which was really dangerous when on guard and in the dark.\n\nWhen Mastor appeared the lad had just succeeded in dragging the dog away\nfrom Selene, who was lying on the stairs leading to the corridor. Before\nAntinous could reach her Argus was standing over her gnashing his teeth\nand growling. Argus, who was quickly quieted by his friends' tone of\nkindly admonition, stood aside silent and with his head down while\nAntinous knelt by the senseless girl on whom the pale light of early dawn\nfell through--wide window. The boy looked with alarm on her pale face,\nlifted her helpless arm, and sought on her light-colored dress for any\ntrace of blood that might have been drawn, but in vain. After he had\nassured himself that she still breathed, and that her lips moved, he\ncalled to Mastor:\n\n\"Argus seems only to have pulled her down, not to have wounded her; she\nhas lost consciousness however. Go quickly into my room and bring me the\nblue phial out of my medicine-case and a cup of water.\"\n\nThe slave whistled to the hound and obeyed the order as quickly as\npossible.\n\nMeanwhile Antinous remained on his knees by the senseless girl, and\nventured to raise her head with its long soft weight of hair. How\nbeautiful were those marble-white, and nobly-cut features! How touching\ndid the silent accent of pain that lay on her lips seem to him, and how\nhappy was the spoilt darling of the Emperor, who was loved by all who saw\nhim, to be able to be tender and helpful, unasked!\n\n\"Wake up, oh! wake up!\" he cried to Selene--and when still she did not\nmove, he repeated more urgently and tenderly, \"Pray, pray wake up.\"\n\nBut she did not hear him, and remained motionless even when, with a\nslight blush, he drew over her shoulder her peplum, which the dog had\ntorn away. Now Mastor returned with the water and the blue phial, and\ngave them to the Bithynian. While Antinous laid the girl's head in his\nlap, the slave was hurrying away, saying: \"Caesar called me.\"\n\nThe lad moistened Selene's forehead with the reviving fluid, made her\ninhale the strong essence which the phial contained, and cried again loud\nand earnestly, \"Wake, wake.\"--And presently her lips parted, showing her\nsmall, white teeth, and then she slowly raised the lids which had veiled\nher eyes. With a deep sigh of relief he set the cup and the phial on the\nground so as to support her when she slowly began to raise herself; but,\nscarcely had he turned his face towards her, when she sprang up suddenly\nand violently, and flinging both her arms round his neck, cried out:\n\n\"Save me, Pollux, save me! The monster is devouring me.\" Antinous much\nstartled, seized the girl's arms to release himself from their embrace,\nbut, she had already freed him and sunk back on to the ground. The next\nmoment she was shivering violently as if from an attack of fever; again\nshe threw up her hands, pressed them to her temples, and gazed with\nterror and bewilderment into the face that bent above her.\n\n\"What is it? Who are you?\" she asked, in a low voice.\n\nHe rose quickly, and while he supported her as she attempted to rise and\nstand upon her feet, he said:\n\n\"The gods be praised that you are still alive. Our big hound threw you\ndown-and he has terrible teeth.\" Selene was now standing up, and face to\nface with the boy at whose last words she shuddered again.\n\n\"Do, you feel any pain?\" asked Antinous, anxiously.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, dully.\n\n\"Did he bite you?\"\n\n\"I think not--pick up that pin, it has fallen out of my dress.\"\n\nThe Bithynian obeyed her behest, and while the girl re-fastened her\npeplum over her shoulders she asked him again:\n\n\"Who are you? How came the dog in our palace?\"\n\n\"He belongs--he belongs to us. We arrived late last night, and Pontius\nput us--\"\n\n\"Then you are with the architect from Rome?\"\n\n\"Yes, but who are you?\"\n\n\"Selene is my name, I am the daughter of the palace-steward.\"\n\n\"And who is Pollux, whom you were calling to help you when you recovered\nyour senses?\"\n\n\"What does that matter to you?\"\n\nAntinous colored, and answered in confusion:\n\n\"I was startled when you suddenly roused up, with his name so loudly on\nyour lips, when I brought you back to life with water and this essence.\"\n\n\"Well, I was roused--and now I can walk again. People who bring furious\ndogs into a strange place, should know how to take better care of them.\nTie the dog up safely, for the children--my little brothers and\nsisters--come this way when they want to go out. Thank you for your\nhelp--and my pitcher?\"\n\nAs she spoke she looked down on the remains of the pretty jar, which was\none her mother had particularly valued. When she saw the fragments lying\non the ground, she gave a deep sob, but she shed no tears. Then she\nexclaimed angrily: \"It is infamous!\"\n\nWith these words she turned her back on Antinous and returned to her\nfather's room, using her left foot, however, with caution, for it was\nvery painful.\n\nThe young Bithynian gazed in silence at Selene's tall, slight form, he\nfelt prompted to follow her, to say to her how very sorry he was for the\nmischance that had befallen her, and that the hound belonged not to him\nbut to another man; but he dared not. Long after she had disappeared from\nsight he stood on the same spot. At last he collected his senses, and\nslowly went back to his room, where he sat on his couch with his eyes\nfixed dreamily on the ground, till the Emperor's call roused him from his\nreverie.\n\nSelene had hardly vouchsafed Antinous a glance. She was in pain not\nmerely in her left foot, but also in the back of her head where she found\nthere was a deep cut; but her thick hair had staunched the blood that\nflowed from the wound. She felt very tired, and the loss of her pretty\njug, which must also be replaced by another, vexed her far more than the\nbeauty of the favorite had charmed her.\n\nShe slowly and wearily entered the sitting-room, where her father was by\nthis time waiting for her and his water. He was accustomed to have it\nregularly at the same hour, and as Selene was absent longer than usual,\nhe could think of no better way of filling up the time than by grumbling\nand scolding to himself; when, at last, his daughter appeared on the\nthreshold, he at once perceived that she had no jug, and said crossly:\n\n\"And am I to have no water to-day?\"\n\nSelene shook her head, sank into a seat, and began to cry softly.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked her father.\n\n\"The pitcher is broken,\" she said sadly.\n\n\"You should take better care of such expensive things,\" scolded her\nfather. \"You are always complaining of want of money, and at the same\ntime you break half our belongings.\"\n\n\"I was thrown down,\" answered Selene, drying her eyes.\n\n\"Thrown down! by whom?\" asked the steward, slowly rising.\n\n\"By the architect's big dog--the architect who came last night from Rome,\nand to whom we gave that meat and salt in the middle of the night. He\nslept here, at Lochias.\"\n\n\"And he set his clog on my child!\" shouted Keraunus, with an angry glare.\n\n\"The hound was alone in the passage when I went there.\"\n\n\"Did it bite you?\"\n\n\"No, but it pulled me down, and stood over me, and gnashed its teeth--oh!\nit was horrible.\"\n\n\"The cursed, vagabond scoundrel!\" growled the steward, \"I will teach him\nhow to behave in a strange house!\"\n\n\"Let him be,\" said Selene, as she saw her father about to don the saffron\ncloak.\n\n\"What is done cannot be undone, and if quarrels and dissentions come of\nit, it will make you ill.\"\n\n\"Vagabonds! impudent rascals! who fill my palace with quarrelsome curs,\"\nmuttered Keraunus without listening to his daughter, and as he settled\nthe folds of his pallium he growled \"Arsinoe! why is it that girl never\nhears me.\"\n\nWhen she appeared he desired her to heat the irons to curl his hair.\n\n\"They are ready by the fire,\" answered Arsinoe. \"Come into the kitchen\nwith me.\"\n\nKeraunus followed her, and had his locks curled and scented, while his\nyounger children stood round him waiting for the porridge which Selene\nusually prepared for them at this hour.\n\nKeraunus responded to their morning greetings with nods as friendly as\nArsinoe's tongs, which held his head tightly by the hair, would allow. It\nwas only the blind Helios, a pretty boy of six, that he drew to his side\nand gave a kiss on his cheek. He loved this child, who, though deprived\nof the noblest of the senses, was always merry and contented, with\npeculiar tenderness. Once he even laughed aloud when the child clung to\nhis sister, as she brandished the tongs, and said:\n\n\"Father, do you know why I am sorry I cannot see?\"\n\n\"Well?\" said his father.\n\n\"Because I should so like to see you for once with the beautiful curls\nwhich Arsinoe makes with the irons.\" But the steward's mirth was checked\nwhen his daughter, pausing in her labors, said half in jest, but half in\nearnest:\n\n\"Have you thought any more about the Emperor's arrival, father? I smarten\nand dress you so fine every day--but to-day you ought to think of\ndressing me.\"\n\n\"We will see about it,\" said Keraunus evasively. \"Do you know,\" said\nArsinoe, after a short pause, as she twisted the last lock in the\nfreshly-heated tongs, \"I thought it all over last night again. If we\ncannot succeed any way in scraping together the money for my dress, we\ncan still--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Even Selene can say nothing against it.\"\n\n\"Against what?\"\n\n\"But, you will be angry!\"\n\n\"Speak out.\"\n\n\"You pay taxes like the rest of the citizens.\"\n\n\"What has that to do with it?\"\n\n\"Well then, we are justified in expecting something from the city.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"To pay for my dress for the festival which is got up for the Emperor,\nnot by an individual, but by the citizens as a body. We could not accept\nalone, but it is folly to refuse what a rich municipality offers. That is\nneither more nor less than making them a present.\"\n\n\"You be silent,\" cried Keraunus, really furious, and trying in vain to\nremember the argument with which, only yesterday, he had refused the same\nsuggestion. \"Be silent, and wait till I begin to talk about such\nmatters.\"\n\nArsinoe flung the tongs on the hearth with so much annoyance that they\nfell on the stone with a loud clatter; but her father quitted the kitchen\nand returned to the sitting-room. There he found Selene lying on a couch,\nand the old slave-woman, who had tied a wet handkerchief round the girl's\nhead, pressing another to her bare left foot.\n\n\"Wounded!\" cried Keraunus, and his eyes rolled slowly from right to left\nand from left to right.\n\n\"Look at the swelling!\" cried the old woman in broken Greek, raising\nSelene's snow-white foot in her black hands for her father to see.\n\"Thousands of fine ladies have hands that are not so small. Poor, poor\nlittle foot,\" and as she spoke the old woman pressed it to her lips.\n\nSelene pushed her aside, and said, turning to her father:\n\n\"The cut on my head is nothing to speak of, but the muscles and veins\nhere at the ancle are swelled and my leg hurts me rather when I tread.\nWhen the dog threw me down I must have hit it against the stone step.\"\n\n\"It is outrageous!\" cried Keraunus, the blood again mounting to his head,\n\"only wait and I will show them what I think of their goings on.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" entreated Selene, \"only beg them politely to shut up the dog,\nor to chain it, so that it may not hurt the children.\"\n\nHer voice trembled with anxiety as she spoke the words, for the dread,\nwhich, she knew not why, had so long been tormenting her lest her father\nshould lose his place, seemed to affect her more than ever to-day.\n\n\"What! civil words after what has now happened?\" cried Keraunus\nindignantly, and as if something quite unheard of had been suggested to\nhim.\n\n\"Nay, nay, say what you mean,\" shrieked the old woman. \"If such a thing\nhad occurred to your father he would have fallen on the strange builder\nwith a good thrashing.\"\n\n\"And his son Keraunus will not let him off,\" declared the steward,\nquitting the room without heeding Selene's entreaty not to let himself be\nprovoked.\n\nIn the ante-chamber he found his old slave whom he ordered to take a\nstick and go before him to announce him to Pontius' guest, the architect,\nwho was lodging in the rooms in the wing near the fountain. This was the\nelegant thing to do, and by this means the black slave would meet the big\ndog before his master who held him and all dogs in the utmost abhorrence.\nAs he approached his destination he found himself quite in the humor to\nspeak his mind to the stranger who had come here with a ferocious hound\nto tear the members of his family.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nHadrian had slept most comfortably; only a few hours it is true, but they\nhad sufficed to refresh his spirit. He was now in his sitting-room and\nhad gone to the window, which took up more than half the extent of the\nlong west wall of the room, and opened on the sea. The wide opening,\nwhich extended downwards to within a few spans of the floor, was finished\nat either side by a tall pillar of fine reddish-brown porphyry, flecked\nwith white, and crowned with gilt Corinthian capitals.\n\nAgainst one of these the Emperor was leaning stroking the blood-hound,\nwhose prompt and vigorous watchfulness had pleased him greatly. What did\nhe care for the terrors the dog might have caused a mere girl?\n\nBy the other pillar stood Antinous; he had placed his right foot on the\nlow window-sill, and with his chin resting on his hand and his elbow on\nhis knee, his figure was well within the room.\n\n\"This, Pontius, is really a first-rate man,\" said Hadrian, pointing to a\ntapestry hanging across the narrow end of the room. \"This hanging was\ncopied from a fruit-piece that I painted some time since, and had\nexecuted here in mosaic. Yesterday this room was not even intended for my\nuse, thus the hanging must have been put up between our arrival and this\nmorning. And how many other beautiful things I see around me! The whole\nplace looks habitable, and the eye finds an abundance of objects on which\nit can rest with pleasure.\"\n\n\"Have you examined that magnificent cushion?\" asked Antinous; \"and the\nbronze figures, there in the corner, look to me far from bad.\"\n\n\"They are admirable works,\" said Hadrian. \"Still, I would do without them\nwith pleasure rather than miss this window. Which is the bluer, the sky\nor the sea? And what a delicious spring breeze fans us here, in the\nmiddle of December. Which are the more delightful to contemplate, the\ninnumerable ships in the harbor, which communicate between this flowery\nland and other countries, and bless it with wealth, or the buildings\nwhich attract the eye in whichever direction it turns. It is difficult to\nknow whether most to admire their stately dimensions or the beauty of\ntheir forms.\"\n\n\"And what is that long, huge dyke, which connects the island with the\nmainland? Only look! There is a huge trireme passing under one of the\nwide arches, on which it is supported--and there comes another.\"\n\n\"That is the great viaduct, called by the Alexandrians the Heptastadion,\nbecause it is said to be seven stadia in length; and in the upper portion\nit carries a stone water-course--as an elder tree has in it a vein of\npith-which supplies water to the island of Pharos.\"\n\n\"What a pity it is,\" said Antinous, \"that we cannot overlook from here\nthe whole of the structure with the men and the vehicles that swarm upon\nit like busy ants. That little island and the narrow tongue of land that\nruns out into the harbor with the tall slender building at the end of it,\nhalf hide it.\"\n\n\"But they serve to vary the picture,\" replied the Emperor. \"Cleopatra\noften dwelt in the little castle on the island with its harbor, and in\nthat tall tower on the northern side of the peninsula, round which, just\nnow, the blue waves are playing, while the gulls and pigeons fly happily\nover it--there Antony retreated after the fight of Actium.\"\n\n\"To forget his disgrace!\" exclaimed Antinous.\n\n\"He named it his Timonareum, because he hoped there to remain unmolested\nby other human beings, like the wise misanthrope of Athens. How would it\nbe if I called Lochias my Timonareum?\"\n\n\"No man need try to hide fame and greatness.\"\n\n\"Who told you that it was shame that led Antony to hide himself in that\nplace?\" asked the imperial sophist; \"he proved often enough, at the head\nof his cavalry, that he was a brave soldier; and though at Actium, when\nall was still going well, he let his ship be turned, it was out of no\nfear of swords and spears, but because Fate compelled him to subjugate\nhis strong will to the wishes of a woman with whose destiny his was\nlinked.\"\n\n\"Then do you excuse his conduct?\"\n\n\"I only seek to account for it, and never, for a moment, could allow\nmyself to believe that shame ever prompted a single act in Antony. I--do\nyou suppose I could ever blush? Nay, we cease to feel shame when we have\nlived to feel such profound contempt for the world.\"\n\n\"But why then should Marc Antony have shut himself up, in yonder\nsea-washed prison?\"\n\n\"Because, to every true man, who has dissipated whole years of his life\nwith women, jesters and flatterers, a moment comes of satiety and\nloathing. In such an hour he feels that of all the men under the lights\nof heaven, he, himself, is the only one with whom it is worth his while\nto commune. After Actium, this was what Antony felt, and he quitted the\nsociety of men in order to find himself for once in good company.\"\n\n\"It is that, no doubt, which drives you now and again into solitude.\"\n\n\"No doubt-but you are always allowed to follow me.\"\n\n\"Then you regard me as better than others,\" exclaimed Antinous joyfully.\n\n\"As more beautiful at any rate,\" replied Hadrian kindly. \"Ask me some\nmore questions.\"\n\nBut Antinous needed a few minutes pause before he could comply with this\ndesire. At last he recollected himself and proceeded to inquire why most\nof the vessels were moored in the harbor beyond the Heptastadion, known\nas Eunostus. The entrance there was less dangerous than that between the\nPharos and the point of Lochias which led into the eastern\nlanding-places. And then Hadrian could give him information as to every\nbuilding in the city about which his companion evinced any curiosity. But\nwhen the Emperor had pointed out the Soma, under which rested the remains\nof Alexander the Great, he became thoughtful, and said, as if to himself:\n\n\"The Great--We may well envy the young Macedonian; not the mere name of\nGreat, for many of small worth have had it bestowed on them, but because\nhe really earned it!\"\n\nThere was not a question put by the handsome Bithynian that Hadrian could\nnot answer; Antinous followed all his explanations with growing\nastonishment, exclaiming at last:\n\n\"How perfectly well you know this place--and yet you never were here\nbefore.\"\n\n\"It is one of the greatest pleasures of travelling,\" replied Hadrian,\n\"that on our journeys we come to know many things in their actuality of\nwhich we have formed an idea from books and narratives. This requires us\nto compare the reality with the pictures in our own minds, seen with the\ninward eye, before we saw the reality. It is to me a far smaller pleasure\nto be surprised by something new and unexpected than to make myself more\nclosely acquainted with something I know already sufficiently to deem it\nworthy to be known better. Do you understand what I mean?\"\n\n\"To be sure I do. We hear of a thing, and when we afterwards see it we\nask ourselves whether we have conceived of it rightly. But I always\npicture people or places which I hear much praised, as much more\nbeautiful than I ever find the reality.\"\n\n\"The balance of difference, which is to the disadvantage of reality,\"\nanswered Hadrian, \"stands not so much to its discredit, as to the credit\nof the eager and beautifying power of your youthful imagination. I--I--\"\nand the Emperor stroked his beard and gazed out into the distance. \"I\nlearn by experience that the older I grow, the more often I find it\npossible so to imagine men, places, and things that I have not seen as\nthat when I meet them in real life for the first time, I feel justified\nin fancying that I have known them long since, visited them, and beheld\nthem with my bodily eyes. Here, for instance, I feel as if I saw nothing\nnew, but only gazed once more at what has long been familiar. But that is\nno wonder, for I know my Strabo, and have heard and read a hundred\naccounts of this city. Still there are many things which are quite\nstrange to me, and yet as they come before me make me feel as if I had\nseen or known them long ago.\"\n\n\"I have felt something like that,\" said Antinous. \"Can our souls have\never lived in other bodies, and sometimes recall the impressions made in\nthat former existence?\n\n\"Favorinus once told me that some great philosopher, Plato, I think,\nasserts that before we are born our souls are wafted about in the\nfirmament that they may contemplate the earth on which they are destined\nsubsequently to dwell. Favorinus says too--\"\n\n\"Favorinus!\" cried Hadrian, evasively. \"That graceful elocutionist has\nplenty of skill in giving new and captivating forms to the thoughts of\nthe great philosophers; but he has not been able to surprise the secret\nof his own soul--besides, he talks too much, and he cannot dispense with\nthe excitement of life.\"\n\n\"Still you have recognized the phenomenon, but you disapprove of\nFavorinus' explanation of it?\"\n\n\"Yes, for I have met men and things as old acquaintances which never saw\nthe light till long after I was born. Possibly my own interpretation may\nnot adapt itself to the consciousness of all--but in myself, I know for\ncertain, there dwells a mysterious something which stirs and works in me\nindependently of myself, which enters into me, and takes its departure at\nits will. Call it as you will, my Daimon, or even my Genius--the name\nmatters not. Nor will this 'something' always come at my bidding, while\nit often possesses me when I least expect it. In those moments when it\nstirs within me, I am master of much which is peculiar to the experience\nand potentiality of that hour. What is known to that Daimon always\nappears to me the very same when I actually meet it. Thus Alexandria is\nnot unknown to me, because my Genius has seen it in his flights. It has\nlearnt and done much, both in me and for me; a hundred times, face to\nface with my own finished works I have asked myself: 'Is it possible that\nyou--Hadrian--your mother's son-can have achieved this? What then is the\nmysterious power that aided you to do it?' Now I also recognize it, and\ncan see it work in others. The man in whom it dwells soon excels his\nfellows, and it is most manifest in artists. Or is it that mere common\nmen become great artists simply because the Genius selects them as his\ntemple to dwell in? Do you follow me, boy?\"\n\n\"Not altogether,\" replied Antinous, and his large eyes which had sparkled\nbrightly so long as he gazed with the Emperor on the city, were now cast\ndown and fixed wearily on the ground. \"Do not be angry with me, my Lord,\nbut I shall never understand such things as these, for there is no man\nwith whom your Genius, as you term it, has less concern than with me.\nThoughts of my own have I none, and it is difficult to me to follow the\nthoughts of others; indeed I should like to know how I am ever to do\nanything right. When I want to work, to work something out, no Daimon\nhelps my soul; no--it feels quite helpless, and drifts into dreaminess.\nAnd if I ever do complete anything, I am obliged to own to myself that I\ncertainly might have been able to do it better.\"\n\n\"Self-knowledge,\" laughed Hadrian, \"is the climax of wisdom. A man has\ndone something if he has only added a 'thing of beauty' to the joys of a\nfriend's imagination; what others do by hard work you do by mere\nexistence. Be quiet, Argus!\" For, while he was speaking, the hound had\nrisen, and had gone snarling to the door. In spite of his master's orders\nhe broke into a loud bark when he heard a steady knock at the door.\nHadrian looked round in bewilderment, and asked: \"Where is Mastor?\"\n\nAntinous shouted the slave's name into the Emperor's bedroom, which was\nnext to the living-room, but in vain. \"He generally is always at hand,\nand as brisk as a lark, but to-day he looked as if in a dream, and while\nhe was dressing me he first let my shoe fall out of his hand and then my\nbrooch.\"\n\n\"I read him yesterday a letter from Rome. His young wife has gone away\nwith a ship's captain.\"\n\n\"We may wish him joy of being free again.\"\n\n\"It does not seem to afford him any satisfaction.\"\n\n\"Oh! a handsome lad like my body-slave can find as many substitutes as he\nlikes.\"\n\n\"But he has not done so. For the present he is still smarting under his\nloss.\"\n\n\"How wise! There, some one is knocking again. Just see who ventures--but\nto be sure any one has a right to knock, for at Lochias I am not the\nEmperor, but a simple private gentleman. Lie down Argus, are you crazy,\nold fellow? Why the dog maintains my dignity better than I do, and he\ndoes not seem altogether to like the architect's part I am playing.\"\n\nAntinous had already raised his hand to lift the handle, when the door\nwas gently opened from outside, and the steward's slave stood on the\nthreshold. The old negro presented a lamentable spectacle. The Emperor's\ndignified and awe-compelling figure, and his favorite's rich garments\nmade him feel embarrassed, and the hound's threatening growl filled him\nwith such terror that he huddled his lean negro-legs together, and, as\nfar as its length would allow, tried to cover them for protection with\nhis threadbare tunic.\n\nHadrian gazed in astonishment at this image of fear, and then asked:\n\n\"Well! what do you want, fellow?\"\n\nThe slave attempted to advance a step or two, but at a loud command from\nHadrian he stood still, and as he looked down at his flat feet, he\nruefully scratched his short-cropped grey hair, some of which had fallen\noff and left a bald patch.\n\n\"Well,\" repeated Hadrian, in a tone which was anything rather than\nencouraging, as he relaxed his hold on the hound's collar in a somewhat\nsuspicious manner. The slave's bent knees began to quake, and holding out\nhis broad palm to the grey-bearded gentleman, who seemed to him\nhardly less alarming than the dog, he began to stammer out in\nfearfully-mutilated Greek the speech which his master had repeated to him\nseveral times, and which set forth that he had come \"into the presence of\nthe architect, Claudius Venator, of Rome, to announce the visit of his\nmaster, a member of the town-council, a Macedonian, and a Roman citizen,\nKeraunus, the son of Ptolemy, steward of the once royal but now imperial\npalace at Lochias.\"\n\nHadrian unrelentingly allowed the poor wretch to finish his speech,\nrubbing his hands with amusement, while the sweat of anguish stood on the\nold slave's face, and to prolong the delightful joke, he took good care\nnot to help the miserable old man when his unaccustomed tongue came to\nsome insuperable difficulty. When, at length, the negro had finished the\npompous announcement, Hadrian said, kindly:\n\n\"Tell your master he may come in.\"\n\nScarcely had the slave left the room, when the sovereign, turning to his\nfavorite, exclaimed:\n\n\"This is a delicious joke! What will the Jupiter be like, when the eagle\nis such a bird as this!\"\n\nKeraunus was not long to wait for. While pacing up and down the passage\noutside the Emperor's room, his bad humor had risen considerably, for he\ntook it as a slight on the part of the architect, that he should allow\nhim--whose birth and dignities he would have learnt from his slave--to\nwait several minutes, each of which seemed to him a quarter of an hour.\nHis expectation too, that the Roman would come to conduct him in person\ninto his apartment was by no means fulfilled, for the slave's message was\nbriefly--\"He may come in.\"\n\n\"Did he say may? Did he not say 'please to come in, or have the goodness\nto come in?'\" asked the steward.\n\n\"He may come in--was what he said,\" replied the slave.\n\nKeraunus grunted out, \"Well!\" set his gold circlet straight on his head\nwhich he held very upright, crossed his arms over his broad chest with a\nsigh, and ordered the black man:\n\n\"Open the door.\"\n\nThe steward crossed the threshold with much dignity: then, not to commit\nany breach of courtesy, he bowed low, and was about to begin to utter his\nreprimand in cutting terms, when a glance at the Emperor and at the\nsplendid decoration which the room had undergone since the day previous,\nnot to mention the very unpleasant growling of the big dog, prompted him\nto strike a milder string. His slave had followed him and had sought a\nsafe corner near the door, between the wall of the room and a couch, but\nhe himself, conquering his alarm at the dog, went forward some distance\ninto the room. The Emperor had seated himself on the window-sill; he\npressed his foot lightly on the head of the dog, and gazed at Keraunus as\nat some remarkable curiosity. His eye thus met that of the steward and\nmade him clearly understand that he had to do with a greater personage\nthan he had expected. There was something imposing in the person of the\nman who sat before him; for this very reason, however, his pride stood on\ntiptoe, and he asked in a tone of swaggering dignity, though not so\nsharply and abruptly as he had intended.\n\n\"Am I standing before the new visitor to Lochias, the architect Claudius\nVenator of Rome?\"\n\n\"You are--standing--\" replied the Emperor, with a roguish side glance at\nAntinous.\n\n\"You have met with a friendly reception to this palace. Like my fathers,\nwho have enjoyed the stewardship of it for centuries, I know how to\nexercise the sacred duties of hospitality.\"\n\n\"I am surprised to hear of the high antiquity of your family and bow to\nyour pious sentiments,\" answered Hadrian, in the same tone as the\nsteward. \"What farther may I learn from you?\"\n\n\"I did not come here to relate history,\" said Keraunus, whose gall rose\nas he thought he detected a mocking smile on the stranger's lips. \"I did\nnot come here to tell stories, but to complain that you, as a\nwarmly-welcomed guest, show so little anxiety to protect your host from\ninjury.\"\n\n\"How is that?\" asked Hadrian, rising from his seat and signing to\nAntinous to hold back the hound, which manifested a peculiar aversion to\nthe steward. It no doubt detected that he had come to show no special\nfriendliness to his owner.\n\n\"Is that dangerous dog, gnashing its teeth there, your property?\" asked\nKeraunus.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThis morning it threw down my daughter and smashed a costly pitcher,\nwhich she is fond of carrying to fetch water in the dawn.\"\n\n\"I heard of that misadventure,\" said Hadrian, \"and I would give much if I\ncould undo it. The vessel shall be amply made good to you.\"\n\n\"I beg you not to add insult to the injury, we have suffered by your\nfault. A father whose daughter has been knocked down and hurt--\"\n\n\"Then, Argus actually bit her?\" cried Antinous, horrified.\n\n\"No,\" Keraunus replied. \"But as she fell her head and foot have been\ninjured, and she is suffering much pain.\"\n\n\"That is very sad,\" said Hadrian, \"and as I am not ignorant of the\nhealing art, I will gladly try to help the poor girl.\"\n\n\"I pay a professional leech, who attends me and mine,\" replied the\nsteward, in a repellant tone, \"and I came hither to request--or, to be\nfrank with you--to require--\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"First, that my pardon shall be asked.\"\n\n\"That, the artist, Claudius Venator, is always ready to do when any one\nhas suffered damage by his fault. What has happened--I repeat it--grieves\nme sincerely, and I beg you tell the maiden to whom the accident\nhappened, that her pain is mine. What more do you desire?\"\n\nThe steward's features had calmed down at these last words, and he\nanswered with less excitement than before:\n\n\"I must request you to chain up your dog, or to shut it up, or in some\nway to keep it from mischief.\"\n\n\"That is pretty strong!\" cried the Emperor.\n\n\"It is only a reasonable demand, and I must stand by it,\" replied\nKeraunus decidedly. \"Neither I--nor my children's lives are safe, so long\nas this wild beast is prowling about at pleasure.\"\n\nHadrian had, ere now, erected monuments to deceased favorites, both dogs\nand horses, and his faithful Argus was no less dear to him, than other\nfour-footed companions have been to other childless men; hence the queer\nfat man's demand seemed to him so audacious and monstrous, that he\nindignantly exclaimed:\n\n\"Folly!--the dog shall be watched, but nothing farther.\"\n\n\"You will chain him up,\" replied Keraunus, with an angry, glare, \"or\nsomeone will be found who will make him harmless forever.\"\n\n\"That will be an evil attempt for the cowardly murderer!\" cried Hadrian.\n\"Eh! Argus, what do you think?\"\n\nAt these words the dog drew himself up, and would have sprung at the\nsteward's throat if his master and Antinous had not held him back.\n\nKeraunus felt that the dog had threatened him, but at this instant he\nwould have let himself be torn by him without wincing, so completely was\nhe overmastered by the fury born of his injured pride.\n\n\"And am I--I too, to be hunted down by a dog, in this house?\" he cried\ndefiantly, setting his left fist on his hip. \"Every thing has its limits,\nand so has my patience with a guest who, in spite of his ripe age forgets\ndue consideration. I will inform the prefect Titianus of your proceedings\nhere, and when the Emperor arrives he shall know--\"\n\n\"What?\" laughed Hadrian.\n\n\"The way you behave to me.\"\n\n\"Till then the dog shall stay where it is, and really under due\nrestraint. But I can tell you man, that Hadrian is as much a friend of\ndogs as I am--and fonder of me than even of dogs.\"\n\n\"We will see,\" growled Keraunus, \"I or the dog!\"\n\n\"I am afraid it will be the dog then.\"\n\n\"And Rome will see a fresh revolt,\" cried Keraunus, rolling his eyes.\n\"You took Egypt from the Ptolemies.\"\n\n\"And with very good reason--besides that is a stale old story.\"\n\n\"Justice is never stale, like a bad debt.\"\n\n\"At any rate it perishes with persons it concerns; there have been no\nLagides left here--how many years?\"\n\n\"So you believe, because it suits your ends to believe it,\" replied the\nsteward. \"In the man who stands before you flows the blood of the\nMacedonian rulers of this country. My eldest son bears the name of\nPtolemaeus Helios--that borne by the last of the Lagides, who perished as\nyou pretend.\"\n\n\"Dear, good, blind Helios!\" interrupted the black slave; for he was\naccustomed to avail himself of the hapless child's name as a protection,\nwhen Keraunus was in a doubtful humor.\n\n\"Then the last descendant of the Ptolemies is blind!\" laughed the\nEmperor. \"Rome may ignore his claims. But I will inform the Emperor how\ndangerous a pretender this roof yet harbors.\"\n\n\"Denounce me, accuse me, calumniate me!\" cried the steward,\ncontemptuously. \"But I will not let myself be trodden on.\nPatience--patience! you will live to know me yet.\"\n\n\"And you, the blood-hound,\" replied Hadrian, \"if you do not this instant\nquit the room with your mouthing crow--\"\n\nKeraunus signed to his slave and without greeting his foe in any way,\nturned his back upon him. He paused for a moment at the door of the room\nand cried out to Hadrian:\n\n\"Rely upon this, I shall complain to the Council and write to Caesar how\nyou presume to behave to a Macedonian citizen.\"\n\nAs soon as the steward had quitted the room, Hadrian freed the dog, which\nflew raging at the door which was closed between him and the object of\nhis aversion. Hadrian ordered him to be quiet, and then turning to his\ncompanion, he exclaimed:\n\n\"A perfect monster of a man! to the last degree ridiculous, and at the\nsame time repulsive. How his rage seethed in him, and yet could not break\nout fairly and thoroughly. I am always on my guard with such obstinate\nfools. Pay attention to my Argus, and remember, we are in Egypt, the land\nof poison, as Homer long since said. Mastor must keep his eyes open--Here\nhe is at last.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Have lived to feel such profound contempt for the world\n     In order to find himself for once in good company--(Solitude)\n     Never speaks a word too much or too little\n     They keep an account in their heart and not in their head\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nAfter the Emperor's body-slave had started up to go to the aid of Selene,\nwho was attacked by his sovereign's dog, something had happened to him\nwhich he could not forget; he had received an impression which he could\nnot wipe out, and words and tones had stirred his mind and soul which\nincessantly echoed in them, so that it was in a preoccupied and\nhalf-dreamy way that he had done his master those little services which\nhe was accustomed to perform every morning, briskly and with complete\nattention.\n\nSummer and winter Mastor was accustomed to leave his master's bedroom\nbefore sunrise to prepare everything that Hadrian could need when he rose\nfrom his slumbers. There was the gold plating to clean on the narrow\ngreaves and the leather straps which belonged to his master's military\nboots, his clothes to air and to perfume with the slight, hardly\nperceptible scent that he liked, but the preparations for Hadrian's bath\nwere what took up most of his time. At Lochias there were not as yet--as\nthere were in the imperial palace at Rome--properly-filled baths; still\nhis servant knew that here, as there, his master would use a due\nabundance of water. He had been told that if he required anything for his\nmaster he was to apply to Pontius. Him he found, without seeking him,\noutside the room meant for Hadrian's sitting-room, to which, while the\nEmperor still slept, he was endeavoring, with the help of his assistants,\nto give a comfortable and pleasing aspect. The architect referred the\nslave to the workmen who were busy laying the pavement in the forecourt\nof the palace; these men would carry in for him as much water as ever he\ncould need. The body-servant's position relieved him of such humble\nduties, still, when on the chase, when travelling, or as need arose, he\nwas accustomed to perform them unasked, and very willingly.\n\nThe sun had not yet risen when he went out into the court, a number of\nslaves were lying on their mats asleep, others had camped round a fire\nand were waiting for their early broth, which was being stirred with\nwooden sticks by an old man and a boy. Mastor would not disturb either\ngroup; he went up to a party of workmen, who seemed to be talking\ntogether, and yet remained attentive to the speech of an old man who was\nevidently telling them a story.\n\nThe poor fellow's heart was heavy and his mind was little bent on tales\nand amusements. All life was embittered. The services required of him\nusually seemed to him of paramount importance, beyond everything else;\nbut to-day it was different. He had an obscure feeling as though fate\nherself had released him from all his duties, as if misfortune had cut\nthe bonds which bound him to his service to the Emperor, and had made him\nan isolated and lonely being. It even came into his head whether he\nshould not take in his hand all the gold pieces given him sometimes by\nHadrian, or which the wealthy folks who wished to be the foremost of\nthose introduced into the Emperor's presence, after waiting in the\nantechamber, had flung to him or slipped into his hand--make his escape\nand carouse away all that he possessed in the taverns of the great city,\nin wine and the gay company of women. It was all the same to him what\nmight happen to him.\n\nIf he were caught he would probably be flogged to death; but he had had\nkicks and blows in plenty before he had got into the Emperor's service,\nnay; when he was brought to Rome he had once even been hunted with dogs.\nIf he lost his life, after all what would it matter? He would have done\nwith it then, once for all, and the future offered him no prospect but\nperpetual fatigue in the service of a restless master, anxiety and\ncontempt. He was a thoroughly good-hearted being who could not bear to\nhurt any one, and who found it equally hard to disturb a fellow-man in\nhis pleasures or amusement. He felt particularly disinclined to do so\njust now, for a wounded soul is keenly alive to the moods and feelings of\nothers; so, as he approached the group of workmen, from among whom he\nproposed to choose his water-carrier, he determined that he would not\ninterrupt the story-teller, on whose lips the gaze of his audience was\nriveted with interest.\n\nThe glare of the blaze under the soup-kettle fell full on the speaker's\nface. He was an old laborer, but his long hair proclaimed him a freeman.\nHis abundant white beard induced Mastor to suppose that he must be a Jew\nor a Phoenician, but there was nothing remarkable in the old man, who was\ndressed in a poor and scanty tunic, excepting his peculiarly brilliant\neyes, which were immovably fixed on the heavens, and the oblique position\nin which he held his head, supporting it on the left side with his raised\nhands.\n\n\"And now,\" said the speaker, dropping his arms, \"let us go back to our\nlabors, my brethren. 'In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,' it\nis written. It is often hard to us old men to heave stones and bend our\nstiff backs for so long together, but we are nearer than you younger ones\nto the happy future. Life is not easy to all of us, but it is we who\nlabor and are heavy laden--we above all others--that the Lord has bidden\nto be his guests, and not last among us the slaves.\"\n\n\"Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will refresh\nyou,\" interrupted one of the younger men repeating the words of Christ.\n\n\"Yea, thus saith the Saviour,\" said the old man approvingly, \"and he\nsurely then was thinking of us. I said just now our load is not light,\nbut how much heavier was the burden he took upon him of his own free will\nto release us from woe. Every one must work, nay even Caesar himself, but\nhe who could dwell in the glory of his Father let himself be mocked and\nscorned and spit in the face, let the crown of thorns be pressed on his\nsuffering head, bore his heavy cross, sinking under its weight, and\nendured a death of torment, and all for our sakes, without a murmur. But\nhe suffered not in vain, for God accepted the sacrifice of his Son, and\ndid his will and said, 'All that believe on Him should not perish, but\nhave everlasting life.' And though a new and weary day is now beginning,\nand though it should be followed by a thousand wearier still, though\ndeath is the end of life--still we believe in our Redeemer, we have God's\nword bidding us out of sorrows and sufferings into his Heaven, promising\nus for a brief time of misery in this world, endless ages of joy.--Now go\nto work. Our sturdy friend Krates will work for you dear Knakias until\nyour finger is healed. When the bread is distributed remember, each of\nyou, the children of our poor deceased brother Philammon. You, poor\nGibbus, will find your labors bitter to-day. This man's master, my dear\nbrethren, sold both his daughters yesterday to a dealer from Smyrna; but\nif you never see them again in Egypt, or in any other country, my friend,\nyou will meet them in the home of your Heavenly Father--of that you may\nrest assured. Our life on earth is but a pilgrimage, and Heaven is the\ngoal, and the Guide who teaches us never to miss the way, is our Saviour.\nWeariness and toil, sorrow and suffering are easy to bear, to him who\nknows that when the solemn hour is near, the King of Kings shall throw\nopen his dwelling-place, and invite him to enter as a favored guest to\ninhabit there, where all we have loved have found joy and rest.\"\n\n\"Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will refresh\nyou,\" said a man's loud voice again from the circle that sat round the\nold man. The old man stood up, signed to a boy who distributed the bread\nin equal shares to the workmen, and took up a jar with handles, out of\nwhich he filled a large wooden cup with wine.\n\nNot a word of this discourse had escaped Mastor, and the often repeated\nverse, \"Come unto me all ye that labor,\" dwelt in his mind like the\ninvitation of a hospitable friend bidding him to happy days of freedom\nand enjoyment. A distant gleam shone through the weight of his troubles,\nseeming to promise the dawn of a new day, and he reverently went up to\nthe old man, in the first place to ask him if he was the overseer of the\nworkmen who stood round him.\n\n\"I am,\" replied the old man, and as soon as he learnt what Mastor\nrequired as a commission from the controlling architect, he pointed out\nsome young slaves who quickly brought the water that he needed.\n\nPontius met the Emperor's servant and his water-carriers and remarked,\nloudly enough for Mastor to understand him, to Pollux who was with him:\n\n\"The architect's servant is getting Christians to wait upon his master\nto-day. They are regular and sober workmen who do their duty silently and\nwell.\"\n\nWhile Mastor was giving his master towels, and helping to dry and dress\nhim, he was far less attentive than usual, for he could not get the words\nhe had heard from the overseer's lips out of his mind. He had not\nunderstood them all, but he had fully comprehended that there was a kind\nand loving God who had suffered in his own person the utmost torments,\nwho was especially gracious to the poor, the miserable, and the bondsman,\nand who promised to refresh them and comfort them, and to re-unite them\nto those who had once been dear to them. \"Come unto me,\" sounded again\nand again in his ears, and struck so warmly to his heart that he could\nnot help thinking first of his mother, who, so many a time, when he was a\nchild, had called to him only to clasp him in her arms as he ran towards\nher, and to press him to her heart. Just so had he often called his poor\nlittle dead son, and the feeling that there could be any one who might\nstill call to him--the forsaken lonely man--with loving words to release\nhim from his griefs, to reunite him to his mother, his father, and all\nthe dear ones left behind in his lost and distant home, took half the\nbitterness from his pain.\n\nHe was accustomed to listen to all that was said in the Emperor's\npresence, and year by year he had learnt to understand more of what he\nheard. He had often heard the Christians discussed, and usually as\ndeluded but dangerous fools. Many of his fellow-slaves, too, he had heard\ncalled Christian idiots, but still not unfrequently very reasonable men,\nand sometimes even Hadrian himself, had taken the part of the Christians.\n\nThis was the first time that Mastor had heard from their own lips what\nthey believed and hoped, and now, while fulfilling his duties he could\nhardly bear the delay before he could once more seek out the old\npavement-worker, to enquire of him, and to have the hopes confirmed which\nhis words had aroused in his soul.\n\nNo sooner had Hadrian and Antinous gone into the living-room than Mastor\nhad hastened off across the court to find the Christians. There he tried\nto open a conversation with the overseer concerning his faith, but the\nold man answered that there was a season for everything; just now he\ncould not interrupt the work, but that he might come again after sundown,\nand that he then would tell him of Him who had promised to refresh the\nsorrow-laden.\n\nMastor thought no more of making his escape. When he appeared again in\nhis master's presence there was such a sunny light in his blue eyes that\nHadrian left the angry words he had prepared for him unspoken, and cried\nto Antinous, laughing and pointing to the slave:\n\n\"I really believe the rascal has consoled himself already, and found a\nnew mate. Let us, too, follow the precept of Horace, so far as we may,\nand enjoy the present day. The poet may let the future go as it will, but\nI cannot, for, unfortunately, I am the Emperor.\"\n\n\"And Rome may thank the gods that you are,\" replied Antinous.\n\n\"What happy phrases the boy hits upon sometimes,\" said Hadrian with a\nlaugh, and he stroked the lad's brown curls. \"Now till noon I must work\nwith Phlegon and Titianus, whom I am expecting, and then perhaps we may\nfind something to laugh at. Ask the tall sculptor there behind the\nscreens, at what hour Balbilla is to sit to him for her bust. We must\nalso inspect the architect's work, and that of the Alexandrian artists by\ndaylight; that, their zeal has well deserved.\"\n\nHadrian retired to the room where his private secretary had ready for him\nthe despatches and papers for Rome and the provinces, which the Emperor\nwas required to read and to sign. Antinous remained alone in the\nsitting-room, and for an hour he continued to gaze at the ships which\ncame to anchor in the harbor, or sailed out of the roads, and amused\nhimself with watching the swift boats which swarmed round the larger\nvessels, like wasps round ripe fruit. He listened to the songs of the\nsailors, and the music of the flute-players, to the measured beat of the\noars, which came up from the triremes in the private harbor of the\nEmperor as they went out to sea. Even the pure blue of the sky and the\nwarmth of the delicious morning were a pleasure to him, and he asked\nhimself whether the smell of tar, which pervaded the seaport, were\nagreeable or not.\n\nPresently as the sun mounted in the sky, its bright sphere dazzled him;\nhe left the window with a yawn, stretched himself on a couch, and stared\nabsently up at the ceiling of the room without thinking of the subject\nwhich the faded picture on it was intended to represent.\n\nIdleness had long since grown to be the occupation of his life; but\naccustomed to it as he was, he was sometimes conscious of its dark\nattendant shadow ennui--as of a disagreeable and intrusive interruption\nto the enjoyment of life. Generally in such lonely hours of idle reverie\nhis thoughts reverted to his belongings in Bithynia, of whom he never\ndared to speak before the Emperor, or perhaps of the hunting excursions\nhe had made with Hadrian, of the slaughtered game, of the fish he--an\nexperienced angler--had caught, or such like. What the future might bring\nhim troubled him not, for to the love of creativeness, to ambition--to\nall, in short, that bore any resemblance to a passionate excitement his\nsoul had, so far, remained a stranger. The admiration which was\nuniversally excited by his beauty gave him no pleasure, and many a time\nhe felt as though it was not worth while to stir a limb or draw a breath.\nAlmost everything he saw was indifferent to him excepting a kind word\nfrom the lips of the Emperor, whom he regarded as great above all other\nmen, whom he feared as Destiny incarnate, and to whom he felt himself\nbound as intimately as the flower to the tree, the blossom that must die\nwhen the stem is broken, on which it flaunts as an ornament and a grace.\n\nBut, to-day, as he flung himself on the divan his visions took a new\ndirection. He could not help thinking of the pale girl whom he had saved\nfrom the jaws of the blood-hound--of the white cold hand which for an\ninstant had clung to his neck--of the cold words with which she had\nafterwards repelled him.\n\nAntinous began to long violently to see Selene. That same Antinous, to\nwhom in all the cities he had visited with the Emperor, and in Rome\nparticularly, the noble fair ones had sent branches of flowers and tender\nletters, and who nevertheless, since the day when he left his home, had\nnever felt for any woman or girl half so tender a sentiment, as for the\nhunter the Emperor had given him, or for the big dog. This girl stood\nbefore his memory like breathing marble. Perchance the man might be\ndoomed to death who should rest on her cold breast, but such a death must\nbe full of ecstasy, and it seemed to him that it would be far more\nblissful to die with the blood frozen in his veins, than of the too rapid\nthrobbing of his heart.\n\n\"Selene,\" he murmured, now and again, with soft hesitation; a strange\nunrest foreign to his calm nature seemed to propagate itself through all\nhis limbs, and he who commonly would be stretched on a couch for hours\nwithout stirring, lost in dreams, now sprang up and paced the room,\nsighing deeply, and with long strides.\n\nIt was a passionate longing for Selene that drove him up and down, and\nhis wish to see her again crystallized into resolve, and prompted him to\ncontrive the ways and means of meeting her once more before the Emperor's\nreturn.\n\nSimply to invade her father's lodging without farther ceremony, seemed to\nhim out of the question, and yet he was certain of finding her there,\nsince her injured foot would of course keep her at home. Should he once\nmore go to the steward with a request for bread and salt? But he dared\nnot ask anything of Keraunus in Hadrian's name after the scene which had\nso recently taken place. Should he go there to carry her a new pitcher in\nthe place of the broken one? But that would only freshly enrage the\narrogant official.\n\nShould he--should he--should he not? But no, it was quite\nimpossible--still, that no doubt--that was the right idea. In his\nmedicine-chest there were a few extracts which had been given to him by\nthe Emperor; he would offer her one of these to dilute with water and\napply to her bruised foot. And this act of sympathy could not displease\neven his master, who liked to prove his healing art on the sick or\nsuffering. He at once called Mastor, and desired him to take charge of\nthe hound which had followed his steps as he paced the room, then he went\ninto his sleeping-room, took out a phial of a most costly essence, which\nHadrian had given him on his last birthday, and which had formerly\nbelonged to Trajan's wife, Kotina, and then proceeded to the steward's\nrooms. On the steps where he had found Selene, he found the black slave\nwith some children. The old man had sat down them and got no farther for\nfear of the Roman's dog. Antinous went up to him and begged him to guide\nhim to his master's quarters, and the negro immediately showed him the\nway, opened the door of the antechamber, and pointing to the living-room\nsaid:\n\n\"There--but Keraunus is absent.\"\n\nWithout troubling himself any further about Antinous the slave went back\nto the children, but the Bithyman stood irresolute, with his flask in his\nhand, for besides Selene's voice he heard that of another girl and the\ndeeper tones of a man. He was still hesitating when Arsinoe's loud\nexclamation of \"Who's there?\" obliged him to advance.\n\nIn the sitting-room Selene was standing dressed in a long light-colored\nrobe with a veil over her head, as if prepared to go out, but Arsinoe was\nperched on the edge of a table, in such a way as that the tips of her\ntoes only touched the ground, and on the table lay a quantity of\nold-fashioned things. Before her stood a Phoenician, of middle age,\nholding in his hand a finely-carved cup; apparently he was in treaty for\nit with the young girl.\n\nKeraunus had been again to-day to a dealer in curiosities, but he had not\nfound him at home, so he had left word at his shop that Hiram might call\nupon him in his rooms at Lochias, where he could show him several\nvaluable rarities. The Phoenician had arrived before the return of the\nsteward himself, who had been detained at a meeting of the town council,\nand Arsinoe was displaying her father's treasures, whose beauties she was\nextolling with much eloquence. Hiram unfortunately offered a no higher\nprice than Gabinius, whom the steward had sent off so indignantly the\nprevious evening.\n\nSelene had been convinced from the first of the bootlessness of the\nattempt, and was now anxious to bring the transaction to a speedy\nconclusion, as the hour was approaching when she and Arsinoe had to go to\nthe papyrus factory. To her sister's refusal to accompany her, and to the\nold slave-woman's entreaty that she would rest her foot, at any rate for\nto-day, she had responded only with a resolute, \"I am going.\"\n\nThe appearance of the youth on the scene occasioned the girls some\nembarrassment. Selene recognized him at once, Arsinoe thought him\nhandsome but awkward, while the curiosity-dealer gazed at him in perfect\nadmiration, and was the first to offer him a greeting. Antinous returned\nit, bowed to the sisters, and then said turning to Selene:\n\n\"We heard that your head was cut, and your foot hurt, and as we were\nguilty of your mishap, we venture to offer you this phial which contains\na good remedy for such injuries.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" replied the girl. \"But I feel already so well that I shall\ntry to go out.\"\n\n\"That you certainly ought not to do,\" said Antinous, beseechingly.\n\n\"I must,\" replied Selene, gravely.\n\n\"Then, at any rate, take the phial to use for a lotion when you return.\nTen drops in such a cup as that, full of water.\"\n\n\"I can try it when I come in.\"\n\n\"Do so, and you will see how healing it is. You are not vexed with us any\nlonger?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I am glad of that!\" cried the boy, fixing his large dreamy eyes on\nSelene with silent passion. This gaze displeased her, and she said more\ncoldly than before to the Bithyman.\n\n\"To whom shall I give the phial when I have used the stuff in it?\"\n\n\"Keep it, pray keep it,\" begged Antinous. \"It is pretty, and will be\ntwice as precious in my eyes when it belongs to you.\"\n\n\"It is pretty-but I do not wish for presents.\"\n\n\"Then destroy it when you have done with it. You have not forgiven us our\ndog's bad behavior, and we are sincerely sorry that our dog--\"\n\n\"I am not vexed with you. Arsinoe pour the medicine into a saucer.\"\n\nThe steward's younger daughter immediately obeyed, and noticing as she\ndid so, how pretty the phial was, sparkling with various colors, she said\nfrankly enough:\n\n\"If my sister will not have it, give it to me. How can you make such a\npother about nothing, Selene?\"\n\n\"Take it,\" said Antinous, looking anxiously at the ground, for it had now\njust occurred to him how highly the Emperor had valued this little\nbottle, and that he might possibly ask him some time what had become of\nit. Selene shrugged her shoulders, and drawing her veil round her head,\nshe exclaimed, with a glance of annoyance at her sister:\n\n\"It is high time!\"\n\n\"I am not going to-day,\" replied Arsinoe, defiantly, \"and it is folly for\nyou to walk a quarter of a mile with your swollen foot.\"\n\n\"It would be wiser to take some care of it,\" observed the dealer,\npolitely, and Antinous anxiously added:\n\n\"If you increase your own suffering you will add to our self-reproach.\"\n\n\"I must go,\" Selene repeated resolutely, \"and you with me, sister.\"\n\nIt was not out of mere wilfulness that she spoke, it was bitter\nnecessity, that forced her to utter the words. To-day, at any rate, she\nmust not miss going to the papyrus factory, for the week's wages for her\nwork and Arsinoe's were to be paid. Besides, the next day, and for four\ndays after, the workshops and counting-house would be closed, for the\nEmperor had announced to the wealthy proprietor his intention of visiting\nthem, and in his honor various dilapidations in the old rooms were to be\nrepaired, and various decorations added to the bare-looking building.\nHence, to remain away from the works to-day meant, not merely the loss of\na week's pay, but the sacrifice of twelve days, since it had been\nannounced to the work-people, that as a token of rejoicing, and in honor\nof the imperial visit, full pay would be given for the unemployed days;\nand Selene needed money to maintain the family, and must therefore\npersist in her intention.\n\nWhen she saw that Arsinoe showed no sign of accompanying her, she once\nmore asked with stern determination:\n\n\"Are you coming?--Yes, or no.\"\n\n\"No,\" cried Arsinoe, defiantly, and sitting farther on the table.\n\n\"Then I am to go alone?\"\n\n\"You are to stay here.\"\n\nSelene went close up to her sister and looked at her enquiringly and\nreproachfully; but Arsinoe adhered to her refusal. She pouted like a\nsulky child, and slapping the hand on which she was leaning three times\non the table, she repeated, \"No--no--no.\"\n\nSelene called to the old slave-woman, and desired her to remain in the\nsitting-room till her father should return, greeted the dealer politely,\nand Antinous with a careless nod, and then left the room. The lad had\nfollowed her, and they both met the children. Selene pulled their dresses\nstraight, and strictly enjoined them not to go near the corridor on\naccount of the strange dog. Antinous stroked the blind boy's pretty curly\nhead, and then, as Selene was about to descend the stairs, he asked her:\n\n\"May I help you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the girl, for at the very first step an acute pain in the\nancle checked her, and she put out her arm to the young man that he might\nsupport her elbow on his hand. But her answer would assuredly have been\n\"no,\" if she had had the smallest feeling of liking for the Emperor's\nfavorite; but she bore the image of another in her heart, and did not\neven perceive that Antinous was beautiful. The Bithynian's heart, on the\nother hand, had never beaten so violently as during the brief moments\nwhen he was permitted to hold Selene's arm. He felt intoxicated, while he\nwas alive to the fact that during the descent of the few steps she was\nsuffering great pain.\n\n\"Stay at home, and spare yourself!\" he begged her once more in a\ntrembling voice.\n\n\"You worry me!\" she said, in a tone of vexation. \"I must go, and it is\nnot far.\"\n\n\"May I accompany you?\"\n\nShe laughed aloud and answered somewhat scornfully:\n\n\"Certainly not. Only conduct me through the corridor that the dog may not\nattack me again, then go where you will--but not with me.\"\n\nHe obeyed when at the end of the passage where it opened into a large\nhall, he bid her farewell, and she thanked him with a few friendly words.\n\nThere were two ways out from her father's rooms into the road, one led\nthrough the rotunda where the Ptolemaic Queens were placed, and across\nseveral terraces up and down steps through the forecourt; the other, on a\nlevel all the way, through the rooms and halls of the palace. She was\nforced to choose the latter, for it would have been impossible for her\nwith her aching foot to clamber up a number of steps without help and\ndown them again, but she came to this conclusion much against her will,\nfor she knew what numbers of men were engaged in the works of\nrestoration; and to get through them safely it struck her that she might\nask her old playfellow to escort her through the crowd of workmen and\nrough slaves as far as his parent's gatehouse. But she did not easily\ndecide on this course, for, since the afternoon when Pollux had shown her\nmother's bust to Arsinoe before showing it to her, she had felt a grudge\ntowards the sculptor, who so lately before had touched and opened her\nweary and loveless soul; and this sore feeling had not diminished, but\nhad rather increased with time. At every hour of the day, and whatever\nshe was occupied in, she could not help repeating to herself, that she\nhad every reason to be vexed with him.\n\nShe had stood to him a second time as a model for his work, had spoken to\nhim many times, and when last they parted had promised to allow him this\nvery evening to study once more the folds of her mantle. With what\npleasure she had looked forward to each meeting with Pollux, how truly\nlovable she had thought him on every fresh occasion; how frankly he too,\nexpressed his pleasure as often as they met! They had talked of all sorts\nof things, even of love, and how eager he had been when he told her that\nthe only thing she needed to make her happy was a good husband who would\nsuccor and comfort her as she deserved, and as he spoke he had looked at\nhis own strong hands while she had turned red, and had thought to herself\nthat if he liked it she would willingly make the experiment of enjoying\nlife heartily by his side.\n\nIt seemed to her as though they belonged to each other, as if she had\nbeen born for him alone, and he for her. Why then yesterday had he shown\nArsinoe her mother's bust before her?\n\nWell, now she would ask him plainly whether he had placed it on the\nrotunda for her or for her sister, and let him see she was not pleased.\nShe must tell him, too, that she could not stand as his model that\nevening; if only on account of her foot that would be impossible.\n\nWith increasing pain and effort she crossed the threshold of the hall of\nthe Muses, and went up to the screen behind which her friend was\nconcealed. He was not alone, for she heard voices within--and it was not\na man but a woman who was with him; she could hear her clear laugh at\nsome distance. When she came close up to the screen to call Pollux, the\nwoman, who was certainly sitting to him as a model, spoke louder than\nbefore, and called out merrily:\n\n\"But this is delicious! I am to let you fulfil the office of my maid,\nwhat audacity these artists have!\"\n\n\"Say yes,\" begged the artist, in the gay and cordial tone which more than\nonce had helped to ensnare Selene's heart. \"You are beautiful, Balbilla,\nbut if you would allow me, you might be far handsomer than you are even.\"\n\nAnd again there was a merry laugh behind the screen. The pleasant voice\nmust have hurt poor Selene acutely for she drew up her shoulders, and her\nfair features were stamped with an expression of keen suffering, and she\npressed both hands over her heart as she went on past the screen and her\nhandsome flirting playfellow, limping across the courtyard and into the\nroad.\n\nWhat tortured the poor child so cruelly? The poverty of her house, and\nher bodily pain, which increased at every step, or her numbed and sore\nheart, betrayed of her newly-blossoming, last, and fairest hope?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nUsually when Selene went out walking, many people looked at her with\nadmiration, but to-day a couple of street-boys composed her escort. They\nran after her calling out impudently, 'dot, and go one,' and tried\nruthlessly to snatch at the loosely-tied sandal on her injured foot,\nwhich tapped the pavement at every step. While Selene was thus making her\nway with cruel pain, satisfaction and happiness had visited Arsinoe; for\nhardly had Selene and Antinous quitted her father's apartments, when\nHiram begged her to show him the little bottle which the handsome youth\nhad just given her. The dealer turned it over and over in the sunlight,\ntested its ring, tried to scratch it with the stone in his ring, and then\nmuttered, \"Vasa Murrhma.\"\n\nThe words did not escape the girl's sharp ears, and she had heard her\nfather say that the costliest of all the ornamental vessels with which\nthe wealthy Romans were wont to decorate their reception-rooms, were\nthose called Vasa Murrhina; so she explained to him at once, that she\nknew what high prices were paid for such vases, and that she had no mind\nto sell it cheaply. He began to bid, she laughingly demanded ten times\nthe price, and after a long battle between the dealer and the owner,\nfought now half in jest, and now in grave earnest, the Phoenician said:\n\n\"Two thousand drachmae; not a sesterce more.\" That is not enough by a\nlong way, but then it is yours.\"\n\n\"I would hardly have given half to a less fair customer.\"\n\n\"And I only let you have it because you are such a polite man.\"\n\n\"I will send you the money before sundown.\"\n\nAt these words the girl, who had been radiant with surprise and delight,\nand who would have liked to throw her arms round the bald-headed\nmerchant's neck, or round that of her old slave, who was even less\nattractive, or for that matter, would have embraced the world--the\ntriumphant girl became thoughtful; her father would certainly come home\nere long, and she could not conceal from herself that he would disapprove\nof the whole proceeding, and would probably send the phial back to the\nyoung man, and the money to the dealer. She herself would never have\nasked the stranger for the bottle if she had had the slightest suspicion\nof its value; but now it certainly belonged to her, and if she had given\nit back again she would have given no one any pleasure; on the contrary,\nshe would have offended the stranger, and probably have lost the greatest\npleasure that she had ever enjoyed.\n\nWhat was to be done now? She was still perched on the table; she had\ntaken her left foot in her right hand, and sitting in this quaint\nposition, she looked down on the ground as gravely as if she were trying\nto find an idea, or a way out of the difficulty, in the pattern on the\nfloor.\n\nThe dealer for a moment amused himself in studying her bewilderment,\nwhich he thought charming--only wishing that his son, a young painter,\nwere standing in his place. At last he broke the silence however, saying:\n\n\"Your father, perhaps, will not agree to our bargain; and yet it is for\nhim you want the money?\"\n\n\"Who says so?\"\n\n\"Would he have offered me his own treasures if he had not wanted money?\"\n\n\"It is only--I can--only--\" stammered Arsinoe, who was unaccustomed to\nfalsehood--I would merely not confess to him--\"\n\n\"I myself saw how innocently you came by the phial,\" said the dealer,\n\"and Keraunus never need know anything about such a trifle. Fancy\nyourself, that you have broken it, and that the pieces are lying at the\nbottom of the sea. Which of all these things does your father value\nleast?\"\n\n\"This old sword of Antony,\" answered the child, her face brightening once\nmore. \"He says it is much too long, and too slender to be what it\npretends to be. For my part I do not believe that it is a sword at all,\nbut a roasting-spit.\"\n\n\"I shall apply it to that very purpose to-morrow morning in my kitchen,\"\nsaid the dealer, \"but I offer you two thousand drachmae for it, and will\ntake it with me and send you the amount in a few hours. Will that do?\"\n\nArsinoe dropped her foot, glided from the table, and instead of\nanswering, clapped her hands with glee.\n\n\"Only tell him,\" continued Hiram, \"that I am able just now to pay so much\nfor this kind of thing, because Caesar is certain to look about him for\nthe things that belonged to Julius Caesar, Marc Antony, Octavianus,\nAugustus, and other great Romans who have lived in Egypt. The old woman\nthere may bring the spit after me. My slave is waiting outside, and can\nhide it under his chiton as far as my kitchen door, for if he carried it\nopenly the connoisseurs passing by might covet the priceless treasure,\nand we must protect ourselves from the evil eye.\"\n\nThe dealer laughed, took the little bottle into his own keeping, gave the\nsword to the old woman, and then took a friendly leave of the young girl.\n\nAs soon as Arsinoe was alone, she flew into the bedroom to put on her\nsandals, threw her veil over her head, and hastened to the papyrus\nmanufactory. Selene must know of the unexpected good fortune that had\nbefallen her, and all of them, and then she would have the poor girl\ncarried home in a litter, for there were always plenty for hire on the\nquay.\n\nThings did not always go smoothly--very often very unsmoothly and\nstormily between the sisters, but still anything of importance that\nhappened to Arsinoe, whether it were good or evil, she must at once tell\nSelene.\n\nYe gods! what happiness! She could take her place among the daughters of\nthe great citizens in the processions, no less richly apparelled than\nthey, and still there would remain a nice little sum for her father and\nsister; and the work in the factory, the nasty dirty work, which she\nhated and loathed, would be at an end, it was to be hoped, for ever.\n\nThe old slave was still sitting on the steps with the children; Arsinoe\ntossed them up one after the other, and whispered in each child's ear:\n\n\"Cakes this evening!\" and she kissed the blind child's eyes, and said:\n\n\"You may come with me, dear little man. I will find a litter for Selene\nand put you in, and you will be carried home like a little prince.\"\n\nThe little blind boy threw his arms up with delight, exclaiming: \"Through\nthe air, and without falling.\" While she was still holding him in her\narms, her father came up the steps that led from the rotunda to the\npassage, his face streaming with heat and excitement; and after wiping\nhis brow and panting to regain his breath, he said:\n\n\"Hiram, the curiosity-dealer, met me just outside, with the sword that\nbelonged to Antony; and you sold it to him for two thousand drachmae! you\nlittle fool!\"\n\n\"But, father, you would have given the old spit for a pasty and a draught\nof wine,\" laughed Arsinoe.\n\n\"I?\" cried Keraunus. \"I would have had three times the sum for that\nvenerable relic, for which Caesar will give its weight in silver;\nhowever, sold is sold. And yet-and yet, the thought that I no longer\npossess the sword of Antony, will give me many sleepless nights.\"\n\n\"If this evening we set you down to a good dish of meat, sleep will soon\nfollow,\" answered Arsinoe, and she took the handkerchief out of her\nfather's hand, and coaxingly wiped his temples, going on vivaciously: \"We\nare quite rich folks, father, and will show the other citizens' daughters\nwhat we can do.\"\n\n\"Now you shall both take part in the festival,\" said Keraunus, decidedly.\n\"Caesar shall see that I shun no sacrifice in his honor, and if he\nnotices you, and I bring my complaint against that insolent architect\nbefore him--\"\n\n\"You must let that pass,\" begged Arsinoe, \"if only poor Selene's foot is\nwell by that time.\"\n\n\"Where is she?\"\n\n\"Gone out.\"\n\n\"Then her foot cannot be so very bad. She will soon come in, it is to be\nhoped.\"\n\n\"Probably--I mean to fetch her with a litter.\"\n\n\"A litter?\" said Keraunus, in surprise.\n\n\"The two thousand drachmae have turned the girl's head.\"\n\n\"Only on account of her foot. It was hurting her so much when she went\nout.\"\n\n\"Then why did she not stay at home? As usual she has wasted an hour to\nsave a sesterce, and you, neither of you have any time to spare.\"\n\n\"I will go after her at once.\"\n\n\"No--no, you at any rate, must remain here, for in two hours the matrons\nand maidens are to meet at the theatre.\"\n\n\"In two hours! but mighty Serapis, what are we to put on?\"\n\n\"It is your business to see to that,\" replied Keraunus, \"I myself will\nhave the litter you spoke of, and be carried down to Tryphon, the\nship-builder. Is there any money left in Selene's box?\"\n\nArsinoe went into her sleeping-room, and said, as she returned:\n\n\"This is all--six pieces of two drachmae.\"\n\n\"Four will be enough for me,\" replied the steward, but after a moment's\nreflection he took the whole half-dozen.\n\n\"What do you want with the ship-builder?\" asked Arsinoe.\n\n\"In the Council,\" replied Keraunus, \"I was worried again about you girls.\nI said one of my daughters was ill, and the other must attend upon her;\nbut this would not do, and I was asked to send the one who was well. Then\nI explained that you had no mother, that we lived a retired life for each\nother, and that I could not bear the idea of sending my daughter alone,\nand without any protectress to the meeting.  So then Tryphon said that it\nwould give his wife pleasure to take you to the theatre with her own\ndaughter. This I half accepted, but I declared at once that you would not\ngo, if your elder sister were not better. I could not give any positive\nconsent--you know why.\"\n\n\"Oh, blessings on Antony and his noble spit!\" cried Arsinoe. \"Now\neverything is settled, and you can tell the ship-builder we shall go. Our\nwhite dresses are still quite good, but a few ells of new light blue\nribbon for my hair, and of red for Selene's, you must buy on the way, at\nAbibaal, the Phoenician's.\"\n\n\"Very good.\"\n\n\"I will see at once to both the dresses--but, to be sure, when are we to\nbe ready?\"\n\n\"In two hours.\"\n\n\"Then, do you know what, dear old father?\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Our old woman is half blind, and does everything wrong. Do let me go\ndown to dame Doris at the gate-house, and ask her to help me. She is so\nclever and kind, and no one irons so well as she does.\"\n\n\"Silence!\" cried the steward, angrily, interrupting his daughter. \"Those\npeople shall never again cross my threshold.\"\n\n\"But look at my hair; only look at the state it is in,\" cried Arsinoe,\nexcitedly, and thrusting her fingers into her thick tresses which she\npulled into disorder. \"To do that up again, plait it with new ribbons,\niron our dresses, and sew on the brooches--why the Empress' ladies-maid\ncould not do all that in two hours.\"\n\n\"Doris shall never cross this threshold,\" repeated Keraunus, for all his\nanswer.\n\n\"Then tell the tailor Hippias to send me an assistant; but that will cost\nmoney.\"\n\n\"We have it, and can pay,\" replied Keraunus, proudly, and in order not to\nforget his commissions he muttered to himself while he went to get a\nlitter:\n\n\"Hippias the tailor, blue ribbon, red ribbon, and Tryphon the\nship-builder.\"\n\nThe tailor's nimble apprentice helped Arsinoe to arrange her dress and\nSelene's, and was never weary of praising the sheen and silkiness of\nArsinoe's hair, while she twisted it with ribbons, built it up and\ntwisted it at the back so gracefully with a comb, that it fell in a thick\nmass of artfully-curled locks down her neck and back. When Keraunus came\nback, he gazed with justifiable pride at his beautiful child; he was\nimmensely pleased, and even chuckled softly to himself as he laid out the\ngold pieces which were brought to him by the curiosity-dealer's servant,\nand set them in a row and counted them. While he was thus occupied,\nArsinoe went up to him and asked laughing: \"Hiram has not cheated me\nthen?\" Keraunus desired her not to disturb him, and added:\n\n\"Think of that sword, the weapon of the great Antony, perhaps the very\none with which he pierced his own breast.--Where can Selene be?\"\n\nAn hour, an hour and a half had slipped by, and when the fourth half-hour\nwas well begun, and still his eldest daughter did not return, the steward\nannounced that they must set out, for that it would not do to keep the\nship-builder's wife waiting. It was a sincere grief to Arsinoe to be\nobliged to go without Selene. She had made her sister's dress look as\nnice as her own, and had laid it carefully on the divan near the mosaic\npavement. She had taken a great deal of trouble. Never before had she\nbeen out in the streets alone, and it seemed impossible to enjoy anything\nwithout the companionship and supervision of her absent sister. But her\nfather's assertion, that Selene would have a place gladly found for her,\neven later, among the maidens, reassured the girl who was overflowing\nwith joyful expectation.\n\nFinally she perfumed herself a little with the fragrant extract which\nKeraunus was accustomed to use before going to the council, and begged\nher father to order the old slave-woman to go and buy the promised cakes\nfor the little ones during her absence. The children had all gathered\nround her, admiring her with loud ohs! and ahs! as if she were some\nwondrous incarnation, not to be too nearly approached, and on no account\nto be touched. The elaborate dressing of her hair would not allow of her\nstooping over them as usual. She could only stroke little Helios' curls,\nsaying: \"Tomorrow you shall have a ride in the air, and perhaps Selene\nwill tell you a pretty story by-and-bye.\"\n\nHer heart beat faster than usual as she stepped into the litter, which\nwas waiting for her just in front of the gate-house. Old Doris looked at\nher from a distance with pleasure, and while Keraunus stepped out into\nthe street to call a litter for himself, the old woman hastily cut the\ntwo finest roses from her bush, and pressing her fingers to her lips with\na sly smile, put them into the girl's hand.\n\nArsinoe felt as if it were in a dream that she went to the ship-builder's\nhouse, and from thence to the theatre, and on her way she fully\nunderstood, for the first time, that alarm and delight may find room side\nby side in a girl's mind, and that one by no means hinders the existence\nof the other.\n\nFear and expectation so completely overmastered her, that she neither saw\nnor heard what was going on around her; only once she noticed a young man\nwith a garland on his head, who, as he passed her, arm in arm with\nanother, called out to her gaily: \"Long live beauty!\"\n\nFrom that moment she kept her eyes fixed on her lap and on the roses dame\nDoris had given her. The flowers reminded her of the kind old woman's\nson, and she wondered whether tall Pollux had perhaps seen her in her\nfinery. That, she would have liked very much; and after all, it was not\nat all impossible, for, of course, since Pollux had been working at\nLochias he must often have gone to his parents. Perhaps even he had\nhimself picked the roses for her, but had not dared to give them to her\nas her father was so near.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nBut the young sculptor had not been at the gatehouse when Arsinoe went\nby. He had thought of her often enough since meeting her again by the\nbust of her mother; but on this particular afternoon his time and\nthoughts were fully claimed by another fair damsel. Balbilla had arrived\nat Lochias about noon, accompanied, as was fitting, by the worthy\nClaudia, the not wealthy widow of a senator, who for many years had\nfilled the place of lady-in-attendance and protecting companion to the\nrich fatherless and motherless girl. At Rome, she conducted Balbilla's\nhousehold affairs with as much sense and skill as satisfaction in the\ntask. Still she was not perfectly content with her lot, for her ward's\nlove of travelling, often compelled her to leave the metropolis, and in\nher estimation, there was no place but Rome where life was worth living.\nA visit to Baiae for bathing, or in the winter months a flight to the\nLigurian coast, to escape the cold of January and February--these she\ncould endure; for she was certain there to find, if not Rome, at any rate\nRomans; but Balbilla's wish to venture in a tossing ship, to visit the\ntorrid shores of Africa, which she pictured to herself as a burning oven,\nshe had opposed to the utmost. At last, however, she was obliged to put a\ngood face on the matter, for the Empress herself expressed so decidedly\nher wish to take Balbilla with her to the Nile, that any resistance would\nhave been unduteous. Still; in her secret heart, she could not but\nconfess to herself that her high-spirited and wilful foster-child--for so\nshe loved to call Balbilla--would undoubtedly have carried out her\npurpose without the Empress' intervention.\n\nBalbilla had come to the palace, as the reader knows, to sit for her\nbust.\n\nWhen Selene was passing by the screen which concealed her playfellow and\nhis work from her gaze, the worthy matron had fallen gently asleep on a\ncouch, and the sculptor was exerting all his zeal to convince the noble\ndamsel that the size to which her hair was dressed was an exaggeration,\nand that the super-incumbence of such a mass must disfigure the effect of\nthe delicate features of her face. He implored her to remember in how\nsimple a style the great Athenian masters, at the best period of the\nplastic arts, had taught their beautiful models to dress their hair, and\nrequested her to do her own hair in that manner next day, and to come to\nhim before she allowed her maid to put a single lock through the\ncurling-tongs; for to-day, as he said, the pretty little ringlets would\nfly back into shape, like the spring of a fibula when the pin was bent\nback. Balbilla contradicted him with gay vivacity, protested against his\ndesire to play the part of lady's maid, and defended her style of\nhair-dressing on the score of fashion.\n\n\"But the fashion is ugly, monstrous, a pain to one's eyes!\" cried Pollux.\n\"Some vain Roman lady must have invented it, not to make herself\nbeautiful, but to be conspicuous.\"\n\n\"I hate the idea of being conspicuous by my appearance,\" answered\nBalbilla. \"It is precisely by following the fashion, however conspicuous\nit may be, that we are less remarkable than when we carefully dress far\nmore simply and plainly--in short, differently to what it prescribes.\nWhich do you regard as the vainer, the fashionably-dressed young\ngentleman on the Canopic way, or the cynical philosopher with his unkempt\nhair, his carefully-ragged cloak over his shoulders, and a heavy cudgel\nin his dirty hands?\"\n\n\"The latter, certainly,\" replied Pollux. \"Still he is sinning against the\nlaws of beauty which I desire to win you over to, and which will survive\nevery whim of fashion, as certainly as Homer's Iliad will survive the\nballad of a street-singer, who celebrates the last murder that excited\nthe mob of this town.--Am I the first artist who has attempted to\nrepresent your face?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Balbilla, with a laugh. \"Five Roman artists have already\nexperimented on my head.\"\n\n\"And did any one of their busts satisfy you?\"\n\n\"Not one seemed to me better than utterly bad.\"\n\n\"And your pretty face is to be handed down to posterity in five-fold\ndeformity?\"\n\n\"Ah! no--I had them all destroyed.\"\n\n\"That was very good of them!\" cried Pollux, eagerly. Then turning with a\nvery simple gesture to the bust before him he said: \"Hapless clay, if the\nlovely lady whom thou art destined to resemble will not sacrifice the\nchaos of her curls, thy fate will undoubtedly be that of thy\npredecessors.\"\n\nThe sleeping matron was roused by this speech. \"You were speaking,\" she\nsaid, \"of the broken busts of Balbilla?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the poetess.\n\n\"And perhaps this one may follow them,\" sighed Claudia. \"Do you know what\nlies before you in that case?\"\n\n\"No, what?\"\n\n\"This young lady knows something of your art.\"\n\n\"I learnt to knead clay a little of Aristaeus,\" interrupted Balbilla.\n\n\"Aha! because Caesar set the fashion, and in Rome it would have been\nconspicuous not to dabble in sculpture.\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"And she tried to improve in every bust all that particularly displeased\nher,\" continued Claudia.\n\n\"I only began the work for the slaves to finish,\" Balbilla threw in,\ninterrupting her companion. \"Indeed, my people became quite expert in the\nwork of destruction.\"\n\n\"Then my work may, at any rate, hope for a short agony and speedy death,\"\nsighed Pollux. \"And it is true--all that lives comes into the world with\nits end already preordained.\"\n\n\"Would an early demise of your work pain you much?\" asked Balbilla.\n\n\"Yes, if I thought it successful; not if I felt it to be a failure.\"\n\n\"Any one who keeps a bad bust,\" said Balbilla, \"must feel fearful lest an\nundeservedly bad reputation is handed down to future generations.\"\n\n\"Certainly! but how then can you find courage to expose yourself for the\nsixth time to a form of calumny that it is difficult to counteract?\"\n\n\"Because I can have anything destroyed that I choose,\" laughed the spoilt\ngirl. \"Otherwise sitting still is not much to my taste.\"\n\n\"That is very true,\" sighed Claudia. \"But from you I expect something\nstrikingly good.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Pollux, \"and I will take the utmost pains to complete\nsomething that may correspond to my own expectations of what a marble\nportrait ought to be, that deserves to be preserved to posterity.\"\n\n\"And those expectations require--?\"\n\nPollux considered for a moment, and then he replied:\n\n\"I have not always the right words at my command, for all that I feel as\nan artist. A plastic presentiment, to satisfy its creator, must fulfil\ntwo conditions; first it must record for posterity in forms of eternal\nresemblance all that lay in the nature of the person it represents;\nsecondly, it must also show to posterity what the art of the time when it\nwas executed, was capable of.\"\n\n\"That is a matter of course--but you are forgetting your own share.\"\n\n\"My own fame you mean?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"I work for Papias and serve my art, and that is enough; meanwhile Fame\ndoes not trouble herself about me, nor do I trouble myself about her.\"\n\n\"Still, you will put your name on my bust?\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"You are as prudent as Cicero.\"\n\n\"Cicero?\"\n\n\"Perhaps you would hardly know old Tullius' wise remark that the\nphilosophers who wrote of the vanity of writers put their names to their\nbooks all the same.\"\n\n\"Oh! I have no contempt for laurels, but I will not run after a thing\nwhich could have no value for me, unless it came unsought, and because it\nwas my due.\"\n\n\"Well and good; but your first condition could only be fulfilled in its\nwidest sense if you could succeed in making yourself acquainted with my\nthoughts and feelings, with the whole of my inmost mind.\"\n\n\"I see you and talk to you,\" replied Pollux. Claudia laughed aloud, and\nsaid:\n\n\"If instead of two sittings of two hours you were to talk to her for\ntwice as many years you would always find something new in her. Not a\nweek passes in which Rome does not find in her something to talk about.\nThat restless brain is never quiet, but her heart is as good as gold, and\nalways and everywhere the same.\"\n\n\"And did you suppose that that was new to me?\" asked Pollux. \"I can see\nthe restless spirit of my model in her brow and in her mouth, and her\nnature is revealed in her eyes.\"\n\n\"And in my snub-nose?\" asked Balbilla.\n\n\"It bears witness to your wonderful and whimsical notions, which astonish\nRome so much.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you are one more that works for the hammer of the slaves,\"\nlaughed Balbilla.\n\n\"And even if it were so,\" said Pollux, \"I should always retain the memory\nof this delightful hour.\" Pontius the architect here interrupted the\nsculptor, begging Balbilla to excuse him for disturbing the sitting;\nPollux must immediately attend to some business of importance, but in ten\nminutes he would return to his work. No sooner were the two ladies alone,\nthan Balbilla rose and looked inquisitively round and about the\nsculptor's enclosed work-room; but her companion said:\n\n\"A very polite young man, this Pollux, but rather too much at his ease,\nand too enthusiastic.\"\n\n\"An artist,\" replied Balbilla, and she proceeded to turn over every\npicture and tablet with the sculptor's studies in drawing, raised the\ncloth from the wax model of the Urania, tried the clang of the lute which\nhung against one of the canvas walls, was here, there, and everywhere,\nand at last stood still in front of a large clay model, placed in a\ncorner of the studio, and closely wrapped in cloths.\n\n\"What may that be?\" asked Claudia.\n\n\"No doubt a half-finished new model.\"\n\nBalbilla felt the object in front of her with the tips of her fingers,\nand said: \"It seems to me to be a head. Something remarkable at any rate.\nIn these close covered dishes we sometimes find the best meat. Let its\nunveil this shrouded portrait.\"\n\n\"Who knows what it may be?\" said Claudia, as she loosened a twist in the\ncloths which enveloped the bust. There are often very remarkable things\nto be seen in such workshops.\n\n\"Hey, what, it is only a woman's head! I can feel it,\" cried Balbilla.\n\n\"But you can never tell,\" the older lady went on, untying a knot. \"These\nartists are such unfettered, unaccountable beings.\"\n\n\"Do you lift the top, I will pull here,\" and a moment later the young\nRoman stood face to face with the caricature which Hadrian had moulded on\nthe previous evening, in all its grimacing ugliness. She recognized\nherself in it at once, and at the first moment, laughed loudly, but the\nlonger she looked at the disfigured likeness, the more vexed, annoyed and\nangry she became. She knew her own face, feature for feature, all that\nwas pretty in it, and all that was plain, but this likeness ignored\neverything in her face that was not unpleasing, and this it emphasized\nruthlessly, and exaggerated with a refinement of spitefulness. The head\nwas hideous, horrible, and yet it was hers. As she studied it in profile,\nshe remembered what Pollux had declared he could read in her features,\nand deep indignation rose up in her soul.\n\nHer great inexhaustible riches, which allowed her the reckless\ngratification of every whim, and secured consideration, even for her\nfollies, had not availed to preserve her from many disappointments which\nother girls, in more modest circumstances, would have been spared. Her\nkind heart and open hand had often been abused, even by artists, and it\nwas self-evident to her, that the man who could make this caricature, who\nhad so enjoyed exaggerating all that was unlovely in her face, had wished\nto exercise his art on her features, not for her own sake, but for that\nof the high price she might be inclined to pay for a flattering likeness.\nShe had found much to please her in the young sculptor's fresh and happy\nartist nature, in his frank demeanor and his honest way of speech. She\nfelt convinced that Pollux, more readily than anybody else, would\nunderstand what it was that lent a charm to her face, which was in no way\nstrictly beautiful, a charm which could not be disputed in spite of the\ncoarse caricature which stood before her.\n\nShe felt herself the richer by a painful experience, indignant, and\noffended. Accustomed as she was to give prompt utterance even to her\ndispleasure, she exclaimed hotly, and with tears in her eyes:\n\n\"It is shameful, it is base. Give me my wraps Claudia. I will not stay an\ninstant longer to be the butt of this man's coarse and spiteful jesting.\"\n\n\"It is unworthy,\" cried the matron, \"so to insult a person of your\nposition. It is to be hoped our litters are waiting outside.\"\n\nPontius had overheard Balbilla's last words. He had come into the\nwork-place without Pollux, who was still speaking to the prefect, and he\nsaid gravely as he approached Balbilla:\n\n\"You have every reason to be angry, noble lady. This thing is an insult\nin clay, malicious, and at the same time coarse in every detail; but it\nwas not Pollux who did it, and it is not right to condemn without a\ntrial.\"\n\n\"You take your friend's part!\" exclaimed Balbilla. \"I would not tell a\nlie for my own brother.\"\n\n\"You know how to give your words the aspect of an honorable meaning in\nserious matters, as he does in jest.\"\n\n\"You are angry and unaccustomed to bridle your tongue,\" replied the\narchitect. \"Pollux, I repeat it, did not perpetrate the caricature, but a\nsculptor from Rome.\"\n\n\"Which of them? I know them all.\"\n\n\"I may not name him.\"\n\n\"There--you see.--Come away Claudia.\"\n\n\"Stay,\" said Pontius, decisively. \"If you were any one but yourself, I\nwould let you go at once in your anger, and with the double charge on\nyour conscience of doing an injustice to two well-meaning men. But as you\nare the granddaughter of Claudius Balbillus, I feel it to be due to\nmyself to say, that if Pollux had really made this monstrous bust he\nwould not be in this palace now, for I should have turned him out and\nthrown the horrid object after him. You look surprised--you do not know\nwho I am that can address you so.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" cried Balbilla, much mollified, for she felt assured that the\nman who stood before her, as unflinching as if he were cast in bronze,\nand with an earnest frown, was speaking the truth, and that he must have\nsome right to speak to her with such unwonted decision. \"Yes indeed, you\nare the principal architect of the city; Titianus, from whom we have\nheard of you, has told us great things of you; but how am I to account\nfor your special interest in me?\"\n\n\"It is my duty to serve you--if necessary, even with my life.\"\n\n\"You,\" said Balbilla, puzzled. \"But I never saw you till yesterday.\"\n\n\"And yet you may freely dispose of all that I have and am, for my\ngrandfather was your grandfather's slave.\"\n\n\"I did not know\"--said Balbilla, with increasing confusion.\n\n\"Is it possible that your noble grandfather's instructor, the venerable\nSophinus, is altogether forgotten. Sophinus, whom your grandfather freed,\nand who continued to teach your father also.\"\n\n\"Certainly not--of course not,\" cried Balbilla. \"He must have been a\nsplendid man, and very learned besides.\"\n\n\"He was my father's father,\" said Pontius.\n\n\"Then you belong to our family,\" exclaimed Balbilla, offering him a\nfriendly hand.\n\n\"I thank you for those words,\" answered Pontius. \"Now, once more, Pollux\nhad nothing to do with that image.\"\n\n\"Take my cloak, Claudia,\" said the girl. \"I will sit again to the young\nman.\"\n\n\"Not to-day--it would spoil his work,\" replied Pontius. \"I beg of you to\ngo, and let the annoyance you so vehemently expressed die out some where\nelse. The young sculptor must not know that you have seen this\ncaricature, it would occasion him much embarrassment. But if you can\nreturn to-morrow in a calmer and more happy humor, with your lively\nspirit tuned to a softer key, then Pollux will be able to make a likeness\nwhich may satisfy the granddaughter of Claudius Balbillus.\"\n\n\"And, let us hope, the grandson of his learned teacher also,\" answered\nBalbilla, with a kindly farewell greeting, as she went with her companion\ntowards the door of the hall of the Muses, where her slaves were waiting.\nPontius escorted her so far in silence, then he returned to the\nwork-place, and safely wrapped the caricature up again in its cloths.\n\nAs he went out into the hall again, Pollux hurried up to meet him,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"The Roman architect wants to speak to you, he is a grand man!\"\n\n\"Balbilla was called away, and bid me greet you,\" replied Pontius. \"Take\nthat thing away for fear she should see it. It is coarse and hideous.\"\n\nA few moments later he stood in the presence of the Emperor, who\nexpressed the wish to play the part of listener while Balbilla was\nsitting. When the architect, after begging him not to let Pollux know of\nthe incident, told him of what had occurred in the screened-off studio,\nand how angry the young Roman lady had been at the caricature, which was\ncertainly very offensive, Hadrian rubbed his hands and laughed aloud with\ndelight. Pontius ground his teeth, and then said very earnestly:\n\n\"Balbilla seems to me a merry-hearted girl, but of a noble nature. I see\nno reason to laugh at her.\" Hadrian looked keenly into the daring\narchitect's eyes, laid his hand on his shoulder, and replied with a\ncertain threatening accent in his deep voice:\n\n\"It would be an evil moment for you, or for any one, who should do so in\nmy presence. But age may venture to play with edged tools, which children\nmay not even touch.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nSelene entered the gate-way in the endlessly-long walk of sun-dried\nbricks which enclosed the wide space where stood the court-yards,\nwater-tanks and huts, belonging to the great papyrus manufactory of\nPlutarch, where she and her sister were accustomed to work. She could\ngenerally reach it in a quarter of an hour, but to-day it had taken more\nthan four times as long and she herself did not know how she had managed\nto hold herself up, and to walk-limp-stumble along, in spite of the acute\npain she was suffering. She would willingly have clung to every\npasser-by, have held on to every slow passing vehicle, to every beast of\nburden that overtook her--but man and beast mercilessly went on their\nway, without paying any heed to her. She got many a push from those who\nwere hurrying by and who scarcely turned round to look at her, when from\ntime to time she stopped to sink for a moment on to the nearest\ndoor-step, or some low cornice or bale of goods; to dry her eyes, or\npress her hand to her foot, which was now swollen to a great size,\nhoping, as she did so, to be able to forget, under the sense of a new\nform of pain, the other unceasing and unendurable torment, at least for a\nfew minutes.\n\nThe street boys who had run after her, and laughed at her, ceased\npursuing her when they found that she constantly stopped to rest. A woman\nwith a child in her arms once asked her, as she stopped to rest a minute\non a threshold, whether she wanted anything, but walked on when Selene\nshook her head and made no other answer.\n\nOnce she thought she must give up altogether, when suddenly the street\nwas filled with jeering boys and inquisitive men and women--for Verus,\nthe superb Verus, came by in his chariot, and what a chariot! The\nAlexandrian populace were accustomed to see much that was strange in the\nbusy streets of their crowded city; but this vehicle attracted every eye,\nand excited astonishment, admiration and mirth, wherever it appeared, and\nnot unfrequently the bitterest ridicule. The handsome Roman stood in the\nmiddle of his gilt chariot, and himself drove the four white horses,\nharnessed abreast; on his head he wore a wreath, and across his breast,\nfrom one shoulder, a garland of roses. On the foot-board of the quadriga\nsat two children, dressed as Cupids; their little legs dangled in the\nair, and they each held, attached by a long gilt wire, a white dove which\nfluttered in front of Verus.\n\nThe dense and hurrying crowd, crushed Selene remorselessly against the\nwall; instead of looking at the wonderful sight she covered her face with\nher hands to hide the distortion of pain in her features; still she just\nsaw the splendid chariot, the gold harness on the horses, and the figure\nof the insolent owner glide past her, as if in a dream that was blurred\nby pain, and the sight infused into her soul, that was already harassed\nby pain and anxiety, a feeling of bitter aversion, and the envious\nthought that the mere trappings of the horses of this extravagant\nprodigal would suffice to keep her and her family above misery for a\nwhole year.\n\nBy the time the chariot had turned the next corner, and the crowd had\nfollowed it, she had almost fallen to the ground. She could not take\nanother step, and looked round for a litter, but, while generally there\nwas no lack of them, in this spot, to-day there was not one to be seen.\nThe factory was only a few hundred steps farther, but in her fancy they\nseemed like so many stadia. Presently some of the workmen and women from\nthe factory came by, laughing and showing each other their wages, so the\npayment must be now going on. A glance at the sun showed her how long she\nhad already been on her way, and remind her of the purpose of her walk.\n\nWith the exertion of all her strength, she dragged herself a few steps\nfarther; then, just as her courage was again beginning to fail, a little\ngirl came running towards her who was accustomed to wait upon the workers\nat the table where Selene and Arsinoe were employed, and who held in her\nhand a pitcher. She called the dusky little Egyptian, and said:\n\n\"Hathor, pray come back to the factory with me. I cannot walk any\nfarther, my foot is so dreadfully painful; but if I lean a little on your\nshoulder, I shall get on better.\"\n\n\"I cannot,\" said the child. \"If I make haste home I shall have some\ndates,\" and she ran on.\n\nSelene looked after her, and an inward voice, against which she had had\nto rebel before to-day, asked her why she of all people must be a\nsufferer for others, when they thought only of themselves, and with a\nheavy sigh, she made a fresh attempt to proceed on her way.\n\nWhen she had gone a few steps, neither seeing not hearing anything that\npassed her, a girl came up to her, and asked her timidly, but kindly,\nwhat was the matter. It was a leaf-joiner who sat opposite to her at the\nworks, a poor, deformed creature, who, nevertheless, plied her nimble\nfingers contentedly and silently, and who at first had taught Selene and\nArsinoe many useful tricks of working. The girl offered her crooked\nshoulder unasked as a support to Selene, and measured her step; to those\nof the sufferer with as much nicety as if she felt everything that Selene\nherself did; thus, without speaking, they reached the door of the\nfactory; there, in the first court-yard the little hunchback made Selene\nsit down on one of the bundles of papyrus-stems which lay all about the\nplace, by the side of the tanks in which the plants were dipped to\nfreshen them, and arranged in order, built up into high heaps, according\nto the localities whence they were brought. After a short rest, they went\non through the hall in which the triangular green stems were sorted,\naccording to the quality of the white pith they contained. The next\nrooms, in which men stripped the green sheath from the pith, and the long\ngalleries where the more skilled hands split the pith with sharp knives\ninto long moist strips about a finger wide, and of different degrees of\nfineness, seemed to Selene to grow longer the farther she went, and to be\nabsolutely interminable.\n\nGenerally the pith-splitters sat here in long rows, each at his own\nlittle table, on each side of a gangway left for the slaves, who carried\nthe prepared material to the drying-house; but, to-day, most of them had\nleft their places and stood chatting together and packing up their wooden\nclips, knives, and sharpening-stones. Half way down this room Selene's\nhand fell from her companion's shoulder, she turned giddy, and said in a\nlow tone:\n\n\"I can go no farther--\"\n\nThe little hunchback held her up as well as she could, and though she\nherself was far from strong, she succeeded in dragging, rather than\ncarrying, Selene to an empty couch and in laying her upon it. A few\nworkmen gathered around the senseless girl, and brought some water, then\nwhen she opened her eyes again, and they found that she belonged to the\nrooms where the prepared papyrus-leaves were gummed together, some of\nthem offered to carry her thither, and before Selene could consent they\nhad taken up the bench and lifted it with its light burden. Her damaged\nfoot hung down, and gave the poor girl such pain that she cried out, and\ntried to raise the injured limb and hold her ankle in her band; her\ncomrade helped by taking the poor little foot in her own hand, and\nsupporting it with tender and cautious care.\n\nAs she thus went by, carried, as it were, in triumph by the men, and\nborne high in the air, everyone turned to look at her, and the suffering\ngirl felt this rather as if she were some criminal being carried through\nthe streets to exhibit her disgrace to the citizens. But when she found\nherself in the large rooms where, in one place men, and in another the\nmost skilled of the women and girls were employed in laying the narrow\nstrips of papyrus crosswise over each other, and gumming them together,\nshe had recovered strength enough to pull her veil over her face which\nshe held down. Arsinoe, and she herself, in order to remain unrecognized\nhad always been accustomed to walk through these rooms closely veiled,\nand not to lay their wraps aside till they reached the little room where\nthey sat with about twenty other women to glue the sheets together.\n\nEvery one looked at her with curious enquiry. Her foot certainly hurt\nher, the cut in her head was burning, and she felt altogether intensely\nmiserable; still there was room and to spare in her soul for the false\npride that she inherited from her father, and for the humiliating\nconsciousness that she was regarded by these people as one of themselves.\n\nIn the room in which she worked, none but free women were employed, but\nmore than a thousand slaves worked in the factory and she would as soon\nhave eaten with beasts without plate or spoon, as have shared a meal with\nthem. At one time, when every thing in their house seemed going to ruin,\nit was her own father who had suggested the papyrus factory to her\nattention, by telling her, with indignation, that the daughter of an\nimpoverished citizen had degraded herself and her whole class by devoting\nherself to working in the papyrus factory to earn money. She was pretty\nwell paid, to be sure, and in answer to Selene's enquiry, he had stated\nthe amount she earned and mentioned the name of the rich manufacturer to\nwhom she had sold her social standing for gold.\n\nSoon after this Selene had gone alone to the factory, had discussed all\nthat was necessary with the manager, and had then begun, with Arsinoe, to\nwork regularly in the factory where they now for two years had spent some\nhours of every day in gumming the papyrus-leaves together.\n\nHow many a time at the beginning of a new week, or when under the\ninfluence of a special fit of aversion to her work, had Arsinoe refused\nto go with her ever again to the factory; how much persuasive eloquence\nhad she expended, how many new ribbons had she bought, how often had she\nconsented to allow her to go to some spectacle, which consumed half a\nweek's wages, to induce Arsinoe to persist in her work, or to avert the\nfulfilment of her threat to tell her father, whither her daily walk--as\nshe called it--tended.\n\nWhen Selene, who had been carried as far as the door of her own\nwork-room, was sitting once more in her usual place in front of the long\ntable on which she worked, and where hundreds of prepared papyrus strips\nwere to be joined together, she felt scarcely able to raise the veil from\nher face. She drew the uppermost sheets towards her, dipped the brush in\nthe gum-jar, and began to touch the margin of the leaf with it--but in\nthe very act, her strength forsook her, the brush fell from her fingers,\nshe dropped her hands on the table and her face in her hands, and began\nto cry softly.\n\nWhile she sat thus, her tears slowly flowing, her shoulders heaving, and\nher whole body shaken with shuddering sobs, a woman who sat opposite to\nher, beckoned to the deformed girl, and after whispering to her a few\nwords grasped her hand firmly and warmly and looked straight into her\neyes with her own, which though lustreless were clear and steady; then\nthe little hunchback silently took Arsinoe's vacant place by Selene, and\npushed the smaller half of the papyrus leaves over to the woman, and both\nset diligently to work on the gumming.\n\nThey had been thus occupied for some time when Selene at last raised her\nhead and was about to take up her brush again. She looked round for it\nand perceived her companion, whom she had not even thanked for her\nhelpfulness, busily at work in Arsinoe's seat. She looked at her neighbor\nwith eyes still full of tears, and as the girl, who was wholly absorbed\nin her task, did not notice her gaze, Selene said in a tone of surprise\nrather than kindliness.\n\n\"This is my sister's place; you may sit here to-day, but when the factory\nopens again she must sit by me again.\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" said the workwoman shyly. \"I am only finishing your\nsheets because I have no more of my own to do, and I can see how badly\nyour foot is hurting you.\"\n\nThe whole transaction was so strange and novel to Selene that she did not\neven understand her neighbor's meaning, and she only said, with a shrug:\n\n\"You may earn all you can, for aught I can do; I cannot do anything\nto-day.\"\n\nHer deformed companion colored and looked up doubtfully at her opposite\nneighbor, who at once laid aside her brush and said, turning to Selene:\n\n\"That is not what Mary means, my child. She is doing one-half of your\nday's task and I am doing the other, so that your suffering foot may not\ndeprive you of your day's pay.\"\n\n\"Do I look so very poor then?\" exclaimed Keraunus' daughter, and a faint\ncrimson tinged her pale cheeks.\n\n\"By no means, my child,\" replied the woman. \"You and your sister are\nevidently of good family--but pray let us have the pleasure of being of\nsome help to you.\n\n\"I do not know--\" Selene stammered.\n\n\"If you saw that it hurt me to stoop when the wind blows the strips of\npapyrus on to the floor, would you not willingly pick them up for me?\"\ncontinued the woman. \"What we are doing for you is neither less nor yet\nmuch more than that. In a few minutes we shall have finished and then we\ncan follow the others, for every one else has left. I am the overseer of\nthe room, as you know, and must in any case remain here till the last\nwork-woman has gone.\"\n\nSelene felt full well that she ought to be grateful for the kindness\nshown her by these two women, and yet she had a sense of having a deed of\nalmsgiving forced upon her acceptance, and she answered quickly, still\nwith the blood mounting to her cheeks. \"I am very grateful for your good\nintentions, of course, very grateful; but here each one must work for\nherself, and it would ill-become me to allow you to give me the money you\nhave earned.\"\n\nThe girl spoke these words with a decisiveness which was not free from\narrogance, but this did not disturb the woman's gentle equanimity--\"widow\nHannah,\" as she was called by the workwoman--and fixing the calm gaze of\nher large eyes on Selene, she answered kindly:\n\n\"We have been very happy to work for you, dear daughter, and a divine\nSage has said that it is more blessed to give than to receive. Do you\nunderstand all that that means? In our case it is as much as to say that\nit makes kind-hearted folks much happier to do others a pleasure than to\nreceive good gifts. You said just now that you were grateful; do you want\nnow to spoil our pleasure?\"\n\n\"I do not quite understand--\" answered Selene. \"No?\" interrupted widow\nHannah. \"Then only try for once to do some one a pleasure with sincere\nand heartfelt love, and you will see how much good it does one, how it\nopens the heart and turns every trouble to a pleasure. Is it not true\nMary, we shall he sincerely obliged to Selene if only she will not spoil\nthe pleasure we have had in working for her?\"\n\n\"I have been so glad to do it,\" said the deformed girl, \"and there--now I\nhave finished.\"\n\n\"And I too,\" said the widow, pressing the last leaf on to its fellow with\na cloth, and then adding her pile of finished sheets to Mary's.\n\n\"Thank you very much,\" murmured Selene, with downcast eyes, and rising\nfrom her seat, but she tried to support herself on her lame foot and this\ncaused her such pain, that with a low cry, she sank back on the stool.\nThe widow hastened to her side, knelt clown by her, took the injured foot\nwith tender care in her delicate and slender hands, examined it\nattentively, felt it gently, and then exclaimed with horror:\n\n\"Good Lord! and did you walk through the streets with a foot in this\nstate?\" and looking up at Selene she said affectionately. \"Poor child,\npoor child! it must have hurt you! Why the swelling has risen above your\nsandal-straps. It is frightful! and yet--do you live far from this?\"\n\n\"I can get home in half an hour.\"\n\n\"Impossible! First let me see on my tablets how much the paymaster owes\nyou that I may go and fetch it, and then we will soon see what can be\ndone with you. Meanwhile you sit still daughter dear, and you Mary rest\nher foot on a stool and undo the straps very gently from her ankle. Do\nnot be afraid my child, she has soft, careful hands.\" As she spoke she\nrose and kissed Selene on her forehead and eyes, and Selene clung to her\nand could only say with swimming eyes, and a voice trembling with\nfeeling:\n\n\"Dame Hannah, dear widow Hannah.\"\n\nAs the warm sunshine of an October clay reminds the traveller of the\nsummer that is over, so the widow's words and ways brought back to Selene\nthe long lost love and care of her good mother; and something soothing\nmingled in the bitterness of the pain she was suffering. She looked\ngratefully at the kind woman and obediently sat still; it was such a\ncomfort once more to obey an order, and to obey willingly--to feel\nherself a child again and to be grateful for loving care.\n\nHannah went away, and Mary knelt down in front of Selene to loosen and\nremove the straps which were half buried in the swelled muscles. She did\nit with the greatest caution, but her fingers had hardly touched her,\nwhen Selene shrank back with a groan, and before she could undo the\nsandal, the patient had fainted away. Mary fetched some water and bathed\nher brow, and the burning wound in her head, and by the time Selene had\nonce more opened her eyes, dame Hannah had returned. When the widow\nstroked her thick soft hair, Selene looked up with a smile and asked:\n\"Have I been to sleep?\"\n\n\"You shut your eyes my child,\" replied the widow. \"Here are your wages\nand your sister's, for twelve days; do not move, I will put it in your\nlittle bag. Mary has not succeeded in loosening your sandal, but the\nphysician who is paid to attend on the factory people will be here\ndirectly, and will order what is proper for your poor foot. The manager\nis having a litter fetched for you.--Where do you live?\"\n\n\"We?\" cried Selene, alarmed. \"No, no, I must go home.\"\n\n\"But my child you cannot walk farther than the court-yard even if we both\nhelp you.\"\n\n\"Then let me get a litter out in the street. My father--no one must\nknow--I cannot.\"\n\nHannah signed to Mary to leave them, and when she had shut the door on\nthe deformed girl, she brought a stool, sat down opposite to Selene, laid\na hand on the knee that was not hurt, and said:\n\n\"Now, dear girl, we are alone. I am no chatterbox, and will certainly not\nbetray your confidence. Tell me quietly who you belong to. Tell me--you\nbelieve that I mean well by you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Selene, looking the widow full in the face--a\nregularly-cut face, set in abundant smooth brown hair, and with the stamp\nof genuine and heart-felt goodness. \"Yes--you remind me of my mother.\"\n\n\"Well, I might be your mother.\"\n\n\"I am nineteen years old already.\"\n\n\"Already,\" replied Hannah, with a smile. \"Why my life has been twice as\nlong as yours. I had a child, too, a boy; and he was taken from me when\nhe was quite little. He would be a year older than you now, my child--is\nyour mother still alive?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Selene, with her old dry manner, that had become a habit. \"The\ngods have taken her from us. She would have been, like you, not quite\nforty now, and she was as pretty and as kind as you are. When she died\nshe left seven children besides me, all little, and one of them blind. I\nam the eldest, and do what I can for them, that they may not be starved.\"\n\n\"God will help you in the loving task.\"\n\n\"The gods!\" exclaimed Selene, bitterly. \"They let them grow up, the rest\nI have to see to--oh! my foot, my foot!\"\n\n\"Yes, we will think of that before anything else. Your father is alive?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And he is not to know that you work here?\"\n\nSelene shook her head.\n\n\"He is in moderate circumstances, but of good family?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Here, I think, is the doctor. Well? May I know your father's name? I\nmust if I am to get you safe home.\"\n\n\"I am the daughter of Keraunus, the steward of the palace, and we have\nrooms there, at Lochias,\" Selene answered, with rapid decision, but in a\nlow whisper, so that the physician, who just then opened the room door,\nmight not hear her. \"No one, and least of all, my father, must know that\nI work here.\"\n\nThe widow made a sign to her to be easy, greeted the grey-haired leech\nwho came in with his assistant; and then, while the old man examined the\ninjured limb, and cut the straps with a sharp pair of scissors, she\nbathed the girl's face and cut head with a wet handkerchief, supported\nthe poor child in her arms, and, when the pain seemed too much for her,\nkissed her pale cheeks.\n\nMany sighs from the bottom of her heart, and many shrill little cries\nbetrayed how intense was the pain Selene was enduring. When at length,\nher delicate and graceful foot-distorted just now by the extensive\nswelling,--was freed from the bands and straps, and the ankle had been\nfelt and pressed in every direction by the leech, he exclaimed, turning\nto the assistant who stood ready to lend a helping hand:\n\n\"Look here, Hippolytus, the girl came along the streets with her ankle in\nthis state. If any one else had told me of such a thing, I should have\ndesired him to keep his lies to himself. The fibula is broken at the\njoint, and with this injured limb the child has walked farther than I\ncould trust myself at all--without my litter. By Sirius! child, if you\nare not crippled for life it will be a miracle.\"\n\nSelene had listened with closed eyes, and exhausted almost to\nunconsciousness; but at his last words she slightly shrugged her\nshoulders with a faint smile of scorn on her lips.\n\n\"You think nothing of being lame!\" said the old man, who let no gesture\nof his patient escape him. \"That, of course, is your affair, but it is\nmine to see that you do not become a cripple in my hands. The opportunity\nfor working a miracle is not given to one of us every day, and happily\nfor me, you yourself bring a powerful coadjutor to help me. I do not mean\na lover or anything of that kind, though you are much too pretty, but\nyour lovely, vigorous, healthy youth. The hole in your head is hotter\nthan it need be--keep it properly cool with fresh water. Where do you\nlive, child?\"\n\n\"Almost half an hour from here,\" said Hannah, answering for Selene.\n\n\"She cannot be taken so far as that, even in a litter, at present,\" said\nthe old man.\n\n\"I must go home!\" cried Selene, resolutely, and trying to sit up.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" exclaimed the physician. \"I must forbid your moving at all.\nBe still, and be patient and obedient, or your foolish joke will come to\na bad end; fever has already set in, and it will increase by the evening.\nIt has nothing much to do with the leg, but all the more with the\ninflamed scalp-wound. Do you think,\" he added, turning to the widow,\n\"that perhaps a bed could be made here on which she might lie, and remain\nhere till the factory reopens?\"\n\n\"I would rather die,\" shrieked Selene, trying to draw away her foot from\nthe leech.\n\n\"Be still--be still, my dear child,\" said the good woman, soothingly. \"I\nknow where I can take you. My house is in a garden belonging to Paulina,\nthe widow of Pudeus, near this and close to the sea; it is not above a\nthousand paces off, and there you will have a soft couch and tender care.\nA good litter is waiting, and I should think--\"\n\n\"Even that is a good distance,\" said the old man. \"However, she cannot\npossibly be better cared for than by you, dame Hannah. Let us try it\nthen, and I will accompany you to lash those accursed bearers' skins if\nthey do not keep in step.\"\n\nSelene made no attempt to resist these orders, and willingly drank a\npotion which the old man gave her; but she cried to herself as she was\nlifted into the litter and her foot was carefully propped on pillows. In\nthe street, which they soon reached through a side door, she again almost\nlost consciousness, and half awake but half as in a dream, she heard the\nleech's voice as he cautioned the bearers to walk carefully, and saw the\npeople, and vehicles, and horsemen pass her on their way. Then she saw\nthat she was being carried through a large garden, and at last she dimly\nperceived that she was being laid on a bed. From that moment every thing\nwas merged in a dream, though the frequent convulsions of pain that\npassed over her features and now and then a rapid movement of her hand to\nthe cut in her head, showed that she was not altogether oblivious to the\nreality of her sufferings.\n\nDame Hannah sat by the bed, and carried out the physician's instructions\nwith exactness; he himself did not leave his patient till he was\nperfectly satisfied with her bed and her position. Mary stayed with the\nwidow helping her to wet handkerchiefs and to make bandages out of old\nlinen.\n\nWhen Selene began to breathe more calmly Hannah beckoned her assistant to\ncome close to her and asked in a low voice.\n\n\"Can you stay here till early to-morrow, we must take it in turns to\nwatch her, most likely for several nights--how hot this wound on her head\nis!\"\n\n\"Yes, I can stay, only I must tell my mother that she may not be\nfrightened.\"\n\n\"Quite right, and then you may undertake another commission for I cannot\nleave the poor child just now.\"\n\n\"Her people will be anxious about her.\"\n\n\"That is just where you must go; but no one besides us two must know who\nshe is. Ask for Selene's sister and tell her what has happened; if you\nsee her father tell him that I am taking care of his daughter, and that\nthe physician strictly forbids her moving or being moved. But he must not\nknow that Selene is one of us workers, so do not say a word about the\nfactory before him. If you find neither Arsinoe nor her father at home,\ntell any one that opens the door to you that I have taken the sick child\nin, and did it gladly. But about the workshop, do your hear, not a word.\nOne thing more, the poor girl would never have come down to the factory\nin spite of such pain, unless her family had been very much in need of\nher wages; so just give these drachmae to some one and say, as is\nperfectly true, that we found them about her person.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Enjoy the present day\n     Idleness had long since grown to be the occupation of his life\n     It was such a comfort once more to obey an order\n     Philosophers who wrote of the vanity of writers\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nPlutarch was one of the richest citizens of Alexandria, and the owner of\nthe papyrus manufactory where Selene and Arsinoe worked; and he had of\nhis own free will offered to provide for the \"suitable\" entertainment of\nthe wives and daughters of his fellow-citizens, who were, this very day,\nto assemble in one of the smaller theatres of the city. Every one that\nknew him, knew too that \"suitable\" with him meant as much as to say\nimperial splendor.\n\nThe ship-builder's daughter had prepared Arsinoe for grand doings, but by\nthe time she had reached the entrance only of the theatre her\nexpectations were exceeded, for as soon as she gave her father's name and\nher own, a boy, who looked out from an arbor of flowers gave her a\nmagnificent bunch of flowers, and another, who sat perched on a dolphin,\nhanded her, as a ticket of admission, a finely-cut ornament of ivory\nmounted in gold, with a pin, by which the invited owner was intended to\nfix it like a brooch in her peplum; and at each entrance to the theatre,\nthe ladies, as they came in, had a similar present made them.\n\nThe passage leading to the auditorium was full of perfume, and Arsinoe,\nwho had already visited this theatre two or three times, hardly\nrecognized it, it was so gaily decorated with colored scarfs. And who had\never seen ladies and young girls filling the best places instead of men,\nas was the case to-day? Indeed the citizens' daughters were in general\nnot permitted to see a theatrical performance at all, unless on very\nspecial and exceptional occasions. She looked up with a smile at the\nempty topmost rows of the cheapest seats of the semicircular auditorium,\nas one looks at an old playfellow one had outgrown by a head, for it was\nthere--when she had occasionally been permitted to dip into their scanty\ncommon purse--that she had almost fainted many a time, with pleasure,\nfear, or sympathy, though the draught so high up and under the open\nheaven which was the only roof, was incessantly blowing; and in summer\nthe discomforts were even greater from the awning which shaded the\namphitheatre on the sunny side. The wide breadths of canvas were managed\nby means of stout ropes, and when these were pulled through the rings\nthey rode in, they made a screech which compelled the bearer to stop his\nears; and often it was necessary to duck his head not to be hit by the\nheavy ropes or by the awning itself. But Arsinoe only remembered these\nthings to-day as a butterfly sporting in the sun may remember the hideous\npupa-case that it has burst and left behind it.\n\nRadiant with happy excitement, she was led to her seat with her young\ncompanion, the black-haired daughter of the shipwright. She perceived\nindeed that numerous eyes turned upon her, but that only added to her\npleasure, for she knew that she could well bear looking at, and there\ncould be no greater pleasure, as she thought, than to give pleasure to a\nmultitude.\n\nTo-day at any rate! For those who were looking at her were the chief\ncitizens of Alexandria; they stood on the stage, and among them stood\nkind tall Pollux, waving his hand to her. She could not keep her feet\nquiet, but she did contrive to keep her arms still by crossing them in\nfront of her, so that they might not betray how excited she was.\n\nThis distribution of parts had already begun, for, by waiting for Selene,\nshe had come in almost half an hour too late. As soon as she saw that the\neyes that had been attracted to herself as she entered the theatre had\nturned to other objects she herself looked round her. She was sitting on\na bench at the lowest and narrowest end of one of the wedge-shaped\nsections of seats, which grew wider at the upper end, and which were\ndivided from each other by gangways for those who came and went, thus\nforming the semicircular area of the auditorium.\n\nHere she was surrounded only by young girls and women who were to have a\npart or place in the performances. The places for these interested\npersons were divided from the stage by a space for the orchestra, whence\nthe stage was easily reached by steps up which the chorus were wont to\nmount to it.\n\nBehind Arsinoe, in the larger circular rows, sat the parents and husbands\nof the performers, among whom Keraunus, in his saffron robe, had taken a\nplace, besides a considerable number of sight-loving matrons and older\ncitizens who had accepted Plutarch's invitation.\n\nAmong the young women and girls Arsinoe saw several whose beauty struck\nher, but she admired them ungrudgingly, and it never came into her head\nto compare herself with them, for she knew very accurately that she was\npretty, and that even here she had nothing to conceal, and this was\nenough for her.\n\nThe many-voiced hum which incessantly buzzed in her ears, and the perfume\nwhich rose from the attar in the orchestra had something intoxicating in\nthem. Her gaze round the assembled multitude could not disturb any one,\nand her companion had found some friends with whom she was chattering and\nlaughing. Other ladies and young girls sat staring silently in front of\nthem, or studying the appearance of the rest of the audience, male and\nfemale; while others again concentrated their whole attention on the\nstage. Arsinoe soon followed this example, nor was this solely on account\nof Pollux who, by the prefect's orders, had been enlisted among the\nartists to whom the arrangement of the display was entrusted, in spite of\nthe objections of his master Papias. More than once before had she seen\nthe afternoon sun shine as brightly into the theatre as it did to-day,\nand the blue sky overarching it without a cloud, but with what different\nfeelings did she now direct her gaze to the raised level behind the\norchestra. The background, it is true, was the same as usual, the\npillared front of a palace built entirely of colored marbles, and\nornamented with gold; but on this occasion fresh garlands of fragrant\nflowers hung gracefully between the pilasters and across from column to\ncolumn. Several artists, the first of the city, with tablets and styla in\ntheir hands were moving about among fifty girls and ladies, and Plutarch\nhimself, and the gentlemen with him, composed, as it were a grand chorus\nwhich sometimes divided, and sometimes stood all together.\n\nOn the right side of the stage were three purple-covered couches. On one\nof them sat Titianus, the prefect, who, like the artists, used his\npencil; with him was his wife Julia. On another reclined Verus, at full\nlength, and as usual, crowned with roses; the third was for Plutarch, but\nwas unoccupied. The praetor did not hesitate to interrupt any speaker, as\nthough he were the host of the entertainment, and many of his remarks\nwere followed by loud applause, or approving laughter.\n\nThe face and figure of the wealthy Plutarch, which could never be\nforgotten, were not altogether strange to Arsinoe, for, a few days\npreviously he had shown himself for the first time in many years in his\npapyrus factory, with an architect to settle with him how the courts and\nrooms could best be cleaned and decorated for the reception of the\nEmperor; and on this occasion he had gone into the room where she worked\nand had pinched her cheek with a few roguish and flattering words.\n\nThere he was, walking across the stage. He was an old man, said to be\nabout seventy years of age, his legs were half-paralyzed, and they\nnevertheless moved with a series of incessant and rapid but unvoluntary\njerks under his heavy bowed body, and he was supported on either hand by\na tall young fellow. His nobly-formed head, must have been in his youth,\nof extraordinary beauty. Now his head was covered by a wig of long brown\nhair, his eyebrows and lashes were darkly dyed, his cheeks daubed with\nred and white paint, which gave his countenance a fixed expression, as if\nhe had been stricken in the very act of smiling. On his curls he wore a\nwreath of rare flowers in long racemes. An abundance of red and white\nroses stuck out from the front folds of his ample toga, and were held in\ntheir place by gold brooches, sparkling with precious stones of large\nsize. The hems of his mantle were all edged with rose-buds, and each was\nfastened in with an emerald that shone like some bright insect. The young\nmen who supported him seemed like a portion of himself; he took no more\nheed of them than if they had been crutches, and they needed not command\nto tell them where he wished to go, where to stand still, and where to\nrest.\n\nAt a distance his face was like that of a youth, but seen close it looked\nlike a painted plaster mask, with regular features and large movable\neyes.\n\nFavorinus, the sophist, had said of him that one might cry over his\nhandsome locomotive corpse, if one were not obliged to laugh at it, and\nit was said that he had himself declared that he would force his\nfaithless youth to remain with him. The Alexandrians called him the\nAdonis with six legs, on account of the lads who supported him, and\nwithout whom no one ever saw him and who always accompanied him when he\nwent out. The first time he heard this nickname he remarked: \"They had\nbetter have called me sixhanded;\" and in fact he had a thoroughly good\nheart, he was liberal and benevolent, took fatherly care of his\nwork-people, treated his slaves well, enriched those whom he set free,\nand from time to time distributed large sums among the people in money\nand in grain.\n\nArsinoe looked compassionately on the poor old man who could not buy back\nhis youth with all his money and all his art.\n\nIn the supercilious man who at once came up to Plutarch she recognized\nthe art-dealer Gabinius to whom her father had shown the door, on account\nof the mosaic picture in their sitting-room, but their conversation was\ninterrupted, for the distribution of the women's part for the group of\nAlexander's entry into Babylon, was now about to take place; about fifty\ngirls and young women were sent away from the stage and went down into\nthe orchestra. The Exegetes, the highest official in the town, now came\nforward and took a new list out of the hand of Papias the sculptor. After\nrapidly casting an eye on this, he handed it to a herald who followed\nhim, who proclaimed to all the assembly:\n\n\"In the name of the most noble Exegetes I request your attention, all you\nladies here assembled, the wives and daughters of Macedonians and of\nRoman citizens. We now come to a distribution of the characters in our\nrepresentation of the life and history of the great Macedonian, of the\n'Marriage of Alexander and Roxana,' and I hereby request those among you\nto come upon the stage whom our artists have selected to take part in\nthis scene in the procession.\" After this exordium he shouted in a deep\nand resonant voice a long list of names, and while this was going on\nevery other sound was hushed in the wide amphitheatre.\n\nEven on the stage all was still; only Verus whispered a few remarks to\nTitianus, and the curiosity-dealer spoke into Plutarch's ear, long\nsentences with the stringent emphasis which was peculiar to him; and the\nold man answered sometimes with an assenting nod, and sometimes with a\ndeprecatory motion of his hands.\n\nArsinoe listened with suspended breath to the herald's proclamation; she\nstarted and colored all over, with her eyes fixed on the bunch of flowers\nin her hand, when she heard from the stage loudly uttered and plain to be\nheard by all present:\n\n\"Arsinoe, the second daughter of Keraunus, the Macedonian and a Roman\ncitizen.\"\n\nThe ship-builder's daughter had already been called before her, and had\nimmediately left her seat, but Arsinoe waited modestly till some older\nladies rose. She then joined them and went among the last members of the\nlittle procession which went down to the orchestra and from thence up the\nsteps for the chorus, on to the stage.\n\nThere the ladies and young girls were placed in two ranks, and looked at\nwith amiable consideration by the artists. Arsinoe was not long in\nperceiving that these gentlemen looked at her longer and more often than\nat the others; and then, after the masters of the festival had gone aside\nin groups to discuss the matter they looked at her constantly and were\ntalking, she felt sure, about her. Nor did it escape her that she had\nbecome the centre of many glances from the lookers-on who were sitting in\nthe theatre, and it occurred to her that on several sides people were\npointing at her with their fingers. She did not know which way she should\nlook and began to feel bashful; still she was pleased at being remarked\nby so many people, and as she stood looking at the ground out of sheer\nembarrassment to hide the delight she felt, Verus, who had gone up to the\ngroup of artists, called out, putting his hand on the prefect's arm.\n\n\"Charming-charming! a Roxana that might have sprung straight out of the\npicture.\"\n\nArsinoe heard these words, and guessing that they referred to her she\nbecame more confused than ever, while her awkward smile gradually changed\nto an expression of joyful but anxious expectation of a delight which was\nalmost painful in its magnitude.\n\nNow one of the artists pronounced her name, and as she ventured to raise\nher eyes to see if it were not Pollux who had spoken, she observed the\nwealthy Plutarch who, with his two living crutches and Gabinius, the lean\ncuriosity-dealer, was inspecting the ranks of her companions. Presently\nhe had come quite close to her, and as he was helped towards her with\ntottering steps, he dug the dealer in the ribs and said, kissing the back\nof his hand, and winking his great eyes: \"I know--I know! It is not\neasily forgotten. Ivory and red coral!\"\n\nArsinoe started, the blood left her cheeks, and all satisfaction fled\nfrom her heart when the old man came to a stand-still in front of her,\nand said kindly:\n\n\"Ah! ah! a bud out of the papyrus factory among all these proud roses and\nlilies. Ah! ah! out of my work-rooms to join my assembly! Never\nmind-never mind, beauty is everywhere welcome. I do not ask how you got\nhere. I am only glad that you are here.\"\n\nArsinoe covered part of her face with her hand, but he tapped her white\narm three times with his middle finger, and then tottered on laughing to\nhimself. The dealer had caught Plutarch's words, and asked him, when they\nhad gone a few steps from Arsinoe, with eager indignation:\n\n\"Did I hear you rightly? a work-woman in your factory, and here among our\ndaughters?\"\n\n\"So it is--two busy hands among so many idle ones,\" said the old man,\ngaily.\n\n\"Then she must have forced her way in, and must be turned out.\"\n\n\"Certainly she shall not--Why, she is charming.\"\n\n\"It is revolting! here, in this assembly!\"\n\n\"Revolting?\" interrupted Plutarch. \"Oh dear, no! we must not be too\nparticular. And how are we to obtain mere children from you\nantiquity-mongers?\" Then he added pleasantly:\n\n\"This lovely creature must I should think, delight your fine sense of\nbeauty; or are you afraid that she may seem better suited to the part of\nRoxana than your own charming daughter? Only listen to the men up there!\nLet us see what is going on.\"\n\nThese words referred to a loud discussion which had arisen close by the\ncouches of the prefect and Verus, the praetor. They, and with them most\nof the painters and sculptors present, were of opinion that Arsinoe would\nbe a wonderfully effective Roxana; they maintained that her face and\nfigure answered perfectly to those of the Bactrian princes as they were\nrepresented by Action, whose picture was, to a certain extent, to serve\nas the basis of the living group. Only Papias and two of his\nfellow-artists, declared against this choice, and eagerly asserted that\namong all the damsels present one, and one alone, was worthy to appear\nbefore the Emperor as Alexander's bride, and that one was Praxilla, the\ndaughter of Gabinius. All three were in close business relations with the\nfather of the young girl, who was tall, and slim, and certainly very\nlovely, and they wanted to do a pleasure to the rich and knowing\npurchaser. Their zeal even assumed a tone of vehemence, when the dealer,\nfollowing in the wake of Plutarch, joined the group of disputants, and\nthey were certain of being heard by him.\n\n\"And who is this girl yonder?\" asked Papias, pointing to Arsinoe, as the\ntwo came up. \"Nothing can be said against her beauty, but she is dressed\nless than simply, and wears no kind of ornament worth speaking of--it is\na thousand to one against her parents being in a position to provide her\nwith such a rich dress, and such costly jewels as Roxana certainly ought\nto display when about to be married to Alexander. The Asiatic princess\nmust appear in silk, gold and precious stones. Now my friend here will be\nable so to dress his Praxilla that the splendor of her attire might have\nastonished the great Macedonian himself, but who is the father of that\npretty child who is satisfied with the blue ribbon in her hair, her two\nroses, and her little white frock?\"\n\n\"Your reflections are just, Papias,\" interrupted the dealer, with dry\nincisiveness. \"The girl you are speaking of is quite out of the question.\nI do not say so for my daughter's sake, but because everything in bad\ntaste is odious to me; it is hardly conceivable how such a young thing\ncould have had the audacity to force herself in here. A pretty face, to\nbe sure, opens locks and bars. She is--do not be too much startled--she\nis nothing more than a work-girl in the papyrus factory of our excellent\nhost, Plutarch.\"\n\n\"That is not the truth,\" Pollux interrupted, indignantly, as he heard\nthis assertion.\n\n\"Moderate your tongue, young man,\" replied the dealer. \"I can call you to\nwitness, noble Plutarch.\"\n\n\"Let her be whom she may,\" answered the old man, with annoyance. \"She is\nvery one of my workwomen, but even if she had come straight here from the\ngumming-table with such a face and such a figure, she is perfectly in\nplace here and everywhere. That is my opinion.\"\n\n\"Bravo! my fine friend!\" cried Verus, nodding to the old man. \"Caesar\nwill be far better pleased with such a paragon of charmers as that sweet\ncreature, than with all your old writs of citizenship and heavy purses.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" the prefect said, confirming this statement. \"And I dare\nswear she is a free maiden, and not a slave. But you stood up for her\nfriend Pollux--what do you know about her?\"\n\n\"That she is the daughter of Keraunus, the palace-steward, and that I\nhave known her from her childhood,\" answered the youthful artist\nemphatically. \"He is a Roman citizen, and of an old Macedonian house as\nwell.\"\n\n\"Perhaps even of royal descent,\" added Titianus, laughing.\n\n\"I know the man,\" answered the dealer hastily. \"He is an impecunious\ninsolent old fool.\"\n\n\"I should think,\" interrupted Verus with lofty composure, but rather as\nbeing bored, than as reproving the irritated speaker, \"it seems to me\nthat this is hardly the place to conduct a discussion as to the nature\nand disposition of the fathers of all those ladies and young girls.\"\n\n\"But he is poor,\" cried the dealer angrily. \"A few days since he offered\nto sell me his few miserable curiosities, but really I could not--\"\n\n\"We are sorry for your sake if the transaction was unsuccessful,\" Verus\nagain interposed, this time with excessive politeness. \"Now, first let us\ndecide on the persons and afterwards on the costumes. The father of the\ngirl is a Roman citizen then?\"\n\n\"A member of the council, and in his way a man of position,\" replied\nTitianus.\n\n\"And I,\" added his wife Julia, \"have taken a great fancy to the sweet\nlittle maid, and if the principal part is given to her, and her noble\nfather is without adequate means, as you assert my friend, I will\nundertake to provide for her costume. Caesar will be charmed with such a\nRoxana.\"\n\nThe dealer's clients were silent, he himself was trembling with\ndisappointment and vexation, and his fury rose to the utmost when\nPlutarch, whom till then he thought he had won over to his daughter's\nside, tried to bow his bent old body before dame Julia, and said with a\ngraceful gesture of regret:\n\n\"My old eyes have deceived me again on this occasion. The little girl is\nvery like one of my workwomen; very like--but I see now that there is a\ncertain something which the other lacks. I have done her an injustice and\nremain her debtor. Permit, me, noble lady to add the ornaments to the\ndress you provide for our Roxana. I may be lucky enough to find something\npretty for her. A sweet child! I shall go at once and beg her forgiveness\nand tell her what we propose. May I do so noble Julia? Have I your\npermission gentlemen?\"\n\nIn a very few minutes it was known all over the stage, and soon after all\nthrough the amphitheatre, that Arsinoe, the daughter of Keraunus, had\nbeen selected to represent the character of Roxana.\n\n\"But who was Keraunus?\"\n\n\"How was it that the children of the most illustrious and wealthy\ncitizens had been overlooked in assigning this most prominent part?\"\n\n\"This was just what might be expected when every thing was left to those\nreckless artists!\"\n\n\"And where was a poor little girl like that to find the talents which it\nwould cost to procure the costume of an Asiatic princess, Alexander's\nbride?\"\n\n\"Plutarch, and the prefect's wife had undertaken that.\"\n\n\"A mere beggar.\"\n\n\"How well the family jewels would have suited our daughters!\"\n\n\"Do we want to show Caesar nothing but a few silly pretty faces?--and not\nsomething of our wealth and taste?\"\n\n\"Supposing Hadrian asks who this Roxana is, and had to be told that a\ncollection had to be made to get her a proper costume.\"\n\n\"Such things never could happen anywhere but in Alexandria.\"\n\n\"Every one wants to know whether she worked in Plutarch's factory. They\nsay it is not true--but the painted old villain still loves a pretty\nface. He smuggled her in, you may be sure; where there is smoke there is\nfire, and it is beyond a doubt that she gets money from the old man.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"Ah! you had better enquire of a priest of Aphrodite. It is nothing to\nlaugh at, it is scandalous, audacious!\"\n\nThus and on this wise ran the comments with which the announcement of\nArsinoe's preferment to the part of Roxana was received, and hatred and\nbitter animosity had grown up in the souls of the dealer and his\ndaughter. Praxilla was selected as a companion to Alexander's bride, and\nshe yielded without objecting, but on her way homewards she nodded assent\nwhen her father said:\n\n\"Let things go on now as they may, but a few hours before the performance\nbegins, I will send them word that you are ill.\"\n\nThe selection of Arsinoe had however, on the other hand, given pleasure\nas well as pain. Up in the middle places in the amphitheatre sat\nKeraunus, his legs far apart, his face glowing, panting and choking with\nsheer delight, and too haughty to draw in his feet even when the brother\nof the archidikastes tried to squeeze by his bulky person which filled\ntwo seats at once. Arsinoe, whose sharp ears had not failed to catch the\ndealer's remonstrances, and the words in which brave Pollux had taken her\npart, had, at first, felt dying of shame and terror, but now she felt as\nthough she could fly on the wings of her delight. She had never been so\nhappy in her life, and when she got out with her father, in the first\ndark street she threw her arms round his neck, kissed both his cheeks,\nand then told him how kind the lady Julia, the prefect's wife had been to\nher, and that she had undertaken, with the warmest friendliness, to have\nher costly dress made for her.\n\nKeraunus had no objection to offer, and, strange to say, he did not\nconsider it beneath his dignity to allow Arsinoe to be supplied with\njewels by the wealthy manufacturer.\n\n\"People have seen,\" he said, pathetically, \"that we need not shrink from\ndoing as much as other citizens do, but to dress a Roxana as befits a\nbride would cost millions, and I am very willing to confess to my friends\nthat I have not millions. Where the costume comes from is all the same,\nbe that as it may you will still stand the first of all the maidens in\nthe city, and I am pleased with you for that, my child. To-morrow will be\nthe last meeting, and then perhaps Selene too, may have a prominent part\ngiven to her. Happily we are able to dress her as befits. When will the\nprefect's wife fetch you?\"\n\n\"To-morrow about noon.\"\n\n\"Then early to-morrow buy a nice new dress.\"\n\n\"Will there not be enough for a new bracelet too?\" asked Arsinoe,\ncoaxingly. \"This one of mine is too narrow and trumpery.\"\n\n\"You shall have one, for you have deserved it,\" replied Keraunus, with\ndignity. \"But you must have patience till the day after to-morrow;\nto-morrow the goldsmiths will be closed on account of the festival.\"\n\nArsinoe had never seen her father so cheerful and talkative as he was\nto-day, and yet the walk from the theatre to Lochias was not a very short\none, and it was long past the early hour at which he was accustomed to\nretire to bed.\n\nBy the time the father and daughter reached the palace it was already\ntolerably late, for, after Arsinoe had quitted the stage, suitable\nrepresentatives of parts had been selected for three other scenes from\nthe life of Alexander, by the light of torches, lamps and tapers; and\nbefore the assemblage broke up, Plutarch's guests were entertained with\nwine, fruit, syrups, sweet cakes, oyster pasties, and other delicacies.\nThe steward had fallen with good will on the noble drink and excellent\nfood, and when he was replete, he was wont to be in a better humor, and\nafter a modicum of wine, in a more cheerful mood than usual. Just now he\nwas content and kind, for although he had done all that lay in his power,\nthe entertainment had not lasted long enough, for him to arrive at a\nstate of intoxication which could make him surly, or to overload his\ndigestion. Towards the end of their walk, he turned thoughtful and said:\n\n\"To-morrow the council does not sit on account of the festival, and that\nis well; all the world will congratulate me, question me, and notice me,\nand the gilding on my circlet is quite shabby; and in some places the\nsilver shines through. Your outfit will now cost nothing, and it is quite\nnecessary that before the next meeting I should go to a goldsmith and\nexchange that wretched thing for one of real gold. A man should show what\nhe is.\"\n\nHe spoke the words pompously, and Arsinoe eagerly acquiesced, and only\nbegged him, as they went in at the open door, to leave enough for\nSelene's costume; he laughed quietly to himself, and said:\n\n\"We need no longer be so very cautious. I should like to know who the\nAlexander will be who will be the first to ask for my Roxana as his wife.\nRich old Plutarch's only son already has a seat in the council, and has\nnot yet taken a wife. He is no longer very young, but he is a fine man\nstill.\"\n\nThe radiant father's dream of the future was interrupted by Doris, who\ncame out of the gate-house and called him by his name. Keraunus stood\nstill. When the old woman went on:\n\n\"I must speak with you.\"\n\nHe answered, repellently: \"But I shall not listen to you--neither now nor\nat any time.\"\n\n\"It was certainly not for my pleasure,\" retorted Doris, \"that I called to\nyou; I have only to tell you that you will not find your daughter Selene\nat home.\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" cried Keraunus.\n\n\"I say that the poor girl with her damaged foot could at last walk no\nfarther, and that she had to be carried into a strange house where she is\nbeing taken care of.\"\n\n\"Selene!\" cried Arsinoe, falling from all her clouds of happiness,\nstartled and grieved--\"do you know where she is?\"\n\nBefore Doris could reply, Keraunus stormed out:\n\n\"It is all the fault of the Roman architect and his raging beast of a\ndog. Very good! very good! now Caesar will certainly help me to my\nrights. He will give a lesson to those who throw Roxana's sister into a\nsick-bed, and hinder her from taking any part in the processions. Very\ngood! very good indeed!\"\n\n\"It is sad enough to cry over!\" said the gatekeeper's wife, indignantly.\n\"Is this the thanks she gets for all her care of her little brothers and\nsisters! Only to think that a father can speak so, when his best child is\nlying with a broken leg, helpless among strangers!\"\n\n\"With a broken leg,\" whimpered Arsinoe.\n\n\"Broken!\" repeated Keraunus slowly, and now sincerely anxious. \"Where can\nI find her?\"\n\n\"At dame Hannah's little house at the bottom of the garden belonging to\nthe widow of Pudeus.\"\n\n\"Why did they not bring her here?\"\n\n\"Because the physician forbade it. She is in a fever, but she is well\ncared for. Hannah is one of the Christians. I cannot bear the people, but\nthey know how to nurse the sick better than any one.\"\n\n\"With Christians! my child is with Christians!\" shrieked Keraunus, beside\nhimself. \"At once Arsinoe, at once come with me; Selene shall not stay a\nmoment longer among that accursed rabble. Eternal gods! besides all our\nother troubles this disgrace too!\"\n\n\"Nay, it is not so bad as that,\" said Doris soothingly. \"There are very\nestimable folks even among the Christians. At any rate they are certainly\nhonorable, for the poor hunch-backed creature who first brought the bad\nnews gave me this little bag of money which dame Hannah had found in\nSelene's pocket.\"\n\nKeraunus took his daughter's hard-won wages as contemptuously as though\nhe was quite accustomed to gold, and thought nothing of more wretched\nsilver; but Arsinoe began to cry at the sight of the drachmae, for she\nknew it was for the sake of that money that Selene had left her home, and\ncould divine what frightful pain she must have suffered on the way.\n\n\"Honorable this, and honorable that!\" cried Keraunus, as he tied up his\nmoney-bag. \"I know well enough how shameless are the goings on in\nassemblies of that stamp; kissing and hugging slaves! quite the right\nsort of thing for my daughter! Come Arsinoe, let us find a litter at\nonce!\"\n\n\"No, no!\" exclaimed Doris eagerly. \"For the present you must leave her in\npeace. I should be glad to conceal it from you as a father--but the\nphysician declared it might cost her her life if she were not left just\nnow in perfect quiet. No one goes to any kind of assembly with a burning\nwound in the head, a high fever and a broken leg.--Poor dear child!\"\n\nKeraunus stood silent in grave consternation, while Arsinoe exclaimed\nthrough her tears:\n\n\"But I must go to her, I must see her Doris.\"\n\n\"That I cannot blame you for, my pretty one,\" said the old woman. I have\nalready been to the house of the Christians, but they would not let me in\nto see the patient. With you it is rather different as you are her\nsister.\"\n\n\"Come father,\" begged Arsinoe, \"first let us see to the children, and\nthen you shall come with me to see Selene. Oh! why did I not go with her.\nOh! if she should die.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nKeraunus and his daughter reached their rooms less quickly than usual,\nfor the steward dreaded a fresh attack from the blood-hound, which,\nto-night however, was sharing Antinous' room. They found the old\nslavewoman up, and in great excitement, for she loved Selene, she was\nfrightened at her absence, and in the children's sleeping-room all was\nnot as it should be.\n\nArsinoe went without delay to see the little ones, but the black woman\nremained with her master, and told him with many tears, while he\nexchanged his saffron-colored pallium for an old cloak, that the joy of\nher heart, little blind Helios had been ill, and could not sleep, even\nafter she had given him some of the drops which Keraunus himself was\naccustomed to take.\n\n\"Idiotic animal!\" exclaimed Keraunus, \"to give my medicine to the child,\"\nand he kicked off his new shoes to replace them with shabbier ones. \"If\nyou were younger I would have you flogged.\"\n\n\"But you did say the drops were good,\" stammered the old woman.\n\n\"For me,\" shouted the steward, and without fastening his shoe-straps\nround his ankles, so that they flapped and pattered on the ground, he\nhurried off into the children's room. There sat his darling blind child,\nhis 'neir' as he liked to call him, with his pretty, fair, curly head\nresting on Arsinoe's breast. The child recognized his step, and began his\nlittle lament:\n\n\"Selene was away, and I was frightened, and I feel so sick, so sick.\"\n\nThe steward laid his hand on the child's forehead, and feeling how hot it\nwas he began to walk restlessly up and down by the little bed.\n\n\"That is just how it always happens,\" he said. \"When one misfortune comes\nanother always follows. Look at him Arsinoe. Do you remember how the\nfever took poor Berenice? Sickness, uneasiness, and a burning\nhead.--Have you any pain in your head my boy?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Helios, \"but I feel so sick.\"\n\nThe steward opened the child's little shirt to see if he had any spots on\nhis breast, but Arsinoe said, as she bent over him:\n\n\"It is nothing much, he has only overloaded his stomach. The stupid old\nwoman gives him every thing he asks for, and she let him have half of the\ncurrant cake, which we sent her to fetch before we went out.\"\n\n\"But his head is burning,\" repeated Keraunus.\n\n\"He will be quite well again by to-morrow morning,\" replied Arsinoe. \"Our\npoor Selene needs us far snore than he does. Come father. The old woman\ncan stay with him.\"\n\n\"I want Selene to come,\" whimpered the child. \"Pray, pray, do not leave\nme alone again.\"\n\n\"Your old father will stay with you my pet,\" said Keraunus tenderly, for\nit cut him to the soul to see this child suffer. \"You none of you know\nwhat this boy is to us all.\"\n\n\"He will soon go to sleep,\" Arsinoe asserted. \"Do let us go, or it will\nbe too late.\"\n\n\"And leave the old woman to commit some other stupid blunder?\" cried\nKeraunus. \"It is my duty to stay with the poor little boy. You can go to\nyour sister and take the old woman with you.\"\n\n\"Very good, and to-morrow early I will come back.\"\n\n\"To-morrow morning?\" said Keraunus surprised. \"No, no, that will not do.\nDoris said just now that Selene will be well nursed by the Christians.\nOnly see how she is, give her my love, and then come back.\"\n\n\"But father--\"\n\n\"Besides you must remember that the prefect's wife expects you to-morrow\nat noon to choose the stuff for your dress, and you must not look as if\nyou had been sitting up all night.\"\n\n\"I will rest a little while in the morning.\"\n\n\"In the morning? And how about curling my hair? And your new frock? And\npoor little Helios?--No child, you are only just to see Selene and then\ncome back again. Early in the morning too the holiday will have begun,\nand you know what goes on then; the old woman would be of no use to you\nin the throng. Go and see how Selene is, you are not to stay.\"\n\n\"I will see--\"\n\n\"Not a word about seeing--you come home again. I desire it; in two hours\nyou are to be in bed.\"\n\nArsinoe shrugged her shoulders, and two minutes after she was standing\nwith the old slave-woman in front of the gate-house.\n\nA broad beam of light still fell through the half-open door of the bowery\nlittle room, so Euphorion and Doris had not retired to rest and could at\nonce open the palace-gate for her. The Graces set up a bark as Arsinoe\ncrossed the threshold of her old friends' house, but they did not leave\ntheir cushion for they soon recognized her.\n\nIt was several years since Arsinoe, in obedience to her father's strict\nprohibition had set foot in the snug the house, and her heart was deeply\ntouched as she saw again all the surroundings she had loved as a child,\nand had not forgotten as she grew into girlhood. There were the birds,\nthe little dogs, and the lutes on the wall near the Apollo. On worthy\ndame Doris' table there had always been something to eat, and there, now,\ngood a lovely, golden-brown cake, by the side of the wine-jar. How often\nas a child had she sneaked in to beg a sweet morsel, how often to see\nwhether tall Pollux were not there, Pollux, whose bold devices and\noriginal suggestions, gave his work and his play alike, the stamp of\ngenius, and lent them a peculiar charm. And there sat her saucy\nplayfellow in person, his legs stretched at full length in front of him,\nand talking, eagerly. Arsinoe heard him relating the end of the history\nof her being chosen for Roxana, and caught her own name, graced with such\nepithets as brought the blushes to her cheeks, and gave her double\npleasure because he could not guess that she could overhear them. From a\nboy he had grown to a man, and a fine man, and a great artist--but he was\nstill the old kind and audacious Pollux.\n\nThe sudden leap with which he sprang from his seat to welcome her, the\nfrank laughter with which he several times interrupted her speech, the\nchildlike loving way in which he held his arm round his little mother\nwhile he greeted her, and asked why she was going out so late, the\nwinning, touching tone of his voice as he expressed his regret at\nSelene's mishaps--all went home to Arsinoe as a thing known and loved, of\nwhich she had long been deprived, and she clung to the two strong hands\nhe held out to her. If at that moment he had taken her up, and clasped\nher to his heart before the very eyes of Eupliorion and his mother she\nreally would have been incapable of resisting him.\n\nIt was with a heavy heart that Arsinoe had gone into dame Doris, but in\nthe gate-keeper's house there reigned an atmosphere in which care and\nanxiety could not breathe, and the light-hearted girl's vision of her\nsister as tormented with pain and threatened with danger was changed in a\nwonderfully short time to that of a sufferer comfortably in bed, with\nonly a severely-injured foot. In the place of consuming anxiety she felt\nonly hearty sympathy, and this sounded in her voice as she begged the\nsinger Euphorion to open the gate for her, because she wanted to go out\nwith her slave-woman to ascertain how Selene was.\n\nDoris soothed her, repeating her assurance that the patient would be\nnursed with the utmost care in dame Hannah's hands; still, she thought\nher wish to see her sister very justifiable, and eagerly seconded Pollux\nwhen he entreated Arsinoe to accept his escort; for the festival would be\nbeginning soon after midnight, the streets would be full of rough and\nimpudent people, and a bunch of feathers would be about as much use\nagainst the drunken slaves as her black scarecrow, who had been falling\ninto decrepitude even before she had done the stupidest deed of her life\nand roused the steward's anger against herself.\n\nSo they went along the dark streets which grew full of people the farther\nthey went, side by side in silence. Presently Pollux said:\n\n\"Put your arm through mine; you ought to feel that I am protecting you,\nand I--I should like to feel at every step that I have found you once\nmore, and am allowed to be near you--so sweet a creature.\"\n\nThe words did not sound impertinent, on the contrary, they sounded very\nmuch in earnest, and the sculptor's deep voice trembled with emotion as\nhe spoke them with deep tenderness. They knocked at the door of the\ngirl's heart with the urgent hand of love; she unhesitatingly put her\nhand through his arm and answered softly:\n\n\"You will take care of me now.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, and he took her little hand, which rested on his right\narm, in his left hand. She did not draw it away, and after they had gone\non thus for a few paces he sighed and said:\n\n\"Do you know how I feel?\"\n\n\"Well!\"\n\n\"Nay, I myself cannot put it into words. Rather as if I had triumphed in\nthe Olympian games, or as if Caesar had invested me with the purple!--But\nwho cares for the wealth or the purple! You are hanging on my arm, and I\nhave hold of your hand; compared with this, all is as nought. If it were\nnot for the people about I--I do not know what I could do.\"\n\nShe looked up at him with happy content, but he lifted her hand to his\nlips and pressed it to them long and fervently. Then he let it go again\nand said, with a sigh that came up from the bottom of his heart:\n\n\"Oh Arsinoe, my sweet Arsinoe, how I love you!\"\n\nAs the words came softly yet hotly from his lips the girl clasped his arm\nclosely to her bosom, leaned her head on his shoulder, looked up at him\nwith a wide-eyed, tender gaze, and said softly:\n\n\"Oh Pollux, I am so happy, the world is so good!\"\n\n\"Nay, I could hate it!\" cried the sculptor. \"To hear this--and to have an\nold mother wide awake at home, and to be obliged to walk steadily on in a\nstreet crowded with men--it is unendurable! I shall not hold out much\nlonger--sweetest of girls--here it is quiet and dark.\"\n\nYes, in a little nook made by two contiguous houses, and into which\nPollux drew Arsinoe, it was pitch dark, as he hastily pressed his first\nkiss on her innocent lips; but in their hearts it was light-radiant\nsunshine.\n\nShe had thrown her arms round his neck and would willingly have clung to\nhim till day should end; but they heard the approach of a noisy\nprocession of slaves. These unfortunate creatures began soon after\nmidnight singing and shouting so as to avail themselves to the extremist\nlimit of the holiday, which released them for a short time from their\ntasks and duties; Pollux knew well how unbounded the license of their\npleasures could be, and as he walked on with Arsinoe he enjoined her to\nkeep with him as close as possible to the houses.\n\n\"How jolly they are!\" he said pointing to the merry-makers. \"Their\nmasters will wait on themselves a little to-day, and the best day in the\nyear is just beginning for them, but for us the best day in all our\nlives.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" cried Arsinoe, and she clasped his strong arm with both her\nhands.\n\nThen they both laughed merrily, for Pollux had noticed that the old\nslave-woman had gone on past them with her head sunk on her breast, and\nwas following another pair.\n\n\"I will call her,\" Arsinoe said.\n\n\"No, no, let her be,\" said the artist. \"The couple in front certainly\nrequire her protection more than we do.\"\n\n\"But how could she possibly mistake that little man for you?\" laughed\nArsinoe.\n\n\"I wish I were a little smaller,\" replied Pollux with a sigh. \"Only\npicture to yourself the vast amount of burning love and tormenting\nlonging that can be contained in so large a body as mine!\" She slapped\nhim on the arm, and to punish her he hastily pressed his lips on her\nforehead.\n\n\"Don't--think of the people,\" she said reprovingly, but he gaily\nanswered:\n\n\"It is not a misfortune to be envied.\"\n\nHere the streets came to an end, and they found themselves in front of\nthe garden belonging to Pudeus' widow; Pollux knew it, for Paulina who\nowned it was the sister of Pontius, the architect, who himself owned a\nmagnificent house in the city. But could it be possible? Had invisible\nhands brought them here already? The gate of the enclosure was locked.\nPollux roused a porter, told him what he wanted, and was conducted by him\nwith Arsinoe to apart of the grounds where a bright light shone out from\ndame Hannah's little abode, for he had had instructions to admit the sick\ngirl's friends even during the night.\n\nA crescent moon lighted the paths, which were strewed with shells; the\nshrubs and trees in the garden threw sharply-defined shadows on their\ngleaming whiteness, the sea sparkled brightly, and as soon as the porter\nhad left the happy young pair together, and they found themselves in a\nshadowy alley, Pollux said, opening his arms to the girl:\n\n\"Now--one more kiss, just for a remembrance, while I wait.\"\n\n\"Not now,\" begged Arsinoe.\n\n\"I am no longer happy since we came in here. I cannot help thinking of\npoor Selene.\"\n\n\"I have not a word to say against that,\" replied Pollux submissively.\n\"Then when waiting is over may I have my reward?\"\n\n\"No, no, now, at once,\" cried Arsinoe throwing herself on his breast, and\nthen she hurried towards the house.\n\nHe followed her, and when she paused in front of a brightly-lighted\nwindow on the ground floor, he stopped also. They both looked in on a\nlofty and spacious room, kept in the most perfect order and cleanliness;\nit had one door only opening on the roofless forecourt of the house; the\nwalls of the room were plainly painted of a light green color, and the\nonly ornament it contained was one piece of carved work over the door.\n\nOn the farther side stood the bed on which Selene was lying; a few paces\nfrom it sat the deformed girl asleep, while dame Hannah softly went up to\nthe patient with a wet compress in her hand which she carefully laid on\nher head.\n\nPollux touched Arsinoe and whispered to her:\n\n\"Your sister lies there in her sleep like an Ariadne deserted by\nDionysus. How wretched she will feel when she comes to herself.\"\n\n\"She looks to me less pale than usual.\"\n\n\"Look now, how she bends her arm, and what a lovely attitude as she puts\nher hand to her head!\"\n\n\"Go--\" said Arsinoe. \"You ought not to be spying here.\"\n\n\"Directly, directly--but if you were lying there no power should stir me\nfrom the spot. How carefully Hannah lifts the wet wrapper from her poor\nbroken ankle. You could not touch your eye more gently than the good\nwoman handles Selene's foot.\"\n\n\"Go back, she is looking straight this way.\"\n\n\"What a wonderful face! It would do for a Penelope, but there is\nsomething singular in her eyes. Now if I had to make another star-gazing\nUrania, or a Sappho full of the deity, and with eyes fixed on the heavens\nin poetic rapture, that is what I would put into her! She is no longer\nyoung, but how pure her face is! It is like a sky when the wind has swept\nit clear of clouds.\"\n\n\"Seriously you must go now,\" said Arsinoe drawing away her hand, which he\nhad again taken. Pollux saw that his praise of another woman's beauty\nannoyed her, and he said soothingly:\n\n\"Be easy child. You have not your match here in Alexandria, no, nor so\nfar as Greek is spoken. A perfectly clear sky is certainly not the most\nbeautiful to my taste. Pure light, and pure blue, give no satisfaction to\nthe artist, it is only behind a few moving clouds, lighted up by changing\ngleams of gold and silver, that the firmament has any true charm, and\nthough your face too is like heaven to me it does not lack sweet\nmovement, never twice alike. Now this matron--\"\n\n\"Only look,\" interrupted Arsinoe, \"how tenderly dame Hannah bends over\nSelene, and now she is gently kissing her brow. No mother could tend her\nown daughter more lovingly. I have known her for a long time; she is\ngood, very good; it is hardly credible for she is a Christian.\"\n\n\"The cross up there over the door,\" said Pollux \"is the token by which\nthese extraordinary people recognize each other.\"\n\n\"And what is signified by the dove and fish and anchor round it?\" asked\nArsinoe.\n\n\"They are emblems of the mysteries of the Christians,\" replied Pollux. \"I\ndo not understand them; the things are wretchedly painted; the adherents\nof the crucified God contemn all art, and particularly my branch of it,\nfor they hate all images of the gods.\"\n\n\"And yet among such blasphemers we find such good men; I will go in at\nonce; Hannah is wetting another handkerchief.\"\n\n\"And how unwearied and kind she looks as she does it; still there is\nsomething strange, deserted, and graceless in this large bare room. I\nshould not like to live there.\"\n\n\"Have you noticed the faint scent of lavender that comes through the\nwindow?\"\n\n\"Long since--there your sister is moving and has opened her eyes--now she\nhas shut them again.\"\n\n\"Go back into the garden and wait till I come,\" Arsinoe commanded him\ndecidedly. \"I will only see how Selene is going on; I will not stop long\nfor my father wishes me to return soon, and no one can nurse her better\nthan Hannah!\"\n\nThe girl drew her hand out of her lover's and knocked at the door of the\nlittle house; it was opened and the widow herself led Arsinoe to the\nbedside of her sister. Pollux at first sat a while on a bench in the\ngarden, but soon sprang up and paced with long steps the path he had\npreviously trodden with Arsinoe. A stone table across the path, brought\nhim to a stand-still, and he took a fancy for leaping it. The third time\nhe came up to it he sprang over it with a long jump. But no sooner had he\ndone the frolicsome deed than he paused, shook his head at himself and\nmuttered to himself: \"Like a boy!\"--He felt indeed like a happy child.\nBut as he waited he became calmer and graver. He acknowledged to himself,\nwith sincere thankfulness, that he had now found the ideal woman, of whom\nhe had dreamed in his hours of best inspiration, and that she was his,\nwholly and alone. And after all, what was he? A poor rascal who had many\nmouths to fill, and was no more than two fingers of his master's hand.\nThis must be altered. He would not reduce his sister's comforts in any\nway but he must break with Papias, and stand henceforth on his own feet.\nHis courage mounted fast, and when at last, Arsinoe returned from her\nsister, he had resolved that he must first finish Balbilla's bust with\nall diligence in his own workshop, and that then he would model his\nbeloved; these two female heads he could not fail in. Caesar must see\nthem, they must be exhibited, and already in his mind's eye, he saw\nhimself refusing order after order, and accepting only the most splendid\nwhere all were good.\n\nArsinoe went home comforted. Selene's sufferings were certainly less than\nshe had pictured them; she did not wish to be nursed by any one besides\ndame Hannah. She might perhaps have a little fever, but any one who was\ncapable of discussing every little question of house-keeping, and all\nthat related to the children could not be--as Arsinoe thought while she\nwalked back through the garden, leaning on the artist's arm--really and\nproperly ill.\n\n\"It must revive and delight her to have Roxana for a sister!\" cried\nPollux; but his pretty companion shook her head and said: \"She is always\nso odd; what most delights me is averse to her.\"\n\n\"Well Selene is of course the moon, and you are the sun.\"\n\n\"And what are you?\" asked Arsinoe.\n\n\"I am tall Pollux, and to-night I feel as if I might some day be great\nPollux.\"\n\n\"If you succeed I shall grow with you.\"\n\n\"That will be your right, since it is only through you that I can ever\nsucceed in that which I propose to do.\n\n\"And how should a simple little thing, such as I am, be able to help an\nartist?\"\n\n\"By living, and by loving him,\" cried the sculptor, lifting her up in his\narms before she could prevent him.\n\nOutside the garden-gate the old slave-woman was sitting asleep. She had\nlearnt from the porter that her young mistress had been admitted with her\ncompanion, but she herself had been forbidden to enter the grounds. A\ncurbstone had served her for a seat, and as she waited her eyes had\nclosed, in spite of the increasing noise in the street. Arsinoe did not\nwaken her, but asked Pollux, with a roguish laugh:\n\n\"We shall find our way alone, shall we not?\"\n\n\"If Eros does not lead us astray,\" answered the artist. And so, as they\nwent on their way, they jested and exchanged little tender speeches.\n\nThe nearer they got to Lochias and to the main lines of traffic which\nintersected at right angles the Canopic way--the widest and longest road\nin the city--the fuller was the stream of people that flowed onwards in\nthe direction in which they were going; but this circumstance favored\nthem, for those who wish to be unobserved, when they cannot be absolutely\nalone, have only to mix with the crowd. As they were borne towards the\nfocus and centre of the festive doings, they clung closely together, she\nto him, and he to her, so that they might not be torn apart by any of the\nrushing and tumultuous processions of excited Thracian women who,\nfaithful to their native usages, came storming by with a young bull, on\nthis particular night of the year, that following the shortest day. They\nhad hardly gone a hundred paces beyond the Moon-street when they heard\nproceeding from it a wild roving song of tipsy jollity, and loud above it\nthe sound of drums and pipes, cymbals and noisy shouting, and at the same\ntime in the King's street, a road which crossed the Bruchiom and opened\non Lochias, a merry troup came towards them.\n\nAt their head, among other acquaintances, came Teuker, the gem-cutter,\nthe younger brother of Pollux. Crowned with ivy, and flourishing a\nthyrsus he came dancing on, and behind him, leaping and shouting, a train\nof men and women, all excited to the verge of folly, singing, hollooing,\nand dancing.\n\nGarlands of vine, ivy and asphodel fluttered from a hundred heads;\npoplar, lotus, and laurel wreaths overhung their heated brows;\npanther-skins, deer and goatskins hung from their bare shoulders and\nwaved in the wind as their bearers hurried onwards. This procession had\nbeen first formed by some artists and rich youths returning with some\nwomen from a banquet, with a band of music; every one who met this festal\nparty had joined it or had been forced to enlist with it. Respectable\ncitizens and their wives, laborers, maid-servants, slaves, soldiers and\nsailors, officers, women flute-players, artisans, ship-captains, the\nwhole chorus of a theatre invited by a friend of art, excited women who\ndragged with them a goat that was to be slaughtered to Dionysus--none had\nbeen able to resist the temptation to join the procession. It turned down\nthe Moon-street, keeping to the middle of the road which was planted with\nelms, and had on each side of it a raised foot-way, which at this time of\nnight no one used. How clear was the sound of the double-pipes, how\nbravely the girls hit the calf-skin of the tambourines with their soft\nfists, how saucily the wind tossed and tangled the dishevelled hair of\nthe riotous women and played with the smoke of the torches which were\nwielded in the air by audacious youths, disguised as Pan or as Satyrs,\nand shouting as they went.\n\nHere a girl, holding her tambourine high in the air, rattled the little\nbells on its hoop, as she flew along, as violently as though she wanted\nto shake the hollow metal balls out of their frame, and send them\nwhistling through the air on their own account-there, side by side with\nhis comrades, who were excited almost to madness, a handsome lad came\nskipping along in elaborately graceful leaps, but carrying over his arm,\nwith comic care, a long bull's-tail that he had tied on, and blowing\nalternately up and down the short scale from the shortest to the longest\nof the reeds composing his panpipes. Through the noisy crowd as they\nrushed by, sounded, now and again, a loud roar, that might as easily have\nbeen caused by pain as joy; but it was each time hastily drowned in mad\nlaughter, extravagant singing and jubilant music.\n\nOld and young, great and small, all in short that came near this rabble\ntrain, were carried off with irresistible force to follow it with shouts\nof triumph. Even Pollux and Arsinoe had for some time ceased to walk\nsoberly side by side, but moved their feet, laughingly in time to the\nmerry measure.\n\n\"How nice it sounds,\" cried the artist. \"I could dance and be merry too\nArsinoe, dance and make merry with you like a madman!\"\n\nBefore she could find time to say 'yes' or 'no,' he shouted a loud \"To,\nTo, Dionysus,\" and flung her up in the air. She too was caught by the\nspirit of the thing, and waving her hand above her head she joined in his\nshout of triumph, and let him drag her along to a corner of the\nMoon-street where a seller of garlands offered her wares for sale. There\nshe let him wreathe her with ivy, she stuck a laurel wreath on his head,\ntwisted a streamer of ivy round his neck and breast, and laughed loudly\nas she flung a large silver coin into the flower-woman's lap and clung\ntightly to his arm. It was all done in swift haste without reflection, as\nif in a fit of intoxication, and with trembling hands.\n\nThe procession was drawing to an end. Six women and girls in wreaths\nclosed it, walking arm in arm with loud singing. Pollux drew his\nsweetheart behind this jovial crew, threw his arm around Arsinoe once\nmore, while she put hers round him, and then both of them stepped out in\na brisk dance-step flinging their arms left free, throwing back their\nheads, shouting and singing loudly, and forgetting all that surrounded\nthem; they felt as though they were bound to each other by a glory of\nsunbeams, while some god lifted them above the earth and bore them up\nthrough a realm of delight and joy beyond the myriad stars and through\nthe translucent ether; thus they let themselves be led away through the\nMoon-street into the Canopic way and so back to the sea, and as far as\nthe temple of Dionysus.\n\nThere they paused breathless and it suddenly struck them that he was\nPollux and she Arsinoe, and that she must get back again to her father\nand the children.\n\n\"Come home,\" she said softly, and as she spoke she dropped her arm and\nbegan to gather up her loosened hair.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" he said as if in a dream. He released her, struck his hand\nagainst his brow, and turning to the open cella of the temple he said:\n\n\"Long have I known that thou art mighty O Dionysus, and that thou O\nAphrodite art lovely, and that thou art sweet O Eros! but how inestimable\nyour gifts, that I have learnt to-day for the first time.\"\n\n\"We were indeed full of the deity,\" said Arsinoe. \"But here comes another\nprocession and I must go home.\"\n\n\"Then let us go by the Little Harbor,\" answered Pollux.\n\n\"Yes--I must pick the leaves out of my hair and no one will see us\nthere.\"\n\n\"I will help you--\"\n\n\"No, you are not to touch me,\" said Arsinoe decidedly. She grasped her\nabundant soft and shiny hair, and cleared it of the leaves that had got\nentangled in it, as tiny beetles do in a double flower. Finally she hid\nher hair under her veil, which had slipped off her head long since, but,\nalmost by a miracle, had caught and remained hanging on the brooch of her\npeplum. Pollux stood looking at her, and overmastered by the passion that\npossessed him, he exclaimed:\n\n\"Eternal gods! how I love you! Till now my soul has been like a careless\nchild, to-day it is grown to heroic stature.--Wait--only wait, it will\nsoon learn to use its weapons.\"\n\n\"And I will help it in the fight,\" she said happily, as she put her hand\nthrough his arm again, and they hurried back to the old palace, dancing\nrather than walking.\n\nThe late December sun was already giving warning of his approaching\nrising by cold yellowish-grey streaks in the sky as Pollux and his\ncompanion entered the gate, which had long since been opened for the\nworkmen. In the hall of the Muses they took a first farewell, in the\npassage leading to the steward's room, a second--sad and yet most happy;\nbut this was but a short one for the gleam of a lamp made them start\napart, and Arsinoe instantly fled.\n\nThe disturber was Antinous who was waiting here for the Emperor who was\nstill gazing at the stars from the watch-tower Pontius had erected for\nhim. As she vanished he turned to Pollux and said gaily:\n\n\"I need your forgiveness for I have disturbed you in an interview with\nyour sweetheart.\"\n\n\"She will be my wife,\" said the sculptor proudly.\n\n\"So much the better!\" replied the favorite, and he drew a deep breath, as\nthough the artist's words had relieved his mind of a burden.\n\n\"Ah! so much the better. Can you tell me where to find the fair Arsinoe's\nsister?\"\n\n\"To be sure,\" replied the artist, and he felt pleased that the young\nBithynian should cling to his arm. Within the next hour, Pollux, from\nwhose lips there flowed a stream of eager and enthusiastic words, like\nwater from a spring, had completely won the heart of the Emperor's\nfavorite.\n\nThe girl found both her father and Helios, who no longer looked like a\nsick patient--fast asleep. The old slave-woman came in a few minutes\nafter her, and when at last, after unbinding her hair, Arsinoe threw\nherself on her bed she fell asleep instantly, and in her dreams found\nherself once more by the side of her Pollux, while they both were flying\nto the sound of drums, flutes, and cymbals high above the dusty ways of\nearth, like leaves swept on by the wind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe steward awoke soon after sunrise. He had slept no less soundly, it is\ntrue, in his arm-chair than in his bed, but he did not feel refreshed,\nand his limbs ached.\n\nIn the living-room everything was in the same disorder as on the previous\nevening, and this annoyed him, for he was accustomed to find his room in\norder when he entered it in the morning. On the table, surrounded by\nflies, stood the remains of the children's supper, and among the bread\ncrusts and plates lay his own ornaments and his daughter's! Wherever he\nturned he saw articles of dress and other things out of their place. The\nold slave-woman came in yawning, her woolly grey hair hung in disorder\nabout her face, and her eyes seemed fixed, her feet carried her\nunsteadily here and there.\n\n\"You are drunk,\" cried Keraunus; nor was he mistaken, for when the old\nwoman had waked up, sitting by the house of Pudeus, and had learned from\nthe gate keeper that Arsinoe had quitted the garden, she had gone into a\ntavern with other slave-women. When her master seized her arm and shook\nher, she exclaimed with a stupid grin on her wet lips:\n\n\"It is the feast-day. Every one is free, to-day is the feast.\"\n\n\"Roman nonsense!\" interrupted the steward. \"Is my breakfast ready?\"\n\nWhile the old woman stood muttering some inaudible words, the slave came\ninto the room and said:\n\n\"To-day is a general holiday, may I go out too?\"\n\n\"Oh that would suit me admirably!\" cried the steward.\n\n\"This monster drunk, Selene sick, and you running about the streets.\"\n\n\"But no one stops at home to-day,\" replied the slave timidly.\n\n\"Be off then!\" cried Keraunus. \"Walk about from now till midnight! Do as\nyou please, only do not expect me to keep you any longer. You are still\nfit to turn the hand-mill, and I dare say I can find a fool to give me a\nfew drachmae for you.\"\n\n\"No, no, do not sell me,\" groaned the old man, raising his hands in\nentreaty; Keraunus however would not hear him, but went on angrily:\n\n\"A dog at least remains faithful to his master, but you slaves eat him\nout of house and home, and when he most needs you, you want to run about\nthe streets.\"\n\n\"But I will stay,\" howled the old man.\n\n\"Nay, do as you please. You have long been like a lame horse which makes\nits rider a butt for the laughter of children. When, you go out with me\neveryone looks round as if I had a stain on my pallium. And then the\nmangy dog wants to keep holiday, and stick himself up among the\ncitizens!\"\n\n\"I will stay here, only do not sell me!\" whimpered the miserable old man,\nand he tried to take his master's hand; but the steward shoved him off,\nand desired him to go into the kitchen and light a fire, and throw some\nwater on the old woman's head to sober her. The slave pushed his\ncompanion out of the room, while Keraunus went into his daughter's\nbedroom to rouse her.\n\nThere was no light in Arsinoe's room but that which could creep in\nthrough a narrow opening just below the ceiling; the slanting rays fell\ndirectly on the bed up to which Keraunus went. There lay his daughter n\nsound sleep; her pretty head rested on her uplifted right arm, her\nunbound brown hair flowed like a stream over her soft round shoulders and\nover the edge of the little bed. He had never seen the child look so\npretty, and the sight of her really touched his heart, for Arsinoe\nreminded him of his lost wife, and it was not vain pride merely, but a\nmovement of true paternal love, which involuntarily transformed his\nearnest wish that the gods night leave him this child and let her be\nhappy, into an unspoken but fervent prayer.\n\nHe was not accustomed to waking his daughter who was always up and busy\nbefore he was, and he could hardly bear to disturb his darling's sweet\nsleep; but it had to be done, so he called Arsinoe by her name, shook her\narm and said, as at last she sat up and looked at him enquiringly:\n\n\"It is I, get up, remember what has to be done today.\"\n\n\"Yes--yes,\" she said yawning, \"but it is so early yet!\"\n\n\"Early,\" said Keraunus, smiling. \"My stomach says the contrary. The sun\nis already high, and I have not yet had my porridge.\"\n\n\"Make the old woman cook it.\"\n\n\"No, no, my child--you must get up. Have you forgotten whom you are to\nrepresent? And my hair is to be curled, and the prefect's wife, and then\nyour dress.\"\n\n\"Very well--go; I do not care the least bit about Roxana and all the\ndressing-up.\"\n\n\"Because you are not yet quite awake,\" laughed the steward. \"How did this\nivy-leaf get into your hair?\" Arsinoe colored, put her hand to the spot\nindicated by her father, and said reluctantly:\n\n\"Out of some bough or another, but now go that I may get up.\"\n\n\"In a minute--tell me how did you find Selene?\"\n\n\"Not so very bad--but I will tell you all about that afterwards. Now I\nwant to be alone.\"\n\nWhen, half an hour later, Arsinoe brought her father his porridge he\ngazed at the child in astonishment. Some extraordinary change seemed to\nhave come over his daughter. Something shone in her eyes that he had\nnever observed before, and that gave her childlike features an importance\nand significance that almost startled him.  While she was making the\nporridge, Keraunus, with the slave's help, had taken the children up and\ndressed them; now they were all sitting at breakfast; Helios among them\nfresh and blooming. Now, while Arsinoe told her father all about Selene,\nand the nursing she was having at dame Hannah's hands, Keraunus kept his\neyes fixed on her, and when she noticed this and asked impatiently what\nthere was peculiar in her appearance to-day, he shook his head and\nanswered:\n\n\"What strange things are girls! A great honor has been done you. You are\nto represent the bride of Alexander, and pride and delight have changed\nyou wonder fully in a single night--but I think to your disadvantage.\"\n\n\"Folly,\" said Arsinoe reddening, and stretching herself with fatigue she\nthrew herself back on a couch. She did not feel weary exactly, for the\nlassitude she felt in every limb had a peculiar pleasure in it. She felt\nas if she had come out of a hot bath, and since her father had roused her\nshe seemed to hear, again and again, the sound of the inspiriting music\nwhich she had followed arm in arm with Pollux. Now and again she smiled,\nnow and again she gazed straight before her, and at the same time she\nsaid to herself that if at this very moment her lover were to ask her,\nshe would not lack strength to fling herself at once, with him, once more\ninto the mad whirl. Yes--she felt perfectly fresh! only her eyes burned a\nlittle; and if Keraunus fancied he saw anything new in his daughter it\nmust be the glowing light which now lurked in them along with the playful\nsparkle he had always seen there.\n\nWhen breakfast was over the slave took the children out, and Arsinoe had\nbegun to curl her father's hair, when Keraunus put on his most dignified\nattitude and said ponderously.\n\n\"My child.\"\n\nThe girl dropped the heated tongs and calmly asked. \"Well\"--fully\nprepared to hear one of the wonderful propositions which Selene was wont\nto oppose.\n\n\"Listen to me attentively.\"\n\nNow, what Keraunus was about to say had only occurred to him an hour\nsince when he had spoiled his slave's desire to go out; but as he said it\nhe pressed his hand to his forehead assuming the expression of a\nmeditative philosopher.\n\n\"For a long time I have been considering a very important matter. Now I\nhave come to a decision and I will confide it to you. We must buy a new\nmanslave.\"\n\n\"But father!\" cried Arsinoe, \"think what it will cost you. If we have\nanother man to feed--\"\n\n\"There is no question of that,\" replied Keraunus. \"I will exchange the\nold one for a younger one that I need not be ashamed to be seen with.\nYesterday I told you that henceforth we shall attract greater attention\nthan hitherto, and really if we appear with that black scarecrow at our\nheels in the streets or elsewhere--\"\n\n\"Certainly we cannot make much show Sebek,\" interrupted Arsinoe, \"but we\ncan leave him at home for the future.\"\n\n\"Child, child!\" exclaimed Keraunus reproachfully, \"will you never\nremember who and what we are. How would it beseem us to appear in the\nstreets without a slave?\"\n\nThe girl shrugged her shoulders, and put it to her father that Sebek was\nan old piece of family property, that the little ones were fond of him\nbecause he cared for them like a nurse, that a new slave would cost a\ngreat deal and would only be driven by force to many services which the\nold one was always ready and willing to fulfil.\n\nBut Arsinoe preached to deaf ears. Selene was not there; secure from her\nreproaches and as anxious as a spoiled boy for the thing that was denied\nhim, Keraunus adhered to his determination to exchange the faithful old\nfellow for a new and more showy slave. Not for a moment did he think of\nthe miserable fate that threatened the decrepit creature, who had grown\nold in his house, if he were to sell him; but he still had a feeling that\nit was not quite right to spend the last money that had chanced to come\ninto the house, on a thing that really and truly was not in any way\nnecessary. The more justifiable Arsinoe's doubts seemed to be and the\nmore loudly did an inward voice warn him not to offer this fresh\nsacrifice to his vain-gloriousness, the more firmly and desperately did\nhe defend his wish to do so; and as he fought for the thing he desired,\nit acquired in his eyes a semblance of necessity and a number of reasons\nsuggested themselves which made it appear both justifiable and easy of\nattainment.\n\nThere was money in hand; after Arsinoe's being chosen for the part of\nRoxana he might expect to be able to borrow more; it was his duty to\nappear with due dignity that he might not scare off the illustrious\nson-in-law of whom he dreamed, and in the extremity of need he could\nstill fall back on his collection of rarities. The only thing was to find\nthe right purchaser; for, if the sword of Antony had brought him so much,\nwhat would not some amateur give him for the other, far more valuable,\nobjects.\n\nArsinoe turned red and white as her father referred again and again to\nthe bargain she had made; but she dared not confess the truth, and she\nrued her falsehood all the more bitterly the more clearly she saw with\nher own sound sense, that the Honor which had fallen upon her yesterday,\nthreatened to develop all her father's weaknesses in an absolutely fatal\nmanner.\n\nTo-day she would have been amply satisfied with pleasing Pollux, and she\nwould, without a regret have transferred to another her part with all the\napplause and admiration it would procure her, and which, only yesterday,\nhad seemed to her so inestimably precious. This she said; but Keraunus\nwould not take the assertion in earnest, laughed in her face, went off\ninto mysterious allusions to the wealth which could not fail to come into\nthe house and--since an obscure consciousness told him that it would be\nbecoming him to prove that it was not solely personal vanity and\nself-esteem that influenced all his proceedings--he explained that he had\nmade up his mind to a great sacrifice and would be content on the coming\noccasion to wear his gilt fillet and not buy a pure gold one. By this act\nof self-denial he fancied he had acquired a full right to devote a very\npretty little sum to the acquisition of a fine-looking slave. Arsinoe's\nentreaties were unheeded, and when she began to cry with grief at the\nprospect of losing her old house-mate he forbid her crossly to shed a\ntear for such a cause, for it was very childish, and he would not be\npleased to conduct her with red eyes to meet the prefect's wife.\n\nDuring the course of this argument his hair had got itself duly curled,\nand he now desired Arsinoe to arrange her own hair nicely and then to\naccompany him.\n\nThey would buy a new dress and peplum, go to see Selene, and then be\ncarried to the prefect's.\n\nOnly yesterday he had thought it too bold a step to use a litter, and\nto-day he was already considering the propriety of hiring a chariot.\n\nNo sooner was he alone than a new idea occurred to him. The insolent\narchitect should be taught that he was not the man to be insulted and\ninjured with impunity. So he cut a clean strip of papyrus off a letter\nthat lay in his chest, and wrote upon it the following words:\n\n\"Keraunus, the Macedonian, to Claudius Venator, the architect, of Rome:\"\n\n\"My eldest daughter, Selene, is by your fault, so severely hurt that she\nis in great danger, is kept to her bed and suffers frightful pain. My\nother children are no longer safe in their father's house, and I\ntherefore require you, once more, to chain up your dog. If you refuse to\naccede to this reasonable demand I will lay the matter before Caesar. I\ncan tell you that circumstances have occurred which will determine\nHadrian to punish any insolent person who may choose to neglect the\nrespect due to me and to my daughters.\"\n\nWhen Keraunus had closed this letter with his seal he called the slave\nand said coldly:\n\n\"Take this to the Roman architect, and then fetch two litters; make\nhaste, and while we are out take good care of the children. To-morrow or\nnext day you will be sold. To whom? That must depend on how you behave\nduring the last hours that you belong to us.\" The negro gave a loud cry\nof grief that came from the depth of his heart, and flung himself on the\nground at the steward's feet. His cry did indeed pierce his master's\nsoul--but Keraunus had made up his mind not to let himself be moved nor\nto yield. But the negro clung more closely to his knees, and when the\nchildren, attracted to the spot by their poor old friend's lamentation,\ncried loudly in unison, and little Helios began to pat and stroke the\nlittle remains of the negro's woolly hair, the vain man felt uneasy about\nthe heart, and to protect himself against his own weakness he cried out\nloudly and violently:\n\n\"Now, away with you, and do as you are ordered or I will find the whip.\"\n\nWith these words he tore himself loose from the miserable--old man who\nleft the room with his head hanging down, and who soon was standing at\nthe door of the Emperor's rooms with the letter in his hand. Hadrian's\nappearance and manner had filled him with terror and respect, and he\ndared not knock at the door. After he had waited for some time, still\nwith tears in his eyes, Mastor came into the passage with the remains of\nhis master's breakfast. The negro called to him and held out the\nsteward's letter, stammering out lamentably:\n\n\"From Keraunus, for you master.\"\n\n\"Lay it here on the tray,\" said the Sarmatian. \"But what has happened to\nyou, my old friend? you are wailing most pitifully and look miserable.\nHave you been beaten?\"\n\nThe negro shook his head and answered, whimpering: \"Keraunus is going to\nsell me.\"\n\n\"There are better masters than he.\"\n\n\"But Sebek is old, Sebek is weak--he can no longer lift and pull, and\nwith hard work he will certainly die.\"\n\n\"Has life been so easy and comfortable then at the steward's?\"\n\n\"Very little wine, very little meat, very much hunger,\" said the old man.\n\n\"Then you must be glad to leave him.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" groaned Sebek.\n\n\"You foolish old owl,\" said Mastor. \"Why do you care then for that grumpy\nniggard?\"\n\nThe negro did not answer for some time, then his lean breast heaved and\nfell, and, as if the dam were broken through that had choked his\nutterance, he burst out with a mixture of loud sobs:\n\n\"The children, the little ones, our little ones. They are so sweet; and\nour little blind Helios stroked my hair because I was to go away,\nhere--just here he stroked it\"--and he put his hand on a perfectly bald\nplace--\"and now Sebek must go and never see them all again, just as if\nthey were all dead.\"\n\nAnd the words rolled out and with difficulty, as if carried on in the\nflood of his tears. They went to Mastor's heart, rousing the memory of\nhis own lost children and a strong desire to comfort his unhappy comrade.\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" he said, compassionately. \"Aye, the children! they are so\nsmall, and the door into one's heart is so narrow--and they dance in at\nit a thousand times better and more easily than grown-up folks. I, too,\nhave lost dear children, and they were my own, too. I can teach any one\nwhat is meant by sorrow--but I know too now where comfort is to be\nfound.\" With these words Mastor held the tray he was carrying on his hip\nwith his right hand, while he put the left on the negro's shoulder and\nwhispered to him:\n\n\"Have you ever heard of the Christians?\"\n\nSebek nodded eagerly as if Mastor were speaking of a matter of which he\nhad heard great things and expected much, and Mastor went on in a low\nvoice \"Come early to-morrow before sunrise to the pavement-workers in the\n'court, and there you will hear of One who comforts the weary and\nheavy-laden.\"\n\nThe Emperor's servant once more took his tray in both hands and hurried\naway, but a faint gleam of hope had lighted up in the old slave's eyes.\nHe expected no happiness, but perhaps there might be some way of bearing\nthe sorrows of life more easily.\n\nMastor as soon he had given his tray to the kitchen slaves--who were now\nbusy again in the palace at Lochias--returned to his lord and gave him\nthe steward's letter. It was an ill-chosen hour for Keraunus, for the\nEmperor was in a gloomy mood. He had sat up till morning, had rested\nscarcely three hours, and now, with knitted brows, was comparing the\nresults of his night's observation of the starry sky with certain\nastronomical tables which lay spread out before him. Over this work he\nfrequently shook his head which was covered with crisp waves of hair;\nnay--he once flung the pencil, with which he was working his\ncalculations, down on the table, leaned back in his seat and covered his\neyes with both hands. Then again he began to write fresh numbers, but his\nnew results seemed to be no more satisfactory than the former one.\n\nThe steward's letter had been for a long time lying before him when at\nlast it again caught his attention as he put out his hand for another\ndocument. Needing some change of ideas he tore it open, read it and flung\nit from him with annoyance. At any other time he would have expressed\nsome sympathy with the suffering girl, have laughed at the ridiculous\nman, and have thought out some trick to tease or to terrify; but just now\nthe steward's threats made him angry and increased his dislike for him.\n\nTired of the silence around him he called to Antinous, who sat gazing\ndreamily down on the harbor; the youth immediately approached his master.\nHadrian looked at him and said, shaking his head:\n\n\"Why you too look as if some danger were threatening you. Is the sky\naltogether overcast?\"\n\n\"No my lord, it is blue over the sea, but towards the south the black\nclouds are gathering.\"\n\n\"Towards the south?\" said Hadrian thoughtfully. \"Any thing serious can\nhardly threaten us from that quarter.--But it comes, it is near, it is\nupon us before we suspect it.\"\n\n\"You sat up too long, and that has put you out of tune.\"\n\n\"Out of tune?\" muttered Hadrian to himself. \"And what is tune? That\nsubtle harmony or discord is a condition which masters all the emotions\nof the soul at once; and not without reason--to-day my heart is paralyzed\nwith anxiety.\"\n\n\"Then you have seen evil signs in the heavens?\"\n\n\"Direful signs!\"\n\n\"You wise men believe in the stars,\" replied Antinous. \"No doubt you are\nright, but my weak head cannot understand what their regular courses have\nto do with my inconstant wanderings.\"\n\n\"Grow gray,\" replied the Emperor, \"learn to comprehend the universe with\nyour intellect, and not till then speak of these things for not till then\nwill you discern that every atom of things created, and the greatest as\nwell as the least, is in the closest bonds with every other; that all\nwork together, and each depends on all. All that is or ever will be in\nnature, all that we men feel, think or do, all is dependent on eternal\nand immutable causes; and these causes have each their Daimon who\ninterposes between us and the divinity and is symbolized in golden\ncharacters on the vault of heaven. The letters are the stars, whose\norbits are as unchanging and everlasting as are the first causes of all\nthat exists or happens.\"\n\n\"And are you quite sure that you never read wrongly in this great\nrecord?\" asked Antinous.\n\n\"Even I may err,\" replied Hadrian. \"But this time I have not deceived\nmyself. A heavy misfortune threatens me. It is a strange, terrible and\nextraordinary coincidence!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"From that accursed Antioch--whence nothing good has ever come to me--I\nhave received the saying of an oracle which foretells that, that--why\nshould I hide it from you--in the middle of the year now about to begin\nsome dreadful misfortune shall fall upon me, as lightning strikes the\ntraveller to the earth; and tonight--look here. Here is the house of\nDeath, here are the planets--but what do you know of such things? Last\nnight--the night in which once before such terrors were wrought, the\nstars confirmed the fatal oracle with as much naked plainness, as much\nunmistakable certainty as if they had tongues to shout the evil forecast\nin my ear. It is hard to walk on with such a goal in prospect. What may\nnot the new year bring in its course?\"\n\nHadrian sighed deeply, but Antinous went close up to him, fell on his\nknees before him and asked in a tone of childlike humility:\n\n\"May I, a poor foolish lad, teach a great and wise man how to enrich his\nlife with six happy months?\" The Emperor smiled, as though he knew what\nwas coming, but his favorite felt encouraged to proceed.\n\n\"Leave the future to the future,\" he said. \"What must come will come, for\nthe gods themselves have no power against Fate. When evil is approaching\nit casts its black shadow before it; you fix your gaze on it and let it\ndarken the light of day. I saunter dreamily on my way and never see\nmisfortune till it runs up against me and falls upon me unawares--\"\n\n\"And so you are spared many a gloomy day,\" interrupted Hadrian.\n\n\"That is just what I would have said.\"\n\n\"And your advice is excellent, for you and for every other loiterer\nthrough the gay fair-time of an idle life,\" replied the Emperor, \"but the\nman whose task it is to bear millions in safety and over abysses, must\nwatch the signs around him, look out far and near, and never dare close\nhis eyes, even when such terrors loom as it was my fate to see during the\npast night.\"\n\nAs he spoke, Phlegon, the Emperor's private secretary, came in with\nletters just received from Rome, and approached his master. He bowed low,\nand taking up Hadrian's last words he said:\n\n\"The stars disquiet you, Caesar?\"\n\n\"Well, they warn me to be on my guard,\" replied Hadrian.\n\n\"Let us hope that they be,\" cried the Greek, with cheerful vivacity.\n\"Cicero was not altogether wrong when he doubted the arts of Astrology.\"\n\n\"He was a mere talker!\" said the Emperor, with a frown.\n\n\"But,\" asked Phlegon, \"would it not be fair that if the horoscopes cast\nfor Cneius or Caius, let us say, were alike, to expect that Cneius or\nCaius must have the same temperament and the same destiny through life if\nthey had happened to be born in the same hour?\"\n\n\"Always the old commonplaces, the old silly objections!\" interrupted\nHadrian, vexed to the verge of rage. \"Speak when you are spoken to, and\ndo not trouble yourself about things you do not understand and which do\nnot concern you. Is there anything of importance among these papers?\"\n\nAntinous gazed at his sovereign in astonishment; why should Phlegon's\nobjections make him so furious when he had answered his so kindly?\n\nHadrian paid no farther heed to him, but read the despatches one after\nanother, hastily but attentively, wrote brief notes on the margins,\nsigned a decree with a firm hand, and, when his work was finished desired\nthe Greek to leave him. Hardly was he alone with Antinous when the loud\ncries and jovial shouting of a large multitude came to their ears through\nthe open window.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" he asked Mastor, and as soon as he had been\ninformed that the workmen and slaves had just been let out to give\nthemselves up to the pleasures of their holiday, he muttered to himself:\n\n\"These creatures can riot, shout, dress themselves with garlands, forget\nthemselves in a debauch--and I, I whom all envy--I spoil my brief span of\nlife with vain labors, let myself be tormented with consuming cares--I--\"\nhere he broke off and cried in quite an altered tone:\n\n\"Ha! ha! Antinous, you are wiser than I. Let us leave the future to the\nfuture. The feast-day is ours too; let us take advantage of this day of\nfreedom. We too will throw ourselves into the holiday whirlpool\ndisguised, I as a satyr, and you as a young faun or something of the\nkind; we will drain cups, wander round the city and enjoy all that is\nenjoyable.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Antinous, joyfully clapping his hands.\n\n\"Evoe Bacche!\" cried Hadrian, tossing up his cup that stood on his table.\n\"You are free till this evening, Mastor, and you my boy, go and talk to\nPollux, the sculptor. He shall be our guide and he will provide us with\nwreaths and some mad disguise. I must see drunken men, I must laugh with\nthe jolliest before I am Caesar again. Make haste, my friend, or new\ncares will come to spoil my holiday mood.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nAntinous and Mastor at once quitted the Emperor's room; in the corridor\nthe lad beckoned the slave to him and said in a low voice:\n\n\"You can hold your tongue I know, will you do me a favor?\"\n\n\"Three sooner than one,\" replied the Sarmatian.\n\n\"You are free to-day--are you going into the city?\"\n\n\"I think so.\"\n\n\"You are not known here, but that does not matter. Take these gold pieces\nand in the flower-market buy with one of them the most beautiful bunch of\nflowers you can find, with another you may make merry, and out of the\nremainder spend a drachma in hiring an ass. The driver will conduct you\nto the garden of Pudeus' widow where stands the house of dame Hannah; you\nremember the name?\"\n\n\"Dame Hannah and the widow of Pudeus.\"\n\n\"And at the little house, not the big one, leave the flowers for the sick\nSelene.\"\n\n\"The daughter of the fat steward, who was attacked by our big dog?\" asked\nMastor, curiously.\n\n\"She or another,\" said Antinous, impatiently, \"and when they ask you who\nsent the flowers, say 'the friend at Lochias,' nothing more. You\nunderstand.\"\n\nThe slave nodded and said to himself: \"What! you too-oh! these women.\"\n\nAntinous signed to him to be silent, impressed on him in a few hasty\nwords that he was to be discreet and to pick out the very choicest\nflowers, and then betook himself into the hall of the Muses to seek\nPollux. From him he had learnt where to find the suffering Selene, of\nwhom he could not help thinking incessantly and wherever he might be. He\ndid not find the sculptor in his screened-off nook; prompted by a wish to\nspeak to his mother, Pollux had gone down to the gatehouse where he was\nnow standing before her and frankly narrating, with many eager gestures\nof his long arms, all that had occurred on the previous night. His story\nflowed on like a song of triumph, and when he described how the holiday\nprocession had carried away Arsinoe and himself, the old woman jumped up\nfrom her chair and clapping her fat little hands, she exclaimed:\n\n\"Ah! that is pleasure, that is happiness! I remember flying along with\nyour father in just the same way thirty years ago.\"\n\n\"And since thirty years,\" Pollux interposed. \"I can still remember very\nwell how at one of the great Dionysiac festivals, fired by the power of\nthe god, you rushed through the streets with a deer-skin over your\nshoulders.\"\n\n\"That was delightful--lovely!\" cried Doris with sparkling eyes. \"But\nthirty years since it was all different, very different. I have told you\nbefore now how I went with our maid-servant into the Canopic way to the\nhouse of my aunt Archidike to look on at the great procession. I had not\nfar to go for we lived near the Theatre, my father was stage-manager and\nyours was one of the chief singers in the chorus. We hurried along, but\nall sorts of people stopped us, and drunken men wanted to joke with me.\"\n\n\"Ah, you were as sweet as a rose-bud then,\" her son interrupted.\n\n\"As a rose-bud, yes, but not like your lovely rose,\" said the old woman.\n\"At any rate I looked nice enough for the men in disguise--fauns and\nsatyrs and were the cynic hypocrites in their ragged cloaks, to think it\nworth while to look at me and to take a rap on the knuckles when they\ntried to put an arm round me or to steal a kiss, I did not care for the\nhandsomest of them, for Euphorion had done for me with his fiery\nglances--not with words for I was very strictly kept and he had never\nbeen able to get a chance to speak to me. At the corner of the Canopic\nway and the Market street we could get no farther, for the crowd had\nblocked the way and were howling and storming as they stared at a party\nof Klodones and other Maenads, who in their sacred fury were tearing a\ngoat to pieces with their teeth. I shuddered at the spectacle, but I must\nneed stare with the rest and shout and halloo as they did. My maid, who I\nheld on to tightly, was seized with the frenzy and dragged me into the\nmiddle of the circle close up to the bleeding sacrifice. Two of the\npossessed women sprang upon us, and I felt one clasping me tightly and\ntrying to throw me down. It was a horrible moment but I defended myself\nbravely and had succeeded in keeping on my feet when your father sprang\nforward, set me free and led me away. What happened after I could not\ntell you now; it was one of those wild happy dreams in which you must\nhold your heart with both hands for fear it should crack with joy, or fly\nout and away up to the sky and in the very eye of the sun. Late in the\nevening I got home and a week after I was Euphorion's wife.\"\n\n\"We have exactly followed your example,\" said Pollux, \"and if Arsinoe\ngrows to be like my dear old woman I shall be quite satisfied.\"\n\n\"Happy and contented,\" replied Doris. \"Keep you health, snap your fingers\nat care and sorrow, do your duty on work-days and drink till you are\njolly in honor of the god on holidays, and then all will be well. Those\nwho do all they are able and enjoy as much as they can get, make good use\nof their lives and need feel no remorse in their last hours. What is past\nis done for, and when Atropos cuts our thread some one else will stand in\nour place and joys will begin all over again. May the gods bless you!\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said Pollux embracing his mother, and two together can\nturn the work out of hand more lightly and enjoy the pleasures of\nexistence better than each alone--can they not?\"\n\n\"I am sure of it; and you have chosen the right mate,\" cried the old\nwoman. \"You are a sculptor and used to simple things; you need no riches,\nonly a sweet face which may every day rejoice your heart, and that you\nhave found.\"\n\n\"There is nowhere a sweeter or a lovelier,\" said Pollux.\n\n\"No, that there is not,\" continued Doris. \"First I cast my eyes on\nSelene. She need not be ashamed to show herself either, and she is a\npattern for girls; but then as Arsinoe grew older, whenever she passed\nthis way I thought to myself: 'that girl is growing up for my boy,' and\nnow that you have won her I feel as if I were once more as young as your\nsweetheart herself. My old heart beats as happily as if the little Loves\nwere touching it with their wings and rosy fingers. If my feet had not\ngrown so heavy with constantly standing over the hearth and at\nwashing--really and truly I could take Euphorion by the arm and dance\nthrough the streets with him to-day.\"\n\n\"Where is father?\"\n\n\"Out singing.\"\n\n\"In the morning! where?\"\n\n\"There is some sect that are celebrating their mysteries. They pay well\nand he had to sing dismal hymns for them behind a curtain; the wildest\nstuff, in which he does not follow a word, and that I do not understand a\nhalf of.\"\n\n\"It is a pity for I wanted to speak to him.\"\n\n\"He will not be back till late.\"\n\n\"There is plenty of time.\"\n\n\"So much the better, otherwise I might have told him what you had to\nsay.\"\n\n\"Your advice is as good as his. I think of giving up working under Papias\nand standing on my own feet.\"\n\n\"You are quite right; the Roman architect told me yesterday that a great\nfuture was open to you.\"\n\n\"There are only my poor sister and the children to be considered. If,\nduring the first few months I should find myself falling short--\"\n\n\"We will manage to pull through. It is high time that you yourself should\nreap from what you sow.\"\n\n\"So it seems to me, for my own sake and Arsinoe's; if only Keraunus--\"\n\n\"Aye--there will be a battle to fight with him.\"\n\n\"A hard one, a hard one,\" sighed Pollux.\n\n\"The thought of the old man troubles my happiness.\"\n\n\"Folly!\" cried Doris. \"Avoid all useless anxiety. It is almost as\ninjurious as remorse gnawing at your heart. Take a workshop of your own,\ndo some great work in a joyful spirit, something to astonish the world,\nand I will wager anything that the old fool of a steward will only be\nvexed to think that he destroyed the first work of the celebrated Pollux,\ninstead of treasuring it in his cabinet of curiosities. Just imagine that\nno such person exists in the world and enjoy your happiness.\"\n\n\"I will stick to that.\"\n\n\"One thing more my lad: take good care of Arsinoe. She is young and\ninexperienced and you must not persuade her to do anything you would\nadvise her not to do if she were betrothed to your brother instead of to\nyourself.\"\n\nDoris had not done speaking when Antinous came into the gate-house and\ndelivered the commands of the architect Claudius Venator, to escort him\nthrough the city. Pollux hesitated with his answer, for he had still much\nto do in the palace, and he hoped to see Arsinoe again in the course of\nthe day. After such a morning what could noon and evening be to him\nwithout her? Dame Doris noticed his indecision and cried:\n\n\"Yes, go; the festival is for pleasure, besides, the architect can\nperhaps advise you on many points, and recommend you to his friends.\"\n\n\"Your mother is right,\" said Antinous. \"Claudius Venator can be very\ntouchy, but he can also be grateful, and I wish you sincerely well--\"\n\n\"Good then, I will come,\" Pollux interposed while the Bithynian was still\nspeaking, for he felt himself strongly attracted by Hadrian's imposing\npersonality and considered that under the circumstances, it might be very\ndesirable to revel with him for a while.\n\n\"I will come, but first I must let Pontius know that I am going to fly\nfrom the heat of the fray for a few hours to-day.\"\n\n\"Leave that to Venator,\" replied the favorite, \"and you must find some\namusing disguise and procure masks for him and for me and, if you like,\nfor yourself too. He wants to join the revel as a satyr and I in some\nother disguise.\"\n\n\"Good,\" replied the sculptor. \"I will go at once and order what is\nrequisite. A quantity of dresses for the Dionysiac processions are lying\nin our workshop and in half an hour I will be back with the things.\"\n\n\"But pray make haste,\" Antinous begged him. \"My master cannot bear to be\nkept waiting, and besides--one thing--\"\n\nAt these words Antinous had grown embarrassed and had gone quite close up\nto the artist. He laid his hand on his shoulder and said in a low voice\nbut impressively:\n\n\"Venator stands very near to Caesar. Beware of saying anything before him\nthat is not in Hadrian's favor.\"\n\n\"Is your master Caesar's spy?\" asked Pollux, looking suspiciously at\nAntinous. \"Pontius has already, given me a similar warning, and if that\nis the case--\"\n\n\"No, no,\" interrupted the lad hastily.\n\n\"Anything but that; but the two have no secrets from each other and\nVenator talks a good deal--cannot hold his tongue--\"\n\n\"I thank you and will be on my guard.\"\n\n\"Aye do so--I mean it honestly.\" The Bithynian held out his hand to the\nartist with an expression of warm regard on his handsome features and\nwith an indescribably graceful gesture. Pollux took it heartily, but dame\nDoris, whose old eyes had been fixed as if spellbound on Antinous, seized\nher son's arm and quite excited by the sight of his beauty cried out:\n\n\"Oh! what a splendid creature! moulded by the gods! sacred to the gods!\nPollux, boy! you might almost think one of the immortals had come down to\nearth.\"\n\n\"Look at my old woman!\" exclaimed Pollux laughing, \"but in truth friend,\nshe has good reasons for her ecstasies, I could follow her example.\"\n\n\"Hold him fast, hold him fast!\" cried Doris. \"If he only will let you\ntake his likeness you can show the world a thing worth seeing.\"\n\n\"Will you?\" interrupted Pollux turning to Hadrian's favorite.\n\n\"I have never yet been able to keep still for any artist,\" said Antinous.\n\"But I will do any thing you wish to please you. It only vexes me that\nyou too should join in the chorus with the rest of the world. Farewell\nfor the present, I must go back to my master.\"\n\nAs soon as the youth had left the house Doris exclaimed:\n\n\"Whether a work of art is good for any thing or not I can only guess at,\nbut as to what is beautiful that I know as well as any other woman in\nAlexandria. If that boy will stand as your model you will produce\nsomething that will delight men and turn the heads of the women, and you\nwill be sought after even in a workshop of your own. Eternal gods! such\nbeauty as that is sublime. Why are there no means of preserving such a\nface and such a form from old age and wrinkles?\"\n\n\"I know the means, mother,\" said Pollux, as he went to the door. \"It is\ncalled Art: to her it is given to bestow eternal youth on this mortal\nAdonis.\"\n\nThe old woman glanced at her son with pardonable pride, and confirmed his\nwords by an assenting nod. While she fed her birds, with many coaxing\nwords, and made one which was a special favorite pick crumbs from her\nlips, the young sculptor was hurrying through the streets with long\nsteps.\n\nHe was greeted as he went with many a cross word, and many exclamations\nrose from the crowd he left behind him, for he pushed his way by the\nweight of his tall person and his powerful arms, and saw and heard, as he\nwent, little enough of what was going around him. He thought of Arsinoe,\nand between whiles of Antinous and of the attitude in which he best might\nrepresent him--whether as hero or god.\n\nIn the flower-market, near the Gymnasium, he was for a moment roused from\nhis reverie by a picture which struck him as being unusual and which\nriveted his gaze, as did every thing exceptional that came under his\neyes. On a very small dark-colored donkey sat a tall, well-dressed slave,\nwho held in his right hand a nosegay of extraordinary size and beauty. By\nhis side walked a smartly dressed-up man with a splendid wreath, and a\ncomic mask over his face followed by two garden-gods of gigantic stature,\nand four graceful boys. In the slave, Pollux at once recognized the\nservant of Claudius Venator, and he fancied he must have seen the masked\ngentlemen too before now, but he could not remember where, and did not\ntrouble himself to retrace him in his mind. At any rate, the rider of the\ndonkey had just heard something he did not like, for he was looking\nanxiously at his bunch of flowers.\n\nAfter Pollux had hurried past this strange party his thoughts reverted to\nother, and to him far nearer and dearer subjects. But Mastor's anxious\nlooks were not without a cause, for the gentleman who was talking to him\nwas no less a person than Verus, the praetor, who was called by the\nAlexandrians the sham Eros. He had seen the Emperor's body-slave a\nhundred times about his person; he therefore recognized him at once, and\nhis presence here in Alexandria led him directly to the simple and\ncorrect inference that his master too must be in the city. The praetor's\ncuriosity was roused, and he at once proceeded to ply the poor fellow\nwith bewildering cross-questions. When the donkey-rider shortly and\nsharply refused to answer, Verus thought it well to reveal himself to\nhim, and the slave lost his confident demeanor when he recognized the\ngrand gentleman, the Emperor's particular friend.\n\nHe lost himself in contradictory statements, and although he did not\ndirectly admit it, he left his interrogator in the certainty that Hadrian\nwas in Alexandria.\n\nIt was perfectly evident that the beautiful nosegay, which had attracted\nthe praetor's attention to Mastor could not belong to himself. What could\nbe its destination? Verus recommenced his questioning, but the Sarmatian\nwould betray nothing, till Verus tapped him lightly first on one cheek\nand then on the other, and said gaily:\n\n\"Mastor, my worthy friend Mastor, listen to me. I will make you certain\nproposals, and you shall nod your head, towards that of the estimable\nbeast with two pairs of legs on which you are mounted, as soon as one of\nthem takes your fancy.\"\n\n\"Let me go on my way,\" the slave implored, with growing anxiety.\n\n\"Go, by all means, but I go with you,\" retorted Verus, \"until I have hit\non the thing that suits you. A great many plans dwell in my head, as you\nwill see. First I must ask you, shall I go to your master and tell him\nthat you have betrayed his presence in Alexandria?\"\n\n\"Sir, you will never do that!\" cried Mastor.\n\n\"To proceed then. Shall I and my following hang on to your skirts and\nstay with you till nightfall, when you and your steed must return home?\nYou decline--with thanks! and very wisely, for the execution of this\nproject would be equally unpleasant to you and to me, and would probably\nget you punished. Whisper to me then, softly, in my ear, where your\nmaster is lodging, and from whom and to whom you are carrying those\nflowers; as soon as you have agreed to that proposal I will let you go on\nalone, and will show you that I care no more for my gold pieces here, in\nAlexandria, than I do in Italy.\"\n\n\"Not gold--certainly I will not take gold!\" cried Mastor.\n\n\"You are an honest fellow,\" replied Verus in an altered tone, \"and you\nknow of me that I treat my servants well and would rather be kind to\nfolks than hard upon them. So satisfy my curiosity without any fear, and\nI will promise you in return, that not a soul, your master least of all,\nshall ever know from me what you tell me.\" Mastor hesitated a little, but\nas he could not but own to himself that he would be obliged at last to\nyield to the stronger will of this imperious man, and as moreover he knew\nthat the haughty and extravagant praetor was in fact one of the kindest\nof masters, he sighed deeply and whispered:\n\n\"You will not be the ruin of a poor wretch like me, that I know, so I\nwill tell you, we are living at Lochias.\"\n\n\"There,\" exclaimed Verus clapping his hands. \"And now as to the flowers?\"\n\n\"Mere trifling.\"\n\n\"Is Hadrian then in a merry mood?\"\n\n\"Till to-day he was very gay--but since last night--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"You know yourself what he is when he has seen lead signs in the sky.\"\n\n\"Bad signs,\" said Verus gravely.\n\n\"And yet he sends flowers?\"\n\n\"Not he, can you not guess?\"\n\n\"Antinous?\"\n\nMastor nodded assent.\n\n\"Only think,\" laughed Verus. \"Then he too is beginning to think it better\nworth while to admire than to be admired. And who is the fair one who has\nsucceeded in waking up his slumbering heart?\"\n\n\"Nay--I promised him not to chatter.\"\n\n\"And I promise you the same. My powers of reserve are far greater than my\ncuriosity even.\"\n\n\"Be content, I beseech you with what you already know.\"\n\n\"But to know half is less endurable than to know nothing.\"\n\n\"Nay--I cannot tell you.\"\n\n\"Then am I to begin with fresh suggestions, and all over again?\"\n\n\"Oh! my lord. I beg you, entreat you--\"\n\n\"Out with the word, and I go on my way, but if you persist in refusing--\"\n\n\"Really and truly it only concerns a white-faced girl whom you would not\neven look at.\"\n\n\"A girl-indeed!\"\n\n\"Our big dog threw the poor thing down.\"\n\n\"In the street?\"\n\n\"No, at Lochias. Her father is Keraunus the palace-steward.\"\n\n\"And her name is Arsinoe?\" asked Verus with undisguised concern, for he\nhad a pleasant recollection of the beautiful child who had been selected\nto fill the part of Roxana.\n\n\"No, her name is Selene, Arsinoe indeed is her younger sister.\"\n\n\"Then you bring these flowers from Lochias?\"\n\n\"She went out, and she could not get back home again, she is now lying in\nthe house of a stranger.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"That must be quite indifferent to you--\"\n\n\"By no means, quite the contrary. I beg you to tell me the whole truth.\"\n\n\"Eternal gods! what can you care about the poor sick creature?\"\n\n\"Nothing whatever; but I must know whither you are riding.\"\n\n\"Down by the sea. I do not know the house, but the donkey driver--\"\n\n\"Is it far from here?\"\n\n\"About half an hour yet,\" said the lad.\n\n\"A good way then,\" replied Verus. \"And Hadrian is particularly anxious to\nremain unknown.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And you his body-servant, who are known to numbers of others here from\nRome, like myself, you propose to ride half a mile through the streets\nwhere every creature that can stand or walk is swarming, with a large\nnosegay in your hand which attracts every body's attention. Oh Mastor\nthat is not wise!\"\n\nThe slave started, and seeing at once that Verus was right, he asked in\nalarm:\n\n\"What then can I do?\"\n\n\"Get off your donkey,\" said the praetor. \"Disguise yourself and make merry\nto your heart's content with these gold pieces.\"\n\n\"And the flowers?\"\n\n\"I will see to that.\"\n\n\"You will? I may trust you; and never betray to Antinous what you\ncompelled me to do?\"\n\n\"Positively not.\"\n\n\"There--there are the flowers, but I cannot take the gold.\"\n\n\"Then I shall fling it among the crowd. Buy yourself a garland, a mask\nand some wine, as much as you can carry. Where is the girl to be found?\"\n\n\"At dame Hannah's. She lives in a little house in a garden belonging to\nthe widow of Pudeus. And whoever gives it to her is to say that it is\nsent by the friend at Lochias.\"\n\n\"Good. Now go, and take care that no one recognizes you. Your secret is\nmine, and the friend at Lochias shall be duly mentioned.\"\n\nMastor disappeared in the crowd. Verus put the nosegay into the hands of\none of the garden-gods that followed in his train, sprang laughing on to\nthe ass, and desired the driver to show him the way. At the corner of the\nnext street, he met two litters, carried with difficulty through the\ncrowd by their bearers. In the first sat Keraunus, whose saffron-colored\ncloak was conspicuous from afar, as fat as Silenus the companion of\nDionysus, but looking very sullen. In the second sat Arsinoe, looking\ngaily about her, and so fresh and pretty that the Roman's easily-stirred\npulses beat more rapidly.\n\nWithout reflecting, he took the flowers from the hand of the\ngarden-god--the flowers intended for Selene--laid them on the girl's\nlitter, and said:\n\n\"Alexander greets Roxana, the fairest of the fair.\" Arsinoe colored, and\nVerus, after watching her for some time as she was carried onwards,\ndesired one of his boys to follow her litter, and to join him again in\nthe flower-market, where he would wait, to inform him whither she had\ngone.\n\nThe messenger hurried off, and Verus, turning his ass's head soon reached\na semicircular pillared hall on the shady side of a large open space,\nunder which the better sort of gardeners and flower dealers of the city\nexposed their gay and fragrant wares to be sold by pretty girls. To-day\nevery stall had been particularly well supplied, but the demand for\nwreaths and flowers had steadily increased from an early hour, and\nalthough Verus had all that he could find of fresh flowers arranged and\ntied together, still the nosegay, though much larger, was not half so\nbeautiful as that intended for Selene, and for which he substituted it.\n\nNow this annoyed the Roman. His sense of justice prompted him to make\ngood the loss he had inflicted on the sick girl. Gay ribbons were wound\nround the stalks of the flowers, and the long ends floated in the air, so\nVerus took a brooch from his dress and stuck it into the bow which\nornamented the stem of the nosegay; then he was satisfied, and as he\nlooked at the stone set in a gold border--an onyx on which was engraved\nEros sharpening his arrows--he pictured to himself the pleasure, the\ndelight of the girl that the handsome Bithynian loved, as she received\nthe beautiful gift.\n\nHis slaves, natives of Britain, who were dressed as garden-gods, were\ncharged with the commission to proceed to dame Hannah's under the\nguidance of the donkey-driver to deliver the nosegay to Selene from 'the\nfriend at Lochias,' and then to wait for him outside the house of\nTitianus, the prefect; for thither, as he had ascertained from his\nswift-footed messenger, had Keraunus and his daughter been carried.\n\nVerus needed a longer time than the boy, to make his way through the\ncrowd. At the door of the prefect's residence he laid aside his mask, and\nin an anteroom where the steward was sitting on a couch waiting for his\ndaughter, he arranged his hair and the folds of his toga, and was then\nconducted to the lady Julia with whom he hoped, once more, to see the\ncharming Arsinoe.\n\nBut in the reception-room, instead of Arsinoe he found his own wife and\nthe poetess Balbilla and her companion. He greeted the ladies gaily,\namiably and gracefully, as usual, and then, as he looked enquiringly\nround the large room without concealing his disappointment, Balbilla came\nup to him and asked him in a low voice:\n\n\"Can you be honest, Verus?\"\n\n\"When circumstances allow it, yes.\"\n\n\"And will they allow it here?\"\n\n\"I should suppose so.\"\n\n\"Then answer me truly. Did you come here for Julia's sake, or did you\ncome--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Or did you expect to find the fair Roxana with the prefect's wife?\"\n\n\"Roxana?\" asked Verus, with a cunning smile. \"Roxana! Why she was the\nwife of Alexander the Great, and is long since dead, but I care only for\nthe living, and when I left the merry tumult in the streets it was simply\nand solely--\"\n\n\"You excite my curiosity.\"\n\n\"Because my prophetic heart promised me, fairest Balbilla, that I should\nfind you here.\"\n\n\"And that you call honest!\" cried the poetess, hitting the praetor a blow\nwith the stick of the ostrich-feather fan she held in her hand. \"Only\nlisten, Lucilla, your husband declares he came here for my sake.\" The\npraetor looked reproachfully at the speaker, but she whispered:\n\n\"Due punishment for a dishonest man.\" Then, raising her voice, she said:\n\n\"Do you know, Lucilla, that if I remain unmarried, your husband is not\nwholly innocent in the matter.\"\n\n\"Alas! yes, I was born too late for you,\" interrupted Verus, who knew\nvery well what the poetess was about to say.\n\n\"Nay--no misunderstanding!\" cried Balbilla. \"For how can a woman venture\nupon wedlock when she cannot but fear the possibility of getting such a\nhusband as Verus.\"\n\n\"And what man,\" retorted the praetor, \"would ever be so bold as to court\nBalbilla, could he hear how cruelly she judges an innocent admirer of\nbeauty?\"\n\n\"A husband ought not to admire beauty--only the one beauty who is his\nwife.\"\n\n\"Ah Vestal maiden,\" laughed Verus. \"I am meanwhile punishing you by\nwithholding from you a great secret which interests us all. No, no, I am\nnot going to tell--but I beg you my lady wife to take her to task, and\nteach her to exercise some indulgence so that her future husband may not\nhave too hard a time of it.\"\n\n\"No woman can learn to be indulgent,\" replied Lucilla. \"Still we practise\nindulgence when we have no alternative, and the criminal requires us to\nmake allowance for him in this thing or the other.\"\n\nVerus made his wife a bow and pressed his lips on her arm, then he asked.\n\"And where is dame Julia?\"\n\n\"She is saving the sheep from the wolf,\" replied Balbilla.\n\n\"Which means--?\"\n\n\"That as soon as you were announced she carried off little Roxana to a\nplace of safety.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" interrupted Lucilla. \"The tailor was waiting in an inner room\nto arrange the charming child's costume. Only look at the lovely nosegay\nshe brought to Julia. And do you deny my right to share your secret?\"\n\n\"How could I?\" replied Verus.\n\n\"He is very much in need of your making allowances!\" laughed Balbilla,\nwhile the praetor went up to, his wife and told her in a whisper what he\nhad learnt from Mastor. Lucilla clasped her hands in astonishment, and\nVerus cried to the poetess:\n\n\"Now you see what a satisfaction your cruel tongue has deprived you of?\"\n\n\"How can you be so revengeful most estimable Verus,\" said the lady\ncoaxingly. \"I am dying of curiosity.\"\n\n\"Live but a few days longer fair Balbilla, for my sake,\" replied the\nRoman, \"and the cause of your early death will be removed.\"\n\n\"Only wait, I will be revenged!\" cried the girl threatening him with her\nfinger, but Lucilla led her away saying:\n\n\"Come now, it is time we should give Julia the benefit of our advice.\"\n\n\"Do so,\" said Verus. \"Otherwise I am afraid my visit to-day would seem\nopportune to no one.--Greet Julia from me.\"\n\nAs he went away he cast a glance at the nosegay which Arsinoe had given\naway as soon as she had received it from him, and he sighed: \"As we grow\nold we have to learn wisdom.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Avoid all useless anxiety\n     To know half is less endurable than to know nothing\n     Who do all they are able and enjoy as much as they can get\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n[Note: The original print edition chapter numbers start over at this\npoint with numeral I. D.W.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nDame Hannah had watched by Selene till sunrise and indefatigably cooled\nboth her injured foot and the wound in her head. The old physician was\nnot dissatisfied with the condition of his patient, but ordered the widow\nto lie down for a time and to leave the care of her for a few hours to\nher young friend. When Mary was alone with the sick girl and had laid the\nfresh cold handkerchief in its place, Selene turned her face towards her\nand said:\n\n\"Then you were at Lochias yesterday. Tell me how you found them all\nthere. Who guided you to our lodgings and did you see my little brother\nand sisters?\"\n\n\"You are not yet quite free of fever, and I do not know how much I ought\nto talk to you--but I would with all my heart.\"\n\nThe words were spoken kindly and there was a deep loving light in the\neyes of the deformed girl as she said them. Selene excited not merely her\nsympathy and pity, but her admiration too, for she was so beautiful, so\ntotally different from herself, and in every little service she rendered\nher, she felt like some despised beggar whom a prince might have\npermitted to wait upon him. Her hump had never seemed to her so bent, nor\nher brown skin so ugly at any other time as it did to-day, when side by\nside with this symmetrical and delicate girlish form, rounded to such\ntender contours.\n\nBut Mary felt not the smallest movement of envy. She only felt happy to\nhelp Selene, to serve her, to be allowed to gaze at her although she was\na heathen. During the night too, she had prayed fervently that the Lord\nmight graciously draw to himself this lovely, gentle creature, that He\nmight permit her to recover, and fill her soul with the same love for the\nSaviour that gave joy to her own. More than once she had longed to kiss\nher, but she dared not, for it seemed to her as though the sick girl were\nmade of finer stuff than she herself.\n\nSelene felt tired, very tired, and as the pain diminished, a comfortable\nsense stole over her of peace and respite in the silent and loving\nhomeliness of her surroundings; a feeling that was new and very soothing,\nthough it was interrupted, now and again, by her anxiety for those at\nhome. Dame Hannah's presence did her good, for she fancied she recognized\nin her voice something that had been peculiar to her mother's, when she\nhad played with her and pressed her with special affection to her heart.\n\nIn the papyrus factory, at the gumming-table, the sight of the little\nhunchback had disgusted Selene, but here she observed what good eyes she\nhad, and how kind a voice, and the care with which Mary lifted the\ncompress from her foot--as softly, as if in her own hands she felt the\npain that Selene was suffering--and then laid another on the broken\nankle, aroused her gratitude. Her sister Arsinoe was a vain and thorough\nAlexandrian girl, and she had nicknamed the poor thing after the ugliest\nof the Hellenes who had besieged Troy. \"Dame Thersites,\" and Selene\nherself had often repeated it. Now she forgot the insulting name\naltogether, and met the objections of her nurse by saying:\n\n\"The fever cannot be much now; if you tell me something I shall not think\nso constantly of this atrocious pain. I am longing to be at home. Did you\nsee the children?\"\n\n\"No, Selene. I went no farther than the entrance of your dwelling, and\nthe kind gate-keeper's wife told me at once that I should find neither\nyour father nor your sister, and that your slave-woman was gone out to\nbuy cakes for the children.\"\n\n\"To buy them!\" exclaimed Selene in astonishment. \"The old woman told me\ntoo that the way to your apartments led through several rooms in which\nslaves were at work, and that her son, who happened to be with her,\nshould accompany me, and so he did, but the door was locked, and he told\nme I might entrust his mother with my commission. I did so, for she\nlooked as if she were both judicious and kind.\"\n\n\"That she is.\"\n\n\"And she is very fond of you, for when I told her of your sufferings the\nbright tears rolled down her cheeks, and she praised you as warmly, and\nwas as much troubled as if you had been her own daughter.\"\n\n\"You said nothing about our working in the factory?\" asked Selene\nanxiously.\n\n\"Certainly not, you had desired me not to mention it. I was to say\neverything that was kind to you from the old lady.\"\n\nFor several minutes the two girls were silent, then Selene asked:\n\n\"Did the gate-keeper's son who accompanied you also hear of the disaster\nthat had befallen me?\n\n\"Yes, on the way to your rooms he was full of fun and jokes, but when I\ntold him that you had gone out with your damaged foot and now could not\nget home again, and were being treated by the leech, he was very angry\nand used blasphemous language.\"\n\n\"Can you remember what he said?\"\n\n\"Not perfectly, but one thing I still recollect. He accused his gods of\nhaving created a beautiful work only to spoil it, nay he abused them\"\nMary looked down as she spoke, as if she were repeating something ill to\ntell, but Selene colored slightly with pleasure, and exclaimed eagerly,\nas if to outdo the sculptor in abuse:\n\n\"He is quite right, the powers above act in such a way--\"\n\n\"That is not right,\" said the deformed girl reprovingly.\n\n\"What?\" asked the patient. \"Here you live quietly to yourselves in\nperfect peace and love. Many a word that I heard dame Hannah say has\nstuck in my mind, and I can see for myself that you act as kindly as you\nspeak. The gods no doubt are good to you!\"\n\n\"God is for each and all.\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Selene with flashing eyes. \"For those whose every\npleasure they destroy? For the home of eight children whom they rob of\ntheir mother? For the poor whom they daily threaten to deprive of their\nbread-winner?\"\n\n\"For them too, there is a merciful God,\" interrupted dame Hannah who had\njust come into the room. \"I will lead you to the loving Father in Heaven\nwho cares for us all as if we were His children; but not now--you must\nrest and neither talk nor hear of anything that can excite your fevered\nblood. Now I will rearrange the pillow under your head. Mary will wet a\nfresh compress and then you must try to sleep.\"\n\n\"I cannot,\" replied Selene, while Hannah shook her pillows and arranged\nthem carefully. \"Tell me about your God who loves us.\"\n\n\"By-and-bye, dear child. Seek Him and you will find Him, for of all His\nchildren He loves them best who suffer.\"\n\n\"Those who suffer?\" asked Selene, in surprise. \"What has a God in his\nOlympian joys to do with those who suffer?\"\n\n\"Be quiet, child,\" interrupted Hannah, patting the sick girl with a\nsoothing hand, \"you soon will learn how God takes care of you and that\nAnother loves you.\"\n\n\"Another,\" muttered Selene, and her cheeks turned crimson.\n\nShe thought at once of Pollux, and asked herself why the story of her\nsufferings should have moved him so deeply if he were not in love with\nher. Then she began to seek some colorable ground for what she had heard\nas she went past the screen behind which he had been working. He had\nnever told her plainly that he loved her. Why should he, an artist and a\nbright, high spirited young fellow, not be allowed to jest with a pretty\ngirl, even if his heart belonged to another. No, she was not indifferent\nto him: that she had felt that night when she had stood as his model, and\nnow--as she thought--I could guess, nay, feel sure of, from Mary's story.\n\nThe longer she thought of him, the more she began to long to see him whom\nshe had loved so dearly even as a child. Her heart had never yet beat for\nany other man, but since she had met Pollux again in the hall of the\nMuses, his image had filled her whole soul, and what she now felt must be\nlove--could be nothing else. Half awake, but half asleep, she pictured\nhim to herself, entering this quiet room, sitting down by the head of her\ncouch, and looking with his kind eyes into hers. Ah! and how could she\nhelp it--she sat up and opened her arms to him.\n\n\"Be still, my child, he still,\" said Hannah. \"It is not good for you to\nmove about so much.\"\n\nSelene opened her eyes, but only to close them again and to dream for\nsome time longer till she was startled from her rest by loud voices in\nthe garden. Hannah left the room, and her voice presently mingled with\nthose of the other persons outside, and when she returned her cheeks were\nflushed and she could not find fitting words in which to tell her patient\nwhat she had to say.\n\n\"A very big man, in the most outrageous dress,\" she said at last, \"wanted\nto be let in; when the gatekeeper refused, he forced his way in. He asked\nfor you.\"\n\n\"For me,\" said Selene, blushing.\n\n\"Yes, my child, he brought a large and beautiful nosegay of flowers, and\nsaid 'your friend at Lochias sends you his greeting.'\"\n\n\"My friend at Lochias?\" murmured thoughtfully Selene to herself. Then her\neyes sparkled with gladness, and she asked quickly:\n\nYou said the man who brought the flowers was very tall.\"\n\n\"He was.\"\n\n\"Oh please, dame Hannah, let me see the flowers?\" cried Selene, trying to\nraise herself.\n\n\"Have you a lover, child?\" asked the widow.\n\n\"A lover?--no, but there is a young man with whom we always used to play\nwhen we were quite little--an artist, a kind, good man--and the nosegay\nmust be from him.\"\n\nHannah looked with sympathy at the girl, and signing to Mary she said:\n\n\"The nosegay is a very large one. You may see it, but it must not remain\nin the room; the smell of so many flowers might do you harm.\"\n\nMary rose from her seat at the head of the bed, and whispered to the sick\ngirl:\n\n\"Is that the tall gate-keeper's son?\" Selene nodded, smiling, and as the\nwomen went away she changed her position from lying on one side,\nstretched herself out on her back, pressed her hand to her heart, and\nlooked upwards with a deep sigh. There was a singing in her ears, and\nflashes of colored light seemed to dance before her closed eyes. She drew\nher breath with difficulty, but still it seemed as though the air she\ndrew in was full of the perfume of flowers.\n\nHannah and Mary carried in the enormous bunch of flowers. Selene's eyes\nshone more brightly, and she clasped her hands in admiration. Then she\nmade them show her the lovely, richly-tinted and fragrant gift, first on\none side and then on the other, buried her face in the flowers, and\nsecretly kissed the delicate petals of a lovely, half-opened rose-bud.\nShe felt as if intoxicated, and the bright tears flowed in slow\nsuccession down her cheeks. Mary was the first to detect the brooch stuck\ninto the ribbons that tied the stems of the flowers. She unfastened it\nand showed it to Selene, who hastily took it out of her hand. Blushing\ndeeper and deeper, she fixed her eyes on the intaglio carved on the stone\nof the love god sharpening his arrows. She felt her pain no more pain,\nshe felt quite well, and at the same time glad, proud, too happy. Dame\nHannah noted her excitement with much anxiety; she nodded to Mary and\nsaid:\n\n\"Now my daughter, this must do; we will place the flowers outside the\nwindow so that you may see them.\"\n\n\"Already,\" said Selene, in a regretful tone, and she broke off a few\nviolets and roses from the crowded mass. When she was alone again, she\nlaid the flowers down and once more tenderly contemplated the figures on\nthe handsome gem. It had no doubt been engraved by Teuker, the brother of\nPollux. How fine the carving was, how significant the choice of the\nsubject represented! Only the heavy gold setting disturbed the poor\nchild, who for so many years had had to stint and contrive with her\nmoney. She said to herself that it was wrong of the young fellow, who,\nbesides being poor, had to support his sister, to rush into such an\noutlay for her. But his gift gave her none the less pleasure, out of her\nown possessions nothing would have seemed too precious to give him. She\nwould teach him to be saving by-and-bye.\n\nThe women presently returned after they had with much trouble set up the\nnosegay outside the window, and they renewed the wet handkerchief without\nspeaking. She did not in the least want to talk, she was listening with\nso much pleasure to the fair promises which her fancy was making, and\nwherever she turned her eyes they fell on something she could love, The\nflowers on her bed, the brooch in her hand, the nosegay outside the\nwindow, and never dreaming that another--not the man she loved--could\nhave sent it to her, another for whom she cared even less than for the\nChristians who walked up and down in Paulina's garden, under her window.\nThere she lay, full of sweet contentment and secure of a love that had\nnever been hers--of possessing the heart of a man who never once thought\nof her, but who, only a few hours since, had rushed off with her sister,\nintoxicated with joy and delight. Poor Selene!\n\nAnd her next dreams were of untroubled happiness, but the minutes flew\nafter each other, each bringing her nearer to waking--and what a waking!\n\nHer father had not come, as he had intended, to see her before going to\nthe prefect's house with Arsinoe. His desire to conduct his daughter to\nJulia in a dress worthy of her prospects had detained him a long time,\nand even then he had not succeeded in his object. All the weavers, and\nthe shops were closed, for every workman, whether slave or free, was\ntaking part in the festivities, and when the hour fixed by the prefect\ndrew near, his daughter was still sitting in her litter, in her simple\nwhite dress and her modest peplum, bound with blue ribbon, which looked\neven more insignificant by day than in the evening.\n\nThe nosegay which had been given to Arsinoe by Verus gave her much\npleasure, for a girl is always pleased with beautiful flowers--nay, they\nhave something in common. As she and her father approached the prefect's\nhouse Arsinoe grew frightened, and her father could not conceal his\nvexation at being obliged to take her to the lady Julia in so modest a\ngarb. Nor was his gloomy humor at all enlivened when he was left to wait\nin the anteroom while Julia and the wife of Verus, aided by Balbilla\nchose for his daughter the finest colored and costliest stuffs of the\nsoftest wool, silk, and delicate bombyx tissue. This sort of occupation\nhas this peculiarity, that the longer time it takes the more assistance\nis needed, and the steward had to submit to wait fully two hours in the\nprefect's anteroom, which gradually grew fuller and fuller of clients and\nvisitors. At last Arsinoe came back all glowing and full of the beautiful\nthings that were to be prepared for her.\n\nHer father rose slowly from his easy seat, and as she hastened towards\nhim the door opened, and through it came Plutarch, freshly wreathed,\nfreshly decked with flowers which were fastened to the breast-folds of\nhis gallium, and lifted into the room by his two human crutches. Every\none rose as he came in, and when Keraunus saw that the chief lawyer of\nthe city, a man of ancient family, bowed before him, he did likewise.\nPlutarch's eyesight was stronger than his legs were, and where a pretty\nwoman was to be seen, it was always very keen. He perceived Arsinoe as\nsoon as he had crossed the threshold and waved both hands towards her, as\nif she were an old and favorite acquaintance.\n\nThe sweet child had quite bewitched him; in his younger days he would\nhave given anything and everything to win her favor; now he was satisfied\nto make his favor pleasing to her; he touched her playfully two or three\ntimes on the arm and said gaily:\n\n\"Well pretty Roxana, has dame Julia done well with the dresses?\"\n\n\"Oh! they have chosen such pretty, such really lovely things!\" exclaimed\nthe girl.\"\n\n\"Have they?\" said Plutarch, to conceal by speech the fact that he was\nmeditating on some subject; \"Have they? and why should they not?\"\n\nArsinoe's washed dress had caught the old man's eye, and remembering that\nGabinius the curiosity-dealer had that very morning been to him to\nenquire whether Arsinoe were not in fact one of his work-girls, and to\nrepeat his statement that her father was a beggarly toady, full of\nhaughty airs, whose curiosities, of which he contemptuously mentioned a\nfew, were worth nothing, Plutarch was hastily asking himself how he could\nbest defend his pretty protege against the envious tongues of her rivals;\nfor many spiteful speeches of theirs had already come to his ears.\n\n\"Whatever the noble Julia undertakes is always admirably done,\" he said\naloud, and he added in a whisper: \"The day after to-morrow when the\ngoldsmiths have opened their workshops again, I will see what I can find\nfor you. I am falling in a heap, hold me up higher Antaeus and Atlas.\nSo.--Yes, my child you look even better from up here than from a lower\nlevel. Is the stout man standing behind you your father?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Have you no mother?\"\n\n\"She is dead.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Plutarch in a tone of regret. Then turning to the steward he\nsaid:\n\n\"Accept my congratulations on having such a daughter Keraunus. I hear too\nthat you have to supply a mother's place to her.\"\n\n\"Alas sir! she is very like my poor wife, since her death I live a\njoyless life.\"\n\n\"But I hear that you take pleasure in collecting rare and beautiful\nobjects. This is a taste we have in common. Are you inclined to part with\nthe cup that belonged to my namesake Plutarch? It must be a fine piece of\nwork from what Gabinius tells me.\"\n\n\"That it is,\" replied the steward proudly. \"It was a gift to the\nphilosopher from Trajan; beautifully carved in ivory. I cannot bear to\npart with such a gem but,\" and as he spoke he lowered his voice. \"I am\nunder obligations to you, you have taken charge of my daughter's outfit\nand to offer you some return I will--\"\n\n\"That is quite out of the question,\" interrupted Plutarch, who knew men,\nand who saw from the steward's pompous pretentiousness that the dealer\nhad done him no injustice in describing him as overbearing. \"You are\ndoing me an honor by allowing me to contribute what I can towards\ndecorating our Roxana. I beg you to send me the cup, and whatever price\nyou put upon it, I, of course, shall pay, that is quite understood.\"\n\nKeraunus had a brief internal conflict with himself. If he had not so\nsorely needed money, if he had not so keenly desired to see a young and\ncomely slave walking behind him, he would have adhered to his purpose of\npresenting the cup to Plutarch; as it was he cleared his throat, looked\nat the ground, and said with an embarrassed manner and without a trace of\nhis former confidence:\n\n\"I remain your debtor, and it seems you do not wish this business to be\nmixed up with other matters. Well then, I had two thousand drachmae for a\nsword that belonged to Antony.\"\n\n\"Then certainly,\" interrupted Plutarch, \"the cup, the gift of Trajan,\nmust be worth double, particularly to me who am related to the\nillustrious owner. May I offer you four thousand drachmae for your\nprecious possession?\"\n\n\"I am anxious to oblige you, and so I say yes,\" replied the steward with\nmuch dignity, and he squeezed Arsinoe's little finger, for she was\nstanding close to him. Her hand had for some time been touching his in\ntoken of warning that he should adhere to his first intention of making\nthe cup a present to Plutarch.\n\nAs the pair, so unlike each other, quitted the anteroom, Plutarch looked\nafter them with a meaning smile and thought to himself: \"That is well\ndone. How little pleasure I generally have from my riches! How often when\nI see a sturdy porter I would willingly change places with him! But\nto-day I am glad to have as much money as I could wish. Sweet child! She\nmust have a new dress of course for the sake of appearance, but really\nher beauty did not suffer from the washed-out rag of a dress. And she\nbelongs to me, for I have seen her at the factory among the workwomen, of\nthat I am certain.\"\n\nKeraunus had gone out with his daughter and once outside the prefect's\nhouse, he could not help chuckling aloud, while he patted his daughter on\nthe shoulder, and whispered to her:\n\n\"I told you so child! we shall be rich yet, we shall rise in life again\nand need not be behind the other citizens in any thing.\"\n\n\"Yes, father, but it is just because you believe that, that you ought to\nhave given the cup to the old man.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Keraunus, \"business is business, but by and bye I will\nrepay him tenfold for all he does for you now, by giving him my painting\nby Apelles. And Julia shall have the pair of sandal-straps set with\ncut-gems that came off a sandal of Cleopatra's.\"\n\nArsinoe looked down, for she knew what these treasures were worth, and\nsaid:\n\n\"We can consider all that later.\"\n\nThen she and her father got into the litters that had been waiting for\nthem, and without which Keraunus thought he could no longer exist, and\nthey were carried to the garden of Pudeus' widow.\n\nTheir visit came to interrupt Selene's blissful dreams. Keraunus behaved\nwith icy coldness to dame Hannah, for it afforded him a certain\nsatisfaction to make a display of contempt for every thing Christian.\nWhen he expressed his regret that Selene should have been obliged to\nremain in her house, the widow replied:\n\n\"She is better here than in the street, at any rate.\" And when Keraunus\nwent on to say that he would take nothing as a gift and would pay her for\nher care of his daughter, Hannah answered:\n\n\"We are happy to do all we can for your child, and Another will reward\nus.\"\n\n\"That I certainly forbid,\" exclaimed the steward wrathfully.\n\n\"We do not understand each other,\" said the Christian pleasantly. \"I do\nnot allude to any mortal being, and the reward we work for is not gold\nand possessions, but the happy consciousness of having mitigated the\nsufferings of a fellow-creature.\"\n\nKeraunus shrugged his shoulders, and after desiring Selene to ask the\nphysician when she might be taken home, he went away.\n\n\"I will not leave you here an instant longer than is necessary,\" he said\nas urgently as though she were in some infected house; he kissed her\nforehead, bowed to Hannah as loftily as though he had just bestowed an\nalms upon her, and departed, without listening to Selene's assurances\nthat she was extremely happy and comfortable with the widow.\n\nThe ground had long burnt under his feet, and the money in his pocket, he\nwas now possessed of ample means to acquire a good new slave, perhaps, if\nhe threw old Sebek into the bargain, they might even suffice to procure\nhim a handsome Greek, who might teach the children to read and write. He\ncould direct his first attention to the external appearance of the new\nmember of his household, if he were a scholar as well, he would feel\njustified in the high price he expected to be obliged to pay for him.\n\nAs Keraunus approached the slave-market he said, not without some\nconscious emotion at his own paternal devotion:\n\n\"All for the credit of the house, all, and only, for the children.\"\n\nArsinoe carried out her intention of staying with Selene; her father was\nto fetch her on his way home. After he was gone, Hannah and Mary left the\ntwo sisters together, for they supposed that they must wish to discuss a\nvariety of things without the presence of strangers.\n\nAs soon as the girls were alone Arsinoe began: \"Your cheeks are rosy,\nSelene, and you look cheerful--ah! and I, I am so happy--so happy!\"\n\n\"Because you are to fill the part of Roxana?\"\n\n\"That is very nice too, and who would have thought only yesterday morning\nthat we should be so rich today. We hardly know what to do with all the\nmoney.\"\n\n\"We?\"\n\n\"Yes, for father has sold two objects out of his collection for six\nthousand drachmae.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Selene clasping her hands, \"then we can pay our most pressing\ndebts.\"\n\n\"To be sure, but that is not nearly all.\"\n\n\"No?\"\n\n\"Where shall I begin? Ah! Selene, my heart is so full. I am tired, and\nyet I could dance and sing and shout all day and all the night through\ntill to-morrow. When I think how happy I am, my head turns, and I feel as\nif I must use all my self-control to keep myself from turning giddy. You\ndo not know yet how you feel when the arrow of Eros has pierced you. Ah!\nI love Pollux so much, and he loves me too.\"\n\nAt these words all the color fled from Selene's cheeks, and her pale lips\nbrought out the words:\n\n\"Pollux? The son of Euphorion, Pollux the sculptor?\"\n\n\"Yes, our dear, kind, tall Pollux!\" cried Arsinoe. \"Now prick up your\nears, and you shall hear how it all came to pass. Last night on our way\nto see you he confessed how much he loved me, and now you must advise me\nhow to win over my father to our side, and very soon too. By-and-bye he\nwill of course say yes, for Pollux can do anything he wants, and some day\nhe will be a great man, as great as Papias, and Aristaeus, and Kealkes\nall put together. His youthful trick with that silly caricature--but how\npale you are, Selene!\"\n\n\"It is nothing--nothing at all--a pain--go on,\" said Selene.\n\n\"Dame Hannah begged me not to let you talk much.\"\n\n\"Only tell me everything; I will be quiet.\"\n\n\"Well, you have seen the lovely head of mother that he made,\" Arsinoe\nwent on. \"Standing by that we saw each other and talked for the first\ntime after long years, and I felt directly that there was not a dearer\nman than he in the whole world, wide as it is. And he fell in love too\nwith a stupid little thing like me. Yesterday evening he came here with\nme; and then as I went home, taking his arm in the dark through the\nstreets, then--Oh, Selene, it was splendid, delightful! You cannot\nimagine!--Does your foot hurt you very much, poor dear? Your eyes are\nfull of tears.\"\n\n\"Go on, tell me all, go on.\"\n\nAnd Arsinoe did as she was desired, sparing the poor girl nothing that\ncould widen and deepen the wound in her soul. Full of rapturous memories\nshe described the place in the streets where Pollux had first kissed her.\nThe shrubs in the garden where she had flung herself into his arms, her\nblissful walk in the moonlight, and all the crowd assembled for the\nfestival, and finally how, possessed by the god, they had together joined\nthe procession, and danced through the streets. She described, with tears\nin her eyes, how painful their parting had been, and laughed again, as\nshe told how an ivy leaf in her hair had nearly betrayed everything to\nher father. So she talked and talked, and there was something that\nintoxicated her in her own words.\n\nHow they were affecting Selene she did not observe. How could she know\nthat it was her narrative and no other suffering which made her sister's\nlips quiver so sorrowfully? Then, when she went on to speak of the\nsplendid garments which Julia was having made for her, the suffering girl\nlistened with only half an ear, but her attention revived when she heard\nhow much old Plutarch had offered for the ivory cup, and that her father\nproposed to exchange their old slave for a more active one.\n\n\"Our good black mouse-catching old stork looks shabby enough it is true,\"\nsaid Arsinoe, \"still I am very sorry he should go away. If you had been\nat home, perhaps father would have waited to consider.\"\n\nSelene laughed drily, and her lips curled scornfully as she said:\n\n\"That is the way! go on! two days before you are turned out of house and\nhome you ride in a chariot and pair!\"\n\n\"You always see the worst side,\" said Arsinoe with annoyance. \"I tell you\nit will all turn out far better and nicer and more happily than we\nexpect. As soon as we are a little richer we will buy back the old man,\nand keep him and feed him till he dies.\"\n\nSelene shrugged her shoulders, and her sister jumped up from her seat\nwith her eyes full of tears. She had been so happy in telling how happy\nshe was that she firmly believed that her story must bring brightness\ninto the gloom of the sick girl's soul, like sunshine after a dark night;\nand Selene had nothing to give her but scornful words and looks. If a\nfriend refuses to share in joys it is hardly less wounding than if he\nwere to abandon us in trouble.\n\n\"How you always contrive to embitter my happiness!\" cried Arsinoe. \"I\nknow very well that nothing that I can do can ever be right in your eyes;\nstill, we are sisters, and you need not set your teeth and grudge your\nwords, and shrug your shoulders when I tell you of things which, even a\nstranger, if I were to confide them to her, would rejoice over with me.\nYou are so cold and heartless! I dare say you will betray me to my\nfather--\"\n\nBut Arsinoe did not finish her sentence, for Selene looked up at her with\na mixture of suffering and alarm, and said:\n\n\"I cannot be glad--I am in too much pain.\" As she spoke the tears ran\ndown her cheeks and as soon as Arsinoe saw them she felt a return of pity\nfor the sick girl, bent over and kissed her cheeks once, twice, thrice;\nbut Selene pushed her aside and murmured piteously:\n\n\"Leave me--pray leave me; go away, I can bear it no longer.\" She turned\nher face to the wall, sobbing aloud. Arsinoe attempted once more to show\nher some marks of affection, but her sister pushed her away still more\ndecidedly, crying out loudly, as if in desperation: \"I shall die if you\ndo not leave me alone.\"\n\nAnd the happier girl, whose best offerings were thus disdained by her\nonly female friend, went weeping away to await her father's return\noutside the door of the widow's house.\n\nWhen Hannah went to lay fresh handkerchiefs on Selene's wounds she saw\nthat she had been crying, but she did not enquire into the reason of her\ntears. Towards evening the widow explained to her patient that she must\nleave her alone for half an hour, for that she and Mary were going out to\npray to their God with their brethren and sisters, and they would pray\nfor her also.\n\n\"Leave me, only leave me,\" said Selene, \"as it is, so it is--there are no\ngods.\"\n\n\"Gods?\" replied Hannah. \"No. But there is one good and loving Father in\nHeaven, and you soon shall learn to know him.\"\n\n\"I know him, well!\" muttered the sick girl with keen irony.\n\nNo sooner was she alone than she sat up in bed, and flung the flowers,\nwhich had been lying on it, far from her across the room, twisted the pin\nof the brooch till it was broken, and did not stir a finger to save the\ngold setting and engraved stone when they fell between the bed and wall\nof the room. Then she lay staring at the ceiling, and did not stir again.\nIt was now quite dark. The lilies and honeysuckle in the great nosegay\noutside the window began to smell more strongly, and their perfume forced\nitself inexorably on her senses, rendered painfully acute by fever. She\nperceived it at every breath she drew, and not for a minute would it let\nher forget her wrecked happiness, and the wretchedness of her heart, till\nthe heavy sweetness of the flowers became more unendurable than the most\npungent odor, and she drew the coverlet over her head to escape this new\ntorment; but she soon cast it off again, for she thought she should be\nsuffocated under it. An intolerable restlessness took possession of her,\nwhile the pain in her injured foot throbbed madly, the cut in her head\nseemed to burn, and her temples beat with an agonizing headache that\ncontracted the muscles of her eyes. Every nerve in her body, every\nthought of her brain was a separate torture, and at the same time she\nfelt herself without a stay, without protection, and wholly abandoned to\nsome cruel influence, which tossed and tore her soul as the storm tosses\nthe crowns of the palm-trees.\n\nWithout tears, incapable of lying still and yet punished for the\nslightest movement by some fresh pain, racked in every joint, not strong\nenough in her bewilderment to carry through a single connected thought,\nand yet firmly convinced that the perfume she was forced to inhale at\nevery breath was poisoning her--destroying her--driving her mad--she\nlifted her damaged foot out of bed, dragged the other after it, and sat\nup on her couch regardless of the pain she felt, and the warnings of the\nphysician. Her long hair fell dishevelled over her face, her arms, and\nher hands, in which she held her aching head; and in this new attitude\nthe excitement of her brain and heart took fresh development.\n\nShe sat gazing at the floor with a freezing gaze, and bitter enmity\ntowards her sister, hatred towards Pollux, contempt for her father's\nmiserable weakness, and her own utter blindness, rang wild changes in her\nsoul. Outside all lay in peaceful calm, and from the house in which\nPaulina lived the evening breeze now and again bore the pure tones of a\npious hymn upon her ear. Selene never heeded it, but as the same air\nwafted the scent of the flowers in her face even stronger than before,\nshe clutched her hair in her fingers and pulled it so violently that she\nactually groaned with the pain she gave herself.\n\nThe question as to whether her hair was less abundant and beautiful than\nher sister's suddenly occurred to her, and like a flash in the darkness\nthe wish shot through her soul that she could fling Arsinoe to the ground\nby the hair, with the hand which was now hurting herself.\n\nThat perfume! that horrible perfume!\n\nShe could bear it no longer. She stood up on her uninjured foot, and with\nvery short steps she dragged herself half crying to the window, and flung\nthe nosegay with the great jar of burnt clay down on to the ground. The\nvessel was broken.--It had cost poor Hannah many hardly-saved pieces not\nlong since. Selene stood on one foot, leaning, to recover herself,\nagainst the right-hand post of the window-opening, and there she could\nhear more distinctly than from her couch, the voice of the waves as they\nbroke on the stone quay just behind dame Hannah's little house. The child\nof the Lochias was familiar with their tones, but the clashing and\ngurgling of the cool, moist element against the stones had never affected\nher before as they did now. Her fevered blood was on fire, her foot was\nburning, her head was hot, and hatred seemed to consume her soul as in a\nslow fire; she felt as if every wave that broke upon the seawall was\ncalling out to her: \"I am cool, I am moist, I can extinguish the flame\nthat is consuming you. I can refresh and revive you.\"\n\nWhat had the world to offer her but new torment and new misery? But the\nsea--the blue dark sea was wide, and cold, and deep, and its waves\npromised her in insidious tones to relieve her at once of the rage of her\nfever, and of the burden of her life. Selene did not pause, did not\nreflect; she remembered neither the children whom she had so long cared\nfor as a mother, nor her father, whose comfort and support she was--vague\nvoices in her brain seemed to be whispering to her that the world was\nevil and cruel, and the abode of all the torment and care that gnawed at\nher heart. She felt as if she bad been plunged to the temples in a pool\nof fire, and, like some poor wretch whose garments have been caught by\nthe flames, she had an instinct to fly to the water, at the bottom of\nwhich she might hope to find the fulfilment of her utmost longing, sweet\ncold death, in which all is forgotten.\n\nGroaning and tottering she pushed her way through the door into the\ngarden and hobbled down to the sea, grasping her temples in her hands.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe Alexandrians were a stiff-necked generation. Only some phenomenal\nsight far transcending their every-day experience could avail to make\nthem turn their heads to stare at it, but just now there was something to\nlook at, at every moment and in every street of the city. To-day too each\none thought only of himself and of his own pleasure. Some particularly\npretty, tall, or well-dressed figure would give rise to a smile or an\nexclamation of approval, but before one sight had been thoroughly enjoyed\nthe inquisitive eye was seeking a fresh one.\n\nThus it happened that no one paid any special attention to Hadrian and\nhis companions who allowed themselves to be unresistingly carried along\nthe streets by the current of the crowd; and yet each one of them was, in\nhis way, a remarkable object. Hadrian was dressed as Silenus, Pollux as a\nfaun. Both wore masks and the disguise of the younger man was as well\nsuited to his pliant and vigorous figure as that of the elder to his\npowerful stately person. Antinous followed his master, dressed as Eros.\nHe wore a crimson mantle and was crowned with roses, while the silver\nquiver on his shoulder and the bow in his hand clearly symbolized the god\nhe was intended to represent. He too wore a mask, but his figure\nattracted many gazers, and many a greeting of \"Long live the god of love\"\nor \"Be gracious to me oh! son of Aphrodite\" was spoken as he passed.\n\nPollux had obtained all the things requisite for these disguises from the\nstore of drapery belonging to his master. Papias had been out, but the\nyoung man did not deem it necessary to ask his consent, for he and the\nother assistants had often used the things for similar purposes with his\nfull permission. Only as he took the quiver intended for Antinous, Pollux\nhesitated a little for it was of solid silver and had been given to his\nmaster by the wife of a wealthy cone-dealer, whom he had represented in\nmarble as Artemis equipped for the chase.\n\n\"The Roman's handsome companion,\" thought the young artist as he placed\nthe costly object in with the others in a basket, which a squinting\napprentice was to carry behind him--\"The Roman's handsome companion must\nbe made a splendid Eros--and before sunrise the useless thing will be\nhanging on its hook again.\"\n\nIndeed Pollux had not much time to admire the splendid appearance of the\ngod of love he had so richly adorned, for the Roman architect was\npossessed by such thirst for knowledge and such inexhaustible curiosity\nas to the minutest details that even Pollux who was born in Alexandria,\nand had grown up there with his eyes very wide open, was often unable to\nanswer his indefatigable questioning.\n\nThe grey-bearded master wanted to see every thing and to be informed on\nevery subject. Not content with making acquaintance with the main streets\nand squares the public sites and buildings, he peeped into the handsomest\nof the private houses and asked the names, rank and fortunes of the\nowners. The decided way in which he told Pollux the way he wished to be\nconducted proved to the artist that he was thoroughly familiar with the\nplan of the city. And when the sagacious and enlightened man expressed\nhis approval, nay his admiration of the broad clean streets of the town,\nthe handsome open places, and particularly handsome buildings which\nabounded on all sides, the young Alexandrian who was proud of his city\nwas delighted.\n\nFirst Hadrian made him lead him along the seashore by the Bruchiom to the\ntemple of Poseidon, where he performed some devotions, then he looked\ninto the garden of the palace and the courts of the adjoining museum. The\nCaesareum with its Egyptian gateway excited his admiration no less than\nthe theatre, surrounded with pillared arcades in stories, and decorated\nwith numerous statues. From thence deviating to the left they once more\napproached the sea to visit the great Emporium, to see the forest of\nmasts of Eunostus, and the finely-constructed quays. They left the\nviaduct known as the Heptastadion to their right and the harbor of\nKibotus, swarming with small merchant craft, did not detain them long.\n\nHere they turned backs on the sea following a street which led inland\nthrough the quarter called Khakotis inhabited only by native Egyptians,\nand here the Roman found much to see that was noteworthy. First he and\nhis companions met a procession of the priests who serve the gods of the\nNile valley, carrying reliquaries and sacred vessels, with images of the\ngods and sacred animals, and tending towards the Serapeum which towered\nhigh above the streets in the vicinity. Hadrian did not visit the temple,\nbut he inspected the chariots which carried people along an inclined road\nwhich led up the hill on which was the sanctuary, and watched devotees on\nfoot who mounted by an endless flight of steps constructed on purpose;\nthese grew wider towards the top, terminating in a platform where four\nmighty pillars bore up a boldly-curved cupola. Nothing looked down upon\nthe temple-building which with its halls, galleries and rooms rose behind\nthis huge canopy.\n\nThe priests with their white robes, the meagre, half-naked Egyptians with\ntheir pleated aprons and headcloths, the images of beasts and the\nwonderfully-painted houses in this quarter of the city, particularly\nattracted Hadrian's attention and made him ask many questions, not all of\nwhich could Pollux answer.\n\nTheir walk which now took them farther and farther from the sea extended\nto the extreme south of the town and the shores of lake Mareotis. Nile\nboats and vessels of every form and size lay at anchor in this deep and\nsheltered inland sea; here the sculptor pointed out to Hadrian the canal\nthrough which goods were conveyed to the marine fleet which had been\nbrought down the river to Alexandria. And he pointed out to the Roman the\nhandsome country-houses and well-tended vineyards on the shores of the\nlake.\n\n\"The bodies in this city ought to thrive,\" said Hadrian meditatively.\n\"For here are two stomachs and two mouths by which they absorb\nnourishment; the sea, I mean, and this lake.\"\n\n\"And the harbors in each,\" added Pollux.\n\n\"Just so; but now it is time we should turn about,\" replied Hadrian, and\nthe party soon took a road leading eastward; they walked without pause\nthrough the quiet streets inhabited by the Christians, and finally\nthrough the Jews' quarter. In the heart of this quarter many houses were\nshut up, and there were no signs to be seen of the gay doings which\ncrowded on the sense and fancy in the heathen part of the town, for the\nstricter among the Hebrews held sternly aloof, from the holiday\nfestivities in which most of their nation and creed who dwelt among the\nGreeks, took part.\n\nFor a third time Hadrian and his companions crossed the Canopic way which\nformed the main artery of the city and divided it into the northern and\nsouthern halves, for he wished to look down from the hill of the Paneum\non the combined effect as a whole of all that he had seen in detail. The\ncarefully-kept gardens which surrounded this elevation swarmed with men,\nand the spiral path which led to the top was crowded with women and\nchildren, who came here to see the most splendid spectacle of the whole\nday, which closed with performances in all the theatres in the town.\nBefore the Emperor and his escort could reach the Paneum itself the crowd\nsuddenly packed more closely and began exclaiming among themselves, \"Here\nthey come!\" \"They are early to-day!\" \"Here they are!\"\n\nLictors with their fasces over their shoulders were clearing the broad\nroadway, which led from the prefect's on the Bruchiom to the Paneum, with\ntheir staves and paying no heed to the mocking and witty speeches\naddressed to them by the mob wherever they appeared. One woman, as she\nwas driven back by a Roman guardian of the peace, cried scornfully, \"Give\nme your rods for my children and do not use them on unoffending\ncitizens.\"\n\n\"There is an axe hidden among the faggots,\" added an Egyptian\nletter-writer in a warning voice.\n\n\"Bring it here,\" cried a butcher. \"I can use it to slaughter my beasts.\"\nThe Romans as they heard these bandied words felt the blood mounting to\ntheir faces, but the prefect, who knew his Alexandrians well, had\ncounselled them to be deaf; to see everything but to hear nothing. Now\nthere appeared a cohort of the Twelfth Legion, who were quartered in\ngarrison in Egypt, in their richest arms and holiday uniforms. Behind\nthem came two files of particularly tall lictors wearing wreaths, and\nthey were followed by several hundred wild beasts, leopards and panthers,\ngiraffes, gazelles, antelopes, and deer, all led by dark-colored\nEgyptians. Then came a richly-dressed and much be-wreathed Dionysian\nchorus with the sound of tambourines and lyres, double flutes and\ntriangles, and finally, drawn by ten elephants and twenty white horses, a\nlarge ship, resting on wheels and gilt from stem to stern, representing\nthe vessel in which the Tyrrhenian pirates were said to have carried off\nthe young Dionysus when they had seen the black-haired hero on the shore\nin his purple garments. But the miscreants--so the myth went on to\nsay--were not allowed long to rejoice in their violence, for hardly had\nthe ship reached the open sea when the fetters dropped from the god,\nvines entwined the sails in sudden luxuriance, tendrils encumbered the\noars and rudder, heavy grapes clustered round the ropes, and ivy clung to\nthe mast and shrouded the seats and sides of the vessel. Dionysus is\nequally powerful on sea and on land; in the pirates' ship he assumed the\nform of a lion, and the pirates, filled with terror, flung themselves\ninto the sea, and in the form of dolphins followed their lost bark.\n\nAll this Titianus had caused to be represented just as the Homeric hymns\ndescribed it, out of slight materials, but richly and elegantly\ndecorated, in order to provide a feast for the eyes of the Alexandrians,\nwith the intention of riding in it himself, with his wife and the most\nillustrious of the Romans who formed the Empress' suite, to enjoy all the\nHoliday doings in the chief streets of the city. Young and old, great and\nsmall, men and women, Greeks, Romans, Jews, Egyptians, foreigners dark\nand fair, with smooth hair or crisp wool, crowded with equal eagerness to\nthe edge of the roadway to see the gorgeous boat.\n\nHadrian, far more anxious to see the show than his younger but less\nexcitable favorite, pushed into the front rank, and as Antinous was\ntrying to follow him, a Greek boy, whom he had shoved aside, snatched his\nmask from his face, threw himself on the ground, and slipped nimbly off\nwith his booty. When Hadrian looked round for the Bithyman, the ship-in\nwhich the prefect was standing between the images of the Emperor and\nEmpress, while Julia, Balbilla, and her companion, and other Roman lords\nand ladies were sitting in it--had come quite near to them. His sharp eye\nhad recognized them all, and fearing that the lad's uncovered face would\nbetray them he cried out:\n\n\"Turn round and get into the crowd again.\" The favorite immediately\nobeyed, and only too glad to escape from the crowd, which was a thing he\ndetested, he sat down on a bench close to the Paneum, and looked dreamily\nat the ground while he thought of Selene and the nosegay he had sent her,\nneither seeing nor hearing anything of what was going on around him.\n\nWhen the gaudy ship left the gardens of the Paneum and turned into the\nCanopic way, the crowd pursued it in a dense mass, hallooing and\nshouting. Like a torrent suddenly swelled by a storm it rushed on,\nsurging and growing at each moment, and carrying with it even those who\ntried to resist its force. Thus even Hadrian and Pollux were forced to\nfollow in its wake, and it was not till they found themselves in the\nbroad Canopic way that they were able to come to a stand-still. The broad\nroadway of this famous street was bordered on each side by a long vista\nof colonnade, and it extended from one end of the city to the other.\nThere were hundreds of the Corinthian columns which supported the roof\nthat covered the footway, and near to one of these the Emperor and Pollux\nsucceeded at last in effecting a halt and taking breath.\n\nHadrian's first thought was for his favorite, and being averse to\nventuring himself once more to mix with the crowd, he begged the sculptor\nto go and seek him and conduct him safely.\n\n\"Will you wait for me here?\" asked Pollux.\n\n\"I have known a pleasanter halting place,\" sighed the Emperor.\n\n\"So have I,\" answered the artist. \"But that tall door there, wreathed\nround with boughs of poplar and ivy, leads into a cook-shop where the\ngods themselves might be content to find themselves.\"\n\n\"Then I will wait there.\"\n\n\"But I warn you to eat as much as you can, for the Olympian table' as\nkept by Lykortas, the Corinthian, is the dearest eating-house in the\nwhole city. None but the richest are his guests.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" laughed Hadrian. \"Only find my assistant a new mask and\nbring him back to me. It will not ruin me quite, even if I pay for a\nsupper for all three of us, and on a holiday one expects to spend\nsomething.\"\n\n\"I hope you may not live to repent,\" retorted Pollux. \"But a long fellow\nlike me is a good trencherman, and can do his part with the wine-jar.\"\n\n\"Only show me what you can do,\" cried Hadrian after him as Pollux hurried\noff. \"I owe you a supper at any rate, for that cabbage stew of your\nmother's.\"\n\nWhile Pollux went to seek the Bithyman in the vicinity of the Paneum, the\nEmperor entered the eating house, which the skill of the cook had made\nthe most frequented and fashionable in Alexandria. The place in which\nmost of the customers of the house dined, consisted of a large open hall,\nsurrounded by arcades which were roofed in on three of its sides and\nclosed by a wall on its fourth; in these arcades stood couches, on which\nthe guests reclined singly, or in couples, or in larger groups, and\nordered the dishes and liquors which the serving slaves, pretty boys with\ncurling hair and hand some dresses, placed before them on low tables.\nHere all was noise and bustle; at one table an epicure devoted himself\nsilently to the enjoyment of some carefully-prepared delicacy, at another\na large circle of men seemed to be talking more eagerly than they either\neat or drank, and from several of the smaller rooms behind the wall at\nthe back of the hall came sounds of music and song, and the bold laughter\nof men and women.\n\nThe Emperor asked for a private room, but they were all occupied, and he\nwas requested to wait a little while, for that one of the adjoining.\nrooms would very soon be vacant. He had taken off his mask, and though he\nwas not particularly afraid of being recognized in his disguise he chose\na couch that was screened by a broad pillar in one of the arcades at the\ninner side of the court, and which, now that evening was beginning to\nfall was already in obscurity. There he ordered, first some wine and then\nsome oysters to begin, with; while he was eating these he called one of\nthe superintendents and discussed with him the details of the supper he\nwished presently to be served to himself and his two guests. During this\nconversation the bustling host came to make his bow to his new customer,\nand seeing that he had to do with a man fully conversant with all the\npleasures of the table, he remained to attend on him, and entered with\nspecial zeal into Hadrian's various requirements.\n\nThere was, too, plenty to be seen in the court, which roused the\ncuriosity of the most inquisitive and enquiring man of his time. In the\nlarge space enclosed by the arcades, and under the eyes of the guests, on\ngridirons and hearths, over spits and in ovens the various dishes were\nprepared which were served up by the slaves. The cooks prepared their\nsavory messes on large, clean tables, and the scene of their labors,\nwhich, though enclosed by cords was open to public gaze was surrounded by\na small market, where however only the choicest of wares were displayed.\n\nHere in tempting array was every variety of vegetable reared on Greek or\nEgyptian soil; here speckless fruits of every size and hue were set out,\nand there ready baked, shining, golden-brown pasties were displayed.\nThose containing meat, fish or the mussels of Canopus were prepared in\nAlexandria itself, but others containing fruit or the leaves of flowers\nwere brought from Arsinoe on the shores of Lake Moeris, for in that\nneighborhood the cultivation of fruit and horticulture generally were\npursued with the greatest success. Meat of all sorts lay or hung in\nsuitable places; there were juicy hams from Cyrene, Italian sausages and\nuncooked joints of various slaughtered beasts. By them lay or hung game\nand poultry in select abundance, and a large part of the court was taken\nup by a tank in which the choicest of the scaly tribes of the Nile, and\nof the lakes of Northern Egypt, were swimming about as well as the\nMuraena and other fish of Italian breed. Alexandrian crabs and the\nmussels, oysters, and cray-fish of Canopus and Klysma were kept alive in\nbuckets or jars. The smoked meats of Mendes and the neighborhood of Lake\nMoeris hung on metal pegs, and in a covered but well-aired room,\nsheltered from the sun lay freshly-imported fish from the Mediterranean\nand Red Sea. Every guest at the 'Olympian table' was allowed here to\nselect the meat, fruit, asparagus, fish, or pasty which he desired to\nhave cooked for him. The host, Lykortas, pointed out to Hadrian an old\ngentleman who was busy in the court that was so prettily decorated with\nstill-life, engaged in choosing the raw materials of a banquet he wished\nto give some friends in the evening of this very day.\n\n\"It is all very nice and extremely good,\" said Hadrian, \"but the gnats\nand flies which are attracted by all those good things are unendurable,\nand the strong smell of food spoils my appetite.\"\n\n\"It is better in the side-rooms,\" said the host. \"In the one kept for you\nthe company is now preparing to depart. In behind here the sophists\nDemetrius and Pancrates are entertaining a few great men from Rome,\nrhetoricians or philosophers or something of the kind. Now they are\nbringing in the fine lamps and they have been sitting and talking at that\ntable ever since breakfast. There come the guests out of the side room.\nWill you take it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hadrian. \"And when a tall young man comes to ask for the\narchitect Claudius Venato, from Rome, bring him in to me.\"\n\n\"An architect then, and not a sophist or a rhetorician,\" said mine host,\nlooking keenly at the Emperor.\n\n\"Silenus,--a philosopher!\"\n\n\"Oh the two vociferous friends there go about even on other days naked\nand with ragged cloaks thrown over their lean shoulders. To-day they are\nfeeding at the expense of rich Josephus.\"\n\n\"Josephus! he must be a Jew and yet he is making a large hole in the\nham.\"\n\n\"There would be more swine in Cyrene if there were no Jews; they are\nGreeks like ourselves, and eat everything that is good.\"\n\nHadrian went into the vacant room, lay down on a couch that stood by the\nwall, and urged the slaves who were busied in removing the dishes and\nvessels used by his predecessors, and which were swarming with flies. As\nsoon as he was alone he listened to the conversation which was being\ncarried on between Favorinus, Florus, and their Greek guests. He knew the\ntwo first very well, and not a word of what they were saying escaped his\nkeen ear.\n\nFavorinus was praising the Alexandrians in a loud voice, but in flowing\nand elegantly-accented Greek. He was a native of Arelas--[Arles]--in\nGaul, but no Hellene of them all could pour forth a purer flow of the\nlanguage of Demosthenes than he. The self-reliant, keen, and vivacious\nnatives of the African metropolis were far more to his taste than the\nAthenians; these dwelt only in, and for, the past; the Alexandrians\nrejoiced in the present. Here an independent spirit still survived, while\non the shores of the Ilissus there were none but servile souls who made a\nmerchandise of learning, as the Alexandrians did of the products of\nAfrica and the treasures of India. Once when he had fallen into disgrace\nwith Hadrian, the Athenians had thrown down his statue, and the favor or\ndisfavor of the powerful weighed with him more than intellectual\ngreatness, valuable labors, and true merit.\n\nFlorus agreed with Favorinus on the whole, and declared that Rome must be\nfreed from the intellectual influence of Athens; but Favorinus did not\nadmit this; he opined that it was very difficult for any one who had left\nyouth behind him, to learn anything new, thus referring, with light\nirony, to the famous work in which Florus had attempted to divide the\nhistory of Rome into four periods, corresponding to the ages of man, but\nhad left out old age, and had treated only of childhood, youth, and\nmanhood. Favorinus reproached him with overestimating the versatility of\nthe Roman genius, like his friend Fronto, and underrating the Hellenic\nintellect.\n\nFlorus answered the Gaulish orator in a deep voice, and with such a grand\nflow of words, that the listening Emperor would have enjoyed expressing\nhis approbation, and could not help considering the question as to how\nmany cups of wine his usually placid fellow-countryman might have taken\nsince breakfast to be so excited. When Floras tried to prove that under\nHadrian's rule Rome had risen to the highest stage of its manhood, his\nfriend, Demetrius, of Alexandria, interrupted him, and begged him to tell\nhim something about the Emperor's person. Florus willingly acceded to\nthis request, and sketched a brilliant picture of the administrative\ntalent, the learning, and the capability of the Emperor.\n\n\"There is only one thing,\" he cried eagerly, \"that I cannot approve of;\nhe is too little at Rome, which is now the core and centre of the world.\nHe must need see every thing for himself, and he is always wandering\nrestlessly through the provinces. I should not care to change with him!\"\n\n\"You have expressed the same ideas in verse,\" said Favorinus.\n\n\"Oh! a jest at supper-time. So long as I am in Alexandria and waiting on\nCaesar I can make myself very comfortable every day at the 'Olympian\ntable' of this admirable cook.\"\n\n\"But how runs your poem?\" asked Pancrates.\n\n\"I have forgotten it, and it deserved no better fate,\" replied Florus.\n\n\"But I,\" laughed the Gaul, \"I remember the beginning. The first lines, I\nthink, ran thus:\n\n         \"'Let others envy Caesar's lot;\n          To wander through Britannia's dales\n          And be snowed up in Scythian vales\n          Is Caesar's taste--I'd rather not?'\"\n\nAs he heard these words Hadrian struck his fist into the palm of his left\nhand, and while the feasters were hazarding guesses as to why he was so\nlong in coming to Alexandria, he took out the folding tablet he was in\nthe habit of carrying in his money-bag, and hastily wrote the following\nlines on the wax face of it:\n\n          'Let others envy Florus' lot;\n          To wander through the shops for drink,\n          Or, into foolish dreaming sink\n          In a cook-shop, where sticky flies\n          Buzz round him till he shuts his eyes\n          Is Florus' taste--I'd rather not?'\n\n   [From verses by Hadrian and Florus, preserved in Spartianus.]\n\nHardly had he ended the lines, muttering them to himself with much relish\nas he wrote, when the waiter showed in Pollux. The sculptor had failed to\nfind Antinous, and suggested that the young man had probably gone home;\nhe also begged that he might not be detained long at supper, for he had\nmet his master Papias, who had been extremely annoyed by his long\nabsence. Hadrian was no longer satisfied with the artist's society, for\nthe conversation in the next room was to him far more attractive than\nthat of the worthy young fellow. He himself was anxious to quit the meal\nsoon, for he felt restless and uneasy. Antinous could no doubt easily\nfind his way to Lochias, but recollections of the evil omens he had\nobserved in the heavens last night flitted across his soul like bats\nthrough a festal hall, marring the pleasure on which he again tried to\nconcentrate it, in order to enjoy his hours of liberty.\n\nEven Pollux was not so light-hearted as before. His long walk had made\nhim hungry, and he addressed himself so vigorously to the excellent\ndishes which rapidly followed each other by his entertainer's orders, and\nemptied the cup with such unfailing diligence, that the Emperor was\nastonished: but the more he had to think about, the less did he talk.\n\nPollux, to be sure, had had his answer ready for his master, and without\nconsidering how easy it would have been to part from him in kindness, he\nhad shortly and roundly quitted his service. Now indeed he stood on his\nown feet, and he was longing to tell Arsinoe and his parents of what he\nhad done.\n\nDuring the course of the meal his mother's advice recurred to his mind:\nto do his best to win the favor and good will of the architect whose\nguest he was; but he set it aside, for he was accustomed to owe all he\ngained to his own exertions, and though he still keenly felt in Hadrian\nthe superiority of a powerful mind, their expedition through the city had\nnot brought him any nearer to the Roman. Some insurmountable barrier\nstood fixed between himself and this restless, inquisitive man, who\nrequired so many answers that no one else had time to ask a question, and\nwho when he was silent looked so absorbed and unapproachable that no one\nwould have ventured to disturb him. The bold young artist had, however,\ntried now and again to break through the fence, but each time, he had at\nonce been seized with a feeling, of which he could not rid himself, that\nhe had done something awkward and unbecoming. He felt in his intercourse\nwith the architect as a noble dog might feel that sported with a lion,\nand such sport could come to no good. Thus, for various reasons, host and\nguest were well content when the last dish was removed. Before Pollux\nleft the room the Emperor gave him the tablets with the verses and begged\nhim, with a meaning smile, to desire the gate-keeper at the Caesareum to\ngive them to Annaeus Florus the Roman. He once more urgently charged the\nsculptor to look about for his young friend and, if he should find him at\nLochias, to tell him that he, Claudius Venator, would return home ere\nlong. Then the artist went his way.\n\nHadrian still sat a long time listening to the talk close by; but after\nwaiting for above an hour to hear some fresh mention made of himself, he\npaid his reckoning and went out into the Canopic way, now brilliantly\nlighted. There he mingled with the revellers, and walked slowly onward,\nseeking suspiciously and anxiously for his vanished favorite.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nAntinous, searching for his master, had wandered about in the crowd.\nWhenever he saw any figures of exceptional stature he followed them, but\neach time only to discover that he had entered on a false track. Long and\npersistent effort was not in his nature, so as soon as he began to get\ntired, he gave up the search and sat down again on a stone bench in the\ngarden of the Paneum.\n\nTwo cynic philosophers, with unkempt hair, tangled beards, and ragged\ncloaks flung over their shivering bodies, sat down by him and fell into\nloud and contemptuous abuse of the deference shown, 'in these days,' to\nexternal things and vulgar joys, and of the wretched sensualists who\nregarded pleasure and splendor, rather than virtue, as the aim and end of\nexistence. In order to be heard by the by-standers they spoke in loud\ntones, and the elder of the two, flourished his knotted stick as\nviciously, as though he had to defend himself against an attack. Antinous\nfelt much disgusted by the hideous appearance, the coarse manners, and\nshrill voices of these persons, and when he rose--as the cynics' diatribe\nseemed especially directed against him--they scoffed at him as he went,\nmocking at his costume and his oiled and perfumed hair. The Bithynian\nmade no reply to this abuse. It was odious to him, but he thought it\nmight perhaps have amused Caesar.\n\nHe wandered on without thinking; the street in which he presently found\nhimself must no doubt lead to the sea, and if he could once find himself\non the shore he could not fail to make his way to Lochias. By the time it\nwas growing dark he was once more standing outside the little gate-house,\nand there he learnt from Doris that the Roman and her son had not yet\nreturned.\n\nWhat was he to do alone in the vast empty palace? Were not the very\nslaves free to-day? Why should not he too for once enjoy life\nindependently and in his own way? Full of the pleasant sense of being his\nown master and at liberty to walk in a road of his own choosing, he went\nonwards, and when he presently passed by the stall of a flower-seller, he\nbegan once more to think eagerly of Selene and the nosegay, which must\nlong since have reached her hands.\n\nHe had heard from Pollux in the morning that the steward's daughter was\nbeing tended by Christians in a little house not far from the sea-shore;\nindeed the sculptor himself had been quite excited as he told Antinous\nthat he himself had peeped into the lighted room and had seen her. 'A\nglorious creature' he had called her, and had said that she had never\nlooked more beautiful than in a recumbent attitude on her bed.\n\nAntinous recalled all this and determined to venture on an attempt to see\nagain the maiden whose image filled his heart and brain.\n\nIt was now dark and the same light which had allowed of the sculptor's\nseeing Selene's features might this evening reveal them to him also. Full\nof passion and excitement, he got into the first litter he met with. The\nswarthy bearers were far too slow for his longing, and more than once he\nflung to them as much money as they were wont to earn in a week, to urge\nthem to a brisker pace. At last he reached his destination; but seeing\nthat several men and women robed in white, were going into the garden, he\ndesired the bearers to carry him farther. Close to a dark narrow lane\nwhich bounded the widow's garden-plot on the east and led directly to the\nsea, he desired them to stop, got out of the litter and bid the slaves\nwait for him. At the garden door he still found two men dressed in white,\nand one of the cynic philosophers who had sat by him on the bench near\nthe Paneum. He paced impatiently up and clown, waiting till these people\nshould have disappeared, and thus passing again and again under the light\nof the torches that were stuck up by the gate.\n\nThe dry cynic's prominent eyes were everywhere at once, and as soon as he\nperceived the peripatetic Bithynian he flung up his arm, exclaiming, as\nhe pointed to him with a long, lean, stiff forefinger--half to the\nChristians with whom he had been talking and half to the lad himself:\n\n\"What does he want. That fop! that over-dressed minion! I know the\nfellow; with his smooth face and the silver quiver on his shoulder he\nbelieves he is Eros in person. Be off with you, you house-rat. The women\nand girls in here know how to protect themselves against the sort who\nparade the streets in rose-colored draperies. Take yourself off, or you\nwill make acquaintance with the noble Paulina's slaves and clogs. Hi!\ngate-keeper, here! keep an eye on this fellow.\"\n\nAntinous made no answer, but slowly went back to his litter.\n\n\"To-morrow perhaps, if I cannot manage it tonight,\" he thought to himself\nas he went; and he never thought of any other means of attaining his end,\nmuch as he longed for it. A hindrance that came in his way ceased to be a\nhindrance as soon as he had left it behind him, and after this reflection\nhe acted on this occasion as on many former ones. The litter was no\nlonger standing where he had left it; the bearers had carried it into the\nlane leading to the sea, for the only little abode which stood on the\neastern side of it belonged to a fisherman whose wife sold thin potations\nof Pelusium beer.\n\nAntinous went down the green alley overarched with boughs of fig, to call\nthe negroes who were sitting in the dull light of a smoky oil-lamp. Here\nit was dark, but at the end of the alley the sea shone and sparkled in\nthe moonlight; the splashing of the waves tempted him onwards and he\nloitered clown to the stone-bound shore. There he spied a boat dancing on\nthe water between two piles and it came into his head that it might be\npossible to see the house where Selene was sleeping, from the sea.\n\nHe undid the rope which secured the boat without any difficulty; he\nseated himself in it, laid aside the quiver and bow, pushed off with one\nof the oars that lay at the bottom of the boat and pulled with steady\nstrokes towards the long path of light where the moon touched the crest\nof each dancing wavelet with unresting tremulous flecks of silver.\n\nThere lay the widow's garden. In that small white house must the fair\npale Selene be sleeping, but though he rowed hither and thither,\nbackwards and forwards, he could not succeed in discovering the window of\nwhich Pollux had spoken. Might it not be possible to find a spot where he\ncould disembark and then make his way into the garden? He could see two\nlittle boats, but they lay in a narrow walled canal and this was closed\nby an iron railing. Beyond, was a, terrace projecting into the sea, and\nsurrounded by an elegant balustrade of little columns, but it rose\nstraight out of the sea on smooth high walls. But there--what was that\ngleaming under the two palm-trees which, springing from the same root,\nhad grown together tall and slender--was not that a flight of marble\nsteps leading down to the sea?\n\nAntinous dipped his right oar in the waves with a practised hand to alter\nthe head of the boat and was in the act of pulling his hand up to make\nhis stroke against the pressure of the waves--but he did not complete the\nmovement, nay he counteracted the stroke by a dexterous reverse action; a\nstrange vision arrested his attention. On the terrace, which lay full in\nthe bright moonlight, there appeared a white-robed figure with long\nfloating hair.\n\nHow strangely it moved! It went now to one side and now to the other,\nthen again it stood still and clasped its head in its hands. Antinous\nshuddered, he could not help thinking of the Daimons of which Hadrian so\noften spoke. They were said to be of half-divine and half-human nature,\nand sometimes appeared in the guise of mortals.\n\nOr was Selene dead and was the white figure her wandering shade? Antinous\nclutched the handles of the oars, now merely floating on the water, and\nbending forward gazed fixedly and with bated breath at the mysterious\nbeing which had now reached the balustrade of the terrace, now--he saw\nquite plainly--covered its face with both hands, leaned far over the\nparapet, and now as a star falls through the sky on a clear night, as a\nfruit drops from the tree in autumn, the white form of the girl dropped\nfrom the terrace. A loud cry of anguish broke the silence of the night\nwhich veiled the world, and almost at the same instant the water splashed\nand gurgled up, and the moonbeams, cold and bright as ever, were mirrored\nin the thousand drops that flew up from its surface.\n\nWas this Antinous, the indolent dreamer, who so promptly plunged his oars\nin the water, pulled a powerful stroke, and then, when in a few seconds\nafter her fall, the form of the drowning girl came to the surface again\nquite close to the boat, flung aside the oar that was in his way? Leaning\nfar over the edge of the boat he seized the floating garment of the\ndrowning creature--it was a woman, no Daimon nor shade--and drew her\ntowards him. He succeeded in raising her high out of the waves, but when\nhe tried to pull her fairly out of her watery bed, the weight, all on one\nside of the boat, was too great; it turned over and Antinous was in the\nsea.\n\nThe Bithyman was a good swimmer. Before the white form could sink a\nsecond time he had caught at it once more with his right hand and taking\ncare that her head should not again touch the surface of the water, he\nswam with his left arm and legs towards the spot where he remembered he\nhad seen the flight of steps. As soon as his feet felt the ground he\nlifted the girl in both arms and a groan of relief broke from his lips as\nhe saw the marble steps close below him. He went up them without\nhesitation, and then, with a swift elastic step, carried his dripping and\nsenseless burden to the terrace where he had observed that there were\nbenches. The wide floor of the sea-terrace, paved with smooth flags of\nmarble, was brightly lighted by the broad moonshine, and the whiteness of\nthe stone reflected and seemed to increase the light. There stood the\nbenches which Antinous had seen from afar.\n\nHe laid his burden on the first he came to, and a thrill of thankful joy\nwarmed his shivering body when the rescued woman uttered a low cry of\npain which told him that he had not toiled in vain. He gently slipped his\narm between the hard elbow of the marble seat and her head, to give it a\nsomewhat softer resting-place. Her abundant hair fell in clammy tresses,\ncovering her face like a thick but fine veil; he parted it to the right\nand left and then--then he sank on his knees by her side as if a sudden\nbolt had fallen from the blue sky above them; for the features were hers,\nSelene's, and the pale girl before whom he was kneeling was she herself,\nthe woman he loved.\n\nAlmost beside himself and trembling in every limb, he drew her closer to\nhim and put his ear against her mouth to listen whether he had not\ndeceived himself, whether she had not indeed fallen a victim to the waves\nor whether some warm breath were passing the portals of her lips.\n\nYes she breathed! she was alive! Full of thankful ecstasy he pressed his\ncheek to hers. Oh! how cold she was, icy, cold as death!\n\nThe torch of life was flickering, but he would not--could not--must not\nlet it die out: and with all the care, rapidity and decision of the most\ncapable man, he once more raised her, lifted her in both arms as if she\nwere a child, and carried her straight to the house whose white walls he\ncould see gleaming among the shrubs behind the terrace. The little lamp\nwas still burning in dame Hannah's room, which Selene had so lately\nquitted; in front of the window through which the dim light came to\nmingle with the moonbeams, lay the flowers whose perfume had so troubled\nthe suffering girl, and with them Hannah's clay jar, all still strewn on\nthe ground.\n\nWas this nosegay his gift? Very likely.\n\nBut the lamp-lighted room into which he now looked could be none other\nthan the sick-room, which he recognized from the sculptor's account. The\nhousedoor was open and even that of the room in which he had seen the bed\nwas unfastened; he pushed it open with his foot, entered the room, and\nlaid Selene on the vacant couch.\n\nThere she lay as if dead; and as he looked at her immovable features,\nhallowed to solemnity by sorrow and suffering, his heart was touched with\nan ineffable solicitude, sympathy and pity; and, as a brother might bend\nover a sleeping sister, he bent over Selene and kissed her forehead. She\nmoved, opened her eyes, gazed into his face--but her glance was so full\nof horror, so vague, glassy and bewildered, that he drew back with a\nshudder, and with hands uplifted could only stammer out: \"Oh! Selene,\nSelene! do you not know me?\" and as he spoke he looked anxiously in the\nface of the rescued girl; but she seemed not to hear him and nothing\nmoved but her eyes which slowly followed his every movement.\n\n\"Selene!\" he cried again, and seizing her inanimate hand which hung down,\nhe pressed it passionately to his lips.\n\nThen she gave a loud cry, a violent shiver shook her in every limb, she\nturned aside with sighs and groans, and at the same instant the door was\nopened, the little deformed girl entered the room and gave a shrill\nscream of terror as she saw Antinous standing by the side of her friend.\n\nThe lad himself started and, like a thief who has been caught in the act,\nhe fled out into the night, through the garden, and as far as the gate\nwhich led into the street without being stopped by any one. Here the\ngate-keeper met him, but he threw him aside with a powerful fling, and\nwhile the old man--who had grown gray in his office--caught hold of his\nwet chiton he tore the door open and ran on, dragging his pursuer with\nhim for some paces. Then he flew down the street with long steps as if he\nwere racing in the Gymnasium, and soon he felt that his pursuer, in whose\nhand he had left a piece of his garment, had given up the chase.\n\nThe gate-keeper's outcry had mingled with the pious hymns of the\nassembled Christians in Paulina's villa, and some of them had hurried out\nto help capture the disturber of the peace. But the young Bithynian was\nswifter than they and might consider himself perfectly safe when once he\nhad succeeded in mixing with a festal procession. Half-willingly and\nhalf-perforce, he followed the drunken throng which was making its way\nfrom the heart of the city towards the lake, where, on a lonely spot on\nthe shore to the east of Nikropolis, they were to celebrate certain\nnocturnal mysteries. The goal of the singing, shouting, howling mob with\nwhom Antinous was carried along, was between Alexandria and Canopus and\nfar enough from Lochias; thus it fell out that it was long past midnight\nwhen Hadrian's favorite, dirty, out of breath, and his clothes torn, at\nlast appeared in the presence of his master.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nHadrian had expected Antinous many hours since, and the impatience and\nvexation which had been long seething in him were reflected plainly\nenough in his sternly-bent brow and the threatening fire of his eye.\n\n\"Where have you been?\" he imperiously asked.\n\n\"I could not find you, so I took a boat and went out on the lake.\"\n\n\"That is false.\"\n\nAntinous did not answer, but merely shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Alone?\" asked the Emperor more gently. \"Alone.\"\n\n\"And for what purpose?\"\n\n\"I was gazing at the stars.\"\n\n\"You!\"\n\n\"And may I not, for once, tread in your footsteps?\"\n\n\"Why not indeed? The lights of heaven shine for the foolish as well as\nfor the wise. Even asses must be born under a good or an evil star. One\ndonkey serves a hungry grammarian and feeds on used-up papyrus, while\nanother enters the service of Caesar and is fattened up, and finds time\nto go star-gazing at night. What a state you are in.\"\n\n\"The boat upset and I fell into the water.\" Hadrian was startled, and\nobserving his favorite's tangled hair in which the night wind had dried\nthe salt water, and his torn chiton, he anxiously exclaimed:\n\n\"Go this instant and let Mastor dry you and anoint you. He too came back\nwith a bruised hand and red eyes. Everything is upside clown this\naccursed evening. You look like a slave that has been hunted by clogs.\nDrink a few cups of wine and then lie down.\"\n\n\"I obey your orders, great Caesar.\"\n\n\"So formal? The donkey simile vexed you.\"\n\n\"You used always to have a kind word for me.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, and I shall have them again, I shall have them again. Only not\nto-night--go to bed.\"\n\nAntinous left him, but the Emperor paced his room, up and down with long\nsteps, his arms crossed over his breast and his eyes fixed on the ground.\nHis superstitious soul had been deeply disturbed by a series of evil\nsigns which he had not only seen the previous night in the sky, but had\nalso met on his way to Lochias, and which seemed to be beginning to be\nfulfilled already.\n\nHe had left the eating house in an evil humor, the bad omens made him\nanxious, and though on his arrival at home he had done one or two things\nwhich he already regretted, this had certainly not been due to any\nadverse Daimons but to the brooding gloom of his clouded mind. Eternal\ncircumstances, it is true, had led to his being witness to an attack made\nby the mob on the house of a wealthy Israelite, and it was attributable\nto a vexatious accident that at this juncture, he should have met Verus,\nwho had observed and recognized him. Yes, the Spirits of evil were abroad\nthis day, but his subsequent experiences and deeds upon reaching Lochias,\nwould certainly not have taken place on any more fortunate day, or, to be\nmore exact, if he had been in a calmer frame of mind; he himself alone\nwas in fault, he alone, and no spiteful accident, nor malicious and\ntricky Daimon. Hadrian, to be sure, attributed to these sprites all that\nhe had done, and so considered it irremediable; an excellent way, no\ndoubt, of exonerating oneself from a burdensome duty, or from repairing\nsome injustice, but conscience is a register in which a mysterious hand\ninexorably enters every one of our deeds, and in which all that we do is\nruthlessly called by its true name. We often succeed, it is true, in\neffacing the record for a longer or a shorter period, but often, again,\nthe letters on the page shine with an uncanny light, and force the inward\neye to see them and to heed them.\n\nOn this particular night Hadrian felt himself compelled to read the\ncatalogue of his actions and among them he found many a sanguinary crime,\nmany a petty action unworthy of a far meaner soul than he; still the\nrecord commemorated many duties strictly fulfilled, much honest work, an\nunceasing struggle towards high aims, and an unwearied effort to feel his\nway intellectually, to the most remote and exalted limits possible to the\nhuman mind and comprehension.\n\nIn this hour Hadrian thought of none but his evil deeds, and vowed to the\ngods--whom he mocked at with his philosophical friends, and to whom he\nnevertheless addressed himself whenever he felt the insufficiency of his\nown strength and means--to build a temple here, to offer a sacrifice\nthere, in order to expiate old crimes and divert their malice. He felt\nlike a great man must who is threatened with the disfavor of his\nsuperiors, and who hopes to propitiate them with gifts. The haughty Roman\nquailed at the thought of unknown dangers, but he was far from feeling\nthe wholesome pangs of repentance.\n\nHardly an hour since he had forgotten himself and had disgracefully\nabused his power over a weaker creature, and now he was vexed at having\nbehaved so and not otherwise; but it never entered his head to humiliate\nhis pride or, by offering some compensation to the offended party,\ntacitly to confess the injustice he had committed. Often he deeply felt\nhis human weakness, but he was quite capable of believing in the\nsacredness of his imperial person, and this he always found most easy\nwhen he had trodden under foot some one who had been rash enough to\ninsult him, or not to acknowledge his superiority. And was it not on the\ncontemners of the gods that their heaviest punishments fell?\n\nTo-day the terrestrial Jupiter had again crushed into the earth with his\nthunderbolts, an overbold mortal, and this time the son of the worthy\ngate-keeper was his victim. The sculptor certainly had been so unlucky as\nto touch Hadrian in his most sensitive spot, but a cordially benevolent\nfeeling is not easily converted into a relentless opposition if we are\nnot ourselves--as was the case with the Emperor--accustomed to jump from\none mood to the other, are not conscious--as he was--of having it in our\npower directly to express our good-will or our aversion in action.\n\nThe sculptor's capacities had commanded the Emperor's esteem, his fresh\nand independent nature had at first suited and attracted him, but even\nduring the walk together through the streets, the young man's\nuncompromising manner of treating him as an equal had become unpleasing\nto him. In his workshop he saw in Pollux only the artist, and delighted\nin his original and dashing powers; but out of it, and among men of a\ncommoner stamp, from whom he was accustomed to meet with deference, the\nyoung man's speech and demeanor seemed unbecoming, bold, and hard to be\nendured. In the eating-house the huge eater and drinker, who laughingly\npressed him to do his part, so as not to make a present to the landlord,\nhad filled Hadrian with repulsion. And after this, when Hadrian had\nreturned to Lochias, out of humor and rendered apprehensive by evil\nomens, and even then had not found his favorite, he impatiently paced up\nand down the hall of the Muses and would not deign to offer a greeting to\nthe sculptor, who was noisily occupied behind his screens.\n\nPollux had passed quite as bad an evening as the Emperor. When, in his\ndesire to see Arsinoe once more, he penetrated to the door of the\nsteward's apartment, Keraunus had stopped his way, and sent him about his\nbusiness with insulting words. In the hall of the Muses he had met his\nmaster, and had had a quarrel with him, for Papias, to whom he repeated\nhis notice to quit, had grown angry, and had desired him then and there\nto sort out his own tools, and to return those that belonged to him, his\nmaster, and for the future to keep himself as far as possible from\nPapias' house, and from the works in progress at Locluas. On this, hard\nwords had passed on both sides, and when Papias had left the palace and\nPollux went to seek Pontius the architect, in order to discuss his future\nplans with him, he learnt that he too had quitted Lochias a short time\nbefore, and would not return till the following morning.\n\nAfter brief reflection he determined to obey the orders of Papias and to\npack his own tools together. Without paying any heed to Hadrian's\npresence he began to toss some of the hammers, chisels, and wooden\nmodelling tools into one box, and others into another, doing it as\nrecklessly as though he were minded to punish the unconscious tools as\nadverse creatures who had turned against him.\n\nAt last his eye fell on Hadrian's bust of Balbilla. The hideous\ncaricature at which he had laughed only yesterday, made him angry now,\nand after gazing at it thoughtfully for a few minutes his blood boiled up\nfuriously, he hastily pulled a lath out of the partition and struck at\nthe monstrosity with such fury that the dry clay flew in pieces, and the\nfragments were strewed far and wide about the workshop. The wild noise\nbehind the sculptor's screen made the Emperor pause in his walk to see\nwhat the artist was doing; he looked on at the work of destruction,\nunobserved by Pollux, and as he looked the blood mounted to his head; he\nknit his brows in anger, a blue vein in his forehead swelled and stood\nout, and ominous lines appeared above his brow. The great master of\nstate-craft could more easily have borne to hear himself condemned as a\nruler than to see his work of art despised. A man who is sure of having\ndone some thing great can smile at blame, but he, who is not confident in\nhimself has reason to dread it, and is easily drawn into hating the\ncritic who utters it. Hadrian was trembling with fury, he doubled his\nfirst as he lifted it in Pollux's face, and going close up to him asked\nin a threatening tone:\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\nThe sculptor glanced round at the Emperor and answered, raising his stick\nfor another blow:\n\n\"I am demolishing this caricature for it enrages me.\"\n\n\"Come here,\" shouted Hadrian, and clutching the girdle which confined the\nartist's chiton, in his strong sinewy hand, he dragged the startled\nsculptor in front of his Urania wrenched the lath out of his hand, struck\nthe bust of the scarcely-finished statue off the body, exclaiming as he\ndid so, in a voice that mimicked Pollux:\n\n\"I am demolishing this bungler's work for it enrages me!\"\n\nThe artist's arms fell by his side; astonished and infuriated he stared\nat the destroyer of his handiwork, and cried out:\n\n\"Madman! this is enough. One blow more and you will feel the weight of my\nfists.\"\n\nHadrian laughed aloud, a cold hard laugh, flung the lath at Pollux's feet\nand said:\n\n\"Judgment against judgment--it is only fair.\"\n\n\"Fair?\" shrieked Pollux, beside himself.\n\n\"Your wretched rubbish, which my squinting apprentice could have done as\nwell as you, and this figure born in a moment of inspiration! Shame upon\nyou! Once more, if you touch the Urania again I warn you, you shall\nlearn--\"\n\n\"Well, what?\"\n\n\"That in Alexandria grey hairs are only respected so long as they deserve\nit.\"\n\nHadrian folded his arms, stepped quite close up to Pollux, and said:\n\n\"Gently, fellow, if you value your life.\"\n\nPollux stepped back before the imposing personage that stood before him,\nand, as it were scales, fell from his eyes. The marble statue of the\nEmperor in the Caesareum represented the sovereign in this same attitude.\nThe architect, Claudius Venator, was none other than Hadrian.\n\nThe young artist turned pale and said with bowed head, and in low voice\nas he turned to go:\n\n\"Right is always on the side of the strongest. Let me go. I am nothing\nbut a poor artist--you are some thing very different. I know you now; you\nare Caesar.\"\n\n\"I am Caesar,\" snarled Hadrian, \"and if you think more of yourself as an\nartist than of me, I will show you which of us two is the sparrow, and\nwhich the eagle.\"\n\n\"You have the power to destroy, and I only desire--\"\n\n\"The only person here who has a right to desire is myself,\" cried the\nEmperor, \"and I desire that you shall never enter this palace again, nor\never come within sight of me so long as I remain here. What to do with\nyour kith and kin I will consider. Not another word! Away with you, I\nsay, and thank the gods that I judge the misdeed of a miserable boy more\nmercifully than you dared to do in judging the work of a greater man than\nyourself, though you knew that he had done it in an idle hour with a few\nhasty touches. Be off, fellow; my slaves will finish destroying your\nimage there, for it deserves no better fate, and because--what was it you\nsaid just now? I remember--and because it enrages me.\"\n\nA bitter laugh rang after the lad as he quitted the hall. At the\nentrance, which was perfectly dark, he found his master, Papias, who had\nnot missed a word of what had passed between him and the Emperor. As\nPollux went into his mother's house he cried out:\n\n\"Oh mother, mother, what a morning, and what an evening. Happiness is\nonly the threshold to misery.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Happiness is only the threshold to misery\n     When a friend refuses to share in joys\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 7.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nWhile Pollux and his mother, who was much grieved, waited for Euphorion's\nreturn, and while Papias was ingratiating himself with the Emperor by\npretending still to believe that Hadrian was nothing more than Claudius\nVenator, the architect, Aurelius Verus, nicknamed by the Alexandrians,\n\"the sham Eros\" had lived through strange experiences.\n\nIn the afternoon he had visited the Empress, in the hope of persuading\nher to look on at the gay doings of the people, even if incognito; but\nSabina was out of spirits, declared herself unwell, and was quite sure\nthat the noise of the rabble would be the death of her. Having, as she\nsaid, so vivacious a reporter as Verus, she might spare herself from\nexposing her own person to the dust and smell of the town, and the uproar\nof men. As soon as Lucilla begged her husband to remember his rank and\nnot to mingle with the excited multitude, at any rate after dark, the\nEmpress strictly enjoined him to see with his own eyes everything that\ncould be worth notice in the festival, and more particularly to give\nattention to everything that was peculiar to Alexandria and not to be\nseen in Rome.\n\nAfter sunset Verus had first gone to visit the veterans of the Twelfth\nLegion who had been in the field with him against the Numidians, and to\nwhom he gave a dinner at an eating-house, as being his old\nfellow-soldiers. For above an hour he sat drinking with the brave old\nfellows; then, quitting them, he went to look at the Canopic way by\nnight, as it was but a few paces thither from the scene of his\nhospitality. It was brilliantly lighted with tapers, torches, and lamps,\nand the large houses behind the colonnades were gaudy with rich hangings;\nonly the handsomest and stateliest of them all had no kind of decoration.\nThis was the abode of the Jew Apollodorus.\n\nIn former years the finest hangings had decorated his windows, which had\nbeen as gay with flowers and lamps as those of the other Israelites who\ndwelt in the Canopic way, and who were wont to keep the festival in\ncommon with their heathen fellow-citizens as jovially as though they were\nno less zealous to do homage to Dionysus. Apollodorus had his own reasons\nfor keeping aloof on this occasion from all that was connected with the\nholiday doings of the heathen. Without dreaming that his withdrawal could\ninvolve him in any danger, he was quietly sitting in his house, which was\nso splendidly furnished as to seem fitted for some princely Greek rather\nthan for a Hebrew. This was especially the case with the men's\nliving-room, in which Apollodorus sat, for the pictures on the walls and\npavement of this beautiful hall--of which the roof, which was half open,\nwas supported on columns of the finest porphyry--represented the loves of\nEros and Psyche; while between the pillars stood busts of the greatest\nheathen philosophers, and in the background a fine statue of Plato was\nconspicuous. Among all the Greeks and Romans there was the portrait of\nonly one Jew, and this was that of Philo, whose intellectual and delicate\nfeatures greatly resembled those of the most illustrious of his Greek\ncompanions.\n\nIn this splendid room, lighted by silver lamps, there was no lack of easy\ncouches, and on one of these Apollodorus was reclining; a fine-looking\nman of fifty, with his mild but shrewd eyes fixed on a tall and aged\nfellow-Israelite who was pacing up and down in front of him and talking\neagerly; the old man's hands too were never still, now he used them in\neager gesture, and again stroked his long white beard. On an easy seat\nopposite to the master of the house sat a lean young man with pale and\nvery regular finely-cut features, black hair and a black beard; he sat\nwith his dark glowing eyes fixed on the ground, tracing lines and circles\non the pavement with the stick he held in his hand, while the excited old\nman, his uncle, urgently addressed Apollodorus in a vehement but fluent\ntorrent of words. Apollodorus, however, shook his head from time to time\nat his speech and frequently met him with a brief contradiction.\n\nIt was easy to see that what he was listening to touched him painfully,\nand that the two diametrically different men were fighting a battle which\ncould never lead to any satisfactory issue. For, though they both used\nthe Greek tongue and confessed the same religion, all they felt and\nthought was grounded on views, as widely dissimilar as though the two men\nhad been born in different spheres. When two opponents of such different\ncalibre meet, there is a great clatter of arms but no bloody wounds are\ndealt and neither rout nor victory can result.\n\nIt was on account of this old man and his nephew that Apollodorus had\nforborne to-day to decorate his house, for the Rabbi Gamaliel, who had\narrived only the day before from Palestine, and had been welcomed by his\nAlexandrian relatives, condemned every form of communion with the\ngentiles, and would undoubtedly have quitted the residence of his host if\nhe had ventured to adorn it in honor of the feast-day of the false gods.\nGamaliel's nephew, Rabbi Ben Jochai, enjoyed a reputation little inferior\nto that of his father, Ben Akiba. The elder was the greatest sage and\nexpounder of the law--the son the most illustrious astronomer and the\nmost skilled interpreter of the mystical significance of the position of\nthe heavenly bodies, among the Hebrews.\n\nIt redounded greatly to the honor of Apollodorus that he should be\nprivileged to shelter under his roof the sage Gamaliel and the famous son\nof so great a father, and in his hours of leisure he loved to occupy\nhimself with learned subjects, so he had done his utmost to make their\nstay in his house in every way agreeable to them. He had bought, on\npurpose for them, a kitchen slave, himself a strict Jew and familiar with\nthe requirements of the Levitical law as to food, who during their stay\nwas to preside over the mysteries of the hearth, instead of the Greek\ncook who usually served him, so that none but clean meat should be\nprepared according to the Jewish ritual. He had forbidden his grown-up\nsons to invite any of their Greek friends into the house during the visit\nof the illustrious couple or to discuss the festival; they were also\nenjoined to avoid using the names of the gods of the heathen in their\nconversation--but he himself was the first to sin against this\nprohibition.\n\nHe, like all the Hebrews of good position in Alexandria, had acquired\nGreek culture, felt and thought in Greek modes, and had remained a Jew\nonly in name; for though they still believed in the one God of their\nfathers instead of in a crowd of Olympian deities, the One whom they\nworshipped was no longer the almighty and jealous God of their nation,\nbut the all-pervading plasmic and life-giving Spirit with whom the Greeks\nhad become familiar through Plato.\n\nEvery hour that they had spent in each other's company had widened the\ngulf between Apollodorus and Gamaliel, and the relations of the\nAlexandrian to the sage had become almost intolerable, when he learnt\nthat the old man--who was related to himself--had come to Egypt with his\nnephew, in order to demand the daughter of Apollodorus in marriage. But\nthe fair Ismene was not in the least disposed to listen to this grave and\nbigoted suitor. The home of her people was to her a barbarous land, the\nyoung astronomer filled her with alarm, and besides all this her heart\nwas already engaged; she had given it to the son of Alabarchos, who was\nthe Superior of all the Israelites in Egypt, and this young man possessed\nthe finest horse in the whole city, with which he had won several races\nin the Hippodrome, and he also had distinguished her above all the\nmaidens. To him, if to any one, would she give her hand, and she had\nexplained herself to this effect to her father when he informed her of\nBen Jochai's suit, and Apollodorus, who had lost his wife several years\nbefore, had neither the wish nor the power to put any pressure on his\npretty darling.\n\nTo be sure the temporizing nature of the man rendered it very difficult\nto him to give a decided no to his venerable old friend; but it had to be\ndone sooner or later, and the present evening seemed to him an\nappropriate moment for this unpleasant task.\n\nHe was alone with his guests. His daughter had gone to the house of a\nfriend to look on at the gay doings in the street, his three sons were\nout, all the slaves had leave to enjoy their holiday till midnight;\nnothing was likely to disturb them, and so, after many warm expressions\nof his deep respect, he found courage to confess to them that he could\nnot support Ben Jochai's pretensions. His child, he said, clung too\nfondly to Alexandria to wish to quit it, and his learned young friend\nwould be but ill suited with a wife who was accustomed to freer manners\nand habits, and could hardly feel herself at ease in a home where the\nlaws of her fathers were strictly observed, and in which therefore no\nkind of freedom of life would be tolerated.\n\nGamaliel let the Alexandrian speak to the end, but then, as his nephew\nwas beginning to argue against their host's hesitancy, the old man\nabruptly interrupted him. Drawing up his figure, which was a little bent,\nto its full height, and passing his hand among the blue veins and fine\nwrinkles that marked his high forehead, he began:\n\nOur house was decimated in our wars against the Romans, and among the\ndaughters of our race Ben Akiba found not one in Palestine who seemed to\nhim worthy to marry his son. But the report of the good fortune of the\nAlexandrian branch of our family had reached Judea, and Ben Akiba thought\nthat he would do like our father Abraham, and he sent me, his Eliezer,\ninto a strange land to win the daughter of a kinsman to wife for his\nIsaac. Now, who and what the young man is, and the esteem in which he and\nhis father are held by men--\"\n\n\"I know well,\" interrupted Apollodorus, \"and my house has never been so\nhighly honored as in your visit.\"\n\n\"And notwithstanding,\" continued the Rabbi, \"we must return home as we\ncame; and indeed this will not only suit you best, but us too, and my\nbrother, whose ambassador I am, for after what I have learnt from you\nwithin this last hour we must in any case withdraw our suit. Do not\ninterrupt me! Your Ismene scorns to veil her face, and no doubt it is a\nvery pretty one to look upon--you have trained her mind like that of a\nman, and so she seeks to go her own way. That may be all very well for a\nGreek woman, but in the house of Ben Akiba the woman must obey her\nhusband's will, as the ship obeys the helm, and have no will of her own;\nher husband's will always coincides with what the law commands, which you\nyourself learnt to obey.\"\n\n\"We recognize its excellence,\" replied Apolloderus, but even if all the\nlaws which Moses received on Sinai were binding on all mortals alike, the\nvarious ordinances which were wisely laid down for the regulation of the\nsocial life of our fathers, are not universally applicable for the\nchildren of our day. And least of all can we observe them here, where,\nthough true to our ancient faith, we live as Greeks among Greeks.\"\n\n\"That I perceive,\" retorted Gamaliel, \"for even the language--that\nclothing of our thoughts--the language of our fathers and of the\nscriptures, you have abandoned for another, sacrificed to another.\"\n\n\"You and your nephew also speak Greek.\"\n\n\"We do it here, because the heathen, because you and yours, no longer\nunderstand the tongue of Moses and the prophets.\"\n\n\"But wherever the Great Alexander bore his arms Greek is spoken; and does\nnot the Greek version of the scriptures, translated by the seventy\ninterpreters under the direct guidance of our God, exactly reproduce the\nHebrew text?\"\n\n\"And would you exchange the stone engraved by Bryasis that you wear on\nyour finger, and showed me yesterday with so much pride, for a wax\nimpression of the gem?\"\n\n\"The language of Plato is not an inferior thing; it is as noble as the\ncostliest sapphire.\"\n\n\"But ours came to us from the lips of the Most High. What would you think\nof a child that, disdaining the tongue Of its father listened only to\nthat of its neighbors and made use of an interpreter to be able to\nunderstand its parents' commands?\"\n\n\"You are speaking of parents who have long since left their native land.\nThe ancestor need not be indignant with his descendants when they use the\nlanguage of their new home, so long as they continue to act in accordance\nwith his spirit.\"\n\n\"We must live not merely in accordance with the spirit, but by the words\nof the Most High, for not a syllable proceeds from His lips in vain. The\nmore exalted the spirit of a discourse is, the more important is every\nword and syllable. One single letter often changes the meaning of whole\nsentences.--What a noise the people outside are making! The wild tumult\npenetrates even into this room which is so far from the street, and your\nsons take delight in the disorders of the heathen! You do not even\nwithhold them by force from adding to the number of those mad devotees of\npleasure!\"\n\n\"I was young once myself, and I think it no sin to share in the universal\nrejoicing.\"\n\n\"Say rather the disgraceful idolatry of the worshippers of Dionysus. It\nis in name alone that you and your children belong to the elect people of\nGod, in your hearts you are heathens!\"\n\n\"No, Father,\" exclaimed Apollodorus eagerly. \"The reverse is the case. In\nour hearts we are Jews but we wear the garments of Greeks.\"\n\n\"Why your name is Apollodorus--the gift of Apollo.\"\n\n\"A name chosen only to distinguish me from others. Who would ever enquire\ninto the meaning of a name if it sounds well.\"\n\n\"You, everybody who is not devoid of sense,\" cried the Rabbi. \"You think\nto yourself 'need Zenodotus or Hermogenes, some Greek you meet at the\nbath or else where, know at once that the wealthy personage, with whom he\ndiscussed the latest interpretation of the Hellenic myths, is a Jew?' And\nhow charming is the man who asks you whether you are not an Athenian, for\nyour Greek has such a pure Attic accent! And what we ourselves like, we\nfavor in our children, so we choose names for them too which flatter our\nown vanity.\"\n\n\"By Heracles!\"\n\nA faint mocking smile crossed Gamaliel's lips and interrupting the\nAlexandrian he said:\n\n\"Is there any particularly worthy man among our Alexandrian\nfellow-believers whose name is Heracles?\"\n\n\"No one\" cried the Alexandrian \"ever thinks of the son of Alcmene when he\nasseverates--it only means 'really,--truly--'\"\n\n\"To be sure you are not fastidiously accurate in the choice of your words\nand names, and where there is so much to be seen and enjoyed as\nthere is here one's thoughts are not always connected. That is\nintelligible--quite, peculiarly intelligible! And in this city folks are\nso polite that they are fain to wrap truth in some graceful disguise. May\nI, a barbarian from Judea, be allowed to set it before you, bare of\nclothing, naked and unadorned.\"\n\n\"Speak, I beg you, speak.\"\n\n\"You are Jews; but you had rather not be Jews, and you endure your origin\nas an inevitable evil. It is only when you feel the mighty hand of the\nMost High that you recognize it and claim your right to be one of His\nchosen people. In the smooth current of daily life you proudly number\nyourselves with his enemies. Do not interrupt me, and answer honestly\nwhat I shall ask you. In what hour of your life did you feel yourself\nthat you owed the deepest gratitude to the God of your fathers?\"\n\n\"Why should I deny it?--In the hour when my lost wife presented me with\nmy first-born son.\"\n\n\"And you called him?\"\n\n\"You know his name is Benjamin.\"\n\n\"Like the favorite son of our forefather Jacob, for in the hour when you\nthus named him you were honestly yourself, you felt thankful that it had\nbeen vouchsafed to you to add another link to the chain of your race--you\nwere a Jew--you were confident in our God--in your own God. The birth of\nyour second son touched your soul less deeply and you gave him the name\nof Theophilus, and when your third male child was born you had altogether\nceased to remember the God of your fathers, for he is named after one of\nthe heathen gods, Hephaestion. To put it shortly: You are Jews when the\nLord is most gracious to you, or threatens to try you most severely but\nyou are heathen whenever your way does not lead you over the high hills\nor through the dark abysses of life. I cannot change your hearts--but the\nwife of my brother's son, the daughter of Ben Akiba, must be a daughter\nof our people, morning, noon, and night. I seek a Rebecca for my daughter\nand not an Ismene.\"\n\n\"I did not ask you here,\" retorted Apollodorus. \"But if you quit us\nto-morrow, you as will be followed by our reverent regard. Think no worse\nof us because we adapt ourselves, more, perhaps, than is fitting, to the\nways and ideas of the people among whom we have grown up, and in whose\nmidst we have been prosperous, and whose interests are ours. We know how\nhigh our faith is beyond theirs. In our hearts we still are Jews; but are\nwe not bound to try to open and to cultivate and to elevate our spirits,\nwhich God certainly made of stuff no coarser than that of other nations,\nwhenever and wherever we may? And in what school may our minds be trained\nbetter or on sounder principles than in ours--I mean that of the Greek\nsages? The knowledge of the Most High--\"\n\n\"That knowledge,\" cried the old man, gesticulating vehemently with his\narms. \"The knowledge of God Most High and all that the most refined\nphilosophy can prove, all the sublimest and purest of the thinkers of\nwhom you speak can only apprehend by the gravest meditation and\nheart-searching--all this I say has been bestowed as a free gift of God\non every child of our people. The treasures which your sages painfully\nseek out we already possess in our scriptures, our law and our moral\nordinances. We are the chosen people, the first-born of the Lord, and\nwhen Messiah shall rise up in our midst--\"\n\n\"Then,\" interrupted Apollodorus, \"that shall be fulfilled which, like\nPhilo, I hope for, we shall be the priests and prophets for all nations.\nThen we shall in truth be a race of priests whose vocation it shall be to\ncall down the blessing of the Most High on all mankind.\"\n\n\"For us--for us alone shall the messenger of God appear, to make us the\nkings, and not the slaves of the nations.\"\n\nApollodorus looked with surprise into the face of the excited old man,\nand asked with an incredulous smile: \"The crucified Nazarene was a false\nMessiah; but when will the true Messiah appear?\"\n\n\"When will He appear?\" cried the Rabbi. \"When? Can I tell when? Only one\nthing I do know; the serpent is already sharpening its fangs to sting the\nheel of Him who shall tread upon it. Have you heard the name of Bar\nKochba?\"\n\n\"Uncle,\" said Ben Jochai, interrupting the old Rabbi's speech, and rising\nfrom his seat: \"Say nothing you might regret.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" answered Gamaliel earnestly. \"Our friends here prefer the\nhuman above the divine, but they are not traitors.\" Then turning again to\nApollodorus he continued:\n\n\"The oppressors in Israel have set up idols in our holy places, and\nstrive again to force the people to bow down to them; but rather shall\nour back be broken than we will bend the knee or submit!\"\n\n\"You are meditating another revolt?\" asked the Alexandrian anxiously.\n\n\"Answer me--have you heard the name of Bar Kochba?\"\n\n\"Yes, as that of the foolhardy leader of an armed troup.\"\n\n\"He is a hero--perhaps the Redeemer.\"\n\n\"And it was for him that you charged me to load my next corn vessel to\nJoppa with swords, shields and lance-heads?\"\n\n\"And are none but the Romans to be permitted to use iron?\"\n\n\"Nay--but I should hesitate to supply a friend with arms if he proposed\nto use them against an irresistible antagonist, who will inevitably\nannihilate him!\"\n\n\"The Lord of Hosts is stronger than a thousand legions!\"\n\n\"Be cautious uncle,\" said Ben Jochai again in a warning voice.\n\nGamaliel turned wrathfully upon his nephew, but before he could retort on\nthe young man's protest, he started in alarm, for a wild howling and the\nresounding clatter of violent blows on the brazen door of the house rang\nthrough the hall and shook its walls of marble.\n\n\"They are attacking my house,\" shouted Apollodorus.\n\n\"This is the gratitude of those for whom you have broken faith with the\nGod of your fathers,\" said the old man gloomily. Then throwing up his\nhands and eyes he cried aloud: \"Hear me Adonai! My years are many and I\nam ripe for the grave; but spare these, have mercy upon them.\"\n\nBen Jochai followed his uncle's example and raised his arms in\nsupplication, while his black eyes sparkled with a lowering glow in his\npale face.\n\nBut their prayers were brief, for the tumult came nearer and nearer;\nApollodorus wrung his hands, and struck his fist against his forehead;\nhis movements were violent--spasmodic. Terror had entirely robbed him of\nthe elegant, measured demeanor which he had acquired among his Greek\nfellow-citizens, and mingling heathen oaths and adjurations with appeals\nto the God of his fathers, he flew first one way and then another. He\nsearched for the key of the subterranean rooms of the house, but he could\nnot find it, for it was in the charge of his steward, who, with all the\nother servants, was taking his pleasure in the streets, or over a\nbrimming cup in some tavern.\n\nNow the newly-purchased kitchen-slave--the Jew to whom the keeping of the\nDionysian feast was an abomination--rushed into the room shrieking out,\nas he plucked at his hair and beard:\n\n\"The Philistines are upon us! save us Rabbi, great Rabbi! Cry for us to\nthe Lord, oh! man of God! They are coming with staves and spears and they\nwill tread us down as grass and burn us in this house like the locusts\ncast into the oven.\"\n\nIn deadly terror he threw himself at Gamaliel's feet and clasped them in\nhis hands, but Apollodorus exclaimed: \"Follow me, follow me up on to the\nroof.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" howled the slave, \"Amalek is making ready the firebrand to\nfling among our tents. The heathen leap and rage, the flames they are\nflinging will consume us. Rabbi, Rabbi, call upon the Hosts of the Lord!\nGod of the just! The gate has given way. Lord! Lord! Lord!\"\n\nThe terrified wretch's teeth chattered and he covered his eyes with his\nhands, groaning and howling.\n\nBen Jochai had remained perfectly calm, but he was quivering with rage.\nHis prayer was ended, and turning to Gamaliel he said in deep tones:\n\n\"I knew that this would happen, I warned you. Our evil star rose when we\nset forth on our wanderings.\n\n\"Now we must abide patiently what the Lord hath determined. He will be\nour Avenger.\"\n\n\"Vengeance is His!\" echoed the old man, and he covered his head with his\nwhite mantle.\n\n\"In the sleeping-room--follow me! we can hide under the beds!\" shrieked\nApollodorus; he kicked away the slave who was embracing the Rabbi's feet,\nand seized the old man by the shoulder to drag him away with him. But it\nwas too late, for the door of the antechamber had burst open and they\ncould hear the clatter of weapons. \"Lost, lost, all is lost!\" cried\nApollodorus.\n\n\"Adonai! help us Adonai!\" murmured the old man and he clung more closely\nto his nephew, who overtopped him by a head and who held him clasped in\nhis right arm as if to protect him.\n\nThe danger which threatened Apollodorus and his guests was indeed\nimminent, and it had been provoked solely by the indignation of the\nexcited mob at seeing the wealthy Israelite's house unadorned for the\nfeast.\n\nA thousand times had it occurred that a single word had proved sufficient\nto inflame the hot blood of the Alexandrians to prompt them to break the\nlaws and seize the sword. Bloody frays between the heathen inhabitants\nand the Jews, who were equally numerous in the city, were quite the order\nof the day, and one party was as often to blame as the other for\ndisturbing the peace and having recourse to the sword. Since the\nIsraelites had risen in several provinces--particularly in Cyrenaica and\nCyprus--and had fallen with cruel fury on their fellow-inhabitants who\nwere their oppressors, the suspicion and aversion of the Alexandrians of\nother beliefs had grown more intense than in former times. Besides this,\nthe prosperous circumstances of many Jews, and the enormous riches of a\nfew, had filled the less wealthy heathen with envy and roused the wish to\nsnatch the possessions of those who, it cannot be denied, had not\nunfrequently treated their gods with open contumely.\n\nIt happened that just within a few days the disputes regarding the\nfestival that was to be held in honor of the Imperial visit had added\nbitterness to the old grudge, and thus it came to pass that Apollodorus'\nunlighted house in the Canopic way had excited the populace to attack\nthis palatial residence. And here again one single speech had sufficed to\nexcite their fury.\n\nIn the first instance Melampus, the tanner, a drunken swaggerer, who had\nfailed in business, had marched up the street at the head of a tipsy\ncrew, and pointing with his thyrsus to the dark, undecorated house, had\nshouted:\n\n\"Look at that dismal barrack! All that the Jew used to spend on\ndecorating the street, he is saving up now in his money chest!\" The words\nwere like a spark among tinder and others followed.\n\n\"The niggard is robbing our father Dionysus,\" cried a second citizen, and\na third, flourishing his torch on high, croaked out:\n\n\"Let us get at the drachmae he grudges the god; we can find a use for\nthem.\" Graukus, the sausage maker, snatched from his neighbor's hand the\nbunch of tow soaked in pitch, and bellowed out, \"I advise that we should\nburn the house over their heads!\"\n\n\"Stay, stay,\" cried a cobbler who worked for Apollodorus' slaves, as he\nplaced himself in the butcher's way. \"Perhaps they are mourning for some\none in there. The Jew has always decorated his house on former\noccasions.\"\n\n\"Not they,\" replied a flute-player in a loud hoarse voice. \"We met the\nold miser's son on the Bruchiom with some riotous comrades and\nmisconducted hussies, with his purple mantle fluttering far behind him.\"\n\n\"Let us see which is reddest, the Tyrian stuff or the blaze we shall make\nif we set the old wretch's house on fire,\" shouted a hungry-looking\ntailor, looking round to see the effects of his wit.\n\n\"Ay! let us try!\" rose from one man, and then, from a number of others:\n\n\"Let us get into the house!\"\n\n\"The mean churl shall remember this day!\"\n\n\"Fetch him out!\"\n\n\"Drag him into the street!\"\n\nSuch shouts as these rose here and there from the crowd, which grew\ndenser every instant as it was increased by fresh tributaries attracted\nby the riot.\n\n\"Drag him out!\" again shrieked an Egyptian slavedriver, and a woman\nshrieked an echo of his words. She snatched the deer-skin from her\nshoulders, flourished it round and round in the air above her tangled\nblack hair, and bellowed furiously:\n\n\"Tear him in pieces!\"\n\n\"In pieces, with your teeth!\" roared a drunken Maenad who, like most of\nthe mob that had collected, knew nothing whatever of the popular grudge\nagainst Apollodorus and his house.\n\nBut words had already begun to be followed by deeds. Feet, fists, and\ncudgels stamped, drubbed, and thumped against the firmly-bolted brazen\ndoor of the darkened house, and a ship's boy of fourteen sprang on the\nshoulders of a tall black slave and tried to climb the roof of the\ncolonnade, and to fling the torch which the sausage-maker handed up to\nhim into the open forecourt of the imperilled house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThe clatter of arms which Apollodorus and his guests had heard proceeded\nnot from the Jew's besiegers, but from some Roman soldiers who brought\nsafety to the besieged.\n\nIt was Verus, who as he was returning from the supper he had given his\nveterans, with an officer of the Twelfth Legion and his British slaves,\nhad crossed the Canopic way and had been impeded in his progress by the\nincreasing crowd which stood before Apollodorus' house. The praetor had\nmet the Jew at the prefect's house, and knew him for one of the richest\nand shrewdest men in Alexandria. This attack on his property roused his\nire; still he would certainly not have remained an idle spectator even if\nthe house in danger, instead of belonging to a man of mark, had been that\nof one of the poorest and meanest, even among the Christians. Any lawless\nact, any breach of constituted order was odious and intolerable to the\nRoman; he would not have been the man he was if he had looked on\npassively at an attack by the mob, in times of peace, on the life and\nproperty of a quiet and estimable citizen. This licentious man of\npleasure, devoted to every enervating enjoyment, in battle, or whenever\nthe need arose, was as prudent as he was brave.\n\nHe now first ascertained what purpose the excited crowd had in view, and\nat once considered the ways and means of frustrating their project. They\nhad already begun to batter the Jew's door, and already several lads were\nstanding on the roof of the arcades with burning torches in their hands.\n\nWhatever he did must be done on the instant, and happily Verus had the\ngift of thinking and acting promptly. In a few decisive words he begged\nhis companion, Lucius Albinus, to hurry back to his old soldiers and\nbring them to the rescue; then he desired his slaves to force a way for\nhim with their powerful arms up to the door of the house. This feat was\naccomplished in no time, but how great was his astonishment when he found\nthe Emperor standing there.\n\nHadrian stood in the midst of the crowd, and at the instant when Verus\nappeared on the scene had wrenched the torch out of the hand of the\ninfuriated tailor. At the same time, in a thundering voice, he commanded\nthe Alexandrians--who were not accustomed to the imperial tone--to desist\nfrom their mad project. Whistling, grunting, and words of scorn\noverpowered the mandate of the sovereign, and when Verus and his slaves\nhad reached the spot where he stood, a few drunken Egyptians had gone up\nto him and were about to lay hands on the unwelcome counsellor. The\npraetor stood in their way. He first whispered to Hadrian that Jupiter\nought to be ruling the world, and might well leave it to smaller folks to\nrescue a houseful of Jews; and that in a few seconds the soldiers would\narrive. Then he shouted to him in a loud voice:\n\n\"Away from this Sophist! Your place is in the Museum, or in the temple of\nSerapis with your books, and not among the misguided and ignorant. Am I\nright Macedonian citizens, or am I wrong?\" A murmur of assent was heard\nwhich became a roar of laughter when Verus, after Hadrian had got away,\nwent on:\n\n\"He has a beard like Caesar, and so he behaves as if he wore the purple!\nYou did well to let him escape, his wife and children are waiting for him\nover their porridge.\"\n\nVerus had often been implicated in wild adventure among the populace and\nknew how to deal with them; if he now could only detain them till the\nadvent of the soldiers he might consider the game as won. Hadrian could\nbe a hero when it suited him; but here where no laurels were to be won,\nhe left to Verus the task of quieting the crowd.\n\nAs soon as he was fairly gone Verus desired his slaves to lift him on\ntheir shoulders; his handsome good-natured face looked down upon the\ncrowd from high above them. He was immediately recognized, and many\nvoices called out:\n\n\"The crazy Roman! the praetor! the sham Eros!\"\n\n\"I am he, Macedonian citizens, yes, I am he,\" answered Verus in a clear\nvoice. \"And I will tell you a story.\"\n\n\"Listen, Listen.\"\n\n\"No let us get into the Jew's house.\"\n\n\"Presently--listen a minute to what the sham Eros says.\"\n\n\"I will knock your teeth down your throat boy, if you don't hold your\ntongue.\"\n\nAll the crowd were shouting in wild confusion.\n\nCuriosity, on the one hand, to hear the noble gentleman's speech, and the\nsomewhat superficial fury of the mob contended together for a few\nminutes; at last curiosity seemed to be gaining the day, the tumult\nsubsided, and the praetor began:\n\n\"Once upon a time there was a child who had given to him ten little sheep\nmade of cotton, little foolish toys such as the old women sell in the\nmarket place.\"\n\n\"Get into the Jew's house, we don't want to hear children's stories--\"\n\n\"Be quiet there!\"\n\n\"Hush now listen; from the sheep he will go on to the wolves.\"\n\n\"Not wolves--it will be a she-wolf!\" some one shouted in the throng.\n\n\"Do not mention the horrid things!\" laughed Verus but listen to\nme.--Well, the child set his little sheep up in a row each one close to\nthe next. He was a weaver's son. Are there any weavers here? You? and\nyou--ah, and you out there. If I were not my father's son I should like\nto be the son of an Alexandrian weaver. You need not laugh!--Well, about\nthe sheep. All the little things were beautifully white but one which had\nnasty black spots, and the little boy could not bear that one. He went to\nthe hearth, pulled out a burning stick and wanted to burn the little ugly\nsheep so as only to have pretty white ones. The lambkin caught fire and\njust as the flame had begun to burn the wooden skeleton of the toy a\ndraught from the window blew the flame towards the other little sheep and\nin a minute they were all burned to ashes. Then thought the little boy,\n'If only I had let the ugly sheep alone! What can I play with now?' and\nhe began to cry. But this was not all, for while the little rascal was\ndrying his eyes, the flame spread and burnt up the loom, the wool, the\nflax, the woven pieces, the whole house--the town in which he was born,\nand even, I believe, the boy himself!--Now worthy friends and Macedonian\ncitizens, reflect a moment. Any man among you who is possessed of any\nproperty may read the moral of my fable.\"\n\n\"Put out the torches!\" cried the wife of a charcoal dealer.\n\n\"He is right; for by reason of the Jew, we are putting the whole town in\ndanger!\" cried the cobbler.\n\n\"The mad fools have already thrown in some brands!\"\n\n\"If you fellows up there fling any more I will break your ankles for\nyou,\" shouted a flax-dealer.\n\n\"Don't try any burning,\" the tailor commanded, \"force open the door and\nhave out the Jew.\" These words raised a storm of applause and the mob\npressed forward to the Jew's abode. No one listened to Verus any more,\nand he slipped down from his slave's shoulders, placed himself in front\nof the door and called out:\n\n\"In the name of Caesar and the law I command you to leave this house\nunharmed.\"\n\nThe Roman's warning was evidently quite in earnest, and the false Eros\nlooked as if at this moment it would be ill-advised to try jesting with\nhim. But in the universal uproar only a few had heard his words, and the\nhot-blooded tailor was so rash as to lay his hand on the praetor's girdle\nin order to drag him away from the door with the help of his comrades.\nBut he paid dearly for his temerity for the praetor's fist fell so\nheavily on his forehead that he dropped as if struck by lightning. One of\nthe Britons knocked down the sausage-maker and a hideous hand to hand\nfight would have been the upshot if help had not come to the hardly-beset\nRomans from two quarters at once. The veterans supported by a number of\nlictors were the first to appear, and soon after them came Benjamin, the\nJew's eldest son, who was passing down the great thoroughfare with his\nboon-companions and saw the danger that was threatening his father's\nhouse.\n\nThe soldiers parted the throng as the wind chases the clouds, and the\nyoung Israelite pressed forward with his heavy thyrsus fought and pushed\nhis way so valiantly and resolutely through the panic-stricken mob, that\nhe reached the door of his father's house but a few moments later than\nthe soldiers. The lictors battered at the door and as no one opened it,\nthey forced it with the help of the soldiers in order to set a guard in\nthe beleaguered house, and protect it against the raging mob.\n\nVerus and the officer entered the Jew's dwelling with the armed men, and\nbehind them came Benjamin and his friends--young Greeks with whom he was\nin the habit of consorting daily, in the bath or the gymnasium.\nApollodorus and his guests expressed their gratitude to Verus, and when\nthe old Jewish house-keeper, who had seen and heard from a hiding-place\nunder the roof all that had taken place outside her master's house, came\ninto the men's hall and gave a full report of the uproar from beginning\nto end, the praetor was overwhelmed with thanks; and the old woman\nembroidered her narrative with the most glowing colors. While this was\ngoing on Apollodorus' pretty daughter, Ismene, came in, and after falling\non her father's neck and weeping with agitation the house keeper took her\nhand and led her to Verus, saying:\n\n\"This noble lord--may the blessing of the Most High be on him--staked his\nlife to save us. This beautiful robe he let be rent for our sakes, and\nevery daughter of Israel should fervently kiss this torn chiton, which in\nthe eyes of God is more precious than the richest robe--as I do.\"\n\nAnd the old woman pressed the praetor's dress to her lips, and tried to\nmake Ismene do the same; but the praetor would not permit this.\n\n\"How can I allow my garment,\" he exclaimed, laughing, \"to enjoy a favor\nof which I should deem myself worthy--to be touched by such lips.\"\n\n\"Kiss him, kiss him!\" cried the old woman, and the praetor took the head\nof the blushing girl in his hands, and pressing his lips to her forehead\nwith a by no means paternal air, he said gaily:\n\n\"Now I am richly rewarded for all I have been so happy as to do for you,\nApollodorus.\"\n\n\"And we,\" exclaimed Gamaliel. \"We--myself and my brother's first-born\nson-leave it in the hands of God Most High to reward you for what you\nhave done for us.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked Verus, who was filled with admiration for the\nprophet-like aspect of the venerable old man and the pale intellectual\nhead of his nephew.\n\nApollodorus took upon himself to explain to him how far the Rabbi\ntranscended all his fellow Hebrews in knowledge of the law and the\ninterpretation of the Kabbala, the oral and mystical traditions of their\npeople, and how that Simeon Ben Jochai was superior to all the\nastrologers of his time. He spoke of the young man's much admired work on\nthe subject called Sohar, nor did he omit to mention that Gamaliel's\nnephew was able to foretell the positions of the stars even on future\nnights.\n\nVerus listened to Apollodorus with increasing attention, and fixed a keen\ngaze on the young man, who interrupted his host's eager encomium with\nmany modest deprecations. The praetor had recollected the near approach\nof his birthday, and also that the position of stars in the night\npreceding it, would certainly be observed by Hadrian. What the Emperor\nmight learn from them would seal his fate for life. Was that momentous\nnight destined to bring him nearer to the highest goal of his ambition or\nto debar him from it?\n\nWhen Apollodorus ceased speaking, Verus offered Simeon Ben Jochai his\nhand, saying:\n\n\"I am rejoiced to have met a man of your learning and distinction. What\nwould I not give to possess your knowledge for a few hours!\"\n\n\"My knowledge is yours,\" replied the astrologer. \"Command my services, my\nlabors, my time--ask me as many questions as you will. We are so deeply\nindebted to you--\"\n\n\"You have no reason to regard me as your creditor,\" interrupted the\npraetor, \"you do not even owe me thanks. I only made your acquaintance\nafter I had rescued you, and I opposed the mob, not for the sake of any\nparticular man, but for that of law and order.\"\n\n\"You were benevolent enough to protect us,\" cried Ben Jochai, \"so do not\nbe so stern as to disdain our gratitude.\"\n\n\"It does me honor, my learned friend; by all the gods it does me honor,\"\nreplied Verus. \"And in fact it is possible, it might very will be--Will\nyou do me the favor to come with me to that bust of Hipparchus? By the\naid of that science which owes so much to him you may be able to render\nme an important service.\"\n\nWhen the two men were standing apart from the others, in front of the\nwhite marble portrait of the great astronomer, Verus asked:\n\n\"Do you know by what method Caesar is wont to presage the fates of men\nfrom the stars?\"\n\n\"Perfectly.\"\n\n\"From whom?\"\n\n\"From Aquila, my father's disciple.\"\n\n\"Can you calculate what he will learn from the stars in the night\npreceding the thirtieth of December, as to the destinies of a man who was\nborn in that night, and whose horoscope I possess?\"\n\n\"I can only answer a conditional yes to that question.\"\n\n\"What should prevent your answering positively?\"\n\n\"Unforeseen appearances in the heavens.\"\n\nAre such signs common?\"\n\n\"No, they are rare, on the contrary.\"\n\n\"But perhaps my fortune is not a common one-and I beg of you to calculate\non Hadrian's method what the heavens will predict on that night for the\nman whose horoscope my slave shall deliver to you early to-morrow\nmorning.\"\n\n\"I will do so with pleasure.\"\n\n\"When can you have finished this work?\"\n\n\"In four days at latest, perhaps even sooner.\"\n\n\"Capital! But one thing more. Do you regard me as a man, I mean, as a\ntrue man?\"\n\n\"If you were not, would you have given me such reason to be grateful to\nyou?\"\n\n\"Well then, conceal nothing from me, not even the worst horrors, things\nthat might poison another man's life, and crush his spirit. Whatever you\nread in the celestial record, small or great, good or evil. I require you\nto tell me all.\"\n\n\"I will conceal nothing, absolutely nothing.\"\n\nThe praetor offered Ben Jochai his right hand, and warmly pressed the\nJew's slender, well-shaped fingers. Before he went away he settled with\nhim how he should inform him when he had finished his labors.\n\nThe Alexandrian with his guests and children accompanied the praetor to\nthe door. Only Ben Jamin was absent; he was sitting with his companions\nin his father's dining-room, and rewarding them for the assistance they\nhad given him with right good wine. Gamaliel heard them shouting and\nsinging, and pointing to the room he shrugged his shoulders, saying, as\nhe turned to his host:\n\n\"They are returning thanks to the God of our fathers in the Alexandrian\nfashion.\"\n\nAnd peace was broken no more in the Jew's house but by the firm tramp of\nlictors and soldiers who kept watch over it, under arms.\n\nIn a side street the praetor met the tailor he had knocked down, the\nsausage-maker, and other ringleaders of the attack on the Israelite's\nhouse. They were being led away prisoners before the night magistrates.\nVerus would have set them at liberty with all his heart, but he knew that\nthe Emperor would enquire next morning what had been done to the rioters,\nand so he forbore. At any other time he would certainly have sent them\nhome unpunished, but just now he was dominated by a wish that was more\ndominant than his good nature or his facile impulses.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nWhen he reached the Caesareum the high-chamberlain was waiting to conduct\nhim to Sabina who desired to speak with him notwithstanding the lateness\nof the hour, and when Verus entered the presence of his patroness, he\nfound her in the greatest excitement. She was not reclining as usual on\nher pillows but was pacing her room with strides of very unfeminine\nlength.\n\n\"It is well that you have come!\" she exclaimed to the praetor. \"Lentulus\ninsists that he has seen Mastor the slave, and Balbilla declares--but it\nis impossible!\"\n\n\"You think that Caesar is here?\" asked Verus.\n\n\"Did they tell you so too?\"\n\n\"No. I do not linger to talk when you require my presence and there is\nsomething important to be told just now then--but you must not be\nalarmed.\"\n\n\"No useless speeches!\"\n\n\"Just now I met, in his own person--\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Hadrian.\"\n\n\"You are not mistaken, you are sure you saw him?\"\n\n\"With these eyes.\"\n\n\"Abominable, unworthy, disgraceful!\" cried Sabina, so loudly and\nviolently that she was startled at the shrill tones of her own voice. Her\ntall thin figure quivered with excitement, and to any one else she would\nhave appeared in the highest degree graceless, unwomanly, and repulsive:\nbut Verus had been accustomed from his childhood to see her with kinder\neyes than other men, and it grieved him.\n\nThere are women who remind us of fading flowers, extinguished lights or\nvanishing shades, and they are not the least attractive of their sex: but\nthe large-boned, stiff and meagre Sabina had none of the yielding and\ntender grace of these gentle creatures. Her feeble health, which was very\nevident, became her particularly ill when, as at this moment, the harsh\nacrimony of her embittered soul came to light with hideous plainness.\n\nShe was deeply indignant at the affront her husband had put upon her. Not\ncontent with having a separate house established for her he kept aloof in\nAlexandria without informing her of his arrival. Her hands trembled with\nrage, and stammering rather than speaking she desired the praetor to\norder a composing draught for her. When Verus returned she was lying on\nher cushions, with her face turned to the wall, and said lamentably:\n\n\"I am freezing; spread that coverlet over me. I am a miserable, ill-used\ncreature.\"\n\n\"You are sensitive and take things too hardly,\" the praetor ventured to\nremonstrate.\n\nShe started up angrily, cut off his speech, and put him through as keen a\ncross-examination as if he were an accused person and she his judge. Ere\nlong she had learnt that Verus also had encountered Mastor, that her\nhusband was residing at Lochias, that he had taken part in the festival\nin disguise, and had exposed himself to grave danger outside the house of\nApollodorus. She also made him tell her how the Israelite had been\nrescued, and whom her friend had met in his house, and she blamed Verus\nwith bitter words for the heedless and foolhardy recklessness with which\nhe had risked his life for a miserable Jew, forgetting the high destinies\nthat lay before him. The praetor had not interrupted her, but now bowing\nover her, he kissed her hand and said:\n\n\"Your kind heart foresees for me things that I dare not hope for.\nSomething is glimmering on the horizon of my fortune. Is it the dying\nglow of my failing fortunes, is it the pale dawn of a coming and more\nglorious day? Who can tell? I await with patience whatever may be\nimpending--an early day must decide.\"\n\n\"That will bring certainty, and put an end to this suspense,\" murmured\nSabina.\n\n\"Now rest and try to sleep,\" said Verus with a tender fervency, that was\npeculiar to his tones. \"It is past midnight and the physician has often\nforbidden you to sit up late. Farewell, dream sweetly, and always be the\nsame to me as a man, that you were to me in my childhood and youth.\"\n\nSabina withdrew the hand he had taken, saying:\n\n\"But you must not leave me. I want you. I cannot exist without your\npresence.\"\n\n\"Till to-morrow--always--forever I will stay with you whenever you need\nme.\"\n\nThe Empress gave him her hand again, and sighed softly as he again bowed\nover it, and pressed it long to his lips.\n\n\"You are my friend, Verus, truly my friend; yes, I am sure of it,\" she\nsaid at last, breaking the silence.\n\n\"Oh Sabina, my Mother!\" he answered tenderly. \"You spoiled me with\nkindness even when I was a boy, and what can I do to thank you for all\nthis?\"\n\n\"Be always the same to me that you are to-day. Will you always--for all\ntime be the same, whatever your fortunes may be?\"\n\n\"In joy and in adversity always the same; always your friend, always\nready to give my life for you.\"\n\n\"In spite of my husband, always, even when you think you no longer need\nmy favor!\"\n\n\"Always, for without you I should be nothing--utterly miserable.\"\n\nThe Empress heaved a deep sigh and sat bolt upright on her couch. She had\nformed a great resolve, and she said slowly, emphasizing every word:\n\n\"If nothing utterly unforeseen occurs in the heavens on your birth-night,\nyou shall be our son, and so Hadrian's successor and heir. I swear it.\"\n\nThere was something solemn in her voice, and her small eyes were wide\nopen.\n\n\"Sabina, Mother, guardian spirit of my life!\" cried Verus, and he fell on\nhis knees by her couch. She looked in his handsome face with deep\nemotion, laid her hands on his temples, and pressed her lips on his dark\ncurls.\n\nA moist brilliancy sparkled in those eyes, unapt to tears, and in a soft\nand appealing tone that no one had ever before heard in her voice she\nsaid:\n\n\"Even at the summit of fortune, after your adoption, even in the purple\nall will be the same between us two. Will it? Tell me, will it?\"\n\n\"Always, always!\" cried Verus. \"And if our hopes are fulfilled--\"\n\n\"Then, then,\" interrupted Sabina and she shivered as she spoke. \"Then,\nstill you will be to me the same that you are now; but to be sure, to be\nsure--the temples of the gods would be empty if mortals had nothing left\nto wish for.\"\n\n\"Ah! no. Then they would bring thank-offerings to the divinity,\" cried\nVerus, and he looked up at the Empress; but she turned away from his\nsmiling glance and exclaimed in a tone of reproof and alarm:\n\n\"No playing with words, no empty speeches or rash jesting! in the name of\nall the gods, not at this time! For this hour, this night is among its\nfellows what a hallowed temple is among other buildings--what the fervent\nsun is among the other lights of heaven. You know not how I feel, nay, I\nhardly know myself. Not now, not now, one lightly-spoken word!\"\n\nVerus gazed at Sabina with growing astonishment. She had always been\nkinder to him than to any one else in the world and he felt bound to her\nby all the ties of gratitude and the sweet memories of childhood. Even as\na boy, out of all his playfellows he was the only one who, far from\nfearing her had clung to her. But to-night! who had ever seen Sabina in\nsuch a mood? Was this the harsh bitter woman whose heart seemed filled\nwith gall, whose tongue cut like a dagger every one against whom she used\nit? Was this Sabina who no doubt was kindly disposed towards him but who\nloved no one else, not even herself? Did he see rightly, or was he under\nsome delusion? Tears, genuine, honest, unaffected tears filled her eyes\nas she went on:\n\n\"Here I he, a poor sickly woman, sensitive in body and in soul as if I\nwere covered with wounds. Every movement, and even the gaze and the voice\nof most of my fellow-creatures is a pain to me. I am old, much older than\nyou think and so wretched, so wretched, none of you can imagine how\nwretched. I was never happy as a child, never as a girl, and as a\nwife--merciful gods!--every kind word that Hadrian has ever vouchsafed me\nI have paid for with a thousand humiliations.\"\n\n\"He always treats you with the utmost esteem,\" interrupted Verus.\n\n\"Before you, before the world! But what do I care for esteem! I may\ndemand the respect, the adoration of millions and it will be mine. Love,\nlove, a little unselfish love is what I ask--and if only I were sure, if\nonly I dared to hope that you give me such love, I would thank you with\nall that I have, then this hour would be hallowed to me above all\nothers.\"\n\n\"How can you doubt me Mother? My dearly beloved Mother!\"\n\n\"That is comfort, that is happiness!\" answered Sabina. \"Your voice is\nnever too loud for me, and I believe you, I dare trust you. This hour\nmakes you my son, makes me your mother.\"\n\nTender emotion, the emotion that softens the heart, thrilled through\nSabina's dried-up nature and sparkled in her eyes. She felt like a young\nwife of whom a child is born, and the voice of her heart sings to her in\nsoothing tones: \"It lives, it is mine, I am the providence of a living\nsoul, I am a mother.\"\n\nShe gazed blissfully into Verus' eyes and exclaimed, \"Give me your hand\nmy son, help me up, for I will be here no longer. What good spirits I\nfeel in! Yes, this is the joy that is allotted to other women before\ntheir hair is grey! But child--dear and only child--you must love me\nreally as a mother. I am too old for tender trifling, and yet I could not\nbear it if you gave me nothing but a child's reverence. No, no, you must\nbe my friend whose heart warns him of my wishes, who can laugh with me\nto-day, and weep with me to-morrow--and who shows that he is happier when\nhis eye meets mine. You are now my son; and soon you shall have the name\nof son; that is happiness enough for one evening. Not another word--this\nhour is like the finished masterpiece of some great painter; every touch\nthat could be added might spoil it. You may kiss my forehead, I will kiss\nyours; now I will go to rest, and to-morrow when I wake I shall say to\nmyself that I possess something worth living for--a child, a son.\"\n\nWhen the Empress was alone she raised her hand in prayer but she could\nfind no words of thanksgiving. One hour of pure happiness she had indeed\nenjoyed, but how many days, months, years of joylessness and suffering\nlay behind her! Gratitude knocked at the door of her heart but it was\ninstantly met by bitter defiance; what was one hour of happiness in the\nbalance against a ruined lifetime?\n\nFoolish woman! she had never sown the seeds of love, and now she blamed\nthe gods for niggardliness and cruelty in denying her a harvest of love.\nAnd now, on what soil had the seed of maternal tenderness fallen?\n\nVerus it is true had left her content and full of hope--Sabina's altered\ndemeanor, it is true, had touched his heart--he purposed to cling to her\nfaithfully even after his formal adoption; but the light in his eye was\nnot that of a proud and happy son, on the contrary it sparkled like that\nof a warrior who hopes to gain the victory.\n\nNotwithstanding the late hour, his wife had not yet gone to bed. She had\nheard that he had been summoned to the Empress on his return home, and\nawaited him not without anxiety, for she was not accustomed to anything\npleasant from Sabina. Her husband's hasty step echoed loudly from the\nstone walls of the sleeping palace. She heard it at some distance, and\nwent to the door of her room to meet him. Radiant, excited, and with\nflushed cheeks, he held out both his hands to her. She looked so fair in\nher white night-wrapper of fine white material, and his heart was so full\nthat he clasped her in his arms as fondly as when she was his bride; and\nshe loved him even now no less than she had done then, and felt for the\nhundredth time with grateful joy that the faithless scapegrace had once\nmore returned to her unchangeable and faithful heart, like a sailor who,\nafter wandering through many lands seeks his native port.\n\n\"Lucilla,\" he cried, disengaging her arms from round his neck. \"Oh,\nLucilla! what an evening this has been! I always judged Sabina\ndifferently from you, and have felt with gratitude that she really cared\nfor me. Now all is clear between her and me! She called me her son. I\ncalled her mother. I owe it to her, and the purple--the purple is ours!\nYou are the wife of Verus Caesar; you are certain of it if no signs and\nomens come to frighten Hadrian.\"\n\nIn a few eager words, which betrayed not merely the triumph of a lucky\ngambler, but also true emotion and gratitude, he related all that had\npassed in Sabina's room. His frank and confident contentment silenced her\ndoubts, her dread of the stupendous fate which, beckoning her, yet\nthreatening her, drew visibly nearer and nearer. In her mind's eye she\nsaw the husband she loved, she saw her son, seated on the throne of the\nCaesars, and she herself crowned with the radiant diadem of the woman\nwhom she hated with all the force of her soul. Her husband's kindly\nfeeling towards the Empress and the faithful allegiance which had tied\nhim to her from his boyhood did not disquiet her; but a wife allows the\nhusband of her choice every happiness, every gift excepting only the love\nof another woman, and will forgive her hatred and abuse rather than such\nlove.\n\nLucilla was greatly excited, and a thought, that for years had been\nlocked in the inmost shrine of her heart, to-day proved too strong for\nher powers of reticence. Hadrian was supposed to have murdered her\nfather, but no one could positively assert it, though either he or\nanother man had certainly slain the noble Nigrinus. At this moment the\nold suspicion stirred her soul with revived force, and lifting her right\nhand, as if in attestation, she exclaimed:\n\n\"Oh, Fate, Fate! that my husband should be heir of the man who murdered\nmy father!\"\n\n\"Lucilla,\" interrupted Verus, \"it is unjust even to think of such\nhorrors, and to speak of them is madness. Do not utter it a second time,\nleast of all to-day. What may have occurred formerly must not spoil the\npresent and the future which belong to us and to our children.\"\n\n\"Nigrinus was the grandfather of those children,\" cried the Roman mother\nwith flashing eyes.\n\n\"That is to say that you harbor in your soul the wish to avenge your\nfather's death on Caesar.\"\n\n\"I am the daughter of the butchered man.\"\n\n\"But you do not know the murderer, and the purple must outweigh the life\nof one man, for it is often bought with many thousand lives. And then,\nLucilla, as you know, I love happy faces, and Revenge has a sinister\nbrow. Let us be happy, oh wife of Caesar! Tomorrow I shall have much to\ntell you, now I must go to a splendid banquet which the son of Plutarch\nis giving in my honor. I cannot stay with you--truly I cannot, I have\nbeen expected long since. And when we are in Rome never let me find you\ntelling the children those old dismal stories--I will not have it.\"\n\nAs Verus, preceded by his slaves bearing torches, made his way through\nthe garden of the Caesareum he saw a light in the rooms of Balbilla, the\npoetess, and he called up merrily:\n\n\"Good-night, fair Muse!\"\n\n\"Good-night, sham Eros!\" she retorted.\n\n\"You are decking yourself in borrowed feathers, Poetess,\" replied he,\nlaughing. \"It is not you but the ill-mannered Alexandrians who invented\nthat name!\"\n\n\"Oh! and other and better ones,\" cried she. \"What I have heard and seen\nto-day passes all belief!\"\n\n\"And you will celebrate it in your poems?\"\n\n\"Only some of it, and that in a satire which I propose to aim at you.\"\n\n\"I tremble!\"\n\n\"With delight, it is to be hoped; my poem will embalm your memory for\nposterity.\"\n\n\"That is true, and the more spiteful your verses, the more certainly will\nfuture generations believe that Verus was the Phaon of Balbilla's Sappho,\nand that love scorned filled the fair singer with bitterness.\"\n\n\"I thank you for the caution. To-day at any rate you are safe from my\nverse, for I am tired to death.\"\n\n\"Did you venture into the streets?\"\n\n\"It was quite safe, for I had a trustworthy escort.\"\n\n\"May I be allowed to ask who?\"\n\n\"Why not? It was Pontius the architect who was with me.\"\n\n\"He knows the town well.\"\n\n\"And in his care I would trust myself to descend, like Orpheus, into\nHades.\"\n\n\"Happy Pontius!\"\n\n\"Most happy Verus!\"\n\n\"What am I to understand by those words, charming Balbilla?\"\n\n\"The poor architect is able to please by being a good guide, while to you\nbelongs the whole heart of Lucilla, your sweet wife.\"\n\n\"And she has the whole of mine so far as it is not full of Balbilla.\nGood-night, saucy Muse; sleep well.\"\n\n\"Sleep ill, you incorrigible tormentor!\" cried the girl, drawing the\ncurtain across her window.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe sleepless wretch on whom some trouble has fallen, so long as night\nsurrounds him, sees his future life as a boundless sea in which he is\nsailing round and round like a shipwrecked man, but when the darkness\nyields, the new and helpful day shows him a boat for escape close at\nhand, and friendly shores in the distance.\n\nThe unfortunate Pollux also awoke towards morning with sighs many and\ndeep; for it seemed to him that last evening he had ruined his whole\nfuture prospects. The workshop of his former master was henceforth closed\nto him, and he no longer possessed even all the tools requisite for the\nexercise of his art.\n\nOnly yesterday he had hoped with happy confidence to establish himself on\na footing of his own, to-day this seemed impossible, for the most\nindispensable means were lacking to him. As he felt his little money-bag,\nwhich he was wont to place under his pillow, he could not forbear smiling\nin spite of all his troubles, for his fingers sank into the flaccid\nleather, and found only two coins, one of which he knew alas! was of\ncopper, and the dried merry-thought bone of a fowl, which he had saved to\ngive to his little nieces.\n\nWhere was he to find the money he was accustomed to give his sister on\nthe first day of every month? Papias was on friendly terms with all the\nsculptors of the city, and it was only to be expected that he would warn\nthem against him, and do his best to make it difficult to him to find a\nnew place as assistant. His old master had also been witness of Hadrian's\nanger against him, and was quite the man to take every advantage of what\nhe had overheard. It is never a recommendation for any one that he is an\nobject of dislike to the powerful, and least of all does it help him with\nthose who look for the favor and gifts of the great men of the world.\nWhen Hadrian should think proper to throw off his disguise, it might\neasily occur to him to let Pollux feel the effects of his power. Would it\nnot be wise in him to quit Alexandria and seek work or daily bread in\nsome other Greek city?\n\nBut for Arsinoe's sake he could not turn his back on his native place. He\nloved her with all the passion of his artist's soul, and his youthful\ncourage would certainly not have been so quickly and utterly crushed if\nhe could have deluded himself as to the fact that his hopes of possessing\nher had been driven into the remote background by the events of the\npreceding evening. How could he dare to drag her into his uncertain and\ncompromised position? And what reception could he hope for from her\nfather if he should now attempt to demand her for his wife. As these\nthoughts overpowered his mind he suddenly felt as if his eyes were\nsmarting with sand that had blown into them, and he could not help\nspringing out of bed; he paced his little room with long steps, and he\nheld his forehead pressed against the wall.\n\nThe dawn of a new day appeared as a welcome comfort, and by the time he\nhad eaten the morning porridge which his mother set before him--and her\neyes were red with weeping--the idea struck him that he would go to\nPontius, the architect. That was the lifeboat he espied.\n\nDoris shared her son's breakfast but, contrary to her usual custom, she\nspoke very little, only she frequently passed her hand over her son's\ncurly hair. Euphorion strode up and down the room, rummaging his brain\nfor ideas for an ode in which he might address the Emperor and implore\nforgiveness for his son. Soon after breakfast Pollux went up to the\nrotunda where the Queens' busts stood, hoping to see Arsinoe again, and a\nloud snatch of song soon brought her out on to the balcony. They\nexchanged greetings, and Pollux signed to her to come down to him. She\nwould have obeyed him more than gladly, but her father had also heard the\nsculptor's voice and drove her back into the room. Still the mere sight\nof his beloved fair one had done the artist good. Hardly had he got back\nto his father's little house when Antinous came sauntering in--he\nrepresented in the artist's mind the hospitable shores on which he might\ngaze. Hope revived his soul, and Hope is the sun before which despair\nflies as the shades of night flee at the rising of the day-star.\n\nHis artistic faculties were once more roused into play, and found a field\nfor their freest exercise when Antinous told him that he was at his\ndisposal till mid-day, since his master--or rather Caesar as he was now\npermitted to name him--was engaged in business. The prefect Titianus had\ncome to him with a whole heap of papers, to work with him and his private\nsecretary. Pollux at once led the favorite into a side room of the little\nhouse, with a northern aspect; here on a table lay the wax and the\nsmaller implements which belonged to himself and which he had brought\nhome last evening. His heart ached, and his nerves were in a painful\nstate of tension as he began his work. All sorts of anxious thoughts\ndisturbed his spirit, and yet he knew that if he put his whole soul into\nit he could do something good. Now, if ever, he must put forth his best\npowers, and he dreaded failure as an utter catastrophe, for on the face\nof the whole earth there was no second model to compare with this that\nstood before him.\n\nBut he did not take long to collect himself for the Bithynian's beauty\nfilled him with profound feeling and it was with a sort of pious\nexaltation that he grasped the plastic material and moulded it into a\nform resembling his sitter. For a whole hour not a word passed between\nthem, but Pollux often sighed deeply and now then a groan of painful\nanxiety escaped him.\n\nAntinous broke the silence to ask Pollux about Selene. His heart was full\nof her, and there was no other man who knew her, and whom he could\nventure to entrust with his secret. Indeed it was only to speak to her\nthat he had come to the artist so early. While Pollux modelled and\nscraped Antinous told him of all that had happened the previous night. He\nlamented having lost the silver quiver when he was upset into the water\nand regretted that the rose-colored chiton should afterwards have\nsuffered a reduction in length at the hands of his pursuer. An\nexclamation of surprise, a word of sympathy, a short pause in the\nmovement of his hand and tool, were all the demonstration on the artist's\npart, to which the story of Selene's adventure and the loss of his\nmaster's costly property gave rise; his whole attention was absorbed in\nhis occupation. The farther his work progressed the higher rose his\nadmiration for his model. He felt as if intoxicated with noble wine as he\nworked to reproduce this incarnation of the ideal of umblemished youthful\nand manly beauty. The passion of artistic procreation fired his blood,\nand threw every thing else--even the history of Selene's fall into the\nsea, and her subsequent rescue--into the region of commonplace. Still he\nhad not been inattentive, and what he heard must have had some effect in\nhis mind; for long after Antinous had ended his narrative, he said in a\nlow voice and as if speaking to the bust, which was already assuming\ndefinite form:\n\n\"It is a wonderful thing!\" and again a little later; \"There was always\nsomething grand in that unhappy creature.\"\n\nHe had worked without interruption for nearly four hours, when standing\nback from the table, he looked anxiously, first at his work and then at\nAntinous, and then asked him:\n\n\"How will that do?\"\n\nThe Bithynian gave eager expression to his approbation, and Pollux had,\nin fact, done wonders in the short time. The wax began to display in a\nmuch reduced scale the whole figure of the beautiful youth and in the\nvery same attitude which the young Dionysus carried off by the pirates,\nhad assumed the day before. The incomparable modelling of the favorite's\nlimbs and form was soft but not effeminate; and, as Pollux had said to\nhimself the day before, no artist in his happiest mood, could conceive\nthe Nysaean god as different from this.\n\nWhile the sculptor in order to assure himself of the accuracy of his work\nwas measuring his model's limbs with wooden compasses and lengths of\ntape, the sound of chariot-wheels was heard at the gate of the palace,\nand soon after the yelping of the Graces. Doris called to the dogs to be\nquiet and another high-pitched woman's voice mingled with hers. Antinous\nlistened and what he heard seemed to be somewhat out of the common for he\nsuddenly quitted the position in which the sculptor had placed him only a\nfew minutes before, ran to the window and called to Pollux in a subdued\nvoice:\n\n\"It is true! I am not mistaken! There is Hadrian's wife Sabina talking\nout there to your mother.\"\n\nHe had heard rightly; the Empress had come to Lochias to seek out her\nhusband. She had got out of the chariot at the gate of the old palace for\nthe paving of the court-yard would not be completed before that evening.\n\nDogs, of which her husband was so fond, she detested; the shrewd beasts\nreturned her aversion, so dame Doris found it more difficult than usual\nto succeed in reducing her disobedient pets to silence when they flew\nviciously at the stranger. Sabina terrified, vehemently desired the old\nwoman to release her from their persecution, while the chamberlain who\nhad come with her and on whom she was leaning kicked out at the\nirrepressible little wretches and so increased their spite. At last the\nGraces withdrew into the house. Dame Doris drew a deep breath and turned\nto the Empress.\n\nShe did not suspect who the stranger was for she had never seen Sabina\nand had formed quite a different idea of her.\n\n\"Pardon me good lady,\" she said in her frank confiding manner. \"The\nlittle rascals mean no harm and never bite even a beggar, but they never\ncould endure old women. Whom do you seek here mother?\"\n\n\"That you shall soon know,\" replied Sabina sharply, \"what a state of\nthings, Lentulus, your architect Pontius' work has brought about. And\nwhat must the inside be like if this but is left standing to disgrace the\nentrance of the palace! It must go with its inhabitants. Desire that\nwoman to conduct us to the Roman lord who dwells here.\"\n\nThe chamberlain obeyed and Doris began to suspect who was standing before\nher, and she said as she smoothed down her dress and bowed low:\n\n\"What great honor befalls us illustrious lady; perhaps you are even the\nEmperor's wife? If that be the case--\"\n\nSabina made an impatient sign to the chamberlain who interrupted the old\nwoman exclaiming:\n\n\"Be silent and show us the way.\"\n\nDoris was not feeling particularly strong that day, and her eyes already\nred with weeping about her son again filled with tears. No one had ever\nspoken so to her before, and yet, for her son's sake she would not repay\nsharp words in the same coin, though she had plenty at her command.\n\nShe tottered on in front of Sabina, and conducted her to the hall of the\nMuses. There Pontius relieved her of the duty, and the respect he paid to\nthe stranger made her sure that in fact she was none other than the\nEmpress in person.\n\n\"An odious woman!\" said Sabina, as she went on pointing to Doris, whom\nher words could not escape. This was too much for the old woman; past all\nself-control she flung herself on to a seat that was standing by, covered\nher face with her hands and began crying bitterly. She felt as if the\nvery ground were snatched from under her feet.\n\nHer son was in disgrace with Caesar, and she and her house were\nthreatened by the most powerful woman in the world. She pictured herself\nas already turned into the streets with Euphorion and her dogs, and asked\nherself what was to become of them all when they had lost their place and\nthe roof that covered them. Her husband's memory grew daily weaker, soon\nhis voice even might fail; and how greatly had her own strength failed\nduring the last few years, how small were the savings that were hidden in\ntheir chest. The bright, genial old woman felt quite broken down. What\nhurt her was, not merely the pressing need that threatened her, but the\ndisgrace too which would fall upon her, the dislike she had incurred--she\nwho had been liked by every one from her youth up--and the painful\nfeeling of having been treated with scorn and contempt in the presence of\nothers by the powerful lady whose favor she had hoped to win.\n\nAt Sabina's advent all good spirits had fled from Lochias, so at least\nDoris felt, but she was not one of those who succumb helplessly to a\nhostile force. For a few minutes she abandoned herself to her sorrows and\nsobbed like a child. Now she dried her eyes, and her eased heart felt the\nbeneficial relief of tears; by degrees she could compose herself and\nthink calmly.\n\n\"After all,\" said she to herself, \"none but Caesar can command here, and\nit is said that he gets on but badly with his spiteful wife, and cares\nvery little what she wishes. Hadrian let Pollux feel his power, but he\nhas always been friendly to me. My dogs and birds amused him, and did he\nnot even do me the honor to relish a dish out of my kitchen? No, no, if\nonly I can succeed in speaking with him alone all may yet be well,\" and\nthus thinking she rose from her seat.\n\nAs she was about to quit the anteroom the art dealer, Gabinius, of\nNicaea, came in, to whom Keraunus had refused to sell the mosaic in the\npalace, and whose daughter had been deprived by Arsinoe of the part of\nRoxana. Pontius had desired him to come to the palace and he had made his\nappearance at once, for, since the evening before, a rumor had been\nafloat that the Emperor was staying in Alexandria, and was inhabiting the\npalace at Loehias. Whence it was derived, or on what facts it was\nsupported no one could say; but there it was, passing from mouth to mouth\nin every circle and acquiring certainty every hour. Of all that grows on\nearth nothing grows so quickly as Rumor, and yet it is a miserable\nfoundling that never knows its own parents.\n\nThe dealer pushed on into the palace with a glance of astonishment at the\nold woman, while Doris debated whether see should seek Hadrian then and\nthere, or return to her little gate-House, and wait till he should at\nsome time be going out of the palace and passing by her dwelling. Before\nshe could come to any decision Pontius appeared on the scene; he had\nalways been very kind to her, and she therefore ventured to address him\nand tell him what had occurred between her son and the Emperor. This was\nno novelty to the architect; he advised her to have patience till Hadrian\nshould have cooled, and he promised her that later he would do every\nthing in his power for Pollux, whom he loved and esteemed. On this very\nday he was obliged by Caesar's command to start on a journey and for a\nlong absence; his destination was Pelusium, where he was to erect a\nmonument to the great Pompey on the spot where he had been murdered.\nHadrian, as he passed the old ruined monument on his way from Mount\nKasius to Egypt, had determined to replace it by a new one, and had\nentrusted the work to Pontius whose labors at Lochias were now nearly\nended. All that might yet be lacking to the fitting of the restored\npalace Hadrian himself wished to select and procure and in this\noccupation so agreeable to his tastes, Gabinius, the curiosity-dealer,\nwas to lend him a helping hand.\n\nWhile Doris was still speaking with Pontius, Hadrian and his wife came\ntowards the anteroom. Hardly had the architect recognized the tones of\nSabina's voice, than he hastily said in a low voice:\n\n\"Till by-and-bye this must do, dame. Stand aside; Caesar and the Empress\nare coming.\"\n\nAnd he hastened away. Doris slipped into the doorway of a side room,\nwhich was closed only by a heavy curtain, for at that moment she would as\nsoon have met a raging wild beast as the haughty lady from whom she had\nnothing to expect but insult and unkindness. Hadrian's interview with his\nwife had lasted barely a quarter of an hour, and it must have been\nanything rather than amiable, for his face was scarlet, while Sabina's\nlips were perfectly white, and her painted cheeks twitched with a\nrestless movement. Doris was too much excited and terrified to listen to\nthe royal couple, still she overheard these words uttered by the Emperor\nin a tone of the utmost decision.\n\n\"In small matters and where it is fitting I let you have your way; more\nimportant things I shall this time, as always, decide by my own\njudgment--my own exclusively.\"\n\nThese words were fraught with the fate of the gatehouse and its\ninhabitants, for the removal of the \"hideous hut\" at the entrance of the\npalace was one of the \"small matters\" of which Hadrian spoke. Sabina had\nrequired this concession, since it could not be pleasant to any one\nvisiting Lochias to be received on the threshold by an old Megaera of\nevil omen, and to be fallen upon by infuriated dogs. But Doris so little\ndivined the import of Hadrian's words that she rejoiced at them, for they\ntold her how little he was disposed to yield to his wife in important\nthings, and how could she suspect that her fate and that of her house\nshould not be included among important matters, nay the most important?\n\nSabina had quitted the anteroom leaning on her chamberlain and Hadrian\nwas standing there alone with his slave Mastor. The old woman would not\nbe likely to have another such favorable opportunity of supplicating the\nall-powerful man who stood before her, without the hindrance of\nwitnesses, to exercise his magnaminity and clemency towards her son. His\nback turned to her; if she could have seen the threatening scowl with\nwhich he stood gazing on the ground she would surely have remembered the\narchitect's warning and have postponed her address till a future day.\n\nHow often do we spoil our best chances by following an urgent instinct to\narrive at certainty as early as possible, and by not being strong enough\nto postpone opening our business till a favorable moment offers.\nUncertainty in the present often seems less endurable than adverse fate\nin the future.\n\nDoris stepped out of the side door. Mastor, who knew his master well, and\nwhose friendly impulse was to spare the old woman any humiliation, made\neager signs to warn her to withdraw and not to disturb Hadrian at that\nmoment; but she was so wholly possessed by her anxiety and wishes that\nshe did not observe them. As the Emperor turned to leave the room she\ngathered courage, stood in the doorway through which he must pass, and\ntried to fall on her knees before him. This was a difficult effort to her\nold joints and Doris was forced to clutch at the door-post in order not\nto lose her balance.\n\nHadrian at once recognized the suppliant, but to-day he found no kind\nword for her, and the glance he cast down at her was anything rather than\ngracious. How had he ever been able to find amusement even in this woeful\nold body? Alas! poor Doris was quite a different creature in her little\nhouse, among her flowers, dogs and birds to what she seemed here in the\nspacious hall of a magnificent palace. This wide and gorgeous frame but\nill-suited so modest a figure. Thousands of good people who in the midst\nof their everyday surroundings command our esteem and attract our regard\ngive rise to very different feelings when they are taken out of the\ncircle to which they belong.\n\nDoris had never worn so unpleasing an aspect to Hadrian as at this\ninstant, in this decisive moment of her life. She had followed the\nEmpress straight from the kitchen-hearth just as she was after passing a\nsleepless night and full of her many anxieties, she had scarcely set her\ngrey hair in order, and her kind bright eyes, usually the best feature of\nher face, were red with many tears. The neat brisk little mother looked\nto-day anything rather than smart and bright; in the Emperor's eyes she\nwas in no way distinguished from any other old woman, and he regarded all\nold women as of evil omen, if he met them as he went out of any place he\nwas in.\n\n\"Oh, Caesar, Great Caesar!\" cried Doris throwing up her hands which still\nbore many traces of her labors over the hearth. \"My son, my unfortunate\nPollux!\"\n\n\"Out of my way!\" said Hadrian sternly.\n\n\"He is an artist, a good artist, who already excels many a master, and if\nthe gods--\"\n\n\"Out of the way, I told you. I do not want to hear anything about the\ninsolent fellow,\" said Hadrian angrily.\n\n\"But Great Caesar, he is my son, and a mother, as you know--\"\n\n\"Mastor,\" interrupted the monarch, \"carry away this old woman and make\nway for me.\"\n\n\"Oh! my lord, my lord!\" wailed the agonized woman while the slave pulled\nher up, not without difficulty. \"Oh! my lord, how can you find it in your\nheart to be so cruel? And am I no longer old Doris whom you have even\njoked with, and whose food you have eaten?\"\n\nThese words recalled to the Emperor's fancy the moment of his arrival at\nLochias; he felt that he was somewhat in the old woman's debt, and being\nwont to pay with royal liberality he broke in with:\n\n\"You shall be paid for your excellent dish a sum with which you can\npurchase a new house, for the future your maintenance too shall be\nprovided for, but in three hours you must have quitted Lochias.\"\n\nThe Emperor spoke rapidly as though desirous of bringing a disagreeable\nbusiness to a prompt termination, and he stalked past Doris who was now\nstanding on her feet and leaning as if stunned against the doorpost.\nIndeed if Hadrian had not left her there and had he been in the mood to\nhear her farther, she was not now in a fit state to answer him another\nword.\n\nThe Emperor received the honors due to Zeus and his fiat had ruined the\nhappiness of a contented home as completely as the thunderbolt wielded by\nthe Father of the gods could have done.\n\nBut this time Doris had no tears. The frightful shock that had fallen in\nher soul was perceptible also to her body; her knees shook, and being\nquite incapable just then of going home at once, she sunk upon a seat and\nstared hopelessly before her while she reflected what next, and what more\nwould come upon her.\n\nMeanwhile the Emperor was standing in a room just behind the antechamber\nthat had only been finished a few hours since. He began to regret his\nhardness upon the old woman--for had she not, without knowing who he was,\nbeen most friendly to him and to his favorite. \"Where is Antinous?\" he\nasked Mastor.\n\n\"He went out to the gate-house.\"\n\n\"What is he doing there?\"\n\n\"I believe he meant--there, perhaps he--\"\n\n\"The truth, fellow!\"\n\n\"He is with Pollux the sculptor.\"\n\n\"Has he been there long?\"\n\n\"I do not exactly know.\"\n\n\"How long, I ask you?\"\n\n\"He went after you had shut yourself in with Titianus.\"\n\n\"Three hours--three whole hours has he been with that braggart, whom I\nordered off the premises!\" Hadrian's eye sparkled wrathfully as he spoke.\nHis annoyance at the absence of his favorite, whose society he permitted\nno one to enjoy but himself, and least of all Pollux, smothered every\nkind feeling in his mind, and in a tone of anger bordering on fury he\ncommanded Mastor to go and fetch Antinous, and then to have the\ngate-house utterly cleared out.\n\n\"Take a dozen slaves to help you,\" he cried. \"For aught I care the people\nmay carry all their rubbish into a new house, but I will never set eyes\nagain on that howling old woman, nor her imbecile husband. As for the\nsculptor I will make him feel that Caesar has a heavy foot and can\nunexpectedly crush a snake that creeps across his path.\"\n\nMastor went sadly away and Hadrian returned to his work-room, and there\ncalled out to his secretary Phlegon:\n\n\"Write that a new gate-keeper is to be found for this palace. Euphorion,\nthe old one, is to have his pay continued to him, and half a talent is to\nbe paid to him at the prefect's office. Good--Let the man have at once\nwhatever is necessary; in an hour neither he nor his are to be found in\nLochias. Henceforth no one is to mention them to me again, nor to bring\nme any petition from them. Their whole race may join the rest of the\ndead.\"\n\nPhlegon bowed and said:\n\n\"Gabinius, the curiosity-dealer, waits outside.\"\n\n\"He comes at an appropriate moment,\" cried the Emperor. \"After all these\nvexations it will do me good to hear about beautiful things.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nAye, truly! Sabina's advent had chased all good spirits from the palace\nat Lochias.\n\nThe Emperor's commands had come upon the peaceful little house as a\nwhirlwind comes on a heap of leaves. The inhabitants were not even\nallowed time fully to realize their misfortune, for instead of bewailing\nthemselves all they could do was to act with circumspection. The tables,\nseats, cushions, beds and lutes, the baskets, plants, and bird-cages, the\nkitchen utensils and the trunks with their clothes were all piled in\nconfusion in the courtyard, and Doris was employing the slaves appointed\nby Mastor in the task of emptying the house, as briskly and carefully as\nthough it was nothing more than a move from one house to another. A ray\nof the sunny brightness of her nature once more sparkled in her eyes\nsince she had been able to say to herself that all that happened to her\nand hers was one of the things inevitable, and that it was more to the\npurpose to think of the future than of the past. The old woman was quite\nherself again over the work, and as she looked at Euphorion, who sat\nquite crushed on his couch with his eyes fixed on the ground, she cried\nout to him:\n\n\"After bad times, come good ones! only let us keep from making ourselves\nmiserable. We have done nothing wrong, and so long as we do not think\nourselves wretched, we are not so. Only, hold up your head!\n\n\"Up, old man, up! Go at once to Diotima and tell her that we beg her to\ngive us hospitality for a few days, and house-room for our chattels.\"\n\n\"And if Caesar does not keep his word?\" asked Euphorion gloomily. \"What\nsort of a life shall we live then?\"\n\n\"A bad one-a dog's life; and for that very reason it is wiser to enjoy\nnow what we still possess. A cup of wine, Pollux, for me and your father.\nBut there must be no water in it to-day.\"\n\n\"I cannot drink,\" sighed Euphorion.\n\n\"Then I will drink your share and my own too.\" Nay-nay, mother,\"\nremonstrated Pollux.\n\n\"Well put some water in, lad, just a little water, only do not make such\na pitiful face. Is that the way a young fellow should look who has his\nart, and plenty of strength in his hands, and the sweetest of sweethearts\nin his heart?\"\n\n\"It is certainly not for myself, mother,\" retorted the sculptor, \"that I\nam anxious. But how am I ever to get into the palace again to see\nArsinoe, and how am I to deal with that ferocious old Keraunus?\"\n\n\"Leave that question for time to answer,\" replied Doris.\n\n\"Time may give a good answer, but it may also give a bad one.\"\n\n\"And the best she only gives to those who wait for her in the antechamber\nof Patience.\"\n\n\"A bad place for me, and for those like me,\" sighed Pollux.\n\n\"You have only to sit still and go on knocking at the doors,\" replied\nDoris, \"and before you can look round you Time will call out, 'come in.'\nNow show the men how they are to treat the statue of Apollo, and be my\nown happy, bright boy once more.\"\n\nPollux did as she desired, thinking as he went: \"She speaks wisely--she\nis not leaving Arsinoe behind. If only I had been able to arrange with\nAntinous at least, where I should find him again; but at Caesar's orders\nthe young fellow was like one stunned, and he tottered as he went, as if\nhe were going to execution.\"\n\nDame Doris had not been betrayed by her happy confidence, for Phlegon the\nsecretary came to inform her of the Emperor's purpose to give her husband\nhalf a talent, and to continue to pay him in the future his little\nsalary.\n\n\"You see,\" cried the old woman, \"the sun of better days is already\nrising. Half a talent! Why poverty has nothing to do with such rich folks\nas we are! What do you think--would it not be right to pour out half a\ncup of wine to the gods, and allow ourselves the other half?\"\n\nDoris was as gay as if she were going to a wedding, and her cheerfulness\ncommunicated itself to her son, who saw himself relieved of part of the\nanxiety that weighed upon him with regard to his parents and sister. His\ndrooping courage, and spirit for life, only needed a few drops of kindly\ndew to revive it, and he once more began to think of his art. Before\nanything else he would try to complete his successfully-sketched bust of\nAntinous.\n\nWhile he was gone back into the house to preserve his work from injury\nand was giving the slaves, whom he had desired to follow him,\ninstructions as to how it should be carried so as not to damage it, his\nmaster Papias came into the palace-court. He had come to put the last\ntouches to the works he had begun, and proposed to make a fresh attempt\nto win the favor of the man whom he now knew to be the Emperor. Papias\nwas somewhat uneasy for he was alarmed at the thought that Pollux might\nnow betray how small a share his master had in his last works--which had\nbrought him higher praise than all he had done previously. It might even\nhave been wise on his part to pocket his pride and to induce his former\nscholar, by lavish promises, to return to his workshop; but the evening\nbefore he had been betrayed into speaking before the Emperor with so much\nindignation at the young artist's evil disposition, of his delight at\nbeing rid of him, that, on Hadrian's account, he must give up that idea.\nNothing was now to be done, but to procure the removal of Pollux from\nAlexandria, or to render him in some way incapable of damaging him, and\nthis he might perhaps be able to do by the instrumentality of the\nwrathful Emperor.\n\nIt even came into his mind to hire some Egyptian rascal to have him\nassassinated; but he was a citizen of peaceful habits, to whom a breach\nof the law was an abomination and he cast the thought from him as too\nhorrible and base. He was not over-nice in his choice of means, he knew\nmen, was very capable of finding his way up the backstairs, and did not\nhesitate when need arose to calumniate others boldly, and thus he had\nbefore now won the day in many a battle against his fellow-artists of\ndistinction. His hope of succeeding in the tripping of a scholar of no\ngreat repute, and of rendering him harmless so long as the Emperor should\nremain in Alexandria, was certainly not an over-bold one. He hated the\ngate-keeper's son far less than he feared him, and he did not conceal\nfrom himself that if his attack on Pollux should fail and the young\nfellow should succeed in proving independently of what he was capable he\ncould do nothing to prevent his loudly proclaiming all that he had done\nin these last years for his master.\n\nHis attention was caught by the slaves in Euphorion's little house, who\nwere carrying the household chattels of the evicted family into the\nstreet. He had soon learnt what was going forward, and highly pleased at\nthe ill-will manifested by Hadrian towards the parents of his foe, he\nstood looking on, and after brief reflection desired a negro to call\nPollux to speak to him.\n\nThe master and scholar exchanged greetings with a show of haughty\ncoolness and Papias said:\n\n\"You forgot to bring back the things which yesterday, without asking my\nleave, you took out of my wardrobe. I must have them back to-day.\"\n\n\"I did not take them for myself, but for the grand lord in there, and his\ncompanion. If any thing is missing apply to him. It grieves me that I\nshould have taken your silver quiver among them, for the Roman's\ncompanion has lost it. As soon as I have done here, I will take home all\nof your things that I can recover, and bring away my own. A good many\nthings belonging to me are still lying in your workshop.\"\n\n\"Good,\" replied Papias. \"I will expect you an hour before sunset, and\nthen we will settle every thing,\" and without any farewell he turned his\nback on his pupil and went into the palace.\n\nPollux had told him that some of the properties, which he had taken\nwithout asking permission, had been lost-among them an object of\nconsiderable value--and this perhaps would give him a hold over him by\nwhich to prevent his injuring him. He remained in the palace scarcely\nhalf an hour and then, while Pollux was still engaged in escorting his\nmother and their household goods to his sister's house, he went to visit\nthe night magistrate, who presided over the safety of Alexandria. Papias\nwas on intimate terms with this important official, for he had\nconstructed for him a sarcophagus for his deceased wife, an altar with\npanels in relief for his men's apartment, and other works, at moderate\nprices, and he could count on his readiness to serve him. When he quitted\nhim he carried in his hand an order of arrest against his assistant\nPollux, who had attacked his property and abstracted a quiver of massive\nsilver. The magistrate had also promised him to send two of his guards\nwho would carry the offender off to prison.\n\nPapias went home with a much lighter heart. His pupil, after he had\naccomplished the easy transfer of his parents, had returned to the\npalace, and there, to his delight, came across Mastor, who soon fetched\nhim the garments and masks that he had lent the day before to Hadrian and\nAntinous. The Sarmatian at the same time told him, with tears in his\neyes, a sad, very sad story, which stirred the young sculptor's soul\ndeeply, and which would have prompted him to penetrate into the palace at\nonce, and at any risk, if he had not seen the necessity of being with\nPapias at the appointed hour, which was drawing near, to answer for the\nvaluable property that was missing. Thinking of nothing, wishing nothing\nso much as to be back as promptly as possible at Lochias, where he was\nmuch needed, and where his heart longed to be, he took the bundle out of\nthe slave's hand and hurried away. Papias had sent all his assistants and\neven his slaves off the premises; he received the breathless Pollux quite\nalone, and took from him, with icy calmness, the things which had been\nborrowed from his property-room, asking for them one by one.\n\n\"I have already told you,\" cried Pollux, \"that it is not I, but the\nillustrious Roman--you know as well as I do, who he is--who is answerable\nfor the silver quiver and the torn chiton.\" And he began to tell him how\nAntinous had commanded him, in the name of his master, to find masks and\ndisguises for them both. But Papias cut off his speech at the very\nbeginning, and vehemently demanded the restoration of his quiver and bow,\nof which Pollux could not work out the value in two years. The young man\nwhose heart and thoughts were at Lochias and who, at any cost, did not\nwant to be detained longer than was necessary, begged his master, with\nall possible politeness, to let him go now, and to settle the matter with\nhim to-morrow after he had discussed it with the Roman, from whom he\nmight certainly demand any compensation he chose. But when Papias\ninterrupted him again and again, and obstinately insisted on the\nimmediate restoration of his property, the artist whose blood was easily\nheated, grew angry and replied to the attacks and questions of the older\nman with vehement response.\n\nOne angry word led to another, and at last Papias hinted of persons who\ntook possession of other person's silver goods, and when Pollux retorted\nthat he knew of some who could put forward the works of others as their\nown, the master struck his fist upon the table, and going towards the\ndoor he cried out, as soon as he was at a safe distance from the furious\nlad's powerful fists:\n\n\"Thief! I will show you how fellows like you are dealt with in\nAlexandria.\"\n\nPollux turned white with rage, and rushed upon Papias, who fled, and\nbefore Pollux could reach him he had taken refuge behind the two guards\nsent by the magistrate, and who were waiting in the antechamber.\n\n\"Seize the thief!\" he cried. \"Hold the villain who stole my silver quiver\nand now raises his hand against his master. Bind him, fetter him, carry\nhim off to prison.\"\n\nPollux did not know what had come upon him; he stood like a bear that has\nbeen surrounded by hunters; doubtful but at bay. Should he fling himself\nupon his pursuers and fell them to the earth? should he passively await\nimpending fate?\n\nHe knew every stone in his master's house; the anteroom in which he\nstood, and indeed the whole building was on the ground floor. In the\nminute while the guards were approaching and his master was giving the\norder to the lictor, his eye fell on a window which looked out upon the\nstreet, and possessed only by the single thought of defending his liberty\nand returning quickly to Arsinoe he leaped out of the opening which\npromised safety and into the street below.\n\n\"Thief--stop thief!\" he heard as he flew on with long strides; and like\nthe pelting of rain driven by all the four winds came from all sides the\nsenseless, odious, horrible cry: \"Stop thief!--stop thief!\" it seemed to\ndeprive him of his senses.\n\nBut the passionate cry of his heart: \"To Lochias, to Arsinoe! keep free,\nsave your liberty if only to be of use at Lochias!\" drowned the shouts of\nhis pursuers and urged him through the streets that led to the old\npalace,\n\nOn he went faster and farther, each step a leap; the briny breeze from\nthe sea already fanned his glowing cheeks and the narrow empty street\nyonder he well knew led to the quay by the King's harbor, where he could\nhide from his pursuers among the tall piles of wood. He was just turning\nthe corner into the alley when an Egyptian ox-driver threw his goad\nbetween his legs; he stumbled, fell to the ground, and instantly felt\nthat a dog which had rushed upon him was tearing the chiton he wore,\nwhile he was seized by a number of men. An hour later and he found\nhimself in prison, bitten, beaten, and bound among a crew of malefactors\nand real thieves.\n\nNight had fallen. His parents were waiting for him and he came not; and\nin Lochias which he had not been able to reach there were misery and\ntrouble enough, and the only person in the world who could carry comfort\nto Arsinoe in her despair was absent and nowhere to be found.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Dried merry-thought bone of a fowl\n     More to the purpose to think of the future than of the past\n     So long as we do not think ourselves wretched, we are not so\n     Temples would be empty if mortals had nothing left to wish for\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe story told by Mastor which had so greatly agitated Pollux and had\nprompted him to his mad flight was the history of events which had taken\nplace in the steward's rooms during the hours when the young artist was\nhelping his parents to transfer their household belongings into his\nsister's tiny dwelling. Keraunus was certainly not one of the most\ncheerful of men, but on the morning when Sabina came to the palace and\nthe gate-keeper was driven from his home, he had worn the aspect of a\nthoroughly-contented man.\n\nSince visiting Selene the day before he had given himself no farther\nconcern about her. She was not dangerously ill and was exceptionally well\ntaken care of, and the children did not seem to miss her. Indeed, he\nhimself did not want her back to-day. He avoided confessing this to\nhimself it is true, still he felt lighter and freer in the absence of his\ngrave monitor than he had been for a long time. It would be delightful,\nhe thought, to go on living in this careless manner, alone with Arsinoe\nand the children, and now and again he rubbed his hands and grinned\ncomplacently. When the old slave-woman brought a large dish full of cakes\nwhich he had desired her to buy, and set it down by the side of the\nchildren's porridge, he chuckled so heartily that his fat person shook\nand swayed; and he had very good reason to be happy in his way, for\nPlutarch quite early in the morning, had sent a heavy purse of gold\npieces for his ivory cup, and a magnificent bunch of roses to Arsinoe; he\nmight give his children a treat, buy himself a solid gold fillet, and\ndress Arsinoe as finely as though she were the prefect's favorite\ndaughter.\n\nHis vanity was gratified in every particular.\n\nAnd what a splendid fellow was the slave who now--with a superbly\nreverential bow-presented him with a roast chicken and who was to walk\nbehind him in the afternoon to the council-chamber. The tall Thessalian\nwho marched after the Archidikastes to the Hall of justice, carrying his\npapers, was hardly grander than his \"body-servant.\" He had bought him\nyesterday at quite a low price. The well-grown Samian was scarcely thirty\nyears old; he could read and write and was in a position therefore to\ninstruct the children in these arts; nay, he could even play the lute.\nHis past, to be sure, was not a spotless record, and it was for that\nreason that he had been sold so cheaply. He had stolen things on several\noccasions; but the brands and scars which he bore upon his person were\nhidden by his new chiton and Keraunus felt in himself the power to cure\nhim of his evil propensities.\n\nAfter desiring Arsinoe to let nothing he about of any value, for their\nnew house-mate seemed not to be perfectly honest, he answered his\ndaughter's scruples by saying:\n\n\"It would be better, no doubt, that he should be as honest as the old\nskeleton I gave in exchange for him, but I reflect that even if my\nbody-servant should make away with some of the few drachmae we carry\nabout with us, I need not repent of having bought him, since I got him\nfor many thousand drachmae less than he is worth, on account of his\nthefts, while a teacher for the children would have cost more than he can\nsteal from us at the worst. I will lock up the gold in the chest with my\ndocuments. It is strong and could only be opened with a crow-bar. Besides\nthe fellow will have left off stealing at any rate at first, for his late\nmaster was none of the mildest and had cured him of his pilfering I\nshould think, once for all. It is lucky that in selling such rascals we\nshould be compelled to state what their faults are; if the seller fails\nto do so compensation maybe claimed from him by the next owner for what\nhe may lose. Lykophron certainly concealed nothing, and setting aside his\nthieving propensities the Samian is said to be in every respect a capital\nfellow.\"\n\n\"But father,\" replied Arsinoe, her anxiety once more urging her to speak,\n\"it is a bad thing to have a dishonest man in the house.\"\n\n\"You know nothing about it child!\" answered Keraunus. \"To us to live and\nto be honest are the same thing, but a slave!--King Antiochus is said to\nhave declared that the man who wishes to be well served must employ none\nbut rascals.\"\n\nWhen Arsinoe had been tempted out on to the balcony by her lover's snatch\nof song and had been driven in again by her father, the steward had not\nreproved her in any way unkindly, but had stroked her cheeks and said\nwith a smile: \"I rather fancy that lad of the gatekeeper's--whom I once\nturned out of doors has had his eye on you since you were chosen for\nRoxana. Poor wretch! But we have very different suitors in view for you\nmy little girl. How would it be, think you, if rich Plutarch had sent you\nthose roses, not on his own behalf but as a greeting on the part of his\nson? I know that he is very desirous of marrying him but the fastidious\nman has never yet thought any Alexandrian girl good enough for him.\"\n\n\"I do not know him, and he does not think of a poor thing like me,\" said\nArsinoe.\n\n\"Do you think not?\" asked Keraunus smiling. \"We are of as good family,\nnay of a better than Plutarch, and the fairest is a match for the\nwealthiest. What would you say child to a long flowing purple robe and a\nchariot with white horses, and runners in front?\"\n\nAt breakfast Keraunus drank two cups of strong wine, in which he allowed\nArsinoe to mix only a few drops of water. While his daughter was curling\nhis hair a swallow flew into the room; this was a good omen and raised\nthe steward's spirits. Dressed in his best and with a well-filled purse,\nhe was on the point of starting for the council-chamber with his new\nslave when Sophilus the tailor and his girl-assistant were shown into the\nliving-room. The man begged to be allowed to try the dress, ordered for\nRoxana by the prefect's wife, on the steward's daughter. Keraunus\nreceived him with much condescension and allowed him to bring in the\nslave who followed him with a large parcel of dresses,--and Arsinoe, who\nwas with the children, was called.\n\nArsinoe was embarrassed and anxious and would far rather have yielded her\npart to another; still, she was curious about the new dresses. The tailor\nbegged her to allow her maid to dress her; his assistant would help her\nbecause the dresses which were only slightly stitched together for trying\non, were cut, not in the Greek but in the Oriental fashion.\n\n\"Your waiting woman,\" he added turning to Arsinoe, \"will be able to learn\nto-day the way to dress you on the great occasion.\"\n\n\"My daughter's maid,\" said Keraunus, winking slily at Arsinoe, \"is not in\nthe house.\"\n\n\"Oh, I require no help,\" cried the tailor's girl. \"I am handy too at\ndressing hair, and I am most glad to help such a fair Roxana.\"\n\n\"And it is a real pleasure to work for her,\" added Sophilus. \"Other young\nladies are beautified by what they wear, but your daughter adds beauty to\nall she wears.\"\n\n\"You are most polite,\" said Keraunus, as Arsinoe and her handmaid left\nthe room.\n\n\"We learn a great deal by our intercourse with people of rank,\" replied\nthe tailor. \"The illustrious ladies who honor me with their custom like\nnot only to see but to hear what is pleasing. Unfortunately there are\namong them some whom the gods have graced with but few charms, and they,\nstrangely enough, crave the most flattering speeches. But the poor always\nvalue it more than the rich when benevolence is shown them.\"\n\n\"Well said,\" cried Keraunus. \"I myself am but indifferently well off for\na man of family, and am glad to live within my moderate means--so that my\ndaughter--\"\n\n\"The lady Julia has chosen the costliest stuffs for her; as is\nfitting--as the occasion demands,\" said the tailor. \"Quite right, at the\nsame time--\"\n\n\"Well, my lord?\"\n\n\"The grand occasion will be over and my daughter, now that she is grown\nup, ought to be seen at home and in the street in suitable and handsome,\nthough not costly, clothes.\n\n\"I said just now, true beauty needs no gaudy raiment.\"\n\n\"Would you be disposed now, to work for me at a moderate price?\"\n\n\"With pleasure; nay, I shall be indebted to her, for all the world will\nadmire Roxana and inquire who may be her tailor.\"\n\n\"You are a very reasonable and right-minded man. What now would you\ncharge for a dress for her?\"\n\n\"That we can discuss later.\"\n\n\"No, no, I beg you sincerely--\"\n\n\"First let me consider what you want. Simple dresses are more difficult,\nfar more difficult to make, and yet become a handsome woman better than\nrich and gaudy robes. But can any man make a woman understand it? I could\ntell you a tale of their folly! Why many a woman who rides by in her\nchariot wears dresses and gems to conceal not merely her own limbs, but\nthe poverty-stricken condition of her house.\"\n\nThus, and in this wise did Keraunus and the tailor converse, while the\nassistant plaited up Arsinoe's hair with strings of false pearls that she\nhad brought with tier, and fitted and pinned on her the costly white and\nblue silk robes of an Asiatic princess. At first Arsinoe was very still\nand timid. She no longer cared to dress for any one but Pollux; but the\ngarments prepared for her were wonderfully pretty--and how well the\nfitter knew how to give effect to her natural advantages. While the\nneat-handed woman worked busily and carefully many merry jests passed\nbetween them--many sincere and hearty words of admiration--and before\nlong Arsinoe had become quite excited and took pleased interest in the\nneedle-woman's labors.\n\nEvery bough that is freshly decked by spring seems to feel gladness, and\nthe simple child who was to-day so splendidly dressed was captivated by\npleasure in her own beauty, and its costly adornment which delighted her\nbeyond measure. Arsinoe now clapped her hands with delight, now had the\nmirror handed to her, and now, with all the frankness of a child,\nexpressed her satisfaction not only with the costly clothes she wore, but\nwith her own surprisingly grand appearance in them.\n\nThe dress-maker was enchanted with her, proud and delighted, and could\nnot resist the impulse to give a kiss to the charming girl's white,\nbeautifully round throat.\n\n\"If only Pollux could see me so!\" thought Arsinoe. \"After the performance\nperhaps I might show myself in my dress to Selene, and then she would\nforgive my taking part in the show. It is really a pleasure to look so\nnice!\"\n\nThe children all stood round her while she was being dressed, and shouted\nwith admiration each time some new detail of the princess's attire was\nadded. Helios begged to be allowed to feel her dress, and after\nsatisfying herself that his little hands were clean she stroked them over\nthe glistening white silk.\n\nShe had now advanced so far that her father and the tailor could be\ncalled in. She felt remarkably content and happy. Drawn up to her\ntallest, like a real king's daughter, and yet with a heart beating as\nanxiously as that of any girl would who is on the point of displaying her\nbeauty--hitherto protected and hidden in her parents' home--to the\nthousand eyes of the gaping multitude, she went towards the sitting-room;\nbut she drew back her hand she had put forth to raise the latch, for she\nheard the voices of several men who must just now have joined her father.\n\n\"Wait a little while, there are visitors,\" she cried to the seamstress\nwho had followed her, and she put her ear to the door to listen. At first\nshe could not make out anything that was going on, but the end of the\nstrange conversation that was being carried on within was so hideously\nintelligible that she could never forget it so long as she lived.\n\nHer father had ordered two new dresses for her, beating down the price\nwith the promise of prompt payment, when Mastor came into the steward's\nroom and informed Keraunus that his master and Gabinius, the\ncuriosity-dealer from Nicaea, wished to speak with him.\n\n\"Your master,\" said Keraunus haughtily, \"may come in; I think that he\nregrets the injury he has done me; but Gabinius shall never cross this\nthreshold again, for he is a scoundrel.\"\n\n\"It would be as well that you should desire that man to leave you for the\npresent,\" said the slave, pointing to the tailor.\n\n\"Whoever comes to visit me,\" said the steward loftily, \"must be satisfied\nto meet any one whom I permit to enter my house.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" said the slave urgently, \"my master is a greater man than you\nthink. Beg this man to leave the room.\"\n\n\"I know, I know very well,\" said Keraunus with a smile. \"Your master is\nan acquaintance of Caesar's. But we shall see, after the performance that\nis about to take place, which of us two Caesar will decide for. This\ntailor has business here and will stay at my pleasure. Sit in the corner\nthere, my friend.\"\n\n\"A tailor!\" cried Mastor, horrified. \"I tell you he must go.\"\n\n\"He must!\" asked Keraunus wrathfully. \"A slave dares to give orders in my\nhouse? We will see.\"\n\n\"I am going,\" interrupted the artisan who understood the case. \"No\nunpleasantness shall arise here on my account, I will return in a quarter\nof an hour.\"\n\n\"You will stay,\" commanded Keraunus. \"This insolent Roman seems to think\nthat Lochias belongs to him; but I will show him who is master here.\"\n\nBut Mastor paid no heed to these words spoken in a high pitch; he took\nthe tailor's hand and led him out, whispering to him:\n\n\"Come with me if you wish to escape an evil hour.\"\n\nThe two men went off and Keraunus did not detain the artisan, for it\noccurred to his mind that his presence did him small credit. He purposed\nto show himself in all his dignity to the overbearing architect, but he\nalso remembered that it was not advisable to provoke unnecessarily the\nmysterious bearded stranger, with the big clog. Much excited, and not\naltogether free from anxiety, he paced up and down his room. To give\nhimself courage he hastily filled a cup from the wine-jar that stood on\nthe breakfast table, emptied it, refilled it and drank it off a second\ntime without adding any water, and then stood with his arms folded and a\nstrong color in his face awaiting his enemy's visit.\n\nThe Emperor walked in with Gabinius. Keraunus expected some greeting, but\nHadrian spoke not a word, cast a glance at him of the utmost contempt and\npassed by him without taking any more notice of him than if he had been a\npillar or a piece of furniture. The blood mounted to the steward's head\nand heated his eyes and for fully a minute he strove in vain to find\nwords to give utterance to his rage. Gabinius paid no more heed to\nKeraunus than the Roman had done. He walked on ahead and paused in front\nof the mosaic for which he had offered so high a price, and over which a\nfew days since he had been so sharply dealt with by the steward.\n\n\"I would beg you,\" he said, \"to look at this masterpiece.\"\n\nThe Emperor looked at the ground, but hardly had he begun to study the\npicture, of which he quite understood and appreciated the beauty, when\njust behind him he heard in a hoarse voice these words uttered with\ndifficulty:\n\n\"In Alexandria--it is the custom, to greet--to say something--to the\npeople you visit.\" Hadrian half turned his head towards the speaker and\nsaid indifferently but with strong and insulting contempt:\n\n\"In Rome too it is the custom to greet honest people.\" Then looking down\nagain at the mosaic he said, \"Exquisite, exquisite an inestimable and\nprecious work.\" At Hadrian's words Keraunus' eyes almost started out of\nhis head. His face was crimson and his lips pale; he went close up to him\nand as soon as he had found breath to speak he said:\n\n\"What have you--what are your words intended to convey?\"\n\nHadrian turned suddenly and full upon the steward; in his eyes sparkled\nthat annihilating fire which few could endure to gaze on and his deep\nvoice rolled sullenly through the room as he said to the miserable man:\n\n\"My words are intended to convey that you have been an unfaithful\nsteward, that I know what you would rather I should not know, that I have\nlearned how you deal with the property entrusted to you, that you--\"\n\n\"That I?\"--cried the steward trembling with rage and stepping close up to\nthe Emperor.\n\n\"That you,\" shouted Hadrian in his face, \"tried to sell this picture to\nthis man; in short that you are a simpleton and a scoundrel into the\nbargain.\"\n\n\"I--I,\" gasped Keraunus slapping his hand on his fat chest. \"I--a--a--but\nyou shall repent of these words.\"\n\nHadrian laughed coldly and scornfully, but Keraunus sprang on Gabinius\nwith a wonderful agility for his size, clutched him by the collar of his\nchiton and shook the feeble little man as if he were a sapling, shrieking\nmeanwhile:\n\n\"I will choke you with your own lies--serpent, mean viper!\"\n\n\"Madman!\" cried Hadrian \"leave hold of the Ligurian or by Sirius you\nshall repent it.\"\n\n\"Repent it?\" gasped the steward. \"It will be your turn to repent when\nCaesar comes. Then will come a day of reckoning with false witnesses,\nshameless calumniators who disturb peaceful households, while credulous\nidiots--\"\n\n\"Man, man,\" interrupted Hadrian, not loudly but sternly and ominously,\n\"you know not to whom you speak.\"\n\n\"Oh I know you--I know you only too well. But I--I--shall I tell you who\nI am?\"\n\n\"You--you are a blockhead,\" replied the monarch shrugging his shoulders\ncontemptuously. Then he added calmly, with dignity--almost with\nindifference:\n\n\"I am Caesar.\"\n\nAt these words the steward's hand dropped from the chiton of the\nhalf-throttled dealer. Speechless and with a glassy stare he gazed in\nHadrian's face for a few seconds. Then he suddenly started, staggered\nbackwards, uttered a loud choking, gurgling, nameless cry, and fell back\non the floor like a mass of rock shaken from its foundations by an\nearthquake. The room shook again with his fall.\n\nHadrian was startled and when he saw him lying motionless at his feet he\nbent over him--less from pity than from a wish to see what was the matter\nwith him; for he had also dabbled in medicine. Just as he was lifting the\nfallen man's hand to feel his pulse Arsinoe rushed into the room. She had\nheard the last words of the antagonists with breathless anxiety and her\nfather's fall and now threw herself on her knees by the side of the\nunhappy man, just opposite to Hadrian, and as his distorted and\ngrey-white face told her what had occurred she broke out in a passionate\ncry of anguish. Her brothers and sisters followed at her heels, and when\nthey saw their favorite sister bewailing herself they followed her\nexample without knowing at first what Arsinoe was crying for, but soon\nwith terror and horror at their father lying there stiff and disfigured.\nThe Emperor, who had never had either son or daughter of his own, found\nnothing so intolerable as the presence of crying children. However he\nendured the wailing and whimpering that surrounded him till he had\nascertained the condition of the man lying on the ground before him.\n\n\"He is dead,\" he said in a few minutes. \"Cover his face, Master.\"\n\nArsinoe and the children broke out afresh, and Hadrian glanced down at\nthem with annoyance. When his eye fell on Arsinoe, whose costly robe,\nmerely pinned and slightly stitched together had come undone with the\nvehemence of her movements and were hanging as flapping rags in tumbled\ndisorder, he was disgusted with the gaudy fluttering trumpery which\ncontrasted so painfully with the grief of the wearer, and turning his\nback on the fair girl he quitted the chamber of misery.\n\nGabinius followed him with a hideous smirk. He had directed the Emperor's\nattention to the mosaic pavement in the steward's room, and had\nshamelessly accused Keraunus of having offered to sell him a work that\nbelonged to the palace, contrasting his conduct with his own rectitude.\nNow the calumniated man was dead, and the truth could never come to\nlight; this was necessarily a satisfaction to the miserable man, but he\nderived even greater pleasure from the reflection that Arsinoe could not\nnow fill the part of Roxana, and that consequently there was once more a\npossibility that it might devolve on his daughter.\n\nHadrian walked on in front of him, silent and thoughtful. Gabinius\nfollowed him into his writing-room, and there said with fulsome\nsmoothness:\n\n\"Ah, great Caesar, thus do the gods punish with a heavy hand the crimes\nof the guilty.\"\n\nHadrian did not interrupt him, but he looked him keenly and enquiringly\nin the face, and then said, gravely, but coolly:\n\n\"It seems to me, man, that I should do well to break off my connection\nwith you, and to give some other dealer the commissions which I proposed\nto entrust to you.\"\n\n\"Caesar!\" stammered Gabinius, \"I really do not know--\"\n\n\"But I do know,\" interrupted the Emperor. \"You have attempted to mislead\nme, and throw your own guilt on the shoulders of another.\"\n\n\"I--great Caesar? I have attempted--\" began the Ligurian, while his\npinched features turned an ashy grey. \"You accused the steward of a\ndishonorable trick,\" replied Hadrian. \"But I know men well, and I know\nthat no thief ever yet died of being called a scoundrel. It is only\nundeserved disgrace that can cost a man's life.\"\n\n\"Keraunus was full-blooded, and the shock when he learnt that you were\nCaesar--\"\n\n\"That shock accelerated the end no doubt,\" interrupted the monarch, \"but\nthe mosaic in the steward's room is worth a million of sesterces, and now\nI have seen enough to be quite sure that you are not the man to save your\nmoney when a work like that mosaic is offered you for sale--be the\ncircumstances what they may. If I see the case rightly, it was Keraunus\nwho refused your demand that he should resign to you the treasure in his\ncharge. Certainly, that was the case exactly! Now, leave me. I wish to be\nalone.\"\n\nGabinius retired with many bows, walking backwards to the door, and then\nturned his back on the palace of Lochias muttering many impotent curses\nas he went.\n\nThe steward's new 'body-servant,' the old black woman, Mastor, the tailor\nand his slave, helped Arsinoe to carry her father's lifeless body and lay\nit on a couch, and the slave closed his eyes. He was dead--so each told\nthe despairing girl, but she would not, could not believe it. As soon as\nshe was alone with the old negress and the dead, she lifted up his heavy,\nclumsy arm, and as soon as she let go her hold it fell by his side like\nlead. She lifted the cloth from the dead man's face, but she flung it\nover him again at once, for death had drawn his features. Then she kissed\nhis cold hand and brought the children in and made them do the same, and\nsaid sobbing:\n\n\"We have no father now; we shall never, never see him again.\"\n\nThe little blind boy felt the dead body with his hands, and asked his\nsister:\n\n\"Will he not wake again to-morrow morning and make you curl his hair, and\ntake me up on his knee?\"\n\n\"Never, never; he is gone, gone for ever.\"\n\nAs she spoke Mastor entered the room, sent by his master. Yesterday had\nhe not heard from the overseer of the pavement-workers the comforting\ntidings that after our grief and suffering here on earth there would be\nanother, beautiful, blissful and eternal life? He went kindly up to\nArsinoe and said:\n\n\"No, no, my children; when we are dead we become beautiful angels with\ncolored wings, and all who have loved each other here on earth will meet\nagain in the presence of the good God.\"\n\nArsinoe looked at the slave with disapproval.\n\n\"What is the use,\" she asked, \"of cheating the children with silly tales?\nTheir father is gone, quite gone, but we will never, never forget him.\"\n\n\"Are there any angels with red wings?\" asked the youngest little girl.\n\n\"Oh! I want to be an angel!\" cried Helios, clapping his hands. \"And can\nthe angels see?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear little man,\" replied Mastor, \"and their eyes are wonderfully\nbright, and all they look upon is beautiful.\"\n\n\"Tell them no more Christian nonsense,\" begged Arsinoe. \"Ah! children,\nwhen we shall have burned our father's body there will be nothing left of\nhim but a few grey ashes.\"\n\nBut the slave took the little blind boy on his knees and whispered to\nhim:\n\n\"Only believe what I tell you--you will see him again in Heaven.\"\n\nThen he set him down again, gave Arsinoe a little bag of gold pieces in\nCaesar's name, and begged her--for so his master desired--to find a new\nabode and, after the deceased was burned on the morrow, to quit Lochias\nwith the children. When Mastor was gone Arsinoe opened the chest, in\nwhich lay her father's papyri and the money that Plutarch had paid for\nthe ivory cup, put in the heavy purse sent by the Emperor, comforting\nherself while her tears flowed, with the reflection that she and the\nchildren were provided at any rate against immediate want.\n\nBut where was she to go with the little ones? Where could she hope to\nfind a refuge at once? What was to become of them when all they now\npossessed was spent. The gods be thanked! she was not forlorn; she still\nhad friends. She could find protection and love with Pollux and look to\ndame Doris for motherly counsel.\n\nShe quickly dried her eyes and changed the remains of her splendor for\nthe dark dress in which she was accustomed to work at the papyrus\nfactory; then, as soon as she had taken the pearls out of her hair, she\nwent down to the little gate-house.\n\nShe was only a few steps from the door--but why did not the Graces come\nspringing out to meet her? Why did she see no birds, no flowers in the\nwindow? Was she deceived, was she dreaming or was she tricked by some\nevil spirit? The door of the dear home-like little dwelling was wide open\nand the sitting-room was absolutely empty, not a chattel was left behind,\nforgotten--not a leaf from a plant was lying on the ground; for dame\nDoris, in her tidy fashion, had swept out the few rooms where she had\ngrown grey in peace and contentment as carefully as though she were to\ncome into them again to-morrow.\n\nWhat had happened here? Where were her friends gone? A great terror came\nover her, all the misery of desolation fell upon her, and as she sank\nupon the stone bench outside the gate-house to wait for the inhabitants\nwho must presently return, the tears again flowed from her eyes and fell\nin heavy drops on her hands as they lay in her lap.\n\nShe was still sitting there, thinking with a throbbing heart of Pollux\nand of the happy morning of this now dying day, when a troup of Moorish\nslaves came towards the deserted house. The head mason who led them\ndesired her to rise from the bench, and in answer to her questions, told\nher that the little building was to be pulled down, and that the couple\nwho had inhabited it were evicted from their post, turned out of doors\nand had gone elsewhere with all their belongings. But where Doris and her\nson had taken themselves no one knew. Arsinoe as she heard these tidings\nfelt like a sailor whose vessel has grounded on a rocky shore, and who\nrealizes with horror that every plank and beam be neath him quivers and\ngapes. As usual, when she felt too weak to help herself unaided, her\nfirst thought was of Selene, and she decided to hasten off to her and to\nask her what she could do, what was to become of her and the children.\n\nIt was already growing dark. With a swift step, and drying her eyes from\ntime to time on her peplum as she went, she returned to her own room to\nfetch a veil, without which she dared not venture so late into the\nstreets. On the steps--where the dog had thrown down Selene--she met a\nman hurrying past her; in the dim light she fancied he bore some\nresemblance to the slave that her father had bought the day before; but\nshe paid no particular heed, for her mind was full of so many other\nthings. In the kitchen sat the old negress in front of a lamp and the\nchildren squatted round her; by the hearth sat the baker and the butcher,\nto whom her father owed considerable sums and who had come to claim their\ndues, for ill news has swifter wings than good tidings, and they had\nalready heard of the steward's death. Arsinoe took the lamp, begged the\nmen to wait, went into the sitting-room, passing, not without a shudder,\nthe body of the man who a few hours since had stroked her cheeks and\nlooked lovingly into her eyes.\n\nHow glad she felt to be able to pay her dead father's debts and save the\nhonor of his name! She confidently drew the key out of her pocket and\nwent up to the chest. What was this? She knew, quite positively, that she\nhad locked it before going out and yet it was now standing wide open; the\nlid, thrown back, hung askew by one hinge; the other was broken. A dread,\na hideous suspicion, froze her blood; the lamp trembled in her hand as\nshe leaned over the chest which ought to have contained every thing she\npossessed. There lay the old documents, carefully rolled together, side\nby side, but the two bags with Plutarch's money and the Emperor's, had\nvanished. She took out one roll after another; then she tossed them all\nout on to the floor till the bottom of the chest was bare--but the gold\nwas really gone, nowhere to be found.\n\nThe new slave had forced open the lid of the chest and stolen the whole\npossessions of the orphans of the man who, to gratify his own vanity, had\nbrought him into the house.\n\nArsinoe screamed aloud, called in her creditors, explained to them all\nthat had occurred and implored them to pursue the thief; and when they\nonly listened to her with an incredulous shrug, she swore that she was\nspeaking the truth, and promised that whether the slave were caught or\nnot she would pay them with the price of her own and her father's\npersonal ornaments. She knew the name of the dealer of whom her father\nhad bought the slave and told it to the unsatisfied dealers, who at last\nleft her to follow up the thief as promptly as possible.\n\nOnce more Arsinoe was alone. Tearless, but shivering and scarcely\nmistress of herself from misery and agitation, she took out her veil,\nflung it over her head, and hurried through the court and along the\nstreets to her sister.\n\nVerily, since Sabina's visit to the palace all good spirits had deserted\nit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nIn a perfectly dark spot by the wall of the widow's garden, stood the\ncynic philosopher who had met Antinous with so little courtesy, defending\nhimself eagerly, but in low tones against the rebukes of another man,\nwho, dressed, like himself in a ragged cloak and bearing a beggar's\nwallet, appeared to be one of the same kidney.\n\n\"Do not deny,\" said the latter, \"that you cling much to the Christians.\"\n\n\"But hear me out,\" urged the other.\n\n\"I need hear nothing, for I have seen you for the tenth time sneaking in\nto one of their meetings.\"\n\n\"And do I deny it? Do I not honestly confess that I seek truth wherever I\nmay, where I see even a gleam of hope of finding it?\"\n\n\"Like the Egyptian who wanted to catch the miraculous fish, and at last\nflung his hook into the sand.\"\n\n\"The man acted very wisely.\"\n\n\"What now!\"\n\n\"A marvel is not to be found just where everything else is. In hunting\nfor truth you must not be afraid of a bog.\"\n\n\"And the Christian doctrine seems to be very much such a muddy thicket.\"\n\n\"Call it so for aught I care.\"\n\n\"Then beware lest you find yourself sticking in the morass.\"\n\n\"I will take care of myself.\"\n\n\"You said just now that there were decent folks among them.\"\n\n\"A few no doubt. But the others! eternal gods! mere slaves, beggars,\nruined handicraftstmen, common people, untaught and unphilosophical\nbrains, and women, for the most part.\"\n\n\"Avoid them then.\"\n\n\"You ought to be the last to give me that advice.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nThe other went close up to him and asked him in a whisper:\n\n\"Why, where do you suppose I get the money with which I pay for our food\nand lodging?\"\n\n\"So long as you do not steal it, it is all the same to me.\"\n\n\"If I had no more, you would ask the question fast enough.\"\n\n\"Certainly not, we strive after virtue and ought to do everything to\nrender ourselves independent of nature and her cravings. But to be sure\nshe often asserts her rights--to return then: where do you get the\nmoney?\"\n\n\"Why, it burns in the purses of the people in there. It is their duty to\ngive to the poor, and to tell the truth, their pleasure also; and so week\nby week they give me a few drachmae for my suffering brother.\"\n\n\"Bah! you are the only son of your father, and he is dead.\"\n\n\"'All men are brethren' say the Christians, consequently I may call you\nmine without lying.\"\n\n\"Join them then for aught I care,\" laughed the other. \"How would it be if\nI followed you among the Christians? Perhaps they would give me weekly\nmoney too, for my suffering brother, and then we could have double\nmeals.\"\n\nThe cynics laughed loudly and parted; one went back into the city, the\nother into the garden belonging to the Christian widow.\n\nArsinoe had entered here before the dishonest philosopher and had gone\nstraight to Hannah's house without being detained by the gate-keeper. As\nshe got nearer to her destination, she tried more and more earnestly to\ndevise some way in which she might inform her sister of all the dreadful\nthings that had happened, and which she must learn sooner or later,\nwithout giving her too great a shock. Her dread was not much less than\nher grief. As she reflected on the last few days and on all that had\noccurred, it almost seemed as though she herself had been the cause of\nthe misfortunes of her family.\n\nOn the way to see Selene she could shed no tears, but she could not help\nsoftly moaning to herself now and then. A woman, who for some distance\nhad kept pace with her, thought she must be suffering some severe bodily\npain, and when the girl passed her, she looked after her with sincere\ncompassion, the wailing of the desolate young creature had sounded so\npiteous.\n\nTrue, midway, Arsinoe had suddenly stopped and had thought that instead\nof going to Selene for advice, she would turn round and seek Pollux and\nask him to help her. The thought of her lover forced its way through all\nher sorrow and anxiety, through the reproaches she heaped upon herself\nand the vague plans floating in the air which her brain--unaccustomed to\nany serious thought, vainly tried to sketch for the future. He was kind,\nand would certainly be ready to help her; but maidenly modesty held her\nback from seeking him at so late an hour; besides, how could she discover\nhim or his parents?\n\nThe place where her sister was she was now familiar with, and no one\ncould judge of their position better or give sounder counsel than prudent\nSelene. So she had not turned round, but had hurried on to reach her\ndestination as soon as possible; and now she was standing before the\nlittle house in the garden. Before opening the door she once more\nconsidered in what way she could prepare Selene and tell her terrible\nnews, and, as all that happened stood vividly before her mind's eye, she\nbegan to weep once more.\n\nIn front of her, and following her, men and veiled women, singly or in\ncouples or in larger groups, passed into Paulina's garden. They came from\nworkshops and writing-rooms, from humble houses in narrow lanes, and from\nthe handsomest and largest in the main street. Each and all, from the\nwealthy merchant down to the slave who could not call the coarse tunic or\nscanty apron that he wore, his own, walked gravely and with a certain\ndignified reserve. All who met within that gate greeted each other as\nfriends; the master gave a brotherly kiss to the servant, the slave to\nhis owner; for the congregation to which they all belonged was as one\nbody, animated and dwelt in by Christ, so that each member was esteemed\nas equal to the others however different their gifts of body or mind\nmight be, or the worldly possessions with which they were endowed. Before\nGod and his Saviour the rich ship-owner or the grey-haired sage stood no\nhigher than the defenceless widow and the ignorant slave crippled with\nblows. Still, the members of the community submitted to those more\nimplicitly than to these, for the special talents which graced certain\nsuperior Christians were gifts of grace from the Lord, readily\nacknowledged as such and, so far as they concerned the inner man, deemed\nworthy of honor.\n\nOn Sunday, the day of the Resurrection of the Lord, all Christians,\nwithout exception, visited their place of assembly for divine worship.\nTo-day, being the middle of the week, all who could or chose came to the\nlove-feast at Paulina's suburban house. She herself dwelt in the city and\nshe had placed the banqueting hall of her villa, which would hold more\nthan a hundred souls, at the disposal of her fellow Christians in that\nquarter of the town. The regular service was held in the morning, but\nafter the day's labor was ended the Christians met at one table to have\nan evening meal in common, or--on other occasions to partake of the\nsacramental supper. After sunset the elders, deacons, and\ndeaconesses--most of whom, so long as it was light, had secular work to\nattend to--met to take counsel together.\n\nPaulina, the widow of Pudeus and sister of Pontius the architect, was a\nwoman of considerable property and at the same time a prudent steward,\nwho did not consider herself justified in seriously impairing her son's\ninheritance. This son was residing at Smyrna as a partner in an uncle's\nbusiness, and always avoided Alexandria, as he did not like his mother's\nintercourse with the Christians. Paulina took the most anxious care not\nto make any inroads on the capital intended for him, and never allowed\nher hospitality to her fellow-believers to cost her any more than it did\nthe other wealthy members of the circle that met at her house. There the\nrich brought more than they needed for themselves and the poor were\nalways welcome; not feeling themselves oppressed by the benevolence they\nprofited by, for they were often told that their entertainer was not a\nmortal, but the Saviour, who invited each one who followed him faithfully\nto be his guest.\n\nThe hour was approaching which would summon dame Hannah to join the\nassembly of her fellow Christians. She could not fail to appear, for she\nwas one of the deaconesses entrusted with the distribution of alms and\nthe care of the sick. She noiselessly made her preparations for going,\ncarefully setting the lamp behind the water-pitcher so that it should not\ndazzle Selene, and she desired Mary to be exact in administering the\nmedicine to her patient. She knew that the girl had yesterday attempted\nto make away with herself, and guessed the cause; but she asked no\nquestions and disturbed the poor child, who slept a good deal or lay\ndreaming with open eyes, as little as possible. The old physician\nwondered at her sound constitution, for since her plunge into the water\nthe fever had left her and even the injured foot was not much the worse.\nHannah might now hope the best for Selene if no unforeseen contingency\nchecked her recovery. To prevent this the unfortunate girl was never to\nbe left alone, and Mary had gladly agreed with her friend to fill her\nplace whenever she was obliged to leave the house.\n\nThe meeting of the elders and guardians had already begun when Hannah\ntook her tablets in her hand, on which was noted the distribution she had\nmade of the money entrusted to her during the last week. She greeted the\nsick girl and Mary with a kindly look and whispered to the deformed girl:\n\n\"I will think of thee in my prayers thou faithful soul. There is some\nfood in the little cupboard--not much, for we must be sparing, the last\nmedicine was so dear.\"\n\nIn the little anteroom a lamp was burning which Mary had lighted as it\nbegan to grow dark, and the widow paused for a moment, considering\nwhether she should not extinguish it to save the oil. She had taken up\nthe tongs that hung by it, and was about to put it out, when she heard a\ngentle tap at the house-door. Before she could enquire who it was that\nasked admission at so late an hour, the door was opened and Arsinoe\nentered the little hall. Her eyes were still full of tears and she had\ngreat difficulty in finding words to return Hannah's greeting.\n\n\"Why what ails you my child?\" asked the Christian anxiously when by the\ndim light, she saw how tearful and sad the girl looked. Arsinoe was long\nbefore she could answer. At last she collected herself sufficiently to\nsob out amid her tears:\n\n\"Oh dame Hannah! It is all over with us--my father, our poor father--\"\n\nThe widow guessed at the blow that bad fallen on the sisters and full of\nanxiety on Selene's account she interrupted the weeping child saying:\n\n\"Hush, hush my child-Selene must not hear you. Come out with me and then\nyou can tell me all.\" Once outside the door Hannah put her arm round\nArsinoe drew her towards her, kissed her forehead, and said:\n\n\"Now speak and tell me every thing; think that I am your mother or your\nsister. Poor Selene is still too weak to advise or help you. Take\ncourage. What happened to your poor father?\"\n\n\"Struck by apoplexy, dead--dead!\" wept the girl. \"Poor, dear little\norphan,\" said the widow in a husky voice and she clasped Arsinoe closely\nin her arms. For some time she allowed the girl to weep silently on her\nbosom; then she spoke:\n\n\"Give me your hand my daughter and tell me how it has all happened so\nsuddenly. Your father was quite well yesterday and now? Yes my girl life\nis a grave matter, you have to learn it while you are still young. I know\nyou have six little brothers and sisters and perhaps you may soon lack\neven the necessaries of life. But that is no disgrace; I am certainly\neven poorer than you and yet, by God's help, I hope to be able to advise\nyou and perhaps even to assist you. Every thing that I can possibly do\nshall be done, but first I must know how matters stand with you and what\nyou need.\"\n\nThere was so much kindness and consolation in the Christian's tones, so\nmuch to revive hope that Arsinoe willingly complied with her demand and\nbegan her story.\n\nAt first, to be sure, her pride shunned confessing how poor, how\nabsolutely destitute they were; but Hannah's questions soon brought the\ntruth to light; and when Arsinoe perceived that the widow understood the\nmisfortunes of their house in their fullest extent, and that it would be\nunavailing to conceal how matters stood with her and the children, she\nyielded to the growing impulse to relieve her soul by pouring out her\ngriefs and described frankly and without reserve the whole position of\nthe family, to the good woman who listened with attention and sympathy.\nThe widow asked about each child separately, and ended by enquiring who,\nin Arsinoe's absence, was left in charge of the little ones; and when she\nheard that the old slave-woman to whose care the children were entrusted,\nwas infirm and half-blind, she shook her head thoughtfully.\n\n\"Here help is needed and at once,\" she said decidedly. \"You must go back\nto the little ones presently. Your sister must not at present hear of\nyour father's death; when your future lot is to some extent secure we\nwill tell her by degrees all that has occurred. Now come with me, it is\nby the Lord's guidance that you came here at the right moment.\"\n\nHannah conducted Arsinoe to Paulina's villa, first into a small room at\nthe side of the entrance hall, where the deaconesses took off their veils\nand their warm wraps in winter evenings. There the girl could be alone,\nand safe from inquisitive questionings which could not fail to be painful\nto her. Hannah desired her to await her return, and then joined her\ncolleagues.\n\nIn order to do so she had to pass through the room where the elders and\ndeacons were sitting in council. The bishop, who presided over the\nassembly, sat on a raised seat at the head of an oblong table, and on his\nright hand and his left sat a number of elderly men, some of whom seemed\nto be of Jewish or Egyptian extraction but most of them were Greeks. In\nthese the lofty intellectual brow was conspicuous, in those a bright,\necstatic expression particularly in the eyes. Hannah went past the\nassembly with a reverential greeting into the adjoining room in which the\ndeaconesses sat waiting, for women were not admitted to join or hear the\ndeliberations of the elders. The bishop, a fine old man with a full white\nbeard; raised his kindly eyes as the door closed upon Hannah, fixed them\nfor a few moments on the tips of his fingers that he had raised and then\naddressed the presbyter who had presented for baptism several candidates\nwho had been grounded during the past year in the Christian faith and\ndoctrine, as follows:\n\n\"Most of the catechumens you have presented to me cling faithfully no\ndoubt to the Redeemer. They believe in Him and love Him. But have they\nattained to that sanctification, that new birth in Christ, which alone\ncan justify us in admitting them through baptism among the lambs of our\nGood Shepherd? Let us beware of the tainted sheep which may infect the\nwhole flock. Verily, in these latter years there has been no lack of\nthem, and they have been received among us and have brought the name of\nChristian into evil repute. Shall I give you an example? There was an\nEgyptian in Rhakotis; few seemed to strive so fervently as he for the\nremission of his sins. He could fast for many days, and yet no sooner was\nhe baptized than he broke into a goldsmith's shop. He was condemned to\ndeath, and before his end he sent for me and confessed to me that in\nformer years he had soiled his soul with many robberies and murders. He\nhad hoped to win forgiveness of his sins by the act of baptism, the mere\nwashing in water, not by repentance and a new birth to a pure and holy\nlife; and he had gone on boldly in new sin because he confidently hoped\nthat he might again count on the unwearying mercy of the Saviour. Others\nagain, who had been brought up in the practice of the ablutions which\nhave to be performed by those who are initiated into the deeper secrets\nof the heathen mysteries, regarded baptism as an act of purification, a\nmystical process of happy augury, or at the best a figurative\npurification of the soul, and crowded to receive it. Here, in Alexandria,\nthe number of these deluded ones is especially great; for where could any\nsuperstition find a more favorable soil than in this seat of\nphilosophical half-culture, or over-culture; of the worship of Serapis,\nof astrology, of societies of Mystics, of visionaries and exorcisers, and\nof incredulity--the twin-sister of credulity. Be cautious then to hold\nback from baptism all those who regard it as a preserving charm or an act\nof good omen--remembering that the same water which, sprinkled on\nsanctified hearts, leads them to holy living, brings death to the unclean\nsoul. It is your turn to speak, Irenaeus.\"\n\n\"I only have to say,\" began the young Christian thus designated, \"that I\nhave recently met among the catechumens with some who have attached\nthemselves to us from the basest motives. I mean the idlers who are glad\nto receive our alms. Have you noticed here a cynic philosopher whose\nstarving brother we maintain? Our deacon Clemens has just ascertained\nthat he is the only son of his father--\"\n\n\"We will investigate this matter more closely when we discuss the\ndistribution of alms,\" replied the bishop. \"Here we have petitions from\nseveral women who desire to have their children baptized; this question\nwe cannot decide here; it must be referred to the next Synod. So far as I\nam concerned, I should be inclined not to reject the prayer of the\nmothers. Wherein does the utmost aim of the Christian life consist? It\nseems to me in being perfectly conformable to the example of the Saviour.\nAnd was not he a Man among men, a Youth among the young, a Child among\nchildren? Did not His existence lend sanctity to every age, and\nespecially childhood? He commanded that little children should be brought\nto Him, and He promised them the Kingdom of Heaven. Wherefore then should\nwe exclude them and deny them baptism?\"\n\n\"I cannot share your views,\" replied a presbyter with a high forehead and\nsunken eyes. \"We ought no doubt to follow the Saviour, but those who\ntread in His steps should do so of their own free choice, out of love for\nHim, and after He has sanctified their souls. What is the sense of a new\nbirth in a life that has scarcely begun.\n\n\"Your discourse,\" replied the bishop, \"only confirms my opinion that this\nquestion is one for a higher assembly. We will now close our discussion\nof that point, and go on to the care of the poor. Call in the women, my\ngood Justinius.\"\n\nThe deaconesses came into the room and took seats at the lower end of the\ntable, Paulina, the widow of Pudeus, taking her place opposite the bishop\nin the middle of the other women. She had learnt from Selene's kind nurse\nin what pressing difficulties the children of the deceased steward now\nfound themselves, and that Hannah had promised to assist them.\n\nThe deacons first gave their reports of what their works had been among\nthe poor; after them the women were allowed to speak. Paulina, a tall,\nslight woman with black hair faintly streaked with gray, drew from her\ndress, which was perfectly plain, but made of particularly soft, fine\nwhite woollen stuff--a tablet that she placed before her, and slowly\nraising her eyes and looking at the assembly she said:\n\n\"Dame Hannah has a melancholy story to tell you, for which I crave your\nsympathy. Will you be so good as to allow her to speak?\"\n\nPaulina seemed to feel that she was the hostess to her brethren. She\nlooked ill and suffering; a line of pain had settled about her lips, and\nthere were always dark shades under her eyes; still, there was something\nfirm and decisive in her voice, and her glance was anything rather than\nsoft and winning. After her commanding tones Hannah's tale sounded as\nsoft as a song. She described the different natures of the two sisters as\nlovingly as though they were her own daughters, each in her own way\nseemed to her so worthy of compassion, and she spoke with pathetic lament\nof the unprotected, helpless orphans abandoned to misery, and among them\na pretty little blind boy. And she ended her speech by saying:\n\n\"The steward's second daughter--she is sixteen and so beautiful that she\nmust be exposed to every temptation--has now the whole charge of the\nnourishment and care of her six young brothers and sisters. Ought we to\nwithhold from them a protecting hand? No, so surely as we love the\nSaviour we ought not. You agree with me? Well then, do not let us delay\nour help. The second daughter of the deceased Keraunus is here, in this\nhouse; to-morrow early the children must all quit the palace, and now,\nwhile I am speaking, are at home alone and but ill tended.\"\n\nThe Christian woman's good words fell on kindly soil, and the presbyters\nand deacons determined to recommend the congregation who should assemble\nat the love-feast to give their assistance to the steward's children.\n\nThe elders had still much to discuss, so Hannah and Paulina were charged\nwith the task of appealing to the hearts of the well-to-do members of the\ncongregation to provide for the orphans. The poor widow first conducted\nher wealthy friend and hostess to the little room where Arsinoe was\nwaiting with growing impatience. She looked paler than usual but, in\nspite of her tear-reddened eyes which she kept fixed on the ground, she\nwas so lovely, so touchingly lovely, that the mere sight of her moved\nPaulina's heart. She had once had two children, an only daughter besides\nher son. The girl bad died in the spring-time of her maidenhood, and\nPaulina thought of her at every hour of her life. It was for her sake\nthat she had been baptized and devoted her existence to a series of\npainful sacrifices. She strove with all her might to be a good\nChristian--for surely she, the self-denying woman who had taken up the\ncross of her own free will, the suffering creature who loved stillness\nand who had made her country-house, which she visited daily, a scene of\nunrest, could not fail to win Heaven, and there she hoped to meet her\ninnocent child.\n\nArsinoe reminded her of her Helena, who certainly had been far less fair\nthan the steward's lovely daughter, but whose image had assumed new and\nglorified forms in the mother's faithful heart. Since her son had left\nhome for a foreign country she had often asked herself whether she might\nnot find some young creature to take into her home, to attach to herself,\nto bring up as a Christian, and to bring as an offering to her Saviour's\nfeet.\n\nHer daughter had died a heathen, and nothing troubled Paulina so deeply\nas that her soul was lost, and that her own struggling and striving for\ngrace could not lead her to the goal beyond the grave. No sacrifice\nseemed too great to purchase her child's beatitude, and now, standing\nbefore Arsinoe and looking at her with deep emotion and admiration, she\nwas seized with an idea which swiftly ripened to resolve. She would win\nthis sweet soul for the Redeemer, and implore Him with ceaseless prayers\nto save her hapless child as a reward for the work of grace in Arsinoe's\nsoul; and she felt as if she had signed the compact with the Redeemer,\nwhen, fully determined on this course, she went up to the girl and asked\nher:\n\n\"You are quite forlorn, quite without relations?\" Arsinoe bowed her head\nin assent, and Paulina went on:\n\n\"And do you bear your loss with resignation?\"\n\n\"What is resignation?\" asked the girl modestly. Hannah laid her hand on\nthe widow's arm and whispered:\n\n\"She is a heathen.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said Paulina shortly, and then went on kindly but\npositively:\n\n\"You and yours have lost both parents and a home by your father's death.\nYou shall find a new home in my house, with me; I ask nothing of you in\nreturn but your love.\"\n\nArsinoe looked at the haughty lady in astonishment. She could not yet\nfeel any impulse of affection towards her, and she did not as yet\nunderstand that what was required of her was the one gift which the best\nwill, the most loving heart in the world, could not offer at a command.\nPaulina did not wait for her reply, but signed to Hannah to follow her to\njoin the congregation now assembled at the evening meal.\n\nA quarter of an hour later the two women returned. The steward's orphans\nwere provided for. Two or three Christian families were ready and willing\nto take in some of them, and many a kindly house-mother had begged to\nhave the blind child; but in vain, for Hannah had claimed the right to\nbring up the hapless little boy in her own house, at any rate for the\npresent. She knew how Selene clung to him, and hoped by his presence to\nbe able to work powerfully on the crushed and chilled heart of the poor\ngirl.\n\nArsinoe did not contravene the arrangements of the two women. She thanked\nthem, indeed, for she felt that she once more stood on firm ground, but\nshe also was immediately aware that it would be strewn with sharp stones.\nThe thought of parting from her little brothers and sisters was terrible\nand cruel, and never left her mind for an instant, while, accompanied by\nHannah in person, she made her way back to Lochias.\n\nThe next morning her kind friend appeared again and led her and the\nlittle troup to Paulina's town-house. The steward's creditors divided his\nlittle possessions; nothing but the chest of papyri followed the girl to\nher new home. The hour in which the fondly-linked circle of children was\nriven asunder, when one child was taken here and another there, was the\nbitterest which Arsinoe had ever experienced or ever could experience\nthrough all the after years of her life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nA lovely garden adjoined the Caesareum, the palace in which Sabina was\nresiding. Balbilla was fond of lingering there, and as the morning of the\ntwenty-ninth of December was particularly brilliant--the sky and its\ninfinite mirror the sea, gleaming in indescribably deep blue, while the\nfragrance of a flowering shrub was wafted in at her window like an\ninvitation to quit the house she had sought a certain bench which, though\nplaced in a sunny spot, was slightly shaded by an acacia. This seat was\nscreened from the more public paths by bushes; the promenaders who did\nnot seek Balbilla could not observe her here, but she could command a\nview, through a gap in the foliage, of the path, which was strewn with\nsmall shells.\n\nTo-day, however, the young poetess was far from feeling any curiosity;\ninstead of gazing at the shrubbery enlivened by birds, at the clear\natmosphere or the sparkling sea, her eyes were fixed on a yellow roll of\npapyrus and she was impressing very dry details on her retentive memory.\n\nShe had determined to keep her word to learn to speak, write, and compose\nverses in the Aeolian dialect of the Greek tongue. She had chosen for her\nteacher Apollonius, the great grammarian, who was apt to call his\nscholars \"the dullards;\" and the work which was the present object of her\nstudies was derived from the famous library of the Serapeum, which far\nexceeded in completeness that of the Museum since the siege of Julius\nCaesar in the Bruchiom, when the great Museum library was burnt.\n\nAny one observing Balbilla at her occupation could hardly have believed\nthat she was studying. There was no fixed effort in her eyes or on her\nbrow; still, she read line for line, not skipping a single word; only she\ndid it not like a man who climbs a mountain with sweat on his brow, but\nlike a lounger who walks in the main street of some great city, and is\ncharmed at every new and strange thing that meets his eye. Each time she\ncame upon some form of structure in the book she was reading that had\nbeen hitherto unknown to her, she was so delighted that she clapped her\nhands and laughed out softly. Her learned master had never before met\nwith so cheerful a student, and it annoyed him, for to him science was a\nserious matter while she seemed to make a joke of it, as she did of every\nthing, and so desecrated it in his eyes. After she had been sitting an\nhour on the bench, studying in her own way, she rolled up the book and\nstood up to refresh herself a little. Feeling sure that no one could see\nher, she stretched herself in all her limbs and then stepped up to the\ngap in the shrubbery in order to see who a man in boots might be who was\npacing up and down in the broad path beyond.\n\nIt was the praetor--and yet it was not! Verus, under this aspect at any\nrate, she had never seen till now. Where was the smile that was wont to\ntwinkle in his merry eye like the sparkle of a diamond and to play\nsaucily about his lips--where the unwrinkled serenity of his brow and the\ndefiantly audacious demeanor of his whole handsome person? He was slowly\nstriding up and down with a gloomy fire in his eye, a deeply-lined brow,\nand his head sunk on his breast: and yet it was not bowed with sorrow. If\nso, could he have snapped his fingers in the air as he did just as he\npassed in front of Balbilla, as much as to say: \"Come what may! to-day I\nlive and laugh the future in the face!\"\n\nBut this vestige of his old reckless audacity did not last longer than\nthe time it took to part his fingers again, and the next time Verus\npassed Balbilla he looked, if possible, more gloomy than before.\nSomething very unpleasant must have arisen to spoil the good humor of her\nfriend's husband; and the poetess was sincerely sorry; for, though she\nherself had daily to suffer under the praetor's impertinence, she always\nforgave it for the sake of the graceful form in which he knew how to\nclothe his incivilities.\n\nBalbilla longed to see Verus content once more, and she therefore came\nforth from her hiding place. As soon as he saw her he altered the\nexpression of his features and cried out as brightly as ever:\n\n\"Welcome, fairest of the fair!\"\n\nShe made believe not to recognize him, but, as she passed him and bowed\nher curly head, she said gravely and in deep tones:\n\n\"Good day to you, Timon.\"\n\n\"Timon?\" he asked, taking her hand.\n\n\"Ah! is it you, Verus?\" she answered, as though surprised. \"I thought the\nAthenian misanthrope had quitted Hades and come to take the air in this\ngarden.\"\n\n\"You thought rightly,\" replied the praetor. \"But when Orpheus sings the\ntrees dance, the Muse can turn dull, motionless stones into a Bacchante,\nand when Balbilla appears Timon is at once transformed into the happy\nVerus.\"\n\n\"The miracle does not astonish me,\" laughed the girl. \"But is it\npermitted to ask what dark spirit so effectually produced the contrary\nresult, and made a Timon of the fair Lucilla's happy husband?\"\n\n\"I ought rather to beware of letting you see the monster, or our joyous\nmuse Balbilla might easily become the sinister Hecate. But the malicious\nsprite is close at hand, for he is hidden in this little roll.\"\n\n\"A document from Caesar?\"\n\n\"Oh! no, only a letter from a Jew.\"\n\n\"Possibly the father of some fair daughter!\"\n\n\"Wrongly guessed--as wrong as possible!\"\n\n\"You excite my curiosity.\"\n\n\"Mine has already been satisfied by this roll. Horace is wise when he\nsays that man should never trouble himself about the future.\"\n\n\"An oracle!\"\n\n\"Something of the kind.\"\n\n\"And can that darken this lovely morning to you? Did you ever see me\nmelancholy? Yet my future is threatened by a prophecy--such a hideous\nprophecy.\"\n\n\"The fate of men is different to the destiny of women.\"\n\n\"Would you like to hear what was prophesied of me?\"\n\n\"What a question!\"\n\n\"Listen then; the saying I will repeat to you came to me from no less an\noracle than the Delphic Pythia:\n\n    \"'That which thou boldest most precious and dear\n     Shall be torn from thy keeping,\n     And from the heights of Olympus,\n     Down shalt thou fall in the dust.'\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"Nay--two consolatory lines follow.\"\n\n\"And they are--?\"\n\n     \"Still the contemplative eye\n     Discerns under mutable sand drifts\n     Stable foundations of stone,\n     Marble and natural rock.\"\n\n\"And you are inclined to complain of this oracle?\"\n\n\"Is it so pleasant to have to wade through dust? We have enough of that\nintolerable nuisance here in Egypt--or am I to be delighted at the\nprospect of hurting my feet on hard stones?\"\n\n\"And what do the interpreters say?\"\n\n\"Only silly nonsense.\"\n\n\"You have never found the right one; but I--I see the meaning of the\noracle.\"\n\n\"You?\"\n\n\"Ay, I! The stern Balbilla will at last descend from the lofty Olympus of\nher high-anti-mightiness and no longer disdain that immutable\nfoundation-rock, the adoration of her faithful Verus.\"\n\n\"That foundation--that rock!\" laughed the girl. \"I should think it as\nwell advised to try to walk on the surface of the sea out there as on\nthat rock!\"\n\n\"Only try.\"\n\n\"It is not necessary; Lucilla has made the experiment for me. Your\ninterpretation is wrong; Caesar gave me a far better one.\"\n\n\"What was that?\"\n\n\"That I should give up writing poetry and devote myself to strict\nscientific studies. He advised me to try astronomy.\"\n\n\"Astronomy,\" repeated Verus, growing graver. Farewell, fair one; I must\ngo to Caesar!\"\n\n\"We were with him yesterday at Lochias. How everything is changed there!\nThe pretty little gate house is gone, there is nothing more to be seen of\nall the cheerful bustle of builders and artists, and what were gay\nworkshops are turned into dull, commonplace halls. The screens in the\nhall of the Muses had to go a week ago, and with them the young\nscatter-brain who set himself against my curls with so much energy that I\nwas on the point of sacrificing them--\"\n\n\"Without them you would no longer be Balbilla,\" cried Verus eagerly. \"The\nartist condemns all that is not permanently beautiful, but we are glad to\nsee any thing that is graceful, and can find pleasure in it with the\nother children of the time. The sculptor may dress his goddesses after\nthe fashion of graver days and the laws of his art, but mortal women--if\nhe is wise--after the fashion of the day. However, I am heartily sorry\nfor that clever, genial young fellow. He has offended Caesar and was\nturned out of the palace, and now he is nowhere to be found.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Balbilla, full of regret, \"poor man--and such a fine fellow!\nAnd my bust? we must seek him out. If the opportunity offers I will\nentreat Caesar--\"\n\n\"Hadrian will hear nothing about him. Pollux has offended him deeply.\"\n\n\"From whom do you know that?\"\n\n\"From Antinous.\"\n\n\"We saw him, too, only yesterday,\" cried Balbilla, eagerly.\n\n\"If ever a man was permitted to wear the form of a god among mortals, it\nis he.\"\n\n\"Romantic creature!\"\n\n\"I know no one who could look upon him with indifference. He is a\nbeautiful dreamer, and the trace of suffering which we observed yesterday\nin his countenance is probably nothing more than the outward expression\nof that obscure regret, felt by all that is perfect, for the joy of\ndevelopment and conscious ripening into an incarnation of the ideal in\nits own kind, of which he is an instance in himself.\"\n\nThe poetess spoke the last words in a rapt tone, as if the form of a god\nwas then and there before her eyes. Verus had listened to her with a\nsmile, but now he interrupted her, and, holding up a warning finger, he\nsaid:\n\n\"Poetess, philosopher, and sweetest maiden, beware of descending from\nyour Olympus for the sake of this boy! When imagination and dreaminess\nmeet half-way they make a pair which float in the clouds and never even\nsuspect the existence of that firmer ground of which your oracle speaks.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Balbilla crossly. \"Before we can fall in love with a\nstatue, Prometheus must animate it with a soul and fire from heaven.\"\n\n\"But often,\" retorted the praetor, \"Eros proves to be a substitute for\nthat unhappy friend of the gods.\"\n\n\"The true or the sham Eros,\" asked Balbilla testily.\n\n\"Certainly not the sham Eros,\" replied Verus. \"On this occasion he merely\nplays the part of a kindly monitor, taking the place of Pontius, the\narchitect, of whom your worthy matron-companion is so much afraid. During\nthe tumult of the Dionysiac festival you are reported to have carried on\nas grave a discussion as any two gray-bearded philosophers walking in the\nStoa among attentive students.\"\n\n\"With intelligent men, no doubt, we talk with intelligence!\"\n\n\"Aye, and with stupid ones gayly. How much reason have I to be thankful\nthat I am one of the stupid ones. Farewell, till we meet again, fair\nBalbilla,\" and the praetor hurried off.\n\nOutside the Caesareum he got into his chariot and set out for Lochias.\nThe charioteer held the reins, while he himself gazed at the roll in his\nhand which contained the result of the calculations of the astrologer,\nRabbi Simeon Ben Jochai; and this was certainly likely enough to disturb\nthe cheerfulness of the most reckless of men.\n\nWhen, during the night which preceded the praetor's birthday, the Emperor\nshould study the heavens with special reference to the position of the\nstars at his birth, he would find that, as far as till the end of the\nsecond hour after midnight all the favorable planets promised Verus a\nhappy lot, success and distinction. But, with the commencement of the\nthird hour--so said Ben Jochai--misfortune and death would take\npossession of his house of destiny; in the fourth hour his star would\nvanish, and anything further that might declare itself in the sky during\nthat night would have nothing more to do with him, or his destiny. The\nEmperor's star would triumph over his. Verus could make out but little of\nthe signs and calculations in the tables annexed by the Jew, but that\nlittle confirmed what was told in the written statement.\n\nThe praetor's horses carried him swiftly along while he reflected on what\nremained for him to do under these unfavorable circumstances, in order\nnot to be forced to give up entirely the highest goal of his ambition. If\nthe Rabbi's observations were accurate--and of this Verus did not for a\nmoment doubt--all his hopes of adoption were at an end in spite of\nSabina's support. How should Hadrian choose for his son and successor a\nman who was destined to die before him? How could he, Verus, expect that\nCaesar should ally his fortunate star with the fatal star of another\ndoomed to die?\n\nThese reflections did nothing to help him, and yet he could not escape\nfrom them, till suddenly his charioteer pulled up the horses abruptly by\nthe side of the footway to make room for a delegation of Egyptian priests\nwho were going in procession to Lochias. The powerful hand with which his\nservant had promptly controlled the fiery spirit of the animals excited\nhis approbation, and seemed to inspire him to put a clog boldly on the\nwheels of speeding fate. When they were no longer detained by the\nEgyptian delegates he desired the charioteer to drive slowly, for he\nwished to gain time for consideration.\n\n\"Until the third hour after midnight,\" said he to himself, \"all is to go\nwell; it is not till the fourth hour that signs are to appear in the sky\nwhich are of evil augury for me. Of course the sheep will play round the\ndead lion, and the ass will even spurn him with his hoof so long as he is\nmerely sick. In the short space of time between the third and fourth\nhours all the signs of evil are crowded together. They must be visible;\nbut\"--and this \"but\" brought sudden illumination to the praetor's mind,\n\"why should Caesar see them?\"\n\nThe anxious aspirant's heart beat faster, his brain worked more actively,\nand he desired the driver to make a short circuit, for he wanted to gain\nyet more time for the ideas that were germinating in his mind to grow and\nripen.\n\nVerus was no schemer; he walked in at the front door with a free and\ncareless step, and scorned to climb the backstairs. Only for the greatest\nobject and aim of his life was he prepared to sacrifice his inclinations,\nhis comfort and his pride, and to make unhesitating use of every means at\nhand. For the sake of that he had already done many things which he\nregretted, and the man who steals one sheep out of the flock is followed\nby others without intending it. The first degrading action that a man\ncommits is sure to be followed by a second and a third. What Verus was\nnow projecting he regarded as being a simple act of self-defence; and\nafter all, it consisted merely in detaining Hadrian for an hour,\ninterrupting him in an idle occupation--the observation of the stars.\n\nThere were two men who might be helpful to him in this matter--Antinous\nand the slave Mastor. He first thought of Mastor; but the Sarmatian was\nfaithfully devoted to his master and could not be bribed. And\nbesides!--No! it really was too far beneath him to make common cause with\na slave. But he could count even less on support from Antinous. Sabina\nhated her husband's favorite, and for her sake Verus had never met the\nyoung Bithynian on particularly friendly terms. He fancied, too, that he\nhad observed that the quiet, dreamy lad kept out of his way. It was only\nby intimidation, probably, that the favorite could be induced to do him a\nservice.\n\nAt any rate, the first thing to be done was to visit Lochias and there to\nkeep a lookout with his eyes wide open. If the Emperor were in a happy\nframe of mind he might, perhaps, be induced to appear during the latter\npart of the night at the banquet which Verus was giving on the eve of his\nbirthday, and at which all that was beautiful to the eye and ear was to\nbe seen and heard; or a thousand favoring and helpful accidents might\noccur--and at any rate the Rabbi's forecast furnished him good fortune\nfor the next few years.\n\nAs he dismounted from his chariot in the newly-paved forecourt and was\nconducted to the Emperor's anteroom he looked as bright and free from\ncare as if the future lay before him sunny and cloudless.\n\nHadrian now occupied the restored palace, not as an architect from Rome\nbut as sovereign of the world; he had shown himself to the Alexandrians\nand had been received with rejoicings and an unheard-of display in his\nhonor. The satisfaction caused by the imperial visit was everywhere\nconspicuous and often found expression in exaggerated terms; indeed the\ncouncil had passed a resolution to the effect that the month of December,\nbeing that in which the city had had the honor of welcoming the\n'Imperator,' should henceforth be called:\n\n\"Hadrianus.\" The Emperor had to receive one deputation after another and\nto hold audience after audience, and on the following morning the\ndramatic representations were to begin, the processions and games which\npromised to last through many days, or--as Hadrian himself expressed\nit--to rob him of at least a hundred good hours. Notwithstanding, the\nmonarch found time to settle all the affairs of the state, and at night\nto question the stars as to the fate which awaited him and his dominions\nduring all the seasons of the new year now so close at hand.\n\nThe aspect of the palace at Lochias was entirely changed. In the place of\nthe gay little gate-house stood a large tent of gorgeous purple stuff, in\nwhich the Emperor's body-guard was quartered, and opposite to it another\nwas pitched for lictors and messengers. The stables were full of horses.\nHadrian's own horse, Borysthenes, which had had too long a rest, pawed\nand stamped impatiently in a separate stall, and close at hand the\nEmperor's retrievers, boar-hounds and harriers were housed in\nhastily-contrived yards and kennels.\n\nIn the wide space of the first court soldiers were encamped, and close\nunder the walls squatted men and women--Egyptians, Greeks and\nHebrews--who desired to offer petitions to the sovereign. Chariots drove\nin and out, litters came and went, chamberlains and other officials\nhurried hither and thither. The anterooms were crowded with men of the\nupper classes of the citizens who hoped to be granted audience by the\nEmperor at the proper hour. Slaves, who offered refreshments to those who\nwaited or stood idly looking on, were to be seen in every room, and\nofficial persons, with rolls of manuscript under their arms, bustled into\nthe inner rooms or out of the palace to carry into effect the orders of\ntheir superior.\n\nThe hall of the Muses had been turned into a grand banqueting-hall.\nPapias, who was now on his way to Italy by the Emperor's command, had\nrestored the damaged shoulder of the Urania. Couches and divans stood\nbetween the statues, and under a canopy at the upper end of the vast room\nstood a throne on which Hadrian sat when he held audience. On these\noccasions he always appeared in the purple, but in his writing-room,\nwhich he had not changed for another, he laid aside the imperial mantle\nand was no more splendid in his garb than the architect Claudius Venator\nhad been.\n\nIn the rooms that had belonged to the deceased Keraunus now dwelt an\nEgyptian without wife or children--a stern and prudent man who had done\ngood service as house-steward to the prefect Titianus, and the\nliving-room of the evicted family now looked dreary and uninhabited. The\nmosaic pavement which had indirectly caused the death of Keraunus, was\nnow on its way to Rome, and the new steward had not thought it worth\nwhile to fill up the empty, dusty, broken-up place which had been left in\nthe floor of his room by the removal of the work of art, nor even to\ncover it over with mats. Not a single cheerful note was audible in the\nabandoned dwelling but the twitter of the birds which still came morning\nand evening to perch on the balcony, for Arsinoe and the children had\nnever neglected to strew the parapet with crumbs for them at the end of\neach meal.\n\nAll that was gracious, all that was attractive in the old palace had\nvanished at Sabina's visit, and even Hadrian himself was a different man\nto what he had been a few days previously. The dignity with which he\nappeared in public was truly imperial and unapproachable, and even when\nhe sat with his intimates in his favorite room he was grave, gloomy and\ntaciturn. The oracle, the stars, and other signs announced some terrible\ncatastrophe for the coming year with a certainty that he could not evade;\nand the few careless days that he had been permitted to enjoy at Lochias\nhad ended with unsatisfactory occurrences.\n\nHis wife, whose bitter nature struck him in all its repellent harshness\nhere in Alexandria--where everything assumed sharper outlines and more\naccentuated movement than in Rome--had demanded of him boldly that he\nshould no longer defer the adoption of the praetor.\n\nHe was anxious and unsatisfied; the infinite void in his heart yawned\nbefore him whenever he looked into his soul, and at every glance at the\nfuture of his external life a long course of petty trifles started up\nbefore him which could not fail to stand in the way of his unwearying\nimpulse to work. Even the vegetative existence of his handsome favorite\nAntinous, untroubled as it was by the sorrows or the joys of life, had\nundergone a change. The youth was often moody, restless and sad. Some\nforeign influences seemed to have affected him, for he was no longer\ncontent to hang about his person like a shadow; no, he yearned for\nliberty, had stolen into the city several times, seeking there the\npleasures of his age which formerly he had avoided.\n\nNay, a change had even come over his cheerful and willing slave Mastor.\nOnly his hound remained always the same in unaltered fidelity.\n\nAnd he himself? He was the same to-day as ten years since: different\nevery day and at every hour of the day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nWhen Verus entered the palace Hadrian had returned thither but a few\nminutes previously from the city. The praetor was conducted through the\nreception-rooms to the private apartments, and here he had not long to\nwait, for Hadrian wished to speak with him immediately. He found the\nsovereign so thoroughly out of tune that he could not think of inviting\nhim to his banquet. The Emperor restlessly paced the room while Verus\nanswered his questions as to the latest proceedings of the Senate in\nRome, but he several times interrupted his walk and gazed into the\nadjoining room.\n\nJust as the praetor had concluded his report Argus set up a howl of\ndelight and Antinous came into the room. Verus at once withdrew into the\nwindow and pretended to be absorbed in looking out on the harbor.\n\n\"Where have you been?\" asked the Emperor, disregarding the praetor's\npresence.\n\n\"Into the city a little way,\" was the Bithynian's answer.\n\n\"But you know I cannot bear to miss you when I come home.\"\n\n\"I thought you would have been longer absent.\"\n\n\"For the future arrange so that I may be able to find you at whatever\ntime I may seek you. Tell me, you do not like to see me vexed and\nworried?\"\n\n\"No, my lord,\" said the lad and he raised a supplicating hand and looked\nbeseechingly at his master.\n\n\"Then let it pass. But now for something else; how did this little phial\ncome into the hands of the dealer Hiram?\" As he spoke the Emperor took\nfrom his table the little bottle of Vasa Murrhina which the lad had given\nto Arsinoe and which she had sold to the Phoenician, and held it up\nbefore the favorite's eyes. Antinous turned pale, and stammered in great\nconfusion. \"It is incomprehensible--I cannot in the least recollect--\"\n\n\"Then I will assist your memory,\" said the Emperor decidedly. \"The\nPhoenician appears to me to be an honester man than that rogue Gabinius.\nIn his collection, which I have just been to see, I found this gem, that\nPlotina--do you hear me, boy--that Trajan's wife Plotina, my heart's\nfriend, never to be forgotten, gave me years ago. It was one of my\ndearest possessions and yet I thought it not too precious to give to you\non your last birthday.\"\n\n\"Oh, my lord, my dear lord!\" cried Antinous in a low tone and again\nlifting his eyes and hands in entreaty.\n\n\"Now, I ask you,\" continued Hadrian, gravely, and without allowing\nhimself to yield to the lad's beseeching looks, \"how could this object\nhave passed into the possession of one of the daughters of the wretched\npalace-steward Keraunus from whom Hiram confessed that he had bought it?\"\n\nAntinous vainly strove for utterance; Hadrian however came to his aid by\nasking him more angrily than before:\n\n\"Did the girl steal it from you? Out with the truth!\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied the Bithynian quickly and decidedly. \"Certainly not. I\nremember--wait a minute--yes, that was it.--You know it contained\nexcellent balsam, and when the big dog threw down Selene--the steward's\ndaughter is called Selene--threw her down the steps so that she lay hurt\non the stones I fetched the phial and gave her the balsam.\"\n\n\"With the bottle that held it?\" asked the Emperor looking at Antinous.\n\n\"Yes, my lord--I had no other.\"\n\n\"And she kept it and sold it at once.\"\n\n\"You know, of course, her father--\"\n\n\"A gang of thieves!\" snarled Hadrian.\n\n\"Do you know what has become of the girl?\"\n\n\"Yes my lord,\" said Antinous trembling with alarm. \"I will have her taken\nby the lictors,\" asserted the infuriated sovereign.\n\n\"No,\" said the lad positively. \"No, you positively must not do that.\"\n\n\"No--? we shall see!\"\n\n\"No, positively not, for at the same time you must know that Keraunus'\ndaughter Selene--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"She flung herself into the water in despair; yes, into the water, at\nnight--into the sea.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Hadrian more gently, \"that certainly alters the case. The\nlictors would find it difficult to apprehend a shade and the girl has\nsuffered the worst punishment of all.--But you? what shall I say to your\nperfidy? You knew the value of the gem. You knew how highly I valued it,\nand could part with it to such hands?\"\n\n\"It contained the salve,\" stammered the boy. \"How could I think--?\"\n\nThe Emperor interrupted the boy, striking his forehead with his hand as\nhe spoke:\n\n\"Aye, think--we have known unfortunately too long that thinking is not\nyour strong point. This little bottle has cost me a pretty sum; still, as\nit once belonged to you I give it back to you again; I only require you\nto take better care of it this time. I shall ask for it again before\nlong! But in the name of all the gods, boy, what is the matter? Am I so\nalarming that a simple question from me is enough to drive all the blood\nout of your cheeks? Really and truly, if I had not had the thing from\nPlotina I should have left it in the Phoenician's hands and not have made\nall this coil about it.\"\n\nAntinous went quickly up to the Emperor to kiss his hand, but Hadrian\npressed his lips to his brow with fatherly affection.\n\n\"Simpleton,\" he said, \"if you want me to be pleased with you, you must be\nagain just what you were before we came to Alexandria. Leave it to others\nto do things to vex me. You are created by the gods to delight me.\"\n\nDuring Hadrian's last words a chamberlain had entered the room to inform\nthe Emperor that the deputation of the Egyptian priesthood had arrived to\ndo homage to him. He immediately assumed the purple mantle and proceeded\nto the hall of the Muses where, surrounded by his court, he received the\nhigh-priests and spiritual fathers of the different temples of the Nile\nValley, to be hailed by them as the Son of Sun-god, and to assure them\nand the religion they cherished his gracious countenance. He vouchsafed\nhis consent to their prayer that he would add sanctity and happiness to\nthe temples of the immortals which they served by gracing them with his\npresence, but set aside for the moment the question as to which town\nmight be permitted to have the care of the recently-discovered Apis.\n\nThis audience took up several hours. Verus shirked the duty of attending\nit with Titianus and the other dignitaries of the court, and remained\nsitting motionless by the window; it was not till Hadrian was gone from\nthe room that he came forward into it again. He was quite alone, for\nAntinous had left the room with the Emperor. The praetor's remaining\nbehind had not escaped the lad's notice, but he sought to avoid him, for\nthe domineering, mocking spirit of Verus repelled him. Besides this the\nterror which he had gone through, as well as the consciousness that he\nhad been guilty of a lie and had daringly deceived his kind master, had\nupset a soul hitherto untainted by any subterfuge and had thrown him off\nhis balance. He longed to be alone, for it would have been keenly painful\nto him at this moment to discuss indifferent subjects, or to be forced to\naffect an easy demeanor. He sat in his little room, before a table, with\nhis face buried in his hands that rested on it.\n\nVerus did not immediately follow him, for he understood what was passing\nin his mind and knew that here he could not escape him. In a few minutes\nall was still alike in the large room and in the small one. Then the\npraetor heard the door between the smaller room and the corridor hastily\nopened and immediately the Bithynian's exclamation:\n\n\"At last, Mastor--have you seen Selene?\"\n\nWith two long, noiseless steps Verus went close to the door leading into\nthe adjoining room, and listened for the slave's answer, though a less\nsharp ear than that of the praetor might have heard every syllable.\n\n\"How should I have seen her?\" asked the Sarmatian sharply. \"She is still\nsuffering and in bed. I gave your flowers to the deformed girl who takes\ncare of her; but I will not do it again, you may rely upon it, not if you\ncoax even more fondly than you did yesterday and promise me all Caesar's\ntreasure into the bargain! And what can you want with that wretched,\npale-faced, innocent creature? I am but a poor slave, but I can tell you\nthis--\"\n\nHere the Sarmatian broke off abruptly, and Verus rightly guessed that\nAntinous had remembered his presence in the Emperor's room and had signed\nto the slave to be silent.\n\nBut the listener had learnt enough. The favorite had told his master a\nlie, and the suicide of the steward's daughter was a pure romance. Who\nwould have believed that the silent, dreamy lad had so much presence of\nmind, and such cunning powers of invention? The praetor's handsome face\nwas radiant with satisfaction as he made these reflections, for now he\nhad the Bithynian under his thumb, and now he knew how to accomplish all\nhe wished. Antinous himself had indicated the right course when he had\nhastened to the Emperor with a gush of tenderness, in which the warmth\nwas certainly not affected, to kiss his hand.\n\nThe favorite loved his master, and Verus could ground his demands on this\nlove without exposing himself, or having to dread the Emperor's avenging\nhand in case of betrayal. He knocked at the door of the adjoining room\nwith a firm hand, and then went confidently and composedly up to the\nBithyman, told him that he had an important matter to discuss with him,\nbegged him to return with him into the Emperor's room and then said, as\nsoon as they were alone together:\n\n\"I am so unfortunate as not to be able to number you among my particular\nfriends; but one strong sentiment we have in common. We both love\nCaesar.\"\n\n\"I love him, certainly,\" replied the lad.\n\n\"Well then, you must have it at heart to spare him all great sorrow, and\nto prevent grave apprehensions from paralyzing the pinions of his free\nand noble soul.\"\n\n\"No doubt.\"\n\n\"I knew I should find a colleague in you. See this roll. It contains the\ncalculations and diagrams of the greatest astrologer of our time, and\nfrom these it is to be discovered that this night, from the end of the\nsecond hour of the morning till the beginning of the fourth, the stars\nwill announce fearful disasters to our Sovereign. Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Alas! perfectly.\"\n\n\"After that the indications of evil disappear. Now if we could only\nsucceed in preventing Hadrian observing the heavens merely during the\nthird hour after midnight we should preserve him from trouble and\nanxiety, which will torment and spoil his life. Who knows whether the\nstars may not be? But even if they tell the truth, misfortune, when it\ndoes come, always comes much too soon. Do you agree with me?\"\n\n\"Your suggestion sounds a very sensible one--still I think--\"\n\n\"It is both sensible and wise,\" said the praetor, shortly and decidedly,\ninterrupting the boy. \"And it must be your part to hinder Hadrian from\nmarking the course of the stars from the end of the second to the\nbeginning of the fourth hour after midnight.\"\n\n\"My part?\" cried Antinous, startled.\n\n\"Yours--for you are the only person who can accomplish it.\"\n\n\"I?\" repeated the Bithynian, greatly perturbed. \"I--disturb Caesar in his\nobservations!\"\n\n\"It is your duty.\"\n\n\"But he never allows any one to disturb him at his studies, and if I were\nto attempt it he would be very angry and send me off in no time. No, no,\nwhat you ask is impossible.\"\n\n\"It is not only possible but imperatively necessary.\"\n\n\"That it certainly cannot be,\" replied Antinous, clasping his forehead in\nhis hand. \"Only listen! Hadrian has known for several days past that some\ngreat misfortune threatens him. I heard it from his own lips. If you know\nhim at all you must know that he gazes at the stars not merely to rejoice\nin future happiness, but also to fortify himself against the disasters\nwhich threaten him or the state. What would crush a weaker man only\nserves to arm his bold spirit. He can bear all that may befall, and it\nwould be a crime to deceive him.\"\n\n\"To cloud his heart and mind would be a greater,\" retorted Verus. \"Devise\nsome means of taking him away from his star-gazing for only an hour.\"\n\n\"I dare not, and even if I wished it, it could not be done. Do you\nsuppose he follows me whenever I call?\"\n\n\"But you know him; invent something which will be sure to make him come\ndown from his watchtower.\"\n\n\"I cannot invent or think of any thing.\"\n\n\"Nothing?\" asked Verus, going close tip to the Bithynian. \"You just now\ngave striking proof to the contrary.\"\n\nAntinous turned pale and the praetor went on:\n\n\"When you wanted to rescue the fair Selene from the lictors your swift\ninvention threw her into the sea!\"\n\n\"She did throw herself in, as truly as that the gods--\"\n\n\"Stay, stay,\" cried the praetor. \"No perjury, at least! Selene is living,\nyou send her flowers, and if I should think proper to conduct Hadrian to\nthe house of Paulina--\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Antinous lamentably enough, and grasping the Roman's hand.\n\"You will not--you can not. Oh Verus! you will not do that.\"\n\n\"Simpleton,\" laughed the praetor, slapping the alarmed youth lightly on\nthe shoulder. \"What good could it do me to ruin you? I have only one\nthing at heart just now, and that is to save Caesar from care and\nanxiety. Keep him occupied only during the third hour after midnight and\nyou may count on my friendship; but if out of fear or ill-will you refuse\nme your assistance you do not deserve your sovereign's favor and then you\nwill compel me--\"\n\n\"No more, no more!\" cried Antinous interrupting his tormentor in despair.\n\n\"Then you promise me to carry out my wish?\"\n\n\"Yes, by Hercules! Yes, what you require shall be done. But eternal gods!\nhow am I to get Caesar--\"\n\n\"That, my young friend, I leave with perfect confidence to you and your\nshrewdness.\"\n\n\"I am not shrewd--I can devise nothing,\" groaned the lad.\n\n\"What you could do out of terror of your master you can do still better\nfor love of him,\" retorted the praetor. \"The problem is an easy one; and\nif after all you should not succeed I shall feel it no less than my duty\nto explain to Hadrian how well Antinous can take care of his own\ninterests and how badly of his master's peace of mind. Till to-morrow, my\nhandsome friend--and if for the future you have flowers to send, my\nslaves are quite at your service.\"\n\nWith these words the praetor left the room, but Antinous stood like one\ncrushed, pressing his brow against the cold porphyry pillar by the\nwindow. What Verus required of him did not seem to have any harm in it,\nand yet it was not right. It was treason to his noble master, whom he\nloved with tender devotion as a father, a wise, kind friend, and\npreceptor, and whom he reverenced and feared as though he were a god. To\nplot to hide impending trouble from him, as if he were not a man but a\nfeeble weakling, was absurd and contemptible, and must introduce an error\nof unknown importance and extent into his sovereign's far-seeing\npredeterminations. Many other reasons against the praetor's demands\ncrowded on him, and as each occurred to his mind he cursed his tardy\nspirit which never let him see or think the right thing till it was too\nlate. His first deceit had already involved him in a second.\n\nHe hated himself; he hit his forehead with his fists and sobbed aloud\nbitterly again and again, though he shed no tears. Still, in the midst of\nhis self-accusation, the flattering voice made itself heard in his soul:\n\"It is only to preserve your master from sorrow, and it is nothing wrong\nthat you are asked to do.\" And each time that his inward ear heard these\nwords he began to puzzle his brain to discover in what way it might be\npossible for him to tempt the Emperor, at the hour named, down from his\nwatch-tower in the palace. But he could hit on no practicable plan.\n\n\"It cannot be done, no--it cannot be done!\" he muttered to himself and\nthen he asked himself if it were not even his duty to defy the praetor\nand to confess to Hadrian that he had deceived him in the morning. If\nonly it had not been for the little bottle! Could he ever confess that he\nhad heedlessly parted with this gift of all others from his master? No,\nit was too hard, it might cost him his sovereign's affection for ever.\nAnd if he contented himself with a half-truth and confessed, merely to\nanticipate the praetor's accusation, that Selene was still living, then\nhe would involve the daughters of the hapless Keraunus in persecution and\ndisgrace Selene whom he loved with all the devotion of a first passion,\nwhich was enhanced and increased by the hindrances that had come in its\nway. It was impossible to confess his guilt-quite impossible. The longer\nhe thought, tormenting himself to find some way out of it all, the more\nconfused he became, and the more impotent his efforts at resistance. The\npraetor had entangled him with thongs and meshes, and at every struggle\nto escape they only seemed knotted more closely round him.\n\nHis head began to ache sadly; and what an endless time Caesar was absent!\nHe dreaded his return, and yet he longed for it. When at last Hadrian\ncame in and signed to Master to relieve him of his imperial robes,\nAntinous slipped behind him, and silently and carefully fulfilled the\nslave's office. He felt uneasy and worried, and yet he forced himself to\nappear in good spirits during supper when he had to sit opposite the\nEmperor.\n\nWhen, shortly before midnight, Hadrian rose from the table to go up to\nthe watch-tower on the northern side of the palace, Antinous begged to be\nallowed to carry his instruments for him, and the Emperor, stroking his\nhair, said kindly:\n\n\"You are my dear and faithful companion. Youth has a right to go astray\nnow and then so long as it does not entirely forget the path in which it\nought to tread.\"\n\nAntinous was deeply touched by these words, and he secretly pressed to\nhis lips a fold of the Emperor's toga as he walked in front. It was as\nthough he wanted to make amends in advance for the crime he had not yet\ncommitted.\n\nWrapped in his cloak he kept the Emperor silent company during his\nstudies, till the close of the first hour after midnight. The sharp,\nnorth wind which blew through the darkness did his aching head good, and\nstill he racked his wits for some pretext to attract Hadrian from his\nlabors, but in vain. His tormented brain was like a dried-up well; bucket\nafter bucket did he send down, but not one brought up the refreshing\ndraught he needed. Nothing--nothing could he think of that could conduce\nto his end. Once he plucked up courage and said imploringly as he went\nclose up to the Emperor: \"Go down earlier to-night my lord; you really do\nnot allow yourself enough rest and will injure your health.\"\n\nHadrian let him speak, and answered kindly:\n\n\"I sleep in the morning. If you are tired, go to bed now.\"\n\nBut Antinous remained, gazing, like his master, at the stars. He knew\nvery few of the brilliant bodies by their names, but some of them were\nvery dear to him, particularly the Pleiades which his father had pointed\nout to him and which reminded him of his home. There he had been so quiet\nand happy, and how wildly his anxious heart was throbbing now!\n\n\"Go to bed, the second hour is beginning,\" said Hadrian.\n\n\"Already!\" said the boy; and as he reflected how soon that must be done\nwhich Verus had required of him, and then looked up again at the heavens,\nit seemed to him as though all the stars in the blue vault over his head\nhad glided from their places and were dancing in wild and whirling\nconfusion between the sky and the sea. He closed his eyes in his\nbewilderment; then, bidding his master good-night he lighted a torch and\nby its flaring and doubtful light descended from the tower.\n\nPontius had erected this slight structure expressly for Hadrian's nightly\nobservations. It was built of timber and Nile-mud and stood up as a tall\nturret on the secure foundation of an ancient watch-tower built of hewn\nstone, which, standing among the low buildings that served as storehouses\nfor the palace, commanded a free outlook over all the quarters of the\nsky. Hadrian, who liked to be alone and undisturbed when observing the\nheavens, had preferred this erection--even after he had made himself\nknown to the Alexandrians--to the great observatory of the Serapeum, from\nwhich a still broader horizon was visible.\n\nAfter Antinous had got out of the smaller and newer tower into the larger\nand older one he sat down on one of the lowest steps to collect his\nthoughts and to quiet his loudly-beating heart. His vain cogitations\nbegan all over again. Time slipped on-between the present moment and the\ndeed to be done there were but a certain number of minutes. He told\nhimself so, and his weary brain stirred more actively, suggesting to him\nto feign illness and bring the Emperor to his bedside. But Hadrian was\nphysician enough to see that he was well, and even if he should allow\nhimself to be deceived, he, Antinous, was a deceiver. This thought filled\nhim with horror of himself and with dread for the future, and yet it was\nthe only plan that gave any hope of success. And even when he sprang to\nhis feet and walked hastily up and down among the out-houses he could hit\nupon no other scheme. And how fast the minutes flew! The third hour after\nmidnight must be quite close at hand, and he had scarcely left himself\ntime to rush back into the palace, throw himself on his couch, and call\nMastor. Quite bewildered with agitation and tottering like a drunken man\nhe hastened back into the old tower where he had left his torch leaning\nagainst the wall and looked up the stone stairs; it suddenly flashed\nthrough his mind that he might go up again to fling himself down them.\nWhat did he care for his miserable life.\n\nHis fall, his cry, would bring the Emperor down from his observatory and\nhe knew that he would not leave his bleeding favorite uncared for and\nuntended he could count upon that. And if then Hadrian watched by his bed\nit would be that, perhaps, of a dying man, but not of a deceiver. Fully\ndetermined on extreme measures, he tightened the girdle which held his\nchiton above his hips and once more went out into the night to judge by\nthe stars what hour it was. He saw the slender sickle of the waning\nmoon-the same moon which at the full had been mirrored in the sea when he\nhad gone into the water to save Selene. The image of the pale girl rose\nbefore him, tangibly distinct. He felt as if he held her once more in his\narms--saw her once more lying on her bed-could once more press his lips\nto her cold brow. Then the vision vanished; instead he was possessed by a\nwild desire to see her, and he said to himself that he could not die\nwithout having seen her once more.\n\nHe looked about him in indecision. Before him lay one of the largest of\nthe storehouses that surrounded the tower. With his torch in one hand he\nwent in at the open door. In the large shed lay the chests and cases, the\nhemp, linseed, straw and matting that had been used in packing the\nvessels and works of art with which the palace had been newly furnished.\nThis he knew; and now, looking up at the stars once more and seeing that\nthe second hour after midnight had almost run to an end, a fearful\nthought flashed through his mind, and without daring to consider, he\nflung the torch into the open shed, crammed to the roof with inflammable\nmaterials, and stood motionless, with his arms crossed, to watch through\nthe door of the shed the rapidly spreading flame, the soaring smoke, the\nstruggle and mingling of the noiseless wreaths of black vapor from the\nvarious combustibles with the ruddy light, the victory of the fire and\nthe leaping flames as they flew upward.\n\nThe roof, thatched with palm-leaves and reeds, had begun to crackle when\nAntinous rushed into the tower only a few paces off crying: \"Fire--fire!\"\nand up the stairs which led to the observatory of the imperial stargazer.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 9.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nThe entertainment which Verus was giving on the eve of his birthday\nseemed to be far from drawing to an end, even at the beginning of the\nthird hour of the morning. Besides the illustrious and learned Romans who\nhad accompanied the Emperor to Alexandria, the most famous and\ndistinguished Alexandrians had also been invited by the praetor. The\nsplendid banquet had long been ended, but jar after jar of mixed wine was\nstill being filled and emptied. Verus himself had been unanimously chosen\nas the king and leader of the feast. Crowned with a rich garland, he\nreclined on a couch strewn with rose-leaves, an invention of his own, and\nformed of four cushions piled one on another. A curtain of transparent\ngauze screened him from flies and gnats, and a tightly-woven mat of\nlilies and other flowers covered his feet and exhaled sweet odors for him\nand for the pretty singer who sat by his side.\n\nPretty boys dressed as little cupids watched every sign of the 'sham\nEros.'\n\nHow indolently he lay on the deep, soft cushions! And yet his eyes were\nevery where, and though he had not failed to give due consideration to\nthe preparations for his feast, he devoted all the powers of his mind to\nthe present management of it. As at the entertainments which Hadrian was\naccustomed to give in Rome, first of all short selections from new essays\nor poems were recited by their authors, then a gay comedy was performed;\nthen Glycera, the most famous singer in the city, had sung a dithyramb to\nher harp, in a voice as sweet as a bell, and Alexander, a skilled\nperformer on the trigonon, had executed a piece. Finally a troop of\nfemale dancers had rushed into the room and swayed and balanced\nthemselves to the music of the double-flute and tambourine.\n\nEach fresh amusement had been more loudly applauded than the last. With\nevery jar of wine a new torrent of merriment went up through the opening\nin the roof, by which the scent of the flowers and of the perfume burnt\non beautiful little altars found an exit into the open air. The wine\noffered in libations to the gods already lay in broad pools upon the hard\npavement of the hall, the music and singing were drowned in shouts the\nfeast had become an orgy.\n\nVerus was inciting the more quiet or slothful of his guests to a freer\nenjoyment and encouraging the noisiest in their extravagant recklessness\nto still more unbridled license. At the same time he bowed to each one\nwho drank to his health, entertained the singer who sat by his side,\nflung a sparkling jest into one and another silent group, and proved to\nthe learned men who reclined on their couches near to his that whenever\nit was possible he took an interest in their discussions. Alexandria, the\nfocus of all the learning of the East and the West, had seen other\nfestivals than this riotous banquet. Indeed, even here a vein of grave\nand wise discourse flavored the meal of the circle that belonged to the\nMuseum; but the senseless revelry of Rome had found its way into the\nhouses of the rich, and even the noblest achievements of the human mind\nhad been made, unawares, subservient to mere enjoyment. A man was a\nphilosopher only that he might be prompt to discuss and always ready to\ntake his share in the talk; and at a banquet a well-told anecdote was\nmore heartily welcome than some profound idea that gave rise to a\nreflection or provoked a subtle discussion.\n\nWhat a noise, what a clatter was storming in the hall by the second hour\nafter midnight! How the lungs of the feasters were choked with\noverpowering perfumes! What repulsive exhibitions met the eye! How\nshamelessly was all decency trodden under foot! The poisonous breath of\nunchecked license had blasted the noble moderation of the vapor of wine\nwhich floated round this chaos of riotous topers slowly rose the pale\nimage of Satiety watching for victims on the morrow.\n\nThe circle of couches on which lay Florus, Favorinus and their\nAlexandrian friends stood like an island in the midst of the surging sea\nof the orgy. Even here the cup had been bravely passed round, and Florus\nwas beginning to speak somewhat indistinctly, but conversation had\nhitherto had the upper hand.\n\nTwo days before, the Emperor had visited the Museum and had carried on\nlearned discussions with the most prominent of the sages and professors\nthere, in the presence of their assembled disciples. At last a formal\ndisputation had arisen, and the dialectic keenness and precision with\nwhich Hadrian, in the purest Attic Greek, had succeeded in driving his\nopponents into a corner had excited the greatest admiration. The\nSovereign had quitted the famous institution with a promise to reopen the\ncontest at an early date. The philosophers, Pancrates and Dionysius and\nApollonius, who took no wine at all, were giving a detailed account of\nthe different phases of this remarkable disputation and praising the\nadmirable memory and the ready tongue of the great monarch.\n\n\"And you did not even see him at his best,\" exclaimed Favorinus, the\nGaul, the sophist and rhetorician. \"He has received an unfavorable oracle\nand the stars seem to confirm the prophecy. This puts him out of tune.\nBetween ourselves let me tell you I know a few who are his superiors in\ndialectic, but in his happiest moments he is irresistible-irresistible.\nSince we made up our quarrel he is like a brother to me. I will defend\nhim against all comers, for, as I say, Hadrian is my brother.\"\n\nThe Gaul had poured out this speech in a defiant tone and with flashing\neyes. He grew pale in his cups, touchy, boastful and very talkative.\n\n\"No doubt you are right,\" replied Apollonius, \"but it seemed to us that\nhe was bitter in discussion. His eyes are gloomy rather than gay.\"\n\n\"He is my brother,\" repeated Favorinus, \"and as for his eyes, I have seen\nthem flash--by Hercules! like the radiant sun, or merry twinkling stars!\nAnd his mouth! I know him well! He is my brother, and I will wager that\nwhile he condescended--it is too comical--condescended to dispute with\nyou--with you, there was a sly smile at each corner of his\nmouth--so--look now--like this he smiled.\"\n\n\"I repeat, he seemed to us gloomy rather than gay,\" retorted Apollonius,\nwith annoyance; and Pancrates added:\n\n\"If he does really know how to jest he certainly did not prove it to us.\"\n\n\"Not out of ill-will,\" laughed the Gaul, \"you do not know him, but I--I\nam his friend and may follow wherever--he goes. Now only wait and I will\ntell you a few stories about him. If I chose I could describe his whole\nsoul to you as if it lay there on the surface of the wine in my cup. Once\nin Rome he went to inspect the newly-decorated baths of Agrippa, and in\nthe undressing-room he saw an old man, a veteran who had fought with him\nsomewhere or other. My memory is greatly admired, but his is in no\nrespect inferior. Scaurus was the old man's name--yes--yes, Scaurus. He\ndid not observe Caesar at first, for after his bath his wounds were\nburning and he was rubbing his back against the rough stone of a pillar.\nHadrian however called to him: 'Why are you scratching yourself, my\nfriend?' and Scaurus, not at once recognizing Caesar's voice, answered\nwithout turning round: 'Because I have no slave to do it for me.' You\nshould have heard Caesar laugh! Liberal as he is sometimes--I say\nsometimes--he gave Scaurus a handsome sum of money and two sturdy slaves.\nThe story soon got abroad, and when Caesar, who--as you believe--cannot\njest, a short time after again visited the bath, two old soldiers at once\nplaced themselves in his way, scrubbed their backs against the wall like\nScaurus, and called out to him 'Great Caesar, we have no slaves.'--'Then\nscratch each other,' cried he, and left the soldiers to rub themselves.\"\n\n\"Capital!\" laughed Dionysius. \"Now one more true story,\" interrupted the\nloquacious Gaul. \"Once upon a time a man with white hair begged of him.\nThe wretch was a low fellow, a parasite who wandered round from one man's\ntable to another, feeding himself out of other folks' wallets and dishes.\nCaesar knew his man and warned him off. Then the creature had his hair\ndyed that he might not be recognized, and tried his luck a second time\nwith the Emperor. But Hadrian has good eyes; he pointed to the door,\nsaying, with the gravest face: 'I have just lately refused to give your\nfather anything.' And a hundred such jokes pass from mouth to mouth in\nRome, and if you like I can give you a dozen of the best.\"\n\n\"Tell us, go on, out with your stories. They are all old friends!\"\nstammered Florus. \"But while Favorinus chatters we can drink.\"\n\nThe Gaul cast a contemptuous glance at the Roman, and answered promptly:\n\n\"My stories are too good for a drunken man.\"\n\nFlorus paused to think of an answer, but before he could find one, the\npraetor's body-slave rushed into the hall crying out: \"The palace at\nLochias is on fire.\"\n\nVerus kicked the mat of lilies off his feet on to the floor, tore down\nthe net that screened him in, and shouted to the breathless runner.\n\n\"My chariot-quick, my chariot! To our next merry meeting another evening\nmy friends, with many thanks for the honor you have done me. I must be\noff to Lochias.\"\n\nVerus flew out of the hall, without throwing on his cloak and hot as he\nwas, into the cold night, and at the same time most of his guests had\nstarted up to hurry into the open air, to see the fire and to hear the\nlatest news; but only very few went to the scene of the conflagration to\nhelp the citizens to extinguish it, and many heavily intoxicated drinkers\nremained lying on the couches.\n\nAs Favorinus and the Alexandrians raised themselves on their pillows\nFlorus cried:\n\n\"No god shall make me stir from this place, not if the whole house is\nburnt down and Alexandria and Rome, and for aught I care every nest and\nnook on the face of the earth. It may all burn together. The Roman Empire\ncan never be greater or more splendid than under Caesar! It may burn down\nlike a heap of straw, it is all the same to me--I shall lie here and\ndrink.\"\n\nThe turmoil and confusion on the scene of the interrupted feast seemed\ninextricable, while Verus hurried off to Sabina to inform her of what had\noccurred. But Balbilla had been the first to discover the fire and quite\nat the beginning, for after sitting industriously at her studies, and\nbefore going to bed, she had looked out toward the sea. She had instantly\nrun out, cried \"Fire!\" and was now seeking for a chamberlain to awake\nSabina.\n\nThe whole of Lochias flared and shone in a purple and golden glow. It\nformed the nucleus of a wide spreading radiance of tender red of which\nthe extent and intensity alternately grew and diminished. Verus met the\npoetess at the door that led from the garden into the Empress'\napartments. He omitted on this occasion to offer his customary greeting,\nbut hastily asked her:\n\n\"Has Sabina been told?\"\n\n\"I think not yet.\"\n\n\"Then have her called. Greet her from me--I must go to Lochias\"\n\n\"We will follow you.\"\n\n\"No, stay here; you will be in the way there.\"\n\n\"I do not take much room and I shall go. What a magnificent spectacle.\"\n\n\"Eternal gods! the flames are breaking out too below the palace, by the\nKing's harbor. Where can the chariots be?\"\n\n\"Take me with you.\"\n\n\"No you must wake the Empress.\"\n\n\"And Lucilla?\"\n\n\"You women must stay where you are.\"\n\n\"For my part I certainly will not. Caesar will be in no danger?\"\n\n\"Hardly--the old stones cannot burn.\"\n\n\"Only look! how splendid! the sky is one crimson tent. I entreat you,\nVerus, let me go with you.\"\n\n\"No, no, pretty one. Men are wanted down there.\"\n\n\"How unkind you are.\"\n\n\"At last! here are the chariots! You women stay here; do you understand\nme?\"\n\n\"I will not take any orders; I shall go to Lochias.\"\n\n\"To see Antinous in the flames! such a sight is not to be seen every day,\nto be sure!\" cried Verus, ironically, as he sprang into his chariot, and\ntook the reins into his own hand.\n\nBalbilla stamped with rage.\n\nShe went to Sabina's rooms fully resolved to go to the scene of the fire.\nThe Empress would not let herself be seen by any one, not even by\nBalbilla, till she was completely dressed. A waiting-woman told Balbilla\nthat Sabina would get up certainly, but that for the sake of her health\nshe could not venture out in the night-air.\n\nThe poetess then sought Lucilla and begged her to accompany her to\nLochias; she was perfectly willing and ready, but when she heard that her\nhusband had wished that the women should remain at the Caesareum she\ndeclared that she owed him obedience and tried to keep back her friend.\nBut the perverse curly-haired girl was fully determined, precisely\nbecause Verus had forbidden her--and forbidden her with mocking words, to\ncarry out her purpose. After a short altercation with Lucilla she left\nher, sought her companion Claudia, told her what she intended doing,\ndismissed that lady's remonstrance with a very positive command, gave\norders herself to the house-steward to have horses put to a chariot and\nreached the imperilled palace an hour and a half after Verus.\n\nAn endless, many-headed crowd of people besieged the narrow end of\nLochias on the landward side and the harbor wharves below, where some\nstores and shipyards were in flames. Boats innumerable were crowded round\nthe little peninsula. An attempt was being made, with much shouting, and\nby the combined exertions of an immense number of men, to get the larger\nships afloat which lay at anchor close to the quay of the King's harbor\nand to place them in security. Every thing far and wide was lighted up as\nbrightly as by day, but with a ruddier and more restless light. The\nnorth-east breeze fanned the fire, aggravating the labors of the men who\nwere endeavoring to extinguish it and snatching flakes of flame off every\nburning mass. Each blazing storehouse was a gigantic torch throwing a\nbroad glare into the darkness of the night. The white marble of the\ntallest beacon tower in the world, on the island of Pharos, reflected a\nrosy hue, but its far gleaming light shone pale and colorless. The dark\nhulls of the larger ships and the flotilla of boats in the background\nwere afloat in a fiery sea, and the still water under the shore mirrored\nthe illumination in which the whole of Lochias was wrapped.\n\nBalbilla could not tire of admiring this varying scene, in which the most\ngorgeous hues vied with each other and the intensest light contrasted\nwith the deepest shadows. And she had ample time to dwell on the\nmarvellous picture before her eyes, for her chariot could only proceed\nslowly, and at a point where the street led up from the King's harbor to\nthe palace, lictors stood in her way and declared positively that any\nfarther advance was out of the question. The horses, much scared by the\nglare of the fire and the crowd that pressed round them, could hardly be\ncontrolled, first rearing and then kicking at the front board of the\nchariot. The charioteer declared he could no longer be answerable. The\npeople who had hurried to the rescue now began to abuse the women, who\nought to have staid at home at the loom rather than come stopping the way\nfor useful citizens.\n\n\"There is time enough to go out driving by daylight!\" cried one man; and\nanother: \"If a spark falls in those curls another conflagration will\nbreak out.\"\n\nThe position of the ladies was becoming every instant more unendurable\nand Balbilla desired the charioteer to turn round; but in the swarming\nmass of men that filled the street this was easier said than done. One of\nthe horses broke the strap which fastened the yoke that rested on his\nwithers to the pole, started aside and forced back the crowd which now\nbegan to scold and scream loudly. Balbilla wanted to spring out of the\nchariot, but Claudia clung tightly to her and conjured her not to leave\nher in the lurch in the midst of the danger. The spoilt patrician's\ndaughter was not timid, but on this occasion she would have given much\nnot to have followed Verus. At first she thought, \"A delightful\nadventure! still, it will not be perfect till it is over.\" But presently\nher bold experiment lost every trace of charm, and repentance that she\nhad ever undertaken it filled her mind. She was far nearer weeping than\nlaughing already, when a man's deep voice said behind her, in tones of\ncommanding decision:\n\n\"Make way there for the pumps; push aside whatever stops the way.\"\n\nThese terrible words reduced Claudia to sinking on to her knees, but\nBalbilla's quelled courage found fresh wings as she heard them, for she\nhad recognized the voice of Pontius. Now he was close behind the chariot,\nhigh on a horse. He then was the man on horseback whom she had seen\ndashing from the sea-shore up to the higher storehouses that were\nburning, down to the lake, and hither and thither.\n\nShe turned full upon him and called him by his name. He recognized her,\ntried to pull up his horse as it was dashing forward, and smilingly shook\nhis head at her, as much as to say: \"She is a giddy creature and deserves\na good scolding; but who could be angry with her?\" And then he gave his\norders to his subordinates just as if she had been a mere chattel, a bale\nof goods or something of the kind, and not an heiress of distinction.\n\n\"Take out the horses,\" he cried to the municipal guards; \"we can use them\nfor carrying water.\"--\"Help the ladies out of the chariot.\"--\"Take them\nbetween you Nonnus and Lucanus.\"--\"Now, stow the chariot in there among\nthe bushes.\"--\"Make way there in front, make way for our pumps.\" And each\nof these orders was obeyed as promptly as if it was the word of command\ngiven by a general to his well-drilled soldiers.\n\nAfter the pumps had been fairly started Pontius rode close up to Balbilla\nand said:\n\n\"Caesar is safe and sound. You no doubt wished to see the progress of the\nfire from a spot near it, and in fact the colors down there are\nmagnificent. I have not time to escort you back to the Caesareum; but\nfollow me. You will be safe in the harbor-guard's stone house, and from\nthe roof you can command a view of Lochias and the whole peninsula. You\nwill have a rare feast for the eye, noble Balbilla; but I beg you not to\nforget at the same time how many days of honest labor, what rich\npossessions, how many treasures earned by bitter hardship are being\ndestroyed at this moment. What may delight you will cost bitter tears to\nmany others, and so let us both hope that this splendid spectacle may now\nhave reached its climax, and soon may come to an end.\"\n\n\"I hope so--I hope it with all my heart!\" cried the girl.\n\n\"I was sure you would. As soon as possible I will come to look after you.\nYou Nonnus and Lucanus, conduct these noble ladies to the harbor-guard's\nhouse.\n\n\"Tell him they are intimate friends of the Empress. Only keep the pumps\ngoing! Till we meet again Balbilla!\" and with these words the architect\ngave his horse the bridle and made his way through the crowd.\n\nA quarter of an hour later Balbilla was standing on the roof of the\nlittle stone guard-house. Claudia was utterly exhausted and incapable of\nspeech. She sat in the dark little parlor below on a rough-hewn wooden\nbench. But the young Roman now gazed at the fire with different eyes than\nbefore. Pontius had made her feel a foe to the flames which only a short\ntime before had filled her with delight as they soared up to the sky,\nwild and fierce. They still flared up violently, as though they had to\nclimb above the roof; but soon they seemed to be quelled and exhausted,\nto find it more and more difficult to rise above the black smoke which\nwelled up from the burning mass. Balbilla had looked out for the\narchitect and had soon discovered him, for the man on horseback towered\nabove the crowd. He halted now by one and now by another burning\nstorehouse. Once she lost sight of him for a whole hour, for he had gone\nto Lochias. Then again he reappeared, and wherever he stayed for a while,\nthe raging element abated its fury.\n\nWithout her having perceived it, the wind had changed and the air had\nbecome still and much warmer. This circumstance favored the efforts of\nthe citizens trying to extinguish the fire, but Balbilla ascribed it to\nthe foresight of her clever friend when the flames subsided in souse\nplaces and in others were altogether extinguished. Once she saw that he\nhad a building completely torn down which divided a burning granary from\nsome other storehouses that had been spared, and she understood the\nobject of this order; it cut off the progress of the flames. Another time\nshe saw him high on the top of a rise in the ground. Close before him in\na sheet of flame was a magazine in which were kept tow and casks of resin\nand pitch. He turned his face full towards it and gave his orders, now on\nthis side, now on that. His figure and that of his horse, which reared\nuneasily beneath him, were flooded in a crimson glow--a splendid picture!\nShe trembled for him, she gazed in admiration at this calm, resolute,\nenergetic man, and when a blazing beam fell close in front of him and\nafter his frightened horse had danced round and round with him, he forced\nit to submit to his guidance, the praetor's insinuation recurred to her\nmind, that she clung to her determination to go to Lochias because she\nhoped to enjoy the spectacle of Antinous in the flames. Here, before her,\nwas a nobler display, and yet her lively imagination which often,\nsometimes indeed against her will, gave shape to her formless\nthoughts--called up the image of the beautiful youth surrounded by the\nglowing glory which still painted the horizon.\n\nHour after hour slipped by; the efforts of the thousands who endeavored\nto extinguish the blaze were crowned by increasing success; one burning\nmass after another was quenched, if not extinguished, and instead of\nflames smoke, mingled with sparks, rose from Lochias blacker and\nblacker-and still Pontius came not to look after her. She could not see\nany stars for the sky was overcast with clouds, but the beginning of a\nnew day could not be far distant. She was shivering with cold, and her\nfriend's long absence began to annoy her. When, presently, it began to\nrain in large drops, she went down the ladder that led from the roof and\nsat down by the fire in the little room where her companion had gone fast\nasleep.\n\nShe had been sitting quite half an hour and gazing dreamily into the\nwarming glow, when she heard the sound of hoofs and Pontius appeared. His\nface was begrimed, and his voice hoarse with shouting commands for hours.\nAs soon as she saw him Balbilla forgot her vexation, greeted him warmly,\nand told him how she had watched his every movement; but the eager girl,\nso readily fired to enthusiasm, could only with the greatest difficulty\nbring out a few words to express the admiration that his mode of\nproceeding had so deeply excited in her mind.\n\nShe heard him say that his mouth was quite parched and his throat was\nlonging for a draught of some drink, and she--who usually had every pin\nshe needed handed to her by a slave, and on whom fate had bestowed no\nliving creature whom she could find a pleasure in serving--she, with her\nown hand dipped a cup of water out of the large clay jar that stood in a\ncorner of the room and offered it to him with a request that he would\ndrink it. He eagerly swallowed the refreshing fluid, and when the little\ncup was empty Balbilla took it from his hand, refilled it, and gave it\nhim again.\n\nClaudia, who woke up when the architect came in, looked on at her\nfoster-child's unheard-of proceedings with astonishment, shaking her\nhead. When Pontius had drained the third cupful that Balbilla fetched for\nhim he exclaimed, drawing a deep breath:\n\n\"That was a drink--I never tasted a better in the whole course of my\nlife.\"\n\n\"Muddy water out of a nasty earthen pitcher!\" answered the girl.\n\n\"And it tasted better than wine from Byblos out of a golden goblet.\"\n\n\"You had honestly earned the refreshment, and thirst gives flavor to the\nhumblest liquor.\"\n\n\"You forget the hand that gave it me,\" replied the architect warmly.\n\nBalbilla colored and looked at the floor in confusion, but presently\nraised her face and said, as gayly and carelessly as ever:\n\n\"So that you have been deliciously refreshed; and now that is done you\nwill go home and the poor thirsty soul will once more become the great\narchitect. But before that happens, pray inform us what god it was that\nbrought you hither from Pelusium in the very nick of time when the fire\nbroke out, and how matters look now in the palace at Lochias?\"\n\n\"My time is short,\" replied Pontius, and he then rapidly told her that,\nafter he had finished his work at Pelusium, he had returned to Alexandria\nwith the imperial post. As he got out of the chariot at the post-house he\nobserved the reflection of fire over the sea and was immediately after\ntold by a slave that it was the palace that was burning. There were\nhorses in plenty at the post-house; he had chosen a strong one and had\ngot to the spot before the crowd had collected. How the fire had\noriginated, so far remained undiscovered. \"Caesar,\" he said, \"was in the\nact of observing the heavens when a flame broke out in a store-shed close\nto the tower. Antinous was the first to detect it, cried 'Fire,' and\nwarned his master. I found Hadrian in the greatest agitation; he charged\nme to superintend the work of rescuing all that could be saved. At\nLochias. Verus helped me greatly and indeed with so much boldness and\njudgment that I owe very much to him. Caesar himself kept his favorite\nwithin the palace, for the poor fellow burned both his hands.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Balbilla with eager regret. \"How did that happen?\"\n\n\"When Hadrian and Antinous first came down from the tower they brought\nwith them as many of the instruments and manuscripts as they could carry.\nWhen they were at the bottom Caesar observed that a tablet with important\ncalculations had been left lying up above and expressed his regret.\nMeanwhile the fire had already caught the slightly-built turret and it\nseemed impossible to get into it again. But the dreamy Bithynian can wake\nout of his slumbers it would seem, and while Caesar was anxiously\nwatching the burning bundles of flax which the wind kept blowing across\nto the harbor the rash boy rushed into the burning building, flung the\ntablet down from the top of the tower and then hurried down the stairs.\nHis bold action would indeed have cost the poor fellow his life if the\nslave Mastor; who meanwhile had hurried to the spot, had not dragged him\ndown the stone stair of the old tower on which the new one stood and\ncarried him into the open air. He was half suffocated at the top of them\nand had dropped down senseless.\"\n\n\"But he is alive, the splendid boy, the image of the gods! and he is out\nof danger?\" cried Balbilla, with much anxiety.\n\n\"He is quite well; only his hands, as I said, are somewhat burnt, and his\nhair is singed, but that will grow again.\"\n\n\"His soft, lovely curls!\" cried Balbilla. \"Let us go home, Claudia. The\ngardener shall cut a magnificent bunch of roses, and we will send it to\nAntinous to please him.\"\n\n\"Flowers to a man who does not care about them?\" asked Pontius, gravely.\n\n\"With what else can women reward men's virtues or do honor to their\nbeauty?\" asked Balbilla.\n\n\"Our own conscience is the reward of our honest actions, or the laurel\nwreath from the hand of some famous man.\"\n\n\"And beauty?\"\n\n\"That of women claims and wins admiration, love too perhaps and\nflowers-that of men may rejoice the eye, but to do it Honor is a task\ngranted to no mortal woman.\"\n\n\"To whom, then, if I may ask the question?\"\n\n\"To Art, which makes it immortal.\"\n\n\"But the roses may bring some comfort and pleasure to the suffering\nyouth.\"\n\n\"Then send them-but to the sick boy, and not to the handsome man,\"\nretorted Pontius.\n\nBalbilla was silent, and she and her companion followed the architect to\nthe harbor. There he parted from them, putting them into a boat which\ntook them back to the Caesareum through one of the arch-gates under the\nHeptastadium.\n\nAs they were rowed along the younger Roman lady said to the elder:\n\n\"Pontius has quite spoilt my fun about the roses. The sick boy is the\nhandsome Antinous all the same, and if anybody could think--well, I shall\ndo just as I please; still it will be best not to cut the nosegay.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nThe town was out of danger; the fire was extinct. Pontius had taken no\nrest till noonday. Three horses had he tired out and replaced by fresh\nones, but his sinewy frame and healthy courage had till now defied every\nstrain. As soon as he could consider his task at an end he went off to\nhis own house, and he needed rest; but in the hall of his residence he\nalready found a number of persons waiting, and who were likely to stand\nbetween him and the enjoyment of it.\n\nA man who lives in the midst of important undertakings cannot, with\nimpunity, leave his work to take care of itself for several days. All the\nclaims upon him become pent up, and when he returns home they deluge him\nlike water when the sluice-gates are suddenly opened behind which it has\nbeen dammed up.\n\nAt least twenty persons, who had heard of the architect's return, were\nwaiting for him in his outer hall, and crowded upon him as soon as he\nappeared. Among them he saw several who had come on important business,\nbut he felt that he had reached the farthest limit of his strength, and\nhe was determined to secure a little rest at any cost. The grave man's\nnatural consideration, usually so conspicuous, could not hold out against\nthe demands made on his endurance, and he angrily and peevishly pointed\nto his begrimed face as he made his way through the people waiting for\nhim.\n\n\"To-morrow, to-morrow,\" he cried; \"nay, if necessary, to-day, after\nsunset. But now I need rest. Rest! Rest! Why, you yourselves can see the\nstate I am in.\"\n\nAll--even the master-masons and purveyors who had come on urgent affairs,\ndrew back; only one elderly man, his sister Paulina's house-steward,\ncaught hold of his chiton, stained as it was with smoke and scorched in\nmany places, and said quickly and in a low tone:\n\n\"My mistress greets you; she has things to speak of to you which will\nbear no delay; I am not to leave you till you have promised to go to see\nher to-day. Our chariot waits for you at the garden-door.\"\n\n\"Send it home,\" said Pontius, not even civilly; \"Paulina must wait a few\nhours.\"\n\n\"But my orders are to take you with me at once.\"\n\n\"But in this state--so--I cannot go with you,\" cried the architect with\nvehemence. \"Have you no sort of consideration? And yet--who can\ntell--well, tell her I will be with her in two hours.\"\n\nWhen Pontius had fairly escaped the throng he took a bath; then he had\nsome food brought to him, but even while he ate and drank, he was not\nunoccupied, for he read the letters which awaited him, and examined some\ndrawings which his assistants had prepared during his absence.\n\n\"Give yourself an hour's respite,\" said the old housekeeper, who had been\nhis nurse and who loved him as her own son.\n\n\"I must go to my sister,\" he answered with a shrug. \"We know her of old,\"\nsaid the old woman. \"For nothing, and less than nothing, she has sent for\nyou be fore now; and you absolutely need rest. There--are your cushions\nright--so? And let me ask you, has the humblest stone-carrier so hard a\nlife as you have? Even at meals you never have an hour of peace and\ncomfort. Your poor head is never quiet; the nights are turned into day;\nsomething to do, always something to do. If one only knew who it is all\nfor?\"\n\n\"Aye--who for, indeed?\" sighed Pontius, pushing his arm under his head,\nbetween it and the pillow. \"But, you see, little mother, work must follow\nrest as surely as day follows night or summer follows winter. The man who\nhas something he loves in the House--a wife and merry children, it may\nbe, for aught I care--who sweeten his hours of rest and make them the\nbest of all the day, he, I say is wise when he tries to prolong them; but\nhis case is not mine--\"\n\n\"But why is it not yours, my son Pontius?\"\n\n\"Let me finish my speech. I, as you know full well, do not care for\ngossip in the bath nor for reclining long over a banquet. In the pauses\nof my work I am alone, with myself and with you, my very worthy Leukippe.\nSo the hours of rest are not for me the fairest scenes, but empty waits\nbetween the acts of the drama of life; and no reasonable man can find\nfault with me for trying to abridge them by useful occupation.\"\n\n\"And what is the upshot of this sensible talk? Simply this: you must get\nmarried.\"\n\nPontius sighed, but Leukippe added eagerly:\n\n\"You have not far to look! The most respectable fathers and mothers are\nrunning after you and would bring their prettiest daughters into your\ndoor.\"\n\n\"A daughter whom I do not know, and who might perhaps spoil the pauses\nbetween the acts, which at present I can at any rate turn to some\naccount.\"\n\n\"They say,\" the old woman went on, \"that marriage is a cast of the dice.\nOne throws a high number, another a low one; one wins a wife who is a\nmatch for the busy bee, another gets a tiresome gnat. No doubt there is\nsome truth in it; but I have grown grey with my eyes open and I have\noften seen it happen, that how the marriage turned out depended on the\nhusband. A man like you makes a bee out of a gnat--a bee that brings\nhoney to the hive. Of course a man must choose carefully.\"\n\n\"How, pray?\"\n\n\"First see the parents and then the child. A girl who has grown up\nsurrounded by good habits, in the house of a sensible father and a\nvirtuous mother--\"\n\n\"And where in this city am I to find such a miracle? Nay, nay, Leukippe,\nfor the present all shall be left to my old woman. We both do our duty,\nwe are satisfied with each other and--\"\n\n\"And time is flying,\" said the housekeeper, interrupting her master in\nhis speech. \"You are nearly thirty-five years of age, and the girls--\"\n\n\"Let them be! let them be! They will find other men! Now send Cyrus with\nmy shoes and cloak, and have my litter got ready, for Paulina has been\nkept waiting long enough.\"\n\nThe way from the architect's house to his sister's was long, and on his\nway he found ample time for reflection on various matters besides\nLeukippe's advice to marry. Still, it was a woman's face and form that\npossessed him heart and soul; at first, however, he did not feel inclined\nto feast his fancy on Balbilla's image, lovely as it appeared to him; on\nthe contrary, with self-inflicted severity he sought everything in her\nwhich could be thought to be opposed to the highest standard of feminine\nperfections. Nor did he find it difficult to detect many defects and\ndeficiencies in the Roman damsel; still he was forced to admit that they\nwere quite inseparable from her character, and that she would no longer\nbe what she was, if she were wholly free from them. Each of her little\nweaknesses presently began to appear as an additional charm to the stern\nman who had himself been brought up in the doctrine of the Stoics.\n\nHe had learnt by experience that sorrow must cast its shadow over the\nexistence of every human being; but still, the man to whom it should be\nvouchsafed to walk through life hand-in-hand with this radiant child of\nfortune could, as it seemed to him, have nothing to look forward to but\npure sunshine. During his journey to Pelusium and his stay there he had\noften thought of her, and each time that her image had appeared to his\ninward eye he had felt as though daylight had shone in his soul. To have\nmet her he regarded as the greatest joy of his life, but he dared not\naspire to claim her as his own.\n\nHe did not undervalue himself and knew that he might well be proud of the\nposition he had won by his own industry and talents; and still she was\nthe grandchild of the man who had had the right to sell his grandfather\nfor mere coin, and was so high-born, rich and distinguished that he would\nhave thought it hardly more audacious to ask the Emperor what he would\ntake for the purple than to woo her. But to shelter her, to warn her, to\nallow his soul to be refreshed by the sight of her and by her talk--this\nhe felt was permissible, this happiness no one could deprive him of. And\nthis she would grant him--she esteemed him and would give him the right\nto protect her, this he felt, with thankfulness and joy. He would, then\nand there, have gone through the exertions of the last few hours all over\nagain if he could have been certain that he should once more be refreshed\nwith the draught of water from her hand. Only to think of her and of her\nsweetness seemed greater happiness than the possession of any other\nwoman.\n\nAs he got out of his litter at the door of his sister's town-house he\nshook his head, smiling at himself; for he confessed to himself that the\nwhole of the long distance he had hardly thought of anything but\nBalbilla.\n\nPaulina's house had but few windows opening upon the street and these\nbelonged to the strangers' rooms, and yet his arrival had been observed.\nA window at the side of the house, all grown round with creepers, framed\nin a sweet girlish head which looked down from it inquisitively on the\nbustle in the street. Pontius did not notice it, but Arsinoe--for it was\nher pretty face that looked out--at once recognized the architect whom\nshe had seen at Lochias and of whom Pollux had spoken as his friend and\npatron.\n\nShe had now, for a week, been living with the rich widow; she wanted for\nnothing, and yet her soul longed with all its might to be out in the\ncity, and to inquire for Pollux and his parents, of whom she had heard\nnothing since the day of her father's death. Her lover was no doubt\nseeking her with anxiety and sorrow; but how was he to find her?\n\nThree days after her arrival she had discovered the little window from\nwhich she had a view of the street. There was plenty to be seen, for it\nled to the Hippodrome and was never empty of foot-passengers and chariots\nthat were proceeding thither or to Necropolis. No doubt it was a pleasure\nto her to watch the fine horses and garlanded youths and men who passed\nby Paulina's house; but it was not merely to amuse herself that she went\nto the bowery little opening; no, she hoped, on the contrary, that she\nmight once see her Pollux, his father, his mother, his bother Teuker or\nsome one else they knew pass by her new home. Then she might perhaps\nsucceed in calling them, in asking what had become of her friends, and in\nbegging them to let her lover know where to seek her.\n\nHer adoptive mother had twice found her at the window and had forbidden\nher, not unkindly but very positively, to look out into the street.\nArsinoe had followed her unresistingly into the interior of the house,\nbut as soon as she knew that Paulina was out or engaged, she slipped back\nto the window again and looked out for him, who must at every hour of the\nday be thinking of her. And she was not happy amid her new and wealthy\nsurroundings. At first she had found it very pleasant to stretch her\nlimbs on Paulina's soft cushions, not to stir a finger to help herself,\nto eat the best of food and to have neither to attend to the children nor\nto labor in the horrible papyrus-factory; but by the third day she pined\nfor liberty--and still more for the children, for Selene and Pollux. Once\nshe went out driving with Paulina in a covered carriage for the first\ntime in her life. As the horses started she had enjoyed the rapid\nmovement and had leaned out at one side to see the houses and men flying\npast her; but Paulina had regarded this as not correct--as she did so\nmany other things that she herself thought right and permissible--had\ndesired her to draw in her head, and had told her that a well-conducted\ngirl must sit with her eyes in her lap when out driving.\n\nPaulina was kind, never was irritable, had her dressed and waited upon\nlike her own daughter, kissed her in the morning and when she bid her\ngood-night; and yet Arsinoe had never once thought of Paulina's demand\nthat she should love her. The proud woman, who was so cool in all the\nfriendly relations of life, and who, as she felt was always watching her,\nwas to her only a stranger who had her in her power. The fairest\nsentiments of her soul she must always keep locked up from her.\n\nOnce, when Paulina, with tears in her eyes had spoken to her of her lost\ndaughter, Arsinoe had been softened and following the impulse of her\nheart, had confided to her that she loved Pollux the sculptor and hoped\nto be his wife.\n\n\"You love a maker of images!\" Paulina had exclaimed, with as much horror\nas if she had seen a toad; then she had paced uneasily up and down and\nhad added with her usual calm decision:\n\n\"No, no, my child! you will forget all this as soon as possible; I know\nof a nobler Bridegroom for you; when once you have learned to know Him\nyou will never long for any other. Have you seen one single image in this\nhouse?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Arsinoe, \"but so far as regards Pollux--\"\n\n\"Listen to me\" said the widow, \"have I not told you of our loving Father\nin Heaven? Have I not told you that the gods of the heathen are unreal\nbeings which the vain imaginings of fools have endowed with all the\nweaknesses and crimes of humanity? Can you not understand how silly it is\nto pray to stones? What power can reside in these frail figures of brass\nor marble?\n\n\"Idols we call them. He who carves them, serves them and offers sacrifice\nto them; aye and a great sacrifice, for he devotes his best powers, to\ntheir service. Do you understand me?\"\n\n\"No--Art is certainly a lofty thing, and Pollux is a good man, full of\nthe divinity as he works.\"\n\n\"Wait a while, only wait--you will soon learn to understand,\" Paulina had\nanswered, drawing Arsinoe towards her, and had added, at first speaking\ngently but then more sternly: \"Now go to bed and pray to your gracious\nFather in Heaven that he may enlighten your heart. You must forget the\ncarved image-maker, and I forbid you ever to speak in my presence again\nof such a man.\"\n\nArsinoe had grown up a heathen, she clung with affection to the gods of\nher fathers and hoped for happier days after the first bitterness of the\nloss of her father and the separation from her brothers and sisters was\npast. She was little disposed to sacrifice her young love and all her\nearthly happiness for spiritual advantages of which she scarcely\ncomprehended the value. Her father had always spoken of the Christians\nwith hatred and contempt. She now saw that they could be kind and\nhelpful, and the doctrine that there was a loving God in Heaven who cared\nfor all men as his children appealed to her soul; but that we ought to\nforgive our enemies, to remember our sins, and to repent of them, and to\nregard all the pleasure and amusement which the gay city of Alexandria\ncould offer as base and worthless--this was absurd and foolish.\n\nAnd what great sins had she committed? Could a loving God require of her\nthat she should mar all her best days because as a child she had pilfered\na cake or broken a pitcher; or, as she grew older had sometimes been\nobstinate or disobedient? Surely not. And then was an artist, a kind\nfaithful soul like her tall Pollux, to be odious in the eyes of God the\nFather of all, because he was able to make such wonderful things as that\nhead of her mother, for instance? If this really was so she would rather,\na thousand times rather, lift her hands in prayer to the smiling\nAphrodite, roguish Eros, beautiful Apollo, and all the nine Muses who\nprotected her Pollux, than to Him.\n\nAn obscure aversion rose up in her soul against the stern woman who could\nnot understand her, and of whose teaching and admonitions she scarcely\ntook in half; and she rejected many a word of the widow's which might\notherwise easily have found room in her heart, only because it was spoken\nby the cold-mannered woman who at every hour seemed to try to lay some\nfresh restraint upon her.\n\nPaulina had never yet taken her with her to of the Christian assemblies\nin her suburban villa; wished first to prepare her and to open her soul\nto salvation. In this task no teacher of the congregation should assist\nher. She, and she alone, should win to the Redeemer the soul of this fair\ncreature that had walked so resolutely in the ways of the heathen; this\nwas required of her as the condition of the covenant that she felt she\nhad made with Him, it was with the price of this labor that she hoped to\npurchase her own child's eternal happiness. Day after day she had Arsinoe\ninto her own room, that was decked with flowers and with Christian\nsymbols, and devoted several hours to her instruction. But her disciple\nproved less impressionable and less attentive every day; while Paulina\nwas speaking Arsinoe was thinking of Pollux, of the children, of the\nfestival prepared for the Emperor or of the beautiful dress she was to\nhave worn as Roxana. She wondered what young girl would fill her place,\nand how she could ever hope to see her lover again. And it was the same\nduring Paulina's prayers as during her instruction, prayers that often\nlasted more than hour, and which she had to attend, on her knees on\nWednesday and Friday, and with hands uplifted on all the other days of\nthe week.\n\nWhen her adoptive mother had discovered how often she looked out into the\nstreet she thought she had found out the reason of her pupil's distracted\nattention and only waited the return of her brother, the architect, in\norder to have the window blocked up.\n\nAs Pontius entered the lofty hall of his sister's house, Arsinoe came to\nmeet him. Her cheeks were flushed, she had hurried to fly down as fast as\npossible from her window to the ground floor, in order to speak to the\narchitect before he went into the inner rooms or had talked with his\nsister, and she looked lovelier than ever. Pontius gazed at her with\ndelight. He knew that he had seen this sweet face before, but he could\nnot at once remember where; for a face we have met with only incidentally\nis not easily recognized when we find it again where we do not expect it.\n\nArsinoe did not give him time to speak to her, for she went straight up\nto him, greeted him, and asked timidly:\n\n\"You do not remember who I am?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the architect, \"and yet--for the moment--\"\n\n\"I am the daughter of Keraunus, the palace-steward at Lochias, but you\nknow of course\"\n\n\"To be sure, to be sure! Arsinoe is your name; I was asking to-day after\nyour father and heard to my great regret--\"\n\n\"He is dead.\"\n\n\"Poor child! How everything has changed in the old palace since I went\naway. The gate-house is swept away, there is a new steward and there-but,\ntell me how came you here?\"\n\n\"My father left us nothing and Christians took its in. There were eight\nof us.\"\n\n\"And my sister shelters you all?\"\n\n\"No, no; one has been taken into one house and others into others. We\nshall never be together again.\" And as she spoke the tears ran down\nArsinoe's cheeks; but she promptly recovered herself, and before Pontius\ncould express his sympathy she went on:\n\n\"I want to ask of you a favor; let me speak before any one disturbs us.\"\n\n\"Speak, my child.\"\n\n\"You know Pollux--the sculptor Pollux?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\nAnd you were always kindly disposed toward him?\"\n\n\"He is a good man and an excellent artist.\"\n\n\"Aye that he is, and besides all that--may I tell you something and will\nyou stand by me?\"\n\n\"Gladly, so far as lies in my power.\"\n\nArsinoe looked down at the ground in charming and blushing confusion and\nsaid in a low tone:\n\n\"We love each other--I am to be his wife.\"\n\n\"Accept my best wishes.\"\n\n\"Ah, if only we had got as far as that! But since my father's death we\nhave not seen each other. I do not know where he and his parents are, and\nhow are they ever to find me here?\"\n\n\"Write to him.\"\n\n\"I cannot write well, and even if I could my messenger--\"\n\n\"Has my sister had any search made for him?\"\n\n\"No--oh, no. I may not even let his name pass my lips. She wants to give\nme to some one else; she says that making statues is hateful to the God\nof the Christians.\"\n\n\"Does she? And you want me to seek your lover?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my dear lord! and if you find him tell him I shall be alone\nto-morrow early, and again towards evening, every day indeed, for then\nyour sister goes to serve her God in her country house.\"\n\n\"So you want to make me a lover's go-between. You could not find a more\ninexperienced one.\"\n\n\"Ah! noble Pontius, if you have a heart--\"\n\n\"Let me speak to the end, child! I will seek your lover, and if I find\nhim he shall know where you are, but I cannot and will not invite him to\nan assignation here behind my sister's back. He shall come openly to\nPaulina and prefer his suit. If she refuses her consent I will try to\ntake the matter in hand with Paulina. Are you satisfied with this?\"\n\n\"I must need be. And tell me, you will let me know when you have found\nout where he and his parents have gone?\"\n\n\"That I promise you. And now tell the one thing. Are you happy in this\nhouse?\"\n\nArsinoe looked down in some embarrassment, then she hastily shook her\nhead in vehement negation and hurried away. Pontius looked after her with\ncompassion and sympathy.\n\n\"Poor, pretty little creature!\" he murmured to himself, and went on to\nhis sister's room.\n\nThe house-steward had announced his visit, and Paulina met him on the\nthreshold. In his sister's sitting-room the architect found Eumenes, the\nbishop, a dignified old man with clear, kind eyes.\n\n\"Your name is in everybody's mouth to-day,\" said Paulina, after the usual\ngreetings. They say you did wonders last night.\"\n\n\"I got home very tired,\" said Pontius, \"but as you so pressingly desired\nto speak to me, I shortened my hours of rest.\"\n\n\"How sorry I am!\" exclaimed the widow.\n\nThe bishop perceived that the brother and sister had business to discuss\ntogether, and asked whether he were not interrupting it.\n\n\"On the contrary,\" cried Paulina. \"The subject under discussion is my\nnewly-adopted daughter who, unhappily, has her head full of silly and\nuseless things. She tells me she has seen you at Lochias, Pontius.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know the pretty child.\"\n\n\"Yes, she is lovely to look upon,\" said the widow. \"But her heart and\nmind have been left wholly untrained, and in her the doctrine falls upon\nstony ground, for she avails herself of every unoccupied moment to stare\nat the horsemen and chariots that pass on the way to the Hippodrome. By\nthis inquisitive gaping she fills her head with a thousand useless and\ndistracting fancies; I am not always at home, and so it will be best to\nhave the pernicious window walled up.\"\n\n\"And did you send for me only to have that done?\" cried Pontius, much\nannoyed. \"Your house-slaves, I should think, might have been equal to\nthat without my assistance.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, but then the wall would have to be freshly whitewashed--I know\nhow obliging you always are.\" Thank you very much. To-morrow I will send\nyou two regular workmen.\"\n\n\"Nay, to-day, at once if possible.\"\n\n\"Are you in such pressing haste to spoil the poor child's amusement? And\nbesides I cannot but think that it is not to stare at the horsemen and\nchariots that she looks out, but to see her worthy lover.\"\n\n\"So much the worse. I was telling you, Eumenes, that a sculptor wants to\nmarry her.\"\n\n\"She is a heathen,\" replied the bishop.\n\n\"But on the road to salvation,\" answered Paulina. \"But we will speak of\nthat presently. There is still something else to discuss, Pontius. The\nhall of my country villa must be enlarged.\"\n\n\"Then send me the plans.\"\n\n\"They are in the book-room of my late husband.\" The architect left his\nsister to go into the library, which he knew well.\n\nAs soon as the bishop was left alone with Paulina, he shook his head and\nsaid:\n\n\"If I judge rightly, my dear sister, you are going the wrong way to work\nin leading this child intrusted to your care. Not all are called, and\nrebellious hearts must be led along the path of salvation with a gentle\nhand, not dragged and driven. Why do you cut off this girl, who still\nstands with both feet in the world, from all that can give her pleasure?\nAllow the young creature to enjoy every permitted pleasure which can add\nto the joys of life in youth. Do not hurt Arsinoe needlessly, do not let\nher feel the hand that guides her. First teach her to love you from her\nheart, and when she knows nothing dearer than you, a request from you\nwill be worth more than bolts or walled-up windows.\"\n\n\"At first I wished nothing more than that she should love me,\"\ninterrupted Paulina.\n\n\"But have you proved her? Do you see in her the spark which may be fanned\nto a flame? Have you detected in her the germ which may possibly grow to\na strong desire for salvation and to devotion to the Redeemer?\"\n\n\"That germ exists in every heart-these are your own words.\"\n\n\"But in many of the heathen it is deeply buried in sand and stories; and\ndo you feel yourself equal to clearing them away without injury to the\nseed or to the soil in which it lies?\"\n\n\"I do, and I will win Arsinoe to Jesus Christ,\" said Paulina firmly.\n\nPontius interrupted the conversation; he remained with his sister some\ntime longer discussing with her and with Eumenes the new building to be\ndone at her country house; then he and the bishop left at the same time\nand Pontius proceeded to the scene of the fire by the harbor and in the\nold palace.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nPontius did not find the Emperor at Lochias, for Hadrian had moved at\nmid-day to the Caesareum. The strong smell of burning in every room in\nthe palace had sickened him and he had begun to regard the restored\nbuilding as a doomed scene of disaster. The architect was waited for with\nmuch anxiety, for the rooms originally furnished for the Emperor in the\nCaesareum had been despoiled and disarranged to decorate the rooms at\nLochias, and Pontius was wanted to superintend their immediate\nrehabilitation. A chariot was waiting for him and there was no lack of\nslaves, so he began this fresh task at once and devoted himself to it\ntill late at night. It was in vain this time that his anteroom was filled\nwith people waiting for his return.\n\nHadrian had retired to some rooms which formed part of his wife's\napartments. He was in a grave mood, and when the prefect Titianus was\nannounced he kept him waiting till, with his own hand, he had laid a\nfresh dressing on his favorite's burns.\n\n\"Go now, my lord,\" begged the Bithynian, when the Emperor had finished\nhis task with all the skill of a surgeon: \"Titianus has been walking up\nand down in there for the last quarter of an hour.\"\n\n\"And so he may,\" said the monarch. \"And if the whole world is shrieking\nfor me it must wait till these faithful hands have had their due. Yes, my\nboy! we will wander on through life together, inseparable comrades.\nOthers indeed do the same, and each one who goes through life side by\nside with a companion sharing all he enjoys or suffers, comes to think at\nlast that he knows him as he knows himself; still the inmost core of his\nfriend's nature remains concealed from him. Then, some day Fate lets a\nstorm come raging down upon their; the last veil is torn, under the\nwanderer's eyes, from the very heart of his companion, and at last he\nreally sees him as he is, like a kernel stripped of its shell, a bare and\nnaked body. Last night such a blast swept over us and let me see the\nheart of my Antinous, as plainly as this hand I hold before my eyes. Yes,\nyes, yes! for the man who will risk his young and happy existence for a\nthing his friend holds precious would sacrifice ten lives if he had them,\nfor his friend's person. Never, my friend, shall that night be forgotten.\nIt gives you the right to do much that might pain me, and has graven your\nname on my heart, the foremost among those to whom I am indebted for any\nbenefit.--They are but few.\"\n\nHadrian held out his hand to Antinous as he spoke. The boy, who had kept\nhis eyes fixed on the ground in much confusion, raised it to his lips and\npressed it against them in violent agitation. Then he raised his large\neyes to the Emperor's and said:\n\n\"You must not speak to me so kindly, for I do not deserve such goodness.\nWhat is my life after all? I would let it go, as a child leaves go of a\nbeetle it has caught, to spare you one single anxious day.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" answered Hadrian firmly, and he went to the prefect in the\nadjoining room.\n\nTitianus had come in obedience to Hadrian's orders; the matter to be\nsettled was what indemnification was to be paid to the city and to the\nindividual owners of the storehouses that had been destroyed, for Hadrian\nhad caused a decree to be proclaimed that no one should suffer any loss\nthrough a misfortune sent by the gods and which had originated in his\nresidence. The prefect had already instituted the necessary inquiries and\nthe private secretaries, Phlegon, Heliodorus and Celer, were now charged\nwith the duty of addressing documents to the injured parties in which\nthey were invited, in the name of Caesar, to declare the truth as to the\namount of the loss they had suffered. Titianus also brought the\ninformation that the Greeks and Jews had determined to express their\nthankfulness for Caesar's preservation by great thank-offerings.\n\n\"And the Christians,\" asked Hadrian.\n\n\"They abominate the sacrifice of animals, but they will unite in a common\nact of thanksgiving.\"\n\n\"Their gratitude will not cost them much,\" said Hadrian.\n\n\"Their bishop, Eumenes, brought me a sum of money for which a hundred\noxen might be bought, to distribute among the poor. He said the God of\nthe Christians is a spirit and requires none but spiritual sacrifices;\nthat the best offering a man can bring him is a prayer prompted by the\nspirit and proceeding from a loving heart.\"\n\n\"That sounds very well for us,\" said Hadrian. \"But it will not do for the\npeople. Philosophical doctrines do not tend to piety; the populace need\nvisible gods and tangible sacrifices. Are the Christians here good\ncitizens and devoted to the welfare of the state?\"\n\n\"We need no courts of justice for them.\"\n\n\"Then take their money and distribute it among the needy; but I must\nforbid their meeting for a general thanksgiving; they may raise their\nhands to their great spirit in my behalf, in private. Their doctrine must\nnot be brought into publicity; it is not devoid of a delusive charm and\nit is indispensable to the safety of the state that the mob should remain\nfaithful to the old gods and sacrifices.\"\n\n\"As you command, Caesar.\"\n\n\"You know the account given of the Christians by Pliny and Trajan?\"\n\n\"And Trajan's answer.\"\n\n\"Well then let us leave them to follow their own devices in private after\ntheir own fashion; only they must not commit any breach of the laws of\nthe state nor force themselves into publicity. As soon as they show any\ndisposition to refuse to the old gods the respect that is due to them, or\nto raise a finger against them, severity must be exercised and every\nexcess must be punished by death.\"\n\nDuring this conversation Verus had entered the room; he was following the\nEmperor everywhere to-day for he hoped to hear him say a word as to his\nobservation of the heavens, and yet he did not dare to ask him what he\nhad discovered from them.\n\nWhen he saw that Hadrian was occupied he made a chamberlain conduct him\nto Antinous. The favorite turned pale as he saw the praetor, still he\nretained enough presence of mind to wish him all happiness on his\nbirthday. It did not escape Verus that his presence had startled the lad;\nhe therefore plied him at first with indifferent questions, introduced\npleasing anecdotes into his conversation and then, when he had gained his\npurpose, he added carelessly:\n\n\"I must thank you in the name of the state and of every friend of\nCaesar's. You carried out your undertaking well to the end, though by\nsomewhat overpowering means.\"\n\n\"I entreat you say no more,\" interrupted Antinous eagerly, and looking\nanxiously at the door of the next room.\n\n\"Oh! I would have sacrificed all Alexandria to preserve Caesar's mind\nfrom gloom and care. Besides we have both paid dearly for our good\nintentions and for those wretched sheds.\"\n\n\"Pray talk of something else.\"\n\n\"You sit there with your hands bound up and your hair singed, and I feel\nvery unwell.\"\n\n\"Hadrian said you had helped valiantly in the rescue.\"\n\n\"I was sorry for the poor rats whose gathered store of provisions the\nflames were so rapidly devouring, and all hot as I was from my supper, I\nflung myself in among the men who were extinguishing the fire. My first\nreward was a bath of cold, icy-cold sea-water, which was poured over my\nhead out of a full skin. All doctrines of ethics are in disgrace with me,\nand I have long considered all the dramatic poets, in whose pieces virtue\nis rewarded and crime punished, as a pack of fools; for my pleasantest\nhours are all due to my worst deeds; and sheer annoyance and misery, to\nmy best. No hyena can laugh more hoarsely that I now speak; some portion\nof me inside here, seems to have been turned into a hedgehog whose spines\nprick and hurt me, and all this because I allowed myself to be led away\ninto doing things which the moralists laud as virtuous.\"\n\n\"You cough, and you do not look well. He down awhile.\"\n\n\"On my birthday? No, my young friend. And now let me just ask you before\nI go: Can you tell me what Hadrian read in the stars?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Not even if I put my Perseus at your orders for every thing you may\nrequire of him? The man knows Alexandria and is as dumb as a fish.\"\n\n\"Not even then, for what I do not know I cannot tell. We are both of us\nill, and I tell you once more you will be wise to take care of yourself.\"\nVerus left the room, and Antinous watched him go with much relief.\n\nThe praetor's visit had filled him with disquietude, and had added to the\ndislike he felt for him. He knew that he had been used to base ends by\nVerus, for Hadrian had told him so much as that he had gone up to the\nobservatory not to question the stars for himself but to cast the\npraetor's horoscope, and that he had informed Verus of his intention.\n\nThere was no excuse, no forgiveness possible for the deed he had done; to\nplease that dissolute coxcomb, that mocking hypocrite, he had become a\ntraitor to his master and an incendiary, and must endure to be\noverwhelmed with praises and thanks by the greatest and most keen-sighted\nof men. He hated, he abhorred himself, and asked himself why the fire\nwhich had blazed around him had been satisfied only to inflict slight\ninjuries on his hands and hair. When Hadrian returned to him he asked his\npermission to go to bed. The Emperor gladly granted it, ordered Mastor to\nwatch by his side, and then agreed to his wife's request that he would\nvisit her.\n\nSabina had not been to the scene of the fire, but she had sent a\nmessenger every hour to inquire as to the progress of the conflagration\nand the well-being of her husband. When he had first arrived at the\nCaesareum she had met and welcomed him and then had retired to her own\napartments.\n\nIt wanted only two hours of midnight when Hadrian entered her room; he\nfound her reclining on a couch without the jewels she usually wore in the\ndaytime but dressed as for a banquet.\n\n\"You wished to speak with me?\" said the Emperor. \"Yes, and this day--so\nfull of remarkable events as it has been--has also a remarkable close\nsince I have not wished in vain.\"\n\n\"You so rarely give me the opportunity of gratifying a wish.\"\n\n\"And do you complain of that?\"\n\n\"I might--for instead of wishing you are wont to demand.\"\n\n\"Let us cease this strife of idle words.\"\n\n\"Willingly. With what object did you send for me?\"\n\n\"Verus is to-day keeping his birthday.\"\n\n\"And you would like to know what the stars promise him?\"\n\n\"Rather how the signs in the heavens have disposed you towards him.\"\n\n\"I had but little time to consider what I saw. But at any rate the stars\npromise him a brilliant future.\"\n\nA gleam of joy shone in Sabina's eyes, but she forced herself to keep\ncalm and asked, indifferently:\n\n\"You admit that, and yet you can come to no decision?\"\n\n\"Then you want to hear the decisive word spoken at once, to-day?\"\n\n\"You know that without my answering you.\"\n\n\"Well, then, his star outshines mine and compels me to be on my guard\nagainst him.\"\n\n\"How mean! You are afraid of the praetor?\"\n\n\"No, but of his fortune which is bound up with you?\"\n\n\"When he is our son his greatness will be ours.\"\n\n\"By no means, since if I make him what you wish him to be, he will\ncertainly try to make our greatness his. Destiny--\"\n\n\"You said it favored him; but unfortunately I must dispute the\nstatement.\"\n\n\"You? Do you try too, to read the stars?\"\n\n\"No, I leave that to men. Have you heard of Ammonius, the astrologer?\"\n\n\"Yes. A very learned man who observes from the tower of the Serapeum, and\nwho, like many of his fellows in this city has made use of his art to\naccumulate a large fortune.\"\n\n\"No less a man than the astronomer Claudius Ptolemaeus referred me to\nhim.\"\n\n\"The best of recommendation.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I commissioned Ammonius to cast the horoscope for Verus\nduring the past night and he brought it to me with an explanatory key.\nHere it is.\"\n\nThe Emperor hastily seized the tablet which Sabina held out to him, and\nas he attentively examined the forecasts, arranged in order according to\nthe hours, he said:\n\n\"Quite right. That of course did not escape me! Well done, exactly the\nsame as my own observations--but here--stay--here comes the third hour,\nat the beginning of which I was interrupted. Eternal gods! what have we\nhere?\"\n\nThe Emperor held the wax tablet prepared by Aminonius at arm's length\nfrom his eyes and never parted his lips again till he had come to the end\nof the last hour of the night. Then he dropped the hand that held the\nhoroscope, saying with a shudder:\n\n\"A hideous destiny. Horace was right in saying the highest towers fall\nwith the greatest crash.\"\n\n\"The tower of which you speak,\" said Sabina, \"is that darling of fortune\nof whom you are afraid. Vouchsafe then to Verus a brief space of\nhappiness before the horrible end you foresee for him.\"\n\nWhile she spoke Hadrian sat with his eyes thoughtfully fixed on the\nground, and then, standing in front of his wife, he replied:\n\n\"If no sinister catastrophe falls upon this man, the stars and the fate\nof men have no more to do with one another than the sea with the heart of\nthe desert, than the throb of men's pulses with the pebbles in the brook.\nIf Ammonius has erred ten times over still more than ten signs remain on\nthis tablet, hostile and fatal to the praetor. I grieve for Verus--but\nthe state suffers with the sovereign's misfortunes.--This man can never\nbe my successor.\"\n\n\"No?\" asked Sabina rising from her couch. \"No? Not when you have seen\nthat your own star outlives his? Not though a glance at this tablet shows\nyou that when he is nothing but ashes the world will still continue long\nto obey your nod?\"\n\n\"Compose yourself and give me time.--Yes, I still say not even so.\"\n\n\"Not even so,\" repeated Sabina sullenly. Then, collecting herself, she\nasked in a tone of vehement entreaty:\n\n\"Not even so--not even if I lift my hands to you in supplication and cry\nin your face that you and Fate have grudged me the blessing, the\nhappiness, the crown and aim of a woman's life, and I must and I will\nattain it; I must and I will once, if only for a short time, hear myself\ncalled by some dear lips by the name which gives the veriest beggar-woman\nwith her infant in her arms preeminence above the Empress who has never\nstood by a child's cradle. I must and I will, before I die, be a mother,\nbe called mother and be able to say, 'my child, my son--our son.'\" And as\nshe spoke she sobbed aloud and covered her face with her hands.\n\nThe Emperor drew back a step from his wife. A miracle had been wrought\nbefore his eyes. Sabina--in whose eyes no tear had ever been seen--Sabina\nwas weeping, Sabina had a heart like other women. Greatly astonished and\ndeeply moved he saw her turn from him, utterly shaken by the agitation of\nher feelings, and sink on her knees by the side of the couch she had\nquitted to hide her face in the cushions. He stood motionless by her\nside, but presently going nearer to her:\n\n\"Stand up, Sabina,\" he said. \"Your desire is a just one. You shall have\nthe son for whom your soul longs.\"\n\nThe Empress rose and a grateful look in her eyes, swimming in tears, met\nhis glance. Sabina could smile too, she could look sweet! It had taken a\nlifetime, it had needed such a moment as this to reveal it to Hadrian.\n\nHe silently drew a seat towards her and sat down by her side; for some\ntime he sat with her hand clasped in his, in silence. Then he let it go\nand said kindly:\n\n\"And will Verus fulfil all you expect of a son?\" She nodded assent.\n\n\"What makes you so confident of that?\" asked the Emperor. \"He is a Roman\nand not lacking in brilliant and estimable gifts. A man who shows such\nmettle alike in the field and in the council-chamber and yet can play the\npart of Eros with such success will also know how to wear the purple\nwithout disgracing it. But he has his mother's light blood, and his heart\nflutters hither and thither.\"\n\n\"Let him be as he is. We understand each other and he is the only man on\nwhose disposition I can build, on whose fidelity I can count as securely\nas if he were my favorite son.\"\n\n\"And on what facts is this confidence based?\"\n\n\"You will understand me, for you are not blind to the signs which Fate\nvouchsafes to us. Have you time to listen to a short story?\"\n\n\"The night is yet young.\"\n\n\"Then I will tell you. Forgive me if I begin with things that seem dead\nand gone; but they are not, for they live and work in me to this hour. I\nknow that you yourself did not choose me for your wife. Plotina chose me\nfor you--she loved you, whether your regard for her was for the beautiful\nwoman or for the wife of Caesar to whom everything belonged that you had\nto look for--how should I know?\"\n\n\"It was Plotina, the woman, that I honored and loved--\"\n\n\"In choosing me she chose you a wife who was tall and so fitted to wear\nthe purple, but who was never beautiful. She knew me well and she knew\nthat I was less apt than any other woman to win hearts; in my parents'\nhouse no child ever enjoyed so slender a share of the gifts of love, and\nnone can know better than you that my husband did not spoil me with\ntenderness.\"\n\n\"I could repent of it at this moment.\"\n\n\"It would be too late now. But I will not be bitter--no, indeed I will\nnot. And yet if you are to understand me I must own that so long as I was\nyoung I longed bitterly for the love which no one offered me.\"\n\n\"And you yourself have never loved?\"\n\n\"No--but it pained me that I could not. In Plotina's apartments I often\nsaw the children of her relations, and many a time I tried to attract\nthem to me, but while they would play confidently with other women they\nseemed to shun me. Soon I even grew cross to them--only our Verus, the\nlittle son of Celonius Commodus, would give me frank answers when I spoke\nto him, and would bring me his broken toys that I might mend their\ninjuries. And so I got to love the child.\"\n\n\"He was a wonderfully sweet, attractive boy.\"\n\n\"He was indeed. One day we women were all sitting together in Caesar's\ngarden. Verus came running out with a particularly fine apple that Trajan\nhimself had given him. The rosy-cheeked fruit was admired by every one.\nThen Plotina, in fun took the apple out of the boy's hand and asked him\nif he would not give his apple to her. He looked at her with wide-open\npuzzled eyes, shook his curly head, ran up to me and gave me--yes, me,\nand no one else--the fruit, throwing his arms round my neck and saying,\n'Sabina you shall have it.'\"\n\n\"The judgment of Paris.\"\n\n\"Nay, do not jest now. This action of an unselfish child gave me courage\nto endure the troubles of life. I knew now that there was one creature\nthat loved me, and that one repaid all that I felt for him, all that I\nwas never weary of doing for him with affectionate liking. He is the only\nbeing, of whom I know, that will weep when I die. Give him the right to\ncall me his mother and make him our son.\"\n\n\"He is our son,\" said Hadrian, with dignified gravity, and held out his\nhand to Sabina. She tried to lift it to her lips but he drew it away and\nwent on:\n\n\"Inform him that we accept him as our son. His wife is the daughter of\nNigrinus--who had to go, as I desired to stay and stand firm. You do not\nlove Lucilla, but we must both admire her for I do not know another woman\nin Rome whose virtue a man might vouch for. Besides, I owe her a father,\nand am glad to have such a daughter; thus we shall be blessed with\nchildren. Whether I shall appoint Verus my successor and proclaim to the\nworld who shall be its future ruler I cannot now decide; for that I need\na calmer hour. Till to-morrow, Sabina. This day began with a misfortune;\nmay the deed with which we have combined to end it prosper and bring us\nhappiness.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nThere are often fine warm days in February, but those who fancy the\nspring has come find themselves deceived. The bitter, hard Sabina could\nat times let soft and tender emotions get the mastery over her, but as\nsoon as the longing of her languishing soul for maternal happiness was\ngratified, she closed her heart again and extinguished the fire that had\nwarmed it. Every one who approached her, even her husband, felt himself\nchilled and repelled again by her manner.\n\nVerus was ill. The first symptoms of a liver complaint which his\nphysicians had warned him might ensue, if he, an European, persisted in\nhis dissipated life at Alexandria as if it were Rome, now began to\noccasion him many uneasy hours, and this, the first physical pain that\nfate had ever inflicted on him, he bore with the utmost impatience. Even\nthe great news which Sabina brought him, realizing his boldest\naspirations, had no power to reconcile him to the new sensation of being\nill. He learnt, at the same time, that Hadrian's alarm at the\ntranscendent brightness of his star had nearly cost him his adoption, and\nas he firmly believed that he had brought on his sufferings by his\nefforts to extinguish the fire that Antinous had kindled, he bitterly\nrued his treacherous interference with the Emperor's calculations. Men\nare always ready to cast any burden, and especially that of a fault they\nhave committed, on to the shoulders of another; and so the suffering\npraetor cursed Antinous and the learning of Simeon Ben Jochai, because,\nif it had not been for them the mischievous folly which had spoilt his\npleasure in life would never have been committed.\n\nHadrian had requested the Alexandrians to postpone the theatrical\ndisplays and processions that they had prepared for him, as his\nobservations as to the course of destiny during the coming year were not\nyet complete. Every evening he ascended the lofty observatory of the\nSerapeum and gazed from thence at the stars. His labors ended on the\ntenth of January; on the eleventh the festivities began. They lasted\nthrough many days, and by the desire of the praetor the pretty daughter\nof Apollodorus the Jew was chosen to represent Roxana. Everything that\nthe Alexandrians had prepared to do honor to their sovereign was\nmagnificent and costly. So many ships had never before been engaged in\nany Naumachia as were destroyed here in the sham sea-fight, no greater\nnumber of wild beasts had ever been seen together on any occasion even in\nthe Roman Circus; and how bloody were the fights of the gladiators, in\nwhich black and white combatants afforded a varied excitement for both\nheart and senses. In the processions, the different elements which were\nsupplied by the great central metropolis of Egyptian, Greek and Oriental\nculture afforded such a variety of food for the eye that, in spite of\ntheir interminable length, the effect was less fatiguing than the Romans\nhad feared. The performances of the tragedies and comedies were equally\nrich in startling effects; conflagrations and floods were introduced and\ngave the Alexandrian actors the opportunity of displaying their talents\nwith such brilliant success that Hadrian and his companions were forced\nto acknowledge that even in Rome and Athens they had never witnessed any\nrepresentations equally perfect.\n\nA piece by the Jewish author Ezekiel who, under the Ptolemies, wrote\ndramas in the Greek language of which the subject was taken from the\nhistory of his own people, particularly claimed the Emperor's attention.\n\nTitianus during all this festive season was unluckily suffering from an\nattack of old-standing breathlessness, and he also had his hands full; at\nthe same time he did his best in helping Pontius in seeking out the\nsculptor Pollux. Both men did their utmost, but though they soon were\nable to find Euphorion and dame Doris, every trace of their son had\nvanished. Papias, the former employer of the man who had disappeared, was\nno longer in the city, having been sent by Hadrian to Italy to execute\ncentaurs and other figures to decorate his villa at Tibur. His wife who\nremained at home, declared that she knew nothing of Pollux but that he\nhad abruptly quitted her husband's service. The unfortunate man's\nfellow-workmen could give no news of him whatever, for not one of them\nhad been present when he was seized; Papias had had foresight enough to\nhave the man he dreaded placed in security without the presence of any\nwitnesses. Neither the prefect nor the architect thought of seeking the\nworthy fellow in prison, and even if they had done so they would hardly\nhave found him, for Pollux was not kept in durance in Alexandria itself.\nThe prisons of the city had overflowed after the night of the holiday and\nhe had been transferred to Canopus and there detained and brought up for\ntrial.\n\nPollux had unhesitatingly owned to having taken the silver quiver and to\nhaving been very angry at his master's accusation. Thus he produced from\nthe first an unfavorable impression on the judge, who esteemed Papias as\na wealthy man, universally respected. The accused had hardly been allowed\nto speak at all and judgment was immediately pronounced against him, on\nthe strength of his master's accusation and his own admissions. It would\nhave been sheer waste of time to listen to the romances with which this\naudacious rascal--who forgot all the respect he owed to his teacher and\nbenefactor--wanted to cram the judges. Two years of reflection, the\nprotectors of the law deemed, might suffice to teach this dangerous\nfellow to respect the property of others and to keep him from outbreaks\nagainst those to whom he owed gratitude and reverence.\n\nPollux, safe in the prison at Canopus, cursed his destiny and indulged in\nvain hopes of the assistance of his friends. These were at last weary of\nthe vain search and only asked about him occasionally. He at first was so\ninsubordinate under restraint that he was put under close ward from which\nhe was not released until, instead of raging with fury he dreamed away\nhis days in sullen brooding. The gaoler knew men well, and he thought he\ncould safely predict that at the end of his two years' imprisonment this\nyoung thief would quit his cell a harmless imbecile.\n\nTitianus, Pontius, Balbilla and even Antinous had all attempted to speak\nof him to the Emperor, but each was sharply repulsed and taught that\nHadrian was little inclined to pardon a wound to his artist's vanity. But\nthe sovereign also proved that he had a good memory for benefits he had\nreceived, for once, when a dish was set before him consisting of cabbage\nand small sausages he smiled, and taking out his purse filled with gold\npieces, he ordered a chamberlain to take it in his name to Doris, the\nwife of the evicted gate-keeper. The old couple now resided in a little\nhouse of their own in the neighborhood of their widowed daughter Diotima.\nHunger and external misery came not nigh them, still they had experienced\na great change. Poor Doris' eyes were now red and bloodshot, for they\nwere accustomed to many tears, which were seldom far off and overflowed\nwhenever a word, an object, a thought reminded her of Pollux, her\ndarling, her pride and her hope; and there were few half-hours in the day\nwhen she did not think of him.\n\nSoon after the steward's death she had sought out Selene, but dame Hannah\ncould not and would not conduct her to see the sick girl, for she learnt\nfrom Mary that she was the mother of her patient's faithless lover; and\non a second visit Selene was so shy, so timid and so strange in her\ndemeanor, that the old woman was forced to conclude that her visit was an\nunpleasant intrusion.\n\nAnd from Arsinoe, whose residence she discovered from the deaconess, she\nmet with even a worse reception. She had herself announced as the mother\nof Pollux the sculptor and was abruptly refused admission, with the\ninformation that Arsinoe was not to be spoken with by her and that her\nvisits were, once for all, prohibited. After the architect Pontius had\nbeen to seek her out and had encouraged her to make another attempt to\nsee and speak to Arsinoe, who clung faithfully to Pollux, Paulina herself\nhad received her and sent her away with such repellent words that she\nwent home to her husband deeply insulted and distressed to tears. Nor had\nshe resisted Euphorion's decision when he prohibited her ever again\ncrossing the Christian's threshold.\n\nThe Emperor's donation had been most welcome and timely to the poor old\ncouple, for Euphorion had completely lost the softness of his voice as\nwell as his memory through the agitations and troubles of the last few\nmonths; he had been dismissed from the chorus of the theatre and could\nonly find employment and very small pay of a few drachmae, in the\nmysteries of certain petty sectarians or in singing at weddings or in\nhymns of lamentation. At the same time the old folks had to maintain\ntheir daughter whom Pollux could no longer provide for, and the birds,\nthe Graces and the cat all must eat. That it would be possible to get rid\nof them was an idea which never occurred to either Euphorion or Doris.\n\nBy day the old folks had ceased to laugh; but at night they still had\nmany cheerful hours, for then Hope would beguile them with bright\npictures of the future, and tell them all sorts of possible and\nimpossible romances which filled their souls with fresh courage. How\noften they would see Pollux returning from the distant city whither he\nhad probably fled-from Rome, or even from Athens--crowned with laurels\nand rich in treasure. The Emperor, who still so kindly remembered them,\ncould not always be angry with him; perhaps he might some day send a\nmessenger to seek Pollux and to make up to him by large commissions for\nall he had made him suffer. That her darling was alive she was sure; in\nthat she could not be mistaken, often as Euphorion tried to persuade her\nthat he must be dead. The singer could tell many tales of luckless men\nwho had been murdered and never seen or heard of again; but she was not\nto be convinced, she persisted in hope, and lived wholly in the purpose\nof sending her younger son, Teuker, on his travels to seek his lost\nbrother as soon as his apprenticeship was over, which would be in a few\nmonths.\n\nAntinous, whose burnt hands had soon got well under the Emperor's care,\nand who had never felt a liking and friendship for any other young man\nbut Pollux, lamented the artist's disappearance and wished much to seek\nout dame Doris; but he found it harder than ever to leave his master, and\nwas so eager always to be at hand that Hadrian often laughingly\nreproached him with making his slaves' duties too light.\n\nWhen at last he really was master of an hour to himself he postponed his\nintention of seeing his friend's parents; for with him there was always a\nwide world between the purpose and the deed which he never could\noverleap, if not urged by some strong impulse; and his most pressing\ninstincts prompted him, when the Emperor was disputing in the Museum or\nreceiving instructions from the chiefs of the different religious\ncommunities as to the doctrines they severally professed, to visit the\nsuburban villa where, when February had already begun, Selene was still\nliving. He had often succeeded in stealing into Paulina's garden, but he\ncould not at first realize his hope of being observed by Selene of\nobtaining speech with her. Whenever he went near Hannah's little house,\nMary, the deformed girl, would come in his way, tell him how her friend\nwas, and beg or desire him to go away. She was always with the sick girl,\nfor now her mother was nursed by her sister, and dame Hannah had obtained\npermission for her to work at home in gumming the papyrus-strips\ntogether.\n\nThe widow herself was obliged to be at her post in the factory, for her\nduties as overseer made her presence indispensable in the work-room.\n\nThus it came to pass that it was always by Mary and never by Hannah that\nAntinous was received and dismissed. A certain understanding had arisen\nbetween the beautiful youth and the deformed girl. When Antinous appeared\nand she called out to him: \"What, again already!\" he would grasp her hand\nand implore her only once to grant his wish; but she was always firm,\nonly she never sent him away sternly but with smiles and friendly\nadmonitions. When he brought rare and lovely flowers in his pallium and\nentreated her to give them to Selene in the name of her friend at\nLochias, she would take them and promise to place them in her room; but\nshe always said it would do neither him nor her any good at all that\nSelene should know from whom they came. After such repulses he well knew\nhow to flatter and coax her with appealing words, but he had never dared\nto defy her or to gain his end by force. When the flowers were placed in\nthe room Mary looked at them much oftener than Selene did, and when\nAntinous had been long absent the deformed girl longed to see him again,\nand would pace restlessly up and down between the garden gate and her\nfriend's little house. She, like him, dreamed of an angel, and the angel\nof whom she dreamed was exactly like himself. In all her prayers she\nincluded the name of the handsome heathen and a soft tenderness in which\na gentle pity was often infused, a grief for his unredeemed soul, was\ninseparable from all her thoughts of him.\n\nHannah was informed by her of each of the young man's visits, and as\noften as Mary mentioned Antinous the deaconess seemed anxious and desired\nher to threaten to call the gate-keeper to him. The widow knew full well\nwho her patient's indefatigable admirer was, for she had once heard him\nspeaking to Mastor, and she had asked the slave, who availed himself of\nevery spare moment to attend the services of the Christians, who the lad\nwas. All Alexandria, nay all the Empire, knew the name of the most\nbeautiful youth of his time, the spoilt favorite of Caesar. Even Hannah\nhad heard of him and knew that poets sang his praises and heathen women\nwere eager to obtain a glance from his eyes. She knew how devoid of all\nmorality were the lives of the nobles at Rome, and Antinous appeared to\nher as a splendid falcon that wheels above a dove to swoop down upon it\nat a favorable moment and to tear it in its beak and talons. Hannah also\nknew that Selene was acquainted with Antinous, that it was he who had\nformerly rescued her from the big dog and afterward saved her from the\nwater; but that Selene, who was now recovering, did not know who her\npreserver had been on this second occasion was clear from all that she\nsaid.\n\nTowards the end of February Antinous had come on three days in\nsuccession, and Hannah now took the step of begging the bishop, Eumenes,\nto give the gate keeper strict injunctions to look out for the young man\nand to forbid his entering the garden, even with force if it should prove\nnecessary.\n\nBut \"love laughs at locksmiths\" and finds its way through locked doors,\nand Antinous succeeded all the same in finding his way into Paulina's\ngarden. On one of these occasions he was so happy to surprise Selene, as,\nsupported on a stick and accompanied by a fair-haired boy and dame Hannah\nherself, she hobbled up and down.\n\nAntinous had learnt to regard everything crippled or defective with\naversion, as a monstrous failure of nature's plastic harmony, but to pity\nit tenderly; but now he felt quite differently. Mary with her humpback\nhad at first horrified him; now he was always glad to see her though she\nalways crossed his wishes; and poor lame Selene, who had been mocked at\nby the street boys as she limped along, seemed to him more adorable than\never. How lovely were her face and form, how peculiar her way of\nwalking--she did not limp--no, she swayed along the garden. Thus, as he\nsaid to himself afterwards, the Nereids are borne along on the undulating\nwaves. Love is easily satisfied, nor is this strange, for it raises all\nthat comes within its embrace to a loftier level of existence. In the\nlight of love weakness is a virtue and want an additional charm.\n\nBut the Bithynian's visits were not the widow's only cares; though she\nbore the others, it is true, not anxiously but with pleasure. Her\nhousehold had increased by two living souls, and her income was very\nsmall. That her patient might not want, she had to work with her own\nhands while she superintended the girls in the factory, and to carry home\nwith her in the evening papyrus-leaves, not only for Mary, but for\nherself too, and to glue them together during the long hours of the\nnight. As soon as Selene's condition improved, she too helped willingly\nand diligently, but for many weeks the convalescent had to give up every\nkind of employment.\n\nMary often looked at Hannah in silent trouble, for she looked very pale.\nAfter she had, on one occasion fallen in a fainting fit, the deformed\ngirl had gathered courage and had represented to her that though she\nought indeed to put out at interest the talent intrusted to her by the\nLord, she ought not to spend it recklessly. She was giving herself no\nrest, working day and night; visiting the poor and sick in her hours of\nrecreation just as she used, and if she did not give herself more rest\nwould soon need nursing instead of nursing others.\n\n\"At any rate,\" urged Mary, \"give yourself a little indispensable sleep at\nnight.\"\n\n\"We must live,\" replied Hannah, \"and I dare not borrow, for I may never\nbe able to repay.\"\n\n\"Then beg Paulina to remit your house-rent; she will do so gladly.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Hannah, decidedly. \"The rent of this little house goes to\nbenefit my poor people, and you know how badly they want it. What we give\nwe lend to the Lord, and he taxes no man above his ability.\"\n\nSelene was now well, but the physician had said that no human skill could\never cure her of her lameness. She had become Hannah's daughter, and\nblind Helios the son of the house.\n\nArsinoe was only allowed to see her sister rarely and always accompanied\nby her protectress, and she and Selene never were able to have any\nunchecked and open conversation. The steward's eldest daughter was now\ncontented and cheerful, while the younger was not only saddened by the\ndisappearance of her lover, but also, from being unhappy in her new home,\nshe had become fractious and easily moved to shed tears. All was well\nwith the younger orphans; they were often taken to see Selene, and spoke\nwith affection of their new parents.\n\nAs she got well her help diminished the strain on her two friends, and in\nthe beginning of March a call came to the widow which, if she followed\nit, must give their simple existence a new aspect.\n\nIn Upper Egypt certain Christian fraternities had been established, and\none of these had addressed a prayer to the great mother-community at\nAlexandria, that it would send to them a presbyter, a deacon and a\ndeaconess capable of organizing and guiding the believers and catechumens\nin the province of Hermopolis where they were already numbered by\nthousands. The life of the community and the care of the poor, and sick\nin the outlying districts required organization by experienced hands, and\nHannah had been asked whether she could make up her mind to leave the\nmetropolis and carry on the work of benevolence at Besa in an extended\nsphere.\n\nShe would there have a pleasant house, a palm-garden, and gifts from the\ncongregation which would secure not merely her own maintenance, but that\nof her adopted children.\n\nHannah was bound to Alexandria by many ties; in the first place she clung\nto the poor and sick, many of whom had grown very dear to her, and how\nmany girls who had gone astray had she rescued from evil in the factory\nalone! She begged for a short time for reflection, and this was granted\nto her. By the fifteenth of March she was to decide, but by the fifth she\nhad already made up her mind, for while Hannah was in the papyrus-factory\nAntinous had succeeded in getting into Paulina's garden shortly before\nsunset and in stealing close up to Hannah's house. Mary again observed\nhim as he approached and signed to him to go, in her usual pleasant way;\nbut the Bithynian was more excited than usual; he seized her hand and\nclasped her with urgent warmth as he implored her to be merciful. She\nendeavored at once to free herself, but he would not let her go, but\ncried in coaxing tones:\n\n\"I must see her and speak to her to-day, dear, good Mary, only this\nonce!\" And before she could prevent it he had kissed her forehead and had\nflown into the house to Selene. The little hunchback did not know what\nhad happened to her; confused and almost paralyzed by conflicting\nfeelings she stood shame-faced, gazing at the ground. She felt that\nsomething quite extraordinary had happened to her, but this wonderful\nsomething radiated a dazzling splendor, and since this had risen for her,\nfor poor Mary, a feeling of pride quite new to her mingled with the shame\nand indignation that filled her soul. She needed a few minutes to collect\nherself and to recover a sense of her duty, and those few minutes were\nmade good use of by Antinous.\n\nHe flew with long steps into the room in which, on that\nnever-to-be-forgotten night, he had laid Selene on the couch, and even at\nthe threshold he called her by her name. She started and laid aside the\nbook out of which she was reading to her blind brother. He called a\nsecond time, beseechingly. Selene recognized him and asked calmly:\n\n\"Do you want me, or dame Hannah?\"\n\n\"You, you!\" he cried passionately. \"Oh Selene, I pulled you out of the\nwater, and since that night I have never ceased to think of you and I\nmust die for love of you. Have your thoughts never, never met mine on the\nway to you? Are you still and always as cold, as passive as you were then\nwhen you belonged half to life and half to death? For months have I\nprowled round this house as the shade of a dead man haunts the spot where\nhe had left all that was dear to him on earth, and I have never been able\nto tell you what I feel for you?\" As he spoke the lad fell on the ground\nbefore her and tried to clasp her knees; but she said reproachfully:\n\n\"What does all this mean? Stand up and compose yourself.\"\n\n\"Oh! let me, let me--\" he besought her. \"Do not be so cold and so hard;\nhave pity on me and do not reject me!\"\n\n\"Stand up,\" repeated the girl. \"I will certainly not reproach you--I owe\nyou thanks on the contrary.\"\n\n\"Not thanks, but love--a little love is all I ask.\"\n\n\"I try to love all men,\" replied the girl, \"and so I love you because you\nhave shown me very much kindness.\"\n\n\"Selene, Selene!\" he exclaimed in joyful triumph. He threw himself again\nat her feet and passionately seized her right hand; but hardly had he\ntaken it in his own when Mary, scarlet with agitation, rushed into the\nroom. In a husky voice, full of hatred and fury, she commanded him to\nleave the house at once, and when he attempted again to besiege her ear\nwith entreaties she cried out:\n\n\"If you do not obey I will call the men in to help us, who are out there\nattending to the flowers. I ask you, will you obey or will you not?\"\n\n\"Why are you so cruel, Mary?\" asked the blind boy. \"This man is good and\nkind and tells Selene he loves her.\"\n\nAntinous pointed to the child with an imploring gesture but Mary was\nalready by the window and was raising her hand to her mouth to make her\ncall heard.\n\n\"Don't, don't,\" cried Antinous. \"I am going at once.\"\n\nAnd he went slowly and silently towards the door, still gazing at Selene\nwith passionate ardor; then he quitted the room groaning with shame and\ndisappointment, though still with a look of radiant pride as though he\nhad achieved some great deed. In the garden he was met by Hannah, who\nimmediately hastened with accelerated steps to her own house where she\nfound Mary sobbing violently and dissolved in tears.\n\nThe widow was soon informed of all that had occurred in her absence, and\nan hour later she had announced to the bishop that she would accept the\ncall to Besa and was ready to start for Upper Egypt.\n\n\"With your foster-children?\" asked Eumenes.\n\n\"Yes. It was indeed Selene's most earnest wish to be baptized by you, but\nas a year of probation is required--\"\n\n\"I will perform the rite to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"To-morrow, Father?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sister, in all confidence. She buried the old man in the waves of\nthe sea, and before we were her teachers she had gone through the school\nand discipline of life. While she was yet a heathen she had taken up her\ncross and proved herself as faithful as though she were a child of the\nLord. All that was lacking to her--Faith, Love and Hope--she has found\nunder your roof. I thank thee for this soul thou hast found Sister, in\nthe name of the Lord.\"\n\n\"Not I, not I,\" said the widow. \"Her heart was frozen, but it is not I\nbut the innocent faith of the blind child that has melted it.\"\n\n\"She owes her salvation to him and to you,\" replied the bishop, \"and they\nboth shall be baptized together. We will give the lovely boy the name of\nthe fairest of the disciples, and call him John. Selene for the future,\nif she herself likes it, shall be known as Martha.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     If one only knew who it is all for\n     Love laughs at locksmiths\n     Wide world between the purpose and the deed\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 10.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nSelene and Helios were baptized, and two days after dame Hannah with her\nadopted children and Mary, escorted by the presbyter Hilarion and a\ndeacon, embarked in the harbor of Mareotis on board a Nile-boat which was\nto convey them to their new home, the town of Besa in Upper Egypt. The\ndeformed girl had hesitated as to her answer to the widow's question\nwhether she would accompany her. Her old mother dwelt in Alexandria, and\nthen--but it was this \"then\" which helped her abruptly to cut short all\nreflection and to pronounce a decided \"yes,\" for it referred to Antinous.\n\nFor a few minutes it had seemed unendurable to think that she should\nnever see him again, for she could not help often thinking of the\nbeautiful youth, and her whole heart ought to belong solely to the One\nwho had with His blood purchased peace for her on earth and bliss in the\nworld to come.\n\nThe day after being baptized, Selene had gone to Paulina's town-house,\nand there, with many tears had taken leave of Arsinoe. All the affection\nwhich bound the sisters together found expression at this moment of\nparting. Selene had heard from Paulina that Pollux was dead, and she no\nlonger grudged her rival sister that she grieved for him more\npassionately than herself, though at first her peace of mind had more\nthan once been disturbed by memories of her old playfellow.\n\nShe felt it hard to leave Alexandria, where most of her brothers and\nsisters were left behind, and yet she rejoiced to think of a distant\nhome, for she was no longer the same creature that she had been a few\nmonths since, and she longed for a remote scene of a new and sanctified\nlife.\n\nEumenes and Hannah were in the right. It was not the widow but the little\nblind boy who had won her to Christianity. The child's influence had\nproceeded in a strange course. In the first instance the promises of the\nslave Master that Helios should some day meet his father again in a\nshining realm among beautiful angels had a powerful effect on the blind\nchild's tender heart and vivid imagination. In Hannah's house his hopes\nhad received fresh nurture, and Mary and the widow told him much about\ntheir kind and loving God and His Son who loved children and had invited\nthem to come to Him. When Selene began to recover and he was permitted to\ntalk to her he poured out to her all his delight at what he had heard\nfrom the women. At first, to be sure, his sister took no pleasure in\nthese fanciful fables and tried to shake his belief and lead back his\nheart to the old gods. But while she tried to guide the child, by degrees\nshe felt compelled to follow in his path; at first with wavering steps,\nbut dame Hannah helped her by her example and with many words of good\ncounsel. She only taught her doctrine when the girl asked her questions\nand begged for information. All that here surrounded Selene breathed of\nlove and peace, and the child felt this, spoke of it, forced her to\nacknowledge it, and, in his own person, was the first object on which to\nexercise a wish hitherto unknown to her, to be herself loving and\nlovable. The boy's firm faith, which was not to be shaken by any\nreasoning or by any of the myths which she knew, touched her deeply and\nled to her asking Hannah what was the real bearing of one and another of\nhis statements. It had always seemed a comfort to her that the miseries\nof our earthly life would come to an end with death; but Helios left her\nwithout a reply when he said in a sad voice:\n\n\"Do you feel no longing, then, to see our father and mother again?\"\n\nTo see her mother again! This thought gave her an interest in the next\nworld, and dame Hannah fanned the spark of hope in her soul into flame.\n\nSelene had seen and suffered much misery, and was accustomed to call the\ngods cruel. Helios told her that God and the Saviour were good and kind,\nand loved human beings as their children.\n\n\"Is it not good and kind,\" asked he, \"of our Heavenly Father to lead us\nto dame Hannah?\"\n\n\"Yes, but we have all been torn apart,\" said Selene. \"Never mind,\" said\nthe child confidently, \"we shall all meet in Heaven.\"\n\nAs she got well Selene asked after each of the children and Hannah\ndescribed all the families into which they had been received. The widow\ndid not look as if she spoke falsely, and the little ones, when they came\nto see her, confirmed her report, and yet Selene could hardly believe in\nthe accuracy of the pictures drawn of their lives in the houses of the\nChristians.\n\nThe mother of a Christian family--says a great Christian teacher--should\nbe the pride of her children, the wife the pride of her husband, husband\nand children the pride of the wife, and God the pride and glory of every\nmember of the household. Love and faith in fact the bond, contentment and\nvirtuous living the law of the family; and it was in just such a pure and\nbeneficent atmosphere, as Selene herself and Helios felt the blessing of\nin Hannah's house, that each and all of her brothers and sisters were\ngrowing up. Her upright sense gave an honest answer when she asked\nherself what would have become of them all if her father had remained\nalive and had been dispossessed of his office? They must all have\nperished in misery and degradation.\n\nAnd now?--Perhaps in truth the Divine Being had dealt in kindness with\nthe children.\n\nLove, love, and again love, was breathed from all she saw and heard, and\nyet--was it not love that had caused her greatest sorrows. Wherefore had\nit been her lot to endure so much through the same sentiment which\nbeautified life to others? Had any one ever had more to suffer than she?\nAye indeed! A vivacious, eager youth had duped her and had promised\nhappiness to her sister instead of to her; it had been hard to bear--and\nyet, the Saviour of whom Hellos had told her, had been far more severely\ntried. Mankind, for whom He--the Son of God--had come down upon earth, to\nsave from misery and guilt, had rewarded His loving kindness by hanging\nHim on the cross. In Him she could see a companion in suffering and she\nasked the widow to tell her all about Him. Selene had made many\nsacrifices to her family--she could never forget her walk to the\npapyrus-factory--but He had let them mock Him and had shed His blood for\nHis own. And who was she?--and who was He? The Son of God. His image\nbecame dear to her; she was never weary of hearing about His life and\nfate, His words and deeds; and without her observing it the day came when\nher soul was free to receive the teaching of Christ with fervent longing.\nWith faith she acquired that consciousness of guilt which had previously\nbeen unknown to her. She had been busy and industrious out of pride and\nfear, but never from love; she had selfishly tried to fling from her the\nsacred gift of life without ever thinking what would become of those whom\nit was her duty to care for. She had cursed her lovely sister who needed\nher protection and care, and even Pollux, her childhood's playfellow; and\na thousand times had she imprecated the ruler of human destinies. All\nthis she now keenly felt with all the earnestness natural to her, but she\nwas soothed by the tidings that there was One who had redeemed the world,\nand taken on Himself the sins of every repentant sinner.\n\nAfter Selene had once expressed to the widow her desire to be a\nChristian, Hannah brought the bishop to see her. He himself undertook to\ninstruct the girl and he found in her a disciple anxious and craving for\nknowledge. Just like those dried-up and dull-colored plants which, when\nthey are plunged in water, open out and revive, so did her heart,\nuntimely withered and dry; and she longed to be perfectly recovered that\nshe, like Hannah, might tend the sick and exercise that love which Christ\ndemands of His followers. That which most particularly appealed to her in\nher new faith was that it did not promise joys to the rich who could make\ngreat sacrifices, but to the miserable sinner who with a contrite heart\nyearned for forgiveness, to the poor and abject, towards whom she felt as\nthough they belonged to the same family as herself. And her valiant\nspirit could not be satisfied with intentions but longed to act upon\nthem. In Besa she could set to work with Hannah, and this prospect\nlightened her grief in quitting Alexandria.\n\nA favoring wind bore the voyagers southward safe to their destination.\n\nTwo days after their departure Antinous once more stole into Paulina's\ngarden. He went up to the widow's little house looking in vain for the\ndeformed girl; the road was open; her absence could but be pleasing to\nhim, and yet it disquieted him. His heart beat wildly, for\nto-day--perhaps he might find Selene alone. He opened the door without\nknocking, but he dared not cross the threshold, for in the anteroom stood\na strange man, placing boards against the wall. The carpenter, a\nChristian to whom Paulina had given this little house for his family to\nlive in, asked Antinous what he wanted.\n\n\"Is dame Hannah at home?\" stammered the Bithynian.\n\n\"She no longer lives here.\"\n\n\"And her adopted daughter, Selene?\"\n\n\"She is gone with her into Upper Egypt. Have you any message for her?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the lad, quite confounded.\n\n\"When did they go?\"\n\n\"The day before yesterday.\"\n\n\"And they are not coming back.\"\n\n\"For the next few years, certainly not. Later may be, if it is the Lord's\npleasure.\"\n\nAntinous left the garden by the public gate, unmolested. He was very\npale, and he felt like a wanderer in the desert who finds the spring\nchoked where he had hoped to find a refreshing draught.\n\nNext day, at the first moment he could dispose of, Antinous again knocked\nat the carpenter's door to inquire in what town of Upper Egypt the\ntravellers proposed to settle and the artisan told him frankly, \"In\nBesa.\"\n\nAntinous had always been a dreamer, but Hadrian had never seen him so\nlistless, so vaguely brooding as in these days. When he tried to rouse\nhim and spur him to greater energy his favorite would look at him\nbeseechingly, and though he made every effort to be of use to him and to\nshow him a cheerful countenance it was always with but brief success.\nEven on the hunting excursions into the Libyan desert which the Emperor\nfrequently made, Antinous remained apathetic and indifferent to the\npleasures of the sport to which he had formerly devoted himself with\nenjoyment and skill.\n\nThe Emperor had remained in Alexandria longer than in any other place,\nand was weary of festivities and banquets, of the wordy war with the\nphilosophers of the Museum, of conversing with the ecstatic mystics, the\nsoothsayers; astrologers and empirics with whom the place swarmed. And\nthe short audiences which he accorded to the heads of the different\nreligious communities, and the inspection of the factories and workshops\nof this centre of industry, began to annoy him. One day he announced his\nintention of visiting the southern provinces of the Nile valley.\n\nThe high-priests of the native Egyptian faith had craved this favor of\nhim, and he was prompted, not only by his love of information and passion\nfor travelling, but also by considerations of state-craft, to gratify\nthis desire of a hierarchy which was extremely influential in those rich\nand important provinces. The prospect of seeing with his own eyes those\nmarvels of Pharaonic times which attracted so many travellers, was also\nan incitement, and his good spirits rose as soon as he observed what a\nreviving effect his determination to visit southern Egypt had upon\nAntinous.\n\nHis favorite had for the last few weeks expressed not the smallest\npleasure at any single thing. The homage paid him no less by the\nAlexandrian than by the Roman ladies of rank sickened him. At banquets he\nsat a silent guest whose neighborhood could not add to anybody's\npleasure, and even the most brilliant and exciting exhibitions in the\nCircus and the best contests and races in the Hippodrome had hardly\nsufficed to attract his gaze. Formerly he had been an eager and attentive\nspectator of the plays of Menander and of his imitators, Alexis,\nApollodorus and Posidippus; but now when they were performed he stared\ninto vacancy and thought of Selene. The prospect of going to the place\nwhere she was living excited him powerfully and revived his drooping\ncourage for life. He could hope once more, and to the man who sees light\nshining in the future the present is no longer dark.\n\nHadrian rejoiced in this change in the lad and hastened the preparations\nfor their departure; still, some months passed before he could begin his\njourney.\n\nIn the first place he had to provide for newly colonizing Libya, which\nhad been depopulated by a revolt of the Jews. Then he had to come to a\ndetermination as to certain new post-roads which were to connect the\ndifferent parts of the empire more nearly, and finally he had to await\nthe formal assent of the Roman Senate to some new resolutions concerning\nthe hereditary reversion of conferred free-citizenship. This assent was,\nno doubt a matter of course, but the Emperor never issued an edict\nwithout it, and he was very desirous that his decree should come into\noperation as soon as possible.\n\nIn the course of his visits to the Museum the sovereign had informed\nhimself as to the position of the several members of that institution,\nand he was occupied in making certain regulations which should relieve\nthem of the more sordid cares of life; the condition of the aged teachers\nand educators of the young had also attracted his observation, and he had\nendeavored to improve it.\n\nWhen Sabina represented to him what a large outlay these new measures\nwould entail, he replied:\n\n\"We do not allow the veterans to perish who placed their lives, and limbs\nat the service of the state. Why then should those who serve it with\ntheir intellect be burdened with petty cares? Which should we rank the\nhigher, power and poverty or mental wealth? The harder I--as the\nsovereign--find it to answer the question the more positively do I feel\nit to be my duty to mete out the same measure to all veterans alike,\nwhether officials, warriors or instructors.\"\n\nThe Alexandrians themselves detained him too by a succession of new acts\nof homage. They raised him to the rank of a divinity, dedicated a temple\nto him, and instituted a series of new festivals in his honor; partly no\ndoubt to win his partiality for their city and to express their pride and\nsatisfaction in his long stay there, but also because the pleasure-loving\ncommunity was glad to seize this opportunity as a favorable one for\ngratifying their own inclinations and revelling in mere unusual\nenjoyment. Thus the Imperial visit swallowed up millions, and Hadrian,\nwho enquired into every detail and contrived to obtain information as to\nthe sums expended by the city, blamed the recklessness of his lavish\nentertainers. He wrote afterwards to his brother-in-law, Servianus, his\nfullest recognition of both the wealth and the industry of Alexandrians,\nsaying, with terms of praise, that among them not one was idle. One made\nglass, another papyrus, another linen; and each of these restless\nmortals, said he, is busied in some handiwork. Even the lame, the blind\nand the maimed here sought and found employment. Nevertheless he calls\nthe Alexandrians a contumacious and good-for-nothing community, with\nsharp and evil tongues that had spared neither Verus nor Antinous. Jews,\nChristians, and the votaries of Serapis, he adds in the same letter,\nserve but one God instead of the divinities of Olympus, and when he\nasserts of the Christians that they even worshipped Serapis he means to\nsay that they were persuaded of the doctrine of the survival of the soul\nafter death. The dispute as to which temple should be assigned as the\nresidence of the newly-found Apis gave Hadrian much to do. From time\nimmemorial this sacred bull had been kept in the temple of Ptah at\nMemphis, but this venerable city of the Pyramids had been outstripped by\nAlexandria, and the temple of Serapis outvied that at Memphis in the\nprovince of Sokari, tenfold in size and in magnificence. The Egyptians of\nAlexandria, who dwelt in the quarter called Rhakotis, close to the\nSerapeum, desired to have the incarnation of the god in the form of a\nbull, in their midst; but the Memphites would not abandon their old\nprescriptive rights, and the Emperor had found it far from easy to guide\nthe contest, which proved a very exciting one to all parties, to a\nsatisfactory issue. Memphis had its Apis, and the Serapeum was\nindemnified by certain endowments which had formerly been granted to the\ntemple at Memphis.\n\nAt last, in June, the Emperor could set out. He wished to traverse the\nprovince on foot and on horseback, and Sabina was to follow by boat as\nsoon as the inundation should begin.\n\nThe Empress would gladly have returned to Rome or to Tibur, for Verus had\nbeen obliged to quit Egypt by the orders of the physician as soon as the\nsummer heat had set in. He departed with his wife, as the son of the\nImperial couple, but no word on Hadrian's part had justified him in\nhoping confidently to be nominated as his successor to the sovereignty.\n\nThe handsome rake's unlimited dissipations were severely checked by his\nsufferings, but not altogether prevented, and on his return to Rome he\ncontinued to indulge in all the pleasures of life. Hadrian's hesitation\nand reluctance often disquieted him, for that imperial Sphinx had, only\ntoo frequently, given the most unexpected solutions to his\nmystifications. But the fatal end with which he had been threatened\ncaused him small anxiety; nay, Ben Jochai's prediction rather prompted\nhim to enjoy to the utmost every hour of health and ease that Fate might\nstill allow him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nBalbilla and her companion, Publius Balbinus and other illustrious\nRomans, Favorinus the sophist, and a numerous suite of chamberlains and\nservants, were to accompany the Empress by water, while Hadrian set forth\non his land journey with a small escort to which he added a splendid\narray of huntsmen. Before he reached Memphis, in crossing the Libyan\ndesert, through which his road lay, he had killed a few lions and many\nother beasts of prey, and here he had once more found Antinous the best\nof sporting companions. Cool headed in danger, indefatigable on foot,\ncontent and serviceable in all circumstances, the young fellow seemed to\nHadrian to be a comrade created by the gods themselves for his special\ndelectation. When Hadrian was in the humor to brood and be silent the\nwhole day long, he never disturbed him by a word; but in these moods the\nEmperor found his favorite's society indispensable, for the mere\nconsciousness of his presence soothed him.\n\nAntinous too, was happy on these occasions, for he felt that he was of\nsome use to his venerated master and could thus alleviate the burden\nwhich had never ceased to weigh on his own soul ever since the crime he\nhad committed. Besides, he preferred dreaming to talking, and the\nexercise in the open air preserved him from listless lassitude.\n\nIn Memphis Hadrian was detained a whole month, for there he was expected\nto visit the Egyptian temples with Sabina, who had arrived before him,\nand to submit to many ceremonials invested with the regalia of the\nPharaohs. Sabina often felt as if she must faint when, crowned with the\nponderous vulture-headed fillet of the Queens of Egypt, weighed down with\nlong robes and golden ornaments, she was conducted with her husband, in\nprocession, through all the rooms, over the roof and finally into the\nholiest place of some vast sanctuary. What senseless ceremonials they had\nto go through in the course of these long circuits, and how many\nsacrifices had they to attend! When she returned from these visitations\nshe was utterly exhausted, and indeed, it was no small exertion to\nundergo so many fumigations with incense and so many aspersions, to\nlisten to so many litanies and hymns, to parade through such endless\nhalls and while being elevated to the rank of celestial beings, to be\ncrowned with so many crowns in turn and decorated with all kinds of\nfillets and symbolic adornments.\n\nHer husband set her a good example, however; through all the ceremonials\nhe displayed the whole grave majesty of his nature, and among the\nEgyptians behaved as one of themselves. He even took pleasure in the\nmystical lore of the priests, with whom he often held long conversations.\n\nAs at Memphis, so in all the principal temples of the great cities to the\nsouthward, the Imperial pair accepted the homage of the hierarchy and the\nhonors due to divinity. Wherever Hadrian granted money for the extension\nof a temple, he was required to perform the ceremony of laying a stone\nwith his own hand. But he always found time to hunt in the desert, to\nmanage the affairs of state, and to visit the most interesting monuments\nof past times, and at Memphis especially, the city of the dead, with the\nPyramids, the great Sphinx, the Serapeum and the tombs of the Apis.\n\nBefore quitting the city he and his companions consulted the oracle of\nthe sacred bull. The fairest future was promised to Balbilla; the bull to\nwhom she had to offer a cake, with her face averted, had approved of her\ngift and had touched her hand with his moist muzzle. Hadrian was left in\nignorance as to the sentence of the priests of Apis, for it was given to\nhim in a sealed roll with an explanation of the signs it contained; but\nhe was solemnly adjured not to open them before at least half a year had\nelapsed.\n\nIt was only in the cities that Hadrian met his wife, for he pursued his\njourney by land and she hers by water. The boats almost invariably\nreached their destination sooner than the land-travellers, and when they\nat last arrived, there was always a grand festival to welcome them, in\nwhich however Sabina but rarely took part. Balbilla proved herself all\nthe more eager to make their arrival pleasant by some kindly surprise.\nShe sincerely reverenced Hadrian, and his favorite's beauty had an\nirresistible charm for her artist's soul. It was a delight to her only to\nlook at him; his absence troubled her, and when he returned she was\nalways the first to greet him. And yet the bright girl troubled herself\nabout him neither more nor less than the other ladies in Sabina's train;\nonly Balbilla asked nothing of him but the pleasure of looking at him and\nrejoicing in his beauty.\n\nIf he had dared to mistake her admiration for love and to have offered\nher his, the poetess would have indignantly brought him to his bearings;\nand yet she gave unqualified expression to her admiration of the\nBithynian's splendid person, and indeed with rather remarkable\ndemonstrativeness.\n\nWhen the travellers made their appearance again after a prolonged absence\nAntinous would find in the room in the ship where he was to live flowers,\nand choice fruits sent by her, and verses in which she had sung his\npraises. He put it all aside with the rest and only esteemed the donor\nthe less; but the poetess knew nothing of these sentiments in her\nbeautiful idol, and indeed troubled herself very little about his\nfeelings. She had hitherto found no difficulty in keeping within the\nlimits of what was becoming. But lately there had been moments in which\nshe had owned to herself that she might be carried away into overstepping\nthese limits. But what did she care for the opinion of those around her,\nor about the inner life of the Bithyman, whose external perfection of\nform was all that pleased her. She did not shrink from the possibility of\narousing hopes in him which she never could nor intended to fulfil, for\nthe idea did not once enter her mind; still she felt dissatisfied with\nherself, for there was one person who might disapprove of her\nproceedings, one who had indeed in plain words reprehended her fancy for\ndoing honor to the handsome boy with offerings of flowers, and the\nopinion of that one person weighed with her more than that of all the\nrest of the men and women she knew, put together.\n\nThis one was Pontius the architect; and yet, strangely enough, it was\nprecisely her remembrance of him that urged her on from one folly to\nanother. She had often seen the architect in Alexandria, and when they\nparted she had allowed him to promise to follow her and the Empress, and\nto escort them at any rate for a part of their voyage up the Nile. But he\ncame not, nor had he sent any report of himself, though he was alive and\nwell, and every express that overtook them brought documents for Caesar\nin his handwriting.\n\nSo he, on whose faithful devotion she had built as on a rock, was no less\nself-seeking and fickle than other men. She thought of him every day and\nevery hour; and as soon as a vessel from the north cast anchor within\nsight, she watched the voyagers as they disembarked to detect him among\nthem. She longed for Pontius as a traveller who has lost his way sighs\nfor a sight of the guide who has deserted him; and yet she was angry with\nhim, for he had betrayed by a thousand tokens that he esteemed and cared\nfor her, that she had a certain power over his strong will--and now he\nhad broken his word and did not come.\n\nAnd she? She had not been unmoved by his devotion, and had been gentler\nto this grandson of her father's freed slave than to the best-born man of\nher own rank. And in spite of it all Pontius could spoil all the pleasure\nof her journey and stay in Alexandria instead of following in her wake.\nHe could easily have intrusted his building to other architects--the\ngreat metropolis was swarming with them! Well, if he did not trouble\nhimself about her she certainly need care even less about him. Perhaps at\nlast, at the end of their travels he might yet come, and then he should\nsee how much she cared for his admonitions.\n\nBut she sighed impatiently for the hour when she might read him all the\nverses she had addressed to Antinous, and ask him how he liked them. It\ngave her a childish pleasure to add to the number of these little poems,\nto finish them elaborately, and display in them all her knowledge and\nability. She gave the preference to artificial and massive metres; some\nof the verses were in Latin, others in the Attic, and others again in the\nAeolian dialects of Greek, for she had now learnt to use this, and all to\npunish Pontius--to vex Pontius--and at the same time to appear in his\neyes as brilliant as she could. She belauded Antinous, but she wrote for\nPontius, and for every flower she gave the lad she had sent a thought to\nthe architect, though with a curl on her lips of scornful defiance.\n\nBut a young girl cannot be always praising the beauty of a youth in new\nand varied forms with complete impunity, and thus there were hours when\nBalbilla was inclined to believe that she really loved Antinous. Then she\nwould call herself his Sappho, and he seemed destined to be her Phaon.\nDuring his long absences with the Emperor she would long to see him--nay,\neven with tears; but, as soon as he was by her side again, and she could\nlook at his inanimate beauty and into his weary eyes, when she heard the\ntorpid \"Yes\" or \"No\" with which he replied to her questions, the spell\nwas entirely broken and she honestly confessed to herself that she would\nas soon see him before her hewn in marble as clothed in flesh and blood.\n\nIn such moments as these her memory of the architect was particularly\nfresh, and once, when their ship was sailing through a mass of lotos\nleaves, above which one splendid full-blown flower raised its head, her\napt imagination, which rapidly seized on everything noteworthy and gave\nit poetic form, entwined the incident in a set of verses, in which she\ndesignated Antinous as the lotos-flower which fulfils its destiny simply\nby being beautiful, and comparing Pontius to the ship which, well\nconstructed and well guided, invited the traveller to new voyages in\ndistant lands.\n\nThe Nile voyage came to an end at Thebes of the hundred gates, and here\nnothing that could attract the Roman travellers remained unvisited. The\ntombs of the Pharaohs extending into the very heart of the rocky hills,\nand the grand temples that stood to the west of the city of the dead,\nshorn though they were of their ancient glory, filled the Emperor with\nadmiration. The Imperial travellers and their companions listened to the\nfamous colossus of Memnon, of which the upper portion had been overthrown\nby an earthquake, and three times in the dawn they heard it sound.\n\nBalbilla described the incident in several long poems which Sabina caused\nto be engraved on the stone of the colossus. The poetess imagined herself\nas hearing the voice of Memnon singing to his mother Eos while her tears,\nthe fresh morning dew, fell upon the image of her son, fallen before the\nwalls of Troy. These verses she composed in the Aeolian dialect, named\nherself as their writer and informed the readers--among whom she included\nPontius--that she was descended from a house no less noble than that of\nKing Antiochus.\n\nThe gigantic structures on each bank of the Nile fully equalled Hadrian's\nexpectations, though they had suffered so much injury from earthquakes\nand sieges, and the impoverished priesthood of Thebes were no longer in a\nposition to provide for their preservation even, much less for their\nrestoration. Balbilla accompanied Caesar on a visit to the sanctuary of\nAmmon, on the eastern shore of the Nile. In the great hall, the most vast\nand lofty pillared hall in the world, her impressionable soul felt a\npeculiar exaltation, and as the Emperor observed how, with a heightened\ncolor she now gazed upward, and then again, leaning against a towering\ncolumn, looked at the scene around her, he asked her what she felt,\nstanding in this really worthy abode of the gods.\n\n\"One thing--above all things one thing!\" cried the girl. \"That\narchitecture is the sublimest of the arts! This temple is to me like some\ngrand epode, and the poet who composed it conceived it not in feeble\nwords but formed it out of almost immovable masses. Thousands of parts\nare here combined to form a whole, and each is welded with the rest into\nbeautiful harmony and helps to give expression to the stupendous idea\nwhich existed in the brain of the builder of this hall. What other art is\ngifted with the power of creating a work so imperishable and so far\ntranscending all ordinary standards?\"\n\n\"A poetess crowning the architect with laurels!\" exclaimed the Emperor.\n\"But is not the poet's realm the infinite, and can the architect ever get\nbeyond the finite and the limited?\"\n\n\"Then is the nature of the divinity a measurable unit?\" asked Balbilla.\n\"No, it is not; and yet this hall gives one the impression that the very\ndivinity might find space in it to dwell in.\"\n\n\"Because it owes it existence to a master-mind, which while it conceived\nit stood on the boundary line of eternity. But do you think this temple\nwill outlast the poems of Homer?\"\n\n\"No; but the memory of it will no more fade away that of the wrath of\nAchilles or the wanderings of the experienced Odysseus.\"\n\n\"It is a pity that our friend Pontius cannot hear you,\" said Hadrian. \"He\nhas completed the plans for a work which is destined to outlive me and\nhim and all of us.\n\n\"I mean my own tomb. Besides that I intend him to erect gates, courts and\nhalls in the Egyptian style at Tibur, which may remind us of our travels\nin this wonderful country. I expect him to-morrow.\"\n\n\"To-morrow!\" exclaimed Balbilla, and her face fired with a scarlet flush\nto her very brow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nShortly after starting from Thebes--on the second day of\nNovember--Hadrian came to a great decision. Verus should be acknowledged\nnot merely as his son but also as his successor.\n\nSabina's urgency would not alone have sufficed to put a term to his\nhesitancy, especially as it had lately been farther increased by a wish\nthat was all his own. His wife's heart had pined for a child, but he too\nhad longed for a son, and he had found one in Antinous. His favorite was\na boy he had picked up by chance, the son of humble though free parents,\nbut it lay in the Emperor's power to make him great, to confer on him the\nhighest posts of honor in the Empire, and at last to recognize him\npublicly as his heir. Antinous, if any one, had deserved this at his\nhands, and on no other man could he so ungrudgingly bestow everything\nthat he possessed.\n\nThese ideas and hopes had now filled his mind for many months, but the\nnature and the mood of the young Bithyman had been more and more adverse\nto them.\n\nHadrian had striven more earnestly than his predecessors to raise the\nfallen dignity of the Senate, and still he could count securely on its\nconsent to any measure. The leading official authorities of the Republic\nhad been recognized and allowed the full exercise of their powers. To be\nsure, be they whom they might, they all had to obey the Emperor, still\nthey were always there; and even with a weak ruler at its head the Empire\nmight continue to subsist within the limits established by Hadrian, and\nrestricted with wise moderation. Nevertheless, only a few months\npreviously he would not have ventured to think of the adoption of his\nfavorite. Now he hoped to find himself somewhat nearer to the fulfilment\nof his wishes. It is true Antinous was still a dreamer; but in their\nwanderings and hunting excursions through Egypt he had proved himself\ngallant and prompt, intelligent, and, after their departure from Thebes,\neven bold and lively at times. Antinous, under this aspect, he himself\nmight take in hand, and even name him as his successor in due time, when\nhe had risen from one post of honor to another. For the present this plan\nmust remain unrevealed.\n\nWhen he publicly adopted Verus any idea of a possible new selection of a\nson was excluded, and he might unhesitatingly venture to appoint Sabina's\ndarling his successor, for the most famous of the Roman physicians had\nwritten to Hadrian, by his desire, saying that the praetor's undermined\nstrength could not be restored, and that, at the best, he could only have\na limited number of years to live. Well, then, Verus might die slowly and\ncontentedly in the midst of the most splendid anticipations, and when he\nshould have closed his eyes it would be time enough to set the\ndreamer--by that time matured to vigorous manhood--in the vacant place.\n\nOn the return journey from Thebes to Alexandria Hadrian met his wife at\nAbydos, and revealed to her his intention of proclaiming the son of her\nchoice as his successor. Sabina thanked him with an exclamation of \"At\nlast!\" which expressed partly her satisfaction, but partly too her\nannoyance at her husband's long delay. Hadrian gave her his permission to\nreturn to Rome from Alexandria, and on the very same day messages were\ndespatched with letters both to the Senate and to the prefects of Egypt.\n\nThe despatch intended for Titianus charged him to proclaim publicly the\nadoption of the praetor, to arrange at the same time for a grand\nfestival, and on that occasion to grant to the people, in Caesar's name,\nall the boons and favors which by the traditional law of Egypt the\nSovereign was expected to bestow at the birth of an heir to the throne.\nThe whole suite of the Imperial pair celebrated Hadrian's decision by\nsplendid banquets, but the Emperor did not himself take part in them, but\ncrossed to the other bank of the Nile and went to Antaeopolis in the\ndesert, meaning to penetrate from thence into the gorges of the Arabian\ndesert and to chase wild beasts. No one was to accompany him but\nAntinous, Mastor, and a few huntsmen and some dogs.\n\nHe meant to rejoin the ships at Besa. He had postponed his visit to this\nplace till the return journey, because he had travelled up by the western\nshore of the Nile, and the passage across the river would have taken up\ntoo much time.\n\nThe travellers' tents were pitched one sultry evening in November,\nbetween the Nile and the limestone range, in which was arrayed a long row\nof tombs of the period of the Pharaohs. Hadrian had gone to visit these,\nfor the remarkable pictures on the walls delighted him, but Antinous\nremained behind, for he had already looked at similar works oftener than\nhe cared for, in Upper Egypt. He found these pictures monotonous and\nunlovely, and he had not the patience to investigate their meaning as his\nmaster did. He had been a hundred times into the ancient rock-tombs, only\nnot to leave Hadrian and not for his own amusement; but to-day--he could\nhardly bear himself for impatience and excitement, for he knew that a\nride, a walk, of a few hours, would carry him to Besa and to Selene. The\nEmperor would remain absent three or four hours at any rate, and if he\nmade up his mind to it he could have sought out the girl for whom his\nheart was longing before his return, and still be back again before his\nmaster.\n\nBut before acting he must reflect. There was the Emperor climbing the\nhill-side where he could see him, and messengers were expected and he had\nbeen charged to receive them. It they should bring bad news, his master\nmust on no account be alone. Ten times did he go up to his good hunter to\nleap upon his back; once he even took down the horse's head-gear to put\non his bridle, but in the very act of slipping the complicated bit\nbetween the teeth of his steed his resolution gave way. During all this\ndelay and hesitation the minutes slipped away, and at last it was so late\nthat Hadrian might return and it was folly to think of carrying his plan\ninto execution. The expected express arrived with several letters, but\nthe Emperor did not come back. It grew dark, and heavy rain-drops fell\nfrom the overcast sky, and still Antinous was alone. His anxious longing\nwas mingled with regret for the lost opportunity of seeing Selene and\nalarm at the Emperor's prolonged absence.\n\nIn spite of the rain, which began to fill more violently, he went out\ninto the open air, of which the sweltering oppressiveness had helped to\nfetter his feeble volition, and called to the dogs, with whose help he\nproposed seeking the Emperor; but just then he heard the bark of Argus,\nand soon after Hadrian and Mastor stepped out of the darkness into the\nbrightness which shone out from the tent, where lights were burning.\n\nThe Emperor gave his favorite but a brief greeting and silently submitted\nwhile Antinous dried his hair and brought him some refreshments, and\nMastor bathed his feet and dressed him in fresh garments. As he reclined\nwith the Bithyman, before the supper which was standing ready, he said:\n\n\"A strange evening! how hot and oppressive the atmosphere is. We must be\non the lookout, something serious is brewing.\"\n\n\"What happened to you, my Lord?\"\n\n\"Many things. At the door of the very first tomb that I was about to\nenter I found an old black woman who stretched out her hands against us\nto keep us out and shrieked out words that sounded horrible.\"\n\n\"Did you understand her?\"\n\n\"No--who can learn Egyptian.\"\n\n\"Then you do not know what she said?\"\n\n\"I was to find out--she cried out 'Dead!' and again 'Dead!' and in the\ntomb which she was watching there were I know not how many persons\nattacked by the plague.\"\n\n\"You saw them?\"\n\n\"Yes, I had only heard of this disease till then. It is frightful, and\nquite answers to the descriptions I had read of it.\"\n\n\"But Caesar!\" cried Antinous reproachfully and in alarm.\n\n\"When we turned our backs on the tombs,\" continued Hadrian, paying no\nheed to the lad's exclamation, \"we were met by an elderly man dressed in\nwhite and a strange-looking maiden. She was lame but of remarkable\nbeauty.\"\n\n\"And she was going to the sick?\"\n\n\"Yes, she had brought medicine and food to them.\"\n\n\"But she did not go in among them?\" asked Antinous eagerly.\n\n\"She did, in spite of my warnings. In her companion I recognized an old\nacquaintance.\"\n\n'An old one?\"\n\n\"At any rate older than myself. We had met in Athens when we still were\nyoung. At that time he was one of the school of Plato and the most\nzealous, nay, perhaps the most gifted of us all.\"\n\n\"How came such a man among the plague-stricken people of Besa? Is he\nbecome a physician?\"\n\n\"No. But at Athens he sought fervently and eagerly for the truth, and now\nhe asserts that he has found it.\"\n\n\"Here, among the Egyptians?\"\n\n\"In Alexandria among the Christians.\"\n\n\"And the lame girl who accompanied the philosopher--does she too believe\nin the crucified God?\"\n\n\"Yes. She is a sick-nurse or something of the kind. Indeed there is\nsomething grand in the ecstatic craze of these people.\"\n\n\"Is it true that they worship an ass and a dove?\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\"\n\n\"I did not want to believe it; and at any rate they are kind, and succor\nall who suffer, even strangers who do not belong to their sect.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"One hears a great deal about them in Alexandria.\"\n\n\"Alas! alas!--I never persecute an imaginary foe, as such I reckon the\ncreeds and ideas of other men; still, I cannot but ask myself whether it\ncan add to the prosperity of the state when citizens cease to struggle\nagainst the pressure and necessity of life and console themselves for\nthem instead, by the hope of visionary happiness in another world which\nperhaps only exists in the fancy of those who believe in it.\"\n\n\"I should wish that life might end with death,\" said Antinous\nthoughtfully; \"and yet--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"If I were sure that in that other world I should find those I long to\nsee again, then I might long for a future life.\"\n\n\"And would you really like, throughout all eternity, to push and struggle\nin the crowd of old acquaintances which death does not diminish but\nrather multiplies?\"\n\n\"Nay, not that--but I should like to be permitted to live for ever with a\nfew chosen friends.\"\n\n\"And should I be one of them?\"\n\n\"Yes--indeed,\" cried Antinous warmly and pressing his lips to Hadrian's\nhand.\n\n\"I was sure of it--but even with the promise of never being obliged to\npart with you my darling, I would never sacrifice the only privilege\nwhich man enjoys above the immortals.\"\n\n\"What privilege can you mean?\"\n\n\"The right of withdrawing from the ranks of the living as soon as\nannihilation seems more endurable than existence and I choose to call\ndeath to release me.\"\n\n\"The gods, it is true, cannot die.\"\n\n\"And the Christians only to link a new life on to death.\"\n\n\"But a fairer and a happier than this on earth.\" They say it is a life of\nbliss. But the mother of this everlasting life is the ineradicable love\nof existence in even the most wretched of our race, and hope is its\nfather. They believe in a complete freedom from suffering in that other\nworld because He whom they call their Redeemer, the crucified Christ, has\nsaved them from all sufferings by His death.\"\n\n\"And can a man take upon him the sufferings of others, think you, like a\ngarment or a burden?\"\n\n\"They say so, and my friend from Athens is quite convinced. In books of\nmagic there are many formulas by which misfortunes may be transferred not\nmerely from men to beasts, but from one human being to another. Very\nremarkable experiments have even been carried out with slaves, and to\nthis day I have to struggle in several, provinces to suppress human\nsacrifices by which the gods are to be reconciled or propitiated. Only\nthink of the innocent Iphigenia who was dragged to the altar; did not the\ngulf in the Forum close when Curtius had leaped into it? When Fate shoots\na fatal arrow at you and I receive it in my breast, perhaps she is\ncontent with the chance victim and does not enquire as to whom she has\nhit.\"\n\n\"The gods would be exorbitant indeed if they were not content with your\nblood for mine!\"\n\n\"Life is life, and that of the young is of better worth than that of the\nold. Many joys will yet bloom for you.\"\n\n\"And you are indispensable to the whole world.\"\n\n\"After me another will come. Are you ambitious, boy?\"\n\n\"No, my Lord.\"\n\n\"What then can be the meaning of this: that every one wishes me joy of my\nson Verus excepting you. Do you not like my choice?\"\n\nAntinous colored and looked at the ground, and Hadrian went on:\n\n\"Say honestly what you feel.\"\n\n\"The praetor is ill.\"\n\n\"He can have but a few years to live, and when he is dead--\"\n\n\"He may recover--\"\n\n\"When he is dead, I must look out for another son. What do you think now?\nWho is the being that every man, from a slave to a consul, would soonest\nhear call him 'Father?\"'\n\n\"Some one he tenderly loved.\"\n\n\"True--and particularly when that one clung to him with unchangeable\nfidelity. I am a man like any other, and you, my good fellow, are always\nnearest to my heart, and I shall bless the day when I may authorize you,\nbefore all the world, to call me 'Father.' Do not interrupt me. If you\nresolutely concentrate your will and show as keen a sense for ruling men\nas you do for the chase, if you try to sharpen your wits and take in what\nI teach you, it may some day happen that Antinous instead of Verus--\"\n\n\"Nay, not that, only not that!\" cried the lad, turning very pale and\nraising his hands beseechingly.\n\n\"The greatness with which Destiny surprises us seems terrible so long as\nit is new to us,\" said Hadrian. \"But the seaman is soon accustomed to the\nstorms, and we come to wear the purple as you do your chiton.\"\n\n\"Oh, Caesar, I entreat you,\" said Antinous, anxiously, \"put aside these\nideas; I am not fit for great things.\"\n\n\"The smallest saplings grow to be palms.\"\n\n\"But I am only a wretched little herb that thrives awhile in your shadow.\nProud Rome--\"\n\n\"Rome is my handmaid. She has been forced before now to be ruled by men\nof inferior stamp, and I should show her how the handsomest of her sons\ncan wear the purple. The world may look for such a choice from a\nsovereign whom it has long known to be an artist, that is a high-priest\nof the Beautiful. And if not, I will teach it to form its taste on mine.\"\n\n\"You are pleased to mock me, Caesar,\" cried the Bithynian. \"You certainly\ncannot be in earnest, and if it is true that you love me--\"\n\n\"What now, boy?\"\n\n\"You will let me live unknown for you, care for you; you will ask nothing\nof me but reverence and love and fidelity.\"\n\n\"I have long had them, and I now would fain repay my Antinous for all\nthese treasures.\"\n\n\"Only let me stay with you, and if necessary let me die for you.\"\n\n\"I believe, boy, you would be ready to make the sacrifice we were\nspeaking of for me!\"\n\n\"At any moment without winking an eyelash.\"\n\n\"I thank you for those words. It has turned out a pleasant evening, and\nwhat a bad one I looked forward to--\"\n\n\"Because the woman by the tomb startled you?\"\n\n\"'Dead,' is a grim word. It is true that 'death'--being dead--can\nfrighten no wise man; but the step out of light into darkness is fearful.\nI cannot get the figure of the old hag and her shrill cry out of my mind.\nThen the Christian came up, and his discourse was strange and disturbing\nto my soul. Before it grew dark he and the limping girl went homewards; I\nstood looking after them and my eyes were dazzled by the sun which was\nsinking over the Libyan range. The horizon was clear, but behind the\nday-star there were clouds. In the west, the Egyptians say, lies the\nrealm of death. I could not help thinking of this; and the oracle, the\nmisfortunes that the stars threatened me with in the course of this year,\nthe cry of the old woman--all these crowded into my mind together. But\nthen, as I observed how the sun struggled with the clouds and approached\nnearer and nearer to the hill-tops on the farther side of the river, I\nsaid to myself: If it sets in full radiance you may look confidently to\nthe future; if it is swallowed up by clouds before it sinks to rest, then\ndestiny will fulfil itself; then you must shorten sail and wait for the\nstorm.\"\n\n\"And what happened?\"\n\n\"The fiery globe burnt in glowing crimson, surrounded by a million rays.\nEach seemed separate from the rest and shone with glory of its own; it\nwas as though the sinking disc had been the centre of bow-shots\ninnumerable and golden arrow-shafts radiated to the sky in every\ndirection. The scene was magnificent and my heart beat high with happy\nexcitement, when suddenly and swiftly a dark cloud fell, as though\nexasperated by the wounds it had received from those fiery darts; a\nsecond followed, and a third, and sinister Daimons flung a dark and\nfleecy curtain over the glorious head of Helios, as the executioner\nthrows a coarse black cloth over the head of the condemned, when he sets\nhis knee against him to strangle him.\"\n\nAt this narrative Antinous covered his face with both hands, and murmured\nin terror:\n\n\"Frightful, frightful! What can be hanging over us? Only listen, how it\nthunders, and the rain thrashes the tent.\"\n\n\"The clouds are pouring out torrents; see the water is coming in already.\nThe slaves must dig gutters for it to run off. Drive the pegs tighter you\nfellows out there or the whirlwind will tear down the slight structure.\"\n\n\"And how sultry the air is!\"\n\n\"The hot wind seems to warm even the flood of rain. Here it is still dry;\nmix me a cup of wine, Antinous. Have any letters come?\"\n\n\"Yes, my Lord.\"\n\n\"Give them to me, Mastor.\"\n\nThe slave, who was busily engaged in damming up with earth and stones,\nthe trickling stream of rain-water that was soaking into the tent, sprang\nup, hastily dried his hands, took a sack out of the chest in which the\nEmperor's despatches were kept and gave it to his master. Hadrian opened\nthe leather bag, took out a roll, hastily broke it open, and then, after\nrapidly glancing at the contents, exclaimed:\n\n\"What is this? I have opened the record of the oracle of Apis. How did it\ncome among to-day's letters?\"\n\nAntinous went up to Hadrian, looked at the sack, and said:\n\n\"Mastor has made a mistake. These are the documents from Memphis. I will\nbring you the right despatch-bag.\"\n\n\"Stay!\" said Hadrian, eagerly seizing his favorite's hand. \"Is this a\nmere trick of chance or a decree of Fate? Why should this particular sack\nhave come into my hands to-day of all others? Why, out of twenty\ndocuments it contains, should I have taken out this very one? Look\nhere.--I will explain these signs to you. Here stand three pairs of arms\nbearing shields and spears, close by the name of the Egyptian month that\ncorresponds to our November. These are the three signs of misfortune. The\nlutes up there are of happier omen. The masts here indicate the usual\nstate of affairs. Three of these hieroglyphics always occur together.\nThree lutes indicate much good fortune, two lutes and one mast good\nfortune and moderate prosperity, one pair of arms and two lutes\nmisfortune, followed by happiness, and so forth. Here, in November, begin\nthe arms with weapons, and here they stand in threes and threes, and\nportend nothing but unqualified misfortune, never mitigated by a single\nlute. Do you see, boy? Have you understood the meaning of these signs?\"\n\n\"Perfectly well; but do you interpret them rightly? The fighting arms may\nperhaps lead to victory.\"\n\n\"No. The Egyptians use them to indicate conflict, and to them conflict\nand unrest are identical with what we call evil and disaster.\"\n\n\"That is strange!\"\n\n\"Nay, it is well conceived; for they say that everything was originally\ncreated good by the gods, but that the different portions of the great\nAll changed their nature by restless and inharmonious mingling. This\nexplanation was given me by the priest of Apis, and here--here by the\nmonth of November are the three fighting arias--a hideous token. If one\nof the flashes which light up this tent so incessantly, like a living\nstream of light were to strike you, or me, and all of us--I should not\nwonder. Terrible--terrible things hang over us! It requires some courage\nunder such omens as these, to keep an untroubled gaze and not to quail.\"\n\n\"Only use your own arms against the fighting arms of the Egyptian gods;\nthey are powerful,\" said Antinous; but Hadrian let his head sink on his\nbreast, and said, in a tone of discouragement:\n\n\"The gods themselves must succumb to Destiny.\"\n\nThe thunder continued to roar. More than once the storm snapped the\ntent-ropes, and the slaves were obliged to hold on to the Emperor's\nfragile shelter with their hands; the chambers of the clouds poured\nmighty torrents out upon the desert range which for years had not known a\ndrop of rain, and every rift and runlet was filled with a stream or a\ntorrent.\n\nNeither Hadrian nor Antinous closed their eyes that fearful night. The\nEmperor had as yet opened only one of the rolls that were in the day's\nletter-bag; it contained the information that Titianus the prefect was\ncruelly troubled by his old difficulty of breathing, with a petition from\nthat worthy official to be allowed to retire from the service of the\nstate and to withdraw to his own estate. It was no small matter for\nHadrian to dispense for the future with this faithful coadjutor, to lose\nthe man on whom he had had his eye to tranquillize Judaea--where a fresh\nrevolt had raised its head, and to reduce it again to subjection without\nbloodshed. To crush and depopulate the rebellious province was within the\npower of other men, but to conquer and govern it with kindness belonged\nonly to the wise and gentle Titianus. The Emperor had no heart to open a\nsecond letter that night. He lay in silence on his couch till morning\nbegan to grow gray, thinking over every evil hour of his life--the\nmurders of Nigrinus, of Tatianus and of the senators, by which he had\nsecured the sovereignty--and again he vowed to the gods immense\nsacrifices if only they would protect him from impending disaster.\n\nWhen he rose next morning Antinous was startled at his aspect, for\nHadrian's face and lips were perfectly bloodless. After he had read the\nremainder of his letters he started, not on foot but on horseback, with\nAntinous and Mastor for Besa, there to await the rest of the escort.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe unchained elements had raged that night with equal fury over the Nile\ncity of Besa. The citizens of this ancient town had done all they could\nto give the Imperial traveller a worthy reception. The chief streets had\nbeen decked with ropes of flowers strung from mast to mast and from house\nto house, and by the harbor, close to the river shore, statues of Hadrian\nand his wife had been erected. But the storm tore down the masts and the\ngarlands, and the lashed waters of the Nile had beaten with irresistible\nfury on the bank; had carried away piece after piece of the fertile\nshore, flung its waves, like liquid wedges into the rifts of the parched\nland; and excavated the high bank by the landing-quay.\n\nAfter midnight the storm was still raging with unheard-of fury; it swept\nthe palm thatch from many of the houses, and beat the stream with such\nviolence that it was like a surging sea. The full unbroken force of the\nflood beat again and again on the promontory on which stood the statues\nof the Imperial couple. Shortly before the first dawn of light the little\ntongue of land, which was protected by no river wall, could no longer\nresist the furious attack of the waters; huge clods of soil slipped and\nfell with a loud noise into the river and were followed by a large mass\nof the cliff, with a roar as of thunder the plateau behind sank, and the\nstatue of the Emperor which stood upon it began to totter and lean slowly\nto its fall. When day broke it was lying with the pedestal still above\nground, but the head was buried in the earth.\n\nAt break of day the citizens left their houses to inquire of the\nfishermen and boatmen what had occurred in the harbor during the night.\nAs soon as the storm had abated, hundreds, nay thousands, of men, women\nand children thronged the landing-place round the fallen statue--they saw\nthe land-slip and knew that the current had torn the land from the bank\nand caused the mischief. Was it that Hapi, the Nile-god, was angry with\nthe Emperor? At any rate the disaster that had befallen the image of the\nsovereign boded evil, that was clear.\n\nThe Toparch, the chief municipal authority, at once set to work to\nreinstate the statue which was itself uninjured, for Hadrian might arrive\nin a few hours. Numerous men, both free and slaves, crowded to undertake\nthe work, and before long the statue of Hadrian, executed in the Egyptian\nstyle, once more stood upright and gazing with a fixed countenance\ntowards the harbor. Sabina's was also put back by the side of her\nhusband's and the Toparch went home satisfied. With him most of the\nstarers and laborers left the quay, but their place was taken by other\ncurious folks who had missed the statue from its place, where the land\nhad fallen, and now expressed their opinions as to the mode and manner of\nits fall.\n\n\"The wind can never have overturned this heavy mass of limestone,\" said a\nropemaker: \"And see how far it stands from the broken ground.\"\n\n\"They say it fell on the top of land-slip,\" answered a baker.\n\n\"That is how it was,\" said a sailor.\n\n\"Nonsense!\" cried the ropemaker. \"If the statue had stood on the ground\nnow carried away, it must have fallen at once into the water and have\nsunk to the bottom--any child can see that other powers have been at work\nhere.\"\n\n\"Very likely,\" said a temple-servant who devoted himself to the\ninterpretation of signs: \"The gods may have overset the proud image to\ngive a warning token to Hadrian.\"\n\n\"The immortals do not mix in the affairs of men in our day,\" said the\nsailor; \"but in such a fearful night as this peaceful citizens remain\nwithin doors and so leave a fair field for Caesar's foes.\"\n\n\"We are all faithful subjects,\" said the baker indignantly.\n\n\"You are a pack of rebellious rabble,\" retorted a Roman soldier, who like\nthe whole cohort quartered in the province of Hermopolis, had formerly\nserved in Judaea under the cruel Tinnius Rufus. \"Among you worshippers of\nbeasts squabbles never cease, and as to the Christians, who have made\ntheir nests out there on the other side of the valley, say the worst you\ncan of them and still you would be flattering them.\"\n\n\"Brave Fuscus is quite right!\" cried a beggar. The wretches have brought\nthe plague into our houses; wherever the disease shows itself there are\nChristian men and women to be seen. They came to my brother's house; they\nsat all night by his sick children and of course both died.\"\n\n\"If only my old governor Tinnius Rufus were here,\" growled the soldier,\n\"they would none of them be any better off than their own crucified god.\"\n\n\"Well, I certainly have nothing in common with them,\" replied the baker.\n\"But what is true must continue true. They are quiet, kind folks and\npunctual in payment, who do no harm and show kindness to many poor\ncreatures.\"\n\n\"Kindness?\" cried the beggar, who had received alms himself from the\ndeacon of the church at Besa, but had also been exhorted to work. \"All\nthe five priests of Sekket of the grotto of Artemis have been led away by\nthem and have basely abandoned the sanctuary of the goddess. And is it\ngood and kind that they should have poisoned my brother's children with\ntheir potions?\"\n\n\"Why should they not have killed the children?\" asked the soldier. \"I\nheard of the same things in Syria; and as to this statue, I will never\nwear my sword again--\"\n\n\"Hark! listen to the bold Fuscus,\" cried the crowd. \"He has seen much.\"\n\n\"I will never wear my sword again if they did not knock over the statue\nin the dark.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried the sailor positively. \"It fell with the land that was\nwashed away; I saw it lying there myself.\"\n\n\"And are you a Christian, too?\" asked the soldier, \"or do you suppose\nthat I was in jest when I swore by my sword? I have served in Bithynia,\nin Syria, and in Judaea. I know these villains, good people. There were\nhundreds of Christians to be seen there who would throw away life like a\nworn-out shoe because they did not choose to sacrifice to the statues of\nCaesar and the gods.\"\n\n\"There, you hear!\" cried the beggar. \"And did you see a single man of\nthem among the citizens who set to work to restore the statue to its\nplace?\"\n\n\"There were none of them there,\" said the sailor, who was beginning to\nshare the soldier's views.\n\n\"The Christians threw down the Emperor's statue,\" the beggar shouted to\nthe crowd. \"It is proved, and they shall suffer for it. Every man who is\na friend of the divine Hadrian come with me now and have them out of\ntheir houses.\"\n\n\"No uproar!\" interrupted the soldier to the furious man. \"There is the\ntribune, he will hear you.\"\n\nThe Roman officer, who now came past with a troop of soldiers to receive\nthe Emperor outside the city, was greeted by the crowd with loud\nshouting. He commanded silence and made the soldier tell him what had so\nviolently excited the people.\n\n\"Very possibly,\" said the tribune, a sinewy and stern-looking man, who,\nlike Fuscus, had served under Tinnius Rufus, and had risen from a sutler\nto be an officer, \"Very possibly--but where are your proofs?\"\n\n\"Most of the citizens helped in reerecting the statue, but the Christians\nheld aloof from the work,\" cried the beggar. \"There was not one to be\nseen. Ask the sailor, my lord; he was by and he can bear witness to it.\"\n\n\"That certainly is more than suspicious. This matter must be strictly\ninquired into. Pay heed, you people.\"\n\n\"Here comes a Christian girl!\" cried the sailor.\n\n\"Lame Martha; I know her well,\" interrupted the beggar. \"She goes into\nall the plague-stricken houses and poisons the people. She stayed three\ndays and three nights at my brother's turning the children's pillows till\nthey were carried out. Wherever she goes death follows.\"\n\nSelene, now known as Martha, paid no heed to the crowd, but with her\nblind brother Helios, now called John, went calmly on her way which led\nfrom the raised bank down to the landing-quay. There she wished to hire a\nboat to take her across the stream, for in a village on the island over\nagainst the town dwelt some sick Christians to whom she was carrying\nmedicines and whom she was intending to watch. For months past her whole\nlife had been devoted to the suffering. She had carried help even into\nheathen homes, and shrunk from neither fever nor plague. Her cheeks had\ngained no color, but her eyes shone with a gentler and purer light which\nglorified the severe beauty of her features. As the girl approached the\ncaptain he fixed his eyes on her, and called out:\n\n\"Hey! pale-face--are you a Christian?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord,\" replied Selene, and she went on quietly and indifferently\nwith her brother.\n\nThe Roman looked after her, and as she passed by Hadrian's statue, and,\nas she did so, dropped her head rather lower than before, he roughly\nordered her to stop and to tell him why she had averted her face from the\nstatue of Caesar.\n\n\"Hadrian is our ruler as well as yours,\" answered the young girl. \"I am\nin haste for there are sick people on the island.\"\n\n\"You will bring them no good!\" cried the beggar. \"Who knows what is\nhidden there in the basket?\"\n\n\"Silence!\" interrupted the tribune. \"They say, girl that your\nfellow-believers overthrew the statue of Caesar in the night.\"\n\n\"How should that be? We honor Caesar no less than you do.\"\n\n\"I will believe you, and you shall prove it. There stands the statue of\nthe divine Caesar. Come with me and worship it.\" Selene looked with\nhorror in the face of the stern man, and could not find a word of reply.\n\n\"Well!\" asked the captain, \"will you come? Yes or no?\"\n\nSelene struggled for self-possession, and when the soldier held out his\nhand to her she said with a trembling voice:\n\n\"We honor the Emperor but we pray to no statue--only to our Father in\nHeaven.\"\n\n\"There you have it!\" laughed the beggar.\n\n\"Once more I ask you,\" cried the tribune. \"Will you worship this statue,\nor do you refuse to do so?\"\n\nA fearful struggle possessed Selene's soul. If she resisted the Roman her\nlife was in danger, and the fury of the populace would be aroused against\nher fellow-believers--if, on the other hand, she obeyed him, she would be\nblaspheming God, breaking her faith to the Saviour who loved her, sinning\nagainst the truth and her own conscience. A fearful dread fell upon her,\nand deprived her of the power to lift her soul in prayer. She could not,\nshe dared not, do what was required of her, and yet the overweening love\nof life which exists in every mortal led her feet to the base of the idol\nand there stayed her steps.\n\n\"Lift up your hands and worship the divine Caesar,\" cried the tribune,\nwho with the rest of the lookers-on had watched her movements with keen\nexcitement.\n\nTrembling, she set her basket on the ground and tried to withdraw her\nhand from her brother's; but the blind boy held it fast. He fully\nunderstood what was required of his sister, he knew full well, from the\nhistory of many martyrs that had been told him, what fate awaited her and\nhim if they resisted the Roman's demand; but he felt no fear and\nwhispered to her:\n\n\"We will not obey his desires Martha; we will not pray to idols, we will\ncling faithfully to the Redeemer. Turn me away from the image, and I will\nsay 'Our Father.'\"\n\nWith a loud voice and his lustreless eyes upraised to Heaven, the boy\nsaid the Lord's prayer. Selene had first set his face towards the river,\nand then she herself turned her back on the statue; then, lifting her\nhands, she followed the child's example.\n\nHelios clung to her closely, her loudly uttered prayer was one with his,\nand neither of them saw or heard anything more of what befell them.\n\nThe blind boy had a vision of a distant but glorious light, the maiden of\na blissful life made beautiful by love, as she was flung to the ground in\nfront of the statue of Hadrian, and the excited mob rushed upon her and\nher faithful little brother. The military tribune tried in vain to hold\nback the populace, and by the time the soldiers had succeeded in driving\nthe excited mob away from their victims, both the young hearts, in the\nmidst of the triumph of their faith, in the midst of their hopes of an\neternal and blissful life, had ceased to beat for ever.\n\nThe occurrence disturbed the captain and made him very uneasy. This girl,\nthis beautiful boy, who lay before him pale corpses, had been worthy of a\nbetter fate, and he might be made to answer for them; for the law forbade\nthat any Christian should be punished for his faith without a judge's\nsentence. He therefore commanded that the dead should be carried at once\nto the house to which they belonged, and threatened every one, who should\nthat day set foot in the Christian quarter, with the severest punishment.\n\nThe beggar went off, shrieking and shouting, to his brother's house to\ntell the mistress that lame Martha, who had nursed her daughter to death,\nwas slain; but he gained an evil reward, for the poor woman bewailed\nSelene as if she had been her own child, and cursed him and her\nmurderers.\n\nBefore sundown Hadrian arrived at Besa, where he found magnificent tents\npitched to receive him and his escort. The disaster that had befallen his\nstatue was kept a secret from him, but he felt anxious and ill. He wished\nto be perfectly alone, and desired Antinous to go to see the city before\nit should be dark. The Bithynian joyfully embraced this permission as a\ngift of the gods; he hurried through the decorated high streets, and made\na boy guide him from thence into the Christian quarter. Here the streets\nwere like a city of the dead; not a door was open, not a man to be seen.\n\nAntinous paid the lad, sent him away, and with a beating heart went from\none house to another. Each looked neat and clean, and was surrounded by\ntrees and shrubs, but though the smoke curled up from several of the\nroofs every house seemed to have been deserted. At last he heard the\nsound of voices. Guided by these he went through a lane to an open place\nwhere hundreds of people, men, women and children, were assembled in\nfront of a small building which stood in the midst of a palm grove.\n\nHe asked where dame Hannah lived, and an old man silently pointed to the\nlittle house on which the attention of the Christians seemed to be\nconcentrated. The lad's heart throbbed wildly and yet he felt anxious and\nembarrassed, and he asked himself whether he had not better turn back and\nreturn next morning when he might hope to find Selene alone.\n\nBut no! Perhaps he might even now be allowed to see her.\n\nHe modestly made his way through the throng, which had set up a song in\nwhich he could not determine whether it was intended to express feelings\nof sadness or of triumph. Now he was standing at the gate of the garden\nand saw Mary the deformed girl. She was kneeling by a covered bier and\nweeping bitterly. Was dame Hannah dead? No, she was alive, for at this\nmoment she came out of her house, leaning on an old man, pale, calm and\ntearless. Both came forward, the old man uttered a short prayer and then\nstooping down, lifted the sheet which covered the dead.\n\nAntinous pushed a step forward but instantly drew two steps back--then\ncovering his eyes with his hand he stood as if rooted to the spot.\n\nThere was no vehement lamentation. The old man began a discourse. All\naround were sounds of suppressed weeping, singing and praying but\nAntinous saw and heard nothing. He had dropped his hand and never took\nhis eyes off the white face of the dead till Hannah once more covered it\nwith the sheet. Even then he did not stir.\n\nIt was not till six young girls lifted Selene's modest bier and four\nmatrons took up that of little Helios on their shoulders and the whole\nassembly moved away after them, that he too turned and followed the\nmourning procession. He looked on from a distance while the larger and\nthe smaller coffins were carried into a rocktomb, while the entrance was\ncarefully closed, and the procession dispersed some here and some there.\n\nAt last he found himself alone and in front of the door of the vault. The\nsun went down, and darkness spread rapidly over hill and vale. When no\none was to be seen who could observe him, he threw up his arms, clasped\nthe pillar at the entrance of the tomb, pressed his lips against the\nrough wooden door and struck his forehead against it while his whole body\ntrembled with the tearless anguish of his spirit.\n\nFor some minutes he stood so and did not hear a light step which came up\nbehind him. It was Mary, who had come once more to pray by the grave of\nher beloved friend. She at once recognized the youth and softly called\nhim by his name.\n\n\"Mary,\" he answered, clasping her hand eagerly. \"How did she die?\"\n\n\"Slain,\" she said, sadly. \"She would not worship Caesar's image.\"\n\nAntinous shuddered at the words, and asked, \"And why would she not?\"\n\n\"Because she was faithful to our belief, and so hoped for the mercy of\nthe Saviour. Now she is a blessed angel.\"\n\n\"Are you sure of that?\"\n\n\"As sure as I live in hope of meeting the martyr who rests here, again in\nHeaven!\"\n\n\"Mary.\"\n\n\"Leave go of my hand!\"\n\n\"Will you do me a service, Mary?\"\n\n\"Willingly, Antinous--but pray do not touch me.\"\n\n\"Take this money and buy the loveliest wreath that is to be had here.\nHang it on this tomb, and say as you do so--call out--, From Antinous to\nSelene.'\"\n\nThe deformed girl took the money he gave her and said:\n\n\"She often prayed for you.\"\n\n\"To her God?\"\n\n\"To our Redeemer, that he might give you also joy. She died for Christ\nJesus; now she is with him, and he will grant her prayers.\"\n\nAntinous was silent for a while, then he said:\n\n\"Once more give me your hand, Mary, and now farewell. Will you sometimes\nthink of me, and pray for me too, to your Redeemer?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, and you will not quite forget me, the poor cripple?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, you good, kind girl! Perhaps we may some day meet again.\"\nWith these words Antinous hurried down the hill and through the town to\nthe Nile.\n\nThe moon had risen and was mirrored in the rough water. Just so had its\nimage played upon the waves when Antinous had rescued Selene from the\nsea. The lad knew that Hadrian would be expecting him, still he did not\nseek his tent. A violent emotion had overpowered him; he restlessly paced\nup and down the river-bank rapidly reviewing in his memory the more\nprominent incidents of his past life. He seemed to hear again every word\nof the dialogue that had taken place yesterday between Hadrian and\nhimself. Before his inward eye he saw once more his humble home in\nBithynia, his mother, his brothers and sisters whom he should never see\nagain. Once more he lived through the dreadful hour when he had deceived\nhis beloved master and had been an incendiary. An overmastering dread\nfell upon him as he thought of Hadrian's wish to put him in the place of\nthe man whom the prudent sovereign had chosen as his successor--a choice\nthat was perhaps the direct outcome of his own crime. He, Antinous, who\nto-day could not think of the morrow, who always kept out of the way of\nthe discourse of grave men because he found it so hard to follow their\nmeaning, he who knew nothing but how to obey, he who was never happy but\nalone with his master and his dreaming, far from the bustle of the\nworld--he, to be burdened with the purple, with anxiety, with a\nmountain-load of responsibility!\n\nNo, no; the idea was unheard-of--impossible! And yet Hadrian never gave\nup a wish he had once expressed in words. The future loomed before his\nsoul like some overpowering foe. Suffering, unrest, and misfortune stared\nhim in the face, turn which way he would.\n\nWhat was the hideous fatality that threatened his sovereign? It was\napproaching, it must come if no one--aye, if no one should be found to\nstand between him and the impending blow, and to receive in his own\nbreast--in his own heart, bared to receive the wound--the spear hurled by\nthe vengeful god. And he--he, and he alone was the one who might do this.\n\nThe thought flashed into his mind like a sudden blaze of light; and if he\nshould find the courage to devote himself to death for his dear master\nall his sins against him would be expiated; then--then--oh, how lovely a\nthought!--then might he not find entrance into the gates of that realm of\nbliss which Selene's prayers had opened to him? There he would see his\nmother again and his father, and by and bye his brothers and sisters--but\nnow, at once in a few minutes Her whom he loved and who had trodden the\nways of death before him.\n\nAn exquisite sense of hope such as he had never felt before flooded his\nsoul. There lay the Nile--here was a boat. He gave it a strong push into\nthe stream and with a powerful leap, as when hunting he had often sprung\nfrom rock to rock, he jumped into the boat. He had just seized an oar\nwhen Mastor, who had been desired by the Emperor to seek him, recognized\nhim in the moonlight and desired him to return with him to the tents.\n\nBut Antinous did not obey. As he pushed out into the stream he called\nout:\n\n\"Greet my Lord from me--greet him lovingly, a thousand times, and tell\nhim Antinous loved him more than his life. Fate demands a victim. The\nworld cannot dispense with Hadrian, but Antinous is a mere nonentity,\nwhom none will miss but Caesar, and for him Antinous flings himself into\nthe jaws of death.\"\n\n\"Stay-stop! hapless boy, come back!\" shouted the slave, and leaping into\na boat he followed that of the Bithynian, which, impelled by strong and\nsteady strokes, flew away into the current.\n\nMastor rowed with all his might, but he could not gain upon the boat he\nwas pursuing. Thus in a wild race both reached the middle of the stream.\nThere, the slave saw Antinous fling away his oar, and an instant later he\nheard Antinous call loudly on the name of Selene, and then, in helpless\ninactivity, he saw the lad glide into the waters, and the Nile swallowed\nin its flood the noblest and fairest of victims.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nA night and a day had slipped away since the death of the Bithynian.\nShips and boats from every part of the province had collected before Besa\nto seek for the body of the drowned youth, the shores swarmed with men,\nand cressets and torches had dimmed the moonlight on river and shore all\nthrough the night; but they had not yet succeeded in finding the body of\nthe beautiful youth.\n\nHadrian had heard in what way Antinous had perished. He had required\nMastor to repeat to him more than once the last words of his faithful\ncompanion and neither to add nor to omit a single syllable. Hadrian's\naccurate memory cherished them all and now he had sat till dawn and from\ndawn till the sun had reached the meridian, repeating them again and\nagain to him self. He sat gloomily brooding and would neither eat nor\ndrink. The misfortune which had threatened him had fallen--and what a\ngrief was this! If indeed Fate would accept the anguish he now felt in\nthe place of all other suffering it might have had in store for him he\nmight look forward to years free from care, but he felt as though he\nwould rather have spent the remainder of his existence in sorrow and\nmisery with his Antinous by his side than enjoy, without him, all that\nmen call happiness, peace and prosperity.\n\nSabina and her escort had arrived-a host of men; but he had strictly\nordered that no one, not even his wife, was to be admitted to his\npresence. The comfort of tears was denied him, but his grief gripped him\nat the heart, clouded his brain and made hint so irritably sensitive that\nan unfamiliar voice, though even at a distance, disturbed him and made\nhim angry.\n\nThe party who had arrived by water were not allowed to occupy the tents\nwhich had been pitched for them not far from his, because he desired to\nbe alone, quite alone, with his anguish of spirit. Mastor, whom he had\nhitherto regarded rather a useful chattel than as a human creature, now\ngrew nearer to him--had he not been the one witness of his darling's\nstrange disappearance. Towards the close of this, the most miserable\nnight he had ever known, the slave asked him whether he should not fetch\nthe physician from the ships, he looked so pale; but Hadrian forbade it.\n\n\"If I could only cry like a woman,\" he said, \"or like other fathers whose\nsons are snatched away by death, that would be the best remedy. You poor\nsouls will have a bad time now, for the sun of my life has lost its light\nand the trees by the way-side have lost their verdure.\"\n\nWhen he was alone once more he sat staring into vacancy and muttered to\nhimself:\n\n\"All mankind should mourn with me for if I had been asked yesterday how\nperfect a beauty might be bestowed on one of their race I could have\npointed proudly to you, my faithful boy and have said, 'Beauty like that\nof the gods.' Now the crown is cut off from the trunk of the palm and the\nmaimed thing can only be ashamed of its deformity; and if all humanity\nwere but one man it would look like one who has had his right eye torn\nout. I will not look on the monsters, lean and fat, that they may not\nspoil my taste for the true type! Oh faithful, lovable, beautiful boy!\nWhat a blind, mad fool have you been! And yet I cannot blame your\nmadness. You have pierced my soul with the deepest thrust of all and yet\nI cannot even be angry with you. Superhuman! godlike was your faithful\ndevotion. Aye, indeed, it was!\" As he thus spoke he rose from his seat\nand went on resolutely and decidedly:\n\n\"Here I stretch out this my right hand-hear me, ye Immortals! Every city\nin the Empire shall raise an altar to Antinous, and the friend of whom\nyou have robbed me I will make your equal and companion. Receive him\ntenderly, oh, ye undying rulers of the world! Which among you can boast\nof beauty greater than his? and which of you ever displayed so much\ngoodness and faithfulness as your new associate?\"\n\nThis vow seemed to have given Hadrian some comfort. For above half an\nhour he paced his tent with a firmer tread, then he desired that\nHeliodorus his secretary might be called.\n\nThe Greek wrote what his sovereign dictated. This was nothing less than\nthat henceforth the world should worship a new divinity in the person of\nAntinous.\n\nAt noonday a messenger in breathless haste came to say that the body of\nthe Bithynian had been found. Thousands flocked to see the corpse, and\namong them Balbilla, who had behaved like a distracted creature when she\nheard to what an end her idol had come. She had rushed up and down the\nriver-bank, among the citizens and fishermen, dressed in black mourning\nrobes and with her hair flying about her. The Egyptians had compared her\nto the mourning Isis seeking the body of her beloved husband, Osiris. She\nwas beside herself with grief, and her companion implored her in vain to\ncalm herself and remember her rank and her dignity as a woman. But\nBalbilla pushed her vehemently aside, and when the news was brought that\nNile had yielded up his prey she rushed on foot to see the body, with the\nrest of the crowd.\n\nHer name was in every mouth, everyone knew that she was the Empress'\nfriend, and so she was willingly and promptly obeyed when she commanded\nthe bearers who carried the bier on which the recovered body lay to set\nit down and to lift up the sheet which shrouded it. Pale and trembling,\nshe went up to it and gazed down at the drowned man; but only for a\nmoment could she endure the sight. She turned away with a shudder, and\ndesired the bearers to go on. When the funeral procession had disappeared\nand she could no longer hear the shrill wailing of the Egyptian women,\nand no longer see them streaking their breast, head, and hair with damp\nearth and flinging up their arms wildly in the air, she turned to her\ncompanion and said calmly: \"Now, Claudia, let us go home.\"\n\nIn the evening at supper she appeared dressed in black, like Sabina and\nall the rest of the suite, but she was calm and ready with an answer to\nevery observation.\n\nPontius had travelled with them from Thebes to Besa, and she had spared\nhim nothing that could punish him for his long absence, and had\nmercilessly compelled him to listen to all her verses on Antinous.\n\nHe meanwhile had been perfectly cool about it, and had criticised her\npoems exactly as if they had referred not to a man of flesh and blood but\nto some statue or god. This epigram he would praise, the next he would\ndisparage, a third condemn. Her confession that she had been in the habit\nof complimenting Antinous with flowers and fruit he heard with a shrug of\nthe shoulders, saying pleasantly: \"Give him as many presents as you will;\nI know that you expect no gifts from your divinity in return for your\nsacrifices.\"\n\nHis words had surprised and delighted her. Pontius always understood her,\nand did not deserve that she should wound him. So she let him gaze into\nher soul, and told him how much she loved Antinous so long as he was\nabsent. Then she laughed and confessed that she was perfectly indifferent\nto him as soon as they were together.\n\nWhen, after the Bithynian's death, she lost all self-control he simply\nlet her alone, and begged Claudia to do the same.\n\nThe same day that the body was found it was burnt on a pile of precious\nwood. Hadrian had refused to see it when he learnt that the death by\ndrowning had terribly distorted the lad's features.\n\nA few hours after the ashes of the Bithynian had been collected and\nbrought in a golden vase to Hadrian, the Nile fleet was once more under\nsail, this time with the Emperor on board one of the boats, to proceed\nwithout farther halt to Alexandria.\n\nHadrian remained alone with only his slave and his secretary on the boat\nthat conveyed him; but he several times sent to Pontius to desire him to\ncome from the ship on which he was and visit him on his. He liked to hear\nthe architect's deep voice, and discussed with him the plans which\nPontius had sketched for his mausoleum in Rome and the monument to his\nlost favorite which he proposed to have erected from designs of his own\nin the large city which he intended should stand on the site of the\nlittle town of Besa, and which he had already named Antinoe. But these\ndiscussions only took up a limited number of hours, and then the\narchitect was at liberty to return to Sabina's boat, on which Balbilla\nalso lived.\n\nA few days after they had quitted Besa he was sitting alone with the\npoetess on the deck of the Nile boat which, borne by the current and\npropelled by a hundred oars, was rapidly and steadily nearing its\ndestination. Ever since the death of the hapless favorite Pontius had\navoided mentioning him to her. She had now become as observant and as\ntalkative as before, and in her eyes there even shone at times a ray of\nthe old sunny gayety of her nature. The architect thought he comprehended\nthe characteristic change in her sentiments, and would not allude to the\ncause of the violent but transient fever under which she had suffered.\n\"What did you discuss with Caesar to-day?\" asked Balbilla of her friend.\nPontius looked down at the ground and considered whether he could venture\nto utter the name of Antinous before the poetess. Balbilla observed his\nhesitation and said:\n\n\"Speak on; I can hear anything. That folly is past and over.\"\n\n\"Caesar is at work at the plans for a new town to be built and called\nAntinoe, and a sketch for a monument to his ill-fated favorite,\" said\nPontius. \"He will not accept any help, but I have to teach him to\ndiscriminate what is possible from what is impossible.\"\n\n\"Ah! he is always gazing at the stars and you look steadily at the road\non which you are walking.\"\n\n\"An architect can make no use of anything that is unsteady or that has no\nfirm foundation.\"\n\n\"That is a hard saying, Pontius. It is true that during the last few\nweeks I have behaved like a fool.\"\n\n\"I only wish that every tottering structure could recover its balance as\nquickly and as certainly as you! Antinous was a demigod for beauty, and a\ngood faithful fellow besides.\"\n\n\"Do not speak of him any more,\" exclaimed Balbilla shuddering. \"He looked\ndreadful. Can you forgive me for my conduct?\"\n\n\"I never was angry with you.\"\n\n\"But I lost your esteem.\"\n\n\"No, Balbilla. Beauty, which is dear to us all, and which the Muse has\nkissed, attracted your easily moved poet's soul and it fluttered off at\nrandom. Let it fly! My friend's true womanly nature was never carried\naway by it. She stands on a rock, that I am sure of.\"\n\n\"How good and kind in you to say so--too good, too kind! for I am a\nfeeble creature, turned by every breeze that blows, a vain little fool\nwho does not know one hour what she may do the next, a spoilt child that\nlikes best to do the thing it ought to leave undone, a weak girl who\nfinds a pleasure in doing battle with men. For all in all--\"\n\n\"For all in all a darling of the gods who to-day can climb the rocks with\na firm step and to-morrow lies dreaming in the sunshine among\nflowers--for all in all a nature that has no equal and which lacks\nnothing, nothing whatever that constitutes a true woman excepting--\"\n\n\"I know what I lack,\" cried Balbilla. \"A strong man on whom I can depend,\nwhose warnings I can respect. You, you are that man; you and none other,\nfor as soon as I feel you by my side I find it difficult to do what I\nknow to be wrong. Here I am, Pontius! Will you have me with all my moods,\nwith all my faults and weaknesses?\"\n\n\"Balbilla!\" cried the architect, beside himself with heartfelt agitation\nand surprise, and he pressed her hand long and fervently to-his lips.\n\n\"You will? You will take me? You will never leave me, you will warn,\nsupport me and protect me?\"\n\n\"Till my last day, till death, as my child, as the apple of my eye,\nas--dare I say it and believe it?--as my love, my second self, my wife.\"\n\n\"Oh! Pontius, Pontius,\" she exclaimed, grasping his broad, right hand in\nboth her own. \"This hour restores to the orphaned Balbilla, father and\nmother and gives her besides the husband that she loves.\"\n\n\"Mine, mine!\" cried the architect. \"Immortal gods! During half a lifetime\nI have never found time, in the midst of labor and fatigue, to indulge in\nthe joys of love and now you give me with interest and compound interest\nthe treasure you have so long withheld.\"\n\n\"How can you, a reasonable man, so over-estimate the value of your\npossession? But you shall find some good in it. Life can no longer be\nconceived of as worth having without the possessor.\"\n\n\"And to me it has so long seemed empty and cold without you, you strange,\nunique, incomparable creature.\"\n\n\"But why did you not come sooner, and so give me no time to behave like a\nfool?\"\n\n\"Because, because,\" said Pontius, gravely, \"such a flight towards the sun\nseemed to me too bold; because I remember that my father's father--\"\n\n\"He was the noblest man that the ancestor of my house attracted to its\ngreatness.\"\n\n\"He was--consider it duly at this moment--he was your grandfather's\nslave.\"\n\n\"I know it, but I also know, that there is not a man on earth who is\nworthier of freedom than you are, or whom I could ask as humbly as I ask\nyou: Take me, poor, foolish Balbilla, to be your wife, guide me and make\nof me whatever you can, for your own honor and mine.\"\n\nThe brief Nile voyage brought days and hours of the highest happiness to\nBalbilla and her lover. Before the fleet sailed into the Mareotic harbor\nof Alexandria, Pontius revealed his happy secret to the Emperor. Hadrian\nsmiled for the first time since the death of his favorite, and desired\nthe architect to bring Balbilla to him.\n\n\"I was wrong in my interpretation of the Pythian oracle,\" said he, as he\nlaid the poetess's hand in that of Pontius. \"Would you like to know how\nit runs Pontius--do not prompt me, my child. Anything that I have read\nthrough once or twice I never forget. Pythia said:\n\n  'That which thou boldest most precious and dear shall be torn from\n     thy keeping,\n   And from the heights of Olympus, down shalt thou fall in the dust;\n   Still the contemplative eye discerns under mutable sand-drifts\n   Stable foundations of stone, marble and natural rock.'\n\n\"You have chosen well girl. The oracle guaranteed you a safe road to\ntread through life. As to the dust of which it speaks, it exists no doubt\nin a certain sense, but this hand wields the broom that will sweep it\naway. Solemnize your marriage in Alexandria as soon as you will, but then\ncome to Rome, that is the only condition I impose. A thing I always have\nat heart is the introduction of new and worthy members into the class of\nKnights, for it is in that way alone that its fallen dignity can be\nrestored. This ring, my Pontius, gives you the rank of eques, and such a\nman as you are, the husband of Balbilla and the friend of Caesar may no\ndoubt by-and-bye find a seat in the Senate. What this generation can\nproduce in stone and marble, my mausoleum shall bear witness to. Have you\naltered the plan of the bridge?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nIn Alexandria the news of the nomination of the \"sham Eros\" to be the\nEmperor's successor was hailed with joy, and the citizens availed\nthemselves gladly of his fresh and favorable opportunity to hold one\nfestival after another. Titianus took care to provide for the due\nperformance of the usual acts of grace, and among others he threw open\nthe prison-gates of Canopus, and the sculptor Pollux was set at liberty.\n\nThe hapless artist had grown pale, it is true, in durance vile, but\nneither leaner nor enfeebled in body; on the other hand all the vigor of\nhis intellect, all his bright courage for life and his happy creative\ninstinct, seemed altogether crushed out of him. His face, as in his dirty\nand ragged chiton, he journeyed from Canopus to Alexandria, revealed\nneither eager thankfulness for the unexpected boon of liberty, nor\nhappiness at the prospect of seeing again his own people and Arsinoe.\n\nIn the town he went, unintelligently dreaming as he walked, from one\nstreet to another, but he was familiar with every stone of the way, and\nhis feet found their way to his sister's house. How happy was Diotima,\nhow her children rejoiced, how impatient was each one to conduct him to\nthe old folks! How high in the air the Graces frisked and leaped in front\nof the new little home to welcome the returned absentee! And Doris, poor\nDoris, almost fainted with joyful surprise and her husband had to support\nher in his arms when her long vanished son, whom she had never given up\nfor lost, however, suddenly stood before her and said: \"Here am I.\" How\nfondly she kissed and caressed her dear, cruel, restored fugitive. The\nsinger too loudly expressed his joy alike in verse and in prose, and\nfetched his best theatrical dress out of the chest to put it on his son\nin the place of his ragged chiton.\n\nA mighty torrent of curses and execrations flowed from the old man's lips\nas Pollux told his story. The sculptor found it difficult to bring it to\nan end, for his father interrupted him at every word, and all the while\nhe was talking his mother forced him to eat and drink incessantly, even\nwhen he could no more. After he had assured her that he was long since\nreplete, she pushed two more pots on to the fire, for he must have been\nhalf-starved in prison, and what he did not want now he would find room\nfor two hours hence. Euphorion himself conducted Pollux to the bath in\nthe evening, and as they went home together he never for an instant left\nhis side; the sense of being near him did him good and was like some\ncomfortable physical sensation.\n\nThe singer was not usually inquisitive, but on this occasion he never\nceased asking questions till Doris led her son to the bed she had freshly\nmade for him. After the artist had gone to rest, the old woman once more\nslipped into his room, kissed his forehead, and said:\n\n\"To-day you have still been thinking too much of that hideous prison--but\nto-morrow my boy, to-morrow you will be the same as before, will you\nnot?\"\n\n\"Only leave me alone mother; I shall soon be better,\" he replied. \"This\nbed is as good as a sleeping-draught; the plank in the prison was quite a\ndifferent thing.\"\n\n\"You have never asked once for your Arsinoe,\" said Doris.\n\n\"What can she matter to me? Only let me sleep.\" But the next morning\nPollux was just the same as he had been the previous evening, and as the\ndays went on his condition remained unchanged. His head drooped on his\nbreast, he never spoke but when he was spoken to, and when Doris or\nEuphorion tried to talk to him of the future, he would ask: \"Am I a\nburden to you?\" or begged them not to worry him.\n\nStill, he was gentle and kind, took his sister's children in his arms,\nplayed with the Graces, whistled to the birds, went in and out, and\nplayed a valiant part at every meal. Now and again he would ask after\nArsinoe. Once he allowed himself to be guided to the house where she\nlived, but he would not knock at Paulina's door and seemed overawed by\nthe grandeur of the house. After he had been brooding and dreaming for a\nweek, so idle, listless, and absent that his mother's heart was filled\nwith anxious fears every time she looked at him, his brother Teuker hit\nupon a happy idea.\n\nThe young gem-cutter was not usually a frequent visitor to his parents'\nhouse, but since the return of the hapless Pollux he called there almost\ndaily. His apprenticeship was over and he seemed on the high-road to\nbecome a great master in his art; nevertheless he esteemed his brother's\ngifts as far beyond his own and had tried to devise some means of\nreawakening the dormant energies of the luckless man's brain.\n\n\"It was at this table,\" said Teuker to his mother, \"that Pollux used to\nsit. This evening I will bring in a lump of clay and a good piece of\nmodelling wax. Just put it all on the table and lay his tools by the side\nof it; perhaps when he sees them he will take a fancy again to work. If\nhe can only make up his mind to model even a doll for the children he\nwill soon get into the vein again, and he will go on from small things to\ngreat.\"\n\nTeuker brought the materials, Doris set them out with the modelling\ntools, and next morning watched her son's proceedings with an anxious\nheart. He got up late, as he had always done since his return home, and\nsat a long time over the bowl of porridge which his mother had prepared\nfor his breakfast. Then he sauntered across to his table, stood in front\nof it awhile, broke off a piece of clay and kneaded and moulded it in his\nfingers into balls and cylinders, looked at one of them more closely and\nthen, flinging it on the ground, he said, as he leaned across the table\nsupporting himself on both hands to put his face near his mother's:\n\n\"You want me to work again; but it is of no use--I could do no good with\nit.\"\n\nThe old woman's eyes filled with tears, but she did not answer him. In\nthe evening Pollux begged her to put away the tools.\n\nWhen he was gone to bed she did so, and while she was moving about with a\nlight in the dark, lumber-room in which she had kept them with other\ndisused things, her eye fell on the unfinished wax model which had been\nthe last work of her ill-starred son. A new idea struck her. She called\nEuphorion, made him throw the clay into the court-yard and place the\nmodel on the table by the side of the wax. Then she put out the very same\ntools as he had been using on the fateful day of their expulsion from\nLochias, close to the cleverly-sketched portrait, and begged her husband\nto go out with her quite early next morning and to remain absent till\nmid-day.\n\n\"You will see,\" she said, \"when he is standing face to face with his last\nwork and there is no one by to disturb him or look at him, he will find\nthe ends of the threads that have been cut and perhaps be able to gather\nthem up again and go on with the work where it was interrupted.\"\n\nThe mother's heart had hit upon the right idea. When Pollux had eaten his\nbreakfast he went to his table exactly as he had done the clay before;\nbut the sight of the work in hand had quite a different effect to the\nmere raw clay and wax. His eyes sparkled; he walked round the table with\nan attentive gaze examining his work as keenly and as eagerly as if it\nwere some fine thing he saw for the first time. Memory revived in his\nmind. He laughed aloud, clasped his hands and said to himself, \"Capital!\nSomething may be made of that!\"\n\nHis dull weariness slipped off him, as it were; a confident smile parted\nhis lips and he seized the wax with a firm hand. But he did not begin to\nwork at once; he only tried whether his fingers had not lost their\ncunning, and whether the yielding material was obedient to his will. The\nwax was no less docile to his touch than in former days, as he pinched or\npulled it. Perhaps then the tormenting thought that blighted his life,\nthe dread that in the prison he had ceased to be an artist, and had lost\nall his faculty was nothing more than a mad delusion! He must at any rate\ntry how he could get on at the work.\n\nNo one was by to observe him--he might dare the attempt at once. The\nsweat of anguish stood in large beads on his brow as he finally\nconcentrated his volition, shook back the hair from his face and took up\na lump of the wax in both hands. There stood the portrait of Antinous\nwith the head only half-finished. Now--could he succeed in modelling that\nlovely head free-hand and from memory?\n\nHis breath came fast, and his hands trembled as he set to work; but soon\nhis hand was as steady as ever, his eye was calm and keen again, and the\nwork progressed. The fine features of the young Bithynian were distinct\nto his mind's eye, and when, about four hours after, his mother looked in\nat the window to see what Pollux was doing, whether her little stratagem\nhad succeeded, she cried out with surprise, for the favorite's bust, a\nlikeness in every feature, stood on a plinth side by side with the\noriginal sketch. Before she could cross the threshold her son had run to\nmeet her, lifted her in his arms, and kissing her forehead and lips he\nexclaimed, radiant with delight:\n\n\"Mother, I still can work. Mother, mother, I am not lost!\"\n\nIn the afternoon his brother came in and saw what he had been doing, and\nnow--and not till now--could Teuker honestly be glad to have found his\nbrother again.\n\nWhile the two artists were sitting together, and the gem-cutter was\nsuggesting to the sculptor, who had complained of the bad light in his\nparent's house, that he should carry the statue to his master's\nworkshop--which was much lighter--to complete it, Euphorion had quietly\ngone to some remote corner of his provision-shed and brought to light an\namphora full of noble Chian wine which had been given to him by a rich\nmerchant, for whose wedding he had performed the part of Hymenaeus with a\nchorus of youths. For twenty years had he still preserved this jar of\nwine for some specially happy occasion. This jar and his best lute were\nthe only objects which Euphorion had carried with his own hand from\nLochias to his daughter's house and then again to his own new abode. With\nan air of dignified pride the singer set the old amphora before his sons,\nbut Doris laid hands upon it at once and said:\n\n\"I am glad to bestow the good gift upon you, and would willingly drink a\ncup of it with you; but a prudent general does not celebrate his triumph\nbefore he has won the battle. As soon as the statue of the beautiful lad\nis completed, I myself, will wreathe this venerable jar with ivy, and beg\nyou spare it to us, my dear old man--but not before.\"\n\n\"Mother is right,\" said Pollux. \"And if the amphora is really destined\nfor me, if you will allow it, my father shall not remove the pitch wig\nfrom its venerable head, till Arsinoe is mine once more!\"\n\n\"That is well my boy,\" cried Doris, \"and then I will crown, not merely\nthe jar but all of us too, with nothing but sweet roses.\"\n\nThe next day Pollux, with his unfinished statue, removed to the workshop\nof his brother's master. The worthy man cleared the best place for the\nyoung sculptor, for he thought highly of him and wished to make good, as\nfar as lay in his power, the injustice the poor fellow had suffered from\nthe treachery of Papias. Now, from sunrise till evening fell, Pollux was\nconstant to his work. He gave himself up to the resuscitated pleasure and\npower of creation with real passion. Instead of using wax he had recourse\nto clay, and formed a tall figure which represented Antinous as the\nyouthful Bacchus, as the god might have appeared to the pirates. A mantle\nfell in light folds from his left shoulder to his ankles, leaving the\nbroad breast and right aria entirely free; vine-leaves and grapes\nwreathed his flowing locks, and a pine-cone, flame-shaped, crowned his\nbrow. The left arm was raised in a graceful curve, and his fingers\nlightly grasped a thyrsus which rested on the ground and stood taller\nthan the god's head; by the side of this magnificent figure stood a\nmighty wine-jar, half hidden by the drapery.\n\nFor a whole week Pollux had devoted himself to this task during all the\nhours of daylight with unflagging zeal and diligence. Before night fell\nhe was accustomed to leave his work and walk up and down in front of\nPaulina's house, but for the present he refrained from knocking at the\ndoor and asking after the girl he loved. He had heard from his mother how\nanxiously she was guarded from him and his; still Paulina's severity\nwould certainly not have hindered the artist from making the attempt to\npossess himself of his dearest treasure. What held him back from even\napproaching Arsinoe, was the vow he had made to himself never to tempt\nher to quit her new and sheltered home till he had acquired a firm\ncertainty of being once for all an artist, a true artist, who might hope\nto do something great, and who might dare to link the fate of the woman\nhe loved, with his own.\n\nWhen, on the eighth morning of his labors, he was taking a few minutes\nrest, his brother's master came past the rapidly advancing work, and\nafter contemplating it for some time exclaimed:\n\n\"Splendid, splendid! Our time has produced nothing to compare with it!\"\n\nAn hour later Pollux was standing at the door of Paulina's town-house,\nand let the knocker fall heavily on the door. The steward opened to him\nand asked him what he wanted. He asked to speak with dame Paulina, but\nshe was not at home. Then he asked after Arsinoe, the daughter of\nKeraunus, who had found a home with the rich widow. The servant shook his\nhead.\n\n\"My mistress is having her searched for,\" he said. \"She disappeared\nyesterday evening. The ungrateful creature! She has tried to run away\nseveral times before now.\"\n\nThe artist laughed, slapped the steward on the back, and said:\n\n\"I will soon find her!\" and he sprang away down the street, and back to\nhis parents.\n\nArsinoe had received much kindness in Paulina's house, but she had also\ngone through many bad hours. For months she had been obliged to believe\nthat her lover was dead. Pontius had told her that Pollux had entirely\nvanished and her benefactress persisted in al ways speaking of him as of\none dead. The poor child had shed many tears for him, and when the\nlonging to talk of him with some one who had known him had taken\npossession of her she had entreated Paulina to allow her to go to see his\nmother or to let Doris visit her. But the widow had desired her to give\nup all thought of the idol-maker and his belongings, speaking with\ncontempt of the gate-keeper's worthy wife. Just at that time Selene also\nleft the city, and now Arsinoe's longing for her old friends grew to a\npassionate craving to see them again.\n\nOne day she yielded to the promptings of her heart and slipped out into\nthe street to seek Doris; but the door-keeper, who had been charged by\nPaulina never to allow her to go outside the door without his mistress's\nexpress permission, noticed her and brought her back to her\nprotectress--not this time only, but, on several subsequent occasions\nwhen she attempted to escape.\n\nIt was not merely her longing to talk about Pollux which made her new\nhome unendurable to Arsinoe, but many other reasons besides. She felt\nlike a prisoner; and in fact she was one, for after each attempt at\nflight her freedom of movement was still farther impeded. It is true that\nshe had soon ceased to submit patiently to all that was required of her\nand even had often opposed her adoptive mother with vehement words, tears\nand execrations, but these unpleasant scenes, which always ended by a\ndeclaration on Paulina's part that she forgave the girl, had always\nresulted in a long break in her drives and in a variety of small\nannoyances. Arsinoe was beginning to hate her benefactress and everything\nthat surrounded her, and the hours of catechising and of prayer, which\nshe could not escape, were a positive martyrdom. Ere long the doctrine to\nwhich Paulina sought to win her was confounded in her mind with that\nwhich it was intended to drive out, and she defiantly shut her heart\nagainst it.\n\nBishop Eumenes, who had been elected in the spring Patriarch of the\nChristians of Alexandria, visited her oftener than usual during the\nsummer when Paulina lived in her suburban villa. Paulina, it is true, had\nfancied she could do without his help, and that she could and must carry\nher task through to the end by herself; but the worthy old man had felt\nsympathetically drawn to the poor ill-guided child, and sought to soothe\nand calm her mind and show her the goal, towards which Paulina desired to\nlead her, in all its beauty. After such discourses Arsinoe would be\nsoftened and felt inclined to believe in God and to love Christ, but no\nsooner had her protectress called her again into the school-room and put\nthe very same things before her in her own way than the girl's\nheartstrings drew close again; and when she was desired to pray she\nraised her hands, indeed, but out of sheer defiance, she prayed in spirit\nto the Greek gods.\n\nFrequently Paulina received visits from heathen acquaintances in rich\ndresses and the sight of them always reminded Arsinoe of former days. How\npoor she had been then! and yet she had always had a blue or a red ribbon\nto plait in her hair and trim the edge of her peplum. Now she might wear\nnone but white dresses and the least scrap of colored ornament to dress\nher hair or smarten her robe was strictly forbidden. Such vain trifles,\nPaulina would say, were very well for the heathen, but the Lord looked\nnot at the body but at the heart.\n\nAh! and the poor little heart of the hapless child could not offer a very\npleasing sight to the Father in Heaven, for hatred and disgust, sadness,\nimpatience, and blasphemy seethed in it from morning till night. This\nyoung nature was surely formed for love and contentment, and both had\nleft her weeping. Still Arsinoe never ceased to yearn for them.\n\nWhen November had begun and another attempt to run away during their move\nback to the town-house had failed, Paulina tried to punish her by never\nspeaking a word to her for a fortnight, and forbidding even the\nslave-women to speak to her. In these two weeks the talkative girl was\nreduced almost to desperation, and she even thought of throwing herself\noff the roof down into the court-yard. But she clung too dearly to life\nto carry this horrible project into execution. On the first of December\nPaulina once more spoke to her, forgave her ingratitude, as usual in a\nlong, kind speech, and told her how many hours she had spent in praying\nfor her enlightenment and improvement.\n\nPaulina spoke the truth, and yet but half the truth, for she had never\nfelt a real love for Arsinoe, and had now for a long time watched her\ncome and go with actual dislike; but she required her conversion in order\nthat the warmest wish of her heart might find fulfilment. It was for the\nhappiness of her daughter, and not for the sake of her recalcitrant\ncompanion, that she prayed for her enlightenment and never ceased in her\nefforts to open the callous heart of her adopted child to the true faith.\n\nIn the afternoon preceding that morning when Pollux had at last knocked\nat the Christian widow's door, the sun shone with particular brilliancy,\nand Paulina had allowed the girl to go out with her. They spent some\nlittle time with a Christian family who dwelt on the shore of Lake\nMareotis, and so it fell out that they did not return home till late in\nthe evening. Arsinoe had long learnt, while she sat apparently gazing at\nthe ground, to keep her eyes out of the carriage and to see everything\nthat was going on around her; and as the chariot turned into their own\nstreet she spied in the distance a tall man who looked like her long-wept\nPollux. She fixed her eyes upon him, and had some difficulty in keeping\nherself from calling out aloud, for he it was who walked slowly down the\nstreet. She could not be mistaken, for the torches of two slaves who were\nwalking in front of a litter had broadly lighted up his face and figure.\n\nHe was not lost--he was living, and seeking her. She could have shouted\naloud for joy, but she did not stir till Paulina's chariot was standing\nstill in front of her house. The door-keeper bustled out as usual to help\nhis mistress to step out of the high-slung vehicle. Thus Paulina for an\ninstant turned her back, and in that moment Arsinoe sprang out of the\nopposite side of the chariot, and was flying down towards the street\nwhere she had seen her lover. Before Paulina could discover that she was\ngone the runaway found herself in the midst of the throng which, when the\nday's work was over, poured out from the workshops and factories on their\nway home.\n\nPaulina's slaves, who were sent out at once to seek the fugitive, had to\nreturn home this time empty-handed; but Arsinoe, on her part, had not\nsucceeded in finding him she sought. For an hour she looked round and\nabout her in vain; then she perceived that her search must be\nunsuccessful, and wondered how she might find her way to his parents'\nhouse. Rather than return to her benefactress she would have joined the\nroofless crew who passed the night on the hard marble pavement of the\nforecourts of the temple.\n\nAt first she rejoiced in the sense of recovered liberty, but when none of\nthe passers-by could tell her where Euphorion, the singer, lived, and\nsome young men followed her and addressed her with impudent speeches,\nterror made her turn aside into a street which led to the Bruchiom; her\npersecutors had not even then ceased to follow her, when a litter,\nescorted by lictors and several torch-bearers, was carried past. It was\nJulia, the kind wife of the prefect, who sat in it; Arsinoe recognized\nher at once, followed her, and reached the door of her residence at the\nsame moment as she herself. As the matron got out of her litter she\nobserved the girl who placed herself modestly, but with hands uplifted in\nentreaty, at the side of her path. Julia greeted the pretty creature in\nwhom she had once taken a motherly interest with affectionate sympathy,\nbeckoned Arsinoe to her, smiled as she listened to her request for a\nnight's shelter, and led her with much satisfaction to her husband.\n\nTitianus was ill; still he was glad once more to see the ill-fated\npalace-steward's pretty daughter; he listened to her story of her flight\nwith many signs of disapprobation, but kindly withal, and expressed the\nwarmest satisfaction at hearing that the sculptor Pollux was still in the\nland of the living.\n\nThe grand and lordly bed in one of the strangers' rooms in the prefect's\nhouse had held many a more illustrious guest, but never one whose sleep\nwas brightened by happier dreams than the poor orphaned \"little\nfugitive,\" who, no longer ago than yesterday, had cried herself to sleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nArsinoe was up betimes on the following morning; much embarrassed by all\nthe splendor that surrounded her, she walked up and down her room\nthinking of Pollux. Then she stopped to take pleasure in her own image\ndisplayed in a large mirror which stood on a dressing-table, and between\nwhiles she compared the couch, on which she lay clown again at full\nlength, with those in Paulina's house. Once more she felt herself a\nprisoner, but this time she liked her prison, and presently, when she\nheard slaves passing by her room, she flew to the door to listen, for it\nwas just possible that Titianus might have sent to fetch Pollux, and\nwould allow him to come to see her. At last a slave-woman came in,\nbrought her some breakfast, and desired her from Julia to go into the\ngarden and look at the flowers and aviaries till she should be sent for.\n\nEarly that morning the news had reached the prefect that Antinous had\nsought his death in the Nile, and it had shocked him greatly, less on\naccount of the hapless youth than for Hadrian's sake. When he had given\nthe proper officials orders to announce the melancholy news and to desire\nthe citizens to give some public expression of their sympathy with the\nEmperor's sorrow, he gave audience to the Patriarch Eumenes.\n\nThis venerable man, ever since the transactions which he had\nconducted--with reference to the thanksgiving of the Christians for the\nsafety of the Emperor after the fire, had been one of the most esteemed\nfriends of Titianus and Julia. The prefect discussed with the Patriarch\nthe inauspicious effects that the death of the young fellow might be\nexpected to have on the Emperor, and as a result, on the government,\nalthough the favorite had had no qualities of mind to distinguish him.\n\n\"Whenever Hadrian,\" continued Titianus, \"would give his unresting brain\nan hour's relaxation, and release himself from disappointment and\nvexation and the severe toil and anxiety of which his life is overfull,\nhe would go out hunting with the bold youth or would have the handsome,\ngood-hearted boy into his own room. The sight of the Bithynian's beauty\ndelighted his eye, and how well Antinous knew how to listen to\nhim--silent, modest and attentive! Hadrian loved him as a son, and the\npoor fellow clung to his master in return with more than a son's\nfidelity; his death itself proved it. Caesar himself said to me once; 'In\nthe midst of the turmoil of waking life, when I see Antinous a feeling\ncomes over me as if a beautiful dream stood incorporate before my eyes.'\n\n\"Caesar's grief at losing him must indeed be great,\" said the Patriarch.\n\n\"And the loss will add to the gloom of his grave and brooding nature,\nrender his restless scheming and wandering still more capricious, and\nincrease his suspiciousness and irritability.\"\n\n\"And the circumstances under which Antinous perished,\" added Eumenes,\n\"will afford new ground for his attachment to superstitions.\"\n\n\"That is to be feared. We have not happy days before us; the revolt in\nJudaea, too, will again cost thousands of lives.\"\n\n\"If only it had been granted to you to assume the government of that\nprovince.\"\n\n\"But you know, my worthy friend, the condition I am in. On my bad days I\nam incapable of commanding a thought or opening my lips. When my\nbreathlessness increases I feel as if I were being suffocated. I have\nplaced many decades of my life at the disposal of the state, and I now\nfeel justified in devoting the diminished strength which is left me to\nother things. I and my wife think of retiring to my property by lake\nLarius, and there to try whether we may succeed, she and I, in becoming\nworthy of the salvation and capable of apprehending the truth that you\nhave offered us. You are there Julia? As the determination to retire from\nthe world has matured in us, we have, both of us, remembered more than\nonce the words of the Jewish sage, which you lately told us of. When the\nangel of God drove the first man out of Paradise, he said: 'Henceforth\nyour heart must be your Paradise.' We are turning our backs on the\npleasure of a city life--\"\n\n\"And we do so without regret,\" said Julia, interrupting her husband, \"for\nwe bear in our minds the germ of a more indestructible, purer, and more\nlasting happiness.\"\n\n\"Amen!\" said the Patriarch. \"Where two such as you dwell together there\nthe Lord is third in the bond.\" \"Give us your disciple Marcianus to be\nour travelling-companion,\" said Titianus.\n\n\"Willingly,\" said Eumenes. \"Shall he come to visit you when I leave you?\"\n\n\"Not immediately,\" replied Julia. \"I have this morning an important and\nat the same time pleasant business to attend to. You know Paulina, the\nwidow of Pudeus. She took into her keeping a pretty young creature--\"\n\n\"And Arsinoe has run away from her.\"\n\n\"We took her in here,\" said Titianus. \"Her protectress seems to have\nfailed in attracting her to her, or in working favorably on her nature.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Patriarch. \"There was but one key to her full, bright\nheart--Love--but Paulina tried to force it open with coercion and\npersistent driving. It remained closed--nay, the lock is spoiled.--But,\nif I may ask, how came the girl into your house?\"\n\n\"That I can tell you later, we did not make her acquaintance for the\nfirst time yesterday.\"\n\n\"And I am going to fetch her lover to her,\" cried the prefect's wife.\n\n\"Paulina will claim her of you,\" said the Patriarch. \"She is having her\nsought for everywhere; but the child will never thrive under her\nguidance.\"\n\n\"Did the widow formally adopt Arsinoe?\" asked Titianus.\n\n\"No; she proposed doing so as soon as her young pupil--\"\n\n\"Intentions count for nothing in law, and I can protect our pretty little\nguest against her claim.\"\n\n\"I will fetch her,\" said Julia. \"The time must certainly have seemed very\nlong to her already. Will you come with me, Eumenes?\"\n\n\"With pleasure,\" replied the old man, \"Arsinoe and I are excellent\nfriends; a conciliatory word from me will do her good, and my blessing\ncannot harm even a heathen. Farewell, Titianus, my deacons are expecting\nme.\"\n\nWhen Julia returned to the sitting-room with her protegee, the child's\neyes were wet with tears, for the kind words of the venerable old man had\ngone to her heart and she knew and acknowledged that she had experienced\ngood as well as evil from Paulina.\n\nThe matron found her husband no longer alone. Wealthy old Plutarch with\nhis two supporters was with him, and in black garments, which were\ndecorated with none but white flowers, instead of many colored garments;\nhe presented a singular appearance. The old man was discoursing eagerly\nto the prefect; but as soon as he saw Arsinoe he broke off his harangue,\nclapped his hands and was quite excited with the pleasure of seeing once\nmore the fair Roxana for whom he had once visited in vain all the\ngold-workers' shops in the city.\n\n\"But I am tired,\" cried Plutarch, with quite youthful vivacity, \"I am\nquite tired of keeping the ornaments for you. There are quite enough\nother useless things in my house. They belong to you, not to me, and this\nvery day I will send them to the noble Julia, that she may give them to\nyou. Give me your hand, dear child; you have grown paler but more\nwomanly. What do you think, Titianus, she would still do for Roxana; only\nyour wife must find a dress for her again. All in white, and no ribband\nin your hair!--like a Christian.\"\n\n\"I know some one who will find out the way to fitly crown these soft\ntresses,\" replied Julia. \"Arsinoe is the bride of Pollux, the sculptor.\"\n\n\"Pollux!\" exclaimed Plutarch, in extreme excitement. \"Move me forward,\nAntaeus and Atlas, the sculptor Pollux is her lover? A great, a splendid\nartist! The very same, noble Titianus, of whom I just now speaking to\nyou.\"\n\n\"You know him?\" asked the prefect's wife.\n\n\"No, but I have just left the work-shop of Periander, the gem-cutter, and\nthere I saw the model of a statue of Antinous that is unique, marvellous,\nincomparable! The Bithynian as Dionysus! The work would do no discredit\nto a Phidias, to a Lysippus. Pollux was out of the way, but I laid my\nhand at once on his work; the young master must execute it immediately in\nmarble. Hadrian will be enchanted with this portrait of his beautiful and\ndevoted favorite. You must admire it, every connoisseur must! I will pay\nfor it, the only question is whether I or the city should present it to\nCaesar. This matter your husband must decide.\"\n\nArsinoe was radiant with joy at these words, but she stepped modestly\ninto the background as an official came in and handed Titianus a dispatch\nthat had just arrived.\n\nThe prefect read it; then turning to his friend and his wife, he said:\n\n\"Hadrian ascribes to Antinous the honors of a god.\"\n\n\"Fortunate Pollux!\" exclaimed Plutarch. \"He has executed the first statue\nof the new divinity. I will present it to the city, and they shall place\nit in the temple to Antinous of which we must lay the first stone before\nCaesar is back here again. Farewell, my noble friends! Greet your\nbridegroom from me, my child. His work belongs to me. Pollux will be the\nfirst among his fellow-artists, and it has been my privilege to discover\nthis new star--the eighth artist whose merit I have detected while he was\nstill unknown. Your future brother-in-law too, Teuker, will turn out\nwell. I am having a stone cut by him with a portrait of Antinous. Once\nmore farewell; I must go to the Council. We shall have to discuss the\nsubject of a temple to the new divinity. Move on you two!\"\n\nAn hour after Plutarch had quitted the prefect's house Julia's chariot\nwas standing at the entrance of a lane, much too narrow to admit a\nvehicle with horses, and which ended in a little plot on which stood\nEuphorion's humble house. Julia's outrunners easily found out the\nresidence of the sculptor's parents, led the matron and Arsinoe to the\nspot, and showed them the door they should knock at.\n\n\"What a color you have, my little girl!\" said Julia. \"Well, I will not\nintrude on your meeting, but I should like to deliver you with my own\nhand into those of your future mother. Go to that little house, Arctus,\nand beg dame Doris to step out here. Only say that some one wishes to\nspeak with her, but do not mention my name.\"\n\nArsinoe's heart beat so violently that she was incapable of saying a word\nof thanks to her kind protectress. \"Step behind this palm-tree,\" said the\nlady. Arsinoe obeyed; but she felt as though it was some outside\nvolition, and not her own, that guided her to her hiding-place. She heard\nnothing of the first words spoken by the Roman lady and Doris. She only\nsaw the dear old face of her Pollux's mother, and in spite of her\nreddened eyes and the wrinkles which trouble had furrowed in her face,\nshe could not tire of looking at it. It reminded her of the happiest days\nof her childhood, and she longed to rush forward and throw her arms round\nthe neck of the kindly, good-hearted woman. Then she heard Julia say: \"I\nhave brought her to you. She is just as sweet and as maidenly and lovely\nas she was the first time we saw her in the theatre.\"\n\n\"Where is she? Where is she?\" asked Doris in a trembling voice.\n\nJulia pointed to the palm, and was about to call Arsinoe, but the girl\ncould no longer restrain her longing to fall on the neck of some one dear\nto her, for Pollux had come out of the door to see who had asked for his\nmother, and to see him and to fly to his breast with a cry of joy had\nbeen one and the same act to Arsinoe.\n\nJulia gazed at the couple with moistened eyes, and when, after many kind\nwords for old and young alike, she took leave of the happy group, she\nsaid:\n\n\"I will provide for your outfit my child, and this time I think you will\nwear it, not merely for one transient hour but through a long and happy\nlife.\"\n\nJoyful singing sounded out that evening from Euphorion's little home.\nDoris and her husband, and Pollux and Arsinoe, Diotima and Teuker, decked\nwith garlands, reclined round the amphora which was wreathed with roses,\ndrinking to pleasure and joy, to art and love, and to all the gifts of\nthe present. The sweet bride's long hair was once more plaited with\nhandsome blue ribbons.\n\nThree weeks after these events Hadrian was again in Alexandria. He kept\naloof from all the festivals instituted in honor of the new god Antinous,\nand smiled incredulously when he was told that a new star had appeared in\nthe sky, and that an oracle had declared it to be the soul of his lost\nfavorite.\n\nWhen Plutarch conducted the Emperor and his friends to see the Bacchus\nAntinous, which Pollux had completed in the clay, Hadrian was deeply\nstruck and wished to know the name of the master who had executed this\nnoble work of art. Not one of his companion's had the courage to speak\nthe name of Pollux in his presence; only Pontius ventured to come forward\nfor his young friend. He related to Hadrian the hapless artist's history\nand begged him to forgive him. The Emperor nodded his approval, and said:\n\n\"For the sake of this lost one he shall be forgiven.\"\n\nPollux was brought into his presence, and Hadrian, holding out his hand\nsaid as he pressed the sculptor's:\n\n\"The Immortals have bereft me of his love and faithfulness, but your art\nhas preserved his beauty for me and for the world--\"\n\nEvery city in the Empire vied in building temples and erecting statues to\nthe new god, and Pollux, Arsinoe's happy husband, was commissioned to\nexecute statues and busts of Antinous for a hundred towns; but he refused\nmost of the orders, and would send out no work as his own that he had not\nexecuted himself on a new conception. His master, Papias, returned to\nAlexandria, but he was received there by his fellow-artists with such\ninsulting contempt, that in an evil hour he destroyed himself. Teuker\nlived to be the most famous gem-engraver of his time.\n\nSoon after Selene's martyrdom dame Hannah quitted Besa; the office of\nSuperior of the Deaconesses at Alexandria was intrusted to her, and she\nexercised it with much blessing till an advanced age. Mary, the deformed\ngirl, remained behind in the Nile-port, which under Hadrian was extended\ninto the magnificent city of Antmoe. There were there two graves from\nwhich she could not bear to part.\n\nFour years after Arsinoe's marriage with Pollux, Hadrian called the young\nsculptor to Rome; he was there to execute the statue of the Emperor in a\nquadriga. This work was intended to crown and finish his mausoleum\nconstructed by Pontius, and Pollux carried it out in so admirable a\nmanner, that when it was ended, Hadrian said to him with a smile:\n\n\"Now you have earned the right to pronounce sentence of death on the\nworks of other masters.\" Euphorion's son lived in honor and prosperity to\nsee his children, the children of his faithful wife Arsinoe--who was\ngreatly admired by the Tiber-grow up to be worthy citizens. They remained\nheathen; but the Christian love which Eumenes had taught Paulina's\nfoster-daughter was never forgotten, and she kept a kindly place for it\nin her heart and in her household. A few months before the young couple\nleft Alexandria, Doris had peacefully gone to her last rest, and her\nhusband died soon after her; the want of his faithful companion was the\ncomplaint he succumbed to.\n\nOn the shores of the Tiber, Pontius was still the sculptor's friend.\nBalbilla and her husband gave their corrupt fellow-citizens the example\nof a worthy, faithful marriage on the old Roman pattern. The poetess's\nbust had been completed by Pollux in Alexandria, and with all its tresses\nand little curls, it found favor in Balbilla's eyes.\n\nVerus was to have enjoyed the title of Caesar even during Hadrian's\nlifetime, but after a long illness he died the first. Lucilla nursed him\nwith unfailing devotion and enjoyed the longed-for monopoly of his\nattentions through a period of much suffering. It was on their son that\nin later years the purple devolved.\n\nThe predictions of the prefect Titianus were fulfilled, for the Emperor's\nfaults increased with years and the meaner side of his mind and nature\ncame into sharper relief. Titianus and his wife led a retired life by\nlake Larius, far from the world, and both were baptized before they died.\nThey never pined for the turmoil of a pleasure-seeking world or its\ndazzling show, for they had learnt to cherish in their own hearts all\nthat is fairest in life.\n\nIt was the slave Mastor who brought to Titianus the news of the\nsovereign's death. Hadrian had given him his freedom before he died and\nhad left him a handsome legacy.\n\nThe prefect gave him a piece of land to farm and continued in friendly\nrelations with his Christian neighbor and his pretty daughter, who grew\nup among her father's co-religionists.\n\nWhen Titianus had told his wife the melancholy news he added solemnly:\n\n\"A great sovereign is dead. The pettinesses which disfigured the man\nHadrian will be forgotten by posterity, for the ruler Hadrian was one of\nthose men whom Fate sets in the places they belong to, and who, true to\ntheir duty, struggle indefatigably to the end. With wise moderation he\nwas so far master of himself as to bridle his ambition and to defy the\nblame and prejudice of all the Romans. The hardest, and perhaps the\nwisest, resolution of his life was to abandon the provinces which it\nwould have exhausted the power of the Empire to retain. He travelled over\nevery portion of his dominion within the limits he himself had set to it,\nshrinking from neither frost nor heat, and he tried to be as thoroughly\nacquainted with every portion of it as if the Empire were a small estate\nhe had inherited. His duties as a sovereign forced him to travel, and his\nlove of travel lightened the duty. He was possessed by a real passion to\nunderstand and learn everything. Even the Incomprehensible set no limits\nto his thirst for knowledge, but ever striving to see farther and to dig\ndeeper than is possible to the mind of man, he wasted a great part of his\nmighty powers in trying to snatch aside the curtain which hides the\ndestinies of the future. No one ever worked at so many secondary\noccupations as he, and yet no former Emperor ever kept his eye so\nunerringly fixed on the main task of his life, the consolidation and\nmaintenance of the strength of the state and the improvement and\nprosperity of its citizens.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE EMPEROR, COMPLETE:\n\n     A well-to-do man always gets a higher price than a poor one\n     Avoid all useless anxiety\n     Dried merry-thought bone of a fowl\n     Enjoy the present day\n     Facts are differently reflected in different minds\n     Happiness is only the threshold to misery\n     Have not yet learned not to be astonished\n     Have lived to feel such profound contempt for the world\n     I must either rest or begin upon something new\n     Idleness had long since grown to be the occupation of his life\n     If one only knew who it is all for\n     Ill-judgment to pronounce a thing impossible\n     In order to find himself for once in good company--(Solitude)\n     It was such a comfort once more to obey an order\n     Love laughs at locksmiths\n     More to the purpose to think of the future than of the past\n     Never speaks a word too much or too little\n     Philosophers who wrote of the vanity of writers\n     So long as we do not think ourselves wretched, we are not so\n     Temples would be empty if mortals had nothing left to wish for\n     They keep an account in their heart and not in their head\n     To know half is less endurable than to know nothing\n     When a friend refuses to share in joys\n     Who do all they are able and enjoy as much as they can get\n     Wide world between the purpose and the deed\n     Years are the foe of beauty\n\n\n\n\nHOMO SUM, Complete\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated by Clara Bell\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nIn the course of my labors preparatory to writing a history of the\nSinaitic peninsula, the study of the first centuries of Christianity for\na long time claimed my attention; and in the mass of martyrology, of\nascetic writings, and of histories of saints and monks, which it was\nnecessary to work through and sift for my strictly limited object, I came\nupon a narrative (in Cotelerius Ecclesiae Grecae Monumenta) which seemed\nto me peculiar and touching notwithstanding its improbability. Sinai and\nthe oasis of Pharan which lies at its foot were the scene of action.\n\nWhen, in my journey through Arabia Petraea, I saw the caves of the\nanchorites of Sinai with my own eyes and trod their soil with my own\nfeet, that story recurred to my mind and did not cease to haunt me while\nI travelled on farther in the desert.\n\nA soul's problem of the most exceptional type seemed to me to be offered\nby the simple course of this little history.\n\nAn anchorite, falsely accused instead of another, takes his punishment of\nexpulsion on himself without exculpating himself, and his innocence\nbecomes known only through the confession of the real culprit.\n\nThere was a peculiar fascination in imagining what the emotions of a soul\nmight be which could lead to such apathy, to such an annihilation of all\nsensibility; and while the very deeds and thoughts of the strange\ncave-dweller grew more and more vivid in my mind the figure of Paulus\ntook form, as it were as an example, and soon a crowd of ideas gathered\nround it, growing at last to a distinct entity, which excited and urged\nme on till I ventured to give it artistic expression in the form of a\nnarrative. I was prompted to elaborate this subject--which had long been\nshaping itself to perfect conception in my mind as ripe material for a\nromance--by my readings in Coptic monkish annals, to which I was led by\nAbel's Coptic studies; and I afterwards received a further stimulus from\nthe small but weighty essay by H. Weingarten on the origin of\nmonasticism, in which I still study the early centuries of Christianity,\nespecially in Egypt.\n\nThis is not the place in which to indicate the points on which I feel\nmyself obliged to differ from Weingarten. My acute fellow-laborer at\nBreslau clears away much which does not deserve to remain, but in many\nparts of his book he seems to me to sweep with too hard a broom.\n\nEasy as it would have been to lay the date of my story in the beginning\nof the fortieth year of the fourth century instead of the thirtieth, I\nhave forborne from doing so because I feel able to prove with certainty\nthat at the time which I have chosen there were not only heathen recluses\nin the temples of Serapis but also Christian anchorites; I fully agree\nwith him that the beginnings of organized Christian monasticism can in no\ncase be dated earlier than the year 350.\n\nThe Paulus of my story must not be confounded with the \"first hermit,\"\nPaulus of Thebes, whom Weingarten has with good reason struck out of the\ncategory of historical personages. He, with all the figures in this\nnarrative is a purely fictitious person, the vehicle for an idea, neither\nmore nor less. I selected no particular model for my hero, and I claim\nfor him no attribute but that of his having been possible at the period;\nleast of all did I think of Saint Anthony, who is now deprived even of\nhis distinguished biographer Athanasius, and who is represented as a man\nof very sound judgment but of so scant an education that he was master\nonly of Egyptian.\n\nThe dogmatic controversies which were already kindled at the time of my\nstory I have, on careful consideration, avoided mentioning. The dwellers\non Sinai and in the oasis took an eager part in them at a later date.\n\nThat Mount Sinai to which I desire to transport the reader must not be\nconfounded with the mountain which lies at a long day's journey to the\nsouth of it. It is this that has borne the name, at any rate since the\ntime of Justinian; the celebrated convent of the Transfiguration lies at\nits foot, and it has been commonly accepted as the Sinai of Scripture. In\nthe description of my journey through Arabia Petraea I have endeavored to\nbring fresh proof of the view, first introduced by Lepsius, that the\ngiant-mountain, now called Serbal, must be regarded as the mount on which\nthe law was given--and was indeed so regarded before the time of\nJustinian--and not the Sinai of the monks.\n\nAs regards the stone house of the Senator Petrus, with its windows\nopening on the street--contrary to eastern custom--I may remark, in\nanticipation of well founded doubts, that to this day wonderfully\nwell-preserved fire-proof walls stand in the oasis of Pharan, the remains\nof a pretty large number of similar buildings.\n\nBut these and such external details hold a quite secondary place in this\nstudy of a soul. While in my earlier romances the scholar was compelled\nto make concessions to the poet and the poet to the scholar, in this one\nI have not attempted to instruct, nor sought to clothe the outcome of my\nstudies in forms of flesh and blood; I have aimed at absolutely nothing\nbut to give artistic expression to the vivid realization of an idea that\nhad deeply stirred my soul. The simple figures whose inmost being I have\nendeavored to reveal to the reader fill the canvas of a picture where, in\nthe dark background, rolls the flowing ocean of the world's history.\n\nThe Latin title was suggested to me by an often used motto which exactly\nagrees with the fundamental view to which I have been led by my\nmeditations on the mind and being of man; even of those men who deem that\nthey have climbed the very highest steps of that stair which leads into\nthe Heavens.\n\nIn the Heautontimorumenos of Terence, Chremes answers his neighbor\nMenedemus (Act I, SC. I, v. 25) \"Homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto,\"\nwhich Donner translates literally:\n\n\"I am human, nothing that is human can I regard as alien to me.\"\n\nBut Cicero and Seneca already used this line as a proverb, and in a sense\nwhich far transcends that which it would seem to convey in context with\nthe passage whence it is taken; and as I coincide with them, I have\ntransferred it to the title-page of this book with this meaning:\n\n\"I am a man; and I feel that I am above all else a man.\"\n\n   Leipzig, November 11, 1877.\n\n                    GEORG EBERS.\n\n\n\n\nHOMO SUM.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nRocks-naked, hard, red-brown rocks all round; not a bush, not a blade,\nnot a clinging moss such as elsewhere nature has lightly flung on the\nrocky surface of the heights, as if a breath of her creative life had\nsoftly touched the barren stone. Nothing but smooth granite, and above it\na sky as bare of cloud as the rocks are of shrubs and herbs.\n\nAnd yet in every cave of the mountain wall there moves a human life; two\nsmall grey birds too float softly in the pure, light air of the desert\nthat glows in the noonday sun, and then they vanish behind a range of\ncliffs, which shuts in the deep gorge as though it were a wall built by\nman.\n\nThere it is pleasant enough, for a spring bedews the stony soil and\nthere, as wherever any moisture touches the desert, aromatic plants\nthrive, and umbrageous bushes grow. When Osiris embraced the goddess of\nthe desert--so runs the Egyptian myth--he left his green wreath on her\ncouch.\n\nBut at the time and in the sphere where our history moves the old legends\nare no longer known or are ignored. We must carry the reader back to the\nbeginning of the thirtieth year of the fourth century after the birth of\nthe Saviour, and away to the mountains of Sinai on whose sacred ground\nsolitary anchorites have for some few years been dwelling--men weary of\nthe world, and vowed to penitence, but as yet without connection or rule\namong themselves.\n\nNear the spring in the little ravine of which we have spoken grows a\nmany-branched feathery palm, but it does not shelter it from the piercing\nrays of the sun of those latitudes; it seems only to protect the roots of\nthe tree itself; still the feathered boughs are strong enough to support\na small thread-bare blue cloth, which projects like a penthouse,\nscreening the face of a girl who lies dreaming, stretched at full-length\non the glowing stones, while a few yellowish mountain-goats spring from\nstone to stone in search of pasture as gaily as though they found the\nmidday heat pleasant and exhilarating. From time to time the girl seizes\nthe herdsman's crook that lies beside her, and calls the goats with a\nhissing cry that is audible at a considerable distance. A young kid comes\ndancing up to her. Few beasts can give expression to their feelings of\ndelight; but young goats can.\n\nThe girl puts out her bare slim foot, and playfully pushes back the\nlittle kid who attacks her in fun, pushes it again and again each time it\nskips forward, and in so doing the shepherdess bends her toes as\ngracefully as if she wished some looker-on to admire their slender form.\nOnce more the kid springs forward, and this time with its bead down. Its\nbrow touches the sole of her foot, but as it rubs its little hooked nose\ntenderly against the girl's foot, she pushes it back so violently that\nthe little beast starts away, and ceases its game with loud bleating.\n\nIt was just as if the girl had been waiting for the right moment to hit\nthe kid sharply; for the kick was a hard one-almost a cruel one. The blue\ncloth hid the face of the maiden, but her eyes must surely have sparkled\nbrightly when she so roughly stopped the game. For a minute she remained\nmotionless; but the cloth, which had fallen low over her face, waved\ngently to and fro, moved by her fluttering breath. She was listening with\neager attention, with passionate expectation; her convulsively clenched\ntoes betrayed her.\n\nThen a noise became audible; it came from the direction of the rough\nstair of unhewn blocks, which led from the steep wall of the ravine down\nto the spring. A shudder of terror passed through the tender, and not yet\nfully developed limbs of the shepherdess; still she did not move; the\ngrey birds which were now sitting on a thorn-bush near her flew up, but\nthey had merely heard a noise, and could not distinguish who it was that\nit announced.\n\nThe shepherdess's ear was sharper than theirs. She heard that a man was\napproaching, and well knew that one only trod with such a step. She put\nout her hand for a stone that lay near her, and flung it into the spring\nso that the waters immediately became troubled; then she turned on her\nside, and lay as if asleep with her head on her arm. The heavy steps\nbecame more and more distinctly audible.\n\nA tall youth was descending the rocky stair; by his dress he was seen to\nbe one of the anchorites of Sinai, for he wore nothing but a shirt-shaped\ngarment of coarse linen, which he seemed to have outgrown, and raw\nleather sandals, which were tied on to his feet with fibrous palm-bast.\n\nNo slave could be more poorly clothed by his owner and yet no one would\nhave taken him for a bondman, for he walked erect and self-possessed. He\ncould not be more than twenty years of age; that was evident in the young\nsoft hair on his upper lip, chin, and cheeks; but in his large blue eyes\nthere shone no light of youth, only discontent, and his lips were firmly\nclosed as if in defiance.\n\nHe now stood still, and pushed back from his forehead the superabundant\nand unkempt brown hair that flowed round his head like a lion's mane;\nthen he approached the well, and as he stooped to draw the water in the\nlarge dried gourd-shell which he held, he observed first that the spring\nwas muddy, and then perceived the goats, and at last their sleeping\nmistress.\n\nHe impatiently set down the vessel and called the girl loudly, but she\ndid not move till he touched her somewhat roughly with his foot. Then she\nsprang up as if stung by an asp, and two eyes as black as night flashed\nat him out of her dark young face; the delicate nostrils of her aquiline\nnose quivered, and her white teeth gleamed as she cried:\n\n\"Am I a dog that you wake me in this fashion?\" He colored, pointed\nsullenly to the well and said sharply: \"Your cattle have troubled the\nwater again; I shall have to wait here till it is clear and I can draw\nsome.\"\n\n\"The day is long,\" answered the shepherdess, and while she rose she\npushed, as if by chance, another stone into the water.\n\nHer triumphant, flashing glance as she looked down into the troubled\nspring did not escape the young man, and he exclaimed angrily:\n\n\"He is right! You are a venomous snake--a demon of hell.\"\n\nShe raised herself and made a face at him, as if she wished to show him\nthat she really was some horrible fiend; the unusual sharpness of her\nmobile and youthful features gave her a particular facility for doing so.\nAnd she fully attained her end, for he drew back with a look of horror,\nstretched out his arms to repel her, and exclaimed as he saw her\nuncontrollable laughter,\n\n\"Back, demon, back! In the name of the Lord! I ask thee, who art thou?\"\n\n\"I am Miriam--who else should I be?\" she answered haughtily.\n\nHe had expected a different reply, her vivacity annoyed him, and he said\nangrily, \"Whatever your name is you are a fiend, and I will ask Paulus to\nforbid you to water your beasts at our well.\"\n\n\"You might run to your nurse, and complain of me to her if you had one,\"\nshe answered, pouting her lips contemptuously at him.\n\nHe colored; she went on boldly, and with eager play of gesture.\n\n\"You ought to be a man, for you are strong and big, but you let yourself\nbe kept like a child or a miserable girl; your only business is to hunt\nfor roots and berries, and fetch water in that wretched thing there. I\nhave learned to do that ever since I was as big as that!\" and she\nindicated a contemptibly little measure, with the outstretched pointed\nfingers of her two hands, which were not less expressively mobile than\nher features. \"Phoh! you are stronger and taller than all the Amalekite\nlads down there, but you never try to measure yourself with them in\nshooting with a bow and arrows or in throwing a spear!\"\n\n\"If I only dared as much as I wish!\" he interrupted, and flaming scarlet\nmounted to his face, \"I would be a match for ten of those lean rascals.\"\n\n\"I believe you,\" replied the girl, and her eager glance measured the\nyouth's broad breast and muscular arms with an expression of pride. \"I\nbelieve you, but why do you not dare? Are you the slave of that man up\nthere?\"\n\n\"He is my father and besides--\"\n\n\"What besides?\" she cried, waving her hand as if to wave away a bat. \"If\nno bird ever flew away from the nest there would be a pretty swarm in it.\nLook at my kids there--as long as they need their mother they run about\nafter her, but as soon as they can find their food alone they seek it\nwherever they can find it, and I can tell you the yearlings there have\nquite forgotten whether they sucked the yellow dam or the brown one. And\nwhat great things does your father do for you?\"\n\n\"Silence!\" interrupted the youth with excited indignation. \"The evil one\nspeaks through thee. Get thee from me, for I dare not hear that which I\ndare not utter.\"\n\n\"Dare, dare, dare!\" she sneered. \"What do you dare then? not even to\nlisten!\"\n\n\"At any rate not to what you have to say, you goblin!\" he exclaimed\nvehemently. \"Your voice is hateful to me, and if I meet you again by the\nwell I will drive you away with stones.\"\n\nWhile he spoke thus she stared speechless at him, the blood had left her\nlips, and she clenched her small hands. He was about to pass her to fetch\nsome water, but she stepped into his path, and held him spell-bound with\nthe fixed gaze of her eyes. A cold chill ran through him when she asked\nhim with trembling lips and a smothered voice, \"What harm have I done\nyou?\"\n\n\"Leave me!\" said he, and he raised his hand to push her away from the\nwater.\n\n\"You shall not touch me,\" she cried beside herself. \"What harm have I\ndone you?\"\n\n\"You know nothing of God,\" he answered, \"and he who is not of God is of\nthe Devil.\"\n\n\"You do not say that of yourself,\" answered she, and her voice recovered\nits tone of light mockery. \"What they let you believe pulls the wires of\nyour tongue just as a hand pulls the strings of a puppet. Who told you\nthat I was of the Devil?\"\n\n\"Why should I conceal it from you?\" he answered proudly. \"Our pious\nPaulus, warned me against you and I will thank him for it. 'The evil\none,' he says, 'looks out of your eyes,' and he is right, a thousand\ntimes right. When you look at me I feel as if I could tread every thing\nthat is holy under foot; only last night again I dreamed I was whirling\nin a dance with you--\"\n\nAt these words all gravity and spite vanished from Miriam's eyes; she\nclapped her hands and cried, \"If it had only been the fact and not a\ndream! Only do not be frightened again, you fool! Do you know then what\nit is when the pipes sound, and the lutes tinkle, and our feet fly round\nin circles as if they had wings?\"\n\n\"The wings of Satan,\" Hermas interrupted sternly. \"You are a demon, a\nhardened heathen.\"\n\n\"So says our pious Paulus,\" laughed the girl.\n\n\"So say I too,\" cried the young man. \"Who ever saw you in the assemblies\nof the just? Do you pray? Do you ever praise the Lord and our Saviour?\"\n\n\"And what should I praise them for?\" asked Miriam. \"Because I am regarded\nas a foul fiend by the most pious among you perhaps?\"\n\n\"But it is because you are a sinner that Heaven denies you its blessing.\"\n\n\"No--no, a thousand times no!\" cried Miriam. \"No god has ever troubled\nhimself about me. And if I am not good, why should I be when nothing but\nevil ever has fallen to my share? Do you know who I am and how I became\nso? I was wicked, perhaps, when both my parents were slain in their\npilgrimage hither? Why, I was then no more than six years old, and what\nis a child of that age? But still I very well remember that there were\nmany camels grazing near our house, and horses too that belonged to us,\nand that on a hand that often caressed me--it was my mother's hand--a\nlarge jewel shone. I had a black slave too that obeyed me; when she and I\ndid not agree I used to hang on to her grey woolly hair and beat her. Who\nknows what may have become of her? I did not love her, but if I had her\nnow, how kind I would be to her. And now for twelve years I myself have\neaten the bread of servitude, and have kept Senator Petrus's goats, and\nif I ventured to show myself at a festival among the free maidens, they\nwould turn me out and pull the wreath out of my hair. And am I to be\nthankful? What for, I wonder? And pious? What god has taken any care of\nme? Call me an evil demon--call me so! But if Petrus and your Paulus\nthere say that He who is up above us and who let me grow up to such a lot\nis good, they tell a lie. God is cruel, and it is just like Him to put it\ninto your heart to throw stones and scare me away from your well.\"\n\nWith these words she burst out into bitter sobs, and her features worked\nwith various and passionate distortion.\n\nHermas felt compassion for the weeping Miriam. He had met her a hundred\ntimes and she had shown herself now haughty, now discontented, now\nexacting and now wrathful, but never before soft or sad. To-day, for the\nfirst time, she had opened her heart to him; the tears which disfigured\nher countenance gave her character a value which it had never before had\nin his eyes, and when he saw her weak and unhappy he felt ashamed of his\nhardness. He went up to her kindly and said: \"You need not cry; come to\nthe well again always, I will not prevent you.\"\n\nHis deep voice sounded soft and kind as he spoke, but she sobbed more\npassionately than before, almost convulsively, and she tried to speak but\nshe could not. Trembling in every slender limb, shaken with grief, and\noverwhelmed with sorrow, the slight shepherdess stood before him, and he\nfelt as if he must help her. His passionate pity cut him to the heart and\nfettered his by no means ready tongue.\n\nAs he could find no word of comfort, he took the water-gourd in his left\nhand and laid his right, in which he had hitherto held it, gently on her\nshoulder. She started, but she let him do it; he felt her warm breath; he\nwould have drawn back, but he felt as if he could not; he hardly knew\nwhether she was crying or laughing while she let his hand rest on her\nblack waving hair.\n\nShe did not move. At last she raised her head, her eyes flashed into his,\nand at the same instant he felt two slender arms clasped round his neck.\nHe felt as if a sea were roaring in his ears, and fire blazing in his\neyes. A nameless anguish seized him; he tore himself violently free, and\nwith a loud cry as if all the spirits of hell were after him he fled up\nthe steps that led from the well, and heeded not that his water-jar was\nshattered into a thousand pieces against the rocky wall.\n\nShe stood looking after him as if spell-bound. Then she struck her\nslender hand against her forehead, threw herself down by the spring again\nand stared into space; there she lay motionless, only her mouth continued\nto twitch.\n\nWhen the shadow of the palm-tree grew longer she sprang up, called her\ngoats, and looked up, listening, to the rock-steps by which he had\nvanished; the twilight is short in the neighborhood of the tropics, and\nshe knew that she would be overtaken by the darkness on the stony and\nfissured road down the valley if she lingered any longer. She feared the\nterrors of the night, the spirits and demons, and a thousand vague\ndangers whose nature she could not have explained even to herself; and\nyet she did not stir from the spot nor cease listening and waiting for\nhis return till the sun had disappeared behind the sacred mountain, and\nthe glow in the west had paled.\n\nAll around was as still as death, she could hear herself breathe, and as\nthe evening chill fell she shuddered with cold.\n\nShe now heard a loud noise above her head. A flock of wild mountain\ngoats, accustomed to come at this hour to quench their thirst at the\nspring, came nearer and nearer, but drew back as they detected the\npresence of a human being. Only the leader of the herd remained standing\non the brink of the ravine, and she knew that he was only awaiting her\ndeparture to lead the others down to drink. Following a kindly impulse,\nshe was on the point of leaving to make way for the animals, when she\nsuddenly recollected Hermas's threat to drive her from the well, and she\nangrily picked up a stone and flung it at the buck, which started and\nhastily fled. The whole herd followed him. Miriam listened to them as\nthey scampered away, and then, with her head sunk, she led her flock\nhome, feeling her way in the darkness with her bare feet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nHigh above the ravine where the spring was lay a level plateau of\nmoderate extent, and behind it rose a fissured cliff of bare, red-brown\nporphyry. A vein of diorite of iron-hardness lay at its foot like a green\nribbon, and below this there opened a small round cavern, hollowed and\narched by the cunning hand of nature. In former times wild beasts,\npanthers or wolves, had made it their home; it now served as a dwelling\nfor young Hermas and his father.\n\nMany similar caves were to be found in the holy Fountain, and other\nanchorites had taken possession of the larger ones among them.\n\nThat of Stephanus was exceptionally high and deep, and yet the space was\nbut small which divided the two beds of dried mountain herbs where, on\none, slept the father, and on the other, the son.\n\nIt was long past midnight, but neither the younger nor the elder\ncave-dweller seemed to be sleeping. Hermas groaned aloud and threw\nhimself vehemently from one side to the other without any consideration\nfor the old man who, tormented with pain and weakness, sorely needed\nsleep. Stephanus meanwhile denied himself the relief of turning over or\nof sighing, when he thought he perceived that his more vigorous son had\nfound rest.\n\n\"What could have robbed him of his rest, the boy who usually slept so\nsoundly, and was so hard to waken?\"\n\n\"Whence comes it,\" thought Stephanus, \"that the young and strong sleep so\nsoundly and so much, and the old, who need rest, and even the sick, sleep\nso lightly and so little. Is it that wakefulness may prolong the little\nterm of life, of which they dread the end? How is it that man clings so\nfondly to this miserable existence, and would fain slink away, and hide\nhimself when the angel calls and the golden gates open before him! We are\nlike Saul, the Hebrew, who hid himself when they came to him with the\ncrown! My wound burns painfully; if only I had a drink of water. If the\npoor child were not so sound asleep I might ask him for the jar.\"\n\nStephanus listened to his son and would not wake him, when he heard his\nheavy and regular breathing. He curled himself up shivering under the\nsheep-skin which covered only half his body, for the icy night wind now\nblew through the opening of the cave, which by day was as hot as an oven.\n\nSome long minutes wore away; at last he thought he perceived that Hermas\nhad raised himself. Yes, the sleeper must have wakened, for he began to\nspeak, and to call on the name of God.\n\nThe old man turned to his son and began softly, \"Do you hear me, my boy?\"\n\n\"I cannot sleep,\" answered the youth.\n\n\"Then give me something to drink,\" asked Stephanus, \"my wound burns\nintolerably.\"\n\nHermas rose at once, and reached the water-jar to the sufferer.\n\n\"Thanks, thanks, my child,\" said the old man, feeling for the neck of the\njar. But he could not find it, and exclaimed with surprise: \"How damp and\ncold it is--this is clay, and our jar was a gourd.\"\n\n\"I have broken it,\" interrupted Hermas, \"and Paulus lent me his.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Stephanus anxious for drink; he gave the jar back to\nhis son, and waited till he had stretched himself again on his couch.\nThen he asked anxiously: \"You were out a long time this evening, the\ngourd is broken, and you groaned in your sleep. Whom did you meet?\"\n\n\"A demon of hell,\" answered Hermas. \"And now the fiend pursues me into\nour cave, and torments me in a variety of shapes.\"\n\n\"Drive it out then and pray,\" said the old man gravely. \"Unclean spirits\nflee at the name of God.\"\n\n\"I have called upon Him,\" sighed Hermas, \"but in vain; I see women with\nruddy lips and flowing Hair, and white marble figures with rounded limbs\nand flashing eyes beckon to me again and again.\"\n\n\"Then take the scourge,\" ordered the father, \"and so win peace.\"\n\nHermas once more obediently rose, and went out into the air with the\nscourge; the narrow limits of the cave did not admit of his swinging it\nwith all the strength of his arms.\n\nVery soon Stephanus heard the whistle of the leathern thongs through the\nstillness of the night, their hard blows on the springy muscles of the\nman and his son's painful groaning.\n\nAt each blow the old man shrank as if it had fallen on himself. At last\nhe cried as loud as he was able \"Enough--that is enough.\"\n\nHermas came back into the cave, his father called him to his couch, and\ndesired him to join with him in prayer.\n\nAfter the 'Amen' he stroked the lad's abundant hair and said, \"Since you\nwent to Alexandria, you have been quite another being. I would I had\nwithstood bishop Agapitus, and forbidden you the journey. Soon, I know,\nmy Saviour will call me to himself, and no one will keep you here; then\nthe tempter will come to you, and all the splendors of the great city,\nwhich after all only shine like rotten wood, like shining snakes and\npoisonous purple-berries--\"\n\n\"I do not care for them,\" interrupted Hermas, \"the noisy place bewildered\nand frightened me. Never, never will I tread the spot again.\"\n\n\"So you have always said,\" replied Stephanus, \"and yet the journey quite\naltered you. How often before that I used to think when I heard you laugh\nthat the sound must surely please our Father in Heaven. And now? You used\nto be like a singing bird, and now you go about silent, you look sour and\nmorose, and evil thoughts trouble your sleep.\"\n\n\"That is my loss,\" answered Hermas. \"Pray let go of my hand; the night\nwill soon be past, and you have the whole live-long day to lecture me\nin.\" Stephanus sighed, and Hermas returned to his couch.\n\nSleep avoided them both, and each knew that the other was awake, and\nwould willingly have spoken to him, but dissatisfaction and defiance\nclosed the son's lips, and the father was silent because he could not\nfind exactly the heart-searching words that he was seeking.\n\nAt last it was morning, a twilight glimmer struck through the opening of\nthe cave, and it grew lighter and lighter in the gloomy vault; the boy\nawoke and rose yawning. When he saw his father lying with his eyes open,\nhe asked indifferently, \"Shall I stay here or go to morning worship?\"\n\n\"Let us pray here together,\" begged the father. \"Who knows how long it\nmay yet be granted to us to do so? I am not far from the day that no\nevening ever closes. Kneel down here, and let me kiss the image of the\nCrucified.\"\n\nHermas did as his father desired him, and as they were ending their song\nof praise, a third voice joined in the 'Amen.'\n\n\"Paulus!\" cried the old man. \"The Lord be praised! pray look to my wound\nthen. The arrow head seeks to work some way out, and it burns fearfully.\"\n\n\"The new comer, an anchorite, who for all clothing wore a shirt-shaped\ncoat of brown undressed linen, and a sheep-skin, examined the wound\ncarefully, and laid some herbs on it, murmuring meanwhile some pious\ntexts.\n\n\"That is much easier,\" sighed the old man. \"The Lord has mercy on me for\nyour goodness' sake.\"\n\n\"My goodness? I am a vessel of wrath,\" replied Paulus, with a deep, rich;\nsonorous voice, and his peculiarly kind blue eyes were raised to heaven\nas if to attest how greatly men were deceived in him. Then he pushed the\nbushy grizzled hair, which hung in disorder over his neck and face, out\nof his eyes, and said cheerfully: \"No man is more than man, and many men\nare less. In the ark there were many beasts, but only one Noah.\"\n\n\"You are the Noah of our little ark,\" replied Stephanus.\n\n\"Then this great lout here is the elephant,\" laughed Paulus.\n\n\"You are no smaller than he,\" replied Stephanus.\n\n\"It is a pity this stone roof is so low, else we might have measured\nourselves,\" said Paulus. \"Aye! if Hermas and I were as pious and pure as\nwe are tall and strong, we should both have the key of paradise in our\npockets. You were scourging yourself this night, boy; I heard the blows.\nIt is well; if the sinful flesh revolts, thus we may subdue it.\"\n\n\"He groaned heavily and could not sleep,\" said Stephanus.\n\n\"Aye, did he indeed!\" cried Paulus to the youth, and held his powerful\narms out towards him with clenched fists; but the threatening voice was\nloud rather than terrible, and wild as the exceptionally big man looked\nin his sheepskin, there was such irresistible kindliness in his gaze and\nin his voice, that no one could have believed that his wrath was in\nearnest.\n\n\"Fiends of hell had met him,\" said Stephanus in excuse for his son, \"and\nI should not have closed an eye even without his groaning; it is the\nfifth night.\"\n\n\"But in the sixth,\" said Paulus, \"sleep is absolutely necessary. Put on\nyour sheep-skin, Hermas; you must go down to the oasis to the Senator\nPetrus, and fetch a good sleeping-draught for our sick man from him or\nfrom Dame Dorothea, the deaconess. Just look! the youngster has really\nthought of his father's breakfast--one's own stomach is a good reminder.\nOnly put the bread and the water down here by the couch; while you are\ngone I will fetch some fresh--now, come with me.\"\n\n\"Wait a minute, wait,\" cried Stephanus. \"Bring a new jar with you from\nthe town, my son. You lent us yours yesterday, Paulus, and I must--\"\n\n\"I should soon have forgotten it,\" interrupted the other. \"I have to\nthank the careless fellow, for I have now for the first time discovered\nthe right way to drink, as long as one is well and able. I would not have\nthe jar back for a measure of gold; water has no relish unless you drink\nit out of the hollow of your hand! The shard is yours. I should be\nwarring against my own welfare, if I required it back. God be praised!\nthe craftiest thief can now rob me of nothing save my sheepskin.\"\n\nStephanus would have thanked him, but he took Hermas by the hand, and led\nhim out into the open air. For some time the two men walked in silence\nover the clefts and boulders up the mountain side. When they had reached\na plateau, which lay on the road that led from the sea over the mountain\ninto the oasis, he turned to the youth, and said:\n\n\"If we always considered all the results of our actions there would be no\nsins committed.\"\n\nHermas looked at him enquiringly, and Paulus went on, \"If it had occurred\nto you to think how sorely your poor father needed sleep, you would have\nlain still this night.\"\n\n\"I could not,\" said the youth sullenly. \"And you know very well that I\nscourged myself hard enough.\"\n\n\"That was quite right, for you deserved a flogging for a misconducted\nboy.\"\n\nHermas looked defiantly at his reproving friend, the flaming color\nmounted to his cheek: for he remembered the shepherdess's words that he\nmight go and complain to his nurse, and he cried out angrily:\n\n\"I will not let any one speak to me so; I am no longer a child.\"\n\n\"Not even your father's?\" asked Paulus, and he looked at the boy with\nsuch an astonished and enquiring air, that Hermas turned away his eyes in\nconfusion.\n\n\"It is not right at any rate to trouble the last remnant of life of that\nvery man who longs to live for your sake only.\"\n\n\"I should have been very willing to be still, for I love my father as\nwell as any one else.\"\n\n\"You do not beat him,\" replied Paulus, \"you carry him bread and water,\nand do not drink up the wine yourself, which the Bishop sends him home\nfrom the Lord's supper; that is something certainly, but not enough by a\nlong way.\"\n\n\"I am no saint!\"\n\n\"Nor I neither,\" exclaimed Paulus, \"I am full of sin and weakness. But I\nknow what the love is which was taught us by the Saviour, and that you\ntoo may know. He suffered on the cross for you, and for me, and for all\nthe poor and vile. Love is at once the easiest and the most difficult of\nattainments. It requires sacrifice. And you? How long is it now since you\nlast showed your father a cheerful countenance?\"\n\n\"I cannot be a hypocrite.\"\n\n\"Nor need you, but you must love. Certainly it is not by what his hand\ndoes but by what his heart cheerfully offers, and by what he forces\nhimself to give up that a man proves his love.\"\n\n\"And is it no sacrifice that I waste all my youth here?\" asked the boy.\n\nPaulus stepped back from him a little way, shook his matted head, and\nsaid, \"Is that it? You are thinking of Alexandria! Ay! no doubt life runs\naway much quicker there than on our solitary mountain. You do not fancy\nthe tawny shepherd girl, but perhaps some pretty pink and white Greek\nmaiden down there has looked into your eyes?\"\n\n\"Let me alone about the women,\" answered Hermas, with genuine annoyance.\n\"There are other things to look at there.\"\n\nThe youth's eyes sparkled as he spoke, and Paulus asked, not without\ninterest, \"Indeed?\"\n\n\"You know Alexandria better than I,\" answered Hermas evasively. \"You were\nborn there, and they say you had been a rich young man.\"\n\n\"Do they say so?\" said Paulus. \"Perhaps they are right; but you must know\nthat I am glad that nothing any longer belongs to me of all the vanities\nthat I possessed, and I thank my Saviour that I can now turn my back on\nthe turmoil of men. What was it that seemed to you so particularly\ntempting in all that whirl?\"\n\nHermas hesitated. He feared to speak, and yet something urged and drove\nhim to say out all that was stirring his soul. If any one of all those\ngrave men who despised the world and among whom he had grown up, could\never understand him, he knew well that it would be Paulus; Paulus whose\nrough beard he had pulled when he was little, on whose shoulders he had\noften sat, and who had proved to him a thousand times how truly he loved\nhim. It is true the Alexandrian was the severest of them all, but he was\nharsh only to himself. Hermas must once for all unburden his heart, and\nwith sudden decision he asked the anchorite:\n\n\"Did you often visit the baths?\"\n\n\"Often? I only wonder that I did not melt away and fall to pieces in the\nwarm water like a wheaten loaf.\"\n\n\"Why do you laugh at that which makes men beautiful?\" cried Hermas\nhastily. \"Why may Christians even visit the baths in Alexandria, while we\nup here, you and my father and all anchorites, only use water to quench\nour thirst? You compel me to live like one of you, and I do not like\nbeing a dirty beast.\"\n\n\"None can see us but the Most High,\" answered Paulus, \"and for him we\ncleanse and beautify our souls.\"\n\n\"But the Lord gave us our body too,\" interrupted Hermas. \"It is written\nthat man is the image of God. And we! I appeared to myself as repulsive\nas a hideous ape when at the great baths by the Gate of the Sun I saw the\nyouths and men with beautifully arranged and scented hair and smooth\nlimbs that shone with cleanliness and purification. And as they went\npast, and I looked at my mangy sheepfell, and thought of my wild mane and\nmy arms and feet, which are no worse formed or weaker than theirs were, I\nturned hot and cold, and I felt as if some bitter drink were choking me.\nI should have liked to howl out with shame and envy and vexation. I will\nnot be like a monster!\"\n\nHermas ground his teeth as he spoke the last words, and Paulus looked\nuneasily at him as he went on: \"My body is God's as much as my soul is,\nand what is allowed to the Christians in the city--\"\n\n\"That we nevertheless may not do,\" Paulus interrupted gravely. \"He who\nhas once devoted himself to Heaven must detach himself wholly from the\ncharm of life, and break one tie after another that binds him to the\ndust. I too once upon a time have anointed this body, and smoothed this\nrough hair, and rejoiced sincerely over my mirror; but I say to you,\nHermas--and, by my dear Saviour, I say it only because I feel it, deep in\nmy heart I feel it--to pray is better than to bathe, and I, a poor\nwretch, have been favored with hours in which my spirit has struggled\nfree, and has been permitted to share as an honored guest in the festal\njoys of Heaven!\"\n\nWhile he spoke, his wide open eyes had turned towards Heaven and had\nacquired a wondrous brightness. For a short time the two stood opposite\neach other silent and motionless; at last the anchorite pushed the hair\nfrom off his brow, which was now for the first time visible. It was\nwell-formed, though somewhat narrow, and its clear fairness formed a\nsharp contrast to his sunburnt face.\n\n\"Boy,\" he said with a deep breath, \"you know not what joys you would\nsacrifice for the sake of worthless things. Long ere the Lord, calls the\npious man to Heaven, the pious has brought Heaven down to earth in\nhimself.\"\n\nHermas well understood what the anchorite meant, for his father often for\nhours at a time gazed up into Heaven in prayer, neither seeing nor\nhearing what was going on around him, and was wont to relate to his son,\nwhen he awoke from his ecstatic vision, that he had seen the Lord or\nheard the angel-choir.\n\nHe himself had never succeeded in bringing himself into such a state,\nalthough Stephanus had often compelled him to remain on his knees praying\nwith him for many interminable hours. It often happened that the old\nman's feeble flame of life had threatened to become altogether extinct\nafter these deeply soul-stirring exercises, and Hermas would gladly have\nforbidden him giving himself up to such hurtful emotions, for he loved\nhis father; but they were looked upon as special manifestations of grace,\nand how should a son dare to express his aversion to such peculiarly\nsacred acts? But to Paulus and in his present mood he found courage to\nspeak out.\n\n\"I have sure hope of Paradise,\" he said, \"but it will be first opened to\nus after death. The Christian should be patient; why can you not wait for\nHeaven till the Saviour calls you, instead of desiring to enjoy its\npleasures here on earth? This first and that after! Why Should God have\nbestowed on us the gifts of the flesh if not that we may use them? Beauty\nand strength are not empty trifles, and none but a fool gives noble gifts\nto another, only in order to throw them away.\"\n\nPaulus gazed in astonishment at the youth, who up to this moment had\nalways unresistingly obeyed his father and him, and he shook his head as\nhe answered,\n\n\"So think the children of this world who stand far from the Most High. In\nthe image of God are we made no doubt, but what child would kiss the\nimage of his father, when the father offers him his own living lips?\"\n\nPaulus had meant to say 'mother' instead of 'father,' but he remembered\nin time that Hermas had early lost the happiness of caressing a mother,\nand he had hastily amended the phrase. He was one of those to whom it is\nso painful to hurt another, that they never touch a wounded soul unless\nto heal it, divining the seat of even the most hidden pain.\n\nHe was accustomed to speak but little, but now he went on eagerly:\n\n\"By so much as God is far above our miserable selves, by so much is the\ncontemplation of Him worthier of the Christian than that of his own\nperson. Oh! who is indeed so happy as to have wholly lost that self and\nto be perfectly absorbed in God! But it pursues us, and when the soul\nfondly thinks itself already blended in union with the Most High it cries\nout 'Here am I!' and drags our nobler part down again into the dust. It\nis bad enough that we must hinder the flight of the soul, and are forced\nto nourish and strengthen the perishable part of our being with bread and\nwater and slothful sleep to the injury of the immortal part, however much\nwe may fast and watch. And shall we indulge the flesh, to the detriment\nof the spirit, by granting it any of its demands that can easily be\ndenied? Only he who despises and sacrifices his wretched self can, when\nhe has lost his baser self by the Redeemer's grace, find himself again in\nGod.\"\n\nHermas had listened patiently to the anchorite, but he now shook his\nhead, and said: \"I cannot under stand either you or my father. So long as\nI walk on this earth, I am I and no other. After death, no doubt, but not\ntill then, will a new and eternal life begin\"\n\n\"Not so,\" cried Paulus hastily, interrupting him. \"That other and higher\nlife of which you speak, does not begin only after death for him who\nwhile still living does not cease from dying, from mortifying the flesh,\nand from subduing its lusts, from casting from him the world and his\nbaser self, and from seeking the Lord. It has been vouchsafed to many\neven in the midst of life to be born again to a higher existence. Look at\nme, the basest of the base. I am not two but one, and yet am I in the\nsight of the Lord as certainly another man than I was before grace found\nme, as this young shoot, which has grown from the roots of an overthrown\npalmtree is another tree than the rotten trunk. I was a heathen and\nenjoyed every pleasure of the earth to the utmost; then I became a\nChristian; the grace of the Lord fell upon me, and I was born again, and\nbecame a child again; but this time--the Redeemer be praised!--the child\nof the Lord. In the midst of life I died, I rose again, I found the joys\nof Heaven. I had been Menander, and like unto Saul, I became Paulus. All\nthat Menander loved--baths, feasts, theatres, horses and chariots, games\nin the arena, anointed limbs, roses and garlands, purple-garments, wine\nand the love of women--lie behind me like some foul bog out of which a\ntraveller has struggled with difficulty. Not a vein of the old man\nsurvives in the new, and a new life has begun for me, mid-way to the\ngrave; nor for me only, but for all pious men. For you too the hour will\nsound, in which you will die to--\"\n\n\"If only I, like you, had been a Menander,\" cried Hermas, sharply\ninterrupting the speaker: \"How is it possible to cast away that which I\nnever possessed? In order to die one first must live. This wretched life\nseems to me contemptible, and I am weary of running after you like a calf\nafter a cow. I am free-born, and of noble race, my father himself has\ntold me so, and I am certainly no feebler in body than the citizens' sons\nin the town with whom I went from the baths to the wrestling-school.\"\n\n\"Did you go to the Palaestra?\" asked Paulus in surprise.\n\n\"To the wrestling-school of Timagetus,\" cried Hermas, coloring. \"From\noutside the gate I watched the games of the youths as they wrestled, and\nthrew heavy disks at a mark. My eyes almost sprang out of my head at the\nsight, and I could have cried out aloud with envy and vexation, at having\nto stand there in my ragged sheep-skin excluded from all competition. If\nPachomius had not just then come up, by the Lord I must have sprung into\nthe arena, and have challenged the strongest of them all to wrestle with\nme, and I could have thrown the disk much farther than the scented puppy\nwho won the victory and was crowned.\"\n\n\"You may thank, Pachomius,\" said Paulus laughing, \"for having hindered\nyou, for you would have earned nothing in the arena but mockery and\ndisgrace. You are strong enough, certainly, but the art of the discobolus\nmust be learned like any other. Hercules himself would be beaten at that\ngame without practice, and if he did not know the right way to handle the\ndisk.\"\n\n\"It would not have been the first time I had thrown one,\" cried the boy.\n\"See, what I can do!\" With these words he stooped and raised one of the\nflat stones, which lay piled up to secure the pathway; extending his arm\nwith all his strength, he flung the granite disk over the precipice away\ninto the abyss.\n\n\"There, you see,\" cried Paulus, who had watched the throw carefully and\nnot without some anxious excitement. \"However strong your arm may be, any\nnovice could throw farther than you if only he knew the art of holding\nthe discus. It is not so--not so; it must cut through the air like a\nknife with its sharp edge. Look how you hold your hand, you throw like a\nwoman! The wrist straight, and now your left foot behind, and your knee\nbent! see, how clumsy you are! Here, give me the stone. You take the\ndiscus so, then you bend your body, and press down your knees like the\narc of a bow, so that every sinew in your body helps to speed the shot\nwhen you let go. Aye--that is better, but it is not quite right yet.\nFirst heave the discus with your arm stretched out, then fix your eye on\nthe mark; now swing it out high behind you--stop! once more! your arm\nmust be more strongly strained before you throw. That might pass, but you\nought to be able to hit the palm-tree yonder. Give me your discus, and\nthat stone. There; the unequal corners hinder its flight--now pay\nattention!\" Paulus spoke with growing eagerness, and now he grasped the\nflat stone, as he might have done many years since when no youth in\nAlexandria had been his match in throwing the discus.\n\nHe bent his knees, stretched out his body, gave play to his wrist,\nextended his arm to the utmost and hurled the stone into space, while the\nclenched toes of his right foot deeply dinted the soil.\n\nBut it fell to the ground before reaching which Paulus had indicated as\nthe mark.\n\n\"Wait!\" cried Hermas. \"Let me try now to hit the tree.\"\n\nHis stone whistled through the air, but it did not even reach the mound,\ninto which the palm-tree had struck root.\n\nPaulus shook his head disapprovingly, and in his, turn seized a flat\nstone; and now an eager contest began. At every throw Hermas' stone flew\nfarther, for he copied his teacher's action and grasp with increasing\nskill, while the older man's arm began to tire. At last Hermas for the\nsecond time hit the palm-tree, while Paulus had failed to reach even the\nmound with his last fling.\n\nThe pleasure of the contest took stronger possession of the anchorite; he\nflung his raiment from him, and seizing another stone he cried out--as\nthough he were standing once more in the wrestling school among his old\ncompanions; all shining with their anointment.\n\n\"By the silver-bowed Apollo, and the arrow-speeding Artemis, I will hit\nthe palm-tree.\"\n\nThe missile sang through the air, his body sprang back, and he stretched\nout his left arm to save his tottering balance; there was a crash, the\ntree quivered under the blow, and Hermas shouted joyfully: \"Wonderful!\nwonderful! that was indeed a throw. The old Menander is not dead!\nFarewell--to-morrow we will try again.\"\n\nWith these words Hermas quitted the anchorite, and hastened with wide\nleaps down the hill in the oasis. Paulus started at the words like a\nsleep-walker who is suddenly wakened by hearing his name called. He\nlooked about him in bewilderment, as if he had to find his way in some\nstrange world. Drops of sweat stood on his brow, and with sudden shame he\nsnatched up his garments that were lying on the ground, and covered his\nnaked limbs.\n\nFor some time he stood gazing after Hermas, then he clasped his brow in\ndeep anguish and large tears ran down upon his beard.\n\n\"What have I said?\" he muttered to himself; \"That every vein of the old\nman in me was extirpated? Fool! vain madman that I am. They named me\nPaulus, and I am in truth Saul, aye, and worse than Saul!\"\n\nWith these words he threw himself on his knees, pressing his forehead\nagainst the hard rock, and began to pray. He felt as if he had been flung\nfrom a height on to spears and lances, as if his heart and soul were\nbleeding, and while he remained there, dissolved in grief and prayer,\naccusing and condemning himself, he felt not the burning of the sun as it\nmounted in the sky, heeded not the flight of time, nor heard the approach\nof a party of pilgrims, who, under the guidance of bishop Agapitus, were\nvisiting the Holy Places. The palmers saw him at prayer, heard his sobs,\nand, marvelling at his piety, at a sign from their pastor they knelt down\nbehind him.\n\nWhen Paulus at last arose, he perceived with surprise and alarm the\nwitnesses of his devotions, and approached Agapitus to kiss his robe. But\nthe bishop said: \"Not so; he that is most pious is the greatest among us.\nMy friends, let us bow down before this saintly man!\"\n\nThe pilgrims obeyed his command. Paulus hid his face in his hands and\nsobbed out: \"Wretch, wretch that I am!\"\n\nAnd the pilgrims lauded his humility, and followed their leader who left\nthe spot.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nHermas had hastened onwards without delay. He had already reached the\nlast bend of the path he had followed down the ravine, and he saw at his\nfeet the long narrow valley and the gleaming waters of the stream, which\nhere fertilized the soil of the desert. He looked down on lofty palms and\ntamarisk shrubs innumerable, among which rose the houses of the\ninhabitants, surrounded by their little gardens and small\ncarefully-irrigated fields; already he could hear the crowing of a cock\nand the hospitable barking of a dog, sounds which came to him like a\nwelcome from the midst of that life for which he yearned, accustomed as\nhe was to be surrounded day and night by the deep and lonely stillness of\nthe rocky heights.\n\nHe stayed his steps, and his eyes followed the thin columns of smoke,\nwhich floated tremulously up in the clear light of the ever mounting sun\nfrom the numerous hearths that lay below him.\n\n\"They are cooking breakfast now,\" thought he, \"the wives for their\nhusbands, the mothers for their children, and there, where that dark\nsmoke rises, very likely a splendid feast is being prepared for guests;\nbut I am nowhere at home, and no one will invite me in.\" The contest with\nPaulus had excited and cheered him, but the sight of the city filled his\nyoung heart with renewed bitterness, and his lips trembled as he looked\ndown on his sheepskin and his unwashed limbs. With hasty resolve he\nturned his back on the oasis and hurried up the mountain. By the side of\nthe brooklet that he knew of he threw off his coarse garment, let the\ncool water flow over his body, washed himself carefully and with much\nenjoyment, stroked clown his thick hair with his fingers, and then\nhurried down again into the valley.\n\nThe gorge through which he had descended debouched by a hillock that rose\nfrom the valley-plain; a small newly-built church leaned against its\neastern declivity, and it was fortified on all sides by walls and dikes,\nbehind which the citizens found shelter when they were threatened by the\nSaracen robbers of the oasis. This hill passed for a particularly sacred\nspot. Moses was supposed to have prayed on its summit during the battle\nwith the Amalekites while his arms were held up by Aaron and Hur.\n\nBut there were other notable spots in the neighborhood of the oasis.\nThere farther to the north was the rock whence Moses had struck the\nwater; there higher up, and more to the south-east, was the hill, where\nthe Lord had spoken to the law-giver face to face, and where he had seen\nthe burning bush; there again was the spring where he had met the\ndaughters of Jethro, Zippora and Ledja, so called in the legend. Pious\npilgrims came to these holy places in great numbers, and among them many\nnatives of the peninsula, particularly Nabateans, who had previously\nvisited the holy mountain in order to sacrifice on its summit to their\ngods, the sun, moon, and planets. At the outlet, towards the north, stood\na castle, which ever since the Syrian Prefect, Cornelius Palma, had\nsubdued Arabia Petraea in the time of Trajan, had been held by a Roman\ngarrison for the protection of the blooming city of the desert against\nthe incursions of the marauding Saracens and Blemmyes.\n\nBut the citizens of Pharan themselves had taken measures for the security\nof their property. On the topmost cliffs of the jagged crown of the giant\nmountain--the most favorable spots for a look-out far and wide--they\nplaced sentinels, who day and night scanned the distance, so as to give a\nwarning-signal in case of approaching clanger. Each house resembled a\ncitadel, for it was built of strong masonry, and the younger men were all\nwell exercised bowmen. The more distinguished families dwelt near the\nchurch-hill, and there too stood the houses of the Bishop Agapitus, and\nof the city councillors of Pharan.\n\nAmong these the Senator Petrus enjoyed the greatest respect, partly by\nreason of his solid abilities, and of his possessions in quarries,\ngarden-ground, date palms, and cattle; partly in consequence of the rare\nqualities of his wife, the deaconess Dorothea, the granddaughter of the\nlong-deceased and venerable Bishop Chaeremon, who had fled hither with\nhis wife during the persecution of the Christians under Decius, and who\nhad converted many of the Pharanites to the knowledge of the Redeemer.\n\nThe house of Petrus was of strong and well-joined stone, and the palm\ngarden adjoining was carefully tended. Twenty slaves, many camels, and\neven two horses belonged to him, and the centurion in command of the\nImperial garrison, the Gaul Phoebicius, and his wife Sirona, lived as\nlodgers under his roof; not quite to the satisfaction of the councillor,\nfor the centurion was no Christian, but a worshipper of Mithras, in whose\nmysteries the wild Gaul had risen to the grade of a 'Lion,' whence his\npeople, and with them the Pharanites in general, were wont to speak of\nhim as \"the Lion.\"\n\nHis predecessor had been an officer of much lower rank but a believing\nChristian, whom Petrus had himself requested to live in his house, and\nwhen, about a year since, the Lion Phoebicius had taken the place of the\npious Pankratius, the senator could not refuse him the quarters, which\nhad become a right.\n\nHermas went shyly and timidly towards the court of Petrus' house, and his\nembarrassment increased when he found himself in the hall of the stately\nstone-house, which he had entered without let or hindrance, and did not\nknow which way to turn. There was no one there to direct him, and he\ndared not go up the stairs which led to the upper story, although it\nseemed that Petrus must be there. Yes, there was no doubt, for he heard\ntalking overhead and clearly distinguished the senator's deep voice.\nHermas advanced, and set his foot on the first step of the stairs; but he\nhad scarcely begun to go up with some decision, and feeling ashamed of\nhis bashfulness, when he heard a door fly open just above him, and from\nit there poured a flood of fresh laughing children's voices, like a pent\nup stream when the miller opens the sluice gate.\n\nHe glanced upwards in surprise, but there was no time for consideration,\nfor the shouting troop of released little ones had already reached the\nstairs. In front of all hastened a beautiful young woman with golden\nhair; she was laughing gaily, and held a gaudily-dressed doll high above\nher head. She came backwards towards the steps, turning her fair face\nbeaming with fun and delight towards the children, who, full of their\nlonging, half demanding, half begging, half laughing, half crying,\nshouted in confusion, \"Let us be, Sirona,\" \"Do not take it away again,\nSirona,\" \"Do stay here, Sirona,\" again and again, \"Sirona--Sirona.\"\n\nA lovely six year old maiden stretched up as far as she could to reach\nthe round white arm that held the play-thing; with her left hand, which\nwas free, she gaily pushed away three smaller children, who tried to\ncling to her knees and exclaimed, still stepping backwards, \"No, no; you\nshall not have it till it has a new gown; it shall be as long and as gay\nas the Emperors's robe. Let me go, Caecilia, or you will fall down as\nnaughty Nikon did the other day.\"\n\nBy this time she had reached the steps; she turned suddenly, and with\noutstretched arms she stopped the way of the narrow stair on which Hermas\nwas standing, gazing open-mouthed at the merry scene above his head. Just\nas Sirona was preparing to run down, she perceived him and started; but\nwhen she saw that the anchorite from pure embarrassment could find no\nwords in which to answer her question as to what he wanted, she laughed\nheartily again and called out: \"Come up, we shall not hurt you--shall we\nchildren?\"\n\nMeanwhile Hermas had found courage enough to give utterance to his wish\nto speak with the senator, and the young woman, who looked with\ncomplacency on his strong and youthful frame, offered to conduct him to\nhim.\n\nPetrus had been talking to his grown up elder sons; they were tall men,\nbut their father was even taller than they, and of unusual breadth of\nshoulder.\n\nWhile the young men were speaking, he stroked his short grey beard and\nlooked down at the ground in sombre gravity, as it might have seemed to\nthe careless observer; but any one who looked closer might quickly\nperceive that not seldom a pleased smile, though not less often a\nsomewhat bitter one, played upon the lips of the prudent and judicious\nman. He was one of those who can play with their children like a young\nmother, take the sorrows of another as much to heart as if they were\ntheir own, and yet who look so gloomy, and allow themselves to make such\nsharp speeches, that only those who are on terms of perfect confidence\nwith them, cease to misunderstand them and fear them. There was something\nfretting the soul of this man, who nevertheless possessed all that could\ncontribute to human happiness. His was a thankful nature, and yet he was\nconscious that he might have been destined to something greater than fate\nhad permitted him to achieve or to be. He had remained a stone-cutter,\nbut his sons had both completed their education in good schools in\nAlexandria. The elder, Antonius, who already had a house of his own and a\nwife and children, was an architect and artist-mechanic; the younger,\nPolykarp, was a gifted young sculptor. The noble church of the oasis-city\nhad been built under the direction of the elder; Polykarp, who had only\ncome home a month since, was preparing to establish and carry on works of\ngreat extent in his father's quarries, for he had received a commission\nto decorate the new court of the Sebasteion or Caesareum, as it was\ncalled--a grand pile in Alexandria--with twenty granite lions. More than\nthirty artists had competed with him for this work, but the prize was\nunanimously adjudged to his models by qualified judges. The architect\nwhose function it was to construct the colonnades and pavement of the\ncourt was his friend, and had agreed to procure the blocks of granite,\nthe flags and the columns which he required from Petrus' quarries, and\nnot, as had formerly been the custom, from those of Syene by the first\nCataract.\n\nAntonius and Polykarp were now standing with their father before a large\ntable, explaining to him a plan which they had worked out together and\ntraced on the thin wax surface of a wooden tablet. The young architect's\nproposal was to bridge over a deep but narrow gorge, which the beasts of\nburden were obliged to avoid by making a wide circuit, and so to make a\nnew way from the quarries to the sea, which should be shorter by a third\nthan the old one. The cost of this structure would soon be recouped by\nthe saving in labor, and with perfect certainty, if only the\ntransport-ships were laden at Clysma with a profitable return freight of\nAlexandrian manufactures, instead of returning empty as they had hitherto\ndone. Petrus, who could shine as a speaker in the council-meetings, in\nprivate life spoke but little. At each of his son's new projects he\nraised his eyes to the speaker's face, as if to see whether the young man\nhad not lost his wits, while his mouth, only half hidden by his grey\nbeard, smiled approvingly.\n\nWhen Antonius began to unfold his plan for remedying the inconvenience of\nthe ravine that impeded the way, the senator muttered, \"Only get feathers\nto grow on the slaves, and turn the black ones into ravens and the white\nones into gulls, and then they might fly across. What do not people learn\nin the metropolis!\"\n\nWhen he heard the word 'bridge' he stared at the young artist. \"The only\nquestion,\" said he, \"is whether Heaven will lend us a rainbow.\" But when\nPolykarp proposed to get some cedar trunks from Syria through his friend\nin Alexandria, and when his elder son explained his drawings of the arch\nwith which he promised to span the gorge and make it strong and safe, he\nfollowed their words with attention; at the same time he knit his\neyebrows as gloomily and looked as stern as if he were listening to some\nnarrative of crime. Still, he let them speak on to the end, and though at\nfirst he only muttered that it was mere \"fancy-work\" or \"Aye, indeed, if\nI were the emperor;\" he afterwards asked clear and precise questions, to\nwhich he received positive and well considered answers. Antonius proved\nby figures that the profit on the delivery of material for the Caesareum\nonly would cover more than three quarters of the outlay. Then Polykarp\nbegan to speak and declared that the granite of the Holy Mountain was\nfiner in color and in larger blocks than that from Syene.\n\n\"We work cheaper here than at the Cataract,\" interrupted Antonius. \"And\nthe transport of the blocks will not come too dear when we have the\nbridge and command the road to the sea, and avail ourselves of the canal\nof Trajan, which joins the Nile to the Red Sea, and which in a few months\nwill again be navigable.\"\n\n\"And if my lions are a success,\" added Polykarp, \"and if Zenodotus is\nsatisfied with our stone and our work, it may easily happen that we\noutstrip Syene in competition, and that some of the enormous orders that\nnow flow from Constantine's new residence to the quarries at Syene, may\nfind their way to us.\"\n\n\"Polykarp is not over sanguine,\" continued Antonius, \"for the emperor is\nbeautifying and adding to Byzantium with eager haste. Whoever erects a\nnew house has a yearly allowance of corn, and in order to attract folks\nof our stamp--of whom he cannot get enough--he promises entire exemption\nfrom taxation to all sculptors, architects, and even to skilled laborers.\nIf we finish the blocks and pillars here exactly to the designs, they\nwill take up no superfluous room in the ships, and no one will be able to\ndeliver them so cheaply as we.\"\n\n\"No, nor so good,\" cried Polykarp, \"for you yourself are an artist,\nfather, and understand stone-work as well as any man. I never saw a finer\nor more equally colored granite than the block you picked out for my\nfirst lion. I am finishing it here on the spot, and I fancy it will make\na show. Certainly it will be difficult to take a foremost place among the\nnoble works of the most splendid period of art, which already fill the\nCaesareum, but I will do my best.\"\n\n\"The Lions will be admirable,\" cried Antonius with a glance of pride at\nhis brother. \"Nothing like them has been done by any one these ten years,\nand I know the Alexandrians. If the master's work is praised that is made\nout of granite from the Holy Mountain, all the world will have granite\nfrom thence and from no where else. It all depends on whether the\ntransport of the stone to the sea can be made less difficult and costly.\"\n\n\"Let us try it then,\" said Petrus, who during his son's talk had walked\nup and down before them in silence. \"Let us try the building of the\nbridge in the name of the Lord. We will work out the road if the\nmunicipality will declare themselves ready to bear half the cost; not\notherwise, and I tell you frankly, you have both grown most able men.\"\n\nThe younger son grasped his father's hand and pressed it with warm\naffection to his lips. Petrus hastily stroked his brown locks, then he\noffered his strong right hand to his eldest-born and said: \"We must\nincrease the number of our slaves. Call your mother, Polykarp.\" The youth\nobeyed with cheerful alacrity, and when Dame Dorothea--who was sitting at\nthe loom with her daughter Marthana and some of her female slaves--saw\nhim rush into the women's room with a glowing face, she rose with\nyouthful briskness in spite of her stout and dignified figure, and called\nout to her son:\n\n\"He has approved of your plans?\"\n\n\"Bridge and all, mother, everything,\" cried the young man. \"Finer granite\nfor my lions, than my father has picked out for me is nowhere to be\nfound, and how glad I am for Antonius! only we must have patience about\nthe roadway. He wants to speak to you at once.\"\n\nDorothea signed to her son to moderate his ecstasy, for he had seized her\nhand, and was pulling her away with him, but the tears that stood in her\nkind eyes testified how deeply she sympathized in her favorite's\nexcitement.\n\n\"Patience, patience, I am coming directly,\" cried she, drawing away her\nhand in order to arrange her dress and her grey hair, which was abundant\nand carefully dressed, and formed a meet setting for her still pleasing\nand unwrinkled face.\n\n\"I knew it would be so; when you have a reasonable thing to propose to\nyour father, he will always listen to you and agree with you without my\nintervention; women should not mix themselves up with men's work. Youth\ndraws a strong bow and often shoots beyond the mark. It would be a pretty\nthing if out of foolish affection for you I were to try to play the siren\nthat should ensnare the steersman of the house--your father--with\nflattering words. You laugh at the grey-haired siren? But love overlooks\nthe ravages of years and has a good memory for all that was once\npleasing. Besides, men have not always wax in their ears when they should\nhave. Come now to your father.\"\n\nDorothea went out past Polykarp and her daughter. The former held his\nsister back by the hand and asked--\"Was not Sirona with you?\"\n\nThe sculptor tried to appear quite indifferent, but he blushed as he\nspoke; Marthana observed this and replied not without a roguish glance:\n\"She did show us her pretty face; but important business called her\naway.\"\n\n\"Sirona?\" asked Polykarp incredulously.\n\n\"Certainly, why not!\" answered Marthana laughing. \"She had to sew a new\ngown for the children's doll.\"\n\n\"Why do you mock at her kindness?\" said Polykarp reproachfully.\n\n\"How sensitive you are!\" said Marthana softly. \"Sirona is as kind and\nsweet as an angel; but you had better look at her rather less, for she is\nnot one of us, and repulsive as the choleric centurion is to me--\"\n\nShe said no more, for Dame Dorothea, having reached the door of the\nsitting-room, looked around for her children.\n\nPetrus received his wife with no less gravity than was usual with him,\nbut there was an arch sparkle in his half closed eyes as he asked: \"You\nscarcely know what is going on, I suppose?\"\n\n\"You are madmen, who would fain take Heaven by storm,\" she answered\ngaily.\n\n\"If the undertaking fails,\" said Petrus, pointing to his sons, \"those\nyoung ones will feel the loss longer than we shall.\"\n\n\"But it will succeed,\" cried Dorothea. \"An old commander and young\nsoldiers can win any battle.\" She held out her small plump hand with\nfrank briskness to her husband, he clasped it cheerily and said: \"I think\nI can carry the project for the road through the Senate. To build our\nbridge we must also procure helping hands, and for that we need your aid,\nDorothea. Our slaves will not suffice.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" cried the lady eagerly; she went to the window and called,\n\"Jethro, Jethro!\"\n\nThe person thus addressed, the old house-steward, appeared, and Dorothea\nbegan to discuss with him as to which of the inhabitants of the oasis\nmight be disposed to let them have some able-bodied men, and whether it\nmight not be possible to employ one or another of the house-slaves at the\nbuilding.\n\nAll that she said was judicious and precise, and showed that she herself\nsuperintended her household in every detail, and was accustomed to\ncommand with complete freedom.\n\n\"That tall Anubis then is really indispensable in the stable?\" she asked\nin conclusion. The steward, who up to this moment had spoken shortly and\nintelligently, hesitated to answer; at the same time he looked up at\nPetrus, who, sunk in the contemplation of the plan, had his back to him;\nhis glance, and a deprecating movement, expressed very clearly that he\nhad something to tell, but feared to speak in the presence of his master.\nDame Dorothea was quick of comprehension, and she quite understood\nJethro's meaning; it was for that very reason that she said with more of\nsurprise than displeasure: \"What does the man mean with his winks? What I\nmay hear, Petrus may hear too.\"\n\nThe senator turned, and looked at the steward from head to foot with so\ndark a glance, that he drew back, and began to speak quickly. But he was\ninterrupted by the children's clamors on the stairs and by Sirona, who\nbrought Hermas to the senator, and said laughing: \"I found this great\nfellow on the stairs, he was seeking you.\"\n\nPetrus looked at the youth, not very kindly, and asked: \"Who are you?\nwhat is your business?\" Hermas struggled in vain for speech; the presence\nof so many human beings, of whom three were women, filled him with the\nutmost confusion. His fingers twisted the woolly curls on his sheep-skin,\nand his lips moved but gave no sound; at last he succeeded in stammering\nout, \"I am the son of old Stephanus, who was wounded in the last raid of\nthe Saracens. My father has hardly slept these five nights, and now\nPaulus has sent me to you--the pious Paulus of Alexandria--but you\nknow--and so I--\"\n\n\"I see, I see,\" said Petrus with encouraging kindness. \"You want some\nmedicine for the old man. See Dorothea, what a fine young fellow he is\ngrown, this is the little man that the Antiochian took with him up the\nmountain.\"\n\nHermas colored, and drew himself up; then he observed with great\nsatisfaction that he was taller than the senator's sons, who were of\nabout the same age as he, and for whom he had a stronger feeling, allied\nto aversion and fear, than even for their stern father. Polykarp measured\nhim with a glance, and said aloud to Sirona, with whom he had exchanged a\ngreeting, are off whom he had never once taken his eyes since she had\ncome in: If we could get twenty slaves with such shoulders as those, we\nshould get on well. There is work to be done here, you big fellow--\"\n\n\"My name is not 'fellow,' but Hermas,\" said the anchorite, and the veins\nof his forehead began to swell Polykarp felt that his father's visitor\nwas something more than his poor clothing would seem to indicate and that\nhe had hurt his feelings. He had certainly seen some old anchorites, who\nled a contemplative and penitential life up on the sacred mountain, but\nit had never occurred to him that a strong youth could be long to the\nbrotherhood of hermits. So he said to him kindly: \"Hermas--is that your\nname? We all use our hands here and labor is no disgrace; what is your\nhandicraft?\"\n\nThis question roused the young anchorite to the highest excitement, and\nDame Dorothea, who perceives what was passing in his mind, said with\nquick decision: \"He nurses his sick father. That is what you do, my son\nis it not? Petrus will not refuse you his help.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" the senator added, \"I will accompany you by-and-bye to\nsee him. You must know my children, that this youth's father was a great\nLord, who gave up rich possessions in order to forget the world, where he\nhad gone through bitter experiences, and to serve God in his own way,\nwhich we ought to respect though it is not our own. Sit down there, my\nson. First we must finish some important business, and then I will go\nwith you.\"\n\n\"We live high up on the mountain,\" stammered Hermas.\n\n\"Then the air will be all the purer,\" replied the senator. \"But\nstay--perhaps the old man is alone no? The good Paulus, you say, is with\nhim? Then he is in good hands, and you may wait.\"\n\nFor a moment Petrus stood considering, then he beckoned to his sons, and\nsaid, \"Antonius, go at once and see about some slaves--you, Polykarp,\nfind some strong beasts of burden. You are generally rather easy with\nyour money, and in this case it is worth while to buy the dearest. The\nsooner you return well supplied the better. Action must not halt behind\ndecision, but follow it quickly and sharply, as the sound follows the\nblow. You, Marthana, mix some of the brown fever-potion, and prepare some\nbandages; you have the key.\"\n\n\"I will help her,\" cried Sirona, who was glad to prove herself useful,\nand who was sincerely sorry for the sick old hermit; besides, Hermas\nseemed to her like a discovery of her own, for whom she involuntarily\nfelt more consideration since she had learned that he was the son of a\nman of rank.\n\nWhile the young women were busy at the medicine-cupboard, Antonius and\nPolykarp left the room.\n\nThe latter had already crossed the threshold, when he turned once more,\nand cast a long look at Sirona. Then, with a hasty movement, he went on,\nclosed the door, and with a heavy sigh descended the stairs.\n\nAs soon as his sons were gone, Petrus turned to the steward again.\n\n\"What is wrong with the slave Anubis?\" he asked.\n\n\"He is--wounded, hurt,\" answered Jethro, \"and for the next few days will\nbe useless. The goat-girl Miriam--the wild cat--cut his forehead with her\nreaping hook.\"\n\n\"Why did I not hear of this sooner?\" cried Dorothea reprovingly. \"What\nhave you done to the girl?\"\n\n\"We have shut her up in the hay loft,\" answered Jethro, \"and there she is\nraging and storming.\"\n\nThe mistress shook her head disapprovingly. \"The girl will not be\nimproved by that treatment,\" she said. \"Go and bring her to me.\"\n\nAs soon as the intendant had left the room, she exclaimed, turning to her\nhusband, \"One may well be perplexed about these poor creatures, when one\nsees how they behave to each other. I have seen it a thousand times! No\njudgment is so hard as that dealt by a slave to slaves!\"\n\nJethro and a woman now led Miriam into the room. The girl's hands were\nbound with thick cords, and dry grass clung to her dress and rough black\nhair. A dark fire glowed in her eyes, and the muscles of her face moved\nincessantly, as if she had St. Vitus' dance. When Dorothea looked at her\nshe drew herself up defiantly, and looked around the room, as if to\nestimate the strength of her enemies.\n\nShe then perceived Hermas; the blood left her lips, with a violent effort\nshe tore her slender hands out of the loops that confined them, covering\nher face with them, and fled to the door. But Jethro put himself in her\nway, and seized her shoulder with a strong grasp. Miriam shrieked aloud,\nand the senator's daughter, who had set down the medicines she had had in\nher hand, and had watched the girl's movements with much sympathy,\nhastened towards her. She pushed away the old man's hand, and said, \"Do\nnot be frightened, Miriam. Whatever you may have done, my father can\nforgive you.\"\n\nHer voice had a tone of sisterly affection, and the shepherdess followed\nMarthana unresistingly to the table, on which the plans for the bridge\nwere lying, and stood there by her side.\n\nFor a minute all were silent; at last Dame Dorothea went up to Miriam,\nand asked, \"What did they do to you, my poor child, that you could so\nforget yourself?\"\n\nMiriam could not understand what was happening to her; she had been\nprepared for scoldings and blows, nay for bonds and imprisonment, and now\nthese gentle words and kind looks! Her defiant spirit was quelled, her\neyes met the friendly eyes of her mistress, and she said in a low voice:\n\"he had followed me for such a long time, and wanted to ask you for me as\nhis wife; but I cannot bear him--I hate him as I do all your slaves.\" At\nthese words her eyes sparkled wildly again, and with her old fire she\nwent on, \"I wish I had only hit him with a stick instead of a sickle; but\nI took what first came to hand to defend myself. When a man touches me--I\ncannot bear it, it is horrible, dreadful! Yesterday I came home later\nthan usual with the beasts, and by the time I had milked the goats, and\nwas going to bed, every one in the house was asleep. Then Anubis met me,\nand began chattering about love; I repelled him, but he seized me, and\nheld me with his hand here on my head and wanted to kiss me; then my\nblood rose, I caught hold of my reaping hook, that hung by my side, and\nit was not till I saw him roaring on the ground, that I saw I had done\nwrong. How it happened I really cannot tell--something seemed to rise up\nin me--something--I don't know what to call it. It drives me on as the\nwind drives the leaves that lie on the road, and I cannot help it. The\nbest thing you can do is to let me die, for then you would be safe once\nfor all from my wickedness, and all would be over and done with.\"\n\n\"How can you speak so?\" interrupted Marthana. \"You are wild and\nungovernable, but not wicked.\"\n\n\"Only ask him!\" cried the girl, pointing with flashing eyes to Hermas,\nwho, on his part, looked down a the floor in confusion. The senator\nexchanged a hasty glance with his wife, they were accustomed to under\nstand each other without speech, and Dorothea said: \"He who feels that he\nis not what he ought to be is already on the high-road to amendment. We\nlet you keep the goats because you were always running after the flocks,\nand never can rest in the house. You are up on the mountain before\nmorning-prayer, and never come home till after supper is over, and no one\ntakes any thought for the better part of you. Half of your guilt recoils\nupon us, and we have no right to punish you. You need not be so\nastonished; every one some times does wrong. Petrus and I are human\nbeings like you, neither more nor less; but we are Christians, and it is\nour duty to look after the souls which God has entrusted to our care, be\nthey our children or our slaves. You must go no more up the mountain, but\nshall stay with us in the house. I shall willingly forgive your hasty\ndeed if Petrus does not think it necessary to punish you.\"\n\nThe senator gravely shook his head in sign of agreement, and Dorothea\nturned to enquire of Jethro: \"Is Anubis badly wounded and does he need\nany care?'\n\n\"He is lying in a fever and wanders in his talk,\" was the answer. \"Old\nPraxinoa is cooling his wound with water.\"\n\n\"Then Miriam can take her place and try to remedy the mischief which she\nwas the cause of,\" said Dorothea. \"Half of your guilt will be atoned for,\ngirl, if Anubis recovers under your care. I will come presently with\nMarthana, and show you how to make a bandage.\" The shepherdess cast down\nher eyes, and passively allowed herself to be conducted to the wounded\nman.\n\nMeanwhile Marthana had prepared the brown mixture. Petrus had his staff\nand felt-hat brought to him, gave Hermas the medicine and desired him to\nfollow him.\n\nSirona looked after the couple as they went. \"What a pity for such a fine\nlad!\" she exclaimed. \"A purple coat would suit him better than that\nwretched sheepskin.\"\n\nThe mistress shrugged her shoulders, and signing to her daughter said:\n\"Come to work, Marthana, the sun is already high. How the days fly! the\nolder one grows the quicker the hours hurry away.\"\n\n\"I must be very young then,\" said the centurion's wife, \"for in this\nwilderness time seems to me to creep along frightfully slow. One day is\nthe same as another, and I often feel as if life were standing perfectly\nstill, and my heart pulses with it. What should I be without your house\nand the children?--always the same mountain, the same palm-trees, the\nsame faces!--\"\n\n\"But the mountain is glorious, the trees are beautiful!\" answered\nDorothea. \"And if we love the people with whom we are in daily\nintercourse, even here we may be contented and happy. At least we\nourselves are, so far as the difficulties of life allow. I have often\ntold you, what you want is work.\"\n\n\"Work! but for whom?\" asked Sirona. \"If indeed I had children like you!\nEven in Rome I was not happy, far from it; and yet there was plenty to do\nand to think about. Here a procession, there a theatre; but here! And for\nwhom should I dress even? My jewels grow dull in my chest, and the moths\neat my best clothes. I am making doll's clothes now of my colored cloak\nfor your little ones. If some demon were to transform me into a hedge-hog\nor a grey owl, it would be all the same to me.\"\n\n\"Do not be so sinful,\" said Dorothea gravely, but looking with kindly\nadmiration at the golden hair and lovely sweet face of the young woman.\n\"It ought to be a pleasure to you to dress yourself for your husband.\"\n\n\"For him?\" said Sirona. \"He never looks at me, or if he does it is only\nto abuse me. The only wonder to me is that I can still be merry at all;\nnor am I, except in your house, and not there even but when I forget him\naltogether.\"\n\n\"I will not hear such things said--not another word,\" interrupted\nDorothea severely. \"Take the linen and cooling lotion, Marthana, we will\ngo and bind up Anubis' wound.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nPetrus went up the mountain side with Hermas. The old man followed the\nyouth, who showed him the way, and as he raised his eyes from time to\ntime, he glanced with admiration at his guide's broad shoulders and\nelastic limbs. The road grew broader when it reached a little mountain\nplateau, and from thence the two men walked on side by side, but for some\ntime without speaking till the senator asked: \"How long now has your\nfather lived up on the mountain?\"\n\n\"Many years,\" answered Hermas. \"But I do not know how many--and it is all\none. No one enquires about time up here among us.\"\n\nThe senator stood still a moment and measured his companion with a\nglance.\n\n\"You have been with your father ever since he came?\" he asked.\n\n\"He never lets me out of his sight;\" replied Hermas. \"I have been only\ntwice into the oasis, even to go to the church.\"\n\n\"Then you have been to no school?\"\n\n\"To what school should I go! My father has taught me to read the Gospels\nand I could write, but I have nearly forgotten how. Of what use would it\nbe to me? We live like praying beasts.\"\n\nDeep bitterness sounded in the last words, and Petrus could see into the\ntroubled spirit of his companion, overflowing as it was with weary\ndisgust, and he perceived how the active powers of youth revolted in\naversion against the slothful waste of life, to which he was condemned.\nHe was grieved for the boy, and he was not one of those who pass by those\nin peril without helping them. Then he thought of his own sons, who had\ngrown up in the exercise and fulfilment of serious duties, and he owned\nto himself that the fine young fellow by his side was in no way their\ninferior, and needed nothing but to be guided aright. He thoughtfully\nlooked first at the youth and then on the ground, and muttered\nunintelligible words into his grey beard as they walked on. Suddenly he\ndrew himself up and nodded decisively; he would make an attempt to save\nHermas, and faithful to his own nature, action trod on the heels of\nresolve. Where the little level ended the road divided, one path\ncontinued to lead upwards, the other deviated to the valley and ended at\nthe quarries. Petrus was for taking the latter, but Hermas cried out,\n\"That is not the way to our cave; you must follow me.\"\n\n\"Follow thou me!\" replied the senator, and the words were spoken with a\ntone and expression, that left no doubt in the youth's mind as to their\ndouble meaning. \"The day is yet before us, and we will see what my\nlaborers are doing. Do you know the spot where they quarry the stone?\"\n\n\"How should I not know it?\" said Hermas, passing the senator to lead the\nway. \"I know every path from our mountain to the oasis, and to the sea. A\npanther had its lair in the ravine behind your quarries.\"\n\n\"So we have learnt,\" said Petrus. \"The thievish beasts have slaughtered\ntwo young camels, and the people can neither catch them in their toils\nnor run them down with dogs.\"\n\n\"They will leave you in peace now,\" said the boy laughing. \"I brought\ndown the male from the rock up there with an arrow, and I found the\nmother in a hollow with her young ones. I had a harder job with her; my\nknife is so bad, and the copper blade bent with the blow; I had to\nstrangle the gaudy devil with my hands, and she tore my shoulder and bit\nmy arm. Look! there are the scars. But thank God, my wounds heal quicker\nthan my father's. Paulus says, I am like an, earth-worm; when it is cut\nin two the two halves say good-bye to each other, and crawl off sound and\ngay, one way, and the other another way. The young panthers were so funny\nand helpless, I would not kill them, but I did them up in my sheepskin,\nand brought them to my father. He laughed at the little beggars, and then\na Nabataean took them to be sold at Clysma to a merchant from Rome. There\nand at Byzantium, there is a demand for all kinds of living beasts of\nprey. I got some money for them, and for the skins of the old ones, and\nkept it to pay for my journey, when I went with the others to Alexandria\nto ask the blessing of the new Patriarch.\"\n\n\"You went to the metropolis?\" asked Petrus. \"You saw the great\nstructures, that secure the coast from the inroads of the sea, the tall\nPharos with the far-shining fire, the strong bridges, the churches, the\npalaces and temples with their obelisks, pillars, and beautiful paved\ncourts? Did it never enter your mind to think that it would be a proud\nthing to construct such buildings?\"\n\nHermas shook his head. \"Certainly I would rather live in an airy house\nwith colonnades than in our dingy cavern, but building would never be in\nmy way. What a long time it takes to put one stone on another! I am not\npatient, and when I leave my father I will do something that shall win me\nfame. But there are the quarries--\" Petrus did not let his companion\nfinish his sentence, but interrupted him with all the warmth of youth,\nexclaiming: \"And do you mean to say that fame cannot be won by the arts\nof building? Look there at the blocks and flags, here at the pillars of\nhard stone. These are all to be sent to Aila, and there my son Antonius,\nthe elder of the two that you saw just now, is going to build a House of\nGod, with strong walls and pillars, much larger and handsomer than our\nchurch in the oasis, and that is his work too. He is not much older than\nyou are, and already he is famous among the people far and wide. Out of\nthose red blocks down there my younger son Polykarp will hew noble lions,\nwhich are destined to decorate the finest building in the capital itself.\nWhen you and I, and all that are now living, shall have been long since\nforgotten, still it will be said these are the work of the Master\nPolykarp, the son of Petrus, the Pharanite. What he can do is certainly a\nthing peculiar to himself, no one who is not one of the chosen and gifted\nones can say, 'I will learn to do that.' But you have a sound\nunderstanding, strong hands and open eyes, and who can tell what else\nthere is hidden in you. If you could begin to learn soon, it would not\nyet be too late to make a worthy master of you, but of course he who\nwould rise so high must not be afraid of work. Is your mind set upon\nfame? That is quite right, and I am very glad of it; but you must know\nthat he who would gather that rare fruit must water it, as a noble\nheathen once said, with the sweat of his brow. Without trouble and labor\nand struggles there can be no victory, and men rarely earn fame without\nfighting for victory.\"\n\nThe old man's vehemence was contagious; the lad's spirit was roused, and\nhe exclaimed warmly: \"What do you say? that I am afraid of struggles and\ntrouble? I am ready to stake everything, even my life, only to win fame.\nBut to measure stone, to batter defenceless blocks with a mallet and\nchisel, or to join the squares with accurate pains--that does not tempt\nme. I should like to win the wreath in the Palaestra by flinging the\nstrongest to the ground, or surpass all others as a warrior in battle; my\nfather was a soldier too, and he may talk as much as he will of 'peace,'\nand nothing but 'peace,' all the same in his dreams he speaks of bloody\nstrife and burning wounds. If you only cure him I will stay no longer on\nthis lonely mountain, even if I must steal away in secret. For what did\nGod give me these arms, if not to use them?\"\n\nPetrus made no answer to these words, which came is a stormy flood from\nHermas' lips, but he stroked his grey beard, and thought to himself, \"The\nyoung of the eagle does not catch flies. I shall never win over this\nsoldier's son to our peaceful handicraft, but he shall not remain on the\nmountain among these queer sluggards, for there he is being ruined, and\nyet he is not of a common sort.\"\n\nWhen he had given a few orders to the overseer of his workmen, he\nfollowed the young man to see his suffering father.\n\nIt was now some hours since Hermas and Paulus had left the wounded\nanchorite, and he still lay alone in his cave. The sun, as it rose higher\nand higher, blazed down upon the rocks, which began to radiate their\nheat, and the hermit's dwelling was suffocatingly hot. The pain of the\npoor man's wound increased, his fever was greater, and he was very\nthirsty. There stood the jug, which Paulus had given him, but it was long\nsince empty, and neither Paulus nor Hermas had come back. He listened\nanxiously to the sounds in the distance, and fancied at first that he\nheard the Alexandrian's footstep, and then that he heard loud words and\nsuppressed groans coming from his cave. Stephanus tried to call out, but\nhe himself could hardly hear the feeble sound, which, with his wounded\nbreast and parched mouth, he succeeded in uttering. Then he fain would\nhave prayed, but fearful mental anguish disturbed his devotion. All the\nhorrors of desertion came upon him, and he who had lived a life\noverflowing with action and enjoyment, with disenchantment and satiety,\nwho now in solitude carried on an incessant spiritual struggle for the\nhighest goal--this man felt himself as disconsolate and lonely as a\nbewildered child that has lost its mother.\n\nHe lay on his bed of pain softly crying, and when he observed by the\nshadow of the rock that the sun had passed its noonday height,\nindignation and bitter feeling were added to pain, thirst and weariness.\nHe doubled his fists and muttered words which sounded like soldier's\noaths, and with them the name now of Paulus, now of his son. At last\nanguish gained the upperhand of his anger, and it seemed to him, as\nthough he were living over again the most miserable hour of his life, an\nhour now long since past and gone.\n\nHe thought he was returning from a noisy banquet in the palace of the\nCaesars. His slaves had taken the garlands of roses and poplar leaves\nfrom his brow and breast, and robed him in his night-dress; now, with a\nsilver lamp in his hand, he was approaching his bedroom, and he smiled,\nfor his young wife was awaiting him, the mother of his Hermas. She was\nfair and he loved her well, and he had brought home witty sayings to\nrepeat to her from the table of the emperor. He, if any one, had a right\nto smile. Now he was in the ante-room, in which two slave-women were\naccustomed to keep watch; he found only one, and she was sleeping and\nbreathing deeply; he still smiled as he threw the light upon her\nface--how stupid she looked with her mouth open! An alabaster lamp shed a\ndim light in the bed-room, softly and still smiling he went up to\nGlycera's ivory couch, and held up his lamp, and stared at the empty and\nundisturbed bed--and the smile faded from his lips. The smile of that\nevening came back to him no more through all the long years, for Glycera\nhad betrayed him, and left him--him and her child. All this had happened\ntwenty years since, and to-day all that he had then felt had returned to\nhim, and he saw his wife's empty couch with his \"mind's eye,\" as plainly\nas he had then seen it, and he felt as lonely and as miserable as in that\nnight. But now a shadow appeared before the opening of the cave, and he\nbreathed a deep sigh as he felt himself released from the hideous vision,\nfor he had recognized Paulus, who came up and knelt down beside him.\n\n\"Water, water!\" Stephanus implored in a low voice, and Paulus, who was\ncut to the heart by the moaning of the old man, which he had not heard\ntill he entered the cave, seized the pitcher. He looked into it, and,\nfinding it quite dry, he rushed down to the spring as if he were running\nfor a wager, filled it to the brim and brought it to the lips of the sick\nman, who gulped the grateful drink down with deep draughts, and at last\nexclaimed with a sigh of relief; \"That is better; why were you so long\naway? I was so thirsty!\" Paulus who had fallen again on his knees by the\nold man, pressed his brow against the couch, and made no reply. Stephanus\ngazed in astonishment at his companion, but perceiving that he was\nweeping passionately he asked no further questions. Perfect stillness\nreigned in the cave for about an hour; at last Paulus raised his face,\nand said, \"Forgive me Stephanus. I forgot your necessity in prayer and\nscourging, in order to recover the peace of mind I had trifled away--no\nheathen would have done such a thing!\" The sick man stroked his friend's\narm affectionately; but Paulus murmured, \"Egoism, miserable egoism guides\nand governs us. Which of us ever thinks of the needs of others? And\nwe--we who profess to walk in the way of the Lamb!\"\n\nHe sighed deeply, and leaned his head on the sick man's breast, who\nlovingly stroked his rough hair, and it was thus that the senator found\nhim, when he entered the cave with Hermas.\n\nThe idle way of life of the anchorites was wholly repulsive to his views\nof the task for men and for Christians, but he succored those whom he\ncould, and made no enquiries about the condition of the sufferer. The\npathetic union in which he found the two men touched his heart, and,\nturning to Paulus, he said kindly: \"I can leave you in perfect comfort,\nfor you seem to me to have a faithful nurse.\"\n\nThe Alexandrian reddened; he shook his head, and replied: \"I? I thought\nof no one but myself, and left him to suffer and thirst in neglect, but\nnow I will not quit him--no, indeed, I will not, and by God's help and\nyours, he shall recover.\"\n\nPetrus gave him a friendly nod, for he did not believe in the anchorite's\nself-accusation, though he did in his good-will; and before he left the\ncave, he desired Hermas to come to him early on the following day to give\nhim news of his father's state. He wished not only to cure Stephanus, but\nto continue his relations with the youth, who had excited his interest in\nthe highest degree, and he had resolved to help him to escape from the\ninactive life which was weighing upon him.\n\nPaulus declined to share the simple supper that the father and son were\neating, but expressed his intention of remaining with the sick man. He\ndesired Hermas to pass the night in his dwelling, as the scanty limits of\nthe cave left but narrow room for the lad.\n\nA new life had this day dawned upon the young man; all the grievances and\ndesires which had filled his soul ever since his journey to Alexandria,\ncrowding together in dull confusion, had taken form and color, and he\nknew now that he could not remain an anchorite, but must try his over\nabundant strength in real life.\n\n\"My father,\" thought he, \"was a warrior, and lived in a palace, before he\nretired into our dingy cave; Paulus was Menander, and to this day has not\nforgotten how to throw the discus; I am young, strong, and free-born as\nthey were, and Petrus says, I might have been a fine man. I will not hew\nand chisel stones like his sons, but Caesar needs soldiers, and among all\nthe Amalekites, nay among the Romans in the oasis, I saw none with whom I\nmight not match myself.\"\n\nWhile thus he thought he stretched his limbs, and struck his hands on his\nbroad breast, and when he was asleep, he dreamed of the wrestling school,\nand of a purple robe that Paulus held out to him, of a wreath of poplar\nleaves that rested on his scented curls, and of the beautiful woman who\nhad met him on the stairs of the senator's house.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Action trod on the heels of resolve\n     Homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto\n     I am human, nothing that is human can I regard as alien to me\n     Love is at once the easiest and the most difficult\n     Love overlooks the ravages of years and has a good memory\n     No judgment is so hard as that dealt by a slave to slaves\n     No man is more than man, and many men are less\n     Sky as bare of cloud as the rocks are of shrubs and herbs\n     Sleep avoided them both, and each knew that the other was awake\n     The older one grows the quicker the hours hurry away\n     To pray is better than to bathe\n     Wakefulness may prolong the little term of life\n\n\n\n\nHOMO SUM\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThanks to the senator's potion Stephanus soon fell asleep. Paulus sat\nnear him and did not stir; he held his breath, and painfully suppressed\neven an impulse to cough, so as not to disturb the sick man's light\nslumbers.\n\nAn hour after midnight the old man awoke, and after he had lain\nmeditating for some time with his eyes open, he said thoughtfully: \"You\ncalled yourself and us all egotistic, and I certainly am so. I have often\nsaid so to myself; not for the first time to day, but for weeks past,\nsince Hermas came back from Alexandria, and seems to have forgotten how\nto laugh. He is not happy, and when I ask myself what is to become of him\nwhen I am dead, and if he turns from the Lord and seeks the pleasures of\nthe world, my heart sickens. I meant it for the best when I brought him\nwith me up to the Holy Mountain, but that was not the only motive--it\nseemed to me too hard to part altogether from the child. My God! the\nyoung of brutes are secure of their mother's faithful love, and his never\nasked for him when she fled from my house with her seducer. I thought he\nshould at least not lose his father, and that if he grew up far away from\nthe world he would be spared all the sorrow that it had so profusely\nheaped upon me, I would have brought him up fit for Heaven, and yet\nthrough a life devoid of suffering. And now--and now? If he is miserable\nit will be through me, and added to all my other troubles comes this\ngrief.\"\n\n\"You have sought out the way for him,\" interrupted Paulus, \"and the rest\nwill be sure to come; he loves you and will certainly not leave you so\nlong as you are suffering.\"\n\n\"Certainly not?\" asked the sick man sadly. \"And what weapons has he to\nfight through life with?\"\n\n\"You gave him the Saviour for a guide; that is enough,\" said Paulus\nsoothingly. \"There is no smooth road from earth to Heaven, and none can\nwin salvation for another.\"\n\nStephanus was silent for a long time, then he said: \"It is not even\nallowed to a father to earn the wretched experience of life for his son,\nor to a teacher for his pupil. We may point out the goal, but the way\nthither is by a different road for each of us.\"\n\n\"And we may thank God for that,\" cried Paulus. \"For Hermas has been\nstarted on the road which you and I had first to find for ourselves.\"\n\n\"You and I,\" repeated the sick man thoughtfully. \"Yes, each of us has\nsought his own way, but has enquired only which was his own way, and has\nnever concerned himself about that of the other. Self! self!--How many\nyears we have dwelt close together, and I have never felt impelled to ask\nyou what you could recall to mind about your youth, and how you were led\nto grace. I learnt by accident that you were an Alexandrian, and had been\na heathen, and had suffered much for the faith, and with that I was\nsatisfied. Indeed you do not seem very ready to speak of those long past\ndays. Our neighbor should be as dear to us as our self, and who is nearer\nto me than you? Aye, self and selfishness! There are many gulfs on the\nroad towards God.\"\n\n\"I have not much to tell,\" said Paulus. \"But a man never forgets what he\nonce has been. We may cast the old man from us, and believe we have\nshaken ourselves free, when lo! it is there again and greets us as an old\nacquaintance. If a frog only once comes down from his tree he hops back\ninto the pond again.\"\n\n\"It is true, memory can never die!\" cried the sick man. \"I can not sleep\nany more; tell me about your early life and how you became a Christian.\nWhen two men have journeyed by the same road, and the moment of parting\nis at hand, they are fain to ask each other's name and where they came\nfrom.\"\n\nPaulus gazed for some time into space, and then he began: \"The companions\nof my youth called me Menander, the son of Herophilus. Besides that, I\nknow for certain very little of my youth, for as I have already told you,\nI have long since ceased to allow myself to think of the world. He who\nabandons a thing, but clings to the idea of the thing, continues--\"\n\n\"That sounds like Plato,\" said Stephanus with a smile.\n\n\"All that heathen farrago comes back to me today,\" cried Paulus. \"I used\nto know it well, and I have often thought that his face must have\nresembled that of the Saviour.\"\n\n\"But only as a beautiful song might resemble the voice of an angel,\" said\nStephanus somewhat drily. \"He who plunges into the depths of philosophic\nsystems--\"\n\n\"That never was quite my case,\" said Paulus. \"I did indeed go through the\nwhole educational course; Grammar, Rhetoric, Dialectic and Music--\"\n\n\"And Arithmetic, Geometry, and Astronomy,\" added Stephanus.\n\n\"Those were left to the learned many years since,\" continued Paulus, \"and\nI was never very eager for learning. In the school of Rhetoric I remained\nfar behind my fellows, and if Plato was dear to me I owe it to Paedonomus\nof Athens, a worthy man whom my father engaged to teach us.\"\n\n\"They say he had been a great merchant,\" interrupted Stephanus. \"Can it\nbe that you were the son of that rich Herophilus, whose business in\nAntioch was conducted by the worthy Jew Urbib?\"\n\n\"Yes indeed,\" replied Paulus, looking down at the ground in some\nconfusion. \"Our mode of life was almost royal, and the multitude of our\nslaves quite sinful. When I look back on all the vain trifles that my\nfather had to care for, I feel quite giddy. Twenty sea-going ships in the\nharbor of Eunostus, and eighty Nile-boats on Lake Mareotis belonged to\nhim. His profits on the manufacture of papyrus might have maintained a\ncityfull of poor. But we needed our revenues for other things. Our\nCyraenian horses stood in marble stalls, and the great hall, in which my\nfather's friends were wont to meet, was like a temple. But you see how\nthe world takes possession of us, when we begin to think about it! Rather\nlet us leave the past in peace. You want me to tell you more of myself?\nWell; my childhood passed like that of a thousand other rich citizens'\nsons, only my mother, indeed, was exceptionally beautiful and sweet, and\nof angelic goodness.\"\n\n\"Every child thinks his own mother the best of mothers,\" murmured the\nsick man.\n\n\"Mine certainly was the best to me,\" cried Paulus. \"And yet she was a\nheathen. When my father hurt me with severe words of blame, she always\nhad a kind word and loving glance for me. There was little enough,\nindeed, to praise in me. Learning was utterly distasteful to me, and even\nif I had done better at school, it would hardy have counted for much to\nmy credit, for my brother Apollonius, who was about a year younger than\nI, learned all the most difficult things as if they were mere child's\nplay, and in dialectic exercises there soon was no rhetorician in\nAlexandria who could compete with him. No system was unknown to him, and\nthough no one ever knew of his troubling himself particularly to study,\nhe nevertheless was master of many departments of learning. There were\nbut two things in which I could beat him--in music, and in all athletic\nexercises; while he was studying and disputing I was winning garlands in\nthe palaestra. But at that time the best master of rhetoric and argument\nwas the best man, and my father, who himself could shine in the senate as\nan ardent and elegant orator, looked upon me as a half idiotic\nne'er-do-weel, until one clay a learned client of our house presented him\nwith a pebble on which was carved an epigram to this effect: 'He who\nwould see the noblest gifts of the Greek race, should visit the house of\nHerophilus, for there he might admire strength and vigor of body in\nMenander, and the same qualities of mind in Apollonius.' These lines,\nwhich were written in the form of a lute, passed from mouth to mouth, and\ngratified my father's ambition; from that time he had words of praise for\nme when my quadriga won the race in the Hippodrome, or when I came home\ncrowned from the wrestling-ring, or the singing match. My whole life was\nspent in the baths and the palaestra, or in gay feasting.\"\n\n\"I know it all,\" exclaimed Stephanus interrupting him, \"and the memory of\nit all often disturbs me. Did you find it easy to banish these images\nfrom your mind?\"\n\n\"At first I had a hard fight,\" sighed Paulus. \"But for some time now,\nsince I have passed my fortieth year, the temptations of the world\ntorment me less often. Only I must keep out of the way of the carriers\nwho bring fish from the fishing towns on the sea, and from Raithu to the\noasis.\"\n\nStephanus looked enquiringly at the speaker, and Paulus went on: \"Yes, it\nis very strange. I may see men or women--the sea yonder or the mountain\nhere, without ever thinking of Alexandria, but only of sacred things; but\nwhen the savor of fish rises up to my nostrils I see the market and fish\nstalls and the oysters--\"\n\n\"Those of Kanopus are famous,\" interrupted Steplianus, \"they make little\npasties there--\" Paulus passed the back of his hand over his bearded lips,\nexclaiming, \"At the shop of the fat cook--Philemon--in the street of\nHerakleotis.\" But he broke off, and cried with an impulse of shame, \"It\nwere better that I should cease telling of my past life. The day does not\ndawn yet, and you must try to sleep.\"\n\n\"I cannot sleep,\" sighed Stephanus; \"if you love me go on with your\nstory.\"\n\n\"But do not interrupt me again then,\" said Paulus, and he went on: \"With\nall this gay life I was not happy--by no means. When I was alone\nsometimes, and no longer sitting in the crowd of merry boon-companions\nand complaisant wenches, emptying the wine cup and crowned with poplar, I\noften felt as if I were walking on the brink of a dark abyss as if every\nthing in myself and around me were utterly hollow and empty. I could\nstand gazing for hours at the sea, and as the waves rose only to sink\nagain and vanish, I often reflected that I was like them, and that the\nfuture of my frivolous present must be a mere empty nothing. Our gods\nwere of little account with us. My mother sacrificed now in one temple,\nand now in another, according to the needs of the moment; my father took\npart in the high festivals, but he laughed at the belief of the\nmultitude, and my brother talked of the 'Primaeval Unity,' and dealt with\nall sorts of demons, and magic formulas. He accepted the doctrine of\nIamblichus, Ablavius, and the other Neoplatonic philosophers, which to my\npoor understanding seemed either superhumanly profound or else debasingly\nfoolish; nevertheless my memory retains many of his sayings, which I have\nlearned to understand here in my loneliness. It is vain to seek reason\noutside ourselves; the highest to which we can attain is for reason to\nbehold itself in us! As often as the world sinks into nothingness in my\nsoul, and I live in God only, and have Him, and comprehend Him, and feel\nHim only--then that doctrine recurs to me. How all these fools sought and\nlistened everywhere for the truth which was being proclaimed in their\nvery ears! There were Christians everywhere about me, and at that time\nthey had no need to conceal themselves, but I had nothing to do with\nthem. Twice only did they cross my path; once I was not a little annoyed\nwhen, on the Hippodrome, a Christian's horses which had been blessed by a\nNazarite, beat mine; and on another occasion it seemed strange to me when\nI myself received the blessing of an old Christian dock-laborer, having\npulled his son out of the water.\n\n\"Years went on; my parents died. My mother's last glance was directed at\nme, for I had always been her favorite child. They said too that I was\nlike her, I and my sister Arsinoe, who, soon after my father's death,\nmarried the Prefect Pompey. At the division of the property I gave up to\nmy brother the manufactories and the management of the business, nay even\nthe house in the city, though, as the elder brother, I had a right to it,\nand I took in exchange the land near the Kanopic gate, and filled the\nstables there with splendid horses, and the lofts with not less noble\nwine. This I needed, because I gave up the days to baths and contests in\nthe arena, and the nights to feasting, sometimes at my own house,\nsometimes at a friend's, and sometimes in the taverns of Kanopus, where\nthe fairest Greek girls seasoned the feasts with singing and dancing.\n\n\"What have these details of the vainest worldly pleasure to do with my\nconversion, you will ask. But listen a while. When Saul went forth to\nseek his father's asses he found a crown.\n\n\"One day we had gone out in our gilded boats, and the Lesbian girl\nArchidike had made ready a feast for us in her house, a feast such as\ncould scarcely be offered even in Rome.\n\n\"Since the taking of our city by Diocletian, after the insurrection of\nAchilleus, the Imperial troops who came to Alexandria behaved insolently\nenough. Between some of my friends, and certain of the young officers of\nRoman patrician families, there had been a good deal of rough banter for\nsome months past, as to their horses, women--I know not what; and it\nhappened that we met these very gentry at the house of Archidike.\n\n\"Sharp speeches were made, which the soldiers replied to after their\nfashion, and at last they came to insulting words, and as the wine heated\nus and them, to loud threats.\n\n\"The Romans left the house of entertainment before we did. Crowned with\ngarlands, singing, and utterly careless, we followed soon after them, and\nhad almost reached the quay, when a noisy troop rushed out of a side\nstreet, and fell upon us with naked weapons. The moon was high in the\nheavens, and I could recognize some of our adversaries. I threw myself on\na tall tribune, throttled him, and, as he fell, I fell with him in the\ndust. I am but dimly conscious of what followed, for sword-strokes were\nshowered upon me, and all grew black before my eyes. I only know what I\nthought then, face to face with death.\"\n\n\"Well--?\" asked Stephanus.\n\n\"I thought,\" said Paulus reddening, \"of my fighting-quails at Alexandria,\nand whether they had had any water. Then my dull heavy unconsciousness\nincreased; for weeks I lay in that state, for I was hacked like\nsausage-meat; I had twelve wounds, not counting the slighter ones, and\nany one else would have died of any one of them. You have often wondered\nat my scars.\"\n\n\"And whom did the Lord choose then to be the means of your salvation?\"\n\n\"When I recovered my senses,\" continued Paulus, \"I was lying in a large,\nclean room behind a curtain of light material; I could not raise myself,\nbut just as if I had been sleeping so many minutes instead of days, I\nthought again directly of my quails. In their last fight my best cock had\nseverely handled handsome Nikander's, and yet he wanted to dispute the\nstakes with me, but I would assert my rights! At least the quails should\nfight again, and if Nikander should refuse I would force him to fight me\nwith his fists in the Palaestra, and give him a blue reminder of his debt\non the eye. My hands were still weak, and yet I clenched them as I\nthought of the vexatious affair. 'I will punish him,' I muttered to\nmyself.\n\n\"Then I heard the door of the room open, and I saw three men respectfully\napproaching a fourth. He greeted them with dignity, but yet with\nfriendliness, and rolled up a scroll which he had been reading, I would\nhave called out, but I could not open my parched lips, and yet I saw and\nheard all that was going on around me in the room.\n\n\"It all seemed strange enough to me then; even the man's mode of greeting\nwas unusual. I soon perceived that he who sat in the chair was a judge,\nand that the others had come as complainants; they were all three old and\npoor, but some good men had left them the use and interest of a piece of\nland. During seed-time one of them, a fine old man with long white hair,\nhad been ill, and he had not been able to help in the harvest either;\n'and now they want to withhold his portion of the corn,' thought I; but\nit was quite otherwise. The two men who were in health had taken a third\npart of the produce to the house of the sick man, and he obstinately\nrefused to accept the corn because he had helped neither to sow nor to\nreap it, and he demanded of the judge that he should signify to the other\ntwo that he had no right to receive goods which he had not earned.\n\n\"The judge had so far kept silence. But he now raised his sagacious and\nkindly face and asked the old man, 'Did you pray for your companions and\nfor the increase of their labors?'\n\n\"'I did,' replied the other.\n\n\"'Then by your intercession you helped them,' the judge decided, 'and the\nthird part of the produce is yours and you must keep it.'\n\n\"The old man bowed, the three men shook hands, and in a few minutes the\njudge was alone in the room again.\n\n\"I did not know what had come over me; the complaint of the men and the\ndecision of the judge seemed to me senseless, and yet both the one and\nthe other touched my heart. I went to sleep again, and when I awoke\nrefreshed the next morning the judge came up to me and gave me medicine,\nnot only for my body but also for my soul, which certainly was not less\nin need of it than my poor wounded limbs.\"\n\n\"Who was the judge?\" asked Stephanus.\n\n\"Eusebius, the Presbyter of Kanopus. Some Christians had found me half\ndead on the road, and had carried me into his house, for the widow\nTheodora, his sister, was the deaconess of the town. The two had nursed\nme as if I were their dearest brother. It was not till I grew stronger\nthat they showed me the cross and the crown of thorns of Him who for my\nsake also had taken upon Him such far more cruel suffering than mine, and\nthey taught me to love His wounds, and to bear my own with submission. In\nthe dry wood of despair soon budded green shoots of hope, and instead of\nannihilation at the end of this life they showed me Heaven and all its\njoys.\n\n\"I became a new man, and before me there lay in the future an eternal and\nblessed existence; after this life I now learned to look forward to\neternity. The gates of Heaven were wide open before me, and I was\nbaptized at Kanopus.\n\n\"In Alexandria they had mourned for me as dead, and my sister Arsinoe, as\nheiress to my property, had already moved into my country-house with her\nhusband, the prefect. I willingly left her there, and now lived again in\nthe city, in order to support the brethren, as the persecutions had begun\nagain.\n\n\"This was easy for me, as through my brother-in-law I could visit all the\nprisons; at last I was obliged to confess the faith, and I suffered much\non the rack and in the porphyry quarries; but every pain was dear to me,\nfor it seemed to bring me nearer to the goal of my longings, and if I\nfind ought to complain of up here on the Holy Mountain, it is only that\nthe Lord deems me unworthy to suffer harder things, when his beloved and\nonly Son took such bitter torments on himself for me and for every\nwretched sinner.\"\n\n\"Ah! saintly man!\" murmured Stephanus, devoutly kissing Paulus'\nsheep-skin; but Paulus pulled it from him, exclaiming hastily:\n\n\"Cease, pray cease--he who approaches me with honors now in this life\nthrows a rock in my way to the life of the blessed. Now I will go to the\nspring and fetch you some fresh water.\"\n\nWhen Paulus returned with the water-jar he found Hermas, who had come to\nwish his father good-morning before he went down to the oasis to fetch\nsome new medicine from the senator.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nSirona was sitting at the open window of her bedroom, having her hair\narranged by a black woman that her husband had bought in Rome. She\nsighed, while the slave lightly touched the shining tresses here and\nthere with perfumed oil which she had poured into the palm of her hand;\nthen she firmly grasped the long thick waving mass of golden hair and was\nparting it to make a plait, when Sirona stopped her, saying, \"Give me the\nmirror.\"\n\nFor some minutes she looked with a melancholy gaze at the image in the\npolished metal, then she sighed again; she picked up the little greyhound\nthat lay at her feet, and placing it in her lap, showed the animal its\nimage in the mirror.\n\n\"There, poor Iambe,\" she said, \"if we two, inside these four walls, want\nto see anything like a pleasing sight we must look at ourselves.\"\n\nThen she went on, turning to the slave. \"How the poor little beast\ntrembles! I believe it longs to be back again at Arelas, and is afraid we\nshall linger too long under this burning sky. Give me my sandals.\"\n\nThe black woman reached her mistress two little slippers with gilt\nornaments on the slight straps, but Sirona flung her hair off her face\nwith the back of her hand, exclaiming, \"The old ones, not these. Wooden\nshoes even would do here.\"\n\nAnd with these words she pointed to the court-yard under the window,\nwhich was in fact as ill contrived, as though gilt sandals had never yet\ntrodden it. It was surrounded by buildings; on one side was a wall with a\ngateway, and on the others buildings which formed a sharply bent\nhorseshoe.\n\nOpposite the wing in which Sirona and her husband had found a home stood\nthe much higher house of Petrus, and both had attached to them, in the\nbackground of the court-yard, sheds constructed of rough reddish brown\nstones, and covered with a thatch of palm-branches; in these the\nagricultural implements were stored, and the senator's slaves lived. In\nfront lay a heap of black charcoal, which was made on the spot by burning\nthe wood of the thorny sajala species of acacia; and there too lay a\ngoodly row of well smoothed mill-stones, which were shaped in the quarry,\nand exported to Egypt. At this early hour the whole unlovely domain lay\nin deep shadow, and was crowded with fowls and pigeons. Sirona's window\nalone was touched by the morning sun. If she could have known what a\ncharm the golden light shed over her figure, on her rose and white face,\nand her shining hair, she would have welcomed the day-star, instead of\ncomplaining that it had too early waked her from sleep--her best comfort\nin her solitude.\n\nBesides a few adjoining rooms she was mistress of a larger room, the\ndwelling room, which look out upon the street.\n\nShe shaded her eyes with her hand, exclaiming, \"Oh! the wearisome sun. It\nlooks at us the first thing in the morning through the window; as if the\nday were not long enough. The beds must be put in the front room; I\ninsist upon it.\"\n\nThe slave shook her head, and stammered an answer, \"Phoebicius will not\nhave it so.\"\n\nSirona's eyes flashed angrily, and her voice, which was particularly\nsweet, trembled slightly as she asked, \"What is wrong with him again?\"\n\n\"He says,\" replied the slave, \"that the senator's son, Polykarp, goes\noftener past your window than altogether pleases him, and it seems to\nhim, that you occupy yourself more than is necessary with his little\nbrothers and sisters, and the other children up there.\"\n\n\"Is he still in there?\" asked Sirona with glowing cheeks, and she pointed\nthreateningly to the dwelling-room.\n\n\"The master is out,\" stuttered the old woman. \"He went out before\nsunrise. You are not to wait for breakfast, he will not return till\nlate.\"\n\nThe Gaulish lady made no answer, but her head fell, and the deepest\nmelancholy overspread her features. The greyhound seemed to feel for the\ntroubles of his mistress, for he fawned upon her, as if to kiss her. The\nsolitary woman pressed the little creature, which had come with her from\nher home, closely to her bosom; for an unwonted sense of wretchedness\nweighed upon her heart, and she felt as lonely, friendless, and\nabandoned, as if she were driving alone--alone--over a wide and shoreless\nsea. She shuddered, as if she were cold--for she thought of her husband,\nthe man who here in the desert should have been all in all to her, but\nwhose presence filled her with aversion, whose indifference had ceased to\nwound her, and whose tenderness she feared far more than his wild\nirritability--she had never loved him.\n\nShe had grown up free from care among a number of brothers and sisters.\nHer father had been the chief accountant of the decurions' college in his\nnative town, and he had lived opposite the circus, where, being of a\nstern temper, he had never permitted his daughters to look on at the\ngames; but he could not prevent their seeing the crowd streaming into the\namphitheatre, or hearing their shouts of delight, and their eager cries\nof approbation.\n\nSirona thus grew up in the presence of other people's pleasure, and in a\nconstantly revived and never satisfied longing to share it; she had,\nindeed, no time for unnecessary occupations, for her mother died before\nshe was fully grown up, and she was compelled to take charge of the eight\nyounger children. This she did in all fidelity, but in her hours of\nleisure she loved to listen to the stories told her by the wives of\nofficials, who had seen, and could praise, the splendors of Rome the\ngolden.\n\nShe knew that she was fair, for she need only go outside the house to\nhear it said; but though she longed to see the capital, it was not for\nthe sake of being admired, but because there was there so much that was\nsplendid to see and to admire. So, when the Centurion Phoebicius, the\ncommandant of the garrison of her native town, was transferred to Rome,\nand when he desired to take the seventeen-years-old girl with him to the\nimperial city, as his wife--she was more than forty years younger than\nhe--she followed him full of hope and eager anticipation.\n\nNot long after their marriage she started for Rome by sea from Massilia,\naccompanied by an old relative; and he went by land at the head of his\ncohorts.\n\nShe reached their destination long before her husband, and without\nwaiting for him, but constantly in the society of her old duenna, she\ngave herself up with the freedom and eagerness of her fresh youth to the\ndelights of seeing and admiring.\n\nIt did not escape her, while she did so, that she attracted all eyes\nwherever she went, and however much this flattered and pleased her at\nfirst, it spoilt many of her pleasures, when the Romans, young and old,\nbegan to follow and court her. At last Phoebicius arrived, and when he\nfound his house crowded with his wife's admirers he behaved to Sirona as\nthough she had long since betrayed his honor.\n\nNevertheless he dragged her from pleasure to pleasure, and from one\nspectacle to another, for it gratified him to show himself in public with\nhis beautiful young wife. She certainly was not free from frivolity, but\nshe had learnt early from her strict father, as being the guide of her\nyounger sisters, to distinguish clearly right from wrong, and the pure\nfrom the unclean; and she soon discovered that the joys of the capital,\nwhich had seemed at first to be gay flowers with bright colors, and\nredolent with intoxicating perfume, bloomed on the surface of a foul bog.\n\nShe at first had contemplated all that was beautiful, pleasant, and\ncharacteristic with delight; but her husband took pleasure only in things\nwhich revolted her as being common and abominable. He watched her every\nglance, and yet he pointed nothing out to her, but what was hurtful to\nthe feelings of a pure woman. Pleasure became her torment, for the\nsweetest wine is repulsive when it has been tasted by impure lips. After\nevery feast and spectacle he loaded her with outrageous reproaches, and\nwhen at last, weary of such treatment, she refused to quit the house, he\nobliged her nevertheless to accompany him as often as the Legate\nQuintillus desired it. The legate was his superior-officer, and he sent\nher every day some present or flowers.\n\nUp to this time she had borne with him, and had tried to excuse him, and\nto think herself answerable for much of what she endured. But at\nlast--about ten months after her marriage--something occurred between her\nand Phoebicius--something which stood like a wall of brass between him\nand her; and as this something had led to his banishment to the remote\noasis, and to his degradation to the rank of captain of a miserable\nmaniple, instead of his obtaining his hoped for promotion, he began to\ntorment her systematically while she tried to protect herself by icy\ncoldness, so that at last it came to this, that the husband, for whom she\nfelt nothing but contempt, had no more influence on her life, than some\nphysical pain which a sick man is doomed to endure all through his\nexistence.\n\nIn his presence she was silent, defiant, and repellent, but as soon as he\nquitted her, her innate, warm-hearted kindliness and child-like merriment\nwoke up to new life, and their fairest blossoms opened out in the\nsenator's house among the little troop who amply repaid her love with\ntheirs.\n\nPhoebicius belonged to the worshippers of Mithras, and he often fasted in\nhis honor to the point of exhaustion, while on the other hand he\nfrequently drank with his boon companions, at the feasts of the god, till\nhe was in a state of insensibility.\n\nHere even, in Mount Sinai, he had prepared a grotto for the feast of\nMithras, had gathered together a few companions in his faith, and when it\nhappened that he remained out all day and all night, and came home paler\neven than usual, she well knew where he had been. Just now she vividly\npictured to herself the person of this man with his eyes, that now were\ndull with sleep and now glowed with rage, and she asked herself whether\nit were indeed possible that of her own free will she had chosen to\nbecome his wife. Her bosom heaved with quicker breathing as she\nremembered the ignominy he had subjected her to in Rome, and she clenched\nher small hands. At this instant the little dog sprang from her lap and\nflew barking to the window-sill; she was easily startled, and she drew on\nher morning-gown, which had slipped from her white shoulders; then she\nfastened the straps of her sandals, and went to look down into the\ncourt-yard.\n\nA smile played upon her lips as she perceived young Hermas, who had\nalready been for some time leaning motionless against the wall of the\nhouse opposite, and devouring with his gaze the figure of the beautiful\nyoung woman. She had a facile and volatile nature. Like the eye which\nretains no impression of the disabling darkness so soon as the rays of\nlight have fallen on it, no gloom of suffering touched her so deeply that\nthe lightest breath of a new pleasure could not blow her troubles to the\nwinds. Many rivers are quite different in color at their source and at\ntheir mouth, and so it was often with her tears; she began to weep for\nsorrow, and then found it difficult to dry her eyes for sheer overflow of\nmirth. It would have been so easy for Phoebicius to make her lot a fair\none! for she had a most susceptible heart, and was grateful for the\nsmallest proofs of love, but between him and her every bond was broken.\n\nThe form and face of Hermas took her fancy; she thought he looked of\nnoble birth in spite of his poor clothing, and when she observed that his\nchecks were glowing, and that the hand in which he held the medicine\nphial trembled, she understood that he was watching her, and that the\nsight of her had stirred his youthful blood. A woman--still more a woman\nwho is pleased to please--forgives any sin that is committed for her\nbeauty's sake, and Sirona's voice had a friendly ring in it as she bid\nHermas good-morning and asked him how his father was, and whether the\nsenator's medicine had been of service. The youth's answers were short\nand confused, but his looks betrayed that he would fain have said quite\nother things than those which his indocile tongue allowed him to\nreiterate timidly.\n\n\"Dame Dorothea was telling me last evening,\" she said kindly, \"that\nPetrus had every hope of your father's recovery, but that he is still\nvery weak. Perhaps some good wine would be of service to him--not to-day,\nbut to-morrow or the day after. Only come to me if you need it; we have\nsome old Falerman in the loft, and white Mareotis wine, which is\nparticularly good and wholesome.\"\n\nHermas thanked her, and as she still urged him to apply to her in all\nconfidence, he took courage and succeeded in stammering rather than\nsaying,--\"You are as good as you are beautiful.\"\n\nThe words were hardly spoken when the topmost stone of an elaborately\nconstructed pile near the slaves' house fell down with a loud clatter.\nSirona started and drew back from the window, the grey-hound set up a\nloud barking, and Hermas struck his forehead with his hand as if he were\nroused from a dream.\n\nIn a few instants he had knocked at the senator's door; hardly had he\nentered the house when Miriam's slight form passed across behind the pile\nof stones, and vanished swiftly and silently into the slaves' quarters.\nThese were by this time deserted by their inhabitants, who were busy in\nthe field, the house, or the quarries; they consisted of a few\nill-lighted rooms with bare, unfinished walls.\n\nThe shepherdess went into the smallest, where, on a bed of palm-sticks,\nlay the slave that she had wounded, and who turned over as with a hasty\nhand she promptly laid a fresh, but ill-folded bandage, all askew on the\ndeep wound in his bend. As soon as this task was fulfilled she left the\nroom again, placed herself behind the half open door which led into the\ncourt-yard, and, pressing, her brow against the stone door-post, looked\nfirst at the senator's house, and then at Sirona's window, while her\nbreath came faster and faster.\n\nA new and violent emotion was stirring her young soul; not many minutes\nsince she had squatted peacefully on the ground by the side of the\nwounded man, with her head resting on her hand, and thinking of her goats\non the mountain. Then she had heard a slight sound in the court, which\nany one else would not have noticed; but she not only perceived it, but\nknew with perfect certainty with whom it originated. She could never fail\nto recognize Hermas' foot-step, and it had an irresistible effect upon\nher. She raised her head quickly from her hand, and her elbow from the\nknee on which it was resting, sprang to her feet, and went out into the\nyard. She was hidden by the mill-stones, but she could see Hermas lost in\nadmiration. She followed the direction of his eyes and saw the same image\nwhich had fascinated his gaze--Sirona's lovely form, flooded with\nsunlight. She looked as if formed out of snow, and roses, and gold, like\nthe angel at the sepulchre in the new picture in the church. Yes, just\nlike the angel, and the thought flew through her mind how brown and black\nshe was herself, and that he had called her a she-devil. A sense of deep\npain came over her, she felt as though paralyzed in body and soul; but\nsoon she shook off the spell, and her heart began to beat violently; she\nhad to bite her lip hard with her white teeth to keep herself from crying\nout with rage and anguish.\n\nHow she wished that she could swing herself up to the window on which\nHermas' gaze was fixed, and clutch Sirona's golden hair and tear her down\nto the ground, and suck the very blood from her red lips like a vampire,\ntill she lay at her feet as pale as the corpse of a man dead of thirst in\nthe desert. Then she saw the light mantle slip from Sirona's shoulders,\nand observed Hermas start and press his hand to his heart.\n\nThen another impulse seized her. It was to call to her and warn her of\nhis presence; for even women who hate each other hold out the hand of\nfellowship in the spirit, when the sanctity of woman's modesty is\nthreatened with danger. She blushed for Sirona, and had actually opened\nher lips to call, when the greyhound barked and the dialogue began. Not a\nword escaped her sharp ears, and when he told Sirona that she was as good\nas she was beautiful she felt seized with giddiness; then the topmost\nstone, by which she had tried to steady herself, lost its balance, its\nfall interrupted their conversation, and Miriam returned to the sick man.\n\nNow she was standing at the door, waiting for Hermas. Long, long did she\nwait; at last he appeared with Dorothea, and she could see that he\nglanced up again at Sirona; but a spiteful smile passed over her lips,\nfor the window was empty and the fair form that he had hoped to see again\nhad vanished.\n\nSirona was now sitting at her loom in the front room, whither she had\nbeen tempted by the sound of approaching hoofs. Polykarp had ridden by on\nhis father's fine horse, had greeted her as he passed, and had dropped a\nrose on the roadway. Half an hour later the old black slave came to\nSirona, who was throwing the shuttle through the warp with a skilful\nhand.\n\n\"Mistress,\" cried the negress with a hideous grin; the lonely woman\npaused in her work, and as she looked up enquiringly the old woman gave\nher a rose. Sirona took the flower, blew away the road-side dust that had\nclung to it, rearranged the tumbled delicate petals with her finger-tips,\nand said, while she seemed to give the best part of her attention to this\noccupation, \"For the future let roses be when you find them. You know\nPhoebicius, and if any one sees it, it will be talked about.\"\n\nThe black woman turned away, shrugging her shoulders; but Sirona thought,\n\"Polykarp is a handsome and charming man, and has finer and more\nexpressive eyes than any other here, if he were not always talking of his\nplans, and drawings, and figures, and mere stupid grave things that I do\nnot care for!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nThe next day, after the sun had passed the meridian and it was beginning\nto grow cool, Hermas and Paulus yielded to Stephanus' wish, as he began\nto feel stronger, and carried him out into the air. The anchorites sat\nnear each other on a low block of stone, which Hermas had made into a\nsoft couch for his father by heaping up a high pile of fresh herbs. They\nlooked after the youth, who had taken his bow and arrows, as he went up\nthe mountain to hunt a wild goat; for Petrus had prescribed a\nstrengthening diet for the sick man. Not a word was spoken by either of\nthem till the hunter had disappeared. Then Stephanus said, \"How much he\nhas altered since I have been ill. It is not so very long since I last\nsaw him by the broad light of day, and he seems meantime to have grown\nfrom a boy into a man. How self-possessed his gait is.\"\n\nPaulus, looking down at the ground, muttered some words of assent. He\nremembered the discus-throwing and thought to himself, \"The Palaestra\ncertainly sticks in his mind, and he has been bathing too; and yesterday,\nwhen he came up from the oasis, he strode in like a young athlete.\"\n\nThat friendship only is indeed genuine when two friends, without speaking\na word to each other, can nevertheless find happiness in being together.\nStephanus and Paulus were silent, and yet a tacit intercourse subsisted\nbetween them as they sat gazing towards the west, where the sun was near\nits setting.\n\nFar below them gleamed the narrow, dark blue-green streak of the Red Sea,\nbounded by the bare mountains of the coast, which shone in a shimmer of\ngolden light. Close beside them rose the toothed crown of the great\nmountain which, so soon as the day-star had sunk behind it, appeared\nedged with a riband of glowing rubies. The flaming glow flooded the\nwestern horizon, filmy veils of mist floated across the hilly coast-line,\nthe silver clouds against the pure sky changed their hue to the tender\nblush of a newly opened rose, and the undulating shore floated in the\ntranslucent violet of the amethyst. There not a breath of air was\nstirring, not a sound broke the solemn stillness of the evening. Not till\nthe sea was taking a darker and still darker hue, till the glow on the\nmountain peaks and in the west had begun to die away, and the night to\nspread its shades over the heights and hollows, did Stephanus unclasp his\nfolded hands and softly speak his companion's name. Paulus started and\nsaid, speaking like a man who is aroused from a dream and who is suddenly\nconscious of having heard some one speak, \"You are right; it is growing\ndark and cool and you must go back into the cave.\"\n\nStephanus offered no opposition and let himself be led back to his bed;\nwhile Paulus was spreading the sheepskin over the sick man he sighed\ndeeply.\n\n\"What disturbs your soul?\" asked the older man. \"It is--it was--what good\ncan it do me!\" cried Paulus in strong excitement. \"There we sat,\nwitnesses of the most glorious marvels of the Most High, and I, in\nshameless idolatry, seemed to see before me the chariot of Helios with\nits glorious winged-horses, snorting fire as they went, and Helios\nhimself in the guise of Hermas, with gleaming golden hair, and the\ndancing Hours, and the golden gates of the night. Accursed rabble of\ndemons!--\"\n\nAt this point the anchorite was interrupted, for Hermas entered the cave,\nand laying a young steinbock, that he had killed, before the two men,\nexclaimed, \"fine fellow, and he cost me no more than one arrow. I will\nlight a fire at once and roast the best pieces. There are plenty of bucks\nstill on our mountain, and I know where to find them.\"\n\nIn about an hour, father and son were eating the pieces of meat, which\nhad been cooked on a spit. Paulus declined to sup with them, for after he\nhad scourged himself in despair and remorse for the throwing of the\ndiscus, he had vowed a strict fast.\n\n\"And now,\" cried Hermas, when his father declared himself satisfied,\nafter seeming to relish greatly the strong meat from which he had so long\nabstained, \"and now the best is to come! In this flask I have some\nstrengthening wine, and when it is empty it will be filled afresh.\"\nStephanus took the wooden beaker that his son offered him, drank a\nlittle, and then said, while he smacked his tongue to relish the\nafter-taste of the noble juice, \"That is something choice!--Syrian wine!\nonly taste it, Paulus.\"\n\nPaulus took the beaker in his hand, inhaled the fragrance of the golden\nfluid, and then murmured, but without putting it to his lips, \"That is\nnot Syrian; it is Egyptian, I know it well. I should take it to be\nMareotic.\"\n\n\"So Sirona called it,\" cried Hermas, \"and you know it by the mere smell!\nShe said it was particularly good for the sick.\"\n\n\"That it is,\" Paulus agreed; but Stephanus asked in surprise, \"Sirona?\nwho is she?\"\n\nThe cave was but dimly lighted by the fire that had been made at the\nopening, so that the two anchorites could not perceive that Hermas\nreddened all over as he replied, \"Sirona? The Gaulish woman Sirona? Do\nyou not know her? She is the wife of the centurion down in the oasis.\"\n\n\"How do you come to know her?\" asked his father.\n\n\"She lives in Petrus' house,\" replied the lad, \"and as she had heard of\nyour wound--\"\n\n\"Take her my thanks when you go there to-morrow morning,\" said Stephanus.\nTo her and to her husband too. Is he a Gaul?\"\n\n\"I believe so--nay, certainly,\" answered Hermas, \"they call him the lion,\nand he is no doubt a Gaul?\"\n\nWhen the lad had left the cave the old man laid himself down to rest, and\nPaulus kept watch by him on his son's bed. But Stephanus could not sleep,\nand when his friend approached him to give him some medicine, he said,\n\"The wife of a Gaul has done me a kindness, and yet the wine would have\npleased me better if it had not come from a Gaul.\"\n\nPaulus looked at him enquiringly, and though total darkness reigned in\nthe cave, Stephanus felt his gaze and said, \"I owe no man a grudge and I\nlove my neighbor. Great injuries have been done me, but I have for\ngiven--from the bottom of my heart forgiven. Only one man lives to whom I\nwish evil, and he is a Gaul.\"\n\n\"Forgive him too,\" said Paulus, \"and do not let evil thoughts disturb\nyour sleep.\"\n\n\"I am not tired,\" said the sick man, \"and if you had gone through such\nthings as I have, it would trouble your rest at night too.\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" said Paulus soothingly. \"It was a Gaul that persuaded\nyour wretched wife into quitting your house and her child.\"\n\n\"And I loved, oh! how I loved Glycera!\" groaned the old man. \"She lived\nlike a princess and I fulfilled her every wish before it was uttered. She\nherself has said a hundred times that I was too kind and too yielding,\nand that there was nothing left for her to wish. Then the Gaul came to\nour house, a man as acrid as sour wine, but with a fluent tongue and\nsparkling eyes. How he entangled Glycera I know not, nor do I want to\nknow; he shall atone for it in hell. For the poor lost woman I pray day\nand night. A spell was on her, and she left her heart behind in my house,\nfor her child was there and she loved Hermas so fondly; indeed she was\ndeeply devoted to me. Think what the spell must be that can annihilate a\nmother's love! Wretch, hapless wretch that I am! Did you ever love a\nwoman, Paulus?\"\n\n\"You ought to be asleep,\" said Paulus in a warning tone. \"Who ever lived\nnearly half a century without feeling love! Now I will not speak another\nword, and you must take this drink that Petrus has sent for you.\" The\nsenator's medicine was potent, for the sick man fell asleep and did not\nwake till broad day lighted up the cave.\n\nPaulus was still sitting on his bed, and after they had prayed together,\nhe gave him the jar which Hermas had filled with fresh water before going\ndown to the oasis.\n\n\"I feel quite strong,\" said the old man. \"The medicine is good; I have\nslept well and dreamed sweetly; but you look pale and as if you had not\nslept.\"\n\n\"I,\" said Paulus, \"I lay down there on the bed. Now let me go out in the\nair for a moment.\" With these words he went out of the cave.\n\nAs soon as he was out of sight of Stephanus he drew a deep breath,\nstretched his limbs, and rubbed his burning eyes; he felt as if there was\nsand gathered under their lids, for he had forbidden them to close for\nthree days and nights. At the same time he was consumed by a violent\nthirst, for neither food nor drink had touched his lips for the same\nlength of time. His hands were beginning to tremble, but the weakness and\npain that he experienced filled him with silent joy, and he would\nwillingly have retired into his cave and have indulged, not for the first\ntime, in the ecstatic pain of hanging on the cross, and bleeding from\nfive wounds, in imitation of the Saviour.\n\nBut Stephanus was calling him, and without hesitation he returned to him\nand replied to his questions; indeed it was easier to him to speak than\nto listen, for in his ears there was a roaring, moaning, singing, and\npiping, and he felt as if drunk with strong wine.\n\n\"If only Hermas does not forget to thank the Gaul!\" exclaimed Stephanus.\n\n\"Thank--aye, we should always be thankful!\" replied his companion,\nclosing his eyes.\n\n\"I dreamed of Glycera,\" the old man began again. You said yesterday that\nlove had stirred your heart too, and yet you never were married. You are\nsilent? Answer me something.\"\n\n\"I--who called me?\" murmured Paulus, staring at the questioner with a\nfixed gaze.\n\nStephanus was startled to see that his companion trembled in every limb,\nhe raised himself and held out to him the flask with Sirona's wine, which\nthe other, incapable of controlling himself, snatched eagerly from his\nhand, and emptied with frantic thirst. The fiery liquor revived his\nfailing strength, brought the color to his cheeks, and lent a strange\nlustre to his eyes. \"How much good that has done me!\" he cried with a\ndeep sigh and pressing his hands on his breast.\n\nStephanus was perfectly reassured and repeated his question, but he\nalmost repented of his curiosity, for his friend's voice had an utterly\nstrange ring in it, as he answered:\n\n\"No, I was never married--never, but I have loved for all that, and I\nwill tell you the story from beginning to end; but you must not interrupt\nme, no not once. I am in a strange mood--perhaps it is the wine. I had\nnot drunk any for so long; I had fasted since--since but it does not\nmatter. Be silent, quite silent, and let me tell my story.\"\n\nPaulus sat down on Hermas' bed; he threw himself far back, leaned the\nback of his head against the rocky wall of the cavern, through whose\ndoorway the daylight poured, and began thus, while he gazed fixedly into\nvacancy, \"What she was like?--who can, describe her? She was tall and\nlarge like Hera, and yet not proud, and her noble Greek face was lovely\nrather than handsome.\n\n\"She could no longer have been very young, but she had eyes like those of\na gentle child. I never knew her other than very pale; her narrow\nforehead shone like ivory under her soft brown hair; her beautiful hands\nwere as white as her forehead-hands that moved as if they themselves were\nliving and inspired creatures with a soul and language of their own. When\nshe folded them devoutly together it seemed as if they were putting up a\nmute prayer. She was pliant in form as a young palm-tree when it bends,\nand withal she had a noble dignity, even on the occasion when I first saw\nher.\n\n\"It was a hideous spot, the revolting prison-hall of Rhyakotis. She wore\nonly a threadbare robe that had once been costly, and a foul old woman\nfollowed her about--as a greedy rat might pursue an imprisoned dove--and\nloaded her with abusive language. She answered not a word, but large\nheavy tears flowed slowly over her pale cheeks and down on to her hands,\nwhich she kept crossed on her bosom. Grief and anguish spoke from her\neyes, but no vehement passion deformed the regularity of her features.\nShe knew how to endure even ignominy with grace, and what words the\nraging old woman poured out upon her!\n\n\"I had long since been baptized, and all the prisons were open to me, the\nrich Menander, the brother-in-law of the prefect--those prisons in which\nunder Maximin so many Christians were destined to be turned from the true\nfaith.\n\n\"But she did not belong to us. Her eye met mine, and I signed my forehead\nwith the cross, but she did not respond to the sacred sign. The guards\nled away the old woman, and she drew back into a dark corner, sat down,\nand covered her face with her hands. A wondrous sympathy for the hapless\nwoman had taken possession of my soul; I felt as if she belonged to me,\nand I to her, and I believed in her, even when the turnkey had told me in\ncoarse language that she had lived with a Roman at the old woman's, and\nhad defrauded her of a large sum of money. The next day I went again to\nthe prison, for her sake and my own; there I found her again in the same\ncorner that she had shrunk into the day before; by her stood her prison\nfare untouched, a jar of water and a piece of bread.\n\n\"As I went up to her, I saw how she broke a small bit off the thin cake\nfor herself, and then called a little Christian boy who had come into the\nprison with his mother, and gave him the remainder. The child thanked her\nprettily, and she drew him to her, and kissed him with passionate\ntenderness, though he was sickly and ugly.\n\n\"'No one who can love children so well is wholly lost,' said I to myself,\nand I offered to help her as far as lay in my power.\n\n\"She looked at me not without distrust, and said that nothing had\nhappened to her, but what she deserved, and she would bear it. Before I\ncould enquire of her any further, we were interrupted by the Christian\nprisoners, who crowded around the worthy Ammonius, who was exhorting and\ncomforting them with edifying discourse. She listened attentively to the\nold man, and on the following day I found her in conversation with the\nmother of the boy to whom she had given her bread.\n\n\"One morning, I had gone there with some fruit to offer as a treat to the\nprisoners, and particularly to her. She took an apple, and said, rising\nas she spoke, 'I would now ask another favor of you. You are a Christian,\nsend me a priest, that he may baptize me, if he does not think me\nunworthy, for I am burdened with sins so heavily as no other woman can\nbe.' Her large, sweet, childlike eyes filled again with big silent tears,\nand I spoke to her from my heart, and showed her as well as I could the\ngrace of the Redeemer. Shortly after, Ammonius secretly baptized her, and\nshe begged to be given the name of Magdalen, and so it was, and after\nthat she took me wholly into her confidence.\n\n\"She had left her husband and her child for the sake of a diabolical\nseducer, whom she had followed to Alexandria, and who there had abandoned\nher. Alone and friendless, in want and guilt, she remained behind with a\nhard-hearted and covetous hostess, who had brought her before the judge,\nand so into prison. What an abyss of the deepest anguish of soul I could\ndiscover in this woman, who was worthy of a better lot! What is highest\nand best in a woman? Her love, her mother's heart, her honor; and\nMagdalen had squandered and ruined all these by her own guilt. The blow\nof overwhelming fate may be easily borne, but woe to him, whose life is\nruined by his own sin! She was a sinner, she felt it with anguish of\nrepentance, and she steadily refused my offers to purchase her freedom.\n\n\"She was greedy of punishment, as a man in a fever is greedy of the\nbitter potion, which cools his blood. And, by the crucified Lord! I have\nfound more noble humanity among sinners, than in many just men in\npriestly garb. Through the presence of Magdalen, the prison recovered its\nsanctity in my eyes. Before this I had frequently quitted it full of deep\ncontempt, for among the imprisoned Christians, there were too often lazy\nvagabond's, who had loudly confessed the Saviour only to be fed by the\ngifts of the brethren; there I had seen accursed criminals, who hoped by\na martyr's death to win back the redemption that they had forfeited;\nthere I had heard the woeful cries of the faint-hearted, who feared death\nas much as they feared treason to the most High. There were things to be\nseen there that might harrow the soul, but also examples of the sublimest\ngreatness. Men have I seen there, aye, and women, who went to their death\nin calm and silent bliss, and whose end was, indeed, noble--more noble\nthan that of the much-lauded Codrus or Decius Mus.\n\n\"Among all the prisoners there was neither man nor woman who was more\ncalmly self-possessed, more devoutly resigned, than Magdalen. The words,\n'There is more joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth than over\nninety and nine that need no repentance,' strengthened her greatly, and\nshe repented--yea and verily, she did. And for my part, God is my witness\nthat not an impulse as from man to woman drew me to her, and yet I could\nnot leave her, and I passed the day by her side, and at night she haunted\nmy soul, and it would have seemed to me fairer than all in life besides\nto have been allowed to die with her.\n\n\"It was at the time of the fourth decree of persecution, a few months\nbefore the promulgation of the first edict of toleration.\n\n\"He that sacrifices, it is said, shall go unpunished, and he that\nrefuses, shall by some means or other be brought to it, but those who\ncontinue stiff-necked shall suffer death. For a long time much\nconsideration had been shown to the prisoners, but now they were alarmed\nby having the edict read to them anew. Many hid themselves groaning and\nlamenting, others prayed aloud, and most awaited what might happen with\npale lips and painful breathing.\n\n\"Magdalen remained perfectly calm. The names of the Christian prisoners\nwere called out, and the imperial soldiers led them all together to one\nspot. Neither my name nor hers was called, for I did not belong to the\nprisoners, and she had not been apprehended for the faith's sake. The\nofficer was rolling up his list, when Magdalen rose and stepped modestly\nforward, saying with quiet dignity, 'I too am a Christian.'\n\n\"If there be an angel who wears the form and features of man, his face\nmust resemble hers, as she looked in that hour. The Roman, a worthy man,\nlooked at her with a benevolent, but searching gaze. I do not find your\nname here,' he said aloud, shaking his head and pointing to the roll; and\nhe added in a lower voice, 'Nor do I intend to find it.'\n\n\"She went closer up to him, and said out loud, Grant me my place among\nthe believers, and write down, that Magdalen, the Christian, refuses to\nsacrifice.'\n\n\"My soul was deeply moved, and with joyful eagerness I cried out, 'Put\ndown my name too, and write, that Menander, the son of Herophilus, also\nrefuses.' The Roman did his duty.\n\n\"Time has not blotted out from my memory a single moment of that day.\nThere stood the altar, and near it the heathen priest on one side, and on\nthe other the emperor's officer. We were taken up two by two; Magdalen\nand I were the last. One word now--one little word--would give us life\nand freedom, another the rack and death. Out of thirty of us only four\nhad found courage to refuse to sacrifice, but the feeble hearted broke\nout into lamentations, and beat their foreheads, and prayed that the Lord\nmight strengthen the courage of the others. An unutterably pure and lofty\njoy filled my soul, and I felt, as if we were out of the body floating on\nambient clouds. Softly and calmly we refused to sacrifice, thanked the\nimperial official, who warned us kindly, and in the same hour and place\nwe fell into the hands of the torturers. She gazed only up to heaven, and\nI only at her, but in the midst of the most frightful torments I saw\nbefore me the Saviour beckoning to me, surrounded by angels that soared\non soft airs, whose presence filled my eyes with the purest light, and my\nears with heavenly music. She bore the utmost torture without flinching,\nonly once she called out the name of her son Hermas; then I turned to\nlook at her, and saw her gazing up to Heaven with wide open eyes and\ntrembling lips-living, but already with the Lord--on the rack, and yet in\nbliss. My stronger body clung to the earth; she found deliverance at the\nfirst blow of the torturer.\n\n\"I myself closed her eyes, the sweetest eyes in which Heaven was ever\nmirrored, I drew a ring from her dear, white, blood-stained hand, and\nhere under the rough sheepskin I have it yet; and I pray, I pray, I\npray--oh! my heart! My God if it might be--if this is the end--!\"\n\nPaulus put his hand to his head, and sank exhausted on the bed, in a deep\nswoon. The sick man had followed his story with breathless interest. Some\ntime since he had risen from his bed, and, unobserved by his companion,\nhad sunk on his knees; he now dragged himself, all hot and trembling, to\nthe side of the senseless man, tore the sheep's fell from his breast, and\nwith hasty movement sought the ring; he found it, and fixing on it\npassionate eyes, as though he would melt it with their fire, he pressed\nit again and again to his lips, to his heart, to his lips again; buried\nhis face in his hands and wept bitterly.\n\nIt was not till Hermas returned from the oasis that Stephanus thought of\nhis exhausted and fainting friend, and with his son's assistance restored\nhim to conscious ness. Paulus did not refuse to take some food and drink,\nand in the cool of the evening, when he was refreshed and invigorated, he\nsat again by the side of Stephanus, and understood from the old man that\nMagdalen was certainly his wife.\n\n\"Now I know,\" said Paulus, pointing to Hermas, \"how it is that from the\nfirst I felt such a love for the lad there.\"\n\nThe old man softly pressed his hand, for he felt himself tied to his\nfriend by a new and tender bond, and it was with silent ecstasy that he\nreceived the assurance that the wife he had always loved, the mother of\nhis child, had died a Christian and a martyr, and had found before him\nthe road to Heaven.\n\nThe old man slept as peacefully as a child the following night, and when,\nnext morning, messengers came from Raithu to propose to Paulus that he\nshould leave the Holy Mountain, and go with them to become their elder\nand ruler, Stephanus said, \"Follow this high call with all confidence,\nfor you deserve it. I really no longer have need of you, for I shall get\nwell now without any further nursing.\"\n\nBut Paulus, far more disturbed than rejoiced, begged of the messengers a\ndelay of seven days for reflection, and after wandering restlessly from\none holy spot to another, at last went down into the oasis, there to pray\nin the church.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nIt was a delicious refreshing evening; the full moon rose calmly in the\ndark blue vault of the night-sky, and poured a flood of light down on the\ncool earth. But its rays did not give a strong enough light to pierce the\nmisty veil that hung over the giant mass of the Holy Mountain; the city\nof the oasis on the contrary was fully illuminated; the broad roadway of\nthe high-street looked to the wanderer who descended from the height\nabove like a shining path of white marble, and the freshly plastered\nwalls of the new church gleamed as white as in the light of day. The\nshadows of the houses and palm-trees lay like dark strips of carpet\nacross the road, which was nearly empty in spite of the evening coolness,\nwhich usually tempted the citizens out into the air.\n\nThe voices of men and women sounded out through the open windows of the\nchurch; then the door opened and the Pharanite Christians, who had been\npartaking of the Supper--the bread and the cup passed from hand to\nhand--came out into the moonlight. The elders and deacons, the readers\nand singers, the acolytes and the assembled priesthood of the place\nfollowed the Bishop Agapitus, and the laymen came behind Obedianus, the\nhead-man of the oasis, and the Senator Petrus; with Petrus came his wife,\nhis grown up children and numerous slaves.\n\nThe church was empty when the door-keeper, who was extinguishing the\nlights, observed a man in a dark corner of an antechamber through which a\nspring of water softly plashed and trickled, and which was intended for\npenitents. The man was prostrate on the ground and absorbed in prayer,\nand he did not raise himself till the porter called him, and threw the\nlight of his little lamp full in his face.\n\nHe began to address him with hard words, but when he recognized in the\nbelated worshipper the anchorite Paulus of Alexandria he changed his key,\nand said, in a soft and almost submissive tone of entreaty, \"You have\nsurely prayed enough, pious man. The congregation have left the church,\nand I must close it on account of our beautiful new vessels and the\nheathen robbers. I know that the brethren of Raithu have chosen you to be\ntheir elder, and that his high honor was announced to you by their\nmessengers, for they came to see our church too and greatly admired it.\nAre you going at once to settle with them or shall you keep the\nhigh-feast with us?\"\n\n\"That you shall hear to-morrow,\" answered Paulus, who had risen from his\nknees, and was leaning against a pillar of the narrow, bare, penitential\nchamber. \"In this house dwells One of whom I would fain take counsel, and\nI beg of you to leave me here alone. If you will, you can lock the door,\nand fetch me out later, before you go to rest for the night.\"\n\n\"That cannot be,\" said the man considering, \"for my wife is ill, and my\nhouse is a long way from here at the end of the town by the little gate,\nand I must take the key this very evening to the Senator Petrus, because\nhis son, the architect Antonius, wants to begin the building of the new\naltar the first thing to-morrow morning. The workmen are to be here by\nsunrise, and if--\"\n\n\"Show me the key,\" interrupted Paulus. \"To what untold blessing may this\nlittle instrument close or open the issues! Do you know, man, that I\nthink there is a way for us both out of the difficulty! You go to your\nsick wife, and I will take the key to the senator as soon as I have\nfinished my devotions.\"\n\nThe door-keeper considered for a few minutes, and then acceded to the\nrequest of the future presbyter of Raithu, while at the same time he\nbegged him not to linger too late.\n\nAs he went by the senator's house he smelt the savor of roast meat; he\nwas a poor man and thought to himself, \"They fast in there just when it\npleases them, but as for us, we fast when it pleases us least.\"\n\nThe good smell, which provoked this lament, rose from a roast sheep,\nwhich was being prepared as a feast-supper for the senator and the\nassembled members of his household; even the slaves shared in the late\nevening meal.\n\nPetrus and Dame Dorothea sat in the Greek fashion, side by side in a half\nreclining position on a simple couch, and before them stood a table which\nno one shared with them, but close to which was the seat for the grown up\nchildren of the house. The slaves squatted on the ground nearer to the\ndoor, and crowded into two circles, each surrounding a steaming dish, out\nof which they helped themselves to the brown stew of lentils with the\npalm of the hand. A round, grey-looking cake of bread lay near each, and\nwas not to be broken till the steward Jethro had cut and apportioned the\nsheep. The juicy pieces of the back and thighs of the animal were offered\nto Petrus and his family to choose from, but the carver laid a slice for\neach slave on his cake--a larger for the men and a smaller for the women.\nMany looked with envy on the more succulent piece that had fallen to a\nneighbor's share, but not even those that had fared worst dared to\ncomplain, for a slave was allowed to speak only when his master addressed\nhim, and Petrus forbid even his children to discuss their food whether to\npraise it or to find fault.\n\nIn the midst of the underlings sat Miriam; she never ate much, and all\nmeat was repulsive to her, so she pushed the cut from the ribs that was\ngiven to her over to an old garden-woman, who sat opposite, and who had\noften given her a fruit or a little honey, for Miriam loved sweet things.\nPetrus spoke not a word to-day to his slaves, and very little even to his\nfamily; Dorothea marked the deep lines between his grave eyes, not\nwithout anxiety, and noted how he pinched his lips, when, forgetful of\nthe food before him, he sat lost in meditation.\n\nThe meal was ended, but still he did not move, nor did he observe the\nenquiring glances which were turned on him by many eyes; no one dared to\nrise before the master gave the signal.\n\nMiriam followed all his movements with more impatience than any of the\nothers who were present; she rocked restlessly backwards and forwards,\ncrumbled the bread that she had left with her slender fingers, and her\nbreath now came fast and faster, and now seemed to stop entirely. She had\nheard the court-yard gate open, and had recognized Hermas' step.\n\n\"He wants to speak to the master, in a moment he will come in, and find\nme among these--\" thought she, and she involuntarily stroked her hand\nover her rough hair to smooth it, and threw a glance at the other slaves,\nin which hatred and contempt were equally marked.\n\nBut Hermas came not. Not for an instant did she think that her ear had\ndeceived her--was he waiting now at the door for the conclusion of the\nmeal? Was his late visit intended for the Gaulish lady, to whom she had\nseen him go yesterday again with the wine jar?\n\nSirona's husband, Phoebicius, as Miriam well knew, was upon the mountain,\nand offering sacrifice by moonlight to Mithras with his fellow heathen in\na cave which she had long known. She had seen the Gaul quit the court\nduring the time of evening-prayer with a few soldiers, two of whom\ncarried after him a huge coffer, out of which rose the handle of a mighty\ncauldron, and a skin full of water, and various vessels. She knew that\nthese men would pass the whole night in the grotto of Mithras, and there\ngreet \"the young god\"--the rising sun--with strange ceremonies; for the\ninquisitive shepherdess had more than once listened, when she had led her\ngoats up the mountain before the break of day, and her ear had detected\nthat the worshippers of Mithras were performing their nocturnal\nsolemnities. Now it flashed across her mind, that Sirona was alone, and\nthat the late visit of Hermas probably concerned her, and not the\nsenator.\n\nShe started, there was quite a pain in her heart, and, as usual, when any\nviolent emotion agitated her mind, she involuntarily sprang to her feet\nprompted by the force of her passion, and had almost reached the door,\nwhen the senator's voice brought her to a pause, and recalled her to the\nconsciousness of the impropriety of her behavior.\n\nThe sick man still lay with his inflamed wound and fever down in the\ncourt, and she knew that she should escape blame if in answer to her\nmaster's stern questioning she said that the patient needed her, but she\nhad never told a lie, and her pride forbade her even now to speak an\nuntruth. The other slaves stared with astonishment, as she replied, \"I\nwanted to get out; the supper is so long.\"\n\nPetrus glanced at the window, and perceiving how high the moon stood, he\nshook his head as if in wonder at his own conduct, then without blaming\nher he offered a thanksgiving, gave the slaves the signal to leave the\nroom, and after receiving a kiss of \"good-night\" from each of his\nchildren--from among whom Polykarp, the sculptor, alone was missing--he\nwithdrew to his own room. But he did not remain alone there for long: so\nsoon as Dorothea had discussed the requirements of the house for the next\nday with Marthana and the steward, and had been through the sleeping-room\nof her younger children, casting a loving glance on the peaceful\nsleepers, arranging here a coverlet, and there a pillow--she entered her\nhusband's room and called his name.\n\nPetrus stood still and looked round, and his grave eyes were full of\ngrateful tenderness as they met those of his wife. Dorothea knew the soft\nand loving heart within the stern exterior, and nodded to him with\nsympathetic understanding: but before she could speak, he said, \"Come in,\ncome nearer to me; there is a heavy matter in hand, and you cannot escape\nyour share of the burden.\"\n\n\"Give me my share!\" cried she eagerly. \"The slim girl of former years has\ngrown a broad-shouldered old woman, so that it may be easier to her to\nhelp her lord to bear the many burdens of life. But I am seriously\nanxious--even before we went to church something unsatisfactory had\nhappened to you, and not merely in the council-meeting. There must be\nsomething not right with one of the children.\"\n\n\"What eyes you have!\" exclaimed Petrus.\n\n\"Dim, grey eyes,\" said Dorothea, \"and not even particularly keen. But\nwhen anything concerns you and the children I could see it in the dark.\nYou are dissatisfied with Polykarp; yesterday, before he set out for\nRaithu, you looked at him so--so--what shall I say? I can quite imagine\nwhat it is all about, but I believe you are giving yourself groundless\nanxiety. He is young, and so lovely a woman as Sirona--\"\n\nUp to this point Petrus had listened to his wife in silence. Now he\nclasped his hands, and interrupted her, \"Things certainly are not going\non quite right--but I ought to be used to it. What I meant to have\nconfided to you in a quiet hour, you tell me as if you knew all about\nit!\"\n\n\"And why not?\" asked Dorothea. \"When you graft a scion on to a tree, and\nthey have grown well together, the grafted branch feels the bite of the\nsaw that divides the stock, or the blessing of the spring that feeds the\nroots, just as if the pain or the boon were its own. And you are the tree\nand I am the graft, and the magic power of marriage has made us one. Your\npulses are my pulses, your thoughts have become mine, and so I always\nknow before you tell me what it is that stirs your soul.\"\n\nDorothea's kind eyes moistened as she spoke, and Petrus warmly clasped\nher hands in his as he said, \"And if the gnarled old trunk bears from\ntime to time some sweet fruit, he may thank the graft for it. I cannot\nbelieve that the anchorites up yonder are peculiarly pleasing to the Lord\nbecause they live in solitude. Man comes to his perfect humanity only\nthrough his wife and child, and he who has them not, can never learn the\nmost glorious heights and the darkest depths of life and feeling. If a\nman may stake his whole existence and powers for anything, surely it is\nfor his own house.\"\n\n\"And you have honestly done so for ours!\" cried Dorothea.\n\n\"For ours,\" repeated Petrus, giving the words the strongest accent of his\ndeep voice. Two are stronger than one, and it is long since we ceased to\nsay 'I' in discussing any question concerning the house or the children;\nand both have been touched by to-day's events.\"\n\n\"The senate will not support you in constructing the road?\"\n\n\"No, the bishop gave the casting-vote. I need not tell you how we stand\ntowards each other, and I will not blame him; for he is a just man, but\nin many things we can never meet half-way. You know that he was in his\nyouth a soldier, and his very piety is rough--I might almost say warlike.\nIf we had yielded to his views, and if our head man Obedianus had not\nsupported me, we should not have had a single picture in the church, and\nit would have looked like a barn rather than a house of prayer. We never\nhave understood each other, and since I opposed his wish of making\nPolykarp a priest, and sent the boy to learn of the sculptor\nThalassius--for even as a child he drew better than many masters in these\nwretched days that produce no great artists--since then, I say, he speaks\nof me as if I were a heathen--\"\n\n\"And yet he esteems you highly, that I know,\" interrupted Dame Dorothea.\n\n\"I fully return his good opinion,\" replied Petrus, \"and it is no ordinary\nmatter that estranges. He thinks that he only holds the true faith, and\nought to fight for it; he calls all artistic work a heathen abomination;\nhe never felt the purifying influence of the beautiful, and regards all\npictures and statues as tending to idolatry. Still he allows himself to\nadmire Polykarp's figures of angels and the Good Shepherd, but the lions\nput the old warrior in a rage. 'Accursed idols and works of the devil,'\nare what he calls them.\"\n\n\"But there were lions even in the temple of Solomon,\" cried Dorothea.\n\n\"I urged that, and also that in the schools of the catechists, and in the\neducational history of animals which we possess and teach from, the\nSaviour himself is compared to a lion, and that Mark, the evangelist, who\nbrought the doctrine of the gospel to Alexandria, is represented with a\nlion. But he withstood me more and more violently, saying that Polykarp's\nworks were to adorn no sacred place, but the Caesareum, and that to him\nis nothing but a heathen edifice, and the noble works of the Greeks that\nare preserved there he calls revolting images by which Satan ensnares the\nsouls of Christian men. The other senators can understand his hard words,\nbut they cannot follow mine; and so they vote with him, and my motion to\nconstruct the roadway was thrown over, because it did not become a\nChristian assembly to promote idolatry, and to smooth a way for the\ndevil.\"\n\n\"I can see that you must have answered them sharply!\"\n\n\"Indeed I believe so,\" answered Petrus, looking down. \"Many painful\nthings were no doubt said, and it was I that suffered for them. Agapitus,\nwho was looking at the deacons' reports, was especially dissatisfied with\nthe account that I laid before them; they blamed us severely because you\ngave away as much bread to heathen households as to Christians. It is no\ndoubt true, but--\"\n\n\"But,\" cried Dorothea eagerly, \"hunger is just as painful to the\nunbaptized, and their Christian neighbors do not help them, and yet they\ntoo are our flesh and blood. I should ill fulfil my office if I were to\nlet them starve, because the highest comfort is lacking to them.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said Petrus, \"the council decided that, for the future, you\nmust apply at the most a fourth part of the grain allotted to their use.\nYou need not fear for them; for the future some of our own produce may go\nto them out of what we have hitherto sold. You need not withdraw even a\nloaf from any one of your proteges, but certainly may now be laid by the\nplans for the road. Indeed there is no hurry for its completion, for\nPolykarp will now hardly be able to go on with his lions here among us.\nPoor fellow! with what delight he formed the clay models, and how\nwonderfully he succeeded in reproducing the air and aspect of the\nmajestic beasts. It is as if he were inspired by the spirit of the old\nAthenian masters. We must now consider whether in Alexandria--\"\n\n\"Rather let us endeavor,\" interrupted Dorothea, \"to induce him at once to\nput aside his models, and to execute other more pious works. Agapitus has\nkeen eyes, and the heathen work is only too dear to the lad's heart.\"\n\nThe senator's brow grew dark at the last words, and he said, not without\nsome excitement, \"Everything that the heathen do is not to be condemned.\nPolykarp must be kept busy, constantly and earnestly occupied, for he has\nset his eyes where they should not be set. Sirona is the wife of another,\nand even in sport no man should try to win his neighbor's wife. Do you\nthink, the Gaulish woman is capable of forgetting her duty?\"\n\nDorothea hesitated, and after some reflection answered, \"She is a\nbeautiful and vain child--a perfect child; I mean in nature, and not in\nyears, although she certainly might be the grandchild of her strange\nhusband, for whom she feels neither love nor respect, nor, indeed,\nanything but utter aversion. I know not what, but something frightful\nmust have come between them even in Rome, and I have given up all\nattempts to guide her heart back to him. In everything else she is soft\nand yielding, and often, when she is playing with the children, I cannot\nimagine where she finds her reckless gaiety. I wish she were a Christian,\nfor she is very dear to me, why should I deny it? It is impossible to be\nsad when she is by, and she is devoted to me, and dreads my blame, and is\nalways striving to win my approbation. Certainly she tries to please\nevery one, even the children; but, so far as I can see, not more Polykarp\nthan any one else, although he is such a fine young man. No, certainly\nnot.\"\n\n\"And yet the boy gazes at her,\" said Petrus, \"and Phoebicius has noticed\nit; he met me yesterday when I came home, and, in his sour, polite\nmanner, requested me to advise my son, when he wished to offer a rose,\nnot to throw it into his window, as he was not fond of flowers, and\npreferred to gather them himself for his wife.\"\n\nThe senator's wife turned pale, and then exclaimed shortly and\npositively, \"We do not need a lodger, and much as I should miss his wife,\nthe best plan will be for you to request him to find another dwelling.\"\n\n\"Say no more, wife,\" Petrus said, sternly, and interrupting her with a\nwave of his hand. \"Shall we make Sirona pay, for it because our son has\ncommitted a folly for her sake? You yourself said, that her intercourse\nwith the children, and her respect for you, preserve her from evil, and\nnow shall we show her the door? By no means. The Gauls may remain in my\nhouse so long as nothing occurs that compels me to send them out of it.\nMy father was a Greek, but through my mother I have Amalekite blood in my\nveins, and I should dishonor myself, if I drove from my threshold any,\nwith whom I had once broken bread under my roof. Polykarp shall be\nwarned, and shall learn what he owes to us, to himself, and to the laws\nof God. I know how to value his noble gifts, and I am his friend, but I\nam also his master, and I will find means of preventing my son from\nintroducing the light conduct of the capital beneath his father's roof.\"\n\nThe last words were spoken with weight and decision, like the blows of a\nhammer, and stern resolve sparkled in the senator's eyes. Nevertheless,\nhis wife went fearlessly up to him, and said, laying her hand on his arm,\n\"It is, indeed, well that a man can keep his eyes set on what is just,\nwhen we women should follow the hasty impulse of our heart. Even in\nwrestling, men only fight with lawful and recognized means, while\nfighting women use their teeth and nails. You men understand better how\nto prevent injustice than we do, and that you have once more proved to\nme, but, in carrying justice out, you are not our superiors. The Gauls\nmay remain in our house, and do you take Polykarp severely to task, but\nin the first instance as his friend. Or would it not be better if you\nleft it to me? He was so happy in thinking of the competition of his\nlions, and in having to work for the great building in the capital, and\nnow it is all over. I wish you had already broken that to him; but love\nstories are women's affairs, and you know how good the boy is to me. A\nmother's word sometimes has more effect than a father's blow, and it is\nin life as it is in war; the light forces of archers go first into the\nfield, and the heavily armed division stays in the background to support\nthem; then, if the enemy will not yield, it comes forward and decides the\nbattle. First let me speak to the lad. It may be that he threw the rose\ninto Sirona's window only in sport, for she plays with his brothers and\nsisters as if she herself were one of them. I will question him; for if\nit is so, it would be neither just nor prudent to blame him. Some caution\nis needed even in giving a warning; for many a one, who would never have\nthought of stealing, has become a thief through false suspicion. A young\nheart that is beginning to love, is like a wild boy who always would\nrather take the road he is warned to avoid, and when I was a girl, I\nmyself first discovered how much I liked you, when the Senator Aman's\nwife--who wanted you for her own daughter--advised me to be on my guard\nwith you. A man who has made such good use of his time, among all the\ntemptations of the Greek Sodom, as Polykarp, and who has won such high\npraise from all his teachers and masters, cannot have been much injured\nby the light manners of the Alexandrians. It is in a man's early years\nthat he takes the bent which he follows throughout his later life, and\nthat he had done before he left our house. Nay--even if I did not know\nwhat a good fellow Polykarp is--I need only look at you to say, 'A child\nthat was brought up by this father, could never turn out a bad man.'\"\n\nPetrus sadly shrugged his shoulders, as though he regarded his wife's\nflattering words as mere idle folly, and yet he smiled, as he asked,\n\"Whose school of rhetoric did you go to? So be it then; speak to the lad\nwhen he returns from Raithu. How high the moon is already; come to\nrest--Antonius is to place the altar in the early dawn, and I wish to be\npresent.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nMiriam's ears had not betrayed her. While she was detained at supper,\nHermas had opened the courtyard-gate; he came to bring the senator a\nnoble young buck, that he had killed a few hours before, as a\nthank-offering for the medicine to which his father owed his recovery. It\nwould no doubt have been soon enough the next morning, but he could find\nno rest up on the mountain, and did not--and indeed did not care\nto--conceal from himself the fact, that the wish to give expression to\nhis gratitude attracted him down into the oasis far less than the hope of\nseeing Sirona, and of hearing a word from her lips.\n\nSince their first meeting he had seen her several times, and had even\nbeen into her house, when she had given him the wine for his father, and\nwhen he had taken back the empty flask. Once, as she was filling the\nbottle which he held, out of the large jar, her white fingers had touched\nhis, and her enquiry whether he were afraid of her, or if not, why his\nhands which looked so strong should tremble so violently, dwelt still in\nhis mind. The nearer he approached Petrus's house the more vehemently his\nheart beat; he stood still in front of the gate-way, to take breath, and\nto collect himself a little, for he felt that, agitated as he was, he\nwould find it difficult to utter any coherent words.\n\nAt last he laid his hand on the latch and entered the yard. The\nwatch-dogs already knew him, and only barked once as he stepped over the\nthreshold.\n\nHe brought a gift in his hand, and he wanted to take nothing away, and\nyet he appeared to himself just like a thief as he looked round, first at\nthe main building lighted up by the moon, and then at the Gaul's\ndwelling-house, which, veiled in darkness, stood up as a vague\nsilhouette, and threw a broad dark shadow on the granite flags of the\npavement, which was trodden to shining smoothness. There was not a soul\nto be seen, and the reek of the roast sheep told him that Petrus and his\nhousehold were assembled at supper.\n\n\"I might come inopportunely on the feasters,\" said he to himself, as he\nthrew the buck over from his left to his right shoulder, and looked up at\nSirona's window, which he knew only too well.\n\nIt was not lighted up, but a whiter and paler something appeared within\nits dark stone frame, and this something, attracted his gaze with an\nirresistible spell; it moved, and Sirona's greyhound set up a sharp\nbarking.\n\nIt was she--it must be she! Her form rose before his fancy in all its\nbrilliant beauty, and the idea flashed through his mind that she must be\nalone, for he had met her husband and the old slave woman among the\nworshippers of Mithras on their way to the mountain. The pious youth, who\nso lately had punished his flesh with the scourge to banish seductive\ndream-figures, had in these few days become quite another man. He would\nnot leave the mountain, for his father's sake, but he was quite\ndetermined no longer to avoid the way of the world; nay, rather to seek\nit. He had abandoned the care of his father to the kindly Paulus, and had\nwandered about among the rocks; there he had practised throwing the\ndiscus, he had hunted the wild goats and beasts of prey, and from time to\ntime--but always with some timidity--he had gone down into the oasis to\nwander round the senator's house, and catch a glimpse of Sirona.\n\nNow that he knew that she was alone, he was irresistibly drawn to her.\nWhat he desired of her, he himself could not have said; and nothing was\nclear to his mind beyond the wish to touch her fingers once more.\n\nWhether this were a sin or not, was all the same to him; the most\nharmless play was called a sin, and every thought of the world for which\nhe longed, and he was fully resolved to take the sin upon himself, if\nonly he might attain his end. Sin after all was nothing but a phantom\nterror with which they frighten children, and the worthy Petrus had\nassured him that he might be a man capable of great deeds. With a feeling\nthat he was venturing on an unheard of act he went towards Sirona's\nwindow, and she at once recognized him as he stood in the moonlight.\n\n\"Hermas!\" he heard her say softly. He was seized with such violent terror\nthat he stood as if spellbound, the goat slipped from his shoulders, and\nhe felt as if his heart had ceased to beat. And again the sweet woman's\nvoice called, \"Hermas, is it you? What brings you to us at such a late\nhour?\"\n\nHe stammered an incoherent answer, and \"I do not understand; come a\nlittle nearer.\" Involuntarily he stepped forward into the shadow of the\nhouse and close up to her window. She wore a white robe with wide, open\nsleeves, and her arms shone in the dim light as white as her garment. The\ngreyhound barked again; she quieted it, and then asked Hermas how his\nfather was, and whether he needed some more wine. He replied that she was\nvery kind, angelically kind, but that the sick man was recovering fast,\nand that she had already given him far too much. Neither of them said\nanything that might not have been heard by everybody, and yet they\nwhispered as if they were speaking of some forbidden thing.\n\n\"Wait a moment,\" said Sirona, and she disappeared within the room, she\nsoon reappeared, and said solid and sadly, \"I would ask you to come into\nthe house but Phoebicius has locked the door. I am quite alone, hold the\nflask so that I may fill it through the open window.\"\n\nWith these words she leaned over with the large jar--she was strong, but\nthe wine-jar seemed to her heavier than on other occasions, and she said\nwith a sigh, \"The amphora is too heavy for me.\"\n\nHe reached up to help her; again his fingers met hers, and again he felt\nthe ecstatic thrill which had haunted his memory day and night ever since\nhe first had felt it. At this instant there was a sudden noise in the\nhouse opposite; the slaves were coming out from supper. Sirona knew what\nwas happening; she started and cried out, pointing to the senator's door,\n\"For all the gods' sake! they are coming out, and if they see you here I\nam lost!\"\n\nHermas looked hastily round the court, and listened to the increasing\nnoise in the other house, then, perceiving that there was no possible\nescape from the senator's people, who were close upon him, he cried out\nto Sirona in a commanding tone, \"Stand back,\" and flung himself up\nthrough the window into the Gaul's apartment. At the same moment the door\nopposite opened, and the slaves streamed out into the yard.\n\nIn front of them all was Miriam, who looked all round the wide\nspace-expectant; seeking something, and disappointed. He was not there,\nand yet she had heard him come in; and the gate had not opened and closed\na second time, of that she was perfectly certain. Some of the slaves went\nto the stables, others went outside the gate into the street to enjoy the\ncoolness of the evening; they sat in groups on the ground, looking up at\nthe stars, chattering or singing. Only the shepherdess remained in the\ncourt-yard seeking him on all sides, as if she were hunting for some lost\ntrinket. She searched even behind the millstones, and in the dark sheds\nin which the stone-workers' tools were kept.\n\nThen she stood still a moment and clenched her hands; with a few light\nbounds she sprang into the shadow of the Gaul's house. Just in front of\nSirona's window lay the steinbock; she hastily touched it with her\nslender naked toes, but quickly withdrew her foot with a shudder, for it\nhad touched the beast's fresh wound, wet with its blood. She rapidly drew\nthe conclusion that: he had killed it, and had thrown it down here, and\nthat he could not be far off. Now she knew where he was in hiding-and she\ntried to laugh, for the pain she felt seemed too acute and burning for\ntears to allay or cool it. But she did not wholly lose her power of\nreflection. \"They are in the dark,\" thought she, \"and they would see me,\nif I crept under the window to listen; and yet I must know what they are\ndoing there together.\"\n\nShe hastily turned her back on Sirona's house, slipped into the clear\nmoonlight, and after standing there for a few minutes, went into the\nslaves' quarters. An instant after, she slipped out behind the\nmillstones, and crept as cleverly and as silently as a snake along the\nground under the darkened base of the centurion's house, and lay close\nunder Sirona's window.\n\nHer loudly beating heart made it difficult for even her sharp ears to\nhear, but though she could not gather all that he said, she distinguished\nthe sound of his voice; he was no longer in Sirona's room, but in the\nroom that looked out on the street.\n\nNow she could venture to raise herself, and to look in at the open\nwindow; the door of communication between the two rooms was closed, but a\nstreak of light showed her that in the farther room, which was the\nsitting-room, a lamp was burning.\n\nShe had already put up her hand in order to hoist herself up into the\ndark room, when a gay laugh from Sirona fell upon her ear. The image of\nher enemy rose up before her mind, brilliant and flooded with light as on\nthat morning, when Hermas had stood just opposite, bewildered by her\nfascination. And now--now--he was actually lying at her feet, and saying\nsweet flattering words to her, and he would speak to her of love, and\nstretch out his arm to clasp her--but she had laughed.\n\nNow she laughed again. Why was all so still again?\n\nHad she offered her rosy lips for a kiss? No doubt, no doubt. And Hermas\ndid not wrench himself from her white arms, as he had torn himself from\nhers that noon by the spring-torn himself away never to return.\n\nCold drops stood on her brow, she buried her hands in her thick, black\nhair, and a loud cry escaped her--a cry like that of a tortured animal. A\nfew minutes more and she had slipped through the stable and the gate by\nwhich they drove the cattle in; and no longer mistress of herself, was\nflying up the mountain to the grotto of Mithras to warn Phoebicius.\n\nThe anchorite Gelasius saw from afar the figure of the girl flying up the\nmountain in the moonlight, and her shadow flitting from stone to stone,\nand he threw himself on the ground, and signed a cross on his brow, for\nhe thought he saw a goblin-form, one of the myriad gods of the\nheathen--an Oread pursued by a Satyr. Sirona had heard the girl's shriek.\n\n\"What was that?\" she asked the youth, who stood before her in the\nfull-dress uniform of a Roman officer, as handsome as the young god of\nwar, though awkward and unsoldierly in his movements.\n\n\"An owl screamed--\" replied Hermas. \"My father must at last tell me from\nwhat house we are descended, and I will go to Byzantium, the new Rome,\nand say to the emperor, 'Here am I, and I will fight for you among your\nwarriors.'\"\n\n\"I like you so!\" exclaimed Sirona.\n\n\"If that is the truth,\" cried Hermas, \"prove it to me! Let me once press\nmy lips to your shining gold hair. You are beautiful, as sweet as a\nflower--as gay and bright as a bird, and yet as hard as our mountain\nrock. If you do not grant me one kiss, I shall long till I am sick and\nweak before I can get away from here, and prove my strength in battle.\"\n\n\"And if I yield,\" laughed Sirona, \"you will be wanting another and\nanother kiss, and at last not get away at all. No, no, my friend--I am\nthe wiser of us two. Now go into the dark room, I will look out and see\nwhether the people are gone in again, and whether you can get off unseen\nfrom the street window, for you have been here much too long already. Do\nyou hear? I command you.\"\n\nHermas obeyed with a sigh; Sirona opened the shutter and looked out. The\nslaves were coming back into the court, and she called out a friendly\nword or two, which were answered with equal friendliness, for the Gaulish\nlady, who never overlooked even the humblest, was dear to them all. She\ntook in the night-air with deep-drawn breaths, and looked up contentedly\nat the moon, for she was well content with herself.\n\nWhen Hermas had swung himself up into her room, she had started back in\nalarm; he had seized her hand and pressed his burning lips to her arm,\nand she let him do it, for she was overcome with strange bewilderment.\n\nThen she heard Dame Dorothea calling out, \"Directly, directly, I will\nonly say good night first to the children.\" These simple words, uttered\nin Dorothea's voice, had a magical effect on the warm-hearted\nwoman--badly used and suspected as she was, and yet so well formed for\nhappiness, love and peace. When her husband had locked her in, taking\neven her slave with him, at first she had raved, wept, meditated revenge\nand flight, and at last, quite broken down, had seated herself by the\nwindow in silent thought of her beautiful home, her brothers and sisters,\nand the dark olive groves of Arelas.\n\nThen Hermas appeared. It had not escaped her that the young anchorite\npassionately admired her, and she was not displeased, for she liked him,\nand the confusion with which he had been overcome at the sight of her\nflattered her and seemed to her doubly precious because she knew that the\nhermit in his sheepskin, on whom she had bestowed a gift of wine, was in\nfact a young man of distinguished rank. And how truly to be pitied was\nthe poor boy, who had had his youth spoilt by a stern father. A woman\neasily bestows some tender feeling on the man that she pities; perhaps\nbecause she is grateful to him for the pleasure of feeling herself the\nstronger, and because through him and his suffering she finds\ngratification for the noblest happiness of a woman's heart--that of\ngiving tender and helpful care; women's hands are softer than ours. In\nmen's hearts love is commonly extinguished when pity begins, while\nadmiration acts like sunshine on the budding plant of a woman's\ninclination, and pity is the glory which radiates from her heart.\n\nNeither admiration nor pity, however, would have been needed to induce\nSirona to call Hermas to her window; she felt so unhappy and lonely, that\nany one must have seemed welcome from whom she might look for a friendly\nand encouraging word to revive her deeply wounded self-respect. And there\ncame the young anchorite, who forgot himself and everything else in her\npresence, whose looks, whose movement, whose very silence even seemed to\ndo homage to her. And then his bold spring into her room, and his eager\nwooing--\"This is love,\" said she to herself. Her cheeks glowed, and when\nHermas clasped her hand, and pressed her arm to his lips, she could not\nrepulse him, till Dorothea's voice reminded her of the worthy lady and of\nthe children, and through them of her own far-off sisters.\n\nThe thought of these pure beings flowed over her troubled spirit like a\npurifying stream, and the question passed through her mind, \"What should\nI be without these good folks over there, and is this great love-sick\nboy, who stood before Polykarp just lately looking like a school-boy, is\nhe so worthy that I should for his sake give up the right of looking them\nboldly in the face?\" And she pushed Hermas roughly away, just as he was\nventuring for the first time to apply his lips to her perfumed gold hair,\nand desired him to be less forward, and to release her hand.\n\nShe spoke in a low voice, but with such decision, that the lad, who was\naccustomed to the habit of obedience, unresistingly allowed her to push\nhim into the sitting-room. There was a lamp burning on the table, and on\na bench by the wall of the room, which was lined with colored stucco, lay\nthe helmet, the centurion's staff, and the other portions of the armor\nwhich Phoebicius had taken off before setting out for the feast of\nMithras, in order to assume the vestments of one of the initiated of the\ngrade of \"Lion.\"\n\nThe lamp-light revealed Sirona's figure, and as she stood before him in\nall her beauty with glowing cheeks, the lad's heart began to beat high,\nand with increased boldness he opened his arms, and endeavored to draw\nher to him; but Sirona avoided him and went behind the table, and,\nleaning her hands on its polished surface while it protected her like a\nshield, she lectured him in wise and almost motherly words against his\nrash, intemperate, and unbecoming behavior.\n\nAny one who was learned in the heart of woman might have smiled at such\nwords from such lips and in such an hour; but Hermas blushed and cast\ndown his eyes, and knew not what to answer. A great change had come over\nthe Gaulish lady; she felt a great pride in her virtue, and in the\nvictory she had won over herself, and while she sunned herself in the\nsplendor of her own merits, she wished that Hermas too should feel and\nrecognize them. She began to expatiate on all that she had to forego and\nto endure in the oasis, and she discoursed of virtue and the duties of a\nwife, and of the wickedness and audacity of men.\n\nHermas, she said, was no better than the rest, and because she had shown\nherself somewhat kind to him, he fancied already that he had a claim on\nher liking; but he was greatly mistaken, and if only the courtyard had\nbeen empty, she would long ago have shown him the door.\n\nThe young hermit was soon only half listening to all she said, for his\nattention had been riveted by the armor which lay before him, and which\ngave a new direction to his excited feelings. He involuntarily put out\nhis hand towards the gleaming helmet, and interrupted the pretty preacher\nwith the question, \"May I try it on?\"\n\nSirona laughed out loud and exclaimed, much amused and altogether\ndiverted from her train of thought, \"To be sure. You ought to be a\nsoldier. How well it suits you! Take off your nasty sheepskin, and let us\nsee how the anchorite looks as a centurion.\"\n\nHermas needed no second telling; he decked himself in the Gaul's armor\nwith Sirona's help. We human beings must indeed be in a deplorable\nplight; otherwise how is it that from our earliest years we find such\ndelight in disguising ourselves; that is to say, in sacrificing our own\nidentity to the tastes of another whose aspect we borrow. The child\nshares this inexplicable pleasure with the sage, and the stern man who\nshould condemn it would not therefore be the wiser, for he who wholly\nabjures folly is a fool all the more certainly the less he fancies\nhimself one. Even dressing others has a peculiar charm, especially for\nwomen; it is often a question which has the greater pleasure, the maid\nwho dresses her mistress or the lady who wears the costly garment.\n\nSirona was devoted to every sort of masquerading. If it had been needful\nto seek a reason why the senator's children and grandchildren were so\nfond of her, by no means last or least would have been the fact that she\nwould willingly and cheerfully allow herself to be tricked out in colored\nkerchiefs, ribands, and flowers, and on her part could contrive the most\nfantastic costumes for them. So soon as she saw Hermas with the helmet\non, the fancy seized her to carry through the travesty he had begun. She\neagerly and in perfect innocence pulled the coat of armor straight,\nhelped him to buckle the breastplate and to fasten on the sword, and as\nshe performed the task, at which Hermas proved himself unskilful enough,\nher gay and pleasant laugh rang out again and again. When he sought to\nseize her hand, as he not seldom did, she hit him sharply on the fingers,\nand scolded him.\n\nHermas' embarrassment thawed before this pleasant sport, and soon he\nbegan to tell her how hateful the lonely life on the mountain was to him.\nHe told her that Petrus himself had advised him to try his strength out\nin the world, and he confided to her that if his father got well, he\nmeant to be a soldier, and do great deeds. She quite agreed with him,\npraised and encouraged him, then she criticised his slovenly deportment,\nshowed him with comical gravity how a warrior ought to stand and walk,\ncalled herself his drill-master, and was delighted at the zeal with which\nhe strove to imitate her.\n\nIn such play the hours passed quickly. Hermas was proud of himself in his\nsoldierly garb, and was happy in her presence and in the hope of future\ntriumphs; and Sirona was gay, as she had usually been only when playing\nwith the children, so that even Miriam's wild cry, which the youth\nexplained to be the scream of an owl, only for a moment reminded her of\nthe danger in which she was placing herself. Petrus' slaves had long gone\nto rest before she began to weary of amusing herself with Hermas, and\ndesired him to lay aside her husband's equipment, and to leave her.\nHermas obeyed while she warily opened the shutters, and turning to him,\nsaid, \"You cannot venture through the court-yard; you must go through\nthis window into the open street. But there is some one coming down the\nroad; let him pass first, it will not be long to wait, for he is walking\nquickly.\"\n\nShe carefully drew the shutters to, and laughed to see how clumsily\nHermas set to work to unbuckle the greaves; but the gay laugh died upon\nher lips when the gate flew open, the greyhound and the senator's\nwatch-dogs barked loudly, and she recognized her husband's voice as he\nordered the dogs to be quiet.\n\n\"Fly-fly-for the gods' sake!\" she cried in a trembling voice. With that\nready presence of mind with which destiny arms the weakest woman in great\nand sudden danger, she extinguished the lamp, flung open the shutter, and\npushed Hermas to the window. The boy did not stay to bid her farewell,\nbut swung himself with a strong leap down into the road, and, followed by\nthe barking of the dogs, which roused all the neighboring households, he\nflew up the street to the little church.\n\nHe had not got more than half-way when he saw a man coming towards him;\nhe sprang into the shadow of a house, but the belated walker accelerated\nhis steps, and came straight up to him. He set off running again, but the\nother pursued him, and kept close at his heels till he had passed all the\nhouses and began to go up the mountain-path. Hermas felt that he was\noutstripping his pursuer, and was making ready for a spring over a block\nof stone that encumbered the path, when he heard his name called behind\nhim, and he stood still, for he recognized the voice of the man from whom\nhe was flying as that of his good friend Paulus.\n\n\"You indeed\" said the Alexandrian, panting for breath. \"Yes, you are\nswifter than I. Years hang lead on our heels, but do you know what it is\nthat lends them the swiftest wings? You have just learned it! It is a bad\nconscience; and pretty things will be told about you; the dogs have\nbarked it all out loud enough to the night.\"\n\n\"And so they may!\" replied Hermas defiantly, and trying in vain to free\nhimself from the strong grasp of the anchorite who held him firmly. \"I\nhave done nothing wrong.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife!\" interrupted Paulus in a tone\nof stern severity. \"You have been with the centurion's pretty wife, and\nwere taken by surprise. Where is your sheepskin?\"\n\nHermas started, felt on his shoulder, and exclaimed, striking his fist\nagainst his forehead, \"Merciful Heaven!--I have left it there! The raging\nGaul will find it.\"\n\n\"He did not actually see you there?\" asked Paulus eagerly.\n\n\"No, certainly not,\" groaned Hermas, \"but the skin--\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" muttered Paulus. \"Your sin is none the less, but something\nmay be done in that case. Only think if it came to your father's ears; it\nmight cost him his life.\"\n\n\"And that poor Sirona!\" sighed Hermas.\n\n\"Leave me to settle that,\" exclaimed Paulus. I will make everything\nstraight with her. There, take sheepskin. You will not? Well, to be sure,\nthe man who does not fear to commit adultery would make nothing of\nbecoming his father's murderer.--There, that is the way! fasten it\ntogether over your shoulders; you will need it, for you must quit this\nspot, and not for to-day and to-morrow only. You wanted to go out into\nthe world, and now you will have the opportunity of showing whether you\nreally are capable of walking on your own feet. First go to Raithu and\ngreet the pious Nikon in my name, and tell him that I remain here on the\nmountain, for after long praying in the church I have found myself\nunworthy of the office of elder which they offered me. Then get yourself\ncarried by some ship's captain across the Red Sea, and wander up and down\nthe Egyptian coast. The hordes of the Blemmyes have lately shown\nthemselves there; keep your eye on them, and when the wild bands are\nplotting some fresh outbreak you can warn the watch on the\nmountain-peaks; how to cross the sea and so outstrip them, it will be\nyour business to find out. Do you feel bold enough and capable of\naccomplishing this task? Yes? So I expected! Now may the Lord guide you.\nI will take care of your father, and his blessing and your mother's will\nrest upon you if you sincerely repent, and if you now do your duty.\"\n\n\"You shall learn that I am a man,\" cried Hermas with sparkling eyes. \"My\nbow and arrows are lying in your cave, I will fetch them and then--aye!\nyou shall see whether you sent the right man on the errand. Greet my\nfather, and once more give me your hand.\"\n\nPaulus grasped the boy's right hand, drew him to him, and kissed his\nforehead with fatherly tenderness. Then he said, \"In my cave, under the\ngreen stone, you will find six gold-pieces; take three of them with you\non your journey. You will probably need them at any rate to pay your\npassage. Now be off, and get to Raithu in good time.\"\n\nHermas hurried up the mountain, his head full of the important task that\nhad been laid upon him; dazzling visions of the great deeds he was to\naccomplish eclipsed the image of the fair Sirona, and he was so\naccustomed to believe in the superior insight and kindness of Paulus that\nhe feared no longer for Sirona now that his friend had made her affair\nhis own.\n\nThe Alexandrian looked after him, and breathed a short prayer for him;\nthen he went down again into the valley.\n\nIt was long past midnight, and the moon was sinking; it grew cooler and\ncooler, and since he had given his sheepskin to Hermas he had nothing on,\nbut his thread-bare coat. Nevertheless he went slowly onwards, stopping\nevery now and then, moving his arms, and speaking incoherent words in a\nlow tone to himself.\n\nHe thought of Hermas and Sirona, of his own youth, and of how in\nAlexandria he himself had tapped at the shutters of the dark-haired Aso,\nand the fair Simaitha.\n\n\"A child--a mere boy,\" he murmured. \"Who would have thought it? The\nGaulish woman no doubt may be handsome, and as for him, it is a fact,\nthat as he threw the discus I was myself surprised at his noble figure.\nAnd his eyes--aye, he has Magdalen's eyes! If the Gaul had found him with\nhis wife, and had run his sword through his heart, he would have gone\nunpunished by the earthly judge--however, his father is spared this\nsorrow. In this desert the old man thought that his darling could not be\ntouched by the world and its pleasures. And now? These brambles I once\nthought lay dried up on the earth, and could never get up to the top of\nthe palm-tree where the dates ripen, but a bird flew by, and picked up\nthe berries, and carried them into its nest at the highest point of the\ntree.\n\n\"Who can point out the road that another will take, and say to-day,\n'To-morrow I shall find him thus and not otherwise.'\n\n\"We fools flee into the desert in order to forget the world, and the\nworld pursues us and clings to our skirts. Where are the shears that are\nkeen enough to cut the shadow from beneath our feet? What is the prayer\nthat can effectually release us--born of the flesh--from the burden of\nthe flesh? My Redeemer, Thou Only One, who knowest it, teach it to me,\nthe basest of the base.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     He who wholly abjures folly is a fool\n     Some caution is needed even in giving a warning\n     Who can point out the road that another will take\n\n\n\n\nHOMO SUM\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nWithin a few minutes after Hermas had flung himself out of window into\nthe roadway, Phoebicius walked into his sleeping-room. Sirona had had\ntime to throw herself on to her couch; she was terribly frightened, and\nhad turned her face to the wall. Did he actually know that some one had\nbeen with her? And who could have betrayed her, and have called him home?\nOr could he have come home by accident sooner than usual?\n\nIt was dark in the room, and he could not see her face, and yet she kept\nher eyes shut as if asleep, for every fraction of a minute in which she\ncould still escape seeing him in his fury seemed a reprieve; and yet her\nheart beat so violently that it seemed to her that he must hear it, when\nhe approached the bed with a soft step that was peculiar to him. She\nheard him walk up and down, and at last go into the kitchen that adjoined\nthe sleeping-room. In a few moments she perceived through her half-closed\neyes, that he, had brought in a light; he had lighted a lamp at the\nhearth, and now searched both the rooms.\n\nAs yet he had not spoken to her, nor opened his lips to utter a word.\n\nNow he was in the sitting-room, and now--involuntarily she drew herself\ninto a heap, and pulled the coverlet over her head--now he laughed aloud,\nso loud and scornfully, that she felt her hands and feet turn cold, and a\nrushing crimson mist floated before her eyes. Then the light came back\ninto the bed-room, and came nearer and nearer. She felt her head pushed\nby his hard hand, and with a feeble scream she flung off the coverlet and\nsat up.\n\nStill he did not speak a word, but what she saw was quite enough to\nsmother the last spark of her courage and hope, for her husband's eyes\nshowed only the whites, his sallow features were ashy-pale, and on his\nbrow the branded mark of Mithras stood out more clearly than ever. In his\nright hand he held the lamp, in his left Hermas' sheepskin.\n\nAs his haggard eye met hers he held the anchorite's matted garment so\nclose to her face, that it touched her. Then he threw it violently on the\nfloor, and asked in a low, husky voice, \"What is that?\"\n\nShe was silent. He went up to the little table near her bed; on it stood\nher night-draught in a pretty colored glass, that Polykarp had brought\nher from Alexandria as a token, and with the back of his hand he swept it\nfrom the table, so that it fell on the dais, and flew with a crash into a\nthousand fragments. She screamed, the greyhound sprang up and barked at\nthe Gaul. He seized the little beast's collar, and flung it so violently\nacross the room, that it uttered a pitiful cry of pain. The dog had\nbelonged to Sirona since she was quite a girl, it had come with her to\nRome, and from thence to the oasis; it clung to her with affection, and\nshe to it, for Iambe liked no one to caress and stroke her so much as her\nmistress. She was so much alone, and the greyhound was always with her,\nand not only entertained her by such tricks as any other dog might have\nlearned, but was to her a beloved, dumb, but by no means deaf, companion\nfrom her early home, who would prick its ears when she spoke the name of\nher dear little sisters in distant Arelas, from whom she had not heard\nfor years; or it would look sadly in her face, and kiss her white hands,\nwhen longing forced tears into her eyes.\n\nIn her solitary, idle, childless existence Iambe was much, very much, to\nher, and now as she saw her faithful companion and friend creep\nill-treated and whining up to her bed--as the supple animal tried in vain\nto spring up and take refuge in her lap, and held out to his mistress his\ntrembling, perhaps broken, little paw, fear vanished from the miserable\nyoung woman's heart--she sprang from her couch, took the little dog in\nher arms, and exclaimed with a glance, which flashed with anything rather\nthan fear or repentance: \"You do not touch the poor little beast again,\nif you take my advice.\"\n\n\"I will drown it to-morrow morning,\" replied Phoebicius with perfect\nindifference, but with an evil smile on his flaccid lips. \"So many\ntwo-legged lovers make themselves free to my house, that I do not see why\nI should share your affections with a quadruped into the bargain. How\ncame this sheepskin here?\" Sirona vouchsafed no answer to this last\nquestion, but she exclaimed in great excitement, \"By God--by your God--by\nthe mighty Rock, and by all the gods! if you do the little beast a harm,\nit will be the last day I stop in your house.\"\n\n\"Hear her!\" said the centurion, \"and where do you propose to travel to?\nThe desert is wide and there is room and to spare to starve in it, and\nfor your bones to bleach there. How grieved your lovers would be--for\ntheir sakes I will take care before drowning the dog to lock in its\nmistress.\"\n\n\"Only try to touch me,\" screamed Sirona beside herself, and springing to\nthe window. \"If you lay a finger on me, I will call for help, and\nDorothea and her husband will protect me against you.\"\n\n\"Hardly,\" answered Phoebicius drily. \"It would suit you no doubt to find\nyourself under the same roof as that great boy who brings you colored\nglass, and throws roses into your window, and perhaps has strewed the\nroad with them by which he found his way to you to-day. But there are\nnevertheless laws which protect the Roman citizen from criminals and\nimpudent seducers. You were always a great deal too much in the house\nover there, and you have exchanged your games with the little screaming\nbeggars for one with the grownup child, the rose-thrower-the fop, who,\nfor your sake, and not to be recognized, covers up his purple coat with a\nsheepskin! Do you think, you can teach me anything about lovesick\nnight-wanderers and women?\n\n\"I see through it all! Not one step do you set henceforth across Petrus'\nthreshold. There is the open window--scream--scream as loud as you will,\nand let all the people know of your disgrace. I have the greatest mind to\ncarry this sheepskin to the judge, the first thing in the morning. I\nshall go now, and set the room behind the kitchen in order for you; there\nis no window there through which men in sheepskin can get in to my house.\nYou shall live there till you are tamed, and kiss my feet, and confess\nwhat has been going on here to-night. I shall learn nothing from the\nsenator's slaves, that I very well know; for you have turned all their\nheads too--they grin with delight when they see you. All friends are made\nwelcome by you, even when they wear nothing but sheepskin. But they may\ndo what they please--I have the right keeper for you in my own hand. I am\ngoing at once--you may scream if you like, but I should myself prefer\nthat you should keep quiet. As to the dog, we have not yet heard the last\nof the matter; for the present I will keep him here. If you are quiet and\ncome to your senses, he may live for aught I care; but if you are\nrefractory, a rope and a stone can soon be found, and the stream runs\nclose below. You know I never jest--least of all just now.\"\n\nSirona's whole frame was in the most violent agitation. Her breath came\nquickly, her limbs trembled, but she could not find words to answer him.\n\nPhoebicius saw what was passing in her mind, and he went on, \"You may\nsnort proudly now; but an hour will come when you will crawl up to me\nlike your lame dog, and pray for mercy. I have another idea--you will\nwant a couch in the dark room, and it must be soft, or I shall be blamed;\nI will spread out the sheepskin for you. You see I know how to value your\nadorer's offerings.\"\n\nThe Gaul laughed loud, seized the hermit's garment, and went with the\nlamp into the dark room behind the kitchen, in which vessels and utensils\nof various sorts were kept. These he set on one side to turn it into a\nsleeping-room for his wife, of whose guilt he was fully convinced.\n\nWho the man was for whose sake she had dishonored him, he knew not, for\nMiriam had said nothing more than, \"Go home, your wife is laughing with\nher lover.\"\n\nWhile her husband was still threatening and storming, Sirona had said to\nherself, that she would rather die than live any longer with this man.\nThat she herself was not free from fault never occurred to her mind. He\nwho is punished more severely than he deserves, easily overlooks his own\nfault in his feeling of the judge's injustice.\n\nPhoebicius was right; neither Petrus nor Dorothea had it in their power\nto protect her against him, a Roman citizen. If she could not contrive to\nhelp her self she was a prisoner, and without air, light, and freedom she\ncould not live. During his last speech her resolution had been quickly\nmatured, and hardly had he turned his back and crossed the threshold,\nthan she hurried up to her bed, wrapped the trembling greyhound in the\ncoverlet, took it in her arms like a child, and ran into the sitting-room\nwith her light burden; the shutters were still open of the window through\nwhich Hermas had fled into the open. With the help of a stool she took\nthe same way, let herself slip down from the sill into the street, and\nhastened on without aim or goal--inspired only by the wish to escape\ndurance in the dark room, and to burst every bond that tied her to her\nhated mate--up the church-hill and along the road which lead over the\nmountain to the sea.\n\nPhoebicius gave her a long start, for after having arranged her prison he\nremained some time in the little room behind the kitchen, not in order to\ngive her time, collect his thoughts or to reflect on his future action,\nbut simply because he felt utterly exhausted.\n\nThe centurion was nearly sixty years of age, and his frame, originally a\npowerful one, was now broken by every sort of dissipation, and could no\nlonger resist the effects of the strain and excitement of this night.\n\nThe lean, wiry, and very active man did not usually fall into these fits\nof total enervation excepting in the daytime, for after sundown a\nwonderful change would come over the gray-headed veteran, who\nnevertheless still displayed much youthful energy in the exercise of his\nofficial duties. At night his drooping eyelids, that almost veiled his\neyes, opened more wildly, his flaccid hanging under-lip closed firmly,\nhis long neck and narrow elongated head were held erect, and when, at a\nlater hour, he went out to drinking-bouts or to the service in honor of\nMithras, he might often still be taken for a fine, indomitable young man.\n\nBut when he was drunk he was no longer gay, but wild, braggart, and\nnoisy. It frequently happened that before he left the carouse, while he\nwas still in the midst of his boon-companions, the syncope would come\nupon him which had so often alarmed Sirona, and from which he could never\nfeel perfectly safe even when he was on duty at the head of his soldiers.\n\nThe vehement big man in such moments offered a terrible image of helpless\nimpotence; the paleness of death would overspread his features, his back\nwas as if it were broken, and he lost his control over every limb. His\neyes only continued to move, and now and then a shudder shook his frame.\nHis people said that when he was in this condition, the centurion's\nghastly demon had entered into him, and he himself believed in this evil\nspirit, and dreaded it; nay, he had attempted to be released through\nheathen spells, and even through Christian exorcisms. Now he sat in the\ndark room on the sheepfell, which in scorn of his wife he had spread on a\nhard wooden bench. His hands and feet turned cold, his eyes glowed, and\nthe power to move even a finger had wholly deserted him; only his lips\ntwitched, and his inward eye, looking back on the past with\npreternaturally sharpened vision, saw, far away and beyond, the last\nfrightful hour.\n\n\"If,\" thought he, \"after my mad run down to the oasis, which few younger\nmen could have vied with, I had given the reins to my fury instead of\nrestraining it, the demon would not have mastered me so easily. How that\ndevil Miriam's eyes flashed as she told me that a man was betraying me.\nShe certainly must have seen the wearer of the sheepskin, but I lost\nsight of her before I reached the oasis; I fancy she turned and went up\nthe mountain. What indeed might not Sirona have done to her? That woman\nsnares all hearts with her eyes as a bird-catcher snares birds with his\nflute. How the fine gentlemen ran after her in Rome! Did she dishonor me\nthere, I wonder? She dismissed the Legate Quintillus, who was so anxious\nto please me--I may thank that fool of a woman that he became my\nenemy--but he was older even than I, and she likes young men best. She is\nlike all the rest of them, and I of all men might have known it. It is\nthe way of the world: to-day one gives a blow and to-morrow takes one.\"\n\nA sad smile passed over his lips, then his features settled into a stern\ngravity, for various unwelcome images rose clearly before his mind, and\nwould not be got rid of.\n\nHis conscience stood in inverse relation to the vigor of his body. When\nhe was well, his too darkly stained past life troubled him little; but\nwhen he was unmanned by weakness, he was incapable of fighting the\nghastly demon that forced upon his memory in painful vividness those very\ndeeds which he would most willingly have forgotten. In such hours he must\nneed remember his friend, his benefactor, and superior officer, the\nTribune Servianus, whose fair young wife he had tempted with a thousand\narts to forsake her husband and child, and fly with him into the wide\nworld; and at this moment a bewildering illusion made him fancy that he\nwas the Tribune Servianus, and yet at the same time himself. Every hour\nof pain, and the whole bitter anguish that his betrayed benefactor had\nsuffered through his act when he had seduced Glycera, he himself now\nseemed to realize, and at the same time the enemy that had betrayed him,\nServianus, was none other than himself, Phoebicius, the Gaul. He tried to\nprotect himself and meditated revenge against the seducer, and still he\ncould not altogether lose the sense of his own identity.\n\nThis whirl of mad imagining, which he vainly endeavored to make clear to\nhimself, threatened to distract his reason, and he groaned aloud; the\nsound of his own voice brought him back to actuality.\n\nHe was Phoebicius again and not another, that he knew now, and yet he\ncould not completely bring himself to comprehend the situation. The image\nof the lovely Glycera, who had followed him to Alexandria, and whom he\nhad there abandoned, when he had squandered his last piece of money and\nher last costly jewels in the Greek city, no longer appeared to him\nalone, but always side by side with his wife Sirona.\n\nGlycera had been a melancholy sweetheart, who had wept much, and laughed\nlittle after running away from her husband; he fancied he could hear her\nspeaking soft words of reproach, while Sirona defied him with loud\nthreats, and dared to nod and signal to the senator's son Polykarp.\n\nThe weary dreamer angrily shook himself, collected his thoughts, doubled\nhis fist, and lifted it angrily; this movement was the first sign of\nreturning physical energy; he stretched his limbs like a man awaking from\nsleep, rubbed his eyes, pressed his hands to his temples; by degrees full\nconsciousness returned to him, and with it the recollection of all that\nhad occurred in the last hour or two.\n\nHe hastily left the dark room, refreshed himself in the kitchen with a\ngulp of wine, and went up to the open window to gaze at the stars.\n\nIt was long past midnight; he was reminded of his companions now\nsacrificing on the mountain, and addressed a long prayer \"to the crown,\"\n\"the invincible sun-god,\" \"the great light,\" \"the god begotten of the\nrock,\" and to many other names of Mithras; for since he had belonged to\nthe mystics of this divinity, he had become a zealous devotee, and could\nfast too with extraordinary constancy. He had already passed through\nseveral of the eighty trials, to which a man had to subject himself\nbefore he could attain to the highest grades of the initiated, and the\nweakness which had just now overpowered him, had attacked him for the\nfirst time, after he had for a whole week lain for hours in the snow,\nbesides fasting severely, in order to attain the grade of \"lion.\"\n\nSirona's rigorous mind was revolted by all these practices, and the\ndecision with which she had always refused to take any part in them, had\nwidened the breach which, without that, parted her from her husband.\nPhoebicius was, in his fashion, very much in earnest with all these\nthings; for they alone saved him in some measure from himself, from dark\nmemories, and from the fear of meeting the reward of his evil deeds in a\nfuture life, while Sirona found her best comfort in the remembrance of\nher early life, and so gathered courage to endure the miserable present\ncheerfully, and to hold fast to hope for better times.\n\nPhoebicius ended his prayer to-day--a prayer for strength to break his\nwife's strong spirit, for a successful issue to his revenge on her\nseducer--ended it without haste, and with careful observance of all the\nprescribed forms. Then he took two strong ropes from the wall, pulled\nhimself up, straight and proud, as if he were about to exhort his\nsoldiers to courage before a battle, cleared his throat like an orator in\nthe Forum before he begins his discourse, and entered the bedroom with a\ndignified demeanor. Not the smallest suspicion of the possibility of her\nescape troubled his sense of security, when, not finding Sirona in the\nsleeping-room, he went into the sitting-room to carry out the meditated\npunishment. Here again--no one.\n\nHe paused in astonishment; but the thought that she could have fled\nappeared to him so insane, that he immediately and decisively dismissed\nit. No doubt she feared his wrath, and was hidden under her bed or behind\nthe curtain which covered his clothes. \"The dog,\" thought he, \"is still\ncowering by her--\" and he began to make a noise, half whistling and half\nhissing, which Iambe could not bear, and which always provoked her to\nbark angrily--but in vain. All was still in the vacant room, still as\ndeath. He was now seriously anxious; at first deliberately, and then with\nrapid haste, he threw the light under every vessel, into every corner,\nbehind every cloth, and rummaged in places that not even a child--nay\nhardly a frightened bird could have availed itself of for concealment. At\nlast his right hand fairly dropped the ropes, and his left, in which he\nheld the lamp, began to tremble. He found the shutters of the\nsleeping-room open; where Sirona had been sitting on the seat looking at\nthe moon, before Hermas had come upon the scene. \"Then she is not here!\"\nhe muttered, and setting the lamp on the little table, from which he had\njust now flung Polykarp's glass, he tore open the door, and hurried into\nthe courtyard. That she could have swung herself out into the road, and\nhave set out in the night for the open desert, had not yet entered into\nhis mind. He shook the door that closed in the homestead, and found it\nlocked; the watch-dogs roused themselves, and gave tongue, when\nPhoebicius turned to Petrus' house, and began to knock at the door with\nthe brazen knocker, at first softly and then with growing anger; he\nconsidered it as certain that his wife had sought and found protection\nunder the senator's roof. He could have shouted with rage and anguish,\nand yet he hardly thought of his wife and the danger of losing her, but\nonly of Polykarp and the disgrace he had wrought upon him, and the\nreparation he would exact from him, and his parents, who had dared to\ntamper with his household rights--his, the imperial centurion's.\n\nWhat was Sirona to him? In the flush of an hour of excitement he had\nlinked her destiny to his.\n\nAt Arelas, about two years since, one of his comrades had joined their\ncircle of boon-companions, and had related that he had been the witness\nof a remarkable scene. A number of young fellows had surrounded a boy and\nhad unmercifully beaten him--he himself knew not wherefore. The little\none had defended himself bravely, but was at last overcome by numbers.\n\"Then suddenly,\" continued the soldier, \"the door of a house near the\ncircus opened, and a young girl with long golden hair flew out, and drove\nthe boys to flight, and released the victim, her brother, from his\ntormentors. She looked like a lioness,\" cried the narrator, \"Sirona she\nis called, and of all the pretty girls of Arelas, she is beyond a doubt\nthe prettiest.\" This opinion was confirmed on all sides, and Phoebicius,\nwho at that time had just been admitted to the grade of \"lion\" among the\nworshippers of Mithras, and liked very well to hear himself called \"the\nlion,\" exclaimed, \"I have long been seeking a lioness, and here it seems\nto me that I have found one. Phoebicius and Sirona--the two names sound\nvery finely together.\"\n\nOn the following day he asked Sirona of her father for his wife, and as\nhe had to set out for Rome in a few days the wedding was promptly\ncelebrated. She had never before quitted Arelas, and knew not what she\nwas giving up, when she took leave of her father's house perhaps for\never. In Rome Phoebicius and his young wife met again; there many admired\nthe beautiful woman, and made every effort to obtain her favor, but to\nhim she was only a lightly won, and therefore a lightly valued,\npossession; nay, ere long no more than a burden, ornamental no doubt but\ntroublesome to guard. When presently his handsome wife attracted the\nnotice of the legate, he endeavored to gain profit and advancement\nthrough her, but Sirona had rebuffed Quintillus with such insulting\ndisrespect, that his superior officer became the centurion's enemy, and\ncontrived to procure his removal to the oasis, which was tantamount to\nbanishment.\n\nFrom that time he had regarded her too as his enemy, and firmly believed\nthat she designedly showed herself most friendly to those who seemed most\nobnoxious to him, and among these he reckoned Polykarp.\n\nOnce more the knocker sounded on the senator's door; it opened, and\nPetrus himself stood before the raging Gaul, a lamp in his hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nThe unfortunate Paulus sat on a stone bench in front of the senator's\ndoor, and shivered; for, as dawn approached, the night-air grew cooler,\nand he was accustomed to the warmth of the sheepskin, which he had now\ngiven to Hermas. In his hand he held the key of the church, which he had\npromised the door-keeper to deliver to Petrus; but all was so still in\nthe senator's house, that he shrank from rousing the sleepers.\n\n\"What a strange night this has been!\" he muttered to himself, as he drew\nhis short and tattered tunic closer together. \"Even if it were warmer,\nand if, instead of this threadbare rag, I had a sack of feathers to wrap\nmyself in, still I should feel a cold shiver if the spirits of hell that\nwander about here were to meet me again. Now I have actually seen one\nwith my own eyes. Demons in women's form rush up the mountain out of the\noasis to tempt and torture us in our sleep. What could it have been that\nthe goblin in a white robe and with flowing hair held in its arms? Very\nlikely the stone with which the incubus loads our breast when he torments\nus. The other one seemed to fly, but I did not see its wings. That\nside-building must be where the Gaul lives with his ungodly wife, who has\nensnared my poor Hermas. I wonder whether she is really so beautiful! But\nwhat can a youth who has grown up among rocks and caves know of the\ncharms of women. He would, of course, think the first who looked kindly\nat him the most enchanting of her sex. Besides she is fair, and therefore\na rare bird among the sunburnt bipeds of the desert. The centurion surely\ncannot have found the sheepskin or all would not be so still here; once\nsince I have been here an ass has brayed, once a camel has groaned, and\nnow already the first cock is crowing; but not a sound have I heard from\nhuman lips, not even a snore from the stout senator or his buxom wife\nDorothea, and it would be strange indeed if they did not both snore.\"\n\nHe rose, went up to the window of Phoebicius dwelling, and listened at\nthe half open shutters, but all was still.\n\nAn hour ago Miriam had been listening under Sirona's room; after\nbetraying her to Phoebicius she had followed him at a distance, and had\nslipped back into the court-yard through the stables; she felt that she\nmust learn what was happening within, and what fate had befallen Hermas\nand Sirona at the hands of the infuriated Gaul. She was prepared for\nanything, and the thought that the centurion might have killed them both\nwith the sword filled her with bitter-sweet satisfaction. Then, seeing\nthe light through the crack between the partly open wooden shutters, she\nsoftly pushed them farther apart, and, resting her bare feet against the\nwall, she raised herself to look in.\n\nShe saw Sirona sitting up upon her couch, and opposite to her the Gaul\nwith pale distorted features; at his feet lay the sheepskin; in his right\nhand he held the lamp, and its light fell on the paved floor in front of\nthe bed, and was reflected in a large dark red pool.\n\n\"That is blood,\" thought she, and she shuddered and closed her eyes.\n\nWhen she reopened them she saw Sirona's face with crimson cheeks, turned\ntowards her husband; she was unhurt--but Hermas?\n\n\"'That is his blood!\" she thought with anguish, and a voice seemed to\nscream in her very heart, \"I, his murderess, have shed it.\"\n\nHer hands lost their hold of the shutters, her feet touched the pavement\nof the yard, and, driven by her bitter anguish of soul, she fled out by\nthe way she had come--out into the open and up to the mountain. She felt\nthat rather would she defy the prowling panthers, the night-chill, hunger\nand thirst, than appear again before Dame Dorothea, the senator, and\nMarthana, with this guilt on her soul; and the flying Miriam was one of\nthe goblin forms that had terrified Paulus.\n\nThe patient anchorite sat down again on the stone seat. \"The frost is\nreally cruel,\" thought he, \"and a very good thing is such a woolly\nsheepskin; but the Saviour endured far other sufferings than these, and\nfor what did I quit the world but to imitate Him, and to endure to the\nend here that I may win the joys of the other world. There, where angels\nsoar, man will need no wretched ram's fell, and this time certainly\nselfishness has been far from me, for I really and truly suffer for\nanother--I am freezing for Hermas, and to spare the old man pain. I would\nit were even colder! Nay, I will never, absolutely never again lay a\nsheepskin over my shoulders.\"\n\nPaulus nodded his head as if to signify assent to his own resolve; but\npresently he looked graver, for again it seemed to him that he was\nwalking in a wrong path.\n\n\"Aye! Man achieves a handful of good, and forthwith his heart swells with\na camel-load of pride. What though my teeth are chattering, I am none the\nless a most miserable creature. How it tickled my vanity, in spite of all\nmy meditations and scruples, when they came from Raithu and offered me\nthe office of elder; I felt more triumphant the first time I won with the\nquadriga, but I was scarcely more puffed up with pride then, than I was\nyesterday. How many who think to follow the Lord strive only to be\nexalted as He is; they keep well out of the way of His abasement. Thou, O\nThou Most High, art my witness that I earnestly seek it, but so soon as\nthe thorns tear my flesh the drops of blood turn to roses, and if I put\nthem aside, others come and still fling garlands in my way. I verily\nbelieve that it is as hard here on earth to find pain without pleasure,\nas pleasure without pain.\"\n\nWhile thus he meditated his teeth chattered with cold, but suddenly his\nreflections were interrupted, for the dogs set up a loud barking.\nPhoebicius was knocking at the senator's door.\n\nPaulus rose at once, and approached the gate-way. He could hear every\nword that was spoken in the court-yard; the deep voice was the senator's,\nthe high sharp tones must be the centurion's.\n\nPhoebicius was demanding his wife back from Petrus, as she had hidden in\nhis house, while Petrus positively declared that Sirona had not crossed\nhis threshold since the morning of the previous day.\n\nIn spite of the vehement and indignant tones in which his lodger spoke,\nthe senator remained perfectly calm, and presently went away to ask his\nwife whether she by chance, while he was asleep, had opened the house to\nthe missing woman. Paulus heard the soldier's steps as he paced up and\ndown the court-yard, but they soon ceased, for Dame Dorothea appeared at\nthe door with her husband, and on her part emphatically declared that she\nknew nothing of Sirona.\n\n\"Your son Polykarp then,\" interrupted Phoebicius, \"will be better\ninformed of her whereabouts.\"\n\n\"My son has been since yesterday at Raithu on business,\" said Petrus\nresolutely but evasively; \"we expect him home to-day only.\"\n\n\"It would seem that he has been quick, and has returned much sooner,\"\nretorted Phoebicius. \"Our preparations for sacrificing on the mountain\nwere no secret, and the absence of the master of the house is the\nopportunity for thieves to break in--above all, for lovers who throw\nroses into their ladies' windows. You Christians boast that you regard\nthe marriage tie as sacred, but it seems to me that you apply the rule\nonly to your fellow-believers. Your sons may make free to take their\npleasure among the wives of the heathen; it only remains to be proved\nwhether the heathen husbands will be trifled with or not. So far as I am\nconcerned, I am inclined for anything rather than jesting. I would have\nyou to understand that I will never let Caesar's uniform, which I wear,\nbe stained by disgrace, and that I am minded to search your house, and if\nI find my undutiful wife and your son within its walls, I will carry them\nand you before the judge, and sue for my rights.\"\n\n\"You will seek in vain,\" replied Petrus, commanding himself with\ndifficulty. \"My word is yea or nay, and I repeat once more no, we harbor\nneither her nor him. As for Dorothea and myself--neither of us is\ninclined to interfere in your concerns, but neither will we permit\nanother--be he whom he may--to interfere in ours. This threshold shall\nnever be crossed by any but those to whom I grant permission, or by the\nemperor's judge, to whom I must yield. You, I forbid to enter. Sirona is\nnot here, and you would do better to seek her elsewhere than to fritter\naway your time here.\"\n\n\"I do not require your advice!\" cried the centurion wrathfully.\n\n\"And I,\" retorted Petrus, \"do not feel myself called upon to arrange your\nmatrimonial difficulties. Besides you can get back Sirona without our\nhelp, for it is always more difficult to keep a wife safe in the house,\nthan to fetch her back when she has run away.\"\n\n\"You shall learn whom you have to deal with!\" threatened the centurion,\nand he threw a glance round at the slaves, who had collected in the\ncourt, and who had been joined by the senator's eldest son. \"I shall call\nmy people together at once, and if you have the seducer among you we will\nintercept his escape.\"\n\n\"Only wait an hour,\" said Dorothea, now taking up the word, while she\ngently touched her husband's hand, for his self-control was almost\nexhausted, \"I and you will see Polykarp ride home on his father's horse.\nIs it only from the roses that my son threw into your wife's window, that\nyou suppose him to be her seducer--she plays so kindly with all his\nbrothers and sisters--or are there other reasons, which move you to\ninsult and hurt us with so heavy an accusation?\"\n\nOften when wrathful men threaten to meet with an explosion, like black\nthunder-clouds, a word from the mouth of a sensible woman gives them\npause, and restrains them like a breath of soft wind.\n\nPhoebicius had no mind to listen to any speech from Polykarp's mother,\nbut her question suggested to him for the first time a rapid retrospect\nof all that had occurred, and he could not conceal from himself that his\nsuspicions rested on weak grounds. And at the same time he now said to\nhimself, that if indeed Sirona had fled into the desert instead of to the\nsenator's house he was wasting time, and letting the start, which she had\nalready gained, increase in a fatal degree.\n\nBut few seconds were needed for these reflections, and as he was\naccustomed when need arose to control himself, he said:\n\n\"We must see--some means must be found--\" and then without any greeting\nto his host, he slowly returned to his own house. But he had not reached\nthe door, when he heard hoofs on the road, and Petrus called after him,\n\"Grant us a few minutes longer, for here comes Polykarp, and he can\njustify himself to you in his own person.\"\n\nThe centurion paused, the senator signed to old Jethro to open the gate;\na man was heard to spring from his saddle, but it was an Amalekite--and\nnot Polykarp--who came into the court.\n\n\"What news do you bring?\" asked the senator, turning half to the\nmessenger and half to the centurion. \"My lord Polykarp, your son,\"\nreplied the Amalekite--a dark brown man of ripe years with supple limbs,\nand a sharp tongue--\"sends his greetings to you and to the mistress, and\nwould have you to know that before mid-day he will arrive at home with\neight workmen, whom he has engaged in Raithu. Dame Dorothea must be good\nenough to make ready for them all and to prepare a meal.\"\n\n\"When did you part from my son?\" inquired Petrus.\n\n\"Two hours before sundown.\"\n\nPetrus heaved a sigh of relief, for he had not till now been perfectly\nconvinced of his son's innocence; but, far from triumphing or making\nPhoebicius feel the injustice he had done him, he said kindly--for he\nfelt some sympathy with the Gaul in his misfortune:\n\n\"I wish the messenger could also give some news of your wife's retreat;\nshe found it hard to accommodate herself to the dull life here in the\noasis, perhaps she has only disappeared in order to seek a town which may\noffer more variety to such a beautiful young creature than this quiet\nspot in the desert.\"\n\nPhoebicius waved his hand with a negative movement, implying that he knew\nbetter, and said, \"I will show you what your nice night-bird left in my\nnest. It may be that you can tell me to whom it belongs.\"\n\nJust as he hastily stepped across the court-yard to his own dwelling\nPaulus entered by the now open gate; he greeted the senator and his\nfamily, and offered Petrus the key of the church.\n\nThe sun meanwhile had risen, and the Alexandrian blushed to show himself\nin Dame Dorothea's presence in his short and ragged under-garment, which\nwas quite inefficient to cover the still athletic mould of his limbs.\nPetrus had heard nothing but good of Paulus, and yet he measured him now\nwith no friendly eye, for all that wore the aspect of extravagance\nrepelled his temperate and methodical nature. Paulus was made conscious\nof what was passing in the senator's mind when, without vouchsafing a\nsingle word, he took the key from his hand. It was not a matter of\nindifference to him, that this man should think ill of him, and he said,\nwith some embarrassment:\n\n\"We do not usually go among people without a sheepskin, but I have lost\nmine.\"\n\nHardly had he uttered the words, when Phoebicius came back with Hermas'\nsheepskin in his hand, and cried out to Petrus:\n\n\"This I found on my return home, in our sleeping-room.\"\n\n\"And when have you ever seen Polykarp in such a mantle?\" asked Dorothea.\n\n\"When the gods visit the daughters of men,\" replied the centurion, \"they\nhave always made choice of strange disguises. Why should not a perfumed\nAlexandrian gentleman transform himself for once into one of those rough\nfools on the mountain? However, even old Homer sometimes nodded--and I\nconfess that I was in error with regard to your son. I meant no offence,\nsenator! You have lived here longer than I; who can have made me a\npresent of this skin, which still seems to be pretty new--horns and all.\"\n\nPetrus examined and felt the skin, \"This is an anchorite's garment,\" he\nsaid; \"the penitents on the mountain are all accustomed to wear such.\"\n\n\"It is one of those rascals then that has found his way into my house!\"\nexclaimed the centurion. \"I bear Caesar's commission, and I am to\nexterminate ill vagabonds that trouble the dwellers in the oasis, or\ntravellers in the desert. Thus run the orders which I brought with me\nfrom Rome. I will drive the low fellows together like deer for hunting,\nfor they are all rogues and villains, and I shall know how to torture\nthem until I find the right one.\"\n\n\"The emperor will ill-requite you for that,\" replied Petrus. \"They are\npious Christians, and you know that Constantine himself--\"\n\n\"Constantine!\" exclaimed the centurion scornfully. \"Perhaps he will let\nhimself be baptized, for water can hurt no one, and he cannot, like the\ngreat Diocletian, exterminate the masses who run after the crucified\nmiracle-monger, without depopulating the country. Look at these coins;\nhere is the image of Caesar, and what is this on the other side? Is this\nyour Nazarene, or is it the old god, the immortal and invincible sun? And\nis that man one of your creed, who in Constantinople adores Tyche and the\nDioscuri Castor and Pollux? The water he is baptized with to-day he will\nwipe away to-morrow, and the old gods will be his defenders, if in more\npeaceful times he maintains them against your superstitions.\"\n\n\"But it will be a good while till then,\" said Perrus coolly. \"For the\npresent, at least, Constantine is the protector of the Christians. I\nadvise you to put your affair into the hands of Bishop Agapitus.\"\n\n\"That he may serve me up a dish of your doctrine, which is bad even for\nwomen,\" said the centurion laughing; \"and that I may kiss my enemies'\nfeet? They are a vile rabble up there, I repeat it, and they shall be\ntreated as such till I have found my man. I shall begin the hunt this\nvery day.\"\n\n\"And this very day you may end it, for the sheepskin is mine.\"\n\nIt was Paulus who spoke these words in a loud and decided tone; all eyes\nwere at once turned on him and on the centurion.\n\nPetrus and the slaves had frequently seen the anchorite, but never\nwithout a sheepskin similar to that which Phoebicius held in his hand.\nThe anchorite's self-accusation must have appeared incredible, and indeed\nscarcely possible, to all who knew Paulus and Sirona; and nevertheless no\none, not even the senator, doubted it for an instant. Dame Dorothea only\nshook her head incredulously, and though she could find no explanation\nfor the occurrence, she still could not but say to herself, that this man\ndid not look like a lover, and that Sirona would hardly have forgotten\nher duty for his sake. She could not indeed bring herself to believe in\nSirona's guilt at all, for she was heartily well disposed towards her;\nbesides--though it, no doubt, was not right--her motherly vanity inclined\nher to believe that if the handsome young woman had indeed sinned, she\nwould have preferred her fine tall Polykarp--whose roses and flaming\nglances she blamed in all sincerity--to this shaggy, wild-looking\ngraybeard.\n\nQuite otherwise thought the centurion. He was quite ready to believe in\nthe anchorite's confession, for the more unworthy the man for whom Sirona\nhad broken faith, the greater seemed her guilt, and the more unpardonable\nher levity; and to his man's vanity it seemed to him easier--particularly\nin the presence of such witnesses as Petrus and Dorothea--to bear the\nfact that his wife should have sought variety and pleasure at any cost,\neven at that of devoting herself to a ragged beggar, than that she should\nhave given her affections to a younger, handsomer, and worthier man than\nhimself. He had sinned much against her, but all that lay like feathers\non his side of the scales, while that which she had done weighed down\nhers like a load of lead. He began to feel like a man who, in wading\nthrough a bog, has gained firm ground with one foot, and all these\nfeelings gave him energy to walk up to the anchorite with a self-control,\nof which he was not generally master, excepting when on duty at the head\nof his soldiers.\n\nHe approached the Alexandrian with an assumption of dignity and a\ndemeanor which testified to his formerly having taken part in the\nrepresentations of tragedies in the theatres of great cities. Paulus, on\nhis part, did not retreat by a single step, but looked at him with a\nsmile that alarmed Petrus and the rest of the bystanders. The law put the\nanchorite absolutely into the power of the outraged husband, but\nPhoebicius did not seem disposed to avail himself of his rights, and\nnothing but contempt and loathing were perceptible in his tone, as he\nsaid:\n\n\"A man who takes hold of a mangy dog in order to punish him, only dirties\nhis hand. The woman who betrayed me for your sake, and you--you dirty\nbeggar--are worthy of each other. I could crush you like a fly that can\nbe destroyed by a blow of my hand if I chose, but my sword is Caesar's,\nand shall never be soiled by such foul blood as yours; however, the beast\nshall not have cast off his skin for nothing, it is thick, and so you\nhave only spared me the trouble of tearing it off you before giving you\nyour due. You shall find no lack of blows. Confess where your sweetheart\nhas fled to and they shall be few, but if you are slow to answer they\nwill be many. Lend me that thing there, fellow!\"\n\nWith these words he took a whip of hippopotamus hide out of a\ncamel-driver's band, went close up to the Alexandrian, and asked: \"Where\nis Sirona?\"\n\n\"Nay, you may beat me,\" said Paulus. \"However hard your whip may fall on\nme, it cannot be heavy enough for my sins; but as to where your wife is\nhiding, that I really cannot tell you--not even if you were to tear my\nlimbs with pincers instead of stroking me with that wretched thing.\"\n\nThere was something so genuinely honest in Paulus' voice and tone, that\nthe centurion was inclined to believe him; but it was not his way to let\na threatened punishment fail of execution, and this strange beggar should\nlearn by experience that when his hand intended to hit hard, it was far\nfrom \"stroking.\" And Paulus did experience it, without uttering a cry,\nand without stirring from the spot where he stood.\n\nWhen at last Phoebicius dropped his weary arm and breathlessly repeated\nhis question, the ill-used man replied, \"I told you before I do not know,\nand therefore I cannot reveal it.\"\n\nUp to this moment Petrus, though he had felt strongly impelled to rush to\nthe rescue of his severely handled fellow-believer, had nevertheless\nallowed the injured husband to have his way, for he seemed disposed to\nact with unusual mildness, and the Alexandrian to be worthy of all\npunishment; but at this point Dorothea's request would not have been\nneeded to prompt him to interfere.\n\nHe went up to the centurion, and said to him in an undertone, \"You have\ngiven the evil-doer his due, and if you desire that he should undergo a\nseverer punishment than you can inflict, carry the matter--I say once\nmore--before the bishop. You will gain nothing more here. Take my word\nfor it, I know the man and his fellow-men; he actually knows nothing of\nwhere your wife is hiding, and you are only wasting the time and strength\nwhich you would do better to save, in order to search for Sirona. I fancy\nshe will have tried to reach the sea, and to get to Egypt or possibly to\nAlexandria; and there--you know what the Greek city is--she will fall\ninto utter ruin.\"\n\n\"And so,\" laughed the Gaul, \"find what she seeks--variety, and every kind\nof pleasure. For a young thing like that, who loves amusement, there is\nno pleasant occupation but vice. But I will spoil her game; you are\nright, it is not well to give her too long a start. If she has found the\nroad to the sea, she may already--Hey, here Talib!\" He beckoned to\nPolykarp's Amalekite messenger. \"You have just come from Raithu; did you\nmeet a flying woman on the way, with yellow hair and a white face?\"\n\nThe Amalekite, a free man with sharp eyes, who was highly esteemed in the\nsenator's house, and even by Phoebicius himself, as a trustworthy and\nsteady man, had expected this question, and eagerly replied:\n\n\"At two stadia beyond el Heswe I met a large caravan from Petra, which\nrested yesterday in the oasis here; a woman, such as you describe, was\nrunning with it. When I heard what had happened here I wanted to speak,\nbut who listens to a cricket while it thunders?\"\n\n\"Had she a lame greyhound with her?\" asked Phoebicius, full of\nexpectation.\n\n\"She carried something in her arms,\" answered the Amalekite. \"In the\nmoonlight I took it for a baby. My brother, who was escorting the\ncaravan, told me the lady was no doubt running away, for she had paid the\ncharge for the escort not in ready money, but with a gold signet-ring.\"\n\nThe Gaul remembered a certain gold ring with a finely carved onyx, which\nlong years ago he had taken from Glycera's finger, for she had another\none like it, and which he had given to Sirona on the day of their\nmarriage.\n\n\"It is strange!\" thought he, \"what we give to women to bind them to us\nthey use as weapons to turn against us, be it to please some other man,\nor to smooth the path by which they escape from us. It was with a\nbracelet of Glycera's that I paid the captain of the ship that brought us\nto Alexandria; but the soft-hearted fool, whose dove flew after me, and I\nare men of a different stamp; I will follow my flown bird, and catch it\nagain.\" He spoke the last words aloud, and then desired one of the\nsenator's slaves to give his mule a good feed and drink, for his own\ngroom, and the superior decurion who during his absence must take his\nplace, were also worshippers of Mithras, and had not yet returned from\nthe mountain.\n\nPhoebicius did not doubt that the woman who had joined the caravan--which\nhe himself had seen yesterday--was his fugitive wife, and he knew that\nhis delay might have reduced his earnest wish to overtake her and punish\nher to the remotest probability; but he was a Roman soldier, and would\nrather have laid violent hands on himself than have left his post without\na deputy. When at last his fellow-worshippers came from their sacrifice\nand worship of the rising sun, his preparations for his long journey were\ncompleted.\n\nPhoebicius carefully impressed on the decurion all he had to do during\nhis absence, and how he was to conduct himself; then he delivered the key\nof his house into Petrus' keeping as well as the black slave-woman, who\nwept loudly and passionately over the flight of her mistress; he\nrequested the senator to bring the anchorite's misdeed to the knowledge\nof the bishop, and then, guided by the Amalekite Talib, who rode before\nhim on his dromedary, he trotted hastily away in pursuit of the caravan,\nso as to reach the sea, if possible, before its embarkation.\n\nAs the hoofs of the mule sounded fainter and fainter in the distance,\nPaulus also quitted the senator's courtyard; Dorothea pointed after him\nas he walked towards the mountain. \"In truth, husband,\" said she, \"this\nhas been a strange morning; everything that has occurred looks as clear\nas day, and yet I cannot understand it all. My heart aches when I think\nwhat may happen to the wretched Sirona if her enraged husband overtakes\nher. It seems to me that there are two sorts of marriage; one was\ninstituted by the most loving of the angels, nay, by the All-merciful\nHimself, but the other it is not to be thought of! How can those two live\ntogether for the future? And that under our roof! Their closed house\nlooks to me as though ruined and burnt-out, and we have already seen the\nnettles spring up which grow everywhere among the ruins of human\ndwellings.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nThe path of every star is fixed and limited, every plant bears flowers\nand fruit which in form and color exactly resemble their kind, and in all\nthe fundamental characteristics of their qualities and dispositions, of\ntheir instinctive bent and external impulse, all animals of the same\nspecies resemble each other; thus, the hunter who knows the red-deer in\nhis father's forest, may know in every forest on earth how the stag will\nbehave in any given case. The better a genus is fitted for variability in\nthe conformation of its individuals, the higher is the rank it is\nentitled to hold in the graduated series of creatures capable of\ndevelopment; and it is precisely that wonderful many-sidedness of his\ninner life, and of its outward manifestation, which assigns to man his\nsuperiority over all other animated beings.\n\nSome few of our qualities and activities can be fitly symbolized in\nallegorical fashion by animals; thus, courage finds an emblem in the\nlion, gentleness in the dove, but the perfect human form has satisfied a\nthousand generations, and will satisfy a thousand more, when we desire to\nreduce the divinity to a sensible image, for, in truth, our heart is as\nsurely capable of comprehending \"God in us,\"--that is in our feelings--as\nour intellect is capable of comprehending His outward manifestation in\nthe universe.\n\nEvery characteristic of every finite being is to be found again in man,\nand no characteristic that we can attribute to the Most High is foreign\nto our own soul, which, in like manner, is infinite and immeasurable, for\nit can extend its investigating feelers to the very utmost boundary of\nspace and time. Hence, the roads which are open to the soul, are\nnumberless as those of the divinity. Often they seem strange, but the\ninitiated very well know that these roads are in accordance to fixed\nlaws, and that even the most exceptional emotions of the soul may be\ntraced back to causes which were capable of giving rise to them and to no\nothers.\n\nBlows hurt, disgrace is a burden, and unjust punishment embitters the\nheart, but Paulus' soul had sought and found a way to which these simple\npropositions did not apply.\n\nHe had been ill-used and contemned, and, though perfectly innocent, ere\nhe left the oasis he was condemned to the severest penance. As soon as\nthe bishop had heard from Petrus of all that had happened in his house,\nhe had sent for Paulus, and as he could answer nothing to the accusation,\nhe had expelled him from his flock--to which the anchorites\nbelonged--forbidden him to visit the church on week-days, and declared\nthat this his sentence should be publicly proclaimed before the assembled\ncongregation of the believers.\n\nAnd how did this affect Paulus as he climbed the mountain, lonely and\nproscribed?\n\nA fisherman from the little seaport of Pharan, who met him half-way and\nexchanged a greeting with him, thought to himself as he looked after him,\n\"The great graybeard looks as happy as if he had found a treasure.\" Then\nhe walked on into the valley with his scaly wares, reminded, as he went,\nof his son's expression of face when his wife bore him his first little\none.\n\nNear the watch-tower at the edge of the defile, a party of anchorites\nwere piling some stones together. They had already heard of the bishop's\nsentence on Paulus, the sinner, and they gave him no greeting. He\nobserved it and was silent, but when they could no longer see him he\nlaughed to himself and muttered, while he rubbed a weal that the\ncenturion's whip had left upon his back, \"If they think that a Gaul's\ncudgel has a pleasant flavor they are mistaken, however I would not\nexchange it for a skin of Anthyllan wine; and if they could only know\nthat at least one of the stripes which torments me is due to each one of\nthemselves, they would be surprised! But away with pride! How they spat\non Thee, Jesus my Lord, and who am I, and how mildly have they dealt with\nme, when I for once have taken on my back another's stripes. Not a drop\nof blood was drawn! I wish the old man had hit harder!\"\n\nHe walked cheerfully forward, and his mind recurred to the centurion's\nspeech that he could if he list, \"tread him down like a worm,\" and he\nlaughed again softly, for he was quite aware that he was ten times as\nstrong as Phoebicius, and formerly he had overthrown the braggart\nArkesilaos of Kyrene and his cousin, the tall Xenophanes, both at once in\nthe sand of the Palaestra. Then he thought of Hermas, of his sweet dead\nmother, and of his father, and--which was the most comforting thought of\nall--of how he had spared the old man this bitter sorrow.\n\nOn his path there grew a little plant with a reddish blossom. In years he\nhad never looked at a flower or, at any rate, had never wished to possess\none; to-day he stooped down over the blossom that graced the rock,\nmeaning to pluck it. But he did not carry out his intention, for before\nhe had laid his hand upon it, he reflected:\n\n\"To whom could I offer it? And perhaps the flowers themselves rejoice in\nthe light, and in the silent life that is in their roots. How tightly it\nclings to the rock. Farther away from the road flowers of even greater\nbeauty blow, seen by no mortal eye; they deck themselves in beauty for no\none but for their Creator, and because they rejoice in themselves. I too\nwill withdraw from the highways of mankind; let them accuse me! So long\nas I live at peace with myself and my God I ask nothing of any one. He\nthat abases himself--aye, he that abases himself!--My hour too shall\ncome, and above and beyond this life I shall see them all once more;\nPetrus and Dorothea, Agapitus and the brethren who now refuse to receive\nme, and then, when my Saviour himself beckons me to Him, they will see me\nas I am, and hasten to me and greet me with double kindness.\"\n\nHe looked up, proud and rejoicing as he thought thus, and painted to\nhimself the joys of Paradise, to which this day he had earned an assured\nclaim. He never took longer and swifter steps than when his mind was\noccupied with such meditations, and when he reached Stephanus' cave he\nthought the way from the oasis to the heights had been shorter than\nusual.\n\nHe found the sick man in great anxiety, for he had waited until now for\nhis son in vain, and feared that Hermas had met with some accident--or\nhad abandoned him, and fled out into the world. Paulus soothed him with\ngentle words, and told him of the errand on which he had sent the lad to\nthe farther coast of the sea.\n\nWe are never better disposed to be satisfied with even bad news than when\nwe have expected it to be much worse; so Stephanus listened to his\nfriend's explanation quite calmly, and with signs of approval. He could\nno longer conceal from himself that Hermas was not ripe for the life of\nan anchorite, and since he had learned that his unhappy wife--whom he had\nso long given up for lost--had died a Christian, he found that he could\nreconcile his thoughts to relinquishing the boy to the world. He had\ndevoted himself and his son to a life of penance, hoping and striving\nthat so Glycera's soul might be snatched from damnation, and now he knew\nthat she herself had earned her title to Heaven.\n\n\"When will he come home again?\" he asked Paulus.\n\n\"In five or six days,\" was the answer. \"Ali, the fisherman--out of whose\nfoot I took a thorn some time since--informed me secretly, as I was going\nto church yesterday, that the Blemmyes are gathering behind the\nsulphur-mountains; when they have withdrawn, it will be high time to send\nHermas to Alexandria. My brother is still alive, and for my sake he will\nreceive him as a blood-relation, for he too has been baptized.\"\n\n\"He may attend the school of catechumens in the metropolis, and if he--if\nhe--\"\n\n\"That we shall see,\" interrupted Paulus. \"For the present it comes to\nthis, we must let him go from hence, and leave him to seek out his own\nway. You fancy that there may be in heaven a place of glory for such as\nhave never been overcome, and you would fain have seen Hermas among them.\nIt reminds me of the physician of Corinth, who boasted that he was\ncleverer than any of his colleagues, for that not one of his patients had\never died. And the man was right, for neither man nor beast had ever\ntrusted to his healing arts. Let Hermas try his young strength, and even\nif he be no priest, but a valiant warrior like his forefathers, even so\nhe may honestly serve God. But it will be a long time before all this\ncomes to pass. So long as he is away I will attend on you--you still have\nsome water in your jar?\"\n\n\"It has twice been filled for me,\" said the old man. \"The brown\nshepherdess, who so often waters her goats at our spring, came to me the\nfirst thing in the morning and again about two hours ago; she asked after\nHermas, and then offered of her own accord to fetch water for me so long\nas he was away. She is as timid as a bird, and flew off as soon as she\nhad set down the jug.\"\n\n\"She belongs to Petrus and cannot leave her goats for long,\" said Paulus.\n\"Now I will go and find you some herbs for a relish; there will be no\nmore wine in the first place. Look me in the face--for how great a sinner\nnow do you take me? Think the very worst of me, and yet perhaps you will\nhear worse said of me. But here come two men. Stay! one is Hilarion, one\nof the bishop's acolytes, and the other is Pachomius the Memphite, who\nlately came to the mountain. They are coming up here, and the Egyptian is\ncarrying a small jar. I would it might hold some more wine to keep up\nyour strength.\"\n\nThe two friends had not long to remain in ignorance of their visitor's\npurpose. So soon as they reached Stephanus' cave, both turned their backs\non Paulus with conspicuously marked intention; nay the acolyte signed his\nbrow with the cross, as if he thought it necessary to protect himself\nagainst evil influences.\n\nThe Alexandrian understood; he drew back and was silent, while Hilarion\nexplained to the sick man that Paulus was guilty of grave sins, and that,\nuntil he had done full penance, he must remain excluded as a rotten sheep\nfrom the bishop's flock, as well as interdicted from waiting on a pious\nChristian.\n\n\"We know from Petrus,\" the speaker went on, \"that your son, father, has\nbeen sent across the sea, and as you still need waiting on, Agapitus\nsends you by me his blessing and this strengthening wine; this youth too\nwill stay by you, and provide you with all necessaries until Hermas comes\nhome.\"\n\nWith these words he gave the wine-jar to the old man, who looked in\nastonishment from him to Paulus, who felt indeed cut to the heart when\nthe bishop's messenger turned to him for an instant, and with the cry,\n\"Get thee out from among us!\" disappeared. How many kindly ties, how many\nservices willingly rendered and affectionately accepted were swept away\nby these words--but Paulus obeyed at once. He went up to his sick friend,\ntheir eyes met and each could see that the eyes of the other were dimmed\nwith tears.\n\n\"Paulus!\" cried the old man, stretching out both his hands to his\ndeparting friend, whom he felt he could forgive whatever his guilt; but\nthe Alexandrian did not take them, but turned away, and, without looking\nback, hastily went up the mountain to a pathless spot, and then on\ntowards the valley--onwards and still onwards, till he was brought to a\npause by the steep declivity of the hollow way which led southwards from\nthe mountains into the oasis.\n\nThe sun stood high and it was burning hot. Streaming with sweat and\npanting for breath he leaned against the glowing porphyry wall behind\nhim, hid his face in his hands and strove to collect himself, to think,\nto pray--for a long time in vain; for instead of joy in the suffering\nwhich he had taken upon himself, the grief of isolation weighed upon his\nheart, and the lamentable cry of the old man had left a warning echo in\nhis soul, and roused doubts of the righteousness of a deed, by which even\nthe best and purest had been deceived, and led into injustice towards\nhim. His heart was breaking with anguish and grief, but when at last he\nreturned to the consciousness of his sufferings physical and mental, he\nbegan to recover his courage, and even smiled as he murmured to himself:\n\n\"It is well, it is well--the more I suffer the more surely shall I find\ngrace. And besides, if the old man had seen Hermas go through what I have\nexperienced it would undoubtedly have killed him. Certainly I wish it\ncould have been done without--without--aye, it is even so--without\ndeceit; even when I was a heathen I was truthful and held a lie, whether\nin myself or in another, in as deep horror as father Abraham held murder,\nand yet when the Lord required him, he led his son Isaac to the\nslaughter. And Moses when he beat the overseer--and Elias, and Deborah,\nand Judith. I have taken upon myself no less than they, but my lie will\nsurely be forgiven me, if it is not reckoned against them that they shed\nblood.\"\n\nThese and such reflections restored Paulus to equanimity and to\nsatisfaction with his conduct, and he began to consider, whether he\nshould return to his old cave and the neighborhood of Stephanus, or seek\nfor a new abode. He decided on the latter course; but first he must find\nfresh water and some sort of nourishment; for his mouth and tongue were\nquite parched.\n\nLower down in the valley sprang a brooklet of which he knew, and hard by\nit grew various herbs and roots, with which he had often allayed his\nhunger. He followed the declivity to its base, then turning to the left,\nhe crossed a small table land, which was easily accessible from the\ngorge, but which on the side of the oasis formed a perpendicular cliff\nmany fathoms deep. Between it and the main mass of the mountain rose\nnumerous single peaks, like a camp of granite tents, or a wildly tossing\nsea suddenly turned to stone; behind these blocks ran the streamlet,\nwhich he found after a short search.\n\nPerfectly refreshed, and with renewed resolve to bear the worst with\npatience, he returned to the plateau, and from the edge of the precipice\nhe gazed down into the desert gorge that stretched away far below his\nfeet, and in whose deepest and remotest hollow the palmgroves and\ntamarisk-thickets of the oasis showed as a sharply defined mass of green,\nlike a luxuriant wreath flung upon a bier. The whitewashed roofs of the\nlittle town of Pharan shone brightly among the branches and clumps of\nverdure, and above them all rose the new church, which he was now\nforbidden to enter. For a moment the thought was keenly painful that he\nwas excluded from the devotions of the community, from the Lord's supper\nand from congregational prayer, but then he asked, was not every block of\nstone on the mountain an altar--was not the blue sky above a thousand\ntimes wider, and more splendid than the mightiest dome raised by the hand\nof man, not even excepting the vaulted roof of the Serapeum at\nAlexandria, and he remembered the \"Amen\" of the stones, that had rung out\nafter the preaching of the blind man. By this time he had quite recovered\nhimself, and he went towards the cliff in order to find a cavern that he\nknew of, and that was empty--for its gray-headed inhabitant had died some\nweeks since. \"Verily,\" thought he, \"it seems to me that I am by no means\nweighed down by the burden of my disgrace, but, on the contrary, lifted\nup. Here at least I need not cast down my eyes, for I am alone with my\nGod, and in his presence I feel I need not be ashamed.\"\n\nThus meditating, he pressed on through a narrow space, which divided two\nhuge masses of porphyry, but suddenly he stood still, for he heard the\nbarking of a dog in his immediate neighborhood, and a few minutes after a\ngreyhound rushed towards him--now indignantly flying at him, and now\ntimidly retreating--while it carefully held up one leg, which was wrapped\nin a many-colored bandage.\n\nPaulus recollected the enquiry which Phoebicius lead addressed to the\nAmalekite as to a greyhound, and he immediately guessed that the Gaul's\nrunaway wife must be not far off. His heart beat more quickly, and\nalthough he did not immediately know how he should meet the disloyal\nwife, he felt himself impelled to go to seek her. Without delay he\nfollowed the way by which the dog had come, and soon caught sight of a\nlight garment, which vanished behind the nearest rock, and then behind a\nfarther, and yet a farther one.\n\nAt last he came up with the fleeing woman. She was standing at the very\nedge of a precipice, that rose high and sheer above the abyss--a strange\nand fearful sight; her long golden hair had got tangled, and waved over\nher bosom and shoulders, half plaited, half undone. Only one foot was\nfirm on the ground; the other-with its thin sandal all torn by the sharp\nstones--was stretched out over the abyss, ready for the next fatal step.\nAt the next instant she might disappear over the cliff, for though with\nher right hand she held on to a point of rock, Paulus could see that the\nboulder had no connection with the rock on which she stood, and rocked\ntoo and fro.\n\nShe hung over the edge of the chasm like a sleepwalker, or a possessed\ncreature pursued by demons, and at the same time her eyes glistened with\nsuch wild madness, and she drew her breath with such feverish rapidity\nthat Paulus, who had come close up to her, involuntarily drew back. He\nsaw that her lips moved, and though he could not understand what she\nsaid, he felt that her voiceless utterance was to warn him back.\n\nWhat should he do? If he hurried forward to save her by a hasty grip, and\nif this manoeuvre failed, she would fling herself irredeemably into the\nabyss: if he left her to herself, the stone to which she clung would get\nlooser and looser, and as soon as it fell she would certainly fall too.\nHe had once heard it said, that sleep-walkers always threw themselves\ndown when they heard their names spoken; this statement now recurred to\nhis mind, and he forbore from calling out to her.\n\nOnce more the unhappy woman waved him off; his very heart stopped\nbeating, for her movements were wild and vehement, and he could see that\nthe stone which she was holding on by shifted its place. He understood\nnothing of all the words which she tried to say--for her voice, which\nonly yesterday had been so sweet, to-day was inaudibly hoarse--except the\none name \"Phoebicius,\" and he felt no doubt that she clung to the stone\nover the abyss, so that, like the mountain-goat when it sees itself\nsurprised by the hunter, she might fling herself into the depth below\nrather than be taken by her pursuer. Paulus saw in her neither her guilt\nnor her beauty, but only a child of man trembling on the brink of a\nfearful danger whom he must save from death at any cost; and the thought\nthat he was at any rate not a spy sent in pursuit of her by her husband,\nsuggested to him the first words which he found courage to address to the\ndesperate woman. They were simple words enough, but they were spoken in a\ntone which fully expressed the childlike amiability of his warm heart,\nand the Alexandrian, who had been brought up in the most approved school\nof the city of orators, involuntarily uttered his words in the admirably\nrich and soft chest voice, which he so well knew how to use.\n\n\"Be thankful,\" said he, \"poor dear woman--I have found you in a fortunate\nhour. I am Paulus, Hermas' best friend, and I would willingly serve you\nin your sore need. No danger is now threatening you, for Phoebicius is\nseeking you on a wrong road; you may trust me. Look at me! I do not look\nas if I could betray a poor erring woman. But you are standing on a spot,\nwhere I would rather see my enemy than you; lay your hand confidently in\nmine--it is no longer white and slender, but it is strong and\nhonest--grant me this request and you will never rue it! See, place your\nfoot here, and take care how you leave go of the rock there. You know not\nhow suspiciously it shook its head over your strange confidence in it.\nTake care! there--your support has rolled over into the abyss! how it\ncrashes and splits. It has reached the bottom, smashed into a thousand\npieces, and I am thankful that you preferred to follow me rather than\nthat false support.\" While Paulus was speaking he had gone up to Sirona,\nas a girl whose bird has escaped from its cage, and who creeps up to it\nwith timid care in the hope of recapturing it; he offered her his hand,\nand as soon as he felt hers in his grasp, he had carefully rescued her\nfrom her fearful position, and had led her down to a secure footing on\nthe plateau. So long as she followed him unresistingly he led her on\ntowards the mountain--without aim or fixed destination--but away, away\nfrom the abyss.\n\nShe paused by a square block of diorite, and Paulus, who had not failed\nto observe how heavy her steps were, desired her to sit down; he pushed\nup a flag of stone, which he propped with smaller ones, so that Sirona\nmight not lack a support for her weary back. When he had accomplished\nthis, Sirona leaned back against the stone, and something of dawning\nsatisfaction was audible in the soft sigh, which was the first sound that\nhad escaped her tightly closed lips since her rescue. Paulus smiled at\nher encouragingly, and said, \"Now rest a little, I see what you want; one\ncannot defy the heat of the sun for a whole day with impunity.\"\n\nSirona nodded, pointed to her mouth, and implored wearily and very softly\nfor \"water, a little water.\"  Paulus struck his hand against his\nforehead, and cried eagerly, \"Directly--I will bring you a fresh draught.\nIn a few minutes I will be back again.\"\n\nSirona looked after him as he hastened away. Her gaze became more and\nmore staring and glazed, and she felt as if the rock, on which she was\nsitting, were changing into the ship which had brought her from Massilia\nto Ostia. Every heaving motion of the vessel, which had made her so giddy\nas it danced over the shifting waves, she now distinctly felt again, and\nat last it seemed as if a whirlpool had seized the ship, and was whirling\nit round faster and faster in a circle. She closed her eyes, felt vaguely\nand in vain in the air for some holdfast, her head fell powerless on one\nside, and before her cheek sank upon her shoulder she uttered one feeble\ncry of distress, for she felt as if all her limbs were dropping from her\nbody, as leaves in autumn fall from the boughs, and she fell back\nunconscious on the stony couch which Paulus had constructed for her.\n\nIt was the first swoon that Sirona, with her sound physical and mental\npowers, had ever experienced; but the strongest of her sex would have\nbeen overcome by the excitement, the efforts, the privations, and the\nsufferings which had that day befallen the unfortunate fair one.\n\nAt first she had fled without any plan out into the night and up the\nmountain; the moon lighted her on her way, and for fully an hour she\ncontinued her upward road without any rest. Then she heard the voices of\ntravellers who were coming towards her, and she left the beaten road and\ntried to get away from them, for she feared that her greyhound, which she\nstill carried' on her arm, would betray her by barking, or if they heard\nit whining, and saw it limp. At last she had sunk down on a stone, and\nhad reflected on all the events of the last few hours, and on what she\nhad to do next. She could look back dreamily on the past, and build\ncastles in the air in a blue-skyed future-this was easy enough; but she\ndid not find it easy to reflect with due deliberation, and to think in\nearnest. Only one thing was perfectly clear to her: she would rather\nstarve and die of thirst, and shame, and misery-nay, she would rather be\nthe instrument of her own death, than return to her husband. She knew\nthat she must in the first instance expect ill-usage, scorn, and\nimprisonment in a dark room at the Gaul's hands; but all that seemed to\nher far more endurable than the tenderness with which he from time to\ntime approached her. When she thought of that, she shuddered and clenched\nher white teeth, and doubled her fists so tightly that her nails cut the\nflesh. But what was she to do? If Hermas were to meet her? And yet what\nhelp could she look for from him, for what was he but a mere lad, and the\nthought of linking her life to his, if only for a day, appeared to her\nfoolish and ridiculous.\n\nCertainly she felt no inclination to repent or to blame herself; still it\nhad been a great folly on her part to call him into the house for the\nsake of amusing herself with him.\n\nThen she recollected the severe punishment she had once suffered,\nbecause, when she was still quite little, and without meaning any harm,\nshe had taken her father's water-clock to pieces, and had spoiled it.\n\nShe felt that she was very superior to Hermas, and her position was now\ntoo grave a one for her to feel inclined to play any more. She thought\nindeed of Petrus and Dorothea, but she could only reach them by going\nback to the oasis, and then she feared to be discovered by Phoebicius.\n\nIf Polykarp now could only meet her on his way back from Raithu; but the\nroad she had just quitted did not lead from thence, but to the gate-way\nthat lay more to the southwards.\n\nThe senator's son loved her--of that she was sure, for no one else had\never looked into her eyes with such deep delight, or such tender\naffection; and he was no inexperienced boy, but a right earnest man,\nwhose busy and useful life now appeared to her in a quite different light\nto that in which she had seen it formerly. How willingly now would she\nhave allowed herself to be supported and guided by Polykarp! But how\ncould she reach him? No--even from him there was nothing to be expected;\nshe must rely upon her own strength, and she decided that so soon as the\nmorning should blush, and the sun begin to mount in the cloudless sky,\nshe would keep herself concealed during the day, among the mountains, and\nthen as evening came on, she would go down to the sea, and endeavor to\nget on board a vessel to Klysma and thence reach Alexandria. She wore a\nring with a finely cut onyx on her finger, elegant ear-rings in her ears,\nand on her left arm a bracelet. These jewels were of virgin gold, and\nbesides these she had with her a few silver coins and one large gold\npiece, that her father had given her as token out of his small store,\nwhen she had quitted him for Rome, and that she had hitherto preserved as\ncarefully as if it were a talisman.\n\nShe pressed the token, which was sewn into a little bag, to her lips, and\nthought of her paternal home, and her brothers and sisters.\n\nMeanwhile the sun mounted higher and higher: she wandered from rock to\nrock in search of a shady spot and a spring of water, but none was to be\nfound, and she was tormented with violent thirst and aching hunger. By\nmid-day the strips of shade too had vanished, where she had found shelter\nfrom the rays of the sun, which now beat down unmercifully on her un\nprotected head. Her forehead and neck began to tingle violently, and she\nfled before the burning beams like a soldier before the shafts of his\npursuer. Behind the rocks which hemmed in the plateau on which Paulus met\nher, at last, when she was quite exhausted, she found a shady\nresting-place. The greyhound lay panting in her lap, and held up its\nbroken paw, which she had carefully bound up in the morning when she had\nfirst sat down to rest, with a strip of stuff that she had torn with the\nhelp of her teeth from her under-garment. She now bound it up afresh, and\nnursed the little creature, caressing it like an infant. The dog was as\nwretched and suffering as herself, and besides it was the only being\nthat, in spite of her helplessness, she could cherish and be dear to. But\nere long she lost the power even to speak caressing words or to stir a\nhand to stroke the dog. It slipped off her lap and limped away, while she\nsat staring blankly before her, and at last forgot her sufferings in an\nuneasy slumber, till she was roused by Iambe's barking and the\nAlexandrian's footstep. Almost half-dead, her mouth parched and brain on\nfire, while her thoughts whirled in confusion, she believed that\nPhoebicius had found her track, and was come to seize her. She had\nalready noted the deep precipice to the edge of which she now fled, fully\nresolved to fling herself over into the depths below, rather than to\nsurrender herself prisoner.\n\nPaulus had rescued her from the fall, but now--as he came up to her with\ntwo pieces of stone which were slightly hollowed, so that he had been\nable to bring some fresh water in them, and which he held level with\ngreat difficulty, walking with the greatest care--he thought that\ninexorable death had only too soon returned to claim the victim he had\nsnatched from him, for Sirona's head hung down upon her breast, her face\nwas sunk towards her lap, and at the back of her head, where her abundant\nhair parted into two flowing tresses, Paulus observed on the snowy neck\nof the insensible woman a red spot which the sun must have burnt there.\n\nHis whole soul was full of compassion for the young, fair, and unhappy\ncreature, and, while he took hold of her chin, which had sunk on her\nbosom, lifted her white face, and moistened her forehead and lips with\nwater, he softly prayed for her salvation.\n\nThe shallow cavity of the stones only offered room for a very small\nquantity of the refreshing moisture, and so he was obliged to return\nseveral times to the spring. While he was away the dog remained by his\nmistress, and would now lick her hand, now put his sharp little nose\nclose up to her mouth, and examine her with an anxious expression, as if\nto ascertain her state of health.\n\nWhen Paulus had gone the first time to fetch some water for Sirona he had\nfound the dog by the side of the spring, and he could not help thinking,\n\"The unreasoning brute has found the water without a guide while his\nmistress is dying of thirst. Which is the wiser--the man or the brute?\"\nThe little dog on his part strove to merit the anchorite's good feelings\ntowards him, for, though at first he had barked at him, he now was very\nfriendly to him, and looked him in the face from time to time as though\nto ask, \"Do you think she will recover?\"\n\nPaulus was fond of animals, and understood the little dog's language.\nWhen Sirona's lips began to move and to recover their rosy color, he\nstroked Iambe's smooth sharp head, and said, as he held a leaf that he\nhad curled up to hold some water to Sirona's lips, \"Look, little fellow,\nhow she begins to enjoy it! A little more of this, and again a little\nmore. She smacks her lips as if I were giving her sweet Falernian. I will\ngo and fill the stone again; you stop here with her, I shall be back\nagain directly, but before I return she will have opened her eyes; you\nare pleasanter to look upon than a shaggy old graybeard, and she will be\nbetter pleased to see you than me when she awakes.\" Paulus' prognosis was\njustified, for when he returned to Sirona with a fresh supply of water\nshe was sitting upright; she rubbed her open eyes, stretched her limbs,\nclasped the greyhound in both arms, and burst into a violent flood of\ntears.\n\nThe Alexandrian stood aside motionless, so as not to disturb her,\nthinking to himself:\n\n\"These tears will wash away a large part of her suffering from her soul.\"\n\nWhen at last she was calmer, and began to dry her eyes, he went up to\nher, offered her the stone cup of water, and spoke to her kindly. She\ndrank with eager satisfaction, and ate the last bit of bread that he\ncould find in the pocket of his garment, soaking it in the water. She\nthanked him with the childlike sweetness that was peculiar to her, and\nthen tried to rise, and willingly allowed him to support her. She was\nstill very weary, and her head ached, but she could stand and walk.\n\nAs soon as Paulus had satisfied himself that she had no symptoms Of\nfever, he said, \"Now, for to-day, you want nothing more but a warm mess\nof food, and a bed sheltered from the night-chill; I will provide both.\nYou sit down here; the rocks are already throwing long shadows, and\nbefore the sun disappears behind the mountain I will return. While I am\naway, your four-footed companion here will while away the time.\"\n\nHe hastened down to the spring with quick steps; close to it was the\nabandoned cave which he had counted on inhabiting instead of his former\ndwelling. He found it after a short search, and in it, to his great joy,\na well preserved bed of dried plants, which he soon shook up and relaid,\na hearth, and wood proper for producing fire by friction, a water-jar,\nand in a cellar-like hole, whose opening was covered with stones and so\nconcealed from any but a practised eye, there were some cakes of hard\nbread, and several pots. In one of these were some good dates, in another\ngleamed some white meal, a third was half full of sesame-oil, and a\nfourth held some salt.\n\n\"How lucky it is,\" muttered the anchorite, as he quitted the cave, \"that\nthe old anchorite was such a glutton.\"\n\nBy the time he returned to Sirona, the sun was going down.\n\nThere was something in the nature and demeanor of Paulus, which made all\ndistrust of him impossible, and Sirona was ready to follow him, but she\nfelt so weak that she could scarcely support herself on her feet.\n\n\"I feel,\" she said, \"as if I were a little child, and must begin again to\nlearn to walk.\"\n\n\"Then let me be your nurse. I knew a Spartan dame once, who had a beard\nalmost as rough as mine. Lean confidently on me, and before we go down\nthe slope, we will go up and down the level here two or three times.\" She\ntook his arm, and he led her slowly up and down.\n\nIt vividly recalled a picture of the days of his youth, and he remembered\na day when his sister, who was recovering from a severe attack of fever,\nwas first allowed to go out into the open air. She had gone out, clinging\nto his arm into the peristyle of his father's house; as he walked\nbackward and forwards with poor, weary, abandoned Sirona, his neglected\nfigure seemed by degrees to assume the noble aspect of a high-born Greek;\nand instead of the rough, rocky soil, he felt as if he were treading the\nbeautiful mosaic pavement of his father's court. Paulus was Menander\nagain, and if there was little in the presence of the recluse, which\ncould recall his identity with the old man he had trodden down, the\ndespised anchorite felt, while the expelled and sinful woman leaned on\nhis arm, the same proud sense of succoring a woman, as when he was the\nmost distinguished youth of a metropolis, and when he had led forward the\nmaster's much courted daughter in the midst of a shouting troop of\nslaves.\n\nSirona had to remind Paulus that night was coming on, and was startled,\nwhen the hermit removed her hand from his arm with ungentle haste, and\ncalled to her to follow him with a roughness that was quite new to him.\nShe obeyed, and wherever it was necessary to climb over the rocks, he\nsupported and lifted her, but he only spoke when she addressed him.\n\nWhen they had reached their destination, he showed her the bed, and\nbegged her to keep awake, till he should have prepared a dish of warm\nfood for her, and he shortly brought her a simple supper, and wished her\na good night's rest, after she had taken it.\n\nSirona shared the bread and the salted meal-porridge with her dog, and\nthen lay down on the couch, where she sank at once into a deep, dreamless\nsleep, while Paulus passed the night sitting by the hearth.\n\nHe strove to banish sleep by constant prayer, but fatigue frequently\novercame him, and he could not help thinking of the Gaulish lady, and of\nthe many things, which if only he were still the rich Menander, he would\nprocure in Alexandria for her and for her comfort. Not one prayer could\nhe bring to its due conclusion, for either his eyes closed before he came\nto the \"Amen,\" or else worldly images crowded round him, and forced him\nto begin his devotions again from the beginning, when he had succeeded in\nrecollecting himself. In this half-somnolent state he obtained not one\nmoment of inward collectedness, of quiet reflection; not even when he\ngazed up at the starry heavens, or looked down on the oasis, veiled in\nnight, where many others like himself were deserted by sleep. Which of\nthe citizens could it be that was watching by that light which he saw\nglimmering down there in unwonted brightness?--till he himself,\noverpowered by fatigue, fell asleep.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Overlooks his own fault in his feeling of the judge's injustice\n\n\n\n\nHOMO SUM\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nThe light in the town, which had attracted Paulus, was in Petrus' house,\nand burnt in Polykarp's room, which formed the whole of a small\nupper-story, which the senator had constructed for his son over the\nnorthern portion of the spacious flat roof of the main building. The\nyoung man had arrived about noon with the slaves he had just procured,\nhad learned all that had happened in his absence, and had silently\nwithdrawn into his own room after supper was ended. Here he still\nlingered over his work.\n\nA bed, a table on and under which lay a multitude of wax-tablets,\npapyrus-rolls, metal-points, and writing-reeds, with a small bench, on\nwhich stood a water-jar and basin, composed the furniture of this room;\non its whitewashed walls hung several admirable carvings in relief, and\nfigures of men and animals stood near them in long rows. In one corner,\nnear a stone water-jar, lay a large, damp, shining mass of clay.\n\nThree lamps fastened to stands abundantly lighted this work-room, but\nchiefly a figure standing on a high trestle, which Polykarp's fingers\nwere industriously moulding.\n\nPhoebicius had called the young sculptor a fop, and not altogether\nunjustly, for he loved to be well dressed and was choice as to the cut\nand color of his simple garments, and he rarely neglected to arrange his\nabundant hair with care, and to anoint it well; and yet it was almost\nindifferent to him, whether his appearance pleased other people or no,\nbut he knew nothing nobler than the human form, and an instinct, which he\ndid not attempt to check, impelled him to keep his own person as nice as\nhe liked to see that of his neighbor.\n\nNow at this hour of the night, he wore only a shirt of white woollen\nstuff, with a deep red border. His locks, usually so well-kept, seemed to\nstand out from his head separately, and instead of smoothing and\nconfining them, he added to their wild disorder, for, as he worked, he\nfrequently passed his hand through them with a hasty movement. A bat,\nattracted by the bright light, flew in at the open window--which was\nscreened only at the bottom by a dark curtain--and fluttered round the\nceiling; but he did not observe it, for his work absorbed his whole soul\nand mind. In this eager and passionate occupation, in which every nerve\nand vein in his being seemed to bear a part, no cry for help would have\nstruck his ear--even a flame breaking out close to him would not have\ncaught his eye. His cheeks glowed, a fine dew of glistening sweat covered\nhis brow, and his very gaze seemed to become more and more firmly riveted\nto the sculpture as it took form under his hand. Now and again he stepped\nback from it, and leaned backwards from his hips, raising his hands to\nthe level of his temples, as if to narrow the field of vision; then he\nwent up to the model, and clutched the plastic mass of clay, as though it\nwere the flesh of his enemy.\n\nHe was now at work on the flowing hair of the figure before him, which\nhad already taken the outline of a female head, and he flung the bits of\nclay, which he removed from the back of it, to the ground, as violently\nas though he were casting them at an antagonist at his feet. Again his\nfinger-tips and modelling-tool were busy with the mouth, nose, cheeks,\nand eyes, and his own eyes took a softer expression, which gradually grew\nto be a gaze of ecstatic delight, as the features he was moulding began\nto agree more and more with the image, which at this time excluded every\nother from his imagination.\n\nAt last, with glowing cheeks, he had finished rounding the soft form of\nthe shoulders, and drew back once more to contemplate the effect of the\ncompleted work; a cold shiver seized him, and he felt himself impelled to\nlift it up, and dash it to the ground with all his force. But he soon\nmastered this stormy excitement, he pushed his hand through his hair\nagain and again, and posted himself, with a melancholy smile and with\nfolded hands, in front of his creation; sunk deeper and deeper in his\ncontemplation of it, he did not observe that the door behind him was\nopened, although the flame of his lamps flickered in the draught, and\nthat his mother had entered the work-room, and by no means endeavored to\napproach him unheard, or to surprise him. In her anxiety for her darling,\nwho had gone through so many bitter experiences during the past day, she\nhad not been able to sleep. Polykarp's room lay above her bedroom, and\nwhen his steps over head betrayed that, though it was now near morning,\nhe had not yet gone to rest, she had risen from her bed without waking\nPetrus, who seemed to be sleeping. She obeyed her motherly impulse to\nencourage Polykarp with some loving words, and climbing up the narrow\nstair that led to the roof, she went into his room. Surprised,\nirresolute, and speechless she stood for some time behind the young man,\nand looked at the strongly illuminated and beautiful features of the\nnewly-formed bust, which was only too like its well-known prototype. At\nlast she laid her hand on her son's shoulder, and spoke his name.\nPolykarp stepped back, and looked at his mother in bewilderment, like a\nman roused from sleep; but she interrupted the stammering speech with\nwhich he tried to greet her, by saying, gravely and not without severity,\nas she pointed to the statue, \"What does this mean?\"\n\n\"What should it mean, mother?\" answered Polykarp in a low tone, and\nshaking his head sadly. \"Ask me no more at present, for if you gave me no\nrest, and even if I tried to explain to you how to-day--this very day--I\nhave felt impelled and driven to make this woman's image, still you could\nnot understand me--no, nor any one else.\"\n\n\"God forbid that I should ever understand it!\" cried Dorothea. \"'Thou\nshalt not covet thy neighbor's wife,' was the commandment of the Lord on\nthis mountain. And you? You think I could not understand you? Who should\nunderstand you then, if not your mother? This I certainly do not\ncomprehend, that a son of Petrus and of mine should have thrown all the\nteaching and the example of his parents so utterly to the wind. But what\nyou are aiming at with this statue, it seems to me is not hard to guess.\nAs the forbidden-fruit hangs too high for you, you degrade your art, and\nmake to yourself an image that resembles her according to your taste.\nSimply and plainly it comes to this; as you can no longer see the Gaul's\nwife in her own person, and yet cannot exist without the sweet presence\nof the fair one, you make a portrait of clay to make love to, and you\nwill carry on idolatry before it, as once the Jews did before the golden\ncalf and the brazen serpent.\"\n\nPolykarp submitted to his mother's angry blame in silence, but in painful\nemotion. Dorothea had never before spoken to him thus, and to hear such\nwords from the very lips which were used to address him with such\nheart-felt tenderness, gave him unspeakable pain. Hitherto she had always\nbeen inclined to make excuses for his weaknesses and little faults, nay,\nthe zeal with which she had observed and pointed out his merits and\nperformances before strangers as well as before their own family, had\noften seemed to him embarrassing. And now? She had indeed reason to blame\nhim, for Sirona was the wife of another, she had never even noticed his\nadmiration, and now, they all said, had committed a crime for the sake of\na stranger. It must seem both a mad and a sinful thing in the eyes of men\nthat he of all others should sacrifice the best he had--his Art--and how\nlittle could Dorothea, who usually endeavored to understand him,\ncomprehend the overpowering impulse which had driven him to his task.\n\nHe loved and honored his mother with his whole heart, and feeling that\nshe was doing herself an injustice by her false and low estimate of his\nproceedings, he interrupted her eager discourse, raising his hands\nimploringly to her.\n\n\"No, mother, no!\" he exclaimed. \"As truly as God is my helper, it is not\nso. It is true that I have moulded this head, but not to keep it, and\ncommit the sin of worshipping it, but rather to free myself from the\nimage that stands before my mind's eye by day and by night, in the city\nand in the desert, whose beauty distracts my mind when I think, and my\ndevotions when I try to pray. To whom is it given to read the soul of\nman? And is not Sirona's form and face the loveliest image of the Most\nHigh? So to represent it, that the whole charm that her presence\nexercises over me might also be felt by every beholder, is a task that I\nhave set myself ever since her arrival in our house. I had to go back to\nthe capital, and the work I longed to achieve took a clearer form; at\nevery hour I discovered something to change and to improve in the pose of\nthe head, the glance of the eye or the expression of the mouth. But still\nI lacked courage to put the work in hand, for it seemed too audacious to\nattempt to give reality to the glorious image in my soul, by the aid of\ngray clay and pale cold marble; to reproduce it so that the perfect work\nshould delight the eye of sense, no less than the image enshrined in my\nbreast delights my inward eye. At the same time I was not idle, I gained\nthe prize for the model of the lions, and if I have succeeded with the\nGood Shepherd blessing the flock, which is for the sarcophagus of Comes,\nand if the master could praise the expression of devoted tenderness in\nthe look of the Redeemer, I know--nay, do not interrupt me, mother, for\nwhat I felt was a pure emotion and no sin--I know that it was because I\nwas myself so full of love, that I was enabled to inspire the very stone\nwith love. At last I had no peace, and even without my father's orders I\nmust have returned home; then I saw her again, and found her even more\nlovely than the image which reigned in my soul. I heard her voice, and\nher silvery bell-like laughter--and then--and then--. You know very well\nwhat I learned yesterday. The unworthy wife of an unworthy husband, the\nwoman Sirona, is gone from me for ever, and I was striving to drive her\nimage from my soul, to annihilate it and dissipate it--but in vain! and\nby degrees a wonderful stress of creative power came upon me. I hastily\nplaced the lamps, took the clay in my hand, and feature by feature I\nbrought forth with bitter joy the image that is deeply graven in my\nheart, believing that thus I might be released from the spell. There is\nthe fruit which was ripened in my heart, but there, where it so long has\ndwelt, I feel a dismal void, and if the husk which so long tenderly\nenfolded this image were to wither and fall asunder, I should not wonder\nat it.--To that thing there clings the best part of my life.\"\n\n\"Enough!\" exclaimed Dorothea, interrupting her son who stood before her\nin great agitation and with trembling lips. \"God forbid that that mask\nthere should destroy your life and soul. I suffer nothing impure within\nmy house, and you should not in your heart. That which is evil can never\nmore be fair, and however lovely the face there may look to you, it looks\nquite as repulsive to me when I reflect that it probably smiled still\nmore fascinatingly on some strolling beggar. If the Gaul brings her back\nI will turn her out of my house, and I will destroy her image with my own\nhands if you do not break it in pieces on the spot.\"\n\nDorothea's eyes were swimming in tears as she spoke these words. She had\nfelt with pride and emotion during her son's speech how noble and\nhigh-minded he was, and the idea that this rare and precious treasure\nshould be spoilt or perhaps altogether ruined for the sake of a lost\nwoman, drove her to desperation, and filled her motherly heart with\nindignation.\n\nFirmly resolved to carry out her threat she stepped towards the figure,\nbut Polykarp placed himself in her way, raising his arm imploringly to\ndefend it, and saying, \"Not to-day--not yet, mother! I will cover it up,\nand will not look at it again till to-morrow, but once--only once--I must\nsee it again by sunlight.\"\n\n\"So that to-morrow the old madness may revive in you!\" cried Dorothea.\n\"Move out of my way or take the hammer yourself.\"\n\n\"You order it, and you are my mother,\" said Polykarp.\n\nHe slowly went up to the chest in which his tools and instruments lay,\nand bitter tears ran down his cheeks, as he took his heaviest hammer in\nhis hand.\n\nWhen the sky has shown for many days in summer-blue, and then suddenly\nthe clouds gather for a storm, when the first silent but fearful flash\nwith it noisy but harmless associate the thunder-clap has terrified the\nworld, a second and third thunder-bolt immediately follow. Since the\nstormy night of yesterday had broken in on the peaceful, industrious, and\nmonotonous life by the senator's hearth, many things had happened that\nhad filled him and his wife with fresh anxiety.\n\nIn other houses it was nothing remarkable that a slave should run away,\nbut in the senator's it was more than twenty years since such a thing had\noccurred, and yesterday the goat-herd Miriam had disappeared. This was\nvexatious, but the silent sorrow of his son Polykarp was a greater\nanxiety to Petrus. It did not please him that the youth, who was usually\nso vehement, should submit unresistingly and almost indifferently to the\nBishop Agapitus, who prohibited his completing his lions. His son's sad\ngaze, his crushed and broken aspect were still in his mind when at last\nhe went to rest for the night; it was already late, but sleep avoided him\neven as it had avoided Dorothea. While the mother was thinking of her\nson's sinful love and the bleeding wound in his young and betrayed heart,\nthe father grieved for Polykarp's baffled hopes of exercising his art on\na great work and recalled the saddest, bitterest day of his own youth;\nfor he too had served his apprenticeship under a sculptor in Alexandria,\nhad looked up to the works of the heathen as noble models, and striven to\nform himself upon them. He had already been permitted by his master to\nexecute designs of his own, and out of the abundance of subjects which\noffered themselves, he had chosen to model an Ariadne, waiting and\nlonging for the return of Thescus, as a symbolic image of his own soul\nawaiting its salvation. How this work had filled his mind! how delightful\nhad the hours of labor seemed to him!--when, suddenly, his stern father\nhad come to the city, had seen his work before it was quite finished, and\ninstead of praising it had scorned it; had abused it as a heathen idol,\nand had commanded Petrus to return home with him immediately, and to\nremain there, for that his son should be a pious Christian, and a good\nstone-mason withal--not half a heathen, and a maker of false gods.\n\nPetrus had much loved his art, but he offered no resistance to his\nfather's orders; he followed him back to the oasis, there to superintend\nthe work of the slaves who hewed the stone, to measure granite-blocks for\nsarcophagi and pillars, and to direct the cutting of them. His father was\na man of steel, and he himself a lad of iron, and when he saw himself\ncompelled to yield to his father and to leave his master's workshop, to\nabandon his cherished and unfinished work and to become an artizan and\nmail of business, he swore never again to take a piece of clay in his\nhand, or to wield a chisel. And he kept his word even after his fathers\ndeath; but his creative instincts and love of art continued to live and\nwork in him, and were transmitted to his two sons.\n\nAntonius was a highly gifted artist, and if Polykarp's master was not\nmistaken, and if he himself were not misled by fatherly affection, his\nsecond son was on the high road to the very first rank in art--to a\nposition reached only by elect spirits.\n\nPetrus knew the models for the Good Shepherd and for the lions, and\ndeclared to himself that these last were unsurpassable in truth, power,\nand majesty. How eagerly must the young artist long to execute them in\nhard stone, and to see them placed in the honored, though indeed pagan,\nspot, which was intended for them. And now the bishop forbade him the\nwork, and the poor fellow might well be feeling just as he himself had\nfelt thirty years ago, when he had been commanded to abandon the immature\nfirst-fruits of his labor.\n\nWas the bishop indeed right? This and many other questions agitated the\nsleepless father, and as soon as he heard that his wife had risen from\nher bed to go to her son, whose footsteps he too could hear overhead, he\ngot up and followed her.\n\nHe found the door of the work-room open, and, himself unseen and unheard,\nhe was witness to his wife's vehement speech, and to the lad's\njustification, while Polykarp's work stood in the full light of the\nlamps, exactly in front of him.\n\nHis gaze was spell-bound to the mass of clay; he looked and looked, and\nwas not weary of looking, and his soul swelled with the same awe-struck\nsense of devout admiration that it had experienced, when for the first\ntime, in his early youth, he saw with his own eyes the works of the great\nold Athenian masters in the Caesareum.\n\nAnd this head was his son's work!\n\nHe stood there greatly overcome, his hands clasped together, holding his\nbreath till his mouth was dry, and swallowing his tears to keep them from\nfalling. At the same time he listened with anxious attention, so as not\nto lose one word of Polykarp's.\n\n\"Aye, thus and thus only are great works of art begotten,\" said he to\nhimself, \"and if the Lord had bestowed on me such gifts as on this lad,\nno father, nay, no god, should have compelled me to leave my Ariadne\nunfinished. The attitude of the body was not bad I should say--but the\nhead, the face--Aye, the man who can mould such a likeness as that has\nhis hand and eye guided by the holy spirits of art. He who has done that\nhead will be praised in the latter days together with the great Athenian\nmasters--and he-yes, he, merciful Heaven! he is my own beloved son!\"\n\nA blessed sense of rejoicing, such as he had not felt since his early\nyouth, filled his heart, and Dorothea's ardor seemed to him half pitiful\nand half amusing.\n\nIt was not till his duteous son took the hammer in his hand, that he\nstepped between his wife and the bust, saying kindly:\n\n\"There will be time enough to-morrow to destroy the work. Forget the\nmodel, my son, now that you have taken advantage of it so successfully. I\nknow of a better mistress for you--Art--to whom belongs everything of\nbeauty that the Most High has created--In Art in all its breadth and\nfulness, not fettered and narrowed by any Agapitus.\"\n\nPolykarp flung himself into his father's arms, and the stern man, hardly\nmaster of his emotions, kissed the boy's forehead, his eyes, and his\ncheeks.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nAt noon of the following day the senator went to the women's room, and\nwhile he was still on the threshold, he asked his wife--who was busy at\nthe loom:\n\n\"Where is Polykarp? I did not find him with Antonius, who is working at\nthe placing of the altar, and I thought I might find him here.\"\n\n\"After going to the church,\" said Dorothea, \"he went up the mountain. Go\ndown to the workshops, Marthana, and see if your brother has come back.\"\n\nHer daughter obeyed quickly and gladly, for her brother was to her the\ndearest, and seemed to her to be the best, of men. As soon as the pair\nwere alone together Petrus said, while he held out his hand to his wife\nwith genial affection, \"Well, mother--shake hands.\" Dorothea paused for\nan instant, looking him in the face, as if to ask him, \"Does your pride\nat last allow you to cease doing me an injustice?\" It was a reproach, but\nin truth not a severe one, or her lips would hardly have trembled so\ntenderly, as she said.\n\n\"You cannot be angry with me any longer, and it is well that all should\nonce more be as it ought.\"\n\nAll certainly had not been \"as it ought,\" for since the husband and wife\nhad met in Polykarp's work-room, they had behaved to each other as if\nthey were strangers. In their bedroom, on the way to church, and at\nbreakfast, they had spoken to each no more than was absolutely necessary,\nor than was requisite in order to conceal their difference from the\nservants and children. Up to this time, an understanding had always\nsubsisted between them that had never taken form in words, and yet that\nhad scarcely in a single case been infringed, that neither should ever\npraise one of their children for anything that the other thought\nblameworthy, and vice versa.\n\nBut in this night, her husband had followed up her severest condemnation\nby passionately embracing the wrong-doer. Never had she been so stern in\nany circumstances, while on the other hand her husband, so long as she\ncould remember, had never been so softhearted and tender to his son, and\nyet she had controlled herself so far, as not to contradict Petrus in\nPolykarp's presence, and to leave the work-room in silence with her\nhusband.\n\n\"When we are once alone together in the bedroom,\" thought she, \"I will\nrepresent to him his error as I ought, and he will have to answer for\nhimself.\"\n\nBut she did not carry out this purpose, for she felt that something must\nbe passing in her husband's mind that she did not understand; otherwise\nhow could his grave eyes shine so mildly and kindly, and his stern lips\nsmile so affectionately after all that had occurred when he, lamp in\nhand, had mounted the narrow stair.\n\nHe had often told her that she could read his soul like an open book, but\nshe did not conceal from herself that there were certain sides of that\ncomplex structure whose meaning she was incapable of comprehending. And\nstrange to say, she ever and again came upon these incomprehensible\nphases of his soul, when the images of the gods, and the idolatrous\ntemples of the heathen, or when their sons' enterprises and work were the\nmatters in hand. And yet Petrus was the son of a pious Christian; but his\ngrandfather had been a Greek heathen, and hence perhaps a certain\nsomething wrought in his blood which tormented her, because she could not\nreconcile it with Agapitus' doctrine, but which she nevertheless dared\nnot attempt to oppose because her taciturn husband never spoke out with\nso much cheerfulness and frankness as when he might talk of these things\nwith his sons and their friends, who often accompanied them to the oasis.\nCertainly, it could be nothing sinful that at this particular moment\nseemed to light up her husband's face, and restore his youth.\n\n\"They just are men,\" said she to herself, \"and in many things they have\nthe advantage of us women. The old man looks as he did on his\nwedding-day! Polykarp is the very image of him, as every one says, and\nnow, looking at the father, and recalling to my mind how the boy looked\nwhen he told me how he could not refrain from making Sirona's portrait, I\nmust say that I never saw such a likeness in the whole course of my\nlife.\"\n\nHe bid her a friendly good night, and extinguished the lamp. She would\nwillingly have said a loving word to him, for his contented expression\ntouched and comforted her, but that would just then have been too much\nafter what she had gone through in her son's workroom. In former years it\nhad happened pretty often that, when one of them had caused\ndissatisfaction to the other, and there had been some quarrel between\nthem, they had gone to rest unreconciled, but the older they grew the\nmore rarely did this occur, and it was now a long time since any shadow\nhad fallen on the perfect serenity of their married life.\n\nThree years ago, on the occasion of the marriage of their eldest son,\nthey had been standing together, looking up at the starry sky, when\nPetrus had come close up to her, and had said, \"How calmly and peacefully\nthe wanderers up there follow their roads without jostling or touching\none another! As I walked home alone from the quarries by their friendly\nlight, I thought of many things. Perhaps there was once a time when the\nstars rushed wildly about in confusion, crossing each other's path, while\nmany a star flew in pieces at the impact. Then the Lord created man, and\nlove came into the world and filled the heavens and the earth, and he\ncommanded the stars to be our light by night; then each began to respect\nthe path of the other, and the stars more rarely came into collision till\neven the smallest and swiftest kept to its own path and its own period,\nand the shining host above grew to be as harmonious as it is numberless.\nLove and a common purpose worked this marvel, for he who loves another,\nwill do him no injury, and he who is bound to perfect a work with the\nhelp of another, will not hinder nor delay him. We two have long since\nfound the right road, and if at any time one of us is inclined to cross\nthe path of the other, we are held back by love and by our common duty,\nnamely to shed a pure light on the path of our children.\"\n\nDorothea had never forgotten these words, and they came into her mind now\nagain when Petrus held out his hand to her so warmly; as she laid hers in\nit, she said:\n\n\"For the sake of dear peace, well and good--but one thing I cannot leave\nunsaid. Soft-hearted weakness is not usually your defect, but you will\nutterly spoil Polykarp.\"\n\n\"Leave him, let us leave him as he is,\" cried Petrus, kissing his wife's\nbrow. \"It is strange how we have exchanged parts! Yesterday you were\nexhorting me to mildness towards the lad, and to-day--\"\n\n\"To-day I am severer than you,\" interrupted Dorothea. \"Who, indeed, could\nguess that an old graybeard would derogate from the duties of his office\nas father and as judge for the sake of a woman's smiling face in clay--as\nEsau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage?\"\n\n\"And to whom would it occur,\" asked Petrus, taking up his wife's tone,\n\"that so tender a mother as you would condemn her favorite son, because\nhe labored to earn peace for his soul by a deed--by a work for which his\nmaster might envy him?\"\n\n\"I have indeed observed,\" interrupted Dorothea, that Sirona's image has\nbewitched you, and you speak as if the boy had achieved some great\nmiracle. I do not know much about modelling and sculpture, and I will not\ncontradict you, but if the fair-haired creature's face were less pretty,\nand if Polykarp had not executed any thing remarkable, would it have made\nthe smallest difference in what he has done and felt wrong? Certainly\nnot. But that is just like men, they care only for success.\"\n\n\"And with perfect justice,\" answered Petrus, \"if the success is attained,\nnot in mere child's play, but by a severe struggle. 'To him, that hath,\nshall more be given,' says the scripture, and he who has a soul more\nrichly graced than others have--he who is helped by good spirits--he\nshall be forgiven many things that even a mild judge would be unwilling\nto pardon in a man of poor gifts, who torments and exerts himself and yet\nbrings nothing to perfection. Be kind to the boy again. Do you know what\nprospect lies before you through him? You yourself in your life have done\nmuch good, and spoken much wisdom, and I, and the children, and the\npeople in this place, will never forget it all. But I can promise you the\ngratitude of the best and noblest who now live or who will live in\ncenturies to come--for that you are the mother of Polykarp!\"\n\n\"And people say,\" cried Dorothea, \"that every mother has four eyes for\nher children's merits. If that is true, then fathers no doubt have ten,\nand you as many as Argus, of whom the heathen legend speaks--But there\ncomes Polykarp.\"\n\nPetrus went forward to meet his son, and gave him his hand, but in quite\na different manner to what he had formerly shown; at least it seemed to\nDorothea that her husband received the youth, no longer as his father and\nmaster, but as a friend greets a friend who is his equal in privileges\nand judgment. When Polykarp turned to greet her also she colored all\nover, for the thought flashed through her mind that her son, when he\nthought of the past night, must regard her as unjust or foolish; but she\nsoon recovered her own calm equanimity, for Polykarp was the same as\never, and she read in his eyes that he felt towards her the same as\nyesterday and as ever.\n\n\"Love,\" thought she, \"is not extinguished by injustice, as fire is by\nwater. It blazes up brighter or less bright, no doubt, according to the\nway the wind blows, but it cannot be wholly smothered--least of all by\ndeath.\"\n\nPolykarp had been up the mountain, and Dorothea was quite satisfied when\nhe related what had led him thither. He had long since planned the\nexecution of a statue of Moses, and when his father had left him, he\ncould not get the tall and dignified figure of the old man out of his\nmind. He felt that he had found the right model for his work. He must, he\nwould forget--and he knew, that he could only succeed if he found a task\nwhich might promise to give some new occupation to his bereaved soul.\nStill, he had seen the form of the mighty man of God which he proposed to\nmodel, only in vague outline before his mind's eye, and he had been\nprompted to go to a spot whither many pilgrims resorted, and which was\nknown as the Place of Communion, because it was there that the Lord had\nspoken to Moses. There Polykarp had spent some time, for there, if\nanywhere--there, where the Law-giver himself had stood, must he find\nright inspiration.\n\n\"And you have accomplished your end?\" asked his father.\n\nPolykarp shook his head.\n\n\"If you go often enough to the sacred spot, it will come to you,\" said\nDorothea. \"The beginning is always the chief difficulty; only begin at\nonce to model your father's head.\"\n\n\"I have already begun it,\" replied Polykarp, \"but I am still tired from\nlast night.\"\n\n\"You look pale, and have dark lines under your eyes,\" said Dorothea\nanxiously. \"Go up stairs and he down to rest. I will follow you and bring\nyou a beaker of old wine.\"\n\n\"That will not hurt him,\" said Petrus, thinking as he spoke--\"A draught\nof Lethe would serve him even better.\"\n\nWhen, an hour later, the senator sought his son in his work-room, he\nfound him sleeping, and the wine stood untouched on the table. Petrus\nsoftly laid his hand on his son's forehead and found it cool and free\nfrom fever. Then he went quietly up to the portrait of Sirona, raised the\ncloth with which it was covered, and stood before it a long time sunk in\nthought. At last he drew back, covered it up again, and examined the\nmodels which stood on a shelf fastened to the wall.\n\nA small female figure particularly fixed his attention, and he was taking\nit admiringly in his band when Polykarp awoke.\n\n\"That is the image of the goddess of fate--that is a Tyche,\" said Petrus.\n\n\"Do not be angry with me, father,\" entreated Polykarp. \"You know, the\nfigure of a Tyche is to stand in the hand of the statue of the Caesar\nthat is intended for the new city of Constantine, and so I have tried to\nrepresent the goddess. The drapery and pose of the arms, I think, have\nsucceeded, but I failed in the head.\" Petrus, who had listened to him\nwith attention, glanced involuntarily at the head of Sirona, and Polykarp\nfollowed his eyes surprised and almost startled.\n\nThe father and son had understood each other, and Polykarp said, \"I had\nalready thought of that.\"\n\nThen he sighed bitterly, and said to himself, \"Yes and verily, she is the\ngoddess of my fate.\" But he dared not utter this aloud.\n\nBut Petrus had heard him sigh, and said, \"Let that pass. This head smiles\nwith sweet fascination, and the countenance of the goddess that rules the\nactions even of the immortals, should be stern and grave.\"\n\nPolykarp could contain himself no longer.\n\n\"Yes, father,\" he exclaimed. \"Fate is terrible--and yet I will represent\nthe goddess with a smiling mouth, for that which is most terrible in her\nis, that she rules not by stern laws, but smiles while she makes us her\nsport.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nIt was a splendid morning; not a cloud dimmed the sky which spread high\nabove desert, mountain, and oasis, like an arched tent of uniform\ndeep-blue silk. How delicious it is to breathe the pure, light, aromatic\nair on the heights, before the rays of the sun acquire their mid-day\npower, and the shadows of the heated porphyry cliffs, growing shorter and\nshorter, at last wholly disappear!\n\nWith what delight did Sirona inhale this pure atmosphere, when after a\nlong night--the fourth that she had passed in the anchorite's dismal\ncave-she stepped out into the air. Paulus sat by the hearth, and was so\nbusily engaged with some carving, that he did not observe her approach.\n\n\"Kind good man!\" thought Sirona, as she perceived a steaming pot on the\nfire, and the palm-branches which the Alexandrian had fastened up by the\nentrance to the cave, to screen her from the mounting sun. She knew the\nway without a guide to the spring from which Paulus had brought her water\nat their first meeting, and she now slipped away, and went down to it\nwith a pretty little pitcher of burnt clay in her hand. Paulus did indeed\nsee her, but he made as though he neither, saw nor heard, for he knew she\nwas going there to wash herself, and to dress and smarten herself as well\nas might be--for was she not a woman! When she returned, she looked not\nless fresh and charming than on that morning when she had been seen and\nwatched by Hermas. True, her heart was sore, true, she was perplexed and\nmiserable, but sleep and rest had long since effaced from her healthy,\nyouthful, and elastic frame all traces left by that fearful day of\nflight; and fate, which often means best by us when it shows us a hostile\nface, had sent her a minor anxiety to divert her from her graver cares.\n\nHer greyhound was very ill, and it seemed that in the ill-treatment it\nhad experienced, not only its leg had been broken, but that it had\nsuffered some internal injury. The brisk, lively little creature fell\ndown powerless when ever it tried to stand, and when she took it up to\nnurse it comfortably in her lap, it whined pitifully, and looked up at\nher sorrowfully, and as if complaining to her. It would take neither food\nnor drink; its cool little nose was hot; and when she left the cave,\nIambe lay panting on the fine woollen coverlet which Paulus had spread\nupon the bed, unable even to look after her.\n\nBefore taking the dog the water she had fetched in the graceful\njar--which was another gift from her hospitable friend--she went up to\nPaulus and greeted him kindly. He looked up from his work, thanked her,\nand a few minutes later, when she came out of the cave again, asked her,\n\"How is the poor little creature?\"\n\nSirona shrugged her shoulders, and said sadly, \"She has drunk nothing,\nand does not even know me, and pants as rapidly as last evening--if I\nwere to lose the poor little beast!--\"\n\nShe could say no more for emotion, but Paulus shook his head.\n\n\"It is sinful,\" he said, \"to grieve so for a beast devoid of reason.\"\n\n\"Iambe is not devoid of reason,\" replied Sirona. \"And even if she were,\nwhat have I left if she dies? She grew up in my father's house, where all\nloved me; I had her first when she was only a few days old, and I brought\nher up on milk on a little bit of sponge. Many a time, when I heard the\nlittle thing whining for food, have I got out of bed at night with bare\nfeet; and so she came to cling to me like a child, and could not do\nwithout me. No one can know how another feels about such things. My\nfather used to tell us of a spider that beautified the life of a\nprisoner, and what is a dirty dumb creature like that to my clever,\ngraceful little dog! I have lost my home, and here every one believes the\nworst of me, although I have done no one any harm, and no one, no one\nloves me but Iambe.\"\n\n\"But I know of one who loves every one with a divine and equal love,\"\ninterrupted Paulus.\n\n\"I do not care for such a one,\" answered Sirona. \"Iambe follows no one\nbut me; what good can a love do me that I must share with all the world!\nBut you mean the crucified God of the Christians? He is good and pitiful,\nso says Dame Dorothea; but he is dead--I cannot see him, nor hear him,\nand, certainly, I cannot long for one who only shows me grace. I want one\nto whom I can count for something, and to whose life and happiness I am\nindispensable.\"\n\nA scarcely perceptible shudder thrilled through the Alexandrian as she\nspoke these words, and he thought, as he glanced at her face and figure\nwith a mingled expression of regret and admiration, \"Satan, before he\nfell, was the fairest among the pure spirits, and he still has power over\nthis woman. She is still far from being ripe for salvation, and yet she\nhas a gentle heart, and even if she has erred, she is not lost.\"\n\nSirona's eyes had met his, and she said with a sigh, \"You look at me so\ncompassionately--if only Iambe were well, and if I succeeded in reaching\nAlexandria, my destiny would perhaps take a turn for the better.\"\n\nPaulus had risen while she spoke, and had taken the pot from the hearth;\nhe now offered it to his guest, saying:\n\n\"For the present we will trust to this broth to compensate to you for the\ndelights of the capital; I am glad that you relish it. But tell me now,\nhave you seriously considered what danger may threaten a beautiful,\nyoung, and unprotected woman in the wicked city of the Greeks? Would it\nnot be better that you should submit to the consequences of your guilt,\nand return to Phoebicius, to whom unfortunately you belong?\"\n\nSirona, at these words, had set down the vessel out of which she was\neating, and rising in passionate haste, she exclaimed:\n\n\"That shall never, never be!--And when I was sitting up there half-dead,\nand took your step for that of Phoebicius, the gods showed me a way to\nescape from him, and from you or anyone who would drag me back to him.\nWhen I fled to the edge of the abyss, I was raving and crazed, but what I\nthen would have done in my madness, I would do now in cold blood--as\nsurely as I hope to see my own people in Arelas once more! What was I\nonce, and to what have I come through Phoebicius! Life was to me a sunny\ngarden with golden trellises and shady trees and waters as bright as\ncrystal, with rosy flowers and singing birds; and he, he has darkened its\nlight, and fouled its springs, and broken down its flowers. All now seems\ndumb and colorless, and if the abyss is my grave, no one will miss me nor\nmourn for me.\"\n\n\"Poor woman!\" said Paulus. \"Your husband then showed you very little\nlove.\"\n\n\"Love,\" laughed Sirona, \"Phoebicius and love! Only yesterday I told you,\nhow cruelly he used to torture me after his feasts, when he was drunk or\nwhen he recovered from one of his swoons. But one thing he did to me, one\nthing which broke the last thread of a tie between us. No one yet has\never heard a word of it from me; not even Dorothea, who often blamed me\nwhen I let slip a hard word against my husband. It was well for her to\ntalk--if I had found a husband like Petrus I might perhaps have been like\nDorothea. It is a marvel, which I myself do not understand, that I did\nnot grow wicked with such a man, a man who--why should I conceal it--who,\nwhen we were at Rome, because he was in debt, and because he hoped to get\npromotion through his legate Quintillus, sold me--me--to him. He himself\nbrought the old man--who had often followed me about--into his house, but\nour hostess, a good woman, had overheard the matter, and betrayed it all\nto me. It is so base, so vile--it seems to blacken my soul only to think\nof it! The legate got little enough in return for his sesterces, but\nPhoebicius did not restore his wages of sin, and his rage against me knew\nno bounds when he was transferred to the oasis at the instigation of his\nbetrayed chief. Now you know all, and never advise me again to return to\nthat man to whom my misfortune has bound me.\n\n\"Only listen how the poor little beast in there is whining. It wants to\ncome to me, and has not the strength to move.\"\n\nPaulus looked after her sympathetically as she disappeared under the\nopening in the rock, and he awaited her return with folded arms. He could\nnot see into the cave, for the space in which the bed stood was closed at\nthe end by the narrow passage which formed the entrance, and which joined\nit at an angle as the handle of a scythe joins the blade. She remained a\nlong time, and he could hear now and then a tender word with which she\ntried to comfort the suffering creature. Suddenly he was startled by a\nloud and bitter cry from Sirona; no doubt, the poor woman's affectionate\nlittle companion was dead, and in the dim twilight of the cave she had\nseen its dulled eye, and felt the stiffness of death overspreading and\nparalyzing its slender limbs. He dared not go into the cavern, but he\nfelt his eyes fill with tears, and he would willingly have spoken some\nword of consolation to her.\n\nAt last she came out, her eyes red with weeping. Paulus had guessed\nrightly for she held the body of little Iambe in her arms.\n\n\"How sorry I am,\" said Paulus, \"the poor little creature was so pretty.\"\n\nSirona nodded, sat down, and unfastened the prettily embroidered band\nfrom the dog's neck, saying half to herself, and half to Paulus, \"My\nlittle Agnes worked this collar. I myself had taught her to sew, and this\nwas the first piece of work that was all her own.\" She held the collar up\nto the anchorite. \"This clasp is of real silver,\" she went on, \"and my\nfather himself gave it to me. He was fond of the poor little dog too. Now\nit will never leap and spring again, poor thing.\"\n\nShe looked sadly down at the dead dog. Then she collected herself, and\nsaid hurriedly, \"Now I will go away from here. Nothing--nothing keeps me\nany longer in this wilderness, for the senator's house, where I have\nspent many happy hours, and where everyone was fond of me, is closed\nagainst me, and must ever be so long as he lives there. If you have not\nbeen kind to me only to do me harm in the end, let me go today, and help\nme to reach Alexandria.\"\n\n\"Not to-day, in any case not to-day,\" replied Paulus. \"First I must find\nout when a vessel sails for Klysma or for Berenike, and then I have many\nother things to see to for you. You owe me an answer to my question, as\nto what you expect to do and to find in Alexandria. Poor child--the\nyounger and the fairer you are--\"\n\n\"I know all you would say to me,\" interrupted Sirona. \"Wherever I have\nbeen, I have attracted the eyes of men, and when I have read in their\nlooks that I pleased them, it has greatly pleased me--why should I deny\nit? Many a one has spoken fair words to me or given me flowers, and sent\nold women to my house to win me for them, but even if one has happened to\nplease me better than another, still I have never found it hard to send\nthem home again as was fitting.\"\n\n\"Till Hermas laid his love at your feet,\" said Paulus. \"He is a bold\nlad--\"\n\n\"A pretty, inexperienced boy,\" said Sirona, \"neither more nor less. It\nwas a heedless thing, no doubt, to admit him to my rooms, but no vestal\nneed be ashamed to own to such favor as I showed him. I am innocent, and\nI will remain so that I may stand in my father's presence without a blush\nwhen I have earned money enough in the capital for the long journey.\"\n\nPaulus looked in her face astonished and almost horrified.\n\nThen he had in fact taken on himself guilt which did not exist, and\nperhaps the senator would have been slower to condemn Sirona, if it had\nnot been for his falsely acknowledging it. He stood before her, feeling\nlike a child that would fain put together some object of artistic\nworkmanship, and who has broken it to pieces for want of skill. At the\nsame time he could not doubt a word that she said, for the voice within\nhim had long since plainly told him that this woman was no common\ncriminal.\n\nFor some time he was at a loss for words; at last he said timidly:\n\n\"What do you purpose doing in Alexandria?\"\n\n\"Polykarp says, that all good work finds a purchaser there,\" she\nanswered. \"And I can weave particularly well, and embroider with\ngold-thread. Perhaps I may find shelter under some roof where there are\nchildren, and I would willingly attend to them during the day. In my free\ntime and at night I could work at my frame, and when I have scraped\nenough together I shall soon find a ship that will carry me to Gaul, to\nmy own people. Do you not see that I cannot go back to Phoebicius, and\ncan you help me?\"\n\n\"Most willingly, and better perhaps than you fancy,\" said Paulus. \"I\ncannot explain this to you just now; but you need not request me, but may\nrather feel that you have a good right to demand of me that I should\nrescue you.\"\n\nShe looked at him in surprised enquiry, and he continued:\n\n\"First let me carry away the little dog, and bury it down there. I will\nput a stone over the grave, that you may know where it lies. It must be\nso, the body cannot be here any longer. Take the thing, which lies there.\nI had tried before to cut it out for you, for you complained yesterday\nthat your hair was all in a tangle because you had not a comb, so I tried\nto carve you one out of bone. There were none at the shop in the oasis,\nand I am myself only a wild creature of the wilderness, a sorry, foolish\nanimal, and do not use one.\n\n\"Was that a stone that fell? Aye, certainly, I hear a man's step; go\nquickly into the cave and do not stir till I call you.\"\n\nSirona withdrew into her rock-dwelling, and Paulus took the body of the\ndog in his arms to conceal it from the man who was approaching. He looked\nround, undecided, and seeking a hiding-place for it, but two sharp eyes\nhad already detected him and his small burden from the height above him;\nbefore he had found a suitable place, stones were rolling and crashing\ndown from the cliff to the right of the cavern, and at the same time a\nman came springing down with rash boldness from rock to rock, and without\nheeding the warning voice of the anchorite, flung himself down the slope,\nstraight in front of him, exclaiming, while he struggled for breath and\nhis face was hot with hatred and excitement:\n\n\"That--I know it well-that is Sirona's greyhound--where is its mistress?\nTell me this instant, where is Sirona--I must and will know.\"\n\nPaulus had frequently seen, from the penitent's room in the church, the\nsenator and his family in their places near the altar, and he was much\nastonished to recognize in the daring leaper, who rushed upon him like a\nmad man with dishevelled hair and fiery eyes, Polykarp, Petrus' second\nson.\n\nThe anchorite found it difficult to preserve his calm, and composed\ndemeanor, for since he had been aware that he had accused Sirona falsely\nof a heavy sin, while at the same time he had equally falsely confessed\nhimself the partner of her misdeed, he felt an anxiety that amounted to\nanguish, and a leaden oppression checked the rapidity of his thoughts. He\nat first stammered out a few unintelligible words, but his opponent was\nin fearful earnest with his question; he seized the collar of the\nanchorite's coarse garment with terrible violence, and cried in a husky\nvoice, \"Where did you find the dog? Where is--?\"\n\nBut suddenly he left go his hold of the Alexandrian, looked at him from\nhead to foot, and said softly and slowly:\n\n\"Can it be possible? Are you Paulus, the Alexandrian?\"\n\nThe anchorite nodded assent. Polykarp laughed loud and bitterly, pressed\nhis hand to his forehead, and exclaimed in a tone of the deepest disgust\nand contempt:\n\n\"And is it so, indeed! and such a repulsive ape too! But I will not\nbelieve that she even held out a hand to you, for the mere sight of you\nmakes me dirty.\" Paulus felt his heart beating like a hammer within his\nbreast; and there was a singing and roaring in his ears. When once more\nPolykarp threatened him with his fist he involuntarily took the posture\nof an athlete in a wrestling match, he stretched out his arms to try to\nget a good hold of his adversary, and said in a hollow, deep tone of\nangry warning, \"Stand back, or something will happen to you that will not\nbe good for your bones.\"\n\nThe speaker was indeed Paulus--and yet--not Paulus; it was Menander, the\npride of the Palaestra, who had never let pass a word of his comrades\nthat did not altogether please him. And yet yesterday in the oasis he had\nquietly submitted to far worse insults than Polykarp had offered him, and\nhad accepted them with contented cheerfulness. Whence then to-day this\nwild sensitiveness and eager desire to fight?\n\nWhen, two days since, he had gone to his old cave to fetch the last of\nhis hidden gold pieces, he had wished to greet old Stephanus, but the\nEgyptian attendant had scared him off like an evil spirit with angry\ncurses, and had thrown stones after him. In the oasis he had attempted to\nenter the church in spite of the bishop's prohibition, there to put up a\nprayer; for he thought that the antechamber, where the spring was and in\nwhich penitents were wont to tarry, would certainly not be closed even to\nhim; but the acolytes had driven him away with abusive words, and the\ndoor-keeper, who a short time since had trusted him with the key, spit in\nhis face, and yet he had not found it difficult to turn his back on his\npersecutors without anger or complaint.\n\nAt the counter of the dealer of whom he had bought the woollen coverlet,\nthe little jug, and many other things for Sirona, a priest had passed by,\nhad pointed to his money, and had said, \"Satan takes care of his own.\"\n\nPaulus had answered him nothing, had returned to his charge with an\nuplifted and grateful heart, and had heartily rejoiced once more in the\nexalted and encouraging consciousness that he was enduring disgrace and\nsuffering for another in humble imitation of Christ. What was it then\nthat made him so acutely sensitive with regard to Polykarp, and once more\nsnapped those threads, which long years of self-denial had twined into\nfetters for his impatient spirit? Was it that to the man, who mortified\nhis flesh in order to free his soul from its bonds it seemed a lighter\nmatter to be contemned as a sinner, hated of God, than to let his person\nand his manly dignity be treated with contempt? Was he thinking of the\nfair listener in the cave, who was a witness to his humiliation? Had his\nwrath blazed up because he saw in Polykarp, not so much an exasperated\nfellow-believer, as merely a man who with bold scorn had put himself in\nthe path of another man?\n\nThe lad and the gray-bearded athlete stood face to face like mortal\nenemies ready for the fight, and Polykarp did not waver, although he,\nlike most Christian youths, had been forbidden to take part in the\nwrestling-games in the Palaestra, and though he knew that he had to deal\nwith a strong and practised antagonist.\n\nHe himself was indeed no weakling, and his stormy indignation added to\nhis desire to measure himself against the hated seducer.\n\n\"Come on--come on!\" he cried; his eyes flashing, and leaning forward with\nhis neck out-stretched and ready on his part for the struggle. \"Grip\nhold! you were a gladiator, or something of the kind, before you put on\nthat filthy dress that you might break into houses at night, and go\nunpunished. Make this sacred spot an arena, and if you succeed in making\nan end of me I will thank you, for what made life worth having to me, you\nhave already ruined whether or no. Only come on. Or perhaps you think it\neasier to ruin the life of a woman than to measure your strength against\nher defender? Clutch hold, I say, clutch hold, or--\"\n\n\"Or you will fall upon me,\" said Paulus, whose arms had dropped by his\nside during the youth's address. He spoke in a quite altered tone of\nindifference. \"Throw yourself upon me, and do with me what you will; I\nwill not prevent you. Here I shall stand, and I will not fight, for you\nhave so far hit the truth--this holy place is not an arena. But the\nGaulish lady belongs neither to you nor to me, and who gives you a\nclaim--?\"\n\n\"Who gives me a right over her?\" interrupted Polykarp, stepping close up\nto his questioner with sparkling eyes. \"He who permits the worshipper to\nspeak of his God. Sirona is mine, as the sun and moon and stars are mine,\nbecause they shed a beautiful light on my murky path. My life is\nmine--and she was the life of my life, and therefore I say boldly, and\nwould say, if there were twenty such as Phoebicius here, she belongs to\nme. And because I regarded her as my own, and so regard her still, I hate\nyou and fling my scorn in your teeth--you are like a hungry sheep that\nhas got into the gardener's flower-bed, and stolen from the stem the\nwonderful, lovely flower that he has nurtured with care, and that only\nblooms once in a hundred years--like a cat that has sneaked into some\nmarble hall, and that to satisfy its greed has strangled some rare and\nsplendid bird that a traveller has brought from a distant land. But you!\nyou hypocritical robber, who disregard your own body with beastly pride,\nand sacrifice it to low brutality--what should you know of the magic\ncharm of beauty--that daughter of heaven, that can touch even thoughtless\nchildren, and before which the gods themselves do homage! I have a right\nto Sirona; for hide her where you will--or even if the centurion were to\nfind her, and to fetter her to himself with chains and rivets of\nbrass--still that which makes her the noblest work of the Most High--the\nimage of her beauty--lives in no one, in no one as it lives in me. This\nhand has never even touched your victim--and yet God has given Sirona to\nno man as he has given her wholly to me, for to no man can she be what\nshe is to me, and no man can love her as I do! She has the nature of an\nangel, and the heart of a child; she is without spot, and as pure as the\ndiamond, or the swan's breast, or the morning-dew in the bosom of a rose.\nAnd though she had let you into her house a thousand times, and though my\nfather even, and my own mother, and every one, every one pointed at her\nand condemned her, I would never cease to believe in her purity. It is\nyou who have brought her to shame; it is you--\"\n\n\"I kept silence while all condemned her,\" said Paulus with warmth, \"for I\nbelieved that she was guilty, just as you believe that I am, just as\nevery one that is bound by no ties of love is more ready to believe evil\nthan good, Now I know, aye, know for certain, that we did the poor woman\nan injustice. If the splendor of the lovely dream, that you call Sirona,\nhas been clouded by my fault--\"\n\n\"Clouded? And by you?\" laughed Polykarp. \"Can the toad that plunges into\nthe sea, cloud its shining blue, can the black bat that flits across the\nnight, cloud the pure light of the full-moon?\"\n\nAn emotion of rage again shot through the anchorite's heart, but he was\nby this time on his guard against himself, and he only said bitterly, and\nwith hardly-won composure:\n\n\"And how was it then with the flower, and with the bird, that were\ndestroyed by beasts without understanding? I fancy you meant no absent\nthird person by that beast, and yet now you declare that it is not within\nmy power even to throw a shadow over your day-star! You see you\ncontradict yourself in your anger, and the son of a wise man, who himself\nhas not long since left the school of rhetoric, should try to avoid that.\nYou might regard me with less hostility, for I will not offend you; nay,\nI will repay your evil words with good--perhaps the very best indeed that\nyou ever heard in your life. Sirona is a worthy and innocent woman, and\nat the time when Phoebicius came out to seek her, I had never even set\neyes upon her nor had my ears ever heard a word pass her lips.\"\n\nAt these words Polykarp's threatening manner changed, and feeling at once\nincapable of understanding the matter, and anxious to believe, he eagerly\nexclaimed:\n\n\"But yet the sheepskin was yours, and you let yourself be thrashed by\nPhoebicius without defending yourself.\"\n\n\"So filthy an ape,\" said Paulus, imitating Polykarp's voice, \"needs many\nblows, and that day I could not venture to defend myself\nbecause--because--But that is no concern of yours. You must subdue your\ncuriosity for a few days longer, and then it may easily happen that the\nman whose very aspect makes you feel dirty--the bat, the toad--\"\n\n\"Let that pass now,\" cried Polykarp. \"Perhaps the excitement which the\nsight of you stirred up in my bruised and wounded heart, led me to use\nunseemly language. Now, indeed, I see that your matted hair sits round a\nwell featured countenance. Forgive my violent and unjust attack. I was\nbeside myself, and I opened my whole soul to you, and now that you know\nhow it is with me, once more I ask you, where is Sirona?\"\n\nPolykarp looked Paulus in the face with anxious and urgent entreaty,\npointing to the dog as much as to say, \"You must know, for here is the\nevidence.\"\n\nThe Alexandrian hesitated to answer; he glanced by chance at the entrance\nof the cave, and seeing the gleam of Sirona's white robe behind the\npalm-branches, he said to himself that if Polykarp lingered much longer,\nhe could not fail to discover her--a consummation to be avoided.\n\nThere were many reasons which might have made him resolve to stand in the\nway of a meeting between the lady and the young man, but not one of them\noccurred to him, and though he did not even dream that a feeling akin to\njealousy had begun to influence him, still he was conscious that it was\nhis lively repugnance to seeing the two sink into each other's arms\nbefore his very eyes, that prompted him to turn shortly round, to take up\nthe body of the little dog, and to say to the enquirer:\n\n\"It is true, I do know where she is hiding, and when the time comes you\nshall know it too. Now I must bury the animal, and if you will you can\nhelp me.\"\n\nWithout waiting for any objection on Polykarp's part, he hurried from\nstone to stone up to the plateau on the precipitous edge of which he had\nfirst seen Sirona. The younger man followed him breathlessly, and only\njoined him when he had already begun to dig out the earth with his hands\nat the foot of a cliff. Polykarp was now standing close to the anchorite,\nand repeated his question with vehement eagerness, but Paulus did not\nlook up from his work, and only said, digging faster and faster:\n\n\"Come to this place again to-morrow, and then it may perhaps be possible\nthat I should tell you.\"\n\n\"You think to put me off with that,\" cried the lad. \"Then you are\nmistaken in me, and if you cheat me with your honest-sounding words, I\nwill--\"\n\nBut he did not end his threat, for a clear longing cry distinctly broke\nthe silence of the deserted mountain: \"Polykarp--Polykarp.\" It sounded\nnearer and nearer, and the words had a magic effect on him for whose ear\nthey were intended.\n\nWith his head erect and trembling in every limb, the young man listened\neagerly. Then he cried out, \"It is her voice! I am coming, Sirona, I am\ncoming.\" And without paying any heed to the anchorite, he was on the\npoint of hurrying off to meet her. But Paulus placed himself close in\nfront of him, and said sternly: \"You stay here.\"\n\n\"Out of my way,\" shouted Polykarp beside himself. \"She is calling to me\nout of the hole where you are keeping her--you slanderer--you cowardly\nliar! Out of the way I say! You will not? Then defend yourself, you\nhideous toad, or I will tread you down, if my foot does not fear to be\nsoiled with your poison.\"\n\nUp to this moment Paulus had stood before the young man with out-spread\narms, motionless, but immovable as an oak-tree; now Polykarp first hit\nhim. This blow shattered the anchorite's patience, and, no longer master\nof himself, he exclaimed, \"You shall answer to me for this!\" and before a\nthird and fourth call had come from Sirona's lips, he had grasped the\nartist's slender body, and with a mighty swing he flung him backwards\nover his own broad and powerful shoulders on to the stony ground.\n\nAfter this mad act he stood over his victim with out-stretched legs,\nfolded arms, and rolling eyes, as if rooted to the earth. He waited till\nPolykarp had picked himself up, and, without looking round, but pressing\nhis hands to the back of his head, had tottered away like a drunken man.\n\nPaulus looked after him till he disappeared over the cliff at the edge of\nthe level ground; but he did not see how Polykarp fell senseless to the\nground with a stifled cry, not far from the very spring whence his enemy\nhad fetched the water to refresh Sirona's parched lips.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\"She will attract the attention of Damianus or Salathiel or one of the\nothers up there,\" thought Paulus as he heard Sirona's call once more,\nand, following her voice, he went hastily and excitedly down the\nmountainside.\n\n\"We shall have peace for to-day at any rate from that audacious fellow,\"\nmuttered he to himself, \"and perhaps to-morrow too, for his blue bruises\nwill be a greeting from me. But how difficult it is to forget what we\nhave once known! The grip, with which I flung him, I learned--how long\nago?--from the chief-gymnast at Delphi. My marrow is not yet quite dried\nup, and that I will prove to the boy with these fists, if he comes back\nwith three or four of the same mettle.\"\n\nBut Paulus had not long to indulge in such wild thoughts, for on the way\nto the cave he met Sirona. \"Where is Polykarp?\" she called out from afar.\n\n\"I have sent him home,\" he answered. \"And he obeyed you?\" she asked\nagain.\n\n\"I gave him striking reasons for doing so,\" he replied quickly.\n\n\"But he will return?\"\n\n\"He has learned enough up here for to-day. We have now to think of your\njourney to Alexandria.\"\n\n\"But it seems to me,\" replied Sirona, blushing, \"that I am safely hidden\nin your cave, and just now you yourself said--\"\n\n\"I warned you against the dangers of the expedition,\" interrupted Paulus.\n\"But since that it has occurred to me that I know of a shelter, and of a\nsafe protector for you. There, we are at home again. Now go into the\ncave, for very probably some one may have heard you calling, and if other\nanchorites were to discover you here, they would compel me to take you\nback to your husband.\"\n\n\"I will go directly,\" sighed Sirona, \"but first explain to me--for I\nheard all that you said to each other--\" and she colored, \"how it\nhappened that Phoebicius took Hermas' sheepskin for yours, and why you\nlet him beat you without giving any explanation.\"\n\n\"Because my back is even broader than that great fellow's,\" replied the\nAlexandrian quickly. \"I will tell you all about it in some quiet hour,\nperhaps on our journey to Klysma. Now go into the cave, or you may spoil\neverything. I know too what you lack most since you heard the fair words\nof the senator's son.\"\n\n\"Well--what?\" asked Sirona.\n\n\"A mirror!\" laughed Paulus.\n\n\"How much you are mistaken!\" said Sirona; and she thought to herself,\n\"The woman that Polykarp looks at as he does at me, does not need a\nmirror.\"\n\nAn old Jewish merchant lived in the fishing-town on the western declivity\nof the mountain; he shipped the charcoal for Egypt, which was made in the\nvalleys of the peninsula by burning the sajal acacia, and he had formerly\nsupplied fuel for the drying-room of the papyrus-factory of Paulus'\nfather. He now had a business connection with his brother, and Paulus\nhimself had had dealings with him. He was prudent and wealthy, and\nwhenever he met the anchorite, he blamed him for his flight from the\nworld, and implored him to put his hospitality to the test, and to\ncommand his resources and means as if they were his own.\n\nThis man was now to find a boat, and to provide the means of flight for\nSirona. The longer Paulus thought it over, the more indispensable it\nseemed to him that he should himself accompany the Gaulish lady to\nAlexandria, and in his own person find her a safe shelter. He knew that\nhe was free to dispose of his brother's enormous fortune-half of which in\nfact was his--as though it were all his own, and he began to rejoice in\nhis possessions for the first time for many years. Soon he was occupied\nin thinking of the furnishing of the house, which he intended to assign\nto the fair Sirona. At first he thought of a simple citizen's dwelling,\nbut by degrees he began to picture the house intended for her as fitted\nwith shining gold, white and colored marble, many-colored Syrian carpets,\nnay even with vain works of the heathen, with statues, and a luxurious\nbath. In increasing unrest he wandered from rock to rock, and many times\nas he went up and down he paused in front of the cave where Sirona was.\nOnce he saw her light robe, and its conspicuous gleam led him to the\nreflection, that it would be imprudent to conduct her to the humble\nfishing-village in that dress. If he meant to conceal her traces from the\nsearch of Phoebicius and Polykarp, he must first provide her with a\nsimple dress, and a veil that should hide her shining hair and fair face,\nwhich even in the capital could find no match.\n\nThe Amalekite, from whom he had twice bought some goat's-milk for her,\nlived in a but which Paulus could easily reach. He still possessed a few\ndrachmas, and with these he could purchase what he needed from the wife\nand daughter of the goatherd. Although the sky was now covered with mist\nand a hot sweltering south-wind had risen, he prepared to start at once.\nThe sun was no longer visible though its scorching heat could be felt,\nbut Paulus paid no heed to this sign of an approaching storm.\n\nHastily, and with so little attention that he confused one object with\nanother in the little store-cellar, he laid some bread, a knife, and some\ndates in front of the entrance to the cave, called out to his guest that\nhe should soon return, and hurried at a rapid pace up the mountain.\n\nSirona answered him with a gentle word of farewell, and did not even look\nround after him, for she was glad to be alone, and so soon as the sound\nof his step had died away she gave herself up once more to the\noverwhelming torrent of new and deep feelings which had flooded her soul\never since she had heard Polykarp's ardent hymn of love.\n\nPaulus, in the last few hours, was Menander again, but the lonely woman\nin the cavern--the cause of this transformation--the wife of Phoebicius,\nhad undergone an even greater change than he. She was still Sirona, and\nyet not Sirona.\n\nWhen the anchorite had commanded her to retire into the cave she had\nobeyed him willingly, nay, she would have withdrawn even without his\ndesire, and have sought for solitude; for she felt that something mighty,\nhitherto unknown to her, and incomprehensible even to herself, was\npassing in her soul, and that a nameless but potent something had grown\nup in her heart, had struggled free, and had found life and motion; a\nsomething that was strange, and yet precious to her, frightening, and yet\nsweet, a pain, and yet unspeakably delightful. An emotion such as she had\nnever before known had mastered her, and she felt, since hearing\nPolykarp's speech, as if a new and purer blood was flowing rapidly\nthrough her veins. Every nerve quivered like the leaves of the poplars in\nher former home when the wind blows down to meet the Rhone, and she found\nit difficult to follow what Paulus said, and still more so to find the\nright answer to his questions.\n\nAs soon as she was alone she sat down on her bed, rested her elbows on\nher knees, and her head in her hand, and the growing and surging flood of\nher passion broke out in an abundant stream of warm tears.\n\nShe had never wept so before; no anguish, no bitterness was infused into\nthe sweet refreshing dew of those tears. Fair flowers of never dreamed of\nsplendor and beauty blossomed in the heart of the weeping woman, and when\nat length her tears ceased, there was a great silence, but also a great\nglory within her and around her. She was like a man who has grown up in\nan under-ground-room, where no light of day can ever shine, and who at\nlast is allowed to look at the blue heavens, at the splendor of the sun,\nat the myriad flowers and leaves in the green woods, and on the meadows.\n\nShe was wretched, and yet a happy woman.\n\n\"That is love!\" were the words that her heart sang in triumph, and as her\nmemory looked back on the admirers who had approached her in Arelas when\nshe was still little more than a child, and afterwards in Rome, with\ntender words and looks, they all appeared like phantom forms carrying\nfeeble tapers, whose light paled pitifully, for Polykarp had now come on\nthe scene, bearing the very sun itself in his hands.\n\n\"They--and he,\" she murmured to herself, and she beheld as it were a\nbalance, and on one of the scales lay the homage which in her vain fancy\nshe had so coveted. It was of no more weight than chaff, and its whole\nmass was like a heap of straw, which flew up as soon as Polykarp laid his\nlove--a hundredweight of pure gold, in the other scale.\n\n\"And if all the nations and kings of the earth brought their treasures\ntogether,\" thought she, \"and laid them at my feet, they could not make me\nas rich as he has made me, and if all the stars were fused into one, the\nvast globe of light which they would form could not shine so brightly as\nthe joy that fills my soul. Come now what may, I will never complain\nafter that hour of delight.\"\n\nThen she thought over each of her former meetings with Polykarp, and\nremembered that he had never spoken to her of love. What must it not have\ncost him to control himself thus; and a great triumphant joy filled her\nheart at the thought that she was pure, and not unworthy of him, and an\nunutterable sense of gratitude rose up in her soul. The love she bore\nthis man seemed to take wings, and it spread itself over the common life\nand aspect of the world, and rose to a spirit of devotion. With a deep\nsigh she raised her eyes and hands to heaven, and in her longing to prove\nher love to every living being, nay to every created thing, her spirit\nsought the mighty and beneficent Power to whom she owed such exalted\nhappiness.\n\nIn her youth her father had kept her very strictly, but still he had\nallowed her to go through the streets of the town with her young\ncompanions, wreathed with flowers, and all dressed in their best, in the\nprocession of maidens at the feast of Venus of Arelas, to whom all the\nwomen of her native town were wont to turn with prayers and sacrifices\nwhen their hearts were touched by love.\n\nNow she tried to pray to Venus, but again and again the wanton jests of\nthe men who were used to accompany the maidens came into her mind, and\nmemories of how she herself had eagerly listened for the only too\nfrequent cries of admiration, and had enticed the silent with a glance,\nor thanked the more clamorous with a smile. To-day certainly she had no\nmind for such sport, and she recollected the stern words which had fallen\nfrom Dorothea's lips on the worship of Venus, when she had once told her\nhow well the natives of Arelas knew how to keep their feasts.\n\nAnd Polykarp, whose heart was nevertheless so full of love, he no doubt\nthought like his mother, and she pictured him as she had frequently seen\nhim following his parents by the side of his sister Marthana--often hand\nin hand with her--as they went to church. The senator's son had always\nhad a kindly glance for her, excepting when he was one of this procession\nto the temple of the God of whom they said that He was love itself, and\nwhose votaries indeed were not poor in love; for in Petrus' house, if\nanywhere, all hearts were united by a tender affection. It then occurred\nto her that Paulus had just now advised her to turn to the crucified God\nof the Christians, who was full of an equal and divine love to all men.\nTo him Polykarp also prayed--was praying perhaps this very hour; and if\nshe now did the same her prayers would ascend together with his, and so\nshe might be in some sort one with that beloved friend, from whom\neverything else conspired to part her.\n\nShe knelt down and folded her hands, as she had so often seen Christians\ndo, and she reflected on the torments that the poor Man, who hung with\npierced hands on the cross, had so meekly endured, though He suffered\ninnocently; she felt the deepest pity for Him, and softly said to\nherself, as she raised her eyes to the low roof of her cave-dwelling:\n\n\"Thou poor good Son of God, Thou knowest what it is when all men condemn\nus unjustly, and surely, Thou canst understand when I say to Thee how\nsore my poor heart is! And they say too, that of all hearts Thine is the\nmost loving, and so thou wilt know how it is that, in spite of all my\nmisery, it still seems to me that I am a happy woman. The very breath of\na God must be rapture, and that Thou too must have learned when they\ntortured and mocked Thee, for Thou halt suffered out of love. They say,\nthat Thou wast wholly pure and perfectly sinless. Now I--I have committed\nmany follies, but not a sin--a real sin--no, indeed, I have not; and Thou\nmust know it, for Thou art a God, and knowest the past, and canst read\nhearts. And, indeed, I also would fain remain innocent, and yet how can\nthat be when I cannot help being devoted to Polykarp, and yet I am\nanother man's wife. But am I indeed the true and lawful wife of that\nhorrible wretch who sold me to another? He is as far from my heart--as\nfar as if I had never seen him with these eyes. And yet--believe me--I\nwish him no ill, and I will be quite content, if only I need never go\nback to him.\n\n\"When I was a child, I was afraid of frogs; my brothers and sisters knew\nit, and once my brother Licinius laid a large one, that he had caught, on\nmy bare neck. I started, and shuddered, and screamed out loud, for it was\nso hideously cold and damp--I cannot express it. And that is exactly how\nI have always felt since those days in Rome whenever Phoebicius touched\nme, and yet I dared not scream when he did.\n\n\"But Polykarp! oh! would that he were here, and might only grasp my hand.\nHe said I was his own, and yet I have never encouraged him. But now! if a\ndanger threatened him or a sorrow, and if by any means I could save him\nfrom it, indeed--indeed--though I never could bear pain well, and am\nafraid of death, I would let them nail me to a cross for him, as Thou\nwast crucified for us all.\n\n\"But then he must know that I had died for him, and if he looked into my\ndying eyes with his strange, deep gaze, I would tell him that it is to\nhim that I owe a love so great that it is a thing altogether different\nand higher than any love I have ever before seen. And a feeling that is\nso far above all measure of what ordinary mortals experience, it seems to\nme, must be divine. Can such love be wrong? I know not; but Thou knowest,\nand Thou, whom they name the Good Shepherd, lead Thou us--each apart from\nthe other, if it be best so for him--but yet, if it be possible, unite us\nonce more, if it be only for one single hour. If only he could know that\nI am not wicked, and that poor Sirona would willingly belong to him, and\nto no other, then I would be ready to die. O Thou good, kind Shepherd,\ntake me too into Thy flock, and guide me.\"\n\nThus prayed Sirona, and before her fancy there floated the image of a\nlovely and loving youthful form; she had seen the original in the model\nfor Polykarp's noble work, and she had not forgotten the exquisite\ndetails of the face. It seemed to her as well known and familiar as if\nshe had known--what in fact she could not even guess--that she herself\nhad had some share in the success of the work.\n\nThe love which unites two hearts is like the ocean of Homer which\nencircles both halves of the earth. It flows and rolls on. Where shall we\nseek its source--here or there--who can tell?\n\nIt was Dame Dorothea who in her motherly pride had led the Gaulish lady\ninto her son's workshop. Sirona thought of her and her husband and her\nhouse, where over the door a motto was carved in the stone which she had\nseen every morning from her sleeping-room. She could not read Greek, but\nPolykarp's sister, Marthana, had more than once told her what it meant.\n\"Commit thy way to the Lord, and put thy trust in Him,\" ran the\ninscription, and she repeated it to herself again and again, and then\ndrew fancy-pictures of the future in smiling day-dreams, which by degrees\nassumed sharper outlines and brighter colors.\n\nShe saw herself united to Polykarp, and as the daughter of Petrus and\nDorothea, at home in the senator's house; she had a right now to the\nchildren who loved her, and who were so dear to her; she helped the\ndeaconess in all her labors, and won praise, and looks of approval. She\nhad learned to use her hands in her father's house and now she could show\nwhat she could do; Polykarp even gazed at her with surprise and\nadmiration, and said that she was as clever as she was beautiful, and\npromised to become a second Dorothea. She went with him into his\nworkshop, and there arranged all the things that lay about in confusion,\nand dusted it, while he followed her every movement with his gaze, and at\nlast stood before her, his arms wide--wide open to clasp her.\n\nShe started, and pressed her hands over her eyes, and flung herself\nloving and beloved on his breast, and would have thrown her arms round\nhis neck, while her hot tears flowed--but the sweet vision was suddenly\nshattered, for a swift flash of light pierced the gloom of the cavern,\nand immediately after she heard the heavy roll of the thunder-clap,\ndulled by the rocky walls of her dwelling.\n\nCompletely recalled to actuality she listened for a moment, and then\nstepped to the entrance of the cave. It was already dusk, and heavy\nrain-drops were falling from the dark clouds which seemed to shroud the\nmountain peaks in a vast veil of black crape. Paulus was nowhere to be\nseen, but there stood the food he had prepared for her. She had eaten\nnothing since her breakfast, and she now tried to drink the milk, but it\nhad curdled and was not fit to use; a small bit of bread and a few dates\nquite satisfied her.\n\nAs the lightning and thunder began to follow each other more and more\nquickly, and the darkness fast grew deeper, a great fear fell upon her;\nshe pushed the food on one side, and looked up to the mountain where the\npeaks were now wholly veiled in night, now seemed afloat in a sea of\nflame, and more distinctly visible than by daylight. Again and again a\nforked flash like a saw-blade of fire cut through the black curtain of\ncloud with terrific swiftness, again and again the thunder sounded like a\nblast of trumpets through the silent wilderness, and multiplied itself,\nclattering, growling, roaring, and echoing from rock to rock. Light and\nsound at last seemed to be hurled from Heaven together, and the very rock\nin which her cave was formed quaked.\n\nCrushed and trembling she drew back into the inmost depth of her rocky\nchamber, starting at each flash that illumined the darkness.\n\nAt length they occurred at longer intervals, the thunder lost its\nappalling fury, and as the wind drove the storm farther and farther to\nthe southwards, at last it wholly died away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nIt was quite dark in Sirona's cavern, fearfully dark, and the blacker\ngrew the night which shrouded her, the more her terror increased. From\ntime to time she shut her eyes as tightly as she could, for she fancied\nshe could see a crimson glare, and she longed for light in that hour as a\ndrowning man longs for the shore. Dark forebodings of every kind\noppressed her soul.\n\nWhat if Paulus had abandoned her, and had left her to her fate? Or if\nPolykarp should have been searching for her on the mountain in this\nstorm, and in the darkness should have fallen into some abyss, or have\nbeen struck by the lightning? Suppose the mass of rock that overhung the\nentrance to the cave should have been loosened in the storm, and should\nfall, and bar her exit to the open air? Then she would be buried alive,\nand she must perish alone, without seeing him whom she loved once more,\nor telling him that she had not been unworthy of his trust in her.\n\nCruelly tormented by such thoughts as these, she dragged herself up and\nfelt her way out into the air and wind, for she could no longer hold out\nin the gloomy solitude and fearful darkness. She had hardly reached the\nmouth of the cave, when she heard steps approaching her lurking place,\nand again she shrank back. Who was it that could venture in this\npitch-dark night to climb from rock to rock? Was it Paulus returning? Was\nit he--was it Polykarp seeking her? She felt intoxicated; she pressed her\nhands to her heart, and longed to cry out, but she dared not, and her\ntongue refused its office. She listened with the tension of terror to the\nsound of the steps which came straight towards her nearer and nearer,\nthen the wanderer perceived the faint gleam of her white dress, and\ncalled out to her. It was Paulus.\n\nShe drew a deep breath of relief when she recognized his voice, and\nanswered his call.\n\n\"In such weather as this,\" said the anchorite, \"it is better to be within\nthan without, it seems to me, for it is not particularly pleasant out\nhere, so far as I have found.\"\n\n\"But it has been frightful here inside the cave too,\" Sirona answered, \"I\nhave been so dreadfully frightened, I was so lonely in the horrible\ndarkness. If only I had had my little dog with me, it would at least have\nbeen a living being.\"\n\n\"I have made haste as well as I could,\" interrupted Paulus. \"The paths\nare not so smooth here as the Kanopic road in Alexandria, and as I have\nnot three necks like Cerberus, who lies at the feet of Serapis, it would\nhave been wiser of me to return to you a little more leisurely. The\nstorm-bird has swallowed up all the stars as if they were flies, and the\npoor old mountain is so grieved at it, that streams of tears are\neverywhere flowing over his stony cheeks. It is wet even here. Now go\nback into the cave, and let me lay this that I have got here for you in\nmy arms, in the dry passage. I bring you good news; to-morrow evening,\nwhen it is growing dusk, we start. I have found out a vessel which will\nconvey us to Klysma, and from thence I myself will conduct you to\nAlexandria. In the sheepskin here you will find the dress and veil of an\nAmalekite woman, and if your traces are to be kept hidden from\nPhoebicius, you must accommodate yourself to this disguise; for if the\npeople down there were to see you as I saw you to-day, they would think\nthat Aphrodite herself had risen from the sea, and the report of the\nfair-haired beauty that had appeared among them would soon spread even to\nthe oasis.\"\n\n\"But it seems to me that I am well hidden here,\" replied Sirona. \"I am\nafraid of a sea-voyage, and even if we succeeded in reaching Alexandria\nwithout impediment, still I do not know--\"\n\n\"It shall be my business to provide for you there.\" Paulus interrupted\nwith a decision that was almost boastful, and that somewhat disturbed\nSirona. \"You know the fable of the ass in the lion's skin, but there are\nlions who wear the skin of an ass on their shoulders--or of a sheep, it\ncomes to the same thing. Yesterday you were speaking of the splendid\npalaces of the citizens, and lauding the happiness of their owners. You\nshall dwell in one of those marble houses, and rule it as its mistress,\nand it shall be my care to procure you slaves, and litter-bearers, and a\ncarriage with four mules. Do not doubt my word, for I am promising\nnothing that I cannot perform. The rain is ceasing, and I will try to\nlight a fire. You want nothing more to eat? Well then, I will wish you\ngood-night. The rest will all do to-morrow.\"\n\nSirona had listened in astonishment to the anchorite's promises.\n\nHow often had she envied those who possessed all that her strange\nprotector now promised her--and now it had not the smallest charm for\nher; and, fully determined in any case not to follow Paulus, whom she\nbegan to distrust, she replied, as she coldly returned his greeting,\n\"There are many hours yet before tomorrow evening in which we can discuss\neverything.\"\n\nWhile Paulus was with great difficulty rekindling the fire, she was once\nmore alone, and again she began to be alarmed in the dark cavern.\n\nShe called the Alexandrian. \"The darkness terrifies me so,\" she said.\n\"You still had some oil in the jug this morning; perhaps you may be able\nto contrive a little lamp for me; it is so fearful to stay here in the\ndark.\"\n\nPaulus at once took a shard, tore a strip from his tattered coat, twisted\nit together, and laid it for a wick in the greasy fluid, lighted it at\nthe slowly reviving fire, and putting this more than simple light in\nSirona's hand, he said, \"It will serve its purpose; in Alexandria I will\nsee that you have lamps which give more light, and which are made by a\nbetter artist.\"\n\nSirona placed the lamp in a hollow in the rocky wall at the head of her\nbed, and then lay down to rest. Light scares away wild beasts and fear\ntoo from the resting-place of man, and it kept terrifying thoughts far\naway from the Gaulish woman.\n\nShe contemplated her situation clearly and calmly, and quite decided that\nshe would neither quit the cave, nor entrust herself to the anchorite,\ntill she had once more seen and spoken to Polykarp. He no doubt knew\nwhere to seek her, and certainly, she thought, he would by this time have\nreturned, if the storm and the starless night had not rendered it an\nimpossibility to come up the mountain from the oasis.\n\n\"To-morrow I shall see him again, and then I will open my heart to him,\nand he shall read my soul like a book, and on every page, and in every\nline he will find his own name. And I will tell him too that I have\nprayed to his 'Good Shepherd,' and how much good it has done me, and that\nI will be a Christian like his sister Marthana and his mother. Dorothea\nwill be glad indeed when she hears it, and she at any rate cannot have\nthought that I was wicked, for she always loved me, and the children--the\nchildren--\"\n\nThe bright crowd of merry faces came smiling in upon her fancy, and her\nthoughts passed insensibly into dreams; kindly sleep touched her heart\nwith its gentle hand, and its breath swept every shadow of trouble from\nher soul. She slept, smiling and untroubled as a child whose eyes some\nguardian angel softly kisses, while her strange protector now turned the\nflickering wood on the damp hearth and with a reddening face blew up the\ndying charcoal-fire, and again walked restlessly up and down, and paused\neach time he passed the entrance to the cave, to throw a longing glance\nat the light which shone out from Sirona's sleeping-room.\n\nSince the moment when he had flung Polykarp to the ground, Paulus had not\nsucceeded in recovering his self-command; not for a moment had he\nregretted the deed, for the reflection had never occurred to him, that a\nfall on the stony soil of the Sacred Mountain, which was as hard as iron,\nmust hurt more than a fall on the' sand of the arena.\n\n\"The impudent fellow,\" thought he, \"richly deserved what he got. Who gave\nhim a better right over Sirona than he, Paulus himself, had--he who had\nsaved her life, and had taken it upon himself to protect her?\" Her great\nbeauty had charmed him from the first moment of their meeting, but no\nimpure thought stirred his heart as he gazed at her with delight, and\nlistened with emotion to her childlike talk. It was the hot torrent of\nPolykarp's words that had first thrown the spark into his soul, which\njealousy and the dread of having to abandon Sirona to another, had soon\nfanned into a consuming flame. He would not give up this woman, he would\ncontinue to care for her every need, she should owe everything to him,\nand to him only. And so, without reserve, he devoted himself body and\nsoul to the preparations for her flight. The hot breath of the storm, the\nthunder and lightning, torrents of rain, and blackness of night could not\ndelay him, while he leaped from rock to rock, feeling his way-soaked\nthrough, weary and in peril; he thought only of her, and of how he could\nmost safely carry her to Alexandria, and then surround her with all that\ncould charm a woman's taste. Nothing--nothing did he desire for himself,\nand all that he dreamed of and planned turned only and exclusively on the\npleasure which he might afford her. When he had prepared and lighted the\nlamp for her he saw her again, and was startled at the beauty of the face\nthat the trembling flame revealed. He could observe her a few seconds\nonly, and then she had vanished, and he must remain alone in the darkness\nand the rain. He walked restlessly up and down, and an agonizing longing\nonce more to see her face lighted up by the pale flame, and the white arm\nthat she had held out to take the lamp, grew more and more strong in him\nand accelerated the pulses of his throbbing heart. As often as he passed\nthe cave, and observed the glimmer of light that came from her room, he\nfelt prompted and urged to slip in, and to gaze on her once more. He\nnever once thought of prayer and scourging, his old means of grace, he\nsought rather for a reason that might serve him as an excuse if he went\nin, and it struck him that it was cold, and that a sheepskin was lying in\nthe cavern. He would fetch it, in spite of his vow never to wear a\nsheepskin again; and supposing he were thus enabled to see her, what\nnext?\n\nWhen he had Stepped across the threshold, an inward voice warned him to\nreturn, and told him that he must be treading the path of\nunrighteousness, for that he was stealing in on tiptoe like a thief; but\nthe excuse was ready at once. \"That is for fear of waking her, if she is\nasleep.\"\n\nAnd now all further reflection was silenced for he had already reached\nthe spot where, at the end of the rocky passage, the cave widened into\nher sleeping-room; there she lay on her hard couch, sunk in slumber and\nenchantingly fair.\n\nA deep gloom reigned around, and the feeble light of the little lamp\nlighted up only a small portion of the dismal chamber but the head,\nthroat, and arms that it illuminated seemed to shine with a light of\ntheir own that enhanced and consecrated the light of the feeble flame.\nPaulus fell breathless on his knees, and fixed his eyes with growing\neagerness on the graceful form of the sleeper.\n\nSirona was dreaming; her head, veiled in her golden hair, rested on a\nhigh pillow of herbs, and her delicately rosy face was turned up to the\nvault of the cave; her half-closed lips moved gently, and now she moved\nher bent arm and her white hand, on which the light of the lamp fell, and\nwhich rested half on her forehead and half on her shining hair.\n\n\"Is she saying anything?\" asked Paulus of himself, and he pressed his\nbrow against a projection of the rock as tightly as if he would stem the\nrapid rush of his blood that it might not overwhelm his bewildered brain.\n\nAgain she moved her lips. Had she indeed spoken? Had she perhaps called\nhim?\n\nThat could not be, for she still slept; but he wished to believe it--and\nhe would believe it, and he stole nearer to her and nearer, and bent over\nher, and listened--while his own strength failed him even to draw a\nbreath--listened to the soft regular breathing that heaved her bosom. No\nlonger master of himself he touched her white arm with his bearded lips\nand she drew it back in her sleep, then his gaze fell on her parted lips\nand the pearly teeth that shone between them, and a mad longing to kiss\nthem came irresistibly over him. He bent trembling over her, and was on\nthe point of gratifying his impulse when, as if startled by a sudden\napparition, he drew back, and raised his eyes from the rosy lips to the\nhand that rested on the sleeper's brow.\n\nThe lamplight played on a golden ring on Sirona's finger, and shone\nbrightly on an onyx on which was engraved an image of Tyche, the tutelary\ngoddess of Antioch, with a sphere upon her head, and bearing Amalthea's\nhorn in her hand.\n\nA new and strange emotion took possession of the anchorite at the sight\nof this stone. With trembling hands he felt in the breast of his torn\ngarment, and presently drew forth a small iron crucifix and the ring that\nhe had taken from the cold hand of Hermas' mother. In the golden circlet\nwas set an onyx, on which precisely the same device was visible as that\non Sirona's hand. The string with its precious jewel fell from his grasp,\nhe clutched his matted hair with both hands, groaned deeply, and repeated\nagain and again, as though to crave forgiveness, the name of \"Magdalen.\"\n\nThen he called Sirona in a loud voice, and as she awoke excessively\nstartled, he asked her in urgent tones: \"Who gave you that ring?\"\n\n\"It was a present from Phoebicius,\" replied she. \"He said he had had it\ngiven to him many years since in Antioch, and that it had been engraved\nby a great artist. But I do not want it any more, and if you like to have\nit you may.\"\n\n\"Throw it away!\" exclaimed Paulus, \"it will bring you nothing but\nmisfortune.\" Then he collected himself, went out into the air with his\nhead sunk on his breast, and there, throwing himself down on the wet\nstones by the hearth, he cried out:\n\n\"Magdalen! dearest and purest! You, when you ceased to be Glycera, became\na saintly martyr, and found the road to heaven; I too had my day of\nDamascus--of revelation and conversion--and I dared to call myself by the\nname of Paulus--and now--now?\"\n\nPlunged in despair he beat his forehead, groaning out, \"All, all in\nvain!\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Can such love be wrong?\n\n\n\n\nHOMO SUM\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nCommon natures can only be lightly touched by the immeasurable depth of\nanguish that is experienced by a soul that despairs of itself; but the\nmore heavily the blow of such suffering falls, the more surely does it\nwork with purifying power on him who has to taste of that cup.\n\nPaulus thought no more of the fair, sleeping woman; tortured by acute\nremorse he lay on the hard stones, feeling that he had striven in vain.\nWhen he had taken Hermas' sin and punishment and disgrace upon himself,\nit had seemed to him that he was treading in the very footsteps of the\nSaviour. And now?--He felt like one who, while running for a prize,\nstumbles over a stone and grovels in the sand when he is already close to\nthe goal.\n\n\"God sees the will and not the deed,\" he muttered to himself. \"What I did\nwrong with regard to Sirona--or what I did not do--that matters not. When\nI leaned over her, I had fallen utterly and entirely into the power of\nthe evil one, and was an ally of the deadliest enemy of Him to whom I had\ndedicated my life and soul. Of what avail was my flight from the world,\nand my useless sojourn in the desert? He who always keeps out of the way\nof the battle can easily boast of being unconquered to the end-but is he\ntherefore a hero? The palm belongs to him who in the midst of the\nstruggles and affairs of the world clings to the heavenward road, and\nnever lets himself be diverted from it; but as for me who walk here\nalone, a woman and a boy cross my path, and one threatens and the other\nbeckons to me, and I forget my aim and stumble into the bog of iniquity.\nAnd so I cannot find--no, here I cannot find what I strive after. But how\nthen--how? Enlighten me, O Lord, and reveal to me what I must do.\"\n\nThus thinking he rose, knelt down, and prayed fervently; when at last he\ncame to the 'Amen,' his head was burning, and his tongue parched.\n\nThe clouds had parted, though they still hung in black masses in the\nwest; from time to time gleams of lightning shone luridly on the horizon\nand lighted up the jagged peak of mountain with a flare; the moon had\nrisen, but its waning disk was frequently obscured by dark driving masses\nof cloud; blinding flashes, tender light, and utter darkness were\nalternating with bewildering rapidity, when Paulus at last collected\nhimself, and went down to the spring to drink, and to cool his brow in\nthe fresh water. Striding from stone to stone he told himself, that ere\nhe could begin a new life, he must do penance--some heavy penance; but\nwhat was it to be? He was standing at the very margin of the brook,\nhemmed in by cliffs, and was bending down to it, but before he had\nmoistened his lips he drew back: just because he was so thirsty he\nresolved to deny himself drink. Hastily, almost vehemently, he turned his\nback on the spring, and after this little victory over himself, his\nstorm-tossed heart seemed a little calmer. Far, far from hence and from\nthe wilderness and from the Sacred Mountain he felt impelled to fly, and\nhe would gladly have fled then and there to a distance. Whither should he\nflee? It was all the same, for he was in search of suffering, and\nsuffering, like weeds, grows on every road. And from whom? This question\nrepeated itself again and again as if he had shouted it in the very home\nof echo, and the answer was not hard to find: \"It is from yourself that\nyou would flee. It is your own inmost self that is your enemy; bury\nyourself in what desert you will, it will pursue you, and it would be\neasier for you to cut off your shadow than to leave that behind?\"\n\nHis whole consciousness was absorbed by this sense of impotency, and now,\nafter the stormy excitement of the last few hours, the deepest depression\ntook possession of his mind. Exhausted, unstrung, full of loathing of\nhimself and life, he sank down on a stone, and thought over the\noccurrences of the last few days with perfect impartiality.\n\n\"Of all the fools that ever I met,\" thought he, \"I have gone farthest in\nfolly, and have thereby led things into a state of confusion which I\nmyself could not make straight again, even if I were a sage--which I\ncertainly never shall be any more than a tortoise or a phoenix. I once\nheard tell of a hermit who, because it is written that we ought to bury\nthe dead, and because he had no corpse, slew a traveller that he might\nfulfil the commandment: I have acted in exactly the same way, for, in\norder to spare another man suffering and to bear the sins of another, I\nhave plunged an innocent woman into misery, and made myself indeed a\nsinner. As soon as it is light I will go down to the oasis and confess to\nPetrus and Dorothea what I have done. They will punish me, and I will\nhonestly help them, so that nothing of the penance that they may lay upon\nme may be remitted. The less mercy I show to myself, the more will the\nEternal judge show to me.\"\n\nHe rose, considered the position of the stars, and when he perceived that\nmorning was not far off, he prepared to return to Sirona, who was no\nlonger any more to him than an unhappy woman to whom he owed reparation\nfor much evil, when a loud cry of distress in the immediate vicinity fell\non his ear.\n\nHe mechanically stooped to pick up a stone for a weapon, and listened. He\nknew every rock in the neighborhood of the spring, and when the strange\ngroan again made itself heard, he knew that it came from a spot which he\nknew well and where he had often rested, because a large flat stone\nsupported by a stout pillar of granite, stood up far above the\nsurrounding rocks, and afforded protection from the sun, even at noonday,\nwhen not a hand's breath of shade was to be found elsewhere.\n\nPerhaps some wounded beast had crept under the rock for shelter from the\nrain. Paulus went cautiously forward. The groaning sounded louder and\nmore distinct than before, and beyond a doubt it was the voice of a human\nbeing.\n\nThe anchorite hastily threw away the stone, fell upon his knees, and soon\nfound on the dry spot of ground under the stone, and in the farthermost\nnook of the retreat, a motionless human form.\n\n\"It is most likely a herdsman that has been struck by lightning,\" thought\nhe, as he felt with his hands the curly head of the sufferer, and the\nstrong arms that now bung down powerless. As he raised the injured man,\nwho still uttered low moans, and supported his head on his broad breast,\nthe sweet perfume of fine ointment was wafted to him from his hair, and a\nfearful suspicion dawned upon his mind.\n\n\"Polykarp!\" he cried, while he clasped his hands more tightly round the\nbody of the sufferer who, thus called upon, moved and muttered a few\nunintelligible words; in a low tone, but still much too clearly for\nPaulus, for he now knew for certain that he had guessed rightly. With a\nloud cry of horror he grasped the youth's powerless form, raised him in\nhis arms, and carried him like a child to the margin of the spring where\nhe laid his noble burden down in the moist grass; Polykarp started and\nopened his eyes.\n\nMorning was already dawning, the light clouds on the eastern horizon were\nalready edged with rosy fringes, and the coming day began to lift the\ndark veil from the forms and hues of creation.\n\nThe young man recognized the anchorite, who with trembling hands was\nwashing the wound at the back of his head, and his eye assumed an angry\nglare as he called up all his remaining strength and pushed his attendant\nfrom him. Paulus did not withdraw, he accepted the blow from his victim\nas a gift or a greeting, thinking, \"Aye, and I only wish you had a dagger\nin your hand; I would not resist you.\"\n\nThe artist's wound was frightfully wide and deep, but the blood had\nflowed among his thick curls, and had clotted over the lacerated veins\nlike a thick dressing. The water with which Paulus now washed his head\nreopened them, and renewed the bleeding, and after the one powerful\neffort with which Polykarp pushed away his enemy, he fell back senseless\nin his arms The wan morning-light added to the pallor of the bloodless\ncountenance that lay with glazed eyes in the anchorite's lap.\n\n\"He is dying!\" murmured Paulus in deadly anguish and with choking breath,\nwhile he looked across the valley and up to the heights, seeking help.\nThe mountain rose in front of him, its majestic mass glowing in the rosy\ndawn, while light translucent vapor floated round the peak where the Lord\nhad written His laws for His chosen people, and for all peoples, on\ntables of stone; it seemed to Paulus that he saw the giant form of Moses\nfar, far up on its sublimest height and that from his lips in brazen\ntones the strictest of all the commandments was thundered down upon him\nwith awful wrath, \"Thou shalt not kill!\"\n\nPaulus clasped his hands before his face in silent despair, while his\nvictim still lay in his lap. He had closed his eyes, for he dared not\nlook on the youth's pale countenance, and still less dared he look up at\nthe mountain; but the brazen voice from the height did not cease, and\nsounded louder and louder; half beside himself with excitement, in his\ninward ear he heard it still, \"Thou shalt not kill!\" and then again,\n\"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife!\" a third time, \"Thou shalt not\ncommit adultery!\" and at last a fourth, \"Thou shalt have none other gods\nbut me!\"\n\nHe that sins against one of those laws is damned; and he--he had broken\nthem all, broken them while striving to tread the thorny path to a life\nof blessedness.\n\nSuddenly and wildly he threw his arms up to heaven, and sighing deeply,\ngazed up at the sacred hill.\n\nWhat was that? On the topmost peak of Sinai whence the Pharanite\nsentinels were accustomed to watch the distance, a handkerchief was\nwaving as a signal that the enemy were approaching.\n\nHe could not be mistaken, and as in the face of approaching danger he\ncollected himself and recovered his powers of thought and deliberation,\nhis ear distinctly caught the mighty floods of stirring sound that came\nover the mountain, from the brazen cymbals struck by the watchmen to warn\nthe inhabitants of the oasis, and the anchorites.\n\nWas Hermas returned? Had the Blemmyes outstripped him? From what quarter\nwere the marauding hosts coming on? Could he venture to remain here near\nhis victim, or was it his duty to use his powerful arms in defence of his\nhelpless companions? In agonized doubt he looked down at the youth's\npallid features, and deep, sorrowful compassion filled his mind.\n\nHow promising was this young tree of humanity that his rough fist had\nbroken off! and these brown curls had only yesterday been stroked by a\nmother's hand. His eyes filled with tears, and he bent as tenderly as a\nfather might over the pale face, and pressed a gentle kiss on the\nbloodless lips of the senseless youth. A thrill of joy shot through him,\nfor Polykarp's lips were indeed not cold, he moved his hand, and now--the\nLord be praised! he actually opened his eyes.\n\n\"And I am not a murderer!\" A thousand voices seem to sing with joy in his\nheart, and then he thought to himself, \"First I will carry him down to\nhis parents in the oasis, and then go up to the brethren.\"\n\nBut the brazen signals rang out with renewed power, and the stillness of\nthe holy wilderness was broken here by the clatter of men's voices, there\nby a blast of trumpets, and there again by stifled cries. It was as if a\ncharm had given life to the rocks and lent their voices; as if noise and\nclamor were rushing like wild torrents down every gorge and cleft of the\nmountainside.\n\n\"It is too late,\" sighed the anchorite. \"If I only could--if I only\nknew--\"\n\n\"Hallo! hallo! holy Paulus!\" a shrill woman's voice which seemed to come\nfrom high up in the air rang out joyful and triumphant, interrupting the\nirresolute man's meditations, \"Hermas is alive! Hermas is here again!\nOnly look up at the heights. There flies the standard, for he has warned\nthe sentinels. The Blemmyes are coming on, and he sent me to seek you.\nYou must come to the strong tower on the western side of the ravine. Make\nhaste! come at once! Do you hear? He told me to tell you. But the man in\nyour lap--it is--yes, it is--\"\n\n\"It is your master's son Polykarp,\" Paulus called back to her. \"He is\nhurt unto death; hurry down to the oasis, and tell the senator, tell Dame\nDorothea--\"\n\n\"I have something else to do now,\" interrupted the shepherdess. \"Hermas\nhas sent me to warn Gelasius, Psoes, and Dulas, and if I went down into\nthe oasis they would lock me up, and not let me come up the mountain\nagain. What has happened to the poor fellow? But it is all the same:\nthere is something else for you to do besides grieving over a hole in\nPolykarp's head. Go up to the tower, I tell you, and let him lie--or\ncarry him up with you into your new den, and hand him over to your\nsweetheart to nurse.\"\n\n\"Demon!\" exclaimed Paulus, taking up a stone.\n\n\"Let him he!\" repeated Miriam. \"I will betray her hiding-place to\nPhoebicius, if you do not do as Dermas orders you. Now I am off to call\nthe others, and we shall meet again at the tower. And you had better not\nlinger too long with your fair companion--pious Paulus--saintly Paulus!\"\n\nAnd laughing loudly, she sprang away from rock to rock as if borne up by\nthe air.\n\nThe Alexandrian looked wrathfully after her; but her advice did not seem\nto be bad, he lifted the wounded man on his shoulders, and hastily\ncarried him up towards his cave; but before he could reach it he heard\nsteps, and a loud agonized scream, and in a few seconds Sirona was by his\nside, crying in passionate grief, \"It is he, it is he-and oh, to see him\nthus!--But he must live, for if he were dead your God of Love would be\ninexorable, pitiless, hard, cruel--it would be--\"\n\nShe could say no more, for tears choked her voice, and Paulus, without\nlistening to her lamentation, passed quickly on in front of her, entered\nthe cave and laid the unconscious man down on the couch, saying gravely\nbut kindly, as Sirona threw herself on her knees and pressed the young\nman's powerless hand to her lips, \"If indeed you truly love him, cease\ncrying and lamenting. He yesterday got a severe wound on his head; I have\nwashed it, now do you bind it up with care, and keep it constantly cool\nwith fresh water. You know your way to the spring; when he recovers his\nsenses rub his feet, and give him some bread and a few drops of the wine\nwhich you will find in the little cellar hard by; there is some oil there\ntoo, which you will need for a light.\n\n\"I must go up to the brethren, and if I do not return to-morrow, give the\npoor lad over to his mother to nurse. Only tell her this, that I, Paulus,\ngave him this wound in a moment of rage, and to forgive me if she can,\nshe and Petrus. And you too forgive me that in which I have sinned\nagainst you, and if I should fall in the battle which awaits us, pray\nthat the Lord may not be too hard upon me in the day of judgment, for my\nsins are great and many.\"\n\nAt this moment the sound of the trumpets sounded even into the deepest\nrecess of the cave. Sirona started. \"That is the Roman tuba,\" she\nexclaimed. \"I know the sound--Phoebicius is coming this way.\"\n\n\"He is doing his duty,\" replied Paulus. \"And still, one thing more. I saw\nlast night a ring on your hand--an onyx.\"\n\n\"There it lies,\" said Sirona; and she pointed to the farthest corner of\nthe cave, where it lay on the dusty soil.\n\n\"Let it remain there,\" Paulus begged of her; he bent over the senseless\nman once more to kiss his forehead, raised his hand towards Sirona in\nsign of blessing, and rushed out into the open air.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nTwo paths led over the mountain from the oasis to the sea; both followed\ndeep and stony gorges, one of which was named the \"short cut,\" because\nthe traveller reached his destination more quickly by that road than by\nfollowing the better road in the other ravine, which was practicable for\nbeasts of burden. Half-way up the height the \"short cut\" opened out on a\nlittle plateau, whose western side was shut in by a high mass of rock\nwith steep and precipitous flanks. At the top of this rock stood a tower\nbuilt of rough blocks, in which the anchorites were wont to take refuge\nwhen they were threatened with a descent of their foes.\n\nThe position of this castle--as the penitents proudly styled their\ntower--was well-chosen, for from its summit they commanded not only the\n\"short cut\" to the oasis, but also the narrow shell-strewn strip of\ndesert which divided the western declivity of the Holy Mountain from the\nshore, the blue-green waters of the sea, and the distant chain of hills\non the African coast.\n\nWhatever approached the tower, whether from afar or from the\nneighborhood, was at once espied by them, and the side of the rock which\nwas turned to the roadway was so precipitous and smooth that it remained\ninaccessible even to the natives of the desert, who, with their naked\nfeet and sinewy arms, could climb points which even the wild goat and the\njackal made a circuit to avoid. It was more accessible from the other\nside, and in order to secure that, a very strong wall had been built,\nwhich enclosed the level on which the castle stood in the form of a\nhorseshoe, of which the ends abutted on the declivity of the short road.\nThis structure was so roughly and inartistically heaped together that it\nlooked as if formed by nature rather than by the hand of man. The rough\nand unfinished appearance of this wall-like heap of stones was heightened\nby the quantity of large and small pieces of granite which were piled on\nthe top of it, and which had been collected by the anchorites, in case of\nan incursion, to roll and hurl down on the invading robbers. A cistern\nhad been dug out of the rocky soil of the plateau which the wall\nenclosed, and care was taken to keep it constantly filled with water.\n\nSuch precautions were absolutely necessary, for the anchorites were\nthreatened with dangers from two sides. First from the Ishmaelite hordes\nof Saracens who fell upon them from the east, and secondly from the\nBlemmyes, the wild inhabitants of the desert country which borders the\nfertile lands of Egypt and Nubia, and particularly of the barren\nhighlands that part the Red Sea from the Nile valley; they crossed the\nsea in light skiffs, and then poured over the mountain like a swarm of\nlocusts.\n\nThe little stores and savings which the defenceless hermits treasured in\ntheir caves had tempted the Blemmyes again and again, in spite of the\nRoman garrison in Pharan, which usually made its appearance on the scene\nof their incursion long after they had disappeared with their scanty\nbooty. Not many months since, the raid had been effected in which old\nStephanus had been wounded by an arrow, and there was every reason to\nhope that the wild marauders would not return very soon, for Phoebicius,\nthe commander of the Roman maniple in the oasis, was swift and vigorous\nin his office, and though he had not succeeded in protecting the\nanchorites from all damage, he had followed up the Blemmyes, who fled at\nhis approach, and cut them off from rejoining their boats. A battle took\nplace between the barbarians and the Romans, not far from the coast on\nthe desert tract dividing the hills from the sea, which resulted in the\ntotal annihilation of the wild tribes and gave ground to hope that such a\nlesson might serve as a warning to the sons of the desert. But if\nhitherto the more easily quelled promptings of covetousness had led them\nto cross the sea, they were now animated by the most sacred of all\nduties, by the law which required them to avenge the blood of their\nfathers and brothers, and they dared to plan a fresh incursion in which\nthey should put forth all their resources. They were at the same time\nobliged to exercise the greatest caution, and collected their forces of\nyoung men in the valleys that lay hidden in the long range of\ncoast-hills.\n\nThe passage of the narrow arm of the sea that parted them from Arabia\nPetraea, was to be effected in the first dark night; the sun, this\nevening, had set behind heavy storm-clouds that had discharged themselves\nin violent rain and had obscured the light of the waning moon. So they\ndrew their boats and rafts down to the sea, and, unobserved by the\nsentinels on the mountain who had taken shelter from the storm under\ntheir little penthouses, they would have reached the opposite shore, the\nmountain, and perhaps even the oasis, if some one had not warned the\nanchorites--and that some one was Hermas.\n\nObedient to the commands of Paulus, the lad had appropriated three of his\nfriend's gold pieces, had provided himself with a bow and arrows and some\nbread, and then, after muttering a farewell to his father who was asleep\nin his cave, he set out for Raithu. Happy in the sense of his strength\nand manhood, proud of the task which had been set him and which he deemed\nworthy of a future soldier, and cheerfully ready to fulfil it even at the\ncost of his life, he hastened forward in the bright moonlight. He quitted\nthe path at the spot where, to render the ascent possible even to the\nvigorous desert-travellers, it took a zigzag line, and clambered from\nrock to rock, up and down in a direct line; when he came to a level spot\nhe flew on as if pursuers were at his heels. After sunrise he refreshed\nhimself with a morsel of food, and then hurried on again, not heeding the\nheat of noon, nor that of the soft sand in which his foot sank as he\nfollowed the line of the sea-coast.\n\nThus passionately hurrying onwards he thought neither of Sirona nor of\nhis past life--only of the hills on the farther shore and of the\nBlemmyes--how he should best surprise them, and, when he had learnt their\nplans, how he might recross the sea and return to his own people. At\nlast, as he got more and more weary, as the heat of the sun grew more\noppressive, and as the blood rushed more painfully to his heart and began\nto throb more rapidly in his temples, he lost all power of thought, and\nthat which dwelt in his mind was no more than a dumb longing to reach his\ndestination as soon as possible.\n\nIt was the third afternoon when he saw from afar the palms of Raithu, and\nhurried on with revived strength. Before the sun had set he had informed\nthe anchorite, to whom Paulus had directed him, that the Alexandrian\ndeclined their call, and was minded to remain on the Holy Mountain.\n\nThen Hermas proceeded to the little harbor, to bargain with the fishermen\nof the place for the boat which he needed While he was talking with an\nold Amalekite boatman, who, with his black-eyed sons, was arranging his\nnets, two riders came at a quick pace towards the bay in which a large\nmerchant-ship lay at anchor, surrounded by little barks. The fisherman\npointed to it.\n\n\"It is waiting for the caravan from Petra,\" he said. \"There, on the\ndromedary, is the emperor's great warrior who commands the Romans in\nPharan.\"\n\nHermas saw Phoebicius for the first time, and as he rode up towards him\nand the fisherman he started; if he had followed his first impulse, he\nwould have turned and have taken to flight, but his clear eyes had met\nthe dull and searching glance of the centurion, and, blushing at his own\nweakness, he stood still with his arms crossed, and proudly and defiantly\nawaited the Gaul who with his companion came straight up to him.\n\nTalib had previously seen the youth by his father's side; he recognized\nhim and asked how long he had been there, and if he had come direct from\nthe mountain. Hermas answered him as was becoming, and understood at once\nthat it was not he that the centurion was seeking.\n\nPerfectly reassured and not without curiosity he looked at the new-comer,\nand a smile curled his lips as he observed that the lean old man,\nexhausted by his long and hurried ride, could scarcely hold himself on\nhis beast, and at the same time it struck him that this pitiable old man\nwas the husband of the blooming and youthful Sirona. Far from feeling any\nremorse for his intrusion into this man's house, he yielded entirely to\nthe audacious humor with which his aspect filled him, and when Phoebicius\nhimself asked him as to whether he had not met on his way with a\nfair-haired woman and a limping greyhound, he replied, repressing his\nlaughter with difficulty:\n\n\"Aye, indeed! I did see such a woman and her dog, but I do not think it\nwas lame.\"\n\n\"Where did you see her?\" asked Phoebicius hastily. Hermas colored, for he\nwas obliged to tell an untruth, and it might be that he would do Sirona\nan injury by giving false information. He therefore ventured to give no\ndecided answer, but enquired, \"Has the woman committed some crime that\nyou are pursuing her?\"\n\n\"A great one!\" replied Talib, \"she is my lord's wife, and--\"\n\nWhat she has done wrong concerns me alone,' said Phoebicius, sharply\ninterrupting his companion. \"I hope this fellow saw better than you who\ntook the crying woman with a child, from Aila, for Sirona. What is your\nname, boy?\"\n\n\"Hermas,\" answered the lad. \"And who are you, pray?\"\n\nThe Gaul's lips were parted for an angry reply, but he suppressed it and\nsaid, \"I am the emperor's centurion, and I ask you, what did the woman\nlook like whom you saw, and where did you meet her?\"\n\nThe soldier's fierce looks, and his captain's words showed Hermas that\nthe fugitive woman had nothing good to expect if she were caught, and as\nhe was not in the least inclined to assist her pursuers he hastily\nreplied, giving the reins to his audacity, \"I at any rate did not meet\nthe person whom you seek; the woman I saw is certainly not this man's\nwife, for she might very well be his granddaughter. She had gold hair,\nand a rosy face, and the greyhound that followed her was called Iambe.\"\n\n\"Where did you meet her?\" shrieked the centurion.\n\n\"In the fishing-village at the foot of the mountain,\" replied Hermas.\n\"She got into a boat, and away it went!\"\n\n\"Towards the north?\" asked the Gaul.\n\n\"I think so,\" replied Hermas, \"but I do not know, for I was in a hurry,\nand could not look after her.\"\n\n\"Then we will try to take her in Klysma,\" cried Phoebicius to the\nAmalekite. \"If only there were horses in this accursed desert!\"\n\n\"It is four days' journey,\" said Talib considering. \"And beyond Elim\nthere is no water before the Wells of Moses. Certainly if we could get\ngood dromedaries--\"\n\n\"And if,\" interrupted Hermas, \"it were not better that you, my lord\ncenturion, should not go so far from the oasis. For over there they say\nthat the Blemmyes are gathering, and I myself am going across as a spy so\nsoon as it is dark.\"\n\nPhoebicius looked down gloomily considering the matter. The news had\nreached him too that the sons of the desert were preparing for a new\nincursion, and he cried to Talib angrily but decidedly, as he turned his\nback upon Hermas, \"You must ride alone to Klysma, and try to capture her.\nI cannot and will not neglect my duty for the sake of the wretched\nwoman.\"\n\nHermas looked after him as he went away, and laughed out loud when he saw\nhim disappear into his inn. He hired a boat from the old man for his\npassage across the sea for one of the gold pieces given him by Paulus,\nand lying down on the nets he refreshed him self by a deep sleep of some\nhours' duration. When the moon rose he was roused in obedience to his\norders, and helped the boy who accompanied him, and who understood the\nmanagement of the sails and rudder, to push the boat, which was laid up\non the sand, down into the sea. Soon he was flying over the smooth and\nglistening waters before a light wind, and he felt as fresh and strong in\nspirit as a young eagle that has just left the nest, and spreads its\nmighty wings for the first time. He could have shouted in his new and\ndelicious sense of freedom, and the boy at the stern shook his head in\nastonishment when he saw Hermas wield the oars he had entrusted to him,\nunskilfully it is true, but with mighty strokes.\n\n\"The wind is in our favor,\" he called out to the anchorite as he hauled\nround the sail with the rope in his hand, \"we shall get on without your\nworking so hard. You may save your strength.\"\n\n\"There is plenty of it, and I need not be stingy of it,\" answered Hermas,\nand he bent forward for another powerful stroke.\n\nAbout half-way he took a rest, and admired the reflection of the moon in\nthe bright mirror of the water, and he could not but think of Petrus'\ncourt-yard that had shone in the same silvery light when he had climbed\nup to Sirona's window. The image of the fair, whitearmed woman recurred\nto his mind, and a melancholy longing began to creep over him.\n\nHe sighed softly, again and yet again; but as his breast heaved for the\nthird bitter sigh, he remembered the object of his journey and his broken\nfetters, and with eager arrogance he struck the oar flat on to the water\nso that it spurted high up, and sprinkled the boat and him with a shower\nof wet and twinkling diamond drops. He began to work the oars again,\nreflecting as he did so, that he had something better to do than to think\nof a woman. Indeed, he found it easy to forget Sirona completely, for in\nthe next few days he went through every excitement of a warrior's life.\n\nScarcely two hours after his start from Raithu he was standing on the\nsoil of another continent, and, after finding a hiding-place for his\nboat, he slipped off among the hills to watch the movements of the\nBlemmyes. The very first day he went up to the valley in which they were\ngathering; on the second, after being many times seen and pursued, he\nsucceeded in seizing a warrior who had been sent out to reconnoitre, and\nin carrying him off with him; he bound him, and by heavy threats learned\nmany things from him.\n\nThe number of their collected enemies was great, but Hermas had hopes of\noutstripping them, for his prisoner revealed to him the spot where their\nboats, drawn up on shore, lay hidden under sand and stones.\n\nAs soon as it was dusk, the anchorite in his boat went towards the place\nof embarkation, and when the Blemmyes, in the darkness of midnight, drew\ntheir first bark into the water, Hermas sailed off ahead of the enemy,\nlanded in much danger below the western declivity of the mountain, and\nhastened up towards Sinai to warn the Pharanite watchmen on the beacon.\n\nHe gained the top of the difficult peak before sunrise, roused the lazy\nsentinels who had left their posts, and before they were able to mount\nguard, to hoist the flags or to begin to sound the brazen cymbals, he had\nhurried on down the valley to his father's cave.\n\nSince his disappearance Miriam had incessantly hovered round Stephanus'\ndwelling, and had fetched fresh water for the old man every morning, noon\nand evening, even after a new nurse, who was clumsier and more peevish,\nhad taken Paulus' place. She lived on roots, and on the bread the sick\nman gave her, and at night she lay down to sleep in a deep dry cleft of\nthe rock that she had long known well. She quitted her hard bed before\ndaybreak to refill the old man's pitcher, and to chatter to him about\nHermas.\n\nShe was a willing servant to Stephanus because as often as she went to\nhim, she could hear his son's name from his lips, and he rejoiced at her\ncoming because she always gave him the opportunity of talking of Hermas.\n\nFor many weeks the sick man had been so accustomed to let himself be\nwaited on that he accepted the shepherdess's good offices as a matter of\ncourse, and she never attempted to account to herself for her readiness\nto serve him. Stephanus would have suffered in dispensing with her, and\nto her, her visits to the well and her conversations with the old man had\nbecome a need, nay a necessity, for she still was ignorant whether Hermas\nwas yet alive, or whether Phoebicius had killed him in consequence of her\nbetrayal. Perhaps all that Stephanus told her of his son's journey of\ninvestigation was an invention of Paulus to spare the sick man, and\naccustom him gradually to the loss of his child; and yet she was only too\nwilling to believe that Hermas still lived, and she quitted the\nneighborhood of the cave as late as possible, and filled the sick man's\nwater-jar before the sun was up, only because she said to herself that\nthe fugitive on his return would seek no one else so soon as his father.\n\nShe had not one really quiet moment, for if a falling stone, an\napproaching footstep, or the cry of a beast broke the stillness of the\ndesert she at once hid herself, and listened with a beating heart; much\nless from fear of Petrus her master, from whom she had run away, than in\nthe expectation of hearing the step of the man whom she had betrayed into\nthe hand of his enemy, and for whom she nevertheless painfully longed day\nand night.\n\nAs often as she lingered by the spring she wetted her stubborn hair to\nsmooth it, and washed her face with as much zeal as if she thought she\nshould succeed in washing the dark hue out of her skin. And all this she\ndid for him, that on his return she might charm him as much as the white\nwoman in the oasis, whom she hated as fiercely as she loved him\npassionately.\n\nDuring the heavy storm of last night a torrent from the mountain-height\nhad shed itself into her retreat and had driven her out of it. Wet\nthrough, shelterless, tormented by remorse, fear and longing, she had\nclambered from stone to stone, and sought refuge and peace under first\none rock and then another; thus she had been attracted by the glimmer of\nlight that shone out of the new dwelling of the pious Paulus; she had\nseen and recognized the Alexandrian, but he had not observed her as he\ncowered on the ground near his hearth deeply sunk in thought.\n\nShe knew now where the excommunicated man dwelt after whom Stephanus\noften asked, and she had gathered from the old man's lamentations and\ndark hints, that Paulus too had been ensnared and brought to ruin by her\nenemy.\n\nAs the morning-star began to pale Miriam went up to Stephanus' cave; her\nheart was full of tears, and yet she was unable to pour out her need and\nsuffering in a soothing flood of weeping; she was wholly possessed with a\nwild desire to sink down on the earth there and die, and to be released\nby death from her relentless, driving torment. But it was still too early\nto disturb the old man--and yet--she must hear a human voice, one\nword--even if it were a hard word--from the lips of a human being; for\nthe bewildering feeling of distraction which confused her mind, and the\nmisery of abandonment that crushed her heart, were all too cruelly\npainful to be borne.\n\nShe was standing by the entrance to the cave when, high above her head,\nshe heard the falling of stones and the cry of a human voice. She started\nand listened with out-stretched neck and strung sinews, motionless. Then\nshe broke suddenly into a loud and piercing shout of joy, and flinging up\nher arms she flew up the mountain towards a traveller who came swiftly\ndown to meet her.\n\n\"Hermas! Hermas!\" she shouted, and all the sunny delight of her heart was\nreflected in her cry so clearly and purely that the sympathetic chords in\nthe young man's soul echoed the sound, and he hailed her with joyful\nwelcome.\n\nHe had never before greeted her thus, and the tone of his voice revived\nher poor crushed heart like a restorative draught offered by a tender\nhand to the lips of the dying. Exquisite delight, and a glow of gratitude\nsuch as she had never before felt flooded her soul, and as he was so good\nto her she longed to show him that she had something to offer in return\nfor the gift of friendship which he offered her. So the first thing she\nsaid to him was, \"I have staid constantly near your father, and have\nbrought him water early and late, as much as he needed.\"\n\nShe blushed as she thus for the first time praised herself to him, but\nHermas exclaimed, \"That is a good girl! and I will not forget it. You are\na wild, silly thing, but I believe that you are to be relied on by those\nto whom you feel kindly.\"\n\n\"Only try me,\" cried Miriam holding out her hand to him. He took it, and\nas they went on together he said:\n\n\"Do you hear the brass? I have warned the watchmen up there; the Blemmyes\nare coming. Is Paulus with my father?\"\n\n\"No, but I know where he is.\"\n\n\"Then you must call him,\" said the young man. \"Him first and then\nGelasius, and Psoes, and Dulas, and any more of the penitents that you\ncan find. They must all go to the castle by the ravine. Now I will go to\nmy father; you hurry on and show that you are to be trusted.\" As he spoke\nhe put his arm round her waist, but she slipped shyly away, and calling\nout, \"I will take them all the message,\" she hurried off.\n\nIn front of the cave where she had hoped to meet with Paulus she found\nSirona; she did not stop with her, but contented herself with laughing\nwildly and calling out words of abuse.\n\nGuided by the idea that she should find the Alexandrian at the nearest\nwell, she went on and called him, then hurrying on from cave to cave she\ndelivered her message in Hermas' name, happy to serve him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThey were all collected behind the rough wall on the edge of the\nravine-the strange men who had turned their back on life with all its\njoys and pails, its duties and its delights, on the community and family\nto which they belonged, and had fled to the desert, there to strive for a\nprize above and beyond this life, when they had of their own free-will\nrenounced all other effort. In the voiceless desert, far from the\nenticing echoes of the world, it might be easy to kill every sensual\nimpulse, to throw off the fetters of the world, and so bring that\nhumanity, which was bound to the dust through sin and the flesh, nearer\nto the pure and incorporate being of the Divinity.\n\nAll these men were Christians, and, like the Saviour who had freely taken\ntorments upon Himself to become the Redeemer, they too sought through the\npurifying power of suffering to free themselves from the dross of their\nimpure human nature, and by severe penance to contribute their share of\natonement for their own guilt, and for that of all their race. No fear of\npersecution had driven them into the desert--nothing but the hope of\ngaining the hardest of victories.\n\nAll the anchorites who had been summoned to the tower were Egyptians and\nSyrians, and among the former particularly there were many who, being\nalready inured to abstinence and penance in the service of the old gods\nin their own country, now as Christians had selected as the scene of\ntheir pious exercises the very spot where the Lord must have revealed\nHimself to his elect.\n\nAt a later date not merely Sinai itself but the whole tract of Arabia\nPetraea--through which, as it was said, the Jews at their exodus under\nMoses had wandered--was peopled with ascetics of like mind, who gave to\ntheir settlements the names of the resting-places of the chosen people,\nas mentioned in the Scriptures; but as yet there was no connection\nbetween the individual penitents, no order ruled their lives; they might\nstill be counted by tens, though ere long they numbered hundreds and\nthousands.\n\nThe threat of danger had brought all these contemners of the world and of\nlife in stormy haste to the shelter of the tower, in spite of their\nreadiness to die. Only old Kosmas, who had withdrawn to the desert with\nhis wife--she had found a grave there--had remained in his cave, and had\ndeclared to Gelasius, who shared his cave and who had urged him to\nflight, that he was content in whatever place or whatever hour the Lord\nshould call him, and that it was in God's hands to decide whether old age\nor an arrow-shot should open to him the gates of heaven.\n\nIt was quite otherwise with the rest of the anchorites, who rushed\nthrough the narrow door of the watchtower and into its inner room till it\nwas filled to overflowing, and Paulus, who in the presence of danger had\nfully recovered his equanimity, was obliged to refuse admission to a\nnew-comer in order to preserve the closely packed and trembling crowd\nfrom injury.\n\nNo murrain passes from beast to beast, no mildew from fruit to fruit with\nsuch rapidity as fear spreads from man to man. Those who had been driven\nby the sharpest lashings of terror had run the fastest, and reached the\ncastle first. They had received those who followed them with lamentation\nand outcries, and it was a pitiable sight to see how the terrified crowd,\nin the midst of their loud declarations of resignation to God's guidance\nand their pious prayers, wrung their hands, and at the same time how\npainfully anxious each one was to hide the little property he had saved\nfirst from the disapproval of his companions, and then from the\ncovetousness of the approaching enemy.\n\nWith Paulus came Sergius and Jeremias to whom, on the way, he had spoken\nwords of encouragement. All three did their utmost to revive the\nconfidence of the terrified men, and when the Alexandrian reminded them\nhow zealously each of them only a few weeks since had helped to roll the\nblocks and stones from the wall, and down the precipice, so as to crush\nand slay the advancing enemy the feeling was strong in many of them that,\nas he had already proved himself worthy in defence, it was due to him now\nto make him their leader.\n\nThe number of the men who rushed out of the tower was increasing, and\nwhen Hermas appeared with his father on his back and followed by Miriam,\nand when Paulus exhorted his companions to be edified by this pathetic\npicture of filial love, curiosity tempted even the last loiterers in the\ntower out into the open space.\n\nThe Alexandrian sprang over the wall, went up to Stephanus, lifted him\nfrom the shoulders of the panting youth and, taking him on his own,\ncarried him towards the tower; but the old warrior refused to enter the\nplace of refuge, and begged his friend to lay him down by the wall.\nPaulus obeyed his wish and then went with Hermas to the top of the tower\nto spy the distance from thence.\n\nAs soon as he had quitted him, Stephanus turned to the anchorites who\nstood near him, saying, \"These stones are loose, and though my strength\nis indeed small still it is great enough to send one of them over with a\npush. If it comes to a battle my old soldier's eyes, dim as they are now,\nmay with the help of yours see many things that may be useful to you\nyoung ones. Above all things, if the game is to be a hot one for the\nrobbers, one must command here whom the others will obey.\"\n\n\"It shall be you, father,\" interrupted Salathiel the Syrian. \"You have\nserved in Caesar's army, and you proved your courage and knowledge of war\nin the last raid. You shall command us.\"\n\nStephanus sadly shook his head and replied, \"My voice is become too weak\nand low since this wound in my breast and my long illness. Not even those\nwho stand nearest to me would understand me in the noise of battle. Let\nPaulus be your captain, for he is strong, cautious and brave.\"\n\nMany of the anchorites had long looked upon the Alexandrian as their best\nstay; for many years he had enjoyed the respect of all and on a thousand\noccasions had given proof of his strength and presence of mind, but at\nthis proposal they looked at each other in surprise, doubt and\ndisapproval.\n\nStephanus saw what was passing in their minds.\n\n\"It is true he has erred gravely,\" he said. \"And before God he is the\nleast of the least among us; but in animal strength and indomitable\ncourage he is superior to you all. Which of you would be willing to take\nhis place, if you reject his guidance.\"\n\n\"Orion the Saite,\" cried one of the anchorites, \"is tall and strong. If\nhe would--\"\n\nBut Orion eagerly excused himself from assuming the dangerous office, and\nwhen Andreas and Joseph also refused with no less decision the leadership\nthat was offered them, Stephanus said:\n\n\"You see there is no choice left us but to be, the Alexandrian to command\nus here so long as the robbers threaten us, and no longer. There he\ncomes--shall I ask him?\"\n\nA murmur of consent, though by no means of satisfaction, answered the old\nman, and Paulus, quite carried away by his eagerness to stake his life\nand blood for the protection of the weak, and fevered with a soldier's\nardor, accepted Stephanus' commission as a matter of course, and set to\nwork like a general to organize the helpless wearers of sheepskin.\n\nSome he sent to the top of the tower to keep watch, others he charged\nwith the transport of the stones; to a third party he entrusted the duty\nof hurling pieces of rock and blocks of stone down into the abyss in the\nmoment of danger; he requested the weaker brethren to assemble themselves\ntogether, to pray for the others and to sing hymns of praise, and he\nconcerted signs and passwords with all; he was now here, now there, and\nhis energy and confidence infused themselves even into the faint-hearted.\n\nIn the midst of these arrangements Hermas took leave of him and of his\nfather, for he heard the Roman war-trumpets and the drums of the young\nmanhood of Pharan, as they marched through the short cut to meet the\nenemy. He knew where the main strength of the Blemmyes lay and\ncommunicated this knowledge to the Centurion Phoebicius and the captain\nof the Pharanites. The Gaul put a few short questions to Hermas, whom he\nrecognized immediately, for since he had met him at the harbor of Raithu\nhe could not forget his eyes, which reminded him of those of Glycera; and\nafter receiving his hasty and decided answers he issued rapid and prudent\norders.\n\nA third of the Pharanites were to march forward against the enemy,\ndrumming and trumpeting, and then retreat as far as the watch-tower as\nthe enemy approached over the plain. If the Blemmyes allowed themselves\nto be tempted thither, a second third of the warriors of the oasis, that\ncould easily be in ambush in a cross-valley, were to fall on their left\nflank, while Phoebicius and his maniple--hidden behind the rock on which\nthe castle stood--would suddenly rush out and so decide the battle. The\nlast third of the Pharanites had orders to destroy the ships of the\ninvaders under the command of Hermas, who knew the spot where they had\nlanded.\n\nIn the worst case the centurion and his men could retreat into the\ncastle, and there defend themselves till the warriors of the nearest\nseaports--whither messengers were already on their way--should come to\nthe rescue.\n\nThe Gaul's orders were immediately obeyed, and Hermas walked at the head\nof the division entrusted to him, as proud and as self-possessed as any\nof Caesar's veterans leading his legion into the field. He carried a bow\nand arrows at his back, and in his hand a battleaxe that he had bought at\nRaithu.\n\nMiriam attempted to follow the troops he was leading, but he observed\nher, and called out, \"Go up to the fort, child, to my father.\" And the\nshepherdess obeyed without hesitation.\n\nThe anchorites had all crowded to the edge of the precipice, they looked\nat the division of the forces, and signed and shouted down. They had\nhoped that some part of the fighting men would be joined to them for\ntheir defence, but, as they soon learned, they had hoped in vain.\nStephanus, whose feeble sight could not reach so far as the plain at the\nfoot of the declivity, made Paulus report to him all that was going on\nthere, and with the keen insight of a soldier he comprehended the\ncenturion's plan. The troop led by Hermas passed by below the tower, and\nthe youth waved and shouted a greeting up to his father. Stephanus, whose\nhearing remained sharper than his sight, recognized his son's voice and\ntook leave of him with tender and loving words in as loud a voice as he\ncould command. Paulus collected all the overflow of the old man's heart\nin one sentence, and called out his blessings through his two hands as a\nspeaking-trumpet, after his friend's son as he departed to battle. Hermas\nunderstood; but deeply as he was touched by this farewell he answered\nonly by dumb signs. A father can find a hundred words of blessing sooner\nthan a son can find one of thanks.\n\nAs the youth disappeared behind the rocks, Paulus said, \"He marches on\nlike an experienced soldier, and the others follow him as sheep follow a\nram. But hark!--Certainly--the foremost division of the Pharanites and\nthe enemy have met. The outcry comes nearer and nearer.\"\n\n\"Then all will be well,\" cried Stephanus excitedly. \"If they only take\nthe bait and let themselves be drawn on to the plateau I think they are\nlost. From here we can watch the whole progress of the battle, and if our\nside are driven back it may easily happen that they will throw themselves\ninto the castle. Now not a pebble must be thrown in vain, for if our\ntower becomes the central point of the struggle the defenders will need\nstones to fling.\"\n\nThese words were heard by several of the anchorites, and as now the\nwar-cries and the noise of the fight came nearer and nearer, and one and\nanother repeated to each other that their place of refuge would, become\nthe centre of the combat, the frightened penitents quitted the posts\nassigned to them by Paulus, ran hither and thither in spite of the\nAlexandrian's severe prohibition, and most of them at last joined the\ncompany of the old and feeble, whose psalms grew more and more lamentable\nas danger pressed closer upon them.\n\nLoudest of all was the wailing of the Saite Orion who cried with uplifted\nbands, \"What wilt Thou of us miserable creatures, O Lord? When Moses left\nThy chosen people on this very spot for only forty days, they at once\nfell away from Thee; and we, we without any leader have spent all our\nlife in Thy service, and have given up all that can rejoice the heart,\nand have taken every kind of suffering upon us to please Thee! and now\nthese hideous heathen are surging round us again, and will kill us. Is\nthis the reward of victory for our striving and our long wrestling?\"\n\nThe rest joined in the lamentation of the Saite, but Paulus stepped into\ntheir midst, blamed them for their cowardice, and with warm and urgent\nspeech implored them to return to their posts so that the wall might be\nguarded at least on the eastern and more accessible side, and that the\ncastle might not fall an easy prey into the hands of an enemy from whom\nno quarter was to be expected. Some of the anchorites were already\nproceeding to obey the Alexandrian's injunction, when a fearful cry, the\nwar-cry of the Blemmyes who were in pursuit of the Pharanites, rose from\nthe foot of their rock of refuge.\n\nThey crowded together again in terror; Salathiel the Syrian, had ventured\nto the edge of the abyss, and had looked over old Stephanus' shoulder\ndown into the hollow, and when he rushed back to his companions, crying\nin terror, \"Our men are flying!\"\n\nGelasius shrieked aloud, beat his breast, and tore his rough black hair,\ncrying out:\n\n\"O Lord God, what wilt Thou of us? Is it vain then to strive after\nrighteousness and virtue that Thou givest us over unto death, and dost\nnot fight for us? If we are overcome by the heathen, ungodliness and\nbrute force will boast themselves as though they had won the victory over\nrighteousness and truth!\"\n\nPaulus had turned from the lamenting hermits, perplexed and beside\nhimself, and stood with Stephanus watching the fight.\n\nThe Blemmyes had come in great numbers, and their attack, before which\nthe Pharanites were to have retired as a feint, fell with such force upon\nthe foremost division that they and their comrades, who had rushed to\ntheir aid on the plateau, were unable to resist it, and were driven back\nas far as the spot where the ravine narrowed.\n\n\"Things are not as they should be,\" said Stephanus. \"And the cowardly\nband, like a drove of cattle,\" cried Paulus in a fury, \"leave the walls\nunprotected, and blaspheme God instead of watching or fighting.\"\n\nThe anchorites noticed his gestures, which were indeed those of a\ndesperate man, and Sergius exclaimed: \"Are we then wholly abandoned? Why\ndoes not the thorn-bush light its fires, and destroy the evil-doers with\nits flames? Why is the thunder silent, and where are the lightnings that\nplayed round the peak of Sinai?\n\n\"Why does not darkness fall upon us to affright the heathen? Why does not\nthe earth open her mouth to swallow them up like the company of Korah?\"\n\n\"The Might of God,\" cried Dulas, \"tarries too long. The Lord must set our\npiety in a doubtful light, for He treats us as though we were unworthy of\nall care.\"\n\n\"And that you are!\" exclaimed Paulus, who had heard the last words, and\nwho was dragging rather than leading the feeble Stephanus to the\nunguarded eastern wall. \"That you are, for instead of resisting His\nenemies you blaspheme God, and disgrace yourself by your miserable\ncowardice. Look at this sick old man who is prepared to defend you, and\nobey my orders without a murmur, or, by the holy martyrs, I will drag you\nto your posts by your hair and ears, and will--\"\n\nBut he ceased speaking, for his threats were interrupted by a powerful\nvoice which called his name from the foot of the wall.\n\n\"That is Agapitus,\" exclaimed Stephanus. \"Lead me to the wall, and set me\ndown there.\"\n\nBefore Paulus could accede to his friend's wish the tall form of the\nbishop was standing by his side. Agapitus the Cappadocian had in his\nyouth been a warrior; he had hardly passed the limits of middle age, and\nwas a vigilant captain of his congregation. When all the youth of Pharan\nhad gone forth to meet the Blemmyes, he had no peace in the oasis, and,\nafter enjoining on the presbyters and deacons that they should pray in\nthe church for the fighting men with the women and the men who remained\nbehind, he himself, accompanied by a guide and two acolytes, had gone up\nthe mountain to witness the battle.\n\nTo the other priests and his wife who sought to detain him, he had\nanswered, \"Where the flock is there should the shepherd be!\"\n\nUnseen and unheard he had gained the castle-wall and had been a witness\nto Paulus' vehement speech. He now stood opposite the Alexandrian with\nrolling eyes, and threateningly lifted his powerful hand as he called out\nto him:\n\n\"And dare an outcast speak thus to his brethren? Will the champion of\nSatan give orders to the soldiers of the Lord? It would indeed be a joy\nto you if by your strong arm you could win back the good name that your\nsoul, crippled by sin and guilt, has flung away. Come on, my friends! the\nLord is with us and will help us.\"\n\nPaulus had let the bishop's words pass over him in silence, and raised\nhis hands like the other anchorites when Agapitus stepped into their\nmidst, and uttered a short and urgent prayer.\n\nAfter the \"Amen\" the bishop pointed out, like a general, to each man,\neven to the feeble and aged, his place by the wall or behind the stones\nfor throwing, and then cried out with a clear ringing voice that sounded\nabove all other noise, \"Show to-day that you are indeed soldiers of the\nMost High.\"\n\nNot one rebelled, and when man by man each had placed himself at his\npost, he went to the precipice and looked attentively down at the fight\nthat was raging below.\n\nThe Pharanites were now opposing the attack of the Blemmyes with success,\nfor Phoebicius, rushing forward with his men from their ambush, had\nfallen upon the compact mass of the sons of the desert in flank and,\nspreading death and ruin, had divided them into two bodies. The\nwell-trained and well-armed Romans seemed to have an easy task with their\nnaked opponents, who, in a hand to hand fight, could not avail themselves\nof either their arrows or their spears. But the Blemmyes had learned to\nuse their strength in frequent battles with the imperial troops, and so\nsoon as they perceived that they were no match for their enemies in\npitched battle, their leaders set up a strange shrill cry, their ranks\ndissolved, and they dispersed in all directions, like a heap of feathers\nstrewn by a gust of wind.\n\nAgapitus took the hasty disappearance of the enemy for wild flight, he\nsighed deeply and thankfully and turned to go down to the field of\nbattle, and to speak consolation to his wounded fellow-Christians.\n\nBut in the castle itself he found opportunity for exercising his pious\noffice, for before him stood the shepherdess whom he had already observed\non his arrival and she said with much embarrassment, but clearly and\nquickly, \"Old Stephanus there, my lord bishop--Hermas' father for whom I\ncarry water-bids me ask you to come to him; for his wound has reopened\nand he thinks his end is near.\"\n\nAgapitus immediately obeyed this call; he went with hasty steps towards\nthe sick man, whose wound Paulus and Orion had already bound up, and\ngreeted him with a familiarity that he was far from showing to the other\npenitents. He had long known the former name and the fate of Stephanus,\nand it was by his advice that Hermas had been obliged to join the\ndeputation sent to Alexandria, for Agapitus was of opinion that no one\nought to flee from the battle of life without having first taken some\npart in it.\n\nStephanus put out his hand to the bishop who sat down beside him, signed\nto the bystanders to leave them alone, and listened attentively to the\nfeeble words of the sufferer. When he had ceased speaking, Agapitus said:\n\n\"I praise the Lord with you for having permitted your lost wife to find\nthe ways that lead to Him, and your son will be--as you were once--a\nvaliant man of war. Your earthly house is set in order, but are you\nprepared for the other, the everlasting mansion?\"\n\n\"For eighteen years I have done penance, and prayed, and borne great\nsufferings,\" answered the sick man. \"The world lies far behind me, and I\nhope I am walking in the path that leads to heaven.\"\n\n\"So do I hope for you and for your soul,\" said the bishop. \"That which it\nis hardest to endure has fallen to your lot in this world, but have you\nstriven to forgive those who did you the bitterest wrong, and can you\npray, 'Forgive us our sins as we forgive them that sin against us?' Do\nyou remember the words, 'If ye forgive men their trespasses your heavenly\nfather will also forgive you?'\"\n\n\"Not only have I pardoned Glycera,\" answered Stephanus, \"but I have taken\nher again into my heart of hearts; but the man who basely seduced her,\nthe wretch, who although I had done him a thousand benefits, betrayed me,\nrobbed me and dishonored me, I wish him--\"\n\n\"Forgive him,\" cried Agapitus, \"as you would be forgiven.\"\n\n\"I have striven these eighteen years to bless my enemy,\" replied\nStephanus, \"and I will still continue to strive--\"\n\nUp to this moment the bishop had devoted his whole attention to the sick\nanchorite, but he was now called on all sides at once, and Gelasius, who\nwas standing by the declivity with some other anchorites, called out to\nhim, \"Father--save us--the heathen there are climbing up the rocks.\"\n\nAgapitus signed a blessing over Stephanus and then turned away from him,\nsaying earnestly once more, \"Forgive, and heaven is open to you.\"\n\nMany wounded and dead lay on the plain, and the Pharanites were\nretreating into the ravine, for the Blemmyes had not indeed fled, but had\nonly dispersed themselves, and then had climbed up the rocks which hemmed\nin the level ground and shot their arrows at their enemies from thence.\n\n\"Where are the Romans?\" Agapitus eagerly enquired of Orion.\n\n\"They are withdrawing into the gorge through which the road leads up\nhere,\" answered the Saite. \"But look! only look at these heathen! The\nLord be merciful to us! they are climbing up the cliffs like woodpeckers\nup a tree.\"\n\n\"The stones, fly to the stones!\" cried Agapitus with flashing eyes to the\nanchorites that stood by. \"What is going on behind the wall there? Do you\nhear? Yes that is the Roman tuba. Courage, brethren! the emperor's\nsoldiers are guarding the weakest side of the castle. But look here at\nthe naked figures in the cleft. Bring the blocks here; set your shoulders\nstoutly to it, Orion! one more push, Salathiel! There it goes, it crashes\ndown if only it does not stick in the rift! No! thank God, it has bounded\noff-that was a leap! Well done--there were six enemies of the Lord\ndestroyed at once.\"\n\n\"I see three more yonder,\" cried Orion. \"Come here, Damianus, and help\nme.\"\n\nThe man he called rushed forward with several others, and the first\nsuccess raised the courage of the anchorites so rapidly and wonderfully\nthat the bishop soon found it difficult to restrain their zeal, and to\npersuade them to be sparing with the precious missiles.\n\nWhile, under the direction of Agapitus stone after stone was hurled\nclattering over the steep precipice down upon the Blemmyes, Paulus sat by\nthe sick man, looking at the ground.\n\n\"You are not helping them?\" asked Stephanus. \"Agapitus is right,\" replied\nthe Alexandrian. \"I have much to expiate, and fighting brings enjoyment.\nHow great enjoyment I can understand by the torture it is to me to sit\nstill. The bishop blessed you affectionately.\"\n\n\"I am near the goal,\" sighed Stephanus, \"and he promises me the joys of\nheaven if I only forgive him who stole my wife from me. He is\nforgiven-yes, all is forgiven him, and may everything that he undertakes\nturn to good; yea, and nothing turn to evil--only feel how my heart\nthrobs, it is rallying its strength once more before it utterly ceases to\nbeat. When it is all over repeat to Hermas everything that I have told\nyou, and bless him a thousand, thousand times in my name and his\nmother's; but never, never tell him that in an hour of weakness she ran\naway with that villain--that man, that miserable man I mean--whom I\nforgive. Give Hermas this ring, and with it the letter that you will find\nunder the dry herbs on the couch in my cave; they will secure him a\nreception from his uncle, who will also procure him a place in the army,\nfor my brother is in high favor with Caesar. Only listen how Agapitus\nurges on our men; they are fighting bravely there; that is the Roman\ntuba. Attend to me--the maniple will occupy the castle and shoot down on\nthe heathen from hence; when they come carry me into the tower. I am weak\nand would fain collect my thoughts, and pray once more that I may find\nstrength to forgive the man not with my lips only.\"\n\n\"Down there see--there come the Romans,\" cried Paulus interrupting him.\n\"Here, up here!\" he called down to the men, \"The steps are more to the\nleft.\"\n\n\"Here we are,\" answered a sharp voice. \"You stay there, you people, on\nthat projection of rock, and keep your eye on the castle. If any danger\nthreatens call me with the trumpet. I will climb up, and from the top of\nthe tower there I can see where the dogs come from.\"\n\nDuring this speech Stephanus had looked down and listened; when a few\nminutes later the Gaul reached the wall and called out to the men inside,\n\"Is there no one there who will give me a hand?\" he turned to Paulus,\nsaying, \"Lift me up and support me--quick!\"\n\nWith an agility that astonished the Alexandrian, Stephanus stood upon his\nfeet, leaned over the wall towards the centurion--who had climbed as far\nas the outer foot of it, looked him in the face with eager attention,\nshuddered violently, and repressing his feelings with the utmost effort\noffered him his lean hand to help him.\n\n\"Servianus!\" cried the centurion, who was greatly shocked by such a\nmeeting and in such a place, and who, struggling painfully for composure,\nstared first at the old man and then at Paulus.\n\nNot one of the three succeeded in uttering a word; but Stephanus' eyes\nwere fixed on the Gaul's features, and the longer he looked at him the\nhollower grew his cheeks and the paler his lips; at the same time he\nstill held out his hand to the other, perhaps in token of forgiveness.\n\nSo passed a long minute. Then Phoebicius recollected that he had climbed\nthe wall in the emperor's service, and stamping with impatience at\nhimself he took the old man's hand in a hasty grasp. But scarcely had\nStephanus felt the touch of the Gaul's fingers when he started as struck\nby lightning, and flung himself with a hoarse cry on his enemy who was\nhanging on the edge of the wall.\n\nPaulus gazed in horror at the frightful scene, and cried aloud with\nfervent unction, \"Let him go--forgive that heaven may forgive you.\"\n\n\"Heaven! what is heaven, what is forgiveness!\" screamed the old man. \"He\nshall be damned.\" Before the Alexandrian could hinder him, the loose\nstone over which the enemies were wrestling in breathless combat gave\nway, and both were hurled into the abyss with the falling rock.\n\nPaulus groaned from the lowest depth of his breast and murmured while the\ntears ran down his cheeks, \"He too has fought the fight, and he too has\nstriven in vain.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe fight was ended; the sun as it went to its rest behind the Holy\nMountain had lighted many corpses of Blemmyes, and now the stars shone\ndown on the oasis from the clear sky.\n\nHymns of praise sounded out of the church, and near it, under the hill\nagainst which it was built, torches were blazing and threw their ruddy\nlight on a row of biers, on which under green palm-branches lay the\nheroes who had fallen in the battle against the Blemmyes. Now the hymn\nceased, the gates of the house of God opened and Agapitus led his\nfollowers towards the dead. The congregation gathered in a half-circle\nround their peaceful brethren, and heard the blessing that their pastor\npronounced over the noble victims who had shed their blood in fighting\nthe heathen. When it was ended those who in life had been their nearest\nand dearest went up to the dead, and many tears fell into the sand from\nthe eye of a mother or a wife, many a sigh went up to heaven from a\nfather's breast. Next to the bier, on which old Stephanus was resting,\nstood another and a smaller one, and between the two Hermas knelt and\nwept. He raised his face, for a deep and kindly voice spoke his name.\n\n\"Petrus,\" said the lad, clasping the hand that the senator held out to\nhim, \"I felt forced and driven out into the world, and away from my\nfather--and now he is gone for ever how gladly I would have been kept by\nhim.\"\n\n\"He died a noble death, in battle for those he loved,\" said the senator\nconsolingly,\n\n\"Paulus was near him when he fell,\" replied Hermas. \"My father fell from\nthe wall while defending the tower; but look here this girl--poor\nchild--who used to keep your goats, died like a heroine. Poor, wild\nMiriam, how kind I would be to you if only you were alive now!\"\n\nHermas as he spoke stroked the arm of the shepherdess, pressed a kiss on\nher small, cold hand, and softly folded it with the other across her\nbosom.\n\n\"How did the girl get into the battle with the men?\" asked Petrus. \"But\nyou can tell me that in my own house. Come and be our guest as long as it\npleases you, and until you go forth into the world; thanks are due to you\nfrom us all.\"\n\nHermas blushed and modestly declined the praises which were showered on\nhim on all sides as the savior of the oasis. When the wailing women\nappeared he knelt once more at the head of his father's bier, cast a last\nloving look at Miriam's peaceful face, and then followed his host.\n\nThe man and boy crossed the court together. Hermas involuntarily glanced\nup at the window where more than once he had seen Sirona, and said, as he\npointed to the centurion's house, \"He too fell.\"\n\nPetrus nodded and opened the door of his house. In the hall, which was\nlighted up, Dorothea came hastily to meet him, asking, \"No news yet of\nPolykarp?\"\n\nHer husband shook his head, and she added, \"How indeed is it possible? He\nwill write at the soonest from Klysma or perhaps even from Alexandria.\"\n\n\"That is just what I think,\" replied Petrus, looking down to the ground.\nThen he turned to Hermas and introduced him to his wife.\n\nDorothea received the young man with warm sympathy; she had heard that\nhis father had fallen in the fight, and how nobly he too had\ndistinguished himself. Supper was ready, and Hermas was invited to share\nit. The mistress gave her daughter a sign to make preparations for their\nguest, but Petrus detained Marthana, and said, \"Hermas may fill Antonius'\nplace; he has still something to do with some of the workmen. Where are\nJethro and the house-slaves?\"\n\n\"They have already eaten,\" said Dorothea.\n\nThe husband and wife looked at each other, and Petrus said with a\nmelancholy smile, \"I believe they are up on the mountain.\"\n\nDorothea wiped a tear from her eye as she replied, \"They will meet\nAntonius there. If only they could find Polykarp! And yet I honestly\nsay--not merely to comfort you--it is most probable that he has not met\nwith any accident in the mountain gorges, but has gone to Alexandria to\nescape the memories that follow him here at every step--Was not that the\ngate?\"\n\nShe rose quickly and looked into the court, while Petrus, who had\nfollowed her, did the same, saying with a deep sigh, as he turned to\nMarthana--who, while she offered meat and bread to Hermas was watching\nher parents--\"It was only the slave Anubis.\"\n\nFor some time a painful silence reigned round the large table, to-day so\nsparely furnished with guests.\n\nAt last Petrus turned to his guest and said, \"You were to tell me how the\nshepherdess Miriam lost her life in the struggle. She had run away from\nour house--\"\n\n\"Up the mountain,\" added Hermas. \"She supplied my poor father with water\nlike a daughter.\"\n\n\"You see, mother,\" interrupted Marthana, \"she was not bad-hearted--I\nalways said so.\"\n\n\"This morning,\" continued Hermas, nodding in sad assent to the maiden,\n\"she followed my father to the castle, and immediately after his fall,\nPaulus told me, she rushed away from it, but only to seek me and to bring\nme the sad news. We had known each other a long time, for years she had\nwatered her goats at our well, and while I was still quite a boy and she\na little girl, she would listen for hours when I played on my willow pipe\nthe songs which Paulus had taught me. As long as I played she was\nperfectly quiet, and when I ceased she wanted to hear more and still\nmore, until I had too much of it and went away. Then she would grow\nangry, and if I would not do her will she would scold me with bad words.\nBut she always came again, and as I had no other companion and she was\nthe only creature who cared to listen to me, I was very well-content that\nshe should prefer our well to all the others. Then we grew order and I\nbegan to be afraid of her, for she would talk in such a godless way--and\nshe even died a heathen. Paulus, who once overheard us, warned me against\nher, and as I had long thrown away the pipe and hunted beasts with my bow\nand arrow whenever my father would let me, I was with her for shorter\nintervals when I went to the well to draw water, and we became more and\nmore strangers; indeed, I could be quite hard to her. Only once after I\ncame back from the capital something happened--but that I need not tell\nyou. The poor child was so unhappy at being a slave and no doubt had\nfirst seen the light in a free-house.\n\n\"She was fond of me, more than a sister is of a brother--and when my\nfather was dead she felt that I ought not to learn the news from any one\nbut herself. She had seen which way I had gone with the Pharanites and\nfollowed me up, and she soon found me, for she had the eyes of a gazelle\nand the ears of a startled bird. It was not this time difficult to find\nme, for when she sought me we were fighting with the Blemmyes in the\ngreen hollow that leads from the mountain to the sea. They roared with\nfury like wild beasts, for before we could get to the sea the fishermen\nin the little town below had discovered their boats, which they had\nhidden under sand and stones, and had carried them off to their harbor.\nThe boy from Raithu who accompanied me, had by my orders kept them in\nsight, and had led the fishermen to the hiding-place. The watchmen whom\nthey had left with the boats had fled, and had reached their companions\nwho were fighting round the castle; and at least two hundred of them had\nbeen sent back to the shore to recover possession of the boats and to\npunish the fishermen. This troop met us in the green valley, and there we\nfell to fighting.\n\n\"The Blemmyes outnumbered us; they soon surrounded us before and behind,\non the right side and on the left, for they jumped and climbed from rock\nto rock like mountain goats and then shot down their reed-arrows from\nabove. Three or four touched me, and one pierced my hair and remained\nhanging in it with the feather at the end of the shaft.\n\n\"How the battle went elsewhere I cannot tell you, for the blood mounted\nto my head, and I was only conscious that I myself snorted and shouted\nlike a madman and wrestled with the heathen now here and now there, and\nmore than once lifted my axe to cleave a skull. At the same time I saw a\npart of our men turn to fly, and I called them back with furious words;\nthen they turned round and followed me again.\n\n\"Once, in the midst of the struggle, I saw Miriam too, clinging pale and\ntrembling to a rock and looking on at the fight. I shouted to her to\nleave the spot, and go back to my father, but she stood still and shook\nher head with a gesture--a gesture so full of pity and anguish--I shall\nnever forget it. With hands and eyes she signed to me that my father was\ndead, and I understood; at least I understood that some dreadful\nmisfortune had happened. I had no time for reflection, for before I could\ngain any certain information by word of mouth, a captain of the heathen\nhad seized me, and we came to a life and death struggle before Miriam's\nvery eyes. My opponent was strong, but I showed the girl--who had often\ntaunted me for being a weakling because I obeyed my father in\neverything--that I need yield to no one. I could not have borne to be\nvanquished before her and I flung the heathen to the ground and slew him\nwith my axe. I was only vaguely conscious of her presence, for during my\nsevere struggle I could see nothing but my adversary. But suddenly I\nheard a loud scream, and Miriam sank bleeding close before me. While I\nwas kneeling over his comrade one of the Blemmyes had crept up to me, and\nhad flung his lance at me from a few paces off. But Miriam--Miriam--\"\n\n\"She saved you at the cost of her own life,\" said Petrus completing the\nlad's sentence, for at the recollection of the occurrence his voice had\nfailed and his eyes overflowed with tears.\n\nHermas nodded assent, and then added softly: \"She threw up her arms and\ncalled my name as the spear struck her. The eldest son of Obedianus\npunished the heathen that had done it, and I supported her as she fell\ndying and took her curly head on my knees and spoke her name; she opened\nher eyes once more, and spoke mine softly and with indescribable\ntenderness. I had never thought that wild Miriam could speak so sweetly,\nI was overcome with terrible grief, and kissed her eyes and her lips. She\nlooked at me once more with a long, wide-open, blissful gaze, and then\nshe was dead.\"\n\n\"She was a heathen,\" said Dorothea, drying her eyes, \"but for such a\ndeath the Lord will forgive her much.\"\n\n\"I loved her dearly,\" said Marthana, \"and will lay my sweetest flowers on\nher grave. May I cut some sprays from your blooming myrtle for a wreath?\"\n\n\"To-morrow, to-morrow, my child,\" replied Dorothea. \"Now go to rest; it\nis already very late.\"\n\n\"Only let me stay till Antonius and Jethro come back,\" begged the girl.\n\n\"I would willingly help you to find your son,\" said Hermas, \"and if you\nwish I will go to Raithu and Klysma, and enquire among the fishermen. Had\nthe centurion--\" and as he spoke the young soldier looked down in some\nembarrassment, \"had the centurion found his fugitive wife of whom he was\nin pursuit with Talib, the Amalekite, before he died?\"\n\n\"Sirona has not yet reappeared,\" replied Petrus, and perhaps--but just\nnow you mentioned the name of Paulus, who was so dear to you and your\nfather. Do you know that it was he who so shamelessly ruined the domestic\npeace of the centurion?\"\n\n\"Paulus!\" cried Hermas. \"How can you believe it?\"\n\n\"Phoebicius found his sheepskin in his wife's room,\" replied Petrus\ngravely. \"And the impudent Alexandrian recognized it as his own before us\nall and allowed the Gaul to punish him. He committed the disgraceful deed\nthe very evening that you were sent off to gain intelligence.\"\n\n\"And Phoebicius flogged him?\" cried Hermas beside himself. \"And the poor\nfellow bore this disgrace and your blame, and all--all for my sake. Now I\nunderstand what he meant! I met him after the battle and he told me that\nmy father was dead. When he parted from me, he said he was of all sinners\nthe greatest, and that I should hear it said down in the oasis. But I\nknow better; he is great-hearted and good, and I will not bear that he\nshould be disgraced and slandered for my sake.\" Hermas had sprung up with\nthese words, and as he met the astonished gaze of his hosts, he tried to\ncollect himself, and said:\n\n\"Paulus never even saw Sirona, and I repeat it, if there is a man who may\nboast of being good and pure and quite without sin, it is he. For me, and\nto save me from punishment and my father from sorrow, he owned a sin that\nhe never committed. Such a deed is just like him--the brave--faithful\nfriend! But such shameful suspicion and disgrace shall not weigh upon him\na moment longer!\"\n\n\"You are speaking to an older man,\" said Petrus angrily interrupting the\nyouth's vehement speech. \"Your friend acknowledged with his own lips--\"\n\n\"Then he told a lie out of pure goodness,\" Hermas insisted. \"The\nsheepskin that the Gaul found was mine. I had gone to Sirona, while her\nhusband was sacrificing to Mithras, to fetch some wine for my father, and\nshe allowed me to try on the centurion's armor; when he unexpectedly\nreturned I leaped out into the street and forgot that luckless sheepskin.\nPaulus met me as I fled, and said he would set it all right, and sent me\naway--to take my place and save my father a great trouble. Look at me as\nseverely as you will, Dorothea, but it was only in thoughtless folly that\nI slipped into the Gaul's house that evening, and by the memory of my\nfather--of whom heaven has this day bereft me--I swear that Sirona only\namused herself with me as with a boy, a child, and even refused to let me\nkiss her beautiful golden hair. As surely as I hope to become a warrior,\nand as surely as my father's spirit hears what I say, the guilt that\nPaulus took upon himself was never committed at all, and when you\ncondemned Sirona you did an injustice, for she never broke her faith to\nher husband for me, nor still less for Paulus.\"\n\nPetrus and Dorothea exchanged a meaning glance, and Dorothea said:\n\n\"Why have we to learn all this from the lips of a stranger? It sounds\nvery extraordinary, and yet how simple! Aye, husband, it would have\nbecome us better to guess something of this than to doubt Sirona. From\nthe first it certainly seemed to me impossible that that handsome woman,\nfor whom quite different people had troubled themselves should err for\nthis queer beggar--\"\n\n\"What cruel injustice has fallen on the poor man!\" cried Petrus. \"If he\nhad boasted of some noble deed, we should indeed have been less ready to\ngive him credence.\"\n\n\"We are suffering heavy punishment,\" sighed Dorothea, \"and my heart is\nbleeding. Why did you not come to us, Hermas, if you wanted wine? How\nmuch suffering would have been spared if you had!\"\n\nThe lad looked down, and was silent; but soon he recollected himself, and\nsaid eagerly:\n\n\"Let me go and seek the hapless Paulus; I return you thanks for your\nkindness but I cannot bear to stay here any longer. I must go back to the\nmountain.\"\n\nThe senator and his wife did not detain him, and when the court-yard gate\nhad closed upon him a great stillness reigned in Petrus' sitting-room.\nDorothea leaned far back in her seat and sat looking in her lap while the\ntears rolled over her cheeks; Marthana held her hand and stroked it, and\nthe senator stepped to the window and sighed deeply as he looked down\ninto the dark court. Sorrow lay on all their hearts like a heavy leaden\nburden. All was still in the spacious room, only now and then a loud,\nlong-drawn cry of the wailing women rang through the quiet night and\nreached them through the open window; it was a heavy hour, rich in vain,\nbut silent self-accusation, in anxiety, and short prayers; poor in hope\nor consolation.\n\nPresently Petrus heaved a deep sigh, and Dorothea rose to go up to him\nand to say to him some sincere word of affection; but just then the dogs\nin the yard barked, and the agonized father said softly--in deep\ndejection, and prepared for the worst:\n\n\"Most likely it is they.\"\n\nThe deaconess pressed his hand in hers, but drew back when a light tap\nwas heard at the court-yard gate. \"It is not Jethro and Antonius.\" said\nPetrus, \"they have a key.\"\n\nMarthana had gone up to him, and she clung to him as he leaned far out of\nthe window and called to whoever it was that had tapped:\n\n\"Who is that knocking?\"\n\nThe dogs barked so loud that neither the senator nor the women were able\nto hear the answer which seemed to be returned.\n\n\"Listen to Argus,\" said Dorothea, \"he never howls like that, but when you\ncome home or one of us, or when he is pleased.\"\n\nPetrus laid his finger on his lips and sounded a clear, shrill whistle,\nand as the dogs, obedient to this signal, were silent, he once more\ncalled out, \"Whoever you may be, say plainly who you are, that I may open\nthe gate.\"\n\nThey were kept waiting some few minutes for the answer, and the senator\nwas on the point of repeating his enquiry, when a gentle voice timidly\ncame from the gate to the window, saying, \"It is I, Petrus, the fugitive\nSirona.\" Hardly had the words tremulously pierced the silence, when\nMarthana broke from her father, whose hand was resting on her shoulder,\nand flew out of the door, down the steps and out to the gate.\n\n\"Sirona; poor, dear Sirona,\" cried the girl as she pushed back the bolt;\nas soon as she had opened the door and Sirona had entered the court, she\nthrew herself on her neck, and kissed and stroked her as if she were her\nlong lost sister found again; then, without allowing her to speak, she\nseized her hand and drew her--in spite of the slight resistance she\noffered--with many affectionate exclamations up the steps and into the\nsitting-room. Petrus and Dorothea met her on the threshold, and the\nlatter pressed her to her heart, kissed her forehead and said, \"Poor\nwoman; we know now that we have done you an injustice, and will try to\nmake it good.\" The senator too went up to her, took her hand and added\nhis greetings to those of his wife, for he knew not whether she had as\nyet heard of her husband's end.\n\nSirona could not find a word in reply. She had expected to be expelled as\na castaway when she came down the mountain, losing her way in the\ndarkness. Her sandals were cut by the sharp rocks, and hung in strips to\nher bleeding feet, her beautiful hair was tumbled by the night-wind, and\nher white robe looked like a ragged beggar's garment, for she had torn it\nto make bandages for Polykarp's wound.\n\nSome hours had already passed since she had left her patient--her heart\nfull of dread for him and of anxiety as to the hard reception she might\nmeet with from his parents.\n\nHow her hand shook with fear of Petrus and Dorothea as she raised the\nbrazen knocker of the senator's door, and now--a father, a mother, a\nsister opened their arms to her, and an affectionate home smiled upon\nher. Her heart and soul overflowed with boundless emotion and unlimited\nthankfulness, and weeping loudly, she pressed her clasped hands to her\nbreast.\n\nBut she spared only a few moments for the enjoyment of these feelings of\ndelight, for there was no happiness for her without Polykarp, and it was\nfor his sake that she had undertaken this perilous night-journey.\nMarthana had tenderly approached her, but she gently put her aside,\nsaying, \"Not just now, dear girl. I have already wasted an hour, for I\nlost my way in the ravines. Get ready Petrus to come back to the mountain\nwith me at once, for--but do not be startled Dorothea, Paulus says that\nthe worst danger is over, and if Polykarp--\"\n\n\"For God's sake, do you know where he is?\" cried Dorothea, and her cheeks\ncrimsoned while Petrus turned pale, and, interrupting her, asked in\nbreathless anxiety, \"Where is Polykarp, and what has happened to him?\"\n\n\"Prepare yourself to hear bad news,\" said Sirona, looking at the pair\nwith mournful anxiety as if to crave their pardon for the evil tidings\nshe was obliged to bring. \"Polykarp had a fall on a sharp stone and so\nwounded his head. Paulus brought him to me this morning before he set out\nagainst the Blemmyes, that I might nurse him. I have incessantly cooled\nhis wound, and towards mid-day he opened his eyes and knew me again, and\nsaid you would be anxious about him. After sundown he went to sleep, but\nhe is not wholly free from fever, and as soon as Paulus came in I set out\nto quiet your anxiety and to entreat you to give me a cooling potion,\nthat I may return to him with it at once.\" The deepest sorrow sounded in\nSirona's accents as she told her story, and tears had started to her eyes\nas she related to the parents what had befallen their son. Petrus and\nDorothea listened as to a singer, who, dressed indeed in robes of\nmourning, nevertheless sings a lay of return and hope to a harp wreathed\nwith flowers.\n\n\"Quick, quick, Marthana,\" cried Dorothea eagerly and with sparkling eyes,\nbefore Sirona had ended. \"Quick, the basket with the bandages. I will mix\nthe fever-draught myself.\" Petrus went up to the Gaulish woman.\n\n\"It is really no worse than you represent?\" he asked in a low voice. \"He\nis alive? and Paulus--\"\n\n\"Paulus says,\" interrupted Sirona, \"that with good nursing the sick man\nwill be well in a few weeks.\"\n\n\"And you can lead me to him?\"\n\n\"Oh, alas! alas!\" Sirona cried, striking her hand against her forehead.\n\"I shall never succeed in finding my way back, for I noticed no\nway-marks! But stay--Before us a penitent from Memphis, who has been dead\na few weeks--\"\n\n\"Old Serapion?\" asked Petrus.\n\n\"That was his name,\" exclaimed Sirona. \"Do you know his cave?\"\n\n\"How should I?\" replied Petrus. \"But perhaps Agapitus--\"\n\n\"The spring where I got the water to cool Polykarp's wound, Paulus calls\nthe partridge's-spring.\"\n\n\"The partridge's-spring,\" repeated the senator, \"I know that.\" With a\ndeep sigh he took his staff, and called to Dorothea, \"Do you prepare the\ndraught, the bandages, torches, and your good litter, while I knock at\nour neighbor Magadon's door, and ask him to lend us slaves.\"\n\n\"Let me go with you,\" said Marthana. \"No, no; you stay here with your\nmother.\"\n\n\"And do you think that I can wait here?\" asked Dorothea. \"I am going with\nyou.\"\n\n\"There is much here for you to do,\" replied Petrus evasively, \"and we\nmust climb the hill quickly.\"\n\n\"I should certainly delay you,\" sighed the mother, \"but take the girl\nwith you; she has a light and lucky hand.\"\n\n\"If you think it best,\" said the senator, and he left the room.\n\nWhile the mother and daughter prepared everything for the\nnight-expedition, and came and went, they found time to put many\nquestions and say many affectionate words to Sirona. Marthana, even\nwithout interrupting her work, set food and drink for the weary woman on\nthe table by which she had sunk on a seat; but she hardly moistened her\nlips.\n\nWhen the young girl showed her the basket that she had filled with\nmedicine and linen bandages, with wine and pure water, Sirona said, \"Now\nlend me a pair of your strongest sandals, for mine are all torn, and I\ncannot follow the men without shoes, for the stones are sharp, and cut\ninto the flesh.\"\n\nMarthana now perceived for the first time the blood on her friend's feet,\nshe quickly took the lamp from the table and placed it on the pavement,\nexclaiming, as she knelt down in front of Sirona and took her slender\nwhite feet in her hand to look at the wounds on the soles, \"Good heavens!\nhere are three deep cuts!\"\n\nIn a moment she had a basin at hand, and was carefully bathing the wounds\nin Sirona's feet; while she was wrapping the injured foot in strips of\nlinen Dorothea came up to them.\n\n\"I would,\" she said, \"that Polykarp were only here now, this roll would\nsuffice to bind you both.\" A faint flush overspread Sirona's cheeks, but\nDorothea was suddenly conscious of what she had said, and Marthana gently\npressed her friend's hand.\n\nWhen the bandage was securely fixed, Sirona attempted to walk, but she\nsucceeded so badly that Petrus, who now came back with his friend Magadon\nand his sons, and several slaves, found it necessary to strictly forbid\nher to accompany them. He felt sure of finding his son without her, for\none of Magadon's people had often carried bread and oil to old Serapion\nand knew his cave.\n\nBefore the senator and his daughter left the room he whispered a few\nwords to his wife, and together they went up to Sirona.\n\n\"Do you know,\" he asked, \"what has happened to your husband?\"\n\nSirona nodded. \"I heard it from Paulus,\" she answered. \"Now I am quite\nalone in the world.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" replied Petrus. \"You will find shelter and love under our roof\nas if it were your father's, so long as it suits you to stay with us. You\nneed not thank us--we are deeply in your debt. Farewell till we meet\nagain wife. I would Polykarp were safe here, and that you had seen his\nwound. Come, Marthana, the minutes are precious.\"\n\nWhen Dorothea and Sirona were alone, the deaconess said, \"Now I will go\nand make up a bed for you, for you must be very tired.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" begged Sirona. \"I will wait and watch with you, for I certainly\ncould not sleep till I know how it is with him.\" She spoke so warmly and\neagerly that the deaconess gratefully offered her hand to her young\nfriend. Then she said, \"I will leave you alone for a few minutes, for my\nheart is so full of anxiety that I must needs go and pray for help for\nhim, and for courage and strength for myself.\"\n\n\"Take me with you,\" entreated Sirona in a low tone. \"In my need I opened\nmy heart to your good and loving God, and I will never more pray to any\nother. The mere thought of Him strengthened and comforted me, and now, if\never, in this hour I need His merciful support.\"\n\n\"My child, my daughter!\" cried the deaconess, deeply moved; she bent over\nSirona, kissed her forehead and her lips, and led her by the hand into\nher quiet sleeping-room.\n\n\"This is the place where I most love to pray,\" she said, \"although there\nis here no image and no altar. My God is everywhere present and in every\nplace I can find Him.\"\n\nThe two women knelt down side by side, and both besought the same God for\nthe same mercies--not for themselves, but for another; and both in their\nsorrow could give thanks--Sirona, because in Dorothea she had found a\nmother, and Dorothea, because in Sirona she had found a dear and loving\ndaughter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nPaulus was sitting in front of the cave that had sheltered Polykarp and\nSirona, and he watched the torches whose light lessened as the bearers\nwent farther and farther towards the valley. They lighted the way for the\nwounded sculptor, who was being borne home to the oasis, lying in his\nmother's easy litter, and accompanied by his father and his sister.\n\n\"Yet an hour,\" thought the anchorite, \"and the mother will have her son\nagain, yet a week and Polykarp will rise from his bed, yet a year and he\nwill remember nothing of yesterday but a scar--and perhaps a kiss that he\npressed on the Gaulish woman's rosy lips. I shall find it harder to\nforget. The ladder which for so many years I had labored to construct, on\nwhich I thought to scale heaven, and which looked to me so lofty and so\nsafe, there it lies broken to pieces, and the hand that struck it down\nwas my own weakness. It would almost seem as if this weakness of mine had\nmore power than what we call moral strength for that which it took the\none years to build up, was wrecked by the other in a' moment. In weakness\nonly am I a giant.\"\n\nPaulus shivered at these words, for he was cold. Early in that morning\nwhen he had taken upon himself Hermas' guilt he had abjured wearing his\nsheepskin; now his body, accustomed to the warm wrap, suffered severely,\nand his blood coursed with fevered haste through his veins since the\nefforts, night-watches, and excitement of the last few days. He drew his\nlittle coat close around him with a shiver and muttered, \"I feel like a\nsheep that has been shorn in midwinter, and my head burns as if I were a\nbaker and had to draw the bread out of the oven; a child might knock me\ndown, and my eyes are heavy. I have not even the energy to collect my\nthoughts for a prayer, of which I am in such sore need. My goal is\nundoubtedly the right one, but so soon as I seem to be nearing it, my\nweakness snatches it from me, as the wind swept back the fruit-laden\nboughs which Tantalus, parched with thirst, tried to grasp. I fled from\nthe world to this mountain, and the world has pursued me and has flung\nits snares round my feet. I must seek a lonelier waste in which I may be\nalone--quite alone with my God and myself. There, perhaps I may find the\nway I seek, if indeed the fact that the creature that I call 'I,' in\nwhich the whole world with all its agitations in little finds room--and\nwhich will accompany me even there--does not once again frustrate all my\nlabor. He who takes his Self with him into the desert, is not alone.\"\n\nPaulus sighed deeply and then pursued his reflections: \"How puffed up\nwith pride I was after I had tasted the Gaul's rods in place of Hermas,\nand then I was like a drunken man who falls down stairs step by step. And\npoor Stephanus too had a fall when he was so near the goal! He failed in\nstrength to forgive, and the senator who has just now left me, and whose\ninnocent son I had so badly hurt, when we parted forgivingly gave me his\nhand. I could see that he did forgive me with all his heart, and this\nPetrus stands in the midst of life, and is busy early and late with mere\nworldly affairs.\"\n\nFor a time he looked thoughtfully before him, and then he went on in his\nsoliloquy, \"What was the story that old Serapion used to tell? In the\nThebaid there dwelt a penitent who thought he led a perfectly saintly\nlife and far transcended all his companions in stern virtue. Once he\ndreamed that there was in Alexandria a man even more perfect than\nhimself; Phabis was his name, and he was a shoemaker, dwelling in the\nWhite road near the harbor of Kibotos. The anchorite at once went to the\ncapital and found the shoemaker, and when he asked him, 'How do you serve\nthe Lord? How do you conduct your life?' Phabis looked at him in\nastonishment. 'I? well, my Saviour! I work early and late, and provide\nfor my family, and pray morning and evening in few words for the whole\ncity.' Petrus, it seems to me, is such an one as Phabis; but many roads\nlead to God, and we--and I--\"\n\nAgain a cold shiver interrupted his meditation, and as morning approached\nthe cold was so keen that he endeavored to light a fire. While he was\npainfully blowing the charcoal Hermas came up to him.\n\nHe had learned from Polykarp's escort where Paulus was to be found, and\nas he stood opposite his friend he grasped his hand, stroked his rough\nhair and thanked him with deep and tender emotion for the great sacrifice\nhe had made for him when he had taken upon himself the dishonoring\npunishment of his fault.\n\nPaulus declined all pity or thanks, and spoke to Hermas of his father and\nof his future, until it was light, and the young man prepared to go down\nto the oasis to pay the last honors to the dead. To his entreaty that he\nwould accompany him, Paulus only answered:\n\n\"No--no; not now, not now; for if I were to mix with men now I should fly\nasunder like a rotten wineskin full of fermenting wine; a swarm of bees\nis buzzing in my head, and an ant-hill is growing in my bosom. Go now and\nleave me alone.\"\n\nAfter the funeral ceremony Hermas took an affectionate leave of Agapitus,\nPetrus, and Dorothea, and then returned to the Alexandrian, with whom he\nwent to the cave where he had so long lived with his dead father.\n\nThere Paulus delivered to him his father's letter to his uncle, and spoke\nto him more lovingly than he had ever done before. At night they both lay\ndown on their beds, but neither of them found rest or sleep.\n\nFrom time to time Paulus murmured in a low voice, but in tones of keen\nanguish, \"In vain--all in vain--\" and again, \"I seek, I seek--but who can\nshow me the way?\"\n\nThey both rose before daybreak; Hermas went once more down to the well,\nknelt down near it, and felt as though he were bidding farewell to his\nfather and Miriam.\n\nMemories of every kind rose up in his soul, and so mighty is the\nglorifying power of love that the miserable, brown-skinned shepherdess\nMiriam seemed to him a thousand-fold more beautiful than that splendid\nwoman who filled the soul of a great artist with delight.\n\nShortly after sunrise Paulus conducted him to the fishing-port, and to\nthe Israelite friend who managed the business of his father's house; he\ncaused him to be bountifully supplied with gold and accompanied him to\nthe ship laden with charcoal, that was to convey hire to Klysma.\n\nThe parting was very painful to him, and when Hermas saw his eyes full of\ntears and felt his hands tremble, he said, \"Do not be troubled about me,\nPaulus; we shall meet again, and I will never forget you and my father.\"\n\n\"And your mother,\" added the anchorite. \"I shall miss you sorely, but\ntrouble is the very thing I look for. He who succeeds in making the\nsorrows of the whole world his own--he whose soul is touched by a sorrow\nat every breath he draws--he indeed must long for the call of the\nRedeemer.\"\n\nHermas fell weeping on his neck and started to feel how burning the\nanchorite's lips were as he pressed them to his forehead.\n\nAt last the sailors drew in the ropes; Paulus turned once more to the\nyouth. \"You are going your own way now,\" he said. \"Do not forget the Holy\nMountain, and hear this: Of all sins three are most deadly: To serve\nfalse gods, to covet your neighbor's wife, and to raise your hands to\nkill; keep yourself from them. And of all virtues two are the least\nconspicuous, and at the same time the greatest: Truthfulness and\nhumility; practise these. Of all consolations these two are the best: The\nconsciousness of wishing the right however much we may err and stumble\nthrough human weakness, and prayer.\"\n\nOnce more he embraced the departing youth, then he went across the sand\nof the shore back to the mountain without looking round.\n\nHermas looked after him for a long time greatly distressed, for his\nstrong friend tottered like a drunken man, and often pressed his hand to\nhis head which was no doubt as burning as his lips.\n\nThe young warrior never again saw the Holy Mountain or Paulus, but after\nhe himself had won fame and distinction in the army he met again with\nPetrus' son, Polykarp, whom the emperor had sent for to Byzantium with\ngreat honor, and in whose house the Gaulish woman Sirona presided as a\ntrue and loving wife and mother.\n\nAfter his parting from Hermas, Paulus disappeared. The other anchorites\nlong sought him in vain, as well as bishop Agapitus, who had learned from\nPetrus that the Alexandrian had been punished and expelled in innocence,\nand who desired to offer him pardon and consolation in his own person. At\nlast, ten days after, Orion the Saite found him in a remote cave. The\nangel of death had called him only a few hours before while in the act of\nprayer, for he was scarcely cold. He was kneeling with his forehead\nagainst the rocky wall and his emaciated hands were closely clasped over\nMagdalena's ring. When his companions had laid him on his bier his noble,\ngentle features wore a pure and transfiguring smile.\n\nThe news of his death flew with wonderful rapidity through the oasis and\nthe fishing-town, and far and wide to the caves of the anchorites, and\neven to the huts of the Amalekite shepherds. The procession that followed\nhim to his last resting-place stretched to an invisible distance; in\nfront of all walked Agapitus with the elders and deacons, and behind them\nPetrus with his wife and family, to which Sirona now belonged. Polykarp,\nwho was now recovering, laid a palm-branch in token of reconcilement on\nhis grave, which was visited as a sacred spot by the many whose needs he\nhad alleviated in secret, and before long by all the penitents from far\nand wide.\n\nPetrus erected a monument over his grave, on which Polykarp incised the\nwords which Paulus' trembling fingers had traced just before his death\nwith a piece of charcoal on the wall of his cave:\n\n\"Pray for me, a miserable man--for I was a man.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     He out of the battle can easily boast of being unconquered\n     Pray for me, a miserable man--for I was a man\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE 'HOMO SUM':\n\n     Action trod on the heels of resolve\n     Can such love be wrong?\n     He who wholly abjures folly is a fool\n     He out of the battle can easily boast of being unconquered\n     Homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto\n     I am human, nothing that is human can I regard as alien to me\n     Love is at once the easiest and the most difficult\n     Love overlooks the ravages of years and has a good memory\n     No judgment is so hard as that dealt by a slave to slaves\n     No man is more than man, and many men are less\n     Overlooks his own fault in his feeling of the judge's injustice\n     Pray for me, a miserable man--for I was a man\n     Sky as bare of cloud as the rocks are of shrubs and herbs\n     Sleep avoided them both, and each knew that the other was awake\n     Some caution is needed even in giving a warning\n     The older one grows the quicker the hours hurry away\n     To pray is better than to bathe\n     Wakefulness may prolong the little term of life\n     Who can point out the road that another will take\n\n\n\n\nSERAPIS, Complete\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated from the German by Clara Bell\n\n\n\n\nSERAPIS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThe busy turmoil of the town had been hushed for some hours; the moon and\nstars were keeping silent watch over Alexandria, and many of the\ninhabitants were already in the land of dreams. It was deliciously\nfresh--a truly gracious night; but, though peace reigned in the streets\nand alleys, even now there was in this pause for rest a lack of the\nsoothing calm which refreshes and renews the spirit of man. For some few\nweeks there had been an oppressive and fevered tension in the repose of\nnight. Every house and shop was closed as securely as though it were\ndone, not only to secure slumber against intrusion, but to protect life\nand property from the spoiler; and instead of tones of jollity and mirth\nthe sleeping city echoed the heavy steps and ringing arms of soldiers.\nNow and again, when the Roman word of command or the excited cry of some\nsleepless monk broke the silence, shops and doors were cautiously opened\nand an anxious face peered out, while belated wanderers shrunk into\ngateways or under the black shadow of a wall as the watch came past. A\nmysterious burden weighed on the Heart of the busy city and clicked its\npulses, as a nightmare oppresses the dreamer.\n\nOn this night of the year of our Lord 391, in a narrow street leading\nfrom the commercial harbor known as Kibotus, an old man was slinking\nalong close to the houses. His clothes were plain but decent, and he\nwalked with his head bent forward looking anxiously on all sides; when\nthe patrol came by he shrank into the shadow; though he was no thief he\nhad his reasons for keeping out of the way of the soldiery, for the\ninhabitants, whether natives or strangers, were forbidden to appear in\nthe streets after the harbor was closed for the night.\n\nHe stopped in front of a large house, whose long, windowless wall\nextended from one side street to the next, and pausing before the great\ngate, he read an inscription on which the light fell from a lamp above:\nThe House of the Holy Martyr. His widow here offers shelter to all who\nneed it. He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.\"\n\n\"At how much per cent I wonder?\" mattered the old man and a satirical\nsmile curled his bearuless lips. A heavy thud with the knocker rang\nthrough the silent street, and after a few short questions from within\nand equally curt replies from without, a small door was opened in the\ngreat gate. The stranger was on the point of crossing the vestibule when\na human creature crept up to him on all fours, and clutched his ancle\nwith a strong hand, exclaiming in a hoarse voice: \"As soon as the door is\nshut--an entrance fee; for the poor, you know.\"\n\nThe old man flung a copper piece to the gatekeeper who tried it, and\nthen, holding on to the rope by which he was tied to a post like a\nwatch-dog, he whined out \"Not a drop to wet a Christian's lips?\"\n\n\"It has not rained for some time,\" retorted the stranger, who proceeded\nto open a second door which led into a vast court-yard open to the blue\nvault of heaven. A few torches stuck against the pillars and a small fire\non the pavement added thin smoky, flickering light to the clear glory of\nthe stars, and the whole quadrangle was full of a heavy, reeking\natmosphere, compounded of smoke and the steam of hot food.\n\nEven in the street the wanderer had heard the dull buzz and roar which\nnow met his ear as a loud medley of noises and voices, rising from\nhundreds of men who were encamped in the wide space before him--in groups\nor singly, sleeping and snoring, or quarrelling, eating, talking and\nsinging as they squatted on the ground which was strewn with straw.\n\nThe inn was full, and more than half of the humble guests were monks who,\nduring the last two days, had flowed into the city from every Cenoby,\nLaura and hermitage in the desert, and from most of the monasteries in\nthe surrounding district--the 'Nitriote Nome'. Some of them had laid\ntheir heads close together for confidential whispering, others squabbled\nloudly, and a large group in the northern angle of the court had raised a\npsalm which mingled strangely with the \"three,\" \"four,\" \"seven,\" of the\nmen who were playing 'mora', and the cry of the cook inviting purchasers\nto his stall spread with meat, bread, and onions.\n\nAt the end of the court furthest from the gateway there was a covered\nway, on to which a row of doors opened leading to the rooms devoted to\nfamilies of women and children, each apartment being divided into two by\na curtain across the middle. The stranger made his way into one of these\nrooms, where he was warmly welcomed by a young man, who was occupied in\ncutting a Kopais reed into a mouth-piece for a double flute, and by a\ntall matronly woman.\n\nThe new-comer's name was Karnis and he was the head of a family of\nwandering singers who had arrived in Alexandria only the day before from\nRome. His surroundings were poor and mean, for their ship had been\nattacked off the African coast by a band of pirates, and though they had\nsaved their lives they had lost everything they possessed. The young\nowner of the vessel, to whom he owed his safety, had procured him\nadmission to this Xenodochium,--[a refuge or inn]--kept by his mother the\nWidow Mary; Karnis had, however, found it far from comfortable, and had\ngone forth at noon to seek other quarters.\n\n\"All in vain!\" said he, as he wiped the heat drops from his forehead. \"I\nhave hunted Medius half the city through and found him at last at the\nhouse of Posidonius the Magian, whose assistant he is. There was singing\nbehind a curtain--wretched rubbish; but there were some old airs too with\nan accompaniment on the flutes, in the style of Olympus, and really not\nso bad.\n\n\"Then spirits appeared. By Sirius a queer business altogether! Medius is\nin the midst of it all. I arranged the chorus and sang with them a\nlittle. All I got for it was a little dirty silver--there! But as for a\nlodging--free quarters!--there are none to be found here for anything\nabove an owl; and then there is the edict--that cursed edict!\"\n\nDuring this speech the younger man had exchanged meaning glances with his\nmother. He now interrupted Karnis, saying in a tone of encouragement:\n\n\"Never mind, father; we have something good in view.\"\n\n\"You have?\" said the old man with an incredulous shrug, while his wife\nserved him with a small roast chicken, on a stool which did duty for a\ntable.\n\n\"Yes father, we!\" the lad went on, laying aside his knife. \"You know we\nvowed an offering to Dionysus for our escape, since he himself once fell\ninto the hands of pirates, so we went at once to his temple. Mother knew\nthe way; and as we--she, I mean, and Dada and myself. . .\"\n\n\"Heh! what is this?\" interrupted Karnis, now for the first time noticing\nthe dish before him. \"A fowl--when we are so miserably poor? A whole\nfowl, and cooked with oil?\" He spoke angrily, but his wife, laying her\nhand on his shoulder, said soothingly:\n\n\"We shall soon earn it again. Never a sesterce was won by fretting. Enjoy\nto-day's gifts and the gods will provide for to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" asked Karnis in an altered key. \"To be sure when a roast fowl\nflies into one's mouth instead of a pigeon. . . . But you are right as\nusual, Herse, as usual, only--here am I battening like a senator while\nyou--I lay a wager you have drunk nothing but milk all day and eaten\nnothing but bread and radishes. I thought so? Then the chicken must\npretend to be a pheasant and you, wife, will eat this leg. The girls are\ngone to bed? Why here is some wine too! Fill up your cup, boy. A libation\nto the God! Glory to Dionysus!\" The two men poured the libation on the\nfloor and drank; then the father thrust his knife into the breast of the\nbird and began his meal with a will, while Orpheus, the son, went on with\nhis story:\n\n\"Well, the temple of Dionysus was not to be found, for Bishop Theophilus\nhas had it destroyed; so to what divinity could we offer our wreath and\ncake? Here in Egypt there is none but the great Mother Isis. Her\nsanctuary is on the shore of Lake Mareotis and mother found it at once.\nThere she fell into conversation with a priestess who, as soon as she\nlearnt that my mother belonged to a family of musicians--though Dame\nHerse was cautious in announcing this fact--and hoped to find employment\nin Alexandria, led her away to a young lady who was closely veiled. This\nlady,\" Orpheus went on--he not only played the flute but took the higher\nparts for a man's voice and could also strike the lyre--\"desired us to go\nto her later at her own house, where she would speak with us. She drove\noff in a fine carriage and we, of course followed her orders; Agne was\nwith us too. A splendid house! I never saw anything handsomer in Rome or\nAntioch. We were kindly received, and with the lady there were another\nvery old lady and a tall grave man, a priest I should fancy or a\nphilosopher, or something of that kind.\"\n\n\"Not some Christian trap?\" asked Karnis suspiciously. \"You do not know\nthis place, and since the edict. . .\"\n\n\"Never fear, father! There were images of the gods in the halls and\ncorridors, and in the room where we were received by Gorgo, the beautiful\ndaughter of Porphyrius, there was an altar before an image of Isis, quite\nfreshly anointed.--This Porphyrius is a very rich merchant; we learnt\nthat afterwards, and many other things. The philosopher asked us at once\nwhether we were aware that Theodosius had lately promulgated a new edict\nforbidding young maidens to appear in public as singers or\nflute-players.\"\n\n\"And did Agne hear that?\" said the old man in a low voice as he pointed\nto the curtain.\n\n\"No, she and Dada were in the garden on to which the room opened, and\nmother explained at once that though Agne was a Christian she was a very\ngood girl, and that so long as she remained in our service she was bound\nto sing with us whenever she was required. The philosopher exclaimed at\nonce: 'The very thing!' and they whispered together, and called the girls\nand desired them to show what they could do.\"\n\n\"And how did they perform?\" asked the old man, who was growing excited.\n\n\"Dada warbled like a lark, and Agne--well you know how it always is. Her\nvoice sounded lovely but it was just as usual. You can guess how much\nthere is in her and how deep her feeling is but she never quite brings it\nout. What has she to complain of with us? And yet whatever she sings has\nthat mournful, painful ring which even you can do nothing to alter.\nHowever, she pleased them better than Dada did, for I noticed that Gorgo\nand the gentleman glanced at each other and at her, and whispered a word\nnow and then which certainly referred to Ague. When they had sung two\nsongs the young lady came towards us and praised both the girls, and\nasked whether we would undertake to learn something quite new. I told her\nthat my father was a great musician who could master the most difficult\nthings at the first hearing.\"\n\n\"The most difficult! Hm . . . that depends,\" said the old man. \"Did she show\nit you?\"\n\n\"No; it is something in the style of Linus and she sang it to us.\"\n\n\"The daughter of the rich Porphyrius sang for your entertainment? Yours?\"\nsaid Karnis laughing. \"By Sirius! The world is turning upside down. Now\nthat girls are forbidden to perform to the gentlefolks, art is being\ncultivated by the upper classes; it cannot be killed outright. For the\nfuture the listeners will be paid to keep quiet and the singers pay for\nthe right of torturing their ears--our ears, our luckless ears will be\nvictimized.\"\n\nOrpheus smiled and shook his head; then, again dropping his knife, he\nwent on eagerly:\n\n\"But if you could only hear her! You would give your last copper piece to\nhear her again.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" muttered his father. \"Well, there are very good teachers here.\nSomething by Linus did you say she sang?\"\n\n\"Something of that kind; a lament for the dead of very great power:\n'Return, oh! return my beloved, came back--come home!' that was the\nburthen of it. And there was a passage which said: 'Oh that each tear had\na voice and could join with me in calling thee!\" And how she sang it,\nfather! I do not think I ever in my life heard anything like it. Ask\nmother. Even Dada's eyes were full of tears.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was beautiful,\" the mother agreed. \"I could not help wishing\nthat you were there.\"\n\nKarnis rose and paced the little room, waving his arms and muttering:\n\n\"Ah! so that is how it is! A friend of the Muses. We saved the large\nlute--that is well. My chlamys has an ugly hole in it--if the girls were\nnot asleep . . . but the first thing to-morrow Ague. . . . Tell me, is\nshe handsome, tall?\"\n\nHerse had been watching her excitable husband with much satisfaction and\nnow answered his question: \"Not a Hera--not a Muse--decidedly not. Hardly\nabove the middle height, slightly made, but not small, black eyes, long\nlashes, dark straight eyebrows. I could hardly, like Orpheus, call her\nbeautiful. . .\"\n\n\"Oh yes, mother.--Beautiful is a great word, and one my father has taught\nme to use but rarely; but she--if she is not beautiful who is?--when she\nraised her large dark eyes and threw back her head to bring out her\nlament; tone after tone seemed to come from the bottom of her heart and\nrise to the furthest height of heaven. Ah, if Agne could learn to sing\nlike that! 'Throw your whole soul into your singing.'--You have told her\nthat again and again. Now, Gorgo can and does. And she stood there as\nsteady and as highly strung as a bow, every note came out with the ring\nof an arrow and went straight to the heart, as clear and pure as\npossible.\"\n\n\"Be silent!\" cried the old man covering his ears with his hands. \"I shall\nnot close an eye till daylight, and then . . . Orpheus, take that\nsilver--take it all, I have no more--go early to market and buy\nflowers--laurel branches, ivy, violets and roses. But no lotuses though\nthe market here is full of them; they are showy, boastful things with no\nscent, I cannot bear them. We will go crowned to the Temple of the\nMuses.\"\n\n\"Buy away, buy all you want!\" said Herse laughing, as she showed her\nhusband some bright gold pieces. \"We got that to-day, and if all is\nwell. . . . \" Here she paused, pointed to the curtain, and went on again\nin a lower tone: \"It all depends of course, on Agne's playing us no\ntrick.\"\n\n\"How so? Why? She is a good girl and I will. . .\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Herse holding him back. \"She does not know yet what the\nbusiness is. The lady wants her. . .\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"To sing in the Temple of Isis.\"\n\nKarnis colored. He was suddenly called from a lovely dream back to the\nsqualid reality. \"In the Temple of Isis,\" he said gloomily. \"Agne? In the\nface of all the people? And she knows nothing about it?\"\n\n\"Nothing, father.\"\n\n\"No? Well then, if that is the case . . . Agne, the Christian, in the\nTemple of Isis--here, here, where Bishop Theophilus is destroying all our\nsanctuaries and the monks outdo their master. Ah, children, children, how\npretty and round and bright a soap-bubble is, and how soon it bursts. Do\nyou know at all what it is that you are planning? If the black flies\nsmell it out and it becomes known, by the great Apollo! we should have\nfared better at the hands of the pirates. And yet, and yet.--Do you know\nat all how the girl . . . ?\"\n\n\"She wept at the lady's singing,\" interrupted Herse eagerly, \"and, silent\nas she generally is, on her way home she said: 'To sing like that! She is\na happy girl!'\"\n\nKarnis looked up with renewed confidence.\n\n\"Ah!\" he exclaimed, \"that is my Agne. Yes, yes, she truly loves her\ndivine art. She can sing, she will sing! We will venture it, if you, I,\nall of us die for it!\n\n\"Herse, Orpheus, what have we to lose? Our gods, too, shall have their\nmartyrs. It is a poor life that has no excitement. Our art--why, all I\nhave ever had has been devoted to it. I make no boast of having\nsacrificed everything, and if gold and lands were again to be mine I\nwould become a beggar once more for the sake of art: We have always held\nthe divine Muse sacred, but who can keep up a brave heart when he sees\nher persecuted! She may only be worshipped in darkness in these days, and\nthe Queen of Gods and men shuns the light like a moth, a bat, an owl. If\nwe must die let it be with and for Her! Once more let pure and perfect\nsong rejoice this old heart, and if afterwards . . . My children, we have\nno place in this dim, colorless world. While the Arts lived there was\nSpring on the earth. Now they are condemned to death and it is Winter.\nThe leaves fall from all the trees, and we piping birds need groves to\nsing in. How often already has Death laid his hand on our shoulder, every\nbreath we draw is a boon of mercy--the extra length given in by the\nweaver, the hour of grace granted by the hangman to his victim! Our lives\nare no longer our own, a borrowed purse with damaged copper coins. The\nhard-hearted creditor has already bent his knuckles, and when he knocks\nthe time is up. Once more let us have one hour of pure and perfect\nenjoyment, and then we will pay up capital and interest when we must.\"\n\n\"It cannot and will not be yet,\" said Herse resolutely, but she wiped her\neyes with her band. \"If Agne sings even, so long as she does it without\ncoercion and of her own free-will no Bishop can punish us.\"\n\n\"He cannot, he dare not!\" cried the old man. There are still laws and\njudges.\"\n\n\"And Gorgo's family is influential as well as rich. Porphyrius has power\nto protect us, and you do not yet know what a fancy he has taken to us.\nAsk mother.\"\n\n\"It is like a story,\" Herse put in. \"Before we left, the old lady--she\nmust be eighty or more--took me aside and asked me where we were lodging.\nI told her at the Widow Mary's and when she heard it she struck her\ncrutch on the floor. 'Do you like the place?' she asked. I told her not\nat all, and said we could not possibly stop here.\"\n\n\"Quite right!\" cried Karnis. \"The monks in the court-yard will kill us as\ndead as rats if they hear us learning heathen hymns.\"\n\n\"That is what I told her; but the old lady did not allow me to finish;\nshe drew me close to her and whispered, 'only do as my granddaughter\nwishes and you shall be safely housed and take this for the present'--and\nshe put her hand into the purse at her girdle, gave the gold into my\nhand, and added loud enough for the others to hear: 'Fifty gold pieces\nout of my own pocket if Gorgo tells me that she is satisfied with your\nperformance.'\"\n\n\"Fifty gold pieces!\" cried Karnis clasping his hands. \"That brightens up\nthe dull grey of existence. Fifty, then, are certain. If we sing six\ntimes that makes a talent--[estimated in 1880 at $1100]--and that will\nbuy back our old vineyard at Leontium. I will repair the old Odeum--they\nhave made a cowhouse of it--and when we sing there the monks may come and\nlisten! You laugh? But you are simpletons--I should like to see who will\nforbid my singing on my own land and in my own country. A talent of gold!\n\n\"It is quite enough to pay on account, and I will not agree to any\nbargain that will not give me the field-slaves and cattle. Castles in the\nair, do you say? But just listen to me: We are sure you see of a hundred\ngold pieces at least. . .\" He had raised his voice in his eagerness and\nwhile he spoke the curtains had been softly opened, and the dull glimmer\nof the lamp which stood in front of Orpheus fell on a head which was\ncharming in spite of its disorder. A quantity of loose fair hair curled\nin papers stuck up all over the round head and fell over the forehead,\nthe eyes were tired and still half shut, but the little mouth was wide\nawake and laughing with the frank amusement of light-hearted youth.\n\nKarnis, without noticing the listener, had gone on with his visionary\nhopes of regaining his estates by his next earnings, but at this point\nthe young girl, holding the curtain in her right hand, stretched out her\nplump left arm and begged in a humble whine:\n\n\"Good father Karnis, give me a little of your wealth; five poor little\ndrachmae!\"\n\nThe old man started; but he instantly recovered himself and answered\ngood-naturedly enough:\n\n\"Go back to bed, you little hussy. You ought to be asleep instead of\nlistening there!\"\n\n\"Asleep?\" said the girl. \"While you are shouting like an orator against\nthe wind! Five drachmae, father. I stick to that. A new ribband for me\nwill cost one, and the same for Agne, two. Two I will spend on wine for\nus all, and that makes the five.\"\n\n\"That makes four--you are a great arithmetician to be sure!\"\n\n\"Four?\" said Dada, as much amazed as though the moon had fallen. \"If only\nI had a counting-frame. No, father, five I tell you--it is five.\"\n\n\"No, child, four; and you shall have four,\" replied her father. \"Plutus\nis at the door and to-morrow morning you shall both have garlands.\"\n\n\"Yes, of violets, ivy and roses,\" added Dame Herse. \"Is Agne asleep?\"\n\n\"As sound as the dead. She always sleeps soundly unless she lies wide\nawake all the night through. But we were both so tired--and I am still.\nIt is a comfort to yawn. Do you see how I am sitting?\"\n\n\"On the clothes-chest?\" said Herse.\n\n\"Yes, and the curtain is not a strong back to the seat. Fortunately if I\nfall asleep I shall drop forwards, not backwards.\"\n\n\"But there is a bed for each of you,\" said the mother, and giving the\ngirl a gentle push she followed her into the sleeping-alcove. In a few\nminutes she came out again.\n\n\"That is just like Dada!\" she exclaimed. \"Little Papias had rolled off\nthe chest on which he was sleeping, so the good girl had put him into her\nbed and was sitting on the chest herself, tired as she was.\"\n\n\"She would do anything for that boy,\" said Karnis. \"But it is past\nmidnight. Come, Orpheus, let us make the bed!\"\n\nThree long hen-coops which stood piled against the wall were laid on the\nground and covered with mats; on these the tired men stretched their\nlimbs, but they could not sleep.\n\nThe little lamp was extinguished, and for an hour all was still in the\ndark room. Then, suddenly, there was a loud commotion; some elastic\nobject flew against the wall with a loud flap, and Karnis, starting up,\ncalled out: \"Get out--monster!\"\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Herse who had also been startled, and the old man\nreplied angrily:\n\n\"Some daemon, some dog of a daemon is attacking me and giving me no\npeace. Wait, you villain--there, perhaps that will settle you,\" and he\nflung his second sandal. Then, without heeding the rustling fall of some\nobject that he had hit by accident, he gasped out:\n\n\"The impudent fiend will not let me be. It knows that we need Agne's\nvoice, and it keeps whispering, first in one ear and then in the other,\nthat I should threaten to sell her little brother if she refuses; but\nI--I--strike a light, Orpheus!--She is a good girl and rather than do\nsuch a thing. . .\"\n\n\"The daemon has been close to me too,\" said the son as he blew on the\nspark he had struck.\n\n\"And to me too,\" added Herse nervously. \"It is only natural. There are no\nimages of the gods in this Christian hovel. Away, hateful serpent! We are\nhonest folks and will not agree to any vile baseness. Here is my amulet,\nKarnis; if the daemon comes again you must turn it round--you know how.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nEarly next morning the singers set out for the house of Porphyrius. The\nparty was not complete, however, for Dada had been forced to remain at\nhome. The shoes that the old man had flung to scare away the daemon had\ncaught in the girl's dress which she had just washed, and had dragged it\ndown on to the earth; she had found it in the morning full of holes burnt\nby the ashes into the damp material. Dada had no other presentable\ngarment, so, in spite of her indignant refusal and many tears, she had to\nremain indoors with Papias. Agne's anxious offers to stay in her place\nwith the little boy and to lend Dada her dress, both Karnis and his wife\nhad positively refused; and Dada had lent her aid--at first silently\nthough willingly and then with her usual merriment--in twining garlands\nfor the others and in dressing Agne's smooth black plaits with a wreath\nof ivy and violets.\n\nThe men were already washed, anointed and crowned with poplar and laurel\nwhen a steward arrived from Porphyrius to bid them follow him to his\nmaster's house. But a small sacrifice was necessary, for the messenger\ndesired them to lay aside their wreaths, which would excite ill-feeling\namong the monks, and certainly be snatched off by the Christian mob.\nKarnis when he started was greatly disappointed, and as much depressed as\nhe had been triumphant and hopeful a short time before.\n\nThe monks, who had gathered outside the Xenodochium, glanced with\nscowling suspicion at the party, who could not recover the good spirits\nwith which they had begun the day till they were fairly out of the\nnarrow, gloomy alleys, reeking with tar and salt fish, that adjoined the\nharbor, and where they had to push their way through a dense throng. The\nsteward led the van with Herse, talking freely in reply to her enquiries.\n\nHis master, he said, was one of the great merchants of the city, whose\nwife had died twenty years since in giving birth to Gorgo. His two sons\nwere at present absent on their travels. The old lady who had been so\nliberal in her treatment of the singers was Damia, the mother of\nPorphyrius. She had a fine fortune of her own, and notwithstanding her\ngreat age was still respected as the soul of business in the household,\nand as a woman deeply versed in the mysterious sciences. Mary, the pious\nChristian, who had founded the \"House of the Holy Martyr,\" was the widow\nof Apelles, the brother of Porphyrius, but she had ceased all intercourse\nwith her husband's family. This was but natural, as she was at the head\nof the Christian women of Alexandria, while the household of\nPorphyrius--though the master himself had been baptized--was as\nthoroughly heathen as any in Alexandria.\n\nKarnis heard nothing of all this, for he came last of the party. Orpheus\nand Agne followed next to Herse and the steward, and after them came two\nslaves, carrying the lutes and pipes. Agne walked with downcast eyes, as\nif she desired to avoid seeing all that surrounded her, though when\nOrpheus addressed her she shyly glanced up at him and answered briefly\nand timidly. They presently came out of an obscure alley by the canal\nconnecting Kibotus with Lake Mareotis where the Nile-boats lay at anchor.\nKarnis drew a deeper breath, for here the air was clear and balmy; a\nlight northerly breeze brought the refreshing fragrance of the sea, and\nthe slender palm-trees that bordered the canal threw long shadows\nmingling with the massive shade of the sycamores. The road was astir with\nbusy groups, birds sang in the trees, and the old musician drank in the\nexciting and aromatic atmosphere of the Egyptian Spring with keen\nenjoyment.\n\nAs they reached the middle of the steep bridge across the canal he\ninvoluntarily stood still, riveted by the view of the southwest. In his\nexcitement he threw up his arms, his eyes glistened with moisture and\nwith the enthusiasm of youth, and, as was always the case when his\nemotions were stirred by some glorious work of God or man, an image rose\nto his mind, all unbidden--the image of his eldest son, now dead, but in\nlife his closest and most sympathetic comrade. He felt as though his hand\ncould grasp the shoulder of that son, too early snatched away, whose\ngifts had far transcended those of the surviving Orpheus--as though he\ntoo could gaze with him on the grand scene that lay before him.\n\nOn a platform of rocks and mighty masonry rose a structure of wonderful\nmagnificence and beauty, so brilliantly illuminated by the morning sun\nthat its noble proportions and gorgeous colors showed in dazzling\nsplendor and relief. Over the gilt dome bent the cloudless blue of the\nAfrican sky, and the polished hemisphere shone, as radiant as the sun\nwhose beams it reflected. Sloping planes for vehicles, and flights of\nsteps for pedestrians led up to the gates. The lower part of this\nwonderful edifice--the great Temple of Serapis--was built to stand\nforever, and the pillars of the vestibule supported a roof more fitted to\nthe majesty of the gods than to the insignificance of mortals; priests\nand worshippers moved here like children among the trunks of some\ngigantic forest. Round the cornice, in hundreds of niches, and on every\nprojection, all the gods of Olympus and all the heroes and sages of\nGreece seemed to have met in conclave, and stood gazing down on the world\nin gleaming brass or tinted marble. Every portion of the building blazed\nwith gold and vivid coloring; the painter's hand had added life to the\nmarble groups in high relief that filled the pediments and the smaller\nfigures in the long row of metopes. All the population of a town might\nhave found refuge in the vast edifice and its effect on the mind was like\nthat of a harmonious symphony of adoration sung by a chorus of giants.\n\n\"All hail! Great Serapis! I greet thee in joyful humility, thankful that\nThou hast granted to my old eyes to see Thy glorious and eternal temple\nonce again!\" murmured Karnis in devout contemplation. Then, appealing to\nhis wife and son, he pointed in silence to the building. Presently,\nhowever, as he watched Orpheus gazing in speechless delight at its\nmagnificent proportions he could not forbear.\n\n\"This,\" he began with fervid enthusiasm, \"is the stronghold of Serapis\nthe King of the Gods! A work for all time. Its youth has lasted five\nhundred years, its future will extend to all eternity.--Aye, so it is;\nand so long as it endures in all its glory the old gods cannot be\ndeposed!\"\n\n\"No one will ever dare to touch a stone of it,\" said the steward. \"Every\nchild in Alexandria knows that the world will crumble into dust and ashes\nif a finger is laid on that Temple, and the man who ventures to touch the\nsacred image. . .\"\n\n\"The god can protect himself!\" interrupted the singer. \"But you--you\nChristian hypocrites who pretend to hate life and love death--if you\nreally long so vehemently for the end of all things, you have only to\nfall upon this glorious structure.--Do that, do that--only do that!\"\n\nThe old man shook his fist at the invisible foe and Herse echoed his\nwords:\n\n\"Aye, aye, only do that!\" Then she added more calmly: \"Well, if\neverything comes to an end at once the enemies of the gods will die with\nus; and there can be nothing terrible in perishing at the same time with\neverything that is beautiful or dear to us.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" said the steward, \"the Bishop has put out his hand to\ntouch the sanctuary. But our noble Olympius would not suffer the\nsacrilegious host to approach, and they had to retire with broken heads.\nSerapis will not be mocked; he will stand though all else perish.\n'Eternity,' the priest tells us, 'is to him but as an instant, and while\nmillions of generations bloom and fade, he is still and forever the\nsame!'\"\n\n\"Hail, all hail to the great god!\" cried Orpheus with hands outstretched\ntowards the temple.\n\n\"Yea, hail! for everlasting glory shall be his!\" repeated his father.\n\"Great is Serapis, and his house and his image shall last. . .\"\n\n\"Till the next full moon!\" said a passer-by in a tone of sinister\nmockery, shaking his fist in the face, as it were, of the god. Orpheus\nturned quickly to punish the prophet of evil; but he had disappeared in\nthe crowd and the tide of men had borne him onwards. \"Till the next full\nmoon!\" murmured Agne, who had shuddered at her companion's rapturous\nejaculations, and she glanced uneasily at Orpheus; but by the time Herse\naddressed her a minute or two later she had controlled the expression of\nher features, and the matron's heart was gladdened by her bright smile.\nNay, many a young Alexandrian, passing the group on foot or in a\ncarriage, looked at her a second time, for that smile lent a mysterious\ncharm to her pale, calm face. Nor had it faded away when they had crossed\nthe bridge and were nearing the shores of the lake, for an idea once\nconceived lingered long in Agne's mind; and as she walked on in the\nbright glory of the morning's sun her mind's eye was fixed on a nocturnal\nscene--on the full moon, high in the sky--on the overthrow of the great\nidol and a glittering army among the marble ruins of the Serapeum.\nApostles and martyrs soared around, the Saviour sat enthroned in glory\nand triumph, while angels, cradled on the clouds that were his footstool,\nwere singing beatific hymns which sounded clearly in her ear above the\nmany-voiced tumult of the quays. The vision did not vanish till she was\ndesired to get into the boat.\n\nHerse was a native of Alexandria and Karnis had passed some of the best\nyears of his life there; but to Orpheus and Agne all was new, and even\nthe girl, when once she had escaped from the crowd and noise which\noppressed her, took an interest in the scene and asked a question now and\nthen. The younger man had not eyes enough to see all that claimed his\nattention and admiration.\n\nThere were the great sluice-gates at the entrance to the canal that\njoined the lake to the sea--there, in a separate dock, lay the splendid\nimperial Nile-boats which served to keep up communication between the\ngarrison of Alexandria and the military stations on the river--there,\nagain, were the gaudy barges intended for the use of the 'comes', the\nprefect and other high officials--and there merchant-vessels of every\nsize lay at anchor in countless number. Long trains of many-colored sails\nswept over the rippling lake like flights of birds across a cornfield,\nand every inch of the shore was covered with stores or buildings. Far\naway to the south long trellices of vine covered the slopes, broken by\nthe silvery glaucous tones of the olive-groves, and by clumps of towering\npalms whose crowns mingled to form a lofty canopy. White walls,\ngaudily-painted temples and private villas gleamed among the green, and\nthe slanting rays of the low sun, shining on the drops that fell from the\nnever-resting wheels and buckets that irrigated the land, turned them\ninto showers of diamonds. These water-works, of the most ingenious\nconstruction, many of them invented and contrived by scientific\nengineers, were the weapons with which man had conquered the desert that\noriginally surrounded this lake, forcing it into green fertility and\nproductiveness of grain and fruit. Nay, the desert had, for many\ncenturies, here ceased to exist. Dionysus the generous, and the kindly\ngarden-gods had blest the toil of men, and yet, now, in many a plot--in\nall which belonged to Christian owners--their altars lay scattered and\noverthrown.\n\nDuring the last thirty years much indeed was changed, and nothing to the\nsatisfaction of old Karnis; Herse, too, shook her head, and when the\nrowers had pulled them about half-way across, she pointed to a broad\nvacant spot on the bank where a new building was just rising above the\nsoil, and said sadly to her husband:\n\n\"Would you know that place again? Where is our dear old temple gone? The\ntemple of Dionysus.\" Karnis started up so hastily that he almost upset\nthe boat, and their conductor was obliged to insist on his keeping quiet;\nhe obeyed but badly, however, for his arms were never still as he broke\nout:\n\n\"And do you suppose that because we are in Egypt I can keep my living\nbody as still as one of your dead mummies? Let others keep still if they\ncan! I say it is shameful, disgraceful; a dove's gall might rise at it!\nThat splendid building, the pride of the city and the delight of men's\neyes, destroyed--swept away like dust from the road! Do you see? Do you\nsee, I say? Broken columns, marble capitals, here, there and everywhere\nat the bottom of the lake--here a head and there a torso! Great and noble\nmasters formed those statues by the aid of the gods, and they--they,\nsmall and ignoble as they are, have destroyed them by the aid of evil\ndaemons. They have annihilated and drowned works that were worthy to live\nforever! And why? Shall I tell you? Because they shun the Beautiful as an\nowl shuns light. Aye, they do! There is nothing they hate or dread so\nmuch as beauty; wherever they find it, they deface and destroy it, even\nif it is the work of the Divinity. I accuse them before the\nImmortals--for where is the grove even, not the work of man but the\nspecial work of Heaven itself? Where is our grove, with its cool grottos,\nits primaeval trees, its shady nooks, and all the peace and enjoyment of\nwhich it was as full as a ripe grape is full of sweet juice?\"\n\n\"It was cut down and rooted up,\" replied the steward. \"The emperor gave\nthe sanctuary over to Bishop Theophilus and he set to work at once to\ndestroy it. The temple was pulled down, the sacred vessels went into the\nmelting-pot, and the images were mutilated and insulted before they were\nthrown into the lime-kiln. The place they are building now is to be a\nChristian church. Oh! to think of the airy, beautiful colonnades that\nonce stood there, and then of the dingy barn that is to take their\nplace!\"\n\n\"Why do the gods endure it? Has Zeus lost his thunderbolts?\" cried\nOrpheus clenching his hands, and paying no heed to Agne who sat pale and\nsternly silent during this conversation.\n\n\"Nay, he only sleeps, to wake with awful power,\" said the old man. \"See\nthose blocks of marble and ruins under the waves. Swift work is\ndestruction! And men lost their wits and looked on at the crime, flinging\nthe delight of the gods into the water and the kiln. They were wise, very\nwise; fishes and flames are dumb and cannot cry to heaven. One barbarian,\nin one hour can destroy what it has taken the sublimest souls years,\ncenturies, to create. They glory in destruction and ruin and they can no\nmore build up again such a temple as stood there than they can restore\ntrees that have taken six hundred years to grow. There--out there, Herse,\nin the hollow where those black fellows are stirring mortar--they have\ngiven them shirts too, because they are ashamed of the beauty of men's\nbodies--that is where the grotto was where we found your poor father.\"\n\n\"The grotto?\" repeated his wife, looking at the spot through her tears,\nand thinking of the day when, as a girl, she had hurried to the feast of\nDionysus and sought her father in the temple. He had been famous as a\ngem-cutter. In obedience to the time-honored tradition in Alexandria,\nafter intoxicating himself with new wine in honor of the god, he had\nrushed out into the street to join the procession. The next morning he\nhad not returned; the afternoon passed and evening came and still he did\nnot appear, so his daughter had gone in search of him. Karnis was at that\ntime a young student and, as her father's lodger, had rented the best\nroom in the house. He had met her going on her errand and had been very\nready to help her in the search; before long they had found the old man\nin the ivy-grown grotto in the grove of Dionysus--motionless and cold, as\nif struck by lightning. The bystanders believed that the god had snatched\nhim away in his intoxicated legion.\n\nIn this hour of sorrow Karnis had proved himself her friend, and a few\nmonths after Herse had become his wife and gone with him to Tauromenium\nin Sicily.\n\nAll this rose before her mind, and even Karnis sat gazing dumbly at the\nwaves; for every spot where some decisive change has occurred in our\nlives has power to revive the past when we see it again after a long\nabsence. Thus they all sat in silence till Orpheus, touching his father,\npointed out the temple of Isis where he had met the fair Gorgo on the\nprevious day. The old man turned to look at the sanctuary which, as yet,\nremained intact.\n\n\"A barbarous structure!\" he said bitterly. \"The art of the Egyptians has\nlong been numbered with the dead and the tiger hungers only for the\nliving!\"\n\n\"Nay, it is not such a bad piece of work,\" replied the steward, \"but it\nis out of their reach; for the ground on which it stands belongs to my\nold mistress, and the law protects private property.--You must at your\nleisure inspect the ship-yard here; it is perhaps the most extensive in\nthe world. The timber that is piled there--cedar of Lebanon, oak from\nPontus and heavy iron-wood from Ethiopia--is worth hundreds of talents.\"\n\n\"And does all that belong to your master?\"\n\n\"No; the owner is the grandson of a freedman, formerly in his family. Now\nthey are very rich and highly respected, and Master Clemens sits in the\nSenate. There he is--that man in a white robe.\"\n\n\"A Christian, I should imagine,\" observed the singer.\n\n\"Very true;\" replied the steward. \"But what is good remains good, and he\nis a worthy and excellent man notwithstanding. He keeps a tight hand over\nthe ship-yard here and over the others too by the harbor of Eunostus.\nOnly Clemens can never let other people have their own opinions; in that\nhe is just like the rest of them. Every slave he buys must become a\nChristian and his sons are the same; even Constantine, though he is an\nofficer in the imperial army and as smart and clever a soldier as\nlives.--As far as we are concerned we leave every man to his own beliefs.\nPorphyrius makes no secret of his views and all the vessels we use in the\ncorn-trade are built by Christians.--But here we are.\"\n\nThe boat stopped at a broad flight of marble steps which led from the\nlake into the garden of Porphyrius' house. Karnis as he walked through\nthe grounds felt himself at greater ease, for here the old gods were at\nhome; their statues gleamed among the dark clumps of evergreens, and were\nmirrored in the clear tanks, while delicious perfumes were wafted from\nthe garlanded shrines and freshly anointed altars, to greet the\nnewcomers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe family of musicians were kindly received, but they were not\nimmediately called upon to perform, for as soon as Damia heard that the\npretty fair-haired child who had pleased her so much the day before had\nbeen obliged to remain at home, she had one of her granddaughter's\ndresses brought out, and requested Herse to go back to fetch her. Some\nslaves were to accompany Herse and transfer all her little property on\nboard a Nile-boat belonging to Porphyrius, which was lying at anchor just\noff the ship-yard. In this large barge there were several cabins which\nhad often accommodated guests, and which would now serve very well as a\nresidence for Karnis and his party. Indeed, it was particularly well\nsuited for a family of musicians, for they could practise there\nundisturbed, and Gorgo could at any time pay them a visit.\n\nHerse went back to the Xenodochium with a lighter heart; her son also\nreturned to the city to replace a number of necessaries that had been\nlost on board ship, and Karnis, rejoicing to be out of the monk-haunted\nasylum had remained in the men's room in the house of his new patron,\nenjoying the good things which abounded there. He felt as though he was\nhere once more at home after years of exile. Here dwelt the spirit of his\nfathers; here he found men who enjoyed life after his own fashion, who\ncould share his enthusiasms and his hatreds. He drank noble liquor out of\nan elegantly carved onyx cup, all that he heard soothed his ears, and all\nthat he said met with entire sympathy. The future prospects of his\nfamily, till now so uncertain, were hardly inferior to those which his\nvivid imagination had painted the night before. And even if Fortune\nshould again desert him, the hours of present enjoyment should be written\ndown to the profit side of life, and remain a permanent gain at any rate\nin memory.\n\nThe venerable Damia, her son Porphyrius, and the fair Gorgo were in fact\na trio such as are rarely met with. The master of the house, more\ncautious than the women, was inclined to think that his mother and\ndaughter had been somewhat overhasty and imprudent in their advances and\nhe had at first received Karnis with considerable reserve; but after a\nshort interview he had convinced himself that the musician was a man of\nunusual culture and superior stamp. The old lady had, from the first,\nbeen predisposed in his favor, for she had read in the stars last night\nthat the day was to bring her a fortunate meeting. Her wish was law, and\nKarnis could not help smiling when she addressed her son, whose hair had\nlong been grey and who looked fully competent to manage his own\nhousehold, as \"my child,\" not hesitating to scold and reprove him. Her\ncathedra was a high arm-chair which she never quitted but to be carried\nto her observatory on the roof of the house, where she kept her\nastrological tablets and manuscripts. The only weakness about her was in\nher feet; but strong, and willing arms were always at her disposal to\ncarry her about--to table, into her sleeping-room, and during the daytime\nout to sunny spots in the garden. She was never so happy as when Helios\nwarmed her back with his rays, for her old blood needed it after the long\nnight-watches that she still would keep in her observatory. Even during\nthe hottest noon she would sit in the sun, with a large green umbrella to\nshade her keen eyes, and those who desired to speak with her might find\nshade as best they could. As she stood, much bent, but propped on her\nivory crutches, eagerly following every word of a conversation, she\nlooked as though she were prepared at any moment to spring into the\nmiddle of it and interrupt the speaker. She always said exactly what she\nmeant without reserve or ruth; and throughout her long life, as the\nmistress of great wealth, she had always been allowed to have her own\nway. She asserted her rights even over her son, though he was the centre\nof a web whose threads reached to the furthest circumference of the known\nworld. The peasants who tilled the earth by the Upper and Lower Nile, the\nshepherds who kept their flocks in the Arabian desert, in Syria, or on\nthe Silphium meads of Cyrenaica, the wood-cutters of Lebanon and Pontus,\nthe mountaineers of Hispania and Sardinia, the brokers, merchants, and\nskippers of every port on the Mediterranean, were bound by these threads\nto the villa on the shore of Mareotis, and felt the tie when the master\nthere--docile as a boy to his mother's will--tightened or released his\nhold.\n\nHis possessions, even in his youth, had been so vast that their increment\ncould bring no added enjoyment to him or his family, and yet their\nincrease had become his life's task. He strove for a higher sum to figure\non the annual balance sheet, as eagerly as an athlete strives for a\nprize; and his mother not only inspected the account, but watched every\nimportant undertaking with keen interest. When her son and his colleagues\ndoubted over some decision it was she who gave the casting vote; but\nthough her advice in most cases proved sound and profitable, she herself\nascribed this less to her own acumen and knowledge of the world than to\nthe hints she obtained from the stars and from magical calculations. Her\nson did not follow her in these speculations, but he rarely disputed the\nconclusions that she drew from her astrological studies. While she was\nturning night into day he was glad to entertain a few learned friends,\nfor all the hours of leisure that he could snatch from his pursuit of\nfortune, he devoted to philosophy, and the most distinguished thinkers of\nAlexandria were happy to be received at the hospitable table of so rich a\npatron. He was charmed to be called \"Callias,\"\n\n   [The noble Athenian family of Callias was famed for its wealth and\n   splendor.]\n\nand the heathen teachers at the schools of the Museum and Serapeum\nregarded him as a faithful ally. It was known that he had been baptized,\nbut he never liked to hear the fact mentioned. He won all hearts by his\nperfect modesty, but even more perhaps by a certain air of suffering and\nmelancholy which protected the wealthy merchant against the envy of\ndetractors.\n\nIn the course of her conversation with Karnis the old lady enquired\nparticularly as to the antecedent history of Agne, for if there had been\na stain on her character, or if she were by birth a slave, Gorgo could\nnot of course be seen with her in public, and in that case Karnis would\nhave to teach the lament of Isis to some freeborn singer. Karnis in reply\ncould only shrug his shoulders, and beg the ladies and Porphyrius to\njudge for themselves when he should have related the young girl's story.\n\nThree years since, he said, he had been staying at Antioch at the time of\na violent outbreak against the levying of certain taxes. There had been\nmuch bloodshed, and he and his family had got out of the city as quickly\nas they could. It was growing dusk when they turned into a wayside inn,\nwhere they found Agne and her little brother captives to a soldier.\nDuring the night the girl had crept up to the little boy's bed, and to\ncomfort and lull him had begun to sing him a simple song. The singer's\nvoice was so pure and pathetic that it had touched both him and his wife\nand they had at once purchased the girl and her brother for a small sum.\nHe had simply paid what the soldier asked, not regarding the children in\nthe light of slaves; nor had he had any description of them written out,\nthough it was, no doubt, in his power to treat them as slaves and to sell\nthem again, since the sale had taken place before witnesses who might\nstill be found. He had afterwards learnt from the girl that her parents\nwere Christians and had settled in Antioch only a few years previously;\nbut she had no friends nor relatives there. Her father, being a\ntax-collector in the service of the Emperor, had moved about a great\ndeal, but she remembered his having spoken of Augusta Treviroruin in\nBelgica prima, as his native place.--[Now Trier or Treves, on the\nMoselle.]\n\nAgne had witnessed the attack on her father's house by the angry mob who\nhad killed her parents, their two slaves, and her elder brother. Her\nfather must certainly have been an official of some rank, and probably,\nas it would seem, a Roman citizen, in which case--as Porphyrius\nagreed--both the young girl and her little brother could legally claim\ntheir freedom. The insurgents who had dragged the two children out into\nthe street had been driven off by the troops, and it was from them that\nKarnis had rescued them. \"And I have never regretted it,\" added the old\nmusician, \"for Agne is a sweet, gentle soul. Of her voice I need say\nnothing, since you yourselves heard it yesterday.\"\n\n\"And were quite delighted with it!\" cried Gorgo. \"If flowers could sing\nit would be like that!\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Karnis. \"She has a lovely voice--but she wants wings.\nSomething--what, I know not, keeps the violet rooted to the soil.\"\n\n\"Christian scruples,\" said the merchant, and Damia added:\n\n\"Let Eros touch her--that will loosen her tongue.\"\n\n\"Eros, always Eros!\" repeated Gorgo shrugging her shoulders. \"Nay, love\nmeans suffering--those who love drag a chain with them. To do the best of\nwhich he is capable man needs only to be free, true, and in health.\"\n\n\"That is a great deal, fair mistress,\" replied Karnis eagerly. \"With\nthese three gifts the best work is done. But as to Agne--what can be\nfurther from freedom than a girl bound to service? her body, to be sure\nis healthy, but her spirit suffers; she can get no peace for dread of the\nChristian's terrors: Sin, Repentance, and Hell. . . .\"\n\n\"Oh, we know how their life is ruined!\" interrupted the old lady. \"Was it\nAgne who introduced you to Mary's Asylum?\"\n\n\"No, noble lady.\"\n\n\"But how then--that prudent saint generally selects her guests, and those\nthat are not baptized . . .\"\n\n\"She certainly sheltered heathens on this occasion.\"\n\n\"I am much surprised. Tell me how it happened.\"\n\n\"We were at Rome,\" began Karnis, \"and my patron there persuaded Marcus,\nMary's son, to take us on board his ship at Ostia. We dropped anchor at\nCyrene, where the young master wanted to pick up his brother and bring\nhim also to Alexandria.\"\n\n\"Then is Demetrius here?\" asked Porphyrius.\n\n\"Yes, sir. He came on board at Cyrene. Hardly had we got fairly to sea\nagain when we saw two pirate ships. Our trireme was at once turned round,\nbut in our hurry to regain the harbor we stuck fast on a sand bank; the\nboats were at once put out to save the passengers and Cynegius, the\nconsul. . .\"\n\n\"Cynegius--on his way here!\" exclaimed Porphyrius, much excited.\n\n\"He landed yesterday with us in the harbor of Eunostus. The secretaries\nand officers of his suite filled one boat and Marcus and his brother were\ngetting into the other with their men. We, and others of the free\npassengers, should have been left behind if Dada . . .\"\n\n\"That pretty little blonde?\" asked Damia.\n\n\"The very same. Marcus had taken a great fancy to her prattle and her\nsongs during the voyage--no nightingale can sing more clearly--and when\nshe begged and prayed him he gave way at once, and said: he would take\nher in his boat. But the brave child declared that she would jump into\nthe sea before she would leave without us.\"\n\n\"Well done!\" cried the old lady, and Porphyrius added:\n\n\"That speaks well for her and for you.\"\n\n\"So after all Marcus found room for us in the boat--for all of us, and we\ngot safely to land. A few days after we all came on in a troop-ship:\nCynegius, the two brothers and the rest, all safe and sound; and, as we\nhad lost everything we possessed, Marcus gave us a certificate which\nprocured our admission into his mother's Xenodochium. And then the gods\nbrought me and mine under the notice of your noble daughter.\"\n\n\"Then Cynegius is here, positively here?\" asked Porphyrius once more.\nKarnis assured him that he was, and the merchant, turning to his mother,\nwent on:\n\n\"And Olympius has not yet come home. It is always the same thing; he is\nas rash as a boy. If they should take him! The roads are swarming with\nmonks. There is something astir. Bring out the chariot, Syrus, at once;\nand tell Atlas to be ready to accompany me. Cynegius here!--Ha, ha! I\nthank the gods!\"\n\nThe last exclamation was addressed to a man who at this instant came into\nthe room, muffled up to the eyes. He threw off the hood of his cloak and\nthe wrapper that went round his throat, concealing his long white beard,\nand as he did so he exclaimed with a gasp for breath:\n\n\"Here I am once more!--Cynegius is here and matters look serious my\nfriend.\"\n\n\"You have been to the Museum?\"\n\n\"Without any obstruction. I found them all assembled. Brave lads. They\nare all for us and the gods. There are plenty of weapons. The Jews--[At\nthat time about two-fifths of the whole population.]--are not stirring,\nOnias thinks he may vouch for that; and we must surely be a match for the\nmonks and the imperial cohorts.\"\n\n\"If the gods only stand by us to-day and tomorrow,\" replied Porphyrius\ndoubtfully.\n\n\"For ever, if only the country people do their duty!\" cried the other.\n\"But who is this stranger?\"\n\n\"The chief of the singers who were here yesterday,\" replied Gorgo.\n\n\"Karnis, the son of Hiero of Tauromenium,\" said the musician, bowing to\nthe stranger, whose stately figure and handsome, thoughtful head struck\nhim with admiration.\n\n\"Karnis of Tauromenium!\" exclaimed the newcomer with glad surprise. \"By\nHercules! a strange meeting. Your hand, your hand, old man. How many\nyears is it since we last emptied a wine-jar together at the house of old\nHippias? Seven lustres have turned our hair grey, but we still can stand\nupright. Well, Karnis son of Hiero--and who am I?\"\n\n\"Olympius--the great Olympius!\" cried Karnis, eagerly grasping the\noffered hand. \"May all the gods bless this happy day!\"\n\n\"All the gods?\" repeated the philosopher. \"Is that what you say? Then you\nhave not crawled under the yoke of the cross?\"\n\n\"The world can rejoice only under the auspices of the gods!\" cried Karnis\nexcitedly.\n\n\"And it shall rejoice still, we will save it from gloom!\" added the other\nwith a flash of vehemence.\n\n\"The times are fateful. We must fight; and no longer over trifles; we\ncannot now break each other's heads over a quibble, or believe that the\nwhole world hangs on the question whether the instant of death is the\nlast minute of this life or the first of the next. No--what now remains\nto be decided is whether the old gods shall be victorious, whether we\nshall continue to live free and happy under the rule of the Immortals, or\nwhether we shall bow under the dismal doctrine of the carpenter's\ncrucified son; we must fight for the highest hopes and aims of humanity.\"\n\n\"I know,\" interrupted Karnis, \"you have already done battle valiantly for\ngreat Serapis. They wanted to lay hands on his sanctuary but you and your\ndisciples put them to rout. The rest got off scot-free . . .\"\n\n\"But they have taught me the value of my head,\" said Olympius laughing.\n\"Evagrius prices it at three talents. Why, you might buy a house with the\nmoney and a modest man could live upon the interest. This worthy man\nkeeps me concealed here. We must talk over a few things, Porphyrius; and\nyou, Gorgo, do not forget the solemn festival of Isis. Now that Cynegius\nis here it must be made as splendid as possible, and he must tell the\nEmperor, who has sent him, what temper we Alexandrians are in. But where\nis the dark maiden I saw yesterday?\"\n\n\"In the garden,\" replied Gorgo.\n\n\"She is to sing at the foot of the bier!\" cried Olympius. \"That must not\nbe altered.\"\n\n\"If I can persuade her--she is a Christian,\" said Karnis doubtfully.\n\n\"She must,\" said the philosopher positively. \"It will be a bad lookout\nindeed for the logic and rhetoric of Alexandria if an old professor and\ndisputant cannot succeed in turning a young girl's resolutions upside\ndown. Leave that to me. I shall find time for a chat with you by and bye,\nfriend Karnis. How in the world does it happen that you, who so often\nhave helped us with your father's coin, have come down to be the chief of\na band of travelling musicians? You will have much to tell me, my good\nfriend; but even such important matters must give way to those that are\nmore pressing. One word with you, Porphyrius.\"\n\nAgne had been all this time awaiting Herse's return in the colonnade that\nran along the garden-front of the house. She was glad to be alone, and it\nwas very comfortable to rest on the soft cushions under the gilt-coffered\nceiling of the arcade. At each end stood large shrubs covered with\nbunches of violet-blue flowers and the spreading branches cast a pleasant\nshade on the couch where she sat; the beautiful flowers, which were\nstrange to her, were delightfully fragrant, and from time to time she\nhelped herself to the refreshments which Gorgo herself had brought out to\nher. All she saw, heard, and felt, was soothing to her mind; never had\nshe seen or tasted juicier peaches, richer bunches of grapes, fresher\nalmonds or more tempting cakes; on the shrubs in the garden and on the\ngrass-plots between the paths there was not a dead leaf, not a dry stem,\nnot the tiniest weed. The buds were swelling on the tall trees, shrubs\nwithout end were covered with blossoms--white, blue, yellow, and\nred--while, among the smooth, shining leaves of the orange and lemon\ntrees, gleamed the swelling fruit. On a round tank close at hand some\nblack swans were noiselessly tracing evanescent circles and uttering\ntheir strange lament. The song of birds mingled with the plash of\nfountains, and even the marble statues, for all that they were dumb,\nseemed to be enjoying the sweet morning air and the stir and voice of\nnature.\n\nYes, she could be happy here; as she peeled a peach and slowly swallowed\nthe soft fragrant mouthfuls, she laughed to remember the hard\nship's-biscuit, of the two previous days' fare. And it was Gorgo's\nprivilege to revel in these good things day after day, year after year.\nIt was like living in Eden, in the perpetual spring of man's first\nblissful home on earth. There could be no suffering here; who could cry\nhere, who could be sorrowful, who could die? . . . Here a new train of\nthought forced itself upon her. She was still so young, and yet she was\nas familiar with the idea of death as she was with life; for whenever she\nhad happened to tell any minister of her creed that she was an orphan and\na slave, and deeply sad and sorrowful, the joys of eternity in Paradise\nhad always been described to her for her consolation, and it was in hopes\nof Heaven that her visionary nature found such a modicum of comfort as\nmight suffice to keep the young artist-soul from despair. And now it\nstruck her that it must be hard, very hard to die, in the midst of all\nthis splendor. Living here must be a foretaste of the joys of\nParadise--and in the next world, among the angels of Heaven, in the\npresence of the Saviour--would it not be a thousand times more beautiful\neven than this? She shuddered, for, sojourning here, she was no longer to\nbe counted as one of the poor and humble sufferers to whom Christ had\npromised the Kingdom of Heaven--here she was one of the rich, who had\nnothing to hope for after death.\n\nShe pushed the peaches away with a feeling of oppression, and closed her\neyes that she might no longer see all these perishable splendors and\nsinful works of the heathen, which pandered only to the senses. She\nlonged to remain miserable and poor on earth, that she might rejoin her\nparents and dwell with them eternally.\n\nTo her it was not a belief but a certainty that her father and mother\nwere dwelling in Heaven, and she had often felt moved to pray that she\nmight die and be reunited to them; but she must not die yet, for her\nlittle brother still needed her care. The kind souls whom she served let\nhim lack for nothing, it is true, that could conduce to his bodily\nwelfare; still, she could not appear before her parents without the\nlittle one in her hand, and he would be lost eternally if his soul fell\ninto the power of the enemies of her faith. Her heart ached when she\nreflected that Karnis, who was certainly not one of the reprobate and\nwhom she affectionately revered as a master in the art she loved--that\nHerse, and the light-hearted Dada, and Orpheus even, must all be doomed\nto perish eternally; and to save Orpheus she would willingly have\nforfeited half the joys of Paradise. She saw that he was no less an\nidolater than his parents; and yet, day by day, she prayed that his soul\nmight be saved, and she never ceased to hope for a miracle--that he too\nmight see a vision, like Paul, and confess the Saviour. She was so happy\nwhen she was with him, and never happier than when it was her fortune to\nsing with him, or to his admirable accompaniment on the lute. When she\ncould succeed in forgetting herself completely, and in giving utterance\nby her lovely voice to all that was highest and best in her soul, he,\nwhose ear was no less sensitive and appreciative than his father's, would\nfrankly express his approval, and in these moments life was indeed fair\nand precious.\n\nMusic was the bond between her and Orpheus, and when her soul was stirred\nshe could feel and express herself in music. Song was the language of her\nheart, and she had learnt by experience that it was a language which even\nthe heathen could both use and understand. The Eternal Father himself\nmust find joy in such a voice as Gorgo's. She was a heathen, and yet she\nhad thrown into her song all that Agne herself could feel when she lifted\nup her heart in passionate prayer. The Christian--so she had often been\ntaught--must have no part with the idolaters; but it was God himself who\nhad cast her on the hands of Karnis, and the Church commanded that\nservants should obey their masters. Singing seemed to her to be a\nlanguage in itself, bestowed by God on all living creatures, even on the\nbirds, wherein to speak to Him; so she allowed herself to look forward\nwith pleasure to an opportunity of mingling her own voice with that of\nthe heathen lady.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nNot long after Porphyrius and the philosopher had retired to a private\nroom Herse returned with Dada. Gorgo's blue spangled dress, which Damia\nhad sent her, suited the girl to perfection; but she was quite out of\nbreath, and her hair was in disorder. Herse, too, looked agitated, her\nface was red and she dragged little Papias, whose hand she held, rather\nroughly at her heels.\n\nDada was evidently abashed; less by reason of the splendor that\nsurrounded her than because her foster-mother had strictly enjoined her\nto be very quiet and mannerly in the presence of their patrons. She felt\nshy and strange as she made her low courtesy to the old lady; but Damia\nseemed to be pleased with the timid grace of her demeanor, for she\noffered her her hand--an honor she usually conferred only on her\nintimates, bid her stoop, and gave her a kiss, saying kindly: \"You are a\ngood brave girl. Fidelity to your friends is pleasing in the sight of the\ngods, and finds its reward even among men.\"\n\nDada, obeying a happy impulse, threw herself on her knees before the old\nwoman, kissed her hands, and then, sitting on her heels, nestled at her\nfeet.\n\nGorgo, however, noticing Herse's agitation, asked what had happened to\nthem. Some monks, Herse explained, had followed them on the road hither,\nhad snatched Dada's lyre from the slave who was carrying it and pulled\nthe wreath out of her hair. Damia was furious as she heard it, and\ntrembled with rage as she railed at the wild hordes who disgraced and\ndesecrated Alexandria, the sacred home of the Muses; then she began to\nspeak once more of the young captain, Mary's son, to whom the troupe of\nsingers owed their lives.\n\n\"Marcus,\" said she, \"is said to be a paragon of chastity. He races in the\nhippodrome with all the gallants of the town and yet--if it is true it is\na miracle--he shuns women as though he were a priest already. His mother\nis very anxious that he should become one; but he, by the grace of\nAphrodite, is the son of my handsome Appelles, who, if he had gazed into\nthose blue eyes all the way from Rome to Alexandria, would have\nsurrendered at mercy; but then he would also have conquered them--as\nsurely as I hope to live till autumn. You need not blush so, child. After\nall, Marcus is a man like other men. Keep your eyes open, Dame Herse!\"\n\n\"Never fear!\" cried Herse. \"And I have need to keep them open I am sorry\nto say. The young captain, who on board ship was so bashful and retiring,\nas soon as he was on land altered his time. While we were away this\nmorning he crept into his own mother's inn like a ferret, opened the door\nof our room with the keys of which he has the command--it is\nshameful!--and proposed to the girl to fly, to leave us--she is the\ndaughter of a dear sister of mine--and go with him; who but he knows\nwhere!\"\n\nDamia struck the floor with her crutch and, interrupting the indignant\nmatron with a spiteful laugh, exclaimed:\n\n\"Ha, ha! The saintly Mary's most saintly son! Such wonders do not happen\nevery day! Here, Dada--here; take this ring, it has been worn by a woman\nwho once was young and who has had many lovers. Close--come close, my\nsweet child.\"\n\nDada looked up at the old lady with puzzled eyes; Damia bent her head\nclose to the girl's, and whispered, softly but vehemently in her ear:\n\n\"Only turn that milksop's head, make him so madly and desperately in love\nwith you that he does not know which way to turn for delicious torment.\nYou can do it I know, and if you do--well, I make no promises; but on the\nday when all Alexandria is talking of that woman's son as wandering out,\nnight after night, to watch under the window of the fair Dada, the\nheathen singer--when he drives you out in the face of day and in his own\nchariot, down the Canopic Way and past his mother's door--then child,\nask, claim whatever you will, and old Damia will not refuse it.\"\n\nThen raising her head she added to the others:\n\n\"In the afternoon, my friends, you can take possession of your new\nquarters. Go with them, Dada. By-and-bye we will find you a pretty room\nin the tower. Come and see me very often, sweet one, and tell me all your\nprettiest tales. When I am not too busy I shall always be glad to see\nyou, for you and I have a secret you know.\"\n\nThe girl stood up, looking uneasily at the old woman; Damia nodded\nknowingly, as much as to say that they quite understood each other and\nagain offered her hand to Dada; but Dada could not kiss it; she turned\nand followed the others more gravely than usual.\n\nGorgo guessed what the old lady would be at with Dada; as soon as the\nparty of singers had taken leave she went up to her grandmother and said\nreproachfully:\n\n\"That little fair thing will find no difficulty in making a fool of\nMarcus; for my part I hardly know him, but why should he pay for his\nmother's sins against you? How can he help. . .\"\n\n\"He cannot help it,\" interrupted Damia with decisive abruptness. \"He can\ndo nothing to save his mother, any more than you can help being a child\nof twenty and bound to hold your tongue till your opinion is asked.\"\n\n          ...........................\n\nThe family of musicians had all met on board the barge which was lying at\nanchor in the lake, off the ship-yard. Orpheus had just been an\neye-witness of the disturbance which prevailed throughout the city, and\nthe wild howls and cries that were audible in the distance confirmed his\nreport; but the waters of the lake were an unruffled mirror of blue, the\nslaves in the ship-yard were at work as usual, and the cooing\nturtle-doves flew from palm to palm.\n\nNo signs of troubled times were to be seen in the floating home of the\nwanderers. The steward had provided for everything. There were rooms and\nbeds to spare in the vessel; the large deck-cabin was a comfortable\nsitting-room, and from the little galley at the prow came a savory smell\nof cooking and a cheerful clang of pots and pans.\n\n\"This is living!\" exclaimed Karnis, stretching himself comfortably on a\ndivan. \"This abode seems made on purpose for our noble selves! Sit down,\nmother, make yourself at home. Here we are people of consequence, and if\nit were only to make things pleasant for the slaves we must behave as\nthough we had never known people who take their meals squatted round an\nearthen bowl, and clawing out the broken meat. Enjoy the gifts of the\npresent--who knows how long this golden hour may last! Ah, wife, it\nreminds us of former times! It would be very pleasant to be like this,\nside by side, and help ourselves from a table all our own to dainty\ndishes which we had not assisted in cooking. For you, old woman, have\ndone everything with your own hands for so long, that you deserve to have\nsome one to wait on you for once.\"\n\nA little table was placed by each divan and covered with appetizing food;\nthe steward mixed some fine wine of the country with fresh, clear water,\nOrpheus offered the libation, and Karnis spiced the meal with jests and\ntales of his youth, of which he had been reminded by his meeting with his\nold friend and comrade Olympius.\n\nDada interrupted him frequently, laughing more loudly and recklessly than\nusual; she was in a fever of excitement and Herse did not fail to remark\nit. The good woman was somewhat uneasy. The very fact that her husband\nalways gave himself up heart and soul to the influences of the\nhour--though she was glad that he should enjoy this good fortune to the\nutmost--made her look beyond the present into the future. She had seen\nwith her own eyes the tumult that was rife in Alexandria, and felt that\nthey had arrived at an inauspicious moment. If it should come to a\nstruggle between the Christians and the Heathen, Karnis, finding that his\nold friend Olympius was the head of his party, would infallibly seize the\nsword, and if, then, the victory remained with the Christians no mercy\nwould be shown to those who had fought for the old gods. Gorgo's wish\nthat Agne should sing in the temple of Isis was another source of\nanxiety; for if it came to that they might, only too probably, be accused\nof perverting a Christian to heathen worship, and be condemned to a\nsevere penalty. All this had worn a very different aspect yesterday when\nshe had thought of Alexandria as the gay home of her youth; but now she\nsaw what a change had taken place in these thirty years. The Church had\nrisen on the ruins of the Temple, and monks had forced the sacrificing\npriests into the background.\n\nKarnis and his troupe were musicians of no ordinary stamp; still the law\nconcerning singing-girls might place him in peril, especially now\nthat--to make matters worse--a young Christian was paying court to his\npretty niece. What catastrophes might not be called down on his hapless\nhead if so influential a woman as Marcus' mother Mary should come to know\nof her son's backsliding! Herse had long perceived how attractive that\nlittle simpleton was to all men--old and young--and when one of the\nlovers, of whom she had no lack, happened to take her fancy she was apt\nto forget herself and play a too audacious game; but as soon as she found\nshe had gone too far and somewhat committed herself she would draw back\nand meet him, if she could not avoid him, with repellent and even\nunmannerly coldness. Again and again had Herse scolded and warned her,\nbut Dada always answered her reproofs by saying that she could not make\nherself different from what she was, and Herse had never been able to\nremain stern and severe in the face of the foolish excuses that Dada put\nforward so convincingly.\n\nTo-day the good woman could not quite make up her mind whether it would\nbe wiser to warn Dada against Marcus and desire her to repel any advances\nhe might attempt to make, or to let bygones be bygones. She knew full\nwell how a trifling incident gains importance when undue emphasis is laid\non it; she therefore had merely asked the girl what secret she could have\nwith old Damia and had accepted some evasive subterfuge in reply, while,\nat the same time, she guessed the truth and was quite determined not to\nremit her watchfulness. For a time, at any rate, she thought she would\nlet matters go their own way, and never mention the young fellow's name;\nbut her husband spoilt this plan, for with the eager jollity of a man\nvery much at his ease after a good dinner he called upon Dada to tell\ntheir the whole history of the young Christian's invasion in the morning.\nDada at first was reticent, but the old man's communicative humor proved\ninfectious and she presently told her story:\n\n\"I was sitting alone with the poor little boy, like--well I do not know\nwhat like--you must find a comparison for yourselves. I was comforting\nmyself with the reflection that the key was on the inside and the door\nlocked, for I was getting frightened as the monks began to sing in the\nyard below, one part going off to the left, as it were, and the other\npart to the right. Did you ever see two drunken men walking arm in arm,\nand lurching first to one side and then to the other? You may laugh, but\nby the nine Muses it was just like that. Then Papias grew tired and cross\nand kept asking where Agne was, till at last he began to cry. When I\nasked him what he was crying for, he said he had forgotten, I really am\npatient--you must all allow that--I did not do anything to him, but, just\nto give him something to play with, I took out the key, for there was\nnothing else at hand that he could not break, and gave it to him and told\nhim to play a tune on it. This delighted him, and he really did it quite\nprettily. Then I looked over my burnt dress and was horrified to see how\nlarge the holes were, and it struck me that I might turn it, because when\nyou turn a thing the spots, you know, do not show.\"\n\n\"You have invented that this very minute,\" cried Orpheus laughing. \"We\nknow you. If you can only turn the laugh against yourself. . .\"\n\n\"No, really,\" cried Dada, \"the idea flew through my head like a bird\nthrough a room; but I remembered at once that a hole burnt through shows\non both sides, so I threw the dress aside as past mending and sat down on\nthe low stool to peep through the wicket by the door out at the yard; the\nsinging had stopped and the silence frightened me almost as much. Papias\nhad stopped his piping too, and was sitting in the corner where Orpheus\nsat to write his letter to Tauromenium.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Orpheus, \"the inkstand was there, that the steward of the\ninn had lent us the day before.\"\n\n\"Just so; and when mother came in, there he was, dipping his finger in\nthe ink, and painting his white dress--you can study the pattern at your\nleisure.--But no not interrupt me.--Well, I was looking into the\ncourt-yard; it was quite empty; all the monks were gone. Suddenly a tall\nyoung man in a white dress with a beautiful sky-blue border appeared\nthrough the great gate. The gate-keeper crawled after him very humbly as\nfar as his rope would allow and even the steward spoke to him with both\nhands pressed to his breast as if he had a faithful heart on the right\nside as well as the one on the left. This young man--it was our kind\nfriend Marcus, of course--crossed the court, taking a zigzag at first, as\na snipe flies, and then came towards our door. The steward and the\ngate-keeper had both vanished.--Do you remember the young Goths whom\ntheir father took to bathe in the Tiber last winter, when it was so cold?\nAnd how they first stood on the brink and dipped their toes in, and then\nran away and when they came back again just wetted their heads and\nchests? But they had to jump in at last when their father shouted some\nbarbaric words to them--I can see them now. Well, Marcus was exactly like\nthose boys; but at last he suddenly walked straight up to our door and\nknocked.\"\n\n\"He remembered your pretty face no doubt,\" laughed Karnis.\n\n\"May be. However, I did not stir. I kept as still as a mouse, sitting on\nmy stool and watching him through the key-hole, till presently he called\nout: 'Is no one there?' Then I forgot and answered: 'They are all out!'\nOf course I had betrayed myself--but it is impossible to think of\neverything at once. Oh! yes--you may laugh. And he smiled too--he is a\nvery handsome fellow--and desired me most pressingly to open the door as\nhe had something of the greatest importance to say to me. I said he could\ntalk very well through the gap at the top; that Pyramus and Thisbe had\neven kissed through a chink in a wall. But he would not see the joke; he\ngot graver and more earnest, and insisted, saying that our fate, his and\nmine, hung on that hour, and that not a soul must overhear what he had to\nsay. The top of the door was too high to whisper through, so there was\nnothing for it but to ask Papias for the key; however, he did not know\nwhere he had put it. I afterwards thought of asking him what he had done\nwith his flute and he fetched it then at once.--In short, the key was\nnowhere to be found. I told Marcus this and he wrung his hands with\nvexation; but in a few minutes the inn-steward, who must have been hiding\nto listen behind a pillar, suddenly appeared as if he had dropped from\nthe skies, took a key out of his girdle, threw the door wide open, and\nvanished as if the earth had swallowed him.\n\n\"There we stood, Marcus and I, face to face. He was quite agitated; I\nreally believe the poor fellow was trembling, and I did not feel very\nconfident; however, I asked him what it was that he wanted. Then he\nrecovered himself a little: 'I wished,'--he began; so I went on: 'Thou\nwishedst,'--and it might have gone on to the end: 'he wished, we\nwished'---and so forth, like the children at school at Rome, when we were\nlearning Greek; but, Papias came to the rescue, for he ran up to Marcus\nand asked him to toss him up high, as he used to do on board ship. Marcus\ndid as he was asked, and then he suddenly broke out into such a torrent\nof words that I was quite terrified. First he said so many fine things\nthat I quite expected a declaration of love, and was trying to make up my\nmind whether I would laugh him out of it or throw myself into his\narms--for he really is a dear, good, handsome fellow--and if you would\nlike to know the truth I should have been very willing to oblige him--to\na certain extent. But he asked me nothing, and from talking of me--listen\nto this Father Karnis--and saying that the great Father in Heaven had\ngranted me every good gift, he went on to speak of you as a wicked,\nperverse and reprobate old heathen.\"\n\n\"I will teach him!\" exclaimed Karnis shaking his fist.\n\n\"Nay, but listen,\" Dada went on. \"He praised you and mother for a great\nmany things; but do you know what he says is wrong? He says you will\nimperil my psyche--my soul, my immortal soul. As if I had ever heard of\nany Psyche but the Psyche whom Eros loved!\"\n\n\"That is quite another thing,\" said Karnis very seriously. \"In many\nsongs, you know, I have tried to make you uplift your soul to a higher\nflight. You have learnt to sing, and there is no better school for a\nwoman's soul than music and singing. If that conceited simpleton--why, he\nis young enough to be my grandson--if he talks any such nonsense to you\nagain you may tell him from me . . .\"\n\n\"You will tell him nothing,\" cried Herse, \"for we can have nothing\nwhatever to do with the Christian. You are my own sister's child and I\ndesire and order you--do you hear--to keep out of his way, if he ever\ntries to come near you again . . .\"\n\n\"Who is likely to find us here?\" said Dada. \"Besides, he has no such\nideas and motives as you suppose. It is what he calls my soul that he\ncares for and not myself; and he wanted to take me away, not to his own\nhouse, but to some man who would be the physician of my soul, he said. I\nam generally ready enough to laugh, but what he said was so impressive\nand solemn, and so wonderfully earnest and startling that I could not\njest over it. At last I was more angry at his daring to speak to me in\nsuch a way than any of you ever thought I could be, and that drove him\nhalf mad. You came in, mother, just as the gentleman had fallen on his\nknees to implore me to leave you.\"\n\n\"And I gave him my mind on the subject,\" retorted Herse with grim\nsatisfaction. \"I let him know what I thought of him. He may talk about\nthe soul--what he is after is the girl. I know these Christians and I\nknow what the upshot will be. He will take advantage of the edict to gain\nhis ends, and then you will be separated from us and shut up in a\nreformatory or a refuge or a cloister or whatever they call their dismal\nprisons, and will learn more about your soul than you will care to know.\nIt will be all over then with singing, and laughter, and amusement. Now\nyou know the truth, and if you are wise you will keep out of his way till\nwe leave Alexandria; and that will be as soon as possible, if you listen\nto reason, Karnis.\"\n\nShe spoke with such earnest conviction that Dada remained silent with\ndowncast eyes, and Karnis sat up to think the matter over.\n\nHowever, there was no time now for further reflection; the steward came\nin and desired that he, with his son and Agne should go at once to Gorgo\nto practise the lament of Isis.\n\nThis command did not include Herse and Dada, who remained on the barge.\nHerse having plenty to occupy her in the lower rooms, Dada went on deck\nand watched the others on their way to the house; then she sat looking at\nthe shipwrights at their work and tossed fruit and sweetmeats, the\nremains of their dessert, for the children to catch who were playing on\nthe shore. Meanwhile she thought over Marcus' startling speech, Damia's\ninjunctions and Herse's warnings.\n\nAt first it seemed to her that Herse might be right, but by degrees she\nfell back into her old conviction that the young Christian could mean no\nharm by her; and she felt as sure that he would find her out wherever she\nmight hide herself, as that it was her pretty and much-admired little\nperson that he sought to win, and not her soul--for what could such an\nairy nothing as a soul profit a lover? How rapturously he had described\nher charms, how candidly he had owned that her image was always before\nhim even in his dreams, that he could not and would not give her up--nay,\nthat he was ready to lay down his life to save her soul. Only a man in\nlove could speak like this and a man so desperately in love can achieve\nwhatever he will. On her way from the Xenodochium to the house of\nPorphyrius she had passed him in his chariot, and had admired the\nsplendid horses which he turned and guided with perfect skill and grace.\nHe was scarcely three years older than herself; he was eighteen--but in\nspite of his youth and simplicity he was not unmanly; and there was\nsomething in him--something that compelled her to be constantly thinking\nof him and asking herself what that something was. Old Damia's\ninstructions troubled her; they took much of the charm from her dream of\nbeing loved by Marcus, clasped in his arms, and driven through the city\nin his chariot.\n\nIt was impossible--yes, quite impossible, she was sure--that they should\nhave parted forever; as she sat, thinking still of him and glancing from\ntime to time at the toiling carpenters, a boat pulled up at the landing\nclose to the barge out of which jumped an officer of the imperial guard.\nSuch a handsome man! with such a noble, powerful, sunburnt face, a\nlightly waving black beard, and hair that fell from under his gold\nhelmet! The short-sword at his side showed him to be a tribune or prefect\nof cavalry, and what gallant deeds must not this brilliant and glittering\nyoung warrior have performed to have risen to such high rank while still\nso young! He stood on the shore, looking all round, his eyes met hers and\nshe felt herself color; he seemed surprised to see her there and greeted\nher respectfully with a military salute; then he went on towards the\nunfinished hulk of a large ship whose bare curved ribs one or two foremen\nwere busily measuring with tape and rule.\n\nAn elderly man of dignified aspect was standing close by, who, as Dada\nhad already discovered, was the head of the ship-yard, and the warrior\nhastened towards him. She heard him say: \"Father,\" and in the next\ninstant she saw the old man open his arms and the officer rush to embrace\nhim.\n\nDada never took her eyes off the couple who walked on, arm in arm and\ntalking eagerly, till they disappeared into a large house on the further\nside of the dockyard.\n\n\"What a handsome man!\" Dada repeated to herself, but while she waited to\nsee him return she gazed across the lake by which Marcus might find his\nway to her. And as she lingered, idly dreaming, she involuntarily\ncompared the two men. There were fine soldiers in plenty in Rome, and the\nship-builder's son was in no particular superior to a hundred others; but\nsuch a man as Marcus she had never before seen--there could hardly be\nsuch another in the world. The young guard was one fine tree among a\ngrove of fine trees; but Marcus had something peculiar to himself, that\ndistinguished him from the crowd, and which made him exceptionally\nattractive and lovable. His image at length so completely filled her mind\nthat she forgot the handsome officer, and the shipmaster and every one\nelse.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Christian hypocrites who pretend to hate life and love death\n     He may talk about the soul--what he is after is the girl\n     Love means suffering--those who love drag a chain with them\n     To her it was not a belief but a certainty\n     Trifling incident gains importance when undue emphasis is laid\n\n\n\n\nSERAPIS\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nKarnis and his two companions were a long time away. Dada had almost\nforgotten her wish to see the young soldier once more, and after playing\nwith little Papias for some time, as she might have played with a dog,\nshe began to feel dull and to think the quiet of the boat intolerable.\nThe sun was sinking when the absentees returned, but she at once reminded\nKarnis that he had promised to take her for a walk and show her\nAlexandria. Herse, however, forbid her going on such an expedition till\nthe following day. Dada, who was more irritable and fractious than usual,\nburst into tears, flung the distaff that her foster-mother put into her\nhand over the side of the ship, and declared between her sobs that she\nwas not a slave, that she would run away and find happiness wherever it\noffered. In short she was so insubordinate that Herse lost patience and\nscolded her severely. The girl sprang up, flung on a handkerchief and in\na moment would have crossed the plank to the shore; Karnis, however, held\nher back.\n\n\"Why, child,\" he said, \"do you not see how tired I am?\" The appeal had\nits effect; Dada recovered her reason and tried to look up brightly, but\nher eyes were still tearful and heavy and she could only creep away into\na corner and cry in silence. The old man's heart was very soft towards\nthe girl; he would have been glad only to speak a few kind words to her\nand smoothe down her hair; however, he made an effort, and whispering a\nfew words to his wife said he was ready, if Dada wished it, to take her\nas far as the Canopic way and the Bruchium.\n\nDada laughed with delight, wiped away her tears, flung her arms round the\nmusician's neck and kissed his brown cheeks, exclaiming:\n\n\"You are the best of them all! Make haste, and Agne shall come too; she\nmust see something of the city.\"\n\nBut Agne preferred to remain on board, so Karnis and Dada set out\ntogether. Orpheus followed them closely for, though the troops had\nsucceeded in quelling the uproar, the city was still in a state of\nferment. Closely veiled, and without any kind of adornment--on this Herse\nhad positively insisted--the girl, clinging to the old man's arm, made\nher way through the streets, asking questions about everything she saw;\nand her spirits rose, and she was so full of droll suggestions that\nKarnis soon forgot his fatigue and gave himself up to the enjoyment of\nshowing her the old scenes that he knew and the new beauties and\nimprovements.\n\nIn the Canopic way Dada was fairly beside herself with delight. Houses\nlike palaces stood arrayed on each side. Close to the buildings ran a\ncovered arcade, and down the centre of the roadway there was a broad\nfootpath shaded by sycamores. This fine avenue swarmed with pedestrians,\nwhile on each side chariots, drawn by magnificent horses, hurried past,\nand riders galloped up and down; at every step there was something new\nand interesting to be seen.\n\nRome, even, could not boast of a handsomer street, and Dada expressed her\ndelight with frank eagerness; but Karnis did not echo her praises; he was\nindignant at finding that the Christians had removed a fine statue of the\nvenerable Nile-god surrounded by the playful forms of his infant\nchildren, which had formerly graced the fountain in the middle of the\navenue, and had also overthrown or mutilated the statues of Hermes that\nhad stood by the roadside. Orpheus sympathized in his wrath which reached\nits climax when, on looking for two statues, of Demeter and of Pallas\nAthene, of which Karnis had spoken to his son as decorating the gateway\nof one of the finest houses in the city, they beheld instead, mounted on\nthe plinths, two coarsely-wrought images of the Lamb with its Cross.\n\n\"Like two rats that have been caught under a stone!\" cried the old man.\n\"And what is most shameful is that I would wager that they have destroyed\nthe statues which were the pride of the town and thrown them on a rubbish\nheap. In my day this house belonged to a rich man named Philippus. But\nstop--was not he the father of our hospitable protector . . .\"\n\n\"The steward spoke of Porphyrius as the son of Philippus,\" Orpheus said.\n\n\"And Philippus was a corn merchant, too,\" added Karnis. \"Demeter was\nfigurative of a blessing on the harvest, for it was from that the house\nderived its wealth, and Pallas Athene was patroness of the learning that\nwas encouraged by its owners. When I was a student here every wealthy man\nbelonged to some school of philosophy. The money-bag did not count for\neverything. Heathen or Jew, whether engaged in business or enjoying the\nrevenues of an inherited fortune, a man was expected to be able to talk\nof something besides the price of merchandise and the coming and sailing\nof vessels.\"\n\nDuring this conversation Dada had withdrawn her hand from the old man's\narm to raise her veil, for two men had gone up to the gate between the\nimages that had roused Karnis to wrath, and one of them, who at this\ninstant knocked at the door, was Mary's son.\n\n\"Father, see, there he is!\" cried Dada, as the door was opened, speaking\nlouder than was at all necessary to enable her companion to hear her; the\nmusician at once recognized Marcus, and turning to his son he said:\n\n\"Now we may be quite sure! Porphyrius and this young Christian's father\nwere brothers. Philippus must have left his house to his eldest son who\nis the one that is dead, and it now belongs no doubt to Mary, his widow.\nI must admit, child, that you choose your adorers from respectable\nfamilies!\"\n\n\"I should think so,\" said the girl laughing. \"And that is why he is so\nproud. My fine gentleman has not even a glance to cast at us. Bang! the\ndoor is shut. Come along, uncle!\"\n\nThe young man in question entered the hall of his father's house with his\ncompanion and paused there to say in a tone of pressing entreaty: \"Only\ncome and speak with my mother; you really must not leave like this.\"\n\n\"How else?\" said the other roughly. \"You stick to your way, I will go\nmine. You can find a better steward for the estate--I go to-morrow. May\nthe earth open and swallow me up if I stay one hour longer than is\nabsolutely necessary in this demented place. And after all Mary is your\nmother and not mine.\"\n\n\"But she was your father's wife,\" retorted Marcus.\n\n\"Certainly, or you would not be my brother. But she--I have amply repaid\nany kindness she ever did me by ten years of service. We do not\nunderstand each other and we never shall.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, you will indeed. I have been in church and prayed--nay, do not\nlaugh--I prayed to the Lord that he would make it all work right and\nHe--well, you have been baptized and made one of His flock.\"\n\n\"To my misfortune! You drive me frantic with your meek and mild ways,\"\ncried the other passionately. \"My own feet are strong enough for me to\nstand on and my hand, though it is horny, can carry out what my brain\nthinks right.\"\n\n\"No, no, Demetrius, no. You see, you believe in the old gods. . .\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the other with increasing irritation. \"You are merely\ntalking to the winds, and my time is precious. I must pack up my small\npossessions, and for your sake I will say a few words of farewell when I\ntake the account-books to your mother. I have land enough belonging to\nmyself alone, at Arsinoe; I know my own business and am tired of letting\na woman meddle and mar it. Good-bye for the present, youngster. Tell your\nmother I am coming; I shall be with her in just an hour.\"\n\n\"Demetrius!\" cried the lad trying once more to detain his brother; but\nDemetrius freed himself with a powerful wrench and hurried across the\ncourt-yard--gay with flowers and with a fountain in the middle--into\nwhich the apartments of the family opened, his own among the number.\n\nMarcus looked after him sadly; they differed too widely in thought and\nfeeling ever to understand each other completely, and when they stood\nside by side no one would have imagined that they were the sons of one\nfather, for even in appearance they were strongly dissimilar. Marcus was\nslight and delicate, Demetrius, on the contrary, broad-shouldered and\nlarge-boned.\n\nAfter this parting from his half-brother Marcus betook himself to the\nwomen's rooms where Mary, after superintending the spinning and other\nwork of the slave-girls, in the rooms at the back, was wont to sit during\nthe evening. He found his mother in eager conversation with a Christian\npriest of advanced age, an imposing personage of gentle and dignified\naspect. The widow, though past forty, might still pass for a handsome\nwoman: it was from her that her son had inherited his tall, thin figure\nwith narrow shoulders and a slight stoop, his finely-cut features, white\nskin and soft, flowing, raven-black hair. Their resemblance was rendered\nall the more striking by the fact that each wore a simple, narrow circlet\nof gold-round the head; nay it would have seemed some unusual trick of\nNature's but that their eyes were quite unlike. Hers were black, and\ntheir gaze was shrewd and sharp and sometimes sternly hard; while the\ndreamy lustre of her son's, which were blue, lent his face an almost\nfeminine softness.\n\nShe must have been discussing some grave questions with the old man, for,\nas the young man entered the room, she colored slightly and her long,\ntaper fingers impatiently tapped the back of the couch on which she was\nlounging.\n\nMarcus kissed first the priest's hand and then his mother's, and, after\nenquiring with filial anxiety after her health, informed her that\nDemetrius would presently be coming to take leave of her.\n\n\"How condescending?\" she said coldly. \"You know reverend Father what it\nis that I require of him and that he refuses. His peasants--always his\npeasants! Now can you tell me why they, who must feel the influence and\npower of their masters so much more directly than the lower class in\ntowns, they, whose weal or woe so obviously depends on the will of the\nMost High, are so obstinately set against the Gospel of Salvation?\"\n\n\"They cling to what they are used to,\" replied the old man. \"The seed\nthey sow bore fruit under the old gods; and as they cannot see nor handle\nour Heavenly Father as they can their idols, and at the same time have\nnothing better to hope for than a tenth or a twentieth of the grain. . .\"\n\n\"Yes, mine and thine--the miserable profit of this world!\" sighed the\nwidow. \"Oh! Demetrius can defend the idolatry of his favorites warmly\nenough, never fear. If you can spare the time, good Father, stay and help\nme to convince him.\"\n\n\"I have already stayed too long,\" replied the priest, \"for the Bishop has\ncommanded my presence. I should like to speak to you, my dear Marcus;\nto-morrow morning, early, will you come to me? The Lord be with you,\nbeloved!\"\n\nHe rose, and as he gave Mary his hand she detained him a moment signing\nto her son to leave them, and said in a low tone:\n\n\"Marcus must not suspect that I know of the error into which he has been\nled; speak roundly to his conscience, and as to the girl, I will take her\nin hand. Will it not be possible for Theophilus to grant me an\ninterview?\"\n\n\"Hardly, at present,\" replied the priest. \"As you know, Cynegius is here\nand the fate of the Bishop and of our cause hangs on the next few days.\nGive up your ambitious desires I beseech you, daughter, for even if\nTheophilus were to admit you I firmly believe, nay--do not be angry--I\ncan but hope that he would never give way on this point.\"\n\n\"No?\" said the widow looking down in some embarrassment; but when her\nvisitor was gone she lifted her head with a flash of wilful defiance.\n\nShe then made Marcus, who had on the previous day given her a full\naccount of his voyage from Rome, tell her all that had passed between\nhimself and Demetrius; she asked him how he liked his horse, whether he\nhoped to win the approaching races, and generally what he had been doing\nand was going to do. But it did not escape her notice that Marcus was\nmore reticent than usual and that he tried to bring the conversation\nround to his voyage and to the guests in the Xenodochium; however, she\nalways stopped him, for she knew what he was aiming at and would not\nlisten to anything on that subject.\n\nIt was not till long after the slaves had lighted the three-branched\nsilver lamps that Demetrius appeared. His stepmother received him kindly\nand began to talk on indifferent subjects; but he replied with\nill-disguised impatience, for he had not come to chatter and gossip. She\nfully understood this; but it pleased her to check and provoke him and\nshe did it in a way which vividly reminded him of his early days, of the\ndesolation and unhappiness that had blighted his young life when this\nwoman had taken the place of his own tender gentle mother, and come\nbetween him and his father. Day after day, in that bygone time, she had\nreceived him just as she had this evening: with words that sounded\nkindly, but with a cold, unloving heart. He knew that she had always seen\nhis boyish errors and petty faults in the worst light, attributing them\nto bad propensities and innate wickedness, that she had injured him in\nhis father's eyes by painting a distorted image of his disposition and\ndoings--and all these sins he could not forgive her. At the time of his\nfather's assassination Demetrius was already grown to man's estate, and\nas the eldest son it would have been his right and duty to take part with\nhis uncle Porphyrius in the management of the business; but he could not\nendure the idea of living in the same place with his stepmother, so,\nhaving a pronounced taste for a country life, he left the widow in\npossession of the house in the Canopic street, persuaded his uncle to pay\nover his father's share in the business in hard cash and then had quitted\nAlexandria to take entire charge of the family estates in Cyrenaica. In\nthe course of a few years he had become an admirable farmer; the\nlandowners throughout the province were glad to take his advice or follow\nhis example, and the accounts which he now laid on the table by the side\nof Mary's couch--three goodly rolls--proved by the irrefragable evidence\nof figures that he had actually doubled their revenues from the estates\nof which he had been the manager. He had earned his right to claim his\nindependence, to persist in his own determinations and to go his own way;\nhe was animated by the pride of an independent nature that recklessly\nbreaks away from a detested tie when it has means at command either to\nrest without anxiety or to devote its energies to new enterprise.\n\nWhen Demetrius had allowed his stepmother time enough for subjects in\nwhich he took no interest, he laid his hand on the account-books and\nabruptly observed that it was now time to talk seriously. He had already\nexplained to Marcus that he could no longer undertake to meet her\nrequirements; and as, with him, to decide was to act, he wished at once\nto come to a decision as to whether he should continue to manage the\nfamily estates in the way he thought proper, or should retire and devote\nhimself to the care of his own land. If Mary accepted the latter\nalternative he would at once cancel their deed of agreement, but even\nthen he was very willing to stay on for a time in Cyrenaica, and put the\nnew steward, when she had appointed one, in the way of performing his\nonerous duties. After that he would have nothing more to do with the\nfamily estates. This was his last word; and whichever way she decided,\nthey might part without any final breach, which he was anxious to avoid\nif only for the sake of Marcus.\n\nDemetrius spoke gravely and calmly; still, the bitterness that filled his\nsoul imparted a flavor to his speech that did not escape the widow, and\nshe replied with some emphasis that she should be very sorry to think\nthat any motives personal to herself had led to his decision; she owed\nmuch, very much, to his exertions and had great pleasure in expressing\nher obligations. He was aware, of course, that the property he had been\nmanaging had been purchased originally partly with her fortune and partly\nout of her husband's pocket, and that half of it was therefore hers and\nhalf of it the property of Marcus and himself; but that by her husband's\nwill the control and management were hers absolutely. She had endeavored\nto carry out the intentions of her deceased husband by entrusting the\nstewardship of the estate to Demetrius while he was still quite young;\nunder his care the income had increased, and she had no doubt that in the\nfuture he might achieve even greater results; at the same time, the\nmisunderstandings that the whole business had given rise to were not to\nbe endured, and must positively be put an end to, even if their income\nwere to diminish by half.\n\n\"I,\" she exclaimed, \"am a Christian, with my whole heart and soul. I have\ndedicated my body and life to the service of my Saviour. What shall all\nthe treasures of the world profit me if I lose my soul; and that, which\nis my immortal part, must inevitably perish if I allow my pockets to be\nfilled by the toil of heathen peasants and slaves. I therefore must\ninsist--and on this point I will not yield a jot--that our slaves in\nCyrenaica, a flock of more than three thousand erring sheep, shall either\nsubmit to be baptized or be removed to make way for Christians.\"\n\n\"That is to say . . .\" began Demetrius hastily.\n\n\"I have not yet done,\" she interrupted. \"So far as the peasants are\nconcerned who rent and farm our land they all, without exception--as you\nsaid yesterday--are stiff-necked idolaters. We must give them time to\nthink it over, but the annual agreement will not be renewed with any who\nwill not pledge themselves to give up the old sacrifices and to worship\nthe Redeemer. If they submit they will be safe--in this world and the\nnext; if they refuse they must go, and the land must be let to Christians\nin their stead.\"\n\n\"Just as I change this seat for another!\" said Demetrius with a laugh,\nand lifting up a heavy bronze chair he flung it down again on the hard\nmosaic pavement so that the floor shook.\n\nMaria started violently.\n\n\"My body may tremble,\" she said in great excitement, \"but my soul is firm\nwhen its everlasting bliss is at stake. I insist--and my representative,\nwhether he be you or another, must carry my orders into effect without an\nhour's delay--I insist that every heathen shrine, every image of the\nfield and garden-gods, every altar and sacred stone which the heathens\nuse for their idolatrous practices shall be pulled down, overthrown,\nmutilated and destroyed. That is what I require and insist on.\"\n\n\"And that is what I will never consent to,\" cried Demetrius in a voice\nlike low thunder. \"I cannot and will not. These things have been held\nprecious and sacred to men for thousands of years and I cannot, will not,\nblow them off the face of the earth, as you blow a feather off your\ncloak. You may go and do it yourself; you may be able to achieve it.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Mary drawing herself up with a glance of\nindignant protest.\n\n\"Yes--if any one can do it you can!\" repeated Demetrius imperturbably. \"I\nwent to-day to seek the images of our forefathers--the venerable images\nthat were clear to our infancy, the portraits of our fathers' fathers and\nmothers, the founders of the honor of our race. And where are they? They\nhave gone with the protectors of our home, the pride and ornament of this\nhouse--of the street, of the city--the Hermes and Pallas Athene that\nyou--you flung into the lime-kiln. Old Phabis told me with tears in his\neyes. Alas poor house that is robbed of its past, of its glory, and of\nits patron deities!\"\n\n\"I have placed it under a better safeguard,\" replied Maria in a tremulous\nvoice, and she looked it Marcus with an appeal for sympathy. \"Now, for\nthe last time, I ask you: Will you accede to my demands or will you not?\"\n\n\"I will not,\" said Demetrius resolutely.\n\n\"Then I must find a new agent to manage the estates.\"\n\n\"You will soon find one; but your land--which is our land too--will\nbecome a desert. Poor land! If you destroy its shrines and sanctuaries\nyou will destroy its soul; for they are the soul of the land. The first\ninhabitants gathered round the sanctuary, and on that sanctuary and the\ngods that dwell there the peasant founds his hopes of increase on what he\nsows and plants, and of prosperity for his wife and children and cattle\nand all that he has. In destroying his shrines you ruin his hopes, and\nwith them all the joy of life. I know the peasant; he believes that his\nlabors must be vain if you deprive him of the gods that make it thrive.\nHe sows in hope, in the swelling of the grain he sees the hand of the\ngods who claim his joyful thanksgiving after the harvest is gathered in.\nYou are depriving him of all that encourages and uplifts and rejoices his\nsoul when you ruin his shrines and altars!\"\n\n\"But I give him other and better ones,\" replied Mary.\n\n\"Take care then that they are such as he can appreciate,\" said Demetrius\ngravely. \"Persuade him to love, to believe, to hope in the creed you\nforce upon him; but do not rob him of what he trusts in before he is\nprepared to accept the substitute you offer him.--Now, let me go; we are\nneither of us in the temper to make the best arrangements for the future.\nOne thing, at any rate, is certain: I have nothing more to do with the\nestate.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nAfter leaving his stepmother Demetrius made good use of his time and\ndictated a number of letters to his secretary, a slave he had brought\nwith him to Alexandria, for the use of the pen was to him unendurable\nlabor. The letters were on business, relating to his departure from\nCyrenaica and his purpose of managing his own estates for the future, and\nwhen they lay before him, finished, rolled up and sealed, he felt that he\nhad come to a mile-stone on his road, a landmark in his life. He paced\nthe room in silence, trying to picture to himself the fate of the slaves\nand peasants who, for so many years, had been his faithful servants and\nfellow-laborers, whose confidence he had entirely won, and many of whom\nhe truly loved. But he could not conceive of their life, their toil or\ntheir festivals, bereft of images, offerings, garlands, and hymns of\nrejoicing. To him they were as children, forbidden to laugh and play, and\nhe could not help once more recurring to his boyhood and the day of his\ngoing to school, when, instead of running and shouting in his father's\nsunny garden, he had been made to sit still and silent in a dull\nclass-room. And now had the whole world reached such a boundary line in\nexistence beyond which there was to be no more freedom and careless\njoy--where a ceaseless struggle for higher things must begin and never\nend?\n\nIf the Gospel were indeed true, and if all it promised could ever find\nfulfilment, it might perhaps be prudent to admit the sinfulness of man\nand to give up the joys and glories of this world to win the eternal\ntreasure that it described. Many a good and wise man whom he had\nknown--nay the Emperor, the great and learned Theodosius himself--was\ndevoted heart and soul to the Christian faith, and Demetrius knew from\nhis own experience that his mother's creed, in which he had been\ninitiated as a boy and from which his father, after holding him at the\nfont had perverted him at an early age, offered great consolations and\nenduring help to those whose existence was one of care, poverty, and\nsuffering. But his laborers and servants? They were healthy and\ncontented. What power on earth could induce them--a race that clung\ndevotedly to custom--to desert the faith of their fathers, and the\ntime-honored traditions to which they owed all the comforts and pleasures\nof life, or to seek in a strange creed the aid which they already\nbelieved that they possessed.\n\nHe did not repent of his determination; but he nevertheless said to\nhimself that, when once he was gone, Mary would proceed only too soon on\nthe work of extermination and destruction; and every temple on the\nestate, every statue, every whispering grotto, every shrine and stone\nanointed by pious hands, doomed now to perish, rose before his fancy.\n\nDemetrius was accustomed to rise at cock-crow and go to bed at an early\nhour, and he was on the point of retiring even before the usual time,\nwhen Marcus came to his room and begged him to give him yet an hour.\n\n\"You are angry with my mother,\" said the younger man with a look of\nmelancholy entreaty, \"but you know there is nothing that she would not\nsacrifice for the faith. And you can smile so bitterly! But only put\nyourself in my place. Loving my mother as I do, it is acutely painful to\nme to see another person--to see you whom I love, too, for you are my\nfriend and brother--to see you, I say, turn your back on her so\ncompletely. My heart is heavy enough to-day I can tell you.\"\n\n\"Poor boy!\" said the countryman. \"Yes, I am truly your friend, and am\nanxious to remain so; you are not to blame in this business--and for that\nmatter, I am anything but cheerful. You have chosen to say: Down with the\nshrines! Perish all those who do not think as we do! Still, look at the\nthing as you will, in some cases certainly violence must ensue--nay, if\nno blood is shed it will be a wonder! You sum up the matter in one common\nterm: The heathen peasants on the estate. My view of it is totally\ndifferent; I know these farmers and their wives and children, each one by\nname and by sight. There is not one but is ready to bid me good day and\nshake my hand or kiss my dress. Many a one has come to me in tears and\nleft me happy.--By the great Zeus! no one ever accused me of being\nsoft-hearted, but I could wish this day that I were harder; and my blood\nturns to gall as I ask--What is all this for--to what possible end?\"\n\n\"For the sake and honor of the faith, Demetrius; for the eternal\nsalvation of our people.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" retorted Demetrius with a drawl, \"I know better. If that and\nthat alone were intended you would build churches and chapels and send us\nworthy priests--Eusebius and the like--and would try to win men's hearts\nto your Lord by the love you are always talking so much about. That was\nmy advice to your mother, only this morning. I believe the end might be\nattained by those means, among us as elsewhere; ultimately it will, no\ndoubt, be gained--but not to-day nor to-morrow. A peasant, when he had\nbecome accustomed to the church and grasped a trust in the new God, would\nof his own accord give up the old gods and their sanctuaries; I could\ncount you off a dozen such instances. That I could have looked on at\ncalmly, for I want only men's arms and legs and do not ask for their\nsouls; but to burn down the old house before you have collected wood and\nstone to build a new one I call wicked.--It is cruelty and madness, and\nwhen so shrewd a woman as your mother is bent on carrying through such a\nmeasure, come what may, there is something more behind it.\"\n\n\"You think she wants to get rid of you--you, Demetrius!\" interrupted\nMarcus eagerly. \"But you are mistaken, you are altogether wrong. What you\nhave done for the estate . . .\"\n\n\"Oh! as for that!\" cried the other, \"what has my work to do with all\nthis? Ere the year is out everything that can remind us of the heathen\ngods is to be swept away from the hamlets and fields of the pious Mary.\nThat is what is intended! Then they will hurry off to the Bishop with the\ngreat news and to crown one marvel with another, the reversion will be\nsecured of a martyr's nimbus. And this is what all this zeal is for--this\nand nothing else!\"\n\n\"You are speaking of my mother, remember!\" cried Marcus, looking at his\nbrother with a touching appeal in his eyes. Demetrius shook his shaggy\nhead and spoke more temperately as he went on:\n\n\"Yes, child, I had forgotten that--and I may be mistaken of course, for I\nam no more than human. Here one thing follows so close on another, and in\nthis house I feel so battered and storm-tossed, that I hardly know\nmyself. But old Phabis tells me that steps are being seriously taken to\nprocure the title of Martyr for our father Apelles.\"\n\n\"My mother is quite convinced that he died for the faith, and she loved\nhim devotedly . . .\"\n\n\"Then it is so!\" cried Demetrius, grinding his teeth and thumping his\nfist down on the table. \"The lies sown by one single man have produced a\ndeadly weed that is smothering this miserable house! You--to be sure,\nwhat can you know of our father? I knew him; I have been present when he\nand his friends, the philosophers, have laughed to scorn things which not\nonly you Christians but even pious heathen regard as sacred. Lucretius\nwas his evangelist, and the Cosmogony of that utter atheist lay by his\npillow and was his companion wherever he went.\"\n\n\"He admired the heathen poets, but he was a Christian all the same,\"\nreplied Marcus.\n\n\"Neither more nor less than Porphyrius, our uncle, or myself,\" retorted\nhis brother. \"Since the day when our grandfather Philippus was baptized,\nwealth and happiness have deserted this house. He gave up the old gods\nsolely that he might not lose the right of supplying the city and the\nEmperor with corn, and became a Christian and made his sons Christians.\nBut he had us educated by his heathen friends, and though we passed for\nChristians we were not so in fact. When it was absolutely necessary he\nshowed himself in church with us; but our daily life, our pleasures, our\npastimes were heathen, and when life began for us in earnest we offered a\nbleeding sacrifice to the gods. It was impossible to retract honestly,\nsince a renegade Christian returning to the worship of the old gods is\nincapacitated by law from making a will. You know this; and when you ask\nme why I am content to live alone, without either wife or child--and I\nlove children, even those of other people--a solitary man dragging out my\ndays and nights joylessly enough--I tell you: I am openly and honestly a\nworshipper of our old gods, and I will not go to church because I scorn a\nlie. What should I do with children who, in consequence of my\nretractation, must forfeit all I might leave them? It was this question\nof inheritance only that induced my father to have us baptized and to\nmake a pretense of Christianity. He set out for Petra with his Lucretius\nin his satchel--I packed it with my own hands into his money-bag--to put\nin a claim to supply grain to the 'Rock city.' He was slain on his way.\nhome; most likely by his servant Anubis, who certainly knew what money he\nhad with him, and who vanished and left no trace. Because--about the same\ntime--a band of Saracens had fallen on some Christian anchorites and\ntravellers, in the district between Petra and Aila, your mother chose to\nassume a right to call our father a martyr! But she knew his opinions\nfull well, I tell you, and shed many a tear over them, too.--Now she has\nexpended vast sums on church-building, she has opened the Xenodochium and\npours her money by lavish handfuls clown the insatiable throats of monks\nand priests. To what end? To have her husband recognized as a martyr.\nHitherto her toil and money have been wasted. In my estimation the Bishop\nis a perfectly detestable tyrant, and if I know him at all he will take\nall she will give and never grant her wish. Now she is preparing her\ngreat move, and hopes to startle him into compliance by a new marvel. She\nthinks that, like a juggler who turns a white egg black, she can turn a\nheathen district into a Christian one by a twist of her finger. Well--so\nfar as I am concerned I will have nothing to do with the trick.\"\n\nDuring this harangue Marcus had alternately gazed at the floor and fixed\nhis large eyes in anguish on his brother's face. For some minutes he\nfound nothing to reply, and he was evidently going through a bitter\nmental struggle. Demetrius spoke no more, but arranged the sheets of\npapyrus that strewed the table. At length Marcus, after a deep sigh,\nbroke out in a tone of fervent conviction and with a blissful smile that\nlighted up his whole face:\n\n\"Poor mother! And others misunderstand her just as you do; I myself was\nin danger of doubting her. But I think that now I understand her\nperfectly. She loved my father so completely that she hopes now to win\nfor his immortal soul the grace which he, in the flesh, neglected to\nstrive after. He was baptized, so she longs to win, by her prayers and\noblations, the mercy of the Lord who is so ready to forgive. She herself\nfirmly believes in the martyrdom of her beloved dead, and if only the\nChurch will rank him among those who have died for Her, he will be saved,\nand she will find him standing in the pure radiance of the realms above,\nwith open arms, overflowing with fervent love and gratitude, to welcome\nthe faithful helpmate who will have purged his soul. Yes, now I quite\nunderstand; and from this day forth I will aid and second her; the\nhardest task shall not be too hard, the best shall not be too good, if\nonly we may open the gates of Heaven to my poor father's imperilled\nsoul.\"\n\nAs he spoke his eye glistened with ecstatic light; his brother, too, was\ntouched, and to hide his emotion, he exclaimed, more recklessly and\nsharply than was his wont:\n\n\"That will come all right, never fear, lad!\" But he hastily wiped his\neyes with his hand, slapped Marcus on the shoulder, and added gaily: \"It\nis better to choke than to swallow down the thing you think right, and it\nnever hurt a man yet to make a clean breast of his feelings, even if we\ndo not quite agree we understand each other the better for it. I have my\nway of thinking, you have yours; thus we each know what the other means;\nbut after the tragedy comes the satyr play, and we may as well finish\nthis agitating evening with an hour's friendly chat.\"\n\nSo saying Demetrius stretched himself on a divan and invited Marcus to do\nthe same, and in a few minutes their conversation had turned, as usual,\nto the subject of horses. Marcus was full of praises of the stallions his\nbrother had bred for him, and which he had ridden that very day round the\nMyssa--[The Myssa was the Meta, or turning-post]--in the Hippodrome, and\nhis brother added with no small complacency:\n\n\"They were all bred from the same sire and from the choicest mares. I\nbroke them in myself, and I only wish. . . . But why did you not come to the\nstables this morning?\"\n\n\"I could not,\" replied Marcus coloring slightly. Then we will go\nto-morrow to Nicopolis and I will show you how to get Megaera past the\nTaraxippios.\"--[The terror of the horses.]\n\n\"To-morrow?\" said Marcus somewhat embarrassed. \"In the morning I must go\nto see Eusebius and then. . . .\"\n\n\"Well, then?\"\n\n\"Then I must--I mean I should like. . . .\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Well, to be sure I might, all the same.--But no, it is not to be done--I\nhave. . . .\"\n\n\"What, what?\" cried Demetrius with increasing impatience: \"My time is\nlimited and if you start the horses without knowing my way of managing\nthem they will certainly not do their best. As soon as the market begins\nto fill we will set out. We shall need a few hours for the Hippodrome,\nthen we will dine with Damon, and before dark. . . .\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied Marcus, \"to-morrow, certainly, I positively\ncannot. . . .\"\n\n\"People who have nothing to do always lack time,\" replied the other. \"Is\nto-morrow one of your festivals?\"\n\n\"No, not that=-and Good Heavens! If only I could. . . .\"\n\n\"Could, could!\" cried Demetrius angrily and standing close in front of\nhis brother with his arms folded. \"Say out honestly: 'I will not go,' or\nelse, 'my affairs are my own secret and I mean to keep it.'--But give me\nno more of your silly equivocations.\"\n\nHis vehemence increased the younger man's embarrassment, and as he stood\ntrying to find an explanation which might come somewhat near the truth\nand yet not betray him, Demetrius, who had stood watching him closely,\nsuddenly exclaimed:\n\n\"By Aphrodite, the daughter of the foam! it is a love affair--an\nassignation.--Woman, woman, always woman!\"\n\n\"An assignation!\" cried Marcus shaking his head. \"No indeed, no one\nexpects me; and yet--I had rather you should misunderstand me than think\nthat I had lied. Yes--I am going to seek a woman; and if I do not find\nher to-morrow, if in the course of tomorrow I do not succeed in my\nheart's desire, she is lost--not only to me, though I cannot give up the\nheavenly love for the sake of the earthly and fleshly--but to my Lord and\nSaviour. It is the life--the everlasting life or death of one of God's\nloveliest creatures that hangs on to-morrow's work.\"\n\nDemetrius was greatly astonished, and it was with an angry gesture of\nimpatience that he replied:\n\n\"Again you have overstepped the boundary within which we can possibly\nunderstand each other. In my opinion you are hardly old enough to\nundertake the salvation of the imperilled souls of pretty women. Take\ncare what you are about, youngster! It is safe enough to go into the\nwater with those who can swim, but those who sink are apt to draw you\ndown with them. You are a good-looking young fellow, you have money and\nfine horses, and there are women enough who are only too ready to spread\ntheir nets abroad. . .\"\n\n\"What are you thinking of?\" cried Marcus passionately. \"It is I who am\nthe fisher--a fisher of souls, and so every true believer ought to be.\nShe--she is innocence and simplicity itself, in spite of her roguish\nsauciness. But she has fallen into the hands of a reprobate heathen, and\nhere, where vice prowls about the city like a roaring lion, she will be\nlost--lost, if I do not rescue her. Twice have I seen her in my dreams;\nonce close to the cavern of a raging dragon, and again on the edge of a\nprecipitous cliff, and each time an angel called out to me and bid me\nsave her from the jaws of the monster, and from falling into the abyss.\nSince then I seem to see her constantly; at meals, when I am in company,\nwhen I am driving,--and I always hear the warning voice of the angel. And\nnow I feel it a sacred duty to save her--a creature on whom the Almighty\nhas lavished every gift he ever bestowed on the daughters of Eve--to lead\nher into the path of Salvation.\"\n\nDemetrius had listened to his brother's enthusiastic speech with growing\nanxiety, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and said:\n\n\"I almost envy you your acquaintance with this favorite of the gods; but\nyou might, it seems to me, postpone the work of salvation. You were away\nfrom Alexandria for half a year, and if she could hold out so long as\nthat . . .\"\n\n\"Do not speak so; you ought not to speak so!\" cried Marcus, pressing his\nhand on his heart as though in physical pain. \"But I have no time to\nlose, for I must at once find out where the old singer has taken her. I\nam not so inexperienced as you seem to think. He has brought her here to\ntrade in her beauty, and enrich himself. Why, you, too, saw her on board\nship; I, as you know, had arranged for them to be taken in at my mother's\nXenodochium.\"\n\n\"Whom?\" asked Demetrius folding his hands.\n\n\"The singers whom I brought with me from Ostia. And now they have\ndisappeared from thence, and Dada . . .\"\n\n\"Dada!\" cried Demetrius, bursting into a loud laugh without heeding\nMarcus who stepped up to him, crimson with rage. \"Dada! that little fair\npuss! You see her day and night and an angel calls upon you to save that\nchild's merry soul? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, boy! Why, what\nshall I wager now? I will stake this roll of gold that I could make her\ncome with me to-morrow--with me, a hard-featured countryman, freckled all\nover like a plover's egg, where my clothes do not protect my skin, and\nwith hair on end like the top of a broom--yes, that she will follow me to\nArsinoe or wherever I choose to bid her. Let the hussy go, you simple\ninnocent. Such a Soul as hers is of small account even in a less\nexclusive Heaven than yours is.\"\n\n\"Take back those words!\" cried Marcus, beside himself and clenching his\nfist. \"But that is just like you! Your impure eyes and heart defile\npurity itself, and see spots even in the sun. Nothing is too bad for a\n'singing girl,' I know. But that is just the marrow of the matter; it is\nfrom that very curse that I mean to save her. If you can accuse her of\nanything, speak; if not, and if you do not want to appear a base\nslanderer in my eyes, take back the words you have just spoken!\"\n\n\"Oh! I take them back of course,\" said Demetrius indifferently. \"I know\nnothing of your beauty beyond what she has herself said to me and you and\nCynegius and his Secretaries--with her pretty, saucy eyes. But the\nlanguage of the eye, they say, is not always to be depended on; so take\nit as unsaid. And, if I understood you rightly, you do not even know\nwhere the singers are hiding? If you have no objection, I will help you\nto seek them out.\"\n\n\"That is as you please,\" answered Marcus hotly. \"All your mockery will\nnot prevent my doing my duty.\"\n\n\"Very right, very right,\" said his brother. \"Perhaps this damsel is\nunlike all the other singing-girls with whom I used so often to spend a\njolly evening in my younger days. Once, at Barca, I saw a white\nraven--but perhaps after all it was only a dove. Your opinion, in this\ncase, is at any rate better founded than mine, for I never thought twice\nabout the girl and you did.--But it is late; till to-morrow, Marcus.\"\n\nThe brothers parted for the night, but when Demetrius found himself alone\nhe walked up and down the room, shaking his head doubtfully. Presently,\nwhen his body-slave came in to pack for him, he called out crossly:\n\n\"Let that alone--I shall stay in Alexandria a few days longer.\"\n\nMarcus could not go to bed; his brother's scorn had shaken his soul to\nthe foundations. An inward voice told him that his more experienced\nsenior might be right, but at the same time he hated and contemned\nhimself for listening to its warnings at all. The curse that rested on\nDada was that of her position; she herself was pure--as pure as a lily,\nas pure as the heart of a child, as pure as the blue of her eyes and the\nring of her voice. He would obey the angel's behest! He could and he must\nsave her!\n\nIn the greatest excitement he went out of the house, through the great\ngate, into the Canopic way, and walked on. As he was about to turn down a\nside street to go to the lake he found the road stopped by soldiers, for\nthis street led past the prefect's house where Cynegius, the Emperor's\nemissary, was staying; he had come, it was said, to close the Temples,\nand the excited populace had gathered outside the building, during the\nafternoon, to signify their indignant disapprobation. At sundown an armed\nforce had been called out and had dispersed the crowd; but it was by\nanother road that the young Christian at length made his way to the\nshore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nWhile Marcus was restlessly wandering on the shore of Mareotis, dreaming\nof Dada's image and arranging speeches of persuasive eloquence by which\nto touch her heart and appeal to her soul, silence had fallen on the\nfloating home of the singers. A light white mist, like a filmy veil--a\ntissue of clouds and moonbeams--hung over the lake. Work was long since\nover in the ship-yard, and the huge skeletons of the unfinished ships\nthrew weird and ghostly shadows on the silvered strand-forms like black\nvisions of crayfish, centipedes, or enormous spiders.\n\nFrom the town there came not a sound; it lay in the silence of\nintoxicated sleep. The Roman troops had cleared the streets, the lights\nwere dead in every house, and in all the alleys and squares; only the\nmoon shone over the roofs of Alexandria, while the blazing beacon of the\nlight-house on the north-eastern point of the island of Pharos shone like\na sun through the darkness.\n\nIn a large cabin in the stern of the vessel lay the two girls, on soft\nwoollen couches and covered with rugs. Agne was gazing wide-eyed into the\ndarkness; Dada had long been asleep, but she breathed painfully and her\nrosy lips were puckered now and then as if she were in some distress. She\nwas dreaming of the infuriated mob who had snatched the garland from her\nhair--she saw Marcus suddenly interfere to protect her and rescue her\nfrom her persecutors--then she thought she had fallen off the gangway\nthat led from the land to the barge, and was in the water while old Damia\nstood on the shore and laughed at her without trying to help her. Night\ngenerally brought the child sound sleep or pleasant dreams, but now one\nhideous face after another haunted her.\n\nAnd yet the evening had brought her a great pleasure. Not long after\ntheir return from their walk the steward had come down to the boat and\nbrought her a very beautiful dress, with greetings from his old mistress;\nhe had at the same time brought an Egyptian slave-woman, well skilled in\nall the arts of the toilet, who was to wait upon her so long as she\nremained in Alexandria. Dada had never owned such a lovely dress! The\nunder-robe was of soft sea-green bombyx silk, with a broad border,\ndelicately embroidered, of a garland of roses and buds. The peplos was of\nthe same color and decorated to match; costly clasps of mosaic,\nrepresenting full-blown roses and set in oval gold settings, fastened it\non the shoulders. In a separate case were a gold girdle, a bracelet, also\nof gold, in the shape of a snake, a gold crescent with a rose, like those\non the shoulder-clasps, in its centre, and a metal mirror of spotless\nlustre.\n\nThe slave, a middle-aged woman with a dark cunning face, had helped her\nto put on this new garment; she had also insisted on dressing her hair,\nand all the time had never ceased praising the charms that nature had\nbestowed on her young mistress, with the zeal of a lover.\n\nAgne had looked on smiling, good-naturedly handing the slave the pins and\nribbands she had needed, and sincerely rejoicing in her companion's\nbeauty and delight.\n\nAt last Dada had made her appearance in the deckroom and was greeted by\nmany an Ah! and Oh! of admiration from the men of the party, including\nMedius, the singer whom Karnis had met in the street. Even Herse, who had\nreceived her quite disagreeably on her return from the city, could not\nsuppress a smile of kindly approval, though she shook her finger at her\nsaying:\n\n\"The old lady has set her heart on turning your head completely I see.\nAll that is very pretty, but all the good it will do will be to rouse\nspiteful tongues. Remember, Dada, that you are my sister's child; I\npromise you I shall not forget it, and I shall keep my eye upon you.\"\n\nOrpheus made haste to light every lamp and taper, of which there were\nplenty, for the barge was handsomely furnished, and when Dada was plainly\nvisible in the brilliant illumination Karnis exclaimed:\n\n\"You look like a senator's daughter! Long live the Fair!\"\n\nShe ran up to him and kissed him; but when Orpheus walked all round her,\nexamining the fineness of the tissue and the artistic finish of the\nclasps, and even turned the snake above her round elbow, she sharply bid\nhim let her be.\n\nMedius, a man of the age of Karnis who had formerly been his intimate\ncompanion, never took his eyes off the girl, and whispered to the old\nmusician that Dada would easily carry off the palm for beauty in\nAlexandria, and that with such a jewel in his keeping he might recover\nwealth and position and by quite honest means. At his suggestion she then\nassumed a variety of attitudes; she stood as Hebe, offering nectar to the\ngods--as Nausicae, listening to the tale of Odysseus--and as Sappho,\nsinging to her lyre. The girl was delighted at all this, and when Medius,\nwho kept close to her, tried to persuade her to perform in a similar\nmanner in the magical representations at the house of Posidonius, before\na select company of spectators, she clapped her hands exclaiming:\n\n\"You took me all round the city, father, and as your reward I should like\nto earn back your pretty vineyards, I should stand like this, you know,\nand like this--to be stared at. I only hope I might not be seized with a\nsudden impulse to make a face at the audience. But if they did not come\ntoo close I really might . . .\"\n\n\"You could do no better than to play the parts that Posidonius might give\nyou,\" interrupted Medius. \"His audiences like to see good daemons, the\nkindly protecting spirits, and so forth. You would have to appear among\nclouds behind a transparent veil, and the people would hail you with\nacclamations or even raise their hands in adoration.\"\n\nAll this seemed to Dada perfectly delightful, and she was on the point of\ngiving her hand to Medius in token of agreement, when her eye caught the\nanxious gaze of the young Christian girl who stood before her with a deep\nflush on her face. Agne seemed to be blushing for her. The color rushed\nto her own cheeks, and shortly saying: \"No--after all, I think not,\" she\nturned her back on the old man and threw herself on the cushions close to\nwhere the wine-jug was standing. Medius now began to besiege Karnis and\nHerse with arguments, but they refused all his offers as they intended\nquitting Alexandria in a few days, so he had no alternative but to\nsubmit. Still, he did not altogether throw up the game, and to win Dada's\nconsent, at any rate, he made her laugh with a variety of comical pranks\nand showed her some ingenious conjuring tricks, and ere long their\nfloating home echoed with merriment, with the clinking of wine-cups and\nwith songs, in which even Agne was obliged to take part. Medius did not\nleave till near midnight and Herse then sent them all to bed.\n\nAs soon as the slave had undressed her young mistress and left the girls\nalone, Dada threw herself into the arms of Agne who was on the point of\ngetting into bed, and kissed her vehemently, exclaiming: \"You are\nmuch--so much better than I! How is that you always know what is right?\"\n\nThen she lay down; but before she fell asleep she once more spoke to\nAgne: \"Marcus will find us out, I am certain,\" she said, \"and I should\nreally like to know what he has to say to me.\"\n\nIn a few minutes sleep had sealed her eyes, but the Christian girl lay\nawake; her thoughts would not rest, and Sleep, who the night before had\ntaken her to his heart, to-night would not come near her pillow; so much\nto agitate and disturb her soul had taken place during the day.\n\nShe had often before now been a silent spectator of the wild rejoicings\nof the musician's family, and she had always thought of these\nlight-hearted creatures as spendthrifts who waste all their substance in\na few days to linger afterwards through years of privation and\nrepentance. Troubled, as she could not fail to be, as to the eternal\nsalvation of these lost souls, though happy in her own faith, she had\nconstantly turned for peace to her Saviour and always found it; but\nto-night it was not so, for a new and unexpected temptation had sprung up\nfor her in the house of Porphyrius.\n\nShe had heard Gorgo sing again, and joined her own voice with hers.\nDirges, yearning hymns, passionate outpourings in praise of the mighty\nand beautiful divinity had filled her ear and stirred her soul with an\necstatic thrill, although she knew that they, were the composition of\nheathen poets and had first been sung to the harmony of lutes by\nreprobate idolaters. And yet, and yet they had touched her heart, and\nmoved her soul to rapture, and filled her eyes with tears.\n\nShe could not but confess to herself that she could have given no purer,\nsweeter, or loftier expression to her own woes, thankfulness,\naspirations, and hopes of ever lasting life and glory, than this gifted\ncreature had given to the utterance of her idolatry. Surprise, unrest,\nnay, some little jealousy had been mingled with her delight at Gorgo's\nsinging. How was it that this heathen could feel and utter emotions which\nshe had always conceived of as the special privilege of the Christian,\nand, for her own part, had never felt so fervently as in the hours when\nshe had drawn closest to her Lord? Were not her own sentiments the true\nand right ones; had her intercourse with these heathens tainted her?\n\nThis doubt disturbed her greatly; it must be based on something more than\nmere self-torture, for she had not once thought of asking to whom the\ntwo-part hymn, with its tender appeal, was addressed, when Karnis had\nfirst gone through it with her alone; nor even subsequently, when she had\nsung it with Gorgo--timidly at first, more boldly the second time, and\nfinally without a mistake, but carried completely away by the beauty and\npassion of the emotions it expressed.\n\nShe knew now, for Karnis himself had told her. It was the Lament of Isis\nfor her--lost husband and brother--oh that horrible heathen\nconfusion!--The departed Osiris. The wailing widow, who called on him to\nreturn with \"the silent speech of tears,\" was that queen of the\nidolater's devils whose shameful worship her father had often spoke of\nwith horror. Still, this dirge was so true and noble, so penetrated with\nfervent, agonized grief, that it had gone to her heart. The sorrowing\nMother of God, Mary herself, might thus have besought the resurrection of\nher Son; just thus must the \"God-like maid\"--as she was called in the\nArian confession of her father--have uttered her grief, her prayers, and\nher longings.\n\nBut it was all a heathen delusion, all the trickery and jugglery of the\nDevil, though she had failed to see through it, and had given herself up\nto it, heart and soul. Nay, worse! for after she had learnt that Gorgo\nwas to represent Isis and she herself Nephthys, the sister of the divine\npair, she had opposed the suggestion but feebly, even though she knew\nthat they were to sing the hymn together in the Temple of Isis; and when\nGorgo had clasped her in her arms with sisterly kindness, begging her not\nto spoil her plans but to oblige her in this, she had not repulsed the\ntempter with firm decision, but merely asked for time to think it over.\n\nHow indeed could she have found the heart to refuse the noble girl, whose\nbeauty and voice had so struck and fascinated her, when she flung her\narms round her neck, looked into her eyes and earnestly besought her:\n\n\"Do it for my sake, to please me. I do not ask you to do anything wicked.\nPure song is acceptable to every god. Think of your lament, if you like,\nas being for your own god who suffered on the cross. But I like singing\nwith you so much; say yes. Do not refuse, for my sake!\"\n\nShe had thrown her arms so gladly, so much too gladly round the heathen\nlady--for she had a loving heart and no one else had ever made it a\nreturn in kind--and clinging closely to her she had said:\n\n\"As you will; I will do whatever you like.\"\n\nThen Orpheus, too, had urged her to oblige Gorgo, and himself, and all of\nthem; and it had seemed almost impossible to refuse the first request\nthat the modest youth--to whom she would willingly have granted anything\nand everything--had ever made. Still, she had held back; and in her\nanxious bewilderment, not daring to think or act, she had tried every\nform of excuse and postponement. She would probably have been awkward\nenough about this, but Gorgo was content to press her no further, and\nwhen, after leaving the house, she had summoned up courage to refuse to\nenter the Temple of Isis, Karnis had only said: \"Be thankful that this\ngifted lady, the favorite of the Muses, should think you worthy to sing\nwith her. We will see about the rest by-and-bye.\"\n\nNow, in the watches of the sleepless night, she saw clearly the abyss\nabove which she was standing. She, like Judas, was on the point of\nbetraying her Saviour; not indeed for money, but in obedience to the\ntransient sound of an earthly voice, for the pleasure of exercising her\nart, to indulge a hastily-formed liking; nay, perhaps because it\nsatisfied her childish vanity to find herself put on an equality with a\nlady of rank and wealth, and matched with a singer who had roused Karnis\nand Orpheus to such ardent admiration.\n\nShe was an enigma to herself; while passages out of the Bible crowded on\nher memory to reproach her conscience.\n\nThere lay Dada's embroidered dress. Worn for the first time this day, in\na month it would be unpresentably shabby and then, ere long, flung aside\nas past wearing. Like this--just like this--was every earthly pleasure,\nevery joy of this brief existence. Alas, she certainly was not happy here\nin Karnis' sense of the word; but in the other world there were joys\neternal, and she had only to deny herself the petty enjoyments of this\nlife to secure unfailing and everlasting happiness in the next. There she\nwould find an endless flow of all her soul could desire, there perhaps\nshe might be allowed to cool the lips of Gorgo, as Lazarus cooled those\nof the rich man.\n\nShe was quite clear now what her answer would be to-morrow, and, firmly\nresolved not to allow herself to think of singing in the Temple of Isis,\nshe at last fell asleep just as the light began to dawn in the east. She\ndid not wake till late, and it was with downcast eyes and set lips that\nshe went with Karnis and Orpheus to the house of Porphyrius.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nWhen the steward went to summons the musicians to his master's house he\nhad again had no bidding for Dada, and she was very indignant at being\nleft behind. \"That old cornsack's daughter,\" she said, \"was full of her\nairs, and would have nothing to say to them excepting to make use of them\nfor her own purposes!\" If she had not been afraid of being thought\nintrusive she would have acted on old Damia's invitation to visit her\nfrequently, and have made her appearance, in defiance of Gorgo, dropping\nlike a shooting-star into the midst of their practising. It never\noccurred to her to fancy that the young lady had any personal dislike to\nher, for, though she might be ignored and forgotten, who had ever had any\nbut a kind word for her. At the same time she assumed the right of\nfeeling that \"she could not bear\" the haughty Gorgo, and as the party set\nout she exclaimed to Agne, \"Well, you need not kill her for me, but at\nany rate, I send her no greeting; it is a shame that I should be left to\nmope alone with Herse. Do not be surprised if you find me turned to a\nstark, brown mummy--for we are in Egypt, you know, the land of mummies. I\nbequeath my old dress to you, my dear, for I know you would never put on\nthe new one. If you bewail me as you ought I will visit you in a dream,\nand put a sugarplum in your mouth--a cake of ambrosia such as the gods\neat. You are not even leaving me Papias to tease!\"\n\nFor in fact Agne's little brother, dressed in a clean garment, was to be\ntaken to Gorgo who had expressed a wish to see him.\n\nWhen they had all left the ship Dada soon betrayed how superficial her\nindignation had been; for, presently spying through the window of the\ncabin the young cavalry officer's grey-bearded father, she sprang up the\nnarrow steps--barefoot as she was accustomed to be when at home--and\nthrew herself on a cushion to lean over the gunwale of the upper deck,\nwhich was shaded by a canvas awning, to watch the ship-yard and the\nshore-path. Before she had begun to weary of this occupation the\nwaiting-slave, who had been up to the house to put various matters in\norder, came back to the vessel, and squatting down at her feet was ready\nto give her all the information she chose to require. Dada's first\nquestions naturally related to Gorgo. The young mistress, said the slave,\nhad already dismissed many suitors, the sons of the greatest families of\nAlexandria, and if her suspicions--those of Sachepris, the slave--were\nwell founded, all for the sake of the old shipbuilder's son, whom she had\nknown from childhood and who was now an officer in the Imperial guard.\nHowever, as she opined, this attachment could hardly lead to marriage,\nsince Constantine was a zealous Christian and his family were\nimmeasurably beneath that of Porphyrius in rank; and though he had\ndistinguished himself greatly and risen to the grade of Prefect, Damia,\nwho on all occasions had the casting-vote, had quite other views for her\ngranddaughter.\n\nAll this excited Dada's sympathies to the highest pitch, but she listened\nwith even greater attention when her gossip began to speak of Marcus, his\nmother, and his brother. In this the Egyptian slave was the tool of old\nDamia. She had counted on being questioned about the young Christian, and\nas soon as Dada mentioned his name she shuffled on her knees close up to\nthe girl, laid her hand gently on her arm and looking up into her eyes\nwith a meaning flash, she whispered in broken Greek--and hastily, for\nHerse was bustling about the deck: \"Such a pretty mistress, such a young\nmistress as you, and kept here like a slave! If the young mistress only\nchose she could easily--quite easily--have as good a lover as our Gorgo,\nand better; so pretty and so young! And I know some one who would dress\nthe pretty mistress in red gold and pale pearls and bright jewels, if\nsweet Dada only said the word.\"\n\n\"And why should sweet Dada not say the word?\" echoed the girl gaily. \"Who\nis it that has so many nice things and all for me? You--I shall never\nremember your name if I live to be as old as Damia. . . .\"\n\n\"Sachepris, Sachepris is my name,\" said the woman, but call me anything\nelse you like. The lover I mean is the son of the rich Christian, Mary. A\nhandsome man, my lord Marcus; and he has horses, such fine horses, and\nmore gold pieces than the pebbles on the shore there. Sachepris knows\nthat he has sent out slaves to look for the pretty mistress. Send him a\ntoken--write to my lord Marcus.\"\n\n\"Write?\" laughed Dada. \"Girls learn other things in my country; but if I\ncould--shall I tell you something? I would not write him a line. Those\nwho want me may seek me!\"\n\n\"He is seeking, he is trying to find the pretty mistress,\" declared the\nwoman; \"he is full of you, quite full of you, and if I dared. . . .\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"I would go and say to my lord Marcus, quite in a secret. . . .\"\n\n\"Well, what? Speak out, woman.\"\n\n\"First I would tell him where the pretty mistress is hidden; and then say\nthat he might hope once--this evening perhaps--he is not far off, he is\nquite near this . . . over there; do you see that little white house? It\nis a tavern and the host is a freedman attached to the lady Damia, and\nfor money he would shut his shop up for a day, for a night, for many\ndays.--Well, and then I would say--shall I tell you all? My lord Marcus\nis there, waiting for his pretty mistress, and has brought her dresses\nthat would make the rose-garment look a rag. You would have gold too, as\nmuch gold as heart can wish. I can take you there, and he will meet you\nwith open arms.\"\n\n\"What, this evening?\" cried Dada, and the blue veins swelled on her white\nforehead. \"You hateful, brown serpent! Did Gorgo teach you such things as\nthis? It is horrible, disgraceful, sickening!\"\n\nSo base a proposal was the last thing she would ever have expected from\nMarcus--of all men in the world, Marcus, whom she had imagined so good\nand pure! She could not believe it; and as her glance met the cunning\nglitter of the Egyptian's eyes her own sparkled keenly, and she exclaimed\nwith a vehemence and decision which her attendant had never suspected in\nher:\n\n\"It is deceit and falsehood from beginning to end! Go, woman, I will hear\nno more of it. Why should Marcus have come to you since yesterday if he\ndoes not know where I am? You are silent--you will not say? . . . Oh! I\nunderstand it all. He--I know he would never have ventured it. But it is\nyour 'noble lady Damia'--that old woman, who has told you what to say.\nYou are her echo, and as for Marcus. . . . Confess, confess at once, you\nwitch. . . .\"\n\n\"Sachepris is only a poor slave,\" said the woman raising her hands in\nentreaty. \"Sachepris can only obey, and if the pretty mistress were to\ntell my lady Damia . . .\"\n\n\"It was she then who sent for me to go to the little tavern?\"\n\nThe woman nodded. \"And Marcus?\"\n\n\"If the pretty mistress had consented . . .\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Then--but Great Isis! if you tell of me!\"\n\n\"I will not tell; go on.\"\n\n\"I should have gone to my lord Marcus and invited him, from you . . .\"\n\n\"It is shameful!\" interrupted Dada, and a shudder ran through her slight\nframe. \"How cruel, how horrible it is! You--you will stay here till the\nothers come home and then you will go home to the old woman. I thank the\ngods, I have two hands and need no maid to wait upon me! But look\nthere--what is the meaning of that? That pretty litter has stopped and\nthere is an old man signing to you.\"\n\n\"It is the widow Mary's house steward,\" whined the woman, while Dada\nturned pale, wondering what a messenger from Marcus' mother could want\nhere.\n\nHerse, who had kept a watchful eye on the landing-plank, on Dada's\naccount, had also seen the approach of the widow's messenger and\nsuspected a love-message from Marcus; but she was utterly astounded when\nthe old man politely but imperiously desired her--Herse to get into the\nlitter which would convey her to his mistress's house. Was this a trap?\nDid he merely want to tempt her from the vessel so as to clear the way\nfor his young master? No--for he handed her a tablet on which there was a\nwritten message, and she, an Alexandrian, had been well educated and\ncould read:\n\n\"Mary, the widow of Apelles, to the wife of Karnis, the singer.\" And then\nfollowed the same urgent request as she had already received by word of\nmouth. To reassure herself entirely she called the slave-woman aside, and\nasked her whether Phabis was indeed a trust worthy servant of the\nwidow's. Evidently there was no treason to be apprehended and she must\nobey the invitation, though it disturbed her greatly; but she was a\ncautious woman, with not only her heart but her brains and tongue in the\nright place, and she at once made up her mind what must be done under the\ncircumstances. While she gave a few decorative touches to her person she\nhanded the tablet to the waiting-woman, whom she had taken into her own\nroom, and desired her to carry it at once to her husband, and tell him\nwhither she had gone, and to beg him to return without delay to take care\nof Dada. But what if her husband and son could not come away? The girl\nwould be left quite alone, and then. . . The picture rose before her\nanxious mind of Marcus appearing on the scene and tempting Dada on\nshore--of her niece stealing away by herself even, if the young Christian\nfailed to discover her present residence--loitering alone along the\nCanopic way or the Bruclumn, where, at noon, all that was most\ndisreputable in Alexandria was to be seen at this time of year--she saw,\nshuddered, considered--and suddenly thought of an expedient which seemed\nto promise an issue from the difficulty. It was nothing new and a\nfavorite trick among the Egyptians; she had seen is turned to account by\na lame tailor at whose house her father had lodged, when he had to go out\nto his customers and leave his young negress wife alone at home. Dada was\nlying barefoot on the deck: Herse would hide her shoes.\n\nShe hastily acted on this idea, locking up not only Dada's sandals, but\nalso Agne's and her own, in the trunk they had saved; a glance at the\nslave's feet assured her that hers could be of no use.\n\n\"Not if fire were to break out,\" thought she, \"would my Dada be seen in\nthe streets with those preposterous things on her pretty little feet.\"\n\nWhen this was done Herse breathed more freely, and as she took leave of\nher niece, feeling perhaps that she owed her some little reparation, she\nsaid in an unusually kind tone:\n\n\"Good bye, child. Try to amuse yourself while I am gone. There is plenty\nto look at here, and the others will soon be back again. If the city is\nfairly quiet this evening we will all go out together, to Canopus, to eat\noysters. Good bye till we meet again, my pet!\" She kissed the child, who\nlooked up at her in astonishment, for her adopted mother was not usually\nlavish of such endearments.\n\nBefore long Dada was alone, cooling herself with her new fan and eating\nsweetmeats; but she could not cease thinking of the shameful treachery\nplanned by old Damia, and while she rejoiced to reflect that she had not\nfallen into the net, and had seen through the plot, her wrath against the\nwicked old woman and Gorgo--whom she could not help including--burnt\nwithin her. Meanwhile she looked about her, expecting to see Marcus, or\nperhaps the young officer. Finding it impossible to think any evil of the\nyoung Christian, and having already trusted him so far, her fancy dwelt\non him with particular pleasure; but she was curious, too, about the\nprefect, the early love of the proud merchant's daughter.\n\nTime went on; the sun was high in the heavens, she was tired of staring,\nwondering and thinking, and, yawning wearily, she began to consider\nwhether she would make herself comfortable for a nap, or go down stairs\nand fill up the time by dressing herself up in her new garments. However,\nbefore she could do either, the slave returned from her errand to the\nhouse, and a few moments after she espied the young officer crossing the\nship-yard towards the lake; she sat up, set the crescent straight that\nshe wore in her hair, and waved her fan in a graceful greeting.\n\nThe cavalry prefect, who knew that, of old, the barge was often used by\nPorphyrius' guests, though he did not happen to have heard who were its\npresent occupants--bowed, with military politeness and precision, to the\npretty girl lounging on the deck. Dada returned the greeting; but this\nseemed likely to be the end of their acquaintance, for the soldier walked\non without turning round. He looked handsomer even than he had seemed the\nday before; his hair was freshly oiled and curled, his scale-armor\ngleamed as brightly, and his crimson tunic was as new and rich as if he\nwere going at once to guard the Imperial throne. The merchant's daughter\nhad good taste, but her friend looked no less haughty than herself. Dada\nlonged to make his acquaintance and find out whether he really had no\neyes for any one but Gorgo. To discover that it was not so, little as she\ncared about him personally, would have given her infinite satisfaction,\nand she decided that she must put him to the test. But there was no time\nto lose, so, as it would hardly do to call after him, she obeyed a sudden\nimpulse, flung overboard the handsome fan which had been in her\npossession but one day, and gave a little cry in which alarm and regret\nwere most skilfully and naturally expressed.\n\nThis had the wished-for effect. The officer turned round, his eyes met\nhers, and Dada leaned far over the boat's side pointing to the water and\nexclaiming:\n\n\"It is in the water--it has fallen into the lake!--my fan!\"\n\nThe officer again bowed slightly; then he walked from the path down to\nthe water's edge, while Dada went on more quietly:\n\n\"There, close there! Oh, if only you would! . . .\n\n\"I am so fond of the fan, it is so pretty. Do you see, it is quite\nobliging? it is floating towards you!\" Constantine had soon secured the\nfan, and shook it to dry it as he went across the plank to the vessel.\nDada joyfully received it, stroked the feathers smooth, and warmly\nthanked its preserver, while he assured her that he only wished he could\nhave rendered her some greater service. He was then about to retire with\na bow no less distant than before, but he found himself unexpectedly\ndetained by the Egyptian slave who, placing herself in his way, kissed\nthe hem of his tunic and exclaimed:\n\n\"What joy for my lord your father and the lady your mother, and for poor\nSachepris! My lord Constantine at home again!\"\n\n\"Yes, at home at last,\" said the soldier in a deep pleasant voice. \"Your\nold mistress is still hale and hearty? That is well. I am on my way to\nthe others.\"\n\n\"They know that you have come,\" replied the slave. \"Glad, they are all\nglad. They asked if my lord Constantine forgot old friends.\"\n\n\"Never, not one!\"\n\n\"How long now since my lord Constantine went away--two, three years, and\njust the same. Only a cut over the eyes--may the hand wither that gave\nthe blow!\"\n\nDada had already observed a broad scar which marked the soldier's brow as\nhigh up as she could see it for the helmet, and she broke in:\n\n\"How can you men like to slash and kill each other? Just think, if that\ncut had been only a finger's breadth lower--you would have lost your\neyes, and oh! it is better to be dead than blind. When all the world is\nbright not to be able to see it; what must that be! The whole earth in\ndarkness so that you see nothing--no one; neither the sky, nor the lake,\nnor the boat, nor even me.\"\n\n\"That would indeed be a pity,\" said the prefect with a laugh and a shrug.\n\n\"A pity!\" exclaimed Dada. \"As if it were nothing at all! I should find\nsomething else to say than that. It gives me a shudder only to think of\nbeing blind. How dreadfully dull life can be with one's eyes open! so\nwhat must it be when they are of no use and one cannot even look about\none. Do you know that you have done me not one service only, but two at\nonce?\"\n\n\"I?\" said the officer.\n\n\"Yes, you. But the second is not yet complete. Sit down awhile, I\nbeg--there is a seat. You know it is a fatal omen if a visitor does not\nsit down before he leaves.--That is well.--And now, may I ask you: do you\ntake off your helmet when you go into battle? No.--Then how could a\nswordcut hurt your forehead?\"\n\n\"In a hand to hand scuffle,\" said the young man, \"everything gets out of\nplace. One man knocked my helmet off and another gave me this cut in my\nface.\"\n\n\"Where did it happen?\"\n\n\"On the Savus, where we defeated Maximus.\"\n\n\"And had you this same helmet on?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Oh! pray let me look at it! I can still see the dent in the metal; how\nheavy such a thing must be to wear!\"\n\nConstantine took off his helmet with resigned politeness and put it into\nher hands. She weighed it, thought it fearfully heavy, and then lifted it\nup to put it on her own fair curls; but this did not seem to please her\nnew acquaintance, and saying rather shortly: \"Allow me--\" he took it from\nher, set it on his head and rose.\n\nBut Dada pointed eagerly to the seat.\n\n\"No, no,\" she said, \"I have not yet had enough of your second kindness. I\nwas on the point of death from sheer tedium; then you came, just in time;\nand if you want to carry out your work of mercy you must tell me\nsomething about the battle where you were wounded, and who took care of\nyou afterwards, and whether the women of Pannonia are really as handsome\nas they are said to be. . .\"\n\n\"I am sorry to say that I have not time,\" interrupted the officer.\n\"Sachepris here is far better qualified to amuse you than I; some years\nsince, at any rate, she lead a wonderful store of tales. I wish you a\npleasant day!\"\n\nAnd with this farewell greeting, Constantine left the vessel, nor did he\nonce look back at it or its pretty inhabitant as he made his way towards\nthe house of Porphyrius.\n\nDada as she gazed after him colored with vexation; again she had done a\nthing that Herse and--which she regretted still more--that Agne would\ncertainly disapprove of. The stranger whom she had tried to draw into a\nflirtation was a really chivalrous man. Gorgo might be proud of such a\nlover; and if now, he were to go to her and tell her, probably with some\nannoyance, how provokingly he had been delayed by that pert little\nsinging-girl, it would be all her own fault. She felt as though there\nwere something in her which forced her to seem much worse than she really\nwas, and wished to be. Agne, Marcus, the young soldier--nay, even Gorgo,\nwere loftier and nobler than she or her people, and she was conscious for\nthe first time that the dangers from which Marcus had longed to protect\nher were not the offspring of his fancy. She could not have found a name\nfor them, but she understood that she was whirled and tossed through life\nfrom one thing to another, like a leaf before the wind, bereft of every\nstay or holdfast, defenceless even against the foolish vagaries of her\nown nature. Everyone, thought the girl to herself, distrusted and\nsuspected her, and, solely because she was one of a family of singers,\ndared to insult and dishonor her. A strange spite against Fate, against\nher uncle and aunt, against herself even, surged up in her, and with it a\nvague longing for another and a better life.\n\nThus meditating she looked down into the water, not noticing what was\ngoing on around her, till the slave-woman, addressing her by name,\npointed to a carriage drawn up at the side of the road that divided the\ngrove of the Temple of Isis from the ship-yard, and which the Egyptian\nbelieved that she recognized as belonging to Marcus. Dada started up and\nran off to the cabin to fetch her shoes, but everything in the shape of a\nsandal had vanished, and Herse had been wise when she had looked at those\nof the Egyptian, for Dada did the same and would not have hesitated to\nborrow them if they had been a little less dirty and clumsy.\n\nHerse, no doubt, had played her this trick, and it was easy to guess why!\nIt was only to divert her suspicions that the false woman had been so\naffectionate at parting. It was cheating, treachery-cruel and shameful!\nShe, who had always submitted like a lamb--but this was too much--this\nshe could not bear--this! . . . The slave-woman now followed her to desire\nher to come up on deck; a new visitor had appeared on the scene, an old\nacquaintance and fellow-voyager: Demetrius, Marcus' elder brother.\n\nAt any other time she would have made him gladly welcome, as a companion\nand comfort in her solitude; but he had chosen an evil hour for his visit\nand his proposals, as the girl's red cheeks and tearful eyes at once told\nhim.\n\nHe had come to fetch her, cost him what it might, and to carry her away\nto his country-home, near Arsinoe on the coast. It was not that he had\nany mad desire to make her his own, but that he thought it his most\nurgent duty to preserve his inexperienced brother from the danger into\nwhich his foolish passion for the little singing-girl was certain to\nplunge him. A purse full of gold, and a necklace of turquoise and\ndiamonds, which he had purchased from a jeweller in the Jews' quarter for\na sum for which he had often sold a ship-load of corn or a whole cellar\nfull of wine or oil, were to supplement his proposals; and he went\nstraight to the point, asking the girl simply and plainly to leave her\nfriends and accompany him to Arsinoe. When she asked him, in much\nastonishment, \"What to do there?\" he told her he wanted a cheerful\ncompanion; he had taken a fancy to her saucy little nose, and though he\ncould not flatter himself that he had ever found favor in her eyes he had\nbrought something with him which she would certainly like, and which\nmight help him to win her kindness. He was not niggardly, and if\nthis--and this--and he displayed the sparkling necklace and laid the\npurse on her pillow--could please her she might regard them as an earnest\nof more, as much more as she chose, for his pockets were deep.\n\nDada did not interrupt him, for the growing indignation with which she\nheard him took away her breath. This fresh humiliation was beyond the\nbounds of endurance; and when at last she recovered her powers of speech\nand action, she flung the purse off the divan, and as it fell clattering\non the floor, she kicked it away as far as possible, as though it were\nplague-tainted. Then, standing upright in front of her suitor, she\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Shame upon you all! You thought that because I am a poor girl, a\nsinging-girl, and because you have filthy gold. . . . Your brother Marcus\nwould never have done such a thing, I am very sure! . . . And you, a horrid\npeasant! . . . If you ever dare set foot on this vessel again, Karnis and\nOrpheus shall drive you away as if you were a thief or an assassin!\nEternal Gods! what is it that I have done, that everyone thinks I must be\nwicked? Eternal Gods. . . .\"\n\nAnd she burst into loud spasmodic sobs and vanished down the steps that\nled below.\n\nDemetrius called after her in soothing words and tones, but she would not\nlisten. Then he sent down the slave to beg Dada to grant him a hearing,\nbut the only answer he received was an order to quit the barge at once.\n\nHe obeyed, and as he picked up the purse he thought to himself:\n\n\"I may buy ship and vineyard back again; but I would send four more after\nthose if I could undo this luckless deed. If I were a better and a\nworthier man, I might not so easily give others credit for being evil and\nunworthy.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nThe town of Alexandria was stirred to its very foundations. From dawn\ntill night every centre of public traffic and intercourse was the scene\nof hostile meetings between Christians and heathen, with frequent frays\nand bloodshed, only stopped by the intervention of the soldiery. Still,\nas we see that the trivial round of daily tasks is necessarily fulfilled,\neven when the hand of Fate lies heaviest on a household, and that\nchildren cannot forego their play even when their father is stretched on\nhis death-bed, so the minor interests of individual lives pursued their\ncourse, even in the midst of the general agitation and peril.\n\nThe current of trade and of public business was, of course, checked at\nmany points, but they never came to a stand-still. The physician visited\nthe sick, the convalescent made his first attempt, leaning on a friendly\narm, to walk from his bedroom to the \"viridarium,\" and alms were given\nand received. Hatred was abroad and rampant, but love held its own,\nstrengthening old ties and forming new ones. Terror and grief weighed on\nthousands of hearts, while some tried to make a profit out of the\nprevailing anxiety, and others--many others--went forth, as light-hearted\nas ever, in pursuit of pleasure and amusement.\n\nHorses were ridden and driven in the Hippodrome, and feasts were held in\nthe pleasure-houses of Canopus, with music and noisy mirth; in the public\ngardens round the Paneum cock-fighting and quail-fighting were as popular\nas ever, and eager was the betting in new gold or humble copper. Thus may\nwe see a child, safe on the roof of its father's house, floating its toy\nboat on the flood that has drowned them all out; thus might a boy fly his\ngaudy kite in the face of a gathering storm; thus does the miser, on whom\ndeath has already laid its bony hand, count his hoarded coin; thus\nthoughtless youth dances over the heaving soil at the very foot of a\nvolcano. What do these care for the common weal? Each has his separate\nlife and personal interests. What he himself needs or desires--the\ngreatest or the least--is to him more important and more absorbing than\nthe requirements of the vast organism in which he is no more than a drop\nof blood or the hair of an eyelash.\n\nOlympius was still in concealment in the house of Porphyrius--Olympius,\nwhose mind and will had formerly had such imperious hold on the fate of\nthe city, and to whose nod above half of the inhabitants were still\nobedient. Porphyrius and his family shared his views and regarded\nthemselves as his confederates; but, even among them, the minor details\nof life claimed their place, and Gorgo, who entered into the struggle for\nthe triumph of the old gods, gave but a half-hearted attention to the\ngreat cause to which she was enthusiastically devoted, because a\ncompanion of her childhood, to whose attentions she had every claim,\ndelayed his visit longer than was kind.\n\nShe had performed her 'Isis' lament the day before with all her heart and\nsoul, and had urgently claimed Agne's assistance; but to-day, though she\nhad been singing again and well, she had stopped to listen whenever she\nheard a door open in the adjoining room or voices in the garden, and had\nsung altogether with so much less feeling and energy than before that\nKarnis longed to reprove her sharply enough. This, however, would have\nbeen too indiscreet, so he could only express his annoyance by saying to\nhis son, in a loud whisper:\n\n\"The most remarkable gifts, you see, and the highest abilities are of no\navail so long as Art and Life are not one and the same--so long as Art is\nnot the Alpha and Omega of existence, but merely an amusement or a\ndecoration.\"\n\nAgne had been true to herself, and had modestly but steadfastly declared\nthat she could not possibly enter the temple of Isis, and her refusal had\nbeen accepted quite calmly, and without any argument or controversy. She\nhad not been able to refuse Gorgo's request that she would repeat to-day\nthe rehearsal she had gone through yesterday, since, to all appearance,\nher cooperation at the festival had been altogether given up. How could\nthe girl guess that the venerable philosopher, who had listened with\nbreathless admiration to their joint performance, had taken upon himself\nto dissipate her doubts and persuade her into compliance?\n\nOlympius laid the greatest stress on Agne's assistance, for every one who\nclung to the worship of the old gods was to assemble in the sanctuary of\nIsis; and the more brilliant and splendid the ceremony could be made the\nmore would that enthusiasm be fired which, only too soon, would be put to\ncrucial proof. On quitting the temple the crowd of worshippers, all in\nholiday garb, were to pass in front of the Prefect's residence, and if\nonly they could effect this great march through the city in the right\nframe of mind, it might confidently be expected that every one who was\nnot avowedly Jew or Christian, would join the procession. It would thus\nbecome a demonstration of overwhelming magnitude and Cynegius, the\nEmperor's representative, could not fail to see what the feeling was of\nthe majority of the towns folk, and what it was to drive matters to\nextremes and lay hands on the chief temples of such a city.\n\nTo Olympius the orator, grown grey in the exercise of logic and\neloquence, it seemed but a small matter to confute the foolish doubts of\na wilful girl. He would sweep her arguments to the winds as the storm\ndrives the clouds before it; and any one who had seen the two\ntogether--the fine old man with the face and front of Zeus, with his\nthoughtful brow and broad chest, who could pour forth a flood of\neloquence fascinatingly persuasive or convincingly powerful, and the\nmodest, timid girl--could not have doubted on which side the victory must\nbe.\n\nTo-day, for the first time, Olympius had found leisure for a prolonged\ninterview with his old friend Karnis, and while the girls were in the\ngarden, amusing little Papias by showing him the swans and tame gazelles,\nthe philosopher had made enquiries as to the Christian girl's history and\nthen had heard a full account of the old musician's past life. Karnis\nfelt it as a great favor that his old friend, famous now for his\nlearning--the leader of his fellow-thinkers in the second city of the\nworld, the high-priest of Serapis, to whose superior intellect he himself\nhad bowed even in their student days--should remember his insignificant\nperson and allow him to give him the history of the vicissitudes which\nhad reduced him--the learned son of a wealthy house--to the position of a\nwandering singer.\n\nOlympius had been his friend at the time when Karnis, on leaving college,\ninstead of devoting himself to business and accounts, as his father\nwished, had thrown himself into the study of music, and at once\ndistinguished himself as a singer, lute-player and leader of heathen\nchoirs. Karnis was in Alexandria when the news reached him of his\nfather's death. Before quitting the city he married Herse, who was\nbeneath him alike in birth and in fortune, and who accompanied him on his\nreturn to Tauromenium in Sicily, where he found himself the possessor of\nan inheritance of which the extent and importance greatly astonished him.\n\nAt Alexandria he had been far better acquainted with the theatre than\nwith the Museum or the school of the Serapeum; nay, as an amateur, he had\noften sung in the chorus there and acted as deputy for the regular\nleader. The theatre in his native town of Tauromenium had also been a\nfamous one of old, but, at the time of his return, it had sunk to a very\nlow ebb. Most of the inhabitants of the beautiful city nestling at the\nfoot off Etna, had been converted to Christianity; among them the wealthy\ncitizens at whose cost the plays had been performed and the chorus\nmaintained. Small entertainments were still frequently given, but the\nsingers and actors had fallen off, and in that fine and spacious theatre\nnothing was ever done at all worthy of its past glories. This Karnis\ndeeply regretted, and with his wonted energy and vigor he soon managed to\nwin the interest of those of his fellow-citizens who remained faithful to\nthe old gods and had still some feeling for the music and poetry of the\nancient Greeks, in his plans for their revival.\n\nHis purpose was to make the theatre the centre of a reaction against the\ninfluence of the Christians, by vieing with the Church in its efforts to\nwin back the renegade heathen and confirming the faithful in their\nadhesion. The Greeks of Tauromenium should be reminded from the\nstage-boards of the might of the old gods and the glories of their past.\nTo this end it was needful to restore the ruined theatre, and Karnis,\nafter advancing the greater part of the money required, was entrusted\nwith the management. He devoted himself zealously to the task, and soon\nwas so successful that the plays at Tauromenium, and the musical\nperformances in its Odeum, attracted the citizens in crowds, and were\ntalked of far and wide. Such success was of course only purchased at a\nheavy cost, and in spite of Herse's warnings, Karnis would never hesitate\nwhen the object in view was the preservation or advancement of his great\nwork.\n\nThus passed twenty years; then there came a day when his fine fortune was\nexhausted, and a time when the Christian congregation strained every\nnerve to deal a death-blow to the abomination of desolation in their\nmidst. Again and again, and with increasing frequency, there were\nsanguinary riots between the Christians who forced their way into the\ntheatre and the heathen audience, till at last a decree of the Emperor\nTheodosius prohibited the performance of heathen plays or music.\n\nNow, the theatre at Tauromenium, for which Karnis had either given or\nadvanced his whole inheritance, had ceased to exist, and the usurers who,\nwhen his own fortune was spent, had lent him moneys on the security of\nthe theatre itself--while it still flourished--or on his personal\nsecurity, seized his house and lands and would have cast him into the\ndebtor's prison if he had not escaped that last disgrace by flight. Some\ngood friends had rescued his family and helped them to follow him, and\nwhen they rejoined him he had begun his wanderings as a singer. Many a\ntime had life proved miserable enough; still, he had always remained true\nto his art and to the gods of Olympus.\n\nOlympius had listened to his narrative with many tokens of sympathy and\nagreement, and when Karnis, with tears in his eyes, brought his story to\na close, the philosopher laid his hand on his friend's shoulder and\ndrawing him towards him, exclaimed:\n\n\"Well done, my brave old comrade! We will both be faithful to the same\ngood cause! You have made sacrifices for it as I have; and we need not\ndespair yet. If we triumph here our friends in a thousand towns will\nbegin to look up. The reading of the stars last night, and the auguries\ndrawn from this morning's victims, portend great changes. What is down to\nthe ground to-day may float high in the air to-morrow. All the signs\nindicate: 'A fall to the Greatest;' and what can be greater than Rome,\nthe old tyrant queen of the nations? The immediate future, it is true,\ncan hardly bring the final crash, but it is fraught with important\nconsequences to us. I dreamed of the fall of the Caesars, and of a great\nGreek Empire risen from the ruins, powerful and brilliant under the\nspecial protection of the gods of Olympus; and each one of us must labor\nto bring about the realization of this dream. You have set a noble\nexample of devotion and self-sacrifice, and I thank you in the name of\nall those who feel with us--nay, in the name of the gods themselves whom\nI serve! The first thing to be done now is to avert the blow which the\nBishop intends shall strike us by the hand of Cynegius--it has already\nfallen on the magnificent sanctuary of the Apamaean Zeus. If the\nambassador retires without having gained his purpose the balance will be\ngreatly--enormously, in our favor, and it will cease to be a folly to\nbelieve in the success of our cause.\"\n\n\"Ah! teach us to hope once more,\" cried the musician. \"That in itself is\nhalf the victory; still, I cannot see how this delay. . .\"\n\n\"It would give us time, and that is what we want,\" replied Olympius.\n\"Everything is in preparation, but nothing is ready. Alexandria, Athens,\nAntioch, and Neapolis are to be the centres of the outbreak. The great\nLibanius is not a man of action, and even he approves of our scheme. No\nless a man than Florentin has undertaken to recruit for our cause among\nthe heathen officers in the army. Messala, and the great Gothic captains\nFraiut and Generid are ready to fight for the old gods. Our army will not\nlack leaders. . .\"\n\n\"Our army!\" exclaimed Karnis in surprise. \"Is the matter so far\nadvanced?\"\n\n\"I mean the army of the future,\" cried Olympius enthusiastically. \"It\ndoes not count a man as yet, but is already distributed into several\nlegions. The vigor of mind and body--our learned youth on one hand and\nstrong-armed peasantry on the other--form the nucleus of our force.\nMaximus could collect, in the utmost haste, the army which deprived\nGratian of his throne and life, and was within a Hair-breadth of\noverthrowing Theodosius; and what was he but an ambitious rebel, and what\ntempted his followers but their hopes of a share in the booty? But we--we\nenlist them in the name of the loftiest ideas and warmest desires of the\nhuman heart, and, as the prize of victory, we show them the ancient faith\nwith freedom of thought--the ancient loveliness of life. The beings whom\nthe Christians can win over--a patch-work medley of loathsome\nBarbarians--let them wear out their lives as they choose! We are\nGreeks--the thinking brain, the subtle and sentient soul of the world.\nThe polity, the empire, that we shall found on the overthrow of\nTheodosius and of Rome shall be Hellenic, purely Hellenic. The old\nnational spirit, which made the Greeks omnipotent against the millions of\nDarius and Xerxes, shall live again, and we will keep the Barbarians at a\ndistance as a Patrician forbids his inferiors to count themselves as\nbelonging to his illustrious house. The Greek gods, Greek heroism, Greek\nart and Greek learning, under our rule shall rise from the dust--all the\nmore promptly for the stringent oppression under which their indomitable\nspirit has so long languished.\"\n\n\"You speak to my heart!\" cried Karnis. \"My old blood flows more swiftly\nalready, and if I only had a thousand talents left to give. . .\"\n\n\"You would stake them on the future Greek Empire,\" said Olympius eagerly.\n\"And we have adherents without number who feel as you do, my trusty\nfriend. We shall succeed--as the great Julian would have succeeded but\nfor the assassins who laid him low at so early an age; for Rome. . .\"\n\n\"Rome is still powerful.\"\n\n\"Rome is a colossus built up of a thousand blocks; but among them a\nhundred and more be but loosely in their places, and are ready to drop\naway from the body of the foul monster--sooner rather than later. Our\nshout alone will shake them down, and they will fall on our side, we may\nchoose the best for our own use. Ere long--a few months only--the hosts\nwill gather in the champaign country at the foot of Vesuvius, by land and\nby sea; Rome will open its gates wide to us who bring her back her old\ngods; the Senate will proclaim the emperor deposed and the Republic\nrestored. Theodosius will come out against us. But the Idea for which we\ngo forth to fight will hover before us, will stir the hearts of those\nsoldiers and officers who would gladly--ah! how gladly-sacrifice to the\nOlympian gods and who only kiss the wounds of the crucified Jew under\ncompulsion. They will desert from the labarum, which Constantine carried\nto victory, to our standards; and those standards are all there, ready\nfor use; they have been made in this city and are lying hidden in the\nhouse of Apollodorus. Heaven-sent daemons showed them in a vision to my\ndisciple Ammonius, when he was full of the divinity and lost in ecstasy,\nand I have had them made from his instructions.\"\n\n\"And what do they represent?\"\n\n\"The bust of Serapis with the 'modius' on his head. It is framed in a\ncircle with the signs of the zodiac and the images of the great Olympian\ndeities. We have given our god the head of Zeus, and the corn-measure on\nhis head is emblematic of the blessing that the husbandman hopes for. The\nzodiac promises us a good star, and the figures representing it are not\nthe common emblems, but each deeply significant. The Twins, for instance,\nare the mariner's divinities, Castor and Pollux; Hercules stands by the\nLion whom he has subdued; and the Fishes are dolphins, which love music.\nIn the Scales, one holds the cross high in the air while the other is\nweighed down by Apollo's laurel-wreath and the bolts of Zeus; in short,\nour standard displays everything that is most dear to the soul of a Greek\nor that fills him with devotion. Above all, Nike hovers with the crown of\nvictory. If only fitting leaders are to be found at the centres of the\nmovement, these standards will at once be sent out, and with them arms\nfor the country-folk. A place of meeting has already been selected in\neach province, the pass-word will be given, and a day fixed for a general\nrising.\"\n\n\"And they will flock round you!\" interrupted Karnis, \"and--I, my son,\nwill not be absent. Oh glorious, happy, and triumphant day! Gladly will I\ndie if only I may first live to see the smoking offerings sending up\ntheir fragrance to the gods before the open doors of every temple in\nGreece; see the young men and maidens dancing in rapt enthusiasm to the\nsound of lutes and pipes, and joining their voices in the chorus! Then\nlight will shine once more on the world, then life will once more mean\njoy, and death a departure from a scene of bliss.\"\n\n\"Aye, and thus shall it be!\" cried Olympius, fired by this eager\nexposition of his own excitement, and he wrung the musician's hand. \"We\nwill restore life to the Greeks and teach them to scorn death as of yore.\nLet the Christians, the Barbarians, make life miserable and seek joy in\ndeath, if they list! But the girls have ceased singing. There is still\nmuch to be done to-day, and first of all I must confute the objections of\nyour recalcitrant pupil.\"\n\n\"You will not find it an easy task,\" said Karnis. \"Reason is a feeble\nweapon in contending with a woman.\"\n\n\"Not always,\" replied the philosopher. \"But you must know how to use it.\nLeave me to deal with the child. There are really no singing-women left\nhere; we have tried three, but they were all vulgar and ill taught. This\ngirl, when she sings with Gorgo, has a voice that will go to the heart of\nthe audience. What we want is to fire the crowd with enthusiasm, and she\nwill help us to do it.\"\n\n\"Well, well. But you, Olympius, you who are the very soul of the\nrevulsion we hope for, you must not be present at the festival. Indeed,\nsheltered as you are under Porphyrius' roof, there is a price on your\nhead, and this house swarms with slaves, who all know you; if one of\nthem, tempted by filthy lucre . . .\"\n\n\"They will not betray me,\" smiled the philosopher. \"They know that their\naged mistress, Damia, and I myself command the daemons of the upper and\nlower spheres, and that at a sign from her or from me they would\ninstantly perish; and even if there were an Ephialtes among them, a\nspring through that loop-hole would save me. Be easy, my friend. Oracles\nand stars alike foretell me death from another cause than the treason of\na slave.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nOlympius followed Agne into the garden where he found her sitting by the\nmarble margin of a small pool, giving her little brother pieces of bread\nto feed the swans with. He greeted her kindly and, taking up the child,\nshowed him a ball which rose and fell on the jet of water from the\nfountain. Papias was not at all frightened by the big man with his white\nbeard, for a bright and kindly gleam shone in his eyes, and his voice was\nsoft and attractive as he asked him whether he had such another ball and\ncould toss it as cleverly as the fountain did.\n\nPapias said: \"No,\" and Olympius, turning to Agne, went on:\n\n\"You should get him a ball. There is no better plaything, for play ought\nto consist in pleasant exertion which is in itself its object and gain.\nPlay is the toil of a little child; and a ball, which he can throw and\nrun after or catch, trains his eye, gives exercise to his limbs and\nincludes a double moral which men of every age and position should act\nupon: To look down on the earth and keep his gaze on the heavens.\"\n\nAgne nodded agreement and thanks, while Olympius set the child down and\nbid him run away to the paddock where some tame gazelles were kept. Then,\ngoing straight to the point, he said:\n\n\"I hear you have declined to sing in the temple of Isis; you have been\ntaught to regard the goddess to whom many good men turn in faith and\nconfidence, as a monster of iniquity, but, tell me, do you know what she\nembodies?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Agne looking down; but she hastily rose from her seat and\nadded with some spirit: \"And I do not want to know, for I am a Christian\nand your gods are not mine.\"\n\n\"Well, well; your beliefs, of course, differ from ours in many points:\nstill, I fancy that you and I have much in common. We belong to those who\nhave learnt to 'look upwards'--there goes the ball, up again!--and who\nfind comfort in doing so. Do you know that many men believe that the\nuniverse was formed by concurrence of mechanical processes and is still\nslowly developing, that there is no divinity whose love and power guard,\nguide and lend grace to the lives of men?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, I have been obliged to hear many such blasphemous things in\nRome!\"\n\n\"And they ran off you like water off the silvery sheen of that swan's\nplumage as he dips and raises his neck. Those who deny a God are, in your\nestimation, foolish or perhaps abominable?\"\n\n\"I pity them, with all my heart.\"\n\n\"And with very good reason. You are an orphan and what its parents are to\na child the divinity is to every member of the human race. In this Gorgo,\nand I, and many others whom you call heathen, feel exactly as you do; but\nyou--have you ever asked yourself why and how it is that you, to whom\nlife has been so bitter, have such a perfect conviction that there is a\nbenevolent divinity who rules the world and your own fate to kindly ends?\nWhy, in short, do you believe in a God?\"\n\n\"I?\" said Ague, looking puzzled, but straight into his face. \"How could\nanything exist without God? You ask such strange questions. All I can see\nwas created by our Father in Heaven.\"\n\n\"But there are men born blind who nevertheless believe in Him.\"\n\n\"They feel Him just as I see Him.\"\n\n\"Nay you should say: 'As I believe that I see and feel Him.' But I, for\nmy part, think that the intellect has a right to test what the soul only\ndivines, and that it must be a real happiness to see this divination\nproved by well-founded arguments, and thus transformed to certainty. Did\nyou ever hear of Plato, the philosopher?\"\n\n\"Yes, Karnis often speaks of him when he and Orpheus are discussing\nthings which I do not understand.\"\n\n\"Well, Plato, by his intellect, worked out the proof of the problem which\nour feelings alone are so capable of apprehending rightly. Listen to me:\nIf you stand on a spit of land at the entrance to a harbor and see a ship\nin the distance sailing towards you--a ship which carefully avoids the\nrocks, and makes straight for the shelter of the port--are you not\njustified in concluding that there is, on board that ship, a man who\nguides and steers it? Certainly. You not only may, but must infer that it\nis directed by a pilot. And if you look up at the sky and contemplate the\nwell-ordered courses of the stars--when you see how everything on earth,\ngreat and small, obeys eternal laws and unerringly tends to certain\npreordained ends and issues, you may and must infer the existence of a\nruling hand. Whose then but that of the Great Pilot of the universe--the\nAlmighty Godhead.--Do you like my illustration?\"\n\n\"Very much. But it only proves what I knew before.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, you must, I think, be pleased to find it so beautifully\nexpressed.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And must admire the wise man who thought out the comparison. Yes?--Well,\nthat man again was one of those whom you call heathen, who believed as we\nbelieve, and who at the same time worked out the evidence of the\nfoundations of his faith for you as well as himself. And we, the later\ndisciples of Plato--[Known as the school of the Neo-Platonists]--have\ngone even further than our master, and in many respects are much nearer\nto you Christians than you perhaps suspect. You see at once, of course,\nthat we are no more inclined than you to conceive of the existence of the\nworld and the destiny of man as independent of a God? However, I dare say\nyou still think that your divinity and ours are as far asunder as the\neast from the west. But can you tell me where any difference lies?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" said Ague uneasily. \"I am only an ignorant girl; and who\ncan learn the names even of all your gods?\"\n\n\"Very true,\" said Olympius. \"There is great Serapis, whose temple you saw\nyesterday; there is Apollo, to whom Karnis prefers to offer sacrifice;\nthere is Isis the bountiful, and her sister Nephthys, whose lament you\nand my young friend sing together so thrillingly; and besides these there\nare more immortals than I could name while Gorgo--who is leading your\nlittle brother to the lake out there--walked ten times from the shore to\nus and back; and yet--and yet my child, your God is ours and ours is\nyours.\"\n\n\"No, no, He is not, indeed!\" cried Agne with increasing alarm.\n\n\"But listen,\" Olympius went on, with the same kind urgency but with\nextreme dignity, \"and answer my questions simply and honestly. We are\nagreed, are we not?--that we perceive the divinity in the works of his\ncreation, and even in his workings in our own souls. Then which are the\nphenomena of nature in which you discern Him as especially near to you?\nYou are silent. I see, you have outlived your school-days and do not\nchoose to answer to an uninvited catechism. And yet the things I wish you\nto name are lovely in themselves and dear to your heart; and if only you\ndid not keep your soft lips so firmly closed, but would give me the\nanswer I ask for, you would remember much that is grand and beautiful.\nYou would speak of the pale light of dawn, the tender flush that tinges\nthe clouds as the glowing day-star rises from the waves, of the splendor\nof the sun-as glorious as truth and as warm as divine love. You would\nsay: In the myriad blossoms that open to the morning, in the dew that\nbathes them and covers them with diamonds, in the ripening ears in the\nfield, in the swelling fruit on the trees--in all these I see the mercy\nand wisdom of the divinity. I feel his infinite greatness as I gaze on\nthe wide expanse of deep blue sea; it comes home to me at night when I\nlift my eyes to the skies and see the sparkling hosts of stars roll over\nmy head. Who created that countless multitude, who guides them so that\nthey glide past in glorious harmony, and rise and set, accurately timed\nto minutes and seconds, silent but full of meaning, immeasurably distant\nand yet closely linked with the fate of individual men?--All this bears\nwitness to the existence of a God, and as you contemplate it and admire\nit with thankful emotion, you feel yourself drawn near to the Omnipotent.\nAye, and even if you were deaf and blind, and lay bound and fettered in\nthe gloom of a closely-shut cavern, you still could feel if love and pity\nand hope touched your heart. Rejoice then, child! for the immortals have\nendowed you with good gifts, and granted you sound senses by which to\nenjoy the beauty of creation. You exercise an art which binds you to the\ndivinity like a bridge; when you give utterance to your whole soul in\nsong that divinity itself speaks through you, and when you hear noble\nmusic its voice appeals to your ear. All round you and within you, you\ncan recognize its power just as we feel it--everywhere and at all times.\n\n\"And this incomprehensible, infinite, unfettered, bountiful and\ninfallibly wise Power, which penetrates and permeates the life of the\nuniverse as it does the hearts of men, though called by different names\nin different lands, is the same to every race, wherever it may dwell,\nwhatever its language or its beliefs. You Christians call him the\nHeavenly Father, we give him the name of the Primal One. To you, too,\nyour God speaks in the surging seas, the waving corn, the pure light of\nday; you, too, regard music which enchants your heart, and love which\ndraws man to man, as his gifts; and we go only a step further, giving a\nspecial name to each phenomenon of nature, and each lofty emotion of the\nsoul in which we recognize the direct influence of the Most High; calling\nthe sea Poseidon, the corn-field Demeter, the charm of music Apollo, and\nthe rapture of love Eros. When you see us offering sacrifice at the foot\nof a marble image you must not suppose that the lifeless, perishable\nstone is the object of our adoration. The god does not descend to inform\nthe statue; but the statue is made after the Idea figured forth by the\ndivinity it is intended to represent; and through that Idea the image is\nas intimately connected with the Godhead, as, by the bond of Soul,\neverything else that is manifest to our senses is connected with the\nphenomena of the supersensuous World. But this is beyond you; it will be\nenough for you if I assure you that the statue of Demeter, with the sheaf\nin her arms, is only intended to remind us to be grateful to the Divinity\nfor our daily bread--a hymn of praise to Apollo expresses our thanks to\nthe Primal One for the wings of music and song, on which our soul is\nborne upwards till it feels the very presence of the Most High. These are\nnames, mere names that divide us; but if you were called anything else\nthan Agne--Ismene, for instance, or Eudoxia--would you be at all\ndifferent from what you are?--There you see--no, stay where you are--you\nmust listen while I tell you that Isis, the much--maligned Isis, is\nnothing and represents nothing but the kindly influences of the Divinity,\non nature and on human life. What she embodies to us is the abstraction\nwhich you call the loving-kindness of the Father, revealed in his\nmanifold gifts, wherever we turn our eyes. The image of Isis reminds us\nof the lavish bounties of the Creator, just as you are reminded by the\ncross, the fish, and the lamb, of your Redeemer. Isis is the earth from\nwhose maternal bosom the creative God brings forth food and comfort for\nman and beast; she is the tender yearning which He implants in the hearts\nof the lover and the beloved one; she is the bond of affection which\nunites husband and wife, brother and sister, which is rapture to the\nmother with a child at her breast and makes her ready and able for any\nsacrifice for the darling she has brought into the world. She shines, a\nstar in the midnight sky, giving comfort to the sorrowing heart; she, who\nhas languished in grief, pours balm into the wounded souls of the\ndesolate and bereaved, and gives health and refreshment to the suffering.\nWhen nature pines in winter cold or in summer drought and lacks power to\nrevive, when the sun is darkened, when lies and evil instincts alienate\nthe soul from its pure first cause, then Isis uplifts her complaint,\ncalling on her husband, Osiris, to return, to take her once more in his\narms and fill her with new powers, to show the benevolence of God once\nmore to the earth and to us men. You have learnt that lament; and when\nyou sing it at her festival, picture yourself as standing with the Mother\nof Sorrows--the mother of your crucified divinity, by his open grave, and\ncry to your God that he may let him rise from the dead.\"\n\nOlympius spoke the last words with excited enthusiasm as though he were\ncertain of the young girl's consent; but the effect was not what he\ncounted on; for Agne, who had listened to him, so far, with increasing\nagitation, setting herself against his arguments like a bird under the\nfascinating glare of the snake's eye, at this last address seemed\nsuddenly to shake off the spell of his seductive eloquence as the leaves\ndrop from the crown of a tree shaken by the blast; the ideas of her\nSaviour and of the hymn she was to sing were utterly irreconcilable in\nher mind; she remembered the struggle she had fought out during the\nnight, and the determination with which she had come to the house this\nmorning. All the insidious language she had just heard was forgotten,\nswept away like dust from a rocky path, and her voice was firmly\nrepellent as she said:\n\n\"Your Isis has nothing in common with the Mother of our God, and how can\nyou dare to compare your Osiris with the Lord who redeemed the world from\ndeath?\"\n\nOlympius, startled at the decision of her tone, rose from his seat, but\nhe went on, as though he had expected this refusal:\n\n\"I will tell you--I will show you. Osiris--we will take him as being an\nEgyptian god, instead of Serapis in whose mysterious attributes you would\nfind much to commend itself even to a Christian soul--Osiris, like your\nMaster, voluntarily passed through death--to redeem the world from\ndeath--in this resembling your Christ. He, the Risen One, gives new\nlight, and life, and blossom, and verdure to all that is darkened, dead\nand withered. All that seems to have fallen a prey to death is, by him,\nrestored to a more beautiful existence; he, who has risen again, can\nbring even the departed soul to a resurrection; and when during this life\nits high aims have kept it unspotted by the dust of the sensual life, and\nhe, as the judge, sees that it has preserved itself worthy of its pure\nFirst Cause, he allows it to return to the eternal and supreme Spirit\nwhence it originally proceeded.\n\n\"And do not you, too, strive after purification, to the end that your\nsoul may find an everlasting home in the radiant realms? Again and again\ndo we meet with the same ideas, only they bear different forms and names.\nTry to feel the true bearing of my words, and then you will gladly join\nin the pathetic appeal to the sublime god to return. How like he is to\nyour Lord! Is he not, like your Christ, a Saviour, and risen from the\ndead? The Temple or the Church--both are the sanctuaries of the Deity. By\nthe ivy-wreathed altar of the weeping goddess, at the foot of the tall\ncypresses which cast their mysterious shadows on the snowy whiteness of\nthe marble steps on which lies the bier of the god, you will feel the\nsacred awe which falls upon every pure soul when it is conscious of the\npresence of the Deity--call Him what you will.\n\n\"Isis, whom you now know, and who is neither more nor less than a\npersonification of divine mercy, will make you a return by restoring you\nto the freedom for which you pine. She will allow you to find a home in\nsome Christian house through our intervention, in acknowledgment of the\npious service you are rendering, not to her but to the faith in divine\ngoodness. There you may live with your little brother, as free as heart\ncan desire. To-morrow you will go with Gorgo to the temple of the goddess\n. . .\"\n\nBut Agne broke in on his speech: \"No, I will not go with her!\"\n\nHer cheeks were scarlet and her breath came short and fast with\nexcitement as she went on:\n\n\"I will not, I must not, I cannot! Do what you will with me: sell me and\nmy brother, put us to turn a mill--but I will not sing in the temple!\"\n\nOlympius knit his brows; his beard quivered and his lips parted in wrath,\nbut he controlled himself and going close to the girl he laid his hand on\nher shoulder and said in a deep grave tone of fatherly admonition:\n\n\"Reflect, child, pause; think over what I have been saying to you;\nremember, too, what you owe the little one you love, and to-morrow\nmorning tell us that you have duly weighed your answer. Give me your\nhand, my daughter; believe me, Olympius is one of your sincerest\nwell-wishers.\"\n\nHe turned his back on her and was going in doors. In front of the house\nPorphyrius and Karnis were standing in eager colloquy. The news that\nMarcus' mother Mary had sent for Herse had reached the singer, and his\nvivid fancy painted his wife as surrounded by a thousand perils,\nthreatened by the widow, and carried before the judges. The merchant\nadvised him to wait and see what came of it, as did Damia and Gorgo who\nwere attracted to the spot by the vehemence of the discussion; but Karnis\nwould not be detained, and he and Orpheus hurried off to the rescue. Thus\nAgne was left alone in the garden with her little brother, and perceiving\nthat no one paid any further attention to their proceedings, she fell on\nher knees, clasped the child closely to her and whispered:\n\n\"Pray with me, Papias; pray, pray that the Lord will protect us, and that\nwe may not be turned out of the way that leads us to our parents! Pray,\nas I do!\"\n\nFor a minute she remained prostrate with the child by her side. Then,\nrising quickly, she took him by the hand and led him in almost breathless\nhaste through the garden-gate out into the road, bending her steps\ntowards the lake and then down the first turning that led to the city.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     People who have nothing to do always lack time\n     Perish all those who do not think as we do\n     Reason is a feeble weapon in contending with a woman\n     Words that sounded kindly, but with a cold, unloving heart\n\n\n\n\nSERAPIS\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nAgne's flight remained unperceived for some little time, for every member\nof the merchant's household was at the moment intent on some personal\ninterest. When Karnis and Orpheus had set out Gorgo was left with her\ngrandmother and it was not till some little time after that she went out\ninto the colonnade on the garden side of the house, whence she had a view\nover the park and the shore as far as the ship-yard. There, leaning\nagainst the shaft of a pillar, under the shade of the blossoming shrubs,\nshe stood gazing thoughtfully to the southward.\n\nShe was dreaming of the past, of her childhood's joys and privations.\nFate had bereft her of a mother's love, that sun of life's spring. Below\nher, in a splendid mausoleum of purple porphyry, lay the mortal remains\nof the beautiful woman who had given her birth, and who had been snatched\naway before she could give her infant a first caress. But all round the\nsolemn monument gardens bloomed in the sunshine, and on the further side\nof the wall covered with creepers, was the ship-yard, the scene of\nnumberless delightful games. She sighed as she looked at the tall hulks,\nand watched for the man who, from her earliest girlhood, had owned her\nheart, whose image was inseparable from every thing of joy and beauty\nthat she had ever known, and every grief her young soul had suffered\nunder.\n\nConstantine, the younger son of Clemens the shipbuilder, had been her\nbrothers' companion and closest friend. He had proved himself their\nsuperior in talents and gifts, and in all their games had been the\nrecognized leader. While still a tiny thing she would always be at their\nheels, and Constantine had never failed to be patient with her, or to\nhelp and protect her, and then came a time when the lads were all eager\nto win her sympathy for their games and undertakings. When her\ngrandmother read in the stars that some evil influences were to cross the\npath of Gorgo's planet, the girl was carefully kept in the house; at\nother times she was free to go with the boys in the garden, on the lake\nor to the ship-yard. There the happy playmates built houses or boats;\nthere, in a separate room, old Melampus modelled figure-heads for the\nfinished vessels, and he would supply them with clay and let them model\ntoo. Constantine was an apt pupil, and Gorgo would sit quiet while he\ntook her likeness, till, out of twenty images that he had made of her,\nseveral were really very like. Melampus declared that his young master\nmight be a very distinguished sculptor if only he were the son of poor\nparents, and Gorgo's father appreciated his talent and was pleased when\nthe boy attempted to copy the beautiful busts and statues of which the\nhouse was full; but to his parents, and especially his mother, his\nartistic proclivities were an offence. He himself, indeed, never\nseriously thought of devoting himself to such a heathenish occupation,\nfor he was deeply penetrated by the Christian sentiments of his family,\nand he had even succeeded in inflaming the sons of Porphyrius, who had\nbeen baptized at an early age, with zeal for their faith. The merchant\nperceived this and submitted in silence, for the boys must be and remain\nChristians in consequence of the edict referring to wills; but the\nnecessity for confessing a creed which was hateful to him was so painful\nand repulsive to a nature which, though naturally magnanimous was not\nvery steadfast, that he was anxious to spare his sons the same\nexperience, and allowed them to accompany Constantine to church and to\nwear blue--the badge of the Christians--at races and public games, with a\nshrug of silent consent.\n\nWith Gorgo it was different. She was a woman and need wear no colors; and\nher enthusiasm for the old gods and Greek taste and prejudices were the\ndelight of her father. She was the pride of his life, and as he heard his\nown convictions echoed in her childish prattle, and later in her\nconversation and exquisite singing, he was grateful to his mother and to\nhis friend Olympius who had implanted and cherished these feelings in his\ndaughter. Constantine's endeavors to show her the beauty of his creed and\nto win her to Christianity were entirely futile; and the older they grew,\nand the less they agreed, the worse could each endure the dissent of the\nother.\n\nAn early and passionate affection attracted the young man to his charming\nplayfellow; the more ardently he cherished his faith the more fervently\ndid he desire to win her for his wife. But Olympius' fair pupil was not\neasy of conquest; nay, he was not unfrequently hard beset by her\nquestions and arguments, and while, to her, the fight for a creed was no\nmore than an amusing wrestling match, in which to display her strength,\nto him it was a matter in which his heart was engaged.\n\nDamia and Porphyrius took a vain pleasure in their eager discussions, and\nclapped with delight, as though it were a game of skill, when Gorgo\nlaughingly checkmated her excited opponent with some unanswerable\nargument.\n\nBut there came a day when Constantine discovered that his eager defence\nof that which to him was high and holy, was, to his hearers, no more than\na subject of mockery, and henceforth the lad, now fast growing to\nmanhood, kept away from the merchant's house. Still, Gorgo could always\nwin him back again, and sometimes, when they were alone together, the old\nstrife would be renewed, and more seriously and bitterly than of old. But\nwhile he loved her, she also loved him, and when he had so far mastered\nhimself as to remain away for any length of time she wore herself out\nwith longing to see him. They felt that they belonged to each other, but\nthey also felt that an insuperable gulf yawned between them, and that\nwhenever they attempted to clasp hands across the abyss a mysterious and\nirresistible impulse drove them to open it wider, and to dig it deeper by\nfresh discussions, till at last Constantine could not endure that she, of\nall people, should mock at his Holy of Holies and drag it in the dust.\n\nHe must go--he must leave Gorgo, quit Alexandria, cost what it might. The\ntravellers' tales that he had heard from the captains of trading-vessels\nand ships of war who frequented his father's house had filled him with a\nlove of danger and enterprise, and a desire to see distant lands and\nforeign peoples. His father's business, for which he was intended, did\nnot attract him. Away--away--he would go away; and a happy coincidence\nopened a path for him.\n\nPorphyrius had taken him one day on some errand to Canopus; the elder man\nhad gone in his chariot, his two sons and Constantine escorting him on\nhorseback. At the city-gates they met Romanus, the general in command of\nthe Imperial army, with his staff of officers, and he, drawing rein by\nthe great merchant's carriage, had asked him, pointing to Constantine,\nwhether that were his son.\n\n\"No,\" replied Porphyrius, \"but I wish he were.\" At these words the\nship-master's son colored deeply, while Romanus turned his horse round,\nlaid his hand on the young man's arm and called out to the commander of\nthe cavalry of Arsinoe: \"A soldier after Ares' own heart, Columella! Do\nnot let him slip.\"\n\nBefore the clouds of dust raised by the officers' horses as they rode\noff, had fairly settled, Constantine had made up his mind to be a\nsoldier. In his parents' house, however, this decision was seen under\nvarious aspects. His father found little to say against it, for he had\nthree sons and only two shipyards, and the question seemed settled by the\nfact that Constantine, with his resolute and powerful nature, was cut out\nto be a soldier. His pious mother, on the other hand, appealed to the\nlearned works of Clemens and Tertullian, who forbid the faithful\nChristian to draw the sword; and she related the legend of the holy\nMaximilianus, who, being compelled, under Diocletian, to join the army,\nhad suffered death at the hands of the executioner rather than shed his\nfellow-creatures' blood in battle. The use of weapons, she added, was\nincompatible with a godly and Christian life.\n\nHis father, however, would not listen to this reasoning; new times, he\nsaid, were come; the greater part of the army had been baptized; the\nChurch prayed for, victory, and at the head of the troops stood the great\nTheodosius, an exemplar of an orthodox and zealous Christian.\n\nClemens was master in his own house, and Constantine joined the heavy\ncavalry at Arsinoe. In the war against the Blemmyes he was so fortunate\nas to merit the highest distinction; after that he was in garrison at\nArsinoe, and, as Alexandria was within easy reach of that town, he was in\nfrequent intercourse with his own family and that of Porphyrius. Not\nquite three years previously, when a revolt had broken out in favor of\nthe usurper Maximus in his native town, Constantine had assisted in\nsuppressing it, and almost immediately afterwards he was sent to Europe\nto take part in the war which Theodosius had begun, again against\nMaximus.\n\nAn unpleasant misunderstanding had embittered his parting from Gorgo; old\nDamia, as she held his hand had volunteered a promise that she and her\ngranddaughter would from time to time slay a beast in sacrifice on his\nbehalf. Perhaps she had had no spiteful meaning in this, but he had\nregarded it as an insult, and had turned away angry and hurt. Gorgo,\nhowever, could not bear to let him go thus; disregarding her\ngrandmother's look of surprise, she had called him back, and giving him\nboth hands had warmly bidden him farewell. Damia had looked after him in\nsilence and had ever afterwards avoided mentioning his name in Gorgo's\npresence.\n\nAfter the victory over Maximus, Constantine, though still very young, was\npromoted to the command of the troop in the place of Columella, and he\nhad arrived in Alexandria the day before at the head of his 'ala\nmiliaria'.\n\n   [The ala miliaria consisted of 24 'turmae' or 960 mounted troopers\n   under the conduct of a Prefect.]\n\nGorgo had never at any time ceased to think of him, but her passion had\nconstantly appeared to her in the light of treason and a breach of faith\ntowards the gods, so, to condone the sins she committed on one side by\nzeal on another, she had come forth from the privacy of her father's\nhouse to give active support to Olympius in his struggle for the faith of\ntheir ancestors. She had become a daily worshipper at the temple of Isis,\nand the hope of hearing her sing had already mere than once filled it to\noverflowing at high festivals. Then, while Olympius was defending the\nsanctuary of Serapis against the attacks of the Christians, she and her\ngrandmother had become the leaders of a party of women who made it their\ntask to provide the champions of the faith with the means of subsistence.\n\nAll this had given purpose to her life; still, every little victory in\nthis contest had filled her soul with regrets and anxieties. For months\nand years she had been conspicuous as the opponent of her lover's creed,\nand the bright eager child had developed into a grave girl a clear-headed\nand resolute woman. She was the only person in the house who dared to\ncontradict her grandmother, and to insist on a thing when she thought it\nright. The longing of her heart she could not still, but her high spirit\nfound food for its needs in all that surrounded her, and, by degrees,\nwould no doubt have gained the mastery and have been supreme in all her\nbeing and doing, but that music and song still fostered the softer\nemotions of her strong, womanly nature.\n\nThe news of Constantine's return had shaken her soul to the foundations.\nWould it bring her the greatest happiness or only fresh anguish and\nunrest?\n\nShe saw him coming!--The plume of his helmet first came in sight above\nthe bushes, and then his whole figure emerged from among the shrubbery.\nShe leaned against the pillar for support now, for her knees trembled\nunder her. Tall and stately, his armor blazing in the sunshine, he came\nstraight towards her--a man, a hero--exactly as her fancy had painted him\nin many a dark and sleepless hour. As he passed her mother's tomb, she\nfelt as though a cold hand laid a grip on her beating heart. In a swift\nflash of thought she saw her own home with its wealth and splendor, and\nthen the ship-builder's house-simple, chillingly bare, with its\ncomfortless rooms; she felt as though she must perish, nipped and\nwithered, in such a home. Again she thought of him standing on his\nfather's threshold, she fancied she could hear his bright boyish laugh\nand her heart glowed once more. She forgot for the moment--clear-headed\nwoman though she was, and trained by her philosopher to \"know\nherself\"--she forgot what she had fully acknowledged only the night\nbefore: That he would no more give up his Christ than she would her Isis,\nand that if they should ever reach the dreamed-of pinnacle of joy it must\nbe for an instant only, followed by a weary length of misery. Yes--she\nforgot everything; doubts and fears were cast aside; as his approaching\nfootsteps fell on her ear, she could hardly keep herself from flying,\nopen armed, to meet him.\n\nHe was standing before her; she offered him her hand with frank gladness,\nand, as he clasped it in his, their hearts were too full for words. Only\ntheir eyes gave utterance to their feelings, and when he perceived that\nhers were sparkling through tears, he spoke her name once,\ntwice--joyfully and yet doubtfully, as if he dared not interpret her\nemotion as he would. She laid her left hand lightly on his which still\ngrasped her right, and said with a brilliant smile: \"Welcome,\nConstantine, welcome home! How glad I am to see you back again!\"\n\n\"And I--and I . . . \" he began, greatly moved.\n\n\"O Gorgo! Can it really be years since we parted?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" she said. \"Anxious, busy, struggling years!\"\n\n\"But to-day we celebrate the festival of Peace,\" he exclaimed fervently.\n\"I have learnt to leave every man to go his own way so long as I am\nallowed to go mine. The old strife is buried; take me as I am and I, for\nmy part, will think only of the noble and beautiful traits in which your\nnature is so rich. The fruit of all wholesome strife must be peace; let\nus pluck that fruit, Gorgo, and enjoy it together. Ah! as I stand here\nand gaze out over the gardens and the lake, hearing the hammers of the\nshipwrights, and rejoicing in your presence, I feel as though our\nchildhood might begin all over again--only better, fuller and more\nbeautiful!\"\n\n\"If only my brothers were here!\"\n\n\"I saw them.\"\n\n\"Oh! where?\"\n\n\"At Thessalonica, well and happy--I have letters for you from them.\"\n\n\"Letters!\" cried Gorgo, drawing away her hand. \"Well, you are a tardy\nmessenger! Our houses are within a stone's throw, and yet in a whole day,\nfrom noon till noon, so old a friend could not find a few minutes to\ndeliver the letters entrusted to him, or to call upon such near neighbors\n. . .\"\n\n\"First there were my parents,\" interrupted the young soldier. \"And then\nthe tyrant military duty, which kept me on the stretch from yesterday\nafternoon till an hour or two since. Romanus robbed me even of my sleep,\nand kept me in attendance till the morn had set. However, I lost but\nlittle by that, for I could not have closed my eyes till they had beheld\nyou! This morning again I was on duty, and rarely have I ridden to the\nfront with such reluctance. After that I was delayed by various details;\neven on my way here--but for that I cannot be sorry for it gave me this\nchance of finding you alone. All I ask now is that we may remain so, for\nsuch a moment is not likely to be repeated.--There, I heard a door . . .\"\n\n\"Come into the garden,\" cried Gorgo, signing to him to follow her. \"My\nheart is as full as yours. Down by the tank under the old sycamores--we\nshall be quietest there.\"\n\nUnder the dense shade of the centenarian trees was a rough-hewn bench\nthat they themselves had made years before; there Gorgo seated herself,\nbut her companion remained standing.\n\n\"Yes!\" he exclaimed. \"Here--here you must hear me! Here where we have\nbeen so happy together!\"\n\n\"So happy!\" she echoed softly,\n\n\"And now,\" he went on, \"we are together once more. My heart beats wildly,\nGorgo; it is well that this breastplate holds it fast, for I feel as\nthough it would burst with hope and thankfulness.\"\n\n\"Thankfulness?\" said Gorgo, looking down.\n\n\"Yes, thankfulness--sheer, fervent passionate gratitude! What you have\ngiven me, what an inestimable boon, you yourself hardly know; but no\nemperor could reward love and fidelity more lavishly than you have\ndone--you, the care and the consolation, the pain and the joy of my life!\nMy mother told me--it was the first thing she thought of--how you shed\ntears of grief on her bosom when the false report of my death reached\nhome. Those tears fell as morning dew on the drooping hopes in my heart,\nthey were a welcome such as few travellers find on their return home. I\nam no orator, and if I were, how could speech in any way express my\nfeelings? But you know them--you understand what it is, after so many\nyears . . .\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said looking up into his eyes, and allowing him to seize\nher hand as he dropped on the bench by her side. \"If I did not I could\nnot bear this--and I freely confess that I shed many more tears over you\nthan you could imagine. You love me, Constantine . . .\"\n\nHe threw his arm round her; but she disengaged herself, exclaiming:\n\n\"Nay--I implore you, not so--not yet, till I have told you what troubles\nme, what keeps me from throwing myself wholly, freely into the arms of\nhappiness. I know what you will ask--what you have a right to ask; but\nbefore you speak, Constantine, remember once more all that has so often\nsaddened our life, even as children, that has torn us asunder like a\nwhirlwind although, ever since we can remember, our hearts have flowed\ntowards each other. But I need not remind you of what binds us--that we\nboth know well, only too well. . . .\"\n\n\"Nay,\" he replied boldly: \"That we are only beginning to know in all its\nfullness and rapture. The other thing the whirlwind of which you speak,\nhas indeed tossed and tormented me, more than it has you perhaps; but\nsince I have known that you could shed tears for me and love me I have\nhad no more anxieties; I know for certain that all must come right! You\nlove me as I am, Gorgo. I am no dreamer nor poet; but I can look forward\nto finding life lovely and noble if shared with you, so long as one--only\none thing is sure. I ask you plainly and truly: Is your heart as full of\nlove for me as mine is for you? When I was away did you think of me every\nday, every night, as I thought of you, day and night without fail?\"\n\nGorgo's head sank and blushes dyed her cheeks as she replied: \"I love\nyou, and I have never even thought of any one else. My thoughts and\nyearnings followed you all the while you were away . . . and yet . . .\noh, Constantine! That one thing . . .\"\n\n\"It cannot part us,\" said the young man passionately, \"since we have\nlove--the mighty and gracious power which conquers all things! When love\nbeckon: the whirlwind dies away like the breath from a child's lips; it\ncan bridge over any abyss; it created the world and preserves the\nexistence of humanity, it can remove mountains--and these are the most\nbeautiful words of the greatest of the apostles: 'It is long suffering\nand kind, it believes all things, hopes all things' and it knows no end.\nIt remains with us till death and will teach us to find that peace whose\nbulwark and adornment, whose child and parent it is!\"\n\nGorgo had looked lovingly at him while he spoke, and he, pressing her\nhand to his lips went on with ardent feeling:\n\n\"Yes, you shall be mine--I dare, and I will go to ask you of your father.\nThere are some words spoken in one's life which can never be forgotten.\nOnce your father said that he wished that I was his son. On the march, in\ncamp, in battle, wherever I have wandered, those words have been in my\nmind; for me they could have but one meaning: I would be his son--I shall\nbe his son when Gorgo is my wife!--And now the time has come . . .\"\n\n\"Not yet, not to-day,\" she interrupted eagerly. \"My hopes are the same as\nyours. I believe with you that our love can bring all that is sweetest\ninto our lives. What you believe I must believe, and I will never urge\nupon you the things that I regard as holiest. I can give up much, bear\nmuch, and it will all seem easy for your sake. We can agree, and settle\nwhat shall be conceded to your Christ and what to our gods--but not\nto-day; not even to-morrow. For the present let me first carry out the\ntask I have undertaken--when that is done and past, then. . . . You have\nmy heart, my love; but if I were to prove a deserter from the cause to-day\nor to-morrow it would give others--Olympius--a right to point at me with\nscorn.\"\n\n\"What is it then that you have undertaken?\" asked Constantine with grave\nanxiety.\n\n\"To crown and close my past life. Before I can say: I am yours, wholly\nyours . . .\"\n\n\"Are you not mine now, to-day, at once?\" he urged.\n\n\"To day-no,\" she replied firmly. \"The great cause still has a claim upon\nme; the cause which I must renounce for your sake. But the woman who\ngives only one person reason to despise her signs the death-warrant of\nher own dignity. I will carry out what I have undertaken. . . . Do not ask me\nwhat it is; it would grieve you to know.--The day after tomorrow, when\nthe feast of Isis is over. . . .\"\n\n\"Gorgo, Gorgo!\" shouted Damia's shrill voice, interrupting the young girl\nin her speech, and half a dozen slave-women came rushing out in search of\nher.\n\nThey rose, and as they went towards the house Constantine said very\nearnestly:\n\n\"I will not insist; but trust my experience: When we have to give\nsomething up sooner or later, if the wrench is a painful one, the sooner\nand the more definitely it is done the better. Nothing is gained by\npostponement and the pain is only prolonged. Hesitation and delay, Gorgo,\nare a barrier built up by your own hand between us and our happiness. You\nalways had abundance of determination; be brave then, now, and cut short\nat once a state of things that cannot last.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" she said hurriedly. \"But you must not, you will not require\nme to do anything that is beyond my strength, or that would involve\nbreaking my word. To-morrow is not, and cannot be yours; it must be a day\nof leave-taking and parting. After that I am yours, I cannot live without\nyou. I want you and nothing else. Your happiness shall be mine; only, do\nnot make it too hard to me to part from all that has been dear to me from\nmy infancy. Shut your eyes to tomorrow's proceedings, and then--oh! if\nonly we were sure of the right path, if only we could tread it together!\nWe know each other so perfectly, and I know, I feel, that it will perhaps\nbe a comfort to our hearts to be patient with each other over matters\nwhich our judgment fails to comprehend or even to approve. I might be so\nunutterably happy; but my heart trembles within me, and I am not, I dare\nnot be quite glad yet.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nThe young soldier was heartily welcomed by his friends of the merchant's\nfamily; but old Damia was a little uneasy at the attitude which he and\nGorgo had taken up after their first greeting. He was agitated and grave,\nshe was eager and excited, with an air of determined enterprise.\n\nWas Eros at the bottom of it all? Were the young people going to carry\nout the jest of their childhood in sober earnest? The young officer was\nhandsome and attractive enough, and her granddaughter after all was but a\nwoman.\n\nSo far as Constantine was concerned the old lady had no personal\nobjection to him; nay, she appreciated his steady, grave manliness and,\nfor his own sake, was very glad to see him once more; but to contemplate\nthe ship-builder's son--the grandson of a freedman--a Christian and\ndevoted to the Emperor, even though he were a prefect or of even higher\ngrade--as a possible suitor for her Gorgo, the beautiful heiress of the\ngreater part of her wealth--the centre of attraction to all the gilded\nyouth of Alexandria--this was too much for her philosophy; and, as she\nhad never in her life restrained the expression of her sentiments, though\nshe gave him a friendly hand and the usual greeting, she very soon showed\nhim, by her irony and impertinence, that she was as hostile to his creed\nas ever.\n\nShe put her word in on every subject, and when, presently,\nDemetrius--who, after Dada's rebuff, had come on to see his uncle--began\nspeaking of the horses he had been breeding for Marcus, and Constantine\nenquired whether any Arabs from his stables were to be purchased in the\ntown, Damia broke out:\n\n\"You out-do your crucified God in most things I observe! He could ride on\nan ass, and a stout Egyptian nag is not good enough for you.\"\n\nHowever, the young officer was not to be provoked; and though he was very\nwell able to hold his own in a strife of words, he kept himself under\ncontrol and pretended to see nothing in the old woman's taunts but\nharmless jesting.\n\nGorgo triumphed in his temperate demeanor, and thanked him with grateful\nglances and a silent grasp of the hand when opportunity offered.\n\nDemetrius, who had also known Constantine as a boy, and who, through\nPorphyrius, had sold him his first charger, met him very warmly and told\nhim with a laugh that he had seen him before that day, that he had\nevidently learnt something on his travels, that he had tracked the\nprettiest head of game in all the city; and he slapped him on the\nshoulder and gave him what he meant to be a very knowing glance.\nConstantine could not think where Demetrius had seen him or what he\nmeant; while Gorgo supposed that he alluded to her, and thought him\nperfectly odious.\n\nPorphyrius pelted the prefect with questions which Constantine was very\nready to answer, till they were interrupted by some commotion in the\ngarden. On looking out they saw a strange and unpleasing procession,\nheaded by Herse who was scolding, thumping and dragging Dada's Egyptian\nslave, while her husband followed, imploring her to moderate her fury.\nBehind them came Orpheus, now and then throwing out a persuasive word to\nsoothe the indignant matron. This party soon came up with the others, and\nHerse, unasked, poured out an explanation of her wrath.\n\nShe had had but a brief interview with Mary, Marcus' mother, for she had\npositively opposed the Christian lady's suggestion that Karnis and his\nfamily would do well to quit Alexandria as soon as possible, accepting an\nindemnification from Mary herself. To the widow's threats of seeking the\nintervention of the law, she had retorted that they were not public\nsingers but free citizens who performed for their own enjoyment; to the\nanxious mother's complaints that Dada was doing all she could to attract\nMarcus, she had answered promptly and to the point that her niece's good\nname would certainly out-weigh anything that could be said against a\nyoung man to whom so much license was allowed in Alexandria. She would\nfind some means of protecting her own sister's child. Mary had replied\nthat Herse would do well to remember that she--Mary--had means at her\ncommand of bringing justice down on those who should attempt to entrap a\nChristian youth, and tempt him into the path of sin.\n\nThis had closed the interview. Herse had found her husband and son\nwaiting for her at the door of Mary's house and had at once returned with\nthem to the ship. There an unpleasant surprise awaited them; they had\nfound no one on board but the Egyptian slave, who told them that Dada had\nsent her on shore to procure her some sandals; on her return the girl had\nvanished. The woman at the same time declared that she had seen Agne and\nher brother leave the garden and make for the high-road.\n\nSo far as the Christian girl was concerned Herse declared there would be\nno difficulty; but Dada, her own niece, had always clung to them\nfaithfully, and though Alexandria was full of sorcerers and Magians they\ncould hardly succeed in making away with a fullgrown, rational, and\nhealthy girl. In her inexperience she had, no doubt, gone at the bidding\nof some perfidious wretch, and the Egyptian witch, the brown slave had,\nof course, had a finger in the trick. She would accuse no one, but she\nknew some people who would be only too glad if Dada and that baby-faced\nyoung Christian got into trouble and disgrace together. She delivered\nherself of this long story with tears of rage and regret, angrily\nrefusing to admit any qualifying parentheses from her husband, to whose\nnatural delicacy her rough and vociferous complaints were offensive in\nthe presence of the high-bred ladies of the house. Old Damia, however,\nhad listened attentively to her indignant torrent of words, and had only\nshrugged her shoulders with a scornful smile at the implied accusation of\nherself.\n\nPorphyrius, to whom the whole business was simply revolting, questioned\nHerse closely and when the facts were clearly established, and it also\nwas plainly proved that Agne had escaped from the garden, he desired the\nslave-woman to tell her story of all that had occurred during the absence\nof Karnis, promising her half a dozen stripes from the cane on the soles\nof her feet for every false word she might utter. The threat was enough\nto raise a howl from the Egyptian; but this Porphyries soon put a stop\nto, and Sachepris, with perfect veracity, told her tale of all that had\nhappened till Herse's return to the vessel. The beginning of the\nnarrative was of no special interest, but when she was pressed to go\nfaster to the point she went on to say:\n\n\"And then--then my lord Constantine came to us on the ship, and the\npretty mistress laughed with him and asked him to take off his helmet,\nbecause the pretty mistress wanted to see the cut, the great sword-cut\nabove his eyes, and my lord Constantine took it off.\"\n\n\"It is a lie!\" exclaimed Gorgo.\n\n\"No, no; it is true. Sachepris does not want her feet flayed, mistress,\"\ncried the slave. \"Ask my lord Constantine himself.\"\n\n\"Yes, I went on board,\" said Constantine. \"Just as I was crossing the\nship-yard a young girl dropped her fan into the lake. I fished it out at\nher request, and carried it back to her.\"\n\n\"Yes, that was it,\" cried Sachepris. \"And the pretty mistress laughed\nwith my lord Constantine--is it not true?--and she took his helmet out of\nhis hand and weighed it in hers . . .\"\n\n\"And you could stop on your way here to trifle with that child?\" cried\nGorgo wrathfully. \"Pah! what men will do!\"\n\nThese words portended rage and intense disgust to Constantine. \"Gorgo!\"\nhe cried with a reproachful accent, but she could not control her\nindignation and went on more vehemently than ever:\n\n\"You stopped--with that little hussy--on your way to me--stopped to\ntrifle and flirt with her! Shame! Yes, I say shame! Men are thought lucky\nin being light-hearted, but, for my part, may the gods preserve me from\nsuch luck! Trifling, whispering, caressing--a tender squeeze of the\nhand--solemnly, passionately earnest!--And what next? Who dares warrant\nthat it will not all be repeated before the shadows are an ell long on\nthe shore!\"\n\nShe laughed, a sharp, bitter laugh; but it was a short one. She ceased\nand turned pale, for her lover's face had undergone a change that\nterrified her. The scar on his forehead was purple, and his voice was\nstrange, harsh and hoarse as he leaned forward to bring his face on a\nlevel with hers, and said:\n\n\"Even if you had seen me with your own eyes you ought not to have\nbelieved them! And if you dare to say that you do believe it, I can say\nShame! as well as you. My life may be at stake but I say: Shame!\"\n\nAs he spoke he clutched the back of a chair with convulsive fury and\nstood facing the girl like an avenging god of war, his eyes flashing to\nmeet hers. This was too much for old Damia; she could contain herself no\nlonger, and striking her crutch on the floor she broke out:\n\n\"What next shall we hear! You threaten and storm at the daughter of this\nhouse as if she were a soldier in your camp! Listen to me, my fine\ngentleman, and mind what I say: In the house of a free Alexandrian\ncitizen no one has any right to give his orders--be he Caesar, Consul or\nComes; he has only to observe the laws of good manners.\" Then turning to\nGorgo she shook her head with pathetic emphasis; \"This, my love, is the\nconsequence of too much familiar condescension. Come, an end of this!\nGreeting and parting often go hand in hand.\"\n\nThe prefect turned on his heel and went towards the steps leading to the\ngarden; but Gorgo flew after him and seized his hand, calling out to the\nold woman:\n\n\"No, no, grandmother; he is in the right, I am certain he is in the\nright. Stop, Constantine--wait, stay, and forgive my folly! If you love\nme, mother, say no more--he will explain it all presently.\"\n\nThe soldier heaved a sigh of relief and assented in silence, while the\nslave went on with her story: \"And when my lord Constantine was gone, my\nlord Demetrius came and he--but what should poor Sachepris say--ask my\nlord Demetrius himself to tell you.\"\n\n\"That is soon done,\" replied Demetrius, who had failed to understand a\ngreat deal of all that had been going forward. My brother Marcus is over\nhead and ears in love with the little puss--she is a pretty creature--and\nto save that simple soul from mischief I thought I would take the\nbusiness on my own shoulders which are broader and stronger than his. I\nwent boldly to work and offered the girl--more shame for me, I must\nsay--the treasures of Midas; however, offering is one thing and accepting\nis another, and the child snapped me up and sent me to the right\nabout--by Castor and Pollux! packed me off with my tail between my legs!\nMy only comfort was that Constantine had just quitted the pretty little\nhussy. By the side of the god of war, thought I, a country Pan makes but\na poor figure; but this Ares was dismissed by Venus, and so, if only to\nkeep up my self-respect, I was forced to conclude that the girl, with all\nher pertness, was of a better sort than we had supposed. My presents,\nwhich would have tempted any other girl in Alexandria to follow a cripple\nto Hades, she took as an insult; she positively cried with indignation,\nand I really respect pretty little Dada!\"\n\n\"She is my very own sister's child,\" Herse threw in, honestly angered by\nthe cheap estimation in which every one seemed to hold her adopted child.\n\"My own sister's,\" she insisted, with an emphasis which seemed to imply\nthat she had a whole family of half-sisters. \"Though we now earn our\nbread as singers, we have seen better days; and in these hard times\nCroesus to-day may be Irus to-morrow. As for us, Karnis did not dissipate\nhis money in riotous living. It was foolish perhaps but it was\nsplendid--I believe we should do the same again; he spent all his\ninheritance in trying to reinstate Art. However, what is the use of\nlooking after money when it is gone! If you can win it, or keep it you\nwill be held of some account, but if you are poor the dogs will snap at\nyou!--The girl, Dada--we have taken as much care of her as if she were\nour own, and divided our last mouthful with her before now. Karnis used\nto tease her about training her voice--and now, when she could really do\nsomething to satisfy even good judges--now, when she might have helped us\nto earn a living-now. . .\"\n\nThe good woman broke down and burst into tears, while Karnis tried to\nsoothe and comfort her.\n\n\"We shall get on without them somehow,\" he said. \"'Nil desperandum' says\nHorace the Roman. And after all they are not lizards that can hide in the\ncracks of the walls; I know every corner of Alexandria and I will go and\nhunt them up at once.\"\n\n\"And I will help you, my friend,\" said Demetrius, \"We will go to the\nHippodrome--the gentry you will meet with there are capital blood-hounds\nafter such game as the daughter of your 'own sister,' my good woman. As\nto the black-haired Christian girl--I have seen her many a time on board\nship. . .\"\n\n\"Oh! she will take refuge with some fellow-Christians,\" remarked\nPorphyrius. \"Olympius told me all about her. I know plenty of the same\nsort in the Church. They fling away life and happiness as if they were\napple-peelings to snatch at something which they believe to constitute\nsalvation. It is folly, madness! pure unmitigated madness! To have sung\nin the temple of the she-devil Isis with Gorgo and the other worshippers\nwould have cost her her seat in Paradise. That, as I believe, is the\ncause of her flight.\"\n\n\"That and nothing else!\" cried Karnis. \"How vexed the noble Olympius will\nbe. Indeed, Apollo be my witness! I have not been so disturbed about\nanything for many a day. Do you happen to recollect,\" he went on, turning\nto Demetrius, \"our conversation on board ship about a dirge for Pytho?\nWell, we had transposed the lament of Isis into the Lydian mode, and when\nthis young lady's wonderful voice gave it out, in harmony with Agne's and\nwith Orpheus' flute, it was quite exquisite! My old heart floated on\nwings as I listened! And only the day after to-morrow the whole crowd of\nworshippers in the temple of Isis were to enjoy that treat!--It would\nhave roused them to unheard-of enthusiasm. Yesterday the girl was in it,\nheart and soul; nay, only this morning she and the noble Gorgo sang it\nthrough from beginning to end. One more rehearsal to-morrow, and then the\ntwo voices would have given such a performance as perhaps was never\nbefore heard within the temple walls.\"\n\nConstantine had listened to this rhapsody with growing agitation; he was\nstanding close to Gorgo, and while the rest of the party held anxious\nconsultation as to what could be done to follow up and capture the\nfugitives, he asked Gorgo in a low voice, but with gloomy looks:\n\n\"You intended to sing in the temple of Isis? Before the crowd, and with a\ngirl of this stamp?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said firmly.\n\n\"And you knew yesterday that I had come home?\" She nodded.\n\n\"And yet, this morning even, while you were actually expecting me, you\ncould practise the hymn with such a creature?\"\n\n\"Agne is not such another as the girl who played tricks with your\nhelmet,\" replied Gorgo, and the black arches of her eyebrows knit into\nsomething very like a scowl. \"I told you just now that I was not yours\ntoday, nor to-morrow. We still serve different gods.\"\n\n\"Indeed we do!\" he exclaimed, so vehemently that the others looked round,\nand old Damia again began to fidget in her chair.\n\nThen with a strong effort he recovered himself and, after standing for\nsome minutes gazing in silence at the ground, he said in a low tone:\n\n\"I have borne enough for to-day. Gorgo, pause, reflect. God preserve me\nfrom despair!\"\n\nHe bowed, hastily explained that his duties called him away, and left the\nspot.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nThe amateurs of horse-racing who assembled in the Hippodrome could afford\nno clue to Dada's hiding-place, because she had not, in fact, run away\nwith any gay young gallant. Within a few minutes of her sending Sachepris\nto fetch her a pair of shoes, Medius had hailed her from the shore; he\nwanted to speak with Karnis, and having come on an ass it was not in vain\nthat the incensed damsel entreated him to take her with him. He had in\nfact only come to try to persuade Karnis and his wife to spare Dada for a\nfew performances, such as he had described, in the house of Posidonius.\nHis hopes of success had been but slender; and now the whole thing had\nsettled itself, and Dada's wish that her people should not, for a while,\nknow where to find her was most opportune for his plans.\n\nIn the days when Karnis was the manager of the theatre at Tauromenium\nMedius had led the chorus, and had received much kindness at the hands of\nthe girl's uncle. All this, he thought, he could now repay, for certainly\nhis old patron was poor enough, and he intended honestly to share with\nhis former benefactor the profits he expected to realize with so fair a\nprodigy as Dada. No harm could come to the girl, and gold--said he to\nhimself--glitters as brightly and is just as serviceable, even when it\nhas been earned for us against our will.\n\nMedius, being a cautious man, made the girl bring her new dress away with\nher, and the girdle and jewels belonging to it, and his neat hands packed\neverything into the smallest compass. He filled up the basket which he\ntook for the purpose with sweetmeats, oranges and pomegranates \"for the\nchildren at home,\" and easily consoled Dada for the loss of her shoes. He\nwould lead the ass and she should ride. She covered her face with a veil,\nand her little feet could be hidden under her dress. When they reached\nhis house he would at once have \"a sweet little pair of sandals\" made for\nher by the shoemaker who worked for the wife of the Comes and the\ndaughters of the Alabarch--[The chief of the Jewish colony in\nAlexandria.]--These preparations and the start only took a few minutes;\nand their rapid search and broken conversation caused so much absurd\nconfusion that Dada had quite recovered her spirits and laughed merrily\nas she tripped bare-foot across the strand. She sprang gaily on to the\nlittle donkey and as they made their way along the road, the basket\ncontaining her small wardrobe placed in front of her on the ass's\nshoulders, she remarked that she should be mistaken for the young wife of\na shabby old husband, returning from market with a load of provisions.\n\nShe was delighted to think of what Herse's face would be when, on her\nreturn home, she should discover that the prisoner could make her escape\neven without shoes.\n\n\"Let her have a good hunt for me!\" she cried quite enchanted. \"Why should\nI always be supposed to be ready for folly and wickedness! But one thing\nI warn you: If I am not comfortable and happy with you, and if I do not\nlike the parts you want me to fill, we part as quickly as we have come\ntogether.--Why are you taking me through all these dirty alleys? I want\nto ride through the main streets and see what is going on.\" But Medius\nwould not agree to this, for in the great arteries of the town there were\nexcitement and tumult, and they might think themselves fortunate if they\nreached his house unmolested.\n\nHe lived in a little square, between the Greek quarter and Rhacotis where\nthe Egyptians lived, and his house, which was exactly opposite the church\nof St. Marcus, accommodated Medius himself, his wife, his widowed\ndaughter and her five children, besides being crammed from top to bottom\nwith all sorts of strange properties, standing or hanging in every\navailable space. Dada's curiosity had no rest, and by the time she had\nspent a few hours in the house her host's pretty little grandchildren\nwere clinging to her with devoted affection.\n\nAgne had not been so fortunate as to find a refuge so easily. With no\nescort, unveiled, and left entirely to her own guidance, leading the\nlittle boy, she hurried forward, not knowing whither. All she thought was\nto get away--far away from these men who were trying to imperil her\nimmortal soul.\n\nShe knew that Karnis had actually bought her, and that she was,\ntherefore, his property and chattel. Even Christian doctrine taught her\nthat the slave must obey his master; but she could not feel like a slave,\nand if indeed she were one her owner might destroy and kill her body, but\nnot her soul. The law, however, was on the side of Karnis, and it allowed\nhim to pursue her and cast her into prison. This idea haunted her, and\nfor fear of being caught she avoided all the chief thoroughfares and kept\nclose to the houses as she stole through the side streets and alleys.\nOnce, in Antioch, she had seen a runaway slave, who, having succeeded in\nreaching a statue of the Emperor and laying his hand on it, was by that\nact safe from his pursuers. There must surely be such a statue somewhere\nin Alexandria--but where? A woman, of whom she enquired, directed her\ndown a wider street that would take her into the Canopic Way. If she\ncrossed that and went down the first turning to the left she would reach\na large open square in the Bruchium, and there, in front of the Prefect's\nresidence and by the side of the Bishop's house, stood the new statue of\nTheodosius.\n\nThis information, and the mention of the Bishop, gave a new course to her\nproceedings. It was wrong to defy and desert her master, but to obey him\nwould be deadly sin. Which must she choose and which avoid? Only one\nperson could advise in such a case--only one could relieve her mind of\nits difficulties and terrors: The Shepherd of souls in the city--the\nBishop himself. She too was a lamb of his flock; to him and to no one\nelse could she turn.\n\nThis thought fell on her heart like a ray of light dispersing the clouds\nof uncertainty and alarm. With a deep breath of relief she took the child\nin her arms and told him--for he was whimpering to know where she was\ntaking him, and why he might not go back to Dada--that they were going to\nsee a good, kind man who would tell them the way home to their father and\nmother. Papias, however, still wailed to go to Dada and not to the man.\n\nHalf insisting and half coaxing him with promises, she dragged him along\nas far as the main street. This was full of an excited throng; soldiers\non foot and on horseback were doing what they could to keep the peace,\nand the bustle amused the little boy's curiosity so that he soon forgot\nhis homesickness. When, at length, Ague found the street that led to the\nPrefect's house she was fairly carried along by the surging, rushing mob.\nTo turn was quite impossible; the utmost she could do was to keep her\nwits about her, and concentrate her strength so as not to be parted from\nthe child. Pushed, pulled, squeezed, scolded, and abused by other women\nfor her folly in bringing a child out into such a crowd, she at last\nfound herself in the great square. A hideous hubbub of coarse, loud\nvoices pierced her unaccustomed ears; she could have sunk on the earth\nand cried; but she kept up her courage and collected all her energies,\nfor she saw in the distance a large gilt cross over a lofty doorway. It\nwas like a greeting and welcome home. Under its protection she would\ncertainly, find rest, consolation and safety.\n\nBut how was she to reach it? The space before her was packed with men as\na quiver is packed with arrows; there was not room for a pin between. The\nonly chance of getting forward was by forcing her way, and nine-tenths of\nthe crowd were men--angry and storming men, whose wild and strange\ndemeanor filled her with terror and disgust. Most of them were monks who\nhad flocked in at the Bishop's appeal from the monasteries of the desert,\nor from the Lauras and hermitages of Kolzum by the Red Sea, or even from\nTabenna in Upper Egypt, and whose hoarse voices rent the air with\nvehement cries of: \"Down with the idols! Down with Serapis! Death to the\nheathen!\"\n\nThis army of the Saviour whose very essence was gentleness and whose\nspirit was love, seemed indeed to have deserted from his standard of\nlight and grace to the blood-stained banner of murderous hatred. Their\nmatted locks and beards fringed savage faces with glowing eyes; their\nhaggard or paunchy nakedness was scarcely covered by undressed hides of\nsheep and goats; their parched skins were scarred and striped by the use\nof the scourges that hung at their girdles. One--a \"crown bearer\"--had a\nface streaming with blood, from the crown of thorns which he had vowed to\nwear day and night in memory and imitation of the Redeemer's sufferings,\nand which on this great occasion he pressed hard into the flesh with\nostentatious martyrdom. One, who, in his monastery, had earned the name\nof the \"oil-jar,\" supported himself on his neighbors' arms, for his\nemaciated legs could hardly carry his dropsical carcass which, for the\nlast ten years, he had fed exclusively on gourds, snails, locusts and\nNile water. Another was chained inseparably to a comrade, and the couple\ndwelt together in a cave in the limestone hills near Lycopolis. These two\nhad vowed never to let each other sleep, that so their time for\nrepentance might be doubled, and their bliss in the next world enhanced\nin proportion to their mortifications in this.\n\nOne and all, they were allies in a great fight, and the same hopes,\nideas, and wishes fired them all. The Abominable Thing--which imperilled\nhundreds of thousands of souls, which invited Satan to assert his\ndominion in this world--should fall this day and be annihilated forever!\nTo them the whole heathen world was the \"great whore;\" and though the\ngems she wore were beautiful to see and rejoiced the mind and heart of\nfools, they must be snatched from her painted brow; they would scourge\nher from off the face of the redeemed earth and destroy the seducer of\nsouls forever. \"Down with the idols! Down with Serapis! Down with the\nheathen!\" Their shouts thundered and bellowed all about Agne; but, just\nas the uproar and crush were at the worst, a tall and majestic figure\nappeared on a balcony above the cross and extended his hand in calm and\ndignified benediction towards the seething mass of humanity. As he raised\nit all present, including Ague, bowed and bent the knee.\n\nAgne felt, knew, that this stately man was the Bishop whom she sought,\nbut she did not point him out to her little brother, for his aspect was\nthat of some proud sovereign rather than of \"the good, kind man\" of whom\nshe had dreamed. She could never dare to force her way into the presence\nof this great lord! How should the ruler over a million souls find time\nor patience for her and her trivial griefs?\n\nHowever, there must be within his dwelling sundry presbyters and deacons,\nand she would address herself to one of them, as soon as the crowd had\ndispersed enough for her to make her way to the door beneath the cross.\nTwenty times at least did she renew her efforts, but she made very small\nprogress; most of the monks, as she tried to squeeze past them, roughly\npushed her back; one, on whose arm she ventured to lay her hand, begging\nhim to make way for her, broke out into shrieks as though a serpent had\nstung him, and when the crush brought her into contact with the\ncrown-bearer he thrust her away exclaiming:\n\n\"Away woman! Do not touch me, spawn of Satan tool of the evil one! or I\nwill tread you under foot!\"\n\nRetreat had been as impossible as progress, and long hours went by which\nto her seemed like days; still she felt no fatigue, only alarm and\ndisgust, and, more than anything else, an ardent desire to reach the\nBishop's palace and take counsel of a priest. It was long past noon when\na diversion took place which served at any rate to interest and amuse the\ncrying child.\n\nOn the platform above the doorway Cynegius came forth--Cynegius, the\nEmperor's delegate; a stout man of middle height, with a shrewd round\nhead and a lawyer's face. State dignitaries, Consuls and Prefects had, at\nthis date, ceased to wear the costume that had marked the patricians of\nold Rome--a woollen toga that fell in broad and dignified folds from the\nshoulders; a long, close-fitting robe had taken its place, of purple silk\nbrocade with gold flowers. On the envoy's shoulder blazed the badge of\nthe highest officials, a cruciform ornament of a peculiarly thick and\ncostly tissue. He greeted the crowd with a condescending bow, a herald\nblew three blasts on the tuba, and then Cynegius, with a wave of his hand\nintroduced his private secretary who stood by his side, and who at once\nopened a roll he held and shouted at the top of a ringing voice:\n\n\"Silence in Caesar's name!\"\n\nThe trumpet then sounded for the fourth time, and silence so complete\nfell on the crowded square that the horses of the mounted guard in front\nof the Prefect's house could be heard snorting and champing.\n\n\"In Caesar's name,\" repeated the official, who had been selected for the\nduty of reading the Imperial message. Cynegius himself bent his head,\nagain waved his hand towards his secretary, and then towards the statues\nof the Emperor and Empress which, mounted on gilt standards, were\ndisplayed to the populace on each side of the balcony; then the reading\nbegan:\n\n\"Theodosius Caesar greets the inhabitants of the great and noble city of\nAlexandria, by Cynegius, his faithful ambassador and servant. He knows\nthat its true and honest citizens confess the Holy Faith in all piety and\nsteadfastness, as delivered to believers in the beginning by Peter, the\nprince of the Apostles; he knows that they hold the true Christian faith,\nand abide by the doctrine delivered by the Holy Ghost to the Fathers of\nthe Church in council at Nicaea.\n\n\"Theodosius Caesar who, in all humility and pride, claims to be the sword\nand shield, the champion and the rampart of the one true faith,\ncongratulates his subjects of the great and noble city of Alexandria\ninasmuch as that most of them have turned from the devilish heresy of\nArius, and have confessed the true Nicaean creed; and he announces to\nthem, by his faithful and noble servant Cynegius, that this faith and no\nother shall be recognized in Alexandria, as throughout his dominions.\n\n\"In Egypt, as in all his lands and provinces, every doctrine opposed to\nthis precious creed shall be persecuted, and all who confess, preach or\ndiffuse any other doctrine shall be considered heretics and treated as\nsuch.\"\n\nThe secretary paused, for loud and repeated shouts of joy broke from the\nmultitude. Not a dissentient word was heard-indeed, the man who should\nhave dared to utter one would certainly not have escaped unpunished. It\nwas not till the herald had several times blown a warning blast that the\nreader could proceed, as follows:\n\n\"It has come to the ears of your Caesar, to the deep grieving of his\nChristian soul, that the ancient idolatry, which so long smote mankind\nwith blindness and kept them wandering far from the gates of Paradise,\nstill, through the power of the devil, has some temples and altars in\nyour great and noble city. But because it is grievous to the Christian\nand clement heart of the Emperor to avenge the persecutions and death\nwhich so many holy martyrs have endured at the hands of the bloodthirsty\nand cruel heathen on their posterity, or on the miscreant\nand--misbelieving enemies of our holy faith--and because the Lord hath\nsaid 'vengeance is mine'--Theodosius Caesar only decrees that the temples\nof the heathen idols in this great and noble city of Alexandria shall be\nclosed, their images destroyed and their altars overthrown. Whosoever\nshall defile himself with blood, or slay an innocent beast for sacrifice,\nor enter a heathen temple, or perform any religious ceremony therein, or\nworship any image of a god made by hands-nay, or pray in any temple in\nthe country or in the city, shall be at once required to pay a fine of\nfifteen pounds of gold; and whosoever shall know of such a crime being\ncommitted without giving information of it, shall be fined to the same\namount.\"--[Codex Theodosianus XVI, 10, 10.]\n\nThe last words were spoken to the winds, for a shout of triumph, louder\nand wilder than had ever before been heard even on this favorite\nmeeting-place of the populace, rent the very skies. Nor did it cease, nor\nyield to any trumpet-blast, but rolled on in spreading waves down every\nstreet and alley; it reached the ships in the port, and rang through the\nhalls of the rich and the hovels of the poor; it even found a dull echo\nin the light-house at the point of Pharos, where the watchman was\ntrimming the lamp for the night; and in an incredibly short time all\nAlexandria knew that Caesar had dealt a death-blow to the worship of the\nheathen gods.\n\nThe great and fateful rumor was heard, too, in the Museum and the\nSerapeum; once more the youth who had grown up in the high schools of the\ncity, studying the wisdom of the heathen, gathered together; men who had\nrefined and purified their intellect at the spring of Greek philosophy\nand fired their spirit with enthusiasm for all that was good and lovely\nin the teaching of ancient Greece--these obeyed the summons of their\nmaster, Olympius, or flew to arms under the leadership of Orestes, the\nGovernor, for the High-Priest himself had to see to the defences of the\nSerapeum.--Olympius had weapons ready in abundance, and the youths\nrapidly collected round the standards he had prepared, and rushed into\nthe square before the Prefect's house to drive away the monks and to\ninsist that Cynegius should return forthwith to Rome with the Emperor's\nedict.\n\nYoung and noble lads were they who marched forth to the struggle,\nequipped like the Helleman soldiers of the palmy days of Athens; and as\nthey went they sang a battle-song of Callinus which some one--who, no one\ncould tell--had slightly altered for the occasion:\n\n       \"Come, rouse ye Greeks; what, sleeping still!\n        Is courage dead, is shame unknown?\n        Start up, rush forth with zealous will,\n        And smite the mocking Christians down!\"\n\nEverything that opposed their progress was overthrown. Two maniples of\nfoot-soldiers who held the high-road across the Bruchium attempted to\nturn them, but the advance of the inflamed young warriors was\nirresistible and they reached the street of the Caesareum and the square\nin front of the Prefect's residence. Here they paused to sing the last\nlines of their battlesong:\n\n       \"Fate seeks the coward out at home,\n        He dies unwept, unknown to fame,\n        While by the hero's honored tomb\n        Our grandsons' grandsons shall proclaim:\n       'In the great conflict's fiercest hour\n        He stood unmoved, our shield and tower.'\"\n\nIt was here, at the wide opening into the square, that the collision took\nplace: on one side the handsome youths, crowned with garlands, with their\nnoble Greek type of heads, thoughtful brows, perfumed curls, and anointed\nlimbs exercised in the gymnasium--on the other the sinister fanatics in\nsheep-skin, ascetic visionaries grown grey in fasting, scourging, and\nself-denial.\n\nThe monks now prepared to meet the onset of the young enthusiasts who\nwere fighting for freedom of thought and enquiry, for Art and Beauty.\nEach side was defending what it felt to be the highest Good, each was\nequally in earnest as to its convictions, both fought for something\ndearer and more precious than this earthly span of existence. But the\nphilosophers' party had swords; the monks' sole weapon was the scourge,\nand they were accustomed to ply that, not on each other but on their own\nrebellious flesh. A wild and disorderly struggle began with swingeing\nblows on both sides; prayers and psalms mingling with the battle-song of\nthe heathen. Here a monk fell wounded, there one lay dead, there again\nlay a fine and delicate-looking youth, felled by the heavy fist of a\nrecluse. A hermit wrestled hand to hand with a young philosopher who,\nonly yesterday had delivered his first lecture on the Neo-Platonism of\nPlotinus to an interested audience.\n\nAnd in the midst of this mad struggle stood Agne with her little brother,\nwho clung closely to her skirts and was too terrified to shed a tear or\nutter a cry. The girl was resolutely calm, but she was too utterly\nterror-stricken even to pray. Fear, absorbing fear had stunned her\nthoughts; it overmastered her like some acute physical pain which began\nin her heart and penetrated every fibre of her frame.\n\nEven while the Imperial message was being read she had been too\nfrightened to take it all in; and now she simply shut her eyes tight and\nhardly understood what was going on around her, till a new and different\nnoise sounded close in her ears: the clatter of hoofs, blare of trumpets\nand shouts and screams. At last the tumult died away and, when she\nventured to open her eyes and look about her, the place all round her was\nas clear as though it had been swept by invisible hands; here and there\nlay a dead body and there still was a dense crowd in the street leading\nto the Caesareum, but even that was dispersing and retreating before the\nadvance of a mounted force.\n\nShe breathed freely once more, and released the child's head from the\nskirt of her dress in which he had wrapped and buried it. The end of her\nalarms was not yet come, however, for a troop of the young heathen came\nflying across the square in wild retreat before a division of the heavy\ncavalry, which had intervened to part the combatants.\n\nThe fugitives came straight towards her; again she closed her eyes\ntightly, expecting every instant to find herself under the horses' feet.\nThen one of the runaways knocked down Papias, and she could bear no more;\nher senses deserted her, her knees failed under her, she lost\nconsciousness, and with a dull groan she fell on the dusty pavement.\nClose to her, as she lay, rushed the pursued and the pursuers--and at\nlast, how long after she knew not, when she recovered her senses she felt\nas if she were floating in the air, and presently perceived that a\nsoldier had her in his arms and was carrying her like a child.\n\nFresh alarms and fresh shame overwhelmed the poor girl; she tried to free\nherself and found him quite ready to set her down. When she was once more\non her feet and felt that she could stand she glanced wildly round her\nwith sudden recollection, and then uttered a hoarse cry, for her mouth\nand tongue were parched:\n\n\"Christ Jesus! Where is my brother?\" She pushed back her hair with a\ndesperate gesture, pressing her hands to her temples and peering all\nround her with a look of fevered misery.\n\nShe was still in the square and close to the door of the Prefect's house;\na man on horseback, in all probability her preserver's servant, was\nfollowing them, leading his master's horse. On the pavement lay wounded\nmen groaning with pain; the street of the Caesareum was lined with a\ndouble row of footsoldiers of Papias no sign!\n\nAgain she called him, and with such deep anguish in her voice, which was\nharsh and shrill with terror, that the young officer looked at her with\nextreme compassion.\n\n\"Papias, Papias--my little brother! O God my Saviour!--where, where is\nthe child?\"\n\n\"We will have him sought for,\" said the soldier whose voice was gentle\nand kind. \"You are too young and pretty--what brought you into this crowd\nand amid such an uproar?\"\n\nShe colored deeply and looking down answered low and hurriedly: \"I was\ngoing to see the Bishop.\"\n\n\"You chose an evil hour,\" replied Constantine, for it was he who had\nfound her lying on the pavement and who had thought it only an act of\nmercy not to trust so young and fair a girl to the protection of his\nfollowers. \"You may thank God that you have got off so cheaply. Now, I\nmust return to my men. You know where the Bishop lives? Yes, here. And\nwith regard to your little brother. . . . Stay; do you live in Alexandria?\"\n\"No, my lord.\"\n\n\"But you have some relation or friend whom you lodge with?\"\n\n\"No, my lord. I am . . . I have . . . I told you, I only want to see my\nlord the Bishop.\"\n\n\"Very strange! Well, take care of yourself. My time is not my own; but\nby-and-bye, in a very short time, I will speak to the city watchmen; how\nold is the boy?\"\n\n\"Nearly six.\"\n\n\"And with black hair like yours?\"\n\n\"No, my lord--fair hair,\" and as she spoke the tears started to her eyes.\n\"He has light curly hair and a sweet, pretty little face.\"\n\nThe prefect smiled and nodded. \"And if they find him,\" he went on,\n\"Papias, you say, is his name where is he to be taken?\"\n\n\"I do not know, my lord, for--and yet! Oh! my head aches, I cannot\nthink--if only I knew. . . . If they find him he must come here--here\nto my lord the Bishop.\"\n\n\"To Theophilus?\" said Constantine in surprise. \"Yes, yes--to him,\" she\nsaid hastily. \"Or--stay--to the gate-keeper at the Bishop's palace.\"\n\n\"Well, that is less aristocratic, but perhaps it is more to the purpose,\"\nsaid the officer; and with a sign to his servant, he twisted his hand in\nhis horse's mane, leaped into the saddle, waved her a farewell, and\nrejoined his men without paying any heed to her thanks.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nThere was much bustle and stir in the hall of the Episcopal palace.\nPriests and monks were crowding in and out; widows, who, as deaconesses,\nwere entrusted with the care of the sick, were waiting, bandages in hand,\nand discussing their work and cases, while acolytes lifted the wounded on\nto the litters to carry them to the hospitals.\n\nThe deacon Eusebius, whom we have met as the spiritual adviser of Marcus,\nwas superintending the good work, and he took particular care that as\nmuch attention should be shown to the wounded heathen as to the\nChristians.\n\nIn front of the building veterans of the twenty-first legion paced up and\ndown in the place of the ordinary gate-keepers, who were sufficient\nprotection in times of peace.\n\nAgne looked in vain for any but soldiers, but at last she slipped in\nunobserved among the men and women who were tending the wounded. She was\nterribly thirsty, and seeing one of the widows mixing some wine and water\nand offer it to one of the wounded men who pushed it away, she took\ncourage and begged the deaconess to give her a drink. The woman handed\nher the cup at once, asking to whom she belonged that she was here.\n\n\"I want to see my lord, the Bishop,\" replied Agne, but then correcting\nherself, she added hastily: \"If I could see the Bishop's gate-keeper, I\nmight speak to him.\"\n\n\"There he is,\" said the deaconess, pointing to an enormously tall man\nstanding in the darkest and remotest corner of the hall. The darkness\nreminded her for the first time that it was now evening. Night was\ndrawing on, and then where could she take refuge and find shelter? She\nshuddered and simply saying: \"Thank you,\" she went to the man who had\nbeen pointed out to her and begged that if her little brother should be\nfound and brought to him, he would take charge of him.\n\n\"To be sure,\" said the big man good-naturedly. \"He can be taken to the\norphanage of the 'Good Samaritan' if they bring him here, and you can\nenquire for him there.\"\n\nShe then made so bold as to ask if she could see a priest; but for this\nshe was directed to go to the church, as all those who were immediately\nattached to the Bishop were to-day fully occupied, and had no time for\ntrifles. Agne, however, persisted in her request till the man lost\npatience altogether and told her to be off at once; but at this instant\nthree ecclesiastics came in at the door by which her friend was on guard,\nand Agne, collecting all her courage, went up to one of them, a priest of\nadvanced age, and besought him urgently:\n\n\"Oh! reverend Father, I beg of you to hear me. I must speak to a priest,\nand that man drives me away and says you none of you have time to attend\nto me!\"\n\n\"Did he say that!\" asked the priest, and he turned angrily on the culprit\nsaying: \"The Church and her ministers never lack time to attend to the\nneeds of any faithful soul--I will follow you, brothers.--Now, my child,\nwhat is it that you need?\"\n\n\"It lies so heavily on my soul,\" replied Agne, raising her eyes and hands\nin humble supplication. \"I love my Saviour, but I cannot always do\nexactly as I should wish, and I do not know how I ought to act so as not\nto fall into sin.\"\n\n\"Come with me,\" said the priest, and leading the way across a small\ngarden, he took her into a wide open court and from thence in at a side\ndoor and up a flight of stairs which led to the upper floor. As she\nfollowed him her heart beat high with painful and yet hopeful excitement.\nShe kept her hands tightly clasped and tried to pray, but she could\nhardly control her thoughts of her brother and of all she wanted to say\nto the presbyter.\n\nThey presently entered a lofty room where the window-shutters were\nclosed, and where a number of lamps, already lighted, were hanging over\nthe cushioned divans on which sat rows of busy scribes of all ages.\n\n\"Here we are,\" said the priest kindly, as he seated himself in an\neasy-chair at some little distance from the writers. \"Now, tell me fully\nwhat troubles you; but as briefly as you can, for I am sparing you these\nminutes from important business.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" she began, \"my parents were freeborn, natives of Augusta\nTrevirorum. My father was a collector of tribute in the Emperor's service\n. . .\"\n\n\"Very good--but has this anything to do with the matter?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, it has. My father and mother were good Christians and in the\nriots at Antioch--you remember, my lord, three years ago--they were\nkilled and I and my brother--Papias is his name . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--go on.\"\n\n\"We were sold. My master paid for us--I saw the money; but he did not\ntreat us as slaves. But now he wants me--he, Sir, is wholly devoted to\nthe heathen gods-and he wants me . . .\"\n\n\"To serve his idols?\"\n\n\"Yes, reverend Father, and so we ran away.\"\n\n\"Quite right, my child.\"\n\n\"But the scriptures say that the slave shall obey his master?\"\n\n\"True; but higher than the master in the flesh is the Father in Heaven,\nand it is better a thousand times to sin against man than against God.\"\n\nThis conversation had been carried on in an undertone on account of the\nscribes occupied at the desks; but the priest raised his voice with his\nlast words, and he must have been heard in the adjoining room, for a\nheavy curtain of plain cloth was opened, and an unusually deep and\npowerful voice exclaimed:\n\n\"Back again already, Irenaeus! That is well; I want to speak with you.\"\n\n\"Immediately, my lord--I am at your service in a moment.--Now, my child,\"\nhe added, rising, \"you know what your duty is. And if your master looks\nyou up and insists on your assisting at the sacrifice or what ever it may\nbe, you will find shelter with us. My name is Irenaeus.\"\n\nHere he was again interrupted, for the curtain was lifted once more and a\nman came out of the inner room whom no one could forget after having once\nmet him. It was the Bishop whom Agne had seen on the balcony; she\nrecognized him at once, and dropped on her knees to kiss the hem of his\nrobe in all humility. Theophilus accepted the homage as a matter of\ncourse, hastily glancing at the child with his large keen eyes; Agne not\ndaring to raise hers, for there was certainly something strangely\nimpressive in his aspect. Then, with a wave of his long thin hand to\nindicate Agne, he asked:\n\n\"What does this girl want?\"\n\n\"A freeborn girl--parents Christian--comes from Antioch. . .\" replied\nIrenaeus. \"Sold to a heathen master--commanded to serve idols--has run\naway and now has doubts. . .\"\n\n\"You have told her to which Lord her service is due?\" interrupted the\nBishop. Then, turning to Agne, he said: \"And why did you come here\ninstead of going to the deacon of your own church?\"\n\n\"We have only been here a few days,\" replied the girl timidly, as she\nventured to raise her eyes to the handsome face of this princely prelate,\nwhose fine, pale features looked as if they had been carved out of\nmarble.\n\n\"Then go to partake of the sacred Eucharist in the basilica of Mary,\"\nreplied the Bishop. \"It is just now the hour--but no, stop. You are a\nstranger here you say; you have run away from your master--and you are\nyoung, very young and very. . . . It is dark too. Where are you intending\nto sleep?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" said Agne, and her eyes filled with tears.\n\n\"That is what I call courage!\" murmured Theophilus to the priest, and\nthen he added to Agne: \"Well, thanks to the saints, we have asylums for\nsuch as you, here in the city. That scribe will give you a document which\nwill secure your admission to one. So you come from Antioch? Then there\nis the refuge of Seleucus of Antioch. To what parish--[Parochia in\nLatin]--did your parents belong?\"\n\n\"To that of John the Baptist?\"\n\n\"Where Damascius was the preacher?\"\n\n\"Yes, holy Father. He was the shepherd of our souls.\"\n\n\"What! Damascius the Arian?\" cried the Bishop. He drew his fine and\nstately figure up to its most commanding height and closed his thin lips\nin august contempt, while Irenaeus, clasping his hands in horror, asked\nher:\n\n\"And you--do you, too, confess the heresy of Arius?\"\n\n\"My parents were Arians,\" replied Agne in much surprise. \"They taught me\nto worship the godlike Saviour.\"\n\n\"Enough!\" exclaimed the Bishop severely. \"Come Irenaeus.\"\n\nHe nodded to the priest to follow him, opened the curtain and went in\nfirst with supreme dignity.\n\nAgne stood as if a thunderbolt had fallen, pale, trembling and desperate.\nThen was she not a Christian? Was it a sin in a child to accept the creed\nof her parents? And were those who, after charitably extending a saving\nhand, had so promptly withdrawn it--were they Christians in the full\nmeaning of the All-merciful Redeemer?\n\nAgonizing doubts of everything that she had hitherto deemed sacred and\ninviolable fell upon her soul; doubts of everything in heaven and earth,\nand not merely of Christ and of his godlike, or divine goodness--for what\ndifference was there to her apprehension in the meaning of the two words\nwhich set man to hunt and persecute man? In the distress and hopeless\ndilemma in which she found herself, she shed no tears; she simply stood\nrooted to the spot where she had heard the Bishop's verdict.\n\nPresently her attention was roused by the shrill voice of an old writer\nwho called out to one of the younger assistants.\n\n\"That girl disturbs me, Petubastis; show her out.\" Petubastis, a pretty\nEgyptian lad, was more than glad of an interruption to his work which\nsomehow seemed endless to-day; he put aside his implements, stroked back\nthe black hair that had fallen over his face, and removing the reed-pen\nfrom behind his ear, stuck in a sprig of dark blue larkspur. Then he\ntripped to the door, opened it, looked at the girl with the cool\nimpudence of a connoisseur in beauty, bowed slightly, and pointing the\nway out said with airified politeness:\n\n\"Allow me!\"\n\nAgne at once obeyed and with a drooping head left the room; but the young\nEgyptian stole out after her, and as soon as the door was shut he seized\nher hand and said in a whisper: \"If you can wait half an hour at the\nbottom of the stairs, pretty one, I will take you somewhere where you\nwill enjoy yourself.\"\n\nShe had stopped to listen, and looked enquiringly into his face, for she\nhad no suspicion of his meaning; the young fellow, encouraged by this,\nlaid his hand on her shoulder and would have drawn her towards him but\nthat she, thrusting him from her as if he were some horrible animal, flew\ndown the steps as fast as her feet could carry her, and through the\ncourtyard back into the great entrance-hall.\n\nHere all was, by this time, dark and still; only a few lamps lighted the\npillared space and the flare of a torch fell upon the benches placed\nthere for the accommodation of priests, laymen and supplicants generally.\n\nUtterly worn out--whether by terror or disappointment or by hunger and\nfatigue she scarcely knew--she sank on a seat and buried her face in her\nhands.\n\nDuring her absence the wounded had been conveyed to the sick-houses; one\nonly was left whom they had not been able to move. He was lying on a\nmattress between two of the columns at some little distance from Agne,\nand the light of a lamp, standing on a medicine-chest, fell on his\nhandsome but bloodless features. A deaconess was kneeling at his head and\ngazed in silence in the face of the dead, while old Eusebius crouched\nprostrate by his side, resting his cheek on the breast of the man whose\neyes were sealed in eternal sleep. Two sounds only broke the profound\nsilence of the deserted hall: an occasional faint sob from the old man\nand the steady step of the soldiers on guard in front of the Bishop's\npalace. The widow, kneeling with clasped hands, never took her eyes off\nthe face of the youth, nor moved for fear of disturbing the deacon who,\nas she knew, was praying--praying for the salvation of the heathen soul\nsnatched away before it could repent. Many minutes passed before the old\nman rose, dried his moist eyes, pressed his lips to the cold hand of the\ndead and said sadly:\n\n\"So young--so handsome--a masterpiece of the Creator's hand! . . . Only\nto-day as gay as a lark, the pride and joy of his mother-and now! How\nmany hopes, how much triumph and happiness are extinct with that life. O\nLord my Saviour, Thou hast said that not only those who call Thee Lord,\nLord, shall find grace with our Father in Heaven, and that Thou hast shed\nThy blood for the salvation even of the heathen--save, redeem this one!\nThou that are the Good Shepherd, have mercy on this wandering sheep!\"\n\nStirred to the bottom of his soul the old man threw up his arms and gazed\nupwards rapt in ecstasy. But presently, with an effort, he said to the\ndeaconess:\n\n\"You know, Sister, that this lad was the only son of Berenice, the widow\nof Asclepiodorus, the rich shipowner. Poor, bereaved mother! Only\nyesterday he was driving his guadriga out of the gate on the road to\nMarea, and now--here! Go and tell her of this terrible occurrence. I\nwould go myself but that, as I am a priest, it might be painful to her to\nlearn of his tragic end from one of the very men against whom the poor\ndarkened youth had drawn the sword. So do you go, Sister, and treat the\npoor soul very tenderly; and if you find it suitable show her very gently\nthat there is One who has balm for every wound, and that we--we and all\nwho believe in Him--lose what is dear to us only to find it again. Tell\nher of hope: Hope is everything. They say that green is the color of\nhope, for it is the spring-tide of the heart. There may be a Spring for\nher yet.\"\n\nThe deaconess rose, pressed a kiss on the eyes of the dead youth,\npromised Eusebius that she would do her best and went away. He, too, was\nabout to leave when he heard a sound of low sobbing from one of the\nbenches. He stood still to listen, shook his old head, and muttering to\nhimself:\n\n\"Great God--merciful and kind. . . . Thou alone canst know wherefore Thou\nhast set the rose-garland of life with so many sharp thorns,\" he went up\nto Agne who rose at his approach.\n\n\"Why, my child,\" he said kindly, \"what are you weeping for? Have you,\ntoo, lost some dear one killed in the fray?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" she hastily replied with a gesture of terror at the thought.\n\n\"What then do you want here at so late an hour?\"\n\n\"Nothing--nothing,\" she said. \"That is all over! Good God, how long I\nmust have been sitting here--I--I know I must go; yes, I know it.\"\n\n\"And are you alone-no one with you?\"\n\nShe shook her head sadly. The old man looked at her narrowly.\n\n\"Then I will take you safe home,\" he said. \"You see I am an old man and a\npriest. Where do you live, my child?\"\n\n\"I? I. . .\" stammered Agne, and a torrent of scalding tears fell down her\ncheeks. \"My God! my God! where, where am I to go?\"\n\n\"You have no home, no one belonging to you?\" asked the old man. \"Come,\nchild, pluck up your courage and tell me truly what it is that troubles\nyou; perhaps I may be able to help you.\"\n\n\"You?\" she said with bitter melancholy. \"Are not you one of the Bishop's\npriests?\"\n\n\"I am a deacon, and Theophilus is the head of my church; but for that\nvery reason . . .\"\n\n\"No,\" said Agne sharply, \"I will deceive no one. My parents were Arians,\nand as my beliefs are the same as theirs the Bishop has driven me away as\nan outcast, finally and without pity.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Eusebius. \"Did the Bishop do that? Well, as the head of a\nlarge community of Christians he, of course, is bound to look at things\nin their widest aspect; small things, small people can be nothing to him.\nI, on the contrary, am myself but a small personage, and I care for small\nthings. You know, child, that the Lord has said 'that in his Father's\nkingdom there are many mansions,' and that in which Arius dwells is not\nmine; but it is in the Father's kingdom nevertheless. It cannot be so\nmuch amiss after all that you should cling to the creed of your parents.\nWhat is your name?\"\n\n\"Agne.\"\n\n\"Agne, or the lamb. A pretty, good name! It is a name I love, as I, too,\nam a shepherd, though but a very humble one, so trust yourself to me,\nlittle lamb. Tell me, why are you crying? And whom do you seek here? And\nhow is it that you do not know where to find a home?\"\n\nEusebius spoke with such homely kindness, and his voice was so full of\nfatherly sympathy that hope revived in Agne's breast, and she told him\nwith frank confidence all he wanted to know.\n\nThe old man listened with many a \"Hum\" and \"Ha\"--then he bid her\naccompany him to his own house, where his wife would find a corner that\nshe might fill.\n\nShe gladly agreed, and thanked him eagerly when he also told the\ndoorkeeper to bring Papias after them if he should be found. Relieved of\nthe worst of her griefs, Agne followed her new friend through the streets\nand lanes, till they paused at the gate of a small garden and he said:\n\"Here we are. What we have we give gladly, but it is little, very little.\nIndeed, who can bear to live in luxury when so many are perishing in want\nand misery?\"\n\nAs they went across the plot, between the little flower-beds, the deacon\npointed to a tree and said with some pride: \"Last year that tree bore me\nthree hundred and seven peaches, and it is still healthy and productive.\"\n\nA hospitable light twinkled in the little house at the end of the garden,\nand as they entered a queer-looking dog came out to meet his master,\nbarking his welcome. He jumped with considerable agility on his\nfore-legs, but his hind legs were paralyzed and his body sloped away and\nstuck up in the air as though it were attached to an invisible board.\n\n\"This is my good friend Lazarus,\" said the old man cheerfully. \"I found\nthe poor beggar in the road one day, and as he was one of God's\ncreatures, although he is a cripple, I comfort myself with the verse from\nthe Psalms: 'The Lord has no joy in the strength of a horse, neither\ntaketh he pleasure in any man's legs.'\"\n\nHe was so evidently content and merry that Agne could not help laughing\ntoo, and when, in a few minutes, the deacon's wife gave her a warm and\nmotherly reception she would have been happier than she had been for a\nlong time past, if only her little brother had not been a weight on her\nmind and if she had not longed so sadly to have him safe by her side. But\neven that anxiety presently found relief, for she was so weary and\nexhausted that, after eating a few mouthfuls, she was thankful to lie\ndown in the clean bed that Elizabeth had prepared for her, and she\ninstantly fell asleep. She was in the old deacon's bed, and he made ready\nto pass the night on the couch in his little sitting-room.\n\nAs soon as the old couple were alone Eusebius told his wife how and where\nhe had met the girl and ended by saying:\n\n\"It is a puzzling question as to these Arians and other Christian\nheretics. I cannot be hard on them so long as they cling faithfully to\nthe One Lord who is necessary to all. If we are in the right--and I\nfirmly believe that we are--and the Son is of one substance of the\nFather, he is without spot or blemish; and what can be more divine than\nto overlook the error of another if it concerns ourselves, or what more\nmeanly human than to take such an error amiss and indulge in a cruel or\nsanguinary revenge on the erring soul? Do not misunderstand me. I,\nunfortunately--or rather, I say, thank God!--I have done nothing great\nhere on earth, and have never risen to be anything more than a deacon.\nBut if a boy comes up to me and mistakes me for an acolyte or something\nof that kind, is that a reason why I should flout or punish him? Not a\nbit of it.\n\n\"And to my belief our Saviour is too purely divine to hate those who\nregard Him as only 'God-like.' He is Love. And when Arius goes to Heaven\nand sees Jesus Christ in all His divine glory, and falls down before Him\nin an ecstasy of joy and repentance, the worst the Lord will do to him\nwill be to take him by the ear and say: 'Thou fool! Now thou seest what I\nreally am; but thine errors be forgiven!'\"\n\nElizabeth nodded assent. \"Amen,\" she said, \"so be it.--And so, no doubt,\nit will be. Did the Lord cast out the woman taken in adultery? Did he not\ngive us the parable of the Samaritan?--Poor little girl! We have often\nwished for a daughter and now we have found one; a pretty creature she is\ntoo. God grants us all our wishes! But you must be tired, old man; go to\nrest now.\"\n\n\"Directly, directly,\" said Eusebius; but then, striking his forehead with\nhis hand, he went on in much annoyance: \"And with all this tumult and\nworry I had quite forgotten the most important thing of all: Marcus! He\nis like a possessed creature, and if I do not make a successful appeal to\nhis conscience before he sleeps this night mischief will come of it. Yes,\nI am very tired; but duty before rest. It is of no use to contradict me,\nMother. Get me my cloak; I must go to the lad.\" And a few minutes later\nthe old man was making his way to the house in the Canopic street.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nDread and anxiety had taken possession of the merchant's household after\nConstantine had left them. Messengers came hurrying in, one after\nanother, to request the presence of Olympius. A heathen secretary of\nEvagrius the Governor, had revealed what was astir, and the philosopher\nhad at once prepared to return to the Serapeum. Porphyrius himself\nordered his closed harmamaxa to be brought out, and undertook to fetch\nweapons and standards to the temple from a storehouse where they were\nlaid by. This building stood on a plot of ground belonging to him in\nRhacotis, behind a timber-yard which was accessible from the streets in\nfront and behind, but sheltered from the public gaze by sheds and\nwood-stacks.\n\nThe old aqueduct, which supplied the courts of sacrifice and the\nSubterranean crypts of the temple where the mysteries of Serapis were\ncelebrated, passed close by the back-wall of this warehouse. Since the\ndestruction of the watercourse, under the Emperor Julian, the underground\nconduit had been dry and empty, and a man by slightly stooping could\nreadily pass through it unseen into the Serapeum. This mysterious passage\nhad lately been secretly cleared out, and it was now to be used for the\ntransport of the arms to the temple precincts.\n\nDamia had been present at the brief but vehement interview between her\nson and Olympius, and had thrown in a word now and again: \"It is serious,\nvery serious!\" or, \"Fight it out--no quarter!\"\n\nThe parting was evidently a very painful one to Olympius; when the\nmerchant held out both his hands the older man clasped them in his and\nheld them to his breast, saying: \"Thanks, my friend; thanks for all you\nhave done. We have lived--and if now we perish it is for the future\nhappiness of our grandchildren. What would life be to you and me if it\nwere marred by scourgings and questionings?--The omens read ill, and if I\nam not completely deceived we are at the beginning of the end. What lies\nbeyond! . . . we as philosophers must meet it calmly. The supreme Mind that\ngoverns us has planned the universe so well, that it is not likely that\nthose things of which we now have no knowledge should not also be ordered\nfor the best. The pinions of my soul beat indeed more freely and lightly\nas I foresee the moment when it shall be released from the burden of this\nflesh!\"\n\nThe High-Priest raised his arms as though indeed he were prepared to soar\nand uttered a fervent and inspired prayer in which he rehearsed to the\ngods all that he and his had done in their honor and vowed to offer them\nfresh sacrifices. His expressions were so lofty, and his flow of language\nso beautiful and free, that Porphyrius did not dare to interrupt him,\nthough this long delay on the part of the leader of the cause made him\nintolerably anxious. When the old man--who was as emotional as a\nboy--ceased speaking, his white beard was wet with tears, and seeing that\neven Damia's and Gorgo's eyes were moist, he was preparing to address\nthem again; but Porphyrius interposed. He gave him time only to press his\nlips to Datnia's hand and to bid Gorgo farewell.\n\n\"You were born into stirring times,\" he said to her, \"but under a good\nsign. Two worlds are in collision; which shall survive?--For you, my\ndarling, I have but one wish: May you be happy!\"\n\nHe left the room and the merchant paced up and down lost in gloomy\nthoughts. Presently, as he caught his mother's eye fixed uneasily upon\nhim, he murmured, less to her than to himself: \"If he can think thus of\nwhat the end will be, who can still dare to hope?\" Damia drew herself up\nin her chair.\n\n\"I,\" she exclaimed passionately, \"I--I dare, and I do hope and trust in\nthe future. Is everything to perish which our forefathers planned and\nfounded? Is this dismal superstition to overwhelm and bury the world and\nall that is bright and beautiful, as the lava stream rolled over the\ncities of Vesuvius? No, a thousand times no! Our retrograde and cowardly\ngeneration, which has lost all heart to enjoy life in sheer dread of\nfuture annihilation, may perhaps be doomed by the gods, as was that of\nDeucalion's day. Well--if so, what must be must! But such a world as they\ndream of never can, never will last. Let them succeed in their monstrous\nscheme! if the Temple of temples, the House of Serapis, were to be in\nashes and the image of the mighty god to be dashed to pieces, what\nthen. . . . I say what then? Then indeed everything will be at an end--we,\neverybody; but they too, they, too, will perish.\"\n\nShe clenched her fist with hatred and revenge and went on: \"I know what I\nknow--there are legible and infallible signs, and it is given to me to\ninterpret them, and I tell you: It is true, unerringly true, as every\nAlexandrian child has learnt from its nurse: When Serapis falls the earth\nwill collapse like a dry puff-ball under a horse's hoof. A hundred\noracles have announced it, it is written in the prophecies of the\nheavenly bodies, and in the scroll of Fate. Let them be! Let it come! The\nend is sweet to those who, in the hour of death, can see the enemy thrust\nthe sword into his own breast.\"\n\nThe old woman sank back panting and gasping for breath, but Gorgo\nhastened to support her in her arms and she soon recovered. Hardly had\nshe opened her eyes again than, seeing her son still in the room, she\nwent on angrily:\n\n\"You--here still? Do you think there is any time to spare? They will be\nwaiting, waiting for you! You have the key and they need weapons.\"\n\n\"I know what I am about,\" replied Porphyrius calmly. \"All in good time. I\nshall be on the spot long before the youngsters have assembled. Cyrus\nwill bring me the pass-words and signs; I shall send off the messengers,\nand then I shall still be in time for action.\"\n\n\"Messengers! To whom?\"\n\n\"To Barkas. He is at the head of more than a thousand Libyan peasants and\nslaves. I shall send one, too, to Pachomius to bid him win us over\nadherents among the Biamite fishermen and the population of the eastern\nDelta.\"\n\n\"Right, right--I know. Twenty talents--Pachomius is poor--twenty talents\nshall be his, out of my private coffer, if only they are here in time.\"\n\n\"I would give ten, thirty times as much if they were only here now!\"\ncried the merchant, giving way for the first time to the expression of\nhis real feelings. \"When I began life my father taught me the new\nsuperstitions. Its chains still hang about me; but in this fateful hour I\nfeel more strongly than ever, and I mean to show, that I am faithful to\nthe old gods. We will not be wanting; but alas! there is no escape for us\nnow if the Imperial party are staunch. If they fall upon us before Barkas\ncan join us, all is lost; if, on the contrary, Barkas comes at once and\nin time, there is still some hope; all may yet be well. What can a party\nof monks do? And as yet only our Constantine's heavy cavalry have come to\nthe assistance of the two legions of the garrison.\"\n\n\"Our Constantine!\" shrieked Damia. \"Whose? I ask you, whose? We have\nnothing to do with that miserable Christian!\"\n\nBut Gorgo turned upon her at once:\n\n\"Indeed, grandmother,\" she exclaimed, quivering with rage, \"but we have!\nHe is a soldier and must do his duty; but he is fondly attached to us.\"\n\n\"Us, us?\" retorted the old woman with a laugh. \"Has he sworn love to you,\nlet me ask? Has he? and you-do you believe him, simple fool? I know him,\nI know him! Why, for a scrap of bread and a drop of wine from the hand of\nhis priest he would see you and all of us plunged into misery! But see,\nhere are the messengers.\"\n\nPorphyrius gave his instructions to the young men who now entered the\nhall, hurried them off, clasped Gorgo in a tender embrace and then bent\nover his mother to kiss her--a thing he had not done for many a day. Old\nDamia laid aside her stick, and taking her son's face in both her\nwithered hands, muttered a few words which were half a fond appeal and\nhalf a magical formula, and then the women were alone. For a long while\nboth were silent. The old woman sat sunk in her arm-chair while Gorgo\nstood with her back against the pedestal of a bust of Plato, gazing\nmeditatively at the ground. At last it was Damia who spoke, asking to be\ncarried into the women's rooms.\n\nGorgo, however, stopped her with a gesture, went close to her and said:\n\"No, wait a minute, mother; first you must hear what I have to say.\"\n\n\"What you have to say?\" asked her grandmother, shrugging her shoulders.\n\n\"Yes. I have never deceived you; but one thing I have hitherto concealed\nfrom you because I was never till this morning sure of it myself--now I\nam. Now I know that I love him.\"\n\n\"The Christian?\" said the old woman, pushing aside a shade that screened\nher eyes.\n\n\"Yes, Constantine; I will not hear you abuse him.\" Damia laughed sharply,\nand said in a tone of supreme scorn:\n\n\"You will not? Then you had better stop your ears, my dear, for as long\nas my tongue can wag. . . .\"\n\n\"Hush, grandmother, say no more,\" said the girl resolutely. \"Do not\nprovoke me with more than I can bear. Eros has pierced me later than he\ndoes most girls and has done it but once, but how deeply you can never\nknow. If you speak ill of him you only aggravate the wound and you would\nnot be so cruel! Do not--I entreat you; drop the subject or else. . .\"\n\n\"Or else?\"\n\n\"Or else I must die, mother--and you know you love me.\"\n\nHer tone was soft but firm; her words referred to the future, but that\nfuture was as clear to Gorgo's view as if it were past. Damia gave a\nhasty, sidelong glance at her grandchild, and a cold chill ran through\nher; the--girl stood and spoke with an air of inspiration--she was full\nof the divinity as Damia thought, and the old woman herself felt as\nthough she were in a temple and in the immediate presence of the\nImmortals.\n\nGorgo waited for a reply, but in vain; and as her grandmother remained\nsilent she went back to her place by the pedestal. At last Damia raised\nher wrinkled face, looked straight in the girl's eyes and asked:\n\n\"And what is to be the end of it?\"\n\n\"Aye--what?\" said Gorgo gloomily and she shook her head. \"I ask myself\nand can find no answer, for his image is ever present to me and yet walls\nand mountains stand between us. That face, that image--I might perhaps\nforce myself to shatter it; but nothing shall ever induce me to let it be\ndefiled or disgraced! Nothing!\"\n\nThe old woman sank into brooding thought once more; mechanically she\nrepeated Gorgo's last word, and at intervals that gradually became longer\nshe murmured, at last scarcely audibly: \"Nothing--nothing!\"\n\nShe had lost all sense of time and of her immediate surroundings, and\nlong-forgotten sorrows crowded on her memory: The dreadful day when a\nyoung freedman--a gifted astronomer and philosopher who had been\nappointed her tutor, and whom she had loved with all the passion of a\nvehement nature--had been kicked out of her father's house by slaves, for\ndaring to aspire to her hand. She had given him up--she had been forced\nto do so; and after she was the wife of another and he had risen to fame,\nshe had never given him any token that she had not forgotten him. Two\nthirds of a century lay between that happy and terrible time, and the\npresent. He had been dead many a long year, and still she remembered him,\nand was thinking of him even now. A singular effort of fancy showed her\nherself, as she had then been, and Gorgo--whom she saw not with her\nbodily eyes, though the girl was standing in front of her--two young\ncreatures side by side. The two were but one in her vision; the same\nanguish that embittered one life now threatened the other. But after all\nshe, Damia, had dragged this grief after her through the weary decades,\nlike the iron ball at the end of a chain which keeps the galley-slave to\nhis place at the oar, and from which he can no more escape than from a\nponderous and ever-present shadow; and Gorgo's sorrow could not at any\nrate be for long, since the end of all things was at hand--it was coming\nslowly but with inevitable certainty, nearer and nearer every hour.\n\nWhen had a troop of enthusiastic students and hastily-collected\npeasant-soldiers ever been able to snake an effectual stand against the\nhosts of Rome? Damia, who only a few minutes since had spoken with such\ndetermined encouragement to her son, had terrible visions of the Imperial\nlegions putting Olympius to rout, with the Libyans under Barkas and the\nBiamite rabble under Pachomius; storming the Serapeum and reducing it to\nruin: Firebrands flying through its sacred halls, the roof giving way,\nthe vaults falling in; the sublime image of the god--the magnificent work\nof Bryaxis--battered by a hail of stones, and sinking to mingle with the\nreeking dust. Then a cry rose up from all nature, as though every star in\nheaven, every wave of ocean, every leaf of the forest, every blade in the\nmeadow, every rock on the shore and every grain of sand in the\nmeasureless desert had found a voice; and this universal wail of \"Woe,\nwoe!\" was drowned by rolling thunder such as the ear of man had never\nheard, and no mortal creature could hear and live. The heavens opened,\nand out of the black gulf of death-bearing clouds poured streams of fire;\nconsuming flames rose to meet it from the riven womb of earth, rushing\nup to lick the sky. What had been air turned to fire and ashes, the\nsilver and gold stars fell crashing from the firmament, and the heavens\nthemselves bowed and collapsed, burying the ruined earth. Ashes, ashes,\nfine grey dusty ashes pervaded space, till presently a hurricane rose and\nswept away the chaos of gloom, and vast nothingness yawned before her: a\nbottomless abyss--an insatiable throat, swallowing down with greedy\nthirst all that was left; till where the world had been, with gods and\nmen and all their works, there was only nothingness; hideous, inscrutable\nand unfathomable. And in it, above it, around it--for what are the\ndimensions of nothingness?--there reigned the incomprehensible Unity of\nthe Primal One, in calm and pitiless self-concentration, beyond--the\nReal, nay even beyond the Conceivable--for conception implies\nplurality--the Supreme One of the Neo-Platonists to whose school she\nbelonged.\n\nThe old woman's blood ran cold and hot as she pictured the scene; but she\nbelieved in it, and chose to believe in it; \"Nothing, nothing . . .\" which\nshe had begun by muttering, insensibly changed to \"Nothingness,\nnothingness!\" and at last she spoke it aloud.\n\nGorgo stood spellbound as she gazed at her grandmother. What had come\nover her? What was the meaning of this glaring eye, this gasping breath,\nthis awful expression in her face, this convulsive action of her hands?\nWas she mad? And what did she mean by \"Nothingness, nothingness. . .\"\nrepeated in a sort of hollow cry?\n\nTerrified beyond bearing she laid her hand on Dalnia's shoulder, saying:\n\"Mother, mother! wake up! What do you mean by saying 'nothingness,\nnothingness' in that dreadful way?\"\n\nDainia collected her scattered wits, shivered with cold and then said,\ndully at first, but with a growing cheerfulness that made Gorgo's blood\nrun cold: \"Did I say 'nothingness'? Did I speak of the great void, my\nchild? You are quick of hearing. Nothingness--well, you have learnt to\nthink; are you capable of defining the meaning of the word--a monster\nthat has neither head nor tail, neither front nor back--can you, I say,\ndefine the idea of nothingness?\"\n\n\"What do you mean, mother?\" said Gorgo with growing alarm.\n\n\"No, she does not know, she does not understand,\" muttered the old woman\nwith a dreary smile. \"And yet Melampus told me, only yesterday, that you\nunderstood his lesson on conic sections better than many men. Aye, aye,\nchild; I, too, learnt mathematics once, and I still go through various\ncalculations every night in my observatory; but to this day I find it\ndifficult to conceive of a mathematical point. It is nothing and yet it\nis something. But the great final nothingness!--And that even is\nnonsense, for it can be neither great nor small, and come neither sooner\nnor later. Is it not so, my sweet? Think of nothing--who cannot do that;\nbut it is very hard to imagine nothingness. We can neither of us achieve\nthat. Not even the One has a place in it. But what is the use of racking\nour brains? Only wait till to-morrow or the day after; something will\nhappen then which will reduce our own precious persons and this beautiful\nworld to that nothingness which to-day is inconceivable. It is coming; I\ncan hear from afar the brazen tramp of the airy and incorporeal monster.\nA queer sort of giant--smaller than the mathematical point of which we\nwere speaking, and yet vast beyond all measurement. Aye, aye; our\nintelligence, polyp-like, has long arms and can apprehend vast size and\nwide extent; but it can no more conceive of nothingness than it can of\ninfinite space or time.\n\n\"I was dreaming that this monstrous Nought had come to his kingdom and\nwas opening a yawning mouth and toothless jaws to swallow its all down\ninto the throat that it has not got--you, and me, and your young officer,\nwith this splendid, recreant city and the sky and the earth. Wait, only\nwait! The glorious image of Serapis still stands radiant, but the cross\ncasts an ominous shadow that has already darkened the light over half the\nearth! Our gods are an abomination to Caesar, and Cynegius only carries\nout his wishes. . .\"\n\nHere Damia was interrupted by the steward, who rushed breathless into the\nroom, exclaiming:\n\n\"Lost! All is lost! An edict of Theodosius commands that every temple of\nthe gods shall be closed, and the heavy cavalry have dispersed our\nforce.\"\n\n\"Ah ha!\" croaked the old woman in shrill accents. \"You see, you see!\nThere it is: the beginning of the end! Yes--your cavalry are a powerful\nforce. They are digging a grave--wide and deep, with room in it for many:\nfor you, for me, and for themselves, too, and for their Prefect.--Call\nArgus, man, and carry me into the Gynaeconitis--[The women's\napartment]--and there tell us what has happened.\" In the women's room the\nsteward told all he knew, and a sad tale it was; one thing, however, gave\nhim some comfort: Olympius was at the Serapeunt and had begun to fortify\nthe temple, and garrison it with a strong force of adherents.\n\nDamia had definitively given up all hope, and hardly heeded this part of\nhis story, while on Gorgo's mind it had a startling effect. She loved\nConstantine with all the fervor of a first, and only, and long-suppressed\npassion; she had repented long since of her little fit of suspicion, and\nit would have cost her no perceptible effort to humble her pride, to fly\nto him and pray for forgiveness. But she could not--dared not--now, when\neverything was at stake, renounce her fidelity to the gods for whose sake\nshe had let him leave her in anger, and to whom she must cling, cost what\nit might; that would be a base desertion. If Olympius were to triumph in\nthe struggle she might go to her lover and say: \"Do you remain a\nChristian, and leave me the creed of my childhood, or else open my heart\nto yours.\" But, as matters now stood, her first duty was to quell her\npassion and retrain faithful to the end, even though the cause were lost.\nShe was Greek to the backbone; she knew it and felt it, and yet her eye\nhad sparkled with pride as she heard the steward's tale, and she seemed\nto see Constantine at the head of his horsemen, rushing upon the heathen\nand driving them to the four winds like a flock of sheep. Her heart beat\nhigh for the foe rather than for her hapless friends--these were but\nbruised reeds--those were the incarnation of victorious strength.\n\nThese divided feelings worried and vexed her; but her grandmother had\nsuggested a way of reconciling them. Where he commanded victory followed,\nand if the Christians should succeed in destroying the image of Serapis\nthe joints of the world would crack and the earth would crumble away. She\nherself was familiar with the traditions and the oracles which with one\nconsent foretold this doom; she had learnt them as an infant from her\nnurse, from the slave-women at the loom, from learned men and astute\nphilosophers--and to her the horrible prophecy meant a solution of every\ncontradiction and the bitter-sweet hope of perishing with the man she\nloved.\n\nAs it grew dark another person appeared: the Moschosphragist--[The\nexaminer of sacrificed animals]--from the temple of Serapis, who, every\nday, examined the entrails of a slaughtered beast for Damia; to-day the\naugury had been so bad that he was almost afraid of revealing it. But the\nold woman, sure of it beforehand, took his soothsaying quite calmly, and\nonly desired to be carried up to her observatory that she might watch the\nrisings of the stars.\n\nGorgo remained alone below. From the adjoining workrooms came the\nmonotonous rattle of the loom at which, as usual, a number of slaves were\nworking.\n\nSuddenly the clatter ceased. Damia had sent a slave-girl down to say that\nthey might leave off work and rest till next day if they chose. She had\nordered that wine should be distributed to them in the great hall, as\nfreely as at the great festival of Dionysus.\n\nAll was silent in the Gynaeconitis. The garlands of flowers, which Gorgo\nherself had helped some damsels of her acquaintance to twine for the\ntemple of Isis, lay in a heap-the steward had told her that the venerable\nsanctuary was to be closed and surrounded by soldiers. This then put an\nend to the festival; and she could have been heartily glad, for it\nrelieved her of the necessity of defying Constantine; still, it was with\ntender melancholy that she thought of the gentle goddess in whose\nsanctuary she had so often found comfort and support. She could remember,\nas a tiny child, gathering the first flowers in her little garden, and\nsticking them in the ground near the tank from which water was fetched\nfor libations in the temple; with the pocketmoney given her by her\nelders, she had bought perfumes to pour on the altars of the divinity;\nand often when her heart was heavy she had found relief in prayer before\nthe marble statue of the goddess. How splendid had the festivals of Isis\nbeen, how gladly and rapturously had she sung in their honor! Almost\neverything that had lent poetry and dignity to her childhood had been\nbound up with Isis and her sanctuary--and now it was closed and the image\nof the divine mother was perhaps lying in fragments in the dirt!\n\nGorgo knew all the lofty ideals which lay at the foundation of the\nworship of this goddess; but it was not to them that she had turned for\nhelp, but to the image in whose mystical strength she trusted. And what\nhad already been done to Isis and her temple might soon be done to\nSerapis and to his house.\n\nShe could not bear the thought, for she had been accustomed to regard the\nSerapeum as the very heart of the universe--the centre and fulcrum on\nwhich the balance of the earth depended; to her, Serapis himself was\ninseparable from his temple and its atmosphere of magical and mystical\npower. Every prophecy, every Sibylline text, every oracle must be false\nif the overthrow of that image could remain unpunished--if the\ndestruction of the universe failed to follow, as surely as a, flood\nensues from a breach in a dyke. How indeed could it be otherwise,\naccording to the explanation which her teacher had given her of the\nNeo-Platonic conception of the nature of the god?\n\nIt was not Serapis but the great and unapproachable One--supreme above\ncomprehension and sublime beyond conception, for whose majesty every name\nwas too mean, the fount and crown of Good and Beauty, in whole all that\nexists ever has been and ever shall be. He it was who, like a brimful\nvessel, overflowed with the quintessence of what we call divine; and from\nthis effluence emanated the divine Mind, the pure intelligence which is\nto the One what light is to the sun. This Mind with its vitality--a life\nnot of time but of eternity--could stir or remain passive as it listed;\nit included a Plurality, while the One was Unity, and forever\nindivisible. The concept of each living creature proceeded from the\nsecond: The eternal Mind; and this vivifying and energizing intelligence\ncomprehended the prototypes of every living being, hence, also, of the\nimmortal gods--not themselves but their idea or image. And just as the\neternal Mind proceeded from the One, so, in the third place, did the Soul\nof the universe proceed from the second; that Soul whose twofold nature\non one side touched the supreme Mind, and, on the other, the baser world\nof matter. This was the immortal Aphrodite, cradled in bliss in the pure\nradiance of the ideal world and yet unable to free herself from the gross\nclay of matter fouled by sensuality and the vehicle of sin.\n\nThe head of Serapis was the eternal Mind; in his broad breast slept the\nSoul of the Universe, and the prototypes of all created things; the world\nof matter was the footstool under his feet. All the subordinate forces\nobeyed him, the mighty first Cause, whose head towered up to the realm of\nthe incomprehensible and inconceivable One. He was the sum total of the\nuniverse, the epitome of things created; and at the same time he was the\npower which gave them life and intelligence and preserved them from\nperishing by perpetual procreation. It was his might that kept the\nmultiform structure of the material and psychical world in perennial\nharmony. All that lived--Nature and its Soul as much as Man and his\nSoul--were inseparably dependent on him. If he--if Serapis were to fall,\nthe order of the universe must be destroyed; and with him: The Synthesis\nof the Universe--the Universe itself must cease to exist.\n\nBut what would survive would not be the nothingness--the void of which\nher grandmother had spoken; it would be the One--the cold, ineffable,\nincomprehensible One! This world would perish with Serapis; but perhaps\nit might please that One to call another world into being out of his\noverflowing essence, peopled by other and different beings.\n\nGorgo was startled out of these meditations by a wild tumult which came\nup from the slaves' hall some distance off and reached her ears in the\nwomen's sitting-room. Could her grandmother have opened the wine stores\nall too freely; were the miserable wretches already drunk?\n\nNo, the noise was not that of a troop of slaves who have forgotten\nthemselves, and given the rein to their wild revelry under the influence\nof Dionysus! She listened and could distinctly hear lamentable howls and\nwild cries of grief. Something frightful must have happened! Had some\nevil befallen her father? Greatly alarmed she flew across the courtyard\nto the slaves' quarters and found the whole establishment, black and\nwhite alike, in a state of frenzy. The women were rushing about with\ntheir hair unbound over their faces, beating their breasts and wailing,\nthe men squatted in silence with their wine-cups before them untouched,\nsoftly sobbing and whining.\n\nWhat had come upon them--what blow had fallen on the house?\n\nGorgo called her old nurse and learnt from her that the Moschosphragist\nhad just told them that the troops had been placed all round the Serapeum\nand that the Emperor had commanded the Prefect of the East to lay violent\nhands on the temple of the King of gods. Today or to-morrow the crime was\nto be perpetrated. They had been warned to pray and repent of their sins,\nfor at the moment when the holiest sanctuary on earth should fall the\nwhole world would crumble into nothingness. The entrails of the beast\nsacrificed by Damia had been black as though scorched, and a terrific\ngroan had been heard from the god himself in the great shrine; the\npillars of the great hypostyle had trembled and the three heads of\nCerberus, lying at the feet of Serapis; had opened their jaws.\n\nGorgo listened in silence to the old woman's story; and all she said in\nreply was: \"Let them wail.\"\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Pretended to see nothing in the old woman's taunts\n     Very hard to imagine nothingness\n\n\n\n\nSERAPIS\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nThe day had flown swiftly for Dada under the roof of Medius; there were\ncostumes and scenery in wonderful variety for her to look over; the\nchildren were bright and friendly, and she had enjoyed playing with them,\nfor all her little tricks and rhymes, which Papias was familiar with by\nthis time, were to them new and delightful. It amused her, too, to see\nwhat the domestic difficulties were of which the singer had described\nhimself as being a victim.\n\nMedius was one of those men who buy everything that strikes them as\ncheap--for instance, that very morning, at Kibotus he had stood to watch\na fish auction and had bought a whole tub-full of pickled fish for \"a\nmere trifle;\" but when, presently, the cargo was delivered, his wife flew\ninto a great rage, which she vented first on the innocent lad who brought\nthe fish, and then on the less innocent purchaser. They would not get to\nthe bottom of the barrel and eat the last herring, she asserted, till\nthey were a century old. Medius, while he disputed so monstrous a\nstatement, vehemently declared that such wholesome and nutritious food as\nthose fish was undoubtedly calculated to prolong the lives of the whole\nfamily to an exceptionally great age.\n\nThis discussion, which was not at all by way of a jest, amused Dada far\nmore than the tablets, cylinders and cones covered with numbers and\ncabalistic signs, to which Medius tried to direct her attention. She\ndarted off in the midst of his eager explanations to show his\ngrandchildren how a rabbit sniffs and moves his ears when he is offered a\ncabbage-leaf.\n\nThe report, which reached them in the afternoon, of the proceedings in\nthe square by the Prefect's house, disturbed Medius greatly, and he set\noff at once for the scene of action.\n\nHe did not return till evening, and then he looked like an altered man.\nHe must have witnessed something very terrible, for his face was as pale\nas death, and his usually confident and swaggering manner had given place\nto a stricken and care-worn air. He walked up and down the room, groaning\nas he went; he flung himself on the divan and stared fixedly at the\nground; he wandered into the atrium and gazed cautiously out on the\nstreet. Dada's presence seemed suddenly to be the source of much anxiety\nto him, and the girl, painfully conscious of this, hastened to tell him\nthat she would prefer to return home at once to her uncle and aunt.\n\n\"You can please yourself,\" was all he said, with a shrug and a sigh. \"You\nmay stay for aught I care. It is all the same now!\"\n\nSo far his wife had left him to himself, for she was used to his violent\nand eccentric behavior whenever anything had crossed him; but now she\nperemptorily desired to be informed what had happened to him and he at\nonce acceded. He had been unwilling to frighten them sooner than was\nneedful, but they must learn it sooner or later: Cynegius had arrived to\noverthrow the image of Serapis, and what must ensue they knew only too\nwell. \"To-day,\" he cried, \"we will live; but by to-morrow--a thousand to\none-by to-morrow there will be an end of all our joys and the earth will\nswallow up the old home and us with it!\"\n\nHis words fell on prepared ground; his wife and daughter were appalled,\nand as Medius went on to paint the imminent catastrophe in more vivid\ncolors, his energy growing in proportion to its effect on them, they\nbegan at first to sob and whimper and then to wail loudly. When the\nchildren, who by this time were in bed, heard the lamentations of their\nelders, they, too, set up a howl, and even Dada caught the infection. As\nfor Medius himself, he had talked himself into such a state of terror by\nhis own descriptions of the approaching destruction of the world that he\nabandoned all claim to his proud reputation as a strong-minded man, and\nquite forgot his favorite theory that everything that went by the name of\nGod was a mere invention of priests and rulers to delude and oppress the\nignorant; at last he even went so far as to mutter a, prayer, and when\nhis wife begged to be allowed to join a family of neighbors in\nsacrificing a black lamb at daybreak, he recklessly gave her a handful of\nmoney.\n\nNone of the party closed an eye that night. Dada could not bear to remain\nin the house. Perhaps all these horrors existed only in Medius' fancy;\nbut if destruction were indeed impending, she would a thousand times\nrattier perish with her own relations than with these people, in whom\nthere was something--she did not know what--for which she felt a deep\naversion. This she explained to her host early in the day and he was\nready to set out at once and restore her to the care of Karnis.\n\nIn fact, the purpose for which he had needed her must certainly come to\nnothing. He himself was attached to the service of Posidonius, a great\nmagician and wizard, to whom half Alexandria flocked--Christians, Jews,\nand heathens--in order to communicate with the dead, with gods and with\ndemons, to obtain spells and charms by which to attract lovers or injure\nfoes, to learn the art of becoming invisible, or to gain a glimpse into\nthe future. In the performance which was being planned Dada was to have\nappeared to a bereaved mother as the glorified presence of her lost\ndaughter; but the disturbance in the city had driven the matron, who was\nrich, to take refuge in the country the previous afternoon. Nor was it\nlikely that the sorcerer's other clients--even if all turned out better\nthan could be hoped--would venture into the streets by night. Rich people\nwere timid and suspicious; and as the Emperor had lately promulgated\nfresh and more stringent edicts against the magic arts, Posidonius had\nthought it prudent to postpone the meeting. Hence Medius had at present\nno use for the girl; but he affected to agree so readily to her wishes\nmerely out of anxiety to relieve Isarnis as soon as possible of his\nuneasiness as to her fate.\n\nThe morning was bright and hot, and the town was swarming with an excited\nmob soon after sunrise. Terror, curiosity and defiance were painted on\nevery face; however, Medius and his young companion made their way\nunhindered as far as the temple of Isis by the lake. The doors of the\nsanctuary were closed, and guarded by soldiers; but the southern and\nwestern walls were surrounded by thousands and thousands of heathen. Some\nhundreds, indeed, had passed the night there in prayer, or in sheer\nterror of the catastrophe which could not fail to ensue, and they were\nkneeling in groups, groaning, weeping, and cursing, or squatting in\nstolid resignation, weary, crushed and hopeless. It was a heart-rending\nsight, and neither Dada--who till this moment had been dreading Dame\nHerse's scolding tongue far more than the destruction of the world--nor\nher companion could forbear joining in the wail that rose from this vast\nmultitude. Medius fell on his knees groaning aloud and pulled the girl\ndown beside him; for, upon the wall that enclosed the temple precincts,\nthey now saw a priest who, after holding the sacred Sistrum up to view\nand muttering some unintelligible prayers and invocations, proceeded to\naddress the people.\n\nHe was a short stout man, and the sweat streamed down his face as he\nstood under the blazing sun to sketch a fearful picture of the monstrous\ndoom which was hanging over the city and its inhabitants. He spoke with\npompous exaggeration, in a shrill, harsh voice, wiping his face meanwhile\nwith his white linen robe or gasping for air, when breath failed him,\nlike a fish stranded on the beach. All this, however, did not trouble his\naudience, for the hatred that inspired his language, and the terror of\nthe immediate future which betrayed itself in every word exactly\nreflected their feelings. Dada alone was moved to mirth; the longer she\nlooked at him the more she felt inclined to laugh; besides, the day was\nso bright--a pigeon on the wall pattered round his mate, nodding and\nwriggling after the funny manner of pigeons in love--and, above all, her\nheart beat so high and she had such a happy instinctive feeling that all\nwas ordered for the best, that the world seemed to her a beautiful and\nfairly secure dwelling-place, in spite of the dark forebodings of the\nzealous preacher. On the eve of destruction the earth must surely look\ndifferently from this; and it struck her as highly improbable that the\ngods should have revealed their purpose to such a queer old driveller as\nthis priest, and have hidden it from other men. The very fact that this\nburly personage should prophesy evil with such conviction made her doubt\nit; and presently, when the plumes of three or four helmets became\nvisible behind the speaker, and a pair of strong hands grasped his thick\nancles and suddenly dragged him down from his eminence and back into the\ntemple, she could hardly keep herself from laughing outright.\n\nNow, however, there was more real cause for alarm a trumpet-blast was\nheard, and a maniple of the twenty-second legion marched down in close\norder on the crowd who fled before them. Medius was one of the first to\nmake off; Dada kept close to his side, and when, in his alarm, he fairly\ntook to his heels, she did the same; for, in spite of the reception she\napprehended, she felt that the sooner she could rejoin her own people the\nbetter. Never till now had she known how dear they were to her. Herse\nmight scold; but her sharpest words were truer and better than the smooth\nflattery of Medius. It was a joy to think of seeing them again--Agne,\ntoo, and little Papias--and she felt as though she were about to meet\nthem after years of separation.\n\nBy this time they were at the ship-yard, which was divided only by a lane\nfrom the Temple-grove; there lay the barge. Dada pulled off her veil and\nwaved it in the air, but the signal met with no response. They were at\nthe house, no doubt, for some men were in the very act of drawing up the\nwooden gangway which connected the vessel with the land. Medius hurried\nforward and was so fortunate as to overtake the steward, who had been\nsuperintending the operation, before he reached the garden-gate.\n\nThe old man was rejoiced to see them, and told them at once that his old\nmistress had promised Herse to give Dada shelter if she should return to\nthem. But Dada was proud. She had no liking for Gorgo or her grandmother;\nand when she had caught up to Medius, quite out of breath, she positively\nrefused the old lady's hospitality.\n\nThe barge was deserted. Karnis--so the steward informed her--had\nwithdrawn to the temple of Serapis with his son, intending to assist in\nits defence; and Herse had accompanied them, for Olympius had said that\nwomen would be found useful in the beleaguered sanctuary, in preparing\nfood for the combatants and in nursing the wounded.\n\nDada stood looking at their floating home, utterly disappointed and\ndiscouraged. She longed to follow her aunt and to gain admission to the\nSerapeutn; but how could she do this now, and of what use could she hope\nto be? There was nothing heroic in her composition, and from her infancy\nshe had always sickened at the sight of blood. She had no alternative but\nto return with Medius, and take refuge under his roof.\n\nThe singer gave her ample time for reflection; he had seated himself,\nwith the steward, under the shade of a sycamore, and the two men were\nabsorbed in convincing each other, by a hundred arguments which they had\npicked up during the last day or two, how inevitably the earth must be\nannihilated if the statue of Serapis should be overthrown. In the warmth\nof their discussion they paid no heed to the young girl, who was sitting\non a fallen Hermes by the road-side. Her vigorous and lively temperament\nrendered her little apt to dream, or even meditate, in broad daylight;\nbut the heat and the recent excitement had overwrought her and she felt\ninto a drowsy reverie. Now and again, as her heavy head drooped on her\nbreast, she fancied the Serapeum had actually fallen; then, as she raised\nit again, she recovered her consciousness that it was hot, that she had\nlost her home, and that she must, however unwillingly, return with\nMedius. But at length her eyelids closed, and as she sat in the full\nblaze of the sun, a rosy light filled her eyes and a bright vision\nfloated before her: Marcus took the modius--the corn measure--from the\nhead of the statue of Serapis and offered it to her; it was quite full of\nlilies and roses and violets, and she was delighted with the flowers and\nthanked him warmly when he set the modius down before her. He held out\nhis hands to her calmly and kindly, and she gave him hers, feeling very\nhappy under the steady, compassionate gaze of his large eyes which had\noften watched her, on board ship, for some minutes at a time. She longed\nto say something to him, but she could not speak; and she looked on quite\nunmoved as the statue of the god and the hall in which it stood were\nwrapt in flames. No smoke mingled with this clear and genial blaze, but\nit compelled her to shade her dazzled eyes; and as she lifted her hand\nshe woke to see Medius standing in front of her.\n\nHe desired her to come home with him at once, and she rose to obey,\nlistening in silence to his assurances that the lives of Karnis and\nOrpheus would not be worth a sesterce if they fell into the hands of the\nRoman soldiers.\n\nShe walked on, more hopeless and depressed than she had ever felt in her\nlife before, past the unfinished hulks in the ship-yard where no one was\nat work to-day when, coming down the lane that divided the wharf from the\ntemple precincts, she saw an old man and a little boy. She had not time\nto ask herself whether she saw rightly or was mistaken before the child\ncaught sight of her, snatched his hand away from that of his companion,\nand flew towards her, shouting her name. In the next moment little Papias\nhad rushed rapturously into her arms and, as she lifted him up, had\nthrown his hands round her neck, clinging to her as if he would never\nleave go again, while she hugged him closely for joy, and kissed him with\nher eyes full of tears. She was herself again at once; the sad and\nanxious girl was the lively Dada once more.\n\nThe man who had been leading the little boy was immediately besieged with\nquestions, and from his answers they learnt that he had found the child\nthe evening before at the corner of a street, crying bitterly; that he\nhad taken him home, and with some little difficulty had ascertained from\nhim that he belonged to some people who were living on board a barge,\nclose to a ship-yard. In spite of the excitement that prevailed he had\nbrought the child home as soon as possible, for he could fancy how\nanxious his parents must be. Dada thanked the kind-hearted artisan with\nsincere warmth, and the man, seeing how happy the girl and the child were\nat having met, went his way quite satisfied.\n\nMedius had stood by and had said nothing, but he looked on the pretty\nlittle boy with much favor. If the earth were not to crumble into\nnothingness after all, this child would be a real treasure trove; and\nwhen Dada begged him to find a corner for Papias in his house, though he\nhinted at the smallness of his earnings and the limited space at his\ncommand, he yielded, if reluctantly, to her entreaties, on her offering\nhim her gold brooch to cover his expenses.\n\nAs they made their way back she cast many loving glances at the child;\nshe was extremely fond of him, and he seemed a link to bind her to her\nown people.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nThe singer's wife and daughter had joined some neighbors in sacrificing a\nblack lamb to Zeus, a ceremony that was usual on the occasion of\nearthquakes or very severe storms; but it was done very secretly, for the\nedicts prohibiting the sacrifice of victims to the gods were promptly and\nrigidly enforced. The more the different members of the family came into\ncontact with other citizens, the more deeply rooted was their terror that\nthe end of all things was at hand. As soon as it was dark the old man\nburied all his savings, for even if everyone else were to perish, he felt\nthat he--though how or why he knew not--might be exempt from the common\ndoom.\n\nThe night was warm, and great and small alike slept--or lay awake--under\nthe stars so as not to be overwhelmed by the crash of roofs and walls;\nthe next day was oppressively hot, and the family cowered in a row in the\nscanty shade of a palm and of a fig-tree, the only growth of any size in\nthe singer's garden. Medius himself, in spite of the scorching sun, could\nnot be still.\n\nHe rushed off to the town again and again, but only to return each time\nto enhance the anguish of the household by relating all sorts of horrors\nwhich he had picked up in his wanderings. They were obliged to satisfy\ntheir hunger with bread, cheese, and fruit, for the two slave-women\npositively refused to risk their lives by cooking in the house.\n\nMedius' temper varied as he came and went; now he was gentle and\naffectionate, and then again he raged like a madman; and his wife outdid\nhim. At one moment she would abandon him and the children, while she\nanointed the household altar and put up prayers; at the next she railed\nat the baseness and cruelty of the gods. When her husband brought the\nnews that the Serapeum was surrounded by the Imperial troops, she scoffed\nand spit at the sacred images, and five minutes later she was vowing a\nsacrifice to the deities of Olympus. The general confusion was\ndistracting; as the sun rose, the anguish, physical and mental, of the\nwhole family greatly increased, and by noon had reached an appalling\npitch.\n\nDada looked on intensely disgusted, and only shook her head when one or\nanother of her companions was sure she felt a shock of earthquake or\nheard the roll of distant thunder. She could not explain to herself why\nshe, who was usually timid enough, was exempt from the universal panic\nthough she felt deeply pitiful towards the terrified women and children.\nNone of them troubled themselves about her; the day dragged on with\nintolerable slowness, quenching all her gay vivacity, while she was\nutterly exhausted by the scorching African sun, of which, till now, she\nhad never known the power. At last, in the afternoon, she found the\nlittle garden, which was by this time heated like an oven, quite\nunbearable, and she looked round for Papias. The child was sitting on the\nwall looking at the congregation streaming into the basilica of St. Mark.\nDada followed his example, and when the many-voiced psalms rang out of\nthe open door of the church, she listened to the music, for it seemed\nlong since she had heard any, and after wiping the perspiration from the\nlittle boy's face with her peplos, she pointed to the building and said:\n\"It must be nice and cool in there.\"\n\n\"Of course it is,\" said Papias.\n\n\"It is never too hot in church. I will tell you what--we will go there.\"\nThis was a bright idea; for, thought Dada, any place must be pleasanter\nthan this; and she felt strongly tempted, too, to see the inside of one\nof Agne's temples and to sing once more, or, at any rate, hear others\nsing.\n\n\"Come along,\" she said, and they stole through the deserted house to get\ninto the street by the atrium. Medius saw them, but he made no attempt to\ndetain them; he had sunk into lethargic indifference. It was not an hour\nsince he had taken stock of his life and means, setting the small figure\nof his average income against his hospitality to Dada and her little\ncompanion; but then, again, he had calculated that, if all went well, he\nmight make considerable profits out of the girl and the child. Now, he\nfelt it was all the same to him whether he and his family and Dada met\ntheir doom in the house or out of it.\n\nDada and Papias soon reached the church of St. Mark, the oldest Christian\nbasilica in the city. It consisted of a vestibule--the narthex--and the\nbody of the church, a very long hall, with a flat roof ceiled with\nstained wood and supported on a double row of quite simple columns. This\nspace was divided into two parts by a screen of pierced work; the\ninnermost portion had a raised floor or podium, on which stood a table\nwith chairs placed round it in a semicircle. The centre seat was higher\nand more richly decorated than the others. These chairs were unoccupied;\na few deacons in 'talares' of light-colored brocade were busied about the\ntable.\n\nIn the middle of the vestibule there was a small tank; here a number of\npenitents had collected who, with their flayed ribs and abject\nlamentations, offered a more melancholy spectacle than even the terrified\ncrowd whom Dada had seen the day before, gathered round the temple of\nIsis. Indeed, site would have withdrawn at once but that Papias dragged\nher forward, and when she had passed through the great door into the nave\nshe breathed a sigh of relief. A soothing sense of respite came over her,\nsuch as she had rarely felt; for the lofty building, which was only half\nfull, was deliciously cool and the subdued light was restful to her eyes.\nThe slight perfume of incense and the sober singing of the assembled\nworshippers were soothing to her senses, and, as she took a seat on one\nof the benches, she felt sheltered and safe.\n\nThe old church struck her as a home of perfect peace; in all the city,\nshe thought, there could hardly be another spot where she might rest so\nquietly and contentedly. So for some little time she gave herself up,\nbody and soul, to the refreshing influences of the coolness, the\nsolemnity, the fragrance and the music; but presently her attention was\nattracted to two women in the seats just in front of her.\n\nOne of them, who had a child on her arm, whispered to her neighbor:\n\n\"You here, Hannah, among the unbaptized? How are you going on at home?\"\n\n\"I cannot stay long,\" was the answer. \"It is all the same where one sits,\nand when I leave I shall disturb no one. But my heart is heavy; the child\nis very bad. The doctor says he cannot live through the day, and I felt\nas if I must come to church.\"\n\nVery right, very right. Do you stay here and I will go to your house at\nonce; my husband will not mind waiting.\"\n\n\"Thank you very much, but Katharine is staying with the boy and he is\nquite safe there.\"\n\n\"Then I will stay and pray with you for the dear little child.\"\n\nDada had not missed a word of this simple dialogue. The woman whose child\nwas ill at home, and who had come here to pray for strength or mercy, had\na remarkably sweet face; as the girl saw the two friends bow their heads\nand fold their hands with downcast eyes, she thought to herself: \"Now\nthey are praying for the sick child . . .\" and involuntarily she, too,\nbent her curly head, and murmured softly: \"O ye gods, or thou God of the\nChristians, or whatever thou art called that hast power over life and\ndeath, make this poor woman's little son well again. When I get home\nagain I will offer up a cake or a fowl--a lamb is so costly.\"\n\nAnd she fancied that some invisible spirit heard her, and it gave her a\nvague satisfaction to repeat her simple supplication over and over again.\n\nMeanwhile a miserable blind dwarf had seated himself by her side; near\nhim stood the old dog that guided him. He held him by a string and had\nbeen allowed to bring his indispensable comrade into the church. The old\nman joined loudly and devoutly in the psalm which the rest of the\ncongregation were singing; his voice had lost its freshness, no doubt,\nbut he sang in perfect tune. It was a pleasure to Dada to listen, and\nthough she only half understood the words of the psalm she easily caught\nthe air and began to sing too, at first timidly and hardly audibly; but\nshe soon gained courage and, following the example of little Papias,\njoined in with all her might.\n\nShe felt as though she had reached land after a stormy and uncomfortable\nvoyage, and had found refuge in a hospitable home; she looked about her\nto discover whether the news of the approaching destruction of the world\nhad not penetrated even here, but she could not feel certain; for, though\nmany faces expressed anguish of mind, contrition, and a passionate\ndesire--perhaps for help or, perhaps, for something quite different--not\na cry of lamentation was to be heard, such as had rent the air by the\ntemple of Isis, and most of the men and women assembled here were\nsinging, or praying in silent absorption. There were none of the frenzied\nmonks who had terrified her in the Xenodochium and in the streets; on\nthis day of tumult and anxiety they are devoting all their small strength\nand great enthusiasm to the service of the Church militant.\n\nThis meeting, at so unusual an hour, had been convened by Eusebius, the\ndeacon of the district, with the intention of calming the spirits of\nthose who had caught the general infection of alarm. Dada could see the\nold man step up into a raised pulpit on the inner side of the screen\nwhich parted the baptized from the unbaptized members of the\ncongregation; his silvery hair and beard, and the cheerful calm of his\nface, with the high white forehead and gentle, loving gaze, attracted her\ngreatly. She had heard Karnis speak of Plato, and knew by heart some\naxioms of his doctrine, and she had always thought of the sage as a young\nman; but in advanced age, she fancied, he might have looked like\nEusebius. Aye, and it would have well beseemed this old man to die, like\nthe great Athenian, at a mirthful wedding-feast.\n\nThe priest was evidently about to give a discourse, and much as she\nadmired him, this idea prompted her to quit the church; for, though she\ncould sit still for hours to hear music, she found nothing more irksome\nthan to be compelled to listen for any length of time to a speech she\nmight not interrupt. She was therefore rising to leave; but Papias held\nher back and entreated her so pathetically with his blue baby-eyes not to\ntake him away and spoil his pleasure that she yielded, though the\nopportunity was favorable for moving unobserved, as the woman in front of\nher was preparing to go and was shaking hands with her neighbor. She had\nindeed risen from her seat when a little girl came in behind her and\nwhispered, loud enough for Dada's keen ears to catch the words: \"Come\nmother, come home at once. He has opened his eyes and called for you. The\nphysician says all danger is over.\"\n\nThe mother in her turn whispered to her friend in glad haste: \"All is\nwell!\" and hurried away with the girl. The friend she had left raised her\nhands and eyes in thanksgiving, and Dada, too, smiled in sympathy and\npleasure. Had the God of the Christian heard her prayer with theirs.\n\nMeanwhile the preacher had ended his preliminary prayer and began to\nexplain to his hearers that he had bidden them to the church in order to\nwarn them against foolish terrors, and to lead them into the frame of\nmind in which the true Christian ought to live in these momentous times\nof disturbance. He wished to point out to his brethren and sisters in the\nLord what was to be feared from the idols and their overthrow, what the\nworld really owed to the heathen, and what he expected from his\nfellow-believers when the splendid and imminent triumph of the Church\nshould be achieved.\n\n\"Let us look back a little, my beloved,\" he said, after this brief\nintroduction. \"You have all heard of the great Alexander, to whom this\nnoble city owes its existence and its name. He was a mighty instrument in\nthe hand of the Lord, for he carried the tongue and the wisdom of the\nGreeks throughout all lands, so that, in the fulness of time, the\ndoctrine which should proceed from the only Son of God might be\nunderstood by all nations and go home to all hearts. In those days every\npeople had its own idols by hundreds, and in every tongue on earth men\nput up their prayers to the supreme Power which makes itself felt\nwherever mortal creatures dwell. Here, by the Nile, after Alexander's\ndeath, reigned the Ptolemies; and the Egyptian citizens of Alexandria\nprayed to other gods than their Greek neighbors, so that they could never\nunite in worshipping their divinities; but Philadelphus, the second\nPtolemy, a very wise man, gave them a god in common. In consequence of a\nvision seen in a dream he had the divinity brought from Sinope, on the\nshores of Pontus, to this town. This idol was Serapis, and he was raised\nto the throne of divinity here, not by Heaven, but by a shrewd and\nprudent man; a grand temple was built for him, which is to this day one\nof the wonders of the world, and a statue of him was made, as beautiful\nas any image ever formed by the hand of man. You have seen and know them\nboth, and you know too, how, before the gospel was preached in\nAlexandria, crowds of all classes, excepting the Jews, thronged the\nSerapeum.\n\n\"A dim perception of the sublime teaching of the Lord by whom God has\nredeemed the world had dawned, even before His appearance on earth, on\nthe spirit of the best of the heathen, and in the hearts of those wise\nmen who--though not born into the state of grace--sought and strove after\nthe truth, after inward purity, and an apprehension of the Almighty. The\nLord chose them out to prepare the hearts of mankind for the good\ntidings, and make them fit to receive the gospel when the Star should\nrise over Bethlehem.\n\n\"Many of these sages had infused precious doctrine into the worship of\nSerapis before the hour of true redemption had come. They enjoined the\nservants of Serapis to be more zealous in the care of the soul than in\nthat of the body, for they had detected the imperishable nature of the\nspiritual and divine part of man; they saw that we are brought into\nexistence by sin and love, and we must therefore die to our sinful love\nand rise again through the might of love eternal. These Hellenes, like\nthe Egyptian sages of the times of the Pharaohs, divined and declared\nthat the soul was held responsible after death for all it had done of\ngood or evil in its mortal body. They distinguished virtue and sin by the\neternal law, which was written in the hearts even of the heathen, to the\nend that they, by nature, might do the works of the law; nay, there were\nsome of their loftiest spirits who, though they knew not the Lord, it is\ntrue, required the repentance in the sinner, in the name of Serapis, and\npronounced that it was good to give up the delusive joys and vain\npleasures of the flesh and to break away from the evil--whether of body\nor of soul--which we are led into by the senses. They called upon their\ndisciples to hold meetings for meditation whereby they might discern\ntruth and the divinity; and the vast precincts of the Serapeum contained\ncells and alcoves for penitents and devotees, in which many a soul\ntouched by grace, dead to the world and absorbed in the contemplation of\nsuch things as they esteemed high and heavenly, has ripened to old age\nand death.\n\n\"But, my beloved, the Light in which we rejoice, through no merits or\ndeserts of our own, had not yet been shed on the lost children of those\ndays of darkness; and all those noble, and indeed most admirable efforts\nwere polluted by an admixture, even here, of coarse superstition, bloody\nsacrifices, and foolish adoration of perishable stone idols and beasts\nwithout understanding; and in other places by the false and delusive arts\nof Magians and sorcerers. Even the dim apprehension of true salvation was\ndarkened and distorted by the subtleties of a vain and inconsistent\nphilosophy, which held a theory as immutably true one day and overthrew\nor denied it the next. Thus, by degrees, the temple of the idol of Sinope\ndegenerated into a stronghold of deceit and bloodshed, of the basest\nsuperstition, the pleasures of the flesh, and abominations that cried to\nHeaven. Learning, to be sure, was still cherished in the halls of the\nSerapeum; but its disciples turned with hardened hearts from the truth\nwhich was sent into the world by the grace of God, and they remained the\nprophets of error. The doctrines which the sages had associated with the\nidea of Serapis, debased and degraded by the most contemptible\ntrivialities; lost all their worth and dignity; and after the great\nApostle to whom this basilica is dedicated, had brought the gospel to\nAlexandria, the idol's throne began to totter, and the tidings of\nsalvation shook its foundations and brought it to the verge of\ndestruction in spite of the persecutions, in spite of the edicts of the\napostate Julian, in spite of the desperate efforts of the philosophers,\nsophists, and heathen--for our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, has given\ncertainty and actuality to the fleeting shadow of half-divined truth\nwhich lies in the core of the worship of Serapis. The pure and radiant\nstar of Christian love has risen in the place of the dim nebulous mist of\nSerapis; and just as the moon pales when the sun appears triumphant, the\nworship of Serapis has died away in a thousand places where the gospel\nhas been received. Even here, in Alexandria, its feeble flame is kept\nalive only by infinite care, and if the might of our pious and Christian\nEmperor makes itself felt-tomorrow, or next day--then, my beloved, it\nwill vanish in smoke, and no power on earth can fan it into life again.\nNot our grandsons, no, but our own children will ask: Who--what was\nSerapis? For he who shall be overthrown is no longer a mighty god but an\nidol bereft of his splendor and his dignity. This is no struggle of might\nagainst might; it is the death-stroke given to a wounded and vanquished\nfoe. The tree is rotten to the core and can crush no one in its fall, but\nit will cover all who stand near it with dust and rubbish. The sovereign\nhas outlived his dominion, and when his fingers drop the sceptre few\nindeed will bewail him, for the new King has already mounted the throne\nand His is the Kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever! Amen.\"\n\nDada had listened to the deacon's address with no particular interest,\nbut the conclusion struck her attention. The old man looked dignified and\nhonest; but Father Karnis was a well-meaning man, no doubt, and one of\nthose who are wont to keep on the winning side. How was it that the\npreacher could draw so pitiable a picture of the very same god whose\ngreatness her uncle had praised in such glowing terms only two days\nsince? How could the same thing appear so totally different to two\ndifferent people?\n\nThe priest looked more sagacious than the musician; Marcus, the young\nChristian, had a most kind heart; there was not a better or gentler\ncreature under the sun than Agne--it was quite possible that Christianity\nwas something very different in reality from what her foster parents\nchose to represent. As to the frightful consequences of the overthrow of\nthe temple of Serapis, on that point she was completely reassured, and\nshe prepared to listen with greater attention as Eusebius went on:\n\n\"Let us rejoice, beloved! The great idol's days are numbered! Do you know\nwhat that false worship has been in our midst? It has been like a\nsplendid and richly-dressed trireme sailing, plague-stricken, into a\nharbor full of ships and boats. Woe to those who allow themselves to be\ntempted on board by the magnificence of its decorations! How great is\ntheir chance of infection, how easily they will carry it from ship to\nship, and from the ships on to the shore, till the pestilence has spread\nfrom the harbor to the city! Let us then be thankful to those who destroy\nthe gorgeous vessel, who drive it from amongst us, or sink or burn it.\nMay our Father in Heaven give courage to their hearts, strength to their\nhands and blessing on their deeds! When we hear: 'Great Serapis has\nfallen to the earth and is no more, we and the world are free from him!'\nthen, in this city, and wherever Christians dwell and worship, let a\nsolemn festival be held.\n\n\"But still let us be just, still let us bear in mind all the great and\ngood gifts that the trireme brought to our parents when it rode the waves\nmanned by a healthy crew. If we do, it will be with sincere pity that we\nshall watch the proud vessel sink to the bottom, and we shall understand\nthe grief of those whom once it bore over ebb and flow, and who believe\nthey owe every thing to it. We shall rejoice doubly, too, to think that\nwe ourselves have a safe bark with stout planks and strong masts, and a\ntrustworthy pilot at the helm; and that we may confidently invite others\nto join us on board as soon as they have purified themselves of the\nplague with which they have been smitten.\n\n\"I think you will all have understood this parable. When Serapis falls\nthere will be lamentation and woe among the heathen; but we, who are true\nChristians, ought not to pass them by, but must strive to heal and save\nthe wounded and sick at heart. When Serapis falls you must be the\nphysicians--healers of souls, as the Lord hath said; and if we desire to\nheal, our first task must be to discover in what the sufferings consist\nof those we wish to succor, for our choice of medicine must depend on the\nnature of the injury.\n\n\"What I mean is this: None can give comfort but those who know how to\nsympathize with the soul that craves it, who feel the sorrows of others\nas keenly as though they were their own. And this gift, my brethren, is,\nnext to faith, the Christian grace which of all others best pleases our\nHeavenly Master.\n\n\"I see it in my mind's eye! The ruined edifice of the Serapeum, the\nmasterpiece of Bryaxis laid in fragments in the dust, and thousands of\nwailing heathen! As the Jews wept and hung their harps on the trees by\nthe waters of Babylon when they remembered Zion, so do I see the heathen\nweep as they think of the perished splendor. They themselves, indeed,\nruined and desecrated the glory they bewail; and when something higher\nand purer took its place they hardened their hearts, and, instead of\nleaving the dead to bury their dead and throwing themselves hopefully\ninto the new life, they refused to be parted from the putrefying corpse.\nThey were fools, but their folly was fidelity; and if we can win them\nover to our holy faith they will be faithful unto death, as they have\nbeen to their old gods, clinging to Jesus and earning the crown of life.\n'There will be more joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth than\nover ninety and nine that need no repentance,'--that you have heard; and\nwhichever among you loves the Saviour can procure him a great joy if he\nguides only one of these weeping heathen into the Kingdom of Heaven.\n\n\"But perhaps you will ask: Is not the sorrow of the heathen a vain thing?\nWhat is it after all that they bewail? To understand that, try to picture\nto yourselves what it is that they think they are losing. Verily it is\nnot a small matter, and it includes many things for which we and all\nmankind owe them a debt of gratitude. We call ourselves Christians and\nare proud of the name; but we also call ourselves Hellenes, and are proud\nof that name too. It was under the protection of the old gods, whose fall\nis about to be consummated, that the Greeks achieved marvellous deeds,\nnurturing the gifts of the intellect which the Almighty bestowed on their\nrace, like faithful gardeners, and making them bring forth marvellous\nfruit. In the realm of thought the Greek is sovereign of the nations, and\nhe has given to perishable matter a perfection of form which has elevated\nand vivified it to immortality. Nothing more beautiful has ever been\nimagined or executed, before or since, or by any other people, than was\nproduced by Greece in its prime. But perhaps you will ask, why did not\nthe Redeemer come down among our fathers in those glorious days? Because\nbeauty, as they conceived and still conceive of it, is a mere perishable\naccident of matter, and because a race which thus devoted every thought\nand feeling to an inspired and fervent worship of beauty--which was so\nabsorbed in the contemplation of the visible, could have no longing for\nthe invisible which is the real life that came down among us with the\nonly-begotten Son of God. Nevertheless Beauty is beautiful; and when the\ntime shall come when the visible is married to the invisible, when\neternal Truth is clothed in perfect form, then, and not till then, will\nthe ideal which our fathers strove after in the great old days be\nrealized, by the grace of the Saviour.\n\n\"But this visible beauty, which they so passionately cherished, does us\ngood service too, so long as we do not allow it to dazzle us and lead us\nastray from the one thing needful. To whom, if not to the heathen\nHellenes, do our great teachers owe, under God, the noble art of\ncoordinating their loftiest feelings, and casting them in forms which are\nintelligible to the Christian and at once instruct, delight, and edify\nhim? It was in a heathen school that each one of your pastors--that even\nI, the humblest of them--studied that rhetoric which enables me to utter\nwith a flowing tongue the things which the Spirit gives me to speak to\nyou; and if some day there are Christian schools, in which our sons may\nacquire the same power, they must adopt many of the laws devised by the\nheathen. If in the future we are rich enough to raise churches to the\nAlmighty, to the Virgin Mary and the great Saints, in any way worthy of\ntheir sublime merits, we shall owe our skill to the famous architects of\nheathen Hellas. We are indebted to the arts of the heathen for a thousand\nthings in daily use, beside numberless others that lend charm to\nexistence. Yes, my beloved, when we consider all they did for us we\ncannot in justice withhold our tribute of gratitude and admiration.\n\n\"Nor can we doubt that the best of them were acceptable to the Almighty\nhimself, for he granted to them to see darkly and from afar what he has\nbrought nigh to us, and poured into our hearts by divine revelation. You\nall know the name of Plato. He, from whom Salvation was hidden, saw\nremotely, by presentiment as it were, many things which to us, the\nRedeemed, are clear and plain and near. He perceived the relation of\nearthly beauty and heavenly truth. The great gift of Love binds and\nsupports us all and Plato gave the name of the divine Eros, that is\ndivine love, to an inspired devotion to the Imperishable. He placed\ngoodness--the Good--at the top of the great scale of Ideas which he\nconstructed. The Good was, to him, the highest Idea and the uttermost of\nwhich we can conceive:--Good, whose properties he made manifest by every\nmeans his lofty and lucid mind could command. This heathen, my brethren\nand sisters, was well worthy of the grace bestowed on us. Do justice then\nto the blinded souls, justice in Plato's sense of the word; he calls the\nvirtue of reason Wisdom; the virtue of spirit Courage, and the virtue of\nthe senses Temperance. Well, well! 'Prove all things and hold fast that\nwhich is good.' That is to say: consider what may be worth anything in\nthe works of the heathen that it may be duly preserved; but, on the other\nhand, tread all that is idolatry in the dust, all that brings the unclean\nthing among us, all that imperils our souls and bodies, or anything that\nis high and pure in life; but do not forget, my beloved, all that the\nheathen have done for us. Be temperate in all things; avoid excess of\nzeal; for thus, and thus only, can we be just. 'It is not to hate, but to\nlove each other that we are here.' It was not a Christian but Sophocles,\none of the greatest of the heathen, who uttered those words, and he\nspeaks them still to us!\"\n\nEusebius paused and drew a deep breath.\n\nDada had listened eagerly, for it pleased her to hear all that she had\nbeen wont to prize spoken of here with due appreciation. But since\nEusebius had begun to discourse about Plato she had been disturbed by two\nmen sitting just in front of her. One was tall and lean, with a long\nnarrow head, and the other a shorter and more comfortable-looking\npersonage. The first fidgeted incessantly, nudging and twitching his\ncompanion, and looking now and then as if he were ready to start up and\ninterrupt the preacher. This behavior evidently annoyed his neighbors who\nkept signing to him to be quiet and hushing him down, while he took no\nnotice of their demonstrations but kept clearing his throat with\nobtrusive emphasis and at last scraped and shuffled his feet on the\nfloor, though not very noisily. But Eusebius began again:\n\n\"And now, my brethren, how ought we to demean ourselves in these fateful\ntimes of disturbance? As Christians; only--or rather, by God's aiding\ngrace as Christians in the true sense of our Lord and Master, according\nto the precepts given by Him through the Apostles. Their words shall be\nmine. They say there are two paths--the path of Life and the path of\nDeath, and there is a great difference between them. The path of Life is\nthis: First, Thou shalt love God who hath created thee; next thou shalt\nlove thy neighbor as thyself, and whatsoever thou wouldst men should do\nunto thee even so do unto them; but what thou wouldst not have done unto\nthee do thou not to them. And the sum of the doctrine contained in these\nwords is this: Bless those that curse you, pray for your enemies and\nrepent for those who persecute you, for 'if ye love them that love you\nwhat thank have ye? Do not even the heathen the same?' Love those that\nhate you and you will have no enemies.\n\n\"Take this teaching of the holy Apostles to heart this day. Beware of\nmocking or persecuting those who have been your enemies. Even the nobler\nheathen regarded it as an act of grace to respect the conquered foe, and\nto you, as Christians, it should be a law. It is not so hard to forgive\nan enemy when we regard him as a possible friend in the future; and the\nChristian can go so far as to love him when he remembers that every man\nis his brother and neighbor, and equally precious in the sight of the\nSaviour who is dearer to us than life.\n\n\"The heathen, the idolater, is the Christian's archfoe; but soon he will\nbe in fetters at our feet. And, then, my brethren, pray for him; for if\nthe Almighty, who is without spot or stain and perfect beyond words, can\nforgive the sinner, ye who are base and guilty may surely forgive.\n'Fishers of souls' we all should be; try to fulfil the injunction. Draw\nthe enemy to you by kindness and love; show him by your example the\nbeauty of the Christian life; let him perceive the benefits of Salvation;\nlead those whose gods and temples we have overthrown, into our churches;\nand when, after triumphing over those blind souls by the sword, we have\nalso conquered them by love, faith and prayer--when they can rejoice with\nus in the Redemption by our Lord Jesus Christ--then shall we all be as\none fold under one shepherd, and peace and joy shall reign in the city\nwhich is now torn by dissension and strife.\"\n\nAt this point the preacher was interrupted, for a loud uproar broke out\nin the Narthex--[The vestibule of the early Christian basilica which was\nopen to penitents.]--shouts and cries of men fighting, mingled with the\ndull roar of a bull.\n\nThe congregation started to their feet in extreme consternation, and the\ndoor was flung open and a host of heathen youths rushed into the nave,\nfollowed by an overwhelming force of Christians from whom they had sought\nrefuge in the sanctuary. Here they turned at bay to make a last desperate\nresistance. Garlands, stripped of their leaves and flowers, still crowned\ntheir heads and hung over their shoulders. They had been attacked close\nto the church, by a party of monks when in the act of driving a\ngaily-decorated steer to the temple of Apollo, in defiance of the\nImperial edict; and the beast, terrified by the tumult, had rushed into\nthe narthex for shelter.\n\nThe fight in the church was a short one; the idolaters were soon\nvanquished; but Eusebius threw himself between them and the monks, and\ntried to save the victims from the revengeful fury of the conquerors. The\nwomen had all made for the door, but they did not venture out into the\nvestibule, for the young bull was still raging there, trampling or\ntossing everything that came in his way. At last, however, a soldier of\nthe city-watch dealt him a sword-thrust in the neck, and he fell rolling\nin his own blood. At once the congregation forced their way out,\nshrieking with alarm and excitement, Dada among the number, dragging the\nchild with her. Papias pulled with all his might to keep her back,\ndeclaring with vehement insistence that he had seen Agne in the church\nand wanted to go back to her. Dada, however, neither heard nor heeded;\nfrightened out of her wits she went on with the crowd, taking him with\nher.\n\nShe never paused till she reached the house of Medius, quite out of\nbreath; but then, as the little boy still asserted that he had seen his\nsister in the sanctuary, she turned back with him, as soon as the throng\nhad dispersed. In the church there was no one to hinder them; but they\ngot no further than the dividing screen, for on the floor beyond lay the\nmutilated and bleeding bodies of many a youth who had fallen in the\ncontest.\n\nHow she made her way back to the house of Medius once more she never\nknew. For the first time she had been brought face to face with life in\nhideous earnest, and when the singer went to look for her in her room, at\ndusk, he was startled to find her bright face clouded and her eyes dim\nwith tears. How bitterly she had been weeping Medius indeed could not\nknow; he ascribed her altered appearance to fear of the approaching\ncataclysm and was happy to be able to tell her, in all good faith, that\nthe danger was as good as over. Posidonius, the Magian, had been to see\nhim, and had completely reassured him. This man, whose accomplice he had\nbeen again and again in producing false apparitions of spirits and\ndemons, had once gained an extraordinary influence over him by casting\nsome mysterious spell upon him and reducing his will to abject subjection\nto his own; and this magician, who had recovered his own self-possession,\nhad assured him, with an inimitable air of infallibility, that the fall\nof the Temple of Serapis would involve no greater catastrophe than that\nof any old worn-out statue. Since this announcement Medius had laughed at\nhis own alarms; he had recovered his \"strong-mindedness,\" and when\nPosidonius had given him three tickets for the Hippodrome he had jumped\nat the offer.\n\nThe races were to be run next day, in spite of the general panic that had\nfallen on the citizens; and Dada, when he invited her to join him and his\ndaughter in-the enjoyment of so great a treat, dried her eyes and\naccepted gleefully.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nAlarming as was the outlook in Alexandria, the races, were to be held as\nusual. This had been decided only a few hours since at the Bishop's\npalace, and criers had been sent abroad throughout the streets and\nsquares of the city to bid the inhabitants to this popular entertainment.\nIn the writing-office of the Ephemeris, which would be given to the\npublic the first thing in the morning, five hundred slaves or more were\noccupied in writing from dictation a list of the owners of the horses, of\nthe 'agitatores' who would drive them, and of the prizes offered to the\nwinners, whether Christians or heathen.\n\n   [Ephemeris--The news-sheet, which was brought out, not only in Rome,\n   but in all the cities of the Empire, and which kept the citizens\n   informed of all important events.]\n\nThe heat in the Episcopal council-hall had been oppressive, and not less\nso the heat of temper among the priests assembled there; for they had\nfully determined, for once, not to obey their prelate with blind\nsubmission, and they knew full well that Theophilus, on occasion, if his\nwill were opposed, could not merely thunder but wield the bolt.\n\nBesides the ecclesiastical members of the council, Cynegius, the Imperial\nlegate--Evagrius, the Prefect--and Romanus, the commander-in-chief and\nComes of Egypt,--had all been present. The officials of the Empire--Roman\nstatesmen who knew Alexandria and her citizens well, and who had often\nsmarted under the spiritual haughtiness of her Bishop--were on the\nprelate's side. Cynegius was doubtful; but the priests, who had not\naltogether escaped the alarms that had stricken the whole population,\nwere so bold as to declare against a too hasty decision, and to say that\nthe celebration of the games at a time of such desperate peril was not\nonly presumptuous but sinful, and a tempting of God.\n\nIn answer to a scornful enquiry from Theophilus as to where the danger\nlay if--as the Comes promised--Serapis were to be overthrown on the\nmorrow, one of the assembly answered in the name of his colleagues. This\nman, now very old, had formerly been a wonderfully successful exorcist,\nand, notwithstanding that he was a faithful Christian, he was the leader\nof a gnostic sect and a diligent student of magic. He proceeded to argue,\nwith all the zeal and vehemence of conviction, that Serapis was the most\nterrible of all the heathen daemons, and that all the oracles of\nantiquity, all the prophecies of the seers, and all the conclusions of\nthe Magians and astrologers would be proved false if his fall--which the\npresent assembly could only regard as a great boon from Heaven--did not\nentail some tremendous convulsion of nature.\n\nAt this Theophilus gave the reins to his wrath; he snatched a little\ncrucifix from the wall above his episcopal throne, and broke it in\nfragments, exclaiming in deep tones that quavered with wrath:\n\n\"And which do you regard as the greater: The only-begotten Son of God, or\nthat helpless image?\" And he flung the pieces of the broken crucifix down\non the table round which they were sitting. Then, as though\nhorror-stricken at his own daring act, he fell on his knees, raised his\neyes and hands in prayer, and gathering up the broken image, kissed it\ndevoutly.\n\nThis rapid scene had a tremendous effect. Amazement and suspense were\npainted on every face, not a hand, not a lip moved as Theophilus rose\nagain and cast a glance of proud and stern defiance round the assembly,\nwhich each man took to himself. For some moments he remained silent, as\nthough awaiting a reply; but his repellent mien and majestic bearing made\nit sufficiently clear that he was ready to annihilate any opponent. In\nfact none of the priests contradicted him; and, though Evagrius looked at\nhim with a doubting shake of his shrewd head, Cynegius on the other hand\nnodded assent. The Bishop, however, seemed to care for neither dissent\nnor approval, and it was in brief and cutting terms, with no flourish of\nrhetoric, that he laid it down that wood and stone had nothing to do with\nthe divine Majesty, even though they were made in the image of all that\nwas Holy and worshipful or were most lavishly beautified by the hand of\nman with the foul splendors of perishable wealth. The greater the power\nascribed by superstition to the base material--whatever form it bore--the\nmore odious must it be to the Christian. Any man who should believe that\na daemon could turn even a breath of the Most High to its own will and\npurpose, would do well to beware of idolatry, for Satan had already laid\nhis clutches somewhere on his robe.\n\nAt this sweeping accusation many a cheek colored wrathfully, and not a\nword was spoken when the Bishop proceeded to require of his hearers that,\nif the Serapeum should fall into the hands of the Imperial troops, it\nshould be at once and ruthlessly destroyed, and that his hearers should\nnot cease from the work of ruin till this scandal of the city should be\nswept from the face of the earth.\n\n\"If then the world crumbles to atoms!\" he cried, \"well and good--the\nheathen are right and we are wrong, and in that case it were better to\nperish; but as surely as I sit on this throne by the grace of God,\nSerapis is the vain imagining of fools and blind, and there is no god but\nthe God whose minister I am!\"\n\n\"Whose Kingdom is everlasting, Amen!\" chanted an old priest; and Cynegius\nrose to explain that he should do nothing to hinder the total overthrow\nof the temple and image.\n\nThen the Comes spoke in defence of the Bishop's resolution to allow the\nraces to be held, as usual, on the morrow. He sketched a striking picture\nof the shallow, unstable nature of the Alexandrians, a people wholly\ngiven over to enjoyment. The troops at his command were few in number in\ncomparison with the heathen population of the city, and it was a very\nimportant matter to keep a large proportion of the worshippers of Serapis\noccupied elsewhere at the moment of the decisive onset. Gladiator-fights\nwere prohibited, and the people were tired of wild beasts; but races, in\nwhich heathen and Christian alike might enter their horses for\ncompetition, must certainly prove most attractive just at this time of\nbitter rivalry and oppugnancy between the two religions, and would draw\nthousands of the most able-bodied idolaters to the Hippodrome. All this\nhe had already considered and discussed with the Bishop and Cynegius;\nnay, that zealous destroyer of heathen worship had come to Alexandria\nwith the express purpose of overthrowing the Serapeum; but, as a prudent\nstatesman, he had first made sure that the time and circumstances were\npropitious for the work of annihilation. All that he had here seen and\nheard had only strengthened his purpose; so, after suggesting a few\npossible difficulties, and enjoining moderation and mercy as the guiding\nprinciples of his sovereign, he commanded, in the Emperor's name, that\nthe sanctuary of Serapis should be seized by force of arms and utterly\ndestroyed, and that the races should be held on the morrow.\n\nThe assembled council bowed low; and when Theophilus had closed the\nmeeting with a prayer he withdrew to his ungarnished study, with his head\nbent and an air of profound humility, as though he had met with a defeat\ninstead of gaining a victory.\n\n          .......................\n\nThe fate of the great god of the heathen was sealed, but in the wide\nprecincts of the Serapeum no one thought of surrender or of prompt\ndefeat. The basement of the building, on which stood the grandest temple\never erected by the Hellenes, presented a smooth and slightly scarped\nrampart of impregnable strength to the foe. A sloping way extended up\nover a handsomely-decorated incline, and from the middle of the grand\ncurve described by this road, two flights of steps led up to the three\ngreat doors in the facade of the building.\n\nThe heathen had taken care to barricade this approach in all haste,\npiling the road and steps with statuary-images of the gods of the finest\nworkmanship, figures and busts of kings, queens, and heroes, Hermes,\ncolumns, stelae, sacrificial stones, chairs and benches-torn from their\nplaces by a thousand eager hands. The squared flags of the pavement and\nthe granite blocks of the steps had been built up into walls and these\nwere still being added to after the besiegers had surrounded the temple;\nfor the defenders tore down stones, pilasters, gutters and pieces of the\ncornice, and flung them on to the outworks, or, when they could, on to\nthe foe who for the present were not eager to commence hostilities.\n\nThe captains of the Imperial force had miscalculated the strength of the\nheathen garrison. They supposed a few hundreds might have entrenched\nthemselves, but on the roof alone above a thousand men were to be seen,\nand every hour seemed to increase the number of men and women crowding\ninto the Serapeum. The Romans could only suppose that this constantly\ngrowing multitude had been concealed in the secret halls and chambers of\nthe temple ever since Cynegius had first arrived, and had no idea that\nthey were still being constantly reinforced.\n\nKarnis, Herse, and Orpheus, among others, had made their way thither from\nthe timber-yard, down the dry conduit, and an almost incessant stream of\nthe adherents of the old gods had preceded and followed them.\n\nWhile Eusebius had been exhorting his congregation in the church of St.\nMark to Christian love towards the idolaters, these had collected in the\ntemple precincts to the number of about four thousand, all eager for the\nstruggle. A vast multitude! But the extent of the Serapeum was so\nenormous that the mass of people was by no means densely packed on the\nroof, in the halls, and in the underground passages and rooms. There was\nno crowding anywhere, least of all in the central halls of the temple\nitself; indeed, in the great vestibule crowned with a dome which formed\nthe entrance, in the vast hall next to it, and in the magnificent\nhypostyle with a semicircular niche on the furthest side in which stood\nthe far-famed image of the god, there were only scattered groups of men,\nwho looked like dwarfs as the eye compared them with the endless rows of\nhuge columns.\n\nThe full blaze of day penetrated nowhere but into the circular vestibule,\nwhich was lighted by openings in the drum of the cupola that rested on\nfour gigantic columns. In the inner hall there was only dim twilight;\nwhile the hypostyle was quite dark, but for a singularly contrived shaft\nof light which produced a most mysterious effect.\n\nThe shadows of the great columns in the fore hall, and of the double\ncolonnade on each side of the hypostyle, lay like bands of crape on the\nmany-colored pavement; borders, circles, and ellipses of mosaic\ndiversified the smooth and lucent surface, in which were mirrored the\nastrological figures which sparkled in brighter hues on the ceiling, the\ntrophies of symbols and mythological groups that graced the walls in\ntinted high relief, and the statues and Hermes between the columns. A\nwreath of lovely forms and colors dazzled the eye with their multiplicity\nand profusion, and the heavy atmosphere of incense which filled the halls\nwas almost suffocating, while the magical and mystical signs and figures\nwere so many and so new that the enquiring mind, craving for an\nexplanation and an interpretation of all these incomprehensible\nmysteries, hardly dared investigate them in detail.\n\nA heavy curtain, that looked as though giants must have woven it on a\nloom of superhuman proportions, hung, like a thick cloud shrouding a\nmountain-peak, from the very top of the hypostyle, in grand folds over\nthe niche containing the statue, and down to the floor; and while it hid\nthe sacred image from the gaze of the worshipper it attracted his\nattention by the infinite variety of symbolical patterns and beautiful\ndesigns which were woven in it and embroidered on it.\n\nThe gold and silver vessels and precious jewels that lay concealed by\nthis hanging were of more value than many a mighty king's treasure; and\neverything was on so vast a scale that man shuddered to feel his own\nlittleness, and the mind sought some new standard of measurement by which\nto realize such unwonted proportions. The finite here seemed to pass into\nthe infinite; and as the spectator gazed up, with his head thrown back,\nat the capitals of the lofty columns and the remote height of the\nceiling, his sight failed him before he had succeeded in distinguishing\nor even perceiving a small portion only of the bewildering confusion of\nfigures and emblems that were crowded on to the surface. Greek feeling\nfor beauty had here worked hand in hand with Oriental taste for gorgeous\nmagnificence, and every detail could bear examination; for there was not\na motive of the architecture, not a work of sculpture, painting, or\nmosaic, not a product of the foundry or the loom, which did not bear the\nstamp of thorough workmanship and elaborate finish. The ruddy, flecked\nporphyry, the red, white, green, or yellow marbles which had been used\nfor the decorations were all the finest and purest ever wrought upon by\nGreek craftsmen. Each of the hundreds of sculptured works which here had\nfound a home was the masterpiece of some great artist; as the curious\nvisitor lingered in loving contemplation of the mosaics on the polished\nfloor, or examined the ornamental mouldings that framed the reliefs,\ndividing the walls into panels, he was filled with wonder and delight at\nthe beauty, the elegance and the inventiveness that had given charm,\ndignity, and significance to every detail.\n\nAdjoining these great halls devoted especially to the worship of the god,\nwere hundreds of courts, passages, colonnades and rooms, and others not\nless numerous lay underground. There were long rows of rooms containing\nabove a hundred thousand rolls of books, the famous library of the\nSerapeum, with separate apartments for readers and copyists; there were\nstore-rooms, refectories and assembly-rooms for the high-priests of the\ntemple, for teachers and disciples; while acrid odors came up from the\nlaboratories, and the fragrance of cooking from the kitchen and\nbake-houses. In the very thickness of the walls of the basement were\ncells for penitents and recluses, long since abandoned, and rooms for the\nmenials and slaves, of whom hundreds were employed in the precincts;\nunder ground spread the mystical array of halls, grottoes, galleries and\ncatacombs dedicated to the practice of the Mysteries and the initiation\nof neophytes; on the roof stood various observatories--among them one\nerected for the study of the heavens by Eratosthenes, where Claudius\nPtolemaeus had watched and worked. Up here astronomers, star-gazers,\nhoroscopists and Magians spent their nights, while, far below them, in\nthe temple-courts that were surrounded by store-houses and stables, the\nblood of sacrificed beasts was shed and the entrails of the victims were\nexamined.\n\nThe house of Serapis was a whole world in little, and centuries had\nenriched it with wealth, beauty, and the noblest treasures of art and\nlearning. Magic and witchcraft hedged it in with a maze of mystical and\nsymbolical secrets, and philosophy had woven a tissue of speculation\nround the person of the god. The sanctuary was indeed the centre of\nHellenic culture in the city of Alexander; what marvel then, that the\nheathen should believe that with the overthrow of Serapis and his temple,\nthe earth, nay the universe itself must sink into the abyss?\n\nAnxious spirits and throbbing hearts were those that now sought shelter\nin the Serapeum, fully prepared to perish with their god, and yet eager\nwith enthusiasm to avert his fall if possible.\n\nA strange medley indeed of men and women had collected within these\nsacred precincts! Grave sages, philosophers, grammarians, mathematicians,\nnaturalists, and physicians clung to Olympius and obeyed him in silence.\nRhetoricians with shaven faces, Magians and sorcerers, whose long beards\nflowed over robes embroidered with strange figures; students, dressed\nafter the fashion of their forefathers in the palmy days of Athens; men\nof every age, who dubbed themselves artists though they were no more than\nimitators of the works of a greater epoch, unhappy in that no one at this\nperiod of indifference to beauty called upon them to prove what they\ncould do, or to put forth their highest powers. Actors, again, from the\nneglected theatres, starving histrions, to whom the stage was prohibited\nby the Emperor and Bishop, singers and flute-players; hungry priests and\ntemple-servitors expelled from the closed sanctuaries; lawyers, scribes,\nships' captains, artisans, though but very few merchants, for\nChristianity had ceased to be the creed of the poor, and the wealthy\nattached themselves to the faith professed by those in authority.\n\nOne of the students had contrived to bring a girl with him, and several\nothers, seeing this, went back into the streets by the secret way and\nbrought in damsels of no very fair repute, till the crowd of men was\ndiversified by a considerable sprinkling of wreathed and painted girls,\nsome of them the outcast maids of various temples, and others priestesses\nof higher character, who had remained faithful to the old gods or who\npractised magic arts.\n\nAmong these women one, a tall and dignified matron in mourning robes, was\na conspicuous figure. This was Berenice, the mother of the young heathen\nwho had been ridden down and wounded in the skirmish near the Prefect's\nhouse, and whose eyes Eusebius had afterwards closed. She had come to the\nSerapeum expressly to avenge her son's death and then to perish with the\nfall of the gods for whom he had sacrificed his young life. But the mad\nturmoil that surrounded her was more than she could bear; she stood, hour\nafter hour, closely veiled and absorbed in her own thoughts, neither\nraising her eyes nor uttering a word, at the foot of a bronze statue of\njustice dispensing rewards and punishments.\n\nOlympius had entrusted the command of the little garrison of armed men to\nMemnon, a veteran legate of great experience, who had lost his left arm\nin the war against the Goths. The high-priest himself was occupied\nalternately in trying to persuade the hastily-collected force to obey\ntheir leader, and in settling quarrels, smoothing difficulties,\nsuppressing insubordination, and considering plans with reference to\nsupplies for his adherents, and the offering of a great sacrifice at\nwhich all the worshippers of Serapis were to assist. Karnis kept near his\nfriend, helping him so far as was possible; Orpheus, with others of the\nyounger men, had been ordered to the roof, where they were\nemployed--under the scorching sun, reflected from the copper-plated\ncovering and the radiating surface of the dome--in loosening blocks of\nstone from the balustrade to be hurled down to-morrow on the besieging\nforce.\n\nHerse devoted herself to the sick and wounded, for a few who had ventured\nforth too boldly to aid in barricading the entrance, had been hurt by\narrows and lances flung by the idle soldiery; and a still greater number\nwere suffering from sun-stroke in consequence of toiling on the top of\nthe building.\n\nInside the vast, thick-walled halls it was much cooler than in the\nstreets even, and the hours glided fast to the besieged heathen. Many of\nthem were fully occupied, or placed on guard; others were discussing the\nsituation, and disputing or guessing at what the outcome might, or must\nbe. Numbers, panic-stricken or absorbed in pious awe, sat huddled on the\nground, praying, muttering magical formulas, or wailing aloud. The\nMagians and astrologers had retired with knots of followers into the\nadjoining studies, where they were comparing registers, making\ncalculations, reading signs, devising new formulas and defending them\nagainst their opponents.\n\nAn incessant bustle went on, to and fro between these rooms and the great\nlibrary, and the tables were covered with rolls and tablets containing\nancient prophecies, horoscopes and potent exorcisms. Messengers, one\nafter another, were sent out from thence to command silence in the great\nhalls, where the assembled youths and girls were kissing, singing,\nshouting and dancing to the shrill pipe of flutes and twang of lutes,\nclapping their hands, rattling tambourines--in short, enjoying to the\nutmost the few hours that might yet be theirs before they must make the\nfatal leap into nothingness, or at least into the dim shades of death.\n\nThe sun was sinking when suddenly the great brazen gong was loudly\nstruck, and the hard, blatant clatter rent the air of the temple-hall.\nThe mighty waves of sound reverberated from the walls of the sanctuary\nlike the surge of a clangorous sea, and sent their metallic vibration\nringing through every room and cell, from the topmost observatory-turret\nto the deepest vault beneath, calling all who were within the precincts\nto assemble. The holy places filled at once; the throng poured in through\nthe vestibule, and in a few minutes even the hypostyle, the sanctum of\nthe veiled statue, was full to overflowing. Without any distinction of\nrank or sex, and regardless of all the usual formalities or the degrees\nof initiation which each had passed through, the worshippers of Serapis\ncrowded towards the sacred niche, till a chain, held up by\nneokores--[Temple-servants]--at a respectful distance from the mystical\nspot, checked their advance. Densely packed and in almost breathless\nsilence, they filled the nave and the colonnades, watching for what might\nbefall.\n\nPresently a dull low chant of men's voices was heard. This went on for a\nfew minutes, and then a loud pean in honor of the god rang through the\ntemple with an accompaniment of flutes, cymbals, lutes and trumpets.\n\nKarnis had found a place with his wife and son; all three, holding hands,\njoined enthusiastically in the stirring hymn; and, with them, Porphyrius,\nwho by accident was close to them, swelling the song of the multitude.\nAll now stood with hands uplifted and eyes fixed in anxious expectancy on\nthe curtain. The figures and emblems on the hanging were invisible in the\ngloom--but now-now there was a stir, as of life, in the ponderous\nfolds,--they moved--they began to ripple like streams, brooks,\nwater-falls, recovering motion after long stagnation--the curtain slowly\nsank, and at length it fell so suddenly that the eye could scarcely note\nthe instant. From every lip, as but one voice, rose a cry of admiration,\namazement, and delight, for Serapis stood revealed to his people.\n\nThe noble manhood of the god sat with dignity on a golden throne that was\ncovered with a blaze of jewels; his gracious and solemn face looked down\non the crowd of worshippers. The hair that curled upon his thoughtful\nbrow, and the kalathos that crowned it were of pure gold At his feet\ncrouched Cerberus, raising his three fierce heads with glistening ruby\neyes. The body of the god--a model of strength in repose--and the drapery\nwere of gold and ivory. In its perfect harmony as a whole, and the\nexquisite beauty of every detail, this statue bore the stamp of supreme\npower and divine majesty. When such a divinity as this should rise from\nhis throne the earth indeed might quake and the heavens tremble! Before\nsuch a Lord the strongest might gladly bow, for no mortal ever shone in\nsuch radiant beauty. This Sovereign must triumph over every foe, even\nover death--the monster that lay writhing in impotent rage at his feet!\n\nGasping and thrilled with pious awe, enraptured but dumb with reverent\nfear, the assembled thousands gazed on the god dimly revealed to them in\nthe twilight, when suddenly, for a moment of solemn glory, a ray of the\nsetting sun--a shaft of intense brightness--pierced the star-spangled\napse of the niche and fell on the lips of the god as though to kiss its\nLord and Father.\n\nA shout like a thunder-clap-like the roar of breakers on a reef, burst\nfrom the spectators; a shout of triumph so mighty that the statues\nquivered, the brazen altars rang, the hangings swayed, the sacred vessels\nclattered and the lamps trembled and swung; the echo rolled round the\naisles like a whirlpool at the flood, and was dashed from pillar to\ncolumn in a hundred wavelets of sound. The glorious sun still recognized\nits lord; Serapis still reigned in undiminished might; he had not yet\nlost the power to defend himself, his world and his children!\n\nThe sun was gone, night fell on the temple and suddenly there was a\nswaying movement of the apse above the statue; the stars were shaken by\ninvisible hands, and colored flames twinkled with dazzling brightness\nfrom a myriad five-rayed perforations. Once more the god was revealed to\nhis worshippers under a flood of magical glory, and now fully visible in\nhis unique beauty. Again the great halls rang with the acclamations of\nthe delirious throng; Olympius stepped forth, arrayed in a flowing robe\nwith the insignia and decorations of the high-priesthood; standing in\nfront of the image he poured on the pedestal a libation to the gods out\nof a golden cup, and waved a censer of the costliest incense. Then, in\nburning words, he exhorted all the followers of Serapis to fight and\nconquer for their god, or--if need must--to perish for and with him. He\nadded a fervent prayer in a loud ringing voice--a cry for help that came\nfrom the bottom of his heart, and went to the souls of his hearers.\n\nThen a solemn hymn was chanted as the curtain was raised; and while the\nassembled multitude watched it rise in reverent silence, the\ntemple-servants lighted the lamps that illuminated the sanctuary from\nevery cornice and pillar.\n\nKarnis had left hold of his companions' hands, for he wanted to wipe away\nthe tears of devotional excitement that flowed down his withered cheeks;\nOrpheus had thrown his arms round his mother, and Porphyrius, who had\njoined a group of philosophers and sages, sent a glance of sympathy to\nthe old musician.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nBy an hour after sunset the sacrifice of a bull in the great court of the\nSerapeum was consummated, and the Moscosphragist announced that the god\nhad graciously accepted it--the examination of the entrails showed more\nfavorable indications than it had the day before. The flesh of the\nslaughtered beast went forthwith to the kitchen; and, if the savor of\nroast beef that presently rose up was as grateful to Serapis as to his\nworshippers, they might surely reckon on a happy issue from the struggle.\n\nThe besieged, indeed, were, ere long, in excellent spirits; for Olympius\nhad taken care to store the cellars of the sanctuary with plenty of good\nwine, and the happy auguries drawn from the appearance of the god and the\nstate of the victim had filled them with fresh confidence. As there was\nnot sleeping accommodation for nearly all the men, they had to turn night\ninto day; and as, to most of them, life consisted wholly in the enjoyment\nof the moment, and all was delightful that was new or strange, they soon\neat and drank themselves into a valiant frame of mind.\n\nCouches, such as they were wont to be on at meals, there were not, so\neach man snatched up the first thing he could lay his hands on to serve\nas a seat. When cups were lacking the jugs and vessels from the sanctuary\nwere sent for, and passed from one to another. Many a youth lounged with\nhis head in some fair one's lap; many a girl leaned back to back with\nsome old man; and as flowers were not to be had, messengers were sent to\nthe town to buy them, with vine-wreaths and other greenery.\n\nThey were easily procured, and with them came the news that the races\nwere to be held next morning.\n\nThis information was regarded by many as being of the first importance;\nNicarchus, the son of the rich Hippocleides, and Zenodotus a weaver of\ntapestry--whose quadriga had once proved victorious--hastily made their\nway into the town to give the requisite orders in their stables, and they\nwere closely followed by Hippias, the handsome agitator, who was the\nfavorite driver in the arena for the horses belonging to wealthy owners.\nIn the train of these three every lover of horses vanished from the\nscene, with a number of Hippias' friends, and of flower-sellers,\ndoor-keepers, and ticket-holders-in short, of all who expected to derive\nspecial pleasure or profit from the games. Each man reflected that one\ncould not be missed, and as the god was favorably disposed he might\nsurely contrive to defend his own temple till after the races were over;\nthey would then return to conquer or die with the rest.\n\nThen some others began to think of wives and children in bed at home, and\nthey, too, departed; still, by far the larger proportion remained\nbehind--above three thousand in all, men and women. These at once\npossessed themselves of the half-emptied wine-jars left by the deserters;\ngay music was got up, and then, wreathed with garlands on their heads and\nshoulders, and 'filled with the god' they drank, shouted and danced far\ninto the night. The merry feast soon became a wild orgy; loud cries of\nEvoe, and tumultuous singing reached the ears of the Magians, who had\nonce more settled down to calculations and discussions over their rolls\nand tablets.\n\nThe mother of the youth that had been killed still sat huddled at the\nfoot of the statue of justice, enduring the anguish of listening to these\ndrunken revels with dull resignation. Every shout of laughter, every\nburst of mad mirth from the revellers above cut her to the heart--and\nyet, how they would have gladdened her if only one other voice could have\nmingled with those hundreds! When Olympius, still in his fullest dress,\nand carrying his head loftily as became him, made his way through the\ntemple at the head of his subordinates, he noticed Berenice--whom he had\nknown as a proud and happy mother--and begged her to join the friends\nwhom he had bidden to his own table; but she dreaded any social contact\nwith men whom she knew, and preferred to remain where she was at the feet\nof the goddess.\n\nWherever the high-priest went he was hailed with enthusiasm: \"Rejoice,\"\nhe would say to encourage the feasters, cheering them with wise and\nfervid exhortations, reminding them of Pharaoh Mycerinus who, having been\ntold by an oracle that he had only six years to live, determined to prove\nthe prophecy false, and by carousing through every night made the six\nyears allotted to him a good dozen.\n\n\"Imitate him!\" cried Olympius as he raised a cup to his lips, \"crowd the\njoys of a year into the few hours that still are left us, and pour a\nlibation to the god as I do, out of every cup ere you drink.\"\n\nHis appeal was answered by a rapturous shout; the flutes and cymbals\npiped and clanged, metal cups rang sharply as the drinkers pledged each\nother, and the girls thumped their tambourines, till the calf-skin droned\nand the bells in the frames tinkled shrilly.\n\nOlympius thanked them, and bowed on all sides, as he walked from group to\ngroup of his adherents. Seldom, indeed, had his heart beat so high! His\nend perhaps was very near, but it should at least be worthy of his life.\n\nHe knew how the sunbeam had been reflected so as to kiss the statue's\nlips. For centuries had this startling little scene and the sudden\nillumination of the niche round the head of the god been worked in\nprecisely the same way at high festivals--[They are mentioned by\nRufinus.]--these were mere stimulants to the dull souls of the vulgar who\nneeded to be stirred up by the miraculous power of the god, which the\nelect recognized throughout the universe, in the wondrous co-operation of\nforces and results in nature, and in the lives of men. He, for his part,\nfirmly believed in Serapis and his might, and in the prophecies and\ncalculations which declared that his fall must involve the dissolution of\nthe organic world and its relapse into chaos.\n\nMany winds were battling in the air, each one driving the ship of life\ntowards the whirlpool. To-day or to-morrow--what matter which? The\nthreatened cataclysm had no terrors for Olympius. One thing only was a\npang to his vanity: No succeeding generations would preserve the memory\nof his heroic struggle and death for the cause of the gods. But all was\nnot yet lost, and his sunny nature read in the glow of the dying clay the\npromise and dawn of a brilliant morrow. If the expected succor should\narrive--if the good cause should triumph here in Alexandria--if the\nrising were to be general throughout Greek heathendom, then indeed had he\nbeen rightly named Olympius by his parents--then he would not change\nplaces with any god of Olympus--then the glory of his name, more lasting\nthan bronze or marble, would shine forth like the sun, so long as one\nGreek heart honored the ancient gods and loved its native land.\n\nThis night--perhaps its last--should see a grand, a sumptuous feast; he\ninvited his friends and adherents--the leaders of spiritual life in\nAlexandria--to a 'symposium', after the manner of the philosophers and\ndilettanti of ancient Athens, to be held in the great concert-hall of the\nSerapeum.\n\nHow different was its aspect from that of the Bishop's council-chamber!\nThe Christians sat within bare walls, on wooden benches, round a plain\ntable; the large room in which Olympius received his supporters was\nmagnificently decorated, and furnished with treasures of art in fine\ninlaid work, beaten brass and purple stuffs-a hall for kings to meet in.\nThick cushions, covered with lion and panther-skins, tempted fatigue or\nindolence; and when the hero of the hour joined his guests, after his\nprogress through the precincts, every couch was occupied. To his right\nlay Helladius, the famous grammarian and high-priest of Zeus; Porphyrius,\nthe benefactor of the Serapeum, was on his left; even Karnis had been\nallotted a place in his old friend's social circle, and greatly\nappreciated the noble juice of the grape, that was passed round, as well\nas the eager and intelligent friction of minds, from which he had long\nbeen cut off.\n\nOlympius himself was unanimously chosen Symposiarch, and he invited the\ncompany to discuss, in the first instance, the time-honored question:\nWhich was the highest good?\n\nOne and all, he said, they were standing on a threshold, as it were; and\nas travellers, quitting an old and beloved home to seek a new and unknown\none in a distant land, pause to consider what particular joy that they\nhave known under the shelter of the old Penates has been the dearest, so\nit would beseem them to reflect, at this supreme moment, what had been\nthe highest good of their life in this world. They were on the eve,\nperhaps, of a splendid victory; but, perchance, on the other hand, their\nfoot was already on the plank that led from the shore of life to Charon's\nbark.\n\nThe subject was a familiar one and a warm discussion was immediately\nstarted. The talk was more flowery and brilliant, no doubt, than in old\nAthens, but it led to no deeper views and threw no clearer light on the\nwell-worn question. The wranglers could only quote what had been said\nlong since as to the highest Good, and when presently Helladius called\nupon them to bring their minds to bear on the nature of humanity, a\nvehement disputation arose as to whether man were the best or the worst\nof created beings. This led to various utterances as to the mystical\nconnection of the spiritual and material worlds, and nothing could be\nmore amazing than the power of imagination which had enabled these\nmystical thinkers to people with spirits and daemons every circle of the\nladder-like structure which connected the incomprehensible and\nself-sufficing One with the divine manifestation known as Man. It became\nquite intelligible that many Alexandrians should fear to fling a stone\nlest it might hit one of the good daemons of which the air was full--a\nspirit of light perhaps, or a protecting spirit. The more obscure their\ntheories, the more were they overloaded with image and metaphor; all\nsimplicity of statement was lost, and yet the disputants prided\nthemselves on the brilliancy of their language and the wealth of their\nideas. They believed that they had brought the transcendental within the\ngrasp of intelligent sense, and that their empty speculations had carried\nthem far beyond the narrow limits of the Ancients.\n\nKarnis was in raptures; Porphyrius only wished for Gorgo by his side,\nfor, like all fathers, he would rather that his child should have enjoyed\nthis supreme intellectual treat than himself.\n\n          ........................\n\nIn Porphyrius' house, meanwhile, all was gloom and anxiety. In spite of\nthe terrific heat Damia would not be persuaded to come down from the\nturret-room where she had collected all the instruments, manuals and\nformulas used by astrologers and Magians. A certain priest of Saturn, who\nhad a great reputation as a master of such arts, and who, for many years,\nhad been her assistant whenever she sought to apply her science to any\nimportant event, was in attendance--to give her the astrological tables,\nto draw circles, ellipses or triangles at her bidding, to interpret the\nmystical sense of numbers or letters, which now and then escaped her aged\nmemory; he made her calculations or tested those she made herself, and\nread out the incantations which she thought efficacious under the\ncircumstances. Occasionally, too, he suggested some new method or fresh\nformula by which she might verify her results.\n\nShe had fasted, according to rule, the whole forenoon, and was frequently\nso far overcome by the heat as to drop asleep in the midst of her\nstudies; then, when she woke with a start, if her assistant had meanwhile\nworked out his calculation to a result contrary to her anticipations, she\ntook him up sharply and made him begin again from the beginning. Gorge,\nwent up from time to time; but, though she offered the old woman\nrefreshment prepared by her own hand, she could not persuade her even to\nmoisten her lips with a little fruitsyrup, for to break the prescribed\nfast might endanger the accuracy of her prognostications and the result\nof all her labor. However, when she seemed to doze, her granddaughter\nsprinkled strong waters about the room to freshen the air, poured a few\ndrops on the old lady's dress, wiped the dews from her brow, and fanned\nher to cool her. Damia submitted to all this; and though she had only\nclosed her weary eyes, she pretended to be asleep in order to have the\npleasure of being cared for by her darling.\n\nTowards noon she dismissed the Magian and allowed herself a short\ninterval of rest and sleep; but as soon as she woke she collected her\nwits, and set to work again with fresh zeal and diligence. When, at last,\nshe had mastered all the signs and omens, she knew for certain that\nnothing could avert the awful doom foretold by the oracles of old.\n\nThe fall of Serapis and the end of the world were at hand.\n\nThe Magian covered his head as he saw, plainly demonstrated, how she had\nreached this conclusion, and he groaned in sincere terror; she, however,\ndismissed him with perfect equanimity, handing him her purse, which she\nhad filled in the morning, and saying:\n\n\"To last till the end.\"\n\nThe sun was now long past the meridian and the old woman, quite worn out,\nthrew herself back in her chair and desired Gorgo to let no one disturb\nher; nay, not to return herself till she was sent for. As soon as Damia\nwas alone she gazed at herself in a mirror for some little time,\nmurmuring the seven vocables incessantly while she did so; and then she\nfixed her eyes intently on the sky. These strange proceedings were\ndirected to a particular end, she was endeavoring to close her senses to\nthe external world, to become blind, deaf, and impervious to everything\nmaterial--the polluting burthen which divided her divine and spiritual\npart from the celestia fount whence it was derived; to set her soul free\nfrom its earthly shroud--free to gaze on the god that was its father. She\nhad already more than once nearly attained to this state by long fasting\nand resolute abstraction and once, in a moment she could never forget,\nhad enjoyed the dizzy ecstasy of feeling herself float, as it were\nthrough infinite space, like a cloud, bathed in glorious radiance. The\nfatigue that had been gradually over powering her now seconded her\nefforts; she soon felt slight tremor; a cold sweat broke out all over\nher; she lost all consciousness of her limbs, and all sense of sighs and\nhearing; a fresher and cooler air seemed to revive not her lungs only,\nbut every part of her body, while undulating rays of red and violet light\ndanced before her eyes. Was not their strange radiance an emanation from\nthe eternal glory that she sought? Was not some mysterious power\nuplifting her, bearing her towards the highest goal? Was her soul already\nfree from the bondage of the flesh? Had she indeed become one with God\nand had her earnest seeking for the Divinity ended in glorification? No;\nher arms which she had thrown up as if to fly, fell by her side it was\nall in vain. A pain--a trifling pain in her foot, had brought her down\nagain to the base world of sense which she so ardently strove to soar\naway from.\n\nSeveral times she took up the mirror, looked in it fixedly as before, and\nthen gazed upwards; but each time that she lost consciousness of the\nmaterial world and that her liberated soul began to move its unfettered\npinions, some little noise, the twitch of a muscle, a fly settling on her\nhand, a drop of perspiration falling from her brow on to her cheek,\nroused her senses to reassert themselves.\n\nWhy--why was it so difficult to shake off this burthen of mortal clay?\nShe thought of herself as of a sculptor who chisels away all superfluous\nmaterial froth his block of marble, to reveal the image of the god\nwithin; but it was easier to remove the enclosing stone than to release\nthe soul from the body to which it was so closely knit. Still, she did\nnot give up the struggle to attain the object which others had achieved\nbefore her; but she got no nearer to it--indeed, less and less near, for,\nbetween her and that hoped-for climax, rose up a series of memories and\nstrange faces which she could not get rid of. The chisel slipped aside,\nwent wrong or lost its edge before the image could be extracted from the\nblock.\n\nOne illusion after another floated before her eyes first it was Gorgo,\nthe idol of her old heart, lying pale and fair on a sea of surf that\nrocked her on its watery waste--up high on the crest of a wave and then\ndeep down in the abyss that yawned behind it. She, too--so young, a\nhardly-opened blossom--must perish in the universal ruin, and be crushed\nby the same omnipotent hand that could overthrow the greatest of the\ngods; and a glow of passionate hatred snatched her away from the aim of\nher hopes. Then the dream changed she saw a scattered flock of ravens\nflying in wide circles, at an unattainable height, against the clouds;\nsuddenly they vanished and she saw, in a grey mist, the monument to\nPorphyrius' wife, Gorgo's long-departed mother. She had often visited the\nmausoleum with tender emotion, but she did not want to see it now--not\nnow, and she shook it off; but in its place rose up the image of her\ndaughter-in-law herself, the dweller in that tomb, and no effort of will\nor energy availed to banish that face. She saw the dead woman as she had\nseen her on the last fateful occasion in her short life. A solemn and\nfestal procession was passing out through the door of their house, headed\nby flute-players and singing-girls; then came a white bull; a garland of\nthe scarlet flowers of the pomegranate--[This tree was regarded as the\nsymbol of fertility, on account of its many-seeded fruit.]--hung round\nits massive neck, and its horns were gilt. By its side walked slaves,\ncarrying white baskets full of bread and cakes and heaps of flowers, and\nthese were followed by others, bearing light-blue cages containing geese\nand doves. The bull, the calves, the flowers and the birds were all to be\ndeposited in the temple of Eileithyia, as a sacrifice to the protecting\ngoddess of women in child-birth. Close behind the bull came Gorgo's\nmother, dressed with wreaths, walking slowly and timidly, with shy,\ndowncast eyes-thinking perhaps of the anguish to come, and putting up a\nsilent prayer.\n\nDamia followed with the female friends of the house, the clients and\ntheir wives and some personal attendants, all carrying pomegranates in\nthe right hand, and holding in the left a long wreath of flowers which\nthus connected the whole procession.\n\nIn this order they reached the ship-yard; but at that spot they were met\nby a band of crazy monks from the desert monasteries, who, seeing the\nbeast for sacrifice, abused them loudly, cursing the heathen. The slaves\nindignantly drove them off, but then the starveling anchorites fell upon\nthe innocent beast which was the chief abomination in their eyes. The\nbull tossed his huge head, snuffing and snorting to right and left, stuck\nout his tail and rushed away from the boy whose guidance he had till now\nmeekly followed, flung a monk high in the air with his huge horns, and\nthen turned in his fury on the women who were behind.\n\nThey fled like a flock of doves on which a hawk comes swooping down; some\nwere driven quite into the lake and others up against the paling of the\nshipyard, while Damia herself--who was going through it all again in the\nmidst of her efforts to rise to the divinity--and the young wife whom she\nhad vainly tried to shelter and support, were both knocked down. To that\nhour of terror Gorgo owed her birth, while to her mother it was death.\n\nOn the following day Alexandria beheld a funeral ceremony as solemn, as\nmagnificent, and as crowded as though a conquering hero were being\nentombed; it was that of the monk whom the bull had gored; the Bishop had\nproclaimed that by this attack on the abomination of desolation--the\nblood-sacrifice of idolatry--he had won an eternal crown in Paradise.\n\nBut now the black ravens crossed Damia's vision once more, till presently\na handsome young Greek gaily drove them off with his thyrsus. His\npowerful and supple limbs shone with oil, applied in the gymnasium of\nTimagetes, the scene of his frequent triumphs in all the sports and\nexercises of the youthful Greeks. His features and waving hair were those\nof her son Apelles; but suddenly his aspect changed: he was an emaciated\npenitent, his knees bent under the weight of a heavy cross; his widow,\nMary, had declared him a martyr to the cause of the crucified Jew and\ndefamed his memory in the eyes of his own son and of all men. Damia\nclenched her trembling hands. Again those ravens came swirling round,\nflapping their wings wildly over the prostrate penitent.\n\nThen her husband appeared to her, calmly indifferent to the birds of\nill-omen. He looked just as she remembered him many--so many years ago,\nwhen he had come in smiling and said: \"The best stroke of business I ever\ndid! For a sprinkling of water I have secured the corn trade with\nThessalonica and Constantinople; that is a hundred gold solidi for each\ndrop.\"\n\nYes, he had made a good bargain. The profits of that day's work were\nmultiplied by tens, and water, nothing in the world but Nile\nwater--Baptismal water the priest had called it--had filled her son's\nmoney-bags, too, and had turned their plot of land into broad estates;\nbut it had been tacitly understood that this sprinkling of water\nestablished a claim for a return, and this both father and son had\nsolemnly promised. Its magic turned everything they touched to gold, but\nit brought a blight on the peace of the household. One branch, which had\ngrown up in the traditions of the old Macedonian stock, had separated\nfrom the other; and her husband's great lie lay between them and the\nfamily still living in the Canopic way, like a wide ocean embittered with\nthe salt of hatred. That he had infused poison into his son's life and\ncompelled him, proud as he was, to forfeit the dignity of a free and\nhigh-minded man. Though devoted in his heart to the old gods he had\nhumbled himself, year after year, to bow the knee with the hated votaries\nof the Christian faith, and in their church, to their crucified Lord, and\nhad publicly confessed Christ. The water--the terrible thaumaturgic\nstream--clung to him more inseparably than the brand-mark on a slave's\narm. It could neither be dried up nor wiped away; for if the false\nChristian, who was really a zealous heathen, had boldly confessed the\nOlympian gods and abjured the odious new faith, the gifts of the\nall-powerful water and all the possessions of their old family would be\nconfiscated to the State and Church, and the children of Porphyrius, the\ngrandchildren of the wealthy Damia, would be beggars. And this--all\nthis--for the sake of a crucified Jew.\n\nThe gods be praised the end of all this wretchedness was at hand! A\nthrill of ecstasy ran through her as she reflected that with herself and\nher children, every soul, everything that bore the name of Christian\nwould be crushed, shattered and annihilated. She could have laughed aloud\nbut that her throat was so dry, her tongue so parched; but her scornful\ntriumph was expressed in every feature, as her fancy showed her Marcus\nriding along the Canopic street with that little heathen hussy Dada, the\nsinging girl, while her much-hated daughter-in-law looked after them,\nbeating her forehead in grief and rage.\n\nQuite beside herself with delight the old woman rocked backwards and\nforwards in her chair; not for long, however, for the black birds seemed\nto fill the whole room, describing swift, interminable spirals round her\nhead. She could not hear them, but she could see them, and the whirling\nvortex fascinated her; she could not help turning her head to follow\ntheir flight; she grew giddy and she was forced to try to recover her\nbalance.\n\nThe old woman sat huddled in her chair, her hands convulsively clutching\nthe arms, like a horseman whose steed has run away with him round and\nround the arena; till at length, worn out by excitement and exhaustion,\nshe became unconscious, and sank in a heap on the ground, rigid and\napparently lifeless.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Christianity had ceased to be the creed of the poor\n     He spoke with pompous exaggeration\n     Whether man were the best or the worst of created beings\n\n\n\n\nSERAPIS\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nGorgo, when she had left her grandmother, could not rest. Her lofty\ncalmness of demeanor had given way to a restless mood such as she had\nalways contemned severely in others, since she had ceased to be a\nvehement child and grown to be a woman. She tried to beguile the alarm\nthat made her pulses beat so quickly, and the heart-sickness that ached\nlike a wound, by music and singing; but this only added to her torment.\nThe means by which she could usually recover her equanimity of mind had\nlost their efficacy, and Sappho's longing hymn, which she began to sing,\nhad only served to bring the fervid longing of her own heart to light--to\nset it, as it were, in the full glare of the sun. She had become aware\nthat every fibre, every nerve of her being yearned for the man she loved;\nshe would have thrown away her life like a hollow nut for one single hour\nof perfect joy with him and in him. The faith in the old gods, the\nheathen world which contained the ideal of her young soul, her\ndetestation of Christianity, her beautiful art--everything, in short,\nthat had filled the spiritual side of her life, was cast into the shade\nby the one absorbing passion that possessed her soul. Every feeling,\nevery instinct, urged her to abandon herself entirely to her lover, and\nyet she never for one instant doubted which side she would take in the\napproaching conflict of the great powers that ruled the world. The last\nfew hours had only confirmed her conviction that the end of all things\nwas at hand. The world was on the eve of destruction; she foresaw that\nshe must perish--perish with Constantine, and that, in her eyes, was a\ngrace from the gods.\n\nWhile Damia was vainly struggling to liberate her soul from the bondage\nof the flesh, Gorgo had been wandering uneasily about the house; now\ngoing to the slaves, encouraging them with brave words, and giving them\nemployment to keep them from utter desperation, and then stealing up to\nsee whether her grandmother might not by this time be in need of her. As\nit grew dark she observed that several of the women, and even some of the\nmen, had made their escape. These were such as had already shown a\nleaning towards the new faith, and who now made off to join their\nfellow-Christians, or to seek refuge in the churches under the protection\nof the crucified God whose supreme power might, perhaps, even yet, avert\nthe impending catastrophe.\n\nTwice had Porphyrius sent a messenger to assure his mother and daughter\nthat all was well with him, that a powerful party was prepared to defend\nthe Serapeum, and that he should pass the night in the temple. The Romans\nwere evidently hesitating to attack it, and if, next morning, the heathen\nshould succeed in repelling the first onset, reinforcements might yet be\nbrought up in time. Gorgo could not share these hopes; a client of her\nfather's had brought in a rumor that the Biamites, after advancing as far\nas Naucratis, had been dispersed by a few of the Imperial maniples. Fate\nwas stalking on its way, and no one could give it pause.\n\nThe evening brought no coolness, and when it was already quite dark, as\nher grandmother had not yet called her, Gorgo could no longer control her\nincreasing anxiety, so, after knocking in vain at the door of the\nobservatory, she went in. Her old nurse preceded her with a lamp, and the\ntwo women stood dumb with consternation, for the old lady lay senseless\non the ground. Her head was thrown back against the seat of the chair off\nwhich she had slipped, and her pale face was lifeless and horrible to\nlook at, with its half-closed eyes and dropped jaw. Wine, water, and\nstrong essences were all at hand, and they laid the unconscious woman on\na couch intended for the occasional use of the wearied observer. In a few\nminutes they had succeeded in reviving the old lady; but her eyes rested\nwithout recognition on the girl who knelt by her side, and she murmured\nto herself: \"The ravens--where are they gone? Ravens!\"\n\nHer glance wandered round the room, to the tablets and rolls which had\nbeen tossed off the couch and the table to make room for her, and for the\nlamps and medicaments. They lay in disorder on the floor, and the sight\nof this confusion produced a favorable excitement and reaction; she\nsucceeded in expressing herself in husky accents and broken, hardly\nintelligible sentences, so far as to scold them sharply for their\nirreverence for the precious documents, and for the disorder they had\ncreated. The waiting-woman proceeded to pick them up: but Damia again\nbecame unconscious. Gorgo bathed her brow and tried to pour some wine\nbetween her teeth, but she clenched them too firmly, till the slave-woman\ncame to her assistance and they succeeded in making Damia swallow a few\ndrops. The old woman opened her eyes, smacking her tongue feebly; but she\ntook the cup into her own hand to hold it to her lips; and though she\ntrembled so that half the contents were spilt, she drank eagerly till it\nwas quite empty. \"More,\" she gasped with the eagerness of intense thirst,\n\"more--I want drink!\"\n\nGorgo gave her a second and a third draught which Damia drank with equal\neagerness; then, with a deep breath, she looked up fully conscious, at\nher granddaughter.\n\n\"Thank you, child,\" she said. \"Now I shall do very well for a little\nwhile. The material world and all that belongs to it weighs us down and\nclings to us like iron fetters. We may long and strive to be free, but it\npursues us and holds us fast. Only those who are content with their\nmiserable humanity can enjoy it. They laugh, as you know, at Praxilla,\nthe poetess, because she makes the dying Adonis lament, when face to face\nwith death, that he is forced to leave the apples and pears behind him.\nBut is not that subtly true? Yes, yes; Praxilla is right! We fast, we\nmortify ourselves--I have felt it all myself--to partake of divinity. We\nalmost perish of hunger and thirst, when we might be so happy if only we\nwould be satisfied with apples and pears! No man has ever yet succeeded\nin the great effort; those who would be truly happy must be content with\nsmall things. That is what makes children so happy. Apples and pears!\nWell, everything will be at an end for me ere long--even those. But if\nthe great First Cause spares himself in the universal crash, there is\nstill the grand idea of Apples and Pears; and who knows but that it may\nplease Him, when this world is destroyed, to frame another to come after\nit. Will He then once more embody the ideas of Man--and Apples and Pears?\nIt would be plagiarism from himself. Nay, if He is merciful, He will\nnever again give substance to that hybrid idea called Man; or, if He\ndoes, He will let the poor wretch be happy with apples and pears--I mean\ntrivial joys; for all higher joys, be they what they may, are vanity and\nvexation. . . . Give me another draught. Ah, that is good! And to-morrow is\nthe end. I could find it in my heart to regret the good gifts of Dionysus\nmyself; it is better than apples and pears; next to that comes the joy\nthat Eros bestows on mortals, and there must be an end to all that, too.\nThat, however, is above the level of apples and pears. It is great, very\ngreat happiness, and mingled therefor with bitter sorrow. Rapture and\nanguish--who can lay down the border line that divides them? Smiles and\ntears alike belong to both. And you are weeping? Aye, aye--poor child!\nCome here and kiss me.\" Damia drew the head of the kneeling girl close to\nher bosom and pressed her lips to Gorge's brow. Presently, however, she\nrelaxed her embrace and, looking about the room, she exclaimed:\n\n\"How you have mixed and upset the book-rolls! If only I could show you\nhow clearly everything agrees and coincides. We know now exactly how it\nwill all happen. By the day after to-morrow there will be no more earth,\nno more sky; and I will tell you this, child: If, when Serapis falls, the\nuniverse does not crumble to pieces like a ruinous hovel, then the wisdom\nof the Magians is a lie, the course of the stars has nothing to do with\nthe destinies of the earth and its inhabitants, the planets are mere\nlamps, the sun is no more than a luminous furnace, the old gods are\nmarsh-fires, emanations from the dark bog of men's minds--and the great\nSerapis. . . . But why be angry with him? There is no doubt--no if nor\nbut. . . . Give me the diptychon and I will show you our doom. There--just\nhere--my sight is so dazzled, I cannot make it out.--And if I could, what\nmatter? Who can alter here below what has been decided above? Leave me to\nsleep now, and I will explain it all to you to-morrow if there is still\ntime. Poor child, when I think how we have tormented you to learn what\nyou know, and how industrious you have been! And now--to what end? I ask\nyou, to what end? The great gulf will swallow up one and all.\"\n\n\"So be it, so be it!\" cried Gorgo interrupting her. \"Then, at any rate,\nnothing that I love on earth will be lost to me before I die!\"\n\n\"And the enemy will perish in the same ruin!\" continued Damia, her eyes\nsparkling with revived fire. \"But where shall we go to--where? The soul\nis divine by nature and cannot be destroyed. It must return--say, am I\nright or wrong?--It will return to its first fount and cause; for like\nattracts and absorbs like, and thus our deification, our union with the\ngod will be accomplished.\"\n\n\"I believe it--I am sure of it!\" replied Gorgo with conviction.\n\n\"You are sure of it?\" retorted the old woman. \"But I am not. For our\nclearest knowledge is but guesswork when it is not based on numbers.\nNothing is proved or provable but by numbers, but they are surer than the\nrocks in the sea; that is why I believe in our coming doom, for, on those\ntablets, we have calculated it to a certainty. But who can calculate\nevidence of the future fate of the soul? If, indeed, the old order should\nnot pass away--if the depths should remain below and the empyrean still\nkeep its place above--then, to be sure, your studies would not be in\nvain; for then your soul, which is fixed on spiritual, supernatural and\nsublime conceptions, would be drawn upwards to the great Intelligence of\nwhich it is the offspring, to the very god, and become one with\nhim--absorbed into him, as the rain-drop fallen from a cloud rises again\nand is reunited to its parent vapor. Then--for there may be a\nmetempsychosis--your songful spirit might revive to inform a nightingale,\nthen . . .\"\n\nDamia paused; and gazed upwards as if in ecstasy, and it was not till a\nfew minutes later that she went on, with a changed expression in her\nface: \"Then my son's widow, Mary, would be hatched out of a serpent's egg\nand would creep a writhing asp. . . . Great gods! the ravens! What can\nthey mean? They come again. Air, air! Wine! I cannot--I am choking--take\nit away!--To-morrow--to-day. . . . Everything is going; do you see--do\nyou feel? It is all black--no, red; and now black again. Everything is\nsinking; hold me, save me; the floor is going from under me.--Where is\nPorphyrius? Where is my son?--My feet are so cold; rub them. It is the\nwater! rising--it is up to my knees. I am sinking--help! save me! help!\"\nThe dying woman fought with her arms as if she were drowning; her cries\nfor help grew fainter, her head drooped on her laboring chest, and in a\nfew minutes she had breathed her last in her grandchild's arms, and her\nrestless, suffering soul was free.\n\nNever before had Gorgo seen death. She could not persuade herself that\nthe heart which had been so cold for others, but had throbbed so warmly\nand tenderly for her, was now stilled for ever; that the spirit which,\neven in sleep, had never been at rest, had now found eternal peace. The\nslave-woman had hastily taken her place, had closed the dead woman's eyes\nand mouth, and done all she could to diminish the horror of the scene,\nand the terrible aspect of the dead in the sight of the girl who had been\nher one darling. But Gorgo had remained by her side, and, while she did\neverything in her power to revive the stiffening body, the overwhelming\nmight of Death had come home to her with appalling clearness. She felt\nthe limbs of one she had loved growing cold and rigid under her hands,\nand her spirit rose in obstinate rebellion against the idea that\nannihilation stood between her and the woman who had so amply filled a\nmother's place. She insisted on having every method of resuscitation\ntried that had ever been heard of, and made her nurse send for\nphysicians, though the woman solemnly assured her that human help was of\nno avail: then she sent for the priest of Saturn who--as the dead woman\nherself had told her--knew mighty spells which had called back many a\ndeparted spirit to the body it had quitted.\n\nWhen, at last, she was alone and gazed on the hard, set features of the\ndead, though she shuddered with horror, she so far controlled herself as\nto press her lips in sorrow and gratitude to the thin hand whose caresses\nshe had been wont to accept as a mere matter of course. How cold and\nheavy it was! She shivered and dropped it, and the large rings on the\nfingers rattled on the wooden frame of the couch. There was no hope; she\nunderstood that her friend and mother was indeed dead and silent forever.\n\nDeep and bitter grief overwhelmed her completely, with the sense of\nabandoned loneliness, the humiliating feeling of helplessness against a\nbrutal power that marches on, scorning humanity, as a warrior treads down\nthe grass and flowers in his path. She fell on her knees by the corpse,\nsobbing passionately, and crying like an indignant child when a stronger\ncompanion has robbed it of some precious possession. She wept with rage\nat her own impotence; and her tears flowed faster and faster as she more\nfully realized how lonely she was, and what a blow this must be to her\nfather. In this hour no pleasant reminiscences of past family happiness\ncame to infuse a drop of sweetness into the bitterness of her grief. Only\none reflection brought her any comfort, and that was the thought that the\ngrave which had yawned already for her grandmother would soon, very soon,\nopen for herself and all living souls. On the table, close at hand, lay\nthe evidence of their impending doom, and a longing for that end\ngradually took complete possession of her, excluding every other feeling.\nThinking of this she rose from her knees and ceased to weep.\n\nWhen, presently, her waiting-woman should return, she was resolved to\nleave the house at once; she could not bear to stay; her feelings and\nduty alike indicated the place where she might find the last hour's\nhappiness that she expected or desired of life. Her father must learn\nfrom herself, and not from a stranger, of the loss that had befallen\nthem, and she knew that he was in the Serapeum--on the very spot where\nshe might hope next morning to meet Constantine. It would be her lover's\nduty to open the gate to destruction, and she would be there to pass\nthrough it at his side.\n\nShe waited a long, long time, but at last there was a noise on the\nstairs. That was her nurse's step, but she was not alone. Had she brought\nthe leech and the exorciser? The door opened and the old steward came in,\ncarrying a three-branched lamp; then followed the slave-woman, and\nthen--her heart stood still then came Constantine and his mother.\n\nGorgo, pale and speechless, received her unexpected visitors. The nurse\nhad failed to find the physician, whose aid would, at any rate, have come\ntoo late; and as the housekeeper had taken herself off with others of the\nChristian slaves, the faithful soul had said to herself that \"her child\"\nwould want some womanly help and comfort in her trouble, and had gone to\nthe house of their neighbor Clemens, to entreat his wife to come with her\nto see the dead, and visit her forlorn young mistress. Constantine, who\nhad come home a short time previously, had said nothing, but had\naccompanied the two women.\n\nWhile Constantine gazed with no unkindly feelings at the still face of\nDamia--to whom, after all, he owed many a little debt of kindness--and\nthen turned to look at Gorgo who stood downcast, pale, and struggling to\nbreathe calmly, Dame Marianne tried to proffer a few words of\nconsolation. She warmly praised everything in the dead woman which was\nnot in her estimation absolutely reprobate and godless, and brought\nforward all the comforting arguments which a pious Christian can command\nfor the edification and encouragement of those who mourn a beloved\nfriend; but to Gorgo all this well-meant discourse was as the babble of\nan unknown tongue; and it was only when, at length, Marianne went up to\nher and drew her to her motherly bosom, to kiss her, and bid her be\nwelcome under Clelnens' roof till Porphyrius should be at home again,\nthat she understood that the good woman meant kindly, and honestly\ndesired to help and comfort her.\n\nBut the allusion to her father reminded her of the first duty in her\npath; she roused her energies, thanked Marianne warmly, and begged her\nonly to assist her in carrying the corpse into the thalamos, and then to\ntake charge of the keys. She herself, she explained, meant at once to\nseek her father, since he ought to learn from no one but herself of his\nmother's death. Nor would she listen for a moment to her friend's\npressing entreaties that she would put off this task, and pass the night,\nat any rate, under her roof.\n\nConstantine had kept in the background; it was not till Gorgo approached\nthe dead and gave the order to carry the body down into the house that he\ncame forward, and with simple feeling offered her his hand. The girl\nlooked frankly in his face, and, as she put her hand in his, she said in\na low voice: \"I was unjust to you, Constantine. I insulted and hurt you;\nbut I repented sincerely, even before you had left the house. And you owe\nme no grudge, I know, for you understood how forlorn I must be and came\nto see me. There is no ill-feeling, is there, nothing to come between\nus?\"\n\n\"Nothing, nothing!\" he eagerly exclaimed, seizing her other hand with\npassionate fervor.\n\nShe felt as if all the blood in her body had rushed in a full tide to her\nheart--as if he were some part of her very being, that had been torn out,\nsnatched from her, and that she must have back again, even if it cost\nthem both their life and happiness. The impulse was irresistible; she\ndrew away her hands from his grasp and flung them round his neck,\nclinging to him as a weary child clings to its mother. She did not know\nhow it had come about--how such a thing was possible, but it was done;\nand without paying any heed to Marianne, who looked on in dismay while\nher son's lips were pressed to the brow and lips of the lovely\nidolatress, she wept upon her lover's shoulders, feeling a thousand roses\nblossoming in her soul and a thousand thorns piercing and tearing her\nheart.\n\nIt had to be, that she felt; it was at once their union and their\nparting. Their common destiny was but for a moment, and that moment had\ncome and gone. All that now retrained for them was death--destruction,\nwith all things living; and she looked forward to this, as a man watches\nfor the dawn after a sleepless night. Marianne stood aside; she dimly\nperceived that something vital was going on, that something inevitable\nhad happened which would admit of no interference. Gorgo, as she freed\nherself from Constantine's embrace, stood strangely solemn and\nunapproachable. To the simple matron she was an inscrutable riddle to\nwhich she could find no clue; but she was pleased, nevertheless, when\nGorgo came up to her and kissed her hand. She could not utter a word, for\nshe felt that whatever she might say, it would not be the right thing;\nand it was a real relief to her to busy herself over the removal of the\nbody, in which she could be helpful.\n\nGorgo had covered the dead face; and when old Damia had been carried down\nto the thalamos and laid in state on the bridal bed, she strewed the\ncouch with flowers.\n\nMeanwhile, the priest of Saturn had been found, and he declared in all\nconfidence that no power on earth could have recalled this departed soul.\nDamia's sudden end and the girl's great grief went to his faithful heart,\nand he gladly acceded to Gorgo's request that he would wait for her by\nthe garden-gate and escort her to the Serapeum. When he had left them she\ngave the keys of her grandmother's chests and cupboards into Marianne's\nkeeping; then she went into the adjoining room, where Constantine had\nbeen waiting while she decked the bed of death, and bid him a solemn, but\napparently calm, farewell. He put out his arm to clasp her to his heart,\nbut this she would not permit; and when he besought her to go home with\nthem she answered sadly, \"No, my dearest . . . I must not; I have other\nduties to fulfil.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied emphatically, \"and I, too--I have mine. But you have\ngiven yourself to me. You are my very own; you belong to me only, and not\nto yourself; and I desire, I command you to yield to my first request. Go\nwith my mother, or stay here, if you will, with the dead. Wherever your\nfather may be, it is not, cannot be, the right place for you--my\nbetrothed bride. I can guess where he is. Oh! Gorgo, be warned.\n\n\"The fate of the old gods is sealed. We are the stronger and to-morrow,\nyes to-morrow--by your own head, by all I hold dear and sacred!--Serapis\nwill fall!\"\n\n\"I know it,\" she said firmly. \"And you are charged to lay hands on the\ngod?\"\n\n\"I am, and I shall do it.\"\n\nShe nodded approbation and then said submissively and sweetly: \"It is\nyour duty, and you cannot do otherwise. And come what may we are one,\nConstantine, forever one. Nothing can part us. Whatever the future may\nbring, we belong to each other, to stand or fall together. I with you,\nyou with me, till the end of time.\" She gave him her hand and looked\nlovingly into his eyes; then she threw herself into his mother's arms and\nkissed her fondly.\n\n\"Come, come with me, my child,\" said Marianne; but Gorgo freed herself,\nexclaiming: \"Go, go; if you love me leave me; go and let me be alone.\"\n\nShe went back into the thalamos where the dead lay at peace, and before\nthe others could follow her she had opened a door hidden behind some\ntapestry near the bed, and fled into the garden.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe night was hot and gloomy. Heavy clouds gathered in the north, and\nwreaths of mist, like a hot vapor-bath, swayed over the crisply-foaming\nwavelets that curled the lustreless waters of the Mareotis Lake. The moon\npeeped, pale and shrouded, out of a russet halo, and ghostly twilight\nreigned in the streets, still heated by the baked walls of the houses.\n\nTo the west, over the desert, a dull sulphurous yellow streaked the black\nclouds, and from time to time the sultry air was rent by a blinding flash\nsent across the firmament from the north. There was a hot, sluggish wind\nblowing from the southwest, which drove the sand across the lake into the\nstreets; the fine grit stung: and burnt the face of the wanderer who\nhurried on with half-closed eyes and tightly-shut lips. A deep oppression\nseemed to have fallen on nature and on man; the sudden gusts of the\nheated breeze, the arrow-like shafts of lightning, the weird shapes and\ncolors of the clouds, all combined to give a sinister, baleful and\nportentous aspect to this night, as though skies and waters, earth and\nair were brooding over some tremendous catastrophe.\n\nGorgo had thrown a veil and handkerchief round her head and followed the\npriest with an aching brow and throbbing heart. When she heard a step\nbehind her she started-for it might be Constantine following her up; when\na gust of wind flung the stinging sand in her face, or the storm-flash\nthrew a lurid light on the sky, her heart stood still, for was not this\nthe prelude to the final crash.\n\nShe was familiar with the way they were going, but its length seemed to\nhave stretched tenfold. At last, however, they reached their destination.\nShe gave the pass-word at the gate of her father's timber-yard and\nexchanged the signs agreed upon; in a few minutes she had made her way\nthrough the piles of beams and planks that screened the entrance to the\naqueduct--a slave who knew her leading the way with a light--and she and\nher companion entered the underground passage.\n\nIt was hot and close; bats, scared by the flare of the torch, fluttered\nround her with a ghostly rustle, startling and disgusting her; still, she\nfelt less alarm here than outside; and when, as she went forward she\nthought of the great temple she was coming to, of its wonderful beauty\nand solemn majesty, she only cared to press onward to that refuge of\nineffable splendor where all would be peace. To die there, to perish\nthere with her lover, did not seem hard; nay, she felt proud to think\nthat she might await death in the noblest edifice ever raised to a god by\nmortal hands. Here Fate might have its way; she had known the highest joy\nshe had ever dreamed of, and where on earth was there a sublimer tomb\nthan this sanctuary of the sovereign of the universe, whose supremacy\neven the other gods acknowledged with trembling!\n\nShe had known the sacred halls of the temple from her childhood, and she\npictured them as filled with thousands of lofty souls, united in this\nsupreme hour by one feeling and one purpose. She even fancied she could\nhear the inspired and heartfelt strains of the enthusiasts who were\nprepared to give their lives for the god of their fathers, that she\nbreathed the odor of incense and burnt sacrifices, that she saw the\nchorus of youths and maidens, led by priests and dancing with solemn\ngrace in mazy circles round the flower-decked altars. There among the\nelders who had gathered round Olympius to meditate devoutly on the coming\ndoom and on the inmost meaning of the mysteries--among the adepts who\nwere anxiously noting, in the observatories of the Serapeum, the fateful\ncourses of the stars, the swirling of the clouds and the flight of birds,\nshe would doubtless find her father; and the fresh wound bled anew as she\nremembered that she was the bearer of news which must deeply shock and\ngrieve him. Still, no doubt, she would find him wrapped in dignified\nreadiness for the worst, sorrowing serenely for the doomed world, and so\nher melancholy message would come to a prepared and resigned heart.\n\nShe had no fear of the crowd of men she would find in the Serapeum. Her\nfather and Olympius were there to protect her, and Dame Herse, too, would\nbe a support and comfort; but even without those three, on such a night\nas this--the last perhaps that they might ever see--she would have\nventured without hesitation among thousands, for she firmly believed that\nevery votary of the gods was awaiting his own end and the crash of\nfalling skies with devout expectancy, and perhaps with not less terror\nthan herself.\n\nThese were her thoughts as she and her guide stopped at a strong door.\nThis was presently opened and they found themselves in an underground\nchamber, devoted to the mysteries of the worship of Serapis, in which the\nadepts were required to go through certain severe ordeals before they\nwere esteemed worthy to be received into the highest order of the\ninitiated--the Esoterics. The halls and corridors which she now went\nthrough, and which she had never before seen, were meagrely lighted with\nlamps and torches, and all that met her eye filled her with reverent awe\nwhile it excited her imagination. Everything, in fact--every room and\nevery image--was as unlike nature, and as far removed from ordinary types\nas possible, in arrangement and appearance. After passing through a\npyramidal room, with triangular sides that sloped to a point, she came to\none in the shape of a polygonal prism. In a long, broad corridor she had\nto walk on a narrow path, bordered by sphinxes; and there she clung\ntightly to her guide, for on one side of the foot-way yawned a gulf of\ngreat depth. In another place she heard, above her head, the sound of\nrushing waters, which then fell into the abyss beneath with a loud roar.\nAfter this she came upon a large grotto, hewn in the living rock and\ndefended by a row of staring crocodiles' heads, plated with gold; the\nheavy smell of stale incense and acrid resins choked her, and her way now\nlay over iron gratings and past strangely contrived furnaces. The walls\nwere decorated with colored reliefs: Tantalus, Ixion, and Sisyphus\ntoiling at his stone, looked down on her in hideous realism as she went.\nRock chambers, fast closed with iron doors, as though they enclosed\ninestimable treasures or inscrutable secrets, lay on either hand, and her\ndress swept against numerous images and vessels closely shrouded in\nhangings.\n\nWhen she ventured to look round, her eye fell on monstrous forms and\nmystical signs and figures; if she glanced upwards, she saw human and\nanimal forms, and mixed with these the various constellations, sailing in\nboats--the Egyptian notion of their motions--along the back of a woman\nstretched out to an enormous length; or, again, figures by some Greek\nartist: the Pleiades, Castor and Pollux as horsemen with stars on their\nheads, and Berenice's star-gemmed hair.\n\nThe effect on the girl was bewildering, overpowering, as she made her way\nthrough this underground world. The things she had glimpses of were very\nsparely illuminated, nay scarcely discernible, and yet appallingly real;\nwhat mysteries, what spells might not be hidden in all she did not see!\nShe felt as if the end of life, which she was looking for, had already\nbegun, as if she had already gone down, alive, into Hades.\n\nThe path gradually sloped upwards and at last she ascended, by a spiral\nstaircase, to the ground-floor of the temple. Once or twice she had met a\nfew men, but solemn silence reigned in those subterranean chambers.\n\nThe sound of their approaching and receding steps had only served to make\nher aware of the complete stillness. This was just as it should be--just\nas she would have it. This peace reminded her of the profound silence of\nnature before a tempest bursts and rages.\n\nGorgo took off her veil as she went up the stairs, shook out the folds of\nher dress, and assumed the dignified and reverent demeanor which became a\nyoung girl of rank and position when approaching the altars of the\ndivinity. But as she reached the top a loud medley of noises and voices\nmet her ear-flutes, drums?--The sacred dance, she supposed, must be going\non.\n\nShe came out into a room on one side of the hypostyle; her companion\nopened a high door, plated with gilt bronze and silver, and Gorgo\nfollowed him, walking gravely with her head held high and her eyes fixed\non the ground, into the magnificent hall where the sacred image sat\nenthroned in veiled majesty. They crossed the colonnade at the side of\nthe hypostyle and went down two steps into the vast nave of the temple.\n\nThe wild tumult that she had heard on first opening the door had\nsurprised and puzzled her; but now, as she timidly looked up and around\nher, she felt a shock of horror and revulsion such as might come over a\nman who, walking by night and believing that he is treading on flowers,\nsuddenly finds that the slimy slope of a bottomless bog is leading him to\nperdition. She tottered and clutched at a statue, gazing about her,\nlistening to the uproar, and wondering whether she were awake or\ndreaming.\n\nShe tried not to see and hear what was going on there; it was revolting,\nloathsome, horrible; but it was too manifest to be overlooked or ignored;\nits vulgarity and horror forced it on her attention. For some time she\nstood spell-bound, paralyzed; but then she covered her face with her\nhands; maidenly shame, bitter disillusion, and pious indignation at the\ngross desecration of all that she deemed most sacred and inviolable\nsurged up in her stricken soul, and she burst into tears, weeping as she\nhad never wept in all her life before. Sobbing bitterly, she wrapped her\nface in her veil, as though to protect herself from storm and chill.\n\nNo one heeded her; her companion had left her to seek her father. She\ncould only await his return, and she looked round for a hiding place.\nThen she observed a woman in mourning garb sitting huddled at the foot of\nthe statue of justice; she recognized her as the widow of Asclepiodorus\nand breathed more freely as she went up to her and said, between her sobs\n\"Let me sit by you; we can mourn together.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, come,\" said the other; and without enquiring what Gorgo's\ntrouble might be, moved only by the mysterious charm of finding another\nin like sorrow with herself, she drew the girl to her and bending over\nher, at length found relief in tears.\n\nThe two weeping women sat in silence, side by side, while in front of\nthem the orgy went on its frantic course. A party of men and women were\ndancing down the hall, singing and shouting. Flutes yelled, cymbals\nclanged, drums rattled and droned, without either time or tune. Drunken\npastophori had flung open the rooms where the vestments and sacred\nvessels were kept, and from these treasuries the ribald mob had dragged\nforth panther-skins such as the priests wore when performing the sacred\nfunctions, brass cars for carrying sacrifices, wooden biers on which the\nimages of the gods were borne in solemn processions, and other precious\nobjects. In a large room adjoining, a party of students and girls were\nconcocting some grand scheme for which they needed much time and large\nsupplies of wine; but most of those who had possessed themselves of the\nplunder had taken it into the hypostyle and were vying with each other in\nextravagant travesties.\n\nA burly wine-grower was elected to represent Dionysus and was seated with\nnothing but some wreaths of flowers to cover his naked limbs, in a\nfour-wheeled sacrificial car of beaten brass. An alabaster wine-jar stood\nbetween his fat knees, and his heavy body rolled with laughter as he was\ndrawn in triumph through the sacred arcades by a shouting rabble, as fast\nas they could run. Numbers of the intoxicated crew, mad with excitement\nand wine, had cast off their clothes which lay in heaps between the\npillars, soaking in puddles of spilt wine. In their wild dance the girls'\nhair had fallen about their heated faces, tangled with withered leaves\nand faded flowers, and the men, young and old alike, leaped and waltzed\nlike possessed creatures, flourishing thyrsus-staves and the emblems of\nthe lusty wine-god.\n\nA small band of priests and philosophers ventured into the chaos in the\nhope of quelling the riot, but a tipsy flute-player placed himself in\nfront of them and throwing back his head blew a furious blast to heaven\non his double pipe, shrill enough to wake the dead, while a girl seconded\nhim by flinging her tambourine in the face of the intruding pacificators.\nIt bounced against the shaft of a column, and then fell on the shaven\nhead of a priestling, who seized it and tossed it back. The game was soon\ntaken up, and before long, one tambourine after another was flying over\nthe heads of the frenzied crew. Every one was eager to have one, and\nsprung to catch them, scuffling and struggling and making the parchment\nsound on his neighbor's head.\n\nSome of the women had jumped on to the processional biers and were being\ncarried round the hall by staggering youths, screaming with alarm and\nlaughter; if one of them lost her balance and fell she was captured with\nshrieks of merriment and forced to mount her insecure eminence again.\nPresently the car of Dionysus came to wreck over the body of an\nunconscious toper, but no one stopped to set it right; and though the\nhapless representative of the god howled loudly to them to stop while he\nextricated himself from the machine, in which he had stuck, it was in\nvain; the score or so of youths who were dragging it tore on, passing\nclose by Gorgo, who noted with indignation, that the brasswork of the\naxles was cutting deeply into the splendid mosaic of the pavement. At\nlast the burly god fell out by his sheer weight, and his followers\nrestored him to consciousness by taking him by the heels and dipping his\ntowzled and bleeding head into a huge jar of wine and water. Then some\nhundreds of his drunken votaries danced madly round the rescued god; and\nas all the tambourines were split and the flute-players had no breath\nleft, time was kept by beating with thyrsus-staves against the pillars,\nwhile three men, who had found the brazen tubas among the temple vessels,\nblew with all their might and main.\n\nStrong opposition, however, was roused by this mad uproar. A party of\nworshippers, in the first place, rebelled against it; these had been\nstanding with veiled heads, near the statue of Serapis, muttering\nexorcisms after a Magian and howling lamentably at intervals; then a\npreacher, who had succeeded in collecting a little knot of listeners, bid\nthe trumpeters cease; and finally, a party of actors and singers, who had\nassembled in the outer hall to perform a satira play, tried to stop them,\nthough they themselves were making such a noise that the trumpet-blast\ncould have affected them but little. When the players found that\nremonstrance had no effect they rushed into the hypostyle and tried to\nreduce the musicians to silence by force.\n\nThen a frenzied contest began; but the combatants were soon separated;\nthe actors and their antagonists fell on each other's necks, and a\nHomeric poet, who had compiled an elegy for the evening on the \"Gods\ncoerced by the hosts of the new superstition,\" made up simply of lines\nculled from the Iliad and Odyssey, seized this favorable opportunity. He\nhad begun to read it at the top of his voice, screaming down the general\ndin, when everything was forgotten in the excitement caused by the\nentrance of a procession which was the successful result of many raids on\nthe temple-treasuries and lumber-rooms.\n\nA storm of applause greeted its appearance; the tipsiest stammered out\nhis approval, and the picture presented to drunken eyes was indeed a\nbeautiful and gorgeous one. On a high platform-intended for the display\nof a small image of Serapis and certain symbols of the god, at great\nfestivals--Glycera, the loveliest hetaira of the town, was drawn in\ntriumph through the temple. She reclined in a sort of bowl representing a\nshell, placed at the top of the platform, and on the lower stages sat\ngroups of fair girls, swaying gently with luxurious grace, and flinging\nflowers down to the crowd who, with jealous rivalry, strove to catch\nthem. Everyone recognized the beautiful hetaira as Aphrodite, and she was\nhailed, as with one voice, the Queen of the World. The men rushed forward\nto pour libations in her honor, and to join hands and dance in a giddy\nmaze round her car.\n\n\"Take her to Serapis!\" shouted a drunken student. \"Marry her to the god.\nHeavenly Love should be his bride!\"\n\n\"Yes--take her to Serapis,\" yelled another. \"It is the wedding of Serapis\nand Glycera.\"\n\nThe crazy rabble pushed the machine towards the curtain, with the\nbeautiful, laughing woman on the top, and her bevy of languishing\nattendants.\n\nUntil this instant the vivid lightning outside, and the growling of\ndistant thunder had not been heeded by the revellers, but now a blinding\nflash lighted up the hall and, at the same instant, a tremendous peal\ncrashed and rattled just above them, and shook the desecrated shrine. A\nsulphurous vapor came rolling in at the openings just below the roof, and\nthis first flash was immediately followed by another which seemed to have\nrent the vault of heaven, for it was accompanied by a deafening and\nstunning roar and a terrific rumbling and creaking, as though the metal\nwalls of the firmament had burst asunder and fallen in on the earth--on\nAlexandria--on the Serapeum.\n\nThe whole awful force of an African tempest came crashing down upon them;\nthe wild revel was stilled; the trembling topers dropped their cups,\nfevered checks turned pale, the dancers parted and threw up their hands\nin agonized supplication, words of lust and blasphemy died on their lips\nand turned to prayers and muttered charms. The terrified nymphs that\nsurrounded Venus sprang from the car, and the foam-born goddess in the\nshell tried to free herself from the garlands and gauzes in which she was\ninvolved, shrieking aloud when she perceived that she could not descend\nunaided from her elevated position. Other voices mingled with\nhers--lamenting, cursing, and entreating; for now the rainclouds burst,\nand through the window-openings poured a cold flood, chilling and wetting\nthe drunken mob within.\n\nThe storm raved through the halls and corridors; lightning and thunder\nraged fiercely overhead; and the terrified wretches, suddenly sobered,\nrushed about or huddled together, like ants whose nest has been upturned.\nAnd into the midst of this dismayed throng rushed Orpheus, the son of\nKarnis, who had been till now on guard on the roof, crying out: \"The\nworld is coming to an end, the heavens are opening! Father--where is my\nfather?\"\n\nAnd everyone believed him; they snatched off their garlands, tore their\nhair and gave themselves up to the utmost despair. Wailing, sobbing,\nhowling-furious, but impotent, they appealed to each other; and though\nthey had no hope of living to see another morning, or perhaps another\nhour, each one thought only of himself, of his garments, and of how he\nmight best cover his limbs that shivered with terror and cold. From the\nScuffling mob round the heaps of cast-off clothes came deep groans,\npiteous weeping, the shrieks of women, and the despairing moans of the\npanic-stricken wretches.\n\nIt was a fearful scene, at once heart-rending and revolting; Gorgo looked\non, gnashing her teeth with rage and disgust, and only wishing for the\nend of the world and of her own life as a respite from it all. These\ncrazed and miserable wretches, cowardly fools, these beasts in the guise\nof human beings, deserved no better than to perish; but was it\nconceivable that the supreme being should destroy the whole of the\nbeautiful and wisely-planned world for the sake of this base and\nloathsome rabble.\n\nIt thundered, it lightened, the foundations of the temple shook--but she\nno longer looked for the final crash; she had ceased to believe in the\nmajesty, the power and the purity of the divinity behind the veil. Her\ncheeks burnt with shame, she felt it a disgrace ever to have been\nnumbered among his adherents; and, as the howling of the terrified crowd\ngrew every moment louder and wilder, the memory of Constantine's grave\nand fearless manliness rose before her, in all its strength and beauty.\nShe was his, his wholly and forever; and for the future all that was his\nshould be hers: his love, his home, his noble purpose--and his God.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nThe doubtful light of dawn was beginning to break through the\nstorm-clouds as they exhausted their fury on the Serapeum, but the\nterrified heathen did not notice it. No captain, no prophet, no comforter\nhad come to revive their courage and hopes; for Olympius and his guests,\nthe leaders of the intellectual life of Alexandria--and among them the\nchief priests of the sanctuary--were tardy in making their appearance.\n\nThe lightning-flash which had fallen on the brassplated cupola, and then\ndischarged its force along a flagstaff, had alarmed even the sages and\nphilosophers; and the Symposium had come to an abrupt end but little more\ndignified than the orgy in the temple-halls. Few, to be sure, of the\nhigh-priest's friends had allowed themselves to be so far scared as to\nbetray their terrors frankly; on the contrary, when the crack of doom\nreally seemed to have sounded, rhetoric and argument grew even more eager\nthan before round Olympius' table; and Gorgo's opinion of her\nfellow-heathen might not have been much raised if she could have heard\nHelladius, the famous philologist and biographer, reciting verses from\n\"Prometheus bound,\" his knees quaking and lips quivering as he heard the\nthunder; or seen Ammonius, another grammarian who had written a\ncelebrated work on \"The Differences of Synonyms,\" rending his robe and\npresenting his bared breast as a target to the lightning, with a glance\nround at the company to challenge their admiration. His heroic display\nwas, unfortunately, observed by few; for most of them, including\nEunapius, a neo-platonic philosopher distinguished as a historian and an\nimplacable foe of the Christians, had wrapped their heads in their robes\nand were awaiting the end in sullen resignation. Some had dropped on\ntheir knees and were praying with uplifted hands, or murmuring\nincantations; and a poet, who had been crowned for a poem entitled: \"Man\nthe Lord and Master of the Gods,\" had fainted with fear, and his\nlaurel-wreath had fallen into a dish of oysters.\n\nOlympius had risen from his place as Symposiarch and was leaning against\na door-post awaiting death with manly composure. Father Karnis, who had\nmade rather too free with the wine-cup, but had been completely sobered\nby the sudden fury of the storm, had sprung up and hastened past the\nhigh-priest to seek his wife and son; he knew they could not be far off,\nand desired to perish with them.\n\nPorphyrius and his next neighbor, Apuleius, the great physician, were\namong those who had covered their faces. Porphyrius could look forward\nmore calmly than many to the approaching crisis; for, as a cautious man\nand far-seeing merchant, he had made provision for every contingency. If,\nin spite of a Christian victory, the world should still roll on, and if\nthe law which declared invalid the will of an apostate should be enforced\nagainst him, a princely fortune, out of the reach of Church or State, lay\nsafe in the hands of a wealthy and trustworthy friend for his daughter's\nuse; if, on the other hand, heaven and earth met in a common doom, he had\nby him an infallible remedy against a lingering and agonizing death.\n\nThe whole party had sat during some long and anxious minutes, listening\nto the appalling thunder-claps, when Orpheus rushed into the\nbanqueting-room, with the same frenzied and terror-stricken haste as\nbefore, among the revellers, crying: \"It is the end-all is over! The\nworld is falling asunder! Fire is come down from heaven! The earth is in\nflames already--I saw it with my own eyes! I have come down from the\nroof. . . .\n\n\"Father! Where is my father?\"\n\nAt this news the company started up in fresh alarm, Pappus, the\nmathematician, cried out: \"The conflagration has begun! Flame and fire\nare falling from the skies!\"\n\n\"Lost-lost!\" wailed Eunapius; while Porphyrius hastily felt in the folds\nof his purple garment, took out a small crystal phial and went, pale but\ncalm, up to the high-priest. He laid his hand on the arm of the friend\nwhom he had looked up to all his life with affectionate admiration, and\nsaid with an expression of tender regret:\n\n\"Farewell. We have often disputed over the death of Cato--you\ndisapproving and I approving it. Now I follow his example. Look--there is\nenough for us both.\"\n\nHe hastily put the phial to his mouth, and part of the liquid had passed\nhis lips before Olympius understood the situation and seized his arm. The\neffect of the deadly fluid was instantly manifest; but Porphyrius had\nhardly lost consciousness when Apuleius had rushed to his side. The\nphysician had succumbed to the universal panic and resigned himself\ndoggedly to Fate; but as soon as an appeal was made to his medical skill\nand he heard a cry for help, he had thrown off the wrapper from his head\nand hastened to the merchant's side to combat the effects of the poison,\nas clear-headed and decisive as in his best hours by the bed of sickness\nor in the lecture-room.\n\nWhen the very backbone of the soul seems to be broken, a sense of duty is\nthe one and last thing that holds it together and keeps it upright; and\nnature has implanted in us such a strong and instinctive regard for\nlife--which we are so apt to contemn--that even within a few paces of the\ngrave we cherish and foster it as carefully as in its prime, when the end\nseems still remote.\n\nThe merchant's desperate deed had been done under the very eyes of\nOrpheus, and the newer horror so completely overshadowed the older, that\nhe hastened unbidden to help the physician lay the unconscious man on the\nnearest couch; but then he went off again in search of his parents.\nOlympius, however, who at the sight of his friend's weakness had suddenly\ncomprehended how much depended, in these last hours, on his own resolute\ndemeanor, detained the youth, and sternly desired him to give an exact\nand clear account of what had happened on the roof. The young musician\nobeyed; and his report was certainly far from reassuring.\n\nA ball of fire had fallen with a terrific noise on the cupola, mingling\nwith flames that seemed to rise like streams of fire from the earth.\nThen, again the heavens had opened with a blinding flash and Orpheus had\nseen--with his own eyes seen--a gigantic monster--an uprooted mountain\nperhaps--which had slowly moved towards the back-wall of the Serapeum\nwith an appalling clatter; and not rain, but rivers, rushing torrents of\nwater, had poured down on the men on guard.\n\n\"It is Poseidon,\" cried the lad, \"bringing up the ocean against the\ntemple, and I heard the neighing of his horses. It was not an illusion, I\nheard it with my own ears. . . .\"\n\n\"The horses of Poseidon!\" interrupted Olympius. \"The horses of the\nImperial cavalry were what you heard!\"\n\nHe ran to the window with the activity of a younger man and, lifting the\ncurtain, looked out to the eastward. The storm had vanished as rapidly as\nit had come up and it was day. Over the rosy skirts of Eos hung a full\nand heavy robe of swelling grey and black clouds, edged with a fringe of\nsheeny gold. To the north a sullen flash now and then zigzagged across\nthe dark sky, and the roll of the thunder was faint and distant; but the\nhorses whose neighing had affrighted Orpheus were already near; they were\nstanding close to the southern or back-wall of the temple, in which there\nwas no gate or entrance of any kind. What object could the Imperial\ncavalry have in placing themselves by that strong and impenetrable spot?\n\nBut there was no time for much consideration, for at this instant the\ngong, which was sounded to call the defenders of the Serapeum together,\nrang through the precincts.\n\nOlympius needed no spur or encouragement. He turned to his guests with\nthe passion and fire of a fanatical leader, of the champion of a great\nbut imperilled cause, and bid them be men and stand by him to resist the\nfoe till death. His voice was husky with excitement as he spoke his brief\nbut vehement call to arms, and the effect was immense, precisely because\nthe speaker, carried away by the tide of feeling, had not tried to\nimpress the learned and eloquent men whom he addressed by any tricks of\nelocution or choice of words. They, too, were fired by the spark of the\nold man's enthusiasm; they gathered round him, and followed him at once\nto the rooms where the weapons had been deposited for use.\n\nBreastplates girt on to their bodies, and swords wielded in their hands\nmade soldiers of the sages at once, and inspired them with martial ardor.\nLittle was spoken among these heroes of \"the mighty word.\" They were bent\non action. Olympius Had desired Apuleius to go into his private room\nadjoining the hypostyle with Porphyrius, on whose senseless and rigid\nstate no treatment had as yet had any effect. Some of the temple-servants\ncarried the merchant down a back staircase, while Olympius hastily and\nsilently led his comrades in arms up the main steps into the great halls\nof the temple.\n\nHere the chivalrous host were doomed to surprise and disappointment\ngreater than the most hopeless of them was prepared to meet. Olympius\nhimself for a moment despaired; for his ecstatic adherents had during the\nnight turned to poltroons and tipplers, and the sacred precincts of the\nsanctuary looked as if a battle had been fought and lost there. Broken\nand bruised furniture, smashed instruments, garments torn and wet,\ndraggled wreaths, and faded flowers were strewn in every direction. The\nred wine lay in pools like blood on the scarred beauties of the inlaid\npavement; here and there, at the foot of a column, lay an inert\nbody--whether dead or merely senseless who could guess?--and the\nsickening reek of hundreds of dying lamps filled the air, for in the\nconfusion they had been left to burn or die as they might.\n\nAnd how wretched was the aspect of the sobered, terror-stricken, worn-out\nmen and women. An obscure consciousness of having insulted the god and\nincurred his wrath lurked in every soul. To many a one prompt death would\nhave seemed most welcome, and one man--a promising pupil of Helladius,\nhad actually taken the leap from existence into the non-existence which,\nas he believed, he should find beyond the grave; he had run his had\nviolently against a pillar, and lay at the foot of it with a broken\nskull.\n\nWith reeling brains, aching brows, and dejected hearts, the unhappy\ncreatures had got so far as to curse the present; and those who dared to\ncontemplate the future thought of it only as a bottomless abyss, towards\nwhich the flying hours were dragging them with unfelt but irresistible\nforce. Time was passing--each could feel and see that; night was gone, it\nwould soon be day; the storm had passed over, but instead of the\ninexorable powers of nature a new terror now hung over them: the no less\ninexorable power of Caesar. To the struggle of man against the gods there\nwas but one possible end: Annihilation. In the conflict of man against\nman there might yet be, if not victory, at least escape. The veteran\nMemnon, with his one arm, had kept watch on the temple-roof during that\nnight's orgy, planning measures for repulsing the enemy's attack, till\nthe storm had burst on him and his adherents with the \"artillery of\nheaven.\" Then the greater portion of the garrison had taken refuge in the\nlower galleries of the Serapeum, and the old general was left alone at\nhis post, in the blinding and deafening tempest. He threw his remaining\narm round a statue that graced the parapet of the roof to save himself\nfrom being swept or washed away; and he would still have shouted his\norders, but that the hurricane drowned his voice, and none of his few\nremaining adherents could have heard him speak. He, too, had heard the\nchamping of horses and had seen the moving mountain which Orpheus had\ndescribed. It was in fact a Roman engine of war; and, faithful though he\nwas to the cause he had undertaken, something like a feeling of joy\nstirred his warrior's soul, as he looked down on the fine and\nwell-drilled men who followed the Imperial standards under which he had,\nere now, shed his best blood. His old comrades in arms had not forgotten\nhow to defy the tempest, and their captains had been well advised in\npreparing to attack first what seemed the securest side of the temple.\nThe struggle, he foresaw, would be against tried soldiers, and it was\nwith a deep curse and a smile of bitter scorn that he thought of the\ninexperienced novices under his command. It was only yesterday that he\nhad tried to moderate Olympius' sanguine dreams, and had said to him: \"It\nis not by enthusiasm but by tactics that we defeat a foe!\"\n\nThe skill and experience he had to contend with were in no respect\ninferior to his own; and he would know, only too soon, what the practical\nworth might be of the daring and enthusiastic youths whom he had\nundertaken to command, and of whom he still had secret hopes for the\nbest.\n\nThe one thing to do was to prevent the Christians from effecting the\nbreach which they evidently intended to make in the back-wall, before the\nLibyan army of relief should arrive; and, at the same time, to defend the\nfront of the temple from the roof. There was a use for every one who\ncould heave a stone or flourish a sword; and when he thought over the\nnumber of his troops he believed he might succeed in holding the building\nfor some considerable time. But he was counting on false premises, for he\ndid not know how attractive the races had proved to his \"enthusiastic\nyouth\" and how great a change had come over most of them.\n\nAs soon as the wind had so far subsided that he could stand alone, he\nwent to collect those that still remained, and to have the brass gong\nsounded which was to summon the combatants to their posts. Its metallic\nclang rang loud and far through the dim dawn; a deaf man might have heard\nit in the deepest recess of the sanctuary--and yet the minutes slipped\nby--a quarter of an hour--and no one had come at its call. The old\ncaptain's impatience turned to surprise, his surprise became wrath. The\nmessengers he sent down did not return and the great moving shed of the\nRomans was brought nearer and nearer to the southern side of the temple,\nscreening the miners from the rare missiles which the few men remaining\nwith him cast clown by his orders.\n\nThe enemy were evidently making a suitable foundation on which to place\nthe storming engine--a beam with a ram's head of iron-to make a breach in\nthe temple-wall. Every minute's delay on the part of the besieged was an\nadvantage to the enemy. A hundred-two hundred more hands on the roof, and\ntheir tactics might yet be defeated.\n\nTears of rage, of the bitter sense of impotence, started to the old\nsoldier's eyes; and when, at length, one of his messengers came back and\ntold him that the men and women alike seemed quite demented, and all and\neach refused to come up on the roof, he uttered a wrathful curse and\nrushed down-stairs himself.\n\nHe stormed in on the trembling wretches; and when he beheld with his own\neyes all that his volunteers had done dining that fateful night, he raved\nand thundered; asked them, rather confusedly perhaps, if they knew what\nit was to be expected to command and find no obedience; scolded the\nrefractory, driving some on in front of him; and then, as he perceived\nthat some of them were making off with the girls through the door leading\nto the secret passage, he placed himself on guard with his sword drawn,\nand threatened to cut down any who attempted to escape.\n\nIn the midst of all this Olympius and his party had come into the ball\nand seeing the commander struggling, sword in hand, with the recalcitrant\nfugitives, where the noise was loudest, he and his guests hastened to the\nrescue and defended the door against the hundreds who were crowding to\nfly. The old man was grieved to turn the weapons they had seized in their\nsacred ardor, against the seceders from their own cause; but it had to\nbe. While the loyal party--among them Karnis and Orpheus--guarded the\npassage to the underground rooms with shield and lance, Olympius took\ncouncil of the veteran captain, and they rapidly decided to allow all the\nwomen to depart at once and to divide the men into two parties-one to be\nsent to fight on the roof, and the other to defend the wall where the\nRoman battering-ram was by this time almost ready to attack.\n\nThe high-priest took his stand boldly between his adherents and the\nwould-be runaways and appealed to them in loud and emphatic tones to do\ntheir duty. They listened to him silently and respectfully; but when he\nended by stating that the women were commanded to withdraw, a terrific\noutcry was raised, some of the girls clung to their lovers, while others\nurged the men to fight their way out.\n\nSeveral, however, and among them the fair Glycera who a few hours since\nhad smiled down triumphantly on her worshippers as Aphrodite, availed\nthemselves at once of the permission to quit this scene of horrors, and\nmade their way without delay to the subterranean passages. They had\nadorers in plenty in the city. But they did not get far; they were met by\na temple-servant flying towards the great hall, who warned them to return\nthither at once: the Imperial soldiers had discovered the entrance to the\naqueduct and posted sentries in the timber-yard. They turned and followed\nhim with loud lamentations, and hardly had they got back into the temple\nwhen a new terror came upon them: the iron battering-ram came with a\nfirst heavy shock, thundering against the southern wall.\n\nThe Imperial troops were in fact masters of the secret passage; and they\nhad begun the attack on the Serapeum in earnest. It was serious--but all\nwas not yet lost; and in this fateful hour Olympius and Memnon proved\ntheir mettle. The high-priest commanded that the great stone trap-doors\nshould be dropped into their places, and that the bridges across the\ngulfs, in the underground rooms reserved for the initiated, should be\ndestroyed; and this there was yet time to do, for the soldiers had not\nyet ventured into those mysterious corridors, where there could not fail\nto be traps and men in ambush. Memnon meanwhile had hurried to the spot\nwhere the battering-ram had by this time dealt a second blow, shouting as\nhe went to every man who was not a coward to follow him.\n\nKarnis, Orpheus and the rest of the high-priest's guests obeyed his call\nand gathered round him; he commanded that everything portable should be\nbrought out of the temple to be built into a barricade behind the point\nof attack, and that neither the most precious and beautiful statues, nor\nthe brass and marble stelae and altar-slabs should be spared. Screened by\nthis barricade, and armed with lances and bows--of which there were\nplenty at hand--he proposed, when the breach was made, to check the\nfurther advance of the foe.\n\nHe was not ill-pleased that the only way of escape was cut off; and as\nsoon as he had seen the statues dragged from their pedestals, the\naltar-stones removed from the sacred places they had filled for half a\ncentury, benches and jars piled together and a stone barricade thus\nfairly advanced towards completion, he drafted off a small force for the\ndefences on the roof. There was no escape now; and many a one who, to the\nvery last, had hoped to find himself free, mounted the stairs\nreluctantly, because he would there be more immediately in the face of\nthe foe than when defending the breach.\n\nOlympius distributed weapons, and went from one to another, speaking\nwords of encouragement; presently he found Gorgo who, with the bereaved\nwidow, was still sitting at the foot of the statue of justice. He told\nher that her father was ill, and desired a servant to show her the way to\nhis private room, that she might help the leech in attending on him.\nBerenice could not be induced to stir; she longed only for the end and\nwas persuaded that it could not be far off. She listened eagerly to the\nblows of the battering-engine; each one sounded to her like a shock to\nthe very structure of the universe. Another--and another--and at last the\nancient masonry must give way and the grave that had already opened for\nher husband and her son would yawn to swallow her up with her sorrows.\nShe shuddered and drew her hood over her face to screen it from the sun\nwhich now began to shine in. Its light was a grievance to her; she had\nhoped never to see another day.\n\nThe women, and with them a few helpless weaklings, had withdrawn to the\nrotunda, and before long they were laughing as saucily as ever.\n\nFrom the roof blocks of stone and broken statues were hailing down on the\nbesiegers, and in the halls below, the toiler who paused to wipe the\nsweat from his brow would brook no idleness in his comrade; the most\nrecalcitrant were forced to bestir themselves, and the barricade inside\nthe southern wall soon rose to a goodly height. No rampart was ever built\nof nobler materials; each stone was a work of art and had been reverenced\nfor centuries as something sacred, or bore in an elegant inscription the\nmemorial of noble deeds. This wall was to protect the highest of the\ngods, and among the detachment told off to defend it, were Karnis, his\nson, and his wife.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nGorgo sat by the bed of her apparently lifeless father, gazing fondly at\nthe worn and wax-like features, and listening to his breathing, now soft\nand easy and again painful and convulsive, as it fluttered through his\nnostrils. She held his cold damp hand tightly clasped, or stroked it\ngently, or now and then, when his closed eyelids quivered, raised it\ntenderly to her lips.\n\nThe room in which they were lay on one side of the hypostyle and behind\nthe right-hand--or western--colonnade; more forward, therefore, than the\nveiled statue and to its left hand. The noise of the toilers at the\nbarricade and the crash of the blows of the battering-ram came up from\njust below, and at each thud of the engine the senseless man started\nconvulsively and a look of intense pain crossed his face. But, though it\nwas indeed grievous to Gorgo to see her father suffering, though she told\nherself again and again that, ere long, the sanctuary must fall into the\nhands of the Christians, she felt safe, thankful and sheltered up here,\nin her old friend's half-lighted and barely-furnished room, shut off, at\nany rate, from the frenzied wretches of whom she thought only with\nloathing and fear.\n\nShe was wearied out with her night of unrest, but the agitation and\nexcitement she had gone through were still vividly present to her mind,\nand even on the comfortable couch in her own snug room at home her\nperturbed spirit would have prevented her sleeping. Her brain was still\nin a ferment, and here, in comparative peace, she had time to think over\nall she had gone through during the last few hours, and the catastrophes\nthat had befallen her grandmother and her father. She had exchanged but\nfew words with the physician, who was still unceasingly busy in trying to\nrestore his patient to consciousness, and who had assured her that he had\nevery hope of her father's recovery.\n\nBut at length the girl looked up with an eager gaze and said, sadly\nenough: \"You said something about an antidote to poison, Apuleius? Then\nmy father tried to escape the final destruction by attempting to kill\nhimself.--Is it so?\"\n\nThe leech looked at her keenly, and after confirming her suspicion and\nexplaining to her exactly how the fateful deed had been accomplished, he\nwent on:\n\n\"The storm had completely unnerved him--it unmanned us all--and yet that\nwas only the prelude to the tremendous doom which is hanging over the\nuniverse. It is at hand; we can hear its approach; the stones are\nyielding! the Christian's engines are opening the way for it to enter!\"\n\nApuleius spoke in a tone of sinister foreboding, and the falling stones\ndislodged by the battering-ram thundered a solemn accompaniment to his\nprophecy. Gorgo, turned pale; but it was not the physician's ominous\nspeech that alarmed her, but the quaking of the walls of the room. Still,\nthe Serapeum was built for eternity; the ram might bring down a wall, but\nit could not destroy or even shake the building itself.\n\nOutside, the hubbub of fighting men grew louder and louder every minute,\nand Apuleius, increasingly anxious, went to the door to listen. Gorgo\ncould see that his hands trembled! he--a man--was frightened, while she\nfelt no anxiety but for her suffering father! Through that breach\nConstantine would enter--and where he commanded she was safe. As to the\ndestruction of the universe--she no longer believed in it. When the\nphysician turned round and saw her calmly and quietly wiping the cold\ndrops from the sick man's brow, he said gloomily: \"Of what use is it to\nshut our eyes like the ostrich. They are fighting down there for life or\ndeath--we had better prepare for the end. If they venture--and they\nwill--to lay a sacrilegious hand on the god, besiegers and besieged\nalike--the whole world together, must perish.\"\n\nBut Gorgo shook her head. \"No, no,\" she cried, with zealous confidence.\n\"No, Apuleius, Serapis is not what you believe him to be; for, if he\nwere, would he suffer his enemies to overthrow his temple and his image?\nWhy does he not, at this supreme moment, inspire his worshippers with\ncourage? I have seen the men--mere boys--and the women who have assembled\nhere to fight for him. They are nothing but drivellers and triflers. If\nthe master is like his men it serves him right if he is overthrown; to\nweep for him would be waste of woe!\"\n\n\"And can the daughter of Porphyrius say this?\" exclaimed the leech.\n\n\"Yes, Apuleius, yes. After what I have seen, and heard, and endured this\nnight, I cannot speak otherwise. It was shameful, horrible, sickening; I\ncould rage at the mere thought of being supposed to be one of that\ndebased crew. It is disgrace and ignominy even to be named in the same\nbreath! A god who is served as this god has been is no god of mine! And\nyou--you are learned--a sage and a philosopher--how can you believe that\nthe God of the Christians when he has conquered and crippled yours, will\never permit Serapis to destroy His world and the men He created?\"\n\nApuleius drew himself up. \"Are you then a Christian?\" he asked swiftly\nand sternly.\n\nBut Gorgo could not reply; she colored deeply and Apuleius vehemently\nrepeated his question: \"Then you really are a Christian?\"\n\nShe looked frankly in his face: \"No,\" she said, \"I am not; but I wish I\nwere.\"\n\nThe physician turned away with a shrug; but Gorgo drew a breath of\nrelief, feeling that her avowal had lifted a heavy burthen from her soul.\nShe hardly knew how the bold and momentous confession had got itself\nspoken, but she felt that it was the only veracious answer to the\nphysician's question.\n\nThey spoke no more; she was better pleased to remain silent, for her own\nutterance had opened out to her a new land of promise--of feeling and of\nthought.\n\nHer lover henceforth was no longer her enemy; and as the tumult of the\nstruggle by the breach fell on her ear, she could think with joy of his\nvictorious arms. She felt that this was the purer, the nobler, the better\ncause; and she rejoiced in the love of which he had spoken as the support\nand the stay of their future life together--as sheltering them like a\ntower of strength and a mighty refuge. Compared with that love all that\nshe had hitherto held dear or indispensable as gracing life, now seemed\nvain and worthless; and as she looked at her father's still face, and\nremembered how he had lived and what he had suffered, she applied those\nwords of Paul which Constantine had spoken at their meeting after his\nreturn, to him, too; and her heart overflowed with affection towards her\nhapless parent. She knew full well the meaning of the deep lines that\nmarked his lips and brow; for Porphyrius had never made any secret of his\ndistress and vexation whenever he found himself compelled to confess a\ncreed in which he did not honestly believe. This great falsehood and\nconstant duplicity, this divided allegiance to two masters, had poisoned\nthe existence of a man by nature truthful; and Gorgo knew for whose sake\nand for what reasons he had subjected himself to this moral martyrdom. It\nwas a lesson to her to see him lying there, and his look of anguish\nwarned her to become, heart and soul, a Christian as she felt prompted.\nShe would confess Christ for love's sake-aye, for love's sake; for in\nthis hour the thing she saw most clearly in the faith which she purposed\nto adopt, and of which Constantine had so often spoken to her with\naffectionate enthusiasm, was Everlasting Love.\n\nNever in her life had she felt so much at peace, so open to all that was\ngood and beautiful; and yet, outside, the strife grew louder and more\nfurious; the Imperial tuba sounded above the battle-cry of the heathen,\nand the uproar of the struggle came nearer and nearer.\n\nThe battering-ram had made a large breach in the southern wall, and,\nprotected by their shed, the heavy-armed infantry of the twenty-second\nlegion had forced their way up; but many a veteran had paid for his\nrashness with his life, for the storming party had been met by a perfect\nshower of arrows and javelins. Still, the great shield had turned many a\nspear, and many an arrow had glanced harmless from the brazen armor and\nhelmets; the men that had escaped pressed onwards, while fresh ranks of\nsoldiers made their way in, over the bodies of the fallen. The\nwell-drilled foe came creeping up to the barricade on their knees, and\nprotected by bronze bucklers, while others, in the rear, flung lances and\narrows over their heads at the besieged. A few of the heathen fell, and\nthe sight of their blood had a wonderful effect on their comrades. Rage\nsurged up in the breasts of the most timid, and fear vanished before the\npassion for revenge; cowardice turned to martial ardor, and philosophers\nand artists thirsted for blood. The red glare of strife danced before the\neyes of the veriest book-worm; fired by the terrible impulse to kill, to\nsubdue, to destroy the foe, they fought desperately and blindly, staking\ntheir lives on the issue.\n\nKarnis, that zealous votary of the Muses, stood with Orpheus, on the very\ntop of the barricade throwing lance after lance, while he sang at the top\nof his voice snatches of the verses of Tyrtaeus, in the teeth, as it\nwere, of the foe who were crowding through the breach; the sweat streamed\nfrom his bald head and his eye flashed fire. By his side stood his son,\nsending swift arrows from an enormous bow. The heavy curls of his hair\nhad come unbound and fell over his flushed face. When he hit one of the\nImperial soldiers his father applauded him eagerly; then, collecting all\nhis strength, flung another lance, chanting a hexameter or a verse of an\node. Herse crouched half hidden behind a sacrificial stone which lay at\nthe top of the hastily-constructed rampart, and handed weapons to the\ncombatants as they needed them. Her dress was torn and blood-stained, her\ngrey hair had come loose from the ribbands and crescent that should have\nconfined it; the worthy matron had become a Megaera and shrieked to the\nmen: \"Kill the dogs! Stand steady! Spare never a Christian!\"\n\nBut the little garrison needed no incitement; the fevered zeal which\npossessed them wholly, seconded their thirst for blood and doubled their\nstrength.\n\nAn arrow, shot by Orpheus, had just glanced over the breastplate and into\nthe throat of a centurion who had already set foot on the lowest step,\nwhen Karnis suddenly dropped the spear he was preparing to fling and fell\nwithout a cry. A Roman lance had hit him, and he lay transfixed by the\nside of a living purple fount, like a rock in the surf from which a\nsapling has sprung. Orpheus saw his father's life-blood flowing and fell\non his knees by his side; but the old man pointed to the bow that his son\nhad cast aside and murmured eagerly: \"Leave me--let me be. What does it\nmatter about me? Fight--for the gods--I say. For the gods! Go on, aim\ntruly!\"\n\nBut the lad would not leave the dying man, and seeing how deeply the\nspear had struck to the old man's heart he groaned aloud, throwing up his\narms in despair. Then an arrow hit his shoulder, another pierced his\nneck, and he, too, fell gasping for breath. Karnis saw him drop, and\npainfully raised himself a little to help him; but it was too much for\nhim; he could only clench his fist in helpless fury and chant,\nhalf-singing, half-speaking, as loud he was able, Electra's curse:\n\n     \"This my last prayer, ye gods, do not disdain!\n     For them turn day to night and joy to pain!\"\n\nBut the heavy infantry, who by this time were crowding through the\nbreach, neither heard nor heeded his curse. He lost consciousness and did\nnot recover it till Herse, after lifting up her son and propping him\nagainst a plinth, pressed a cloth against the stump of the lance still\nremaining in the wound to staunch the swiftly flowing blood, and\nsprinkled his brow with wine. He felt her warm tears on his face, and as\nhe looked up into her kind, faithful eyes, brimming over with tears of\nsympathy and regret, his heart melted to tenderness. All the happiest\nhours of the life they had spent together crowded on his memory; he\nanswered her glance with a loving and grateful gaze and painfully held\nout his hand. Herse pressed it to her lips, weeping bitterly; but he\nsmiled up at her, nodding his head and repeating again and again the line\nfrom Lucian: \"Be comforted: you, too, must soon follow.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--I shall follow soon,\" she repeated with sobs. \"Without you,\nwithout either of you, without the gods--what would become of me here.\"\n\nAnd she turned to her son who, fully conscious, had followed every word\nand every gesture of his parents and tried himself to say something. But\nthe arrow in his neck choked his breath, and it was such agony to speak\nthat he could only say hoarsely: \"Father mother!\" But these poor words\nwere full of deep love and gratitude, and Karnis and Herse understood all\nhe longed to express.\n\nTears choked the poor woman's utterance so that neither of the three\ncould say another word, but they were at any rate close together, and\ncould look lovingly in each other's eyes. Thus passed some few minutes of\npeace for them, in spite of the blare of trumpets, and shrieks and\nbutchery; but Herse's kerchief was dyed and soaked with her husband's\nblood, and the old man's eyes were glazed and staring as they wandered\nfeebly on the scene, as though to get a last general picture of the world\nin which they had always sought to see only what was fair. Suddenly they\nremained fixed on the face of a statue of Apollo, which had been flung on\nto the barricade; and the longer they dwelt on the beautiful countenance\nof the god the more they sparkled with a clear transfigured gleam. Once\nmore, with a final effort, he raised his heavy hand and pointed to the\nsun-crowned head of the immortal youth while he softly murmured:\n\n\"He--he--all that was fair in existence--Orpheus, Herse--we owe it all to\nhim. He dies with us.--They--the enemy--in conquering us conquer thee!\nThey dream of a Paradise beyond death; but where thou reignest, O\nPhoebus, there is bliss even on earth! They boast that they love death\nand hate life; and when they are the victors they will destroy lute and\npipe, nay, if they could, would exterminate beauty and extinguish the\nsun. This beautiful happy world they would have dark, gloomy, melancholy,\nhideous; thy kingdom, great Phoebus, is sunny, joyful and bright . . . !\"\nHere his strength failed him; but presently he rallied once more and went\non, with eager eyes: \"We crave for light, for music, lutes and pipes--for\nperfumed flowers on careless brows--we--hold me up Herse--and thou, heal\nme, O Phoebus Apollo!--Hail, all hail! I thank thee--thou hast accepted\nmuch from me and hast given me all! Come, thou joy of my soul! Come in\nthy glorious chariot, attended by Muses and Hours! See, Orpheus,\nHerse--do you see Him coming?\"\n\nHe pointed with a confident gesture to the distance; and his anxious eyes\nfollowed the indication of his hand; he raised himself a little by a last\nsupreme effort; but instantly fell back; his head sank on the bosom of\nhis faithful partner and a stream of blood flowed from his quivering\nlips. The votary of the Muses was dead; and a few minutes after Orpheus,\ntoo, fell senseless.\n\nWar-cries and trumpet-calls rang and echoed through the Serapeum. The\nbattle was now a hand-to-hand fight; the besiegers had surmounted the\nbarricade and stood face to face with the heathen. Herse saw them coming;\nshe snatched the dart from her husband's wound, and fired by hatred and a\nwild thirst for vengeance, she rushed upon the besiegers with frantic and\nhelpless fury, cursing them loudly. She met the death she craved; a\njavelin struck her and she fell close to her husband and son. Her death\nstruggle was a short one; she had only time and strength to extend a hand\nto lay on each before she herself was a corpse.\n\nThe battle raged round the heap of dead; the Imperial troops drove the\ngarrison backwards into the temple-halls, and the plan of attack which\nhad been agreed upon at a council of war held in the palace of the Comes,\nwas carried out, point by point, with cool courage and irresistible\nforce. A few maniples pursued the fugitives into the main entrance hall,\nhelped them to force the gates open, and then drove them down the slope\nand steps, over the stones that had been heaped up for protection, and\ninto the very arms of the division placed in front of the temple. These\nat once surrounded them and took them prisoners, as the hunter traps the\ngame that rushes down upon him when driven by the dogs and beaters.\nForemost to fly were the women from the rotunda, who were welcomed with\nacclamations by the soldiers.\n\nBut those who now tried to defend themselves found no quarter. Berenice\nhad picked up a sword that was lying on the ground and had opened a vein\nwith the point of it; her body, bathed in blood, was found at the foot of\nthe statue of justice.\n\nNo sooner had the Christians mastered the barricade than a few maniples\nhad been sent up to the roof, and the defenders had been compelled to\nsurrender or to throw themselves from the parapet. Old Memnon, who had\nbeen fighting against his Imperial master and could hope for no mercy,\nsprang at once into the gulf below, and others followed his example; for\nthe end of all things was now close at hand, and to the nobler souls to\ndie voluntarily in battle for great Serapis seemed finer and worthier\nthan to languish in the enemy's chains.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThe terrific storm of the preceding night had thrown the whole city into\ndismay. Everyone knew the danger that threatened Serapis, and what must\nensue if he were overthrown; and everyone had thought that the end of the\nworld had indeed come. But the tempest died away; the sun's bright glow\ndispersed the clouds and mist; sea and sky smiled radiantly blue, and the\ntrees and herbage glistened in revived freshness.\n\nNot yet had the Romans dared to lay hands on the chief of the gods, the\npatron and protector of the city. Serapis had perhaps sent the lightning,\nthunder and rain as a message to warn his foes. If only they might\nabstain from the last, worst crime of desecrating his image!\n\nNor was this the hope of the heathen only; on the contrary: Jews and\nChristians no less dreaded the fall of the god and of his temple. He was\nthe pride, the monumental glory of the city of Alexander; the centre of\nfoundations and schools which benefited thousands. The learning which was\nthe boast of Alexandria dwelt under his protection; to the Serapeum was\nattached a medical Faculty which enjoyed the reputation of being the\nfirst in the world; from its observatory the course of the year was\nforecast and the calendar was promulgated. An hour's slumber in its halls\nbrought prophetic dreams, and the future must remain undivined if Serapis\nwere to fall, for the god revealed it to his priests, not merely by the\ncourses and positions of the stars, but by many other signs; and it was a\ndelight and a privilege to look forward from the certain, tangible\npresent to the mysteries of the morrow.\n\nEven Christian seers answered the questionings of their followers in a\nway which portended the worst, and it was a grief to many of the baptized\nto think of their native city without Serapis and the Serapeum, just as\nwe cannot bear to cut down a tree planted by the hand of an ancestor,\neven though it may darken our home. The temple ought to be closed, bloody\nsacrifices to the god should be prohibited--but his image--the noblest\nwork of Bryaxis--to mutilate, or even to touch that would be a rash, a\nfateful deed, treason to the city and an outrage on the world.\n\nThus thought the citizens; thus, too, thought the soldiers, who were\nrequired by military discipline to draw the sword against the god in whom\nmany of them believed.\n\nAs the news spread that the troops were to attack the Serapeum early next\nmorning, thousands of spectators collected, and filled the temple itself\nin breathless anxiety to watch the issue of the struggle.\n\nThe sky was as clear and blue as on any other fine day; but over the sea\nto the north lay a light stratum of clouds--the harbingers perhaps of the\nappalling blackness which the god would presently bring up against his\nenemies.\n\nThe men who had defended the Serapeum were led away; it had been\ndetermined in a council of war that they should be treated with clemency,\nand Cynegius had proclaimed free and full pardon to every prisoner who\nwould swear never, for the future, to sacrifice to the god or worship in\nhis temple.\n\nNot one of the hundreds who had fallen into the hands of the Romans had\nrefused to take the oath; they dispersed at once, though with suppressed\nfury, many of them joining the crowd who stood waiting and watching for\nthe next step to be taken by the Romans--for the final crash of the\nuniverse, perhaps.\n\nThe doors of the temple were thrown wide open; the temple-servants and\nhundreds of soldiers were busied in clearing the steps and approaches of\nthe stones and fragments of statuary with which the heathen had\nencumbered them. As soon as this task was finished the dead and wounded\nwere removed; among those who still breathed was Orpheus, the son of\nKarnis. Those who had been so happy as to escape in the defence of the\nsanctuary and had mingled with the crowd were besieged with questions,\nand all agreed that the statue of the god was as yet inviolate.\n\nThe citizens were relieved, but ere long were startled by a new alarm; an\nAla of heavy cavalry came upon the scene, opening a way for an immensely\nlong procession whose chanted psalms rang out from afar, loud above the\ncries and murmurs of the mob, the clatter of harness, and stamping of\nhorses. It was clear now where the monks had been. They were not usually\nabsent when there was a skirmish with the heathen; but, till this moment,\nthey had been seen only in twos or threes about the Serapeum. Now they\ncame forward shouting a psalm of triumph, their eyes glaring, wilder and\nmore ruthless than ever.\n\nThe Bishop marched at their head, in his vestments, under a magnificent\ncanopy; his lofty stature was drawn to its full height and his lips were\nfirmly closed.\n\nHe looked like a stern judge about to mount the tribunal to pronounce\nsentence with inexorable severity on some execrable crime.\n\nThe crowd quailed.\n\nThe Bishop and the monks in the Serapeum, meant the overthrow of the\nstatue of the sovereign god--death and destruction. The boldest turned\npale; many who had left wife and children at home stole away to await the\nend of the world with those they loved; others remained to watch the\nmenaced sanctuary, cursing or praying; but the greater number, men and\nwomen alike, crowded into the temple, risking their lives to be present\nat the stupendous events about to be enacted there and which promised to\nbe a drama of unequalled interest.\n\nAt the bottom of the ascent the Comes rode forth to meet the Bishop,\nleaped from his saddle and greeted him with reverence. The Imperial\nlegate had not made his appearance; he had preferred to remain for the\npresent at the prefect's house, intending to preside, later in the day,\nat the races as the Emperor's representative, side by side with the\nPrefect Evagrius--who also kept aloof during the attack on the Serapeum.\nAfter a brief colloquy, Romanus signed to Constantine, the captain of the\ncavalry; the troop dismounted, and, led by their officer, marched up the\nslope that led to the great gate of the Serapeum. They were followed by\nthe Comes with his staff; next to him pale and somewhat tremulous came\nsome of the city officials and a few Christian members of the senate; and\nthen the Bishop--who had preferred to come last--with all the Christian\npriesthood and a crowd of chanting monks. The train was closed by a\ndivision of heavy-armed infantry; and after them the populace rushed in,\nunchecked by the soldiers who stood outside the temple.\n\nThe great halls of the Serapeum had been put in order as well as possible\nin so short a time. Of all those who, the day before, had crowded in to\ndefend the god and his house, none were left but Porphyrius and those who\nwere nursing him. After a long and agonizing period of silence heavy\nfists came thundering at the door. Gorgo started up to unbolt it, but\nApuleius held her back; so it was forced off its hinges and thing into\nthe temple-aisle on which the room opened. At the same instant a party of\nsoldiers entered the room and glanced round it enquiringly.\n\nThe physician turned as pale as death, and sank incapable of speech on a\nseat by his patient's couch; but Gorgo turned with calm dignity to the\ncenturion who led the intruders, and explained to him who she was, and\nthat she was here under the protection of the leech to tend her suffering\nfather. She concluded by asking to speak with Constantine the prefect of\ncavalry, or with the Comes Romanus, to whom she and her father were well\nknown.\n\nThere was nothing unusual in a sick man being brought into the Serapeum\nfor treatment, and the calm, undoubting superiority of Gorgo's tone as\nwell as the high rank of the men whose protection she appealed to,\ncommanded the centurion's respectful consideration; however, his orders\nwere to send every one out of the temple who was not a Roman soldier, so\nhe begged her to wait a few minutes, and soon returned with the legate\nVolcatius, the captain of his legion. This knightly patrician well\nknew--as did every lover of horses--the owner of the finest stable in\nAlexandria, and was quite willing to allow Gorgo and Apuleius to remain\nwith their patient; at the same time he warned them that a great\ncatastrophe was imminent. Gorgo, however, persisted in her wish to be by\nher father's side, so he left her a guard to protect them.\n\nThe soldiers were too busy to linger; instead of replacing the door they\nhad torn down, they pushed it out of their way; and Gorgo, seeing that\nher father remained in precisely the same condition, drew back the\ncurtain which was all that now divided them from the hypostyle, and\nlooked out over the heads of a double row of soldiers. They were posted\nclose round the lower step of the platform that raised the hypostyle\nabove the nave and the colonnades on each side of it.\n\nIn the distance Gorgo could see a vast body of men slowly approaching in\ndetachments, and with long pauses at intervals. They stopped for some\ntime in the outer hall, and before they entered the basilica twenty\nChristian priests came in with strange gestures and a still stranger\nchant; these were exorcists, come to bann the evil spirits and daemons\nthat must surely haunt this high place of idolatry and abominations. They\ncarried crosses which they flourished like weapons against an unseen foe,\nand touched the columns with them, the pavement and the few remaining\nstatues; they fell on their knees, making the sign of the cross with the\nleft hand; and, finally, they ranged themselves like soldiers in three\nranks in front of the niche containing the statue, pointed their crosses\nat the god, and recited in loud, angry, and commanding tones the potent\nanathemas and mysterious formulas which they thought calculated to expel\nthe most reprobate and obdurate of all the heathen devils. A host of\nacolytes, following at their heels, swung their censers about the\nplague-spot--the shrine of the king of idols; while the exorcists dipped\nwands into a cauldron carried by their attendants, and sprinkled the\nmystical figures on the hanging and on the mosaic pavement.\n\nAll this occupied several minutes. Then--and Gorgo's heart beat\nhigh--then Constantine came in, armed and equipped, and behind him an Ala\nof picked men, the elite of his troop; bearded men with tanned and\nscarred faces. Instead of swords they carried axes, and they were\nfollowed by sappers bearing tall ladders which, by Constantine's orders,\nthey leaned up against the niche. The infantry ranged under the\ncolonnades at the sides were evidently startled at the sight of these\nladders, and Gorgo could perceive by the trembling of the curtain near\nwhich she and Apuleius were standing, how deeply the physician was\nagitated. It was as though the axe had been displayed with which a king\nwas about to be decapitated.\n\nNow the Bishop came in with the municipal dignitaries; priests and monks,\nchanting as they walked, filled the broad hall, incessantly making the\nsign of the cross; and the crowd that poured into the hypostyle pressed\nas far forward as they were allowed by the chain which the soldiers held\noutstretched between them and their superiors.\n\nThe populace-heathen and Christian of every sect and degree-filled the\naisles, too; but the chain also kept them off the upper end, on to which\nthe room opened in which Porphyrius lay; so that Gorgo's view of the\ncurtain and apse remained unhindered.\n\nThe psalm rang loudly through the temple-courts above the murmur and\ngrumble of the angry, terrified and expectant mob. They were prepared for\nthe worst; each one knew the crime which was to be perpetrated, and yet\nfew, perhaps, really believed that any one would dare to commit it.\nWhichever way she looked Gorgo saw only white faces, stamped with\npassion, dismay, and dread. The very priests and soldiers themselves had\nturned pale, and stood with bloodless cheeks and set teeth, staring at\nthe ground; some, to disguise their alarm, cast wrathful and defiant\nglances at the rebellious mob, who tried to drown the psalm-singing in\nloud menaces and curses, and the echoes of the great building doubled\ntheir thousand voices.\n\nA strange unrest seethed in this dense mass of humanity. The heathen were\ntrembling with rage, clutching their amulets and charms, or shaking angry\nfists; the Christians thrilled with anxiety and pious zeal, and used\ntheir hands to lift the cross or to ward off the evil one with\noutstretched fingers. Every face and every gesture, the muttered curses\nand pious hymns--all showed that some terrible and fateful event was\nimpending over all. Gorgo herself felt as though she were standing on the\nbrink of a crater, while air and earth heaved around her; she felt and\nsaw the eruption of the volcano threatening, every instant, to burst at\nher feet, and to choke and ruin every living thing.\n\nThe uproar among the heathen grew louder and louder; fragments of stone\nand wood came flying towards the spot where the Bishop and officials were\nstanding; but, suddenly, the tumult ceased, and, as if by a miracle,\nthere was silence--perfect silence--in the temple. It was as though at a\nsign from the Omnipotent Ruler the storm-lashed ocean had turned to the\ncalm of a land-locked lake. At a nod from the Bishop some acolytes had\nstepped up to the niche where the statue of the god was shrouded and the\ncurtain, which till now had hidden it, slowly began to fall.\n\nThere sat Serapis, looking down in majestic indifference, as cold and\nunapproachable as if his sublime dignity was far removed above the petty\ndoings of the crawling humanity at his feet; and the effect was as\nimpressive now as it had been the evening before. How beautiful--how\nmarvellously grand and lofty was this work of human hands! Even the\nChristians could not repress a low, long-drawn murmur of surprise,\nadmiration, and astonishment. The heathen were at first silent, overcome\nby pious awe and ecstasy; but then they broke out in a loud and\ntriumphant shout, and their cries of \"Hail to Serapis!\" \"Serapis, reign\nforever!\" rang from pillar to pillar and echoed from the stony vault of\nthe apse and ceiling.\n\nGorgo crossed her hands over her bosom as she saw the god revealed in his\nglorious beauty. Spotlessly pure, complete and perfect, the noble statue\nstood before her; an idol indeed, and perishable--but still divine as a\nmatchless work, wrought by the loving hands of a votary of the god,\ninspired by the immortals. She gazed spell-bound on the form which,\nthough human, transcended humanity as eternity transcends time, as the\nlight of the sun transcended the blazing beacon on Pharos; and she said\nto herself that it was impossible that an irreverent hand should be laid\non this supremely lovely statue, crowned with the might of undying\nbeauty.\n\nShe saw that even the Bishop drew back a step when the curtain had\nfallen, and his lips parted involuntarily to utter a cry of admiration\nlike the others; but she saw, too, that he closed them again and pressed\nthem more firmly together; that his eye sparkled with a fiercer light as\nthe shout of the heathen rose to heaven, that the knotted veins on his\nhigh forehead swelled with rage as he heard the cry of \"Serapis, Hail,\nall hail!\" Then she noted the Comes, as he whispered soothing words in\nthe prelate's ear, praying him perhaps to spare the statue--not as an\nidol, but as a work of art; as he turned from Theophilus with a shrug;\nand then--her heart stood still, and she had to cling to the curtain--he\npointed to the statue, with a nod of intelligence to Constantine. The\nyoung officer bowed with military formality and gave a word of command to\nhis men, which was drowned by the wild cries of the heathen as soon as\nthey apprehended with dismay what its import was.\n\nThe veterans were stirred. A subaltern officer, putting the standard he\nbore into the hands of the man next to him and taking his axe from him\ninstead, rushed towards the statue, gazed up at it--and then, letting the\naxe sink, withdrew slowly to rejoin the others who still stood\nhesitating, looking at each other with doubting and defiant eyes.\n\nOnce more Constantine shouted his order, louder and more positively than\nbefore; but the men did not move. The subaltern flung his axe on the\nground and the rest followed his example, pointing eagerly to the god,\nand vehemently adjuring their prefect--refusing apparently to obey his\ncommands--for he went to the recalcitrant standard-bearer, a grey-haired\nveteran, and laying his hand on the man's shoulder shook him angrily,\nevidently threatening him and his comrades.\n\nIn these brave souls a struggle was going on, between their sense of\ndiscipline and devotion to their fine young leader, and their awe of the\ngod; it was visible in their puzzled faces, in their hands raised in\nsupplication. Constantine, however, relentlessly repeated his order; and,\nwhen they still refused to obey, he turned his back on their ranks with a\ngesture of bitter contempt, and shouted his commands to the infantry\nposted by the colonnade behind which Gorgo was watching all these\nproceedings.\n\nBut these also were refractory. The heathen were triumphant, and\nencouraged the soldiers with loud cries to persist.\n\nConstantine turned once more to his own men, and finding them obstinate\nin their disobedience, he went forward himself to where the ladders were\nstanding, moved one of them from the wall and leaned it up against the\nbody of the statue, seized the axe that lay nearest, and mounted from\nrung to rung. The murmurs of the heathen were suddenly silenced; the\nmultitude were so still that the least sound of one plate of armor\nagainst another was audible, that each man could hear his neighbor\nbreathe, and that Gorgo fancied she could hear her own heart throb.\n\nThe man and the god stood face to face, and the man who was about to lay\nhands on the god was her lover. She watched his movements with breathless\ninterest; she longed to call out to him, to follow him as he mounted the\nladder, to fall on his neck and keep him from committing such\nsacrilege--not out of fear of the ruin he might bring upon the world, but\nonly because she felt that the first blow he should deal to this\nbeautiful and unique work of art might wreck her love for him, as his axe\nwould wreck the ivory. She was not afraid for him; he seemed to her\ninviolable and invulnerable; but her whole soul shuddered at the deed\nwhich he was steeling himself to perpetrate. She remembered their happy\nchildhood together, his own artistic attempts, the admiration with which\nhe had gazed at the great works of the ancient sculptors--and it seemed\nimpossible that he, of all men he, should lay hands on that masterpiece,\nthat he, of all men, should be the one to insult, mutilate and ruin it.\nIt was not--could not be true!\n\nBut there he was, at the top of the ladder; he passed the axe from his\nleft hand to his right, and leaning back a little, looked at the head of\nthe god from one side. She could see his face plainly, and note every\nmovement and look; she watched him keenly, and saw the loving and\ncompassionate expression with which he fixed his gaze on the noble\nfeatures of Serapis, saw him clutch his left hand to his heart as if in\npain. The crowd below might fancy that he lacked courage, that he was\nabsorbed in prayer, or that his soul shrank from dealing the fateful blow\nto the great divinity; but she could see that he was bidding a silent\nfarewell, as it were, to the sublime work of an inspired artist, which it\npained and shocked him to destroy. And this comforted her; it gave her\nviews of the situation a new direction, and suggested the question\nwhether he, a soldier and a Christian, when commanded by his superior to\ndo this deed ought to shrink or hesitate, if he were indeed, heart and\nsoul, what, after all, he was. Her eyes clung to him, as a frightened\nchild clings to its mother's neck; and the expectant thousands, in an\nagony of suspense, like her, saw nothing but him.\n\nStillness more profound never reigned in the heart of the desert than now\nin this vast and densely-crowded hall. Of all man's five senses only one\nwas active: that of sight; and that was concentrated on a single object a\nman's hand holding an axe. The hearts of thousands stood still, their\nbreath was suspended, there was a singing in their ears, a dazzling light\nin their eyes--eyes that longed to see, that must see--and that could\nnot; thousands stood there like condemned criminals, whose heads are on\nthe block, who hear the executioner behind them, and who still, on the\nvery threshold of death, hope for respite and release.\n\nGorgo found no answer to her own questionings; but she, too, wanted to\nsee--must see. And she saw Constantine close his eyes, as though he dared\nnot contemplate the deed that Fate had condemned him to do; she saw him\nlay his left hand on the god's sacred beard, saw him raise his right for\nthe fatal blow--saw, heard, felt the axe crash again and again on the\ncheek of Serapis--saw the polished ivory fall in chips and shavings,\nlarge and small, on the stone floor, and leap up with an elastic rebound\nor shiver into splinters. She covered her face with her hands and hid her\nhead in the curtain, weeping aloud. She could only moan and sob, and feel\nnothing, think nothing but that a momentous and sinister act had been\nperpetrated. An appalling uproar like the noise of thunder and the\nbeating of surf rose up on every side, but she heeded it not; and when at\nlength the physician called her by her name, when she turned from the\ncurtain and once more looked out, instead of the sublime image of the god\nshe saw in the niche a shapeless log of wood, a hideous mass against\nwhich several ladders were propped, while the ground was heaped and\nstrewed with scraps of ivory, fragments of gold-plate, and chips of\nmarble. Constantine had disappeared; the ladders and the plinth of the\nstatue were covered with a swarm of soldiers and monks who were finishing\nthe work of destruction. As soon as the young officer had struck the\nfirst blow, and the god had submitted in abject impotence, they had\nrushed upon him and saved their captain the trouble of ending the task he\nhad begun.\n\nThe great idol was desecrated. Serapis was no more--the heaven of the\nheathen had lost its king. The worshippers of the deposed god, sullen,\nfurious, and bitterly disabused, made their way out of the temple and\nlooked up at the serene blue sky, the unclouded sunshine, for some\nsymptoms of an avenging tempest; but in vain.\n\nTheophilus had also quitted the scene with the Comes, leaving the work of\ndevastation in the competent hands of the monks. He knew his skin-clad\nadherents well; and he knew that within a very few days not an idol, not\na picture, not a token would remain intact to preserve the memory of the\nold gods; a thousand slaves charged to sweep the Serapeum from the face\nof the earth would have given his impatience twenty times as long to\nwait. The Comes went off at once to the Hippodrome, preceded by hundreds\nwho had hurried off to tell the assembled multitude that Alexandria had\nlost her god.\n\nConstantine, however, had not left the temple; he had withdrawn into one\nof the aisles and seated himself on the steps, where he remained, sunk in\nthought and gazing at the ground. He was a soldier and took service and\ndiscipline in earnest. What he had done he had been forced to do; but no\none could guess how hard it had been to him to fulfil this terrible duty.\nHis own act was abominable in his eyes, and yet he would have done it\nagain to-morrow, if it had again been required of him under similar\ncircumstances. He bewailed the beautiful statue as a lost treasure of\nart; but he felt that it was indispensable that it should perish out of\nthe world. And at the same time he thought of Gorgo, wondering how\nshe--who had only the day before pledged herself to him, whom he loved\nwith fervent passion, to whom, as he well knew, his faith was something\nmonstrous in its contempt for beauty--would bear to learn that he, her\nlover, was the man who, like some coarse barbarian, had defaced this\nnoble work and ruined this vision of beauty, no less dear to him than it\nwas to her. Still, as he sat brooding and searching the very depths of\nhis soul, he could not help feeling that he had certainly acted rightly\nand would do the same again, even at the risk of losing her. To him\nGorgo, was the noblest of God's creatures, and how could he have borne to\ngo through life at her side with a stain on his honor? But he did not\nconceal from himself the fact that his deed had opened a wide gulf\nbetween them; and it was with deep pathos that his thoughts recurred to\nthe antique conception of tragedy--of fate which pursues its innocent\nvictims as though they were guilty. This day perhaps would witness the\nsunset of his life's joy, would drive him forth once more to war--to\nfight, and do nothing but fight, till death should meet him on the\nbattle-field. And as he sat there his eyes grew dim and heavy and his\nhead fell on his heaving breast.\n\nSuddenly he felt a light touch on his shoulder, and turning round, he saw\nGorgo standing with her hand outstretched; he started to his feet, seized\nit with eager passion and looking sadly into the young girl's eyes said,\nwith deep emotion:\n\n\"I would I might hold this hand forever--but you will leave me, you will\nturn from me when I tell you of the deed that mine has done.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" she said firmly. \"And it was a hard task even for you--a\npainful duty--was it not?\"\n\n\"Terrible! horrible!\" he exclaimed with a shudder, as he recalled the\nfeelings of that momentous instant. She looked sympathetically into his\neyes.\n\n\"And you did it,\" she cried, \"because you felt that you must and will be\nwholly what you profess to be? It is right--the only right; I feel it so.\nI will try to imitate you, and rise above the half-heartedness which is\nthe bane of existence, and which makes the firm path of life a trembling,\nswaying bridge. I am yours, wholly yours; I have none other gods but\nyours, and for love of you I will learn to love your God--for you have\noften and often called him a God of Love.\"\n\n\"And He is a God of Love!\" cried Constantine, \"and you will know him and\nconfess him even without teaching; for our Saviour lives in every heart\nthat is filled with love. Oh! Gorgo, I have destroyed that beautiful\nidol, but I will let you see that even a Christian can duly value and\ncherish beauty in his home and in his heart.\"\n\n\"I am sure of it,\" she exclaimed joyfully. \"The world goes on its way and\ndoes not quake, in spite of the fall of Serapis; but I feel as though in\nmy inmost soul a world had perished and a new one was created, nobler and\npurer, and perhaps even more lovely than the old one!\"\n\nHe pressed her hand to his lips; she signed to him to follow her and led\nthe way to her father's couch. Porphyrius was sitting up, supported in\nthe physician's arms; his eyes were open, and as they entered he greeted\nthem with a faint smile.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Great happiness, and mingled therefor with bitter sorrow\n     It is not by enthusiasm but by tactics that we defeat a foe\n     Rapture and anguish--who can lay down the border line\n\n\n\n\nSERAPIS\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nThe spacious Hippodrome was filled with some thousands of spectators. At\nfirst many rows of seats had been left vacant, though usually on the eve\nof the great races, the people would set out soon after midnight and\nevery place would be filled long before the games began; indeed the upper\ntiers of the tribune, which were built of wood and were free to all\ncomers, with standing-room behind, were commonly so crowded early in the\nmorning that the crush ended in a free fight.\n\nOn this occasion, the storm of the previous night, the anxiety caused by\nthe conflict round the Serapeum, and the prevalent panic as to the\napproaching end of the world, kept great numbers away from their favorite\ndiversion; but when the sky recovered its radiant blue, and when it\nbecame known that the statue of Serapis had escaped uninjured in the\nsiege of his sanctuary--when Cynegius, the Imperial legate, and Evagrius,\nthe city-prefect, had entered the theatre with much pomp, followed by\nseveral senators and ladies and gentlemen of rank-Christians, Heathen,\nand Jews--the most timid took courage; the games had been postponed for\nan hour, and before the first team was led into the arched shed whence\nthe chariots started, the seats, though less densely packed than usual,\nwere amply filled.\n\nThe number of chariots entered for competition was by no means smaller\nthan on former occasions, for the heathen had strained every nerve to\nshow their fellow-citizens of different creeds, and especially Caesar's\nrepresentative, that, in spite of persecution and in defiance of Imperial\nedicts, they were still a power worthy of consideration. The Christians,\non their part, did their utmost to outdo the idolaters on the same ground\nwhere, not long since, they had held quite the second place.\n\nThe Bishop's epigram: That Christianity had ceased to be the religion of\nthe poor, was amply confirmed; the greater proportion of the places for\nsenators, officials and rich citizens were occupied by its adherents, and\nthe men and women who professed the Faith were by no means behind their\nheathen peers in magnificence of dress and jewels.\n\nThe horses, too, entered by the Christians could not fail to please the\nconnoisseur, as they punctually made their appearance behind the\nstarting-place, though he might have felt more confidence--and not\nwithout reason--in the heathen steeds, and more particularly in their\ndrivers, each of whom had won on an average nine races out of ten.\n\nThe horses in the quadriga with which Marcus, the son of Mary, made his\nappearance in the arena had never before been driven in the Hippodrome.\nDemetrius, the owner's brother, had bred and trained them--four\nmagnificent black Arabs--and they excited much interest among the knowing\njudges who were wont to collect and lounge about the 'oppidum', as it was\ncalled, behind the 'carceres'--[The covered sheds or stalls in which the\nhorses were brought to wait for the start.]--to inspect the racers,\npredict the winner, offer counsel to the drivers, and make bets. These\nperfect creatures were perhaps as fine as the famous team of golden bays\nbelonging to Iphicrates, which so often had proved victorious; but the\nagitatores, or drivers, attracted even more interest than the horses.\nMarcus, though he knew how to handle the reins--he had already been seen\nin experimental races--could hardly hold his own against Hippias, the\nhandsome young heathen, who, like most of the drivers in the arena, was\nan agitator by profession. A story was told of his having driven over a\nbridge which was not quite as wide as the outside edges of his\nchariot-wheels; and there were many witnesses to the feat he had\nperformed of writing his mistress' name with his chariot-tracks in the\nsand of the Hippodrome.\n\nThe betting was freest and the wagers highest on Hippias and the team\nbelonging to Iphicrates. Some few backed Marcus and his Arabs, but for\nsmaller sums; and when they compared the tall but narrow-shouldered\nfigure of the young Christian with the heroic breadth of Hippias' frame,\nand his delicate features, dreamy blue eyes and downy black moustache\nwith the powerful Hermes-head of his rival, they were anxious about their\nmoney. If his brother now, the farmer Demetrius--who was standing by the\nhorses' heads--or some well-known agitator had held the reins, it would\nhave been a pleasure and a profit to back such horses. Marcus had been\nabroad, too, and men shrugged their shoulders over that, for it was not\ntill the last few days that he had been seen exercising his horses in the\nHippodrome.\n\nTime was going on, and the Imperial envoy, who had been elected to\npreside as judge, at length took his place; Demetrius whispered a few\nlast words of advice to his brother and went back into the arena. He had\nsecured a good place on the stone podium and on the shady side, though\nthere were several seats vacant among those belonging to his family; but\nhe did not care to occupy one of these, preferring to keep out of the way\nof his step-mother, who had made her appearance with a senator and his\nwife to whom she was related. He had not seen her for two days; his\npromise to Karnis that he would try to find Dada, had kept him fully\noccupied, and he had done his best in all earnest to discover the girl.\n\nThe honest indignation with which this young creature had refused his\nsplendid offers, in spite of the modest circumstances of her life, had\nroused his respect, and he had felt it an insult to himself and to his\nbrother when Gorgo had spoken of her with contempt. For his part, he had\nnever met with any one more fascinating; he could not cease dreaming of\nher, and the thought that she might be swallowed up in the foul mire of a\ngreat city made him miserable. His brother had the first claim on her and\nhe would not dispute it; while he had sought her unweariedly in every\nresort of the young and gay--nay even in Canopus--he had only meant to\nplace her in safety, as a treasure which runs a risk of being lost to the\nfamily, though, when at last its possession is secured, it becomes the\nproperty of the member who can prove the best right of ownership. But all\nhis efforts had been in vain; and it was in an unhappy mood that he went\nat last to the Hippodrome. There the bitter hostility and party-feeling\nwhich he had everywhere observed during his present visit to his native\ncity, were not less conspicuous than they had been in the streets. The\ncompeting chariots usually arrived at the amphitheatre in grand\nprocession, but this had not been thought advisable in the prevailing\nexcitement; they had driven into the oppidum singly and without any\ndisplay; and the images of the gods, which in former days had always been\nplaced on the spina before the games began, had long since fallen into\ndisuse.\n\n   [The spina was the division down the middle of the arena. At each\n   end of it were placed the metae or goals, at a distance from it of\n   about 13 feet. The spina was originally constructed of wood,\n   subsequently it was of stone, and its height was generally about 29\n   feet. The spina in the Circus of Caracalla was more than 900 feet\n   long.]\n\nAll this was vexatious to Demetrius, and when he had taken his seat it\nwas in no pleasant temper that he looked round at the ranks of\nspectators.\n\nHis step-mother was sitting on the stuffed bench covered with lion-skins\nwhich was reserved for the family. Her tunic and skirt displayed the\ncolor blue of the Christian charioteer, being made of bright blue and\nsilver brocade of a beautiful pattern in which the cross, the fish, and\nthe olive-branch were elegantly combined. Her black hair was closely and\nsimply smoothed over her temples and she wore no garland, but a string of\nlarge grey pearls, from which hung a chaplet of sapphires and opals,\nlying on her forehead. A veil fell over the back of her head and she sat\ngazing into her lap as if she were absorbed in prayer; her hands were\nfolded and held a cross. This placid and demure attitude she deemed\nbecoming to a Christian matron and widow. Everyone might see that she had\nnot come for worldly pleasure, but merely to be present at a triumph of\nher fellow-Christians--and especially her son--over the idolaters.\nEverything about her bore witness to the Faith, even the pattern on her\ndress and the shape of her ornaments; down to the embroidery on her silk\ngloves, in which a cross and an anchor were so designed as to form a\nGreek X, the initial letter of the name of Christ. Her ambition was to\nappear simple and superior to all worldly vanities; still, all she wore\nmust be rich and costly, for she was here to do honor to her creed. She\nwould have regarded it as a heathen abomination to wear wreaths of fresh\nand fragrant flowers, though for the money which that string of pearls\nhad cost she might have decked the circus with garlands from end to end,\nor have fed a hundred poor for a twelvemonth. It seems so much easier to\ncheat the omniscient Creator of the Universe than our fellow-fools!\n\nSo Dame Maria sat there in sour and virtuous dignity, looking like the\nVirgin Mary as painters and sculptors were at that time wont to represent\nher; and her farmer-son shuddered whenever his eye fell on his\nstep-mother. It did him good, by contrast, to hear a hearty peal of\nlaughter that came up from the lowest ranks of the podium. When he had\ndiscovered the spot from whence it proceeded he could hardly believe his\neyes, for there sat the long-sought Dada, between an old man and a young\nwoman, laughing as though something had just occurred to amuse her\nextremely. Demetrius stretched his limbs with a feeling of relief and\nsatisfaction; then he rose, and seeing his city agent seated just behind\nthe girl, he begged him to change places with him, as he thought it\nadvisable not to lose sight of the game now it was caught; the old man\nwas very ready to oblige him and went up to the other seat with a meaning\nsmile.\n\nFor the first time since she could recollect anything Dada had spent a\nsleepless night. Whether the wind and thunder would have sufficed to keep\nher awake who can tell; but the thoughts that had whirled through her\nbrain had been varied and exciting enough to rob her of sleep. Her own\npeople who were fighting for Serapis--how were they faring; and\nAgne--what had become of her? Then her mind turned to the church, and the\nworthy old priest's sermon; to the races that she was to see--and the\nface and figure of the handsome young Christian rose vividly and\nirresistibly before her fancy. Of course--of course, she wished his\nhorses to win; but it was strange enough that she, Karnis' niece, should\nbe on the side of the Christians. Stranger still that she had entirely\nceased to believe in all the abuse which, from her earliest childhood,\nshe had heard heaped on the followers of the crucified Jew. It could only\nbe that Karnis had never been able to forgive them for having ruined his\ntheatre at Tauromenium, and so, perhaps, had never known them thoroughly.\n\nShe had enjoyed many a happy hour at the festivals of the old gods; and\nthey were no doubt beautiful and festive divinities, or terrible when\nthey were wroth; still, in the depths of her soul there had for some time\nlurked a vague, sweet longing which found no fulfilment in any heathen\ntemple. She knew no name for it and would have found it hard to describe,\nbut in the church, listening to the prayers and hymns and the old\ndeacon's discourse, it had for the first time been stilled; she had felt\nthen and there that, helpless and simple as she was, and even if she were\nto remain parted from her foster parents, she need never feel abandoned,\nbut could rest and hope in a supreme, loving, and helpful power. And\nindeed she needed such a protector; she was so easily beguiled.\nStephanion, a flute-player she had known in Rome, had wheedled everything\nshe had a fancy for out of poor Dada, and when she had got into any\nmischief laid it all on Dada's shoulders. There must be something\nparticularly helpless about her, for everyone, as a matter of course,\ntook her in hand and treated her like a child, or said things that made\nher angry.\n\nIn the Hippodrome, however, she forgot everything in the present\npleasure, and was happy enough in finding herself in the lowest row of\nplaces, in the comfortable seats on the shady side, belonging to\nPosidonius, the wealthy Magian. This was quite different from her\nexperience in Rome, where once, in the Circus Maximus, she had stood in\nthe second tier of the wooden gallery and had been squeezed and pushed,\nwhile no one had taken any notice of her and she had only seen the races\nfrom a distance, looking down on the heads of the men and horses. Herse\nnever would take her a second time, for, as they came out, they had been\nfollowed and spoken to by men, young and old; and after that her aunt had\nfancied she never could be safe, scenting danger at every turn, and would\nnot allow her ever again to go out alone in the city.\n\nThis was altogether a much finer place, for here she was parted from the\nrace-course only by a narrow watercourse which, as it happened, was\nbridged over just in front of her; the horses would pass close to her;\nand besides, it was pleasant to be seen and to feel conscious of a\nthousand flattering glances centered on herself.\n\nEven the great Cynegius, Caesar's envoy and deputy, who had often noticed\nher on board ship, turned again and again to look at her. He was carried\nin on a golden litter by ten huge negroes, preceded by twelve lictors\nbearing fasces wreathed with laurel; and he took his seat, robed in\npurple and embroidery, on a magnificent throne in the middle of the\ntribune above the starting sheds; however, Dada troubled herself no more\nabout the overdressed old man.\n\nHer eyes were everywhere, and she made Medius or his daughter name\neverybody and explain everything. Demetrius was delighted with her eager\nenjoyment; presently, nudging the singer, she whispered to him with much\nsatisfaction:\n\n\"Look how the people down below are craning their necks to look at us! My\ndress is so very pretty--I wonder where your friend Posidonius gets these\nlovely roses. There are above a hundred buds in this garland across my\nshoulders and down to my girdle, I counted them in the litter as I came\nalong. It is a pity they should die so soon; I shall dry the leaves and\nmake scent of them.\"\n\nDemetrius could not resist the temptation; he leaned forward and said\nover her shoulder: \"There are hardly enough for that.\"\n\nAt this unexpected address Dada looked round, and she blushed as she\nrecognized Marcus' brother; he, however, hastened to assure her that he\ndeeply regretted his audacious proposals of two days since, and the girl\nlaughed, and said that he had come off worst, and that she might have\nsent him away a little more civilly perhaps; but the truth was she had\nbeen out of temper to begin with--any one would be cross that was treated\nas Dame Herse had treated her: hiding her shoes and leaving her a\nprisoner on the deck of a barge in the middle of a lake! Then she\nintroduced him to Medius, and finally enquired about Marcus and his\nhorses, and whether he had any chance of winning the race.\n\nThe countryman answered all her questions; and when, presently, a\nflower-girl came along the ranks of seats, selling wreaths of blue and\nred flowers and ribbands, Demetrius bought two lovely olive-wreaths to\nfling to the winner--his brother he hoped. Medius and his daughter wore\nred knots--the color of the Heathen, and Dada, following their example,\nhad a similar bow on her shoulder; now, however, she accepted a blue\nribband that Demetrius bought for her and pinned it in the place of the\nred one as being the color of Marcus, to the old singer's great\nannoyance. Demetrius laughed loudly in his deep bass tones, declaring\nthat his brother was already most anxious to win, and that, when he saw\nher with these ribbands he would strain every nerve, in gratitude for her\npartisanship. He could assure her that Marcus thought of her constantly.\n\n\"I am glad of that,\" she said simply; and she added that it was the same\nwith her, for she had been thinking all night of Marcus and his horses.\nMedius could not help remarking that Karnis and Herse would take it very\nill that she should display the Christian color to-day of all days; to\nwhich she only replied that she was sorry for that, but that she liked\nblue better than red. The answer was so abrupt and short that it startled\nDemetrius, who had hitherto seen Dada gentle and pliant; and it struck\nhim at once how deep an aversion the girl felt for her present\nprotectors.\n\nThere was music, as usual, in the towers at either end of the row of\ncarceres; but it was less stirring and cheerful than of yore, for flutes,\nand several of the heathen airs had been prohibited. Formerly, too, the\nHippodrome had been a place where lovers could meet and where many a\nlove-affair had been brought to a happy climax; but to-day none of the\ndaughters of the more respectable families were allowed to quit the\nwomen's apartments in their own homes, for danger was in the air; the\ncourse of events in the Serapeum had kept many of the younger men from\nwitnessing the races, and some mysterious influence seemed to weigh upon\nthe gaiety and mirth of which the Hippodrome on a gala day was usually\nthe headquarters.\n\nWild excitement, expectation strung to the highest pitch, and\nparty-feeling, both for and against, had always, of course, been rife\nhere; but to-day they were manifest in an acuter form--hatred had added\nits taint and lent virulence to every emotion. The heathen were oppressed\nand angered, their rights abridged and defied; they saw the Christians\ntriumphant at every point, and hatred is a protean monster which rages\nmost fiercely and most venomously when it has lurked in the foul career\nof envy.\n\nThe Christians could hate, too, and they hated the idolaters who gloried\nwith haughty self-sufficiency in their intellectual inheritance; the\ntraditions of a brilliant past. They, who had been persecuted and\ncontemned, now had the upper hand; they were in power, and the more\ninsolently they treated their opponents, the more injustice they did\nthem, and the less the victimized heathen were able to revenge\nthemselves, the more bitterly did the Christians detest the party they\ncontemned as superstitious idolaters. In their care for the soul--the\nspiritual and divine part--the Christians had hitherto neglected the\ngraces of the body; thus the heathen had remained the undisputed masters\nof the palaestra and the hippodrome. In the gymnasium the Christian\nrefused even to compete, for the exhibition of his naked body he regarded\nas an abomination; but on the race-course he had lately been willing to\ndisplay his horses, and many times had disputed the crown with the\nhereditary victors, so that, even here, the heathen felt his time-honored\nand undisputed supremacy endangered. This was intolerable--this must be\naverted--the mere thought of being beaten on this ground roused the\nidolaters to wrath and malice. They displayed their color in wreaths of\nscarlet poppies, pomegranate flowers and red roses, with crimson ribbands\nand dresses; white and green, the colors formerly adopted by the\ncompetitors, were abandoned; for all the heathen were unanimous in\ncombining their forces against the common foe. The ladies used red\nsun-shades and the very baskets, in which the refreshments were brought\nfor the day, were painted red.\n\nThe widow Mary, on the other hand, and all the Christians were robed in\nblue from head to foot, their sandals being tied with blue ribbands; and\nDada's blue shoulder-knot was in conspicuous contrast to her bright\nrose-colored dress.\n\nThe vendors of food who wandered round the circus had eggs dyed blue and\nred, cakes with sugared icing and refreshing drinks in jars of both\ncolors. When a Christian and a Heathen found themselves seated side by\nside, each turned a shoulder to the other, or, if they were forced to sit\nface to face, eyed each other with a scowl.\n\nCynegius did all he could to postpone the races as long as possible; he\nwas anxious to wait till the Comes had finished his task in the Serapeum,\nso that the troops might be free to act in any emergency that might arise\nbefore the contests in the Hippodrome were fairly ended. Time did not\nhang heavy on his hands for the vast multitude here assembled interested\nhim greatly, though he had frequently been a spectator of similar\nfestivities in Rome and Constantinople; but this crowd differed in many\nparticulars from the populace of those cities. In the topmost tiers of\nfree seats black and brown faces predominated greatly over white ones; in\nthe cushioned and carpeted ranks of the stone podium--the lower portion\nof the amphitheatre--mingled with Greeks and Egyptians, sat thousands of\nsplendidly dressed men and women with strongly-marked Semitic features:\nmembers of the wealthy Jewish community, whose venerable head, the\nAlabarch, a dignified patriarch in Greek dress, sat with the chief\nmembers of the senate, near the envoy's tribune.\n\nThe Alexandrians were not a patient race and they were beginning to rebel\nagainst the delay, making no small noise and disturbance, when Cynegius\nrose and with his white handkerchief waved the signal for the races to\nbegin. The number of spectators had gradually swelled from fifty to sixty\nand to eighty thousand; and no less than thirty-six chariots were waiting\nbehind the carceres ready to start.\n\nFour 'missus' or races were to be run. In each of the three first twelve\nchariots were to start, and in the fourth only the leaders in the three\nformer ones were to compete. The winner of the olive-wreath and\npalmbranch in this final heat would bear the honors of the day; his party\nwould be victorious and he would quit the Hippodrome in triumph.\n\nLots were now drawn in the oppidum to decide which shed each chariot was\nto start from, and in which naissus each was to run. It was Marcus' fate\nto start among the first lot, and, to the horror of those who had backed\nhis chances, Hippias, the hero of the Hippodrome, was his rival, with the\nfour famous bays.\n\nHeathen priests poured libations to Poseidon, and Phoebus Apollo, the\npatron divinities of horses and of the Hippodrome--for sacrifices of\nblood were prohibited; while Christian presbyters and exorcists blessed\nthe rival steeds in the name of the Bishop. A few monks had crept in, but\nthey were turned out by the heathen with bitter jeers, as unbidden\nintruders.\n\nCynegius repeated his signal. The sound of the tuba rang through the air,\nand the first twelve chariots were led into the starting-sheds. A few\nminutes later a machine was set in motion by which a bronze eagle was\nmade to rise with outspread wings high into the air, from an altar in\nfront of the carceres; this was the signal for the chariots to come forth\nfrom their boxes. They took up their positions close behind a broad chalk\nline, traced on the ground with diagonal slope, so as to reduce the\ndisadvantage of standing outermost and having a larger curve to cover.\n\nUntil this moment only the privileged possessors of the seats over the\ncarceres had been able, by craning backwards, to see the horses and\ndrivers; now the competitors were visible to the multitude which, at\ntheir first appearance, broke out into vociferous applause. The\nagitatores had to exert all their strength to hold in the startled and\neager teams, and make them stand even for a few short minutes; then\nCynegius signalled for the third time. A golden dolphin, which had been\nsuspended from a beam, and on which the eye of every charioteer was\nfixed, dropped to the ground, a blast on the 'salpinx', or war-trumpet,\nwas sounded, and forty-eight horses flew forth as though thrown forward\nby one impulsion.\n\nThe strength of four fine horses whirled each light, two-wheeled chariot\nover the hard causeway as though it were a toy. The down-pour of the\nprevious night had laid the dust; the bright sunshine sparkled and danced\nin rapidly-changing flashes, mirrored in the polished gilding of the\nbronze or the silver fittings of the elegantly-decorated, semicircular\ncars in which the drivers stood.\n\nFive blue and seven red competitors had drawn the first lots. The eye\nrested with pleasure on the sinewy figures whose bare feet seemed rooted\nto the boards they stood on, while their eyes were riveted on the goal\nthey were striving to reach, though--as the eye of the archer sees arrow,\nbow and mark all at once--they never lost sight of the horses they were\nguiding. A close cap with floating ribbands confined their hair, and they\nwore a short sleeveless tunic, swathed round the body with wide bands, as\nif to brace their muscles and add to their strength. The reins were\nfastened around the hips so as to leave the hands free, not only to hold\nthem but also to ply the whip and use the goad. Each charioteer had a\nknife in his girdle, to enable him to release himself, in case of\naccident, from a bond that might prove fatal.\n\nBefore long the bay team was leading alone. Behind were two Christian\ndrivers, followed by three red chariots; Marcus was last of all, but it\nwas easy to see that it was by choice and not by necessity that he was\nhanging back. He was holding in his fiery team with all his strength and\nweight--his body thrown back, his feet firmly set with his knees against\nthe silver bar of the chariot, and his hands gripping the reins. In a few\nminutes he came flying past Dada and his brother, but he did not see\nthem. He had not even caught sight of his own mother, while the\nprofessional charioteers had not failed to bow to Cynegius and nod to\ntheir friends. He could only keep his eyes and mind fixed on his horses\nand on the goal.\n\nThe multitude clapped, roared, shouted encouragement to their party,\nhissed and whistled when they were disappointed--venting their utmost\nindignation on Marcus as he came past behind the others; but he either\nheard them not or would not hear. Dada's heart beat so wildly that she\nthought it would burst. She could not sit still; she started to her feet\nand then flung herself back on her cushions, shouting some spurring words\nto Marcus in the flash of time when he might perhaps hear them. When he\nhad passed, her head fell and she said sadly enough: \"Poor fellow!--We\nhave bought our wreaths for nothing after all, Demetrius!\"\n\nBut Demetrius shook his head and smiled.\n\n\"Nay,\" he said, \"the boy has iron sinews in that slight body. Look how he\nholds the horses in! He is saving their strength till they need it. Seven\ntimes, child, seven times he has to go round this great circus and past\nthe 'nyssa'. You will see, he will catch up what he has lost, yet.\nHippias, you see, is holding in his horses, too; it is his way of giving\nhimself airs at starting. Now he is close to the 'nyssa'--the\n'kampter'--the 'meta' they call it at Rome; the smaller the bend he can\nmake round it the better for him, but it is risky work. There--you\nsee!--They drive round from right to left and that throws most of the\nwork on the lefthand beast; it has to turn almost in its own length.\nAura, our first horse, is as supple as a panther and I trained her to do\nit, myself.--Now, look out there! that bronze figure of a rearing\nhorse--the 'Taraxippos' they call it--is put there to frighten the\nhorses, and Megaera, our third horse, is like a mad thing sometimes,\nthough she can go like a stag; every time Marcus gets her quietly past\nthe Taraxippos we are nearer to success.--Look, look,=-the first chariot\nhas got round the nyssa! It is Hippias! Yes, by Zeus, he has done it! He\nis a detestable braggart, but he knows his business!\"\n\nThis was one of the decisive moments of the race. The crowd was silent;\nexpectation was at the utmost pitch of tension, and Dada's eyes were\nfixed spell-bound on the obelisk and on the quadrigas that whirled round\nthe bourn.\n\nNext to Hippias came a blue team, and close behind were three red ones.\nThe Christian who had succeeded in reaching the nyssa second, boldly took\nhis horses close round the obelisk, hoping to gain space and get past\nHippias; but the left wheel of his chariot grazed the granite plinth, the\nlight car was overset, and the horses of the red chariot, whose noses\nwere almost on his shoulder, could not be pulled up short in time. They\nfell over the Christian's team which rolled on the ground; the red\nchariot, too, turned over, and eight snorting beasts lay struggling in\nthe sand.\n\nThe horses in the next chariot bolted as they were being driven past this\nmass of plunging and neighing confusion; they defied their driver's\nimpotent efforts and galloped across the course back into the caiceres.\n\nThe rest had time and space enough to beware of the wreck and to give it\na wide berth, among them Marcus. The melee at the Meta had excited his\nsteeds almost beyond control, and as they tore past the Taraxippos the\nthird horse, Megaera, shied violently as Demetrius had predicted. She\nflung herself on one side, thrust her hind quarters under the pole, and\nkicked desperately, lifting the chariot quite off the ground; the young\ncharioteer lost his footing and slipped. Dada covered her face with her\nhands, and his mother turned pale and knit her brows with apprehension.\nThe youth was still standing; his feet were on the sand of the arena; but\nhe had a firm grip on the right-hand spiral ornament that terminated the\nbar round the chariot. Many a heart stood still with anxiety, and shouts\nof triumph and mockery broke from the red party; but in less than half a\nminute, by an effort of strength and agility, he had his knees on the\nfoot-board, and then, in the winking of an eye, he was on his feet in the\nchariot, had gathered up the reins and was rushing onward.\n\nMeanwhile, however, Hippias had far outstripped all the rest, and as he\nflew past the carceres he checked his pace, snatched a cup from a\nlemonade-seller, tossed the contents down his throat with haughty\naudacity amid the plaudits of the crowd, and then dashed on again. A wide\ngap, indeed, still lay between him and Marcus.\n\nBy the time the competitors again came round to the nyssa, the slaves in\nattendance had cleared away the broken chariots and led off the horses. A\nChristian still came next to Hippias followed by a red agitator; Marcus\nhad gained on the others and was now fourth.\n\nIn the third round the chariot of the red driver in front of Marcus made\ntoo sharp a turn and ran up against the granite. The broken car was\ndragged on by the terrified beasts, and the charioter with it, till, by\nthe time they were stopped, he was a corpse. In the fifth circuit the\nChristian who till now had been second to Hippias shared the same fate,\nthough he escaped with his life; and then Marcus drove past the\nstarting-sheds next to Hippias.\n\nHippias had ceased to flout and dally. In spite of the delay that Marcus\nhad experienced from the Taraxippos, the space that parted his bays from\nthe black Arabs had sensibly diminished, round after round; and the\ninterest of the race now centered entirely in him and the young\nChristian. Never before had so passionate and reckless a contest been\nfought out on this venerable race-course, and the throng of spectators\nwere carried away by the almost frenzied rivalry of the two drivers. Not\na creature in the upper tiers had been able to keep his seat; men and\nwomen alike had risen to their feet and were shouting and roaring to the\ncompetitors. The music in the towers might have ceased, so completely was\nit drowned by the tumult in the amphitheatre.\n\nOnly the ladies, in the best places above the starting-sheds, preserved\ntheir aristocratic calm; Still, when the seventh and decisive round was\nbegun, even the widow Mary leaned forward a little and clasped her hands\nmore tightly over the cross in her lap. Each time that Marcus had driven\nround the obelisk or past the Taraxippos, Dada had clutched her head with\nher hands and set her teeth in her lip; each time, as he happily steered\nclear of the fatal stone and whirled past the dreadful bronze statue, she\nhad relaxed her grip and leaned back in her seat with a sigh of relief.\nHer sympathy made her one with Marcus; she felt as if his loss must be\nher death and his victory her personal triumph.\n\nDuring the sixth circuit Hippias was still a long way ahead of the young\nChristian; the distance which lay between Marcus and the team of bays\nseemed to have become a fixed quantity, for, do what he could, he could\nnot diminish it by a hand-breadth. The two agitatores had now completely\naltered their tactics; instead of holding their horses in they urged them\nonward, leaning over the front of their chariots, speaking to the horses,\nShouting at them with hoarse, breathless cries, and flogging them\nunsparingly. Steamy sweat and lathering foam streaked the flanks of the\ndesperate, laboring brutes, while clouds of dust were flung up from the\ndry, furrowed and trampled soil. The other chariots were left further and\nfurther behind those of Hippias and Marcus, and when, for the seventh and\nlast time, these two were nearing the nyssa, the crowd for a moment held\nits breath, only to break out into louder and wilder cries, and then\nagain to be hushed. It seemed as though their exhausted lungs found\nrenewed strength to shout with double energy when their excitement had\nkept them silent for a while.\n\nDada spoke no more; pale and gasping, she sat with her eyes fixed on the\ntall obelisk and on the cloud of dust which, as the chariots neared the\nnyssa, seemed to grow denser. At about a hundred paces from the nyssa she\nsaw, above the sandy curtain, the red cap of Hippias flash past, and\nthen--close behind it--the blue cap worn by Marcus. Then a deafening,\nthundering roar from thousands of throats went up to heaven, while, round\nthe obelisk--so close to it that not a horse, not a wheel could have\nfound room between the plinth and the driver-the blue cap came forward\nout of the cloud, and, behind it now--no longer in front, though not more\nthan a length behind--came the red cap of Hippias. When within a few feet\nof the nyssa, Marcus had overtaken his antagonist, had passed the point\nwith a bold and perilously close turn, and had left the bays behind him.\n\nDemetrius saw it all, as though his eye had power to pierce the\ndust-cloud, and now he, too, lost his phlegmatic calm. He threw up his\narms as if in prayer and shouted, as though his brother could hear him:\n\n\"Well done, splendid boy! Now for the kentron--the goad--drive it in,\nsend it home if they die for it! Give it them well!\"\n\nDada, who could only guess what was happening, looked round at him,\nasking in tremulous tones: \"Has he passed him? Is he gaining on him? Will\nhe win?\" But Demetrius did not answer; he only pointed to the foremost of\nthe flying clouds on which the second was fast advancing, and cried in a\nfrenzy of excitement:\n\n\"Death and Hades! The other is catching him up. The dog, the sneak! If\nonly the boy would use his goad. Give it them, Marcus! Give it them, lad!\nNever give in now! Great Father Poseidon!--there--there!--no! I can\nhardly stand--Yes, he is still in front, and now--now--this must settle\nit! Thunder and lightning! They are close together again--may the dust\nchoke him! No--it is all right; my Arabs are in front! All is well, keep\nit up, lad, well done! We have won!\"\n\nThe horses were pulled up, the dust settled; Marcus, the Christian, had\nwon the first missus. Cynegius held out the crown to the victor, who\nbowed to receive it. Then he waved his hand to his mother, who graciously\nwaved hers in return, and he drove into the oppidurn and was lost to\nsight.\n\nHippias flung down his whip in a rage, but the triumphant shouts of the\nChristians drowned the music, the trumpet-blasts and the angry murmurs of\nthe defeated heathen. Threatening fists were shaken in the air, while\nbehind the carceres the drivers and owners of the red party scolded,\nsquabbled and stormed; and Hippias, who by his audacious swagger had\ngiven away the race to their hated foe--to the Blues, the\nChristians--narrowly escaped being torn in pieces.\n\nThe tumult and excitement were unparalleled; but Dada saw and heard\nnothing. She sat in a blissful dream, gazing into her lap, while tears of\njoyful reaction rolled down her cheeks. Demetrius saw her tears and was\nglad; then, pointing out Mary to the girl, he informed her that she was\nthe mother of Marcus. And he registered a secret vow that, cost what it\nmight, he would bring his victorious brother and this sweet child\ntogether.\n\nThe second and third missus, like the first, were marked by serious\naccidents; both, however, were won for the Red party. In the fourth, the\ndecisive race, there were but three competitors: Marcus and the two\nheathen winners. Demetrius watched it with less anxiety; he knew that his\nArabs were far superior to the Egyptian breed in staying power, and they\nalso had the advantage of having had a longer rest. In fact, the final\nvictory was adjudged to the young Christian.\n\nLong before it was decided Dada had been impatiently fingering her\nwreaths, and could hardly wait any longer to fling them into Marcus'\nchariot. When it was all over she might perhaps have an opportunity of\nspeaking to him; and she thought how delightful his voice was and what\nfine, kind eyes he had. If only he were to bid her be his, she would\nfollow him whither and wherever he desired, whatever Karnis and Herse\nmight say to the contrary. She thought no one could be so glad of his\nsuccess as she was; she felt as if she belonged to him, had always\nbelonged to him, and only some spiteful trick of Fate had come between\nthem.\n\nThere was a fresh blast of trumpets; the victor, in obedience to a\ntime-honored custom, was to drive round the arena at a foot-pace and show\nhis brave team to the multitude. He came nearer and nearer, and Demetrius\nproposed that they should cross the little watercourse that parted the\npodium from the arena and follow the chariot, so as to give his brother\nthe wreaths instead of flinging them to him. The girl colored and could\nsay neither yes or no; but she rose, hung one of the olive-crowns on her\narm with a happy, bashful smile, and handed the other to her new friend;\nthen she followed him across the little bridge on to the race-course\nwhich, now that the games were over, was crowded with Christians.\n\nThe brothers exchanged pleased greetings from afar, but Marcus did not\nsee Dada till she was close to him and stood, with a shy but radiant\nglance of intense delight, holding out the olive-wreath for his\nacceptance. He felt as though Heaven had wrought a miracle in his favor.\nNever before had he thought her half so lovely. She seemed to have grown\nsince he had seen her last, to have gained a deeper and nobler\nexpression; and he observed, too, the blue favors on her shoulder and\namong the roses that crowned her fair curls. Gladness and surprise\nprevented his speaking; but he took the garland she offered him and,\nseizing her hands, stammered out: \"Thanks--thank you, Dada.\"\n\nTheir eyes met, and as he gazed into her face he forgot where he was, did\nnot even wonder why his brother had suddenly turned away and, beginning\nsome long-winded speech, had rushed after a man who hastily covered his\nhead and tried to escape; he did not notice that thousands of eyes were\nfixed on him, and among them his mother's; he could merely repeat:\n\"thanks\" and \"Dada\"--the only words he could find. He would perhaps have\ngone on repeating them, but that he was interrupted; the 'porta\nlibitinaria'--the gate through which the dead or injured were usually\ncarried out, was thrown open, and a rabble of infuriated heathen rushed\nin, crying: \"Serapis is fallen! They have destroyed the image of Serapis!\nThe Christians are ruining the sanctuaries of the gods!\"\n\nA sudden panic seized the assembled multitude; the Reds rushed down from\ntheir places into the arena to hear the details and ask questions--ready\nto fight for the god or to fly for safety. In an instant the victor's\nchariot was surrounded by an angry mob; Dada clutched it for protection,\nand Marcus, without pausing to reflect--indeed hardly master of his own\nactions--turned and lifted her into it by his side; then, urging his\nhorses forward, he forced a way through the crowd, past the caiceres. He\nglanced anxiously up at the seats but could nowhere see his mother, so he\nguided the exhausted beasts, steaming with sweat and dappled with foam,\nthrough the open gate and out of the circus. His stable-slaves had run\nafter him; he released himself from the reins on his hips and flung them\nto the grooms. Then he helped Dada to leap from the car.\n\n\"Will you come with me?\" he asked her simply; and the girl's reply was:\n\"Wherever you bid me.\"\n\nAt the news that Serapis was overthrown Dame Mary had started from her\nseat with eager haste that ill-became her dignity and, under the\nprotection of the body-guard in attendance on Cynegius, had found her way\nto her litter.\n\nIn the Hippodrome the tumult rose to a riot; Reds and Blues rushed from\nthe upper tiers, down the ranks of the podium and into the dusty\nrace-course; falling on each other tooth and nail like wild beasts; and\nthe bloody fray--no uncommon termination to the day, even in more\npeaceful times--lasted till the Imperial soldiery parted the unarmed\ncombatants.\n\nThe Bishop was triumphant; his adherents had won the day at every point;\nnor was he sorry to learn that Olympius, Helladius, Ainmonius and many\nother spiritual leaders of the heathen world had succeeded in escaping.\nThey might come back; they might preach and harangue as much as they\nchose: their power was broken. The Church had nothing now to fear from\nthem, and their philosophy and learning would still and always be\nvaluable in the mental training of her priests.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nThe great Hippodrome of Alexandria was outside the Canopic gate, on the\nnorthern side of the road leading to Eleusis which to-day was crowded\nwith passengers, all moving in the same direction. The tumult roused by\nthe intelligence that Serapis was overthrown made all the more peaceful\nand peace-loving of the spectators hurry homewards; and as these, for the\nmost part, were of the richer classes, who came and went in litters or\nchariots, their conveyances left but scanty space on the wide causeway\nfor foot passengers, still, there they were, in considerable numbers, all\nwending their way towards the city, and the heathen who came rushing\ntowards the Hippodrome behind the first heralds of the disaster, had\ngreat difficulty in making their way against the stream.\n\nMarcus and Dada allowed themselves to be carried onward by the throng\nwhich was tending towards the city-walls and the Canopic gate. Phabis,\nMary's old steward, whose duty it had been to help his young master to\ndress after the races were over, had snatched the agitator's cap from the\nyouth's head and flung a cloak over his shoulders, hastily following him\nas he went off with the young girl by his side. The old man quite\nunderstood what was in the wind for he it was who had conducted Dame\nHerse to his mistress' presence. He had thought her a shrewd and\nkind-hearted woman, and it now struck him that she must certainly have\nbeen in the right when she accused Marcus of designs on her pretty niece.\nAt the time he had refused to believe it, for he had never in his life\ndetected his young master in any underhand or forbidden courses; but,\nafter all, Marcus was his father's son, and, in his younger days, the old\nman had often and often had to risk his skin in Apelles' love-intrigues.\nAnd now it was the Son's turn--and if he were to take his fancy for that\npretty chit as seriously as he did most things, if he got the notion into\nhis head of marrying the little singer--what a storm there was brewing\nbetween him and his mother!\n\nThe old man did his best to keep up with Marcus who did not see or heed\nhim, for his eyes and attention were centered on the fair companion who\nwas clinging to his arm, while he tried to force a passage through the\nmob, towards the gate. Miracle on miracle seemed to him to have been\nwrought in his behalf; for Heaven had not only sent him Dada, but she was\nwearing blue ribbands; and when he asked her why, she had replied \"For\nyour sake, and because I like your Faith.\"\n\nHe was tired to death; but as soon as Dada had put her hand through his\narm he lead felt refreshed as if by magic. His swollen and blistered\nhands, to be sure, were painful and his shoulders ached and winced from\nstiffness; but as she pressed his arm to her side and looked up gladly in\nhis face--telling him how happy she was while he responded: \"And how I\nlove you!\"--he felt himself in Heaven, and pain and discomfort were\nforgotten. The crush did not allow them to say more than a few words; but\nthe things their eyes and lips could smile were sweeter and dearer than\nanything they had ever known before.\n\nThey had got through the gate and were in the Canopic way when Dada\nsuddenly perceived that his lips were white, and felt the arm tremble on\nwhich her hand was lying. She asked him what ailed him; he made no reply,\nbut put his hand to his head, so she led him aside into the public garden\nthat lay to their right between the little Stadium and the Maeandrian\ncircus. In this pretty spot, fresh with verdure and spring flowers, she\nsoon found a bench shaded by a semicircular screen of dark-tufted\ntamarisk, and there she made him lie down. He yielded at once, and his\npale face and fixed gaze showed her that he was in a fainting state.\nIndeed, he must be quite worn out by the terrible struggle of the race,\nand after it was over he had not given himself time to take a cup of\ndrink or a scrap of food for refreshment. It was only too natural that\nhis strength should fail him, so, without feeling at all alarmed but only\nvery pitiful and anxious to help, she ran back to a fruit-stall which\nthey had passed at the entrance to the garden from the street.\n\nHow glad she was that she still had the four drachmae which she had\ncoaxed out of Karnis in the Xenodochium that evening; she could buy\nwhatever she liked for her lover. When she went back-loaded with oranges,\napples, hard-boiled eggs, bread and salt, in the skirt of her dress that\nshe gathered up with one hand, and with a flask of wine and water, and a\ngourdbowl in the other-she found him still lying unconscious. However,\nwhen she had moistened his forehead and lips he opened his eyes, and then\nshe peeled him an orange as daintily as she could and begged him to try\nit, and as she was herself very hungry she took a hearty share. She was\nenchanted at making him her guest, and at finding that he enjoyed the\nsimple meal and soon was quite revived. In fact, in a few minutes he had\naltogether recovered his strength and consciousness of satisfaction; and\nas he lay back with Dada's hand in his, gazing happily and thankfully\ninto her sweet eyes, a sense of peace, rest and bliss came over him such\nas he had never before known. He thought he had never tasted such\ndelicious food, or such exquisite wine as the wretched Mareotic from the\nfruitstall. He took the apple she had begun eating out of her hand and\nbit it where her white teeth had been; he made her drink first out of the\ngourd-cup, and, as one of the three eggs she had brought with her was\nbad, they had quite a little battle for the last, till he finally gave\nway and eat it.\n\nWhen they had finished Dada's purchases to the last mouthful she asked\nhim, for the first time, where he meant to take her, and he said he\nintended placing her in the house of his former tutor, Eusebius, the\ndeacon, where she would be a welcome guest and find her old companion\nAgne. Of this she was sincerely glad; and when, on hearing the title of\nDeacon, she questioned Marcus further, and identified Eusebius as the\nworthy old man whose discourse in the basilica had so deeply impressed\nher, she told Marcus how she had gone into the church, and how, from that\nhour, she had felt at peace. A quite new feeling had sprung up in her\nsoul, and since then she had constantly longed to see him again and talk\nit all over with him:--The little she had learnt of Christian doctrine\ndid her heart good and had given her comfort and courage. The world was\nso beautiful, and there were many more good men than bad. It was a\npleasure to love one's neighbor, and as for forgiving a wrong--that she\nhad never found difficult. It must be good to live on earth if everyone\nloved his neighbor as she loved him and he loved her; and life could not\nbe a great hardship if in every trouble there was some one who was always\nready to hear our cry and help us, out of pure beneficence.\n\nHer innocent talk was to Marcus the greatest marvel of this day of\nmiracles. The soul which he had dreamed that he was called to save had,\nof its own accord, turned to walk in the path of salvation; he went on to\ntell her of the things which he felt to be most sublime and glorious in\nhis creed, and at length he confessed that, though he had always loved\nhis neighbor for Christ's sake, never till now had true and perfect love\nbeen revealed to him. No power on earth could now part him from her, and\nwhen she should have been baptized there would be no further difficulty;\ntheir love might last till, and beyond, death, through all the ages of\neternity. And she listened to him, perfectly content; and said that she\nwas his, wholly his, now, and for ever and ever.\n\nThere were to-day but few people in the garden which was usually full in\nthe afternoon, of idlers, and of children with their nurses; but the\ndisturbance in the streets had kept these at home, and the idlers had\nfound more to attract them at the Hippodrome and in the crowded roads.\nThis favored the lovers, who could sit hand in hand, looking into each\nother's eyes; and when old Phabis, who had lost sight of them long since,\nat length discovered them in the park, he could see from his\nlurking-place as he crept closer, that his young master, after glancing\ncautiously round, pressed a kiss on the little singer's hair, and then on\nher eyes and at last on her lips.\n\nThe hours flew fast between serious talk and delightful dalliance, and\nwhen they tore themselves away from their quiet retreat it was already\ndusk. They soon found themselves in the Canopic way, in the thick of the\ncrowd which they were now occasionally obliged to meet, for those who\nwere making homewards had long since dispersed, and thousands were still\ncrowding to the Hippodrome where a brisk fight was still going on. As\nthey passed his mother's house Marcus paused and, pointing it out to\nDada, told her that the day was not far distant when he should bring her\nhome hither. But the girl's face fell.\n\n\"Oh no!\" she exclaimed, in a low voice. \"Not here-not to this great\npalace in a street. Let us live in a little house, quite quietly, by\nourselves. A house with a garden, and a seat in the shade. Your mother\nlives here!\"\n\nAnd then she blushed scarlet and looked down. He guessed, however, what\nwas passing in her mind, and bid her only to have patience, for as soon\nas she was a baptized Christian Eusebius would intercede for her. And he\nspoke warmly of his mother's piety and virtues, and asked Dada if she had\nseen her at the races.\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied timidly; and when he went on to ask her if she had not\nthought Mary very handsome and dignified, she answered frankly:\n\"Yes--very; but then she is so tall and grand-looking-she must wish for a\ndaughter-in-law very different from a poor, forsaken orphan like me--a\nmere singer, looked down upon by every one! It is different with you; you\nare satisfied with me as I am, and you know that I love you. If I never\nfind my uncle again I have no one on earth to care for me but you; but I\nwant no other, for you are my one and only hope, and to live for you and\nwith you is enough. Only you must never leave me or I shall die! But you\nnever can, for you told me that my soul was dearer to you than your own\nlife; and so long as I have you and your love I shall grow better and\nbetter every day; but if you ever let me be parted from you I shall be\nutterly lost. Yes, understand that once for all--ruined and lost, body\nand soul!--I do not know what it is that terrifies me, but do let us go\non, away from this house. Suppose your mother were to see us!\"\n\nHe did as she wished and tried to soothe her, praising his mother's\nvirtues with the affectionate blindness of a son; but she only half\nlistened to his eulogy, for, as they approached Rhacotis the throng grew\ndenser, they had no opportunities for conversation, they could think of\nnothing but battling their way through the crowd; still, they were happy.\n\n   [The quarter of the city inhabited by the Egyptians. It was the old\n   town close to which Alexander the Great built his splendid new\n   city.]\n\nThey thus got to the street of the Sun--one of the main arteries of the\ncity cutting the Canopic way at right angles--and they went down it\ntowards the Gate of Helios in the south wall. The Serapeum lay to their\nright, several streets leading to it from the street of the Sun. To reach\nthe house where Eusebius lived they ought to have turned down the street\nof the Acropolis, but a compact mass of frenzied creatures came storming\ndown it from the Serapeum, and towards them. The sun was now fast setting\nover the City of the Dead on the western horizon. Marcus tried to get out\nof the middle of the road and place Dada in safety by the house at the\ncorner, but in vain; the rabble that came crowding out of the side street\nwas mad with excitement, and could think of nothing but the trophies it\nhad snatched from the temple. Several dozen men, black and white\nalike--and among them some monks and even women, had harnessed themselves\nto an enormous truck, commonly used for the carriage of beams, columns,\nand heavy blocks of stone, on which they had erected a huge but shapeless\nmass of wood, the core, and all that remained, of the image of Serapis;\nthis they were dragging through the streets.\n\n\"To the Hippodrome! Burn it! Down with the idols! Look at the divine form\nof Serapis! Behold the god!\"\n\nThese were the cries that rent the air from a thousand throats, an\near-splitting accompaniment to the surging storm of humanity.\n\nThe monks had torn the desecrated block from the niche in the Serapeum,\nhauled it through the courts on to the steps, and were now taking it to\nthe arena where it was to be burnt. Others of their kidney, and some of\nthe Christian citizens who had caught the destructive mania, had forced\ntheir way into the temple of Anubis, hard by the Serapeumn, where they\nhad overthrown and wrecked the jackal-headed idols and the Canopic\ngods--four huge jars with lids representing respectively a man's head, an\nape's, a hawk's and a jackal's. They were now bearing these heads in\ntriumph, while others were shouldering the limbs of broken statues of\nApollo, of Athene, or of Aphrodite, or carrying the fragments in baskets\nto cast them into the flames in the Hippodrome after the wooden stock of\nthe great Serapis. The mob had broken off the noses of all the heads, had\nsmeared the marble with pitch, or painted it grossly with the red paint\nthey had found in the writing-rooms of the Sera peum. Every one who could\nget near enough to the remains of the statue, or to a fragment of a\nruined idol, spit upon it, struck it or thrust at it; and not a heathen\nhad, as yet, dared to interfere.\n\nBehind the oak block of the image of Serapis and the other trophies of\nvictory, came an endless stream of men of all ages, of monks and of\nwomen, compelling a large carruca--[A four-wheeled chariot used in the\ncity and for travelling.]--that had fallen into their hands, and which\nthey had completely surrounded, to keep pace with them. The two fine\nhorses that drew it had to be led by the bridle; they were trembling with\nterror and excitement and made repeated attempts to kick over the pole or\nto rear.\n\nIn this vehicle was Porphyrius, who had fully recovered consciousness,\nand by his side sat Gorgo. Constantine had not stirred from the side of\nthe convalescent till Apuleius had pronounced him out of all danger; but\nthen the young officer's duty had called him away. The merchant had\nhailed the news of his daughter's, union with the companion of her\nchildhood as a most satisfactory and long-expected event.\n\nA party of the Prefect's guards had been charged to bring the carriage\nfor Porphyrius to the door of the temple, and the abbot of a monastery at\nArsinoe, who was well known to the Prefect, undertook to escort them on\ntheir road home and protect them from the attacks of the raving mob. At\nthe spot where the side street intersected the street of the Sun, and\nwhere Marcus and Dada had been forced to stop, unable either to proceed\nor to return, a troop of armed heathen had given the Christian rabble a\ncheck at the very moment when the carruca came up, and falling on the foe\nwho had mocked and insulted their most sacred treasure, began a furious\nfray. Quite close to the young lovers a heathen cut down a Christian who\nwas carrying the besmirched head of a Muse. Dada clung in terror to\nMarcus, who was beginning to be seriously alarmed for her when, looking\nround for aid or refuge, he caught sight of his brother forcing his way\nthrough the throng, and gesticulating vehemently. The farmer was\ntelegraphing to the occupants of the carruca as well, and when he at last\nreached Marcus he briefly explained to him that the first thing to be\ndone was to place Dada in safety.\n\nOnly too glad to be out of the crush and danger, the girl nimbly climbed\ninto the chariot, and, after hastily greeting the father and daughter,\nsigned to Marcus to follow her; but Demetrius held his brother back, and\nit was hurriedly agreed that Dada should be sent for that evening to the\nhouse of Porphyrius. Demetrius whispered a few words of enthusiastic\npraise of the little singer into Gorgo's ear; then the carriage moved on\nagain. Many of the heathen who had collected round it recognized\nPorphyrius, the noble friend of the great Olympius, and cleared a passage\nfor him, so that at last he got out of the gate uninjured, and turned\ninto the quieter street of Euergetes which led to the temple of Isis, the\nship-yard and the merchant's residence.\n\nBut few words were exchanged in the chariot, for it was only step by step\nand with considerable difficulty that the horses could get along. It was\nnow quite dark and the mob had spread even into this usually deserted\nquarter.\n\nA flaring glow that tinged the temple, the wharf and the deep sky itself\nwith a gorgeous crimson glare, showed very plainly what the populace were\nemployed in doing. The monks had set fire to the temple of Isis and the\nflames had been driven by the northwest wind down into the ship-yard,\nwhere they had found ample food in the enormous timber stacks and the\nskeletons of ships. Tall jets of rushing and crackling sparks were thrown\nskywards to mingle with the paler stars. Porphyrius could see what danger\nhis house was in; but thanks to the old steward's foresight and the\nindefatigable diligence of the slaves, it escaped the conflagration.\n\nThe two brothers, meanwhile, had left the mob far behind them. Demetrius\nwas not alone, and as soon as he had introduced Marcus to his companion,\nan abbot of friendly mien, the monk warmly expressed his pleasure at\nmeeting another son of Apelles, to whom he had once owed his life.\nDemetrius then told his brother what his adventures had been during the\nlast few hours, and where he had met this worthy Father.\n\nWhile taking Dada down into the arena to join Marcus, he had caught sight\nof Anubis, the Egyptian slave who had been his father's companion in his\nlast memorable journey to Syria, and who, since the death of Apelles, had\ntotally disappeared, the countryman had instantly followed him, seized\nhim--not without a struggle and some little danger--and then had him led\noff by the city-guard to the prison by the Prefect's house. Once secured\nhe had been induced to speak, and his narrative proved beyond a doubt\nthat Apelles had perished in a skirmish with the Saracens; the Egyptian\nslave had only taken advantage of his master's death to make off with the\nmoney he had with him. He had found his way to Crete, where he had\npurchased a plot of ground with his plunder; but then, craving to see his\nwife and children once more, he had come back to fetch them away to his\nnew home. Finally, to confirm the truth of his story, which--clearing him\napparently of the murder of his master--did not invite implicit belief,\nhe told Demetrius that he had seen in Alexandria, only the day before, a\nrecluse who had been present when Apelles fell, and Demetrius had at once\nset out to find this monk, enquiring among those who had swarmed into the\ncity. He had very soon been successful; Kosnias, who since then had been\nelected abbot of the monastery to which he belonged, now again told\nMarcus the story of his father's heroic courage in the struggle with the\nfreebooters who had attacked his caravan. Apelles, he said, had saved his\nlife and that of two other anchorites, one of whom was in Alexandria at\nthis very time. They were travelling from Hebron to Aila, a party of\nseven, and had placed themselves under the protection of the Alexandrian\nmerchant's escort; everything had gone well till the infidel Saracens had\nfallen upon them in the high land south of Petra. Four of the monks had\nbeen butchered out of hand; but Apelles, with a few of the more resolute\nspirits in the company, had fought the heathen with the valor of a lion.\nHe, Kosmas, and his two surviving comrades had effected their escape,\nwhile Apelles engaged the foe; but from a rocky height which they climbed\nin their flight they saw him fall, and from that hour they had always\nmentioned him in their prayers. It would be an unspeakable satisfaction\nto him to do his utmost to procure for such a man as Apelles the rank he\ndeserved in the list of martyrs for the Faith.\n\nMarcus, only too happy, wanted to hurry away at once to his mother and\ntell her what he had heard, but Demetrius detained him. The Bishop-he\ntold his brother--had desired his immediate presence, to be congratulated\non his victory; his first duty was to obey that mandate, and he should at\nonce avail himself of its favorable opportunity to obtain for his\ndeceased parent the honor he had earned.\n\nIt rather startled Marcus to find his brother taking its interest in a\nmatter which, so lately, he had vehemently opposed; however, he proceeded\nat once to the episcopal palace, accompanied by the abbot, and half an\nhour later Demetrius, who had awaited his return, met him coming out with\nsparkling eyes. The Prelate, he said, had received him very graciously,\nhad thanked him for his prowess and had bid him crave a reward. He at\nonce had spoken of his father, and called the recluse to witness to the\nfacts. The Bishop had listened his story, and had ended by declaring\nhimself quite willing to put the name of Apelles on the list of the\nSyrian martyrs. Theophilus had been most unwilling hitherto to reject the\npetitions of so good and illustrious Christian as Mary; and now, after\nsuch ample testimony as to the manner of her husband's death, it was with\nsincere satisfaction that he bestowed this high mark of honor on the\nChristian victor and his admirable mother. \"So now,\" added the young man,\n\"I shall fly home, and how happy my mother will be. . . .\"\n\nBut Demetrius would not allow him to finish his sentence. He laid his\nhand on the young man's shoulder saying: \"Patience, my dear fellow,\npatience! You must stay with me for the present, and not go to your\nmother till I have settled everything that is necessary. Do not\ncontradict me I entreat you, unless you want to deprive me of the\nhappiness of remedying an injustice to your pretty Dada. What you most\ndesire for yourself and her is your mother's blessing--and do you think\nthat will be easy to obtain? Far from it, lad! But I can manage it for\nyou; and I will, too, if only you will do as I bid you, and if the old\nHeathen's niece can be induced to be baptized. . . .\"\n\n\"She is a Christian already!\" exclaimed Marcus eagerly.\n\n\"Well then, she can be yours to-morrow,\" Demetrius went on calmly, \"if\nyou listen to the advice of your older and wiser brother. It cannot be\nvery hard upon you, for you must own that if I had not fought it out with\nAnubis--and the rascal bit all he could reach like a trapped fox--if I\nhad not got him locked up and almost run my legs off in hunting down the\nworthy abbot, our father would never have enjoyed the promotion which he\nis at last to obtain. Who would ever have believed that I should get any\nsatisfaction out of this 'Crown of Martyrdom'? By the gods! It is by no\nmeans impossible, and I hope the manes of the deceased will forgive me\nfor your sake. But it is getting late, so only one thing more: for my own\nshare of the business all I claim is my right to tell your mother myself\nof all that has occurred; you, on your part, must go at once to Eusebius\nand beg him to receive Dada in his house. If he consents--and he\ncertainly will--take him with you to our uncle Porphyrius and wait there\ntill I come; then, if all goes well, I will take you and Dada to your\nmother--or, if not, we will go with Eusebius.\"\n\n\"Dada to my mother!\" cried Marcus. \"But what will she. . . .\"\n\n\"She will receive her as a daughter,\" interrupted his brother, \"if you\nhold your tongue about the whole business till I give you leave to\nspeak.--There, the tall gate-keeper is closing the episcopal palace, so\nnothing more can come out of there to-night. You are a lucky fellow--well\ngood-bye till we meet again; I am in a hurry.\"\n\nThe farmer went off, leaving Marcus with a thousand questions still\nunasked. However, the young man did his bidding and went, hopeful though\nnot altogether free from doubts, to find his old tutor and friend.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nWhile Marcus carried out his brother's instructions Dada was expecting\nhim and Eusebius with the greatest impatience. Gorgo had charged her\nwaiting-woman to conduct the girl into the music-room and to tell her\nthat she would join her there if her father was in such a state as to\nallow of it. Some refreshments were brought in to her, all delicate and\ntempting enough; but Dada would not touch them, for she fancied that the\nmerchant's daughter was avoiding her intentionally, and her heart ached\nwith a sense of bereavement and loneliness. To distract her thoughts she\nwandered round the room, looking at the works of art that stood against\nthe walls, feeling the stuffs with which the cushions were covered and\nstriking a lute which was leaning against the pedestal of a Muse. She\nonly played a few chords, but they sufficed to call up a whole train of\nmemories; she sank on a divan in the darkest corner she could find in the\nbrilliantly-lighted room, and gave herself up to reviewing the many\nevents of the last few days. It was all so bright, so delightful, that it\nhardly seemed real, and her hopes were so radiantly happy that for a\nmoment she trembled to think of their fulfilment--but only for a moment;\nher young soul was full of confidence and elation, and if a doubt weighed\nit down for an instant it was soon cast off and her spirit rose with bold\nexpectancy.\n\nHer heart overflowed with happiness and thankfulness as she thought of\nMarcus and his love for her; her fancy painted the future always by his\nside, and though her annoyance at Gorgo's continued absence, and her\ndread of her lover's mother slightly clouded her gladness, the sense of\npeace and rapture constantly came triumphantly to the front. She forgot\ntime as it sped, till at length Gorgo made her appearance.\n\nShe had not deliberately kept out of the little singer's way; on the\ncontrary, she had been detained by her father, for not till now had she\ndared to tell him that his mother, the beloved mistress of his house, was\nno more. In the Serapeum she had not mentioned it, by the physician's\norders; and now, in addition, through the indiscretion of a friend, he\nhad received some terrible tidings which had already been known for some\nhours in the city and which dealt him a serious blow. His two sons were\nin Thessalonica, and a ship, just arrived from thence, brought the\nnews-only too well substantiated, that fifteen thousand of the\ninhabitants of that town had been treacherously assassinated in the\nCircus there.\n\nThis hideous massacre had been carried out by the Imperial troops at\nCaesar's command, the wretched citizens having been bidden to witness the\nraces and then ruthlessly butchered. A general of the Imperial army--a\nGoth named Botheric--had been killed by the mob, and the Emperor had thus\navenged his death.\n\nPorphyrius knew only too well that his sons would never have been absent\nfrom any races or games. They certainly must have been among the\nspectators and have fallen victims to the sword of the slaughterer. His\nmother and two noble sons were snatched from him in a day; and he would\nagain have had recourse to poison as a refuge from all, if a dim ray of\nhope had not permitted him to believe in their escape. But all the same\nhe was sunk in despair, and behaved as though he had nothing on earth\nleft to live for. Gorgo tried to console him, encouraged his belief in\nher brothers' possible safety, reminded him that it was the duty of a\nphilosopher to bear the strokes of Fate with fortitude; but he would not\nlisten to her, and only varied his lamentations with bursts of rage.\n\nAt last he said he wished to be alone and reminded Gorgo that she ought\nto go to Dada. His daughter obeyed, but against her will; in spite of all\nthat Demetrius had said in the young girl's favor she felt a little shy\nof her, and in approaching her more closely she had something of the\nfeeling of a fine lady who condescends to enter the squalid hovel of\npoverty. But her father was right: Dada was her guest and she must treat\nher with kindness.\n\nOutside the door of the music-room she dried away her tears for her\nbrothers, for her emotion seemed to her too sacred to be confessed to a\ncreature who boldly defied the laws laid down by custom for the conduct\nof women. From Dada's appearance she felt sure that all those lofty\nideas, which she herself had been taught to call \"moral dignity\" and \"a\nyearning for the highest things,\" must be quite foreign to this girl with\nwhom her cousin had condescended to intrigue. She felt herself\nimmeasurably her superior; but it would be ungenerous to allow her to see\nthis, and she spoke very kindly; but Dada answered timidly and formally.\n\n\"I am glad,\" Gorgo began, \"that accident brought you in our way;\" and\nDada replied hastily: \"I owe it to your father's kindness, and not to\naccident.\"\n\n\"Yes, he is very kind,\" said Gorgo, ignoring Dada's indignant tone. \"And\nthe last few hours have brought him terrible sorrows. You have heard, no\ndoubt, that he has lost his mother; you knew her--she had taken quite a\nfancy to you, I suppose you know.\"\n\n\"Oh! forget it!\" cried Dada.\n\n\"She was hard to win,\" Gorgo went on, \"but she liked you. Do you not\nbelieve me? You should have seen how carefully she chose the dress you\nhave on at this minute, and matched the ornaments to wear with it.\"\n\n\"Pray, pray say no more about it,\" Dada begged. \"She is dead, and I have\nforgiven her--but she thought badly, very badly of me.\"\n\n\"It is very bad of you to speak so,\" interrupted Gorgo, making no attempt\nto conceal her annoyance at the girl's reply. \"She--who is dead--deserves\nmore gratitude for her liberality and kindness!\"\n\nDada shook her head.\n\n\"No,\" she said firmly. \"I am grateful, even for the smallest kindness; I\nhave not often met with disinterested generosity. But she had an end in\nview--I must say it once for all. She wanted to make use of me to bring\nshame on Marcus and grief on his mother. You surely must know it; for why\nshould you have thought me too vile to sing with you if you did not\nbelieve that I was a good-for-nothing hussy, and quite ready to do your\ndead grandmother's bidding? Everybody, of course, looked down upon us all\nand thought we must be wicked because we were singers; but you knew\nbetter; you made a distinction; for you invited Agne to come to your\nhouse and sing with you.--No, unless you wish to insult me, say no more\nabout my owing the dead lady a debt of gratitude!\"\n\nGorgo's eyes fell; but presently she looked up again and said:\n\n\"You do not know what that poor soul had suffered. Mary, her son's widow,\nhad been very cruel to her, had done her injuries she could never\nforgive--so perhaps you are right in your notion; but all the same, my\ngrandmother had a great liking for you--and after all her wish is\nfulfilled, for Marcus has found you and he loves you, too, if I am not\nmistaken!\"\n\n\"If you are not mistaken!\" retorted Dada. \"The gods forefend!--Yes, we\nhave found each other, we love each other. Why should I conceal it?\"\n\n\"And Mary, his mother--what has she to say to it?\" asked Gorgo.\n\n\"I do not know,\" replied Dada abashed.\n\n\"But she is his mother, you know!\" cried Gorgo severely. \"And he will\nnever--never--marry against her will. He depends on her for all that he\nhas in the world.\"\n\n\"Then let her keep it!\" exclaimed Dada. \"The smaller and humbler the home\nhe gives me the better I shall like it. I want his love and nothing more.\nAll--all he desires of me is right and good; he is not like other men; he\ndoes not care for nothing but my pretty face. I will do whatever he bids\nme in perfect confidence; and what he thinks about me you may judge for\nyourself, for he is going to put me in the care of his tutor Eusebius.\"\n\n\"Then you have accepted his creed?\" asked Gorgo. \"Certainly I have,\" said\nDada.\n\n\"I am glad of that for his sake,\" said the merchant's daughter. \"And if\nthe Christians only did what their preachers enjoin on them one might be\nglad to become one. But they make a riot and destroy everything that is\nfine and beautiful. What have you to say to that--you, who were brought\nup by Karnis, a true votary of the Muses?\"\n\n\"I?\" said Dada. \"There are bad men everywhere, and when they rise to\ndestroy what is beautiful I am very sorry. But we can love it and cherish\nit all the same.\"\n\n\"You are happy indeed if you can shut your eyes at the dictates of your\nheart!\" retorted Gorgo, but she sighed. \"Happy are they and much to be\nenvied who can compel their judgment to silence when it is grief to hear\nits voice. I--I who have been taught to think, cannot abandon my\njudgment; it builds up a barrier between me and the happiness that\nbeckons me. And yet, so long as truth remains the highest aim of man, I\nwill bless the faculty of seeking it with all the powers of my mind. My\nbetrothed husband, like yours, is a Christian; and I would I could accept\nhis creed as unflinchingly as you; but it is not in my nature to leap\ninto a pool when I know that it is full of currents and\nwhirlpools.--However, the present question has to do with you and not\nwith me. Marcus, no doubt, will be happy to have won you; but if he does\nnot succeed in gaining his mother's consent he will not continue happy\nyou may rely upon it. I know these Christians! they cannot conceive of\nany possible joy in married life without their parents' blessing, and if\nMarcus defies his mother he will torture his conscience and lead a\ndeath-in-life, as though he were under some heavy load of guilt.\"\n\n\"For all that, and all that,\" Dada insisted, \"he can no more be happy\nwithout me than I can without him. I have never in my life paid court to\nany one, but I have always met with kindness. Why then should I not be\nable to win his mother's heart? I will wager anything and everything that\nshe will take kindly to me, for, after all, she must be glad when she\nsees her son happy. Eusebius will speak for us and she will give its her\nblessing! But if it is not to be, if I may never be his wife honestly and\nin the face of the world, still I will not give him up, nor he me. He may\ndeal with me as he will--as if he were my god and I were his slave!\"\n\n\"But, my poor child, do you know nothing of womanly honor and womanly\ndignity?\" cried Gorgo clasping her hands. \"You complain of the lot of a\nsinging-girl, and the cruel prejudices of the world--and what are you\nsaying? Let me have my way, you would say, or I scorn your morality?\"\n\n\"Scorn!\" exclaimed Dada firing up. \"Do you say I scorn morality? No,\nindeed no. I am an insignificant little person; there is nothing proud or\ngreat about me, and as I know it full well I am quite humble; in all my\nlife I never dared to think of scorn, even of a child. But here, in my\nheart, something was awoke to life--through Marcus, only through\nhim--something that makes me strong; and when I see custom and tradition\nin league against me because I am a singer, when they combine to keep me\nout of what I have a right to have--well, within these few hours I have\nfound the spirit to defend myself, to the death if need be! What you call\nwomanly honor I have been taught to hold as sacred as you yourself, and I\nhave kept it as untainted as any girl living. Not that I meant to do\nanything grand, but you have no idea of what it is when every man thinks\nhe has a right to oppress and insult a girl and try to entrap her. You,\nand others like you, know nothing of small things, for you are sheltered\nby walls and privileges. We are every man's game, while they approach you\nas humbly as if you were goddesses.--Besides! It is not only what I have\nheard from Karnis, who knows the world and fine folks like you; I have\nseen it for myself at Rome, in the senators' houses, where there were\nplenty of young lords and great men's daughters--for I have not gone\nthrough life with my eyes shut; with you love is like lukewarm water in a\nbath, but it catches us like fire. Sappho of Lesbos flung herself from\nthe Leucadian rock because Phaon flouted her, and if I could save Marcus\nfrom any calamity by doing the same, I would follow her example.--You\nhave a lover, too; but your feeling for him, with all the 'intellect' and\n'reflections,' and 'thought' of which you spoke, cannot be the right one.\nThere is no but or if in my, love at any rate; and yet, for all that, my\nheart aches so sorely and beats so wildly, I will wait patiently with\nEusebius and submit to whatever I am bidden.--And in spite of it all you\ncondemn me unheard, for you. . . . But why do you stand and look like\nthat? You look just like you did that time when I heard you sing. By all\nthe Muses! but you, too, like us, have some fire in your veins, you are\nnot one of the lukewarm sort; you are an artist, and a better one than I;\nand if you ever should feel the right love, then--then take care lest you\nbreak loose from propriety and custom--or whatever name you give to the\nsacred powers that subdue passion--even more wildly than I--who am an\nhonest girl, and mean to remain so, for all the fire and flame in my\nbreast!\"\n\nGorgo remembered the hour in which she had, in fact, proffered to the man\nof her choice as a free gift, the love which, by every canon of\npropriety, she ought only to have granted to his urgent wooing. She\nblushed and her eyes fell before the humble little singer; but while she\nwas considering what answer she could make men's steps were heard\napproaching, and presently Eusebius and Marcus entered the room, followed\nby Gorgo's lover. Constantine was in deep dejection, for one of his\nbrothers had lost his life in the burning of his father's ship-yard, and\nas compared with this grief, the destruction of the timber stores which\nconstituted the chief part of his wealth scarcely counted as a calamity.\n\nGorgo had met him with a doubtful and embarrassed air; but when she\nlearnt of the blow that had fallen on him and his parents, she clung to\nhim caressingly and tried to comfort him. The others sympathized deeply\nwith his sorrow; but soon it was Dada's turn to weep, for Eusebius\nbrought the news of her foster-parent's death in the fight at the\nSerapeum, and of Orpheus being severely wounded.\n\nThe cheerful music-room was a scene of woe till Demetrius came to conduct\nhis brother and Dada to the widow Mary who was expecting them. He had\narrived in a chariot, for he declared his legs would no longer carry him.\n\"Men,\" said he, \"are like horses. A swift saddle-horse is soon tired when\nit is driven in harness and a heavy cart-horse when it is made to gallop.\nHis hoofs were spoilt for city pavements, and scheming, struggling and\nrunning about the streets were too much for his country brains and wore\nhim out, as trotting under a saddle would weary a plough-horse. He\nthanked the gods that this day was over. He would not be rested enough\ntill to-morrow to be really glad of all his success.\"--But in spite of\nthis assertion he was radiant with overflowing satisfaction, and that in\nitself cheered the mourners whom he tried to encourage. When he said they\nmust be going, Gorgo kissed the little singer; indeed, as soon as she saw\nhow deeply she was grieved, shedding bitter but silent tears, she had\nhastened to take her in her arms and comfort her like a sister.\n\nConstantine, Gorgo and old Eusebius were left together, and the young\ngirl was longing to unburden her over-full heart. She had agreed to her\nlover's request that she would at once accompany him to see his sorrowing\nparents; still, she could not appear before the old Christian couple and\ncrave their blessing in her present mood. Recent events had embittered\nher happy belief in the creed into which she had thrown herself, and much\nas it pained her to add a drop to Constantine's cup of sorrow, duty and\nhonesty commanded that she should show him the secrets of her soul and\nthe doubts and questionings which had begun to trouble her. The old\npriest's presence was a comfort to her; for her earnest wish was to\nbecome a Christian from conviction; as soon as they were alone she poured\nout before them all the accusations she had to bring against the\nadherents of their Faith: They had triumphed in ruining the creations of\nArt; the Temple of Isis and the ship-yard lay in ashes, destroyed by\nChristian incendiaries; their tears were not yet dry when they flowed\nafresh for the sons of Porphyrius--Christians themselves--who, unless\nsome happy accident had saved them, must have perished with thousands of\ninnocent sufferers--believers and infidels together--by the orders of the\nEmperor whom Constantine had always lauded as a wise sovereign and pious\nChristian, as the Defender of the Faith, and as a faithful disciple of\nthe Redeemer.\n\nWhen, at last, she came to an end of her indictment she appealed to\nConstantine and Eusebius to defend the proceedings of their\nco-religionists, and to give her good grounds for confessing a creed\nwhich could sanction such ruthless deeds.\n\nNeither the Deacon nor his pupil attempted to excuse these acts; nay,\nConstantine thought they were in plain defiance of that high law of Love\nwhich the Christian Faith imposes on all its followers. The wicked\nservant, he declared, had committed crimes in direct opposition to the\nspirit and the letter of the Master.\n\nBut this admission by no means satisfied Gorgo; she represented to the\nyoung Christian that a master must be judged by the deeds of his servant;\nshe herself had turned from the old gods only because she felt such\nintense contempt for their worshippers; but now it had been her lot to\nsee--the Deacon must pardon her for saying so--that many a Christian far\noutdid the infidels in coarse brutality and cruelty. Such an experience\nhad filled her with distrust of the creed she was required to subscribe\nto--she was shaken to the very foundations of her being.\n\nEusebius had, till now, listened in silence; but as she ended he went\ntowards her, and asked her gently whether she would think it right to\nturn the fertilizing Nile from its bed and leave its shores dry, because,\nfrom time to time, it destroyed fields and villages in the excess of its\noverflow? \"This day and its deeds of shame,\" he went on sadly, \"are a\nblot on the pure and sublime book of the History of our Faith, and every\ntrue Christian must bitterly bewail the excesses of a frenzied mob. The\nChurch must no less condemn Caesar's sanguinary vengeance; it casts a\nshade on his honor and his fair name, and his conscience no doubt will\npunish him for such a crime. Far be it from me to defend deeds which\nnothing can justify. . .\"\n\nBut Gorgo interrupted him. \"All this,\" she said, \"does not alter the fact\nthat such crimes are just as possible and as frequent with you, as with\nthose whom I am expected to give up, and who. . .\"\n\n\"But it is not merely on account of their ill deeds that you are giving\nthem up, Gorgo,\" Constantine broke in. \"Confess, dear girl, that your\nwrath makes you unjust to yourself and your own heart. It was not out of\naversion for the ruthless and base adherents of the old gods but--as I\nhope and believe--out of love for me that you consented to adopt my\nfaith--our faith.\"\n\n\"True, true,\" she exclaimed, coloring as she remembered the doubts Dada\nhad cast on the truth of her love.\n\n\"True, out of love for you--love of Love and of peace, I consented to\nbecome a Christian. But with regard to the deeds committed by your\nfollowers, tell me yourself--and I appeal to you reverend Father--what\ninspired them: Love or Hate.\"\n\n\"Hate!\" said Constantine gloomily; and Eusebius added sorrowfully\n\n\"In these dark days our Faith is seen under an aspect that by no means\nfairly represents its true nature, noble lady; trust my words! Have you\nnot yourself seen, even in your short life, that what is highest and\ngreatest can in its excess, be all that is most hideous? A noble pride,\nif not kept within bounds, becomes overweening ambition; the lovely grace\nof humility degenerates into an indolent sacrifice of opinion and will;\nhigh-hearted enterprise into a mad chase after fortune, in which we ride\ndown everything that comes in the way of success. What is nobler than a\nmother's love, but when she fights for her child she becomes a raving\nMegaera. In the same way the Faith--the consoler of hearts--turns to a\nraging wild-beast when it stoops to become religious partisanship. If you\nwould really understand Christianity you must look neither down to the\ndeluded masses, and those ambitious worldlings who only use it as a means\nto an end by inflaming their baser passions, nor up to the throne, where\npower translates the impulse of a disastrous moment into sinister deeds.\nIf you want to know what true and pure Christianity is, look into our\nhomes, look at the family life of our fellow believers. I know them well,\nfor my humble functions lead me into daily and hourly intercourse with\nthem. Look to them if you purpose to give your hand to a Christian and\nmake your home with him. There, my child, you will see all the blessings\nof the Saviour's teaching, love and soberness, pitifulness to the poor\nand a real heart-felt eagerness to forgive injuries. I have seen a\nChristian bestow his last crust on his hapless foe, on the enemy of his\nhouse, on the Heathen or the Jew, because they, too, are men, because our\nneighbor's woes should be as our own--I have seen them taken in and\ncherished as though they were fellow-Christians.--There you will find a\nstriving after all that is good, a never-fading hope in better days to\ncome, even under the worst afflictions; and when death requires the\nsacrifice of all that is dearest, or swoops down on life itself, a firm\nassurance of the forgiveness of sins through Christ. Believe me,\nmistress, there is no home so happy as that of the Christian; for he who\nreally apprehends the Saviour and understands his teaching need not mar\nhis own joys in this life to the end that he may be a partaker of the\nbliss of the next. On the contrary: He who called the erring to himself,\nwho drew little children to his heart, who esteemed the poor above the\nrich, who was a cheerful guest at wedding-feasts, who bid us gain\ninterest on the spiritual talents in our care, who commanded us to\nremember Him at a social meal, who opened hearts to love--He longed to\nrelease the life of the humblest creature from want and suffering. Where\nlove and peace reign must there not be happiness? And as He preached love\nand peace above all else, He cannot have desired that we should\nintentionally darken our lives on earth and load them with sorrow and\nmiseries in order to will our share of Heaven. The soul that is full of\nthe happy confidence of being one with Him and his love, is released from\nthe bondage of sin and sorrow, even here below; for Jesus has taken all\nthe sins and pains of the world on himself; and if Fate visits the\nChristian with the heaviest blows he bears them in silence and patience.\nOur Lord is Love itself; neither hatred nor envy are known to Him as they\nare to the gods of the Heathen; and when he afflicts us, it is as the\nwise and tender pastor of our souls, and for our good. The omniscient\nLord knows his own counsel, and the Christian submits as a child does to\na wise father whose loving kindness he can always trust; nay, he can even\nthank him for sorrow and pain as though they were pleasurable benefits.\"\n\nGorgo shook her head.\n\n\"That all sounds very beautiful and good; it is required of the\nChristian, and sometimes, no doubt, fulfilled; but the Stoa demands the\nsame virtues of its disciples. You, Constantine, knew Damon the Stoic,\nand you will remember how strictly he enjoined on all that they should\nrise superior to pain and grief. And then, when his only daughter lost\nher sight--she was a great friend of mine--he behaved like one possessed.\nMy father, too, has often spoken to you of philosophy as a help to\ncontemning the discomforts of life, and bearing the sports of Fate with a\nlofty mind; and now? You should see the poor man, reverend Father. What\ngood have all the teachings of the great master done him?\"\n\n\"But he has lost so much--so much!\" sighed Constantine thinking of his\nown loss; and Eusebius shook his head.\n\n\"In sorrow such as his, no philosophy, no mental effort can avail. The\nblows that wound the affections can only be healed by the affections, and\nnot by the intellect and considerations of reason. Faith, child! Faith is\nthe true Herb of Grace. The intellect is its foe; the feelings are its\nnative soil where it finds constant nourishment; and however deep the\nbleeding wound of the mourner may be, Faith can heal it and reconcile the\nsufferer to his loss. You have been taught to value a fine understanding,\nto measure everything by it, to build everything on its decisions. To you\nthe knowledge you have attained to by argument and inference is supreme;\nbut the Creator has given us a heart as well as a brain; our affections,\ntoo, stir and grow in their own way, and the knowledge they can attain\nto, my child, is Faith. You love--and Love is part of your affections;\nand now take my advice; do not let that reasoning intelligence, which has\nnothing to do with love, have anything to say in the matter; cherish your\nlove and nurture it from the rich stores of your heart; thus only can it\nthrive to beauty and harmony.--And this must suffice for to-day, for I\nhave already kept the wounded waiting too long in the Serapeum. If you\ndesire it, another time I will show you Christianity in all its depth and\nbeauty, and your love for this good man will prepare the way and open\nyour heart to my teaching. A day will come when you will be able to\nlisten to the voice of your heart as gladly as you have hitherto obeyed\nthe dictates of your intellect; something new will be born in you which\nyou will esteem as a treasure above all you ever acquired by reason and\nthought. That day will assuredly dawn on you; for he whom you love has\nopened the path for you that leads to the gates of Truth; and as you seek\nyou will not fail to find.--And so farewell. When you crave a teacher you\nhave only to come to him--and I know he will not have long to wait.\"\n\nGorgo looked thoughtfully at the old man as he went away and then went\nwith Constantine to see his parents. It was in total silence that they\nmade their way along the short piece of road to the house of Clemens.\nLights were visible in the viridarium and the curtains of the doorway\nwere drawn back; as they reached the threshold Constantine pointed to a\nbier which had been placed in the little court among the flower-beds; his\nparents were on their knees by the side of it.\n\nNeither he nor Gorgo ventured to disturb their wordless devotions, but\npresently the ship-master rose, drawing his fine, stalwart figure to its\nfull height; then turning his kind, manly, grave face to his wife, who\nhad also risen to her feet, he laid one hand on her still abundant white\nhair and held out the other which she took in hers. Mariamne dried her\neyes and looked up, in her husband's face as he said firmly and calmly:\n\n\"The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away!' She hid her face on his\nshoulder and responded sadly but fervently:\n\n\"Blessed be the name of the Lord!\"\n\n\"Yea--Blessed!\" repeated Clemens emphatically but he passed his arm\nacross his eyes. \"For thirty-two years hath He lent him to us; and in our\nhearts . . . .\" and he struck his broad breast, \"in here, he will never\ndie for you or for me. As for the rest--and there was a deal of property\nof our own and of other folks in these wood-piles--well, in time we shall\nget over that. We may bless the Almighty for what we have left!\"\n\nGorgo felt her lover's hand grasp hers more tightly and she understood\nwhat he meant; she clung closer to him and whispered softly: \"Yes, that\nis grand--that is the Truth.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nIn the great house in the Canopic street it was late ere all was quiet\nfor the night. Even Demetrius, in spite of his fatigue, broke through his\nrule of \"early to bed\"; he felt he must see the reaping of the harvest he\nhad sown for his brother.\n\nIt had been no easy task to persuade Mary to accede to his importunities,\nbut to his great joy he at last succeeded.\n\nHe would have met with a rough dismissal if he had begun by praising Dada\nand expressing his wish to see her married to Marcus; he had gained his\npoint inch by inch, very quietly; but when he had explained to her that\nit was in his hands to secure the martyr's crown for her husband she had\nturned suspicious and ironical, had made him swear that it was true,\nthreatening him with punishments in this world and in the next; but he\nhad let it all pass over his head, had solemnly sworn as she desired him,\npledging not merely the salvation of his soul but his possessions in this\nworld; till, at length, convinced that it really was in his power to\ngratify the dearest wish of her heart, she had yielded somewhat and\naltered her demeanor. Still, he had not spoken a word to help her through\nher deliberations and bewilderment, but had left her to fight out the\nhard struggle with her own soul; not without some malicious enjoyment but\nalso not without anxiety, till the first decisive question was put to him\nby his stepmother.\n\nShe had heard that Dada was quite resolved to be baptized, and having\nonce more made sure of the fact that the girl was anxious to become a\nChristian, she next asked:\n\n\"And it was Marcus who won her to the faith?\"\n\n\"He alone.\"\n\n\"And you can swear that she is a pure-minded and well-conducted girl?\"\n\nCertainly, with the firmest conviction.\"\n\n\"I saw her in the arena--she is pretty, uncommonly charming indeed--and\nMarcus . . . ?\"\n\n\"He has set his heart on the girl, and I am sure that his passion is\nsincere and unselfish. On the other hand I need hardly remind you that in\nthis city there are many women, even among those of the first rank, whose\nbirth and origin are far more doubtful than those of your son's little\nfriend, for she, at any rate, is descended from free and respectable\nparents. Her uncle's connections are among the best families in Sicily;\nnot that we need trouble ourselves about that, for the wife of Philip's\ngrandson would command respect even if she were only a freed-woman.\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" murmured Mary, as though all this were of minor\nimportance in her eyes; and then for some little time she remained\nsilent. At last she looked up and exclaimed in a voice that betrayed the\nstruggle still going on in her soul:\n\n\"What have I to care for but my child's happiness? In the sight of God we\nare all equal--great and small alike; and I myself am but a weak woman,\nfull of defects and sins--but for all that I could have wished that the\nonly son of a noble house might have chosen differently. All I can say is\nthat I must look upon this marriage as a humiliation laid upon me by the\nAlmighty--still, I give it my sanction and blessing, and I will do freely\nand with my whole heart if my son's bride brings as her marriage-portion\nthe one thing which is the first and last aim of all my desires: The\neverlasting glory of Apelles. The martyr's crown will open the gates of\nHeaven to him--who was your father, too, Demetrius. Gain that and I\nmyself will lead the singer to my son's arms.\"\n\n\"That is a bargain!\" cried Demetrius--and soon after midnight he had\nretired to rest, after seeing Mary fulfil her promise to give a parental\nblessing to the betrothed pair.\n\nA few weeks later Dada and Gorgo were both baptized, and both by the name\nof Cecilia; and then, at Mary's special entreaty, Marcus' marriage was\nsolemnized with much pomp by the Bishop himself.\n\nStill, and in spite of the lavish demonstrations of more than motherly\naffection which the widow showered her daughter-in-law, Dada felt a\nstranger, and ill at ease in the great house in the Canopic way. When\nDemetrius, a few weeks after their marriage, proposed Marcus that he\nshould undertake the management of family estates in Cyrenaica, she\njumped at the suggestion; and Marcus at once decided to act upon it when\nhis brother promised to remain with him for the first year or two,\nhelping him with his advice and instructions.\n\nTheir fears lest Mary should oppose the project, proved unfounded; for,\nthough the widow declared that life would be a burden to her without her\nchildren, she soon acceded to her son's wishes and admitted that they\nwere kind and wise. She need not fear isolation, for, as the widow of the\nmartyred Apelles, she was the recognized leader of the Christian\nsisterhood in the town, and preferred working in a larger circle than\nthat of the family. She always spoke with enthusiasm to her visitors of\nher daughter-in-law Cecilia, of her beauty, her piety and her gentleness;\nin fact, she did all she could to make it appear that she herself had\nchosen her son's wife. But she did not care to keep this \"beloved\ndaughter\" with her in Alexandria, for the foremost position in every\ndepartment of social life was far more certain to be conceded to the\nnoble widow of a \"martyred witness\" in the absence of the pretty little\nconverted singer.\n\nSo the young couple moved to Cyrenaica, and Dada was happy in learning to\ngovern her husband's large estates with prudence and good sense. The gay\nsinging-girl became a capable housewife, and the idle horse-loving Marcus\na diligent farmer. For three years Demetrius staid with them as adviser\nand superintendent; even afterwards he frequently visited them, and for\nmonths at a time, and he was wont to say:\n\n\"In Alexandria I am heart and soul, a Heathen, but in the house with your\nCecilia I am happy to be a Christian.\"\n\nBefore they quitted the city a terrible blow fell on Eusebius. The sermon\nhe had delivered just before the overthrow of Serapes, to soothe the\nexcited multitude and guide them in the right way, had been regarded by\nthe Bishop of the zealot priests, who happened to be present, as\nblasphemous and as pandering to the infidels; Theophilus, therefore, had\ncharged his nephew Cyril--his successor in the see--to verify the facts\nand enquire into the deacon's orthodoxy. It thus came to light that Agne,\nan Arian, was not only living under his roof, but had been trusted by him\nto nurse certain sick persons among the orthodox; the old man was\ncondemned by Cyril to severe acts of penance, but Theophilus decided that\nhe must be deprived of his office in the city, where men of sterner stuff\nwere needed, and only allowed the charge of souls in a country\ncongregation.\n\nIt was a cruel blow to the venerable couple to be forced to quit the\nhouse and the little garden where they had been happy together for half a\nlifetime; however, the change proved to be to their advantage, for Marcus\ninvited his worthy teacher to be the spiritual pastor of his estates. The\nchurches he built for his peasants were consecrated by Eusebius, whose\nmild doctrine and kindly influence persuaded many laborers and slaves to\nbe baptized and to join his flock of disciples. But the example and\namiability of their young mistress was even more effectual than his\npreaching. Men and women, slaves and free, all adored and respected her;\nto imitate her in all she did could only lead to honor and happiness,\ncould only be right and good and wise. Thus by degrees, and without the\nexertion of any compulsion, the temples and shrines on the Martyr's\ninheritance were voluntarily abandoned, and fell into ruin and decay.\n\nIt was the same on the property of Constantine, which lay at no more than\na day's journey from that of Marcus; the two young couples were faithful\nfriends and good neighbors. The estate which had come into Constantine's\npossession had belonged to Barkas, the Libyan, who, with his troops, had\nbeen so anxiously and vainly expected to succor the Serapeum. The State\nhad confiscated his extensive and valuable lands, and the young officer,\nafter retiring from the service, had purchased them with the splendid\nfortune left to Gorgo by her grandmother.\n\nThe two sons of Porphyrius had, as it proved, been so happy as to escape\nin the massacre at Thessalonica; and as they were Christians and piously\northodox, the old man transferred to them, during his lifetime, the chief\nshare of his wealth; so that henceforth he could live honestly--alienated\nfrom the Church and a worshipper of the old gods, without anxiety as to\nhis will. The treasures of art which Constantine and Gorgo found in the\nhouse of Barkas they carefully preserved, though, ere long, few heathen\nwere to be found even in this neighborhood which had formerly been the\nheadquarters of rebellion on behalf of the old religion.\n\nPapias was brought up with the children of Marcus and Dada Cecilia, while\nhis sister Agne, finding herself relieved of all care on his account,\nsought and found her own way through life.\n\nOrpheus, after seeing his parents killed in the fight at the Serapeum,\nwas carried, sorely wounded, to the sick-house of which Eusebius was\nspiritual director. Agne had volunteered to nurse him and had watched by\nhis couch day and night. Eusebius had also brought Dada and Papias to\nvisit them, and Dada had promised, on behalf of Marcus, that Agne and her\nbrother should always be provided for, even in the event of the good\nDeacon's death. The little boy was for the moment placed in Eusebius'\ncare, and it was a, cause of daily rejoicing to Agne to hear from the\nkind old man of all the charming qualities he discovered in the child who\nwas perfectly happy with the old folks, and who, though he was always\ndelighted to see his sister, was quite content to part from her and\nreturn home with Eusebius, or with Dada, to whole he was devoted.\n\nOrpheus recognized no one, neither Agne nor the child--and when visitors\nhad been to see him, in his fevered ravings he would talk more vehemently\nthan ever of great Apollo and other heathen divinities. Then he would\nfancy that he was still fighting in the Serapeum and butchering thousands\nof Christian foes with his own hand. Agne, whom he rarely recognized for\na moment, would talk soothingly to him, and even try to say a few words\nabout the Saviour and the life to come; but he always interrupted her\nwith blasphemous exclamations, and cursed and abused her. Never had she\ngone through such anguish of soul as by his bed of suffering, and yet she\ncould not help gazing at his face; and when she told herself that he must\nsoon be no more, that the light of his eyes would cease to shine on hers,\nshe felt as though the sun were about to be extinguished and the earth\ndarkened for all time. However, his healthy vigor kept him lingering for\nmany days and nights.\n\nOn the last evening of his life he took Agne for a Muse, and calling to\nher to come to him seized her hand and sank back unconscious, never to\nmove again. She stood there as the minutes slowly passed, waiting in\nagonized suspense till his hand should be cold in hers; and as she waited\nshe overheard a dialogue between two deaconesses who were watching by a\nsleeping patient. One of them was telling the other that her sister's\nhusband, a mason, had died an obdurate heathen and a bitter enemy of the\nChristian Church. Then Dorothea, his widow, had devoted herself to saving\nhis soul; she left her children, abandoning them to the charity of the\ncongregation, and had withdrawn to a cloister to pray in silence and\nunceasingly for the soul of her deceased husband. At first he used to\nappear to her in her dreams, with furious gestures, accompanied by\ncentaurs and goat-footed creatures, and had desired her to go home to her\nchildren and leave his soil in peace, for that he was in very good\nquarters with the jolly devils; but soon after she had seen him again\nwith scorched limbs, and he lead implored her to pray fervently for mercy\non him, for that they were torturing him cruelly in hell.\n\nDorothea had then retired into the desert of Kolzoum where she was still\nliving in a cave, feeding on herbs, roots, and shell-fish thrown up on\nthe sea-shore. She had schooled herself to do without sleep, and prayed\nday and night for her husband's soul; and she lead obtained strength\nnever to think of anything but her own and her husband's salvation, and\nto forget her children completely. Her fervid devotion had at length met\nwith full reward; for some little time her husband had appeared to her in\na robe of shining light and often attended by lovely angels.\n\nAgne had not lost a word of this narrative, and when, next morning, she\nfelt the cold hand of the dead youth and looked at his drawn and\npain-stricken features, she shuddered with vague terrors: he, she\nthought, like Dorothea's husband, must have hell-torments to endure. When\nshe presently found herself alone with the corpse she bent over it and\nkissed the pale lips, and swore to herself that she would save his soul.\n\nThat same evening she went back to Eusebius and told him of her wish to\nwithdraw to the desert of Koizoum and become a recluse. The old man\nbesought her to remain with him, to take charge of her little brother,\nand not to abandon him and his old wife; for that it was a no less lovely\nChristian duty to be compassionate and helpful, and cherish the feeble in\ntheir old age. His wife added her entreaties and tears; but a sudden\nchill had gripped Agne's heart; dry-eyed and rigid she resisted their\nprayers, and took leave of her benefactors and of Papias. Bare-foot and\nbegging her way, she started for the south-east and reached the shores of\nthe Red Sea. There she found the stonemason's widow, emaciated and\nhaggard, with matted hair, evidently dying. Agne remained with her,\nclosed her eyes, and then lived on as Dorothea had lived, in the same\ncave, till the fame of her sanctity spread far beyond the boundaries of\nEgypt.\n\nWhen Papias had grown to man's estate and was installed as steward to\nDemetrius, he sought his sister many times and tried to persuade her to\nlive with him in his new home; but she never would consent to quit her\nsolitary cell. She would not have exchanged it for a king's palace; for\nOrpheus appeared to her in nightly visions, radiant with the glories of\nHeaven; and time was passing and the hour drawing near when she might\nhope to be with him once more.\n\nThe widow Mary, in her later years, made many pilgrimages to holy places\nand saintly persons, and among others to Agne, the recluse; but she would\nnever be induced to visit Cyrenaica, whither she was frequently invited\nby her children and grandchildren; some more powerful excitant was needed\nto prompt her to face the discomforts of a journey.\n\nThe old Heathen cults had completely vanished from the Greek capital long\nbefore her death. With it died the splendor and the power of the second\ncity in the world; and of all the glories of the city of Serapis nothing\nnow remains but a mighty column--[Known as Pompey's Pillar.]--towering to\nthe skies, the last surviving fragment of the beautiful temple of the\nsovereign-god whose fall marked so momentous an epoch in the life of the\nhuman race. But, like this pillar, outward Beauty--the sense of form that\ncharacterized the heathen mind--has survived through the ages. We can\ngaze up at the one and the other, and wherever the living Truth--the\nSpirit of Christianity--has informed and penetrated that form of Beauty,\nthe highest hopes of old Eusebius have been realized. Their union is\nsolemnized in Christian Art.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE SERAPIS:\n\n     Christian hypocrites who pretend to hate life and love death\n     Christianity had ceased to be the creed of the poor\n     Great happiness, and mingled therefor with bitter sorrow\n     He may talk about the soul--what he is after is the girl\n     He spoke with pompous exaggeration\n     It is not by enthusiasm but by tactics that we defeat a foe\n     Love means suffering--those who love drag a chain with them\n     People who have nothing to do always lack time\n     Perish all those who do not think as we do\n     Pretended to see nothing in the old woman's taunts\n     Rapture and anguish--who can lay down the border line\n     Reason is a feeble weapon in contending with a woman\n     To her it was not a belief but a certainty\n     Trifling incident gains importance when undue emphasis is laid\n     Very hard to imagine nothingness\n     Whether man were the best or the worst of created beings\n     Words that sounded kindly, but with a cold, unloving heart\n\n\n\n\nARACHNE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary J. Safford\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nDeep silence brooded over the water and the green islands which rose like\noases from its glittering surface. The palms, silver poplars, and\nsycamores on the largest one were already casting longer shadows as the\nslanting rays of the sun touched their dark crowns, while its glowing\nball still poured a flood of golden radiance upon the bushes along the\nshore, and the light, feathery tufts at the tops of the papyrus reeds in\nthe brackish water.\n\nMore than one flock of large and small waterfowl flew past beneath the\nsilvery cloudlets flecking the lofty azure vault of heaven; here and\nthere a pelican or a pair of wild ducks plunged, with short calls which\nceased abruptly, into the lush green thicket, but their cackling and\nquacking belonged to the voices of Nature, and, when heard, soon died\naway in the heights of the tipper air, or in the darkness of the\nunderbrush that received the birds. Very few reached the little city of\nTennis, which now, during the period of inundation in the year 274 B.C.,\nwas completely encircled by water.\n\nFrom the small island, separated from it by a channel scarcely three\narrow-shots wide, it seemed as though sleep or paralysis had fallen upon\nthe citizens of the busy little industrial town, for few people appeared\nin the streets, and the scanty number of porters and sailors who were\nworking among the ships and boats in the little fleet performed their\ntasks noiselessly, exhausted by the heat and labour of the day.\n\nColumns of light smoke rose from many of the buildings, but the sunbeams\nprevented its ascent into the clear, still air, and forced it to spread\nover the roofs as if it, too, needed rest.\n\nSilence also reigned in the little island diagonally opposite to the\nharbour. The Tennites called it the Owl's Nest, and, though for no\nespecial reason, neither they nor the magistrates of King Ptolemy II ever\nstepped upon its shores. Indeed, a short time before, the latter had even\nbeen forbidden to concern themselves about the pursuits of its\ninhabitants; since, though for centuries it had belonged to a family of\nseafaring folk who were suspected of piracy, it had received, two\ngenerations ago, from Alexander the Great himself, the right of asylum,\nbecause its owner, in those days, had commanded a little fleet which\nproved extremely useful to the conqueror of the world in the siege of\nGaza and during the expedition to Egypt. True, under the reign of Ptolemy\nI, the owners of the Owl's Nest were on the point of being deprived of\nthis favour, because they were repeatedly accused of piracy in distant\nseas; but it had not been done. Yet for the past two years an\ninvestigation had threatened Satabus, the distinguished head of the\nfamily, and during this period he, with his ships and his sons, had\navoided Tennis and the Egyptian coast.\n\nThe house occupied by the islanders stood on the shore facing the little\ncity. It had once been a stately building, but now every part of it\nseemed to be going to ruin except the central portion, which presented a\nless dilapidated appearance than the sorely damaged, utterly neglected\nside wings.\n\nThe roof of the whole long structure had originally consisted of palm\nbranches, upon which mud and turf had been piled; but this, too, was now\nin repair only on the central building. On the right and left wings the\nrain which often falls in the northeastern part of the Nile Delta, near\nthe sea, had washed off the protecting earth, and the wind had borne it\naway as dust.\n\nOnce the house had been spacious enough to shelter a numerous family and\nto store a great quantity of goods and provisions, but it was now long\nsince the ruinous chambers had been occupied. Smoke rose only from the\nopening in the roof of the main building, but its slender column showed\nfrom what a very scanty fire it ascended.\n\nThe purpose which this was to serve was readily discovered, for in front\nof the open door of the dwelling, that seemed far too large and on\naccount of the pillars at the entrance, which supported a triangular\npediment--also too stately for its sole occupant, sat an old woman,\nplucking three ducks.\n\nIn front of her a girl, paying no heed to her companion, stood leaning\nagainst the trunk of the low, wide-branching sycamore tree near the\nshore. A narrow boat, now concealed from view by the dense growth of\nrushes, had brought her to the spot.\n\nThe beautiful, motherless young creature, needing counsel, had come to\nold Tabus to appeal to her art of prophecy and, if she wanted them, to\nrender her any little services; for the old dame on the island was\nclosely bound to Ledscha, the daughter of one of the principal\nship-owners in Tennis, and had once been even more closely united to the\ngirl.\n\nNow, as the sun was about to set, the latter gave herself up to a wild\ntumult of sweet memories, anxious fears, and yearning expectation.\n\nNot until a cool breath from the neighbouring sea fanned her brow did she\nthrow down the cord and implement with which she had been adding a few\nmeshes to a net, and rising, gaze sometimes across the water at a large\nwhite house in the northern part of the city, sometimes at the little\nharbour or the vessels on the horizon steering toward Tennis, among which\nher keen eyes discovered a magnificent ship with bright-hued sails.\n\nDrawing a long breath, she enjoyed the coolness which precedes the\ndeparture of the daystar.\n\nBut the effect of this harbinger of night upon her surroundings was even\nmore powerful than upon herself, for the sun in the western horizon\nscarcely began to sink slowly behind the papyrus thicket on the shore of\nthe straight Tanite arm of the Nile, dug by human hands, than one new and\nstrange phenomenon followed another.\n\nFirst a fan, composed of countless glowing rays which spread in dazzling\nradiance over the west, rose from the vanishing orb and for several\nminutes adorned the lofty dome of the deep-blue sky like the tail of a\ngigantic peacock. Then the glitter of the shining plumes paled. The\nlight-giving body from which they emanated disappeared and, in its stead,\na crimson mantle, with gold-bordered, crocus-yellow edges, spread itself\nover the space it had left until the gleaming tints merged into the\ndeeper hues of the violet.\n\nBut the girl paid no heed to this splendid spectacle. Perhaps she noticed\nhow the fading light diffused a delicate rose-hued veil over the\nlight-blue sails, embroidered with silver vines, of the approaching state\ngalley, making its gilded prow glitter more brightly, and saw one fishing\nboat after another move toward the harbour, but she gave the whole scene\nonly a few careless glances.\n\nLedscha cared little for the poor fishermen of Tennis, and the glittering\nstate galley could scarcely bring or bear away anything of importance to\nher.\n\nThe epistrategus of the whole province was daily expected. But of what\nconsequence to the young girl were the changes which it was rumoured he\nintended to introduce into the government of the country, concerning\nwhich her father had expressed such bitter dissatisfaction before he set\nout on his last trip to Pontus?\n\nA very different matter occupied her thoughts, and as, pressing her hand\nupon her heart, she gazed at the little city, gleaming with crimson hues\nin the reflection of the setting sun, a strange, restless stir pervaded\nthe former stillness of Nature. Pelicans and flamingoes, geese and ducks,\nstorks and herons, ibises and cranes, bitterns and lapwings, flew in dark\nflocks of manifold forms from all directions. Countless multitudes of\nwaterfowl darkened the air as they alighted upon the uninhabited islands,\nand with ear-splitting croaking and cackling, whistling and chirping,\nclapping and twittering, dropped into the sedges and bushes which\nconcealed their nests, while in the city the doors of the houses opened,\nand men, women, and children, after toiling at the loom and in the\nworkshop, came out to enjoy the coolness of the evening in the open air.\n\nOne fishing boat after another was already throwing a rope to the shore,\nas the ship with the gay sails approached the little roadstead.\n\nHow large and magnificent it was!\n\nNone of the king's officials had ever used such a galley, not even the\nepistrategus of the Delta, who last year had given the banking and the\noil trade to new lessees. Besides, the two transports that had followed\nthe magnificent vessel appeared to belong to it.\n\nLedscha had watched the ships indifferently enough, but suddenly her\ngaze--and with it the austere beauty of her face--assumed a different\nexpression.\n\nHer large black eyes dilated, and with passionate intentness she looked\nfrom the gaily ornamented galley to the shore, which several men in Greek\ncostume were approaching.\n\nThe first two had come from the large white house whose door, since\nsunset, had been the principal object of her attention.\n\nIt was Hermon, the taller one, for whom she was waiting with old Tabus.\nHe had promised to take her from the Owl's Nest, after nightfall, for a\nlonely row upon the water.\n\nNow he was not coming alone, but with his fellow-artist, the sculptor\nMyrtilus, the nomarch and the notary--she recognised both\ndistinctly--Gorgias, the rich owner of the second largest weaving\nestablishment in Tennis, and several slaves.\n\nWhat did it mean?\n\nA sudden flush crimsoned her face, now slightly tanned, to the brow, and\nher lips were compressed, giving her mouth an expression of repellent,\nalmost cruel harshness.\n\nBut the tension of her charming features, whose lines, though sharp, were\ndelicately outlined, soon vanished. There was still plenty of time before\nthe darkness would permit Hermon to join her unnoticed. A reception, from\nwhich he could not be absent, was evidently about to take place.\n\nYes, that was certainly the case; for now the magnificent galley had\napproached as near the land as the shallow water permitted, and the\nwhistle of the rowers' flute-player, shouts of command, and the barking\nof dogs could be heard.\n\nThen a handkerchief waved a greeting from the vessel to the men on shore,\nbut the hand that held it was a woman's. Ledscha would have recognised it\nhad the twilight been far deeper.\n\nThe features of the new arrival could no longer be distinguished; but she\nmust be young. An elderly woman would not have sprung so nimbly into the\nskiff that was to convey her to the land.\n\nThe man who assisted her in doing so was the same sculptor, Hermon, for\nwhom she had watched with so much longing.\n\nAgain the blood mounted into Ledscha's cheeks, and when she saw the\nstranger lay her hand upon the shoulder of the Alexandrian who, only\nyesterday, had assured the young girl of his love with ardent vows, and\nallow him to lift her out of the boat, she buried her little white teeth\ndeeply in her lips.\n\nShe had never seen Hermon in the society of a woman of his own class,\nand, full of jealous displeasure; perceived with what zealous assiduity\nhe who bowed before no one in Tennis, paid court to the stranger no less\neagerly than did his friend Myrtilus.\n\nThe whole scene passed like a shadow in the dusk before Ledscha's eyes,\nhalf dimmed by uneasiness, perplexity, and suddenly inflamed jealousy.\n\nThe Egyptian twilight is short, and when Hermon disappeared with the\nnew-comer it was no longer possible to recognise the man who entered the\nvery boat in which she was to have taken the nocturnal voyage with her\nlover, and which was now rowed toward the Owl's Nest.\n\nSurely it would bring her a message from Hermon; and as the stranger, who\nwas now joined by a number of other women and two packs of barking dogs,\nwith their keepers, vanished in the darkness, the skiff already touched\nthe shore close at her side.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nIn spite of the surrounding gloom, Ledscha recognised the man who left\nthe boat.\n\nThe greeting he shouted told her that it was Hermon's slave, Pias, a\nBiamite, whom she had met in the house of some neighbours who were his\nrelatives and had sharply rebuffed when he ventured to accost her more\nfamiliarly than was seemly for one in bondage.\n\nTrue, in his childhood this man had lived near Tennis as the son of a\nfree papyrus raiser, but when still a lad was sold into slavery in\nAlexandria with his father, who had been seized for taking part in an\ninsurrection against the last king.\n\nIn the service of Areluas, his present master's uncle, who had given him\nto his nephew, and as the slave of the impetuous yet anything but cruel\nsculptor, Hermon, he had become accustomed to bondage, but was still far\nmore strongly attached to his Biamite race than to the Greek, to whom, it\nis true, his master belonged, but who had robbed him and his family of\nfreedom.\n\nThe man of forty did not lack mother wit, and as his hard fate rendered\nhim thoughtful and often led him to use figurative turns of speech, which\nwere by no means intended as jests, he had been called by his first\nmaster \"Bias\" for the sage of Priene.\n\nIn the house of Hermon, who associated with the best artists in\nAlexandria, he had picked up all sorts of knowledge and gladly welcomed\ninstruction. His highest desire was to win esteem, and he often did so.\n\nHermon prized the useful fellow highly. He had no secrets from him, and\nwas sure of his silence and good will.\n\nBias had managed to lure many a young beauty in Alexandria, in whom the\nsculptor had seen a desirable model, to his studio, even under the most\ndifficult circumstances; but he was vexed to find that his master had\ncast his eye upon the daughter of one of the most distinguished families\namong his own people. He knew, too, that the Biamites jealously guarded\nthe honour of their women, and had represented to Hermon what a dangerous\ngame he was playing when he began to offer vows of love to Ledscha.\n\nSo it was an extremely welcome task to be permitted to inform her that\nshe was awaiting his master in vain.\n\nIn reply to her inquiry whether it was the aristocrat who had just\narrived who kept Hermon from her, he admitted that she was right, but\nadded that the gods were above even kings, and his master was obliged to\nyield to the Alexandrian's will.\n\nLedscha laughed incredulously: \"He--obey a woman!\"\n\n\"He certainly would not submit to a man,\" replied the slave. \"Artists,\nyou must know, would rather oppose ten of the most powerful men than one\nweak woman, if she is only beautiful. As for the daughter of\nArchias--thereby hangs a tale.\"\n\n\"Archias?\" interrupted the girl. \"The rich Alexandrian who owns the great\nweaving house?\"\n\n\"The very man.\"\n\n\"So it is his daughter who is keeping Hermon? And you say he is obliged\nto serve her?\"\n\n\"As men serve the Deity, to the utmost, or truth,\" replied the slave\nimportantly. \"Archias, the father, it is true, imposed upon us the debt\nwhich is most tardily paid, and which people, even in this country, call\n'gratitude.' We are under obligations to the old man--there's no denying\nit--and therefore also to his only child.\"\n\n\"For what?\" Ledscha indignantly exclaimed, and the dark eyebrows which\nmet above her delicate nose contracted suspiciously. \"I must know!\"\n\n\"Must!\" repeated the slave. \"That word is a ploughshare which suits only\nloose soil, and mine, now that my master is waiting for me, can not be\ntilled even by the sharpest. Another time! But if, meanwhile, you have\nany message for Hermon----\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" she replied defiantly; but Bias, in a tone of the most eager\nassent, exclaimed: \"One friendly word, girl. You are the fairest among\nthe daughters of the highest Biamite families, and probably the richest\nalso, and therefore a thousand times too good to yield what adorns you to\nthe Greek, that it may tickle the curiosity of the Alexandrian apes.\nThere are more than enough women in the capital to serve that purpose.\nTrust the experience of a man not wholly devoid of wisdom, my girl. He\nwill throw you aside like an empty wine bottle when he has used you for a\nmodel.\"\n\n\"Used?\" interrupted Ledscha disdainfully; but he repeated with firm\ndecision: \"Yes, used! What could you learn of life, of art and artists,\nhere in the weaver's nest in the midst of the waves? I know them. A\nsculptor needs beautiful women as a cobbler wants leather, and the charms\nhe seeks in you he does not conceal from his friend Myrtilus, at least.\nThey are your large almond-shaped eyes and your arms. They make him\nfairly wild with delight by their curves when, in drawing water, you hold\nthe jug balanced on your head. Your slender arched foot, too, is a\nwelcome morsel to him.\"\n\nThe darkness prevented Bias from seeing Ledscha's features, but it was\neasy to perceive what was passing in her mind as, hoarse with\nindignation, she gasped: \"How can I know the object of your accusations?\nbut fie upon the servant who would alienate from his own kind master what\nhis soul desires!\"\n\nThen Bias changed not only his tone of voice, but his language, and,\ndeeply offended, poured forth a torrent of wrath in the dialect of his\npeople: \"If to guard you, and my master with you, from harm, my words had\nthe power to put between you and Hermon the distance which separates\nyonder rising moon from Tennis, I would make them sound as loud as the\nlion's roar. Yet perhaps you would not understand them, for you go\nthrough life as though you were deaf and blind. Did you ever even ask\nyourself whether the Greek is not differently constituted from the sons\nof the Biamite sailors and fishermen, with whom you grew up, and to whom\nhe is an abomination? Yet he is no more like them than poppy juice is\nlike pure water. He and his companions turn life upside down. There is no\nmore distinction between right and wrong in Alexandria than we here in\nthe dark can make between blue and green. To me, the slave, who is\nalready growing old, Hermon is a kind master. I know without your aid\nwhat I owe him, and serve him as loyally as any one; but where he\nthreatens to lead to ruin the innocent daughter of the race whose blood\nflows in my veins as well as yours, and in doing so perhaps finally\ndestroy himself too, conscience commands me to raise my voice as loud as\nthe sentinel crane when danger threatens the flock. Beware, girl, I\nrepeat! Keep your beauty, which is now to be degraded to feast the eyes\nof gaping Greeks, for the worthiest husband among our people. Though\nHermon has vowed, I know not what, your love-dallying will very soon be\nover; we shall leave Tennis within the next few days. When he has gone\nthere will be one more deceived Biamite who will call down the curse of\nthe gods upon the head of a Greek. You are not the only one who will\nexecrate the destiny that brought us here. Others have been caught in his\nnet too.\"\n\n\"Here?\" asked Ledscha in a hollow tone; and the slave eagerly answered:\n\"Where else? And that you may know the truth--among those who visited\nHermon in his studio is your own young sister.\"\n\n\"Our Taus? That child?\" exclaimed the girl, stretching her hands toward\nthe slave in horror, as if to ward off some impending disaster.\n\n\"That child, who, I think, has grown into a very charming girl--and,\nbefore her, pretty Gula, the wife of Paseth, who, like your father, is\naway on his ship.\"\n\nHere, in a tone of triumphant confidence, the answer rang from the\nBiamite's lips: \"There the slanderer stands revealed! Now you are\ndetected, now I perceive the meaning of your threat. Because, miserable\nslave, you cherish the mad hope of beguiling me yourself, you do your\nutmost to estrange me from your master. Gula, you say, visited Hermon in\nhis studio, and it may be true. But though I have been at home only a\nshort time, Tennis is too full of the praises of the heroic Greek who, at\nthe risk of his own life, rescued a child from Paseth's burning house,\nfor the tale not to reach my ears from ten or a dozen different quarters.\nGula is the mother of the little girl whose life was saved by Hermon's\nbold deed, and perhaps the young mother only knocked at her benefactor's\ndoor to thank him; but you, base defamer--\"\n\n\"I,\" Bias continued, maintaining his composure with difficulty, \"I saw\nGula secretly glide into our rooms again and again to permit her child's\npreserver to imitate in clay what he considered beautiful. To seek your\nlove, as you know, the slave forbade himself, although a man no more\nloses tender desires with his freedom than the tree which is encircled by\na fence ceases to put forth buds and blossoms. Eros chooses the slave's\nheart also as the target for his arrows; but his aim at yours was better\nthan at mine. Now I know how deeply he wounds, and so, as soon as yonder\nship in the harbour bears our visitor away again, I shall see you,\nSchalit's daughter, Ledscha, standing before Hermon's modelling table and\nbehold him scan your beauty to determine what seems worth copying.\"\n\nThe Biamite, panting for breath, had listened to the end. Then, raising\nher little clinched hand menacingly, she muttered through her set teeth:\n\"Let him try even to touch my veil with his fingers! If I had not been\nobliged to go away, this would not have happened to my Taus and luckless\nGula.\"\n\n\"Scarcely,\" replied Bias calmly. \"If the chicken runs into the water, the\nhen can not save it. For the rest--I grew up as a boy in freedom with the\nhusband of your sister, who summoned you to her aid. His father's\nbrick-kiln was next to our papyrus plantation. Then we fared like so many\nothers--the great devour the small, the just cause is the lost one, and\nthe gods are like men. My father, who drew the sword against oppression\nand violence, was robbed of liberty, and your brother-in-law, in payment\nfor his honest courage, met an early death. Is the story which is told of\nyou here true? I heard that soon after the poor fellow's burial the\nslaves in the brick-kiln refused to obey his widow. There were a dozen\nrebellious brick-moulders, and you--one can forgive you much for it--you,\nthe weak girl----\"\n\n\"I am not weak,\" interrupted Ledscha proudly. \"I could have taught three\ntimes twelve of the scoundrels who was master. Now they obey my sister,\nand yet I wish I had stayed in Tennis. Our Taus,\" she continued in a more\ngentle tone, \"is still so young, and our mother died when she was a\nlittle child; but I, fool, who should have warned her, left her alone,\nand if she yielded to Hermon's temptations the fault is mine, wholly\nmine.\"\n\nDuring this outburst the light of the fire, which old Tabus had fed with\nfresh straw and dry rushes, fell upon the face of the agitated girl. It\nrevealed her thoughts plainly enough, and, pleased with the success of\nhis warning, Bias exclaimed: \"And Ledscha, you, too, will not grant him\nthat from which you would so gladly have withheld your sister. So I will\ngo and tell my master that you refuse to give him another appointment.\"\n\nHe had confidently expected an assent, and therefore started indignantly\nat her exclamation: \"I intend to do just the contrary.\" Yet she eagerly\nadded, as if in explanation: \"He must give me an account of himself, no\nmatter where, and, since it can not be to-day, to-morrow at latest.\"\n\nThe slave, disappointed and anxious, now tried to make her understand how\nfoolish and hard to accomplish her wish was, but she obstinately insisted\nupon having her own way.\n\nBias angrily turned his back upon her and, in the early light of the\nmoon, walked toward the shore, but she hastened after him, seized his arm\nand, with imperious firmness, commanded: \"You will stay! I must first\nknow whether Hermon really means to leave Tennis so soon.\"\n\n\"That was his intention early this morning,\" replied the other, releasing\nhimself from her grasp. \"What are we to do here longer, now that his work\nis as good as finished?\"\n\n\"But when is he going?\" she urged with increased eagerness.\n\n\"Day after to-morrow,\" was the reply, \"in five, or perhaps even in six\ndays, just as it suits him. Usually we do not even know to-day what is to\nbe done to-morrow. So long as the Alexandrian remains, he will scarcely\nleave her, or Myrtilus either. Probably she will take both hunting with\nher, for, though a kind, fair-minded woman, she loves the chase, and as\nboth have finished their work, they probably will not be reluctant to go\nwith Daphne.\"\n\nHe stepped into the boat as he spoke, but Ledscha again detained him,\nasking impatiently: \"And 'the work,' as you call it? It was covered with\na cloth when I visited the studio, but Hermon himself termed it the\nstatue of a goddess. Yet what it represents--Does it look like my sister\nTaus--enough like her, I mean, to be recognised?\"\n\nA half-compassionate, half-mocking smile flitted over the Biamite's\ncopper-coloured visage, and in a tone of patronizing instruction assumed\nby the better informed, he began: \"You are thinking of the face? Why no,\nchild! What that requires can be found in the countenance of no Biamite,\nhardly even in yours, the fairest of all.\"\n\n\"And the goddess's figure?\" asked Ledscha eagerly.\n\n\"For that he first used as a model the fair-haired Heliodora, whom he\nsummoned from Alexandria, and as the wild cat could endure the loneliness\nonly a fortnight, the sisters Nico and Pagis came together. But Tennis\nwas too quiet for them too. The rabble can only be contented among those\nof their own sort in the capital. But the great preliminary work was\nalready finished before we left Alexandria.\"\n\n\"And Gula--my sister?\"\n\n\"They were not used for the Demeter,\" said the slave, smiling. \"Just\nthink, that slender scarcely grown creature, Taus, and the matronly\npatroness of marriage. And Gula? True, her little round face is fresh and\nnot ill-looking--but the model of a goddess requires something more. That\ncan only be obtained in Alexandria. What do not the women there do for\nthe care of the body! They learn it in the Aphrodision, as the boys study\nreading and writing. But you! What do you here know even about colouring\nthe eyelids and the lips, curling the hair, and treating the nails on the\nhands and feet? And the clothes! You let them hang just as you put them\non, and my master's work is full of folds and little lines in the robe\nand the peplos--But I have staid too long already. Do you really insist\nupon meeting Hermon again?\n\n\"I will and must see him,\" she eagerly declared.\n\n\"Well, then,\" he answered harshly. \"But if you cast my warning to the\nwinds, pity will also fly away with it.\"\n\n\"I do not need it,\" the girl retorted in a contemptuous tone.\n\n\"Then let Fate take its course,\" said the slave, shrugging his shoulders\nregretfully. \"My master shall learn what you wish. I shall remain at home\nuntil the market is empty. There are plenty of servants at your farm.\nYour messenger shall bring you Hermon's answer.\"\n\n\"I will come myself and wait for it under the acacia,\" she cried hastily,\nand went toward the house, but this time it was Bias who called her back.\n\nLedscha reluctantly fulfilled his wish, but she soon regretted it, for\nthough what he had to say was doubtless kindly meant, it contained a\nfresh and severe offence: the slave represented to her the possibility\nthat, so long as the daughter of Archias remained his guest, Hermon might\nrebuff her like a troublesome beggar.\n\nThen, as if sure of her cause, she indignantly cut short his words: \"You\nmeasure him according to your own standard, and do not know what depends\nupon it for us. Remind him of the full moon on the coming night and,\nthough ten Alexandrians detained him, he would escape from them to hear\nwhat I bring him.\"\n\nWith these words Ledscha again turned her back upon him, but Bias, with a\nlow imprecation, pushed the boat from the shore and rowed toward the\ncity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nWhen Ledscha heard the strokes of the oars she stopped again and, with\nglowing cheeks, gazed after the boat and the glimmering silver furrow\nwhich it left upon the calm surface of the moonlit water.\n\nHer heart was heavy. The doubts of her lover's sincerity which the slave\nhad awakened tortured her proud soul.\n\nWas Hermon really only trifling mischievously with her affection?\n\nSurely it was impossible.\n\nShe would rather endure everything, everything, than this torturing\nuncertainty.\n\nYet she was here on the Owl's Nest to seek the aid of old Tabus's magic\narts. If any one could give her satisfaction, it was she and the demons\nwho obeyed her will, and the old woman was glad to oblige Ledscha; she\nwas bound to her by closer ties than most people in Tennis knew.\n\nLedscha had no cause to be ashamed of her frequent visits to the Owl's\nNest, for old Tabus had no equal as a leech and a prophetess, and the\ncorsair family, of which she was the female head, stood in high repute\namong the Biamites. People bore them no ill-will because they practised\npiracy; many of their race pursued the same calling, and the sailors made\ncommon cause with them.\n\nLedscha's father, too, was on good terms with the pirates, and when Abus,\na handsome fellow who commanded his father's second ship and had won a\ncertain degree of renown by many a bold deed, sought the hand of his\noldest daughter, he did not refuse him, and only imposed the condition\nthat when he had gained riches enough and made Ledscha his wife, he would\ncease his piratical pursuits and, in partnership with him, take goods and\nslaves from Pontus to the Syrian and Egyptian harbours, and grain and\ntextiles from the Nile to the coasts of the Black Sea.\n\nYoung Abus had yielded to this demand, since his grandmother on the Owl's\nNest thought it wise to delay for a time the girl's marriage to him, the\nbest beloved of her grandsons; she was then scarcely beyond childhood.\n\nYet Ledscha had felt a strong affection for the young pirate, in whom she\nsaw the embodiment of heroic manhood. She accompanied him in imagination\nthrough all his perilous expeditions; but she had been permitted to enjoy\nhis society only after long intervals for a few days.\n\nOnce he remained absent longer than usual, and this very voyage was to\nhave been his last on a pirate craft--the peaceful seafaring life was to\nbegin, after his landing, with the marriage.\n\nLedscha had expected her lover's return with eager longing, but week\nafter week elapsed, yet nothing was seen or heard of the ships owned by\nthe Owl's Nest family; then a rumour spread that this time the corsairs\nwere defeated in a battle with the Syrian war-galleys.\n\nThe first person who received sure tidings was old Tabus. Her grandson\nHanno, who escaped with his life, at the bidding of his father Satabus,\nwho revered his mother, had made his way to her amid great perils to\nconvey the sorrowful news. Two of the best ships in the family had been\nsunk, and on one the brave Abus, Ledscha's betrothed husband, who\ncommanded it, had lost his life; on the other the aged dame's oldest son\nand three of her grandchildren.\n\nTabus fell as if struck by lightning when she heard the tidings, and\nsince that time her tongue had lost its power of fluent speech, her ear\nits sharpness; but Ledscha did not leave her side, and saved her life by\ntireless, faithful nursing.\n\nNeither Satabus, the old woman's second son, who now commanded the little\npirate fleet, nor his sons, Hanno and Labaja, had been seen in the\nneighbourhood of Tennis since the disaster, but after Tabus had recovered\nsufficiently to provide for herself, Ledscha returned to Tennis to manage\nher father's great household and supply the mother's place to her younger\nsister, Taus.\n\nShe had not recovered the careless cheerfulness of earlier years, but,\ngraver than the companions of her own age, she absented herself from the\ngaieties of the Biamite maidens. Meanwhile her beauty had increased\nwonderfully, and, attracting attention far and wide, drew many suitors\nfrom neighbouring towns to Tennis. Only a few, however, had made offers\nof marriage to her father; the beautiful girl's cold, repellent manner\ndisheartened them. She herself desired nothing better; yet it secretly\nincensed her and pierced her soul with pain to see herself at twenty\nunwedded, while far less attractive companions of her own age had long\nbeen wives and mothers.\n\nThe arduous task which she had performed a short time before for her\nwidowed sister had increased the seriousness of her disposition to sullen\nmoroseness.\n\nAfter her return home she often rowed to the Owl's Nest, for Ledscha felt\nbound to old Tabus, and, so far as lay in her power, under obligation to\natone for the injury which the horror of her lover's sudden death had\ninflicted upon his grandmother.\n\nNow she had at last been subjugated by a new passion--love for the Greek\nsculptor Hermon, who did his best to win the heart of the Biamite girl,\nwhose austere, extremely singular beauty attracted his artist eyes.\n\nTo-day Ledscha had come to the sorceress to learn from her what awaited\nher and her love. She had landed on the island, sure of favourable\npredictions, but now her hopes lay as if crushed by hailstones.\n\nIf Bias, who was superior to an ordinary slave, was right, she was to be\ndegraded to a toy and useful tool by the man who had already proved his\npernicious power over other women of her race, even her own young sister,\nwhom she had hitherto guarded with faithful care. It had by no means\nescaped her notice that the girl was concealing something from her,\nthough she did not perceive the true cause of the change.\n\nThe bright moonbeams, which now wove a silvery web over every surrounding\nobject, seemed like a mockery of her darkened soul.\n\nIf the demons of the heights and depths had been subject to her, as to\nthe aged enchantress she would have commanded them to cover the heavens\nwith black clouds. Now they must show her what she had to hope or to\nfear.\n\nShe shook her head slightly, as if she no longer believed in a favourable\nturn of affairs, pushed the little curls which had escaped from the\nwealth of her black hair back from her forehead with her slender hand,\nand walked firmly to the house.\n\nThe old dame was crouching beside the hearth in the middle room, turning\nthe metal spit, on which she had put the ducks, over the freshly kindled\nfire.\n\nThe smoke hurt her eyes, which were slightly inflamed, yet they seemed to\nserve their purpose better than her half-dulled ear, for, after a swift\nglance at Ledscha, she stammered in her faltering speech: \"What has\nhappened? Nothing good, certainly. It is written on your face.\"\n\nThe girl nodded assent, pointed with a significant gesture to her eyes\nand the open air, and went down to the shore again to convince herself\nthat no other vessel was approaching.\n\nWhat she had to confide to Tabus was intended for her alone, and\nexperience taught how far spoken words could be heard at night over the\nwater.\n\nWhen she had returned to the hut, she bent down to the old woman's ear\nand, holding her curved hand to her lips, cried, \"He is not coming!\"\n\nTabus shrugged her shoulders, and the smile of satisfaction which flitted\nover her brown, wrinkled face showed that the news was welcome.\n\nFor her murdered grandson's sake the girl's confession that she had given\nher heart to a Greek affected her painfully; but Tabus also had something\nelse on her mind for her beautiful darling.\n\nNow she only intimated by a silent nod that she understood Ledscha, and\nher head remained constantly in motion as the latter continued: \"True, I\nshall see him again to-morrow, but when we part, it will hardly be in\nlove. At any rate--do you hear, grandmother?--to-morrow must decide\neverything. Therefore--do you understand me?--you must question the cords\nnow, to-night, for to-morrow evening what they advised might be too\nlate.\"\n\n\"Now?\" repeated Tabus in surprise, letting her gaze rest inquiringly upon\nthe girl. Then she took the spit from the fire, exclaiming angrily:\n\"Directly, do you mean? As if that could be! As if the stars obeyed us\nmortals like maids or men servants! The moon must be at the full to learn\nthe truth from the cords. Wait, child! What is life but waiting? Only\nhave patience, girl! True, few know how to practise this art at your age,\nand it is alien to many all their lives. But the stars! From them, the\nleast and the greatest, man can learn to go his way patiently, year by\nyear. Always the same course and the same pace. No deviation even one\nhair's breadth, no swifter or slower movement for the unresting\nwanderers. No sudden wrath, no ardent desire, no weariness or aversion\nurges or delays them. How I love and honour them! They willingly submit\nto the great law until the end of all things. What they appoint for this\nhour is for it alone, not for the next one. Everything in the vast\nuniverse is connected with them. Whoever should delay their course a\nmoment would make the earth reel. Night would become day, the rivers\nwould return to their sources. People would walk on their heads instead\nof their feet, joy would be transformed to sorrow and power to servitude.\nTherefore, child, the full moon has a different effect from the waxing or\nwaning one during the other twenty-nine nights of the month. To ask of\none what belongs to another is to expect an answer from the foreigner who\ndoes not understand your language. How young you are, child, and how\nfoolish! To question the cords for you in the moonlight now is to expect\nto gather grapes from thorns. Take my word for that!\"\n\nHere she interrupted the words uttered with so much difficulty, and with\nher blackish-blue cotton dress wiped her perspiring face, strangely\nflushed by the exertion and the firelight.\n\nLedscha had listened with increasing disappointment.\n\nThe wise old dame was doubtless right, yet before she ventured to the\nsculptor's workshop the next day she must know at every cost how matters\nstood, what she had to fear or to hope from him; so after a brief silence\nshe ventured to ask the question, \"But are there only the stars and the\ncords which predict what fate holds in store for one who is so nearly\nallied to you?\"\n\n\"No, child, no,\" was the reply. \"But nothing can be clone about looking\ninto the future now. It requires rigid fasting from early dawn, and I ate\nthe dates you brought me. I inhaled the odor of the roasting ducks, too,\nand then--it must be done at midnight; and at midnight your people will\nbe anxious if you are not at home by that time, or perhaps send a slave\nto seek you here at my house, and that--that must not be done--I must\nprevent it.\"\n\n\"So you are expecting some one,\" Ledscha eagerly replied. \"And I know who\nit is. Your son Satabus, or one of your grandsons. Else why are the ducks\ncooked? And for what is the wine jar which I just took from its hiding\nplace?\"\n\nA vehement gesture of denial from Tabus contradicted the girl's\nconjecture; but directly after she scanned her with a keen, searching\nglance, and said: \"No, no. We have nothing to fear from you, surely. Poor\nAbus! Through him you will always belong to us. In spite of the Greek,\nours you are and ours you will remain. The stars confirm it, and you have\nalways been faithful to the old woman. You are shrewd and steadfast. You\nwould have been the right mate for him who was also wise and firm. Poor,\ndear, brave boy! But why pity him? Because the salt waves now flow over\nhim? Fools that we are! There is nothing better than death, for it is\npeace. And almost all of them have found it. Of nine sons and twenty\ngrandsons, only three are left. The others are all calm after so much\nconflict and danger. How long ago it is since seven perished at once! The\nlast three their turn will come too. How I envy them that best of\nblessings, only may they not also go before me!\"\n\nHere she lowered her voice, and in a scarcely audible whisper murmured:\n\"You shall know it. My son Satabus, with his brave boys Hanno and Labaja,\nare coming later in the evening. About midnight--if ye protect them, ye\npowers above--they will be with me. And you, child, I know your soul to\nits inmost depths. Before you would betray the last of Abus's kindred--\"\n\n\"My hand and tongue should wither!\" Ledscha passionately interrupted, and\nthen, with zealous feminine solicitude, she asked whether the three ducks\nwould suffice to satisfy the hunger of these strong men.\n\nThe old woman smiled and pointed to a pile of fresh leaves heaped one\nabove another, beneath which lay several fine shad. They were not to be\ncooked until the expected visitors arrived, and she had plenty of bread\nbesides.\n\nIn the presence of these proofs of maternal solicitude the morose,\nwrinkled countenance of the old sorceress wore a kind, almost tender\nexpression, and the light of joyous anticipation beamed upon her young\nguest from her red-rimmed eyes.\n\n\"I am to see them once more!\" cried Tabus in an agitated tone. \"The\nlast--and all three, all! If they--But no; they will not set to work so\nnear Pelusium. No, no! They will not, lest they should spoil the meeting\nwith the old woman. Oh, they are kind; no one knows how kind my rough\nSatabus can be. He would be your father now, girl, if we could have kept\nour Abus--he was the best of all--longer. It is fortunate that you are\nhere, for they must see you, and it would have been hard for me to fetch\nthe other things: the salt, the Indian pepper, and the jug of Pelusinian\nzythus, which Satabus is always so fond of drinking.\"\n\nThen Ledscha went into the ruinous left wing of the house, where she took\nfrom a covered hole in the floor what the old woman had kept for the last\nof her race, and she performed her task gladly and with rare skill.\n\nNext she prepared the fish and the pan, and while her hands were moving\nbusily she earnestly entreated the old woman to gratify her wish and look\ninto the future for her.\n\nTabus, however, persisted in her refusal, until Ledscha again called her\n\"grandmother,\" and entreated her, by the heads of the three beloved ones\nwhom she expected, to fulfil her desire.\n\nThen the old dame rose, and while the girl, panting for breath, took the\nroasted ducks from the spit, the former, with her own trembling hands,\ndrew from the little chest which she kept concealed behind a heap of dry\nreeds, branches, and straw, a shining copper dish, tossed the gold coins\nwhich had been in it back into the box, and moistened the bottom with the\nblackish-red juice of the grape from the wine jar.\n\nAfter carefully making these preparations she called Ledscha and repeated\nthat the cords possessed the power of prophecy only on nights when the\nmoon was full, and that she would use another means of looking into the\nfuture.\n\nThen she commanded the girl to let her hands rest now and to think of\nnothing except the questions whose answer she had at heart. Lastly, she\nmuttered into the vessel a series of incantations, which Ledscha repeated\nafter her, and gazed as if spellbound at the dark liquid which covered\nthe bottom.\n\nThe girl, panting for breath, watched every movement of the sorceress,\nbut some time elapsed ere the latter suddenly exclaimed, \"There he is!\"\nand then, without removing her eyes from the bottom of the vessel, she\nwent on, with faltering accents, as though she was describing a scene\nclose before her eyes. \"Two young men-both Greeks, if the dress does not\ndeceive--one is at your right hand, the other at your left. The former is\nfair-haired; the glance of his eyes is deep and constant. It is he, I\nthink--But no! His image is fading, and you are turning your back upon\nhim. You do it intentionally. No, no, you two are not destined for each\nother. You think of the one with the waving black hair and beard--of him\nalone. He is growing more and more distinct--a handsome man, and how his\nbrow shines! Yet his glance--it sees more than that of many others, but,\nlike the rest of his nature, it lacks steadfastness.\"\n\nHere she paused, raised her shaking head, looked at Ledscha's flushed\nface, and in a grave, warning tone, said: \"Many signs of happiness, but\nalso many dark shadows and black spots. If he is the one, child, you must\nbe on your guard.\"\n\n\"He is,\" murmured the girl softly, as if speaking to herself.\n\nBut the deaf old crone had read the words from her lips, and while gazing\nintently at the wine, went on impatiently: \"If the picture would only\ngrow more distinct! As it was, so it has remained. And now! The image of\nthe fair man with the deep-blue eyes melts away entirely, and a gray\ncloud flutters between you and the other one with the black beard. If it\nwould only scatter! But we shall never make any progress in this way. Now\npay attention, girl.\"\n\nThe words had an imperious tone, and with outstretched head and throbbing\nheart Ledscha awaited the old woman's further commands.\n\nThey came at once and ordered her to confess, as freely and openly as\nthough she was talking to herself, where she had met the man whom she\nloved, how he had succeeded in snaring her heart, and how he repaid her\nfor the passion which he had awakened.\n\nThese commands were so confused and mingled in utterance that any one\nless familiar with the speaker would scarcely have comprehended what they\nrequired of her, but Ledscha understood and was ready to obey.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThis reserved, thoroughly self-reliant creature would never have betrayed\nto any human being what moved her soul and filled it some times with\ninspiring hope, sometimes with a consuming desire for vengeance; but\nLedscha did not shrink from confiding it to the demons who were to help\nher to regain her composure.\n\nSo, obeying a swift impulse, she threw herself on her knees by the old\nwoman's side. Then, supporting her head with her hands, she gazed at the\nstill glimmering fire, and, as if one memory after another received new\nlife from it, she began the difficult confession:\n\n\"I returned from my sister's brick-kiln a fortnight ago,\" she commenced,\nwhile the sorceress leaned her deaf ear nearer to her lips.\n\n\"During my absence something--I know not what it was--had saddened the\ncheerful spirits of my young sister Taus. At the recent festival of\nAstarte she regained them, and obtained some beautiful bright flowers to\nmake wreaths for herself and me. So we joined the procession of the\nTennis maidens and, as the fairest, they placed us directly behind the\ndaughters of Hiram.\n\n\"When we were about to go home after the sacrifice, two young Greeks\napproached us and greeted Hiram's daughters and my sister also.\n\n\"One was a quiet young man, with narrow shoulders and light, curling\nhair; the other towered above him in stature. His powerful figure was\nmagnificently formed, and he carried his head with its splendid black\nbeard proudly.\n\n\"Since the gods snatched Abus from me, though so many men had wooed me, I\nhad cared for no one; but the fair-haired Greek with the sparkling light\nin his blue eyes and the faint flush on his cheeks pleased me, and his\nname, 'Myrtilus,' fell upon my ear like music. I was glad when he joined\nme and asked, as simply as though he were merely inquiring the way, why\nhe had never seen me, the loveliest among the beauties in the temple, in\nTennis.\n\n\"I scarcely noticed the other. Besides, he seemed to have eyes only for\nTaus and the daughters of Hiram. He played all sorts of pranks with them,\nand they laughed so heartily that, fearing the strangers, of whom there\nwas no lack, might class them with the Hieroduli who followed the sailors\nand young men in the temple grottoes, I motioned to Taus to restrain\nherself.\n\n\"Hermon--this was the name of the tall, bearded man--noticed it and\nturned toward me. In doing so his eyes met mine, and it seemed as though\nsweet wine flowed through my veins, for I perceived that my appearance\nparalyzed his reckless tongue. Yet he did not accost me; but Myrtilus,\nthe fair one, entreated me not to lessen for the beautiful children the\npleasure to which we are all born.\n\n\"I thought this remark foolish--how much sorrow and how little pleasure I\nhad experienced from childhood!--so I only shrugged my shoulders\ndisdainfully.\n\n\"Then the black-bearded man asked if, young and beautiful as I was, I had\nforgotten to believe in mirth and joy. My reply was intended to tell him\nthat, though this was not the case, I did not belong to those who spent\ntheir lives in loud laughing and extravagant jests.\n\n\"The answer was aimed at the black-bearded man's reckless conduct; but\nthe fair-haired one parried the attack in his stead, and retorted that I\nseemed to misunderstand his friend. Pleasure belonged to a festival, as\nlight belonged to the sun; but usually Hermon laboured earnestly, and\nonly a short time before he had saved the little daughter of Gula, the\nsailor's wife, from a burning house.\n\n\"The other did not let Myrtilus finish, but exclaimed that this would\nonly confirm my opinion of him, for this very leap into the flames had\nafforded him the utmost joy.\n\n\"The words fell from his bearded lips as if the affair was very simple, a\nmere matter of course, yet I knew that the bold deed had nearly cost him\nhis life--I said to myself that no one but our Abus would have done it,\nand then I may have looked at him more kindly, for he cried out that I,\ntoo, understood how to smile, and would never cease doing so if I knew\nhow it became me.\n\n\"As he spoke he turned away from the girls to my side, while Myrtilus\njoined them. Hermon's handsome face had become grave and thoughtful, and\nwhen our eyes met I could have wished that they would never part again.\nBut on account of the others I soon looked down at the ground and we\nwalked on in this way, side by side, for some distance; but as he did not\naddress a word to me, only sometimes gazed into my face as if seeking or\nexamining, I grew vexed and asked him why he, who had just entertained\nthe others gaily enough, had suddenly become so silent.\n\n\"He shook his head and answered--every word impressed itself firmly upon\nmy memory: 'Because speech fails even the eloquent when confronted with a\nmiracle.'\n\n\"What, except me and my beauty, could be meant by that? But he probably\nperceived how strangely his words confused me, for he suddenly seized my\nhand, pressing it so firmly that it hurt me, and while I tried to\nwithdraw it he whispered, 'How the immortals must love you, that they\nlend you so large a share of their own divine beauty!'\"\n\n\"Greek honey,\" interposed the sorceress, \"but strong enough to turn such\na poor young head. And what more happened? The demons desire to hear\nall--all--down to the least detail--all!\"\n\n\"The least detail?\" repeated Ledscha reluctantly, gazing into vacancy as\nif seeking aid. Then, pressing her hand on her brow, she indignantly\nexclaimed: \"Ah, if I only knew myself how it conquered me so quickly! If\nI could understand and put it into intelligible words, I should need no\nstranger's counsel to regain my peace of mind. But as it is! I was driven\nby my anxiety from temple to temple, and now to you and your demons. I\nwent from hour to hour as though in a burning fever. If I left the house\nfirmly resolved to bethink myself and, as I had bidden my sister, avoid\ndanger and the gossip of the people, my feet still led me only where he\ndesired to meet me. Oh, and how well he understood how to flatter, to\ndescribe my beauty! Surely it was impossible not to believe in it and\ntrust its power!\"\n\nHere she hesitated, and while gazing silently into vacancy a sunny light\nflitted over her grave face, and, drawing a long breath, she began again:\n\"I could curse those days of weakness and ecstasy which now--at least I\nhope so--are over. Yet they were wonderfully beautiful, and never can I\nforget them!\"\n\nHere she again bowed her head silently, but the old dame nodded\nencouragingly, saying eagerly; \"Well, well! I understand all that, and I\nshall learn what more is coming, for whatever appears in the mirror of\nthe wine is infallible--but it must become still more distinct. Let\nme--first conjure up the seventy-seven great and the seven hundred and\nseventy-seven little demons. They will do their duty, if you open your\nheart to us without reserve.\"\n\nThis demand sounded urgent enough, and Ledscha pressed her head against\nthe old woman's shoulder as if seeking assistance, exclaiming: \"I can\nnot--no, I can not! As if the spirits who obey you did not know already\nwhat had happened and will happen in the future! Let them search the\ndepths of my soul. There they will see, with their own eyes, what I\nshould never, never succeed in describing. I could not tell even you,\ngrandmother, for who among the Biamites ever found such lofty,\nheart-bewitching words as Hermon? And what looks, what language he had at\ncommand, when he desired to put an end to my jealous complaints! Could I\nstill be angry with him, when he confessed that there were other beauties\nhere whom he admired, and then gazed deep into my eyes and said that when\nI appeared they all vanished like the stars at sunrise? Then every\nreproach was forgotten, and resentment was transformed into doubly ardent\nlonging. This, however, by no means escaped his keen glance, which\ndetects everything, and so he urged me with touching, ardent entreaties\nto go with him to his studio, though but for one poor, brief hour.\"\n\n\"And you granted his wish?\" Tabus anxiously interrupted.\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered frankly, \"but it was the evening of the day before\nyesterday--that was the only time. Secrecy--nothing, Grand mother, was\nmore hateful to me from childhood.\"\n\n\"But he,\" the old woman again interrupted, \"he--I know it--he praised it\nto you as the noblest virtue.\"\n\nA silent nod from Ledscha confirmed this conjecture, and she added\nhesitatingly: \"'Only far from the haunts of men,' he said, 'when the\nlight had vanished, did we hear the nightingale trill in the dark\nthickets. Those are his own words, and though it angers you, Grandmother,\nthey are true.\"\n\n\"Until the secrecy is over, and the sun shines upon misery,\" the\nsorceress answered in her faltering speech, with menacing severity.\n\n\"And beneath the tempter's roof you enjoyed the lauded secret love until\nthe cock roused you?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Ledscha firmly. \"Did I ever tell you a lie, that you look\nat me so incredulously?\"\n\n\"Incredulously?\" replied the old woman in protest. \"I only trembled at\nthe danger into which you plunged.\"\n\n\"There could be no greater peril,\" the girl admitted. \"I foresaw it\nclearly enough, and yet--this is the most terrible part of it--yet my\nfeet moved as if obeying a will of their own, instead of mine, and when I\ncrossed his threshold, resistance was silenced, for I was received like a\nprincess. The lofty, spacious apartment was brilliantly illuminated, and\nthe door was garlanded with flowers.\n\n\"It was magnificent! Then, in a manner as respectful as if welcoming an\nillustrious guest, he invited me to take my place opposite to him, that\nhe might form a goddess after my model. This was the highest flattery of\nall, and I willingly assumed the position he directed, but he looked at\nme from every side, with sparkling eyes, and asked me to let down my hair\nand remove the veil from the back of my head. Then--need I assure you of\nit?--my blood boiled with righteous indignation; but instead of being\nashamed of the outrage, he raised his hand to my head and pulled the\nveil. Resentment and wrath suddenly flamed in my soul, and before he\ncould detain me I had left the room. In spite of his representations and\nentreaties, I did not enter it again.\"\n\n\"Yet,\" asked the sorceress in perplexity, \"you once more obeyed his\nsummons?\"\n\n\"Yesterday also I could not help it,\" Ledscha answered softly.\n\n\"Fool!\" cried Tabus indignantly, but the girl exclaimed, in a tone of\nsincere shame: \"You do well to call me that. Perhaps I deserve still\nharsher names, for, in spite of the sternness with which I forbade him\never to remind me of the studio by even a single word, I soon listened to\nhim willingly when he besought me, if I really loved him, not to refuse\nwhat would make him happy. If I allowed him to model my figure, his\nrenown and greatness would be secured. And how clearly he made me\nunderstand this! I could not help believing it, and at last promised\nthat, in spite of my father and the women of Tennis, I would grant all,\nall, and accompany him again to the work room if he would have patience\nuntil the night of the next day but one, when the moon would be at the\nfull.\"\n\n\"And he?\" asked Tabus anxiously.\n\n\"He called the brief hours which I required him to wait an eternity,\"\nreplied the girl, \"and they seemed no less long to me--but neither\nentreaties nor urgency availed; what you predicted for me from the cords\nlast year strengthened my courage. I should wantonly throw away--I\nconstantly reminded myself--whatever great good fortune Fate destined for\nme if I yielded to my longing and took prematurely what was already so\nclose at hand; for--do you remember?--at that time it was promised that\non a night when the moon was at the full a new period of the utmost\nhappiness would begin for me. And now--unless everything deceives me--now\nit awaits me. Whether it will come with the full moon of to-morrow night,\nor the next, or the following one, your spirits alone can know; but\nyesterday was surely too soon to expect the new happiness.\"\n\n\"And he?\" asked the old dame.\n\n\"He certainly did not make it easy for me,\" was the reply, \"but as I\nremained firm, he was obliged to yield. I granted only his earnest desire\nto see me again this evening. I fancy I can still hear him exclaim, with\nloving impetuosity, that he hated every day and every night which kept\nhim from me. And now? Now? For another's sake he lets me wait for him in\nvain, and if his slave does not lie, this is only the beginning of his\ninfamous, treacherous game.\"\n\nShe had uttered the last words in a hoarse cry, but Tabus answered\nsoothingly: \"Hush, child, hush! The first thing is to see clearly, if I\nam to interpret correctly what is shown me here. The demons are to be\nfully informed they have required it. But you? Did you come to hear\nwhether the spirits still intend to keep the promise they made then?\"\n\nLedscha eagerly assented to this question, and the old woman continued\nurgently: \"Then tell me first what suddenly incenses you so violently\nagainst the man whom you have so highly praised?\"\n\nThe girl related what had formerly been rumoured in Tennis, and which she\nhad just heard from the slave.\n\nHe had lured other women--even her innocent young sister--to his studio.\nNow he wanted to induce Ledscha to go there, not from love, but merely to\nmodel her limbs so far as he considered them useful for his work. He was\nin haste to do so because he intended to return to the capital\nimmediately. Whether he meant to leave her in the lurch after using her\nfor his selfish purposes, she also desired to learn from the sorceress.\nBut she would ask him that question herself to-morrow. Woe betide him if\nthe spirits recognised in him the deceiver she now believed him.\n\nHitherto Tabus had listened quietly, but when she closed her passionate\nthreats with the exclamation that he also deserved punishment for\nalienating Gula, the sailor's wife, from her absent husband, the\nenchantress also lost her composure and cried out angrily: \"If that is\ntrue, if the Greek really committed that crime--then certainly. The\nforeigners destroy, with their laughing levity, much that is good among\nus. We must endure it; but whoever broke the Biamite's marriage bond,\nfrom the earliest times, forfeited his life, and so, the gods be thanked,\nit has remained. This very last year the fisherman Phabis killed with a\nhammer the Alexandrian clerk who had stolen into his house, and drowned\nhis faithless wife. But your lover--though you should weep for sorrow\ntill your eyes are red--\"\n\n\"I would denounce the traitor, if he made himself worthy of death,\"\nLedscha passionately interrupted, with flashing eyes. \"What portion of\nthe slave's charge is true will appear at once--and if it proves correct,\nto morrow's full moon shall indeed bring me the greatest bliss; for\nthough, when I was younger and happier, I contradicted Abus when he\ndeclared that one thing surpassed even the raptures of love--satisfied\nvengeance--now I would agree with him.\"\n\nA loud cry of \"Right! right!\" from the old crone's lips expressed the\ngray-haired Biamite's pleasure in this worthy daughter of her race.\n\nThen she again gazed at the wine in the vessel, and this time she did so\nsilently, as if spellbound by the mirror on its bottom.\n\nAt last, raising her aged head, she said in a tone of the most sincere\ncompassion: \"Poor child! Yes, you would be cruelly and shamefully\ndeceived. Tear your love for this man from your heart, like poisonous\nhemlock. But the full moon which is to bring you great happiness is\nscarcely the next, perhaps not even the one which follows it, but surely\nand certainly a later one will rise, by whose light the utmost bliss\nawaits you. True, I see it come from another man than the Greek.\"\n\nThe girl had listened with panting breath. She believed as firmly in the\ninfallibility of the knowledge which the witch received from the demons\nwho obeyed her as she did in her own existence.\n\nAll her happiness, all that had filled her joyous soul with freshly\nawakened hopes, now lay shattered at her feet, and sobbing aloud she\nthrew herself down beside the old woman and buried her beautiful face in\nher lap.\n\nCompletely overwhelmed by the great misfortune which had come upon her,\nwithout thinking of the vengeance which had just made her hold her head\nso proudly erect, or the rare delight which a later full moon was to\nbring, she remained motionless, while the old woman, who loved her and\nwho remembered an hour in the distant past when she herself had been\ndissolved in tears at the prediction of another prophetess, laid her\ntrembling hand upon her head.\n\nLet the child weep her fill.\n\nTime, perhaps vengeance also, cured many a heartache, and when they had\naccomplished this office upon the girl who had once been betrothed to her\ngrandson, perhaps the full moon bringing happiness, whose appearance\nfirst the cords, then the wine mirror in the bottom of the vessel had\npredicted, would come to Ledscha, and she believed she knew at whose side\nthe girl could regain what she had twice lost--satisfaction for the young\nheart that yearned for love.\n\n\"Only wait, wait,\" she cried at last, repeating the consoling words again\nand again, till Ledscha raised her tear-stained face.\n\nImpulse urged her to kiss the sufferer, but as she bent over the mourner\nthe copper dish slipped from her knees and fell rattling on the floor.\n\nLedscha started up in terror, and at the same moment the Alexandrian's\npacks of hounds on the shore opposite to the Owl's Nest began to bark so\nloudly that the deaf old woman heard the baying as if it came from a\ngreat distance; but the girl ran out into the open air and, returning at\nthe end of a few minutes, called joyously to the sorceress from the\nthreshold, \"They are coming!\"\n\n\"They, they,\" faltered Tabus, hurriedly pushing her disordered gray hair\nunder the veil on the back of her head, while exclaiming, scarcely able\nto use her voice in her joyous excitement: \"I knew it. He keeps his word.\nMy Satabus is coming. The ducks, the bread, the fish, girl! Good, loyal\nheart.\"\n\nThen a wide, long shadow fell across the dimly lighted room, and from the\ndarkened threshold a strangely deep, gasping peal of laughter rang from a\nman's broad breast.\n\n\"Satabus! My boy!\" the witch's shriek rose above the peculiar sound.\n\n\"Mother!\" answered the gray-bearded lips of the pirate.\n\nFor one short moment he remained standing at the door with outstretched\narms. Then he took a step toward the beloved being from whom he had been\nseparated more than two years, and suddenly throwing himself down before\nher, while his huge lower limbs covered part of the floor, he stretched\nhis hands toward the little crooked old woman, who had not strength to\nrise from her crouching posture, and seizing her with loving impetuosity,\nlifted her as if she were a child, and placing her on his knees, drew her\ninto a close embrace.\n\nTabus willingly submitted to this act of violence, and passing her thin\nleft arm around her son's bull neck with her free hand, patted his\nbearded cheeks, wrinkled brow, and bushy, almost white hair.\n\nNo intelligible words passed the lips of either the mother or the son at\nthis meeting; nothing but a confused medley of tender and uncouth natural\nsounds, which no language knows.\n\nYet they understood each other, and Ledscha, who had moved silently\naside, also comprehended that these low laughs, moans, cries, and\nstammers were the expressions of love of two deeply agitated hearts, and\nfor a moment an emotion of envy seized her.\n\nThe gods had early bereft her of her mother, while this savage fighter\nagainst the might of the waves, justice, law, and their pitiless, too\npowerful defenders, this man, already on the verge of age, still\npossessed his, and sunned his rude heart in her love.\n\nIt was some time before the old pirate had satisfied his yearning for\naffection and placed his light burden down beside the fire.\n\nTabus now regained the power to utter distinct words, and, difficult as\nit was for her half paralyzed tongue to speak, she poured a flood of\ntender pet names and affectionate thanks upon the head of her rude son,\nthe last one left, who had grown gray in bloody warfare; but with the\neyes of her soul she again saw in him the little boy whom, with warm\nmaternal love, she had once pressed to her breast and cradled in her\narms.\n\nWhen, in his rough fashion, he warmly returned her professions of\ntenderness, her eyes grew wet with tears, and at the question what he\ncould still find in her, a withered, good-for-nothing little creature who\njust dragged along from one day to another, an object of pity to herself,\nhe again burst into his mighty laugh, and his deep voice shouted: \"Do you\nwant to know that? But where would be the lime that holds us on the ships\nif you were no longer here? The best capture wouldn't be worth a drachm\nif we could not say, 'Hurrah! how pleased the old mother will be when she\nhears it!' And when things go badly, when men have been wounded or\nperished in the sea, we should despair of our lives if we did not know\nthat whatever troubles our hearts the old mother feels, too, and we shall\nalways get from her the kind words needed to press on again. And then,\nwhen the strait is sore and life is at stake, whence would come the\ncourage to cast the die if we did not know that you are with us day and\nnight, and will send your spirits to help us if the need is great?\nHundreds of times they rushed to our aid just at the right time, and\nassisted us to hew off the hand of the foe which was already choking us.\nBut that is only something extra, which we could do without, if\nnecessary. That you are here, that a man still has his dear mother, whose\nheart wishes us everything good and our foes death and destruction, whose\naged eyes will weep if anything harms us, that, mother dear, that is the\nmain thing!\"\n\nHe bent his clumsy figure over her as he spoke, and cautiously, as if he\nwere afraid of doing her some injury, kissed her head with tender care.\n\nThen, rising, he turned to Ledscha, whom he always regarded as his dead\nson's betrothed bride, and greeted her with sincere kindness.\n\nHer great beauty strengthened his plan of uniting her to his oldest son,\nand when the latter entered the house he cast a searching glance at him.\n\nThe result was favourable, for a smile of satisfaction flitted over his\nscarred features.\n\nThe young pirate's stately figure was not inferior in height to the old\none's, but his shoulders were narrower, his features less broad and full,\nand his hair and beard had the glossy raven hue of the blackbird's\nplumage.\n\nThe young man paused on the threshold in embarrassment, and gazed at\nLedscha with pleased surprise. When he saw her last his grandmother had\nnot been stricken by paralysis, and the girl was the promised wife of his\nolder brother, to whom custom forbade him to raise his eyes.\n\nHe had thought of her numberless times as the most desirable of women.\nNow nothing prevented his wooing her, and finding her far more beautiful\nthan memory had showed her, strengthened his intention of winning her.\n\nThis purpose had matured in the utmost secrecy. He had concealed it even\nfrom his father and his brother Labaja, who was still keeping watch on\nthe ships, for he had a reserved disposition, and though obliged to obey\nhis father, wherever it was possible he pursued his own way.\n\nThough Satabus shared Hanno's wish, it vexed him that at this meeting,\nafter so long a separation, his son should neglect his beloved and\nhonoured mother for the sake of a beautiful girl. So, turning his back on\nLedscha, he seized the young giant's shoulder with a powerful grip to\ndrag him toward the old woman; but Hanno perceived his error, and now, in\nbrief but affectionate words, showed his grandmother that he, too,\nrejoiced at seeing her again.\n\nThe sorceress gazed at her grandson's stalwart figure with a pleasant\nsmile, and, after welcoming him, exclaimed to Ledscha: \"It seems as if\nAbus had risen from the grave.\"\n\nThe girl vouchsafed her dead lover's brother a brief glance, and, while\npouring oil upon the fish in the pan, answered carelessly: \"He is a\nlittle like him.\"\n\n\"Not only in person,\" remarked the old pirate, with fatherly pride, and\npointing to the broad scar across the young man's forehead, visible even\nin the dim light, he added by way of explanation: \"When we took vengeance\nfor Abus, he bore away that decoration of honour. The blow nearly made\nhim follow his brother, but the youth first sent the souls of half a\ndozen enemies to greet him in the nether world.\"\n\nThen Ledscha held out her hand to Hanno, and permitted him to detain it\ntill an ardent glance from his black eyes met hers, and she withdrew it\nblushing. As she did so she said to Tabus: \"You can put them on the fire,\nand there stands whatever else you need. I must go home now.\"\n\nIn taking leave of the men she asked if she could hope to find them here\nagain the next day. \"The full moon will make it damnably light,\" replied\nthe father, \"but they will scarcely venture to assail the right of\nasylum, and the ships anchored according to regulation at Tanis, with a\ncargo of wood from Sinope. Besides, for two years people have believed\nthat we have abandoned these waters, and the guards think that if we\nshould return, the last time to choose would be these bright nights.\nStill, I should not like to decide anything positively about the morrow\nuntil news came from Labaja.\"\n\n\"You will find me, whatever happens,\" Hanno declared after his father had\nceased speaking. Old Tabus exchanged a swift glance with her son, and\nSatabus said: \"He is his own master. If I am obliged to go--which may\nhappen--then, my girl, you must be content with the youth. Besides, you\nare better suited to him than to the graybeard.\"\n\nHe shook hands with Ledscha as he spoke, and Hanno accompanied her to her\nboat.\n\nAt first he was silent, but as she was stepping into the skiff he\nrepeated his promise of meeting her here the following night.\n\n\"Very well,\" she answered quickly. \"Perhaps I may have a commission to\ngive you.\"\n\n\"I will fulfil it,\" he answered firmly.\n\n\"To-morrow, then,\" she called, \"unless something unexpected prevents.\"\n\nBut when seated on the thwart she again turned to him, and asked: \"Does\nit need a long time to bring your ship, with brave men on board, to this\nplace?\"\n\n\"We can be here in four hours, and with favourable winds still sooner,\"\nwas the reply.\n\n\"Even if it displeases your father?\"\n\n\"Even then, and though the gods, many as there are, should forbid--if\nonly your gratitude will be gained.\"\n\n\"It will,\" she answered firmly, and the water plashed lightly under the\nstrokes of her oars.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Cast my warning to the winds, pity will also fly away with it\n     Must--that word is a ploughshare which suits only loose soil\n     Tender and uncouth natural sounds, which no language knows\n     There is nothing better than death, for it is peace\n     Tone of patronizing instruction assumed by the better informed\n     Wait, child! What is life but waiting?\n\n\n\n\nARACHNE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nIn the extreme northern portion of the little city of Tennis a large,\nperfectly plain whitewashed building stood on an open, grass-grown\nsquare.\n\nThe side facing the north rested upon a solid substructure of hard blocks\nof hewn stone washed by the waves.\n\nThis protecting wall extended along both sides of the long, plain\nedifice, and prevented the water from overflowing the open space which\nbelonged to it.\n\nArchias, the owner of the largest weaving establishment in Tennis, the\nfather of the Alexandrian aristocrat who had arrived the evening before,\nwas the owner of the house, as well as of the broad plain on which he had\nhad it built, with the indestructible sea wall, to serve as a storehouse\nto receive the supplies of linen, flax, and wool which were manufactured\nin his factories.\n\nIt was favourably situated for this purpose, for the raw materials could\nbe moved from the ships which brought them to Tennis directly into the\nbuilding. But as the factories were at a considerable distance, the\ntransportation required much time and expense, and therefore Archias had\nhad a canal dug connecting the workshops with the water, and at its end\nerected a new storehouse, which rendered a second transportation of the\nships' cargoes unnecessary.\n\nThe white mansion had not yet been devoted to any other purpose when the\nowner determined to offer the spacious empty rooms of the ware house to\nhis nephews, the sculptors Hermon and Myrtilus, for the production of two\nworks with whose completion he associated expectations of good fortune\nboth for the young artists, who were his nephews and wards, and himself.\n\nThe very extensive building which now contained the studios and spacious\nliving apartments for the sculptors and their slaves would also have\nafforded ample room for his daughter and her attendants, but Daphne had\nlearned from the reports of the artists that rats, mice, and other\ndisagreeable vermin shared the former storehouse with them, so she had\npreferred to have tents pitched in the large open space which belonged\nit.\n\nTrue, the broad field was exposed to the burning sun, and its soil was\ncovered only with sand and pitiably scorched turf, but three palm trees,\na few sunt acacias, two carob trees, a small clump of fig trees, and the\nsuperb, wide-branched sycamore on the extreme outer edge had won for it\nthe proud name of a \"garden.\"\n\nNow a great change in its favour had taken place, for Daphne's beautiful\ntent, with walls and top of blue and white striped sail-cloth, and the\nsmall adjoining tents of the same colours, gave it a brighter aspect.\n\nThe very roomy main tent contained the splendidly furnished sitting and\ndining rooms. The beds occupied by Daphne and her companion, Chrysilla,\nhad been placed in an adjoining one, which was nearly as large, and the\ncook, with his assistants, was quartered in a third.\n\nThe head keeper, the master of the hounds, and most of the slaves\nremained in the transports which had followed the state galley. Some had\nslept under the open sky beside the dog kennel hastily erected for\nDaphne's pack of hounds.\n\nSo, on the morning after the wholly unexpected arrival of the owner's\ndaughter, the \"garden\" in front of the white house, but yesterday a\ndesolate field, resembled an encampment, whose busy life was varied and\nnoisy enough.\n\nSlaves and freedmen had been astir before sunrise, for Daphne was up\nbetimes in order to begin the hunt in the early hour when the birds left\ntheir secret nooks on the islands.\n\nHer cousins, the young sculptors, to please her, had gone out, too, but\nthe sport did not last long; for when the market place of Tennis, just\nbetween the morning and noontide hours, was most crowded, the little\nboats which the hunters had used again touched the shore.\n\nWith them and Daphne's servants seafaring men also left the\nboats--Biamite fishermen and boatmen, who knew the breeding places and\nnests of the feathered prey--and before them, barking loudly and shaking\ntheir dripping bodies, the young huntress's brown and white spotted dogs\nran toward the tents.\n\nDark-skinned slaves carried the game, which had been tied in bunches\nwhile in the boats, to the white house, where they laid three rows of\nlarge water fowl, upon the steps leading to the entrance.\n\nDaphne's arrows were supposed to have killed all these, but the master of\nthe hunt had taken care to place among his mistress's booty some of the\nlargest pelicans and vultures which had been shot by the others.\n\nBefore retiring to her tent, she inspected the result of the shooting\nexpedition and was satisfied.\n\nShe had been told of the numbers of birds in this archipelago, but the\nquantity of game which had been killed far exceeded her greatest\nexpectations, and her pleasant blue eyes sparkled with joy as she began\nto examine the birds which had been slaughtered in so short a time.\n\nYet, ere she had finished the task, a slight shadow flitted over her\nwell-formed and attractive though not beautiful features.\n\nThe odour emanating from so many dead fowls, on which the sun, already\nhigh in the heavens, was shining, became disagreeable to her, and a\nstrong sense of discomfort, whose cause, however, she did not seek, made\nher turn from them.\n\nThe movement with which she did so was full of quiet, stately grace, and\nthe admiring glance with which Hermon, a tall, black-bearded young man,\nwatched it, showed that he knew how to value the exquisite symmetry of\nher figure.\n\nThe somewhat full outlines of her form and the self-possession of her\nbearing would have led every one to think her a young matron rather than\na girl; but the two artists who accompanied her on the shooting party had\nbeen intimate with her from childhood, and knew how much modesty and\ngenuine kindness of heart were united with the resolute nature of this\nmaiden, who numbered two and twenty years.\n\nFair-haired Myrtilus seemed to pay little heed to the game which Gras,\nArchias's Bithynian house steward, was counting, but black-bearded Hermon\nhad given it more attention, and when Daphne drew back he nodded\napprovingly, and pointing to the heap of motionless inhabitants of the\nair, exclaimed with sincere regret: \"Fie upon us human wretches! Would\nthe most bloodthirsty hyena destroy such a number of living creatures in\na few hours? Other beasts of prey do not kill even one wretched sparrow\nmore than they need to appease their hunger. But we and you,\ntender-hearted priestess of a gracious goddess--leading us friends of the\nMuse--we pursue a different course! What a mound of corpses! And what\nwill become of it? Perhaps a few geese and ducks will go into the\nkitchen; but the rest--the red flamingoes and the brave pelicans who feed\ntheir young with their own blood? They are only fit to throw away, for\nthe Biamites eat no game that is shot, and your black slaves, too, would\nrefuse to taste it. So we destroy hundreds of lives for pastime. Base\nword! As if we had so many superfluous hours at our disposal ere we\ndescend into Hades. A philosopher among brutes would be entitled to cry\nout, 'Shame upon you, raging monster!'\"\n\n\"Shame on you, you perpetual grumbler,\" interrupted Daphne in an offended\ntone. \"Who would ever have thought it cruel to test the steady hand and\nthe keen eye upon senseless animals in the joyous chase? But what shall\nwe call the fault-finder, who spoils his friend's innocent enjoyment of a\nhappy morning by his sharp reproaches?\"\n\nHermon shrugged his shoulders, and, in a voice which expressed far more\ncompassion than resentment, answered: \"If this pile of dead birds pleases\nyou, go on with the slaughter. You can sometimes save the arrows and\ncatch the swarming game with your hands. If your lifeless victims yonder\nwere human beings, after all, they would have cause to thank you; for\nwhat is existence?\"\n\n\"To these creatures, everything,\" said Myrtilus, the Alexandrian's other\ncousin, beckoning to Daphne, who had summoned him to her aid by a\nbeseeching glance, to draw nearer. \"Gladly as I would always and\neverywhere uphold your cause, I can not do so this time. Only look here!\nYour arrow merely broke the wing of yonder sea eagle, and he is just\nrecovering from the shock. What a magnificent fellow! How wrathfully and\nvengefully his eyes sparkle! How fiercely he stretches his brave head\ntoward us in helpless fury, and--step back!--how vigorously, spite of the\npain of his poor, wounded, drooping pinion, he flaps the other, and\nraises his yellow claws to punish his foes! His plumage glistens and\nshines exquisitely where it lies smooth, and how savagely he puffs out\nthe feathers on his neck! A wonderful spectacle! The embodiment of\npowerful life! And the others by his side. We transformed the poor\ncreatures into a motionless, miserable mass, and just now they were\ncleaving the air with their strong wings, proclaiming by proud, glad\ncries to their families among the reeds their approach with an abundant\nstore of prey. Every one was a feast to the eyes before our arrows struck\nit, and now? When Hermon, with his pitying heart, condemns this kind of\nhunting, he is right. It deprives free, harmless creatures of their best\npossession--life--and us thereby of a pleasant sight. In general, a\nbird's existence seems to me also of little value, but beauty, to me as\nto you, transcends everything else. What would existence be without it?\nand wherever it appears, to injure it is infamous.\"\n\nHere a slight cough interrupted the young artist, and the moist glitter\nof his blue eyes also betrayed that he was suffering from an attack of\nsevere pain in his lungs; but Daphne nodded assent to him, and to Hermon\nalso, and commanded the steward Gras to take the birds out of her sight.\n\n\"But,\" said the Bithynian, \"our mistress will doubtless allow us at least\nto take the hard lower part of the pelicans' beaks, and the wing feathers\nof the flamingoes and birds of prey, to show our master on our return as\ntrophies.\"\n\n\"Trophies?\" repeated the girl scornfully. \"Hermon, you are better than I\nand the rest of us, and I see that you are right. Where game flies toward\nus in such quantities, hunting becomes almost murder. And successes won\nby so slight an exertion offer little charm. The second expedition before\nsunset, Gras, shall be given up. The master of the hounds, with his men\nand the dogs, will return home on the transports this very day. I am\ndisgusted with sport here. Birds of prey, and those only when brought\ndown from the air, would probably be the right game in this place.\"\n\n\"Those are the very ones to which I would grant life,\" said Hermon,\nsmiling, \"because they enjoy it most.\"\n\n\"Then we will at least save the sea eagle,\" cried Daphne, and ordered the\nsteward, who was already having the dead fowl carried off, to care for\nthe wounded bird of prey; but when the latter struck furiously with his\nbeak at the Biamite who attempted to remove it, Hermon again turned to\nthe girl, saying: \"I thank you in the eagle's name for your good will,\nyou best of women; but I fear even the most careful nursing will not help\nthis wounded creature, for the higher one seeks to soar, the more surely\nhe goes to destruction if his power of flight is broken. Mine, too, was\nseriously injured.\"\n\n\"Here?\" asked Daphne anxiously. \"At this time, which is of such great\nimportance to you and your art?\"\n\nThen she interrupted herself to ask Myrtilus's opinion, but as he had\ngone away coughing, she continued, in a softer tone: \"How anxious you can\nmake one, Hermon! Has anything really happened which clouds your pleasure\nin creating, and your hope of success?\"\n\n\"Let us wait,\" he answered, hastily throwing back his head, with its\nthick, waving raven locks. \"If, in leaping over the ditch, I should fall\ninto the marsh, I must endure it, if thereby I can only reach the shore\nwhere my roses bloom!\"\n\n\"Then you fear that you have failed in the Demeter?\" asked Daphne.\n\n\"Failed?\" repeated the other. \"That seems too strong. Only the work is\nnot proving as good as I originally expected. For the head we both used a\nmodel--you will see--whose fitness could not be surpassed. But the body!\nMyrtilus knows how earnestly I laboured, and, without looking to the\nright or the left, devoted all my powers to the task of creation. True,\nthe models did not remain. But even had a magic spell doubled my ability,\nthe toil would still have been futile. The error is there; yet I am\nrepairing it. To be sure, many things must aid me in doing so, for which\nI now hope; who knows whether it will not again be in vain? You are\nacquainted with my past life. It has never yet granted me any great,\ncomplete success, and if I was occasionally permitted to pluck a flower,\nmy hands were pricked by thorns and nettles!\"\n\nHe pursed up his lips as if to hiss the unfriendly fate, and Daphne felt\nthat he, whose career she had watched from childhood with the interest of\naffection, and to whom, though she did not confess it even to herself,\nshe had clung for years with far more than sisterly love, needed a kind\nword.\n\nHer heart ached, and it was difficult for her to assume the cheerful tone\nwhich she desired to use; but she succeeded, and her voice sounded gay\nand careless enough as she exclaimed to the by no means happy artist and\nMyrtilus, who was just returning: \"Give up your foolish opposition, you\nobstinate men, and let me see what you have accomplished during this long\ntime. You promised my father that you would show your work to no one\nbefore him, but believe my words, if he were here he would give you back\nthe pledge and lead me himself to the last production of your study.\nCompassion would compel you disobliging fellows to yield, if you could\nonly imagine how curiosity tortures us women. We can conquer it where\nmore indifferent matters are concerned. But here!--it need not make you\nvainer than you already are, but except my father, you are dearest in all\nthe world to me. And then, only listen! In my character as priestess of\nDemeter I hereby release you from your vow, and thus from any evil\nconsequences of your, moreover, very trivial guilt; for a father and\ndaughter who live together, as I do with your uncle, are just the same as\none person. So come! Wearied as I am by the miserable hunting excursion\nwhich caused me such vexation, in the presence of your works--rely upon\nit--I shall instantly be gay again, and all my life will thank you for\nyour noble indulgence.\"\n\nWhile speaking, she walked toward the white house, beckoning to the young\nmen with a winning, encouraging smile.\n\nIt seemed to produce the effect intended, for the artists looked at each\nother irresolutely, and Hermon was already asking himself whether\nDaphne's arguments had convinced Myrtilus also, when the latter, in great\nexcitement, called after her: \"How gladly we would do it, but we must not\nfulfil your wish, for it was no light promise--no, your father exacted an\noath. He alone can absolve us from the obligation of showing him, before\nany one else, what we finish here. It is not to be submitted to the\njudges until after he has seen it.\"\n\n\"Listen to me!\" Daphne interrupted with urgent warmth, and began to\nassail the artists with fresh entreaties.\n\nFor the second time black-bearded Hermon seemed inclined to give up his\nresistance, but Myrtilus cried in zealous refusal: \"For Hermon's sake, I\ninsist upon my denial. The judges must not talk about the work until both\ntasks are completed, for then each of us will be as good as certain of a\nprize. I myself believe that the one for Demeter will fall to me.\"\n\n\"But Hermon will succeed better with the Arachne?\" asked Daphne eagerly.\n\nMyrtilus warmly assented, but Hermon exclaimed: \"If I could only rely\nupon the good will of the judges!\"\n\n\"Why not?\" the girl interrupted. \"My father is just, the king is an\nincorruptible connoisseur, and certainly yesterday evening you, too,\nbelieved the others to be honest men; as for your fellow-candidate\nMyrtilus, he will no more grudge a prize to you than to himself.\"\n\n\"Why should he?\" asked Hermon, as if he, too, was perfectly sure of his\nfriend. \"We have shared many a bit of bread together. When we determined\nupon this competition each knew the other's ability. Your father\ncommissioned us to create peaceful Demeter, the patroness of agriculture,\npeace, marriage, and Arachne, the mortal who was the most skilful of\nspinners; for he is both a grain dealer and owner of spinning factories.\nThe best Demeter is to be placed in the Alexandrian temple of the\ngoddess, to whose priestesses you belong; the less successful one in your\nown house in the city, but whose Demeter is destined for the sanctuary, I\nrepeat, is now virtually decided. Myrtilus will add this prize to the\nothers, and grant me with all his heart the one for the Arachne. The\nsubject, at any rate, is better adapted to my art than to his, and so I\nshould be tolerably certain of my cause. Yet my anxiety about the verdict\nof the judges remains, for surely you know how much the majority are\nopposed to my tendency. I, and the few Alexandrians who, following me,\nsacrifice beauty to truth, swim against the stream which bears you,\nMyrtilus, and those who are on your side, smoothly along. I know that you\ndo it from thorough conviction, but with other acknowledged great artists\nand our judges, you, too, demand beauty--always beauty. Am I right, or\nwrong? Is not any one who refuses to follow in the footsteps left by the\nancients of Athens as certain of condemnation as the convicted thief or\nmurderer? But I will not follow the lead of the Athenians, inimitably\ngreat though they are in their own way, because I would fain be more than\nthe ancients of Ilissus: a disciple and an Alexandrian.\"\n\n\"The never-ending dispute,\" Myrtilus answered his fellow-artist, with a\ncordiality in which, nevertheless, there was a slight accent of pity.\n\n\"Surely you know it, Daphne. To me the ideal and its embodiment within\nthe limits of the natural, according to the models of Phidias,\nPolycletus, and Myron is the highest goal, but he and his co-workers seek\nobjects nearer at hand.\"\n\n\"Or rather we found them,\" cried Hermon, interrupting his companion with\nangry positiveness. \"The city of Alexandria, which is growing with\nunprecedented vigour, is their home. There, the place to which every race\non earth sends a representative, the pulse of the whole world is\nthrobbing. There, whoever does not run with the rest is run over; there,\nbut one thing is important--actual life. Science has undertaken to fathom\nit, and the results which it gains with measures and numbers is of a\ndifferent value and more lasting than that which the idle sport of the\nintellects of the older philosophers obtained. But art, her nobler\nsister, must pursue the same paths. To copy life as it is, to reproduce\nthe real as it presents itself, not as it might or must be, is the task\nwhich I set myself. If you would have me carve gods, whom man can not\nrepresent to himself except in his own form, allow me also to represent\nthem as reality shows me mortals. I will form them after the models of\nthe greatest, highest, and best, and also, when the subject permits, in\npowerful action in accordance with my own power, but always as real men\nfrom head to foot. We must also cling to the old symbols which those who\norder demand, because they serve as signs of recognition, and my Demeter,\ntoo, received the bundle of wheat.\"\n\nAs the excited artist uttered this challenge a defiant glance rested upon\nhis comrade and Daphne. But Myrtilus, with a soothing gesture of the\nhand, answered: \"What is the cause of this heat? I at least watch your\nwork with interest, and do not dispute your art so long as it does not\ncross the boundaries of the beautiful, which to me are those of art.\"\n\nHere the conversation was interrupted; the steward Gras brought a letter\nwhich a courier from Pelusium had just delivered.\n\nThyone, the wife of Philippus, the commander of the strong border\nfortress of Pelusium, near Tennis, had written it. She and her husband\nhad been intimate friends of Hermon's father, who had served under the\nold general as hipparch, and through him had become well acquainted with\nhis wealthy brother Archias and his relatives.\n\nThe Alexandrian merchant had informed Philippus--whom, like all the\nworld, he held in the highest honour as one of the former companions of\nAlexander the Great--of his daughter's journey, and his wife now\nannounced her visit to Daphne. She expected to reach Tennis that evening\nwith her husband and several friends, and mentioned especially her\nanticipation of meeting Hermon, the son of her beloved Erigone and her\nhusband's brave companion in arms.\n\nDaphne and Myrtilus received the announcement with pleasure; but Hermon,\nwho only the day before had spoken of the old couple with great\naffection, seemed disturbed by the arrival of the unexpected guests. To\navoid them entirely appeared impossible even to him, but he declared in\nan embarrassed tone, and without giving any reason, that he should\nscarcely be able to devote the entire evening to Daphne and the\nPelusinians.\n\nThen he turned quickly toward the house, to which a signal from his slave\nBias summoned him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nAs soon as Hermon had disappeared behind the door Daphne begged Myrtilus\nto accompany her into the tent.\n\nAfter taking their seats there, the anxious exclamation escaped her lips:\n\"How excited he became again! The stay in Tennis does not seem to agree\nwith you--you are coughing, and father expected so much benefit to your\nailment from the pure moist air, and to Hermon still more from the lonely\nlife here in your society. But I have rarely seen him more strongly\nenlisted in behalf of the tendency opposed to beauty.\"\n\n\"Then your father must be satisfied with the good effect which our\nresidence here has exerted upon me,\" replied Myrtilus. \"I know that he\nwas thinking of my illness when he proposed to us to complete his\ncommissions here. Hermon--the good fellow!--could never have been induced\nto leave his Alexandria, had not the hope of thereby doing me a kindness\ninduced him to follow me. I will add it to the many for which I am\nalready indebted to his friendship. As for art, he will go his own way,\nand any opposition would be futile. A goddess--he perceives it\nhimself--was certainly the most unfortunate subject possible for his--\"\n\n\"Is his Demeter a complete failure?\" asked Daphne anxiously.\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied Myrtilus eagerly.\n\n\"The head is even one of his very best. Only the figure awakens grave\ndoubts. In the effort to be faithful to reality, the fear of making\nconcessions to beauty, he lapsed into ungraceful angularity and a\nsturdiness which, in my opinion, would be unpleasing even in a mortal\nwoman. The excess of unbridled power again makes it self visible in the\nwonderfully gifted man. Many things reached him too late, and others too\nsoon.\"\n\nDaphne eagerly asked what he meant by these words, and Myrtilus replied:\n\"Surely you know how he became a sculptor. Your father had intended him\nto be his successor in business, but Hermon felt the vocation to become\nan artist--probably first in my studio--awake with intense force. While I\nearly placed myself under the instruction of the great Bryaxis, he was\nbeing trained for a merchant's life. When he was to guide the reed in the\ncounting-house, he sketched; when he was sent to the harbour to direct the\nloading of the ships, he became absorbed in gazing at the statues placed\nthere. In the warehouse he secretly modelled, instead of attending to the\nbales of goods. You are certainly aware what a sad breach occurred then,\nand how long Hermon was restrained before he succeeded in turning his\nback upon trade.\"\n\n\"My father meant so kindly toward him,\" Daphne protested. \"He was\nappointed guardian to you both. You are rich, and therefore he aided in\nevery possible way your taste for art; but Hermon did not inherit from\nhis parents a single drachm, and so my father saw the most serious\nstruggles awaiting him if he devoted himself to sculpture. And, besides,\nhe had destined his nephew to become his successor, the head of one of\nthe largest commercial houses in the city.\"\n\n\"And in doing so,\" Myrtilus responded, \"he believed he had made the best\nprovision for his happiness. But there is something peculiar in art. I\nknow from your father himself how kind his intentions were when he\nwithdrew his assistance from Hermon, and when he had escaped to the\nisland of Rhodes, left him to make his own way during the first period of\napprenticeship through which he passed there. Necessity, he thought,\nwould bring him back to where he had a life free from anxiety awaiting\nhim. But the result was different. Far be it from me to blame the\nadmirable Archias, yet had he permitted his ward to follow his true\nvocation earlier, it would have been better for him.\"\n\n\"Then you think that he began to study too late?\" asked Daphne eagerly.\n\n\"Not too late,\" was the reply, \"but with his passionate struggle to\nadvance, an earlier commencement would have been more favourable. While\nthe companions of his own age were already doing independent work, he was\nstill a student, and so it happened that he began for himself too soon.\"\n\n\"Yet,\" Daphne answered, \"can you deny that, directly after Hermon\nproduced his first work which made his talent undeniable, my father again\ntreated him like his own son?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" replied Myrtilus, \"I remember only too well how\nArchias at that time, probably not entirely without your intercession,\nfairly showered gold upon his nephew, but unfortunately this abundance\nwas by no means to his advantage.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Daphne. \"Were not you, at that very time, in\nfull possession of the great wealth inherited from your father and\nmother, and yet did you not work far beyond your strength? Bryaxis--I\nheard him--was full of your praises, and yet entreated my father to use\nall his influence, as guardian, to warn you against overwork.\"\n\n\"My kind master!\" cried Myrtilus, deeply moved. \"He was as anxious about\nme as a father.\"\n\n\"Because he perceived that you were destined for great achievements.\"\n\n\"And because it did not escape his penetration how much I needed care. My\nlungs, Daphne, my lungs--surely you know how the malicious disease became\nfatal to my clear mother, and to my brother and sister also. All three\nsank prematurely into the grave, and for years the shades of my parents\nhave been beckoning to me too. When the cough shakes my chest, I see\nCharon raise his oar and invite me also to enter his sable boat.\"\n\n\"But you just assured me that you were doing well,\" observed the girl.\n\"The cough alone makes me a little anxious. If you could only see for\nyourself what a beautiful colour the pure air has given your cheeks!\"\n\n\"This flush,\" replied Myrtilus gravely, \"is the sunset of life's closing\nday, not the dawn of approaching convalescence. But let us drop the\nsubject. I allude to these sorrowful things only to prevent your praises\nof me at Hermon's expense. True, even while a student I possessed wealth\nfar beyond my needs, but the early deaths of my brother and sister had\ntaught me even then to be economical of the brief span of life allotted\nto me. Hermon, on the contrary, was overflowing with manly vigour, and\nthe strongest among the Ephebi in the wrestling school. After three\nnights' revel he would not even feel weary, and how difficult the women\nmade it for the handsome, black-bearded fellow to commence his work\nearly! Did you ever ask yourself why young steeds are not broken in\nflowery meadows, but upon sand? Nothing which attracts their attention\nand awakens their desires must surround them; but your father's gold led\nHermon, ere the season of apprenticeship was over, into the most\nluxuriant clover fields. Honour and respect the handsome, hot-blooded\nyouth that, nevertheless, he allowed himself to be diverted from work\nonly a short time and soon resumed it with ardent zeal, at first in\nsuperabundance, and then amid fresh need and privation.\"\n\n\"O Myrtilus,\" the girl interrupted, \"how terribly I suffered in those\ndays! For the first time the gods made me experience that there are black\nclouds, as well as bright sunshine, in the human soul. For weeks an\nimpassable gulf separated me from my father, with whom I had always had\none heart and soul. But I never saw him as he was then. The first prize\nhad been awarded to you for your Aphrodite, radiant in marvellous beauty,\nand your brow had also been already crowned for your statue of Alexander,\nwhen Hermon stepped forward with his works. They were at the same time\nthe first which were to show what he believed to be the true mission of\nart--a hideous hawker, hide in hand, praising his wares with open mouth,\nand the struggling Maenads. Surely you know the horrible women who throw\none another on the ground, tearing and rending with bestial fury. The\nspectacle of these fruits of the industry of one dear to me grieved me\nalso, and I could not understand how you and the others saw anything to\nadmire in them. And my father! At the sight of these things the colour\nfaded from his cheeks and lips, and, as if by virtue of his guardianship\nhe had a right to direct Hermon in the paths of art also, he forbade his\nward to waste any more time in such horrible scarecrows, and awaken\nloathing and wrath instead of gratification, exultation, and joy. You\nknow the consequences, but you do not know how my heart ached when\nHermon, frantic with wounded pride and indignation, turned his back upon\nmy father and severed every tie that united him to us. In spite of his\ndeep vexation and the unbridled violence with which the nephew had\nallowed himself to address his uncle, my father did not dream of\nwithholding his assistance from him. But Hermon no longer came to our\nhouse, and when I sent for him to bring him to reason, he positively\ndeclared that he would not accept another obolus from my father--he would\nrather starve than permit any one to dictate to him in the choice of his\nsubjects. Liberty was worth more than his uncle's gold. Yet my father\nsent him his annual allowance.\"\n\n\"But he refused it,\" added Myrtilus. \"I remember that day well, how I\ntried to persuade him, and, when he persisted in his intention, besought\nhim to accept from my abundance what he needed. But this, too, he\nresolutely refused, though at that time I was already so deeply in his\ndebt that I could not repay him at all with paltry money.\"\n\n\"You are thinking of the devotion with which he nursed you when you were\nso ill?\" asked Daphne.\n\n\"Certainly; yet not of that alone,\" was the reply. \"You do not know how\nhe stood by me in the worst days. Who was it that after my first great\nsuccesses, when base envy clouded many an hour of my life, rejoiced with\nme as though he himself had won the laurel? It was he, the ambitious\nartist, though recognition held even farther aloof from his creations\nthan success. And when, just at that time, the insidious disease attacked\nme more cruelly than ever, he devoted himself to me like a loving\nbrother. While formerly, in the overflowing joy of existence, he had\nrevelled all day and caroused all night, how often he paused in the rush\nof gaiety to exchange the festal hall for a place beside my couch,\nfrequently remaining there until Eos dyed the east, that he might hold my\nfevered hand and support my shaken frame! Frequently too, when already\ngarlanded for some gay banquet, he took the flowers from his head and\ndevoted the night to his friend, that he might not leave him to the\nattendance of the slaves. It is owing to him, and the care and skill of\nthe great leech Erasistratus, that I am still standing before you alive\nand can praise what my Hermon was and proved himself to me in those days.\nYet I must also accuse him of a wrong; to this hour I bear him a grudge\nfor having, in those sorrowful hours, refused to share my property with\nme fraternally. What manly pride would have cheerfully permitted him to\naccept was opposed by the defiant desire to show me, your father, you,\nthe whole world, that he would depend upon himself, and needed assistance\nneither from human beings nor even the gods. In the same way, while\nworking, he obstinately rejected my counsel and my help, though the Muse\ngrants me some things which he unfortunately lacks. Great as his talent\nis, firmly as I believe that he will yet succeed some day in creating\nsomething grand, nay, perhaps something mighty, the unbelieving disciple\nof Straton lacks the power of comprehending the august dignity, the\nsuperhuman majesty of the divine nature, and he does not succeed in\nrepresenting the bewitching charm of woman, because he hates it as the\nbull hates a red rag. Only once hitherto has he been successful, and that\nwas with your bust.\"\n\nDaphne's cheeks suddenly flamed with a burning flush, and feeling it she\nraised her feather fan to her eyes, and with forced indifference\nmurmured: \"We were good friends from our earliest childhood. And,\nbesides, how small is the charm with which the artist who chooses me for\na model has to deal!\"\n\n\"It is rather an unusually fascinating one,\" Myrtilus asserted\nresolutely. \"I have no idea of flattering you, and you are certainly\naware that I do not number you among the beauties of Alexandria. But\ninstead of the delicate, symmetrical features which artists need, the\ngods bestowed upon you a face which wins all hearts, even those of women,\nbecause it is a mirror of genuine, helpful, womanly kindness, a sincere\ndisposition, and a healthy, receptive mind. To reproduce such a face, not\nexactly beautiful, and yet bewitching, is the hardest possible task, and\nHermon, I repeat it, has succeeded. You are the only one of your noble\nsex who inspires the motherless man with respect, and for whom he feels\nmore than a fleeting fancy. What does he not owe you? After the bridge\nwhich united him to his uncle and paternal friend had been so suddenly\nbroken, it was you who rebuilt it. Now, I think, it is stronger than\never. I could not imagine anything that would induce him to give you up;\nand all honour to your father, who, instead of bearing the insubordinate\nfellow a grudge, only drew him more warmly to his heart, and gave us two\ncommissions which will permit each to do his best. If I see clearly, the\ndaughter of Archias is closely connected with this admirable deed.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" replied Daphne, \"my father discussed his intention with me,\nbut the thought was entirely his own. True, Hermon's Street-Boy eating\nFigs was not exactly according to his taste, but it pleased him better\nthan his former works, and I agree with Euphranor, it is remarkably true\nto nature. My father perceived this too. Besides, he is a merchant who\nsets a high value upon what he has earned, and Hermon's refusal of his\ngold startled him. Then the good man also saw how nobly, in spite of his\nwild life, his obstinacy, and the work so unpleasing to him, his nephew\nalways showed the noble impulses inherited from his brave father, and\nthus Hermon gained the day.\"\n\n\"But what would have become of him last year, after the mortifying\nrejection of his model of The Happy Return Home for the harbour of\nEunostus,\" asked Myrtilus, \"if you and your encouragement had not cheered\nhim?\"\n\n\"That verdict, too, was abominable!\" exclaimed Daphne indignantly. \"The\nmother opening her arms to the returning son was unlovely, it is true,\nand did not please me either; but the youth with the travelling hat and\nstaff is magnificent in his vigour and natural action.\"\n\n\"That opinion, as you know, is mine also,\" replied Myrtilus. \"In the\nmother the expression was intended to take the place of beauty. For the\nreturning son, as well as for the fig-eater, he found a suitable model.\nTrue, the best was at his disposal for his Demeter.\"\n\nHere he hesitated; but Daphne so urgently asked to know what he, who had\nalready denied her admission to the studios, was now again withholding\nfrom her, that, smiling indulgently, he added: \"Then I must probably\nconsent to tell in advance the secret with which you were to be\nsurprised. Before him, as well as before me, hovered--since you wish to\nknow it--in Alexandria, when we first began to model the head of the\ngoddess, a certain charming face which is as dear to one as to the\nother.\"\n\nDaphne, joyously excited, held out her hand to the artist, exclaiming:\n\"Oh, how kind that is! Yet how was it possible, since I posed neither to\nhim nor to you?\"\n\n\"Hermon had finished your bust only a short time before, and you\npermitted me to use your head for my statue of the goddess of Peace,\nwhich went down with the ship on the voyage to Ostia. This was at the\ndisposal of us both in three or four reproductions, and, besides, it\nhovered before our mental vision clearly enough. When the time to show\nyou our work arrives, you will be surprised to discover how differently\ntwo persons see and copy the same object.\"\n\n\"Now that I know so much, and have a certain share in your works, I\ninsist upon seeing them!\" cried Daphne with far greater impetuosity than\nusual. \"Tell Hermon so, and remind him that I shall at any rate expect\nhim to meet the Pelusinian guests at the banquet. Threaten him seriously\nwith my grave displeasure if he persists in leaving it speedily.\"\n\n\"I will not fail to do my part,\" replied Myrtilus; \"but as to your wish\nto see the two Demeters--\"\n\n\"That will come to pass,\" interrupted Daphne, \"as soon as we three are\ntogether again like a clover leaf.\" She returned the sculptor's farewell\ngreeting as she spoke, but before he reached the entrance to the tent she\nagain detained him with the exclamation: \"Only this one thing more: Does\nHermon deceive himself when he hopes so confidently for success with the\nweaver, Arachne?\"\n\n\"Hardly--if the model whom he desires does not fail him.\"\n\n\"Is she beautiful, and did he find her here in Tennis?\" asked Daphne,\ntrying to assume an indifferent manner; but Myrtilus was not deceived,\nand answered gaily: \"That's the way people question children to find out\nthings. Farewell until the banquet, fair curiosity!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nThe slave Bias had not gone to the hunting party with his master. He had\nnever been fit for such expeditions, since the Egyptian guard who took\nhim to the slave market for sale crippled the arch-traitor's son's left\nleg by a blow, but he was all the more useful in the house, and even the\nkeenest eye could scarcely now perceive the injury which lessened his\ncommercial value.\n\nHe had prepared everything his master would need to shoot the birds very\nearly in the morning, and after helping the men push the boats into the\nwater, he, too, remained out of doors.\n\nThe old Nubian doorkeeper's little badger dog ran to meet him, as usual,\nbarking loudly, and startled a flock of sparrows, which flew up directly\nin front of Bias and fluttered to and fro in confusion.\n\nThe slave regarded this as an infallible omen, and when Stephanion,\nDaphne's maid, who had grown gray in the household of Archias, and though\na freed woman still worked in the old way, came out of the tent, he\ncalled to her the gay Greek greeting, \"Rejoice!\" pointed to the sparrows,\nand eagerly continued: \"How one flies above another! how they flutter and\nchirp and twitter! It will be a busy day.\"\n\nStephanion thought this interpretation of the ordinary action of the\nbirds very consistent with Bias's wisdom, which was highly esteemed in\nthe household of Archias, and it also just suited her inclination to chat\nwith him for a while, especially as she had brought a great deal of news\nfrom Alexandria.\n\nBy way of introduction she mentioned the marriages and deaths in their\ncircle of acquaintances, bond and free, and then confided to the slave\nwhat had induced her mistress to remain so long absent from her father,\nwhom she usually left alone for only a few hours at the utmost.\n\nArchias himself had sent her here, after young Philotas, who was now\napparently wooing her with better success than other suitors, had spoken\nof the enormous booty which one of his friends had brought from a\nshooting expedition at Tennis, and Daphne had expressed a wish to empty\nher quiver there too.\n\nTrue, Philotas himself had been eager to guide the hunting party, but\nDaphne declined his escort because--so the maid asserted--she cared far\nmore about meeting her cousins, the sculptors, than for the chase. Her\nmistress had frankly told her so, but her father was delighted to hear\nher express a wish, because for several months she had been so quiet and\nlistless that she, Stephanion, had become anxious about her. Meanwhile,\nDaphne had tried honestly to conceal her feelings from the old man, but\nsuch games of hide and seek were useless against the master's keen\npenetration. He spared no pains in the preparations for the journey, and\nthe girl now seemed already transformed. This was caused solely by\nmeeting her cousins again; but if any one should ask her whether Daphne\npreferred Myrtilus or Hermon, she could not give a positive answer.\n\n\"Cautious inquiry saves recantation,\" replied Bias importantly. \"Yet you\nmay believe my experience, it is Myrtilus. Fame inspires love, and what\nthe world will not grant my master, in spite of his great talent, it\nconceded to the other long ago. And, besides, we are not starving; but\nMyrtilus is as rich as King Croesus of Sardis. Not that Daphne, who is\nstifling in gold herself, would care about that, but whoever knows life\nknows--where doves are, doves will fly.\"\n\nStephanion, however, was of a different opinion, not only because Daphne\ntalked far more about the black-bearded cousin than the fair one, but\nbecause she knew the girl, and was seldom mistaken in such matters. She\nwould not deny that Daphne was also fond of Myrtilus. Yet probably\nneither of the artists, but Philotas, would lead home the bride, for he\nwas related to the royal family--a fine, handsome man; and, besides, her\nfather preferred him to the other suitors who hovered around her as flies\nbuzzed about honey. Of course, matters would be more favourable to\nPhilotas in any other household. Who else in Alexandria would consult the\ndaughter long, when he was choosing her future husband? But Archias was a\nwhite raven among fathers, and would never force his only child to do\nanything.\n\nMarrying and loving, however, were two different affairs. If Eros had the\nfinal decision, her choice might perhaps fall on one of the artists.\n\nHere she was interrupted by the slave's indignant exclamation: \"What\ncontradictions! 'Woman's hair is long, but her wit is short,' says the\nproverb. 'Waiting is the merchant's wisdom,' I have heard your master say\nmore than once, and to obey the words of shrewd people is the best plan\nfor those who are not so wise. Meanwhile, I am of the opinion that\ncuriosity alone brought Daphne--who, after all, is only a woman--to this\nplace. She wants to see the statues of Demeter which her father ordered\nfrom us.\"\n\n\"And the Arachne?\" asked the maid. This was an opportune question to the\nslave--how often he had heard the artists utter the word \"Arachne!\"--and\nhis pride of education had suffered from the consciousness that he knew\nnothing about her except the name, which in Greek meant \"the spider.\"\n\nSome special story must surely be associated with this Arachne, for which\nhis master desired to use his young countrywoman, Ledscha, as a model,\nand whose statues Archias intended to place in his house in Alexandria\nand in the great weaving establishment at Tennis beside the statue of\nDemeter.\n\nStephanion, a Greek woman who grew up in a Macedonian household, must\nknow something about her.\n\nSo he cautiously turned the conversation to the spinner Arachne, and when\nStephanion entered into it, admitted that he, too, was curious to learn\nin what way the sculptors would represent her.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the maid, \"my mistress has more than once racked her\nbrains over that, and Archias too. Perhaps they will carve her as a girl\nat work in the house of her father Idmon, the purple dyer of Colophon.\"\n\n\"Never,\" replied Bias in a tone of dissent. \"Just imagine how the loom\nwould look wrought in gold and ivory!\"\n\n\"I thought so too,\" said Stephanion, in apology for the foolish idea.\"\nDaphne thinks that the two will model her in different ways: Myrtilus, as\nmistress in the weaving room, showing with proud delight a piece just\ncompleted to the nymphs from the Pactolus and other rivers, who sought\nher at Colophon to admire her work; but Hermon, after she aroused the\nwrath of Athene because she dared to weave into the hangings the love\nadventures of the gods with mortal women.\"\n\n\"Father Zeus as a swan toying with Leda,\" replied Bias as confidently as\nif Arachne's works were before his eyes, \"and in the form of a bull\nbearing away Europa, the chaste Artemis bending over the sleeping\nEndymion.\"\n\n\"How that pleases you men!\" interrupted the maid, striking him lightly on\nthe arm with the duster which she had brought from the tent. \"But ought\nthe virgin Athene to be blamed because she punished the weaver who, with\nall her skill, was only a mortal woman, for thus exposing her divine\nkindred?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied Bias, and Stephanion went on eagerly: \"And when\nthe great Athene, who invented weaving and protects weavers, condescended\nto compete with Arachne, and was excelled by her, surely her gall must\nhave overflowed. Whoever is just will scarcely blame her for striking the\naudacious conqueror on the brow with the weaver's shuttle.\"\n\n\"It is that very thing,\" replied Bias modestly, \"which to a short-sighted\nfool like myself--may the great goddess not bear me a grudge for\nit!--never seemed just in her. Even the mortal who succumbs in a fair\nfight ought not to be enraged against the victor. At least, so I was\ntaught. But what, I ask myself, when I think of the stones which were\nflung at Hermon's struggling Maenads, could be less suited for imitation\nthan two women, one of whom strikes the other?\"\n\n\"The woman who in her desperation at that blow desires to hang herself,\nmust produce a still more horrible impression,\" replied Stephanion.\n\"Probably she will be represented as Athene releases her from the noose\nrather than when, as a punishment for her insolence, she transforms\nArachne into a spider.\"\n\n\"That she might be permitted, in the form of an insect, to make artistic\nwebs until the end of her life,\" the slave, now sufficiently well\ninformed, added importantly. \"Since that transformation, as you know, the\nspider has been called by the Greeks Arachne. Perhaps--I always thought\nso--Hermon will represent her twisting the rope with which she is to kill\nherself. You have seen many of our works, and know that we love the\nterrible.\"\n\n\"Oh, let me go into your studio!\" the maid now entreated no less urgently\nthan her mistress had done a short time before, but her wish, too,\nremained ungratified.\n\n\"The sculptors,\" Bias truthfully asserted, \"always kept their workrooms\ncarefully locked.\" They were as inaccessible as the strongest fortress,\nand it was wise, less on account of curious spectators, from whom there\nwas nothing to fear, than of the thievish propensities of the people. The\nstatues, by Archias's orders, were to be executed in chryselephantine\nwork, and the gold and ivory which this required might only too easily\nawaken the vice of cupidity in the honest and frugal Biamites. So nothing\ncould be done about it, not to mention the fact that he was forbidden, on\npain of being sold to work in a stone quarry, to open the studio to any\none without his master's consent.\n\nSo the maid, too, was obliged to submit, and the sacrifice was rendered\neasier for her because, just at that moment, a young female slave called\nher back to the tent where Chrysilla, Daphne's companion, a matron who\nbelonged to a distinguished Greek family, needed her services.\n\nBias, rejoicing that he had at last learned, without exposing his own\nignorance, the story of the much-discussed Arachne, returned to the\nhouse, where he remained until Daphne came back from shooting with her\ncompanions. While the latter were talking about the birds they had\nkilled, Bias went out of doors; but he was forced to give up his desire\nto listen to a conversation which was exactly suited to arrest his\nattention, for after the first few sentences he perceived behind the\nthorny acacias in the \"garden\" his countrywoman Ledscha.\n\nSo she was keeping her promise. He recognised her plainly, in spite of\nthe veil which covered the back of her head and the lower portion of her\nface. Her black eyes were visible, and what a sinister light shone in\nthem as she fixed them sometimes on Daphne, sometimes on Hermon, who\nstood talking together by the steps!\n\nThe evening before Bias had caught a glimpse of this passionate\ncreature's agitated soul. If anything happened here that incensed or\nwounded her she would be capable of committing some unprecedented act\nbefore the very master's honoured guest.\n\nTo prevent this was a duty to the master whom he loved, and against whom\nhe had only warned Ledscha because he was reluctant to see a free maiden\nof his own race placed on a level with the venal Alexandrian models, but\nstill more because any serious love affair between Hermon and the Biamite\nmight bring disastrous consequences upon both, and therefore also on\nhimself. He knew that the free men of his little nation would not suffer\nan insult offered by a Greek to a virgin daughter of their lineage to\npass unavenged.\n\nTrue, in his bondage he had by no means remained free from all the bad\nqualities of slaves, but he was faithfully devoted to his master, who had\nimposed upon him a great debt of gratitude; for though, during the trying\nperiod of variance with his rich and generous uncle, Hermon had often\nbeen offered so large a sum for him that it would have relieved the\nartist from want, he could not be induced to yield his \"wise and faithful\nBias\" to another. The slave had sworn to himself that he would never\nforget this, and he kept his oath.\n\nFreedmen and slaves were moving to and fro in the large open square\nbefore him, amid the barking of the dogs and the shouts of the male and\nfemale venders of fruit, vegetables, and fish, who hoped to dispose of\ntheir wares in the kitchen tent of the wealthy strangers.\n\nThe single veiled woman attracted no attention here, but Bias kept his\ngaze fixed steadily upon her, and as she curved her little slender hand\nabove her brow to shade her watchful eyes from the dazzling sunlight, and\nset her beautifully arched foot on a stone near one of the trees in order\nto gain a better view, he thought of the story of the weaver which he had\njust heard.\n\nThough the stillness of the hot noontide was interrupted by many sounds,\nit exerted a bewitching influence over him.\n\nLedscha seemed like the embodiment of some great danger, and when she\nlowered one arm and raised the other to protect herself again from the\nradiance of the noonday sun, he started; for through the brain of the\nusually fearless man darted the thought that now the nimble spider-legs\nwere moving to draw him toward her, entwine him, and suck his heart's\nblood.\n\nThe illusion lasted only a few brief moments, but when it vanished and\nthe girl had regained the figure of an unusually slender, veiled Biamite\nwoman, he shook his head with a sigh of relief, for never had such a\nvision appeared to him in broad noonday and while awake, and it must have\nbeen sent to warn him and his master against this uncanny maiden.\n\nIt positively announced some approaching misfortune which proceeded from\nthis beautiful creature.\n\nThe Biamite now advanced hesitatingly toward Hermon and Daphne, who were\nstill a considerable distance from her. But Bias had also quitted his\npost of observation, and after she had taken a few steps forward, barred\nher way.\n\nWith a curt \"Come,\" he took her hand, whispering, \"Hermon is joyously\nexpecting your visit.\"\n\nLedscha's veil concealed her mouth, but the expression of her eyes made\nhim think that it curled scornfully.\n\nYet she silently followed him.\n\nAt first he led her by the hand, but on the way he saw at the edge of her\nupper veil the thick, dark eyebrows which met each other, and her fingers\nseemed to him so strangely cold and tapering that a shudder ran through\nhis frame and he released them.\n\nLedscha scarcely seemed to notice it, and, with bowed head, walked beside\nhim through the side entrance to the door of Hermon's studio.\n\nIt was a disappointment to her to find it locked, but Bias did not heed\nher angry complaint, and led her into the artist's sitting room,\nrequesting her to wait for his master there.\n\nThen he hurried to the steps, and by a significant sign informed the\nsculptor that something important required his attention.\n\nHermon understood him, and Bias soon had an opportunity to tell the\nartist who it was that desired to speak to him and where he had taken\nLedscha. He also made him aware that he feared some evil from her, and\nthat, in an alarming vision, she had appeared to him as a hideous spider.\n\nHermon laughed softly. \"As a spider? The omen is appropriate. We will\nmake her a woman spider--an Arachne that is worth looking at. But this\nstrange beauty is one of the most obstinate of her sex, and if I let her\ncarry out her bold visit in broad daylight she will get the better of me\ncompletely. The blood must first be washed from my hands here. The\nwounded sea eagle tore the skin with its claw, and I concealed the\nscratch from Daphne. A strip of linen to bandage it! Meanwhile, let the\nimpatient intruder learn that her sign is not enough to open every door.\"\n\nThen he entered his sitting room, greeted Ledscha curtly, invited her to\ngo into the studio, unlocked it, and left her there alone while he went\nto his chamber with the slave and had the slight wound bandaged\ncomfortably.\n\nWhile Bias was helping his master he repeated with sincere anxiety his\nwarning against the dangerous beauty whose eyebrows, which had grown\ntogether, proved that she was possessed by the demons of the nether\nworld.\n\n\"Yet they increase the austere beauty of her face,\" assented the artist.\n\"I should not want to omit them in modelling Arachne while the goddess is\ntransforming her into a spider! What a subject! A bolder one was scarcely\never attempted and, like you, I already see before me the coming spider.\"\n\nThen, without the slightest haste, he exchanged the huntsman's chiton for\nthe white chlamys, which was extremely becoming to his long, waving\nbeard, and at last, exclaiming gaily, \"If I stay any longer, she will\ntransform herself into empty air instead of the spider,\" he went to her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nWhile waiting in the studio Ledscha had used the time to satisfy her\ncuriosity.\n\nWhat was there not to be seen!\n\nOn pedestals and upon the boards of the floor, on boxes, racks, and along\nthe wall, stood, lay, or hung the greatest variety of articles: plaster\ncasts of human limbs and parts of the bodies of animals, male and female,\nof clay and wax, withered garlands, all sorts of sculptor's tools, a\nladder, vases, cups and jars for wine and water, a frame over which linen\nand soft woollen materials were spread, a lute and a zither, several\nseats, an armchair, and in one corner a small table with three\ndilapidated book rolls, writing tablets, metal styluses, and reed pens.\n\nAll these articles were arranged haphazard, and showed that Bias\npossessed more wisdom than care in the use of duster and broom.\n\nIt would have been difficult to count the number of things brought\ntogether here, but the unusually long, wide room was by no means crowded.\n\nLedscha cast a wondering glance sometimes at one object, sometimes at\nanother, but without understanding its meaning or its use.\n\nThe huge figure on the pedestal in the middle of the studio, upon which\nthe full glare of light fell through the open windows, was certainly the\nstatue of the goddess on which Hermon was working; but a large gray cloth\nconcealed it from her gaze.\n\nHow tall it was!\n\nWhen she looked at it more closely she felt small and oppressed by\ncomparison.\n\nA passionate longing urged her to remove the cloth, but the boldness of\nthe act restrained her. After she had taken another survey of the\nspacious apartment, which she was visiting for the first time by\ndaylight, the torturing feeling of being neglected gained possession of\nher.\n\nShe clinched her white teeth more firmly, and when there was a noise at\nthe door that died away again without bringing the man she expected, she\nwent up to the statue which she had already walked past quietly several\ntimes and, obeying an impatient impulse, freed it from its covering.\n\nThe goddess, now illumined by the sunlight, shone before her in gleaming\nyellow gold and snowy ivory.\n\nShe had never seen such a statue, and drew back dazzled.\n\nWhat a master was the man who had deceived her trusting heart!\n\nHe had created a Demeter; the wheat in her hand showed it.\n\nHow beautiful this work was--and how valuable! It produced a powerful\nimpression upon her mind, wholly unaccustomed to the estimate of such\nthings.\n\nThe goddess before her was the very one whose statue stood in the temple\nof Demeter, and to whom she also sacrificed, with the Greeks in Tennis,\nwhen danger threatened the harvest. Involuntarily she removed the lower\nveil from her face and raised her hand in prayer.\n\nMeanwhile she gazed into the pallid face, carved from ivory, of the\nimmortal dispenser of blessings, and suddenly the blood crimsoned her\ncheeks, the nostrils of her delicate, slightly arched nose rose and fell\nmore swiftly, for the countenance of the goddess--she was not\nmistaken--was that of the Alexandrian whom she had just watched so\nintently, and for whose sake Hermon had left her in the lurch the evening\nbefore.\n\nNow, too, she remembered for what purpose the sculptor was said to have\nlured Gula, the sailor's wife, and her own young sister Taus, to his\nstudio, and in increasing excitement she drew the cloth also from the\nbust beside the Demeter.\n\nAgain the Alexandrian's face--the likeness was even more unmistakable\nthan in the goddess.\n\nThe Greek girl alone occupied his thoughts. Hermon had disdained to model\nthe Biamite's head.\n\nWhat could the others, or she herself, be to him, since he loved the rich\nforeigner in the tent outside, and her alone? How firmly her image must\nhave been impressed upon his soul, that he could reproduce the features\nof the absent one with such lifelike fidelity!\n\nYet with what bold assurance he had protested that his heart belonged\nsolely to her. But she thought that she now perceived his purpose. If the\nslave was right, it was done that she might permit him to model what he\nadmired in her figure, only not the head and face, whose beauty,\nnevertheless, he praised so extravagantly.\n\nHad he attracted Gula and her sister with similar sweet flatteries? Had\nthe promise to bestow their charms upon a goddess been made to them also?\n\nThe swift throbbing of her indignant heart made it impossible for her to\nthink calmly, but its vehement pulsation reminded her of the object of\nher presence here.\n\nShe had come to obtain a clear understanding between him and herself.\n\nShe stood here as a judge.\n\nShe must know whether she had been betrayed or deceived.\n\nHe should confess what his intentions toward her were. The next moments\nmust decide the fate of her life, and she added, drawing a long breath,\nperhaps of his also.\n\nSuddenly Ledscha started. She had not heard Hermon enter the studio, and\nwas now startled by his greeting.\n\nIt was not positively unkind, but certainly not a lover's.\n\nPerhaps the words might have been warmer, but for his annoyance at the\ninsolent boldness with which she had removed the coverings from his\nworks. He restrained himself from openly blaming her, it is true, but he\nexclaimed, with a tinge of gay sarcasm: \"You seem to feel very much at\nhome here already, fairest of the fair. Or was it the goddess herself who\nremoved the curtain from her image in order to show herself to her\nsuccessor upon this pedestal?\"\n\nBut the question was to remain unanswered, for under the spell of the\nresentment which filled her heart, and in the effort not to lose sight of\nthe object that brought her here, Ledscha had only half understood its\nmeaning, and pointing her slender forefinger at the face of his completed\nwork, she demanded to know whom she recognised in this statue.\n\n\"The goddess Demeter,\" he answered quietly; \"but if it pleases you\nbetter, as you seem to be on the right track, also the daughter of\nArchias.\"\n\nThen, angered by the wrathful glance she cast at him, he added more\nsternly: \"She is kind-hearted, free from disagreeable whims and the\ndisposition to torture others who are kindly disposed toward her. So I\nadorned the goddess with her pleasant features.\"\n\n\"Mine, you mean to say,\" Ledscha answered bitterly, \"would be less\nsuitable for this purpose. Yet they, too, can wear a different expression\nfrom the present one. You, I think, have learned this. Only I shall never\nacquire the art of dissimulation, not even in your society.\"\n\n\"You seem to be angry on account of my absence yesterday evening?\" Hermon\nasked in an altered tone, clasping her hand; but Ledscha snatched it from\nhim, exclaiming: \"The model of the Demeter, the daughter of the wealthy\nArchias, detained you, you were going to tell me, and you think that\nought to satisfy the barbarian maiden.\"\n\n\"Folly!\" he answered angrily. \"I owe a debt of gratitude to her father,\nwho was my guardian, and custom commands you also to honour a guest. But\nyour obstinacy and jealousy are unbearable. What great thing is it that I\nask of your love? A little patience. Practise it. Then your turn will\ncome too.\"\n\n\"Of course, the second and third will follow the first,\" she answered\nbitterly. \"After Gula, the sailor's wife, you lured my innocent young\nsister, Taus, to this apartment; or am I mistaken in the order, and was\nGula the second?\"\n\n\"So that's it!\" cried Hermon, who was surprised rather than alarmed by\nthis betrayal of his secret. \"If you want confirmation of the fact, very\nwell--both were here.\"\n\n\"Because you deluded them with false vows of love.\"\n\n\"By no means. My heart has nothing what ever to do with these visits.\nGula came to thank me because I rendered her a service--you know\nit--which to every mother seems greater than it is.\"\n\n\"But you certainly did not underestimate it,\" Ledscha impetuously\ninterrupted, \"for you demanded her honour in return.\"\n\n\"Guard your tongue!\" the artist burst forth angrily. \"The woman visited\nme unasked, and I let her leave me as faithful or as unfaithful to her\nhusband as she came. If I used her as a model--\"\n\n\"Gula, whom the sculptor transforms into a goddess,\" Ledscha interrupted,\nwith a sneering laugh.\n\n\"Into a fish-seller, if you wish to know it,\" cried Hermon indignantly.\n\"I saw in the market a young woman selling shad. I took the subject, and\nfound in Gula a suitable model. Unfortunately, she ventured here far too\nseldom. But I can finish it with the help of the sketch--it stands in\nyonder cupboard.\"\n\n\"A fish-seller,\" Ledscha repeated contemptuously. \"And for what did my\nTaus, poor lovely child, seem desirable?\"\n\n\"Over opposite,\" Hermon answered quickly, as if he wished to get rid of a\ntroublesome duty, pointing through the window out of doors, \"the free\nmaidens, during the hot days, took off their sandals and waded through\nthe water. There I saw your sister's feet. They were the prettiest of\nall, and Gula brought the young girl to me. I had commenced in Alexandria\na figure of a girl holding her foot in her hand to take out a thorn, so I\nused your sister's for it.\"\n\n\"And when my turn comes?\" Ledscha demanded.\n\n\"Then,\" he replied, freshly captivated by the magic of her beauty, in a\nkinder, almost tender tone, \"then I will make of you, in gold and ivory,\nyou wonderfully lovely creature, the counterpart of this goddess.\"\n\n\"And you will need a long time for it?\"\n\n\"The oftener you come the faster the work will advance.\"\n\n\"And the more surely the Biamite women will point their fingers at me.\"\n\n\"Yet you ventured here to-day, unasked, in the broad light of noon.\"\n\n\"Because I wish to remind you myself that I shall expect you this\nevening. Yesterday you did not appear; but to-day-I am right, am I\nnot?--to-day you will come.\"\n\n\"With the greatest delight, if it is possible,\" he answered eagerly.\n\nA warmer glance from her dark eyes rested upon him. The blood seethed in\nhis veins, and as he extended both hands to her and ardently uttered her\nname, she rushed forward, clinging to him with passionate devotion, as if\nseeking assistance, but when his lips touched hers she shrank back and\nloosed her soft arms from his neck.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" asked the sculptor in surprise, trying to draw her\ntoward him again; but Ledscha would not permit it, pleading in a softer\ntone than before: \"Not now; but--am I not right, dearest--I may expect\nyou this evening? Just this once let the daughter of Archias yield to me,\nwho loves you better. We shall have a full moon to-night, and you have\nheard what was predicted to me--to-night the highest bliss which the gods\ncan bestow upon a mortal awaits me.\"\n\n\"And me also,\" cried Hermon, \"if you will permit me to share it with you.\"\n\n\"Then I will expect you on the Pelican Island--just when the full moon is\nover the lofty poplars there. You will come? Not to the Owl's Nest: to\nthe Pelican Island. And though your love is far less, far cooler than\nmine, yet you will not defraud me of the best happiness of my life?\"\n\n\"How could I?\" he asked, as if he felt wounded by such distrust. \"What\ndetains me must be something absolutely unavoidable.\"\n\nLedscha's eyebrows contracted sharply, and in a choked voice she\nexclaimed: \"Nothing must detain you--nothing, whatever it may be! Though\ndeath should threaten, you will be with me just at midnight.\"\n\n\"I will, if it is possible,\" he protested, painfully touched by the\nvehemence of her urging. \"What can be more welcome to me also than to\nspend happy hours with you in the silence of a moonlight night? Besides,\nmy stay in Tennis will not be long.\"\n\n\"You are going?\" she asked in a hollow tone.\n\n\"In three or four days,\" he answered carelessly; \"then Myrtilus and I\nwill be expected in Alexandria. But gently--gently--how pale you are,\ngirl! Yes, the parting! But in six weeks at latest I shall be here again;\nthen real life will first begin, and Eros will make the roses bloom for\nus.\"\n\nLedscha nodded silently, and gazing into his face with a searching look\nasked, \"And how long will this season of blossoming last?\"\n\n\"Several months, girl; three, if not six.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Who looks so far into the future?\"\n\nShe lowered her glance, and, as if yielding to the inevitable, answered:\n\"What a fool I was! Who knows what the morrow may bring? Are we even sure\nwhether, six months hence, we shall not hate, instead of loving, each\nother?\"\n\nShe passed her hand across her brow as she spoke, exclaiming: \"You said\njust now that only the present belonged to man. Then let us enjoy it as\nthough every moment might be the last. By the light of the full moon\nto-night, the happiness which has been predicted to me must begin. After\nit, the orb between the horns of Astarte will become smaller; but when it\nfulls and wanes again, if you keep your promise and return, then, though\nthey may curse and condemn me, I will come to your studio and grant what\nyou ask. But which of the goddesses do you intend to model from me as a\ncompanion statue to the Demeter?\"\n\n\"This time it can not be one of the immortelles,\" he answered\nhesitatingly, \"but a famous woman, an artist who succeeded in a\ncompetition in vanquishing even the august Athene.\"\n\n\"So it is no goddess?\" Ledscha asked in a disappointed tone.\n\n\"No, child, but the most skilful woman who ever plied the weaver's\nshuttle.\"\n\n\"And her name?\"\n\n\"Arachne.\"\n\nThe young girl started, exclaiming contemptuously: \"Arachne? That\nis--that is what you Greeks call the most repulsive of creatures--the\nspider.\"\n\n\"The most skilful of all creatures, that taught man the noble art of\nweaving,\" he eagerly retorted.\n\nHere he was interrupted; his friend Myrtilus put his fair head into the\nroom, exclaiming: \"Pardon me if I interrupt you--but we shall not see\neach other again for some time. I have important business in the city,\nand may be detained a long while. Yet before I go I must perform the\ncommission Daphne gave me for you. She sends word that she shall expect\nyou without fail at the banquet for the Pelusinian guests. Your absence,\ndo you hear?--pardon the interruption, fairest Ledscha--your absence\nwould seriously anger her.\"\n\n\"Then I shall be prepared for considerable trouble in appeasing her,\"\nreplied Hermon, glancing significantly at the young girl.\n\nMyrtilus crossed the threshold, turned to the Biamite, and said in his\nquiet, cheerful manner: \"Where beautiful gifts are to be brought to Eros,\nit beseems the friend to strew with flowers the path of the one who is\noffering the sacrifices; and you, if everything does not deceive me,\nwould fain choose to-night to serve him with the utmost devotion.\nTherefore, I shall need forgiveness from you and the god, if I beseech\nyou to defer the offering, were it only until to-morrow.\"\n\nLedscha silently shrugged her shoulders and made no answer to the\ninquiring glance with which Hermon sought hers, but Myrtilus changed his\ntone and addressed a grave warning to his friend to consider well that it\nwould be an insult to the manes of his dead parents if he should avoid\nthe old couple from Pelusium, who had been their best friends and had\ntaken the journey hither for his sake.\n\nHermon looked after him in painful perplexity, but the Biamite also\napproached the threshold, and holding her head haughtily erect, said\ncoldly: \"The choice is difficult for you, as I see. Then recall to your\nmemory again what this night of the full moon means--you are well aware\nof it--to me. If, nevertheless, you still decide in favour of the banquet\nwith your friends, I can not help it; but I must now know: Shall this\nnight belong to me, or to the daughter of Archias?\"\n\n\"Is it impossible to talk with you, unlucky girl, as one would with other\nsensible people?\" Hermon burst forth wrathfully. \"Everything is carried\nto extremes; you condemn a brief necessary delay as breach of faith and\nbase treachery. This behaviour is unbearable.\"\n\n\"Then you will not come?\" she asked apathetically, laying her hand upon\nthe door; but Hermon cried out in a tone half beseeching, half imperious:\n\"You must not go so! If you insist upon it, surely I will come. There is\nno room in your obstinate soul for kind indulgence. No one, by the dog,\never accused me of being specially skilled in this smooth art; yet there\nmay be duties and circumstances--\"\n\nHere Ledscha gently opened the door; but, seized with a fear of losing\nthis rare creature, whose singular beauty attracted him powerfully, even\nnow, this peerless model for a work on which he placed the highest hopes,\nhe strode swiftly to her side, and drawing her back from the threshold,\nexclaimed: \"Difficult as it is for me on this special day, I will come,\nonly you must not demand what is impossible. The right course often lies\nmidway. Half the night must belong to the banquet with my old friends and\nDaphne; the second half--\"\n\n\"To the barbarian, you think--the spider,\" she gasped hoarsely. \"But my\nwelfare as well as yours depends on the decision. Stay here, or come to\nthe island--you have your choice.\"\n\nWrenching herself from his hold as she spoke, she slipped through the\ndoorway and left the room.\n\nHermon, with a muttered oath, stood still, shrugging his shoulders\nangrily.\n\nHe could do nothing but yield to this obstinate creature's will.\n\nIn the atrium Ledscha met the slave Bias, and returned his greeting only\nby a wave of the hand; but before opening the side door which was to lead\nher into the open air, she paused, and asked bluntly in the language of\ntheir people: \"Was Arachne--I don't mean the spider, but the weaver whom\nthe Greeks call by that name--a woman like the rest of us? Yet it is said\nthat she remained victor in a contest with the goddess Athene.\"\n\n\"That is perfectly true,\" answered Bias, \"but she had to atone cruelly\nfor this triumph; the goddess struck her on the forehead with the\nweaver's shuttle, and when, in her shame and rage, she tried to hang\nherself, she was transformed into the spider.\"\n\nLedscha stood still, and, while drawing the veil over her pallid face,\nasked with quivering lips, \"And is there no other Arachne?\"\n\n\"Not among mortals,\" was the reply, \"but even here in this house there\nare more than enough of the disagreeable, creeping creatures which bear\nthe same name.\"\n\nLedscha now went clown the steps which led to the lawn, and Bias saw that\nshe stumbled on the last one and would have fallen had not her lithe body\nregained its balance in time.\n\n\"A bad omen!\" thought the slave. \"If I had the power to build a wall\nbetween my master and the spider yonder, it should be higher than the\nlighthouse of Sostratus. To heed omens guides one safely through life. I\nknow what I know, and will keep my eyes open, for my master too.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nHermon had intended to add a few more touches to his Demeter, but he\ncould not do it. Ledscha, her demand, and the resentment with which she\nhad left him, were not to be driven from his mind.\n\nThere was no doubt that he must seek her if he was not to lose her, yet\nhe reproached himself for having acted like a thoughtless fool when he\nproposed to divide the night between her and Daphne.\n\nThere was something offensive in the proposal to so proud a creature. He\nought to have promised positively to come, and then left the banquet\nsomewhat earlier. It would have been easy to apologize for his late\narrival, and Ledscha would have had no cause to be angry with him.\n\nNow she had, and her resentment awakened in him--though he certainly did\nnot lack manly courage--an uncomfortable feeling closely allied to\nanxiety.\n\nAngered by his own conduct, he asked himself whether he loved the\nbarbarian, and could find no satisfactory answer.\n\nAt their first meeting he had felt that she was far superior to the other\nBiamite maidens, not only in beauty but in everything else. The very\nacerbity of her nature had seemed charming. To win this wonderful, pliant\ncreature, slender as a cypress, whose independence merged into fierce\nobstinacy, had appeared to him worth any sacrifice; and having perceived\nin her an admirable model for his Arachne, he had also determined to\nbrave the dangers which might easily arise for the Greek from a love\naffair with a Biamite girl, whose family was free and distinguished.\n\nIt had been easier for him to win her heart than he expected; yet at none\nof the meetings which she granted him had he rejoiced in the secret bond\nbetween them.\n\nHitherto her austere reserve had been invincible, and during the greater\npart of their interviews he had been compelled to exert all his influence\nto soothe, appease her, and atone for imprudent acts which he had\ncommitted.\n\nTrue, she, too, had often allowed herself to display passionate\ntenderness, but always only to torture him with reproaches and demands\ninspired by her jealousy, suspicion, and wounded pride.\n\nYet her beauty, and the strong power of resistance which she offered to\nhis wooing, exerted so bewitching a thrall over him that he had been led\ninto conceding far too much, and making vows which he could not and did\nnot desire to fulfil.\n\nLove had usually been to him a richly flowing well-spring of gay delight,\nbut this bond had plunged him from one vexation into another, one anxiety\nto another, and now that he had almost reached the goal of his wishes, he\ncould not help fearing that he had transformed Ledscha's love to hate.\n\nDaphne was dear to him. He esteemed her highly, and owed her a great debt\nof gratitude. Yet in this hour he anathematized her unexpected journey to\nTennis; for without it he would have obtained from Ledscha that very day\nwhat he desired, and could have returned to Alexandria with the certainty\nof finding her ready later to pose as the model for his Arachne.\n\nNever could he find anywhere a more fitting one.\n\nHe had devoted himself with passionate love to his art, and even his\nenemies numbered him among its most promising disciples. Yet hither to he\nhad not succeeded in obtaining a great and undisputed success. On the\nother hand, he had experienced what were termed failures in abundant\nmeasure.\n\nThe art to which he had gained entrance by so severe a struggle, and on\nwhose soil he had laboured diligently enough, proved, so far as outward\nrecognition was concerned, cruel to the enthusiastic disciple. Yet even\nnow he would not have abandoned it at any price; the joy of creation\ncompensated him richly for suffering and disappointment. Confidence in\nhis own powers and the final triumph of his conviction had deserted him\nonly occasionally, and for a few brief hours.\n\nHe was born for conflicts. What ill-success, what antagonism and\ndifficulties he had encountered! Some day the laurel which had so long\nadorned the brow of Myrtilus must also grow green for him and the great\ntalent whose possession he felt. With the Arachne--he was sure of\nthis--he would compel even his opponents to accord him the recognition\nfor which hitherto he had striven in vain.\n\nWhile pacing restlessly up and down the spacious apartment, stopping from\ntime to time before his work to fix his eyes angrily upon it, he thought\nof his friend's Demeter, whose head also had Daphne's features, who also\nbore in her hand a bundle of wheat, and even in attitude did not differ\nvery widely from his own. And yet--eternal gods!--how thoroughly\ndissimilar the two were!\n\nIn the figure created by Myrtilus, supernatural dignity blended with the\nutmost womanly charm; in his, a pleasing head rested upon a body in whose\nformation he had used various models without striving to accomplish\nanything except to depart as far as possible from established custom,\nwith which he was at variance.\n\nYet had he not found himself, nevertheless, compelled to follow the old\nrules? One arm was raised, the other hung down; the right foot was put\nforward, the left one back.\n\nExactly the same as in Myrtilus's statue, and thousands of other figures\nof Demeter!\n\nIf he could have used the hammer and chisel, the thing might have become\nmore powerful; but how many things he had had to consider in employing\nthe accursed gold and ivory upon which Archias obstinately insisted!\n\nThis hammering, chipping, and filing told unfavourably upon his power and\nhis aspiration toward grandeur.\n\nThis time the battle seemed to be lost.\n\nIt was fortunate that the conqueror was no other than Myrtilus. Often as\nhe had gone astray in his young life, many as were the errors he had\ncommitted, not even the faintest shadow of an envious feeling concerning\nhis friend's more successful work had ever stained his soul.\n\nTrue, the fact that fate, in addition to such abundant gifts of mind and\nspirit, had also endowed the latter with great worldly possessions, while\nhe, but for the generosity of his uncle Archias, must have starved, had\noften led Hermon to inveigh angrily against the injustice of the gods.\nYet he did not grudge Myrtilus the wealth without which he could not\nimagine him, and which his invalid friend needed to continue successfully\nthe struggle against the insidious disease inherited with the gold. And\nhis sufferings! Hermon could not have endured keener pain had they been\nhis own. He must even rejoice over the poor dear fellow's victory; for if\nhe, Hermon, succeeded with his Arachne as he hoped, it would make\nMyrtilus--he could swear to it--happier than his own triumph.\n\nAfter these reflections, which again reminded him of the second\nappointment and of Ledscha, the sculptor turned away from his work and\nwent to the window to look across at Pelican Island, where she must not\nawait him in vain.\n\nThe boat which was to convey him over to it lay ready in the little\nflotilla, where a magnificently equipped galley had just been moored to\nthe shore, undoubtedly the one that had brought the guests from Pelusium\nhither. The best thing he could do was to greet them at once, share the\nbanquet with them, and, before the dessert was served, seek the beautiful\nwoman whom his absence threatened to make his foe. And she was certainly\njustified in resenting it if, with cruel lack of consideration, he paid\nno heed to what had been prophesied for her on this night of the full\nmoon.\n\nFor the first time compassion mingled with his feelings for Ledscha. If\nto avoid the fleeting censure of aristocratic friends he left in the\nlurch the simple barbarian maiden who loved him with ardent passion, it\nwas no evidence of resolute strength of soul, but of pitiful,\nreprehensible weakness. No, no! He must take the nocturnal voyage in\norder not to grieve Ledscha.\n\nSoon after the girl's abrupt departure he dressed himself in festal\ngarments for the banquet. It would flatter Ledscha also if he went to her\nin this attire and, with his figure drawn up to its full height, he\nwalked toward the door to go to the Alexandrian's tent.\n\nBut what did this mean? Myrtilus was standing before his Demeter,\nscanning it intently with his keen artist eyes. Hermon had not noticed\nhis entrance, and did not disturb him now, but fixed his gaze upon his\nmobile features in intense expectation.\n\nThere were few of his fellow-artists whose opinion he valued as highly as\nthat of this darling of the Muse.\n\nAt a slight shake of the head, which Hermon interpreted as disapproval,\nhe clinched his teeth; but soon his lips relaxed and his breast heaved\nwith a sigh of relief, for the sunny glance that Myrtilus bent upon the\nface of the goddess seemed to show Hermon that it aroused his approval,\nand, as if relieved from an oppressive nightmare, he approached his\nfriend.\n\nThe latter turned toward him, exclaiming: Daphne! As in the case of\nyonder bust, you have succeeded most perfectly with this dear\nface--only--\"\n\n\"Only,\" Hermon repeated slowly; \"I am familiar with that evil word.\nDoubts knock at the door with it. Out with them honestly. I gave up my\nlast hope of the prize yesterday while looking at your Demeter. Besides,\ncareful scrutiny has just destroyed the last gleam of satisfaction with\nmy own work. But if you like the head, what seem to you the greatest\ndefects in the figure?\"\n\n\"It has nothing to do with defects, which, with your rare ability, can\nscarcely exist,\" replied the other, the faint pink flush in his beardless\ncheeks deepening to a more vivid hue. \"It refers rather to the expression\nwhich you have given the divinity in yonder statue.\" Here Myrtilus\nhesitated, and, turning so that he stood face to face with Hermon, asked\nfrankly, \"Did you ever seek the goddess and, when you found her, did you\nfeel any supernatural power and beauty?\"\n\n\"What a question!\" exclaimed Hermon in astonishment. \"A pupil of Straton,\nand go in search of beings and powers whose existence he denies! What my\nmother instilled into my heart I lost with my childhood, and you address\nyour question only to the artist who holds his own ground, not to the\nboy. The power that calls creation to life, and maintains it, has for me\nlong had nothing in common with those beings like mortals whom the\nmultitude designates by the name of divinities.\"\n\n\"I think differently,\" replied Myrtilus. \"While I numbered myself among\nthe Epicureans, whose doctrine still possesses the greatest charm for me,\nI nevertheless shared the master's opinion that it is insulting the gods\nto suppose that they will disturb their blissful repose for the sake of\nus insignificant mortals. Now my mind and my experience rebel against\nholding to this view, yet I believe with Epicurus, and with you, that the\neternal laws of Nature bow to neither divine nor human will.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said Hermon, \"you expect me to trouble myself about those who\nare as powerless as myself!\"\n\n\"I only wished that you might do so,\" answered Myrtilus; \"for they are\nnot powerless to those who from the first assumed that they can do\nnothing in opposition to those changeless laws. The state, too, rules\naccording to them, and the wise king who refrains from interfering with\nthem in the smallest trifle can therefore wield the sceptre with mighty\npower. So, in my opinion, it is perfectly allowable to expect aid from\nthe gods. But we will let that pass. A healthy man, full of exuberant\nvigour like yourself, rarely learns early what they can bestow in\nsuffering and misfortune; yet where the great majority believe in them,\nhe, too, will be unable to help forming some idea of them; nay, even you\nand I have experienced it. By a thousand phenomena they force themselves\ninto the world which surrounds us and our emotional life. Epicurus, who\ndenied their power, saw in them at least immortal beings who possess in\nstainless perfection everything which in mortals is disfigured by errors,\nweaknesses, and afflictions. To him they are the intensified, reflected\nimage of our own nature, and I think we can do nothing wiser than to\ncling to that, because it shows us to what heights of beauty and power,\nintellect, goodness, and purity we may attain. To completely deny their\nexistence would hardly be possible even for you, because their persons\nhave found a place in your imagination. Since this is the case, it can\nonly benefit you to recognise in them magnificent models, by whose means\nwe artists, if we imitate, perfect, and model them, will create works far\nmore sublime and beautiful than anything visible to our senses which we\nmeet here beneath the sun.\"\n\n\"It is this very superiority in sublimity and beauty which I, and those\nwho pursue the same path with me, oppose,\" replied Hermon. \"Nature is\nsufficient for us. To take anything from her, mutilates; to add anything,\ndisfigures her.\"\n\n\"But not,\" replied Myrtilus firmly, \"when it is done only in a special\nsense, and within the limits of Nature, to which the gods also belong.\nThe final task of art, fiercely as you and your few followers contend\nagainst it, lies in the disentanglement, enhancing, and ennobling of\nNature. You, too, ought not to overlook it when you undertake to model a\nDemeter; for she is a goddess, no mortal like yourself. The rest or I\nought rather to say the alteration which converts the mortal woman into\nthe immortal one, the goddess--I miss, and with special regret, because\nyou do not even deem it worth consideration.\"\n\n\"That I shall never do,\" retorted Hermon irritably, \"so long as it is a\nchanging chimera which presents itself differently to every mind.\"\n\n\"Yet, should it really be a chimera, it is at any rate a sublime one,\"\nMyrtilus protested, \"and whoever among us artists wanders through Nature\nwith open eyes and heart, and then examines his own soul, will find it\nworth while to attempt to give his ideal form.\"\n\n\"Whatever stirs my breast during such walks, unless it is some unusual\nhuman being, I leave to the poet,\" replied Hermon. \"I should be satisfied\nwith the Demeter yonder, and you, too, probably, if--entirely apart from\nthat--I had only succeeded fully and entirely in making her an\nindividual--that is, a clearly outlined, distinct personality. This, you\nhave often told me, is just wherein I am usually most successful. But\nhere, I admit, I am baffled. Demeter hovered before me as a kindly\ndispenser of good gifts, a faithful, loving wife. Daphne's head expresses\nthis; but in modelling the body I lost sight of the whole creation.\nWhile, for instance, in my fig-eater, every toe, every scrap of the\ntattered garments, belongs to the street urchin whom I wished to\nrepresent, in the goddess everything came by chance as the model\nsuggested it, and you know that I used several. Had the Demeter from head\nto foot resembled Daphne, who has so much in common with our goddess, the\nstatue would have been harmonious, complete, and you would perhaps have\nbeen the first to acknowledge it.\"\n\n\"By no means,\" Myrtilus eagerly interrupted. \"What our statues of the\ngods are we two know best: a wooden block, covered with gold and sheets\nof ivory. But to tens of thousands the statue of the divinity must be\nmuch more. When they raise their hearts, eyes, hands to it in prayer,\nthey must be possessed by the idea of the deity which animated us while\ncreating it, and with which we, as it were, permeated it. If it shows\nthem only a woman endowed with praiseworthy qualities--\"\n\n\"Then,\" interrupted Hermon, \"the worshipper should thank the sculptor;\nfor is it not more profitable to him to be encouraged by the statue to\nemulate the human virtues whose successful embodiment it shows him than\nto strive for the aid of the botchwork of human hands, which possesses as\nmuch or as little power as the wood, gold, and ivory that compose it? If\nthe worshipper does not appeal to the statue, but to the goddess, I fear\nit will be no less futile. So I shall consider it no blemish if you see\nin my Demeter a mortal woman, and no goddess; nay, it reconciles me in\nsome degree to her weaknesses, to which I by no means close my eyes. I,\ntoo--I confess it--often feel a great desire to give the power of\nimagination greater play, and I know the divinities in whom I have lost\nfaith as well as any one; for I, too, was once a child, and few have ever\nprayed to them more fervently, but with the increasing impulse toward\nliberty came the perception: There are no gods, and whoever bows to the\npower of the immortals makes himself a slave. So what I banished from\nlife I will also remove from art, and model nothing which might not meet\nme to-day or to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Then, as an honest man, abstain altogether from making statues of the\ngods,\" interrupted his friend.\n\n\"That was my intention long ago, as you are aware,\" the other answered.\n\n\"You could not commit a worse robbery upon yourself,\" cried Myrtilus. \"I\nknow you; nay, perhaps I see farther into your soul than you yourself. By\ningenious fetters you force the mighty winged intellect to content itself\nwithin the narrow world of reality. But the time when you will yourself\nrend the bonds and find the divinity you have lost, will come, and then,\nwith your mighty power once more free, you will outstrip most of us, and\nme also if I live to see it.\"\n\nThen he pressed his hand upon his rattling chest and walked slowly to the\ncouch; but Hermon followed, helped him to lie down, and with affectionate\nsolicitude arranged his pillows.\n\n\"It is nothing,\" Myrtilus said soothingly, after a few minutes' silence.\n\"My undermined strength has been heavily taxed to-day. The Olympians know\nhow calmly I await death. It ends all things. Nothing will be left of me\nexcept the ashes, to which you will reduce my body, and what you call\n'possession.' But even this can no longer belong to me after death,\nbecause I shall then be no more, and the idea of possession requires a\npossessor. My estate, too, is now disposed of. I have just been to the\nnotary, and sixteen witnesses--neither more nor less--have signed my will\naccording to the custom of this ceremonious country. There, now, if you\nplease, go before me, and let me stay here alone a little while. Remember\nme to Daphne and the Pelusinians. I will join you in an hour.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Cautious inquiry saves recantation\n     Nature is sufficient for us\n     There are no gods, and whoever bows makes himself a slave\n     Waiting is the merchant's wisdom\n     Woman's hair is long, but her wit is short\n\n\n\n\nARACHNE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\"When the moon is over Pelican Island.\" How often Ledscha had repeated\nthis sentence to herself while Hermon was detained by Daphne and her\nPelusinian guests!\n\nWhen she entered the boat after nightfall she exclaimed hopefully, sure\nof her cause, \"When the moon is over Pelican Island he will come.\"\n\nHer goal was quickly reached in the skiff; the place selected for the\nnocturnal meeting was a familiar one to her.\n\nThe pirates had remained absent from it quite two years. Formerly they\nhad often visited the spot to conceal their arms and booty on the densely\nwooded island. The large papyrus thicket on the shore also hid boats from\nspying eyes, and near the spot where Ledscha landed was a grassy seat\nwhich looked like an ordinary resting place, but beneath it the corsairs\nhad built a long, walled passage, that led to the other side of the\nisland, and had enabled many a fugitive to vanish from the sight of\npursuers, as though the earth had swallowed them.\n\n\"When the moon is over the island,\" Ledscha repeated after she had waited\nmore than an hour.\n\nThe time had not yet come; the expanse of water lay before her\nmotionless, in hue a dull, leaden gray, and only the dimly illumined air\nand a glimmering radiance along the edges of the waves that washed the\nisland showed that the moon was already brightening the night.\n\nWhen its full orb floated above the island Hermon, too, would appear, and\nthe happiness which had been predicted to Ledscha would begin.\n\nHappiness?\n\nA bitter smile hovered around her delicately cut lips as she repeated the\nword.\n\nHitherto no feeling was more distant from her; for when love and longing\nbegan to stir in her heart, it seemed as though a hideous spider was\nweaving its web about her, and vague fears, painful memories, and in\ntheir train fierce hate would force glad expectation into the shadow.\n\nYet she yearned with passionate fervour to see Hermon again, and when he\nwas once there all must be well between them. The prediction of old\nTabus, who ruled as mistress over so many demons, could not deceive.\n\nAfter Ledscha had so lately reminded the lover who so vehemently roused\nher jealous wrath what this night of the full moon meant to her, she\ncould rely upon his appearance in spite of everything.\n\nVarious matters undoubtedly held him firmly enough in Tennis--she\nadmitted this to herself after she grew calmer--but he had promised to\ncome; he would surely enter the boat, and she--she would submit to share\nthe night with the Hellene.\n\nHer whole being longed for the bliss awaiting her, and it could come from\nno one save the man whose lips would seek hers when the moon rose over\nthe Pelican Island.\n\nHow tardily and sluggishly the cow-headed goddess who bore the silver orb\nbetween her horns rose to-night! how slowly the time passed, yet she did\nnot move forward more certainly that the man whom Ledscha expected must\narrive.\n\nOf the possibility of his non-appearance she would not think; but when\nthe fear that she was perhaps looking for him in vain assailed her, the\nblood crimsoned her face as if she felt the shame of a humiliating\ninsult. Yet why should she make the period of waiting more torturing than\nit was already?\n\nSurely he must come!\n\nSometimes she rested on the grassy seat and gazed across the dull gray\nsurface of the water into the distance; sometimes she walked to and fro,\nstopping at every turn to look across at Tennis and the bright torches\nand lights which surrounded the Alexandrian's tent.\n\nSo one quarter of an hour after another passed away.\n\nA light breeze rose, and gradually the tops of the rushes began to shine,\nand the leafage before, beside, and above her to glitter in the silvery\nlight.\n\nThe water was no longer calm, but furrowed by countless little ripples,\non whose crests the rays from above played, sparkling and flashing\nrestlessly. A web of shimmering silvery radiance covered the edges of\nevery island, and suddenly the brilliant full moon was reflected in\nargent lustre like a magnificent quivering column upon the surface of the\nwater, now rippled by the evening breeze.\n\nThe time during which Ledscha could repeat \"When the moon is over Pelican\nIsland\" was past; already its course had led it beyond.\n\nThe island lay behind it, and it continued its pilgrimage before the\nyoung girl's eyes.\n\nThe glittering column of light upon the water proved that she was not\nmistaken; the time which she had appointed for Hermon had already\nexpired.\n\nThe moon in calm majesty sailed farther and farther onward in its course,\nand with it minute after minute elapsed, until they became a half hour,\nthen a whole one.\n\n\"How long is it since the moon was over Pelican Island?\" was the question\nwhich now pressed itself upon her again and again, and to which she found\nan answer at every glance upward, for she had learned to estimate time by\nthe position of the stars.\n\nRarely was the silence of the night interrupted by the call of a human\nbeing or the barking of a dog from the city, or even the hooting of an\nowl at a still greater distance; but the farther the moon moved on above\nher the fiercer grew the uproar in Ledscha's proud, cruelly wronged soul.\nShe felt offended, scorned, insulted, and at the same time defrauded of\nthe happiness which this night of the full moon contained for her. Or had\nthe demons who promised happiness meant something else in their\nprediction than Hermon's love? Was she to owe the bliss they had foretold\nto hate and pitiless retribution?\n\nWhen the midnight hour had nearly arrived she prepared to depart, but\nafter she had already set her foot on the edge of the boat she returned\nto the grassy seat. She would wait a little longer yet. Then there would\nbe nothing which could give Hermon a right to consideration; then she\nmight let loose upon him the avenging powers at her command.\n\nLedscha again gazed over the calm landscape, but in the wild tumult of\nher heart she no longer distinguished the details upon which her eyes\nrested. Doubtless she saw the light mists hovering like ghosts, or the\nrestless shades of the unburied dead, over the shining expanse before\nher, and the filmy vapours that veiled the brightness of the stars, but\nshe had ceased to question the heavenly bodies about the time.\n\nWhat did she care for the progress of the hours, since the constellation\nof Charles's Wain showed her that it was past midnight?\n\nThe moon no longer stood forth in sharp outlines against the deep azure\nof the vaulted sky, but, robbed of its radiance, floated in a circle of\ndimly illumined mists.\n\nNot only the feelings which stirred Ledscha's soul, but the scene around\nher, had gained a totally different aspect.\n\nSince every hope of the happiness awaiting her was destroyed, she no\nlonger sought to palliate the wrongs Hermon had inflicted upon her. While\ndwelling on them, she by no means forgot the trivial purpose for which\nthe artist intended to use her charms; and when she again gazed up at the\nslightly-clouded sky, the shrouded moon no longer reminded her of the\nsilver orb between the horns of Astarte.\n\nShe did not ask herself how the transformation had occurred, but in its\nplace, high above her head, hung a huge gray spider. Its gigantic limbs\nextended over the whole firmament, and seemed striving to clutch and\nstifle the world beneath. The enormous monster was weaving its gray net\nover Tennis, and all the islands in the water, the Pelican Island, and\nshe herself upon the seat of turf, and held them all prisoned in it.\n\nIt was a horrible vision, fraught with terrors which, even when she shut\nher eyes in order to escape it, showed very little change.\n\nAssailed by anxious fears, Ledscha started up, and a few seconds later\nwas urging her boat with steady strokes toward the Owl's Nest.\n\nEven now lights were still shining from the Alexandrian's tent through\nthe sultry, veiled night.\n\nThere seemed to be no waking life on the pirates' island. Even old Tabus\nhad probably put out the fire and gone to sleep, for deathlike silence\nand deep darkness surrounded it.\n\nHad Hanno, who agreed to meet her here after midnight, also failed to\ncome? Had the pirate learned, like the Greek, to break his promise?\n\nOnly half conscious what she was doing, she left the boat; but her\nslender foot had scarcely touched the land when a tall figure emerged\nfrom the thicket near the shore and approached her through the darkness.\n\n\"Hanno!\" she exclaimed, as if relieved from a burden, and the young\npirate repeated \"Hanno\" as if the name was the watchword of the night.\n\nHer own name, uttered in a tone of intense yearning, followed. Not\nanother syllable accompanied it, but the expression with which it fell\nupon her ear revealed so plainly what the young pirate felt for and\nexpected from her that, in spite of the darkness which concealed her, she\nfelt her face flush.\n\nThen he tried to clasp her hand, and she dared not withdraw it from the\nman whom she had chosen for her tool. So she unresistingly permitted him\nto hold her right hand while he whispered his desire to take the place of\nthe fallen Abus and make her his wife.\n\nLedscha, in hurried, embarrassed tones, answered that she appreciated the\nhonour of his suit, but before she gave full consent she must discuss an\nimportant matter with him.\n\nThen Hanno begged her to go out on the water.\n\nHis father and his brother Labaja were sitting in the house by the fire\nwith his grandmother. They had learned, in following the trade of piracy,\nto hide the glimmer of lights. The old people had approved his choice,\nbut the conversation in the dwelling would soon be over, and then the\nopportunity of seeing each other alone would be at an end.\n\nWithout uttering a word in reply, Ledscha stepped back into the boat, but\nHanno plied the oars with the utmost caution and guided the skiff without\nthe slightest sound away from the island to an open part of the water far\ndistant from any shore.\n\nHere he took in the oars and asked her to speak. They had no cause to\nfear being overheard, for the surrounding mists merely subdued the light\nof the full moon, and no other boat could have approached them\nunobserved.\n\nThe few night birds, sweeping swiftly on their strong pinions from one\nisland to another, flew past them like flitting shadows. One hawk only,\nin search of nocturnal booty, circled around the motionless skiff, and\nsometimes, with expanded wings, swooped down close to the couple who were\ntalking together so eagerly; but both spoke so low that it would have\nbeen impossible, even for the bird's keen hearing, to follow the course\nof their consultation. Merely a few louder words and exclamations reached\nthe height where it hovered.\n\nThe young pirate himself was obliged to listen with the most strained\nattention while Ledscha, in low whispers, accused the Greek sculptor of\nhaving basely wronged and deceived her; but the curse with which Hanno\nreceived this acknowledgment reached even the bird circling around the\nboat, and it seemed as if it wished to express its approval to the\ncorsair, for this time its fierce croak, as it suddenly swooped down to\nthe surface of the water behind the boat, sounded shrilly through the\nsilent night. But it soon soared again, and now Ledscha's declaration\nthat she would become Hanno's bride only on condition that he would aid\nher to punish the Hellenic traitor also reached him.\n\nThen came the words \"valuable booty,\" \"slight risk,\" \"thanks and reward.\"\n\nThe girl's whispered allusion to two colossal statues made of pure gold\nand genuine ivory was followed by a laugh of disagreeable meaning from\nthe pirate.\n\nAt last he raised his deep voice to ask whether Ledscha, if the venture\nin which he would willingly risk his life were successful, would\naccompany him on board the Hydra, the good ship whose command his father\nintrusted to him. The firm \"Yes\" with which she answered, and her\nindignant exclamation as she repulsed Hanno's premature attempt at\ntenderness, might have been heard by the hawk even at a greater distance.\n\nThen the pirate's promised bride lowered her voice again, and did not\nraise her tones until she saw in imagination the fulfilment of the\njudgment which she was calling down upon the man who had torn her heart\nwith such pitiless cruelty.\n\nWas this the happiness predicted for her on the night of the full moon?\nIt might be, and, radiant with secret joy, her eyes sparkling and her\nbosom heaving as if her foot was already on the breast of the fallen foe,\nshe assured Hanno that the gold and the ivory should belong to him, and\nto him alone; but not until he had delivered the base traitor to her\nalive, and left his punishment in her hands, would she be ready to go\nwith him wherever he wished--not until then, and not one moment earlier.\n\nThe pirate, with a proud \"I'll capture him!\" consented to this condition;\nbut Ledscha, in hurried words, now described how she had planned the\nattack, while the corsair, at her bidding, plied the oars so as to bring\nthe boat nearer to the scene of the assault.\n\nThe vulture followed the skiff; but when it stopped opposite to the large\nwhite building, one side of which was washed by the waves, Ledscha\npointed to the windows of Hermon's studio, exclaiming hoarsely to the\nyoung pirate: \"You will seize him there--the Greek with the long, soft\nblack beard, and the slender figure, I mean. Then you will bind and gag\nhim, but, you hear, without killing him, for I can only inflict what he\ndeserves upon the living man. I am not bargaining for a dead one.\"\n\nJust at that instant the bird of prey, with a shrill, greedy cry, as if\nit were invited to a delicious banquet, flew far away into the distance\nand did not return. It flew toward the left; the girl noticed it, and her\nheavy black eyebrows, which already met, contracted still more. The\ndirection taken by the bird, which soon vanished in the darkness of the\nnight, indicated approaching misfortune; but she was here only to sow\ndestruction, and the more terrible growth it attained the better!\n\nWith an acuteness which aroused the admiration of the young corsair, who\nwas trained to similar plots, she explained hers.\n\nThat they must wait until after the departure of the Alexandrian with her\nnumerous train, and for the first dark night, was a matter of course.\n\nOne signal was to notify Hanno to hold himself in readiness, another to\ninform him that every one in the white house had gone to rest, and that\nHermon was there too. The pirates were to enter the black-bearded Greek's\nstudio. While some were shattering his statues to carry away in sacks the\ngold and ivory which they contained, others were to force their way into\nMyrtilus's workroom, which was on the opposite side of the house. There\nthey would find the second statue; but this they must spare, because, on\naccount of the great fame of its creator, it was more valuable than the\nother. The fair-haired artist was ill, and it would be no difficult\nmatter to take him alive, even if he should put himself on the defensive.\nHermon, on the contrary, was a strong fellow, and to bind him without\ninjuring him severely would require both strength and skill. Yet it must\nbe done, for only in case Hanno succeeded in delivering both sculptors to\nher alive would she consider herself--she could not repeat it often\nenough--bound to fulfil what she had promised him.\n\nWith the exception of the two artists, only Myrtilus's servant, the old\ndoorkeeper, and Bias, Hermon's slave, remained during the night in the\nhouse which was to be attacked, and Hanno would undertake the assault\nwith twenty-five sturdy fellows whom he commanded on the Hydra if his\nbrother Labaja consented to share in the assault, this force could be\nconsiderably increased.\n\nTo take the old corsair into their confidence now would not be advisable,\nfor, on account of his mother's near presence, he would scarcely consent\nto enter into the peril. Should the venture fail, everything would be\nover; but if it succeeded, the old man could only praise the courage and\nskill with which it had been executed.\n\nNothing was to be feared from the coast guard, for since Abus's death the\nauthorities believed that piracy had vanished from these waters, and the\nships commanded by Satabus and his sons had been admitted from Pontus\ninto the Tanite arm of the Nile as trading vessels.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nWhile Hanno was discussing these considerations, he rowed the boat past\nthe landing place from which the \"garden\" with the Alexandrian's tent\ncould be seen.\n\nThe third hour after midnight had begun. Smoking flames were still rising\nfrom the pitch pans and blazing torches, and long rows of lanterns also\nillumined the broad space.\n\nIt was as light as day in the vicinity of the tent, and Biamite huntsmen\nand traders were moving to and fro among the slaves and attendants as\nthough it was market time.\n\n\"Your father, too,\" Hanno remarked in his awkward fashion, \"will scarcely\nmake life hard for us. We shall probably find him in Pontus. He is\ngetting a cargo of wood for Egypt there. We have had dealings with him a\nlong time. He thought highly of Abus, and I, too, have already been\nuseful to him. There were handsome young fellows on the Pontine coast,\nand we captured them. At the peril of our lives we took them to the mart.\nHe may even risk it in Alexandria. So the old man makes over to him a\nlarge number of these youths, and often a girl into the bargain, and he\ndoes it far too cheaply. One might envy him the profit--if it were not\nyour father! When you are once my wife, I'll make a special contract with\nhim about the slaves. And, besides, since the last great capture, in\nwhich the old man allowed me a share of my own, I, too, need not complain\nof poverty. I shall be ready for the dowry. Do you want to know what you\nare worth to me?\"\n\nBut Ledscha's attention was attracted by other things, and even after\nHanno, with proud conceit, repeated his momentous question, he waited in\nvain for a reply.\n\nThen he perceived that the girl was gazing at the brilliantly lighted\nsquare as if spellbound, and now he himself saw before the tent a shed\nwith a canopied roof, and beneath it cushioned couches, on which several\nGreeks--men and women--were half sitting, half lying, watching with eager\nattention the spectacle which a slender young Hellenic woman was\npresenting to them.\n\nThe tall man with the magnificent black beard, who seemed fairly\ndevouring her with his eyes, must be the sculptor whom Ledscha commanded\nhim to capture.\n\nTo the rude pirate the Greek girl, who in a light, half-transparent\nbombyx robe, was exhibiting herself to the eyes of the men upon a\npedestal draped with cloths, seemed bold and shameless.\n\nBehind her stood two female attendants, holding soft white garments\nready, and a handsome Pontine boy with black, waving locks, who gazed up\nat her waiting for her signs.\n\n\"Nearer,\" Ledscha ordered the pirate in a stifled voice, and he rowed the\nboat noiselessly under the shadow of a willow on the bank. But the skiff\nhad scarcely been brought to a stop there when an elderly matron, who\nshared the couch of an old Macedonian man of a distinguished, soldierly\nappearance, called the name \"Niobe.\"\n\nThe Hellene on the pedestal took a cloth from the hand of one of the\nfemale attendants, and beckoned to the boy, who obediently drew through\nhis girdle the short blue chiton which hung only to his knees, and sprang\nupon the platform.\n\nThere the Greek girl manipulated in some way the red tresses piled high\nupon her head, and confined above the brow by a costly gold diadem, flung\nthe white linen fabric which the young slave handed to her over her head,\nwound her arm around the shoulders of the raven-locked boy, and drew him\ntoward her with passionate tenderness. At the same time she raised the\nend of the linen drapery with her left hand, spreading it over him like a\nprotecting canopy.\n\nThe mobile features which had just smiled so radiantly expressed mortal\nterror, and the pirate, to whom even the name \"Niobe\" was unfamiliar,\nlooked around him for the terrible danger threatening the innocent child,\nfrom which the woman on the pedestal was protecting it with loving\ndevotion.\n\nThe mortal terror of a mother robbed by a higher power of her child could\nscarcely be more vividly depicted, and yet haughty defiance hovered\naround her slightly pouting lips; the uplifted hands seemed not only\nanxiously to defend, but also to defy an invisible foe with powerless\nanger.\n\nThe pirate's eyes rested on this spectacle as if spellbound, and the man\nwho in Pontus had dragged hundreds of young creatures--boys and girls--on\nhis ship to sell them into slavery, never thinking of the tears which he\nthereby caused in huts and mansions, clinched his rough hand to attack\nthe base wretch who was robbing the poor mother of her lovely darling.\n\nBut just as Hanno was rising to look around him for the invisible\nevildoer, the loud shouts of many voices startled him. He glanced toward\nthe pedestal; but now, instead of the hapless mother, he found there the\nbold woman whom he had previously seen, as radiant as if some great piece\nof good fortune had befallen her, bowing and waving her hand to the other\nGreeks, who were thanking her with loud applause.\n\nThe sorely threatened boy, bowing merrily, sprang to the ground; but\nHanno put his hand on Ledscha's arm, and in great perplexity whispered,\n\"What did that mean?\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said the girl softly, stretching her slender neck toward the\nilluminated square, for the performer had remained standing upon the\npedestal, and Chrysilla, Daphne's companion, sat erect on her couch,\nexclaiming, \"If it is agreeable to you, beautiful Althea, show us Nike\ncrowning the victor.\"\n\nEven the Biamite's keen ear could not catch the reply and the purport of\nthe rapid conversation which followed; but she guessed the point in\nquestion when the young men who were present rose hastily, rushed toward\nthe pedestal, loosed the wreaths from their heads, and offered them to\nthe Greek girl whom Chrysilla had just called \"beautiful Althea.\"\n\nFour Hellenic officers in the strong military force under Philippus, the\ncommandant of the \"Key of Egypt,\" as Pelusium was justly called, had\naccompanied the old Macedonian general to visit his friend Archias's\ndaughter at Tennis; but Althea rejected their garlands with an\nexplanation which seemed to satisfy them.\n\nLedscha could not hear what she said, but when only Hermon and Myrtilus\nstill stood with their wreaths of flowers opposite the \"beautiful\nAlthea,\" and she glanced hesitatingly from one to the other, as if she\nfound the choice difficult, and then drew from her finger a sparkling\nring, the Biamite detected the swift look of understanding which Hermon\nexchanged with her.\n\nThe girl's heart began to throb faster, and, with the keen premonition of\na jealous soul, she recognised in Althea her rival and foe.\n\nNow there was no doubt of it; now, as the actress, skilled in every wile,\nhid the hand holding the ring, as well as the other empty one, behind her\nback, she would know how to manage so that she could use the garland\nwhich Hermon handed her.\n\nLedscha's foreboding was instantly fulfilled, for when Althea held out\nher little tightly clinched fist to the artists and asked Myrtilus to\nchoose, the hand to which he pointed and she then opened was empty, and\nshe took from the other the ring, which she displayed with well-feigned\nregret to the spectators.\n\nThen Hermon knelt before her, and, as he offered Althea his wreath, his\ndark eyes gazed so ardently into the blue ones of the red-haired\nGreek-like Queen Arsinoe, she was of Thracian descent--that Ledscha was\nnow positively certain she knew for whose sake her lover had so basely\nbetrayed her.\n\nHow she hated this bold woman!\n\nYet she was forced to keep quiet, and pressed her lips tightly together\nas Althea seized the white sheet and with marvellous celerity wound it\nabout her until it fell in exquisite folds like a long robe.\n\nSurprise, curiosity, and a pleasant sense of satisfaction in seeing what\nseemed to her a shameless display withdrawn from her lover's eyes,\nrendered it easier for Ledscha to maintain her composure; yet she felt\nthe blood throbbing in her temples as Hermon remained kneeling before the\nHellene, gazing intently into her expressive face.\n\nWas it not too narrow wholly to please the man who had known how to\npraise her own beauty so passionately? Did not the outlines of Althea's\nfigure, which the bombyx robe only partially concealed, lack roundness\neven more than her own?\n\nAnd yet! As soon as Althea had transformed the sheet into a robe, and\nheld the wreath above him, Hermon's gaze rested on hers as though\nenraptured, while from her bright blue eyes a flood of ardent admiration\npoured upon the man for whom she held the victor's wreath.\n\nThis was done with the upper portion of her body bending very far\nforward. The slender figure was poised on one foot; the other, covered to\nthe ankle with the long robe, hovered in the air. Had not the wings\nwhich, as Nike, belonged to her been lacking, every one would have been\nconvinced that she was flying--that she had just descended from the\nheights of Olympus to crown the kneeling victor. Not only her hand, her\ngaze and her every feature awarded the prize to the man at her feet.\n\nThere was no doubt that, if Nike herself came to the earth to make the\nbest man happy with the noblest of crowns, the spectacle would be a\nsimilar one.\n\nAnd Hermon! No garlanded victor could look up to the gracious divinity\nmore joyously, more completely enthralled by grateful rapture.\n\nThe applause which now rang out more and more loudly was certainly not\nundeserved, but it pierced Ledscha's soul like a mockery, like the\nbitterest scorn.\n\nHanno, on the contrary, seemed to consider the scene scarcely worth\nlooking at. Something more powerful was required to stir him. He was\nparticularly averse to all exhibitions. The utmost which his relatives\ncould induce the quiet, reserved man to do when they ventured into the\ngreat seaports was to attend the animal fights and the games of the\nathletes. He felt thoroughly happy only when at sea, on board of his good\nship. His best pleasure was to gaze up at the stars on calm nights, guide\nthe helm, and meanwhile dream--of late most gladly of making the\nbeautiful girl who had seemed to him worthy of his brave brother Abus,\nhis own wife.\n\nIn the secluded monotony of his life as a scar over memory had exalted\nLedscha into the most desirable of all women, and the slaughtered Abus\ninto the greatest of heroes.\n\nTo win the love of this much-praised maiden seemed to Hanno peerless\nhappiness, and the young corsair felt that he was worthy of it; for on\nthe high seas, when a superior foe was to be opposed by force and\nstratagem, when a ship was to be boarded and death spread over her deck,\nhe had proved himself a man of unflinching courage.\n\nHis suit had progressed more easily than he expected. His father would\nrejoice, and his heart exulted at the thought of encountering a serious\nperil for the girl he loved. His whole existence was a venture of life,\nand, had he had ten to lose, they would not have been too dear a price to\nhim to win Ledscha.\n\nWhile Althea, as the goddess of Victory, held the wreath aloft, and loud\napplause hailed her, Hanno was thinking of the treasures which he had\ngarnered since his father had allowed him a share of the booty, and of\nthe future.\n\nWhen he had accumulated ten talents of gold he would give up piracy, like\nAbus, and carry on his own ships wood and slaves from Pontus to Egypt,\nand textiles from Tennis, arms and other manufactured articles from\nAlexandria to the Pontine cities. In this way Ledscha's father had become\na rich man, and he would also, not for his own sake--he needed\nlittle--but to make life sweet for his wife, surround her with splendour\nand luxury, and adorn her beautiful person with costly jewels. Many a\nstolen ornament was already lying in the safe hiding place that even his\nbrother Labaja did not know.\n\nAt last the shouts died away, and as the stopping of the clattering wheel\nwakes the miller, so the stillness on the shore roused Hanno from his\ndream.\n\nWhat was it that Ledscha saw there so fascinating that she did not even\nhear his low call? His father and Labaja had undoubtedly left his\ngrandmother's house long ago, and were looking for him in vain.\n\nYes, he was right; the old pirate's shrill whistle reached his ear from\nthe Owl's Nest, and he was accustomed to obedience.\n\nSo, lightly touching Ledscha on the shoulder, he whispered that he must\nreturn to the island at once. His father would be rejoiced if she went\nwith him.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" she answered in a tone of resolute denial. Then, reminding\nhim once more of the meaning of the signals she had promised to give, she\nwaved her hand to him, sprang swiftly past him to the prow of the boat,\ncaught an overhanging bough of the willow on the shore, and, as she had\nlearned during the games of her childhood, swung herself as lightly as a\nbird into the thicket at the water's edge, which concealed her from every\neye.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nWithout even vouchsafing Hanno another glance, Ledscha glided forward in\nthe shadow of the bushes to the great sycamore, whose thick, broad top on\nthe side toward the tents was striped with light from the flood of\nradiance streaming from them. On the opposite side the leafage vanished\nin the darkness of the night, but Myrtilus had had a bench placed there,\nthat he might rest in the shade, and from this spot the girl could obtain\nthe best view of what she desired to see.\n\nHow gay and animated it was under the awning!\n\nA throng of companions had arrived with the Pelusinians, and some also\nhad probably been on the ship which--she knew it from Bias--had come to\nTennis directly from Alexandria that afternoon. The galley was said to\nbelong to Philotas, an aristocratic relative of King Ptolemy. If she was\nnot mistaken, he was the stately young Greek who was just picking up the\nostrich-feather fan that had slipped from Daphne's lap.\n\nThe performance was over.\n\nYoung slaves in gay garments, and nimble female servants with glittering\ngold circlets round their upper arms and on their ankles, were passing\nfrom couch to couch, and from one guest to another, offering\nrefreshments. Hermon had risen from his knees, and the wreath of bright\nflowers again adorned his black curls. He held himself as proudly erect\nas if the goddess of Victory herself had crowned him, while Althea was\nreaping applause and thanks. Ledscha gazed past her and the others to\nwatch every movement of the sculptor.\n\nIt was scarcely the daughter of Archias who had detained Hermon, for he\nmade only a brief answer--Ledscha could not hear what it was--when she\naccosted him pleasantly, to devote himself to Althea, and--this could be\nperceived even at a distance--thank her with ardent devotion.\n\nAnd now--now he even raised the hem of her peplos to his lips.\n\nA scornful smile hovered around Ledscha's mouth; but Daphne's guests also\nnoticed this mark of homage--an unusual one in their circle--and young\nPhilotas, who had followed Daphne from Alexandria, cast a significant\nglance at a man with a smooth, thin, birdlike face, whose hair was\nalready turning gray. His name was Proclus, and, as grammateus of the\nDionysian games and high priest of Apollo, he was one of the most\ninfluential men in Alexandria, especially as he was one of the favoured\ncourtiers of Queen Arsinoe.\n\nHe had gone by her command to the Syrian court, had enjoyed on his\nreturn, at Pelusium, with his travelling companion Althea, the\nhospitality of Philippus, and accompanied the venerable officer to Tennis\nin order to win him over to certain plans. In spite of his advanced age,\nhe still strove to gain the favour of fair women, and the sculptor's\nexcessive ardour had displeased him.\n\nSo he let his somewhat mocking glance wander from Althea to Hermon, and\ncalled to the latter: \"My congratulations, young master; but I need\nscarcely remind you that Nike suffers no one--not even goodness and grace\npersonified--to take from her hand what it is her sole duty to bestow.\"\n\nWhile speaking he adjusted the laurel on his own thin hair; but Thyone,\nthe wife of Philippus, answered eagerly: \"If I were a young man like\nHermon, instead of an old woman, noble Proclus, I think the wreath which\nBeauty bestows would render me scarcely less happy than stern Nike's\ncrown of victory.\"\n\nWhile making this pleasant reply the matron's wrinkled face wore an\nexpression of such cordial kindness, and her deep voice was so winning in\nits melody, that Hermon forced himself to heed the glance of urgent\nwarning Daphne cast at him, and leave the sharp retort that hovered on\nhis lips unuttered. Turning half to the grammateus, half to the matron,\nhe merely said, in a cold, self-conscious tone, that Thyone was right. In\nthis gay circle, the wreath of bright flowers proffered by the hands of a\nbeautiful woman was the dearest of all gifts, and he would know how to\nvalue it.\n\n\"Until other more precious ones cast it into oblivion,\" observed Althea.\n\"Let me see, Hermon: ivy and roses. The former is lasting, but the\nroses--\" She shook her finger in roguish menace at the sculptor as she\nspoke.\n\n\"The roses,\" Proclus broke in again, \"are of course the most welcome to\nour young friend from such a hand; yet these flowers of the goddess of\nBeauty have little in common with his art, which is hostile to beauty.\nStill, I do not know what wreath will be offered to the new tendency with\nwhich he surprised us.\"\n\nAt this Hermon raised his head higher, and answered sharply: \"Doubtless\nthere must have been few of them, since you, who are so often among the\njudges, do not know them. At any rate, those which justice bestows have\nhitherto been lacking.\"\n\n\"I should deplore that,\" replied Proclus, stroking his sharp chin with\nhis thumb and forefinger; \"but I fear that our beautiful Nike also cared\nlittle for this lofty virtue of the judge in the last coronation.\nHowever, her immortal model lacks it often enough.\"\n\n\"Because she is a woman,\" said one of the young officers, laughing; and\nanother added gaily: \"That very thing may be acceptable to us soldiers.\nFor my part, I think everything about the goddess of Victory is beautiful\nand just, that she may remain graciously disposed toward us. Nay, I\naccuse the noble Althea of withholding from Nike, in her personation, her\nspecial ornament--her swift, powerful wings.\"\n\n\"She gave those to Eros, to speed his flight,\" laughed Proclus, casting a\nmeaning look at Althea and Hermon.\n\nNo one failed to notice that this jest alluded to the love which seemed\nto have been awakened in the sculptor as quickly as in the personator of\nthe goddess of Victory, and, while it excited the merriment of the\nothers, the blood mounted into Hermon's cheeks; but Myrtilus perceived\nwhat was passing in the mind of his irritable friend, and, as the\ngrammateus praised Nike because in this coronation she had omitted the\nlaurel, the fair-haired Greek interrupted him with the exclamation:\n\n\"Quite right, noble Proclus, the grave laurel does not suit our gay\npastime; but roses belong to the artist everywhere, and are always\nwelcome to him. The more, the better!\"\n\n\"Then we will wait till the laurel is distributed in some other place,\"\nreplied the grammateus; and Myrtilus quickly added, \"I will answer for it\nthat Hermon does not leave it empty-handed.\"\n\n\"No one will greet the work which brings your friend the wreath of\nvictory with warmer joy,\" Proclus protested. \"But, if I am correctly\ninformed, yonder house hides completed treasures whose inspection would\ngive the fitting consecration to this happy meeting. Do you know what an\nexquisite effect gold and ivory statues produce in a full glow of\nlamplight? I first learned it a short time ago at the court of King\nAntiochus. There is no lack of lights here. What do you say, gentlemen?\nWill you not have the studios lighted till the rooms are as bright as\nday, and add a noble enjoyment of art to the pleasures of this wonderful\nnight?\"\n\nBut Hermon and Myrtilus opposed this proposal with equal decision.\n\nTheir refusal awakened keen regret, and the old commandant of Pelusium\nwould not willingly yield to it.\n\nAngrily shaking his large head, around which, in spite of his advanced\nage, thick snowwhite locks floated like a lion's mane, he exclaimed,\n\"Must we then really return to our Pelusium, where Ares restricts the\nnative rights of the Muses, without having admired the noble works which\narose in such mysterious secrecy here, where Arachne rules and swings the\nweaver's shuttle?\"\n\n\"But my two cruel cousins have closed their doors even upon me, who came\nhere for the sake of their works,\" Daphne interrupted, \"and, as rather\nZeus is threatening a storm--just see what black clouds are rising!--we\nought not to urge our artists further; a solemn oath forbids them to show\ntheir creations now to any one.\"\n\nThis earnest assurance silenced the curious, and, while the conversation\ntook another turn, the gray-haired general's wife drew Myrtilus aside.\n\nHermon's parents had been intimate friends of her own, as well as of her\nhusband's, and with the interest of sincere affection she desired to know\nwhether the young sculptor could really hope for the success of which\nMyrtilus had just spoken.\n\nIt was years since she had visited Alexandria, but what she heard of\nHermon's artistic work from many guests, and now again through Proclus,\nfilled her with anxiety.\n\nHe had succeeded, it was said, in attracting attention, and his great\ntalent was beyond question; but in this age, to which beauty was as much\none of the necessities of life as bread and wine, and which could not\nseparate it from art, he ventured to deny it recognition. He headed a\ncurrent in art which was striving to destroy what had been proved and\nacknowledged, yet, though his creations were undeniably powerful, and\neven showed many other admirable qualities, instead of pleasing,\nsatisfying, and ennobling, they repelled.\n\nThese opinions had troubled the matron, who understood men, and was the\nmore disposed to credit them the more distinctly she perceived traces of\ndiscontent and instability in Hermon's manner during the present meeting.\n\nSo it afforded her special pleasure to learn from Myrtilus his firm\nconviction that, in Arachne, Hermon would produce a masterpiece which\ncould scarcely be excelled.\n\nDuring this conversation Althea had come to Thyone's side, and, as Hermon\nhad already spoken to her of the Arachne, she eagerly expressed her\nbelief that this work seemed as if it were specially created for him.\n\nThe Greek matron leaned back comfortably upon her cushions, her wrinkled,\nowl-like face assumed a cheerful expression, and, with the easy\nconfidence conferred by aristocratic birth, a distinguished social\nposition, and a light heart, she exclaimed: \"Lucifer is probably already\nbehind yonder clouds, preparing to announce day, and this exquisite\nbanquet ought to have a close worthy of it. What do you say, you\nwonder-working darling of the Muses\"--she held out her hand to Althea as\nshe spoke--\"to showing us and the two competing artists yonder the model\nof the Arachne they are to represent in gold and ivory?\"\n\nAlthea fixed her eyes upon the ground, and, after a short period of\nreflection, answered hesitatingly: \"The task which you set before me is\ncertainly no easy one, but I shall rely upon your indulgence.\"\n\n\"She will!\" cried the matron to the others.\n\nThen, clapping her hands, she continued gaily, in the tone of the\ndirector of an entertainment issuing invitations to a performance: \"Your\nattention is requested! In this city of weavers the noble Thracian,\nAlthea, will depict before you all the weaver of weavers, Arachne, in\nperson.\"\n\n\"Take heed and follow my advice to sharpen your eyes,\" added Philotas,\nwho, conscious of his inferiority in intellect and talents to the men and\nwomen assembled here, took advantage of this opportunity to assert\nhimself in a manner suited to his aristocratic birth. \"This artistic yet\nhapless Arachne, if any one, teaches the lesson how the lofty Olympians\npunish those who venture to place themselves on the same level; so let\nartists beware. We stepchildren of the Muse can lull ourselves\ncomfortably in the assurance of not giving the jealous gods the slightest\ncause for the doom which overtook the pitiable weaver.\"\n\nNot a word of this declaration of the Macedonian aristocrat escaped the\nlistening Ledscha. Scales seemed to fall from her eyes. Hermon had won\nher love in order to use her for the model of his statue of Arachne, and,\nnow that he had met Althea, who perhaps suited his purpose even better,\nhe no longer needed the barbarian. He had cast her aside like a tight\nshoe as soon as he found a more acceptable one in this female juggler.\n\nThe girl had already asked herself, with a slight thrill of horror,\nwhether she had not prematurely called down so terrible a punishment upon\nher lover; now she rejoiced in her swift action. If anything else\nremained for her to do, it was to make the vengeance with which she\nintended to requite him still more severe.\n\nThere he stood beside the woman she hated. Could he bestow even one poor\nthought upon the Biamite girl and the wrong he had inflicted?\n\nOh, no! His heart was filled to overflowing by the Greek--every look\nrevealed it.\n\nWhat was the shameless creature probably whispering to him now?\n\nPerhaps a meeting was just being granted. The rapture which had been\npredicted to her for this moonlight night, and of which Hermon had robbed\nher, was mirrored in his features. He could think of everything except\nher and her poor, crushed heart.\n\nBut Ledscha was mistaken. Althea had asked the sculptor whether he still\nregretted having been detained by her before midnight, and he had\nconfessed that his remaining at the banquet had been connected with a\ngreat sacrifice--nay, with an offence which weighed heavily on his mind.\nYet he was grateful to the favour of the gods that had guided his\ndecision, for Althea had it in her power to compensate him richly for\nwhat he had lost.\n\nA glance full of promise flashed upon him from her eloquent eyes, and,\nturning toward the pedestal at the same instant, she asked softly, \"Is\nthe compensation I must and will bestow connected with the Arachne?\"\n\nAn eager \"Yes\" confirmed this question, and a swift movement of her\nexpressive lips showed him that his boldest anticipations were to be\nsurpassed.\n\nHow gladly he would have detained her longer!--but she was already the\nobject of all eyes, and his, too, followed her in expectant suspense as\nshe gave an order to the female attendant and then stood thoughtfully for\nsome time before the platform.\n\nWhen she at last ascended it, the spectators supposed that she would\nagain use a cloth; but, instead of asking anything more from the\nassistants, she cast aside even the peplos that covered her shoulders.\n\nNow, almost lean in her slenderness, she stood with downcast eyes; but\nsuddenly she loosed the double chain, adorned with flashing gems, from\nher neck, the circlets from her upper arms and wrists, and, lastly, even\nthe diadem, a gift bestowed by her relative, Queen Arsinoe, from her\nnarrow brow.\n\nThe female slaves received them, and then with swift movements Althea\ndivided her thick long tresses of red hair into narrower strands, which\nshe flung over her back, bosom, and shoulders.\n\nNext, as if delirious, she threw her head so far on one side that it\nalmost touched her left shoulder, and stared wildly upward toward the\nright, at the same time raising her bare arms so high that they extended\nfar above her head.\n\nIt was again her purpose to present the appearance of defending herself\nagainst a viewless power, yet she was wholly unlike the Niobe whom she\nhad formerly personated, for not only anguish, horror, and defiance, but\ndeep despair and inexpressible astonishment were portrayed by her\nfeatures, which obediently expressed the slightest emotion.\n\nSomething unprecedented, incomprehensible even to herself, was occurring,\nand to Ledscha, who watched her with an expectation as passionate as if\nher own weal and woe depended upon Althea's every movement, it seemed as\nif an unintelligible marvel was happening before her eyes, and a still\ngreater one was impending; for was the woman up there really a woman like\nherself and the others whose eyes were now fixed upon the hated actress\nno less intently than her own?\n\nDid her keen senses deceive her, or was not what was occurring actually a\nmysterious transformation?\n\nAs Althea stood there, her delicate arms seemed to have lengthened and\nlost even their slight roundness, her figure to have become even more\nslender and incorporeal, and how strangely her thin fingers spread apart!\nHow stiffly the strands of the parted, wholly uncurled locks stood out in\nthe air!\n\nDid it not seem as if they were to help her move?\n\nThe black shadow which Althea's figure and limbs cast upon the surface of\nthe brightly lighted pedestal-no, it was no deception, it not only\nresembled the spinner among insects, it presented the exact picture of a\nspider.\n\nThe Greek's slender body had contracted, her delicate arms and narrow\nbraids of hair changed into spider legs, and the many-jointed hands were\nalready grasping for their prey like a spider, or preparing to wind the\nmurderous threads around another living creature.\n\n\"Arachne, the spider!\" fell almost inaudibly from her quivering lips,\nand, overpowered by torturing fear, she was already turning away from the\nfrightful image, when the storm of applause which burst from the\nAlexandrian guests soothed her excited imagination.\n\nInstead of the spider, a slender, lank woman, with long, outstretched\nbare arms, and fingers spread wide apart, fluttering hair, and wandering\neyes again stood before Ledscha.\n\nBut no peace was yet granted to her throbbing heart, for while Althea,\nwith perspiring brow and quivering lips, descended from the pedestal, and\nwas received with loud demonstrations of astonishment and delight, the\nglare of a flash of lightning burst through the clouds, and a loud peal\nof thunder shook the night air and reverberated a long time over the\nwater.\n\nAt the same instant a loud cry rang from beneath the canopy.\n\nThyone, the wife of Alexander the Great's comrade, though absolutely\nfearless in the presence of human foes, dreaded the thunder by which Zeus\nannounced his anger. Seized with sudden terror, she commanded a slave to\nobtain a black lamb for a sacrifice, and earnestly entreated her husband\nand her other companions to go on board the ship with her and seek\nshelter in its safe, rain-proof cabin, for already heavy drops were\nbeginning to fall upon the tensely drawn awning.\n\n\"Nemesis!\" exclaimed the grammateus.\n\n\"Nemesis!\" whispered young Philotas to Daphne in a confidential murmur,\nthrowing his own costly purple cloak around her to shield her from the\nrain. \"Nowhere that we mortals overstep the bounds allotted to us do we\nawait her in vain.\"\n\nThen bending down to her again, he added, by way of explanation: \"The\nwinged daughter of Night would prove herself negligent if she allowed me\nto enjoy wholly without drawback the overwhelming happiness of being with\nyou once more.\"\n\n\"Nemesis!\" remarked Thoas, an aristocratic young hipparch of the guards\nof the Diadochi, who had studied in Athens and belonged to the\nPeripatetics there. \"The master sees in the figure of this goddess the\nindignation which the good fortune of the base or the unworthy use of\ngood fortune inspires in us. She keeps the happy mean between envy and\nmalicious satisfaction.\" The young soldier looked around him, expecting\napplause, but no one was listening; the tempest was spreading terror\namong most of the freedmen and slaves.\n\nPhilotas and Myrtilus were following Daphne and her companion Chrysilla\nas they hurried into the tent. The deep, commanding tones of old\nPhilippus vainly shouted the name of Althea, whom, as he had bestowed his\nhospitality upon her in Pelusium, he regarded as his charge, while at\nintervals he reprimanded the black slaves who were to carry his wife to\nthe ship, but at another heavy peal of thunder set down the litter to\nthrow themselves on their knees and beseech the angry god for mercy.\n\nGras, the steward whom Archias had given to his daughter, a Bithynian who\nhad attached himself to one school of philosophy after an other, and\nthereby ceased to believe in the power of the Olympians, lost his quiet\ncomposure in this confusion, and even his usual good nature deserted him.\nWith harsh words, and no less harsh blows, he rushed upon the servants,\nwho, instead of carrying the costly household utensils and embroidered\ncushions into the tent, drew out their amulets and idols to confide their\nown imperilled lives to the protection of higher powers.\n\nMeanwhile the gusts of wind which accompanied the outbreak of the storm\nextinguished the lamps and pitch-pans. The awning was torn from the\nposts, and amid the wild confusion rang the commandant of Pelusium's\nshouts for Althea and the screams of two Egyptian slave women, who, with\ntheir foreheads pressed to the ground, were praying, while the angry Gras\nwas trying, by kicks and blows, to compel them to rise and go to work.\n\nThe officers were holding a whispered consultation whether they should\naccept the invitation of Proclus and spend the short remnant of the night\non his galley over the wine, or first, according to the counsel of their\npious commandant, wait in the neighbouring temple of Zeus until the storm\nwas over.\n\nThe tempest had completely scattered Daphne's guests. Even Ledscha\nglanced very rarely toward the tents. She had thrown her self on the\nground under the sycamore to beseech the angry deity for mercy, but,\ndeeply as fear moved her agitated soul, she could not pray, but listened\nanxiously whenever an unexpected noise came from the meeting place of the\nGreeks.\n\nThen the tones of a familiar voice reached her. It was Hermon's, and the\nperson to whom he was speaking could be no one but the uncanny\nspider-woman, Althea.\n\nThey were coming to have a secret conversation under the shade of the\ndense foliage of the sycamore. That was easily perceived, and in an\ninstant Ledscha's fear yielded to a different feeling.\n\nHolding her breath, she nestled close to the trunk of the ancient tree to\nlisten, and the first word she heard was the name \"Nemesis,\" which had\njust reached her from the tent.\n\nShe knew its meaning, for Tennis also had a little temple dedicated to\nthe terrible goddess, which was visited by the Egyptians and Biamites as\nwell as the Greeks.\n\nA triumphant smile flitted over her unveiled features, for there was no\nother divinity on whose aid she could more confidently rely. She could\nunchain the vengeance which threatened Hermon with a far more terrible\ndanger than the thunder clouds above, under the protection--nay, as it\nwere at the behest of Nemesis.\n\nTo-morrow she would be the first to anoint her altar.\n\nNow she rejoiced that her wealthy father imposed no restriction upon her\nin the management of household affairs, for she need spare no expense in\nchoosing the animal she intended to offer as a sacrifice.\n\nThis reflection flashed through her mind with the speed of lightning\nwhile she was listening to Althea's conversation with the sculptor.\n\n\"The question here can be no clever play upon the name and the nature of\nthe daughter of Erebus and Night,\" said the Thracian gravely. \"I will\nremind you that there is another Nemesis besides the just being who\ndrives from his stolen ease the unworthy mortal who suns himself in good\nfortune. The Nemesis whom I will recall to-day, while angry Zeus is\nhurling his thunderbolts, is the other, who chastises sacrilege--Ate, the\nswiftest and most terrible of the Erinyes. I will invoke her wrath upon\nyou in this hour if you do not confess the truth to me fully and\nentirely.\"\n\n\"Ask,\" Hermon interrupted in a hollow tone. \"Only, you strange woman--\"\n\n\"Only,\" she hastily broke in, \"whatever the answer may be, I must pose to\nyou as the model for your Arachne--and perhaps it may come to that--but\nfirst I must know, briefly and quickly, for they will be looking for me\nimmediately. Do you love Daphne?\"\n\n\"No,\" he answered positively. \"True, she has been dear to me from\nchildhood--\"\n\n\"And,\" Althea added, completing the sentence, \"you owe her father a debt\nof gratitude. But that is not new to me; I know also how little reason\nyou gave her for loving you. Yet her heart belongs neither to Philotas,\nthe great lord with the little brain, nor to the famous sculptor\nMyrtilus, whose body is really too delicate to bear all the laurels with\nwhich he is overloaded, but to you, and you alone--I know it.\"\n\nHermon tried to contradict her, but Althea, without allowing him to\nspeak, went on hurriedly: \"No matter! I wished to know whether you loved\nher. True, according to appearances, your heart does not glow for her,\nand hitherto you have disdained to transform by her aid, at a single\nstroke, the poverty which ill suits you into wealth. But it was not\nmerely to speak of the daughter of Archias that I accompanied you into\nthis tempest, from which I would fain escape as quickly as possible. So\nspeak quickly. I am to serve you in your art, and yet, if I understood\nyou correctly, you have already found here another excellent model.\"\n\n\"A native of the country,\" answered Hermon in an embarrassed tone.\n\n\"And for my sake you allowed her to wait for you in vain?\"\n\n\"It is as you say.\"\n\n\"And you had promised to seek her?\"\n\n\"Certainly; but before the appointed hour came I met you. You rose before\nme like a new sun, shedding a new light that was full of promise.\nEverything else sank into darkness, and, if you will fulfil the hope\nwhich you awakened in this heart--\"\n\nJust at that moment another flash of lightning blazed, and, while the\nthunder still shook the air, Althea continued his interrupted\nprotestation: \"Then you will give yourself to me, body and soul--but\nZeus, who hears oaths, is reminding us of his presence--and what will\nawait you if the Biamite whom you betrayed invokes the wrath of Nemesis\nagainst you?\"\n\n\"The Nemesis of the barbarians!\" he retorted contemptuously. \"She only\nplaced herself at the service of my art reluctantly; but you, Althea, if\nyou will loan yourself to me as a model, I shall succeed in doing my very\nbest; for you have just permitted me to behold a miracle, Arachne\nherself, whom you became, you enchantress. It was real, actual life, and\nthat--that is the highest goal.\"\n\n\"The highest?\" she asked hesitatingly. \"You will have to represent the\nfemale form, and beauty, Hermon, beauty?\"\n\n\"Will be there, allied with truth,\" flamed Hermon, \"if you, you peerless,\nmore than beautiful creature, keep your word to me. But you will! Let me\nbe sure of it. Is a little love also blended with the wish to serve the\nartist?\"\n\n\"A little love?\" she repeated scornfully.\n\n\"This matter concerns love complete and full--or none. We will see each\nother again to-morrow. Then show me what the model Althea is worth to\nyou.\"\n\nWith these words she vanished in the darkness, while the call of her name\nagain rang from the tents.\n\n\"Althea!\" he cried in a tone of mournful reproach as he perceived her\ndisappearance, hurrying after her; but the dense gloom soon forced him to\ngive up the pursuit.\n\nLedscha, too, left her place beneath the sycamore.\n\nShe had seen and heard enough.\n\nDuty now commanded her to execute vengeance, and the bold Hanno was ready\nto risk his life for her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nThe following day the sun shone radiantly, with scorching brilliancy,\nupon Tennis and the archipelago, which at this season of the year\nsurrounded the little city of weavers.\n\nYoung Philotas, without going to rest, had set out at dawn in pursuit of\ngame, accompanied by a numerous hunting party, to which several of the\nPelusinian officers belonged. He, too, had brought home a great quantity\nof booty, with which he had expected to awaken Daphne's admiration, and\nto lay as a token of homage at her feet. He had intended to lead before\nher garlanded slaves bearing, tied by ropes, bunches of slaughtered wild\nfowl, but his reception was very different from what he had anticipated.\n\nInstead of praising his exploit, he had been indignantly requested to\nremove the poor, easily killed victims from her presence; and, wounded\nand disappointed, he had retired to his magnificent Nile boat, where,\nspent by his sleepless night, he slumbered so soundly on his soft\ncushions that he did not appear at the breakfast which the gray-haired\ncommander of Pelusium had invited him to attend on his galley.\n\nWhile the others were still feasting there, Daphne was enjoying an hour\nalone with her companion Chrysilla.\n\nShe had remained absent from Philippus's banquet, and her pale cheeks\nshowed the ill effects produced by the excitement of the previous night.\n\nA little before noon Hermon came to see her. He, too, had not gone to the\nPelusinian's breakfast.\n\nAfter Althea had left him the evening before he went directly back to the\nwhite house, and, instead of going to rest, devoted himself to Myrtilus;\nfor the difficulty of breathing, which during his industrious life in\nquiet seclusion had not troubled him for several months, attacked him\nwith twofold violence after the gaiety of the previous night. Hermon had\nnot left him an instant until day brought the sufferer relief, and he no\nlonger needed the supporting hand of his kind nurse.\n\nWhile Hermon, in his own sleeping room, ordered Bias to anoint his hair\nand beard and put on festal garments, the slave told him certain things\nthat destroyed the last remnant of composure in his easily agitated soul.\n\nWith the firm resolution to keep the appointment on Pelican Island,\nHermon had gone at sunset, in response to the Alexandrian's invitation,\nto attend her banquet, and by no means unwillingly, for his parents' old\nfriends were dear to him, and he knew by experience the beneficial\ninfluence Daphne's sunny, warmhearted nature exerted upon him.\n\nYet this time he did not find what he expected.\n\nIn the first place, he had been obliged to witness how earnestly Philotas\nwas pressing his suit, and perceived that her companion Chrysilla was\nmost eagerly assisting him. As she saw in the young aristocrat a suitable\nhusband for the daughter of Archias, and it was her duty to assign the\nguests their seats at the banquet, she had given the cushion beside\nDaphne to Philotas, and also willingly fulfilled Althea's desire to have\nHermon for her neighbour.\n\nWhen Chrysilla presented the black-bearded artist to the Thracian, she\nwould have sworn that Althea found an old acquaintance in the sculptor;\nbut Hermon treated the far-famed relative of Queen Arsinoe as coldly and\ndistantly as if he now saw her for the first time, and with little\npleasure.\n\nIn truth, he was glad to avoid women of Althea's stamp. For some time he\nhad preferred to associate with the common people, among whom he found\nhis best subjects, and kept far aloof from the court circles to which\nAlthea belonged, and which, thanks to his birth and his ability as an\nartist, would easily have been accessible to him also.\n\nThe over-refined women who gave themselves airs of avoiding everything\nwhich imposes a restraint upon Nature, and therefore, in their\ntransparent robes, treated with contempt all that modest Macedonian dames\ndeemed worthy of a genuine woman's consideration, were repulsive to\nhim--perhaps because they formed so rude a contrast to his noble dead\nmother and to Daphne.\n\nAlthough he had been very frequently in feminine society, Althea's manner\nat first caused him a certain degree of embarrassment; for, in spite of\nthe fact that he believed he met her here for the first time, there was\nsomething familiar about her, especially in the tone of her voice, and he\nfancied that her first words were associated with some former ones.\n\nYet no! If he had ever met her, he would surely have remembered her\nred-gold hair and the other peculiarities of a personality which was\nremarkable in every respect.\n\nIt soon proved that they were total strangers, and he wished matters to\nremain so.\n\nHe was glad that she attracted him so little, for at least she would\nscarcely make the early departure to the Biamite, which he considered his\nduty, a difficult task.\n\nTrue, he admired from the first the rare milk-white line of her delicate\nskin, which was wholly free from rouge--his artist eye perceived that and\nthe wonderfully beautiful shape of her hands and feet. The pose of the\nhead on the neck, too, as she turned toward him seemed remarkably fine.\nThis slender, pliant woman would have been an admirable model!\n\nAgain and again she reminded him of a gay Lesbian with whom he had\ncaroused for a night during the last Dionysia in Alexandria, yet, on\ncloser inspection, the two were as different as possible.\n\nThe former had been as free and reckless in her conduct as Althea was\nreserved. The hair and eyebrows of the Lesbian, instead of reddish gold,\nwere the deepest black, and her complexion--he remembered it\nperfectly--was much darker. The resemblance probably consisted merely in\nthe shape of the somewhat too narrow face, with its absolutely straight\nnose, and a chin which was rather too small, as well as in the sound of\nthe high voice.\n\nNot a serious word had reached his ears from the wanton lips of the\nLesbian, while Althea at once desired information concerning his art, and\nshowed that she was thoroughly familiar with the works and the\naspirations of the Alexandrian sculptors. Although aware that Hermon had\nbegun his career as an artist, and was the leader of a new tendency, she\npretended to belong to the old school, and thereby irritated him to\ncontradiction and the explanation of his efforts, which were rooted in\nthe demands of the present day and the life of the flourishing capital.\n\nThe Thracian listened to the description of the new art struggling to\npresent truth, as if these things were welcome surprises, grand\nrevelations, for which she had waited with eager longing. True, she\nopposed every statement hostile to the old beliefs; but her extremely\nexpressive features soon betrayed to him that he was stirring her to\nreflect, shaking her opinions, and winning her to his side.\n\nAlready, for the sake of the good cause, he devoted himself with the\nutmost zeal to the task of convincing Althea; she, however, did not make\nit an easy one, but presented clever arguments against his assertions.\n\nWhenever he or she, by way of example, mentioned any well-known work of\nart, she imitated, as if involuntarily, its pose and action with\nsurprising fidelity, frequently also in admirable caricature, whose\neffect was extremely comical. What a woman!\n\nShe was familiar with whatever Grecian art had created, and the animated\nconversation became a bewitching spectacle. When the grammateus Proclus,\nwho as Althea's travelling companion had a certain claim upon her\nattention, mingled for a while in the discussion and attracted Althea's\nnotice, Hermon felt injured, and answered his sensible remarks with such\nrudeness that the elder man, whose social position was so much higher,\nangrily turned his back upon him.\n\nAlthea had imposed a certain degree of restraint upon herself while\ntalking to the grammateus, but during the further conversation with\nHermon she confessed that she was decidedly of his opinion, and added to\nthe old reasons for the deposition of beauty and ideality in favour of\ntruth and reality new ones which surprised the sculptor. When she at last\noffered him her hand for a firm alliance, his brain was fevered, and it\nseemed a great honour when she asked eagerly what would occupy him in the\nimmediate future.\n\nPassionate sympathy echoed in every word, was expressed in every feature,\nand she listened as if a great happiness was in store for herself when he\ndisclosed the hopes which he based upon the statue of Arachne.\n\nTrue, as time passed he had spoken more than once of the necessity of\nretiring, and before midnight really tried to depart; but he had fallen\nunder Althea's thrall, and, in reply to her inquiry what must shorten\nthese exquisite hours, had informed her, in significant words, what drew\nhim away, and that his delay threatened him with the loss of a model such\nas the favour of fate rarely bestowed upon an artist.\n\nNow the Thracian for the first time permitted her eyes to make frank\nconfessions. She also bent forward with a natural movement to examine the\nartistic work on a silver vase, and as while doing so her peplos fell\nover his hand, she pressed it tenderly.\n\nHe gazed ardently up at her; but she whispered softly: \"Stay! You will\ngain through me something better than awaits you there, and not only for\nto-day and to-morrow. We shall meet again in Alexandria, and to serve\nyour art there shall be a beloved duty.\"\n\nHis power of resistance was broken; yet he beckoned to his slave Bias,\nwho was busied with the mixing jars, and ordered him to seek Ledscha and\ntell her not to wait longer; urgent duties detained him.\n\nWhile he was giving this direction, Althea had become engaged in the gay\nconversation of the others, and, as Thyone called Hermon, and he was also\nobliged to speak to Daphne, he could not again obtain an opportunity for\nprivate talk with the wonderful woman who held out far grander prospects\nfor his art than the refractory, rude Biamite maiden.\n\nSoon Althea's performance seemed to prove how fortunate a choice he had\nmade. Her Arachne appeared like a revelation to him. If she kept her\npromise, and he succeeded in modelling her in the pose assumed while\nimagining the process of transformation, and presented her idea to the\nspectators, the great success which hitherto--because he had not yielded\nto demands which were opposed to his convictions--he had vainly expected,\ncould no longer escape him. The Alexandrian fellow-artists who belonged\nto his party would gratefully welcome this special work; for what grew\nout of it would have nothing in common with the fascination of superhuman\nbeauty, by which the older artists ensnared the hearts and minds of the\nmultitude. He would create a genuine woman, who would not lack defects,\nyet who, though she inspired neither gratification nor rapture, would\ntouch, perhaps even thrill, the heart by absolute truth.\n\nWhile Althea was standing on the pedestal, she had not only represented\nthe transformation into the spider, but experienced it, and the features\nof the spectators revealed that they believed they were witnessing the\nsinister event. His aim was now to awaken the same feeling in the\nbeholders of his Arachne. Nothing, nothing at all must be changed in the\nfigure of the model, in which many might miss the roundness and plumpness\nso pleasing to the eye. Althea's very defects would perfect the figure of\nthe restless, wretched weaver whom Athene transformed into the spider.\n\nWhile devoting himself to nursing his friend, he had thought far less of\nthe new love-happiness which, in spite of her swift flight, was probably\nawaiting him through Althea than of the work which was to fill his\nexistence in the immediate future.\n\nHis healthy body, steeled in the palaestra, felt no fatigue after the\nsleepless night passed amid so many powerful excitements when he retired\nto his chamber and committed himself to the hands of his slave.\n\nIt had not been possible to hear his report before, but when he at last\nreceived it Hermon was to learn something extremely unpleasant, and not\nonly because no word of apology or even explanation of his absence had\nreached Ledscha.\n\nBias was little to blame for this neglect, for, in the first place, he\nhad found no boat to reach the Pelican Island, because half Tennis was on\nthe road to Tanis, where, on the night of the full moon, the brilliant\nfestivals of the full eye of Horns and the great Astarte were celebrated\nby the mixed population of this place. When a boat which belonged to\nDaphne's galley was finally given to him, the Biamite girl was no longer\nat the place appointed for the meeting.\n\nHoping to find her on the Owl's Nest with old Tabus, he then landed\nthere, but had been so uncivilly rebuffed on the shore by a rough fellow\nthat he might be glad to have escaped with sound limbs. Lastly, he stole\nto Ledscha's home, and, knowing that her father was absent, had ventured\nas far as the open courtyard in the centre of the stately dwelling. The\ndogs knew him, and as a light was shining from one of the rooms that\nopened upon the courtyard, he peeped in and saw Taus, Ledscha's younger\nsister. She was kneeling before the statue of a god at the back of the\nroom, weeping, while the old housekeeper had fallen asleep with the\ndistaff in her lap.\n\nHe called cautiously to the pretty child. She was awaiting the return of\nher sister, who, she supposed, was still detained on the Owl's Nest by\nold Tabus's predictions; she had sorrowful tidings for her.\n\nThe husband of her friend Gula had returned on his ship and learned that\nhis wife had gone to the Greek's studio. He had raged like a madman, and\nturned the unfortunate woman pitilessly out of doors after sunset. Her\nown parents had only been induced to receive her with great difficulty.\nPaseth, the jealous husband, had spared her life and refrained from going\nat once to kill the artist solely because Hermon had saved his little\ndaughter at his own peril from the burning house.\n\n\"Now,\" said Ledscha's pretty little sister, \"it would also be known that\nshe had gone with Gula to his master, who was certainly a handsome man,\nbut for whom, now that young Smethis was wooing her, she cared no more\nthan she did for her runaway cat. All Tennis would point at her, and she\ndared not even think what her father would do when he came home.\"\n\nThese communications had increased Hermon's anxiety.\n\nHe was a brave man, and did not fear the vengeance of the enraged\nhusband, against whom he was conscious of no guilt except having\npersuaded his wife to commit an imprudence. What troubled him was only\nthe consciousness that he had given her and innocent little Taus every\nreason to curse their meeting.\n\nThe ardent warmth with which Gula blessed him as the preserver of her\nchild had given him infinite pleasure. Now it seemed as if he had been\nguilty of an act of baseness by inducing her to render a service which\nwas by no means free from danger, as though he wished to be paid for a\ngood deed.\n\nBesides, the slave had represented the possible consequences of his\nimprudence in the most gloomy light, and, with the assurance of knowing\nthe disposition of his fellow-countrymen, urged his master to leave\nTennis at once; the other Biamite men, who would bear anything rather\nthan the interference of a Greek in their married lives, might force\nGula's husband to take vengeance on him.\n\nHe said nothing about anxiety concerning his own safety, but he had good\nreason to fear being regarded as a go-between and called to account for\nit.\n\nBut his warnings and entreaties seemed to find deaf ears in Hermon. True,\nhe intended to leave Tennis as soon as possible, for what advantage could\nhe now find here? First, however, he must attend to the packing of the\nstatues, and then try to appease Ledscha, and make Gula's husband\nunderstand that he was casting off his pretty wife unjustly.\n\nHe would not think of making a hasty departure, he told the slave,\nespecially as he was to meet Althea, Queen Arsinoe's art-appreciating\nrelative, in whom he had gained a friend, later in Alexandria.\n\nThen Bias informed him of a discovery to which one of the Thracian's\nslave women had helped him, and what he carelessly told his master drove\nthe blood from his cheeks, and, though his voice was almost stifled by\nsurprise and shame, made him assail him with questions.\n\nWhat great thing had he revealed? There had been reckless gaiety at every\nfestival of Dionysus since he had been in the artist's service, and the\nslaves had indulged in the festal mirth no less freely than the masters.\nTo intoxicate themselves with wine, the gift of the god to whom they were\npaying homage, was not only permitted, but commanded, and the juice of\nthe grape proved its all-equalizing power.\n\nThere had been no lack of pretty companions even for him, the bondman,\nand the most beautiful of all had made eyes at his master, the tall,\nslender man with the splendid black beard.\n\nThe reckless Lesbian who had favoured Hermon at the last Dionysia had\nplayed pranks with him madly enough, but then had suddenly vanished. By\nhis master's orders Bias had tried to find her again, but, in spite of\nhonest search, in vain.\n\nJust now he had met, as Althea's maid, the little Syrian Margula, who had\nbeen in her company, and raced along in the procession of bacchanals in\nhis, Bias's, arms. True, she could not be persuaded to make a frank\nconfession, but he, Bias, would let his right hand wither if Hermon's\ncompanion at the Dionysia was any other than Althea. His master would own\nthat he was right if he imagined her with black hair instead of red.\nPlenty of people in Alexandria practised the art of dyeing, and it was\nwell known that Queen Arsinoe herself willingly mingled in the throng at\nthe Dionysia with a handsome Ephebi, who did not suspect the identity of\nhis companion.\n\nThis was the information which had so deeply agitated Hermon, and then\nled him, after pacing to and fro a short time, to go first to Myrtilus\nand then to Daphne.\n\nHe had found his friend sleeping, and though every fibre of his being\nurged him to speak to him, he forced himself to leave the sufferer\nundisturbed.\n\nYet so torturing a sense of dissatisfaction with himself, so keen a\nresentment against his own adverse destiny had awaked within him, that he\ncould no longer endure to remain in the presence of his work, with which\nhe was more and more dissatisfied.\n\nAway from the studio!\n\nThere was a gay party on board the galley of his parents' old friends.\nWine should bring him forgetfulness, too, bless him again with the sense\nof joyous existence which he knew so well, and which he now seemed on the\npoint of losing.\n\nWhen he had once talked and drunk himself into the right mood, life would\nwear a less gloomy face.\n\nNo! It should once more be a gay and reckless one.\n\nAnd Althea?\n\nHe would meet her, with whom he had once caroused and revelled madly\nenough in the intoxication of the last Dionysia, and, instead of allowing\nhimself to be fooled any longer and continuing to bow respectfully before\nher, would assert all the rights she had formerly so liberally granted.\n\nHe would enjoy to-day, forget to-morrow, and be gay with the gay.\n\nEager for new pleasure, he drew a long breath as he went out into the\nopen air, pressed his hands upon his broad chest, and with his eyes fixed\nupon the commandant of Pelusium's galley, bedecked with flags, walked\nswiftly toward the landing place.\n\nSuddenly from the deck, shaded by an awning, the loud laugh of a woman's\nshrill voice reached his ear, blended with the deeper tones of the\ngrammateus, whose attacks on the previous night Hermon had not forgotten.\n\nHe stopped as if the laugh had pierced him to the heart. Proclus appeared\nto be on the most familiar terms with Althea, and to meet him with the\nThracian now seemed impossible. He longed for mirth and pleasure, but was\nunwilling to share it with these two. As he dared not disturb Myrtilus,\nthere was only one place where he could find what he needed, and this\nwas--he had said so to himself when he turned his back on his sleeping\nfriend--in Daphne's society.\n\nOnly yesterday he would have sought her without a second thought, but\nto-day Althea's declaration that he was the only man whom the daughter of\nArchias loved stood between him and his friend.\n\nHe knew that from childhood she had watched his every step with sisterly\naffection. A hundred times she had proved her loyalty; yet, dear as she\nwas to him, willingly as he would have risked his life to save her from a\ndanger, it had never entered his mind to give the tie that united them\nthe name of love.\n\nAn older relative of both in Alexandria had once advised him, when he was\ncomplaining of his poverty, to seek her hand, but his pride of manhood\nrebelled against having the wealth which fate denied flung into his lap\nby a woman. When she looked at him with her honest eyes, he could never\nhave brought himself to feign anything, least of all a passion of which,\ntenderly attached to her though he had been for years, hitherto he had\nknown nothing.\n\n\"Do you love her?\" Hermon asked himself as he walked toward Daphne's\ntent, and the anticipated \"No\" had pressed itself upon him far less\nquickly than he expected.\n\nOne thing was undeniably certain: whoever won her for a wife--even though\nshe were the poorest of the poor--must be numbered among the most\nenviable of men. And should he not recognise in his aversion to every one\nof her suitors, and now to the aristocratic young Philotas, a feeling\nwhich resembled jealousy?\n\nNo! He did not and would not love Daphne. If she were really his, and\nwhatever concerned him had become hers, with whom could he have sought in\nhours like these soothing, kind, and sensible counsel, comfort that\ncalmed the heart, and the refreshing dew which his fading courage and\nfaltering creative power required?\n\nThe bare thought of touching clay and wax with his fingers, or taking\nhammer, chisel, and file in his hands, was now repulsive; and when, just\noutside of the tent, a Biamite woman who was bringing fish to the cook\nreminded him of Ledscha, and that he had lost in her the right model for\nhis Arachne, he scarcely regretted it.\n\n\n\n\nARACHNE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nOutside the door of the tent Hermon was trying to banish Althea's image\nfrom his mind. How foolishly he had overestimated last night the value of\nthis miserable actress, who as a woman had lost all charm for him--even\nas a model for his Arachne!\n\nHe would rather have appeared before his pure friend with unsightly\nstains on his robe than while mastered by yearning for the Thracian.\n\nThe first glance at Daphne's beloved face, the first words of her\ngreeting, taught him that he should find with her everything for which he\nlonged.\n\nIn simple, truthful words she reproached him for having neglected her to\nthe verge of incivility the evening before, but there was no trace of\nbitterness or resentment in the accusation, and she gave Hermon little\ntime for apology, but quickly gladdened him with words of forgiveness.\n\nIn the opinion of her companion Chrysilla, Daphne ought to have kept the\ncapricious artist waiting much longer for pardon. True, the cautious\nwoman took no part in the conversation afterward, but she kept her charge\nin sight while she was skilfully knotting the fringe into a cloth which\nshe had woven herself. On account of her favourite Philotas, it was well\nfor Daphne to be aware that she was watched.\n\nChrysilla was acquainted with life, and knew that Eros never mingles more\narbitrarily in the intercourse of a young couple than when, after a long\nseparation, there is anything whatever to forgive.\n\nBesides, many words which the two exchanged escaped her hearing, for they\ntalked in low tones, and it was hot in the tent. Often the fatigue she\nfelt after the sleepless night bowed her head, still comely with its\nunwrinkled face, though she was no longer young; then she quickly raised\nit again.\n\nNeither Daphne nor Hermon noticed her. The former at once perceived that\nsomething was weighing on the sculptor's mind, but he did not need any\nlong inquiry. He had come to confide his troubles to her, and she kindly\nlightened the task for him by asking why he had not gone to breakfast\nwith the Pelusinians.\n\n\"Because I am not fit for gay company today,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Again dissatisfied with Fate?\"\n\n\"True, it has given me small cause for contentment of late.\"\n\n\"Put in place of Fate the far-seeing care of the gods, and you will\naccept what befalls you less unkindly.\"\n\n\"Let us stick to us mortals, I entreat you.\"\n\n\"Very well, then. Your Demeter does not fully satisfy you.\"\n\nA discontented shrug of the shoulders was the reply.\n\n\"Then work with twofold zeal upon the Arachne.\"\n\n\"Although one model I hoped to obtain forsook me, and my soul is\nestranged from the other.\"\n\n\"Althea?\" she asked eagerly, and he nodded assent.\n\nDaphne clapped her hands joyfully, exclaiming so loudly that Chrysilla's\nhead sprang up with a jerk. \"It could not help being so! O Hermon! how\nanxious I have been! Now, I thought, when this horrible woman represented\nthe transformation into the spider with such repulsive accuracy, Hermon\nwill believe that this is the true, and therefore the right, ideal; nay,\nI was deceived myself while gazing. But, eternal gods! as soon as I\nimagined this Arachne in marble or chryselephantine work, what a painful\nfeeling overpowered me!\"\n\n\"Of course!\" he replied in an irritated tone. \"The thirst for beauty, to\nwhich you all succumb, would not have much satisfaction to expect from\nthis work.\"\n\n\"No, no, no!\" Daphne interrupted in a louder tone than usual, and with\nthe earnest desire to convince him. \"Precisely because I transported\nmyself into your tendency, your aspirations, I recognised the danger. O\nHermon! what produced so sinister an effect by the wavering light of the\nlamps and torches, while the thunderstorm was rising--the strands of\nhair, the outspread fingers, the bewildered, staring blue eyes--do you\nnot feel yourself how artificial, how unnatural it all was? This\ntransformation was only a clever trick of acting, nothing more. Before a\nquiet spectator, in the pure, truthful light of Apollo, the foe of all\ndeception, what would this Arachne probably become? Even now--I have\nalready said so--when I imagine her executed in marble or in gold and\nivory! Beauty? Who would expect to find in the active, constantly toiling\nweaver, the mortal daughter of an industrious dyer in purple, the calm,\nrefreshing charm of divine women? I at least am neither foolish nor\nunjust enough to do so. The degree of beauty Althea possesses would\nentirely satisfy me for the Arachne. But when I imagine a plastic work\nfaithful to the model of yesterday evening--though I have seen a great\ndeal with my own eyes, and am always ready to defer to riper judgment--I\nwould think, while looking at it: This statue came to the artist from the\nstage, but never from Nature. Such would be my view, and I am not one of\nthe initiated. But the adepts! The King, with his thorough\nconnoisseurship and fine taste, my father, and the other famous judges,\nhow much more keenly they would perceive and define it!\"\n\nHere she hesitated, for the blood had left Hermon's cheeks, and she saw\nwith surprise the deep impression which the candid expression of her\nopinion had produced upon the artist, usually so independent and disposed\nto contradiction. Her judgment had undoubtedly disturbed, nay, perhaps\nconvinced him; but at the same time his features revealed such deep\ndepression that, far from rejoicing in so rare a success, she patted his\narm like an affectionate sister, saying: \"You have not yet found time to\nrealize calmly what yesterday dazzled us all--and you,\" she added in a\nlower tone, \"the most strongly.\"\n\n\"But now,\" he murmured sadly, half to himself, half to, her, \"my vision\nis doubly clear. Close before the success of which I dreamed failure and\nbitter disappointment.\"\n\n\"If this 'doubly' refers to your completed work, and also to the\nArachne,\" cried Daphne in the affectionate desire to soothe him, \"a\npleasant surprise will perhaps soon await you, for Myrtilus judges your\nDemeter much more favourably than you yourself do, and he also betrayed\nto me whom it resembles.\"\n\nShe blushed slightly as she spoke, and, as her companion's gloomy face\nbrightened for a short time, went on eagerly: \"And now for the Arachne.\nYou will and must succeed in what you so ardently strive to accomplish, a\nsubject so exactly adapted to your magnificent virile genius and so\nstrangely suited to the course which your art has once entered upon. And\nyou can not fail to secure the right model. You had not found it in\nAlthea, no, certainly not! O Hermon! if I could only make you see clearly\nhow ill suited she, in whom everything is false, is to you--your art,\nyour only too powerful strength, your aspiration after truth--\"\n\n\"You hate her,\" he broke in here in a repellent tone; but Daphne dropped\nher quiet composure, and her gray eyes, usually so gentle, flashed\nfiercely as she exclaimed: \"Yes, and again yes! From my inmost soul I do,\nand I rejoice in it. I have long disliked her, but since yesterday I\nabhor her like the spider which she can simulate, like snakes and toads,\nfalsehood and vice.\"\n\nHermon had never seen his uncle's peaceful daughter in this mood. The\nemotions that rendered this kindly soul so unlike itself could only be\nthe one powerful couple, love and jealousy; and while gazing intently at\nher face, which in this moment seemed to him as beautiful as Dallas\nAthene armed for battle, he listened breathlessly as she continued:\n\"Already the murderous spider had half entangled you in her net. She drew\nyou out into the tempest--our steward Gras saw it--in order, while Zeus\nwas raging, to deliver you to the wrath of the other gods also and the\ncontempt of all good men; for whoever yields himself to her she destroys,\nsucks the marrow from his bones like the greedy harpies, and all that is\nnoble from his soul.\"\n\n\"Why, Daphne,\" interrupted Chrysilla, raising herself from her cushions\nin alarm, \"must I remind you of the moderation which distinguishes the\nGreeks from the barbarians, and especially the Hellenic woman--\"\n\nHere Daphne indignantly broke in: \"Whoever practises moderation in the\nconflict against vice has already gone halfway over to evil. She utterly\nruined--how long ago is it?--the unfortunate Menander, my poor Ismene's\nyoung husband. You know them both, Hermon. Here, of course, you scarcely\nheard how she lured him from his wife and the lovely little girl who\nbears my name. She tempted the poor fellow to her ship, only to cast him\noff at the end of a month for another. Now he is at home again, but he\nthinks Ismene is the statue from the Temple of Isis, which has gained\nlife and speech; for he has lost his mind, and when I saw him I felt as\nif I should die of horror and pity. Now she is coming home with Proclus,\nand, as the way led through Pelusium, she attached herself to our friends\nand forces herself in here with them. What does she care about her\nelderly travelling companion? But you--yes, you, Hermon--are the next\nperson whom she means to capture. Just now, when my eyes closed But no!\nIt is not only in my dreams; the hideous gray threads which proceed from\nthis greedy spider are continually floating before me and dim the light.\"\nHere she paused, for the maid Stephanion announced the coming of\nvisitors, and at the same time loud voices were heard outside, and the\nmerry party who had been attending the breakfast given by the commandant\nof Pelusium entered the tent.\n\nAlthea was among the guests, but she took little notice of Hermon.\n\nProclus, her associate in Queen Arsinoe's favour, was again asserting his\nrights as her travelling companion, and she showed him plainly that the\nattention which he paid her was acceptable.\n\nMeanwhile her eager, bright blue eyes were roving everywhere, and nothing\nthat was passing around her escaped her notice.\n\nAs she greeted Daphne she perceived that her cheeks had flushed during\nher conversation with Hermon.\n\nHow reserved and embarrassed the sculptor's manner was now to his uncle's\ndaughter, whom only yesterday he had treated with as much freedom as\nthough she were his sister! What a bungler in dissimulation! how\nshort-sighted was this big, strong man and remarkable artist! He had\ncarried her, Althea, in his arms like a child for a whole quarter of an\nhour at the festival of Dionysus, and, in spite of the sculptor's keen\neye, he did not recognise her again!\n\nWhat would not dyes and a change of manner accomplish!\n\nOr had the memory of those mad hours revived and caused his\nembarrassment? If he should know that her companion, the Milesian Nanno,\nwhom he had feasted with her on oyster pasties at Canopus after she had\ngiven the slip to her handsome young companion was Queen Arsinoe! Perhaps\nshe would inform him of it some day if he recognised her.\n\nYet that could scarcely have happened. He had only been told what she\nbetrayed to him yesterday, and was now neglecting her for Daphne's sake.\nThat was undoubtedly the way the matter stood. How the girl's cheeks were\nglowing when she entered!\n\nThe obstacle that stood between her and Hermon was the daughter of\nArchias, and she, fool that she was, had attracted Hermon's attention to\nher.\n\nNo matter!\n\nHe would want her for the Arachne, and she needed only to stretch out her\nhand to draw him to her again if she found no better amusement in\nAlexandria. Now she would awaken his fears that the best of models would\nrecall her favour. Besides, it would not do to resume the pleasant game\nwith him under the eyes of Philippus and his wife, who was a follower of\nthe manners of old times. The right course now was to keep him until\nlater.\n\nStanding at Proclus's side, she took part gaily in the general\nconversation; but when Myrtilus and Philemon had joined the others, and\nDaphne had consented to go with Philippus and Thyone that evening, in\norder, after offering sacrifice together to Selene, to sail for Pelusium,\nAlthea requested the grammateus to take her, into the open air.\n\nBefore leaving the tent, however, she dropped her ostrich-feather fan as\nshe passed Hermon, and, when he picked it up, whispered with a\nsignificant glance at Daphne, \"I see that what was learned of her heart\nis turned to account promptly enough.\"\n\nThen, laughing gaily, she continued loudly enough to be heard by her\ncompanion also: \"Yesterday our young artist maintained that the Muse\nshunned abundance; but the works of his wealthy friend Myrtilus\ncontradicted him, and he changed his view with the speed of lightning.\"\n\n\"Would that this swift alteration had concerned the direction of his\nart,\" replied Proclus in a tone audible to her alone.\n\nBoth left the tent as he spoke, and Hermon uttered a sigh of relief as he\nlooked after them. She attributed the basest motives to him, and Daphne's\nopinion of her was scarcely too severe.\n\nHe no longer needed to fear her power of attraction, though, now that he\nhad seen her again, he better understood the spell which she had exerted\nover him. Every movement of her lithe figure had an exquisite grace,\nwhose charm was soothing to the artist's eye. Only there was something\npiercing in her gaze when it did not woo love, and, while making the base\ncharge, her extremely thin lips had showed her sharp teeth in a manner\nthat reminded him of the way the she-wolf among the King's wild beasts in\nthe Paneum gardens raised her lips when any one went near her cage.\n\nDaphne was right. Ledscha would have been infinitely better as a model\nfor the Arachne. Everything in this proud creature was genuine and\noriginal, which was certainly not the case with Althea. Besides, stern\nausterity was as much a part of the Biamite as her hair and her hands,\nyet what ardent passion he had seen glow in her eyes! The model so long\nsought in vain he had found in Ledscha, who in so many respects resembled\nArachne. Fool that he was to have yielded to a swift and false ebullition\nof feeling!\n\nSince Myrtilus was again near him Hermon had devoted himself with fresh\neagerness to his artistic task, while a voice within cried more and more\nloudly that the success of his new work depended entirely upon Ledscha.\nHe must try to regain her as a model for the Arachne! But while pondering\nover the \"how,\" he felt a rare sense of pleasure when Daphne spoke to him\nor her glance met his.\n\nAt first he had devoted himself eagerly to his father's old friends, and\nespecially to Thyone, and had not found it quite easy to remain firm\nwhen, in her frank, kindly, cordial manner, she tried to persuade him to\naccompany her and the others to Pelusium. Yet he had succeeded in\nrefusing the worthy couple's invitation. But when he saw Philotas, whose\nresemblance to the King, his cousin, had just been mentioned by one of\nthe officers, become more and more eager in his attentions to Daphne, and\nheard him also invited by Philippus to share the nocturnal voyage, he\nfelt disturbed, and could not conceal from himself that the uneasiness\nwhich constantly obtained a greater mastery over him arose from the fear\nof losing his friend to the young aristocrat.\n\nThis was jealousy, and where it flamed so hotly love could scarcely be\nabsent. Yet, had the shaft of Eros really struck him, how was it possible\nthat the longing to win Ledscha back stirred so strongly within him that\nhe finally reached a resolution concerning her?\n\nAs soon as the guests left Tennis he would approach the Biamite again. He\nhad already whispered this intention to Myrtilus, when he heard Daphne's\ncompanion say to Thyone, \"Philotas will accompany us, and on this voyage\nthey will plight their troth if Aphrodite's powerful son accepts my\nsacrifice.\"\n\nHe involuntarily looked at the pair who were intended for each other, and\nsaw Daphne lower her eyes, blushing, at a whisper from the young\nMacedonian.\n\nHis blood also crimsoned his cheeks, and when, soon after, he asked his\nfriend whether she cared for his companionship, and Daphne assented in\nthe most eager way, he said that he would share the voyage to Pelusium.\nDaphne's eyes had never yet beamed upon him so gladly and graciously.\nAlthea was right. She must love him, and it seemed as if this conviction\nawoke a new star of happiness in his troubled soul.\n\nIf Philotas imagined that he could pluck the daughter of Archias like a\nripe fruit from a tree, he would find himself mistaken.\n\nHermon did not yet exactly understand himself, only he felt certain that\nit would be impossible to surrender Daphne to another, and that for her\nsake he would give up twenty Ledschas, though he cherished infinitely\ngreat expectations from the Biamite for his art, which hitherto had been\nmore to him than all else.\n\nEverything that he still had to do in Tennis he could intrust to his\nconscientious Bias, to Myrtilus, and his slaves.\n\nIf he returned to the city of weavers, he would earnestly endeavour to\npalliate the offence which he had inflicted on Ledscha, and, if possible,\nobtain her forgiveness. Only one thing detained him--anxiety about his\nfriend, who positively refused to share the night voyage.\n\nHe had promised his uncle Archias to care for him like a brother, and his\nown kind heart bade him stay with Myrtilus, and not leave him to the\nnursing of his very skilful but utterly unreliable body-servant, after\nthe last night had proved to what severe attacks of his disease he was\nstill liable.\n\nMyrtilus, however, earnestly entreated him not to deprive himself on his\naccount of a pleasure which he would gladly have shared. There was plenty\nof time to pack the statues. As for himself, nothing would do him more\ngood just now than complete rest in his beloved solitude, which, as\nHermon knew, was more welcome to him than the gayest society. Nothing was\nto be feared for him now. The thunderstorm had purified the air, and\nanother one was not to be expected soon in this dry region. He had always\nbeen well here in sunny weather. Storms, which were especially harmful to\nhim, never came at this season of the year.\n\nMyrtilus secretly thought that Hermon's departure would be desirable,\nbecause the slave Bias had confided to him what dangers threatened his\nfriend from the incensed Biamite husbands.\n\nFinally, Myrtilus turned to the others and begged them not to let Hermon\nleave Pelusium quickly.\n\nWhen, at parting, he was alone with him, he embraced him and said more\ntenderly than usual: \"You know how easy it will be for me to depart from\nlife; but it would be easier still if I could leave you behind without\nanxiety, and that would happen if the hymeneal hymns at your marriage to\nDaphne preceded the dirges which will soon resound above my coffin.\nYesterday I first became sure that she loves you, and, much good as you\nhave in your nature, you owe the best to her.\"\n\nHermon clasped him in his arms with passionate affection, and after\nconfessing that he, too, felt drawn with the utmost power toward Daphne,\nand urging him to anticipate complete recovery instead of an early death,\nhe held out his hand to his friend; but Myrtilus clasped it a long time\nin his own, saying earnestly: \"Only this one frank warning: An Arachne\nlike the model which Althea presented yesterday evening would deal the\npast of your art a blow in the face. No one at Rhodes--and this is just\nwhat I prize in you--hated imitation more, yet what would using the\nArachne on the pedestal for a model be except showing the world not how\nHermon, but how Althea imagines the hapless transformed mortal? Even if\nLedscha withdraws from you, hold fast to her image. It will live on in\nyour soul. Recall it there, free it from whatever is superfluous, supply\nwhatever it lacks, animate it with the idea of the tireless artist, the\nmocking, defiant mortal woman who ended her life as the weaver of weavers\nin the insect world, as you have so often vividly described her to me.\nThen, my dear fellow, you will remain loyal to yourself, and therefore\nalso to the higher truth, toward which every one of us who labours\nearnestly strives, and, myself included, there is no one who wields\nhammer and chisel in Greece who could contest the prize with you.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nWhen the sun was approaching the western horizon the travellers started.\n\nLight mists veiled the radiant right eye of the goddess of heaven. The\nblood of the contending spirits of light and darkness, which usually dyed\nthe west of Egypt crimson at the departure of the great sun god, to-day\nvanished from sight.\n\nThe sultry air was damp and oppressive, and experienced old Philippus,\nwho had commanded a fleet of considerable size under the first Ptolemies,\nagreed with the captain of the vessel, who pointed to several small dark\nclouds under the silvery stratus, and expressed the fear that Selene\nwould hardly illumine the ship's course during the coming night.\n\nBut before the departure the travellers had offered sacrifices to the\nfoam-born Cyprian Aphrodite and the Dioscuri, the protectors of mariners,\nand the conversation took the gayest turn.\n\nIn the harbour of the neighbouring seaport Tanis they went aboard of the\ncommandant's state galley, one of the largest and finest in the royal\nfleet, where a banquet awaited them.\n\nCushions were arranged on the high poop, and the sea was as smooth as the\nsilver dishes in which viands were offered to the guests.\n\nTrue, not a breath stirred the still, sultry air, but the three long\ndouble ranks of rowers in the hold of the ship provided for her swift\nprogress, and if no contrary wind sprang up she would run into the\nharbour of Pelusium before the last goblet was emptied.\n\nSoon after the departure it seemed as if the captain of the little vessel\nhad erred in his prediction, for the moon burst victoriously through the\nblack clouds, only its shining orb was surrounded by a dull, glimmering\nhalo.\n\nDoubtless many a guest longed for a cool breeze, but when the mixed wine\nhad moistened the parched tongues the talk gained fresh animation.\n\nEvery one did his or her part, for the point in question was to induce\nPhilippus and his wife to visit Alexandria again and spend some time\nthere as beloved guests with Daphne in her father's house or in the\npalace of Philotas, who jestingly, yet with many reasons, contested the\nhonour with the absent Archias.\n\nThe old warrior had remained away from the capital for several years; he\nalone knew why. Now the act which had incensed him and the offence\ninflicted upon him were forgotten, and, having passed seventy four years,\nhe intended to ask the commander in chief once more for the retirement\nfrom the army which the monarch had several times refused, in order, as a\nfree man, to seek again the city which in his present position he had so\nlong avoided.\n\nThyone, it is true, thought that her husband's youthful vigour rendered\nthis step premature, but the visit to Alexandria harmonized with her own\nwishes.\n\nProclus eagerly sided with her. \"To him,\" said the man of manifold\nknowledge, who as high priest of Apollo was fond of speaking in an\ninstructive tone, \"experience showed that men like Philippus, who solely\non account of the number of their years withdrew their services from the\nstate, felt unhappy, and, like the unused ploughshare, became prematurely\nrusty. What they lacked, and what Philippus would also miss, was not\nmerely the occupation, which might easily be supplied by another, but\nstill more the habit of command. One who had had thousands subject to his\nwill was readily overcome by the feeling that he was going down hill,\nwhen only a few dozen of his own slaves and his wife obeyed him.\"\n\nThis word aroused the mirth of old Philippus, who praised all the good\nqualities of Macedonian wives except that of obedience, while Thyone\nprotested that during her more than forty years of married life her\nhusband had become so much accustomed to her complete submission than he\nno longer noticed it. If Philippus should command her to-morrow to leave\ntheir comfortable palace in Pelusium to accompany him to Alexandria,\nwhere they possessed no home of their own, he would see how willingly she\nobeyed him.\n\nWhile speaking, her bright, clear eyes, which seemed to float in the deep\nhollows sunk by age, sparkled so merrily in her wrinkled face that\nPhilippus shook his finger gaily at her and showed plainly how much\npleasure the jest of the old companion of his wanderings gave him.\n\nYet he insisted upon his purpose of not entering Alexandria again until\nhe had resigned his office, and to do this at present was impossible,\nsince he was bound just now, as if with chains, to the important frontier\nfortress. Besides, there had probably been little change in the capital\nsince the death of his beloved old companion in arms and master, the late\nKing.\n\nThis assertion evoked a storm of contradiction, and even the younger\nofficers, who usually imposed severe restraint upon themselves in the\ngeneral's presence, raised their voices to prove that they, too, had\nlooked around the flourishing capital with open eyes.\n\nYet it was not six decades since Philippus, then a lad of seventeen, had\nbeen present at its foundation.\n\nHis father, who had commanded as hipparch a division of cavalry in the\narmy of Alexander the Great, had sent for the sturdy youth just at that\ntime to come to Egypt, that he might enter the army. The conqueror of the\nworld had himself assigned him, as a young Macedonian of good family, to\nthe corps of the Hetairoi; and how the vigorous old man's eyes sparkled\nas, with youthful enthusiasm, he spoke of the divine vanquisher of the\nworld who had at that time condescended to address him, gazed at him\nkeenly yet encouragingly with his all-discerning but kindly blue eyes,\nand extended his hand to him!\n\n\"That,\" he cried, \"made this rough right hand precious to me. Often when,\nin Asia, in scorching India, and later here also, wounded or exhausted,\nit was ready to refuse its service, a spirit voice within cried, 'Do not\nforget that he touched it'; and then, as if I had drunk the noble wine of\nByblus, a fiery stream flowed from my heart into the paralyzed hand, and,\nas though animated with new life, I used it again and kept it worthy of\nhis touch. To have seen a darling of the gods like him, young men, makes\nus greater. It teaches us how even we human beings are permitted to\nresemble the immortals. Now he is transported among the gods, and the\nOlympians received him, if any one, gladly. Whoever shared the deeds of\nsuch a hero takes a small portion of his renown with him through life and\ninto the grave, and whom he touched, as befell me, feels himself\nconsecrated, and whatever is petty and base flows away from him like\nwater from the anointed body of the wrestler. Therefore I consider myself\nfortunate above thousands of others, and if there is anything which still\ntempts me to go to Alexandria, it is the desire to touch his dead body\nonce more. To do that before I die is my most ardent desire.\"\n\n\"Then gratify it!\" cried Thyone with urgent impatience; but Proclus\nturned to the matron, and, after exchanging a hasty glance with Althea,\nsaid: \"You probably know, my venerable friend, that Queen Arsinoe, who\nmost deeply honours your illustrious husband, had already arranged to\nhave him summoned to the capital as priest of Alexander. True, in this\nposition he would have had the burden of disposing of all the revenues\nfrom the temples throughout Egypt; but, on the other hand, he would\nalways have his master's mortal remains near and be permitted to be their\nguardian. What influences baffled the Queen's wish certainly have not\nremained hidden from you here.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" replied Philippus gravely. \"Not the least whisper of\nthis matter reached my ears, and it is fortunate.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" Althea eagerly interrupted; \"nothing else was talked of for\nweeks in the royal palace. Queen Arsinoe--you might be jealous, Lady\nThyone--has been fairly in love with your hero ever since her last stay\nin your house on her way home from Thrace, and she has not yet given up\nher desire to see him in the capital as priest of Alexander. It seems to\nher just and fair that the old companion of the greatest of the great\nshould have the highest place, next to her husband's, in the city whose\nfoundation he witnessed. Arsinoe speaks of you also with all the\naffection natural to her feeling heart.\"\n\n\"This is as flattering as it is surprising,\" replied Thyone. \"The\nattention we showed her in Pelusium was nothing more than we owed to the\nwife of the sovereign. But the court is not the principal attraction that\ndraws me to the capital. It would make Philippus happy--you have just\nheard him say so--to remember his old master beside the tomb of\nAlexander.\"\n\n\"And,\" added Daphne, \"how amazed you will be when you see the present\nform of the 'Soma', in which rests the golden coffin with the body of the\ndivine hero whom the fortunate Philippus aided to conquer the world!\"\n\n\"You are jesting,\" interrupted the old warrior. \"I aided him only as the\ndrops in the stream help to turn the wheel of the mill. As to his body,\ntrue, I marched at the head of the procession which bore it to Memphis\nand thence to Alexandria. In the Soma I was permitted to think of him\nwith devout reverence, and meantime I felt as if I had again seen him\nwith these eyes--exactly as he looked in the Egyptian fishing village of\nRhacotis, which he transformed into your magnificent Alexandria. What a\nyouth he was! Even what would have been a defect in others became a\nbeauty in him. The powerful neck which supported his divine head was a\nlittle crooked; but what grace it lent him when he turned kindly to any\none! One scarcely noticed it, and yet it was like the bend of a\npetitioner, and gave the wish which he expressed resistless power. When\nhe stood erect, the sharpest eye could not detect it. Would that he could\nappear before me thus once more! Besides, the buildings which surrounded\nthe golden coffin were nearly completed at the time of our departure.\"\n\n\"But the statues, reliefs, and mosaic work were lacking,\" said Hermon.\n\"They were executed by Lysippus, Euphranor, and others of our greatest\nartists; the paintings by Apelles himself, Antiphilus, and Nicias. Only\nthose who had won renown were permitted to take part in this work, and\nthe Ares rushing to battle, created by our Myrtilus, can be seen among\nthe others. The tomb of Alexander was not entirely completed until three\nyears ago.\"\n\n\"At the same time as the Paneum,\" added Philotas, completing the\nsentence; and Althea, waving her beaker toward the old hero, remarked:\n\"When you have your quarters in the royal palace with your crowned\nadmirer, Arsinoe--which, I hope, will be very soon--I will be your\nguide.\"\n\n\"That office is already bestowed on me by the Lady Thyone,\" Daphne\nquietly replied.\n\n\"And you think that, in this case, obedience is the husband's duty?\"\ncried the other, with a sneering laugh.\n\n\"It would only be the confirmation of a wise choice,\" replied Philippus,\nwho disliked the Thracian's fawning manner.\n\nThyone, too, did not favour her, and had glanced indignantly at her when\nAlthea made her rude remark. Now she turned to Daphne, and her plain face\nregained its pleasant expression as she exclaimed: \"We really promised\nyour father to let him show us the way, child; but, unfortunately, we are\nnot yet in Alexandria and the Paneum.\"\n\n\"But you would set out to-morrow,\" Hermon protested, \"if we could succeed\nin fitly describing what now awaits you there. There is only one\nAlexandria, and no city in the world can offer a more beautiful scene\nthan is visible from the mountain in the Paneum gardens.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" protested the young hipparch, who had studied in Athens.\n\"I stood on the Acropolis; I was permitted to visit Rhodes and Miletus--\"\n\n\"And you saw nothing more beautiful there,\" cried Proclus. \"The\naristocratic Roman envoys, who left us a short time ago, admitted the\nsame thing. They are just men, for the view from the Capitol of their\ngrowing city is also to be seen. When the King's command led me to the\nTiber, many things surprised me; but, as a whole, how shall I compare the\ntwo cities? The older Rome, with her admirable military power: a\nbarbarian who is just beginning to cultivate more refined\nmanners--Alexandria: a rich, aristocratic Hellene who, like you, my young\nfriend, completed her education in Ilissus, and unites to the elegant\ntaste and intellect of the Athenian the mysterious thoughtfulness of the\nEgyptian, the tireless industry of the Jew, and the many-sided wisdom and\nbrilliant magnificence of the other Oriental countries.\"\n\n\"But who disdains to dazzle the eyes with Asiatic splendour,\" interrupted\nPhilotas.\n\n\"And yet what do we not hear about the unprecedented luxury in the royal\npalace!\" growled the gray-haired warrior.\n\n\"Parsimony--the gods be praised!--no one need expect from our royal\npair,\" Althea broke in; \"but King Ptolemy uses his paternal wealth for\nvery different purposes than glittering gems and golden chambers. If you\ndisdain my guidance, honoured hero, at least accept that of some genuine\nAlexandrian. Then you will understand Proclus's apt simile. You ought to\nbegin with the royal palaces in the Brucheium.\"\n\n\"No, no-with the harbour of Eunostus!\" interrupted the grammateus.\n\n\"With the Soma!\" cried the young hipparch, while Daphne wished to have\nthe tour begin in the Paneum gardens.\n\n\"They were already laid out when we left Alexandria,\" said Thyone.\n\n\"And they have grown marvellously, as if creative Nature had doubled her\npowers in their behalf,\" Hermon added eagerly. \"But man has also wrought\namazing miracles here. Industrious hands reared an actual mountain. A\nwinding path leads to the top, and when you stand upon the summit and\nlook northward you at first feel like the sailor who steps on shore and\nhears the people speak a language which is new to him. It seems like a\njumble of meaningless sounds until he learns, not only to understand the\nwords, but also to distinguish the sentences. Temples and palaces,\nstatues and columns appear everywhere in motley confusion. Each one, if\nyou separate it from the whole and give it a careful examination, is\nworthy of inspection, nay, of admiration. Here are light, graceful\ncreations of Hellenic, yonder heavy, sombre ones of Egyptian art, and in\nthe background the exquisite azure of the eternal sea, which the\nmarvellous structure of the heptastadium unites to the land; while on the\nisland of Pharos the lighthouse of Sostratus towers aloft almost to the\nsky, and with a flood of light points out the way to mariners who\napproach the great harbour at night. Countless vessels are also at anchor\nin the Eunostus. The riches of the whole earth flow into both havens. And\nthe life and movement there and in the inland harbour on Lake Mareotis,\nwhere the Nile boats land! From early until late, what a busy throng,\nwhat an abundance of wares--and how many of the most valuable goods are\nmade in our own city! for whatever useful, fine, and costly articles\nindustrial art produces are manufactured here. The roof has not yet been\nput on many a factory in which busy workers are already making beautiful\nthings. Here the weaver's shuttle flies, yonder gold is spun around\nslender threads of sheep guts, elsewhere costly materials are embroidered\nby women's nimble fingers with the prepared gold thread. There glass is\nblown, or weapons and iron utensils are forged. Finely polished knives\nsplit the pith of the papyrus, and long rows of workmen and workwomen gum\nthe strips together. No hand, no head is permitted to rest. In the Museum\nthe brains of the great thinkers and investigators are toiling. Here,\ntoo, reality asserts its rights. The time for chimeras and wretched\npolemics is over. Now it is observing, fathoming, turning to account,\nnothing more!\"\n\n\"Gently, my young friend,\" Proclus interrupted the artist. \"I know that\nyou, too, sat at the feet of some of the philosophers in the Museum, and\nstill uphold the teachings of Straton, which your fellow-pupil, King\nPtolemy, outgrew long ago. Yet he, also, recognised in philosophy, first\nof all, the bond which unites the widely sundered acquisitions of the\nintellect, the vital breath which pervades them, the touchstone which\nproves each true or false. If the praise of Alexandria is to be sung, we\nmust not forget the library to which the most precious treasures of\nknowledge of the East and West are flowing, and which feeds those who\nthirst for knowledge with the intellectual gains of former ages and other\nnations. Honour, too, to our King, and, that I may be just, to his\nillustrious wife; for wherever in the Grecian world a friend of the Muses\nappears, whether he is investigator, poet, architect, sculptor, artist,\nactor, or singer, he is drawn to Alexandria, and, that he may not be\nidle, work is provided. Palaces spring from the earth quickly enough.\"\n\n\"Yet not like mushrooms,\" Hermon interrupted, \"but as the noblest, most\ncarefully executed creations of art-sculpture and painting provide for\ntheir decoration both without and within.\"\n\n\"And,\" Proclus went on, \"abodes are erected for the gods as well as for\nmen, both Egyptian and Hellenic divinities, each in their own style, and\nso beautiful that it must be a pleasure for them to dwell under the new\nroof.\"\n\n\"Go to the gardens of the Paneum, friends!\" cried young Philotas; and\nHermon, nodding to Thyone, added gaily: \"Then you must climb the mountain\nand keep your eyes open while you are ascending the winding path. You\nwill find enough to do to look at all the new sights. You will stand\nthere with dry feet, but your soul will bathe in eternal, imperishable,\ndivine beauty.\"\n\n\"The foe of beauty!\" exclaimed Proclus, pointing to the sculptor with a\nscornful glance; but Daphne, full of joyous emotion, whispered to Hermon\nas he approached her: \"Eternal, divine beauty! To hear it thus praised by\nyou makes me happy.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" cried the artist, \"what else should I call what has so often\nfilled me with the deepest rapture? The Greek language has no more\nfitting expression for the grand and lofty things that hovered before me,\nand which I called by that chameleon of a word. Yet I have a different\nmeaning from what appears before you at its sound. Were I to call it\ntruth, you would scarcely understand me, but when I conjure before my\nsoul the image of Alexandria, with all that springs from it, all that is\nmoving, creating, and thriving with such marvellous freedom, naturalness,\nand variety within it, it is not alone the beauty that pleases the eye\nwhich delights me; I value more the sound natural growth, the genuine,\nabundant life. To truth, Daphne, as I mean it.\"\n\nHe raised his goblet as he spoke and drank to her.\n\nShe willingly pledged him, but, after removing her lips from the cup, she\neagerly exclaimed: \"Show it to us, with the mind which animates it, in\nperfect form, and I should not know wherein it was to be distinguished\nfrom the beauty which hitherto has been our highest goal.\"\n\nHere the helmsman's loud shout, \"The light of Pelusium!\" interrupted the\nconversation. The bright glare from the lighthouse of this city was\nreally piercing the misty night air, which for some time had again\nconcealed the moon.\n\nThere was no further connected conversation, for the sea was now rising\nand falling in broad, leaden, almost imperceptible waves. The comfort of\nmost of Philippus's guests was destroyed, and the ladies uttered a sigh\nof relief when they had descended from the lofty galley and the boats\nthat conveyed them ashore, and their feet once more pressed the solid\nland. The party of travellers went to the commandant's magnificent palace\nto rest, and Hermon also retired to his room, but sleep fled from his\ncouch.\n\nNo one on earth was nearer to his heart and mind than Daphne, and it\noften seemed as if her kind, loyal, yet firm look was resting upon him;\nbut the memory of Ledscha also constantly forced itself upon his mind and\nstirred his blood. When he thought of the menacing fire of her dark eyes,\nshe seemed to him as terrible as one of the unlovely creatures born of\nNight, the Erinyes, Apate, and Eris.\n\nThen he could not help recalling their meetings in the grove of Astarte,\nher self-forgetting, passionate tenderness, and the wonderfully delicate\nbeauty of her foreign type. True, she had never laughed in his presence;\nbut what a peculiar charm there was in her smile! Had he really lost her\nentirely and forever? Would it not yet be possible to obtain her\nforgiveness and persuade her to pose as the model of his Arachne?\n\nDuring the voyage to Pelusium he had caught Althea's eye again and again,\nand rejected as an insult her demand to give her his whole love. The\nsuccess of the Arachne depended upon Ledscha, and on her alone. He had\nnothing good to expect from the Demeter, and during the nocturnal\nmeditation, which shows everything in the darkest colours, his best plan\nseemed to be to destroy the unsuccessful statue and not exhibit it for\nthe verdict of the judges.\n\nBut if he went to work again in Tennis to model the Arachne, did not love\nfor Daphne forbid him to sue afresh for Ledscha's favour?\n\nWhat a terrible conflict of feelings!\n\nBut perhaps all this might gain a more satisfactory aspect by daylight.\nNow he felt as though he had entangled himself in a snare. Besides, other\nthoughts drove sleep from his couch.\n\nThe window spaces were closed by wooden shutters, and whenever they moved\nwith a low creaking or louder banging Hermon started and forgot\neverything else in anxiety about his invalid friend, whose suffering\nevery strong wind brought on again, and often seriously increased.\n\nThree times he sprang up from the soft wool, covered with linen sheets,\nand looked out to convince himself that no storm had risen. But, though\nmasses of black clouds concealed the moon and stars, and the sea beat\nheavily against the solid walls of the harbour, as yet only a sultry\nbreeze of no great strength blew on his head as he thrust it into the\nnight air.\n\nThis weather could scarcely be dangerous to Myrtilus, yet when the\nmorning relieved him from the torturing anxiety which he had found under\nhis host's roof instead of rest and sleep, gray and black clouds were\nsweeping as swiftly over the port and the ramparts beside him as if they\nwere already driven by a tempest, and warm raindrops besprinkled his\nface.\n\nHe went, full of anxiety, to take his bath, and, while committing the\ncare of the adornment of his outer man to one of the household slaves, he\ndetermined that unless--as often happened in this country--the sun gained\nthe victory over the clouds, he would return to Tennis and join Myrtilus.\n\nIn the hall of the men he met the rest of the old hero's guests.\n\nThey received him pleasantly enough, Althea alone barely noticed his\ngreeting; she seemed to suspect in what way he thought of her.\n\nThyone and Daphne extended their hands to him all the more cordially.\n\nPhilippus did not appear until after breakfast. He had been detained by\nimportant despatches from Alexandria, and by questions and communications\nfrom Proclus. The latter desired to ascertain whether the influential\nwarrior who commanded the most important fortress in the country could be\npersuaded to join a conspiracy formed by Arsinoe against her royal\nhusband, but he seemed to have left Philippus with very faint hopes.\n\nSubordinate officers and messengers also frequently claimed the\ncommandant's attention. When the market place was filling, however, the\nsturdy old soldier kindly fulfilled his duties as host by offering to\nshow his guests the sights of the fortified seaport.\n\nHermon also accompanied him at Daphne's side, but he made it easy for\nPhilotas to engross her attention; for, though the immense thickness of\nthe walls and the arrangement of the wooden towers which, crowned with\nbattlements, rose at long intervals, seemed to him also well worth\nseeing, he gave them only partial attention.\n\nWhile Philippus was showing the guests how safely the archers and\nslingers could be concealed behind the walls and battlements and\ndischarge their missiles, and explaining the purpose of the great\ncatapults on the outermost dike washed by the sea, the artist was\nlistening to the ever-increasing roar of the waves which poured into the\nharbour from the open sea, to their loud dashing against the strong mole,\nto the shrill scream of the sea gulls, the flapping of the sails, which\nwere being taken in everywhere--in short, to all the sounds occasioned by\nthe rising violence of the wind.\n\nThere were not a few war ships in the port and among them perfect giants\nof amazing size and unusual construction, but Hermon had already seen\nmany similar ones.\n\nWhen, shortly after noon, the sun for a few brief moments pierced with\nscorching rays the dark curtain that shrouded it from sight, and then\nsuddenly dense masses of clouds, driven from the sea by the tempest,\ncovered the day star, his eyes and cars were engrossed entirely by the\nuproar of the elements.\n\nThe air darkened as if night was falling at this noontide hour, and with\nsavage fury the foaming mountain waves rushed like mad wild beasts in\nfierce assault upon the mole, the walls, and the dikes of the fortified\nport.\n\n\"Home!\" cried Thyone, and again entered the litter which she had left to\ninspect the new catapults.\n\nAlthea, trembling, drew her peplos together as the storm swept her light\nfigure before it, and, shrieking, struggled against the black slaves who\ntried to lift her upon the war elephant which had borne her here.\n\nPhilotas gave his arm to Daphne. Hermon had ceased to notice her; he had\njust gone to his gray-haired host with the entreaty that he would give\nhim a ship for the voyage to Tennis, where Myrtilus would need his\nassistance.\n\n\"It is impossible in such weather,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Then I will ride!\" cried Hermon resolutely, and Philippus scanned the\nson of his old friend and companion in arms with an expression of quiet\nsatisfaction in his eyes, still sparkling brightly, and answered quickly,\n\"You shall have two horses, my boy, and a guide who knows the road\nbesides.\"\n\nThen, turning swiftly to one of the officers who accompanied him, he\nordered him to provide what was necessary.\n\nWhen, soon after, in the impluvium, the tempest tore the velarium that\ncovered the open space from its rings, and the ladies endeavoured to\ndetain Hermon, Philippus silenced them with the remark:\n\n\"A disagreeable ride is before him, but what urges him on is pleasing to\nthe gods. I have just ventured to send out a carrier dove,\" he added,\nturning to the artist, \"to inform Myrtilus that he may expect you before\nsunset. The storm comes from the cast, otherwise it would hardly reach\nthe goal. Put even if it should be lost, what does it matter?\"\n\nThyone nodded to her old husband with a look of pleasure, and her eyes\nshone through tears at Hermon as she clasped his hand and, remembering\nher friend, his mother, exclaimed: \"Go, then, you true son of your\nfather, and tell your friend that we will offer sacrifices for his\nwelfare.\"\n\n\"A lean chicken to Aesculapius,\" whispered the grammateus to Althea. \"She\nholds on to the oboli.\"\n\n\"Which, at any rate, would be hard enough to dispose of in this wretched\nplace unless one were a dealer in weapons or a thirsty sailor,\" sighed\nthe Thracian. \"As soon as the sky and sea are blue again, chains could\nnot keep me here. And the cooing around this insipid rich beauty into the\nbargain!\"\n\nThis remark referred to Philotas, who was just offering Daphne a\nmagnificent bunch of roses, which a mounted messenger had brought to him\nfrom Alexandria.\n\nThe girl received it with a grateful glance, but she instantly separated\none of the most beautiful blossoms from its companions and handed it to\nHermon, saying, \"For our suffering friend, with my affectionate\nremembrances.\"\n\nThe artist pressed her dear hand with a tender look of love, intended to\nexpress how difficult it was for him to leave her, and when, just at that\nmoment, a slave announced that the horses were waiting, Thyone whispered:\n\"Have no anxiety, my son! Your ride away from her through the tempest\nwill bring you a better reward than his slave's swift horse will bear the\ngiver of the roses.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nHermon, with the rose for his friend fastened in the breast folds of his\nchiton, mounted his horse gratefully, and his companion, a sinewy,\nbronzed Midianite, who was also to attend to the opening of the fortress\ngates, did the same.\n\nBefore reaching the open country the sculptor had to ride through the\nwhole city, with which he was entirely unfamiliar. Fiercely as the storm\nwas sweeping down the streets and squares, and often as the horseman was\nforced to hold on to his travelling hat and draw his chlamys closer\naround him, he felt the anxieties which had made his night sleepless and\nsaddened his day suddenly leave him as if by a miracle. Was it the\nconsciousness of having acted rightly? was it the friendly farewell which\nDaphne had given him, and the hope Thyone had aroused, or the expectation\nof seeing Ledscha once more, and at least regaining her good will, that\nhad restored his lost light-heartedness? He did not know himself, nor did\nhe desire to know.\n\nWhile formerly he had merely glanced carelessly about him in Pelusium,\nand only half listened to the explanations given by the veteran's deep\nvoice, now whatever he saw appeared in clear outlines and awakened his\ninterest, in spite of the annoyances caused by the storm.\n\nHad he not known that he was in Pelusium, it would have been difficult\nfor him to determine whether the city he was crossing was an Egyptian, a\nHellenic, or a Syrian one; for here rose an ancient temple of the time of\nthe Pharaohs, with obelisks and colossal statues before the lofty pylons,\nyonder the sanctuary of Poseidon, surrounded by stately rows of Doric\ncolumns, and farther on the smaller temple dedicated to the Dioscuri, and\nthe circular Grecian building that belonged to Aphrodite.\n\nIn another spot, still close to the harbour, he saw the large buildings\nconsecrated to the worship of the Syrian Baal and Astarte.\n\nHere he was obliged to wait awhile, for the tempest had excited the war\nelephants which were returning from their exercising ground, and their\nblack keepers only succeeded with the utmost difficulty in restraining\nthem. Shrieking with fear, the few persons who were in the street besides\nthe soldiers, that were everywhere present, scattered before the huge,\nterrified animals.\n\nThe costume and appearance of the citizens, too, gave no clew to the\ncountry to which the place belonged; there were as many Egyptians among\nthem as Greeks, Syrians, and negroes. Asiatics appeared in the majority\nonly in the market place, where the dealers were just leaving their\nstands to secure their goods from the storm. In front of the big building\nwhere the famous Pelusinian xythus beer was brewed, the drink was being\ncarried away in jugs and wineskins, in ox-carts and on donkeys. Here,\ntoo, men were loading camels, which were rarely seen in Egypt, and had\nbeen introduced there only a short time before.\n\nHow forcibly all these things riveted Hermon's attention, now that no one\nwas at hand to explain them and no delay was permitted! He scarcely had\ntime for recollection and expectation.\n\nFinally, the last gate was unlocked, and the ramparts and moats lay\nbehind him.\n\nThus far the wind had kept back the rain, and only scattered drops lashed\nthe riders' faces; but as soon as they entered the open country, it\nseemed as though the pent-up floods burst the barriers which retained\nthem above, and a torrent of water such as only those dry regions know\nrushed, not in straight or slanting lines, but in thick streams, whirled\nby the hurricane, upon the marshy land which stretched from Pelusium to\nTennis, and on the horsemen.\n\nThe road led along a dike raised above fields which, at this season of\nthe year, were under water, and Hermon's companion knew it well.\n\nFor a time both riders allowed themselves to be drenched in silence. The\nwater ran down upon them from their broad-brimmed hats, and their\ndripping horses trotted with drooping heads and steaming flanks one\nbehind the other until, at the very brick-kiln where Ledscha had recalled\nher widowed sister's unruly slaves to obedience, the guide stopped with\nan oath, and pointed to the water which had risen to the top of the dam,\nand in some places concealed the road from their eyes.\n\nNow it was no longer possible to trot, for the guide was obliged to seek\nthe traces of the dike with great caution. Meanwhile the force of the\npouring rain by no means lessened--nay, it even seemed to increase--and\nthe horses were already wading in water up to their fetlocks.\n\nBut if the votive stones, the little altars and statues of the gods, the\nbushes and single trees along the sides of the dike road were overflowed\nwhile the travellers were in the region of the marsh, they would be\nobliged to interrupt their journey, for the danger of sinking into the\nmorass with their horses would then threaten them.\n\nEven at the brick-kiln travellers, soldiers, and trains of merchandise\nhad stopped to wait for the end of the cloud-burst.\n\nIn front of the farmhouse, too, which Hermon and his companion next\nreached, they saw dozens of people seeking shelter, and the Midianite\nurged his master to join them for a short time at least. The wisest\ncourse here was probably to yield, and Hermon was already turning his\nhorse's head toward the house when a Greek messenger dashed past the\nbeckoning refuge and also by him.\n\n\"Do you dare to ride farther?\" the artist shouted in a tone of warning\ninquiry to the man on the dripping bay, and the latter, without pausing,\nanswered: \"Duty! On business for the King!\"\n\nThen Hermon turned his steed back toward the road, beat the water from\nhis soaked beard with the edge of his hand, and with a curt \"Forward!\"\nannounced his decision to his companion. Duty summoned him also, and what\nanother risked for the King he would not fail to do for his friend.\n\nThe Midianite, shaking his head, rode angrily after him; but, though the\nviolence of the rain was lessening, the wind began to blow with redoubled\nforce, beating and lashing the boundless expanse of the quickly formed\nlake with such savage fury that it rolled in surges like the sea, and\nsweeping over it dense clouds of foam like the sand waves tossed by the\ndesert tempests.\n\nSometimes moaning, sometimes whistling, the gusts of the hurricane drove\nthe water and the travellers before it, while the rain poured from the\nsky to the earth, and wherever it struck splashed upward, making little\nwhirlpools and swiftly breaking bubbles.\n\nWhat might not Myrtilus suffer in this storm! This thought strengthened\nHermon's courage to twice ride past other farmhouses which offered\nshelter. At the third the horse refused to wade farther in such a\ntempest, so there was nothing to be done except spring off and lead it to\nthe higher ground which the water had not yet reached.\n\nThe interior of the peasant hut was filled with people who had sought\nshelter there, and the stifling atmosphere which the artist felt at the\ndoor induced him to remain outside.\n\nHe had stood there dripping barely fifteen minutes when loud shouts and\nyells were heard on the road from Pelusium by which he had come, and upon\nthe flooded dike appeared a body of men rushing forward with marvellous\nspeed.\n\nThe nearer they came the fiercer and more bewildering sounded the loud,\nshrill medley of their frantic cries, mingled with hoarse laughter, and\nthe spectacle presented to the eyes was no less rough and bold.\n\nThe majority seemed to be powerful men. Their complexions were as light\nas the Macedonians; their fair, red, and brown locks were thick, unkempt,\nand bristling. Most of the reckless, defiantly bold faces were\nsmooth-shaven, with only a mustache on the upper lip, and sometimes a\nshort imperial. All carried weapons, and a fleece covered the shoulders\nof many, while chains, ornamented with the teeth of animals, hung on\ntheir white muscular chests.\n\n\"Galatians,\" Hermon heard one man near him call to another. \"They came to\nthe fortress as auxiliary troops. Philippus forbade them to plunder on\npain of death, and showed them--the gods be thanked!--that he was in\nearnest. Otherwise it would soon look here as though the plagues of\nlocusts, flood, and fire had visited us at once. Red-haired men are not\nthe only sons of Typhon!\"\n\nAnd Hermon thought that he had indeed never seen any human beings equally\nfierce, bold to the verge of reckless madness, as these Gallic warriors.\nThe tempest which swept them forward, and the water through which they\nwaded, only seemed to increase their enjoyment, for sheer delight rang in\ntheir exulting shouts and yells.\n\nOh, yes! To march amid this uproar of the elements was a pleasure to the\nhealthy men. It afforded them the rarest, most enlivening delight. For a\nlong time nothing had so strongly reminded them of the roaring of the\nwind and the rushing of the rain in their northern home. It seemed a\ndelicious relief, after the heat and dryness of the south, which they had\nendured with groans.\n\nWhen they perceived the eyes fixed upon them they swung their weapons,\narched their breasts with conscious vanity, distorted their faces into\nterrible threatening grimaces, or raised bugle horns to their lips, drew\nfrom them shrill, ear-piercing notes and gloated, with childish delight,\nin the terror of the gaping crowd, on whom the restraint of authority\nsternly forbade them to show their mettle.\n\nLust of rapine and greed for booty glittered in many a fiery, longing\nlook, but their leaders kept them in check with the sword. So they rushed\non without stopping, like a thunderstorm pregnant with destruction which\nthe wind drives over a terrified village.\n\nHermon also had to take the road they followed, and, after giving the\nGauls a long start, he set out again.\n\nBut though he succeeded in passing the marshy region without injury,\nthere had been delay after delay; here the horses had left the flooded\ndike road and floundered up to their knees in the morass, there trees\nfrom the roadside, uprooted by the storm, barred the way.\n\nAs night closed in the rain ceased and the wind began to subside, but\ndark clouds covered the sky, and the horsemen were still an hour's ride\nfrom the place where the road ended at the little harbour from which\ntravellers entered the boat which conveyed them to Tennis.\n\nThe way no longer led through the marsh, but through tilled lands, and\ncrossed the ditches which irrigated the fields on wooden bridges.\n\nOn their account, in the dense darkness which prevailed, caution was\nnecessary, and this the guide certainly did not lack. He rode at a slow\nwalk in front of the artist, and had just pointed out to him the light at\nthe landing place of the boat which went to Tennis, when Hermon was\nsuddenly startled by a loud cry, followed by clattering and splashing.\n\nWith swift presence of mind he sprang from his horse and found his\nconjecture verified. The bridge had broken down, and horse and rider had\nfallen into the broad canal.\n\n\"The Galatians!\" reached Hermon from the dark depths, and the exclamation\nrelieved him concerning the fate of the Midianite.\n\nThe latter soon struggled up to the road uninjured. The bridge must have\ngiven way under the feet of the savage horde, unless the Gallic monsters,\nwith brutal malice, had intentionally shattered it.\n\nThe first supposition, however, seemed to be the correct one, for as\nHermon approached the canal he heard moans of pain. One of the Gauls had\napparently met with an accident in the fall of the bridge and been\ndeserted by his comrades. With the skill acquired in the wrestling\nschool, Hermon descended into the canal to look for the wounded man,\nwhile his guide undertook to get the horses ashore.\n\nThe deep darkness considerably increased the difficulty of carrying out\nhis purpose, but the young Greek went up to his neck in the water he\ncould not become wetter than he was already. So he remained in the ditch\nuntil he found the injured man whose groans of suffering pierced his\ncompassionate heart.\n\nHe was obliged to release the luckless Gaul from the broken timbers of\nthe bridge, and, when Hermon had dragged him out on the opposite bank of\nthe canal, he made no answer to any question. A falling beam had probably\nstruck him senseless.\n\nHis hair, which Hermon's groping fingers informed him was thick and\nrough, seemed to denote a Gaul, but a full, long beard was very rarely\nseen in this nation, and the wounded man wore one. Nor could anything be\ndiscovered from the ornaments or weapons of this fierce barbarian.\n\nBut to whatever people he might belong, he certainly was not a Greek. The\nthoroughly un-Hellenic wrapping up of the legs proved that.\n\nNo matter! Hermon at any rate was dealing with some one who was severely\ninjured, and the self-sacrificing pity with which even suffering animals\ninspired him, and which in his boyhood had drawn upon him the jeers of\nthe companions of his own age, did not abandon him now.\n\nReluctantly obeying his command, the Midianite helped him bandage the\nsufferer's head, in which a wound could be felt, as well as it could be\ndone in the darkness, and lift him on the artist's horse. During this\ntime fresh groans issued from the bearded lips of the injured warrior,\nand Hermon walked by his side, guarding the senseless man from the danger\nof falling from the back of the horse as it slowly followed the\nMidianite's.\n\nThis tiresome walk, however, did not last long; the landing place was\nreached sooner than Hermon expected, and the ferryboat bore the\ntravellers and the horses to Tennis.\n\nBy the flickering light of the captain's lantern it was ascertained that\nthe wounded man, in spite of his long dark beard, was probably a Gaul.\nThe stupor was to be attributed to the fall of a beam on his head, and\nthe shock, rather than to the wound. The great loss of blood sustained by\nthe young and powerful soldier had probably caused the duration of the\nswoon.\n\nDuring the attempts at resuscitation a sailor boy offered his assistance.\nHe carefully held the lantern, and, as its flickering light fell for\nbrief moments upon the artist's face, the lad of thirteen or fourteen\nasked if he was Hermon of Alexandria.\n\nA curt \"If you will permit,\" answered the question, considered by the\nHellenes an unseemly one, especially from such a youth; but the sculptor\npaid no further attention to him, for, while devoting himself honestly to\nthe wounded man, his anxiety about his invalid friend increased, and\nLedscha's image also rose again before him.\n\nAt last the ferryboat touched the land, and when Hermon looked around for\nthe lad he had already leaped ashore, and was just vanishing in the\ndarkness.\n\nIt was probably within an hour of midnight.\n\nThe gale was still blowing fiercely over the water, driving the black\nclouds across the dark sky, sometimes with long-drawn, wailing sounds,\nsometimes with sharp, whistling ones. The rain had wholly ceased, and\nseemed to have exhausted itself here in the afternoon.\n\nAs Archias's white house was a considerable distance from the landing\nplace of the ferryboat, Hermon had the wounded warrior carried to it by\nBiamite sailors, and again mounted his horse to ride to Myrtilus at as\nswift a trot as the soaked, wretched, but familiar road would permit.\n\nConsiderable time had been spent in obtaining a litter for the Gaul, yet\nHermon was surprised to meet the lad who had questioned him so boldly on\nthe ferryboat coming, not from the landing place, but running toward it\nagain from the city, and then saw him follow the shore, carrying a\nblazing torch, which he waved saucily. The wind blew aside the flame and\nsmoke which came from the burning pitch, but it shone brightly through\nthe gloom and permitted the boy to be distinctly seen. Whence had the\nnimble fellow come so quickly? How had he succeeded, in this fierce gale,\nin kindling the torch so soon into a powerful flame? Was it not foolish\nto let a child amuse itself in the middle of the night with so dangerous\na toy?\n\nHermon hastily thought over these questions, but the supposition that the\nlight of the torch might be intended for a signal did not occur to him.\n\nBesides, the boy and the light in his hand occupied his mind only a short\ntime. He had better things to think of. With what longing Myrtilus must\nnow be expecting his arrival! But the Gaul needed his aid no less\nurgently than his friend. Accurately as he knew what remedies relieved\nMyrtilus in severe attacks of illness, he could scarcely dispense with an\nassistant or a leech for the other, and the idea swiftly flashed upon him\nthat the wounded man would afford him an opportunity of seeing Ledscha\nagain.\n\nShe had told him more than once about the healing art possessed by old\nTabus on the Owl's Nest. Suppose he should now seek the angry girl to\nentreat her to speak to the aged miracle-worker in behalf of the sorely\nwounded young foreigner?\n\nHere he interrupted himself; something new claimed his attention.\n\nA dim light glimmered through the intense darkness from a bit of rising\nground by the wayside. It came from the Temple of Nemesis--a pretty\nlittle structure belonging to the time of Alexander the Great, which he\nhad often examined with pleasure. Several steps led to the anteroom,\nsupported by Ionic columns, which adjoined the naos.\n\nTwo lamps were burning at the side of the door leading into the little\nopen cella, and at the back of the consecrated place the statue of the\nwinged goddess was visible in the light of a small altar fire.\n\nIn her right hand she held the bridle and scourge, and at her feet stood\nthe wheel, whose turning indicates the influence exerted by her power\nupon the destiny of mortals. With stern severity that boded evil, she\ngazed down upon her left forearm, bent at the elbow, which corresponds\nwith the ell, the just measure.\n\nHermon certainly now, if ever, lacked both time and inclination to\nexamine again this modest work of an ordinary artist, yet he quickly\nstopped his weary horse; for in the little pronaos directly in front of\nthe cella door stood a slender figure clad in a long floating dark robe,\nextending its hands through the cella door toward the statue in fervent\nprayer. She was pressing her brow against the left post of the door, but\nat her feet, on the right side, cowered another figure, which could\nscarcely be recognised as a human being.\n\nThis, too, was a woman.\n\nDeeply absorbed in her own thoughts, she was also extending her arms\ntoward the statue of Nemesis.\n\nHermon knew them both.\n\nAt first he fancied that his excited imagination was showing him a\nthreatening illusion. But no!\n\nThe erect figure was Ledscha, the crouching one Gula, the sailor's wife\nwhose child he had rescued from the flames, and who had recently been\ncast out by her husband.\n\n\"Ledscha!\" escaped his lips in a muttered tone, and he involuntarily\nextended his hands toward her as she was doing toward the goddess.\n\nBut she did not seem to hear him, and the other woman also retained the\nsame attitude, as if hewn from stone.\n\nThen he called the supplicant's name loud tone, and the next instant\nstill more loudly; and now she turned, and, in the faint light of the\nlittle lamp, showed the marvellously noble outlines of her profile. He\ncalled again, and this time Ledscha heard anguished yearning in his deep\ntones; but they seemed to have lost their influence over her, for her\nlarge dark eyes gazed at him so repellently and sternly that a cold\ntremor ran down his spine.\n\nSwinging himself from his horse, he ascended the steps of the temple, and\nin the most tender tones at his command exclaimed: \"Ledscha! Severely as\nI have offended you, Ledscha--oh, do not say no! Will you hear me?\"\n\n\"No!\" she answered firmly, and, before he could speak, continued: \"This\nplace is ill chosen for another meeting! Your presence is hateful to me!\nDo not disturb me a moment longer!\"\n\n\"As you command,\" he began hesitatingly; but she swiftly interrupted with\nthe question, \"Do you come from Pelusium, and are you going directly\nhome?\"\n\n\"I did not heed the storm on account of Myrtilus's illness,\" he answered\nquietly, \"and if you demand it, I will return home at once; but first let\nme make one more entreaty, which will be pleasing also to the gods.\"\n\n\"Get your response from yonder deity!\" she impatiently interrupted,\npointing with a grand, queenly gesture, which at any other time would\nhave delighted his artist eye, to the statue of Nemesis in the cella.\n\nMeanwhile Gula had also turned her face toward Hermon, and he now\naddressed her, saying with a faint tone of reproach: \"And did hatred lead\nyou also, Gula, to this sanctuary at midnight to implore the goddess to\ndestroy me in her wrath?\"\n\nThe young mother rose and pointed to Ledscha, exclaiming, \"She desires\nit.\"\n\n\"And I?\" he asked gently. \"Have I really done you so much evil?\"\n\nShe raised her hand to her brow as if bewildered; her glance fell on the\nartist's troubled face, and lingered there for a short time. Then her\neyes wandered to Ledscha, and from her to the goddess, and finally back\nagain to the sculptor. Meanwhile Hermon saw how her young figure was\ntrembling, and, before he had time to address a soothing-word to her, she\nsobbed aloud, crying out to Ledscha: \"You are not a mother! My child, he\nrescued it from the flames. I will not, and I can not--I will no longer\npray for his misfortune!\"\n\nShe drew her veil over her pretty, tear-stained face as she spoke, and\ndarted lightly down the temple steps close beside him to seek shelter in\nher parents' house, which had been unwillingly opened to the cast-off\nwife, but now afforded her a home rich in affection.\n\nImmeasurably bitter scorn was depicted in Ledscha's features as she gazed\nafter Gula. She did not appear to notice Hermon, and when at last he\nappealed to her and briefly urged her to ask the old enchantress on the\nOwl's Nest for a remedy for the wounded Gaul, she again leaned against\nthe post of the cella door, extended both arms with passionate fervour\ntoward the goddess, and remained standing there motionless, deaf to his\npetition.\n\nHis blood seethed in his veins, and he was tempted to go nearer and force\nher to hear him; but before he had ascended the first of the flight of\nsteps leading to the pronaos, he heard the footsteps of the men who were\nbearing the wounded warrior after him.\n\nThey must not see him here with one of their countrywomen at this hour,\nand manly pride forbade him to address her again as a supplicant.\n\nSo he went back to the road, mounted his horse, and rode on without\nvouchsafing a word of farewell to the woman who was invoking destruction\nupon his head. As he did so his eyes again rested on the stern face of\nNemesis, and the wheel whose turning determined the destiny of men at her\nfeet.\n\nAssailed by horrible fears, and overpowered by presentiments of evil, he\npursued his way through the darkness.\n\nPerhaps Myrtilus had succumbed to the terrible attack which must have\nvisited him in such a storm, and life without his friend would be bereft\nof half its charm. Orphaned, poor, a struggler who had gained no complete\nvictory, it had been rich only in disappointments to him, in spite of his\nconviction that he was a genuine artist, and was fighting for a good\ncause. Now he knew that he had also lost the woman by whose assistance he\nwas certain of a great success in his own much-disputed course, and\nLedscha, if any one, was right in expecting a favourable hearing from the\ngoddess who punished injustice.\n\nHe did not think of Daphne again until he was approaching the place where\nher tents had stood, and the remembrance of her fell like a ray of light\ninto his darkened soul.\n\nYet on that spot had also been erected the wooden platform from which\nAlthea had showed him the transformation into the spider, and the\nrecollection of the foolish error into which the Thracian had drawn him\ndisagreeably clouded the pleasant thought of Daphne.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nComplete darkness enfolded the white house. Hermon saw only two windows\nlighted, the ones in his friend's studio, which looked out into the open\nsquare, while his own faced the water.\n\nWhat did this mean?\n\nIt must be nearly midnight, and he could no longer expect Myrtilus to be\nstill at work. He had supposed that he should find him in his chamber,\nsupported by his slaves, struggling for breath. What was the meaning of\nthe light in the workrooms now?\n\nWhere was his usually efficient Bias? He never went to rest when his\nmaster was to return home, yet the carrier dove must have announced his\ncoming!\n\nBut Hermon had also enjoined the care of Myrtilus upon the slave, and he\nwas undoubtedly beside the sufferer's couch, supporting him in the same\nway that he had often seen his master.\n\nHe was now riding across the open space, and he heard the men who carried\nthe Gaul talking close behind him.\n\nWas the wounded barbarian the sole acquisition of this journey?\n\nThe beat of his horse's hoofs and the voices of the Biamites echoed\ndistinctly enough amid the stillness of the night, which was interrupted\nonly by the roaring of the wind. And this disturbance of the deep silence\naround had entered the lighted windows before him, for a figure appeared\nat one of them, and--could he believe his own eyes?--Myrtilus looked down\ninto the square, and a joyous welcome rang from his lips as loudly as in\nhis days of health.\n\nThe darkness of the night suddenly seemed to Hermon to be illumined. A\nleap to the ground, two bounds up the steps leading to the house, an\neager rush through the corridor that separated him from the room in which\nMyrtilus was, the bursting instead of opening of the door, and, as if\nfrantic with happy surprise, he impetuously embraced his friend, who,\nburin and file in hand, was just approaching the threshold, and kissed\nhis brow and cheeks in the pure joy of his heart.\n\nThen what questions, answers, tidings! In spite of the torrents of rain\nand the gale, the invalid's health had been excellent. The solitude had\ndone him good. He knew nothing about the carrier dove. The hurricane had\nprobably \"blown it away,\" as the breeders of the swift messengers said.\n\nQuestion and reply now followed one another in rapid succession, and both\nwere soon acquainted with everything worth knowing; nay, Hermon had even\ndelivered Daphne's rose to his friend, and informed him what had befallen\nthe Gaul who was being brought into the house.\n\nBias and the other slaves had quickly appeared, and Hermon soon rendered\nthe wounded man the help he needed in an airy chamber in the second story\nof the house, which, owing to the heat that prevailed in summer so close\nunder the roof, the slaves had never occupied.\n\nBias assisted his master with equal readiness and skill, and at last the\nGaul opened his eyes and, in the language of his country, asked a few\nbrief questions which were incomprehensible to the others. Then,\ngroaning, he again closed his lids.\n\nHitherto Hermon had not even allowed himself time to look around his\nfriend's studio and examine what he had created during his absence. But,\nafter perceiving that his kind act had not been in vain, and consuming\nwith a vigorous appetite the food and wine which Bias set before him, he\nobliged Myrtilus--for another day was coming--to go to rest, that the\nstorm might not still prove hurtful to him.\n\nYet he held his friend's hand in a firm clasp for a long time, and, when\nthe latter at last prepared to go, he pressed it so closely that it\nactually hurt Myrtilus. But he understood his meaning, and, with a loving\nglance that sank deep into Hermon's heart, called a last good night.\n\nAfter two sleepless nights and the fatiguing ride which he had just\ntaken, the sculptor felt weary enough; but when he laid his hand on the\nGaul's brow and breast, and felt their burning heat, he refused Bias's\nvoluntary offer to watch the sufferer in his place.\n\nIf to amuse or forget himself he had caroused far more nights in\nsuccession in Alexandria, why should he not keep awake when the object in\nquestion was to wrest a young life from the grasp of death? This man and\nhis life were now his highest goal, and he had never yet repented his\nfoolish eccentricity of imposing discomforts upon himself to help the\nsuffering.\n\nBias, on his part, was very willing to go to rest. He had plenty of cause\nfor weariness; Myrtilus's unscrupulous body-servant had stolen off with\nthe other slaves the night before, and did not return, with staggering\ngait, until the next morning, but, in order to keep his promise to his\nmaster, he had scarcely closed his eyes, that he might be at hand if\nMyrtilus should need assistance.\n\nSo Bias fell asleep quickly enough in his little room in the lower story,\nwhile his master, by the exertion of all his strength of will, watched\nbeside the couch of the Gaul.\n\nYet, after the first quarter of an hour, his head, no matter how he\nstruggled to prevent it, drooped again and again upon his breast. But\njust as slumber was completely overpowering him his patient made him\nstart up, for he had left his bed, and when Hermon, fully roused, looked\nfor him, was standing in the middle of the room, gazing about him.\n\nThe artist thought that fever had driven the wounded warrior from his\ncouch, as it formerly did his fellow-pupil Lycon, whom, in the delirium\nof typhus, he could keep in bed only by force. So he led the Gaul\ncarefully back to the couch he had deserted, and, after moistening the\nbandage with healing balm from Myrtilus's medicine chest, ordered him to\nkeep quiet.\n\nThe barbarian yielded as obediently as a child, but at first remained in\na sitting posture and asked, in scarcely intelligible broken Greek, how\nhe came to this place.\n\nAfter Hermon had satisfied his curiosity, he also put a few questions,\nand learned that his charge not only wore a mustache, like his fellow\ncountrymen, but also a full beard, because the latter was the badge of\nthe bridge builders, to which class he belonged. While examining the one\ncrossing the canal, it had fallen in upon him.\n\nHe closed his eyes as he spoke, and Hermon wondered if it was not time\nfor him to lie down also; but the wounded man's brow was still burning,\nand the Gallic words which he constantly muttered were probably about the\nphantoms of fever, which Hermon recognised from Lycon's illness.\n\nSo he resolved to wait and continue to devote the night, which he had\nalready intended to give him, to the sufferer. From the chair at the foot\nof the bed he looked directly into his face. The soft light of the lamp,\nwhich with two others hung from a tall, heavy bronze stand in the shape\nof an anchor, which Bias had brought, shone brightly enough to allow him\nto perceive how powerful was the man whose life he had saved. His own\nface was scarcely lighter in hue than the barbarian's, and how sharp was\nthe contrast between his long, thick black beard and his white face and\nbare arched chest!\n\nHermon had noticed this same contrast in his own person. Otherwise the\nGaul did not resemble him in a single feature, and he might even have\nrefused to compare his soft, wavy beard with the harsh, almost bristly\none of the barbarian. And what a defiant, almost evil expression his\ncountenance wore when--perhaps because his wound ached--he closed his\nlips more firmly! The children who so willingly let him, Hermon, take\nthem in his arms would certainly have been afraid of this savage-looking\nfellow.\n\nYet in build, and at any rate in height and breadth of shoulders, there\nwas some resemblance between him and the Gaul.\n\nAs a bridge builder, the injured man belonged, in a certain sense, to the\nranks of the artists, and this increased Hermon's interest in his\npatient, who was now probably out of the most serious danger.\n\nTrue, the Greek still cast many a searching glance at the barbarian, but\nhis eyes closed more and more frequently, and at last the idea took\npossession of him that he himself was the wounded man on the couch, and\nsome one else, who again was himself, was caring for him.\n\nHe vainly strove to understand the impossibility of this division of his\nown being, but the more eagerly he did so the greater became his\nbewilderment.\n\nSuddenly the scene changed; Ledscha had appeared.\n\nBending over him, she lavished words of love; but when, in passionate\nexcitement, he sprang from the couch to draw her toward him, she changed\ninto the Nemesis to whose statue she had just prayed.\n\nHe stood still as if petrified, and the goddess, too, did not stir. Only\nthe wheel which had rested at her feet began to move, and rolled, with a\nthundering din, sometimes around him, sometimes around the people who, as\nif they had sprung from the ground, formed a jeering company of\nspectators, and clapped their hands, laughed, and shouted whenever it\nrolled toward him and he sprang back in fear.\n\nMeanwhile the wheel constantly grew larger, and seemed to become heavier,\nfor the wooden beams over which it rolled splintered, crashing like thin\nlaths, and the spectators' shouts of applause sounded ruder and fiercer.\n\nThen mortal terror suddenly seized him, and while he shouted for help to\nMyrtilus, Daphne, and her father Archias, his slave Bias, the old comrade\nof Alexander, Philippus, and his wife, he awoke, bathed in perspiration,\nand looked about him.\n\nBut he must still be under the spell of the horrible dream, for the\nrattling and clattering around him continued, and the bed where the\nwounded Gaul had lain was empty.\n\nHermon involuntarily dipped his hand into the water which stood ready to\nwet the bandages, and sprinkled his own face with it; but if he had ever\nbeheld life with waking eyes, he was doing so now. Yet the barbarian had\nvanished, and the noise in the house still continued.\n\nWas it possible that rats and mice--? No! That was the shriek of a\nterrified human being--that a cry for help! This sound was the imperious\ncommand of a rough man's voice, that--no, he was not mistaken--that was\nhis own name, and it came from the lips of his Myrtilus, anxiously,\nurgently calling for assistance.\n\nThen he suddenly realized that the white house had been attacked, that\nhis friend must be rescued from robbers or the fury of a mob of Biamites,\nand, like the bent wood of a projectile when released from the noose\nwhich holds it to the ground, the virile energy that characterized him\nsprang upward with mighty power. The swift glance that swept the room was\nsent to discover a weapon, and before it completed the circuit Hermon had\nalready grasped the bronze anchor with the long rod twined with leaves\nand the teeth turned downward. Only one of the three little vessels\nfilled with oil that hung from it was burning. Before swinging the heavy\nstandard aloft, he freed it from the lamps, which struck the floor with a\nclanging noise.\n\nThe man to whom he dealt a blow with this ponderous implement would\nforget to rise. Then, as if running for a prize in the gymnasium, he\nrushed through the darkness to the staircase, and with breathless haste\ngroped his way down the narrow, ladderlike steps. He felt himself an\navenging, punishing power, like the Nemesis who had pursued him in his\ndreams. He must wrest the friend who was to him the most beloved of\nmortals from the rioters. To defeat them himself seemed a small matter.\nHis shout--\"I am coming, Myrtilus! Snuphis, Bias, Dorcas, Syrus! here,\nfollow me!\" was to summon the old Egyptian doorkeeper and the slaves, and\ninform his friend of the approach of a deliverer.\n\nThe loudest uproar echoed from his own studio. Its door stood wide open,\nand black smoke, mingled with the deep red and yellow flames of burning\npitch, poured from it toward him.\n\n\"Myrtilus!\" he shouted at the top of his voice as he leaped across the\nthreshold into the tumult which filled the spacious apartment, at the\nsame time clashing the heavy iron anchor down upon the head of the\nbroad-shouldered, half-naked fellow who was raising a clumsy lance\nagainst him.\n\nThe pirate fell as though struck by lightning, and he again shouted\n\"Myrtilus!\" into the big room, so familiar to him, where the conflict was\nraging chaotically amid a savage clamour, and the smoke did not allow him\nto distinguish a single individual.\n\nFor the second time he swung the terrible weapon, and it struck to the\nfloor the monster with a blackened face who had rushed toward him, but at\nthe same time the anchor broke in two.\n\nOnly a short metal rod remained in his hand, and, while he raised his\narm, determined to crush the temples of the giant carrying a torch who\nsprang forward to meet him, it suddenly seemed as if a vulture with\nglowing plumage and burning beak was attacking his face, and the terrible\nbird of prey was striking its hard, sharp, red-hot talons more and more\nfuriously into his lips, cheeks, and eyes.\n\nAt first a glare as bright as sunshine had flashed before his gaze; then,\nwhere he had just seen figures and things half veiled by the smoke, he\nbeheld only a scarlet surface, which changed to a violet, and finally a\nblack spot, followed by a violet-blue one, while the vulture continued to\nrend his face with beak and talons.\n\nThen the name \"Myrtilus!\" once more escaped his lips; this time, however,\nit did not sound like the encouraging shout of an avenging hero, but the\ncry for aid of one succumbing to defeat, and it was soon followed by a\nsuccession of frantic outbursts of suffering, terror, and despair.\n\nBut now sharp whistles from the water shrilly pierced the air and\npenetrated into the darkened room, and, while the tumult around Hermon\ngradually died away, he strove, tortured by burning pain, to grope his\nway toward the door; but here his foot struck against a human body, there\nagainst something hard, whose form he could not distinguish, and finally\na large object which felt cool, and could be nothing but his Demeter.\n\nBut she seemed doomed to destruction, for the smoke was increasing every\nmoment, and constantly made his open wounds smart more fiercely.\n\nSuddenly a cooler air fanned his burning face, and at the same time he\nheard hurrying steps approach and the mingled cries of human voices.\n\nAgain he began to shout the names of his friends, the slaves, and the\nporter; but no answer came from any of them, though hasty questions in\nthe Greek language fell upon his ear.\n\nThe strategist, with his officers, the nomarch of the district with his\nsubordinates, and many citizens of Tennis had arrived. Hermon knew most\nof them by their voices, but their figures were not visible. The red,\nviolet, and black cloud before him was all he could see.\n\nYet, although the pain continued to torture him, and a voice in his soul\ntold him that he was blinded, he did not allow the government officials\nwho eagerly surrounded him to speak, only pointed hastily to his eyes,\nand then bade them enter Myrtilus's studio. The Egyptian Chello, the\nTennis goldsmith, who had assisted the artists in the preparation of the\nnoble metal, and one of the police officers who had been summoned to rid\nthe old house of the rats and mice which infested it, both knew the way.\n\nThey must first try to save Myrtilus's work and, when that was\naccomplished, preserve his also from destruction by the flames.\n\nLeaning on the goldsmith's arm, Hermon went to his friend's studio; but\nbefore they reached it smoke and flames poured out so densely that it was\nimpossible even to gain the door.\n\n\"Destroyed--a prey to the flames!\" he groaned. \"And he--he--he--\"\n\nThen like a madman he asked if no one had seen Myrtilus, and where he\nwas; but in vain, always in vain.\n\nAt last the goldsmith who was leading him asked him to move aside, for\nall who had flocked to the white house when it was seized by the flames\nhad joined in the effort to save the statue of Demeter, which they had\nfound unharmed in his studio.\n\nSeventeen men, by the exertion of all their strength, were dragging the\nheavy statue from the house, which was almost on the point of falling in,\ninto the square. Several others were bearing corpses into the open\nair-the old porter Snuphis and Myrtilus's body servant. Some motionless\nforms they were obliged to leave behind. Both the bodies had deep wounds.\nThere was no trace of Myrtilus and Bias.\n\nOutside the storm had subsided, and a cool breeze blew refreshingly into\nHermon's face. As he walked arm in arm with the notary Melampus, who had\ninvited him to his house, and heard some one at his side exclaim, \"How\nlavishly Eos is scattering her roses to-day!\" he involuntarily lifted the\ncloth with which he had covered his smarting face to enjoy the beautiful\nflush of dawn, but again beheld nothing save a black and violet-blue\nsurface.\n\nThen drawing his hand from his guide's arm, he pressed it upon his poor,\nsightless, burning eyes, and in helpless rage, like a beast of prey which\nfeels the teeth of the hunter's iron trap rend his flesh, groaned\nfiercely, \"Blind! blind!\" and again, and yet again, \"Blind!\"\n\nWhile the morning star was still paling, the lad who after Hermon's\nlanding had raced along the shore with the burning torch glided into the\nlittle pronaos of the Temple of Nemesis.\n\nLedscha was still standing by the doorpost of the cella with uplifted\nhand, so deeply absorbed in fervent prayer that she did not perceive the\napproach of the messenger until he called her.\n\n\"Succeeded?\" she asked in a muffled tone, interrupting his hasty\ngreeting.\n\n\"You must give the goddess what you vowed,\" was the reply. \"Hanno sends\nyou the message. And also, 'You must come with me in the boat quickly-at\nonce!'\"\n\n\"Where?\" the girl demanded.\n\n\"Not on board the Hydra yet,\" replied the boy hurriedly. \"First only to\nthe old man on the Megara. The dowry is ready for your father. But there\nis not a moment to lose.\"\n\n\"Well, well!\" she gasped hoarsely. \"But, first, shall I find the man with\nthe black beard on board of one of the ships?\"\n\n\"Certainly!\" answered the lad proudly, grasping her arm to hurry her; but\nshe shook him off violently, turned toward the cella again, and once more\nlifted her hands and eyes to the statue of Nemesis.\n\nThen she took up the bundle she had hidden behind a pillar, drew from it\na handful of gold coins, which she flung into the box intended for\nofferings, and followed the boy.\n\n\"Alive?\" she asked as she descended the steps; but the lad understood the\nmeaning of the question, and exclaimed: \"Yes, indeed! Hanno says the\nwounds are not at all dangerous.\"\n\n\"And the other?\"\n\n\"Not a scratch. On the Hydra, with two severely wounded slaves. The\nporter and the others were killed.\"\n\n\"And the statues?\"\n\n\"They-such things can't be accomplished without some little\nblunder-Labaja thinks so, too.\"\n\n\"Did they escape you?\"\n\n\"Only one. I myself helped to smash the other, which stood in the\nworkroom that looks out upon the water. The gold and ivory are on the\nship. We had horrible work with the statue which stood in the room whose\nwindows faced the square. They dragged the great monster carefully into\nthe studio that fronts upon the water. But probably it is still standing\nthere, if the thing is not already--just see how the flames are whirling\nupward!--if it is not already burned with the house.\"\n\n\"What a misfortune!\" Ledscha reproachfully exclaimed.\n\n\"It could not be helped,\" the boy protested. \"People from Tennis suddenly\nrushed in. The first--a big, furious fellow-killed our Loule and the\nfierce Judas. Now he has to pay for it. Little Chareb threw the black\npowder into his eyes, while Hanno himself thrust the torch in his face.\"\n\n\"And Bias, the blackbeard's slave?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Oh, yes! Wounded, I believe, on board the ship.\"\n\nMeanwhile the lad, a precocious fourteen-year-old cabin-boy from the\nHydra, pointed to the boat which lay ready, and took Ledscha's bundle in\nhis hand; but she sprang into the light skiff before him and ordered it\nto be rowed to the Owl's Nest, where she must bid Mother Tabus good-bye.\nThe cabin-boy, however, declared positively that the command could not be\nobeyed now, and at his signal two black sailors urged it with swift oar\nstrokes toward the northwest, to Satabus's ship. Hanno wished to receive\nhis bride as a wife from his father's hand.\n\nLedscha had not insisted upon the fulfilment of her desire, but as the\nboat passed the Pelican Island her gaze rested on the lustreless waning\ndisk of the moon. She thought of the torturing night, during which she\nhad vainly waited here for Hermon, and a triumphant smile hovered around\nher lips; but soon the heavy eyebrows of the girl who was thus leaving\nher home contracted in a frown--she again fancied she saw, where the moon\nwas just fading, the body of a gigantic, hideous spider. She banished the\nillusion by speaking to the boy--spiders in the morning mean misfortune.\n\nThe early dawn, which was now crimsoning the east, reminded her of the\nblood which, as an avenger, she must yet shed.\n\n\n\n\nETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARK:\n\nCamels, which were rarely seen in Egypt\n\n\n\n\nARACHNE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nWhile the market place in Tennis was filling, Archias's white house had\nbecome a heap of smouldering ruins. Hundreds of men and women were\nstanding around the scene of the conflagration, but no one saw the statue\nof Demeter, which had been removed from Hermon's studio just in time. The\nnomarch had had it locked up in the neighbouring temple of the goddess.\n\nIt was rumoured that the divinity had saved her own statue by a miracle;\nPamaut, the police officer, said that he had seen her himself as,\nsurrounded by a brilliant light, she soared upward on the smoke that\npoured from the burning house. The strategist and the nomarch used every\nmeans in their power to capture the robbers, but without the least\nsuccess.\n\nAs it had become known that Paseth, Gula's husband, had cast off his wife\nbecause she had gone to Hermon's studio, the magistrates believed that\nthe attack had been made by the Biamites; yet Paseth was absent from the\ncity during the assault, and the innocence of the others could also be\nproved.\n\nSince, for two entire years, piracy had entirely ceased in this\nneighbourhood, no one thought of corsairs, and the bodies of the\nincendiaries having been consumed by the flames with the white house, it\ncould not be ascertained to what class the marauders belonged.\n\nThe blinded sculptor could only testify that one of the robbers was a\nnegro, or at any rate had had his face blackened, and that the size of\nanother had appeared to him almost superhuman. This circumstance gave\nrise to the fable that, during the terrible storm of the previous clay,\nHades had opened and spirits of darkness had rushed into the studio of\nthe Greek betrayer.\n\nThe strategist, it is true, did not believe such tales, but the\nsuperstition of the Biamites, who, moreover, aided the Greeks reluctantly\nto punish a crime which threatened to involve their own countrymen, put\nobstacles in the way of his measures.\n\nNot until he heard of Ledscha's disappearance, and was informed by the\npriest of Nemesis of the handsome sum which had been found in the\noffering box of the temple shortly after the attack, did he arrive at a\nconjecture not very far from the real state of affairs; only it was still\nincomprehensible to him what body of men could have placed themselves at\nthe disposal of a girl's vengeful plan.\n\nOn the second day after the fire, the epistrategus of the whole Delta,\nwho had accidentally come to the border fortress, arrived at Tennis on\nthe galley of the commandant of Pelusium, and with him Proclus, the\ngrammateus of the Dionysian artists, the Lady Thyone, Daphne, and her\ncompanion Chrysilla.\n\nThe old hero Philippus was detained in the fortress by the preparations\nfor war.\n\nAlthea had returned to Alexandria, and Philotas, who disliked her, had\ngone there himself, as Chrysilla intimated to him that he could hope for\nno success in his suit to her ward so long as Daphne had to devote\nherself to the care of the blinded Hermon.\n\nThe epistrategus proceeded with great caution, but his efforts also\nremained futile. He ordered a report to be made of all the vessels which\nhad entered the harbours and bays of the northeastern Delta, but those\ncommanded by Satabus and his sons gave no cause for investigation; they\nhad come into the Tanite arm of the Nile as lumber ships from Pontus, and\nhad discharged beams and planks for the account of a well-known\ncommercial house in Sinope.\n\nYet the official ordered the Owl's Nest to be searched. In doing this he\nmade himself guilty of an act of violence, as the island's right of\nasylum still existed, and this incensed the irritable and refractory\nBiamites the more violently, the deeper was the reverent awe with which\nthe nation regarded Tabus, who, according to their belief, was over a\nhundred years old. The Biamites honoured her not only as an enchantress\nand a leech, but as the ancestress of a race of mighty men. By molesting\nthis aged woman, and interfering with an ancient privilege, the\nepistrategus lost the aid of the hostile fishermen, sailors, and weavers.\nAny information from their ranks to him was regarded as treachery; and,\nbesides, his stay in Tennis could be but brief, as the King, on account\nof the impending war, had summoned him back to the capital.\n\nOn the third day after his arrival he left Tennis and sailed from Tanis\nfor Alexandria. He had had little time to attend to Thyone and her\nguests.\n\nProclus, too, could not devote himself to them until after the departure\nof the epistrategus, since he had gone immediately to Tanis, where, as\nhead of the Dionysian artists of all Egypt, he had been occupied in\nattending to the affairs of the newly established theatre.\n\nOn his return to Tennis he had instantly requested to be conducted to the\nTemple of Demeter, to inspect the blinded Hermon's rescued work.\n\nHe had entered the cella of the sanctuary with the expectation of finding\na peculiar, probably a powerful work, but one repugnant to his taste, and\nleft it fairly overpowered by the beauty of this noble work of art.\n\nWhat he had formerly seen of Hermon's productions had prejudiced him\nagainst the artist, whose talent was great, but who, instead of\ndedicating it to the service of the beautiful and the sublime, chose\nsubjects which, to Proclus, did not seem worthy of artistic treatment,\nor, when they were, sedulously deprived them of that by which, in his\neyes, they gained genuine value. In Hermon's Olympian Banquet he--who\nalso held the office of a high priest of Apollo in Alexandria--had even\nseen an insult to the dignity of the deity. In the Street Boy Eating\nFigs, the connoisseur's eye had recognised a peculiar masterpiece, but he\nhad been repelled by this also; for, instead of a handsome boy, it\nrepresented a starving, emaciated vagabond.\n\nTrue to life as this figure might be, it seemed to him reprehensible, for\nit had already induced others to choose similar vulgar subjects.\n\nWhen recently at Althea's performance he had met Hermon and saw how\nquickly his beautiful travelling companion allowed herself to be induced\nto bestow the wreath on the handsome, black-bearded fellow, it vexed him,\nand he had therefore treated him with distant coldness, and allowed him\nto perceive the disapproval which the direction taken by his art had\nawakened in his mind.\n\nIn the presence of Hermon's Demeter, the opinion of the experienced man\nand intelligent connoisseur had suddenly changed.\n\nThe creator of this work was not only one of the foremost artists of his\nday, nay, he had also been permitted to fathom the nature of the deity\nand to bestow upon it a perfect form.\n\nThis Demeter was the most successful personification of the divine\ngoodness which rewards the sowing of seed with the harvest. When Hermon\ncreated it, Daphne's image had hovered before his mind, even if he had\nnot been permitted to use her as a model, and of all the maidens whom he\nknew there was scarcely one better suited to serve as the type for the\nDemeter.\n\nSo what he had seen in Pelusium, and learned from women, was true. The\nheart and mind of the artist who had created this work were not filled\nwith the image of Althea--who during the journey had bestowed many a mark\nof favour upon the aging man, and with whom he was obliged to work hand\nin hand for Queen Arsinoe's plans--but the daughter of Archias, and this\ncircumstance also aided in producing his change of view.\n\nHermon's blindness, it was to be hoped, would be cured.\n\nDuty, and perhaps also interest, commanded him to show him frankly how\nhighly he estimated his art and his last work.\n\nAfter the arrival of Thyone and Daphne, Hermon had consented to accompany\nthem on board the Proserpina, their spacious galley. True, he had yielded\nreluctantly to this arrangement of his parents' old friend, and neither\nshe nor Daphne had hitherto succeeded in soothing the fierce resentment\nagainst fate which filled his soul after the loss of his sight and his\ndearest friend. As yet every attempt to induce him to bear his terrible\nmisfortune with even a certain degree of composure had failed.\n\nThe Tennis leech, trained by the Egyptian priests at Sais in the art of\nhealing, who was attached as a pastophorus to the Temple of Isis, in the\ncity of weavers, had covered the artist's scorched face with bandages,\nand earnestly adjured him never in his absence to raise them, and to keep\nevery ray of light from his blinded eyes. But the agitation which had\nmastered Hermon's whole being was so great that, in spite of the woman's\nprotestations, he lifted the covering again and again to see whether he\ncould not perceive once more at least a glimmer of the sunlight whose\nwarming power he felt. The thought of living in darkness until the end of\nhis life seemed unendurable, especially as now all the horrors which,\nhitherto, had only visited him in times of trial during the night\nassailed him with never-ceasing cruelty.\n\nThe image of the spider often forced itself upon him, and he fancied that\nthe busy insect was spreading its quickly made web over his blinded eyes,\nwhich he was not to touch, yet over which he passed his hand to free them\nfrom the repulsive veil.\n\nThe myth related that because Athene's blow had struck the ambitious\nweaver Arachne, she had resolved, before the goddess transformed her into\na spider, to put an end to her disgrace.\n\nHow infinitely harder was the one dealt to him! How much better reason he\nhad to use the privilege in which man possesses an advantage over the\nimmortals, of putting himself to death with his own hand when he deems\nthe fitting time has come! What should he, the artist, to whom his eyes\nbrought whatever made life valuable, do longer in this hideous black\nnight, brightened by no sunbeam?\n\nHe was often overwhelmed, too, by the remembrance of the terrible end of\nthe friend in whom he saw the only person who might have given him\nconsolation in this distress, and the painful thought of his poverty.\n\nHe was supported solely by what his art brought and his wealthy uncle\nallowed him. The Demeter which Archias had ordered had been partially\npaid for in advance, and he had intended to use the gold--a considerable\nsum--to pay debts in Alexandria. But it was consumed with the rest of his\nproperty--tools, clothing, mementoes of his dead parents, and a few books\nwhich contained his favourite poems and the writings of his master,\nStraton.\n\nThese precious rolls had aided him to maintain the proud conviction of\nowing everything which he attained or possessed solely to himself. It had\nagain become perfectly clear to him that the destiny of earth-born\nmortals was not directed by the gods whom men had invented after their\nown likeness, in order to find causes for the effects which they\nperceived, but by deaf and blind chance. Else how could even worse\nmisfortune, according to the opinion of most people, have befallen the\npure, guiltless Myrtilus, who so deeply revered the Olympians and\nunderstood how to honour them so magnificently by his art, than himself,\nthe despiser of the gods?\n\nBut was the death for which he longed a misfortune?\n\nWas the Nemesis who had so swiftly and fully granted the fervent prayer\nof an ill-used girl also only an image conjured up by the power of human\nimagination?\n\nIt was scarcely possible!\n\nYet if there was one goddess, did not that admit the probability of the\nexistence of all the others?\n\nHe shuddered at the idea; for if the immortals thought, felt, acted, how\nterribly his already cruel fate would still develop! He had denied and\ninsulted almost all the Olympians, and not even stirred a finger to the\npraise and honour of a single one.\n\nWhat marvel if they should choose him for the target of their resentment\nand revenge?\n\nHe had just believed that the heaviest misfortune which can befall a man\nand an artist had already stricken him. Now he felt that this, too, had\nbeen an error; for, like a physical pain, he realized the collapse of the\nproud delusion of being independent of every power except himself, freely\nand arbitrarily controlling his own destiny, owing no gratitude except to\nhis own might, and being compelled to yield to nothing save the\nenigmatical, pitiless power of eternal laws or their co-operation, so\nincomprehensible to the human intellect, called \"chance,\" which took no\nheed of merit or unworthiness.\n\nMust he, who had learned to silence and to starve every covetous desire,\nin order to require no gifts from his own uncle and his wealthy kinsman\nand friend, and be able to continue to hold his head high, as the most\nindependent of the independent, now, in addition to all his other woe, be\nforced to believe in powers that exercised an influence over his every\nact? Must he recognise praying to them and thanking them as the demand of\njustice, of duty, and wisdom? Was this possible either?\n\nAnd, believing himself alone, since he could not see Thyone and Daphne,\nwho were close by him, he struck his scorched brow with his clinched\nfist, because he felt like a free man who suddenly realizes that a rope\nwhich he can not break is bound around his hands and feet, and a giant\npulls and loosens it at his pleasure.\n\nYet no! Better die than become for gods and men a puppet that obeys every\njerk of visible and invisible hands.\n\nStarting up in violent excitement, he tore the bandage from his face and\neyes, declaring, as Thyone seriously reprimanded him, that he would go\naway, no matter where, and earn his daily bread at the handmill, like the\nblind Ethiopian slave whom he had seen in the cabinetmaker's house at\nTennis.\n\nThen Daphne spoke to him tenderly, but her soothing voice caused him\nkeener pain than his old friend's stern one.\n\nTo sit still longer seemed unendurable, and, with the intention of\nregaining his lost composure by pacing to and fro, he began to walk; but\nat the first free step he struck against the little table in front of\nThyone's couch, and as it upset and the vessels containing water fell\nwith it, clinking and breaking, he stopped and, as if utterly crushed,\ngroped his way back, with both arms outstretched, to the armchair he had\nquitted.\n\nIf he could only have seen Daphne press her handkerchief first to her\neyes, from which tears were streaming, and then to her lips, that he\nmight not hear her sobs, if he could have perceived how Thyone's wrinkled\nold face contracted as if she were swallowing a colocynth apple, while at\nthe same time she patted his strong shoulder briskly, exclaiming with\nforced cheerfulness: \"Go on, my boy! The steed rears when the hornet\nstings! Try again, if it only soothes you! We will take everything out of\nyour way. You need not mind the water-jars. The potter will make new\nones!\"\n\nThen Hermon threw back his burning head, rested it against the back of\nthe chair, and did not stir until the bandage was renewed.\n\nHow comfortable it felt!\n\nHe knew, too, that he owed it to Daphne; the matron's fingers could not\nbe so slender and delicate, and he would have been more than glad to\nraise them to his lips and thank her; but he denied himself the pleasure.\n\nIf she really did love him, the bond between them must now be severed;\nfor, even if her goodness of heart extended far enough to induce her to\nunite her blooming young existence to his crippled one, how could he have\naccepted the sacrifice without humiliating himself? Whether such a\nmarriage would have made her happy or miserable he did not ask, but he\nwas all the more keenly aware that if, in this condition, he became her\nhusband, he would be the recipient of alms, and he would far rather, he\nmentally repeated, share the fate of the negro at the handmill.\n\nThe expression of his features revealed the current of his thoughts to\nDaphne, and, much as she wished to speak to him, she forced herself to\nremain silent, that the tones of her voice might not betray how deeply\nshe was suffering with him; but he himself now longed for a kind word\nfrom her lips, and he had just asked if she was still there when Thyone\nannounced a visit from the grammateus Proclus.\n\nHe had recently felt that this man was unfriendly to him, and again his\nanger burst forth. To be exposed in the midst of his misery to the scorn\nof a despiser of his art was too much for his exhausted patience.\n\nBut here he was interrupted by Proclus himself, who had entered the\ndarkened cabin where the blind man remained very soon after Thyone.\n\nHermon's last words had betrayed to the experienced courtier how well he\nremembered his unkind remarks, so he deferred the expression of his\napproval, and began by delivering the farewell message of the\nepistrategus, who had been summoned away so quickly.\n\nHe stated that his investigations had discovered nothing of importance,\nexcept, perhaps, the confirmation of the sorrowful apprehension that the\nadmirable Myrtilus had been killed by the marauders. A carved stone had\nbeen found under the ashes, and Chello, the Tennis goldsmith, said he had\nhad in his own workshop the gem set in the hapless artist's shoulder\nclasp, and supplied it with a new pin.\n\nWhile speaking, he took Hermon's hand and gave him the stone, but the\nartist instantly used his finger tips to feel it.\n\nPerhaps it really did belong to the clasp Myrtilus wore, for, although\nstill unpractised in groping, he recognised that a human head was carved\nin relief upon the stone, and Mrytilus's had been adorned with the\nlikeness of the Epicurean.\n\nThe damaged little work of art, in the opinion of Proclus and Daphne,\nappeared to represent this philosopher, and at the thought that his\nfriend had fallen a victim to the flames Hermon bowed his head and\nexerted all his strength of will in order not to betray by violent sobs\nhow deeply this idea pierced his heart.\n\nThyone, shrugging her shoulders mournfully, pointed to the suffering\nartist. Proclus nodded significantly, and, moving nearer to Hermon,\ninformed him that he had sought out his Demeter and found the statue\nuninjured. He was well aware that it would be presumptuous to offer\nconsolation in so heavy an affliction, and after the loss of his dearest\nfriend, yet perhaps Hermon would be glad to hear his assurance that he,\nwhose judgment was certainly not unpractised, numbered his work among the\nmost perfect which the sculptor's art had created in recent years.\n\n\"I myself best know the value of this Demeter,\" the sculptor broke in\nharshly. \"Your praise is the bit of honey which is put into the mouth of\nthe hurt child.\"\n\n\"No, my friend,\" Proclus protested with grave decision. \"I should express\nno less warmly the ardent admiration with which this noble figure of the\ngoddess fills me if you were well and still possessed your sight. You\nwere right just now when you alluded to my aversion, or, let us say, lack\nof appreciation of the individuality of your art; but this noble work\nchanges everything, and nothing affords me more pleasure than that I am\nto be the first to assure you how magnificently you have succeeded in\nthis statue.\"\n\n\"The first!\" Hermon again interrupted harshly. \"But the second and third\nwill be lacking in Alexandria. What a pleasure it is to pour the gifts of\nsympathy upon one to whom we wish ill! But, however successful my Demeter\nmay be, you would have awarded the prize twice over to the one by\nMyrtilus.\"\n\n\"Wrong, my young friend!\" the statesman protested with honest zeal. \"All\nhonour to the great dead, whose end was so lamentable; but in this\ncontest--let me swear it by the goddess herself!--you would have remained\nvictor; for, at the utmost, nothing can rank with the incomparable save a\nwork of equal merit, and--I know life and art--two artists rarely or\nnever succeed in producing anything so perfect as this masterpiece at the\nsame time and in the same place.\"\n\n\"Enough!\" gasped Hermon, hoarse with excitement; but Proclus, with\nincreasing animation, continued: \"Brief as is our acquaintance, you have\nprobably perceived that I do not belong to the class of flatterers, and\nin Alexandria it has hardly remained unknown to you that the younger\nartists number me, to whom the office of judge so often falls, among the\nsterner critics. Only because I desire their best good do I frankly point\nout their errors. The multitude provides the praise. It will soon flow\nupon you also in torrents, I can see its approach, and as this blindness,\nif the august Aesculapius and healing Isis aid, will pass away like a\ndreary winter night, it would seem to me criminal to deceive you about\nyour own ability and success. I already behold you creating other works\nto the delight of gods and men; but this Demeter extorts boundless,\nenthusiastic appreciation; both as a whole, and in detail, it is\nfaultless and worthy of the most ardent praise. Oh, how long it is, my\ndear, unfortunate friend, since I could congratulate any other\nAlexandrian with such joyful confidence upon the most magnificent\nsuccess! Every word--you may believe it!--which comes to you in\ncommendation of this last work from lips unused to eulogy is sincerely\nmeant, and as I utter it to you I shall repeat it in the presence of the\nKing, Archias, and the other judges.\"\n\nDaphne, with hurried breath, deeply flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes,\nhad fairly hung upon the lips of the clever connoisseur. She knew\nProclus, and his dreaded, absolutely inconsiderate acuteness, and was\naware that this praise expressed his deepest conviction. Had he been\ndissatisfied with the statue of Demeter, or even merely superficially\ntouched by its beauty, he might have shrunk from wounding the unfortunate\nartist by censure, and remained silent; but only something grand,\nconsummate, could lead him to such warmth of recognition.\n\nShe now felt it a misfortune that she and Thyone had hitherto been\nprevented, by anxiety for their patient, from admiring his work. Had it\nstill been light, she would have gone to the temple of Demeter at once;\nbut the sun had just set, and Proclus was obliged to beg her to have\npatience.\n\nAs the cases were standing finished at the cabinetmaker's, the statue had\nbeen packed immediately, under his own direction, and carried on board\nhis ship, which would convey it with him to the capital the next day.\n\nWhile this arrangement called forth loud expressions of regret from\nDaphne and the vivacious matron, Hermon assented to it, for it would at\nleast secure the ladies, until their arrival in Alexandria, from a\npainful disappointment.\n\n\"Rather,\" Proclus protested with firm dissent, \"it will rob you for some\ntime of a great pleasure, and you, noble daughter of Archias, probably of\nthe deepest emotion of gratitude with which the favour of the immortals\nhas hitherto rendered you happy; yet the master who created this genuine\ngoddess owes the best part of it to your own face.\"\n\n\"He told me himself that he thought of me while at work,\" Daphne\nadmitted, and a flood of the warmest love reached Hermon's ears in her\nagitated tones, while, greatly perplexed, he wondered with increasing\nanxiety whether the stern critic Proclus had really been serious in the\nextravagant eulogium, so alien to his reputation in the city.\n\nMyrtilus, too, had admired the head of his Demeter, and--this he himself\nmight admit--he had succeeded in it, and yet ought not the figure, with\nits too pronounced inclination forward, which, it is true, corresponded\nwith Daphne's usual bearing, and the somewhat angular bend of the arms,\nhave induced this keen-sighted connoisseur to moderate the exalted strain\nof his praise? Or was the whole really so admirable that it would have\nseemed petty to find fault with the less successful details? At any rate,\nProclus's eulogy ought to give him twofold pleasure, because his art had\nformerly repelled him, and Hermon tried to let it produce this effect\nupon him. But it would not do; he was continually overpowered by the\nfeeling that under the enthusiastic homage of the intriguing Queen\nArsinoe's favourite lurked a sting which he should some day feel. Or\ncould Proclus have been persuaded by Thyone and Daphne to help them\nreconcile the hapless blind man to his hard fate?\n\nHermon's every movement betrayed the great anxiety which filled his mind,\nand it by no means escaped Proclus's attention, but he attributed it to\nthe blinded sculptor's anguish in being prevented, after so great a\nsuccess, from pursuing his art further.\n\nSincerely touched, he laid his slender hand on the sufferer's muscular\narm, saying: \"A more severe trial than yours, my young friend, can\nscarcely be imposed upon the artist who has just attained the highest\ngoal, but three things warrant you to hope for recovery--your vigorous\nyouth, the skill of our Alexandrian leeches, and the favour of the\nimmortal gods. You shrug your shoulders? Yet I insist that you have won\nthis favour by your Demeter. True, you owe it less to yourself than to\nyonder maiden. What pleasure it affords one whom, like myself, taste and\noffice bind to the arts, to perceive such a revolution in an artist's\ncourse of creation, and trace it to its source! I indulged myself in it\nand, if you will listen, I should like to show you the result.\"\n\n\"Speak,\" replied Hermon dully, bowing his head as if submitting to the\ninevitable, while Proclus began:\n\n\"Hitherto your art imitated, not without success, what your eyes showed\nyou, and if this was filled with the warm breath of life, your work\nsucceeded. All respect to your Boy Eating Figs, in whose presence you\nwould feel the pleasure he himself enjoyed while consuming the sweet\nfruit. Here, among the works of Egyptian antiquity, there is imminent\ndanger of falling under the tyranny of the canon of proportions which can\nbe expressed in figures, or merely even the demands of the style hallowed\nby thousands of years, but in a subject like the 'Fig-eater' such a\nreproach is not to be feared. He speaks his own intelligible language,\nand whoever reproduces it without turning to the right or left has won,\nfor he has created a work whose value every true friend of art, no matter\nto what school he belongs, prizes highly.\n\n\"To me personally such works of living reality are cordially welcome. Yet\nart neither can nor will be satisfied with snatches of what is close at\nhand; but you are late-born, sons of a time when the two great tendencies\nof art have nearly reached the limits of what is attainable to them. You\nwere everywhere confronted with completed work, and you are right when\nyou refuse to sink to mere imitators of earlier works, and therefore\nreturn to Nature, with which we Hellenes, and perhaps the Egyptians also,\nbegan. The latter forgot her; the former--we Greeks--continued to cling\nto her closely.\"\n\n\"Some few,\" Hermon eagerly interrupted the other, \"still think it worth\nthe trouble to take from her what she alone can bestow. They save\nthemselves the toilsome search for the model which others so successfully\nused before them, and bronze and marble still keep wonderfully well.\nBring out the old masterpieces. Take the head from this one, the arm from\nthat, etc. The pupil impresses the proportions on his mind. Only so far\nas the longing for the beautiful permits do even the better ones remain\nfaithful to Nature, not a finger's breadth more.\"\n\n\"Quite right,\" the other went on calmly. \"But your objection only brings\none nearer the goal. How many who care only for applause content\nthemselves to-day, unfortunately, with Nature at second hand! Without\nreturning to her eternally fresh, inexhaustible spring, they draw from\nthe conveniently accessible wells which the great ancients dug for them.\"\n\n\"I know these many,\" Hermon wrathfully exclaimed. \"They are the brothers\nof the Homeric poets, who take verses from the Iliad and Odyssey to piece\nout from them their own pitiful poems.\"\n\n\"Excellent, my son!\" exclaimed Thyone, laughing, and Daphne remarked that\nthe poet Cleon had surprised her father with such a poem a few weeks\nbefore. It was a marvellous bit of botchwork, and yet there was a certain\nmeaning in the production, compiled solely from Homeric verses.\n\n\"Diomed's Hecuba,\" observed Proclus, \"and the Aphrodite by Hippias, which\nwere executed in marble, originated in the same way, and deserve no\nbetter fate, although they please the great multitude. But, praised be my\nlord, Apollo, our age can also boast of other artists. Filled with the\nspirit of the god, they are able to model truthfully and faithfully even\nthe forms of the immortals invisible to the physical eye. They stand\nbefore the spectator as if borrowed from Nature, for their creators have\nfilled them with their own healthy vigour. Our poor Myrtilus belonged to\nthis class and, after your Demeter, the world will include you in it\nalso.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" answered Hermon in a tone of dissent, \"I remained faithful to\nmyself, and put nothing, nothing at all of my own personality, into the\nforms borrowed from Nature.\"\n\n\"What need of that was there?\" asked Proclus with a subtle smile. \"Your\nmodel spared you the task. And this at last brings me to the goal I\ndesired to reach. As the great Athenians created types for eternity, so\nalso does Nature at times in a happy hour, for her own pleasure, and such\na model you found in our Daphne.-No contradiction, my dear young lady!\nThe outlines of the figure--By the dog! Hermon might possibly have found\nforms no less beautiful in the Aphrosion, but how charming and lifelike\nis the somewhat unusual yet graceful pose of yours! And then the heart,\nthe soul! In your companionship our artist had nothing to do except\nlovingly to share your feelings in order to have at his disposal\neverything which renders so dear to us all the giver of bread, the\npreserver of peace, the protector of marriage, the creator and supporter\nof the law of moderation in Nature, as well as in human existence. Where\nwould all these traits be found more perfectly united in a single human\nbeing than in your person, Daphne, your quiet, kindly rule?\"\n\n\"Oh, stop!\" the girl entreated. \"I am only too well aware--\"\n\n\"That you also are not free from human frailties,\" Proclus continued,\nundismayed. \"We will take them, great or small as they may be, into the\nbargain. The secret ones do not concern the sculptor, who does not or\nwill not see them. What he perceives in you, what you enable him to\nrecognise through every feature of your sweet, tranquillizing face, is\nenough for the genuine artist to imagine the goddess; for the distinction\nbetween the mortal and the immortal is only the degree of perfection, and\nthe human intellect and artist soul can find nothing more perfect in the\nwhole domain of Demeter's jurisdiction than is presented to them in your\nnature. Our friend yonder seized it, and his magnificent work of art\nproves how nearly it approaches the purest and loftiest conception we\nform of the goddess whom he had to represent. It is not that he deified\nyou, Daphne; he merely bestowed on the divinity forms which he recognised\nin you.\"\n\nJust at that moment, obeying an uncontrollable impulse, Hermon pulled the\nbandage from his eyes to see once more the woman to whom this warm homage\nwas paid.\n\nWas the experienced connoisseur of art and the artist soul in the right?\n\nHe had told himself the same thing when he selected Daphne for a model,\nand her head reproduced what Proclus praised as the common possession of\nDaphne and Demeter. Truthful Myrtilus had also seen it. Perhaps his work\nhad really been so marvellously successful because, while he was engaged\nupon it, his friend had constantly stood before his mind in all the charm\nof her inexhaustible goodness.\n\nAnimated by the ardent desire to gaze once more at the beloved face, to\nwhich he now owed also this unexpectedly great success, he turned toward\nthe spot whence her voice had reached him; but a wall of violet mist,\ndotted with black specks, was all that his blinded eyes showed him, and\nwith a low groan he drew the linen cloth over the burns.\n\nThis time Proclus also perceived what was passing in the poor artist's\nmind, and when he took leave of him it was with the resolve to do his\nutmost to brighten with the stars of recognition and renown the dark\nnight of suffering which enshrouded this highly gifted sculptor, whose\nunexpectedly great modesty had prepossessed him still more in his favour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nAfter the grammateus had retired, Daphne insisted upon leaving Tennis the\nnext day.\n\nThe desire to see Hermon's masterpiece drew her back to Alexandria even\nmore strongly than the knowledge of being missed by her father.\n\nOnly the separation from Thyone rendered the departure difficult, for the\nmotherless girl had found in her something for which she had long\nyearned, and most sorely missed in her companion Chrysilla, who from\nexpediency approved of everything she did or said.\n\nThe matron, too, had become warmly attached to Daphne, and would gladly\nhave done all that lay in her power to lighten Hermon's sad fate, yet she\npersisted in her determination to return speedily to her old husband in\nPelusium.\n\nBut she did not fully realize how difficult this departure would be for\nher until the blind man, after a long silence, asked whether it was\nnight, if the stars were in the sky, and if she really intended to leave\nhim.\n\nThen burning sympathy filled her compassionate soul, and she could no\nlonger restrain her tears. Daphne, too, covered her face, and imposed the\nstrongest restraint upon herself that she might not sob aloud.\n\nSo it seemed a boon to both when Hermon expressed the desire to spend\npart of the night on deck.\n\nThis desire contained a summons to action, and to be able to bestir\nthemselves in useful service appeared like a favour to Thyone and Daphne.\n\nWithout calling upon a slave, a female servant, or even Chrysilla for the\nsmallest office, the two prepared a couch on deck for the blind man, and,\nleaning on the girl's stronger arm, he went up into the open air.\n\nThere he stretched both arms heavenward, inhaled deep breaths of the cool\nnight breeze, and thirstily emptied the goblet of wine which Daphne mixed\nand gave him with her own hand.\n\nThen, with a sigh of relief, he said: \"Everything has not grown black\nyet. A delightful feeling of pleasure takes possession even of the blind\nman when the open air refreshes him and the wine warms his blood in the\nsunshine of your kindness.\"\n\n\"And much better things are still in prospect,\" Daphne assured him. \"Just\nthink what rapture it will be when you are permitted to see the light\nagain after so long a period of darkness!\"\n\n\"When--\" repeated Hermon, his head drooping as he spoke.\n\n\"It must, it must be so!\" rang with confident assurance from Thyone's\nlips.\n\n\"And then,\" added Daphne, gazing sometimes upward to the firmament strewn\nwith shining stars, sometimes across the broad, rippling expanse of the\nwater, in which the reflection of the heavenly bodies shimmered in\nglittering, silvery radiance, \"yes, Hermon, who would not be glad to\nexchange with you then? You may shake your head, but I would take your\nplace quickly and with joyous courage. There is a proof of the existence\nof the gods, which so exactly suits the hour when you will again see,\nenjoy, admire what this dreary darkness now hides from you. It was a\nphilosopher who used it; I no longer know which one. How often I have\nthought of it since this cruel misfortune befell you! And now--\"\n\n\"Go on,\" Hermon interrupted with a smile of superiority. \"You are\nthinking of Aristotle's man who grew up in a dark cave. The conditions\nwhich must precede the devout astonishment of the liberated youth when he\nfirst emerged into the light and the verdant world would certainly exist\nin me.\"\n\n\"Oh, not in that way,\" pleaded the wounded girl; and Thyone exclaimed:\n\"What is the story of the man you mention? We don't talk about Aristotle\nand such subjects in Pelusium.\"\n\n\"Perhaps they are only too much discussed in Alexandria,\" said the blind\nartist. \"The Stagirite, as you have just heard, seeks to prove the\nexistence of the gods by the man of whom I spoke.\"\n\n\"No, he does prove it,\" protested Daphne. \"Just listen, Mother Thyone. A\nlittle boy grows up from earliest childhood into a youth in a dark cave.\nThen suddenly its doors are opened to him. For the first time he sees the\nsun, moon, and stars, flowers and trees, perhaps even a beautiful human\nface. But at the moment when all these things rush upon him like so many\nincomprehensible marvels, must he not ask himself who created all this\nmagnificence? And the answer which comes to him--\"\n\n\"There is only one,\" cried the matron; \"the omnipotent gods. Do you shrug\nyour shoulders at that, son of the pious Erigone? Why, of course! The\nchild who still feels the blows probably rebels against his earthly\nfather. But if I see aright, the resentment will not last when you, like\nthe man, go out of the cave and your darkness also passes away. Then the\npower from which you turned defiantly will force itself upon you, and you\nwill raise your hands in grateful prayer to the rescuing divinity. As to\nus women, we need not be drawn out of a cave to recognise it. A mother\nwho reared three stalwart sons--I will say nothing of the daughters--can\nnot live without them. Why are they so necessary to her? Because we love\nour children twice as much as ourselves, and the danger which threatens\nthem alarms the poor mother's heart thrice as much as her own. Then it\nneeds the helping powers. Even though they often refuse their aid, we may\nstill be grateful for the expectation of relief. I have poured forth many\nprayers for the three, I assure you, and after doing so with my whole\nsoul, then, my son, no matter how wildly the storm had raged within my\nbreast, calmness returned, and Hope again took her place at the helm. In\nthe school of the denier of the gods, you forgot the immortals above and\ndepended on yourself alone. Now you need a guide, or even two or three of\nthem, in order to find the way. If your mother were still alive, you\nwould run back to her to hide your face in her lap. But she is dead, and\nif I were as proud as you, before clasping the sustaining hand of another\nmortal I would first try whether one would not be voluntarily extended\nfrom among the Olympians. If I were you, I would begin with Demeter, whom\nyou honoured by so marvellous a work.\"\n\nHermon waved his hand as if brushing away a troublesome fly, exclaiming\nimpatiently: \"The gods, always the gods! I know by my own mother, Thyone,\nwhat you women are, though I was only seven years old when I was bereft\nof her by the same powers that you call good and wise, and who have also\nrobbed me of my eyesight, my friend, and all else that was dear. I thank\nyou for your kind intention, and you, too, Daphne, for recalling the\nbeautiful allegory. How often we have argued over its meaning! If we\ncontinued the discussion, perhaps it might pleasantly shorten the next\nfew hours, which I dread as I do my whole future existence, but I should\nbe obliged in the outset to yield the victory to you. The great\nHerophilus is right when he transfers the seat of thought from the heart\nto the head. What a wild tumult is raging here behind my brow, and how\none voice drowns another! The medley baffles description. I could more\neasily count with my blind eyes the cells in a honeycomb than refute with\nmy bewildered brain even one shrewd objection. It seems to me that we\nneed our eyes to understand things. We certainly do to taste. Whatever I\neat and drink--langustae and melons, light Mareotic wine and the dark\nliquor of Byblus my tongue can scarcely distinguish it. The leech assures\nme that this will pass away, but until the chaos within merges into\nendurable order there is nothing better for me than solitude and rest,\nrest, rest.\"\n\n\"We will not deny them to you,\" replied Thyone, glancing significantly at\nDaphne. \"Proclus's enthusiastic judgment was sincerely meant. Begin by\nrejoicing over it in the inmost depths of your heart, and vividly\nimagining what a wealth of exquisite joys will be yours through your last\nmasterpiece.\"\n\n\"Willingly, if I can,\" replied the blind man, gratefully extending his\nhand. \"If I could only escape the doubt whether the most cruel tyrant\ncould devise anything baser than to rob the artist, the very person to\nwhom it is everything, of his sight.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is terrible,\" Daphne assented. \"Yet it seems to me that a richer\ncompensation for the lost gift is at the disposal of you artists than of\nus other mortals, for you understand how to look with the eyes of the\nsoul. With them you retain what you have seen, and illumine it with a\nspecial radiance. Homer was blind, and for that very reason, I think, the\nworld and life became clear and transfigured for him though a veil\nconcealed both from his physical vision.\"\n\n\"The poet!\" Hermon exclaimed. \"He draws from his own soul what sight, and\nsight alone, brings to us sculptors. And, besides, his spirit remained\nfree from the horrible darkness that assailed mine. Joy itself, Daphne,\nhas lost its illuminating power within. What, girl, what is to become of\nthe heart in which even hope was destroyed?\"\n\n\"Defend it manfully and keep up your courage,\" she answered softly; but\nhe pressed her hand firmly, and, in order not to betray how\nself-compassion was melting his own soul, burst forth impetuously: \"Say\nrather: Crush the wish whose fulfilment is self-humiliation! I will go\nback to Alexandria. Even the blind and crippled can find ways to earn\ntheir bread there. Now grant me rest, and leave me alone!\"\n\nThyone drew the girl away with her into the ship's cabin.\n\nA short time after, the steward Gras went to Hermon to entreat him to\nyield to Thyone's entreaties and leave the deck.\n\nThe leech had directed the sufferer to protect himself from draughts and\ndampness, and the cool night mists were rising more and more densely from\nthe water.\n\nHermon doubtless felt them, but the thought of returning to the close\ncabin was unendurable. He fancied that his torturing thoughts would\nstifle him in the gloom where even fresh air was denied him.\n\nHe allowed the careful Bithynian to throw a coverlet over him and draw\nthe hood of his cloak over his head, but his entreaties and warnings were\nfutile.\n\nThe steward's watchful nursing reminded Hermon of his own solicitude for\nhis friend and of his faithful slave Bias, both of whom he had lost. Then\nhe remembered the eulogy of the grammateus, and it brought up the\nquestion whether Myrtilus would have agreed with him. Like Proclus, his\nkeen-sighted and honest friend had called Daphne the best model for the\nkindly goddess. He, too, had given to his statue the features of the\ndaughter of Archias, and admitted that he had been less successful. But\nthe figure! Perhaps he, Hermon, in his perpetual dissatisfaction with\nhimself had condemned his own work too severely, but that it lacked the\nproper harmony had escaped neither Myrtilus nor himself. Now he recalled\nthe whole creation to his remembrance, and its weaknesses forced\nthemselves upon him so strongly and objectionably that the extravagant\npraise of the stern critic awakened fresh doubts in his mind.\n\nYet a man like the grammateus, who on the morrow or the day following it\nwould be obliged to repeat his opinion before the King and the judges,\ncertainly would not have allowed himself to be carried away by mere\ncompassion to so great a falsification of his judgment.\n\nOr was he himself sharing the experience of many a fellow-artist? How\noften the creator deceived himself concerning the value of his own work!\nHe had expected the greatest success from his Polyphemus hurling the rock\nat Odysseus escaping in the boat, and a gigantic smith had posed for a\nmodel. Yet the judges had condemned it in the severest manner as a work\nfar exceeding the bounds of moderation, and arousing positive dislike.\nThe clay figure had not been executed in stone or metal, and crumbled\naway. The opposite would probably now happen with the Demeter. Her\nbending attitude had seemed to him daring, nay, hazardous; but the acute\ncritic Proclus had perceived that it was in accord with one of Daphne's\nhabits, and therefore numbered it among the excellences of the statue.\n\nIf the judges who awarded the prize agreed with the verdict of the\ngrammateus, he must accustom himself to value his own work higher,\nperhaps even above that of Myrtilus.\n\nBut was this possible?\n\nHe saw his friend's Demeter as though it was standing before him, and\nagain he recognised in it the noblest masterpiece its maker had ever\ncreated. What praise this marvellous work would have deserved if his own\nreally merited such high encomiums!\n\nSuddenly an idea came to him, which at first he rejected as\ninconceivable; but it would not allow itself to be thrust aside, and its\nconsideration made his breath fail.\n\nWhat if his own Demeter had been destroyed and Myrtilus's statue saved?\nIf the latter was falsely believed to be his work, then Proclus's\njudgment was explained--then--then---\n\nSeized by a torturing anguish, he groaned aloud, and the steward Gras\ninquired what he wanted.\n\nHermon hastily grasped the Bithynian's arm, and asked what he knew about\nthe rescue of his statue.\n\nThe answer was by no means satisfying. Gras had only heard that, after\nbeing found uninjured in his studio, it had been dragged with great\nexertion into the open air. The goldsmith Chello had directed the work.\n\nHermon remembered all this himself, yet, with an imperious curtness in\nmarked contrast to his usual pleasant manner to this worthy servant, he\nhoarsely commanded him to bring Chello to him early the next morning, and\nthen again relapsed into his solitary meditations.\n\nIf the terrible conjecture which had just entered his mind should be\nconfirmed, no course remained save to extinguish the only new light which\nnow illumined the darkness of his night, or to become a cheat.\n\nYet his resolution was instantly formed. If the goldsmith corroborated\nhis fear, he would publicly attribute the rescued work to the man who\ncreated it. And he persisted in this intention, indignantly silencing the\nsecret voice which strove to shake it. It temptingly urged that Myrtilus,\nso rich in successes, needed no new garland. His lost sight would permit\nhim, Hermon, from reaping fresh laurels, and his friend would so gladly\nbestow this one upon him. But he angrily closed his ears to these\nenticements, and felt it a humiliation that they dared to approach him.\n\nWith proud self-reliance he threw back his head, saying to himself that,\nthough Myrtilus should permit him ten times over to deck him self with\nhis feathers, he would reject them. He would remain himself, and was\nconscious of possessing powers which perhaps surpassed his friend's. He\nwas as well qualified to create a genuine work of art as the best\nsculptor, only hitherto the Muse had denied him success in awakening\npleasure, and blindness would put an end to creating anything of his own.\n\nThe more vividly he recalled to memory his own work and his friend's, the\nmore probable appeared his disquieting supposition.\n\nHe also saw Myrtilus's figure before him, and in imagination heard his\nfriend again promise that, with the Arachne, he would wrest the prize\neven from him.\n\nDuring the terrible events of the last hours he had thought but seldom\nand briefly of the weaver, whom it had seemed a rare piece of good\nfortune to be permitted to represent. Now the remembrance of her took\npossession of his soul with fresh power.\n\nThe image of Arachne illumined by the lamplight, which Althea had showed\nhim, appeared like worthless jugglery, and he soon drove it back into the\ndarkness which surrounded him. Ledscha's figure, however, rose before him\nall the more radiantly. The desire to possess her had flown to the four\nwinds; but he thought he had never before beheld anything more peculiar,\nmore powerful, or better worth modelling than the Biamite girl as he saw\nher in the Temple of Nemesis, with uplifted hand, invoking the vengeance\nof the goddess upon him, and there--he discovered it now--Daphne was not\nat all mistaken. Images never presented themselves as distinctly to those\nwho could see as to the blind man in his darkness. If he was ever\npermitted to receive his sight, what a statue of the avenging goddess he\ncould create from this greatest event in the history of his vision!\n\nAfter this work--of that he was sure--he would no longer need the\nborrowed fame which, moreover, he rejected with honest indignation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nIt must be late, for Hermon felt the cool breeze, which in this region\nrose between midnight and sunrise, on his burned face and, shivering,\ndrew his mantle closer round him.\n\nYet it seemed impossible to return to the cabin; the memory of Ledscha\nimploring vengeance, and the stern image of the avenging goddess in the\ncella of the little Temple of Nemesis, completely mastered him. In the\nclose cabin these terrible visions, united with the fear of having reaped\nundeserved praise, would have crouched upon his breast like harpies and\nstifled or driven him mad. After what had happened, to number the swift\ngranting of the insulted Biamite's prayer among the freaks of chance was\nprobably a more arbitrary and foolish proceeding than, with so many\nothers, to recognise the incomprehensible power of Nemesis. Ledscha had\nloosed it against him and his health, perhaps even his life, and he\nimagined that she was standing before him with the bridle and wheel,\nthreatening him afresh.\n\nShivering, as if chilled to the bone, overwhelmed by intense horror, he\nturned his blinded eyes upward to the blackness above and raised his\nhand, for the first time since he had joined the pupils of Straton in the\nMuseum, to pray. He besought Nemesis to be content, and not add to\nblindness new tortures to augment the terrible ones which rent his soul,\nand he did so with all the ardour of his passionate nature.\n\nThe steward Gras had received orders to wake the Lady Thyone if anything\nunusual happened to the blind man, and when he heard the unfortunate\nartist groan so pitifully that it would have moved a stone, and saw him\nraise his hand despairingly to his head, he thought it was time to utter\nwords of consolation, and a short time after the anxious matron followed\nhim.\n\nHer low exclamation startled Hermon. To be disturbed in the first prayer\nafter so long a time, in the midst of the cries of distress of a\ndespairing soul, is scarcely endurable, and the blind man imposed little\nrestraint upon himself when his old friend asked what had occurred, and\nurged him not to expose himself longer to the damp night air.\n\nAt first he resolutely resisted, declaring that he should lose his senses\nalone in the close cabin.\n\nThen, in her cordial, simple way, she offered to bear him company in the\ncabin. She could not sleep longer, at any rate; she must leave him early\nin the morning, and they still had many things to confide to each other.\n\nTouched by so much kindness, he yielded and, leaning on the Bithynian's\narm, followed her, not into his little cabin, but into the captain's\nspacious sitting room.\n\nOnly a single lamp dimly lighted the wainscoting, composed of ebony,\nivory, and tortoise shell, the gay rug carpet, and the giraffe and\npanther skins hung on the walls and doors and flung on the couches and\nthe floor.\n\nThyone needed no brilliant illumination for this conversation, and the\nblinded man was ordered to avoid it.\n\nThe matron was glad to be permitted to communicate to Hermon so speedily\nall that filled her own heart.\n\nWhile he remained on deck, she had gone to Daphne's cabin.\n\nShe had already retired, and when Thyone went to the side of the couch\nshe found the girl, with her cheeks wet with tears, still weeping, and\neasily succeeded in leading the motherless maiden to make a frank\nconfession.\n\nBoth cousins had been dear to her from childhood; but while Myrtilus,\nthough often impeded by his pitiable sufferings, had reached by a smooth\npathway the highest recognition, Hermon's impetuous toiling and striving\nhad constantly compelled her to watch his course with anxious solicitude\nand, often unobserved, extend a helping hand.\n\nSympathy, disapproval, and fear, which, however, was always blended with\nadmiration of his transcendent powers, had merged into love. Though he\nhad disdained to return it, it had nevertheless been perfectly evident\nthat he needed her, and valued her and her opinion. Often as their views\ndiffered, the obstinate boy and youth had never allowed any one except\nherself a strong influence over his acts and conduct. But, far as he\nseemed to wander from the paths which she believed the right ones, she\nhad always held fast to the conviction that he was a man of noble nature,\nand an artist who, if he only once fixed his eyes upon the true goal,\nwould far surpass by his mighty power the other Alexandrian sculptors,\nwhatever names they bore, and perhaps even Myrtilus.\n\nTo the great vexation of her father who, after her mother's death, in an\nhour when his heart was softened, had promised that he would never impose\nany constraint upon her in the choice of a husband, she had hitherto\nrejected every suitor. She had showed even the distinguished Philotas in\nPelusium, without the least reserve, that he was seeking her in vain; for\njust at that time she thought she had perceived that Hermon returned her\nlove, and after his abrupt departure it had become perfectly evident that\nthe happiness of her life depended upon him.\n\nThe terrible misfortune which had now befallen him had only bound her\nmore firmly to the man she loved. She felt that she belonged to him\nindissolubly, and the leech's positive assurance that his blindness was\nincurable had only increased the magic of the thought of being and\naffording tenfold more to the man bereft of sight than when, possessing\nhis vision, the world, life, and art belonged to him. To be able to\nlavish everything upon the most beloved of mortals, and do whatever her\nwarm, ever-helpful heart prompted, seemed to her a special favour of the\ngods in whom she believed.\n\nThat it was Demeter, to the ranks of whose priestesses she belonged, who\nwas so closely associated with his blinding, also seemed to her no mere\nwork of chance. The goddess on whom Hermon had bestowed the features of\nher own face had deprived him of sight to confer upon her the happiness\nof brightening and beautifying the darkness of his life.\n\nIf she saw aright, and it was only the fear of obtaining, with herself,\nher wealth, that still kept him from her, the path which would finally\nunite them must be found at last. She hoped to conquer also her father's\nreluctance to give his only child in marriage to a blind man, especially\nas Hermon's last work promised to give him the right to rank with the\nbest artists of his age.\n\nThe matron had listened to this confession with an agitated heart. She\nhad transported herself in imagination into the soul of the girl's\nmother, and brought before her mind what objections the dead woman would\nhave made to her daughter's union with a man deprived of sight; but\nDaphne had firmly insisted upon her wish, and supported it by many a\nsensible and surprising answer. She was beyond childhood, and her\nthree-and-twenty years enabled her to realize the consequences which so\nunusual a marriage threatened to entail.\n\nAs for Thyone herself, she was always disposed to look on the bright\nside, and the thought that this vigorous young man, this artist crowned\nwith the highest success, must remain in darkness to the end of his life,\nwas utterly incompatible with her belief in the goodness of the gods. But\nif Hermon was cured, a rare wealth of the greatest happiness awaited him\nin the union with Daphne.\n\nThe mood in which she found the blind man had wounded and troubled her.\nNow she renewed the bandage, saying: \"How gladly I would continue to use\nmy old hands for you, but this will be the last time in a long while that\nI am permitted to do this for the son of my Erigone; I must leave you\nto-morrow.\"\n\nHermon clasped her hand closely, exclaiming with affectionate warmth:\n\"You must not go, Thyone! Stay here, even if it is only a few days\nlonger.\"\n\nWhat pleasure these words gave her, and how gladly she would have\nfulfilled his wish! But it could not be, and he did not venture to detain\nher by fresh entreaties after she had described how her aged husband was\nsuffering from her absence.\n\n\"I often ask myself what he still finds in me,\" she said. \"True, so long\na period of wedded life is a firm tie. If I am gone and he does not find\nme when he returns home from inspections, he wanders about as if lost,\nand does not even relish his food, though the same cook has prepared it\nfor years. And he, who forgets nothing and knows by name a large number\nof the many thousand men he commands, would very probably, when I am\naway, join the troops with only sandals on his feet. To miss my ugly old\nface really can not be so difficult! When he wooed me, of course I looked\nvery different. And so--he confessed it himself--so he always sees me,\nand most plainly when I am absent from his sight. But that, Hermon, will\nbe your good fortune also. All you now know as young and beautiful will\ncontinue so to you as long as this sorrowful blindness lasts, and on that\nvery account you must not remain alone, my boy--that is, if your heart\nhas already decided in favour of any one--and that is the case, unless\nthese old eyes deceive me.\"\n\n\"Daphne,\" he answered dejectedly, \"why should I deny that she is dear to\nme? And yet, how dare the blind man take upon himself the sin of binding\nher young life--\"\n\n\"Stop! stop!\" Thyone interrupted with eager warmth. \"She loves you, and\nto be everything to you is the greatest happiness she can imagine.\"\n\n\"Until repentance awakes, and it is too late,\" he answered gravely. \"But\neven were her love strong enough to share her husband's misfortune\npatiently--nay, perhaps with joyous courage--it would still be\ncontemptible baseness were I to profit by that love and seek her hand.\"\n\n\"Hermon!\" the matron now exclaimed reproachfully; but he repeated with\nstrong emphasis: \"Yes, it would be baseness so great that even her most\nardent love could not save me from the reproach of having committed it. I\nwill not speak of her father, to whom I am so greatly indebted. It may be\nthat it might satisfy Daphne, full of kindness as she is, to devote\nherself, body and soul, to the service of her helpless companion. But I?\nFar from thinking constantly, like her, solely of others and their\nwelfare, I should only too often, selfish as I now am, be mindful of\nmyself. But when I realize who I am, I see before me a blind man who is\npoorer than a beggar, because the scorching flames melted even the gold\nwhich was to help him pay his debts.\"\n\n\"Folly!\" cried the matron. \"For what did Archias gather his boundless\ntreasures? And when his daughter is once yours--\"\n\n\"Then,\" Hermon went on bitterly, \"the blinded artist's poverty will be\nover. That is your opinion, and the majority of people will share it. But\nI have my peculiarities, and the thought of being rescued from hunger and\nthirst by the woman I love, and who ought to see in me the man from whom\nshe receives the best gifts--to be dependent on her as the recipient of\nher alms--seems to me worse than if I were once more to lose my sight. I\ncould not endure it at all! Every mouthful would choke me. Just because\nshe is so dear to me, I can not seek her hand; for, in return for her\ngreat self-sacrificing love, I could give her nothing save the keen\ndiscontent which seizes the proud soul that is forced constantly to\naccept benefits, as surely as the ringing sound follows the blow upon the\nbrass. My whole future life would become a chain of humiliations, and do\nyou know whither this unfortunate marriage would lead? My teacher Straton\nonce said that a man learns to hate no one more easily than the person\nfrom whom he receives benefits which it is out of his power to repay.\nThat is wise, and before I will see my great love for Daphne transformed\nto hate, I will again try the starving which, while I was a sculptor at\nRhodes, I learned tolerably well.\"\n\n\"But would not a great love,\" asked Thyone, \"suffice to repay tenfold the\nperishable gifts that can be bought with gold and silver?\"\n\n\"No, and again no!\" Hermon answered in an agitated tone. \"Something else\nwould blend with the love I brought to the marriage, something that must\ndestroy all the compensation it might offer; for I see myself becoming a\nresentful misanthrope if I am compelled to relinquish the pleasure of\ncreating and, condemned to dull inaction, can do nothing except allow\nmyself to be tended, drink, eat, and sleep. The gloomy mood of her\nunfortunate husband would sadden Daphne's existence even more than my\nown; for, Thyone, though I should strive with all my strength to bear\npatiently, with her dear aid, the burden imposed upon me, and move on\nthrough the darkness with joyous courage, like many another blind man, I\ncould not succeed.\"\n\n\"You are a man,\" the matron exclaimed indignantly, \"and what thousands\nhave done before you--\"\n\n\"There,\" he loudly protested, \"I should surely fail; for, you dear woman,\nwho mean so kindly by me, my fate is worse than theirs. Do you know what\njust forced from my lips the exclamation of pain which alarmed you? I,\nthe only child of the devout Erigone, for whose sake you are so well\ndisposed toward me, am doomed to misfortune as surely as the victim\ndragged to the altar is certain of death. Of all the goddesses, there is\nonly one in whose power I believe, and to whom I just raised my hands in\nprayer. It is the terrible one to whom I was delivered by hate and the\ndeceived love which is now dragging me by the hair, and will rob and\ntorture me till I despair of life. I mean the gray daughter of Night,\nwhom no one escapes, dread Nemesis.\"\n\nThyone sank down into the chair by the blind artist's side, asking\nsoftly, \"And what gave you into her avenging hands, hapless boy?\"\n\n\"My own abominable folly,\" he answered mournfully and, with the feeling\nthat it would relieve his heart to pour out to this true friend what he\nwould usually have confided only to his Myrtilus, he hurriedly related\nhow he had recognised in Ledscha the best model for his Arachne, how he\nhad sought her love, and then, detained by Althea, left her in the lurch\nand most deeply offended and insulted her. Lastly, he gave a brief but\nvivid description of his meeting with the vengeful barbarian girl in the\nTemple of Nemesis, how Ledscha had invoked upon him the wrath of the\nterrible goddess, and how the most horrible punishment had fallen upon\nhim directly after the harsh accusation of the Biamite.\n\nThe matron had listened to this confession in breathless suspense. Now\nshe fixed her eyes on the floor, shook her gray head gently, and said\nanxiously: \"Is that it? It certainly puts things in a different light. As\nthe son of your never-to-be-forgotten mother, you are indeed dear to my\nheart; but Daphne is not less dear to me, and though in your marriage I\njust saw happiness for you both, that is now past. What is poverty, what\nis blindness! Eros would reconcile far more difficult problems, but his\narrows are shattered on the armour of Nemesis. Where there is a pair of\nlovers, and she raises her scourge against one of them, the other will\nalso be struck. Until you feel that you are freed from this persecutor,\nit would be criminal to bind a loving woman to you and your destiny. It\nis not easy to find the right path for you both, for even Nemesis and her\npower do not make the slightest change in the fact that you need faithful\ncare and watching in your blindness. Daylight brings wisdom, and we will\ntalk further to-morrow.\"\n\nShe rose as she spoke; but Hermon detained her, while from his lips\nescaped the anxious question, \"So you will take Daphne away from me, and\nleave me alone in my blindness?\"\n\n\"You in your blindness?\" cried Thyone, and the mere reproachful tone of\nthe question banished the fear. \"I would as quickly deprive my own son of\nmy support as I would you just at this time, my poor boy; but whether my\nconscience will permit me to let Daphne remain near you only grant me, I\nrepeat it, until sunrise to-morrow for reflection. My old heart will then\nfind the right way.\"\n\n\"Yet whatever you may decide concerning us,\" pleaded the blind man, \"tell\nDaphne that, on the eve of losing her, I first felt in its full power how\nwarmly I love her. Even without Nemesis, the joy of making her mine would\nhave been denied me. Fate will never permit me to possess her; yet never\nagain to hear her gentle voice, never more to feel her dear presence,\nwould be blinding me a second time.\"\n\n\"It need not be imposed upon you long,\" said the matron soothingly.\n\nThen she went close to him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and said: \"The\npower of the goddess who punishes the misdeeds of the reckless is called\nirresistible and uncontrollable; but one thing softens even her, and\nchecks her usually resistless wheel: it is a mother's prayer. I heard\nthis from my own mother, and experienced it myself, especially in my\noldest son Eumedes, who from the wildest madcap became an ornament of his\nclass, and to whom the King--you doubtless know it--intrusted the command\nof the fleet which is to open the Ethiopian land of elephants to the\nEgyptian power. You, Hermon, are an orphan, but for you, too, the souls\nof your parents live on. Only I do not know whether you still honour and\npray to them.\"\n\n\"I did until a few years ago,\" replied Hermon.\n\n\"But later you neglected this sacred duty,\" added Thyone. \"Yet how was\nthat possible? In our barren Pelusium I could not help thinking hundreds\nof times of the grove which Archias planted in your necropolis for the\ndead members of his family, and how often, while we were in Alexandria,\nit attracted me to think in its shade of your never-to-be-forgotten\nmother. There I felt her soul near me; for there was her home, and in\nimagination I saw her walking and resting under the trees. And you--her\nbeloved child--you remained aloof from this hallowed spot! Even at the\nfestival of the dead you omitted prayers and sacrifices?\"\n\nThe blind artist assented to this question by a silent bend of the head;\nbut the matron indignantly exclaimed: \"And did not you know, unhappy man,\nthat you were thus casting away the shield which protects mortals from\nthe avenging gods? And your glorious mother, who would have given her\nlife for you? Yet you loved her, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Thyone!\" Hermon cried, deeply wounded, holding out his right hand as if\nin defence. \"Well, well!\" said the matron. \"I know that you revere her\nmemory. But that alone is not sufficient. On memorial festivals, and\nespecially on the birthdays, a mother's soul needs a prayer and a gift\nfrom the son, a wreath, a fillet, fragrant ointment, a piece of honey, a\ncup of wine or milk--all these things even the poor man spares from his\npenury--yet a warm prayer, in pure remembrance and love, would suffice to\nrob the wrath of Nemesis, which the enraged barbarian girl let loose upon\nyou, of its power. Only your mother, Hermon, the soul of the noble woman\nwho bore you, can restore to you what you have lost. Appeal for aid to\nher, son of Erigone, and she will yet make everything right.\"\n\nBending quickly over the artist as she spoke, she kissed his brow and\nmoved steadily away, though he called her name with yearning entreaty.\n\nA short time after, the steward Gras led Hermon to his cabin, and while\nundressing him reported that a messenger from Pelusium had announced that\nthe commandant Philippus was coming to Tennis the next morning, before\nthe market place filled, to take his wife with him to Alexandria, where\nhe was going by the King's command.\n\nHermon only half listened, and then ordered the Bithynian to leave him.\n\nAfter he had reclined on the couch a short time, he softly called the\nnames of the steward, Thyone, and Daphne. As he received no answer, and\nthus learned that he was alone, he rose, drew himself up to his full\nheight, gazed heavenward with his bandaged eyes, stretched both hands\ntoward the ceiling of the low cabin, and obeyed his friend's bidding.\n\nThoroughly convinced that he was doing right, and ashamed of having so\nlong neglected what the duty of a son commanded, he implored his mother's\nsoul for forgiveness.\n\nWhile doing so he again found that the figure which he recalled to his\nmemory appeared before him with marvellous distinctness. Never had she\nbeen so near him since, when a boy of seven, she clasped him for the last\ntime to her heart. She tenderly held out her arms to him, and he rushed\ninto her embrace, shouting exultantly while she hugged and kissed him.\nEvery pet name which he had once been so glad to hear, and during recent\nyears had forgotten, again fell from her lips. As had often happened in\ndays long past, he again saw his mother crown him for a festival. Pleased\nwith the little new garment which she herself had woven for him and\nembroidered with a tiny tree with red apples, beneath which stood a\nbright-plumaged duckling, she led him by the hand in the necropolis to\nthe empty tomb dedicated to his father.\n\nIt was a building the height of a man, constructed of red Cyprian marble,\non which, cast in bronze, shield, sword, and lance, as well as a\nbeautiful helmet, lay beside a sleeping lion. It was dedicated to the\nmemory of the brave hipparch whom he had been permitted to call his\nfather, and who had been burned beside the battlefield on which he had\nfound a hero's death.\n\nHermon now again beheld himself, with his mother, garlanding, anointing,\nand twining with fresh fillets the mausoleum erected by his uncle Archias\nto his brave brother. The species of every flower, the colour of the\nfillets-nay, even the designs embroidered on his little holiday\nrobe--again returned to his mind, and, while these pleasant memories\nhovered around him, he appealed to his mother in prayer.\n\nShe stood before him, young and beautiful, listening without reproach or\ncensure as he besought her forgiveness and confided to her his sins, and\nhow severely he was punished by Nemesis.\n\nDuring this confession he felt as though he was kneeling before the\nbeloved dead, hiding his face in her lap, while she bent over him and\nstroked his thick, black hair. True, he did not hear her speak; but when\nhe looked up again he could see, by the expression of her faithful blue\neyes, that his manly appearance surprised her, and that she rejoiced in\nhis return to her arms.\n\nShe listened compassionately to his laments, and when he paused pressed\nhis head to her bosom and gazed into his face with such joyous confidence\nthat his heart swelled, and he told himself that she could not look at\nhim thus unless she saw happiness in store for him.\n\nLastly, he began also to confide that he loved no woman on earth more\nardently than the very Daphne whom, when only a pretty little child, she\nhad carried in her arms, yet that he could not seek the wealthy heiress\nbecause manly pride forbade this to the blind beggar.\n\nHere the anguish of renunciation seized him with great violence, and when\nhe wished to appeal again to his mother his exhausted imagination refused\nits service, and the vision would not appear.\n\nThen he groped his way back to the bed, and, as he let his head sink upon\nthe pillows, he fancied that he would soon be again enwrapped in the\nsweet slumber of childhood, which had long shunned his couch.\n\nIt was years since he had felt so full of peace and hope, and he told\nhimself, with grateful joy, that every childlike emotion had not yet died\nwithin him, that the stern conflicts and struggles of the last years had\nnot yet steeled every gentle emotion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThe sun of the following day had long passed its meridian when Hermon at\nlast woke. The steward Gras, who had grown gray in the service of\nArchias, was standing beside the couch.\n\nThere was nothing in the round, beardless face of this well-fed yet\nactive man that could have attracted the artist, yet the quiet tones of\nhis deep voice recalled to memory the clear, steadfast gaze of his gray\neyes, from which so often, in former days, inviolable fidelity, sound\nsense, caution, and prudence had looked forth at him.\n\nWhat the blind man heard from Gras surprised him--nay, at first seemed\nimpossible. To sleep until the afternoon was something unprecedented for\nhis wakeful temperament; but what was he to say to the tidings that the\ncommandant of Pelusium had arrived in his state galley early in the\nmorning and taken his wife, Daphne, and Chrysilla away with him to\nAlexandria?\n\nYet it sounded credible enough when the Bithynian further informed him\nthat the ladies had left messages of remembrance for him, and said that\nArchias's ship, upon which he was, would be at his disposal for any\nlength of time he might desire. Gras was commissioned to attend him. The\nLady Thyone especially desired him to heed her counsel.\n\nWhile the steward was communicating this startling news as calmly as if\neverything was a matter of course, the events of the preceding night came\nback to Hermon's memory with perfect distinctness, and again the fear\nassailed him that the rescued Demeter was the work of Myrtilus, and not\nhis own.\n\nSo the first question he addressed to Gras concerned the Tennis\ngoldsmith, and it was a keen disappointment to Hermon when he learned\nthat the earliest time he could expect to see him would be the following\nday. The skilful artisan had been engaged for weeks upon the gold\nornaments on the new doors of the holy of holies in the Temple of Amon at\nTanis. Urgent business had called him home from the neighbouring city\njust before the night of the attack; but yesterday evening he had\nreturned to Tanis, where his wife said he would have only two days' work\nto do.\n\nThis answer, however, by no means appeased Hermon's impatience. He\ncommanded that a special messenger should be sent to summon the\ngoldsmith, and the Bithynian received the order with a slight shake of\nhis round head.\n\nWhat new trouble had befallen the usually alert young artist that he\nreceived this unexpected change in his situation as apathetically as a\nhorse which is led from one stall to another, and, instead of questioning\nhim, thought only of hastening his interview with the goldsmith? If his\nmistress, who had left him full of anxiety from the fear that her\ndeparture would deeply agitate the blind man, should learn how\nindifferently he had received it! He, Gras, certainly would not betray\nit. Eternal gods--these artists! He knew them. Their work was dearer to\ntheir hearts than their own lives, love, or friendship.\n\nDuring breakfast, of which the steward was obliged to remind him, Hermon\npondered over his fate; but how could he attain any degree of clearness\nof vision until he secured accurate information concerning the statue of\nDemeter? Like a dark cloud, which sweeps over the starry sky and prevents\nthe astronomer from seeing the planets which he desires to observe, the\nfear that Proclus's praise had been bestowed upon the work of Myrtilus\nstood between him and every goal of his thought.\n\nOnly the fact that he still remained blind, and not even the faintest\nglimmer of light pierced the surrounding darkness, while the sun\ncontinued its course with glowing radiance, and that, blinded and\nbeggared, he must despise himself if he sought to win Daphne, was\ncertain. No reflection could alter it.\n\nAgain the peace of mind which he thought he had regained during slumber\nwas destroyed. Fear of the artisan's statement even rendered it\nimpossible to pray to his mother with the affectionate devotion he had\nfelt the day before.\n\nThe goldsmith had directed the rescue of the Demeter, yet he would\nscarcely have been able to distinguish it from the statue by Myrtilus;\nfor though, like his friend, he had often employed his skilful hands in\nthe arrangement of the gold plates at the commencement of the work, the\nEgyptian had been summoned to Tennis before the statues had attained\nrecognisable form. He had not entered the studios for several months,\nunless Bias had granted him admittance without informing his master. This\nwas quite possible, for the slave's keen eyes certainly had not failed to\nnotice how little he and Myrtilus valued the opinion of the honest,\nskilful, but extremely practical and unimaginative man, who could not\ncreate independently even the smallest detail.\n\nSo it was impossible to determine at present whether Chello had seen the\nfinished statues or not, yet Hermon desired the former with actual\nfervour, that he might have positive certainty.\n\nWhile reflecting over these matters, the image of the lean Egyptian\ngoldsmith, with his narrow, brown, smooth-shaven face and skull,\nprominent cheek bones, receding brow, projecting ears and, with all its\nkeenness, lustreless glance, rose before him as if he could see his\nbodily presence. Not a single word unconnected with his trade, the\nweather, or an accident, had ever reached the friends' ears from Chello's\nthick lips, and this circumstance seemed to warrant Hermon in the\nexpectation of learning from him the pure, unadulterated truth.\n\nRarely had a messenger of love been awaited with such feverish suspense\nas the slave whom Gras had despatched to Tanis to induce the goldsmith to\nreturn home. He might come soon after nightfall, and Hermon used the\ninterval to ask the Bithynian the questions which he had long expected.\n\nThe replies afforded little additional information. He learned only that\nPhilippus had been summoned to Alexandria by the King, and that the Lady\nThyone and her husband had talked with the leech and assented to his\nopinion that it would be better for Hermon to wait here until the burns\non his face were healed before returning to Alexandria.\n\nFor Daphne's sake this decision had undoubtedly been welcome to the\nmatron, and it pleased him also; for he still felt so ill physically, and\nso agitated mentally, that he shrank from meeting his numerous\nacquaintances in the capital.\n\nThe goldsmith! the goldsmith! It depended upon his decision whether he\nwould return to Alexandria at all.\n\nSoon after Hermon had learned from Gras that the stars had risen, he was\ninformed that he must wait patiently for his interview with the Egyptian,\nas he had been summoned to the capital that very day by a messenger from\nProclus.\n\nThen the steward had fresh cause to marvel at his charge, for this news\naroused the most vehement excitement.\n\nIn fact, it afforded the prospect of a series--perhaps a long one--of the\nmost torturing days and nights. And the dreaded hours actually came--nay,\nthe anguish of uncertainty had become almost unendurable, when, on the\nseventh day, the Egyptian at last returned from Alexandria. They had\nseemed like weeks to Hermon, had made his face thinner, and mingled the\nfirst silver hairs in his black beard.\n\nThe calls of the cheerful notary and the daily visits of the leech, an\nelderly man, who had depressed rather than cheered him by informing him\nof many cases like his own which all proved incurable, had been his sole\ndiversion. True, the heads of the Greek residents of Tennis had also\nsometimes sought him: the higher government officials, the lessees of the\noil monopoly and the royal bank, as well as Gorgias, who, next to Archias\nthe Alexandrian, owned the largest weaving establishments, but the tales\nof daily incidents with which they entertained Hermon wearied him. He\nlistened with interest only to the story of Ledscha's disappearance, yet\nhe perceived, from the very slight impression it made upon him, how\nlittle he had really cared for the Biamite girl.\n\nHis inquiries about Gula called down upon him many well-meant jests. She\nwas with her parents; while Taus, Ledscha's young sister, was staying at\nthe brick-kiln, where the former had reduced the unruly slaves to\nsubmission.\n\nCare had been taken to provide for his personal safety, for the attack\nmight perhaps yet prove to have been connected with the jealousy of the\nBiamite husbands.\n\nThe commandant of Pelusium had therefore placed a small garrison of\nheavily armed soldiers and archers in Tennis, for whom tents had been\npitched on the site of the burned white house.\n\nWords of command and signals for changing the guards often reached Hermon\nwhen he was on the deck of his ship, and visitors praised the wise\ncaution and prompt action of Alexander the Great's old comrade.\n\nThe notary, a vivacious man of fifty, who had lived a long time in\nAlexandria and, asserting that he grew dull and withered in little\nTennis, went to the capital as frequently as possible, had often called\nupon the sculptor at first, and been disposed to discuss art and the\nother subjects dear to Hermon's heart, but on the third day he again set\noff for his beloved Alexandria. When saying farewell, he had been\nunusually merry, and asked Hermon to send him away with good wishes and\noffer sacrifices for the success of his business, since he hoped to bring\na valuable gift on his return from the journey.\n\nThe blind artist was glad to have other visits for a short time, but he\npreferred to be alone and devote his thoughts to his own affairs.\n\nHe now knew that his love was genuine. Daphne seemed the very incarnation\nof desirable, artless, heart-refreshing womanliness, but his memory could\nnot dwell with her long; anxiety concerning Chello's report only too\nquickly interrupted it, as soon as he yielded to its charm.\n\nHe did not think at all of the future. What was he to appoint for a time\nwhich the words of a third person might render unendurable?\n\nWhen Gras at last ushered in the goldsmith, his heart throbbed so\nviolently that it was difficult for him to find the words needed for the\nquestions he desired to ask.\n\nThe Egyptian had really been summoned to Alexandria by Proclus, not on\naccount of the Demeter, but the clasp said to belong to Myrtilus, found\namid the ruins of the fallen house, and he had been able to identify it\nwith absolute positiveness as the sculptor's property.\n\nHe had been referred from one office to another, until finally the Tennis\nnotary and Proclus opened the right doors to him.\n\nNow the importance of his testimony appeared, since the will of the\nwealthy young sculptor could not be opened until his death was proved,\nand the clasp which had been found aided in doing so.\n\nHermon's question whether he had heard any particulars about this will\nwas answered by the cold-hearted, dull-brained man in the negative.\n\nHe had done enough, he said, by expressing his opinion. He had gone to\nAlexandria unwillingly, and would certainly have stayed in Tennis if he\ncould have foreseen what a number of tiresome examinations he would be\nobliged to undergo. He had been burning with impatience to quit the\nplace, on account of the important work left behind in Tanis, and he did\nnot even know whether he would be reimbursed for his travelling expenses.\n\nDuring this preliminary conversation Hermon gained the composure he\nneeded.\n\nHe began by ascertaining whether Chello remembered the interior\narrangement of the burned white house, and it soon appeared that he\nrecollected it accurately.\n\nThen the blind man requested him to tell how the rescue of the statue had\nbeen managed, and the account of the extremely prosaic artisan described\nso clearly and practically how, on entering the burning building, he\nfound Myrtilus's studio already inaccessible, but the statue of Demeter\nin Hermon's still uninjured, that the trustworthiness of his story could\nnot be doubted.\n\nOne circumstance only appeared strange, yet it was easily explained.\nInstead of standing on the pedestal, the Demeter was beside it, and even\nthe slow-witted goldsmith inferred from this fact that the robbers had\nintended to steal it and placed it on the floor for that purpose, but\nwere prevented from accomplishing their design by the interference of\nHermon and the people from Tennis.\n\nAfter the Egyptian, in reply to the artist's inquiry concerning what\nother works of art and implements he had seen in the studio, had answered\nthat nothing else could be distinguished on account of the smoke, he\ncongratulated the sculptor on his last work. People were already making a\ngreat stir about the new Demeter. It had been discussed not only in the\nworkshop of his brother, who, like himself, followed their father's\ncalling, but also in the offices, at the harbour, in the barbers' rooms\nand the cookshops, and he, too, must admit that, for a Greek goddess,\nthat always lacked genuine, earnest dignity, it really was a pretty bit\nof work.\n\nLastly, the Egyptian asked to whom he should apply for payment for the\nremainder of his labour.\n\nThe strip of gold, from which Hermon had ordered the diadem to be made,\nhad attracted his attention on the head of his Demeter, and compensation\nfor the work upon this ornament was still due.\n\nHermon, deeply agitated, asked, with glowing cheeks, whether Chello\nreally positively remembered having prepared for him the gold diadem\nwhich he had seen in Alexandria, and the Egyptian eagerly assured him\nthat he had done so. Hitherto he had found the sculptors honest men, and\nHermon would not withhold the payment for his well-earned toil.\n\nThe artist strenuously denied such an intention; but when, in his desire\nto have the most absolute assurance, he again asked questions about the\ndiadem, the Egyptian thought that the blind sculptor doubted the justice\nof his demand, and wrathfully insisted upon his claim, until Gras managed\nto whisper, undetected by Hermon, that he would have the money ready for\nhim.\n\nThis satisfied the angry man. He honestly believed that he had prepared\nthe gold for the ornament on the head of the Demeter in Alexandria; yet\nthe statue chiselled by Myrtilus had also been adorned with a diadem, and\nChello had wrought the strip of gold it required. Only it had escaped his\nmemory, because he had been paid for the work immediately after its\ndelivery.\n\nGlad to obey his mistress's orders to settle at once any debts which the\nartist might have in Tennis, the steward followed the goldsmith while\nHermon, seizing the huge goblet which had just been filled with wine and\nwater for him drained it at one long draught. Then, with sigh of relief,\nhe restored it to its place, raised his hand and his blinded eyes\nheavenward, and offered a brief, fervent thanksgiving to his mother's\nsoul and the great Demeter, whom, he might now believe it himself, he had\nhonoured with a masterpiece which had extorted warm admiration even from\na connoisseur unfriendly his art.\n\nWhen Gras returned, he said, with a grin of satisfaction, that the\ngoldsmith was like all the rest of his countrymen. The artists did not\nowe him another drachm; the never-to-be-forgotten Myrtilus had paid for\nthe work ordered by Hermon also.\n\nThen, for the first time since he had been led on board the ship, a gay\nlaugh rang fro the blind man's lips, rising in deep, pure, joyous tones\nfrom his relieved breast.\n\nThe faithful gray eyes of honest Gras glittered with tears at the musical\ntones, and how ardently he wished for his beloved mistress when the\nsculptor, not content with this, exclaimed as gleefully as in happier\ndays: \"Hitherto I have had no real pleasure from my successful work, old\nGras, but it is awaking now! If my Myrtilus were still alive, and these\nmiserable eyes yet possessed the power of rejoicing in the light and in\nbeautiful human forms, by the dog! I would have the mixing vessels\nfilled, wreath after wreath brought, boon companions summoned, and with\nflute-playing, songs, and fiery words, offer the Muses, Demeter, and\nDionysus their due meed of homage!\"\n\nGras declared that this wish might easily be fulfilled. There was no lack\nof wine or drinking cups on the vessel, the flute-players whom he had\nheard in the Odeum at Tanis did not understand their business amiss,\nflowers and wreaths could be obtained, and all who spoke Greek in Tennis\nwould accept his invitation.\n\nBut the Bithynian soon regretted this proposal, for it fell like a\nhoar-frost upon the blind man's happy mood. He curtly declined. He would\nnot play host where he was himself a guest, and pride forbade him to use\nthe property of others as though it were his own.\n\nHe could not regain his suddenly awakened pleasure in existence before\nGras warned him it was time to go to rest. Not until he was alone in the\nquiet cabin did the sense of joy in his first great success overpower him\nafresh.\n\nHe might well feel proud delight in the work which he had created, for he\nhad accomplished it without being unfaithful to the aims he had set\nbefore him.\n\nIt had been taken from his own studio, and the skilful old artisan had\nrecognised his preliminary work upon the diadem which he, Hermon, had\nafterward adorned with ornaments himself. But, alas! this first must at\nthe same time be his last great success, and he was condemned to live on\nin darkness.\n\nAlthough abundant recognition awaited him in Alexandria, his quickly\ngained renown would soon be forgotten, and he would remain a beggared\nblind man. But it was now allowable for him to think secretly of\npossessing Daphne; perhaps she would wait for him and reject other\nsuitors until he learned in the capital whether he might not hope to\nrecover his lost sight. He was at least secure against external want; the\ngenerous Archias would hardly withhold from him the prize he had intended\nfor the successful statue, although the second had been destroyed. The\ngreat merchant would do everything for his fame-crowned nephew, and he,\nHermon, was conscious that had his uncle been in his situation he would\nhave divided his last obol with him. Refusal of his assistance would have\nbeen an insult to his paternal friend and guardian.\n\nLastly, he might hope that Archias would take him to the most skilful\nleeches in Alexandria and, if they succeeded in restoring his lost power\nof vision, then--then Yet it seemed so presumptuous to lull himself in\nthis hope that he forbade himself the pleasure of indulging it.\n\nAmid these consoling reflections, Hermon fell asleep, and awoke fresher\nand more cheerful than he had been for some time.\n\nHe had to spend two whole weeks more in Tennis, for the burns healed\nslowly, and an anxious fear kept him away from Alexandria.\n\nThere the woman he loved would again meet him and, though he could assure\nThyone that Nemesis had turned her wheel away from him, he would have\nbeen permitted to treat Daphne only with cool reserve, while every fibre\nof his being urged him to confess his love and clasp her in his arms.\n\nGras had already written twice to his master, telling him with what\ngratifying patience Hermon was beginning to submit to his great\nmisfortune, when the notary Melampus returned from Alexandria with news\nwhich produced the most delightful transformation in the blind artist's\nouter life.\n\nMore swiftly than his great corpulence usually permitted the jovial man\nto move, he ascended to the deck, calling: \"Great, greater, the greatest\nof news I bring, as the heaviest but by no means the most dilatory of\nmessengers of good fortune from the city of cities. Prick up your ears,\nmy friend, and summon all your strength, for there are instances of the\nfatal effect of especially lavish gifts from the blind and yet often sure\naim of the goddess of Fortune. The Demeter, in whom you proved so\nmarvellously that the art of a mortal is sufficient to create immortals,\nis beginning to show her gratitude. She is helping to twine wreaths for\nyou in Alexandria.\"\n\nHere the vivacious man suddenly hesitated and, while wiping his plump\ncheeks, perspiring brow, and smooth, fat double chin with his kerchief,\nadded in a tone of sincere regret: \"That's the way with me! In one thing\nwhich really moves me, I always forget the other. The fault sticks to me\nlike my ears and nose. When my mother gave me two errands, I attended to\nthe first in the best possible way, but overlooked the second entirely,\nand was paid for it with my father's staff, yet even the blue wales made\nno change in the fault. But for that I should still be in the city of\ncities; but it robbed me of my best clients, and so I was transferred to\nthis dullest of holes. Even here it clings to me. My detestable\nexultation just now proves it. Yet I know how dear to you was the dead\nman who manifests his love even from the grave. But you will forgive me\nthe false note into which my weakness led me; it sprang from regard for\nyou, my young friend. To serve your cause, I forgot everything else. Like\nmy mother's first errand, it was performed in the best possible way. You\nwill learn directly. By the lightnings of Father Zeus and the owl of\nAthene, the news I bring is certainly great and beautiful; but he who\nyearned to make you happy was snatched from you and, though his noble\nlegacy must inspire pleasure and gratitude, it will nevertheless fill\nyour poor eyes with sorrowful tears.\"\n\nMelampus turned, as he spoke, to the misshapen Egyptian slave who\nperformed the duties of a clerk, and took several rolls from the\ndrumshaped case that hung around his neck; but his prediction concerning\nHermon was speedily fulfilled, for the notary handed him the will of his\nfriend Myrtilus.\n\nIt made him the heir of his entire fortune and, however happy the\nunexpected royal gift rendered the blind man, however cheering might be\nthe prospects it opened to him for the future and the desire of his\nheart, sobs nevertheless interrupted the affectionate words which\ncommenced the document Melampus read aloud to him.\n\nDoubtless the tears which Hermon dedicated to the most beloved of human\nbeings made his blinded eyes smart, but he could not restrain them, and\neven long after the notary had left him, and the steward had\ncongratulated him on his good fortune, the deep emotion of his tender\nheart again and again called forth a fresh flood of tears consecrated to\nthe memory of his friend.\n\nThe notary had already informed the grammateus of the disposition which\nMyrtilus had made of his property in Hermon's favour a few days before,\nbut, by the advice of the experienced Proclus, the contents of the will\nhad been withheld from the sculptor; the unfortunate man ought to be\nspared any disappointment, and proof that Myrtilus was really among the\nvictims of the accident must first be obtained.\n\nThe clasp found in the ruins of the white house appeared to furnish this,\nand the notary had put all other business aside and gone to Alexandria to\nsettle the matter.\n\nThe goldsmith Chello, who had fastened a new pin to the clasp, and could\nswear that it had belonged to Myrtilus, had been summoned to the capital\nas a witness, and, with the aid of the influential grammateus of the\nDionysian games and priest of Apollo, the zeal of Melampus had\naccomplished in a short time the settlement of this difficult affair,\nwhich otherwise might perhaps have consumed several months.\n\nThe violent death of Myrtilus had been admitted as proved by the\nmagistrate, who had been prepossessed in Hermon's favour by his\nmasterpiece. Besides, no doubts could be raised concerning the validity\nof a will attested by sixteen witnesses. The execution of this last\ntestament had been intrusted to Archias, as Myrtilus's nearest relative,\nand several other distinguished Alexandrians.\n\nThe amount of the fortune bequeathed had surprised even these wealthy\nmen, for under the prudent management of Archias the property inherited\nby the modest young sculptor had trebled in value.\n\nThe poor blind artist had suddenly become a man who might be termed\n\"rich,\" even in the great capital.\n\nAgain the steward shook his head; this vast, unexpected inheritance did\nnot seem to make half so deep an impression upon the eccentric blind man\nas the news received a short time ago that his trivial debt to the\ngoldsmith Chello was already settled. But Hermon must have dearly loved\nthe friend to whom he owed this great change of fortune, and grief for\nhim had cast joy in his immense new wealth completely into the shade.\n\nThis conjecture was confirmed on the following morning, for the blind man\nhad himself led to the Greek necropolis to offer sacrifices to the gods\nof the nether world and to think of his friend.\n\nWhen, soon after noon, the lessee of the royal bank appeared on the ship\nto offer him as many drachmae or talents as he might need for present\nuse, he asked for a considerable sum to purchase a larger death-offering\nfor his murdered friend. The next morning he went with the architect of\nthe province to the scene of the conflagration, and had him mark the spot\nof ground on which he desired to erect to his Myrtilus a monument to be\nmade in Alexandria.\n\nAt sunset, leaning on the steward's arm, he went to the Temple of\nNemesis, where he prayed and commissioned the priest to offer a costly\nsacrifice to the goddess in his name.\n\nOn the return home, Hermon suddenly stood still and mentioned to Gras the\nsum which he intended to bestow upon the blind in Tennis. He knew now\nwhat it means to live bereft of light, and, he added in a low tone, to be\nalso poor and unable to earn his daily bread.\n\nOn the ship he asked the Bithynian whether his burned face had become\npresentable again, and no longer made a repulsive impression.\n\nThis Gras could truthfully assure him. Then the artist's features\nbrightened, and the Bithynian heard genuine cheerfulness ring in the\ntones of his voice as he exclaimed: \"Then, old Gras, we will set out for\nAlexandria as soon as the ship is ready to sail. Back to life, to the\nsociety of men of my own stamp, to reap the praise earned by my own\ncreations, and to the only divine maiden among mortals--to Daphne!\"\n\n\"The day after to-morrow!\" exclaimed the steward in joyous excitement;\nand soon after the carrier dove was flying toward the house of Archias,\nbearing the letter which stated the hour when his fame-crowned blind\nnephew would enter the great harbour of Alexandria.\n\nThe evening of the next day but one the Proserpina was bearing Hermon\naway from the city of weavers toward home.\n\nAs the evening breeze fanned his brow, his thoughts dwelt sadly on his\nMyrtilus. Hitherto it had always seemed as if he was bound, and must\ncommit some atrocious deed to use the seething power condemned to\ninaction. But as the galley left the Tanitic branch of the Nile behind,\nand the blind man inhaled the cool air upon the calm sea, his heart\nswelled, and for the first time he became fully aware that, though the\nlight of the sun would probably never shine for him again, and therefore\nthe joy of creating, the rapture of once more testing his fettered\nstrength, would probably be forever denied him, other stars might perhaps\nillumine his path, and he was going, in a position of brilliant\nindependence, toward his native city, fame, and--eternal gods!--love.\n\nDaphne had conquered, and he gave only a passing thought to Ledscha and\nthe hapless weaver Arachne.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Chance, which took no heed of merit or unworthiness\n     Deceived himself concerning the value of his own work\n     Gods whom men had invented after their own likeness\n     Hate the person from whom he receives benefits\n\n\n\n\nARACHNE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nAt the third hour after sunrise a distinguished assemblage of people\ngathered at the landing place east of the Temple of Poseidon in the great\nharbour of Alexandria.\n\nIts members belonged to the upper classes, for many had come in carriages\nand litters, and numerous pedestrians were accompanied by slaves bearing\nin delicately woven baskets and cornucopias a laurel wreath, a papyrus\ncrown, or bright-hued flowers.\n\nThe most aristocratic among the gentlemen had gathered on the western\nside of the great sanctuary, between the cella and the long row of Doric\ncolumns which supported the roof of the marble temple.\n\nThe Macedonian Council of the city was already represented by several of\nits members. Among their number was Archias, Daphne's father, a man of\nmiddle height and comfortable portliness, from whose well-formed,\nbeardless face looked forth a pair of shrewd eyes, and whose quick\nmovements revealed the slight irritability of his temperament.\n\nSeveral members of the Council and wealthy merchants surrounded him,\nwhile the grammateus Proclus first talked animatedly with other\ngovernment officials and representatives of the priesthood, and then with\nArchias. The head of the Museum, who bore the title of \"high priest,\" had\nalso appeared there with several members of this famous centre of the\nintellectual life of the capital. They shared the shade of this part of\nthe temple with distinguished masters of sculpture and painting,\narchitecture and poetry, and conversed together with the graceful\nanimation of Greeks endowed with great intellectual gifts.\n\nAmong them mingled, distinguishable neither by costume nor language, a\nnumber of prominent patrons of art in the great Jewish community. Their\nprincipal, the alabarch, was talking eagerly with the philosopher\nHegesias and the Rhodian leech Chrysippus; Queen Arsinoe's favourite,\nwhom at Althea's instigation she had sent with Proclus to receive the\nreturning traveller.\n\nSometimes all gazed toward the mouth of the harbour, where the expected\nship must soon pass the recently completed masterpiece of Sostratus, the\ntowering lighthouse, still shining in its marble purity.\n\nSoon many Alexandrians also crowded the large platform in front of the\nTemple of Poseidon, and the very wide marble staircase leading from it to\nthe landing place.\n\nBeneath the bronze statues of the Dioscuri, at the right and left of the\ntopmost step, had also gathered the magnificent figures of the Phebi and\nthe younger men from the wrestling school of Timagetes, with garlands on\ntheir curling locks, as well as many younger artists and pupils of the\nolder masters.\n\nThe statues of the gods and goddesses of the sea and their lofty\npedestals, standing at the sides of the staircase, cast upon the marble\nsteps, gleaming in the radiance of the morning sun, narrow shadows, which\nattracted the male and female chorus singers, who, also wearing beautiful\ngarlands, had come to greet the expected arrival with solemn chants.\n\nSeveral actors were just coming from rehearsal in the theatre of\nDionysus, east of the Temple of Poseidon, of which, like all the stages\nin the city, Proclus was chief manager.\n\nA pretty dancing girl, who hung on the arm of the youngest, extended her\nhand with a graceful gesture toward the staircase, and asked:\n\n\"Whom can they be expecting there? Probably some huge new animal for the\nMuseum which has been caught somewhere for the King, for yonder stiff\nwearer of a laurel crown, who throws his head back as though he would\nlike to eat the Olympians and take the King for a luncheon into the\nbargain, is Straton, the denier of the gods, and the little man with the\nbullethead is the grammarian Zoilus.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" replied her companion. \"But there, too, is Apollodorus, the\nalabarch of the Jews, and the heavy money-bag Archias--\"\n\n\"Why look at them!\" cried the younger mime. \"It's far better worth while\nto stretch your neck for those farther in front. They are genuine friends\nof the Muses--the poets Theocritus and Zenodotus.\"\n\n\"The great Athene, Apollo, and all his nine Pierides, have sent their\nenvoys,\" said the older actor pathetically, \"for there, too, are the\nsculptors Euphranor and Chares, and the godlike builder of the\nlighthouse, Sostratus in person.\"\n\n\"A handsome man,\" cried the girl flute-player, \"but vain, I tell you,\nvain--\"\n\n\"Self-conscious, you ought to say,\" corrected her companion.\n\n\"Certainly,\" added the older actor, patting his smooth cheeks and chin\nwith a rose he held in his hand.  Who can defend himself against the\nhighest merit, self-knowledge? But the person who is to have this\nreception, by the staff of Dionysus! if modesty flies away from him like\nthe bird from a girl, it ought Just look there! The tall,\nbroad-shouldered fellow yonder is Chrysippus, the right hand of Arsinoe,\nas our grammateus Proclus is her left. So probably some prince is\nexpected.\"\n\n\"The gentlemen of the Museum and the great artists yonder would not stir\na foot, far less lose so precious a morning hour, for any mere wearer of\na crown or sceptre,\" protested the other actor; \"it must be--\"\n\n\"That the King or the Queen command it,\" interrupted the older player.\n\"Only Arsinoe is represented here. Or do you see any envoy of Ptolemy?\nPerhaps they will yet arrive. If there were ambassadors of the great\nRoman Senate--\"\n\n\"Or,\" added the dancer, \"envoys from King Antiochus. But--goose that I\nam!--then they would not be received here, but in the royal harbour at\nthe Lochias. See if I don't prove to be right! Divine honours are to be\npaid to some newly attracted hero of the intellect. But--just follow my\nfinger! There--yonder--it comes floating along at the left of the island\nof Antirrhodus. That may be his galley! Magnificent! Wonderfully\nbeautiful! Brilliant! Like a swan! No, no, like a swimming peacock! And\nthe silver embroidery on the blue sails! It glitters and sparkles like\nstars in the azure sky.\"\n\nMeanwhile the elder actor, shading his eyes with his hand, had been\ngazing at the harbour, where, amid the innumerable vessels, the expected\none, whose sails were just being reefed, was steered by a skilful hand.\nNow he interrupted the blond beauty with the exclamation: \"It is\nArchias's Proserpina! I know it well.\" Then, in a declamatory tone, he\ncontinued: \"I, too, was permitted on the deck of the glittering vessel,\nlightly rocked by the crimson waves, to reach my welcome goal; as the\nguest of peerless Archias, I mean. The most magnificent festival in his\nvilla! There was a little performance there in which Mentor and I allowed\nourselves to be persuaded to take part. But just see how the beautiful\nship uses the narrow passage between the two triremes, as if it had the\nbloodleech's power of contraction! But to return to the festival of\nArchias: the oyster ragout served there, the pheasant pasties--\"\n\nHere he interrupted himself, exclaiming in surprise: \"By the club of\nHercules, the Proserpina is to be received with a full chorus! And there\nis the owner himself descending the stairs! Whom is she bringing?\"\n\n\"Come! come!\" cried the dancing girl to her companion, dragging him after\nher, \"I shall die of curiosity.\"\n\nThe singing and shouting of many voices greeted the actors as they\napproached the platform of the Temple of Poseidon.\n\nWhen from this spot the dancer fixed her eyes upon the landing place, she\nsuddenly dropped her companion's arm, exclaiming: \"It is the handsome\nblind sculptor, Hermon, the heir of the wealthy Myrtilus. Do you learn\nthis now for the first time, you jealous Thersites? Hail, hail, divine\nHermon! Hail, noble victim of the ungrateful Olympians! Hail to thee,\nHermon, and thy immortal works! Hail, hail, hail!\"\n\nMeanwhile she waved her handkerchief with frenzied eagerness, as if she\ncould thus force the blind man to see her, and a group of actors whom\nProclus, the grammateus of the Dionysian arts, had sent here to receive\nHermon worthily, followed her example.\n\nBut her cries were drowned by the singing of the chorus and by thousands\nof shouting voices, while Hermon was embraced by Archias on board the\ngalley, and then, by his guidance, stepped on shore and ascended the\nstaircase of the Temple of Poseidon.\n\nBefore the ship entered the harbour, the artist had had a large goblet of\nunmixed wine given to him, that he might conquer the emotion that had\noverpowered him.\n\nThough his blind eyes did not show him even the faintest outline of a\nfigure, he felt as if he was flooded with brilliant sunshine.\n\nWhile the Proserpina was bearing him past the lighthouse, Gras told him\nthat they had now reached the great harbour, and at the same time he\nheard the shouts, whistles, signals, and varying sounds of the landing\nplace with its crowded shipping, and of the capital.\n\nHis blood surged in his veins, and before his mind rose the vision of the\ncorn-flower blue sky, mirrored in the calm surface of the bluest of seas.\nThe pharos built by Sostratus towered in dazzling whiteness above the\ntide, and before him rose the noble temple buildings, palaces, and\nporticoes of the city of Alexandria, with which he was familiar, and\nbefore and between them statue after statue of marble and bronze, the\nwhole flooded with radiant golden light.\n\nTrue, darkness sometimes swallowed this wonderful picture, but an effort\nof the will was sufficient to show it to him again.\n\n\"The Temple of Poseidon!\" cried Gras. \"The Proserpina is to land at the\nfoot of the steps.\" And now Hermon listened to the sounds from the shore,\nwhose hum and buzz transported him into the midst of the long-missed city\nof commerce, knowledge, and arts.\n\nThen the captain's shouts of command fell imperiously upon his ears, the\nstrokes of the oars ceased, their blades sank with a loud splash into the\nwater, and at the same instant from the temple steps Hermon was greeted\nby the solemn notes of the chorus, from whose rhythm his own name rang\nforth again and again like so many shouts of victory.\n\nHe thought his heart would fairly burst through his arched chest, and the\npassionate violence of its throbbing did not lessen when Gras exclaimed:\n\"Half Alexandria has assembled to greet you. Ah, if you could only see\nit! How the kerchiefs are waving! Laurel after laurel in every hand! All\nthe distinguished people in the capital have gathered on the sacred soil\nof the Temple of Poseidon. There is Archias, too; there are the artists\nand the famous gentlemen of the Museum, the members of the Ephebi, and\nthe priests of the great gods.\"\n\nHermon listened with his hand pressed on his breast, and while doing so\nthe power of his imagination showed the vast, harmoniously noble\nstructure of the many-pillared Temple of Poseidon, surrounded by as many\nthousands as there were in reality hundreds. From all parts of the\nsanctuary, even from the tops of the roofs, he beheld laurel branches and\nkerchiefs waving and tossing, and wreaths flung on the ground before him.\nIf this picture was correct, the whole city was greeting him, headed by\nthe men whom he honoured as great and meritorious, and in front of them\nall Daphne, with drooping head, full of feminine grace and heart-winning\ngoodness.\n\nWhile the chorus continued their song, and the welcoming shouts grew\nlouder, the brilliant picture faded away, but in return he felt friendly\narms clasp him. First Archias, then Proclus, and after him a succession\nof fellow-artists-the greatest of all--drew him into a warm embrace.\n\nFinally he felt himself led away, placed his feet as his Uncle Archias\nwhispered directions, and as they gropingly obeyed them ascended the\ntemple steps and stood in utter darkness upon the platform listening to\nthe speeches which so many had prepared.\n\nAll the distinguished men in the city expressed their sympathy, their\npity, their admiration, their hopes, or sent assurances of them to him.\nThe Rhodian Chrysippus, despatched by the Queen, delivered the wreath\nwhich the monarch bestowed, and informed Hermon, with her greetings, that\nArsinoe deemed his Demeter worthy of the laurel.\n\nThe most famous masters of his art, the great scholars from the Museum,\nthe whole priesthood of Demeter, which included Daphne, the servants of\nApollo, his dear Ephebi, the comrades of his physical exercises--all whom\nhe honoured, admired, loved-loaded him with praises and good wishes, as\nwell as the assurance of their pride in numbering him among them.\n\nNo form, no colour from the visible world, penetrated the darkness\nsurrounding him, not even the image of the woman he loved. Only his ears\nenabled him to receive the praises, honours, congratulations lavished\nhere and, though he sometimes thought he had received enough, he again\nlistened willingly and intently when a new speaker addressed him in warm\nwords of eulogy. What share compassion for his unprecedentedly sorrowful\nfate had in this extravagantly laudatory and cordial greeting, he did not\nask; he only felt with a throbbing heart that he now stood upon a summit\nwhich he had scarcely ventured to hope ever to attain. His dreams of\noutward success which had not been realized, because he deemed it treason\nto his art to deviate from the course which he believed right and best\nadapted to it, he now, without having yielded to the demands of the old\nschool, heard praised as his well-earned possessions.\n\nHe felt as if he breathed the lighter, purer air of the realms of the\nblessed, and the laurel crown which the Queen's envoy pressed upon his\nbrow, the wreaths which his fellow-artists presented to him by hands no\nless distinguished than those of the great sculptor Protogenes, and\nNicias, the most admired artist after the death of Apelles, seemed, like\nthe wings on the hat and shoes of Hermes, messenger of the gods, to raise\nhim out of himself and into the air.\n\nDarkness surrounded him, yet a bright dazzling light issued from his soul\nand illuminated his whole being with the warm golden radiance of the sun.\n\nNot even the faintest shadow dimmed it until Soteles, his fellow-student\nat Rhodes, who sustained him with ardent earnestness in the struggle to\nprefer truth to beauty, greeted him.\n\nHe welcomed him and wished that he might recover his lost sight as warmly\nas his predecessors. He praised the Demeter, too, but added that this was\nnot the place to say what he missed in her. Yet that she did lack it\nawakened in him an emotion of pain, for this, Hermon's last work,\napparently gave the followers of the ancients a right to number him in\ntheir ranks.\n\nHis cautious expression of regret must refer to the head of his Demeter.\nYet surely it was not his fault that Daphne's features bore the impress\nof that gentle, winning kindness which he himself and Soteles, imitating\nhim, had often condemned as weak and characterless.\n\nThe correctness of his belief was instantly proved to him by the address\nof gray-haired, highly praised Euphranor, who spoke of the Demeter's\ncountenance with warm admiration. And how ardently the poets Theocritus\nand Zenodotus extolled his work to the skies!\n\nAmid so much laudation, one faint word of dissatisfaction vanished like a\ndrop of blood that falls into a clear stream.\n\nThe welcome concluded with a final chant by the chorus, and continued to\necho in Hermon's ears as he entered his uncle's chariot and drove away\nwith him, crowned with laurel and intoxicated as if by fiery wine.\n\nOh, if he could only have seen his fellow-citizens who so eagerly\nexpressed their good will, their sympathy, their admiration! But the\nblack and coloured mist before his eyes revealed no human figure, not\neven that of the woman he loved, who, he now learned for the first time\nfrom her father, had appeared among the priestesses of Demeter to greet\nhim.\n\nDoubtless he was gladdened by the sound of her voice, the clasp of her\nhand, the faint fragrance of violets exhaling from her fair hair, which\nhe had often remembered with so much pleasure when alone in Tennis; but\nthe time to devote himself to her fully and completely had not yet come,\nfor what manifold and powerful impressions, how much that was elevating,\ndelightful, and entertaining awaited him immediately!\n\nThe Queen's envoy had expressed his mistress's desire to receive the\ncreator of the Demeter, the Ephebi and his fellow-artists had invited him\nto a festival which they desired to give in his honour, and on the way\nArchias informed him that many of his wealthy friends in the Macedonian\nCouncil expected that he, the honoured hero of the day, would adorn with\nhis presence a banquet in their houses.\n\nWhat a rich, brilliant life awaited him in spite of his blindness! When\nhe entered his uncle's magnificent city home, and not only all the\nservants and clients of the family, but also a select party of ladies and\ngentlemen greeted him with flowers and hundreds of other tokens of\naffection and appreciation, he gave himself up without reserve to this\nnovel excess of fame and admiration.\n\nNotwithstanding his blindness, he felt, after the burns on his face had\nhealed, thoroughly well, as strong as a giant--nay, more vigorous and\ncapable of enjoyment than ever. What prevented him from revelling to the\nfull in the superabundant gifts which Fate, recently so cruel, now\nsuddenly cast into his lap with lavish kindness?\n\nYet many flattering and pleasant things as he had experienced that day,\nhe was far from feeling satiety. On entering the hall of the men in his\nuncle's dwelling, the names of famous men and proud beauties had been\nrepeated to him. Formerly they had taken little notice of him, yet now\neven the most renowned received him like an Olympian victor.\n\nWhat did all these vain women really care for him? Yet their favour was\npart of the triumph whose celebration he must permit to-day. His heart\nheld but one being for whom it yearned, and with whom thus far he had\nbeen able only to exchange a few tender greetings.\n\nThe time for a long conversation had not yet arrived, but he asked Thyone\nto lead him to her and, while she listened anxiously, described with\nfeverish animation the incidents of the last few days. But he soon\nlowered his voice to assure her that he had not ceased to think of her\neven for a single hour, and the feeling of happiness which, in spite of\nhis misfortune, had filled and lent wings to his soul, was not least due\nto the knowledge of being near her again.\n\nAnd her presence really benefited him almost as much as he had\nanticipated during the hours of solitary yearning in Tennis; he felt it a\ngreat favour of Fate to be permitted to strive to possess her, felt even\nduring the delirium of this reception that he loved her. What a\ntremendous longing to clasp her at once in his arms as his betrothed\nbride overwhelmed him; but her father's opposition to the union of his\nonly child with a blind man must first be conquered, and the great\nagitation in his soul, as well as the tumult around him, seemed like a\nmockery of the quiet happiness which hovered before him when he thought\nof his marriage with Daphne. Not until everything was calmer would the\ntime come to woo her. Until then both must be satisfied with knowing from\neach other's lips their mutual love, and he thought he perceived in the\ntone of her voice the deep emotion of her heart.\n\nPerhaps this had prevented Daphne's expressing her congratulations upon\nthe success of his Demeter as eagerly and fully as he had expected.\nPainfully disturbed by her reserve, he had just attempted to induce her\nto give a less superficial opinion of his work, when the curtains of the\ndining room parted-the music of flutes, singing, and pleasant odours\ngreeted him and the guests. Archias summoned them to breakfast, and a\nband of beautiful boys, with flowers and garlands of ivy, obeyed the\ncommand to crown them.\n\nThen Thyone approached the newly united pair and, after exchanging a few\nwords with Daphne, whispered in an agitated voice to the blind sculptor,\nover whose breast a brown-locked young slave was just twining a garland\nof roses: \"Poverty no longer stands between you and the object of your\nlove; is it Nemesis who even now still seals your lips?\"\n\nHermon stretched out his hand to draw her nearer to him and murmur softly\nthat her counsel had aided him to break the power of the terrible\ngoddess, but he grasped the empty air. At the same time the deep voice of\nhis love's father, whose opposition threatened to cloud his new\nhappiness, singing, flute-playing, and the laughter of fair women greeted\nhim and, only half master of his own will, he assented, by a slight bend\nof the head, to the matron's question. A light shiver ran through his\nframe with the speed of lightning, and the Epicurean's maxim that fear\nand cold are companions darted through his brain. But what should he\nfear? He had endured severe trials, it is true, for the sake of remaining\nfaithful to truth in art and life; but who probably ever reached the age\nof manhood without once deviating from it? Besides, he was surely aware\nthat, had he been obliged to answer Thyone in words, he would not have\nbeen guilty of the falsehood. His reply had consisted of a slight motion\nof the head, and it negatived nothing; it was merely intended to defer\nfor a short time the thing he most desired.\n\nYet the rash answer weighed heavily on his mind; but it could no longer\nbe recalled that day, and was believed, for Thyone whispered, \"We shall\nsucceed in reconciling the terrible being.\"\n\nAgain the light tremour ran through him, but it lasted only an instant;\nfor Chrysilla, the representative of the dead mistress of the house,\nwhose duty it was to assign the guests their places, called to Hermon,\n\"The beautiful Glycera does you the honour of choosing you for a\nneighbour\" and, before the sentence was finished, Archias himself seized\nhis arm and led him to the cushions at the side of the much-courted\nbeauty.\n\nThe guests began the banquet in a very joyous mood.\n\nGreek gaiety, and the quick intellect and keen wit of the Alexandrians,\ncombined with the choicest viands of the luxurious capital, where the\nwines and dainties of all the countries of the Mediterranean found\nsellers and buyers, and the cook's vocation was developed into a fine\nart, to spice this banquet with a hundred charms for the mind and senses.\nTo-day the principal place in this distinguished circle of famous men,\ngreat and wealthy nobles, beautiful and aristocratic women, was awarded\nto the blind sculptor. He was pledged by every one who had admired his\nDemeter, who compassionated his sad fate, or who desired to be agreeable\nto him or his host.\n\nEvery kind remark about his person, his blindness, and his masterpiece\nwas repeated to him and, after the wine and the effort to attract\nDaphne's attention and shine in the presence of his beautiful neighbour\nhad heated and winged his thoughts, he found an apt reply to each\nnoteworthy word.\n\nWhen the dessert was finally eaten, and after sunset, in the brilliant\nlight of the lamps and candles, greater attention was paid to the mixing\nvessels, all remained silent to listen to his fervid speech.\n\nGlycera had asked him, at the beginning of the banquet, to tell her about\nthe attack in Tennis. Now he yielded to her wish that he should repeat\nthe captivating tale to the others, and the spirits of the wine helped\nhim to perform the task with such animation that his hearers listened to\nhis description in breathless suspense, and many eyes rested on the\nhandsome face of the great blind artist as if spellbound.\n\nWhen he paused, loud applause rewarded him, and as it reached him from\nevery part of the spacious room, his deep, resonant voice put him in\ncommunication even with the more distant guests, and he might have been\ntaken for the symposiarch or director of the banquet.\n\nThis conspicuous position of the feted artist did not please every one,\nand a rhetorician, famed for his sharp tongue, whispered to his\nneighbour, one of Hermon's older fellow-artists, \"What his eyes have lost\nseems to benefit his tongue.\" The sculptor answered: \"At any rate, the\nimpetuous young artist might succeed better in proving himself, by its\nassistance, a good entertainer, than in creating more mediocre\nmasterpieces like the Demeter.\"\n\nSimilar remarks were made on other cushions; but when the philosopher\nHegesias asked the famous sculptor Euphranor what he thought of Hermon's\nDemeter, the kindly old man answered, \"I should laud this noble work as a\nmemorable event, even if it did not mark the end, as well as the\nbeginning, of its highly gifted creator's new career.\"\n\nNothing of this kind was uttered near Hermon. Everything that reached him\nexpressed delight, admiration, sympathy, and hope. At dessert the\nbeautiful Glycera divided her apple, whispering as she gave him one half,\n\"Let the fruit tell you what the eyes can no longer reveal, you poor and\nyet so abundantly rich darling of the gods.\"\n\nHe murmured in reply that his happiness would awake the envy of the\nimmortals if, in addition, he were permitted to feast upon the sight of\nher beauty.\n\nHad he been able to see himself, Hermon, who, as a genuine Greek, was\naccustomed to moderate his feelings in intercourse with others, would\nhave endeavoured to express the emotions of joy which filled his heart\nwith more reserve, and to excel his companions at the festival less\nrecklessly.\n\nHis enthusiastic delight carried many away with him; others, especially\nDaphne, were filled with anxious forebodings by his conduct, and others\nstill with grave displeasure.\n\nAmong the latter was the famous leech Erasistratus, who shared Archias's\ncushions, and had been solicited by the latter to try to restore his\nblind nephew's sight. But the kindly physician, who gladly aided even the\npoorest sufferer, curtly and positively refused. To devote his time and\nskill to a blind man who, under the severest of visitations, lulled\nhimself so contentedly in happiness, he considered unjust to others who\ndesired recovery more ardently.\n\n\"When the intoxication of this unbridled strength passes away, and is\nfollowed by a different mood,\" remarked the merchant, \"we will talk of\nthis matter again,\" and the confident tone of his deep voice gave the\nsimple sentence such significance that the learned leech held out his\nhand, saying: \"Only where deep, earnest longing for recovery fills the\nsufferer's mind will the gods aid the physician. We will wait for the\nchange which you predict, Archias!\"\n\nThe guests did not disperse until late, and the best satisfied of all was\nthe grammateus Proclus, who had taken advantage of the rich merchant's\nhappy mood, and his own warm intercession in behalf of his nephew's work,\nto persuade Archias to advance Queen Arsinoe a large sum of money for an\nenterprise whose object he still carefully concealed.\n\nThe highly honoured blind artist spent the night under his uncle's roof.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nHermon rose from his couch the next morning alert and ready for new\npleasures.\n\nHe had scarcely left the bath when envoys from the Ephebi and the younger\nartists invited him to the festivities which they had arranged in his\nhonour. He joyously accepted, and also promised messengers from many of\nArchias's friends, who wished to have the famous blind sculptor among\ntheir guests, to be present at their banquets.\n\nHe still felt as if he were intoxicated, and found neither disposition\nnor time for quiet reflection. His great strength, fettered as it were by\nhis loss of sight, now also began to stir. Fate itself withheld him from\nthe labour which he loved, yet in return it offered him a wealth of\nvarying pleasure, whose stimulating power he had learned the day before.\nHe still relished the draught from the beaker of homage proffered by his\nfellow-citizens; nay, it seemed as if it could not lose its sweetness for\na long time.\n\nHe joined the ladies before noon, and his newly awakened feeling of joy\nbeamed upon them scarcely less radiantly than yesterday. Though Thyone\nmight wonder that a man pursued by Nemesis could allow himself to be\nborne along so thoughtlessly by the stream of pleasure, Daphne certainly\ndid not grudge him the festal season which, when it had passed, could\nnever return to the blind artist. When it was over, he would yearn for\nthe quiet happiness at her side, which gazed at him like the calm eyes of\nthe woman he loved. With her he would cast anchor for the remainder of\nhis life; but first must come the period when he enjoyed the compensation\nnow awarded to him for such severe sufferings.\n\nHis heart was full of joy as he greeted Daphne and the Lady Thyone, whom\nhe found with her; but his warm description of the happy emotion which\nhad overpowered him at the abundant honours lavished upon him was\ninterrupted by Archias.\n\nIn his usual quick, brisk manner, he asked whether Hermon wished to\noccupy the beautiful villa with the magnificent garden on Lake Mareotis,\ninherited from Myrtilus, which could scarcely be reached in a vehicle\nfrom the Brucheium in less than an hour, or the house situated in the\ncentre of the city, and Hermon promptly decided in favour of the latter.\n\nHis uncle, and probably the ladies also, had expected the contrary. Their\nsilence showed this plainly enough, and Hermon therefore added in a tone\nof explanation that later the villa would perhaps suit his condition\nbetter, but now he thought it would be a mistake to retire to the quiet\nwhich half the city was conspiring to disturb. No one contradicted him,\nand he left the women's apartment with a slight feeling of vexation,\nwhich, however, was soon jested away by the gay friends who sought him.\n\nWhen he removed to the city house the next day, he had not yet found time\nfor a serious talk with Daphne. His uncle, who had managed the estate of\nMyrtilus, and wished to give Hermon an account of his inheritance, was\nrefused by the blind artist, who assured him that he knew Archias had\ngreatly increased rather than diminished his property, and thanked him\nsincerely and warmly. In the convenient and spacious city house the young\nsculptor very soon thought he had good reason to be satisfied with his\nchoice.\n\nMost of his friends were busy artists, and what loss of time every visit\nto the remote villa would have imposed upon them, what haste he himself\nwould have been obliged to use to reach home from the bath, where he\noften spent many hours, from the wrestling school, from the meetings of\nfashionable people in the Paneum gardens, and at sunset by the seashore\non the royal highway in the Brucheium. All these places were very far\nfrom the villa. It would have required whole hours, too, to reach a\nfamous cookshop in the Canopus, at whose table he liked to assemble\nbeloved guests or revel with his friends. The theatre, the Odeum, most of\nthe public buildings, as well as the houses of his best friends, and\nespecially the beautiful Glycera, were easily reached from his city home,\nand, among the temples, that of Demeter, which he often visited to pray,\noffer sacrifices, and rejoice in the power of attraction which his statue\nof the goddess exerted upon the multitude. It stood at the back of the\ncella in a place accessible to the priesthood alone, visible only through\nthe open doors, upon a pedestal which his fellow-artists pronounced\nrather too high. Yet his offer to have it made smaller was not accepted,\nbecause had it been lower the devout supplicants who stood there to pray\ncould not have raised their eyes to it.\n\nIt was not only at the festivals of the dead that he went to the Greek\ncemetery, where he had had a magnificent monument erected for his dead\nmother. If his head ached after a nocturnal carouse, or the disagreeable\nalarming chill stole over him which he had felt for the first time when\nhe falsely answered Thyone that he was still under the ban of Nemesis, he\nwent to the family monuments, supplied them with gifts, had sacrifices\noffered to the souls of the beloved dead, and in this way sometimes\nregained a portion of his lost peace of mind.\n\nThe banquet in the evening always dispelled whatever still oppressed him\non his return home from these visits, for, though months had elapsed\nsince his brilliant reception, he was still numbered, especially in\nartist circles, with the most honoured men; he, the blind man, no longer\nstood in any one's way; conversation gained energy and meaning through\nthe vivacity of his fervid intellect, which seemed actually deepened by\nhis blindness when questions concerning art were at issue, and from a\nmodest fellow-struggler he had become a patron bestowing orders.\n\nThe sculptor Soteles, who had followed his footsteps since the\napprenticeship in Rhodes, was intrusted with the erection of the monument\nto Myrtilus in Tennis, and another highly gifted young sculptor, who\npursued his former course, with the execution of the one to his mother.\n\nFrom a third he ordered a large new mixing vessel of chased silver for\nthe society of Ephebi, whose members had lauded him, at the magnificent\nfestival given in his honour, with genuine youthful fervour.\n\nIn the designs for these works his rich and bold gift of invention and\nthe power of his imagination proved their full value, and even his older\nfellow-artists followed him with sincere admiration when, in spite of his\ndarkened eyes, he brought before them distinctly, and often even with the\ncharcoal or wax tablet in his hand, what he had in mind. What magnificent\nthings might not this man have created had he retained his sight, what\nmasterpieces might not have been expected! and his former works, which\nhad been condemned as unlovely, offensive, and exaggerated, were now\nloudly admired; nay, the furious Maenads struggling on the ground and the\nStreet Boy Eating Figs, which were no longer his property, were sold at\nhigh prices. No meeting of artists was complete without Hermon, and the\ngreat self-possession which success and wealth bestowed, besides his\nremarkable talent and the energy peculiar to him, soon aided him to great\ninfluence among the members of his profession; nay, he would speedily\nhave reached the head of their leaders had not the passionate impetuosity\nof his warlike nature led the more cautious to seek to restrain the\npowerful enthusiast.\n\nArchias's wealthy friends had no such apprehension. To them the lauded\nblind artist was not much more than a costly dish certain to please their\nguests; yet this, too, was no trifle in social circles which spent small\nfortunes for a rare fish.\n\nAt the banquets of these princes of commerce he often met Daphne, still\nmore frequently the beautiful Glycera, whose husband, an old ship-owner\nof regal wealth, was pleased to see famous men harnessed to his young\nwife's chariot of victory. Hermon's heart had little to do with the\nflirtation to which Glycera encouraged him at every new meeting, and the\nThracian Althea only served to train his intellect to sharp debates. But\nin this manner he so admirably fulfilled her desire to attract attention\nthat she more than once pointed out to the Queen, her relative, the\nremarkably handsome blind man whose acquaintance she had made on a night\nof mad revel during the last Dionysia but one. Althea even thought it\nnecessary to win him, in whom she saw the future son-in-law of the\nwealthy Archias, for through the graminateus Proclus the merchant had\nbeen persuaded to advance the King's wife hundreds of talents, and\nArsinoe cherished plans which threatened to consume other large sums.\n\nThyrone watched Hermon's conduct with increasing indignation, while\nDaphne perceived that these women had no more power to estrange her lover\nfrom her than the bedizened beauties who were never absent from the\nartists' festivals. How totally different was his intercourse with her!\nHis love and respect were hers alone; yet she saw in him a soul-sick man,\nand persistently rejected Philotas, who wooed her with the same zeal as\nbefore, and the other suitors who were striving to win the wealthy\nheiress. She had confessed her feelings to her father, her best friend,\nand persuaded him to have patience a little longer, and wait for the\nchange which he himself expected in his nephew.\n\nThis had not been difficult, for Archias loved Hermon, in spite of the\nmany anxieties he had caused him, as if he were his own son and, knowing\nhis daughter, he was aware that she could be happy with the man who\npossessed her heart though he was deprived of sight.\n\nThe fame which Hermon had won by great genius and ability had gratified\nhim more than he expressed, and he could not contradict Daphne when she\nasserted that, in spite of the aimless life of pleasure to which he\ndevoted himself, he had remained the kind-hearted, noble man he had\nalways been.\n\nIn fact, he used, unasked and secretly, a considerable portion of his\nlarge revenues to relieve the distress of the poor and suffering. Archias\nlearned this as the steward of his nephew's property, and when to do good\nhe made new demands upon him, he gladly fulfilled them; only he\nconstantly admonished the blind man to think of his own severe sufferings\nand his cure. Daphne did the same, and he willingly obeyed her advice;\nfor, loudly and recklessly as he pursued pleasure in social circles, he\nshowed himself tenderly devoted to her when he found her alone in her\nfather's house. Then, as in better days, he opened his heart to her\nnaturally and modestly and, though he refrained from vows of love, he\nshowed her that he did not cease to seek with her, and her alone, what\nhis noisy pleasures denied. Then he also found the old tone of affection,\nand of late he came more frequently, and what he confided to no one else\nimplied to her, at least by hints.\n\nSatiety and dissatisfaction were beginning to appear, and what he had\nattempted to do for the cure of his eyes had hitherto been futile. The\nremedies of the oculists to whom he had been directed by Daphne herself\nhad proved ineffectual. The great physician Erasistratus, from whom he\nfirst sought help, had refrained, at her entreaty and her father's, from\nrefusing to aid him, but indignantly sent him away when he persisted in\nthe declaration that it would be impossible for him to remain for months\nsecluded from all society and subsist for weeks on scanty fare.\n\nHe would submit even to that, he assured Daphne, after she represented to\nhim what he was losing by such lack of resignation, when the time of rest\nhad come for which he longed, but from which many things still withheld\nhim. Yesterday the King had invited him to the palace for the first time,\nand to decline such an honour was impossible.\n\nIn fact, he had long wished for this summons, because he had been\ninformed that no representative of the sovereign had been present at his\nreception. Only his wife Arsinoe had honoured him by a wreath and\ncongratulations. This lack of interest on the part of the King had\nwounded him, and the absence of an invitation from the royal connoisseur\nhad cast a shadow into the midst of many a mirthful hour. He had\ndoubtless been aware what great and important affairs of state were\nclaiming the conscientious sovereign just at this time, and how almost\nunbearable his restless, unloving spouse was rendering his domestic life;\nyet Hermon thought Ptolemy might have spared a short time for an event in\nthe art life of the city, as his Demeter had been called hundreds of\ntimes.\n\nNow the long-desired command to appear before the sovereign had finally\nreached him, and, in the secure belief that it would bring fresh\nrecognition and rare honours, he entered the royal palace.\n\nProclus, who neglected no opportunity of serving the nephew of the rich\nman whose aid he constantly required for the Queen's finances, was his\nguide, and described the decoration of the inner apartments of the royal\nresidence. Their unostentatious simplicity showed the refined taste of\ntheir royal occupant. There was no lack of marble and other rare kinds of\nstone, and the numerous bas-reliefs which covered the walls like the most\nsuperb tapestry were worthy of special attention. In the oblong apartment\nthrough which the blind man was guided these marble pictures represented\nin magnificent work scenes from the campaigns in which Ptolemy, the\nKing's father, had participated as Alexander's general. Others showed\nAthene, Apollo, the Muses, and Hermes, surrounding or hastening toward\nthe throne of the same monarch, and others again Greek poets and\nphilosophers. Magnificent coloured mosaic pictures covered the floor and\nmany flat spaces above door and windows, but gold and silver had been\nsparingly used.\n\nMasterpieces of painting and sculpture were the ornaments of the room. In\nthe antechamber, where Hermon waited for the King, Proclus mentioned one\nof the finest statues of Alexander by Lysippus, and an exquisite Eros by\nPraxiteles.\n\nThe period of waiting, however, became so long to the spoiled artist that\nhe anticipated the monarch's appearance with painful discomfort, and the\nresult of the few minutes which Ptolemy II devoted to his reception was\nfar behind the hopes he had fixed upon them.\n\nIn former days he had often seen the narrow-shouldered man of barely\nmedium height who, to secure his own safety, had had two brothers killed\nand sent another into exile, but now ruled Egypt shrewdly and prudently,\nand developed the prosperity of Alexandria with equal energy and\nforesight.\n\nNow, for the first time, Hermon heard him speak. He could not deny that\nhis voice was unusually pleasant in tone, yet it unmistakably issued from\nthe lips of a sufferer.\n\nThe brief questions with which he received the blind artist were kindly,\nand as natural as though addressing an equal, and every remark made in\nconnection with Hermon's answers revealed a very quick and keen\nintellect.\n\nHe had seen the Demeter, and praised the conception of the goddess\nbecause it corresponded with her nature. The sanctity which, as it were,\npervaded the figure of the divine woman pleased him, because it made the\nsupplicants in the temple feel that they were in the presence of a being\nwho was elevated far above them in superhuman majesty.\n\n\"True,\" he added, \"your Demeter is by no means a powerful helper in time\nof need. She is a goddess such as Epicurus imagines the immortals.\nWithout interfering with human destiny, she stands above it in sublime\ngrandeur and typical dignity. You belong, if I see correctly, to the\nEpicureans?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Hermon. \"Like my lord and King, I, too, number myself among\nthe pupils of the wise Straton.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" asked Ptolemy in a drawling tone, at the same time casting a\nglance of astonishment at the blind man's powerful figure and\nwell-formed, intellectual face. Then he went on eagerly: \"I shall\nscarcely be wrong in the inference that you, the creator of the\nFig-eater, had experienced a far-reaching mental change before your\nunfortunate loss of sight?\"\n\n\"I had to struggle hard,\" replied Hermon, \"but I probably owe the success\nof the Demeter to the circumstance that I found a model whose mind and\nnature correspond with those of the goddess to a rare degree.\"\n\nThe monarch shook his fair head, and protested in a tone of positive\nsuperior knowledge: \"As to the model, however well selected it may be, it\nwas not well chosen for this work, far less for you. I have watched your\nbattle against beauty in behalf of truth, and rejoiced, though I often\nsaw you and your little band of young disciples shoot beyond the mark.\nYou brought something new, whose foundation seemed to me sound, and on\nwhich further additions might be erected. When the excrescences fell off,\nI thought, this Hermon, his shadow Soteles, and the others who follow him\nwill perhaps open new paths to the declining art which is constantly\ngoing back to former days. Our time will become the point of departure of\na new art. But for that very reason, let me confess it, I regret to see\nyou fall back from your bold advance. You now claim for your work that it\ncleaves strictly to Nature, because the model is taken from life itself.\nIt does not become me to doubt this, yet the stamp of divinity which your\nDemeter bears is found in no mortal woman. Understand me correctly! This\nis certainly no departure from the truth, for the ideal often deserves\nthis lofty name better than anything the visible world offers to the eye;\nbut hitherto you have done honour to another truth. If I comprehend your\nart aright, its essence is opposed to the addition of superhuman dignity\nand beauty, with which you, or the model you used, strove to ennoble and\ndeify your Demeter. Admirably as you succeeded in doing so, it forces\nyour work out of the sphere of reality, whose boundary I never before saw\nyou cross by a single inch. Whether this occurred unconsciously to you in\nan hour of mental ecstasy, or whether you felt that you still lacked the\nmeans to represent the divine, and therefore returned to the older\nmethods, I do not venture to decide. But at the first examination of your\nwork I was conscious of one thing: It means for you a revolution, a\nrupture with your former aspirations; and as--I willingly confess it--you\nhad been marvellously successful, it would have driven you, had your\nsight been spared, out of your own course and into the arms of the\nancients, perhaps to your material profit, but scarcely to the advantage\nof art, which needs a renewal of its vital energies.\"\n\n\"Let me assure you, my lord,\" Hermon protested, \"that had I remained able\nto continue to create, the success of the Demeter would never, never have\nrendered me faithless to the conviction and method of creation which I\nbelieved right; nay, before losing my sight, my whole soul was absorbed\nin a new work which would have permitted me to remain wholly and\ncompletely within the bounds of reality.\"\n\n\"The Arachne?\" asked the King.\n\n\"Yes, my lord,\" cried Hermon ardently. \"With its completion I expected to\nrender the greatest service, not only to myself, but to the cause of\ntruth.\"\n\nHere Ptolemy interrupted with icy coldness: \"Yet you were certainly\nwrong; at least, if the Thracian Althea, who is the personification of\nfalsehood, had continued to be the model.\" Then he changed his tone, and\nwith the exclamation: \"You are protected from the needs of life, unless\nyour rich uncle throws his property into the most insatiable of gulfs.\nMay Straton's philosophy help you better to sustain your courage in the\ndarkness which surrounds you than it has aided me to bear other trials!\"\nhe left the room.\n\nThus ended the artist's conversation with the King, from which Hermon had\nexpected such great results and, deeply agitated, he ordered the driver\nof his horses to take him to Daphne. She was the only person to whom he\ncould confide what disappointment this interview had caused him.\n\nOthers had previously reproached him, as the King had just done, with\nhaving, in the Demeter, become faithless to his artistic past. How false\nand foolish this was! Many a remark from the critics would have been\nbetter suited to Myrtilus's work than to his. Yet his fear in Tennis had\nnot been true. Only Daphne's sweet face did not suit his more vigorous\nmethod of emphasizing distinctions.\n\nWhat a many-hued chameleon was the verdict upon works of plastic art!\nOnce--on his return to the capital--thousands had united in the same one,\nand now how widely they differed again!\n\nHis earlier works, which were now lauded to the skies, had formerly\ninvited censure and vehement attacks.\n\nWhat would he not have given for the possibility of seeing his admired\nwork once more!\n\nAs his way led past the Temple of Demeter, he stopped near it and was\nguided to the sanctuary.\n\nIt was filled with worshippers, and when, in his resolute manner, he told\nthe curator and the officiating priest that he wished to enter the cella,\nand asked for a ladder to feel the goddess, he was most positively\nrefused.\n\nWhat he requested seemed a profanation of the sacred image, and it would\nnot do to disturb the devout throng. His desire to lower the pedestal\ncould not be gratified.\n\nThe high priest who came forward upheld his subordinates and, after a\nshort dispute, Hermon left the sanctuary with his wish unfulfilled.\n\nNever had he so keenly lamented his lost vision as during the remainder\nof the drive, and when Daphne received him he described with passionate\nlamentation how terribly blindness embittered his life, and declared\nhimself ready to submit to the severest suffering to regain his sight.\n\nShe earnestly entreated him to apply to the great physician Erasistratus\nagain, and Hermon willingly consented. He had promised to attend a\nbanquet given that day by the wealthy ship-owner Archon. The feast lasted\nuntil early morning, but toward noon Hermon again appeared in his uncle's\nhouse, and met Daphne full of joyous confidence, as if he were completely\ntransformed.\n\nWhile at Archon's table he had determined to place his cure in the hands\nof higher powers. This was the will of Fate; for the guest whose cushion\nhe shared was Silanus, the host's son, and the first thing he learned\nfrom him was the news that he was going the next day, with several\nfriends, to the oracle of Amon in the Libyan Desert, to ask it what\nshould be done for his mother, who had been for several years an invalid\nwhom no physician could help. He had heard from many quarters that the\ncounsel of the god, who had greeted Alexander the Great as his son, was\ninfallible.\n\nThen Hermon had been most urgently pressed by the young man to accompany\nhim. Every comfort would be provided. One of his father's fine ships\nwould convey them to Paraetonium, where tents, saddle horses, and guides\nfor the short land journey would be ready.\n\nSo he had promised to go with Silanus, and his decision was warmly\napproved by his uncle, Daphne, and the gray-haired Pelusinian couple.\nPerhaps the god would show the blind man the right path to recovery. He\nwould always be able to call the skill of the Alexandrian leeches to his\naid.\n\nSoon after Hermon went on board Archon's splendidly equipped vessel and,\ninstead of a tiresome journey, began a new and riotous period of\nfestivity.\n\nLavish provision had been made for gay companions of both sexes, merry\nentertainment by means of dancing, music, and song, well filled dishes\nand mixing vessels, and life during the ride through the coast and desert\nregions was not less jovial and luxurious than on the ship.\n\nIt seemed to the blind man like one vast banquet in the dark, interrupted\nonly by sleep.\n\nThe hope of counsel from the gods cheered the depressed mood which had\nweighed upon him for several weeks, and rich young Silanus praised the\nlucky fate which had enabled him to find a travelling companion whose\nintellect and wit charmed him and the others, and often detained them\nover the wine until late into the night.\n\nHere, too, Hermon felt himself the most distinguished person, the\nanimating and attracting power, until it was said that the voyage was\nover, and the company pitched their tents in the famous oasis near the\nTemple of Amon.\n\nThe musicians and dancers, with due regard to propriety, had been left\nbehind in the seaport of Paraetonium. Yet the young travellers were\nsufficiently gay while Silanus and Hermon waited for admission to the\nplace of the oracle. A week after their arrival it was opened to them,\nyet the words repeated to them by the priest satisfied neither Hermon nor\nArchon's son, for the oracle advised the latter to bring his mother\nherself to the oasis by the land road if she earnestly desired recovery,\nwhile to Hermon was shouted the ambiguous saying:\n\n  \"Only night and darkness spring from the rank marsh of pleasure;\n   Morning and day rise brightly from the starving sand.\"\n\nCould Silanus's mother, who was unable to move, endure the desert\njourney? And what was the meaning of the sand, from which morning and\nday--which was probably the fresh enjoyment of the light--were to rise\nfor Hermon? The sentence of the oracle weighed heavily upon him, as well\nas on Archon's son, who loved his mother, and the homeward journey became\nto the blind man by no means a cheerful but rather a very troubled dream.\n\nThoughtful, very disturbed, dissatisfied with himself, and resolved to\nturn his back upon the dreary life of pleasure which for so long a time\nhad allowed him no rest, and now disgusted him, he kept aloof from his\ntravelling companions, and rejoiced when, at Alexandria, he was led\nashore in the harbour of Eunostus.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nHermon entered his house with drooping head.\n\nHere he was informed that the grammateus of the Dionysian artists had\nalready called twice to speak to him concerning an important matter. When\nhe came from the bath, Proclus visited him again. His errand was to\ninvite him to a banquet which was to take place that evening at his\nresidence in a wing of the royal palace.\n\nBut Hermon was not in the mood to share a joyous revel, and he frankly\nsaid so, although immediately after his return he had accepted the\ninvitation to the festival which the whole fellowship of artists would\ngive the following day in honour of the seventieth birthday of the old\nsculptor Euphranor. The grammateus alluded to this, and most positively\ninsisted that he could not release him; for he came not only by his own\nwish, but in obedience to the command of Queen Arsinoe, who desired to\ntell the creator of the Demeter how highly she esteemed his work and his\nart. She would appear herself at dessert, and the banquet must therefore\nbegin at an unusually early hour. He, Proclus, was to have the high\nhonour of including the royal lady among his guests solely on Hermon's\naccount, and his refusal would be an insult to the Queen.\n\nSo the artist found himself obliged to relinquish his opposition. He did\nthis reluctantly; but the Queen's attention to him and his art flattered\nhis vanity and, if he was to abandon the intoxicating and barren life of\npleasure, it could scarcely be done more worthily than at a festival\nwhere the King's consort intended to distinguish him in person.\n\nThe banquet was to begin in a few hours, yet he could not let the day\npass without seeing Daphne and telling her the words of the oracle. He\nlonged, with ardent yearning, for the sound of her voice, and still more\nto unburden his sorely troubled soul to her.\n\nOh, if only his Myrtilus still walked among the living! How totally\ndifferent, in spite of his lost vision, would his life have been!\n\nDaphne was now the only one whom he could put in his place.\n\nSince his return from the oracle, the fear that the rescued Demeter might\nyet be the work of Myrtilus had again mastered him. However loudly\noutward circumstances might oppose this, he now felt, with a certainty\nwhich surprised him, that this work was not his own. The approval, as\nwell as the doubts, which it aroused in others strengthened his opinion,\nalthough even now he could not succeed in bringing it into harmony with\nthe facts. How deep had been the intoxication in which he had so long\nreeled from one day to the next, since it had succeeded in keeping every\ndoubt of the authorship of this work far from him!\n\nNow he must obtain certainty, and Daphne could help him to it; for, as a\npriestess of Demeter, she possessed the right to procure him access to\nthe cella and get permission for him to climb the lofty pedestal and feel\nthe statue with his fingers, whose sense of touch had become much keener.\n\nHe would frankly inform her of his fear, and her truthful nature would\nfind the doubt that gnawed his heart as unendurable as he himself.\n\nIt would have been a grave crime to woo her before he was relieved of\nthis uncertainty, and he would utter the decisive words that very day,\nand ask her whether her love was great enough to share the joys and\nsorrows of life with him, the blind man, who perhaps must also divest\nhimself of a false fame.\n\nTime pressed.\n\nHe called at Archias's house with a wreath on his head and in festal\nrobes; but Daphne was in the temple, whither old Philippus and Thyone had\ngone, and his uncle was attending a late session of the Council.\n\nHe would have liked to follow Daphne to the sanctuary, but the late hour\nforbade it, and he therefore only charged Gras to tell his young mistress\nthat he was going to Proclus's banquet, and would return early the next\nmorning to discuss a most important subject with her.\n\nThen he went directly to the neighbouring palace. The Queen might have\nappeared already, and it would not do to keep her waiting.\n\nHe was aware that she lived at variance with her husband, but how could\nhe have suspected that she cherished the more than bold design of hurling\nthe sovereign from his throne and seizing the Egyptian crown herself.\n\nProclus and Althea were among the conspirators who supported Arsinoe, and\nthe Queen thought it would be an easy matter to win over to her cause and\nherself the handsome sculptor, whom she remembered at the last Dionysia.\n\nThe wealthy blind artist, so highly esteemed among the members of his\nprofession, might become valuable to the conspiracy, for she knew what\nenthusiastic devotion the Alexandrian artists felt for the King, and\neverything depended upon forming a party in her own favour among them.\nThis task was to fall to Hermon, and also another, still more important\none; for he, his nephew and future son-in-law, if any one, could persuade\nthe wealthy Archias to lend the plot his valuable aid. Hitherto the\nmerchant had been induced, it is true, to advance large sums of money to\nthe Queen, but the loyal devotion which he showed to her royal husband\nhad rendered it impossible to give him even a hint of the conspiracy.\nAlthea, however, declared that the blind man's marriage to Daphne was\nonly a question of time, and Proclus added that the easily excited nephew\nwould show himself more pliant than the uncle if Arsinoe exerted upon him\nthe irresistible charm of her personality.\n\nWhen Hermon entered the residence of the grammateus in the palace, the\nguests had already assembled. The Queen was not to appear until after the\nfeast, when the mixing jars were filled. The place by Hermon's side,\nwhich Althea had chosen for herself, would then be given up to Arsinoe.\n\nThe sovereign was as unaccustomed to the society of a blind artist as\nHermon was to that of a queen, and both eagerly anticipated the\napproaching meeting.\n\nYet it was difficult for Hermon to turn a bright face toward his\ncompanion. The sources of anxiety and grief which had previously burdened\nhis mind would not vanish, even under the roof of the royal palace.\n\nAlthea's presence reminded him of Tennis, Ledscha, and Nemesis, who for\nso long a time seemed to have suspended her persecution, but since he had\nreturned from the abode of the oracle was again asserting the old right\nto him. During many a sleepless hour of the night he had once more heard\nthe rolling of her terrible wheel.\n\nEven before the journey to the oasis of Amon, everything life could offer\nhim, the idle rake, in his perpetual darkness, had seemed shallow and\nscarcely worth stretching out his hand for it.\n\nTrue, an interesting conversation still had power to charm him, but often\nduring its continuance the full consciousness of his misfortune forced\nitself upon his mind; for the majority of the subjects discussed by the\nartists came to them through the medium of sight, and referred to new\ncreations of architecture, sculpture, and painting, from whose enjoyment\nhis blindness debarred him.\n\nWhen returning home from a banquet, if his way lay through the city, he\nwas reminded of the superb buildings, marble terraces and fountains,\nstatues and porticoes, which had formerly satiated his eyes with delight,\nand must now be illumined with a brilliant radiance by the morning\nsunbeams, though a hostile fate shut them out from his eyes, starving and\nthirsting for beautiful forms.\n\nBut it had seemed to him still harder to bear that his blinded eyes\nrefused to show him the most beautiful of all beautiful things, the human\nform, when he lingered among the Ephebi or the spectators of a festal\nprocession, or visited the gymnasium, the theatre, the Aphrodisium, or\nthe Paneum gardens, where the beautiful women met at sunset.\n\nThe Queen was to appear immediately, and when she took her place near him\nhis blindness would again deprive him of the sight of her delicately cut\nfeatures, prevent his returning the glances from her sparkling eyes, and\nadmiring the noble outlines of her thinly veiled figure.\n\nWould his troubled spirit at least permit him to enjoy and enter without\nrestraint into the play of her quick wit?\n\nPerhaps her arrival would relieve him from the discomfort which oppressed\nhim here.\n\nA stranger, out of his own sphere, he felt chilled among these closely\nunited men and women, to whom no tie bound him save the presence of the\nsame host.\n\nHe was not acquainted with a single individual except the mythograph\nCrates, who for several months had been one of the members of the Museum,\nand who had attached himself to Hermon at Straton's lectures.\n\nThe artist was surprised to find this man in such a circle, but he\nlearned from Althea that the young member of the Museum was a relative of\nProclus, and a suitor of the beautiful Nico, one of the Queen's ladies in\nwaiting, who was among the guests.\n\nCrates had really been invited in order to win him over to the Queen's\ncause; but charming fair-haired Nico had been commissioned by the\nconspirators to persuade him to sing Arsinoe's praises among his\nprofessional associates.\n\nThe rest of the men present stood in close connection with Arsinoe, and\nwere fellow-conspirators against her husband's throne and life. The\nladies whom Proclus had invited were all confidants of Arsinoe, the wives\nand daughters of his other guests. All were members of the highest class\nof society, and their manners showed the entire freedom from restraint\nthat existed in the Queen's immediate circle. Althea profited by the\nadvantage of being Hermon's only acquaintance here. So, when he took his\nplace on the cushion at her side, she greeted him familiarly and\ncordially, as she had treated him for a long time, wherever they met, and\nin a low voice told him, sometimes in a kindly tone, sometimes with\nbiting sarcasm, the names and characters of the other guests.\n\nThe most aristocratic was Amyntas, who stood highest of all in the\nQueen's favour because he had good reason to hate the other Arsinoe, the\nsister of the King. His son had been this royal dame's first husband, and\nshe had deserted him to marry Lysimachus, the aged King of Thrace.\n\nThe Rhodian Chrysippus, her leech and trusted counsellor, also possessed\ngreat influence over the Queen.\n\n\"The noble lady,\" whispered Althea, \"needs the faithful devotion of every\nwell-disposed subject, for perhaps you have already learned how cruelly\nthe King embitters the life of the mother of his three children. Many a\ncaprice can be forgiven the suffering Ptolemy, who recently expressed a\nwish that he could change places with the common workmen whom he saw\neating their meal with a good appetite, and who is now tortured by the\ngout; yet he watches the hapless woman with the jealousy of a tiger,\nthough he himself is openly faithless to her. What is the Queen to him,\nsince the widow of Lysimachus returned from Thrace--no, from Cassandrea,\nEphesus, and sacred Samothrace, or whatever other places there are which\nwould no longer tolerate the murderess?\"\n\n\"The King's sister--the object of his love?\" cried Hermon incredulously.\n\"She must be forty years old now.\"\n\n\"Very true,\" Althea assented. \"But we are in Egypt, where marriages\nbetween brothers and sisters are pleasing to gods and men; and besides,\nwe make our own moral laws here. Her age! We women are only as old as we\nlook, and the leeches and tiring women of this beauty of forty practise\narts which give her the appearance of twenty-five, yet perhaps the King\nvalues her intellect more than her person, and the wisdom of a hundred\nserpents is certainly united in this woman's head. She will make our poor\nQueen suffer unless real friends guard her from the worst. The three most\ntrustworthy ones are here: Amyntas, the leech Chrysippus, and the\nadmirable Proclus. Let us hope that you will make this three-leaved\nclover the luck-promising four-leaved one. Your uncle, too, has often\nwith praiseworthy generosity helped Arsinoe in many an embarrassment.\nOnly make the acquaintance of this beautiful royal lady, and the last\ndrop of your blood will not seem too precious to shed for her!\nBesides--Proclus told me so in confidence--you have little favour to\nexpect from the King. How long he kept you waiting for the first word\nconcerning a work which justly transported the whole city with delight!\nWhen he did finally summon you, he said things which must have wounded\nyou.\"\n\n\"That is going too far,\" replied Hermon.\n\n\"Then he kept back his real opinion,\" Althea protested. \"Had I not made\nit a rule to maintain absolute silence concerning everything I hear in\nconversation from those with whom I am closely associated--\"\n\nHere she was interrupted by Chrysippus, who asked if Althea had told her\nneighbour about his Rhodian eye-salve.\n\nHe winked at her and made a significant gesture as he spoke, and then\ninformed the blind artist how graciously Arsinoe had remembered him when\nshe heard of the remedy by whose aid many a wonderful cure of blind eyes\nhad been made in Rhodes. The royal lady had inquired about him and his\nsufferings with almost sisterly interest, and Althea eagerly confirmed\nthe statement.\n\nHermon listened to the pair in silence.\n\nHe had not been able to see them, it is true, yet he had perceived their\ndesign as if the loss of sight had sharpened his mental vision. He\nimagined that he could see the favourite and Althea nudge each other with\nsneering gestures, and believed that their sole purpose was to render\nhim--he knew not for what object--the obedient tool of the Queen, who had\nprobably also succeeded in persuading his usually cautious uncle to\nrender her great services.\n\nThe remembrance of Arsinoe's undignified conduct at the Dionysia, and the\nshameful stories of her which he had heard returned to his mind. At the\nsame time he saw Daphne rise before him in her aristocratic dignity and\nkindly goodness, and a smile of satisfaction hovered around his lips as\nhe said to himself: \"The spider Althea again! But, in spite of my\nblindness, I will be caught neither in her net nor in the Queen's. They\nare the last to bar the way which leads to Daphne and real happiness.\"\n\nThe Rhodian was just beginning to praise Arsinoe also as a special friend\nand connoisseur of the sculptor's art when Crates, Hermon's\nfellow-student, asked the blind artist, in behalf of his beautiful\ncompanion, why his Demeter was placed upon a pedestal which, to others as\nwell as himself, seemed too high for the size of the statue.\n\nHermon replied that he had heard several make this criticism, but the\npriests of the goddess refused to take it into account.\n\nHere he hesitated, for, like a blow from an invisible hand, the thought\ndarted through his mind that perhaps, on the morrow, he would see himself\ncompelled before the whole world to cast aside the crown of fame which he\nowed to the statue on the lofty pedestal. He did not have even the\nremotest idea of continuing to deck himself with false renown if his\ndread was realized; yet he doubtless imagined how this whole aristocratic\ncircle, with the Queen, Althea, and Proclus at its head, would turn with\nreckless haste from the hapless man who had led them into such a shameful\nerror.\n\nYet what mattered it, even if these miserable people considered\nthemselves deceived and pointed the finger of scorn at him? Better people\nwould thereby be robbed of the right to accuse him of faithlessness to\nhimself. This thought darted through his heated brain like a flash of\nlightning, and when, in spite of his silence, the conversation was\ncontinued and Althea told the others that only Hermon's blindness had\nprevented the creation of a work which could have been confidently\nexpected far to surpass the Demeter, since it seemed to have been exactly\nsuited to his special talent, he answered his beautiful companion's\nremark curtly and absently.\n\nShe perceived this with annoyance and perplexity.\n\nA woman who yearns for the regard of all men, and makes love a toy,\neasily lessens the demands she imposes upon individuals. Only, even\nthough love has wholly disappeared, she still claims consideration, and\nAlthea did not wish to lose Hermon's regard.\n\nWhen Amyntas, the head of the conspirators, attracted the attention of\nthe company by malicious remarks about the King's sister, the Thracian\nlaid her hand on the blind artist's arm, whispering: \"Has the image of\nthe Arachne which, at Tennis, charmed you even in the presence of the\nangry Zeus, completely vanished from your memory? How indifferent you\nlook! But I tell you\"--her deep blue eyes flashed as she spoke--\"that so\nlong as you were still a genuine creating artist the case was different.\nEven while putting the last touches of the file to the Demeter, for which\nArchias's devout daughter posed as your model, another whom you could not\nbanish from your mind filled your imagination. Though so loud a denial is\nwritten on your face, I persist in my conviction, and that no idle\ndelusion ensnares me I can prove!\"\n\nHermon raised his sightless eyes to her inquiringly, but she went on with\neager positiveness: \"Or, if you did not think of the weaver while carving\nthe goddess, how did you happen to engrave a spider on the ribbon twined\naround the ears of grain in Demeter's hand? Not the smallest detail of a\nwork produced by the hand of a valued friend escapes my notice, and I\nperceived it before the Demeter came to the temple and the lofty\npedestal. Now I would scarcely be able to discover it in the dusky cella,\nyet at that time I took pleasure in the sight of the ugly insect, not\nonly because it is cleverly done, but because it reminded me of\nsomething\"--here she lowered her voice still more--\"that pleased me,\nthough probably it would seem less flattering to the daughter of Archias,\nwho perhaps is better suited to act as guide to the blind. How bewildered\nyou look! Eternal gods! Many things are forgotten after long months have\npassed, but it will be easy for me to sharpen your memory. 'At the time\nHermon had just finished the Demeter,' the spider called to me, 'he\nscratched me on the gold.' But at that very time--yes, my handsome\nfriend, I can reckon accurately--you had met me, Althea, in Tennis, I had\nbrought the spider-woman before your eyes. Was it really nothing but\nfoolish vanity that led me to the conviction that you were thinking of me\nalso when you engraved on the ribbon the despised spider-for which,\nhowever, I always felt a certain regard--with the delicate web beneath\nits slender legs?\"\n\nHitherto Hermon had listened to every word in silence, labouring for\nbreath. He was transported as if by magic to the hour of his return from\nPelusium; he saw himself enter Myrtilus's studio and watch his friend\nscratch something, he did not know what, upon the ribbon which fastened\nthe bunch of golden grain. It was--nay, it could have been nothing\nelse--that very spider. The honoured work was not his, but his dead\nfriend's. How the exchange had occurred he could not now understand, but\nto disbelieve that it had taken place would have been madness or\nself-deception.\n\nNow he also understood the doubts of Soteles and the King. Not\nhe--Myrtilus, and he alone, was the creator of the much-lauded Demeter!\n\nThis conviction raised a hundred-pound weight from his soul.\n\nWhat was applause! What was recognition! What were fame and laurel\nwreaths! He desired clearness and truth for himself and all the world\nand, as if frantic, he suddenly sprang from his cushions, shouting to the\nstartled guests: \"I myself and this whole great city were deceived! The\nDemeter is not mine, not the work of Hermon! The dead Myrtilus created\nit!\"\n\nThen pressing his hand to his brow, he called his student friend to his\nside, and, as the scholar anxiously laid his arm on his shoulder,\nwhispered: \"Away, away from here! Only let me get out of doors into the\nopen air!\"\n\nCrates, bewildered and prepared for the worst, obeyed his wish; but\nAlthea and the other guests left behind felt more and more impressed by\nthe suddenly awakened conviction that the hapless blind man had now also\nbecome the victim of madness.\n\n\n\n\nETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARK:\n\nAimless life of pleasure\n\n\n\n\nARACHNE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 7.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nWithout a word of explanation, Hermon dragged his guide along in\nbreathless haste. No one stopped them.\n\nThe atrium, usually swarming with guards, servants, and officials until a\nfar later hour, was completely deserted when the blind man hurried\nthrough it with his friend.\n\nThe door leading into the outer air stood open, but Hermon, leaning on\nthe scholar's arm, had scarcely crossed the threshold and entered the\nlittle courtyard encircled with ornamental plants, which separated this\nportion of the palace from the street, when both were surrounded by a\nband of armed Macedonian soldiers, whose commander exclaimed: \"In the\nname of the King! Not a sound, if you value your lives!\"\n\nIncensed, and believing that there was some mistake, Hermon announced\nhimself as a sculptor and Crates as a member of the Museum, but this\nstatement did not produce the slightest effect upon the warrior; nay,\nwhen the friends answered the officer's inquiry whether they were coming\nfrom Proclus's banquet in the affirmative; he curtly commanded them to be\nput in chains.\n\nTo offer resistance would have been madness, for even Hermon perceived,\nby the loud clanking of weapons around them, the greatly superior power\nof the enemy, and they were acting by the orders of the King. \"To the\nprison near the place of execution!\" cried the officer; and now not only\nthe mythograph, but Hermon also was startled--this dungeon opened only to\nthose sentenced to death.\n\nWas he to be led to the executioner's block? A cold shudder ran through\nhis frame; but the next moment he threw back his waving locks, and his\nchest heaved with a long breath.\n\nWhat pleasure had life to offer him, the blind man, who was already dead\nto his art? Ought he not to greet this sudden end as a boon from the\nimmortals?\n\nDid it not spare him a humiliation as great and painful as could be\nimagined?\n\nHe had already taken care that the false renown should not follow him to\nthe grave, and Myrtilus should have his just due, and he would do\nwhatever else lay in his power to further this object. Wherever the\nbeloved dead might be, he desired to go there also. Whatever might await\nhim, he desired no better fate. If he had passed into annihilation, he,\nHermon, wished to follow him thither, and annihilation certainly meant\nredemption from pain and misery. But if he were destined to meet his\nMyrtilus and his mother in the world beyond the grave, what had he not to\ntell them, how sure he was of finding a joyful reception there from both!\nThe power which delivered him over to death just at that moment was not\nNemesis--no, it was a kindly deity.\n\nOnly his heart grew heavy at the thought of leaving Daphne to the\ntireless wooer Philotas or some other--everything else from which it is\nusually hard to part seemed like a burden that we gladly cast aside.\n\n\"Forward!\" he called blithely and boldly to the officer; while Crates,\nwith loud lamentations, was protesting his innocence to the warrior who\nwas putting fetters upon him.\n\nA chain was just being clasped around Hermon's wrists also when he\nsuddenly started. His keen ear could not deceive him, and yet a demon\nmust be mocking him, for the voice that had called his name was the\ngirl's of whom, in the presence of welcome death, he had thought with\nlonging regret.\n\nYet it was no illusion that deceived him. Again he heard the beloved\nvoice, and this time it addressed not only him, but with the utmost haste\nthe commander of the soldiers.\n\nSometimes with touching entreaty, sometimes with imperious command, she\nprotested, after giving him her name, that this matter could be nothing\nbut an unfortunate mistake. Lastly, with earnest warmth, she besought\nhim, before taking the prisoners away, to permit her to speak to the\ncommanding general, Philippus, her father's guest, who, she was certain,\nwas in the palace. The blood of these innocent men would be on his head\nif he did not listen to her representations.\n\n\"Daphne!\" cried Hermon in grateful agitation; but she would not listen to\nhim, and followed the soldier whom the captain detailed to guide her into\nthe palace.\n\nAfter a few moments, which the blind artist used to inspire the\ndespairing scholar with courage, the girl returned, and she did not come\nalone. The gray-haired comrade of Alexander accompanied her, and after a\nfew minutes both prisoners were released from their fetters. Philippus\nhastily refused their thanks and, after addressing a few words to the\nofficer, he changed his tone, and his deep voice sounded paternally\ncordial as he exclaimed to Daphne: \"Fifteen minutes more, you dear,\nfoolhardy girl, and it would have been too late. To-morrow you shall\nconfess to me who treacherously directed you to this dangerous path.\"\n\nLastly, he turned to the prisoners to explain that they would be\nconducted to the adjacent barracks of the Diadochi, and spend the night\nthere.\n\nEarly the next morning they should be examined, and, if they could clear\nthemselves from the suspicion of belonging to the ranks of the\nconspirators, released.\n\nDaphne again pleaded for the liberation of the prisoners, but Philippus\nsilenced her with the grave exclamation, \"The order of the King!\"\n\nThe old commander offered no objection to her wish to accompany Hermon to\nprison. Daphne now slipped her arm through her cousin's, and commanded\nthe steward Gras, who had brought her here, to follow them.\n\nThe goal of the nocturnal walk, which was close at hand, was reached at\nthe end of a few minutes, and the prisoners were delivered to the\ncommander of the Diadochi. This kindly disposed officer had served under\nHermon's father, and when the names of the prisoners were given, and the\nofficer reported to him that General Philippus recommended them to his\ncare as innocent men, he had a special room opened for the sculptor and\nhis fair guide, and ordered Crates to enter another.\n\nHe could permit the beautiful daughter of the honoured Archias to remain\nwith Hermon for half an hour, then he must beg her to allow herself to be\nescorted to her home, as the barracks were closed at that time.\n\nAs soon as the captive artist was alone with the woman he loved, he\nclasped her hand, pouring forth incoherent words of the most ardent\ngratitude, and when he felt her warmly return the pressure, he could not\nrestrain the desire to clasp her to his heart. For the first time his\nlips met hers, he confessed his love, and that he had just regarded death\nas a deliverer; but his life was now gaining new charm through her\naffection.\n\nThen Daphne herself threw her arms around his neck with fervent devotion.\n\nThe love that resistlessly drew his heart to her was returned with equal\nstrength and ardour. In spite of his deep mental distress, he could have\nshouted aloud in his delight and gratitude. He might now have been\npermitted to bind forever to his life the woman who had just rescued him\nfrom the greatest danger, but the confession he must make to his\nfellow-artists in the palaestra the following morning still sealed his\nlips. Yet in this hour he felt that he was united to her, and ought not\nto conceal what awaited him; so, obeying a strong impulse, he exclaimed:\n\"You know that I love you! Words can not express the strength of my\ndevotion, but for that very reason I must do what duty commands before I\nask the question, 'Will you join your fate to mine?'\"\n\n\"I love you and have loved you always!\" Daphne exclaimed tenderly. \"What\nmore is needed?\"\n\nBut Hermon, with drooping head, murmured: \"To-morrow I shall no longer be\nwhat I am now. Wait until I have done what duty enjoins; when that is\naccomplished, you shall ask yourself what worth the blind artist still\npossesses who bartered spurious fame for mockery and disgrace in order\nnot to become a hypocrite.\"\n\nThen Daphne raised her face to his, asking, \"So the Demeter is the work\nof Myrtilus?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he answered firmly. \"It is the work of Myrtilus.\"\n\n\"Oh, my poor, deceived love!\" cried Daphne, strongly agitated, in a tone\nof the deepest sorrow. \"What a terrible ordeal again awaits you! It must\nindeed distress me--and yet Do not misunderstand me! It seems\nnevertheless as if I ought to rejoice, for you and your art have not\nspoken to me even a single moment from this much-lauded work.\"\n\n\"And therefore,\" he interrupted with passionate delight, \"therefore alone\nyou withheld the enthusiastic praise with which the others intoxicated\nme? And I, fool, blinded also in mind, could be vexed with you for it!\nBut only wait, wait! Soon-to-morrow even--there will be no one in\nAlexandria who can accuse me of deserting my own honest aspiration, and,\nif the gods will only restore my sight and the ability to use my hands as\na sculptor, then, girl, then--\"\n\nHere he was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door.\n\nThe time allowed had expired.\n\nHermon again warmly embraced Daphne, saying: \"Then go! Nothing can cloud\nwhat these brief moments have bestowed. I must remain blind; but you have\nrestored the lost sight to my poor darkened soul. To-morrow I shall stand\nin the palaestra before my comrades, and explain to them what a malicious\naccident deceived me, and with me this whole great city. Many will not\nbelieve me, and even your father will perhaps consider it a disgrace to\ngive his arm to his scorned, calumniated nephew to guide him home. Bring\nthis before your mind, and everything else that you must accept with it,\nif you consent, when the time arrives, to become mine. Conceal and\npalliate nothing! But should the Lady Thyone speak of the Eumenides who\npursued me, tell her that they had probably again extended their arms\ntoward me, but when I return to-morrow from the palaestra I shall be\nfreed from the terrible beings.\"\n\nLastly, he asked to be told quickly how she had happened to come to the\npalace at the right time at so late an hour, and Daphne informed him as\nbriefly and modestly as if the hazardous venture which, in strong\nopposition to her retiring, womanly nature, she had undertaken, was a\nmere matter of course.\n\nWhen Thyone in her presence heard from Gras that Hermon intended to go to\nProclus's banquet, she started up in horror, exclaiming, \"Then the\nunfortunate man is lost!\"\n\nHer husband, who had long trusted even the gravest secrets to his\ndiscreet old wife, had informed her of the terrible office the King had\nconfided to him. All the male guests of Proclus were to be executed; the\nwomen--the Queen at their head--would be sent into exile.\n\nThen Daphne, on her knees, besought the matron to tell her what\nthreatened Hermon, and succeeded in persuading her to speak.\n\nThe terrified girl, accompanied by Gras, went first to her lover's house\nand, when she did not find him there, hastened to the King's palace.\n\nIf Hermon could have seen her with her fluttering hair, dishevelled by\nthe night breeze, and checks blanched by excitement and terror, if he had\nbeen told how she struggled with Thyone, who tried to detain her and lock\nher up before she left her father's house, he would have perceived with\nstill prouder joy, had that been possible, what he possessed in the\ndevoted love of this true woman.\n\nGrateful and moved by joyous hopes, he informed Daphne of the words of\nthe oracle, which had imprinted themselves upon his memory.\n\nShe, too, quickly retained them, and murmured softly:\n\n\"Noise and dazzling radiance are hostile to the purer light, Morning and\nday will rise quietly from the starving sand.\"\n\nWhat could the verse mean except that the blind man would regain the\npower to behold the light of clay amid the sands of the silent desert?\n\nPerhaps it would be well for him to leave Alexandria now, and she\ndescribed how much benefit she had received while hunting from the\nsilence of the wilderness, when she had left the noise of the city behind\nher. But before she had quite finished, the knocking at the door was\nrepeated.\n\nThe lovers took leave of each other with one last kiss, and the final\nwords of the departing girl echoed consolingly in the blind man's heart,\n\"The more they take from you, the more closely I will cling to you.\"\n\nHermon spent the latter portion of the night rejoicing in the\nconsciousness of a great happiness, yet also troubled by the difficult\ntask which he could not escape.\n\nWhen the market place was filling, gray-haired Philippus visited him.\n\nHe desired before the examination, for which every preparation had been\nmade, to understand personally the relation of his dead comrade's son to\nthe defeated conspiracy, and he soon perceived that Hermon's presence at\nthe banquet was due solely to an unlucky accident or in consequence of\nthe Queen's desire to win him over to her plot.\n\nYet he was forced to advise the blind sculptor to leave Alexandria. The\nsuspicion that he had been associated with the conspirators was the more\ndifficult to refute, because his Uncle Archias had imprudently allowed\nhimself to be persuaded by Proclus and Arsinoe to lend the Queen large\nsums, which had undoubtedly been used to promote her abominable plans.\n\nPhilippus also informed him that he had just come from Archias, whom he\nhad earnestly urged to fly as quickly as possible from the persecution\nwhich was inevitable; for, secure as Hermon's uncle felt in his\ninnocence, the receipts for the large sums loaned by him, which had just\nbeen found in Proclus's possession, would bear witness against him. Envy\nand ill will would also have a share in this affair, and the usually\nbenevolent King knew no mercy where crime against his own person was\nconcerned. So Archias intended to leave the city on one of his own ships\nthat very day. Daphne, of course, would accompany him.\n\nThe prisoner listened in surprise and anxiety.\n\nHis uncle driven from his secure possessions to distant lands! Daphne\ntaken from him, he knew not whither nor for how long a time, after he had\njust been assured of her great love! He himself on the way to expose\nhimself to the malice and mockery of the whole city!\n\nHis heart contracted painfully, and his solicitude about his uncle's fate\nincreased when Philippus informed him that the conspirators had been\narrested at the banquet and, headed by Amyntas, the Rhodian, Chrysippus,\nand Proclus, had perished by the executioner's sword at sunrise.\n\nThe Queen, Althea, and the other ladies were already on the way to\nCoptos, in Upper Egypt, whither the King had exiled them.\n\nPtolemy had intrusted the execution of this severe punishment to\nAlexander's former comrade as the most trustworthy and discreet of his\nsubjects, but rejected, with angry curtness, Philippus's attempt to\nuphold the innocence of his friend Archias.\n\nThe old man's conversation with Hermon was interrupted by the\nfunctionaries who subjected him and Crates to the examination. It lasted\na long time, and referred to every incident in the artist's life since\nhis return to Alexandria. The result was favourable, and the prisoner was\ndismissed from confinement with the learned companion of his fate.\n\nWhen, accompanied by Philippus, Hermon reached his house, it was so late\nthat the artists' festival in honour of the sculptor Euphranor, who\nentered his seventieth year of life that day, must have already\ncommenced.\n\nOn the way the blind man told the general what a severe trial awaited\nhim, and the latter approved his course and, on bidding him farewell,\nwith sincere emotion urged Hermon to take courage.\n\nAfter hastily strengthening himself with a few mouthfuls of food and a\ndraught of wine, his slave Patran, who understood writing, wished to put\non the full laurel wreath; but Hermon was seized with a painful sense of\ndissatisfaction, and angrily waved it back.\n\nWithout a single green leaf on his head, he walked, leaning on the\nEgyptian's arm, into the palaestra, which was diagonally opposite to his\nhouse.\n\nDoubtless he longed to hasten at once to Daphne, but he felt that he\ncould not take leave of her until he had first cast off, as his heart and\nmind dictated, the terrible burden which oppressed his soul. Besides, he\nknew that the object of his love would not part from him without granting\nhim one last word.\n\nOn the way his heart throbbed almost to bursting.\n\nEven Daphne's image, and what threatened her father, and her with him,\nreceded far into the background. He could think only of his design, and\nhow he was to execute it.\n\nYet ought he not to have the laurel wreath put on, in order, after\nremoving it, to bestow it on the genius of Myrtilus?\n\nYet no!\n\nDid he still possess the right to award this noble branch to any one? He\nwas appearing before his companions only to give truth its just due. It\nwas repulsive to endow this explanation of an unfortunate error with a\ncaptivating aspect by any theatrical adornment. To be honest, even for\nthe porter, was a simple requirement of duty, and no praiseworthy merit.\n\nThe guide forced a path for him through carriages, litters, and whole\nthrongs of slaves and common people, who had assembled before the\nneighbouring palaestra.\n\nThe doorkeepers admitted the blind man, who was well known here, without\ndelay; but he called to the slave: \"Quick, Patran, and not among the\nspectators--in the centre of the arena!\"\n\nThe Egyptian obeyed, and his master crossed the wide space, strewn with\nsand, and approached the stage which had been erected for the festal\nperformances.\n\nEven had his eyes retained the power of sight, his blood was coursing so\nwildly through his veins that he might perhaps have been unable to\ndistinguish the statues around him and the thousands of spectators, who,\ncrowded closely together, richly garlanded, their cheeks glowing with\nenthusiasm, surrounded the arena.\n\n\"Hermon!\" shouted his friend Soteles in joyful surprise in the midst of\nthis painful walk. \"Hermon!\" resounded here, there, and everywhere as,\nleaning on his friend's arm, he stepped upon the stage, and the\nacclamations grew louder and louder as Soteles fulfilled the sculptor's\nrequest and led him to the front of the platform.\n\nObeying a sign from the director of the festival, the chorus, which had\njust sung a hymn to the Muses, was silent.\n\nNow the sculptor began to speak, and noisy applause thundered around him\nas he concluded the well-chosen words of homage with which he offered\ncordial congratulations to the estimable Euphranor, to whom the festival\nwas given; but the shouts soon ceased, for the audience had heard his\nmodest entreaty to be permitted to say a few words, concerning a personal\nmatter, to those who were his professional colleagues, as well as to the\nothers who had honoured him with their interest and, only too loudly,\nwith undeserved applause. The more closely what he had to say concerned\nhimself, the briefer he would make his story.\n\nAnd, in fact, he did not long claim the attention of his hearers. Clearly\nand curtly he stated how it had been possible to mistake Mrytilus's work\nfor his, how the Tennis goldsmith had dispelled his first suspicion, and\nhow vainly he had besought the priests of Demeter to be permitted to feel\nhis statue. Then, without entering into details, he informed them that,\nthrough an accident, he had now reached the firm conviction that he had\nlong worn wreaths which belonged to another. But, though the latter could\nnot rise from the grave, he still owed it to truth, to whose service he\nhad dedicated his art from the beginning, and to the simple honesty, dear\nalike to the peasant and the artist, to divest himself of the fame to\nwhich he was not entitled. Even while he believed himself to be the\ncreator of the Demeter, he had been seriously troubled by the praise of\nso many critics, because it had exposed him to the suspicion of having\nbecome faithless to his art and his nature. In the name of the dead, he\nthanked his dear comrades for the enthusiastic appreciation his\nmasterpiece had found. Honour to Myrtilus and his art, but he trusted\nthis noble festal assemblage would pardon the unintentional deception,\nand aid his prayer for recovery. If it should be granted he hoped to show\nthat Hermon had not been wholly unworthy to adorn himself for a short\ntime with the wreaths of Myrtilus.\n\nWhen he closed, deep silence reigned for a brief interval, and one man\nlooked at another irresolutely until the hero of the day, gray-haired\nEuphranor, rose and, leaning on the arm of his favourite pupil, walked\nthrough the centre of the arena to the stage, mounted it, embraced Hermon\nwith paternal warmth, and made him happy by the words: \"The deception\nthat has fallen to your lot, my poor young friend, is a lamentable one;\nbut honour to every one who honestly means to uphold the truth. We will\nbeseech the immortals with prayers and sacrifices to restore sight to\nyour artist eyes. If I am permitted, my dear young comrade, to see you\ncontinue to create, it will be a source of joy to me and all of us; yet\nthe Muses, even though unasked, lead into the eternal realm of beauty the\nelect who consecrates his art to truth with the right earnestness.\"\n\nThe embrace with which the venerable hero of the festival seemed to\nabsolve Hermon was greeted with loud applause; but the kind words which\nEuphranor, in the weak voice of age, had addressed to the blind man had\nbeen unintelligible to the large circle of guests.\n\nWhen he again descended to the arena new plaudits rose; but soon hisses\nand other signs of disapproval blended with them, which increased in\nstrength and number when a well known critic, who had written a learned\ntreatise concerning the relation of the Demeter to Hermon's earlier\nworks, expressed his annoyance in a loud whistle. The dissatisfied and\ndisappointed spectators now vied with one another to silence those who\nwere cheering by a hideous uproar while the latter expressed more and\nmore loud the sincere esteem with which they were inspired by the\nconfession of the artist who, though cruelly prevented from winning fresh\nfame, cast aside the wreath which a dead man had, as were, proffered from\nhis tomb.\n\nProbably every man thought that, in the same situation, he would have\ndone the same yet not only justice--nay, compassion--dictated showing the\nblind artist that they believed in and would sustain him. The\nill-disposed insisted that Hermon had only done what duty commanded the\nmeanest man, and the fact that he had deceived all Alexandria still\nremained. Not a few joined this party, for larger possession excite envy\nperhaps even more frequently than greater fame.\n\nSoon the approving and opposing voices mingled in an actual conflict. But\nbefore the famous sculptor Chares, the great and venerable artist Nicias,\nand several younger friends of Hermon quelled this unpleasant disturbance\nof the beautiful festival, the blind man, leaning on the arm of his\nfellow-artist Soteles, had left the palaestra.\n\nAt the exit he, parted from his friend, who had been made happy by the\nability to absolve his more distinguished leader from the reproach of\nhaving become faithless to their common purpose, and who intended to\nintercede further in his behalf in the palaestra.\n\nHermon no longer needed him; for, besides his slave Patran, he found the\nsteward Gras, who, by his master's order, guided the blind man to\nArchias's closed harmamaxa, which was waiting outside the building.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nThe sculptor's head was burning feverishly when he entered the vehicle.\nHe had never imagined that the consequences of his explanation would be\nso terrible. During the drive--by no means a long one--to the great\nharbour, he strove to collect his thoughts. Groaning aloud, he covered\nhis ears with his hands to shut out the shouts and hisses from the\npalaestra, which in reality were no longer audible.\n\nTrue, he would not need to expose himself to this uproar a second time,\nyet if he remained in Alexandria the witticisms, mockery, and jibes of\nthe whole city, though in a gentler form, would echo hundreds of times\naround him.\n\nHe must leave the city. He would have preferred to go on board the\nstaunch Tacheia and be borne far away with his uncle and Daphne, but he\nwas obliged to deny himself the fulfilment of this desire. He must now\nthink solely of regaining his sight.\n\nObedient to the oracle, he would go to the desert where from the\n\"starving sand\" the radiant daylight was to rise anew for him.\n\nThere he would, at any rate, be permitted to recover the clearness of\nperception and feeling which he had lost in the delirium of the dissolute\nlife of pleasure that he had led in the past. Pythagoras had already\nforbidden the folly of spoiling the present by remorse; and he, too, did\nnot do this. It would have been repugnant to his genuinely Greek nature.\nInstead of looking backward with peevish regret, his purpose was to look\nwith blithe confidence toward the future, and to do his best to render it\nbetter and more fruitful than the months of revel which lay behind him.\n\nHe could no longer imagine a life worth living without Daphne, and the\nthought that if his uncle were robbed of his wealth he would become her\nsupport cheered his heart. If the oracle did not fulfil its promise, he\nwould again appeal to medical skill, and submit even to the most severe\nsuffering which might be imposed upon him.\n\nThe drive to the great harbour was soon over, but the boat which lay\nwaiting for him had a considerable distance to traverse, for the Tacheia\nwas no longer at the landing place, but was tacking outside the Pharos,\nin order, if the warrant of arrest were issued, not to be stopped at the\nchannel dominated by the lighthouse. He found the slender trireme\npervaded by a restless stir. His uncle had long been expecting him with\nburning impatience.\n\nHe knew, through Philippus, what duty still detained the deceived artist,\nbut he learned, at the same time, that his own imprisonment had been\ndetermined, and it would be advisable for him to leave the city behind\nhim as quickly as possible. Yet neither Daphne nor he was willing to\ndepart without saying farewell to Hermon.\n\nBut the danger was increasing every moment, and, warm as was the parting,\nthe last clasp of the hand and kiss swiftly followed the first words of\ngreeting.\n\nSo the blind artist learned only that Archias was going to the island of\nLesbos, his mother's home, and that he had promised his daughter to give\nHermon time to recover his sight. The property bequeathed to him by\nMyrtilus had been placed by the merchant in the royal bank, and he had\nalso protected himself against any chance of poverty. Hermon was to send\nnews of his health to Lesbos from time to time if a safe opportunity\noffered and, when Daphne knew where he was to be found, she could let him\nhave tidings. Of course, for the present great caution must be exercised\nin order not to betray the abode of the fugitives.\n\nHermon, too, ought to evade the pursuit of the incensed King as quickly\nas possible.\n\nNot only Daphne's eyes, but her father's also, overflowed with tears at\nthis parting, and Hermon perceived more plainly than ever that he was as\ndear to his uncle as though he were his own son.\n\nThe low words which the artist exchanged with the woman whose love, even\nduring the period of separation, would shed light and warmth upon his\ndarkened life, were deeply impressed upon the souls of both.\n\nFor the present, faithful Gras was to remain in charge of his master's\nhouse in Alexandria. Leaning on his arm, the blind man left the Tacheia,\nwhich, as soon as both had entered the boat, was urged forward by\npowerful strokes of the oars.\n\nThe Bithynian informed Hermon that kerchiefs were waving him a farewell\nfrom the trireme, that the sails had been unfurled, and the wind was\ndriving the swift vessel before it like a swallow.\n\nAt the Pharos Gras reported that a royal galley was just passing them,\nundoubtedly in pursuit of the Tacheia; but the latter was the swiftest of\nall the Greek vessels, and they need not fear that she would be overtaken\nby the war ship.\n\nWith a sore heart and the desolate feeling of being now utterly alone,\nHermon again landed and ordered that his uncle's harmamaxa should convey\nhim to the necropolis. He desired to seek peace at his mother's grave,\nand to take leave of these beloved tombs.\n\nGuided by the steward, he left them cheered and with fresh confidence in\nthe future, and the faithful servant's account of the energy with which\nDaphne had aided the preparations for departure benefited him like a\nrefreshing bath.\n\nWhen he was again at home, one visitor after another was announced, who\ncame there from the festival in the palaestra, and, in spite of his great\nreluctance to receive them, he denied no one admittance, but listened\neven to the ill-disposed and spiteful.\n\nIn the battle which he had commenced he must not shrink from wounds, and\nhe was struck by many a poisoned shaft. But, to make amends, a clear\nunderstanding was effected between him and those whom he esteemed.\n\nThe last caller left him just before midnight.\n\nHermon now made many preparations for departure.\n\nHe intended to go into the desert with very little luggage, as the oracle\nseemed to direct. How long a time his absence would extend could not be\nestimated, and the many poor people whom he had fed and supported must\nnot suffer through his departure. The arrangements required to effect\nthis he dictated to the slave, who understood writing. He had gained in\nhim an extremely capable servant, and Patran expressed his readiness to\nfollow him into the desert; but the wry face which, sure that the blind\nman could not see him, he made while saying so, seemed to prove the\ncontrary.\n\nWeary, and yet too excited to find sleep, Hermon at last went to rest.\n\nIf his Myrtilus had been with him now, what would he not have had to say\nto express his gratitude, to explain! How overjoyed he would have been at\nthe fulfilment of his wish to see him united to Daphne, at least in\nheart; with what fiery ardour he would have upbraided those who believed\nhim capable of having appropriated what belonged to another!\n\nBut Myrtilus was no more, and who could tell whether his body had not\nremained unburied, and his soul was therefore condemned to be borne\nrestlessly between heaven and earth, like a leaf driven by the wind? Yet,\nif the earth covered him, where was the spot on which sacrifices could be\noffered to his soul, his tombstone could be anointed, and he himself\nremembered?\n\nThen a doubt which had never before entered his mind suddenly took\npossession of Hermon.\n\nSince for so many months he had firmly believed his friend's work to be\nhis own, he might also have fallen into another delusion, and Myrtilus\nmight still dwell among the living.\n\nAt this thought the blind man, with a swift movement, sat erect upon his\ncouch; it seemed as if a bright light blazed before his eyes in the dark\nroom.\n\nThe reasons which had led the authorities to pronounce Myrtilus dead\nrendered his early end probable, it is true, yet by no means proved it\nabsolutely. He must hold fast to that.\n\nHe who, ever since he returned to Alexandria from Tennis, had squandered\nprecious time as if possessed by evil demons, would now make a better use\nof it. Besides, he longed to leave the capital. What! Suppose he should\nnow, even though it were necessary to delay obeying the oracle's command,\nsearch, traverse, sail through the world in pursuit of Myrtilus, even, if\nit must be, to the uttermost Thule?\n\nBut he fell back upon the couch as quickly as he had started up.\n\n\"Blind! blind!\" he groaned in dull despair. How could he, who was not\nable even to see his hand before his eyes, succeed in finding his friend?\n\nAnd yet, yet----\n\nHad his mind been darkened with his eyes, that this thought came to him\nnow for the first time, that he had not sent messengers to all quarters\nof the globe to find some trace of the assailants and, with them, of the\nlost man?\n\nPerhaps it was Ledscha who had him in her power, and, while he was\npondering and forming plans for the best way of conducting\ninvestigations, the dimmed image of the Biamite again returned distinctly\nto his mind, and with it that of Arachne and the spider, into which the\ngoddess transformed the weaver.\n\nHalf overcome by sleep, he saw himself, staff in hand, led by Daphne,\ncross green meadows and deserts, valleys and mountains, to seek his\nfriend; yet whenever he fancied he caught sight of him, and Ledscha with\nhim, in the distance, the spider descended from above and, with magical\nspeed, wove a net which concealed both from his gaze.\n\nGroaning and deeply disturbed, half awake, he struggled onward, always\ntoward one goal, to find his Myrtilus again, when suddenly the sound of\nthe knocker on the entrance door and the barking of Lycas, his Arabian\ngreyhound, shook the house.\n\nRecalled to waking life, he started up and listened.\n\nHad the men who were to arrest him or inquisitive visitors not allowed\nthemselves to be deterred even by the late hour?\n\nHe listened angrily as the old porter sternly accosted the late guest;\nbut, directly after, the gray-haired native of the region near the First\nCataract burst into the strange Nubian oaths which he lavished liberally\nwhenever anything stirred his aged soul.\n\nThe dog, which Hermon had owned only a few months, continued to bark; but\nabove his hostile baying the blind man thought he recognised a name at\nwhose sound the blood surged hotly into his cheeks. Yet he could scarcely\nhave heard aright!\n\nStill he sprang from the couch, groped his way to the door, opened it,\nand entered the impluvium that adjoined his bedroom. The cool night air\nblew upon him from the open ceiling. A strong draught showed that the\ndoor leading from the atrium was being opened, and now a shout, half\nchoked by weeping, greeted him: \"Hermon! My clear, my poor beloved\nmaster!\"\n\n\"Bias, faithful Bias!\" fell from the blind man's lips, and when he felt\nthe returned slave sink down before him, cover his hand with kisses and\nwet it with tears, he raised him in his strong arms, clasped him in a\nwarm embrace, kissed his checks, and gasped, \"And Myrtilus, my Myrtilus,\nis he alive?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes,\" sobbed Bias. \"But you, my lord-blind, blind! Can it be\ntrue?\"\n\nWhen Hermon released him to inquire again about his friend, Bias\nstammered: \"He isn't faring so badly; but you, you, bereft of light and\nalso of the joy of seeing your faithful Bias again! And the immortals\nprolong one's years to experience such evils! Two griefs always belong to\none joy, like two horses to a chariot.\"\n\n\"My wise Bias! Just as you were of old!\" cried Hermon in joyful\nexcitement.\n\nThen he quieted the hound and ordered one of the attendants, who came\nhurrying in, to bring out whatever dainty viands the house contained and\na jar of the best Byblus wine from the cellar.\n\nMeanwhile he did not cease his inquiries about his friend's health, and\nordered a goblet to be brought him also, that he might pledge the slave\nand give brief answers to his sympathizing questions about the cause of\nthe blindness, the noble Archias, the gracious young mistress Daphne, the\nfamous Philippus and his wife, the companion Chrysilla, and the steward\nGras. Amid all this he resolved to free the faithful fellow and, while\nBias was eating, he could not refrain from telling him that he had found\na mistress for him, that Daphne was the wife whom he had chosen, but the\nwedding was still a long way off.\n\nHe controlled his impatience to learn the particulars concerning his\nfriend's fate until Bias had partially satisfied his hunger.\n\nA short time ago Hermon would have declared it impossible that he could\never become so happy during this period of conflict and separation from\nthe object of his love.\n\nThe thought of his lost inheritance doubtless flitted through his mind,\nbut it seemed merely like worthless dust, and the certainty that Myrtilus\nstill walked among the living filled him with unclouded happiness. Even\nthough he could no longer see him, he might expect to hear his beloved\nvoice again. Oh, what delight that he was permitted to have his friend\nonce more, as well as Daphne, that he could meet him so freely and\njoyously and keep the laurel, which had rested with such leaden weight\nupon his head, for Myrtilus, and for him alone!\n\nBut where was he?\n\nWhat was the name of the miracle which had saved him, and yet kept him\naway from his embrace so long?\n\nHow had Myrtilus and Bias escaped the flames and death on that night of\nhorror?\n\nA flood of questions assailed the slave before he could begin a connected\naccount, and Hermon constantly interrupted it to ask for details\nconcerning his friend and his health at each period and on every\noccasion.\n\nMuch surprised by his discreet manner, the artist listened to the\nbondman's narrative; for though Bias had formerly allowed himself to\nindulge in various little familiarities toward his master, he refrained\nfrom them entirely in this story, and the blind man's misfortune invested\nhim in his eyes with a peculiar sacredness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nHe had arrived wounded on the pirate ship with his master's friend, the\nreturned bondman began. When he had regained consciousness, he met\nLedscha on board the Hydra, as the wife of the pirate Hanno. She had\nnursed Myrtilus with tireless solicitude, and also often cared for his,\nBias's, wounds. After the recovery of the prisoners, she became their\nprotectress, and placed Bias in the service of the Greek artist.\n\nThey, the Gaul Lutarius, and one of the sculptor's slaves, were the only\nones who had been brought on board the Hydra alive from the attack in\nTennis, but the latter soon succumbed to his wounds.\n\nHermon owed it solely to the bridge-builder that he had escaped from the\nvengeance of his Biamite foe, for the tall Gaul, whose thick beard\nresembled Hermon's in length and blackness, was mistaken by Hanno for the\nperson whom Ledscha had directed him to deliver alive into her power.\n\nThe pirate had surrendered the wrong captive to the woman he loved and,\nas Bias declared, to his serious disadvantage; for, though Hanno and the\nBiamite girl were husband and wife, no one could help perceiving the cold\ndislike with which Ledscha rebuffed the giant who read her every wish in\nher eyes. Finally, the captain of the pirate ship, a silent man by\nnature, often did not open his lips for days except to give orders to the\ncrew. Frequently he even refused to be relieved from duty, and remained\nall night at the helm.\n\nOnly when, at his own risk, or with the vessels of his father and\nbrother, he attacked merchant ships or defended himself against a war\ngalley, did he wake to vigorous life and rush with gallant recklessness\ninto battle.\n\nA single man on the Hydra was little inferior to him in strength and\ndaring--the Gaul Lutarius. He had been enrolled among the pirates, and\nwhen Hanno was wounded in an engagement with a Syrian war galley, was\nelected his representative. During this time Ledscha faithfully performed\nher duty as her young husband's nurse, but afterward treated him as\ncoldly as before.\n\nYet she devoted herself eagerly to the ship and the crew, and the fierce,\nlawless fellows cheerfully submitted to the sensible arrangements of\ntheir captain's beautiful, energetic wife. At this period Bias had often\nmet Ledscha engaged in secret conversation with the Gaul, yet if any\ntender emotion really attracted her toward any one other than her\nhusband, Myrtilus would have been suspected rather than the black-bearded\nbridge-builder; for she not only showed the sculptor the kindest\nconsideration, but often entered into conversation with him, and even\npersuaded him, when the sea was calm, or the Hydra lay at anchor in one\nof the hidden bays known to the pirates, to practise his art, and at last\nto make a bust of her. She had succeeded in getting him clay, wax, and\ntools for the purpose. After asking which goddess had ill-treated the\nweaver Arachne, she commanded him to make a head of Athene, adorned with\nthe helmet, modelled from her own. During this time she frequently\ninquired whether her features really were not beautiful enough to be\ncopied for the countenance of a goddess, and when he eagerly assured her\nof the fact, made him swear that he was not deceiving her with flattery.\n\nNeither Bias nor Myrtilus had ever been allowed to remain on shore; but,\non the whole, the slave protested, Myrtilus's health, thanks to the pure\nsea air on the Hydra, had improved, in spite of the longing which often\nassailed him, and the great excitements to which he was sometimes\nexposed.\n\nThere had been anxious hours when Hanno's father and brothers visited the\nHydra to induce her captain to make money out of the captive sculptor,\nand either sell him at a high price or extort a large ransom from him;\nbut Bias had overheard how resolutely Ledscha opposed these proposals,\nand represented to old Satabus of what priceless importance Myrtilus\nmight become to them if either should be captured and imprisoned.\n\nThe greatest excitements, of course, had been connected with the battles\nof the pirates. Myrtilus, who, in spite of his feeble health, by no means\nlacked courage, found it especially hard to bear that during the\nconflicts he was locked up with Bias, but even Ledscha could neither\nprevent nor restrict these measures.\n\nBias could not tell what seas the Hydra had sailed, nor at what--usually\ndesolate-shores she had touched. He only knew that she had gone to Sinope\nin Pontus, passed through the Propontis, and then sought booty near the\ncoasts of Asia Minor. Ledscha had refused to answer every question that\nreferred to these things.\n\nLatterly, the young wife had become very grave, and apparently completely\nsevered her relations with her husband; but she also studiously avoided\nthe Gaul and, if they talked to each other at all, it was in hurried\nwhispers.\n\nSo events went on until something occurred which was to affect the lives\nof the prisoners deeply. It must have been just beyond the outlet from\nthe Hellespont into the AEgean Sea; for, in order to pass through the\nnarrow straits leading thither from Pontus, the Hydra had been most\nskilfully given the appearance of a peaceful merchant vessel.\n\nThe slave's soul must have been greatly agitated by this experience, for\nwhile, hitherto, whenever he was interrupted by Hermon he had retained\nhis composure, and could not refrain from occasionally connecting a\npractical application with his report, now, mastered by the power of the\nremembrance, he uttered what he wished to tell his master in an oppressed\ntone, while bright drops of perspiration bedewed the speaker's brow.\n\nA large merchant ship had approached them, and three men came on board\nthe Hydra--old Satabus, his son Labaja, and a gray-haired, bearded\nseafarer of tall stature and dignified bearing, Schalit, Ledscha's\nfather.\n\nThe meeting between the Biamite ship-owner and his child, after so long a\nseparation, was a singular one; for the young wife held out her hand to\nher father timidly, with downcast eyes, and he refused to take it.\nDirectly after, however, as if constrained by an irresistible impulse, he\ndrew his unruly daughter toward him and kissed her brow and cheeks.\n\nRoast meat and the best wine had been served in the large ship's cabin;\nbut though Myrtilus and Bias had been locked up as if a bloody battle was\nexpected, the loud, angry uproar of men's deep voices reached them, and\nLedscha's shrill tones shrieking in passionate wrath blended in the\nstrife. Furniture must have been upset and dishes broken, yet the giants\nwho were disputing here did not come to blows.\n\nAt last the savage turmoil subsided.\n\nWhen Bias and his master were again released, Ledscha was standing, in\nthe dusk of evening, at the foot of the mainmast, pressing her brow\nagainst the wood as if she needed some support to save herself from\nfalling.\n\nShe checked Myrtilus's words with an imperious \"Let me alone!\" The next\nday she had paced restlessly up and down the deck like a caged beast of\nprey, and would permit no one to speak to her.\n\nAt noon Hanno was about to get into a boat to go to her father's ship,\nand she insisted upon accompanying him. But this time the corsair seemed\ncompletely transformed, and with the pitiless sternness, which he so well\nknew how to use in issuing commands, ordered her to remain on the Hydra.\n\nShe, however, by no means obeyed her husband's mandate without\nresistance, and, at the recollection of the conflict which now occurred\nbetween the pair, in which she raged like a tigress, the narrator's\ncheeks crimsoned.\n\nThe quarrel was ended by the powerful seaman's taking in his arms his\nlithe, slender wife, who resisted him with all her strength and had\nalready touched the side of the boat with her foot, and putting her down\non the deck of his ship.\n\nThen Hanno leaped back into the skiff, while Ledscha, groaning with rage,\nretired to the cabin.\n\nAn hour after she again appeared on deck, called Myrtilus and Bias and,\nshowing them her eyes, reddened by tears, told them, as if in apology for\nher weakness, that she had not been permitted to bid her father farewell.\nThen, pallid as a corpse, she had turned the conversation upon Hermon,\nand informed Myrtilus that an Alexandrian pilot had told her father that\nhe was blind, and her brother-in-law Labaja had heard the same thing.\nWhile saying this, her lips curled scornfully, but when she saw how\ndeeply their friend's misfortune moved her two prisoners, she waved her\nhand, declaring that he did not need their sympathy; the pilot had\nreported that he was living in magnificence and pleasure, and the people\nin the capital honoured and praised him as if he were a god.\n\nThereupon she had laughed shrilly and reviled so bitterly the\ncontemptible blind Fortune that remains most loyal to those who deserve\nto perish in the deepest misery, that Bias avoided repeating her words to\nhis master.\n\nThe news of Myrtilus's legacy had not reached her ears, and Bias, too,\nhad just heard of it for the first time.\n\nLedscha's object had been to relieve her troubled soul by attacks upon\nthe man whom she hated, but she suddenly turned to the master and servant\nto ask if they desired to obtain their liberty.\n\nOh, how quickly a hopeful \"Yes\" reached the ears of the gloomy woman! how\nready both were to swear, by a solemn oath, to fulfil the conditions the\nBiamite desired to impose!\n\nAs soon as opportunity offered, both were to leave the Hydra with one\nother person who, like Bias and herself, understood how to mange a boat.\n\nThe favourable moment soon came. One moonless night, when the steering of\nthe Hydra was intrusted to the Gaul, Ledscha waked the two prisoners and,\nwith the Gaul Lutarius, Myrtilus, and the slave, entered the boat, which\nconveyed them to the shore without accident or interruption.\n\nBias knew the name of the place where it had anchored, it is true, but\nthe oath which Ledscha had made him swear there was so terrible that he\nwould not have broken it at any cost.\n\nThis oath required the slave, who, three days after their landing, was\nsent to Alexandria by the first ship that sailed for that port, to\nmaintain the most absolute secrecy concerning Myrtilus's hiding place\nuntil he was authorized to speak. Bias was to go to Alexandria without\ndelay, and there obtain from Archias, who managed Myrtilus's property,\nthe sums which Ledscha intended to use in the following manner: Two attic\ntalents Bias was to bring back. These were for the Gaul, probably in\npayment for his assistance. Two more were to be taken by the slave to the\nTemple of Nemesis. Lastly, Bias was to deliver five talents to old Tabus,\nwho kept the treasure of the pirate family on the Owl's Nest, and tell\nher that Ledscha, in this money, sent back the bridal dowry which Hanno\nhad paid her father for his daughter. With this she released herself from\nthe husband who inspired her with feelings very unlike love.\n\nHermon asked to have this commission repeated, and received the\ndirections Myrtilus had given to the slave. The blind man's hope that\nthey must also include greetings and news from his friend's hand was\ndestroyed by Bias, whom Myrtilus, in the leisure hours on the Hydra, had\ntaught to read. This was not so difficult a task for the slave, who\nlonged for knowledge, and had already tried it before. But with writing,\non the other hand, he could make no headway. He was too old, and his hand\nhad become too clumsy to acquire this difficult art.\n\nIn reply to Hermon's anxious question whether his friend needed anything\nin his present abode, the slave reported that he was at liberty to move\nabout at will, and was not even obliged to share Ledscha's lodgings. He\nlacked nothing, for the Biamite, besides some gold, had left with him\nalso gems and pearls of such great value that they would suffice to\nsupport him several years. As for himself, she had supplied him more than\nabundantly with money for travelling expenses.\n\nMyrtilus was awaiting his return in a city prospering under a rich and\nwise regent, and sent whole cargoes of affectionate remembrances. The\nsculptor, too, was firmly resolved to keep the oath imposed upon him.\n\nAs soon as he, Bias, had performed the commission intrusted to him, he\nand Myrtilus would be released from their vow, and Hermon would learn his\nfriend's residence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nNo morning brightened Hermon's night of darkness.\n\nWhen the returned slave had finished his report, the sun was already\nshining into his master's room.\n\nWithout lying down again, the latter went at once to the Tennis notary,\nwho had moved to Alexandria two months before, and with his assistance\nraised the money which his friend needed.\n\nWorthy Melampus had received the news that Myrtilus was still alive in a\nvery singular manner. Even now he could grasp only one thing at a time,\nand he loved Hermon with sincere devotion. Therefore the lawyer who had\nso zealously striven to expedite the blind man's entering into possession\nof his friend's inheritance would very willingly have permitted\nMyrtilus--doubtless an invalid--to continue to rest quietly among the\ndead. Yet his kind heart rejoiced at the deliverance of the famous young\nartist, and so during Hermon's story he had passed from sincere regret to\nloud expressions of joyous sympathy.\n\nLastly, he had placed his whole property at the disposal of Hermon, who\nhad paid him liberally for his work, to provide for the blind sculptor's\nfuture. This generous offer had been declined; but he now assisted Hermon\nto prepare the emancipation papers for his faithful Bias, and found a\nship that was bound to Tanis. Toward evening he accompanied Hermon to the\nharbour and, after a cordial farewell from his helpful friend, the\nartist, with the new \"freedman\" Bias and the slave clerk Patran, went on\nboard the vessel, now ready to sail.\n\nThe voyage was one of the speediest, yet the end came too soon for both\nmaster and servant--Hermon had not yet heard enough of the friend beyond\nhis reach, and Bias was far from having related everything he desired to\ntell about Myrtilus and Ledscha; yet he was now permitted to express\nevery opinion that entered his mind, and this had occupied a great deal\nof time.\n\nBias also sought to know much more about Hermon's past and future than he\nhad yet learned, not merely from curiosity, but because he foresaw that\nMyrtilus would not cease to question him about his blind friend.\n\nThe misfortune must have produced a deep and lasting effect upon the\nartist's joyous nature, for his whole bearing was pervaded by such\nearnestness and dignity that years, instead of months, seemed to have\nelapsed since their separation.\n\nIt was characteristic of Daphne that her lover's blindness did not\nalienate her from him; yet why had not the girl, who still desired to\nbecome his wife, been able to wed the helpless man who had lost his\nsight? If the father did not wish to be separated from his daughter,\nsurely he could live with the young couple. A home was quickly made\neverywhere for the rich, and, if Archias was tired of his house in\nAlexandria, as Hermon had intimated, there was room enough in the world\nfor a new one.\n\nBut that was the way with things here below! Man was the cause of man's\nmisfortune! Daphne and Hermon remained the same; but Archias from an\naffectionate father had become transformed into an entirely different\nperson. If the former had been allowed to follow their inclinations, they\nwould now be united and happy, while, because a third person so willed,\nthey must go their way solitary and wretched.\n\nHe expressed this view to his master, and insisted upon his opinion until\nHermon confided to him what had driven Archias from Alexandria.\n\nPatran, Bias's successor, was by no means satisfactory to him. Had Hermon\nretained his sight, he certainly would not have purchased him, in spite\nof his skill as a scribe, for the Egyptian had a \"bad face.\"\n\nOh, if only he could have been permitted to stay with his benefactor\ninstead of this sullen man! How carefully he would have removed the\nstones from his darkened pathway!\n\nDuring the voyage he was obliged to undergo severe struggles to keep the\noath of secrecy imposed upon him; but perjury threatened him with the\nmost horrible tortures, not to mention the sorceress Tabus, whom he was\nto meet.\n\nSo Myrtilus's abode remained unknown to Hermon.\n\nBias approved his master's intention of going into the desert. He had\noften seen the oracle of Amon tested, and he himself had experienced the\nhealthfulness of the desert air. Besides, it made him proud to see that\nHermon was disposed to follow his suggestion of pitching his tent in a\nspot which he designated. This was at the end of the arm of the sea at\nClysma. Several trees grew there beside small springs, and a peaceful\nfamily of Amalekites raised vegetables in their little garden, situated\non higher ground, watered by the desert wells.\n\nWhen a boy, before the doom of slavery had been pronounced upon him and\nhis father, his mother, by the priest's advice, took him there to recover\nfrom the severe attack of fever which he could not shake off amid the\ndamp papyrus plantations surrounding his parents' house. In the dry, pure\nair of the desert he recovered, and he would guide Hermon there before\nreturning to Myrtilus.\n\nFrom Tanis they reached Tennis in a few hours, and found shelter in the\nhome of the superintendent of Archias's weaving establishments, whose\nhospitality Myrtilus and Hermon had enjoyed before their installation in\nthe white house, now burned to the ground. The Alexandrian bills of\nexchange were paid in gold by the lessee of the royal bank, who was a\ngood friend of Hermon. Toward evening, both rowed to the Owl's Nest,\ntaking the five talents with which the runaway wife intended to purchase\nfreedom from her husband.\n\nAs the men approached the central door of the pirates' house, a\nmiddy-aged Biamite woman appeared and rudely ordered them to leave the\nisland. Tabus was weak, and refused to see visitors. But she was\nmistaken; for when Bias, in the dialect of his tribe, shouted loudly that\nmessengers from the wife of her grandson Hanno had arrived, there was a\nmovement at the back of the room, and broken sentences, gasped with\ndifficulty, expressed the old dame's wish to receive the strangers.\n\nOn a sheep's-wool couch, over which was spread a wolfskin, the last gift\nof her son Satabus, lay the sorceress, who raised herself as Hermon\npassed through the door.\n\nAfter his greeting, she pointed to her deaf ear and begged him to speak\nlouder. At the same time she gazed into his eyes with a keen, penetrating\nglance, and interrupted him by the question: \"The Greek sculptor whose\nstudio was burned over his head? And blind? Blind still?\"\n\n\"In both eyes,\" Bias answered for his master.\n\n\"And you, fellow?\" the old dame asked; then, recollecting herself,\nstopped the reply on the servant's lips with the hasty remark: \"You are\nthe blackbeard's slave--a Biamite? Oh, I remember perfectly! You\ndisappeared with the burning house.\"\n\nThen she gazed intently and thoughtfully from one to the other, and at\nlast, pointing to Bias, muttered in a whisper: \"You alone come from Hanno\nand Ledscha, and were with them on the Hydra? Very well. What news have\nyou for the old woman from the young couple?\"\n\nThe freedman began to relate what brought him to the Owl's Nest, and the\ngray-haired crone listened eagerly until he said that Ledscha lived\nunhappily with her husband, and therefore had left him. She sent back to\nher, as the head of Hanno's family, the bridal dowry with which Hanno had\nbought her from her father as his wife.\n\nThen Tabus struggled into a little more erect posture, and asked: \"What\ndoes this mean? Five talents--and gold, not silver talents? And she sends\nthe money to me? To me? And she ran away from her husband? But no--no!\nOnce more--you are a Biamite--repeat it in our own language--and loudly.\nThis ear is the better one.\"\n\nBias obeyed, and the old dame listened to the end without interrupting\nhim: then raising her brown right hand, covered with a network of\nblue-black veins, she clinched it into a fist, which she shook far more\nviolently than Bias would have believed possible in her weak condition.\nAt the same time she pressed her lips so tightly together that her\ntoothless mouth deepened into a hole, and her dim eyes shone with a keen,\nmenacing light. For some time she found no reply, though strange,\nrattling, gasping sounds escaped her heaving breast.\n\nAt last she succeeded in uttering words, and shrieked shrilly:\n\"This--this--away with the golden trash! With the bridal dowry of the\nfamily rejected, and once more free, the base fool thinks she would be\nlike the captive fox that gnawed the rope! Oh, this age, these people!\nAnd this, this is the haughty, strong Ledscha, the daughter of the\nBiamites, who--there stands the blind girl--deceiver!--who so admirably\navenged herself?\"\n\nHere her voice failed, and Hermon began to speak to assure her that she\nunderstood Ledscha's wish aright. Then he asked her for a token by which\nshe acknowledged the receipt of the gold, which he handed her in a stout\nlinen bag.\n\nBut his purpose was not fulfilled, for suddenly, flaming with passionate\nwrath, she thrust the purse aside, groaning: \"Not an obol of the accursed\ndestruction of souls shall come back to Hanno, nor even into the family\nstore. Until his heart and hers stop beating, the most indissoluble bond\nwill unite both. She desires to ransom herself from a lawful marriage\nconcluded by her father, as if she were a captive of war; perhaps she\neven wants to follow another. Hanno, brave lad, was ready to go to death\nfor her sake, and she rewards him by bringing shame on his head and\ndisgrace on us all. Oh, these times, this world! Everything that is\ninviolable and holy trampled in the dust! But they are not all so! In\nspite of Grecian infidelity, marriage is still honoured among our people.\nBut she who mocks what is sacred, and tramples holy customs under foot,\nshall be accursed, execrated, given over to want, hunger, disease,\ndeath!\"\n\nWith rattling breath and closed eyes she leaned farther back against the\ncushions that supported her; but Bias, in their common language, tried to\nsoothe her, and informed her that, though Ledscha had probably run away\nfrom her husband, she had by no means renounced her vengeance. He was\nbringing two talents with him to place in the Temple of Nemesis.\n\n\"Of Nemesis?\" repeated the old dame. Then she tried to raise herself and,\nas she constantly sank back again, Bias aided her. But she had scarcely\nrecovered her sitting posture when she gasped to the freedman: \"Nemesis,\nwho helped, and is to continue to help her to destroy her foe? Well,\nwell! Five talents--a great sum, a great sum! But the more the better! To\nNemesis with them, to Ate and the Erinyes! The talons of the avenging\ngoddess shall tear the beautiful face, the heart, and the liver of the\naccursed one! A twofold malediction on her who has wronged the son of my\nSatabus!\"\n\nWhile speaking, her head nodded swiftly up and down, and when at last she\nbowed it wearily, her visitors heard her murmur the names of Satabus and\nHanno, sometimes tenderly, sometimes mournfully.\n\nFinally she asked whether any one else was concerned in Ledscha's flight;\nand when she learned that a Gallic bridge-builder accompanied the\nfugitive wife, she again started up as if frantic, exclaiming: \"Yes, to\nNemesis with the gold! We neither need nor want it, and Satabus, my son,\nhe will bless me for renunciation--\"\n\nHere exhaustion again silenced her. She gazed mutely and thoughtfully\ninto vacancy, until at last, turning to Bias, she began more calmly: \"You\nwill see her again, man, and must tell her what the clan of Tabus bought\nwith her talents. Take her my curse, and let her know that her friends\nwould be my foes, and her foes should find in Tabus a benefactress!\"\n\nThen, deeply buried in thought, she again fixed her eyes on the floor;\nbut at last she called to Hermon, saying: \"You, blind Greek--am I not\nright?--the torch was thrust into your face, and you lost the sight of\nboth eyes?\"\n\nThe artist assented to this question; but she bade him sit down before\nher, and when he bent his face near her she raised one lid after the\nother with trembling fingers, yet lightly and skilfully, gazed long and\nintently into his eyes, and murmured: \"Like black Psoti and lawless\nSimeon, and they are both cured.\"\n\n\"Can you restore me?\" Hermon now asked in great excitement. \"Answer me\nhonestly, you experienced woman! Give me back my sight, and demand\nwhatever gold and valuables I still possess--\"\n\n\"Keep them,\" Tabus contemptuously interrupted. \"Not for gold or goods\nwill I restore you the best gift man can lose. I will cure you because\nyou are the person to whom the infamous wretch most ardently wished the\nsorest trouble. When she hoped to destroy you, she perceived in this deed\nthe happiness which had been promised to her on a night when the full\nmoon was shining. To-day--this very night--the disk between Astarte's\nhorns rounds again, and presently--wait a little while!--presently you\nshall have what the light restores you--\" Then she called the Biamite\nwoman, ordered her to bring the medicine chest, and took from it one\nvessel after another. The box she was seeking was among the last and,\nwhile handing it to Bias, she muttered: \"Oh, yes, certainly--it does one\ngood to destroy a foe, but no less to make her foe happy!\"\n\nTurning to the freedman, she went on in a louder tone: \"You, slave, shall\ninform Hanno's wife that old Tabus gave the sculptor, whose blindness she\ncaused, the remedy which restored the sight of black Psoti, whom she\nknew.\" Here she paused, gazed upward, and murmured almost unintelligibly:\n\"Satabus, Hanno! If this is the last act of the old mother, it will give\nye pleasure.\"\n\nThen she told Hermon to kneel again, and ordered the slave to hold the\nlamp which her nurse Tasia had just lighted at the hearth fire.\n\n\"The last,\" she said, looking into the box, \"but it will be enough. The\nodour of the herb in the salve is as strong as if it had been prepared\nyesterday.\"\n\nShe laid the first bandage on Hermon's eyes with her own weak fingers, at\nthe same time muttering an incantation; but it did not seem to satisfy\nher. Great excitement had taken possession of her, and as the silver\nlight of the full moon shone into her room she waved her hands before the\nartist's eyes and fixed her gaze upon the threshold illumined by the\nmoonbeams, ejaculating sentences incomprehensible to the blind man. Bias\nsupported her, for she had risen to her full height, and he felt how she\ntottered and trembled.\n\nYet her strength held out to whisper to Hermon: \"Nearer, still nearer! By\nthe light of the august one whose rays greet us, let it be said: You will\nsee again. Await your recovery patiently in a quiet place in the pure\nair, not in the city. Refrain from everything with which the Greeks\nintoxicate themselves. Shun wine, and whatever heats the blood. Recovery\nis coming; I see it drawing near. You will see again as surely as I now\ncurse the woman who abandoned the husband to whom she vowed fidelity. She\nrejoiced over your blindness, and she will gnash her teeth with rage and\ngrief when she hears that it was Tabus who brought light into the\ndarkness that surrounds you.\"\n\nWith these words she pushed off the freedman's supporting arms and sank\nback upon the couch.\n\nAgain Hermon tried to thank her; but she would not permit it, and said in\nan almost inaudible tone: \"I really did not give the salve to do you\ngood--the last act of all--\"\n\nFinally she murmured a few words of direction for its use, and added that\nhe must keep the sunlight from his blind eyes by bandages and shades, as\nif it were a cruel foe.\n\nWhen she paused, and Bias asked her another question, she pointed to the\ndoor, exclaiming as loudly as her weakness permitted, \"Go, I tell you,\ngo!\"\n\nHermon obeyed and left her, accompanied by the freedman, who carried the\nbox of salve so full of precious promise.\n\nThe next morning Bias delivered to the astonished priest of Nemesis the\nlarge gifts intended for the avenging goddess.\n\nBefore Hermon entered the boat with him and his Egyptian slave, the\nfreedman told his master that Gula was again living in perfect harmony\nwith the husband who had cast her off, and Taus, Ledscha's younger\nsister, was the wife of the young Biamite who, she had feared, would give\nup his wooing on account of her visit to Hermon's studio.\n\nAfter a long voyage through the canal which had been dug a short time\nbefore, connecting the Mediterranean with the Red Sea, the three men\nreached Clysma. Opposite to it, on the eastern shore of the narrow\nnorthern point of the Erythraean sea--[Red Sea]--lay the goal of their\njourney, and thither Bias led his blind master, followed by the slave, on\nshore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nIt was long since Hermon had felt so free and light-hearted as during\nthis voyage.\n\nHe firmly believed in his recovery.\n\nA few days before he had escaped death in the royal palace as if by a\nmiracle, and he owed his deliverance to the woman he loved.\n\nIn the Temple of Nemesis at Tennis the conviction that the goddess had\nceased to persecute him took possession of his mind.\n\nTrue, his blind eyes had been unable to see her menacing statue, but not\neven the slightest thrill of horror had seized him in its presence. In\nAlexandria, after his departure from Proclus's banquet, she had desisted\nfrom pursuing him. Else how would she have permitted him to escape\nuninjured when he was already standing upon the verge of an abyss, and a\nwave of her hand would have sufficed to hurl him into the death-dealing\ngulf?\n\nBut his swift confession, and the transformation which followed it, had\nreconciled him not only with her, but also with the other gods; for they\nappeared to him in forms as radiant and friendly as in the days of his\nboyhood, when, while Bias took the helm on the long voyage through the\ncanal and the Bitter Lakes, he recalled the visible world to his memory\nand, from the rising sun, Phoebus Apollo, the lord of light and purity,\ngazed at him from his golden chariot, drawn by four horses, and\nAphrodite, the embodiment of all beauty, rose before him from the snowy\nfoam of the azure waves. Demeter, in the form of Daphne, appeared,\ndispensing prosperity, above the swaying golden waves of the ripening\ngrain fields and bestowing peace beside the domestic hearth. The whole\nworld once more seemed peopled with deities, and he felt their rule in\nhis own breast.\n\nThe place of which Bias had told him was situated on a lofty portion of\nthe shore. Beside the springs which there gushed from the soil of the\ndesert grew green palm trees and thorny acacias. Farther on flourished\nthe fragrant betharan. About a thousand paces from this spot the faithful\nfreedman pitched the little tent obtained in Tennis under the shade of\nseveral tall palm trees and a sejal acacia.\n\nNot far from the springs lived the same family of Amalekites whom Bias\nhad known from boyhood. They raised a few vegetables in little beds, and\nthe men acted as guards to the caravans which came from Egypt through the\npeninsula of Sinai to Petrea and Hebron. The daughter of the aged sheik\nwhose men accompanied the trains of goods, a pleasant, middle-aged woman,\nrecognised the Biamite, who when a boy had recovered under her mother's\nnursing, and promised Bias to honour his blind master as a valued guest\nof the tribe.\n\nNot until after he had done everything in his power to render life in the\nwilderness endurable, and had placed a fresh bandage over his eyes, would\nBias leave his master.\n\nThe freedman entered the boat weeping, and Hermon, deeply agitated,\nturned his face toward him.\n\nWhen he was left alone with his Egyptian slave, with whom he rarely\nexchanged a word, he fancied that, amid the murmur of the waves washing\nthe strand at his feet, blended the sounds of the street which led past\nhis house in Alexandria, and with them all sorts of disagreeable memories\ncrowded upon him; but soon he no longer heard them, and the next night\nbrought refreshing sleep.\n\nEven on the second day he felt that the profound silence which surrounded\nhim was a benefit. The stillness affected him like something physical.\n\nThe life was certainly monotonous, and at first there were hours when the\ncourse of the new existence, so devoid of any change, op pressed him, but\nhe experienced no tedium. His mental life was too rich, and the\nunburdening of his anxious soul too great a relief for that.\n\nHe had shunned serious thought since he left the philosopher's school;\nbut here it soon afforded him the highest pleasure, for never had his\nmind moved so freely, so undisturbed by any limit or obstacle.\n\nHe did not need to search for what he hoped to find in the wilderness.\nHis whole past life passed before him as if by its own volition. All that\nhe had ever experienced, learned, thought, felt, rose before his mind\nwith wonderful distinctness, and when he overlooked all his mental\npossessions, as if from a high watch-tower in the bright sunshine, he\nbegan to consider how he had used the details and how he could continue\nto do so.\n\nWhatever he had seen incorrectly forced itself resistlessly upon him, yet\nhere also the Greek nature, deeply implanted in his soul, guarded him,\nand it was easy for him to avoid self-torturing remorse. He only desired\nto utilize for improvement what he recognised as false.\n\nWhen in this delicious silence he listened to the contradictory demands\nof his intellect and his senses, it often seemed as though he was present\nat a discussion between two guests who were exchanging their opinions\nconcerning the subject that occupied his mind.\n\nHere he first learned to deepen sound intellectual power and listen to\nthe demands of the heart, or to repulse and condemn them.\n\nAh, yes, he was still blind; but never had he observed and recognised\nhuman life and its stage, down to the minutest detail, which his eyes\nrefused to show him, so keenly as during these clays. The phenomena which\nhad attracted or repelled his vision here appeared nearer and more\ndistinctly.\n\nWhat he called \"reality\" and believed he understood thoroughly and\nestimated correctly, now disclosed many a secret which had previously\nremained concealed.\n\nHow defective his visual perception had been! how necessary it now seemed\nto subject his judgment to a new test! Doubtless a wealth of artistic\nsubjects had come to him from the world of reality which he had placed\nfar above everything else, but a greater and nobler one from the sphere\nwhich he had shunned as unfruitful and corrupting.\n\nAs if by magic, the world of ideality opened before him in this exquisite\nsilence. He again found in his own soul the joyous creative forces of\nNature, and the surrounding stillness increased tenfold his capacity of\nperceiving it; nay, he felt as if creative energy dwelt in solitude\nitself.\n\nHis mind had always turned toward greatness. The desire to impress his\nworks with the stamp of his own overflowing power had carried him far\nbeyond moderation in modelling his struggling Maenads.\n\nNow, when he sought for subjects, beside the smaller and more simple ones\nappeared mighty and manifold ones, often of superhuman grandeur.\n\nOh, if a higher power would at some future day permit him to model with\nhis strong hands this battle of the Amazons, this Phoebus Apollo, radiant\nin beauty and the glow of victory, conquering the dragons of darkness!\n\nArachne, too, returned to his mind, and also Demeter. But she did not\nhover before him as the peaceful dispenser of blessings, the preserver of\npeace, but as the maternal earth goddess, robbed of her daughter\nProserpina. How varied in meaning was this myth!--and he strove to follow\nit in every direction.\n\nNothing more could come to the blind artist from Nature by the aid of his\nphysical vision. The realm of reality was closed to him; but he had found\nthe key to that of the ideal, and what he found in it proved to be no\nless true than the objects the other had offered.\n\nHow rich in forms was the new world which forced itself unbidden on his\nimagination! He who, a short time before, had believed whatever could not\nbe touched by the hands was useless for his art, now had the choice among\na hundred subjects, full of glowing life, which were attainable by no\norgan of the senses. He need fear to undertake none, if only it was\nworthy of representation; for he was sure of his ability, and difficulty\ndid not alarm him, but promised to lend creating for the first time its\ntrue charm.\n\nAnd, besides, without the interest of animated conversation, without\nfestal scenes where, with garlanded head and intoxicating pleasure\nsoaring upward from the dust of earth, existence had seemed to him\nshallow and not worth the trouble it imposed upon mortals, solitude now\noffered him hours as happy as he had ever experienced while revelling\nwith gay companions.\n\nAt first many things had disturbed them, especially the dissatisfied,\nalmost gloomy disposition of his Egyptian slave, who, born in the city\nand accustomed to its life, found it unbearable to stay in the desert\nwith the strange blind master, who lived like a porter, and ordered him\nto prepare his wretched fare with the hands skilled in the use of the\npen.\n\nBut this living disturber of the peace was not to annoy the recluse long.\nScarcely a fortnight after Bias's departure, the slave Patran, who had\ncost so extravagant a sum, vanished one morning with the sculptor's money\nand silver cup.\n\nThis rascally trick of a servant whom he had treated with almost\nbrotherly kindness wounded Hermon, but he soon regarded the morose\nfellow's disappearance as a benefit.\n\nWhen for the first time he drank water from an earthen jug, instead of a\nsilver goblet, he thought of Diogenes, who cast his cup aside when he saw\na boy raise water to his lips in his hand, yet with whom the great\nMacedonian conqueror of the world would have changed places \"if he had\nnot been Alexander.\"\n\nThe active, merry son of Bias's Amalekite friend gladly rendered him the\nhelp and guidance for which he had been reluctant to ask his ill-tempered\nslave, and he soon became accustomed to the simple fare of the nomads.\nBread and milk, fruits and vegetables from his neighbour's little garden,\nsatisfied him, and when the wine he had drunk was used, he contented\nhimself, obedient to old Tabus's advice, with pure water.\n\nAs he still had several gold coins on his person, and wore two costly\nrings on his finger, he doubtless thought of sending to Clysma for meat,\npoultry, and wine, but he had refrained from doing so through the advice\nof the Amalekite woman, who anointed his eyes with Tabus's salve and\nprotected them by a shade of fresh leaves from the dazzling rays of the\ndesert sun. She, like the sorceress on the Owl's Nest, warned him against\nall viands that inflamed the blood, and he willingly allowed her to take\naway what she and her gray-haired father, the experienced head of the\ntribe, pronounced detrimental to his recovery.\n\nAt first the \"beggar's fare\" seemed repulsive, but he soon felt that it\nwas benefiting him after the riotous life of the last few months.\n\nOne day, when the Amalekite took off his bandage, he thought he saw a\nfaint glimmer of light, and how his heart exulted at this faint foretaste\nof the pleasure of sight!\n\nIn an instant hope sprang up with fresh power in his excitable soul, and\nhis lost cheerfulness returned to him like a butterfly to the newly\nopened flower. The image of his beloved Daphne rose before him in sunny\nradiance, and he saw himself in his studio in the service of his art.\n\nHe had always been fond of children, and the little ones in the Amalekite\nfamily quickly discovered this, and crowded around their blind friend,\nwho played all sorts of games with them, and in spite of the bandaged\neyes, over which spread a broad shade of green leaves, could make\nwhistles with his skilful artist hands from the reeds and willow branches\nthey brought.\n\nHe saw before him the object to which his heart still clung as distinctly\nas if he need only stretch out his hand to draw it nearer, and\nperhaps--surely and certainly, the Amalekite said--the time would come\nwhen he would behold it also with his bodily eyes.\n\nIf the longing should be fulfilled! If his eyes were again permitted to\nconvey to him what formerly filled his soul with delight! Yes,\nbeauty--was entitled to a higher place than truth, and if it again\nunfolded itself to his gaze, how gladly and gratefully he would pay\nhomage to it with his art!\n\nThe hope that he might enjoy it once more now grew stronger, for the\nglimmer of light became brighter, and one day, when his skilful nurse\nagain took the bandage from his milk-white pupils, he saw something long\nappear, as if through, a mist. It was only the thorny acacia tree at his\ntent; but the sight of the most beautiful of beautiful things never\nfilled him with more joyful gratitude.\n\nThen he ordered the less valuable of his two rings to be sold to offer a\nsacrifice to health-bestowing Isis, who had a little temple in Clysma.\n\nHow fervently he now prayed also to the great Apollo, the foe of darkness\nand the lord of everything light and pure! How yearningly he besought\nAphrodite to bless him again with the enjoyment of eternal beauty, and\nEros to heal the wound which his arrow had inflicted upon his heart and\nDaphne's, and bring them together after so much distress and need!\n\nWhen, after the lapse of another week, the bandage was again removed, his\ninmost soul rejoiced, for his eyes showed him the rippling emerald-green\nsurface of the Red Sea, and the outlines of the palms, the tents, the\nAmalekite woman, her boy, and her two long-eared goats.\n\nHow ardently he thanked the gracious deities who, in spite of Straton's\nprecepts, were no mere figments of human imagination and, as if he had\nbecome a child again, poured forth his overflowing heart with mute\ngratitude to his mother's soul!\n\nThe artist nature, yearning to create, began to stir within more\nceaselessly than ever before. Already he saw clay and wax assuming forms\nbeneath his skilful hands; already he imagined himself, with fresh power\nand delight, cutting majestic figures from blocks of marble, or, by\nhammering, carving, and filing, shaping them from gold and ivory.\n\nAnd he would not take what he intended to create solely from the world of\nreality perceptible to the senses. Oh, no! He desired to show through his\nart the loftiest of ideals. How could he still shrink from using the\nliberty which he had formerly rejected, the liberty of drawing from his\nown inner consciousness what he needed in order to bestow upon the ideal\nimages he longed to create the grandeur, strength, and sublimity in which\nhe beheld them rise before his purified soul!\n\nYet, with all this, he must remain faithful to truth, copy from Nature\nwhat he desired to represent. Every finger, every lock of hair, must\ncorrespond with reality to the minutest detail, and yet the whole must be\npervaded and penetrated, as the blood flows through the body, by the\nthought that filled his mind and soul.\n\nA reflected image of the ideal and of his own mood, faithful to truth,\nfree, and yet obedient to the demands of moderation--in this sentence\nHermon summed up the result of his solitary meditations upon art and\nworks of art. Since he had found the gods again, he perceived that the\nMuse had confided to him a sacerdotal office. He intended to perform its\nduties, and not only attract and please the beholder's eyes through his\nworks, but elevate his heart and mind, as beauty, truth, grandeur, and\neternity uplifted his own soul. He recognised in the tireless creative\npower which keeps Nature ever new, fresh, and bewitching, the presence of\nthe same deity whose rule manifested itself in the life of his own soul.\n\nSo long as he denied its existence, he had recognised no being more\npowerful than himself; now that he again felt insignificant beside it, he\nknew himself to be stronger than ever before, that the greatest of all\npowers had become his ally. Now it was difficult for him to understand\nhow he could have turned away from the deity. As an artist he, too, was a\ncreator, and, while he believed those who considered the universe had\ncome into existence of itself, instead of having been created, he had\nrobbed himself of the most sublime model. Besides, the greatest charm of\nhis noble profession was lost to him. Now he knew it, and was striving\ntoward the goal attainable by the artist alone among mortals--to hold\nintercourse with the deity, and by creations full of its essence elevate\nthe world to its grandeur and beauty.\n\nOne day, at the end of the second month of his stay in the desert, when\nthe Amalekite woman removed the bandage, her boy, whose form he\ndistinguished as if through a veil, suddenly exclaimed: \"The white cover\non your eyes is melting! They are beginning to sparkle a little, and soon\nthey will be perfectly well, and you can carve the lion's head on my\ncane.\"\n\nPerhaps the artist might really have succeeded in doing so, but he\nforbade himself the attempt.\n\nHe thought that the time for departure had now arrived, and an\nirresistible longing urged him back to the world and Daphne.\n\nBut he could not resist the entreaties of the old sheik and his daughter\nnot to risk what he had gained, so he continued to use the shade of\nleaves, and allowed himself to be persuaded to defer his departure until\nthe dimness which still prevented his seeing anything distinctly passed\naway.\n\nTrue, the beautiful peace which he had enjoyed of late was over and,\nbesides, anxiety for the dear ones in distant lands was constantly\nincreasing. He had had no news of them for a long time, and when he\nimagined what fate might have overtaken Archias, and his daughter with\nhim, if he had been carried back to the enraged King in Alexandria, a\nterrible dread took possession of him, which scattered even joy in his\nwonderful recovery to the four winds, and finally led him to the\nresolution to return to the world at any risk and devote himself to those\nwhose fate was nearer to his heart than his own weal and woe.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Forbidden the folly of spoiling the present by remorse\n     Two griefs always belong to one joy\n\n\n\n\nARACHNE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nHermon, filled with longing, went down toward evening to the shore.\n\nThe sun was setting, and the riot of colours in the western horizon\nseemed like a mockery of the torturing anxiety which had mastered his\nsoul.\n\nHe did not notice the boat that was approaching the land; many travellers\nwho intended to go through Arabia Petrea landed here, and for several\ndays--he knew why--there had been more stir in these quiet waters.\n\nSuddenly he was surprised by the ringing shout with which he had formerly\nannounced his approach to Myrtilus.\n\nUnconsciously agitated by joy, as if the sunset glow before him had\nsuddenly been transformed into the dawn of a happy day, he answered by a\nloud cry glad with hope. Although his dim eyes did not yet permit him to\ndistinguish who was standing erect in the boat, waving greetings to him,\nhe thought he knew whom this exquisite evening was bringing.\n\nSoon his own name reached him. It was his \"wise Bias\" who shouted, and\nsoon, with a throbbing heart, he held out both hands to him.\n\nThe freedman had performed his commission in the best possible manner,\nand was now no longer bound to silence by oath.\n\nLedscha had left him and Myrtilus to themselves and, as Bias thought he\nhad heard, had sailed with the Gaul Lutarius for Paraetonium, the\nfrontier city between the kingdom of Egypt and that of Cyrene.\n\nMyrtilus felt stronger than he had done for a long time, and had sent him\nback to the blind friend who would need him more than he did.\n\nBut worthy Bias also brought messages from Archias and Daphne. They were\nwell, and his uncle now had scarcely any cause to fear pursuers.\n\nBefore the landing of the boat, the shade had covered Hermon's eyes; but\nwhen, after the freedman's first timid question about his sight, he\nraised it again, at the same time reporting and showing what progress he\nhad already made toward recovery, the excess of joy overpowered the\nfreedman, and sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, he kissed the\nconvalescent's hands and simple robe. It was some time before he calmed\nhimself again, then laying his forefinger on the side of his nose, he\nsaid: \"Therein the immortals differ from human beings. We sculptors can\nonly create good work with good tools, but the immortals often use the\nvery poorest of all to accomplish the best things. You owe your sight to\nthe hate of this old witch and mother of pirates, so may she find peace\nin the grave. She is dead. I heard it from a fellow-countryman whom I met\nin Herocipolis. Her end came soon after our visit.\"\n\nThen Bias related what he knew of Hermon's uncle, of Daphne, and\nMyrtilus.\n\nTwo letters were to give him further particulars.\n\nThey came from the woman he loved and from his friend, and as soon as\nBias had lighted the lamp in the tent, at the same time telling his\nmaster in advance many items of news they contained, he set about the\ndifficult task of reading.\n\nHe had certainly scarcely become a master of this art on board the Hydra,\nyet his slow performance did all honour to the patience of his teacher\nMyrtilus.\n\nHe began with Daphne's letter, but by the desire of prudent Archias it\ncommunicated few facts. But the protestations of love and expressions of\nlonging which filled it pierced the freedman's soul so deeply that his\nvoice more than once failed while reading them.\n\nMyrtilus's letter, on the contrary, gave a minute description of his mode\nof life, and informed his friend what he expected for him and himself in\nthe future. The contents of both relieved Hermon's sorely troubled heart,\nmade life with those who were dearest to him possible, and explained many\nthings which the reports of the slave had not rendered perfectly clear.\n\nArchias had gone with Daphne to the island of Lesbos, his mother's native\ncity. The ships which conveyed travellers to Pergamus, where Myrtilus was\nliving, touched at this port, and Bias, to whom Hermon had confided the\nrefuge of the father and daughter, had sought them there, and found them\nin a beautiful villa.\n\nAfter being released from his oath, Myrtilus had put himself into\ncommunication with his uncle, and just before Bias's departure the\nmerchant had come to Pergamus with his daughter. As he had the most\ncordial reception from the Regent Philetaerus, he seemed inclined to\nsettle permanently there.\n\nAs for Myrtilus, he had cast anchor with Ledscha in the little Mysian\nseaport town of Pitane, near the mouth of the Caicus River, on which,\nfarther inland, was the rapidly growing city of Pergamus.\n\nShe had found a hospitable welcome in the family of a seafarer who were\nrelatives, while the Gaul continued his voyage to obtain information\nabout his tribe in Syria. But he had already returned when Bias reached\nPitane with the two talents intended for him. Myrtilus had availed\nhimself of Ledscha's permission long before and gone to Pergamus, where\nhe had lived and worked in secrecy until, after the freedman's return\nfrom Ledscha, who at once left Pitane with the Gaul, he was released from\nhis oath.\n\nDuring the absence of Bias he had modelled a large relief, a triumphal\nprocession of Dionysus, and as the renown of his name had previously\nreached Pergamus, the artists and the most distinguished men in the city\nflocked to his studio to admire the work of the famous Alexandrian.\n\nSoon Philetoerus, who had founded the Pergamenian kingdom seven years\nbefore, and governed it with great wisdom, came to Myrtilus.\n\nLike his nephew and heir Eumenes, he was a friend to art, and induced the\nlaurel-crowned Alexandrian to execute the relief, modelled in clay, in\nmarble for the Temple of Dionysus at Pergamus.\n\nThe heir to the throne of Philetaerus, who was now advancing in years,\nwas especially friendly to Myrtilus, and did everything in his power to\nbind him to Pergamus.\n\nHe succeeded, for in the beautiful house, located in an extremely\nhealthful site, which Eumenes had assigned for a residence and studio to\nthe Alexandrian artist, whose work he most ardently admired, and whom he\nregarded as the most welcome of guests, Myrtilus felt better physically\nthan he had for years. Besides, he thought that, for many reasons, his\nfriend would be less willing to settle in Alexandria, and that the\npresence of his uncle and Daphne would attract him to Pergamus.\n\nMoreover, Hermon surely knew that if he came to him as a blind man he\nwould find a brother; if he came restored to sight, he would also find a\nbrother, and likewise a fellow-artist with whom he could live and work.\n\nMyrtilus had told the heir to the throne of Pergamus of his richly gifted\nblind relative, and of the peculiarity of his art, and Eumenes eagerly\nendeavoured to induce his beloved guest to persuade his friend to remove\nto his capital, where there was no lack of distinguished leeches.\n\nIf Hermon remained blind, he would honour him; if he recovered his sight,\nhe would give him large commissions.\n\nHow deeply these letters moved the heart of the recovering man! What\nprospects they opened for his future life, for love, friendship, and, not\nleast, for his art!\n\nIf he could see--if he could only see again! This exclamation blended\nwith everything he thought, felt, and uttered. Even in sleep it haunted\nhim. To regain the clearness of vision he needed for his work, he would\nwillingly have submitted to the severest tortures.\n\nIn Alexandria alone lived the great leeches who could complete the work\nwhich the salve of an ignorant old woman had begun. Thither he must go,\nthough it cost him liberty and life. The most famous surgeon of the\nMuseum at the capital had refused his aid under other circumstances.\nPerhaps he would relent if Philippus, a friend of Erasistratus, smoothed\nthe way for him, and the old hero was now living very near. The ships,\nwhose number on the sea at his feet was constantly increasing, were\nattracted hither by the presence of the Egyptian King and Queen on the\nisthmus which connects Asia and Africa. The priest of Apollo at Clysma,\nand other distinguished Greeks whom he met there, had told him the day\nbefore yesterday, and on two former visits to the place, what was going\non in the world, and informed him how great an honour awaited the eastern\nfrontier in these days. The appearance of their Majesties in person must\nnot only mean the founding of a city, the reception of a victorious naval\ncommander, and the consecration of a restored temple, but also have still\ndeeper causes.\n\nDuring the last few years severe physical suffering had brought the\nunfortunate second king of the house of Ptolemy to this place to seek the\naid of the ancient Egyptian gods, and, besides the philosophy, busy\nhimself with the mystic teachings and magic arts of their priesthood.\n\nOnly a short period of life seemed allotted to the invalid ruler, and the\nservice of the time-honoured god of the dead, to whom he had erected one\nof the most magnificent temples in the world at Alexandria, to which\nEgyptians and Hellenes repaired with equal devotion, opened hopes for the\nlife after death which seemed to him worthy of examination.\n\nFor this reason also he desired to secure the favour of the Egyptian\npriesthood.\n\nFor this purpose, for the execution of his wise and beneficent\narrangements, as well as for the gratification of his expensive tastes,\nlarge sums of money were required; therefore he devoted himself with\nespecial zeal to enlarging the resources of his country, already so rich\nby nature.\n\nIn all these things he had found an admirable assistant in his sister\nArsinoe. As the daughter of the father and mother to whom he himself owed\nexistence, he could claim for her unassailable legitimacy the same\nrecognition from the priesthood, and the same submission from the people\nrendered to his own person, whom the religion of the country commanded\nthem to revere as the representative of the sun god.\n\nAs marriages between brothers and sisters had been customary from ancient\ntimes, and were sanctioned by religion and myth, he had married the\nsecond Arsinoe, his sister, immediately after the banishment of the first\nQueen of this name.\n\nAfter the union with her, he called himself Philadelphus--brotherly\nlove--and honoured his sister and wife with the same name.\n\nTrue, this led the sarcastic Alexandrians to utter many a biting, more or\nless witty jest, but he never had cause to regret his choice; in spite of\nher forty years, and more than one bloody deed which before her marriage\nto him she had committed as Queen of Thrace and as a widow, the second\nArsinoe was always a pattern of regally aristocratic, dignified bearing\nand haughty womanly beauty.\n\nThough the first Philadelphus could expect no descendants from her, he\nhad provided for securing them through her, for he had induced her to\nadopt the first Arsinoe's three children, who had been taken from their\nexiled mother.\n\nArsinoe was now accompanying her royal husband Philadelphus to the\neastern frontier. There the latter expected to name the city to be newly\nfounded \"Arsinoe\" for her, and-to show his esteem for the priesthood--to\nconsecrate in person the new Temple of Tum in the city of Pithom, near\nHeroopolis.\n\nLastly, the monarch had been endeavouring to form new connections with\nthe coast countries of eastern Africa, and open them to Egyptian\ncommerce.\n\nAdmiral Eumedes, the oldest son of Philippus and Thyone, had succeeded in\ndoing this most admirably, for the distinguished commander had not only\nfounded on the Ethiopian shore of the Red Sea a city which he named for\nthe King \"Ptolemais,\" but also won over the princes and tribes of that\nregion to Egypt.\n\nHe was now returning from Ethiopia with a wealth of treasures.\n\nAfter the brilliant festivals the invalid King, with his new wife, was to\ngive himself up to complete rest for a month in the healthful air of the\ndesert region which surrounded Pithom, far from the tumult of the capital\nand the exhausting duties of government.\n\nThe magnificent shows which were to be expected, and the presence of the\nroyal pair, had attracted thousands of spectators on foot or horseback,\nand by water, and the morning after Bias's return the sea near Clysma was\nswarming with vessels of all kinds and sizes.\n\nIt was more than probable that Philippus, the father, and Thyone, the\nmother of the famous returning Admiral Eumedes, would not fail to be\npresent at his reception on his native soil, and therefore Hermon wished\nto seek out his dear old friends in Heroopolis, where the greeting was to\ntake place, and obtain their advice.\n\nThe boat on which the freedman had come was at the disposal of his master\nand himself. Before Hermon entered it, he took leave, with an agitated\nheart and open hand, of his Amalekite friends and, in spite of the mist\nwhich still obscured everything he beheld, he perceived how reluctantly\nthe simple dwellers in the wilderness saw him depart.\n\nWhen the master and servant entered the boat, in spite of the sturdy\nsailors who manned it, it proved even more difficult than they had feared\nto make any progress; for the whole narrow end of the arm of the sea,\nwhich here extended between Egypt and Arabia Petrea, was covered with war\ngalleys and transports, boats and skiffs. The two most magnificent state\ngalleys from Heroopolis were coming here, bearing the ambassadors who, in\nthe King's name, were to receive the fleet and its commander. Other large\nand small, richly equipped, or unpretending ships and boats were filled\nwith curious spectators.\n\nWhat a gay, animated scene! What brilliant, varied, strange, hitherto\nunseen objects were gathered here: vessels of every form and size, sails\nwhite, brown, and black, and on the state galleys and boats purple, blue,\nand every colour, adorned with more or less costly embroidery! What\nrising and falling of swiftly or slowly moving oars!\n\n\"From Alexandria!\" cried Bias, pointing to a state galley which the King\nwas sending to the commander of the southern fleet.\n\n\"And there,\" remarked Hermon, proud of his regained power of\ndistinguishing one thing from another, and letting his eyes rest on one\nof the returning transports, on whose deck stood six huge African\nelephants, whose trumpeting mingled with the roaring of the lions and\ntigers on the huge freight vessels, and the exulting shouts of the men\nand women in the ships and boats.\n\n\"After the King's heart!\" exclaimed Bias. \"He probably never received at\none time before so large an accession to his collection of rare animals.\nWhat is the transport with the huge lotus flower on the prow probably\nbringing?\"\n\n\"Oh, and the monkeys and parrots over yonder!\" joyously exclaimed the\nAmalekite boy who had been Hermon's guide, and had accompanied him into\nthe boat. Then he suddenly lowered his voice and, fearing that his\ndelight might give pain to the less keen-sighted man whom he loved, he\nasked, \"You can see them, my lord, can't you?\"\n\n\"Certainly, my boy, though less plainly than you do,\" replied Hermon,\nstroking the lad's dark hair.\n\nMeanwhile the admiral's ship had approached the shore.\n\nBias pointed to the poop, where the commander Eumedes was standing\ndirecting the course of the fleet.\n\nAs if moulded in bronze, a man thoroughly equal to his office, he seemed,\nin spite of the shouts, greetings, and acclamations thundering around\nhim, to close his eyes and ears to the vessels thronging about his ship\nand devote himself body and soul to the fulfilment of his duty. He had\njust embraced his father and mother, who had come here to meet him.\n\n\"The King undoubtedly sent by his father the laurel wreath on his\nhelmet,\" observed Bias, pointing to the admiral. \"So many honours while\nhe is still so young! When you went to the wrestling school in\nAlexandria, Eumedes was scarcely eight years older than you, and I\nremember how he preferred you to the others. A sign, and he will notice\nus and allow you to go on his ship, or, at any rate, send us a boat in\nwhich we can enter the canal.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied Hermon. \"My call would disturb him now.\"\n\n\"Then let us make ourselves known to the Lady Thyone or her husband,\" the\nfreedman continued. \"They will certainly take us on their large state\ngalley, from which, though your eyes do not yet see as far as a falcon's,\nnot a ship, not a man, not a movement will escape them.\"\n\nBut Hermon added one more surprise to the many which he had already\ngiven, for he kindly declined Bias's well-meant counsel, and, resting his\nhand on the Amalekite boy's shoulder, said modestly: \"I am no longer the\nHermon whom Eumedes preferred to the others. And the Lady Thyone must not\nbe reminded of anything sad in this festal hour for the mother's heart. I\nshall meet her to-morrow, or the day after, and yet I had intended to let\nno one who is loyal to me look into my healing eyes before Daphne.\"\n\nThen he felt the freedman's hand secretly press his, and it comforted\nhim, after the sorrowful thoughts to which he had yielded, amid the\nshouts of joy ringing around him. How quietly, with what calm dignity,\nEumedes received the well-merited homage, and how disgracefully the false\nfame had bewildered his own senses!\n\nYet he had not passed through the purifying fire of misfortune in vain!\nThe past should not cloud the glad anticipation of brighter days!\n\nDrawing a long breath, he straightened himself into a more erect posture,\nand ordered the men to push the boat from the shore. Then he pressed a\nfarewell kiss on the Amalekite boy's forehead, the lad sprang ashore, and\nthe journey northward began.\n\nAt first the sailors feared that the crowd would be too great, and the\nboat would be refused admission to the canal; but the helmsman succeeded\nin keeping close behind a vessel of medium size, and the Macedonian\nguards of the channel put no obstacle in their countryman's way, while\nboats occupied by Egyptians and other barbarians were kept back.\n\nIn the Bitter Lakes, whose entire length was to be traversed, the ships\nhad more room, and after a long voyage through dazzling sunlight, and\nalong desolate shores, the boat anchored at nightfall at Heroopolis.\n\nHermon and Bias obtained shelter on one of the ships which the sovereign\nhad placed at the disposal of the Greeks who came to participate in the\nfestivals to be celebrated.\n\nBefore his master went to rest, the freedman--whom he had sent out to\nlook for a vessel bound to Pelusium and Alexandria the next day or the\nfollowing one--returned to the ship.\n\nHe had talked with the Lady Thyone, and told Hermon from her that she\nwould visit or send for him the next day, after the festival.\n\nHis own mother, the freedman protested, could not have rejoiced more\nwarmly over the commencement of his recovery, and she would have come\nwith him at once had not Philippus prevented his aged wife, who was\nexhausted by the long journey.\n\nThe next morning the sun poured a wealth of radiant light upon the\ndesert, the green water of the harbour, and the gray and yellow walls of\nthe border fortress.\n\nThree worlds held out their hands to one another on this water way\nsurrounded by the barren wilderness--Egypt, Hellas, and Semitic Asia.\n\nTo the first belonged the processions of priests, who, with images of the\ngods, consecrated vessels, and caskets of relics, took their places at\nthe edge of the harbour. The tawny and black, half-naked soldiers who,\nwith high shields, lances, battle-axes and bows, gathered around\nstrangely shaped standards, joined them, amid the beating of drums and\nblare of trumpets, as if for their protection. Behind them surged a vast\nmultitude of Egyptians and dark-skinned Africans.\n\nOn the other side of the canal the Asiatics were moving to and fro. The\nbest places for spectators had been assigned to the petty kings and\nprinces of tribes, Phoenician and Syrian merchants, and well-equipped,\nrichly armed warriors. Among them thronged owners of herds and seafarers\nfrom the coast. Until the reception began, fresh parties of bearded sons\nof the desert, in floating white bernouse, mounted on noble steeds, were\nconstantly joining the other Asiatics.\n\nThe centre was occupied by the Greeks. The appearance of every individual\nshowed that they were rulers of the land, and that they deserved to be.\nHow free and bold was their bearing! how brightly and joyously sparkled\nthe eyes of these men, whose wreaths of green leaves and bright-hued\nflowers adorned locks anointed for the festivals! Strong and slender,\nthey were conspicuous in their stately grace among the lean Egyptians,\nunbridled in their jests and jeers, and the excitable Asiatics.\n\nNow the blare of trumpets and the roll of drums shook the air like\nechoing lightning and heavy peals of thunder; the Egyptian priests sang a\nhymn of praise to the God King and Goddess Queen, and the aristocratic\npriestesses of the deity tinkled the brass rings on the sistrum. Then a\nchorus of Hellenic singers began a polyphonous hymn, and amid its full,\nmelodious notes, which rose above the enthusiastic shouts of \"Hail!\" from\nthe multitude, King Ptolemy and his sister-wife showed themselves to the\nwaiting throng. Seated on golden thrones borne on the broad shoulders of\ngigantic black Ethiopians, and shaded by lofty canopies, both were raised\nabove the crowd, whom they saluted by gracious gestures.\n\nThe athletic young bearers of the large round ostrich-feather fans which\nprotected them from the sunbeams were followed in ranks by the monarch's\n\"relatives\" and \"friends,\" the dignitaries, the dark and fair-haired\nbands of the guards of Grecian youths and boys, as well as divisions of\nthe picked corps of the Hetairoi, Diadochi, and Epigoni, in beautiful\nplain Macedonian armour.\n\nThey were followed in the most informal manner by scholars from the\nMuseum, many Hellenic artists, and wealthy gentlemen of Alexandria of\nGreek and Jewish origin, whom the King had invited to the festival.\n\nIn his train they went on board the huge galley on which the reception\nwas to take place. Scarcely had the last one stepped on the deck when it\nbegan.\n\nEumedes came from the admiral's galley to the King's. Ptolemy embraced\nhim like a friend, and Arsinoe added a wreath of fresh roses to the\nlaurel crown which the sovereign had sent the day before.\n\nAt the same time thundering plaudits echoed from the walls of the\nfortifications and broke, sometimes rising, sometimes falling, against\nthe ships and masts in the calm water of the harbour.\n\nThe King had little time to lose. Even festal joy must move swiftly.\nThere were many and varied things to be seen and done; but in the course\nof an hour--so ran the order--this portion of the festivities must be\nover, and it was fully obeyed.\n\nThe hands and feet of the woolly-headed blacks who, amid loud\nacclamations, carried on shore the cages in which lions, panthers, and\nleopards shook the bars with savage fury, moved as if they were winged.\nThe slender, dark-brown Ethiopians who led giraffes, apes, gazelles, and\ngreyhounds past the royal pair rushed along as if they were under the\nlash; and the sixty elephants which Eumedes and his men had caught in the\nland of Chatyth moved at a rapid pace past the royal state galley.\n\nAt the sight of them the King joined in the cheers of thousands of voices\non the shore; these giant animals were to him auxiliaries who could put\nto flight a whole corps of hostile cavalry, and Arsinoe-Philadelphus, the\nQueen, sympathized with his pleasure.\n\nShe raised her voice with her royal husband, and it seemed to the\nspectators on the shore as if they had a share in the narrative when she\nlistened to Eumedes's first brief report.\n\nOnly specimens of the gold and ivory, spices and rare woods, juniper\ntrees and skins of animals which the ships brought home could be borne\npast their Majesties, and the black and brown men who carried them moved\nat a breathless rate.\n\nThe sun was still far from the meridian when the royal couple and their\ntrain withdrew from the scene of the reception ceremonial, and drove, in\na magnificent chariot drawn by four horses, to the neighbouring city of\nPithoin, where new entertainments and a long period of rest awaited them.\nHermon had seen, as if through a veil of white mists, the objects that\naroused the enthusiasm of the throng, and so, he said to himself, it had\nbeen during the whole course of his life. Only the surface of the\nphenomena on which he fixed his eyes had been visible to him; he had not\nlearned to penetrate further into their nature, fathom them to their\ndepths, until he became blind.\n\nIf the gods fulfilled his hope, if he regained his vision entirely, and\neven the last mists had vanished, he would hold firmly to the capacity he\nhad gained, and use it in life as well as in art.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nThe messenger from Philippus appeared in the afternoon. It was the young\nhipparch who had studied in Athens and accompanied the commandant of\nPelusium to Tennis the year before. He came charged with the commission\nto convey the artist, in the carriage of the gray-haired comrade of\nAlexander, to the neighbouring city of Pithom, where Philippus, by the\nKing's command, was now residing.\n\nOn the way the hipparch told the sculptor that the Lady Thyone had\nrecently done things unprecedented for a woman of her age.\n\nShe had been present at the founding of the city of Arsinoe, as well as\nat the laying of the corner stone of the temple which was to be\nconsecrated to the new god Serapis in the neighbourhood. The day before\nshe had welcomed her returning son before the entry of the fleet into the\ncanal, and to-day had remained from the beginning to the end of his\nreception by the King, without being unduly wearied.\n\nHer first thought, after the close of the ceremony, had concerned her\nconvalescing young friend. New entertainments, in which the Queen\ncommanded her to participate, awaited her in Pithom, but pleasure at the\nreturn of her famous son appeared to double her power of endurance.\n\nPithom was the sacred name of the temple precincts of the desert city of\nThekut--[The biblical Suchot]--near Heroopolis, where the citizens lived\nand pursued their business.\n\nThe travellers reached the place very speedily. Garlands of flowers and\nhangings adorned the houses. The sacred precinct Pithom, above which\ntowered the magnificently restored temple of the god Turn, was also still\nadorned with many superb ones, as well as lofty masts, banners, and\ntriumphal arches.\n\nBefore they reached it the equipage passed the sumptuous tents which had\nbeen erected for the royal pair and their attendants. If Hermon had not\nknown how long the monarch intended to remain here, their size and number\nwould have surprised him.\n\nA regular messenger and carrier-dove service had been established between\nAlexandria and Pithom for the period of Ptolemy's relaxation; and the\nsovereign was accompanied not only by several of the chief councillors\nand secretaries, but artists and some of the Museum scientists with whom\nhe was on specially intimate terms, who were to adorn the festival on the\nfrontier with their presence, and cheer the invalid King, who needed\nentertainment. Singers and actors also belonged to the train.\n\nAs they passed the encampment of the troops who accompanied the\nsovereign, the hipparch could show Hermon a magnificent military\nspectacle.\n\nHeroopolis was fortified, and belonged to the military colonies which\nAlexander the Great had established throughout all Egypt in order to win\nit over more quickly to Grecian customs. A Hellenic phalanx and Libyan\nmercenaries formed the garrison there, but at Pithom the King had\ngathered the flower of his troops around him, and this circumstance\nshowed how little serious consideration the cautious ruler, who usually\ncarefully regarded every detail, gave to the war with Cyrene, in which he\ntook no personal part. The four thousand Gauls whom he had sent across\nthe frontier as auxiliary troops promised to become perilous to the foe,\nwho was also threatened in the rear by one of the most powerful Libyan\ntribes.\n\nTherefore, the artist was assured by his military companion, Philadelphus\ncould let the campaign take its course, and permit himself the brief\nperiod of rest in this strangely chosen place, which the leeches had\nadvised.\n\nThe house where the aged couple lived with their son, Admiral Eumedes,\nwas on the edge of the precincts of the temple. It belonged to the most\ndistinguished merchant in the place, and consisted of a large open\ncourtyard in the form of a square, surrounded by the building and its\ncommunicating wings.\n\nWhen the hipparch led Hermon into this place a number of people had\nalready assembled there. Soldiers and sailors stood in groups in the\ncentre, awaiting the orders of the old general and his subordinate\nofficers. Messengers and slaves, coming and going on various errands,\nwere crossing it, and on the shady side benches and chairs stood under a\nlight awning. Most of these were occupied by visitors who came to\ncongratulate the mother of the fame-crowned admiral.\n\nThyone was reclining on a divan in their midst, submitting with a sigh to\nthe social duties which her high position imposed upon her.\n\nHer face was turned toward the large doorway of the main entrance, while\nshe sometimes greeted newly introduced guests, sometimes bade farewell to\ndeparting ones, and meanwhile answered and asked questions.\n\nShe had been more wearied by the exertions of the last few days than her\nanimated manner revealed. Yet as soon as Hermon, leaning on the young\nhipparch's arm, approached her, she rose and cordially extended both\nhands to him. True, the recovering man was still unable to see her\nfeatures distinctly, but he felt the maternal kindness with which she\nreceived him, and what his eyes could not distinguish his ears taught him\nin her warm greetings. His heart dilated and, after he had kissed her\ndear old hand more than once with affectionate devotion, she led him\namong her guests and presented him to them as the son of her dearest\nfriend.\n\nA strange stir ran through the assembled group, nearly all whose members\nbelonged to the King's train, and the low whispers and murmurs around him\nrevealed to Hermon that the false wreaths he wore had by no means been\nforgotten in this circle.\n\nA painful feeling of discomfort overwhelmed the man accustomed to the\nsilence of the desert, and a voice within cried with earnest insistence,\n\"Away from here!\"\n\nBut he had no time to obey it; an unusually tall, broad-shouldered man,\nwith a thick gray beard and grave, well-formed features, in whom he\nthought he recognised the great physician Erasistratus, approached\nThyone, and asked, \"The recluse from the desert with restored sight?\"\n\n\"The same,\" replied the matron, and whispered to the other, who was\nreally the famous scientist and leech whom Hermon had desired to seek in\nAlexandria. \"Exhaustion will soon overcome me, and how many important\nmatters I had to discuss with you and the poor fellow yonder!\"\n\nThe physician laid his hand on the matron's temples, and, raising his\nvoice, said in a tone of grave anxiety: \"Exhaustion! It would be better\nfor you, honoured lady, to keep your bed.\"\n\n\"Surely and certainly!\" the wife of the chief huntsman instantly\nassented. \"We have already taxed your strength far too long, my noble\nfriend.\"\n\nThis welcome confession produced a wonderful effect upon the other\nvisitors, and very soon the last one had vanished from the space under\nthe awning and the courtyard. Not a single person had vouchsafed Hermon a\ngreeting; for the artist, divested of the highest esteem, had been\ninvolved in the ugly suspicion of having driven his uncle from\nAlexandria, and the monarch was said to have spoken unfavourably of him.\n\nWhen the last one had left the courtyard, the leech exchanged a quick\nglance of understanding, which also included Hermon, with Thyone, and the\nmajordomo received orders to admit no more visitors, while Erasistratus\nexclaimed gaily, \"It is one of the physician's principal duties to keep\nall harmful things--including living ones--from his patient.\"\n\nThen he turned to Hermon and had already begun to question him about his\nhealth, when the majordomo announced another visitor. \"A very\ndistinguished gentleman, apparently,\" he said hastily; \"Herophilus of\nChalcedon, who would not be denied admittance.\"\n\nAgain the eyes of Erasistratus and the matron met, and the former\nhastened toward his professional colleague.\n\nThe two physicians stopped in the middle of the courtyard and talked\neagerly together, while Thyone, with cordial interest, asked Hermon to\ntell her what she had already partially learned through the freedman\nBias.\n\nFinally Erasistratus persuaded the matron, who seemed to have forgotten\nher previous exhaustion, to share the consultation, but the\nconvalescent's heart throbbed faster as he watched the famous leeches.\n\nIf these two men took charge of his case, the most ardent desire of his\nsoul might be fulfilled, and Thyone was certainly trying to induce them\nto undertake his treatment; what else would have drawn her away from him\nbefore she had said even one word about Daphne?\n\nThe sculptor saw, as if through a cloud of dust, the three consulting\ntogether in the centre of the courtyard, away from the soldiers and\nmessengers.\n\nHermon had only seen Erasistratus indistinctly, but before his eyes were\nblinded he had met him beside the sick-bed of Myrtilus, and no one who\nhad once beheld it could forget the manly bearded face, with the grave,\nthoughtful eyes, whose gaze deliberately sought their goal.\n\nThe other also belonged to the great men in the realm of intellect.\nHermon knew him well, for he had listened eagerly in the Museum to the\nlectures of the famous Herophilus, and his image also had stamped itself\nupon his soul.\n\nEven at that time the long, smooth hair of the famous investigator had\nturned gray. From the oval of his closely shaven, well-formed face, with\nthe long, thin, slightly hooked nose, a pair of sparkling eyes had gazed\nwith penetrating keenness at the listeners. Hermon had imagined Aristotle\nlike him, while the bust of Pythagoras, with which he was familiar,\nresembled Erasistratus.\n\nThe convalescent could scarcely expect anything more than beneficial\nadvice from Herophilus; for this tireless investigator rarely rendered\nassistance to the sick in the city, because the lion's share of his time\nand strength were devoted to difficult researches. The King favoured\nthese by placing at his disposal the criminals sentenced to death. In his\nwork of dissection he had found that the human brain was the seat of the\nsoul, and the nerves originated in it.\n\nErasistratus, on the contrary, devoted himself to a large medical\npractice, though science owed him no less important discoveries.\n\nThe circle of artists had heard what he taught concerning the blood in\nthe veins and the air bubbles in the arteries, how he explained the\nprocess of breathing, and what he had found in the investigation of the\nbeating of the heart.\n\nBut he performed his most wonderful work with the knife in his hand as a\nsurgeon. He had opened the body of one of Archias's slaves, who had been\nnursed by Daphne, and cured him after all other physicians had given him\nup.\n\nWhen this man's voice reached Hermon, he repeated to himself the words of\nrefusal with which the great physician had formerly declined to devote\nhis time and skill to him. Perhaps he was right then--and how differently\nhe treated him to-day!\n\nThyone had informed the famous scientist of everything which she knew\nfrom Hermon, and had learned of the last period of his life through Bias.\n\nShe now listened with eager interest, sometimes completing Hermon's\nacknowledgments by an explanatory or propitiating word, as the leeches\nsubjected him to a rigid examination, but the latter felt that his\nstatements were not to serve curiosity, but an honest desire to aid him.\nSo he spoke to them with absolute frankness.\n\nWhen the examination was over, Erasistratus exclaimed to his professional\ncolleague: \"This old woman! Precisely as I would have prescribed. She\nordered the strictest diet with the treatment. She rejected every strong\ninternal remedy, and forbade him wine, much meat, and all kinds of\nseasoning. Our patient was directed to live on milk and the same simple\ngifts of Nature which I would have ordered for him. The herb juice in the\nclever sorceress's salve proved the best remedy. The incantations could\ndo no harm. On the contrary, they often produce a wonderful effect on the\nmind, and from it proceed further.\"\n\nHere Erasistratus asked to have a description of the troubles which still\naffected Hermon's vision, and the passionate eagerness with which the\nleeches gazed into his eyes strengthened the artist's budding hope. Never\nhad he wished more ardently that Daphne was back at his side.\n\nHe also listened with keen attention when the scientists finally\ndiscussed in low tones what they had perceived, and caught the words,\n\"White scar on the cornea,\" \"leucoma,\" and \"operation.\" He also heard\nHerophilus declare that an injury of the cornea by the flame of the torch\nwas the cause of the blindness. In the work which led him to the\ndiscovery of the retina in the eye he had devoted himself sedulously to\nthe organs of sight. This case seemed as if it had been created for his\nfriend's keen knife.\n\nWhat expectations this assurance aroused in the half-cured man, who felt\nas if the goal was already gained, when, shortly after, Erasistratus, the\ngreatest physician of his time, offered to make the attempt in Alexandria\nto remove, by a few little incisions, what still dimmed his impaired\nvision!\n\nHermon, deeply agitated, thanked the leech, and when Thyone perceived\nwhat was passing in his mind she ventured to ask the question whether it\nwould not be feasible to perform the beneficent work here, and, if\npossible, the next day, and the surgeon was ready to fulfil the wish of\nthe matron and the sufferer speedily. He would bring the necessary\ninstruments with him. It only depended upon whether a suitable room could\nbe found in the crowded city, and Thyone believed that such a one could\nnot be lacking in the great building at her disposal.\n\nA short conversation with the steward confirmed this opinion.\n\nThen Erasistratus appointed the next morning for the operation. During\nthe ceremony of consecrating the temple it would be quiet in the house\nand its vicinity. The preliminary fasting which he imposed upon his\npatients Hermon had already undergone.\n\n\"The pure desert air here,\" he added, \"will be of the utmost assistance\nin recovery. The operation is slight, and free from danger. A few days\nwill determine its success. I shall remain here with their Majesties,\nonly\"--and here he hesitated doubtfully--\"where shall I find a\ncompetent assistant?\"\n\nHerophilus looked his colleague in the face with a sly smile, saying, \"If\nyou credit the old man of Chalcedon with the needful skill, he is at your\ndisposal.\"\n\n\"Herophilus!\" cried Thyone, and tears of emotion wet her aged eyes, which\neasily overflowed; but when Hermon tried to give expression to his\nfervent gratitude in words, Erasistratus interrupted him, exclaiming, as\nhe grasped his comrade's hand, \"It honours the general in his purple\nrobe, when he uses the spade in the work of intrenchment.\"\n\nMany other matters were discussed before the professional friends\nwithdrew, promising to go to work early the next morning.\n\nThey kept their word, and while the temple of the god Turn resounded with\nmusic and the chanting of hymns by the priests, whose dying notes entered\nthe windows of the sick-room, while Queen Arsinoe-Philadelphus led the\nprocession, and the King, who was prevented by the gout from entering and\npassing around the sanctuary at her side, ordered a monument to be\nerected in commemoration of this festival, the famous leeches toiled\nbusily.\n\nWhen the music and the acclamations of the crowd died away, their task\nwas accomplished. The great Herophilus had rendered his equally\ndistinguished colleague the aid of an apprentice. When Hermon's lips\nagain tried to pour forth his gratitude, Herophilus interrupted him with\nthe exclamation: \"Use the sight you have regained, young master, in\ncreating superb works of art, and I shall be in your debt, since, with\nlittle trouble, I was permitted to render a service to the whole Grecian\nworld.\"\n\nHermon spent seven long days and nights full of anxious expectation in a\ndarkened room. Bias and a careful old female slave of the Lady Thyone\nwatched him faithfully. Philippus, his wife, and his famous son Eumedes\nwere allowed to pay him only brief visits; but Erasistratus watched the\nsuccess of the operation every morning. True, it had been by no means\ndangerous, and certainly would not have required his frequent visits, but\nit pleased the investigator, reared in the school of Stoics, to watch how\nthis warm-blooded young artist voluntarily submitted to live in accord\nwith reason and Nature--the guiding stars of his own existence.\n\nBut Hermon opened his soul to his learned friend, and what Erasistratus\nthus learned strengthened the conviction of this great alleviator of\nphysical pain that suffering and knowledge of self were the best\nphysicians for the human soul. The scientist, who saw in the arts the\nnoblest ornament of mortal life, anticipated with eager interest Hermon's\nfuture creative work.\n\nOn the seventh day the leech removed the bandage from his patient's eyes,\nand the cry of rapture with which Hermon clasped him in his arms richly\nrewarded him for his trouble and solicitude.\n\nThe restored man beheld in sharp, clear, undimmed outlines everything at\nwhich the physician desired him to look.\n\nNow Erasistratus could write to his friend Herophilus in Alexandria that\nthe operation was successful.\n\nThe sculptor was ordered to avoid the dazzling sunlight a fortnight\nlonger, then he might once more use his eyes without restriction, and\nappeal to the Muse to help in creating works of art.\n\nThyone was present at this explanation. After she had conquered the great\nemotion which for a time sealed her lips, her first question, after the\nphysician's departure, was: \"And Nemesis? She too, I think, has fled\nbefore the new light?\"\n\nHermon pressed her hand still more warmly, exclaiming with joyous\nconfidence: \"No, Thyone! True, I now have little reason to fear the\navenging goddess who pursues the criminal, but all the more the other\nNemesis, who limits the excess of happiness. Will she not turn her swift\nwheel, when I again, with clear eyes, see Daphne, and am permitted to\nwork in my studio once more with keen eyes and steady hand?\"\n\nNow the barriers which had hitherto restricted Hermon's social\nintercourse also fell. Eumedes, the commander of the fleet, often visited\nhim, and while exchanging tales of their experiences they became friends.\n\nWhen Hermon was alone with Thyone and her gray-haired husband, the\nconversation frequently turned upon Daphne and her father.\n\nThen the recovered artist learned to whom Archias owed his escape from\nbeing sentenced to death and having his property confiscated. Papers,\nundeniably genuine, had proved what large sums had been advanced by the\nmerchant during the period of the first Queen Arsinoe's conspiracy, and\nenvious foes had done their best to prejudice the King and his\nsister-wife against Archias. Then the gray-haired hero fearlessly\ninterceded for his friend, and the monarch did not remain deaf to his\nrepresentations. King Ptolemy was writing the history of the conqueror of\nthe world, and needed the aged comrade of Alexander, the sole survivor\nwho had held a prominent position in the great Macedonian's campaigns. It\nmight be detrimental to his work, on which he set great value, if he\nangered the old warrior, who was a living source of history. Yet the King\nwas still ill-disposed to the merchant, for while he destroyed Archias's\ndeath sentence which had been laid before him for his signature, he said\nto Philippus: \"The money-bag whose life I give you was the friend of my\nfoe. Let him beware that my arm does not yet reach him from afar!\"\n\nNay, his resentment went so far that he refused to receive Hermon, when\nEumedes begged permission to present the artist whose sight had been so\nwonderfully restored.\n\n\"To me he is still the unjustly crowned conspirator,\" Philadelphus\nreplied. \"Let him create the remarkable work which I formerly expected\nfrom him, and perhaps I shall have a somewhat better opinion of him, deem\nhim more worthy of our favour.\"\n\nUnder these circumstances it was advisable for Archias and Daphne to\nremain absent from Alexandria, and the experienced couple could only\napprove Hermon's decision to go to Pergamus as soon as Erasistratus\ndismissed him. A letter from Daphne, which reached Thyone's hands at this\ntime, increased the convalescent's already ardent yearning to the highest\npitch. The girl entreated her maternal friend to tell her frankly the\ncondition of her lover's health. If he had recovered, he would know how\nto find her speedily; if the blindness was incurable, she would come\nherself to help him bear the burden of his darkened existence. Chrysilla\nwould accompany her, but she could leave her father alone in Pergamus a\nfew months without anxiety, for he had a second son there in his nephew\nMyrtilus, and had found a kind friend in Philetaerus, the ruler of the\ncountry.\n\nFrom this time Hermon daily urged Erasistratus to grant him entire\nliberty, but the leech steadfastly refused, though he knew whither his\nyoung friend longed to go.\n\nNot until the beginning of the fourth week after the operation did he\nhimself lead Hermon into the full sunlight, and when the recovered artist\ncame out of the house he raised his hands in mute prayer, gushing from\nthe inmost depths of his heart.\n\nThe King was to return to Alexandria in a few days, and at the same time\nPhilippus and Thyone were going back to Pelusium. Hermon wished to\naccompany them there and sail thence on a ship bound for Pergamus.\n\nWith Eumedes he visited the unfamiliar scenes around him, and his newly\nrestored gift of sight presented to him here many things that formerly he\nwould scarcely have noticed, but which now filled him with grateful joy.\nGratitude, intense gratitude, had taken possession of his whole being.\nThis feeling mastered him completely and seemed to be fostered and\nstrengthened by every breath, every heart throb, every glance into his\nown soul and the future.\n\nBesides, many beauties, nay, even many marvels, presented themselves to\nhis restored eyes. The whole wealth of the magic of beauty, intellect,\nand pleasure in life, characteristic of the Greek nature, appeared to\nhave followed King Ptolemy and Queen Arsinoe-Philadelphus hither. Gardens\nhad been created on the arid, sandy soil, whose gray and yellow surface\nextended in every direction, the water on the shore of the canal which\nunited Pithom with the Nile not sufficing to render it possible to make\neven a narrow strip of arable land. Fresh water flowed from beautiful\nfountains adorned with rich carvings, and the pure fluid filled large\nporphyry and marble basins. Statues, single and in groups, stood forth in\nharmonious arrangement against green masses of leafage, and Grecian\ntemples, halls, and even a theatre, rapidly constructed in the noblest\nforms from light material, invited the people to devotion, to the\nenjoyment of the most exquisite music, and to witness the perfect\nperformance of many a tragedy and comedy.\n\nStatues surrounded the hurriedly erected palaestra where the Ephebi every\nmorning practised their nude, anointed bodies in racing, wrestling, and\nthrowing the discus. What a delight it was to Hermon to feast his eyes\nupon these spectacles! What a stimulus to the artist, so long absorbed in\nhis own thoughts, who had so recently returned from the wilderness to the\nworld of active life, when he was permitted, in Erasistratus's tent, to\nlisten to the great scholars who had accompanied the King to the desert!\nOnly the regret that Daphne was not present to share his pleasure clouded\nHermon's enjoyment, when Eumedes related to his parents, himself, and a\nfew chosen friends the adventures encountered, and the experiences\ngathered in distant Ethiopia, on land and water, in battle and the chase,\nas investigator and commander.\n\nThe utmost degree of variety had entered into the simplicity of the\nmonotonous desert, the most refined abundance for the intellect and the\nneed of beauty appeared amid its barrenness.\n\nThe poet Callimachus had just arrived with a new chorus of singers,\ntablets by Antiphilus and Nicias had come to beautify the last days of\nthe residence in the desert--when doves, the birds of Aphrodite, flew\nwith the speed of lightning into Pithom, but instead of bringing a new\nmessage of love and announcing the approach of fresh pleasure, they bore\nterrible tidings which put joy to flight and stifled mirthfulness.\n\nThe unbridled greed of rude barbarians had chosen Alexandria for its\ngoal, and startled the royal pair and their chosen companions from the\nsea of pleasure where they would probably have remained for weeks.\n\nThe four thousand Gauls who had been obtained to fight against Cyrene\nwere in the act of rushing rapaciously upon the richest city in the\nworld. The most terrible danger hung like a black cloud over the capital\nfounded by Alexander, whose growth had been so rapid. True, General\nSatvrus asserted that he was strong enough, with the troops at his\ndisposal, to defeat the formidable hordes; but a second dove, sent by the\nepitropus who had remained in Alexandria, alluded to serious disaster\nwhich it would scarcely be possible to avert.\n\nThe doves now flew swiftly to and fro; but before the third arrived,\nEumedes, the commander of the fleet just from Ethiopia, was already on\nthe way to Alexandria with all the troops assembled on the frontier.\n\nThe King and Queen, with the corps of pages and the corps of youths,\nentered the boats waiting for them to return, drawn by teams of four\nswift horses, to Memphis, to await within the impregnable fortress of the\nWhite Castle the restoration of security in the capital.\n\nThe Greeks prized the most valiant fearlessness so highly that no shadow\ncould be suffered to rest upon the King's, and therefore the monarch's\nhurried departure was made in a way which permitted no thought of flight,\nand merely resembled impatient yearning for new festivals and the earnest\ndesire to fulfil grave duties in another portion of the kingdom.\n\nMany of the companions of the royal pair, among them Erasistratus,\naccompanied them. Hermon bade him farewell with a troubled heart, and the\nleech, too, parted with regret from the artist to whom, a year before, he\nhad refused his aid.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nHermon went, with Philippus and Thyone, on board the ship which was to\nconvey them through the new canal to Pelusium, where the old commandant\nhad to plan all sorts of measures. In the border fortress the artist was\nagain obliged to exercise patience, for no ship bound to Pergamus or\nLesbos could be found in the harbour. Philippus had as much work as he\ncould do, but all his arrangements were made when carrier doves announced\nthat the surprise intended by the Gauls had been completely thwarted, and\nhis son Eumedes was empowered to punish them.\n\nThe admiral would take his fleet to the Sebennytic mouth of the Nile.\n\nAnother dove came from King Ptolemy, and summoned the old general at once\nto the capital. Philippus resolved to set off without delay and, as the\nway led past that mouth of the Nile, met his son on the voyage.\n\nHermon must accompany him and his wife to Alexandria, whence, without\nentering the city, he could sail for Pergamus; ships bound to all the\nports in the Mediterranean were always in one of the harbours of the\ncapital. A galley ready to weigh anchor was constantly at the disposal of\nthe commandant of the fortress, and the next noon the noble pair, with\nHermon and his faithful Bias, went on board the Galatea.\n\nThe weather was dull, and gray clouds were sweeping across the sky over\nthe swift vessel, which hugged the coast, and, unless the wind shifted,\nwould reach the narrow tongue of land pierced by the Sebennytic mouth of\nthe Nile before sunrise.\n\nThough the general and his wife went to rest early, Hermon could not\nendure the close air of the cabin. Wrapped in his cloak he went on deck.\nThe moon, almost full, was sailing in the sky, sometimes covered by dark\nclouds, sometimes leaving them behind. Like a swan emerging from the\nshadow of the thickets along the shore upon the pure bosom of the lake,\nit finally floated into the deep azure of the radiant firmament. Hermon's\nheart swelled.\n\nHow he rejoiced that he was again permitted to behold the starry sky, and\nsatiate his soul with the beauty of creation! What delight it gave him\nthat the eternal wanderers above were no longer soulless forms, that he\nagain saw in the pure silver disk above friendly Selene, in the rolling\nsalt waves the kingdom of Poseidon! To-morrow, when the deep blue water\nwas calm, he would greet the sea-god Glaucus, and when snowy foam crowned\nthe crests of the waves, white-armed Thetis. The wind was no longer an\nempty sound to him; no, it, too, came from a deity. All Nature had\nregained a new, divine life. Doubtless he felt much nearer to his\nchildhood than before, but he was infinitely less distant from the\neternal divinity. And all the forms, so full of meaning, which appeared\nto him from Nature, and from every powerful emotion of his own soul, were\nwaiting to be represented by his art in the noblest of forms, those of\nhuman beings. There were few with whose nature he had not become familiar\nin the darkness and solitude that once surrounded him.\n\nWhen he began to create again, he had only to summon them, and he\nawaited, with the suspense of the general who is in command of new troops\non the eve of battle, the success of his own work after the great\ntransformation which had taken place in him.\n\nWhat a stress and tumult!\n\nHe had controlled it since the first hour when he regained his full\nvision. He would fain have transformed the moon into the sun, the ship\ninto the studio, and begun to model.\n\nHe knew, too, what he desired to create.\n\nHe would model an Apollo trampling under foot the slain dragon of\ndarkness.\n\nHe would succeed in this work now. And as he looked up and saw Selene\njust emerging again from the black cloud island, the thought entered his\nmind that it was a moonlight night like this when all the unspeakably\nterrible misfortune occurred--which was now past.\n\nYet neither the calm wanderer above nor a resentful woman had exposed him\nto the persecution of Nemesis. In the stillness of the desert he had\nperceived what had brought all this terrible suffering upon him; but he\nwould not repeat it to himself now, for he felt within his soul the power\nto remain faithful to his best self in the future.\n\nWith clear eyes he gazed keenly and blithely at the new life. Nothing,\nleast of all, futile self-torturing regret for faults committed, should\ncloud the fair morning dawning anew for him, which summoned him to active\nwork, to gratitude and love.\n\nUttering a sigh of relief, he paced the deck--now brilliantly illuminated\nby silvery light--with long strides.\n\nThe moon above his head reminded him of Ledscha. He was no longer angry\nwith her. The means by which she had intended to destroy him had been\ntransformed into a benefit, and while in the desert he had perceived how\noften man finally blesses, as the highest gain, what he at first regarded\nas the most cruel affliction.\n\nHow distinctly the image of the Biamite again stood before his agitated\nsoul!\n\nHad he not loved her once?\n\nOr how had it happened that, though his heart was Daphne's, and hers\nalone, he had felt wounded and insulted when his Bias, who was leaning\nover the railing of the deck yonder, gazing at the glittering waves, had\ninformed him that Ledscha had been accompanied in her flight from her\nunloved husband by the Gaul whose life he, Hermon, had saved? Was this\ndue to jealousy or merely wounded vanity at being supplanted in a heart\nwhich he firmly believed belonged, though only in bitter hate, solely to\nhim?\n\nShe certainly had not forgotten him, and while the remembrance of her\nblended with the yearning for Daphne which never left him, he sat down\nand gazed out into the darkness till his head drooped on his breast.\n\nThen a dream showed the Biamite to the slumbering man, yet no longer in\nthe guise of a woman, but as the spider Arachne. She increased before his\neyes to an enormous size and alighted upon the pharos erected by\nSostratus. Uninjured by the flames of the lighthouse, above which she\nhovered, she wove a net of endlessly long gray threads over the whole\ncity of Alexandria, with its temples, palaces, and halls, harbours and\nships, until Daphne suddenly appeared with a light step and quietly cut\none after the other.\n\nSuddenly a shrill whistle aroused him. It was the signal of the\nflute-player to relieve the rowers.\n\nA faint yellow line was now tingeing the eastern horizon of the gray,\ncloudy sky. At his left extended the flat, dull-brown coast line, which\nseemed to be lower than the turbid waves of the restless sea. The cold\nmorning wind was blowing light mists over the absolutely barren shore.\nNot a tree, not a bush, not a human dwelling was to be seen in this\ndreary wilderness. Wherever the eye turned, there was nothing but sand\nand water, which united at the edge of the land. Long lines of surf\npoured over the arid desert, and, as if repelled by the desolation of\nthis strand, returned to the wide sea whence they came.\n\nThe shrill screams of the sea-gulls behind the ship, and the hoarse,\nhungry croaking of the ravens on the shore blended with the roaring of\nthe waves. Hermon shuddered at this scene. Shivering, he wrapped his\ncloak closer around him, yet he did not go to the protecting cabin, but\nfollowed the nauarch, who pointed out to him the numerous vessels which,\nin a wide curve, surrounded the place where the Sebennytic arm of the\nNile pierced the tongue of land to empty into the sea.\n\nThe experienced seaman did not know what ships were doing there, but it\nwas hardly anything good; for ravens in a countless multitude were to be\nseen on the shore and all moved toward the left.\n\nPhilippus's appearance on deck interrupted the nauarch. He anxiously\nshowed the birds to the old hero also, and the latter's only reply was,\n\"Watch the helm and sails!\"\n\nYonder squadron, Philippus said to the artist, was a part of his son's\nfleet; what brought it there was a mystery to him too.\n\nAfter the early meal, the galley of Eumedes approached his father's\ntrireme. Two other galleys, not much inferior in size, were behind, and\nprobably fifty smaller vessels were moving about the mouth of the Nile\nand the whole dreary tongue of land.\n\nAll belonged to the royal war fleet, and the deck of every one was\ncrowded with armed soldiers.\n\nOn one a forest of lances bristled in the murky air, and upon its\nsouthward side a row of archers, each man holding his bow in his hand,\nstood shoulder to shoulder.\n\nAt what mark were their arrows to be aimed? The men on board the Galatea\nsaw it distinctly, for the shore was swarming with human figures, here\nstanding crowded closely together, like horses attacked by a pack of\nwolves; yonder running, singly or in groups, toward the sea or into the\nland. Dark spots on the light sand marked the places where others had\nthrown themselves on the ground, or, kneeling, stretched out their arms\nas if in defence.\n\nWho were the people who populated this usually uninhabited, inhospitable\nplace so densely and in so strange a manner?\n\nThis could not be distinguished from the Galatea with the naked eye, but\nPhilippus thought that they were the Gauls whose punishment had been\nintrusted to his son, and it soon proved that the old general was right;\nfor just as the Galatea was approaching the shore, a band of twenty or\nthirty men plunged into the sea. They were Gauls. The light complexions\nand fair and red bristling hair showed this--Philippus knew them, and\nHermon remembered the hordes of men who had rushed past him on the ride\nto Tennis.\n\nBut the watchers were allowed only a short time for observation; brief\nshouts of command rang from the ships near them, long bows were raised in\nthe air, and one after another of the light-hued forms in the water threw\nup its arms, sprang up, or sank motionless into the waves around them,\nwhich were dyed with a crimson stain.\n\nThe artist shuddered; the gray-haired general covered his head with his\ncloak, and the Lady Thyone followed his example, uttering her son's name\nin a tone of loud lamentation.\n\nThe nauarch pointed to the black birds in the air and close above the\nshore and the water; but the shout, \"A boat from the admiral's galley!\"\nsoon attracted the attention of the voyagers on the Galatea in a new\ndirection.\n\nThirty powerful rowers were urging the long, narrow boat toward them.\nSometimes raised high on the crest of a mountain wave, sometimes sinking\ninto the hollow, it completed its trip, and Eumedes mounted a swinging\nrope ladder to the Galatea's deck as nimbly as a boy.\n\nHere the young commander of the fleet hastened toward his parents. His\nmother sobbed aloud at his anything but cheerful greeting; Philippus said\nmournfully, \"I have heard nothing yet, but I know all.\"\n\n\"Father,\" replied the admiral, and raising the helmet from his head,\ncovered with brown curls, he added mournfully: \"First as to these men\nhere. It will teach you to understand the other terrible things. Your\nUncle Archias's house was destroyed; yonder men were the criminals.\"\n\n\"In the capital!\" Philippus exclaimed furiously, and Hermon cried in no\nless vehement excitement: \"How did my uncle get the ill will of these\nmonsters? But as the vengeance is in your hands, they will atone for this\nbreach of the peace!\"\n\n\"Severely, perhaps too severely,\" replied Eumedes gloomily, and Philippus\nasked his son how this evil deed could have happened, and the purport of\nthe King's command.\n\nThe admiral related what had occurred in the capital since his departure\nfrom Pithom.\n\nThe four thousand Gauls who had been sent by King Antiochus to the\nEgyptian army as auxiliary troops against Cyrene refused, before reaching\nParaetonium, on the western frontier of the Egyptian kingdom, to obey\ntheir Greek commanders. As they tried to force them to continue their\nmarch, the barbarians left them bound in the road. They spared their\nlives, but rushed with loud shouts of exultation toward Alexandria, which\nwas close at hand.\n\nThey had learned that the city was almost stripped of troops, and the\nmost savage instinct urged them toward the wealthy capital.\n\nWithout encountering any resistance, they broke through the necropolis\ninto Alexandria, crossed the Draco canal, and marched past the unfinished\nTemple of Serapis through the Rhakotis. At the Canopic Way they turned\neastward and rushed through this main artery of traffic till, in the\nBrucheium, they hastened in a northerly direction toward the sea.\n\nSouth of the Theatre of Dionysus they halted. One division turned toward\nthe market-place, another toward the royal palaces.\n\nUntil they reached the Brucheium the hordes, so eager for booty, had\nrefrained from plunder and pillage.\n\nTheir whole strength was to be reserved, as the examination proved, for\nthe attack upon the royal palaces. Several people who were thoroughly\nfamiliar with Alexandria had acted as guides.\n\nThe instigator of the mutiny was said to be a Gallic captain who had\ntaken part in the surprise of Delphi, but, having ventured to punish\ndisobedient soldiers, he was killed. A bridge-builder from the ranks, and\nhis wife, who was not of Gallic blood, had taken his place.\n\nThis woman, a resolute and obstinate but rarely beautiful creature, when\nthe division that was to attack the royal palaces was marching past the\nhouse which Hermon had occupied as the heir of Myrtilus, pressed forward\nherself across the threshold, to order the mutineers who followed her to\ndestroy and steal whatever came in their way. The bridge-builder went to\nthe market-place, and in pillaging the wealthy merchants' houses began\nwith Archias's. Meanwhile it was set on fire and, with the large\nwarehouses adjoining it, was burned to the foundation walls.\n\nBut the robbers were to obtain no permanent success, either in the\nmarket-place or in Myrtilus's house, which was diagonally opposite to the\npalaestra; for General Satyrus, at the first tidings of their approach,\nhad collected all the troops at his disposal and the crews of several war\ngalleys, and imprisoned the division in the market-place as though in a\nmouse-trap. The bands to which the woman belonged were forced by the\ncavalry into the palaestra and the neighbouring Maander, and kept there\nuntil Eumedes brought re-enforcements and compelled the Gauls to\nsurrender.\n\nThe King sent from Memphis the order to take the vanquished men to the\ntongue of land where they now were, and could easily be imprisoned\nbetween the sea and the Sebennytic inland lake. They were guilty of death\nto the last man, and starvation was to perform the executioner's office\nupon them.\n\nHe, Eumedes, the admiral concluded, was in the King's service, and must\ndo what his commander in chief ordered.\n\n\"Duty,\" sighed Philippus; \"yet what a punishment!\"\n\nHe held out his hand to his son as he spoke, but the Lady Thyone shook\nher head mournfully, saying: \"There are four thousand over yonder; and\nthe philosopher and historian on the throne, the admirable art critic who\nbestows upon his capital and Egypt all the gifts of peace, who\nunderstands how to guard and develop it better than any one else--yet\nwhat influence the gloomy powers exert upon him!\"\n\nHere she hesitated, and went on in a low whisper: \"The blood of two\nbrothers stains his hand and his conscience. The oldest, to whom the\nthrone would have belonged, he exiled. And our friend, Demetrius\nPhalereus, his father's noble councillor! Because you, Philippus,\ninterceded for him--though you were in a position of command, because\nPtolemy knows your ability--you were sent to distant Pelusium, and there\nwe should be still--\"\n\n\"Guard your tongue, wife!\" interrupted the old general in a tone of grave\nrebuke. \"The vipers on the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt symbolize the\nKing's swift power over life and death. To the Egyptians the Philadelphi,\nPtolemy and Arsinoe, are gods, and what cause have we to reproach them\nexcept that they use their omnipotence?\"\n\n\"And, mother,\" Eumedes eagerly added, \"do not the royal pair on the\nthrone merely follow the example of far greater ones among the immortal\ngods? When the very Gauls who are devoted to death yonder, greedy for\nbooty, attacked Delphi, four years ago, it was the august brother and\nsister, Apollo and Artemis, who sent them to Hades with their arrows,\nwhile Zeus hurled his thunderbolts at them and ordered heavy boulders to\nfall upon them from the shaken mountains. Many of the men over there fled\nfrom destruction at Delphi. Unconverted, they added new crimes to the old\nones, but now retribution will overtake them. The worse the crime, the\nmore bloody the vengeance.\n\n\"Even the last must die, as my sovereign commands; only I shall determine\nthe mode of death according to my own judgment, and at the same time,\nmother, feel sure of your approval. Instead of lingering starvation, I\nshall use swift arrows. Now you know what you were obliged to learn. It\nwould be wise, mother, for you to leave this abode of misery. Duty\nsummons me to my ship.\" He held out his hand to his parents and Hermon as\nhe spoke, but the latter clasped it firmly, exclaiming in a tone of\npassionate emotion, \"What is the name of the woman to whom, though she is\nnot of their race, the lawless barbarians yielded?\"\n\n\"Ledscha,\" replied the admiral.\n\nHermon started as if stung by a scorpion, and asked, \"Where is she?\"\n\n\"On my ship,\" was the reply, \"if she has not yet been taken ashore with\nthe others.\"\n\n\"To be killed with the pitiable band there?\" cried Thyone angrily,\nlooking her son reproachfully in the face.\n\n\"No, mother,\" replied Eumedes. \"She will be taken to the others under the\nescort of trustworthy men in order, perhaps, to induce her to speak. It\nmust be ascertained whether there were accomplices in the attack on the\nroyal palaces, and lastly whence the woman comes.\"\n\n\"I can tell you that myself,\" replied Hermon. \"Allow me to accompany you.\nI must see and speak to her.\"\n\n\"The Arachne of Tennis?\" asked Thyone. Hermon's mute nod of assent\nanswered the question, but she exclaimed: \"The unhappy woman, who called\ndown the wrath of Nemesis upon you, and who has now herself fallen a prey\nto the avenging goddess. What do you want from her?\"\n\nHermon bent down to his old friend and whispered, \"To lighten her\nterrible fate, if it is in my power.\"\n\n\"Go, then,\" replied the matron, and turned to her son, saying, \"Let\nHermon tell you how deeply this woman has influenced his life, and, when\nher turn comes, think of your mother.\"\n\n\"She is a woman,\" replied Eumedes, \"and the King's mandate only commands\nme to punish men. Besides, I promised her indulgence if she would make a\nconfession.\"\n\n\"And she?\" asked Hermon.\n\n\"Neither by threats nor promises,\" answered the admiral, \"can this\nsinister, beautiful creature be induced to speak.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" said the artist, and a smile of satisfaction flitted\nover his face.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nA short row took Hermon and Eumedes the admiral's galley. Ledscha had\nalready been carried ashore. There she was to be confronted with the men\nwho were suspected of having showed the mutineers the way to the city.\n\nAbsorbed in his own thoughts, Hermon waited for the admiral, who at first\nwas claimed by one official duty after another. The artist's thoughts\nlingered with Daphne. To her father the loss of his house, nay, perhaps\nof his wealth, would seem almost unendurable, yet even were he beggared,\nprovision was made for him and his daughter. He, Hermon, could again\ncreate, as in former days, and what happiness it would be if he were\npermitted to repay the man to whom he owed so much for the kindness\nbestowed upon him!\n\nHe longed to give to the woman he loved again and again, and it would\nhave seemed to him a favour of fortune if the flames had consumed even\nthe last drachm of her wealthy father.\n\nCompletely engrossed by these reflections, he forgot the horrors before\nhim, but when he raised his eyes and saw the archers continuing their\nterrible work he shuddered.\n\nThe admiral's galley lay so near the shore that he distinguished the\nfigures of the Gauls separately. Some, obeying the instinct of self\npreservation, fled from the places which could be reached by the arrows\nof the archers on the ships, but others pressed toward the shafts. A\nfrightful, heart-rending spectacle, yet how rich in food for the\nlong-darkened eyes of the artist! Two brothers of unusual height, who,\nnude like all their comrades in death, offered their broad, beautifully\narched chests to the arrows, would not leave his memory. It was a\nterrible sight, yet grand and worthy of being wrested from oblivion by\nart, and it impressed itself firmly on his mind.\n\nAfter noon Eumedes could at last devote himself to his young friend.\nAlthough the wind drove showers of fine rain before it, the admiral\nremained on deck with the sculptor. What cared they for the inclement\nweather, while one was recalling to mind and telling his friend how the\nhate of an offended woman had unchained the gloomy spirits of revenge\nupon him, the other, who had defied death on land water, listened to his\nstory, sometimes in surprise, sometimes with silent horror?\n\nAfter the examination to which she had been subjected, Eumedes had\nbelieved Ledscha to be as Hermon described her. He found nothing petty in\nthis beautiful, passionate creature who avenged the injustice inflicted\nupon her as Fate took vengeance, who, with unsparing energy, anticipated\nthe Nemesis to whom she appealed, compelled men's obedience, and instead\nof enriching herself cast away the talents extorted to bring down fresh\nruin upon the man who had transformed her love to hate.\n\nWhile the friends consulted together with lowered voices, their\nconjecture became conviction that it was the Biamite's inextinguishable\nhate which had led her to the Gauls and induced her to share the attack\nupon the capital.\n\nThe assault upon the houses of Archias and Myrtilus was a proof of this,\nfor the latter was still believed to be Hermon's property. She had\nprobably supposed that the merchant's palace sheltered Daphne, in whom,\neven at Tennis, she had seen and hated her successful rival.\n\nOnly the undeniable fact that Ledscha was the bridge-builder's companion\npresented an enigma difficult to solve. The freedman Bias had remained on\nPhilippus's galley, and could not now be appealed to for a confirmation\nof his assertions, but Hermon distinctly remembered his statement that\nLedscha had allowed the Gaul, after he had received the money intended\nfor him, to take her from Pitane to Africa.\n\nWhen the short November day was drawing to a close, and the friends had\nstrengthened themselves with food and drink, the rain ceased and, as the\nsun set, its after-glow broke through the rifts and fissures in the black\nwall of clouds in the western horizon like blazing flames in the\nconflagration of a solid stone building. Yet the glow vanished swiftly\nenough. The darkness of night spread over the sea and the arid strip of\nland in the south, but the greedy croaking of the ravens and vultures\nechoed more and more loudly from the upper air. From time to time the\noutbursts of rage and agony of despairing men, and horrible jeering\nlaughter, drowned the voices of the flocks of birds and the roaring of\nthe tempestuous sea. Sometimes, too, a sharp word of command, or a signal\nheard for a long distance, pierced through the awful sounds.\n\nHere and there, and at last everywhere on the squadron, which surrounded\nthe tongue of land in a shallow curve, dim lights began to appear on the\nmasts and prows of the ships; but darkness brooded over the coast. Only\nin the three fortified guardhouses, which had been hastily erected here,\nthe feeble light of a lantern illumined the gloom.\n\nTwinkling lights also appeared in the night heavens between the swiftly\nflying clouds. One star after another began to adorn the blue islands in\nthe cloudy firmament, and at last the full moon burst through the heavy\nbanks of dark clouds, and shone in pure brilliancy above their heads,\nlike a huge silver vessel in the black catafalque of a giant.\n\nAt the end of the first hour after sunset Eumedes ordered the boat to be\nmanned.\n\nArmed as if for battle, he prepared for the row to the scene of misery,\nand requested Hermon to buckle a coat of mail under his chlamys and put\non the sword he gave him. True, a division of reliable Macedonian\nwarriors was to accompany them, and Ledscha was in a well-guarded place,\nyet it might perhaps be necessary to defend themselves against an\noutburst of despair among the condemned prisoners. On the short trip, the\ncrests of the tossing waves sometimes shone with a flickering light,\nwhile elsewhere long shadows spread like dark sails over the sea. The\nflat coast on which both men soon stepped was brightly illumined by the\nmoonbeams, and the forms of the doomed men stood forth, like the black\nfigures on the red background of a vase, upon the yellowish-brown sand on\nwhich they were standing, running, walking, or lying.\n\nAt the western end of the tongue of land a sand hill had been surrounded\nby a wall and moat, guarded by heavily armed soldiers and several\narchers. The level ground below had been made secure against any attack,\nand on the right side was a roof supported by pillars.\n\nThe officials intrusted with the examination of the ringleaders had\nremained during the day in this hastily erected open hut. The latter,\nbound to posts, awaited their sentence.\n\nThe only woman among them was Ledscha, who crouched, unfettered, on the\nground behind the enclosure, which consisted of short stakes fastened by\na rope.\n\nWithout presenting any serious obstacle, it merely indicated how far the\nprisoners might venture to go. Whoever crossed it must expect to be\nstruck down by an arrow from the wall. This earthwork, it is true,\nmenaced those held captive here, but they also owed it a debt of\ngratitude, for it shut from their eyes the horrible incidents on the\nsandy plain between the sea and the inland lake.\n\nThis spot was now made as light as day by the rays of the full moon which\nfloated in the pure azure sky far above the black cloud mountains, like a\nwhite lotus flower on clear waters, and poured floods of silvery radiance\nupon the earth.\n\nEumedes commanded the Macedonians who formed his escort to remain at the\nfortress on the dune, and, pointing out Ledscha by a wave of the hand, he\nwhispered to Hermon: \"By the girdle of Aphrodite! she is terribly\nbeautiful! For whom is the Medea probably brewing in imagination the\npoisoned draught?\"\n\nThen he gave the sculptor permission to promise her immunity from\npunishment if she would consent at least to explain the Gauls' connection\nwith the royal palaces; but Hermon strenuously refused to undertake this\nor a similar commission to Ledscha.\n\nEumedes had expected the denial, and merely expressed to his friend his\ndesire to speak to the Biamite after his interview was over. However\nrefractory she might be, his mother's intercession should benefit her.\nHermon might assure her that he, the commander, meant to deal leniently.\nHe pressed the artist's hand as he spoke, and walked rapidly away to\nascertain the condition of affairs in the other guardhouses.\n\nNever had the brave artist's heart throbbed faster in any danger than on\nthe eve of this meeting; but it was no longer love that thrilled it so\npassionately, far less hate or the desire to let his foe feel that her\nrevenge was baffled.\n\nIt was easy for the victor to exercise magnanimity, and easiest of all\nfor the sculptor in the presence of so beautiful an enemy, and Hermon\nthought he had never seen the Biamite look fairer. How exquisitely\nrounded was the oval, how delicately cut the profile of her face, how\nlarge were the widely separated, sparkling eyes, above which, even in the\npale moonlight, the thick black brows were visible, united under the\nforehead as if for a dark deed to be performed in common!\n\nTime had rather enhanced than lessened the spell of this wonderful young\ncreature. Now she rose from the ground where she had been crouching and\npaced several times up and down the short path at her disposal; but she\nstarted suddenly, for one of the Gauls bound to the posts, in whom Hermon\nrecognised the bridge-builder, Lutarius, called her name, and when she\nturned her face toward him, panted in broken Greek like one overwhelmed\nby despair: \"Once more--it shall be the last time--I beseech you! Lay\nyour hand upon my brow, and if that is too much, speak but one kind word\nto me before all is over! I only want to hear that you do not hate me\nlike a foe and despise me like a dog. What can it cost you? You need only\ntell me in two words that you are sorry for your harshness.\"\n\n\"The same fate awaits us both,\" cried Ledscha curtly and firmly. \"Let\neach take care of himself. When my turn comes and my eyes grow dim in\ndeath, I will thank them that they will not show you to me again, base\nwretch, throughout eternity.\"\n\nLutarius shrieked aloud in savage fury, and tore so frantically at the\nstrong ropes which bound him that the firm posts shook, but Ledscha\nturned away and approached the hut.\n\nShe leaned thoughtfully against one of the pillars that supported the\nroof, and the artist's eyes watched her intently; every movement seemed\nto him noble and worth remembering.\n\nWith her hand shading her brow, she gazed upward to the full moon.\n\nHermon had already delayed speaking to her too long, but he would have\ndeemed it criminal to startle her from this attitude. So must Arachne\nhave stood when the goddess, in unjust anger, raised the weaver's shuttle\nagainst the more skilful mortal; for while Ledscha's brow frowned\nangrily, a triumphant smile hovered around her mouth. At the same time\nshe slightly opened her exquisitely formed lips, and the little white\nteeth which Hermon had once thought so bewitchingly beautiful glittered\nbetween them.\n\nLike the astronomer who fixes his gaze and tries to imprint upon his\nmemory some rare star in the firmament which a cloud is threatening to\nobscure, he now strove to obtain Ledscha's image. He would and could\nmodel her in this attitude, exactly as she stood there, without her veil,\nwhich had been torn from her during the hand-to-hand conflict when she\nwas captured, with her thick, half-loosened tresses falling over her left\nshoulder; nav, even with the slightly hooked nose, which was opposed to\nthe old rule of art that permitted only the straight bridge of the nose\nto be given to beautiful women. Her nature harmonized with the ideal.\neven in the smallest detail; here any deviation from reality must tend to\ninjure the work.\n\nShe remained motionless for minutes in the same attitude, as if she knew\nthat she was posing to an artist; but Hermon gazed at her as if spell\nbound till the fettered Gaul again called her name.\n\nThen she left the supporting pillar, approached the barrier, stopped at\nthe rope which extended from one short stake to another, and gazed at the\nman who was following her outside of the rope.\n\nIt was a Greek who stood directly opposite to her. A black beard adorned\nhis grave, handsome countenance. He, too, had a chlamys, such as she had\nformerly seen on another. Only the short sword, which he wore suspended\nat his right side in the Hellenic fashion, would not suit that other; but\nsuddenly a rush of hot blood crimsoned her face. As if to save herself\nfrom falling, she flung out both arms and clutched a stake with her right\nand her left hand, thrusting her head and the upper portion of her body\nacross the rope toward the man whose appearance had created so wild a\ntumult in her whole being.\n\nAt last she called Hermon's name in such keen suspense that it fell upon\nhis ear like a shrill cry.\n\n\"Ledscha,\" he answered warmly, extending both hands to her in sincere\nsympathy; but she did not heed the movement, and her tone of calm\nself-satisfaction surprised him as she answered: \"So you seek me in\nmisfortune? Even the blind man knows how to find me here.\"\n\n\"I would far rather have met you again in the greatest happiness!\" he\ninterrupted gently. \"But I am no longer blind. The immortals again permit\nme, as in former days, to feast my eyes upon your marvellous beauty.\"\n\nA shrill laugh cut short his words, and the \"Not blind!\" which fell again\nand again from her lips sounded more like laughter than speech.\n\nThere are tears of grief and of joy, and the laugh which is an\naccompaniment of pleasure is also heard on the narrow boundary between\nsuffering and despair.\n\nIt pierced the artist's heart more deeply than the most savage outburst\nof fury, and when Ledscha gasped: \"Not blind! Cured! Rich and possessed\nof sight, perfect sight!\" he understood her fully for the first time, and\ncould account for the smile of satisfaction which had just surprised him\non her lips.\n\nHe gazed at her, absolutely unable to utter a word; but she went on\nspeaking, while a low, sinister laugh mingled with her tones: \"So this is\navenging justice! It allows us women to be trampled under foot, and holds\nits hands in its lap! My vengeance! How I have lauded Nemesis! How\nexquisitely my retaliation seemed to have succeeded! And now? It was mere\ndelusion and deception. He who was blind sees. He who was to perish in\nmisery is permitted, with a sword at his side, to gloat over our\ndestruction. Listen, if the good news has not already reached you! I,\ntoo, am condemned to death. But what do I care for myself? Even less than\nthose to whom we pray and offer sacrifices for the betrayed woman. Now I\nam learning to know them! Thus Nemesis thanks me for the lavish gifts I\nhave bestowed upon her? Just before my end she throws you, the rewarded\ntraitor, into my way! I must submit to have the hated foe, whose blinding\nwas the sole pleasure in my ruined life, look me in the face with\ninsolent joy.\"\n\nHermon's quick blood boiled.\n\nWith fierce resentment he grasped her hand, which lay on the rope,\npressed it violently in his strong clasp, and exclaimed, \"Stop, mad\nwoman, that I may not be forced to think of you as a poisonous serpent\nand repulsive spider!\"\n\nLedscha had vainly endeavoured to withdraw her hand while he was\nspeaking. Now he himself released it; but she looked up at him in\nbewilderment, as if seeking aid, and said sadly: \"Once--you know that\nyourself--I was different--even as long as I supposed my vengeance had\nsucceeded. But now? The false goddess has baffled every means with which\nI sought to punish you. Who averted the sorest ill treatment from my\nhead? And I was even defrauded of the revenge which it was my right, nay,\nmy duty, to exercise.\"\n\nShe finished the sentence with drooping head, as if utterly crushed, and\nthis time she did not laugh, but Hermon felt his wrath transformed to\nsympathy, and he asked warmly and kindly if she would let nothing appease\nher, not even if he begged her forgiveness for the wrong he had done her,\nand promised to obtain her life, nay, also her liberty.\n\nLedscha shook her head gently, and gravely answered: \"What is left me\nwithout hate? What are the things which others deem best and highest to a\nmiserable wretch like me?\"\n\nHere Hermon pointed to the bridge-builder, bound to the post, saying,\n\"Yonder man led you away from the husband whom you had wedded, and from\nhim you received compensation for the love you had lost.\"\n\n\"From him?\" she cried furiously, and, raising her voice in a tone of the\nmost intense loathing: \"Ask yonder scoundrel himself! Because I needed a\nguide, I permitted him to take me away from my unloved husband and from\nthe Hydra. Because he would help me to shatter the new and undeserved\ngood fortune which you--yes, you--do you hear?--enjoyed, I remained with\nhim among the Gauls. More than one Alexandrian brought me the news that\nyou were revelling in golden wealth, and the wretch promised to make you\nand your uncle beggars if the surprise succeeded. He did this, though he\nknew that it was you who took him up from the road and saved his life;\nfor nothing good and noble dwells in his knavish soul. He yearned for me,\nand still more ardently for the Alexandrians' gold. Worse than the wolf\nthat licked the hand of the man who bandaged its wounds, he would have\nshown his teeth to the preserver of his life. I have learned this, and if\nhe dies here of starvation and thirst he will receive only what he\ndeserves. He knows, too, what I think of him. The greedy beast of prey\nwas not permitted even to touch my hand. Just ask him! There he is. Let\nhim tell you how I listened to his vows of love. Before I would have\npermitted yonder wretch to recall to life what you crushed in this\nheart--\"\n\nHere Lutarius interrupted her with a flood of savage, scarcely\nintelligible curses, but very soon one of the guards, who came out of the\nhut, stopped him with a lash.\n\nWhen the Gaul, howling under the blows, was silenced, Hermon asked, \"So\nyour mad thirst for vengeance also caused this suicidal attack?\"\n\n\"No,\" she answered simply; \"but when they determined upon the assault,\nand had killed their leader, Belgius, yonder monster stole to their head.\nSo it happened--I myself do not know how--that they also obeyed me, and I\ntook advantage of it and induced them to begin with your house and\nArchias's. When they had captured the royal palaces, they intended to\nassail the Temple of Demeter also.\"\n\n\"Then you thought that even the terrible affliction of blindness would\nnot suffice to punish the man you hated?\" asked Hermon.\n\n\"No,\" she answered firmly; \"for you could buy with your gold everything\nlife offers except sight, while in me--yes, in me--gloom darker than the\nblackest night shrouded my soul. Through your fault I was robbed of all,\nall that is clear to woman's heart: my father's house, his love, my\nsister. Even the pleasure in myself which had been awakened by your sweet\nflatteries was transformed by you into loathing.\"\n\n\"By me?\" cried Hermon, amazed by the injustice of this severe reproach;\nbut Ledscha answered his question with the resolute assertion, \"By you\nand you alone!\" and then impatiently added: \"You, who, by your art, could\ntransform mortal women into goddesses, wished to make me a humiliated\ncreature, with the rope which was to strangle her about her neck, and at\nthe same time the most repulsive of creeping insects. 'The hideous, gray,\neight-legged spider!' I exclaimed to myself, when I raised my arms and\nsaw my shadow on the sunlit ground. 'The spider!' I thought, when I shook\nthe distaff to draw threads from the flax in leisure hours. 'Your image!'\nI said, when I saw spiders hanging in dusty corners, and catching flies\nand gnats. All these things made me a horror to myself. And at the same\ntime to know that the Demeter, on whom you bestowed the features of the\ndaughter of Archias, was kindling the whole great city of Alexandria with\nenthusiasm, and drawing countless worshippers to her sanctuary! She, an\nobject of adoration to thousands, I--the much-praised beauty--a horror to\nmyself! This is what fed my desire for vengeance with fresh food by day\nand night; this urged me to remain with yonder wretch; for he had\npromised, after pillaging the royal palaces, to shatter your Demeter, the\nimage of the daughter of Archias, which they lauded and which brought you\nfame and honour--it was to be done before my eyes--into fragments.\"\n\n\"Mad woman!\" Hermon again broke forth indignantly, and hastily told her\nhow she had been misinformed.\n\nLedscha's large black eyes dilated as if some hideous spectre was rising\nfrom the ground before her, while she heard that the Demeter was the work\nof Myrtilus and not his; that his friend's legacy had long since ceased\nto belong to him, and that he was again as poor as when he was in Tennis\nduring the time of their love.\n\n\"And the blindness?\" she asked sadly.\n\n\"It transformed life for me into one long night, illumined by no single\nray of light,\" was the reply; \"but, the immortals be praised, I was cured\nof it, and it was old Tabus, on the Owl's Nest at Tennis, whose wisdom\nand magic arts you so often lauded, who gave the remedy and advice to\nwhich I owe my recovery.\"\n\nHere he hesitated, for Ledscha had seized the rope with one hand and the\nstake at her right with the other, in order not to fall upon her knees;\nbut Hermon perceived how terribly his words agitated her, and spoke to\nher soothingly. Ledscha did not seem to hear him, for while still\nclinging to the rope she looked sometimes at the sand at her feet,\nsometimes up to the full moon, which was now flooding both sky and earth\nwith light.\n\nAt last she dropped it, and said in a hollow tone: \"Now I understand\neverything. You met her when Bias gave her the bridal dowry which was to\npurchase my release from my husband. How it must have enraged her! I\nthought of it all, pondered and pondered how to spare her; but through\nwhom, except Tabus, could I return to Hanno the property, won in battle\nby his blood, which he had thrown away for me? Tabus kept the family\nwealth. And she--the marriage bond which two persons formed was sacred\nand unassailable--the woman who broke her faith with her husband and\nturned from him--was an abomination to her. How she loved her sons and\ngrandsons! I knew that she would never forgive the wrong I did Hanno.\nFrom resentment to me she cured the man whom I hated.\"\n\n\"Yet probably also,\" said Hermon, \"because my blighted youth aroused her\npity.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" replied Ledscha hesitatingly, gazing thoughtfully into\nvacancy. \"She was what her demons made her. Hard as steel and gentle as a\ntender girl. I have experienced it. Oh, that she should die with rancour\nagainst me in her faithful old heart! She could be so kind!--even when I\nconfessed that you had won my love, she still held me dear. But there are\nmany great and small demons, and most of them were probably subject to\nher. Tabus must have learned through them how deeply I offended her son\nSatabus, and how greatly his son Hanno's life was darkened through me.\nThat is why she thwarted my vengeance, and her spirits aided her. Thus\nall these things happened. I suspected it when I heard that she had\nsuccumbed to death, which I--yes, I here--had held back from her with\nsevere toil through many a sleepless night. O these demons! They will\ncontinue to act in the service of the dead. Wherever I may go, they will\npursue me and, at their mistress's bidding, baffle what I hope and\ndesire. I have learned this only too distinctly!\"\n\n\"No, Ledscha, no,\" Hermon protested. \"Every power ceases with death, even\nthat of the sorceress over spirits. You shall be freed, poor woman! You\nwill be permitted to go wherever you desire; and I shall model no spider\nafter your person, but the fairest of women. Thousands will see and\nadmire her, and--if the Muse aids me--whoever, enraptured by her beauty,\nasks, 'Who was the model for this work which inflames the most obdurate\nheart?' will be told, 'It was Ledscha, the daughter of Shalit, the\nBiamite, whom Hermon of Alexandria found worthy of carving in costly\nmarble.\"\n\nLedscha uttered a deep sigh of relief, and asked: \"Is that true? May I\nbelieve it?\"\n\n\"As true,\" he answered warmly, \"as that Selene, who promised to grant you\nin her full radiance the greatest happiness, is now shedding her mild,\nforgiving light upon us both.\"\n\n\"The full moon,\" she murmured softly, gazing upward at the shining disk.\n\nThen she added in a louder tone: \"Old Tabus's demons promised me\nhappiness--you know. It was the spider which so cruelly shadowed it for\nme on every full moon, every day, and every night. Will you now swear to\nmodel a statue from me, the statue of a beautiful human being that will\narouse the delight of all who see it? Delight--do you hear?--not\nloathing--I ask again, will you?\"\n\n\"I will, and I shall succeed,\" he said earnestly, holding out his hand\nacross the rope. She clasped it, looked up to the full moon again, and\nwhispered: \"This time--I will believe it--you will keep your promise\nbetter than when you were in Tennis. And I--I will cease to wish you\nevil, and I will tell you why. Bend your ear nearer, that I may confess\nit openly.\" Hermon willingly obeyed the request, but she leaned her head\nagainst his, and he felt her laboured breathing and the warm tears that\ncoursed silently down her cheeks as she said, in a low whisper: \"Because\nthe moon is full, and will yet bring me what the demons promised, and\nbecause, though strong, I am still a woman. Happiness! How long ago I\nceased to expect it!--but now-yes, it is what I now feel! I am happy, and\nyet can not tell why. My love--oh, yes! It was more ardent than the\nburning hate. Now you know it, too, Hermon. And I--I shall be free, you\nsay? And Tabus, how she lauded rest--eternal rest! Oh dearest--this\nsorely tortured heart, too--you can not even imagine how weary I am!\"\n\nHere she was silent, but the man into whose face she was gazing with\nloving devotion felt a sudden movement at his side as she uttered the\nexclamation.\n\nHe did not notice it, for the sweet tone of her voice was penetrating the\ninmost depths of his heart. It sounded as though she was speaking from\nthe happiest of dreams.\n\n\"Ledscha!\" he exclaimed warmly, extending his arm toward her--but she had\nalready stepped back from his side, and he now perceived the terrible\nobject--she had snatched his sword from its sheath, and as, seized by\nsudden terror, he gazed at her, he saw the shining blade glitter in the\nmoonlight and suddenly vanish.\n\nIn an instant he swung his agile body over the rope and rushed to her.\nBut she had already sunk to her knees, and while he clasped her in is\narms to support her, he heard her call his own name tenderly, then murmur\nit in a lower tone, and the words \"Full moon\" and \"Happiness\" escape her\nlips.\n\nThen she was silent, and her beautiful head dropped on her breast like a\nflower broken by a tempest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\"It was best so for her and for us,\" said Eumedes, after gazing long at\nLedscha's touchingly beautiful, still, dead face.\n\nThen he ordered her to be buried at once and shouted to the guards:\n\"Everything must be over on this strip of land early to-morrow morning!\nLet all who bear arms begin at once. Selene will light the men brightly\nenough for the work.\"\n\nThe terrible order given in mercy was fulfilled, and hunger and thirst\nwere robbed of their numerous prey. When the new day dawned the friends\nwere still on deck, engaged in grave conversation. The cloudless sky now\narched in radiant light above the azure sea. White seagulls came flying\nfrom the right across the ship, and sportive dolphins gambolled around\nher keel.\n\nThe flutes of the musicians, marking time for the rowers, echoed gaily up\nfrom the hold, and, obedient to quick words of command, the seamen were\nspreading the sails.\n\nThe voyage began with a favourable wind. As Hermon looked back for the\nlast time, the flat, desolate tongue of land appeared like a line of gray\nmist in the southeastern horizon; but over it hovered, like a gloomy\nthundercloud, the flocks of vultures and ravens, whose numbers were\nconstantly increasing. Their greedy screaming could still be heard,\nthough but faintly, yet the eye could no longer distinguish anything in\nthe fast-vanishing abode of horror, save the hovering whirl of dark\nspots--ravens and vultures, vultures and ravens.\n\nWhatever human life had moved there yesterday, now rested from bloody\ngreed for booty, after victory and defeat, mortal terror, fury, and\ndespair.\n\nEumedes pointed out the quiet grave by the sea to his parents, saying:\n\"The King's command is fulfilled. Not even the one man who is usually\nspared to carry the news remains out of the four thousand.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" exclaimed Alexander's gray-haired comrade, shaking his\nson's right hand, but Thyone laid her hand on Hermon's arm, saving:\n\"Where the birds are darkening the air behind us lies buried what\nincensed Nemesis against you. You must leave the soil of Egypt. True, it\nis said that to live in foreign lands, far from the beloved home, darkens\nthe existence; yet Pergamus, too, is Grecian soil, and there I see the\ntwo noblest of stars illumine your path with their pure light-art and\nlove.\"\n\nAnd his old friend's premonition was fulfilled.\n\n          .......................\n\nThe story of Arachne is ended. It closed on the Nile. Hermon's new life\nbegan in Pergamus.\n\nAs Daphne's husband, under the same roof with the wonderfully invigorated\nMyrtilus, his Uncle Archias, and faithful Bias, Hermon found in the new\nhome what had hovered before the blind man as the fairest goal of\nexistence in art, love, and friendship.\n\nHe did not long miss the gay varied life of Alexandria, because he found\na rich compensation for it, and because Pergamus, too, was a rapidly\ngrowing city, whose artistic decoration was inferior to no other in\nGreece.\n\nOf the numerous works which Hermon completed in the service of the first\nthree art-loving rulers of the new Pergamenian kingdom, Philetaerus,\nEumenes, and Attalus, nothing was preserved except the head of a Gaul.\nThis noble masterpiece proves how faithful Hermon remained to truth,\nwhich he had early chosen for the guiding star of his art. It is the\nmodest remnant of the group in which Hermon perpetuated in marble the two\nGallic brothers whom he saw before his last meeting with Ledscha, as they\noffered their breasts to the fatal shafts.\n\nOne had gazed defiantly at the arrows of the conquerors; the other, whose\nhead has been preserved, feeling the inevitable approach of death,\nanticipates, with sorrowful emotion, the end so close at hand.\nPhiletaerus had sent this touching work to King Ptolemy to thank him for\nthe severity with which he had chastised the daring of the barbarians,\nwho had not spared his kingdom also. The Gaul's head was again found on\nEgyptian soil.\n\n   [Copied in Th. Schrieber's The Head of the Gaul in the Museum of\n   Ghizeh in Cairo. Leipsic, 1896. With appendix. By H. Curschmann.]\n\nHermon also took other subjects in Pergamus from the domain of real life,\nthough, in most of his work he crossed the limits which he had formerly\nimposed upon himself. But one barrier, often as he rushed forward to its\noutermost verge, he never dared to pass--moderation, the noblest demand,\nto which his liberty-loving race subjected themselves willingly in life\nas well as in art. The whole infinite, limitless world of the ideal had\nopened itself to the blind man.\n\nHe made himself at home in it by remaining faithful to the rule which he\nhad found in the desert for his creative work, and the genuine happiness\nwhich he enjoyed through Daphne's love and the great fame his sculptures\nbrought him increased the strong individuality of his power.\n\nThe fruits of his tireless industry, the much-admired god of light,\nPhoebus Apollo, slaying the dragons of darkness, as well as his\nbewitching Arachne, gazing proudly at the fabric with which she thinks\nshe has surpassed the skill of the goddess, were overtaken by\ndestruction. In this statue Bias recognised his countrywoman Ledscha, and\noften gazed long at it with devout ecstasy. Even Hermon's works of\ncolossal size vanished from the earth: the Battle of the Amazons and the\nrelief containing numerous figures: the Sea Gods, which the Regent\nEumenes ordered for the Temple of Poseidon in Pergamus.\n\nThe works of his grandson and grandson's pupils, however, are preserved\non the great altar of victory in Pergamus.\n\nThe power and energy natural to Hermon, the skill he had acquired in\nRhodes, everything in the changeful life of Alexandria which had induced\nhim to consecrate his art to reality, and to that alone, and whatever he\nhad, finally, in quiet seclusion, recognised as right and in harmony with\nthe Greek nature and his own, blend in those works of his successor,\nwhich a gracious dispensation of Providence permits us still to admire at\nthe present day, and which we call in its entirety, the art of Pergamus.\n\nThe city was a second beloved home to him, as well as to his wife and\nMyrtilus. The rulers of the country took the old Alexandrian Archias into\ntheir confidence and knew how to honour him by many a distinction. He\nunderstood how to value the happiness of his only daughter, the beautiful\ndevelopment of his grandchildren, and the high place that Hermon and\nMyrtilus, whom he loved as if they were his own sons, attained among the\nartists of their time. Yet he struggled vainly against the longing for\nhis dear old home. Therefore Hermon deemed it one of the best days of his\nlife when his turn came to make Daphne's father a happy man.\n\nKing Ptolemy Philadelphus had sent laurel to the artist who had fallen\nunder suspicion in Egypt, and his messenger invited him and Myrtilus, and\nwith them also the exiled merchant, to return to his presence. In\ngratitude for the pleasure which Hermon's creation afforded him and his\nwife, the cause that kept the fugitive Archias from his home should be\nforgiven and forgotten.\n\nThe gray-haired son of the capital returned with the Bithynian Gras to\nhis beloved Alexandria, as if his lost youth was again restored. There he\nfound unchanged the busy, active life, the Macedonian Council, the bath,\nthe marketplace, the bewitching conversation, the biting wit, the\nexquisite feasts of the eyes--in short, everything for which his heart\nhad longed even amid the happiness and love of his dear ones in Pergamus.\n\nFor two years he endeavoured to enjoy everything as before; but when the\nworks of the Pergamenian artists, obtained by Ptolemy, had been exhibited\nin the royal palaces, he returned home with a troubled mind. Like the\nrest of the world, he thought that the reliefs of Myrtilus, representing\nscenes of rural life, were wonderful.\n\nThe Capture of Proserpina, a life-size marble group by his son-in-law\nHermon, seemed to him no less perfect; but it exerted a peculiar\ninfluence upon his paternal heart, for, in the Demeter, he recognised\nDaphne, in the Proserpina her oldest daughter Erigone, who bore the name\nof Hermon's mother and resembled her in womanly charm. How lovely this\nbudding girl, who was his grand-daughter, seemed to the grandfather! How\ngraceful, in spite of the womanly dignity peculiar to her, was the\nmother, encircling her imperilled child with her protecting arm!\n\nNo work of sculpture had ever produced such an effect upon the old patron\nof art.\n\nGras heard him, in his bedroom, murmur the names \"Daphne\" and \"Erigone,\"\nand therefore it did not surprise him when, the next morning, he received\nthe command to prepare everything for the return to Pergamus. It pleased\nthe Bithynian, for he cared more for Daphne, Hermon, and their children\nthan all the pleasures of the capital.\n\nA few weeks later Archias found himself again in Pergamus with his\nfamily, and he never left it, though he reached extreme old age, and was\neven permitted to gaze in wondering admiration at the first attempts of\nthe oldest son of Hermon and Daphne, and to hear them praised by others.\n\nThis grandson of the Alexandrian Archias afterward became the master who\ntaught the generation of artists who created the Pergamenian works, in\nexamining which the question forced itself upon the narrator of this\nstory: How do these sculptures possess the qualities which distinguish\nthem so strongly from the other statues of later Hellenic antiquity?\n\nDid the great weaver Imagination err when she blended them, through the\nmighty wrestler Hermon, with a tendency of Alexandrian science and art,\nwhich we see appearing again among us children of a period so much later?\n\nScience, which is now once more pursuing similar paths, ought and will\nfollow them further, but Hermon's words remain applicable to the present\nclay: \"We will remain loyal servants of the truth; yet it alone does not\nhold the key to the holy of holies of art. To him for whom Apollo, the\npure among the gods, and the Muses, friends of beauty, do not open it at\nthe same time with truth, its gates will remain closed, no matter how\nstrongly and persistently he shakes them.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARK:\n\n     Regular messenger and carrier-dove service had been established\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE ARACHNE:\n\n     Aimless life of pleasure\n     Camels, which were rarely seen in Egypt\n     Cast my warning to the winds, pity will also fly away with it\n     Cautious inquiry saves recantation\n     Forbidden the folly of spoiling the present by remorse\n     Must--that word is a ploughshare which suits only loose soil\n     Nature is sufficient for us\n     Regular messenger and carrier-dove service had been established\n     Tender and uncouth natural sounds, which no language knows\n     There is nothing better than death, for it is peace\n     There are no gods, and whoever bows makes himself a slave\n     Tone of patronizing instruction assumed by the better informed\n     Two griefs always belong to one joy\n     Wait, child! What is life but waiting?\n     Waiting is the merchant's wisdom\n     Woman's hair is long, but her wit is short\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated from the German by Clara Bell\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe \"Bride of the Nile\" needs no preface. For the professional student I\nmay observe that I have relied on the authority of de Goeje in adhering\nto my own original opinion that the word Mukaukas is not to be regarded\nas a name but as a title, since the Arab writers to which I have made\nreference apply it to the responsible representatives of the Byzantine\nEmperor in antagonism to the Moslem power. I was unfortunately unable to\nmake further use of Karabacek's researches as to the Mukaukas.\n\nI shall not be held justified in placing the ancient Horus Apollo\n(Horapollo) in the seventh century after Christ by any one who regards\nthe author of the Hieroglyphica as identical with the Egyptian\nphilosopher of the same name who, according to Suidas, lived under\nTheodosius, and to whom Stephanus of Byzantium refers, writing so early\nas at the end of the fifth century. But the lexicographer Suidas\nenumerates the works of Horapollo, the philologer and commentator on\nGreek poetry, without naming the Hieroglyphica, which is the only\ntreatise alluded to by Stephanus. Besides, all the other ancient writers\nwho mention Horapollo at all leave us quite free to suppose that there\nmay have been two sages of the same name--as does C. Leemans, who is most\nintimately versed in the Hieroglyphica--and the second certainly cannot\nhave lived earlier than the VIIth century, since an accurate knowledge of\nhieroglyphic writing must have been lost far more completely in his time\nthan we can suppose possible in the IVth century. It must be remembered\nthat we still possess well-executed hieroglyphic inscriptions dating from\nthe time of Decius, 250 years after Christ. Thus the Egyptian commentator\non Greek poetry could hardly have needed a translator, whereas the\nHieroglyphica seems to have been first rendered into Greek by Philippus.\nThe combination by which the author called in Egyptian Horus (the son of\nIsis) is supposed to have been born in Philae, where the cultus of the\nEgyptian heathen was longest practised, and where some familiarity with\nhieroglyphics must have been preserved to a late date, takes into due\naccount the real state of affairs at the period I have selected for my\nstory.\n\n                       GEORG EBERS.\n   October 1st, 1886.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nHalf a lustrum had elapsed since Egypt had become subject to the youthful\npower of the Arabs, which had risen with such unexampled vigor and\nrapidity. It had fallen an easy prey, cheaply bought, into the hands of a\nsmall, well-captained troop of Moslem warriors; and the fair province,\nwhich so lately had been a jewel of the Byzantine Empire and the most\nfaithful foster-mother to Christianity, now owned the sway of the Khalif\nOmar and saw the Crescent raised by the side of the Cross.\n\nIt was long since a hotter season had afflicted the land; and the Nile,\nwhose rising had been watched for on the Night of Dropping--the 17th of\nJune--with the usual festive preparations, had cheated the hopes of the\nEgyptians, and instead of rising had shrunk narrower and still narrower\nin its bed.--It was in this time of sore anxiety, on the 10th of July,\nA.D. 643, that a caravan from the North reached Memphis.\n\nIt was but a small one; but its appearance in the decayed and deserted\ncity of the Pyramids--which had grown only lengthwise, like a huge\nreed-leaf, since its breadth was confined between the Nile and the Libyan\nHills--attracted the gaze of the passers-by, though in former years a\nMemphite would scarcely have thought it worth while to turn his head to\ngaze at an interminable pile of wagons loaded with merchandise, an\nimposing train of vehicles drawn by oxen, the flashing maniples of the\nimperial cavalry, or an endless procession wending its way down the five\nmiles of high street.\n\nThe merchant who, riding a dromedary of the choicest breed, conducted\nthis caravan, was a lean Moslem of mature age, robed in soft silk. A vast\nturban covered his small head and cast a shadow over his delicate and\nvenerable features.\n\nThe Egyptian guide who rode on a brisk little ass by his side, looked up\nfrequently and with evident pleasure at the merchant's face--not in\nitself a handsome one with its hollow cheeks, meagre beard and large\naquiline nose--for it was lighted up by a pair of bright eyes, full of\nattractive thoughtfulness and genuine kindness. But that this\nfragile-looking man, in whose benevolent countenance grief and\ninfirmities had graven many a furrow, could not only command but compel\nsubmission was legible alike in his thin, firmly-closed lips and in the\nzeal with which his following of truculent and bearded fighting men,\narmed to the teeth, obeyed his slightest sign.\n\nHis Egyptian attendant, the head of the Hermeneutai--the guild of the\nDragomans of that period--was a swarthy and surly native of Memphis;\nwhenever he accidentally came too close to the fierce-looking riders of\nthe dromedaries he shrunk his shoulders as if he expected a blow or a\npush, while he poured out question and answer to the Merchant Haschim,\nthe owner of the caravan, without timidity and with the voluble garrulity\nof his tribe.\n\n\"You seem very much at home here in Memphis,\" he observed, when the old\nman had expressed his surprise at the decadence and melancholy change in\nthe city.\n\n\"Thirty years ago,\" replied the merchant, \"my business often brought me\nhither. How many houses are now empty and in ruins where formerly only\nheavy coin could secure admittance! Ruins on all sides!--Who has so\ncruelly mutilated that fine church? My fellow-believers left every\nChristian fane untouched--that I know from our chief Amru himself.\"\n\n\"It was the principal church of the Melchites, the Emperor's minions,\"\ncried the guide, as if that were ample explanation of the fact. The\nmerchant, however, did not take it so.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"and what is there so dreadful in their creed?\"\n\n\"What?\" said the Egyptian, and his eye flashed wrathfully. \"What?--They\ndismember the divine person of the Saviour and attribute to it two\ndistinct natures. And then!--All the Greeks settled here, and encouraged\nby the protection of the emperor, treated us, the owners of the land,\nlike slaves, till your nation came to put an end to their oppression.\nThey drove us by force into their churches, and every true-born Egyptian\nwas punished as a rebel and a leper. They mocked at us and persecuted us\nfor our faith in the one divine nature of our Lord.\"\n\n\"And so,\" interrupted the merchant, \"as soon as we drove out the Greeks\nyou behaved more unmercifully to them and their sanctuaries than we--whom\nyou scorn as infidels--did to you!\"\n\n\"Mercy?--for them!\" cried the Egyptian indignantly, as he cast an evil\neye on the demolished edifice. \"They have reaped what they sowed; and now\nevery one in Egypt who does not believe in your One God--blessed be the\nSaviour!--confesses the one sole nature of our Lord Jesus Christ. You\ndrove out the Melchite rabble, and then it was our part to demolish the\ntemples of their wretched Saviour, who lost His divine Unity at the synod\nof Chalcedon--damnation wait upon it!\"\n\n\"But still the Melchites are fellow-believers with you--they are\nChristians,\" said the merchant.\n\n\"Christians?\" echoed the guide with a contemptuous shrug. \"They may\nregard themselves as Christians; but I, with every one else great and\nsmall in this land, am of opinion that they have no right whatever to\ncall themselves our fellow-believers and Christians. They all are and\nshall be for ever accursed with their hundreds--nay thousands of devilish\nheresies, by which they degrade our God and Redeemer to the level of that\nidol on the stone pillar. Half a cow and half a man! Why, what rational\nbeing, I ask you, could pray to such a mongrel thing? We Jacobites or\nMonophysites or whatever they choose to call us will not yield a jot or\ntittle of the divine nature of our Lord and Saviour; and if the old faith\nmust die out, I will turn Moslem and be converted to your One Omnipotent\nGod; for before I confess the heresies of the Melchites I will be hewn in\npieces, and my wife and children with me. Who knows what may be coming to\npass? And there are many advantages in going over to your side: for the\npower is in your hands, and long may you keep it! We have got to be ruled\nby strangers; and who would not rather pay small tribute to the wise and\nhealthy Khalif at Medina than a heavy one to the sickly imperial brood of\nMelchites at Constantinople. The Mukaukas George, to be sure, is not a\nbad sort of man, and as he so soon gave up all idea of resisting you he\nwas no doubt of my opinion. Regarding you as just and pious folks, as our\nnext neighbors, and perhaps even of our own race and blood, he preferred\nyou--my brother told me so--to those Byzantine heretics, flayers of men\nand thirsting for blood, but yet, the Mukaukas is as good a Christian as\nbreathes.\"\n\nThe Arab had listened attentively and with a subtle smile to the\nMemphite, whose duties as guide now compelled him to break off. The\nEgyptian made the whole caravan turn down an alley that led into a street\nrunning parallel to the river, where a few fine houses still stood in the\nmidst of their gardens. When men and beasts were making their way along a\nbetter pavement the merchant observed: \"I knew the father of the man you\nwere speaking of, very well. He was wealthy and virtuous; of his son too\nI hear nothing but good. But is he still allowed to bear the title of\ngovernor, or, what did you call him?--Mukaukas?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Master,\" said the guide. \"There is no older family than his\nin all Egypt, and if old Menas was rich the Mukaukas is richer, both by\ninheritance and by his wife's dower. Nor could we wish for a more\nsensible or a juster governor! He keeps his eye on his underlings too;\nstill, business is not done now as briskly as formerly, for though he is\nnot much older than I am--and I am not yet sixty--he is always ailing and\nhas not been seen out of the house for months. Even when your chief wants\nto see him he comes over to this side of the river. It is a pity with\nsuch a man as he; and who was it that broke down his stalwart strength?\nWhy, those Melchite dogs; you may ask all along the Nile, long as it is,\nwho was at the bottom of any misfortune, and you will always get the same\nanswer: Wherever the Melchite or the Greek sets foot the grass refuses to\ngrow.\"\n\n\"But the Mukaukas, the emperor's representative . . . the Arab began. The\nEgyptian broke in however:\n\n\"He, you think, must be safe from them? They did not certainly injure his\nperson; but they did worse, for when the Melchites rose up against our\nparty--it was at Alexandria, and the late Greek patriarch Cyrus had a\nfinger in that pie--they killed his two sons, two fine, splendid\nmen--killed them like dogs; and it crushed him completely.\"\n\n\"Poor man!\" sighed the Arab. \"And has he no child left?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. One son, and the widow of his eldest. She went into a convent\nafter her husband's death, but she left her child, her little Mary--she\nmust be ten years old now--to live with her grandparents.\"\n\n\"That is well,\" said the old man, \"that will bring some sunshine into the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"No doubt, Master. And just lately they have had some cause for\nrejoicing. The only surviving son--Orion is his name--came home only the\nday before yesterday from Constantinople where he has been for a long\ntime. There was a to-do! Half the city went crazy. Thousands went out to\nmeet him, as though he were the Saviour; they erected triumphal arches,\neven folks of my creed--no one thought of hanging back. One and all\nwanted to see the son of the great Mukaukas, and the women of course were\nfirst and foremost!\"\n\n\"You speak, however,\" said the Arab, \"as though the returning hero were\nnot worthy of so much honor.\"\n\n\"That is as folks think,\" replied the Egyptian shrugging his shoulders.\n\"At any rate he is the only son of the greatest man in the land.\"\n\n\"But he does not promise to be like the old man?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, indeed,\" said the guide. \"My brother, a priest, and the head of\none of our great schools, was his tutor, and he never met such a clever\nhead as Orion's, he tells me. He learnt everything without any trouble\nand at the same time worked as hard as a poor man's son. We may expect\nhim to win fame and honor--so Marcus says--for his parents and for the\ncity of Memphis: but for my part, I can see the shady side, and I tell\nyou the women will turn his head and bring him to a bad end. He is\nhandsome, taller even than the old man in his best days, and he knows how\nto make the most of himself when he meets a pretty face--and pretty faces\nare always to be met in his path . . .\"\n\n\"And the young rascal takes what he finds!\" said the Moslem laughing. \"If\nthat is all you are alarmed at I am glad for the youth. He is young and\nsuch things are allowable.\"\n\n\"Nay, Sir, even my brother--he lives now in Alexandria, and is blind and\nfoolish enough still in all that concerns his former pupil--and even he\nthinks this is a dangerous rock ahead. If he does not change in this\nrespect he will wander further and further from the law of the Lord, and\nimperil his soul, for dangers surround him on all sides like roaring\nlions. The noble gifts of a handsome and engaging person will lead him to\nhis ruin; and though I do not desire it, I suspect. . . .\"\n\n\"You look on the dark side and judge hardly,\" replied the old man. \"The\nyoung. . . .\"\n\n\"Even the young, or at least the Christian young, ought to control\nthemselves, though I, if any one, am inclined to make the utmost\nallowance for the handsome lad--nay, and I may confess: when he smiles at\nme I feel at once as if I had met with some good-luck; and there are a\nthousand other men in Memphis who feel the same, and still more the women\nyou may be sure--but many a one has shed bitter tears on his account for\nall that.--But, by all the saints!--Talk of the wolf and you see his\ntail! Look, there he is!--Halt! Stop a minute, you men; it is worth\nwhile, Sir, to tarry a moment.\"\n\n\"Is that his fine quadriga in front of the high garden gate yonder?\"\n\n\"Those are the Pannonian horses he brought with him, as swift as\nlightning and as. . . . But look! Ah, now they have disappeared behind the\nhedge; but you, high up on your dromedary, must be able to see them. The\nlittle maid by his side is the widow Susannah's daughter. This garden and\nthe beautiful mansion behind the trees belong to her.\"\n\n\"A very handsome property!\" said the Arab.\n\n\"I should think so indeed!\" replied the Memphite. \"The garden goes down\nto the Nile, and then, what care is taken of it!\"\n\n\"Was it not here that Philommon the corn-merchant lived formerly?\" asked\nthe old man, as though some memories were coming back to him.\n\n\"To be sure. He was Susannah's husband and must have been a man of fifty\nwhen he first wooed her. The little girl is their only child and the\nrichest heiress in the whole province; but she is not altogether grown up\nthough she is sixteen years old--an old man's child, you understand, but\na pretty, merry creature, a laughing dove in human form, and so quick and\nlively. Her own people call her the little water-wagtail.\"\n\n\"Good!--Good and very appropriate,\" said the merchant well pleased. \"She\nis small too, a child rather than a maiden; but the graceful, gladsome\ncreature takes my fancy. And the governor's son--what is his name?\"\n\n\"Orion, Sir,\" replied the guide.\n\n\"And by my beard,\" said the old man smiling. \"You have not over-praised\nhim, man! Such a youth as this Orion is not to be seen every day. What a\ntall fellow, and how becoming are those brown curls. Such as he are\nspoilt to begin with by their mothers, and then all the other women\nfollow suit. And he has a frank, shrewd face with something behind it. If\nonly he had left his purple coat and gold frippery in Constantinople!\nSuch finery is out of place in this dismal ruinous city.\"\n\nWhile he was yet speaking the Memphite urged his ass forward, but the\nArab held him back, for his attention was riveted by what was taking\nplace within the enclosure. He saw handsome Orion place a small white\ndog, a silky creature of great beauty that evidently belonged to him--in\nthe little maiden's arms saw her kiss it and then put a blade of grass\nround its neck as if to measure its size. The old man watched them as,\nboth laughing gaily, they looked into each other's eyes and presently bid\neach other farewell. The girl stood on tiptoe in front of some rare shrub\nto reach two exquisite purple flowers that blossomed at the top, hastily\nplucked them and offered them to him with a deep blush; she pushed away\nthe hand he had put out to support her as she stretched up for the\nflowers with a saucy slap; and a bright glance of happiness lighted up\nher sweet face as the young man kissed the place her fingers had hit, and\nthen pressed the flowers to his lips. The old man looked on with\nsympathetic pleasure, as though it roused the sweetest memories in his\nmind; and his kind eyes shone as Orion, no less mischievously happy than\nthe young girl, whispered something in her ear; she drew the long stem of\ngrass out of her waist-belt to administer immediate and condign\npunishment withal, struck it across his face, and then fled over\ngrass-plot and flower-bed, as swift as a roe, without heeding his\nrepeated shouts of \"Katharina! bewitching, big damsel, Katharina!\" till\nshe reached the house.\n\nIt was a charming little interlude. Old Haschim was still pondering it in\nhis memory with much satisfaction when he and his caravan had gone some\ndistance further. He felt obliged to Orion for this pretty scene, and\nwhen he heard the young man's quadriga approaching at an easy trot behind\nhim, he turned round to gaze. But the Arab's face had lost its\ncontentment by the time the four Pannonians and the chariot, overlaid\nwith silver ornamentation and forming, with its driver, a picture of rare\nbeauty and in perfect taste, had slowly driven past, to fly on like the\nwind as soon as the road was clear, and to vanish presently in clouds of\ndust. There was something of melancholy in his voice as he desired his\nyoung camel-driver to pick up the flowers, which now lay in the dust of\nthe road, and to bring them to him. He himself had observed the handsome\nyouth as, with a glance and a gesture of annoyance with himself, he flung\nthe innocent gift on the hot, sandy highway.\n\n\"Your brother is right,\" cried the old man to the Memphite. \"Women are\nindeed the rock ahead in this young fellow's life--and he in theirs, I\nfear! Poor little girl!\"\n\n\"The little water-wagtail do you mean? Oh! with her it may perhaps turn\nto real earnest. The two mothers have settled the matter already. They\nare both rolling in gold, and where doves nest doves resort.--Thank God,\nthe sun is low down over the Pyramids! Let your people rest at the large\ninn yonder; the host is an honest man and lacks nothing, not even shade!\"\n\n\"So far as the beasts and drivers are concerned,\" said the merchant,\n\"they may stop here. But I, and the leader of the caravan, and some of my\nmen will only take some refreshment, and then you must guide us to the\ngovernor; I have to speak with him. It is growing late. . .\"\n\n\"That does not matter,\" said the Egyptian. \"The Mukaukas prefers to see\nstrangers after sundown on such a scorching day. If you have any dealings\nwith him I am the very man for you. You have only to make play with a\ngold piece and I can obtain you an audience at once through Sebek, the\nhouse-steward he is my cousin. While you are resting here I will ride on\nto the governor's palace and bring you word as to how matters stand.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe caravansary into which Haschim and his following now turned off stood\non a plot of rising ground surrounded by palm-trees. Before the\ndestruction of the heathen sanctuaries it had been a temple of Imhotep,\nthe Egyptian Esculapius, the beneficient god of healing, who had had his\nplaces of special worship even in the city of the dead. It was half\nrelined, half buried in desert sand when an enterprising inn-keeper had\nbought the elegant structure with the adjacent grove for a very moderate\nsum. Since then it had passed to various owners, a large wooden building\nfor the accommodation of travellers had been added to the massive\nedifice, and among the palm-trees, which extended as far as the\nill-repaired quay, stables were erected and plots of ground fenced in for\nbeasts of all kinds. The whole place looked like a cattle-fair, and\nindeed it was a great resort of the butchers and horse-dealers of the\ntown, who came there to purchase. The palm-grove, being one of the few\nremaining close to the city, also served the Memphites as a\npleasure-ground where they could \"sniff fresh air\" and treat themselves\nin a pleasant shade. 'Tables and seats had been set out close to the\nriver, and there were boats on hire in mine host's little creek; and\nthose who took their pleasure in coming thither by water were glad to put\nin and refresh themselves under the palms of Nesptah.\n\nTwo rows of houses had formerly divided this rendezvous for the sober and\nthe reckless from the highroad, but they had long since been pulled down\nand laid level with the ground by successive landlords. Even now some\nhundreds of laborers might be seen, in spite of the scorching heat,\ntoiling under Arab overseers to demolish a vast ruin of the date of the\nPtolemies. and transporting the huge blocks of limestone and marble, and\nthe numberless columns which once had supported the roof of the temple of\nZeus, to the eastern shore of the Nile-loading them on to trucks drawn by\noxen which hauled them down to the quay to cross the river in\nflat-bottomed boats.\n\nAmru, the Khaliff's general and representative, was there building his\nnew capital. For this the temples of the old gods were used as quarries,\nand they supplied not only finely-squared blocks of the most durable\nstone, but also myriads of Greek columns of every order, which had only\nto be ferried over and set up again on the other shore; for the Arabs\ndisdained nothing in the way of materials, and made indiscriminate use of\nblocks and pillars in their own sanctuaries, whether they took them from\nheathen temples or Christian churches.\n\nThe walls of the temple of Imhotep had originally been completely covered\nwith pictures of the gods, and hieroglyphic inscriptions; but the smoke\nof reeking hearths had long since blackened them, fanatical hands had\nnever been wanting to deface them, and in many places they had been\nlime-washed and scrawled with Christian symbols or very unchristian\nmottoes, in Greek and the spoken dialect of the Egyptians. The Arab and\nhis men took their meal in what had been the great hall of the\ntemple--none of them drinking wine excepting the captain of the caravan,\nwho was no Moslem but belonged to the Parsee sect of the Masdakites.\n\nWhen the old merchant, sitting at a table by himself, had satisfied his\nhunger, he called this chief and desired him to load the bale containing\nthe hanging on a litter between the two largest baggage camels, and to\nfasten it securely but so that it could easily be removed.\n\n\"It is done,\" replied the Persian, as he wiped his thick moustache--he\nwas a magnificent man as tall and stalwart as an oak, with light flowing\nhair like a lion's mane.\n\n\"So much the better,\" said Haschim. \"Then come out with me.\" And he led\nthe way to the palmgrove.\n\nThe sun had sunk to rest behind the pyramids, the Necropolis, and the\nLibyan hills; the eastern sky, and the bare limestone rock of Babylon on\nthe opposite shore were shining with hues of indescribable diversity and\nbeauty. It seemed as though every variety of rose reared by the skilled\ngardeners of Arsinoe or Naukratis had yielded its hues, from golden buff\nto crimson and the deepest wine-tinted violet, to shed their magic glow\non the plains, the peaks and gorges of the hills, with the swiftness of\nthought.\n\nThe old man's heart beat high as he gazed at the scene; he drew a deep\nbreath, and laying his slender hand on the Persian's mighty arm he said:\n\"Your prophet, Masdak, taught that it was God's will that no one should\nthink himself more or less chosen than another, and that there should be\nneither rich nor poor on earth, but that every possession should belong\nto all in common. Well, look around you here as I do. The man who has not\nseen this has seen nothing. There is no fairer scene here below and to\nwhom does it belong? To poor simple Salech yonder, whom we allowed to\ntramp half naked at our camels' heels out of pity.--It is his as much as\nit is yours or mine or the Khaliff's. God has given us all an equal share\nin the glory of his works, as your prophet would have it. How much beauty\nis the common possession of our race! Let us be thankful for it, Rustem,\nfor indeed it is no small matter.--But as to property, such as man may\nwin or lose, that is quite a different matter. We all start on the same\nrace-course, and what you Masdakites ask is that lead should be tied to\nthe feet of the swift so that no one should outstrip another; but that\nwould be. . . . Well, well! Let us feast our eyes now on the marvellous\nbeauty before us. Look: What just now was the purple of this flower is\nnow deep ruby red; what before was a violet gleam now is the richest\namethyst. Do you see the golden fringe to those clouds? It is like a\nsetting.--And all this is ours--is yours and mine--so long as we have\neyes and heart to enjoy and be uplifted by it!\"\n\nThe Masdakite laughed, a fresh, sonorous laugh, and said: \"Yes, Master,\nfor those who see as you see. The colors are bright no doubt over the sky\nand the hills, and we do not often see such a red as that at home in my\ncountry; but of what use is all that magic show? You see rubies and\namethysts--but as for me! The gems in your hanging stand for something\nmore than that shining show. I mean no harm, Master, but I would give all\nthe sunsets that ever glowed on earth for your bales and never repent of\nthe bargain!\" He laughed more heartily than before and added: \"But you,\nworthy Father, would think twice before you signed it.--As to what we\nMasdakites hope for, our time is not yet come.\"\n\n\"And suppose it were, and that the hanging were yours?\"\n\n\"I should sell it and add the price to my savings, and go home and buy\nsome land, and take a pretty wife, and breed camels and horses.\"\n\n\"And next day would come the poorer men who had laid nothing by, and had\nmade no bargain over hangings and sunsets; and they would ask for a share\nof your land, and a camel and a foal each, and you would not be able ever\nto see a sunset again but must wander about the world, and your pretty\nwife with you to help you share everything with others.--Let us abide by\nthe old order, my Rustem, and may the Most High preserve you your good\nheart, for you have but a foolish and crotchety head.\"\n\nThe big man bent over his master and gratefully kissed his arm; at this\nmoment the guide rejoined them, but with a long face for he had promised\nmore than he could perform. The Mukaukas George had set out--a quite\nunheard of event--for an excursion on the river in his barge, with his\nson and the ladies of the house just as he was hoping to secure an\naudience for the Arab. Orion's return--the steward had explained--had\nmade the old man quite young again. Haschim must now wait till the\nmorrow, and he, the guide, would counsel him to pass the night in the\ncity at an inn kept by one Moschion, where he would be well cared for.\n\nBut the merchant preferred to remain where he was. He did not care about\nthe delay, more particularly as he wished to consult an Egyptian\nphysician with regard to an old standing complaint he suffered from, and\nthere was no more skilful or learned leech in the whole land, the\nEgyptian guide assured him, than the famous Philip of Memphis. The\nsituation here, outside the town, was very pleasant, and from the river's\nbank he might observe the comet which had been visible for some nights\npast--a portent of evil no doubt. The natives of the city had been\nparalysed with terror; that indeed was evident even here in Nesptah's\ncaravansary, for usually as the evening grew cool, the tables and benches\nunder the palms were crowded with guests; but who would care to think of\nenjoyment in those days of dread?\n\nSo he remounted his ass to fetch the physician, while old Haschim,\nleaning on the Masdakite's arm, betook himself to a bench by the river.\nThere he sat gazing thoughtfully at the starry sky, and his companion\ndreamed of home and of buying a meadow, even without the price of the\ngorgeous hanging, of building a house, and of choosing a pretty little\nwife to manage it. Should she be fair or dark? He would rather she should\nbe fair.\n\nBut his castle in the air was shattered at this point, for an object was\napproaching across the Nile which attracted his attention, and which he\npointed out to his chief. The stream lay before them like a broad belt of\nblack and silver brocade. The waxing moon was mirrored in the almost\nunruffled surface and where a ripple curled it the tiny crest glittered\nlike white flame. Bats swooped to and fro in the gloom from the city of\nthe dead to the river, and flitted above it like shadows blown about by\nthe wind. A few lateen sails moved like pale, gigantic birds over the\ndark waters; but now from the north--and from the city--a larger mass\ncame towards the palm-grove with bright, gleaming eyes of light.\n\n\"A fine boat,--the governor's no doubt,\" said the merchant, as it slowly\ncame towards the grove from the middle of the stream. At the same time\nthe clatter of hoofs became audible from the road behind the inn. Haschim\nturned round and was aware of torchbearers running ahead of a chariot.\n\n\"The sick man has come so far by water,\" said the Arab, \"and now, he is\nto be driven home.--Strange! this is the second time to-day that I have\nmet his much-talked-of son!\"\n\nThe governor's pleasure-barge was nearing the palm-grove. It was a large\nand handsome boat, built of cedar-wood and richly gilt, with an image of\nJohn, the patron-saint of the family, for a figure-head. The nimbus round\nthe head was a crown of lamps, and large lanterns shone both at the bows\nand stern of the vessel. The Mukaukas George was reclining under an\nawning, his wife Neforis by his side. Opposite to them sat their son and\na tall young girl, at whose feet a child of ten sat on the ground,\nleaning her pretty head against her knees. An older Greek woman, the\nchild's governess, had a place by the side of a very tall man, on an\nottoman beyond the verge of the awning. This man was Philip the leech.\nThe cheerful sound of the lute accompanied the barge, and the performer\nwas the returned wanderer Orion, who touched the strings with skill and\ndeep feeling.\n\nIt was altogether a pleasing scene--a fair picture of a wealthy and\nunited family. But who was the damsel sitting by Orion's side? He was\ndevoting his whole attention to her; as he struck the strings with deeper\nemphasis his eyes sought hers, and it seemed as though he were playing\nfor her alone. Nor did she appear unworthy of such homage, for when the\nbarge ran into the little haven and Haschim could distinguish her\nfeatures he was startled by her noble and purely Greek beauty.\n\nA few handsomely-dressed slaves, who must have come with the vehicle by\nthe road, now went on board the boat to carry their invalid lord to his\nchariot; and it then became apparent that the seat in which he reclined\nwas provided with arms by which it could be lifted and moved. A burly\nnegro took this at the back, but just as another was stooping to lift it\nin front Orion pushed him away and took his place, raised the couch with\nhis father on it, and carried him across the landing-stage between the\ndeck and the shore, past Haschim to the chariot. The young man did the\nwork of bearer with cheerful ease, and looked affectionately at his\nfather while he shouted to the ladies--for only his mother and the\nphysician accompanied the invalid after carefully wrapping him in\nshawls--to get out of the barge and wait for him. Then he went forward,\nlighted by the torches which were carried before them.\n\n\"Poor man!\" thought the merchant as he looked after the Mukaukas. \"But to\na man who has such a son to carry him the saddest and hardest lot floats\nby like a cloud before the wind.\"\n\nHe was now ready to forgive Orion even the rejected flowers; and when the\nyoung girl stepped on shore, the child clinging fondly to her arm, he\nconfessed to himself that Dame Susannah's little daughter would find it\nhard indeed to hold her own by the side of this tall and royal vision of\nbeauty. What a form was this maiden's, and what princely bearing; and how\nsweet and engaging the voice in which she named some of the\nconstellations to her little companion, and pointed out the comet which\nwas just rising!\n\nHaschim was sitting in shadow; he could see without being seen, and note\nall that took place on the bench, which was lighted by one of the barge's\nlanterns. The unexpected entertainment gave him pleasure, for everything\nthat affected the governor's son roused his sympathy and interest. The\nidea of forming an opinion of this remarkable young man smiled on his\nfancy, and the sight of the beautiful girl who sat on the bench yonder\nwarmed his old heart. The child must certainly be Mary, the governor's\ngranddaughter.\n\nThen the chariot started off, clattering away down the road, and in a few\nminutes Orion came back to the rest of the party.\n\nAlas! Poor little heiress of Susannah's wealth! How different was his\ndemeanor to this beautiful damsel from his treatment of that little\nthing! His eyes rested on her face in rapture, his speech failed him now\nand again as he addressed her, and what he said must be sometimes grave\nand captivating and sometimes witty, for not she alone but the little\nmaid's governess listened to him eagerly, and when the fair one laughed\nit was in particularly sweet, clear tones. There was something so lofty\nin her mien that this frank expression of contentment was almost\nstartling; like a breath of perfume from some gorgeous flower which seems\ncreated to rejoice the eye only. And she, to whom all that Orion had to\nsay was addressed, listened to him not only with deep attention, but in a\nway which showed the merchant that she cared even more for the speaker\nthan for what he was so eager in expressing. If this maiden wedded the\ngovernor's son, they would indeed be a pair! Taus, the innkeeper's wife,\nnow came out, a buxom and vigorous Egyptian woman of middle age, carrying\nsome of the puffs for which she was famous, and which she had just made\nwith her own hands. She also served them with milk, grapes and other\nfruit, her eyes sparkling with delight and gratified ambition; for the\nson of the great Mukaukas, the pride of the city, who in former years had\noften been her visitor, and not only for the sake of her cakes, in water\nparties with his gay companions--mostly Greek officers who now were all\ndead and gone or exiles from the country--now did her the honor to come\nhere so soon after his return. Her facile tongue knew no pause as she\ntold him that she and her husband had gone forth with the rest to welcome\nhim at the triumphal arch near Menes' Gate, and Emau with them, and the\nlittle one. Yes, Emau was married now, and had called her first child\nOrion. And when the young man asked Dame Taus whether Emau was as\ncharming as ever and as like her mother as she used to be, she shook her\nfinger at him and asked in her turn, as she pointed towards the young\nlady, whether the fickle bird at whose departure so many had sighed, was\nto be caged at last, and whether yon fair lady. . . .\n\nBut Orion cut her short, saying that he was still his own master though\nhe already felt the noose round his neck; and the fair lady blushed even\nmore deeply than at the good woman's first question. He however soon got\nover his awkwardness and gaily declared that the worthy Taus' little\ndaughter was one of the prettiest girls in Memphis, and had had quite as\nmany admirers as her excellent mother's puff-pastry. Taus was to greet\nher kindly from him.\n\nThe landlady departed, much touched and flattered; Orion took up his\nlute, and while the ladies refreshed themselves he did the maiden's\nbidding and sang the song by Alcaeus which she asked for, in a rich\nthough subdued voice to the lute, playing it like a master. The young\ngirl's eyes were fixed on his lips, and again, he seemed to be making\nmusic for her alone. When it was time to start homewards, and the ladies\nreturned to the barge, he went up to the inn to pay the reckoning. As he\npresently returned alone the Arab saw him pick up a handkerchief that the\nyoung lady had left on the table, and hastily press it to his lips as he\nwent towards the barge.\n\nThe gorgeous red blossoms had fared worse in the morning. The young man's\nheart was given to that maiden on the water. She could not be his sister;\nwhat then was the connection between them?\n\nThe merchant soon gained this information, for the guide on his return\ncould give it him. She was Paula, the daughter of Thomas, the famous\nGreek general who had defended the city of Damascus so long and so\nbravely against the armies of Islam. She was Mukaukas George's niece, but\nher fortune was small; she was a poor relation of the family, and after\nher father's disappearance--for his body had never been found--she had\nbeen received into the governor's house out of pity and charity--she, a\nMelchite! The interpreter had little to say in her favor, by reason of\nher sect; and though he could find no flaw in her beauty, he insisted on\nit that she was proud and ungracious, and incapable of winning any man's\nlove; only the child, little Mary--she, to be sure, was very fond of her.\nIt was no secret that even her uncle's wife, worthy Neforis, did not care\nfor her haughty niece and only suffered her to please the invalid. And\nwhat business had a Melchite at Memphis, under the roof of a good\nJacobite? Every word the dragoman spoke breathed the scorn which a mean\nand narrow-minded man is always ready to heap on those who share the\nkindness of his own benefactors.\n\nBut this beautiful and lofty-looking daughter of a great man had\nconquered the merchant's old heart, and his opinion of her was quite\nunmoved by the Memphite's strictures. It was ere long confirmed indeed,\nfor Philip, the leech whom the guide had been to find, and whose\ndignified personality inspired the Arab with confidence, was a daily\nvisitor to the governor, and he spoke of Paula as one of the most perfect\ncreatures that Heaven had ever formed in a happy hour. But the Almighty\nseemed to have forgotten to care for his own masterpiece; for years her\nlife had been indeed a sad one.\n\nThe physician could promise the old man some mitigation of his\nsufferings, and they liked each other so well that they parted the best\nof friends, and not till a late hour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe Mukaukas' barge, urged forward by powerful rowers, made its way\nsmoothly down the river. On board there was whispering, and now and again\nsinging. Little Mary had dropped asleep on Paula's shoulder; the Greek\nduenna gazed sometimes at the comet which filled her with terrors,\nsometimes at Orion, whose handsome face had bewitched her mature heart,\nand sometimes at the young girl whom she was ill-pleased to see thus\npreferred by this favorite of the gods. It was a deliciously warm, still\nnight, and the moon, which makes the ocean swell and flow, stirs the tide\nof feeling to rise in the human breast.\n\nWhatever Paula asked for Orion sang, as though nothing was unknown to him\nthat had ever sounded on a Greek lute; and the longer they went on the\nclearer and richer his voice grew, the more melting and seductive its\nexpression, and the more urgently it appealed to the young girl's heart.\nPaula gave herself up to the sweet enchantment, and when he laid down the\nlute and asked in low tones if his native land was not lovely on such a\nnight as this, or which song she liked best, and whether she had any idea\nof what it had been to him to find her in his parents' house, she yielded\nto the charm and answered him in whispers like his own.\n\nUnder the dense foliage of the sleeping garden he pressed her hand to his\nlips, and she, tremulous, let him have his way.--Bitter, bitter years lay\nbehind her. The physician had spoken only too truly. The hardest blows of\nfate had brought her--the proud daughter of a noble father--to a course\nof cruel humiliations. The life of a friendless though not penniless\nrelation, taken into a wealthy house out of charity, had proved a thorny\npath to tread, but now-since the day before yesterday--all was changed.\nOrion had come. His home and the city had held high festival on his\nreturn, as at some gift of Fortune, in which she too had a goodly share.\nHe had met her, not as the dependent relative, but as a beautiful and\nhigh-born woman. There was sunshine in his presence which warmed her very\nheart, and made her raise her head once more like a flower that is\nbrought out under the open sky after long privation of light and air. His\nbright spirit and gladness of life refreshed her heart and brain; the\nrespect he paid her revived her crushed self-confidence and filled her\nsoul with fervent gratitude. Ah! and how delightful it was to feel that\nshe might be grateful, devotedly grateful.--And then, then this evening\nhad been hers, the sweetest, most blessed that she had known for years.\nHe had reminded her of what she had almost forgotten: that she was still\nyoung, that she was still lovely, that she had a right to be happy, to\nenchant and be enchanted--perhaps even to love and to be loved.\n\nHer hand was still conscious of his burning kiss as she entered the cool\nroom where the Lady Neforis sat awaiting the return of the party, turning\nher spinning-wheel by the couch of her invalid husband who always went to\nrest at late hours. It was with an overflowing heart that Paula raised\nher uncle's hand to her lips--Orion's father, might she not say HER\nOrion's?--Then she kissed her aunt--his mother, and it was long since she\nhad done so--as she and little Mary bid her good-night. Neforis accepted\nthe kiss coolly but with some surprise, and looked up enquiringly at the\ngirl and at her son. No doubt she thought many things, but deemed it\nprudent to give them no utterance for the present. She allowed the girl\nto retire as though nothing unusual had occurred, superintended the\nservants who came to carry her husband into his bedroom, gave him the\nwhite globule which was to secure him sleep, and with indefatigable\npatience turned and moved his pillows till his couch was to his mind. Not\ntill then, nor till she was satisfied that a servant was keeping watch in\nthe adjoining room, did she leave him; and then--for there was danger in\ndelay--she went to seek her son.\n\nThis tall, large and rather too portly woman had been in her youth a\nslender and elegant girl; a graceful creature though her calm and\nexpressionless features had never been strikingly beautiful. Age had\naltered them but little; her face was now that of a good-looking, plump,\neasy-going matron, which had lost its freshness through long and devoted\nattendance on the sick man. Her birth and position gave her confidence\nand self-reliance, but there was nothing gracious or captivating in her\nindividuality. The joys and woes of others were not hers; still she could\nbe moved and stirred by them, even to self-denial, and was very capable\nof feeling quite a passionate interest for others; only, those others\nmust be her own immediate belongings and no one else. Thus a more devoted\nand anxious wife, or a more loving mother would have been hard to find;\nbut, if we compare her faculty for loving with a star, its rays were too\nshort to reach further than to those nearest to her, and these regarded\nit as an exceptional state of grace to be included within the narrow\ncircle of those beloved by her somewhat grudging soul.\n\nShe knocked at Orion's sitting-room, and he hailed her late visit with\nsurprise and pleasure. She had come to speak of a matter of importance,\nand had done so promptly, for her son's and Paula's conduct just now\nurged her to lose no time. Something was going on between these two and\nher husband's niece was far outside the narrow limits of her loving\nkindness.\n\nThis, she began by saying, would not allow her to sleep. She had but one\nheart's desire and his father shared it: Orion must know full well what\nshe meant; she had spoken to him about it only yesterday. His father had\nreceived him with warm affection, had paid his debts unhesitatingly and\nwithout a word of reproach, and now it was his part to turn over a new\nleaf: to break with his former reckless life and set up a home of his\nown. The bride, as he knew, was chosen for him. \"Susannah was here just\nnow,\" she said. \"You scapegrace, she confessed that you had quite turned\nher Katharina's little head this morning.\"\n\n\"I am sorry for it,\" he interrupted in a tone of annoyance. \"These ways\nwith women have grown upon me as a habit; but I have done with them\nhenceforth. They are unworthy of me now, and I feel, my dear\nMother. . . .\"\n\n\"That life is beginning in earnest,\" Neforis threw in. \"The wish which\nbrings me to you now entirely accords with that. You know what it is, and\nI cannot imagine what you can have to say against it. In short, you must\nlet me settle the matter to-morrow with Dame Susannah. You are sure of\nher daughter's affection, she is the richest heiress in the country, well\nbrought up, and as I said before, she has quite lost her little heart to\nyou.\"\n\n\"And she had better have kept it!\" said Orion with a laugh.\n\nThen his mother waxed wroth and exclaimed: \"I must beg you to reserve\nyour mirth for a more fitting season and for laughable things. I am very\nmuch in earnest when I say: The girl is a sweet, good little creature and\nwill be a faithful and loving wife to you, under God. Or have you left\nyour heart in Constantinople? Has the Senator Justinus' fair\nrelation.--But nonsense! You can hardly suppose that that volatile Greek\ngirl. . . .\"\n\nOrion clasped her in his arms, and said tenderly, \"No, dearest mother,\nno. Constantinople lies far, far behind me, in grey mist beyond the\nfarthest Thule; and here, close here, under my father's roof, I have\nfound something far more lovely and more perfect than has ever been\nbeheld by the dwellers on the Bosphorus. That little girl is no match for\na son of our stalwart and broad-shouldered race. Our future generations\nmust still tower proudly above the common herd in every respect; I want\nno plaything for a wife, but a woman, such as you yourself were in\nyouth--tall, dignified and handsome. My heart goes forth to no\ngold-crested wren but to a really royal maiden.--Of what use to waste\nwords! Paula, the noble daughter of a glorious father, is my choice. It\ncame upon me just now like a revelation; I ask your blessing on my union\nwith her!\"\n\nSo far had Neforis allowed her son to speak. He had frankly and boldly\nuttered what she had indeed feared to hear. And so long she had succeeded\nin keeping silence!--But now her patience gave way. Trembling with anger\nshe abruptly broke in, exclaiming, as her face grew crimson:\n\n\"No more, no more! Heaven grant that this which I have been compelled to\nhear may be no more than a fleeting and foolish whim! Have you quite\nforgotten who and what we are? Have you forgotten that those were\nMelchites who slew your two dear brothers--our two noble sons? Of what\naccount are we among the orthodox Greeks? While among the Egyptians and\nall who confess the saving doctrine of Eutyches, among the Monophysites\nwe are the chief, and we will remain so, and close our ears and hearts\nagainst all heretics and their superstitions. What! A grandson of Menas,\nthe brother of two martyrs for our glorious faith, married to a Melchite!\nThe mere idea is sacrilege, is blasphemy; I can give it no milder name! I\nand your father will die childless before we consent! And it is for the\nlove of this woman, whose heart is so cold that I shiver only to think of\nit--for this waif and stray, who has nothing but her ragged pride and the\nmere scrapings of a lost fortune, which never could compare with\nours--for this thankless creature, who can hardly bring herself to bid\nme, your mother, such a civil good-morning--by Heaven it is the truth--as\nI can say to a slave--for her that I, that your parents are to be bereft\nof their son, the only child that a gracious Providence has left to be\ntheir joy and comfort? No, no, never! Far be it from me! You, Orion, my\nheart's darling, you have been a wilful fellow all your life, but you\ncannot have such a perverse heart as to bring your old mother, who has\nkept you in her heart these four and twenty years, in sorrow to the grave\nand embitter your father's few remaining days--for his hours are\nnumbered!--And all for the sake of this cold beauty, whom you have seen\nfor a few hours these last two days. You cannot have the heart to do\nthis, my heart's treasure, no, you cannot!--But if you should in some\naccursed hour, I tell you--and I have been a tender mother to you all\nyour life-but as surely as God shall be my stay and your father's in our\nlast hour, I will tear all love for you out of my heart like a poisonous\nweed--I will, though that heart should break!\"\n\nOrion put his arms round the excited woman, who lead freed herself from\nhis embrace, laid his hand lightly on her lips and kissed her eyes,\nwhispering in her ear:\n\n\"I have not the heart indeed, and could scarcely find it.\" Then, taking\nboth her hands, he looked straight into her face.\n\n\"Brrr!\" he exclaimed, \"your daredevil son was never so much frightened in\nhis life as by your threats. What dreadful words are these--and even\nworse were at the tip of your tongue! Mother--Mother Neforis! Your name\nmeans kindness, but you can be cruel, bitterly cruel!\"\n\nStill he drew her fondly to him, and kissed her hair and brow and cheeks\nwith eager haste, in a vehemence of feeling which came over him like a\nrevulsion after the shock he had gone through; and when they parted he\nhad given her leave to negotiate for little Katharina's hand on his\nbehalf, and she had promised in return that it should be not on the\nmorrow but the day after at soonest. This delay seemed to him a sort of\nvictory and when he found himself alone and reflected on what he had done\nin yielding to his mother, though his heart bled from the wounds of which\nhe himself knew not the depth, he rejoiced that he had not bound Paula by\nany closer tie. His eyes had indeed told her much, but the word \"Love\"\nhad not passed his lips--and yet that was what it came to.--But surely a\ncousin might be allowed to kiss the hand of a lovely relation. She was a\ndesirable woman--ah, how desirable!--and must ever be: but to quarrel\nwith his parents for the sake of a girl, were she Aphrodite herself, or\none of the Muses or the Graces--that was impossible! There were thousands\nof pretty women in the world, but only one mother; and how often had his\nheart beat high and won another heart, taken all it had to give, and then\neasily and quickly recovered its balance.\n\nThis time however, it seemed more deeply hit than on former occasions;\neven the lovely Persian slave for whose sake he had committed the wildest\nfollies while yet scarcely more than a school-boy--even the bewitching\nHeliodora at Constantinople for whom he still had a tender thought, had\nnot agitated him so strongly. It was hard to give up this Paula; but\nthere was no help for it. To-morrow he must do his best to establish\ntheir intercourse on a friendly and fraternal footing; for he could have\nno hope that she would be content to accept his love only, like the\ngentle Heliodora, who was quite her equal in birth. Life would have been\nfair, unutterably fair, with this splendid creature by his side! If only\nhe could take her to the Capital he felt sure that all the world would\nstand still to turn round and gaze at her. And if she loved him--if she\nmet him open-armed. . . . Oh, why had spiteful fate made her a Melchite? But\nthen, alas, alas! There must surely be something wrong with her nature\nand temper; would she not otherwise have been able in two years to gain\nthe love, instead of the dislike, of his excellent and fond\nmother?--Well, after all, it was best so; but Paula's image haunted him\nnevertheless and spoilt his sleep, and his longing for her was not to be\nstilled.\n\nNeforis, meanwhile, did not return at once to her husband but went to\nfind Paula. This business must be settled on all sides and at once. If\nshe could have believed that her victory would give the invalid\nunqualified pleasure she would have hastened to him with the good news,\nfor she knew no higher joy than to procure him a moment's happiness; but\nthe Mukaukas had agreed to her choice very reluctantly. Katharina seemed\nto him too small and childish for his noble son, whose mental superiority\nhad been revealed to him unmistakably and undeniably, in many long\ndiscussions since his return, to the delight of his father's heart. \"The\nwater-wagtail,\" though he wished her every happiness, did not satisfy him\nfor Orion. To him, the father, Paula would have been a well-beloved\ndaughter-in-law, and he had often found pleasure in picturing her by\nOrion's side. But she was a Melchite; he knew too how ill-affected his\nwife was towards her, so he kept his wish locked in his own breast in\norder not to vex the faithful companion who lived, thought, and felt for\nhim alone; and Dame Neforis knew or guessed all this, and said to herself\nthat it would cost him his night's rest if he were to be told at once\nwhat a concession Orion had made.\n\nWith Paula it was different. The sooner she learnt that she had nothing\nto expect from their son, the better for her.\n\nThat very morning she and Orion had greeted each other like a couple of\nlovers and just now they had parted like a promised bride and bridegroom.\nShe would not again be witness to such vexatious doings; so she went to\nthe young girl's room and confided to her with much satisfaction the\nhappy prospects her son had promised them,--only Paula must say nothing\nabout it till the day after to-morrow.\n\nThe moment she entered the room Paula inferred from her beaming\nexpression that she had something to say unpleasant to herself, so she\npreserved due composure. Her face wore a look of unmoved indifference\nwhile she submitted to the overflow of a too-happy mother's heart; and\nshe wished the betrothed couple joy: but she did so with a smile that\ninfuriated Neforis.\n\nShe was not on the whole spiteful; but face to face with this girl, her\nnature was transformed, and she rather liked the idea of showing her,\nonce more in her life, that in her place humility would beseem her. All\nthis she said to herself as she quitted Paula's room; but perhaps this\nwoman, who had much that was good in her, might have felt some ruth, if\nin the course of the next few hours she could but have looked into the\nheart of the orphan entrusted to her protection. Only once did Paula sob\naloud; then she indignantly dried her tears, and sat for a long time\ngazing at the floor, shaking her pretty head again and again as though\nsomething unheard-of and incredible had befallen her.\n\nAt last, with a bitter sigh, she went to bed; and while she vainly strove\nfor sleep, and for strength to pray and be silently resigned, Time seemed\nto her a wild-beast chase, Fate a relentless hunter, and the quarry he\nwas pursuing was herself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nOn the following evening Haschim, the merchant, came to the governor's\nhouse with a small part of his caravan. A stranger might have taken the\nmansion for the home of a wealthy country-gentleman rather than the\nofficial residence of a high official; for at this hour, after sunset,\nlarge herds of beasts and sheep were being driven into the vast\ncourt-yard behind the house, surrounded on three sides by out-buildings;\nhalf a hundred horses of choice breed came, tied in couples, from the\nwatering-place; and in a well-sanded paddock enclosed by hurdles, slaves,\nbrown and black, were bringing fodder to a large troop of camels.\n\nThe house itself was well-fitted by its unusually palatial size and\nantique splendor to be the residence of the emperor's viceroy, and the\nMukaukas, to whom it all belonged, had in fact held the office for a long\ntime. After the conquest of the country by the Arabs they had left him in\npossession, and at the present date he managed the affairs of his\nEgyptian fellow-countrymen, no more in the name of the emperor at\nByzantium, but under the authority of the Khaliff at Medina and his great\ngeneral, Amru. The Moslem conquerors had found him a ready and judicious\nmediator; while his fellow-Christians and country-men obeyed him as being\nthe noblest and wealthiest of their race and the descendant of ancestors\nwho had enjoyed high distinction even under the Pharaohs.\n\nOnly the governor's residence was Greek--or rather Alexandrian-in style;\nthe court-yards and out-buildings on the contrary, looked as though they\nbelonged to some Oriental magnate-to some Erpaha (or prince of a\nprovince) as the Mukaukas' forefathers had been called, a rank which\ncommanded respect both at court and among the populace.\n\nThe dragoman had not told the merchant too much beforehand of the\ngovernor's possessions: he had vast estates, in both Upper and Lower\nEgypt, tilled by thousands of slaves under numerous overseers. Here in\nMemphis was the centre of administration of his property, and besides the\noffices for his private affairs were those he needed as a state official.\n\nWell-kept quays, and the wide road running along the harbor side, divided\nhis large domain from the river, and a street ran along the wall which\nenclosed it on the north. On this side was the great gate, always wide\nopen by day, by which servants or persons on business-errands made their\nentrance; the other gate, a handsome portal with Corinthian columns\nopening from the Nile-quay, was that by which the waterparty had returned\nthe evening before. This was kept closed, and only opened for the family,\nor for guests and distinguished visitors. There was a guardhouse at the\nnorth gate with a small detachment of Egyptian soldiers, who were\nentrusted with the protection of the Mukaukas' person.\n\nAs soon as the refreshing evening breeze came up from the river after the\nheat of the day there was a stir in the great court-yard. Men, women and\ngirls came trooping out of the retainers' dwellings to breathe the cooler\nair. Waiting-maids and slaves dipped for water into enormous earthen\nvessels and carried it away in graceful jars; the free-men of the\nhousehold rested in groups after the fatigues of the day, chatting,\nplaying and singing. From the slaves' quarters in another court-yard came\nconfused sounds of singing hymns, with the shrill tones of the double\npipe and duller noise of the tabor--an invitation to dance; scolding and\nlaughter; the jubilant shouts of a girl led out to dance, and the shrieks\nof a victim to the overseer's rod.\n\nThe servant's gateway, still hung with flowers and wreaths in honor of\nOrion's recent return, was wide open for the coming and going of the\naccountants and scribes, or of such citizens as came very willingly to\npay an evening call on their friends in the governor's household; for\nthere were always some officials near the Mukaukas' person who knew more\nthan other folks of the latest events in Church and State.\n\nEre long a considerable number of men had assembled to sit under the deep\nwooden porch of the head-steward's dwelling, all taking eager part in the\nconversation, which they would have found very enjoyable even without the\nbeer which their host offered them in honor of the great event of his\nyoung lord's return; for what was ever dearer to Egyptians than a brisk\nexchange of talk, at the same time heaping ridicule or scorn on their\nunapproachable superiors in rank, and on all they deem enemies to their\ncreed or their country.\n\nMany a trenchant word and many a witty jest must have been uttered this\nevening, for hearty laughter and loud applause were incessant in the head\nsteward's porch; the captain of the guard at the gate cast envious and\nimpatient glances at the merry band, which he would gladly have joined;\nbut he could not yet leave his post. The messengers' horses were standing\nsaddled while their riders awaited their orders, there were supplicants\nand traders to be admitted or turned away, and there were still a number\nof persons lingering in the large vestibule of the governor's palace and\ncraving to speak with him, for it was well known in Memphis that during\nthe hot season the ailing Mukaukas granted audience only in the evening.\n\nThe Egyptians had not yet acquired full confidence in the Arab\ngovernment, and every one tried to avoid being handed over to its\nrepresentative; for none of its officials could be so wise or so just as\ntheir old Mukaukas. How the suffering man found strength and time to keep\nan eye on everything, it was hard to imagine; but the fact remained that\nhe himself looked into every decision. At the same time no one could be\nsure of his affairs being settled out of hand unless he could get at the\ngovernor himself.\n\nBusiness hours were now over; the anxiety caused both by the delay in the\nrising of the Nile and by the advent of the comet had filled the\nwaiting-rooms with more petitioners than usual. Deputations from town and\nvillage magistrates had been admitted in parties; supplicants on private\nbusiness had gone in one by one; and most of them had come forth content,\nor at any rate well advised. Only one man still lingered,--a countryman\nwhose case had long been awaiting settlement--in the hope that a gift to\nthe great man's doorkeeper, of a few drachmae out of his poverty might at\nlength secure him the fruit of his long patience--when the chamberlain,\nbidding him return on the morrow, officiously flung open the high doors\nthat led to the Mukaukas' apartments, to admit the Arab merchant, in\nconsideration of Haschim's gold piece which had come to him through his\ncousin the dragoman. Haschim, however, had observed the countryman, and\ninsisted on his being shown in first. This was done, and a few minutes\nlater the peasant came out satisfied, and gratefully kissed the Arab's\nhand.\n\nThen the chamberlain led the old merchant, and the men who followed him\nwith a heavy bale, into a magnificent anteroom to wait; and his patience\nwas put to a severe test before his name was called and he could show the\ngovernor his merchandise.\n\nThe Mukaukas, in fact, after signifying by a speechless nod that he would\npresently receive the merchant--who came well recommended--had retired to\nrecreate himself, and was now engaged in a game of draughts, heedless of\nthose whom he kept waiting. He reclined on a divan covered with a sleek\nlioness' skin, while his young antagonist sat opposite on a low stool,\nThe doors of the room, facing the Nile, where he received petitioners\nwere left half open to admit the fresher but still warm evening-air. The\ngreen velarium or awning, which during the day had screened off the sun's\nrays where the middle of the ceiling was open to the sky, was now rolled\nback, and the moon and stars looked down into the room. It was well\nadapted to its purpose as a refuge from the heat of the summer day, for\nthe walls were lined with cool, colored earthenware tiles, the floor was\na brightly-tinted mosaic of patterns on a ground of gold glass, and in\nthe circular central ornament of this artistic pavement stood the real\nsource of freshness: a basin, two man's length across, of brown porphyry\nflecked with white, from which a fountain leaped, filling the surrounding\nair with misty spray. A few stools, couches and small tables, all of\ncool-looking metal, formed the sole furniture of this lofty apartment\nwhich was brilliantly lighted by numerous lamps.\n\nA light air blew in through the open roof and doors, made the lamps\nflicker, and played with Paula's brown hair as she sat absorbed, as it\nseemed, in the game. Orion, who stood behind her, had several times\nendeavored to attract her attention, but in vain. He now eagerly offered\nhis services to fetch her a handkerchief to preserve her from a chill;\nthis, however, she shortly and decidedly declined, though the breeze came\nup damp from the river and she had more than once drawn her peplos more\nclosely across her bosom.\n\nThe young man set his teeth at this fresh repulse. He did not know that\nhis mother had told Paula what he had yesterday agreed to, and could not\naccount for the girl's altered behavior. All day she had treated him with\nicy coldness, had scarcely answered his questions with a distant \"Yes,\"\nor \"No;\" and to him, the spoilt favorite of women, this conduct had\nbecome more and more intolerable. Yes, his mother had judged her rightly:\nshe allowed herself to be swayed in a most extraordinary manner by her\nmoods; and now even he was to feel the insolence of her haughtiness, of\nwhich he had as yet seen nothing. This repellent coldness bordered on\nrudeness and he had no mind to submit to it for long. It was with deep\nvexation that he watched every turn of her hand, every movement of her\nbody, and the varying expression of her face; and the more the image of\nthis proud maiden sank into his heart the more lovely and perfect he\nthought her, and the greater grew his desire to see her smile once more,\nto see her again as sweetly womanly as she had been but yesterday. Now\nshe was like nothing so much as a splendid marble statue, though he knew\nindeed that it had a soul--and what a glorious task it would be to free\nthis fair being from herself, as it were, from the foolish tempers that\nenslaved her, to show her--by severity if need should be--what best\nbeseems a woman, a maiden.\n\nHe became more and more exclusively absorbed in watching the young girl,\nas his mother--who was sitting with Dame Susannah on a couch at some\nlittle distance from the players--observed with growing annoyance, and\nshe tried to divert his attention by questions and small errands, so as\nto give his evident excitement a fresh direction.\n\nWho could have thought, yesterday morning, that her darling would so soon\ncause her fresh vexation and anxiety.\n\nHe had come home just such a man as she and his father could have wished:\nindependent and experienced in the ways of the great world. In the\nCapital he had, no doubt, enjoyed all that seems pleasant in the eyes of\na wealthy youth, but in spite of that he had remained fresh and\nopen-hearted even to the smallest things; and this was what most rejoiced\nhis father. In him there was no trace of the satiety, the blunted faculty\nfor enjoyment, which fell like a blight on so many men of his age and\nrank. He could still play as merrily with little Mary, still take as much\npleasure in a rare flower or a fine horse, as before his departure. At\nthe same time he had gained keen insight into the political situation of\nthe time, into the state of the empire and the court, into\nadministration, and the innovations in church matters; it was a joy to\nhis father to hear him discourse; and he assured his wife that he had\nlearnt a great deal from the boy, that Orion was on the high road to be a\ngreat statesman and was already quite capable of taking his father's\nplace.\n\nWhen Neforis confessed how large a sum in debts Orion had left in\nConstantinople the old man put his hand in his purse with a sort of\npride, delighted to find that his sole remaining heir knew how to spend\nthe immense wealth which to him was now a burden rather than a\npleasure--to make good use of it, as he himself had done in his day, and\ndisplay a magnificence of which the lustre was reflected on him and on\nhis name.\n\n\"With him, at any rate,\" said the old man, \"one gets something for the\nmoney. His horses cost a great deal but he knows how to win with them;\nhis entertainments swallow up a pretty sum, but they gain him respect\nwherever he goes. He brought me a letter from the Senator Justinus, and\nthe worthy man tells me what a leading part he plays among the gilded\nyouth of the Capital. All this is not to be had for nothing, and it will\nbe cheap in the end. What need we care about a hundred talents more or\nless! And there is something magnanimous in the lad that has given him\nthe spirit to feel that.\"\n\nAnd it was not a hale old grey-beard who spoke thus, but a broken man,\nwhose only joy it was to lavish on his son the riches which he had long\nbeen incapable of enjoying. The high-spirited and gifted youth, scarcely\nmore than a boy in years, whom he had sent to the Capital with no small\nmisgivings, must have led a far less lawless life than might have been\nexpected; of this the ruddy tinge in his sunburnt cheeks was ample\nguarantee, the vigorous solidity of his muscles, and the thick waves of\nhis hair, which was artificially curled and fell in a fringe, as was then\nthe fashion, over his high brow, giving him a certain resemblance to the\nportraits of Antinous, the handsomest youth in the time of the Emperor\nHadrian. Even his mother owned that he looked like health itself, and no\nmember of the Imperial family could be more richly, carefully and\nfashionably dressed than her darling. But even in the humblest garb he\nwould have been a handsome--a splendid youth, and his mother's pride!\nWhen he left home there was still a smack of the provincial about him;\nbut now every kind of awkwardness had vanished, and wherever he might\ngo--even in the Capital, he was certain to be one of the first to attract\nobservation and approval.\n\nAnd what had he not known in his city experience? The events of half a\ncentury had followed each other with intoxicating rapidity in the course\nof the thirty months he had spent there. The greater the excitement, the\ngreater the pleasure was the watchword of his time; and though he had\nrioted and revelled on the shores of the Bosphorus if ever man did, still\nthe pleasures of feasting and of love, or of racing with his own\nvictorious horses--all of which he had enjoyed there to the full--were as\nchild's play compared with the nervous tension to which he had been\nstrung by the appalling events he had witnessed on all sides. How petty\nwas the excitement of an Alexandrian horse-race! Whether Timon or Ptolemy\nor he himself should win--what did it matter? It was a fine thing no\ndoubt to carry off the crown in the circus at Byzantium, but there were\nother and soul-stirring crises there beyond those which were bound up\nwith horses or chariots. There a throne was the prize, and might cost the\nblood and life of thousands!--What did a man bring home from the churches\nin the Nile valley? But if he crossed the threshold of St. Sophia's in\nConstantinople he often might have his blood curdled, or bring home--what\nmatter?--bleeding wounds, or even be carried home--a corpse.\n\nThree times had he seen the throne change masters. An emperor and an\nempress had been stripped of the purple and mutilated before his eyes.\n\nAye, then and there he had had real and intense excitement to thrill him\nto the marrow and quick. As for the rest! Well, yes, he had had more\ntrivial pleasures too. He had not been received as other Egyptians were:\nhalf-educated philosophers--who called themselves Sages and assumed a\nmystic and pompously solemn demeanor, Astrologers, Rhetoricians,\npoverty-stricken but witty and venemous satirists, physicians making a\ndisplay of the learning of their forefathers, fanatical\ntheologians--always ready to avail themselves of other weapons than\nreason and dogma in their bitter contests over articles of faith, hermits\nand recluses--as foul in mind as they were dirty in their persons,\ncorn-merchants and usurers with whom it was dangerous to conclude a\nbargain without witnesses. Orion was none of these. As the handsome,\ngenial, and original-minded son of the rich and noble Governor, Mukaukas\nGeorge, he was welcomed as a sort of ambassador; whatever the golden\nyouth of the city allowed themselves was permitted to him. His purse was\nas well lined as theirs, his health and vigor far more enduring; and his\nhorses had beaten theirs in three races, though he drove them himself and\ndid not trust them to paid charioteers. The \"rich Egyptian,\" the \"New\nAntinous,\" \"handsome Orion,\" as he was called, could never be spared from\nfeast or entertainment. He was a welcome guest at the first houses in the\ncity, and in the palace and the villa of the Senator Justinus, an old\nfriend of his father, he was as much at home as a son of the house.\n\nIt was under his roof, and the auspices of his kindhearted wife Martina,\nthat he made acquaintance with the fair Heliodora, the widow of a nephew\nof the Senator; and the whole city had been set talking of the tender\nintimacy Orion had formed with the beautiful young woman whose rigid\nvirtue had hitherto been a subject of admiration no less than her fair\nhair and the big jewels with which she loved to set off her simple but\ncostly dress. And many a fair Byzantine had striven for the young\nEgyptian's good graces before Heliodora had driven them all out of the\nfield. Still, she had not yet succeeded in enslaving Orion deeply and\npermanently; and when, last evening, he had assured his mother that she\nwas not mistress of his heart he spoke truly.\n\nHis conduct in the Capital had not certainly been exemplary, but he had\nnever run wild, and had enjoyed the respect not only of his companions in\npleasure, but of grave and venerable men whom he had met in the house of\nJustinus, and who sang the praises of his intelligence and eagerness to\nlearn. As a boy he had been a diligent scholar, and here he let no\nopportunity slip. Not least had he cultivated his musical talents in the\nImperial city, and had acquired a rare mastery in singing and playing the\nlute.\n\nHe would gladly have remained some time longer at the Capital, but at\nlast the place grew too hot to hold him-mainly on his father's account.\nThe conviction that George had largely contributed to the disaffection of\nEgypt for the Byzantine Empire and had played into the hands of the\nirresistible and detested upstart Arabs, had found increasing acceptance\nin the highest circles, especially since Cyrus--the deposed and now\ndeceased Patriarch of Alexandria--had retired to Constantinople. Orion's\ncapture was in fact already decided on, when the Senator Justinus and\nsome other friends had hinted a warning which he had acted on just in\ntime.\n\nHis father's line of conduct had placed him in great peril; but he owed\nhim no grudge for it--indeed, he most deeply approved of it. A thousand\ntimes had he witnessed the contempt heaped on the Egyptians by the\nGreeks, and the loathing and hatred of the Orthodox for the Monophysite\ncreed of his fellow-countrymen.\n\nHe had with difficulty controlled his wrath as he had listened again and\nagain to the abuse and scorn poured out on his country and people by\ngentle and simple, laymen and priests, even in his presence; regarding\nhim no doubt as one of themselves--a Greek in whose eyes everything\n\"Barbarian\" was as odious and as contemptible as in their own.\n\nBut the blood of his race flowed in the veins of the \"new Antinous\" who\ncould sing Greek songs so well and with so pure an accent; every insult\nto his people was stamped deep in his heart, every sneer at his faith\nrevived his memory of the day when the Melchites had slain his two\nbrothers. And these bloody deeds, these innumerable acts of oppression by\nwhich the Greek; had provoked and offended the schismatic Egyptian and\nhunted them to death, were now avenged by his father. It lifted up his\nheart and made him proud to think of it. He showed his secret soul to the\nold man who was as much surprised as delighted at what he found there;\nfor he had feared that Orion might not be able wholly to escape the\npowerful influences of Greek beguilements;--nay, he had often felt\nanxious lest his own son might disapprove of his having surrendered to\nthe Arab conquerors the province entrusted to his rule, and concluded a\npeace with them.\n\nThe Mukaukas now felt himself as one with Orion, and from time to time\nlooked tenderly up at him from the draught-board. Neforis was doing her\nbest to entertain the mother of her son's future bride, and divert her\nattention from his strange demeanor. She seemed indeed to be successful,\nfor Dame Susannah agreed to everything she said; but she betrayed the\nfact that she was keeping a sharp watch by suddenly asking: \"Does your\nhusband's lofty niece not think us worthy of a single word?\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" said Neforis bitterly. \"I only hope she may soon find some other\npeople to whom she can behave more graciously. You may depend upon it I\nwill put no obstacle in her way.\"\n\nThen she brought the conversation round to Katharina, and the widow told\nher that her brother-in-law, Chrysippus, was now in Memphis with his two\nlittle daughters. They were to go away on the morrow, so the young girl\nhad been obliged to devote herself to them: \"And so the poor child is\nsitting there at this minute,\" she lamented, \"and must keep those two\nlittle chatter-boxes quiet while she is longing to be here instead.\"\n\nOrion quite understood these last words; he asked after the young girl,\nand then added gaily:\n\n\"She promised me a collar yesterday for my little white keepsake from\nConstantinople. Fie! Mary, you should not tease the poor little beast.\"\n\n\"No, let the dog go,\" added the widow, addressing the governor's little\ngranddaughter, who was trying to make the recalcitrant dog kiss her doll.\n\"But you know, Orion, this tiny creature is really too delicate for such\na big man as you are! You should give him to some pretty young lady and\nthen he would fulfil his destiny! And Katharina is embroidering him a\ncollar; I ought not to tell her little secret, but it is to have gold\nstars on a blue ground.\"\n\n\"Because Orion is a star,\" cried the little girl. \"So she is working\nnothing but Orions.\"\n\n\"But fortunately there is but one star of my name,\" observed he. \"Pray\ntell her that Dame Susa.\"\n\nThe child clapped her hands. \"He does not choose to have any other star\nnear him!\" she exclaimed.\n\nThe widow broke in: \"Little simpleton! I know people who cannot even bear\nto have a likeness traced between themselves and any one else.--But this\nyou must permit, Orion--you were quite right just now, Neforis; his mouth\nand brow might have been taken from his father's face.\"\n\nThe remark was quite accurate; and yet it would have been hard to imagine\ntwo men more unlike than the bright youth full of vitality, and the\nlanguid old man on the couch, to whom even the small exertion of moving\nthe men was an effort. The Mukaukas might once have been like his son,\nbut in some long past time. Thin grey locks now only covered one half of\nhis bald head, and of his eyes, which, thirty years since, had sparkled\nperhaps as keenly as Orion's, there was usually nothing, or very little\nto be seen; for the heavy lids always drooped over them as though they\nhad lost the power to open, and this gave his handsome but deathly-pale\nface a somewhat owl-like look. It was not morose, however; on the\ncontrary the mingled lines of suffering and of benevolent kindliness\nresulted in an expression only of melancholy. The mouth and flabby cheeks\nwere as motionless as though they were dead. Grief, anxiety and alarms\nseemed to have passed over them with a paralysing hand and had left their\ntrace there. He looked like a man weary unto death, and still living only\nbecause fate had denied him the grace to die. Indeed, he had often been\ntaken for dead by his family when he had dipped too freely into a certain\nlittle blood-stone box to take too many of the white opium-pills, one of\nwhich he placed between his colorless lips at long intervals, even during\nhis game of draughts.\n\nHe lifted each piece slowly, like a sleeper with his eyes half shut; and\nyet his opponent could not hold her own against his wary tactics and was\ndefeated by him now for the third time, though her uncle himself called\nher a good player. It was easy to read in her high, smooth brow and\ndark-blue eyes with their direct gaze, that she could think clearly and\ndecisively, and also feel deeply. But she seemed wilful too, and\ncontradictory--at any rate to-day; for when Orion pointed out some move\nto her she rarely took his advice, but with set lips, pushed the piece\naccording to her own, rarely wiser, judgment. It was quite plain that she\nwas refractory under the guidance of this--especially of this counsellor.\n\nThe bystanders could not fail to see the girl's repellent manner and\nOrion's eager attempts to propitiate her; and for this reason Neforis was\nglad when, just as her husband had finished the third game, and had\npushed the men together on the board with the back of his hand, his\nchamberlain reminded him that the Arab was without, awaiting his pleasure\nwith growing impatience. The Mukaukas answered only by a sign, drew his\nlong caftan of the finest wool closer around him, and pointed to the\ndoors and the open roof. The rest of the party had long felt the chill of\nthe damp night air that blew through the room from the river, but knowing\nthat the father suffered more from heat than from anything, they had all\nwillingly endured the draught. Now, however, Orion called the slaves, and\nbefore the strangers were admitted the doors were closed and the roof\ncovered.\n\nPaula rose; the governor lay motionless and kept his eyes apparently\nclosed; he must, however, have seen what was going forward through an\nimperceptible slit, for he turned first to Paula and then to the other\nwomen saying: \"Is it not strange?--Most old folks, like children, seek\nthe sun, and love to sit, as the others play, in its heat. While\nI--something that happened to me years ago--you know;--and it seemed to\nfreeze my blood. Now it never gets warm, and I feel the contrast between\nthe coolness in here and the heat outside most acutely, almost as a pain.\nThe older we grow the more ready we are to abandon to the young the\nthings we ourselves used most to enjoy. The only thing which we old folks\ndo not willingly relinquish is personal comfort, and I thank you for\nenduring annoyances so patiently for the sake of securing mine.--It is a\nterrific summer! You, Paula, from the heights of Lebanon, know what ice\nis. How often have I wished that I could have a bed of snow. To feel\nmyself one with that fresh, still coldness would be all I wish for! The\ncold air which you dread does me good. But the warmth of youth rebels\nagainst everything that is cool.\"\n\nThis was the first long sentence the Mukaukas had uttered since the\nbeginning of the game. Orion listened respectfully to the end, but then\nhe said with a laugh: \"But there are some young people who seem to take\npleasure in being cool and icy--for what cause God alone knows!\"\n\nAs he spoke he looked the girl at whom the words were aimed, full in the\nface; but she turned silently and proudly away, and an angry shade passed\nover her lovely features.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nWhen the Arab was at last admitted to the governor's presence his\nattendants unfolded a hanging before him. The giant Masdakite did the\nchief share of the work; but as soon as the Mukaukas caught sight of the\nbig man, with his bushy, mane-like hair, and a dagger and a battle-axe\nstuck through his belt, he cried out:\n\n\"Away, away with him! That man--those weapons--I will not look at the\nhanging till he is gone.\"\n\nHis hands were trembling, and the merchant at once desired his faithful\nRustem, the most harmless of mortals, to quit the room. The governor,\nwhose sensitive nerves had been liable to such attacks of panic ever\nsince an exiled Greek had once attempted to murder him, now soon\nrecovered his composure, and looked with great admiration at the hanging\nround which the family were standing. They all confessed they had never\nseen anything like it, and the vivacious Dame Susannah proposed to send\nfor her daughter and her visitors; but it was already late, and her house\nwas so far from the governor's that she gave that up. The father and son\nhad already heard of this marvellous piece of work, which had formed part\nof the plunder taken by the Arab conquerors of the Persian Empire at the\nsack of the \"White Tower\"--the royal palace of Madam, the capital of the\nSassanidze. They knew that it had been originally 300 ells long and 60\nells wide, and had heard with indignation that the Khaliff Omar, who\nalways lived and dressed and ate like the chief of a caravan, and looked\ndown with contempt on all such objects of luxury, had cut this\ninestimable treasure of art into pieces and divided it among the\nCompanions of the Prophet.\n\nHaschim explained to them that this particular fragment had been the\nshare of the booty allotted to Ali, the Prophet's son-in-law. Haschim\nhimself had seen the work before its dismemberment at Madain, where it\nhung on the wall of the magnificent throne-room, and subsequently, at\nMedina.\n\nHis audience eagerly requested him to describe the other portions; he,\nhowever, seemed somewhat uneasy, looking down at his bare feet which were\nstanding on the mosaic pavement, damp from the fountain; for, after the\nmanner of his nation, he had left his shoes in the outer room. The\ngovernor had noticed the old man's gestures as he repeatedly put his hand\nto his mouth, and while his wife, Orion, and the widow were besieging the\nmerchant with questions, he whispered a few words to one of the slaves.\nThe man vanished, and returned bringing in, by his master's orders, a\nlong strip of carpet which he laid in front of the Arab's brown and\nstrong but delicately-formed feet.\n\nA wonderful change came over the merchant's whole being as this was done.\nHe drew himself up with a dignity which none of those present had\nsuspected in the man who had so humbly entered the room and so diligently\npraised his wares; an expression of satisfaction overspread his calm,\nmild features, a sweet smile parted his lips, and his kind eyes sparkled\nthrough tears like those of a child unexpectedly pleased. Then he bowed\nbefore the Mukaukas, touching his brow, lips and breast with the\nfinger-tips of the right hand to express: \"All my thoughts, words and\nfeelings are devoted to you,\"--while he said: \"Thanks, Son of Menas. That\nwas the act of Moslem.\"\n\n\"Of a Christian!\" cried Orion hastily. But his father shook his head\ngently, and said, slowly and impressively: \"Only of a man.\"\n\n\"Of a man,\" repeated the merchant, and then he added thoughtfully: \"Of a\nman! Yes, that is the highest mark so long as we are what we ought to be\nThe image of the one God. Who is more compassionate than He? And every\nmother's son who is likewise compassionate, is like him.\"\n\n\"Another Christian rule, thou strange Moslem!\" said Orion interrupting\nhim.\n\n\"And yet,\" said Haschim, with tranquil dignity, \"it corresponds word for\nword with the teaching of the Best of men--our Prophet. I am one of those\nwho knew him here on earth. His brother's smallest pain filled his soft\nheart with friendly sympathy; his law insists on charity, even towards\nthe shrub by the, wayside; he pronounces it mortal sin to injure it, and\nevery Moslem must obey him. Compassion for all is the command of the\nProphet. . . .\" Here the Arab was suddenly and roughly interrupted;\nPaula, who, till now, had been leaning against a pilaster, contemplating\nthe hanging and silently listening to the conversation, hastily stepped\nnearer to the old man, and with flaming cheeks and flashing eyes pointed\nat him wrathfully, while she exclaimed in a trembling voice-heedless\nalike of the astonished and indignant bystanders, and of the little dog\nwhich flew at the Arab, barking furiously:\n\n\"You--you, the followers of the false prophet--you, the companions of the\nbloodhound Khalid--you and Charity! I know you! I know what you did in\nSyria. With these eyes have I seen you, and your bloodthirsty women, and\nthe foam on your raging lips. Here I stand to bear witness against you\nand I cast it in your teeth: You broke faith in Damascus, and the victims\nof your treachery--defenceless women and tender infants as well as\nmen--you killed with the sword or strangled with your hands. You--you the\nApostle of Compassion?--have you ever heard of Abyla? You, the friend of\nyour Prophet--I ask you what did you, who so tenderly spare the tree by\nthe wayside, do to the innocent folk of Abyla, whom you fell upon like\nwolves in a sheepfold? You--you and Compassionate!\" The vehement girl, to\nwhom no one had ever shown any pity, and on whose soul the word had\nfallen like a mockery, who for long hours had been suffering suppressed\nand torturing misery, felt it a relief to give free vent to the anguish\nof her soul; she ended with a hard laugh, and waved her hand round her\nhead as though to disperse a swarm of gadflies.\n\nWhat a woman!\n\nOrion's gaze was fixed on her in horror--but in enchantment. Yes, his\nmother had judged her rightly. No gentle, tender-hearted woman laughed\nlike that; but she was grand, splendid, wonderful in her wrath. She\nreminded him of the picture of the goddess of vengeance, by Apelles,\nwhich he had seen in Constantinople. His mother shrugged her shoulders\nand cast a meaning glance at the widow, and even his father was startled\nat the sight. He knew what had roused her; still he felt that he could\nnot permit this, and he recalled the excited girl to her senses by\nspeaking her name, half-reproachfully and half-regretfully, at first\nquite gently but then louder and more severely.\n\nShe started like a sleep-walker suddenly awaked from her trance, passed\nher hand over her eyes, and said, as she bowed her head before the\ngovernor:\n\n\"Forgive me, Uncle, I am sorry for what has occurred--but it was too much\nfor me. You know what my past has been, and when I am reminded--when I\nmust listen to the praises even of the wretches to whom my father and\nbrother. . . .\"\n\nA loud sob interrupted her; little Mary was clinging to her and weeping.\nOrion could hardly keep himself from hastening to her and clasping her in\nhis arms. Ah, how well her woman's weakness became the noble girl! How\nstrongly it drew him to her!\n\nBut Paula soon recovered from it; even while the governor was soothing\nher with kind words she mastered her violent agitation, and said gently,\nthough her tears still quietly flowed: \"Let me go to my room, I\nbeg. . . .\"\n\n\"Good-night, then, child,\" said the Mukaukas affectionately, and Paula\nturned towards the door with a silent greeting to the rest of the party;\nbut the Moslem detained her and said:\n\n\"I know who you are, noble daughter of Thomas, and I have heard that your\nbrother was the bridegroom who had come to Abyla to solemnize his\nmarriage with the daughter of the prefect of Tripolis. Alas, alas! I\nmyself was there with my merchandise at the fair, when a maddened horde\nof my fellow-believers fell upon the peaceful town. Poor child, poor\nchild! Your father was the greatest and most redoubtable of our foes.\nWhether still on earth or in heaven he yet, no doubt honors our sword as\nwe honor his. But your brother, whom we sent to his grave as a\nbridegroom--he cursed us with his dying breath. You have inherited his\nrancor; and when it surges up against me, a Moslem, I can do no more than\nbow my head and do penance for the guilt of those whose blood runs in my\nveins and whose faith I confess. I have nothing to plead--no, noble\nmaiden, nothing that can excuse the deed of Abyla. There--there alone it\nwas the fate of my grey hairs to be ashamed of my fellow-Moslems--believe\nme, maiden, it was grievous to me. War, and the memory of many friends\nslain and of wealth lightly plundered had unchained men's passion; and\nwhere passion's pinions wave, whether in the struggle for mine and thine\nor for other possessions, ever since the days of Cain and Abel, it is\nalways and everywhere the same.\"\n\nPaula, who till now had stood motionless in front of the old man, shook\nher head and said bitterly:\n\n\"But all this will not give me back my father and brother. You yourself\nlook like a kind-hearted man; but for the future--if you are as just as\nyou are kind--find out to whom you are speaking before you talk of the\ncompassion of the Moslems!\"\n\nShe once more bowed good-night and left the room. Orion followed her;\ncome what might he must see her. But he returned a few minutes after,\nbreathing hard and with his teeth set. He had taken her hand, had tried\nto tell her all a loving heart could find to say; but how sharply, how\nicily had he been repulsed, with what an air of intolerable scorn had she\nturned her back upon him! And now that he was in their midst again he\nscarcely heard his father express his regrets that so painful a scene\nshould have occurred under his roof, while the Arab said that he could\nquite understand why the daughter of Thomas should have been betrayed to\nanger: the massacre of Abyla was quite inexcusable.\n\n\"But then,\" the old man went on, \"in what war do not such things take\nplace? Even the Christian is not always master of himself: you yourself I\nknow, lost two promising sons--and who were the murderers?\nChristians--your own fellow-believers. . .\"\n\n\"The bitterest foes of my beliefs,\" said the governor slowly, and every\nsyllable was a calm and dignified reproof to the Moslem for supposing\nthat the creed of those who had killed his sons could be his. As he spoke\nhe opened his eyes wide with the look of those hard, opaquely-glittering\nstones which his ancestors had been wont to set for eyes in their\nportrait statues. But he suddenly closed them again and said\nindifferently:\n\n\"At what price do you value your hanging? I have a fancy to buy it. Name\nyour lowest terms: I cannot bear to bargain.\"\n\n\"I had thought of asking five hundred thousand drachmae,\" said the\ndealer. \"Four hundred thousand drachmae, and it is yours.\"\n\nThe governor's wife clasped her hands at such a sum and made warning\nsignals to her husband, shaking her head disapprovingly, when Orion,\nmaking a great effort to show that he too took an interest in this\nimportant transaction, said: \"It may be worth three hundred thousand.\"\n\n\"Four hundred thousand,\" repeated the merchant coolly. \"Your father\nwished to know the lowest price, and I am asking no more than is right.\nThe rubies and garnets in these grapes, the pearls in the myrtle\nblossoms, the turquoises in the forget-me-nots, the diamonds hanging as\ndew on the grass, the emeralds which give brilliancy to the green\nleaves--this one especially, which is an immense stone--alone are worth\nmore.\"\n\n\"Then why do you not cut them out of the tissue?\" asked Neforis.\n\n\"Because I cannot bear to destroy this noble work,\" replied the Arab. \"I\nwill sell it as it is or not at all.\" At these words the Mukaukas nodded\nto his son, heedless of the disapprobation his wife persisted in\nexpressing, asked for a tablet which lay near the chessboard, and on it\nwrote a few words.\n\n\"We are agreed,\" he said to the merchant. \"The treasurer, Nilus, will\nhand you the payment to-morrow morning on presenting this order.\"\n\nA fresh emotion now took possession of Orion, and crying: \"Splendid!\nSplendid!\" he rushed up to his father and excitedly kissed his hand.\nThen, turning to his mother, whose eyes were full of tears of vexation,\nhe put his hand under her chin, kissed her brow, and exclaimed with\ntriumphant satisfaction: \"This is how we and the emperor do business!\nWhen the father is the most liberal of men the son is apt to look small.\nMeaning no harm, worthy merchant! As far as the hanging is concerned, it\nmay be more precious than all the treasures of Croesus; but you have\nsomething yet to give us into the bargain before you load your camels\nwith our gold: Tell us what the whole work was like before it was\ndivided.\"\n\nThe Moslem, who had placed the precious tablet in his girdle, at once\nobeyed this request.\n\n\"You know how enormous were its length and breadth,\" he began. \"The hall\nit decorated could hold several thousand guests, besides space for a\nhundred body guards to stand on each side of the throne. As many weavers,\nembroiderers and jewellers as there are days in the year worked on it,\nthey say, for the years of a man's life. The woven picture represented\nparadise as the Persians imagine it--full of green trees, flowers and\nfruits. Here you can still see a fragment of the sparkling fountain\nwhich, when seen from a distance, with its sprinkling of diamonds,\nsapphires and emeralds, looked like living water. Here the pearls\nrepresent the foam on a wave. These leaves, cut across here, belonged to\na rose-bush which grew by the fountain of Eden before the evil of the\nfirst rain fell on the world.\n\n\"Originally all roses were white, but as the limbs of the first woman\nshone with more dazzling whiteness they blushed for shame, and since then\nthere are crimson as well as white roses. So the Persians say.\"\n\n\"And this--our piece?\" asked Orion.\n\n\"This,\" replied the merchant, with a pleasant glance at the young man,\n\"was the very middle of the hanging. On the left you see the judgment at\nthe bridge of Chinvat. The damned were not represented, but only the\nwinged, Fravashi, Genii who, as the Persians believe, dwell one with each\nmortal as his guardian angel through life, united to him but separable.\nThey were depicted in stormy pursuit of the damned--the miscreant\nfollowers of Angramainjus, the evil Spirit, of whom you must imagine a\nvast multitude fleeing before them. The souls in bliss, the pure and\nfaithful servants of the Persian divinity Auramazda, enter with songs of\ntriumph into the flower-decked pleasure-garden, while at their feet the\nspirits were shown of those who were neither altogether cursed nor\naltogether blessed, vanishing in humble silence into a dusky grove. The\npure enjoyed the gifts of paradise in peace and contentment.--All this\nwas explained to me by a priest of the Fire-worshippers. Here, you see,\nis a huge bunch of grapes which one of the happy ones is about to pluck;\nthe hand is uninjured--the arm unfortunately is cut through; but here is\na splendid fragment of the wreath of fruit and flowers which framed the\nwhole. That emerald forming a bud--how much do you think it is worth?\"\n\n\"A magnificent stone!\" cried Orion. \"Even Heliodora has nothing to equal\nit.--Well, father, what do you say is its value?\"\n\n\"Great, very great,\" replied the Mukaukas. \"And yet the whole unmutilated\nwork would be too small an offering for Him to whom I propose to offer\nit.\"\n\n\"To the great general, Amru?\" asked Orion.\n\n\"No child,\" said the governor decidedly. \"To the great, indivisible and\ndivine Person of Jesus Christ and his Church.\"\n\nOrion looked down greatly disappointed; the idea of seeing this splendid\ngem hidden away in a reliquary in some dim cupboard did not please him:\nHe could have found a much more gratifying use for it.\n\nNeither his father nor his mother observed his dissatisfaction, for\nNeforis had rushed up to her husband's couch, and fallen on her knees by\nhis side, covering his cold, slender hand with kisses, as joyful as\nthough this determination had relieved her of a heavy burden of dread:\n\"Our souls, our souls, George! For such a gift--only wait--you will be\nforgiven all, and recover your lost peace!\"\n\nThe governor shrugged his shoulders and said nothing; the hanging was\nrolled up and locked into the tablinum by Orion; then the Mukaukas bid\nthe chamberlain show the Arab and his followers to quarters for the\nnight.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Abandon to the young the things we ourselves used most to enjoy\n     Spoilt to begin with by their mothers, and then all the women\n     Talk of the wolf and you see his tail\n     Temples of the old gods were used as quarries\n     Women are indeed the rock ahead in this young fellow's life\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nPangs of soul and doubtings of conscience had, in fact, prompted the\ngovernor to purchase the hanging and he therefore might have been glad if\nit had cost him still dearer. The greater the gift the better founded his\nhope of grace and favor from the recipient! And he had grounds for being\nuneasy and for asking himself whether he had acted rightly. Revenge was\nno Christian virtue, but to let the evil done to him by the Melchites go\nunpunished when the opportunity offered for crushing them was more than\nhe could bring himself to. Nay, what father whose two bright young sons\nhad been murdered, but would have done as he did? That fearful blow had\nstruck him in a vital spot. Since that day he had felt himself slowly\ndying; and that sense of weakness, those desperate tremors, the\ndiscomforts and suffering which blighted every hour of his life, were\nalso to be set down to the account of the Melchite tyrants.\n\nHis waning powers had indeed only been kept up by his original vigor and\nhis burning thirst for revenge, and fate had allowed him to quench it in\na way which, as time went on, seemed too absolute to his peace-loving\nnature. Though not indeed by his act, still with his complicity he saw\nthe Byzantine Empire bereft of the rich province which Caesar had\nentrusted to his rule, saw the Greeks and everything that bore the name\nof Melchite driven out of Egypt with ignominy--though he would gladly\nhave prevented it--in many places slain like dogs by the furious populace\nwho hailed the Moslems as their deliverers.\n\nThus all the evil he had invoked on the murderers of his children and the\noppressors and torturers of his people had come upon them; his revenge\nwas complete. But, in the midst of his satisfaction at this strange\nfulfilment of the fervent wish of years, his conscience had lifted up its\nvoice; new, and hitherto unknown terrors had come upon him. He lacked the\nstrength of mind to be a hero or a reformer. Too great an event had been\nwrought through his agency, too fearful a doom visited on thousands of\nmen! The Christian Faith--to him the highest consideration--had been too\ngreatly imperilled by his act, for the thought that he had caused all\nthis to be calmly endurable. The responsibility proved too heavy for his\nshoulders; and whenever he repeated to himself that it was not he who had\ninvited the Arabs into the land, and that he must have been crushed in\nthe attempt to repel them, he could hear voices all round him denouncing\nhim as the man who had surrendered his native land to them, and he\nfancied himself environed by dangers--believing those who spoke to him of\nassassins sent forth by the Byzantines to kill him.--But even more\nappalling, was his dread of the wrath of Heaven against the man who had\nbetrayed a Christian country to the Infidels. Even his consciousness of\nhaving been, all his life long, a right-minded, just man could not\nfortify him against this terror; there was but one thing which could\nraise his quelled spirit: the white pillules which had long been as\nindispensable to him as air and water. The kind-hearted old bishop of\nMemphis, Plotinus, and his clergy had forgiveness for all; the Patriarch\nBenjamin, on the contrary, had treated him as a reprobate sentenced to\neternal damnation, though at the time of this prelate's exile in the\ndesert he had hailed the Arabs as their deliverers from the tyranny of\nthe Melchites, and though George had principally contributed to his\nrecall and reinstatement, and had therefore counted on his support. And,\nalthough the Mukaukas could clearly see through the secondary motives\nwhich influenced the Patriarch, he nevertheless believed that Benjamin's\noffice as Shepherd of souls gave him power to close the Gates of Heaven\nagainst any sheep in his flock.\n\nThe more firmly the Arabs took root in his land, the wiser their rule,\nand the, more numerous the Egyptian converts from the Cross to the\nCrescent, the greater he deemed his guilt; and when, after the\naccomplishment of his work of vengeance--his double treason as the Greeks\ncalled it--instead of the wrath of God, everything fell to his lot which\nmen call happiness and the favors of fortune, the superstitious man\nfeared lest this was the wages of the Devil, into whose clutches his\nhasty compact with the Moslems had driven so many Christian souls.\n\nHe had unexpectedly fallen heir to two vast estates, and his excavators\nin the Necropolis had found more gold in the old heathen tombs than all\nthe others put together. The Moslem Khaliff and his viceroy had left him\nin office and shown him friendship and respect; the bulaites--[Town\ncouncillors]--of the town had given him the cognomen of \"the Just\" by\nacclamation of the whole municipality; his lands had never yielded\ngreater revenues; he received letters from his son's widow in her convent\nfull of happiness over the new and higher aims in life that she had\nfound; his grandchild, her daughter, was a creature whose bright and\nlovely blossoming was a joy even to strangers; his son's frequent\nepistles from Constantinople assured him that he was making progress in\nall respects; and he did not forget his parents; for he was never weary\nof reporting to them, of his own free impulse, every, pleasure he enjoyed\nand every success he won.\n\nThus even in a foreign land he had lived with the father and mother who\nto him were all that was noblest and dearest.\n\nAnd Paula! Though his wife could not feel warmly towards her the old man\nregarded her presence in the house as a happy dispensation to which he\nowed many a pleasant hour, not only over the draughts-board.\n\nAll these things might indeed be the wages of Satan; but if indeed it\nwere so, he--George the Mukaukas--would show the Evil One that he was no\nservant of his, but devoted to the Saviour in whose mercy he trusted.\nWith what fervent gratitude to the Almighty was his soul filled for the\nreturn of such a son! Every impulse of his being urged him to give\nexpression to this feeling; his terrors and gratitude alike prompted him\nto spend so vast a sum in order to dedicate a matchless gift to the\nChurch of Christ. He viewed himself as a prisoner of war whose ransom has\njust been paid, as he handed to the merchant the tablet with the order\nfor the money; and when he was carried to bed, and his wife was not yet\nweary of thanking him for his pious intention, he felt happier and more\nlight-hearted than he had done for many years. Generally he could hear\nPaula walking up and down her room which was over his; for she went late\nto rest, and in the silence of the night would indulge in sweet and\npainful memories. How many loved ones a cruel fate had snatched from her!\nFather, brother, her nearest relations and friends; all at once, by the\nhand of the Moslems to whom he had abandoned her native land almost\nwithout resistance.\n\n\"I do not hear Paula to-night,\" he remarked, glancing up as though he\nmissed something. \"The poor child has no doubt gone to bed early after\nwhat passed.\"\n\n\"Leave her alone!\" said Neforis who did not like to be interrupted in her\njubilant effusiveness, and she shrugged her shoulders angrily. \"How she\nbehaved herself again! We have heard a great deal too much about charity,\nand though I do not want to boast of my own I am very ready to exercise\nit--indeed, it is no more than my duty to show every kindness to a\ndestitute relation of yours. But this girl! She tries me too far, and\nafter all I am no more than human. I can have no pleasure in her\npresence; if she comes into the room I feel as though misfortune had\ncrossed the threshold. Besides!--You never see such things; but Orion\nthinks of her a great deal more than is good. I only wish she had been\nsafe out of the house!\"\n\n\"Neforis!\" her husband said in mild reproach; and he would have reproved\nher more sharply but that since he had become a slave to opium he had\nlost all power of asserting himself vigorously whether in small matters\nor great.\n\nEre long the Mukaukas had fallen into an uneasy sleep; but he opened his\neyes more frequently than usual. He missed the light footfall overhead to\nwhich he had been accustomed for these two years past; but she who was\nwont to pace the floor above half the night through had not gone to rest\nas he supposed. After the events of the evening she had indeed retired to\nher room with tingling cheeks and burning eyes; but the slave-girls, who\npaid little attention to a guest who was no more than endured and looked\non askance by their mistress, had neglected to open her window-shutters\nafter sundown, as she had requested, and the room was oppressively sultry\nand airless. The wooden shutters felt hot to the touch, so did the linen\nsheets over the wool mattrasses. The water in her jug, and even the\nhandkerchief she took up were warm. To an Egyptian all this would have\nbeen a matter of course; but the native of Damascus had always passed the\nsummer in her father's country house on the heights of Lebanon, in cool\nand lucent shade, and the all-pervading heat of the past day had been to\nher intolerable.\n\nOutside it was pleasant now; so without much reflection she pushed open\nthe shutter, wrapped a long, dark-hued kerchief about her head and stole\ndown the steep steps and out through a little side door into the\ncourt-yard.\n\nThere she drew a deep breath and spread out her arms longingly, as though\nshe would fain fly far, far from thence; but then she dropped them again\nand looked about her. It was not the want of fresh air alone that had\nbrought her out; no, what she most craved for was to open her oppressed\nand rebellious heart to another; and here, in the servants' quarters,\nthere were two souls, one of which knew, understood and loved her, while\nthe other was as devoted to her as a faithful dog, and did errands for\nher which were to be kept hidden from the governor's house and its\ninhabitants.\n\nThe first was her nurse who had accompanied her to Egypt; the other was a\nfreed slave, her father's head groom, who had escorted the women with his\nson, a lad, giving them shelter when, after the massacre of Abyla, they\nhad ventured out of their hiding-place, and after lurking for some time\nin the valley of Lebanon, had found no better issue than to fly to Egypt\nand put themselves under the protection of the Mukaukas, whose sister had\nbeen Paula's father's first wife. She herself was the child of his second\nmarriage with a Syrian of high rank, a relation of the Emperor Heraclius,\nwho had died, quite young, shortly after Paula's birth.\n\nBoth these servants had been parted from her. Perpetua, the nurse, had\nbeen found useful by the governor's wife, who soon discovered that size\nwas particularly skilled in weaving and who had made her superintendent\nof the slave-girls employed at the loom; the old woman had willingly\nundertaken the duties though she herself was free-born, for her first\npoint in life was to remain near her beloved foster-child. Hiram too, the\ngroom, and his son had found their place among the Mukaukas' household;\nin the first instance to take charge of the five horses from her father's\nstable which had brought the fugitives to Egypt, but afterwards--for the\ngovernor was not slow to discern his skill in such matters--as a leech\nfor all sorts of beasts, and as an adviser is purchasing horses.\n\nPaula wanted to speak with them both, and she knew exactly where to find\nthem; but she could not get to them without exposing herself to much that\nwas unpleasant, for the governor's free retainers and their friends, not\nto mention the guard of soldiers who, now that the gates were closed,\nwere still sitting in parties to gossip; they would certainly not break\nup for some time yet, since the slaves were only now bringing out the\nsoldiers' supper.\n\nThe clatter in the court-yard was unceasing, for every one who was free\nto come out was enjoying the coolness of the night. Among them there were\nno slaves; these had been sent to their quarters when the gates were\nshut; but even in their dwellings voices were still audible.\n\nWith a beating heart Paula tried to see and hear all that came within the\nken of her keen eyes and ears. The growing moon lighted up half the\nenclosure, the rest, so far as the shadow fell, lay in darkness. But in\nthe middle of a large semi-circle of free servants a fire was blazing,\nthrowing a fitful light on their brown faces; and now and again, as fresh\npine-cones were thrown in, it flared up and illuminated even the darker\nhalf of the space before her. This added to her trepidation; she had to\ncross the court-yard, as she hoped, unseen; for innocent and natural as\nher proceedings were, she knew that her uncle's wife would put a wrong\nconstruction on her nocturnal expedition.\n\nAt first Neforis had begged her husband to assist Paula in her search for\nher father, of whose death no one had any positive assurance. But his\nwife's urgency had not been needed: the Mukaukas, of his own free will,\nhad for a whole year done everything in his power to learn the truth as\nto the lost man's end, from Christian or Moslem, till, many months since,\nNeforis had declared that any further exertions in the matter were mere\nfolly, and her weak-willed husband had soon been brought to share her\nviews and give up the search for the missing hero. He had secured for\nPaula, not without some personal sacrifice, much of her father's\nproperty, had sold the landed estates to advantage, collected outstanding\ndebts wherever it was still possible, and was anxious to lay before her a\nstatement of what he had recovered for her. But she knew that her\ninterests were safe in his hands and was satisfied to learn that, though\nshe was not rich in the eyes of this Egyptian Croesus, she was possessed\nof a considerable fortune. When once and again she had asked for a\nportion of it to prosecute her search, the Mukaukas at once caused it to\nbe paid to her; but the third time he refused, with the best intentions\nbut quite firmly, to yield to her wishes. He said he was her Kyrios and\nnatural guardian, and explained that it was his duty to hinder her from\ndissipating a fortune which she might some day find a boon or indeed\nindispensable, in pursuit of a phantom--for that was what this search had\nlong since become.\n\n   [Kyrios: The woman's legal proxy, who represented her in courts of\n   justice. His presence gave her equal rights with a man in the eyes\n   of the Law.]\n\nThe money she had already spent he had replaced out of his own coffers.\n\nThis, she felt, was a noble action; still she urged him again and again\nto grant her wish, but always in vain. He laid his hand with firm\ndetermination on the wealth in his charge and would not allow her another\nsolidus for the sole and dearest aim of her life.\n\nShe seemed to submit; but her purpose of spending her all to recover any\ntrace of her lost parent never wavered in her determined soul. She had\nsold a string of pearls, and for the price, her faithful Hiram had been\nable first to make a long journey himself and then to send out a number\nof messengers into various lands. By this time one at least might very\nwell have reached home with some news, and she must see the freed-man.\n\nBut how could she get to him undetected? For some minutes she stood\nwatching and listening for a favorable moment for crossing the\ncourt-yard. Suddenly a blaze lighted up a face--it was Hiram's.\n\nAt this moment the merry semi-circle laughed loudly as with one voice;\nshe hastily made up her mind--drew her kerchief closer over her face, ran\nquickly along the darker half of the quadrangle and, stooping low,\nhurried across the moonlight towards the slaves' quarters.\n\nAt the entrance she paused; her heart throbbed violently. Had she been\nobserved? No.--There was not a cry, not a following footstep--every dog\nknew her; the soldiers who were commonly on guard here had quitted their\nposts and were sitting with their comrades round the fire.\n\nThe long building to the left was the weaving shop and her nurse Perpetua\nlived there, in the upper story. But even here she must be cautious, for\nthe governor's wife often came out to give her orders to the workwomen,\nand to see and criticise the produce of the hundred looms which were\nalways in motion, early and late. If she should be seen, one of the\nweavers might only too probably betray the fact of her nocturnal visit.\nThey had not yet gone to rest, for loud laughter fell upon her ear from\nthe large sheds, open on all sides, which stood over the dyers' vats.\nThis class of the governor's people were also enjoying the cool night\nafter the fierce heat of the day, and the girls too had lighted a fire.\n\nPaula must pass them in full moonshine--but not just yet; and she\ncrouched close to the straw thatch which stretched over the huge clay\nwater-jars placed here for the slave-girls to get drink from. It cast a\ndark triangular shadow on the dusty ground that gleamed in the moonlight,\nand thus screened her from the gaze of the girls, while she could hear\nand see what was going on in the sheds.\n\nThe dreadful day of torture ending in a harsh discord was at end; and\nbehind it she looked back on a few blissful hours full of the promise of\nnew happiness;--beyond these lay a long period of humiliation, the sequel\nof a terrible disaster. How bright and sunny had her childhood been, how\ndelightful her early youth! For long years of her life she had waked\nevery morning to new joys, and gone to rest every evening with sincere\nand fervent thanksgivings, that had welled from her soul as freely and\nnaturally as perfume from a rose. How often had she shaken her head in\nperplexed unbelief when she heard life spoken of as a vale of sorrows,\nand the lot of man bewailed as lamentable. Now she knew better; and in\nmany a lonely hour, in many a sleepless night, she had asked herself\nwhether He could, indeed, be a kind and fatherly-loving God who could let\na child be born and grow up, and fill its soul with every hope, and then\nbereave it of everything that was dear and desirable--even of hope.\n\nBut the hapless girl had been piously brought up; she could still believe\nand pray; and lately it had seemed as though Heaven would grant that for\nwhich her tender heart most longed: the love of a beloved and love-worthy\nman. And now--now?\n\nThere she stood with an inconsolable sense of bereavement--empty-hearted;\nand if she had been miserable before Orion's return, now she was far more\nso; for whereas she had then been lonely she was now defrauded--she, the\ndaughter of Thomas, the relation and inmate of the wealthiest house in\nthe country; and close to her, from the rough hewn, dirty dyers' sheds\nsuch clear and happy laughter rang out from a troop of wretched slave\nwenches, always liable to the blows of the overseer's rod, that she could\nnot help listening and turning to look at the girls on whom such an\noverflow of high spirits and light-heartedness was bestowed.\n\nA large party had collected under the wide palm-thatched roof of the\ndyeing shed-pretty and ugly, brown and fair, tall and short; some upright\nand some bent by toil at the loom from early youth, but all young; not\none more than eighteen years old. Slaves were capital, bearing interest\nin the form of work and of children. Every slave girl was married to a\nslave as soon as she was old enough. Girls and married women alike were\nemployed in the weaving shop, but the married ones slept in separate\nquarters with their husbands and children, while the maids passed the\nnight in large sleeping-barracks adjoining the worksheds. They were now\nenjoying the evening respite and had gathered in two groups. One party\nwere watching an Egyptian girl who was scribbling sketches on a tablet;\nthe others were amusing themselves with a simple game. This consisted in\neach one in turn flinging her shoe over her head. If it flew beyond a\nchalk-line to which she turned her back she was destined soon to marry\nthe man she loved; if it fell between her and the mark she must yet have\npatience, or would be united to a companion she did not care for.\n\nThe girl who was drawing, and round whom at least twenty others were\ncrowded, was a designer of patterns for weaving; she had too the gift\nwhich had characterized her heathen ancestors, of representing faces in\nprofile, with a few simple lines, in such a way that, though often\ncomically distorted, they were easily recognizable. She was executing\nthese works of art on a wax tablet with a copper stylus, and the others\nwere to guess for whom they were meant.\n\nOne girl only sat by herself by the furthest post of the shed, and gazed\nsilently into her lap.\n\nPaula looked on and could understand everything that was going forward,\nthough no coherent sentence was uttered and there was nothing to be heard\nbut laughter--loud, hearty, irresistible mirth. When a girl threw the\nshoe far enough the youthful crowd laughed with all their might, each one\nshouting the name of some one who was to marry her successful companion;\nif the shoe fell within the line they laughed even louder than before,\nand called out the names of all the oldest and dirtiest slaves. A dusky\nSyrian had failed to hit the mark, but she boldly seized the chalk and\ndrew a fresh line between herself and the shoe so that it lay beyond, at\nany rate; and their merriment reached a climax when a number of them\nrushed up to wipe out the new line, a saucy, crisp-haired Nubian tossed\nthe shoe in the air and caught it again, while the rest could not cease\nfor delight in such a good joke and cried every name they could think of\nas that of the lover for whom their companion had so boldly seized a\nspoke in Fortune's wheel.\n\nSome spirit of mirth seemed to have taken up his quarters in the draughty\nshed; the group round the sketcher was not less noisy than the other. If\na likeness was recognized they were all triumphant, if not they cried the\nnames of this or that one for whom it might be intended. A storm of\napplause greeted a successful caricature of the severest of the\noverseers. All who saw it held their sides for laughing, and great was\nthe uproar when one of the girls snatched away the tablet and the rest\nfell upon her to scuffle for it.\n\nPaula had watched all this at first with distant amazement, shaking her\nhead. How could they find so much pleasure in such folly, in such\nsenseless amusements? When she was but a little child even she, of\ncourse, could laugh at nothing, and these grown-up girls, in their\nignorance and the narrow limitations of their minds, were they not one\nand all children still? The walls of the governor's house enclosed their\nworld, they never looked beyond the present moment--just like children;\nand so, like children, they could laugh.\n\n\"Fate,\" thought she, \"at this moment indemnifies them for the misfortune\nof their birth and for a thousand days of misery, and presently they will\ngo tired and happy to bed. I could envy these poor creatures! If it were\npermissible I would join them and be a child again.\"\n\nThe comic portrait of the overseer was by this time finished, and a\nshort, stout wench burst into a fit of uproarious and unquenchable\nlaughter before any of the rest. It came so naturally, too, from the very\ndepths of her plump little body that Paula, who had certainly not come\nhither to be gay, suddenly caught the infection and had to laugh whether\nshe would or no. Sorrow and anxiety were suddenly forgotten, thought and\ncalculation were far from her; for some minutes she felt nothing but that\nshe, too, was laughing heartily, irrepressibly, like the young healthful\nhuman creature that she was. Ah, how good it was thus to forget herself\nfor once! She did not put this into words, but she felt it, and she\nlaughed afresh when the girl who had been sitting apart joined the\nothers, and exclaimed something which was unintelligible to Paula, but\nwhich gave a new impetus to their mirth.\n\nThe tall slight form of this maiden was now standing by the fire. Paula\nhad never seen her before and yet she was by far the handsomest of them\nall; but she did not look happy and perhaps was in some pain, for she had\na handkerchief over her head which was tied at the top over the thick\nfair hair as though she had the toothache. As she looked at her Paula\nrecovered herself, and as soon as she began to think merriment was at an\nend. The slave-girls were not of this mind; but their laughter was less\ninnocent and frank than it had been; for it had found an object which\nthey would have done better to pass by.\n\nThe girl with the handkerchief over her head was a slave too, but she had\nonly lately come into the weaving-sheds after being employed for a long\ntime at needle work under two old women, widows of slaves. She had been\nbrought as an infant from Persia to Alexandria with her mother, by the\ntroops of Heraclius, after the conquest of Chosroes II.; and they had\nbeen bought together for the Mukaukas. When her little one was but\nthirteen the mother died under the yoke to which she was not born; the\nchild was a sweet little girl with a skin as white as the swan and thick\ngolden hair, which now shone with strange splendor in the firelight.\nOrion had remarked her before his journey, and fascinated by the beauty\nof the Persian girl, had wished to have her for his own. Servants and\nofficials, in unscrupulous collusion, had managed to transport her to a\ncountry-house belonging to the Mukaukas on the other side of the Nile,\nand there Orion had been able to visit her undisturbed as often as fancy\nprompted him. The slave-girl, scarcely yet sixteen, ignorant and\nunprotected, had not dared nor desired to resist her master's handsome\nson, and when Orion had set out for Constantinople--heedless and weary\nalready of the girl who had nothing to give him but her beauty--Dame\nNeforis found out her connection with her son and ordered the head\noverseer to take care that the unhappy girl should not \"ply her seductive\narts\" any more. The man had carried out her instructions by condemning\nthe fair Persian, according to an ancient custom, to have her ears cut\noff. After this cruel punishment the mutilated beauty sank into a state\nof melancholy madness, and although the exorcists of the Church and other\nthaumaturgists had vainly endeavored to expel the demon of madness, she\nremained as before: a gentle, good-humored creature, quiet and diligent\nat her work, under the women who had charge of her, and now in the common\nwork-shop. It was only when she was idle that her craziness became\nevident, and of this the other girls took advantage for their own\namusement.\n\nThey now led Mandane to the fire, and with farcical reverence requested\nher to be seated on her throne--an empty color cask, for she suffered\nunder the strange permanent delusion that she was the wife of the\nMukaukas George. They laughingly did her homage, craved some favor or\nmade enquiries as to her husband's health and the state of her affairs.\nHitherto a decent instinct of reserve had kept these poor ignorant\ncreatures from mentioning Orion's name in her presence, but now a\nwoolly-headed negress, a lean, spiteful hussy, went up to her, and said\nwith a horrible grimace:\n\n\"Oh, mistress, and where is your little son Orion?\" The crazy girl did\nnot seem startled by the question; she replied very gravely: \"I have\nmarried him to the emperor's daughter at Constantinople.\"\n\n\"Hey day! A splendid match!\" exclaimed the black girl. \"Did you know that\nthe young lord was here again? He has brought home his grand wife to you\nno doubt, and we shall see purple and crowns in these parts!\"\n\nThese words brought a deep flush into the poor creature's face. She\nanxiously pressed her hands on the bandage that covered her ears and\nsaid: \"Really Has he really come home?\"\n\n\"Only quite lately,\" said another and more good-natured girl, to soothe\nher.\n\n\"Do not believe her!\" cried the negress. \"And if you want to know the\nlatest news of him: Last night he was out boating on the Nile with the\ntall Syrian. My brother, the boatman, was among the rowers; and he went\non finely with the lady I can tell you, finely. . . .\"\n\n\"My husband, the great Mukaukas?\" asked Mandane, trying to collect her\nideas.\n\n\"No. Your son Orion, who married the emperor's daughter,\" laughed the\nnegress.\n\nThe crazy girl stood up, looked about with a restless glance, and then,\nas though she had not fully understood what had been said to her,\nrepeated: \"Orion? Handsome Orion?\"\n\n\"Aye, your sweet son, Orion!\" they all shouted, as loud as though she\nwere deaf. Then the usually placable girl, holding her hand over her ear,\nwith the other hit her tormentor such a smack on her thick lips that it\nresounded, while she shrieked out loud, in shrill tones:\n\n\"My son, did you say? My son Orion?--As if you did not know! Why, he was\nmy lover; yes, he himself said he was, and that was why they came and\nbound me and cut my ears.--But you know it. But I do not love him--I\ncould, I might wish, I. . . .\" She clenched her fists, and gnashed her\nwhite teeth, and went on with panting breath:\n\n\"Where is he?--You will not tell me? Wait a bit--only wait. Oh, I am\nsharp enough, I know you have him here.--Where is be? Orion, Orion, where\nare you?\"\n\nShe sprang away, ran through the sheds and lifted the lids of all the\ncolor-vats, stooping low to look down into each as if she expected to\nfind him there, while the others roared with laughter.\n\nMost of her companions giggled at this witless behavior; but some, who\nfelt it somewhat uncanny and whom the unhappy girl's bitter cry had\nstruck painfully, drew apart and had already organized some new\namusement, when a neat little woman appeared on the scene, clapping her\nplump hands and exclaiming:\n\n\"Enough of laughter--now, to bed, you swarm of bees. The night is over\ntoo soon in the morning, and the looms must be rattling again by sunrise.\nOne this way and one that, just like mice when the cat appears. Will you\nmake haste, you night-birds? Come, will you make haste?\"\n\nThe girls had learnt to obey, and they hurried past the matron to their\nsleeping-quarters. Perpetua, a woman scarcely past fifty, whose face wore\na pleasant expression of mingled shrewdness and kindness, stood pricking\nup her ears and listening; she heard from the water-shed a peculiar low,\nlong-drawn Wheeuh!--a signal with which she was familiar as that by which\nthe prefect Thomas had been wont to call together his scattered household\nfrom the garden of his villa on Mount Lebanon. It was now Paula who gave\nthe whistle to attract her nurse's attention.\n\nPerpetua shook her head anxiously. What could have brought her beloved\nchild to see her at so late an hour? Something serious must have\noccurred, and with characteristic presence of mind she called out, to\nshow that she had heard Paula's signal: \"Now, make haste. Will you be\nquick? Wheeuh! girls--wheeuh! Hurry, hurry!\"\n\nShe followed the last of the slave-girls into the sleeping-room, and when\nshe had assured herself that they were all there but the crazy Persian\nshe enquired where she was. They had all seen her a few minutes ago in\nthe shed; so she bid them good-night and left them, letting it be\nunderstood that she was about to seek the missing girl.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nPaula went into her nurse's room, and Perpetua, after a short and vain\nsearch for the crazy girl, abandoned her to her fate, not without some\nsmall scruples of conscience.\n\nA beautifully-polished copper lamp hung from the ceiling and the little\nroom exactly suited its mistress both were neat and clean, trim and\nspruce, simple and yet nice. Snowy transparent curtains enclosed the bed\nas a protection against the mosquitoes, a crucifix of delicate\nworkmanship hung above the head of the couch, and the seats were covered\nwith good cloth of various colors, fag-ends from the looms. Pretty straw\nmats lay on the floor, and pots of plants, filling the little room with\nfragrance, stood on the window-sill and in a corner of the room where a\nclay statuette of the Good Shepherd looked down on a praying-desk.\n\nThe door had scarcely closed behind them when Perpetua exclaimed: \"But\nchild, how you frightened me! At so late an hour!\"\n\n\"I felt I must come,\" said Paula. I could contain myself no longer.\"\n\n\"What, tears?\" sighed the woman, and her own bright little eyes twinkled\nthrough moisture. \"Poor soul, what has happened now?\"\n\nShe went up to the young girl to stroke her hair, but Paula rushed into\nher arms, clung passionately round her neck, and burst into loud and\nbitter weeping. The little matron let her weep for a while; then she\nreleased herself, and wiped away her own tears and those of her tall\ndarling, which had fallen on her smooth grey hair. She took Paula's chin\nin a firm hand and turned her face towards her own, saying tenderly but\ndecidedly: \"There, that is enough. You might cry and welcome, for it\neases the heart, but that it is so late. Is it the old story:\nhome-sickness, annoyances, and so forth, or is there anything new?\"\n\n\"Alas, indeed!\" replied the girl. She pressed her handkerchief in her\nhands as she went on with excited vehemence: \"I am in the last extremity,\nI can bear it no longer, I cannot--I cannot! I am no longer a child, and\nwhen in the evening you dread the night and in the morning dread the day\nwhich must be so wretched, so utterly unendurable. . . .\"\n\n\"Then you listen to reason, my darling, and say to yourself that of two\nevils it is wise to choose the lesser. You must hear me say once more\nwhat I have so often represented to you before now: If we renounce our\ncity of refuge here and venture out into the wide world again, what shall\nwe find that will be an improvement?\"\n\n\"Perhaps nothing but a hovel by a well under a couple of palm-trees; that\nwould satisfy me, if I only had you and could be free--free from every\none else!\"\n\n\"What is this; what does this mean?\" muttered the elder woman shaking her\nhead. \"You were quite content only the day before yesterday. Something\nmust have. . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, must have happened and has,\" interrupted the girl almost beside\nherself. \"My uncle's son.--You were there when he arrived--and I\nthought, even I firmly believed that he was worthy of such a\nreception.--I--I--pity me, for I . . . You do not know what influence that\nman exercises over hearts.--And I--I believed his eyes, his words, his\nsongs and--yes, I must confess all--even his kisses on this hand! But it\nwas all false, all--a lie, a cruel sport with a weak, simple heart, or\neven worse--more insulting still! In short, while he was doing all in his\npower to entrap me--even the slaves in the barge observed it--he was in\nthe very act--I heard it from Dame Neforis, who is only too glad when she\ncan hurt me--in the very act of suing for the hand of that little\ndoll--you know her--little Katharina. She is his betrothed; and yet the\nshameless wretch dares to carry on his game with me; he has the\nface. . . .\"\n\nAgain Paula sobbed aloud; but the older woman did not know how to help in\nthe matter and could only mutter to herself: \"Bad, bad--what, this\ntoo!--Merciful Heaven! . . .\" But she presently recovered herself and\nsaid firmly: \"This is indeed a new and terrible misfortune; but we have\nknown worse--much, much worse! So hold up your head, and whatever liking\nyou may have in your heart for the traitor, tear it out and trample on\nit. Your pride will help you; and if you have only just found out what my\nlord Orion is, you may thank God that things had gone no further between\nyou!\" Then she repeated to Paula all that she knew of Orion's misconduct\nto the frenzied Mandane, and as Paula gave strong utterance to her\nindignation, she went on:\n\n\"Yes, child, he is a man to break hearts and ruin happiness, and perhaps\nit was my duty to warn you against him; but as he is not a bad man in\nother things--he saved the brother of Hathor the designer--you know\nher--from drowning, at the risk of his own life--and as I hoped you might\nbe on friendly terms with him at least, on his return home, I\nrefrained. . . . And besides, old fool that I am, I fancied your proud\nheart wore a breastplate of mail, and after all it is only a foolish\ngirl's heart like any other, and now in its twenty-first year has given\nits love to a man for the first time.\"\n\nBut Paula interrupted her: \"I love the traitor no more! No, I hate him,\nhate him beyond words! And the rest of them! I loathe them all!\"\n\n\"Alas! that it should be so!\" sighed the nurse. \"Your lot is no doubt a\nhard one. He--Orion--of course is out of the question; but I often ask\nmyself whether you might not mend matters with the others. If you had not\nmade it too hard for them, child, they must have loved you; they could\nnot have helped it; but ever since you have been in the house you have\nonly felt miserable and wished that they would let you go your own way,\nand they--well they have done so; and now you find it ill to bear the lot\nyou chose for yourself. It is so indeed, child, you need not contradict\nme. This once we will put the matter plainly: Who can hope to win love\nthat gives none, but turns away morosely from his fellow-creatures? If\neach of us could make his neighbors after his own pattern--then indeed!\nBut life requires us to take them just as we find them, and you,\nsweetheart, have never let this sink into your mind!\"\n\n\"Well, I am what I am!\"\n\n\"No doubt, and among the good you are the best--but which of them all can\nguess that? Every one to some extent plays a part. And you! What wonder\nif they never see in you anything but that you are unhappy? God knows it\nis ten thousand times a pity that you should be! But who can take\npleasure in always seeing a gloomy face?\"\n\n\"I have never uttered a single word of complaint of my troubles to any\none of them!\" cried Paula, drawing herself up proudly.\n\n\"That is just the difficulty,\" replied Perpetua. \"They took you in, and\nthought it gave them a claim on your person and also on your sorrows.\nPerhaps they longed to comfort you; for, believe me, child, there is a\nsecret pleasure in doing so. Any one who is able to show us sympathy\nfeels that it does him more good than it does us. I know life! Has it\nnever occurred to you that you are perhaps depriving your relations in\nthe great house of a pleasure, perhaps even doing them an injury by\nlocking up your heart from them? Your grief is the best side of you, and\nof that you do indeed allow them to catch a glimpse; but where the pain\nis you carefully conceal. Every good man longs to heal a wound when he\nsees it, but your whole demeanor cries out: 'Stay where you are, and\nleave me in peace.'--If only you were good to your uncle!\"\n\n\"But I am, and I have felt prompted a hundred times to confide in\nhim--but then. . .\"\n\n\"Well--then?\"\n\n\"Only look at him, Betta; see how he lies as cold as marble, rigid and\napathetic, half dead and half alive. At first the words often rose to my\nlips. . .\"\n\n\"And now?\"\n\n\"Now all the worst is so long past; I feel I have forfeited the right to\ncomplain to him of all that weighs me down.\"\n\n\"Hm,\" said Perpetua who had no answer ready. \"But take heart, my child.\nOrion has at any rate learnt how far he may venture. You can hold your\nhead high enough and look cool enough. Bear all that cannot be mended,\nand if an inward voice does not deceive me, he whom we seek. . .\"\n\n\"That was what brought me here. Are none of our messengers returned yet?\"\n\n\"Yes, the little Nabathaean is come,\" replied her nurse with some\nhesitation, \"and he indeed--but for God's sake, child, form no vain\nhopes! Hiram came to me soon after sun-down. . .\"\n\n\"Betta!\" screamed the girl, clinging to her nurse's arm. \"What has he\nheard, what news does he bring?\"\n\n\"Nothing, nothing! How you rush at conclusions! What he found out is next\nto nothing. I had only a minute to speak to Hiram. To-morrow morning he\nis to bring the man to me. The only thing he told me. . .\"\n\n\"By Christ's Wounds! What was it?\"\n\n\"He said that the messenger had heard of an elderly recluse, who had\nformerly been a great warrior.\"\n\n\"My father, my father!\" cried Paula. \"Hiram is sitting by the fire with\nthe others. Fetch him here at once--at once; I command you, Perpetua, do\nyou hear? Oh best, dearest Betta! Come with me; we will go to him.\"\n\n\"Patience, sweetheart, a little patience!\" urged the nurse. \"Ah, poor\ndear soul, it will turn out to be nothing again; and if we again follow\nup a false clue it will only lead to fresh disappointment.\"\n\n\"Never mind: you are to come with me.\"\n\n\"To all the servants round the fire, and at this time of night? I should\nthink so indeed!--But do you wait here, child. I know how it can be\nmanaged.\n\n\"I will wake Hiram's Joseph. He sleeps in the stable yonder--and then he\nwill fetch his father. Ah! what impatience! What a stormy, passionate\nlittle heart it is! If I do not do your bidding, I shall have you awake\nall night, and wandering about to-morrow as if in a dream.--There, be\nquiet, be quiet, I am going.\"\n\nAs she spoke she wrapped her kerchief round her head and hurried out;\nPaula fell on her knees before the crucifix over the bed, and prayed\nfervently till her nurse returned, Soon after she heard a man's steps on\nthe stairs and Hiram came in.\n\nHe was a powerful man of about fifty, with a pair of honest blue eyes in\nhis plain face. Any one looking at his broad chest would conclude that\nwhen he spoke it would be in a deep bass voice; but Hiram had stammered\nfrom his infancy; and from constant companionship with horses he had\naccustomed himself to make a variety of strange, inarticulate noises in a\nhigh, shrill voice. Besides, he was always unwilling to speak. When he\nfound himself face to face with the daughter of his master and\nbenefactor, he knelt at her feet, looked up at her with faithful,\ndog-like eyes full of affection, and kissed first her dress, and then her\nhand which she held out to him. Paula kindly but decidedly cut short the\nexpressions of delight at seeing her again which he painfully stammered\nout; and when he at length began to tell his story his words came far too\nslowly for her impatience.\n\nHe told her that the Nabathaean who had brought the rumor that had\nexcited her hopes, was not unwilling to follow up the trace he had found,\nbut he would not wait beyond noon the next day and had tried to bid for\nhigh terms.\n\n\"He shall have them--as much as he wants!\" cried Paula. But Hiram\nentreated her, more by looks and vague cries than by articulate words,\nnot to hope for too much. Dusare the Nabathaean--Perpetua now took up the\ntale--had heard of a recluse, living at Raithu on the Red Sea, who had\nbeen a great warrior, by birth a Greek, and who for two years had been\nleading a life of penance in great seclusion among the pious brethren on\nthe sacred Mount of Sinai. The messenger had not been able to learn what\nhis name in the world had been, but among the hermits he was known as\nPaulus.\"\n\n\"Paulus!\" interrupted the girl with panting breath. \"A name that must\nremind him of my mother and of me, yes, of me! And he, the hero of\nDamascus, who was called Thomas in the world, believing that I was dead,\nhas no doubt dedicated himself to the service of God and of Christ, and\nhas taken the name of Paulus, as Saul, the other man of Damascus did\nafter his con version,--exactly like him! Oh! Betta, Hiram, you will see:\nit is he, it must be! How can you doubt it?\"\n\nThe Syrian shook his head doubtfully and gave vent to a long-drawn\nwhistle, and Perpetua clasped her hands exclaiming distressfully: \"Did I\nnot say so? She takes the fire lighted by shepherds at night to warm\ntheir hands for the rising sun--the rattle of chariots for the thunders\nof the Almighty!--Why, how many thousands have called themselves Paulus!\nBy all the Saints, child, I beseech you keep quiet, and do not try to\nweave a holiday-robe out of airy mist! Be prepared for the worst; then\nyou are armed against failure and preserve your right to hope! Tell her,\ntell her, Hiram, what else the messenger said; it is nothing positive;\neverything is as uncertain as dust in the breeze.\"\n\nThe freedman then explained that this Nabathaean was a trustworthy man,\nfar better skilled in such errands than himself, for he understood both\nSyriac and Egyptian, Greek and Aramaic; and nevertheless he had failed to\nfind out anything more about this hermit Paulus at Tor, where the monks\nof the monastery of the Transfiguration had a colony. Subsequently,\nhowever, on the sea voyage to Holzum, he had been informed by some monks\nthat there was a second Sinai. The monastery there--but here Perpetua\nagain was the speaker, for the hapless stammerer's brow was beaded with\nsweat--the monastery at the foot of the peaked, heaven-kissing mountain,\nhad been closed in consequence of the heresies of its inhabitants; but in\nthe gorges of these great heights there were still many recluses, some in\na small Coenobium, some in Lauras and separate caves, and among these\nperchance Paulus might be found. This clue seemed a good one and she and\nHiram had already made up their minds to follow it up; but the warrior\nmonk was very possibly a stranger, and they had thought it would be cruel\nto expose her to so keen a disappointment.\n\nHere Paula interrupted her, crying in joyful excitement:\n\n\"And why should not something besides disappointment be my portion for\nonce? How could you have the heart to deprive me of the hope on which my\npoor heart still feeds?--But I will not be robbed of it. Your Paulus of\nSinai is my lost father. I feel it, I know it! If I had not sold my\npearls, the Nabathaean. . . . But as it is. When can you start, my good\nHiram?\"\n\n\"Not before a fort--a fortnight at--at--at--soonest,\" said the man. \"I am\nin the governor's service now, and the day after to-morrow is the great\nhorse-fair at Niku. The young master wants some stallions bought and\nthere are our foals to. . . .\"\n\n\"I will implore my uncle to-morrow, to spare you,\" cried Paula. \"I will\ngo on my knees to him.\"\n\n\"He will not let him go,\" said the nurse. \"Sebek the steward told him all\nabout it from me before the hour of audience and tried to have Hiram\nreleased.\"\n\n\"And he said . . . ?\"\n\n\"The lady Neforis said it was all a mere will-o'-the-wisp, and my lord\nagreed with her. Then your uncle forbade Sebek to betray the matter to\nyou, and sent word to me that he would possibly send Hiram to Sinai when\nthe horse-fair was over. So take patience, sweetheart. What are two\nweeks, or at most three--and then. . . .\"\n\n\"But I shall die before then!\" cried Paula. \"The Nabathaean, you say, is\nhere and willing to go.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mistress.\"\n\n\"Then we will secure him,\" said Paula resolutely. Perpetua, however, who\nmust have discussed the matter fully with her fellow-countryman, shook\nher head mournfully and said: \"He asks too much for us!\"\n\nShe then explained that the man, being such a good linguist, had already\nbeen offered an engagement to conduct a caravan to Ctesiphon. This would\nbe a year's pay to him, and he was not inclined to break off his\nnegotiations with the merchant Hanno and search the deserts of Arabia\nPetraea for less than two thousand drachmae.\n\n\"Two thousand drachmae!\" echoed Paula, looking down in distress and\nconfusion; but she presently looked up and exclaimed with angry\ndetermination: \"How dare they keep from me that which is my own? If my\nuncle refuses what I have to ask, and will ask, then the inevitable must\nhappen, though for his sake it will grieve me; I must put my affairs in\nthe hands of the judges.\"\n\n\"The judges?\" Perpetua smiled. \"But you cannot lay a complaint without\nyour kyrios, and your uncle is yours. Besides: before they have settled\nthe matter the messenger may have been to Ctesiphon and back, far as it\nis.\"\n\nAgain her nurse entreated her to have patience till the horse-fair should\nbe over. Paula fixed her eyes on the ground. She seemed quite crushed;\nbut Perpetua started violently and Hiram drew back a step when she\nsuddenly broke out in a loud, joyful cry of \"Father in Heaven, I have\nwhat we need!\"\n\n\"How, child, what?\" asked the nurse, pressing her hand to her heart. But\nPaula vouchsafed no information; she turned quickly to the Syrian:\n\n\"Is the outer court-yard clear yet? Are the people gone?\" she asked.\n\nThe reply was in the affirmative. The freed servants had retired when\nHiram left them. The officials would not break up for some time yet, but\nthere was less difficulty in passing them.\n\n\"Very good,\" said the girl. \"Then you, Hiram, lead the way and wait for\nme by the little side door. I will give you something in my room which\nwill pay the Nabathaean's charges ten times over. Do not look so\nhorrified, Betta. I will give him the large emerald out of my mother's\nnecklace.\" The woman clasped her hands, and cried out in dismay and\nwarning.\n\n\"Child, child! That splendid gem! an heirloom in the family--that stone\nwhich came to you from the saintly Emperor Theodosius--to sell that of\nall things! Nay-to throw it away; not to rescue your father either, but\nmerely--yes child, for that is the truth, merely because you lack\npatience to wait two little weeks!\"\n\n\"That is hard, that is unjust, Betta,\" Paula broke in reprovingly. \"It\nwill be a question of a month, and we all know how much depends on the\nmessenger. Do you forget how highly Hiram spoke of this very man's\nintelligence? And besides--must I, the younger, remind you?--What is the\nlife of man? An instant may decide his life or death; and my father is an\nold man, scarred from many wounds even before the siege. It may make just\nthe difference between our meeting, or never meeting again.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the old woman in subdued tones, \"perhaps you are right,\nand if I. . .\" But Paula stopped her mouth with a kiss, and then desired\nHiram to carry the gem, the first thing in the morning, to Gamaliel the\nJew, a wealthy and honest man, and not to sell it for less than twelve\nthousand drachmae. If the goldsmith could not pay so much for it at once,\nhe might be satisfied to bring away the two thousand drachmae for the\nmessenger, and fetch the remainder at another season.\n\nThe Syrian led the way, and when, after a long leave-taking, she quitted\nher nurse's pleasant little room, Hiram had done her bidding and was\nwaiting for her at the little side door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nAs Hiram had supposed, the better class of the household were still\nsitting with their friends, and they had been joined by the guide and by\nthe Arab merchant's head man: Rustem the Masdakite, as well as his\nsecretary and interpreter.\n\nWith the exception only of Gamaliel the Jewish goldsmith, and the Arab's\nfollowers, the whole of the party were Christians; and it had gone\nagainst the grain to admit the Moslems into their circle--the Jew had for\nyears been a welcome member of the society. However, they had done so,\nand not without marked civility; for their lord had desired that the\nstrangers should be made welcome, and they might expect to hear much that\nwas new from wanderers from such a distance. In this, to be sure, they\nwere disappointed, for the dragoman was taciturn and the Masdakite could\nspeak no Egyptian, and Greek very ill. So, after various futile attempts\nto make the new-comers talk, they paid no further heed to them, and\nOrion's secretary became the chief speaker. He had already told them\nyesterday much that was fresh and interesting about the Imperial court;\nto-day he entered into fuller details of the brilliant life his young\nlord had led at Constantinople, whither he had accompanied him. He\ndescribed the three races he had won in the Circus with his own horses;\ngave a lively picture of his forcing his way with only five followers\nthrough a raging mob of rioters, from the palace to the church of St.\nSophia; and then enlarged on Orion's successes among the beauties of the\nCapital.\n\n\"The queen of them all,\" he went on in boastful accents, \"was\nHeliodora--no flute-player nor anything of that kind; no indeed, but a\nrich, elegant, and virtuous patrician lady, the widow of Flavianus,\nnephew to Justinus the senator, and a relation of the Emperor. All\nConstantinople was at her feet, the great Gratian himself sought to win\nher, but of course, in vain. There is no palace to compare with hers in\nall Egypt, not even in Alexandria. The governor's residence here--for I\nthink nothing of mere size--is a peasant's hut--a wretched barn by\ncomparison! I will tell you another time what that casket of treasures is\nlike. Its door was besieged day and night by slaves and freedmen bringing\nher offerings of flowers and fruit, rare gifts, and tender verses written\non perfumed, rose-colored silk; but her favors were not to be purchased\ntill she met Orion. Would you believe it: from the first time she saw him\nin Justinus' villa she fell desperately in love with him; it was all over\nwith her; she was his as completely as the ring on my finger is mine!\"\n\nAnd in his vanity he showed his hearers a gold ring, with a gem of some\nvalue, which he owed to the liberality of his young master. \"From that\nday forth,\" he eagerly went on, \"the names of Orion and Heliodora were in\nevery mouth, and how often have I seen men quite beside themselves over\nthe beauty of this divine pair. In the Circus, in the theatre, or sailing\nabout the Bosphorus--they were to be seen everywhere together; and\nthrough the hideous, bloody struggle for the throne they lived in a\nParadise of their own. He often took her out in his chariot; or she took\nhim in hers.\"\n\n\"Such a woman has horses too?\" asked the head groom contemptuously.\n\n\"A woman!\" cried the secretary. \"A lady of rank!--She has none but bright\nchestnuts; large horses of Armenian breed, and small, swift beasts from\nthe island of Sardinia, which fly on with the chariot, four abreast, like\nhunted foxes. Her horses are always decked with flowers and ribbons\nfluttering from the gold harness, and the grooms know how to drive them\ntoo!--Well, every one thought that our young lord and the handsome widow\nwould marry; and it was a terrible blow to the hapless Heliodora when\nnothing came of it--she looks like a saint and is as soft as a kitten. I\nwas by when they parted, and she shed such bitter tears it was pitiable\nto see. Still, she could not be angry with her idol, poor, gentle, tender\nkitten. She even gave him her lap-dog for a keepsake--that little silky\nthing you have seen here. And take my word for it, that was a true\nlove-token, for her heart was as much set on that little beast as if it\nhad been her favorite child. And he felt the parting too, felt it deeply;\nhowever, I am his confidential secretary, and it would never do for me to\ntell tales out of school. He clasped the little dog to his heart as he\nbid her farewell, and he promised her to send some keepsake in return\nwhich should show her how precious her love had been--and it will be no\ntrifle, that any one may swear who knows my master. You, Gamaliel, I\ndaresay he has been to you about it by this time.\"\n\nThe man thus addressed--the same to whom Hiram was to offer Paula's\nemerald--was a rich Alexandrian of a happy turn of mind; as soon as the\nincursion of the Saracens had made Alexandria an unsafe residence, so\nthat the majority of his fellow Israelites had fled from the great port,\nhe had found his way to Memphis, where he could count on the protection\nof his patron, the Mukaukas George.\n\nHe shook his grizzled curls at this question, but he presently whispered\nin the secretary's ear. \"We have the very thing he wants. You bring me\nthe cow and you shall have a calf--and a calf with twelve legs too. Is it\na bargain?\"\n\n\"Twelve per cent on the profits? Done!\" replied the secretary in the same\ntone, with a sly smile of intelligence.\n\nWhen, by-and-bye, an accountant asked him why Orion had not brought home\nthis fair dame, the bearer too of a noble name, to his parents as their\ndaughter-in-law, he replied that, being a Greek, she was of course a\nMelchite. Those present asked no better reason; as soon as the question\nof creed was raised the conversation, as usual in these convivial\nevenings, became a squabble over dogmatic differences; in the course of\nit a legal official ventured to opine that if the case had been that of a\nless personage than a son of the Mukaukas--for whom it was, of course,\nout of the question--of a mere Jacobite citizen and his Melchite\nsweetheart, for instance, some compromise might have been effected. They\nneed only have made up their minds each, respectively, to subscribe to\nthe Monothelitic doctrine--though, he, for his part, could have nothing\nto say to anything of the kind; it was warmly upheld by the Imperial\ncourt, and by Cyrus, the deceased patriarch of Alexandria, and was based\non the assumption that there were indeed two natures in Christ, but both\nunder the control of one and the same will. By this dogma there were in\nthe Saviour two persons no doubt; still it asserted His unity in a\ncertain qualified sense, and this was the most important point.\n\nSuch an heretical proposition was of course loudly disapproved of by the\nassembled Jacobites; differences of opinion were more and more strongly\nasserted, and a calm interchange of views turned to a riotous quarrel\nwhich threatened to end in actual violence.\n\nThis discussion was already beginning when Paula succeeded in slipping\nunseen across the court-yard.\n\nShe silently beckoned to Hiram to follow her; he cautiously took off his\nshoes, pushed them under the steep servants' stairs, and in a few minutes\nwas standing in the young girl's room. Paula at once opened a chest, and\ntook out a costly and beautifully-wrought necklace set with pearls. This\nshe handed to the Syrian, desiring him to wrench from its setting a large\nemerald which hung from the middle. The freedman's strong hand, with the\naid of a knife, quickly and easily did the work; and he stood weighing\nthe gem, as it lay freed from the gold hemisphere that had held it,\nlarger than a walnut, shining and sparkling on his palm, while Paula\nrepeated the instructions she had already given him in her nurse's room.\n\nThe faithful soul had no sooner left his beloved mistress than she\nproceeded to unplait her long thick hair, smiling the while with happy\nhope; but she had not yet begun to undress when she heard a knock. She\nstarted, flew to the door and hastily bolted it, while she enquired:\n\n\"Who is there?\"--preparing herself for the worst. \"Hiram,\" was the\nwhispered reply. She opened the door, and he told her that meanwhile the\nside door had been locked, and that he knew no other way out from the\ngreat rambling house whither he rarely had occasion to come.\n\nWhat was to be done? He could not wait till the door was opened again,\nfor he must carry out her commission quite early in the morning, and if\nhe were caught and locked up for only half the day the Nabathaean would\ntake some other engagement.\n\nWith swift decision she twisted up her hair, threw a handkerchief over\nher head, and said: \"Then come with me; the moon is still up; it would\nnot be safe to carry a lamp. I will lead the way and you must keep behind\nme If only the kitchen is empty, we can reach the Viridarium unseen. If\nthe upper servants are still sitting in the court-yard the great door\nwill be open, for several of them sleep in the house. At any rate you\nmust go through the vestibule; you cannot miss your way out of the\nviridarium. But stay! Beki generally lies in front of the tablinum--the\nfierce dog from Herrionthis in Thebais; and he does not know you, for he\nnever goes out of the house, but he will obey me.\n\n\"When I lift my hand, hang back a little. He is quite quiet with his\nmasters, and does not hurt a stranger if they are by. Now, we must not\nutter another word.--If we are discovered, I will confess the truth; if\nyou alone are seen, you can say--well, say you were waiting for Orion, to\nspeak to him very early about the horse-fair at Niku.\"\n\n\"A horse was off--off--offered me for sale this very day.\"\n\n\"Good, very good; then you lingered in the vestibule to speak of that--to\nask the master about it before he should go out. It must be daylight in a\nfew hours.--Now, come.\"\n\nPaula went down the stairs with a sure and rapid step. At the bottom\nHiram again took off his shoes, holding them in his hand, so as to lose\nno time in following his mistress. They went on in silence through the\ndarkness till they reached the kitchen. Here Paula turned and said to the\nSyrian:\n\n\"If there is any one here, I will say I came to fetch some water; if\nthere is no one I will cough and you can follow. At any rate I will leave\nthe door open, and then you will hear what happens. If I am obliged to\nreturn, do you hurry on before me back by the way we came. In that case I\nwill return to my room where you must wait outside till the side door is\nopened again, and if you are found there leave the explanation to\nme.--Shrink back, quite into that corner.\"\n\nShe softly opened the door into the kitchen; the roof was open to the\nlight of the declining moon and myriad stars. The room was quite empty:\nonly a cat lay on a bench by the wide hearth, and a few bats flitted to\nand fro on noiseless wings; a few live coals still glowed among the ashes\nunder the spits, like the eyes of lurking beasts of prey. Paula coughed\ngently, and immediately heard Hiram's step behind her; then, with a\nbeating heart and agonizing fears, she proceeded on her way. First down a\nfew steps, then through a dark passage, where the bats in their\nunswerving flight shot by close to her head. At last they had to cross\nthe large, open dining-hall. This led into the viridarium, a spacious\nquadrangle, paved at the edges and planted in the middle, where a\nfountain played; round this square the Governor's residence was built.\nAll was still and peaceful in this secluded space, vaulted over by the\nhigh heavens whose deep blue was thickly dotted with stars. The moon\nwould soon be hidden behind the top of the cornice which crowned the roof\nof the building. The large-leaved plants in the middle of the quadrangle\nthrew strange, ghostly shadows on the dewy grass-plot; the water in the\nfountain splashed more loudly than by day, but with a soothing,\nmonotonous gurgle, broken now and then by a sudden short pause. The\nmarble pillars gleamed as white as snow, and filmy mists, which were\nbeginning to rise from the damp lawn, floated languidly hither and\nthither on the soft night breeze, like ghosts veiled in flowing crape.\nMoths flitted noiselessly round and over the clumps of bushes, and the\nwhole quiet and restful enclosure was full of sweetness from the Lotos\nflowers in the marble basin, from the blossoms of the luxuriant shrubs\nand the succulent tropical herbs at their feet. At any other time it\nwould have been a joy to pause and look round, only to breathe and let\nthe silent magic of the night exert its spell; but Paula's soul was\nclosed against these charms. The sequestered silence lent a threatening\naccent to the furious wrangling in the court-yard, which was audible even\nhere in bursts of uproar; and it was with an anxious heart that she\nobserved that everything was not in its usual order; for her sharp eyes\ncould discern no one, nothing, at the entrance to the tablinum, which was\nusually guarded by an armed sentinel or by the watch-dog; and\nsurely--yes, she was not mistaken--the bronze doors were open, and the\nmoon shone on the bright metal of one half which stood ajar.\n\nShe stopped, and Hiram behind her did the same. They both listened with\nsuch tension that the veins in their foreheads swelled; but from the\ntablinum, which was hardly thirty paces from them, came only very faint\nand intermittent sounds, indistinct in character and drowned by the\ntumult without.\n\nA few long and anxious minutes, and then the half-closed door was\nsuddenly opened and a man came forth. Paula's heart stood still, but she\ndid not for an instant lose her keenness of vision; she at once and\npositively recognized the man who came out of the tablinum as Orion and\nnone other, and the big, long-haired dog too came out and past him,\nsniffed the air and then, with a loud bark, rushed on the two watchers.\nTrembling and with clenched teeth, but still mistress of herself, she let\nhim come close to her, and then, calling him by his name: \"Beki\" in low,\ncaressing tones, as soon as he recognized her, she laid her hand on his\nshaggy head to scratch his ears, as he loved it done.\n\nPaula and her companion were standing behind a column in the deepest\nshadow. Thus Orion could not see her, and the dog's loud bark had\nprevented his hearing her coaxing call; so when Beki was quiet and stood\nstill, Orion whistled to him. The obedient and watchful beast, ran back,\nwagging his tail; and his master, greeting him as \"a stupid old\ncat-hunter,\" let him spring over his arm, hugged the creature and then\npushed him off again in play. Then he closed the door and went into the\napartments leading to the courtyard.\n\n\"But he must come back this way to go to his own rooms,\" said Paula to\nher companion with a sigh of relief. \"We must wait. But now we must not\nlose a minute. Come over to the door of the tablinum. The dog will know\nme now and will not bark again.\" They hastened on, and when they had\nreached the door, which lay in shadow within a deep doorway, Paula asked\nher companion: \"Did you see who the man was who came out?\"\n\n\"My lord Orion,\" said Hiram. \"He was co--co--coming home from the town\nwhen I preceded you across the yard.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" she said with apparent indifference, and as she leaned against\nthe cold metal door-panels she looked back into the garden and thought\nshe was now free to return. She would describe to the freedman the way he\nmust now go--it was quite simple; but she had not had time to do so when,\nfrom a room dividing the viridarium from the vestibule she heard first a\nwoman's shrill voice; then the deeper tones of a man; and hardly had they\nexchanged a few sentences, when every sound was lost in the furious\nbarking of the hound, and immediately after a loud shriek of pain from a\nwoman fell upon her ear, and the noise of a heavy object falling to the\nground.\n\nWhat had happened? It must be something portentous and terrible; of that\nthere could be no doubt; and ere long Paula's fears were justified. Out\nfrom the room where the scene had taken place rushed Orion, and with him\nthe dog, across the grass-plot which was usually respected and cherished\nas holy ground, towards the side of the house facing the river, which was\nwhere he and all the family had their rooms.\n\n\"Now!\" cried Paula, quickly leading the way.\n\nShe flew in breathless haste through the first room and into the\nunguarded hall; but she had not reached the middle of it when she gave a\nscream, for before her in the moonlight, lay a body, motionless, at full\nlength, on the hard, marble floor.\n\n\"Run, Hiram, fly!\" she cried to her companion. \"The door is\najar--open--I can see it is.\"\n\nShe fell on her knees by the side of the lifeless form, raised the head,\nand saw--the beautiful, deathlike face of the crazy Persian slave. She\nfelt her hand wet with the blood that had soaked the hapless girl's\nthick, fair hair, and she shuddered; but she resisted her impulse of\nhorror and loathing, and perceiving some dark stains on the torn peplos\nshe pulled it aside and saw that the white bosom was bleeding from deep\nwounds made in the tender flesh by the cruel fangs of the hound.\n\nPaula's heart thrilled with indignation, grief and pity. He--he whom she\nhad only yesterday held to be the epitome of every manly\nperfection--Orion, was guilty of so foul a deed! He, of whose\nunflinching, dauntless courage she had heard so much, had fled like a\ncoward, and had left the victim to her fate--twice a victim to him!\n\nBut something must be done besides lamenting and raging, and wondering\nhow in one human soul there could be room for so much that was noble and\nfine with so much that was shameful and cruel. She must save the girl,\nshe must seek help, for Mandane's bosom still faintly rose and fell under\nPaula's tremulous fingers.\n\nThe freedman's brave heart would not allow him to fly to leave her with\nthe injured girl; he flung his shoes on the floor, raised the senseless\nform, and propped it against one of the columns that stood round the\nhall. It was not till his mistress had repeated her orders that he\nhurried away. Paula watched him depart; as soon as she heard the heavy\ndoor of the atrium close upon him, heedless of her own suspicious-looking\nposition, she shouted for help, so loudly that her cries rang through the\nnocturnal silence of the house, and in a few minutes, from this side and\nthat, a slave, a maid, a clerk, a cook, a watchman, came hurrying in.\n\nForemost of all--so soon indeed that he must have been on his way when he\nheard her cry--came Orion. He wore a light night-dress, intended, so she\nsaid to herself, to give the wretch the appearance of having sprung out\nof bed. But was this indeed he? Was this man with a flushed face, staring\neyes, disordered hair and hoarse voice, that favorite of fortune whose\nhappy nature, easy demeanor, sunny gaze and enchanting song had bewitched\nher soul? His hand shook as he came close to her and the injured slave;\nand how forced and embarrassed was his enquiry as to what had happened;\nhow scared he looked as he asked her what had brought her into this part\nof the house at such an hour.\n\nShe made no reply; but when his mother repeated the question soon after,\nin a sharp voice, she--she who had never in her life told a lie--said\nwith hasty decision: \"I could not sleep, and the bark of the dog and a\ncry for help brought me here.\"\n\n\"I call that having sharp ears!\" retorted Neforis with an incredulous\nshrug. \"For the future, at any rate, under similar circumstances you need\nnot be so prompt. How long, pray, have young girls trusted themselves\nalone when murder is cried?\"\n\n\"If you had but armed yourself, fair daughter of heroes!\" added Orion;\nbut he had no sooner spoken than he bitterly regretted it. What a glance\nPaula cast at him! It was more than she could bear to hear him address\nher in jest, almost in mockery: him of all men, and at this moment for\nthe first time--and to be thus reminded of her father! She answered\nproudly and with cutting sharpness: \"I leave weapons to fighting men and\nmurderers!\"\n\n\"To fighting men, and murderers!\" repeated Orion, pretending not to\nunderstand the point of her words. He forced a smile; but then, feeling\nthat he must make some defence, he added bitterly: \"Really, that sounds\nlike the utterance of a feeble-hearted damsel! But let me beg you to come\ncloser and be calm. These pitiable gashes on the poor creature's\nshoulder--I care more about her than you do, take my word for it--were\ninflicted by a four-footed assassin, whose weapons were given by nature.\nYes, that is what happened. Rough old Beki keeps watch at the door of the\ntablinum. What brought the poor child here I know not, but he caught\nscent of her and pulled her down.\"\n\n\"Or nothing of the kind!\" interrupted Neforis, picking up a pair of man's\nshoes which lay on the ground by the sufferer.\n\nOrion turned as pale as death and hastily took the shoes from his\nmother's hand; he would have liked to fling them up and away through the\nopen roof. How came they here? Whose were they? Who had been here this\nnight? Before going into the tablinum he had locked the outer door on\nthat side, and had returned subsequently to open it again for the people\nin the court-yard. It was not till after he had done this that the crazy\ngirl had rushed upon him; she must have been lurking somewhere about when\nhe first went through the atrium but had not then found courage enough to\nplace herself in his way. When she had thrown herself upon him, the dog\nhad pulled her down before he could prevent it: he would certainly have\nsprung past her and have come to the rescue but that he must thus have\nbetrayed his visit to the tablinum.\n\nIt had required all his presence of mind to hurry to his room, fling on\nhis night garments, and rush back to the scene of disaster. When Paula\nhad first called for help he was already on his way, and with what\nfeelings! Never had he felt so bewildered, so confused, so deeply\ndissatisfied with himself; for the first time in his life, as he stood\nface to face with Paula, he dared not look straight into the eyes of his\nfellow-man.\n\nAnd now these shoes! The owner must have come there with the crazy girl,\nand if he had seen him in the tablinum and betrayed what he was doing\nthere, how could he ever again appear in his parents' presence? He had\nlooked upon it as a good joke, but now it had turned to bitter earnest.\nAt any cost he must and would prevent his nocturnal doings from becoming\nknown! Some new wrong-doing-nay, the worst was preferable to a stain on\nhis honor.--Whose could the shoes be? He suddenly held them up on high,\ncrying with a loud voice: \"Do these shoes belong to any of you, you\npeople? To the gate-keeper perhaps?\"\n\nWhen all were silent, and the porter denied the ownership, he stood\nthinking; then he added with a defiant glare, and in a husky voice: \"Then\nsome one who had broken into the house has been startled and dropped\nthem. Our house-stamp is here on the leather: they were made in our\nwork-shop, and they still smell of the stable-here, Sebek, you can\nconvince yourself. Take them into your keeping, man; and tomorrow morning\nwe will see who has left this suspicious offering in our vestibule.--You\nwere the first to reach the spot, fair Paula. Did you see a man about?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied with a hostile and challenging stare.\n\n\"And which way did he go?\"\n\n\"He fled across the viridarium like a coward, running across the poor,\nwell-kept grass-plot to save time, and vanished upstairs in the\ndwelling-rooms.\"\n\nOrion ground his teeth, and a mad hatred surged up in him of this mystery\nin woman's form in whose power, as it seemed, his ruin lay, and whose\neyes mashed with revenge and the desire to undo him. What was she\nplotting against him? Was there a being on earth who would dare to accuse\nhim, the spoilt favorite of great and small . . . ? And her look had meant\nmore than aversion, it had expressed contempt. . . . How dare she look so\nat him? Who in the wide world had a right to accuse him of anything that\ncould justify such a feeling? Never, never had he met with enmity like\nthis, least of all from a girl. He longed to annihilate the high-handed,\ncold-hearted, ungrateful creature who could humble him so outrageously\nafter he had allowed her to see that his heart was hers, and who could\nmake him quail--a man whose courage had been proved a hundred times. He\nhad to exercise his utmost self-control not to forget that she was a\nwoman.--What had happened? What demon had been playing tricks on\nhim--What had so completely altered him within this half-hour that his\nwhole being seemed subverted even to himself, and that any one dared to\ntreat him so?\n\nHis mother at once observed the terrible change that came over her son's\nface when Paula declared that a man had fled towards the dwelling-rooms;\nbut she accounted for it in her own way, and exclaimed in genuine alarm:\n\"Towards the Nile-wing, the rooms where your father sleeps? Merciful\nHeaven! suppose they have planned an attack there! Run--fly, Sebek.\n\n\"Go across with some armed men! Search the whole house from top to\nbottom! Perhaps you will catch the rascal--he had trodden down the\ngrass--you must find him--you must not let him escape.\"\n\nThe steward hurried off, but Paula begged the head gardener, who had come\nin with the rest, to compare the foot-prints of the fugitive, which must.\nyet be visible on the damp grass, with the shoes; her heart beat wildly,\nand again she tried to catch the young man's eye. Orion, however, started\nforward and went into the viridarium, saying as he went: \"That is my\nconcern.\"\n\nBut he was ashamed of himself, and felt as if something tight was\nthrottling him. In his own eyes he appeared like a thief caught in the\nact, a traitor, a contemptible rascal; and he began to perceive that he\nwas indeed no longer what he had been before he had committed that fatal\ndeed in the tablinum.\n\nPaula breathed hard as she watched him go out. Had he sunk so low as to\nfalsify the evidence, and to declare that the groom's broad sole fitted\nthe tracks of his small and shapely feet? She hated him, and yet she\ncould have found it in her heart to pray that this, at least, he might\nnot do; and when he came back and said in some confusion that he could\nnot be sure, that the shoes did not seem exactly to fit the foot-marks,\nshe drew a breath of relief and turned again to the wounded girl and the\nphysician, who, had now made his appearance. Before Neforis followed her\nexample she drew Orion aside and anxiously asked him what ailed him, he\nlooked so pale and upset. He only said with some hesitation: \"That poor\ngirl's fate . . .\" and he pointed to the Persian slave.--\"It troubles\nme.\"\n\n\"You are so soft-hearted--you were as a boy!\" said his mother soothingly.\nShe had seen the moisture sparkling in his eyes; but his tears were not\nfor the Persian, but for the mysterious something--he himself knew not\nwhat to call it--that he had forfeited in this last hour, and of which\nthe loss gave him unspeakable pain.\n\nBut their dialogue was interrupted: the first misfortune of this luckless\nnight had brought its attendant: the body of Rustem, the splendid and\nradiantly youthful Rustem, the faithful Persian leader of the caravan,\nwas borne into the hall, senseless. He had made some satirical remark on\nthe quarrel over creeds, and a furious Jacobite had fallen upon him with\na log of wood, and dealt him a deep and perhaps mortal wound. The leech\nat once gave him his care, and several of the crowd of muttering and\nwhispering men, who had made their way in out of curiosity or with a wish\nto be of use, now hurried hither and thither in obedience to the\nphysician's orders.\n\nAs soon as he saw the Masdakite's wound he exclaimed angrily:\n\n\"A true Egyptian blow, dealt from behind!--What does this mob want here?\nOut with every man who does not belong to the place! The first things\nneeded are litters. Will you, Dame Neforis, desire that two rooms may be\ngot ready; one for that poor, gentle creature, and one for this fine\nfellow, though all will soon be over with him, short of a miracle.\"\n\n\"To the north of the viridarium,\" replied the lady, \"there are two rooms\nat your service.\"\n\n\"Not there!\" cried the leech. \"I must have rooms with plenty of fresh\nair, looking out upon the river.\"\n\n\"There are none but the handsome rooms in the visitor's quarters, where\nmy husband's niece has hers, Sick persons of the family have often lain\nthere, but for such humble folk--you understand?\"\n\n\"No--I am deaf,\" replied the physician.\n\n\"Oh, I know that,\" laughed Neforis. \"But those rooms are really just\nrefurnished for exalted guests.\"\n\n\"It would be hard to find any more exalted than such as these, sick unto\ndeath,\" replied Philippus. \"They are nearer to God in Heaven than you\nare; to your advantage I believe. Here, you people! Carry these poor\nsouls up to the guests' rooms.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\"It is impossible, impossible, impossible!\" cried Orion, jumping up from\nhis writing-table. He thought of what he had done as a misfortune, and\nnot as a crime; he himself hardly knew how it had all come about. Yes,\nthere must be demons, evil, spiteful demons--and it was they who had led\nhim to so mad a deed.\n\nYesterday evening, after the buying of the hanging, he had yielded to his\nmother's request that he should escort the widow Susannah home. At her\nhouse he had met her husband's brother, a jovial old fellow named\nChrysippus; and when the conversation turned on the tapestry, and the\nMukaukas' purpose of dedicating this work of art with all the gems worked\ninto it, to the Church, the old man had clasped his hands, fully sharing\nOrion's disapproval, and had exclaimed laughing \"What, you the son, and\nis not even a part of the precious stones to fall to your share? Why\nKatharina? Just a little diamond, a tiny opal might well add to the\nearthly happiness of the young, though the old must lay up treasure in\nheaven.--Do not be a fool! The Church's maw is full enough, and really a\nmouthful is your due.\"\n\nAnd then they drank a good deal of fine wine, till at last the older man\nhad accompanied Orion home, to stretch his limbs in the cool night air. A\nlitter was carried behind him for him to return in, and all the way he\nhad continued to persuade the youth to induce his father not to fling the\nwhole treasure into the jaws of the Church, but to spare him a few stones\nat least for a more pleasing use. They had laughed over it a good deal,\nand Orion in his heart had thought Chrysippus very right, and had\nremembered Heliodora, and her love of large, handsome gems, and the\nkeepsake he owed her. But that neither his father nor his mother would\nremove a single stone, and that the whole hanging would be dedicated, was\nbeyond a doubt; at the same time, some of this superfluous splendor was\nin fact his due as their son, and a prettier gift to Heliodora than the\nlarge emerald could not be imagined. Yes--and she should have it! How\ndelighted she would be! He even thought of the chief idea for the verses\nto accompany the gift.\n\nHe had the key of the tablinum, in which the work was lying, about his\nperson; and when, on his return, he found the servants still sitting\nround the fire, he shut the door of the out-buildings while a feeling\ncame over him which he remembered having experienced last on occasions\nwhen he and his brothers had robbed a forbidden fruit-tree. He was on the\npoint of giving up his mad project; and when, in the tablinum itself, a\nhorrible inward tremor again came over him he had actually turned to\nretreat--but he remembered old Chrysippus and his prompts. To turn and\nfly now would be cowardice. Heliodora must have the large emerald, and\nwith his verses; his father might give away all the rest as he pleased.\nWhen he was kneeling in front of the work with his knife in his hand,\nthat sickening terror had come over him for the third time; if the large\nemerald had not come off into his hand at the first effort he would\ncertainly have rolled the bale up again and have left the tablinum\nclean-handed. But the evil demon had been at his elbow, had thrust the\ngem into his hand, as it were, so that two cuts with the knife had\nsufficed to displace it from its setting. It rolled into his hand and he\nfelt its noble weight; he cast aside all care, and had thought no more\nwith anything but pleasure of this splendid trick, which he would relate\nto-morrow to old Chrysippus--of course under seal of secrecy.\n\nBut now, in the sober light of day, how different did this mad, rash deed\nappear; how heavily had he already been punished; what consequences might\nit not entail? His hatred of Paula grew every minute: she had certainly\nseen all that had happened and would not hesitate to betray him--that she\nhad shown last night. War, as it were, was declared between them, and he\nvowed to himself, with fire in his eyes, that he would not shirk it! At\nthe same time he could not deny that she had never looked handsomer than\nwhen she stood, with hair half undone, confronting him--threatening him.\n\"It is to be love or hate between us.\" he muttered to himself. \"No\nhalf-measures: and she has chosen hate! Good! Hitherto I have only had to\nfight against men; but this bold, hard, and scornful maiden, who rejects\nevery gentle feeling, is no despicable foe. She has me at bay. If she\ndoes her worst by me I will return it in kind!--And who is the owner of\nthe shoes? I have taken all possible means to find him. Shameful,\nshameful! that I cannot hold up my head to look boldly at my own face in\nthe glass. Heliodora is a sweet creature, an angel of kindness. She loved\nme truly; but this--this--Ah; even for her, this is too great a\nsacrifice!\"\n\nHe pressed his hand to his brow and flung himself on a divan. He might\nwell be weary, for he had not closed his eyes for more than thirty hours\nand had already done much business that morning. He had given orders to\nSebek the house-steward and to the captain of the Egyptian guard to hunt\nout the owner of the sandals by the aid of the dogs, and to cast him into\nprison; next he had of his own accord--since his father generally did not\nfall asleep till the morning and had not yet left his room--tried to\npacify the Arab merchant with regard to the mishap that had befallen his\nhead man under the governor's roof; but with small success.\n\nFinally the young man had indulged his desire to compose a few lines\naddressed to the fair Heliodora--for there was no form of physical or\nmental effort to which he was not trained. He had not lost the idea that\nhad occurred to him yesterday before his theft in the tablinum, and to\nput it into verse was in his present mood an easy task. He wrote as\nfollows:\n\n   \"'Like liketh like' saith the saw; and like to like is but fitting.\n   Yet, in the hardest of gems thy soft nature rejoices?\n   Nay, but if noble and rare, if its beauty is priceless,\n   Then, Heliodora, the stone is like thee--akin to thy beauty.\n   Thus let this emerald please thee;--and know that the fire\n   That fills it with light burns more fierce in the heart of thy\n                              Friend.\"\n\nHe penned the lines rapidly; and as he did so he felt, he knew not why,\nan excited thrill, as though every word he threw off was a blow aimed at\nPaula. Last night he had intended to send the costly jewel to the\nhandsome widow in a suitable setting; but now it would be madly imprudent\nto order such a thing. He must send it away at once; he had hastened to\npack it up with the verses, with his own hand, and entrusted it to\nChusar, a horsedealer's groom from Constantinople, who had brought his\nPannonian steeds to Memphis. He had himself seen off this trustworthy\nmessenger, who could speak no Egyptian and very little Greek, and when\nhis horse was lost to sight in the dust of the road leading to Alexandria\nhe had returned home in a calmer mood. Ships were constantly putting to\nsea from that port for Constantinople, and Chusar was enjoined to sail by\nthe first that should be leaving. At least the odious deed should not\nhave been committed in vain; and yet he would have given a year of his\nlife if now he could but know that it had never been done.\n\n\"Impossible!\" and \"Curse it!\" were the words he had most frequently\nrepeated in the course of his retrospect during the past night and\nmorning. How he had had to rush and hurry under the broiling sun! and the\nsense of being compelled to do so for mere concealment's sake seemed to\nhim--who had never in his life before done anything that he could not\njustify in the eyes of honest men--so humiliating, that it brought the\nsweat to his burning brow. He--Orion--to dread discovery as a thief! It\nwas inconceivable, and he was afraid, positively afraid for the first\ntime since his boyhood. His fortunate star, which in the Capital had\nshone on him so brightly and benevolently, seemed to have proved\nfaithless in this ruinous hole! What had that Persian girl taken into her\ncrazy head that she must rush upon him like some furious beast of prey?\nHe had been bound to her once, no doubt, by a transient passion--and what\nyouth of his age was blind to the charms of a pretty slave-girl? She had\nbeen a lovely child, and it was a vexation, nay a grief to him, that she\nshould have been so shamefully punished. If she should recover, and he\ncould have prayed that she might, it would of course be his part to\nprovide for her--of course. To be just, he could not but confess that she\nindeed had good reason to hate him: but Paula? He had shown her nothing\nbut kindness and yet how unhesitatingly, how openly she had displayed her\nenmity. He could see her now with the name \"murderer\" on her quivering\nlips; the word had stung him like a lance-thrust. What a hideous,\ndegrading and unjust accusation lay in that exclamation! Should he submit\nto it unrevenged?\n\nWas she as innocent as she was haughty and cold? What was she doing in\nthe viridarium at midnight?--For she must have been there before that\nill-starred dog flew at Mandane. An assignation with the owner of the\nshoes his mother had found was out of the question, for they belonged to\nsome man about the stables. Love, thought he, for a wonder had nothing to\ndo with it; but as he came in he had noticed a man crossing the\ncourt-yard who looked like Paula's freedman, Hiram the trainer. Probably\nshe had arranged a meeting with her stammering friend in order--in\norder?--Well, there was but one thing that seemed likely: She was\nplotting to fly from his parents' house and needed this man's assistance.\n\nHe had seen within a few hours of his return that his mother did not make\nlife sweet to the girl, and yet his father had very possibly opposed her\nwish to seek another home. But why should she avoid and hate him? In that\nexpedition on the river and on their way home he could have sworn that\nshe loved him, and the remembrance of those hours brought her near to him\nagain, and wiped out his schemes of vengeance against her, of punishment\nto be visited on her. Then he thought of little Katharina whom his mother\nintended him to marry, and at the thought he laughed softly to himself.\nIn the Imperial gardens at Constantinople he had once seen a strange\nIndian bird, with a tiny body and head and an immensely long tail,\nshining like silver and mother of pearl. This was Katharina! She herself\na mere nothing; but then her tail! vast estates and immense sums of\nmoney; and this--this was all his mother saw. But did he need more than\nhe had? How rich his father must be to spend so large a sum on an\noffering to the Church as heedlessly as men give alms to a beggar.\n\nKatharina--and Paula!\n\nYes, the little girl was a bright, brisk creature; but then Thomas'\ndaughter--what power there was in her eye, what majesty in her gait,\nhow--how--how enchanting her--her voice could be--her voice. . . .\n\nHe was asleep, worn out by heat and fatigue; and in a dream he saw Paula\nlying on a couch strewn with roses while all about her sounded wonderful\nheart-ensnaring music; and the couch was not solid but blue water, gently\nmoving: he went towards her and suddenly a large black eagle swooped down\non him, flapped his wings in his face and when, half-blinded, he put his\nhand to his eyes the bird pecked the roses as a hen picks millet and\nbarley. Then he was angry, rushed at the eagle, and tried to clutch him\nwith his hands; but his feet seemed rooted to the ground, and the more he\nstruggled to move freely the more firmly he was dragged backwards. He\nfought like a madman against the hindering force, and suddenly it\nreleased him. He was still under this impression when he woke, streaming\nwith perspiration, and opened his eyes. By his couch stood his mother who\nhad laid her hand on his feet to rouse him.\n\nShe looked pale and anxious and begged him to come quickly to his father\nwho was much disturbed, and wished to speak with him. Then she hurried\naway.\n\nWhile he hastily arranged his hair and had his shoes clasped he felt\nvexed that, under the influence of that foolish dream, and still half\nasleep, he had let his mother go before ascertaining what the\ncircumstances were that had given rise to his father's anxiety. Had it\nanything to do with the incidents of the past night? No.--If he had been\nsuspected his mother would have told him and warned him. It must refer to\nsomething else. Perhaps the old merchant's stalwart headman had died of\nhis wounds, and his father wished to send him--Orion--across the Nile to\nthe Arab viceroy to obtain forgiveness for the murder of a Moslem,\nactually within the precincts of the governor's house. This fatal blow\nmight indeed entail serious consequences; however, the matter might very\nlikely be quite other than this.\n\nWhen he left his room the brooding heat that filled the house struck him\nas peculiarly oppressive, and a painful feeling, closely resembling\nshame, stole over him as he crossed the viridarium, and glanced at the\ngrass from which--thanks to Paula's ill-meant warning--he had carefully\nbrushed away his foot-marks before daybreak. How cowardly, how base, it\nall was The best of all in life: honor, self-respect, the proud\nconsciousness of being an honest man--all staked and all lost for nothing\nat all! He could have slapped his own face or cried aloud like a child\nthat has broken its most treasured toy. But of what use was all this?\nWhat was done could not be undone; and now he must keep his wits about\nhim so as to remain, in the eyes of others at least, what he had always\nbeen, low as he had fallen in his own.\n\nIt was scorchingly hot in the enclosed garden-plot, surrounded by\nbuildings, and open to the sun; not a human creature was in sight; the\nhouse seemed dead. The gaudy flag-staffs and trellis-work, and the\npillars of the verandah, which had all been newly painted in honor of his\nreturn and were still wreathed with garlands, exhaled a smell, to him\nquite sickening, of melting resin, drying varnish and faded flowers.\nThough there was no breath of air the atmosphere quivered, as it seemed\nfrom the fierce rays of the sun, which were reflected like arrows from\neverything around him. The butterflies and dragonflies appeared to Orion\nto move their wings more languidly as they hovered over the plants and\nflowers, the very fountain danced up more lazily and not so high as\nusual: everything about him was hot, sweltering, oppressive; and the man\nwho had always been so independent and looked up to, who for years had\nbeen free to career through life uncontrolled, and guarded by every good\nGenius now felt trammelled, hemmed in and harassed.\n\nIn his father's cool fountain-room he could breathe more freely; but only\nfor a moment. The blood faded from his cheeks, and he had to make a\nstrong effort to greet his father calmly and in his usual manner; for in\nfront of the divan where the governor commonly reclined, lay the Persian\nhanging, and close by stood his mother and the Arab merchant. Sebek, the\nsteward awaited his master's orders, in the background in the attitude of\nhumility which was torture to his old back, but in which he was never\nrequired to remain: Orion now signed to him to stand up:\n\nThe Arab's mild features wore a look of extreme gravity, and deep\nvexation could be read in his kindly eyes. As the young man entered he\nbowed slightly; they had already met that morning. The Mukaukas, who was\nlying deathly pale with colorless lips, scarcely opened his eyes at his\nson's greeting. It might have been thought that a bier was waiting in the\nnext room and that the mourners had assembled here.\n\nThe piece of work was only half unrolled, but Orion at once saw the spot\nwhence its crowning glory was now missing--the large emerald which, as he\nalone could know, was on its way to Constantinople. His theft had been\ndiscovered. How fearful, how fatal might the issue be!\n\n\"Courage, courage!\" he said to himself. \"Only preserve your presence of\nmind. What profit is life with loss of honor? Keep your eyes open;\neverything depends on that, Orion!\"\n\nHe succeeded in hastily collecting his thoughts, and exclaimed in a voice\nwhich lacked little of its usual eager cheerfulness:\n\n\"How dismal you all look! It is indeed a terrible disaster that the dog\nshould have handled the poor girl so roughly, and that our people should\nhave behaved so outrageously; but, as I told you this morning, worthy\nMerchant, the guilty parties shall pay for it with their lives. My\nfather, I am sure, will agree that you should deal with them according to\nyour pleasure, and our leech Philippus, in spite of his youth, is a\nperfect Hippocrates I can assure you! He will patch up the fine\nfellow--your head-man I mean, and as to any question of compensation, my\nfather--well, you know he is no haggler.\"\n\n\"I beg you not to add insult to the injury that I have suffered under\nyour roof,\" interrupted Haschim. \"No amount of money can buy off my wrath\nover the spilt blood of a friend--and Rustem was my friend--a free and\nvaliant youth. As to the punishment of the guilty: on that I insist.\nBlood cries for blood. That is our creed; and though yours, to be sure,\nenjoins the contrary, so far as I know you act by the same rule as we.\nAll honor to your physician; but it goes to my heart, and raises my gall\nto see such things take place in the house of the man to whom the Khaliff\nhas confided the weal or woe of Egyptian Christians. Your boasted\ntolerance has led to the death of an honest though humble man in a time\nof perfect peace--or at least maimed him for life. As to your honesty, it\nwould seem. . .\"\n\n\"Who dares impugn it?\" cried Orion.\n\n\"I, young man,\" replied the merchant with the calm dignity of age. \"I,\nwho sold this piece of work last evening, and find it this morning robbed\nof its most precious ornament.\"\n\n\"The great emerald has been cut from the hanging during the night.\" Dame\nNeforis explained. \"You yourself went with the man who carried it to the\ntablinum and saw it laid there.\"\n\n\"And in the very cloth in which your people had wrapped it,\" added Orion.\n\"Our good old Sebek there was with me. Who fetched away the bale this\nmorning; who brought it here and opened it?\"\n\n\"Happily for us,\" said the Arab, \"it was your lady mother herself, with\nthat man--your steward if I mistake not--and your own slaves.\"\n\n\"Why was it not left where it was?\" asked Orion, giving vent to the\nannoyance which at this moment he really felt.\n\n\"Because I had assured your father, and with good reason, that the beauty\nof this splendid work and of the gems that decorate it show to much\ngreater advantage by daylight and in the sunshine than under the lamps\nand torches.\"\n\n\"And besides, your father wished to see his new purchase once more,\"\nNeforis broke in, \"and to ask the merchant how the gems might be removed\nwithout injury to the work itself. So I went to the tablinum myself with\nSebek.\"\n\n\"But I had the key!\" cried Orion putting his hand into the breast of his\nrobe.\n\n\"That I had forgotten,\" replied his mother. \"But unfortunately we did not\nneed it. The tablinum was open.\"\n\n\"I locked it yesterday; you saw me do it, Sebek. . .\"\n\n\"So I told the mistress,\" replied the steward. \"I perfectly recollect\nhearing the snap of the strong lock.\"\n\nOrion shrugged his shoulders, and his mother went on:\n\nBut the bronze doors must have been opened during the night with a false\nkey, or by some other means; for part of the hanging had been pulled out\nof the wrapper, and when we looked closely we saw that the large emerald\nhad been wrenched out of the setting.\"\n\n\"Shameful!\" exclaimed Orion.\n\n\"Disgraceful!\" added the governor, vehemently starting up. He had fallen\na prey to fearful unrest and horror: he thought that his Lord and\nSaviour, to whom he had dedicated the precious jewel, regarded him as so\nsinful and worthless that He would not accept the gift at his hands. But\nperhaps it was only Satan striving to hinder him from approaching the\nMost High with so noble an offering. At any rate, human cunning had been\nat work, so he said with stern resolution:\n\n\"The matter shall be enquired into, and in the name of Jesus Christ, to\nwhom the stone already belongs, I will never rest nor cease till the\ncriminal is in my hands.\"\n\n\"And in the name of Allah and the Prophet,\" added the Arab, \"I will aid\nthee, if I have to appeal for help to the great chief Amru, the Khaliff's\nrepresentative in this country.--A word was spoken here just now that I\ncannot and will not forget. And the tone you have chosen to adopt, young\nman, seems to spring from the same fount: the old fox, you think, put a\nfalse gem of impossible size into the hanging, and has had it stolen that\nhis fraud may not be detected when a jeweller examines the work by\ndaylight. This is too much! I am an honest man, Sirs, and I am fain to\nadd a rich one; and the man who tries to cast a stain on the character I\nhave borne through a long life shall learn, to his ruing, that old\nHaschim has greater and more powerful friends to back him than you may\ncare to meet!\"\n\nAs he uttered this threat the merchant's eyes glistened through tears; it\ngrieved him to be unjustly suspected and to be forced to express himself\nso hardly to the Mukaukas for whom he felt both reverence and pity. It\nwas clear from the tone of his speech that he was in fact a determined\nand a powerful personage, and Orion interrupted him with the eager\nenquiry: \"Who has dared to think so basely of you?\"\n\n\"Your own mother, I regret to say,\" replied the Moslem sadly, with an\noriental shrug of distress and annoyance--his shoulders up to his ears.\n\n\"Forget it, I beg of you,\" said the governor. \"God knows women have\nsofter hearts than men, and yet they more readily incline to think evil\nof their fellow-creatures, and particularly of the enemies of their\nfaith. On the other hand they are more sensitive to kindness. A woman's\nhair is long and her wits short, says the saw.\"\n\n\"You have plenty to say against us women!\" retorted Neforis. \"But scold\naway--scold if it is a comfort to you!\" But she added, while she\naffectionately turned her husband's pillows and gave him another of his\nwhite pillules: \"I will submit to the worst to-day for I am in the wrong.\nI have already asked your pardon, worthy Haschim, and I do so again, with\nall my heart.\"\n\nAs she spoke, she went up to the Arab and held out her hand; he took it,\nbut lightly, however, and quickly released it, saying:\n\n\"I do not find it hard to forgive. But I find it impossible, here or\nanywhere, to let so much as a grain of dust rest on my bright good name.\nI shall follow up this affair, turning neither to the right hand nor to\nthe left.--And now, one question: Is the dog that guarded the tablinum a\nwatchful, savage beast?\"\n\n\"How savage he is he unfortunately proved on the person of the poor\nPersian slave; and his watchfulness is known to all the household,\" cried\nOrion.\n\n\"But I would beg you, worthy merchant,\" said Neforis, \"and in the name of\nall present, to give us the help of your experience. I myself--wait a\nlittle wait: in spite of her long hair and her short wits a woman often\nhas a happy idea. I, probably, was the first to come on the robber's\ntrack. It is clear that he must belong to the household since the dog did\nnot attack him. Paula, who was so wonderfully quick in coming to the\nrescue of the Persian, is of course not to be thought of. . .\"\n\nHere her husband interrupted her with an angry exclamation: \"Leave the\ngirl quite out of the question wife!\"\n\n\"As if I supposed her to be the thief!\" retorted Neforis indignantly, and\nshe shrugged her shoulders as Orion, in mild reproach, also cried:\n\"Mother! consider . . .\" and the merchant asked:\n\n\"Do you mean the young girl from whom I had to take such hard words last\nnight?--Well, then, I will stake my whole fortune on her innocence. That\nbeautiful, passionate creature is incapable of any underhand dealings.\"\n\n\"Passionate!\" Neforis smiled. \"Her heart is as cold and as hard as the\nlost emerald; we have proved that by experience.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" said Orion, \"she is incapable of baseness.\"\n\n\"How zealous men can be for a pair of fine eyes!\" interrupted his mother.\n\"But I have not the most remote suspicion of her; I have something quite\ndifferent in my mind. A pair of man's shoes were found lying by the\nwounded girl. Did you do what my lord Orion ordered, Sebek?\"\n\n\"At once, Mistress,\" replied the steward, \"and I have been expecting the\ncaptain of the watch for some time; for Psamtik. . . .\"\n\nBut here he was interrupted: the officer in question, who for more than\ntwenty years had commanded the Mukaukas' guard of honor, was shown into\nthe room; after answering a few preliminary enquiries he began his report\nin a voice so loud that it hurt the governor, and his wife was obliged to\nrequest the soldier to speak more gently.\n\nThe bloodhounds and terriers had been let out after being allowed to\nsmell at the shoes, and a couple of them had soon found their way to the\nside-door where Hiram had waited for Paula. There they paused, sniffing\nabout on all sides, and had then jumped up a few steps.\n\n\"And those stairs lead to Paula's room,\" observed Neforis with a shrug.\n\n\"But they were on a false scent,\" the officer eagerly added. \"The little\ntoads might have thrown suspicion on an innocent person. The curs\nimmediately after rushed into the stables, and ran up and down like Satan\nafter a lost soul. The pack had soon pulled down the boy--the son of the\nfreedman who came here from Damascus with the daughter of the great\nThomas--and they went quite mad in his father's room: Heaven and earth!\nwhat a howling and barking and yelping. They poked their noses into every\nold rag, and now we knew where the hole in the wine-skin was.--I am sorry\nfor the man. He stammered horribly, but as a trainer, and in all that has\nto do with horses, all honor to him!--The shoes are Hiram's as surely as\nmy eyes are in my head; but we have not caught him yet. He is across the\nriver, for a boat is missing and where it had been lying the dogs began\nagain. Unless the unbelievers over there give him shelter we are certain\nto have him.\"\n\n\"Then we know who is the criminal!\" cried Orion, with a sigh as deep as\nthough some great burden were lifted from his soul. Then he went on in a\ncommanding tone--and his voice rang so fiercely that the color which had\nmounted to his cheeks could hardly be due to satisfaction at this last\ngood news. . . .\n\n\"As it is not yet two hours after noon, send all your men out to search\nfor him and deliver him up. My father will give you a warrant, and the\nArabs on the other shore will assist you. Perhaps the thief may fall into\nour hands even sooner and with him the emerald, unless the rogue has\nsucceeded in hiding it or selling it.\" Then his voice sank, and he added\nin a tone of regret. It is a pity as concerns the man, we had not one in\nour stables who knew more about horses! Fresh proof of your maxim,\nmother: if you want to be well served you must buy rascals!\"\n\n\"Strictly speaking,\" said Neforis meditatively, \"Hiram is not one of our\npeople. He was a freedman of Thomas' and came here with his daughter.\nEvery one speaks highly of his skill in the stable; but for this robbery\nwe might have kept him for the rest of his life still, if the girl had\never taken it into her head to leave us and to take him with her, we\ncould not have detained him.--You may say what you will, and abuse me and\nmock me; I have none of what you call imagination; I see things simply as\nthey are: but there must be some understanding between that girl and the\nthief.\"\n\n\"You are not to say another word of such monstrous nonsense!\" exclaimed\nher husband; and he would have said more, but that at that moment the\ngroom of the chambers announced that Gamaliel, the Jewish goldsmith,\nbegged an audience. The man had come to give information with regard to\nthe fate of the lost emerald.\n\nAt this statement Orion changed color, and he turned away from the\nmerchant as the slave admitted the same Israelite who had been sitting\nover the fire with the head-servants. He at once plunged into his story,\ntelling it in his peculiar light-hearted style. He was so rich that the\nloss he might suffer did not trouble him enough to spoil his good-humor,\nand so honest that it was a pleasure to him to restore the stolen\nproperty to its rightful owner. Early that morning, so he told them,\nHiram the groom had been to him to offer him a wonderfully large and\nsplendid emerald for sale. The freedman had assured him that the stone\nwas part of the property left by the famous Thomas, his former master. It\nhad decorated the head-stall of the horse which the hero of Damascus had\nlast ridden, and it had come to him with the steed.\n\n\"I offered him what I thought fair,\" the Jew went on, \"and paid him two\nthousand drachmae on account; the remainder he begged me to take charge\nof for the present. To this I agreed, but ere long a fly began to hum\nsuspicion in my ear. Then the police rushed through the town with the\nbloodhounds. Good Heavens, what a barking! The creatures yelped as if\nthey would bark my poor house down, like the trumpets round the walls of\nJericho--you know. 'What is the matter now,' I asked of the dog-keepers,\nand behold! my suspicions about the emerald were justified; so here, my\nlord Governor, I have brought you the stone, and as every suckling in\nMemphis hears from its nurse--unless it is deaf--what a just man Mukaukas\nGeorge is, you will no doubt make good to me what I advanced to that\nstammering scoundrel. And you will have the best of the bargain, noble\nSir; for I make no demand for interest or even maintenance for the two\nhours during which it was mine.\"\n\n\"Give me the stone!\" interrupted the Arab, who was annoyed by the Jew's\njesting tone; he snatched the emerald from him, weighed it in his hand,\nput it close to his eyes, held it far off, tapped it with a small hammer\nthat he took out of his breast-pocket, slipped it into its place in the\nwork, examining it keenly, suspiciously, and at last with satisfaction.\nDuring all this, Orion had more than once turned pale, and the sweat\nbroke out on his handsome, pale face. Had a miracle been wrought here?\nHow could this gem, which was surely on its way to Alexandria, have found\nits way into the Jew's hands? Or could Chusar have opened the little\npacket and have sold the emerald to Hiram, and through him to the\njeweller? He must get to the bottom of it, and while the Arab was\nexamining the gem he went up to Gamaliel and asked him: \"Are you\npositively certain--it is a matter of freedom or the dungeon--certain\nthat you had this stone from Hiram the Syrian and from no one else? I\nmean, is the man so well-known to you that no mistake is possible?\"\n\n\"God preserve us!\" exclaimed the Jew drawing back a step from Orion, who\nwas gazing at him with a sinister light in his eyes. \"How can my lord\ndoubt it? Your respected father has known me these thirty years, and do\nyou suppose that I--I do not know the Syrian? Why, who in Memphis can\nstammer to compare with him? And has he not killed half my children with\nyour wild young horses?--Half killed every one of my children I\nmean--half killed them, I say, with fright. They are all still alive and\nwell, God preserve them, but none the better for your horsebreaker; for\nfresh air is good for children and my little Rebecca would stop indoors\ntill he was at home again for fear of his terrifying pranks.\"\n\n\"Well, well!\" Orion broke in. \"And at what hour did he bring you the\nemerald for sale? Exactly. Now, recollect: when was it? You surely must\nremember.\"\n\n\"Adonai! How should I?\" said the Jew. \"But wait, Sir, perhaps I may be\nable to tell you. In this hot weather we are up before sunrise; then we\nsaid our prayers and had our morning broth; then. . . .\"\n\n\"Senseless chatter!\" urged Orion. But Gamaliel went on without allowing\nhimself to be checked. \"Then little Ruth jumped into my lap to pull out\nthe white hairs that will grow under my nose and, just as the child was\ndoing it and I cried out: 'Oh, you hurt me!' the sun fell upon the earth\nbank on which I was sitting.\"\n\n\"And at what time does it reach the bank?\" cried the young man.\n\n\"Exactly two hours after sunrise,\" replied the Jew, \"at this time of\nyear. Do me the honor of a visit tomorrow morning; you will not regret\nit, for I can show you some beautiful, exquisite things--and you can\nwatch the shadow yourself.\"\n\n\"Two hours after sunrise,\" murmured Orion to himself, and then with fresh\nqualms he reflected that it was fully four hours later when he had given\nthe packet to Chusar. It was impossible to doubt the Jew's statement. The\nman was rich, honest and content: he did not lie. The jewel Orion had\nsent away and that purchased from Hiram could not in any case be\nidentical. But how could all this be explained? It was enough to\nturn his brain. And not to dare to speak when mere silence was\nfalsehood--falsehood to his father and mother!--If only the hapless\nstammerer might escape! If he were caught; then--then merciful Heaven!\nBut no; it was not to be thought of.--On, then, on; and if it came to the\nworst the honor of a hundred stablemen could not outweigh that of one\nOrion; horrible as it was, the man must be sacrificed. He would see that\nhis life was spared and that he was soon set at liberty!\n\nThe Arab meanwhile had concluded his examination; still he was not\nperfectly satisfied. Orion longed to interpose; for if the merchant\nexpressed no doubts and acknowledged the recovered gem to be the stolen\none, much would be gained; so he turned to him again and said: \"May I ask\nyou to show me the emerald once more? It is quite impossible, do you\nthink, that a second should be found to match it?\"\n\n\"That is too much to assert,\" said the Arab gravely. \"This stone\nresembles that on the hanging to a hair; and yet it has a little\ninequality which I do not remember noticing on it. It is true I had never\nseen it out of the setting, and this little boss may have been turned\ntowards the stuff, and yet, and yet.--Tell me, goldsmith, did the thief\ngive you the emerald bare--unset?\"\n\n\"As bare as Adam and Eve before they ate the apple,\" said the Jew.\n\n\"That is a pity--a great pity!--And still I fancy that the stone in the\nwork was a trifle longer. In such a case it is almost folly and\nperversity to doubt, and yet I feel--and yet I ask myself: Is this really\nthe stone that formed that bud?\"\n\n\"But Heaven bless us!\" cried Orion, \"the twin of such an unique gem would\nsurely not drop from the skies and at the same moment into one and the\nsame house. Let us be glad that the lost sheep has come back to us. Now,\nI will lock it into this iron casket, Father, and as soon as the robber\nis caught you send for me: do you understand, Psamtik?\" He nodded to his\nparents, offered his hand to the Arab, and that in a way which could not\nfail to satisfy any one, so that even the old man was won over; and then\nhe left the room.\n\nThe merchant's honor was saved; still his conscientious soul was\ndisturbed by a doubt that he could not away with. He was about to take\nleave but the Mukaukas was so buried in pillows, and kept his eyes so\nclosely shut, that no one could detect whether he were sleeping or\nwaking; so the Arab, not wishing to disturb him, withdrew without\nspeaking.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Ancient custom, to have her ears cut off\n     Caught the infection and had to laugh whether she would or no\n     Gave them a claim on your person and also on your sorrows\n     How could they find so much pleasure in such folly\n     Of two evils it is wise to choose the lesser\n     Prepared for the worst; then you are armed against failure\n     Who can hope to win love that gives none\n     Who can take pleasure in always seeing a gloomy face?\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nAfter the great excitement of the night Paula had thrown herself on her\nbed with throbbing pulses. Sleep would not come to her, and so at rather\nmore than two hours after sunrise she went to the window to close the\nshutters. As she did so she looked out, and she saw Hiram leap into a\nboat and push the light bark from the shore. She dared neither signal nor\ncall to him; but when the faithful soul had reached open water he looked\nback at her window, recognized her in her white morning dress and\nflourished the oar high in the air. This could only mean that he had\nfulfilled his commission and sold her jewel. Now he was going to the\nother side to engage the Nabathaean.\n\nWhen she had closed the shutters and darkened the room she again lay\ndown. Youth asserted its rights the weary girl fell into deep, dreamless\nslumbers.\n\nWhen she woke, with the heat drops on her forehead, the sun was nearly at\nthe meridian, only an hour till the Ariston would be served, the Greek\nbreakfast, the first meal in the morning, which the family eat together\nas they also did the principal meal later in the clay. She had never yet\nfailed to appear, and her absence would excite remark.\n\nThe governor's household, like that of every Egyptian of rank, was\nconducted more on the Greek than the Egyptian plan; and this was the case\nnot merely as regarded the meals but in many other things, and especially\nthe language spoken. From the Mukaukas himself down to the youngest\nmember of the family, all spoke Greek among themselves, and Coptic, the\nold native dialect, only to the servants. Nay, many borrowed and foreign\nwords had already crept into use in the Coptic.\n\nThe governor's granddaughter, pretty little Mary, had learnt to speak\nGreek fluently and correctly before she spoke Coptic, but when Paula had\nfirst arrived she could not as yet write the beautiful language of Greece\nwith due accuracy. Paula loved children; she longed for some occupation,\nand she had therefore volunteered to instruct the little girl in the art.\nAt first her hosts had seemed pleased that she should render this\nservice, but ere long the relation between the Lady Neforis and her\nhusband's niece had taken the unpleasant aspect which it was destined to\nretain. She had put a stop to the lessons, and the reason she had\nassigned for this insulting step was that Paula had dictated to her pupil\nlong sentences out of her Orthodox Greek prayerbook. This, it was true,\nshe had done; but without the smallest concealment; and the passages she\nhad chosen had contained nothing but what must elevate the soul of every\nChristian, of whatever confession.\n\nThe child had wept bitterly over her grandmother's fiat, though Paula had\nalways taken the lessons quite seriously, for Mary loved her older\ncompanion with all the enthusiasm of a half-grown girl--as a child of ten\nreally is in Egypt; her passionate little heart worshipped the beautiful\nmaiden who was in every respect so far above her, and Paula's arms had\nopened wide to embrace the child who brought sunshine into the gloomy,\nchill atmosphere she breathed in her uncle's house. But Neforis regarded\nthe child's ardent love for her Melchite relation as exaggerated and\nmorbid, imperilling perhaps her religious faith; and she fancied that\nunder Paula's influence Mary had transferred her affections from her to\nthe younger woman with added warmth. Nor was this idea wholly fanciful;\nthe child's strong sense of justice could not bear to see her friend\nmisunderstood and slighted, often simply and entirely misjudged and\nhardly blamed, so Mary felt it her duty, as far as in her lay, to make up\nfor her grandmother's delinquencies in regard to the guest who in the\nchild's eyes was perfection.\n\nBut Neforis was not the woman to put up with this demeanor in a child.\nMary was her granddaughter, the only child of her lost son, and no one\nshould come between them. So she forbid the little girl to go to Paula's\nroom without an express message, and when a Greek teacher was engaged for\nher, her instructions were that she should keep her pupil as much as\npossible out of the Syrian damsel's way. All this only fanned the child's\nvehement affection; and tenderly as her grandmother would sometimes\ncaress her--while Mary on her part never failed in dutiful\nobedience--neither of them ever felt a true and steady warmth of heart\ntowards the other; and for this Paula was no doubt to blame, though\nagainst her will and by her mere existence.\n\nOften, indeed, and by a hundred covert hints Dame Neforis gave Paula to\nunderstand that she it was who had alienated her grandchild; there was\nnothing for it but to keep the child for whom she yearned, at a distance,\nand only rarely reveal to her the abundance of her love. At last her life\nwas so full of grievance that she was hardly able to be innocent with the\ninnocent--a child with the child; Mary was not slow to note this, and\nascribed Paula's altered manner to the suffering caused by her\ngrandmother's severity.\n\nMary's most frequent opportunities of speaking to her friend were just\nbefore meals; for at that time no one was watching her, and her\ngrandmother had not forbidden her calling Paula to table. A visit to her\nroom was the child's greatest delight--partly because it was\nforbidden--but no less because Paula, up in her own room, was quite\ndifferent from what she seemed with the others, and because they could\nthere look at each other and kiss without interference, and say what ever\nthey pleased. There Mary could tell her as much as she dared of the\nevents in their little circle, but the lively and sometimes hoydenish\nlittle girl was often withheld from confessing a misdemeanor, or even an\ninoffensive piece of childishness, by sheer admiration for one who to her\nappeared nobler, greater and loftier than other beings.\n\nJust as Paula had finished putting up her hair, Mary, who would rush like\na whirlwind even into her grandmother's presence, knocked humbly at the\ndoor. She did not fly into Paula's arms as she did into those of Susannah\nor her daughter Katharina, but only kissed her white arm with fervent\ndevotion, and colored with happiness when Paula bent down to her, pressed\nher lips to her brow and hair, and wiped her wet, glowing cheeks. Then\nshe took Mary's head fondly between her hands and said:\n\n\"What is wrong with you, madcap?\"\n\nIn fact the sweet little face was crimson, and her eyes swelled as if she\nhad been crying violently.\n\n\"It is so fearfully hot,\" said Mary. \"Eudoxia\"--her Greek\ngoverness--\"says that Egypt in summer is a fiery furnace, a hell upon\nearth. She is quite ill with the heat, and lies like a fish on the sand;\nthe only good thing about it is. . .\"\n\n\"That she lets you run off and gives you no lessons?\"\n\nMary nodded, but as no lecture followed the confession she put her head\non one side and looked up into Paula's face with large roguish eyes.\n\n\"And yet you have been crying!--a great girl like you?\"\n\n\"I--I crying?\"\n\n\"Yes, crying. I can see it in your eyes. Now confess: what has happened?\"\n\n\"You will not scold me?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"Well then. At first it was fun, such fun you cannot think, and I do not\nmind the heat; but when the great hunt had gone by I wanted to go to my\ngrand mother and I was not allowed. Do you know, something very\nparticular had been going on in the fountain-room; and as they all came\nout again I crept behind Orion into the tablinum--there are such\nwonderful things there, and I wanted just to frighten him a little; we\nhave often played games together before. At first he did not see me, and\nas he was bending over the hanging, from which the gem was stolen--I\nbelieve he was counting the stones in the faded old thing--I just jumped\non to his shoulder, and he was so frightened--I can tell you, awfully\nfrightened! And he turned upon me like a fighting-cock and--and he gave\nme a box on the ear; such a slap, it is burning now--and all sorts of\ncolors danced before my eyes. He always used to be so nice and kind to\nme, and to you, too, and so I used to be fond of him--he is my uncle\ntoo--but a box on the ears, a slap such as the cook might give to the\nturnspit--I am too big for that; that I will certainly not put up with\nit! Since my last birthday all the slaves and upper servants, too, have\nhad to treat me as a lady and to bow down to me! And now!--it was just\nhere.--How dare he?\" She began to cry again and sobbed out: \"But that was\nnot all. He locked me into the dark tablinum and left--left me. . . .\"\nher tears flowed faster and faster, \"left me sitting there! It was so\nhorrible; and I might have been there now if I had not found a gold\nplate; I seized my great-grandfather--I mean the silver image of Menas,\nand hammered on it, and screamed Fire! Then Sebek heard me and fetched\nOrion, and he let me out, and made such a fuss over me and kissed me. But\nwhat is the good of that; my grandfather will be angry, for in my terror\nI beat his father's nose quite flat on the plate.\"\n\nPaula had listened, now amused and now grave, to the little girl's story;\nwhen she ceased, she once more wiped her eyes and said:\n\n\"Your uncle is a man, and you must not play with him as if he were a\nchild like yourself. The reminder you got was rather a hard one, no\ndoubt, but Orion tried to make up for it.--But the great hunt, what was\nthat?\"\n\nAt this question Mary's eyes suddenly sparkled again. In an instant all\nher woes were forgotten, even her ancestor's flattened nose, and with a\nmerry, hearty laugh she exclaimed:\n\n\"Oh! you should have seen it! You would have been amused too. They wanted\nto catch the bad man who cut the emerald out of the hanging. He had left\nhis shoes and they had held them under the dogs' noses and then off they\nwent! First they rushed here to the stairs; then to the stables, then to\nthe lodgings of one of the horse-trainers, and I kept close behind, after\nthe terriers and the other dogs. Then they stopped to consider and at\nlast they all ran out at the gate towards the town. I ought not to have\ngone beyond the court-yard, but--do not be cross with me--it was such\nfun!--Out they went, along Hapi Street, across the square, and at last\ninto the Goldsmith's Street, and there the whole pack plunged into\nGamaliel's shop--the Jew who is always so merry. While he was talking to\nthe others his wife gave me some apricot tartlets; we do not have such\ngood ones at home.\"\n\n\"And did they find the man?\" asked Paula, who had changed color\nrepeatedly during the child's story.\n\n\"I do not know,\" said Mary sadly. \"They were not chasing any one in\nparticular. The dogs kept their noses to the ground, and we ran after\nthem.\"\n\n\"And only to catch a man, who certainly had nothing whatever to do with\nthe theft.--Reflect a little, Mary. The shoes gave the dogs the scent and\nthey were set on to seize the man who had worn them, but whom no judge\nhad examined. The shoes were found in the hall; perhaps he had dropped\nthem by accident, or some one else may have carried them there. Now think\nof yourself in the place of an innocent man, a Christian like ourselves,\nhunted with a pack of dogs like a wild beast. Is it not frightful? No\ngood heart should laugh at such a thing!\"\n\nPaula spoke with such impressive gravity and deep sorrow, and her whole\nmanner betrayed such great and genuine distress that the child looked tip\nat her anxiously, with tearful eyes, threw herself against her, and\nhiding her face in Paula's dress exclaimed: \"I did not know that they\nwere hunting a poor man, and if it makes you so sad, I wish I had not\nbeen there! But is it really and truly so bad? You are so often unhappy\nwhen we others laugh!\" She gazed into Paula's face with wide, wondering\neyes through her tears, and Paula clasped her to her, kissed her fondly,\nand replied with melancholy sweetness:\n\n\"I would gladly be as gay as you, but I have gone through so much to\nsadden me. Laugh and be merry to your heart's content; I am glad you\nshould. But with regard to the poor hunted man, I fear he is my father's\nfreedman, the most faithful, honest soul! Did your exciting hunt drive\nany one out of the goldsmith's shop?\"\n\nMary shook her head; then she asked:\n\n\"Is it Hiram, the stammerer, the trainer, that they are hunting?\"\n\n\"I fear it is.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the child. \"Stay--oh, dear! it will grieve you again,\nbut I think--I think they said--the shoes belonged--but I did not attend.\nHowever, they were talking of a groom--a freedman--a stammerer. . . .\"\n\n\"Then they certainly are hunting down an innocent man,\" cried Paula with\na deep sigh; and she sat down again in front of her toilet-table to\nfinish dressing. Her hands still moved mechanically, but she was lost in\nthought; she answered the child vaguely, and let her rummage in her open\ntrunk till Mary pulled out the necklace that had been bereft of its gem,\nand hung it round her neck. Just then there was a knock at the door and\nKatharina, the widow Susannah's little daughter, came into the room. The\nyoung girl, to whom the governor's wife wished to marry her tall son\nscarcely reached to Paula's shoulder, but she was plump and pleasant to\nlook upon; as neat as if she had just been taken out of a box, with a\nfresh, merry lovable little face. When she laughed she showed a gleaming\nrow of small teeth, set rather wide apart, but as white as snow; and her\nbright eyes beamed on the world as gladly as though they had nothing that\nwas not pleasing to look for, innocent mischief to dream of. She too,\ntried to win Paula's favor; but with none of Mary's devoted and unvarying\nenthusiasm. Often, to be sure, she would devote herself to Paula with\nsuch stormy vehemence that the elder girl was forced to be repellent;\nthen, on the other hand, if she fancied her self slighted, or treated\nmore coolly than Mary, she would turn her back on Paula with sulky\njealousy, temper and pouting. It always was in Paula's power to put an\nend to the \"Water-wagtails tantrums\"--which generally had their comic\nside--by a kind word or kiss; but without some such advances Katharina\nwas quite capable of indulging her humors to the utmost.\n\nOn the present occasion she flew into Paula's arm, and when her friend\nbegged, more quietly than usual that she would allow her first to finish\ndressing, she turned away without any display of touchiness and took the\nnecklace from Mary's hand to put it on herself. It was of fine\nworkmanship, set with pearls, and took her fancy greatly; only the empty\nmedallion from which Hiram had removed the emerald with his knife spoiled\nthe whole effect. Still, it was a princely jewel, and when she had also\ntaken from the chest a large fan of ostrich feathers she showed off to\nher play-fellow, with droll, stiff dignity, how the empress and\nprincesses at Court curtsied and bowed graciously to their inferiors. At\nthis they both laughed a great deal. When Paula had finished her toilet\nand proceeded to take the necklace off Katharina, the empty setting,\nwhich Hiram's knife had bent, caught in the thin tissue of her dress.\nMary disengaged it, and Paula tossed the jewel back into the trunk.\n\nWhile she was locking the box she asked Katharina whether she had met\nOrion.\n\n\"Orion!\" repeated the younger girl, in a tone which implied that she\nalone had the right to enquire about him. \"Yes, we came upstairs\ntogether; he went to see the wounded man. Have you anything to say to\nhim?\"\n\nShe crimsoned as she spoke and looked suspiciously at Paula, who simply\nreplied: \"Perhaps,\" and then added, as she hung the ribbon with the key\nround her neck: \"Now, you little girls, it is breakfast time; I am not\ngoing down to-day.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" cried Mary disappointed, \"my grandfather is ailing and\ngrandmother will stay with him; so if you do not come I shall have to sit\nalone with Eudoxia; for Katharina's chariot is waiting and she must go\nhome at once. Oh! do come. Just to please me; you do not know how odious\nEudoxia can be when it is so hot.\"\n\n\"Yes, do go down,\" urged Katharina. \"What will you do up hereby yourself?\nAnd this evening mother and I will come again.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Paula. \"But first I must go to see the invalids.\"\n\n\"May I go with you?\" asked the Water wagtail, coaxingly stroking Paula's\narm. But Mary clapped her hands, exclaiming:\n\n\"She only wants to go to Orion--she is so fond of him. . . .\"\n\nKatharina put her hand over the child's mouth, but Paula, with quickened\nbreath, explained that she had very serious matters to discuss with\nOrion; so Katharina, turning her back on her with a hasty gesture of\ndefiance, sulkily went down stairs, while Mary slipped down the bannister\nrail. Not many days since, Katharina, who was but just sixteen, would\ngladly have followed her example.\n\nPaula meanwhile knocked at the first of the sickrooms and entered it as\nsoftly as the door was opened by a nursing-sister from the convent of St.\nKatharine. Orion, whom she was seeking, had been there, but had just\nleft.\n\nIn this first room lay the leader of the caravan; in that beyond was the\ncrazy Persian. In a sitting-room adjoining the first room, which, being\nintended for guests of distinction, was furnished with royal\nmagnificence, sat two men in earnest conversation: the Arab merchant and\nPhilippus the physician, a young man of little more than thirty, tall and\nbony, in a dress of clean but very coarse stuff without any kind of\nadornment. He had a shrewd, pale face, out of which a pair of bright\nblack eyes shone benevolently but with keen vivacity. His large\ncheek-bones were much too prominent; the lower part of his face was\nsmall, ugly and, as it were, compressed, while his high broad forehead\ncrowned the whole and stamped it as that of a thinker, as a fine cupola\nmay crown an insignificant and homely structure.\n\nThis man, devoid of charm, though his strongly-characterized\nindividuality made it difficult to overlook him even in the midst of a\ndistinguished circle, had been conversing eagerly with the Arab, who, in\nthe course of their two-days' acquaintance, had inspired him with a\nregard which was fully reciprocated. At last Orion had been the theme of\ntheir discourse, and the physician, a restless toiler who could not like\nany man whose life was one of idle enjoyment, though he did full justice\nto his brilliant gifts and well-applied studies, had judged him far more\nhardly than the older man. To the leech all forms of human life were\nsacred, and in his eyes everything that could injure the body or soul of\na man was worthy of destruction. He knew all that Orion had brought upon\nthe hapless Mandane, and how lightly he had trifled with the hearts of\nother women; in his eyes this made him a mischievous and criminal member\nof society. He regarded life as an obligation to be discharged by work\nalone, of whatever kind, if only it were a benefit to society as a whole.\nAnd such youths as Orion not only did not recognize this, but used the\nwhole and the parts also for base and selfish ends. The old Moslem, on\nthe contrary, viewed life as a dream whose fairest portion, the time of\nyouth, each one should enjoy with alert senses, and only take care that\nat the waking which must come with death he might hope to find admission\ninto Paradise. How little could man do against the iron force of fate!\nThat could not be forefended by hard work; there was nothing for it but\nto take up a right attitude, and to confront and meet it with dignity.\nThe bark of Orion's existence lacked ballast; in fine weather it drifted\nwherever the breeze carried it, He himself had taken care to equip it\nwell; and if only the chances of life should freight it heavily--very\nheavily, and fling it on the rocks, then Orion might show who and what he\nwas; he, Haschim, firmly believed that his character would prove itself\nadmirable. It was in the hour of shipwreck that a man showed his worth.\n\nHere the physician interrupted him to prove that it was not Fate, as\nimagined by Moslems, but man himself who guided the bark of life--but at\nthis moment Paula looked into the room, and he broke off. The merchant\nbowed profoundly, Philippus respectfully, but with more embarrassment\nthan might have been expected from the general confidence of his manner.\nFor some years he had been a daily visitor in the governor's house, and\nafter carefully ignoring Paula on her first arrival, since Dame Neforis\nhad taken to treating her so coolly he drew her out whenever he had the\nopportunity. Her conversations with him had now become dear and even\nnecessary to her, though at first his dry, cutting tone had displeased\nher, and he had often driven her into a corner in a way that was hard to\nbear. They kept her mind alert in a circle which never busied itself with\nanything but the trivial details of family life in the decayed city, or\nwith dogmatic polemics--for the Mukaukas seldom or never took part in the\ngossip of the women.\n\nThe leech never talked of daily events, but expressed his views as to\nother and graver subjects in life, or in books with which they were both\nfamiliar; and he had the art of eliciting replies from her which he met\nwith wit and acumen. By degrees she had become accustomed to his bold\nmode of thought, sometimes, it is true, too recklessly expressed; and the\ngifted girl now preferred a discussion with him to any other form of\nconversation, recognizing that a childlike and supremely unselfish soul\nanimated this thoughtful reservoir of all knowledge. Almost everything\nshe did displeased her uncle's wife, and so, of course, did her familiar\nintercourse with this man, whose appearance certainly had in it nothing\nto attract a young girl.--The physician to a family of rank was there to\nkeep its members in good health, and it was unbecoming in one of them to\nconverse with him on intimate terms as an equal. She reproached\nPaula--whose pride she was constantly blaming--for her unseemly\ncondescension to Philippus; but what chiefly annoyed her was that Paula\ntook up many a half-hour which otherwise Philippus would have devoted to\nher husband; and in him and his health her life and thoughts were\ncentred.\n\nThe Arab at once recognized his foe of the previous evening; but they\nsoon came to a friendly understanding--Paula confessing her folly in\nholding a single and kindly-disposed man answerable for the crimes of a\nwhole nation. Haschim replied that a right-minded spirit always came to a\njust conclusion at last; and then the conversation turned on her father,\nand the physician explained to the Arab that she was resolved never to\nweary of seeking the missing man.\n\n\"Nay, it is the sole aim and end of my life,\" cried the girl.\n\n\"A great mistake, in my opinion,\" said the leech. But the merchant\ndiffered: there were things, he said, too precious to be given up for\nlost, even when the hope of finding them seemed as feeble and thin as a\nrotten reed.\n\n\"That is what I feel!\" cried Paula. \"And how can you think differently,\nPhilip? Have I not heard from your own lips that you never give up all\nhope of a sick man till death has put an end to it? Well, and I cling to\nmine--more than ever now, and I feel that I am right. My last thought, my\nlast coin shall be spent in the search for my father, even without my\nuncle and his wife, and in spite of their prohibition.\"\n\n\"But in such a task a young girl can hardly do without a man's succor,\"\nsaid the merchant. \"I wander a great deal about the world, I speak with\nmany foreigners from distant lands, and if you will do me the honor, pray\nregard me as your coadjutor, and allow me to help you in seeking for the\nlost hero.\"\n\n\"Thanks--I fervently thank you!\" cried Paula, grasping the Moslem's hand\nwith hearty pleasure. \"Wherever you go bear my lost father in mind; I am\nbut a poor, lonely girl, but if you find him. . .\"\n\n\"Then you will know that even among the Moslems there are men. . .\"\n\n\"Men who are ready to show compassion and to succor friendless women!\"\ninterrupted Paula.\n\n\"And with good success, by the blessing of the Almighty,\" replied the\nArab. \"As soon as I find a clue you shall hear from me; now, however, I\nmust go across the Nile to see Amru the great general; I go in all\nconfidence for I know that my poor, brave Rustem is in good hands, friend\nPhilippus. My first enquiries shall be made in Fostat, rely upon that, my\ndaughter.\"\n\n\"I do indeed,\" said Paula with pleased emotion. \"When shall we meet\nagain?\"\n\n\"To-morrow, or the morning after at latest.\"\n\nThe young girl went up to him and whispered: \"We have just heard of a\nclue; indeed, I hope my messenger is already on his way. Have you time to\nhear about it now?\"\n\n\"I ought long since to have been on the other shore; so not to-day, but\nto-morrow I hope.\" The Arab shook hands with her and the physician, and\nhastily took his leave.\n\nPaula stood still, thinking. Then it struck her that Hiram was now on the\nfurther side of the Nile, within the jurisdiction of the Arab ruler, and\nthat the merchant could perhaps intercede for him, if she were to tell\nhim all she knew. She felt the fullest confidence in the old man, whose\nkind and sympathetic face was still visible to her mind's eye, and\nwithout paying any further heed to the physician she went quickly towards\nthe door of the sick-room. A crucifix hung close by, and the nun had\nfallen on her knees before it, praying for her infidel patient, and\nbeseeching the Good Shepherd to have mercy on the sheep that was not of\nHis fold. Paula did not venture to disturb the worshipper, who was\nkneeling just in the narrow passage; so some minutes elapsed before the\nleech, observing her uneasiness, came out of the larger room, touched the\nnun on the shoulder, and said in a low voice of genuine kindness:\n\n\"One moment, good Sister. Your pious intercession will be heard--but this\ndamsel is in haste.\" The nun rose at once and made way, sending a\nwrathful glance after Paula as she hurried down the stairs.\n\nAt the door of the court-yard she looked out and about for the Arab, but\nin vain. Then she enquired of a slave who told her that the merchant's\nhorse had waited for him at the gate a long time, that he had just come\ngalloping out, and by this time must have reached the bridge of boats\nwhich connected Memphis with the island of Rodah and, beyond the island,\nwith the fort of Babylon and the new town of Fostat.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nPaula went up-stairs again, distressed and vexed with herself. Was it the\nheat that had enervated her and robbed her of the presence of mind she\nusually had at her command? She herself could not understand how it was\nthat she had not at once taken advantage of the opportunity to plead to\nHaschim for her faithful retainer. The merchant might have interested\nhimself for Hiram.\n\nThe slave at the gate had told her that he had not yet been taken; the\ntime to intercede, then, had not yet come. But she was resolved to do so,\nto draw the wrath of her relations down on herself, and, if need should\nbe, to relate all she had seen in the course of the night, to save her\ndevoted servant. It was no less than her duty: still, before humiliating\nOrion so deeply she would warn him. The thought of charging him with so\nshameful a deed pained her like the need for inflicting an injury on\nherself. She hated him, but she would rather have broken the most\nprecious work of art than have branded him--him whose image still reigned\nin her heart, supremely glorious and attractive.\n\nInstead of following Mary to breakfast, or offering herself as usual to\nplay draughts with her uncle, she went back to the sick-room. To meet\nNeforis or Orion at this moment would have been painful, indeed odious to\nher. It was long since she had felt so weary and oppressed. A\nconversation with the physician might perhaps prove refreshing; after the\nvarious agitations of the last few hours she longed for something, be it\nwhat it might, that should revive her spirits and give a fresh turn to\nher thoughts.\n\nIn the Masdakite's room the Sister coldly asked her what she wanted, and\nwho had given her leave to assist in tending the sufferers. The leech,\nwho at that moment was moistening the bandage on the wounded man's head,\nat this turned to the nun and informed her decidedly that he desired the\nyoung girl's assistance in attending on both his patients. Then he led\nthe way sitting-room, saying in subdued into the adjoining tones:\n\n\"For the present all is well. Let us rest here a little while.\"\n\nShe sat down on a divan, and he on a seat opposite, and Philippus began:\n\n\"You were seeking handsome Orion just now, but you must. . . .\"\n\n\"What?\" she asked gravely. \"And I would have you to know that the son of\nthe house is no more to me than his mother is. Your phrase 'Handsome\nOrion' seems to imply something that I do not again wish to hear. But I\nmust speak to him, and soon, in reference to an important matter.\"\n\n\"To what, then, do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here again? To\nconfess the truth I did not hope for your return.\"\n\n\"And why not?\"\n\n\"Excuse me from answering. No one likes to hear unpleasant things. If one\nof my profession thinks any one is not well. . . .\"\n\n\"If that is meant for me,\" replied the girl, \"all I can tell you is that\nthe one thing on which I still can pride myself is my health. Say what\nyou will--the very worst for aught I care. I want something to-day to\nrouse me from lethargy, even if it should make me angry.\"\n\n\"Very well then,\" replied the leech, \"though I am plunging into deep\nwaters!--As to health, as it is commonly understood, a fish might envy\nyou; but the higher health--health of mind: that I fear you cannot boast\nof.\"\n\n\"This is a serious beginning,\" said Paula. \"Your reproof would seem to\nimply that I have done you or some one else a wrong.\"\n\n\"If only you had!\" exclaimed he. \"No, you have not sinned against us in\nany way.--'I am as I am' is what you think of yourself; and what do you\ncare for others?\"\n\n\"That must depend on whom you mean by 'others!'\"\n\n\"Nothing less than all and each of those with whom you live--here, in\nthis house, in this town, in this world. To you they are mere air--or\nless; for the air is a tangible thing that can fill a ship's sails and\ndrive it against the stream, whose varying nature can bring comfort or\nsuffering to your body.\"\n\n\"My world is within!\" said Paula, laying her hand on her heart.\n\n\"Very true. And all creation may find room there; for what cannot the\nhuman heart, as it is called, contain! The more we require it to take and\nkeep, the more ready it is to hold it. It is unsafe to let the lock rust;\nfor, if once it has grown stiff, when we want to open it no pulling and\nwrenching will avail. And besides--but I do not want to grieve you.--You\nhave a habit of only looking backwards. . . .\"\n\n\"And what that is pleasurable lies before me? Your blame is harsh and at\nthe same time unjust.--Indeed, and how can you tell which way I look?\"\n\n\"Because I have watched you with the eye of a friend. In truth, Paula,\nyou have forgotten how to look around and forward. The life which lies\nbehind you and which you have lost is all your world. I once showed you\non a fragmentary papyrus that belonged to my foster father, Horus Apollo,\na heathen demon represented as going forwards, while his head was turned\non his neck so that the face and eyes looked behind him.\"\n\n\"I remember it perfectly.\"\n\nWell, you have long been just like him. 'All things move,' says\nHeraclitus, so you are forced to float onwards with the great stream; or,\nto vary the image, you must walk forwards on the high-road of life\ntowards the common goal; but your eye is fixed on what lies behind you,\nfeasting on the prospect of a handsome and wealthy home, kindness and\ntenderness, noble and loving faces, and a happy, but alas! long-lost\nexistence. All the same, on you must go.--What must the result be?\"\n\n\"I must stumble, you think, and fall?\"\n\nThe physician's reproof had hit Paula all the harder because she could\nnot conceal from herself that there was much truth in it. She had come\nhither on purpose to find encouragement, and these accusations troubled\neven her sense of high health. Why should she submit to be taken to task\nlike a school-girl by this man, himself still young? If this went on she\nwould let him hear. . . . But he was speaking again, and his reply calmed\nher, and strengthened her conviction that he was a true and well-meaning\nfriend.\n\n\"Not that perhaps,\" he said, \"because--well, because nature has blessed\nyou with perfect balance, and you go forward in full self-possession as\nbecomes the daughter of a hero. We must not forget that it is of your\nsoul that I am speaking; and that maintains its innate dignity of feeling\namong so much that is petty and mean.\"\n\n\"Then why need I fear to look back when it gives me so much comfort?\" she\neagerly enquired, as she gazed in his face with fresh spirit.\n\n\"Because it may easily lead you to tread on other people's feet! That\nhurts them; then they are annoyed, and they get accustomed to think\ngrudgingly of you--you who are more lovable than they are.\"\n\n\"But quite unjustly; for I am not conscious of ever having intentionally\ngrieved or hurt any one in my whole life.\"\n\n\"I know that; but you have done so unintentionally a thousand times.\"\n\n\"Then it would be better I should quit them altogether.\"\n\n\"No, and a thousand times no! The man who avoids his kind and lives in\nsolitude fancies he is doing some great thing and raising himself above\nthe level of the existence he despises. But look a little closer: it is\nself-interest and egoism which drive him into the cave and the cloister.\nIn any case he neglects his highest duty towards humanity--or let us say\nmerely towards the society he belongs to--in order to win what he\nbelieves to be his own salvation. Society is a great body, and every\nindividual should regard himself as a member of it, bound to serve and\nsuccor it, and even, when necessary, to make sacrifices for it. The\ngreatest are not too great. But those who crave isolation,--you\nyourself--nay, hear me out, for I may never again risk the danger of\nincurring your wrath--desire to be a body apart. What Paula has known and\npossessed, she keeps locked in the treasure-house of her memory under\nbolt and key; What Paula is, she feels she still must be--and for whom?\nAgain, for that same Paula. She has suffered great sorrow and on that her\nsoul lives; but this is evil nourishment, unwholesome and bad for her.\"\n\nShe was about to rise; but he bent forward, with a zealous conviction\nthat he must not allow himself to be interrupted, and lightly touched her\narm as though to prevent her quitting her seat, while he went on\nunhesitatingly:\n\n\"You feed on your old sorrows! Well and good. Many a time have I seen\nthat trial can elevate the soul. It can teach a brave heart to feel the\nwoes of others more deeply; it can rouse a desire to assuage the griefs\nof others with beautiful self-devotion. Those who have known pain and\naffliction enjoy ease and pleasure with double satisfaction; sufferers\nlearn to be grateful for even the smaller joys of life. But you?--I have\nlong striven for courage to tell you so--you derive no benefit from\nsuffering because you lock it up in your breast--as if a man were to\nenclose some precious seed in a silver trinket to carry about with him.\nIt should be sown in the earth, to sprout and bear fruit! However, I do\nnot blame you; I only wish to advise you as a true and devoted friend.\nLearn to feel yourself a member of the body to which your destiny has\nbound you for the present, whether you like it or not. Try to contribute\nto it all that your capacities allow you achieve. You will find that you\ncan do something for it; the casket will open, and to your surprise and\ndelight you will perceive that the seed dropped into the soil will\ngerminate, that flowers will open and fruit will form of which you may\nmake bread, or extract from it a balm for yourself or for others! Then\nyou will leave the dead to bury the dead, as the Bible has it, and\ndedicate to the living those great powers and gracious gifts which an\nillustrious father and a noble mother--nay, and a long succession of\ndistinguished ancestors, have bequeathed to a descendant worthy of them.\nThen you will recover that which you have lost: the joy in existence\nwhich we ought both to feel and to diffuse, because it brings with it an\nobligation which it which is only granted to us once to fulfil. Kind fate\nhas fitted you above a hundred thousand others for being loved; and if\nyou do not forget the gratitude you owe for that, hearts will be turned\nto you, though now they shun the tree which has beset itself\nintentionally with thorns, and which lets its branches droop like the\nweeping-willows by the Nile. Thus you will lead a new and beautiful life,\nreceiving and giving joy. The isolated and charmless existence you drag\nthrough here, to the satisfaction of none and least of all to your own,\nyou can transform to one of fruition and satisfaction--breathing and\nmoving healthily and beneficently in the light of day. It lies in your\npower. When you came up here to give your care to these poor injured\ncreatures, you took the first step in the new path I desire to show you,\nto true happiness. I did not expect you, and I am thankful that you have\ncome; for I know that as you entered that door you may have started on\nthe road to renewed happiness, if you have the will to walk in it.--Thank\nGod! That is said and over!\"\n\nThe leech rose and wiped his forehead, looking uneasily at Paula who had\nremained seated; her breath came fast, and she was more confused and\nundecided than he had ever seen her. She clasped her hand over her brow,\nand gazed, speechless, into her lap as though she wished to smother some\npain.\n\nThe young physician beat his arms together, like a laborer in the winter\nwhen his hands are frozen, and exclaimed with distressful emotion: \"Yes,\nI have spoken, and I cannot regret having done so; but what I foresaw has\ncome to pass: The greatest happiness that ever sweetened my daily life is\ngone out of it! To love Plato is a noble rule, but greater than Plato is\nthe truth; and yet, those who preach it must be prepared to find that\ntruth scares away friends from the unpleasing vicinity of its ill-starred\nApostles!\"\n\nAt this Paula rose, and following the impulse of her generous heart,\noffered the leech her hand in all sincerity; he grasped it in both his,\npressing it so tightly that it almost hurt her, and his eyes glistened\nwith moisture as he exclaimed: \"That is as I hoped; that is splendid,\nthat is noble! Let me but be your brother, high-souled maiden!--Now,\ncome. That poor, crazy, lovely girl will heal of her death-wound under\nyour hands if under any!\"\n\n\"I will come!\" she replied heartily; and there was something healthy and\ncheerful in her manner as they entered the sick-room; but her expression\nsuddenly changed, and she asked pensively:\n\n\"And supposing we restore the unhappy girl--what good will she get by\nit?\"\n\n\"She will breathe and see the sunshine,\" replied the leech; \"she will be\ngrateful to you, and finally she will contribute what she can to the\nwhole body. She will be alive in short, she will live. For life--feel it,\nunderstand it as I do--life is the best thing we have.\" Paula gazed with\nastonishment in the man's unlovely but enthusiastic face. How radiantly\njoyful!\n\nNo one could have called it ugly at this moment, or have said that it\nlacked charm.\n\nHe believed what he had asserted with such fervent feeling, though it was\nin contradiction to a view he had held only yesterday and often defended:\nthat life in itself was misery to all who could not grasp it of their own\nstrength, and make something of it worth making. At this moment he really\nfelt that it was the best gift.\n\nPaula went forward, and his eyes followed her, as the gaze of the pious\npilgrim is fixed on the holy image he has travelled to see, over seas and\nmountains, with bruised feet.\n\nThey went up to the sick girl's bed. The nun drew back, making her own\nreflections on the physician's altered mien, and his childlike, beaming\ncontentment, as he explained to Paula what particular peril threatened\nthe sufferer, and by what treatment he hoped to save her; how to make the\nbandages and give the medicines, and how necessary it was to accept the\npoor crazy girl's fancies and treat them as rational ideas so long as the\nfever lasted.\n\nAt last he was forced to go and attend to other patients. Paula remained\nsitting at the head of the bed and gazing at the face of the sufferer.\n\nHow fair it was! And Orion had snatched this rose in the bud, and trodden\nit under foot! She had, no doubt, felt for him what Paula herself felt.\nAnd now? Did she feel nothing but hatred of him, or could her heart, in\nspite of her indignation and scorn, not altogether cast off the spell\nthat had once bound it?\n\nWhat weakness was this! She was, she must, she would be his foe!\n\nHer thoughts went back to the idle and futile life that she had led for\nso many years. The physician had hit the mark; and he had been too easy\nrather than severe. Yes, she would begin to make good use of her\npowers--but how, in what way, here and among these people? How\ntransfigured poor Philippus had seemed when she had given him her hand;\nwith what energy had he poured forth his words.\n\n\"And how false,\" she mused, \"is the saying that the body is the mirror of\nthe soul! If it were so, Philippus would have the face of Orion, and\nOrion that of Philippus.\" But could Orion's heart be wholly reprobate?\nNay, that was impossible; her every impulse resisted the belief. She must\neither love him or hate him, there was no third alternative; but as yet\nthe two passions were struggling within her in a way that was quite\nintolerable.\n\nThe physician had spoken of being a brother to her, and she could not\nhelp smiling at the idea. She could, she thought, live very happily and\ncalmly with him, with her nurse Betta, and with the learned old friend\nwho shared his home, and of whom he had often talked to her; she could\njoin him in his studies, help him in his calling, and discuss many things\nwell worth knowing. Such a life, she told herself, would be a thousand\ntimes preferable to this, with Neforis. In him she had certainly found a\nfriend; and her glad recognition of the fact was the first step towards\nthe fulfilment of his promise, since it showed that her heart was still\nready to go forth to the kindness of another.\n\nAmid these meditations, however, her anxiety for Hiram constantly\nrecurred to her, and it was clear to her mind that, if she and Orion\nshould come to extremities, she could no longer dwell under the\ngovernor's roof. Often she had longed for nothing so fervently as to be\nable to quit it; but to-day it filled her with dread, for parting from\nher uncle necessarily involved parting from his son. She hated him;\nstill, to lose sight of him altogether would be very hard to bear. To go\nwith Philippus and live with him as his sister would never do; nay, it\nstruck her as something inconceivable, strangely incongruous.\n\nMeanwhile she listened to Mandane's breathing and treated her in\nobedience to the leech's orders, longing for his return; presently\nhowever, not he but the nun came to the bed-side, laid her hand on the\ngirl's forehead, and without paying any heed to Paula, whispered kindly:\n\"That is right child, sleep away; have a nice long sleep. So long as she\ncan be kept quiet; if only she goes on like this!--Her head is cooler.\nPhilippus will certainly say there is scarcely any fever. Thank God, the\nworst danger is over!\"\n\n\"Oh, how glad I am!\" cried Paula, and she spoke with such warmth and\nsincerity that the nun gave her a friendly nod and left the sick girl to\nher care, quite satisfied.\n\nIt was long since Paula had felt so happy. She fancied that her presence\nhad had a good affect on the sufferer, that Mandane had already been\nbrought by her nursing to the threshold of a new life. Paula, who but\njust now had regarded herself as a persecuted victim of Fate, now\nbreathed more freely in the belief that she too might bring joy to some\none. She looked into Mandane's more than pretty face with real joy and\ntenderness, laid the bandage which had slipped aside gently over her\nears, and breathed a soft kiss on her long silken lashes.\n\nShe rapidly grew in favor with the shrewd nun; when the hour for prayer\ncame round, the sister included in her petitions--Paula--the orphan under\na stranger's roof, the Greek girl born, by the inscrutable decrees of\nGod, outside the pale of her saving creed. At length Philippus returned;\nhe was rejoiced at his new friend's brightened aspect, and declared that\nMandane had, under her care, got past the first and worst danger, and\nmight be expected to recover, slowly indeed, but completely.\n\nAfter Paula had renewed the compress--and he intentionally left her to do\nit unaided, he said encouragingly:\n\n\"How quickly you have learnt your business.--Now, the patient is asleep\nagain; the Sister will keep watch, and for the present we can be of no\nuse to the girl; sleep is the best nourishment she can have. But with\nus--or at any rate with me, it is different. We have still two hours to\nwait for the next meal: my breakfast is standing untouched, and yours no\ndoubt fared the same; so be my guest. They always send up enough to\nsatisfy six bargemen.\"\n\nPaula liked the proposal, for she had long been hungry. The nun was\ndesired to hasten to fetch some more plates, of drinking-vessels there\nwas no lack--and soon the new allies were seated face to face, each at a\nsmall table. He carved the duck and the roast quails, put the salad\nbefore her and some steaming artichokes, which the nun had brought up at\nthe request of the cook whose only son the physician had saved; he\ninvited her attention to the little pies, the fruits and cakes which were\nlaid ready, and played the part of butler; and then, while they heartily\nenjoyed the meal, they carried on a lively conversation.\n\nPaula for the first time asked Philippus to tell her something of his\nearly youth; he began with an account of his present mode of life, as a\npartner in the home of the singular old priest of Isis, Horus Apollo, a\ndiligent student; he described his strenuous activity by day and his\nquiet studies by night, and gave everything such an amusing aspect that\noften she could not help laughing. But presently he was sad, as he told\nher how at an early age he had lost his father and mother, and was left\nto depend solely on himself and on a very small fortune, having no\nrelations; for his father had been a grammarian, invited to Alexandria\nfrom Athens, who had been forced to make a road for himself through life,\nwhich had lain before him like an overgrown jungle of papyrus and reeds.\nEvery hour of his life was devoted to his work, for a rough, outspoken\nGoliath, such as he, never could find it easy to meet with helpful\npatrons. He had managed to live by teaching in the high schools of\nAlexandria, Athens, and Caesarea, and by preparing medicines from choice\nherbs--drinking water instead of wine, eating bread and fruit instead of\nquails and pies; and he had made a friend of many a good man, but never\nyet of a woman--it would be difficult with such a face as his!\n\n\"Then I am the first?\" said Paula, who felt deep respect for the man who\nhad made his way by his own energy to the eminent position which he had\nlong held, not merely in Memphis, but among Egyptian physicians\ngenerally.\n\nHe nodded, and with such a blissful smile that she felt as though a\nsunbeam had shone into her very soul. He noticed this at once, raised his\ngoblet, and drank to her, exclaiming with a flush on his cheek:\n\n\"The joy that comes to others early has come to me late; but then the\nwoman I call my friend is matchless!\"\n\n\"Well, it is to be hoped she may not prove to be so wicked as you just\nnow described her.--If only our alliance is not fated to end soon and\nabruptly.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried the physician, \"every drop of blood in my veins. . . .\"\n\n\"You would be ready to shed it for me,\" Paula broke in, with a pathetic\ngesture, borrowed from a great tragedian she had seen at the theatre in\nDamascus. \"But never fear: it will not be a matter of life and death--at\nworst they will but turn me out of the house and of Memphis.\"\n\n\"You?\" cried Philippus startled, \"but who would dare to do so?\"\n\n\"They who still regard me as a stranger.--You described the case\nadmirably. If they have their way, my dear new friend, our fate will be\nlike that of the learned Dionysius of Cyrene.\"\n\n\"Of Cyrene?\"\n\n\"Yes. It was my father who told me the story. When Dionysius sent his son\nto the High School at Athens, he sat down to write a treatise for him on\nall the things a student should do and avoid. He devoted himself to the\ntask with the utmost diligence; but when, at the end of four years, he\ncould write on the last leaf of the roll. 'Here this book hath a happy\nending,' the young man whose studies it was intended to guide came home\nto Cyrene, a finished scholar.\"\n\n\"And we have struck up a friendship . . . ?\"\n\n\"And made a treaty of alliance, only to be parted ere long.\"\n\nPhilippus struck his fist vehemently on the little table in front of his\ncouch and exclaimed: \"That I will find means to prevent!--But now, tell\nme in confidence, what has last happened between you and the family\ndown-stairs?\"\n\n\"You will know quite soon enough.\"\n\n\"Whichever of them fancies that you can be turned out of doors without\nmore ado and there will be an end between us, may find himself mistaken!\"\ncried the physician with an angry sparkle in his eyes. \"I have a right to\nput in a word in this house. It has not nearly come to that yet, and what\nis more, it never shall. You shall quit it certainly; but of your own\nfree will, and holding your head high. . . .\"\n\nAs he spoke the door of the outer room was hastily opened and the next\ninstant Orion was standing before them, looking with great surprise at\nthe pair who had just finished their meal. He said coldly:\n\n\"I am disturbing you, I see.\"\n\n\"Not in the least,\" replied the leech; and the young man, perceiving what\nbad taste it would be and how much out of place to give expression to his\njealous annoyance, said, with a smile: \"If only it had been granted to a\nthird person to join in this symposium!\"\n\n\"We found each other all-sufficient company,\" answered Philippus.\n\n\"A man who could believe in all the doctrines of the Church as readily as\nin that statement would be assured of salvation,\" laughed Orion. \"I am no\nspoilsport, respected friends; but I deeply regret that I must, on the\npresent occasion, disturb your happiness. The matter in question. . . .\"\nAnd he felt he might now abandon the jesting tone which so little\nanswered to his mood, \"is a serious one. In the first instance it\nconcerns your freedman, my fair foe.\"\n\n\"Has Hiram come back?\" asked Paula, feeling herself turn pale.\n\n\"They have brought him in,\" replied Orion. \"My father at once summoned\nthe court of judges. Justice has a swift foot here with us; I am sorry\nfor the man, but I cannot prevent its taking its course. I must beg of\nyou to appear at the examination when you are called.\"\n\n\"The whole truth shall be told!\" said Paula sternly and firmly.\n\n\"Of course,\" replied Orion. Then turning to the physician, he added: \"I\nwould request you, worthy Esculapius, to leave me and my cousin together\nfor a few minutes. I want to give her a word of counsel which will\ncertainly be to her advantage.\"\n\nPhilippus glanced enquiringly at the girl; she said with clear decision:\n\"You and I can have no secrets. What I may hear, Philippus too may know.\"\n\nOrion, with a shrug, turned to leave the room:\n\nOn the threshold he paused, exclaiming with some excitement and genuine\ndistress:\n\n\"If you will not listen to me for your own sake, do so at least, whatever\nill-feeling you may bear me, because I implore you not to refuse me this\nfavor. It is a matter of life or death to one human being, of joy or\nmisery to another. Do not refuse me.--I ask nothing unreasonable,\nPhilippus. Do as I entreat you and leave us for a moment alone.\"\n\nAgain the physician's eyes consulted the young girl's; this time she\nsaid: \"Go!\" and he immediately quitted the room.\n\nOrion closed the door.\n\n\"What have I done, Paula,\" he began with panting breath, \"that since\nyesterday you have shunned me like a leper--that you are doing your\nutmost to bring me to ruin?\"\n\n\"I mean to plead for the life of a trusty servant; nothing more,\" she\nsaid indifferently.\n\n\"At the risk of disgracing me!\" he retorted bitterly.\n\n\"At that risk, no doubt, if you are indeed so base as to throw your own\nguilt on the shoulders of an honest man.\"\n\n\"Then you watched me last night?\"\n\n\"The merest chance led me to see you come out of the tablinum. . . .\"\n\n\"I do not ask you now what took you there so late,\" he interrupted, \"for\nit revolts me to think anything of you but the best, the highest.--But\nyou? What have you experienced at my hands but friendship--nay, for\nconcealment or dissimulation is here folly--but what a lover . . .?\"\n\n\"A lover!\" cried Paula indignantly. \"A lover? Dare you utter the word,\nwhen you have offered your heart and hand to another--you. . . .\"\n\n\"Who told you so?\" asked Orion gloomily.\n\n\"Your own mother.\"\n\n\"That is it; so that is it?\" cried the young man, clasping his hands\nconvulsively. \"Now I begin to see, now I understand. But stay. For if it\nis indeed that which has roused you to hate me and persecute me, you must\nlove me, Paula--you do love me, and then, noblest and sweetest. . . .\" He\nheld out his hand; but she struck it aside, exclaiming in a tremulous\nvoice:\n\n\"Be under no delusion. I am not one of the feeble lambs whom you have\nbeguiled by the misuse of your gifts and advantages; and who then are\neager to kiss your hands. I am the daughter of Thomas; and another\nwoman's betrothed, who craves my embraces on the way to his wedding, will\nlearn to his rueing that there are women who scorn his disgraceful suit\nand can avenge the insult intended them. Go--go to your judges! You, a\nfalse witness, may accuse Hiram, but I will proclaim you, you the son of\nthis house, as the thief! We shall see which they believe.\"\n\n\"Me!\" cried Orion, and his eyes flashed as wrathfully and vindictively as\nher own. \"The son of the Mukaukas! Oh, that you were not a woman! I would\nforce you to your knees and compel you to crave my pardon. How dare you\npoint your finger at a man whose life has hitherto been as spotless as\nyour own white raiment? Yes, I did go to the tablinum--I did tear the\nemerald from the hanging; but I did it in a fit of recklessness, and in\nthe knowledge that what is my father's is mine. I threw away the gem to\ngratify a mere fancy, a transient whim. Cursed be the hour when I did\nit!--Not on account of the deed itself, but of the consequences it may\nentail through your mad hatred. Jealousy, petty, unworthy jealousy is at\nthe bottom of it! And of whom are you jealous?\"\n\n\"Of no one; not even of your betrothed, Katharina,\" replied Paula with\nforced composure. \"What are you to me that, to spare you humiliation, I\nshould risk the life of the most honest soul living? I have said: The\njudges shall decide between you.\"\n\n\"No, they shall not!\" stormed Orion. \"At least, not as you intend!\nBeware, beware, I say, of driving me to extremities! I still see in you\nthe woman I loved; I still offer you what lies within my power: to let\neverything end for the best for you. . . .\"\n\n\"For me! Then I, too, am to suffer for your guilt?\"\n\n\"Did you hear the barking of hounds just now?\"\n\n\"I heard dogs yelping.\"\n\n\"Very well.--Your freedman has been brought in, the pack got on his scent\nand have now been let into the house close to the tablinum. The dogs\nwould not stir beyond the threshold and on the white marble step, towards\nthe right-hand side, the print of a man's foot was found in the dust. It\nis a peculiar one, for instead of five toes there are but three. Your\nHiram was fetched in, and he was found to have the same number of toes as\nthe mark on the marble, neither more nor less. A horse trod on his foot,\nin your father's stable, and two of his toes had to be cut off: we got\nthis out of the stammering wretch with some difficulty.--On the other\nside of the door-way there was a smaller print, but though the dogs paid\nno heed to that I examined it, and assured myself--how, I need not tell\nyou--that it was you who had stood there. He, who has no business\nwhatever in the house, must have made his way last night into the\ntablinum, our treasury. Now, put yourself in the judges' place. How can\nsuch facts be outweighed by the mere word of a girl who, as every one\nknows, is on anything rather than good terms with my mother, and who will\nleave no stone unturned to save her servant.\"\n\n\"Infamous!\" cried Paula. \"Hiram did not steal the gem, as you must know\nwho stole it. The emerald he sold was my property; and were those stones\nreally so much alike that even the seller. . .\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed. He could not tell one from the other. Evil spirits have\nbeen at work all through, devilish, malignant demons. It would be enough\nto turn one's brain, if life were not so full of enigmas! You yourself\nare the greatest.--Did you give the Syrian your emerald to sell in order\nto fly from this house with the money?--You are silent? Then I am right.\nWhat can my father be to you--you do not love my mother--and the\nson!--Paula, Paula, you are perhaps doing him an injustice--you hate him,\nand it is a pleasure to you to injure him.\"\n\n\"I do not wish to hurt you or any one,\" replied the girl. \"And you have\nguessed wrongly. Your father refused me the means of seeking mine.\"\n\n\"And you wanted to procure money to search for one who is long since\ndead!--Even my mother admits that you speak the truth; if she is right,\nand you really take no pleasure in doing me a mischief, listen to me,\nfollow my advice, and grant my prayer! I do not ask any great matter.\"\n\n\"Speak on then.\"\n\n\"Do you know what a man's honor is to him? Need I tell you that I am a\nlost and despised man if I am found guilty of this act of the maddest\nfolly by the judges of my own house? It may cost my father his life if he\nhears that the word 'guilty' is pronounced on me; and I--I--what would\nbecome of me I cannot foresee!--I--oh God, oh God, preserve me from\nfrenzy!--But I must be calm; time presses. . . . How different it is for\nyour servant; he seems ready even now to take the guilt on himself, for,\nwhatever he is asked, he still keeps silence. Do you do the same; and if\nthe judges insist on knowing what you had to do with the Syrian last\nnight--for the dogs traced the scent to your staircase--hazard a\nconjecture that the faithful fellow stole the emerald in order to gratify\nyour desire to search for your father, his beloved master. If you can\nmake up your mind to so great a sacrifice--oh, that I should have to ask\nit of you!--I swear to you by all I hold sacred, by yourself and by my\nfather's head, I will set Hiram free within three days, unbeaten and\nunhurt, and magnificently indemnified; and I will myself help him on the\nway whither he may desire to go, or you to send him, in search of your\nfather.--Be silent; remain neutral in the background; that is all I ask,\nand I will keep my word--that, at any rate, you do not doubt?\" She had\nlistened to him with bated breath; she pitied him deeply as he stood\nthere, a suppliant in bitter anguish of soul, a criminal who still could\nnot understand that he was one, and who relied on the confidence that,\nonly yesterday, he still had had the right to exact from all the world.\nHe appeared before her like a fine proud tree struck by lightning, whose\nriven trunk, trembling to its fall, must be crushed to the earth by the\nfirst storm, unless the gardener props it up. She longed to be able to\nforget all he had brought upon her and to grasp his hand in friendly\nconsolation; but her deeply aggrieved pride helped her to preserve the\ncold and repellent manner she had so far succeeded in assuming.\n\nWith much hesitation and reserve she consented to be silent as long as he\nkept his promise. It was for his father's sake, rather than his own, that\nshe would so far become his accomplice: at the same time everything else\nwas at an end between them, and she should bless the hour which might see\nher severed from him and his for ever.\n\nThe end of her speech was in a strangely hard and repellent tone; she\nfelt she must adopt it to disguise how deeply she was touched by his\nunhappiness and by the extinction of the sunshine in him which had once\nwarmed her own heart too with bliss. To him it seemed that an icy rigor\nbreathed in her words--bitter contempt and hostile revulsion. He had some\ndifficulty in keeping himself from breaking out again in violent wrath.\nHe was almost sorry that he had trusted her with his secret and begged\nher for mercy, instead of leaving things to run their course, and if it\nhad come to the worst, dragging her to perdition with him. Sooner would\nhe forfeit honor and peace than humble himself again before this pitiless\nand cold-hearted foe. At this moment he really hated her, and only wished\nit were possible to fight her, to break her pride, to see her vanquished\nand crying for quarter at his feet. It was with a great effort--with\ntingling cheeks and constrained utterance that he said:\n\n\"Severance from you is indeed best for us all.--Be ready: the judges will\nsend for you soon.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" she replied. \"I will be silent; you have only to provide for\nthe Syrian's safety. You have given me your word.\"\n\n\"And so long as you keep yours I will keep mine. Or else. . .\" the words\nwould come from his quivering lips--\"or else war to the knife!\"\n\n\"War to the knife!\" she echoed with flashing eyes. \"But one thing more. I\nhave proof that the emerald which Hiram sold belonged to me. By all the\nsaints--proof!\"\n\n\"So much the better for you,\" he said. \"Woe to us both, if you force me\nto forget that you are a woman!\"\n\nAnd he left the room with a rapid step.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nOrion went down stairs scowling and clenching his fists. His heart ached\nto bursting.\n\nWhat had he done, what had befallen him? That a woman should dare to\ntreat him so!--a woman whom he had deigned to love--the loveliest and\nnoblest of women; but at the same time the haughtiest, most vengeful, and\nmost hateful.\n\nHe had once read this maxim: \"When a man has committed a base action, if\nonly one other knows of it he carries the death-warrant of his peace in\nthe bosom of his garment.\" He felt the full weight of this sentence; and\nthe other--the one who knew--was Paula, the woman of all others whom he\nmost wished should look up to him. But yesterday it had been a vision of\nheaven on earth to dream of holding her in his arms and calling her his;\nnow he had but one wish: that he could humble and punish her. Oh, that\nhis hands should be tied, that he should be dependent on her mercy like a\ncondemned criminal! It was inconceivable--intolerable!\n\nBut she should be taught to know him. He had passed through life hitherto\nas white as a swan; if this luckless hour and this woman made him appear\nas a vulture, it was not his fault, it was hers. She should soon see\nwhich was the stronger of the two. He would punish her in every way in\nwhich a woman can be punished, even if the way to it led through crime\nand misery! He was not afraid that the leech bad won her affections, for\nhe knew, with strange certainty that, in spite of the hostility she\ndisplayed, her heart was his and his alone. \"The gold coin called love,\"\nsaid he to himself, \"has two faces: tender devotion and bitter aversion;\njust now she is showing me the latter. But, however different the image\nand superscription may be on the two sides, if you ring it, it always\ngives out the same tone; and I can hear it even in her most insulting\nwords.\"\n\nWhen the family met at table he made Paula's excuses; he himself ate only\na few mouthfuls, for the judges had assembled some time since and were\nwaiting for him.\n\nThe right of life and death had been placed in the hands of the ancestors\nof the Mukaukas, powerful princes of provinces; they had certainly\nwielded it even in the dynasty of Psammitichus, whose power had been put\nto a terrible end by Cambyses the Persian. And still the Uraeus\nsnake--the asp whose bite caused almost instant death, reared its head as\nthe time-honored emblem of this privilege, by the side of St. George the\nDragon-slayer, over the palaces of the Mukaukas at Memphis, and at\nLykopolis in Upper Egypt. And in both these places the head of the family\nretained the right of arbitrary judgment and capital punishment over the\nretainers of his house and the inhabitants of the district he governed,\nafter Justinian first, and then the Emperor Heraclius, had confirmed them\nin their old prerogative. The chivalrous St. George was placed between\nthe snakes so as to replace a heathen symbol by a Christian one. Formerly\nindeed the knight himself had had the head of a sparrow-hawk: that is to\nsay of the god Horus, who had overthrown the evil-spirit, Seth-Typhon, to\navenge his father; but about two centuries since the heathen\ncrocodile-destroyer had been transformed into the Christian conqueror of\nthe dragon.\n\nAfter the Arab conquest the Moslems had left all ancient customs and\nrights undisturbed, including those of the Mukaukas.\n\nThe court which assembled to sit in judgment on all cases concerning the\nadherents of the house consisted of the higher officials of the\ngovernor's establishment. The Mukaukas himself was president, and his\ngrown-up son was his natural deputy. During Orion's absence, Nilus, the\nhead of the exchequer, a shrewd and judicious Egyptian, had generally\nrepresented his invalid master; but on the present occasion Orion was\nappointed to take his place, and to preside over the assembly.\n\nThe governor's son hastened to his father's bedroom to beg him to lend\nhim his ring as a token of the authority transferred to him; the Mukaukas\nhad willingly allowed him to take it off his finger, and had enjoined him\nto exercise relentless severity. Generally he inclined to leniency; but\nbreaking into a house was punishable with death, and in this instance it\nwas but right to show no mercy, out of deference to the Arab merchant.\nBut Orion, mindful of his covenant with Paula, begged his father to give\nhim full discretion. The old Moslem was a just man, who would agree to a\nmitigated sentence under the circumstances; besides, the culprit was not\nin strict fact a member of the household, but in the service of a\nrelation.\n\nThe Mukaukas applauded his son's moderation and judgment. If only he had\nbeen in rather better health he himself would have had the pleasure of\nbeing present at the sitting, to see him fulfil for the first time so\nimportant a function, worthy of his birth and position.\n\nOrion kissed his father's hand with heart-felt but melancholy emotion,\nfor this praise from the man he so truly loved was a keen pleasure; and\nyet he felt that it was of ill-omen that his duties as judge, of which he\nknew the sacred solemnity, should be thus--thus begun.\n\nIt was in a softened mood, sunk in thought as to how he could best save\nHiram and leave Paula's name altogether out of the matter, that he went\nto the hall of justice; and there he found the nurse Perpetua in eager\ndiscussion with Nilus.\n\nThe old woman was quite beside herself. In the clatter of her loom she\nhad heard nothing of what had been going on till a few minutes ago; now\nshe was ready to swear to the luckless Hiram's innocence. The stone he\nhad sold had belonged to his young mistress, and thank God there was no\nlack of evidence of the fact; the setting of the emerald was lying safe\nand sound in Paula's trunk. Happily she had had an opportunity of\nspeaking to her; and that she, the daughter of Thomas, should be brought\nbefore the tribunal, like a citizen's daughter or slave-girl, was unheard\nof, shameful!\n\nAt this Orion roughly interfered; he desired the old gate-keeper to\nconduct Perpetua at once to the storeroom next to the tablinum, where the\nvarious stuffs prepared for the use of the household were laid by, and to\nkeep her there under safe guard till further notice. The tone in which he\ngave the order was such that even the nurse did not remonstrate; and\nNilus, for his part obeyed in silence when Orion bid him return to his\nplace among the judges.\n\nNilus went back to the judgment-hall in uneasy consternation. Never\nbefore had he seen his young lord in this mood. As he heard the nurse's\nstatement the veins had swelled in his smooth youthful forehead, his\nnostrils had quivered with convulsive agitation, his voice had lost all\nits sweetness, and his eyes had a sinister gleam.\n\nOrion was now alone; he ground his teeth with rage. Paula had betrayed\nhim in spite of her promise, and how mean was her woman's cunning! She\ncould be silent before the judges--yes. Silent in all confidence now, to\nthe very last; but the nurse, her mouthpiece, had already put Nilus, the\nkeenest and most important member of the court, in possession of the\nevidence which spoke for her and against him. It was shocking,\ndisgraceful! Base and deliberately malicious treachery. But the end was\nnot yet: he still was free to act and to ward off the spiteful stroke by\na counterthrust. How it should be dealt was clear from Perpetua's\nstatement; but his conscience, his instincts and long habits of\nsubmission to what was right, good, and fitting held him back. Not only\nhad he never himself done a base or a mean action; he loathed it in\nanother, and the only thing he could do to render Paula's perfidy\nharmless was, as he could not deny, original and bold, but at the same\ntime detestable and shameful.\n\nStill, he could not and he would not succumb in this struggle. Time\npressed. Long reflection was impossible; suddenly he felt carried away by\na fierce and mad longing to fight it out--he felt as he had felt on a\nrace-day in the hippodrome, when he had driven his own quadriga ahead of\nall the rest.\n\nOnwards, then, onwards; and if the chariot were wrecked, if the horses\nwere killed, if his wheels maimed his comrades overthrown in the\narena-still, onwards, onwards!\n\nA few hasty steps brought him to the lodge of the gate-keeper, a sturdy\nold man who had held his post for forty years. He had formerly been a\nlocksmith and it still was part of his duty to undertake the repairs of\nthe simple household utensils. Orion as a youth had been a beautiful and\nengaging boy and a great favorite with this worthy man; he had delighted\nin sitting in his little room and handing him the tools for his work. He\nhimself had remarkable mechanical facility and had been the old man's apt\npupil; nay, he had made such progress as to be able to carve pretty\nlittle boxes, prayer-book cases, and such like, and provide them with\nlocks, as gifts to his parents on their birth days--a festival always\nkept with peculiar solemnity in Egypt, and marked by giving and receiving\npresents. He understood the use of tools, and he now hastily selected\nsuch as he needed. On the window-ledge stood a bunch of flowers which he\nhad ordered for Paula the day before, and which he had forgotten to fetch\nthis terrible morning. With this in one hand, and the tools in the breast\nof his robe he hastened upstairs.\n\n\"Onwards, I must keep on!\" he muttered, as he entered Paula's room,\nbolted the door inside and, kneeling before her chest, tossed the flowers\naside. If he was discovered, he would say that he had gone into his\ncousin's chamber to give her the bouquet.\n\n\"Onwards; I must go on!\" was still his thought, as he unscrewed the hinge\non which the lid of the trunk moved. His hands trembled, his breath came\nfast, but he did his task quickly. This was the right way to work, for\nthe lock was a peculiar one, and could not have been opened without\nspoiling it. He raised the lid, and the first thing his hand came upon in\nthe chest was the necklace with the empty medallion--it was as though\nsome kind Genius were aiding him. The medallion hung but slightly to the\nelegantly-wrought chain; to detach it and conceal it about his person was\nthe work of a minute.\n\nBut now the most resolute. \"On, on. . . .\" was of no further avail. This\nwas theft: he had robbed her whom, if she only had chosen it, he was\nready to load with everything wherewith fate had so superabundantly\nblessed him. No, this--this. . . .\n\nA singular idea suddenly flashed through his brain; a thought which\nbrought a smile to his lips even at this moment of frightful tension. He\nacted upon it forth with: he drew out from within his under-garment a gem\nthat hung round his neck by a gold chain. This jewel--a masterpiece by\none of the famous Greek engravers of heathen antiquity--had been given\nhim in Constantinople in exchange for a team of four horses to which his\ngreatest friend there had taken a fancy. It was in fact of greater price\nthan half a dozen fine horses. Half beside himself, and as if\nintoxicated, Orion followed the wild impulse to which he had yielded;\nindeed, he was glad to have so precious a jewel at hand to hang in the\nplace of the worthless gold frame-work. It was done with a pinch; but\nscrewing up the hinge again was a longer task, for his hands trembled\nviolently--and as the moment drew near in which he meant to let Paula\nfeel his power, the more quickly his heart beat, and the more difficult\nhe found it to control his mind to calm deliberation.\n\nAfter he had unbolted the door he stood like a thief spying the long\ncorridor of the strangers' wing, and this increased his excitement to a\nfrenzy of rage with the world, and fate, and most of all with her who had\ncompelled him to stoop to such base conduct. But now the charioteer had\nthe reins and goad in his hand. Onwards now, onwards!\n\nHe flew down stairs, three steps at a time, as he had been wont when a\nboy. In the anteroom he met Eudoxia, Mary's Greek governess, who had just\nbrought her refractory pupil into the house, and he tossed her the\nnosegay he still held in his hands; then, without heeding the languishing\nglances the middle-aged damsel sent after him with her thanks, he\nhastened back to the gate-keeper's lodge where he hurriedly disburdened\nhimself of the locksmith's tools.\n\nA few minutes later he entered the judgment-hall. Nilus the treasurer\nshowed him to the governor's raised seat, but an overpowering bashfulness\nkept him from taking this position of honor. It was with a burning brow,\nand looks so ominously dark that the assembly gazed at him with timid\nastonishment, that he opened the proceedings with a few broken sentences.\nHe himself scarcely knew what he was saying, and heard his own voice as\nvaguely as though it were the distant roar of waves. However, he\nsucceeded in clearly stating all that had happened: he showed the\nassembly the stone which had been stolen and recovered; he explained how\nthe thief had been taken; he declared Paula's freedman to be guilty of\nthe robbery, and called upon him to bring forward anything he could in\nhis own defence. But the accused could only stammer out that he was not\nguilty. He was not able to defend himself, but his mistress could no\ndoubt give evidence that would justify him.\n\nOrion pushed the hair from his forehead, proudly raised his aching head,\nand addressed the judges:\n\n\"His mistress is a lady of rank allied to our house. Let us keep her out\nof this odious affair as is but seemly. Her nurse gave Nilus some\ninformation which may perhaps avail to save this unhappy man. We will\nneglect nothing to that end; but you, who are less familiar with the\nleading circumstances, must bear this in mind to guard yourselves against\nbeing misled: This lady is much attached to the accused; she clings to\nhim and Perpetua as the only friends remaining to her from her native\nhome. Moreover, there is nothing to surprise me or you in the fact that a\nnoble woman, as she is, should assume the onus of another's crime, and\nplace herself in a doubtful light to save a man who has hitherto been\nhonest and faithful. The nurse is here; shall she be called, or have you,\nNilus, heard from her everything that her mistress can say in favor of\nher freedman?\"\n\n\"Perpetua told me, and told you, too, my lord, certain credible facts,\"\nreplied the treasurer. \"But I could not repeat them so exactly as she\nherself, and I am of opinion that the woman should be brought before the\ncourt.\"\n\n\"Then call her,\" said Orion, fixing his eyes on vacancy above the heads\nof the assembly, with a look of sullen dignity.\n\nAfter a long and anxious pause the old woman was brought in. Confident in\nher righteous cause she came forward boldly; she blamed Hiram somewhat\nsharply for keeping silence so long, and then explained that Paula, to\nprocure money for her search for her father, had made the freedman take a\ncostly emerald out of its setting in her necklace, and that it was the\nsale of this gem that had involved her fellow-countryman in this\nunfortunate suspicion.\n\nThe nurse's deposition seemed to have biased the greater part of the\ncouncil in favor of the accused; but Orion did not give them time to\ndiscuss their impressions among themselves. Hardly had Perpetua ceased\nspeaking, when Orion took up the emerald, which was lying on the table\nbefore him, exclaiming excitedly, nay, angrily:\n\n\"And the stone which is recognized by the man who sold it--an expert in\ngems--as being that which was taken from the hanging, and unique of its\nkind, is supposed, by some miracle of nature, to have suddenly appeared\nin duplicate?--Malignant spirits still wander through the world, but\nwould hardly dare to play their tricks in this Christian house. You all\nknow what 'old women's tales' are; and the tale that old woman has told\nus is one of the most improbable of its class. 'Tell that to Apelles the\nJew,' said Horace the Roman; but his fellow-Israelite, Gamaliel'--and he\nturned to the jeweller who was sitting with the other witnesses will\ncertainly not believe it; still less I, who see through this tissue of\nfalsehood. The daughter of the noble Thomas has condescended to weave it\nwith the help of that woman--a skilled weaver, she--to spread it before\nus in order to mislead us, and so to save her faithful servant from\nimprisonment, from the mines, or from death. These are the facts.--Do I\nerr, woman, or do you still adhere to your statement?\"\n\nThe nurse, who had hoped to find in Orion her mistress' advocate, had\nlistened to his speech with growing horror. Her eyes flashed as she\nlooked at him, first with mockery and then with vehement disgust; but,\nthough they filled with tears at this unlooked-for attack, she preserved\nher presence of mind, and declared she had spoken the truth, and nothing\nbut the truth, as she always did. The setting of her mistress' emerald\nwould prove her statement.\n\nOrion shrugged his shoulders, desired the woman to fetch her mistress,\nwhose presence was now indispensable, and called to the treasurer:\n\n\"Go with her, Nilus! And let a servant bring the trunk here that the\nowner may open it in the presence of us all and before any one else\ntouches the contents. I should not be the right person to undertake it\nsince no one in this Jacobite household--hardly even one of\nyourselves--has found favor in the eyes of the Melchite. She has\nunfortunately a special aversion for me, so I must depute to others every\nproceeding that could lead to a misunderstanding.--Conduct her hither,\nNilus; of course with the respect due to a maiden of high rank.\"\n\nWhile the envoy was gone Orion paced the room with swift, restless steps,\nOnce only he paused and addressed the judges:\n\n\"But supposing the empty setting should be found, how do you account for\nthe existence of two--two gems, each unique of its kind? It is\ndistracting. Here is a soft-hearted girl daring to mislead a serious\ncouncil of justice for the sake, for the sake of. . . .\" he stamped his\nfoot with rage and continued his silent march.\n\n\"He is as yet but a beginner,\" thought the assembled officials as they\nwatched his agitation. \"Otherwise how could he allow such an absurd\nattempt to clear an accused thief to affect him so deeply, or disturb his\ntemper?\"\n\nPaula's arrival presently put an end to Orion's pacing the room. He\nreceived her with a respectful bow and signed to her to be seated. Then\nhe bid Nilus recapitulate the results of the proceedings up to the\npresent stage, and what he and his colleagues supposed to be her motive\nfor asserting that the stolen emerald was her property. He would as far\nas possible leave it to the others to question her, since she knew full\nwell on what terms she was with himself. Even before he had come into the\ncouncil-room she had offered her explanation of the robbery to Nilus,\nthrough her nurse Perpetua; but it would have seemed fairer and more\nfriendly in his eyes--and here he raised his voice--if she had chosen to\nconfide to him, Orion, her plan for helping the freedman. Then he might\nhave been able to warn her. He could only regard this mode of action,\nindependently of him, as a fresh proof of her dislike, and she must hold\nherself responsible for the consequences. Justice must now take its\ncourse with inexorable rigor.\n\nThe wrathful light in his eyes showed her what she had to expect from\nhim, and that he was prepared to fight her to the end. She saw that he\nthought that she had broken the promise she had but just now given him;\nbut she had not commissioned Perpetua to interfere in the matter; on the\ncontrary, she had desired the woman to leave it to her to produce her\nevidence only in the last extremity. Orion must believe that she had done\nhim a wrong; still, could that make him so far forget himself as to carry\nout his threats, and sacrifice an innocent man--to divert suspicion from\nhimself, while he branded her as a false witness? Aye, even from that he\nwould not shrink! His flaming glance, his abrupt demeanor, his laboring\nbreath, proclaimed it plainly enough.--Then let the struggle begin! At\nthis moment she would have died rather than have tried to mollify him by\na word of excuse. The turmoil in his whole being vibrated through hers.\nShe was ready to throw herself at his feet and implore him to control\nhimself, to guard himself against further wrong-doing--but she maintained\nher proud dignity, and the eyes that met his were not less indignant and\ndefiant than his own.\n\nThey stood face to face like two young eagles preparing to fight, with\nfeathers on end, arching their pinions and stretching their necks. She,\nconfident of victory in the righteousness of her cause, and far more\nanxious for him than for herself; he, almost blind to his own danger,\nbut, like a gladiator confronting his antagonist in the arena, far more\neager to conquer than to protect his own life and limb.\n\nWhile Nilus explained to her what, in part, she already knew, and\nrepeated their suspicion that she had been tempted to make a false\ndeclaration to save the life of her servant, whose devotion, no doubt, to\nhis missing master had led him to commit the robbery; she kept her eye on\nOrion rather than on the speaker. At last Nilus referred to the trunk,\nwhich had been brought from Paula's room under her own eyes, informing\nher that the assembly were ready to hear and examine into anything she\nhad to say in her own defence.\n\nOrion's agitation rose to its highest pitch. He felt that the blood had\nfled from his cheeks, and his thoughts were in utter confusion. The\ncouncil, the accused, his enemy Paula--everything in the room lay before\nhim shrouded in a whirl of green mist. All he saw seemed to be tinted\nwith light emerald green. The hair, the faces, the dresses of those\npresent gleamed and floated in a greenish light; and not till Paula went\nup to the chest with a firm, haughty step, drew out a small key, gave it\nto the treasurer, and answered his speech with three words: \"Open the\nbox!\"--uttering them with cold condescension as though even this were too\nmuch--not till then did he see clearly once more: her bright brown hair,\nthe fire of her blue eyes, the rose and white of her complexion, the\nlight dress which draped her fine figure in noble folds, and her\ntriumphant smile. How beautiful, how desirable was this woman! A few\nminutes and she would be worsted in this contest; but the triumph had\ncost him not only herself, but all that was good and pure in his soul,\nand worthy of his forefathers. An inward voice cried it out to him, but\nhe drowned it in the shout of \"Onwards,\" like a chariot-driver. Yes--on;\nstill on towards the goal; away over ruins and stones, through blood and\ndust, till she bowed her proud neck, crushed and beaten, and sued for\nmercy.\n\nThe lid of the trunk flew open. Paula stooped, lifted the necklace, held\nit out to the judges, pulling it straight by the two ends. . . . Ah! what\na terrible, heartrending cry of despair! Orion even, never, never wished\nto hear the like again. Then she flung the jewel on the table,\nexclaiming: \"Shameful, shameful! atrocious!\" she tottered backwards and\nclung to her faithful Betta; for her knees were giving way, and she felt\nherself in danger of sinking to the ground.\n\nOrion sprang forward to support her, but she thrust him aside, with a\nglance so full of anguish, rage and intense contempt that he stood\nmotionless, and clasped his hand over his heart.--And this deed, which\nwas to work such misery for two human beings, he had smiled in doing!\nThis practical joke which concealed a death-warrant--to what fearful\nissues might it not lead?\n\nPaula had sunk speechless on to a seat, and he stood staring in silence,\ntill a burst of laughter broke from the assembly and old Psamtik, the\ncaptain of the guard, who had long been a member of the council of\njustice, exclaimed:\n\n\"By my soul, a splendid stone! There is the heathen god Eros with his\nwinged sweetheart Psyche smiling in his face. Did you never read that\npretty story by Apuleius--'The Golden Ass' it is called? The passage is\nin that. Holy Luke! how finely it is carved. The lady has taken out the\nwrong necklace. Look, Gamaliel, where could your green pigeon's egg have\nfound a place in that thing?\" and he pointed to the gem.\n\n\"Nowhere,\" said the Jew. \"The noble lady. . .\" But Orion roughly bid the\nwitness to be silent, and Nilus, taking up the engraved gem, examined it\nclosely. Then he--he the grave, just man, on whose support Paula had\nconfidently reckoned--went up to her and with a regretful shrug asked her\nwhether the other necklace with the setting of which she had spoken was\nin the trunk.\n\nThe blood ran cold in her veins. This thing that had happened was as\nstartling as a miracle. But no! No higher Power had anything to do with\nthis blow. Orion believed that she had failed in her promise of screening\nhim by her silence, and this, this was his revenge. By what means--how he\nhad gone to work, was a mystery. What a trick!--and it had succeeded! But\nshould she take it like a patient child? No. A thousand times no!\nSuddenly all her old powers of resistance came back; hatred steeled her\nwavering will; and, as in fancy, he had seen himself in the circus,\ndriving in a race, so she pictured herself seated at the chess-board. She\nfelt herself playing with all her might to win; but not, as with his\nfather, for flowers, trifling presents or mere glory; nay, for a very\ndifferent stake Life or Death!\n\nShe would do everything, anything to conquer him; and yet, no--come what\nmight--not everything. Sooner would she succumb than betray him as the\nthief or reveal what she had discovered in the viridarium. She had\npromised to keep the secret; and she would repay the father's kindness by\nscreening the son from this disgrace. How beautiful, how noble had\nOrion's image been in her heart. She would not stain it with this\ndisgrace in her own eyes and in those of the world. But every other\nreservation must be cast far, far away, to snatch the victory from him\nand to save Hiram. Every fair weapon she might use; only this treachery\nshe could not, might not have recourse to. He must be made to feel that\nshe was more magnanimous than he; that she, under all conceivable\ncircumstances, kept her word. That was settled; her bosom once more rose\nand fell, and her eye brightened again; still it was some little time\nbefore she could find the right words with which to begin the contest.\n\nOrion could see the seething turmoil in her soul; he felt that she was\narming herself for resistance, and he longed to spur her on to deal the\nfirst blow. Not a word had she uttered of surprise or anger, not a\nsyllable of reproach had passed her lips. What was she thinking of, what\nwas she plotting? The more startling and dangerous the better; the more\nbravely she bore herself, the more completely in the background might he\nleave the painful sense of fighting against a woman. Even heroes had\nboasted of a victory over Amazons.\n\nAt last, at last!--She rose and went towards Hiram. He had been tied to\nthe stake to which criminals were bound, and as an imploring glance from\nhis honest eyes met hers, the spell that fettered her tongue was\nunloosed; she suddenly understood that she had not merely to protect\nherself, but to fulfil a solemn duty. With a few rapid steps she went up\nto the table at which her judges sat in a semi-circle, and leaning on it\nwith her left hand, raised her right high in the air, exclaiming:\n\n\"You are the victims of a cruel fraud; and I of an unparalleled and\nwicked trick, intended to bring me to ruin!--Look at that man at the\nstake. Does he look like a robber? A more honest and faithful servant\nnever earned his freedom, and the gratitude Hiram owed to his master, my\nfather, he has discharged to the daughter for whose sake he quitted his\nhome, his wife and child. He followed me, an orphan, here into a strange\nland.--But that matters not to you.--Still, if you will hear the truth,\nthe strict and whole. . . .\"\n\n\"Speak!\" Orion put in; but she went on, addressing herself exclusively to\nNilus, and his peers, and ignoring him completely:\n\n\"Your president, the son of the Mukaukas, knows that, instead of the\naccused, I might, if I chose, be the accuser. But I scorn it--for love of\nhis father, and because I am more high-minded than he. He will\nunderstand!--With regard to this particular emerald Hiram, my freedman,\ntook it out of its setting last evening, under my eyes, with his knife;\nother persons besides us, thank God! have seen the setting, empty, on the\nchain to which it belonged. This afternoon it was still in the place to\nwhich some criminal hand afterwards found access, and attached that gem\ninstead. That I have just now seen for the first time--I swear it by\nChrist's wounds. It is an exquisite work. Only a very rich man--the\nrichest man here, can give away such a treasure, for whatever purpose he\nmay have in view--to destroy an enemy let us say.--Gamaliel,\" and she\nturned to the Jew--\"At what sum would you value that onyx?\"\n\nThe Israelite asked to see the gem once more; he turned it about, and\nthen said with a grin: \"Well, fair lady, if my black hen laid me little\nthings like that I would feed it on cakes from Arsinoe and oysters from\nCanopus. The stone is worth a landed estate, and though I am not a rich\nman, I would pay down two talents for it at any moment, even if I had to\nborrow the money.\"\n\nThis statement could not fail to make a great impression on the judges.\nOrion, however, exclaimed: \"Wonders on wonders mark this eventful day!\nThe prodigal generosity which had become an empty name has revived again\namong us! Some lavish demon has turned a worthless plate of gold into a\ncostly gem.--And may I ask who it was that saw the empty setting hanging\nto your chain?\" Paula was in danger of forgetting even that last reserve\nshe had imposed on herself; she answered with trembling accents:\n\n\"Apparently your confederates or you yourself did. You, and you alone,\nhave any cause. . . .\"\n\nBut he would not allow her to proceed. He abruptly interrupted her,\nexclaiming: \"This is really too much! Oh, that you were a man! How far\nyour generosity reaches I have already seen. Even hatred, the bitterest\nhostility. . . .\"\n\n\"They would have every right to ruin you completely!\" she cried, roused\nto the utmost. \"And if I were to charge you with the most horrible crime.\n. . .\"\n\n\"You yourself would be committing a crime, against me and against this\nhouse,\" he said menacingly. \"Beware! Can self-delusion go so far that you\ndare to appeal to me to testify to the fable you have trumped up. . . .\"\n\n\"No. Oh, no! That would be counting on some honesty in you yet,\" she\nloudly broke in. \"I have other witnesses: Mary, the granddaughter of the\nMukaukas,\" and she tried to catch his eye.\n\n\"The child whose little heart you have won, and who follows you about\nlike a pet dog!\" he cried.\n\n\"And besides Mary, Katharina, the widow Susannah's daughter,\" she added,\nsure of her triumph, and the color mounted to her cheeks. \"She is no\nlonger a child, but a maiden grown, as you know. I therefore demand of\nyou--\" and she again turned to the assembly--\"that you will fulfil your\nfunctions worthily and promote justice in my behalf by calling in both\nthese witnesses and hearing their evidence.\"\n\nOn this Orion interposed with forced composure: \"As to whether a\nsoft-hearted child ought to be exposed to the temptation to save the\nfriend she absolutely worships by giving evidence before the judges, be\nit what it may, only her grandparents can decide. Her tender years would\nat any rate detract from the validity of her evidence, and I am averse to\ninvolving a child of this house in this dubious affair. With regard to\nKatharina, it is, on the contrary, the duty of this court to request her\npresence, and I offer myself to go and fetch her.\"\n\nHe resolutely resisted Paula's attempts to interrupt him again: she\nshould have a patient hearing presently in the presence of her witness.\nThe gem no doubt had come to her from her father. But at this her\nrighteous indignation was again too much for her; she cried out quite\nbeside herself:\n\n\"No, and again no. Some reprobate scoundrel, an accomplice of yours--yes,\nI repeat it--made his way into my room while I was in the sick-room, and\neither forced the lock of my trunk or opened it with a false key.\"\n\n\"That can easily be proved,\" said Orion. In a confident tone he desired\nthat the box should be placed on the table, and requested one of the\ncouncil, who understood such matters, to give his opinion. Paula knew the\nman well. He was one of the most respected members of the household, the\nchief mechanician whose duty it was to test and repair the water-clocks,\nbalances, measures and other instruments. He at once proceeded to examine\nthe lock and found it in perfect order, though the key, which was of\npeculiar form, could certainly not have found a substitute in any false\nkey; and Paula was forced to admit that she had left the trunk locked at\nnoon and had worn the key round her neck ever since. Orion listened to\nhis opinion with a shrug, and before going to seek Katharina gave orders\nthat Paula and the nurse should be conducted to separate rooms. To arrive\nat any clear decision in this matter, it was necessary that any\ncommunication between these two should be rendered impossible. As soon as\nthe door was shut on them he hastened into the garden, where he hoped to\nfind Katharina.\n\nThe council looked after him with divided feelings. They were here\nconfronted by riddles that were hard to solve. No one of them felt that\nhe had a right to doubt the good intentions of their lord's son, whom\nthey looked up to as a talented and high-minded youth. His dispute with\nPaula had struck them painfully, and each one asked himself how it was\nthat such a favorite with women should have failed to rouse any sentiment\nbut that of hatred in one of the handsomest of her sex. The marked\nhostility she displayed to Orion injured her cause in the eyes of her\njudges, who knew only too well how unpleasant her relations were with\nNeforis. It was more than audacious in her to accuse the Mukaukas' son of\nhaving broken open her trunk; only hatred could have prompted her to\nutter such a charge. Still, there was something in her demeanor which\nencouraged confidence in her assertions, and if Katharina could really\ntestify to having seen the empty medallion on the chain there would be no\nalternative but to begin the enquiry again from a fresh point of view,\nand to inculpate another robber. But who could have lavished such a\ntreasure as this gem in exchange for mere rubbish? It was inconceivable;\nAmmonius the mechanician was right when he said that a woman full of\nhatred was capable of anything, even the incredible and impossible.\n\nMeanwhile it was growing dusk and the scorching day had turned to the\ntempered heat of a glorious evening. The Mukaukas was still in his room\nwhile his wife with Susannah and her daughter, Mary and her governess,\nwere enjoying the air and chatting in the open hall looking out on the\ngarden and the Nile. The ladies had covered their heads with gauze veils\nas a protection against the mosquitoes, which were attracted in swarms\nfrom the river by the lights, and also against the mists that rose from\nthe shallowing Nile; they were in the act of drinking some cooling\nfruit-syrup which had just been brought in, when Orion made his\nappearance.\n\n\"What has happened?\" cried his mother in some anxiety, for she concluded\nfrom his dishevelled hair and heated cheeks that the meeting had gone\nanything rather than smoothly.\n\n\"Incredible things,\" he replied. \"Paula fought like a lioness for her\nfather's freedman. . .\"\n\n\"Simply to annoy us and put us in a difficulty,\" replied Neforis.\n\n\"No, no, Mother,\" replied Orion with some warmth. \"But she has a will of\niron; a woman who never pauses at anything when she wants to carry her\npoint; and at the same time she goes to work with a keen wit that is\nworthy of the greatest lawyer that I ever heard defend a cause in the\nhigh court of the capital. Besides this her air of superiority, and her\ndivine beauty turn the heads of our poor household officers. It is fine\nand noble, of course, to be so zealous in the cause of a servant; but it\ncan do no good, for the evidence against her stammering favorite is\noverwhelming, and when her last plea is demolished the matter is ended.\nShe says that she showed a necklace to the child, and to you, charming\nKatharina.\"\n\n\"Showed it?\" cried the young girl. \"She took it away from us--did not\nshe, Mary?\"\n\n\"Well, we had taken it without her leave,\" replied the child.\n\n\"And she wants our children to appear in a court of justice to bear\nwitness for her highness?\" asked Neforis indignantly.\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Orion. \"But Mary's evidence is of no value in law.\"\n\n\"And even if it were,\" replied his mother, \"the child should not be mixed\nup with this disgraceful business under any circumstances.\"\n\n\"Because I should speak for Paula!\" cried Mary, springing up in great\nexcitement.\n\n\"You will just hold your tongue,\" her grandmother exclaimed.\n\n\"And as for Katharina,\" said the widow, \"I do not at all like the notion\nof her offering herself to be stared at by all those gentlemen.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen!\" observed the girl. \"Men--household officials and such like.\nThey may wait long enough for me!\"\n\n\"You must nevertheless do their bidding, haughty rosebud,\" said Orion\nlaughing. \"For you, thank God, are no longer a child, and a court of\njustice has the right of requiring the presence of every grown person as\na witness. No harm will come to you, for you are under my protection.\nCome with me. We must learn every lesson in life. Resistance is vain.\nBesides, all you will have to do will be to state what you have seen, and\nthen, if I possibly can, I will bring you back under the tender escort of\nthis arm, to your mother once more. You must entrust your jewel to me\nto-day, Susannah, and this trustworthy witness shall tell you afterwards\nhow she fared under my care.\"\n\nKatharina was quite capable of reading the implied meaning of these\nwords, and she was not ill-pleased to be obliged to go off alone with the\ngovernor's handsome son, the first man for whom her little heart had beat\nquicker; she sprang up eagerly; but Mary clung to her arm, and insisted\nso vehemently and obstinately on being taken with them to bear witness in\nPaula's behalf, that her governess and Dame Neforis had the greatest\ndifficulty in reducing her to obedience and letting the pair go off\nwithout her. Both mothers looked after them with great satisfaction, and\nthe governor's wife whispered to Susannah: \"Before the judges to-day, but\nere long, please God, before the altar at Church!\"\n\nTo reach the hall of judgment they could go either through the house or\nround it. If the more circuitous route were chosen, it lay first through\nthe garden; and this was the course taken by Orion. He had made a very\ngreat effort in the presence of the ladies to remain master of the\nagitation that possessed him; he saw that the battle he had begun, and\nfrom which he, at any rate, could not and would not now retire, was\nraging more and more fiercely, obliging him to drag the young creature\nwho must become his wife--the die was already cast--into the course of\ncrime he had started on.\n\nWhen he had agreed with his mother that he was not to prefer his suit for\nKatharina till the following day, he had hoped to prove to her in the\ninterval that this little thing was no wife for him; and now--oh! Irony\nof Fate--he found himself compelled to the very reverse of what he longed\nto do: to fight the woman he loved--Yes, still loved--as if she were his\nmortal foe, and pay his court to the girl who really did not suit him. It\nwas maddening, but inevitable; and once more spurring himself with the\nword \"Onwards!\" he flung himself into the accomplishment of the unholy\ntask of subduing the inexperienced child at his elbow into committing\neven a crime for his sake. His heart was beating wildly; but no pause, no\nretreat was possible: he must conquer. \"Onwards, then, onwards!\"\n\nWhen they had passed out of the light of the lamps into the shade he took\nhis young companion's slender hand-thankful that the darkness concealed\nhis features--and pressed the delicate fingers to his lips.\n\n\"Oh!--Orion!\" she exclaimed shyly, but she did not resist.\n\n\"I only claim my due, sunshine of my soul!\" he said insinuatingly. \"If\nyour heart beat as loud as mine, our mothers might hear them!\"\n\n\"But it does!\" she joyfully replied, her curly head bent on one side.\n\n\"Not as mine does,\" he said with a sigh, laying her little hand on his\nheart. He could do so in all confidence, for its spasmodic throbbing\nthreatened to suffocate him.\n\n\"Yes indeed,\" she said. \"It is beating. . .\"\n\n\"So that they can hear it indoors,\" he added with a forced laugh. \"Do you\nthink your dear mother has not long since read our feelings?\"\n\n\"Of course she has,\" whispered Katharina. \"I have rarely seen her in such\ngood spirits as since your return.\"\n\n\"And you, you little witch?\"\n\n\"I? Of course I was glad--we all were.--And your parents!\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, Katharina! What you yourself felt when we met once more, that\nis what I want to know.\"\n\n\"Oh, let that pass! How can I describe such a thing?\"\n\n\"Is that quite impossible?\" he asked and clasped her arm more closely in\nhis own. He must win her over, and his romantic fancy helped him to paint\nfeelings he had never had, in glowing colors. He poured out sweet words\nof love, and she was only too ready to believe them. At a sign from him\nshe sat down confidingly on a wooden bench in the old avenue which led to\nthe northern side of the house. Flowers were opening on many of the\nshrubs and shedding rich, oppressive perfume. The moonlight pierced\nthrough the solemn foliage of the sycamores, and shimmering streaks and\nrings of light played in the branches, on the trunks, and on the dark\nground. The heat of the day still lingered in the leafy roofs overhead,\nsultry and heavy even now; and in this alley he called her for the first\ntime his own, his betrothed, and enthralled her heart in chains and\nbonds. Each fervent word thrilled with the wild and painful agitation\nthat was torturing his soul, and sounded heartfelt and sincere. The scent\nof flowers, too, intoxicated her young and inexperienced heart; she\nwillingly offered her lips to his kisses, and with exquisite bliss felt\nthe first glow of youthful love returned.\n\nShe could have lingered thus with him for a lifetime; but in a few\nminutes he sprang up, anxious to put an end to this tender dalliance\nwhich was beginning to be too much even for him, and exclaimed:\n\n\"This cursed, this infernal trial! But such is the fate of man! Duty\ncalls, and he must return from all the bliss of Paradise to the world\nagain. Give me your arm, my only love, my all!\"\n\nAnd Katharina obeyed. Dazzled and bewildered by the extraordinary\nhappiness that had come to meet her, she allowed him to lead her on,\nlistening with suspended breath as he added: \"Out of this beatitude back\nto the sternest of duties!--And how odious, how immeasurably loathesome\nis the case in question! How gladly would I have been a friend to Paula,\na faithful protector instead of a foe!\"\n\nAs he spoke he felt the girl's left hand clench tighter on his arm, and\nthis spurred him on in his guilty purpose. Katharina herself had\nsuggested to his mind the course he must pursue to attain his end. He\nwent on to influence her jealousy by praising Paula's charm and\nloftiness, excusing himself in his own eyes by persuading himself that a\nlover was justified in inducing his betrothed to save his happiness and\nhis honor.\n\nStill, as he uttered each flattering word, he felt that he was lowering\nhimself and doing a fresh injustice to Paula. He found it only too easy\nto sing her praises; but as he did so with growing enthusiasm Katharina\nhit him on the arm exclaiming, half in jest and half seriously vexed:\n\n\"Oh, she is a goddess! And pray do you love her or me? You had better not\nmake me jealous! Do you hear?\"\n\n\"You little simpleton!\" he said gaily; and then he added soothingly: \"She\nis like the cold moon, but you are the bright warming sun. Yes,\nPaula!--we will leave Paula to some Olympian god, some archangel. I\nrejoice in my gladsome little maiden who will enjoy life with me, and all\nits pleasures!\"\n\n\"That we will!\" she exclaimed triumphantly; the horizon of her future was\nradiant with sunshine.\n\n\"Good Heavens!\" he exclaimed as if in surprise. \"The lights are already\nshining in that miserable hall of justice! Ah, love, love! Under that\nenchantment we had forgotten the object for which we came out.--Tell me,\nmy darling, do you remember exactly what the necklace was like that you\nand Mary were playing with this afternoon?\"\n\n\"It was very finely wrought, but in the middle hung a rubbishy broken\nmedallion of gold.\"\n\n\"You are a pretty judge of works of art! Then you overlooked the fine\nengraved gem which was set in that modest gold frame?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"I assure you, little wise-head!\"\n\n\"No, my dearest.\" As she spoke she looked up saucily, as though she had\nachieved some great triumph. \"I know very well what gems are. My father\nleft a very fine collection, and my mother says that by his will they are\nall to belong to my future husband.\"\n\n\"Then I can set you, my jewel, in a frame of the rarest gems.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" she cried gaily. \"Let me have a setting indeed, for I am but a\nfugitive thing; but only, only in your heart.\"\n\n\"That piece of goldsmith's work is already done.--But seriously my child;\nwith regard to Paula's necklace: it really was a gem, and you must have\nhappened to see only the back of it. That is just as you describe it: a\nplain setting of gold.\"\n\n\"But Orion. . . .\"\n\n\"If you love me, sweetheart, contradict me no further. In the future I\nwill always accept your views, but in this case your mistake might\ninvolve us in a serious misunderstanding, by compelling me to give in to\nPaula and make her my ally.--Here we are! But wait one moment\nlonger.--And once more, as to this gem. You see we may both be wrong--I\nas much as you; but I firmly believe that I am in the right. If you make\na statement contrary to mine I shall appear before the judges as a liar.\nWe are now betrothed--we are but one, wholly one; what damages or\ndignifies one of us humiliates or elevates the other. If you, who love\nme--you, who, as it is already whispered, are soon to be the mistress of\nthe governor's house--make a statement opposed to mine they are certain\nto believe it. You see, your whole nature is pure kindness, but you are\nstill too young and innocent quite to understand all the duties of that\nomnipotent love which beareth and endureth all things. If you do not\nyield to me cheerfully in this case you certainly do not love me as you\nought. And what is it to ask? I require nothing of you but that you\nshould state before the court that you saw Paula's necklace at noon\nto-day, and that there was a gem hanging to it--a gem with Love and\nPsyche engraved on it.\"\n\n\"And I am to say that before all those men?\" asked Katharina doubtfully.\n\n\"You must indeed, you kind little angel!\" cried Orion tenderly. \"And do\nyou think it pretty in a betrothed bride to refuse her lover's first\nrequest so grudgingly, suspiciously, and ungraciously? Nay, nay. If there\nis the tiniest spark of love for me in your heart, if you do not want to\nsee me reduced to implore Paula for mercy. . . .\"\n\n\"But what is it all about? How can it matter so much to any one whether a\ngem or a mere plate of gold . . . ?\"\n\n\"All that I will explain later,\" he hastily replied.\n\n\"Tell me now. . . .\"\n\n\"Impossible. We have already put the patience of the judges to too severe\na test. We have not a moment to lose.\"\n\n\"Very well then; but I shall die of confusion and shame if I have to make\na declaration. . . .\"\n\n\"Which is perfectly truthful, and by which you can prove to me that you\nlove me,\" he urged.\n\n\"But it is dreadful!\" she exclaimed anxiously. \"At least fasten my veil\nclosely over my face.--All those bearded men. . . .\"\n\n\"Like the ostrich,\" said Orion, laughing as he complied. \"If you really\ncannot agree with your. . . . What is it you called me just now? Say it\nagain.\"\n\n\"My dearest!\" she said shyly but tenderly.\n\nShe helped Orion to fold her veil twice over her face, and did not thrust\nhim aside when he whispered in her ear: \"Let us see if a kiss cannot be\nsweet even through all that wrapping!--Now, come. It will be all over in\na few minutes.\"\n\nHe led the way into the anteroom to the great hall, begged her to wait a\nmoment, and then went in and hastily informed the assembly that Dame\nSusannah had entrusted her daughter to him only on condition that he\nshould escort her back again as soon as she had given her testimony. Then\nPaula was brought in and he desired her to be seated.\n\nIt was with a sinking and anxious heart that Katharina had entered the\nanteroom. She had screened herself from a scolding before now by trivial\nsubterfuges, but never had told a serious lie; and every instinct\nrebelled against the demand that she should now state a direct falsehood.\nBut could Orion, the noblest of mankind, the idol of the whole town, so\npressingly entreat her to do anything that was wrong? Did not love--as he\nhad said--make it her duty to do everything that might screen him from\nloss or injury? It did not seem to her to be quite as it should be, but\nperhaps she did not altogether understand the matter; she was so young\nand inexperienced. She hated the idea, too, that, if she opposed her\nlover, he would have to come to terms with Paula. She had no lack of\nself-possession, and she told herself that she might hold her own with\nany girl in Memphis; still, she felt the superiority of the handsome,\ntall, proud Syrian, nor could she forget how, the day before yesterday,\nwhen Paula had been walking up and down the garden with Orion the chief\nofficer of Memphis had exclaimed: \"What a wonderfully handsome couple!\"\nShe herself had often thought that no more beautiful, elegant and lovable\ncreature than Thomas' daughter walked the earth; she had longed and\nwatched for a glance or a kind word from her. But since hearing those\nwords a bitter feeling had possessed her soul against Paula, and there\nhad been much to foster it. Paula always treated her like a child instead\nof a grown-up girl, as she was. Why, that very morning, had she sought\nout her betrothed--for she might call him so now--and tried to keep her\naway from him? And how was it that Orion, even while declaring his love\nfor her, had spoken more than warmly--enthusiastically of Paula? She must\nbe on her guard, and though others should speak of the great good fortune\nthat had fallen to her lot, Paula, at any rate, would not rejoice in it,\nfor Katharina felt and knew that she was not indifferent to Orion. She\nhad not another enemy in the world, but Paula was one; her love had\neverything to fear from her--and suddenly she asked herself whether the\ngold medallion she had seen might not indeed have been a gem? Had she\nexamined the necklace closely, even for a moment? And why should she\nfancy she had sharper sight than Orion with his large, splendid eyes?\n\nHe was right, as he always was. Most engraved gems were oval in form, and\nthe pendant which she had seen and was to give evidence about, was\nundoubtedly oval. Then it was not like Orion to require a falsehood of\nher. In any case it was her duty to her betrothed to preserve from evil,\nand prevent him from concluding any alliance with that false Siren. She\nknew what she had to say; and she was about to loosen a portion of her\nveil from her face that she might look Paula steadfastly in the eyes,\nwhen Orion came back to fetch her into the hall where the Court was\nsitting. To his delight--nay almost to his astonishment--she stated with\nperfect confidence that a gem had been hanging to Paula's necklace at\nnoon that day; and when the onyx was shown her and she was asked if she\nremembered the stone, she calmly replied:\n\n\"It may or it may not be the same; I only remember the oval gold back to\nit: besides I was only allowed to have the necklace in my hands for a\nvery short time.\"\n\nWhen Nilus, the treasurer, desired her to look more closely at the\nfigures of Eros and Psyche to refresh her memory, she evaded it by\nsaying: \"I do not like such heathen images: we Jacobite maidens wear\ndifferent adornments.\"\n\nAt this Paula rose and stepped towards her with a look of stern reproof;\nlittle Katharina was glad now that it had occurred to her to cover her\nface with a double veil. But the utter confusion she felt under the\nSyrian girl's gaze did not last long. Paula exclaimed reproach fully:\n\"You speak of your faith. Like mine, it requires you to respect the\ntruth. Consider how much depends on your declaration; I implore you,\nchild. . .\"\n\nBut the girl interrupted her rival exclaiming with much irritation and\nvehement excitement:\n\n\"I am no longer a child, not even as compared with you; and I think\nbefore I speak, as I was taught to do.\"\n\nShe threw back her little head with a confident air, and said very\ndecidedly:\n\n\"That onyx hung to the middle of the chain.\"\n\n\"How dare you, you audacious hussy!\" It was Perpetua, quite unable to\ncontain herself, who flung the words in her face. Katharina started as\nthough an asp had stung her and turned round on the woman who had dared\nto insult her so grossly and so boldly. She was on the verge of tears as\nshe looked helplessly about her for a defender; but she had not long to\nwait, for Orion instantly gave orders that Perpetua should be imprisoned\nfor bearing false witness. Paula, however, as she had not perjured\nherself, but had merely invented an impossible tale with a good motive,\nwas dismissed, and her chest was to be replaced in her room.\n\nAt this Paula once more stepped forth; she unhooked the onyx from the\nchain and flung it towards Gamaliel, who caught it, while she exclaimed:\n\n\"I make you a present of it, Jew! Perhaps the villain who hung it to my\nchain may buy it back again. The chain was given to my great-grandmother\nby the saintly Theodosius, and rather than defile it by contact with that\ngift from a villain, I will throw it into the Nile!--You--you, poor,\ndeluded judges--I cannot be wroth with you, but I pity you!--My\nHiram . . .\" and she looked at the freedman, \"is an honest soul whom I\nshall remember with gratitude to my dying day; but as to that unrighteous\nson of a most righteous father, that man . . .\" and she raised her voice,\nwhile she pointed straight at Orion's face; but the young man interrupted\nher with a loud:\n\n\"Enough!\"\n\nShe tried to control herself and replied:\n\n\"I will submit. Your conscience will tell you a hundred times over what I\nneed not say. One last word. . .\" She went close up to him and said in\nhis ear:\n\n\"I have been able to refrain from using my deadliest weapon against you\nfor the sake of keeping my word. Now you, if you are not the basest\nwretch living, keep yours, and save Hiram.\"\n\nHis only reply was an assenting nod; Paula paused on the threshold and,\nturning to Katharina, she added: \"You, child--for you are but a\nchild--with what nameless suffering will not the son of the Mukaukas\nrepay you for the service you have rendered him!\" Then she left the room.\nHer knees trembled under her as she mounted the stairs, but when she had\nagain taken her place by the side of the hapless, crazy girl a merciful\nGod granted her the relief of tears. Her friend saw her and left her to\nweep undisturbed, till she herself called him and confided to him all she\nhad gone through in the course of this miserable day.\n\nOrion and Katharina had lost their good spirits; they went back to the\ncolonnade in a dejected mood. On the way she pressed him to explain to\nher why he had insisted on her making this declaration, but he put her\noff till the morrow. They found Susannah alone, for his mother had been\nsent for by her husband, who was suffering more than usual, and she had\ntaken Mary with her.\n\nAfter bidding the widow good-night and escorting her to her chariot, he\nreturned to the hall where the Court was still sitting. There he\nrecapitulated the case as it now stood, and all the evidence against the\nfreed man. The verdict was then pronounced: Hiram was condemned to death\nwith but one dissentient voice that of Nilus the treasurer.\n\nOrion ordered that the execution of the sentence should be postponed; he\ndid not go back into the house, however, but had his most spirited horse\nsaddled and rode off alone into the desert. He had won, but he felt as\nthough in this race he had rushed into a morass and must be choked in it.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Love has two faces: tender devotion and bitter aversion\n     Self-interest and egoism which drive him into the cave\n     The man who avoids his kind and lives in solitude\n     You have a habit of only looking backwards\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nPaula's report of the day's proceedings, of Orion's behavior, and of the\nresults of the trial angered the leech beyond measure; he vehemently\napproved the girl's determination to quit this cave of robbers, this\nhouse of wickedness, of treachery, of imbecile judges and false\nwitnesses, as soon as possible. But she had no opportunity for a quiet\nconversation with him, for Philippus soon had his hands full in the care\nof the sufferers.\n\nRustem, the Masdakite, who till now had been lying unconscious, had been\nroused from his lethargy by some change of treatment, and loudly called\nfor his master Haschim. When the Arab did not appear, and it was\nexplained to him that he could not hope to see him before the morning,\nthe young giant sat up among his pillows, propping himself on his arms\nset firmly against the couch behind him, looked about him with a\nwandering gaze, and shook his big head like an aggrieved lion--but that\nhis thick mane of hair had been cut off--abusing the physician all the\ntime in his native tongue, and in a deep, rolling, bass voice that rang\nthrough the rooms though no one understood a word. Philippus, quite\nundaunted, was trying to adjust the bandage over his wound, when Rustem\nsuddenly flung his arms round his body and tried with all his might, and\nwith foaming lips, to drag him down. He clung to his antagonist, roaring\nlike a wild beast; even now Philippus never for an instant lost his\npresence of mind but desired the nun to fetch two strong slaves. The\nSister hurried away, and Paula remained the eyewitness of a fearful\nstruggle. The physician had twisted his ancles round those of the\nstalwart Persian, and putting forth a degree of strength which could\nhardly have been looked for in a stooping student, tall and large-boned\nas he was, he wrenched the Persian's hands from his hips, pressed his\nfingers between those of Rustem, forced him back on to his pillows, set\nhis knees against the brazen frame of the couch, and so effectually held\nhim down that he could not sit up again. Rustem exerted every muscle to\nshake off his opponent; but the leech was the stronger, for the Masdakite\nwas weakened by fever and loss of blood. Paula watched this contest\nbetween intelligent force and the animal strength of a raving giant with\na beating heart, trembling in every limb. She could not help her friend,\nbut she followed his every movement as she stood at the head of the bed;\nand as he held down the powerful creature before whom her frail uncle had\ncowered in abject terror, she could not help admiring his manly beauty;\nfor his eyes sparkled with unwonted fire, and the mean chin seemed to\nlengthen with the frightful effort he was putting forth, and so to be\nbrought into proportion with his wide forehead and the rest of his\nfeatures. Her spirit quaked for him; she fancied she could see something\ngreat and heroic in the man, in whom she had hitherto discovered no merit\nbut his superior intellect.\n\nThe struggle had lasted some minutes before Philip felt the man's arms\ngrow limp, and he called to Paula to bring him a sheet--a rope--what\nnot--to bind the raving man. She flew into the next room, quite\ncollected; fetched her handkerchief, snatched off the silken girdle that\nbound her waist, rushed back and helped the leech to tie the maniac's\nhands. She understood her friend's least word, or a movement of his\nfinger; and when the slaves whom the nun had fetched came into the room,\nthey found Rustem with his hands firmly bound, and had only to prevent\nhim from leaping out of bed or throwing himself over the edge. Philippus,\nquite out of breath, explained to the slaves how they were to act, and\nwhen he opened his medicine-chest Paula noticed that his swollen, purple\nfingers were trembling. She took out the phial to which he pointed, mixed\nthe draught according to his orders, and was not afraid to pour it\nbetween the teeth of the raving man, forcing them open with the help of\nthe slaves.\n\nThe soothing medicine calmed him in a few minutes, and the leech himself\ncould presently wash the wound and apply a fresh dressing with the\npractised aid of the Sister.\n\nMeanwhile the crazy girl had been waked by the ravings of the Persian,\nand was anxiously enquiring if the dog--the dreadful dog--was there. But\nshe soon allowed herself to be quieted by Paula, and she answered the\nquestions put to her so rationally and gently, that her nurse called the\nphysician who could confirm Paula in her hope that a favorable change had\ntaker place in her mental condition. Her words were melancholy and mild;\nand when Paula remarked on this Philippus observed:\n\n\"It is on the bed of sickness that we learn to know our fellow-creatures.\nThe frantic girl, who perhaps fell on the son of this house with\nmurderous intent, now reveals her true, sweet nature. And as for that\npoor fellow, he is a powerful creature, an honest one too; I would stake\nmy ten fingers on it!\"\n\n\"What makes you so sure of that?\"\n\n\"Even in his delirium he did hot once scratch or bite, but only defended\nhimself like a man.--Thank you, now, for your assistance. If you had not\nflung the cord round his hands, the game might have ended very\ndifferently.\"\n\n\"Surely not!\" exclaimed Paula decidedly. \"How strong you are, Philip. I\nfeel quite alarmed!\"\n\n\"You?\" said the leech laughing. \"On the contrary, you need never be\nalarmed again now that you have seen by chance that your champion is no\nweakling.--Pfooh! I shall be glad now of a little rest.\" She offered him\nher handkerchief, and while he thankfully used it to wipe his\nbrow--controlling with much difficulty the impulse to press it to his\nlips, he added lightly:\n\n\"With such an assistant everything must go well. There is no merit in\nbeing strong; every one can be strong who comes into the world with\nhealthy blood and well-knit bones, who keeps all his limbs well\nexercised, as I did in my youth, and who does not destroy his inheritance\nby dissipated living.--However, I still feel the struggle in my hands;\nbut there is some good wine in the next room yet, and two or three cups\nof it will do me good.\" They went together into the adjoining room where,\nby this time, most of the lamps were extinguished. Paula poured out the\nwine, touched the goblet with her lips, and he emptied it at a draught;\nbut he was not to be allowed to drink off a second, for he had scarcely\nraised it, when they heard voices in the Masdakite's room, and Neforis\ncame in. The governor's careful wife had not quitted her husband's\ncouch--even Rustem's storming had not induced her to leave her post; but\nwhen she was informed by the slaves what had been going on, and that\nPaula was still up-stairs with the leech, she had come to the strangers'\nrooms as soon as her husband could spare her to speak to Philippus, to\nrepresent to Paula what the proprieties required, and to find out what\nthe strange noises could be which still seemed to fill the house--at this\nhour usually as silent as the grave. They proceeded from the sick-rooms,\nbut also from Orion, who had just come in, and from Nilus the treasurer,\nwho had been called by the former into his room, though the night was\nfast drawing on to morning. To the governor's wife everything seemed\nominous at the close of this terrible day, marked in the calendar as\nunlucky; so she made her way up-stairs, escorted by her husband's night\nwatcher, and holding in her hand a small reliquary to which she ascribed\nthe power of banning vile spirits.\n\nShe came into the sick-room swiftly and noiselessly, put the nun through\na strict cross-examination with the fretful sharpness of a person\ndisturbed in her night's rest. Then she went into the sitting-room where\nPhilippus was on the point of pledging Paula in his second cup of wine,\nwhile she stood before him with dishevelled hair and robe ungirt. All\nthis was an offence against good manners such as she would not suffer in\nher house, and she stoutly ordered her husband's niece to go to bed.\nAfter all the offences that had been pardoned her this day--no,\nyesterday--she exclaimed, it would have been more becoming in the girl to\nexamine herself in silence, in her own room, to exorcise the lying\nspirits which had her in their power, and implore her Saviour for\nforgiveness, than to pretend to be nursing the sick while she was\ncarrying on, with a young man, an orgy which, as the Sister had just told\nher, had lasted since mid-day.\n\nPaula spoke not a word, though the color changed in her face more than\nonce as she listened to this speech. But when Neforis finally pointed to\nthe door, she said, with all the cold pride she had at her command when\nshe was the object of unworthy suspicions:\n\n\"Your aim is easily seen through. I should scorn to reply, but that you\nare the wife of the man who, till you set him against me, was glad to\ncall himself my friend and protector, and who is also related to me. As\nusual, you attribute to me an unworthy motive. In showing me the door of\nthis room consecrated by suffering, you are turning me out of your house,\nwhich you and your son--for I must say it for once--have made a hell to\nme.\"\n\n\"I! And my--No! this is indeed--\" exclaimed the matron in panting rage.\nShe clasped her hands over her heaving bosom and her pale face was dyed\ncrimson, while her eyes flashed wrathful lightnings. \"That is too much; a\nthousand times too much--a thousand times--do you hear?--And I--I\ncondescend to answer you! We picked her up in the street, and have\ntreated her like a daughter, spent enormous sums on her, and now. . . .\"\n\nThis was addressed to the leech rather than to Paula; but she took up the\ngauntlet and replied in a tone of unqualified scorn:\n\n\"And now I plainly declare, as a woman of full age, free to dispose of\nmyself, that to-morrow morning I leave this house with everything that\nbelongs to me, even if I should go as a beggar;--this house, where I have\nbeen grossly insulted, where I and my faithful servant have been falsely\ncondemned, and where he is even now about to be murdered.\"\n\n\"And where you have been dealt with far too mildly,\" Neforis shrieked at\nher audacious antagonist, \"and preserved from sharing the fate of the\nrobber you smuggled into the house. To save a criminal--it is unheard\nof:--you dared to accuse the son of your benefactor of being a corrupt\njudge.\"\n\n\"And so he is,\" exclaimed Paula furious. \"And what is more, he has\ninveigled the child whom you destine to be his wife into bearing false\nwitness. More--much more could I say, but that, even if I did not respect\nthe mother, your husband has deserved that I should spare him.\"\n\n\"Spare him-spare!\" cried Neforis contemptuously. \"You--you will spare us!\nThe accused will be merciful and spare the judge! But you shall be made\nto speak;--aye, made to speak! And as to what you, a slanderer, can say\nabout false witness. . .\"\n\n\"Your own granddaughter,\" interrupted the leech, \"will be compelled to\nrepeat it before all the world, noble lady, if you do not moderate\nyourself.\"\n\nNeforis laughed hysterically.\n\n\"So that is the way the wind blows!\" she exclaimed, quite beside herself.\n\"The sick-room is a temple of Bacchus and Venus; and this disgraceful\nconduct is not enough, but you must conspire to heap shame and disgrace\non this righteous house and its masters.\"\n\nThen, resting her left hand which held the reliquary on her hip, she\nadded with hasty vehemence:\n\n\"So be it. Go away; go wherever you please! If I find you under this roof\nto-morrow at noon, you thankless, wicked girl, I will have you turned out\ninto the streets by the guard. I hate you--for once I will ease my poor,\ntormented heart--I loathe you; your very existence is an offence to me\nand brings misfortune on me and on all of us; and besides--besides, I\nshould prefer to keep the emeralds we have left.\"\n\nThis last and cruelest taunt, which she had brought out against her\nbetter feelings, seemed to have relieved her soul of a hundred-weight of\ncare; she drew a deep breath, and turning to Philippus, went on far more\nquietly and rationally:\n\n\"As for you, Philip, my husband needs you. You know well what we have\noffered you and you know George's liberal hand. Perhaps you will think\nbetter of it, and will learn to perceive. . .\"\n\n\"I! . . .\" said the leech with a lofty smile. \"Do you really know me so\nlittle? Your husband, I am ready to admit, stands high in my esteem, and\nwhen he wants me he will no doubt send for me. But never again will I\ncross this threshold uninvited, or enter a house where right is trodden\nunderfoot, where defenceless innocence is insulted and abandoned to\ndespair.\n\n\"You may stare in astonishment! Your son has desecrated his father's\njudgment-seat, and the blood of guiltless Hiram is on his\nhead.--You--well, you may still cling to your emeralds. Paula will not\ntouch them; she is too high-souled to tell you who it is that you would\nindeed do well to lock up in the deepest dungeon-cell! What I have heard\nfrom your lips breaks every tie that time had knit between us. I do not\ndemand that my friends should be wealthy, that they should have any\nattractions or charm, any special gifts of mind or body; but we must meet\non common ground: that of honorable feeling. That you did not bring into\nthe world, or you have lost it; and from this hour I am a stranger to you\nand never wish to see you again, excepting by the side of your husband\nwhen he requires me.\"\n\nHe spoke the last words with such immeasurable dignity that Neforis was\nstartled and bereft of all self-control. She had been treated as a wretch\nworthy of utter scorn by a man beneath her in rank, but whom she always\nregarded as one of the most honest, frank and pure-minded she had ever\nknown; a man indispensable to her husband, because he knew how to\nmitigate his sufferings, and could restrain him from the abuse of his\nnarcotic anodyne. He was the only physician of repute, far and wide. She\nwas to be deprived of the services of this valuable ally, to whom little\nMary and many of the household owed their lives, by this Syrian girl; and\nshe herself, sure that she was a good and capable wife and mother, was to\nstand there like a thing despised and avoided by every honest man,\nthrough this evil genius of her house!\n\nIt was too much. Tortured by rage, vexation, and sincere distress, she\nsaid in a complaining voice, while the tears started to her eyes:\n\n\"But what is the meaning of all this? You, who know me, who have seen me\nruling and caring for my family, you turn your back upon me in my own\nhouse and point the finger at me? Have I not always been a faithful wife,\nnursing my husband for years and never leaving his sick-bed, never\nthinking of anything but how to ease his pain? I have lived like a\nrecluse from sheer sense of duty and faithful lose, while other wives,\nwho have less means than I, live in state and go to entertainments.--And\nwhose slaves are better kept and more often freed than ours? Where is the\nbeggar so sure of an alms as in our house, where I, and I alone, uphold\npiety?--And now am I so fallen that the sun may not shine on me, and that\na worthy man like you should withdraw his friendship all in a moment, and\nfor the sake of this ungrateful, loveless creature--because, because,\nwhat did you call it--because the mind is wanting in me--or what did you\ncall it that I must have before you . . . ?\"\n\n\"It is called feeling,\" interrupted the leech, who was sorry for the\nunhappy woman, in whom he knew there was much that was good. \"Is the word\nquite new to you, my lady Neforis?--It is born with us; but a firm will\ncan elevate the least noble feeling, and the best that nature can bestow\nwill deteriorate through self-indulgence. But, in the day of judgment, if\nI am not very much mistaken, it is not our acts but our feeling that will\nbe weighed. It would ill-become me to blame you, but I may be allowed to\npity you, for I see the disease in your soul which, like gangrene in the\nbody. . .\"\n\n\"What next!\" cried Neforis.\n\n\"This disease,\" the physician calmly went on--\"I mean hatred, should be\nfar indeed from so pious a Christian. It has stolen into your heart like\na thief in the night, has eaten you up, has made bad blood, and led you\nto treat this heavily-afflicted orphan as though you were to put stocks\nand stones in the path of a blind man to make him fall. If, as it would\nseem, my opinion still weighs with you a little, before Paula leaves your\nhouse you will ask her pardon for the hatred with which you have\npersecuted her for years, which has now led you to add an intolerable\ninsult--in which you yourself do not believe--to all the rest.\"\n\nAt this Paula, who had been watching the physician all through his\nspeech, turned to Dame Neforis, and unclasped her hands which were lying\nin her lap, ready to shake hands with her uncle's wife if she only\noffered hers, though she was still fully resolved to leave the house.\n\nA terrible storm was raging in the lady's soul. She felt that she had\noften been unkind to Paula. That a painful doubt still obscured the\nquestion as to who had stolen the emerald she had unwillingly confessed\nbefore she had come up here. She knew that she would be doing her husband\na great service by inducing the girl to remain, and she would only too\ngladly have kept the leech in the house;--but then how deeply had she,\nand her son, been humiliated by this haughty creature!\n\nShould she humble herself to her, a woman so much younger, offer her\nhand, make. . . .\n\nAt this moment they heard the tinkle of the silver bowl, into which her\nhusband threw a little ball when he wanted her. His pale, suffering face\nrose before her inward eye, she could hear him asking for his opponent at\ndraughts, she could see his sad, reproachful gaze when she told him\nto-morrow that she, Neforis, had driven his niece, the daughter of the\nnoble Thomas, out of the house--, with a swift impulse she went towards\nPaula, grasping the reliquary in her left hand and holding out her right,\nand said in a low voice.\n\n\"Shake hands, girl. I often ought to have behaved differently to you; but\nwhy have you never in the smallest thing sought my love? God is my\nwitness that at first I was fully disposed to regard you as a daughter,\nbut you--well, let it pass. I am sorry now that I should--if I have\ndistressed you.\"\n\nAt the first words Paula had placed her hand in that of Neforis. Hers was\nas cold as marble, the elder woman's was hot and moist; it seemed as\nthough their hands were typical of the repugnance of their hearts. They\nboth felt it so, and their clasp was but a brief one. When Paula withdrew\nhers, she preserved her composure better than the governor's wife, and\nsaid quite calmly, though her cheeks were burning:\n\n\"Then we will try to part without any ill-will, and I thank you for\nhaving made that possible. To-morrow morning I hope I may be permitted to\ntake leave of my uncle in peace, for I love him; and of little Mary.\"\n\n\"But you need not go now! On the contrary, I urgently request you to\nstay,\" Neforis eagerly put in.\n\n\"George will not let you leave. You yourself know how fond he is of you.\"\n\n\"He has often been as a father to me,\" said Paula, and even her eyes\nshone through tears. \"I would gladly have stayed with him till the end.\nStill, it is fixed--I must go.\"\n\n\"And if your uncle adds his entreaties to mine?\"\n\n\"It will be in vain.\"\n\nNeforis took the maiden's hand in her own again, and tried with genuine\nanxiety to persuade her,--but Paula was firm. She adhered to her\ndetermination to leave the governor's house in the morning.\n\n\"But where will you find a suitable house?\" cried Neforis. \"A residence\nthat will be fit for you?\"\n\n\"That shall be my business,\" replied the physician. \"Believe me, noble\nlady, it would be best for all that Paula should seek another home. But\nit is to be hoped that she may decide on remaining in Memphis.\"\n\nAt this Neforis exclaimed:\n\n\"Here, with us, is her natural home!--Perhaps God may turn your heart for\nyour uncle's sake, and we may begin a new and happier life.\" Paula's only\nreply was a shake of the head; but Neforis did not see it the metal\ntinkle sounded for the third time, and it was her duty to respond to its\ncall.\n\nAs soon as she had left the room Paula drew a deep breath, exclaiming:\n\n\"O God! O God! How hard it was to refrain from flinging in her teeth the\ncrime her wicked son. . . . No, no; nothing should have made me do that.\nBut I cannot tell you how the mere sight of that woman angers me, how\nlight-hearted I feel since I have broken down the bridge that connected\nme with this house and with Memphis.\"\n\n\"With Memphis?\" asked Philippus.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Paula gladly. \"I go away--away from hence, out of the\nvicinity of this woman and her son!--Whither? Oh! back to Syria, or to\nGreece--every road is the right one, if it only takes me away from this\nplace.\"\n\n\"And I, your friend?\" asked Philippus.\n\n\"I shall bear the remembrance of you in a grateful heart.\"\n\nThe physician smiled, as though something had happened just as he\nexpected; after a moment's reflection he said:\n\n\"And where can the Nabathaean find you, if indeed he discovers your\nfather in the hermit of Sinai?\"\n\nThe question startled and surprised Paula, and Philippus now adduced\nevery argument to convince her that it was necessary that she should\nremain in the City of the Pyramids. In the first place she must liberate\nher nurse--in this he could promise to help her--and everything he said\nwas so judicious in its bearing on the circumstances that had to be\nreckoned with, and the facts actual or possible, that she was astonished\nat the practical good sense of this man, with whom she had generally\ntalked only of matters apart from this world. Finally she yielded,\nchiefly for the sake of her father and Perpetua; but partly in the hope\nof still enjoying his society. She would remain in Memphis, at any rate\nfor the present, under the roof of a friend of the physician's--long\nknown to her by report--a Melchite like herself, and there await the\nfurther development of her fate.\n\nTo be away from Orion and never, never to see him again was her heartfelt\nwish. All places were the same to her where she had no fear of meeting\nhim. She hated him; still she knew that her heart would have no peace so\nlong as such a meeting was possible. Still, she longed to free herself\nfrom a desire to see what his further career would be, which came over\nher again and again with overwhelming and terrible power. For that\nreason, and for that only, she longed to go far, far away, and she was\nhardly satisfied by the leech's assurance that her new protector would be\nable to keep away all visitors whom she might not wish to receive. And he\nhimself, he added, would make it his business to stand between her and\nall intruders the moment she sent for him.\n\nThey did not part till the sun was rising above the eastern hills; as\nthey separated Paula said:\n\n\"So this morning a new life begins for me, which I can well imagine will,\nby your help, be pleasanter than that which is past.\"\n\nAnd Philippus replied with happy emotion: \"The new life for me began\nyesterday.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nBetween morning and noon Mary was sitting on a low cane seat under the\nsycamores which yesterday had shaded Katharina's brief young happiness;\nby her side was her governess Eudoxia, under whose superintendence she\nwas writing out the Ten Commandments from a Greek catechism.\n\nThe teacher had been lulled to sleep by the increasing heat and the\npervading scent of flowers, and her pupil had ceased to write. Her eyes,\nred with tears, were fixed on the shells with which the path was strewn,\nand she was using her long ruler, at first to stir them about, and then\nto write the words: \"Paula,\" and \"Paula, Mary's darling,\" in large\ncapital letters. Now and again a butterfly, following the motion of the\nrod, brought a smile to her pretty little face from which the dark spirit\n\"Trouble\" had not wholly succeeded in banishing gladness. Still, her\nheart was heavy. Everything around her, in the garden and in the house,\nwas still; for her grandfather's state had become seriously worse at\nsunrise, and every sound must be hushed. Mary was thinking of the poor\nsufferer: what pain he had to bear, and how the parting from Paula would\ngrieve him, when Katharina came towards her down the path.\n\nThe young girl did little credit to-day to her nickname of \"the\nwater-wagtail;\" her little feet shuffled through the shelly gravel, her\nhead hung wearily, and when one of the myriad insects, that were busy in\nthe morning sunshine, came within her reach she beat it away angrily with\nher fan. As she came up to Mary she greeted her with the usual \"All\nhail!\" but the child only nodded in response, and half turning her back\nwent on with her inscription.\n\nKatharina, however, paid no heed to this cool reception, but said in\nsympathetic tones:\n\n\"Your poor grandfather is not so well, I hear?\" Mary shrugged her\nshoulders.\n\n\"They say he is very dangerously ill. I saw Philippus himself.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" said Mary without looking up, and she went on writing.\n\n\"Orion is with him,\" Katharina went on. \"And Paula is really going away?\"\n\nThe child nodded dumbly, and her eyes again filled with tears.\n\nKatharina now observed how sad the little girl was looking, and that she\nintentionally refused to answer her. At any other time she would not have\ntroubled herself about this, but to-day this taciturnity provoked her,\nnay it really worried her; she stood straight in front of Mary, who was\nstill indefatigably busy with the ruler, and said loudly and with some\nirritation:\n\n\"I have fallen into disgrace with you, it would seem, since yesterday.\nEvery one to his liking; but I will not put up with such bad manners, I\ncan tell you!\"\n\nThe last words were spoken loud enough to wake Eudoxia, who heard them,\nand drawing herself up with dignity she said severely:\n\n\"Is that the way to behave to a kind and welcome visitor, Mary?\"\n\n\"I do not see one,\" retorted the child with a determined pout.\n\n\"But I do,\" cried the governess. \"You are behaving like a little\nbarbarian, not like a little girl who has been taught Greek manners.\nKatharina is no longer a child, though she is still often kind enough to\nplay with you. Go to her at once and beg her pardon for being so rude.\"\n\n\"I!\" exclaimed Mary, and her tone conveyed the most positive refusal to\nobey this behest. She sprang to her feet, and with flashing eyes, she\ncried: \"We are not Greeks, neither she nor I, and I can tell you once for\nall that she is not my kind and welcome visitor, nor my friend any more!\nWe have nothing, nothing whatever to do with each other any more!\"\n\n\"Are you gone mad?\" cried Eudoxia, and her long face assumed a\nthreatening expression, while she rose from her easy-chair in spite of\nthe increasing heat, intending to capture her pupil and compel her to\napologize; but Mary was more nimble than the middle-aged damsel and fled\ndown the alley towards the river, as nimble as a gazelle.\n\nEudoxia began to run after her; but the heat was soon too much for her,\nand when she stopped, exhausted and panting, she perceived that\nKatharina, worthy once more of her name of \"water-wagtail,\" had flown\npast her and was chasing the little girl at a pace that she shuddered to\ncontemplate. Mary soon saw that no one but Katharina was in pursuit; she\nmoderated her pace, and awaited her cast-off friend under the shade of a\ntall shrub. In a moment Katharina was facing her; with a heightened color\nshe seized both her hands and exclaimed passionately:\n\n\"What was it you said? You--you--If I did not know what a wrong-headed\nlittle simpleton you were, I could . . . .\"\n\n\"You could accuse me falsely!--But now, leave go of my hands or I will\nbite you. And as Katharina, at this threat, released her she went on\nvehemently.\n\n\"Oh! I know you now--since yesterday! And I tell you, once for all, I say\nthank you for nothing for such friends. You ought to sink into the earth\nfor shame of the sin you have committed. I am only ten years old, but\nrather than have done such a thing I would have let myself be shut up in\nthat hot hole with poor, innocent Perpetua, or I would have let myself be\nkilled, as you want poor, honest Hiram to be! Oh, shame!\"\n\nKatharina's crimson cheeks bad turned pale at this address and, as she\nhad no answer ready, she could only toss her head and say, with as much\npride and dignity as she could assume:\n\n\"What can a child like you know about things that puzzle the heads of\ngrown-up people?\"\n\n\"Grown-up people!\" laughed Mary, who was not three inches shorter than\nher antagonist. \"You must be a great deal taller before I call you grown\nup! In two years time, you will scarcely be up to my eyes.\" At this the\nirascible Egyptian fired up; she gave the child a slap in the face with\nthe palm of her hand. Mary only stood still as if petrified, and after\ngazing at the ground for a minute or two without a cry, she turned her\nback on her companion and silently went back into the shaded walk.\n\nKatharina watched her with tears in her eyes. She felt that Mary was\njustified in disapproving of what she had done the day before; for she\nherself had been unable to sleep and had become more and more convinced\nthat she had acted wrongly, nay, unpardonably. And now again she had done\nan inexcusable thing. She felt that she had deeply hurt the child's\nfeelings, and this sincerely grieved her. She followed Mary in silence,\nat some little distance, like a maid-servant. She longed to hold her back\nby her dress, to say something kind to her, nay, to ask her pardon. As\nthey drew near to the spot where the governess had dropped into her chair\nagain, a hapless victim to the heat of Egypt, Katharina called Mary by\nher name, and when the child paid no heed, laid her hand on her shoulder,\nsaying in gentle entreaty: \"Forgive me for having so far forgotten\nmyself. But how can I help being so little? You know very well when any\none laughs at me for it. . . .\"\n\n\"You get angry and slap!\" retorted the child, walking on. \"Yesterday,\nperhaps, I might have laughed over a box on the ear--it is not the\nfirst--or have given it to you back again; but to-day!--Just now,\" and\nshe shuddered involuntarily, \"just now I felt as if some black slave had\nlaid his dirty hand on my cheek. You are not what you were. You walk\nquite differently, and you look--depend upon it you do not look as nice\nand as bright as you used, and I know why: You did a very bad thing last\nevening.\"\n\n\"But dear pet,\" said the other, \"you must not be so hard. Perhaps I did\nnot really tell the judges everything I knew, but Orion, who loves me so,\nand whose wife I am to be. . . .\"\n\n\"He led you into sin!--Yes; and he was always merry and kind till\nyesterday; but since--Oh, that unlucky day!\"\n\nHere she was interrupted by Eudoxia, who poured out a flood of reproaches\nand finally desired her to resume her task. The child obeyed\nunresistingly; but she had scarcely settled to her wax tablets again when\nKatharina was by her side, whispering to her that Orion would certainly\nnot have asserted anything that he did not believe to be true, and that\nshe had really been in doubt as to whether a gem with a gold back, or a\nmere gold frame-work, had been hanging to Paula's chain. At this Mary\nturned sharply and quickly upon her, looked her straight in the eyes and\nexclaimed--but in Egyptian that the governess might not understand, for\nshe had disdained to learn a single word of it:\n\n\"A rubbishy gold frame with a broken edge was hanging to the chain, and,\nwhat is more, it caught in your dress. Why, I can see it now! And, when\nyou bore witness that it was a gem, you told a lie--Look here; here are\nthe laws which God Almighty himself gave on the sacred Mount of Sinai,\nand there it stands written: 'Thou shalt not bear false witness against\nthy neighbor.' And those who do, the priest told me, are guilty of mortal\nsin, for which there is no forgiveness on earth or in Heaven, unless\nafter bitter repentance and our Saviour's special mercy. So it is\nwritten; and you could actually declare before the judges a thing that\nwas false, and that you knew would bring others to ruin?\"\n\nThe young criminal looked down in shame and confusion, and answered\nhesitatingly:\n\n\"Orion asserted it so positively and clearly, and then--I do not know\nwhat came over me--but I was so angry, so--I could have murdered her!\"\n\n\"Whom?\" asked Mary in surprise. \"You know very well: Paula.\"\n\n\"Paula!\" said Mary, and her large eyes again filled with tears. \"Is it\npossible? Did you not love her as much as I do? Have not you often and\noften clung about her like a bur?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, very true. But before the judges she was so intolerably proud,\nand then.--But believe me, Mary you really and truly cannot understand\nanything of all this.\"\n\n\"Can I not?\" asked the child folding her arms.\n\n\"Why do you think me so stupid?\"\n\n\"You are in love with Orion--and he is a man whom few can match, over\nhead and ears in love; and because Paula looks like a queen by the side\nof you, and is so much handsomer and taller than you are, and Orion, till\nyesterday--I could see it all--cared a thousand times more for her than\nfor you, you were jealous and envious of her. Oh, I know all about\nit.--And I know that all the women fall in love with him, and that\nMandaile had her ears cut off on his account, and that it was a lady who\nloved him in Constantinople that gave him the little white dog. The\nslave-girls tell me what they hear and what I like.--And after all, you\nmay well be jealous of Paula, for if she only made a point of it, how\nsoon Orion would make up his mind never to look at you again! She is the\nhandsomest and the wisest and the best girl in the whole world, and why\nshould she not be proud? The false witness you bore will cost poor Hiram\nhis life: but the merciful Saviour may forgive you at last. It is your\naffair, and no concern of mine; but when Paula is forced to leave the\nhouse and all through you, so that I shall never, never, never see her\nany more--I cannot forget it, and I do not think I ever shall; but I will\npray God to make me.\"\n\nShe burst into loud sobs, and the governess had started up to put an end\nto a dialogue which she could not understand, and which was therefore\nvexatious and provoking, when the water-wagtail fell on her knees before\nthe little girl, threw her arms round her, and bursting into tears,\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Mary--darling little Mary forgive me.\n\n   [The German has the diminutive 'Mariechen'. To this Dr. Ebers\n   appends this note. \"An ignorant critic took exception to the use of\n   the diminutive form of names (as for instance 'Irenchen', little\n   Irene) in 'The Sisters,' as an anachronism. It is nevertheless a\n   fact that the Greeks settled in Egypt were so fond of using the\n   diminutive form of woman's names that they preferred them, even in\n   the tax-rolls. This form was common in Attic Greek,\"]\n\nOh, if you could but know what I endured before I came out here! Forgive\nme, Mary; be my sweet, dear little Mary once more. Indeed and indeed you\nare much better than I am. Merciful Saviour, what possessed me last\nevening? And all through him, through the man no one can help\nloving--through Orion!--And would you believe it: I do not even know why\nhe led me into this sin. But I must try to care for him no more, to\nforget him entirely, although, although,--only think, he called me his\nbetrothed; but now that he has betrayed me into sin, can I dare to become\nhis wife? It has given me no peace all night. I love him, yes I love him,\nyou cannot think how dearly; still, I cannot be his! Sooner will I go\ninto a convent, or drown myself in the Nile!--And I will say all this to\nmy mother, this very day.\"\n\nThe Greek governess had looked on in astonishment, for it was indeed\nstrange to see the young girl kneeling in front of the child. She\nlistened to her eager flow of unintelligible words, wondering whether she\ncould ever teach her pupil--with her grandmother's help if need should\nbe--to cultivate a more sedate and Greek demeanor.\n\nAt this juncture Paula came down the path. Some slaves followed her,\ncarrying several boxes and bundles and a large litter, all making their\nway to the Nile, where a boat was waiting to ferry her up the river to\nher new home.\n\nAs she lingered unobserved, her eye rested on the touching picture of the\ntwo young things clasped in each other's arms, and she overheard the last\nwords of the gentle little creature who had done her such cruel wrong.\nShe could only guess at what had occurred, but she did not like to be a\nlistener, so she called Mary; and when the child started up and flew to\nthrow her arms round her neck with vehement and devoted tenderness, she\ncovered her little face and hair with kisses. Then she freed herself from\nthe little girl's embrace, and said, with tearful eyes:\n\n\"Good-bye, my darling! In a few minutes I shall no longer belong here;\nanother and a strange home must be mine. Love me always, and do not\nforget me, and be quite sure of one thing: you have no truer friend on\nearth than I am.\"\n\nAt this, fresh tears flowed; the child implored her not to go away, not\nto leave her; but Paula could but refuse, though she was touched and\nastonished to find that she had reaped so rich a harvest of love, here\nwhere she had sown so little. Then she gave her hand at parting to the\ngoverness, and when she turned to Katharina, to bid farewell, hard as it\nwas, to the murderer of her happiness, the young girl fell at her feet\nbathed in tears of repentance, covered her knees and hands with kisses,\nand confessed herself guilty of a terrible sin. Paula, however, would not\nallow her to finish; she lifted her up, kissed her forehead, and said\nthat she quite understood how she had been led into it, and that she,\nlike Mary, would try to forgive her.\n\nStanding by the governor's many-oared barge, to which the young girls now\nescorted her, she found Orion. Twice already this morning he had tried in\nvain to get speech with her, and he looked pale and agitated. He had a\nsplendid bunch of flowers in his hand; he bestowed a hasty greeting on\nMary and his betrothed, and did not heed the fact that Katharina returned\nit hesitatingly and without a word.\n\nHe went close up to Paula, told her in a low voice that Hiram was safe,\nand implored her, as she hoped to be forgiven for her own sins, to grant\nhim a few minutes. When she rejected his prayer with a silent shrug, and\nwent on towards the boat he put out his hand to help her, but she\nintentionally overlooked it and gave her hand to the physician. At this\nhe sprang after her into the barge, saying in her ear in a tremulous\nwhisper:\n\n\"A wretch, a miserable man entreats your mercy. I was mad yesterday. I\nlove you, I love you--how deeply!--you will see!\"\n\n\"Enough,\" she broke in firmly, and she stood up in the swaying boat.\nPhilippus supported her, and Orion, laying the flowers in her lap, cried\nso that all could hear: \"Your departure will sorely distress my father.\nHe is so ill that we did not dare allow you to take leave of him. If you\nhave anything to say to him. . .\"\n\n\"I will find another messenger,\" she replied sternly.\n\n\"And if he asks the reason for your sudden departure?\"\n\n\"Your mother and Philippus can give him an answer.\"\n\n\"But he was your guardian, and your fortune, I know. . .\"\n\n\"In his hands it is safe.\"\n\n\"And if the physician's fears should be justified?\"\n\n\"Then I will demand its restitution through a new Kyrios.\"\n\n\"You will receive it without that! Have you no pity, no forgiveness?\" For\nall answer she flung the flowers he had given her into the river; he\nleaped on shore, and regardless of the bystanders, pushed his fingers\nthrough his hair, clasping his hands to his burning brow.\n\nThe barge was pushed off, the rowers plied their oars like men; Orion\ngazed after it, panting with laboring breath, till a little hand grasped\nhis, and Mary's sweet, childish voice exclaimed:\n\n\"Be comforted, uncle. I know just what is troubling you.\"\n\n\"What do you know?\" he asked roughly.\n\n\"That you are sorry that you and Katharina should have spoken against her\nlast evening, and against poor Hiram.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" he angrily broke in. \"Where is Katharina?\"\n\n\"I was to tell you that she could not see you today. She loves you\ndearly, but she, too, is so very, very sorry.\"\n\n\"She may spare herself!\" said the young man. \"If there is anything to be\nsorry for it falls on me--it is crushing me to death. But what is\nthis!--The devil's in it! What business is it of the child's? Now, be off\nwith you this minute. Eudoxia, take this little girl to her tasks.\"\n\nHe took Mary's head between his hands, kissed her forehead with impetuous\naffection, and then pushed her towards her governess, who dutifully led\nher away.\n\nWhen Orion found himself alone, he leaned against a tree and groaned like\na wounded wild beast. His heart was full to bursting.\n\n\"Gone, gone! Thrown away, lost! The best on earth!\" He laid his hands on\nthe tree-stem and pressed his head against it till it hurt him. He did\nnot know how to contain himself for misery and self-reproach. He felt\nlike a man who has been drunk and has reduced his own house to ashes in\nhis intoxication. How all this could have come to pass he now no longer\nknew. After his nocturnal ride he had caused Nilus the treasurer to be\nwaked, and had charged him to liberate Hiram secretly. But it was the\nsight of his stricken father that first brought him completely to his\nsober senses. By his bed-side, death in its terrible reality had stared\nhim in the face, and he had felt that he could not bear to see that\nbeloved parent die till he had made his peace with Paula, won her\nforgiveness, brought her whom his father loved so well into his presence,\nand besought his blessing on her and on himself.\n\nTwice he had hastened from the chamber of suffering to her room, to\nentreat her to hear him, but in vain; and now, how terrible had their\nparting been! She was hard, implacable, cruel; and as he recalled her\nperson and individuality as they had struck him before their quarrel, he\nwas forced to confess that there was something in her present behavior\nwhich was not natural to her. This inhuman severity in the beautiful\nwoman whose affection had once been his, and who, but now, had flung his\nflowers into the water, had not come from her heart; it was deliberately\nplanned to make him feel her anger. What had withheld her, under such\ngreat provocation, from betraying that she had detected him in the theft\nof the emerald? All was not yet lost; and he breathed more freely as he\nwent back to the house where duty, and his anxiety for his father,\nrequired his presence. There were his flowers, floating on the stream.\n\n\"Hatred cast them there,\" thought he, \"but before they reach the sea many\nblossoms will have opened which were mere hard buds when she flung them\naway. She can never love any man but me, I feel it, I know it. The first\ntime we looked into each other's eyes the fate of our hearts was sealed.\nWhat she hates in me is my mad crime; what first set her against me was\nher righteous anger at my suit for Katharina. But that sin was but a\ndream in my life, which can never recur; and as for Katharina--I have\nsinned against her once, but I will not continue to sin through a whole,\nlong lifetime. I have been permitted to trifle with love unpunished so\noften, that at last I have learnt to under-estimate its power. I could\nlaugh as I sacrificed mine to my mother's wishes; but that, and that\nalone, has given rise to all these horrors. But no, all is not yet lost!\nPaula will listen to me; and when she sees what my inmost feelings\nare--when I have confessed all to her, good and evil alike--when she\nknows that my heart did but wander, and has returned to her who has\ntaught me that love is no jest, but solemn earnest, swaying all mankind,\nshe will come round--everything will come right.\"\n\nA noble and rapturous light came into his face, and as he walked on, his\nhopes rose:\n\n\"When she is mine I know that everything good in me that I have inherited\nfrom my forefathers will blossom forth. When my mother called me to my\nfather's bed-side, she said: 'Come, Orion, life is earnest for you and me\nand all our house, your father. . .' Yes, it is earnest indeed, however\nall this may end! To win Paula, to conciliate her, to bring her near to\nme, to have her by my side and do something great, something worthy of\nher--this is such a purpose in life as I need! With her, only with her I\nknow I could achieve it; without her, or with that gilded toy Katharina,\nold age will bring me nothing but satiety, sobering and regrets--or, to\ncall it by its Christian designation: bitter repentance. As Antaeus\nrenewed his strength by contact with mother earth, so, father do I feel\nmyself grow taller when I only think of her. She is salvation and honor;\nthe other is ruin and misery in the future. My poor, dear Father, you\nwill, you must survive this stroke to see the fulfilment of all your\njoyful hopes of your son. You always loved Paula; perhaps you may be the\none to appease her and bring her back to me; and how dear will she be to\nyou, and, God willing, to my mother, too, when you see her reigning by my\nside an ornament to this house, to this city, to this country--reigning\nlike a queen, your son's redeeming and guardian angel!\"\n\nUplifted, carried away by these thoughts, he had reached the viridarium.\nHe there found Sebek the steward waiting for his young master: \"My lord\nis asleep now,\" he whispered, \"as the physician foretold, but his\nface. . . . Oh, if only we had Philippus here again!\"\n\n\"Have you sent the chariot with the fast horses to the Convent of St.\nCecilia?\" asked Orion eagerly; and when Sebek had replied in the\naffirmative and vanished again indoors, the young man, overwhelmed with\npainful forebodings, sank on his knees near a column to which a crucifix\nwas hung, and lifted up his hands and soul in fervent prayer.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nThe physician had installed Paula in her new home, and had introduced her\nto the family who were henceforth to be her protectors, and to enable her\nto lead a happier life.\n\nHe had but a few minutes to devote to her and her hosts; for scarcely had\nhe taken her into the spacious rooms, gay with flowers, of which she now\ntook possession, when he was enquired for by two messengers, both anxious\nto speak with him. Paula knew how critical her uncle's state was, and\nnow, contemplating the probability of losing him, she first understood\nwhat he had been to her. Thus sorrow was her first companion in her new\nabode--a sorrow to which the comfort of her pretty, airy rooms added\nkeenness.\n\nOne of the messengers was a young Arab from the other side of the river,\nwho handed to Philippus a letter from the merchant Haschim. The old man\ninformed him that, in consequence of a bad fall his eldest son had had,\nhe was forced to start at once for Djiddah on the Red Sea. He begged the\nphysician to take every care of his caravan-leader, to whom he was much\nattached, to remove him when he thought fit from the governor's house,\nand to nurse him till he was well, in some quiet retreat. He would bear\nin mind the commission given him by the daughter of the illustrious\nThomas. He sent with this letter a purse well-filled with gold pieces.\n\nThe other messenger was to take the leech back again in the light chariot\nwith the fast horses to the suffering Mukaukas. He at once obeyed the\nsummons, and the steeds, which the driver did not spare, soon carried him\nback to the governor's house.\n\nA glance at his patient told him that this was the beginning of the end;\nstill, faithful to his principle of never abandoning hope till the heart\nof the sufferer had ceased to beat, he raised the senseless man, heedless\nof Orion, who was on his knees by his father's pillow, signed to the\ndeaconess in attendance, an experienced nurse, and laid cool, wet cloths\non the head and neck of the sufferer, who was stricken with apoplexy.\nThen he bled him.\n\nPresently the Mukaukas wearily opened his eyes, turned uneasily from side\nto side, and recognizing his kneeling son and his wife, bathed in tears,\nhe murmured, almost inarticulately, for his paralyzed tongue no longer\ndid his will: \"Two pillules, Philip!\"\n\nThe physician unhesitatingly acceded to the request of the dying man, who\nagain closed his eyes; but only to reopen them, and to say, with the same\ndifficulty, but with perfect consciousness: \"The end is at hand! The\nblessing of the Church--Orion, the Bishop.\"\n\nThe young man hastened out of the room to fetch the prelate, who was\nwaiting in the viridarium with two deacons, an exorcist, and a sacristan\nbearing the sacred vessels.\n\nThe governor listened in devout composure to the service of the last\nsacrament, looked on at the ceremonies performed by the exorcist as, with\nwaving of hands and pious ejaculations he banned the evil spirits and\ncast out from the dying man the devil that might have part in him; but he\ncould no longer swallow the bread which, in the Jacobite rite, was\nadministered soaked in the wine. Orion took the holy elements for him,\nand the dying man, with a smile, murmured to his son:\n\n\"God be with thee, my son! The Lord, it seems, denies me His precious\nBlood--and yet--let me try once more.\"\n\nThis time he succeeded in swallowing the wine and a few crumbs of bread;\nand the bishop Ptolimus, a gentle old man of a beautiful and dignified\npresence, spoke comfort to him, and asked him whether he felt that he was\ndying penitent and in perfect faith in the mercy of his Lord and Saviour,\nand whether he repented of his sins and forgave his enemies.\n\nThe sick man bowed his head with an effort and murmured:\n\n\"Even the Melchites who murdered my sons--and even the head of our\nChurch, the Patriarch, who was only too glad to leave it to me to achieve\nthings which he scrupled to do himself. That--that--But you, Ptolimus--a\nwise and worthy servant of the Lord--tell me to the best of your\nconvictions: May I die in the belief that it was not a sin to conclude a\npeace with the Arab conquerors of the Greeks?--May I, even at this hour,\nthink of the Melchites as heretics?\"\n\nThe prelate drew his still upright figure to its full height, and his\nmild features assumed a determined--nay a stern expression as he\nexclaimed:\n\n\"You know the, decision pronounced by the Synod of Ephesus--the words\nwhich should be graven on the heart of every true Jacobite as on marble\nand brass 'May all who divide the nature of Christ--and this is what the\nMelchites do--be divided with the sword, be hewn in pieces and be burnt\nalive!'--No Head of our Church has ever hurled such a curse at the\nMoslems who adore the One God!\"\n\nThe sufferer drew a deep breath, but he presently added with a sigh:\n\n\"But Benjamin the Patriarch, and John of Niku have tormented my soul with\nfears! Still, you too, Ptolimus, bear the crosier, and to you I will\nconfess that your brethren in office, the shepherds of the Jacobite fold,\nhave ruined my peace for hundreds of days and nights, and I have been\nnear to cursing them. But before the night fell the Lord sent light into\nmy soul, and I forgave them, and now, through you, I crave their pardon\nand their blessing. The Church has but reluctantly opened the doors to me\nin these last years; but what servant can be allowed to complain of the\nMaster from whom he expects grace? So listen to me. I close my eyes as a\nfaithful and devoted adherent of the Church, and in token thereof I will\nendow her to the best of my power and adorn her with rich and costly\ngifts; I will--but I can say no more.--Speak for me, Orion. You know--the\ngems--the hanging. . . .\"\n\nHis son explained to the bishop what a splendid gift, in priceless\njewels, the dying man intended to offer to the Church. He desired to be\nburied in the church of St. John at Alexandria by his father's side, and\nto be prayed for in front of the mortuary chapel of his ancestors in the\nNecropolis; he had set aside a sum of money, in his will, to pay for the\nprayers to be offered for his soul. The priests were well pleased to hear\nthis, and they absolved him unconditionally and completely; then, after\nblessing him fervently, they quitted the room.\n\nPhilippus heaved a sigh of relief when the ecclesiastics had departed,\nand constantly renewed the wet compress, while the dying governor lay for\na long time in silence with his eyes shut. Presently he rubbed them as\nthough he felt revived, raised his head a little with the physician's\nhelp, and looking up, said:\n\n\"Draw the ring off my finger, Orion, and wear it worthily.--Where is\nlittle Mary, where is Paula? I should wish to bid them farewell too.\"\n\nThe young man and his mother exchanged uneasy glances, but Neforis\ncollected herself at once and replied:\n\n\"We have sent for Mary; but Paula--you know she never was happy with\nus--and since the events of yesterday. . . .\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked the invalid.\n\n\"She hastily quitted the house; but we parted friends, I can assure you\nof that; she is still in Memphis, and she spoke of you most\naffectionately and wished to see you, and charged me with many loving\nmessages for you; so, if you really care to see her. . . .\"\n\nThe sick man tried to nod his head, but in vain. He did not, however,\ninsist on her being sent for, but his face wore an expression of deep\nmelancholy and the words came faintly from his lips.\n\n\"Thomas' daughter! The noblest and loveliest of all.\"\n\n\"The noblest and loveliest,\" echoed Orion, in a voice that was tremulous\nwith strong, deep and sincere emotion; then he begged the leech and the\ndeaconess to leave him alone with his parents. As soon as they had left\nthe room the young man spoke softly but urgently into his father's ear:\n\n\"You are quite right, Father,\" he said. \"She is better and more noble,\nmore beautiful and more highminded than any girl living. I love her, and\nwill stake everything to win her heart. Oh, God! Oh, God! Merciful\nHeaven!--Are you glad, do you give your consent, Father? You dearest and\nbest of men; I see it in your face.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes,\" murmured the governor; his yellow, bloodshot eyes looked\nup to Heaven, and with a terrible effort he stammered out: \"Blessing--my\nblessing, on you and Paula.--Tell her from me. . . . If she had confided\nin her old uncle, as she used to do, the freedman would never have robbed\nus.--She is a brave soul; how she fought for the poor fellow. I will hear\nmore about it if my strength holds out.--Why is she not here?\"\n\n\"She wished so much to bid you farewell,\" replied Neforis, \"but you were\nasleep.\"\n\n\"Was she in such a hurry to be gone?\" asked her husband with a bitter\nsmile. \"Fear about the emerald may have had something to do with it? But\nhow could I be angry with her? Hiram acted without her knowledge, I\nsuppose? Yes, I knew it!--Ah; that dear, sweet face! If I could but see\nit once more. The joy--of my eyes, and my companion at draughts! A\nfaithful heart too; how she clung to her father! she was ready to\nsacrifice everything for him.--And you, you, my old. . . . But no--no\nreproaches at such a time. You, Mother--you, my Neforis, thanks, a\nthousand thanks for all your love and kindness. What a mystical and magic\nbond is that of a Christian marriage like ours? Mark that, Orion. And\nyou, Mother: I am anxious about this. You--do not hurt the girl's\nfeelings again. Say--say you bless this union; it will make me happier at\nthe last.--Paula and Orion; both of them-both.--I never dared before--but\nwhat better could we wish?\"\n\nThe matron clasped her hands and sobbed out:\n\n\"Anything, everything you wish! But Father, Orion, our faith!--And then,\nmerciful Saviour, that poor little Katharina!\"\n\n\"Katharina!\" repeated the sick man, and his feeble lips parted in a\ncompassionate smile. \"Our boy and the water--water--you know what I would\nsay.\"\n\nThen his eyes began to sparkle more brightly and he said in a low voice,\nbut still eagerly, as though death were yet far from him:\n\n\"My name is George, the son of the Mukaukas; I am the great Mukaukas and\nour family--all fine men of a proud race; all: My father, my uncle, our\nlost sons, and Orion here--all palms and oaks! And shall a dwarf, a mere\nblade of rice be grafted on to the grand old stalwart stock? What would\ncome of that?--Oh, ho! a miserable little brood! But Paula! The cedar of\nLebanon--Paula; she would give new life to the grand old race.\"\n\n\"But our faith, our faith,\" moaned Neforis. \"And you, Orion, do you even\nknow what her feeling is towards you?\"\n\n\"Yes and no. Let that rest for the present,\" said the youth, who was\ndeeply moved. \"Oh Father! if I only knew that your blessing. . .\"\n\n\"The Faith, the Faith,\" interrupted the Mukaukas in a broken voice.\n\n\"I will be true to my own!\" cried Orion, raising his father's hand to his\nlips. \"But think, picture to yourself, how Paula and I would reign in\nthis house, and how another generation would grow up in it worthy of the\ngreat Mukaukas and his ancestors!\"\n\n\"I see it, I see it,\" murmured the sick man sinking back on his pillows,\nunconscious.\n\nPhilippus was immediately called in, and, with him, little Mary came\nweeping into the room. The physician's efforts to revive the sufferer\nwere presently successful; again the sick man opened his eyes, and spoke\nmore distinctly and loudly than before:\n\n\"There is a perfume of musk. It is the fragrance that heralds the Angel\nof Death.\"\n\nAfter this he lay still and silent for a long time. His eyes were closed,\nbut his brows were knit and showed that he was thinking with a painful\neffort. At length, with a sigh, he said, almost inaudibly: \"So it was and\nso it is: The Greek oppressed my people with arbitrary cruelty as if we\nwere dogs; the Moslem, too, is a stranger, but he is just. That which\nhappened it was out of my power to prevent; and it is well, it is very\nwell that it turned out so.--Very well,\" he repeated several times, and\nthen he shivered and said with a groan:\n\n\"My feet are so cold! But never mind, never mind, I like to be cool.\"\n\nThe leech and the deaconess at once set to work to heat blocks of wood to\nwarm his feet; the sick man looked up gratefully and went on: \"At church,\nin the House of God, I have often found it deliciously cool and to-day it\nis the Church that eases my death-bed by her pardon. Do you, my Son, be\nfaithful to her. No member of our house should ever be an apostate. As to\nthe new faith--it is overspreading land after land with incredible power;\nambition and covetousness are driving thousands into its fold. But we--we\nare faithful to Christ Jesus, we are no traitors. If I, I the Mukaukas,\nhad consented to go over to the Khaliff I might have been a prince in\npurple, and have governed my own country in his name. How many have\ndeserted to the Moslems! And the temptation will come to you, too, and\ntheir faith offers much that is attractive to the crowd. They imagine a\nParadise full of unspeakably alluring joys--but we, my son--we shall meet\nagain in our own, shall we not?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Father!\" cried the young man. \"I will remain a Christian,\nstaunch and true. . .\"\n\n\"That is right,\" interrupted the sick man. He was determined to forget\nthat his son wished to marry a Melchite and went on quickly:\n\"Paula. . . . But no more of that. Remain faithful to your own\ncreed--otherwise. . . . However, child, seek your own road; you are--but\nyou will walk in the right way, and it is because I know that, know it\nsurely, that I can die so calmly.\n\n\"I have provided abundantly for your temporal welfare. I have been a good\nhusband, a faithful father, have I not, O Saviour?--Have I not, Neforis?\nAnd that which is my best and surest comfort is that for many long years\nI have administered justice in this land, and never, never once--and Thou\nmy Refuge and Comforter art my witness!--never once consciously or\nwillingly have I been an unrighteous judge. Before me the poor were equal\nwith the rich, the powerful with the helpless widow. Who would have\ndared. . . .\" Here he broke off; his eyes, wandering feebly round the\nroom, fell on Mary who had sunk on her knees, opposite to Orion on the\nother side of the bed. The dying man, who had thus summed up the outcome\nof a long and busy life, ceased his reflections, and when the child saw\nthat he was vainly trying to turn his powerless head towards her, she\nthrew her arms round him with passionate grief; unscared by his fixed\ngaze or the altered hue of his beloved face, she kissed his lips and\ncheeks, exclaiming:\n\n\"Grandfather, dear grandfather, do not leave us; stay with us, pray, pray\nstay with us!\"\n\nSomething faintly resembling a smile parted his parched lips, and all the\ntenderness with which his soul was overflowing for this sweet young bud\nof humanity would have found expression in his voice but that he could\nonly mutter huskily:\n\n\"Mary, my darling! For your sake I should be glad to live a long while\nyet, a very long while; but the other world--I am standing already on its\nthreshold. Good-bye--I must indeed say good-bye.\"\n\n\"No, no--I will pray; oh! I will pray so fervently that you may get well\nagain!\" cried the child. But he replied:\n\n\"Nay, nay. The Saviour is already taking me by the hand. Farewell, and\nagain farewell. Did you bring Paula? I do not see her. Did you bring\nPaula with you, sweetheart? She--did she leave us in anger? If she only\nknew; ah! your Paula has treated us ill.\" The child's heart was still\nfull of the horrible crime which had so revolted her truthful nature, and\nwhich had deprived her of rest all through an evening, a long night and a\nmorning; she laid her little head close to that of the old man--her\ndearest and best friend. For years he had filled her father's place, and\nnow he was dying, leaving her forever! But she could not let him depart\nwith a false idea of the woman whom she worshipped with all the fervor of\nher child's heart; in a subdued voice, but with eager feeling, she said,\nclose to his ear:\n\n\"But Grandfather, there is one thing you must know before the Saviour\ntakes you away to be happy in Heaven. Paula told the truth, and never,\nnever told a lie, not even for Hiram's sake. An empty gold frame hung to\nher necklace and no gem at all. Whatever Orion may say, I saw it myself\nand cannot be mistaken, as truly as I hope to see you and my poor father\nin heaven! And Katharina, too, thought better of it, and confessed to me\njust now that she had committed a great sin and had borne false witness\nbefore the judges to please her dear Orion. I do not know what Hiram had\ndone to offend him; but on the strength of Katharina's evidence the\njudges condemned him to death. But Paula--you must understand that Paula\nhad nothing, positively nothing whatever to do with the stealing of the\nemerald.\"\n\nOrion, kneeling there, was condemned to hear every word the little girl\nso vehemently whispered, and each one pierced his heart like a\ndagger-thrust. Again and again he felt inclined to clutch at her across\nthe bed and fling her on the ground before his father's eyes; but grief\nand astonishment seemed to have paralyzed his whole being; he had not\neven the power to interrupt her with a single word.\n\nShe had spoken, and all was told.\n\nHe clung to the couch like a shattered wretch; and when his father turned\nhis eyes on him and gasped out: \"Then the Court--our Court of justice\npronounced an unrighteous sentence?\" he bowed his head in contrition.\n\nThe dying man murmured even less articulately and incoherently than\nbefore: \"The gem--the hanging--you, you perhaps--was it you? that\nemerald--I cannot. . .\"\n\nOrion helped his father in his vain efforts to utter the dreadful words.\nSooner would he have died with the old man than have deceived him in such\na moment; he replied humbly and in a low voice:\n\n\"Yes, Father--I took it. But as surely as I love you and my mother this,\nthe first reckless act of my life, which has brought such horrors in its\ntrain. . . Shall be the last,\" he would have said; but the words \"I took\nit,\" had scarcely passed his lips when his father was shaken by a violent\ntrembling, the expression of his eyes changed fearfully, and before the\nson had spoken his vow to the end the unhappy father was, by a tremendous\neffort, sitting upright. Loud sobs of penitence broke from the young\nman's heaving breast, as the Mukaukas wrathfully exclaimed, in thick\naccents, as quickly as the heavy, paralyzed tongue would allow:\n\n\"You, you! A disgrace to our ancient and blameless Court! You?--Away with\nyou! A thief, an unjust judge, a false witness,--and the only descendant\nof Menas! If only these hands were able--you--you--Go, villain!\" And with\nthis wild outcry, George, the gentle and just Mukaukas, sank back on his\npillows; his bloodshot eyes were staring, fixed on vacancy; his gasping\nlips repeated again and again, but less and less audibly the one word\n\"Villain;\" his swollen fingers clutched at the light coverlet that lay\nover him; a strange, shrill wheezing came through his open mouth, and the\nheavy corpse of the great dignitary fell, like a falling palm-tree, into\nOrion's arms.\n\nOrion started up, his eyes inflamed, his hair all dishevelled, and shook\nthe dead man as though to compel him back to life again, to hear his oath\nand accept his vow, to see his tears of repentance, to pardon him and\ntake back the name of infamy which had been his parting word to his loved\nand spoilt child.\n\nIn the midst of this wild outbreak the physician came back, glanced at\nthe dead man's distorted features, laid a hand on his heart, and said\nwith solemn regret as he led little Mary away from the couch:\n\n\"A good and just man is gone from the land of the living.\"\n\nOrion cried aloud and pushed away Mary, who had stolen close to him; for,\nyoung as she was, she felt that it was she who had brought the worst woe\non her uncle, and that it was her part to show him some affection.\n\nShe ran then to her grandmother; but she, too, put her aside and fell on\nher knees by the side of her wretched son to weep with him; to console\nhim who was inconsolable, and in whom, a few minutes since, she had hoped\nto find her own best consolation; but her fond words of motherly comfort\nfound no echo in his broken spirit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nWhen Philippus had parted from Paula he had told her that the Mukaukas\nmight indeed die at any moment, but that it was possible that he might\nyet struggle with death for weeks to come. This hope had comforted her;\nfor she could not bear to think that the only true friend she had had in\nMemphis, till she had become more intimate with the physician, should\nquit the world forever without having heard her justification. Nothing\ncould be more unlikely than that any one in Neforis' household--excepting\nher little grandchild should ever remember her with kindness; and she\nscarcely desired it; but she rebelled against the idea of forfeiting the\nrespect she had earned, even in the governor's house. If her friend\nshould succeed in prolonging her uncle's life, by a confidential\ninterview with him she might win back his old affection and his good\nopinion.\n\nHer new home she felt was but a resting-place, a tabernacle in the\ndesert-journey of her solitary pilgrimage, and she here meant to avail\nherself of the information she had gathered from her Melchite dependents.\nHope had now risen supreme in her heart over grief and disappointment.\nOrion's presence alone hung like a threatening hail-cloud over the\nsprouting harvest of her peace of mind. And yet, next to the necessity of\nwaiting at Memphis for the return of her messenger, nothing tied her to\nthe place so strongly as her interest in watching the future course of\nhis life, at any rate from a distance. What she felt for him-and she told\nherself it was deep aversion-nevertheless constituted a large share of\nher inner life, little as she would confess it to herself.\n\nHer new hosts had received her as a welcome guest, and they certainly did\nnot seem to be poor. The house was spacious, and though it was old and\nunpretentious it was comfortable and furnished with artistic taste. The\ngarden had amazed her by the care lavished on it; she had seen a\nhump-backed gardener and several children at work in it. A strange\nparty-for every one of them, like their chief, was in some way deformed\nor crippled.\n\nThe plot of ground--which extended towards the river to the road-way for\nfoot passengers, vehicles and the files of men towing the Nile-boats--was\nbut narrow, and bounded on either side by extensive premises. Not far\nfrom the spot where it lay nearest to the river was the bridge of boats\nconnecting Memphis with the island of Rodah. To the right was the\nmagnificent residence--a palace indeed--belonging to Susannah; to the\nleft was an extensive grove, where tall palms, sycamores with spreading\nfoliage, and dense thickets of blue-green tamarisk trees cast their\nshade. Above this bower of splendid shrubs and ancient trees rose a long,\nyellow building crowned with a turret; and this too was not unknown to\nher, for she had often heard it spoken of in her uncle's house, and had\neven gone there now and then escorted by Perpetua. It was the convent of\nSt. Cecilia, the refuge of the last nuns of the orthodox creed left in\nMemphis; for, though all the other sisterhoods of her confession had long\nsince been banished, these had been allowed to remain in their old home,\nnot only because they were famous sick-nurses, a distinction common to\nall the Melchite orders, but even more because the decaying municipality\ncould not afford to sacrifice the large tax they annually paid to it.\nThis tax was the interest on a considerable capital bequeathed to the\nconvent by a certain wise predecessor of the Mukaukas', with the prudent\nproviso, ratified under the imperial seal of Theodosius II., that if the\nconvent were at any time broken up, this endowment, with the land and\nbuildings which it likewise owed to the generosity of the same\nbenefactor, should become the property of the Christian emperor at that\ntime reigning.\n\nMukaukas George, notwithstanding his well-founded aversion for everything\nMelchite, had taken good care not to press this useful Sisterhood too\nhardly, or to deprive his impoverished capital of its revenues only to\nthrow them into the hands of the wealthy Moslems. The title-deed on which\nthe Sisters relied was good; and the governor, who was a good lawyer as\nwell as a just man, had not only left them unmolested, but in spite of\nhis fears--during the last few years--for his own safety, had shown\nhimself no respecter of persons by defending their rights firmly and\nresolutely against the powerful patriarch of the Jacobite Church. The\nSenate of the ancient capital naturally, approved his course, and had not\nmerely suffered the heretic Sisterhood to remain, but had helped and\nencouraged it.\n\nThe Jacobite clergy of the city shut their eyes, and only opened them to\nwatch the convent at Easter-tide; for on the Saturday before Easter, the\nnuns, in obedience to an agreement made before the Monophysite Schism,\nwere required to pay a tribute of embroidered vestments to the head of\nthe Christian Churches, with wine of the best vintages of Kochome near\nthe Pyramid of steps, and a considerable quantity of flowers and\nconfectionary. So the ancient coenobium of women was maintained, and\nthough all Egypt was by this time Jacobite or Moslem, and many of the\nolder Sisters had departed this life within the last year, no one had\nthought of enquiring how it was that the number of the nuns remained\nstill the same, till the Jacobite archbishop Benjamin filled the\npatriarchal throne of Alexandria in the place of the Melchite Cyrus.\n\nTo Benjamin the heretical Sisters at Memphis--the hawks in a dove-cote,\nas he called them--were an offence, and he thought that the deed might\nbear a new interpretation: that as there was no longer a Christian\nemperor, and as the word \"Christian\" was used in the document, if the\nconvent were broken up the property should pass into the hands of the\nonly Christian magnate then existing in the country: himself, namely, and\nhis Church. The ill-feeling which the Patriarch fostered against the\nMukaukas had been aggravated to hostility by their antagonism on this\nmatter.\n\nA musical dirge now fell on Paula's ear from the convent chapel. Was the\nworthy Mother Superior dead? No, this lament must be for some other\ndeath, for the strange skirling wail of the Egyptian women came up to her\ncorner window from the road, from the bridge, and from the boats on the\nriver. No Jacobite of Memphis would have dared to express her grief so\npublicly for the death of a Melchite; and as the chorus of voices\nswelled, the thought struck her with a chill that it must be her uncle\nand friend who had closed his weary eyes in death.\n\nIt was with deep emotion and many tears that she perceived how sincerely\nthe death of this righteous man was bewailed by all his fellow-citizens.\nYes, he only, and no other Egyptian, could have called forth this great\nand expressive regret. The wailing women in the road were daubing the mud\nof the river on their foreheads and bosoms; men were standing in large\ngroups and beating their heads and breasts with passionate gestures. On\nthe bridge of boats the men would stop others, and from thence, too,\npiercing shrieks came across to her.\n\nAt last Philippus came in and confirmed her fears. The governor's death\nhad shocked him no less than it did her, and he had to tell Paula all he\nknew of the dead man's last hours.\n\n\"Still, one good thing has come out of this misery,\" he said. \"There is\nnothing so comforting as the discovery that we have been deceived in\nthinking ill of a man and of his character. This Orion, who has sinned so\nbasely against himself and against you, is not utterly reprobate.\"\n\n\"Not?\" interrupted Paula. \"Then he has taken you in too!\"\n\n\"Taken me in?\" said the leech. \"Hardly, I think. I have, alas! stood by\nmany a death-bed; for I am too often sent for when Death is already\nbeckoning the sick man away. I have met thousands of mourners in these\nmelancholy scenes, which, I can assure you, are the very best school for\ntraining any one who desires to search the hearts of his\nfellow-creatures. By the bed of death, or in the mart, where everything\nis a question of Mine and Thine, it is easy to see how some--we for\ninstance--are as careful to hide from the world all that is great and\nnoble in us as others are to conceal what is petty and mean--we read\nmen's hearts as an open page. From my observations of the dying and of\nthose who sorrow for them, I, who am not Menander not Lucian, could draw\na series of portraits which should be as truthful likenesses as though\nthe men had turned themselves inside out before me.\"\n\n\"That a dying man should show himself as he really is I can well\nbelieve,\" replied Paula. \"He need have no further care for the opinions\nof others; but the mourners? Why, custom requires them to assume an air\nof grief and to shed tears.\"\n\n\"Very true; regret repeats itself by the side of the dead,\" replied the\nphysician. \"But the chamber of the dying is like a church. Death\nconsecrates it, and the man who stands face to face with death often\ndrops the mask by which he cheats his fellows. There we may see faces\nwhich you would shudder to look on, but others, too, which merely to see\nis enough to make us regard the degenerate species to which we belong\nwith renewed respect.\"\n\n\"And you found such a comforting vision in Orion,--the thief, the false\nwitness, the corrupt judge!\" exclaimed Paula, starting up in indignant\nastonishment.\n\n\"There! you see,\" laughed Philippus. \"Just like a woman! A little\njuggling, and lo! what was only rose color is turned to purple. No. The\nson of the Mukaukas has not yet undergone such a dazzling change of hue;\nbut he has a feeling and impressible heart--and I hold even that in high\nesteem. I have no doubt that he loved his father deeply, nay\npassionately; though I have ample reason to believe him capable of the\nvery worst. So long as I was present at the scene of death the father and\nson were parting in all friendship and tenderness, and when the good old\nman's heart had ceased to beat I found Orion in a state which is only\npossible to have when love has lost what it held dearest.\"\n\n\"All acting!\" Paula put in.\n\n\"But there was no audience, dear friend. Orion would not have got up such\na performance for his mother and little Mary.\"\n\n\"But he is a poet--and a highly-gifted one too. He sings beautiful songs\nof his own invention to the lyre; his ecstatic and versatile mind works\nhim up into any frame of feeling; but his soul is perverted; it is soaked\nin wickedness as a sponge drinks up water. He is a vessel full of\nbeautiful gifts, but he has forfeited all that was good and noble in\nhim--all!\"\n\nThe words came in eager haste from her indignant lips. Her cheeks glowed\nwith her vehemence, and she thought she had won over the physician; but\nhe gravely shook his head, and said:\n\n\"Your righteous anger carries you too far. How often have you blamed me\nfor severity and suspicions but now I have to beg you to allow me to ask\nyour sympathy for an experience to which you would probably have raised\nno objection the day before yesterday:\n\n\"I have met with evil-doers of every degree. Think, for instance, how\nmany cases of wilful poisoning I have had to investigate.\"\n\n\"Even Homer called Egypt the land of poison,\" exclaimed Paula. \"And it\nseems almost incredible that Christianity has not altered it in the\nleast. Kosmas, who had seen the whole earth, could nowhere find more\nmalice, deceit, hatred, and ill-will than exist here.\"\n\n\"Then you see in what good schools my experience of the wickedness of men\nhas ripened,\" said Philippus smiling, \"and they have taught me chiefly\nthat there is never a criminal, a sinner, or a scapegrace, however\ninfamous he may be, however cruel or lost to virtue, in whom some good\nquality or other may not be discovered.--Do you remember Nechebt, the\nhorrible woman who poisoned her two brothers and her own father? She was\ncaptured scarcely three weeks ago; and that very monster in human form\ncould almost die of hunger and thirst for the sake of her rascally son,\nwho is a common soldier in the imperial army; at last she took to\nconcocting poisons, not to improve her own wretched condition, but to\nsend the shameless wretch means for a fresh debauch. I have known a\nthousand similar cases, but I will only mention that of one of the\nwildest and blood-thirstiest of robbers, who had evaded the vigilance of\nthe watch again and again, but at last fell into their hands--and how?\nBecause he had heard that his old mother was ill and he longed to see the\nwithered old woman once more and give her a kiss, since he was her own\nchild! In the same way Orion, however reprobate we may think him, has at\nany rate one characteristic which we must approve of: a tender affection\nfor his father and mother. Your sponge is not utterly steeped in\nwickedness; there are still some pores, some cells which resist it; and\nif in him, as in so many others, the heart is one of them, then I say\nhopefully, like Horace the Roman: 'Nil desperandum.' It would be unjust\nto give him up altogether for lost.\"\n\nTo this assurance Paula found no answer; indeed, it struck her that--if\nOrion had told her the truth--it was only to please his mother that he\nhad asked Katharina to marry him, while she herself occupied his\nheart.--The physician, wishing to change the subject, was about to speak\nagain of the death of the Mukaukas, when one of the crippled serving\ngirls came to announce a woman who asked to speak with Paula. A few\nminutes later she was clasped in the embrace of her faithful old friend\nand nurse, who rejoiced as heartily, laughing and crying for sheer\ndelight, as if no tidings of misfortune had reached her; while Paula,\nthough so much younger, was cut to the heart, and could not shake off the\nspell of her grief.\n\nPerpetua understood this and owed her no grudge for the coolness with\nwhich she met her joyful excitement.\n\nShe told Paula that she had been well treated in her hot cell, and that\nabout half an hour since Orion himself, the young Master now, had opened\nthe door of her prison. He had been very gracious to her, but looked so\npale and sad. The overbearing young man was quite altered; his eyes,\nwhich were dim with weeping, had moved her, Perpetua, to tears. She\ntrusted that God would forgive him for his sins against herself and\nPaula; he must have been possessed by some evil demon; he had not been at\nall like himself; for he had a kind, warm heart, and though he had been\nso hard and unjust yesterday to poor Hiram he had made it up to him the\nfirst thing this morning, and had not only let him out of prison but had\nsent him and his son home to Damascus with large gifts and two horses.\nNilus had told her this. He who hoped to be forgiven by his neighbor must\nalso be ready to forgive. The great Augustine, even, had been no model of\nvirtue in his youth and yet he had become a shining light in the Church;\nand now the son of the Mukaukas would tread in his father's footsteps. He\nwas a handsome, engaging man, who would be the joy of their hearts yet,\nthey might be very sure. Why, he had been as grave and as solemn as a\nbishop to-day; perhaps he had already turned over a new leaf. He himself\nhad put her into his mother's chariot and desired the charioteer to drive\nher hither: what would Paula say to that? Her things were to be given\nover to her to-morrow morning, and packed under her own eyes, and sent\nafter her. Nilus, the treasurer, had come with her to deliver a message\nto Paula; but he had gone first to the convent.\n\nPaula desired the old woman to go thither and fetch him; as soon as\nPerpetua had left the room, she exclaimed:\n\n\"There, you see, is some one who is quite of your opinion. What creatures\nwe are! Last evening my good Betta would have thought no pit of hell too\ndeep for our enemy, and now? To be led to a chariot by such a fine\ngentleman in person is no doubt flattering; and how quickly the old body\nhas forgotten all her grievances, how soothed and satisfied she is by the\ngracious permission to pack her precious and cherished possessions with\nher own hands.--You told me once that the Jacobites had made a Saint\nOrion out of the pagan god Osiris, and my old Betta sees a future Saint\nAugustine in the governor's son. I can see that she already regards him\nas her tutelary patron, and when we get back to Syria, she will be\nbegging me to join her in a pilgrimage to his shrine!\"\n\n\"And you will perhaps consent,\" replied the physician, to whom Paula at\nthis moment, for the first time since his heart had glowed with love for\nher, did not seem to be quite what a man looks for in the woman he\nadores. Hitherto he had seen and heard nothing that was not high-minded\nand worthy of her; but her last words had, been spoken with vehement and\nindignant irony--and in Philip's opinion irony, blame which was intended\nto wound and not to improve its object, was unbecoming in a noble woman.\nThe scornful laugh, with which she had triumphantly ended her speech, had\nopened as it were a wide abyss between his mind and hers. He, as he\nfreely confessed to himself, was of a coarser and humbler grain than\nPaula, and he was apt to be satirical oftener than was right. She had\nbeen wont to dislike this habit in him; he had been glad that she did; it\nanswered to the ideal he had formed of what the woman he loved should be.\nBut now she had turned satirical; and her irony was no jest of the lips.\nIt sprang, full of passion, from her agitated soul; this it was that\ngrieved the leech who knew human nature, and at the same time roused his\napprehensions. Paula read his disapproval in his face, and felt that\nthere was a deep significance in his words And you will perhaps consent.\"\n\n\"Men are vexed,\" thought she, \"when, after they have decisively expressed\nan opinion, we women dare unhesitatingly to assert a different one,\" so,\nas she would on no account hurt the feelings of the friend to whom she\nowed so much, she said kindly:\n\n\"I do not care to enquire into the meaning of your strange\nprognostication. Thank God, by your kindness and care I have severed\nevery tie that could have bound me to my poor uncle's son!--Now we will\ndrop the subject; we have said too much about him already.\"\n\n\"That is quite my opinion,\" replied Philippus. \"And, indeed, I would beg\nyou quite to forget my 'perhaps.' I live wholly in the present and am no\nprophet; but I foresee, nevertheless, that Orion will make every effort,\ncost what it may. . . .\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"To approach you again, to win your forgiveness, to touch your heart,\nto. . . .\"\n\n\"Let him dare\" exclaimed Paula lifting her hand with a threatening\ngesture.\n\n\"And when he, gifted as he is in every way, has found his better self\nagain and can come forward purified and worthy of the approbation of the\nbest. . . .\"\n\n\"Still I will never, never forget how he has sinned and what he brought\nupon me!--Do you think that I have already forgotten your conversation\nwith Neforis? You ask nothing of your friends but honest feeling akin to\nyour own,--and what is it that repels me from Orion but feeling?\nThousands have altered their behavior, but--answer me frankly--surely not\nwhat we mean by their feeling?\"\n\n\"Yes, that too,\" said the leech with stern gravity. \"Feeling, too, may\nchange. Or do you range yourself on the side of the Arab merchant and his\nfellow-Moslems, who regard man as the plaything of a blind Fate?--But our\nspiritual teachers tell us that the evil to which we are predestined,\nwhich is that born into the world with us, may be averted, turned and\nguided to good by what they call spiritual regeneration. But who that\nlives in the tumult of the world can ever succeed in 'killing himself' in\ntheir sense of the word, in dying while yet he lives, to be born again, a\nnew man? The penitent's garb does not suit the stature of an Orion;\nhowever, there is for him another way of returning to the path he has\nlost. Fortune has hitherto offered her spoilt favorite so much pleasure,\nthat sheer enjoyment has left him no time to think seriously on life\nitself; now she is showing him its graver side, she is inviting him to\nreflect; and if he only finds a friend to give him the counsel which my\nfather left in a letter for me, his only child, as a youth--and if he is\nready to listen, I regard him as saved.\"\n\n\"And that word of counsel--what is it?\" asked Paula with interest.\n\n\"To put it briefly, it is this: Life is not a banquet spread by fate for\nour enjoyment, but a duty which we are bound to fulfil to the best of our\npower. Each one must test his nature and gifts, and the better he uses\nthem for the weal and benefit of the body of which he was born a member,\nthe higher will his inmost gladness be, the more certainly will he attain\nto a beautiful peace of mind, the less terrors will Death have for him.\nIn the consciousness of having sown seed for eternity he will close his\neyes like a faithful steward at the end of each day, and of the last hour\nvouchsafed to him on earth. If Orion recognizes this, if he submits to\naccept the duties imposed on him by existence, if he devotes himself to\nthem now for the first time to the best of his powers, a day may come\nwhen I shall look up to him with respect--nay, with admiration. The\nshipwreck of which the Arab spoke has overtaken him. Let us see how he\nwill save himself from the waves, and behave when he is cast on shore.\"\n\n\"Let us see!\" repeated Paula, \"and wish that he may find such an adviser!\nAs you were speaking it struck me that it was my part.--But no, no! He\nhas placed himself beyond the pale of the compassion which I might have\nfelt even for an enemy after such a frightful blow. He! He can and shall\nnever be anything to me till the end of time. I have to thank you for\nhaving found me this haven of rest. Help me now to keep out everything\nthat can intrude itself here to disturb my peace. If Orion should ever\ndare, for whatever purpose, to force or steal a way into this house, I\ntrust to you, my friend and deliverer!\"\n\nShe held out her hand to Philippus, and as he took it the blood seethed\nin his veins with tender emotion.\n\n\"My strength, like my heart, is wholly yours!\" he exclaimed ardently.\n\"Command them, and if the devoted love of a faithful, plain-spoken man--\"\n\n\"Say no more, no, no!\" Paula broke in with anxious vehemence. \"Let us\nremain closely bound together by friendship-as brother and sister.\"\n\n\"As brother and sister?\" he dully echoed with a melancholy smile. \"Aye,\nfriendship too is a beautiful, beautiful thing. But yet--let me speak--I\nhave dreamed of love, the tossing sea of passion; I have felt its surges\nhere--in here; I feel them still. . . . But man, man,\" and he struck his\nforehead with his fist, \"have you forgotten, like a fool, what your image\nis in the mirror; have you forgotten that you are an ugly, clumsy fellow,\nand that the gorgeous flower you long for. . . .\"\n\nPaula had shrunk back, startled by her friend's vehemence; but she now\nwent up to him, and taking his hand with frank spirit, she said\nimpressively:\n\n\"It is not so, Philippus, my dear, kind, only friend. The gorgeous flower\nyou desire I can no longer give you--or any one. It is mine no longer;\nfor when it had opened, once for all, cruel feet trod it down. Do not\nabuse your mirrored image; do not call yourself a clumsy fellow. The best\nand fairest might be proud of your love, just as you are. Am I not proud,\nshall I not always be proud of your friendship?\"\n\n\"Friendship, friendship!\" he retorted, snatching away his hand. \"This\nburning, longing heart thirsts for other feelings! Oh, woman! I know the\nwretch who has trodden down the flower of flowers in your heart, and I,\nmadman that I am, can sing his praises, can take his part; and cost what\nit may, I will still do so as long as you. . . . But perhaps the glorious\nflower may strike new roots in the soil of hatred and I, the hapless\nwretch who water it, may see it.\"\n\nAt this, Paula again took both his hands, and exclaimed in deep and\npainful agitation of mind:\n\n\"Say no more, I beg and entreat you. How can I live in peace here, under\nyour protection and in constant intercourse with you, without knowing\nmyself guilty of a breach of propriety such as the most sacred feelings\nof a young girl bid her avoid, if you persist in overstepping the limits\nwhich bound true and faithful friendship? I am a lonely girl and should\ngive myself up to despair, as lost, if I could not take refuge in the\nbelief that I can rely upon myself. Be satisfied with what I have to\noffer you, my friend, and may God reward you! Let us both remain worthy\nof the esteem which, thank Heaven! we are fully justified in feeling for\neach other.\"\n\nThe physician, deeply moved, bent his head; scarcely able to control\nhimself, he pressed her firm white hand to his lips, while, just at this\nmoment, Perpetua and the treasurer came into the room.\n\nThis worthy official--a perfectly commonplace man, neither tall nor\nshort, neither old nor young, with a pale, anxious face, furrowed by work\nand responsibility, but shrewd and finely cut-glanced keenly at the pair,\nand then proceeded to lay a considerable sum in gold pieces before Paula.\nHis young master had sent it, in obedience to his deceased father's\nwishes, for her immediate needs; the rest, the larger part of her\nfortune, with a full account, would be given over to her after the\nMukaukas was buried. Nilus could, however, give her an approximate idea\nof the sum, and it was so considerable that Paula could not believe her\nears. She now saw herself secure against external anxiety, nay, in such\nease that she was justified in living at some expense.\n\nPhilippus was present throughout the interview, and it cut him to the\nheart. It had made him so happy to think that he was all in all to the\npoor orphan, and could shelter her against pressing want. He had been\nprepared to take upon himself the care of providing Paula with the home\nshe had found and everything she could need; and now, as it turned out,\nhis protege was not merely higher in rank than himself, but much richer.\n\nHe felt as though Orion's envoy had robbed him of the best joy in life.\nAfter introducing Paula to her worthy host and his family, he quitted the\nhouse of Rufinus with a very crushed aspect.\n\nWhen night came Perpetua once more enjoyed the privilege of assisting her\nyoung mistress to undress; but Paula could not sleep, and when she joined\nher new friends next morning she told herself that here, if anywhere, was\nthe place where she might recover her lost peace, but that she must still\nhave a hard struggle and a long pilgrimage before she could achieve this.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     In whom some good quality or other may not be discovered\n     Life is not a banquet\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nDuring all these hours Orion had been in the solitude of his own rooms.\nNext to them was little Mary's sleeping-room; he had not seen the child\nagain since leaving his father's death-bed. He knew that she was lying\nthere in a very feverish state, but he could not so far command himself\nas to enquire for her. When, now and again, he could not help thinking of\nher, he involuntarily clenched his fists. His soul was shaken to the\nfoundations; desperate, beside himself, incapable of any thought but that\nhe was the most miserable man on earth--that his father's curse had\nblighted him--that nothing could undo what had happened--that some cruel\nand inexorable power had turned his truest friend into a foe and had\nsundered them so completely that there was no possibility of atonement or\nof moving him to a word of pardon or a kindly glance--he paced the long\nroom from end to end, flinging himself on his knees at intervals before\nthe divan, and burying his burning face in the soft pillows. From time to\ntime he could pray, but each time he broke off; for what Power in Heaven\nor on earth could unseal those closed eyes and stir that heart to beat\nagain, that tongue to speak--could vouchsafe to him, the outcast, the one\nthing for which his soul thirsted and without which he thought he must\ndie: Pardon, pardon, his father's pardon! Now and then he struck his\nforehead and heart like a man demented, with cries of anguish, curses and\nlamentations.\n\nAbout midnight--it was but just twelve hours since that fearful scene,\nand to him it seemed like as many days--he threw himself on the couch,\ndressed as he was in the dark mourning garments, which he had half torn\noff in his rage and despair, and broke out into such loud groans that he\nhimself was almost frightened in the silence of the night. Full of\nself-pity and horror at his own deep grief, he turned his face to the\nwall to screen his eyes from the clear, full moon, which only showed him\nthings he did not want to see, while it hurt him.\n\nHis torture was beginning to be quite unbearable; he fancied his soul was\nactually wounded, riven, and torn; it had even occurred to him to seize\nhis sharpest sword and throw himself upon it like Ajax in his fury--and\nlike Cato--and so put a sudden end to this intolerable and overwhelming\nmisery.\n\nHe started up for--surely it was no illusion, no mistake-the door of his\nroom was softly opened and a white figure came in with noiseless, ghostly\nsteps. He was a brave man, but his blood ran cold; however, in a moment\nhe recognized his nocturnal visitor as little Mary. She came across the\nmoonlight without speaking, but he exclaimed in a sharp tone:\n\n\"What is the meaning of this? What do you want?\"\n\nThe child started and stood still in alarm, stretching out imploring\nhands and whispering timidly:\n\n\"I heard you lamenting. Poor, poor Orion! And it was I who brought it all\non you, and so I could not stay in bed any longer--I must--I could not\nhelp. . . .\" But she could say no more for sobs. Orion exclaimed:\n\n\"Very well, very well: go back to your own room and sleep. I will try not\nto groan so loud.\"\n\nHe ended his speech in a less rough tone, for he observed that the child\nhad come to see him, though she was ill, with bare feet and only in her\nnight-shift, and was trembling with cold, excitement, and grief. Mary,\nhowever, stood still, shook her head, and replied, still weeping though\nless violently:\n\n\"No, no. I shall stop here and not go away till you tell me that you--Oh,\nGod, you never can forgive me, but still I must say it, I must.\"\n\nWith a sudden impulse she ran straight up to him, threw her arms round\nhis neck, laid her head against his, and then, as he did not immediately\npush her away, kissed his cheeks and brow.\n\nAt this a strange feeling came over him; he himself did not know what it\nwas, but it was as though something within him yielded and gave way, and\nthe moisture which felt warm in his eyes and on his cheeks was not from\nthe child's tears but his own. This lasted through many minutes of\nsilence; but at last he took the little one's arms from about his neck,\nsaying:\n\n\"How hot your hands and your cheeks are, poor thing! You are feverish,\nand the night air blows in chill--you will catch fresh cold by this mad\nbehavior.\"\n\nHe had controlled his tears with difficulty, and as he spoke, in broken\naccents, he carefully wrapped her in the black robe he had thrown off and\nsaid kindly:\n\n\"Now, be calm, and I will try to compose myself. You did not mean any\nharm, and I owe you no grudge. Now go; you will not feel the draught in\nthe anteroom with that wrap on. Go; be quick.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" she eagerly replied. \"You must let me say what I have to say or\nI cannot sleep. You see I never thought of hurting you so dreadfully, so\nhorribly--never, never! I was angry with you, to be sure, because--but\nwhen I spoke I really and truly did not think of you, but only of poor\nPaula. You do not know how good she is, and grandfather was so fond of\nher before you came home; and he was lying there and going to die so\nsoon, and I knew that he believed Paula to be a thief and a liar, and it\nseemed to me so horrible, so unbearable to see him close his eyes with\nsuch a mistake in his mind, such an injustice!--Not for his sake, oh no!\nbut for Paula's; so then I--Oh Orion! the Merciful Saviour is my witness,\nI could not help it; if I had had to die for it I could not have helped\nit! I should have died, if I had not spoken!\"\n\n\"And perhaps it was well that you spoke,\" interrupted the young man, with\na deep sigh. \"You see, child, your lost father's miserable brother is a\nruined man and it matters little about him; but Paula, who is a thousand\ntimes better than I am, has at least had justice done her; and as I love\nher far more dearly than your little heart can conceive of, I will gladly\nbe friends with you again: nay, I shall be more fond of you than ever.\nThat is nothing great or noble, for I need love--much love to make life\ntolerable. The best love a man may have I have forfeited, fool that I am!\nand now dear, good little soul, I could not bear to lose yours! So there\nis my hand upon it; now, give me another kiss and then go to bed and\nsleep.\"\n\nBut still Mary would not do his bidding, but only thanked him vehemently\nand then asked with sparkling eyes:\n\n\"Really, truly? Do you love Paula so dearly?\" At this point however she\nsuddenly checked herself. \"And little Katharina. . .\"\n\n\"Never mind about that,\" he replied with a sigh. \"And learn a lesson from\nall this. I, you see, in an hour of recklessness did a wrong thing; to\nhide it I had to do further wrong, till it grew to a mountain which fell\non me and crushed me. Now, I am the most miserable of men and I might\nperhaps have been the happiest. I have spoilt my own life by my own\nfolly, weakness, and guilt; and I have lost Paula, who is dearer to me\nthan all the other creatures on earth put together. Yes, Mary, if she had\nbeen mine, your poor uncle would have been the most enviable fellow in\nthe world, and he might have been a fine fellow, too, a man of great\nachievements. But as it is!--Well, what is done cannot be undone! Now go\nto bed child; you cannot understand it all till you are older.\"\n\n\"Oh I understand it already and much better perhaps than you suppose,\"\ncried the ten years' old child. \"And if you love Paula so much why should\nnot she love you? You are so handsome, you can do so many things, every\none likes you, and Paula would have loved you, too, if only. . . . Will\nyou promise not to be angry with me, and may I say it?\"\n\n\"Speak out, little simpleton.\"\n\n\"She cannot owe you any grudge when she knows how dreadfully you are\nsuffering on her account and that you are good at heart, and only that\nonce ever did--you know what. Before you came home, grandfather said a\nhundred times over what a joy you had been to him all your life through,\nand now, now. . . . Well, you are my uncle, and I am only a stupid little\ngirl; still, I know that it will be just the same with you as it was with\nthe prodigal son in the Bible. You and grandfather parted in anger. . . .\"\n\n\"He cursed me,\" Orion put in gloomily.\n\n\"No, no! For I heard every word he said. He only spoke of your evil deed\nin those dreadful words and bid you go out of his sight.\"\n\n\"And what is the difference--Cursed or outcast?\"\n\n\"Oh! a very great difference! He had good reason to be angry with you;\nbut the prodigal son in the Bible became his father's best beloved, and\nhe had the fatted calf slain for him and forgave him all; and so will\ngrandfather in heaven forgive, if you are good again, as you used to be\nto him and to all of us. Paula will forgive you, too; I know her--you\nwill see. Katharina loved you of course; but she, dear Heaven! She is\nalmost as much a child as I am; and if only you are kind to her and make\nher some pretty present she will soon be comforted. She really deserves\nto be punished for bearing false witness, and her punishment cannot, at\nany rate, be so heavy as yours.\"\n\nThese words from the lips of an innocent child could not but fall like\nseed corn on the harrowed field of the young man's tortured soul and\nrefresh it as with morning dew. Long after Mary had gone to rest he lay\nthinking them over.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nThe funeral rites over the body of the deceased Mukaukas were performed\non the day after the morrow. Since the priesthood had forbidden the old\nheathen practice of mummifying the dead, and even cremation had been\nforbidden by the Antonines, the dead had to be interred soon after\ndecease; only those of high rank were hastily embalmed and lay in state\nin some church or chapel to which they had contributed an endowment.\nMukaukas George was, by his own desire, to be conveyed to Alexandria and\nthere buried in the church of St. John by his father's side; but the\ncarrier pigeon, by which the news of the governor's death had been sent\nto the Patriarch, had returned with instructions to deposit the body in\nthe family tomb at Memphis, as there were difficulties in the way of the\nfulfillment of his wishes.\n\nSuch a funeral procession had not been seen there within the memory of\nman. Even the Moslem viceroy, the great general Amru, came over from the\nother side of the Nile, with his chief military and civil officers, to\npay the last honors to the just and revered governor. Their brown, sinewy\nfigures, and handsome calm faces, their golden helmets and shirts of\nmail, set with precious stones--trophies of the war of destruction in\nPersia and Syria--their magnificent horses with splendid trappings, and\nthe authoritative dignity of their bearing made a great impression on the\ncrowd. They arrived with slow and impressive solemnity; they returned\nlike a cloud driven before the storm, galloping homewards from the\nburial-ground along the quay, and then thundering and clattering over the\nbridge of boats. Vivid and dazzling lightnings had flashed through the\nwreaths of white dust that shrouded them, as their gold armor reflected\nthe sun. Verily, these horsemen, each of them worthy to be a prince in\nhis pride, could find it no very hard task to subdue the mightiest realms\non earth.\n\nMen and women alike had gazed at them with trembling admiration: most of\nall at the heroic stature and noble dusky face of Amru, and at the son of\nthe deceased Mukaukas, who, by the Moslem's desire, rode at his side in\nmourning garb on a fiery black horse.\n\nThe handsome youth, and the lordly, powerful man were a pair from whom\nthe women were loth to turn their eyes; for both alike were of noble\ndemeanor, both of splendid stature, both equally skilled in controlling\nthe impatience of their steeds, both born to command. Many a Memphite was\nmore deeply impressed by the head of the famous warrior, erect on a long\nand massive throat, with its sharply-chiselled aquiline nose and flashing\nblack eyes, than by the more regular features and fine, slightly-waving\nlocks of the governor's son--the last representative of the oldest and\nproudest race in all Egypt.\n\nThe Arab looked straight before him with a steady, commanding gaze; the\nyouth, too, looked up and forwards, but turned from time to time to\nsurvey the crowd of mourners. As he caught sight of Paula, among the\ngroup of women who had joined the procession, a gleam of joy passed over\nhis pale face, and a faint flush tinged his cheeks; his fixed outlook had\nknit his brows and had given his features an expression of such ominous\nsternness that one and another of the bystanders whispered:\n\n\"Our gay and affable young lord will make a severe ruler.\"\n\nThe cause of his indignation had not escaped the notice either of his\nnoble companion or of the crowd. He alone knew as yet that the Patriarch\nhad prohibited the removal of his father's remains to Alexandria; but\nevery one could see that the larger portion of the priesthood of Memphis\nwere absent from this unprecedented following. The Bishop alone marched\nin front of the six horses drawing the catafalque on which the costly\nsarcophagus was conveyed to the burying-place, in accordance with ancient\ncustom:--Bishop Plotinus, with John, a learned and courageous priest, and\na few choristers bearing a crucifix and chanting psalms.\n\nOn arriving at the Necropolis they all dismounted, and the barefooted\nrunners in attendance on the Arabs came forward to hold the horses. By\nthe tomb the Bishop pronounced a few warm words of eulogy, after which\nthe thin chant of the choristers sounded trivial and meagre enough; but\nscarcely had they ceased when the crowd uplifted its many thousand\nvoices, and a hymn of mourning rang out so loud and grand that this\nburial ground had scarcely ever heard the like. The remaining ceremonies\nwere hasty and incomplete, since the priests who were indispensable to\ntheir performance had not made their appearance.\n\nAmru, whose falcon eye nothing could escape, at once noted the omission\nand exclaimed, in so loud and inconsiderate a voice that it could be\nheard even at some distance.\n\n\"The dead is made to atone for what the living, in his wisdom, did for\nhis country's good, hand-in-hand with us Moslems.\"\n\n\"By the Patriarch's orders,\" replied Orion, and his voice quavered, while\nthe veins in his forehead swelled with rage. \"But I swear, by my father's\nsoul, that as surely as there is a just God, it shall be an evil day for\nBenjamin when he closes the gate of Heaven against this noblest of noble\nsouls.\"\n\n\"We carry the key of ours under our own belt,\" replied the general,\nstriking his deep chest, while he smiled consciously and with a kindly\neye on the young man. \"Come and see me on Saturday, my young friend; I\nhave something to say to you! I shall expect you at sundown at my house\nover there. If I am not at home by dusk, you must wait for me.\"\n\nAs he spoke he twisted his hand in his horse's mane and Orion prepared to\nassist him to mount; but the Arab, though a man of fifty, was too quick\nfor him. He flung himself into the saddle as lightly as a youth, and gave\nhis followers the signal for departure.\n\nPaula had been standing close to the entrance of the tomb with Dame\nNeforis, and she had heard every word of the dialogue between the two\nmen. Pale, as she beheld him, in costly but simple, flowing, mourning\nrobes, stricken by solemn and manly indignation, it was impossible that\nshe should not confess that the events of the last days had had a\npowerful effect on the misguided youth.\n\nWhen Paula had led the grief-worn but tearless widow to her chariot, and\nhad then returned home with Perpetua, the image of the handsome and\nwrathful youth as he lifted his powerful arm and tightly-clenched fist\nand shook them in the air, still constantly haunted her. She had not\nfailed to observe that he had seen her standing opposite to him by the\nopen tomb and she had been able to avoid meeting his eye; but her heart\nhad throbbed so violently that she still felt it quivering, she had not\nsucceeded in thinking of the beloved dead with due devotion.\n\nOrion, as yet, had neither come near her in her peaceful retreat, nor\nsent any messenger to deliver her belongings, and this she thought very\nnatural; for she needed no one to tell her how many claims there must be\non his time.\n\nBut though, before the funeral, she had firmly resolved to refuse to see\nhim if he came, and had given her nurse fall powers to receive from his\nhand the whole of her property, after the ceremony this line of conduct\nno longer struck her as seemly; indeed, she considered it no more than\nher duty to the departed not to repel Orion if he should crave her\nforgiveness.\n\nAnd there was another thing which she owed to her uncle. She desired to\nbe the first to point out to Orion, from Philip's point of view, that\nlife was a post, a duty; and then, if his heart seemed opened to this\nadmonition, then--but no, this must be all that could pass between\nthem--then all must be at an end, extinct, dead, like the fires in a\nsunken raft, like a soap-bubble that the wind has burst, like an echo\nthat has died away--all over and utterly gone.\n\nAnd as to the counsel she thought of offering to the man she had once\nlooked up to? What right had she to give it? Did he not look like a man\nquite capable of planning and living his own life in his own strength?\nHer heart thirsted for him, every fibre of her being yearned to see him\nagain, to hear his voice, and it was this longing, this craving to which\nshe gave the name of duty, connecting it with the gratitude she owed to\nthe dead.\n\nShe was so much absorbed in these reflections and doubts that she\nscarcely heard all the garrulous old nurse was saying as she walked by\nher side.\n\nPerpetua could not be easy over such a funeral ceremony as this; so\ndifferent to anything that Memphis had been wont to see. No priests, a\nprocession on horseback, mourners riding, and among them the son even of\nthe dead--while of old the survivors had always followed the body on\nfoot, as was everywhere the custom! And then a mere chirping of crickets\nat the tomb of such illustrious dead, followed by the disorderly\nsqualling of an immense mob--it had nearly cracked her ears! However, the\ncitizens might be forgiven for that, since it was all in honor of their\ndeparted governor!--this thought touched even her resolute heart and\nbrought the tears to her eyes; but it roused her wrath, too, for had she\nnot seen quite humble folk buried in a more solemn manner and with\nworthier ceremonial than the great and good Mukaukas George, who had made\nsuch a magnificent gift to the Church. Oh those Jacobites! They only were\ncapable of such ingratitude, only their heretical prelate could commit\nsuch a crime. Every one in the Convent of St. Cecilia, from the abbess\ndown to the youngest novice, knew that the Patriarch had sent word by a\ncarrier pigeon forbidding the Bishop to allow the priests to take part in\nthe ceremony. Plotinus was a worthy man, and he had been highly indignant\nat these instructions; it was not in his power to contravene them; but at\nany rate he had led the procession in person, and had not forbidden\nJohn's accompanying him. Orion, however, had not looked as though he\nmeant to brook such an insult to his father or let it pass unpunished.\nAnd whose arm was long enough to reach the Patriarch's throne if\nnot. . . . But no, it was impossible! the mere thought of such a thing\nmade her blood run cold. Still, still. . . . And how graciously the\nMoslem leader had talked with him!--Merciful Heaven! If he were to turn\napostate from the holy Christian faith, like so many reprobate Egyptians,\nand subscribe to the wicked doctrines of the Arabian false prophet! It\nwas a tempting creed for shameless men, allowing them to have half a\ndozen wives or more without regarding it as a sin. A man like Orion could\nafford to keep them, of course; for the abbess had said that every one\nknew that the great Mukaukas was a very rich man, though even the chief\nmagistrate of the city could not fully satisfy himself concerning the\nenormous amount of property left. Well, well; God's ways were past\nfinding out. Why should He smother one under heaps of gold, while He gave\nthousands of poor creatures too little to satisfy their hunger!\n\nBy the end of this torrent of words the two women had reached the house;\nand not till then was Paula clear in her own mind: Away, away with the\npassion which still strove for the mastery, whether it were in deed\nhatred or love! For she felt that she could not rightly enjoy her\nrecovered freedom, her new and quiet happiness in the pretty home she\nowed to the physician's thoughtful care, till she had finally given up\nOrion and broken the last tie that had bound her to his house.\n\nCould she desire anything more than what the present had to offer her?\nShe had found a true haven of rest where she lacked for nothing that she\ncould desire for herself after listening to the admonitions of Philip\npus. Round her were good souls who felt with and for her, many\noccupations for which she was well-fitted, and which suited her tastes,\nwith ample opportunities of bestowing and winning love. Then, a few steps\nthrough pleasant shades took her to the convent where she could every day\nattend divine service among pious companions of her own creed, as she had\ndone in her childhood. She had longed intensely for such food for the\nspirit, and the abbess--who was the widow of a distinguished patrician of\nConstantinople and had known Paula's parents--could supply it in\nabundance. How gladly she talked to the girl of the goodness and the\nbeauty of those to whom she owed her being and whom she had so early\nlost! She could pour out to this motherly soul all that weighed on her\nown, and was received by her as a beloved daughter of her old age.\n\nAnd her hosts--what kind-hearted though singular folks! nay, in their\nway, remarkable. She had never dreamed that there could be on earth any\nbeings at once so odd and so lovable.\n\nFirst there was old Rufinus, the head of the house, a vigorous, hale old\nman, who, with his long silky, snow-white hair and beard, looked\nsomething like the aged St. John and something like a warrior grown grey\nin service. What an amiable spirit of childlike meekness he had, in spite\nof the rough ways he sometimes fell into. Though inclined to be\ncontradictory in his intercourse with his fellow-men, he was merry and\njocose when his views were opposed to theirs. She had never met a more\ncontented soul or a franker disposition, and she could well understand\nhow much it must fret and gall such a man to live on,--day after day,\nappearing, in one respect at any rate, different from what he really was.\nFor he, too, belonged to her confession; but, though he sent his wife and\ndaughter to worship in the convent chapel, he himself was compelled to\nprofess himself a Coptic Christian, and submit to the necessity of\nattending a Jacobite church with all his family on certain holy days,\naverse as he was to its unattractive form of worship.\n\nRufinus possessed a sufficient fortune to secure him a comfortable\nmaintenance; and yet he was hard at work, in his own way, from morning\ntill night. Not that his labors brought him any revenues; on the\ncontrary, they led to claims on his resources; every one knew that he was\na man of good means, and this would have certainly involved him in\npersecution if the Patriarch's spies had discovered him to be a Melchite,\nresulting in exile and probably the confiscation of his goods. Hence it\nwas necessary to exercise caution, and if the old man could have found a\npurchaser for his house and garden, in a city where there were ten times\nas many houses empty as occupied, he would long since have set out with\nall his household to seek a new home.\n\nMost aged people of vehement spirit and not too keen intellect, adopt a\nsaying as a stop-gap or resting-place, and he was fond of using two\nphrases one of which ran: \"As sure as man is the standard of all things\"\nand the other--referring to his house--\"As sure as I long to be quit of\nthis lumber.\" But the lumber consisted of a well-built and very spacious\ndwellinghouse, with a garden which had commanded a high price in earlier\ntimes on account of its situation near the river. He himself had acquired\nit at very small cost shortly before the Arab incursion, and--so quickly\ndo times change--he had actually bought it from a Jacobite Christian who\nhad been forced by the Melchite Patriarch Cyrus, then in power, to fly in\nhaste because he had found means to convert his orthodox slaves to his\nconfession.\n\nIt was Philippus who had persuaded his accomplished and experienced\nfriend to come to Memphis; he had clung to him faithfully, and they\nassisted each other in their works.\n\nRufinus' wife, a frail, ailing little woman, with a small face and rather\nhollow cheeks, who must once have been very attractive and engaging,\nmight have passed for his daughter; she was, in fact, twenty years\nyounger than her husband. It was evident that she had suffered much in\nthe course of her life, but had taken it patiently and all for the best.\nHer restless husband had caused her the greatest trouble and alarms, and\nyet she exerted herself to the utmost to make his life pleasant. She had\nthe art of keeping every obstacle and discomfort out of his way, and\nguessed with wonderful instinct what would help him, comfort him, and\nbring him joy. The physician declared that her stooping attitude, her\nbent head, and the enquiring expression of her bright, black eyes were\nthe result of her constant efforts to discover even a straw that might\nbring harm to Rufinus if his callous and restless foot should tread on\nit.\n\nTheir daughter Pulcheria, was commonly called \"Pul\" for short, to save\ntime, excepting when the old man spoke of her by preference as \"the poor\nchild.\" There was at all times something compassionate in his attitude\ntowards his daughter; for he rarely looked at her without asking himself\nwhat could become of this beloved child when he, who was so much older,\nshould have closed his eyes in death and his Joanna perhaps should soon\nhave followed him; while Pulcheria, seeing her mother take such care of\nher father that nothing was left for her to do, regarded herself as the\nmost superfluous creature on earth and would have been ready at any time\nto lay down her life for her parents, for the abbess, for her faith, for\nthe leech; nay, and though she had known her for no more than two days,\neven for Paula. However, she was a very pretty, well-grown girl, with\ngreat open blue eyes and a dreamy expression, and magnificent red-gold\nhair which could hardly be matched in all Egypt. Her father had long\nknown of her desire to enter the convent as a novice and become a nursing\nsister; but though he had devoted his whole life to a similar impulse, he\nhad more than once positively refused to accede to her wishes, for he\nmust ere long be gathered to his fathers and then her mother, while she\nsurvived him, would want some one else to wear herself out for.\n\nJust now \"Pul\" was longing less than usual to take the veil; for she had\nfound in Paula a being before whom she felt small indeed, and to whom her\nunenvious soul, yearning and striving for the highest, could look up in\nsatisfied and rapturous admiration. In addition to this, there were under\nher own roof two sufferers needing her care: Rustem, the wounded\nMasdakite, and the Persian girl. Neforis, who since the fearful hour of\nher husband's death had seemed stunned and indifferent to all the claims\nof daily life, living only in her memories of the departed, had been more\nthan willing to leave to the physician the disposal of these two and\ntheir removal from her house.\n\nIn the evening after Paula's arrival Philippus had consulted with his\nfriends as to the reception of these new guests, and the old man had\ninterrupted him, as soon as he raised the question of pecuniary\nindemnification, exclaiming:\n\n\"They are all very welcome. If they have wounds, we will make them heal;\nif their heads are turned, we will screw them the right way round; if\ntheir souls are dark, we will light up a flame in them. If the fair Paula\ntakes a fancy to us, she and her old woman may stay as long as it suits\nher and us. We made her welcome with all our hearts; but, on the other\nhand, you must understand that we must be free to bid her farewell--as\nfree as she is to depart. It is impossible ever to know exactly how such\ngrand folks will get on with humble ones, and as sure as I long to be\nquit of this piece of lumber I might one day take it into my head to\nleave it to the owls and jackals and fare forth, staff in hand.--You know\nme. As to indemnification--we understand each other. A full purse hangs\nbehind the sick, and the sound one has ten times more than she needs, so\nthey may pay. You must decide how much; only--for the women's sake, and I\nmean it seriously--be liberal. You know what I need Mammon for; and it\nwould be well for Joanna if she had less need to turn over every silver\npiece before she spends it in the housekeeping. Besides, the lady herself\nwill be more comfortable if she contributes to pay for the food and\ndrink. It would ill beseem the daughter of Thomas to be down every\nevening under the roof of such birds of passage as we are with thanks for\nfavors received. When each one pays his share we stand on a footing of\ngive and take; and if either one feels any particular affection to\nanother it is not strangled by 'thanks' or 'take it;' it is love for\nlove's sake and a joy to both parties.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" said the leech; and Paula had been quite satisfied by her\nfriend's arrangements.\n\nBy the next day she felt herself one of the household, though she every\nhour found something that could not fail to strike her as strange.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nWhen Paula had eaten with Rufinus and his family after the funeral\nceremonies, she went into the garden with Pul and the old man--it had\nbeen impossible to induce Perpetua to sit at the same table with her\nmistress. The sun was now low, and its level beams gave added lustre to\nthe colors of the flowers and to the sheen of the thick, metallic foliage\nof the south, which the drought and scorching heat had still spared. A\nbright-hued humped ox and an ass were turning the wheel which raised\ncooling waters from the Nile and poured them into a large tank from which\nthey flowed through narrow rivulets to irrigate the beds. This toil was\nnow very laborious, for the river had fallen to so low a level as to give\ncause for anxiety, even at this season of extreme ebb. Numbers of birds\nwith ruffled feathers, with little splints on their legs, or with sadly\ndrooping heads, were going to roost in small cages hung from the branches\nto protect them from cats and other beasts of prey; to each, as he went\nby, Rufinus spoke a kindly word, or chirruped to encourage and cheer it.\nAromatic odors filled the garden, and rural silence; every object shone\nin golden glory, even the black back of the negro working at the\nwater-wheel, and the white and yellow skin of the ox; while the clear\nvoices of the choir of nuns thrilled through the convent-grove. Pul\nlistened, turning her face to meet it, and crossing her arms over her\nheart. Her father pointed to her as he said to Paula:\n\n\"That is where her heart is. May she ever have her God before her eyes!\nThat cannot but be the best thing for a woman. Still, among such as we\nare, we must hold to the rule: Every man for his fellowman on earth, in\nthe name of the merciful Lord!--Can our wise and reasonable Father in\nHeaven desire that brother should neglect brother, or--as in our case--a\nchild forsake its parents?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied Paula. \"For my own part, nothing keeps me from\ntaking the veil but my hope of finding my long-lost father; I, like your\nPulcheria, have often longed for the peace of the cloister. How piously\nrapt your daughter stands there! What a sweet and touching sight!--In my\nheart all was dark and desolate; but here, among you all, it is already\nbeginning to feel lighter, and here, if anywhere, I shall recover what I\nlost in my other home.--Happy child! Could you not fancy, as she stands\nthere in the evening light, that the pure devotion which fills her soul,\nradiated from her? If I were not afraid of disturbing her, and if I were\nworthy, how gladly would I join my prayers to hers!\"\n\n\"You have a part in them as it is,\" replied the old man with a smile. \"At\nthis moment St. Cecilia appears to her under the guise of your features.\nWe will ask her--you will see.\"\n\n\"No, leave her alone!\" entreated Paula with a blush, and she led Rufinus\naway to the other end of the garden.\n\nThey soon reached a spot where a high hedge of thorny shrubs parted the\nold man's plot from that of Susannah. Rufinus here pricked up his ears\nand then angrily exclaimed:\n\n\"As sure as I long to be quit of this lumber, they are cutting my hedge\nagain! Only last evening I caught one of the slaves just as he was going\nto work on the branches; but how could I get at the black rascal through\nthe thorns? It was to make a peep-hole for curious eyes, or for spies,\nfor the Patriarch knows how to make use of a petticoat; but I will be\neven with them! Do you go on, pray, as if you had seen and heard nothing;\nI will fetch my whip.\"\n\nThe old man hurried away, and Paula was about to obey him; but scarcely\nhad he disappeared when she heard herself called in a shrill girl's voice\nthrough a gap in the hedge, and looking round, she spied a pretty face\nbetween the boughs which had yesterday been forced asunder by a man's\nhands--like a picture wreathed with greenery.\n\nEven in the twilight she recognized it at once, and when Katharina put\nher curly head forward, and said in a beseeching tone: \"May I get\nthrough, and will you listen to me?\" she gladly signified her consent.\n\nThe water-wagtail, heedless of Paula's hand held out to help her, slipped\nthrough the gap so nimbly that it was evident that she had not long\nceased surmounting such obstacles in her games with Mary. As swift as the\nwind she came down on her feet, holding out her arms to rush at Paula;\nbut she suddenly let them fall in visible hesitancy, and drew back a\nstep. Paula, however, saw her embarrassment; she drew the girl to her,\nkissed her forehead, and gaily exclaimed:\n\n\"Trespassing! And why could you not come in by the gate? Here comes my\nhost with his hippopotamus thong.--Stop, stop, good Rufinus, for the\nbreach effected in your flowery wall was intended against me and not\nagainst you. There stands the hostile power, and I should be greatly\nsurprised if you did not recognize her as a neighbor?\"\n\n\"Recognize her?\" said the old man, whose wrath was quickly appeased. \"Do\nwe know each other, fair damsel--yes or no? It is an open question.\"\n\n\"Of course!\" cried Katharina, \"I have seen you a hundred times from the\ngnat-tower.\"\n\n\"You have had less pleasure than I should have had, if I had been so\nhappy as to see you.--We came across each other about a year ago. I was\nthen so happy as to find you in my large peach-tree, which to this day\ntakes the liberty of growing over your garden-plot.\"\n\n\"I was but a child then,\" laughed Katharina, who very well remembered how\nthe old man, whose handsome white head she had always particularly\nadmired, had spied her out among the boughs of his peach-tree and had\nadvised her, with a good-natured nod, to enjoy herself there.\n\n\"A child!\" repeated Rufinus. \"And now we are quite grown up and do not\ncare to climb so high, but creep humbly through our neighbor's hedge.\"\n\n\"Then you really are strangers?\" cried Paula in surprise. \"And have you\nnever met Pulcheria, Katharina?\"\n\n\"Pul?--oh, how glad I should have been to call her!\" said Katharina. \"I\nhave been on the point of it a hundred times; for her mere appearance\nmakes one fall in love with her,--but my mother. . . .\"\n\n\"Well, and what has your mother got to say against her neighbors?\" asked\nRufinus. \"I believe we are peaceable folks who do no one any harm.\"\n\n\"No, no, God forbid! But my mother has her own way of viewing things; you\nand she are strangers still, and as you are so rarely to be seen in\nchurch. . . .\"\n\n\"She naturally takes us for the ungodly. Tell her that she is mistaken,\nand if you are Paula's friend and you come to see her--but prettily,\nthrough the gate, and not through the hedge, for it will be closely\ntwined again by to-morrow morning--if you come here, I say, you will find\nthat we have a great deal to do and a great many creatures to nurse and\ncare for--poor human creatures some of them, and some with fur or\nfeathers, just as it comes; and man serves his Maker if he only makes\nlife easier to the beings that come in his way; for He loves them all.\nTell that to your mother, little wagtail, and come again very often.\"\n\n\"Thank you very much. But let me ask you, if I may, where you heard that\nodious nickname? I hate it.\"\n\n\"From the same person who told you the secret that my Pulcheria is called\nPul!\" said Rufinus; he laughed and bowed and left the two girls together.\n\n\"What a dear old man!\" cried Katharina. \"Oh, I know quite well how he\nspends his Days! And his pretty wife and Pul--I know them all. How often\nI have watched them--I will show you the place one day! I can see over\nthe whole garden, only not what goes on near the convent on the other\nside of the house, or beyond those trees. You know my mother; if she once\ndislikes any one. . . . But Pul, you understand, would be such a friend\nfor me!\"\n\n\"Of course she would,\" replied Paula. \"And a girl of your age must chose\nolder companions than little Mary.\"\n\n\"Oh, you shall not say a word against her!\" cried Katharina eagerly. \"She\nis only ten years old, but many a grown-up person is not so upright or so\ncapable as I have found her during these last few miserable days.\"\n\n\"Poor child!\" said Paula stroking her hair.\n\nAt this a bitter sob broke suddenly and passionately from Katharina; she\ntried with all her might to suppress it, but could not succeed. Her fit\nof weeping was so violent that she could not utter a word, till Paula had\nled her to a bench under a spreading sycamore, had induced her with\ngentle force to sit down by her side, clasping her in her arms like a\nsuffering child, and speaking to her words of comfort and encouragement.\n\nBirds without number were going to rest in the dense branches overhead,\nowls and bats had begun their nocturnal raids, the sky put on its\nspangled glory of gold and silver stars, from the western end of the town\ncame the jackals' bark as they left their lurking-places among the ruined\nhouses and stole out in search of prey, the heavy dew, falling through\nthe mild air silently covered the leaves, the grass, and the flowers; the\ngarden was more powerfully fragrant now than during the day-time, and\nPaula felt that it was high time to take refuge from the mists that came\nup from the shallow stream. But still she lingered while the little\nmaiden poured out all that weighed upon her, all she repented of,\nbelieving she could never atone for it; and then all she had gone\nthrough, thinking it must break her heart, and all she still had to live\ndown and drive out of her mind.\n\nShe told Paula how Orion had wooed her, how much she loved him, how her\nheart had been tortured by jealousy of her, Paula, and how she had\nallowed herself to be led away into bearing false witness before the\njudges. And then she went on to say it was Mary who had first opened her\neyes to the abyss by which she was standing. In the afternoon after the\ndeath of the Mukaukas she had gone with her mother to the governor's\nhouse to join in her friends' lamentations. She had at once asked after\nMary, but had not been allowed to see her, for she was still in bed and\nvery feverish. She was then on her way to the cool hall when she heard\nher mother's voice--not in grief, but angry and vehement--so, thinking it\nwould be more becoming to keep out of the way, she wandered off into the\npillared vestibule opening towards the Nile. She would not for worlds\nhave met Orion, and was terribly afraid she might do so, but as she went\nout, for it was still quite light, there she found him--and in what a\nstate! He was sitting all in a heap, dressed in black, with his head\nburied in his hands. He had not observed her presence; but she pitied him\ndeeply, for though it was very hot he was trembling in every limb, and\nhis strong frame shuddered repeatedly. She had therefore spoken to him,\nbegging him to be comforted, at which he had started to his feet in\ndismay, and had pushed his unkempt hair back from his face, looking so\npale, so desperate, that she had been quite terrified and could not\nmanage to bring out the consoling words she had ready. For some time\nneither of them had uttered a syllable, but at length he had pulled\nhimself together as if for some great deed, he came slowly towards her\nand laid his hands on her shoulders with a solemn dignity which no one\ncertainly had ever before seen in him. He stood gazing into her face--his\neyes were red with much weeping--and he sighed from his very heart the\ntwo words: \"Unhappy Child!\"--She could hear them still sounding in her\nears.\n\nAnd he was altered: from head to foot quite different, like a stranger.\nHis voice, even, sounded changed and deeper than usual as he went on:\n\n\"Child, child! Perhaps I have given much pain in my life without knowing\nit; but you have certainly suffered most through me, for I have made you,\nan innocent, trusting creature, my accomplice in crime. The great sin we\nboth committed has been visited on me alone, but the punishment is a\nhundred--a thousand times too heavy!\"\n\n\"And with this,\" Katharina went on, \"he covered his face with his hands,\nthrew himself on the couch again, and groaned and sighed. Then he sprang\nup once more, crying out so loud and passionately that I felt as if I\nmust die of grief and pity: 'Forgive me if you can! Forgive me, wholly,\nfreely. I want it--you must, you must! I was going to run up to him and\nthrow my arms round him and forgive him everything, his trouble\ndistressed me so much; but he gravely pushed me away--not roughly or\nsternly, and he said that there was an end of all love-making and\nbetrothal between us--that I was young, and that I should be able to\nforget him. He would still be a true friend to me and to my mother, and\nthe more we required of him the more gladly would he serve us.\n\n\"I was about to answer him, but he hastily interrupted me and said firmly\nand decisively: 'Lovable as you are, I cannot love you as you deserve;\nfor it is my duty to tell you, I have another and a greater love in my\nheart--my first and my last; and though once in my life I have proved\nmyself a wretch, still, it was but once; and I would rather endure your\nanger, and hurt both you and myself now, than continue this unrighteous\ntie and cheat you and others.'--At this I was greatly startled, and\nasked: 'Paula?' However, he did not answer, but bent over me and touched\nmy forehead with his lips, just as my father often kissed me, and then\nwent quickly out into the garden.\n\n\"Just then my mother came up, as red as a poppy and panting for breath:\nshe took me by the hand without a word, dragged me into the chariot after\nher, and then cried out quite beside herself--she could not even shed a\ntear for rage: 'What insolence! what unheard-of behavior--How can I find\nthe heart to tell you, poor sacrificed lamb. . .'\"\n\n\"And she would have gone on, but that I would not let her finish; I told\nher at once that I knew all, and happily I was able to keep quite calm. I\nhad some bad hours at home; and when Nilus came to us yesterday, after\nthe opening of the will, and brought me the pretty little gold box with\nturquoises and pearls that I have always admired, and told me that the\ngood Mukaukas had written with his own hand, in his last will, that it\nwas to be given to me I his bright little 'Katharina,' my mother insisted\non my not taking it and sent it back to Neforis, though I begged and\nprayed to keep it. And of course I shall never go to that house again;\nindeed my mother talks of quitting Memphis altogether and settling in\nConstantinople or some other city under Christian rule. 'Then our nice,\npretty house must be given up, and our dear, lovely garden be sold to the\npeasant folk, my mother says. It was just the same a year and a half ago\nwith Memnon's palace. His garden was turned into a corn-field, and the\nsplendid ground-floor rooms, with their mosaics and pictures, are now\ndirty stables for cows and sheep, and pigs are fed in the rooms that\nbelonged to Hathor and Dorothea. Good Heavens! And they were my clearest\nfriends! And I am never to play with Mary any more; and mother has not a\nkind word for any living soul, hardly even for me, and my old nurse is as\ndeaf as a mole! Am I not a really miserable, lonely creature? And if you,\neven you, will have nothing to say to me, who is there in all Memphis\nwhom I can trust in? But you will not be so cruel, will you? And it will\nnot be for long, for my mother really means to go away. You are older\nthan I am, of course, and much graver and wiser. . . .\"\n\n\"I will be kind to you, child; but try to make friends with Pulcheria!\"\n\n\"Gladly, gladly. But then my mother! I should get on very well by myself\nif it were not. . . Well, you yourself heard what Orion said to me, that\ntime in the avenue. He surely loved me a little! What sweet, tender names\nhe gave me then. Oh God! no man can speak like that to any one he is not\nfond of!--And he is rich himself; it cannot have been only my fortune\nthat bewitched him. And does he look like a man who would allow himself\nto be parted from a girl by his mother, whether he would or no?\"\n\n\"He was always fond of me I think; but then, afterwards, he remembered\nwhat a high position he had to fill and regarded me as too little and too\nchildish. Oh, how many tears I have shed over being so absurdly little! A\nWater-wagtail--that is what I shall always be. Your old host called me\nso; and if a man like Orion feels that he must have a stately wife I can\nhardly blame him. That other one whom he thinks he loves better than he\ndoes me is tall and beautiful and majestic--like you; and I have always\ntold myself that his future wife ought to look like you. It is all over\nbetween him and me, and I will submit humbly; but at the same time I\ncannot help thinking that when he came home he thought me pretty and\nattractive, and had a real fancy and liking for me. Yes, it was so, it\ncertainly was so!--But then he saw that other one, and I cannot compare\nwith her. She is indeed the woman he wants,--and that other, Paula, is\nyourself. Yes, indeed, you yourself; an inner voice tells me so. And I\ntell you truly, you may quite believe me: it is a pain no doubt, but I\ncan be glad of it too. I should hate any mere girl to whom he held out\nhis hand--but, if you are that other--and if you are his wife. . .\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" exclaimed Paula decidedly. \"Consider what you are saying.\nWhen Orion tempted you to perjure yourself, did he behave as my friend or\nas my foe, my bitterest and most implacable enemy?\"\n\n\"Before the judges, to be sure . . .\" replied the girl looking down\nthoughtfully. But she soon looked up again, fixed her eyes on Paula's\nface with a sparkling, determined glance, and frankly and unhesitatingly\nexclaimed: \"And you?--In spite of it all he is so handsome, so clever, so\nmanly. You can hardly help it--you love him!\"\n\nPaula withdrew her arm, which had been round Katharina, and answered\ncandidly.\n\n\"Until to-day, at the funeral, I hated and abominated him; but there, by\nhis father's tomb, he struck me as a new man, and I found it easy to\nforgive him in my heart.\"\n\n\"Then you mean to say that you do not love him?\" urged Katharina,\nclasping her friend's round arm with her slender fingers.\n\nPaula started to feel how icy cold her hand was. The moon was up, the\nstars rose higher and higher, so, simply saying: \"Come away,\" she rose.\n\"It must be within an hour of midnight,\" she added. \"Your mother will be\nanxious about you.\"\n\n\"Only an hour of midnight!\" repeated the girl in alarm. \"Good Heavens, I\nshall have a scolding! She is still playing draughts with the Bishop, no\ndoubt, as she does every evening. Good-bye then for the present. The\nshortest way is through the hedge again.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Paula firmly, \"you are no longer a child; you are grown up,\nand must feel it and show it. You are not to creep through the bushes,\nbut to go home by the gate. Rufinus and I will go with you and explain to\nyour mother. . .\"\n\n\"No, no!\" cried Katharina in terror. \"She is as angry with you as she is\nwith them. Only yesterday she forbid. . .\"\n\n\"Forbid you to come to me?\" asked Paula. \"Does she believe. . .\"\n\n\"That it was for your sake that Orion. . . . Yes, she is only too glad to\nlay all the blame on you. But now that I have talked to you I. . . . Look,\ndo you see that light? It is in her sitting-room.\"\n\nAnd, before Paula could prevent her, she ran to the hedge and slipped\nthrough the gap as nimbly as a weasel.\n\nPaula looked after her with mingled feelings, and then went back to the\nhouse, and to bed. Katharina's story kept her awake for a long time, and\nthe suspicion--nay almost the conviction--that it was herself, indeed,\nwho had aroused that \"great love\" in Orion's heart gave her no rest. If\nit were she? There, under her hand was the instrument of revenge on the\nmiscreant; she could make him taste of all the bitterness he had brewed\nfor her aching spirit. But which of them would the punishment hurt most\nsorely: him or herself? Had not the little girl's confidences revealed a\nworld of rapture to her and her longing heart? No, no. It would be too\nhumiliating to allow the same hand that had smitten her so ruthlessly to\nuplift her to heaven; it would be treason against herself.\n\nSlumber overtook her in the midst of these conflicting feelings and\nthoughts, and towards morning she had a dream which, even by daylight,\nhaunted her and made her shudder.\n\nShe saw Orion coming towards her, as pale as death, robed in mourning,\npacing slowly on a coal-black horse; she had not the strength to fly, and\nwithout speaking to her or looking at her, he lifted her high in the air\nlike a child, and placed her in front of him on the horse. She put forth\nall her strength to get free and dismount, but he clasped her with both\narms like iron clamps and quelled her efforts. Life itself would not have\nseemed too great a price for escape from this constraint; but, the more\nwildly she fought, the more closely she was held by the silent and\npitiless horseman. At their feet flowed the swirling river, but Orion did\nnot seem to notice it, and without moving his lips, he coolly guided the\nsteed towards the water. Beside herself now with horror and dread, she\nimplored him to turn away; but he did not heed her, and went on unmoved\ninto the midst of the stream. Her terror increased to an agonizing pitch\nas the horse bore her deeper and deeper into the water; of her own free\nwill she threw her arms round the rider's neck; his paleness vanished,\nhis cheeks gained a ruddy hue, his lips sought hers in a kiss; and, in\nthe midst of the very anguish of death, she felt a thrill of rapture that\nshe had never known before. She could have gone on thus for ever, even to\ndestruction; and, in fact, they were still sinking--she felt the water\nrising breast high, but she cared not. Not a word had either of them\nspoken. Suddenly she felt urged to break the silence, and as if she could\nnot help it she asked: \"Am I the other?\" At this the waves surged down on\nthem from all sides; a whirlpool dragged away the horse, spinning him\nround, and with him Orion and herself, a shrill blast swept past them,\nand then the current and the waves, the roaring of the whirlpool, the\nhowling of the storm--all at once and together, as with one voice, louder\nthan all else and filling her ears, shouted: \"Thou!\"--Only Orion remained\nspeechless. An eddy caught the horse and sucked him under, a wave carried\nher away from him, she was sinking, sinking, and stretched out her arms\nwith longing.--A cold dew stood on her brow as she slept, and the nurse,\nwaking her from her uneasy dream, shook her head as she said:\n\n\"Why, child? What ails you? You have been calling Orion again and again,\nat first in terror and then so tenderly.--Yes, believe me, tenderly.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nIn the neat rooms which Rufinus' wife had made ready for her sick guests\nperfect peace reigned, and it was noon. A soft twilight fell through the\nthick green curtains which mitigated the sunshine, and the nurses had\nlately cleared away after the morning meal. Paula was moistening the\nbandage on the Masdakite's head, and Pulcheria was busy in the adjoining\nroom with Mandane, who obeyed the physician's instructions with\nintelligent submission and showed no signs of insanity.\n\nPaula was still spellbound by her past dream. She was possessed by such\nunrest that, quite against her wont, she could not long remain quiet, and\nwhen Pulcheria came to her to tell her this or that, she listened with so\nlittle attention and sympathy that the humble-minded girl, fearing to\ndisturb her, withdrew to her patient's bed-side and waited quietly till\nher new divinity called her.\n\nIn fact, it was not without reason that Paula gave herself up to a\ncertain anxiety; for, if she was not mistaken, Orion must necessarily\npresent himself to hand over to her the remainder of her fortune; and\nthough even yesterday, on her way from the cemetery, she had said to\nherself that she must and would refuse to meet him, the excitement\nproduced by Katharina's story and her subsequent dream had confirmed her\nin her determination.\n\nPerpetua awaited Orion's visit on the ground-floor, charged to announce\nhim to Rufinus and not to her mistress. The old man had willingly\nundertaken to receive the money as her representative; for Philippus had\nnot concealed from her that he had acquainted him with the circumstances\nunder which Paula had quitted the governor's house, describing Orion as a\nman whom she had good reason for desiring to avoid.\n\nBy about two hours after noon Paula's restlessness had increased so much\nthat now and then she wandered out of the sick-room, which looked over\nthe garden, to watch the Nile-quay from the window of the anteroom; for\nhe might arrive by either way. She never thought of the security of her\nproperty; but the question arose in her mind as to whether it were not\nactually a breach of duty to avoid the agitation it would cost her to\nmeet her cousin face to face. On this point no one could advise her, not\neven Perpetua; her own mother could hardly have understood all her\nfeelings on such an occasion. She scarcely knew herself indeed; for\nhitherto she had never failed, even in the most difficult cases, to know\nat once and without long reflection, what to do and to leave undone, what\nunder special circumstances was right or wrong. But now she felt herself\na yielding reed, a leaf tossed hither and thither; and every time she set\nher teeth and clenched her hands, determined to think calmly and to\nreason out the \"for\" and \"against,\" her mind wandered away again, while\nthe memory of her dream, of Orion as he stood by his father's grave--of\nKatharina's tale of \"the other,\" and the fearful punishment which he had\nto suffer, nay indeed, certainly had suffered--came and went in her mind\nlike the flocks of birds over the Nile, whose dipping and soaring had\noften passed like a fluttering veil between her eye and some object on\nthe further shore.\n\nIt was three hours past noon, and she had returned to the sick-room, when\nshe thought that she heard hoofs in the garden and hurried to the window\nonce more. Her heart had not beat more wildly when the dog had flown at\nher and Hiram that fateful night, than it did now as she hearkened to the\napproach of a horseman, still hidden from her gaze by the shrubs. It must\nbe Orion--but why did he not dismount? No, it could not be he; his tall\nfigure would have overtopped the shrubbery which was of low growth.\n\nShe did not know her host's friends; it was one of them very likely. Now\nthe horse had turned the corner; now it was coming up the path from the\nfront gate; now Rufinus had gone forth to meet the visitor--and it was\nnot Orion, but his secretary, a much smaller man, who slipped off a mule\nthat she at once recognized, threw the reins to a lad, handed something\nto the old man, and then dropped on to a bench to yawn and stretch his\nlegs.\n\nThen she saw Rufinus come towards the house. Had Orion charged this\nmessenger to bring her her possessions? She thought this somewhat\ninsulting, and her blood boiled with wrath. But there could be no\nquestion here of a surrender of property; for what her host was holding\nin his hand was nothing heavy, but a quite small object; probably, nay,\ncertainly a roll of papyrus. He was coming up the narrow stairs, so she\nran out to meet him, blushing as though she were doing something wrong.\nThe old man observed this and said, as he handed her the scroll:\n\n\"You need not be frightened, daughter of a hero. The young lord is not\nhere himself, he prefers, it would seem, to treat with you by letter; and\nit is best so for both parties.\"\n\nPaula nodded agreement; she took the roll, and then, while she tore the\nsilken tie from the seal, she turned her back on the old man; for she\nfelt that the blood had faded from her face, and her hands were\ntrembling.\n\n\"The messenger awaits an answer,\" remarked Rufinus, before she began to\nread it. \"I shall be below and at your service.\" He left; Paula returned\nto the sick-room, and leaning against the frame of the casement, read as\nfollows, with eager agitation:\n\n\"Orion, the son of George the Mukaukas who sleeps in the Lord, to his\ncousin the daughter of the noble Thomas of Damascus, greeting.\n\n\"I have destroyed several letters that I had written to you before this\none.\" Paula shrugged her shoulders incredulously. \"I hope I may succeed\nbetter this time in saying what I feel to be indispensable for your\nwelfare and my own. I have both to crave a favor and offer counsel.\"\n\n\"Counsel! he!\" thought the girl with a scornful curl of the lips, as she\nwent on. \"May the memory of the man who loved you as his daughter, and\nwho on his death-bed wished for nothing so much as to see you--averse as\nhe was to your creed--and bless you as his daughter indeed, as his son's\nwife,--may the remembrance of that just man so far prevail over your\nindignant and outraged soul that these words from the most wretched man\non earth, for that am I, Paula, may not be left unread. Grant me the last\nfavor I have to ask of you--I demand it in my father's name.\"\n\n\"Demand!\" repeated the damsel; her cheeks flamed, her eye sparkled\nangrily, and her hands clutched the opposite sides of the letter as\nthough to tear it across. But the next words: \"Do not fear,\" checked her\nhasty impulse--she smoothed out the papyrus and read on with growing\nexcitement:\n\n\"Do not fear that I shall address you as a lover--as the man for whom\nthere is but one woman on earth. And that one can only be she whom I have\nso deeply injured, whom I fought with as frantic, relentless, and cruel\nweapons as ever I used against a foe of my own sex.\"\n\n\"But one,\" murmured the girl; she passed her hand across her brow, and a\nfaint smile of happy pride dwelt on her lips as she went on:\n\n\"I shall love you as long as breath animates this crushed and wretched\nheart.\"\n\nAgain the letter was in danger of destruction, but again it escaped\nunharmed, and Paula's expression became one of calm and tender pleasure\nas she read to the end of Orion's clearly written epistle:\n\n\"I am fully conscious that I have forfeited your esteem, nay even all\ngood feeling towards me, by my own fault; and that, unless divine love\nworks some miracle in your heart, I have sacrificed all joy on earth. You\nare revenged; for it was for your sake--understand that--for your sake\nalone, that my beloved and dying father withdrew the blessings he had\nheaped on my remorseful head, and in wrath that was only too just at the\nrecreant who had desecrated the judgment-seat of his ancestors, turned\nthat blessing to a curse.\"\n\nPaula turned pale as she read. This then was what Katharina had meant.\nThis was what had so changed his appearance, and perhaps, too, his whole\ninward being. And this, this bore the stamp of truth, this could not be a\nlie--it was for her sake that a father's curse had blighted his only son!\nHow had it all happened? Had Philippus failed to observe it, or had he\nheld his peace out of respect for the secrets of another?--Poor man, poor\nyoung man! She must see him, must speak to him. She could not have a\nmoment's ease till she knew how it was that her uncle, a tender\nfather.--But she must go on, quickly to the end:\n\n\"I come to you only as what I am: a heart-broken man, too young to give\nmyself over for lost, and at the same time determined to make use of all\nthat remains to me of the steadfast will, the talents, and the\nself-respect of my forefathers to render me worthy of them, and I implore\nyou to grant me a brief interview. Not a word, not a look shall betray\nthe passion within and which threatens to destroy me.\n\n\"You must on no account fail to read what follows, since it is of no\nsmall real importance even to you. In the first place restitution must be\nmade to you of all of your inheritance which the deceased was able to\nrescue and to add to by his fatherly stewardship. In these agitated times\nit will be a matter of some difficulty to invest this capital safely and\nto good advantage. Consider: just as the Arabs drove out the Byzantines,\nthe Byzantines might drive them out again in their turn. The Persians,\nthough stricken to the earth, the Avars, or some other people whose very\nname is as yet unknown to history, may succeed our present rulers, who,\nonly ten years since, were regarded as a mere handful of unsettled\ncamel-drivers, caravan-leaders, and poverty-stricken desert-tribes. The\nsafety of your fortune would be less difficult to provide for if, as was\nformerly the case here, we could entrust it to the merchants of\nAlexandria. But one great house after another is being ruined there, and\nall security is at an end. As to hiding or burying your possessions, as\nmost Egyptians do in these hard times, it is impossible, for the same\nreason as prevents our depositing it on interest in the state\nland-register. You must be able to get it at the shortest notice; since\nyou might at some time wish to quit Egypt in haste with all your\npossessions.\n\n\"These are matters with which a woman cannot be familiar. I would\ntherefore propose that you should leave the arrangement of them to us\nmen; to Philippus, the physician, Rufinus, your host--who is, I am\nassured, an honest man--and to our experienced and trustworthy treasurer\nNilus, whom you know as an incorruptible judge.\n\n\"I propose that the business should be settled tomorrow in the house of\nRufinus. You can be present or not, as you please. If we men agree in our\nideas I beg you--I beseech you to grant me an interview apart. It will\nlast but a few minutes, and the only subject of discussion will be a\nmatter--an exchange by which you will recover something you value and\nhave lost, and grant me I hope, if not your esteem, at any rate a word of\nforgiveness. I need it sorely, believe me, Paula; it is as indispensable\nto me as the breath of life, if I am to succeed in the work I have begun\non myself. If you have prevailed on yourself to read through this letter,\nsimply answer 'Yes' by my messenger, to relieve me from torturing\nuncertainty. If you do not--which God forefend for both our sakes, Nilus\nshall this very day carry to you all that belongs to you. But, if you\nhave read these lines, I will make my appearance to-morrow, at two hours\nafter noon, with Nilus to explain to the others the arrangement of which\nI have spoken. God be with you and infuse some ruth into your proud and\nnoble soul!\"\n\nPaula drew a deep breath as the hand holding this momentous epistle\ndropped by her side; she stood for some time by the window, lost in grave\nmeditation. Then calling Pulcheria, she begged her to tend her patient,\ntoo, for a short time. The girl looked up at her with rapt admiration in\nher clear eyes, and asked sympathetically why she was so pale; Paula\nkissed her lips and eyes, and saying affectionately: \"Good, happy child!\"\nshe retired to her own room on the opposite side of the house. There she\nonce more read through the letter.\n\nOh yes; this was Orion as she had known him after his return till the\nevening of that never-to-be-forgotten water-party. He was, indeed, a\npoet; nature herself had made it so easy to him to seduce unguarded souls\ninto a belief in him! And yet no! This letter was honestly meant.\nPhilippus knew men well; Orion really had a heart, a warm heart. Not the\nmost reckless of criminals could mock at the curse hurled at him by a\nbeloved father in his last moments. And, as she once more read the\nsentence in which he told her that it was his crime as an unjust judge\ntowards her that had turned the dying man's blessing to a curse, she\nshuddered and reflected that their relative attitude was now reversed,\nand that he had suffered more and worse through her than she had through\nhim. His pale face, as she had seen it in the Necropolis, came back\nvividly to her mind, and if he could have stood before her at this moment\nshe would have flown to him, have offered him a compassionate hand, and\nhave assured him that the woes she had brought upon him filled her with\nthe deepest and sincerest pity.\n\nThat morning she had asked the Masdakite whether he had besought Heaven\nto grant him a speedy recovery, and the man replied that Persians never\nprayed for any particular blessing, but only for \"that which was good;\"\nfor that none but the Omnipotent knew what was good for mortals. How\nwise! For in this instance might not the most terrible blow that could\nfall on a son--his father's curse--prove a blessing? It was undoubtedly\nthat curse which had led him to look into his soul and to start on this\nnew path. She saw him treading it, she longed to believe in his\nconversion--and she did believe in it. In this letter he spoke of his\nlove; he even asked her hand. Only yesterday this would have roused her\nwrath; to-day she could forgive him; for she could forgive anything to\nthis unhappy soul--to the man on whom she had brought such deep anguish.\nHer heart could now beat high in the hope of seeing him again; nay, it\neven seemed to her that the youth, whose return had been hailed with such\nwelcome and who had so powerfully attracted her, had only now grown and\nripened to full and perfect manhood through his sin, his penitence, and\nhis suffering.\n\nAnd how noble a task it would be to assist him in seeking the right way,\nand in becoming what he aspired to be!\n\nThe prudent care he had given to her worldly welfare merited her\ngratitude. What could he mean by the \"exchange\" he proposed? The \"great\nlove\" of which he had spoken to Katharina was legible in every line of\nhis letter, and any woman can forgive any man--were he a sinner, and a\nscarecrow into the bargain--for his audacity in loving her. Oh! that he\nmight but set his heart on her--for hers, it was vain to deny it, was\nstrongly drawn to him. Still she would not call it Love that stirred\nwithin her; it could only be the holy impulse to point out to him the\nhighest goal of life and smooth the path for him. The pale horseman who\nhad clutched her in her dream should not drag her away; no, she would\njoyfully lift him up to the highest pinnacle attainable by a brave and\nnoble man.\n\nSo her thoughts ran, and her cheeks flushed as, with swift decision, she\nopened her trunk, took out papyrus, writing implements and a seal, and\nseated herself at a little desk which Rufinus had placed for her in the\nwindow, to write her answer.\n\nAt this a sudden fervent longing for Orion came over her. She made a\ngreat effort to shake it off; still, she felt that in writing to him it\nwas impossible that she should find the right words, and as she replaced\nthe papyrus in the chest and looked at the seal a strange thing happened\nto her; for the device on her father's well-known ring: a star above two\ncrossed swords--perchance the star of Orion--caught her eye, with the\nmotto in Greek: \"The immortal gods have set sweat before virtue,\" meaning\nthat the man who aims at being virtuous must grudge neither sweat nor\ntoil.\n\nShe closed her trunk with a pleased smile, for the motto round the star\nwas, she felt, of good augury. At the same time she resolved to speak to\nOrion, taking these words, which her forefathers had adopted from old\nHesiod, as her text. She hastened down stairs, crossed the garden,\npassing by Rufinus, his wife and the physician, awoke the secretary who\nhad long since dropped asleep, and enjoined him to say: \"Yes\" to his\nmaster, as he expected. However, before the messenger had mounted his\nmule, she begged him to wait yet a few minutes and returned to the two\nmen; for she had forgotten in her eagerness to speak to them of Orion's\nplans. They were both willing to meet him at the hour proposed and, while\nPhilippus went to tell the messenger that they would expect his master on\nthe next day, the old man looked at Paula with undisguised satisfaction\nand said:\n\n\"We were fearing lest the news from the governor's house should have\nspoilt your happy mood, but, thank God, you look as if you had just come\nfrom a refreshing bath.--What do you say, Joanna? Twenty years ago such\nan inmate here would have made you jealous? Or was there never a place\nfor such evil passions in your dove-like soul?\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" laughed the matron. \"How can I tell how many fair beings you\nhave gazed after, wanderer that you are in all the wide world far away?\"\n\n\"Well, old woman, but as sure as man is the standard of all things,\nnowhere that I have carried my staff, have I met with a goddess like\nthis!\"\n\n\"I certainly have not either, living here like a snail in its shell,\"\nsaid Dame Joanna, fixing her bright eyes on Paula with fervent\nadmiration.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThat evening Rufinus was sitting in the garden with his wife and daughter\nand their friend Philippus. Paula, too, was there, and from time to time\nshe stroked Pulcheria's silky golden hair, for the girl had seated\nherself at her feet, leaning her head against Paula's knee.\n\nThe moon was full, and it was so light out of doors that they could see\neach other plainly, so Rufinus' proposition that they should remain to\nwatch an eclipse which was to take place an hour before midnight found\nall the more ready acceptance because the air was pleasant. The men had\nbeen discussing the expected phenomenon, lamenting that the Church should\nstill lend itself to the superstitions of the populace by regarding it as\nof evil omen, and organizing a penitential procession for the occasion to\nimplore God to avert all ill. Rufinus declared that it was blasphemy\nagainst the Almighty to interpret events happening in the course of\neternal law and calculable beforehand, as a threatening sign from Him; as\nthough man's deserts had any connection with the courses of the sun and\nmoon. The Bishop and all the priests of the province were to head the\nprocession, and thus a simple natural phenomenon was forced in the minds\nof the people into a significance it did not possess.\n\n\"And if the little comet which my old foster father discovered last week\ncontinues to increase,\" added the physician, \"so that its tail spreads\nover a portion of the sky, the panic will reach its highest pitch; I can\nsee already that they will behave like mad creatures.\"\n\n\"But a comet really does portend war, drought, plague, and famine,\" said\nPulcheria, with full conviction; and Paula added:\n\n\"So I have always believed.\"\n\n\"But very wrongly,\" replied the leech. \"There are a thousand reasons to\nthe contrary; and it is a crime to confirm the mob in such a\nsuperstition. It fills them with grief and alarms; and, would you believe\nit--such anguish of mind, especially when the Nile is so low and there is\nmore sickness than usual, gives rise to numberless forms of disease? We\nshall have our hands full, Rufinus.\"\n\n\"I am yours to command,\" replied the old man. \"But at the same time, if\nthe tailed wanderer must do some mischief, I would rather it should break\nfolks' arms and legs than turn their brains.\"\n\n\"What a wish!\" exclaimed Paula. \"But you often say things--and I see\nthings about you too--which seem to me extraordinary. Yesterday you\npromised. . . .\"\n\n\"To explain to you why I gather about me so many of God's creatures who\nhave to struggle under the burden of life as cripples, or with injured\nlimbs.\"\n\n\"Just so,\" replied Paula. \"Nothing can be more truly merciful than to\nrender life bearable to such hapless beings. . . .\"\n\n\"But still, you think,\" interrupted the eager old man, \"that this noble\nmotive alone would hardly account for the old oddity's riding his hobby\nso hard.--Well, you are right. From my earliest youth the structure of\nthe bones in man and beast has captivated me exceedingly; and just as\ncollectors of horns, when once they have a complete series of every\nvariety of stag, roe, and gazelle, set to work with fresh zeal to find\ndeformed or monstrous growths, so I have found pleasure in studying every\nkind of malformation and injury in the bones of men and beasts.\"\n\n\"And to remedy them,\" added Philippus. \"It has been his passion from\nchildhood.\n\n\"And the passion has grown upon me since I broke my own hip bone and know\nwhat it means,\" the old man went on. \"With the help of my fellow-student\nthere, from a mere dilettante I became a practised surgeon; and, what is\nmore, I am one of those who serve Esculapius at my own expense. However,\nthere are accessory reasons for which I have chosen such strange\ncompanions: deformed slaves are cheap and besides that, certain\ninvestigations afford me inestimable and peculiar satisfaction. But this\ncannot interest a young girl.\"\n\n\"Indeed it does!\" cried Paula. \"So far as I have understood Philippus\nwhen he explains some details of natural history. . . .\"\n\n\"Stay,\" laughed Rufinus, \"our friend will take good care not to explain\nthis. He regards it as folly, and all he will admit is that no surgeon or\nstudent could wish for better, more willing, or more amusing house-mates\nthan my cripples.\"\n\n\"They are grateful to you,\" cried Paula.\n\n\"Grateful?\" asked the old man. \"That is true sometimes, no doubt; still,\ngratitude is a tribute on which no wise man ever reckons. Now I have told\nyou enough; for the sake of Philippus we will let the rest pass.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Paula putting up entreating hands, and Rufinus answered\ngaily:\n\n\"Who can refuse you anything? I will cut it short, but you must pay good\nheed.--Well then Man is the standard of all things. Do you understand\nthat?\"\n\n\"Yes, I often hear you say so. Things you mean are only what they seem to\nus.\"\n\n\"To us, you say, because we--you and I and the rest of us here--are sound\nin body and mind. And we must regard all things--being God's\nhandiwork--as by nature sound and normal. Thus we are justified in\nrequiring that man, who gives the standard for them shall, first and\nforemost, himself be sound and normal. Can a carpenter measure straight\nplanks properly with a crooked or sloping rod?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"Then you will understand how I came to ask myself: 'Do sickly, crippled,\nand deformed men measure things by a different standard to that of sound\nmen? And might it not be a useful task to investigate how their estimates\ndiffer from ours?'\"\n\n\"And have your researches among your cripples led to any results?\"\n\n\"To many important ones,\" the old man declared; but Philippus interrupted\nhim with a loud: \"Oho!\" adding that his friend was in too great a hurry\nto deduce laws from individual cases. Many of his observations were, no\ndoubt, of considerable interest. . . . Here Rufinus broke in with some\nvehemence, and the discussion would have become a dispute if Paula had\nnot intervened by requesting her zealous host to give her the results, at\nany rate, of his studies.\n\n\"I find,\" said Rufinus very confidently, as he stroked down his long\nbeard, \"that they are not merely shrewd because their faculties are early\nsharpened to make up by mental qualifications for what they lack in\nphysical advantages; they are also witty, like AEesop the fabulist and\nBesa the Egyptian god, who, as I have been told by our old friend Horus,\nfrom whom we derive all our Egyptian lore, presided among those heathen\nover festivity, jesting, and wit, and also over the toilet of women. This\nshows the subtle observation of the ancients; for the hunchback whose\nbody is bent, applies a crooked standard to things in general. His keen\ninsight often enables him to measure life as the majority of men do, that\nis by a straight rule; but in some happy moments when he yields to\nnatural impulse he makes the straight crooked and the crooked straight;\nand this gives rise to wit, which only consists in looking at things\nobliquely and--setting them askew as it were. You have only to talk to my\nhump-backed gardener Gibbus, or listen to what he says. When he is\nsitting with the rest of our people in an evening, they all laugh as soon\nas he opens his mouth.--And why? Because his conformation makes him utter\nnothing but paradoxes.--You know what they are?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And you, Pul?\"\n\n\"No, Father.\"\n\n\"You are too straight-nay, and so is your simple soul, to know what the\nthing is! Well, listen then: It would be a paradox, for instance, if I\nwere to say to the Bishop as he marches past in procession: 'You are\ngodless out of sheer piety;' or if I were to say to Paula, by way of\nexcuse for all the flattery which I and your mother offered her just now:\n'Our incense was nauseous for very sweetness.'--These paradoxes, when\nexamined, are truths in a crooked form, and so they best suit the\ndeformed. Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Paula.\n\n\"And you, Pul?\"\n\n\"I am not quite sure. I should be better pleased to be simply told: 'We\nought not to have made such flattering speeches; they may vex a young\ngirl.'\"\n\n\"Very good, my straightforward child,\" laughed her father. \"But look,\nthere is the man! Here, good Gibbus--come here!--Now, just consider:\nsupposing you had flattered some one so grossly that you had offended him\ninstead of pleasing him: How would you explain the state of affairs in\ntelling me of it?\"\n\nThe gardener, a short, square man, with a huge hump but a clever face and\ngood features, reflected a minute and then replied: \"I wanted to make an\nass smell at some roses and I put thistles under his nose.\"\n\n\"Capital!\" cried Paula; and as Gibbus turned away, laughing to himself,\nthe physician said:\n\n\"One might almost envy the man his hump. But yet, fair Paula, I think we\nhave some straight-limbed folks who can make use of such crooked phrases,\ntoo, when occasion serves.\"\n\nBut Rufinus spoke before Paula could reply, referring her to his Essay on\nthe deformed in soul and body; and then he went on vehemently:\n\n\"I call you all to witness, does not Baste, the lame woman, restrict her\nviews to the lower aspect of things, to the surface of the earth indeed?\nShe has one leg much shorter than the other, and it is only with much\npains that we have contrived that it should carry her. To limp along at\nall she is forced always to look down at the ground, and what is the\nconsequence? She can never tell you what is hanging to a tree, and about\nthree weeks since I asked her under a clear sky and a waning moon whether\nthe moon had been shining the evening before and she could not tell me,\nthough she had been sitting out of doors with the others till quite late,\nevening after evening. I have noticed, too, that she scarcely recognizes\nmen who are rather tall, though she may have seen them three or four\ntimes. Her standard has fallen short-like her leg. Now, am I right or\nwrong?\"\n\n\"In this instance you are right,\" replied Philippus, \"still, I know some\nlame people. . .\"\n\nAnd again words ran high between the friends; Pulcheria, however, put an\nend to the discussion this time, by exclaiming enthusiastically:\n\n\"Baste is the best and most good-natured soul in the whole house!\"\n\n\"Because she looks into her own heart,\" replied Rufinus. \"She knows\nherself; and, because she knows how painful pain is, she treats others\ntenderly. Do you remember, Philippus, how we disputed after that\nanatomical lecture we heard together at Caesarea?\"\n\n\"Perfectly well,\" said the leech, \"and later life has but confirmed the\nopinion I then held. There is no less true or less just saying than the\nLatin motto: 'Mens sana in corpore sano,' as it is generally interpreted\nto mean that a healthy soul is only to be found in a healthy body. As the\nexpression of a wish it may pass, but I have often felt inclined to doubt\neven that. It has been my lot to meet with a strength of mind, a\nhopefulness, and a thankfulness for the smallest mercies in the sickliest\nbodies, and at the same time a delicacy of feeling, a wise reserve, and\nan undeviating devotion to lofty things such as I have never seen in a\nhealthy frame. The body is but the tenement of the soul, and just as we\nfind righteous men and sinners, wise men and fools, alike in the palace\nand the hovel--nay, and often see truer worth in a cottage than in the\nsplendid mansions of the great--so we may discover noble souls both in\nthe ugly and the fair, in the healthy and the infirm, and most\nfrequently, perhaps, in the least vigorous. We should be careful how we\ngo about repeating such false axioms, for they can only do harm to those\nwho have a heavy burthen to bear through life as it is. In my opinion a\nhunchback's thoughts are as straightforward as an athlete's; or do you\nimagine that if a mother were to place her new-born children in a spiral\nchamber and let them grow up in it, they could not tend upwards as all\nmen do by nature?\"\n\n\"Your comparison limps,\" cried Rufinus, \"and needs setting to rights. If\nwe are not to find ourselves in open antagonism. . . .\"\n\n\"You must keep the peace,\" Joanna put in addressing her husband; and\nbefore Rufinus could retort, Paula had asked him with frank simplicity:\n\n\"How old are you, my worthy host?\"\n\n\"Your arrival at my house blessed the second day of my seventieth year,\"\nreplied Rufinus with a courteous bow. His wife shook her finger at him,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"I wonder whether you have not a secret hump? Such fine phrases. . .\"\n\n\"He is catching the style from his cripples,\" said Paula laughing at him.\n\"But now it is your turn, friend Philippus. Your exposition was worthy of\nan antique sage, and it struck me--for the sake of Rufinus here I will\nnot say convinced me. I respect you--and yet I should like to know how\nold. . . .\"\n\n\"I shall soon be thirty-one,\" said Philippus, anticipating her question.\n\n\"That is an honest answer,\" observed Dame Joanna. \"At your age many a man\nclings to his twenties.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Pulcheria.\n\n\"Well,\" said her mother, \"only because there are some girls who think a\nman of thirty too old to be attractive.\"\n\n\"Stupid creatures,\" answered Pulcheria. \"Let them find me a young man who\nis more lovable than my father; and if Philippus--yes you,\nPhilippus--were ten or twenty years over nine and twenty, would that make\nyou less clever or kind?\"\n\n\"Not less ugly, at any rate,\" said the physician. Pulcheria laughed, but\nwith some annoyance, as though she had herself been the object of the\nremark. \"You are not a bit ugly!\" she exclaimed. \"Any one who says so has\nno eyes. And you will hear nothing said of you but that you are a tall,\nfine man!\"\n\nAs the warm-hearted girl thus spoke, defending her friend against\nhimself, Paula stroked her golden hair and added to the physician:\n\n\"Pulcheria's father is so far right that she, at any rate, measures men\nby a true and straight standard. Note that, Philippus!--But do not take\nmy questioning ill.--I cannot help wondering how a man of one and thirty\nand one of seventy should have been studying in the high schools at the\nsame time? The moon will not be eclipsed for a long time yet--how bright\nand clear it is!--So you, Rufinus, who have wandered so far through the\nwide world, if you would do me a great pleasure, will tell us something\nof your past life and how you came to settle in Memphis.\"\n\n\"His history?\" cried Joanna. \"If he were to tell it, in all its details\nfrom beginning to end, the night would wane and breakfast would get cold.\nHe has had as many adventures as travelled Odysseus. But tell us\nsomething husband; you know there is nothing we should like better.\"\n\n\"I must be off to my duties,\" said the leech, and when he had taken a\nfriendly leave of the others and bidden farewell to Paula with less\neffusiveness than of late, Rufinus began his story.\n\n\"I was born in Alexandria, where, at that time, commerce and industry\nstill flourished. My father was an armorer; above two hundred slaves and\nfree laborers were employed in his work-shops. He required the finest\nmetal, and commonly procured it by way of Massilia from Britain. On one\noccasion he himself went to that remote island in a friend's ship, and he\nthere met my mother. Her ruddy gold hair, which Pul has inherited, seems\nto have bewitched him and, as the handsome foreigner pleased her\nwell--for men like my father are hard to match nowadays--she turned\nChristian for his sake and came home with him. They neither of them ever\nregretted it; for though she was a quiet woman, and to her dying day\nspoke Greek like a foreigner, the old man often said she was his best\ncounsellor. At the same time she was so soft-hearted, that she could not\nbear that any living creature should suffer, and though she looked keenly\nafter everything at the hearth and loom, she could never see a fowl, a\ngoose, or a pig slaughtered. And I have inherited her weakness--shall I\nsay 'alas!' or 'thank God?'\n\n\"I had two elder brothers who both had to help my father, and who were to\ncarry on the business. When I was ten years old my calling was decided\non. My mother would have liked to make a priest of me and at that time I\nshould have consented joyfully; but my father would not agree, and as we\nhad an uncle who was making a great deal of money as a Rhetor, my father\naccepted a proposal from him that I should devote myself to that career.\nSo I went from one teacher to another and made good progress in the\nschools.\n\n\"Till my twentieth year I continued to live with my parents, and during\nmy many hours of leisure I was free to do or leave undone whatever I had\na fancy for; and this was always something medical, if that is not too\nbig a word. I was but a lad of twelve when this fancy first took me, and\nthat through pure accident. Of course I was fond of wandering about the\nworkshops, and there they kept a magpie, a quaint little bird, which my\nmother had fed out of compassion. It could say 'Blockhead,' and call my\nname and a few other words, and it seemed to like the noise, for it\nalways would fly off to where the smiths were hammering and filing their\nloudest, and whenever it perched close to one of the anvils there were\nsure to be mirthful faces over the shaping and scraping and polishing.\nFor many years its sociable ways made it a favorite; but one day it got\ncaught in a vice and its left leg was broken. Poor little creature!\"\n\nThe old man stooped to wipe his eyes unseen, but he went on without\npausing:\n\n\"It fell on its back and looked at me so pathetically that I snatched the\ntongs out of the bellows-man's hand--for he was going to put an end to\nits sufferings in all kindness--and, picking it up gently, I made up my\nmind I would cure it. Then I carried the bird into my own room, and to\nkeep it quiet that it might not hurt itself, I tied it down to a frame\nthat I contrived, straightened its little leg, warmed the injured bone by\nsucking it, and strapped it to little wooden splints. And behold it\nreally set: the bird got quite well and fluttered about the workshops\nagain as sound as before, and whenever it saw me it would perch upon my\nshoulder and peck very gently at my hair with its sharp beak.\n\n\"From that moment I could have found it in me to break the legs of every\nhen in the yard, that I might set them again; but I thought of something\nbetter. I went to the barbers and told them that if any one had a bird, a\ndog, or a cat, with a broken limb, he might bring it to me, and that I\nwas prepared to cure all these injuries gratis; they might tell all their\ncustomers. The very next day I had a patient brought me: a black hound,\nwith tan spots over his eyes, whose leg had been smashed by a badly-aimed\nspear: I can see him now! Others followed; feathered or four-footed\nsufferers; and this was the beginning of my surgical career. The invalid\nbirds on the trees I still owe to my old allies the barbers. I only\noccasionally take beasts in hand. The lame children, whom you saw in the\ngarden, come to me from poor parents who cannot afford a surgeon's aid.\nThe merry, curly-headed boy who brought you a rose just now is to go home\nagain in a few days.--But to return to the story of my youth.\n\n\"The more serious events which gave my life this particular bias occurred\nin my twentieth year, when I had already left even the high school behind\nme; nor was I fully carried away by their influence till after my uncle\nhad procured me several opportunities of proving my proficiency in my\ncalling. I may say without vanity that my speeches won approval; but I\nwas revolted by the pompous, flowery bombast, without which I should have\nbeen hissed down, and though my parents rejoiced when I went home from\nNiku, Arsmoe, or some other little provincial town, with laurel-wreaths\nand gold pieces, to myself I always seemed an impostor. Still, for my\nfather's sake, I dared not give up my profession, although I hated more\nand more the task of praising people to the skies whom I neither loved\nnor respected, and of shedding tears of pathos while all the time I was\nminded to laugh.\n\n\"I had plenty of time to myself, and as I did not lack courage and held\nstoutly to our Greek confession, I was always to be found where there was\nany stir or contention between the various sects. They generally passed\noff with nothing worse than bruises and scratches, but now and then\nswords were drawn. On one occasion thousands came forth to meet\nthousands, and the Prefect called out the troops--all Greeks--to restore\norder by force. A massacre ensued in which thousands were killed. I could\nnot describe it! Such scenes were not rare, and the fury and greed of the\nmob were often directed against the Jews by the machinations of the\ncreatures of the archbishop and the government. The things I saw there\nwere so horrible, so shocking, that the tongue refuses to tell them; but\none poor Jewess, whose husband the wretches--our fellow\nChristians--killed, and then pillaged the house, I have never forgotten!\nA soldier dragged her down by her hair, while a ruffian snatched the\nchild from her breast and, holding it by its feet, dashed its skull\nagainst the wall before her eyes--as you might slash a wet cloth against\na pillar to dry it--I shall never forget that handsome young mother and\nher child; they come before me in my dreams at night even now.\n\n\"All these things I saw; and I shuddered to behold God's creatures,\nbeings endowed with reason, persecuting their fellows, plunging them into\nmisery, tearing them limb from limb--and why? Merciful Saviour, why? For\nsheer hatred--as sure as man is the standard for all things--merely\ncarried away by a hideous impulse to spite their neighbor for not\nthinking as they do--nay, simply for not being themselves--to hurt him,\ninsult him, work him woe. And these fanatics, these armies who raised the\nstandard of ruthlessness, of extermination, of bloodthirstiness, were\nChristians, were baptized in the name of Him who bids us forgive our\nenemies, who enlarged the borders of love from the home and the city and\nthe state to include all mankind; who raised the adulteress from the\ndust, who took children into his arms, and would have more joy over a\nsinner who repents than over ninety and nine just persons!--Blood, blood,\nwas what they craved; and did not the doctrine of Him whose followers\nthey boastfully called themselves grow out of the blood of Him who shed\nit for all men alike,--just as that lotos flower grows out of the clear\nwater in the marble tank? And it was the highest guardians and keepers of\nthis teaching of mercy, who goaded on the fury of the mob: Patriarchs,\nbishops, priests and deacons--instead of pointing to the picture of the\nShepherd who tenderly carries the lost sheep and brings it home to the\nfold.\n\n\"My own times seemed to me the worst that had ever been; aye, and--as\nsurely as man is the standard of all things--so they are! for love is\nturned to hatred, mercy to implacable hardheartedness. The thrones not\nonly of the temporal but of the spiritual rulers, are dripping with the\nblood of their fellow-men. Emperors and bishops set the example; subjects\nand churchmen follow it. The great, the leading men of the struggle are\ncopied by the small, by the peaceful candidates for spiritual benefices.\nAll that I saw as a man, in the open streets, I had already seen as a boy\nboth in the low and high schools. Every doctrine has its adherents; the\nman who casts in his lot with Cneius is hated by Caius, who forthwith\nspeaks and writes to no other end than to vex and put down Cneius, and\ngive him pain. Each for his part strives his utmost to find out faults in\nhis neighbor and to put him in the pillory, particularly if his\nantagonist is held the greater man, or is likely to overtop him. Listen\nto the girls at the well, to the women at the spindle; no one is sure of\napplause who cannot tell some evil of the other men or women. Who cares\nto listen to his neighbor's praises? The man who hears that his brother\nis happy at once envies him! Hatred, hatred everywhere! Everywhere the\nwill, the desire, the passion for bringing grief and ruin on others\nrather than to help them, raise them and heal them!\n\n\"That is the spirit of my time; and everything within me revolted against\nit with sacred wrath. I vowed in my heart that I would live and act\ndifferently; that my sole aim should be to succor the unfortunate, to\nhelp the wretched, to open my arms to those who had fallen into unmerited\ncontumely, to set the crooked straight for my neighbor, to mend what was\nbroken, to pour in balm, to heal and to save!\n\n\"And, thank God! it has been vouchsafed to me in some degree to keep this\nvow; and though, later, some whims and a passionate curiosity got mixed\nup with my zeal, still, never have I lost sight of the great task of\nwhich I have spoken, since my father's death and since my uncle also left\nme his large fortune. Then I had done with the Rhetor's art, and\ntravelled east and west to seek the land where love unites men's hearts\nand where hatred is only a disease; but as sure as man is the standard of\nall things, to this day all my endeavors to find it have been in vain.\nMeanwhile I have kept my own house on such a footing that it has become a\nstronghold of love; in its atmosphere hatred cannot grow, but is nipped\nin the germ.\n\n\"In spite of this I am no saint. I have committed many a folly, many an\ninjustice; and much of my goods and gold, which I should perhaps have\ndone better to save for my family, has slipped through my fingers, though\nin the execution, no doubt, of what I deemed the highest duties. Would\nyou believe it, Paula?--Forgive an old man for such fatherly familiarity\nwith the daughter of Thomas;--hardly five years after my marriage with\nthis good wife, not long after we had lost our only son, I left her and\nour little daughter, Pul there, for more than two years, to follow the\nEmperor Heraclius of my own free will to the war against the Persians who\nhad done me no harm--not, indeed, as a soldier, but as a surgeon eager\nfor experience. To confess the truth I was quite as eager to see and\ntreat fractures and wounds and injuries in great numbers, as I was to\nexercise benevolence. I came home with a broken hip-bone, tolerably\npatched up, and again, a few years later, I could not keep still in one\nplace. The bird of passage must need drag wife and child from the peace\nof hearth and homestead, and take them to where he could go to the high\nschool. A husband, a father, and already grey-headed, I was a singular\nexception among the youths who sat listening to the lectures and\nexplanations of their teachers; but as sure as man is the standard of all\nthings, they none of them outdid me in diligence and zeal, though many a\none was greatly my superior in gifts and intellect, and among them the\nforemost was our friend Philippus. Thus it came about, noble Paula, that\nthe old man and the youth in his prime were fellow-students; but to this\nday the senior gladly bows down to his young brother in learning and\nfeeling. To straighten, to comfort, and to heal: this is the aim of his\nlife too. And even I, an old man, who started long before Philippus on\nthe same career, often long to call myself his disciple.\"\n\nHere Rufinus paused and rose; Paula, too, got up, grasped his hand\nwarmly, and said:\n\n\"If I were a man, I would join you! But Philippus has told me that even a\nwoman may be allowed to work with the same purpose.--And now let me beg\nof you never to call me anything but Paula--you will not refuse me this\nfavor. I never thought I could be so happy again as I am with you; here\nmy heart is free and whole. Dame Joanna, do you be my mother! I have lost\nthe best of fathers, and till I find him again, you, Rufinus, must fill\nhis place!\"\n\n\"Gladly, gladly!\" cried the old man; he clasped both her hands and went\non vivaciously: \"And in return I ask you to be an elder sister to Pul.\nMake that timid little thing such a maiden as you are yourself.--But\nlook, children, look up quickly; it is beginning!--Typhon, in the form of\na boar, is swallowing the eye of Horns: so the heathen of old in this\ncountry used to believe when the moon suffered an eclipse. See how the\nshadow is covering the bright disk. When the ancients saw this happening\nthey used to make a noise, shaking the sistrum with its metal rings,\ndrumming and trumpeting, shouting and yelling, to scare off the evil one\nand drive him away. It may be about four hundred years since that last\ntook place, but to this day--draw your kerchiefs more closely round your\nheads and come with me to the river--to this day Christians degrade\nthemselves by similar rites. Wherever I have been in Christian lands, I\nhave always witnessed the same scenes: our holy faith has, to be sure,\ndemolished the religions of the heathen; but their superstitions have\nsurvived, and have forced their way through rifts and chinks into our\nceremonial. They are marching round now, with the bishop at their head,\nand you can hear the loud wailing of the women, and the cries of the men,\ndrowning the chant of the priests. Only listen! They are as passionate\nand agonized in their entreaty as though old Typhon were even now about\nto swallow the moon, and the greatest catastrophe was hanging over the\nworld. Aye, as surely as man is the standard of all things, those\nterrified beings are diseased in mind; and how are we to forgive those\nwho dare to scare Christians; yes, Christian souls, with the traditions\nof heathen folly, and to blind their inward vision?\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Gratitude is a tribute on which no wise man ever reckons\n     Healthy soul is only to be found in a healthy body\n     Man is the standard of all things\n     Persians never prayed for any particular blessing\n     The immortal gods have set sweat before virtue\n     Things you mean are only what they seem to us\n     Would want some one else to wear herself out for\n     Any woman can forgive any man for his audacity in loving her\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nUp to within a few days Katharina had still been a dependent and docile\nchild, who had made it a point of honor to obey instantly, not only her\nmother's lightest word, but Dame Neforis, too; and, since her own Greek\ninstructress had been dismissed, even the acid Eudoxia. She had never\nconcealed from her mother, or the worthy teacher whom she had truly\nloved, the smallest breach of rules, the least naughtiness or wilful act\nof which she had been guilty; nay, she had never been able to rest till\nshe had poured out a confession, before evening prayer, of all that her\nlittle heart told her was not perfectly right, to some one whom she\nloved, and obtained full forgiveness. Night after night the\n\"Water-wagtail\" had gone to sleep with a conscience as clear and as white\nas the breast of her whitest dove, and the worst sin she had ever\ncommitted during the day was some forbidden scramble, some dainty or,\nmore frequently, some rude and angry word.\n\nBut a change had first come over her after Orion's kiss in the\nintoxicating perfume of the flowering trees; and almost every hour since\nhad roused her to new hopes and new views. It had never before occurred\nto her to criticise or judge her mother; now she was constantly doing so.\nThe way in which Susannah had cut herself off from her neighbors in the\ngovernor's house, to her daughter seemed perverse and in bad taste; and\nthe bitterly vindictive attacks on her old friends, which were constantly\non Susannah's lips, aggrieved the girl, and finally set her in opposition\nto her mother, whose judgment had hitherto seemed to her infallible.\nThus, when the governor's house was closed against her, there was no one\nin whom she cared to confide, for a barrier stood between her and Paula,\nand she was painfully conscious of its height each time the wish to pass\nit recurred to her mind. Paula was certainly \"that other\" of whom Orion\nhad spoken; when she had stolen away to see her in the evening after the\nfuneral, she had been prompted less by a burning wish to pour out her\nheart to a sympathizing hearer, than by torturing curiosity mingled with\njealousy. She had crept through the hedge with a strangely-mixed feeling\nof tender longing and sullen hatred; when they had met in the garden she\nhad at first given herself up to the full delight of being free to speak,\nand of finding a listener in a woman so much her superior; but Paula's\nreserved replies to her bold questioning had revived her feelings of envy\nand grudge. Any one who did not hate Orion must, she was convinced, love\nhim.\n\nWere they not perhaps already pledged to each other! Very likely Paula\nhad thought of her as merely a credulous child, and so had concealed the\nfact!\n\nThis \"very likely\" was torture to her, and she was determined to try, at\nany rate, to settle the doubt. She had an ally at her command; this was\nher foster-brother, the son of her deaf old nurse; she knew that he would\nblindly obey all her wishes--nay, to please her, would throw himself to\nthe crocodiles in the Nile. Anubis had been her comrade in all her\nchildish sports, till at the age of fourteen, after learning to read and\nwrite, her mother had obtained an appointment for him in the governor's\nhousehold, as an assistant to be further trained by the treasurer Nilus.\nDame Susannah intended to find him employment at a future date on her\nestates, or at Memphis, the centre of their administration, as he might\nprove himself capable. The lad was still living with his mother under the\nrich widow's roof, and only spent his working days at the governor's\nhouse, he was industrious and clever during office hours, though between\nwhiles he busied himself with things altogether foreign to his future\ncalling. At Katharina's request he had opened a communication between the\ntwo houses by means of carrier-pigeons, and many missives were thus\ndespatched with little gossip, invitations, excuses, and the like, from\nKatharina to Mary and back again. Anubis took great pleasure in the\npretty creatures, and by the permission of his superiors a dovecote was\nerected on the roof of the treasurer's house. Mary was now lying ill, and\ntheir intercourse was at an end; still, the well-trained messengers need\nnot be idle, and Katharina had begun to use them for a very different\npurpose.\n\nOrion's envoy had been detained a long time at Rufinus' door the day\nbefore; and she had since learnt from Anubis, who was acquainted with all\nthat took place in Nilus' office, that Paula's moneys were to be\ndelivered over to her very shortly, and in all probability by Orion\nhimself. They must then have an interview, and perhaps she might succeed\nin overhearing it. She knew well how this could be managed; the only\nthing was to be on the spot at the right moment.\n\nOn the morning after the full-moon, at two hours and a half before noon,\nthe little boy whose task it was to feed the feathered messengers in\ntheir dove-cote brought her a written scrap, on which Anubis informed her\nthat Orion was about to set out; but he was not very warmly welcomed, for\nthe hour did not suit her at all. Early in the morning Bishop Plotinus\nhad come to inform Susannah that Benjamin, Patriarch of Alexandria, was\nvisiting Amru on the opposite shore, and would presently honor Memphis\nwith his presence. He proposed to remain one day; he had begged to have\nno formal reception, and had left it to the bishop to find suitable\nquarters for himself and his escort, as he did not wish to put up at the\ngovernor's house. The vain widow had at once pressingly urged her\nreadiness to receive the illustrious guest under her roof: The prelate's\npresence must bring a blessing on the house, and she thought, too, that\nshe might turn it to advantage for several ends she just now happened to\nhave in view.\n\nA handsome reception must be prepared; there were but a few hours to\nspare, and even before the bishop had left her, she had begun to call the\nservants together and give them orders. The whole house must be turned\nupside down; some of the kitchen staff were hurried off into the town to\nmake purchases, others bustled round the fire; the gardeners plundered\nthe beds and bushes to weave wreaths and nosegays for decorations; from\ncellar to roof half a hundred of slaves, white, brown and black, were\ntoiling with all their might, for each believed that, by rendering a\nservice to the Patriarch, he might count on the special favor of Heaven,\nwhile their unresting mistress never ceased screaming out her orders as\nto what she wished done.\n\nSusannah, who as a girl had been the eldest of a numerous and not wealthy\nfamily, and had been obliged to put her own hand to things, quite forgot\nnow that she was a woman of position and fortune whom it ill-beseemed to\ndo her own household work; she was here, there, and everywhere, and had\nan eye on all--excepting indeed her own daughter; but she was the petted\ndarling of the house, brought up to Greek refinement, whose help in such\narduous labors was not to be thought of; indeed, she would only have been\nin the way.\n\nWhen the bishop had taken his leave Katharina was merely desired to be\nready in her best attire, with a nosegay in her hand, to receive the\nPatriarch under the awning spread outside the entrance. More than this\nthe widow did not require of her, and as the girl flew up the stairs to\nher room she was thinking: \"Orion will be coming directly: it still wants\nfully two hours of noon, and if he stays there half an hour that will be\nmore than enough. I shall have time then to change my dress, but I will\nput my new sandals on at once as a precaution; nurse and the maid must\nwait for me in my room. They must have everything ready for my\nreturn--perhaps he and Paula may have much to say to each other. He will\nnot get off without a lecture, unless she has already found an\nopportunity elsewhere of expressing her indignation.\"\n\nA few minutes later she had sprung to the top of a mound of earth covered\nwith turf, which she had some time since ordered to be thrown up close\nbehind the hedge through which she had yesterday made her way. Her little\nfeet were shod with handsome gold sandals set with sapphires, and she\nseated herself on a low bench with a satisfied smile, as though to assist\nat a theatrical performance. Some broad-leaved shrubs, placed behind this\nplace of ambush, screened her to some extent from the heat of the sun,\nand as she sat watching and listening in this lurking place, which she\nwas not using for the first time, her heart began to beat more quickly;\nindeed, in her excitement she quite forgot some sweetmeats which she had\nbrought to wile away the time and had poured into a large leaf in her\nlap.\n\nHappily she had not long to wait; Orion arrived in his mother's\nfour-wheeled covered chariot. By the side of the driver sat a servant,\nand a slave was perched on the step to the door on each side of the\nvehicle. It was followed by a few idlers, men and women, and a crowd of\nhalf-naked children. But they got nothing by their curiosity, for the\ncarruca did not draw up in the road, but was driven into Rufinus' garden,\nand the trees and shrubs hid it from the gaze of the expectant mob, which\npresently dispersed.\n\nOrion got out at the principal door of the house, followed by the\ntreasurer; and while the old man welcomed the son of the Mukaukas, Nilus\nsuperintended the transfer of a considerable number of heavy sacks to\ntheir host's private room.\n\nNothing of all this had seemed noteworthy to Katharina but the quantity\nand size of the bags--full, no doubt, of gold--and the man, whom alone\nshe cared to see. Never had she thought Orion so handsome; the long,\nflowing mourning robe, which he had flung over his shoulder in rich\nfolds, added to the height of his stately form; his abundant hair, not\ncurled but waving naturally, set off his face which, pale and grave as it\nwas, both touched and attracted her ir resistibly. The thought that this\nsplendid creature had once courted her, loved her, kissed her--that he\nhad once been hers, and that she had lost him to another, was a pang like\nphysical agony, mounting from her heart to her brain.\n\nAfter Orion had vanished indoors, she still seemed to see him; and when\nshe thrust his image from her fancy, forced to remind herself that he was\nnow standing face to face with that other, and was looking at Paula as, a\nfew days since, he had looked at her, the anguish of her soul was\ndoubled. And was Paula only half as happy as she had been in that hour of\nsupreme bliss? Ah! how her heart ached! She longed to leap over the\nhedge--she could have rushed into the house and flung herself between\nPaula and Orion.\n\nStill, there she sat; restless but without moving; wholly under the\ndominion of evil thoughts, among which a good one rarely and timidly\nintruded, with her eyes fixed on Rufinus' dwelling. It stood in the broad\nsunshine as silent as death, as if all were sleeping. In the garden, too,\nall was motionless but the thin jet of water, which danced up from the\nmarble tank with a soft and fitful, but monotonous tinkle, while\nbutterflies, dragonflies, bees, and beetles, whose hum she could not\nhear, seemed to circle round the flowers without a sound. The birds must\nbe asleep, for not one was to be seen or broke the oppressive stillness\nby a chirp or a twitter. The chariot at the door might have been\nspellbound; the driver had dismounted, and he, with the other slaves, had\nstretched himself in the narrow strips of shade cast by the pillars of\nthe verandah; their chins buried in their breasts, they spoke not a word.\nThe horses alone were stirring-flicking off the flies with their flowing\ntails, or turning to bite the burning stings they inflicted. This now and\nthen lifted the pole, and as the chariot crunched backwards a few inches,\nthe charioteer growled out a sleepy \"Brrr.\"\n\nKatharina had laid a large leaf on her head for protection against the\nsun; she did not dare use a parasol or a hat for fear of being seen. The\nshade cast by the shrubs was but scanty, the noontide heat was torment;\nstill, though minute followed minute and one-quarter of an hour after\nanother crept by at a snail's pace, she was far too much excited to be\nsleepy. She needed no dial to tell her the time; she knew exactly how\nlate it was as one shadow stole to this point and another to that, and,\nby risking the danger to her eyes of glancing up at the sun, she could\nmake doubly sure.\n\nIt was now within three-quarters of an hour of noon, and in that house\nall was as still as before; the Patriarch, however, might be expected to\nbe punctual, and she had done nothing towards dressing but putting on\nthose gilt sandals. This brought her to swift decision she hurried to her\nroom, desired the maid not to dress her hair, contenting herself with\npinning a few roses into its natural curls. Then, in fierce haste, she\nmade her throw on her sea-green dress of bombyx silk edged with fine\nembroidery, and fasten her peplos with the first pins that came to hand;\nand when the snap of her bracelet of costly sapphires broke, as she\nherself was fastening it, she flung it back among her other trinkets as\nshe might have tossed an unripe apple back upon a heap. She slipped her\nlittle hand into a gold spiral which curled round half her arm, and\ngathered up the rest of her jewels, to put them on out of doors as she\nsat watching. The waiting-woman was ordered to come for her at noon with\nthe flowers for the Patriarch, and, in a quarter of an hour after leaving\nher lurking place, she was back there again. Just in time;--for while she\nwas putting on the trinkets Nilus came out, followed by some slaves with\nseveral leather bags which they replaced in the chariot. Then the\ntreasurer stepped in and with him Philippus, and the vehicle drove away.\n\n\"So Paula has entrusted her property to Orion again,\" thought Katharina.\n\"They are one again; and henceforth there will be endless going and\ncoming between the governor's house and that of Rufinus. A very pretty\ngame!--But wait, only wait.\" And she set her little white teeth; but she\nretained enough self-possession to mark all that took place.\n\nDuring her absence indoors Orion's black horse had been brought into the\ngarden; a groom on horseback was leading him, and as she watched their\nmovements she muttered to herself with a smile of scorn: \"At any rate he\nis not going to carry her home with him at once.\"\n\nA few minutes passed in silence, and at last Paula came out, and close\nbehind her, almost by her side, walked Orion.\n\nHis cheeks were no longer pale, far from it, no more than Katharina's\nwere; they were crimson! How bright his eyes were, how radiant with\nsatisfaction and gladness!--She only wished she were a viper to sting\nthem both in the heel!--At the same time Paula had lost none of her proud\nand noble dignity--and he? He gazed at his companion like a rapt soul;\nshe fancied she could see the folds of his mourning cloak rising and\nfalling with the beating of his heart. Paula, too, was in mourning. Of\ncourse. They were one; his sorrow must be hers, although she had fled\nfrom his father's house as though it were a prison. And of course this\nvirtuous beauty knew full well that nothing became her better than dark\ncolors! In manner, gait and height this pair looked like two superior\nbeings, destined for each other by Fate; Katharina herself could not but\nconfess it.\n\nSome spiteful demon--a friendly one, she thought--led them past her, so\nclose that her sharp ears could catch every word they said as they slowly\nwalked on, or now and then stood still, dogged by the agile\nwater-wagtail, who stole along parallel with them on the other side of\nthe hedge.\n\n\"I have so much to thank you for,\" were the first words she caught from\nOrion, \"that I am shy of asking you yet another favor; but this one\nindeed concerns yourself. You know how deep a blow was struck me by\nlittle Mary's childish hand; still, the impulse that prompted her had its\nrise in her honest, upright feeling and her idolizing love of you.\"\n\n\"And you would like me to take charge of her?\" asked Paula. \"Such a wish\nis of course granted beforehand--only. . . .\"\n\n\"Only?\" repeated Orion.\n\n\"Only you must send her here; for you know that I will never enter your\ndoors again.\"\n\n\"Alas that it should be so!--But the child has been very ill and can\nhardly leave the house at present; and--since I must own it--my mother\navoids her in a way which distresses the child, who is over-excited as it\nis, and fills her with new terrors.\"\n\n\"How can Neforis treat her little favorite so?\"\n\n\"Remember,\" said Orion, \"what my father has been to my poor mother. She\nis now completely crushed: and, when she sees the little girl, that last\nscene of her unhappy husband's life is brought back to her, with all that\ncame upon my father and me, beyond a doubt through Mary. She looks on the\npoor little thing as the bane of the family?\"\n\n\"Then she must come away,\" said Paula much touched. \"Send her to us. Kind\nand comforting souls dwell under Rufinus' roof.\"\n\n\"I thank you warmly. I will entreat my mother most urgently. . . .\"\n\n\"Do so,\" interrupted Paula. \"Have you ever seen Pulcheria, the daughter\nof my worthy host?\"\n\n\"Yes.--A singularly lovable creature!\"\n\n\"She will soon take Mary into her faithful heart--\"\n\n\"And our poor little girl needs a friend, now that Susannah has forbidden\nher daughter to visit at our house.\"\n\nThe conversation now turned on the two girls, of whom they spoke as sweet\nchildren, both much to be pitied; and, when Orion observed that his niece\nwas old for her tender years, Paula replied with a slight accent of\nreproach: \"But Katharina, too, has ripened much during the last few days;\nthe lively child has become a sober girl; her recent experience is a\nheavy burden on her light heart.\"\n\n\"But, if I know her at all, it will soon be cast off,\" replied Orion.\n\"She is a sweet, happy little creature; and, of all the dreadful things I\ndid on that day of horrors, the most dreadful perhaps was the woe I\nwrought for her. There is no excuse possible, and yet it was solely to\ngratify my mother's darling wish that I consented to marry\nKatharina.--However, enough of that.--Henceforth I must march through\nlife with large strides, and she to whom love gives courage to become my\nwife, must be able to keep pace with me.\"\n\nKatharina could only just hear these last words. The speakers now turned\ndown the path, sparsely shaded from the midday sun by a few trees, which\nled to the tank in the centre of the garden, and they went further and\nfurther from her.\n\nShe heard no more--still, she knew enough and could supply the rest. The\nobject of her ambush was gained: she knew now with perfect certainty who\nwas \"the other.\" And how they had spoken of her! Not as a deserted bride,\nwhose rights had been trodden in the dust, but as a child who is\ndismissed from the room as soon as it begins to be in the way. But she\nthought she could see through that couple and knew why they had spoken of\nher thus. Paula, of course, must prevent any new tie from being formed\nbetween herself and Orion; and as for Orion, common prudence required\nthat he should mention her--her, whom he had but lately loaded with\ntenderness--as a mere child, to protect himself against the jealousy of\nthat austere \"other\" one. That he had loved her, at any rate that evening\nunder the trees, she obstinately maintained in her own mind; to that\nconviction she must cling desperately, or lose her last foothold. Her\nwhole being was a prey to a frightful turmoil of feeling. Her hands\nshook; her mouth was parched as by the midday heat; she knew that there\nwere withered leaves between her feet and the sandals she wore, that\ntwigs had got caught in her hair; but she could not care and when the\npair were screened from her by the denser shrubs she flew back to her\nraised seat-from which she could again discover them. At this moment she\nwould have given all she held best and dearest, to be the thing it vexed\nher so much to be called: a water-wagtail, or some other bird.\n\nIt must be very near noon if not already past; she dusted her sandals and\ntidied her curly hair, picking out the dry leaves and not noticing that\nat the same time a rose fell out on the ground. Only her hands were busy;\nher eyes were elsewhere, and suddenly they brightened again, for the\ncouple on which she kept them fixed were coming back, straight towards\nthe hedge, and she would soon be able again to hear what they were\nsaying.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nOrion and Paula had had much to talk about, since the young man had\narrived. The discussion over the safe keeping of the girl's money had\nbeen tedious. Finally, her counsellors had decided to entrust half of it\nto Gamaliel the jeweller and his brother, who carried on a large business\nin Constantinople. He happened to be in Memphis, and they had both\ndeclared themselves willing each to take half of the sum in question and\nuse it at interest. They would be equally responsible for its security,\nso that each should make good the whole of the property in their hands in\ncase of the other stopping payment. Nilus undertook to procure legal\nsanction and the necessary sixteen witnesses to this transaction.\n\nThe other half of her fortune was, by the advice of Philippus, to be\nplaced in the hands of a brother of Haschim's, the Arab merchant, who had\na large business as money changer in Fostat, the new town on the further\nshore, in which the merchant himself was a partner. This investment had\nthe advantage of being perfectly safe, at any rate so long as the Arabs\nruled the land.\n\nAfter all this was settled Nilus departed with that half of the money\nwhich Orion was to hand over to the keeping of the Moslem money changer\non the following morning.\n\nPaula, though she had taken no part in the men's discussion, had been\npresent throughout, and had expressed her grateful consent. The\nclearness, gravity, and decision which Orion had displayed had not\nescaped her notice; and though the treasurer's shrewd remarks, briefly\nand modestly made, had in every case proved final, it was Orion's\nreasoning and explanations that had most come home to her, for it seemed\nto her that he was always prompted by loftier, wider, and more\nstatesmanlike considerations than the others.\n\nWhen this was over she and Orion were left together, and neither she nor\nthe young man had been able to escape a few moments of anxious\nheart-beating.\n\nIt was not till the governor's son had summoned up his courage and,\nsinking on his knees, was imploring her pardon, that she recovered some\nfirmness and reminded him of the letter he had sent her. But her heart\ndrew her to him almost irresistibly, and in order not to yield to its\nurgent prompts, she hastily enquired what he had meant by the exchange he\nhad written about.\n\nAt this he went up to her with downcast eyes, drew a small box out of the\nbreast of his robe, and took out the emerald with the damaged setting. He\nheld them towards her with a beseeching gesture, exclaiming, with all the\npeculiar sweetness of his deep voice:\n\n\"It is your property! Take it and give me in return your confidence, your\nforgiveness.\"\n\nShe drew back a little, looking first at him and then at the stone and\nits setting--surprised, pleased, and deeply moved, with a bright light in\nher eyes. The young man found it impossible to utter a single word, only\nholding the jewel and the broken setting closer to her, and yet closer,\nlike some poor man who makes bold to offer the best he has to a wealthy\nsuperior, though conscious that it is all too humble a gift to find\nfavor.\n\nAnd Paula was not long undecided; she took the proffered gem and feasted\nher glistening eyes with glad thankfulness on her recovered treasure.\n\nTwo days ago she had thought of it as defiled and desecrated; it had\ngratified her pride to fancy that she had cast the precious jewel at the\nfeet, as it were, of Neforis and her son, never to see it again. So hard\nis it to forego the right of hating those who have basely brought grief\ninto our lives and anguish to our souls!--and yet Paula, who would not\nhave yielded this right at any price a short time since, now waived it of\nher own free will--nay, thrust it from her like some tormenting incubus\nwhich choked her pulses and kept her from breathing freely. In this gem\nshe saw once more a cherished memorial of her lost mother, the honorable\ngift of a great monarch to her forefathers; and she was happy to possess\nit once more. But it was not this that gave life to the warm, sunny glow\nof happiness which thrilled through her, or occasioned its quick and\ndelightful growth; for her eye did not linger on the large and glittering\nstone, but rested spellbound on the poor gold frame which had once held\nit, and which had cost her such hours of anguish. This broken and\nworthless thing, it is true, was powerful to justify her in the opinions\nof her judges and her enemies; with this in her hand she would easily\nconfute her accusers. Still, it was not that which so greatly consoled\nher. The physician's remark, that there was no greater joy than the\ndiscovery that we have been deceived in thinking ill of another, recurred\nto her mind; and she had once loved the man who now stood before her open\nto every good influence, deeply moved in her presence; and her judgment\nof him had been a hundred, a thousand times too hard. Only a noble soul\ncould confidently expect magnanimity from a foe and he, he had put\nhimself defenceless into the power of her who had been mortally stricken\nby the most fateful, and perhaps the only disgraceful act of his life. In\ngiving up this gold frame Orion also gave himself up; with this talisman\nin her possession she stood before him as irresistible Fate. And now, as\nshe looked up at him and met his large eyes, full of life and intellect\nbut sparkling through tears of violent agitation, she felt absolutely\ncertain that this favorite of Fortune, though he had indeed sinned deeply\nand disastrously, was capable of the highest and greatest aims if he had\na friend to show him what life required of him and were but ready to\nfollow such guidance. And such a friend she would be to him!\n\nShe, like Orion, could not for some time speak; but he, at last, was\nunable to contain himself; he hastened towards her and pressed her hand\nto his lips with fervent gratitude, while she--she had to submit; nay,\nshe would have been incapable of resisting him if, as in her dream, he\nhad clasped her in his arms, to his heart. His burning lips had rested\nfervently on her hand, but it was only for an instant that she abandoned\nherself to the violent agitation that mastered her. Then with a great\neffort her instinct and determination to do right enabled her to control\nit; she pushed him from her decisively but not ungently, and then, with\nsome emotion and an arch sweetness which he had never before seen in her,\nand which charmed him even more than her noble and lofty pride, she said,\nthreatening him with her finger.\n\n\"Take care, Orion! Now I have the stone and the setting; yes, that very\nsetting. Beware of the consequences, rash man!\"\n\n\"Not at all. Say rather: Fool, who at last has succeeded in doing\nsomething rational,\" he replied joyfully. \"What I have brought you is not\na gift; it is your own. To you it can be neither more nor less than it\nwas before; but to me it has gained inestimably in value since it places\nmy honor, perhaps my life even, in your keeping; I am in your power as\ncompletely as the humblest slave in the palace is in that of the Emperor.\nKeep the gem, and use it and this fateful gold trifle till the day shall\ncome when my weal and woe are one with yours.\"\n\n\"For your dead father's sake,\" she answered, coloring deeply, \"your weal\nlies already very near my heart. Am not I, who brought upon you your\nfather's curse, bound indeed to help you to free yourself from the burden\nof it? And it may perhaps be in my power to do so, Orion, if you do not\nscorn to listen to the counsels of an ignorant girl?\"\n\n\"Speak,\" he cried; but she did not reply immediately. She only begged him\nto come into the garden with her; the close atmosphere of the room had\nbecome intolerable to both, and when they got out and Katharina had first\ncaught sight of them their flushed cheeks had not escaped her watchful\neye.\n\nIn the open air, a scarcely perceptible breath from the river moderated\nthe noontide heat, and then Paula found courage to tell him what\nPhilippus had called his apprehension in life. It was not new to him;\nindeed it fully answered to the principles he had laid down for the\nfuture. He accepted it gratefully: \"Life is a function, a ministry, a\nduty!\" the words were a motto, a precept that should aid him in carrying\nout his plans.\n\n\"And the device,\" he exclaimed, \"will be doubly precious to me as having\ncome from your lips.--But I no longer need its warning. The wisest and\nmost practical axioms of conduct never made any man the better. Who does\nnot bring a stock of them with him when he quits school for the world at\nlarge? Precepts are of no use unless, in the voyage of life, a manly will\nholds the rudder. I have called on mine, and it will steer me to the\ngoal, for a bright guiding star lights the pilot on his way. You know\nthat star; it is. . . .\"\n\n\"It is what you call your love,\" she interposed, with a deep blush.--Your\nlove for me, and I will trust it.\"\n\n\"You will!\" he cried passionately. \"You allow me to hope. . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, hope!\" she again broke in, \"but meanwhile. . . .\"\n\n\"Meanwhile,\" he said, \"'do not press me further,' ought to end your\nsentence. Oh! I quite understand you; and until I feel that you have good\nreason once more to respect the maniac who lost you by his own fault, I,\nwho fought you like your most deadly foe, will not even speak the final\nword. I will silence my longing, I will try. . . .\"\n\n\"You will try to show me--nay, you will show me--that in you, my foe and\npersecutor, I have gained my dearest friend!--And now to quite another\nmatter. We know how we stand towards each other and can count on each\nother with glad and perfect confidence, thanking the Almighty for having\nopened out a new life to us. To Him we will this day. . . .\"\n\n\"Offer praise and thanksgiving,\" Orion joyfully put in.\n\nAnd here began the conversation relating to little Mary which Katharina\nhad overheard.\n\nThey had gone out of hearing again when Orion explained to Paula that all\narrangements for the little girl must be postponed till the morrow, as he\nhad business now with Amru, on the other shore of the Nile. He decisively\nconfuted her fears lest he should allow himself to be perverted by the\nMoslems to their faith; for though he ardently desired to let the\nPatriarch feel that he had no mind to submit patiently to the affront to\nhis deceased father, he clung too firmly to his creed, and knew too well\nwhat was due to the memory of the dead, and to Paula herself, ever to\ntake this extreme step. He spoke in glowing terms as he described how,\nfor the future, he purposed to devote his best powers to his hapless and\noppressed country, whether it were in the service of the Khaliff or in\nsome other way; and she eagerly entered into his schemes, quite carried\naway by his noble enthusiasm, and acknowledging to herself with silent\nrapture the superiority of his mind and the soaring loftiness of his\nsoul.\n\nWhen, presently, they began talking again of the past she asked him quite\nfrankly, but in a low voice and without looking up, what had become of\nthe emerald he had taken from the Persian hanging. He turned pale at\nthis, looked at the ground, and hesitatingly replied that he had sent it\nto Constantinople--\"to have it set--set in an ornament--worthy of her\nwhom--whom he. . . .\"\n\nBut here he broke off, stamped angrily with his foot, and looking\nstraight into the girl's eyes exclaimed:\n\n\"A pack of lies, foul and unworthy lies!--I have been truthful by nature\nall my life; but does it not seem as though that accursed day forced me\nto some base action every time it is even mentioned? Yes, Paula; the gem\nis really on its way to Byzantium. But the stolen gift was never meant\nfor you, but for a fair, gentle creature, in nothing blameworthy, who\ngave me her heart. To me she was never anything but a pretty plaything;\nstill, there were moments when I believed--poor soul!--I first learnt\nwhat love meant through you, how great and how sacred it is!--Now you\nknow all; this, indeed, is the truth!\"\n\nThey walked on again, and Katharina, who had not been able to gather the\nwhole of this explanation, could plainly hear Paula's reply in warm, glad\naccents:\n\n\"Yes, that is the truth, I feel. And henceforth that horrible day is\nblotted out, erased from your life and mine; and whatever you tell me in\nthe future I shall believe.\"\n\nAnd the listener heard the young man answer in a tremulous voice:\n\n\"And you shall never be deceived in me. Now I must leave you; and I go,\nin spite of my griefs, a happy man, entitled to rejoice anew. O Paula,\nwhat do I not owe to you! And when we next meet you will receive me, will\nyou not, as you did that evening on the river after my return?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed; and with even more glad confidence,\" replied Paula, holding\nout her hand with a lovely graciousness that came from her heart; he\npressed it a moment to his lips, and then sprang on to his horse and rode\noff at a round trot, his slave following him.\n\n\"Katharina, child, Katharina!\" was shouted from Susannah's house in a\nwoman's high-pitched voice. The water-wagtail started up, hastily\nsmoothing her hair and casting an evil glance at her rival, \"the other,\"\nthe supplanter who had basely betrayed her under the sycamores; she\nclenched her little fist as she saw Paula watching Orion's retreating\nform with beaming eyes. Paula went back into the house, happy and walking\non air, while the other poor, deeply-wounded child burst into violent\nweeping at the first hasty words from her mother, who was not at all\nsatisfied with the disorder of her dress; and she ended by declaring with\ndefiant audacity that she would not present the flowers to the patriarch,\nand would remain in her own room, for she was dying of headache.--And so\nshe did.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nIn the course of the afternoon Orion paid his visit to the Arab governor.\nHe crossed the bridge of boats on his finest horse.\n\nOnly two years since, the land where the new town of Fostat was now\ngrowing up under the old citadel of Babylon had been fields and gardens;\nbut at Amru's word it had started into being as by a miracle; house after\nhouse already lined the streets, the docks were full of ships and barges,\nthe market was alive with dealers, and on a spot where, during the siege\nof the fortress, a sutler's booth had stood, a long colonnade marked out\nthe site of a new mosque.\n\nThere was little to be seen here now of native Egyptian life; it looked\nas though some magician had transported a part of Medina itself to the\nshores of the Nile. Men and beasts, dwellings and shops, though they had\nadopted much of what they had found in this ancient land of culture,\nstill bore the stamp of their origin; and wherever Orion's eye fell on\none of his fellow-countrymen, he was a laborer or a scribe in the service\nof the conquerors who had so quickly made themselves at home.\n\nBefore his departure for Constantinople one of his father's palm-groves\nhad occupied the spot where Amru's residence now stood opposite the\nhalf-finished mosque. Where, now, thousands of Moslems, some on foot,\nsome on richly caparisoned steeds, were passing to and fro, turbaned and\nrobed after the manner of their tribe, with such adornment as they had\nstolen or adopted from intercourse with splendor-loving nations, and\nwhere long trains of camels dragged quarried stones to the building, in\nformer times only an occasional ox-cart with creaking wheels was to be\nseen, an Egyptian riding an ass or a bare-backed nag, and now and then a\nfew insolent Greek soldiers. On all sides he heard the sharper and more\nemphatic accent of the sons of the desert instead of the language of his\nforefathers and their Greek conquerors. Without the aid of the servant\nwho rode at his side he could not have made himself understood on the\nsoil of his native land.\n\nHe soon reached Amru's house and was there informed by an Egyptian\nsecretary that his master was gone out hunting and would receive him, not\nin the town, but at the citadel. There, on a pleasant site on the\nlimestone hills which rose behind the fortress of Babylon and the\nnewly-founded city, stood some fine buildings, originally planned as a\nresidence for the Prefect; and thither Amru had transported his wives,\nchildren, and favorite horses, preferring it, with very good reason, to\nthe palace in the town, where he transacted business, and where the new\nmosque intercepted the view of the Nile, while this eminence commanded a\nwide prospect.\n\nThe sun was near setting when Orion reached the spot, but the general had\nnot yet come in from the chase, and the gate-keeper requested that he\nwould wait.\n\nOrion was accustomed to be treated in his own country as the heir of the\ngreatest man in it; the color mounted to his brow and his Egyptian heart\nrevolted at having to bend his pride and swallow his wrath before an\nArab. He was one of the subject race, and the thought that one word from\nhis lips would suffice to secure his reception in the ranks of the rulers\nforced itself suddenly on his mind; but he repressed it with all his\nmight, and silently allowed himself to be conducted to a terrace screened\nby a vine-covered trellis from the heat of the sun.\n\nHe sat down on one of the marble seats by the parapet of this hanging\ngarden and looked westward. He knew the scene well, it was the playground\nof his childhood and youth; hundreds of times the picture had spread\nbefore him, and yet it affected him to-day as it had never done before.\nWas there on earth--he asked himself--a more fertile and luxuriant land?\nHad not even the Greek poets sung of the Nile as the most venerable of\nrivers? Had not great Caesar himself been so fascinated by the idea of\ndiscovering its source that to that end--so he had declared--he would\nhave thought the dominion of the world well lost? On the produce of those\nwide fields the weal and woe of the mightiest cities of the earth had\nbeen dependent for centuries; nay, imperial Rome and sovereign\nConstantinople had quaked with fears of famine, when a bad harvest here\nhad disappointed the hopes of the husbandman.\n\nAnd was there anywhere a more industrious nation of laborers, had there\never been, before them, a thriftier or a more skilful race? When he\nlooked back on the fate and deeds of nations, on the remotest horizon\nwhere the thread of history was scarcely perceptible, that same gigantic\nSphinx was there--the first and earliest monument of human joy in\ncreative art--those Pyramids which still proudly stood in undiminished\nand inaccessible majesty beyond the Nile, beyond the ruined capital of\nhis forefathers, at the foot of the Libyan range. He was the son of the\nmen who had raised these imperishable works, and in his veins perchance\nthere still might flow a drop of the blood of those Pharaohs who had\nsought eternal rest in these vast tombs, and whose greater progeny, had\noverrun half the world with their armies, and had exacted tribute and\nsubmission. He, who had often felt flattered at being praised for the\npurity of his Greek--pure not merely for his time: an age of bastard\ntongues--and for the engaging Hellenism of his person, here and now had\nan impulse of pride of his Egyptian origin. He drew a deep breath, as he\ngazed at the sinking sun; it seemed to lend intentional significance to\nthe rich beauty of his home as its magical glory transmuted the fields,\nthe stream, and the palm-groves, the roofs of the city, and even the\nbarren desert-range and the Pyramids to burning gold. It was fast going\nto rest behind the Libyan chain. The bare, colorless limestone sparkled\nlike translucent crystal; the glowing sphere looked as though it were\nmelting into the very heart of the mountains behind which it was\nvanishing, while its rays, shooting upwards like millions of gold\nthreads, bound his native valley to heaven--the dwelling of the Divine\nPower who had blessed it above all other lands.\n\nTo free this beautiful spot of earth and its children from their\noppressors--to restore to them the might and greatness which had once\nbeen theirs--to snatch down the crescent from the tents and buildings\nwhich lay below him and plant the cross which from his infancy he had\nheld sacred--to lead enthusiastic troops of Egyptians against the\nMoslems--to quell their arrogance and drive them back to the East like\nSesostris, the hero of history and legend--this was a task worthy of the\ngrandson of Menas, of the son of George the great and just Mukaukas.\n\nPaula would not oppose such an enterprise; his excited imagination\npictured her indeed as a second Zenobia by his side, ready for any great\nachievement, fit to aid him and to rule.\n\nFully possessed by this dream of the future, he had long ceased to gaze\nat the glories of the sunset and was sitting with eyes fixed on the\nground. Suddenly his soaring visions were interrupted by men's voices\ncoming up from the street just below the terrace. He looked over and\nperceived at its foot about a score of Egyptian laborers; free men, with\nno degrading tokens of slavery, making their way along, evidently against\ntheir will and yet in sullen obedience, with no thought of resistance or\nevasion, though only a single Arab held them under control.\n\nThe sight fell on his excited mood like rain on a smouldering fire, like\nhail on sprouting seed. His eye, which a moment ago had sparkled with\nenthusiasm, looked down with contempt and disappointment on the miserable\ncreatures of whose race he came. A line of bitter scorn curled his lip,\nfor this troop of voluntary slaves were beneath his anger--all the more\nso as he more vividly pictured to himself what his people had once been\nand what they were now. He did not think of all this precisely, but as\ndusk fell, one scene after another from his own experience rose before\nhis mind's eye--occasions on which the Egyptians had behaved\nignominiously, and had proved that they were unworthy of freedom and\ninured to bow in servitude. Just as one Arab was now able to reduce a\nhost of his fellow-countrymen to subjection, so formerly three Greeks had\nheld them in bondage. He had known numberless instances of almost glad\nsubmission on the part of freeborn Egyptians--peasants, village magnates,\nand officials, even on his father's estates and farms. In Alexandria and\nMemphis the sons of the soil had willingly borne the foreign yoke,\nallowing themselves to be thrust into the shade and humbled by Greeks, as\nthough they were of a baser species and origin, so long only as their\nreligious tenets and the subtleties of their creed remained untouched.\nThen he had seen them rise and shed their blood, yet even then only with\nloud outcries and a promising display of enthusiasm. But their first\ndefeat had been fatal and it had required only a small number of trained\nsoldiers to rout them.\n\nTo make any attempt against a bold and powerful invader as the leader of\nsuch a race would be madness; there was no choice but to rule his people\nin the service of the enemy and so exert his best energies to make their\nlot more endurable. His father's wiser and more experienced judgment had\ndecided that the better course was to serve his people as mediator\nbetween them and the Arabs rather than to attempt futile resistance at\nthe head of Byzantine troops.\n\n\"Wretched and degenerate brood!\" he muttered wrathfully, and he began to\nconsider whether he should not quit the spot and show the arrogant Arab\nthat one Egyptian, at any rate, still had spirit enough to resent his\ncontempt, or whether he should yet wait for the sake of the good cause,\nand swallow down his indignation. No! he, the son of the Mukaukas, could\nnot--ought not to brook such treatment. Rather would he lose his life as\na rebel, or wander an exile through the world and seek far from home a\nwider field for deeds of prowess, than put his free neck under the feet\nof the foe.\n\nBut his reflections were disturbed by the sound of footsteps, and looking\nround he saw the gleam of lanterns moving to and fro on the terrace,\nturned directly on him. These must be Amru's servants come to conduct him\nto their master, who, as he supposed, would now do him the honor to\nreceive him--tired out with hunting, no doubt, and stretched on his divan\nwhile he imperiously informed his guest, as if he were some freed slave,\nwhat his wishes were.\n\nBut the steps were not those of a messenger. The great general himself\nhad come to welcome him; the lantern-bearers were not to show the way to\nAmru's couch, but to guide Amru to the \"son of his dear departed friend.\"\nThe haughty Vicar of the Khaliffs was the most cordial host, prompted by\nhospitality to make his guest's brief stay beneath his roof as pleasant\nas possible, and giving him the right hand of welcome.\n\nHe apologized for his prolonged absence in very intelligible Greek,\nhaving learnt it in his youth as a caravan-leader to Alexandria; he\nexpressed his regret at having left Orion to wait so long, blamed his\nservants for not inviting him indoors and for neglecting to offer him\nrefreshment. As they crossed the garden-terrace he laid his hand on the\nyouth's shoulder, explained to him that the lion he had been pursuing,\nthough wounded by one of his arrows, had got away, and added that he\nhoped to make good his loss by the conquest of a nobler quarry than the\nbeast of prey.\n\nThere was nothing for it but that the young man should return courtesy\nfor courtesy; nor did he find it difficult. The Arab's fine pleasant\nvoice, full of sincere cordiality, and the simple distinction and dignity\nof his manner appealed to Orion, flattered him, gave him confidence, and\nattracted him to the older man who was, besides, a valiant hero.\n\nIn his brightly-lighted room hung with costly Persian tapestry, Amru\ninvited his guest to share his simple hunter's supper after the Arab\nfashion; so Orion placed himself on one side of the divan while the\nGovernor and his Vekeel--[Deputy]--Obada--a Goliath with a perfectly\nblack moorish face squatted rather than sat on the other, after the\nmanner of his people.\n\nAmru informed his guest that the black giant knew no Greek, and he only\nnow and then threw in a few words which the general interpreted to Orion\nwhen he thought fit; but the negro's remarks were not more pleasing to\nthe young Egyptian than his manner and appearance.\n\nObada had in his childhood been a slave and had worked his way up to his\npresent high position by his own exertions; his whole attention seemed\ncentred in the food before him, which he swallowed noisily and greedily,\nand yet that he was able to follow the conversation very well, in spite\nof his ignorance of Greek, his remarks sufficiently proved. Whenever he\nlooked up from the dishes, which were placed in the midst on low tables,\nto put in a word, he rolled his big eyes so that only the whites remained\nvisible; but when he turned them on Orion, their small, black pupils\ntransfixed him with a keen and, as the young man thought, exceedingly\nsinister glare.\n\nThe presence of this man oppressed him; he had heard of his base origin,\nwhich to Orion's lofty ideas rendered him contemptible, of his fierce\nvalor, and remarkable shrewdness; and though he did not understand what\nObada said, more than once there was something in the man's tone that\nbrought the blood into his face and made him set his teeth. The more\nkindly and delightful the effect of the Arab's speech and manner, the\nmore irritating and repulsive was his subordinate; and Orion was\nconscious that he would have expressed himself more freely, and have\nreplied more candidly to many questions, if he had been alone with Amru.\n\nAt first his host made enquiries as to his residence in Constantinople\nand asked much about his father; and he seemed to take great interest in\nall he heard till Obada interrupted Orion, in the midst of a sentence,\nwith an enquiry addressed to his superior. Amru hastily answered him in\nArabic and soon after gave a fresh turn to the conversation.\n\nThe Vekeel had asked why Amru allowed that Egyptian boy to chatter so\nmuch before settling the matter about which he had sent for him, and his\nmaster had replied that a man is best entertained when he has most\nopportunity given him for hearing himself talk; that moreover the young\nman was well-informed, and that all he had to say was interesting and\nimportant.\n\nThe Moslems drank nothing; Orion was served with capital wine, but he\ntook very little, and at length Amru began to speak of his father's\nfuneral, alluding to the Patriarch's hostility, and adding that he had\ntalked with him that morning and had been surprised at the marked\nantagonism he had confessed towards his deceased fellow-believer, who\nseemed formerly to have been his friend. Then Orion spoke out; he\nexplained fully what the reasons were that had moved the Patriarch to\ndisplay such conspicuous and far-reaching animosity towards his father.\nAll that Benjamin cared for was to stand clear in the eyes of Christendom\nof the reproach of having abandoned a Christian land to conquerors who\nwere what Christians termed \"infidels\" and his aim at present was to put\nhis father forward as the man wholly and solely responsible for the\nsupremacy of the Moslems in the land.\n\n\"True, true; I understand,\" Amru put in, and when the young man went on\nto tell him that the final breach between the Patriarch and the Mukaukas\nGeorge had been about the convent of St. Cecilia, whose rights the\nprelate had tried to abrogate by an illegal interpretation of certain\nancient and perfectly clear documents; the Arab exchanged rapid glances\nwith the Vekeel and then broke in:\n\n\"And you? Are you disposed to submit patiently to the blow struck at you\nand at your parent's worthy memory by this restless old man, who hates\nyou as he did your father before you?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied the youth proudly.\n\n\"That is right!\" cried the general. \"That is what I expected of you; but\ntell me now, with what weapons you, a Christian, propose to defy this\nshrewd and powerful man, in whose hands--as I know full well--you have\nplaced the weal and woe, not of your souls alone. . . .\"\n\n\"I do not know yet,\" replied Orion, and as he met a glance of scorn from\nthe Vekeel, he looked down.\n\nAt this Amru rose, went closer to him, and said \"And you will seek them\nin vain, my young friend; nor, if you found them, could you use them. It\nis easier to hit a woman, an eel, a soaring bird, than these supple,\nweak, unarmed, robed creatures, who have love and peace on their tongues\nand use their physical helplessness as a defence, aiming invisible but\npoisoned darts at those they hate--at you first and foremost, Son of the\nMukaukas; I know it and I advise you: Be on your guard! If indeed manly\nrevenge for this slight on your father's memory is dear to your heart you\ncan easily procure it--but only on one condition.\"\n\n\"Show it me!\" cried Orion with flaming eyes. \"Become one of us.\"\n\n\"That is what I came here for. My brain and my arm from this day forth\nare at the service of the rulers of my country: yourself and our common\nmaster the Khaliff.\"\n\n\"Ya Salaam--that is well!\" cried Amru, laying his hand on Orion's\nshoulder. \"There is but one God, and yours is ours, too, for there is\nnone other but He! you will not have to sacrifice much in becoming a\nMoslem, for we, too, count your lord Jesus as one of the prophets; and\neven you must confess that the last and greatest of them is Mohammed, the\ntrue prophet of God. Every man must acknowledge our lord Mohammed, who\ndoes not wilfully shut his eyes to the events which have come about under\nhis government and in his name. Your own father admitted. . .\"\n\n\"My father?\"\n\n\"He was forced to admit that we are more zealous, more earnest, more\ndeeply possessed by our faith than you, his own fellow-believers.\"\n\n\"I know it.\"\n\n\"And when I told him that I had given orders that the desk for the reader\nof the Koran in our new mosque should be discarded, because when he\nstepped up to it he was uplifted above the other worshippers, the weary\nMukaukas was quite agitated with satisfaction and uttered a loud cry of\napprobation. We Moslems--for that was what my commands implied--must all\nbe equal in the presence of God, the Eternal, the Almighty, the\nAll-merciful; their leader in prayer must not be raised above them, even\nby a head; the teaching of the Prophet points the road to Paradise, to\nall alike, we need no earthly guide to show us the way. It is our faith,\nour righteousness, our good deeds that open or close the gates of heaven;\nnot a key in the hand of a priest. When you are one of us, no Benjamin\ncan embitter your happiness on earth, no Patriarch can abrogate your\nclaims and your father's to eternal bliss. You have chosen well, boy!\nYour hand, my convert to the true faith!\"\n\nAnd he held out his hand to Orion with glad excitement. But the young man\ndid not take it; he drew back a little and said rather uneasily:\n\n\"Do not misunderstand me, great Captain. Here is my hand, and I can know\nno greater honor than that of grasping yours, of wielding my sword under\nyour command, of wearing it out in your service and in that of my lord\nthe Khaliff; but I cannot be untrue to my faith.\"\n\n\"Then be crushed by Benjamin--you and all your people!\" cried Armu,\ndisappointed and angry. He waved his hand with a gesture of disgust and\ndismissal, and then turned to the Vekeel with a shrug, to answer the\nman's scornful exclamation.\n\nOrion looked at them in dumb indecision; but he quickly collected\nhimself, and said in a tone of modest but urgent entreaty:\n\n\"Nay; hear me and do not reject my petition. It could only be to my\nadvantage to go over to you; and yet I can resist so great a temptation;\nbut for that very reason I shall keep faith with you as I do to my\nreligion.\"\n\n\"Until the priests compel you to break it,\" interrupted the Arab roughly.\n\n\"No, no!\" cried Orion. \"I know that Benjamin is my foe; but I have lost a\nbeloved parent, and I believe in a meeting beyond the grave.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" replied the Moslem. \"And there is but one Paradise and one\nHell, as there is but one God.\"\n\n\"What gives you this conviction?\"\n\n\"My faith.\"\n\n\"Then forgive me if I cling to mine, and hope to see my father once more\nin that Heaven. . . .\"\n\n\"The heaven to which, as you fools believe, no souls but your own are\nadmitted! But supposing that it is open only to the immortal spirit of\nMoslems and closed against Christians?--What do you know of that\nParadise? I know your sacred Scriptures--Is it described in them? But the\nAll-merciful allowed our Prophet to look in, and what he saw he has\ndescribed as though the Most High himself had guided his reed. The Moslem\nknows what Heaven has to offer him,--but you? Your Hell, you do know;\nyour priests are more readier to curse than to bless. If one of you\ndeviates by one hair's breadth from their teaching they thrust him out\nforthwith to the abode of the damned.--Me and mine, the Greek Christians,\nand--take my word for it boy--first and foremost you and your father!\"\n\n\"If only I were sure of finding him there!\" cried Orion striking his\nbreast. \"I really should not fear to follow him. I must meet him, must\nsee him again, were it in Hell itself!\"\n\nAt these words the Vekeel burst into loud laughter, and when Amru\nreproved him sharply the negro retorted and a vehement dialogue ensued.\n\nObada's contumely had roused Orion's wrath; he was longing, burning to\nreduce this insolent antagonist to silence. However, he contained himself\nby a supreme effort of will, till Amru turned to him once more and said\nin a reserved tone, but not unkindly:\n\n\"This clear-sighted man has mentioned a suspicion which I myself had\nalready felt. A worldly-minded young Christian of your rank is not so\nready to give up earthly joys and happiness for the doubtful bliss of\nyour Paradise and when you do so and are prepared to forego all that a\nman holds most dear: Honor, temporal possessions, a wide field of action,\nand revenge on your enemies, to meet the spirit of the departed once more\nafter death, there must be some special reason in the background. Try to\ncompose yourself, and believe my assurances that I like you and that you\nwill find in me a zealous protector and a discreet friend if you will but\ntell me candidly and fully what are the motives of your conduct. I myself\nreally desire that our interview should be fruitful of advantages on both\nsides. So put your trust in a man so much your senior and your father's\nfriend, and speak.\"\n\n\"On no consideration in the presence of that man!\" said Orion in a\ntremulous voice. \"Though he is supposed not to understand Greek, he\nfollows every word I say with malicious watchfulness; he dared to laugh\nat me, he. . .\"\n\n\"He is as discreet as he is brave, and my Vekeel,\" interrupted Amru\nreprovingly. \"If you join us you will have to obey him; and remember\nthis, young man. I sent for you to impose conditions on you, not to have\nthem dictated to me. I grant you an audience as the ruler of this\ncountry, as the Vicar of Omar, your Khaliff and mine.\"\n\n\"Then I entreat you to dismiss me, for in the presence of that man my\nheart and lips are sealed; I feel that he is my enemy.\"\n\n\"Beware of his becoming so!\" cried the governor, while Obada shrugged his\nshoulders scornfully.\n\nOrion understood this gesture, and although he again succeeded in keeping\ncool he felt that he could no longer be sure of himself; he bowed low,\nwithout paying any heed to the Vekeel, and begged Amru to excuse him for\nthe present.\n\nAmru, who had not failed to observe Obada's demeanor and who keenly\nsympathized with what was going on in the young man's mind, did not\ndetain him; but his manner changed once more; he again became the\npressing host and invited his guest, as it was growing late, to pass the\nnight under his roof. Orion politely declined, and when at length he\nquitted the room--without deigning even to look at the Negro--Amru\naccompanied him into the anteroom. There he grasped the young man's hand,\nand said in a low voice full of sincere and fatherly interest:\n\n\"Beware of the Negro; you let him perceive that you saw through him--it\nwas brave but rash. For my part I honestly wish you well.\"\n\n\"I believe it, I know it,\" replied Orion, on whose perturbed soul the\nnoble Arab's warm, deep accents fell like balm. \"And now we are alone I\nwill gladly confide in you. I, my Lord, I--my father--you knew him. In\ncruel wrath, before he closed his eyes, he withdrew his blessing from his\nonly son.\"\n\nThe memory of the most fearful hour of his life choked his voice for a\nmoment, but he soon went on: \"One single act of criminal folly roused his\nanger; but afterwards, in grief and penitence, I thought over my whole\nlife, and I saw how useless it had been; and now, when I came hither with\na heart full of glad expectancy to place all I have to offer of mind and\ngifts at your disposal, I did so, my Lord, because I long to achieve\ngreat and noble, and difficult or, if it might be, impossible deeds--to\nbe active, to be doing. . .\"\n\nHere he was interrupted by Amru, who said, laying his sinewy arm across\nthe youth's shoulders:\n\n\"And because you long to let the spirit of your dead father, that\nrighteous man, see that a heedless act of youthful recklessness has not\nmade you unworthy of his blessing; because you hope by valiant deeds to\ncompel his wrath to turn to approval, his scorn to esteem. . .\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, that is the thing, the very thing!\" Orion broke in with fiery\nenthusiasm; but the Arab eagerly signed to him to lower his voice, as\nthough to cheat some listener, and whispered hastily, but with warm\nkindliness:\n\n\"And I, I will help you in this praiseworthy endeavor. Oh, how much you\nremind me of the son of my heart who, like you, erred, and who was\npermitted to atone for all, for more than all by dying like a hero for\nhis faith on the field of battle!--Count on me, and let your purpose\nbecome deed. In me you have found a friend.--Now, go. You shall hear from\nme before long. But, once more: Do not provoke the Negro; beware of him;\nand the next time you meet him subdue your pride and make as though you\nhad never seen him before.\"\n\nHe looked sadly at Orion, as though the sight of him revived some loved\nimage in his mind, kissed his brow, and as soon as the youth had left the\nanteroom he hastily drew open the curtain that hung across the door into\nthe dining-room.--A few steps behind it stood the Vekeel, who was\narranging the straps of his sword-belt.\n\n\"Listener!\" exclaimed the Arab with intense scorn, \"you, a man of gifts,\na man of deeds! A hero in battle and in council; lion, serpent, and toad\nin one! When will you cast out of your soul all that is contemptible and\nbase? Be what you have made yourself, not what you were; do not\nconstantly remind the man who helped you to rise that you were born of a\nslave!\"\n\n\"My Lord!\" began the Moor, and the whites of his rolling eyes were\nominously conspicuous in his black face. But Amru took the words out of\nhis mouth and went on in stern and determined reproof:\n\n\"You behaved to that noble youth like an idiot, like a buffoon at a fair,\nlike a madman.\"\n\n\"To Hell with him!\" cried Obada, \"I hate the gilded upstart.\"\n\n\"Envious wretch! Do not provoke him! Times change, and the day may come\nwhen you will have reason to fear him.\"\n\n\"Him?\" shrieked the other. \"I could crush the puppet like a fly! And he\nshall live to know it.\"\n\n\"Your turn first and then his!\" said Amru. \"To us he is the more\nimportant of the two--yes, he, the up start, the puppet. Do you hear? Do\nyou understand? If you touch a hair of his head, it will cost you your\nnose and ears! Never for an hour forget that you live--and ought not to\nlive--only so long as two pairs of lips are sealed. You know whose. That\nclever head remains on your shoulders only as long as they choose. Cling\nto it, man; you have only one to lose! It was necessary, my lord Vekeel,\nto remind you of that once more!\"\n\nThe Negro groaned like a wounded beast and sullenly panted out: \"This is\nthe reward of past services; these are the thanks of Moslem to\nMoslem!--And all for the sake of a Christian dog.\"\n\n\"You have had thanks, and more than are your due,\" replied Amru more\ncalmly. \"You know what you pledged yourself to before I raised you to be\nmy Vekeel for the sake of your brains and your sword, and what I had to\noverlook before I did so--not on your behalf, but for the great cause of\nIslam. And, if you wish to remain where you are, you will do well to\nsacrifice your wild ambition. If you cannot, I will send you back to the\narmy, and to-day rather than to-morrow; and if you carry it with too high\na hand you will find yourself at Medina in fetters, with your\ndeath-warrant stuck in your girdle.\"\n\nThe Negro again groaned sullenly; but his master was not to be checked.\n\n\"Why should you hate this youth? Why, a child could see through it! In\nthe son and heir of George you see the future Mukaukas, while you are\ncherishing the insane wish to become the Mukaukas yourself.\"\n\n\"And why should such a wish be insane?\" cried the other in a harsh voice.\n\"Putting you out of the question, who is there here that is shrewder or\nstronger than I?\"\n\n\"No Moslem, perhaps. But neither you nor any other true believer will\nsucceed to the dead man's office, but an Egyptian and a Christian.\nPrudence requires it, and the Khaliff commands it.\"\n\n\"And does he also command that this curled ape shall be left in\npossession of his millions?\"\n\n\"So that is what you covet, you greedy curmudgeon--that is it? Do not all\nthe crimes you have committed out of avarice weigh upon you heavily\nenough? Gold, and yet more gold--that is the end, the foul end, of all\nyour desires. A fat morsel, no doubt: the Mukaukas' estates, his talents\nof gold, his gems, slaves, and horses; I admit that. But thank God the\nAll-merciful, we are not thieves and robbers!\"\n\n\"And who was it that dug out the hidden millions from beneath the\nreservoir of Peter the Egyptian, and who made him bite the dust?\"\n\n\"I--I. But--as you know--only to send the money to Medina. Peter had\nhidden it before we killed him. The Mukaukas and his son have declared\nall their possessions to the uttermost dinar and hide of land; they have\nfaithfully paid the taxes, and consequently their property belongs to\nthem as our swords, our horses, our wives belong to you or me. What will\nnot your grasping spirit lead you to!--Take your hand from your\ndagger!--Not a copper coin from them shall fall into your hungry maw, so\nhelp me God! Do not again cast an evil eye on the Mukaukas' son! Do not\ntry my patience too far, man, or else--Hold your head tight on your\nshoulders or you will have to seek it at your feet; and what I say I\nmean!--Now, good-night! To-morrow morning in the divan you are to explain\nyour scheme for the new distribution of the land; it will not suit me in\nany way, and I shall have other projects to propose for discussion.\"\n\nWith this the Arab turned his back on the Vekeel; but no sooner had the\ndoor closed on him than Obada clenched his fist in fury at his lord and\nmaster, who had hitherto said nothing of his having had purloined a\nportion of the consignment of gold which Amru had charged him to escort\nto Medina. Then he rushed up and down the room, snorting and foaming till\nslaves came in to clear the tables.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nOrion made his way home under the moonlit and starry night. He held his\nhead high, and not since that evening on the water with Paula had he felt\nso glad or so hopeful. On the other side of the bridge he did not at once\nturn his horse's head homewards; the fresh night air was so delightful,\nhis heart beat so high that he shrunk from the oppression of a room. Full\nof renewed life, freed from a burden as it were, he made his way at a\nround pace to the house that held his beloved, picturing to himself how\ngladly she would welcome the news that he had found Amru ready to\nencourage him in his projects, indeed, to be a fatherly friend.\n\nThe Arab general, whose lofty character, intellect, and rectitude his\nfather had esteemed highly, had impressed him, too, as the ideal of noble\nmanliness, and as he compared him with the highest officials and warriors\nhe had met at the Court of Byzantium he could not help smiling. By the\nside of this dignified, but impetuous and warm-hearted man they appeared\nlike the old, rigid idols of his ancestors in comparison with the\nfreely-wrought works of Greek art. He could bless the memory of his\nfather for having freed the land from that degenerate race. Now, he felt,\nthat lost parent, whose image lived in his soul, was satisfied with him,\nand this gave him a sense of happiness which he meant to cling to and\nenhance by every thought and deed in the future. \"Life is a function, a\nministry, and a duty!\" this watchword, which had been given him by those\nbeloved lips, should keep him in the new path; and soon he hoped to feel\nsure of himself, to be able to look back on such deeds of valor as would\ngive him a right in his own judgment to unite his lot to that of this\nnoblest of women.\n\nFull of such thoughts as these, he made his way to the house of Rufinus.\nThe windows of the corner room on the upper floor were lighted up; two of\nthese windows looked out on the river and the quay. He did not know which\nrooms were Paula's, but he looked up at the late-burning light with a\nvague feeling that it must be hers; a female figure which now appeared\nframed in the opening, showed him that he was not mistaken; it was that of\nPerpetua. The sound of hoofs had roused her curiosity, but she did not\nseem to recognize him in the dim starlight.\n\nHe slowly rode past, and when he presently turned back and again looked\nup, in the hope this time of seeing Paula, the place was vacant: however,\nhe perceived a tall dark shadow moving across from one side of the room\nto the other, which could not be that of the nurse nor of her slender\nmistress. It must indeed be that of a remarkably big man, and stopping to\ngaze with anxious and unpleasant apprehension, he plainly recognized\nPhilippus.\n\nIt was past midnight. How could he account for his being with Paula at\nthis hour?--Was she ill?--Was this room hers after all?--Was it merely by\nchance that the nurse was in Rufinus' room with the physician.\n\nNo. The woman whom he could now see pass across the window and go\nstraight up to the man, with outstretched hands, was Paula and none\nother. Isis heart was already beating fast, and now a suspicion grew\nstrong in him which his vanity had hitherto held in check, though he had\noften seen the friendly relations that subsisted between Paula and the\nleech.--Perhaps it was a warmer feeling than friendship and guileless\ntrust, which had led her so unreservedly to claim this man's protection\nand service. Could he have won Paula's heart--Paula's love?\n\nWas it conceivable!--But why not?\n\nWhat was there against Philippus but his homely face and humble birth?\nAnd how many a woman had he not seen set her heart on quite other things!\nThe physician was not more than five years his senior; and recalling the\nexpression in his eyes as he looked at Paula only that morning Orion felt\nmore and more uneasy.\n\nPhilippus loved Paula.--A trifling incident suddenly occurred to his mind\nwhich made him certain on that point; he had only too much experience in\nsuch matters. Yesterday, it had struck him that ever since his father's\ndeath--that was ever since Paula's change of residence--Philippus dressed\nmore carefully than had been his wont. \"Now this,\" thought he, \"is a\nchange that does not come over so serious a man unless it is caused by\nlove.\"\n\nA mingled torment of pain and rage shot through him as he again saw the\ntall shadow cross the window. For the first time in his life he felt the\npangs of jealousy, which he had so often laughed at in his friends; but\nwas it not absurd to allow it to torture him; was he not sure, since that\nmorning's meeting, quite sure of Paula? And Philippus! Even if he, Orion,\nmust retire into the background before a higher judge, in the eyes of a\nwoman he surely had the advantage!--But in spite of all this it troubled\nhim to know that the physician was with Paula at such an hour; he angrily\npulled his horse's head round, and it was a pleasure to him to feel the\nfiery creature, unused as it was to such rough treatment, turn restive at\nit now. By the time he had gone a hundred steps from those windows with\ntheir cursed glare, the horse was displaying all the temper and vice that\nhad been taken out of him as a foal. Orion had to fight a pitched battle\nwith his steed, and it was a relief to him to exercise his power with\ncurb and knee. In vain did the creature dance round and round; in vain\ndid he rear and plunge; the steady rider was his master; and it was not\ntill he had brought him to quietness and submission that Orion drew\nbreath and looked about him while he patted the horse's smooth neck.\n\nClose at hand, behind a low hedge, spread the thick, dark groves of\nSusannah's garden and between them the back of the house was visible,\nbeing more brilliantly lighted than even Paula's rooms. Three of the\nwindows showed lights; two were rather dim, however, the result probably\nof one lamp only.\n\nAll this could not matter to him; nevertheless he remained gazing at the\nroof of the colonnade which went round the house below the upper floor;\nfor, on the terrace it formed, leaning against a window-frame, stood a\nsmall figure with her head thrust so far forth to listen that the light\nshone through the curls that framed it. Katharina was trying to overhear\na dialogue between the Patriarch Benjamin--whose bearded and apostolic\nhead Orion could clearly recognize--and the priest John, an insignificant\nlooking little man, of whom, however, the deceased Mukaukas had testified\nthat he was far superior to old Plotinus the Bishop in intellect and\nenergy.\n\nThe young man could easily have watched Katharina's every movement, but\nhe did not think it worth while. Nevertheless, as he rode on, the\nwater-wagtail's little figure dwelt in his mind; not alone, however, for\nthat of Paula immediately rose by her side; and the smaller Katharina's\nseemed, the more ample and noble did the other appear. Every word he had\nheard that day from Paula's lips rushed to his remembrance, and the vivid\nand lovely memory drove out all care. That woman, who only a few hours\nsince, had declared herself ready, with him, to hope all things, to\nbelieve all things, and to accept his protection--that lordly maiden whom\nhe had been glad to bid fix her eye, with him, on the goal of his future\nefforts, whose pure gaze could restrain his passion and impetuosity as by\na charm, and who yet granted him the right to strive to possess her--that\nproud daughter of heroes, whom even his father would have clasped to his\nheart as a daughter--was it possible that she should betray him like some\npleasure-seeking city beauty? Could she forget her dignity as a\nwoman?--No! and a thousand times no. To doubt her was to insult her--was\nto wrong her and himself.\n\nThe physician loved her; but it certainly was not any warmer feeling than\nfriendship on her part that made her receive him at this late hour. The\nshame would be his own, if he ever again allowed such base suspicion to\nfind place in his soul!\n\nHe breathed a deep sigh of relief. And when his servant, who had lingered\nto pay the toll at the bridge, came up with him, Orion dismounted and\ndesired him to lead his horse home, for he himself wished to return on\nfoot, alone with his thoughts. He walked meditatively and slowly under\nthe sycamores, but he had not gone far when, on the other side of the\ndeserted road, he heard some one overtaking him with long, quick strides.\nHe recognized the leech Philippus at a glance and was glad, for this\nproved to him how senseless and unjust his doubts had been, and how\nlittle ground he had for regarding the physician as a rival; for indeed\nthis man did not look like a happy lover. He hurried on with his head\nbent, as though under a heavy burthen, and clasped his hand to his\nforehead with a gesture of despair. No, this nocturnal wanderer had left\nno hour of bliss behind him; and if his demeanor was calculated to rouse\nany feeling it was not envy, but pity.\n\nPhilippus did not heed Orion; absorbed in himself, he strode on, moaning\ndully, as if in pain. For a few minutes he disappeared into a house\nwhence came loud cries of suffering, and when he came out again, he\nwalked on, shaking his head now and then, as a man who sees many things\nhappen which his understanding fails to account for.\n\nThe end of his walk was a large, palatial building. The stucco had fallen\noff in places, and in the upper story the windows had been broken away\ntill their open ings were a world too wide. In former times this house\nhad accommodated the State officers of Finance for the province, and the\nground-floor rooms had been suitably and comfortably fitted up for the\nIdeologos--the supreme controller of this department, who usually resided\nat Alexandria, but who often spent some weeks at Memphis when on a tour\nof inspection. But the Arabians had transferred the management of the\nfinances of the whole country to the new capital of Fostat on the other\nshore of the river, and that of the monetary affairs of the decaying city\nhad been incorporated with the treasurer's department of the Mukaukas'\nhousehold. The senate of the city had found the expense of this huge\nbuilding too heavy, and had been well content to let the lower rooms to\nPhilippus and his Egyptian friend, Horapollo.\n\nThe two men occupied different rooms, but the same slaves attended to\ntheir common housekeeping and also waited on the physician's assistant, a\nmodest and well-informed Alexandrian.\n\nWhen Philippus entered his old friend's lofty and spacious study he found\nhim still up, sitting before a great number of rolls of manuscript, and\nso absorbed in his work that he did not notice his late-coming comrade\ntill the leech bid him good-evening. His only reply was an unintelligible\nmurmur, for some minutes longer the old man was lost in study; at last,\nhowever, he looked up at Philippus, impatiently tossing an ivory\nruler-which he had been using to open and smooth the papyrus on to the\ntable; and at the same moment a dark bundle under it began to move--this\nwas the old man's slave who had long been sleeping there.\n\nThree lamps on the writing-table threw a bright light on the old man and\nhis surroundings, while the physician, who had thrown himself on a couch\nin a corner of the large room, remained in the dark.\n\nWhat startled the midnight student was his housemate's unwonted silence;\nit disturbed him as the cessation of the clatter of the wheel disturbs a\nman who lives in a mill. He looked at his friend with surprised enquiry,\nbut Philippus was dumb, and the old man turned once more to his rolls of\nmanuscript. But he had lost the necessary concentration; his brown hand,\nin which the blue veins stood out like cords, fidgeted with the scrolls\nand the ivory rule, and his sunken lips, which had before been firmly\nclosed, were now twitching restlessly.\n\nThe man's whole aspect was singular and not altogether pleasing: his lean\nbrown figure was bent with age, his thoroughly Egyptian face, with broad\ncheekbones and outstanding ears, was seamed and wrinkled like oak-bark;\nhis scalp was bare of its last hair, and his face clean-shaved, but for a\nfew tufts of grey hair by way of beard, sprouting from the deep furrows\non his cheeks and chin, like reeds from the narrow bed of a brook; the\nrazor could not reach them there, and they gave him an untidy and\nuncared-for appearance. His dress answered to his face--if indeed that\ncould be called dress which consisted of a linen apron and a white\nkerchief thrown over his shoulders after sundown. Still, no one meeting\nhim in the road could have taken him for a beggar; for his linen was fine\nand as white as snow, and his keen, far-seeing eyes, above which, exactly\nin the middle, his bristly eyebrows grew strangely long and thick, shone\nand sparkled with clear intelligence, firm self-reliance, and a repellent\nseverity which would no more have become an intending mendicant than the\nresolute and often scornful expression which played about his lips. There\nwas nothing amiable, nothing prepossessing, nothing soft in this man's\nface; and those who knew what his life had been could not wonder that the\nyears had failed to sweeten his abrupt and contradictory acerbity or to\ntransmute them into that kindly forbearance which old men, remembering\nhow often they have stumbled and how many they have seen fall, sometimes\nfind pleasure in practising.\n\nHe had been born, eighty years before, in the lovely island of Philae,\nbeyond the cataract in the district of the temple of Isis, and under the\nshadow of the only Egyptian sanctuary in which the heathen cultus was\nkept up, and that publicly, as late as in his youth. Since Theodosius the\nGreat, one emperor and one Praefectus Augustalis after another had sent\nfoot-soldiers and cavalry above the falls to put an end to idolatry in\nthe beautiful isle; but they had always been routed or destroyed by the\nbrave Blemmyes who haunted the desert between the Nile and the Red Sea.\nThese restless nomad tribes acknowledged the Isis of Philae as their\ntutelary goddess, and, by a very ancient agreement, the image of their\npatroness was carried every year by her priests in a solemn procession to\nthe Blemmyes, and then remained for a few weeks in their keeping.\nHorapollo's father was the last of the horoscope readers, and his\ngrandfather had been the last high-priest of the Isis of Philae. His\nchildhood had been passed on the island but then a Byzantine legion had\nsucceeded in beating the Blemmyes, in investing the island, and in\nplundering and closing the temple. The priests of Isis escaped the\nimperial raid and Horapollo had spent all his early years with his\nfather, his grandfather, and two younger sisters, in constant peril and\nflight. His youthful spirit was unremittingly fed with hatred of the\npersecutors, the cruel contemners and exterminators of the faith of his\nforefathers; and this hatred rose to irreconcilable bitterness after the\nmassacre at Antioch where the imperial soldiery fell upon all his family,\nand his grandfather and two innocent sisters were murdered. These horrors\nwere committed at the instigation of the Bishop, who denounced the\nEgyptian strangers as idolaters, and to whom the Roman prefect, a proud\nand haughty patrician, had readily lent the support of an armed force. It\nwas owing to the narrowest chance--or, as the old man would have it, to\nthe interposition of great Isis, that his father had been so happy as to\nget away with him and the treasures he had brought from the temple at\nPhilae. Thus they had means to enable them to travel farther under an\nassumed name, and they finally settled in Alexandria. Here the persecuted\nyouth changed his name, Horus, to its Greek equivalent, and henceforth he\nwas known at home and in the schools as Apollo. He was highly gifted by\nnature, and availed himself with the utmost zeal of the means of learning\nthat abounded in Alexandria; he labored indefatigably and dug deep into\nevery field of Greek science, gaining, under his father's guidance, all\nthe knowledge of Egyptian horoscopy, which was not wholly lost even at\nthis late period.\n\nIn the midst of the contentious Christian sects of the capital, both\nfather and son remained heathen and worshippers of Isis; and when the old\npriest died at an advanced age, Horapollo moved to Memphis where he led\nthe quiet and secluded life of a student, mingling only now and then with\nthe astronomers, astrologers, and calendar-makers at the observatory, or\nvisiting the alchemists' laboratories, where, even in Christian Egypt,\nthey still devoted themselves to attempts to transmute the baser into the\nnoble metals. Alchemists and star-readers alike soon detected the old\nman's superior knowledge, and in spite of his acrid and often\noffensively-repellent demeanor, took counsel of him on difficult\nquestions. His fame had even reached the Arabs, and, when it was\nnecessary to find the exact direction towards Mecca for the prayer niche\nin Amru's new mosque, he was appealed to, and his decision was final.\n\nPhilippus had, some years since, been called to the old man's bedside in\nsickness, and being then a beginner and in no great request, he had given\nthe best of his time and powers to the case. Horapollo had been much\nattracted by the young physician's wide culture and earnest studiousness;\nhe had conceived a warm liking for him, the warmest perhaps that he had\never felt for any fellow-human since the death of his own family. At last\nthe elder took the younger man into his heart with such overflowing\naffection, that it seemed as though his spirit longed to make up now for\nthe stint of love it had hitherto shown. No father could have clung to\nhis son with more fervent devotion, and when a relapse once more brought\nhim to death's door he took Philippus wholly into his confidence,\nunrolled before his eyes the scroll of his inner and outer life from its\nbeginnings, and made him his heir on condition that he should abide by\nhim to the end.\n\nPhilippus, who, from the first, had felt a sympathetic attraction to this\nvenerable and talented man, agreed to the bargain; and when he\nsubsequently became associated with the old man in his studies, assisting\nhim from time to time, Horapollo desired that he would help him to\ncomplete a work he hoped to finish before he died. It was a treatise on\nhieroglyphic writing, and was to interpret the various signs so far as\nwas still possible, and make them intelligible to posterity.\n\nThe old man disliked writing anything but Egyptian, using Greek\nunwillingly and clumsily, so he entrusted to his young friend the task of\nrendering his explanations into that language. Thus the two men--so\ndifferent in age and character, but so closely allied in intellectual\naims--led a joint existence which was both pleasant and helpful to both,\nin spite of the various eccentricities, the harshness and severity of the\nelder.\n\nHorapollo lived after the manner of the early Egyptian priests,\nsubjecting himself to much ablution and shaving; eating little but bread,\nvegetables, and poultry, and abstaining from pulse and the flesh of all\nbeasts--not merely of the prohibited animal, swine; wearing nothing but\npure linen clothing, and setting apart certain hours for the recitation\nof those heathen forms of prayer whose magic power was to compel the gods\nto grant the desires of those who thus appealed to them.\n\nAnd if the old man had given his full confidence to Philippus, the leech,\non his part, had no secrets from him; or, if he withheld anything,\nHorapollo, with wonderful acumen, was at once aware of it. Philippus had\noften spoken of Paula to his parental friend, describing her charms with\nall the fervor of a lover, but the old man was already prejudiced against\nher, if only as the daughter of a patrician and a prefect. All who bore\nthese titles were to him objects of hatred, for a patrician and a prefect\nhad been guilty of the blood of those he had held most dear. The Governor\nof Antioch, to be sure, had acted only under the orders of the bishop;\nbut old Horapollo, and his father before him, from the first had chosen\nto throw all the blame on the prefect, for it afforded some satisfaction\nto the descendant of an ancestral race of priests to be able to vent all\nhis wrathful spite on any one rather than on the minister of a god--be\nthat god who or what he might.\n\nSo when Philippus praised Paula's dignified grandeur, her superior\nelegance, the height of her stature or the loftiness of her mind, the old\nman would bound up exclaiming: \"Of course--of course!--Beware boy,\nbeware! You are disguising haughtiness, conceit, and arrogance under\nnoble names. The word 'patrician' includes everything we can conceive of\nas most insolent and inhuman; and those apes in purple who disgrace the\nImperial throne pick out the worst of them, the most cold-hearted and\ncovetous, to make prefects of them. And as they are, so are their\nchildren! Everything which they in their vainglory regard as 'beneath\nthem' they tread into the dust--and we--you and I, all who labor with\ntheir hands in the service of the state--we, in their dull eyes, are\nbeneath them. Mark me, boy! To-day the governor's daughter, the patrician\nmaiden, can smile at you because she needs you; tomorrow she will cast\nyou aside as I push away the old panther-skin which keeps my feet warm in\nwinter, as soon as the March days come!\"\n\nNor was his aversion less for the son of the Mukaukas, whom, however, he\nhad never seen; when the leech had confessed to him how deep a grudge\nagainst Orion dwelt in the heart of Paula, old Horapollo had chuckled\nscornfully, and he exclaimed, as though he could read hearts and look\ninto the future--: \"They snap at each other now, and in a day or two they\nwill kiss again! Hatred and love are the opposite ends of the same rod;\nand how easily it is reversed!--Those two!--Like in blood is like in\nkind;--such people attract each other as the lodestone tends towards the\niron and the iron towards the lodestone!\"\n\nBut these and similar admonitions had produced little effect on the\nphysician's sentiments; even Paula's repulse of his ardent appeal after\nshe had moved to the house of Rufinus had failed to extinguish his hope\nof winning her at last. This very morning, in the course of the\ndiscussion as to the stewardship of her fortune, Paula had been ready and\nglad to accept him as her Kyrios--her legal protector and representative;\nbut he now thought that he could perceive by various signs that his\nvenerable friend was right: that the rod had been reversed, and that\naversion had been transformed to love in the girl's heart. The anguish of\nthis discovery was hard to bear. And yet Paula had never shown him such\nhearty warmth of manner, never had she spoken to him in a voice so soft\nand so full of feeling, as this evening in the garden. More cheerful and\ntalkative than usual, she had constantly turned to address him, while he\nhad felt his pain and torment of mind gradually eased, till in him too,\nsentiment had blossomed anew, and his intellectual power had expanded.\nNever--so he believed--had he expressed his thoughts better or more\nbrilliantly than in that hour. Nor had she withheld her approval; she had\nheartily agreed with his views; and when, half an hour before midnight,\nhe had gone with her to visit his patients, rapturous hopes had sprung\nonce more in his breast. Ecstatically happy, like a man intoxicated, he\nhad, by her own desire, accompanied her into her sitting-room, and\nthen--and there. . . .\n\nPoor, disappointed man, sitting on the divan in a dark corner of the\nspacious room! In his soul hitherto the intellect had alone made itself\nheard, the voice of the heart had never been listened to.\n\nHow he had found his way home he never knew. All he remembered was that,\nin the course of duty, he had gone into the house of a man whose\nwife--the mother of several children--he had left at noon in a dying\nstate; that he had seen her a corpse, surrounded by loud but sincere\nmourners; that he had gone on his way, weighed down by their grief and\nhis own, and that he had entered his friend's rooms rather than his own,\nto feel safe from himself. Life had no charm, no value for him now;\nstill, he felt ashamed to think that a woman could thus divert him from\nthe fairest aims of life, that he could allow her to destroy the peace of\nmind he needed to enable him to carry out his calling in the spirit of\nhis friend Rufinus. He knew his house-mate well and felt that he would\nonly pour vitriol into his wounds, but it was best so. The old man had\nalready often tried to bring down Paula's image from its high pedestal in\nhis soul, but always in vain; and even now he should not succeed. He\nwould mar nothing, scatter nothing to the winds, tread nothing in the\ndust but the burning passion, the fevered longing for her, which had\nfired his blood ever since that night when he had vanquished the raving\nMasdakite. That old sage by the table, on whose stern, cold features the\nlight fell so brightly, was the very man to accomplish such a work of\ndestruction, and Philippus awaited his first words as a wounded man\nwatches the surgeon heating the iron with which to cauterize the sore.\n\nPoor disappointed wretch, sorely in need of a healing hand!\n\nHe lay back on the divan, and saw how his friend leaned over his scroll\nas if listening, and fidgeted up and down in his arm-chair.\n\nIt was clear that Horapollo was uneasy at Philippus' long silence, and\nhis pointed eyebrows, raised high on his brow, plainly showed that he was\ndrawing his own conclusions from it--no doubt the right ones. The peace\nmust soon be broken, and Philippus awaited the attack. He was prepared\nfor the worst; but how could he bring himself to make his torturer's task\neasy for him. Thus many minutes slipped away; while the leech was waiting\nfor the old man to speak, Horapollo waited for Philippus. However, the\nimpatience and curiosity of the elder were stronger than the young man's\ncraving for comfort; he suddenly laid down the roll of manuscript,\nimpatiently snatched up the ivory stick which he had thrown aside, set\nhis heavy seat at an angle with a shove of amazing vigor for his age,\nturned full on Philippus, and asked him, in a loud voice, pointing his\nruler at him as if threatening him with it:\n\n\"So the play is out. A tragedy, of course!\"\n\n\"Hardly, since I am still alive,\" replied the other.\n\n\"But there is inward bleeding, and the wound is painful,\" retorted the\nold man. Then, after a short pause, he went on: \"Those who will not\nlisten must feel! The fox was warned of the trap, but the bait was too\ntempting! Yesterday there would still have been time to pull his foot out\nof the spring, if only he had sincerely desired it; he knew the hunter's\nguile. Now the foe is down on the victim; he has not spared his weapons,\nand there lies the prey dumb with pain and ignominy, cursing his own\nfolly.--You seem inclined for silence this evening. Shall I tell you just\nhow it all came about?\"\n\n\"I know only too well,\" said Philippus.\n\n\"While I, to be sure, can only imagine it!\" growled the old man. \"So long\nas that patrician hussy needed the poor beast of burthen she could pet it\nand throw barley and dates to it. Now she is rolling in gold and living\nunder a sheltering roof, and hey presto, the discarded protector is sent\nto the right about in no time. This mistress of the hearts of our weak\nand bondage-loving sex raises this rich Adonis to fill the place of the\nhapless, overgrown leech, just as the sky lets the sun rise when the pale\nmoon sinks behind the hills. If that is not the fact give me the lie!\"\n\n\"I only wish I could,\" sighed Philippus. \"You have seen rightly,\nwonderfully rightly--and yet, as wrongly as possible.\"\n\n\"Dark indeed!\" said the old man quietly. \"But I can see even in the dark.\nThe facts are certain, though you are still so blinded as not to see\ntheir first cause. However, I am satisfied to know that your delusion has\ncome to so abrupt, and in my opinion so happy, an end. To its cause--a\nwoman, as usual--I am perfectly indifferent. Why should I needlessly\nascribe to her any worse sin than she had committed? If only for your\nsake I will avoid doing so, for an honorable soul clings to those whom it\nsees maligned. Still, it seems to me that it is for you to speak, not for\nme. I should know you for a philosopher, without such persistent silence;\nand as for myself, I am not altogether bereft of curiosity, in spite of\nmy eighty years.\"\n\nAt this Philippus hastily rose and pacing the room while he spoke, or\npausing occasionally in front of the old man, he poured out with glowing\ncheeks and eager gestures, the history of his hopes and sufferings--how\nPaula had filled him with fresh confidence, and had invited him to her\nrooms--only to show him her whole heart; she had been strongly moved,\nsurprised at herself, but unable and unwilling to conceal from him the\nhappiness that had come into her life. She had spoken to him, her best\nfriend, as a burthened soul pours itself out to a priest: had confessed\nall that she had felt since the funeral of the deceased Mukaukas, and\nsaid that she felt convinced now that Orion had come to a right mind\nagain after his great sin.\n\n\"And that there, was so much joy over him in heaven,\" interrupted\nHorapollo, \"that she really could not delay doing her cast-off lover the\nhonor of inviting his sympathy!\"\n\n\"On the contrary. It was with the utmost effort that she uttered all her\nheart prompted her to tell; she had nothing to look for from me but\nmockery, warning, and reproach, and yet she opened her heart to me.\"\n\n\"But why? To what end?\" shrieked the old man. \"Shall I tell you. Because\na man who is a friend must still be half a lover, and a woman cannot bear\nto give up even a quarter of one.\"\n\n\"Not so!\" exclaimed Philippus, indignantly interrupting him. \"It was\nbecause she esteems and values me,--because she regards me as a brother,\nand--I am not a vain man--and could not bear--those were her very\nwords--to cheat me of my affection for even an hour! It was noble, it was\ngenerous, worthy of her! And though every fibre of my nature rebelled I\nfound myself compelled to admire her sincerity, her true friendship, her\ndisregard of her own feelings, and her womanly tenderness!--Nay, do not\ninterrupt me again, do not laugh at me. It is no small matter for a proud\ngirl, conscious of her own dignity, to lay bare her heart's weakness to a\nman who, as she knows, loves her, as she did just now to me. She called\nme her benefactor and said she would be a sister to me; and whatever\nmotive you--who hate her out of a habit of prejudice without really\nknowing her--may choose to ascribe her conduct to, I--I believe in her,\nand understand her.\n\n\"Could I refuse to grasp the hand she held out to me as she entreated me\nwith tears in her eyes to be still her friend, her protector, and her\nKyrios! And yet, and yet!--Where shall I find resolution enough to ask of\nher who excites me to the height of passion no more than a kind glance, a\nclasp of the hand, an intelligent interest in what I say? How am I to\npreserve self-control, calmness, patience, when I see her in the arms of\nthat handsome young demi-god whom I scorned only yesterday as a worthless\nscoundrel? What ice may cool the fire of this burning heart? What spear\ncan transfix the dragon of passion which rages here? I have lived almost\nhalf my life without ever feeling or yearning for the love of which the\npoets sing. I have never known anything of such feelings but through the\npangs of some friend whose weakness had roused my pity; and now, when\nlove has come upon me so late with all its irresistible force--has\nsubjugated me, cast me into bondage--how shall I, how can I get free?\n\n\"My faithful friend, you who call me your son, whom I am glad to hear\nspeak to me as 'boy,' and 'child,' who have taken the place of the father\nI lost so young--there is but one issue: I must leave you and this\ncity--flee from her neighborhood--seek a new home far from her with whom\nI could have been as happy as the Saints in bliss, and who has made me\nmore wretched than the damned in everlasting fire. Away, away! I will\ngo--I must go unless you, who can do so much, can teach me to kill this\npassion or to transmute it into calm, brotherly regard.\"\n\nHe stood still, close in front of the old man and hid his face in his\nhands. At his favorite's concluding words, Horapollo had started to his\nfeet with all the vigor of youth; he now snatched his hand down from his\nface, and exclaimed in a voice hoarse with indignation and the deepest\nconcern:\n\n\"And you can say that in earnest? Can a sensible man like you have sunk\nso deep in folly? Is it not enough that your own peace of mind should\nhave been sacrificed, flung at the feet of this--what can I call her?--Do\nyou understand at last why I warned you against the Patrician brood?--The\nfaith, gratitude, and love of a good man!--What does she care for them?\nUnhook the whiting; away with him in the dust! Here comes a fine large\nfish who perhaps may swallow the bait!--Do you want to ruin, for her\nsake, and the sake of that rascally son of the governor, the comfort and\nhappiness of an old man's last years when he has become accustomed to\nlove you, who so well deserve it, as his own son? Will you--an energetic\nstudent, you--a man of powerful intellect, zealous in your duty, and in\nfavor with the gods--will you pine like a deserted maiden or spring from\nthe Leucadian rock like love-sick Sappho in the play while the spectators\nshake with laughter? You must stay, Boy, you must stay; and I will show\nyou how a man must deal with a passion that dishonors him.\"\n\n\"Show me,\" replied Philippus in a dull voice. \"I ask no more. Do you\nsuppose that I am not myself ashamed of my own weakness? It ill beseems\nme of all men, formed by fate for anything rather than to be a sighing\nand rapturous lover. I will struggle with it, wrestle with it with all\nthe strength that is in me; but here, in Memphis, close to her and as her\nKyrios, I should be forced every day to see her, and day after day be\nexposed to fresh and humiliating defeat! Here, constantly near her and\nwith her, the struggle must wear me out--I should perish, body and soul.\nThe same place, the same city, cannot hold her and me.\"\n\n\"Then she must make way for you,\" croaked Horus. Philippus raised his\nbowed head and asked, in some surprise and with stern reproof:\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" replied the other airily. He shrugged his shoulders and went\non more gently: \"Memphis has greater need of you than of the patrician\nhussy.\" Then he shook himself as if he were cold, struck his breast and\nadded: \"All is turmoil here within; I can neither help nor advise you.\nDay must soon be dawning in the east; we will try to sleep. A knot can\noften be untied by daylight which by lamplight seems inextricable, and\nperhaps on my sleepless couch the goddess may reveal to me the way I have\npromised to show you. A little more lightness of heart would do neither\nof us any harm.--Try to forget your own griefs in those of others; you\nsee enough of them every day. To wish you a good night would probably be\nwaste of words, but I may wish you a soothing one, You may count on my\naid; but you will not let me, a poor old man, hear another word about\nflight and departure and the like, will you? No, no. I know you better,\nPhilippus--you will never treat your lonely old friend so!\"\n\nThese were the tenderest words that the leech had ever heard from the old\nman's lips, and it comforted him when Horapollo pressed him to his heart\nin a hasty embrace. He thought no more of the hint that it was Paula's\npart to make room for him. But the old man had spoken in all seriousness,\nfor, no sooner was he alone than he petulantly flung down the ivory ruler\non the table, and murmured, at first angrily and then scornfully, his\neyes sparkling the while:\n\n\"For this true heart, and to preserve myself and the world from losing\nsuch a man, I would send a dozen such born hussies to Amentis--[The\nNether world of the ancient Egyptians.]--Hey, hey! My beauty! So this\nnoble leech is not good enough for the like of us; he may be tossed away\nlike a date-stone that we spit out? Well, every one to his taste; but how\nwould it be if old Horapollo taught us his value? Wait a bit, wait!--With\na definite aim before my eyes I have never yet failed to find my way--in\nthe realm of science, of course; but what is life--the life of the sage\nbut applied knowledge? And why should not old Horapollo, for once before\nhe dies, try what his brains can contrive to achieve in the busy world of\noutside human existence? Pleasant as you may think it to be in Memphis\nwith your lover, fair heart-breaker, you will have to make way for the\nplaything you have so lightly tossed aside! Aye, you certainly will,\ndepend upon that my beauty, depend upon that!--Here, Anubis!\"\n\nHe gave the slave, who had fallen asleep again under the table, a kick\nwith his bare foot, and while Anubis lighted his master to his\nsleeping-room, and helped him in his long and elaborate ablutions,\nHorapollo never ceased muttering broken sentences and curses, or laughing\nmaliciously to himself.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A knot can often be untied by daylight\n     Hatred and love are the opposite ends of the same rod\n     Life is a function, a ministry, a duty\n     So hard is it to forego the right of hating\n     Those who will not listen must feel\n     Use their physical helplessness as a defence\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 7.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nIf Philippus found no sleep that night, neither did Orion. He no longer\ndoubted Paula, but his heart was full of longing to hear her say once\nmore that she loved him and him alone, and the yearning kept him awake.\nHe sprang from his bed at the first glimmer of dawn, glad that the night\nwas past, and started to cross the Nile in order to place half of Paula's\nfortune in the hands of Salech, the brother of Haschim the merchant.\n\nIn Memphis all was still silent, and all he saw in the old town struck\nhim as strangely worn-out, torpid, and decayed; it seemed only fit to be\nleft to ruin, while on the other side of the river, in the new town of\nFostat, on all hands busy, eager, new-born vitality met his eyes.\n\nHe involuntarily compared the old capital of the Pharaohs to a time-eaten\nmummy, and Amru's new city to a vigorous youth. Here every one was astir\nand in brisk activity. The money-changer, who had risen, like all\nMoslems, to perform his morning prayer, \"as soon as a white thread could\nbe distinguished from a black one,\" was already busy with his rolls of\ngold and silver coin; and how quick, clear, and decisive the Arab was in\nconcluding his bargain with Orion and with Nilus, who had accompanied\nhim!\n\nWhichever way the young man turned, bright and flashing eyes met his\ngaze, energetic, resolute, and enterprising faces; no bowed heads, no\ndull, brooding looks, no gloomy resignation like those in his native town\non the other shore. Here, in Fostat, his blood flowed more swiftly;\nthere, existence was an oppressive burden. Everything attracted him to\nthe Arabs!\n\nThe changer's shop, like all those in the Sook or Bazaar of Fostat,\nconsisted of a wooden stall in which he sat with his assistants. On the\nside open to the street he transacted business with his customers, who,\nwhen the affair promised to be lengthy, were invited by the Arab to seat\nthemselves with him on his little platform.\n\nOrion and Nilus had accepted such an invitation, and it happened that,\nwhile they sat in treaty with Salech, visible to the passers-by, the\nVekeel Obada, who had so deeply stirred the wrath of the governor's son\non the previous evening, came by, close to him. To Orion's amazement he\ngreeted him with great amiability, and he, remembering Amru's warning,\nresponded, though not without an effort, to his hated foe's civility.\nWhen Obada passed the stall a second and a third time, Orion felt that he\nwas watching him; however, it was quite possible that the Vekeel might\nalso have business with the money-changer and be waiting only for the\nconclusion of his.\n\nAt any rate Orion ere long forgot the incident, for matters of more\npressing importance claimed his attention at home.\n\nAs often happens, the death of one man had changed everything in his\nhouse so utterly as to make it unlike the same; though his removal had\nmade it neither richer nor poorer, and though his secluded presence of\nlate had scarcely had an appreciable influence. The rooms formerly so\nfull of life now seemed dead. Petitioners and suppliants no longer\ncrowded the anteroom, and all visits of condolence had, according to the\nancient custom, been received on the day after the funeral. The Lady\nNeforis had ceased fussing and bustling, the clatter of her keys and her\nscolding were no longer to be heard; she sat apart, either in her\nsleeping-room or the cool hall with the fountain which had been her\nhusband's favorite room, excepting when she was at church whither she\nwent twice every day. She returned from thence with the same weary,\nabstracted expression that she took there, and any one seeing her lying\non the divan which her husband had formerly occupied, idly absorbed in\ngloomy thought, would hardly have recognized her as the same woman who\nhad but lately been so active and managing. She did not exactly mourn or\nbewail her loss; indeed, she had no tears for her grief, as though she\nhad shed them all, once for all, during the night after his death and\nburial. But she could not attain to that state of sadness made sacred by\nmemories with which consoling angels so often mingle some drops of\nsweetness, after the first anguish is overpast. She felt--she knew--that\nwith her husband a portion of her own being had been riven from her, but\nshe could not yet perceive that this last portion was nothing less than\nthe very foundations of her whole moral and social being.\n\nHer father and her husband's father had been the two leading men in\nMemphis, nay, in all Egypt. She had given her hand and a heart full of\nlove to the son of Menas, a proud and happy woman. It was as one with\nher, and not by himself alone, that he had risen to the highest dignity\nattainable by a native Egyptian, and she had done everything that lay in\nher power to uphold him in a position which many envied him, and in\nfilling it with dignity and effect. After many years of rare happiness\ntheir grief at the loss of their murdered sons only bound the attached\ncouple more closely, and when her husband had fallen into bad health she\nhad gladly shared his seclusion, had devoted herself entirely to caring\nfor him, and divided all the doubts and anxieties which came upon him\nfrom his political action. The consciousness of being not merely much but\neverything to him, was her pride and her joy. Her dislike of Paula had\nits rise, in the first instance, in the discovery that she, his wife, was\nno longer indispensable to the sufferer when he had his fair young\nniece's company. And now?\n\nAt night, after long lying awake, when she woke from a snatch of uneasy\nsleep, she involuntarily listened for the faint panting breath, but no\nheart now throbbed by her side; and when she quitted her lonely couch at\ndawn the coming day lay before her as a desert and treeless solitude. By\nnight, as by day, she constantly tried to call up the image of the dead,\nbut whenever her small imaginative power had succeeded in doing so--not\nunfrequently at first--she had seen him as in the last moments of his\nlife, a curse on his only son on his trembling lips. This horrible\nimpression deprived her of the last consolation of the mourner: a\nbeautiful memory, while it destroyed her proud and glad satisfaction in\nher only child. The youth, who had till now been her soul's idol, was\nstigmatized and branded in her eyes. She might not ignore the burden laid\non Orion by that most just man; instead of taking him to her heart with\ndouble tenderness and softening or healing the fearful punishment\ninflicted by his father, she could only pity him. When Orion came to see\nher she would stroke his waving hair and, as she desired not to wound him\nand make him even more unhappy than he must be already, she neither\nblamed nor admonished him, and never reminded him of his father's curse.\nAnd how beggared was that frugal heart, accustomed to spend all its store\nof love on so few objects--nay, chiefly on one alone who was now no more!\n\nThe happy voices of the children had always given her pleasure, so long\nas they did not disturb her suffering husband; now, they too were silent.\nShe had withdrawn the sunshine of her narrow affection from her only\ngrandchild, who had hitherto held a place in it, for little Mary had had\na share in the horrors that had come upon her and Orion in her husband's\nlast moments. Indeed, the bereaved woman's excited fancy had firmly\nconceived the mad notion that the child was the evil genius of the house\nand the tool of Satan.\n\nNeforis had, however, enjoyed some hours of greater ease during the last\ntwo days. In the misery of wakefulness which was beginning to torture her\nlike an acute pain, she had suddenly recollected what relief from\nsleeplessness her husband had been wont to find in the opium pillules,\nand a box of the medicine, only just opened, was at hand. And was not\nshe, too, suffering unutterable wretchedness? Why should she neglect the\nremedy which had so greatly mitigated her husband's distress? It was said\nto have a bad effect after long and frequent use, and she had often\nchecked the Mukaukas in taking it too freely; but could her sufferings be\ngreater? Would she not, indeed, be thankful to the drug if it should\nshorten her miserable existence?\n\nSo she took the familiar remedy, at first hesitatingly and then more\nfreely; and on the second day again, with real pleasure and happy\nexpectancy, for it had not merely procured her a good night but had\nbrought her joy in the morning: The dead had appeared to her, and for the\nfirst time not in the act of cursing, but as a young and happy man.\n\nNo one in the house knew what comfort the widow had had recourse to; the\nphysician and her son had been glad yesterday to find her more composed.\n\nWhen Orion returned home, after concluding his business with the\nmoney-changer at Fostat, he had to make his way through a crowd of\npeople, and found the court-yard full of men, and the guards and servants\nin the greatest excitement. No less a personage than the Patriarch had\narrived on a visit, and was now in conference with Neforis. Sebek, the\nsteward, informed Orion that he had asked for him, and that his mother\nwished that he should immediately join them and pay his respects to the\nvery reverend Father.\n\n\"She wished it?\" asked the young man, as he tossed his riding-hat to a\nslave, and he stood hesitating.\n\nHe was too much a son of his time, and the Church and her ministers had\nexercised too marked influence on his education, for the great prelate's\nvisit to be regarded otherwise than as a high honor. At the same time he\ncould not forget the insult done to his father's vanes, nor the Arab\ngeneral's warning to be on his guard against Benjamin's enmity; and\nperhaps, he said to himself, it might be better to avoid a meeting with\nthe powerful priest than to expose himself to the danger of losing his\nself-control and finding fresh food for his wrath.\n\nHowever, he had in fact no choice, for the patriarch just now came out of\nthe fountain-hall into the viridarium. The old man's tall figure was not\nbent, his snowy hair flowed in abundance round his proud head, and a\nwhite beard fell in soft waves far down his breast. His fine eyes rested\non the young man with a keen glance, and though he had last seen Orion as\na boy he recognized him at once as the master of the house. While Orion\nbowed low before him, the patriarch, in his deep, rich voice, addressed\nhim with cheerful dignity.\n\n\"All hail, son of my never-to-be-forgotten friend! The child I remember,\nhas, I see, grown to a fine man. I have devoted a short time to the\nmother, and now I must say what is needful to the son.\"\n\n\"In my father's study,\" Orion said to the steward; and he led the way\nwith the ceremonious politeness of a chamberlain of the imperial court.\n\nThe patriarch, as he followed him, signed to his escort to remain behind,\nand as soon as the door was closed upon them, he went up to Orion and\nexclaimed: \"Again I greet you! This, then, is the descendant of the great\nMenas, the son of Mukaukas George, the adored ruler of my flock at\nMemphis, who held the first place among the gilded youth of\nConstantinople in their gay whirl! A strange achievement for an Egyptian\nand a Christian! But first of all, child, first give me your hand!\" He\nheld out his right hand and Orion accepted it, but not without reserve,\nfor he had suspected a scornful ring in the patriarch's address, and he\ncould not help asking himself whether this man honestly meant so well by\nhim, that he could address him thus paternally as \"child\" in all\nsincerity of heart? To refuse his hand was, however, impossible; still,\nhe found courage to reply:\n\n\"I can but obey your desire, holy Father; but, at the same time, I do not\nknow whether it becomes the son to grasp the hand of the foe who was not\nto be appeased even by Death, the reconciler--who grossly insulted the\nfather, the noblest of men, and, in him, the son too, at the grave\nitself.\"\n\nThe patriarch shook his head with a supercilious smile, and a hot thrill\nshot through Orion as Benjamin laid his hand on his shoulder and said\nwith grave kindness:\n\n\"A Christian does not find it hard to forgive a sinner, an antagonist, an\nenemy; and it is a joy to me to pardon the son who feels himself injured\nthrough his lost father, blind and foolish as his indignation may be.\nYour wrath can no more affect me, Child, than the Almighty in Heaven, and\nit would not even be blameworthy, but that--and of this we must speak\npresently--but that--well, I will be frank with you at once--but that\nyour manner clearly and unmistakably betrays what you lack to make you a\ntrue Christian, and such a man as he must be who fills so conspicuous a\nposition in this land governed by infidels. You know what I mean?\"\n\nThe prelate let his hand slip from the young man's shoulder, looking\nenquiringly in his face; and when Orion, finding no reply ready, drew\nback a step or two, the old man went on with growing excitement:\n\n\"It is humility, pious and submissive faith, that I find you lack, my\nfriend. Who, indeed, am I? But as the Vicar, the representative of Him\nbefore whom we all are as worms in the dust, I must insist that every man\nwho calls himself a Christian, a Jacobite, shall submit to my will and\norders, without hesitation or doubt, as obediently and unresistingly as\nthough salvation or woe had fallen on him from above. What would become\nof us, if individuals were to take upon themselves to defy me and walk in\ntheir own way? In one miserable generation, and with the death of the\nelders who had grown up as true Christians, the doctrine of the Saviour\nwould be extinct on the shores of the Nile, the crescent would rise in\nthe place of the Cross, and our cry would go up to Heaven for so many\nlost souls. Learn, haughty youth, to bow humbly and submissively to the\nwill of the Most High and of His vicar on earth, and let me show you,\nfrom your demeanor to myself especially, how far your own judgment is to\nbe relied on. You regard me as your father's enemy?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Orion firmly.\n\n\"And I loved him as a brother!\" replied the patriarch in a softer voice.\n\"How gladly would I have heaped his bier with palm branches of peace,\nsuch as the Church alone can grow, wet with my own tears!\"\n\n\"And yet,\" cried Orion, \"you denied to him, whom you call your friend,\nwhat the Church does not refuse to thieves and murderers, if only they\ndesire forgiveness and have received absolution from a priest; and that.\n. . .\"\n\n\"And that your father did!\" interrupted the old man. \"Peace be to him! He\nis now, no doubt, gazing on the glory of the Lord. And nevertheless I\ncould forbid the priesthood here showing him honor at the grave.--Why?\nFor what urgent reason was such a prohibition spoken by a friend against\na friend?\"\n\n\"Because you wished to brand him, in the eyes of the world, as the man\nwho lent his support to the unbelievers and helped them to victory,\" said\nOrion gloomily.\n\n\"How well the boy can read the thoughts of men!\" exclaimed the prelate,\nlooking at the young man with approbation in which, however, there was\nsome irony and annoyance. \"Very good. We will assume that my object was\nto show the Christians of Memphis what fate awaits the man, who\nsurrenders his country to the enemy and walks hand-in-hand with\nunbelievers? And may I not possibly have been right?\"\n\n\"Do you suppose my father invited the Arabs?\" interrupted the young man.\n\n\"No, Child,\" replied the patriarch, \"the enemy came of his own free\nwill.\"\n\n\"And you,\" Orion went on, \"after the Greeks had driven you into exile,\nprophesied from the desert that they would come and overthrow the\nMelchites, the Greek enemies of our faith, drive them out of the\ncountry.\"\n\n\"It was revealed to me by the Lord!\" replied the old man, bowing his head\nreverently. \"And yet other things were shown to me while I dwelt a devout\nascetic, mortifying my flesh under the scorching sun of the desert.\nBeware my son, beware! Heed my warning, lest it should be fulfilled and\nthe house of Menas vanish like clouds swept before the wind.--Your\nfather, I know, regarded my prophecy as advice given by me to receive the\ninfidels as the instrument of the Almighty and to support them in driving\nthe Melchite oppressors out of the land.\"\n\n\"Your prophecy,\" replied Orion, \"had, no doubt, a marked effect on my\nfather; and when the cause of the emperor and the Greeks was lost, your\nopinion that the Melchites were unbelievers as much as the sons of Islam,\nwas of infinite comfort to him. For he, if any one--as you know--had good\nreason to hate the sectarians who killed his two sons in their prime.\nWhat followed, he did to rescue his and your unfortunate brethren and\ndependants from destruction. Here, here in this desk, lies his answer to\nthe emperor's accusations, as given to the Greek deputation who had\nspeech of him in this very room. He wrote it down as soon as they had\nleft him. Will you hear it?\"\n\n\"I can guess its purport.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" cried the excited youth; he hastily opened his father's desk,\nlaid his hand at once on the wax tablet, and exclaimed: \"This was his\nreply!\" And he proceeded to read:\n\n\"These Arabs, few as they are, are stronger and more powerful than we\nwith all our numbers. One man of them is equal to a hundred of us, for\nthey rush on death and love it better than life. Each of them presses to\nthe front in battle, and they have no longing to return home and to their\nfamilies. For every Christian they kill they look for a great reward in\nHeaven, and they say that the gates of Paradise open at once for those\nwho fall in the fight. They have not a wish in this world beyond the\nsatisfaction of their barest need of food and clothing. We, on the\ncontrary, love life and dread death;--how can we stand against them? I\ntell you that I will not break the peace I have concluded with the Arabs.\n. . .\"\n\n\"And what is the upshot of all this reply?\" interrupted the patriarch\nshrugging his shoulders.\n\n\"That my father found himself compelled to conclude a peace, and\nthat--but read on.--That as a wise man he was forced to ally himself with\nthe foe.\"\n\n\"The foe to whom he yielded more readily and paid much greater honor than\nbecame him as a Christian!--Does not this discourse convey the idea that\nthe joys of Paradise solely and exclusively await our damned and\nblood-thirsty oppressors?--And the Moslem Paradise! What is it but a gulf\nof iniquity, in which they are to wallow in sensual delight? The false\nprophet invented it to tempt his followers to force his lying creed, by\nmight of arms and in mad contempt of death, on nation after nation. Our\nLord, the Word made flesh, came down on earth to win hearts and souls by\nthe persuasive power of the living truth, one and eternal, which emanates\nfrom Him as light proceeds from the sun; this Mohammed, on the contrary,\nis a sword made flesh! For me, then, there is no choice but to submit to\nsuperior strength; but I can still hate and loathe their accursed and\nsoul-destroying superstition.--And so I do, and so I shall, to the last\nthrob of this old heart, which only longs for rest, the sooner the\nbetter. . . .\n\n\"But you? And your father? Verily, verily, the man who, even for an\ninstant, ceases to hate unbelief or false doctrine has sinned for his\nwhole life on this side of the grave and beyond it; sinned against the\nonly true and saving faith and its divine Founder. Blasphemous and\nflattering praise of the piety and moderation of our foes, the very\nantichrist incarnate, who kill both body and soul.--With these your\nfather fouled his heart and tongue. . .\"\n\n\"Fouled?\" cried Orion and the blood tingled in his cheeks. \"He kept his\nheart and tongue alike pure and honorable; never did a false word pass\nhis lips. Justice, justice to all, even to his enemies, was the ruling\nprinciple, the guiding clue of his blameless life; and the noblest of the\nheathen Greeks admired the man who could so far triumph over himself as\nto recognize what was fine and good in a foe.\"\n\n\"And they were right,\" replied the patriarch, \"for they were not yet\nacquainted with truth. In a worldly sense, even now, each of us may aim\nat such magnanimity; but the man who forgives those who tamper with the\nsacred truth, which is the bread, meat, and wine of the Christian's soul,\nsins against that truth; and, if he is a leader of men, he draws on those\nwho look up to him, and who are only too ready to follow his example,\ninto everlasting fire. Where your father ought to have been a\nrecalcitrant though conquered enemy, he became an ally; nay, so far as\nthe leader of the infidels was concerned, a friend--how many tears it\ncost me! And our hapless people were forced to see this attitude of their\nchief, and imitated it.--Forgive their seducer, Merciful God!--forming\ntheir conduct on his. Thousands fell away from our saving faith and went\nover to those, who in their eyes could not be reprobate, could not be\ndamned, since they saw them dwelling and working hand-in-hand with their\nwise and righteous leader; and it was simply and solely to warn his\nmisguided people that I did not hesitate to wound my own heart, to raise\nthe voice of reproof at the grave of a dear friend, and to refuse the\nhonor and blessing of which his just and virtuous life rendered him more\nworthy than thousands of others. I have spoken, and now your foolish\nanger must be appeased; now you will grasp the hand held out to you by\nthe shepherd of the souls entrusted to him with an easy and willing\nheart.\"\n\nAnd again he offered his hand to Orion, who, however, again took it\ndoubtfully, and instead of looking the prelate in the face, cast down his\neyes in gloomy bewilderment. The patriarch appeared not to observe the\nyoung man's repulsion and clasped his hand warmly. Then he changed the\nsubject, speaking of the grieving widow, of the decadence of Memphis, of\nOrion's plans for the future, and finally of the gems dedicated to the\nChurch by the deceased Mukaukas. The dialogue had taken a calm,\nconversational tone; the patriarch was sitting in the dead man's\narm-chair, and there was nothing forced or unnatural in his asking, in\nthe course of discussing the jewels, what had become of the great\nemerald.\n\nOrion replied, in the same tone, that this stone was not, strictly\nspeaking, any part of his father's gift; but Benjamin expressed an\nopposite opinion.\n\nAll the tortures Orion had endured since that luckless deed in the\ntablinum revived in his soul during this discussion; however, it was some\nsmall relief to him to perceive, that neither his mother nor Dame\nSusannah seemed to have told the patriarch the guilt he had incurred by\nreason of that gem. Susannah, of course, had said nothing of the incident\nin order to avoid speaking of her daughter's false evidence; still, this\nmiserable business might easily have come to the ears of the stern old\nman, and to the guilty youth no sacrifice seemed too great to smother any\nenquiry for the ill-fated jewel. He unhesitatingly explained that the\nemerald had disappeared, but that he was quite ready to make good its\nvalue. Benjamin might fix his own estimate, and name any sum he wished\nfor some benevolent purpose, and he, Orion, was ready to pay it to him on\nthe spot.\n\nThe prelate, however, calmly persisted in his demand, enjoined Orion to\nhave a diligent search made for the gem, and declared that he regarded it\nas the property of the Church. He added that, when his patience was at an\nend, he should positively insist on its surrender and bring every means\nat his disposal into play to procure it.\n\nOrion had no choice but to say that he would prosecute his search for the\nlost stone; but his acquiescence was sullen, as that of a man who accedes\nto an unreasonable demand.\n\nAt first the patriarch took this coolly; but presently, when he rose to\ntake leave, his demeanor changed; he said, with stern solemnity:\n\n\"I know you now, Son of Mukaukas George, and I end as I began: The\nhumility of the Christian is far from you, you are ignorant of the power\nand dignity of our Faith, you do not even know the vast love that\nanimates it, and the fervent longing to lead the straying sinner back to\nthe path of salvation.--Your admirable mother has told me, with tears in\nher eyes, of the abyss over which you are standing. It is your desire to\nbind yourself for life to a heretic, a Melchite--and there is another\nthing which fills her pious mother's heart with fears, which tortures it\nas she thinks of you and your eternal welfare. She promised to confide\nthis to my ear in church, and I shall find leisure to consider of it on\nmy return home; but at any rate, and be it what it may, it cannot more\ngreatly imperil your soul than marriage with a Melchite.\n\n\"On what have you set your heart? On the mere joys of earth! You sue for\nthe hand of an unbeliever, the daughter of an unbelieving heretic; you go\nover to Fostat--nay, hear me out--and place your brain and your strong\narm at the service of the infidels--it is but yesterday; but I, I, the\nshepherd of my flock, will not suffer that he who is the highest in rank,\nthe richest in possessions, the most powerful by the mere dignity of his\nname, shall pervert thousands of the Jacobite brethren. I have the will\nand the power too, to close the sluice gates against such a disaster.\nObey me, or you shall rue it with tears of blood.\"\n\nThe prelate paused, expecting to see Orion fall on his knees before him;\nbut the young man did nothing of the kind. He stood looking at him,\nopen-eyed and agitated, but undecided, and Benjamin went on with added\nvehemence:\n\n\"I came to you to lift up my voice in protest, and I desire, I require, I\ncommand you: sever all ties with the enemies of your nation and of your\nfaith, cast out your love for the Melchite Siren, who will seduce your\nimmortal part to inevitable perdition. . . .\"\n\nTill this Orion had listened with bowed head and in silence to the\ndiatribe which the patriarch had hurled at him like a curse; but at this\npoint his whole being rose in revolt, all self-control forsook him, and\nhe interrupted the speaker in loud tones:\n\n\"Never, never, never will I do such a thing! Insult me as you will. What\nI am, I will still be: a faithful son of the Church to which my fathers\nbelonged, and for which my brothers died. In all humility I acknowledge\nJesus Christ as my Lord. I believe in him, believe in the God-made-man\nwho died to save us, and who brought love into the world, and I will\nremain unpersuaded and faithful to my own love. Never will I forsake her\nwho has been to me like a messenger from God, like a good angel to teach\nme how to lay hold on what is earnest and noble in life-her whom my\nfather, too, held dear. Power, indeed, is yours. Demand of me anything\nreasonable, and within my attainment, and I will try to force myself to\nobedience; but I never can and never will be faithless to her, to prove\nmy faith to you; and as to the Arabs. . . .\"\n\n\"Enough!\" exclaimed the prelate. \"I am on my way to Upper Egypt. Make\nyour choice by my return. I give you till then to come to a right mind,\nto think the matter over; and it is quite deliberately that I bid you to\nforget the Melchite. That you, of all men, should marry a heretic would\nbe an abomination not to be borne. With regard to your alliance with the\nArabs, and whether it becomes you--being what you are--to take service\nwith them, we will discuss it at a future day. If, by the time I return,\nyou have thought better of the matter as regards your marriage--and you\nare free to choose any Jacobite maiden--then I will speak to you in a\ndifferent tone. I will then offer you my friendship and support; instead\nof the Church's curse I will pronounce her blessing on you--the pardon\nand grace of the Almighty, a smooth path to eternity and peace, and the\nprospect of giving new joy to the aching heart of your sorrowing mother.\nMy last word is that you must and shall give up the woman from whom you\ncan look for nothing but perdition.\"\n\n\"I cannot, and shall not, and I never will!\" replied Orion firmly.\n\n\"Then I can, and shall, and will make you feel how heavily the curse\nfalls which, in the last resort, I shall not hesitate to pronounce upon\nyou!\"\n\n\"It is in your power,\" said Orion. \"But if you proceed to extremities\nwith me, you will drive me to seek the blessing for which my soul thirsts\nmore ardently than you, my lord, can imagine, and the salvation I crave,\nwith her whom you hold reprobate, and on the further side of the Nile.\"\n\n\"I dare you!\" cried the patriarch, quitting the room with a resolute step\nand flaming cheeks.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nOrion was alone in the spacious room, feeling as though the whole world\nwere sinking into nothingness after the rack of storm and tempest. At\nfirst he was merely conscious of having gone through a fearful\nexperience, which threatened to fling him far outside the sphere of\neverything he was wont to reverence and hold sacred. For love and honor\nof his guardian angel he had declared war to the patriarch, and that\nman's power was as great as his stature. Still, the image of Paula rose\nhigh and supreme above that of the terrible old man, in Orion's fancy,\nand his father, as it seemed to him, was like an ally in the battle he\nwas destined to wage in his own strength.\n\nThe young man's vivid imagination and excellent memory recapitulated\nevery word the prelate had uttered. The domineering old man, overflowing\nwith bigoted zeal, had played with him as a cat with a mouse. He had\ntried to search his soul and sift him to the bottom before he attacked\nthe subject with which he ought to have begun, and concerning which he\nwas fully informed when he offered him his hand that first time--as\ncheerfully, too, as though he had no serious grievance seething in his\nsoul. Orion resolved that he would cling fast to his faith without\nBenjamin's interposition, and not allow his hold on the two other\nChristian graces, Hope and Love, to be weakened by his influence.\n\nBy some miracle his mother had not yet told the prelate of his father's\ncurse, in spite of the anguish of her aching heart; and what a weapon\nwould not that have been in Benjamin's hand. It was with the deepest pity\nthat he thought of that poor, grief-stricken woman, and the idea flashed\nthrough his mind that the patriarch might have gone back to his mother to\naccuse him and to urge her to further revelations.\n\nMany minutes had passed since the patriarch had left him; Orion had\nallowed his illustrious guest to depart unescorted, and this could not\nfail to excite surprise. Such a breach of good manners, of the uncodified\nlaws of society, struck Orion, the son of a noble and ancient house, who\nhad drunk in his regard for them as it were with his mother's milk, as an\nindignity to himself; and to repair it he started up, hastily smoothing\ndown his tumbled hair, and hurried into the viridarium. His fears were\nconfirmed, for the patriarch's following were standing in the\nfountain-hall close to the exit; his mother, too, was there and Benjamin\nwas in the act of departure.\n\nThe old man accepted his offered escort with dignified affability, as if\nnothing but what was pleasant had passed between him and Orion. As they\ncrossed the viridarium he asked his young host what was the name of some\nrare flower, and counselled him to take care that shade-giving trees were\nplanted in abundance on his various estates. In the outer hall, on either\nside of the door, was a statue: Truth and justice, two fine works by\nAristeas of Alexandria, who flourished in the time of the Emperor\nHadrian. Justice held the scales and sword, Truth was gazing into her\nmirror. As the patriarch approached them, he said to the priest who\nwalked by his side: \"Still here!\" Then, standing still, he said, partly\nto Orion and partly to his companion:\n\n\"Your father, I see, neglected my suggestion that these heathen images\nhad no place in any Christian house, and least of all in one attached, as\nthis is, to a public function. We, no doubt, know the meaning of the\nsymbols they bear; but how easily might the ordinary man, waiting here,\nmistake the figure with the mirror for Vanity and that with the scales\nVenality: 'Pay us what we ask,' she might be saying, 'or else your life\nis a forfeit,'--so the sword would imply.\"\n\nHe smiled and walked on, but added airily to Orion:\n\n\"When I come again--you know--I shall be pleased if my eye is no longer\noffended by these mementos of an extinct idolatry.\"\n\n\"Truth and justice!\" replied Orion in a constrained voice. \"They have\ndwelt on this spot and ruled in this house for nearly five hundred\nyears.\"\n\n\"It would look better, and be more suitable,\" retorted the patriarch, \"if\nyou could say that of Him to whom alone the place of honor is due in a\nChristian house; in His presence every virtue flourishes of itself. The\nChristian should proscribe every image from his dwelling; at the door of\nhis heart only should he raise an image on the one hand of Faith and on\nthe other of Humility.\"\n\nBy this time they had reached the court-yard, where Susannah's chariot\nwas waiting. Orion helped the prelate into it, and when Benjamin offered\nhim his hand to kiss, in the presence of several hundred slaves and\nservants, all on their knees, the young man lightly touched it with his\nlips. He stood bowed low in reverence so long as the holy father remained\nvisible, in the attitude of blessing the crowd from the open side of the\nchariot; then he hurried away to join his mother.\n\nHe expected to find her exhausted by the excitement of the patriarch's\nvisit; but, in fact, she was more composed than he had seen her yet since\nhis father's death. Her eyes indeed, commonly so sober in their\nexpression, were bright with a kind of rapture which puzzled Orion. Had\nshe been thinking of his father? Could the patriarch have succeeded in\ninspiring her pious fervor to such a pitch, that it had carried her, so\nto speak, out of herself?\n\nShe was dressed to go to church, and after expressing her delight at the\nhonor done to herself and her whole household by the prelate's visit, she\ninvited Orion to accompany her. Though he had proposed devoting the next\nfew hours to a different purpose, the dutiful son at once acceded to this\nwish; he helped her into her chariot, bid the driver go slowly, and\nseated himself by her side.\n\nAs they drove along he asked her what she had told the patriarch, and her\nreplies might have reassured him but that she filled him with grave\nanxiety on fresh grounds. Her mind seemed to have suffered under the\nstress of grief. It was usually so clear, so judicious, so reasonable;\nand now all she said was incoherent and not more than half intelligible.\nStill, one thing he distinctly understood: that she had not confided to\nthe patriarch the fact of his father's curse. The prelate must certainly\nhave censured the conduct of the deceased to her also and that had sealed\nher lips. She complained to her son that Benjamin had never understood\nher lost husband, and that she had felt compelled to repress her desire\nto disclose everything to him. Nowhere but in church, in the very\npresence of the Redeemer, could she bring herself to allow him to read\nher heart as it were an open book. A voice had warned her that in the\nhouse of God alone, could she find salvation for herself and her son;\nthat voice she heard day and night, and much as it pained her to grieve\nhim he must hear it now--: That voice never ceased to enjoin her to tear\nasunder his connection with the Melchite maiden. Last evening it had\nseemed to her that it was her eldest son, who had died for the Jacobite\nfaith, that was speaking to her. The voice had sounded like his, and it\nhad warned her that the ancient house of Menas must perish, if a Melchite\nshould taint the pure blood of their race. And Benjamin had confirmed her\nfears; he had come back to her on purpose to beseech her to oppose\nOrion's sinful affection for Thomas' daughter with the utmost maternal\nauthority, and, as the patriarch expressed the same desire as the voice,\nit must be from God and she must obey it.\n\nHer old grudge against Paula had revived, and her very tones betrayed\nthat it grew stronger with every word she spoke which had any reference\nto the girl.\n\nAt this Orion begged her to be calm, reminding her of the promise she had\nmade him by his father's deathbed; and just as his mother was about to\nreply in a tone of pitiful recrimination, the chariot stopped at the door\nof the church. He did everything in his power to soothe her; his gentle\nand tender tones comforted her, and she nodded to him more happily,\nfollowing him into the sanctuary.\n\nBeyond the narthex--the vestibule of the church, where three penitents\nwere flaying their backs with scourges by the side of a small marble\nfountain, and in full view of the crowd--they were forced to part, as the\nwomen were divided from the men by a screen of finely-carved woodwork.\n\nAs Neforis went to her place, she shook her bowed head: she was\nmeditating on the choice offered her by Orion, of yielding to the\npatriarch's commands or to her son's wishes. How gladly would she have\nseen her son in bright spirits again. But Benjamin had threatened her\nwith the loss of all the joys of Heaven, if she should agree to Orion's\nalliance with the heretic--and the joys of Heaven to her meant a meeting,\na recognition, for which she would willingly have sacrificed her son and\neverything else that was dear to her heart.\n\nOrion assisted at the service in the place reserved for the men of his\nfamily, close to the hekel, or holy of holies, where the altar stood and\nthe priests performed their functions. A partition, covered with\nill-wrought images and a few gilt ornaments, divided it from the main\nbody of the church, and the whole edifice produced an impression that was\nneither splendid nor particularly edifying. The basilica, which had once\nbeen richly decorated, had been plundered by the Melchites in a fight\nbetween them and the Jacobites, and the impoverished city had not been in\na position to restore the venerable church to anything approaching its\noriginal splendor. Orion looked round him; but could see nothing\ncalculated to raise his devotion.\n\nThe congregation were required to stand all through the service; and as\nit often was a very long business, not the women only, behind the screen,\nbut many of the men supported themselves like cripples on crutches. How\nunpleasing, too, were the tones of the Egyptian chant, accompanied by the\nfrequent clang of a metal cymbal and mingled with the babble of\nchattering men and women, checked only when the talk became a quarrel, by\na priest who loudly and vehemently shouted for silence from the hekel.\n\nGenerally the chanted liturgy constituted the whole function, unless the\nLord's Supper was administered; but in these anxious times, for above a\nweek past, a priest or a monk preached a daily sermon. This began a short\nwhile after the young man had taken his place, and it was with painful\nfeelings that he recognized, in the hollow-eyed and ragged monk who\nmounted the pulpit, a priest whom he had seen more than once drunk to\nimbecility, in Nesptah's tavern, And the revolting creature, who thus\nflaunted his dirty, dishevelled person even in the pulpit, thundered down\non the trembling congregation declarations that the delay in the rising\nof the Nile was the consequence of their sins, and God's punishment for\ntheir evil deeds. Instead of comforting the terrified souls, or\nencouraging their faith and bidding them hope for better times, he set\nbefore them in burning words the punishment that awaited their wicked\ndespondency.\n\nGod Almighty was plaguing them and the land with great heat; but this was\nlike the cool north wind at Advent-tide, as compared with the fierceness\nof the furnace of hell which Satan was making hot for them. The scorching\nsun on earth at any rate gave them daylight, but the flames of hell shed\nno light, that the terrors might never cease of those whom the devil's\nmyrmidons drove over the narrow bridge leading to his horrible realm,\ngoading them with spears and pitchforks, with heavy cudgelling or gnawing\nof their flesh. In the anguish of death, and the crush by the way,\nmothers trod down their infants and fathers their daughters; and when the\ndamned reached the spiked threshold of hell itself, a hideous and\npoisoned vapor rose up to meet them, choking them, and yet giving them\nrenewed strength to feel fresh torments with increased keenness of every\nsense. Then the devil's shrieks of anguish, which shake the vault of\nhell, came thundering on their ears; with hideous yells he snatched at\nthem from the grate on which he lay, crushed and squeezed them in his\niron jaws like a bunch of grapes, and swallowed them into his fiery maw;\nor else they were hung up by their tongues by attendant friends in\nSatan's fiery furnace, or dragged alternately through ice and flames, and\nfinally beaten to pieces on the anvil of hell, or throttled and wrung\nwith ropes and cloths.--As compared with the torments they would suffer\nthere, every present anxiety was as the kiss of a lover. Mothers would\nhear the brain seething in their infants' skulls. . . .\n\nAt this point of the monk's grewsome discourse, Orion turned away with a\nshudder. The curse with which the patriarch had threatened him recurred\nto his mind; he could have fancied that the hot, stuffy, incense-laden\nair of the church was full of flapping daws and hideous bats. Deadly\nhorror crept over him; but then, suddenly, the rebound came of youthful\nvigor, longing for freedom and joy in living; a voice within cried out:\n\"Away with coercion and chains! Winged spirit, use your pinions! Down\nwith the god of terrors! He is not that Heavenly Father whose love\nembraces mankind. Forward, leap up and be free! Trusting in your own\nstrength, guided by your own will, go boldly forth into the open sunshine\nof life! Be free, be free!--Still, be not like a slave who is no sooner\ncut adrift and left to himself than he falls a slave again to his own\nsenses. No; but striving unceasingly and of your own free will, in the\nsweat of your brow, to reach the high goal, to work out to its fulfilment\nand fruition everything that is best in your soul and mind. Yes--life is\na ministry. . . . I, like the disciples of the Stoa, will strive after all\nthat is known as virtue, with no other end in view than to practise it\nfor its own sake, because it is fair and gives unmixed joys. I will rely\non myself to seek the truth--and do what I feel to be right and good;\nthis, henceforth, shall be the lofty aim of my existence. To the two\nchief desires of my heart--: atonement to my father and union with Paula,\nI here add a third: the attainment of the loftiest goal that I may reach,\nby valiant striving to get as near to it as my strength will allow. The\nroad thither is by Work; the guiding star I must keep before me that I\nmay not go astray is my Love!\"\n\nHis cheeks were burning, and with a deep breath he looked about him as\nthough to find an adversary with whom he might measure his strength. The\nhorrible sermon was ended and the words of the chanting crowd fell on his\near. \"Lord, reward me not according to mine iniquities!\" The load of his\nown sin fell on his heart again, and his dying father's curse; his proud\nhead drooped on his breast, and he said to himself that his burthen was\ntoo heavy for him to venture on the bold flight for which he had but now\nspread his wings. The ban was not yet lifted; he was not yet redeemed\nfrom its crushing weight. But the mere word \"redeemed\" brought to his\nmind the image of Him who took on Himself the sins of the world; and the\nmore deeply he contemplated the nature of the Saviour whom he had loved\nfrom his childhood, the more surely he felt that it would be doing no\nviolence to the freedom of his own will, but rather be the fulfilment of\na long-felt desire, if he were to tell Jesus simply all that oppressed\nhim; that his love for Him, his faith in Him, had a saving power even for\nhis soul. He lifted up his eyes and heart to Him, and to Him, as to a\ntrusted friend, confided all that troubled and hindered him and besought\nHis aid.\n\nIn loving Him, he and Paula were one, he knew, though they had not the\nsame idea of His nature.\n\nOrion, as he meditated, thought out the points on which her views\ndeviated from his own: she believed that the divine and the human natures\nwere distinct in the person of Christ. And as he reflected on this creed,\ntill now so horrible in his eyes, he felt that the unique individuality\nof the Saviour, shedding forth love and truth, came home to him more\nclosely when he pictured Him perfect and spotless, yet feeling as a man;\nwalking among men with all their joy in life in His heart, alive to every\npang and sorrow which can torture mortals, rejoicing with them, and\ntaking upon Himself unspeakable humiliation, suffering, and death, with a\nstricken, bleeding, and yet self-devoting heart, for pure love of the\nwretched race to which He could stoop from His glory. Yes, this Christ\ncould be his Redeemer too. The Almighty Lord had become his perfect and\nmost loving friend, his glorious, but lenient and tender brother, to whom\nhe could gladly give his whole heart, who understood everything, who was\nready to forgive everything--even all that was seething in his aching\nheart which longed for purification--and all because He once had suffered\nas a man suffers.\n\nFor the first time he, the Jacobite, dared to confess so much to himself;\nand not solely for Paula's sake. A violent clanging on a cracked metal\nplate roused him from his meditations by its harsh clamor; the sacrament\nof the Last Supper was about to be administered: the invariable\nconclusion of the Jacobite service. The bishop came forth from behind the\nscreen of the inner sanctuary, poured some wine into a silver cup and\ncrumbled into it two little cakes stamped with the Coptic cross. Of this\nmixture he first partook, and then gave it in a spoon to each member of\nthe congregation who came up to receive it. Orion approached after two\nelders of the Church. Finally the priest rinsed out the cup, and drained\nthe very washings, that no drop of the saving liquid should be lost.\n\nHow high had Orion's heart throbbed when, as a youth, he had been\nadmitted for the first time to this most sacred of all Christian\nprivileges! He was instructed in its deep and glorious symbolism, and had\noften felt the purifying, saving, and refreshing effect of the sacrament,\nstrengthening him in all goodness, when he had partaken of it with his\nparents and brothers. Hand-in-hand, they had gone home feeling as if\nnewly robed in body and soul and more closely bound together than before.\nAnd to-day, insensible as he was to the repulsiveness of the forms of\nworship of his confession he felt as though the bread and wine--the Flesh\nand Blood of the Saviour--had sealed the bond he had silently entered\ninto with himself; as though the Lord had put forth an invisible hand to\nremove the guilt and the curse that crushed him so sorely. Deep devotion\nfell on his soul: his future life, he thought, should bring him nearer to\nGod than ever before, and be spent in loving, and in the more earnest,\nfull, and laborious exercise of the gifts Heaven had bestowed on him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nOrion had dreaded the drive home with his mother, but after complaining\nto him of Susannah's conduct in having made a startling display of her\nvexation in the women's place behind the screen, she had leaned on him\nand fallen fast asleep. Her head was on her son's shoulder when they\nreached home, and Orion's anxiety for the mother he truly loved was\nenhanced when he found it difficult to rouse her. He felt her stagger\nlike a drunken creature, and he led her not into the fountain-room but to\nher bed-chamber, where she only begged to lie down; and hardly had she\ndone so when she was again overcome by sleep.\n\nOrion now made his way to Gamaliel the jeweller, to purchase from him a\nvery large and costly diamond, plainly set, and the Israelite's brother\nundertook to deliver it to the fair widow at Constantinople, who was\nknown to him as one of his customers. Orion, in the jeweller's\nsitting-room, wrote a letter to his former mistress, in which he begged\nher in the most urgent manner to accept the diamond, and in exchange to\nreturn to him the emerald by a swift and trustworthy messenger, whom\nSimeon the goldsmith would provide with everything needful.\n\nAfter all this he went home hungry and weary, to the late midday meal\nwhich he shared, as for many days past, with no one but Eudoxia, Mary's\ngoverness. The little girl was not yet allowed to leave her room, and of\nthis, for one reason, her instructress was glad, for a dinner alone with\nthe handsome youth brought extreme gratification to her mature heart. How\nconsiderate was the wealthy and noble heir in desiring the slaves to\noffer every dish to her first, how kind in listening to her stories of\nher young days and of the illustrious houses in which she had formerly\ngiven lessons! She would have died for him; but, as no opportunity\noffered for such a sacrifice, at any rate she never omitted to point out\nto him the most delicate morsels, and to supply his room with fresh\nflowers.\n\nBesides this, however, she had devoted herself with the most admirable\nunselfishness to her pupil, since the child had been ill and her\ngrandmother had turned against her, noticing, too, that Orion took a\ntender and quite fatherly interest in his little niece. This morning the\nyoung man had not had time to enquire for Mary, and Eudoxia's report that\nshe seemed even more excited than on the day before disturbed him so\ngreatly, that he rose from table, in spite of Eudoxia's protest, without\nwaiting till the end of the meal, to visit the little invalid.\n\nIt was with genuine anxiety that he mounted the stairs. His heart was\nheavy over many things, and as he went towards the child's room he said\nto himself with a melancholy smile, that he, who had contemned many a\ndistinguished man and many a courted fair one at Constantinople because\nthey had fallen short of his lofty standard, had here no one but this\nchild who would be sure to understand him. Some minutes elapsed before\nhis knock was answered with the request to 'come in,' and he heard a\nhasty bustle within. He found Mary lying, as the physician had ordered,\non a couch by the window, which was wide open and well-shaded; her couch\nwas surrounded by flowering plants and, on a little table in front of\nher, were two large nosegays, one fading, the other quite fresh and\nparticularly beautiful.\n\nHow sadly the child had changed in these few days. The soft round cheeks\nhad disappeared, and the pretty little face had sunk into nothingness by\ncomparison with the wonderful, large eyes, which had gained in size and\nbrilliancy. Yesterday she had been free from fever and very pale, but\nto-day her cheeks were crimson, and a twitching of her lips and of her\nright shoulder, which had come on since the scene at the grandfather's\ndeathbed, was so incessant that Orion sat down by her side in some alarm.\n\n\"Has your grandmother been to see you?\" was his first question, but the\nanswer was a mournful shake of her head.\n\nThe blossoming plants were his own gift and so was the fading nosegay;\nthe other, fresher one had not come from him, so he enquired who was the\ngiver, and was not a little astonished to see his favorite's confusion\nand agitation at the question. There must be something special connected\nwith the posey, that was very evident, and the young man, who did not\nwish to excite her sensitive nerves unnecessarily, but could not recall\nhis words, was wishing he had never spoken them, when the discovery of a\nfeather fan cut the knot of his difficulty; he took it up, exclaiming:\n\"Hey--what have we here?\"\n\nA deeper flush dyed Mary's cheek, and raising her large eyes imploringly\nto his face, she laid a finger on her lips. He nodded, as understanding\nher, and said in a low voice:\n\n\"Katharina has been here? Susannah's gardener ties up flowers like that.\nThe fan--when I knocked--she is here still perhaps?\"\n\nHe had guessed rightly; Mary pointed dumbly to the door of the adjoining\nroom.\n\n\"But, in Heaven's name, child,\" Orion went on, in an undertone, \"what\ndoes she want here?\"\n\n\"She came by stealth, in the boat,\" whispered the child. \"She sent Anubis\nfrom the treasurer's office to ask me if she might not come, she could\nnot do without me any longer, and she never did me any harm and so I said\nyes--and then, when I knew it was your knock, whisk--off she went into\nthe bedroom.\"\n\n\"And if your grandmother were to come across her?\"\n\n\"Then--well, then I do not know what would become of me! But oh! Orion,\nif you only knew how--how. . . .\" Two big tears rolled down her cheeks and\nOrion understood her; he stroked her hair lovingly and said in a whisper,\nglancing now and again at the door of the next room.\n\n\"But I came up on purpose to tell you something more about Paula. She\nsends you her love, and she invites you to go to her and stay with her,\nalways. But you must keep it quite a secret and tell no one, not even\nEudoxia and Katharina; for I do not know myself how we can contrive to\nget your grandmother's consent. At any rate we must set to work very\nprudently and cautiously, do you understand? I have only taken you into\nour confidence that you may look forward to it and have something to be\nglad of at night, when you are such a silly little thing as to keep your\neyes open like the hares, instead of sleeping like a good child. If\nthings go well, you may be with Paula to-morrow perhaps--think of that! I\nhad quite given up all hope of managing it at all; but now, just now--is\nit not odd--just within these two minutes I suddenly said to myself: 'It\nwill come all right!'--So it must be done somehow.\"\n\nA flood of tears streamed down Mary's burning cheeks but, freely as they\nflowed, she did not sob and her bosom did not heave. Nor did she speak,\nbut such pure and fervent gratitude and joy shone from her glistening\neyes that Orion felt his own grow moist. He was glad to find some way of\nconcealing his emotion when Mary seized his hand and, pressing a long\nkiss on it, wetted it with her tears.\n\n\"See!\" he exclaimed. \"All wet! as if I had just taken it out of the\nfountain.\"\n\nBut he said no more, for the bedroom door was suddenly thrown open and\nEudoxia's high, thin voice was heard saying:\n\n\"But why make any fuss? Mary will be enchanted! Here, Child, here is your\nlong-lost friend! Such a surprise!\" And the water-wagtail, pushed forward\nby no gentle hand, appeared within the doorway. Eudoxia was as radiant as\nthough she had achieved some heroic deed; but she drew back a little when\nshe found that Orion was still in the room. The divided couple stood face\nto face. What was done could not be undone; but, though he greeted her\nwith only a calm bow, and she fluttered her fan with abrupt little jerks\nto conceal her embarrassment, nothing took place which could surprise the\nbystander; indeed, Katharina's pretty features assumed a defiant\nexpression when he enquired how the little white dog was, and she coldly\nreplied that she had had him chained up in the poultry-yard, for that the\npatriarch, who was their guest, could not endure dogs.\n\n\"He honors a good many men with the same sentiments,\" replied Orion, but\nKatharina retorted, readily enough.\n\n\"When they deserve it.\"\n\nThe dialogue went on in this key for some few minutes; but the young man\nwas not in the humor either to take the young girl's pert stings or to\nrepay her in the same coin; he rose to go but, before he could take\nleave, Katharina, observing from the window how low the sun was, cried:\n\"Mercy on me! how late it is--I must be off; I must not be absent at\nsupper time. My boat is lying close to yours in the fishing-cove. I only\nhope the gate of the treasurer's house is still open.\"\n\nOrion, too, looked at the sun and then remarked: \"To-day is Sanutius.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Katharina. \"That is why Anubis was free at noon.\"\n\n\"And for the same reason,\" added Orion, \"there is not a soul at work now\nin the office.\"\n\nThis was awkward. Not for worlds would she have been seen in the house;\nand knowing, as she did from her games with Mary, every nook and corner\nof it, she began to consider her position. Her delicate features assumed\na sinister expression quite new to Orion, which both displeased him and\nroused his anxiety--not for himself but for Mary, who could certainly get\nno good from such a companion as this. These visits must not be repeated\nvery often; he would not allude to the subject in the child's presence,\nbut Katharina should at once have a hint. She could not get out of the\nplace without his assistance; so he intruded on her meditations to inform\nher that he had the key of the office about him. Then he went to see if\nthe hall were empty, and led her at once to the treasurer's office\nthrough the various passages which connected it with the main buildings.\nThe office at this hour was as lonely as the grave, and when Orion found\nhimself standing with her, close to the door which opened on the road to\nthe harbor, and had already raised the key to unlock it, he paused and\nfor the first time broke the silence they had both preserved during their\nunpleasant walk, saying:\n\n\"What brought you to see Mary, Katharina? Tell me honestly.\" Her heart,\nwhich had been beating high since she had found herself alone with him in\nthe silent and deserted house, began to throb wildly; a great terror, she\nknew not of what, came over her.\n\n\"She had come to the house for several reasons, but one had outweighed\nall the rest: Mary must be told that her young uncle and Paula were\nbetrothed; for she knew by experience that the child could keep nothing\nof importance from her grandmother, and that Neforis had no love for\nPaula was an open secret. As yet she certainly could know nothing of her\nson's formal suit, but if once she were informed of it she would do\neverything in her power--of this Katharina had not a doubt--to keep Orion\nand Paula apart. So the girl had told Mary that it was already reported\nthat they were a betrothed and happy pair, and that she herself had\nwatched them making love in her neighbor's garden. To her great\nannoyance, however, Mary took this all very coolly and without any\nspecial excitement.\n\n\"So, when Orion enquired of his companion what had brought her to the\ngovernor's house, she could only reply that she longed so desperately to\nsee little Mary.\n\n\"Of course,\" said Orion. \"But I must beg of you not to yield again to\nyour affectionate impulse. Your mother makes a public display of her\ngrudge against mine, and her ill-feeling will only be increased if she is\ntold that we are encouraging you to disregard her wishes. Perhaps you\nmay, ere long, have opportunities of seeing Mary more frequently; but, if\nthat should be the case, I must especially request you not to talk of\nthings that may agitate her. You have seen for yourself how excitable she\nis and how fragile she looks. Her little heart, her too precocious brain\nand feelings must have rest, must not be stirred and goaded by fresh\nincitements such as you are in a position to apply. The patriarch is my\nenemy, the enemy of our house, and you--I do not say it to offend\nyou--you overheard what he was saying last night, and probably gathered\nmuch important information, some of which may concern me and my family.\"\n\nKatharina stood looking at her companion, as pale as death. He knew that\nshe had played the listener, and when, and where! The shock it gave her,\nand the almost unendurable pang of feeling herself lowered in his eyes,\nquite dazed her. She felt bewildered, offended, menaced; however, she\nretained enough presence of mind to reply in a moment to her antagonist:\n\n\"Do not be alarmed! I will come no more. I should not have come at all,\nif I could have foreseen. . .\"\n\n\"That you would meet me?\"\n\n\"Perhaps.--But do not flatter yourself too much on that account!--As to\nmy listening. . . . Well, yes; I was standing at the window. Inside the\nroom I could only half hear, and who does not want to hear what great men\nhave to say to each other? And, excepting your father, I have met none\nsuch in Memphis since Memnon left the city. We women have inherited some\ncuriosity from our mother Eve; but we rarely indulge it so far as to hunt\nfor a necklace in our neighbor's trunk! I have no luck as a criminal, my\ndear Orion. Twice have I deserved the name. Thanks to the generous and\nliberal use you made of my inexperience I sinned--sinned so deeply that\nit has ruined my whole life; and now, again, in a more venial way; but I\nwas caught out, you see, in both cases.\"\n\n\"Your taunts are merited,\" said Orion sadly. \"And yet, Child, we may both\nthank Providence, which did not leave us to wander long on the wrong\nroad. Once already I have besought your forgiveness, and I do so now\nagain. That does not satisfy you I see--and I can hardly blame you.\nPerhaps you will be better pleased, when I assure you once more that no\nsin was ever more bitterly or cruelly punished than mine has been.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said Katharina with a drawl; then, with a flutter of her fan,\nshe went on airily: \"And yet you look anything rather than crushed; and\nhave even succeeded in winning 'the other'--Paula, if I am not mistaken.\"\n\n\"That will do!\" said Orion decisively, and he raised the key to the lock.\nKatharina, however, placed herself in his way, raised a threatening\nfinger, and exclaimed:\n\n\"So I should think!--Now I am certain. However, you are right with your\ninsolent 'That will do!' I do not care a rush for your love affairs;\nstill, there is one thing I should like to know, which concerns myself\nalone; how could you see over our garden hedge? Anubis is scarcely a head\nshorter than you are. . . .\"\n\n\"And you made him try?\" interrupted Orion, who could not forbear smiling,\nperceiving that his honestly meant gravity was thrown away on Katharina.\n\"Notwithstanding such a praiseworthy experiment, I may beg you to note\nfor future cases that what is true of him is not true of every one, and\nthat, besides foot-passengers, a tall man sometimes mounts a tall horse?\"\n\n\"It was you, then, who rode by last night?\"\n\n\"And who could not resist glancing up at your window.\"\n\nAt these words she drew back in surprise, and her eyes lighted up, but\nonly for an instant; then, clenching the feathers of her fan in both\nhands, she sharply asked:\n\n\"Is that in mockery?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" said Orion coolly; \"for though you have reason enough to\nbe angry with me. . . .\"\n\n\"I, at any rate, have, so far given you none,\" she petulantly broke in.\n\"No, I have not. It is I, and I alone, who have been insulted and\nill-used; you must confess that you owe me some amends, and that I have a\nright to ask them.\"\n\n\"Do so,\" replied he. \"I am yours to command.\" She looked him straight in\nthe face.\n\n\"First of all,\" she began, \"have you told any one else that I was. . .\"\n\n\"That you were listening? No--not a living soul.\"\n\n\"And will you promise never to betray me?\"\n\n\"Willingly. Now, what is the 'secondly' to this 'first of all?'\"\n\nBut there was no immediate answer; the water-wagtail evidently found it\ndifficult. However, she presently said, with downcast eyes:\n\n\"I want. . . . You will think me a greater fool than I am . . .\nnevertheless, yes, I will ask you, though it will involve me in fresh\nhumiliation.--I want to know the truth; and if there is anything you hold\nsacred, before I ask, you must swear by what is holiest to answer me, not\nas if I were a silly girl, but as if I were the Supreme judge at the last\nday.--Do you hear?\"\n\n\"This is very solemn,\" said Orion. \"And you must allow me to observe that\nthere are some questions which do not concern us alone, and if yours is\nsuch. . . .\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied Katharina, \"what I mean concerns you and me alone.\"\n\n\"Then I see no reason for refusing,\" he said. \"Still, I may ask you a\nfavor in return. It seems to me no less important than it did to you, to\nknow what a great man like the patriarch finds to talk about, and since I\nplace myself at your commands. . . .\"\n\n\"I thought,\" said the girl with a smile, \"that your first object would be\nto discharge some small portion of your debt to me; however, I expect no\nexcessive magnanimity, and the little I heard is soon told. It cannot\nmatter much to you either--so I will agree to your wishes, and you, in\nreturn, must promise. . . .\"\n\n\"To speak the whole truth.\"\n\n\"As truly as you hope for forgiveness of your sins?\"\n\n\"As truly as that.\"\n\n\"That is well.\"\n\n\"And what is it that you want to know?\"\n\nAt this she shook her head, exclaiming uneasily:\n\n\"Nay, nay, not yet. It cannot be done so lightly. First let me speak; and\nthen open the door, and if I want to fly let me go without saying or\nasking me another word.--Give me that chair; I must sit down.\" And in\nfact she seemed to need it; for some minutes she had looked very pale and\nexhausted, and her hands trembled as she drew her handkerchief across her\nface.\n\nWhen she was seated she began her story; and while her words flowed on\nquickly but without expression, as though she spoke mechanically, Orion\nlistened with eager interest, for what she had to tell struck him as\nhighly significant and important.\n\nHe had been watched by the patriarch's orders. By midnight Benjamin had\nalready been informed of Orion's visit to Fostat, and to the Arab\ngeneral. Nothing, however, had been said about it beyond a fear lest he\nhad gone thither with a view to abjuring the faith of his fathers and\ngoing over to the Infidels. Far more important were the facts Orion\ngathered as to the prelate's negotiations with the Khaliff's\nrepresentative. Amru had urged a reduction of the number of convents and\nof the monks and nuns who lived on the bequests and gifts of the pious,\nbusied in all kinds of handiwork according to the rule of Pachomius, and\nenabled, by the fact of their living at free quarters, to produce almost\nall the necessaries of life, from the mats on the floors to the shoes\nworn by the citizens, at a much lower price than the independent\nartisans, whether in town or country. The great majority of these poor\ncreatures were already ruined by such competition, and Amru, seeing the\nArab leather-workers, weavers, ropemakers, and the rest, threatened with\nthe same fate, had determined to set himself firmly to restrict all this\nmonastic work. The patriarch had resisted stoutly and held out long, but\nat last he had been forced to sacrifice almost half the convents for\nmonks and nuns.\n\nBut nothing had been conceded without an equivalent; for Benjamin was\nwell aware of the immense difficulties which he, as chief of the Church,\ncould put in the way of the new government of the country. So it was left\nto him to designate which convents should be suppressed, and he had, of\ncourse, begun by laying hands on the few remaining Melchite retreats,\namong them the Convent of St. Cecilia, next to the house of Rufinus. This\nestablishment was now to be closed within three days and to become the\nproperty of the Jacobite Church; but it was to be done quite quietly, for\nthere was no small fear that now, when the delayed rising of the river\nwas causing a fever of anxiety in all minds, the impoverished populace of\nthe town might rise in defence of the wealthy sisterhood to whom they\nwere beholden for much benevolence and kind care.\n\nOpposition from the town-senate was also to be looked for, since the\ndeceased Mukaukas had pronounced this measure unjust and detrimental to\nthe common welfare. The evicted orthodox nuns were to be taken into\nvarious Jacobite convents as lay sisters similar cases had already been\nknown; but the abbess, whose superior intellect, high rank, and\nfar-reaching influence might, if she were left free to act, easily rouse\nthe prelates of the East to oppose Benjamin, was to be conveyed to a\nremote convent in Ethiopia, whence no flight or return was possible.\n\nKatharina's report took but few minutes, and she gave it with apparent\nindifference; what could the suppression of an orthodox cloister, and the\ndispersion of its heretic sisterhood, matter to her, or to Orion, whose\nbrothers had fallen victims to Melchite fanaticism? Orion did not betray\nhis deep interest in all he heard, and when at length Katharina rose and\npointed feebly to the door, all she said, as though she were vexed at\nhaving wasted so much time, was: \"That, on the whole, is all.\"\n\n\"All?\" asked Orion unlocking the door.\n\n\"Certainly, all,\" she repeated uneasily. \"What I meant to ask--whether I\never know it or not--it does not matter.--It would be better perhaps-yes,\nthat is all.--Let me go.\"\n\nBut he did not obey her.\n\n\"Ask,\" he said kindly. \"I will answer you gladly.\"\n\n\"Gladly?\" she retorted, with an incredulous shrug. \"In point of fact you\nought to feel uncomfortable whenever you see me; but things do not always\nturn out as they ought, in Memphis or in the world; for what do you men\ncare what becomes of a poor girl like me? Do not imagine that I mean to\nreproach you; God forbid! I do not even owe you a grudge. If anyone can\nlive such a thing down I can. Do not you think so? Everything is\nadmirably arranged for me; I cannot fail to do well. I am very rich, and\nnot ugly, and I shall have a hundred suitors yet. Oh, I am a most\nenviable creature! I have had one lover already, and the next will be\nmore faithful, at any rate, and not throw me over so ruthlessly as the\nfirst.--Do not you think so?\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" said Oriole gravely. \"Bitter as the cup is that you offer me\nto drink. . .\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"I can only repeat that I must even drink it, since the fault was mine.\nNothing would so truly gladden me as to be able to atone in some degree\nfor my sin against you.\"\n\n\"Oh dear no!\" she scornfully threw in. \"Our hopes shall not be fixed so\nhigh as that! All is at an end between us, and if you ever were anything\nto me, you are nothing to me now--absolutely nothing. One hour in the\npast we had in common; it was short indeed, but to me--would you believe\nit?--a very great matter. It aged the young creature, whom you, but\nyesterday, still regarded as a mere child--that much I know--with amazing\nrapidity; aye, and made a worse woman of her than you can fancy.\"\n\n\"That indeed would grieve me to the bottom of my soul,\" replied Orion.\n\"There is, I know, no excuse for my conduct. Still, as you yourself know,\nour mothers' wish in the first instance. . .\"\n\n\"Destined us for each other, you would say. Quite true!--And it was all\nto please Dame Neforis that you put your arms round me, under the\nacacias, and called me your own, your all, your darling, your rose-bud?\nWas that--and this is exactly what I want to ask you, what I insist on\nknowing--was that all a lie--or did you, at any rate, in that brief\nmoment, under the trees, love me with all your heart--love me as now you\nlove--I cannot name her--that other?--The truth, Orion, the whole truth,\non your oath!\"\n\nShe had raised her voice and her eyes glowed with the excitement of\npassion; and now, when she ceased speaking, their sparkling, glistening\nenquiry plainly and unreservedly confessed that her heart still was his,\nthat she counted on his high-mindedness and expected him to say \"yes.\"\nHer round arm lay closely pressed to her bosom, as though to keep its\nwild heaving within bounds. Her delicate face had lost its pallor and\nseemed bathed in a glow, now tender and now crimson. Her little mouth,\nwhich but now had uttered such bitter words, was parted in a smile as if\nready to bestow a sweet reward for the consoling, saving answer, for\nwhich her whole being yearned, and her eager eyes, shining through tears,\ndid not cease to entreat him so pathetically, so passionately! How\nbewitching an image of helpless, love-sick, beseeching youth and grace.\n\n\"As you love that other,--on your oath.\"--The words still rang in the\nyoung man's ear. All that was soft in his soul urged him to make good the\nevil he had brought upon this fair, hapless young creature; but those\nvery words gave him strength to remain steadfast; and though he felt\nhimself appealed to for comfort and compassion, he could only stretch out\nimploring hands, as though praying for help, and say:\n\n\"Ah Katharina, and you are as lovely, as charming now, as you were then;\nbut--much as you attracted me, the great love that fills a life can come\nbut once. . . . Forget what happened afterwards. . . . Put your question\nin another form, alter it a little, and ask me again--or let me assure\nyou.\"\n\nBut he had no time to say more; for, before he could atop her, she had\nslipped past him and flown away like some swift wild thing into the road\nand down to the fishing cove.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nOrion stood alone gazing sadly after her. Was this his father's\ncurse--that all who loved him must reap pain and grief in return?\n\nHe shivered; still, his youthful energy and powers of resistance were\nstrong enough to give him speedy mastery over these torturing\nreflections. What opportunities lay before him of proving his prowess!\nEven while Katharina was telling her story, the brave and strenuous youth\nhad set himself the problem of rescuing the cloistered sisters. The\ngreater the danger its solution might involve him in, the more impossible\nit seemed at first sight, the more gladly, in his present mood, would he\nundertake it. He stepped out into the road and closed the door behind him\nwith a feeling of combative energy.\n\nIt was growing dusk. Philippus must now be with Mary and, with the\nleech's aid, he was resolved to get the child away from his mother's\nhouse. Not till he felt that she was safe with Paula in Rufinus' house,\ncould he be free to attempt the enterprise which floated before his eyes.\nOn the stairs he shouted to a slave:\n\n\"My chariot with the Persian trotting horse!\" and a few minutes after he\nentered the little girl's room at the same time with a slave girl who\ncarried in a lamp. Neither Mary nor the physician observed him at first,\nand he heard her say to Philippus, who sat holding her wrist between his\nfingers.\n\n\"What is the matter with you this evening? Good heavens, how pale and\nmelancholy you look!\" The lamplight fell full on his face. \"Look here, I\nhave just made such a smart little man out of wax. . .\"\n\nShe hoped to amuse the friend who was always so kind to her with this\ncomical work of art; but, as she leaned forward to reach it, she caught\nsight of her uncle and exclaimed: \"Philippus comes here to cure me, but\nhe looks as if he wanted a draught himself. Take care, or you will have\nto drink that bitter brown stuff you sent yesterday; then you will know\nfor once how nasty it can be.\" Though the child's exclamation was\nwell-meant, neither of the men took any notice of it. They stood face to\nface in utter silence and with only a formal greeting; for Orion, without\nMary's remark, had been struck by the change that had come over the\nphysician since yesterday. Ignoring Orion's presence, he asked the child\na few brief questions, begged Eudoxia to persevere in the same course of\ntreatment, and then hastily bid a general farewell to all present; Orion,\nhowever, did not respond, but said, with an affectionate glance at the\nlittle patient: \"One word with you presently.\"\n\nThis made Philippus turn to look at Mary and, as the eyes of the rivals\nmet, they knew that on one subject at any rate they thought and felt\nalike. The leech already knew how tenderly the young man had taken to\nMary, and he followed him into the room which Orion now occupied, and\nwhich, as Philippus was aware, had formerly been Paula's.\n\n\"In the cause of duty,\" he said to himself again and again, to keep\nhimself calm and enable him to gather at least the general sense of what\nthe handsome young fellow opposite to him was saying in his rich,\npleasant voice, and urging as a request with more warmth than the leech\nhad given him credit for. Philippus, of course, had heard of the\ngrandmother's lamentable revulsion of feeling against her grandchild, and\nhe thought Orion's wish to remove the little girl fully justified. But,\non learning that she was to be placed under Paula's care, he seemed\nstartled, and gazed at the floor in such sullen gloom that the other\neasily guessed what was going on in his mind. In fact, the physician\nsuspected that the child was to serve merely as an excuse for the more\nfrequent meetings of the lovers. Unable to bury this apprehension in his\nown breast he started to his feet, and was about to put it into words,\nwhen Orion took the words out of his mouth, saying modestly but frankly,\nwith downcast eyes:\n\n\"I speak only for the child's--for Mary's sake. By my father's\nsoul. . . .\"\n\nBut Philippus shook his head dismally, went up to his rival, and murmured\ndully:\n\n\"For the sake of that child I am capable of doing or enduring a great\ndeal. She could not be better cared for than with Rufinus and Paula; but\nif I could suppose,\" and he raised his voice, while his eyes took a\nsinister and threatening expression, \"if I could suppose that her sacred\nand suffering innocence were merely an excuse. . . .\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Orion urgently. \"Again, on my sacred word, I assure you\nthat I have no aim in view but the child's safety; and, as we have said\nso much, I will not stick at a word more or less! Rufinus' house is open\nto you day and night, and I, if all turns out as I expect, shall ere long\nbe far from hence--from Memphis--from Paula. There is mischief brewing--I\ndare say no more--an act of treachery; and I will try to prevent it at\nthe risk of my life. You, every one, shall no longer have a right to\nthink me capable of things which are as repulsive to my nature as to\nyours. You and I, if I mistake not, strive for the same prize, and so far\nare rivals; but why should the child therefor suffer? Forget it in her\npresence, and that forgetting will, as you well know, enhance your merit\nin her--her eyes.\"\n\n\"My merit?\" retorted the other scornfully. \"Merit is not in the balance;\nnothing but the gifts of blind Fortune--a nose, a chin, an eye, anything\nin short--a crime as much as a deed of heroism--that happens to make a\ndeep impression on the wax of a girl's soft heart. But curse me,\" and he\nshouted the words at Orion as if he were beside himself, \"if I know how\nwe came to talk of such things! Has my folly gone running through the\nstreets, bare-bosomed, to display itself to the world at large? How do\nyou know what my feelings are? She, perhaps, has laughed with you at her\nridiculous lover?--Well, no matter. You know already, or will know by\nto-morrow, which of us has won the cock-fight. You have only to look at\nme! What woman ever broke her heart for such a Thersites-face. Good-luck\nto the winner, and the other one--well, since it must be so, farewell\ntill to-morrow.\"\n\nHe hastily made his way towards the door; Orion, however, detained him,\nimploring him to set aside his ill-feeling--at any rate for the present;\nassured him that Paula had not betrayed what his feelings were; that, on\nthe contrary, he himself, seeing him with her so late on the previous\nnight, had been consumed by jealousy, and entreated him to vent his wrath\non him in abusive words, if that could ease his heart, only, by all that\nwas good, not to withdraw his succor from that poor, innocent child.\n\nThe physician's humane heart was not proof against his prayer; and when\nat length he prepared to depart, in the joyful and yet painful conviction\nthat his happier rival had become more worthy of the prize, he had agreed\nthat he would impress on Neforis, whose mind he suspected to be slightly\naffected, that the air of the governor's residence did not suit Mary, and\nthat she should place her in the care of a physician outside the town.\n\nAs soon as Philippus had quitted the house, Orion went to see Rufinus,\nwho, on his briefly assuring him that he had come on grave and important\nbusiness, begged him to accompany him to his private room. The young man,\nhowever, detained him till he had made all clear with the women as to the\nreception of little Mary.\n\n\"By degrees all the inhabitants of the residence will be transplanted\ninto our garden!\" exclaimed Rufinus. \"Well, I have no objection; and you,\nold woman, what do you say to it?\"\n\n\"I have none certainly,\" replied his wife. \"Besides, neither you nor I\nhave to decide in this case: the child is to be Paula's guest.\"\n\n\"I only wish she were here already,\" said Paula, \"for who can say whether\nyour mother, Orion--the air here is perilously Melchite.\"\n\n\"Leave Philippus and me to settle that.--You should have seen how pleased\nMary was.\"\n\nThen, drawing Paula aside, he hastily added:\n\n\"Have I not hoped too much? Is your heart mine? Come what may, can I\ncount on you--on your lov-?\"\n\n\"Yes, Yes!\" The words rushed up from the very bottom of her heart, and\nOrion, with a sigh of relief, followed the old man, glad and comforted.\n\nThe study was lighted up, and there, without mentioning Katharina, he\ntold Rufinus of the patriarch's scheme for dispersing the nuns of St.\nCecilia. What could he care for these Melchite sisters? But, since that\nconsoling hour in the church, he felt as though it were his duty to stand\nforth for all that was right, and to do battle against everything that\nwas base. Besides, he knew how warmly and steadfastly his father had\ntaken the part of this very convent against the patriarch. Finally, he\nhad heard how strongly his beloved was attached to this retreat and its\nsuperior, so he prepared himself gleefully to come forth a new man of\ndeeds, and show his prowess.\n\nThe old man listened with growing surprise and horror, and when Orion had\nfinished his story he rose, helplessly wringing his hands. Orion spoke to\nhim encouragingly, and told him that he had come, not merely to give the\nterrible news, but to hold council with him as to how the innocent\nvictims might be rescued. At this the grey-headed philanthropist and\nwanderer pricked up his ears; and as an old war horse, though harnessed\nto the plough, when he hears the trumpet sound lifts his head and arches\nhis neck as proudly and nobly as of yore under his glittering trappings,\nso Rufinus drew himself up, his old eyes sparkled, and he exclaimed with\nall the enthusiasm and eagerness of youth:\n\n\"Very good, very good; I am with you; not merely as an adviser; no, no.\nHead, and hand, and foot, from crown to heel! And as for you, young\nman--as for you! I always saw the stuff that was in you in spite--in\nspite.--But, as surely as man is the standard of all things, those who\nreach the stronghold of virtue by a winding road are often better\ncitizens than those who are born in it.--It is growing late, but evensong\nwill not yet have begun and I shall still be able to see the abbess. Have\nyou any plan to propose?\"\n\n\"Yes; the day after to-morrow at this hour. . . .\"\n\n\"And why not to-morrow?\" interrupted the ardent old man.\n\n\"Because I have preparations to make which cannot be done in twelve hours\nof daylight.\"\n\n\"Good! Good!\"\n\n\"The day after to-morrow at dusk, a large barge--not one of ours--will be\nlying by the bank at the foot of the convent garden. I will escort the\nsisters as far as Doomiat on the Lake. I will send on a mounted messenger\nto-night, and I will charter a ship for the fugitives by the help of my\ncousin Columella, the greatest ship-owner of that town. That will take\nthem over seas wherever the abbess may command.\"\n\n\"Capital, splendid!\" cried Rufinus enthusiastically. He took up his hat\nand stick, and the radiant expression of his face changed to a very grave\none. He went up to the young man with solemn dignity, looked at him with\nfatherly kindliness, and said:\n\n\"I know what woes befell your house through those of our confession, the\nfellow-believers of these whom you propose to protect with so much\nprudence and courage; and that, young man, is noble, nay, is truly great.\nI find in you--you who were described to me as a man of the world and not\nover-precise--for the first time that which I have sought in vain for\nmany years and in many lands, among the pious and virtuous: the spirit of\nwilling self-sacrifice to save an enemy of a different creed from\npressing peril.--But you are young, Orion, and I am old. You triumph in\nthe action only, I foresee the consequences. Do you know what lies before\nyou, if it should be discovered that you have covered the escape of the\nprey whom the patriarch already sees in his net? Have you considered that\nBenjamin, the most implacable and most powerful hater among the\nJacobites, will pursue you as his mortal foe with all the fearful means\nat his command?\"\n\n\"I have considered it,\" replied Orion.\n\nRufinus laid his left hand on the young man's shoulder, and his right\nhand on his head, saying, \"Then take with you, to begin with, an old\nman's--a father's blessing.\"\n\n\"Yes, a father's,\" repeated Orion softly. A happy thrill ran through his\nbody and soul, and he fell on the old man's neck deeply moved.\n\nFor a minute they stood clasped in each other's arms; then Rufinus freed\nhimself, and set out to seek the abbess. Orion returned to the women,\nwhose curiosity had been roused to a high pitch by seeing Rufinus\ndisappear through the gate leading to the convent-garden. Dame Joanna\ncould not sit still for excitement, and Pulcheria answered at random when\nOrion and Paula, who had an infinity of things to say or whisper to each\nother, now and then tried to draw her into the conversation. Once she\nsighed deeply, and when her friend asked her: \"What ails you, Child?\" she\nanswered anxiously:\n\n\"Something serious must be going forward, I feel it. If only Philippus\nwere here!\"\n\n\"But we are all safe and well, thank God!\" observed Orion, and she\nquickly replied:\n\n\"Yes indeed, the Lord be praised!\" But she thought to herself:\n\n\"You think he is of no use but to heal the sick; but it is only when he\nis here that everything goes right and happens for the best!\"\n\nStill, all felt that there was something unusual and ominous in the air,\nand when the old man presently returned his face confirmed their\nsuspicions. He laid aside his hat and staff in speechless gravity; then\nhe put his arm affectionately round his wife and said:\n\n\"You will need all your courage and self-command once more, as you have\noften done before, good wife; I have taken upon myself a serious duty.\"\n\nJoanna had turned very pale, and while she clung to her husband and\nbegged him to speak and not to torture her with suspense, her frail\nfigure was trembling, and bitter tears ran down her cheeks. She could\nguess that her husband was once more going away from her and their child,\nin the service and for the benefit of others, and she knew full well that\nshe could not prevent it. If she could, she never would have had the\nheart to interfere: for she always understood him, and felt with him that\nsomething to take him out of the narrow circle of home-life was\nindispensable to his happiness.\n\nHe read her thoughts, and they gave him pain; but he was not to be\ndiverted from his purpose. The man who would try to heal every suffering\nbrute was accustomed to see those whom he loved best grieve on his\naccount. Marriage, he would say, ought not to hinder a man in following\nhis soul's vocation; and he was fond of using this high-sounding name to\njustify himself in his own and his wife's eyes, in doing things to which\nhe was prompted only by restlessness and unsatisfied energy. Without this\nhe would, no doubt, have done his best for the imperilled sisterhood, but\nit added to his enjoyment of the grand and dangerous rescue.\n\nThe wretched fate of the hapless nuns, and the thought of losing them as\nnear neighbors, grieved the women deeply, and the men saw many tears\nflow; at the same time they had the satisfaction of finding them all\nthree firmly and equally determined to venture all, and to bid these whom\nthey loved venture all, to hinder the success of a deed which filled them\nwith horror and disgust.\n\nJoanna spoke not a word of demur when Rufinus said that he intended to\naccompany the fugitives; and when, with beaming looks, he went on to\npraise Orion's foresight and keen decisiveness, Paula flew to him proudly\nand gladly, holding out both her hands. As for the young man, he felt as\nthough wings were growing from his shoulders, and this fateful evening\nwas one of the happiest of his life.\n\nThe superior had agreed to his scheme, and in some details had improved\nupon it. Two lay sisters and one nun should remain behind. The two former\nwere to attend to the sick in the infirmary, to ring the bell and chant\nthe services as usual, that the escape of the rest might not be\nsuspected; and Joanna, Paula, and Pulcheria, were to assist them.\n\nWhen, at a late hour, Orion was about to leave, Rufinus asked whether,\nunder these circumstances, it would be well to bring Mary to his house;\nhe himself doubted it. Joanna was of his opinion; Paula, on the contrary,\nsaid that she believed it would be better to let the child run the risk\nof a remote danger--hardly to be called danger, than to leave her to pine\naway body and soul in her old home. Pulcheria supported her, but the two\ngirls were forced to yield to the decision of the elders.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nAfter that interview with Orion, Philippus hurried off through the town,\npaying so little heed to the people he met and to the processions\nbesieging Heaven with loud psalms to let the Nile at last begin to rise,\nthat he ran up against more than one passer-by, and had many a word of\nabuse shouted after him. He went into two or three houses, and neither\nhis patients nor their attendants could recognize, in this abrupt and\nhasty visitor, the physician and friend who was usually so sympathetic to\nthe sufferer: who would speak with a cordiality that brought new life to\nhis heart, who would toss the children in the air, kiss one and nod\nmerrily to another. To-day their elders even felt shy and anxious in his\npresence. For the first time he found the duty he loved a wearisome\nburthen; the sick man was a tormenting spirit in league with the world\nagainst his peace of mind. What possessed him, that he should feel such\nlove of his fellow-men as to deprive himself of all comfort in life and\nof his night's rest for their sake? Rufinus was right. In these times\neach man lived solely to spite his neighbor, and he who could be most\nbrazenly selfish, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, was\nthe most certain to get on in life. Fool that he was to let other folks'\nwoes destroy his peace and hinder him in his scientific advancement!\n\nTormented by such bitter thoughts as these, he went into a neat little\nhouse by the harbor where a worthy pilot lay dying, surrounded by his\nwife and children; and there, at once, he was himself again, putting\nforth all his knowledge and heartfelt kindliness, quitting the scene with\na bleeding heart and an empty purse; but no sooner was he out of doors\nthan his former mood closed in upon him with double gloom. The case was\nplain: Even with the fixed determination not to sacrifice himself for\nothers he could not help doing it; the impulse was too strong for him. He\ncould no more help suffering with the sufferer, and giving the best he\nhad to give with no hope of a return, than the drunkard can help\ndrinking. He was made to be plundered; it was his fate!\n\nWith a drooping head he returned to his old friend's work-room. Horapollo\nwas sitting, just as he had sat the night before, at his writing-table\nwith his scrolls and his three lamps, a slave below, snoring while he\nawaited his master's pleasure.\n\nThe leech's pretty Greek greeting \"Rejoice!\" sounded rather like \"May\nyou choke!\" as he flung aside his upper garment; and to the old man's\nanswer and anxious exclamation: \"How badly you look, Philip!\" he answered\ncrossly: \"Like a man who deserves a kick rather than a welcome; a booby\nwho has submitted to have his nose pulled; a cur who has licked the hand\nof the lout who has thrashed him!\"\n\nHe threw himself on the divan and told Horapollo all that had passed\nbetween him and Orion. \"And the maddest part of it all,\" he ended, \"is\nthat I almost like the man; that he really seems to me to be on the high\nroad to become a capital fellow; and that I no longer feel inclined to\npitch him into a lime-kiln at the mere thought of his putting out a hand\nto Paula. At the same time,\" and he started to his feet, \"even if I help\nhim to bring the poor little girl away from that demented old hag, I\ncannot and will not continue to be her physician. There are plenty of\nquacks about in this corpse of a town, and they may find one of them.\n\n\"You will continue to treat the child,\" interrupted the old man quietly.\n\n\"To have my heart daily flogged with nettles!\" exclaimed the leech, going\ntowards Horapollo with wild gesticulations. \"And do you believe that I\nhave any desire to meet that young fellow's sweetheart day after day,\noften twice a day, that the barb may be twisted round and round in my\nbleeding wound?\"\n\n\"I expect a quite different result from your frequent meeting,\" said the\nother. \"You will get accustomed to see her under the aspect which alone\nshe can hence forth bear to you: that of a handsome girl--there are\nthousands such in Egypt,--and the betrothed of another.\"\n\n\"Certainly, if my heart were like a hunting-dog that lies down the moment\nit is bid,\" said Philippus with a scornful laugh. \"The end of it is that\nI must go away, away from Memphis--away from this miserable world for all\nI care! I?--Recover my peace of mind within reach of her? Alas, for my\nblissful, lost peace!\"\n\n\"And why not? To every man a thing is only as he conceives of it. Only\nlisten to me: I had finished a treatise on the old and new Calendars, and\nmy master desired me to deliver a lecture on it in the Museum--if the\nschool of pedants in Alexandria now deserves the name; but I did not wish\nto do so because I knew that the presence of such a large and learned\naudience would embarrass me. But my master advised me to imagine that my\nhearers were not men, but mere cabbages. This gave me new light; I took\nhis advice, got over my shyness, and my speech flowed like oil.\"\n\n\"A very good story,\" said Philippus, \"but I do not see. . . .\"\n\n\"The moral of it for you,\" interrupted the old man, \"is that you must\nregard the supremely adorable lady of your love as one among a dozen\nothers--I will not say as a cabbage--as one with whom your heart has no\nmore concern. Put a little strength of will into it, and you will\nsucceed.\"\n\n\"If a heart were a cipher, and if passion were calendar-making! . . .\"\nretorted Philippus. \"You are a very wise man, and your manuscripts and\ntables have stood like walls between you and passion.\"\n\n\"Who can tell?\" said Horapollo. \"But at any rate, it never should have\nhad such power over me as to make me embitter the few remaining days\nunder the sun yet granted to my father and friend for the sake of a woman\nwho scorned my devotion. Will you promise me to talk no more nonsense\nabout flying from Memphis, or anything of the kind?\"\n\n\"Teach me first to measure my strength of will.\"\n\n\"Will you try, at any rate?\"\n\n\"Yes, for your sake.\"\n\n\"Will you promise to continue your treatment of that poor little girl,\nwhom I love dearly in spite of her forbears?\"\n\n\"As long as I can endure the daily meeting with her--you know. . .\"\n\n\"That, then, is a bargain.--Now, come and let us translate a few more\nchapters.\"\n\nThe friends sat at work together till a late hour, and when the old man\nwas alone again he reflected: \"So long as he can be of use to the child\nhe will not go away, and by that time I shall have dug a pit for that\ndamned siren.\"\n\n          .........................\n\nOrion had his hands full of work for the next morning. Before it was\nlight he sent off two trustworthy messengers to Doomiat, giving each of\nthem a letter with instructions that a sailing vessel should be held in\nreadiness for the fugitives. One was to start three hours after the\nother, so that the business in hand should not fail if either of them\nshould come to grief.\n\nHe then went out; first to the harbor, where he succeeded in hiring a\nlarge, good Nile-boat from Doomiat, whose captain, a trustworthy and\nexperienced man, promised to keep their agreement a secret and to be\nprepared to start by noon next day. Next, after taking council with\nhimself, he went to the treasurer's office, and there, with the\nassistance of Nilus, made his will, to be ratified and signed next\nmorning in the presence of a notary and witnesses. His mother, little\nMary, and Paula were to inherit the bulk of his property. He also\nbequeathed a considerable sum as a legacy to the hospitals and orphan\nasylums, as well as to the Church, to the end that they might pray for\nhis soul; and a legacy to Nilus \"as the most just judge of his\nhousehold.\" Eudoxia, Mary's Greek governess, was not forgotten; and\nfinally he commanded that all his house-slaves should be liberated, and\nto the end that they might not suffer from want he bequeathed to them one\nof his largest estates in Upper Egypt, where they might settle and labor\nfor their common good. He increased the handsome sums already devised by\nhis father to the freedmen of his family.\n\nThis business occupied several hours. Nilus, who wrote while Orion\ndictated, giving the document a legal form, was deeply touched by the\nyoung man's fore thought and kindness; for in truth, since his\ndesecration of the judgment-seat, he had given him up for a lost soul.\n\nBy Orion's orders this will was to be opened after four weeks, in case he\nshould not have returned from a journey on which he proposed starting on\nthe morrow, and this injunction revealed to the faithful steward, who had\ngrown grey in the service, that the last scion of the house expected to\nrun considerable risk; however, he was too modest to ask any questions,\nand his master did not take him into his confidence.\n\nWhen, after all this, the two men went back into the anteroom, Anubis,\nthe young clerk and Katharina's ally, was standing there. Nilus took no\nnotice of him, and while he, with tearful eyes, stooped to kiss the hand\nOrion held out to him as he bid him come to take leave of him once more\nnext evening, Anubis, who had withdrawn respectfully to a little\ndistance, keeping his ears open, however, officiously opened the heavy\niron-plated door.\n\nOrion was exhausted and hungry; he enquired for his mother, and hearing\nthat she had gone to lie down, he went into the dining-room to get some\nfood. Although breakfast had but just been served, Eudoxia was awaiting\nhim with evident impatience. Her heart was bursting with a great piece of\nnews, and as Orion entered, greeting her, she cried out:\n\n\"Have you heard? Do you know?\" Then she began, encouraged by his curt\nnegative, to pour out to him how that Neforis, by the desire of the\nphysician who had lately been to see her, had decided on sending her,\nEudoxia, away with her granddaughter to enjoy better air under the roof\nof a friend of the leech's; they were to go this very day, or to-morrow\nat latest.\n\nOrion was disagreeably startled by this intelligence. He had not expected\nthat Philippus would come so early, and he himself had been the first to\npromote a scheme which now no longer seemed advisable.\n\n\"How very provoking!\" he muttered between his teeth, as a slave offered\nhim a roast fowl and asparagus.\n\n\"Is it not? And perhaps we shall have to go quite far into the country,\"\nsaid the Greek, with a languishing look, as she drew one of the long\nstems between her teeth.\n\nThe words and the glance made Orion feel as if he grudged the old fool\nthe good food she was eating, and his voice was not particularly\ningratiating as he replied that town and country were all the same, the\nonly point was which would be best for the child. When he went on to say\nthat he was quitting home next evening, Eudoxia cried out, let a stick of\nasparagus drop in her lap, and said despairingly: \"Oh, then everything is\nat an end!\"\n\nHe, however, interposed reproachfully: \"On the contrary, then your duty\nbegins; you must devote yourself wholly and exclusively to the child. You\nknow that her own grandmother is averse to her. Give her your best\naffection, as you have already begun to do, be a mother to her; and if\nyou really are my well-wisher, show it in that way. For my part you will\nfind me grateful, and not in words alone. Go tomorrow to the treasurer's\noffice; Nilus will give you the only thing by which I can at present\nprove my gratitude. Do your best to cherish the child; I have taken care\nto provide for your old age.\"\n\nHe rose, cutting short the Greek's profuse expressions of thanks, and\nbetook himself to his mother. She was still in her room; however, he now\nsent word that he had come to see her, and she was ready to admit him,\nhaving expected that he would come even sooner.\n\nShe was reclining, half-sitting, on a divan in her cool and shady\nbedroom, and she at once told her son of her determination to follow the\nphysician's advice and entrust the little girl to his friend. She spoke\nin a tone of sleepy indifference; but as soon as Orion opposed her and\nbegged her to keep Mary at home, she grew more lively, and looking him\nwrathfully in the face exclaimed: \"Can you wish that? How can you ask\nme?\" and she went on in repining lamentation:\n\n\"Everything is changed nowadays. Old age no longer forgets; it is youth\nthat has a short memory. Your head has long been full of other things,\nbut I--I still remember who it was that made my lost dear one's last\nhours on earth a hell, even in view of the gates of Heaven!\" Her breast\nheaved with feeble, tearless sobs--a short, convulsive gasping, and Orion\ndid not dare contravene her wishes. He sought to soothe her with loving\nwords and, when she recovered herself, he told her that he proposed to\nleave her for a short time to look after his estates, as the law\nrequired, and this information gladdened her greatly. To be\nalone--solitary and unobserved now seemed delightful. Those white pills\ndid more for her, raised her spirits better, than any human society. They\nbrought her dreams, sleeping or waking; dreams a thousand times more\ndelightful than her real, desolate existence. To give herself up to\nmemory, to pray, to dream, to picture herself in the other world among\nher beloved dead--and besides that to eat and drink, which she was always\nready to do very freely--this was all she asked henceforth of life on\nearth.\n\nWhen, to her further questions, Orion replied that he was going first to\nthe Delta, she expressed her regret, since, if he had gone to Upper\nEgypt, he might have visited his sister-in-law, Mary's mother, in her\nconvent. She sat up as she spoke, passed her hand across her forehead,\nand pointed to a little table near the head of the couch, on which, by\nthe side of a cup with fruit syrup, phials, boxes, and other objects, lay\na writing-tablet and a letter-scroll. This she took up and handed to\nOrion, saying:\n\n\"A letter from your sister-in-law. It came last evening and I began to\nread it; but the first words are a complaint of your father, and\nthat--you know, just before going to sleep--I could not read any more; I\ncould not bear it! And to-day; first there was church, and then the\nphysician came with his request about the child; I have not yet found\ncourage to read the rest of it.--What can any letter bring to me but\nevil! Do you know at all whence anything pleasant could come to me? But\nnow: read me the letter. Not that part again about your father; that I\nwill keep till presently for myself alone.\"\n\nOrion undid the roll, and with quivering lips glanced over the nun's\naccusations against his father. The wildest fanaticism breathed in every\nline of this epistle from the martyr's widow. She had found in the\ncloister all she sought: she lived now, she said, in God alone and in the\nDivine Saviour. She thought of her child, even, only as an alien, one of\nGod's young creatures for whom it was a joy to pray. At the same time it\nwas her duty to care for the little one's soul, and if it were not too\nhard for her grandmother to part from her, she longed to see Mary once\nmore. She had lately been chosen abbess of her convent--and no one could\nprevent her taking possession of the child; but she feared lest an\noverwhelming natural affection might drag her back to the carnal world,\nwhich she had for ever renounced, so she would have Mary brought up in a\nneighboring nunnery, and led to Heavenly joys, not to earthly misery--to\nbe the wife of no sinful husband, but a pure bride of Christ.\n\nOrion shuddered as he read and, when he laid the letter down, his mother\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Perhaps she is right, perhaps it is already ordained that the child\nshould be sent to the convent, and not to the leech's friend, and started\non the only path that leads to Heaven without danger or hindrance!\"\n\nBut Orion said to himself that he would make it his duty to guard the\nhappy-hearted child from this fate, and he begged his mother to consider\nthat the first important point was to restore the little girl to health.\nHe now saw that she had been right. His father had always obeyed the\nprescriptions of Philippus, and for that reason, if for no other, it\nwould be her duty to act by his advice.\n\nNeforis, who for some time had been casting longing eyes at a small box\nby her side, did not contradict him; and in the course of the afternoon\nOrion conducted little Mary and her governess to the house of Rufinus,\nwho, notwithstanding the doubts he had expressed the day before, made\nthem heartily welcome.\n\nWhen Mary was lying in her bed, close by the side of Paula's, the child\nthrew her arms round the young girl's neck as she leaned over her, and\nlaying her head on her bosom, felt herself in soft and warm security.\nThere, as one released from prison and bondage, she wept out her woes,\npouring all the grief of her deeply wounded child's heart into that of\nher friend.\n\nPaula, however, heard Orion's voice, and she longed to go down to her\nlover, whom she had greeted but briefly on his arrival; still, she could\nnot bear to snatch the child from her bosom, to disturb her in her\nnewly-found happiness and leave her at this very moment! And yet, she\nmust--she must see him! Every impulse urged her towards him and, when\nPulcheria came into the room, she placed Mary's hand in hers and said:\n\"There, now make friends and stay together like good children till I come\nback again and have something nice to tell you. You are fond of Orion,\nlittle one, my story shall be all about him.\"\n\n\"He was obliged to go,\" said Pulcheria, interrupting her. \"Here is his\nmessage on this tablet. He was almost dying of impatience, and when he\ncould wait no longer he wrote this for you.\"\n\nPaula took the tablet, with a cry of regret, and carried it to her room\nto read. He had longed for their meeting as eagerly as herself, but at\nlast he could wait no longer. How differently--so he wrote--had he hoped\nto end this day which must be devoted to the rescue of her friends.\n\nWhy, oh why had she allowed herself to be detained here? Why had she not\nflown to him, at least for a few moments, to thank him for his kindness\nand faithfulness, and to hear him confess publicly and aloud what he had\nbut murmured in her ear the day before? She returned to the little girl,\nanxious and dissatisfied with herself.\n\nOrion had in fact postponed his departure till the last moment; he\nthought it necessary to give Amru due notice of his journey and of his\nrupture with the patriarch. Of all the motives which could prompt him to\naid the nuns, revenge was that which the Arab could best understand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nAs Orion rode across the bridge of boats to Fostat, the gladness that had\ninspired him died away. Could not--ought not Paula to have spared him a\nsmall part of the time she had devoted to the child? He had been left to\nmake the most of a kind grasp of the hand and a grateful look of welcome.\nWould she not have flown to meet him, if the love of which she had\nassured him yesterday were as fervent, as ardent as his own? Was the\nproud spirit of this girl, who, as his mother said, was cold and\nunapproachable, incapable of passionate, self-forgetting devotion? Was\nthere no way of lighting up in her the sacred fire which burnt in him? He\nwas tormented by many doubts and a bitter feeling of disappointment, and\na crowd of suspicions forced themselves upon him, which would never have\ntroubled him if only he had seen her once more, had heard her happy words\nof love, and felt his lips consecrated by his mistress' first kiss.\n\nHe was out of spirits, indeed out of temper, as he entered the Arab\ngeneral's dwelling. In the anteroom he was met by rejected petitioners,\nand he said to himself, with a bitter smile, that he had just been sent\nabout his business in the same unsatisfied mood--yes, sent about his\nbusiness--and by whom?\n\nHe was announced, and his spirits rose a little when he was at once\nadmitted and led past many, who were left waiting, into the Arab\ngovernor's presence-chamber. He was received with paternal warmth; and,\nwhen Amru heard that Orion and the patriarch had come to high words, he\njumped up and holding out both his hands exclaimed:\n\n\"My right hand on that, my friend; come over to Islam, and with my left I\nwill appoint you your father's successor, in the Khaliff's name, in spite\nof your youth. Away with hesitation! Clasp hands; at once, quickly! I\ncannot bear to quit Egypt and know that there is no governor at Memphis!\"\n\nThe blood tingled in the young man's veins. His father's successor! He,\nthe new Mukaukas! How it flattered his ambition, what a way to all\nactivity it opened out to him! It dazzled his vision, and moved him\nstrongly to grasp the right hand which his generous patron still held out\nto him. But suddenly his excited fancy showed him the image of the\nRedeemer with whom he had entered into a silent covenant in the church,\nsadly averting his gentle face. At this he remembered what he had vowed;\nat this he forgot all his grievance against Paula; he took the general's\nhand, indeed, but only to raise it to his lips as he thanked him with all\nhis heart. But then he implored him, with earnest, pleading urgency, not\nto be wroth with him if he remained firm and clung to the faith of his\nfather and his ancestors. And Amru was not wroth, though it was with none\nof the hearty interest with which he had at first welcomed him, that he\nhastily warned Orion to be on his guard against the prelate, since, so\nlong as he remained a Christian, he had no power to protect him against\nBenjamin.\n\nWhen Orion went on to tell him that he was intending to travel for a\nshort time, and had, in fact, come to take leave of him, the Arab was\nmuch annoyed. He, too, he said, must be going away and was starting\nwithin two days for Medina.\n\n\"And in casting my eye on you,\" he went on, \"in spite of your youth, to\nfill your father's place, I took care to find a task for you which would\nenable you to prove that I had not put too great confidence in you. But,\nif you persist in your own opinions, I cannot possibly entrust so\nimportant a post as the governorship of Memphis to a Christian so young\nas you are; with the youthful Moslem I might have ventured on\nit.--However, I will not deprive you of the enterprise which I had\nintended for you. If you succeed in it, it will be a good thing for\nyourself, and I can, I believe, turn it to the benefit of the whole\nprovince--for what could take me from hence at this time, when my\npresence is so needful for a hundred incomplete projects, but my anxiety\nfor the good of this country--in which I am but an alien, while you must\nlove it as your native soil, the home of your race?--I am going to Medina\nbecause the Khaliff, in this letter, complains that I send too small a\nrevenue into the treasury from so rich a land as Egypt. And yet not a\nsingle dinar of your taxes finds its way into my own coffers. I keep a\nhundred and fifty thousand laborers at work to restore the canals and\nwaterworks which my predecessors, the blood-sucking Byzantines, neglected\nso disgracefully and left to fall to ruin--I build, and plan, and sow\nseed for posterity to reap. All this costs money. It swallows up the\nlion's share of the revenue. And I am making the journey, not merely to\npurge myself from reproach, but to obtain Omar's permission for the\nfuture to exact no extortionate payments, but to consider only the true\nweal of the province. I am most unwilling to go, for a thousand reasons;\nand you, young man, if you care for your native land, ought. . . . Do you\nreally love it and wish it well?\"\n\n\"With all my soul!\" cried Orion.\n\n\"Well then, at this time, if by any possibility you can arrange it so,\nyou ought to remain at home, and devote yourself heart and soul to the\ntask I have to propose to you. I hate postponements. Ride straight at the\nfoe, and do not canter up and down till you tire the horses! that is my\nprinciple, and not in battle only. Take the moral to heart!--And you will\nhave no time to waste; what I require is no light matter: It is that you\nshould endeavor to sketch a new division of the districts, drawing on\nyour own knowledge of the country and its inhabitants, and using the\nrecords and lists in the archives of your ancient government-offices, of\nwhich your father has told me; you must have special regard to the\nfinancial condition of each district. That the old mode of levying taxes\nis unsatisfactory we find every day; you will have ample room for\nimprovements in every respect. Overthrow the existing arrangements, if\nyou consider it necessary. Other men have attempted to redistribute the\ndivisions and devise new modes of collecting the revenue. The best scheme\nwill have the preference; and you seem to me to be the man to win the\nprize, and, with it, a wide and noble field of work in the future. It is\nnot a mere sense of tedium, or a longing for the pleasures of the capital\nto which you are accustomed, that are tempting you to quit Memphis the\nmelancholy. . . .\"\n\n\"No, indeed, my Lord,\" Orion assured him. \"The duty I have in view does\nnot even profit me, and if I had not given my word I would throw myself,\nheart and soul, into so grand a task, no later than to-morrow. That you\nshould expect me to solve so hard a problem is the most precious incense\never offered me. If it is only to be worthy of your confidence, I will\nreturn as soon as possible and put forth my utmost powers of intelligence\nand prudence, of endurance and patriotism. I have always been a diligent\nstudent; and it would be a shame indeed, if my experiences as a youth\ncould hinder the man from outdoing the school-boy.\"\n\n\"That is right, well said!\" replied Amru, holding out his hand. \"Do your\nbest, and you shall have ample opportunity of proving your powers.--Take\nmy warnings to heart as regards the patriarch and the black Vekeel. I\nunfortunately have no one who could fill his place except the worthy Kadi\nOthman; but he is no soldier, and he cannot be spared from his post. Keep\nout of Obada's way, return soon, and may the All-merciful protect\nyou. . . . \"\n\nWhen Orion had recrossed the bridge on his way home, he saw a\ngaily-dressed Nile-boat, such as now but rarely stopped at Memphis, lying\nat anchor in the dock, and on the road he met two litters followed by\nbeasts of burden and a train of servants. The whole party had a brilliant\nand wealthy appearance, and at any other time would have roused his\ncuriosity; but to-day he merely wondered for a moment who these\nnew-comers might be, and then continued to meditate on the task proposed\nto him by Amru. From the bottom of his heart he cursed the hour in which\nhe had pledged himself to take the part of these strangers; for after\nsuch long idleness he longed to be able to prove his powers. Suddenly,\nand as if by a miracle, he saw the way opened before him which he had\nhimself hoped to tread, and now he was fettered and held back from an\nenterprise which he felt he could carry out with success and benefit to\nhis country, while it attracted him as with a hundred lode-stones.\n\nNext morning, when his will had been duly signed and witnessed, he called\nthe treasurer for an interview alone with him. He had made up his mind\nthat one person, at least, must be informed of the enterprise he had\nplanned, and that one could be no other than Nilus. So he begged him to\naccompany him to the impluvium of his private residence; and several\noffice scribes who were present heard the invitation given. They did not,\nhowever, allow themselves to be disturbed in their work; the youngest\nonly--a handsome lad of sixteen, an olive-complexioned Egyptian, with\nkeen, eager black eyes, who had listened sharply to every word spoken by\nthe treasurer and his master, quietly rose from his squatting posture as\nsoon as they had quitted the office, and, stole, unobserved into the\nanteroom. From thence he flew up the ladder-like steps which led to the\ndovecote of which he had the care, sprang on to the roof of the lower\nstory, and crept flat on his face till he was close to the edge of the\nlarge square opening which gave light and air to the impluvium below.\nWith a swift movement of the hand he pushed back the awning which shaded\nit at midday, and listened intently to the dialogue that went on below.\n\nThis listener was Anubis, the water-wagtail's foster-brother; and he\nseemed to be in no way behind his beloved mistress in the art of\nlistening; for no one could prick up his ears more sharply than Anubis.\nHe knew, too, what was to be his reward for exposing himself on a roof to\nthe shafts of the pitiless African sun, for Katharina, his adored\nplay-fellow and the mistress of his ardent boy's heart, had promised him\na sweet kiss, if only he would bring her back some more exact news as to\nOrion's perilous journey. Anubis had told her, the evening before, all he\nhad heard in the anteroom to the office, but such general information had\nnot satisfied her. She must see clearly before her, must know exactly\nwhat was going on, and she was not mistaken when she imagined that the\nreward she had promised the lad would spur him to the utmost.\n\nAnubis had not indeed expected to gain his end so soon, boldly as he\ndared to hope; scarcely had he pushed aside the awning, when Orion began\nto explain to Nilus all his plan and purpose.\n\nWhen he had finished speaking, the boy did not wait to hear Nilus reply.\nIntoxicated with his success, and the prospect of a guerdon which to him\nincluded all the bliss of heaven, he crept back to the dovecote. But he\ncould not go back by the way by which he had come; for if one of the\nolder scribes should meet him in the anteroom, he would be condemned to\nreturn to his work. He therefore wriggled along the ridge of the roof\ntowards the fishing-cove, got over it, and laid hold of a gutter pipe,\nintending to slip down it; unfortunately it was old and rotten-rain was\nrare in Memphis--and hardly had he trusted his body after his hands when\nthe lead gave way. The rash youth fell with the clattering fragments of\nthe gutter from a height of four men; a heavy thump on the pavement was\nfollowed by a loud cry, and in a few minutes all the officials had heard\nthat poor Anubis, nimble as he was, had fallen from the roof while\nattending to his pets, and had broken his leg.\n\nThe two men in the impluvium were not informed of the accident till some\ntime later, for strict orders had been given that they were not to be\ndisturbed.\n\nNilus had received his young master's communication with growing\namazement, indignation, and horror. When Orion ended, the treasurer put\nforth all the eloquence of a faithful heart, anxious for the safety of\nthe body and soul of the youth he loved, to dissuade him from a deed of\ndaring which could bring him nothing but misapprehension, disaster, and\npersecution. Nilus was with all his soul a Jacobite; and the idea that\nhis young master was about to risk everything for a party of Melchite\nnuns, and draw down upon himself the wrath and maledictions of the\npatriarch, was more than he could bear.\n\nHis faithful friend's warnings and entreaties did not leave Orion\nunmoved; but he clung to his determination, representing to Nilus that he\nhad pledged his word to Rufinus, and could not now draw back, though he\nhad already lost all his pleasure in the enterprise. But it went against\nhim to leave the brave old man to face the danger alone--indeed, it was\nout of the question.\n\nGenuine anxiety is fertile in expedient; Orion had scarcely done\nspeaking, when Nilus had a proposal to make which seemed well calculated\nto dispel the youth's last objections. Melampus, the chief shipbuilder,\nwas a Greek and a zealous Melchite, though he no longer dared to confess\nhis creed openly. He and his sons, two bold and sturdy ships carpenters,\nhad often given proof of their daring, and Nilus had no doubt that they\nwould be more than willing to share in an expedition which had for its\nobject the rescue of so many pious fellow-believers. They might take\nOrion's place, and would be far more helpful to the old man than Orion\nhimself.\n\nOrion so far approved of this suggestion as to promise himself good aid\nfrom the brave artisans, who were well known to him; and he was willing\nto take them with him, though he would not give up his own share in the\nbusiness.\n\nNilus, though he adhered firmly to his objections, was at last reduced to\nsilence. However, Orion went with his anxious friend to the ship-yard;\nthe old ship-builder, a kind-hearted giant, was as ready and glad to\nundertake the rescue of the Sisters as if each one was his own mother. It\nwould be a real treat to the youngsters to have a hand in such a\njob,--and he was right, for when they were taken into confidence one\nflourished his hatchet with enthusiasm, and the tether struck his horny\nfist against his left palm as gleefully as though he were bidden to a\ndance.\n\nOrion took boat at once with the three men, and was rowed to the house of\nRufinus, to whom he introduced them; the old man was entirely satisfied.\n\nOrion remained with him after dismissing them. He had promised last\nevening to breakfast with him, and the meal was waiting. Paula had gone,\nabout an hour since, to the convent, and Joanna expected her to return at\nany moment. They began without her, however; the various dishes were\ncarried away, the meal was nearly ended-still she had not returned.\nOrion, who had at first been able to conceal his disappointment, was now\nso uneasy that his host could with difficulty extract brief and\ninadvertent replies to his repeated questions. Rufinus himself was\nanxious; but just as he rose to go in search of her, Pulcheria, who was\nat the window, saw her coming, and joyfully exclaiming: \"There she is!\"\nran out.\n\nBut now again minute after minute passed, a quarter of an hour grew to\nhalf an hour, and still Orion was waiting in vain. Glad expectation had\nlong since turned to impatience, impatience to a feeling of injured\ndignity, and this to annoyance and bitter vexation, when at last\nPulcheria came back instead of Paula, and begged him from Paula to join\nher in the garden.\n\nShe had been detained too long at the convent. The terrible rumor had\nscared the pious sisters out of their wonted peace and put them all into\nconfusion, like smoke blown into a bee-hive. The first thing was to pack\ntheir most valuable possessions; and although Orion had expressly said\nonly a small number of cases and bags could be taken on board, one was\nfor dragging her prayer-desk, another a large picture of some saint, a\nthird a copper fish-kettle, and the fourth, fifth, and sixth the great\nreliquary with the bones of Ammonius the Martyr, to which the chapel owed\nits reputation for peculiar sanctity. To reduce this excess of baggage,\nthe abbess had been obliged to exert all her energy and authority, and\nmany a sister retired weeping over some dear but too bulky treasure.\n\nThe superior had therefore been unable to devote herself to Paula till\nthis portable property had been under review. Then the damsel had been\nadmitted to her parlor, a room furnished with rich and elegant\nsimplicity, and there she had been allowed to pour out her whole heart to\nwarm and sympathetic ears.\n\nAny one who could have seen these two together might have thought that\nthis was a daughter in grief seeking counsel on her mother's breast. In\nher youth the grey-haired abbess must have been very like Thomas'\ndaughter; but the lofty and yet graceful mien of the younger woman had\nchanged in the matron to majestic and condescending dignity, and it was\nimpossible to guess from her defiantly set mouth that it had once been\nthe chief charm of her face.\n\nAs she listened to the girl's outpourings the expression of her calm eyes\nchanged frequently; when her soul was fired by fanatical zeal they could\ngleam brightly; but now she was listening to a variety of experiences,\nfor Paula regarded this interview as a solemn confession, and concealed\nnothing from the friend who was both mother and priest-neither of what\nhad happened to her in external circumstances, nor of what had moved her\nheart and mind ever since she had first entered the house of the\nMtikaukas. Not a corner of her soul did she leave unsearched; she neither\nconcealed nor palliated anything; and when she described her lover's\nstrenuous efforts to apprehend the whole seriousness of life, her love\nand enthusiasm fairly carried her away, making his image shine all the\nmore brightly by comparison with the brief, but dark shadow, that had\nfallen upon it. When Paula had at last ended her confession, the superior\nhad remained silent for some time; then drawing the girl to her, she had\naffectionately asked her:\n\n\"And now? Now, tell me truly, does not the passion that has such\nwonderful power over you prompt and urge your inmost soul to yield--to\nfly to the embrace of the man you love--to give all up for him and say:\n'Here I am--I am yours! Call a priest to bless our union!--Is it not\nso--am I not right?'\"\n\nPaula, deeply blushing, bowed assent; but the old woman drew her head on\nto her motherly bosom, and went on thoughtfully:\n\n\"I saw him drive past in his quadriga, and was reminded of many a noble\nstatue of the heathen Greeks. Beauty, rank, wealth, aye--and talents and\nintellect--all that could ruin the heart of a Paula are his, and she--I\nsee it plainly--will give it to him gladly.\"\n\nAnd again the maiden bowed her head. The abbess sighed, and went on as\nthough she had with difficulty succeeded in submitting to the inevitable\n\"Then all warning would be in vain.--Still, he is not of our confession,\nhe. . . .\"\n\n\"But how highly he esteems it!\" cried Paula. \"That he proves by risking\nhis freedom and life for you and your household.\"\n\n\"Say rather for you whom he loves,\" replied the other. \"But putting that\nout of the question, it pains me deeply to think of Thomas' daughter as\nthe wife of a Jacobite. You will not, I know, give him up; and the Father\nof Love often leads true love to good ends by wonderful ways, even though\nthey are ways of error, passing through pitfalls and abysses.\"\n\nPaula fell on her neck to kiss her gratefully: but the abbess could only\nallow the girl a few minutes to enjoy her happiness. She desired her to\nsit down by her side, and holding Paula's hand in both her own, she spoke\nto her in a tone of calm deliberation. She and her sisterhood, she began\nby saying, were deeply indebted to Orion. She had no dearer wish than\nthat Paula should find the greatest earthly happiness in her marriage;\nstill, it was her part to tender advice, and she dared not blind herself\nto the dangers which threatened this happiness. She herself had a long\nlife behind her of varied experience, in which she had seen hundreds of\nyoung men who had been given up as lost sinners by father and\nmother--lost to the Church and to all goodness--and among these many a\none, like Saul, had had his journey to Damascus. A turning point had come\nto them, and the outcast sons had become excellent and pious men.\n\nPaula, as she listened, had drawn closer to the speaker, and her eyes\nbeamed with joy; but the elder woman shook her head, and her gaze grew\nmore devout and rapt, as she went on with deep solemnity:\n\n\"But then, my child, in all of these Grace had done its perfect work; the\nmiracle was accomplished which we term regeneration. They were still the\nsame men in the flesh and in the elements of their sensible nature, but\ntheir relation to the world and to life was altogether new. All that they\nhad formerly thought desirable they could now hate; what they had deemed\nimportant was now worthless, and the worthless precious in their eyes;\nwhereas they once referred everything to their own desires, they now\nreferred all to God and His will. Their impulses were the same as of old,\nbut they kept them within bounds by a never-sleeping consciousness that\nthey led, not to joys, but to everlasting punishment. These regenerate\nsouls learned to contemn the world, and instead of gazing down at the\ndust their eyes were fixed upwards on Heaven. If either of them tottered,\nhis whole 'new man' prompted him to recover his balance before he fell to\nthe ground.--But Orion! Your lover? His guilt seems to have passed over\nhim; he hopes for reunion with God from a more meritorious life in the\nworld. Not only is his nature unaltered, but his attitude with regard to\nlife and to the joys it offers to the children of this world. Earthly\nlove is spurring him on to strive for what is noble and great and he\nearnestly seeks to attain it; but he will fall over every stone that the\ndevil casts in his path, and find it hard to pick himself up again, for\nmisfortune has not led him to the new birth or the new life in God. Just\nsuch men have I seen, numbers of times, relapsing into the sins they had\nescaped from. Before we can entirely trust a man who has once--though but\nonce-wandered so far from God's ways, while Grace has not yet worked\neffectually in him, we shall do well to watch his dealings and course for\nmore than a few short days. If you still feel that you must follow the\ndictates of your heart, at any rate do not fly into your lover's open\narms, do not abandon to him the pure sanctuary of your body and soul, do\nnot be wholly his till he has been fully put to the proof.\"\n\n\"But I believe in him entirely!\" cried Paula, with a flood of tears.\n\n\"You believe because you love him,\" replied the abbess.\n\n\"And because he deserves it.\"\n\n\"And how long has he deserved it?\"\n\n\"Was he not a splendid man before his fall?\"\n\n\"And so was many a murderer. Most criminals become outcasts from society\nin a single moment.\"\n\n\"But society still accepts Orion.\"\n\n\"Because he is the son of the Mukaukas.\"\n\n\"And because he wins all hearts!\"\n\n\"Even that of the Almighty?\"\n\n\"Oh! Mother, Mother! why do you measure him by the standard of your own\nsanctified soul? How few are the elect who find a share of the grace of\nwhich you speak!\"\n\n\"But those who have sinned like him must strive for it.\"\n\n\"And he does so, Mother, in his way.\"\n\n\"It is the wrong way; wrong for those who have sinned as he has. All he\nstrives for is worldly happiness.\"\n\n\"No, no. He is firm in his faith in God and the Saviour. He is not a\nliar.\"\n\n\"And yet he thinks he may escape the penalty?\"\n\n\"And does not the Lord pardon true repentance?--He has repented; and how\nbitterly, how fearfully he has suffered!\"\n\n\"Say rather that he has felt the stripes that his own sin brought upon\nhim.--There are more to come; and how will he take them? Temptation lurks\nin every path, and how will he avoid it? As your mother, indeed it is my\nduty to warn you: Keep your passion and yourself still under control;\ncontinue to watch him, and grant him nothing--not the smallest favor, as\nyou are a maiden, before he. . .\"\n\n\"Till when; how long am I to be so basely on my guard?\" sobbed Paula. \"Is\nthat love which trusts not and is not ready to share the lot even of the\nbackslider?\"\n\n\"Yes, child, yes,\" interrupted the old woman. \"To suffer all things, to\nendure all things, is the duty of true love, and therefore of yours; but\nyou must not allow the most indissoluble of all bonds to unite you to him\ntill the back-slider has learnt to walk firmly. Follow him step by step,\nhold him up with faithful care, never despair of him if he seems other\nthan what you had hoped. Make it your duty, pious soul, to render him\nworthy of grace--but do not be in a hurry to speak the final yes--do not\nsay it yet.\"\n\nPaula yielded, though unwillingly, to this last word of counsel; but, in\nfact, Orion's fault had filled the abbess with deep distrust. So great a\nsinner, under the blight, too, of a father's curse, ought, in her\nopinion, to have retired from the world and besieged Heaven for grace and\na new birth, instead of seeking joys, such as she thought none but the\nmost blameless--and, those of her own confession--could deserve, in union\nwith so exceptional a creature as her beloved Paula. Indeed, having\nherself found peace for her soul only in the cloister, after a stormy and\nworldly youth, she would gladly have received the noble daughter of her\nold friend as the Bride of Christ within those walls, to be, perhaps, her\nsuccessor as Mother Superior. She longed that her darling should be\nspared the sufferings she had known through the ruthlessness of faithless\nmen; so she would not abate a jot of the tenor of her advice, or cease to\nimpress on Paula, firmly though lovingly, the necessity of following it.\nAt last Paula took leave of her, bound by a promise not to pledge herself\nirrevocably to Orion till his return from Doomiat, and till the abbess\nhad informed her by letter what opinion she had formed of him in the\ncourse of their flight.\n\nThe high-spirited girl had not shed so many tears, as in the course of\nthis interview, since the fatal affair at Abyla where she had lost her\nfather and brother; it was with a tear-stained face and aching head that\nshe had made her way back, under the scorching mid-day sun, to Rufinus'\nhouse, where she sought her old nurse. Betta had earnestly entreated her\nto lie down, and when Paula refused to hear of it she persuaded her at\nany rate to bathe her head with water as cold as was procurable in this\nterrific heat, and to have her hair carefully rearranged by her skilful\nhand; for this had been her mother's favorite remedy against headache.\nWhen, at length, Paula and her lover stood face to face, in a shady spot\nin the garden, they both looked embarrassed and estranged. He was pale,\nand gazed at her with some annoyance; and her red eyes and knit brows,\nfor her brain was throbbing with piercing pain, did not tend to improve\nhis mood. It was her part to explain and excuse herself; and as he did\nnot at once address her after they had exchanged greetings, she said in a\nlow tone of urgent entreaty:\n\n\"Forgive me for coming so late. How long you must have been waiting! But\nparting from my best friend, my second mother, agitated me so\npainfully--it was so unspeakably sad.--I did not know how to hold up my\nhead, it ached so when I came home, and now--oh, I had hoped that we\nmight meet to-day so differently!\"\n\n\"But even yesterday you had no time to spare for me,\" he retorted\nsullenly, \"and this morning--you were present when Rufinus invited\nme--this morning!--I am not exacting, and to you, good God! How could I\nbe?--But have we not to part, to bid each other farewell--perhaps for\never? Why should you have given up so much time and strength to your\nfriend, that so scanty a remnant is left for the lover? That is an unfair\ndivision.\"\n\n\"How could I deny it?\" she said with melancholy entreaty. \"You are indeed\nvery right; but I could not leave the child last evening, as soon as she\ncame, and while she was weeping out all her sorrows; and if you only knew\nhow surprised and grieved I was--how my heart ached when, instead of\nfinding you, your note. . . .\"\n\n\"I was obliged to go to Amru,\" interrupted Orion. \"This undertaking\ncompels me to leave much behind, and I am no longer the freest of the\nfree, as I used to be. During this dreadful breakfast I have been sitting\non thorns. But let all that pass. I came hither with a heart high with\nhope--and now?--You see, Paula, this enterprise tears me in two in more\nways than you can imagine, puts me into a more critical position, and\nweighs more on my mind than you can think or know--I will explain it all\nto you at another time--and to bear it all, to keep up the spirit and\nhappy energy that I need, I must be secure of the one thing for which I\ncould take far greater toil and danger as mere child's play; I must\nknow. . . .\"\n\n\"You must know,\" she interposed, \"whether my heart is fully and wholly\nopen to your love. . . .\"\n\n\"And whether,\" he added, with growing ardor, \"in spite of the bitter\nsuffering that weighs on my wretched soul, I may hope to be happier than\nthe saints in bliss. O Paula, adored and only woman, may I. . . .\"\n\n\"You may,\" she said clearly and fervently. \"I love you, Orion, and shall\nnever, never cease to love you with my whole soul.\"\n\nHe flew to her side, clasped both her hands as if beside himself,\nsnatched them to his lips regardless of the nearness of the house, whence\nten pairs of eyes might have seen him, and covered them with burning\nkisses, till she drew them from him with the entreaty: \"No, no; forbear,\nI entreat you. No--not now.\"\n\n\"Yes, now, at this very moment--or, if not, when?\" he asked vehemently.\n\"But here, in this garden--you are right, this is no place for two human\nbeings so happy as we are. Come with me; come into the house and lead the\nway to a spot where we may be unseen and unheard, alone with each other\nand our happiness.\"\n\n\"No, no, no!\" she hastily put in, pressing her hand to her aching brow.\n\"Come with me to the bench under the sycamore; it is shady there, and you\ncan tell me everything, and hear once more how entirely love has taken\npossession of me.\"\n\nHe looked in her face, surprised and disappointed; but she turned towards\nthe sycamore and sat down beneath it. He slowly followed her. She signed\nto him to take a seat by her side, but he stood up in front of her,\nsaying sadly and despondently.\n\n\"Always the same--always calm and cold. Is this fair, Paula? Is this the\noverwhelming love of which you spoke? Is this your response to the\nyearning cry of a passionately ardent heart? Is this all that love can\ngrant to love--that a betrothed owes to her lover on the very eve of\nparting?\"\n\nAt this she looked up at him, deeply distressed, and said in pathetically\nurgent entreaty: \"O Orion, Orion! Have I not told you, can you not see\nand feel how much I love you? You must know and feel it; and if you do,\nbe content, I entreat. You, whom alone I love, be satisfied to know that\nthis heart is yours, that your Paula--your own Paula, for that indeed I\nam--will think of nothing, care for nothing, pray and entreat Heaven for\nnothing but you, yes you, my own, my all.\"\n\n\"Then come, come with me,\" he insisted, \"and grant your betrothed the\nrights that are his due.\n\n\"Nay, not my betrothed--not yet,\" she besought him, with all the fervor\nof her tortured soul. \"In my veins too the blood flows warm with\nyearning. Gladly would I fly to your arms and lay my head against yours,\nbut not to-day can I become your betrothed, not yet; I cannot, I dare\nnot!\"\n\n\"And why not? Tell me, at any rate, why not,\" he cried indignantly,\nclenching his fist to his breast. \"Why will you not be my bride, if\nindeed it is true that you love me? Why have you invented this new and\nintolerable torment?\"\n\n\"Because prudence tells me,\" she replied in a low, hurried voice, while\nher bosom heaved painfully, as though she were afraid to hear her own\nwords; \"because I see that the time is not yet come. Ah, Orion! you have\nnot yet learnt to bridle the desires and cravings that burn within you;\nyou have forgotten all too quickly what is past--what a mountain we had\nto cross before we succeeded in finding each other, before I--for I must\nsay it, my dear one--before I could look you in the face without anger\nand aversion. A strange and mysterious ordering has brought it about; and\nyou, too, have honestly done your best that everything should be changed,\nthat what was white should now be black, that the chill north wind should\nturn to a hot southerly one. Thus poison turns to healing, and a curse to\na blessing. In this foolish heart of mine passionate hatred has given way\nto no less fervent love. Still, I cannot yet be your bride, your wife.\nCall it cowardice, call it selfish caution, what you will. I call it\nprudence, and applaud it; though it cost my poor eyes a thousand bitter\ntears before my heart and brain could consent to be guided by the warning\nvoice. Of one thing you may be fully assured: my heart will never be\nanother's, come what may--it is yours with my whole soul!--But I will not\nbe your bride till I can say to you with glad confidence, as well as with\npassionate love: 'You have conquered--take me, I am yours!' Then you\nshall feel and confess that Paula's love is not less vehement, less\nardent. . . . O God! Orion, learn to know and understand me. You must--for\nmy sake and your own, you must!--My head, merciful Heaven, my head!\"\n\nShe bowed her face and clasped her hands to her burning brow; Orion, pale\nand shivering, laid his hand on her shoulder, and said in a harsh, forced\nvoice that had lost all its music: \"The Esoterics impose severe trials on\ntheir disciples before they admit them into the mysteries. And we are in\nEgypt--but the difference is a wide one when the rule is applied to love.\nHow ever, all this is not from yourself. What you call prudence is the\nvoice of that nun!\"\n\n\"It is the voice of reason,\" replied Paula softly. \"The yearning of my\nheart had overpowered it, and I owe to my friend. . . .\"\n\n\"What do you owe her?\" cried the young man furiously indignant. \"You\nshould curse her, rather, for doing you so ill a turn, as I do at this\nmoment. What does she know of me? Has she ever heard a word from my lips?\nIf that despotic and casuistic recluse could have known what my heart and\nsoul are like, she would have advised you differently. Even as a childs'\nconfidence and love alone could influence me. Whatever my faults might\nbe, I never was false to kindness and trust.--And, so far as you are\nconcerned--you who are prudence and reason in person--blest in your love,\nI should have cared only for your approbation. If I could have overcome\nthe last of your scruples, I should indeed have been proud and happy!--I\nwould have brought the sun and stars down from the sky for you, and have\nlaughed temptation to scorn!--But as it is--instead of being raised I am\nlowered, a laughing-stock even in my own eyes. One with you, I could have\nled the way on wings to the realms of light where Perfection holds\nsway!--But as it is? What a task lies before me!--To heat your frigid\nlove to flaming point by good deeds, as though they were olive-logs. A\npretty task for a man--to put himself to the proof before the woman he\nloves! It is a hideous and insulting torture which I will not submit to,\nagainst which my whole inner man revolts, and which you will and must\nforego--if indeed it is true that you love me!\"\n\n\"I love you, oh! I love you,\" she cried, beside herself, and seizing his\nhands. \"Perhaps you are right. I--my God what shall I do? Only do not ask\nme yet, to speak the final yes or no. I cannot control myself to the\nfeeblest thought. You see, you see, how I am suffering!\"\n\n\"Yes, I see it,\" he replied, looking compassionately at her pale face and\ndrawn brow. \"And if it must be so, I say: till this evening then. Try to\nrest now, and take care of yourself.--But then. . . .\"\n\n\"Then, during the voyage, the flight, repeat to the abbess all you have\njust said to me. She is a noble woman, and she, too, will learn to\nunderstand and to love you, I am sure. She will retract the word I know.\n. . .\"\n\n\"What word?\"\n\n\"My word, given to her, that I would not be yours. . . .\"\n\n\"Till I had gone through the Esoteric tests?\" exclaimed Orion with an\nangry shrug. \"Now go,--go and lie down. This hour, which should have been\nthe sweetest of our lives, a stranger has embittered and darkened. You\nare not sure of yourself--nor I of myself. Anything more that we could\nsay now and here would lead to no good issue for either you or me. Go and\nrest; sleep off your pain, and I--I will try to forget.--If you could but\nsee the turmoil in my soul!--But farewell till our next, more friendly--I\nhardly dare trust myself to say our happier meeting.\"\n\nHe hastily turned away, but she called after him in sad lament: \"Orion do\nnot forget--Orion, you know that I love you.\"\n\nBut he did not hear; he buried on with his head bowed over his breast,\ndown to the road, without reentering Rufinus' house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nWhen Orion reached home, wounded to the quick, he flung himself on a\ndivan. Paula had said that her heart was his indeed, but what a cool and\ngrudging love was this that would give nothing till it had insured its\nfuture. And how could Paula have allowed a third person to come between\nthem, and rule her feelings and actions? She must have revealed to that\nthird person all that had previously passed between them--and it was for\nthis Melchite nun, his personal foe, that he was about to--it was enough\nto drive him mad!--But he could not withdraw; he had pledged himself to\nthe brave old man to carry out this crazy enterprise. And in the place of\nthe lofty, noble mistress of his whole being, his fancy pictured Paula as\na tearful, vacillating, and cold-hearted woman.\n\nThere lay the maps and plans which he had desired Nilus to send in from\nhis room for his study of the task set him by Amru; as his eye fell upon\nthem, he struck his fist against the wall, started up, and ran like a\nmadman up and down the room which had been sacred to her peaceful life.\n\nThere stood her lute; he had freshly strung and tuned it. To calm himself\nhe drew it to him, took up the plectrum, and began to play. But it was a\npoor instrument; she had been content with this wretched thing! He flung\nit on the couch and took up his own, the gift of Heliodora. How sweetly,\nhow delightfully she had been wont to play it! Even now its strings gave\nforth a glorious tone; by degrees he began to rejoice in his own playing,\nand music soothed his excitement, as it had often done before. It was\ngrand and touching, though he several times struck the strings so\nviolently that their loud clanging and sighing and throbbing answered\neach other like the wild wailing of a soul in torment.\n\nUnder this vehement usage the bridge of the lute suddenly snapped off\nwith a dull report; and at the same instant his secretary, who had been\nwith him at Constantinople, threw open the door in glad excitement, and\nbegan, even before he had crossed the threshold:\n\n\"Only think, my lord! Here is a messenger come from the inn kept by\nSostratus with this tablet for you.--It is open, so I read it. Only\nthink! it is hardly credible! The Senator Justinus is here with his wife,\nthe noble Martina--here in Memphis, and they beg you to visit them at\nonce to speak of matters of importance. They came last night, the\nmessenger tells me, and now--what joy! Think of all the hospitality you\nenjoyed in their house. Can we leave them in an inn? So long as\nhospitality endures, it would be a crime!\"\n\n\"Impossible, quite impossible!\" cried Orion, who had cast aside the lute,\nand was now reading the letter himself. \"It is true indeed! his own\nhandwriting. And that immovable pair are in Egypt--in Memphis! By\nZeus!\"--for this was still the favorite oath of the golden youth of\nAlexandria and Constantinople, even in these Christian times.--\"By Zeus,\nI ought to receive them here like princes!--Wait!--of course you must\ntell the messenger that I am coming at once--have the four new Pannonians\nharnessed to the silver-plated chariot. I must go to my mother; but there\nis time enough for that. Desire Sebek to have the guest-chambers prepared\nfor distinguished guests--those sick people are out of them, thank God!\nTake my present room for them too; I will go back to the old one. Of\ncourse they have a numerous suite. Set twenty or thirty slaves to work.\nEverything must be ready in two hours at furthest. The two sitting-rooms\nare particularly handsome, but where anything is lacking, place\neverything in the house at Sebek's command.--Justinus in Egypt!--But make\nhaste, man! Nay, stay! One thing more. Carry these maps and scrolls--no;\nthey are too heavy for you. Desire a slave to fetch them, and take them\nto Rufinus; he must keep them till I come. Tell him I meant to use them\non the way--he knows.\"\n\nThe secretary rushed off; Orion performed a rapid toilet and had his\nmourning dress rearranged in fresh folds; then he went to his mother. She\nhad often heard of the cordial reception that her son, and her husband,\ntoo, in former days, had met with in the senator's house, and she took it\nquite as a matter of course that the strangers' rooms, and among them\nthat which had been Paula's, should be prepared for the travellers; all\nshe asked was that it should be explained that she was suffering, so that\nshe might not have to trouble herself to entertain them.\n\nShe advised Orion to put off his journey and to devote himself to his\nfriends; but he explained that even their arrival must not delay him. He\nhad entire confidence in Sebek and the upper housekeeper, and the emperor\nhimself would remit the duties of hostess to a sick woman. Once, at any\nrate, she would surely allow the illustrious guests to pay their respects\nto her,--but even this Neforis refused It would be quite enough if her\nvisitors received messages and greetings daily in her name, with\nofferings of choice fruit and flowers, and on the last day some costly\ngift. Orion thought this proposal quite worthy of them both, and\npresently drove off behind his Pannonians to the hostelry.\n\nBy the harbor he met the captain of the boat he had hired; to him he held\nup two fingers, and the boatman signified by repeated nodding that he had\nunderstood the meaning of this signal: \"Be ready at two hours before\nmidnight.\"\n\nThe sight of this weather-beaten pilot, and the prospect of making some\nreturn to his noble friends for all their kindness, cheered Orion\ngreatly; and though he regretted being obliged to leave these guests of\nall others, the perils that lay before him reasserted their charm. He\ncould surely win over the abbess in the course of the voyage, and Paula\nmight be brought to reason, perhaps, this very evening. Justinus and his\nwife were Melchites, and he knew that both these friends--for whom he had\na particular regard--would be enchanted with his scheme if he took them\ninto his confidence.\n\nThe inn kept by Sostratus, a large, square building surrounding a\nspacious court-yard, was the best and most frequented in the town. The\neastern side faced the road and the river, and contained the best rooms,\nin which, on the previous night, the senator had established himself with\nhis wife and servants. The clatter of the quadriga drew Justinus to the\nwindow; as soon as he recognized Orion he waved a table-napkin to him,\nshouting a hearty \"Welcome!\" and then retired into the room again.\n\n\"Here he is!\" he cried to his wife, who was lying on a couch in the\nlightest permissible attire, and sipping fruit-syrup from time to time to\nmoisten her dry lips, while a boy fanned her for coolness.\n\n\"That is well indeed!\" she exclaimed, and desired her maid to be quick,\nvery quick, and fetch her a wrap, but to be sure it was a thin one. Then,\nturning to a very lovely young woman who had started to her feet at\nJustinus' first exclamation, she asked:\n\n\"Would you rather that he should find you here, my darling, or shall we\nsee him first, and tell him that we have brought you with us?\"\n\n\"That will be best,\" answered the other in a sweet voice, and she sighed\nsoftly before she added: \"What will he not think of me? We may grow\nolder, but folly--folly. . .\"\n\n\"Grows with years?\" laughed the matron. \"Or do you think it\ndecreases?--But here he is.\"\n\nThe younger woman hurried away by a side door, behind which she\ndisappeared. Martina looked after her, and pointing that way to direct\nher husband's glance, she observed: \"She has left herself a chink. Good\nGod! Fancy being in love in such heat as this; what a hideous thought!\"\n\nAt this moment the door was opened, and the heartiest greetings ensued.\nIt was evident that the meeting was as great a pleasure to the elderly\npair as to the young man. Justinus embraced him warmly, while the matron\ncried out: \"And a kiss for me too!\" And when the youth immediately and\nheartily gave it, she exclaimed with a groan:\n\n\"O man, and child of man, great Sesostris! How did your famous ancestor\never achieve heroic deeds under such a sun as this? For my part I am fast\ndisappearing, melting away like butter; but what will a man not do for\nlove's sake?--Syra, Syra; for God's sake bring me something, however\nsmall, that looks like a garment! How rational is the fashion of the\npeople of Africa whom we met with on our journey. If they have three\nfingers' breadth of cloth about them, they consider themselves elegantly\ndressed.--But come, sit down--there, at my feet. A seat, Argos, and some\nwine, and water in a damp clay pitcher, and cool like the last. Husband,\nthe boy seems to me handsomer than ever. But dear God! he is in mourning,\nand how becoming it is! Poor boy, poor boy! Yes, we heard in Alexandria.\"\n\nShe wiped first her eyes and then her damp brow, and her husband added\nhis expressions of sympathy at the death of the Mukaukas.\n\nThey were a genial and comfortable couple, Justinus and his wife Martina.\nTwo beings who felt perfectly secure in their vast inherited wealth, and\nwho, both being of noble birth, never need make any display of dignity,\nbecause they were sure of it in the eyes of high and low alike. They had\nasserted their right to remain natural and human under the formalities of\nthe most elaborately ceremonious society; those who did not like the easy\ntone adopted by them in their house might stay away. He, devoid of\nambition, a senator in virtue of his possessions and his name, never\ncaring to make any use of his adventitious dignity but that of procuring\ngood appointments for his favorite clients, or good places for his family\non any festive occasion, was a hospitable soul; the good friend of all\nhis friends, whose motto was \"live and let live.\" Martina, with a heart\nas good as gold, had never made any pretensions to beauty, but had\nnevertheless been much courted. This worthy couple had for many years\nthought that nothing could be more delightful than a residence in the\ncapital, or at their beautiful villa on the Bosphorus, scorning to follow\nthe example of other rich and fashionable folks, and go to take baths or\nmake journeys. It was enough for them to be able to make others happy\nunder their roof; and there was never any lack of visitors, just because\nthose who were weary of bending their backs at the Byzantine Court, found\nthis unceremonious circle particularly restful.\n\nMartina was especially fond of having young people about her, and\nHeliodora, the widow of her nephew, had found comfort with her in her\ntrouble; it was in her house that Orion and Heliodora had met. The young\nwidow was a great favorite with the old couple, but higher in their\nesteem even than she, had been the younger brother of her deceased\nhusband. He was to have been their heir; but they had mourned his death\nnow two years; for news had reached them that Narses, who had served in\nthe Imperial army as tribune of cavalry, had fallen in battle against the\ninfidels. No one, however, had ever brought a more exact report of his\ndeath; and at last their indefatigable enquiries had resulted in their\nlearning that he had been taken prisoner by the Saracens and carried into\nslavery in Arabia. This report received confirmation through the efforts\nof Orion and his deceased father. Within a few hours of the young\nEgyptian's departure, they received a letter from the youth they had\ngiven up for lost, written in trembling characters, in which he implored\nthem to effect his deliverance through Amru, the Arab governor of Egypt.\nThe old people had set forth at once on their pilgrimage, and Heliodora\nhad done her part in urging them to this step. Her passion for Orion, to\nwhom, for more than a year, her gentle heart had been wholly devoted, had\nincreased every hour since his departure. She had not concealed it from\nMartina, who thought it no less than her duty to stand by the poor\nlovesick child; for Heliodora had nursed her husband, the senator's\nnephew, to the end, with touching fidelity and care; and besides, Martina\nhad given the young Egyptian--with whom she was \"quite in love\nherself\"--every opportunity of paying his addresses to the young widow.\n\nThey were a pair that seemed made for each other, and Martina delighted\nin match-making. But in this case, though hearts had met, hands had not,\nand finally it had been a real grief to Martina to hear Orion and\nHeliodora called--and with good reason--a pair of lovers.\n\nOnce she had appealed in her genial way to the young man's conscience,\nand he had replied that his father, who was a Jacobite, would never\nconsent to his union with a woman of any other confession. At that time\nshe had found little to answer; but she had often thought if only she\ncould make the Mukaukas acquainted with Heliodora, he, whom she had known\nin the capital as a young and handsome admirer of every charming woman,\nwould certainly capitulate.\n\nHer favorite niece had indeed every grace that a father's heart could\ndesire to attract the son. She was of good family, the widow of a man of\nrank, rich, but just two and twenty, and beautiful enough to bewitch old\nor young. A sweeter and gentler soul Martina had never known. Those large\ndewy eyes-imploring eyes, she called them--might soften a stone, and her\nfair waving hair was as soft as her nature. Add to this her full, supple\nfigure--and how perfectly she dressed, how exquisitely she sang and\nstruck the lute! It was not for nothing that she was courted by every\nyouth of rank in Constantinople--and if the old Mukaukas could but hear\nher laugh! There was not a sound on earth more clear, more glad than\nHeliodora's laugh. She was not indeed remarkable for intellect, but no\none could call her a simpleton, and your very clever women were not to\nevery man's taste.\n\nSo, when they were to travel to Egypt, Martina took it for granted that\nHeliodora must go with them, and that the flirtation which had made her\nfavorite the talk of the town must, in Memphis, become courtship in\nearnest. Then, when she heard at Alexandria that the Mukaukas was lately\ndead, she regarded the game as won. Now they were in Memphis, Orion was\nsitting before her, and the young man had invited her and her following\nof above twenty persons to stay in his house. It was a foregone\nconclusion that the travellers were to accept this bidding as prescribed\nby the laws of hospitality, and preparations for the move were\nimmediately set on foot.\n\nJustinus meanwhile explained what had brought them to Egypt, and begged\nOrion's assistance. The young man had known the senator's nephew well as\none of the most brilliant and amiable youths of the capital, and he was\nsincerely distressed to be forced to inform his friends that Amru, who\ncould easily have procured the release of Narses, was to start within two\ndays for Medina, while he himself was compelled to set out on a journey\nthat very evening, at an hour he could not name.\n\nHe saw how greatly this firmly-expressed determination agitated and\ndisturbed the old couple, and the senator's urgency led him to tell them,\nunder the pledge of strict secrecy, what business it was that took him\naway and what a perilous enterprise he had before him.\n\nHe began his story confident of his orthodox guests' sympathy; but to his\namazement they both disapproved of the undertaking, and not, as they\ndeclared, on his account only or for the sake of the help they had\ncounted on.\n\nThe senator reminded him that he was the natural chief of the Egyptian\npopulation in Memphis, and that, by such a scheme, he was undermining his\ninfluence with those whose leader he was by right and duty as his\nfather's son. His ambition ought to make him aim at this leadership; and\ninstead of offering such a rebuff to the patriarch, it was his part to\nwork with him--whose power he greatly underrated--so as to make life\ntolerable to their fellow-Christians in a land ruled by Moslems.\n\nPaula's name was not once mentioned; but Orion thought of her and\nremained firm, though not without an inward struggle.\n\nAt the same time, to prove to his friends how sincerely he desired to\nplease them, he proposed that he and Justinus should immediately cross\nthe Nile to lay his application before the Khaliff's vicar. A glance at\nthe sky showed him that it wanted still an hour and a half of sunset. His\nswift horses would not need more than that time for the journey, and\nduring their absence the rest of the party could move from the inn. Carts\nfor the baggage were already in waiting below, and chariots had been\nordered to follow and convey his beloved guests to their new quarters.\n\nThe senator agreed to this proposal, and as the two men went off Martina\ncalled after Orion.\n\n\"My senator must talk to you on the road, and if you can be brought to\nreason you will find your reward waiting for you! Do not be saving of\nyour talents of gold, old man, till the general has promised to procure\nthe lad's release.--And listen to me, Orion; give up your mad scheme.\"\n\nThe sun had not wholly disappeared behind the Libyan range when the\nsnorting Pannonians, all flecked with foam, drove back into the\ncourt-yard of the governor's residence. The two men had unfortunately\ngained nothing; for Amru was absent, reviewing the troops between\nHeliopolis and Onix, and was not expected home till night or even next\nmorning. The party had removed from the inn and the senator's white\nslaves were already mixing with the black and brown ones of the\nestablishment.\n\nMartina was delighted with her new quarters, and with the beautiful\nflowers--most of them new to her--with which the invalid mistress of the\nhouse had had the two great reception-rooms garnished in token of\nwelcome; but the failure of Justinus' visit to Fostat fell like\nhoar-frost on her happy mood.\n\nOrion, she asserted, ought to regard this stroke of ill-luck as a\njudgment from God. It was the will of Heaven that he should give up his\nenterprise and be content to make due preparations for a noble work which\ncould be carried through without him, in order to accomplish another, out\nof friendship, which urgently needed his help. However, he again\nexpressed his regret that in spite of everything he must adhere to his\npurpose; and when Martina asked him: \"What, even if my reward is one that\nwould especially delight you?\" he nodded regretfully. \"Yes, even then.\"\n\nSo she merely added, \"Well, we shall see,\" and went on impressively:\n\"Every one has some peculiarity which stamps his individuality and\nbecomes him well: in you it is amiability, my son. Such obstinacy does\nnot suit you; it is quite foreign to you, and is the very opposite to\nwhat I call amiability. Be yourself, even in this instance.\"\n\n\"That is to say weak and yielding, especially when a kind woman. . . .\"\n\n\"When old friends ask it,\" she hastily put in; but almost before she had\nfinished she turned to her husband, exclaiming: \"Good Heavens! come to\nthe window. Did you ever see such a glorious mingling of purple and gold\nin the sky? It is as though the old pyramids and the whole land of Egypt\nwere in flames. But now, great Sesostris,\"--the name she gave to Orion\nwhen she was in a good humor with him, \"it is time that you should see\nwhat I have brought you. In the first place this trinket,\" and she gave\nhim a costly bracelet of old Greek workmanship set with precious stones,\n\"and then--nay, no Thanks--and then--Well the object is rather large, and\nbesides--come with me.\"\n\nAs she spoke she went from the reception-room into the anteroom, led the\nway to the door of the room which had once been Paula's, and then his\nown, opened it a little way, peeped in, and then pushed Orion forward,\nsaying hastily: \"There--do you see--there it is!\"\n\nBy the window stood Heliodora. The bright radiance of the sinking sun\nbathed her slender but round and graceful form, her \"imploring\" eyes\nlooked up at him with rapturous delight, and her white arms folded across\nher bosom gave her the aspect of a saint, waiting with humble longing for\nsome miracle, in expectation of unutterable joys.\n\nMartina's eyes, too, were fixed on Orion; she saw how pale he turned at\nseeing the young widow, she saw him start as though suddenly overcome by\nsome emotion--what, she could not guess--and shrink back from the sunlit\nvision in the window. These were effects which the worthy matron had not\nanticipated.\n\nNever off the stage, thought she, had she seen a man so stricken by love;\nfor she could not suspect that to him it was as though a gulf had\nsuddenly yawned at his feet.\n\nWith a swiftness which no one could have looked for from her heavy and\nbulky figure, Martina hastily returned to her husband, and even at the\ndoor exclaimed: \"It is all right, all has gone well! At the sight of her\nhe seemed thunderstruck! Mark my words: we shall have a wedding here by\nthe Nile.\"\n\n\"My blessing on it,\" replied Justinus. \"But, wedding or no wedding, all I\ncare is that she should persuade that fine young fellow to give up his\ncrazy scheme. I saw how even the brown rascals in the Arab's service\nbowed down before him; and he will persuade the general, if any one can,\nto do all in his power for Narses. He must not and shall not go! You\nimpressed it strongly on Heliodora. . . .\"\n\n\"That she should keep him?\" laughed the matron. \"I tell you, she will\nnail him down if need be.\"\n\n\"So much the better,\" replied her husband. \"But, wife, folks might say\nthat it was not quite seemly in you to force them together. Properly\nspeaking, you are as it were her female mentor, the motherly patroness.\"\n\n\"Good Heavens!\" exclaimed Martina. \"At home they invited no witnesses to\nlook on at their meetings. The poor love-lorn souls must at any rate have\na chance of speaking to each other and rejoicing that they have met once\nmore. I will step in presently, and be the anxious, motherly friend.\nTine, Tine! And if it does not end in a wedding, I will make a pilgrimage\nto St. Agatha, barefoot.\"\n\n\"And I with only one shoe!\" the senator declared, \"for, everything in\nreason--but the talk about Dora was at last beyond all bounds. It was no\nlonger possible to have them both together under the same roof. And you\nyourself--no, seriously; go in to them.\"\n\n\"Directly, directly.--But first look out of this window once more. Oh,\nwhat a sun!--there, now it is too late. Only two minutes ago the whole\nheaven was of the hue of my red Syrian cloak; and now it is all\ndark!--The house and garden are beautiful, and everything is old and\nhandsome; just what I should have expected in the home of the rich\nMukaukas.\"\n\n\"And I too,\" replied Justinus. \"But now, go. If they have come to an\nunderstanding, Dora may certainly congratulate herself.\"\n\n\"I should think so! But she need not be ashamed even of her villa, and\nthey must spend every summer there, I will manage that. If that poor,\ndear fellow Narses does not escape with his life--for two years of\nslavery are a serious matter--then I should be able. . . .\"\n\n\"To alter your will? Not a bad idea; but there is no hurry for that; and\nnow, you really must go.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, in a minute. Surely I may have time to speak.--I, for my part,\nknow of no one whom I would sooner put in the place of Narses. . . .\"\n\n\"Than Orion and Heliodora? Certainly, I have no objection; but now. . . .\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps it is wicked to think of a man who may still be alive as\nnumbered with the dead.--At any rate the poor boy cannot go back to his\nlegion. . . .\"\n\n\"On no consideration. But, Martina. . . .\"\n\n\"To-morrow morning Orion must urge our case on the Arab . . . .\"\n\n\"If he does not go away.\"\n\n\"Will you bet that she fails to keep him.\"\n\n\"I should be a fool for my pains,\" laughed Justinus. \"Do you ever pay me\nwhen I win?--But now, joking apart, you must go and see what they are\nabout.\"\n\nAnd this time she obeyed. She would have won her bet; for Orion, who had\nremained unmoved by his sister-in-law's letter, by the warning voice of\nthe faith of his childhood, by the faithful council of his honest servant\nNilus, or by the senator's convincing arguments--had yielded to\nHeliodora's sweet blandishments.\n\nHow ardently had her loving heart flamed up, when she saw him so deeply\nagitated at the sight of her! With what touching devotion had she sunk\ninto his arms; how humbly-half faint with sweet sorrow and sweeter\necstasy--had she fallen at his feet, and clasped his knees, and entreated\nhim, with eyes full of tears of adoring rapture, not to leave to-day, to\nwait only till tomorrow, and then, if he would, to tread her in the dust.\nNow--now when she had just found him again after being worn out with\npining and longing-to part now, to see him rush on an uncertain fate--it\nwould kill her, it would certainly be her death! And when he still had\ntried to resist she had rushed into his arms, had stopped his lips with\nburning kisses, and whispered in his ear all the flattering words of love\nhe once had held so dear.\n\nWhy had he never seriously tried to win her, why had he so soon forgotten\nher? Because she, who could assert her dignity firmly enough with others,\nhad abandoned herself to him unresistingly after a few meetings, as if\nbefooled by some magician's spell. The precious spoil so easily won had\nsoon lost its value in his eyes. But to-day the fire which had died out\nblazed up again. Yes, this was the love he craved, he must have! To be\nloved with entire and utter devotion, with a heart that thought only of\nhim and not of itself, that asked only for love in return for love, that\ndid not fence itself round with caution and invoke the aid of others for\nprotection against him. This lovely creature, all passion, who had taken\nupon herself to endure the contumely of society, and pain and grief for\nhis sake, knowing too that he had abandoned her, and would never make her\nhis wife before God and men--she indeed knew what it was to love; and he\nwho was so often inclined to despair of himself felt his heart uplifted\nat the thought that he was so precious in her eyes, nay--he would own\nit--so idolized.\n\nAnd how sweet, how purely womanly she was! Those imploring eyes--which he\nhad grown quite sick of in Constantinople, for they were as full of\npathetic entreaty when she merely begged him to hold her cloak for her as\nwhen she appealed to his heart of hearts not to leave her--that\nentrancing play of glances which had first bewitched him, came to him\nto-day as something new and worked the old spell.\n\nIn this moment of tender reunion he had promised her at any rate to\nconsider whether he could not release himself from the pledge by which he\nwas bound; but hardly had he spoken the words when the memory of Paula\nrevived in his mind, and an inward voice cried out to him that she was a\nbeing of nobler mould than this yielding, weak woman, abject before\nhim--that she symbolized his upward struggle, Heliodora his perdition.\n\nAt length he was able to tear himself from her embrace; and at the first\nstep out of this intoxication into real life again he looked about like\none roused from sleep, feeling as though it were by some mocking sport of\nthe devil himself that Paula's room should have been the scene of this\nmeeting and of his weakness.\n\nAn enquiry from Heliodora, as to the fate of the little white dog that\nshe had given him as a remembrance, recalled to his mind that luckless\nemerald which was to have been his return offering or antidoron. He\nevasively replied that, remembering her love of rare gems, he had sent\nher a remarkably fine stone about which he had a good deal to say; and\nshe gave such childlike and charming expression to her delight and\ngratitude, and took such skilful advantage of his pleasure in her\nclinging tenderness, to convince him of the necessity for remaining at\nhome, that he himself began to believe in it, and gave way. The more this\nconclusion suited his own wishes the easier it became to find reasons for\nit: old Rufinus really did not need him; and if he--Orion--had cause to\nbe ashamed of his vacillation, on the other hand he could comfort himself\nby reflecting that it would be unkind and ungrateful to his good friends\nto leave them in the lurch just when he could be of use to them. One pair\nof protecting arms more or less could not matter to the nuns, while the\ncaptive Narses might very probably perish before he could be rescued\nwithout his interest with the Arab general.\n\nIt was high time to decide one way or the other.--Well, no; he ought not\nto go away to-day!\n\nThat was settled!\n\nRufinus must at once be informed of his change of purpose. To sit down\nand write at such a moment he felt was impossible: Nilus should go and\nspeak in his name; and he knew how gladly and zealously he would perform\nsuch an errand.\n\nHeliodora clapped her hands, and just as Martina knocked at the door the\npair came out into the anteroom: She, radiant with happiness, and so\ngraceful in her fashionable, costly, and well-chosen garb, so\nroyal-looking in spite of her no more than middle height, that even in\nthe capital she would have excited the admiration of the men and the envy\nof the women: He, content, but with a thoughtful smile on his lips.\n\nHe had not yet closed the door when in the anteroom he perceived two\nfemale figures, who had come in while Martina was knocking at her niece's\ndoor. These were Katharina and her waiting-maid.\n\nAnubis had been brought to these rooms after his fall from the roof, and\nnotwithstanding the preparations that had been made for illustrious\nguests Philippus could not be persuaded to allow his patient, for whom\nperfect quiet was indispensable, to be moved to the lower floor.\n\nThe listener who had been so severely punished had with him his mother,\nKatharina's old nurse; the water-wagtail, with her maid, had accompanied\nher to see the lad, for she was very anxious to assure herself whether\nher foster-brother, before his tumble, had succeeded in hearing anything;\nbut the poor fellow was so weak and his pain so severe that she had not\nthe heart to torment him with questions. However, her Samaritan's visit\nbrought her some reward, for to meet Orion coming out of Paula's room\nwith so beautiful and elegant a woman was a thing worth opening her eyes.\nto see. She would have walked from home hither twice over only to see the\nclothes and jewels of this heaven sent stranger. Such a being rarely\nstrayed to Memphis,--and might not this radiant and beautiful creature be\n\"the other\" after all, and not Paula? Might not Orion have been trifling\nwith her rival as he had already trifled with her? They must have had a\nrapturous meeting in that room; every feature of the fair beauty's\nsaint-like face betrayed the fact. Oh, that Orion! She would have liked\nto throttle him; and yet she was glad to think that there was another\nbesides herself--and she so elegant and lovely--whom he had betrayed.\n\n\"He will stay!\" Heliodora exclaimed as she came out of the room; and\nMartina held out her hand to the young man, with a fervent: \"God bless\nyou for that!\"\n\nShe was delighted to see how happy her niece looked but the lively old\nwoman's eyes were everywhere at once, and when she caught sight of\nKatharina who had stood still with curiosity, she turned to her with a\nfriendly nod and said to Orion:\n\n\"Your sister? Or the little niece of whom you used to speak?\"\n\nOrion called Katharina and introduced her to his guests, and the girl\nexplained what had brought her hither; in such a sweet and pathetic\nmanner--for she was sincerely fond of her foster-brother and\nplay-fellow--that she quite charmed Martina and Heliodora, and the\nyounger woman expressed a hope that they might see her often. Indeed,\nwhen she was gone, Martina exclaimed: \"A charming little thing! As fresh\nand bright as a newly-fledged bird, so brisk and pretty too--and how\nnicely she prattles!\"\n\n\"And the richest heiress in Memphis into the bargain,\" added Orion. But,\nnoticing that on this Heliodora cast down her eyes with a troubled\nexpression, he went on with a laugh: \"Our mothers destined us to marry\neach other, but we are too ill-matched in size, and not exactly made for\na pair in other ways.\"\n\nThen, taking leave of them, he went to Nilus and informed him of his\ndecision. His request that the treasurer would make his excuses to\nRufinus, carry his greetings to Thomas' daughter, and make the most of\nhis reasons for remaining behind, sent the good man almost beside himself\nfor joy; and he so far forgot his modest reserve as to embrace Orion as a\nson.\n\nThe young host sat with his visitors till nearly midnight: and when, on\nthe following morning, Martina first greeted her niece--who looked\npeacefully happy though somewhat tired--she was able to tell her that the\ntwo men had already gone across the Nile, and, she hoped, settled\neverything with the Arab governor. Great was her disappointment when\npresently Justinus and Orion came back to say that Amru, instead of\nreturning to Fostat from the review at Heliopolis, had gone straight to\nAlexandria. He had engagements there for a few days, and would then start\nfor Medina.\n\nThe senator saw nothing for it but to follow him up, and Orion\nvolunteered to accompany him.\n\nA faint attempt on Heliodora's part to detain him met with a decisive,\nnay, stern refusal. This journey was indeed sheer flight from his own\nweakness and from the beautiful creature who could never be anything to\nhim.\n\nEarly in the day he had found time to write to Paula; but he had cast\naside more than one unfinished letter before he could find the right\nwords. He told her that he loved her and her alone; and as his stylus\nmarked the wax he felt, with horror of himself, that in fact his heart\nwas Paula's, and his determination ripened to put an end once for all to\nhis connection with Heliodora, and not allow himself to see Paula again\ntill he had forever cut the tie that bound him to the young widow.\n\nThe two women went out to see the travellers start, and as they returned\nto the house, hanging their heads like defeated warriors, in the\nvestibule they met Katharina and her maid. Martina wanted to detain the\nlittle girl, and to persuade her to go up to their rooms with them; but\nKatharina refused, and appeared to be in a great hurry. She had just come\nfrom seeing Anubis, who was in less pain to-day, and who had done his\nbest to tell her what he had overheard. That the flight was to be\nnorthwards he was certain; but he had either misunderstood or forgotten\nthe name of the place whither the sisters were bound.\n\nHis mother and the nurse were dismissed from the room, and then the\nwater-wagtail in her gratitude had bent over him, had raised his pretty\nface a little, and had given him two such sweet kisses that the poor boy\nhad been quite uneasy. But, when he was alone with his mother once more,\nhe had felt happier and happier, and the remembrance of the transient\nrapture he had known had alleviated the pain he was suffering on\nKatharina's account.\n\nKatharina, meanwhile, did not go home at once to her mother; on the\ncontrary, she went straight off to the Bishop of Memphis, to whom she\ndivulged all she had learnt with regard to the inhabitants of the convent\nand the intended rescue. The gentle Plotinus even had been roused to\ngreat wrath, and no sooner had she left him than he set out for Fostat to\ninvoke the help of Amru, and--finding him absent--of his Vekeel to enable\nhim to pursue the fugitive Melchite sisters.\n\nWhen the water-wagtail was at home again and alone in her room, she said\nto herself, with calm satisfaction, that she had now contrived something\nwhich would spoil several days for Orion and for Paula, and that might\nprove even fatal, so far as she was concerned.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nNilus had performed his errand well, and Rufinus was forced to admit that\nOrion had done his part and had planned the enterprise with so much care\nand unselfishness that his personal assistance could be dispensed with.\nUnder these circumstances he scarcely owed the young man a grudge for\nplacing himself at the service of his Byzantine friends; still, his not\ncoming to the house disturbed and vexed him, less on his own account, or\nthat of the good cause, than for Paula's sake, for her feelings towards\nOrion had remained no secret to him or his wife.\n\nDame Joanna, indeed, felt the young man's conduct more keenly than\nRufinus; she would have been glad to withhold her husband from the\nenterprise, whose dangers now appeared to her frightened soul tenfold\ngreater than they were. But she knew that the Nile would flow backwards\nbefore she could dissuade him from keeping his promise to the abbess, so\nshe forced herself to preserve at any rate outward composure.\n\nBefore Paula, Rufinus declared that Orion was fully justified and he\nloudly praised the young man's liberality in providing the Nile-boat and\nthe vessel for the sea-voyage, and such admirable substitutes for\nhimself. Pulcheria was delighted with her father's undertaking; she only\nlonged to go with him and help him to save her dear nuns. The\nship-builder had brought with him, besides his sons, three other Greeks\nof the orthodox confession, shipwrights like himself, who were out of\nwork in consequence of the low ebb of the Nile, which had greatly\nrestricted the navigation. Hence they were glad to put a hand to such a\ngood work, especially as it would be profitable, too, for Orion had\nprovided the old man with ample funds.\n\nAs the evening grew cooler after sundown Paula had got better. She did\nnot, indeed, know what to think of Orion's refusal to start. First she\nwas grieved, then she rejoiced; for it certainly preserved him from great\nperils. In the early days after his return from Constantinople she had\nheard his praise of the senator's kindness and hospitality, in which the\nMukaukas, who had pleasant memories of the capital, heartily joined. He\nmust, of course, be glad to be able to assist those friends, of all\nothers; and Nilus, who was respectfully devoted to her, had greeted her\nfrom Orion with peculiar warmth. He would come to-morrow, no doubt; and\nthe oftener she repeated to herself his assertion that he had never\nbetrayed affectionate trust, the more earnestly she felt prompted, in\nspite of the abbess' counsel, to abandon all hesitancy, to follow the\nimpulse of her heart, and to be his at once in full and happy confidence.\n\nThe waning moon had not yet risen, and the night was very dark when the\nnuns set forth. The boat was too large to come close to the shore in the\npresent low state of the river, and the sisters, disguised as\npeasant-women, had to be carried on board one by one from the convent\ngarden. Last of all the abbess was to be lifted over the shallow water,\nand the old ship-builder held himself in readiness to perform this\nservice. Joanna, Pulcheria, Perpetua, and Eudoxia, who was also zealously\northodox, were standing round as she gave Paula a parting kiss and\nwhispered: \"God bless thee, child!--All now depends on you, and you must\nbe doubly careful to abide by your promise.\"\n\n\"I owe him, in the first place, friendly trust,\" was Paula's whispered\nreply, and the abbess answered: \"But you owe yourself firmness and\ncaution.\" Rufinus was the last; his wife and daughter clung around him\nstill.\n\n\"Take example from that poor girl,\" cried the old man, clasping his wife\nin his arms. \"As sure as man is the standard of all things, all must go\nwell with me this time if everlasting Love is not napping. Till we meet\nagain, best of good women!--And, if ill befalls your stupid old husband,\nalways remember that he brought it upon himself in trying to save a\nquarter of a hundred innocent women from the worst misfortunes. At any\nrate I shall fall on the road I myself have chosen.--But why has\nPhilippus not come to take leave of me?\"\n\nDame Joanna burst into tears: \"That-that is so hard too! What has come\nover him that he has deserted us, and just now of all times? Ah, husband!\nIf you love me, take Gibbus with you on the voyage.\"\n\n\"Yes, master, take me,\" the hunchbacked gardener interposed. \"The Nile\nwill be rising again by the time we come back, and till then the flowers\ncan die without my help. I dreamt last night that you picked a rose from\nthe middle of my Bump. It stuck up there like the knob on the lid of a\npot. There is some meaning in it and, if you leave me at home, what is\nthe good of the rose--that is to say what good will you get out of me?\"\n\n\"Well then, carry your strange flower-bed on board,\" said the old man\nlaughing. \"Now, are you satisfied Joanna?\"\n\nOnce more he embraced her and Pulcheria and, as a tear from his wife's\neyes dropped on his hand, he whispered in her ear: \"You have been the\nrose of my life; and without you Eden--Paradise itself can have no joys.\"\n\nThe boat pushed out into the middle of the stream and was soon hidden by\nthe darkness from the eyes of the women on the bank.\n\nThe convent bells were soon heard tolling after the fugitives: Paula and\nPulcheria were pulling them. There was not a breath of air; not enough\neven to fill the small sail of the seaward-bound boat; but the rowers\npulled with all their might and the vessel glided northward. The captain\nstood at the prow with his pole; sounding the current: his brother, no\nless skilled, took the helm.--The shallowness of the water made\nnavigation very difficult, and those who knew the river best might easily\nrun aground on unexpected shoals or newly-formed mud-drifts. The moon had\nscarcely risen when the boat was stranded at a short distance below\nFostat, and the men had to go overboard to push it off to an\naccompaniment of loud singing which, as it were, welded their individual\nwills and efforts into one. Thus it was floated off again; but such\ndelays were not unfrequent till they reached Letopolis, where the Nile\nforks, and where they hoped to steal past the toll-takers unobserved.\nAlmost against their expectation, the large boat slipped through under\nthe heavy mist which rises from the waters before sunrise, and the\ncaptain and crew, steering down the Phatmetic branch of the river with\nrenewed spirit, ascribed their success to the intercession of the pious\nsisters.\n\nBy daylight it was easier to avoid the sand-banks; but how narrow was the\nwater-way-at this season usually overflowing! The beds of papyrus on the\nbanks now grew partly on dry land, and their rank green had faded to\nstraw-color. The shifting ooze of the shore had hardened to stone, and\nthe light west wind, which now rose and allowed of their hoisting the\nsail, swept clouds of white dust before it. In many cases the soil was\ndeeply fissured and wide cracks ran across the black surface, yawning to\nheaven for water like thirsty throats. The water-wheels stood idle, far\naway from the stream, and the fields they were wont to irrigate looked\nlike the threshing floors on which the crops they bore should be threshed\nout. The villages and palm-groves were shrouded in shimmering mist,\nquivering heat, and dazzling yellow light; and the passer-by on the\nraised dykes of the shore bent his head as he dragged his weary feet\nthrough the deep dust.\n\nThe sun blazed pitilessly in the cloudless sky, down on land and river,\nand on the fugitive nuns who had spread their white head-cloths above\nthem for an awning and sat in dull lethargy, awaiting what might he\nbefore them.\n\nThe water-jar passed from hand to band; but the more they drank the more\nacute was their discomfort, and their longing for some other refreshment.\nAt meal time the dishes were returned to the tiny cabin almost untouched.\nThe abbess and Rufinus tried to speak comfort to them; but in the\nafternoon the superior herself was overpowered by the heat, and the air\nin the little cabin, to which she retired, was even less tolerable stuffy\nthan on deck.\n\nThus passed a long day of torment, the hottest that even the men could\nremember; and they on the whole suffered least from it, though they\ntoiled at the oar without ceasing and with wonderful endurance.\n\nAt length evening fell after those fearful midday hours; and as a cool\nbreeze rose shortly before sunset to fan their moist brows, the hapless\nvictims awoke to new energies. Their immediate torment had so crushed\nthem that, incapable of anticipating the future, they had ceased either\nto fear or to hope; but now they could rejoice in thinking of the start\nthey had gained over their pursuers. They were hungry and enjoyed their\nevening meal; the abbess made friends with the worthy ship-wright, and\nbegan an eager conversation with Rufinus as to Paula and Orion: Her wish\nthat the young man should spend a time of probation did not at all please\nRufinus; with such a wife as Paula, he could not fail to be at all times\nthe noble fellow which his old friend held him to be in spite of his\nhaving remained at home.\n\nThe hump-backed gardener made the younger nuns merry with his jests, and\nafter supper they all united in prayer.\n\nEven the oarsmen had found new vigor and new life; and it was well that\nfew of the Greek sisters understood Egyptian, for the more jovial of them\nstarted a song in praise of the charms of the maids they loved, which was\nnot composed for women's ears.\n\nThe nuns chatted of those they had left behind, and many a one spoke of a\nhappy meeting at home once more; but an elderly nun put a stop to this,\nsaying that it was a sin to anticipate the ways of God's mercy, or, when\nHis help was still so sorely needed, to speak as though He had already\nbestowed it. They could only tremble and pray, for they knew from\nexperience that a threatening disaster never turned to a good end unless\nit had been expected with real dread.\n\nAnother one then began to speculate as to whether their pursuers could\novertake them on foot or on horseback, and as it seemed only too probable\nthat they could, their hearts sank again with anxiety. Ere long, however,\nthe moon rose; the objects that loomed on the banks and were mirrored in\nthe stream, were again clearly visible and lost their terrors.\n\nThe lower down they sailed, the denser were the thickets of papyrus on\nthe shore. Thousands of birds were roosting there, but they were all\nasleep; a \"dark ness that might be felt\" brooded over the silent land\nscape. The image of the moon floated on the dark water, like a gigantic\nlotos-flower below the smaller, fragrant lotos-blossoms that it out-did\nin sheeny whiteness; the boat left a bright wake in its track, and every\nstroke of the oar broke the blackness of the water, which reflected the\nlight in every drop. The moonlight played on the delicate tufts that\ncrowned the slender papyrus-stems, filmy mist, like diaphanous brocade of\nviolet and silver, veiled the trees; and owls that shun the day, flew\nfrom one branch to another on noiseless, rhythmic wings.\n\nThe magic of the night fell on the souls of the nuns; they ceased\nprattling; but when Sister Martha, the nightingale of the sisterhood,\nbegan to sing a hymn the others followed her example. The sailors' songs\nwere hushed, and the psalms of the virgin sisters, imploring the\nprotection of the Almighty, seemed to float round the gliding boat as\nsoftly as the light of the circling moon. For hours--and with increased\nzeal as the comet rose in the sky--they gave themselves up to the\nsoothing and encouraging pleasure of singing; but one by one the voices\ndied away and their peaceful hymn was borne down the river to the sea, by\ndegrees more low, more weary, more dreamlike.\n\nThey sat looking in their laps, gazing in rapture up to heaven, or at the\ndazzling ripples and the lotos flowers on the surface. No one thought of\nthe shore, not even the men, who had been lulled to sleep or daydreams by\nthe nuns' singing. The pilot's eyes were riveted on the channel--and yet,\nas morning drew near, from time to time there was a twinkle, a flash\nbehind the reed-beds on the eastern bank, and now and then there was a\nrustling and clatter there. Was it a jackal that had plunged into the\ndense growth to surprise a brood of water-fowl; was it a hyena trampling\nthrough the thicket?\n\nThe flashing, the rustling, the dull footfall on parched earth followed\nthe barge all through the night like a sinister, lurid, and muttering\nshadow.\n\nSuddenly the captain started and gazed eastwards.--What was that?\n\nThere was a herd of cattle feeding in a field beyond the reeds-two bulls\nperhaps were sharpening their horns. The river was so low, and the banks\nrose so high, that it was impossible to see over them. But at this moment\na shrill voice spoke his name, and then the hunchback whispered in his\near:\n\n\"There--over there--it is glittering again.--I will bite off my own nose\nif that is not--there, again. Merciful God! I am not mistaken.\nHarness--and there, that is the neighing of a horse; I know the sound.\nThe east is growing grey. By all the saints, we are pursued!\"\n\nThe captain looked eastwards with every sense alert, and after a few\nminutes silence he said decidedly \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Like a flight of quail for whom the fowler spreads his net,\" sighed the\ngardener; but the boatman impatiently signed to him to be quiet, and\ngazed cautiously on every side. Then he desired Gibbus to wake Rufinus\nand the shipwrights, and to hide all the nuns in the cabin.\n\n\"They will be packed as close as the dates sent to Rome in boxes,\"\nmuttered the gardener, as he went to call Rufinus. \"Poor souls, their\nsaints may save them from suffocation; and as for me, on my faith, if it\nwere not that Dame Joanna was the very best creature on two legs, and if\nI had not promised her to stick to the master, I would jump into the\nwater and try the hospitality of the flamingoes and storks in the reeds!\nWe must learn to condescend!\"\n\nWhile he was fulfilling his errand, the captain was exchanging a few\nwords with his brother at the helm. There was no bridge near, and that\nwas well. If the horsemen were indeed in pursuit of them, they must ride\nthrough the water to reach them; and scarcely three stadia lower down,\nthe river grew wider and ran through a marshy tract of country; the only\nchannel was near the western bank, and horsemen attempting to get to it\nran the risk of foundering in the mud. If the boat could but get as far\nas that reach, much would be gained.\n\nThe captain urged the men to put forth all their strength, and very soon\nthe boat was flying along under the western shore, and divided by an oozy\nflat from the eastern bank. Day was breaking, and the sky was tinged red\nas with blood--a sinister omen that this morning was destined to witness\nbitter strife and gaping wounds.\n\nThe seed sown by Katharina was beginning to grow. At the bishop's request\nthe Vekeel had despatched a troop of horse in pursuit of the nuns, with\norders to bring the fugitives back to Memphis and take their escort\nprisoners. As the boat had slipped by the toll watch unperceived, the\nArabs had been obliged to divide, so as to follow down each arm of the\nNile. Twelve horsemen had been told off to pursue the Phasmetic branch;\nfor by every calculation these must suffice for the capture of a score or\nso of nuns, and a handful of sailors would scarcely dare to attempt to\ndefend themselves. The Vekeel had heard nothing of the addition to the\nparty of the ship-master and his sons.\n\nThe pursuers had set out at noon of the previous day, and had overtaken\nthe vessel about two hours before daylight. But their leader thought it\nwell to postpone the attack till after sunrise, lest any of the fugitives\nshould escape. He and his men were all Arabs, and though well acquainted\nwith the course of that branch of the river which they were to follow,\nthey were not familiar with its peculiarities.\n\nAs soon as the morning star was invisible, the Moslems performed their\ndevotions, and then rushed out of the papyrus-beds. Their leader, making\na speaking trumpet of his hand, shouted to the boat his orders to stop.\nHe was commissioned by the governor to bring it back to Fostat. And the\nfugitives seemed disposed to obey, for the boat lay to. The captain had\nrecognized the speaker as the captain of the watch from Fostat, an\ninexorable man; and now, for the first time, he clearly understood the\ndeadly peril of the enterprise. He was accustomed, no doubt, to evade the\ncommands of his superiors, but would no more have defied them than have\nconfronted Fate; and he at once declared that resistance was madness, and\nthat there was no alternative but to yield. Rufinus, however, vehemently\ndenied this; he pointed out to him that the same punishment awaited him,\nwhether he laid down his arms or defended himself, and the old\nship-wright eagerly exclaimed:\n\n\"We built this boat, and I know you of old, Setnau; You will not turn\nJudas--and, if you do, you know that Christian blood will be shed on this\ndeck before we can show our teeth to those Infidels.\"\n\nThe captain, with all the extravagant excitability of his southern blood,\nbeat his forehead and his breast, bemoaned himself as a betrayed and\nruined man, and bewailed his wife and children. Rufinus, however, put an\nend to his ravings. He had consulted with the abbess, and he put it\nstrongly to the unhappy man that he could, in any case, hope for no mercy\nfrom the unbelievers; while, on Christian ground, he would easily find a\nsafe and comfortable refuge for himself and his family. The abbess would\nundertake to give them all a passage on board the ship that was awaiting\nher, and to set them on shore wherever he might choose.\n\nSetnau thought of a brother living in Cyprus; still, for him it meant\nsacrificing his house and garden at Doomiat, where, at this very hour,\nfifty date-palms were ripening their fruit; it meant leaving the fine new\nNile-boat by which he and his family got their living; and as he\nrepresented this to the old man, bitter tears rolled down his brown\ncheeks. Rufinus explained to him that, if he should succeed in saving the\nsisters, he might certainly claim some indemnification. He might even\ncalculate the value of his property, and not only would he have the\nequivalent paid to him out of the convent treasure, now on board in heavy\ncoffers, but a handsome gift into the bargain.\n\nSetnau exchanged a meaning glance with his brother, who was a single man,\nand when it was also agreed that he, too, might embark on the sea-voyage\nhe shook hands with Rufinus on the bargain. Then, giving himself a shake,\nas if he had thrown off something that cramped him, and sticking his\nleather cap knowingly on one side of his shaven head, he drew himself up\nto his full height and scornfully shouted back to the Arab--who had\nbefore now treated him and other Egyptian natives with insolent\nhaughtiness--that if he wanted anything of him he might come and fetch\nit.\n\nThe Moslem's patience was long since exhausted, and at this challenge he\nsigned to his followers and sprang first into the river; but the foremost\nhorses soon sank so deep in the ooze that further advance was evidently\nimpossible, and the signal to return was perforce given. In this\nmanoeuvre a refractory horse lost his footing, and his rider was choked\nin the mud.\n\nOn this, the men in the boat could see the foe holding council with\nlively gesticulations, and the captain expressed his fears lest they\nshould give up all hope of capturing the boat, and ride forward to\nDoomiat to combine with the Arab garrison to cut off their further\nflight. But he had not reckoned on the warlike spirit of these men, who\nhad overcome far greater difficulties in twenty fights ere this. They\nwere determined to seize the boat, to take its freight prisoners, and\nhave them duly punished.\n\nSix horsemen, among them the leader of the party, were now seen to\ndismount; they tied their horses up, and then proceeded to fell three\ntall palms with their battle-axes; the other five went off southwards.\nThese, no doubt, were to ride round the morass, and ford the river at a\nfavorable spot so as to attack the vessel from the west, while the others\ntried to reach it from the east with the aid of the palm-trunks.\n\nOn the right, or eastern shore, where the Arabs were constructing the\nraft, spread solid ground-fields through which lay the road to Doomiat;\non the other shore, near which the boat was lying, the bog extended for a\nlong way. An interminable jungle of papyrus, sedge, and reeds, burnt\nyellow by the heat of the sun and the extraordinary drought, covered\nalmost the whole of this parched and baked wilderness; and, when a stiff\nmorning breeze rose from the northeast, the captain was inspired with a\nhappy thought. The five men who had ridden forward would have to force\ntheir way through the mass of scorched and dried up vegetation. If the\nChristians could but set fire to it, on the further side of a canal which\nmust hinder their making a wide sweep to the north, the wind would carry\nit towards the enemy; and, they would be fortunate if it did not stifle\nthem or compel them to jump into the river, where, when the flames\nreached the morass, they must inevitably perish.\n\nAs soon as the helmsman's keen eyes had made sure, from the mast-head,\nthat the Arabs had forded the river at a point to the south, they set\nfire to several places and it roared and flared up immediately. The wind\nswept it southwards, and with it clouds of pale grey smoke through which\nthe rising sun shot shafts of light. The flames writhed and darted over\nthe baked earth like gigantic yellow and orange lizards, here shooting\nupwards, there creeping low. Almost colorless in the ardent daylight,\nthey greedily consumed everything they approached, and white ashes marked\ntheir track. Their breath added to the heat of the advancing day; and\nthough the smoke was borne southwards by the wind, a few cloudlets came\nover to the boat, choking the sisters and their deliverers.\n\nA large vessel now came towards them from Doomiat and found the narrow\nchannel barred by the other one. The captain was related to Setnau, and\nwhen Setnau shouted to him that they were engaged in a struggle with Arab\nrobbers, his friend followed his advice, turned the boat's head with\nconsiderable difficulty, and cast anchor at the nearest village to warn\nother vessels southward bound not to get themselves involved in so\nperilous an adventure. Any that were coming north would be checked by\nthe fire and smoke.\n\nThe six horsemen left on the eastern shore beheld the spreading blaze\nwith rage and dismay; however, they had by this time bound the\npalm-trunks together, and were preparing by their aid to inflict condign\npunishment on the refractory Christians. These, meanwhile, had not been\nidle. Every man on board was armed, and one of the ship-wrights was sent\non shore with a sailor, to steal through the reeds, ford the river at a\npoint lower down and, as soon as the Arabs put out to the attack, to\nslaughter their horses, or--if one of them should be left to go forward\non the road to Doomiat--to drag him from his steed.\n\nThe six men now laid hold of the slightly-constructed float, on which\nthey placed their bows and quivers; they pushed it before them, and it\nsupported them above the shallow water, while their feet only just\ntouched the oozy bottom. They were all thorough soldiers, true sons of\nthe desert and of their race--men whom nature seemed to have conceived as\na counterpart to the eagle, the master-piece of the winged creation.\nKeen-eyed, strongly-knit though small-boned, bereft of every fibre of\nsuperfluous flesh on their sinewy limbs, with bold brown faces and\nsharply-cut features, suggesting the king of birds not merely by the\naquiline nose, they had also the eagle's courage, thirst for blood, and\ngreed of victory.\n\nEach held on to the raft by one lean, wiry arm, carrying on the other the\nround bucklers on which the arrows that came whistling from the boat,\nfell and stuck as soon as they were within shot. They ground their white\nteeth with fury and nothing within ken escaped their bright hawk's eyes.\nThey had come to fight, even if the boat had been defended by fifty\nEgyptian soldiers instead of carrying a score or so of sailors and\nartisans. Their brave hearts felt safe under their shirts of mail, and\ntheir ready, fertile brains under their brazen helmets; and they marked\nthe dull rattle of the arrows against their metal shields with elation\nand contempt. To deal death was the wish of their souls; to meet it\ncaused them no dread; for their glowing fancy painted an open Paradise\nwhere beautiful women awaited them open-armed, and brimming goblets\npromised to satisfy every desire.\n\nTheir keen ears heard their captain's whispered commands; when they\nreached the ship's side, one caught hold of the sill of the cabin window,\ntheir leader, as quick as thought, sprang on to his shoulders, and from\nthence on to the deck, thrusting his lance through the body of a sailor\nwho tried to stop him with his axe. A second Arab was close at his heels;\ntwo gleaming scimitars flashed in the sun, the shrill, guttural, savage\nwar-cry of the Moslems rent the air, and the captain fell, the first\nvictim to their blood-thirsty fury, with a deep cut across the face and\nforehead; in a moment, however, a heavy spar sang through the air down on\nthe head of the Moslem leader and laid him low. The helmsman, the brother\nof the fallen pilot, had wielded it with the might of the avenger.\n\nA fearful din, increased by the shrieks and wailing of the nuns, now\nfilled the vessel. The second Arab dealt death on all sides with the\ncourage and strength of desperation, and three of his fellows managed to\nclimb up the boat's side; but the last man was pushed back into the\nwater. By this time two of the shipwrights and five sailors had fallen.\nRufinus was kneeling by the captain, who was crying feebly for help,\nbleeding profusely, though not mortally wounded. Setnau had spoken with\nmuch anxiety of his wife and children, and Rufinus, hoping to save his\nlife for their sakes, was binding up the wounds, which were wide and\ndeep, when suddenly a sabre stroke came down on the back of his head and\nneck, and a dark stream of blood rushed forth. But he, too, was soon\navenged: the old shipwright hewed down his foe with his heavy axe. On the\neastern shore, meanwhile, the men charged to kill the Arabs' horses were\ndoing their work, so as to prevent any who might escape from returning to\nFostat, or riding forward to Doormat and reporting what had occurred.\n\nOn board silence now prevailed. All five Arabs were stretched on the\ndeck, and the insatiate boatmen were dealing a finishing stroke to those\nwho were only wounded. A sailor, who had taken refuge up a mast, could\nsee how the other five horsemen had plunged into the bog to avoid the\nfire and had disappeared beneath the waters; so that none of the Moslems\nhad escaped alive--not even that one which Fate and romance love to save\nas a bearer of the disastrous tidings.\n\nBy degrees the nuns ventured out on deck again.\n\nThose who were skilled in tending the wounded gathered round them, and\nopened their medicine cases; as they proceeded on their voyage, under the\nguidance of the steersman, they had their hands full of work and the zeal\nthey gave to it mitigated the torment of the heat.\n\nThe bodies of the five Moslems and eight Christians--among these, two of\nthe Greek ship-wrights--were laid on the shore in groups apart, in the\nneighborhood of a village; in the hand of one of them the abbess placed a\ntablet with this inscription:\n\n\"These eight Christians met their death bravely fighting to defend a\nparty of pious and persecuted believers. Pray for them and bury them as\nwell as those who, in obedience to their duty and their commander, took\ntheir lives.\"\n\nRufinus, lying with his head on the gardener's knee, and sheltered from\nthe sun under the abbess' umbrella, presently recovered his senses;\nlooking about him he said to himself in a low voice, as he saw the\ncaptain lying by his side:\n\n\"I, too, had a wife and a dear child at home, and yet--Ah! how this\naches! We may well do all we can to soothe such pain. The only reality\nhere below is not pleasure, it is pain, vulgar, physical pain; and though\nmy head burns and aches more than enough.--Water, a drink of water.--How\ncomfortable I could be at this moment with my Joanna, in our shady\nhouse.--But yet, but yet--we must heal or save, it is all the same, any\nwho need it.--A drink--wine and water, if it is to be had, worthy\nMother!\"\n\nThe abbess had it at hand; as she put the cup to his lips she spoke her\nwarm and effusive thanks, and many words of comfort; then she asked him\nwhat she could do for him and his, when they should be in safety.\n\n\"Love them truly,\" he said gently. \"Pul will certainly never be quite\nhappy till she is in a convent. But she must not leave her mother--she\nmust stay with her; Joanna-Joanna. . . .\"\n\nHe repeated the name several times as if the sound pleased his ear and\nheart. Then he shuddered again and again, and muttered to himself:\n\"Brrr!--a cold shiver runs all over me--it is of no use!--The cut in my\nshoulder.--It is my head that hurts worst, but the other--it is bad luck\nthat it should have fallen on the left side. And yet, no; it is best so;\nfor if he--if it had damaged my right shoulder I could not write, and I\nmust--I must-before it is too late. A tablet and stylus; quick, quick!\nAnd when I have written, good mother, close the tablet and seal it--close\nand tight. Promise! Only one person may read it, he to whom it must\ngo.--Gibbus, do you hear, Gibbus?--It is for Philippus the leech. Take it\nto him.--Your dream about a rose on your hump, if I read rightly, means\nthat peace and joy in Heaven blossom from our misery on earth.--Yes, to\nPhilippus. And listen my old school friend Christodorus, a leech too,\nlives at Doomiat. Take my body to him--mind me now? He is to pack it with\nsand which will preserve it, and have it buried by the side of my mother\nat Alexandria. Joanna and the child--they can come and visit me there. I\nhave not much to leave; whatever that may cost. . . .\"\n\n\"That is my affair, or the convent's,\" cried the abbess.\n\n\"Matters are not so bad as that,\" said the old man smiling. \"I can pay\nfor my own share of the business; your revenue belongs to the poor, noble\nMother.--You will find more than enough in this wallet, good Gibbus. But\nnow, quick, make haste--the tablets.\"\n\nWhen he had one in his hand, and a stylus for writing with, he thought\nfor some time, and then wrote with trembling fingers, though exerting all\nhis strength. How acutely he was suffering could be seen in his drawn\nmouth and sad eyes, but he would not allow himself to be interrupted,\noften as the abbess and the gardener entreated him to lay aside the\nstylus. At last, with a deep sigh of relief, he closed the tablets,\nhanded them to the abbess, and said:\n\n\"There! Close it fast.--To Philippus the physician; into his own hand:\nYou hear, Gibbus?\"\n\nHere he fainted; but after they had bathed his forehead and wounds he\ncame to himself, and softly murmured: \"I was dreaming of Joanna and the\npoor child. They brought me a comic mask. What can that mean? That I have\nbeen a fool all my life for thinking of other folks' troubles and\nforgetting myself and my own family? No, no, no! As surely as man is the\nstandard of all things--if it were so, then, then folly would be truth\nand right.--I, I--my desire--the aim to which my life was devoted. . . .\"\n\nHe paused; then he suddenly raised himself, looked up with a bright light\nin his eyes, and cried aloud with joy: \"O Thou, most merciful Saviour!\nYes, yes--I see it all now. I thank thee--All that I strove for and lived\nfor, Thou, my Redeemer who art Love itself--Ah how good, how comforting\nto think of that!--It is for this that Thou grantest me to die!\"\n\nAgain he lost consciousness; his head grew very hot, his breath came\nhoarsely and his parched lips, though frequently moistened by careful\nhands, could only murmur the names of those he loved best, and among them\nthat of Paula.\n\nAt about five hours after noon he fell back on the hunchback's knees; he\nhad ceased to suffer. A happy smile lighted up his features, and in death\nthe old man's calm face looked like that of a child.\n\nThe gardener felt as though he had lost his own father, and his lively\ntongue remained speechless till he entered Doormat with the rescued\nsisters, and proceeded to carry out his master's last orders. The abbess'\nship took the wounded captain Setnau on board, with his wife, his\nchildren, his brother the steersman, and the surviving ship-wrights.\n\nAt the very hour when Rufinus closed his eyes, the town-watch of Memphis,\nled by Bishop Plotinus, appeared to claim the Melchite convent of St.\nCecilia, and all the possessions of the sisterhood, in the name of the\npatriarch and the Jacobite church. Next morning the bishop set out for\nUpper Egypt to make his report to the prelate.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     He was made to be plundered\n     Old age no longer forgets; it is youth that has a short memory\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 9.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nPhilippus started up from the divan on which he had been reclining at\nbreakfast with his old friend. Before Horapollo was a half-empty plate;\nhe had swallowed his meal less rapidly than his companion, and looked\ndisapprovingly at the leech, who drank off his wine and water as he\nstood, whereas he generally would sit and enjoy it as he talked to the\nold man of matters light or grave. To the elder this was always the\npleasantest hour of the day; but now Philippus would hardly allow himself\nmore than just time enough to eat, even at their principal evening meal.\n\nIndeed, not he alone, but every physician in the city, had as much as he\ncould do with the utmost exertion. Nearly three weeks had elapsed since\nthe attack on the nuns, and the fearful heat had still gone on in\ncreasing. The river, instead of rising had sunk lower and lower; the\ncarrier-pigeons from Ethiopia, looked for day by day with growing anxiety\nand excitement, brought no news of a rising stream even in the upper\nNile, and the shallow, stagnant and evil-smelling waters by the banks\nbegan to be injurious, nay, fatal, to the health of the whole population.\n\nClose to the shore, especially, the water had a reddish tinge, and the\nusually sweet, pure fluid in the canals was full of strange vegetable\ngrowths and other foreign bodies putrid and undrinkable. The common\npeople usually shirked the trouble of filtering it, and it was among them\nthat the greater number died of a mortal and infectious pestilence, till\nthen unknown. The number of victims swelled daily, and the approach of\nthe comet kept pace with the growing misery of the town. Every one\nconnected it with the intense heat of the season, with the delay in the\ninundation, and the appearance of the sickness; and the leech and his\nfriend often argued about these matters, for Philippus would not admit\nthat the meteor had any influence on human affairs, while Horapollo\nbelieved that it had, and supported his view by a long series of\nexamples.\n\nHis antagonist would not accept them and asked for arguments; at the same\ntime he, like every one else, felt the influence of a vague dread of some\nimminent and terrible disaster hanging over the earth and humanity at\nlarge.\n\nAnd, just as every heart in Memphis felt oppressed by such forebodings,\nand by the weight of a calamity, which indeed no longer threatened them\nbut had actually come upon them, so the roads, the gardens, the palms and\nsycamores by the way-side were covered by thick layers of dingy, choking\ndust. The hedges of tamarisk and shrubs looked like decaying walls of\ncolorless, unburnt mud-bricks; even in the high-roads the wayfarer walked\nin the midst of dense white clouds raised by his feet, and if a chariot,\nor a horseman galloped down the scorching street, fine, grey sand at once\nfilled the air, compelling the foot-passengers to shut their eyes and\nlips.\n\nThe town was so silent, so empty, so deserted! No one came out of doors\nunless under pressure of business or piety. Every house was a furnace,\nand even a bath brought no refreshment, for the water had long since\nceased to be cold. A disease had also attacked the ripening dates as they\nhung; they dropped off in thousands from the heavy clusters under the\nbeautiful bending crown of leaves; and now for two days hundreds of dead\nfish had been left on the banks. Even the scaly natives of the river were\nplague-stricken; and the physician explained to his friend that this\nbrought the inhabitants a fresh danger; for who could clear the shores of\nthe dead fish?--And, in such heat, how soon they would become putrid!\n\nThe old man did not conceal from himself that it was hard, cruelly hard,\nfor the physician to follow his calling conscientiously at such a time;\nbut he knew his friend; he had seen him during months of pestilence two\nyears since--always brisk, decisive and gay, indeed inspired to greater\neffort by the greater demands on him. What had so completely altered him,\nhad poisoned and vexed his soul as with a malignant spell? It was not the\nalmost superhuman sacrifices required by his duties;--it came of the\nunfortunate infatuation of his heart, of which he could not rid himself.\n\nPhilippus had kept his promise. He went every day to the house of\nRufinus, and every day he saw Paula; but, as a murdered body bleeds\nafresh in the presence of the assassin, so every day the old pain revived\nwhen he was forced to meet her and speak with her. The only cure for this\nparticular sufferer was to remove the cause of his pain: that is to say,\nto take Paula away out of his path; and this the old man made his care\nand duty.\n\nLittle Mary and the other patients under Rufinus' roof were on the way to\nrecovery; still there was much to cast gloomy shadows over this happy\ntermination. Joanna and Pulcheria were very anxious as to the fate of\nRufinus. No news had been received of him or of the sisters, and\nPhilippus was the vessel into which the forsaken wife and Pulcheria--who\nlooked up to him as to a kind, faithful, and all-powerful protecting\nspirit-poured all their sorrows, cares, and fears. Their forebodings were\naggravated by the fact that three times Arab officials had come to the\nhouse to enquire about the master and his continued absence. All that the\nwomen told them was written down, and Dame Joanna, whose lips had never\nyet uttered a lie, had found herself forced to give a false clue by\nsaying that her husband had gone to Alexandria on business, and might\nperhaps have to proceed to Syria.--What could these enquiries forebode?\nDid they not indicate that Rufinus' complicity in the rescue of the nuns\nwas known at Fostat?\n\nThe authorities there were, in fact, better informed than the women could\nsuspect. But they kept their knowledge a secret, for it would never do to\nlet the oppressed people know that a handful of Egyptians had succeeded\nin defeating a party of Arab soldiers; so the Memphites heard no more\nthan a dark rumor of what had occurred.\n\nPhilippus had known nothing of the old man's purpose till he had gone too\nfar to be dissuaded; and it was misery to him now to reflect that his\ndear old friend, and his whole household, might come to ruin for the sake\nof the sisterhood who were nothing to them; for he had received private\ninformation that there had been a skirmish between the Moslems and the\ndeliverers of the nuns, which had cost the lives of several combatants on\nboth sides.\n\nAnd Paula! If only he could have seen her happy--But she was pale; and\nthat which robbed the young girl--healthy as she was in mind and body--of\nher proud, frank, independent bearing was not the heat, which tormented\nall creation, but a secret, devouring sorrow; and this sorrow was the\nwork of one alone--of him on whom she had set her heart, and who made,\nah! what a return, for the royal gift of her love.\n\nPhilippus had frequent business at the governor's residence, and a\nfortnight since he had plainly perceived what it was that had brought\nNeforis into this strange state. She was taking the opium that her\nhusband had had, taking it in excessive quantities; and she could easily\nprocure more through some other physician. However, her piteous prayer\nthat Philippus would not abandon her to her fate had prevailed to induce\nhim to continue to see her, in the hope of possibly restricting her use\nof the drug.\n\nThe senator's wife, Martina, also required his visits to the palace. She\nwas not actually ill, but she suffered cruelly from the heat, and she had\nalways been wont to see her worthy old house-physician every day, to hear\nall the latest gossip, and complain of her little ailments when anything\nwent wrong with her usually sound health. Philippus was indeed too much\noverburdened to chatter, but his professional advice was good and helped\nher to endure the fires of this pitiless sky. She liked this incisive,\nshrewd, plain-spoken man--often indeed sharp and abrupt in his\nfreedom--and he appreciated her bright, natural ways. Now and then\nMartina even succeeded in winning a smile from \"Hermes Trismegistus,\" who\nwas \"generally as solemn as though there was no such thing on earth as a\njest,\" and in spurring him to a rejoinder which showed that this dolorous\nbeing had a particularly keen and ready wit.\n\nHeliodora attracted him but little. There was, to be sure, an\nunmistakable likeness in her \"imploring eyes\" to those of Pulcheria; but\nthe girl's spoke fervent yearning for the grace and love of God, while\nthe widow's expressed an eager desire for the admiration of the men she\npreferred. She was a graceful creature beyond all question, but such\nsoftness, which never even attempted to assert a purpose or an opinion,\ndid not commend itself to his determined nature; it annoyed him, when he\nhad contradicted her, to hear her repeat his last statement and take his\nside, as if she were ashamed of her own silliness. Her society, indeed,\ndid not seem to satisfy the clever older woman, who at home, was\naccustomed to a succession of visitors, and to whom the word \"evening\"\nwas synonymous with lively conversation and a large gathering. She spoke\nof the leech's visits as the oasis in the Egyptian desert, and little\nKatharina even she regarded as a Godsend.\n\nThe water-wagtail was her daily visitant, and the girl's gay and often\nspiteful gossip helped to beguile her during this terrific heat.\nKatharina's mother made no difficulties; for Heliodora had gone to see\nher in all her magnificence, and had offered her and her daughter\nhospitality, some day, at Constantinople. They were very likely going\nthither; at any rate they would not remain in Memphis, and then it would\nbe a piece of good fortune to be introduced to the society of the capital\nby such people as their new acquaintances.\n\nMartina thus heard a great deal about Paula; and though it was all\nadverse and colored to her prejudice she would have liked to see the\ndaughter of the great and famous Thomas whom she had known; besides,\nafter all she had heard, she could fear nothing from Paula for her niece:\nuncommonly handsome, but haughty, repellent, unamiable, and--like\nHeliodora herself--of the orthodox sect.--What could tempt \"great\nSesostris\" to give her the preference?\n\nKatharina herself proposed to Martina to make them acquainted; but\nnothing would have induced Dame Martina to go out of her rooms, protected\nto the utmost from the torrid sunshine, so she left it to Heliodora to\npay the visit and give her a report of the hero's daughter. Heliodora had\ndevoted herself heart and soul to the little heiress, and humored her on\nmany points.\n\nThis was carried out. Katharina actually had the audacity to bring the\nrivals together, even after she had reported to each all she knew of\nOrion's position with regard to the other. It was exquisite sport; still,\nin one respect it did not fulfil her intentions, for Paula gave no sign\nof suffering the agonies of jealousy which Katharina had hoped to excite\nin her. Heliodora, on the other hand, came home depressed and uneasy;\nPaula had received her coldly and with polite formality, and the young\nwidow had remained fully aware that so remarkable a woman might well cast\nher own image in Orion's heart into the shade, or supplant it altogether.\n\nLike a wounded man who, in spite of the anguish, cannot resist touching\nthe wound to assure himself of its state, Heliodora went constantly to\nsee Katharina in order to watch her rival from the garden or to be taken\nto call on her, though she was always very coldly received.\n\nAt first Katharina had pitied the young woman whose superior in\nintelligence she knew herself to be; but a certain incident had\nextinguished this feeling; she now simply hated her, and pricked her with\nneedle-thrusts whenever she had a chance. Paula seemed invulnerable; but\nthere was not a pang which Katharina would not gladly have given her to\nwhom she owed the deepest humiliation her young life had ever known. How\nwas it that Paula failed to regard Heliodora as a rival? She had\nreflected that, if Orion had really returned the widow's passion, he\ncould not have borne so long a separation. It was on purpose to avoid\nHeliodora, and to remain faithful to what he was and must always be to\nPaula, that he had gone with the senator, far from Memphis.\nHeliodora--her instinct assured her--was the poor, forsaken woman with\nwhom he had trifled at Byzantium, and for whom he had committed that\nfatal theft of the emerald. If Fate would but bring him home to her, and\nif she then yielded all he asked--all her own soul urged her to grant,\nthen she would be the sole mistress and queen of his heart--she must be,\nshe was sure of it! And though, even as she thought of it, she bowed her\nhead in care, it was not from fear of losing him; it was only her anxiety\nabout her father, her good old friend, Rufinus, and his family, whom she\nhad made so entirely her own.\n\nThis was the state of affairs this morning, when to his old friend's\nvexation, Philippus had so hastily and silently drunk off his\nafter-breakfast draught; just as he set down the cup, the black\ndoor-keeper announced that a hump-backed man wished to see his master at\nonce on important business.\n\n\"Important business!\" repeated the leech. \"Give me four more legs in\naddition to my own two, or a machine to make time longer than it is, and\nthen I will take new patients-otherwise no! Tell the fellow. . . .\"\n\n\"No, not sick. . . .\" interrupted the negro. \"Come long way. Gardener to\nGreek man Rufinus.\"\n\nPhilippus started: he could guess what this messenger had to say, and his\nheart sank with dread as he desired that he might be shown in.\n\nA glance at Gibbus told him what he had rightly feared. The poor fellow\nwas hardly recognizable. He was coated with dust from head to foot, and\nthis made him look like a grey-haired old man; his sandals hung to his\nfeet in strips; the sweat, pouring down his cheeks, had made gutters as\nit were in the dust on his face, and his tears, as the physician held out\nhis hand to him, washed out other channels.\n\nIn reply to the leech's anxious, long drawn \"Dead?\" he nodded silently;\nand when Philippus, clasping his hands to his temples, cried out: \"Dead!\nMy poor old Rufinus dead! But how, in Heaven's name, did it happen?\nSpeak, man, speak!\"--Gibbus pointed to the old philosopher and said:\n\"Come out then, with me, Master. No third person. . . .\"\n\nPhilippus, however, gave him to understand that Horapollo was his second\nself; and the hunch-back went on to tell him what he had seen, and how\nhis beloved master had met his end. Horapollo sat listening in\nastonishment, shaking his head disapprovingly, while the physician\nmuttered curses. But the bearer of evil tidings was not interrupted, and\nit was not till he had ended that Philippus, with bowed head and tearful\neyes, said:\n\n\"Poor, faithful old man; to think that he should die thus--he who leaves\nbehind him all that is best in life, while I--I. . . .\" And he groaned\naloud. The old man glanced at him with reproachful displeasure.\n\nWhile the leech broke the seals of the tablets, which the abbess had\ncarefully closed, and began to read the contents, Horapollo asked the\ngardener: \"And the nuns? Did they all escape?\"\n\n\"Yes, Master! on the morning after we reached Doomiat, a trireme took\nthem all out to sea.\"\n\nAnd the old man grumbled to himself: \"The working bees killed and the\nDrones saved!\"\n\nGibbus, however, contradicted him, praising the laborious and useful life\nof the sisters, in whose care he himself had once been.\n\nMeanwhile Philippus had read his friend's last letter. Greatly disturbed\nby it he turned hither and thither, paced the room with long steps, and\nfinally paused in front of the gardener, exclaiming: \"And what next? Who\nis to tell them the news?\"\n\n\"You,\" replied Gibbus, raising his hands in entreaty.\n\n\"I-oh, of course, I!\" growled the physician. \"Whatever is difficult,\npainful, intolerable, falls on my shoulders as a matter of course! But I\ncannot--ought not--I will not do it. Had I any part or lot in devising\nthis mad expedition? You observe, Father?--What he, the simpleton,\nbrewed, I--I again am to drink. Fate has settled that!\"\n\n\"It is hard, it is hard, child!\" replied the old man. \"Still, it is your\nduty. Only consider--if that man, as he stands before us now, were to\nappear before the women. . . .\"\n\nBut Philippus broke in: \"No, no, that would not do! And you, Gibbus--this\nvery day there has been an Arab again to see Joanna; and if they were to\nsuspect that you had been with your master--for you look strangely.--No,\nman; your devotion merits a better reward. They shall not catch you. I\nrelease you from your service to the widow, and we--what do you say,\nFather?--we will keep him here.\"\n\n\"Right, very right,\" said Horapollo. \"The Nile must some day rise again.\nStay with us; I have long had a fancy to eat vegetables of my own\ngrowing.\"\n\nBut Gibbus firmly declined the offer, saying he wished to return to his\nold mistress. When the physician again pointed out to him how great a\ndanger he was running into, and the old man desired to know his reasons,\nthe hunch-back exclaimed:\n\n\"I promised my master to stay with the women; and now, while in all the\nhousehold I am the only free man, shall I leave them unprotected to\nsecure my own miserable life? Sooner would I see a scimitar at my throat.\nWhen my head is off the rascals are welcome to all that is left.\"\n\nThe words came hollow and broken from his parched tongue, and as he spoke\nthe faithful fellow's face changed. Even under the dust he turned pale,\nand Philippus had to support him, for his feet refused their office. His\nlong tramp through the torrid heat had exhausted his strength; but a\ndraught of wine soon brought him to himself again and Horapollo ordered\nthe slave to lead him to the kitchen and desire the cook to take the best\ncare of him.\n\nAs soon as the friends were alone, the elder observed:\n\n\"That worthy, foolhardy, old child who is now dead, seems to have left\nyou some strange request. I could see that as you were reading.\"\n\n\"There--take it!\" replied Philippus; and again he walked up and down the\nroom, while Horapollo took the letter. Both faces of the tablets were\ncovered with irregular, up-and-down lines of writing to the following\neffect:\n\n   \"Rufinus, in view of death, to his beloved Philippus:\n\n   \"One shivering fit after another comes over me; I shall certainly\n   die to-day. I must make haste. Writing is difficult. If only I\n   can say what is most pressing.--First: Joanna and the poor child.\n   Be everything you can be to them. Protect them as their guardian,\n   Kyrios, and friend. They have enough to live on and something still\n   to spare for others. My brother Leonax manages the property, and he\n   is honest. Joanna knows all about it.--Tell her and the poor child\n   that I send them ten thousand blessings--and to Joanna endless\n   thanks for all her goodness.--And to you, my friend: heed the old\n   man's words. Rid your heart of Paula. She is not for you: you\n   know, young Orion. But as to yourself: Those who were born in high\n   places rarely suit us, who have dragged ourselves up from below to a\n   better position. Be her friend; that she deserves--but let that be\n   all. Do not live alone, a wife brings all that is best into a man's\n   life; it is she who weaves sweet dreams into his dull sleep. You\n   know nothing of all this as yet; and your worthy old friend--to whom\n   my greetings--has held aloof from it all his life. . . .\n\n   \"For your private eye: it is a dying man who speaks thus. You must\n   know that my poor child, our Pul, regards you as the most perfect of\n   men and esteems you above all others. You know her and Joanna.\n   Bear witness to your friend that no evil word ever passed the lips\n   of either of them. Far be it from me to advise you, who bear the\n   image of another woman in your heart,--to say: marry the child, she\n   is the wife for you. But this much to you both--Father and son--I\n   do advise you to live with the mother and daughter as true and\n   friendly house-mates. You will none of you repent doing so. This\n   is a dying man's word. I can write no more. You are the women's\n   guardian, Philip, a faithful one I know. A common aim makes men\n   grow alike. You and I, for many a year.--Take good care of them for\n   me; I entreat you--good care.\"\n\nThe last words were separated and written all astray; the old man could\nhardly make them out. He now sat looking, as Phillipus had done before,\nsorely puzzled and undecided over this strange document.\n\n\"Well?\" asked the leech at last.\n\n\"Aye-well?\" repeated the other with a shrug. Then both again were silent;\ntill Horapollo rose, and taking his staff, also paced the room while he\nmurmured, half to himself and half to his younger friend \"They are two\nquiet, reasonable women. There are not many of that sort, I fancy. How\nthe little one helped me up from the low seat in the garden!\" It was a\nreminiscence that made him chuckle to himself; he stopped Philippus, who\nwas pacing at his side, by lightly patting his arm, exclaiming with\nunwonted vivacity: \"A man should be ready to try everything--the care of\nwomen even, before he steps into the grave. And is it a fact that neither\nof them is a scold or a chatter-box?\"\n\n\"It is indeed.\"\n\n\"And what 'if' or 'but' remains behind?\" asked the old man. \"Let us be\nreckless for once, brother! If the whole business were not so\ndiabolically serious, it would be quite laughable. The young one for me\nand the old one for you in our leisure hours, my son; better washed\nlinen; clothes without holes in them; no dust on our books; a pleasant\n'Rejoice' every morning, or at meal-times;--only look at the fruit on\nthat dish! No better than the oats they strew before horses. At the old\nman's everything was as nice as it used to be in my own home at Philae:\nSupper a little work of art, a feast for the eye as well as the appetite!\nPulcheria seems to understand all that as well as my poor dead sister\ndid. And then, when I want to rise, such a kind, pretty little hand to\nhelp one up! I have long hated this dwelling. Lime and dust fall from the\nceiling in my bedroom, and here there are wide gaps in the flooring-I\nstumbled over one yesterday--and our niggardly landlords, the officials,\nsay that if we want anything repaired we may do it ourselves, that they\nhave no money left for such things. Now, under that worthy old man's roof\neverything was in the best order.\" The philosopher chuckled aloud and\nrubbed his hands as he went on: \"Supposing we kick over the traces for\nonce, Philip. Supposing we were to carry out our friend's dying wish?\nMerciful Isis! It would certainly be a good action, and I have not many\nto boast of. But cautiously--what do you say? We can always throw it up\nat a month's notice.\"\n\nThen he grew grave again, shook his head, and said meditatively: \"No, no;\nsuch plans only disturb one's peace of mind. A pleasant vision! But\nscarcely feasible.\"\n\n\"Not for the present, at any rate,\" replied the leech.\n\n\"So long as Paula's fate remains undecided, I beg you to let the matter\nrest.\"\n\nThe old man muttered a curse on her; then he said with a vicious, sharp\nflash in his eyes: \"That patrician viper! Every where in everything--she\nspoils it all! But wait a while! I fancy she will soon be removed from\nour path, and then. . . . No, even now, at the present time, I will not\nallow that we should be deprived of what would embellish life, of doing a\nthing which may turn the scale in my favor in the day of judgment. The\nwishes of a dying man are sacred: So our fathers held it; and they were\nright. The old man's will must be done! Yes, yes, yes. It is settled. As\nsoon as that hindrance is removed, we will keep house with the two women.\nI have said; and I mean it.\"\n\nAt this point the gardener came in again, and the old man called out to\nhim:\n\n\"Listen, man. We shall live together after all; you shall hear more of\nthis later. Stay with my people till sundown, but you must keep your own\ncounsel, for they are all listeners and blabs. The physician here will\nnow take the melancholy tidings to the unfortunate widow, and then you\ncan talk it all over with her at night. Nothing startling must take place\nat the house there; and with regard to your master, even his death must\nremain a secret from every one but us and his family.\"\n\nThe gardener knew full well how much depended on his silence; Philippus\ntacitly agreed to the old man's arrangement, but for the present he\navoided discussing the matter with the women. When, at length he set off\non his painful errand to the widow, Horapollo dismissed him saying:\n\n\"Courage, courage, my Son.--And as you pass by, just glance at our little\ngarden;--we grieved to see the fine old palm-tree perish; but now a young\nand vigorous shoot is growing from the root.\"\n\n\"It has been drooping since yesterday and will die away,\" replied\nPhilippus shrugging his shoulders.\n\nBut the old man exclaimed: \"Water it, Gibbus! the palm-tree must be\nwatered at once.\"\n\n\"Aye, you have water at hand for that!\" retorted the leech, but he added\nbitterly as he reached the stairs, \"If it were so in all cases!\"\n\n\"Patience and good purpose will always win,\" murmured the old man; and\nwhen he was alone he growled on angrily: \"Only be rid of that dry old\npalm-tree--his past life in all its relations to that patrician hussy\nAway with it, into the fire!--But how am I to get her? How can I manage\nit?\"\n\nHe threw himself back in his arm-chair, rubbing his forehead with the\ntips of his fingers. He had come to no result when the negro requested an\naudience for some visitors. These were the heads of the senate of\nMemphis, who had come as a deputation to ask counsel of the old sage. He,\nif any one, would find some means of averting or, at any rate, mitigating\nthe fearful calamity impending over the town and country, and against\nwhich prayer, sacrifice, processions, and pilgrimages had proved\nabortive. They were quite resolved to leave no means untried, not even if\nheathen magic should be the last resource.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nAll Katharina's sympathy with Heliodora had died finally in the course of\nthe past, moonless night. She had secretly accompanied her, with her maid\nand an old deaf and dumb stable-slave, to a soothsayer--for there still\nwere many in Memphis, as well as magicians and alchemists; and this woman\nhad told the young widow that her line of life led to the greatest\nhappiness, and that even the wildest wishes of her heart would find\nfulfilment. What those wishes were Katharina knew only too well; the\nprobability of their accomplishment had roused her fierce jealousy and\nmade her hate Heliodora.\n\nHeliodora had gone to consult the sorceress in a simple but rich dress.\nHer peplos was fastened on the shoulder, not by an ordinary gold pin, but\nby a button which betrayed her taste for fine jewels, as it consisted of\na sapphire of remarkable size; this had at once caught the eye of the\nwitch, showing her that she had to deal with a woman of rank and wealth.\nShe had taken Katharina, who had come very plainly dressed, for her\ncompanion or poor friend, so she had promised her no more than the\nremoval of certain hindrances, and a happy life at last, with a husband\nno longer young and a large family of children.\n\nThe woman's business was evidently a paying one; the interior of her\nhouse was conspicuously superior to the wretched hovels which surrounded\nit, in the poorest and most squalid part of the town. Outside, indeed, it\ndiffered little from its neighbors; in fact; it was intentionally\nneglected, to mislead the authorities, for witchcraft and the practice of\nmagic arts were under the penalty of death. But the fittings of the\nroofless centre-chamber in which she was wont to perform her incantations\nand divinations argued no small outlay. On the walls were hangings with\noccult figures; the pillars were painted with weird and grewsome\npictures; crucibles and cauldrons of various sizes were simmering over\nbraziers on little altars; on the shelves and tables stood cups, phials,\nand vases, a wheel on which a wryneck hopped up and down, wax images of\nmen and women--some with needles through their hearts, a cage full of\nbats, and glass jars containing spiders, frogs, leeches, beetles,\nscorpions, centipedes and other foul creatures; and lengthways down the\nroom was stretched a short rope walk, used in a Thracian form of magic.\nPerfumes and pungent vapors filled the air, and from behind a curtain\nwhich hid the performers came a monotonous music of children's voices,\nbells, and dull drumming.\n\nMedea, so the wise woman was called, though scarcely past five and forty,\nharmonized in appearance with this strange habitation, full as it was of\nobjects calculated to rouse repulsion, dread, and amazement. Her face was\npale, and her extraordinary height was increased by a mass of coal-black\nhair, curled high over a comb at the very top of her head.\n\nAt the end of the first visit paid her by the two young women, who had\ntaken her by surprise, so that several things were lacking which on the\nsecond occasion proved to be very effective in the exercise of her art,\nshe had made Heliodora promise to return in three days' time. The young\nwidow had kept her word, and had made her appearance punctually with\nKatharina.\n\nTo be in Egypt, the land of sorcery and the magic arts, without putting\nthem to the test, was impossible. Even Martina allowed this, though she\ndid not care for such things for herself. She was content with her lot;\nand if any change for the worse were in prospect she would rather not be\ntormented beforehand by a wise prophet; nor was it better to be deluded\nby a foolish one. Happiness as of Heaven itself she no longer craved; it\nwould only have disturbed her peace. But she was the last person to think\nill of the young, whose life still lay before them, if they longed to\nlook into futurity.\n\nThe fair widow and her companion crossed the sorceress' threshold in some\ntrepidation, and Katharina was the more agitated of the two; for this\nafternoon she had seen Philippus leave the house of Rufinus, and not long\nafter some Arab officials had called there. Paula had come into the\ngarden shortly before sundown, her eyes red with weeping; and when, soon\nafter, Pulcheria and her mother had joined her there, Paula had thrown\nherself on Joanna's neck, sobbing so bitterly that the mother and\ndaughter--\"whose tears were near her eyes\"--had both followed her\nexample. Something serious had occurred; but when she had gone to the\nhouse to pick up further information, old Betta, who was particularly\nsnappish with her, had refused her admission quite rudely.\n\nThen, on their way hither, she and Heliodora had had a painful adventure;\nthe chariot, lent by Neforis to convey them as far as the edge of the\nnecropolis, was stopped on the way by a troop of Arab horse, and they\nwere subjected to a catechism by the leader.\n\nSo they entered the house of \"Medea of the curls,\" as the common people\ncalled the witch, with uneasy and throbbing hearts; they were received,\nhowever, with such servile politeness that they soon recovered\nthemselves, and even the timid Heliodora began to breathe freely again.\nThe sorceress knew this time who Katharina was, and paid more respectful\nattention to the daughter of the wealthy widow.\n\nThe young crescent moon had risen, a circumstance which Medea declared\nenabled her to see more clearly into the future than she could do at the\ntime of the Luna-negers as she called the moonless night. Her inward\nvision had been held in typhornian darkness at the time of their first\nvisit, by the influence of some hostile power. She had felt this as soon\nas they had quitted her, but to-day she saw clearer. Her mind's eye was\nas clear as a silver mirror, she had purified it by three days' fasting\nand not a mote could escape her sight.--\"Help, ye children of Horapollo!\nHelp, Hapi and Ye three holy ones!\"\n\n\"Oh, my beauties, my beauties!\" she went on enthusiastically. \"Hundreds\nof great dames have proved my art, but such splendid fortunes I never\nbefore saw crowding round any two heads as round yours. Do you hear how\nthe cauldrons of fortune are seething? The very lids lift! Amazing,\namazing.\"\n\nShe stretched out her hand towards the vessels as though conjuring them\nand said solemnly: \"Abundance of happiness; brimming over, brimming over!\nBursting storehouses! Zefa-oo Metramao. Return, return, to the right\nlevels, the right heights, the right depth, the right measure! Your Elle\nMei-Measurer, Leveller, require them, Techuti, require them, double\nIbis!\"\n\nShe made them both sit down on elegant seats in front of the boiling\npots, tied the \"thread of Anubis\" round the ring-finger of each, asked in\na low whisper between muttered words of incantation for a hair of each,\nand after placing the hairs both in one cauldron she cried out with wild\nvehemence, as though the weal or woe of her two visitors were involved in\nthe smallest omission:\n\n\"Press the finger with the thread of Anubis on your heart; fix your eyes\non the cauldron and the steam which rises to the spirits above, the\nspirits of light, the great One on high!\"\n\nThe two women obeyed the sorceress' directions with beating hearts, while\nshe began spinning round on her toes with dizzy rapidity; her curls flew\nout, and the magic wand in her extended hand described a large and\nbeautiful curve. Suddenly, and as if stricken by terror, she stopped her\nwhirl, and at the same instant the lamps went out and the only light was\nfrom the stars and the twinkling coals under the cauldrons. The low music\ndied away, and a fresh strong perfume welled out from behind the curtain.\n\nMedea fell on her knees, lifted up her hands to Heaven, threw her head so\nfar back that her whole face was turned up to the sky and her eyes gazed\nstraight up at the stars-an attitude only possible to so supple a spine.\nIn this torturing attitude she sang one invocation after another, to the\nzenith of the blue vault over their heads, in a clear voice of fervent\nappeal. Her body was thrown forward, her mass of hair no longer stood up\nbut was turned towards the two young women, who every moment expected\nthat the supplicant would be suffocated by the blood mounting to her\nhead, and fall backwards; but she sang and sang, while her white teeth\nglittered in the starlight that fell straight upon her face. Presently,\nin the midst of the torrent of demoniacal names and magic formulas that\nshe sang and warbled out, a piteous and terrifying sound came from behind\nthe curtain as of two persons gasping, sighing, and moaning: one voice\nseemed to be that of a man oppressed by great anguish; the other was the\nhalf-suffocated wailing of a suffering child. This soon became louder,\nand at length a voice said in Egyptian: \"Water, a drink of water.\"\n\nThe woman started to her feet, exclaiming: \"It is the cry of the poor and\noppressed who have been robbed to enrich those who have too much already;\nthe lament of those whom Fate has plundered to heap you with wealth\nenough for hundreds.\" As she spoke these words, in Greek and with much\nunction, she turned to the curtain and added solemnly, but in Egyptian:\n\"Give drink to the thirsty; the happy ones will spare him a drop from\ntheir overflow. Give the white drink to the wailing child-spirit, that he\nmay be soothed and quenched.--Play, music, and drown the lamentations of\nthe spirits in sorrow.\"\n\nThen, turning to Heliodora's kettle she said sternly, as if in obedience\nto some higher power:\n\n\"Seven gold pieces to complete the work,\"--and while the young widow drew\nout her purse the sorceress lighted the lamps, singing as she did so and\nas she dropped the coin into the boiling fluid: \"Pure, bright gold!\nSunlight buried in a mine! Holy Seven. Shashef, Shashef! Holy Seven,\nmarry and mingle--melt together!\"\n\nWhen this was done she poured out of the cauldron a steaming fluid as\nblack as ink, into a shallow saucer, called Heliodora to her side, and\ntold her what she could see in the mirror of its surface.\n\nIt was all fair, and gave none but delightful replies to the widow's\nquestioning. And all the sorceress said tended to confirm the young\nwoman's confidence in her magic art; she described Orion as exactly as\nthough she saw him indeed in the surface of the ink, and said he was\ntravelling with an older man. And lo! he was returning already; in the\nbright mirror she could see Heliodora clasped in her lover's arms; and\nnow--it was like a picture: A stranger--not the bishop of Memphis--laid\nher hand in his and blessed their union before the altar in a vast and\nmagnificent cathedral.\n\nKatharina, who had been chilled with apprehensions and a thrill of awe,\nas she listened to Medea's song, listened to every word with anxious\nattention; what Medea said--how she described Orion--that was more\nwonderful than anything else, beyond all she had believed possible. And\nthe cathedral in which the lovers were to be united was the church of St.\nSophia at Constantinople, of which she had heard so much.\n\nA tight grip seemed to clutch her heart; still, eagerly as she listened\nto Medea's words, her sharp ears heard the doleful gasping and whimpering\nbehind the hanging; and this distressed and dismayed her; her breath came\nshort, and a deep, torturing sense of misfortune possessed her wholly.\nThe wailing child-spirit within, a portion of whose joys Medea said had\nbeen allotted to her--nay, she had not robbed him, certainly not--for who\ncould be more wretched than she? It was only that beautiful, languishing\nyoung creature who was so lavishly endowed by Fortune with gifts enough\nand to spare for others without number. Oh! if she could but have\nsnatched them from her one after another, from the splendid ruby she was\nwearing to-day, to Orion's love!\n\nShe was pale and tremulous as she rose at the call of the sorceress,\nafter she also had offered seven gold pieces. She would gladly have\npurchased annihilating curses to destroy her happier rival.\n\nThe black liquid in the saucer began to stir, and a sharply smelling\nvapor rose from it; the witch blew this aside, and as soon as the murky\nfluid was a little cool, and the surface was smooth and mirror-like, she\nasked Katharina what she most desired to know. But the answer was checked\non her lips; a fearful thundering and roaring suddenly made the house\nshake; Medea dropped the saucer with a piercing shriek, the contents\nsplashed up, and warm, sticky drops fell on the girl's arms and dress.\nShe was quite overcome with the startling horror, and Heliodora, who\ncould herself scarcely stand, had to support her, for she tottered and\nwould have fallen.\n\nThe sorceress had vanished; a half-grown lad, a young man, and a very\ntall Egyptian girl in scanty attire were rushing about the room. They\nflew hither and thither, throwing all the vessels they could lay hands on\ninto an opening in the floor from which they had lifted a trap-door;\npouring water on the braziers and extinguishing the lights, while they\ndrove the two strangers into a corner of the hall, rating and abusing\nthem. Then the lads clambered like cats up to the opening in the roof,\nand sprang off and away.\n\nA shrill whistle rang through the house, and in moment Medea burst into\nthe room again, clutched the two trembling women by the shoulders, and\nexclaimed: \"For Christ's sake, be merciful! My life is at stake Sorcery\nis punishable by death. I have done my best for you. You came here--that\nis what you must say--out of charity to nurse the sick.\" She pushed them\nboth behind the hanging whence they still heard feeble groans, into a\nlow, stuffy room, and the over-grown girl slipped in behind them.\n\nHere, on miserable couches, lay an old man shivering, and showing dark\nspots on his bare breast and face: and a child of five, whose crimson\ncheeks were burning with fever.\n\nHeliodora felt as if she must suffocate in the plague stricken, heavy\natmosphere, and Katharina clung to her helplessly; but the soothsayer\npulled her away, saying: \"Each to one bed: you to the child, and you--the\nold man.\"\n\nInvoluntarily they obeyed the woman who was panting with fright. The\nwater-wagtail, who never in her life thought of a sick person, turned\nvery sick and looked away from the sufferer; but the your widow, who had\nspent many and many a night by the death-bed of a man she had loved, and\nwho, tender-hearted, had often tended her sick slaves with her own hand,\nlooked compassionately into the pretty, pain-stricken face of the child,\nand wiped the dews from his clammy brow.\n\nKatharina shuddered; but her attention was presently attracted to\nsomething fresh; from the other side of the house came a clatter of\nweapons, the door was pushed open, and the physician Philippus walked\ninto the room. He desired the night-watch, who were with him, to wait\noutside. He had come by the command of the police authorities, to whose\nears information had been brought that there were persons sick of the\nplague in the house of Medea, and that she, nevertheless, continued to\nreceive visitors. It had long been decided that she must be taken in the\nact of sorcery, and warning had that day been given that she expected\nillustrious company in the evening. The watch were to find her\nred-handed, so to speak; the leech was to prove whether her house was\nindeed plague-stricken; and in either case the senate wished to have the\nsorceress safe in prison and at their mercy, though even Philippus had\nnot been taken into their confidence.\n\nThe visitors he had come upon were the last he had expected to find here.\nHe looked at them with a disapproving shake of the head, interrupted the\nwoman's voluble asseverations that these noble ladies had come, out of\nChristian charity, to comfort and help the sick, with a rough\nexclamation: \"A pack of lies!\" and at once led the coerced sick nurses\nout of the house. He then represented to them the fearful risk to which\ntheir folly had exposed them, and insisted very positively on their\nreturning home and, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, taking a\nbath and putting on fresh garments.\n\nWith trembling knees they found their way back to the chariot; but even\nbefore it could start Heliodora had broken down in tears, while\nKatharina, throwing herself back on the cushions, thought, as she glanced\nat her weeping companion: \"This is the beginning of the wonderful\nhappiness she was promised! It is to be hoped it may continue!\"\n\nIt seemed indeed as though Katharina's guardian spirit had overheard this\namiable wish; for, as the chariot drove past the guard-house into the\ncourt-yard of the governor's house, it was stopped by armed men with\nbrown, warlike faces, and they had to wait some minutes till an Arab\nofficer appeared to enquire who they were, and what they wanted. This\nthey explained in fear and trembling, and they then learnt that the Arab\ngovernment had that very evening taken possession of the residence. Orion\nwas accused of serious crimes, and his guests were to depart on the\nfollowing day.\n\nKatharina, who was known to the interpreter, was allowed to go with\nHeliodora to the senator's wife; she might also use the chariot to return\nhome in, and if she pleased, take the Byzantines with her, for the palace\nwould be in the hands of the soldiery for the next few days.\n\nThe two young women held council. Katharina pressed her friend to come at\nonce to her mother's house, for she felt certain that they were\nplague-stricken, and how could they procure a bath in a house full of\nsoldiers? Heliodora could not and must not remain with Martina in this\ncondition, and the senator's wife could follow her next day. Her mother,\nshe added, would be delighted to welcome so dear a guest.\n\nThe widow was passive, and when Martina had gladly consented to accept\nthe invitation of her \"delivering angel,\" the chariot carried them to\nSusannah's house. The widow had long been in bed, firmly convinced that\nher daughter was asleep and dreaming in her own pretty room.\n\nKatharina would not have her disturbed, and the bath-room was so far from\nSusannah's apartment that she slept on quietly while Katharina and her\nguest purified themselves.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nThe inhabitants of the governor's residence passed a fearful night.\nMartina asked herself what sin she had committed that she, of all people,\nshould be picked out to witness such a disaster.\n\nAnd where were her schemes of marriage now? Any movement in such heat was\nindeed scarcely endurable; but she would have moved from one part of the\nhouse to another a dozen times, and allowed herself to be tossed hither\nand thither like a ball, if it could have enabled her to save her dear\n\"great Sesostris\" from such hideous peril. And at the bottom of all this\nwas, no doubt, this wild, senseless business of the nuns.\n\nAnd these Arabs! They simply helped themselves to whatever they fancied,\nand were, of course, in a position to strip the son of the great Mukaukas\nof all he possessed and reduce him to beggary. A pretty business this!\n\nHeliodora, to be sure, had enough for both, and she and her husband would\nnot forget them in their will; but there was more than this in the\nbalance now: it was a matter of life and death.\n\nA cold shudder ran through her at the thought; and her fears were only\ntoo well founded: the black Arab who had come to parley with her, and had\nfinally allowed her to remain under this roof till next day, had told her\nas much through the interpreter. A fearful, horrible, nameless\ncatastrophe! And that she should be in the midst of it and have to see it\nall!\n\nThen her husband, her poor Justinus! How hard this would fall on him! She\ncould not cease weeping; and before she fell asleep she prayed fervently\nindeed, to the saints and the dear Mother of God, that they would bring\nall to a happy issue. She closed her eyes on the thought: \"What a\nmisfortune!\" and she woke to it again early in the morning.\n\nShe, however, had known nothing of the worst horrors of that fatal night.\n\nA troop of Arab soldiers had crossed the Nile at nightfall, some on foot\nor on horseback and some in boats, led by Obada the Vekeel, and had\ninvested the governor's residence. When they had fully assured themselves\nthat Orion was indeed absent they took Nilus prisoner. It was then\nObada's business to inform the Mukaukas' widow of what had happened, and\nto tell her that she must quit the house next day. This must be done,\nbecause he had views of his own as to what was to become of the venerable\nhouse of the oldest family in the country.\n\nNeforis was still up, and when the interpreter was announced as Obada's\nforerunner, she was in the fountain-room. He found her a good deal\nexcited; for, although she was incapable of any consecutive train of\nthought and, when her mind was required to exert itself, her ideas only\ncame like lightning-flashes through her brain, she had observed that\nsomething unusual was going on. Sebek and her maid had evaded her\nenquiries, and would say no more than that Amru's representative had come\nto speak with the young master. It seemed to be something important,\nperhaps some false accusation.\n\nThe interpreter now explained that Orion himself was accused of having\nplanned and aided an enterprise which had cost the lives of twelve Arab\nsoldiers; and, as she knew, any injury inflicted even on a single Moslem\nby an Egyptian was punished by death and the confiscation of his goods.\nBesides this, her son was accused of a robbery.\n\nAt the close of this communication, to which Neforis listened with a\nvacant stare, horrified and at last almost crushed, the interpreter\nbegged that she would grant the Vekeel an audience.\n\n\"Not just yet--give me a few minutes,\" said the widow, bringing out the\nwords with difficulty: first she must have recourse to her secret\nspecific. When she had done so, she expressed her readiness to see Obada.\nHer son's swarthy foe was anxious to appear a mild and magnanimous man in\nher eyes, so it was with flattering servility and many smirking grins\nthat he communicated to her the necessity for her quitting the house in\nwhich she had passed the longest and happiest half of her life, and no\nlater than next day.\n\nTo his announcement that her private fortune would remain untouched, and\nthat she would be at liberty to reside in Memphis or to go to her own\nhouse in Alexandria, she indifferently replied that \"she should see.\"\n\nShe then enquired whether the Arabs had yet succeeded in capturing her\nson.\n\n\"Not actually,\" replied the Vekeel. \"But we know where he is hiding, and\nby to-morrow or the next day we shall lay hands on the unhappy young\nman.\"\n\nBut, as he spoke, the widow detected a malicious gleam in his eyes to\nwhich, so far, he had tried to give a sympathetic expression, and she\nwent on with a slight shake of the bead: \"Then it is a case of life and\ndeath?\"\n\n\"Compose yourself, noble lady,\" was the reply. \"Of death alone.\"\n\nNeforis looked up to heaven and for some minutes did not speak; then she\nasked:\n\n\"And who has accused him of robbery?\" \"The head of his own Church. . . .\"\n\n\"Benjamin?\" she murmured with a peculiar smile. Only yesterday she had\nmade her will in favor of the patriarch and the Church. \"If Benjamin\ncould see that,\" said she to herself, \"he would change his views of you\nand your people, and have prayers constantly said for us.\"\n\nAs she spoke no more the Vekeel sat looking at her inquisitively and\nsomewhat at a loss, till at length she rose, and with no little dignity\ndismissed him, remarking that now their business was at an end and she\nhad nothing further to say to him.\n\nThis closed the interview; and as the Vekeel quitted the fountain-room he\nmuttered to himself: \"What a woman! Either she is possessed and her brain\nis crazed, or she is of a rarely heroic pattern.\"\n\nNeforis was supported to her own room; when she was in bed she desired\nher maid to bring a small box out of her chest and place it on the little\ntable containing medicines by the bead of the couch.\n\nAs soon as she was alone she took out two letters which George had\nwritten to her before their marriage, and a poem which Orion had once\naddressed to her; she tried to read them, but the words danced before her\neyes, and she was forced to lay them aside. She took up a little packet\ncontaining hair cut from the heads of her sons after death, and a lock of\nher husband's. She gazed on these dear memorials with rapt tenderness,\nand now the poppy juice began to take effect: the images of those\ndeparted ones rose clear in her mind, and she was as near to them as\nthough they were standing in living actuality by her side.\n\nStill holding the curls in her hand, she looked up into vacancy, trying\nto apprehend clearly what had occurred within the last few hours and what\nlay before her: She must leave this room, this ample couch, this\nhouse--all, in short, that was bound up with the dearest memories of\nthose she had loved. She was to be forced to this--but did it beseem her\nto submit to this Negro, this stranger in the house where she was\nmistress? She shook her head with a scornful smile; then opening a glass\nphial, which was still half-full of opium pillules, she placed a few on\nher tongue and again gazed sky-wards.--Another face now looked down on\nher; she saw the husband from whom not even death could divide her, and\nat his feet their two murdered sons. Presently Orion seemed to rise out\nof the clouds, as a diver comes up from the water, and make for the shore\nof the island on which George and the other two seemed to be standing.\nHis father opened his arms to receive him and clasped him to his heart,\nwhile she herself--or was it only her wraith--went to the others, who\nhurried forward to greet her tenderly; and then her husband, too, met\nher, and she found rest on his bosom.\n\nFor hours, and long before the incursion of the Arabs, she had been\nfeeling half stunned and her mind clouded; but now a delicious,\nslumberous lethargy came over her, to which her whole being urged her to\nyield. But every time her eyes closed, the thought of the morrow shot\nthrough her brain, and finally, with a great effort, she sat up, took\nsome water--which was always close at hand--shook into it the remaining\npillules in the bottle, and drank it off to the very last drop.\n\nHer hand was steady; the happy smile on her lips, and the eager\nexpression of her eyes, might have led a spectator to believe that she\nwas thirsty and had mixed herself a refreshing draught. She had no look\nof a desperate creature laying violent hands on her own life; she felt no\nhesitancy, no fear of death, no burthen of the guilt she was\nincurring--nothing but ecstatic weariness and hope; blissful hope of a\nlife without end, united to those she loved.\n\nHardly had she swallowed the deadly draught when she shivered with a\nsudden chill. Raising herself a little she called her maid, who was\nsitting up in the adjoining room; and as the woman looked alarmed at her\nmistress's fixed stare, she stammered out: \"A priest--quick--I am dying.\"\n\nThe woman flew off to the viridarium to call Sebek, who was standing in\nfront of the tablinum with the Vekeel; she told him what had happened,\nand the Negro gave him leave to obey his dying mistress, escorting him as\nfar as the gate. Just outside, the steward met a deacon who had been\ngiving the blessing of the Church to a poor creature dying of the\npestilence, and in a few minutes they were standing by the widow's bed.\n\nThe locks of her sons' hair lay by her side; her hands were folded over a\ncrucifix; but her eyes, which had been fixed on the features of the\nSaviour, had wandered from it and again gazed up to Heaven.\n\nThe priest spoke her name, but she mistook him for her son and murmured\nin loving accents:\n\n\"Orion, poor, poor child! And you, Mary, my darling, my sweet little pet!\nYour father--yes, dear boy, only come with me.--Your father is kind again\nand forgives you. All those I loved are together now, and no one--Who can\npart us? Husband--George, listen. . .\"\n\nThe priest performed his office, but she paid no heed, still staring\nupwards; her smiling lips continued to move, but no articulate sound came\nfrom them. At last they were still, her eyelids fell, her hands dropped\nthe crucifix, a slight shiver ran through her limbs, which then relaxed,\nand she opened her mouth as though to draw a deeper breath. But it closed\nno more, and when the faithful steward pressed her lips together her face\nwas rigid and her heart had ceased to beat.\n\nThe honest man sobbed aloud; when he carried the melancholy news to the\nVekeel, Obada growled out a curse, and said to a subaltern officer who\nwas super-intending the loading of his camels with the treasures from the\ntablinum:\n\n\"I meant to have treated that cursed old woman with conspicuous\ngenerosity, and now she has played me this trick; and in Medina they will\nlay her death at my door, unless. . .\"\n\nBut here he broke off; and as he once more watched the loading of the\ncamels, he only thought to himself: \"In playing for such high stake's, a\nfew gold pieces more or less do not count. A few more heads must fall\nyet--the handsome Egyptian first and foremost.--If the conspirators at\nMedina only play their part! The fall of Omar means that of Amru, and\nthat will set everything right.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nKatharina slept little and rose very early, as was her habit, while\nHeliodora was glad to sleep away the morning hours. In this scorching\nseason they were, to be sure, the pleasantest of the twenty-four, and the\nwater-wagtail usually found them so; but to-day, though a splendid Indian\nflower had bloomed for the first time, and the head gardener pointed it\nout to her with just pride, she could not enjoy it and be glad. It might\nperish for aught she cared, and the whole world with it!\n\nThere was no one stirring yet in the next garden, but the tall leech\nPhilippus might be seen coming along the road to pay a visit to the\nwomen.\n\nA few swift steps carried her to the gate, whence she called him. She\nmust entreat him to say nothing of her last night's expedition; but\nbefore she had time to prefer her request he had paused to tell her that\nthe widow of the Mukaukas, overcome by alarm and horror, had followed her\nhusband to the next world.\n\nThere had been a time when Katharina had been devoted to Neforis,\nregarding her as a second mother; when the governor's residence had\nseemed to her the epitome of all that was great, venerable, and\nillustrious; and when she had been proud and happy to be allowed to run\nin and out, and to be loved like a child of the family. The tears that\nstarted to her eyes were sincere, and it was a relief to her, too, to lay\naside the gay and defiantly happy mien which she wore as a mask, while\nall in her soul was dark, wild, and desperate.\n\nThe physician understood her grief; he readily promised not to betray her\nto any one, and did not blame her, though he again pointed out the danger\nshe had incurred and earnestly insisted that every article of clothing,\nwhich she or Heliodora had worn, must be destroyed. The subtle germ of\nthe malady, he said, clung to everything; every fragment of stuff which\nhad been touched by the plague-stricken was especially fitted to carry\nthe infection and disseminate the disease. She listened to him in deep\nalarm, but she could satisfy him on this point; everything she or her\ncompanion had worn had been burnt in the bath-room furnace.\n\nThe physician went on; and she, heedless of the growing heat, wandered\nrestlessly about the grounds. Her heart beat with short, quick, painful\njerks; an invisible burthen weighed upon her and prevented her breathing\nfreely. A host of torturing thoughts haunted her unbidden; they were not\nto be exorcised, and added to her misery: Neforis dead; the residence in\nthe hands of the Arabs; Orion bereft of his possessions and held guilty\nof a capital crime.\n\nAnd the peaceful house beyond the hedge--what trouble was hanging over\nits white-haired master and his guileless wife and daughter? A storm was\ngathering, she could see it approaching--and beyond it, like another\nmurky, death-dealing thunder-cloud, was the pestilence, the fearful\npestilence.\n\nAnd it was she, a fragile, feeble girl--a volatile water-wagtail--who had\nbrought all these terrors down on them, who had opened the sluice-gates\nthrough which ruin was now beginning to pour in on all around her. She\ncould see the flood surging, swelling--saw it lapping round her own\nhouse, her own feet; drops of sweat bedewed her forehead and hands from\nterror at the mere thought. And yet, and yet!--If she had really had the\npower to bind calamity in the clouds, to turn the tide back into its\nchannel, she would not have done so! The uttermost that she longed for,\nas the fruit of the seed she had sown and which she longed to see ripen,\nhad not yet come to pass--and to see that she would endure anything, even\ndeath and parting from this deceitful, burning, unlovely world.\n\nDeath awaited Orion; and before it overtook him he should know who had\nsharpened the sword. Perhaps he might escape with his life; but the Arab\nwould not disgorge what he once had seized, and if that young and\nsplendid Croesus should come out of prison alive, but a beggar,\nthen--then. . . . And as for Paula! As for Heliodora! For once her little\nhand had wrenched the thunderbolts from Zeus' eagle, and she would find\none for them!\n\nThe sense of her terrible power, to which more than one victim had\nalready fallen, intoxicated her. She would drive Orion--Orion who had\nbetrayed her--into utter ruin and misery; she would see him a beggar at\nher feet!--And this it was that gave her courage to do her worst; this,\nand this alone. What she would do then, she herself knew not; that lay as\nyet in the womb of the Future. She might take a fancy to do something\nkind, compassionate, and tender.\n\nBy the time she went into the house again her fears and depression had\nvanished; revived energy possessed her soul, and the little eavesdropper\nand tale-bearer had become in this short hour a purposeful and terrible\nwoman, ready for any crime.\n\n\"Poor little lamb!\" thought Philippus, as he went into Rufinus' garden.\n\"That miserable man may have brought pangs enough to her little heart!\"\n\nHis old friend's garden-plot was deserted. Under the sycamore, however,\nhe perceived the figures of a very tall young man and a pretty woman,\ndelicate, fair-haired, and rather pale. The big young fellow was holding\na skein of wool on his huge, outstretched hands; the girl was winding it\non to a ball. These were Rustem the Masdakite and Mandane, both now\nrecovered from their injuries; the girl, indeed, had been restored to the\nnew life of a calm and understanding mind. Philippus had watched over\nthis wonderful resuscitation with intense interest and care. He ascribed\nit, in the first instance, to the great loss of blood from the wound in\nher head; and secondly, to the fresh air and perfect nursing she had had.\nAll that was now needful was to protect her against agitation and violent\nemotions. In the Masdakite she had found a friend and a submissive\nadorer; and Philippus could rejoice as he looked at the couple, for his\nskill had indeed brought him nothing but credit.\n\nHis greeting to them was cheery and hearty, and in answer to his enquiry:\n\"How are you getting on?\" Rustem replied, \"As lively as a fish in water,\"\nadding, as he pointed to Mandane, \"and I can say the same for my\nfellow-countrywoman.\"\n\n\"You are agreed then?\" said the leech, and she nodded eager assent.\n\nAt this Philippus shook his finger at the man, exclaiming: \"Do not get\ntoo tightly entangled here, my friend. Who knows how soon Haschim may\ncall you away.\"\n\nThen, turning his back on the convalescents, he murmured to himself:\n\"Here again is something to cheer us in the midst of all this\ntrouble-these two, and little Mary.\"\n\nRufinus, before starting on his journey, had sent back all the crippled\nchildren he had had in his care to their various parents; thus the\nanteroom was empty.\n\nThe women apparently were at breakfast in the dining-room. No, he was\nmistaken; it was yet too early, and Pulcheria was still busy laying the\ntable. She did not notice him as he went in, for she was busy arranging\ngrapes, figs, pomegranates and sycamore-figs, a fruit resembling\nmulberries in flavor which grow in clusters from the trunk of the\ntree-between leaves, which the drought and heat of the past weeks had\nturned almost yellow. The tempting heap was fast rising in an elegant\nmany-hued hemisphere; but her thoughts were not in her occupation, for\ntears were coursing each other down her cheeks.\n\n\"Those tears are for her father,\" thought the leech as he watched her\nfrom the threshold. \"Poor child!\"--How often he had heard his old friend\ncall her so!\n\nAnd till now he had never thought of her but as a child; but to-day he\nmust look at her with different eyes--her own father had enjoined it. And\nin fact he gazed at her as though he beheld a miracle.\n\nWhat had come over little Pulcheria?--How was it that he had never\nnoticed it before?--It was a well-grown maiden that he saw, moving round,\nsnowwhite arms; and he could have sworn that she had only thin, childish\narms, for she had thrown them round his neck many a time when she had\nridden up and down the garden on his back, calling him her fine horse.\n\nHow long ago was that? Ten years! She was now seventeen!\n\nAnd how slender, and delicate, and white her hands were--those hands for\nwhich her mother had often scolded her when, after building castles of\nsand, she had sat down to table unwashed.\n\nNow she was laying the grapes round the pomegranates, and he remembered\nhow Horapollo, only yesterday, had praised her dainty skill.\n\nThe windows were well screened, but a few sunbeams forced their way into\nthe room and fell on her red-gold hair. Even the fair Boeotians, whom he\nhad admired in his student-days at Athens, had no such glorious crown of\nhair. That she had a sweet and pretty face he had always known; but now,\nas she raised her eyes and first observed him, meeting his gaze with\nmaidenly embarrassment and sweet surprise, and yet with perfect welcome,\nhe felt himself color and he had to pause a moment to collect himself\nbefore he could respond with something more than an ordinary greeting to\nhers. The dialogue that flashed through his mind in that instant began\nwith sentences full of meaning. But all he said was:\n\n\"Yes, here I am,\" which really did not deserve the hearty reply:\n\n\"Thank God for that!\" nor the bewitching embarrassment of the explanation\nthat ensued: \"on my mother's account.\"\n\nAgain he blushed; he, the man who had long since forgotten his youthful\nshyness. He asked after Dame Joanna, and how she was bearing her trouble,\nand then he said gravely: \"I was the bearer of bad news yesterday, and\nto-day again I have come like a bird of ill-omen.\"\n\n\"You?\" she said with a smile, and the simple word conveyed so sweet a\ndoubt of his capacity for bringing evil that he could not help saying to\nhimself that his friend, in leaving this child, this girl, to his care,\nhad bequeathed to him the best gift that one mortal can devise to\nanother: a dear, trustful, innocent daughter--or no, a younger sister--as\npure, as engaging, and as lovable as only the child of such parents could\nbe.\n\nWhile he stood telling her of what had happened at the governor's house,\nhe noted how deeply, for Paula's and Mary's sake, she took to heart the\nwidow's death, though Neforis had been nothing to her; and he decided\nthat he would at once make Pulcheria's mother acquainted with her dead\nhusband's wishes.\n\nAll this did not supplant his old passion for Paula; far from it--that\ntortured him still as deeply and hotly as ever. But at the same time he\nwas conscious of its evil influence; he knew that by cherishing it he was\ndoing himself harm--nay a real injury since it was not returned. He knew\nthat within reach of Paula, and condemned to live with her, he could\nnever recover his peace, but must suffer constant pangs. It was only away\nfrom her, and yet under the same roof with Joanna and her daughter, that\nhe could ever hope to be a contented and happy man; but he dared not put\nthis thought into words.\n\nPulcheria detected that he had something in reserve, and feared lest he\nshould know of some new impending woe; however, on this head he could\nreassure her, telling her that, on the contrary, he had something in his\nmind which, so far at least as he was concerned, was a source of\npleasure. Her grieved and anxious spirit could indeed hardly believe him;\nand he begged her not to lose all hope in better days, asking her if she\nhad true and entire trust in him.\n\nShe warmly replied that he must surely feel that she did; and now, as the\nothers came into the room, she nodded to her mother, whom she had already\nseen quite early, and offering him her hand shook his heartily. This had\nbeen a restful interval; but the sight of Paula, and the news he had to\ngive her, threw him back into his old depressed and miserable mood.\n\nLittle Mary, whose cheeks had recovered their roses and who looked quite\nwell again, threw her arms round Paula's neck as she heard the evil\ntidings; but Paula herself was calmer than he had expected. She turned\nvery pale at the first shock, but soon she could listen to him with\ncomposure, and presently quite recovered her usual demeanor. Philippus,\nas he watched her, had to control himself sternly, and as soon as\npossible he took his leave.\n\nIt was as though he had been fated once more to see with agonizing\nclearness what he had lost in her; she walked through life as though\nborne up by lofty feeling, and a thoughtful radiance lent her noble\nfeatures a bewitching charm which grieved while it enchanted him.\n\nOrion a prisoner, and all his possessions confiscated! The thought had\nhorrified her for a little while; but then it had come to her that this\nwas just as it should be--that what had at first looked like a dreadful\ndisaster had been sent to enable her love to cast off its husks, to\nappear in all its loftiness and purity, and to give it, by the help of\nthe All-merciful, its true consecration.\n\nShe did not fear for his life, for he had told her and written to her\nthat Amru had been paternal in his kindness; and all that had occurred\nwas, she was sure, the work of the Vekeel, of whose odious and cruel\ncharacter he had given her a horrible picture that day when Rufinus had\ngone to warn the abbess.\n\nWhen Philippus had left his friends, he sighed deeply. How different he\nhad found these women from what he had expected. Yes, his old friend knew\nmen well!\n\nFrom trifling details he had succeeded in forming a more accurate idea of\nPulcheria than the leech himself had gained in years of intimacy.\nHorapollo had foreseen, too, that the danger which threatened the\nMukaukas' son would fan Paula's passions like a fresh breeze; and Joanna,\nfrail, ailing Joanna! she had behaved heroically under the loss of the\ncompanion with whom she had lived for so many years in faithful love. He\ncould not help comparing her with the wretched Neforis; what was it that\nenabled one to bear the equal loss with so much more dignity than the\nother? Nothing but the presence of the tender-hearted Pulcheria, who\nshared her sorrow with such beautiful resignation, such ready and\ncomplete sympathy. This the governor's widow had wholly lacked; and how\nhappy were they who could call such a heart their own! He walked through\nthe garden with his head bent, and looking neither to the right hand nor\nthe left.\n\nThe Masdakite, who was still sitting with Mandane under the sycamore, as\nindifferent to the torrid heat as she was, looked after him, and said\nwith a sigh as he pointed to him:\n\n\"There he goes. This is the first time he ever said a rude word to you or\nto me: or did you not understand?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said she in a low voice, looking down at her needlework.\n\nThey talked in Persian, for she had not forgotten the language which her\nmother had spoken till her dying day.\n\nLife is sometimes as strange as a fairy-tale; and the accident was indeed\nwonderful which had brought these two beings, of all others, at the same\ntime to the sick room. His distant home was also hers, and he even knew\nher uncle--her father's brother--and her father's sad history.\n\nWhen the Greek army had taken possession of the province where they had\nlived, the men had fled into the woods with their flocks and herds, while\nthe women and children took refuge in the fortress which defended the\nmain road. This had not long held out against the Byzantines, and the\nwomen, among them Mandane with her mother, had been handed over to the\nsoldiers as precious booty. Her father had then joined the troops to\nrescue the women, but he and his comrades had only lost their lives in\nthe attempt. To this day the valiant man's end was a tale told in his\nnative place, and his property and valuable rose gardens now belonged to\nhis younger brother. So the two convalescents had plenty to talk about.\n\nIt was curious to note how clearly the memories of her childhood were\nstamped on Mandane's mind.\n\nShe had laid her wounded head on the pillow of sickness with a darkened\nbrain, and the new pain had lifted the veil from her mind as a storm\nclears the oppressive atmosphere of a sultry summer's day. She loved to\nlinger now among the scenes of her childhood--the time when she had a\nmother.--Or she would talk of the present; all between was like a\nnight-sky black, and only lighted up by an awful comet and shining stars.\nThat comet was Orion. All she had enjoyed with him and suffered through\nhim she consigned to the period of her craziness; she had taught herself\nto regard it all as part of the madness to which she had been a victim.\nHer nature was not capable of cherishing hatred and she could feel no\nanimosity towards the Mukaukas' son. She thought of him as of one who,\nwithout evil intent, had done her great wrong; one whom she might not\neven remember without running into peril.\n\n\"Then you mean to say,\" the Masdakite began once more, \"that you would\nreally miss me if Haschim sent for me?\"\n\n\"Yes indeed, Rustem; I should be very sorry.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said the other, passing his hand over his big head, on which the\ndense mane of hair which had been shaved off was beginning to grow again.\n\"Well then, Mandane, in that case--I wanted to say it yesterday, but I\ncould not get it out.--Tell me: why would you be sorry if I were to leave\nyou?\"\n\n\"Because--well, no one can have all their reasons ready; because you have\nalways been kind to me; and because you came from my country, and talk\nPersian with me as my mother used.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\" said the man slowly, and he rubbed his forehead.\n\n\"No, no. Because--if once you go away, you will not be here.\"\n\n\"Aye that is it; that is just the thing. And if you would be sorry for\nthat, then you must have liked being here--with me.\"\n\n\"And why not? It has been very nice,\" said the girl blushing and trying\nnot to meet his eyes.\n\n\"That it has--and that it is!\" cried Rustem, striking his palm with the\nother huge fist. \"And that is why I must have it out; that is why, if we\nhave any sense, we two need never part.\"\n\n\"But your master is sure to want you,\" said she with growing confusion,\n\"and we cannot always remain a burthen on the kind folks here. I shall\nnot work at the loom again; but as I am now free, and have the scroll\nthat proves it, I must soon look about for some employment. And a strong,\nhealthy fellow like you cannot always be nursing yourself.\"\n\n\"Nursing myself!\" and he laughed gaily. \"I will earn money, and enough\nfor three!\"\n\n\"By your camels always, up and down the country?\"\n\n\"I have done with that,\" said he with a grin. \"We will go back to our own\ncountry; there I will buy a good piece of pasture land, for my eldest\nbrother has our little estate, and you may ask Haschim whether I\nunderstand camel-breeding.\"\n\n\"But Rustem, consider.\"\n\n\"Consider! Think this, and think that! Where there's a will there's a\nway. That is the upshot of it all. And if you mean to say that before you\nbuy you must have money, and that the best may come to grief, all I can\ntell you is. . . . Can you read? No? nor I; but here in my pocket I have\nmy accounts in the master's own hand. Eleven thousand, three hundred and\nsixty drachmae were due to me for wages the last time we reckoned: all\nthe profit the master had set down to my credit since I led his caravan.\nHe has kept almost all of it for me; for food was allowed, and there was\nalmost always a bit of stuff for a garment to be found among the bales,\nand I never was a sot. Eleven thousand, three hundred and sixty drachmae!\nHey, little one, that is the figure. And now what do you say? Can we buy\nsomething with that? Yes or no?\"\n\nHe looked at her triumphantly, and she eagerly replied: \"Yes, yes indeed;\nand in our country I think something worth having.\"\n\n\"And we--you and I--we will begin a quite new life. I was seventeen when\nI first set out with my master, and I was twenty-six last midsummer. How\nmany years wandering does that make?\"\n\nThey both thought this over for some time; then Mandane said doubtfully\n\n\"If I am not mistaken it is eight.\"\n\n\"I believe it is nine,\" he exclaimed. \"Let us see. Here, give me your\nlittle paw! There, I begin with seventeen, that is where I started. First\nyour little-finger--what a mite of a thing, and then the rest.\" He took\nher right hand and counted off her fingers till he ended with the last\nfinger of the left. The result puzzled him; he shook his head, saying:\n\"There are ten fingers on both hands, sure enough, and yet it cannot be\nten years; it is nine at most I know.\"\n\nHe began the counting, which he liked uncommonly, all over again; but\nwith the same result. Mandane said it was but nine, she had counted it up\nherself; and he agreed, and declared that her little fingers must be\nbewitched. And this game would have gone on still longer but that she\nremembered that the seventeen must not be included at all, and that he\nought to begin with eighteen. Rustem could not immediately take this in,\nand even when he admitted it he did not release her hand, but went on\nwith gay resolution:\n\n\"And you see, my girl, I mean to keep this little hand--you may pull it\naway if you choose--but it is mine, and the pretty little maid, and all\nthat belongs to it. And I will take you and both your hands, bewitched\nfingers and all, home with me. There they may weave and stitch as much as\nyou like; but as man and wife no one shall part us, and we will lead a\nlife such a life! The joys of Paradise shall be no better than a rap on\nthe skull with an olive-wood log in comparison!\"\n\nHe tried to take her hand again, but she drew it away, saying in deep\nconfusion and without looking up: \"No, Rustem. I was afraid yesterday\nthat it would come to this; but it can never, never be. I am\ngrateful--oh! so grateful; but no, it cannot be, and that must be the end\nof it. I can never be your wife. Rustem.\"\n\n\"No?\" he asked with a scowl, and the veins swelled in his low forehead.\n\"Then you have been making a fool of me!--as to the gratitude you talk\nof. . . .\"\n\nHe stood up in hot excitement; she laid her hand on his arm, drew him\ndown on to the seat again, and ventured to steal an imploring look into\nhis eyes, which never could long flash with anger. Then she said:\n\nHow you break out! I shall really and truly be very grieved to part from\nyou; cannot you see that I am fond of you? But indeed, indeed it will\nnever do, I--oh! if only I might go back, home, and with you. Yes, with\nyou, as your wife. What a proud and happy thought! And how gladly would I\nwork for us both--for I am very handy and hard-working, but. . . .\"\n\n\"But?\" he repeated, and he put his big, sun-burnt face close to hers,\nlooking as if he could break her in pieces.\n\n\"But it cannot be, for your sake; it must not be, positively, certainly.\nI will not make you so bad a return for all your kindness. What! have you\nforgotten what I was, what I am? You, as a freeman, will soon have a nice\nlittle estate at home, and may command respect and reverence from all;\nbut how different it would be if you had a wife like me at your heels--if\nonly from the fact that I was once a slave.\"\n\n\"That is the history of it all!\" he interrupted, and his brow cleared.\n\"That is what is troubling your dear little soul! But do you not know who\nand what I am? Have I not told you what a Masdakite is?\n\n   [Eutychius, Bishop of Alexandria thus describes the communistic\n   doctrine of Masdak: \"God has given to men on earth that which is of\n   the earth to the end that it may be divided equally among them, and\n   that no more falls to the lot of one than another. And if one hath\n   more than is seemly of money or wives or slaves or movable goods, we\n   will take it from him to the end that he and the rest may be equal.\"]\n\nWe Masdakites believe, nay, we know, that all men are born equal, and\nthat this mad-cap world would be a better place if there were neither\nmasters nor servants; however, as things are, so they must remain. The\ngreat Lord of Heaven will suffer it yet for a season; but sooner or\nlater, perhaps very soon, everything will be quite different, and it is\nour business to make ready for the day of equality. Then Paradise will\nreturn on earth; there will be none greater or less than another, but we\nshall all walk hand-in-hand and stand by each other on an equal footing.\nThen shall war and misery cease; for all that is fair and good on earth\nbelongs to all men in common; and then all men shall be as willing to\ngive and to help others, as they now are to seize and to oppress.--We\nhave no marriage bond like other people; but when a man loves a woman he\nsays, 'Will you be mine?' and if her heart consents she follows him home;\nand one may quit the other if love grows cold. Still, no married couple,\nwhether Christian or Parsee, ever clung together more faithfully than my\nparents or my grandparents; and we will do the same to the end, for our\nlove will bind us firmly together with strong cords that will last longer\nthan our lives.--So now you know the doctrine of our master Masdak; my\nfather and grandfather both followed it, and I was taught it by my mother\nwhen I was a little child. All in our village were Masdakites; and there\nwas not a slave in the place; the land belonged to all in common and was\ntilled by all, and the harvest was equally shared. However, they no\nlonger receive strangers, and I must seek for fellow-believers elsewhere.\nStill, a Masdakite I shall always remain; and, if I were to take a slave\nfor my wife, I should only be acting on the precepts of the master and\nhelping them on. But as for you, the case does not apply to you, for you\nare the child of a brave freeman, respected in all the land; our people\nwill regard you as a prisoner of war, not as a slave. They will look up\nto me as your deliverer. And if I had found you, just as you are, the\nmeanest of slaves and keeping pigs, I would have put my hand in my wallet\nat once and have bought your freedom and have carried you off home as my\nwife--and no Masdakite who saw you would ever blame me. Now you know all\nabout it, and there, I hope, is an end of your coyness and mincing.\"\n\nMandane, however, still would not yield; she looked at him with eyes that\nentreated his pity, and pointed to her cropped ears.\n\nRustem shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. \"Of course, that too, into\nthe bargain; You will not let me off any part of it! If it had been your\neyes now, you would not have been able to see, and no countryman can do\nwith a blind wife, so I should leave you where you are. But you, little\none, have hearing as sharp as a bird's? And what bird--pretty little\nthings--did you ever see with ears, unless it were a bat or a nasty\nowl?--That is all nonsense. Besides, who can see what you have lost now\nthat Pulcheria has brought your hair down so prettily? And do not you\nremember the head-dress our women wear? You might have ears as long as a\nhare's, and what good would it do you?--no one could see them. Just as\nyou are, a lily grown like a cypress, you are ten times sweeter to look\nat than the prettiest girl there, if she had three or even four ears. A\ngirl with three ears! Only think, Mandane, where could the third ear\ngrow?\"\n\nHow heartily he laughed, and how glad he was to have hit on this jest and\nhave turned off a subject which might so well be painful to her! But his\nmirth failed of its effect, and only brought a silent smile to her lips.\nEven this died quickly away, and in its place there came such a sad,\npathetic expression, as she hung her pretty head, that he could neither\ncarry on the joke nor reproach her sharply. He said compassionately, with\na little shake of the head:\n\n\"But you must not look like that, my pigeon: I cannot bear it. What is it\nthat is weighing on your little soul? Courage, courage, sweetheart, and\nmake a clean breast of it!--But no! Do not speak. I can spare you that! I\nknow, poor little darling--it is that old story of the governor's son.\"\n\nShe nodded, and her eyes filled with tears; and he, with a loud sigh,\nexclaimed: \"I thought as much, I was right, poor child!\"\n\nHe took her hand, and went on bravely:\n\n\"Yes, that has given me some bad hours, too, and a great deal to think\nabout; in fact, I came very near to leaving you alone and spoiling my own\nhappiness and yours too. But I came to my senses before it was too late.\nNot on account of what Dame Joanna said the day before yesterday--though\nwhat she says must be true, and she told me that all--you know what--was\nat an end. No; my own sense told me this time; for I said to myself: Such\na motherless, helpless little thing, a slave, too, and as pretty as the\nangels, her master's son took a fancy to her, how could she defend\nherself? And how cruelly the poor little soul was punished!--Yes, little\none, you may well weep! Why, my own eyes are full of tears. Well, so it\nhad to be and so it was. You and I and the Lord Almighty and the Hosts of\nHeaven--who can do anything against us?--So you see that even a poor fool\nlike me can understand how it all came about; and I do not accuse you,\nnor have I anything to forgive. It was just a dreadful misfortune. But it\nhas come to a good end, thank God I and I can forget it entirely and for\never, if only you can say: 'It is all over and done with and buried like\nthe dead!'\"\n\nBefore he could hinder her, she snatched his hand, to her lips with\npassionate affection and sobbed out:\n\n\"You are so good! Oh! Rustem, there is not another man on earth so good\nas you are, and my mother will bless you for it. Do what you will with\nme! And I declare to you, once for all that all that is past and gone,\nand only to think of it gives me horror. And it was exactly as you say:\nmy mother dead, no one to warn me or protect me,--I was hardly sixteen, a\nsimple, ignorant creature, and he called me, and it all came over me like\na dream in my sleep; and when I awoke. . . .\"\n\n\"There we are,\" he interrupted and he tried to laugh as he wiped his\neyes. \"Both laid up with holes in our heads.--And when I am in my own\ncountry I always think the prettiest time is just when the hard\nwinter-frost is over, and the snow melted, and all the flowers in the\nvalleys rush into bloom--and so I feel now, my little girl. Everything\nwill be well now, we shall be so wonderfully happy. The day before\nyesterday, do you know, I still was not quite clear about it all. Your\ntrouble gave me no peace, and it went against the grain-well, you can\nunderstand. But then, later, when I was lying in my room and the moon\nshone down on my bed . . . \" and a rapt expression came into his face that\nstrangely beautified his harsh features, \"I could not help asking myself:\n'Although the moon went down into the sea this morning, does that prevent\nits shining as brightly as ever to-night, and bringing a cooler breeze?'\nAnd if a human soul has gone under in the same way, may it not rise up\nagain, bright and shining, when it has bathed and rested? And such a\nheart--of course every man would like to have its love all to himself,\nbut it may have enough to give more than once. For, as I remembered, my\nmother, though she loved me dearly, when another child came and yet\nanother gave them the best she had to give; and I was none the worse when\nshe had my youngest sister at the breast, nor was she when I was petted\nand kissed. And it must be just the same with you. Thought I to myself:\nthough she once loved another man, she may still have a good share left\nfor me!\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, Rustem!\" she exclaimed, looking tearfully but gratefully\ninto his eyes. \"All that is in me of love and tenderness is for you--for\nyou only.\"\n\nAt this he joyfully exclaimed:\n\n\"All, that is indeed good hearing! That will do for me; that is what I\ncall a good morning's work! I sat down under this tree a vagabond and a\nwanderer, and I get up a future land-holder, with the sweetest little\nwife in the world to keep house for me.\"\n\nThey sat a long time under the shady foliage; he craved no more than to\ngaze at her and, when he put the old questions asked by all lovers, to be\nanswered with lips and eyes, or merely a speechless nod. Her hands no\nlonger plied the needle, and the pair would have smiled in pity on any\none who should have complained of the intolerable heat of this scorching,\nparching forenoon. A pair of turtle doves over their heads were less\nindifferent to the sun's rays than they, for the birds had closed their\neyes, and the head of the mother bird was resting languidly against the\ndark collar round her mate's neck.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 10.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nThe Vekeel, like the Persian lovers, did not allow the heat of the day to\ninterfere with his plans. He regarded the governor's house as his own;\nall he found there aroused, not merely his avarice, but his interest. His\nfirst object was to find some document which might justify his\nproceedings against Orion and the sequestration of his estates, in the\neyes of the authorities at Medina.\n\nGreat schemes were brewing there; if the conspiracy against the Khaliff\nOmar should succeed, he had little to fear; and the greater the sum he\ncould ere long forward to the new sovereign, the more surely he could\ncount on his patronage--a sum exceeding, if possible, the largest which\nhis predecessor had ever cast into the Khaliff's treasury.\n\nHe went from room to room with the curiosity and avidity of a child,\ntouching everything, testing the softness of the pillows, peeping into\nscrolls which he did not understand, tossing them aside, smelling at the\nperfumes in the dead woman's rooms, and the medicines she had used. He\nshowed his teeth with delight when he found in her trunks some costly\njewels and gold coins, stuck the finest of her diamond rings on his\nfinger, already covered with gems, and then eagerly searched every corner\nof the rooms which Orion had occupied.\n\nHis interpreter, who could read Greek, had to translate every document he\nfound that did not contain verses. While he listened, he clawed and\nstrummed on the young man's lyre and poured out the scented oil which\nOrion had been wont to use to smear it over his beard. In front of the\nbright silver mirror he could not cease from making faces.\n\nTo his great disgust he could find nothing among the hundred objects and\ntrifles that lay about to justify suspicion, till, just as he was leaving\nthe room, he noticed in a basket near the writing-table some discarded\ntablets. He at once pointed them out to the interpreter and, though there\nwas but little to read on the Diptychon,--[Double writing-tablets, which\nfolded together]--it seemed important to the negro for it ran as follows:\n\n\"Orion, the son of George, to Paula the daughter of Thomas!\n\n\"You have heard already that it is now impossible for me to assist in the\nrescue of the nuns. But do not misunderstand me. Your noble, and only too\nwell-founded desire to lend succor to your fellow-believers would have\nsufficed. . .\"\n\nFrom this point the words written on the wax were carefully effaced, and\nhardly a letter was decipherable; indeed, there were so few lines that it\nseemed as though the letter had never been ended-which was the fact.\n\nThough it gave the Vekeel no inculpating evidence against Orion it\npointed to his connection with the guilty parties: Paula, doubtless, had\nbeen concerned in the scheme which had cost the lives of so many brave\nMoslems. The negro had learnt, through the money-changer at Fostat, that\nshe was on terms of close intimacy with the Mukaukas' son and had\nentrusted her property to his stewardship. They must both be accused as\naccomplices in the deed, and the document proved Orion's knowledge of it,\nat any rate.\n\nPlotinus, the bishop, at whose instigation the fugitives had been chased,\ncould fill up what the damsel might choose to conceal.\n\nHe had started to follow the patriarch immediately after the pursuers had\nset out, and had only returned from Upper Egypt early on the previous\nday. On his arrival he had forwarded to the Vekeel two indictments\nbrought against Orion by the prelate: the first relating to the evasion\nof the nuns; the other to the embezzlement of a costly emerald; the\nrightful property of the church. These accusations were what had\nencouraged the Negro to confiscate the young man's estate, particularly\nas the bitter tone of the patriarch's document sufficiently proved that\nin him he had found an ally.\n\nPaula must next be placed in safe custody, and he had no doubt whatever\nthat her statement would incriminate Orion in some degree. He would\ngladly have cross-examined her at once, but he had other matters in hand\nto-day.\n\nThe longest part of his task was ransacking the treasurer's office; Nilus\nhimself had to conduct the search. Everything which he pointed out as a\nlegal document, title-deed, contract for purchase or sale, revenue\naccount or the like, was at once placed in oxcarts or on camels, with the\nlarge sums of gold and silver coin, and carried across the river under a\nstrong escort. All the more antique deeds and the family archives, the\nVekeel left untouched. He was indeed an indefatigable man, for although\nthese details kept him busy the whole day, he allowed himself no rest nor\ndid he once ask for the refreshment of food or a cooling draught. As the\nday went on he enquired again and again for the bishop, with increasing\nimpatience and irritation. It would have been his part to wait on the\npatriarch, but who was Plotinus? Thin-skinned, like all up-starts in\nauthority, he took the bishop's delay as an act of personal contumely.\nBut the shepherd of the flock at Memphis was not a haughty prelate, but a\nvery humble and pious minister. His superior, the patriarch, had\nentrusted him with an important mission to Amru or his lieutenant, and\nyet he could let the Vekeel wait in vain, and not even send him a message\nof explanation; in the afternoon, however, his old housekeeper dispatched\nthe acolyte who was attached to his person to seek Philippus. Her master,\na hale and vigorous man, had gone to bed by broad day-light a few hours\nafter his return home, and had not again left it. He was hot and thirsty,\nand did not seem fully conscious of where he was or of what was\nhappening.\n\nPlotinus had always maintained that prayer was the Christian's best\nmedicine; still, as his poor body had become alarmingly heated the old\nwoman ventured to send for the physician; but the messenger came back\nsaying that Philippus was absent on a journey. This was in fact the case:\nHe had quitted Memphis in obedience to a letter from Haschim. The\nmerchant's unfortunate son was not getting better. There seemed to be an\ninjury to some internal organ, which threatened his life. The anxious\nfather besought the leech, in whom he had the greatest confidence, to\nhasten to Djidda, there to examine the sufferer and undertake the case.\nAt the same time he desired that Rustem should join him as soon as his\nhealth would permit.\n\nThis letter--which ended with greetings to Paula, for whose father he was\nmaking diligent search--agitated Philippus greatly. How could he leave\nMemphis at a time of such famine and sickness?--And Dame Joanna and her\ndaughter!\n\nOn the other hand he was much drawn to get away on Paula's account--away,\nfar away; and then how gladly would he do his best to save that fine old\nman's son. In spite of all this he would have remained, but that his old\nfriend, quite unexpectedly, took Haschim's side of the question and\nimplored him to make the journey. He would make it his business and his\npleasure to take charge of the women in Rufinus' house; Philip's\nassistant could fill his place at the bedside of many of the sick, and\nthe rest could die without him. Had not he himself said that there was no\nremedy for the disease? Again, Philip had said not long since that there\ncould be no peace for him within reach of Paula: here was a favorable\nopportunity for escape without attracting remark, and at the same time\nfor doing a work of the truest charity.\n\nSo Philippus had yielded, and had started on his journey with very mixed\nfeelings.\n\nHorapollo did not devote any particular attention to his personal\ncomfort; but in one respect he took especial care of himself. He had\ngreat difficulty in walking and, as he loved to breathe the fresh air at\nsundown, and sometimes to study the stars at a late hour, he kept an ass\nof the best and finest breed. He did not hesitate to pay a high price for\nsuch a beast if it really answered his requirements; that is to say if it\nwere strong, surefooted, gentle, and light-colored. His father and\ngrandfather, priests of Isis, had always ridden white asses, and so he\nwould do the same.\n\nDuring the last few sultry weeks he had rarely gone out of doors, and\nto-day he waited till the hour before sunset before starting to keep his\npromise.\n\nRobed in snowy-white linen, with new sandals on his feet, freshly shaven,\nand protected from the sun's rays by a crisply curled, flowing wig, after\nthe manner of his fathers, as well as by an umbrella, he mounted his\nbeautiful white ass in the conviction that he had done his best for his\nouter man, and set forth, followed by his black slave trotting on foot.\n\nIt was not yet dark when he stopped at the house of Rufinus. His heart\nhad not beat so high for many a day.\n\n\"I feel as if I had come courting,\" said he, laughing at himself. \"Well,\nand I really am come to propose an alliance for the rest of my life!\nStill, curiosity, one would think, might be shed with the hair and the\nteeth!\" However, it still clung to him, and he could not deny to himself\nthat he was very curious as to the person whom he hated, though he had\nnever seen her, simply because she was the daughter of a patrician and a\nprefect, and had made his Philippus miserable. As he was dismounting, a\ngraceful young girl and an older woman, in very costly though simple\ndresses, came through the garden. These must be the water-wagtail, and\nOrion's Byzantine guest.--How annoying! So many women at once!\n\nTheir presence here could only embarrass and disturb him--a lonely\nstudent unused to the society of women. However, there was no help for\nit; and the new-comers were not so bad after all.\n\nKatharina was a very attractive, pretty little mouse, and even without\nher millions much too good for the libertine Orion. The matron, who had a\nkind, pleasant face, was exactly what Philippus had described her. But\nthen--and this spoilt all--in their presence he must not allude to the\ndeath of Rufinus, so that he could not mention his proposed arrangement.\nHe had swallowed all that dust, and borne that heat for nothing, and\nto-morrow he must ignominiously go through it all again!\n\nThe first people he met were a handsome young couple: Rustem and Mandane.\nThere could be no doubt as to their identity; so he went up to them and\ngave Rustem the merchant's message, offering in Philip's name to advance\nthe money for the journey. But the Masdakite patted his sleeve, in which\nhe carried a good round sum in gold pieces, and exclaimed cheerily:\n\n\"It is all here, and enough for two travellers to the East.--My little\nwife, by your leave; the time has come, little pigeon! Off we go,\nhomeward bound!\"\n\nThe huge fellow shouted it out in his deep voice with such effervescent\ncontentment, and the pretty girl, as she looked up at him, was so glad,\nso much in love, and so grateful, that it quite cheered the old man; and\nhe, who read an omen in every incident, accepted this meeting as of good\naugury at his first entering the house which was probably to be his home.\n\nHis visit went on as well as it had begun, for he was welcomed very\nwarmly both by the widow and daughter of Rufinus. Pulcheria at once\npushed forward her father's arm-chair and placed a pillow behind his\nback, and she did it so quietly, so simply, and so amiably that it warmed\nhis old heart, and he said to himself that it would be almost too much of\na good thing to have such care given him every day and every hour.\n\nHe could not forbear from a kindly jest with the young girl over her\nattentions, and Martina at once entered into the joke. She had seen him\ncoming on his fine ass; she praised the steed, and then refused to\nbelieve that the rider was past eighty. His news of Philip's departure\nwas regretted by all, and he was delighted to perceive that Pulcheria\nseemed startled and presently shrank into the background. What a sweet,\npure, kind face the child had--and pretty withal; she must and should be\nhis little daughter; and all the while he was talking, or listening to\nKatharina's small jokes and a friendly catechism from Martina and Dame\nJoanna, in his mind's eye he saw Philippus and that dear little creature\nas man and wife, surrounded by pretty children playing all about him.\n\nHe had come to comfort and to condole, and lo! he was having as pleasant\nan hour as he had known in a long time.\n\nHe and the other visitors had been received in the vindarium, which was\nnow brightly lighted up, and now and then he glanced at the doors which\nopened on this, the centre of the house, trying to imagine what the\ndifferent rooms should by-and-bye be used for.\n\nBut he heard a light step behind him; Martina rose, the water-wagtail\nhurried to meet the new-comer, and there appeared on the scene the tall\nfigure of a girl dressed in mourning-robes. She greeted the matron with\ndistinguished dignity, cast a cordial glance of sympathetic intelligence\nto Joanna and Pulcheria, and when the mistress of the house told her who\nthe old man was, she went up to him and held out her hand--a cool,\nslender hand, as white as marble; the true patrician hand.\n\nYes, she was beautiful, wonderfully beautiful! He could hardly remember\never to have seen her equal. A spotless masterpiece of the Creator's\nhand, made like some unapproachable goddess, to command the worship of\nsubject adorers; however, she must renounce all hope of his, for those\nmarble features, all the whiter by contrast with her black dress, had no\nattraction for him. No warming glow shone in those proud eyes; and under\nthat lordly bosom beat no loving or lovable heart; he shivered at the\ntouch of her fingers, and her presence, he thought, had a chilling and\nparalyzing influence on all the party.\n\nThis was, in fact, the case.\n\nPaula had been sent for to see the senator's wife and Katharina. Martina,\nthought she, had come out of mere curiosity, and she had a preconceived\ndislike to any one connected with Heliodora. She had lost her confidence\nin the water-wagtail, for only two days ago the acolyte in personal\nattendance on the bishop--and whose child Rufinus had cured of a lame\nfoot--had been to the house to warn Joanna against the girl. Katharina,\nhe told her, had a short while since betrayed to Plotinus some important\nsecret relating to her husband, and the bishop had immediately gone over\nto Fostat. It was hard to believe such a thing of any friend, still, the\ngirl who, by her own confession, had been so ready to play the part of\nspy in the neighboring garden, was the only person who would have told\nthe prelate what plan was in hand for the rescue of the sisters. The\nacolyte's positive statement, indeed, left no room for doubt.\n\nIt was not in Paula's nature to think ill of others; but in this case her\ncandid spirit, incapable of falsehood, would not suffer her to be\nanything but cool to the child; the more effusively Katharina clung to\nher, the more icily Paula repelled her.\n\nThe old man saw this, and he concluded that this mien and demeanor were\nnatural to Paula at all times patrician haughtiness, cold-hearted\nselfishness, the insolent and boundless pride of the race he\nloathed--noble by birth alone--stood before him incarnate. He hated the\nwhole class, and he hated this specimen of the class; and his aversion\nincreased tenfold as he remembered what woe this cold siren had wrought\nfor the son of his affections and might bring on him if she should thwart\nhis favorite project. Sooner would he end his days in loneliness, parted\neven from Philippus, than share his home, his table, and his daily life\nwith this woman, who could repel the sincerely-meant caresses of that\npretty, childlike, simple little Katharina with such frigid and\nsupercilious haughtiness. The mere sight of her at meals would embitter\nevery mouthful; only to hear her domineering tones in the next room would\nspoil his pleasure in working; the touch of her cold hand as she bid him\ngood-night would destroy his night's rest!\n\nHere and now her presence was more than he could bear. It was an offense\nto him, a challenge; and if ever he had wished to clear her out of his\npath and the physician's--by force, if need should be--the idea wholly\npossessed him now.\n\nIrritated and provoked, he took leave of all the others, carefully\navoiding a glance even at Paula, though, after he rose, she went up to\nhim on purpose to say a few pleasant words, and to assure him how highly\nshe esteemed his adopted son.\n\nPulcheria escorted him through the garden and he promised her to return\non the morrow, or the day after, and then she must take care that he\nfound her and her mother alone, for he had no fancy to allow Paula to\nthrust her pride and airs under his nose a second time.\n\nHe angrily rejected Pulcheria's attempts to take her friend's part, and\nhe trotted home again, mumbling curses between his old lips.\n\nMartina, meanwhile, had made friends with Paula in her genial, frank way.\nShe had met her parents in time past in Constantinople and spoke of them\nwith heart-felt warmth. This broke the ice between them, and when Martina\nspoke of Orion--her 'great Sesostris'--of the regard and popularity he\nhad enjoyed in Constantinople, and then, with due recognition and\nsympathy, of his misfortune, Paula felt drawn towards her indeed. Her\nreserve vanished entirely, and the conversation between the new\nacquaintances became more and more eager, intimate, and delightful.\n\nWhen they parted both felt that they could only gain by further\nintercourse. Paula was called away at the very moment of leave-taking,\nand left the room with warm expressions intended only for the matron:\n\"Not good-bye--we must meet again. But of course it is my part, as the\nyounger, to go to you!\" And she was no sooner gone than Martina\nexclaimed:\n\n\"What a lovely creature! The worthy daughter of a noble father! And her\nmother! O dame Joanna! A sweeter being has rarely graced this miserable\nworld; she was born to die young, she was only made to bloom and fade!\"\nThen, turning to Katharina, she went on: with kindly reproof. \"Evil\ntongues gave me a very false idea of this girl. 'A silver kernel in a\ngolden shell,' says the proverb, but in this case both alike are of\ngold.--Between you two--good God!--But I know what has blinded your clear\neyes, poor little kitten. After all, we all see things as we wish to see\nthem. I would lay a wager, dame Joanna, that you are of my opinion in\nthinking the fair Paula a perfectly noble creature. Aye, a noble\ncreature; it is an expressive word and God knows! How seldom is it a true\none? It is one I am little apt to use, but I know no other for such as\nshe is, and on her it is not ill-bestowed.\"\n\n\"Indeed it is not!\" answered Joanna with warm assent; but Martina sighed,\nfor she was thinking to herself! \"Poor Heliodora! I cannot but confess\nthat Paula is the only match for my 'great Sesostris.' But what in\nHeaven's name will become of that poor, unfortunate, love-sick little\nwoman?\"\n\nAll this flashed through her quick brain while Katharina was trying to\njustify herself, and asserting that she fully recognised Paula's great\nqualities, but that she was proud, fearfully proud--she had given Martina\nherself some evidence of that.\n\nAt this Pulcheria interposed in zealous defense of her friend. She,\nhowever, had hardly begun to speak when she, too, was interrupted, for\nmen's voices were heard in loud discussion in the vestibule, and Perpetua\nsuddenly rushed in with a terrified face, exclaiming, heedless of the\nstrangers: \"Oh Dame Joanna! Here is another, dreadful misfortune! Those\nArab devils have come again, with an interpreter and a writer. And they\nhave been sent--Merciful Saviour, is it possible?--they have brought a\nwarrant to take away my poor dear child, to take her to prison--to drag\nher all through the city on foot and throw her into prison.\"\n\nThe faithful soul sobbed aloud and covered her face with her hands.\nTerror fell upon them all; Joanna left the viridarium in speechless\ndismay, and Martina exclaimed:\n\n\"What a horrible, vile country! Good God, they are even falling on us\nwomen. Children, children--give me a seat, I feel quite ill.--In prison!\nthat beautiful, matchless creature dragged through the streets to prison.\nIf the warrant is all right she must go--she must! Not an angel from\nheaven could save her. But that she should be marched through the town,\nthat noble and splendid creature, as if she were a common thief--it is\nnot to be borne. So much as one woman can do for another at any rate\nshall be done, so long as I am here to stand on two feet!--Katharina,\nchild, do not you understand? Why do you stand gaping at me as if I were\na feathered ape? What do your fat horses eat oats for? What, you do not\nunderstand me yet? Be off at once, this minute, and have the horses put\nin the large closed chariot in which I came here, and bring it to the\ndoor.--Ah! At last you see daylight; now, take to your heels and fly!\"\n\nAnd she clapped her hands as if she were driving hens off a garden-bed;\nKatharina had no alternative but to obey.\n\nMartina then felt for her purse, and when she had found it she added\nconfidently:\n\n\"Thank God! I can talk to these villains! This is a language,\" and she\nclinked the gold pieces, intelligible to all. \"Come, where are the\nrascals?\"\n\nThe universal tongue had the desired effect. The chief of the guard\nallowed it to persuade him to convey Paula to prison in the chariot, and\nto promise that she should find decent accommodation there, while he also\ngranted old Betta the leave she insisted on with floods of tears, to\nshare the girl's captivity.\n\nPaula maintained her dignity and composure under this unexpected shock.\nOnly when it came to taking leave of Pulcheria and Mary, who clung to her\nin frantic grief and begged to go with her and Betta to prison, she could\nnot restrain her tears.\n\nThe scribe had informed her that she was charged dy Bishop Plotinus with\nhaving plotted the escape and flight of the nuns, and Joanna's knees\ntrembled under her when Paula whispered in her ear:\n\n\"Beware of Katharina! No one else could have betrayed us; if she has also\nrevealed what Rufinus did for the sisters we must deny it, positively and\nunflinchingly. Fear nothing: they will get not a word out of me.\" Then\nshe added aloud: \"I need not beg you to remember me lovingly; thanks to\nyou both--the warmest, deepest thanks for all. . . . You, Pul. . . .\" And\nshe clasped the mother and daughter to her bosom, while Mary, clinging to\nher, hid her little face in her skirts, weeping bitterly. . . . \"You,\nDame Joanna, took me in, a forlorn creature, and made me happy till Fate\nfell on us all--you know, ah! you know too well.--The kindness you have\nshown to me show now to my little Mary. And there is one thing more--here\ncomes the interpreter again!--A moment yet, I beg!--If the messenger\nshould return and bring news of my father or, my God! my God!--my father\nhimself, let me know, or bring him to me!--Or, if I am dead by the time\nhe comes, tell him that to find him, to see him once more, was my heart's\ndearest wish. And beg my father,\" she breathed the words into Joanna's\near, \"to love Orion as a son. And tell them both that I loved them to the\nlast, deeply, perfectly, beyond words!\" Then she added aloud as: she\nkissed each on her eyes and lips: \"I love you and shall always love\nyou--you, Joanna, and you, my Pulcheria, and you, Mary, my sweet,\nprecious darling.\"\n\nAt this the water-wagtail humed forward with outstretched arms, but Dame\nJoanna put out a significantly warning hand; and they who were one in\nheart clasped each other in a last embrace as though they were indeed but\none and no stranger could have any part in it.\n\nOnce more Katharina tried to approach Paula; but Martina, whose eyes\nfilled with tears as she looked on the parting, held her back by the\nshoulder and whispered:\n\n\"Do not disturb them, child. Such hearts spontaneously attract those for\nwhom they yearn. I, old as I am, would gladly be worthy to be called.\"\n\nThe interpreter now sternly insisted on starting. The three women parted;\nbut still the little girl held tightly to Paula, even when she went up to\nthe matron and kissed her with a natural impulse. Martina took her head\nbetween her hands, kissed her fondly, and said in a voice she could\nscarcely control: \"God protect and keep you, child! I thank Him for\nhaving brought us together. A soul so pure and clear as yours is not to\nbe found in the capital, but we still know how to be friends to our\nfriends--at any rate I and my husband do--and if Heaven but grants me the\nopportunity you shall prove it. You never need feel alone in the world;\nnever, so long as Justinus and his wife are still in it. Remember that,\nchild; I mean it in solemn earnest.\"\n\nWith this, she again embraced Paula, who as she went out to enter the\nchariot also bestowed a farewell kiss on Eudoxia and Mandane, for they,\ntoo, stood modestly weeping in the background; then she gave her hand to\nthe hump-backed gardener, and to the Masdakite, down whose cheeks tears\nwere rolling. At this moment Katharina stood in her path, seized her arm\nin mortified excitement, and said insistently:\n\n\"And have you not a word for me?\"\n\nPaula freed herself from her clutch and said in a low voice: \"I thank you\nfor lending me the chariot. As you know, it is taking me to prison, and I\nfear it is your perfidy that has brought me to this. If I am wrong,\nforgive me--if I am right, your punishment will hardly be lighter than my\nfate. You are still young, Katharina; try to grow better.\"\n\nAnd with this she stepped into the chariot with old Betta, and the last\nshe saw was little Mary who threw herself sobbing into Joanna's arms.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nSusannah had never particularly cared for Paula, but her fate shocked her\nand moved her to pity. She must at once enquire whether it was not\npossible to send her some better food than the ordinary prison-fare. That\nwas but Christian charity, and her daughter seemed to take her friend's\nmisfortune much to heart. When she and Martina returned home she looked\nso cast down and distracted that no stranger now would ever have dreamed\nof comparing her with a brisk little bird.\n\nOnce more a poisoned arrow had struck her. Till now she had been wicked\nonly in her own eyes; now she was wicked in the eyes of another. Paula\nknew it was she who had betrayed her. The traitoress had been met by\ntreachery. The woman she hated had a right to regard her as spiteful and\nmalignant, and for this she hated her more than ever.\n\nTill now she had nowhere failed to find an affectionate greeting and\nwelcome; and to-day how coldly she had been repulsed--and not by Paula\nalone, but also by Martina, who no doubt had noticed something, and whose\ndry reserve had been quite intolerable to the girl.\n\nIt was all the old bishop's fault; he had not kept his promise that her\ntale-bearing should remain as secret as a confession. Indeed, he must\nhave deliberately revealed it, for no one but herself knew of the facts.\nPerhaps he had even mentioned her name to the Arabs; in that case she\nwould have to bear witness before the judges, and then in what light\nwould she appear to Orion, to her mother, to Joanna and Martina?\n\nShe had not failed to understand that old Rufinus must have perished in\nthe expedition, and she was truly grieved. His wife and daughter had\nalways been kind neighbors to her; and she would not have willingly\nbrought sorrow on them. If she were called up to give evidence it might\ngo hard with them, and she wished no harm to any one but those who had\ncheated her out of Orion's love. This idea of standing before a court of\njustice was the worst of all; this must be warded off at any cost.\n\nWhere could Bishop Plotinus be? He had returned to Memphis the day\nbefore, and yet he had not been to see her mother, to whom he usually\npaid a daily visit. This absence seemed to her ominous. Everything\ndepended on her reminding the old man of his promise as soon as possible;\nfor if at the trial next morning--which of course, he must attend--he\nshould happen to mention her name, the guards, the interpreter, and the\nscribe would invade her home too and then-horror! She had given evidence\nonce already, and could never again go through all that had ensued.\n\nBut how was she to get at the bishop in the course of the night or early\nto-morrow at latest?\n\nThe chariot had not yet returned, and if--it still wanted two hours of\nmidnight; yes--it must be done.\n\nShe began talking to her mother of the prelate's absence; Susannah, too,\nwas uneasy about it, particularly since she had heard that the old man\nhad come home ill and that his servant had been out and about in search\nof a physician. Katharina promptly proposed to go and see him: the horses\nwere still in harness, her nurse could accompany her. She really must go\nand learn how her venerable friend was going on.\n\nSusannah thought this very sweet; still, she said it was very late for\nsuch a visit; however, her spoilt child had said that she \"must\" and the\nanswer was a foregone conclusion. Dame Susannah gave way; the nurse was\nsent for, and as soon as the chariot came round Katharina flung her arms\nround her mother's neck, promising her not to stay long, and in a few\nminutes the chariot stopped at the door of the bishop's palace. She bid\nthe nurse wait for her and went alone into the vast, rambling house.\n\nThe spacious hall, lighted feebly by a single lamp, was silent and\ndeserted, even the door-keeper had left his post; however, she was\nfamiliar with every step and turning, and went on through the impluvium\ninto the library where, at this hour, the bishop was wont to be found.\nBut it was dark, and her gentle call met with no reply. In the next room,\nto which she timidly felt her way, a slave lay snoring; beside him were a\nwine jar and a hand-lamp. The sight somewhat reassured her. Beyond was\nthe bishop's bedroom, which she had never been into. A dim light gleamed\nthrough the open door and she heard a low moaning and gasping. She called\nthe house-keeper by name once, twice; no answer. The sleeping slave did\nnot stir; but a familiar voice addressed her from the bedroom, groaning\nrather than saying:\n\n\"Who is there? Is he come? Have you found him at last?\"\n\nThe whole household had fled in fear of the pestilence; even the acolyte,\nwho had indeed a wife and children. The housekeeper had been forced to\nleave the master to seek the physician, who had already been there once,\nand the last remaining slave, a faithful, goodhearted, heedless sot, had\nbeen left in charge; but he had brought a jar of wine up from the\nunguarded cellar, had soon emptied it, and then, overcome by drink and\nthe heat of the night, he had fallen asleep.\n\nKatharina at once spoke her name and the old man answered her, saying\nkindly, but with difficulty: \"Ah, it is you, you, my child!\"\n\nShe took up the lamp and went close to the sick man. He put out his lean\narm to welcome her; but, as her approach brought the light near to him he\ncovered his eyes, crying out distressfully: \"No, no; that hurts. Take\naway the lamp.\"\n\nKatharina set it down on a low chest behind the head of the bed; then she\nwent up to the sufferer, gave him her mother's message, and asked him how\nhe was and why he was left alone. He could only give incoherent answers\nwhich he gasped out with great difficulty, bidding her go close to him\nfor he could not hear her distinctly. He was very ill, he told\nher--dying. It was good of her to have come for she had always been his\npet, his dear, good little girl.\n\n\"And it was a happy impulse that brought you,\" he added, \"to receive an\nold man's blessing. I give it you with my whole heart.\"\n\nAs he spoke he put forth his hand and she, following an instinctive\nprompting, fell on her knees by the side of the couch.\n\nHe laid his burning right hand on her head and murmured some words of\nblessing; she, however, scarcely heeded them, for his hand felt like lead\nand its heat oppressed and distressed her dreadfully. It was a sincere\ngrief to her to see this true old friend of her childhood suffering\nthus--perhaps indeed dying; at the same time she did not forget what had\nbrought her here--still, she dared not disturb him in this act of love.\nHe gave her his blessing--that was kind; but his mutterings did not come\nto an end, the weight of the hot hand on her head grew heavier and\nheavier, and at last became intolerable. She felt quite dazed, but with\nan effort she collected her senses and then perceived that the old man\nhad wandered off from the usual formulas of blessing and was murmuring\ndisconnected and inarticulate words.\n\nAt this she raised the terrible, fevered hand, laid it on the bed, and\nwas about to ask him whether he had betrayed her to Benjamin, and if he\nhad mentioned her name, when--Merciful God! there on his cheeks were the\nsame livid spots that she had noticed on those of the plague stricken man\nin Medea's house. With a cry of horror she sprang up, snatched at the\nlamp, held it over the sufferer, heedless of his cries of anguish, looked\ninto his face, and pulled away the weary hands with which he tried to\nscreen his eyes from the light. Then, having convinced herself that she\nwas not mistaken, she fled from room to room out into the hall.\n\nHere she was met by the housekeeper, who took the lamp out of her hand\nand was about to question her; but Katharina only screamed:\n\n\"The plague is in the house! Lock the doors!\" and then rushed away, past\nthe leech who was coming in. With one bound she was in the chariot, and\nas the horses started she wailed out to the nurse:\n\n\"The plague--they have the plague. Plotinus has taken the plague!\"\n\nThe terrified woman tried to soothe her, assuring her that she must be\nmistaken for such hellish fiends did not dare come near so holy a man.\nBut the girl vouchsafed no reply, merely desiring her to have a bath made\nready for her as soon as they should reach home.\n\nShe felt utterly shattered; on the spot where the old man's\nplague-stricken hand had rested she was conscious of a heavy, hateful\npressure, and when the chariot at length drove into their own garden\nsomething warm and heavy-something she could not shake off, still seemed\nto weigh on her brain.\n\nThe windows were all dark excepting one on the ground-floor, where a\nlight was still visible in the room inhabited by Heliodora. A diabolical\nthought flashed through her over-excited and restless mind; without\nlooking to the right hand or the left she obeyed the impulse and went\nforward, just as she was, into her friend's sitting-room and then,\nlifting a curtain, on into the bedroom. Heliodora was lying on her couch,\nstill suffering from a headache which had prevented her going to visit\ntheir neighbors; at first she did not notice the late visitor who stood\nby her side and bid her good evening.\n\nA single lamp shed a dim light in the spacious room, and the young girl\nhad never thought their guest so lovely as she looked in that twilight. A\nnight wrapper of the thinnest material only half hid her beautiful limbs.\nRound her flowing, fair hair, floated the subtle, hardly perceptible\nperfume which always pervaded this favorite of fortune. Two heavy plaits\nlay like sheeny snakes over her bosom and the white sheet. Her face was\nturned upwards and was exquisitely calm and sweet; and as she lay\nmotionless and smiled up at Katharina, she looked like an angel wearied\nin well-doing.\n\nNo man could resist the charms of this woman, and Orion had succumbed. By\nher side was a lute, from which she brought the softest and most soothing\ntones, and thus added to the witchery of her appearance.\n\nKatharina's whole being was in wild revolt; she did not know how she was\nable to return Heliodora's greeting, and to ask her how she could\npossibly play the lute with a headache.\n\n\"Just gliding my fingers over the strings calms and refreshes my blood,\"\nshe replied pleasantly. \"But you, child, look as if you were suffering\nfar worse than I.--Did you come home in the chariot that drove up just\nnow?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Katharina. \"I have been to see our dear old bishop. He is\nvery ill, dying; he will soon be taken from us. Oh, what a fearful day!\nFirst Orion's mother, then Paula, and now this to crown all! Oh,\nHeliodora, Heliodora!\"\n\nShe fell on her knees by the bed and pressed her face against her pitying\nfriend's bosom. Heliodora saw the tears which had risen with unaffected\nfeeling to the girl's eyes; her tender soul was full of sympathy with the\nsorrow of such a gladsome young creature, who had already had so much to\nsuffer, and she leaned over the child, kissing her affectionately on the\nbrow, and murmuring words of consolation. Katharina clung to her closely,\nand pointing to the top of her head where that burning hand had pressed\nit, she said: \"There, kiss there: there is where the pain is worst!--Ah,\nthat is nice, that does me good.\"\n\nAnd, as the tender-hearted Heliodora's fresh lips rested on the\nplague-tainted hair, Katharina closed her eyes and felt as a gladiator\nmight who hitherto has only tried his weapons on the practising ground,\nand now for the first time uses them in the arena to pierce his\nopponent's heart. She had a vision of herself as some one else, taller\nand stronger than she was; aye, as Death itself, the destroyer, breathing\nherself into her victim's breast.\n\nThese feelings entirely possessed her as she knelt on the soft carpet,\nand she did not notice that another woman was crossing it noiselessly to\nher comforter's bed-side, with a glance of intelligence at Heliodora.\nJust as she exclaimed: \"Another kiss there-it burns so dreadfully,\" she\nfelt two hands on her temples and two lips, not Heliodora's, were pressed\non her head.\n\nShe looked up in astonishment and saw the smiling face of her mother, who\nhad come after her to ask how the bishop was, and who wished to take her\nshare in soothing the pain of her darling.\n\nHow well her little surprise had succeeded!\n\nBut what came over the child? She started to her feet as if lightning had\nstruck her, as if an asp had stung her, looked horror-stricken into her\nmother's eyes, and then, as Susannah was on the point of clasping the\nlittle head to her bosom once more to kiss the aching, the cursed spot,\nKatharina pushed her away, flew, distracted, through the sitting-room\ninto the vestibule, and down the narrow steps leading to the bathroom.\n\nHer mother looked after her, shaking her head in bewilderment. Then she\nturned to Heliodora with a shrug, and said, as the tears filled her eyes:\n\n\"Poor, poor little thing! Too many troubles have come upon her at once.\nHer life till lately was like a long, sunny day, and now the hail is\npelting her from all sides at once. She has bad news of the bishop, I\nfear.\"\n\n\"He is dying, she said,\" replied the young widow with feeling.\n\n\"Our best and truest friend,\" sobbed Susannah. \"It is, it really is too\nmuch. I often think that I must myself succumb, and as for her--hardly\nmore than a child!--And with what resignation she bears the heaviest\nsorrows!--You, Heliodora, are far from knowing what she has gone through;\nbut you have no doubt seen how her only thought is to seem bright, so as\nto cheer my heart. Not a sigh, not a complaint has passed her lips. She\nsubmits like a saint to everything, without a murmur. But, now that her\nclear old friend is stricken, she has lost her self-control for the first\ntime. She knows all that Plotinus has been to me.\" And she broke down\ninto fresh sobbing. When she was a little calmer, she apologised for her\nweakness and bid her fair guest good night.\n\nKatharina, meanwhile, was taking a bath.\n\nA bathroom was an indispensable adjunct to every wealthy Graeco-Egyptian\nhouse, and her father had taken particular pains with its construction.\nIt consisted of two chambers, one for men and one for women; both fitted\nwith equal splendor.\n\nWhite marble, yellow alabaster, purple porphyry on all sides; while the\npavement was of fine Byzantine mosaic on a gold ground. There were no\nstatues, as in the baths of the heathen; the walls were decorated with\nbible texts in gold letters, and above the divan, which was covered with\na giraffe skin, there was a crucifix. On the middle panel of the coffered\nceiling was inscribed defiantly, in the Coptic language the first axiom\nof the Jacobite creed: \"We believe in the single, indivisible nature of\nChrist Jesus.\" And below this hung silver lamps.\n\nThe large bath had been filled immediately for Katharina, as the furnace\nwas heated every evening for the ladies of the house. As she was\nundressing, her maid showed her a diseased date. The head gardener, had\nbrought it to her, for he had that afternoon, discovered that his palms,\ntoo, had been attacked. But the woman soon regretted her loquacity, for\nwhen she went on to say that Anchhor, the worthy shoemaker who, only the\nday before yesterday, had brought home her pretty new sandals, had died\nof the plague, Katharina scolded her sharply and bid her be silent. But\nas the maid knelt before her to unfasten her sandals, Katharina herself\ntook up the story again, asking her whether the shoemaker's pretty young\nwife had also been attacked. The girl said that she was still alive, but\nthat the old mother-in-law and all the children had been shut into the\nhouse, and even the shutters barred as soon as the corpse had been\nbrought out. The authorities had ordered that this should be done in\nevery case, so that the pestilence might not pervade the streets or be\ndisseminated among the healthy. Food and drink were handed to the\ncaptives through a wicket in the door. Such regulations, she added,\nseemed particularly well-considered and wise. But she would have done\nbetter to keep her opinions to herself, for before she had done speaking\nKatharina gave her an angry push with her foot. Then she desired her not\nto be sparing with the 'smegma',--[A material like soap, but used in a\nsoft state.]--and to wash her hair as thoroughly as possible.\n\nThis was done; and Katharina herself rubbed her hands and arms with\npassionate diligence. Then she had water poured over her head again and\nagain, till, when she desired the maid to desist, she had to lean\nbreathless and almost exhausted against the marble.\n\nBut in spite of smegma and water she still felt the pressure of the\nburning hand on top of her head, and her heart seemed oppressed by some\ninvisible load of lead.\n\nHer mother! oh, her mother! She had kissed her there, where the plague\nhad actually touched her, and in fancy she could hear her gasping and\nbegging for a drink of water like the dying wretches to whom her fate had\nled her. And then--then came the servants of the senate and shut her into\nthe pestilential house with the sick; she saw the pest in mortal form, a\ncruel and malignant witch; behind her, tall and threatening, stood her\ninexorable companion Death, reaching out a bony hand and clutching her\nmother, and then all who were in the house with her, and last of all,\nherself.\n\nHer arms dropped by her side: powerful and terrible as she had felt\nherself this morning, she was now crushed by a sense of miserable and\nimpotent weakness. Her defiance had been addressed to a mortal, a frail,\ntender woman; and God and Fate had put her in the front of the battle\ninstead of Heliodora. She shuddered at the thought.\n\nAs she went up from the bath-room, her mother met her in the hall and\nsaid:\n\n\"What, still here, Child? How you startled me! And is it true? Is\nPlotinus really ill of a complaint akin to the plague?\"\n\n\"Worse than that, mother,\" she replied sadly. \"He has the plague; and I\nremembered that a bath is the right thing when one has been in a\nplague-stricken house; you, too, have kissed and touched me. Pray have\nthe fire lighted again, late as it is, and take a bath too.\"\n\n\"But, Child,\" Susannah began with a laugh; but Katharina gave her no\npeace till she yielded, and promised to bathe in the men's room, which\nhad not been used at all since the appearance of the epidemic. When Dame\nSusannah found herself alone she smiled to herself in silent\nthankfulness, and in the bath again she lifted up her heart and hands in\nprayer for her only child, the loving daughter who cared for her so\ntenderly.\n\nKatharina went to her own room, after ascertaining that the clothes she\nhad worn this evening had been sacrificed in the bath-furnace.\n\nIt was past midnight, but still she bid the maid sit up, and she did not\ngo to bed. She could not have found rest there. She was tempted to go out\non the balcony, and she sat down there on a rocking chair. The night was\nsultry and still. Every house, every tree, every wall seemed to radiate\nthe heat it had absorbed during the day. Along the quay came a long\nprocession of pilgrims; this was followed by a funeral train and soon\nafter came another--both so shrouded in clouds of dust that the torches\nof the followers looked like coals glimmering under ashes. Several who\nhad died of the pestilence, and whom it had been impossible to bury by\nday, were being borne to the grave together. One of these funerals, so\nshe vaguely fancied, was Heliodora's; the other her own perhaps--or her\nmother's--and she shivered at the thought. The long train wandered on\nunder its shroud of dust, and stood still when it reached the Necropolis;\nthen the sledge with the bier came back empty on red hot runners--but she\nwas not one of the mourners--she was imprisoned in the pestiferous house.\nThen, when she was freed again--she saw it all quite clearly--two heads\nhad been cut off in the courtyard of the Hall of justice: Orion's and\nPaula's--and she was left alone, quite alone and forlorn. Her mother was\nlying by her father's side under the sand in the cemetery, and who was\nthere to care for her, to be troubled about her, to protect her? She was\nalone in the world like a tree without roots, like a leaf blown out to\nsea, like an unfledged bird that has fallen out of the nest.\n\nThen, for the first time since that evening when she had borne false\nwitness, her memory reverted to all she had been taught at school and in\nthe church of the torments of hell, and she pictured the abode of the\ndamned, and the scorching, seething Lake of fire in which murderers,\nheretics, false witnesses. . . .\n\nWhat was that?\n\nHad hell indeed yawned, and were the flames soaring up to the sky through\nthe riven shell of the earth? Had the firmament opened to pour living\nfire and black fumes on the northern part of the city?\n\nShe started up in dismay, her eyes fixed on the terrible sight. The whole\nsky seemed to be in flames; a fiery furnace, with dense smoke and myriads\nof shooting sparks, filled the whole space between earth and heaven. A\ndevouring conflagration was apparently about to annihilate the town, the\nriver, the starry vault itself; the metal heralds which usually called\nthe faithful to church lifted up their voices; the quiet road at her feet\nsuddenly swarmed with thousands of people; shrieks, yells and frantic\ncommands came up from below, and in the confusion of tongues she could\ndistinguish the words \"Governor's Palace\"--\"Arabs\"--\"Mukaukas\"--\"Orion\"\n--\"fire\"--\"Put it out\"--\"Save it.\"\n\nAt this moment the old head-gardener called up to her from the\nlotos-tank: \"The palace is in flames! And in this drought--God\nAll-merciful save the town!\"\n\nHer knees gave way; she put out her hands with a faint cry to feel for\nsome support, and two arms were thrown about her-the arms which she so\nlately had pushed away: her mother's: that mother who had bent over her\nonly child and inhaled death in a kiss on her plague-tainted hair.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nThe governor's palace, the pride and glory of Memphis, the magnificent\nhome of the oldest and noblest family of the land--the last house that\nhad given birth to a race of native Egyptians held worthy, even by the\nGreeks, to represent the emperor and uphold the highest dignity in the\nworld--the very citadel of native life, lay in ashes; and just as a giant\nof the woods crushes and destroys in its fall many plants of humbler\ngrowth, so the burning of the great house destroyed hundreds of smaller\ndwellings.\n\nThis night's work had torn the mast and rudder, and many a plank besides,\nfrom that foundering vessel, the town of Memphis. It seemed indeed a\nmiracle that had saved the whole from being reduced to cinders; and for\nthis, next to God's providence, they might thank the black incendiary\nhimself and his Arabs. The crime was committed with cool and shrewd\nforesight, and carried through to the end. During his visitation\nthroughout the rambling buildings Obada had looked out for spots that\nmight suit his purpose, and two hours after sunset he had lighted fire\nafter fire with his own hand, in secret and undetected. The troops he\nintended to employ later were waiting under arms at Fostat, and when the\nfire broke out, first in the treasury and afterwards in three other\nplaces in the palace, they were immediately marched across and very\njudiciously employed.\n\nAll that was precious in this ancient home of a wealthy race, was\nconveyed to a place of safety, even the numerous fine horses in the\nstables; and the title-deeds of the estate, slaves, and so forth were\nalready secured at Fostat; still, the flames consumed vast quantities of\ntreasures that could never be replaced. Beautiful works of art,\nmanuscripts and books such as were only preserved here, old and splendid\nplants from every zone, vessels and woven stuffs that had been the\ndelight of connoisseurs--all perished in heaps. But the incendiary\nregretted none of them, for all possibility of proving how much that was\nprecious had fallen into his hands was buried under their ashes.\n\nThe worst that could happen to him now was to be deposed from office for\nhis too audacious proceedings. Of all the towns he had seen in the course\nof the triumphant incursions of Islam none had attracted him so greatly\nas Damascus, and he now had the means of spending the latter half of his\nlife there in luxurious enjoyment.\n\nAt the same time it was desirable to rescue as much as possible from the\nflames; for it would have given his enemies a fatal hold upon him, if the\nfamous old city of Memphis should perish by his neglect. And he was a man\nto give battle to the awful element.\n\nNot another building fell a prey to it on the Nile quay; but a light\nsoutherly breeze carried burning fragments to the northwest, and several\nhouses in the poorer quarter on the edge of the desert caught fire.\nThither the larger portion of those who could combat the flames and\nrescue the inhabitants were at once directed; and here, as at the palace,\nhe acted on the principle of sacrificing whatever could not be saved\nentire. Thus a whole quarter of the town was destroyed, hundreds of\nbeggared families lost all they possessed; and yet he, whose ruthless\navarice had cast so many into misery, was admired and lauded; for he was\neverywhere at once: now by the river and now by the desert, always where\nthe danger was greatest, and where the presence of the leader was most\nneeded. Here he was seen in the very midst of the fire, there he swung\nthe axe with his own hand; now, mounted on horseback, he rode down the\nline where the dry grass was to be torn up by the roots and soaked with\nwater; now, on foot, he directed the scanty jet from the pipes or, with\nHerculean strength, flung back into the flames a beam which had fallen\nbeyond the limits he had set. His shrill voice sounded, as his huge\nheight towered, above all others; every eye was fixed on his black face\nand flashing eyes and teeth, while his example carried away all his\nfollowers to imitate it. His shouts of command made the scene of the fire\nlike a battle-field; the Moslems, so ably led, regardless of life as they\nwere and ready to strain and exert their strength to the utmost, wrought\nwonders in the name of their God and His Prophet.\n\nThe Egyptians, too, did their best; but they felt themselves impotent by\ncomparison with what these Arabs did, and they hardly felt anything but\nthe disgrace of being over-mastered by them.\n\nThe light shone far across the country; even he whose splendid\ninheritance was feeding the flames perceived, between midnight and dawn,\na glow on the distant western horizon which he was unable to account for.\n\nHe had been riding towards it for about half an hour when the caravan\nhalted at the last station but one, on the high road between Kolzum and\nBabylon.\n\n   [Suez, and the Greek citadel near which Amru founded Fostat and\n   Cairo subsequently grew up.]\n\nA considerable troop of horse soldiers dismounted at the same time, but\nOrion had not summoned these to protect him; on the contrary, he was in\ntheir charge and they were taking him, a prisoner, to Fostat. He had\nquitted the chariot in which he had set out and had been made to mount a\ndromedary; two horsemen armed to the teeth rode constantly at his side.\nHis fellow-travellers were allowed to remain in their chariot.\n\nAt the inn which they had now reached Justinus got out and desired his\ncompanion, a pale-faced man who sat sunk into a heap, to do the same; but\nwith a weary shake of the head he declined to move.\n\n\"Are you in pain, Narses?\" asked Justinus affectionately, and Narses\nbriefly replied in a husky voice: \"All over,\" and settled himself against\nthe cushion at the back of the chariot. He even refused the refreshments\nbrought out to him by the Senator's servant and interpreter. He seemed\nsunk in apathy and to crave nothing but peace.\n\nThis was the senator's nephew.\n\nWith Orion's help, and armed with letters of protection and\nrecommendation from Amru, the senator had gained his purpose. He had\nransomed Narses, but not before the wretched man had toiled for some time\nas a prisoner, first at the canal on the line of the old one constructed\nby the Pharaohs, which was being restored under the Khaliff Omar, to\nsecure the speediest way of transporting grain from Egypt to Arabia and\nafterwards in the rock-bound harbor of Aila. On the burning shores of the\nRed Sea, under the fearful sun of those latitudes, Narses was condemned\nto drag blocks of stone; many days had elapsed before his uncle could\ntrace him--and in what a state did Justinus find him at last!\n\nA week before he could reach him, the ex-officer of cavalry had laid\nhimself down in the wretched sheds for the sick provided for the\nlaborers; his back still bore the scars of the blows by which the\noverseer had spurred the waning strength of his exhausted and suffering\nvictim. The fine young soldier was a wreck, broken alike in heart and\nbody and sunk in melancholy. Justinus had hoped to take him home jubilant\nto Martina, and he had only this ruin to show her, doomed to the grave.\n\nThe senator was glad, nevertheless, to have saved this much at any rate.\nThe sight of the sufferer touched him deeply, and the less Narses would\ntake or give, the more thankful was Justinus when he gave the faintest\nsign of reviving interest.\n\nIn the course of this journey by land and water--and latterly as sharing\nthe senator's care of his nephew--Orion had become very dear to his old\nfriend; and at the risk of incurring his displeasure he had even\nconfessed the reasons that had prompted him to leave Memphis.\n\nHe never could cease to feel that everything good or lofty in himself was\nPaula's alone; that her love ennobled and strengthened him; that to\ndesert her was to abandon himself. His trifling with Heliodora could but\ndivert him from the high aim he had set before himself. This aim he kept\nconstantly in view; his spirit hungered for peaceful days in which he\nmight act on the resolution he had formed in church and fulfil the task\nset before him by the Arab governor.\n\nThe knowledge that he had inherited an enormous fortune now afforded him\nno joy, for he was forced to confess to himself that but for this\nsuperabundant wealth he might have been a very different man; and more\nthan once a vehement wish came over him to fling away all his possessions\nand wrestle for peace of mind and the esteem of the best men by his own\nunaided powers.\n\nThe senator had taken his confession as it was meant: if Thomas' daughter\nwas indeed what Orion described her there could be but small hope for his\nbeautiful favorite. He and Martina must e'en make their way home again\nwith two adopted dear ones, and it must be the care of the old folks to\ncomfort the young ones instead of the young succoring the old as was\nnatural. And in spite of everything Orion had won on his affections, for\nevery day, every hour he was struck by some new quality, some greater\ntrait than he had looked for in the young man.\n\nTorches were flaring in the inn-yard where, under a palm-thatched roof\nsupported on poles and covering a square space in the middle, benches\nstood for the guests to rest. Here Justinus and Orion again met for a few\nminutes' conversation.\n\nHis warders were also seated near them; they did not let Orion out of\ntheir sight even while they ate their meal of mutton, bread, onions, and\ndates. The senator's servants brought some food from the chariot, and\njust as Justinus and Orion had begun their attack on it, a tall man came\ninto the yard and made his way to the benches. This was Philippus,\npausing on his road to Djidda. He had learnt, even before coming in, whom\nhe would find here, a prisoner; and the Arabs, to whom the leech was\nknown, allowed him to join the pair, though at the same time they came a\nlittle nearer, and their leader understood Greek.\n\nPhilippus was anything rather than cordially disposed towards Orion;\nstill, he knew what peril hung over the youth, and how sad a loss he had\nsuffered. His conscience bid him do all he could to prove helpful in the\ntrial that awaited him in the matter of the expedition in which Rufinus\nhad perished. He was the bearer, too, of sad news which the Arabs must\nnecessarily hear. Orion was indeed furious when he heard of the seizure\nand occupation of the governor's residence; still, he believed that Amru\nwould insist on restitution; but on hearing of his mother's death he\nbroke down completely. Even the Arabs, seeing the strong man shaken with\nsobs and learning the cause of his grief, respectfully withdrew; for the\nanguish of a son at the loss of his mother was sacred in their eyes. They\nregard the man who mourns for one he loves as stricken by the hand of the\nAlmighty and hallowed by his touch and treat him with the reverence of\npious awe.\n\nOrion had not observed their absence, but Philippus at once took\nadvantage of it to tell him, as briefly as possible, all that related to\nthe escape of the nuns. He himself knew not yet of the burning of the\npalace, or of Paula's imprisonment; but he could tell the senator where\nhe would find his wife and niece. So by the time he was bidden to mount\nand start once more Orion was informed of all that had happened.\n\nIt was with a drooping head, and sunk in melancholy thought that he rode\non his way.\n\nAs for the residence!--whether the Arabs gave it back to him or not, what\ndid he care?--but his mother, his mother! All she had been to him from\nhis earliest years rose before his mind; in the deep woe of this parting\nhe forgot the imminent danger and the dungeon that awaited him, and the\nintolerable insult to his rights; nay, even the image of the woman he\nloved paled by the side of that of the beloved dead. Perhaps he might not\neven gain permission to bury her!\n\nThe way lay through a parched tract of rocky desert, and the further they\nwent the more intense was that wonderful flush in the west, till day\nbroke behind the travellers and the glory of the sunrise quenched the\nvividness of its glow.\n\nAnother scorching day! The rocks by the wayside still threw long shadows\non the sandy desert-road, when a party of Arab horsemen came from Fostat\nto meet the travellers, shouting the latest news to the prisoner's\nescort. It was evidently important; but Orion did not understand a word\nof what they said. Evil tidings fly fast, however; while the men were\ntalking together, the dragoman rode up to him and told him that his home\nwas burnt to the ground and half Memphis still in flames. Then came other\nnewsbearers, on horseback and on dromedaries; and they met chariots and\nfiles of camels loaded with corn and Egyptian merchandise; and each and\nall shouted to the Arab escort reports of what was going on in Memphis,\nhoping to be the first to tell the homeward bound party.\n\nHow many times did Orion hear the story--and each time that a traveller\nbegan with: \"Have you heard?\" pointing westward, the wounds the first\nnews had inflicted bled anew.\n\nWhat lay beneath that mass of ashes? How much had the flames consumed\nthat never could be replaced! Much that he had silently wished were\npossible had in fact been fulfilled--and so soon! Where now was the\nburthen of great wealth which had hung about his heels and hindered his\nrunning freely? And yet he did not, even now, feel free; the way was not\nyet open before him; he secretly mourned over the ruined house of his\nfathers and the wrecked home; a miserable sense of insecurity weighed him\ndown. No father--no mother-no parental roof! For years he had been, in\nfact, perfectly independent, and yet he felt now like a pilot whose boat\nhad lost its rudder.\n\nBefore him lay a prison, and the closing act of the great tragedy of\nwhich he himself had been the hero. Fate had fallen on his house, had\nmarked it for destruction as erewhile that of Tantalus. It lay in ashes,\nand the victims were already many: two brothers, father, mother--and, far\naway from home, Rufinus too.\n\nBut whose was the guilt?\n\nIt was not his ancestors who had sinned; it could only be his own that\nhad called down this ruin. But was there then such a power as the Destiny\nof the ancients--inexorable, iron Fate? Had he not repented and suffered,\nbeen reconciled to his Redeemer, and prepared himself to fight the hard\nfight? Perhaps he was indeed to be the hero of a tragedy; then he would\nshow that it was not the blind Inevitable, but what a man can make of\nhimself, and what he can do by the aid of the God of might, which\ndetermines his fate. If he must still succumb, it should only be after a\nvaliant struggle and defense. He would battle fearlessly against every\nfoe, would press onward in the path he had laid down for himself. His\nheart beat high once more; he felt as though he could see his father's\nexample as a guiding star in the sky, so that he must be true to that\nwhether to live or to die. And when he turned his eye earthwards again,\nstill, even there, he had that which made it seem worth the cost of\nenduring the pangs of living and the brunt of the hardest battle: Paula\nand her love.\n\nThe nearer he approached Fostat, the more ardently his heart swelled with\nlonging. Heaven must grant him to see her once more, once more to clasp\nher in his arms, before--the end!\n\nIt seemed to him that what he had gone through in these few hours must\nhave removed and set aside everything that could part them. Now, he felt,\nhe had strength to remain worthy of her; if Heliodora were to come in his\nway again he would now certainly, positively, regard and treat her only\nas a sister.\n\nHe was conducted at once to the house of the Kadi; but this official was\nat the Divan--the council, which his arch-foe, that black monster Obada,\nhad called together.\n\nAfter the labors of the past night the Negro had allowed himself only a\nfew hours rest, and then had met the council, where he had not been slow\nto discover that he had as many enemies as there were members present.\n\nHis most determined opponents were the Kadi Othman, the head of the\nCourts of justice and administration, and Khalid the governor of the\nexchequer. Neither of them hesitated to express his opinion; and indeed,\nno one present at this meeting would have suspected for a moment that\nmost of the members had, in their peaceful youth, guarded flocks as\nshepherds on the mountains, led caravans across the desert, or managed\nsome small trade. In the contests of tribe against tribe they had found\nopportunities for practice in the use of weapons, and for steeling their\ncourage; but where had they learnt to choose their words with so much\ncare, and emphasize them with gestures of such natural grace that any\nGreek orator would have admired them? It was only when the indignant\norator \"thundered and lightened\" and was carried away by the heat of\npassion that he forgot his dignified moderation, and then how grandly\nvoice, eye, and action helped each other! And never, even under the\nhighest excitement, was purity of language overlooked. These men, of whom\nvery few could read and write, had at their command all the most\neffective verses of their poets having thousands of lines stored in their\nminds.\n\nThe discussion to-day dealt with the social aspects of an ancient\ncivilization, unknown but a few years since to the warlike children of\nthe desert, and yet how ably had the four overseers of public buildings\nthe comptrollers of the markets, of the irrigation works, and of the\nmills, achieved their ends. These bright and untarnished spirits were\nequal to the hardest task and capable of carrying it through with energy,\nacumen, and success.\n\nAnd the sons of these men who had passed through no school were already\nwell-fitted and invited to give new splendor to cities in their decline,\nand new life to the learning of the countries they had subdued.\nEverything in this council revealed talent, vitality, and ardor; and\nObada, who had been a slave, found it by no means easy to uphold his\npre-eminence among these assertive scions of free and respectable\nfamilies.\n\nThe Kadi spoke frankly and fearlessly against his recent proceedings,\ndeclaring in the name of every member of the Divan, that they disclaimed\nall responsibility for what had been done, and that it rested on the\nVekeel alone. Obada was very ready to accept it; and he announced with\nsuch fiery eloquence his determination to give shelter at Fostat to the\nnatives whom the conflagration had left roofless, he was so fair-spoken,\nand he had shown his great qualities in so clear a light during the past\nnight, that they agreed to postpone their attainder and await the reply\nfrom Medina to the complaints they had forwarded. Discipline, indeed,\nrequired that they should submit; and many a man who would have flown to\nmeet death on the field as a bride, quailed before the terrible\nadventurer who would not shrink from the most hideous deeds.\n\nObada had won by hard fighting. No one could prove a theft against him of\nso much as a single drachma; but he nevertheless had to take many a rough\nword, and with one consent the assembly refused him the deference justly\ndue to the governor's representative.\n\nBitterly indignant, he remained till the very last in the\ncouncil-chamber, no one staying with him, not even his own subalterns, to\nspeak a soothing word in praise of the power and eloquence of his\naddress, while the same cursed wretches would, under similar\ncircumstances, have buzzed round Amru like swarming bees, and have\nescorted him home like curs wagging their tails. He ascribed the\ncontumely and opposition he met with to their prejudice, as haughty,\nfree-born men against his birth, and not to any fault of his own, and yet\nhe looked down on them all, feeling himself the superior of each by\nhimself; if the blow in Medina were successful, he would pick out his\nvictims, and then. . . .\n\nHis dreams of vengeance were abruptly broken by a messenger, covered with\ndust from head to foot; he brought good news: Orion was taken and safely\nbestowed in the Kadi's house.\n\n\"And why not in mine?\" asked Obada in peremptory tones. \"Who is the\ngovernor's representative here. Othman or I? Take the prisoner to my\nhouse.\"\n\nAnd he forthwith went home. But instead of the prisoner there presently\nappeared before him an official of the Kadi's household, who informed\nhim, from his master, that as the Khaliff had constituted Othman supreme\njudge in Egypt this matter was in his hands; if Obada wished to see the\nprisoner he might go to the Kadi's residence, or visit him later in the\ntown prison of Memphis, whither Orion would presently be transferred.\n\nHe rushed off, raging, to his enemy's house, but his stormy fury was met\nby the placidity of a calm and judicial mind. Othman was a man between\nforty and fifty years old, but his soft, black beard was already turning\ngrey; his noble dark face bore the stamp of a lofty, high-bred soul, and\na keen but temperate spirit shone in his eyes. There was something serene\nand clear in his whole person; he was a man to bear the burthen of life's\nvicissitudes with dignity, while he had set himself the task of saving\nothers from them so far as in him lay.\n\nThe patriarch's complaints had come also to the Kadi's knowledge, and he,\ntoo, was minded to exact retribution for the massacre of the Moslem\nsoldiers; but the punishment should fall on none but the guilty. He would\nhave been sorry to believe that Orion was one of them, for he had\nesteemed his father as a brave man and a just judge, and had taken many a\nword of good advice from the experienced Egyptian.\n\nThe scene between him and the infuriated Vekeel was a painful one even\nfor the attendants who stood round; and Orion, who heard Obada's raging\nfrom the adjoining room, could gather from it some idea of the relentless\nhatred with which his negro enemy would persecute him.\n\nHowever, as after the wildest storm the sea ebbs in ripples so even this\ntempest came to a more peaceful conclusion. The Kadi represented to the\nVekeel what an unheard-of thing it would be, and in what a disgraceful\nlight it would set Moslem justice if one of the noblest families in the\ncountry--to whose head, too, the cause of Islam owed so much--were robbed\nof its possessions on mere suspicion. To this the Vekeel replied that\nthere were definite accusations brought by the head of the native Church,\nand that nothing had been robbed, but merely confiscated and placed in\nsecurity. As to what Allah had thought fit to destroy by fire, no one\ncould be held answerable for that. There was no \"mere suspicion\" in the\ncase, for he himself had in his possession a document which amply proved\nthat Paula, Orion's beloved, had been the instigator of the crime which\nhad cost the lives of twelve of the true believers.--The girl herself had\nbeen taken into custody yesterday. He would cross-examine her himself,\ntoo, in spite of all the Kadis in the world; for though Othman might\nchoose to let any number of Moslems be murdered by these dogs of\nChristians he, Obada, would not overlook it; and if he did, by tomorrow\nmorning the thousand Egyptians who were digging the canal would have\nkilled with their shovels the three Moslems who kept guard over them.\n\nAt this, Othman assured the Vekeel that he was no less anxious to punish\nthe miscreants, but that he must first make sure of their identity, and\nthat, in accordance with the law, justly and without fear of man or blind\nhatred, with due caution and justice. He, as judge, was no less averse to\nletting off the guilty than he was to punishing the innocent; so the\nenquiry must be allowed to proceed quietly. If Obada wished to examine\nPaula he, the Kadi, had no objection; to preside over the court and to\ndirect the trial was his business, and that he would not abdicate even\nfor the Khaliff himself so long as Omar thought him worthy to hold his\noffice.\n\nTo all this Obada had no choice but to agree, though with an ill-grace;\nand as the Vekeel wished to see Orion, the young man was called in. The\nhuge negro looked at him from head to foot like a slave he proposed to\nbuy; and, when Othman went to the door and so could not see him, he could\nnot resist the malicious impulse: he glanced significantly at the\nprisoner, and drew his forefinger sharply and quickly across his black\nthroat as though to divide the head from the trunk. Then he\ncontemptuously turned his back on the youth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nIn the course of the afternoon the Vekeel rode across to the prison in\nMemphis. He expected to find the bishop there, but instead he was met\nwith the news that Plotinus was dead of the pestilence.\n\nThis was a malignant stroke of fate; for with the bishop perished the\nwitness who could have betrayed to him the scheme plotted for the rescue\nof the nuns.--But no! The patriarch, too, no doubt, knew all.\n\nStill, of what use was that at this moment? He had no time to lose, and\nBenjamin could hardly be expected to return within three weeks.\n\nObada had met Paula's father in the battle-field by Damascus, and it had\noften roused his ire to know that this hero's name was held famous even\namong the Moslems. His envious soul grudged even to the greatest that\npure honor which friend and foe alike are ready to pay; he did not\nbelieve in it, and regarded the man to whom it was given as a\ntime-serving hypocrite.\n\nAnd as he hated the father so he did the daughter, though he had never\nseen her. Orion's fate was sealed in his mind; and before his death he\nshould suffer more acutely through the execution of Paula, whether she\ndenied or owned her guilt. He might perhaps succeed in making her\nconfess, so he desired that she should at once be brought into the\njudge's council-room; but he failed completely in his attempt, though he\npromised her, through the interpreter, the greatest leniency if she\nadmitted her guilt and threatened her with an agonizing death if she\nrefused to do so. His prisoner, indeed, was not at all what he had\nexpected, and the calm pride with which she denied every accusation\ngreatly impressed the upstart slave. At first he tried to supplement the\ninterpreter by shouting words of broken Greek, or intimidating her by\nglaring looks whose efficacy he had often proved on his subordinates but\nwithout the least success; and then he had her informed that he possessed\na document which placed her guilt beyond doubt. Even this did not shake\nher; she only begged to see it. He replied that she would know all about\nit soon enough, and he accompanied the interpreter's repetition of the\nanswer with threatening gestures.\n\nHe had met with shrewd and influential women among his own people; he had\nseen brave ones go forth to battle, and share the perils of a religious\nwar, with even wilder and more blood-thirsty defiance of death than the\nsoldiers themselves; but these had all been wives and mothers, and\nwhenever he had seen them break out of the domestic circle, beyond which\nno maiden could ever venture, it was because they were under the dominion\nof some passionate impulse and a burning partisanship for husband or son,\nfamily or tribe. The women of his nation lived for the most part in\nmodest retirement, and none but those who were carried away by some\nviolent emotion infringed the custom.\n\nBut this girl! There she stood, immovably calm, like a warrior at the\nhead of his tribe. There was something in her mien that quelled him, and\nat the same time roused to the utmost his desire to make her feel his\npower and to crush her pride. She was as much taller than the women of\nhis nation as he was taller than any other captain in the Moslem army;\nprompted by curiosity, he went close up to her to measure her height by\nhis own, and passed his hand through the air from his swarthy throat to\ntouch the crown of her head; and the depth of loathing with which she\nshrank from him did not escape his notice. The blood mounted to his head;\nhe desired the interpreter to inform her that she was to hope for no\nmercy, and inwardly devoted her to a cruel death.\n\nPale, but prepared to meet the worst, Paula returned to the squalid room\nshe occupied with her faithful Betta.\n\nHer arrival at the prison had been terrible. The guards had seemed\ndisposed to place her in a room filled with a number of male and female\ncriminals, whence the rattle of their chains and a frantic uproar of\ncoarse voices met her ear; however, the interpreter and the captain of\nthe town-watch had taken charge of her, prompted by Martina's promise of\na handsome reward if they could go to her next morning with a report that\nPaula had been decently accommodated.\n\nThe warder's mother-in-law, too, had taken her under her protection. This\nwoman was the inn-keeper's wife from the riverside inn of Nesptah, and\nshe at once recognized Paula as the handsome damsel who had refreshed\nherself there after the evening on the river with Orion, and whom she had\nsupposed to be his betrothed. She happened to be visiting her daughter,\nthe keeper's wife, and induced her to do what she could to be agreeable\nto Paula. So she and Betta were lodged in a separate cell, and her gold\ncoin proved acceptable to the man, who did his utmost to mitigate her\nlot. Indeed, Pulcheria had even been allowed to visit her and to bring\nher the last roses that the drought had left in the garden.\n\nSusannah had carried out her purpose of sending her food and fruit; but\nthey remained in the outer room, and the messenger was desired to explain\nthat no more were to be sent, for that she was supplied with all she\nneeded.\n\nConfident in her sense of innocence, she had looked forward calmly to her\nfate building her hopes on the much lauded justice of the Arab judges.\nBut it was not they, it would seem, who were to decide it, but that black\nmonster Orion's foe; crushed by the sense of impotence against the\narbitrary despotism of the ruthless villain, whose victim she must be,\nshe sat sunk in gloomy apathy, and hardly heard the old nurse's words of\nencouragement.\n\nShe did not fear death; but to die without having seen her father once\nmore, without saying and proving to Orion that she was his alone, wholly\nhis and for ever--that was too hard to bear.\n\nWhile she was wringing her hands, in a state verging on despair, the man\nwho had ruined the happiness, the peace, and the fortunes of so many of\nhis fellow-creatures was cantering through the streets of Memphis,\nmounted on the finest horse in Orion's stable, and firmly determined to\nmake his defiant prisoner feel his power. When he reached the great\nmarket-place in the quarter known as Ta-anch he was forced to bring his\nsteed to a quieter pace, for in front of the Curia--the senatehouse--an\nimmense gathering of people had collected. The Vekeel forced his way\nthrough them with cruel indifference. He knew what they wanted and paid\nno heed to them. The hapless crowd had for some time past met here daily,\ndemanding from the authorities some succor in their fearful need.\nProcessions and pilgrimages had had no result yesterday, so to-day they\nbesieged the Curia. But could the senate make the Nile rise, or stay the\npestilence, or prevent the dates dropping from the palm-trees? Could they\nhelp, when Heaven denied its aid?\n\nThese were the questions which the authorities had already put at least\nten times to the shrieking multitude from the balcony of the town hall,\nand each time the crowd had yelled in reply: \"Yes--yes. You must!--it is\nyour duty; you take the taxes, and you are put there to take care of us!\"\n\nEven yesterday the distracted creatures had been wholly unmanageable and\nhad thrown stones at the building: to-day, after the fearful\nconflagration and the death of their bishop, they had assembled in vast\nnumbers, more furious and more desperate than ever. The senators sat\ntrembling on their antique seats of gilt ivory, the relics of departed\nsplendor imitated from those of the Roman senators, looking at each other\nand shrugging their shoulders while they listened to a letter which had\njust reached them from the hadi. This document required them, in\nconformity with Obada's determination, to make known to the populace, by\npublic proclamation and declaration, that any citizen whose house had\nbeen destroyed by the fire of the past night would be granted ground and\nbuilding materials without payment, at Fostat across the Nile, where he\nmight found a new home provided he would settle there and embrace Islam.\n\nThis degrading offer must be announced: no discussion or recalcitrancy\ncould help that.\n\nAnd what could they, for their part, do for the complaining crowd?\n\nThe plague was snatching them away; the vegetables, which constituted\nhalf their food at this season, were dried up; the river, their palatable\nand refreshing drink, was poisoned; the dates, their chief luxury,\nripened only to be rejected with loathing. Then there was the comet in\nthe sky, no hope of a harvest--even of a single ear, for months to come.\nThe bishop dead, all confidence lost in the intercessions of the Church,\nGod's mercy extinct as it would seem, withdrawn from the land under\ninfidel rule!\n\nAnd they on whose help the populace counted,--poor, weak men, councillors\nof no counsel, liable from hour to hour to be called to follow those who\nhad succumbed to the plague, and who had but just quitted their vacant\nseats in obedience to the fateful word.\n\nYesterday each one had felt convinced that their necessity and misery had\nreached its height, and yet in the course of the night it had redoubled\nfor many. Their self-dependence was exhausted; but there still was one\nsage in the city who might perhaps find some new way, suggest some new\nmeans of saving the people from despair.\n\nStones were again flying down through the open roof, and the members of\nthe council started up from their ivory seats and sought shelter behind\nthe marble piers and columns. A wild turmoil came up from the\nmarket-place to the terror-stricken Fathers of the city, and the mob was\nhammering with fists and clubs on the heavy doors of the Curia. Happily\nthey were plated with bronze and fastened with strong iron bolts, but\nthey might fly open at any moment and then the furious mob would storm\ninto the hall.\n\nBut what was that?\n\nFor a moment the roar and yelling ceased, and then began again, but in a\nmuch milder form. Instead of frenzied curses and imprecations shouts now\nrose of \"Hail, hail!\" mixed with appeals: \"Help us, save us, give us\ncouncil. Long live the sage!\" \"Help us with your magic, Father!\" \"You\nknow the secrets and the wisdom of the ancients!\" \"Save us, Save us! Show\nthose money-bags, those cheats in the Curia the way to help us!\"\n\nAt this the president of the town-council ventured forth from his refuge\nbehind the statue of Trajan--the only image that the priesthood had\nspared--and to climb a ladder which was used for lighting the hanging\nlamps, so as to peep out of the high window.\n\nHe saw an old man in shining white linen robes, riding on a fine white\nass through the crowd which reverently made way for him. The lictors of\nthe town marched before him with their fasces, on to which they had tied\npalm branches in token of a friendly embassy. Looking further he could\nsee that behind the old man came a slave, besides the one who drove his\nass, carrying a quantity of manuscript scrolls. This raised his hopes,\nfor the scrolls looked very old and yellow, and no doubt contained a\nstore of wisdom; nay, probably magic formulas and effectual charms.\n\nWith a loud exclamation of \"Here he comes!\" the senator descended the\nladder; in a few minutes the door was opened with a rattling of iron\nbolts, and it was with a sigh of relief that they saw the old man come in\nand none attempt to follow him.\n\nWhen Horapollo entered the council-chamber he found the senators sitting\non their ivory chairs with as much dignified calm as though the meeting\nhad been uninterrupted; but at a sign from the president they all rose to\nreceive the old man, and he returned their greeting with reserve, as\nhomage due to him. He also accepted the raised seat, which the president\nquitted in his honor while he himself took one of the ordinary chairs at\nhis side.\n\nThe negotiation began at once, and was not disturbed by the crowd, though\nstill from the market-place there came a ceaseless roar, like the\nbreaking of distant waves and the buzzing of thousands of swarming bees.\n\nThe sage began modestly, saying that he, in his simplicity, could not but\ndespair of finding any help where so many wise men had failed; he was\nexperienced only in the lore and mysteries of the Fathers, and he had\ncome thither merely to tell the council what they had considered\nadvisable in such cases, and to suggest that their example should be\nfollowed.\n\nHe spoke low but fluently, and a murmur of approval followed; then, when\nthe president went on to speak of the low state of the Nile as the root\nof all the evil, the old man interrupted him, begging them to begin by\nconsidering the particular difficulties which they might attack by their\nown efforts.\n\nThe pestilence was in possession of the city; he had just come through\nthe quarter that had been destroyed by the fire, and had seen above fifty\nsick deprived of all care and reduced to destitution. Here something\ncould be done; here was a way of showing the angry populace that their\nadvisers and leaders were not sitting with their hands in their laps.\n\nA councillor then proposed that the convent of St. Cecilia, or the now\ndeserted and dilapidated odeum should be given up to them; but Horapollo\nobjected explaining very clearly that such a crowd of sick in the midst\nof the city would be highly dangerous to the healthy citizens. This\nopinion was shared by his friend Philippus, who had indeed commended the\nplan he had to propose as the only right one. Whither had their\nforefathers transported, not merely their beneficent institutions, but\ntheir vast temples and tomb-buildings which covered so much space? Always\nto the desert outside the town. Arrianus had even written these verses on\nthe gigantic sphinx near the Pyramids.\n\n\"The gods erewhile created these far-shining forms, wisely sparing the\nfields and fertile corn-bearing plain.\"\n\nThe moderns had forgotten thus to spare the arable land, and they had\nalso neglected to make good use of the desert. The dead and\nplague-stricken must not be allowed to endanger the living; they must\ntherefore be lodged away from the town, in the Necropolis in the desert.\n\n\"But we cannot let them be under the broiling sun,\" cried the president.\n\n\"Still less,\" added another, \"can we build a house for them in a day.\"\n\nTo this Horapollo replied:\n\n\"And who would be so foolish as to ask you to do either? But there are\nlinen and posts to be had in Memphis. Have some large tents pitched in\nthe Necropolis, and all who fall sick of the pestilence removed there at\nthe expense of the city and tended under their shade. Appoint three or\nfour of your number to carry this into execution and there will be a\nshelter for the roofless sick in a few hours. How many boatmen and\nshipwrights are standing idle on the quays! Call them together and in an\nhour they will be at work.\"\n\nThis suggestion was approved. A linen-merchant present exclaimed: \"I can\nsupply what is needed,\" and another who dealt in the same wares, and\nexported this famous Egyptian manufacture to remote places, also put in a\nword, desiring that his house might have the order as he could sell\ncheaper. This squabble might have absorbed the attention of the meeting\ntill it rose, and perhaps have been renewed the next day, if Horapollo's\nproposal that they should divide the commission equally had not been\nhastily adopted.\n\nThe populace hailed the announcement that tents would be erected for the\nsick in the desert, with applause from a thousand voices. The deputies\nchosen to superintend the task set to work at once, and by night the most\ndestitute were safe under the first large hospital tent.\n\nThe old man settled some other important questions in the same way,\nalways appealing to the lore of the ancients.\n\nAt length he spoke of the chief subject, and he did so with great caution\nand tact.\n\nAll the events of the last few weeks, he said, pointed to the conclusion\nthat Heaven was wroth with the hapless land of their fathers. As a sign\nof their anger the Immortals had sent the comet, that terrible star whose\nominous splendor was increasing daily. To make the Nile rise was not in\nthe power of men; but the ancients--and here his audience listened with\nbated breath--the ancients had been more intimately familiar with the\nmysterious powers that rule the life of Nature than men in the later\ntimes, whether priests or laymen. In those days every servant of the Most\nHigh had been a naturalist and a student, and when Egypt had been visited\nby such a calamity as that of this year, a sacrifice had been offered--a\nprecious victim against which all mankind, nay and all his own feelings\nrevolted; still, this sacrifice had never failed of its effect, no,\nnever. Here was the evidence--and he pointed to the manuscripts in his\nlap.\n\nThe councillors had begun to be restless in their seats, and first the\npresident and then the others, one after another, exclaimed and asked:\n\n\"But the victim?\"\n\n\"What did they sacrifice?\"\n\n\"What about the victim?\"\n\n\"Allow me to say no more about it till another time,\" said the old man.\n\"What good could it do to tell you that now? The first thing is to find\nthe thing that is acceptable to the gods.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Speak--do not keep us on the rack!\" was shouted on all sides; but he\nremained inexorable, promising only to call the council together when the\nright time should come and desiring that the president would proclaim\nfrom the balcony that Horapollo knew of a sacrifice which would cause the\nNile at last to rise. As soon as the right victim could be found, the\npeople should be invited to give their consent. In the time of their\nforefathers it had never failed of its effect, so men, women, and\nchildren might go home in all confidence, and await the future with new\nand well-founded hopes.\n\nAnd this announcement, with which the president mingled his praises of\nthe venerable Horapollo, had a powerful effect. The crowd hallooed with\nglee, as though they had found new life. \"Hail, hail!\" was shouted again\nand again, and it was addressed, not merely to the old man who had\npromised them deliverance, but also to the Fathers of the city, who felt\nas if a fearful load had fallen from their souls.\n\nThe old man's scheme was, to be sure, not pious nor rightly Christian;\nbut had the power of the Church been in any way effectual? And this\nhaving failed they must of their own accord have had recourse to means\nheld reprobate by the priesthood. Magic and the black arts were genuinely\nEgyptian; and when faith had no power, these asserted themselves and\nsuperstition claimed its own. Though Medea had been taken by surprise and\nimprisoned, this had not been done to satisfy the law, but with a view to\nsecretly utilizing her occult science for the benefit of the community.\nIn such dire need no means were too base; and though the old man himself\nwas horrified at those he proposed he was sure of public approbation if\nonly they had the desired result. If only they could avert the calamity\nthe sin could be expiated, and the Almighty was so merciful!\n\nThe bishop had a seat and voice in the council, but Fate itself had saved\nthem from the dilemma of having to meet his remonstrances.\n\nWhen Horapollo went out into the market-place he was received with\nacclamations, and as much gratitude as though he had already achieved the\ndeliverance of the people and country.\n\nWhat had he done?--Whether the work he had set going were to fail or to\nsucceed he could not remain in Memphis, for in either case he would never\nhave peace again. But that did not daunt him; it would certainly be very\ngood for the two women to be removed from the perilous neighborhood of\nthe Arab capital, and he was firmly determined to take them away with\nhim. For his dear Philip, too, nothing could be better than a\ntransplantation into other soil.\n\nAt the house of Rufinus he now learnt the fate that had fallen on Paula.\n\nShe was out the way, at any rate for the present; still, if she should be\nreleased to-morrow or the day after, or even a month hence, she would be\nas great a hindrance as ever. His plots against her must therefore be\ncarried out. His own isolation provoked him, and what a satisfaction it\nwould be if only he should succeed in stirring up the Egyptian Christians\nto the heathen deed to which he was endeavoring to prompt them.\n\nIf Paula should be condemned to death by the Arabs, the execution of the\nscheme would be greatly promoted; and now the first point was to ensure\nthe favor of the black Vekeel, for everything depended on his consent.\n\nJoanna and Pulcheria thought him more good-humored and amiable than they\nhad ever known him; his proposal that he and Philippus should join their\nhousehold was hailed with delight even by little Mary, and the women\nconducted him all over the house, supporting his steps with affectionate\ncare. All he saw there pleased him beyond measure. Such neatness and\ncomfort could only exist where there was a woman's eye to direct and\nwatch over everything. The rooms on the ground floor, which had been the\nmaster's, should be his, and the corresponding wing on the other side\ncould be made ready for Philippus. The dining-room, the large\nante-chamber, and the viridarium would be common ground, and the upper\nstory was large enough for the women and any guests. He would move in as\nsoon as he had settled some business he had in hand.\n\nIt must be something of a pleasant nature, for as the old man spoke of it\nhis sunken lips mumbled with satisfaction, while his sparkling eyes\nseemed to say to Pulcheria: \"And I have something good in store for you,\ntoo, dear child.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Thin-skinned, like all up-starts in authority\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 11.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nPaula passed a fearful night in the small, frightfully hot prison-cell in\nwhich she and Betta were shut up. She could not sleep, and when once she\nsucceeded in closing her eyes she was roused by the yells and clanking\nchains of the captives in the common prison and the heavy step of another\nsufferer who paced the room overhead, even more restless than herself.\n\nPoor fellow-victim! Was it a tortured conscience that drove him hither\nand thither, or was he as innocent as she was, and was it longing, love,\nand anxiety that bereft him of sleep?\n\nHe was no vulgar criminal. There was no room for those in this part of\nthe building; and at midnight, when the noise in the large hall was\nsuddenly silenced, soft sounds of the lute came down to her from his\ncell, and only a master could strike the strings with such skill.\n\nShe cared nothing for the stranger; but she was grateful for his gift of\nmusic, for it diverted her thoughts from herself, and she listened with\ngrowing interest. Glad of an excuse for rising from her hard, hot bed,\nshe sprang up and placed herself close to the one window, an opening\nbarred with iron. But then the music ceased and a conversation began\nbetween the warder and her fellow-prisoner.\n\nWhat voice was that? Did she deceive herself, or hear rightly?\n\nHer heart stood still while she listened; and now every doubt was\nsilenced: It was Orion, and none other, whom she heard speaking in the\nroom above. Then the warder spoke his name; they were talking of her\ndeceased uncle; and now, as if in obedience to some sign, they lowered\ntheir voices. She heard whispering but could not distinguish what was\nsaid. At length parting words were uttered in louder tones, the door of\nthe cell was locked and the prisoner approached his window.\n\nAt this she pressed her face close to the heated iron bars, looked\nupwards, listened a moment and, as nothing was stirring, she said, first\nsoftly, and then rather louder: \"Orion, Orion!\"\n\nAnd, from above, her name was spoken in reply. She greeted him and asked\nhow and when he had come hither; but he interrupted her at the first\nwords with a decisive: \"Silence!\" adding in a moment, \"Look out!\"\n\nShe listened in expectancy; the minutes crept on at a snail's pace to a\nfull half hour before he at last said: \"Now!\" And, in a few moments, she\nheld in her hand a written scroll that he let down to her by a lutestring\nweighted with a scrap of wood.\n\nShe had neither light nor fire, and the night was moonless. So she called\nup \"Dark!\" and immediately added, as he had done: \"Look out.\"\n\nShe then tied to the string the two best roses of those Pulcheria had\nbrought her, and at her glad \"Now!\" they floated up.\n\nHe expressed his thanks in a few low chords overflowing with yearning and\npassion; then all was still, for the warder had forbidden him to sing or\nplay at night and he dared not risk losing the man's favor.\n\nPaula laid down again with Orion's letter in her hand, and when she felt\nslumber stealing upon her, she pushed it under her pillow and ere long\nwas sleeping on it. When they both woke, soon after sunrise, they had\nbeen dreaming of each other and gladly hailed the return of day.\n\nHow furious Orion had felt when the prison door closed upon him! He\nlonged to wrench the iron bars from the window and kick down or force the\ndoor; and there is no more humiliating and enraging feeling for a man\nthan that of finding himself shut up like a wild beast, cut off from the\nworld to which he belongs and which he needs, both to give him all that\nmakes life worth having, and to receive such good as he can do and give.\n\nYesterday their dungeon had seemed a foretaste of hell, they had each\nbeen on the verge of despair; to-day what different feelings animated\nthem! Orion had been the victim of blow on blow from Fate--Paula had\nlooked forward to his return with an anxious and aching heart; to-day how\ncalm were their souls, though both stood in peril of death.\n\nThe legend tells us that St. Cecilia, who was led away to the rack from\nher marriage feast, even in the midst of the torments of martyrdom,\nlistened in ecstasy to heavenly music and sweet echoes of the organ; and\nhow many have had the same experience! In the extremity of anguish and\ndanger they find greater joys than in the midst of splendor, ease and the\nintoxicating pleasures of life; for what we call happiness is the\nconstant guest of those who have within reach that for which their souls\nmost ardently long, irrespective of place and outward circumstances.\n\nSo these two in their prison were what they had not been for a long time:\nfull of heartfelt bliss; Paula with his letter, which he had begun at the\nKadi's house, and in which he poured out his whole soul to her; Orion in\nthe possession of her roses, on which he feasted his eyes and heart, and\nwhich lay before him while he wrote the following lines, which the\nkindhearted warder willingly transmitted to her:\n\n   Lo! As night in its gloom and horror fell on my prison,\n   Methought the sun sank black, dark forever in death.\n\n   I drew thy roses up, and behold! from their crimson petals\n   Beamed a glory of light, a glow as of sunshine and day!\n\n   Love! Love is the star that rose with those fragrant flowers;\n   Rose, as Phoebus' car comes up from the tossing waves.\n\n   Is not the ardent flame of a heart that burns with passion\n   Like the sparkling glow-worm hid in the heart of the rose?\n\n   While it yet was day, and we breathed in freedom and gladness,\n   While the sun still shone, that light seemed small and dim;\n\n   But now, when night has fallen, sinister, dark, portentous,\n   Its kindly ray beams forth to raise our drooping souls.\n\n   As seeds in the womb of earth break from the brooding darkness,\n   Or as the soul soars free, heaven-seeking from the grave,\n\n   So the hopeless soil of a dungeon blossoms to rapture,\n   Blooms with roses of Love, more sweet than the wildling rose!\n\nAnd when had Paula ever felt happier than at the moment when this\noffering from her lover, this humble prison-flower, first reached her.\n\nOld Betta could not hear the verses too often, and cried with joy, not at\nthe poem, but at the wonderful change it had produced in her darling.\nPaula was now the radiant being that she had been at home on the Lebanon;\nand when she appeared before the assembled judges in the hall of justice\nthey gazed at her in amazement, for never had a woman on her trial for\nlife or death stood in their presence with eyes so full of happiness. And\nyet she was in evil straits. The just and clement Kadi, himself the\nloving father of daughters, felt a pang at his heart as he noted the\ndelusive confidence which so evidently filled the soul of this noble\nmaiden.\n\nYes, she was in evil straits: a crushing piece of evidence was in their\nhands, and the constitution of the court--which was in strict conformity\nwith the law must in itself be unfavorable to her. Her case was to be\ntried by an equal number of Egyptians and of Arabs. The Moslems were\nincluded because by her co-operation, Arabs had been slain; while Paula,\nas a Christian and a resident in Memphis, came under the jurisdiction of\nthe Egyptians.\n\nThe Kadi presided, and experience had taught him that the Jacobite\nmembers of the bench of judges kept the sentence of death in their\nsleeves when the accused was of the Melchite confession. What had\nespecially prejudiced them against this beautiful creature he knew not;\nbut he easily discovered that they were hostile to the accused, and if\nthey should utter the verdict \"guilty\", and only two Arabs should echo\nit, the girl's fate was sealed.\n\nAnd what was the declaration which that whiterobed old man among the\nwitnesses desired to make--the venerable and learned Horapollo? The\nglances he cast at Paula augured her no good.\n\nIt was so oppressively, so insufferably hot in the hall! Each one felt\nthe crushing influence, and in spite of the importance of the occasion,\nthe proceedings every now and then came to a stand-still and then were\nhurried on again with unseemly haste.\n\nThe prisoner herself seemed happily to be quite fresh and not affected by\nthe sultriness of the day. It had cost her small effort to adhere to her\nstatement that she had had no share in the escape of the sisters, when\ncatechised by the ruffianly negro; but she found it hard to defy Othman's\nbenevolent questioning. However, there was no choice, and she succeeded\nin proving that she had never quitted Memphis nor the house of Rufinus at\nthe time when the Arab warriors met their death between Athribis and\nDoomiat. The Kadi endeavored to turn this to account for her advantage\nand Obada, who had found much to whisper over with his grey-headed\nneighbor on the bench reserved for witnesses, let him talk; but no sooner\nhad he ended than the Vekeel rose and laid before the judges the note he\nhad found in Orion's room.\n\nIt was undoubtedly in the young man's handwriting and addressed to Paula,\nand the final words: \"But do not misunderstand me. Your noble, and only\ntoo well-founded desire to lend succor to your fellow-believers would\nhave sufficed. . . .\" could not fail to make a deep impression. When the\nKadi questioned Paula, however, she replied with perfect truth that this\ndocument was absolutely unknown to her; at the same time she did not deny\nthat the sisters of St. Cecilia, who were of her own confession, had\nalways had her warmest wishes, and that she had hoped they might succeed\nin asserting their rights in opposition to the patriarch.\n\nThe deceased Mukaukas, and the Jacobite members of the town-council even,\nhad shared these feelings and the Arabs had never interfered with the\npious sicknurses.\n\nThe calm conciseness with which she made these statements had a favorable\neffect, on her Moslem judges especially, and the Kadi began to have some\nhopes for her; he desired that Orion should be called as being best able\nto account for the meaning of the letter he had written but never sent.\n\nOn this the young man appeared, and though he and Paula did their utmost\nto preserve a suitable demeanor, every one could see the violent\nagitation they felt at meeting each other in such a situation. Horapollo\nnever took his eyes off Orion, whom he now saw for the first time, and\nhis features put on a darkening and menacing expression.\n\nThe young man acknowledged that he had written the letter in question,\nbut he and Paula alike referred it to the danger with which the\nsisterhood had long been threatened from the patriarch's hostility. The\nassistance which, in that document, he had refused he would have afforded\nreadily and zealously at a later and fit season, and he could have\ncounted on the aid of the Arab governor Amru, who, as he would himself\nconfirm, shared the views of the Mukaukas George as to the nuns' rights.\n\nAt this the old sage murmured loud enough to be heard: \"Clever, very\nclever!\" and the Vekeel laughed aloud, exclaiming:\n\n\"I call that a cunning way of lengthening your days! Be on your guard, my\nlords. These two are partners in the game and are intimately allied. I\nhave proof of that in my own hands. That youngster takes as good care of\nthe damsel's fortune as though it were his own already, and what is\nmore. . . . \"\n\nHere Paula broke in. She did not know what the malicious man was going to\nsay, but it was something insulting beyond a doubt. And there stood\nOrion, just as she had pictured him in moments of tender remembrance; she\nfelt his eye resting on her in ecstasy. To go up to him, to tell him all\nshe was feeling in this critical struggle for life or death, seemed\nimpossible; but as the Vekeel began to disclose to their judges matters\nwhich concerned only herself and her lover, every impulse prompted her to\ninterpose and, in this fateful hour, to do her friend such service as she\nonce, like a coward, had shrank from. So with eager emotion, her eyes\nflashing, she interrupted the negro \"Stop!\" she cried, \"you are wasting\nwords and trouble. What you are trying to prove by subtlety I am proud\nand glad to declare. Hear it, all of you. The son of the Mukaukas is my\nbetrothed!\"\n\nAt the same time her eye sought to meet Orion's. And thus, in the very\nextremity of danger, they enjoyed a solemn moment of the purest, deepest\nhappiness. Paula's eyes were moist with grateful tenderness, when Orion\nexclaimed:\n\n\"You have heard from her own lips what makes the greatest bliss of my\nlife. The noble daughter of Thomas is my promised bride!\"\n\nThere was a murmur among the Jacobite judges. 'Till this moment several\nof them, oppressed by the heat, had sat dreaming with their heads sunk on\ntheir breasts, but now they were suddenly as wide-awake and alert as\nthough a jet of cold water had been turned on to them, and one cried out:\n\"And your father, young man? You have forgotten him in a hurry! What\nwould he have said to such a disgrace to his blood as your marriage to a\nMelchite, the daughter of those who caused your two brothers to be\nmurdered? Oh! if the dead could. . . .\"\n\n\"He blessed our union on his death-bed,\" Orion put in.\n\n\"Did he, indeed?\" asked another Jacobite with sarcastic scorn. \"Then the\npatriarch was in the right when he refused to let the priests follow his\ncorpse. That I should live to be witness to such crimes!\"\n\nBut such words fell on the ears of the enraptured pair like the chirping\nof crickets. They felt, they cared for nothing but what this blissful\nmoment had brought them, and never suspected that Paula's glad avowal had\nsealed her death-warrant.\n\nThe wrath of the Jacobite faction now hastened the end. The prosecutor,\nan Arab, now represented how many Moslems had lost their lives in the\naffair of the nuns, and once more read Orion's letter. His Christian\ncolleagues tried to prove that this document could only refer to the\nflight, so ingeniously plotted, of the sisters; and now something quite\nnew and unlooked-for occurred, which gave a fresh turn to the\nproceedings: the old man interrupted the Kadi to make a statement. At\nthis Paula's confidence rose again for the last speaker had somewhat\nshaken it. She felt sure that the tried friend and adoptive father of her\nfaithful Philippus would take her part.\n\nBut what was this?\n\nThe old man seemed to measure her height in a glance which struck to her\nheart with its fierce enmity, and then he said deliberately:\n\n\"On the morning of the nuns' flight the accused, Paula, went to the\nconvent and there tolled the bell. Contradict me if you can, proud\nprefect's daughter; but I warn you beforehand, that in that case, I shall\nbe compelled to bring forward fresh charges.\"\n\nAt this the horror-stricken girl pictured to herself the widow and\ndaughter of Rufinus at her side on the condemned bench before the judges,\nand felt that denial would drag her friends to destruction with her; with\nquivering lips she confirmed the old man's statement.\n\n\"And why did you toll the bell?\" asked the Kadi.\n\n\"To help them,\" replied Paula. \"They are my fellow-believers, and I love\nthem.\"\n\n\"She was the originator of the treasonable and bloody scheme,\" cried the\nVekeel, \"and did it for no other purpose than to cheat us, the rulers of\nthis country.\"\n\nThe Kadi however signed to him to be silent and bid the Jacobite counsel\nfor the accused speak next. He had seen her early in the day, and came\nforward in the Egyptian manner with a written defence in his hand; but it\nwas a dull formal performance and produced no effect; though the Kadi did\nhis utmost to give prominence to every point that might help to justify\nher, she was pronounced guilty.\n\nStill, could her crime be held worthy of death? It was amply proved that\nshe had had a hand in the rescue of the nuns; but it was no less clear\nthat she had been far enough away from the sisters and their defenders\nwhen the struggle with the Arabs took place. And she was a woman, and how\npardonable it seemed in a pious maiden that she should help the\nfellow-believers whom she loved to evade persecution.\n\nAll this Othman pointed out in eloquent words, repeatedly and sternly\nsilencing the Vekeel when he sought to argue in favor of the sentence of\ndeath; and the humane persuasiveness of the lenient judge won the hearts\nof most of the Moslems.\n\nPaula's appearance had a powerful effect, too, and not less the\ncircumstance that their noblest and bravest foe had been the father of\nthe accused.\n\nWhen at length it was put to the vote the extraordinary result was that\nall her fellow Christians--the Jacobites--without exception demanded her\ndeath, while of the infidels on the judges' bench only one supported this\nsevere meed of punishment.\n\nSentence was pronounced, and as the Vekeel Obada passed close to\nOrion--who was led back to his cell pale and hardly master of himself--he\nsaid, mocking him in broken Greek: \"It will be your turn to-morrow, Son\nof the Mukaukas!\"\n\nOrion's lips framed the retort: \"And yours, too, some day, Son of a\nSlave!\"--but Paula was standing opposite, and to avoid infuriating her\nfoe he was able to do what he never could have done else: to let the\nVekeel and Horapollo pass on without a word in reply.\n\nAs soon as the door was closed on this couple, Othman nodded approvingly\nat Orion and said:\n\n\"Rightly and wisely done, my friend! The eagle should never forget that\nhe must not use his pinions in a cage as he does between the desert and\nthe sky.\"\n\nHe signed to the guards to lead him away, and stood apart while the young\nman looked and waived an adieu to his betrothed.\n\nFinally the Kadi went up to Paula, whose heroic composure as she heard\nthe sentence of death had filled him with admiration.\n\n\"The court has decided against you, noble maiden,\" he said. \"But its\nverdict can he overruled by the clemency of our Sovereign Lord the\nKhaliff and the mercy of God the compassionate. Do you pray to Him--I and\na few friends will appeal to the Khaliff.\"\n\nHe disclaimed her gratitude, and when she, too, had been led away he\nadded, in the figurative language of his nation, to the friends who were\nwaiting for him:\n\n\"My heart aches! To have to pronounce such a verdict oppressed me like a\nload; but to have an Obada for a fellow Moslem and be bound to obey\nhim--there is no heavier lot on earth!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nThe mysterious old sage had no sooner left the judgment-hall with the\nVekeel than he begged for a private interview. Obada did not hesitate to\nturn the keeper of the prison, with his wife and infant, out of his room,\nand there he listened while Horapollo informed him of the fate to which\nhe destined the condemned girl. The old man's scheme certainly found\nfavor with the Negro; still, it seemed to him in many respects so daring\nthat, but for an equivalent service which Horapollo was in a position to\noffer Obada, he would scarcely have succeeded in obtaining his consent.\n\nAll the Vekeel aimed at was to make it very certain that Orion had had a\nhand in the flight of the nuns, and chance had placed a document in the\nold man's hands which seemed to set this beyond a doubt.\n\nHe had effected his removal to the widow's dwelling in the cool hours of\nearly morning. He had taken with him, in the first instance, only the\nmost valuable and important of his manuscripts, and as he was placing\nthese in a small desk--the very same which Rufinus had left for Paula's\nuse--Horapollo found in it the note which the youth had hastily written\nwhen, after waiting in vain for Paula as she sat with little Mary, he had\nat last been obliged to depart and take leave of Amru. This wax-tablet,\non which the writing was much defaced and partly illegible, could not\nfail to convince the judges of Orion's guilt, and the production of this\npiece of evidence enabled the old man to extort Obada's consent to his\nproposal as to the mode of Paula's death. When they finally left the\nwarder's room, the Negro once more turned to the keeper of the prison and\ntold him with a snort, as he pointed to his pretty wife and the child at\nher breast, that they should all three die if he allowed Orion to quit\nhis cell for so much as an instant.\n\nHe then swung himself on to his horse, while Horapollo rode off to the\nCuria to desire the president of the council to call a meeting for that\nevening; then he betook himself to his new quarters.\n\nThere he found his room carefully shaded, and as cool as was possible in\nsuch heat. The floor had been sprinkled with water, flowers stood\nwherever there was room for them, and all his properties in scrolls and\nother matters had found places in chests or on shelves. There was not a\nspeck of dust to be seen, and a sweet pervading perfume greeted his\nsensitive nostrils.\n\nWhat a good exchange he had made! He rubbed his withered hands with\nsatisfaction as he seated himself in his accustomed chair, and when Mary\ncame to call him to dinner, it was a pleasure to him to jest with her.\n\nPulcheria must lead him through the viridarium into the dining-room; he\nenjoyed his meal, and his cross, wrinkled old face lighted up amazingly\nas he glanced round at his feminine associates; only Eudoxia was absent,\nconfined to her room by some slight ailment. He had something pleasant to\nsay to each; he frankly compared his former circumstances with his\npresent position, without disguising his heartfelt thankfulness; then,\nwith a merry glance at Pulcheria, he described how delightful it would be\nwhen Philippus should come home to make the party complete--a true and\nperfect star: for every Egyptian star must have five rays. The ancients\nhad never painted one otherwise nor graven it in stone; nay, they had\nused it as the symbol for the number five.\n\nAt this Mary exclaimed: \"But then I hope--I hope we shall make a\nsix-rayed star; for by that time poor Paula may be with us again!\"\n\n\"God grant it!\" sighed Dame Joanna. Pulcheria, however, asked the old man\nwhat was wrong with him, for his face had suddenly clouded. His\ncheerfulness had vanished, his tufted eyebrows were raised, and his\npinched lips seemed unwilling to part, when at length he reluctantly\nsaid:\n\n\"Nothing--nothing is wrong. . . . At the same time; once for all--I loathe\nthat name.\"\n\n\"Paula?\" cried the child in astonishment. \"Oh! but if you knew. . .\"\n\n\"I know more than enough,\" interrupted the old man. \"I love you all--all;\nmy old heart expands as I sit in your midst; I am comfortable here, I\nfeel kindly towards you, I am grateful to you; every little attention you\nshow me does me good; for it comes from your hearts: if I could repay you\nsoon and abundantly--I should grow young again with joy. You may believe\nme, as I can see indeed that you do. And yet,\" and again his brows went\nup, \"and yet, when I hear that name, and when you try to win me over to\nthat woman, or if you should even go so far as to assail my ears with her\npraises--then, much as it would grieve me, I would go back again to the\nplace where I came from.\"\n\n\"Why, Horapollo, what are you saying?\" cried Joanna, much distressed.\n\n\"I say,\" the old man went on, \"I say that in her everything is\nconcentrated which I most hate and contemn in her class. I say that she\nbears in her bosom a cold and treacherous heart; that she blights my days\nand my nights; in short, that I would rather be condemned to live under\nthe same roof with clammy reptiles and cold-blooded snakes than. . .\"\n\n\"Than with her, with Paula?\" Mary broke in. The eager little thing sprang\nto her feet, her eyes flashed lightnings and her voice quivered with\nrage, as she exclaimed: \"And you not only say it but mean it? Is it\npossible?\"\n\n\"Not only possible, but positive, sweetheart,\" replied the old man,\nputting out his hand to take hers, but she shrank back, exclaiming\nvehemently:\n\n\"I will not be your sweetheart, if you speak so of her! A man as old as\nyou are ought to be just. You do not know her at all, and what you say\nabout her heart. . .\"\n\n\"Gently, gently, child,\" the widow put in; and Horapollo answered with\npeculiar emphasis.\n\n\"That heart, my little whirlwind!--it would be well for us all if we\ncould forget it, forget it for good or for evil. She has been tried\nto-day, and that heart is sentenced to cease beating.\"\n\n\"Sentenced! Merciful Heaven!\" shrieked Pulcheria, and as she started up\nher mother cried out:\n\n\"For God's sake do not jest about such things, it is a sin.--Is it\ntrue?--Is it possible? Those wretches, those . . . I see in your face it\nis true; they have condemned Paula.\"\n\n\"As you say,\" replied Horapollo calmly. \"The girl is to be executed.\"\n\n\"And you only tell us now?\" wept Pulcheria, while Mary broke out:\n\n\"And yet you have been able to jest and laugh, and you--I hate you! And\nif you were not such a helpless, old, old man. . .\" But here Joanna again\nsilenced the child, and she asked between her sobs:\n\n\"Executed?--Will they cut off her head? And is there no mercy for her who\nwas as far away from that luckless fight as we were--for her, a girl, and\nthe daughter of Thomas?\"\n\nTo which the old man replied:\n\n\"Wait a while, only wait! Heaven has perhaps chosen her for great ends.\nShe may be destined to save a whole country and nation from destruction\nby her death. It is even possible. . .\"\n\n\"Speak out plainly; you make me shudder with your oracular hints,\" cried\nthe widow; but he only shrugged his shoulders and said coolly:\n\n\"What we foresee is not yet known. Heaven alone can decide in such a\ncase. It will be well for us all--for me, for her, for Pulcheria, and\neven our absent Philip, if the divinity selects her as its instrument.\nBut who can see into darkness? If it is any comfort to you, Joanna, I can\ninform you that the soft-hearted Kadi and his Arab colleagues, out of\nsheer hatred of the Vekeel, who is immeasurably their superior in talent\nand strength of will, will do everything in their power. . . .\" \"To save\nher?\" exclaimed the widow.\n\n\"To-morrow they will hold council and decide whether to send a messenger\nto Medina to implore pardon for her,\" Horapollo went on with a horrible\nsmile. \"The day after they will discuss who the messenger is to be, and\nbefore he can reach Arabia fate will have overtaken the prisoner. The\nVekeel Obada moves faster than they do, and the power lies in his hands\nso long as Amru is absent from Egypt. He, they say, perfectly dotes on\nthe Mukaukas' son, and for his sake--who knows? Paula as his betrothed.\"\n\n\"His betrothed?\"\n\n\"He called her by that name before the judges, and congratulated himself\non his promised bride.\"\n\n\"Paula and Orion!\" cried Pulcheria, jubilant in the midst of her tears,\nand clapping her hands for joy.\n\n\"A pair indeed!\" said the old man. \"You may well rejoice, my girl! Feeble\nhearts as you all are, respect the experience of the aged, and bless Fate\nif it should lame the horse of the Kadi's messenger!--However, you will\nnot listen to anything oracular, so it will be better to talk of\nsomething else.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Joanna. \"What can we think of but her and her fate? Oh,\nHorapollo, I do not know you in this mood. What has that poor soul done\nto you, persecuted as she is by the hardest fate--that noble creature who\nis so dear to us all? And do you forget that the judges who have\nsentenced her will now proceed to enquire what Rufinus, and we all of us.\n. .\"\n\n\"What you had to do with that mad scheme of rescue?\" interrupted\nHorapollo. \"I will make it my business to prevent that. So long as this\nold brain is able to think, and this mouth to speak, not a hair of your\nheads shall be hurt.\"\n\n\"We are grateful to you,\" said Joanna. \"But, if you have such power, set\nto work--you know how dear Paula is to us all, how highly your friend\nPhilip esteems her--use your power to save her.\"\n\n\"I have no power, and refuse to have any,\" retorted the old man harshly.\"\n\n\"But Horapollo, Horapollo!--Come here, children!--We were to find in you\na second father--so you promised. Then prove that those were no empty\nwords, and be entreated by us.\"\n\nThe old man drew a deep breath; he rose to his feet with such vigor as he\ncould command, a bright, sharply-defined patch of color tinged each pale\ncheek, and he exclaimed in husky tones:\n\n\"Not another word! No attempt to move me, not a cry of lamentation!\nEnough, and a thousand times too much, of that already. You have heard\nme, and I now say again--me or Paula, Paula or me. Come what may in the\nfuture, if you cannot so far control yourselves as never to mention her\nin my presence, I--no, I do not swear, but when I have said a thing I\nkeep to it--I will go back to my old den and drag out life the richer by\na disappointment--or die, as my ruling goddess shall please.\"\n\nWith this he left the room, and little Mary raised her clenched right\nfist and shook it after him, exclaiming: \"Then let him go, hard-hearted,\nunjust, old scarecrow! Oh, if only I were a man!\" And she burst out\ncrying aloud. Heedless of the widow's reproof, she went on quite beside\nherself: \"Oh, there is no one more wicked than he is, Dame Joanna! He\nwants to see her die, he wishes her to be dead; I know it, he even wishes\nit! Did you hear him, Pul, he would be glad if the messenger's horse went\nlame before he could save her? And now she is my Orion's betrothed--I\nalways meant them for each other--and they want to kill him, too, but\nthey shall not, if there is still a God of justice in heaven! Oh if I--if\nI. . .\" Her voice failed her, choked with sobs. When she had somewhat\nrecovered she implored Pulcheria and her mother to take her to see Paula,\nand as they shared her wish they prepared to start for the prison before\nit should grow dark.\n\nThe nearer they went to the market-place, which they must cross, the more\ncrowded were the streets. Every one was going the same way; the throng\nalmost carried the women with it; yet, from the market came, as it were,\na contrary torrent of shouts and shrieks from a myriad of human throats.\nDame Joanna was terrified in the press by the uproarious doings in the\nmarket, and she would gladly have turned back with the girls, or have\nmade her way through by-streets, but the tide bore her on, and it would\nhave been easier to swim against a swollen mountain stream than to return\nhome. Thus they soon reached the square, but there they were brought to a\nstandstill in the crush.\n\nThe widow's terrors now increased. It was dreadful to be kept fast with\nthe young people in such a mob. Pulcheria clung closely to her, and when\nshe bid Mary take her hand the child, who thoroughly enjoyed the\nadventure, exclaimed: \"Only look, Mother Joanna, there is our Rustem. He\nis taller than any one.\"\n\n\"If only he were by our side!\" sighed the widow. At this the little girl\nsnatched away her hand, made her way with the nimbleness of a squirrel\nthrough the mass of men, and soon had reached the Masdakite. Rustem had\nnot yet quitted Memphis, for the first caravan, which he and his little\nwife were to join, was not to start for a few days. The worthy Persian\nand Mary were very good friends; as soon as he heard that his\nbenefactress was alarmed he pushed his way to her, with the child, and\nthe widow breathed more freely when he offered to remain near her and\nprotect her.\n\nMeanwhile the yelling and shouting were louder than ever. Every face,\nevery eye was turned to the Curia, in the evident expectation of\nsomething great and strange taking place there.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Mary, pulling at Rustem's coat. The giant said\nnothing, but he stooped, and to her delight, a moment later she had her\nfeet on his arms, which he folded across his chest, and was settling\nherself on his broad shoulder whence she could survey men and things as\nfrom a tower. Joanna laid her hand in some tremor on the child's little\nfeet, but Mary called down to her: \"Mother--Pulcheria--I am quite sure\nour old Horapollo's white ass is standing in front of the Curia, and they\nare putting a garland round the beast's neck--a garland of olive.\"\n\nAt this moment the blare of a tuba rang out from the Senate-house across\nthe square, through the suffocatingly hot, quivering air; a sudden\nsilence fell and spread till, when a man opened his mouth to shout or to\nspeak, a neighbor gave him a shove and bid him hold his tongue. At this\nthe widow held Mary's ankles more tightly, asking, while she wiped the\ndrops from her brow:\n\n\"What is going on?\" and the child answered quickly, never taking her eyes\noff the scene:\n\n\"Look, look up at the balcony of the Curia; there stands the chief of the\nSenate--Alexander the dyer of purple--he often used to come to see my\ngrandfather, and grandmother could not bear his wife. And by his side--do\nyou not see who the man is close by him?\n\n\"It is old Horapollo. He is taking the laurel-crown off his\nwig!--Alexander is going to speak.\"\n\nShe was interrupted by another trumpet call, and immediately after a\nloud, manly voice was heard from the Curia, while the silence was so\nprofound that even the widow and her daughter lost very little of the\nspeech which followed:\n\n\"Fellow-citizens, Memphites, and comrades in misfortune,\" the president\nbegan in slow, ringing tones, \"you know what the sufferings are which we\nall share. There is not a woe that has not befallen us, and even worse\nloom before us.\"\n\nThe crowd expressed their agreement by a fearful outcry, but they were\nreduced to silence by the sound of the tuba, and the speaker went on:\n\n\"We, the Senate, the fathers of the city, whom you have entrusted with\nthe care of your persons and your welfare. . .\"\n\nAt this point he was interrupted by wild yells, and cries could be\ndistinguished of: \"Then take care of us--do your duty!\"\n\n\"Money bags!\"\n\n\"Keep your pledge!\"\n\n\"Save us from destruction!\"\n\nThe trumpet call, however, again silenced them, and the speaker went on,\nalmost beside himself with vehement excitement.\n\n\"Hearken! Do not interrupt me! The dearth and misery fall on our heads as\nmuch as on yours. My own wife and son died of the plague last night!\"\n\nAt this only a low murmur ran through the crowd, and it died away of its\nown accord as the dignified old man on the balcony wiped his eyes and\nwent on:\n\n\"If there is a single man among you who can prove us guilty of neglect--a\nman, woman, or child--let him accuse us before God, before our new ruler\nthe Khaliff, and yourselves, the citizens of Memphis; but not now, my\nfellow-sufferers, not now! At this time cease your cries and\nlamentations; now when rescue is in sight. Listen to me, and let us know\nwhat you feel with regard to the last and uttermost means of deliverance\nwhich I now come to propose to you.\"\n\n\"Silence! Hear him! Down with the noisy ones!\" was heard on all sides,\nand the orator went on:\n\n\"We, as Christians, in the first instance addressed ourselves to our\nFather in Heaven, to our one and only divine Redeemer, and to His Holy\nChurch to aid us; and I ask you: Has there been any lack of prayers,\nprocessions, pilgrimages, and pious gifts? No, no, my beloved\nfellow-citizens! Each one be my witness--certainly not! But Heaven has\nremained blind and deaf and dumb in sight of our need, yea as though\nparalyzed. And yet no; not indeed paralyzed, for it has been powerful and\nswift to move only to heap new woes upon us. Not a thing that human\nforesight and prudence could devise or execute has remained untried.\n\n\"The time-honored arts of the magicians, sorcerers, and diviners, which\naforetime have often availed to break the powers of evil spirits, have\nproved no less delusive and ineffectual. So then we remembered our\nglorious forefathers and ancestors, and we recollected that a man lives\nin our midst who knew many things which we others have lost sight of in\nthe lapse of years. He has made the wisdom of our forefathers his own in\nthe course of a long life of laborious days and nights. He has the key to\nthe writing and the secrets of the ancients, and he has communicated to\nus the means of deliverance to which they resorted, when they suffered\nfrom such afflictions as have befallen us in these dreadful days; and\nthis venerable man at my side, the wise and truthful Horapollo, will\nacquaint us with it. You see the antique scrolls in his hand: They teach\nus the wonders it wrought in times past.\"\n\nHere the speaker was interrupted by a cry of: \"Hail Horapollo, the\nDeliverer!\" and thousands took it up and expressed their satisfaction and\ngratitude by loud shouting.\n\nThe old man bowed modestly, pointed to his narrow chest and toothless\nmouth and then to the head of the Council as the man who had undertaken\nto transmit his opinion to the populace; so Alexander went on:\n\n\"Great favors, my friends and fellow-citizens, must be purchased by great\ngifts. The ancients knew this, and when the river--on which, as we know\nonly too well, the weal or woe of this land solely depends--refused to\nrise, and its low ebb brought evils of many kinds upon its banks, they\noffered in sacrifice the thing they deemed most noble of all the earth\nhas to show a pure and beautiful maiden.\n\n\"It is just as we expected: you are horrified! I hear your murmur, I see\nyour horror-stricken faces; how can a Christian fail to be shocked at the\nthought of such a victim? But is it indeed so extraordinary? Have we ever\nwholly given up everything of the kind? Which of us does not entreat\nSaint Orion, either at home or under the guidance of the priests in\nchurch, whenever he craves a gift from our splendid river; and this very\nyear as usual, on the Night of Dropping, did we not cast into the waters\na little box containing a human finger.\n\n   [So late as in the XIV. century after Christ the Egyptian Christians\n   still threw a small casket containing a human finger into the Nile\n   to induce it to rise. This is confirmed by the trustworthy\n   Makrizi.]\n\n\"This lesser offering takes the place of the greater and more precious\nsacrifice of the heathen; it has been offered, and its necessity has\nnever at any time been questioned; even the severest and holiest\nluminaries of the Church--Antonius and Athanasius, Theophilus and\nCyrillus had nothing to say against it, and year after year it has been\nthrown into the waters under their very eyes.\n\n\"A finger in a box! What a miserable exchange for the fairest and purest\nthat God has allowed to move on earth among men. Can we wonder if the\nAlmighty has at last disdained and rejected the wretched substitute, and\nclaims once more for His Nile that which was formerly given? But where is\nthe mother, where is the father, you will ask, who, in our selfish days,\nis so penetrated with love for his country, his province, his native\ntown, that he will dedicate his virgin daughter to perish in the waters\nfor the common good? What daughter of our nation is ready of her own free\nwill to die for the salvation of others?\n\n\"But be not afraid. Have no fears for the growing maiden, the very apple\nof your eye, in your women's rooms. Fear not for your granddaughters,\nsisters, playfellows and betrothed: From the earliest ages a stringent\nlaw forbade the sacrifice of Egyptian blood; strangers were to perish, or\nthose who worshipped other gods than those in Egypt.\n\n\"The same law, citizens and fellow-believers, is incumbent on us. And\nmark me well, all of you! Would it not seem as though Fate desired to\nhelp us to bring to our blessed Nile the offering which for so many\ncenturies has been withheld? The river claims it; and, as if by a\nmiracle, it has been brought to our hand. For a crime which does not\ntaint her purity our judges have to-day condemned to death a beautiful\nand spotless maiden--a stranger, and at the same time a Greek and a\nheretic Melchite.\n\n\"This stirs you, this fills your souls with joyful thankfulness; I see\nit! Then make ready for thy bridal, noble stream, Benefactor of our land\nand nation! The virgin, the bride that thou hast longed for, we deck for\nthee, we lead to thine embrace--she shall be Thine!\n\n\"And you, Memphites, citizens and fellow-sufferers,\" and the orator\nleaned far over the parapet towards the crowd, \"when I ask you for your\nsuffrages, when I appeal to you in the name of the senate, and of this\nvenerable sage. . . .\"\n\nBut here he was interrupted by the triumphant shout of the assembled\nmultitude; a thousand voices went up in a mighty, heaven-rending cry:\n\n\"To the Nile with her--the maiden to the Nile!\"\n\n\"Marry the Melchite to the river! Bring wreaths for the bride of the\nNile, bring flowers for her marriage.\"\n\n\"Let us abide by the teaching of our fathers!\"\n\n\"Hail to the councillor! Hail to the sage, Horapollo! Hail to our chief\nSenator!\"\n\nThese were the glad and enthusiastic shouts that rose in loud confusion;\nand it was only on the north side, where the money-changers' tables now\nstood deserted-for gold and silver had long since been placed in\nsafety--that a sinister murmur of dissent was heard. The little girl in\nthe Persian's arms had long since been breathing hard and deep. She\nthought she knew whom that fiend up there had his eye upon for his cursed\nheathen sacrifice; and as Mary bent down to Dame Joanna to see whether\nshe shared her hideous suspicion, she perceived that her eyes and\nPulcheria's were full of tears.--That was enough; she asked no questions,\nfor a new act in the drama claimed her attention.\n\nClose to the money-changer's stalls a hand was lifted on high, holding a\ncrucifix, and the child could see it steadily progressing through the\ncrowd towards the Curia. Every one made way for the sacred symbol and the\nbearer of it; and to Mary's fancy the throng parted on each side of the\nadvancing image of the Redeemer, as the waters of the Red Sea had parted\nat the approach of the people of God. The murmurs in that part of the\nsquare grew louder; the acclamations of the populace waxed fainter; every\nvoice seemed to fail, and presently a frail figure in bishop's robes,\nsmall but rigidly dignified, was seen to mount the steps and finally\ndisappear within the portals of the Curia.\n\nThe turmoil sank like an ebbing wave to a low, enquiring mutter, and even\nthis died away when the diminutive personage, who looked the taller,\nhowever, for the crucifix which he still held, came out on the balcony,\napproached the parapet, and stretched forth the arm that held the image\nabove the heads of the foremost rows of the people.\n\nAt this Horapollo stepped up to Alexander, his eyes flashing with rage,\nand demanded that the intruder should be forbidden to speak; but the\ncommanding eye of the new-comer rested on the dyer, who bowed his head\nand allowed him to proceed. Nor did one of the senators dare to hinder\nhim, for every one recognized him as the zealous, learned, and determined\npriest who had, since yesterday, filled the place of the deceased bishop.\n\nTheir new pastor began, addressing his flock in as loud a voice as he\ncould command:\n\n\"Look on this Cross and hearken to its minister! You languish for the\nblessing of Christ, and you follow after heathen abominations. The\nsuperstitious triumph, through which I have struggled to reach you, will\nbe turned to howls of anguish if you stop your ears and are deaf to the\nwords of salvation.\n\n\"Yea, you may murmur! You will not reduce me to silence, for Truth speaks\nin me and can never be dumb. I say to each of you that knows it not: The\nstaff of the departed Plotinus has been placed in my hands. I would fain\nbear it with gentleness and mercy; but, if I must, I will wield it as a\nsword and a scourge till your wounds bleed and your bruises ache.\n\n\"Behold in my right hand the image of your Redeemer! I hold it up as a\nwall between you and the heathen abomination which you hail with joy in\nyour blindness.\n\n\"Ye are accursed and apostate. Lift up your hearts, and look at Him who\ndied on the cross to save you. Verily He will not let him perish who\nbelieveth in Him; but you! where is your faith? Because it is night ye\nlament and cry: The Light is dead!' Because ye are sick ye say: 'The\nphysician cannot heal!'\n\n\"What are these blasphemies that I hear: 'The Lord and His Church are\npowerless! Magic, enchantments, and heathen abominations may save\nus.'--But, inasmuch as ye trust not in the true Saviour and Redeemer, but\nin heathen wickedness, magic, and enchantments, punishment shall be\nheaped on punishment; and so it will be,--I see it coming--till ye are\nchoked in the mud and seek with groans the only Hand that is able to\nsave.\n\n\"That whereby the blinded sons of men hope to escape from the evil, that,\nand that only, is the source of their sufferings and I stand here to stay\nthat spring and dig a channel for its overflow.\n\n\"Children of Moloch ye try to be and I hope to make you Christians again.\nBut the maiden whom your fury would cast into the abyss of the river is\nunder the merciful protection of the supreme Church, for the death of her\nbody will bring death to your souls. Saint Orion turns from you with\nhorror! Away from the hapless victim! Away, I say, with your accursed\ndesires and sacrilegious hands!\"\n\n\"And sit with them in our laps and wring them in prayer till they ache,\nwhile want and the plague snatch away those that are left!\" interrupted\nthe old man's voice, thin and feeble, but audible at a considerable\ndistance, and from the market-place thousands proclaimed their approval\nby loud shouts.\n\nThe president of the senate had listened with a penitent mien and bowed\nhead, but now he recovered his presence of mind and exclaimed\nindignantly:\n\n\"The people die, the town and country are going to ruin, plague and\nhorrors rise up from the river. Show us some other way of escape, or let\nus trust to our forefathers and try this last means.\"\n\nBut the little man drew himself up more stiffly, pointed with his left\nhand to the crucifix, and cried with unmoved composure:\n\n\"Believe, hope, and pray!\"\n\n\"Perhaps you think that no evil is come upon us!\" cried Alexander. \"You,\nto be sure, have seen no wife with glazing eyes, no child struggling for\nbreath. . . .\" And a fresh tumult came up from below, wilder and louder\nthan ever. Each one whose home or beasts had been blighted by death,\nwhose gardens and fields had perished of drought, whose dates had dropped\none by one from the trees, lifted up his voice and shrieked:\n\n\"The victim, the victim!\"\n\n\"To the river with the maiden!\"\n\n\"All hail to our deliverer, the wise Horapollo!\" But others shouted\nagainst them:\n\n\"Let us remain Christians! Hail to Bishop John!\"\n\n\"Think of our souls!\"\n\nThe prelate made an effort once more to rivet the attention of the\npopulace, and failing in this he turned to the senators and the\ntrumpeters, whom at length he succeeded in persuading to blow again and\nagain, and more loudly through their brazen tuba. But the call produced\nno effect, for in the market square groups had formed on opposite sides,\nand blows and wrestling threatened to end in a sanguinary street-riot.\n\nThe women succeeded in getting away from the scene of action under the\nprotection of the Masdakite, before the Arab cavalry rode across to\nseparate the combatants; but in the Curia Bishop John explained to the\nFathers that he would make every effort to prevent this inhuman and\nunchristian sacrifice of a young girl, even though she was a Melchite and\nunder sentence of death. This very day a carrier pigeon should be\ndispatched to the patriarch in Upper Egypt, and bring back his decision.\n\nWhen, on this, Horapollo replied that the Khaliff's representative here\nhad signified his consent to the proceedings, and that even against the\nwill of the clergy the misery of the people must be put an end to, the\nBishop broke out vehemently and threatened all who had first suggested\nthis hideous scheme with the anathema of the Church. But Horapollo\nretorted again with flaming eloquence, the desperate Senators took his\npart, and the Bishop left the Curia in the highest wrath.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nFew things could be more intolerable to the gentle and retiring widow\nthan such a riot of the people. The unchained passion, the tumult, and\nall the vulgar accessories that surrounded her there grieved her tender\nnature; all through the old man's speech she had felt nothing but the\ndesire to escape, but as soon as she had acquired the certainty that\nPaula was the hapless being whom her terrible house-mate was preparing to\nhand over to the superstition of the mob, she thought no more of getting\nhome, but waited in the crush till at length she and the two children\ncould be conducted by Rustem to the prison, though the way thither was\nthrough the most crowded streets.\n\nHad the nameless horrors that hung over Paula already found their way to\nher ears through the prisonwalls, or might it yet be her privilege to be\nable to prepare the girl for the worst, and to comfort the victim who\nmust already have been driven to the verge of desperation by the sentence\nof death?\n\nOn the previous day the chief warder had acceded without demur to her\nwish to see Paula, for the Kadi had enjoined him to show her and Orion\nall possible courtesy, but the Vekeel's threats made him now refuse to\nadmit Dame Joanna. However, while he was talking with her, his infant son\nstretched out his arms to Pulcheria, who had played with him the day\nbefore in her sweet way, and she now took him up and kissed him, thus\nbringing a kindly feeling to three hearts at once; and most of all to\nthat of the child's mother who immediately interested herself for them,\nand persuaded her husband to oblige them once more.\n\nPretty Emau had always waited on the mirthful Orion, under the palms by\nher father's inn, more gladly than on most other guests; and her husband\nwho, after the manner of the Egyptians, was docile to his better half\nthough till now he had not been quite free from jealousy, was even more\nready to serve his benefactor's son since hearing that he was betrothed\nto the fair Paula.\n\nThere was a great uproar in the large common prison to-day, as usual when\nthe judges had passed sentence of death on any criminal, and the women\nshuddered as the miserable wretches hallooed and bellowed. Many a shriek\ncame up, of which it was hard to say whether it was the expression of\nwild defiance or of bitter jesting, and no more suitable accompaniment\ncould be conceived to this terrific riot than the clank of chains.\n\nWhen the women reached Paula's cell their hearts throbbed painfully, for\nwithin the door which the warder unlocked anguish and despair must dwell.\n\nThe prisoner was standing at the window, pressing her brow against the\niron bars and listening to the lute played by her lover, which sounded,\namid the turmoil of the other prisoners, like a bell above the roar of\nthunder and the storm. By the bed sat Betta on a low stool, asleep with\nthe distaff in her lap; and neither she nor her mistress heeded the\nentrance of the visitors. A miserable lamp lighted the squalid room.\n\nMary would have flown to her friend, but Joanna held her back and called\nPaula tenderly by name in a low voice. But Paula did not hear; her soul\nwas no doubt absorbed in anguish and the terror of death. The widow now\nraised her voice, and the ill-fated girl turned round; then, with a\nlittle cry of joy, she hastened to meet the faithful creatures who could\nfind her even in prison, and clasped first the widow, then Pulcheria,\nthen the child in a tender embrace. Joanna put her hands fondly round her\nface to kiss it, and to see how far fear and affliction had altered her\nlovely features, and a faint cry of astonishment escaped her, for she was\nlooking, not at a grief and terror-stricken face, but a glad and calm\none, and a pair of large eyes looked brightly and gratefully into hers.\n\nHad she not been told then what was hanging over her? Nay--for she at\nonce asked whether they had heard that she was condemned to die. And she\nwent on to tell them how things had gone with her at her trial, and how\nher good Philip's friend and foster-father had suddenly and inexplicably\nbecome her bitterest foe.\n\nAt this the others could not check their tears; it was Paula who had to\ncomfort and soothe them, by telling them that she had found a paternal\nfriend in the Kadi who had promised to intercede for her with the\nKhaliff.\n\nDame Joanna could scarcely take it all in. This girl and her heroic\ndemeanor, in the face of such disaster, seemed to her miraculous. Her\ntrust was beautiful; but how easily might it be deceived! how insecure\nwas the ground in which she had cast the anchor of hope.\n\nEven little Mary seemed more troubled than her friend, and threw herself\nsobbing on her bosom. And Paula returned her fondness, and tried to\nmollify Pulcheria as to the disgraceful conduct of their old housemate,\nand smiled kindly at the widow when she asked where she had found such\ncomposure in the face of so much misfortune, saying that it was from her\nexample that she had learnt resignation to the worst that could befall\nher. Even in this dark hour she found more to be thankful for than to\nlament over; indeed, it had brought her a glorious joy. And this for the\nfirst time reminded Joanna and the girls that she was now betrothed, and\nagain she was clasped in their loving arms.\n\nJust then the warder rapped; Paula rose thoughtfully, and exclaimed in a\nlow voice: \"I have something to send to Orion that I dare not entrust to\na stranger: but now, now I have you, my Mary, and you shall take it to\nhim.\"\n\nAs she spoke she took out the emerald, gave it to the little girl, and\ncharged her to deliver it to her uncle as soon as they should be alone\ntogether. In the little note which she had wrapped around it she implored\nher lover to regard it as his own property, and to use it to satisfy the\nclaims of the Church.\n\nThe man was easily induced to take Mary to her uncle; and how happily she\nran on before him up to Orion's cell, how great was his joy at seeing her\nagain, how gratefully he pressed the emerald to his lips! But when she\nexclaimed that her prophecy had been fulfilled, and that Paula, was now\nhis, his brow was knit as he replied, with gloomy regret, that though he\nhad won the woman he loved, it was only to lose her again.\n\n\"But the Kadi is your friend and will gain pardon from the Khaliff!\"\ncried the child.\n\n\"But then another enemy suddenly starts up: Horapollo!\"\n\n\"Oh, our old man!\" and the child ground her teeth. \"If you did but know,\nOrion!--And to think that I must live under the same roof with him!\"\n\n\"You!\" asked the young man.\n\n\"Yes, I. And Pulcheria, and Mother Joanna,\" and Mary went on to tell him\nhow the old man had come to live with them and Orion could guess from\nvarious indications that she was concealing some important fact; so he\npressed her to keep nothing from him, till the child could not at last\nevade telling him all she had seen and heard.\n\nAt this he lost all caution and self-control. Quite beside himself he\ncalled aloud the name of his beloved, invoking in passionate tones the\nreturn of the Governor Amru, the only man who could help them in this\ncrisis. His sole hope was in him. He had shown himself a real father to\nhim, and had set him a difficult but a noble task.\n\n\"Into which you have plunged over head and ears!\" cried the child.\n\n\"I thought it all out while on my journey,\" replied Orion. \"I tried\nyesterday to write out a first sketch of it, but I lacked what I most\nwanted: maps and lists. Nilus had put them all up together; I was to have\ntaken them with me on the voyage with the nuns, and I ordered that they\nshould be carried to the house of Rufinus. . . .\"\n\n\"That they should come to us?\" interrupted the child with sparkling eyes.\n\"Oh, they are all there! I saw the documents myself, when the chest was\ncleared out for old Horapollo, and to-morrow, quite early to-morrow, you\nshall have them.\" Orion kissed her brow with glad haste; then, striking\nthe wall of his cell with his fist, he waited till something had been\nwithdrawn with a grating sound on the other side, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Good news, Nilus! The plans and lists are found: I shall have them\nto-morrow!\"\n\n\"That is well!\" replied the treasurer's thin voice from the adjoining\nroom. \"We shall need something to comfort us! A prisoner has just been\nbrought in for having attacked an Arab horseman in a riot in the market\nsquare. He tells me some dreadful news.\"\n\n\"Concerning my betrothed?\"\n\n\"Alas! yes, my lord.\"\n\n\"Then I know it already,\" replied the young man; and after exchanging a\nfew words with his master with reference to the old man's atrocious\nproposal, Nilus went on:\n\n\"My prison-mate tells me, too, that while he was in custody in the\nguard-house the Arabs were speaking of a messenger from the governor\nannouncing his arrival at Medina, and also that he intended making only a\nshort stay there. So we may expect his return before long.\"\n\n\"Then he will have started long before the Kadi's messenger can have\narrived and laid the petition for pardon before the Khaliff!--We have no\nhope but in Amru; if only we could send information to him on his\nway. . . .\"\n\n\"He would certainly not tarry in Upper Egypt, but hasten his journey, or\nsend on a plenipotentiary,\" said the voice on the other side of the wall.\n\"If we had but a trusty man to despatch! Our people are scattered to the\nfour winds, and to hunt them up now. . . .\"\n\nAt this Mary's childish tones broke in with: \"I can find a messenger.\"\n\n\"You? What are you thinking of, child?\" said Orion. She did not heed his\nremonstrance, but went on eagerly, quite sure of her own meaning:\n\n\"He shall be told everything, everything! Ought he to know what I heard\nabout your share in the flight of the sisters?\"\n\n\"No, no; on no account!\" cried Nilus and his master both at once; and\nMary understood that her proposition was accepted. She clapped her hands,\nand exclaimed full of enterprise and with glowing cheeks:\n\n\"The messenger shall start to-morrow; rely on me. I can do it as well as\nthe greatest. And now tell me exactly the road he is to take. To make\nsure, write the names of the stages on my little tablet.--But wait, I\nmust rub it smooth.\"\n\n\"What is this on the wax?\" asked Orion. \"A large heart with squares all\nover it.--And that means?\"\n\n\"Oh! mere nonsense,\" said the child somewhat abashed. \"It was only to\nshow how my heart was divided among the persons I love. A whole half of\nit belongs to Paula, this quarter is yours; but there, there, there,\" and\nat each word she prodded the wax with the stylus, \"that is where I had\nkept a little corner for old Horapollo. He had better not come in my way\nagain!\"\n\nHer nimble fingers smoothed the wax, and over the effaced heart--a\nchild's whim--Orion wrote things on which the lives of two human beings\ndepended. He did so with sincere confidence in his little ally's\nadroitness and fidelity. Early next morning she was to receive a letter\nto be conveyed to Amru by the messengers.\n\n\"But a rapid journey costs money, and Amru always chooses the road by the\nmountains and Berenice,\" observed the treasurer. \"If we put together our\nlast gold pieces they will hardly suffice.\"\n\n\"Keep them, you will want them here,\" said the little girl. \"And\nyet--there are my pearls, to be sure, and my mother's jewels--at the same\ntime. . . .\"\n\n\"You ought never to part from such things, you heart of gold!\" cried\nOrion.\n\n\"Oh yes, yes! What do I want with them? But Dame Joanna has my mother's\nthings in her keeping.\"\n\n\"And you are afraid to ask her for them?\" asked the young man. He\nappealed to Nilus, and when the treasurer had calculated the cost, Orion\ntook off a costly sapphire ring, which he gave to Mary, charging her to\nhand it to Joanna. Gamaliel, the Jew, would lend her as much as she would\nrequire on this gem. Mary joyfully took possession of the ring; but\npresently, when the warder appeared to fetch her, her satisfaction\nsuddenly turned to no less vehement grief, and she took leave of Orion as\nif they were parting for ever.\n\nIn the passage leading to Paula's cell the man suddenly stood still: some\none was approaching up the stairs.--If it should be the black Vekeel, and\nhe should find visitors in the prison at so late an hour!\n\nBut no. Two lamps were borne in front of the new-comers, and by their\nlight the warder recognized John, the new Bishop of Memphis, who had\noften been here before now to console prisoners.\n\nHe had come to-night prompted by his desire to see the condemned\nMelchite. Mary's dress and demeanor betrayed at once that she could not\nbelong to any official employed here; and, as soon as he had learnt who\nshe was, he whispered to his companion, an aged deacon who always\naccompanied him when he visited a female prisoner: \"We find her here!\"\nAnd when he had ascertained with whom the child had come hither at so\nlate an hour, he turned again to his colleague and added in a low voice:\n\n\"The wife and daughter of Rufinus! Just so: I have long had my eye on\nthese Greeks. In church once or twice every year!--Melchites in disguise!\nAllied with this Melchite! And this is the school in which the Mukaukas'\ngranddaughter is growing up! An abominable trick! Benjamin judged\nrightly, as he always did!\" Then, in a subdued voice, he asked:\n\n\"Shall we take her away with us at once?\" But, as the deacon made\nobjections, he hastily replied: \"You are right; for the present it is\nenough that we know where she is to be found.\"\n\nThe warder meanwhile had opened Paula's cell; before the bishop went in\nhe spoke a few kind words to the child, asking her whether she did not\nlong to see her mother; and when Mary replied: \"Very often!\" he stroked\nher hair with his bony hand and said:\n\n\"So I thought.--You have a pretty name, child, and you, like your mother,\nwill perhaps ere long dedicate your life to the Blessed among women,\nwhose name you bear.\" And, holding the little girl by the hand, he\nentered the cell. While Paula looked in amazement at the prelate who came\nso late a visitor, Joanna and Pulcheria recognized him as the brave\necclesiastic who had so valiantly opposed the old sage and the misled\npopulace, and they bowed with deep reverence. This the bishop observed,\nand came to the conclusion that these Greeks perhaps after all belonged\nto his Church. At any rate, the child might safely be left in their care\na few days longer.\n\nAfter he had exchanged a few cordial words with them the widow prepared\nto withdraw, and was about to take leave when he went up to her and\nannounced that he would pay her a visit the next day or the day after;\nthat he wished to speak with her of matters involving the happiness of\none who was dear to them both, and Dame Joanna, believing that he\nreferred to Paula, whispered:\n\n\"She has no idea as yet of the terrible fate the people have in store for\nher. If possible, spare her the fearful truth before she sleeps this\nnight.\"\n\n\"If possible,\" repeated the prelate. Then, as Mary kissed his hand before\nleaving, he drew her to him and said: \"Like the Infant Christ, every\nChristian child is the Mother's. You, Mary, are chosen before thousands!\nThe Lord took your father to himself as a martyr; your mother has\ndedicated herself to Heaven. Your road is marked out for you, child,\nreflect on this. To-morrow-no, the day after, I will see you and guide\nyou in the new path.\"\n\nAt these words Joanna turned pale. She now understood what the bishop's\npurpose was in calling on her. At the bottom of the stairs, she threw her\narms round the child and asked her in--a low voice: \"Do you pine for the\ncloister--do you wish to go away from us like your mother, to think of\nnothing but saving your soul, to live a nun in the holy seclusion which\nPulcheria has described to you so often?\"\n\nBut this the child positively denied; and as Joanna's head drooped\nanxiously and sadly, Mary looked up brightly and exclaimed: \"Never fear,\nMother dear! Things will have altered greatly by the day after tomorrow.\nLet the bishop come! I shall be a match for him!--Oh! you do not know me\nyet. I have been like a lamb among you through all this misfortune and\nserious trouble; but there is something more in me than that. You will be\nquite astonished!\"\n\n\"Nay, nay. Remain what you are,\" the widow said.\n\n\"Always and ever full of love for you and Pul. But I am a grand and\ntrusted person now! I have something very important to do for Orion\nto-morrow. Something--Rustem will go with me.--Important, very important,\nMother Joanna. But what it is I must not tell--not even you!\"\n\nHere she was interrupted, for the heavy prison door opened for their\nexit.\n\nIt was many hours before it was again unlocked to let out the bishop, so\nlong was he detained talking to Paula in her cell.\n\nTo his enquiry as to whether she was an orthodox Greek, or as the common\npeople called it, a Melchite, she replied that she was the latter; adding\nthat, if he had come with a view to perverting her from the confession of\nher forefathers, his visit was thrown away; at the same time she\nreverenced him as a Christian and a priest; as a learned man, and the\nfriend whom her deceased uncle had esteemed above every other minister of\nhis confession; she was gladly ready to disclose to him all that lay on\nher soul in the face of death. He looked into the pure, calm face; and\nthough, at her first declaration, he had felt prompted to threaten her\nwith the hideous end which he had but just done his utmost to avert, he\nnow remembered the Greek widow's request and bound himself to keep\nsilence.\n\nHe allowed her to talk till midnight, giving him the whole history of all\nshe had known of joy and sorrow in the course of her young life; his keen\ninsight searched her soul, his pious heart rose to meet the strength and\ncourage of hers; and when he quitted her, as he walked home with the\ndeacon, the first words with which he broke a long silence were:\n\n\"While you were asleep, God vouchsafed me an edifying hour through that\nheretic child of earth.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nWhen the door in the tall prison-wall was closed behind the women, Joanna\nmade her way through streets still sultry under the silence of the night,\nRustem following with the child.\n\nThe giant's good heart was devoted to Mary, and he often passed his huge\nhand over his eyes while she told him all that the scene they had\nwitnessed meant, and the fearful end that threatened Paula. He broke in\nnow and again, giving utterance to his grief and wrath in strange,\nnatural sounds; for he looked up to his beautiful sick nurse as to a\nsuperior being, and Mandane, too, had often remarked that they could\nnever forget all that the noble maiden had done for them.\n\n\"If only,\" Rustem cried at length, clenching his powerful fist, \"If only\nI could--they should see. . . .\" and the child looked up with shrewd,\nimploring eyes, exclaiming eagerly:\n\n\"But you could, Rustem, you could!\"\n\n\"I?\" asked Rustem in surprise, and he shook his head doubtfully.\n\n\"Yes, you, Rustem; you of all men. We were talking over something in the\nprison, and if only you were ready and willing to help us in the matter.\"\n\n\"Willing!\" laughed the worthy fellow striking his heart; and he went on\nin his strangely-broken Greek, which was, however, quite intelligible: \"I\nwould give hair and skin for the noble lady. You have only to speak out.\"\n\nThe child clung to the big man with both hands and drew him to her\nsaying: \"We knew you had a grate ful heart. But you see. . .\" and she\ninterrupted herself to ask in an altered voice:\n\n\"Do you believe in a God? or stay--do you know what a sacred oath is? Can\nyou swear solemnly? Yes, yes . . .\" and drawing herself up as tall as\npossible she went on very seriously: \"Swear by your bride Mandane--as\ntruly as you believe that she loves you. . . .\"\n\n\"But, sweet soul. . . . \"\n\n\"Swear that you will never betray to a living soul what I am going to\nsay--not even to Mother Joanna and Pulcheria; no, nor even to your\nMandane, unless you find you cannot help it and she gives her sacred\nword. . . . \"\n\n\"What is it? You quite frighten me! What am I to swear?\"\n\n\"Not to reveal what I am now going to tell you.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, little Mistress; I can promise you that.\" Mary sighed, a\nlong-drawn \"Ah . . . !\" and told him that a trustworthy messenger must be\nfound to go forth to meet Amru, so as to be in time to save Paula. Then\ncame the question whether he knew the road over the hills from Babylon to\nthe ancient town of Berenice; and when he replied that he had lately\ntravelled that way, and that it was the shortest road to the sea for\nDjidda and Medina, she repeated her satisfied \"Ah!\" took his hand, and\nwent on with coaxing but emphatic entreaty while she played with his big\nfingers: \"And now, best and kindest Rustem, in all Memphis there is but\none really trusty messenger; but he, you see, is betrothed, and so he\nwould rather get married and go home with his bride than help us to save\nthe life of poor Paula.\"\n\n\"The cur!\" growled the Persian.\n\nAt this Mary laughed out: \"Yes, the cur!\" and went on gaily: \"But you are\nabusing yourself, you stupid Rustem. You, you are the messenger I mean,\nthe only faithful and trustworthy one far or near. You, you must meet the\ngovernor. . . .\"\n\n\"I!\" said the man, and he stood still with amazement; but Mary pulled him\nonward, saying: \"But come on, or the others will notice something.--Yes,\nyou, you must. . . .\"\n\n\"But child, child,\" interrupted Rustem lamentably,\n\n\"I must go back to my master; and you see, common right and justice. . . .\"\n\n\"You do not choose to leave your sweetheart; not even if the kind\ncreature who watched over you day and night should die for it--die the\nmost cruel and horrible death! You were ready enough to call that other,\nas you supposed, a cur--that other whom no one nursed till he was well\nagain; but as for yourself. . . .\"\n\n\"Have patience then! Hear me, little Mistress!\" Rustem broke in again,\nand pulled away his hand. \"I am quite willing to wait and Mandane must\njust submit. But one man is not good for all tasks. To ride, or guide a\ntrain of merchandise, to keep the cameldrivers in order, to pitch a\ncamp---all that I can do; but to parley with grand folks, to go straight\nup to such a man as the great chief Amru with prayers and\nsupplications--all that, you see, sweetheart--even if it were to save my\nown father, that would be. . . .\"\n\n\"But who asks you to do all that?\" said the child. \"You may stand as mute\nas a fish: it will be your companion's business to do the talking.\"\n\n\"There is to be another one then? But, great Masdak! I hope that will be\nenough at any rate!\"\n\n\"Why will you constantly interrupt me?\" the little girl put in. \"Listen\nfirst and raise objections after wards. The second messenger--now open\nyour ears wide--it is I, I myself;--but if you stand still again, you\nwill really betray me. The long and short of it is, that as surely as I\nmean to save Paula, I mean to go forth to meet Amru, and if you refuse to\ngo with me I will set out alone and try whether Gibbus the\nhunchback. . . .\"\n\nRustem had needed some time to collect his senses after this stupendous\nsurprise, but now he exclaimed: \"You--you--to Berenice, and over the\nmountains. . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, over the mountains,\" she repeated, \"and if need be, through the\nclouds.\"\n\n\"But such a thing was never heard of, never heard of on this earth!\" the\nPersian remonstrated. \"A girl, a little lady like you--a messenger, and\nall alone with a clumsy fellow like me. No, no, no!\"\n\n\"And again no, and a hundred times over no!\" cried the child merrily.\n\"The little lady will stop at home and you will take a boy with you--a\nboy called Marius, not Mary.\"\n\n\"A boy! But I thought.--It is enough to puzzle one. . . .\"\n\n\"A boy who is a girl and a boy in one,\" laughed Mary. \"But if you must\nhave it in plain words: I shall dress up as a boy to go with you;\nto-morrow when we set out you will see, you will take me for my own\nbrother.\"\n\n\"Your own brother! With a little face like yours! Then the most\nimpossible things will become possible,\" cried Rustem laughing, and he\nlooked down good humoredly at the little girl. But suddenly the\npreposterousness of her scheme rose again before his mind, and he\nexclaimed half-frantically: \"But then my master!--It will not do--It will\nnever do!\"\n\n\"It is for his sake that you will do us this service,\" said Mary\nconfidently. \"He is Paula's friend and protector; and when he hears what\nyou have done for her he will praise you, while if you leave us in the\nlurch I am quite sure. . . . \"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"That he will say: 'I thought Rustem was a shrewder man and had a better\nheart.'\"\n\n\"You really think he will say that?\"\n\n\"As surely as our house stands before us!--Well, we have no time for any\nmore discussion, so it is settled: we start together. Let me find you in\nthe garden early to-morrow morning. You must tell your Mandane that you\nare called away by important business.\"\n\n\"And Dame Joanna?\" asked the Persian, and his voice was grave and anxious\nas he went on: \"The thing I like least, child, is that you should not ask\nher, and take her into your confidence.\"\n\n\"But she will hear all about it, only not immediately,\" replied Mary.\n\"And the day after to-morrow, when she knows what I have gone off for and\nthat you are with me, she will praise us and bless us; yes, she will, as\nsurely as I hope that the Almighty will succor us in our journey!\"\n\nAt these words, which evidently came from the very depths of her heart,\nthe Masdakite's resistance altogether gave way--just in time, for their\nwalk was at an end, and they both felt as though the long distance had\nbeen covered by quite a few steps. They had passed close to several\ngroups of noisy and quarrelsome citizens, and many a funeral train had\nborne the plague-stricken dead to the grave by torchlight under their\nvery eyes, but they had heeded none of these things.\n\nIt was not till they reached the garden-gate that they observed what was\ngoing on around them. There they found the gardener and all the\nhousehold, anxiously watching for the return of their belated mistress.\nEudoxia too was waiting for them with some alarm. In the house they were\nmet by Horapollo, but Joanna and Pulcheria returned his greeting with a\ncold bow, while Mary purposely turned her back on him. The old man\nshrugged his shoulders with regretful annoyance, and in the solitude of\nhis own room he muttered to himself:\n\n\"Oh, that woman! She will be the ruin even of the peaceful days I hoped\nto enjoy during the short remainder of my life!\"\n\nThe widow and her daughter for some time sat talking of Mary. She had bid\nthem good-night as devotedly and tenderly as though they were parting for\nlife. Poor child! She had forebodings of the terrible fate to which the\nbishop, and perhaps her own mother had predestined her.\n\nBut Mary did not look as if she were going to meet misfortune; Eudoxia,\nwho slept by her side, was rejoiced on the contrary at seeing her so gay;\nonly she was surprised to see the child, who usually fell asleep as soon\nas her little head was on the pillow, lying awake so long this evening.\nThe elderly Greek, who suffered from a variety of little ailments and\nalways went to sleep late, could not help watching the little girl's\nmovements.\n\nWhat was that? Between midnight and dawn Mary sprang from her bed, threw\non her clothes, and stole into the next room with the night-lamp in her\nhand. Presently a brighter light shone through the door-way. She must\nhave lighted a lamp,-and presently, hearing the door of the sitting-room\nopened, Eudoxia rose and noiselessly watched her. Mary immediately\nreturned, carrying a boy's clothes--a suit, in point of fact, which\nPulcheria and Eudoxia had lately been making as a Sunday garb--for the\nlame gardener's boy. The child smilingly tried on the little blue tunic;\nthen, after tossing the clothes into a chest, she sat down at the table\nto write. But she seemed to have set herself some hard task; for now she\nlooked down at the papyrus and rubbed her forehead, and now she gazed\nthoughtfully into vacancy. She had written a few sentences when she\nstarted up, called Eudoxia by name, and went towards the sleeping-room.\n\nEudoxia went forward to meet her; Mary threw herself into her arms, and\nbefore her governess could ask any questions she told her that she had\nbeen chosen to accomplish a great and important action. She had been\nintending to wake her, to make her her confidant and to ask her advice.\n\nHow sweet and genuine it all sounded, and how charmingly confused she\nseemed in spite of the ardent zeal that inspired her!\n\nEudoxia's heart went forth to her; the words of reproof died on her lips,\nand for the first time she felt as though the orphaned child were her\nown; as though their joy and grief were one; as though she, who all her\nlife long had thought only of herself and her own advantage, and who had\nregarded her care of Mary as a mere return in kind for a salary and home,\nwere ready and willing to sacrifice herself and her last coin for this\nchild. So, when the little girl now threw her arms round Eudoxia's neck,\nimploring her not to betray her, but, on the contrary, to help her in the\ngood work which aimed at nothing less than the rescue of Paula and\nOrion-the imperilled victims of Fate, her dry eyes sparkled through\ntears; she kissed Mary's burning cheeks once more and called her her own\ndear, dear little daughter. This gave the child courage; with tragical\ndignity, which brought a smile to the governess' lips, she took Eudoxia's\nbible from the desk, and said, fixing her beseeching gaze on the Greek's\nface:\n\n\"Swear!--nay, you must be quite grave, for nothing can be more\nsolemn--swear not to tell a soul, not even Mother Joanna, what I want to\nconfess to you.\"\n\nEudoxia promised, but she would take no oath. \"Yea, yea, and nay, nay,\"\nwas the oath of the Christian by the law of the Lord; but Mary clung to\nher, stroked her thin cheeks, and at last declared she could not say a\nword unless Eudoxia yielded. In such an hour the Greek could not resist\nthis tender coaxing; she allowed Mary to take possession of her hand and\nlay it on the Bible; and when once this was done Eudoxia gave way, and\nwith much head shaking repeated the oath that her pupil dictated, though\nmuch against her will.\n\nAfter this the governess threw herself on the divan, as if exhausted and\nshocked at her own weakness; and the little girl took advantage of her\nvictory, seating herself at her feet, and telling her all she knew about\nPaula and the perils that threatened her and Orion; and she was artful\nenough to give special prominence to Orion's danger, having long since\nobserved how high he stood in Eudoxia's good graces. So far Eudoxia had\nnot ceased stroking her hair, while she assented to everything that was\nsaid; but when she heard that Mary proposed to undertake the embassy to\nAmru herself, she started to her feet in horror, and declared most\npositively that she would never, never consent to such rashness, to such\nfatal folly.\n\nMary now brought to bear her utmost resources of persuasion and flattery.\nThere was no other fit messenger to be found, and the lives of Orion and\nPaula were at stake. Was a ride across the mountains such a tremendous\nmatter after all? How well she knew how to manage a beast, and how little\nshe suffered from the heat! Had she not ridden more than once from\nMemphis to their estates by the seaboard? And faithful Rustem would be\nalways with her, and the road over the mountains was the safest in all\nthe country, with frequent stations for the accommodation of travellers.\nThen, if they found Amru, she could give a more complete report than any\nother living soul.\n\nBut Eudoxia was not to be shaken; though she admitted that Mary's project\nwas not so entirely crazy as it had at first appeared.\n\nAt this the little girl began again; after reminding Eudoxia once more of\nher oath, she went on to tell her of the doom she herself hoped to escape\nby setting out on her errand. She told Eudoxia of her meeting with the\nbishop, and that even Joanna was uneasy as to her future fate. Ah! that\nlife within walls under lock and key seemed to her so frightful--and she\npictured her terrors, her love of freedom and of a busy, useful, active\nlife among men and her friends, and her hope that the great general,\nAmru, would defend her against every one if once she could place herself\nunder his protection--painting it all so vividly, so passionately, and so\npathetically, that the governess was softened.\n\nShe clasped her hands over her eyes, which were streaming with tears, and\nexclaimed: \"It is horrible, unheard-of--still, perhaps it is the best\nthing to do. Well, go to meet the governor,--ride off, ride off!\"\n\nAnd when the sweet, warm-hearted, joyous creature clang round her neck\nshe was glad of her own weakness: this fair, fresh, and blooming bud of\nhumanity should not pine in confinement and seclusion; she should find\nand give happiness, to her own joy and that of all good souls, and unfold\nto a full and perfect flower. And Eudoxia knew the widow well; she knew\nthat Joanna would by-and-bye understand why she helped the child to\nescape the greatest peril that can hang over a human soul: that of living\nin perpetual conflict with itself in the effort to become something\ntotally different from what, by natural gifts and inclinations, it is\nintended to be.\n\nWith a sigh of anguish Eudoxia reflected what she herself, forced by\ncruel fate and lacking freedom and pleasurable ease, had become, from an\nardent and generous young creature; and she, the narrow-hearted teacher,\ncould make allowances for the strange, adventurous yearning of a child,\nwhere a larger souled woman might have derided, and blamed and repressed\nit.\n\nWhen it was daylight Eudoxia fulfilled the offices she commonly left to\nthe maid: she arranged Mary's hair, talking to her and listening the\nwhile, as though in this night the child had developed into a woman. Then\nshe went into the garden with her, and hardly let her out of her sight.\n\nAt breakfast Joanna and Pulcheria wondered at her singular behavior, but\nit did not displease them, and Marv was radiant with contentment.\n\nThe widow made no objection to allowing the child to go into the city to\nexecute her uncle's mysterious commission. Rustem was with her; and\nwhatever it was that made the child so happy must certainly be right and\nunobjectionable. Orion's maps and lists were sent to the prison early in\nthe day, and before the child set out with her stalwart escort Gibbus had\nreturned with the prisoner's letter to the Arab governor.\n\nOn their way it was agreed that Mary should join Rustem at dusk at the\nriverside inn of Nesptah. In these clays of famine and death beasts of\nburthen of every description were easily procurable, as well as\nattendants and guides; and the Masdakite, who was experienced in such\nmatters, thought it best to purchase none but swift dromedaries and to\ncarry only a light tent for the \"little mistress!\"\n\nAt the door of Gamaliel's shop Mary bid him wait; the jovial goldsmith\nwelcomed her with genuine pleasure. . . .\n\nWhat had befallen the house of the Mukaukas! Fire had destroyed the\ndwelling-place of justice, like the Egyptian cities to whom the prophet\nhad announced a similar fate a thousand years since.\n\nGamaliel knew in what peril Orion stood, and the fate that hung over the\nnoble maiden who had once given him the costliest of gems, and afterwards\nentrusted to him a portion of her fortune.\n\nTo see any member of his patron's family alive and well rejoiced his\nheart. He asked Mary one sympathizing question after another, and his\nwife wanted to give her some of her good apricot tarts; but the little\ngirl begged Gamaliel to grant her at once a private interview, so the\njeweller led her into his little work-shop, bidding her trust him\nentirely, for whatever a grandchild of Mukaukas George might ask of him\nit was granted beforehand.\n\nBlushing with confusion she took Orion's ring out of its wrapper, offered\nit to the Jew, and desired him to give her whatever was right.\n\nShe looked enquiringly into his face with her bright eyes, in full\nconfidence that the kind-hearted man would at once pay her down gold\ncoins and to spare; but he did not even take the ring out of her hand. He\nmerely glanced at it, and said gravely:\n\n\"Nay, my little maid, we do not do business with children.\"\n\n\"But I want the money, Gamaliel,\" she urged. \"I must have it.\"\n\n\"Must?\" he repeated with a smile. \"Well, must is a nail that drives\nthrough wood, no doubt; but if it hits iron it is apt to bend. Not that I\nam so hard as that; but money, money, money! And whose money do you mean,\nlittle maid? If you want money of mine to spend in bread, or in cakes,\nwhich is more likely, I will shut my eyes and put my hand boldly into my\nwallet; but, if I am not mistaken, you are well provided for by Rufinus\nthe Greek, in whose house there is no lack of anything; and I have a nice\nround sum in my own keeping which your grandfather placed in my hands at\ninterest two years since, with a remark that it was a legacy to you from\nyour godmother, and the papers stand in your name; so your necessity\nlooks very like what other folks would call ease.\"\n\n\"Necessity! I am in no necessity,\" Mary broke in. \"But I want the money\nall the same; and if I have some of my own, and you perhaps have it there\nin your box, give me as much of it as I want.\"\n\n\"As much as you want?\" laughed the jeweller. \"Not so fast, little maid.\nBefore such matters can be settled here in Egypt we must have plenty of\ntime, and papyrus and ink, a grand law court, sixteen witnesses, a\nKyrios. . .\"\n\n\"Well then, buy the ring! You are such a good, kind man Gamaliel. Just to\nplease me. Why, you yourself do not really think that I want to buy\ncakes!\"\n\n\"No. But in these hard times, when so many are starving, a soft heart may\nbe moved to other follies.\"\n\n\"No indeed! Do buy the ring; and if you will do me this favor. . .\"\n\n\"Old Gamaliel will be both a rogue and a simpleton!--Have you forgotten\nthe emerald? I bought that, and a pretty piece of business that was! I\ncan have nothing to say to the ring, my little maid.\" Mary withdrew her\nhand, and the grief and disappointment expressed by her large, tearful\neyes were so bitter and touching, that the Jew paused, and then went on\nseriously and heartily:\n\n\"I would sooner give my own old head to be an anvil than distress you,\nsweet child; and Adonai! I do not mean to say--why should I--that you\nshould ever leave old Gamaliel without money. He has plenty, and though\nhe is always ready to take, he is ready to give, too, when it is meet and\nfitting. I cannot buy the ring, to be sure, but do not be down-hearted\nand look me well in the face, little maid. It is much to ask, and I have\nhandsomer things in my stores, but if you see anything in it that gives\nyou confidence, speak out and whisper to the man of whom even your\ngrandfather had some good opinion: 'I want so much, and what is more--how\ndid you put it?--what is more, I must have it.'\"\n\nMary did see something in the Jew's merry round face that inspired her\nwith trust, and in her childlike belief in the sanctity of an oath she\nmade a third person--a believer too, in a third form of religion--swear\nnot to betray her secret, only marvelling that the administering of the\noath, in which she had now had some practice, should be so easy. Even\ngrown-up people will sometimes buy another's dearest secret for a light\nasseveration. And when she had thus ensured the Israelite's silence, she\nconfided to him that she was charged by Orion to send out a messenger to\nmeet Amru, that he and Paula might be reprieved in time. The goldsmith\nlistened attentively, and even before she had ended he was busying\nhimself with an iron chest built into the wall, and interrupted her to\nask! \"How much?\"\n\nShe named the sum that Nilus had suggested, and hardly had she finished\nher story when the Jew, who kept the trick by which he opened the chest a\nsecret even from his wife, exclaimed:\n\n\"Now, go and look out of the window, you wonder among envoys and\nmoney-borrowers, and if you see nothing in the courtyard, then fancy to\nyourself that a man is standing there who looks like old Gamaliel, and\nwho puts his hand on your head and gives you a good kiss. And you may\nfancy him, too, as saying to himself: 'God in Heaven! if only my little\ndaughter, my Ruth may be such another as little Mary, grandchild of the\njust Mukaukas!'\"\n\nAnd as he spoke, the vivacious but stout man, who had dropped on his\nknees, rose panting, left the lid of his strong box open, hurried up to\nthe child, who had been standing at the window all the while, and bending\nover her from behind pressed a kiss on her curly head, saying with a\nlaugh: \"There, little pickpocket, that is my interest. But look out\nstill, till I call you again.\" He nimbly trotted back on his short little\nlegs, wiping his eyes; took from the strong box a little bag of gold,\nwhich contained rather more than the desired sum, locked the chest again,\nlooking at Mary with a mixture of suspicion and hearty approbation; then\nat last he called her to him. He emptied the money-bag before her,\ncounted out the sum she needed, put the remainder of the coins into his\ngirdle, and handed the bag to the little girl requesting her to count his\n\"advance\", back into it, while he, with a cunning smile, quitted the\nroom.\n\nHe presently returned and she had finished her task, but she timidly\nobserved: \"One gold piece is wanting.\" At this he clasped his hands over\nhis breast and raised his eyes to Heaven exclaiming: \"My God! what a\nchild. There is the solidus, child; and you may take my word for it as a\nman of experience: whatever you undertake will prosper. You know what you\nare about; and when you are grown up and a suitor comes he will go to a\ngood market. And now sign your name here. You are not of age, to be sure,\nand the receipt is worth no more than any other note scribbled with\nink--however, it is according to rule.\"\n\nMary took the pen, but she first hastily glanced through what Gamaliel\nhad written; the Jew broke out in fresh enthusiasm:\n\n\"A girl--a mere child! And she reads, and considers, and makes all sure\nbefore she will sign! God bless thee, Child!--And here come the tarts,\nand you can taste them before. . . . Just Heaven! a mere child, and such\nimportant business!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRIDE OF THE NILE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 12.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nWhile Rustem, to whom Mary had entrusted the jeweller's gold, was making\nhis preparations for their journey with all the care of a practised\nguide, and while Mary was comforting her governess and Mandane, to whom\nshe explained that Rustem's journey was to save Paula's life, a fresh\ntrial was going forward in the Court of Justice.\n\nThis time Orion was the accused. He had scarcely begun to study the maps\nand lists he required for his undertaking when he was bidden to appear\nbefore his judges.\n\nThe members composing the Court were the same as yesterday. Among the\nwitnesses were Paula and the new bishop, as well as Gamaliel, who had\nbeen sent for soon after Mary had left him.\n\nThe prosecutor accused the son of the Mukaukas of having made away, in\ndefiance of the patriarch's injunction, with a costly emerald bequeathed\nto the Church by his father.\n\nOrion had determined to conduct his own defence; he recapitulated\neverything that he had told the prelate in self-justification in his\nfather's private room, and then added, that to put a speedy end to this\nodious affair he was now prepared to restore the stone, and he placed it\nat the disposal of his judges. He handed Paula's emerald to the Kadi who\npresented it to the bishop. John, however, did not seem satisfied; he\nreferred to the written testimony of the widow Susannah, who had been\npresent when the deceased Mukaukas had designated all the jewels in the\nPersian hanging as included in his gift to the Church. This was in\nOrion's presence so he was still under suspicion of a fraud; and it was\ndifficult to determine whether the fine gem now lying on the table before\nthem were indeed the same to which the Church laid claim.\n\nAll this was urged with excessive vehemence and bore the stamp of a\nhostile purpose.\n\nObedience and conviction alike prompted the zealous prelate to this\ndemeanor, for the same carrier-pigeon which had brought from the\npatriarch his appointment to the bishopric required him to insist on\nOrion's punishment, for he was a thorn in the flesh of the Jacobite\nchurch, a tainted sheep who might infect the rest of the flock. If the\nyoung man should offer an emerald it was therefore to be closely\nexamined, to see whether it were the original stone or a substitute.\n\nOn these grounds the bishop had expressed his doubts, and though they\ngave rise to an indignant murmur among the judges, the Kadi so far\nadmitted the prelate's suspicions as to explain that last evening a\nletter had reached him from his uncle at Djidda, Haschim the merchant, in\nwhich mention was made of the emerald. His son happened to have weighed\nthat stone, without his knowledge, before he started for Egypt, and\nOthman had here a note of its exact weight. The Jew Gamaliel had been\ndesired to attend with his balances, and could at once use them to\nsatisfy the bishop.\n\nThe jeweller immediately proceeded to do so, and old Horapollo, who was\nan expert in such matters, went close up to him, and watched him\nnarrowly.\n\nIt was in feverish anxiety, and more eagerly than any other bystander,\nthat Paula and Orion kept their eyes fixed on the Jew's hands and lips;\nafter weighing it once, he did so a second time. Old Horapollo himself\nweighed it a third time, with a keen eye though his hands trembled a\nlittle; all three experiments gave the same result: this gem was heavier\nby a few grains of doura than that which the merchant's son had weighed,\nand yet the Jew declared that there was no purer, clearer, or finer\nemerald in the world than this.\n\nOrion breathed more freely, and the question arose among the judges as to\nwhether the young Arab might have failed in precision, or an exchange had\nin fact been effected. This was difficult to imagine, since in that case\nthe accused would have given himself the loss, and the Church the\nadvantage.\n\nThe bishop, an honest man, now said that the patriarch's suspicions had\ncertainly led him too far in this instance, and after this he spoke no\nmore.\n\nAll through this enquiry the Vekeel had kept silence, but the defiant\ngaze, assured of triumph, which he fixed on Paula and Orion alternately,\naugured the worst.\n\nWhen the prosecutor next accused the young man of complicity in the much\ndiscussed escape of the nuns Orion again asserted his innocence, pointing\nout that during the fatal contest between the Arabs and the champions of\nthe sisters, he had been with the Arab governor, as Amru himself could\ntestify. By an act of unparalleled despotism, he had been deprived of his\nestates and his freedom on mere false suspicion, and he put his trust in\nthe first instance in a just sentence from his judges and, failing that,\nhe threw himself on the protection and satisfaction of his sovereign lord\nthe Khaliff.\n\nAs he spoke his eyes flashed flames at the Vekeel; but the negro still\npreserved his self-control, and this doubled the alarm of those who\nwished the youth well.\n\nIt was clear from all this that Obada felt sure that he had the noose\nwell around his victim's neck, and why he thought so, soon became\nevident; for Orion had hardly finished his defence when he rose, and with\na malicious grin, handed to the Kadi the little tablet given him\nyesterday by old Horapollo, describing it as a document addressed to\nPaula and desiring the Kadi to examine it. The heat had effaced much of\nwhat had been written on the wax, but most of the words could still be\ndeciphered. The venerable Horapollo had already made them out, and was\nquite ready to read to the judges all that the accused--who by his own\naccount, was a spotless dove--had written in his innocence and\ntruthfulness for his fair one. He signed to the old man and helped him as\nhe rose with difficulty, but the Kadi begged him to wait, made himself\nacquainted with the contents of the letter by the help of the\ninterpreter, and when the man had, with much pains, fulfilled his task,\nhe turned, not to Horapollo, but to Obada, and asked whence this document\nhad come.\n\n\"From Paula's desk,\" replied the Vekeel. \"My old friend found it there.\"\nHe pointed to Horapollo, who confirmed his statement by a nod of assent.\n\nThe Kadi rose, went up to the girl, whose cheeks were pale with\nindignation, and asked whether she recognized the tablets as her\nproperty; Paula, after convincing herself, replied with a flaming glance\nof scorn and aversion at Horapollo: \"Yes, my lord. It is mine. That base\nold man has taken it with atrocious meanness from among my things.\" For\nan instant her voice failed her; then, turning to the judges, she\nexclaimed:\n\n\"If there is one among you to whom helplessness and innocence are sacred\nand malice and cunning odious, I beg him to go to Rufinus' wife, over\nwhose threshold this man has crept like a ferret into a dovecote, for no\nother end but to tread hospitable kindness in the dust, to rifle her home\nand make use of whatever might serve his vile purpose--to go, I say, and\nwarn the lonely woman against this treacherous spy and thief.\"\n\nAt this the old man, gasping and inarticulate, raised his withered arm;\nthe Christian judges whispered together, but at cross-purposes, while the\nJew fidgeted his round little person on the bench, drumming incessantly\nwith his fingers on his breast, and trying to meet Orion's or Paula's eye\nand to make her understand that he was the man who would warn Joanna. But\na thump from the Vekeel's fist, that came down on his shoulder unawares,\nreduced him to sitting still; and while he sat rubbing the place with\nsubdued sounds of pain, not daring to reproach the all-powerful negro for\nhis violence, the Kadi gave the tablets to Horapollo and bid him read the\nletter.\n\nBut the terrible accusation cast at him by the hated Patrician maiden,\nascribing his removal to Rufinus house to a motive which, in truth, had\nbeen far from his, had so enraged and agitated him that his old lungs, at\nall times feeble, refused their office. This woman had done him a fresh\nwrong, for he had gone to live with the widow from the kindest impulse;\nonly an accident had thrown this document in his way. And yet it would\nnot fail to be reported to Joanna in the course of the day that he had\ngone to her house as a spy, and there would be an end to the pleasant\nlife of which he had dreamed--nay, even Philippus might perhaps quarrel\nwith him.\n\nAnd all, all through this woman.\n\nHe could not utter a word but, as he sank back on the seat, a glance so\nfull of hatred, so dark with malignant fury, fell on Paula that she\nshuddered, and told herself that this man was ready to die himself if\nonly he could drag her down too.\n\nThe interpreter now began to read Orion's letter and to translate it for\nthe Arabs; and while he blundered through it, declaring that not a letter\ncould be plainly made out, she recovered her self-control and, before the\ninterpreter had done his task, a gleam as of sunshine lighted up her pure\nfeatures. Some great, lofty, and rapturous thought must have flashed\nthrough her brain, and it was evident that she had seized it and was\nfeeding on it.\n\nOrion, sitting opposite to her, noticed this; still, he did not\nunderstand what her beseeching gaze had to say to him, what it asked of\nhim as she pressed her hand on her breast, and looked into his eyes with\nsuch urgent entreaty that it went to his very heart.\n\nThe interpreter ceased; but what he had read had had a great effect on\nthe judges. The Kadi's benevolent face expressed extreme apprehension,\nand the contents of the letter were indeed such as to cause it. It ran as\nfollows:\n\n\"After waiting for you a long time in vain, I must at last make up my\nmind to go; and how much I still had to say to you. A written farewell.\"\n\nHere a few lines were effaced, and then came the--fatal and quite legible\nconclusion:\n\n\"How far otherwise I had dreamed of ending this day, which has been for\nthe most part spent in preparations for the flight of the Sisters; and I\nhave found a pleasure in doing all that lay in my power for those kind\nand innocent, unjustly persecuted nuns. We must hope for the best for\nthem; and for ourselves we must look to-morrow for an undisturbed\ninterview and a parting which may leave us memories on which we can live\nfor a long time. The noble governor Amru is, among the Arabs, such\nanother as he whom we mourn was among the Egyptians . . .\" Here the\nletter ended; not quite three lines were wanting to conclude it.\n\nThe Kadi held the tablets for a few minutes in his hand; then looking up\nagain at the assembly, who were waiting in great suspense, he began:\n\"Even if the accused was not one of those who raised their hands in\nmutiny against our armed troops, it is nevertheless indisputable, after\nwhat has just been read, that he not only knew of the escape of the nuns,\nbut aided them to the utmost.--When did you receive this communication,\nnoble maiden?\"\n\nAt this Paula clasped her hands tightly and replied with a slightly bent\nhead and her eyes fixed on the ground.\n\n\"When did I receive it?--Never; for I wrote it myself. The writing is\nmine.\"\n\n\"Yours?\" said the Kadi in amazement. \"It is from me to Orion,\" replied\nPaula.\n\n\"From you to him? How then comes it in your desk?\"\n\n\"In a very simple way,\" she explained, still looking down. \"After writing\nthe letter to my betrothed I threw it in with the other tablets as soon\nas I had no need for it; for he himself came, and there was no necessity\nfor his reading what could be better said by word of mouth.\"\n\nAs she spoke a peculiar smile passed over her lips and a loud murmur ran\nthrough the room. Orion looked first at the girl and then at the Kadi in\ngrowing bewilderment; but the Negro started up, struck his fist on the\ntable, making it shake, and roared out:\n\n\"An atrocious fabrication! Which of you can allow yourself to be taken in\nby a woman's guile?\" Horapollo, who had recovered himself by this time,\nlaughed hoarsely and maliciously; the judges looked at each other much\npuzzled; but when the Vekeel went on raging the Kadi interrupted him, and\ndesired that Orion might speak, for he had twice tried to make himself\nheard. Now, with scarlet cheeks and a choking utterance, he said:\n\n\"No, Othman--no, no indeed, my lords. Do not believe her. Not she, but\nI--I wrote the letter that. . . .\"\n\nBut Paula broke in:\n\n\"He? Do you not feel that all he wants is to save me, and so he takes my\nguilt on himself? It is his generosity, his love for me! Do not, do not\nbelieve him! Do not allow yourselves to be deceived by him.\"\n\n\"I? No, it is she, it is she,\" Orion again asserted; but, before he could\nsay more, Paula declared with a flashing glance that it was a poor sort\nof love which sacrificed itself out of false generosity. And as, at the\nsame time, she again pressed her hand to her bosom with pathetic\nentreaty, he was suddenly silent, and casting his eyes up to heaven, he\nsank back on the prisoners' bench, deeply affected.\n\nPaula joyfully went on:\n\n\"He has thought better of it, and given up his crazy attempt to take my\nguilt on himself. You see, Othman, you all see, worthy men.--Let me atone\nfor what I did to help the poor nuns.\"\n\n\"Have your way!\" shrieked the old man; but the Negro cried out:\n\n\"A hellish tissue of lies, an unheard-of deception! But in spite of the\nshield a woman holds before you, I have my foot on your neck, treacherous\nwretch! Is it credible--I ask you, judges--that a finished letter should\nbe found, after weeks had elapsed, in the hands of the writer and not\nthose of the person to whom it was addressed?\"\n\nThe Kadi shrugged his shoulders and replied with calm dignity:\n\n\"Consider, Obada, that we are condemning this damsel on the evidence of a\nletter which was found in possession, not of the person to whom it was\naddressed, but of the writer. This document gave rise to no doubts in\nyour mind. The judge should mete out equal measure to all, Obada.\"\n\nThe aptness of these words, spoken in a dogmatic tone, aroused the\napproval of the Arabs, and the Jew could not restrain himself from\nexclaiming: \"Capital!\" but no sooner had it escaped him than he shrank as\nquick as lightning out of the Vekeel's reach; and Obada hardly heard him,\nfor he did not allow himself to be interrupted by the Kadi but went on to\nexplain in wrathful words what a disgrace it was to them, as men and\njudges, to have dust cast in their eyes by a woman, and allow themselves\nto be molified by the arts of a pair of love-stricken fools; and how\ndesirable it must be in the eyes of every Moslem to guard the security of\nlife and bring the severest punishment on the instigator of a sanguinary\nrevolt against the champions of the Khaliff's power.\n\nHis eloquent and stormy address was not without effect; still, the\nChristians, who ascribed every form of evil to the Melchite girl, would\nhave been satisfied with her death and have been ready to forgive the son\nof the Mukaukas this crime--supposing him to have committed it. And it\nwas after the judges had agreed that it was impossible to decide by whom\nthe letter on the tablet had been written, and there had been a great\ndeal of argument on both sides, that the real discussion began.\n\nIt was long before the assembly could agree, and all the while Orion sat\nnow looking as though he had already been condemned to a cruel death, and\nnow exchanging glances with Paula, while he pressed his hand to his heart\nas though to keep it from bursting. He perfectly understood her, and her\nmagnanimity upheld him. He had indeed persuaded himself to accept her\nself-sacrifice, but he was fully determined that if she must die he would\nfollow her to the grave. \"Non dolet,\"--[It does not hurt]--Arria cried to\nher lover Paetus, as she thrust the knife into her heart that she might\ndie before him; and the words rang in his ear; but he said to himself\nthat Paula would very likely be pardoned, and that then he would be free\nand have a whole lifetime in which to thank her.\n\nAt last--at last. The Kadi announced the verdict: It was impossible to\nfind Orion worthy of death, and equally so to give up all belief in his\nguilt; the court therefore declared itself inadequate to pronounce a\nsentence, and left it to be decided by the Khaliff or by his\nrepresentative in Egypt, Amru. The court only went so far as to rule that\nthe prisoner was to be kept in close confinement, so that he might be\nwithin reach of the hand of justice, if the supreme decision should be\n\"guilty!\"\n\nWhen the Kadi said that the matter was to be referred to the Khaliff or\nhis representative, the Vekeel cried out:\n\n\"I--I am Omar's vicar!\" but a disapproving murmur from the judges, as\nwith one voice, rejected his pretensions, and at a proposal of the Kadi\nit was resolved that the young man should be protected against any\narbitrary attack on the part of the Vekeel by a double guard; for many\ngrave accusations against Obada were already on their way to Medina. The\nnegro quitted the court, mad with rage, and concocting fresh indictments\nagainst Paula with the old man.\n\nWhen Paula returned to her cell old Betta thought that she must have been\npardoned; for how glad, how proud, how full of spirit she entered it! The\nworst peril was diverted from her lover, and she and her love had saved\nhim!\n\nShe gave herself up for lost; but whatever fate might have in store for\nher, life lay open before him; he would have time to prove his splendid\npowers, and that he would do so, as she would have him do it, she felt\ncertain.\n\nShe had not ended telling her nurse of the judges' decision, when the\nwarder announced the Kadi. In a minute or two he made his appearance; she\nexpressed her thanks, and he warmly assured her that he regarded the\ndisgrace of being perhaps a beguiled judge as a favor of Fortune; then he\nturned the conversation on the real object of his visit.\n\nIn the letter, he began, which he had received the evening before from\nhis uncle Haschim, there was a great deal about her. She had quite won\nthe old merchant's heart, and the enquiries for her father which he had\nset on foot. . . .\n\nHere she interrupted him saying: \"Oh, my lord; is the wish, the prayer of\nmy life to be granted?\"\n\n\"Your father, the noble Thomas, before whom even the Moslem bows, has\nbeen . . . \" and then Othman went on to tell her that the hero of\nDamascus had in fact retired to Sinai and had been living there as a\nhermit. But she must not indulge in premature rejoicing, for the\nmessengers had found him ill, consumed by disease arising from his\nwounded lungs, and almost at death's door. His days were numbered. . . .\n\n\"And I, I am a prisoner,\" groaned the girl. \"Held fast, helpless, robbed\nof all means of flying to his arms!\"\n\nHe again bid her be calm, and went on to tell her: in his soft, composed\nmanner, that two days since a Nabathaean had come to him and had asked\nhim, as the chief administrator of justice in Egypt, whether an old foe\nof the Moslems, a general who had fought in the service of the emperor\nand the cross against the Khaliff and the crescent, and who was now sick,\nweary, and broken, might venture on Egyptian soil without fear of being\nseized by the Arab authorities; and when he, Othman, had learnt that this\nman was no other than Thomas, the hero of Damascus, he had promised him\nhis life and freedom, promised them gladly, as he felt assured his\nsovereign the Khaliff would desire.\n\nSo this very day her father had reached Fostat, and the Kadi had received\nhim as a guest into his house. Thomas, indeed, stood on the brink of the\ngrave; but he was inspirited and sustained by the hope of seeing his\ndaughter. It had been falsely reported to him that she had perished in\nthe massacre at Abyla and he had already mourned her fate.\n\nIt was now his duty to fulfil the wish of a dying man, and he had ordered\nthe prison servants to prepare the room adjoining Paula's cell with\nfurniture which was on the way from his house. The door between the two\nwould be opened for her.\n\n\"And I shall see him again, have him again to live with--to close his\neyes, perhaps to die with him!\" cried Paula; and, seizing the good man's\nhand, she kissed it gratefully.\n\nThe Moslem's eyes filled with tears as he bid her not to thank him, but\nGod the All-merciful; and before the sun went down the head of the doomed\ndaughter was resting on the breast of the weary hero who was so near his\nend, though his unimpaired mind and tender heart rejoiced in their\nreunion as fully and deeply as did his beloved and only child. A new and\nunutterable joy came to Paula in the gloom of her prison; and that same\nday the warder carried a letter from her to Orion, conveying her father's\ngreetings; and, as he read the fervent blessing, he felt as though an\ninvisible hand had released him for ever from the curse his own father\nhad laid upon him. A wonderful glad sense of peace came over him with\npower and pleasure in work, and he gave his brains and pen no rest till\nmorning was growing grey.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nHorapollo made his way home to his new quarters from the court of justice\nwith knit and gloomy brows. As he passed Susannah's garden hedge he saw a\nknot of people gathered together and pointing out furtively to the\nhandsome residence beyond.\n\nThey, like a hundred other groups he had passed, hailed him with words of\nwelcome, thanks, and encouragement and, as he bowed to them slightly, his\neyes followed the direction of their terrified gaze and he started; above\nthe great garden gates hung the black tablet; a warning that looked like\na mark of disgrace, crying out to the passer-by: \"Avoid this threshold!\nHere rages the destroying pestilence!\"\n\nThe old man had a horror of everything that might remind him of death,\nand a cold shiver ran through him. To live so near to a focus of the\ndisease was most alarming and dangerous! How had it invaded this, the\nhealthiest part of the town, which the last raging epidemic had spared?\n\nAn officer of the town-council, whom he called to him, told him that two\nslaves, father and son, whose duty it was to take charge of the baths in\nthe widow's house, had been first attacked, but they had been carried\nquietly away in the night to the new tents for the sick; to-day, however,\nthe widow herself had fallen ill. To prevent the spread of the infection,\nthe plot of ground was now guarded on all sides.\n\n\"Be strict, be sharp; not a rat must creep out!\" cried the old man as he\nrode on.\n\nHe was later than he had been yesterday; supper must be ready. After a\nshort rest he was preparing to join the family at their meal, washing and\ndressing with the help of his servant, when a lame slave-girl came into\nhis room and placed a tray covered with steaming dishes on the low table\nby the divan.\n\nWhat was the meaning of this? Before he could ask, he was informed that\nfor the future the women wished to eat by themselves; he would be served\nin his own room.\n\nAt this a bright patch of red colored his cheeks; after brief reflection\nhe cried to his servant. \"My ass!\" and added to the girl: \"Where is your\nmistress?\"\n\n\"In the viridarium with Gamaliel the goldsmith; but they are going to\nsupper immediately.\"\n\n\"And without their guest? I understand!\" muttered the old man, taking up\nhis hat and marching past the maid out of the room. In the hall he met\nGamaliel, to whom a slave-girl was handing his stick. Horapollo could\nguess that the Jew had come only to warn the women against him and,\nwithout vouchsafing him a glance, he went into the dining-room. There he\nfound Pulchena and Mary kneeling in tears by the side of Joanna, who was\nweeping too.\n\nHe guessed for whom were these lamentations, and prompted by the wish to\nprove the falsity of the accusation that charged him with having entered\nthe house as a spy, he spoke to the widow. She shuddered as he entered,\nand she now pointed to the door with an outstretched finger; when he\nnevertheless stood still and was about to make his defence, she\ninterrupted him loudly and urgently: \"No, no, my lord! This house is\nhenceforth closed against you! You yourself have broken every tie that\nbound us! Do not any longer disturb our peace! Go back to the place you\ncame from.\"\n\nAt this the old man made one more attempt to speak; but the widow rose,\nand saying: \"Come, my children,\" she hastily withdrew with the girls into\nthe adjoining room, and closed the door.\n\nHorapollo was left alone on the threshold.\n\nOld as he was, in all his life he had never suffered such an insult; but\nhe did not lay it to the score of those who had shown him the door, but\nto the already long one of the Syrian girl; as he rode back to his own\nhome on his white ass, he stopped several times to speak to the\npassers-by.\n\nDuring the following day or two he heeded not the heat of the weather,\nnor his own need of rest for his body, and quiet occupation for his mind;\nmorning, noon and night he was riding about the streets stirring up the\npeople, and setting forth in insinuating speeches that they must perish\nmiserably if they rejected the only means of deliverance which he had\npointed out to them. He was present at every meeting of the Senate, and\nhis inflammatory eloquence kept the town council on his side, and\nnullified the efforts of the bishop, while he pressed them to fix the day\nof the marriage of the Nile with his bride.\n\nHe knew the Egyptians and their passion for the intoxicating joys of a\nsplendid ceremonial. This festival: the wedding of the Bride of the Nile\nto her mighty and unresting spouse, on whom the weal or woe of the land\ndepended, was to be as a flowery oasis in the waste of dearth and\ndesolation. He recalled every detail of the reminiscences of his\nchildhood as to the processions in Honor of Isis, and the festivals\ndedicated to her and her triad; every record of his own experience and\nthat of former generations; all he had read in books of the great\npilgrimages and dramas of heathen Egypt--and he described it all in his\nspeeches, painted it in glowing colors to the Senate and the mob, and\ncounselled the authorities to reproduce it all with unparalleled splendor\non the occasion of this marriage.\n\nEvery man in whose veins flowed Egyptian blood listened to him\nattentively, took pleasure in his projects, and was quite ready to do his\nutmost to enhance the glories of this ceremonial, in which every one was\nto take part either active or passive. Thousands were ruined, but there\nwas yet enough and to spare for this marriage feast, and the Senate did\nnot hesitate to raise a fresh loan.\n\n\"Destruction or Deliverance!\" was the watch-word Horapollo had given the\nMemphites. If everything came to ruin their hoarded talents would be lost\ntoo; if, on the other hand, the sacrifice produced its result, if the\nNile should bless its children with renewed prosperity, what need the\ntown or country care for a few thousand drachmae more or less?\n\nSo the day was fixed!\n\nNot quite two weeks after Paula's trial, on the day of Saint Serapis the\nmiraculous, saving, auspicious ceremonial was to take place. And how\nglowing was the picture given of the Bride's beauty by the old man, and\nby the judges and officials who had seen her! How brightly old\nHorapollo's eyes would flash with hate as he described it! The eyes of\nlove could not be more radiant.\n\nAll that this patrician hussy had done to aggrieve him--she should\nexpiate it all, and his triumph meant woe, not only to that one woman,\nbut to the Christian faith which he hated!\n\nBishop John, however, had not been idle meanwhile. Immediately after his\ninterference with the popular vote he had despatched a letter by a\ncarrier-pigeon to the patriarch in Upper Egypt, and Benjamin's reply\nwould no doubt give him powers for still more vigorous measures. In\nchurch, before the Senate, and even in the highways, he and his clergy\ndid their utmost to combat the atrocious project of the authorities and\nthe populace, but the zeal which was stirred up by old Horapollo soon\nbroke into brighter flames than the conservatism, orthodoxy and breadth\nof view which the ecclesiastics did their utmost to fan. The wind blew\nwith equal force from both quarters, but on one side it blew on\nsmoldering fuel, and on the other on overflowing and flaming stores.\nFamine and despair had undermined faith, and weakened discipline; even\nthe mightiest weapons of the Church--Cursing and blessing--were\npowerless. A floating beam was held out to sinking men, and they would no\nlonger wait for the life-boat that was approaching to rescue them, with\nstrong hands at the oars and a trusty pilot at the helm.\n\nHorapollo went no more to the widow's home. A few hours after she had\nshown him the door, his slaves came and fetched away the various things\nhe had carried there with him. His body servant at the same time brought\na large sealed phial and a letter to Dame Joanna, as follows:\n\n\"It is wrong to judge a man without hearing his defence. This you have\ndone; but I owe you no grudge. Philippus, on his return, will perhaps\npick up the ends of the tie and join again what you have this day cut. I\nsend you a portion of the remedy he left with me at parting to use\nagainst the plague in case of need. Its good effects have been tested\nwithin the last few days. May the sickness which has fallen on your\nneighbors, spare you and yours.\"\n\nJoanna was much pleased with this letter but, when she had read it aloud,\nlittle Mary exclaimed:\n\n\"If any one should fall ill he shall not take a drop of that mixture! I\ntell you he only wants to poison us!\"\n\nJoanna, however, maintained that the old man was not bad hearted in spite\nof his unaccountable hatred of Paula; and Pulcheria declared that it must\nbe so, if only because Philip esteemed him so highly. If only he were\nhere, everything would have been different and have turned out well.\n\nMary remained with the mother and daughter till it grew dark; her chatter\nalways led them back to Paula; and when, in the afternoon, the Nabathaean\nmessenger came to them, and told them from their captive friend that he\nhad brought her father home to her, the women once more began to hope,\nand Mary could allow herself to give free expression to her fond love\nbefore she quitted them, without exciting their suspicions.\n\nAt length she said she must go to her lessons with Eudoxia; she had a\nhard task before her and they must think of her and wish her good\nsuccess. She threw her arms first round the widow's neck and then round\nPulcheria's; and, as the tears would start to her eyes, she asked them if\nshe were not indeed a silly childish thing--but they were to think of her\nall the same and never to forget her.\n\nShe met the governess in her own room; Eudoxia cut off the fine, soft\ncurls, shedding her first tears over them; and those tears flowed faster\nas she placed round Mary's neck a little reliquary containing a lock from\nthe sheep-skin of St. John the Baptist, which had belonged to her own\nmother. It was very dear and sacred to her, and she had never before\nparted from it, but now it was to protect the child and bring her\nhappiness--great happiness.\n\nHad it brought her such happiness?--Not much, in truth; and yet she\nbelieved in the saving and beneficent influence of the relic.\n\nAt last Mary stood before her with short hair and in a boy's dress; and\nwhat a sweet and lovely little fellow it was; Eudoxia could not weary of\nlooking at him. But Mary was too pretty, too frail for a boy; and Eudoxia\nadvised her to pull her broad travelling hat low over her eyes as soon as\nshe came in sight of men, or else to darken her color.\n\nGamaliel, who had in fact come to warn Dame Joanna against Horapollo, had\nkept them informed of the progress of this day's sitting, and Paula's\nconduct to save her lover had increased Mary's admiration for her. When\nshe should confront Amru she could answer him on every head, so she felt\nequipped at all points as she stole through the garden with Eudoxia, and\ndown to the quay.\n\nWhen she had passed the gateway she once more kissed her hand to the\nhouse she loved and its inmates; then, pointing with a sigh to the\nneighboring garden, she said:\n\n\"Poor Katharina! she is a prisoner now.--Do you know, Eudoxia, I am still\nvery fond of her, and when I think that she may take the plague, and die\nbut no!--Tell Mother Joanna and Pulcheria to be kind to her. To-morrow,\nafter breakfast, give them my letter; and this evening, if they get\nanxious, you can only quiet them by saying you know all and that it is of\nno use to fret about me. You will set it all right and not allow them to\ngrieve.\"\n\nAs they passed a Jacobite chapel that stood open, she begged Eudoxia to\nwait for her and fell on her knees before the crucifix. In a few minutes\nshe came out again, bright and invigorated and, as they passed the last\nhouses in the town, she exclaimed:\n\n\"Is it not wicked, Eudoxia? I am leaving those I love dearly, very\ndearly, and yet I feel as glad as a bird escaping from its cage. Good\nHeaven! Only to think of the ride by night through the desert and over\nthe hills, a swift beast under me, and over my head no ceiling but the\nblue sky and countless stars! Onward and still onward to a glorious end,\nleft entirely to myself and entrusted with an important task like a\ngrownup person! Is it not splendid? And by God's help--and if I find the\ngovernor and succeed in touching his heart. . . . Now, confess, Eudoxia,\ncan there be a happier girl in the whole wide world?\"\n\nThey found the Masdakite at Nesptah's inn with some capital dromedaries\nand the necessary drivers and attendants. The Greek governess gave her\npupil much good advice, and added her \"maternal\" blessing with her whole\nheart. Rustem lifted the child on to the dromedary, carefully settling\nher in the saddle, and the little caravan set out. Mary waved repeated\nadieux to her old governess and newly-found friend, and Eudoxia was still\ngazing after her long after she had vanished in the darkness.\n\nThen she made her way home, at first weeping silently with bowed head,\nbut afterwards tearless, upright, and with a confident step. She was in\nunusually good spirits, her heart beat higher than it had done for years;\nshe felt uplifted by the sense of relief from a burthensome duty, and of\nfreedom to act independently on the dictates of her own intelligence. She\nwould assert herself, she would show the others that she had acted\nrightly; and when at supper-time Mary was missing, and had not returned\neven at bed-time, there was much to do to soothe and comfort them, and\nmuch misconstruction to endure; but she took it all patiently, and it was\na consolation to her to bear such annoyance for her little favorite.\n\nNext morning, when she had delivered Mary's letter to Dame Joanna, her\nlove and endurance were put to still severer proof; indeed, the\nmeek-tempered widow allowed herself to be carried away to such an\noutbreak as hitherto would undoubtedly have led Eudoxia to request her\ndismissal, with sharp recrimination; but she took it all calmly.\n\nIt was not till noon-day--when the bishop made his appearance to carry\nthe child off to the convent, and was highly wrathful at Mary's\ndisappearance, threatening the widow, and declaring that he would search\nthe whole country through for the little girl and find her at last, that\nEudoxia felt that the moment of her triumph had come. She quietly allowed\nthe bishop to depart, and then only did she send her last and best shaft\nat Joanna by informing her that she had in fact encouraged the child in\nher exploit on purpose to save her from the cloister. Her newly-found\nmotherly feeling made her eloquent, and with a result that she had almost\nceased to hope for: the warm-hearted little woman, who had hurt her with\nsuch cruel words, threw her arms round Eudoxia's tall, meagre figure, put\nup her face to kiss her, called her a brave, clever girl, and begged her\nforgiveness for all she had said and done the day before.\n\nSo, when the Greek went to bed, she felt as if her life had turned\nbackwards and she had grown more like the happy young creature she had\nonce been with her sisters in her parents' house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nPaula now understood what hung over her. It is Bishop John who had told\nher, as gently as he could, and with every assurance that he still clung\nto the hope that he could stop the hideous heathen abomination; but even\nwithout this she would certainly have known what was impending, for large\ncrowds of people gathered every day under the prisonwalls, and loud cries\nreached her, demanding to see the \"Bride of the Nile.\"\n\nNow and again shouts of \"Hail!\" came up to her; but when the demented\ncreatures had shrieked themselves hoarse, and in vain, they would abuse\nher vilely. The cry for the \"Bride\" never ceased from morning till night,\nand the head warder of the prison was glad that the bishop had relieved\nhim of the task of explaining to Paula the meaning of the fateful word,\nwhose significance she had repeatedly asked him.\n\nAt first this fresh and terrible peril had startled and shaken her; but\nshe did her utmost to cling to the hope held out by the bishop so as to\nappear calm, and as far as possible cheerful, in her sick father's\npresence. And in this she succeeded so long as it was day; but at night\nshe was a prey to agonizing terrors. Then, in fancy she saw herself\nsurrounded by a raging mob, dragged to the river and cast into a watery\ngrave before a thousand eyes. Then, prayer was of no avail, nor any\nresolve or effort; not the tender messages that constantly reached her\nfrom Orion, nor the songs he would sing for her in the brief moments of\nleisure he allowed himself; not the bishop's words of comfort, nor the\nvisits of those she loved. The warder would admit her friends as often as\nhe was able; and among those who found their way to her cell were the\nSenator Justinus and his wife.\n\nBy great good fortune Martina had quitted Susannah's house as soon as the\ntwo slaves had fallen ill and she had heard that the physician pronounced\nthem to be sickening of the plague. She had returned to her rooms in the\ninn kept by Sostratus, but her nephew Narses had remained with Katharina\nand her mother. He was indeed intending to follow her with Heliodora;\nbut, by the time they were ready to set out, Susannah, too, had fallen a\nvictim to the pestilence and the authorities had forbidden all egress\nfrom her house.\n\nHeliodora might have succeeded in leaving in time, alone; but she would\nnot abandon her unfortunate brother-in-law; for he never felt easy but in\nher presence, would allow no one else to wait on him, and would take\nneither food nor drink unless they were offered him by her. Besides this,\nthe cavalry officer, once so stalwart, had in his weakness become\npathetically like her lost husband, and she knew that Narses had been the\nfirst to love her, and that it was only for his brother's sake that he\nhad concealed his passion. Her motherly instincts found an outlet in the\ncare of the half-crushed, but not hopelessly lost man; and the desire to\ndrag him back to life kept her busy day and night, and made her regard\neverything else as trivial and of secondary importance. Her life had once\nmore found a purpose; her efforts were for an attainable end, and she\ndevoted herself to him body and soul.\n\nHer uncle had told her that Orion was bound to Paula by a supreme\npassion.--This had been a painful blow, but the Syrian girl had impressed\nher; she looked up to her, and it soothed her wounded self-esteem to\nreflect that she had lost her lover to no inferior woman. Though her\nlonging for him still surged up in many a silent hour, she felt it an\ninjustice, a stint of love to her invalid charge.\n\nSo far as Katharina was concerned, next to her mother, Heliodora was the\nobject of her deepest anxiety. The least word of complaint from either\nterrified her; and if Susannah sank on the divan exhausted by the heat,\nor Heliodora had a headache after watching through the night by the sick\nman, the girl would turn pale, her heart would beat painfully, she would\npaint them in fancy stricken by the plague, with burning brows and the\nhorrible, fatal spots on their foreheads and cheeks; and whenever these\nalarms pressed on the young criminal she felt the ominous weight on the\ntop of her head where the dead bishop's hand had rested.\n\nThe senator's wife had so completely changed in her demeanor to the\nwater-wagtail, since Paula's imprisonment, that to Katharina she was as a\nliving reproach, so she had no regret at seeing the worthy pair depart.\nBut scarcely had they left when misfortune took their place as an\nunbidden guest.\n\nThe slave whose duty it was to heat the baths had reserved a portion of\nthe infected garments that had been given to him to burn; his son had\nhelped him, and Katharina's nurse, the mother of her foster-brother\nAnubis, had come into direct contact with her immediately after her\nreturn from the soothsayer's and from the bishop's. All three had caught\nthe disease. They had all three been removed to the hospital tents--the\nslave and the nurse as corpses.\n\nBut had the fearful infection been taken away with them? If not, it would\nbe the turn next of those whom she herself had pushed into the arms of\nthe fell monster: First Heliodora, and then her mother! And she,\nrightfully, ought to have fallen before them; and if the pestilence\nshould seize her and death should drag her down into the grave it would\nbe showing her mercy. She was still so young, and yet she hated life. It\nhad nothing in store for her but humiliation and disappointment, arrows\nwhich, sent from the prison, pierced her to the heart, and a torturing\nfear which never gave her any peace, day or night.\n\nWhen the physician came to transport the sick to the hospital in the\ndesert, he mentioned incidentally that the judges had condemned Paula to\ndeath, and that the populace and senate, in spite of the new bishop's\nprohibition, had determined to cast her into the river in accordance with\nan ancient custom. Orion's fate was not to be decided till the following\nday; but it would hardly be to his advantage in the eyes of his Jacobite\njudges, that his betrothed was this Syrian Melchite.\n\nAt this Katharina was forced to support herself against her mother's\narm-chair to save herself from sinking on her knees; with tingling cheeks\nshe questioned the leech till he lost all patience and turned away much\nannoyed at such excessive feminine curiosity.\n\nYes! \"The other\" was his betrothed before all the world; but only to die!\nThe blood rushed through her veins in a hot tide at the thought; she\ncould have laughed aloud and fallen on the neck of every one she met.\nWhat she felt was hideous; malignant spite possessed her; but it gave her\nrapture--delicious rapture--a flower of hell, but with splendid petals\nand intoxicating perfume. But its splendor dazzled her and its fragrance\npresently sickened her. Sheer horror of herself came over her, and yet\nshe could have shouted with joy each time that the thought flashed\nthrough her brain: \"The other must die!\"\n\nHer mother feared that her daughter, too, was about to fall ill, her eyes\nglowed so strangely and she was so restless and nervously excitable.\n\nSince Heliodora had taken the overwhelming news of Orion's betrothal to\nPaula with astonishing though sorrowful calmness, to the hot-blooded girl\nshe was nothing, nobody, utterly unworthy of her notice.\n\nTo spite her she had committed a crime as like murder as one snake is\nlike another, and imperilled her own mother's life! It was enough to\ndrive her to despair, to make her scourge herself with rods!\n\nWhen Susannah kissed her at parting for the night she complained of a\nslight sore throat and of her lips, which she fancied must be swollen.\nKatharina detained her, questioned her with a trembling voice, put the\nlamp close to her, and held her breath while she examined her face, her\nneck, and her arms for the dreadful spots. But none were to be seen and\nher mother laughed at her terrors, called her a dutiful, anxious child,\nand warned her not to be too full of fears, as they were supposed to\ninvite the disease.\n\nAll night the girl could not sleep. Her malicious triumph was past;\nnothing but painful thoughts and grewsome images haunted her while awake,\nand pursued her more persistently when she dozed. By dawn of day her\nalarm for her mother was so great that she sprang out of bed and went to\nher room; Susannah was sleeping so soundly that she did not even hear\nher. Much relieved Katharina crept back to bed; but in the morning the\nworst had happened: Susannah could no longer leave her bed; she was\nfeverish, and on her lips, the very lips which had kissed her child's\ninfected hair, there were indeed, between her nose and mouth, the first\nterrible, unmistakable spots.\n\nThe leech came and confirmed the fact.--The house was closed and barred.\n\nThe physician and Susannah, who was still in full possession of her\nsenses, wished and insisted that Katharina should withdraw to the\ngardener's house, but she refused with defiant obstinacy, saying she\nwould rather die with her mother than leave her.\n\nQuite beside herself she threw herself on the sick woman, and kissed the\nspots on her mouth to divert the poison into her own blood; but the\nphysician angrily pulled her away, and the sufferer reproved her with\ntears in her eyes which spoke her fervent affection.\n\nShe was now allowed to nurse her mother. Two nuns came to her assistance,\nand said, not only to the rich widow but behind her back, that they had\nnever seen so devoted and loving a daughter. Even Bishop John, who did\nnot shrink from entering the houses of the sick to give them spiritual\nconsolation, praised Katharina's conduct; and he, who had hitherto\nregarded the water-wagtail as no more than a bright, restless child,\ntreated her with respect, talked to her as to a grown-up person, and\nanswered her questions--which for the most part referred to\nPaula--gravely and fully.\n\nThe prelate, who was full of admiration for Thomas' daughter, told\nKatharina how, to save her lover, she had taken a crime upon herself\nwhich deprived her of every claim to mercy. The Syrian girl was only a\nMelchite, but to take another's guilt, out of love, was treading indeed\nin the footsteps of Christ, if ever anything was. At this Katharina\nshrugged her shoulders, as though to say: \"Do you think so much of that?\nCould not I gladly have done the same?\"\n\nThe priest saw this and admonished her kindly to be on her guard against\nspiritual pride, though she had indeed earned the right to believe\nherself capable of the sternest devotion, and did not cease to set an\nexample of filial and Christian love.\n\nHe departed; and Katharina, to whom every word in praise of her behavior\nto her mother, whom her sin had brought to her death-bed, was a torturing\nmockery, felt that she had deceived one more worthy soul. She did not, to\nbe sure, deserve to be charged with spiritual pride; for in this silent\nchamber, where death stood on the threshold, she thought over all the\nhorrible things she had done, and told herself repeatedly that she was\nthe chief and most vile of sinners.\n\nMany times she felt impelled to confide in another soul, to invite a\npitying eye to behold and share her inward suffering.\n\nTo the bishop above all, the most venerable priest she knew, she would\nmost readily have confessed everything and have submitted to any penance,\nhowever severe, at his hands, but shame held her back; and even more did\nanother more urgent consideration. The prelate, she knew, would demand of\nher that she should forsake her old life, root out from her soul the old\nfeelings and desires, and begin a new existence; but for this the time\nhad not yet come: her love was still an indispensable condition of life,\nand her hatred was even more dear to her. When Paula's terrible doom\nshould indeed have overtaken her, and Katharina, her heart full of those\nold feelings, had gloated over it; when she should have been able to\nprove to Orion that her love was no less great and strong and\nself-sacrificing than that of Thomas' daughter; when she should have\ncompelled him--as she would and must--to acknowledge that he had cruelly\nmisprized her and sinned against her; then, and not till then, would she\nmake peace with herself, with the Church, and with her Saviour. Nay, if\nneed be, she would take the veil and mourn away the rest of her young\nlife as a penitent, in a convent or a solitary rock-cell. But now--when\nPaula, his betrothed, had done this great thing for him--to perish now,\nwith her love unseen, unknown, uncared for, perhaps forgotten by him, to\nretire into herself and vanish from his ken--that was too much for human\nnature! Sooner would she be lost forever; body and soul in everlasting\nperdition, a prey to Satan and hell--in which she believed as firmly as\nin her own existence.\n\nSo she went on nursing her mother, saw the red spots spread over the sick\nwoman's whole body--watched the fever that increased from day to day,\nfrom hour to hour; listened with a mixture of horror and gladness--at\nwhich she herself shuddered, though she fed her heart on it--to the\nreports of the preparations for the sacrifice of the Bride of the Nile,\nand to all the bishop could tell her of Paula, and her dying father, and\nOrion. She trembled for little Mary, who had disappeared from the\nneighboring garden, till she heard that the child had fled to escape the\ncloister; each day she learnt that Heliodora, who had moved to the\ngardener's house with her invalid, had as yet escaped the pestilence;\nwhile in the prayers, which even now she never failed to offer up morning\nand evening, she implored the Almighty and her patron saints to rescue\nthe young widow, to save her from causing the death of her own mother,\nand to forgive her for having indirectly caused that of worthy old\nRufinus, who had always been so good to her, and of so many innocent\ncreatures by her treachery.\n\nThus the terrible days and nights of anguish passed by; and the captives\nwhom the girl's sins had brought to prison were happier than she, in\nspite of the doom that threatened them.\n\nThe fate of his betrothed tortured Orion more than a hundred aching\nwounds. Paula's terrible end was fast approaching, and his brain burned\nat the mere thought. Now, as he was told by the warder, by the bishop,\nand by Justinus, the day after to-morrow was fixed for the bridal of his\nbetrothed. In two days the bride, decked by base and mocking hands for an\natrocious and accursed farce, would be wreathed and wedded, not to him,\nthe bridegroom whom she loved, but to the Nile--the insensible,\ndeath-dealing element. He rushed up and down his cell like a madman, and\ntore his lute-strings when he tried to soothe his soul with music; but\nthen a calm, well-intentioned voice would come from the adjoining room,\nexhorting him not to lose hope, to trust in God, not to forget his duty\nand the task before him. And Orion would control himself resolutely, pull\nhimself together, and throw himself into his work again.\n\nDay and night were alike to him. The senator had provided him with a lamp\nand oil. When he was wearied out, he allowed himself no longer sleep on\nhis hard couch than human nature imperatively demanded; and as soon as he\nhad shaken it off he again became absorbed in maps and lists, plied his\npen, thought, sketched, calculated, and reflected. Then, if a doubt arose\nin his mind or he could not trust his own memory and judgment, he knocked\nat the wall, and his shrewd and experienced friend was at all times ready\nto help him to the best of his knowledge and opinion. The senator went to\nArsinoe for him, to gain information as to the seaboard from the archives\npreserved there; and so the work went forward, approaching its end,\nstrengthening and raising his sinking spirit, bringing him the pleasures\nof success, and enabling him not unfrequently to forget for hours that\nwhich otherwise might have brought the bravest to despair.\n\nThe warder, the senator or his worthy wife, Dame Joanna or Eudoxia--who\ntwice had the pleasure of accompanying her--each time they visited him\nhad some message or note to carry to Paula, telling her how far his work\nhad progressed; and to her it was a consolation and heartfelt joy to be\nable to follow him in his labors. And many a token of his love, esteem,\nand admiration gave her courage, when even her brave heart began to\nquail.\n\nAh! It was not alone her terror of a horrible death that tortured her\nsoul. Her father, whom she considered it her greatest joy in life to have\nfound again, was fading beyond all hope under her loving hands. His poor\nwounded lungs refused its service. It was with great difficulty that he\ncould swallow a few drops of wine and mouthfuls of food; and in these\nlast days his clear mind had lain as it were under a shroud--perhaps it\nwas happier so, as she told herself and as her friends said to comfort\nher.\n\nHe, too, had heard the cries of: \"Hail to the Bride of the Nile!\"\n\n\"Bring out the Bride!\"\n\n\"Away with the Bride of the Nile!\" Though he had no suspicion of their\nmeaning, they had haunted his thoughts incessantly during the last few\ndays; and the terrible, strange words had seemed to charm his fancy, for\nto Paula's distress he would murmur them to himself tenderly or\nthoughtfully as the case might be.\n\nMany times the idea occurred to her that she might put an end to her life\nbefore the worst should befall, before she became a spectacle for a whole\nnation, to be jeered at and made a delightful and exciting show to rouse\ntheir cruelty or their compassion. But dared she do it? Dared she defy\nthe Most High, the Lord in whom she put her trust, into whose hand she\ncommended herself in a thousand dumb but fervent prayers.\n\nNo. To the very last she would trust and hope. And wonderful to say! Each\ntime she had reached the very limits of her powers of endurance, feeling\nshe could certainly bear no more and must succumb, something came to her\nto revive her faith or her courage: a message would be brought her from\nOrion, or Dame Joanna or Pulcheria came to see her; the bishop sought an\ninterview, or her father's mind rallied and he could speak to her in\nbeautiful and stimulating words. Often the warder would announce the\nsenator and his wife, and their vigorous and healthy minds always hit on\nthe very thing she needed. Martina, particularly, with her subtle\nmotherly instinct, always understood whatever was agitating her; and once\nshe showed her a letter from Heliodora, in which she spoke of the\ncalmness she had won through nursing their dear invalid, and said how\nthankful she was to see the reward of her care and toil. Narses was\nalready quite another man, and she could know no higher task than that of\nreconciling the hapless man to life, nay, of making it dear to him again.\nShe no longer thought of Orion but as she might of a beautiful song she\nonce had heard in a delightful hour.\n\nThus time passed, even for the imprisoned maiden, till only two nights\nremained before St. Serapis' day when the fearful marriage was to be\nsolemnized.\n\nIt was evening when the bishop came to visit Paula. He regarded it as his\nduty to tell her that the execution of her sentence was fixed for the day\nafter to-morrow. He should hope and believe till the last, but his own\npower over the misguided mob was gone from him. In any case, and if the\nworst should befall, he would be at her side to protect her by the\ndignity of his office. He had come now, so as to give her time to prepare\nher self in every respect. The care of her noble father till his last\nhour on earth he would take upon himself as a dear and sacred duty.\n\nThough she had believed herself surely prepared long since for the worst,\nthis news fell on her like a thunderbolt. What lay before her seemed so\nmonstrous, so unexampled, that it was impossible that she ever could look\nforward to it firmly and calmly.\n\nFor a long time she could not help clinging desperately to her faithful\nBetta, and it was only by degrees that she so far recovered herself as to\nbe able to speak to the bishop, and thank him. He, however, could only\nlament his inability to earn her fullest gratitude, for the patriarch's\nreply to his complaint of those who promised rescue to the people by the\ninstrumentality of a heathen abomination--a document on which he had\nfounded his highest hopes for her--had had a different result from that\nwhich he had expected. The patriarch, to be sure, condemned the\nabominable sacrifice, but he did it in a way which lacked the force\nnecessary to terrify and discourage the misled mob. However, he would try\nwhat effect it might have on the people, and a number of scribes were at\nwork to make copies of it in the course of the night. These would be sent\nto the Senators next morning, posted up in the market-place and public\nbuildings, and distributed to the people; but he feared all this would\nhave no effect.\n\n\"Then help me to prepare for death,\" said Paula gloomily. \"You are not a\npriest of my confession, but no church has a more worthy minister. If you\ncan absolve me in the name of your Redeemer, mine will pardon me. We look\nat Him, it is true, with different eyes, but He is the Saviour of us\nboth, nevertheless.\" A contradictory reply struggled for utterance in the\nstrict Jacobite's mind, but at such a moment he felt he must repress it;\nhe only answered:\n\n\"Speak, daughter, I am listening.\"\n\nAnd she poured forth all her soul, as though he had been a priest of her\nown creed, and his eyes grew moist as he heard this confession of a pure\nand loving heart, yearning for all that was highest and best. He promised\nher the mercy of the Redeemer, and when he had ended with \"Amen,\" and\nblessed her, he looked down at the ground for some minutes and presently\nsaid, \"Follow me, Child.\"\n\n\"Whither?\" she asked in surprise; for she thought that her last hour had\nalready come, and that he was about to lead her away to the place of\nexecution, or to her watery, ever-flowing tomb; but he smiled as he\nreplied: \"No, child. To-day I have only the pleasing duty of blessing\nyour betrothal before God; if only you will promise not to estrange your\nhusband from the faith of his fathers--for what will not a man sacrifice\nto win the love of a woman.--You promise? Then I will take you to your\nOrion.\"\n\nHe rapped on the door of the cell, and when the warder had opened it he\nwhispered his orders; Paula followed him silently and with blushing\ncheeks, and in a few minutes she was clasped to her lover's breast while,\nfor the first time--and perhaps the last--their lips met in a kiss.\n\nThe prelate gave them a few minutes together; when he had blessed them\nboth and solemnized their betrothal, he led her back to her cell.\nHowever, she had hardly time to thank him out of the fulness of her\noverflowing heart, when a town-watchman came to fetch him to see\nSusannah; her last hour was at hand, if not already past. John at once\nwent with the messenger, and Paula drew a deep breath as she saw him\ndepart. Then she threw herself on to her nurse's shoulders, crying:\n\n\"Now, come what may! Nothing can divide us; not even death!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThe bishop was too late. He found the widow Susannah a corpse; standing\nat the head of the bed was little Katharina, as pale as death,\nspeechless, tearless, utterly annihilated. He kindly tried to cheer her,\nand to speak words of comfort; but she pushed him away, tore herself from\nhim, and before he could stop her, she had fled out of the room.\n\nPoor child! He had seen many a loving daughter mourning for her mother,\nbut never such grief as this. Here, thought he, were two human souls all\nin all to each other, and hence this overwhelming sorrow.\n\nKatharina had escaped to her own room, had thrown herself on the\ncouch--cowering so close that no one entering the room would have taken\nthe undistinguishable heap for a human being, a grown up, passionately\nsuffering girl.\n\nIt was very hot, and yet a cold shiver ran through her slender frame. Was\nshe now attacked by the pestilence? No; it would be too merciful of Fate\nto take such pity on her woes.\n\nThe mother was dead, dragged to the grave by her own daughter. The\ndisease had first shown itself on her lips; and how many times had the\nphysician expressed his surprise at the plague having broken out in this\nhealthy quarter of the town, and in a house kept so scrupulously clean.\nShe knew at whose bidding the avenging angel had entered there, and whose\ncriminal guile had trifled with him. The words \"murdered your mother\"\nhaunted her, and she remembered the law of the ancients which refused to\nprescribe a punishment for the killing of parents, because they\nconsidered such a monstrous deed impossible.\n\nA scornful smile curled her lip. Laws! Principles! Was there one that she\nhad not defied? She had contemned God, meddled with magic, borne false\nwitness, committed murder--and as to the one law with promise, which, if\nPhilippus was right, was exactly the same in the code of her forefathers\nas on the tables of Moses, how had she kept that? Her own mother was no\nmore, and by her act!\n\nAll through this frightful retrospect she had never ceased to shiver and,\nas this was becoming unendurable, she took to walking up and down and\nseeking excuses for her sinful doings: It was not her mother, but\nHeliodora whom she had wished to kill; why had malicious Fate. . . ?\n\nHere she was interrupted, for the young widow, who had heard the sad\nnews, sought her out to comfort her and offer her services. She spoke to\nthe girl with real affection; but her sweet, low tones reminded Katharina\nof that evening after the old bishop's death; and when Heliodora put out\nher arm to draw her to her, she shrank from her, begging her in a dry,\nhoarse voice, not to touch her for her clothes were infected. She wanted\nno comfort; all she asked was to be left alone--quite alone--nothing\nmore. The words were hard and unkind, and as the door closed on the young\nwoman Katharina's eyes glared after her.\n\nWhy had this doom passed over Heliodora's head and demanded the sacrifice\nof one whose loss she could never cease to mourn?\n\nThis brought her mother vividly to her mind. She flew back to her\ndeath-bed and fell on her knees--but even there she could not bear to\nstay long, so she wandered into the garden and visited every spot where\nshe and her mother had been together. But there were such strange\ncrackings in the shrubs, and the trees and bushes cast such uncanny\nshadows that she hailed daybreak as a deliverance.\n\nShe was on her way back to the house when her foster-brother Anubis came\nlimping to meet her. Poor fellow! She had made a cripple of him, too, and\nhis mother had died through her fault.\n\nThe lad spoke to her, giving expression to his sympathy, and she accepted\nit; but she said such strange things, and answered him so utterly at\nrandom, that he began to fear that grief had turned her brain. She went\non to ask him point-blank how much money she now had, and as he happened\nto know approximately, he could tell her; she clasped her hands, for how\ncould any one human being who was not a king possess such enormous\nwealth! Finally she enquired whether he knew how a will should be drawn\nup, and that, too, he answered affirmatively.\n\nShe made him describe it all, and then he added that the signature must\nbe made valid by those of two witnesses; but she, he added, was too young\nto be thinking of making her will.\n\n\"Why?\" said she. \"Is Paula much older than I am?\"\n\n\"And the day after to-morrow,\" the boy went on, \"she is to be cast into\nthe Nile. All the people call her the Bride of the Nile.\"\n\nAt this that hideous, malignant smile again curled her lips, but she\nhastily suppressed it and walked straight on into the house. At the door\nhe timidly asked her whether he might once more look on his mistress; but\nshe was obliged to forbid it for fear of infection. However, he proudly\nreplied: \"What you do not fear, has no terrors for me,\" and he followed\nher to the side of the bed where the corpse now lay washed and in fine\narray; and when he saw Katharina kiss the dead woman's hand he, too, as\nsoon as she looked away, pressed his lips on the place hers had touched.\nThen he sat down by the bed and remained there till she sent him away.\n\nBefore noon the bishop arrived to perform the last rites. He found the\nbody surrounded by beautiful flowers. Katharina had been out in the\ngarden again and had cut all the rarest and finest; and though she had\nallowed the gardener to carry the basket for her, she would not have him\nhelp her in gathering them. The feeling that she was doing something for\nher mother had been a comfort to her; still, by day everything about her\nseemed even more intolerable than by night. Everything looked so large,\nso coarse, so insistent, so menacing, and reminded her at every step of\nsome injustice or some deed of which she was ashamed. Every eye, she\nfancied, must see through her; and now and then it seemed as though the\npillars of the great banqueting-hall, where her mother still lay, were\ntottering, and the ceiling about to fall in and crush her.\n\nShe answered the bishop's questions absently and often quite at random,\nand the old man supposed that she was stunned by her great sorrow; so to\ngive her thoughts a new direction he began telling her about Paula, and\nbelieving that Katharina was fond of her, he confided to her that he had\ntaken Paula, the day before, to Orion's cell, and consecrated their\nbetrothal.\n\nAt this her face was convulsed in a manner that alarmed the bishop; a\nfearful tumult raged in her soul, her bosom rose and fell spasmodically,\nand all she could utter was the question: \"But they will sacrifice her\nall the same?\"\n\nThe bishop thought he understood. She was horror stricken by the idea of\nthe sudden, cruel end that hung over the young bride, and he replied\nsadly; \"I shall not be able to restrain the wretches; still, no means\nshall remain untried. The patriarch's rescript, condemning this mad\ncrime, shall be made public to-day, and I will read and expound it at the\nCuria, and try to give it keener emphasis.--Would you like to read it?\"\n\nAs she eagerly assented, the prelate signed to the acolyte who had waited\non him with the holy vessels, and he produced from a packet a written\nsheet which he handed to Katharina. As soon as she was alone she read the\npatriarch's epistle; at first superficially, then more carefully, and at\nlast in deep attention and growing interest, stirred by it to strange\nthoughts, till at length her eyes flashed and her breath came fast, as\nthough this paper referred to herself, and could seal her fate for life.\n\nWhen the bearers came in to fetch away the body she was still sitting\nthere, gazing as if spell-bound at the papyrus; but she sprang up, shook\nherself, and then bid farewell to the cold rigid form of the mother on\nwhose warm heart she had so often rested, and to whom she had been the\ndearest thing on earth--and even then the solace of tears was denied her.\n\nShe no longer suffered the deep remorse that had tormented her; for she\nfelt now that her intercourse with her last mother had not been put an\nend to by death; that after a short parting they would meet again--soon\nperhaps, perhaps even to-morrow--meet for a fulness of speech, an\noutpouring of the heart, a revelation of all the past more open and\nunreserved than could ever be between mortal beings, even between mother\nand daughter. And when she who was sleeping there, blind, deaf, and\nsenseless, should awake again, up there, with eyes clearer than those of\nmen below, and the ears and senses of a spiritual being to see and hear\nand judge all she had known and done, all she had felt and made others\nfeel--then, she told herself, her mother might perhaps blame her and\npunish her more than she had ever done on earth, but she would also clasp\nher more closely to her heart and comfort her more earnestly.\n\nShe whispered gently in her ear as if she were still alive: \"Wait awhile,\nonly wait: I shall come soon and tell you everything!\"\n\nAnd then she kissed her so passionately and recklessly that the nuns were\nshocked and dragged her away, ordering the bearers to close the coffin.\nThey obeyed, and when the wooden lid fell over the sleeping form,\nshutting it in with a slam, and hiding it from the girl's sight, the\nbarrier gave way which had hitherto restrained her tears and she began to\nweep bitterly; now, too, the feeling that she had indeed lost her mother\ntook complete possession of her--the sense of being an orphan and alone,\nquite alone in the wide world.\n\nShe saw and heard no more of what took place round the beloved dead; for\nwhen she took her hands from her face streaming with tears, the house of\nthe rich widow no longer sheltered its mistress; her remains had been\nborne away to the nearest mortuary. The law forbade its being any longer\nkept within doors, but did not allow of its being buried till night fell.\nThe child might not follow her own mother to the cemetery.\n\nWith a drooping head Katharina withdrew to her room and there stood\nlooking out into the garden. It all was hers now; she was mistress of it\nall and of much besides, as free and unfettered to command as hitherto\nshe had been over the birds, her little dog, or the jewels that lay on\nher toilet-table. She could make hundreds happy with a word, a wave of\nthe hand--but not herself. She had never felt so grown-up, independent,\nwomanly, nay powerful, and at the same time so unutterably wretched and\nhelpless as she felt in this hour.\n\nWhat did she care for all these vanities? They could not suffice to check\none sigh of disappointed yearning.\n\nShe had parted from her mother with a promise; the fervent longing that\nfilled her soul was never still; and now the patriarch's letter had given\nher a hint as to how she might fulfil the one and silence the other. She\nhastily took the document up again, and read it through once more.\n\nIts instructions were precise to stop the proceedings of the misguided\nMemphites with stern promptitude. It explained that the death of the\nChrist Jesus, who shed His blood to redeem the world, had satisfied the\nneed for a human victim. Throughout the wide realms which the Cross\novershadowed with blessing human sacrifice must therefore be accounted a\nuseless and accursed abomination. It went on to point out how the heathen\nhad devised their gods in the image of weak, sinful, earthly beings, and\nchosen victims in accordance with this idea. \"But our God,\" it said, \"is\nas high above men as the Spirit is above the flesh, and the sacrifice He\ndemands is not of the flesh, but of the spirit. Will He not turn away in\nwrath and sorrow from the blinded Christians of Memphis who, in their\nstraits, feel and are about to act like the cruel and foolish heathen?\nThey take for their victim a heretic and a stranger, deeming that that\nwill diminish the abomination in the eyes of the Lord; but it moves Him\nto loathing all the same, for no human blood may stain the pure and\nsacred altars of our mild faith, which gives life and not death.\n\n\"Ask your blind and misguided flock, my brother: Can the Father of Love\nfeel joy at the sight of one of His children, even an erring one,\nsuffocated in the waters to the honor of the Most High, while struggling,\nand cursing her executioners?\n\n\"If, indeed, there were a pure maiden, possessed with the blessed\nintoxication of the love of God, who was ready to follow the example of\nHim who redeemed man by His death, to fling herself into the waters while\nshe cried to Heaven with her dying breath: 'Take me and my innocence as\nan offering, O Lord! Release my people from their extremity!'--that would\nbe a victim indeed; and perchance, the Lord might say: 'I will accept it;\nbut the will alone is enough. No child of mine may cast away the life\nthat I have lent her as the most sacred and precious of gifts.'\"\n\nThe letter ended with pious exhortations to the community.\n\nThen a maiden who should voluntarily sacrifice herself in the river to\nsave the people in their need would be a victim pleasing in the sight of\nthe Lord--so said the Man of God, through whose mouth the Most High\nspoke. And this opinion, this hint, was to Katharina like a distaff from\nwhich she spun a lengthening thread to warp to the loom and weave from it\na tangible tissue.\n\nShe would be the maiden whom the patriarch had imagined--the real, true\nBride of the Nile, inspired to cast off her young life to save her people\nin their need. In this there was expiation such as Heaven might accept;\nthis would release her from the burthen of life that weighed upon her,\nand would reunite her to her mother; in this way she could show her lover\nand the bishop and all the world the immensity of her self-sacrifice,\nwhich was in nothing behind that of \"the other\"--the much-vaunted\ndaughter of Thomas! She would do the great deed before Paula's eyes, in\nsight of all the people. But Orion must know whose image she bore in her\nheart and for whose sake she made that leap from blooming life into a\nwatery grave.\n\nOh! it was wonderful, splendid! Would she not thus compel him inevitably\nto remember her whenever he should think of Paula? Yes, she would force\nhim to allow her image to dwell in his soul, inseparable from that\n\"other;\" and would not such an unparalleled act add such height to her\nfigure, that it would be equal to that of her Syrian rival in the\nestimation of all men--even in his?\n\nShe now began to long for the supreme moment. Her vain little heart\nlaughed in anticipation of the delight of being seen, praised and admired\nby all. Tomorrow she, her little self, would tower above all the world;\nand the more she felt the oppressive heat of the scorching day, the more\ndelicious it seemed to look forward to finding rest from the torments of\nlife in the cool element.\n\nShe saw no difficulties in the way of her achievement; she was mistress\nnow, and her slaves and servants must obey her orders. At the same time\nshe remembered, too, to protect her large possessions from falling into\nthe hands of relations for whom she did not care; with a firm hand she\ndrew up a will in which she bequeathed part of her fortune to her uncle\nChrysippus, small portions to her foster-brother Anubis, and to Rufinus'\nwidow, to whom she owed reparation for great wrong; then the larger half,\nand she owned many millions, she bequeathed to her dear friend Orion,\nwhom she freely forgave, and who, she hoped, would see that even in the\nlittle \"water-wagtail\" there had been room for some greatness. She begged\nhim also to take her house, since she had not been altogether guiltless\nof the destruction of the home of his fathers.\n\nThe condition she attached to this bequest showed the same keen, alert\nspirit that had guided her through life.\n\nShe knew that the patriarch's indignation might be fatal to the young\nman, so to serve as a mediator, and at the same time to ensure for\nherself the prayers of the Church, which she desired, she enjoined Orion\nto bestow the greater part of his inheritance on the patriarch for the\nChurch and for benevolent purposes. But not at once, not for ten years,\nand in instalments of which Orion himself was to determine the\nproportion. In the event of his dying within the next three years all his\nclaims were to be transferred to her uncle Chrysippus. She added a\nrequest to the Church, to which she belonged with her whole heart, that\nevery year on her saint's day and her mother's they should be prayed for\nin every church in the land. A chapel was to be erected on the scene of\nher self-immolation, and if the patriarch thought her worthy of the\nhonor, it was to bear the name of the Chapel of Susannah and Katharina.\n\nShe gave all her slaves their freedom and devised legacies to all the\nofficials of her household.\n\nAs she sat for long hours of serious meditation, drawing up this last\nwill, she smiled frequently with satisfaction. Then she copied it out\nfair, and finally called the physician and all the free servants in the\nhouse to witness her signature.\n\nThough no one had suspected the \"water-wagtail\" of such forethought, it\nwas no matter of surprise that the young heiress, shut up in the\nplague-stricken house, should dispose of her estates, and before\nnight-fall the physician brought Alexander, the chief of the Senate, to\nthe garden gate by her desire, and there they spoke to each other without\nopening it. He was an old friend of her father's, and since the death of\nthe Mukaukas, had been her guardian; he now agreed to stand as her\nKyrios, and as such he ratified her will and the signature, though she\nwould not allow him to read the document.\n\nFinally she went to the slaves quarters, from whence a few more sufferers\nhad been removed to the Necropolis, and desired her boatman to get the\nholiday barge in readiness early in the morning, as she purposed seeing\nthe ceremonial from the river. She gave particular orders to the gardener\nas to how it was to be decorated, and what flowers he was to cut for her\npersonal adornment.\n\nShe went to bed far less excited than she had been the night before, and\nbefore she had ended her evening prayer, slumber overtook her weary\nbrain.\n\nWhen she awoke at sunrise, the large and splendid boat, which her father\nhad had built at great cost in Alexandria, was manned and ready to put\nout. No one interfered to prevent her embarking with Anubis and a few\nfemale servants, for all the guards who had surrounded the house till\nyesterday had been withdrawn to do duty at the great ceremonial of the\nmarriage and sacrifice, since a popular tumult was not unlikely to arise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nA great number of persons had collected during the night on the quay near\nNesptah's inn. The crowd was increasing every minute, and in spite of the\nintense heat, not a Memphite could bear to stop within doors, Men, women\nand children were flocking to the scene of the festival; they came in\nthousands from the neighboring towns, hamlets and villages, to witness\nthe unprecedented sacrifice which was to put an end to the misery of the\nland. Who had ever heard of such a marriage? What a privilege, what a\nhappiness, to be so fortunate as to see it!\n\nThe senate had not been idle and had done all in their power to surround\nit with magnificence and to enable as many as possible to enjoy the\npageant, which had been planned with a lavish hand and liberal\nmunificence.\n\nRound the cove by Nesptah's inn a semi-circular wooden stand had been\nconstructed, on which thousands found seats or standing-room. Stalls\nfurnished with hangings were erected in the middle of the tribune for the\nauthorities and their families as well as for the leading Arab officials,\nand arm-chairs were placed in them for the Vekeel, for the Kadi, for the\nhead of the senate, for old Horapollo and also for the Christian\npriesthood, though it was well known that they would not be present at\nthe ceremony.\n\nThe lower classes, who could not afford to pay for admission to these\nseats, had established themselves on the banks of the river; wandering\ndealers had followed them, and wherever the crowd was densest they had\ndisplayed their wares--light refreshments or solid food--on two-wheeled\ntrucks, or on little carpets spread on the ground. In the tribune itself\nthe cries of the water-sellers were incessant as they offered filtered\nNile water and fruit syrups for sale.\n\nThe parched tops of the palms, where turtle doves, lapwings and\nsparrow-hawks were wont to perch, were crowded with the vagabond boys of\nthe town, who whiled away the time by pulling the withered and diseased\ndates from the great clumps and flinging them down on the bystanders\nbelow, till the guard took aim at them with their arrows and stopped the\ngame.\n\nThe centre of attraction to all eyes was a wooden platform or pontoon,\nbuilt far out into the stream; from thence the bride was to be flung into\nthe watery embrace of the expectant bridegroom. Here the masters of the\nceremonies had put forth their best efforts, and it was magnificently\ndecorated with hangings and handkerchiefs, palm-leaves and flags; with\nheavy garlands of tamarisk and willow, mingled with bright blossoms of\nthe lotos and mallow, lilies and roses; with devices emblematic of the\nprovince, and other gilt ornaments. Only the furthest end of it was\nunadorned and without even a railing, that there might be nothing to\nintercept the view of the \"marriage.\"\n\nThree hours before noon none were absent but those whose places were\nsecured, and ere long curiosity brought them also to the spot. The\ntown-watch found it required all their efforts to keep the front ranks of\nthe people from being pushed into the river by those behind; indeed, this\naccident could not be everywhere guarded against; but, thanks to the\nshallow state of the water, no one was the worse. But the cries of those\nwho were in danger nevertheless drowned the music of the bands performing\non raised platforms and the shouts of applause which rose on all sides to\nhail Horapollo--who was here, there, everywhere on his white ass as brisk\nas a lad--or to greet some leading official.\n\nAnd now and again loud cries of anguish were heard, or the closely-packed\nthrong parted with exclamations of horror. A citizen had had a sunstroke,\nor had been seized by the plague. Then the fugitives dragged others away\nwith them; screaming mothers trying to save their little ones from the\ncrush on one hand and the contagion on the other, oversetting one\ndealer's truck, smashing the eggs and cakes of another. A whole party\nwere pushed into a deep but half-dried up water-course; the guardians of\nthe peace flourished their staves, yelling and making their victims yell\nin their efforts to restore order--but all this hardly affected the vast\nbody of spectators, and suddenly peace reigned, the confusion subsided,\nthe shrieks were silenced. Those who were doomed might fall or die, be\ncrushed or plague-stricken. Trumpet calls and singing were heard\napproaching from the town: the procession, the Bridal procession was\ncoming! Not a man but would have perished rather than be deprived of\nseeing a single act of this stupendous drama.\n\nThose Arabs--what fools they were! Besides the Vekeel only three of their\nmagnates were present, and those men whom no one knew. Even the Kadi was\nnowhere to be seen; and he must have forbidden the Moslem women to come,\nfor not a single veiled beauty of the harem was visible. Not one Egyptian\nwoman would have failed to appear if the plague had not kept so many\nimprisoned in their houses. Such a thing would never be seen again; this\nday's doings would be a tale to tell to future great-grandchildren!\n\nThe music and singing came nearer and nearer; and it did not indeed sound\nas if it were escorting a hapless creature to a fearful end. Blast after\nblast rang out from the trumpets, filling the air with festive defiance;\ncheerful bridal songs came nearer and nearer to the listeners, the shrill\nchorus of boys and maidens sounding above the deeper and stronger chant\nof youths and men of all ages; flutes piped a gay invitation to gladness;\nthe dull roar of drums muttered like the distant waves in time to a\nmarch, broken by the clang of cymbals and the tinkle of bells hung around\ntambourines held high by girlish hands which struck, rattled and waved\nthem above their flowing curls; lute players discoursed sweet music on\nthe strings; and as this vast tide of mingled tones came closer, behind\nit there was still more music and more song.\n\nTo the ear the procession seemed endless, and the eye soon confirmed the\nimpression.\n\nAll were listening, gazing, watching to see the Bride and her escort.\nEvery eye seemed compelled to turn in the same direction; and presently\nthere came: first the trumpeters on spirited horses, and these ranged\nthemselves on each side of the road by the shore leading to the scene of\nthe \"marriage.\" In front of them the choir of women took their stand to\nthe left and, on the right, the men who had marched after them. All alike\nwere arrayed in light sea-green garments, and loaded with lotos-flowers.\nThe women's hair, twined with white blossoms, flowed over their\nshoulders; the men carried bunches of papyrus and reeds;--they\nrepresented river gods that had risen from the stream.\n\nThen came boys and bearded men, in white robes, with panther-skins on\ntheir shoulders, as the heathen priests had been wont to wear them. They\nwere headed by two old men with long white beards, one holding a silver\ncup and the other a golden one, ready to fling them into the waves as a\nfirst offering, according to the practise of their forefathers, as\nHorapollo had described and ordered it. These went on to the pontoon, to\nits farthest end, and took their place on one side of the platform whence\nthe Bride was to be cast into the river. Behind them came a large troop\nof flute-players and drummers, followed by fifty maidens holding\ntambourines, and fifty men all dressed and carrying emblems as followers\nof Dionysus, or Osiris-Bacchus, who had been worshipped here in the time\nof the Romans; with these came the drunken Silenus, goathoofed Satyrs and\nPan, with his reed-pipes, all riding grey asses strangely bedaubed with\nyellow.\n\nThen followed giraffes, elephants, ostriches, antelopes, gazelles; even\nsome tamed lions and panthers were led past the wondering crowd; for this\nhad been done in the famous procession in honor of the second Ptolemy,\ndescribed by Callixenus of Rhodes.\n\nNext came a large car drawn by twelve black horses, and on it a\nsymbolical group of Famine and Pestilence overthrown; they were\nsurrounded by shrieking black children, with pointed wings on their\nshoulders and horns on their foreheads, bound to stakes to represent the\nhosts of hell--a performance which they tried to make at once ghastly and\ndroll.\n\nOn another car the Goddess of the Inundation was to be seen. She sat amid\nsheaves, fruits, and garlands of vine; while round her were groups of\nchildren with apples and corn, pomegranates and bunches of dates,\nwine-jars and cups in their hands.\n\nPresently there appeared in a large shell, as though lounging in a bath,\nthe goddess of health; she was drawn by eight snow-white horses, and held\nin one hand a golden goblet and in the other a caduceus. After her came\nthe river-god Nile, the bridegroom of the marriage, studied from the\nfamous statue carried away from Alexandria by the Romans: a splendid and\nmighty bearded man, resting against an urn. Sixteen naked children--the\nsixteen ells that the river must rise for its overflow to bless the\nland--played round his herculean form, and a bridal wreath of\nlotos-flowers crowned his flowing locks. This car, which was decorated\nwith crocodiles, sheaves, dates, grapes, and shells, was hailed with\nshouts of enthusiasm; it was escorted by old men in the costume of the\nheathen priesthood.\n\nBehind this came more music and singers, with a troop of young men and\nmaidens led by lute-players singing. These too were dressed as the genie,\nand nymphs of the river and were the groomsmen and bridesmaids in\nattendance on the betrothed.\n\nThe longer the procession lasted and the nearer the looked-for victim\napproached, the more eagerly attent were the gazing multitude.\n\nWhen this group of youths and maidens had gone by, there was hardly a\nsound to be heard in the tribune and among the crowd. No one felt the\nfierce heat of the sun, no one heeded the thirst that parched every\ntongue; all eyes were bent in one direction; only the black Vekeel, whose\ncolossal form towered up where he stood, occasionally sent a sinister and\nanxious glance towards the town. He expected to see smoke rising from the\nquarter near the prison, and suddenly his lips parted and he displayed\nhis dazzlingly white teeth in a scornful laugh. That which he looked for\nhad come to pass; the little grey cloud which he discerned grew blacker,\nand then, in the heart of it, rose a crimson glow which did not take its\ncolor from the sun. But of all those thousands he was the only one who\nlooked behind him and observed it.\n\nThe bride's attendants had by this time taken their station on the\npontoon; here came another band of youths with panther skins on their\nshoulders; and now--at last, at last--a car came swaying along, drawn by\neight coal-black oxen dressed with green ostrich-feathers and\nwater-plants.\n\nThe car was shaded by a tall canopy, supported by four poles, against\nwhich leaned four men in the robes of the heathen priesthood; this awning\nwas lavishly decorated with wreaths of lotos and reeds, and fenced about\nwith papyrus, bulrushes, tall grasses and blossoming river-weeds. Beneath\nit sat the queen of the festival--the Bride of the Nile.\n\nRobed in white and closely veiled, she was quite motionless. Her long,\nthick brown hair fell over her shoulders; at her feet lay a wreath, and\nrare rose-colored lotos-flowers were strewn on the car.\n\nThe bishop had been sitting at her side, the first Christian priest,\ncertainly, of all the swarms of monks and ecclesiastics in Memphis, who\nhad ever appeared at such a scene of heathen abomination. He was now\nstanding, looking down at the crowd with a deeply knit brow and menacing\ngaze. What good had come of the penitential sermons in all the churches,\nof his and his vicar's warnings and threats? In spite of all remonstrance\nhe had mounted the car with the condemned victim, after administering the\nlast consolations to her soul. It might cost him his life, but he would\nkeep his promise.\n\nIn her hand Paula held two roses: one was Orion's last greeting delivered\nby Martina; the other Pulcheria had brought her early in the morning.\nYesterday, in a lucid moment, her dying father had given her his fondest\nblessing, little knowing what hung over her; to-day he had not come to\nhimself, and had neither noticed nor returned her parting kiss. Quite\nunconscious, he had been moved from the prison out of doors and to the\nhouse of Rufinus. Dame Joanna would not forego the privilege of giving\nhim a resting-place and taking care of him till the end.\n\nOrion's last note was placed in Paula's hands just before she set out; it\ninformed her that his task was now successfully ended. He had been told\nthat it was to-morrow, and not to-day, that the hideous act would be\naccomplished; and it was a consolation to her to know that he was spared\nthe agony of following her in fancy in her fearful progress.\n\nShe had allowed the women who came to clothe her in bridal array to\nperform their task; among them was Emau, the chief warder's wife, and her\noverflowing compassion had done Paula good. But even in the prison-yard\nshe had felt it unendurable to exhibit herself decked in her bridal\nwreaths to the gaping multitude; she had torn them from her and thrown\nthem on the ground.\n\nHow long--how interminably long--had the road to the river appeared; but\nshe had never raised her eyes to look at the curious crowd, never ceased\nlifting up her heart in prayer; and when her proud blood boiled, or\ndespair had almost taken possession of her, she had grasped the bishop's\nhand and he had never wearied of encouraging her and exhorting her to\ncling to love and faith, and not even yet abandon all hope.\n\nThus they at last reached the pontoon at whose further end life would\nbegin for her in another world. The shouts of the crowd were as loud, as\ntriumphant, as expectant as ever; music and singing mingled with the roar\nof thousands of spectators; she allowed herself to be lifted from the car\nas though she were stunned, and followed the young men and maidens who\nformed the bridal train, and in alternate choruses sang the finest\nnuptial song of Sappho the fair Lesbian.\n\nThe bishop now made an attempt to address the people, but he was soon\nreduced to silence. So he once more joined Paula, and hand in hand they\nwent on to the pier.\n\nAll she had in her of strength, pride, and heroic courage she summoned to\nher aid to enable her to walk these last few paces with her head erect,\nand without tottering; she had gone half way along the wooden structure,\nwith a mien as lofty and majestic as though she were marching to command\nthe obedience of the mob, when hoofs came thundering after her on the\nboards.\n\nOld Horapollo, on his white ass, had overtaken her and stopped her on her\nroad. Breathless, bathed in perspiration, scornful and triumphant, he\ndesired her to remove her veil, and ordered the bishop to leave her and\ngive up his place to the man who represented Father Nile--a gigantic\nfarrier who followed him, somewhat embarrassed in his costume, but very\nready to perform his part to the end.\n\nThe priest and Paula, however, refused to obey. At this the old man tore\nthe veil from her face and signed to the Nile-God; he stepped forward and\nassumed his rights, after bowing respectfully to the prelate--who was\nforced to make way--and then led the Bride to the end of the platform.\nHere the two elders who had headed the procession in honor of Bacchus,\ncast the gold cups as offerings into the river, and then a lawyer, in the\ncostume of a heathen priest, proceeded to expound, in a well-set speech,\nthe meaning of this betrothal and sacrifice. He took Paula's hand to\nplace in that of the farrier, who made ready to cast her into the river\nfor which he stood proxy.\n\nBut an obstacle intervened before he could do so. A large and splendid\nbarge had drawn up close to the platform, and shouts were heard from the\ntribune and from the mob which had till now looked on in breathless\nsuspense and profound silence:\n\n\"Susannah's barge!\"\n\n\"Look at the Nile, look at the river!\"\n\n\"It is the water-wagtail--Philammon's rich heiress!\"\n\n\"A pretty sight!\"\n\n\"Another Bride--a second Bride!\"\n\nAnd the gaze of the multitude was now, as one eye, fixed on Katharina.\n\nSusannah's handsome barge had been passing up and down near the platform\nfor the last hour, and the guards on duty had several times desired that\nit was to be kept at a distance from the scene of the \"marriage;\" but in\nvain; and they in their little boats were not strong enough to take\nactive measures against the larger vessel manned by fifty rowers. It had\nnow steered quite close to the pontoon, and the splendid gilding and\ncarving, the tall deck-house supported on silver pillars, and the crimson\nembroidered sails would have been a gorgeous feast for the eye, but that\nthe black flag floating from the mast gave it a melancholy and gloomy\naspect.\n\nWithin the cabin Katharina had made her waiting-women dress her in white\nand deck her with white flowers-myrtle, roses and lotos; but she\nvouchsafed no reply to their anxious enquiries.\n\nThe maid who fastened the flowers on her bosom could feel her mistress's\nheart beating under her hand, and the lotos-blossoms which drooped from\nher shoulder rose and fell as though they were already rocking on the\nwaves of the Nile. Her lips, too, never ceased moving, and her cheeks\nwere as pale as death.\n\n\"What is she going to do?\" her attendants asked each other.\n\nHer mother dead only yesterday, and now she chose to be present at this\nceremonial, desiring the steersman to run close to the platform and keep\nnear to it, where all the world could see her. But she evidently wished\nto display herself to the people in all her finery and be admired, for\nshe presently went up on the roof of the deck-house. And she looked\nlovely, as lovely as a guileless angel, as she mounted the steps with\nchildlike diffidence-timidly, but with wide open eyes, as though\nsomething grand was awaiting her there--something she had long yearned\nfor with her whole heart.\n\nAnubis had to help her up the last steps, for her knees gave way; but\nonce at the top she sent him down again to remain below with the others,\nas she wished to be alone. The lad was accustomed to obey; and Katharina\nnow stepped on a seat close to the side of the boat, turned to Paula,\nwhom she was now rapidly approaching, and held out to her and the bishop\ntwo tall lily-stems covered with splendid blossoms. At the very moment\nwhen the farrier was measuring by eye the distance between the platform\nand the barge, and had judged it impossible to cast the Bride into the\nstream till the vessel had moved on, Katharina cried out:\n\n\"Reverend Father John--and all of you! Take me, me and not the daughter\nof Thomas! It is I, not she--I am the true Bride of the Nile. Of my own\nfree will--hear me, John!--of my own free will I am ready to give my life\nfor my hapless land and the misery of the people, and the patriarch said\nthat such a sacrifice as mine would be acceptable to Heaven. Farewell!\nPray for me!--Lord have mercy upon me! Mother, dear Mother, I am coming\nto you!\"\n\nThen she called to the steersman: \"Put out from the platform!\" and as\nsoon as a few strokes of the oars had carried the barge into the deeper\nchannel she stepped nimbly on to the edge of the bulwark, dropped the\nlilies into the river, and then with a smile, her head gracefully bent on\none side and her skirt modestly held round her, she slipped into the\nwater.\n\nThe waves closed over her; but she was a good swimmer and could not help\ncoming once to the surface. Her expression was that of a bather enjoying\nthe cool fresh water that laved and gurgled round her. Perhaps the wild\nstorm of applause, the mingled cries of horror, compassion and\nthanksgiving that went up from the assembled thousands once more reached\nher ear--but she dived head foremost to rise no more.\n\nThe \"River-God,\" a good-hearted man, who in his daily life could never\nhave let a fellow-creature drown under his very eyes, forgot his part,\nreleased Paula, and sprang after Katharina, as did Anubis and a few\nboatmen; but they could not reach her, and the boy, who found swimming\ndifficult with his crippled leg followed the girl to whom his young heart\nwas wholly devoted to a watery death.\n\nHer speech had reached no ears but those to whom it was addressed; but\nbefore she was lost in the waters Bishop John turned to the people, took\nPaula's hand--and she felt free once more when her terrible bridegroom\nhad deserted her--and holding up the Crucifix which hung at his girdle he\nshouted loudly:\n\n\"Behold the desires of our holy Father Benjamin, by whom God himself\nspeaks to you, have met with fulfilment. A pure and noble Jacobite\nmaiden, of her own free and beautiful impulse, has sacrificed herself\nafter the example of the Saviour, for the sufferings of her nation,\nbefore your eyes. This one,\" and he drew Paula to him, \"this one is free;\nthe Nile has had his victim!\"\n\nBut almost before he had done speaking--before the people could proclaim\ntheir vote--Horapollo had rushed at him and interrupted him. He had\ndismounted from his ass during the earlier part of the proceedings, and,\nnot to let his prey escape, he now came between Paula and the bishop,\ngrasped her dress and cried to the chorus of youths:\n\n\"Come on--at once! One of you take the part of the Nile-God--into the\nriver with the Bride!\" The bishop however forced himself between the\nspeaker and the girl to protect her. But Horapollo flew into a fury and\nrushed at the prelate to snatch away the image of the Saviour, while John\nexclaimed in a voice of ominous thunder: \"Anathema!\"\n\nThis word of fear roused the Christian blood in the Egyptians; the\nsacrilegious attempt stirred the zeal which they had proved in many a\nstruggle, and which had only been kept under by an effort during these\ntimes of trouble: the leader of the choir dragged the old man away and\ntook part with the bishop. Others followed his example, while several, on\nthe contrary, sided with old Horapollo who clung tightly to Paula,\npreferring to die himself rather than allow her to escape his hatred and\nvengeance.\n\nAt this moment the clang of bells was heard from the town with a terrific\nand unaccountable uproar, and a young man was seen forcing his way\nthrough the throng, a naked sword in his hand, and in spite of his torn\ngarments, his wild hair, and his blackened face, he was at once\nrecognized as Orion. Every one made way for him, for he rushed on like a\nmadman; as he reached the pontoon and took in at a glance what was going\nforward there, he sprang past the mummers with mighty leaps to the\nplatform, pushing aside sundry groups of fighting champions; and before\nthe principal actors were aware of his presence, he had snatched Paula\nfrom the old man's clutch, and called her by her name. She sank on his\nbreast half-fainting with terror, surprise and unspeakable rapture, and\nhe clasped her to him with his left arm, while the flashing sword in his\nright hand and his flaming looks warned all bystanders that it would be\nas wise to attack a lioness defending her young as to defy this desperate\nman, who was prepared to face death with the woman he loved.\n\nHis push had sent Horapollo tottering to some distance; and when the old\nman had pulled himself together, to throw himself once more on his\nvictim, he found himself the centre of a fight. A wild troop had followed\nOrion and beset the struggling mob, whom they presently drove over the\nedge of the pontoon into the river, and with them Horapollo. Most of\nthese saved themselves by swimming, but the old man sank, and nothing\nmore was seen of him but his clenched fist, which rose in menace for some\nminutes above the waters.\n\nMeanwhile the Vekeel had become aware of what was going forward on the\nplatform; he leaped in fury from his seat to restore order, intending to\nseize Orion whom he fancied he had seen, or, if necessary to cut him down\nwith his own hand.\n\nBut a vast multitude stopped his progress, for a fearful horde of\nreleased prisoners with Orion at their head had come rushing down to the\nscene of the festival yelling: \"Fire! the prison is burning, the town is\nin flames!\"\n\nEvery one who could run fled at once to Memphis to save his house, his\npossessions and those dear to him. Like a flock of doves scared by the\nscream of a hawk, like autumn leaves driven before the wind, the\nmultitude dispersed. They hurried back to the town in wild tumult and\ninextricable confusion, jumping into the festal cars, cutting loose the\nhorses from that of the goddess of health, to mount them and ride home,\noverthrowing everything that stood in their way and dragging back the\nVekeel who was striving, sword in hand, to get to the pontoon.\n\nThe smoke and flames of the city were rising every moment, and acted like\nmagic in spurring the flying crowd to reach their homes in time. But,\nbefore Obada had succeeded in his efforts, the pushing throng were once\nmore brought to a standstill; horses were heard approaching. Dense masses\nof dust hid them and their riders; but it was certainly an armed troop\nthat was coming clattering onwards, for flashing gleams were seen here\nand there through the dull clouds that shrouded them, the reflection of\nthe sun's bright rays from polished and glittering helmets,\nbreast-plates, and sabres.\n\nNow they were visible even where the Vekeel was. Foremost rode the Kadi,\nand just as he came up with Obada he sprang from the saddle on to the\nwooden structure, and with a loud cry of: \"Free-saved!\" in which all the\njoy of his heart found utterance, he stretched out both his hands to\nPaula, who was advancing towards the shore clinging closely to Orion.\n\nOthman did not observe the Vekeel, who was but a few paces distant. The\nwords \"Free!\" \"Saved!\" from the supreme judge, gave the negro to\nunderstand that a pardon must have arrived for his youthful foe, and this\nof course implied the condemnation of his own proceedings. All his hopes\nwere wrecked, for this meant that Omar still ruled and that the attempt\non the Khaliff's life had failed. Dismissal, punishment or death must be\nhis doom, when Amru should return. Still, he would not succumb till the\ninstrument of his ruin had preceded him to the grave. Taking the Kadi by\nsurprise he thrust him aside, and prepared to deal a fearful blow that\nshould fell Orion before he himself should fall. But the captain of the\nbody-guard, who had followed Othman, had watched his movements: Swift as\nlightning he rose in his saddle and swung his cimeter, which cut deep\ninto the Vekeel's neck. With a hideous curse Obada let his arm drop, and\nfell struggling for his last breath at the feet of the newly united\ncouple.\n\nThe populace afterwards declared that his blood was not red like that of\nother men, but black like his skin and his soul. They had good cause to\ncurse his memory, for his villainy had reduced more than half Memphis to\nashes that day, and brought the city to beggary.\n\nHe had hired two venial wretches to set fire to the prison while the\nfestival was proceeding, with a view to suffocating Orion in his cell;\nbut the gang were detected and all the prisoners were released in time.\nThus the young man had been able to reach the scene of the ceremonial at\nthe head of his fellow-captives. The fire, however, had gained the upper\nhand in the deserted town. It had spread from house to house along the\nsun-scorched streets, and next day nothing remained of the city of the\nPyramids but the road along the shore, and a few wretched alleys. The\nancient Capital of the Pharaohs was reduced to a village, and the\nhouseless residents moved across to the eastern bank, to people as\nMoslems the newly-founded town of Fostat, or sought a home on Christian\nterritory.\n\nAmong the houses that had escaped was that of Rufinus, and thither the\nKadi escorted Orion and Paula. It was to serve as their prison till the\nreturn of Amru, and there they spent delightful days in the society of\ntheir friends, and there Thomas was so happy as to clasp his children to\nhis heart once more, and bless them before he died.\n\nA few minutes before the Kadi had reached the scene of the festival two\ncarrier pigeons had arrived, each bearing the Arab governor's commands\nthat the sacrifice of Paula was at any rate to be stopped, and her life\nspared till his return. He also reserved the right of deciding Orion's\nfate.\n\nMary and Rustem had met Amru at Berenice, on the Egyptian coast of the\nRed Sea. This decaying sea-port was connected with Medina by a\npigeon-post, and in reply to his viceroy's enquiry with reference to the\nvictim about to be offered by the despairing Egyptians to the Nile, Omar\nhad sent a reply which had been immediately forwarded to the Kadi.\n\nThe burning of their town had brought new and fearful suffering on the\nstricken Memphites, and notwithstanding Katharina's death the Nile still\ndid not rise. The Kadi therefore once more summoned a meeting of all the\ninhabitants from both sides of the river, three days after the\ninterrupted marriage-festival. It was held under the palms by Nesptah's\ninn, and there he proclaimed to the multitude, Moslem and Christian, by\nmeans of the Arab herald and Egyptian interpreter, what the Khaliff\ncommanded him to declare, namely: that God, the One, the All-merciful,\nscorned human sacrifice. In this firm conviction he, Omar, would beseech\nAllah the Compassionate, and he sent a letter which was to be cast into\nthe river in his name.\n\nAnd this letter was addressed:\n\n\"To the River of Egypt.\" And its contents were as follows:\n\n\"If thou, O River, flowest of thyself, then swell not; but if it be God,\nthe One, the Compassionate, that maketh thee to flow, then we entreat the\nAll-merciful that he will bid thee rise!\"\n\n\"That which is not of God,\" wrote Amru in the letter which enclosed\nOmar's, \"what shall it profit men? But all things created are by Him, and\nso is your noble river. The Most High will hearken to Omar's prayers and\nours, and I therefore command that all of you--Moslems, Christians, and\nJews, shall gather together in the Mosque on the other side of the Nile\nwhich I have built to the glory of the All-merciful, and that you there\nlift up your souls in one great common prayer, to the end that God may\nhear you and take pity on your sufferings!\"\n\nAnd the Kadi bid all the people to go across the Nile and they obeyed his\nbidding. Bishop John called on his clergy and marched at their head,\nleading the Christians; the priests and elders of the Jews led their\npeople next to the Jacobites; and side by side with these the Moslems\ngathered in the magnificent pillared sanctuary of Amru, where the three\ncongregations of different creeds lifted up, their hearts and eyes and\nvoices to the pitying Father in Heaven.\n\nAnd this very Mosque of Amru has more than once been the scene of the\nsame sublime spectacle; even within the lifetime and before the eyes of\nthe narrator of this tale have Moslems, Christians, and Jews united there\nin one pious prayer, which must have been acceptable indeed in the ears\nof the Lord.\n\nNot long after the letter from the Khaliff Omar had been cast into the\nNile, and the prayer of the united assembly had gone up to Heaven from\nthe Mosque of Armu, a pigeon came in announcing a sudden rise in the\nwaters at the cataracts; and after some still anxious but hopeful days of\npatience, the Nile swelled higher and yet higher, overflowed its banks,\nand gave the laborer a right to look forward to a rich harvest; and then,\nwhen a heavy storm of rain had laid the choking dust, the plague, too,\ndisappeared.\n\nJust when the river was beginning to rise perceptibly Amru returned;\nbringing in his train little Mary and Rustem, Philippus the leech and\nHaschim, who had joined the governor's caravan at Djidda.\n\nIn the course of their journey they received news of all that had been\nhappening at Memphis, and when the travellers were approaching their last\nnight-quarters, and the Pyramids were already in sight, the governor said\nto little Mary:\n\n\"What do you say little one? Do we not owe the Memphites the treat of a\nsplendid marriage festival?\"\n\n\"No, my lord, two,\" replied the child.\n\n\"How is that?\" laughed Amru, \"You are too young and do not count yet, and\nI know no other maiden in Memphis whose wedding I should care to provide\nfor.\"\n\n\"But there is a man towards whom you feel most kindly, and who lives as\nlonely as a recluse. I should like to see him married, and at the same\ntime as Orion and Paula. I mean our good friend Philippus.\"\n\n\"The physician? And is he still unwed?\" asked Amru in surprise; for no\nMoslem of the leech's age and position could remain unmarried without\nexposing himself to the contempt of his fellow-believers. \"He is a\nwidower then!\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Mary. \"He has never yet found a wife to suit him; but I\nknow one created on purpose for him by God himself!\"\n\n\"You little Khatbe!\"--[A professional go-between]--cried the governor.\n\"Well, settle the matter, and it shall be no fault of mine if the second\nwedding lacks magnificence.\"\n\n\"And we will have a third!\" interrupted the child, clapping her hands and\nlaughing. \"My worthy escort Rustem. . . .\n\n\"The colossus! Why, child, to you all things are possible! Have you found\na wife for him too?\"\n\n\"No, he found Mandane for himself without my help.\"\n\n\"It is the same thing!\" cried the governor jovially. \"I will provide for\nher. But that must satisfy you, or else all those unbelievers whom we are\nsettling here will drive us Moslem Arabs out of the land.\"\n\nThe great man had often held such discourse as this with the child since\nshe had entered his tent at Berenice, there to lay before him the case of\nthe couple she loved, and for whom she had taken on herself great risk\nand hardship; she had pleaded so eloquently, so kindly, and with such\nfervent and pathetic words, that Amru had at once made up his mind to\ngrant her everything that lay in his power. Mary had done him a service,\ntoo, by bringing him the information she could give him, for it enabled\nhim to avert perils which threatened the interests of the Crescent, and\nalso to save the children of two men he honored--the son of the Mukaukas,\nand the daughter of Thomas--from imminent danger.\n\nHe found, on his return home, that the Vekeel's crimes far exceeded his\nworst fears. Obada's proceedings had begun to undermine that respect for\nArab rule and Moslem justice which Amru had done his utmost to secure. It\nwas only by a miracle that Orion had escaped his plots, for he had three\ntimes sent assassins to the prison, and it was entirely owing to the\nwatchful care of pretty Emau's husband that the youth had been able to\nsave himself in the fire. Obada had done all this to clear out of his\npath the hated man whose statements and impeachments might ruin him. The\nwretch had met a less ignominious death than his judges would have\ngranted him. The wealth found hoarded in his dwelling was sent to Medina;\nand even Orion was forced to see the vast sums of which the Negro had\nplundered his treasury, appropriated by the Arabs. The Arab governor\nthought it only right to inflict this penalty for the share he had taken\nin the rescue of the nuns; and the young man submitted willingly to a\npunishment which restored him and his bride to freedom, and enabled Amru\nto apply a larger proportion of the revenues of his native land for its\nown benefit.\n\nThe Khaliff Omar, however, never received these moneys, which constituted\nfar more than half of Orion's patrimony. The Prophet's truest friend, the\nwise and powerful ruler, fell by the assassin's hand, and the world now\nlearnt that the Vekeel had been one of the chief conspirators and had\nbeen spurred on to the rashest extremes by his confidence of success.\n\nAmru received the son of the Mukaukas as a father might; after examining\nthe result of his labors he found it far superior to his own efforts in\nthe same direction, and he charged Orion to carry out the new division of\nthe country, which he confirmed excepting in a few details.\n\n\"Perform your duty and do your utmost in the future to go on as you have\nbegun!\" cried Amru; and the young man replied:\n\n\"In this bitter and yet happy interval I have become clear on many\npoints.\"\n\n\"And may I ask on what?\" asked the governor. \"I would gladly hear.\"\n\n\"I have discovered, my lord,\" replied Orion, \"that there is no such thing\nas happiness or unhappiness in the sense men give to the words. Life\nappears to each of us as we ourselves paint it. Hard times which come\ninto our lives from outside are often no more than a brief night from\nwhich a brighter day presently dawns--or the stab of a surgeon's knife,\nwhich makes us sounder than before. What men call grief is, times without\nnumber, a path to greater ease; whereas the ordinary happiness of mankind\nflows, swiftly as running waters, down from that delightful sense of\nease. Like a ship, which, when her rudder is lost, is more likely to ride\nout the storm on the high seas than near the sheltering coast, so a man\nwho has lost himself may easily recover himself and his true happiness in\nthe wildest turmoil of life, but rarely and with difficulty if his\nexistence runs calmly on. All other blessings are comparatively worthless\nif we are not upheld by the consciousness of fulfilling the task of life\nin faithful earnest, and of cheerfully dealing with the problems it sets\nbefore us. The lost one was found as soon as he placed his whole being\nand faculties at the service of a higher duty, with God in his heart and\nbefore his eyes. I have learnt from my own experience, and from Paula's\ngood friends, to strive untiringly after what is right, and to find my\nown weal in that of others.\n\n\"The sense of lost liberty is hard to bear; but leave me love, and give\nme room and opportunity to prove my best powers in the service of the\ncommunity, even in a prison--and though I cannot be perfectly happy, for\nthat is impossible without freedom--I will be far happier than such an\nidle and useless spendthrift of time and abilities as I used to be among\nthe dissipations of the capital.\"\n\n\"Then enjoy the consciousness of duty well performed, with liberty and\nlove,\" replied the governor. \"And believe me, my friend, your father in\nParadise will no more grudge you all that is loveliest and best than I\ndo. You are on the road where every curse is turned to blessing.\"\n\nThe three marriages which Amru had promised to provide for, were\ncelebrated with due splendor.\n\nThat of Orion and Paula was a day never to be forgotten by the gay world\nof Memphis. Bishop John performed the ceremony, and the young couple at\nonce took possession of the beautiful house left them by Katharina, the\nreal Bride of the Nile. If it could have been granted to her to read\nPaula's and Orion's hearts, and see how they held her in remembrance, she\nwould have found that to them she was no longer the childish\nwater-wagtail, and that they knew how to value the sacrifice of her young\nlife.\n\nTheir first beloved guest, who went with them to their new home, was\nlittle Mary, and she remained their dearest companion till she married\nhappily. The governess, Eudoxia, to whom also Orion offered an asylum,\naccompanied Mary to her own delightful home; and there at last Mary\nclosed her old friend's eyes, after the good woman had brought up her\nlittle ones, not like a hireling but as a true mother.\n\nThe Patriarch Benjamin, too, who was led by many considerations--and not\nleast by Katharina's will to remain on good terms with the son of the\nMukaukas, was a visitor to the youthful pair. Neither he nor the Church\never had reason to repent his alliance with Orion; and when Paula\npresented her husband with a son, the prelate offered to be his sponsor,\nand named him George after his grandfather.\n\nOrion's son, too, inherited the office of Mukaukas, when he came to man's\nestate, from his father who was appointed to it, but under a new Arab\ntitle, shortly after his marriage.\n\nEre long, however, Orion, as the highest Christian authority in his\nnative land, had to change his place of residence and leave Memphis,\nwhich was doomed to ruin, for Alexandria. From thence his power extended\nover the whole Nile-valley, and he devoted himself to his charge with so\nmuch zeal, fidelity, justice, and prudence, that his name was remembered\nwith veneration and affection by generations long after.\n\nPaula was the pride and joy of his life, and they lived together in\ndevoted union to an advanced age. He regarded it as one of the duties of\nhis life, to care for the woman who had made him what he was from a lost\nand reprobate creature, and to fill every day of her life with joy. When\nhe built his palace at Alexandria, he graced it with the inscription that\nhad been engraved on Thomas' ring: \"God hath set the sweat of man's brow\nbefore virtue.\"\n\nPhilippus and his Pulcheria also found a new home in Alexandria. He had\nno long wooing to do; for when, on his return, the girl of whom he had\nthought constantly during his long journeying, met him for the first time\nin her mother's house and held out both her hands with trustful warmth of\nwelcome, he clasped her to him and would not release her till Joanna had\ngiven them her maternal blessing. The widow lived in the leech's house\nwith her children and grandchildren, and often visited her husband's\ngrave. At length she was laid to rest by him and his soft-hearted mother,\nin the cemetery of Alexandria.\n\nRustem, made a rich man by Orion, became a famous breeder of horses and\ncamels in his own country, while Mandane ruled mildly but prudently over\nhis possessions--which he never shared with others, though he remained a\nMasdakite till he died. The first daughter his wife bore him was named\nMary, and the first boy Haschim; but she would not agree to Rustem's\nproposal that the second should be called Orion; she preferred to give\nhim the name of Rufinus, and his successors were Rustem and Philippus.\n\nThe senator and his wife were only too glad to quit Egypt. Martina,\nhowever, had the satisfaction of assisting at the marriage of her dear\nHeliodora on the shores of the Nile; not, indeed, to her \"Great\nSesostris,\" but to her nephew Narses, who by the young widow's devoted\ncare was restored, if not to perfect vigor, at any rate to very endurable\ngood health.\n\nPaula's wedding gift to her was the great emerald, which had meanwhile\nbeen brought back again to Memphis. Justinus and Martina always remained\non terms of cordial friendship with the young Mukaukas and his wife:\nNilus lived long after to perform his duties with industry and judgment;\nand whenever Haschim came to Alexandria there was a contest between Orion\nand Philippus, for neither would yield him to the other. But Philip could\nno longer envy his former rival the wife he had won. He had not, indeed,\nceased to admire her; but at the same time he would say: \"My comfortable\nlittle Pulcheria has not her match; our rooms would be too small for\nPaula, but they suit my golden-haired girl best.\"\n\nHe remained unselfishly devoted to his work till the end, and, when he\nsaw Orion wearing himself out in energetic toil, he would often say: \"He\nknows now what life demands, and acts accordingly; and that is why he\ngrows no older, and his laugh is as winning and gay as ever. It is an\nhonor to be called friend by a woman who like the Bride of the Nile.\nsaved herself from certain death, and a man who, like the young Mukaukas,\nhas freed himself from the heaviest of all curses.\"\n\nTo this day the Bride of the Nile is not forgotten. Before the river\nbegins to rise on the Night of Dropping the inhabitants of the town of\nCairo, which grew up after the ruin of Memphis, on the eastern shore by\nthe side of Fostat, erect a figure of clay, representing a maiden form,\nwhich they call Aroosa or the Bride.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Sea-port was connected with Medina by a pigeon-post\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE BRIDE OF THE NILE:\n\n     A knot can often be untied by daylight\n     Abandon to the young the things we ourselves used most to enjoy\n     Ancient custom, to have her ears cut off\n     Caught the infection and had to laugh whether she would or no\n     Gave them a claim on your person and also on your sorrows\n     Hatred and love are the opposite ends of the same rod\n     He was made to be plundered\n     How could they find so much pleasure in such folly\n     In whom some good quality or other may not be discovered\n     Life is not a banquet\n     Life is a function, a ministry, a duty\n     Love has two faces: tender devotion and bitter aversion\n     Of two evils it is wise to choose the lesser\n     Old age no longer forgets; it is youth that has a short memory\n     Prepared for the worst; then you are armed against failure\n     Sea-port was connected with Medina by a pigeon-post\n     Self-interest and egoism which drive him into the cave\n     So hard is it to forego the right of hating\n     Spoilt to begin with by their mothers, and then all the women\n     Talk of the wolf and you see his tail\n     Temples of the old gods were used as quarries\n     The man who avoids his kind and lives in solitude\n     Thin-skinned, like all up-starts in authority\n     Those who will not listen must feel\n     Use their physical helplessness as a defence\n     Who can hope to win love that gives none\n     Who can take pleasure in always seeing a gloomy face?\n     Women are indeed the rock ahead in this young fellow's life\n     You have a habit of only looking backwards\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThe green screen slowly rose, covering the lower portion of the broad\nstudio window where Heron, the gem-cutter, was at work. It was Melissa,\nthe artist's daughter, who had pulled it up, with bended knees and\noutstretched arms, panting for breath.\n\n\"That is enough!\" cried her father's impatient voice. He glanced up at\nthe flood of light which the blinding sun of Alexandria was pouring into\nthe room, as it did every autumn afternoon; but as soon as the shadow\nfell on his work-table the old man's busy fingers were at work again, and\nhe heeded his daughter no more.\n\nAn hour later Melissa again, and without any bidding, pulled up the\nscreen as before, but it was so much too heavy for her that the effort\nbrought the blood into her calm, fair face, as the deep, rough \"That is\nenough\" was again heard from the work-table.\n\nThen silence reigned once more. Only the artist's low whistling as he\nworked, or the patter and pipe of the birds in their cages by the window,\nbroke the stillness of the spacious room, till the voice and step of a\nman were presently heard in the anteroom.\n\nHeron laid by his graver and Melissa her gold embroidery, and the eyes of\nfather and daughter met for the first time for some hours. The very birds\nseemed excited, and a starling, which had sat moping since the screen had\nshut the sun out, now cried out, \"Olympias!\" Melissa rose, and after a\nswift glance round the room she went to the door, come who might.\n\nAy, even if the brother she was expecting should bring a companion, or a\npatron of art who desired her father's work, the room need not fear a\ncritical eye; and she was so well assured of the faultless neatness of\nher own person, that she only passed a hand over her brown hair, and with\nan involuntary movement pulled her simple white robe more tightly through\nher girdle.\n\nHeron's studio was as clean and as simple as his daughter's attire,\nthough it seemed larger than enough for the purpose it served, for only a\nvery small part of it was occupied by the artist, who sat as if in exile\nbehind the work-table on which his belongings were laid out: a set of\nsmall instruments in a case, a tray filled with shells and bits of onyx\nand other agates, a yellow ball of Cyrenian modeling-wax, pumice-stone,\nbottles, boxes, and bowls.\n\nMelissa had no sooner crossed the threshold, than the sculptor drew up\nhis broad shoulders and brawny person, and raised his hand to fling away\nthe slender stylus he had been using; however, he thought better of it,\nand laid it carefully aside with the other tools. But this act of\nself-control must have cost the hot-headed, powerful man a great effort;\nfor he shot a fierce look at the instrument which had had so narrow an\nescape, and gave it a push of vexation with the back of his hand.\n\nThen he turned towards the door, his sunburnt face looking surly enough,\nin its frame of tangled gray hair and beard; and, as he waited for the\nvisitor whom Melissa was greeting outside, he tossed back his big head,\nand threw out his broad, deep chest, as though preparing to wrestle.\n\nMelissa presently returned, and the youth whose hand she still held was,\nas might be seen in every feature, none other than the sculptor's son.\nBoth were dark-eyed, with noble and splendid heads, and in stature\nperfectly equal; but while the son's countenance beamed with hearty\nenjoyment, and seemed by its peculiar attractiveness to be made--and to\nbe accustomed--to charm men and women alike, his father's face was\nexpressive of disgust and misanthropy. It seemed, indeed, as though the\nnewcomer had roused his ire, for Heron answered his son's cheerful\ngreeting with no word but a reproachful \"At last!\" and paid no heed to\nthe hand the youth held out to him.\n\nAlexander was no doubt inured to such a reception; he did not disturb\nhimself about the old man's ill-humor, but slapped him on the shoulder\nwith rough geniality, went up to the work-table with easy composure, took\nup the vice which held the nearly finished gem, and, after holding it to\nthe light and examining it carefully, exclaimed: \"Well done, father! You\nhave done nothing better than that for a long time.\"\n\n\"Poor stuff!\" said his father. But his son laughed.\n\n\"If you will have it so. But I will give one of my eyes to see the man in\nAlexandria who can do the like!\"\n\nAt this the old man broke out, and shaking his fist he cried: \"Because\nthe man who can find anything worth doing, takes good care not to waste\nhis time here, making divine art a mere mockery by such trifling with\ntoys! By Sirius! I should like to fling all those pebbles into the fire,\nthe onyx and shells and jasper and what not, and smash all those wretched\ntools with these fists, which were certainly made for other work than\nthis.\"\n\nThe youth laid an arm round his father's stalwart neck, and gayly\ninterrupted his wrath. \"Oh yes, Father Heron, Philip and I have felt\noften enough that they know how to hit hard.\"\n\n\"Not nearly often enough,\" growled the artist, and the young man went on:\n\n\"That I grant, though every blow from you was equal to a dozen from the\nhand of any other father in Alexandria. But that those mighty fists on\nhuman arms should have evoked the bewitching smile on the sweet lips of\nthis Psyche, if it is not a miracle of art, is--\"\n\n\"The degradation of art,\" the old man put in; but Alexander hastily\nadded:\n\n\"The victory of the exquisite over the coarse.\"\n\n\"A victory!\" exclaimed Heron, with a scornful flourish of his hand. \"I\nknow, boy, why you are trying to garland the oppressive yoke with flowers\nof flattery. So long as your surly old father sits over the vice, he only\nwhistles a song and spares you his complaints. And then, there is the\nmoney his work brings in!\"\n\nHe laughed bitterly, and as Melissa looked anxiously up at him, her\nbrother exclaimed:\n\n\"If I did not know you well, master, and if it would not be too great a\npity, I would throw that lovely Psyche to the ostrich in Scopas's\ncourt-yard; for, by Herakles! he would swallow your gem more easily than\nwe can swallow such cruel taunts. We do indeed bless the Muses that work\nbrings you some surcease of gloomy thoughts. But for the rest--I hate to\nspeak the word gold. We want it no more than you, who, when the coffer is\nfull, bury it or hide it with the rest. Apollodorus forced a whole talent\nof the yellow curse upon me for painting his men's room. The sailor's\ncap, into which I tossed it with the rest, will burst when Seleukus pays\nme for the portrait of his daughter; and if a thief robs you, and me too,\nwe need not fret over it. My brush and your stylus will earn us more in\nno time. And what are our needs? We do not bet on quail-fights; we do not\nrun races; I always had a loathing for purchased love; we do not want to\nwear a heap of garments bought merely because they take our\nfancy--indeed, I am too hot as it is under this scorching sun. The house\nis your own. The rent paid by Glaukias, for the work-room and garden you\ninherited from your father, pays for half at least of what we and the\nbirds and the slaves eat. As for Philip, he lives on air and philosophy;\nand, besides, he is fed out of the great breadbasket of the Museum.\"\n\nAt this point the starling interrupted the youth's vehement speech with\nthe appropriate cry, \"My strength! my strength!\" The brother and sister\nlooked at each other, and Alexander went on with genuine enthusiasm:\n\n\"But it is not in you to believe us capable of such meanness. Dedicate\nyour next finished work to Isis or Serapis. Let your masterpiece grace\nthe goddess's head-gear, or the god's robe. We shall be quite content,\nand perhaps the immortals may restore your joy in life as a reward.\"\n\nThe bird repeated its lamentable cry, \"My strength!\" and the youth\nproceeded with increased vehemence:\n\n\"It would really be better that you should throw your vice and your\ngraver and your burnisher, and all that heap of dainty tools, into the\nsea, and carve an Atlas such as we have heard you talk about ever since\nwe could first speak Greek. Come, set to work on a colossus! You have but\nto speak the word, and the finest clay shall be ready on your\nmodeling-table by to-morrow, either here or in Glaukias's work-room,\nwhich is indeed your own. I know where the best is to be found, and can\nbring it to you in any quantity. Scopas will lend me his wagon. I can see\nit now, and you valiantly struggling with it till your mighty arms ache.\nYou will not whistle and hum over that, but sing out with all your might,\nas you used when my mother was alive, when you and your apprentices\njoined Dionysus's drunken rout. Then your brow will grow smooth again;\nand if the model is a success, and you want to buy marble, or pay the\nfounder, then out with your gold, out of the coffer and its hiding-place!\nThen you can make use of all your strength, and your dream of producing\nan Atlas such as the world has not seen--your beautiful dream-will become\na reality!\"\n\nHeron had listened eagerly to his son's rhapsody, but he now cast a timid\nglance at the table where the wax and tools lay, pushed the rough hair\nfrom his brow, and broke in with a bitter laugh: \"My dream, do you\nsay--my dream? As if I did not know too well that I am no longer the man\nto create an Atlas! As if I did not feel, without your words, that my\nstrength for it is a thing of the past!\"\n\n\"Nay, father,\" exclaimed the painter. \"Is it right to cast away the sword\nbefore the battle? And even if you did not succeed--\"\n\n\"You would be all the better pleased,\" the sculptor put in. \"What surer\nway could there be to teach the old simpleton, once for all, that the\ntime when he could do great work is over and gone?\"\n\n\"That is unjust, father; that is unworthy of you,\" the young man\ninterrupted in great excitement; but his father went on, raising his\nvoice; \"Silence, boy! One thing at any rate is left to me, as you\nknow--my keen eyes; and they did not fail me when you two looked at each\nother as the starling cried, 'My strength!' Ay, the bird is in the right\nwhen he bewails what was once so great and is now a mere laughing-stock.\nBut you--you ought to reverence the man to whom you owe your existence\nand all you know; you allow yourself to shrug your shoulders over your\nown father's humbler art, since your first pictures were fairly\nsuccessful.--How puffed up he is, since, by my devoted care, he has been\na painter! How he looks down on the poor wretch who, by the pinch of\nnecessity, has come down from being a sculptor of the highest promise to\nbeing a mere gem-cutter! In the depths of your soul--and I know it--you\nregard my laborious art as half a handicraft. Well, perhaps it deserves\nno better name; but that you--both of you--should make common cause with\na bird, and mock the sacred fire which still burns in an old man, and\nmoves him to serve true and noble art and to mold something great--an\nAtlas such as the world has never seen on a heroic scale; that--\"\n\nHe covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud. And the strong man's\npassionate grief cut his children to the heart, though, since their\nmother's death, their father's rage and discontent had many a time ere\nnow broken down into childish lamentation.\n\nTo-day no doubt the old man was in worse spirits than usual, for it was\nthe day of the Nekysia--the feast of the dead kept every autumn; and he\nhad that morning visited his wife's grave, accompanied by his daughter,\nand had anointed the tombstone and decked it with flowers. The young\npeople tried to comfort him; and when at last he was more composed and\nhad dried his tears, he said, in so melancholy and subdued a tone that\nthe angry blusterer was scarcely recognizable: \"There--leave me alone; it\nwill soon be over. I will finish this gem to-morrow, and then I must do\nthe Serapis I promised Theophilus, the high-priest. Nothing can come of\nthe Atlas. Perhaps you meant it in all sincerity, Alexander; but since\nyour mother left me, children, since then--my arms are no weaker than\nthey were; but in here--what it was that shriveled, broke, leaked away--I\ncan not find words for it. If you care for me--and I know you do--you\nmust not be vexed with me if my gall rises now and then; there is too\nmuch bitterness in my soul. I can not reach the goal I strive after and\nwas meant to win; I have lost what I loved best, and where am I to find\ncomfort or compensation?\"\n\nHis children tenderly assured him of their affection, and he allowed\nMelissa to kiss him, and stroked Alexander's hair.\n\nThen he inquired for Philip, his eldest son and his favorite; and on\nlearning that he, the only person who, as he believed, could understand\nhim, would not come to see him this day above all others, he again broke\nout in wrath, abusing the degeneracy of the age and the ingratitude of\nthe young.\n\n\"Is it a visit which detains him again?\" he inquired, and when Alexander\nthought not, he exclaimed contemptuously: \"Then it is some war of words\nat the Museum. And for such poor stuff as that a son can forget his duty\nto his father and mother!\"\n\n\"But you, too, used to enjoy these conflicts of intellect,\" his daughter\nhumbly remarked; but the old man broke in:\n\n\"Only because they help a miserable world to forget the torments of\nexistence, and the hideous certainty of having been born only to die some\nhorrible death. But what can you know of this?\"\n\n\"By my mother's death-bed,\" replied the girl, \"we, too, had a glimpse\ninto the terrible mystery.\" And Alexander gravely added, \"And since we\nlast met, father, I may certainly account myself as one of the\ninitiated.\"\n\n\"You have painted a dead body?\" asked his father.\n\n\"Yes, father,\" replied the lad with a deep breath. \"I warned you,\" said\nHeron, in a tone of superior experience.\n\nAnd then, as Melissa rearranged the folds of his blue robe, he said he\nshould go for a walk. He sighed as he spoke, and his children knew\nwhither he would go. It was to the grave to which Melissa had accompanied\nhim that morning; and he would visit it alone, to meditate undisturbed on\nthe wife he had lost.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe brother and sister were left together. Melissa sighed deeply; but her\nbrother went up to her, laid his arm round her shoulder, and said: \"Poor\nchild! you have indeed a hard time of it. Eighteen years old, and as\npretty as you are, to be kept locked up as if in prison! No one would\nenvy you, even if your fellow-captive and keeper were younger and less\ngloomy than your father is! But we know what it all means. His grief eats\ninto his soul, and it does him as much good to storm and scold, as it\ndoes us to laugh.\"\n\n\"If only the world could know how kind his heart really is!\" said the\ngirl.\n\n\"He is not the same to his friends as to us,\" said Alexander; but Melissa\nshook her head, and said sadly: \"He broke out yesterday against Apion,\nthe dealer, and it was dreadful. For the fiftieth time he had waited\nsupper for you two in vain, and in the twilight, when he had done work,\nhis grief overcame him, and to see him weep is quite heartbreaking! The\nSyrian dealer came in and found him all tearful, and being so bold as to\njest about it in his flippant way--\"\n\n\"The old man would give him his answer, I know!\" cried her brother with a\nhearty laugh. \"He will not again be in a hurry to stir up a wounded\nlion.\"\n\n\"That is the very word,\" said Melissa, and her large eyes sparkled. \"At\nthe fight in the Circus, I could not help thinking of my father, when the\nhuge king of the desert lay with a broken spear in his loins, whining\nloudly, and burying his maned head between his great paws. The gods are\npitiless!\"\n\n\"Indeed they are,\" replied the youth, with deep conviction; but his\nsister looked up at him in surprise.\n\n\"Do you say so, Alexander? Yes, indeed--you looked just now as I never\nsaw you before. Has misfortune overtaken you too?\"\n\n\"Misfortune?\" he repeated, and he gently stroked her hair. \"No, not\nexactly; and you know my woes sit lightly enough on me. The immortals\nhave indeed shown me very plainly that it is their will sometimes to\nspoil the feast of life with a right bitter draught. But, like the moon\nitself, all it shines on is doomed to change--happily! Many things here\nbelow seem strangely ordered. Like ears and eyes, hands and feet, many\nthings are by nature double, and misfortunes, as they say, commonly come\nin couples yoked like oxen.\"\n\n\"Then you have had some twofold blow?\" asked Melissa, clasping her hands\nover her anxiously throbbing bosom.\n\n\"I, child! No, indeed. Nothing has befallen your father's younger son;\nand if I were a philosopher, like Philip, I should be moved to wonder why\na man can only be wet when the rain falls on him, and yet can be so\nwretched when disaster falls on another. But do not look at me with such\nterror in your great eyes. I swear to you that, as a man and an artist, I\nnever felt better, and so I ought properly to be in my usual frame of\nmind. But the skeleton at life's festival has been shown to me. What sort\nof thing is that? It is an image--the image of a dead man which was\ncarried round by the Egyptians, and is to this day by the Romans, to\nremind the feasters that they should fill every hour with enjoyment,\nsince enjoyment is all too soon at an end. Such an image, child--\"\n\n\"You are thinking of the dead girl--Seleukus's daughter--whose portrait\nyou are painting?\" asked Melissa.\n\nAlexander nodded, sat down on the bench by his sister, and, taking up her\nneedlework, exclaimed \"Give us some light, child. I want to see your\npretty face. I want to be sure that Diodorus did not perjure himself\nwhen, at the 'Crane,' the other day, he swore that it had not its match\nin Alexandria. Besides, I hate the darkness.\"\n\nWhen Melissa returned with the lighted lamp, she found her brother, who\nwas not wont to keep still, sitting in the place where she had left him.\nBut he sprang up as she entered, and prevented her further greeting by\nexclaiming:\n\n\"Patience! patience! You shall be told all. Only I did not want to worry\nyou on the day of the festival of the dead. And besides, to-morrow\nperhaps he will be in a better frame of mind, and next day--\"\n\nMelissa became urgent. \"If Philip is ill--\" she put in.\n\n\"Not exactly ill,\" said he. \"He has no fever, no ague-fit, no aches and\npains. He is not in bed, and has no bitter draughts to swallow. Yet is he\nnot well, any more than I, though but just now, in the dining-hall at the\nElephant, I ate like a starving wolf, and could at this moment jump over\nthis table. Shall I prove it?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said his sister, in growing distress. \"But, if you love me,\ntell me at once and plainly--\"\n\n\"At once and plainly,\" sighed the painter. \"That, in any case, will not\nbe easy. But I will do my best. You knew Korinna?\"\n\n\"Seleukus's daughter?\"\n\n\"She herself--the maiden from whose corpse I am painting her portrait.\"\n\n\"No. But you wanted--\"\n\n\"I wanted to be brief, but I care even more to be understood; and if you\nhave never seen with your own eyes, if you do not yourself know what a\nmiracle of beauty the gods wrought when they molded that maiden, you are\nindeed justified in regarding me as a fool and Philip as a madman--which,\nthank the gods, he certainly is not yet.\"\n\n\"Then he too has seen the dead maiden?\"\n\n\"No, no. And yet--perhaps. That at present remains a mystery. I hardly\nknow what happened even to myself. I succeeded in controlling myself in\nmy father's presence; but now, when it all rises up before me, before my\nvery eyes, so distinct, so real, so tangible, now--by Sirius! Melissa, if\nyou interrupt me again--\"\n\n\"Begin again. I will be silent,\" she cried. \"I can easily picture your\nKorinna as a divinely beautiful creature.\"\n\nAlexander raised his hands to heaven, exclaiming with passionate\nvehemence: \"Oh, how would I praise and glorify the gods, who formed that\nmarvel of their art, and my mouth should be full of their grace and\nmercy, if they had but allowed the world to sun itself in the charm of\nthat glorious creature, and to worship their everlasting beauty in her\nwho was their image! But they have wantonly destroyed their own\nmasterpiece, have crushed the scarce-opened bud, have darkened the star\nere it has risen! If a man had done it, Melissa, a man what would his\ndoom have been! If he--\"\n\nHere the youth hid his face in his hands in passionate emotion; but,\nfeeling his sister's arm round his shoulder, he recovered himself, and\nwent on more calmly: \"Well, you heard that she was dead. She was of just\nyour age; she is dead at eighteen, and her father commissioned me to\npaint her in death.--Pour me out some water; then I will proceed as\ncoldly as a man crying the description of a runaway slave.\" He drank a\ndeep draught, and wandered restlessly up and down in front of his sister,\nwhile he told her all that had happened to him during the last few days.\n\nThe day before yesterday, at noon, he had left the inn where he had been\ncarousing with friends, gay and careless, and had obeyed the call of\nSeleukus. Just before raising the knocker he had been singing cheerfully\nto himself. Never had he felt more fully content--the gayest of the gay.\nOne of the first men in the town, and a connoisseur, had honored him with\na fine commission, and the prospect of painting something dead had\npleased him. His old master had often admired the exquisite delicacy of\nthe flesh-tones of a recently deceased body. As his glance fell on the\nimplements that his slave carried after him, he had drawn himself up with\nthe proud feeling of having before him a noble task, to which he felt\nequal. Then the porter, a gray-bearded Gaul, had opened the door to him,\nand as he looked into his care-worn face and received from him a silent\npermission to step in, he had already become more serious.\n\nHe had heard marvels of the magnificence of the house that he now\nentered; and the lofty vestibule into which he was admitted, the mosaic\nfloor that he trod; the marble statues and high reliefs round the upper\nhart of the walls, were well worth careful observation; yet he, whose\neyes usually carried away so vivid an impression of what he had once seen\nthat he could draw it from memory, gave no attention to any particular\nthing among the various objects worthy of admiration. For already in the\nanteroom a peculiar sensation had come over him. The large halls, which\nwere filled with odors of ambergris and incense, were as still as the\ngrave. And it seemed to him that even the sun, which had been shining\nbrilliantly a few minutes before in a cloudless sky, had disappeared\nbehind clouds, for a strange twilight, unlike anything he had ever seen,\nsurrounded him. Then he perceived that it came in through the black\nvelarium with which they had closed the open roof of the room through\nwhich he was passing.\n\nIn the anteroom a young freedman had hurried silently past him--had\nvanished like a shadow through the dusky rooms. His duty must have been\nto announce the artist's arrival to the mother of the dead girl; for,\nbefore Alexander had found time to feast his gaze on the luxurious mass\nof flowering plants that surrounded the fountain in the middle of the\nimpluvium, a tall matron, in flowing mourning garments, came towards\nhim--Korinna's mother.\n\nWithout lifting the black veil which enveloped her from head to foot, she\nspeechlessly signed him to follow her. Till this moment not even a\nwhisper had met his ear from any human lips in this house of death and\nmourning; and the stillness was so oppressive to the light-hearted young\npainter, that, merely to hear the sound of his own voice, he ex-plained\nto the lady who he was and wherefore he had come. But the only answer was\na dumb assenting bow of the head.\n\nHe had not far to go with his stately guide; their walk ended in a\nspacious room. It had been made a perfect flower-garden with hundreds of\nmagnificent plants; piles of garlands strewed the floor, and in the midst\nstood the couch on which lay the dead girl. In this hall, too, reigned\nthe same gloomy twilight which had startled him in the vestibule.\n\nThe dim, shrouded form lying motionless on the couch before him, with a\nheavy wreath of lotus-flowers and white roses encircling it from head to\nfoot, was the subject for his brush. He was to paint here, where he could\nscarcely distinguish one plant from another, or make out the form of the\nvases which stood round the bed of death. The white blossoms alone\ngleamed like pale lights in the gloom, and with a sister radiance\nsomething smooth and round which lay on the couch--the bare arm of the\ndead maiden.\n\nHis heart began to throb; the artist's love of his art had awaked within\nhim; he had collected his wits, and explained to the matron that to paint\nin the darkness was impossible.\n\nAgain she bowed in reply, but at a signal two waiting women, who were\nsquatting on the floor behind the couch, started up in the twilight, as\nif they had sprung from the earth, and approached their mistress.\n\nA fresh shock chilled the painter's blood, for at the same moment the\nlady's voice was suddenly audible close to his ear, almost as deep as a\nman's but not unmelodious, ordering the girls to draw back the curtain as\nfar as the painter should desire.\n\nNow, he felt, the spell was broken; curiosity and eagerness took the\nplace of reverence for death. He quietly gave his orders for the\nnecessary arrangements, lent the women the help of his stronger arm, took\nout his painting implements, and then requested the matron to unveil the\ndead girl, that he might see from which side it would be best to take the\nportrait. But then again he was near losing his composure, for the lady\nraised her veil, and measured him with a glance as though he had asked\nsomething strange and audacious indeed.\n\nNever had he met so piercing a glance from any woman's eyes; and yet they\nwere red with weeping and full of tears. Bitter grief spoke in every line\nof her still youthful features, and their stern, majestic beauty was in\nkeeping with the deep tones of her speech. Oh that he had been so happy\nas to see this woman in the bloom of youthful loveliness! She did not\nheed his admiring surprise; before acceding to his demand, her regal form\ntrembled from head to foot, and she sighed as she lifted the shroud from\nher daughter's face. Then, with a groan, she dropped on her knees by the\ncouch and laid her cheek against that of the dead maiden. At last she\nrose, and murmured to the painter that if he were successful in his task\nher gratitude would be beyond expression.\n\n\"What more she said,\" Alexander went on, \"I could but half understand,\nfor she wept all the time, and I could not collect my thoughts. It was\nnot till afterward that I learned from her waiting-woman--a\nChristian--that she meant to tell me that the relations and wailing women\nwere to come to-morrow morning. I could paint on till nightfall, but no\nlonger. I had been chosen for the task because Seleukus had heard from my\nold teacher, Bion, that I should get a faithful likeness of the original\nmore quickly than any one else. She may have said more, but I heard\nnothing; I only saw. For when the veil no longer hid that face from my\ngaze, I felt as though the gods had revealed a mystery to me which till\nnow only the immortals had been permitted to know. Never was my soul so\nsteeped in devotion, never had my heart beat in such solemn uplifting as\nat that moment. What I was gazing at and had to represent was a thing\nneither human nor divine; it was beauty itself--that beauty of which I\nhave often dreamed in blissful rapture.\n\n\"And yet--do not misapprehend me--I never thought of bewailing the\nmaiden, or grieving over her early death. She was but sleeping--I could\nfancy: I watched one I loved in her slumbers. My heart beat high! Ay,\nchild, and the work I did was pure joy, such joy as only the gods on\nOlympus know at their golden board. Every feature, every line was of such\nperfection as only the artist's soul can conceive of, nay, even dream of.\nThe ecstasy remained, but my unrest gave way to an indescribable and\nwordless bliss. I drew with the red chalk, and mixed the colors with the\ngrinder, and all the while I could not feel the painful sense of painting\na corpse. If she were slumbering, she had fallen asleep with bright\nimages in her memory. I even fancied again and again that her lips moved\nher exquisitely chiseled mouth, and that a faint breath played with her\nabundant, waving, shining brown hair, as it does with yours.\n\n\"The Muse sped my hand and the portrait--Bion and the rest will praise\nit, I think, though it is no more like the unapproachable original than\nthat lamp is like the evening star yonder.\"\n\n\"And shall we be allowed to see it?\" asked Melissa, who had been\nlistening breathlessly to her brother's narrative.\n\nThe words seemed to have snatched the artist from a dream. He had to\npause and consider where he was and to whom he was speaking. He hastily\npushed the curling hair off his damp brow, and said:\n\n\"I do not understand. What is it you ask?\"\n\n\"I only asked whether we should be allowed to see the portrait,\" she\nanswered timidly. \"I was wrong to interrupt you. But how hot your head\nis! Drink again before you go on. Had you really finished by sundown?\"\n\nAlexander shook his head, drank, and then went on more calmly: \"No, no!\nIt is a pity you spoke. In fancy I was painting her still. There is the\nmoon rising already. I must make haste. I have told you all this for\nPhilip's sake, not for my own.\"\n\n\"I will not interrupt you again, I assure you,\" said Melissa. \"Well,\nwell,\" said her brother. \"There is not much that is pleasant left to\ntell. Where was I?\"\n\n\"Painting, so long as it was light--\"\n\n\"To be sure--I remember. It began to grow dark. Then lamps were brought\nin, large ones, and as many as I wished for.   Just before sunset\nSeleukus, Korinna's father, came in to look upon his daughter once more.\nHe bore his grief with dignified composure; yet by his child's bier he\nfound it hard to be calm. But you can imagine all that. He invited me to\neat, and the food they brought might have tempted a full man to excess,\nbut I could only swallow a few mouthfuls. Berenike--the mother--did not\neven moisten her lips, but Seleukus did duty for us both, and this I\ncould see displeased his wife. During supper the merchant made many\ninquiries about me and my father; for he had heard Philip's praises from\nhis brother Theophilus, the high-priest. I learned from him that Korinna\nhad caught her sickness from a slave girl she had nursed, and had died of\nthe fever in three days. But while I sat listening to him, as he talked\nand ate, I could not keep my eyes off his wife who reclined opposite to\nme silent and motionless, for the gods had created Korinna in her very\nimage. The lady Berenike's eyes indeed sparkle with a lurid, I might\nalmost say an alarming, fire, but they are shaped like Korinna's. I said\nso, and asked whether they were of the same color; I wanted to know for\nmy portrait. On this Seleukus referred me to a picture painted by old\nSosibius, who has lately gone to Rome to work in Caesar's new baths. He\nlast year painted the wall of a room in the mer chant's country house at\nKanopus. In the center of the picture stands Galatea, and I know it now\nto be a good and true likeness.\n\n\"The picture I finished that evening is to be placed at the head of the\nyoung girl's sarcophagus; but I am to keep it two days longer, to\nreproduce a second likeness more at my leisure, with the help of the\nGalatea, which is to remain in Seleukus's town house.\n\n\"Then he left me alone with his wife.\n\n\"What a delightful commission! I set to work with renewed pleasure, and\nmore composure than at first. I had no need to hurry, for the first\npicture is to be hidden in the tomb, and I could give all my care to the\nsecond. Besides, Korinna's features were indelibly impressed on my eye.\n\n\"I generally can not paint at all by lamp-light; but this time I found no\ndifficulty, and I soon recovered that blissful, solemn mood which I had\nfelt in the presence of the dead. Only now and then it was clouded by a\nsigh, or a faint moan from Berenike: 'Gone, gone! There is no\ncomfort--none, none!'\n\n\"And what could I answer? When did Death ever give back what he has\nsnatched away?\n\n\"' I can not even picture her as she was,' she murmured sadly to\nherself--but this I might remedy by the help of my art, so I painted on\nwith increasing zeal; and at last her lamentations ceased to trouble me,\nfor she fell asleep, and her handsome head sank on her breast. The\nwatchers, too, had dropped asleep, and only their deep breathing broke\nthe stillness.\n\n\"Suddenly it flashed upon me that I was alone with Korinna, and the\nfeeling grew stronger and stronger; I fancied her lovely lips had moved,\nthat a smile gently parted them, inviting me to kiss them. As often as I\nlooked at them--and they bewitched me--I saw and felt the same, and at\nlast every impulse within me drove me toward her, and I could no longer\nresist: my lips pressed hers in a kiss!\"\n\nMelissa softly sighed, but the artist did not hear; he went on: \"And in\nthat kiss I became hers; she took the heart and soul of me. I can no\nlonger escape from her; awake or asleep, her image is before my eyes, and\nmy spirit is in her power.\"\n\nAgain he drank, emptying the cup at one deep gulp. Then he went on: \"So\nbe it! Who sees a god, they say, must die. And it is well, for he has\nknown something more glorious than other men. Our brother Philip, too,\nlives with his heart in bonds to that one alone, unless a demon has\ncheated his senses. I am troubled about him, and you must help me.\"\n\nHe sprang up, pacing the room again with long strides, but his sister\nclung to his arm and besought him to shake off the bewitching vision. How\nearnest was her prayer, what eager tenderness rang in her every word, as\nshe entreated him to tell her when and where her elder brother, too, had\nmet the daughter of Seleukus!\n\nThe artist's soft heart was easily moved. Stroking the hair of the loving\ncreature at his side--so helpful as a rule, but now bewildered--he tried\nto calm her by affecting a lighter mood than he really felt, assuring her\nthat he should soon recover his usual good spirits. She knew full well,\nhe said, that his living loves changed in frequent succession, and it\nwould be strange indeed if a dead one could bind him any longer. And his\nadventure, so far as it concerned the house of Seleukus, ended with that\nkiss; for the lady Berenike had presently waked, and urged him to finish\nthe portrait at his own house.\n\nNext morning he had completed it with the help of the Galatea in the\nvilla at Kanopus, and he had heard a great deal about the dead maiden. A\nyoung woman who was left in charge of the villa had supplied him with\nwhatever he needed. Her pretty face was swollen with weeping, and it was\nin a voice choked with tears that she had told him that her husband, who\nwas a centurion in Caesar's pretorian guard, would arrive to-morrow or\nnext day at Alexandria, with his imperial master. She had not seen him\nfor a long time, and had an infant to show him which he had not yet seen;\nand yet she could not be glad, for her young mistress's death had\nextinguished all her joy.\n\n\"The affection which breathed in every word of the centurion's wife,\"\nAlexander said, \"helped me in my work. I could be satisfied with the\nresult.\n\n\"The picture is so successful that I finished that for Seleukus in all\nconfidence, and for the sarcophagus I will copy it as well or as ill as\ntime will allow. It will hardly be seen in the half-dark tomb, and how\nfew will ever go to see it! None but a Seleukus can afford to employ so\ncostly a brush as your brother's is--thank the Muses! But the second\nportrait is quite another thing, for that may chance to be hung next a\npicture by Apelles; and it must restore to the parents so much of their\nlost child as it lies in my power to give them. So, on my way, I made up\nmy mind to begin the copy at once by lamp-light, for it must be ready by\nto-morrow night at latest.\n\n\"I hurried to my work-room, and my slave placed the picture on an easel,\nwhile I welcomed my brother Philip who had come to see me, and who had\nlighted a lamp, and of course had brought a book. He was so absorbed in\nit that he did not observe that I had come in till I addressed him. Then\nI told him whence I came and what had happened, and he thought it all\nvery strange and interesting.\n\n\"He was as usual rather hurried and hesitating, not quite clear, but\nunderstanding it all. Then he began telling me something about a\nphilosopher who has just come to the front, a porter by trade, from whom\nhe had heard sundry wonders, and it was not till Syrus brought me in a\nsupper of oysters--for I could still eat nothing more solid--that he\nasked to see the portrait.\n\n\"I pointed to the easel, and watched him; for the harder he is to please,\nthe more I value his opinion. This time I felt confident of praise, or\neven of some admiration, if only for the beauty of the model.\n\n\"He threw off the veil from the picture with a hasty movement, but,\ninstead of gazing at it calmly, as he is wont, and snapping out his sharp\ncriticisms, he staggered backward, as though the noonday sun had dazzled\nhis sight. Then, bending forward, he stared at the painting, panting as\nhe might after racing for a wager. He stood in perfect silence, for I\nknow not how long, as though it were Medusa he was gazing on, and when at\nlast he clasped his hand to his brow, I called him by name. He made no\nreply, but an impatient 'Leave me alone!' and then he still gazed at the\nface as though to devour it with his eyes, and without a sound.\n\n\"I did not disturb him; for, thought I, he too is bewitched by the\nexquisite beauty of those virgin features. So we were both silent, till\nhe asked, in a choked voice: 'And did you paint that? Is that, do you\nsay, the daughter that Seleukus has just lost?'\n\n\"Of course I said 'Yes'; but then he turned on me in a rage, and\nreproached me bitterly for deceiving and cheating him, and jesting with\nthings that to him were sacred, though I might think them a subject for\nsport.\n\n\"I assured him that my answer was as earnest as it was accurate, and that\nevery word of my story was true.\n\n\"This only made him more furious. I, too, began to get angry, and as he,\nevidently deeply agitated, still persisted in saying that my picture\ncould not have been painted from the dead Korinna, I swore to him\nsolemnly, with the most sacred oath I could think of, that it was really\nso.\n\n\"On this he declared to me in words so tender and touching as I never\nbefore heard from his lips, that if I were deceiving him his peace of\nmind would be forever destroyed-nay, that he feared for his reason; and\nwhen I had repeatedly assured him, by the memory of our departed mother,\nthat I had never dreamed of playing a trick upon him, he shook his head,\ngrasped his brow, and turned to leave the room without another word.\"\n\n\"And you let him go?\" cried Melissa, in anxious alarm.\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied the painter. \"On the contrary, I stood in his\nway, and asked him whether he had known Korinna, and what all this might\nmean. But he would make no reply, and tried to pass me and get away. It\nmust have been a strange scene, for we two big men struggled as if we\nwere at a wrestling-match. I got him down with one hand behind his knees,\nand so he had to remain; and when I had promised to let him go, he\nconfessed that he had seen Korinna at the house of her uncle, the\nhigh-priest, without knowing who she was or even speaking a word to her.\nAnd he, who usually flees from every creature wearing a woman's robe, had\nnever forgotten that maiden and her noble beauty; and, though he did not\nsay so, it was obvious, from every word, that he was madly in love. Her\neyes had followed him wherever he went, and this he deemed a great\nmisfortune, for it had disturbed his power of thought. A month since he\nwent across Lake Mareotis to Polybius to visit Andreas, and while, on his\nreturn, he was standing on the shore, he saw her again, with an old man\nin white robes. But the last time he saw her was on the morning of the\nvery day when all this happened; and if he is to be believed, he not only\nsaw her but touched her hand. That, again, was by the lake; she was just\nstepping out of the ferry-boat. The obolus she had ready to pay the\noarsman dropped on the ground, and Philip picked it up and returned it to\nher. Then his fingers touched hers. He could feel it still, he declared,\nand yet she had then ceased to walk among the living.\n\n\"Then it was my turn to doubt his word; but he maintained that his story\nwas true in every detail; he would hear nothing said about some one\nresembling her, or anything of the kind, and spoke of daimons showing him\nfalse visions, to cheat him and hinder him from working out his\ninvestigations of the real nature of things to a successful issue. But\nthis is in direct antagonism to his views of daimons; and when at last he\nrushed out of the house, he looked like one possessed of evil spirits.\n\n\"I hurried after him, but he disappeared down a dark alley. Then I had\nenough to do to finish my copy, and yesterday I carried it home to\nSeleukus.\n\n\"Then I had time to look for Philip, but I could hear nothing of him,\neither in his own lodgings or at the Museum. To-day I have been hunting\nfor him since early in the morning. I even forgot to lay any flowers on\nmy mother's grave, as usual on the day of the Nekysia, because I was\nthinking only of him. But he no doubt is gone to the city of the dead;\nfor, on my way hither, as I was ordering a garland in the flower-market,\npretty little Doxion showed me two beauties which she had woven for him,\nand which he is presently to fetch. So he must now be in the Nekropolis;\nand I know for whom he intends the second; for the door-keeper at\nSeleukus's house told me that a man, who said he was my brother, had\ntwice called, and had eagerly inquired whether my picture had yet been\nattached to Korinna's sarcophagus. The old man told him it had not,\nbecause, of course, the embalming could not be complete as yet. But the\npicture was to be displayed to-day, as being the feast of the dead, in\nthe hall of the embalmers. That was the plan, I know. So, now, child, set\nyour wise little woman's head to work, and devise something by which he\nmay be brought to his senses, and released from these crazy imaginings.\"\n\n\"The first thing to be done,\" Melissa exclaimed, \"is to follow him and\ntalk to him.-Wait a moment; I must speak a word to the slaves. My\nfather's night-draught can be mixed in a minute. He might perhaps return\nhome before us, and I must leave his couch--I will be with you in a\nminute.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe brother and sister had walked some distance. The roads were full of\npeople, and the nearer they came to the Nekropolis the denser was the\nthrong.\n\nAs they skirted the town walls they took counsel together.\n\nBeing perfectly agreed that the girl who had touched Philip's hand could\ncertainly be no daimon who had assumed Korinna's form, they were inclined\nto accept the view that a strong resemblance had deceived their brother.\nThey finally decided that Alexander should try to discover the maiden who\nso strangely resembled the dead; and the artist was ready for the task,\nfor he could only work when his heart was light, and had never felt such\na weight on it before. The hope of meeting with a living creature who\nresembled that fair dead maiden, combined with his wish to rescue his\nbrother from the disorder of mind which threatened him; and Melissa\nperceived with glad surprise how quickly this new object in life restored\nthe youth's happy temper.\n\nIt was she who spoke most, and Alexander, whom nothing escaped that had\nany form of beauty, feasted his ear on the pearly ring of her voice.\n\n\"And her face is to match,\" thought he as they went on in the darkness;\n\"and may the Charites who have endowed her with every charm, forgive my\nfather for burying her as he does his gold.\"\n\nIt was not in his nature to keep anything that stirred him deeply to\nhimself, when he was in the society of another, so he murmured to his\nsister: \"It is just as well that the Macedonian youths of this city\nshould not be able to see what a jewel our old man's house\ncontains.--Look how brightly Selene shines on us, and how gloriously the\nstars burn! Nowhere do the heavens blaze more brilliantly than here. As\nsoon as we come out of the shadow that the great walls cast on the road\nwe shall be in broad light. There is the Serapeum rising out of the\ndarkness. They are rehearsing the great illumination which is to dazzle\nthe eyes of Caesar when he comes. But they must show too, that to-night,\nat least, the gods of the nether world and death are all awake. You can\nnever have been in the Nekropolis at so late an hour before.\"\n\n\"How should I?\" replied the girl. And he expressed the pleasure that it\ngave him to be able to show her for the first time the wonderful night\nscene of such a festival. And when he heard the deep-drawn \"Ah!\" with\nwhich she hailed the sight of the greatest temple of all, blazing in the\nmidst of the darkness with tar-pans, torches, and lamps innumerable, he\nreplied with as much pride and satisfaction as though she owed the\ndisplay to him, \"Ay, what do you think of that?\"\n\nAbove the huge stone edifice which was thus lighted up, the dome of the\nSerapeum rose high into the air, its summit appearing to touch the sky.\nNever had the gigantic structure seemed so beautiful to the girl, who had\nonly seen it by daylight; for under the illumination, arranged by a\nmaster-hand, every line stood out more clearly than in the sunlight; and\nin the presence of this wonderful sight Melissa's impressionable young\nsoul forgot the trouble that had weighed on it, and her heart beat\nhigher.\n\nHer lonely life with her father had hitherto fully satisfied her, and she\nhad, never yet dreamed of anything better in the future than a quiet and\nmodest existence, caring for him and her brothers; but now she thankfully\nexperienced the pleasure of seeing for once something really grand and\nfine, and rejoiced at having escaped for a while from the monotony of\neach day and hour.\n\nOnce, too, she had been with her brothers and Diodoros, Alexander's\ngreatest friend, to see a wild-beast fight, followed by a combat of\ngladiators; but she had come home frightened and sorrowful, for what she\nhad seen had horrified more than it had interested her. Some of the\nkilled and tortured beings haunted her mind; and, besides, sitting in the\nlowest and best seats belonging to Diodoros's wealthy father, she had\nbeen stared at so boldly and defiantly whenever she raised her eyes, by a\nyoung gallant opposite, that she had felt vexed and insulted; nay, had\nwished above all things to get home as soon as possible. And yet she had\nloved Diodoros from her childhood, and she would have enjoyed sitting\nquietly by his side more than looking on at the show.\n\nBut on this occasion her curiosity was gratified, and the hope of being\nable to help one who was dear to her filled her with quiet gladness. It\nwas a comfort to her, too, to find herself once more by her mother's\ngrave with Alexander, who was her especial friend. She could never come\nhere often enough, and the blessing which emanated from it--of that she\nwas convinced--must surely fall on her brother also, and avert from him\nall that grieved his heart.\n\nAs they walked on between the Serapeum on one hand, towering high above\nall else, and the Stadium on the other, the throng was dense; on the\nbridge over the canal it was difficult to make any progress. Now, as the\nfull moon rose, the sacrifices and games in honor of the gods of the\nunder world were beginning, and now the workshops and factories had\nemptied themselves into the streets already astir for the festival of the\ndead, so every moment the road became more crowded.\n\nSuch a tumult was generally odious to her retiring nature; but to-night\nshe felt herself merely one drop in the great, flowing river, of which\nevery other drop felt the same impulse which was carrying her forward to\nher destination. The desire to show the dead that they were not\nforgotten, that their favor was courted and hoped for, animated men and\nwomen, old and young alike.\n\nThere were few indeed who had not a wreath or a posy in their hands, or\ncarried behind them by a slave. In front of the brother and sister was a\nlarge family of children. A black nurse carried the youngest on her\nshoulder, and an ass bore a basket in which were flowers for the tomb,\nwith a wineflask and eatables. A memorial banquet was to be held at the\ngrave of their ancestors; and the little one, whose golden head rose\nabove the black, woolly poll of the negress, nodded gayly in response to\nMelissa's smiles. The children were enchanted at the prospect of a meal\nat such an unusual hour, and their parents rejoiced in them and in the\nsolemn pleasure they anticipated.\n\nMany a one in this night of remembrance only cared to recall the happy\nhours spent in the society of the beloved dead; others hoped to leave\ntheir grief and pain behind them, and find fresh courage and contentment\nin the City of the Dead; for tonight the gates of the nether world stood\nopen, and now, if ever, the gods that reigned there would accept the\nofferings and hear the prayers of the devout.\n\nThose lean Egyptians, who pushed past in silence and haranging their\nheads, were no doubt bent on carrying offerings to Osiris and Anubis--for\nthe festival of the gods of death and resurrection coincided with the\nNekysia--and on winning their favors by magical formulas and spells.\n\nEverything was plainly visible, for the desert tract of the Nekropolis,\nwhere at this hour utter darkness and silence usually reigned, was\nbrightly lighted up. Still, the blaze failed to banish entirely the\nthrill of fear which pervaded the spot at night; for the unwonted glare\ndazzled and bewildered the bats and night-birds, and they fluttered about\nover the heads of the intruders in dark, ghostly flight. Many a one\nbelieved them to be the unresting souls of condemned sinners, and looked\nup at them with awe.\n\nMelissa drew her veil closer and clung more tightly to her brother, for a\nsound of singing and wild cries, which she had heard behind her for some\ntime, was now coming closer. They were no longer treading the paved\nstreet, but the hard-beaten soil of the desert. The crush was over, for\nhere the crowd could spread abroad; but the uproarious troop, which she\ndid not even dare to look at, came rushing past quite close to them. They\nwere Greeks, of all ages and of both sexes. The men flourished torches,\nand were shouting a song with unbridled vehemence; the women, wearing\ngarlands, kept up with them. What they carried in the baskets on their\nheads could not be seen, nor did Alexander know; for so many religious\nbrotherhoods and mystic societies existed here that it was impossible to\nguess to which this noisy troop might belong.\n\nThe pair had presently overtaken a little train of white-robed men moving\nforward at a solemn pace, whom the painter recognized as the\nphilosophical and religious fraternity of the Neo-Pythagoreans, when a\nsmall knot of men and women in the greatest excitement came rushing past\nas if they were mad. The men wore the loose red caps of their Phrygian\nland; the women carried bowls full of fruits. Some beat small drums,\nothers clanged cymbals, and each hauled his neighbor along with deafening\ncries, faster and faster, till the dust hid them from sight and a new din\ndrowned the last, for the votaries of Dionysus were already close upon\nthem, and vied with the Phrygians in uproariousness. But this wild troop\nremained behind; for one of the light-colored oxen, covered with\ndecorations, which was being driven in the procession by a party of men\nand boys, to be presently sacrificed, had broken away, maddened by the\nlights and the shouting, and had to be caught and led again.\n\nAt last they reached the graveyard. But even now they could not make\ntheir way to the long row of houses where the embalmers dwelt, for an\nimpenetrable mass of human beings stood pent up in front of them, and\nMelissa begged her brother to give her a moment's breathing space.\n\nAll she had seen and heard on the way had excited her greatly; but she\nhad scarcely for a moment forgotten what it was that had brought her out\nso late, who it was that she sought, or that it would need her utmost\nendeavor to free him from the delusion that had fooled him. In this dense\nthrong and deafening tumult it was scarcely possible to recover that\ncollected calm which she had found in the morning at her mother's tomb.\nIn that, doubt had had no part, and the delightful feeling of freedom\nwhich had shone on her soul, now shrank deep into the shade before a\ngrowing curiosity and the longing for her usual repose.\n\nIf her father were to find her here! When she saw a tall figure\nresembling his cross the torchlight, all clouded as it was by the dust,\nshe drew her brother away behind the stall of a seller of drinks and\nother refreshments. The father, at any rate, must be spared the distress\nshe felt about Philip, who was his favorite. Besides, she knew full well\nthat, if he met her here, he would at once take her home.\n\nThe question now was where Philip might be found.\n\nThey were standing close to the booths where itinerant dealers sold food\nand liquors of every description, flowers and wreaths, amulets and\npapyrus-leaves, with strange charms written on them to secure health for\nthe living and salvation for the souls of the dead. An astrologer, who\nforetold the course of a man's life from the position of the planets, had\nerected a high platform with large tables displayed to view, and the\ninstrument wherewith he aimed at the stars as it were with a bow; and his\nSyrian slave, accompanying himself on a gayly-painted drum, proclaimed\nhis master's powers. There were closed tents in which magical remedies\nwere to be obtained, though their open sale was forbidden by the\nauthorities, from love-philters to the wondrous fluid which, if rightly\napplied, would turn lead, copper, or silver to gold. Here, old women\ninvited the passer-by to try Thracian and other spells; there, magicians\nstalked to and fro in painted caps and flowing, gaudy robes, most of them\ncalling themselves priests of some god of the abyss. Men of every race\nand tongue that dwelt in the north of Africa, or on the shores of the\nMediterranean, were packed in a noisy throng.\n\nThe greatest press was behind the houses of the men who buried the dead.\nHere sacrifices were offered on the altars of Serapis, Isis, and Anubis;\nhere the sacred sistrum of Isis might be kissed; here hundreds of priests\nperformed solemn ceremonies, and half of those who came hither for the\nfestival of the dead collected about them. The mysteries were also\nperformed here, beginning before midnight; and a dramatic representation\nmight be seen of the woes of Isis, and the resurrection of her husband\nOsiris. But neither here, nor at the stalls, nor among the graves, where\nmany families were feasting by torchlight and pouring libations in the\nsand for the souls of the dead, did Alexander expect to find his brother.\nNor would Philip be attending the mysterious solemnities of any of the\nfraternities. He had witnessed them often enough with his friend\nDiodoros, who never missed the procession to Eleusis, because, as he\ndeclared, the mysteries of Demeter alone could assure a man of the\nimmortality of the soul. The wild ceremonies of the Syrians, who maimed\nthemselves in their mad ecstasy, repelled him as being coarse and\nbarbarous.\n\nAs she made her way through this medley of cults, this worship of gods so\ndifferent that they were in some cases hostile, but more often merged\ninto each other, Melissa wondered to which she ought to turn in her\npresent need. Her mother had best loved to sacrifice to Serapis and Isis.\nBut since, in her last sickness, Melissa had offered everything she\npossessed to these divinities of healing, and all in vain, and since she\nhad heard things in the Serapeum itself which even now brought a blush to\nher cheek, she had turned away from the great god of the Alexandrians.\nThough he who had offended her by such base proposals was but a priest of\nthe lower grade--and indeed, though she knew it not, was since dead--she\nfeared meeting him again, and had avoided the sanctuary where he\nofficiated.\n\nShe was a thorough Alexandrian, and had been accustomed from childhood to\nlisten to the philosophical disputations of the men about her. So she\nperfectly understood her brother Philip, the skeptic, when he said that\nhe by no means denied the existence of the immortals, but that, on the\nother hand, he could not believe in it; that thought brought him no\nconviction; that man, in short, could be sure of nothing, and so could\nknow nothing whatever of the divinity. He had even denied, on logical\ngrounds, the goodness and omnipotence of the gods, the wisdom and fitness\nof the ordering of the universe, and Melissa was proud of her brother's\nacumen; but what appeals to the brain only, and not to the heart, can not\nmove a woman to anything great--least of all to a decisive change of life\nor feeling. So the girl had remained constant to her mother's faith in\nsome mighty powers outside herself, which guided the life of Nature and\nof human beings. Only she did not feel that she had found the true god,\neither in Serapis or Isis, and so she had sought others. Thus she had\nformulated a worship of ancestors, which, as she had learned from the\nslave-woman of her friend Ino, was not unfamiliar to the Egyptians.\n\nIn Alexandria there were altars to every god, and worship in every form.\nHers, however, was not among them, for the genius of her creed was the\nenfranchised soul of her mother, who had cast off the burden of this\nperishable body. Nothing had ever come from her that was not good and\nlovely; and she knew that if her mother were permitted, even in some\nother than human form, she would never cease to watch over her with\ntender care.\n\nAnd those initiated into the Eleusinian mysteries, as Diodoros had told\nher, desired the immortality of the soul, to the end that they might\ncontinue to participate in the life of those whom they had left behind.\nWhat was it that brought such multitudes at this time out to the\nNekropolis, with their hands full of offerings, but the consciousness of\ntheir nearness to the dead, and of being cared for by them so long as\nthey were not forgotten? And even if the glorified spirit of her mother\nwere not permitted to hear her prayers, she need not therefore cease to\nturn to her; for it comforted her unspeakably to be with her in spirit,\nand to confide to her all that moved her soul. And so her mother's tomb\nhad become her favorite place of rest. Here, if anywhere, she now hoped\nonce more to find comfort, some happy suggestion, and perhaps some\ndefinite assistance.\n\nShe begged Alexander to take her thither, and he consented, though he was\nof opinion that Philip would be found in the mortuary chamber, in the\npresence of Korinna's portrait.\n\nIt was not easy to force their way through the thousands who had come out\nto the great show this night; however, most of the visitors were\nattracted by the mysteries far away from the Macedonian burial-ground,\nand there was little to disturb the silence near the fine marble monument\nwhich Alexander, to gratify his father, had erected with his first large\nearnings. It was hung with various garlands, and Melissa, before she\nprayed and anointed the stone, examined them with eye and hand.\n\nThose which she and her father had placed there she recognized at once.\nThat humble garland of reeds with two lotus-flowers was the gift of their\nold slave Argutis and his wife Dido. This beautiful wreath of choice\nflowers had come from the garden of a neighbor who had loved her mother\nwell; and that splendid basketful of lovely roses, which had not been\nthere this morning, had been placed here by Andreas, steward to the\nfather of her young friend Diodoros, although he was of the Christian\nsect. And these were all. Philip had not been here then, though it was\nnow past midnight.\n\nFor the first time in his life he had let this day pass by without a\nthought for their dead. How bitterly this grieved Melissa, and even added\nto her anxiety for him!\n\nIt was with a heavy heart that she and Alexander anointed the tombstone;\nand while Melissa uplifted her hands in prayer, the painter stood in\nsilence, his eyes fixed on the ground. But no sooner had she let them\nfall, than he exclaimed:\n\n\"He is here, I am sure, and in the house of the embalmers. That he\nordered two wreaths is perfectly certain; and if he meant one for\nKorinna's picture, he surely intended the other for our mother. If he has\noffered both to the young girl--\"\n\n\"No, no!\" Melissa put in. \"He will bring his gift. Let us wait here a\nlittle while, and do you, too, pray to the manes of our mother. Do it to\nplease me.\"\n\nBut her brother interrupted her eagerly I think of her wherever I may be;\nfor those we truly love always live for us. Not a day passes, nor if I\ncome in sober, not a night, when I do not see her dear face, either\nwaking or dreaming. Of all things sacred, the thought of her is the\nhighest; and if she had been raised to divine honors like the dead\nCaesars who have brought so many curses on the world--\"\n\n\"Hush--don't speak so loud!\" said Melissa, seriously, for men were moving\nto and fro among the tombs, and Roman guards kept watch over the\npopulace.\n\nBut the rash youth went on in the same tone:\n\n\"I would worship her gladly, though I have forgotten how to pray. For who\ncan tell here--unless he follows the herd and worships Serapis--who can\ntell to which god of them all he shall turn when he happens to be at his\nwits' end? While my mother lived, I, like you, could gladly worship and\nsacrifice to the immortals; but Philip has spoiled me for all that. As to\nthe divine Caesars, every one thinks as I do. My mother would sooner have\nentered a pesthouse than the banqueting-hall where they feast, on\nOlympus. Caracalla among the gods! Why, Father Zeus cast his son\nHephaistos on earth from the height of Olympus, and only broke his leg;\nbut our Caesar accomplished a more powerful throw, for he cast his\nbrother through the earth into the nether world--an imperial thrust--and\nnot merely lamed him but killed him.\"\n\n\"Well done!\" said a deep voice, interrupting the young artist. \"Is that\nyou, Alexander? Hear what new titles to fame Heron's son can find for the\nimperial guest who is to arrive to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Pray hush!\" Melissa besought him, looking up at the bearded man who had\nlaid his arm on Alexander's shoulder. It was Glaukias the sculptor, her\nfather's tenant; for his work-room stood on the plot of ground by the\ngarden of Hermes, which the gem-cutter had inherited from his\nfather-in-law.\n\nThe man's bold, manly features were flushed with wine and revelry; his\ntwinkling eyes sparkled, and the ivy-leaves still clinging to his curly\nhair showed that he had been one in the Dionysiac revellers; but the\nGreek blood which ran in his veins preserved his grace even in\ndrunkenness. He bowed gayly to the young girl, and exclaimed to his\ncompanions:\n\n\"The youngest pearl in Alexandria's crown of beauties!\" while Bion,\nAlexander's now gray-haired master, clapped the youth on the arm, and\nadded: \"Yes, indeed, see what the little thing has grown! Do you\nremember, pretty one, how you once--how many years ago, I\nwonder?--spotted your little white garments all over with red dots! I can\nsee you now, your tiny finger plunged into the pot of paint, and then\ncarefully printing off the round pattern all over the white linen. Why,\nthe little painter has become a Hebe, a Charis, or, better still, a\nsweetly dreaming Psyche.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay!\" said Glaukias again. \"My worthy landlord has a charming model.\nHe has not far to seek for a head for his best gems. His son, a Helios,\nor the great Macedonian whose name he bears; his daughter--you are right,\nBion--the maid beloved of Eros. Now, if you can make verses, my young\nfriend of the Muses, give us an epigram in a line or two which we may\nbear in mind as a compliment to our imperial visitor.\"\n\n\"But not here--not in the burial-ground,\" Melissa urged once more.\n\nAmong Glaukias's companions was Argeios, a vain and handsome young poet,\nwith scented locks betraying him from afar, who was fain to display the\npromptness of his poetical powers; and, even while the elder artist was\nspeaking, he had run Alexander's satirical remarks into the mold of\nrhythm. Not to save his life could he have suppressed the hastily\nconceived distich, or have let slip such a justifiable claim to applause.\nSo, without heeding Melissa's remonstrance, he flung his sky-blue mantle\nabout him in fresh folds, and declaimed with comical emphasis:\n\n  \"Down to earth did the god cast his son: but with mightier hand\n   Through it, to Hades, Caesar flung his brother the dwarf.\"\n\nThe versifier was rewarded by a shout of laughter, and, spurred by the\napproval of his friends, he declared he had hit on the mode to which to\nsing his lines, as he did in a fine, full voice.\n\nBut there was another poet, Mentor, also of the party, and as he could\nnot be happy under his rival's triumph, he exclaimed: \"The great\ndyer--for you know he uses blood instead of the Tyrian shell--has nothing\nof Father Zeus about him that I can see, but far more of the great\nAlexander, whose mausoleum he is to visit to-morrow. And if you would\nlike to know wherein the son of Severus resembles the giant of Macedon,\nyou shall hear.\"\n\nHe thrummed his thyrsus as though he struck the strings of a lyre, and,\nhaving ended the dumb prelude, he sang:\n\n     \"Wherein hath the knave Caracalla outdone Alexander?\n     He killed a brother, the hero a friend, in his rage.\"\n\nThese lines, however, met with no applause; for they were not so lightly\nimprovised as the former distich, and it was clumsy and tasteless, as\nwell as dangerous thus to name, in connection with such a jest, the\npotentate at whom it was aimed. And the fears of the jovial party were\nonly too well founded, for a tall, lean Egyptian suddenly stood among the\nGreeks as if he had sprung from the earth. They were sobered at once,\nand, like a swarm of pigeons on which a hawk swoops down, they dispersed\nin all directions.\n\nMelissa beckoned to her brother to follow her; but the Egyptian intruder\nsnatched the mantle, quick as lightning, from Alexander's shoulders, and\nran off with it to the nearest pine-torch. The young man hurried after\nthe thief, as he supposed him to be, but there the spy flung the cloak\nback to him, saying, in a tone of command, though not loud, for there\nwere still many persons among the graves:\n\n\"Hands off, son of Heron, unless you want me to call the watch! I have\nseen your face by the light, and that is enough for this time. Now we\nknow each other, and we shall meet again in another place!\"\n\nWith these words he vanished in the darkness, and Melissa asked, in great\nalarm:\n\n\"In the name of all the gods, who was that?\"\n\n\"Some rascally carpenter, or scribe, probably, who is in the service of\nthe night-watch as a spy. At least those sort of folks are often built\naskew, as that scoundrel was,\" replied Alexander, lightly. But he knew\nthe man only too well. It was Zminis, the chief of the spies to the night\npatrol; a man who was particularly inimical to Heron, and whose hatred\nincluded the son, by whom he had been befooled and misled in more than\none wild ploy with his boon companions. This spy, whose cruelty and\ncunning were universally feared, might do him a serious mischief, and he\ntherefore did not tell his sister, to whom the name of Zminis was well\nknown, who the listener was.\n\nHe cut short all further questioning by desiring her to come at once to\nthe mortuary hall.\n\n\"And if we do not find him there,\" she said, \"let us go home at once; I\nam so frightened.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said her brother, vaguely. \"If only we could meet some one\nyou could join.\"\n\n\"No, we will keep together,\" replied Melissa, decisively; and simply\nassenting, with a brief \"All right,\" the painter drew her arm through\nhis, and they made their way through the now thinning crowd.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThe houses of the embalmers, which earlier in the evening had shone\nbrightly out of the darkness, now made a less splendid display. The dust\nkicked up by the crowd dimmed the few lamps and torches which had not by\nthis time burned out or been extinguished, and an oppressive atmosphere\nof balsamic resin and spices met the brother and sister on the very\nthreshold. The vast hall which they now entered was one of a long row of\nbuildings of unburned bricks; but the Greeks insisted on some\nornamentation of the simplest structure, if it served a public purpose,\nand the embalming-houses had a colonnade along their front, and their\nwalls were covered with stucco, painted in gaudy colors, here in the\nEgyptian and there in the Greek taste. There were scenes from the\nEgyptian realm of the dead, and others from the Hellenic myths; for the\npainters had been enjoined to satisfy the requirements and views of\nvisitors of every race. The chief attraction, however, this night was\nwithin; for the men whose duties were exercised on the dead had displayed\nthe finest and best of what they had to offer to their customers.\n\nThe ancient Greek practice of burning the dead had died out under the\nAntonines. Of old, the objects used to deck the pyre had also been on\nshow here; now there was nothing to be seen but what related to interment\nor entombment.\n\nSide by side with the marble sarcophagus, or those of coarser stone, were\nwooden coffins and mummy-cases, with a place at the head for the portrait\nof the deceased. Vases and jars of every kind, amulets of various forms,\nspices and balsams in vials and boxes, little images in burned clay of\nthe gods and of men, of which none but the Egyptians knew the allegorical\nmeaning, stood in long rows on low wooden shelves. On the higher shelves\nwere mummy bands and shrouds, some coarse, others of the very finest\ntexture, wigs for the bald heads of shaven corpses, or woolen fillets,\nand simply or elaborately embroidered ribbons for the Greek dead.\n\nNothing was lacking of the various things in use for decking the corpse\nof an Alexandrian, whatever his race or faith.\n\nSome mummy-cases, too, were there, ready to be packed off to other towns.\nThe most costly were covered with fine red linen, wound about with\nstrings of beads and gold ornaments, and with the name of the dead\npainted on the upper side. In a long, narrow room apart hung the\nportraits, waiting to be attached to the upper end of the mummy-cases of\nthose lately deceased, and still in the hands of embalmers. Here, too,\nmost of the lamps were out, and the upper end of the room was already\ndark. Only in the middle, where the best pictures were on show, the\nlights had been renewed.\n\nThe portraits were painted on thin panels of sycamore or of cypress, and\nin most of them the execution betrayed that their destiny was to be\nhidden in the gloom of a tomb.\n\nAlexander's portrait of Korinna was in the middle of the gallery, in a\ngood light, and stood out from the paintings on each side of it as a\ngenuine emerald amid green glass. It was constantly surrounded by a crowd\nof the curious and connoisseurs. They pointed out the beautiful work to\neach other; but, though most of them acknowledged the skill of the master\nwho had painted it, many ascribed its superiority to the magical charm of\nthe model. One could see in those wonderfully harmonious features that\nAristotle was right when he discerned beauty in order and proportion;\nwhile another declared that he found there the evidence of Plato's\ndoctrine of the identity of the good and the beautiful--for this face was\nso lovely because it was the mirror of a soul which had been disembodied\nin the plenitude of maiden purity and virtue, unjarred by any discord;\nand this gave rise to a vehement discussion as to the essential nature of\nbeauty and of virtue.\n\nOthers longed to know more about the early-dead original of this\nenchanting portrait. Korinna's wealthy father and his brothers were among\nthe best-known men of the city. The elder, Timotheus, was high-priest of\nthe Temple of Serapis; and Zeno, the younger, had set the whole world\ntalking when he, who in his youth had been notoriously dissipated, had\nretired from any concern in the corn-trade carried on by his family, the\ngreatest business of the kind in the world, perhaps, and--for this was an\nopen secret--had been baptized.\n\nThe body of the maiden, when embalmed and graced with her portrait, was\nto be transported to the family tomb in the district of Arsinoe, where\nthey had large possessions, and the gossip of the embalmer was eagerly\nswallowed as he expatiated on the splendor with which her liberal father\nproposed to escort her thither.\n\nAlexander and Melissa had entered the portrait-gallery before the\nbeginning of this narrative, and listened to it, standing behind several\nrows of gazers who were between them and the portrait.\n\nAs the speaker ceased, the little crowd broke up, and when Melissa could\nat last see her brother's work at her ease, she stood speechless for some\ntime; and then she turned to the artist, and exclaimed, from the depths\nof her heart, \"Beauty is perhaps the noblest thing in the world!\"\n\n\"It is,\" replied Alexander, with perfect assurance. And he, bewitched\nonce more by the spell which had held him by Korinna's couch, gazed into\nthe dark eyes in his own picture, whose living glance his had never met,\nand which he nevertheless had faithfully reproduced, giving them a look\nof the longing of a pure soul for all that is lovely and worthy.\n\nMelissa, an artist's daughter, as she looked at this portrait, understood\nwhat it was that had so deeply stirred her brother while he painted it;\nbut this was not the place to tell him so. She soon tore herself away, to\nlook about for Philip once more and then to be taken home.\n\nAlexander, too, was seeking Philip; but, sharp as the artist's eyes were,\nMelissa's seemed to be keener, for, just as they were giving it up and\nturning to go, she pointed to a dark corner and said softly, \"There he\nis.\"\n\nAnd there, in fact, her brother was, sitting with two men, one very tall\nand the other a little man, his brow resting on his hand in the deep\nshadow of a sarcophagus, between the wall and a mummy-case set on end,\nwhich till now had hidden him from Alexander and Melissa.\n\nWho could the man be who had kept the young philosopher, somewhat\ninaccessible in his pride of learning, so long in talk in that half-dark\ncorner? He was not one of the learned society at the Museum; Alexander\nknew them all. Besides, he was not dressed like them, in the Greek\nfashion, but in the flowing robe of a Magian. And the stranger was a man\nof consequence, for he wore his splendid garment with a superior air, and\nas Alexander approached him he remembered having somewhere seen this\ntall, bearded figure, with the powerful head garnished with flowing and\ncarefully oiled black curls. Such handsome and well-chiseled features,\nsuch fine eyes, and such a lordly, waving beard were not easily\nforgotten; his memory suddenly awoke and threw a light on the man as he\nsat in the gloom, and on the surroundings in which he had met him for the\nfirst time.\n\nIt was at the feast of Dionysus. Among a drunken crowd, which was rushing\nwildly along the streets, and which Alexander had joined, himself one of\nthe wildest, this man had marched, sober and dignified as he was at this\nmoment, in the same flowing raiment. This had provoked the feasters, who,\nbeing full of wine and of the god, would have nothing that could remind\nthem of the serious side of life. Such sullen reserve on a day of\nrejoicing was an insult to the jolly giver of the fruits of the earth,\nand to wine itself, the care-killer; and the mad troop of artists,\ndisguised as Silenus, satyrs, and fauns, had crowded round the stranger\nto compel him to join their rout and empty the wine-jar which a burly\nSilenus was carrying before him on his ass.\n\nAt first the man had paid no heed to the youths' light mockery; but as\nthey grew bolder, he suddenly stood still, seized the tall faun, who was\ntrying to force the wine-jar on him, by both arms, and, holding him\nfirmly, fixed his grave, dark eyes on those of the youth. Alexander had\nnot forgotten the half-comical, half-threatening incident, but what he\nremembered most clearly was the strange scene that followed: for, after\nthe Magian had released his enemy, he bade him take the jar back to\nSilenus, and proceed on his way, like the ass, on all-fours. And the tall\nfaun, a headstrong, irascible Lesbian, had actually obeyed the stately\ndespot, and crept along on his hands and feet by the side of the donkey.\nNo threats nor mockery of his companions could persuade him to rise. The\nhigh spirits of the boisterous crew were quite broken, and before they\ncould turn on the magician he had vanished.\n\nAlexander had afterward learned that he was Serapion, the star-gazer and\nthaumaturgist, whom all the spirits of heaven and earth obeyed.\n\nWhen, at the time, the painter had told the story to Philip, the\nphilosopher had laughed at him, though Alexander had reminded him that\nPlato even had spoken of the daimons as being the guardian spirits of\nmen; that in Alexandria, great and small alike believed in them as a fact\nto be reckoned with; and that he--Philip himself--had told him that they\nplayed a prominent part in the newest systems of philosophy.\n\nBut to the skeptic nothing was sure: and if he would deny the existence\nof the Divinity, he naturally must disbelieve that of any beings in a\nsphere between the supersensual immortals and sentient human creatures.\nThat a man, the weaker nature, could have any power over daimons, who, as\nhaving a nearer affinity to the gods, must, if they existed, be the\nstronger, he could refute with convincing arguments; and when he saw\nothers nibbling whitethorn-leaves, or daubing their thresholds with pitch\nto preserve themselves and the house from evil spirits, he shrugged his\nshoulders contemptuously, though his father often did such things.\n\nHere was Philip, deep in conversation with the man he had mocked at, and\nAlexander was flattered by seeing that wise and famous Serapion, in whose\npowers he himself believed, was talking almost humbly to his brother, as\nthough to a superior. The magician was standing, while the philosopher,\nas though it were his right, remained seated.\n\nOf what could they be conversing?\n\nAlexander himself was anxious to be going, and only his desire to hear at\nany rate a few sentences of the talk of two such men detained him longer.\n\nAs he expected, it bore on Serapion's magical powers; but the bearded man\nspoke in a very low tone, and if the painter ventured any nearer he would\nbe seen. He could only catch a few incoherent words, till Philip\nexclaimed in a louder voice: \"All that is well-reasoned. But you will be\nable to write an enduring inscription on the shifting wave sooner than\nyou will shake my conviction that for our spirit, such as Nature has made\nit, there is nothing infallible or certain.\"\n\nThe painter was familiar with this postulate, and was curious to hear the\nMagian's reply; but he could not follow his argument till he ended by\nsaying, rather more emphatically: \"You, even, do not deny the physical\nconnection of things; but I know the power that causes it. It is the\nmagical sympathy which displays itself more powerfully in the universe,\nand among human beings, than any other force.\"\n\n\"That is just what remains to be proved,\" was the reply. But as the other\ndeclared in all confidence, \"And I can prove it,\" and was proceeding to\ndo so, Serapion's companion, a stunted, sharp-featured little Syrian,\ncaught sight of Alexander. The discourse was interrupted, and Alexander,\npointing to Melissa, begged his brother to grant them a few minutes'\nspeech with him. Philip, however, scarcely spared a moment for greeting\nhis brother and sister; and when, in answer to his request that they be\nbrief in what they had to say, they replied that a few words would not\nsuffice, Philip was for putting them off till the morrow, as he did not\nchoose to be disturbed just now.\n\nAt this Melissa took courage; she turned to Serapion and modestly\naddressed him:\n\n\"You, sir, look like a grave, kind man, and seem to have a regard for my\nbrother. You, then, will help us, no doubt, to cure him of an illusion\nwhich troubles us. A dead girl, he says, met him, and he touched her\nhand.\"\n\n\"And do you, sweet child, think that impossible?\" the Magian asked with\ngentle gravity. \"Have the thousands who bring not merely fruit and wine\nand money for their dead, but who even burn a black sheep for them--you,\nperhaps, have done the same--have they, I ask, done this so long in vain?\nI can not believe it. Nay, I know from the ghosts themselves that this\ngives them pleasure; so they must have the organs of sense.\"\n\n\"That we may rejoice departed souls by food and drink,\" said Melissa,\neagerly, \"and that daimons at times mingle with the living, every one of\ncourse, believes; but who ever heard that warm blood stirred in them? And\nhow can it be possible that they should remunerate a service with money,\nwhich certainly was not coined in their airy realm, but in the mint\nhere?\"\n\n\"Not too fast, fair maid,\" replied the Magian, raising a warning hand.\n\"There is no form which these intermediate beings can not assume. They\nhave the control of all and everything which mortals may use, so the soul\nof Korinna revisiting these scenes may quite well have paid the ferryman\nwith an obolus.\"\n\n\"Then you know of it?\" asked Melissa in surprise; but the Magian broke\nin, saying:\n\n\"Few such things remain hidden from him who knows, not even the smallest,\nif he strives after such knowledge.\"\n\nAs he spoke he gave the girl such a look as made her eyelids fall, and he\nwent on with greater warmth: \"There would be fewer tears shed by\ndeath-beds, my child, if we could but show the world the means by which\nthe initiated hold converse with the souls of the dead.\"\n\nMelissa shook her pretty head sadly, and the Magian kindly stroked her\nwaving hair; then, looking her straight in the eyes, he said: \"The dead\nlive. What once has been can never cease to be, any more than out of\nnothing can anything come. It is so simple; and so, too, are the workings\nof magic, which amaze you so much. What you call magic, when I practice\nit, Eros, the great god of love, has wrought a thousand times in your\nbreast. When your heart leaps at your brother's caress, when the god's\narrow pierces you, and the glance of a lover fills you with gladness,\nwhen the sweet harmonies of fine music wrap your soul above this earth,\nor the wail of a child moves you to compassion, you have felt the magic\npower stirring in your own soul. You feel it when some mysterious power,\nwithout any will of your own, prompts you to some act, be it what it may.\nAnd, besides all this, if a leaf flutters off the table without being\ntouched by any visible hand, you do not doubt that a draught of air,\nwhich you can neither hear nor see, has swept through the room. If at\nnoon the world is suddenly darkened, you know, without looking up at the\nsky, that it is overcast by a cloud. In the very same way you can feel\nthe nearness of a soul that was dear to you without being able to see it.\nAll that is necessary is to strengthen the faculty which knows its\npresence, and give it the proper training, and then you will see and hear\nthem. The Magians have the key which unlocks the door of the world of\nspirits to the human senses. Your noble brother, in whom the claims of\nthe spirit have long since triumphed over those of sense, has found this\nkey without seeking it, since he has been permitted to see Korinna's\nsoul. And if he follows a competent guide he will see her again.\"\n\n\"But why? What good will it do him?\" asked Melissa, with a reproachful\nand anxious look at the man whose influence, as she divined would be\npernicious to her brother, in spite of his knowledge. The Magian gave a\ncompassionate shrug, and in the look he cast at the philosopher, the\nquestion was legible, \"What have such as these to do with the highest\nthings?\"\n\nPhilip nodded in impatient assent, and, without paying any further heed\nto his brother and sister, besought his friend to give him the proofs of\nthe theory that the physical causation of things is weaker than the\nsympathy which connects them. Melissa knew full well that any attempt now\nto separate Philip from Serapion would be futile; however, she would not\nleave the last chance untried, and asked him gravely whether he had\nforgotten his mother's tomb.\n\nHe hastily assured her that he fully intended to visit it presently.\nFruit and fragrant oil could be had here at any hour of the night.\n\n\"And your two wreaths?\" she said, in mild reproach, for she had observed\nthem both below the portrait of Korinna.\n\n\"I had another use for them,\" he said, evasively; and then he added,\napologetically: \"You have brought flowers enough, I know. If I can find\ntime, I will go to-morrow to see my father.\" He nodded to them both,\nturned to the Magian, and went on eagerly:\n\n\"Then that magical sympathy--\"\n\nThey did not wait to hear the discussion; Alexander signed to his sister\nto follow him.\n\nHe, too, knew that his brother's ear was deaf now to anything he could\nsay. What Serapion had said had riveted even his attention, and the\nquestion whether it might indeed be vouchsafed to living mortals to see\nthe souls of the departed, and hear their voices, exercised his mind so\ngreatly that he could not forbear asking his sister's opinion on such\nmatters.\n\nBut Melissa's good sense had felt that there was something not quite\nsound in the Magian's argument--nor did she conceal her conviction that\nPhilip, who was always hard to convince, had accepted Serapion's views,\nnot because he yielded to the weight of his reasons, but because he--and\nAlexander, too, for that matter--hoped by his mediation to see the\nbeautiful Korinna again.\n\nThis the artist admitted; but when he jested of the danger of a jealous\nquarrel between him and his brother, for the sake of a dead girl, there\nwas something hard in his tone, and very unlike him, which Melissa did\nnot like.\n\nThey breathed more freely as they got out into the open air, and her\nefforts to change the subject of their conversation were happily\nseconded; for at the door they met the family of their neighbor Skopas,\nthe owner of a stone-quarry, whose grave-plot adjoined theirs, and\nMelissa was happy again as she heard her brother laughing as gayly as\never with Skopas's pretty daughter. The mania had not taken such deep\nhold of the light-hearted young painter as of Philip, the poring and\ngloomy philosopher; and she was glad as she heard her friend Ino call\nAlexander a faithless butterfly, while her sister Helena declared that he\nwas a godless scoffer.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Man, in short, could be sure of nothing\n     Misfortunes commonly come in couples yoked like oxen\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe crowds on the road were now homeward bound, and they were all in such\nwild, high spirits that, from what was to be seen and heard, it could\nnever have been supposed that they had come from so mournful a scene.\nThey took the road by the sea leading from the Nekropolis to Eleusis,\nwandering on in the glowing moonlight.\n\nA great procession of Greeks had been to Eleusis, to celebrate the\nmysteries after the manner of the Greek Eleusis, on which that of\nAlexandria was modeled. The newly initiated, and the elder adepts, whose\nduty it was to superintend their reception, had remained in the temple;\nbut the other mystics now swelled the train of those who were coming from\nthe city of the dead.\n\nHere, indeed, Serapis took the place of Pluto, and much that was Greek\nhad assumed strange and Egyptian forms: even the order of the ceremonies\nhad been entirely changed; still, on the African, as on the Attic shore,\nthe Greek cry went up, \"To the sea, O mystics!\" and the bidding to\nIakchos: \"Be with us, O Iakchos!\"\n\nIt could be heard from afar, but the voices of the shouters were already\nweary, and most of the torches had burned low. The wreaths of ivy and\nmyrtle in their hair were limp; the singers of the hymn no longer kept\ntheir ranks; and even Iambe, whose jests had cheered the mourning\nDemeter, and whose lips at Eleusis had overflowed with witticisms, was\nexhausted and silent. She still held in her hand the jar from which she\nhad given the bereaved goddess a reviving draught, but it was empty and\nshe longed for a drink. She was indeed a he: for it was a youth in\nwoman's dress who played the rollicking part of Iambe, and it was\nAlexander's friend and comrade Diodoros who had represented the daughter\nof Pan and Echo, who, the legend said, had acted as slave in the house of\nMetaneira, the Eleusinian queen, when Demeter took refuge there. His\nsturdy legs had good reason to be as weary as his tongue, which had known\nno rest for five hours.\n\nBut he caught sight of the large vehicle drawn by four horses, in which\nthe vast corn-measure, the kalathos, which Serapis wore as his\ndistinguishing head-gear, had been conveyed to Eleusis. It was empty now,\nfor the contents had been offered to the god, and the four black horses\nhad an easy task with the great wagon. No one had as yet thought of using\nit as a conveyance back to the town; but Diodoros, who was both ingenious\nand tired, ran after it and leaped up. Several now wanted to follow his\nexample, but he pushed them off, even thrusting at them with a newly\nlighted torch, for he could not be quiet in spite of his fatigue. In the\nmidst of the skirmishing he perceived his friend and Melissa.\n\nHis heart had been given to the gentle girl ever since they had been\nplaymates in his father's garden, and when he saw her, walking along\ndowncast, while her brother sported with his neighbor's daughters, he\nbeckoned to her, and, as she refused to accompany him in the wagon, he\nnimbly sprang off, lifted her up in his arms, made strong by exercise in\nthe Palaestra, and gently deposited her, in spite of her struggles, on\nthe flat floor of the car, by the side of the empty kalathos.\n\n\"The rape of Persephone!\" he cried. \"The second performance in one.\nnight!\"\n\nThen the old reckless spirit seized Alexander too.\n\nWith as much gay audacity--as though he were free of every care and\ngrief, and had signed a compact with Fortune, he picked up pretty Ino,\nlifted her into the wagon, as Diodoros had done with his sister, and\nexclaiming, \"The third performance!\" seated himself by her side.\n\nHis bold example found immediate imitators. \"A fourth!\" \"A fifth!\" cried\none and another, shouting and laughing, with loud calls on Iakchos.\n\nThe horses found it hard work, for all along the edge of the car, and\nround the kalathos of the great Serapis, sat the merry young couples in\nclose array. Alexander and Melissa soon were wreathed with myrtle and\nivy. In the vehicle and among the crowd there were none but radiant and\nfrolicsome faces, and no sound but triumphant revelry.\n\nFatigue was forgotten; it might have been supposed that the sinister\nsisters, Care and Sorrow, had been banished from earth.\n\nThere was a smile even on Melissa's sweet, calm face. At first her old\nfriend's audacious jest had offended her maidenly coyness; but if\nDiodoros had always loved her, so had she always loved him; and as other\nwell-conducted girls had been content to have the like done to them, and\nher companion so confidently and roguishly sued for pardon, she gave him\na smile which filled his heart with rapture, and said more than words.\n\nIt was a comfort, too, to sit still and rest.\n\nShe spoke but little, but even she forgot what troubled her when she felt\nher friend's hand on hers, and he whispered to her that this was the most\ndelightful night he had ever known, and that, of all the sweets the gods\nhad created, she was to him the sweetest?\n\nThe blue sea spread before them, the full moon mirrored on its scarcely\nheaving surface like a tremulous column of pure and shining silver. The\nmurmur of the ripples came up from the strand as soothing and inviting as\nthe song of the Nereids; and if a white crest of foam rose on a wave, she\ncould fancy it was the arm of Thetis or Galatea. There, where the blue\nwas deepest, the sea-god Glaukos must dwell, and his heart be gladdened\nby the merry doings on shore.\n\nNature is so great; and as the thought came to her that her heart was not\ntoo small to take its greatness in, even to the farthest horizon, it\nfilled her with glad surprise.\n\nAnd Nature was bountiful too. Melissa could see the happy and gracious\nface of a divinity in everything she looked upon. The immortals who had\nafflicted her, and whom she had often bitterly accused, could be kind and\nmerciful too. The sea, on whose shining surface the blue vault of heaven\nwith the moon and stars rocked and twinkled, the soft breeze which fanned\nher brow, the new delicious longing which filled her heart-all she felt\nand was conscious of, was a divinity or an emanation of the divine.\nMighty Poseidon and majestic Zeus, gentle Selene, and the sportive\nchildren of the god of winds, seemed to be strangely near her as she rode\nalong. And it was the omnipotent son of Kypris, no doubt, who stirred her\nheart to beat higher than it had ever done before.\n\nHer visit to her mother's grave, too, her prayer and her offerings there,\nhad perhaps moved the spirit of the beloved dead to hover near her now as\na guardian genius.\n\nStill, now and again the memory of something terrible passed over her\nsoul like a sweeping shadow; but what it was which threatened her and\nthose dear to her she did not see, and would not now inquire. What the\nmorrow might bring should not cloud the enchantment of this hour. For oh,\nhow fair the world was, and how blessed might mortals be!\n\n\"Iakchos! Iakchos!\" the voices about her shouted, and it sounded as\ngleeful as though the breasts of the revelers were overflowing with\ngladness; and as the scented curls of Diodoros bent over her head, as his\nhand closed on hers, and his whispered words of love were in her ear, she\nmurmured: \"Alexander is right; the world is a banqueting-hall, and life\nis fair.\"\n\n\"So fair!\" echoed the youth, pensively. Then he shouted aloud to his\ncompanions: \"The world is a banqueting-hall! Bring roses, bring wine,\nthat we may sacrifice to Eros, and pour libations to Dionysus. Light the\nflaming torches! Iakchos! come, Iakchos, and sanctify our glad festival!\"\n\n\"Come, Iakchos, come!\" cried one and another, and soon the enthusiastic\nyouth's cry was taken up on all sides. But wine-skin and jar were long\nsince emptied.\n\nHard by, below the cliff, and close to the sea, was a tavern, at the sign\nof the Cock. Here cool drink was to be had; here the horses might\nrest-for the drivers had been grumbling bitterly at the heavy load added\nto the car over the deep sand--and here there was a level plot, under the\nshade of a spreading sycamore, which had often before now served as a\nfloor for the choric dance.\n\nThe vehicle soon drew up in front of the whitewashed inn, surrounded on\nthree sides by a trellised arbor, overgrown with figs and vine. The young\ncouples sprang to the ground; and, while the host and his slave dragged\nup a huge wine-jar with two ears, full of the red juice of the grape,\nfresh torches were lighted and stuck on poles or fastened to the branches\nof the sycamore, the youths took their places eager for the dance, and\nsuddenly the festal song went up from their clear throats unbidden, and\nas though inspired by some mysterious power:\n\n        Iakchos, come! oh, come, Iakchos!\n        Hither come, to the scene of our revel,\n          The gladsome band of the faithful.\n        Shake the fragrant, berried garland,\n        Myrtle-twined, that crowns thy love-locks,\n          Shedding its odors!\n        Tread the measure, with fearless stamp,\n        Of this our reckless, rapturous dance,\n          In holy rejoicing!\n        Hand in hand, thrice beatified,\n        Lo we thread the rhythmic, fanciful,\n          Mystical mazes!\n\nAnd the dance begins. Youths and maidens advance to meet each other with\ngraceful movements. Every step must be a thing of beauty, every bend and\nrising, while the double flutes play faster and faster, and the measured\nrhythm becomes a wild whirl. They all know the dance, and the music is a\nguide to the feeling to be expressed; the dancing must be suited to it.\nEvery gesture is a stroke of color which may beautify or mar the picture.\nBody and spirit are in perfect harmony, combining to represent the\nfeelings that stir the soul. It is a work of art, the art of the arms and\nfeet. Even when passion is at the highest the guiding law is observed.\nNay, when the dancers fly wildly apart, they, not merely come together\nagain with unerring certainty, but form in new combination another\ndelightful and perfectly harmonious picture.\n\n\"Seek and find\" this dance might be called, for the first idea is to\nrepresent the wandering of Demeter in search of her daughter Persephone,\nwhom Pluto has carried off to the nether world, till she finds her and\nclasps her in her motherly arms once more. Thus does the earth bewail the\nreaped fruit of the field, which is buried in the ground in the winter\nsowing, to rise again in the spring; thus does a faithful heart pine\nduring absence till it is reunited to the beloved one; thus do we mourn\nour dead till our soul is assured of their resurrection: and this belief\nis the end and clew to the mystery.\n\nAll this grief and search, this longing and crying for the absent, this\nfinal restoration and the bliss of new possession, is set forth by the\nyouths and damsels-now in slow and now in vehement action, but always\nwith infinite grace.\n\nMelissa threw her whole soul into the dance while Demeter was seeking the\nlost Persephone, her thoughts were with her brothers; and she laughed as\nheartily as any one at the jests with which Iambe cheered the stricken\nmother. And when the joy of meeting was to find expression, she need not\nthink of anything but the fact that the youth who held out his hand to\nher loved her and cared for her. In this, for the moment, lay the end of\nall her longing and seeking, the fulfillment of every wish; and as the\nchorus shouted, \"Iakchos!\" again and again, her soul seemed to have taken\nwings.\n\nThe reserve of her calm and maidenly nature broke down; in her ecstasy\nshe snatched from her shoulder the wreath of ivy with which Diodoros had\ndecked her, and waved it aloft. Her long hair had fallen loose in the\ndance and flowed wildly about her, and her shout of \"Iakchos!\" rang clear\nin the night air.\n\nThe youth she loved gazed at her with ravished eyes, as at some miracle;\nshe, heedless of the others, threw her arms round his neck, and, as he\nkissed her, she said once more, but loud enough now to be heard from\nafar, \"The world is a banqueting-hall!\" and again she joined in the shout\nof \"Iakchos!\" her eyes bright with excitement. Cups filled high with wine\nnow circulated among the mad-cap mystics; even Melissa refreshed herself,\nhanding the beaker to her lover, and Diodoros raised to his mouth that\nplace on the rim which her lips had touched.\n\n\"O life! fount of joys!\" cried Diodoros, kissing her and pressing her\ncloser to him. \"Come, Iakchos! Behold with envy how thankfully two\nmortals can bless the gift of life. But where is Alexander? To none but\nto our Andreas have I ever confided the secret I have borne in my heart\nsince that day when we went to the circus. But now! Oh, it is so much\nhappiness for two hearts! My friend, too, must have part in it!\"\n\nAt this Melissa clasped her hand to her brow, as though waking from a\ndream. How hot she was from dancing, and the unusual strength of the wine\nand water she had drunk!\n\nThe danger impending over both her brothers came back to her mind. She\nhad always been accustomed to think of others rather than herself, and\nher festal mood dropped from her suddenly, like a mantle of which the\nbrooch breaks. She vehemently shook herself free of her lover's embrace,\nand her eyes glanced from one to another in rapid search.\n\nThere stood pretty Ino, who had danced the mazy measure with Alexander.\nPanting for breath, she stood leaning her weary head and tangled hair\nagainst the trunk of the tree, a wine-cup upside down in her right hand.\nIt must be empty; but where was he who had emptied it?\n\nHer neighbor's daughter would surely know. Had the reckless youth\nquarreled with the girl? No, no!\n\nOne of the tavern-keeper's slaves, Ino told her, had whispered something\nto Alexander, whereupon he had instantly followed the man into the house.\nMelissa knew that it could be no trivial matter which detained him there,\nand hurried after him into the tavern.\n\nThe host, a Greek, and his buxom wife, affected not to know for whom she\nwas inquiring; but, perceiving the anxiety which spoke in every line of\nthe girl's face, when she explained that she was Alexander's sister, they\nat first looked at each other doubtingly, and then the woman, who had\nchildren of her own, who fondly loved each other, felt her heart swell\nwithin her, and she whispered, with her finger on her lips: \"Do not be\nuneasy, pretty maid; my husband will see him well through.\"\n\nAnd then Melissa heard that the Egyptian, who had alarmed her in the\nNekropolis, was the spy Zminis, who, as her old slave Dido had once told\nher, had been a rejected suitor of her mother's before she had married\nHeron, and who was therefore always glad to bring trouble on all who\nbelonged to her father's house. How often had she heard of the annoyances\nin which this man had involved her father and Alexander, who were apt to\nbe very short with the man!\n\nThis tale-bearer, who held the highest position as guardian of the peace\nunder the captain of the night-watch, was of all men in the city the most\nhated and feared; and he had heard her brother speaking of Caesar in a\ntone of mockery which was enough to bring him to prison, to the quarries,\nnay, to death. Glaukias, the sculptor, had previously seen the Egyptian\non the bridge, where he had detained those who were returning home from\nthe city of the dead. He and his followers had already stopped the poet\nArgeios on his way, but the thyrsus staves of the Dionysiac revelers had\nsomewhat spoiled the game for him and his satellites. He was probably\nstill standing on the bridge. Glaukias had immediately run back, at any\nrisk, to warn Alexander. He and the painter were now in hiding, and would\nremain in safety, come what might, in the cellar at the Cock, till the\ncoast was clear again. The tavern-keeper strongly advised no one to go\nmeddling with his wine-skins and jars.\n\n\"Much less that Egyptian dog!\" cried his wife, doubling her fist as\nthough the hated mischief-maker stood before her already.\n\n\"Poor, helpless lamb!\" she murmured to herself, as she looked\ncompassionately at the fragile, town-bred girl, who stood gazing at the\nground as if she had been struck by lightning. She remembered, too, how\nhard life had seemed to her in her own young days, and glanced with pride\nat her brawny arms, which were able indeed to work and manage.\n\nBut what now?\n\nThe drooping flower suddenly raised her head, as if moved by a spring,\nexclaiming: \"Thank you heartily, thank you! But that will never do. If\nZminis searches your premises he will certainly go into the cellar; for\nwhat can he not do in Caesar's name? I will not part from my brother.\"\n\n\"Then you, too, are a welcome guest at the Cock,\" interrupted the woman,\nand her husband bowed low, assuring her that the Cock was as much her\nhouse as it was his.\n\nBut the helpless town-bred damsel declined this friendly invitation; for\nher shrewd little head had devised another plan for saving her brother,\nthough the tavern-keepers, to whom she confided it in a whisper, laughed\nand shook their heads over it. Diodoros was waiting outside in anxious\nimpatience; he loved her, and he was her brother's best friend. All that\nhe could do to save Alexander he would gladly do, she knew. On the estate\nwhich would some day be his, there was room and to spare to hide the\nfugitives, for one of the largest gardens in the town was owned by his\nfather. His extensive grounds had been familiar to her from her\nchildhood, for her own mother and her lover's had been friends; and\nAndreas, the freedman, the overseer of Polybius's gardens and\nplantations, was dearer to her and her brothers than any one else in\nAlexandria.\n\nNor had she deceived herself, for Diodoros made Alexander's cause his\nown, in his eager, vehement way; and the plan for his deliverance seemed\ndoubly admirable as proceeding from Melissa. In a few minutes Alexander\nand the sculptor were released from their hiding-place, and all further\ncare for them was left to Diodoros.\n\nThey were both very, craftily disguised. No one would have recognized the\nartists in two sailors, whose Phrygian caps completely hid their hair,\nwhile a heavy fisherman's apron was girt about their loins; still less\nwould any one have suspected from their laughing faces that imprisonment,\nif nothing worse, hung over them. Their change of garb had given rise to\nso much fun; and now, on hearing how they were to be smuggled into the\ntown, their merriment grew higher, and proved catching to those who were\ntaken into the secret. Only Melissa was oppressed with anxious care, in\nspite of her lover's eager consolation.\n\nGlaukias, a man of scarcely middle height, was sure of not being\nrecognized, and he and his comrades looked forward to whatever might\nhappen as merely an amusing jest. At the same time they had to balk the\nhated chief of the city guards and his menials of their immediate prey;\nbut they had played them a trick or two ere now. It might turn out really\nbadly for Alexander; still, it was only needful to keep him concealed\ntill Caesar should arrive; then he would be safe, for the Emperor would\ncertainly absorb all the thoughts and time of the captain of the\nnight-watch and his chief officers. In Alexandria, anything once past was\nso soon forgotten! When once Caracalla was gone--and it was to be hoped\nthat he would not stay long--no one would ever think again of any biting\nspeech made before his arrival.\n\nThe morning must bring what it might, so long as the present moment was\ngay!\n\nSo, refreshed and cheered by rest and wine, the party of mystics prepared\nto set out again; and, as the procession started, no one who did not know\nit had observed that the two artists, disguised as sailors, were, by\nMelissa's advice, hidden inside the kalathos of Serapis, which would\neasily have held six, and was breast-high even for Alexander, who was a\ntall man. They squatted on the floor of the huge vessel, with a jar of\nwine between them, and peeped over now and then with a laugh at the\ngirls, who had again seated themselves on the edge of the car.\n\nWhen they were fairly on their way once more, Alexander and his\ncompanions were so daring that, whenever they could do it unobserved,\nthey pelted the damsels with the remains of the corn, or sprinkled them\nwith wine-drops. Glaukias had the art of imitating the pattering of rain\nand the humming of a fly to perfection with his lips; and when the girls\ncomplained of the tiresome insect buzzing in their faces, or declared,\nwhen a drop fell on them, that in spite of the blue and cloudless sky it\nwas certainly beginning to rain, the two men had to cover their mouths\nwith their hands, that their laughter might not betray them.\n\nMelissa, who had comforted Ino with the assurance that Alexander had been\ncalled away quite unexpectedly, was now sitting by her side, and\nperceived, of course, what tricks the men in the kalathos were playing;\nbut, instead of amusing her, they only made her anxious.\n\nEvery one about her was laughing and joking, but for her all mirth was at\nan end. Fear, indeed, weighed on her like an incubus, when the car\nreached the bridge and rattled across it. It was lined with soldiers and\nlictors, who looked closely at each one, even at Melissa herself. But no\none spoke to her, and when the water lay behind them she breathed more\nfreely. But only for a moment; for she suddenly remembered that they\nwould presently have to pass through the gate leading past Hadrian's\nwestern wall into the town. If Zminis were waiting there instead of on\nthe bridge, and were to search the vehicle, then all would be lost, for\nhe had looked her, too, in the face with those strange, fixed eyes of\nhis; and that where he saw the sister he would also seek the brother,\nseemed to her quite certain. Thus her presence was a source of peril to\nAlexander, and she must at any cost avert that.\n\nShe immediately put out her hand to Diodoros, who was walking at her\nside, and with his help slipped down from her seat. Then she whispered\nher fears to him, and begged him to quit the party and conduct her home.\n\nThis was a surprising and delightful task for her lover. With a jesting\nword he leaped on to the car, and even succeeded in murmuring to\nAlexander, unobserved, that Melissa had placed herself under his\nprotection. When they got home, they could tell Heron and Andreas that\nthe youths were safe in hiding. Melissa could explain, to-morrow morning,\nhow everything had happened. Then he drew Melissa's arm through his,\nloudly shouted, \"Iakchos!\" and with a swift dance-step soon outstripped\nthe wagon.\n\nNot fifty paces beyond, large pine torches sent bright flames up skyward,\nand by their light the girl could see the dreaded gateway, with the\nstatues of Hadrian and Sabina, and in front of them, in the middle of the\nroad, a horseman, who, as they approached, came trotting forward to meet\nthem on his tall steed. His head towered above every one else in the\nroad; and as she looked up at him her heart almost ceased beating, for\nher eyes met those of the dreaded Egyptian; their white balls showed\nplainly in his brown, lean face, and their cruel, evil sparkle had\nstamped them clearly on her memory.\n\nOn her right a street turned off from the road, and saying in a low tone,\n\"This way,\" she led Diodoros, to his surprise, into the shadow. His heart\nbeat high. Did she, whose coy and maidenly austerity before and after the\nintoxication of the dance had vouchsafed him hardly a kind look or a\nclasp of the hand-did she even yearn for some tender embrace alone and in\ndarkness? Did the quiet, modest girl, who, since she had ceased to be a\nchild, had but rarely given him a few poor words, long to tell him that\nwhich hitherto only her bright eyes and the kiss of her pure young lips\nhad betrayed?\n\nHe drew her more closely to him in blissful expectation; but she shyly\nshrank from his touch, and before he could murmur a single word of love\nshe exclaimed in terror, as though the hand of the persecutor were\nalready laid on her: \"Fly, fly! That house will give us shelter.\"\n\nAnd she dragged him after her into the open doorway of a large building.\nScarcely had they entered the dark vestibule when the sound of hoofs was\nheard, and the glare of torches dispelled the darkness outside.\n\n\"Zminis! It is he--he is following us!\" she whispered, scarcely able to\nspeak; and her alarm was well founded, for the Egyptian had recognized\nher, and supposed her companion to be Alexander. He had ridden down the\nstreet with his torchbearers, but where she had hidden herself his keen\neyes could not detect, for the departing sound of hoofs betrayed to the\nbreathless listeners that the pursuer had left their hiding-place far\nbehind him. Presently the pavement in front of the house which sheltered\nthem rang again with the tramp of the horse, till it died away at last in\nthe direction of Hadrian's gate. Not till then did Melissa lift her hand\nfrom her painfully throbbing heart.\n\nBut the Egyptian would, no doubt, have left his spies in the street, and\nDiodoros went out to see if the road was clear. Melissa remained alone in\nthe dark entrance, and began to be anxious as to how she could explain\nher presence there if the inhabitants should happen to discover it; for\nin this vast building, in spite of the lateness of the hour, there still\nwas some one astir. She had for some minutes heard a murmuring sound\nwhich reached her from an inner chamber; but it was only by degrees that\nshe collected herself so far as to listen more closely, to ascertain\nwhence it came and what it could mean.\n\nA large number of persons must be assembled there, for she could\ndistinguish several male voices, and now and then a woman's. A door was\nopened. She shrank closer to the wall, but the seconds became minutes,\nand no one appeared.\n\nAt last she fancied she heard the moving of benches or seats, and many\nvoices together shouting she knew not what. Then again a door creaked on\nits hinges, and after that all was so still that she could have heard a\nneedle drop on the floor; and this alarming silence continued till\npresently a deep, resonant man's voice was audible.\n\nThe singular manner in which this voice gave every word its full and\nequal value suggested to her fancy that something was being read aloud.\nShe could distinctly hear the sentence with which the speech or reading\nbegan. After a short pause it was repeated somewhat more quickly, as\nthough the speaker had this time uttered it from his own heart.\n\nIt consisted of these six simple words, \"The fullness of the time was\ncome\"; and Melissa listened no more to the discourse which followed,\nspoken as it was in a low voice, for this sentence rang in her ears as if\nit were repeated by an echo.\n\nShe did not, to be sure, understand its meaning, but she felt as though\nit must have some deep significance. It came back to her again and again,\nlike a melody which haunts the inward ear against our will; and her\nmeditative fancy was trying to solve its meaning, when Diodoros returned\nto tell her that the street was quite empty. He knew now where they were,\nand, if she liked, he could lead her by a way which would not take them\nthrough the gate. Only Christians, Egyptians, and other common folks\ndwelt in this quarter; however, since his duty as her protector had this\nday begun, he would fulfill it to the best of his ability.\n\nShe went with him out into the street, and when they had gone a little\nway he clasped her to him and kissed her hair.\n\nHis heart was full. He knew now that she, whom he had loved when she\nwalked in his father's garden in her little child's tunic, holding her\nmother's hand, returned his passion. Now the time was come for asking\nwhether she would permit him to beg her father's leave to woo her.\n\nHe stopped in the shadow of a house near, and, while he poured out to her\nall that stirred his breast, carried away by tender passion, and\ndescribing in his vehement way how great and deep his love was, in spite\nof the utter fatigue which weighed on her body and soul after so many\nagitations, she felt with deep thankfulness the immense happiness of\nbeing more precious than aught else on earth to a dear, good man. Love,\nwhich had so long lain dormant in her as a bud, and then opened so\nquickly only to close again under her alarms, unfolded once more and\nblossomed for him again--not as it had done just now in passionate\necstasy, but, as beseemed her calm, transparent nature, with moderated\njoy, which, however, did not lack due warmth and winning tenderness.\n\nHappiness beyond words possessed them both. She suffered him to seal his\nvows with kisses, herself offering him her lips, as her heart swelled\nwith fervent thanksgiving for so much joy and such a full measure of\nlove.\n\nShe was indeed a precious jewel, and the passion of his stormy heart was\ntempered by such genuine reverence that he gladly kept within the bounds\nwhich her maidenly modesty prescribed. And how much they had to say to\neach other in this first opening of their hearts, how many hopes for the\nfuture found utterance in words! The minutes flew on and became hours,\ntill at last Melissa begged him to quit the marble seat on which they had\nso long been resting, if indeed her feet could still carry her home.\n\nLittle as it pleased him, he did her bidding. But as they went on he felt\nthat she hung heavy on his arm and could only lift her little feet with\nthe greatest difficulty. The street was too dark for him to see how pale\nshe was; and yet he never took his eyes off her dear but scarcely\ndistinguishable features. Suddenly he heard a faint whisper as in a\ndream, \"I can go no farther,\" and at once led her back to the marble\nseat.\n\nHe first carefully spread his mantle over the stone and then wrapped her\nin it as tenderly as a mother might cover her shivering child, for a\ncooler breeze gave warning of the coming dawn. He himself crept close\nunder the wall by her side, so as not to be seen, for a long train of\npeople, with servants carrying lanterns before them, now came out of the\nhouse they had just left and down the street. Who these could be who\nwalked at so late an hour in such solemn silence neither of them knew.\nThey certainly sent up no joyful shout of \"Iakchos!\" no wild lament; no\ncheerful laughter nor sounds of mourning were to be heard from the long\nprocession which passed along the street, two and two, at a slow pace. As\nsoon as they had passed the last houses, men and women alike began to\nsing; no leader started them, nor lyre accompanied them, and yet their\nsong went up as though with one voice.\n\nDiodoros and Melissa knew every note sung by the Greeks or Egyptians of\nAlexandria, at this or any other festival, but this melody was strange to\nthem; and when the young man whispered to the girl, \"What is it that they\nare singing?\" she replied, as though startled from sleep, \"They are no\nmere mortals!\"\n\nDiodoros shuddered; he fancied that the procession was floating above the\nearth; that, if they had been indeed men of flesh and blood, their steps\nwould have been more distinctly audible on the pavement. Some of them\nappeared to him to be taller than common mortals, and their chant was\ncertainly that of another world than this where he dwelt. Perhaps these\nwere daimons, the souls of departed Egyptians, who, after a midnight\nvisit to those they had left behind them, were returning to the rock\ntombs, of which there were many in the stony hills to which this street\nled. They were walking toward these tombs, and not toward the gate; and\nDiodoros whispered his suspicion to his companion, clasping his hand on\nan amulet in the semblance of an eye, which his Egyptian nurse had\nfastened round his neck long ago with an Anubic thread, to protect him\nagainst the evil-eye and magic spells.\n\nBut Melissa was listening with such devout attention to the chant that\nshe did not hear him. The fatigue which had reached such a painful climax\nhad, during this peaceful rest, given way to a blissful unconsciousness\nof self. It was a kind of happiness to feel no longer the burden of\nexhaustion, and the song of the wanderers was like a cradle-song, lulling\nher to sweet dreams. It filled her with gladness, and yet it was not\nglad, not even cheerful. It went to her heart, and yet it was not\nmournful-not in the least like the passionate lament of Isis for Osiris,\nor that of Demeter bewailing her daughter. The emotion it aroused in her\nwas a sweetly sorrowful compassion, which included herself, her brothers,\nher father, her lover, all who were doomed to suffering and death, even\nthe utter stranger, for whom she had hitherto felt no sympathy.\n\nAnd the compassion bore within it a sense of comfort which she could not\nexplain, or perhaps would not inquire into. It struck her, too, now and\nthen, that the strain had a ring as of thanksgiving. It was, no doubt,\naddressed to the gods, and for that reason it appealed to her, and she\nwould gladly have joined in it, for she, too, was grateful to the\nimmortals, and above all to Eros, for the love which had been born in her\nheart and had found such an ardent return. She sighed as she listened to\nevery note of the chant, and it worked upon her like a healing draught.\n\nThe struggle of her will against bodily fatigue, and finally against the\nmental exhaustion of so much bliss, the conviction that her heavy, weary\nfeet would perhaps fail to carry her home, and that she must seek shelter\nsomewhere for the night, had disturbed her greatly. Now she was quite\ncalm, and as much at ease as she was at home sitting with her father, her\nstitching in her hand, while she dreamed of her mother and her childhood\nin the past. The singing had fallen on her agitated soul like the oil\npoured by the mariner on the sea to still the foaming breakers. She felt\nit so.\n\nShe could not help thinking of the time when she could fall asleep on her\nmother's bosom in the certainty that tender love was watching over her.\nThe happiness of childhood, when she loved everything she knew-her\nfamily, the slaves, her father's birds, the flowers in the little garden,\nthe altar of the goddess to whom she made offering, the very stars in the\nsky-seemed to come over her, and there she sat in dreamy lassitude, her\nhead on her lover's shoulder, till the last stragglers of the procession,\nwho, were women, many of them carrying little lamps in their hands, had\nalmost all gone past.\n\nThen she suddenly felt an eager jerk in the shoulder on which her head\nwas resting.\n\n\"Look--look there!\" he whispered; and as her eyes followed the direction\nof his finger, she too started, and exclaimed, \"Korinna!--Did you know\nher?\"\n\n\"She had often come to my father's garden,\" he replied, \"and I saw her\nportrait in Alexander's room. These are souls from Hades that we have\nseen. We must offer sacrifice, for those to whom they show themselves\nthey draw after them.\" At this Melissa, too, shuddered, and exclaimed in\nhorror: \"O Diodoros, not to death! We will ask the priests to-morrow\nmorning what sacrifice may redeem us. Anything rather than the grave and\nthe darkness of Hades!--Come, I am strong again now. Let us get away from\nhence and go home.\"\n\n\"But we must go through the gate now,\" replied the youth. \"It is not well\nto follow in the footsteps of the dead.\"\n\nMelissa, however, insisted on going on through the street. Terrified as\nshe was of the nether world and the disembodied souls, she would on no\naccount risk falling into the hands of the horrible Egyptian, who might\ncompel her to betray her brother's hiding-place; and Diodoros, who was\nashamed to show her the fears which still possessed him, did as she\ndesired.\n\nBut it was a comfort to him in this horror of death, which had come over\nhim now for the first time in his life, to kiss the maid once more, and\nhold her warm hand in his as they walked on; while the strange chant of\nthe nocturnal procession still rang in her ears, and now and then the\nwords recurred to her mind which she had heard in the house where the\ndeparted souls had gathered together:\n\n\"The fullness of the time was come.\"\n\nDid this refer to the hour when the dead came to the end of their life on\nearth; or was there some great event impending on the city and its\ninhabitants, for which the time had now come? Had the words anything to\ndo with Caesar's visit? Had the dead come back to life to witness the\nscenes which they saw approaching with eyes clearer than those of\nmortals?\n\nAnd then she remembered Korinna, whose fair, pale face had been strangely\nlighted up by the lamp she carried; and, again, the Magian's assurance\nthat the souls of the departed were endowed with every faculty possessed\nby the living, and that \"those who knew\" could see them and converse with\nthem.\n\nThen Serapion had been right in saying this; and her hand trembled in her\nlover's as she thought to herself that the danger which now threatened\nPhilip was estrangement from the living through intercourse with the\ndead. Her own dead mother, perhaps, had floated past among these\nwandering souls, and she grieved to think that she had neglected to look\nfor her and give her a loving greeting. Even Diodoros, who was not\ngenerally given to silent meditation, had his own thoughts to pursue; and\nso they walked on in silence till suddenly they heard a dull murmur of\nvoices. This startled them, and looking up they saw before them the rocky\ncliffs in which the Egyptians long since, and now in later times the\nChristians, had hewn caves and tombs. From the door of one of these, only\na few paces beyond where they stood, light streamed out; and as they were\nabout to pass it a large dog barked. Immediately on this a man came out,\nand in a rough, deep voice asked them the pass-word. Diodoros, seized\nwith sudden terror of the dark figure, which he believed to be a risen\nghost, took to his heels, dragging Melissa with him. The dog flew after\nthem, barking loudly; and when the youth stooped to pick up a stone to\nscare him off, the angry brute sprang on him and dragged him down.\n\nMelissa screamed for help, but the gruff voice angrily bade her be\nsilent. Far from obeying him, the girl shouted louder than ever; and now,\nout of the entrance to the cave, close behind the scene of the disaster,\ncame a number of men with lamps and tapers. They were the same daimons\nwhose song she had heard in the street; she could not be mistaken. On her\nknees, by the side of her lover as he lay on the ground, she stared up at\nthe apparitions. A stone flew at the dog to scare him off, and a second,\nlarger than the first, whisked past her and hit Diodoros on the head; she\nheard the dull blow. At this a cold hand seemed to clutch her heart;\neverything about her melted into one whirling, colorless cloud. Pale as\ndeath, she threw up her arms to protect herself, and then, overcome with\nterror and fatigue, with a faint cry of anguish she lost consciousness.\n\nWhen she opened her eyes again her head was resting in the lap of a kind,\nmotherly woman, while some men were just bearing away the senseless form\nof Diodoros on a bier.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThe sun had risen an hour since. Heron had betaken himself to his\nworkshop, whistling as he went, and in the kitchen his old slave Argutis\nwas standing over the hearth preparing his master's morning meal. He\ndropped a pinch of dill into the barley-porridge, and shook his gray head\nsolemnly.\n\nHis companion Dido, a Syrian, whose wavy white hair contrasted strangely\nwith her dark skin, presently came in, and, starting up, he hastily\ninquired, \"Not in yet?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the other woman, whose eyes were full of tears. \"And you know\nwhat my dream was. Some evil has come to her, I am certain; and when the\nmaster hears of it--\" Here she sobbed aloud; but the slave reproved her\nfor useless weeping.\n\n\"You never carried her in your arms,\" whimpered the woman.\n\n\"But often enough on my shoulder,\" retorted the Gaul, for Argutis was a\nnative of Augusta Trevirorum, on the Moselle. \"Assoon as the porridge is\nready you must take it in and prepare the master.\"\n\n\"That his first fury may fall on me!\" said the old woman, peevishly. \"I\nlittle thought when I was young!\"\n\n\"That is a very old story,\" said Argutis, \"and we both know what the\nmaster's temper is. I should have been off long ago if only you could\nmake his porridge to his mind. As soon as I have dished it I will go to\nseek Alexander--there is nothing to prevent me--for it was with him that\nshe left the house.\"\n\nAt this the old woman dried her tears, and cried \"Yes, only go, and make\nhaste. I will do everything else. Great gods, if she should be brought\nhome dead! I know how it is; she could bear the old man's temper and this\nmoping life no longer, and has thrown herself into the water.\n\n\"My dream, my dream! Here--here is the dish, and now go and find the boy.\nStill, Philip is the elder.\"\n\n\"He!\" exclaimed the slave in a scornful tone. \"Yes, if you want to know\nwhat the flies are talking about! Alexander for me. He has his head\nscrewed on the right way, and he will find her if any man in Egypt can,\nand bring her back, alive or dead.\"\n\n\"Dead!\" echoed Dido, with a fresh burst of sobs, and her tears fell in\nthe porridge, which Argutis, indeed, in his distress of mind had\nforgotten to salt.\n\nWhile this conversation was going on the gemcutter was feeding his birds.\nCan this man, who stands there like any girl, tempting his favorites to\nfeed, with fond words and whistling, and the offer of attractive\ndainties, be the stormy blusterer of last night? There is not a coaxing\nname that he does not lavish on them, while he fills their cups with\nfresh seed and water; and how carefully he moves his big hand as he\nstrews the little cages with clean sand! He would not for worlds scare\nthe poor little prisoners who cheer his lonely hours, and who have long\nsince ceased to fear him. A turtle-dove takes peas, and a hedge-sparrow\npicks ants' eggs from his lips; a white-throat perches on his left hand\nto snatch a caterpillar from his right. The huge man was in his garden\nsoon after sunrise gathering the dewy leaves for his feathered pets. But\nhe talks and plays longest with the starling which his lost wife gave\nhim. She had bought it in secret from the Bedouin who for many years had\nbrought shells for sale from the Red Sea, to surprise her husband with\nthe gift. The clever bird had first learned to call her name, Olympias;\nand then, without any teaching, had picked up his master's favorite\nlament, \"My strength, my strength!\"\n\nHeron regarded this bird as a friend who understood him, and, like him,\nremembered the never-to-be-forsaken dead. For three years had the gem\ncutter been a widower, and he still thought more constantly and fondly of\nhis lost wife than of the children she had left him. Heron scratched the\nbird's knowing little head, saying in a tone which betrayed his pity both\nfor himself and his pet \"Yes, old fellow, you would rather have a soft\nwhite finger to stroke you down. I can hear her now, when she would call\nyou 'sweet little pet,' or 'dear little creature.' We shall neither of us\never hear such gentle, loving words again. Do you remember how she would\nlook up with her dear sweet face--and was it not a lovely face?--when you\ncalled her by her name 'Olympias'? How many a time have her rosy lips\nblown up your feathers, and cried, 'Well done, little fellow! '--Ay, and\nshe would say 'Well done' to me too, when I had finished a piece of work\nwell. Ah, and what an eye she had, particularly for art! But now well,\nthe children give me a good word too, now that her lips are silent!\"\n\n\"Olympias!\" cried the bird loudly and articulately, and the clouds that\nshadowed the gem-cutter's brow lifted a little, as with an affectionate\nsmile he went on:\n\n\"Yes, yes; you would be glad, too, to have her back again. You call her\nnow, as I did yesterday, standing by her grave--and she sends you her\nlove.\n\n\"Do you hear, little one? Peck away at the old man's finger; he knows you\nmean it kindly, and it does not hurt. I was all alone out there, and\nSelene looked down on us in silence. There was rioting and shouting all\nround, but I could hear the voice of our dead. She was very near me, and\nher sad soul showed me that she still cared for me. I had taken a jar of\nour best wine of Byblos under my cloak; as soon as I had poured oil on\nher gravestone and shed some of the noble liquor, the earth drank it up\nas though it were thirsty. Not a drop was left. Yes, little fellow, she\naccepted the gift; and when I fell on my knees to meditate on her, she\nvouchsafed replies to many of my questions.\n\n\"We talked together as we used--you know. And we remembered you, too; I\ngave you her love.\n\n\"You understand me, little fellow, don't you? And, I tell you, better\ntimes are coming now.\"\n\nHe turned from the bird with a sharp movement of annoyance, for the\nslave-woman came in with the bowl of barley-porridge.\n\n\"You!\" exclaimed Heron, in surprise. \"Where is Melissa?\"\n\n\"She will come presently,\" said the old woman, in a low and doubtful\ntone.\n\n\"Oh, thanks for the oracle!\" said the artist, ironically.\n\n\"How you mock at a body!\" said the old woman. \"I meant--But eat\nfirst--eat. Anger and grief are ill food for an empty stomach.\"\n\nHeron sat down to the table and began to eat his porridge, but he\npresently tossed away the spoon, exclaiming:\n\n\"I do not fancy it, eating by myself.\"\n\nThen, with a puzzled glance at Dido, he asked in a tone of vexation:\n\n\"Well, why are you waiting here? And what is the meaning of all that\nnipping and tugging at your dress? Have you broken another dish? No? Then\nhave done with that cursed head-shaking, and speak out at once!\"\n\n\"Eat, eat,\" repeated Dido, retreating to the door, but Heron called her\nback with vehement abuse; but when she began again her usual complaint,\n\"I never thought, when I was young--\" Heron recovered the good temper he\nhad been rejoicing in so lately, and retorted: \"Oh! yes, I know, I have\nthe daughter of a great potentate to wait on me. And if it had only\noccurred to Caesar, when he was in Syria, to marry your sister, I should\nhave had his sister-in-law in my service. But at any rate I forbid\nhowling. You might have learned in the course of thirty years, that I do\nnot eat my fellow-creatures. So, now, confess at once what is wrong in\nthe kitchen, and then go and fetch Melissa.\" The woman was, perhaps, wise\nto defer the evil moment as long as possible. Matters might soon change\nfor the better, and good or evil could come only from without. So Dido\nclung to the literal sense of her master's question, and something\nnote-worthy had actually happened in the kitchen. She drew a deep breath,\nand told him that a subordinate of the night-watch had come in and asked\nwhether Alexander were in the house, and where his painting-room was.\n\n\"And you gave him an exact description?\" asked Heron.\n\nBut the slave shook her head; she again began to fidget with her dress,\nand said, timidly:\n\n\"Argutis was there, and he says no good can come of the night-watch. He\ntold the man what he thought fit, and sent him about his business.\"\n\nAt this Heron interrupted the old woman with such a mighty blow of his\nfist on the table that the porridge jumped in the bowl, and he exclaimed\nin a fury:\n\n\"That is what comes of treating slaves as our equals! They begin to think\nfor themselves. A stupid blunder can spoil the best day! The captain of\nthe night-watch, I would have you to know, is a very great man, and very\nlikely a friend of Seleukus's, whose daughter Alexander has just painted.\nThe picture is attracting some attention.--Attention? What am I saying?\nEvery one who has been allowed to see it is quite crazy about it.\nEverything else that was on show in the embalmers' hall was mere trash by\ncomparison. Often enough have I grumbled at the boy, who would rather be\nanywhere than here; but, this time, I had some ground for being proud to\nbe his father! And now the captain of the watch sends his secretary, or\nsomething of the kind, no doubt, in order to have his portrait, or his\nwife's or daughter's--if he has one--painted by the artist who did\nKorinna's; and his own father's slave--it drives me mad to think of\nit--makes a face at the messenger and sends him all astray. I will give\nArgutis a lesson! But by this time, perhaps--Just go and fetch him in.\"\nWith these words Heron again dropped his spoon, wiped his beard, and\nthen, seeing that Dido was still standing before him as though\nspellbound, twitching her slave's gray gown, he repeated his order in\nsuch angry tones--though before he had spoken to her as gently as if she\nwere one of his own children--that the old woman started violently and\nmade for the door, crouching low and whimpering bitterly.\n\nThe soft-hearted tyrant was really sorry for the faithful old servant he\nhad bought a generation since for the home to which he had brought his\nfair young wife, and he began to speak kindly to her, as he had\npreviously done to the birds.\n\nThis comforted the old woman so much that again she could not help\ncrying; but, notwithstanding the sincerity of her tears, being accustomed\nof old to take advantage of her master's moods, she felt that now was the\ntime to tell her melancholy story. First of all she would at any rate see\nwhether Melissa had not meanwhile returned; so she humbly kissed the hem\nof his robe and hurried away.\n\n\"Send Argutis to me!\" Heron roared after her, and he returned to his\nbreakfast with renewed energy.\n\nHe thought, as he ate, of his son's beautiful work, and the foolish\nself-importance of Argutis, so faithful, and usually, it must be owned,\nso shrewd. Then his eyes fell on Melissa's vacant place opposite to him,\nand he suddenly pushed away his bowl and rose to seek his daughter.\n\nAt this moment the starling called, in a clear, inviting tone,\n\"Olympias!\" and this cheered him, reminding him of the happy hour he had\npassed at his wife's grave and the good augury he had had there. The\nbelief in a better time at hand, of which he had spoken to the bird,\nagain took possession of his sanguine soul; and, fully persuaded that\nMelissa was detained in her own room or elsewhere by some trifling\nmatter, he went to the window and shouted her name; for hers, too, opened\non to the garden.\n\nAnd it seemed as though the dear, obedient girl had come at his bidding,\nfor, as he turned back into the room again, Melissa was standing in the\nopen door.\n\nAfter the pretty Greek greeting, \"Joy be with you,\" which she faintly\nanswered, he asked her, as fractiously as though he had spent hours of\nanxiety, where she had been so long. But he was suddenly silent, for he\nwas astonished to see that she had not come from her room, but, as her\ndress betrayed, from some long expedition. Her appearance, too, had none\nof the exquisite neatness which it usually displayed; and then--what a\nstate she was in! Whence had she come so early in the day?\n\nThe girl took off the kerchief that covered her head, and with a faint\ngroan pushed her tangled hair off her temples, and her bosom heaved as\nshe panted out in a weary voice: \"Here I am! But O, father, what a night\nI have spent!\"\n\nHeron could not for a minute or two find words to answer her.\n\nWhat had happened to the girl? What could it be which made her seem so\nstrange and unlike her self? He gazed at her, speechless, and alarmed by\na hundred fearful suspicions. He felt as a mother might who has kissed\nher child's fresh, healthy lips at night, and in the morning finds them\nburning with fever.\n\nMelissa had never been ill from the day of her birth; since she had\ndonned the dress of a full-grown maiden she had never altered; day after\nday and at all hours she had been the same in her quiet, useful, patient\nway, always thinking of her brothers, and caring for him rather than for\nherself.\n\nIt had never entered into his head to suppose that she could alter; and\nnow, instead of the gentle, contented face with faintly rosy cheeks, he\nsaw a pallid countenance and quivering lips. What mysterious fire had\nthis night kindled in those calm eyes, which Alexander was fond of\ncomparing to those of a gazelle? They were sunk, and the dark shadows\nthat encircled them were a shock to his artistic eye. These were the eyes\nof a girl who had raved like a maenad the night through. Had she not\nslept in her quiet little room; had she been rushing with Alexander in\nthe wild Bacchic rout; or had something dreadful happened to his son?\n\nNothing could have been so great a relief to him as to rave and rage as\nwas his wont, and he felt strongly prompted to do so; but there was\nsomething in her which moved him to pity or shyness, he knew not which,\nand kept him quiet. He silently followed her with his eyes while she\nfolded her mantle and kerchief in her orderly way, and hastily gathered\ntogether the stray, curly locks of her hair, smoothed them, and bound\nthem round her head.\n\nSome one, however, must break the silence, and he gave a sigh of relief\nwhen the girl came up to him and asked him, in a voice so husky as to\ngive him a fresh shock:\n\n\"Is it true that a Scythian, one of the nightwatch, has been here\nalready?\"\n\nThen he broke out, and it really did him good to give vent to his\nrepressed feelings in an angry speech:\n\n\"There again--the wisdom of slaves! The so-called Scythian brought a\nmessage from his master.\n\n\"The captain of the night-watch--you will see--wishes to honor Alexander\nwith a commission.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" interrupted the girl. \"They are hunting my brother down. I\nthank the gods that the Scythian should have come; it shows that\nAlexander is still free.\"\n\nThe gem-cutter clasped his bushy hair in both hands, for it seemed to him\nthat the room was whirling round. But his old habits still got the better\nof him; he roared out with all the power of his mighty lungs: \"What is\nthat? What do you say? What has Alexander done? Where have you--both of\nyou-been?\" With two long strides the angry man came close up to the\nterrified girl; the birds fluttered in their cages, and the starling\nrepeated his cries in melancholy tones. Heron stood still, pushing his\nfingers through his thick gray hair, and with a sharp laugh exclaimed: \"I\ncame away from her grave full of fresh hopes for better days, and this is\nhow they are fulfilled! I looked for fame, and I find disgrace! And you,\nhussy! where have you spent this night--where have you come from? I ask\nyou once more!\"\n\nHe raised his fist and shook it close in front of Melissa's eyes.\n\nShe stood before him as pale as death, and with wide-open eyes, from\nwhich the heavy tears dropped slowly, one by one, trickling down her\ncheeks as if they were tired. Heron saw them, and his rage melted. He\nstaggered to a seat like a drunken man, and, hiding his face in his\nhands, moaned aloud, \"Wretch, wretch that I am!\" But his child's soft\nhand was laid on his head; warm, girlish lips kissed his brow; and\nMelissa whispered beseechingly: \"Peace, father, peace. All may yet be\nwell. I have something to tell you that will make you glad too; yes, I am\nsure it will make you glad.\"\n\nHer father shrugged his shoulders incredulously, but wanted to know\nimmediately what the miracle was that could smooth his brow. Melissa,\nhowever, would not tell him till it came in its place in her story. So he\nhad to submit; he drew his seat up to the table, and took up a lump of\nmodeling-wax to keep his restless fingers employed while he listened.\nShe, too, sat down; she could scarcely stand.\n\nAt first he listened calmly to her narrative; and when she told him of\nAlexander's jest at Caesar's expense his face brightened. His Alexandrian\nblood and his relish for a biting speech got the upper hand; he gave a\nsounding slap on his mighty leg, and exclaimed: \"A cursed good thought!\nBut the boy forgot that when Zeus only lamed his son it was because he is\nimmortal; while Caesar's brother was as feeble a mortal as Caracalla\nhimself is said to be at this day.\"\n\nHe laughed noisily; but it was for the last time that morning; for hardly\nhad he heard the name of Zminis, and learned that it was he who had over\nheard Alexander, than he threw down the wax and started to his feet in\nhorror, crying:\n\n\"That dog, who dared to cast his eyes on your mother, and persecuted her\nlong after she had shown him the door! That sly mischief-maker! Many a\ntime has he set snares in our path. If he succeeds in tightening the\nnoose into which the boy has so heedlessly thrust his head--But first\ntell me, has he caught him already, or is Alexander still at liberty?\"\n\nBut no one, not even Argutis, who was still out on the search, could tell\nhim this; and he was now so greatly disturbed that, during the rest of\nMelissa's narrative, he perpetually paced the room, interrupting her now\nand then with questions or with outbursts of indignation. And then it\noccurred to him that he ought himself to seek his son, and he occupied\nhimself with getting ready to go out.\n\nEven when she spoke of the Magian, and his conviction that those who know\nare able to hold intercourse with the souls of the dead, he shrugged his\nshoulders incredulously, and went on lacing his sandals. But when Melissa\nassured him that not she alone, but Diodoros with her, had seen the\nwandering soul of the departed Korinna in the train of ghosts, he dropped\nthe straps he had bound round his ankle, and asked her who this Magian\nwas, and where he might be found. However, she knew no more than that his\nname was Serapion, and she briefly described his dignified presence.\n\nHeron had already seen the man, and he seemed still to be thinking of\nhim, when Melissa, with a blush and downcast eyes, confessed that, as\nsoon as he was well again, Diodoros was coming to her father to ask her\nof him in marriage.\n\nIt was a long story before she came at last to her own concerns, but it\nwas always her way not to think of herself till every one else had had\nhis due.\n\nBut what about her father? Had she spoken inaudibly, or was he really\nunable to-day to be glad? or what ailed him, that he paid no heed to the\nnews which, even for him, was not without its importance, but, without a\nword of consent or disapproval, merely bade her go on with her story?\n\nMelissa called him by name, as if to wake a man from sleep, and asked\nwhether it were indeed possible that he really felt no pleasure in the\nhappy prospect that lay before her, and that she had confessed to him.\nAnd now Heron lent an ear, and gave her to understand the satisfaction of\nhis fatherly heart by kissing her. This news, in fact, made up for much\nthat was evil, for Diodoros was a son-in-law after his own heart, and not\nmerely because he was rich, or because his mother had been so great a\nfriend of Olympias's. No, the young man's father was, like himself, one\nof the old Macedonian stock; he had seen his daughter's lover grow to\nmanhood, and there was not in the city a youth he could more heartily\nwelcome. This he freely admitted; he only regretted that when she should\nset up house with her husband on the other side of the lake, he (Heron)\nwould be left as lonely as a statue on its pedestal. His sons had already\nbegun to avoid him like a leper!\n\nThen, when he heard of what had befallen Diodoros, and Melissa went on to\nsay that the people who had thrown the stone at the dog were Christians,\nand that they had carried the wounded youth into a large, clean dwelling,\nwhere he was being carefully attended when she had left him, Heron broke\nout into violent abuse. They were unpatriotic worshipers of a crucified\nJew, who multiplied like vermin, and only wanted to turn the good old\norder of things upside down. But this time they should see--the\nhypocrites, who pretended to so much humanity, and then set ferocious\ndogs on peaceful folk!--they should learn that they could not fall on a\nMacedonian citizen without paying for it.\n\nHe indignantly refused to hear Melissa's assurance that none of the\nChristians had set the dog on her lover; she, however, maintained stoutly\nthat it was merely by an unfortunate accident that the stone had hit\nDiodoros and cut his head so badly. She would not have quitted her lover\nbut that she feared lest her prolonged absence should have alarmed her\nfather.\n\nHeron at last stood still for a minute or two, lost in thought, and then\nbrought out of his chest a casket, from which he took a few engraved\ngems. He held them carefully up to the light, and asked his daughter: \"If\nI learn from Polybius, to whom I am now going, that they have already\ncaught Alexander, should I venture now, do you think, to offer a couple\nof choice gems to Titianus, the prefect, to set him free again? He knows\nwhat is good, and the captain of the watch is his subordinate.\"\n\nBut Melissa besought him to give up the idea of seeking out Alexander in\nhis hiding-place; for Heron, the gem-cutter, was known to every one, and\nif a man-at-arms should see him he would certainly follow him. As\nregarded the prefect, he would not apprehend any one this day, for, as\nher father knew, Caesar was to arrive at Alexandria at noon, and Titianus\nmust be on the spot to meet him with all his train.\n\n\"But if you want to be out of doors and doing,\" she added, \"go to see\nPhilip. Bring him to reason, and discuss with him what is to be done.\"\n\nShe spoke with firm decision, and Heron looked with amazement at the\ngiver of this counsel. Melissa had hitherto cared for his comfort in\nsilence, without expressing any opinions of her own, and submitting to be\nthe lightning-conductor for all his evil tempers. He did not rate her\ngirlish beauty very high, for there were no ugly faces in his family nor\nin that of his deceased Olympias. And all the other consolations she\noffered him he took as a matter of course--nay, he sometimes made them a\nground of complaint; for he would occasionally fancy that she wanted to\nassume the place of his beloved lost wife, and he regarded it as a duty\nto her to show his daughter, and often very harshly and unkindly, how far\nshe was from filling her mother's place.\n\nThus she had accustomed herself to do her duty as a daughter, with quiet\nand wordless exactitude, looking for no thanks; while he thought he was\ndoing her a kindness merely by suffering her constant presence. That he\nshould ever exchange ideas with his daughter, or ask her opinion, would\nhave seemed to Heron absolutely impossible; yet it had come to this, and\nfor the second time this morning he looked in her face with utter\namazement.\n\nHe could not but approve her warning not to betray Alexander's\nhiding-place, and her suggestion that he should go to see his eldest son\ncoincided with an unspoken desire which had been lurking in his mind ever\nsince she had told him of her having seen a disembodied soul. The\npossibility of seeing her once more, whose memory was dearer to him than\nall else on earth, had such a charm, that it moved him more deeply than\nthe danger of his son, who was, nevertheless, very dear to his strangely\ntempered heart.\n\nSo he answered Melissa coolly, as if he were telling her of a decision\nalready formed:\n\n\"Of course! I meant to see Philip too; only\"--and he paused, for anxiety\nabout Alexander again came to the front--\"I can not bear to remain in\nsuch uncertainty about the boy.\"\n\nAt this instant the door opened. The new-comer was Andreas, the man to\nwhom Diodoros had advised Alexander to apply for protection and counsel;\nand Melissa greeted him with filial affection.\n\nHe was a freedman in her lover's family, and was the steward and manager\nof his master's extensive gardens and lands, which were under his\nabsolute control. No one could have imagined that this man had ever been\na slave; his face was swarthy, but his fine black eyes lighted it up with\na glance of firm self reliance and fiery energy. It was the look of a man\nwho might be the moving spirit of one of those rebellions which were\nfrequent in Alexandria; there was an imperious ring in his voice, and\ndecision in the swift gestures of his hardened but shapely hands.\n\nFor twenty years, indeed, he had ruled over the numerous slaves of\nPolybius, who was an easy-going master, and an invalid from gout in his\nfeet. He was at this time a victim to a fresh attack, and had therefore\nsent his confidential steward into the town to tell Heron that he\napproved of his son's choice, and that he would protect Alexander from\npursuit.\n\nAll this Andreas communicated in few and business-like words; but he then\nturned to Melissa, and said, in a tone of kindly and affectionate\nfamiliarity: \"Polybius also wishes to know how your lover is being cared\nfor by the Christians, and from hence I am going on to see our sick boy.\"\n\n\"Then ask your friends,\" the gem-cutter broke in, to keep less ferocious\ndogs for the future.\"\n\n\"That,\" replied the freedman, \"will be unnecessary, for it is not likely\nthat the fierce brute belongs to the community whose friendship I am\nproud to claim; and, if it does, they will be as much grieved over the\nmatter as we can be.\"\n\n\"A Christian would never do another an ill turn!\" said Heron, with a\nshrug.\n\n\"Never, so far as justice permits,\" replied Andreas, decisively. Then he\ninquired whether Heron had any message or news to send to his son; and\nwhen the gem-cutter replied that he had not, the freedman was about to\ngo. Melissa, however, detained him, saying:\n\n\"I will go with you if you will allow me.\"\n\n\"And I?\" said Heron, irritably. \"It seems to me that children are\nlearning to care less and less what their fathers' views and requirements\nmay be. I have to go to Philip. Who knows what may happen in my absence?\nBesides--no offense to you, Andreas--what concern has my daughter among\nthe Christians?\"\n\n\"To visit her lover,\" replied Andreas, sharply. And he added, more\nquietly: \"It will be a pleasure to me to escort her; and your Argutis is\na faithful fellow, and in case of need would be of more use here than an\ninexperienced girl. I see no reasonable ground for detaining her, Heron.\nI should like afterwards to take her home with me, across the lake; it\nwould be a comfort to Polybius and soothe his pain to have his favorite\nwith him, his future daughter.--Get ready, my child.\"\n\nThe artist had listened with growing anger, and a swift surge of rage\nmade him long to give the freedman a sharp lesson. But when his glaring\neye met the Christian's steady, grave gaze, he controlled himself, and\nonly said, with a shrug which sufficiently expressed his feeling that he\nwas surrendering his veto against his better judgment, addressing himself\nto Melissa and ignoring Andreas:\n\n\"You are betrothed, and of age. Go, for aught I care, in obedience to him\nwhose wishes evidently outweigh mine. Polybius's son is your master\nhenceforth.\"\n\nHe folded his mantle, and when the girl hastened to help him he allowed\nher to do it; but he went on, to the freedman: \"And for aught I care, you\nmay take her across the lake, too. It is natural that Polybius should\nwish to see his future daughter. But one thing I may ask for myself: You\nhave slaves and to spare; if anything happens to Alexander, let me hear\nof it at once.\"\n\nHe kissed Melissa on the head, nodded patronizingly to Andreas, and left\nthe house.\n\nHis soft-hearted devotion to a vision had weakened his combativeness;\nstill, he would have yielded less readily to a man who had once been a\nslave, but that the invitation to Melissa released him of her presence\nfor a while.\n\nHe was not, indeed, afraid of his daughter; but she need not know that he\nwanted Philip to make him acquainted with Serapion, and that through his\nmediation he hoped at least to see the spirit of the wife he mourned.\nWhen he was fairly out of the house he smiled with satisfaction like a\nschool-boy who had escaped his master.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nMelissa, too, had a sense of freedom when she found herself walking by\nthe side of Andreas.\n\nIn the garden of Hermes, where her father's house stood, there were few\nsigns of the excitement with which the citizens awaited Caesar's arrival.\nMost of those who were out and about were going in the opposite\ndirection; they meant to await the grand reception of Caracalla at the\neastern end of the city, on his way from the Kanopic Gate to the Gate of\nthe Sun. Still, a good many--men, women and children--were, like\nthemselves, walking westward, for it was known that Caesar would alight\nat the Serapeum.\n\nThey had scarcely left the house when Andreas asked the girl whether she\nhad a kerchief or a veil in the basket the slave was carrying behind her;\nand on her replying in the affirmative, he expressed his satisfaction;\nfor Caracalla's soldiery, in consequence of the sovereign's weakened\ndiscipline and reckless liberality, were little better than an unbridled\nrabble.\n\n\"Then let us keep out of their way,\" urged Melissa.\n\n\"Certainly, as much as possible,\" said her companion. \"At any rate, let\nus hurry, so as to get back to the lake before the crowd stops the way.\n\n\"You have passed an eventful and anxious night, my child, and are tired,\nno doubt.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" said she, calmly; \"I had some wine to refresh me, and some food\nwith the Christians.\"\n\n\"Then they received you kindly?\"\n\n\"The only woman there nursed Diodoros like a mother; and the men were\nconsiderate and careful. My father does not know them; and yet--Well, you\nknow how much he dislikes them.\"\n\n\"He follows the multitude,\" returned Andreas, \"the common herd, who hate\neverything exceptional, everything that disturbs their round of life, or\nstartles them out of the quietude of their dull dreams. Woe to those who\ncall by its true name what those blind souls call pleasure and enjoyment\nas serving to hasten the flight of time--not too long at the most; woe to\nthose who dare raise even a finger against it!\"\n\nThe man's deep, subdued tones were strongly expressive of the wrath\nwithin him; and the girl, who kept close to his side, asked with eager\nanxiety, \"Then my father was right when he said that you are a member of\nthe Christian body?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, emphatically; and when Melissa curiously inquired\nwhether it were true that the followers of the crucified God had\nrenounced their love for home and country, which yet ought to be dear to\nevery true man, Andreas answered with a superior smile, that even the\nfounder of the Stoa had required not only of his fellow-Greeks but of all\nhuman beings, that they should regulate their existence by the same laws,\nsince they were brethren in reason and sense.\n\n\"He was right,\" added Andreas, more earnestly, \"and I tell you, child,\nthe time is not far off when men shall no longer speak of Roman and\nGreek, of Egyptian and Syrian, of free men and slaves; when there shall\nbe but one native land, but one class of life for all. Yea, the day is\nbeginning to dawn even now. The fullness of the time is come!\"\n\nMelissa looked up at him in amazement, exclaiming: \"How strange! I have\nheard those words once to-day already, and can not get them out of my\nhead. Nay, when you confirmed my father's report, I made up my mind to\nask you to explain them.\"\n\n\"What words?\" asked Andreas, in surprise. \"The fullness of the time is\ncome.\"\n\n\"And where did you hear them?\"\n\n\"In the house where Diodoros and I took refuge from Zminis.\"\n\n\"A Christian meeting-house,\" replied Andreas, and his expressive face\ndarkened. \"But those who assemble there are aliens to me; they follow\nevil heresies. But never mind--they also call themselves Christians, and\nthe words which led you to ponder, stand to me at the very gate of the\ndoctrine of our divine master, like the obelisks before the door of an\nEgyptian temple. Paul, the great preacher of the faith, wrote them to the\nGalatians. They are easy to understand; nay, any one who looks about him\nwith his eyes open, or searches his own soul, can scarcely fail to see\ntheir meaning, if only the desire is roused in him for something better\nthan what these cursed times can give us who live in them.\"\n\n\"Then it means that we are on the eve of great changes?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" cried Andreas, \"only the word you use is too feeble. The old dull\nsun must set, to rise again with greater glory.\"\n\nIll at ease, and by no means convinced, Melissa looked her excited\ncompanion in the face as she replied:\n\n\"Of course I know, Andreas, that you speak figuratively, for the sun\nwhich lights the day seems to me bright enough; and is not everything\nflourishing in this gay, busy city? Are not its citizens under the\nprotection of the law? Were the gods ever more zealously worshiped? Is my\nfather wrong when he says that it is a proud thing to belong to the\nmightiest realm on earth, before whose power barbarians tremble; a great\nthing to feel and call yourself a Roman citizen?\"\n\nSo far Andreas had listened to her with composure, but he here\ninterrupted, in a tone of scorn \"Oh, yes! Caesar has made your father,\nand your neighbor Skopas, and every free man in the country a Roman\ncitizen; but it is a pity that, while he gave each man his patent of\ncitizenship, he should have filched the money out of his purse.\"\n\n\"Apion, the dealer, was saying something to that effect the other day,\nand I dare say it is true. But I can not be persuaded against the\nevidence of my own eyes, and they light on many good and pleasant things.\nIf only you had been with us to the Nekropolis yesterday! Every man was\nhonoring the gods after his own manner. Some, indeed, were grave enough;\nstill, cheerfulness won the day among the people. Most of them were full\nof the god. I myself, who generally live so quietly, was infected as the\nmystics came back from Eleusis, and we joined their ranks.\"\n\n\"'Till the spy Zminis spoiled your happiness and imperiled your brother's\nlife for a careless speech.\"\n\n\"Very true!\"\n\n\"And what your brother heedlessly proclaimed,\" Andreas went on, with\nflashing eyes, \"the very sparrows twitter on the house-tops. It is the\ntruth. The sovereign of the Roman Empire is a thousand times a murderer.\nSome he sent to precede his own brother, and they were followed by\nall--twenty thousand, it is said--who were attached to the hapless Geta,\nor who even spoke his name. This is the lord and master to whom we owe\nobedience whom God has set over us for our sins. And when this wretch in\nthe purple shall close his eyes, he, like the rest of the criminals who\nhave preceded him on the throne, will be proclaimed a god! A noble\ncompany! When your beloved mother died I heard you, even you, revile the\ngods for their cruelty; others call them kind. It is only a question of\nhow they accept the blood of the sacrificed beasts, their own creatures,\nwhich you shed in their honor. If Serapis does not grant some fool the\nthing he asks, then he turns to the altar of Isis, of Anubis, of Zeus, of\nDemeter. At last he cries to Sabazios, or one of the new deities of\nOlympus, who owe their existence to the decisions of the Roman Senate,\nand who are for the most part scoundrels and villains. There certainly\nnever were more gods than there are now; and among those of whom the\nmyths tell us things strange enough to bring those who worship them into\ncontempt, or to the gallows, is the countless swarm of good and evil\ndaimons. Away with your Olympians! They ought to reward virtue and punish\nvice; and they are no better than corruptible judges; for you know\nbeforehand just what and how much will avail to purchase their favors.\"\n\n\"You paint with dark colors,\" the girl broke in. \"I have learned from\nPhilip that the Pythagoreans teach that not the sacrifice, but the spirit\nof the offering, is what really matters.\"\n\n\"Quite right. He was thinking, no doubt, of the miracle-monger of Tyana,\nApollonius, who certainly had heard of the doctrine of the Redeemer. But\namong the thousand nine hundred and ninety, who here bring beasts to the\naltar, who ever remembers this? Quite lately I heard one of our garden\nlaborers ask how much a day he ought to sacrifice to the sun, his god. I\ntold him a keration--for that is what the poor creature earns for a whole\nday's work. He thought that too much, for he must live; so the god must\nbe content with a tithe, for the taxes to the State on his earnings were\nhardly more.\"\n\n\"The divinity ought no doubt to be above all else to us,\" Melissa\nobserved. \"But when your laborer worships the sun, and looks for its\nbenefits, what is the difference between him and you, or me, or any of\nus, though we call the sun Helios or Serapis, or what not?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" replied Andreas. \"The sun is adored here under many different\nnames and forms, and your Serapis has swallowed up not only Zeus and\nPluto, but Phoebus Apollo and the Egyptian Osiris and Ammon, and Ra, to\nswell his own importance. But to be serious, child, our fathers made to\nthemselves many gods indeed, of the sublime phenomena and powers of\nNature, and worshiped them admiringly; but to us only the names remain,\nand those who offer to Apollo never think of the sun. With my laborer,\nwho is an Arab, it is different. He believes the light-giving globe\nitself to be a god; and you, I perceive, do not think him wholly wrong.\nBut when you see a youth throw the discus with splendid strength, do you\npraise the discus, or the thrower?\"\n\n\"The thrower,\" replied Melissa. \"But Phoebus Apollo himself guides his\nchariot with his divine hands.\"\n\n\"And astronomers,\" the Christian went on, \"can calculate for years to\ncome exactly where his steeds will be at each minute of the time. So no\none can be more completely a slave than he to whom so many mortals pray\nthat he will, of his own free-will, guide circumstances to suit them. I,\ntherefore, regard the sun as a star, like any other star; and worship\nshould be given, not to those rolling spheres moving across the sky in\nprescribed paths, but to Him who created them and guides them by fixed\nlaws. I really pity your Apollo and the whole host of the Olympian gods,\nsince the world has become possessed by the mad idea that the gods and\ndaimons may be moved, or even compelled, by forms of prayer and\nsacrifices and magic arts, to grant to each worshiper the particular\nthing on which he may have set his covetous and changeable fancy.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" exclaimed Melissa, \"you yourself told me that you prayed for\nmy mother when the leech saw no further hope. Every one hopes for a\nmiracle from the immortals when his own power has come to an end!\nThousands think so. And in our city the people have never been more\nreligious than they are now. The singer of the Ialemos at the feast of\nAdonis particularly praised us for it.\"\n\n\"Because they have never been more fervently addicted to pleasure, and\ntherefore have never more deeply dreaded the terrors of hades. The great\nand splendid Zeus of the Greeks has been transformed into Serapis here,\non the banks of the Nile, and has become a god of the nether world. Most\nof the ceremonies and mysteries to which the people crowd are connected\nwith death. They hope that the folly over which they waste so many hours\nwill smooth their way to the fields of the blest, and yet they themselves\nclose the road by the pleasures they indulge in. But the fullness of time\nis now come; the straight road lies open to all mankind, called as they\nare to a higher life in a new world, and he who follows it may await\ndeath as gladly as the bride awaits the bridegroom on her marriage day.\nYes, I prayed to my God for your dying mother, the sweetest and best of\nwomen. But what I asked for her was not that her life might be preserved,\nor that she might be permitted to linger longer among us, but that the\nnext world might be opened to her in all its glory.\"\n\nAt this point the speaker was interrupted by an armed troop which thrust\nthe crowd aside to make way for the steers which were to be slaughtered\nin the Temple of Serapis at the approach of Caesar. There were several\nhundred of them, each with a garland about its, neck, and the handsomest\nwhich led the train had its horns gilded.\n\nWhen the road was clear again, Andreas pointed to the beasts, and\nwhispered to his companion \"Their blood will be shed in honor of the\nfuture god Caracalla. He once killed a hundred bears in the arena with\nhis own hand. But I tell you, child, when the fullness of time is come,\ninnocent blood shall no more be shed. You were speaking with enthusiasm\nof the splendor of the Roman Empire. But, like certain fruit-trees in our\ngarden which we manure with blood, it has grown great on blood, on the\nlife-juice of its victims. The mightiest realm on earth owes its power to\nmurder and rapine; but now sudden destruction is coming on the insatiate\ncity, and visitation for her sins.\"\n\n\"And if you are right--if the barbarians should indeed destroy the armies\nof Caesar,\" asked Melissa, looking up in some alarm at the enthusiast,\n\"what then?\"\n\n\"Then we may thank those who help to demolish the crumbling house!\" cried\nAndreas, with flashing eyes.\n\n\"And if it should be so,\" said the girl, with tremulous anxiety, \"what\nuniversal ruin! What is there on earth that could fill its place? If the\nempire falls into the power of the barbarians, Rome will be made\ndesolate, and all the provinces laid waste which thrive under her\nprotection.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Andreas, \"will the kingdom of the Spirit arise, in which\npeace and love shall reign instead of hatred and murder and wars. There\nshall be one fold and one Shepherd, and the least shall be equal with the\ngreatest.\"\n\n\"Then there will be no more slaves?\" asked Melissa, in growing amazement.\n\n\"Not one,\" replied her companion, and a gleam of inspiration seemed to\nlight up his stern features. \"All shall be free, and all united in love\nby the grace of Him who hath redeemed us.\"\n\nBut Melissa shook her head, and Andreas, understanding what was passing\nin her mind, tried to catch her eye as he went on:\n\n\"You think that these are the impossible wishes of one who has himself\nbeen a slave, or that it is the remembrance of past suffering and\nunutterable wrong which speaks in me? For what right-minded man would not\ndesire to preserve others from the misery which once crushed him to earth\nwith its bitter burden?--But you are mistaken. Thousands of free-born men\nand women think as I do, for to them, too, a higher Power has revealed\nthat the fullness of time is now come. He, the Greatest and Best, who\nmade all the woes of the world His own, has chosen the poor rather than\nthe rich, the suffering rather than the happy, the babes rather than the\nwise and prudent; and in his kingdom the last shall be first--yea, the\nleast of the last, the poorest of the poor; and they, child, are the\nslaves.\"\n\nHe ended his diatribe with a deep sigh, but Melissa pressed the hand\nwhich held hers as they walked along the raised pathway, and said: \"Poor\nAndreas! How much you must have gone through before Polybius set you\nfree!\"\n\nHe only nodded, and they both remained silent till they found themselves\nin a quiet side street. Then the girl looked up at him inquiringly, and\nbegan again:\n\n\"And now you hope for a second Spartacus? Or will you yourself lead a\nrebellion of the slaves? You are the man for it, and I can be secret.\"\n\n\"If it has to be, why not?\" he replied, and his eyes sparkled with a\nstrange fire. But seeing that she shrank from him, a smile passed over\nhis countenance, and he added in a soothing tone: \"Do not be alarmed, my\nchild; what must come will come, without another Spartacus, or bloodshed,\nor turmoil. And you, with your clear eyes and your kind heart, would you\nfind it difficult to distinguish right from wrong, and to feel for the\nsorrows of others--? Yes, perhaps! For what will not custom excuse and\nsanctify? You can pity the bird which is shut into a cage too small for\nit, or the mule which breaks down under too heavy a load, and the cruelty\nwhich hurts them rouses your indignation. But for the man whom a terrible\nfate has robbed of his freedom, often through the fault of another, whose\nsoul endures even greater torments than his despised body, you have no\nbetter comfort than the advice which might indeed serve a philosopher,\nbut which to him is bitter mockery: to bear his woes with patience. He is\nonly a slave, bought, or perhaps inherited. Which of you ever thinks of\nasking who gave you, who are free, the right to enslave half of all the\ninhabitants of the Roman Empire, and to rob them of the highest\nprerogative of humanity? I know that many philosophers have spoken of\nslavery as an injustice done by the strong to the weak: but they shrugged\ntheir shoulders over it nevertheless, and excused it as an inevitable\nevil; for, thought they, who will serve me if my slave is regarded as my\nequal? You only smile at this confusion of the meditative recluses, but\nyou forget\"--and a sinister fire glowed in his eyes--\"that the slave,\ntoo, has a soul, in which the same feelings stir as in your own. You\nnever think how a proud man may feel whose arm you brand, and whose very\nbreath of life is indignity; or what a slave thinks who is spurned by his\nmaster's foot, though noble blood may run in his veins. All living\nthings, even the plants in the garden, have a right to happiness, and\nonly develop fully in freedom, and under loving care; and yet one half of\nmankind robs the other half of this right. The sum total of suffering and\nsorrow to which Fate had doomed the race is recklessly multiplied and\nincreased by the guilt of men themselves. But the cry of the poor and\nwretched has gone up to heaven, and now that the fullness of time is\ncome, 'Thus far, and no farther,' is the word. No wild revolutionary has\nbeen endowed with a giant's strength to burst the bonds of the victims\nasunder. No, the Creator and Preserver of the world sent his Son to\nredeem the poor in spirit, and, above all, the brethren and the sisters\nwho are weary and heavy laden. The magical word which shall break the\nbars of the prisons where the chains of the slaves are heard is\nLove. . . . But you, Melissa, can but half comprehend all this,\" he added,\ninterrupting the ardent flow of his enthusiastic speech. \"You can not\nunderstand it all. For you, too, child, the fullness of time is coming;\nfor you, too, freeborn though you are, are, I know, one of the heavy\nladen who patiently suffer the burden laid upon you. You too--But keep\nclose to me; we shall find it difficult to get through this throng.\"\n\nIt was, in fact, no easy matter to get across the crowd which was pouring\nnoisily down the street of Hermes, into which this narrow way led. How\never, they achieved it, and when Melissa had recovered her breath in a\nquiet lane in Rhakotis, she turned to her companion again with the\nquestion, \"And when do you suppose that your predictions will be\nfulfilled?\"\n\n\"As soon as the breeze blows which shall shake the overripe fruit from\nthe tree. It may be tomorrow, or not yet, according to the long-suffering\nof the Most High. But the entire collapse of the world in which we have\nbeen living is as certain to come as that you are walking here with me!\"\n\nMelissa walked on with a quaking heart, as she heard her friend's tone of\nconviction; he, however, was aware that the inmost meaning of his words\nwas sealed to her. To his inquiry, whether she could not rejoice in the\ncoming of the glorious time in store for redeemed humanity, she answered,\ntremulously:\n\n\"All you hope for is glorious, no doubt, but what shall lead to it must\nbe a terror to all. Were you told of the kingdom of which you speak by an\noracle, or is it only a picture drawn by your imagination, a vision, and\nthe offspring of your soul's desire?\"\n\n\"Neither,\" said Andreas, decidedly; and he went on in a louder voice: \"I\nknow it by revelation. Believe me, child, it is as certainly true as that\nthe sun will set this night. The gates of the heavenly Jerusalem stand\nopen, and if you, too, would fain be blessed--But more of this later.\nHere we are at our journey's end.\"\n\nThey entered the Christian home, where they found Diodoros, on a\ncomfortable couch, in a spacious, shady room, and in the care of a\nfriendly matron.\n\nBut he was in an evil case. The surgeon thought his wound a serious one;\nfor the heavy stone which had hit him had injured the skull, and the\nunhappy youth was trembling with fever. His head was burning, and it was\nwith difficulty that he spoke a few coherent words. But his eyes betrayed\nthat he recognized Melissa, and that it was a joy to him to see her\nagain; and when he was told that Alexander had so far escaped, a bright\nlook lighted up his countenance. It was evidently a comfort to him to\ngaze on Melissa's pretty face; her hand lay in his, and he understood her\nwhen she greeted him from her father, and spoke to him of various\nmatters; but the lids ere long closed over his aching eyes.\n\nMelissa felt that she must leave him to rest. She gently released his\nhand from her grasp and laid it across his breast, and moved no more,\nexcepting to wipe the drops from his brow. Solemn stillness had reigned\nfor some time in the large, clean house, faintly smelling of lavender;\nbut, on a sudden, doors opened and shut; steps were heard in the\nanteroom, seats were moved, and a loud confusion of men's voices became\naudible, among them that of Andreas.\n\nMelissa listened anxiously to the heated discussion which had already\nbecome a vehement quarrel. She longed to implore the excited wranglers to\nmoderate their tones, for she could see by her lover's quivering lips\nthat the noise hurt him; but she could not leave him.\n\nThe dispute meanwhile grew louder and louder. The names of Montanus and\nTertullian, Clemens and Origen, fell on her ear, and at last she heard\nAndreas exclaim in high wrath: \"You are like the guests at a richly\nfurnished banquet who ask, after they have well eaten, when the meat will\nbe brought in. Paraclete is come, and yet you look for another.\"\n\nHe was not allowed to proceed; fierce and scornful contradiction checked\nhis speech, till a voice of thunder was heard above the rest:\n\n\"The heavenly Jerusalem is at hand. He who denies and doubts the calling\nof Montanus is worse than the heathen, and I, for one, cast him off as\nneither a brother nor a Christian!\"\n\nThis furious denunciation was drowned in uproar; the anxious girl heard\nseats overturned, and the yells and shouts of furious combatants; the\nsuffering youth meanwhile moaned with anguish, and an expression of acute\npain was stamped on his handsome features. Melissa could bear it no\nlonger; she had risen to go and entreat the men to make less noise, when\nsuddenly all was still.\n\nDiodoros immediately became calmer, and looked up at the girl as\ngratefully as though the soothing silence were owing to her. She could\nnow hear the deep tones of the head of the Church of Alexandria, and\nunderstood that the matter in hand was the readmission into this\ncongregation of a man who had been turned out by some other sect. Some\nwould have him rejected, and commended him to the mercy of God; others,\nless rigid, were willing to receive him, since he was ready to submit to\nany penance.\n\nThen the quarrel began again. High above every other voice rose the\nshrill tones of a man who had just arrived from Carthage, and who boasted\nof personal friendship with the venerable Tertullian. The listening girl\ncould no longer follow the connection of the discussion, but the same\nnames again met her ear; and, though she understood nothing of the\nmatter, it annoyed her, because the turmoil disturbed her lover's rest.\n\nIt was not till the sick-nurse came back that the tumult was appeased;\nfor, as soon as she learned how seriously the loud disputes of her\nfellow-believers were disturbing the sick man's rest, she interfered so\neffectually, that the house was as silent as before.\n\nThe deaconess Katharine was the name by which she was known, and in a few\nminutes she returned to her patient's bedside.\n\nAndreas followed her, with the leech, a man of middle height, whose\nshrewd and well-formed head, bald but for a little hair at the sides, was\nset on a somewhat ungainly body. His sharp eyes looked hither and\nthither, and there was something jerky in his quick movements; still,\ntheir grave decisiveness made up for the lack of grace. He paid no heed\nto the bystanders, but threw himself forward rather than bent over the\npatient, felt him, and with a light hand renewed his bandages; and then\nhe looked round the room, examining it as curiously as though he proposed\nto take up his abode there, ending by fixing his prominent, round eyes on\nMelissa. There was something so ruthlessly inquisitive in that look that\nit might, under other circumstances, have angered her. However, as it\nwas, she submitted to it, for she saw that it was shrewd, and she would\nhave called the wisest physician on earth to her lover's bedside if she\nhad had the power.\n\nWhen Ptolemaeus--for so he was called--had, in reply to the question,\n\"who is that?\" learned who she was, he hastily murmured: \"Then she can do\nnothing but harm here. A man in a fever wants but one thing, and that is\nperfect quiet.\"\n\nAnd he beckoned Andreas to the window, and asked him shortly, \"Has the\ngirl any sense?\"\n\n\"Plenty,\" replied the freedman, decisively.\n\n\"As much, at any rate, as she can have at her age,\" the other retorted.\n\"Then it is to be hoped that she will go without any leave-taking or\ntears. That fine lad is in a bad way. I have known all along what might\ndo him good, but I dare not attempt it alone, and there is no one in\nAlexandria. . . . But Galen has come to join Caesar. If he, old as he\nis--But it is not for the likes of us to intrude into Caesar's\nquarters--Still--\"\n\nHe paused, laying his hand on his brow, and rubbing it thoughtfully with\nhis short middle finger. Then he suddenly exclaimed: \"The old man would\nnever come here. But the Serapeum, where the sick lie awaiting divine or\ndiabolical counsel in dreams--Galen will go there. If only we could carry\nthe boy thither.\"\n\n\"His nurse here would hardly allow that,\" said Andreas, doubtfully.\n\n\"He is a heathen.\" replied the leech, hotly. \"Besides, what has faith to\ndo with the injury to the body? How many Caesars have employed Egyptian\nand Jewish physicians? The lad would get the treatment he needs, and,\nChristian as I am, I would, if necessary, convey him to the Serapeum,\nthough it is of all heathen temples the most heathen. I will find out by\nhook or by crook at what time Galen is to visit the cubicles. To-morrow,\nor next day at latest; and to-night, or, better still, to-morrow morning\nbefore sunrise, I will have the youth carried there. If the deaconess\nrefuses--\"\n\n\"And she will,\" Andreas put in.\n\n\"Very well.--Come here, maiden,\" he beckoned to Melissa, and went on loud\nenough for the deaconess to hear: \"If we can get your betrothed to the\nSerapeum early to-morrow, he may probably be cured; otherwise I refuse to\nbe responsible. Tell your friends and his that I will be here before\nsunrise to-morrow, and that they must provide a covered litter and good\nbearers.\"\n\nHe then turned to the deaconess, who had followed him in silence, with\nher hands clasped like a deserter, laid his broad, square hand on her\nshoulder, and added:\n\n\"So it must be, Widow Katharine, Love endures and suffers all things, and\nto save a neighbor's life, it is well to suffer in silence even things\nthat displease us. I will explain it all to you afterwards. Quiet, only\nperfect quiet--No melancholy leave-taking, child! The sooner you are out\nof the house the better.\"\n\nHe went back again to the bed, laid his hand for a moment on the sick\nman's forehead, and then left the room.\n\nDiodoros lay still and indifferent on the couch. Melissa kissed him on\nthe brow, and withdrew without his observing it, her eyes full of tears.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     For what will not custom excuse and sanctify?\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe sun had passed the meridian when Melissa and Andreas left the house.\nThey walked on in silence through the deserted streets, the girl with her\neyes sadly fixed on the ground; for an inward voice warned her that her\nlover's life was in danger. She did not sob, but more than once she wiped\naway a large tear.\n\nAndreas, too, was lost in his own thoughts. To win a soul to the Saviour\nwas surely a good work. He knew Melissa's sober, thoughtful nature, and\nthe retired, joyless life she led with her surly old father. So his\nknowledge of human nature led him to think that she, if any one, might\neasily be won over to the faith in which he found his chief happiness.\nBaptism had given such sanctification to his life that he longed to lead\nthe daughter of the only woman for whom his heart had ever beat a shade\nfaster, to the baptismal font. In the heat of summer Olympias had often\nbeen the guest for weeks together of Polybius's wife, now likewise dead.\nThen she had taken a little house of her own for herself and her\nchildren, and when his master's wife died, the lonely widower had known\nno greater pleasure than that of receiving her on his estate for as long\nas Heron would allow her to remain; he himself never left his work for\nlong. Thus Andreas had become the great ally of the gem-cutter's\nchildren, and, as they could learn nothing from him that was not good and\nworth knowing, Olympias had gladly allowed them to remain in his society,\nand herself found a teacher and friend in the worthy steward. She knew\nthat Andreas had joined the Christians; she had made him tell her much\nabout his faith; still, as the daughter and wife of artists, she was\nfirmly attached to the old gods, and could only regard the Christian\ndoctrine as a new system of philosophy in which many things attracted\nher, but many, on the other hand, repelled her. At that time his passion\nfor Melissa's mother had possessed him so wholly that his life was a\nconstant struggle against the temptation to covet his neighbor's wife.\nAnd he had conquered, doing severe penance for every glance which might\nfor an instant betray to her the weakness of his soul. She had loved\nflowers, and he knew the plant-world so well, and was so absolutely\nmaster over everything which grew and bloomed in the gardens of which he\nhad charge, that he could often intrust his speechless favorites to tell\nher things which lips and eyes might not reveal. Now she was no more, and\nthe culture of plants had lost half its charm since her eyes could no\nlonger watch their thriving. He now left the gardens for the most part to\nhis men, while he devoted himself to other cares with double diligence,\nand to the strictest exercises of his faith.\n\nBut, as many a man adores the children of the woman he might not marry,\nAlexander and Melissa daily grew dearer to Andreas. He took a father's\ninterest in their welfare, and, needing little himself, he carefully\nhoarded his ample income to promote the cause of Christianity and\nencourage good works; but he had paid Alexander's debts when his time of\napprenticeship was over, for they were so considerable that the reckless\nyouth had not dared confess the sum to his stern father.\n\nVery soon after this, Alexander had become one of the most popular\npainters of the town; and when he proposed to repay his friend the money\nhe had lent him, Andreas accepted it; but he added it to a capital of\nwhich the purpose was his secret, but which, if his prayers were heard,\nmight return once more to benefit Alexander. Diodoros, too, was as dear\nto the freedman as a son of his own could have been, though he was a\nheathen. In the gymnasium and the race-course, or in the practice of the\nmysteries, the good seed which he sowed in the lad's heart was trodden\ndown. Polybius, too, was an utter heathen; indeed, he was one of the\npriests of Dionysus and Demeter, as his wealth and position in the senate\nrequired.\n\nThen, Diodoros had confessed to him that he hoped to win Melissa for his\nwife, and this had been adverse to Andreas's hope and purpose of making a\nChristian of the girl; for he knew by experience how easily married\nhappiness was wrecked when man and wife worship different gods. But when\nthe freedman had again seen the gem-cutter's brutality and the girl's\nfilial patience, an inward voice had called to him that this gentle,\ngifted creature was one of those elect from among whom the Lord chose the\nmartyrs for the faith; and that it was his part to lead her into the fold\nof the Redeemer. He had begun the work of converting her with the zeal he\nput into everything. But fresh doubts had come upon him on the threshold\nof the sick-room, after seeing the lad who was so dear to him, and whose\neye had met his with such a trustful, suffering look. Could it be right\nto sow the seed of discord between him and his future wife? And supposing\nDiodoros, too, should be converted by Melissa, could he thus alienate\nfrom his father the son and heir of Polybius--his benefactor and master?\n\nThen, he remembered, too, to what a position he had risen through that\nmaster's confidence in him. Polybius knew nothing of the concerns of his\nhouse but from the reports laid before him by Andreas; for the steward\ncontrolled not merely the estate but the fortune of the family, and for\nyears had been at the head of the bank which he himself had founded to\nincrease the already vast income of the man to whom he owed his freedom.\nPolybius paid him a considerable portion of each year's profits, and had\nsaid one day at a banquet, with the epigrammatic wit of an Alexandrian,\nthat his freedman, Andreas, served his interests as only one other man\ncould do--namely, himself--but with the industry of ten. The Christian\ngreatly appreciated his confidence; and as he walked on by the side of\nMelissa, he told himself again and again that it would be dishonorable to\nbetray it.\n\nIf only the sweet girl might find the way alone! If she were chosen to\nsalvation, the Lord himself would lead and guide her. Had he indeed not\nbeckoned her already by impressing on her heart those words, \"The\nfullness of the time is now come?\"\n\nThat he was justified in keeping this remembrance alive he had no doubt;\nand he was about to speak of it again, when she prevented him by raising\nher large eyes beseechingly to his, and asking him:\n\n\"Is Diodoros in real danger? Tell me the truth. I would rather endure the\nworst than this dreadful anxiety.\"\n\nSo Andreas acknowledged that the youth was in a bad way, but that\nPtolemaeus, himself well-skilled, hoped to cure him if his greater\ncolleague Galenus would aid him.\n\n\"And it is to secure his assistance, then,\" Melissa went on, \"that the\nleech would have him carried to the Serapeum?\"\n\n\"Yes, my child. For he is in Caesar's train, and it would be vain to try\nto speak with him to-day or to-morrow.\"\n\n\"But the journey through the town will do the sufferer a mischief.\"\n\n\"He will be carried in a litter.\"\n\n\"But even that is not good for him. Perfect quiet, Ptolemaeus said, was\nthe best medicine.\"\n\n\"But Galenus has even better remedies at hand,\" was the reply.\n\nMelissa seemed satisfied with this assurance, for she walked on for some\ntime in silence. But when the uproar of the crowd in the vicinity of the\nSerapeum became more audible as they advanced, she suddenly stood still,\nand said:\n\n\"Come what may, I will find my way to the great physician's presence and\ncrave his help.\" \"You?\" cried the freedman; and when she firmly\nreiterated her purpose, the strong man turned pale.\n\n\"You know not what you say!\" he exclaimed, in deep concern. \"The men who\nguard the approaches to Caracalla are ruthless profligates, devoid of\ncourtesy or conscience. But, you may rely upon it, you will not even get\ninto the antechamber.\"\n\n\"Perhaps. Nevertheless, it is my duty, and I will try.\"\n\nHow firmly and decisively she spoke! And what strength of will sparkled\nin the quiet, modest maiden's eyes! And the closely set lips, which\nusually were slightly parted, and hardly covered two of her pearly white\nteeth, gave her a look of such determination, that Andreas could see that\nno obstacle would check her.\n\nStill, love and duty alike required him to use every means in his power\nto keep her from taking such a step. He lavished all his eloquence; but\nshe adhered to her purpose with steadfast persistency, and none of the\nreasons he could adduce to prove the impossibility of the undertaking\nconvinced her. The only point which staggered her was the information\nthat the great leech was an old man, who walked with difficulty; and that\nGalen, as a heathen and a disciple of Aristotle, would never be induced\nto enter a Christian dwelling. Both these facts might be a serious\nhindrance to her scheme; yet she would not now stop to reflect. They had\ngot back to the great street of Hermes, leading from the temple of that\ngod to the Serapeum, and must cross it to reach the lake, their immediate\ndestination. As in all the principal streets of Alexandria, a colonnade\nbordered the street in front of the houses on each side of the wide and\nhandsome roadway. Under these arcades the foot-passengers were closely\npacked, awaiting Caesar's passage. He must soon be coming, for the\nreception, first at the Kanopic Gate, and then at the Gate of the Sun,\nwas long since over; and, even if he had carried out his purpose of\nhalting at the tomb of Alexander the Great, he could not be detained much\nlonger. The distance hither down the Kanopic Way was not great, and swift\nhorses would quickly bring him down the Aspendia street to that of\nHermes, leading straight to the Serapeum. His train was not to follow him\nto the Soma, the mausoleum of the founder of the city, but to turn off to\nthe southward by the Paneum, and make a round into the street of Hermes.\n\nThe praetorians, the German body-guard, the imperial Macedonian phalanx,\nand some mounted standard-bearers had by this time reached the spot where\nMelissa was proceeding up the street holding Andreas's hand. Close by\nthem came also a train of slaves, carrying baskets full of palm-leaves\nand fresh branches of ivy, myrtle, poplar, and pine, from the gardens of\nthe Paneum, to be carried to the Serapeum. They were escorted by lictors,\nendeavoring with their axes and fasces to make a way for them through the\nliving wall which barred their way.\n\nBy the help of the mounted troops, who kept the main road clear, space\nwas made for them; and Andreas, who knew one of the overseers of the\ngarden-slaves, begged him as a favor to allow Melissa and himself to walk\namong his people. This was willingly granted to so well-known a man; and\nthe way was quite free for the moment, because the imperial cartage had\nnot followed immediately on the soldiers who had now all marched past.\nThus, among the flower-bearers, they reached the middle of the street;\nand while the slaves proceeded on their way to the Serapeum, the freedman\ntried to cross the road, and reach the continuation of the street they\nhad come by, and which led to the lake. But the attempt was frustrated,\nfor some Roman lictors who had just come up stood in their way, and sent\nthem to the southern side of the street of Hermes, to mingle with the\ngaping crowd under the arcade.\n\nThey were, of course, but ill received by these, since they naturally\nfound themselves in front of the foremost rank; but the stalwart frame\nand determined face of Andreas, and the exceptional beauty of his young\ncompanion, over whose pretty head most of the gazers could easily see,\nprotected her from rough treatment.\n\nAndreas spoke a few words of apology to those standing nearest to them,\nand a young goldsmith at once courteously made way, so that Melissa, who\nhad taken a place behind a column, might see better.\n\nAnd in a few minutes--there was that to see which made every one forget\nthe intruders. Vehicles and outriders, litters swung between mules, and a\nlong train of imperial footmen, in red tunics embroidered with gold,\nhuntsmen with leashes of noble dogs, baggage-wagons and loaded elephants,\ncame trooping down toward the Serapeum; while suddenly, from the Aspendia\ninto the Hermes Way, the Numidian horse rushed out, followed by a troop\nof mounted lictors, who galloped up the street, shouting their orders in\nloud tones to the imperial train, in a mixture of Latin and Greek, of\nwhich Melissa understood only the words \"Caesar!\" and \"Make way to the\nright!\"\n\nThe command was instantly obeyed. Vehicles, foot-passengers, and riders\nalike crowded to the southern or left-hand side of the road, and the\nmany-headed throng, of which Andreas and Melissa formed a part, drew as\nfar back as possible under the colonnade; for on the edge of the footway\nthere was the risk of being trampled on by a horse or crushed by a wheel.\nThe back rows of the populace, who had collected under the arcades, were\nseverely squeezed by this fresh pressure from without, and their outcries\nwere loud of anger, alarm; or pain; while on the other side of the street\narose shouts of delight and triumph, or, when anything singular came into\nview, loud laughter at the wit and irony of some jester. Added to these\nthere were the clatter of hoofs and the roll of wheels, the whinnying of\nhorses, the shouts of command, the rattle of drums, the blare of\ntrumpets, and the shrill pipe of flutes, without a moment's pause. It was\na wild and ear-splitting tumult; to Melissa, however, neither painful nor\npleasing, for the one idea, that she must speak with the great physician,\nsilenced every other. But suddenly there came up from the east, from the\nrising of the sun, whose course Caesar had followed, such a tremendous\nroar that she involuntarily clutched her companion's hand.\n\nEvery instant the storm of noise increased, rolling on with irresistible\nvehemence, gathering force as it came on, receiving, as it were, fresh\ntributaries on its way, and rapidly swelling from the distance to the\nimmediate vicinity, compelling every one, as with a magic power, to yield\nto the superior will of numbers and join in the cry. Even Melissa\ncheered. She, too, was as a drop in the tide, a leaf on the rippling face\nof the rushing torrent; her heart beat as wildly and her voice rang as\nclear as that of the rest of the throng, intoxicated with they knew not\nwhat, which crowded the colonnades by the roadway, and every window and\nroof-top, waving handkerchiefs, strewing flowers on the ground, and\nwiping the tears which this unwonted excitement had brought to their\neyes.\n\nAnd now the shout is so tremendous that it could not possibly be louder.\nIt seems as though it were the union of voices innumerable rather than\nthe seabreeze, which flutters the pennons and flags which wave from every\nhouse and arch, and sways the garlands hung across the street. Melissa\ncan see none but flushed faces, eyes swimming in tears, parted lips,\nwildly waving arms and hands. Then suddenly a mysterious power hushes the\nloud tones close round her; she hears only here and there the cry of\n\"Caesar!\" \"He is coming!\" \"Here he is!\"--and the swift tramp of hoofs and\nthe clatter of wheels sounding like the rattle of an iron building after\na peal of thunder, above the shouts of ten thousand human beings. Closer\nit comes and closer, without a pause, and followed by fresh shouting, as\na flock of daws follow an owl flying across the twilight, swelling again\nto irrepressible triumph as the expected potentate rushes past Melissa\nand her neighbors. They only see Caesar as a form scarcely discerned by\nthe eye during the space of a lightning-flash in a dark night.\n\nFour tawny bay horses of medium size, dappled with black, harnessed\nabreast and wide apart, fly along the cleared road like hunted foxes, the\nlight Gallic chariot at their heels. The wheels seem scarcely to touch\nthe smooth flags of the Alexandrian pavement. The charioteer wears the\nred-bordered toga of the highest Roman officials. He is well known by\nrepute, and the subject of many a sharp jest; for this is Pandion,\nformerly a stableboy, and now one of \"Caesar's friends,\" a praetor, and\none of the great men of the empire. But he knows his business; and what\ndoes Caracalla care for tradition or descent, for the murmurs and\ndiscontent of high or low?\n\nPandion holds the reins with elegant composure, and urges the horses to a\nfrantic pace by a mere whistle, without ever using the whip. But why is\nit that he whirls the mighty monarch of half a world, before whose\nbloodthirsty power every one quakes, so swiftly past these eager\nspectators? Sunk in the cushions on one side, Bassianus Antoninus is\nreclining rather than sitting in the four-wheeled open chariot of Gallic\nmake which sweeps past. He does not vouchsafe a glance at the jubilant\ncrowd, but gazes down at the road, his well-shaped brow so deeply\nfurrowed with gloom that he might be meditating some evil deed.\n\nIt is easy to discern that he is of middle height; that his upper lip and\ncheeks are unshaven, and his chin smooth; that his hair is already thin,\nthough he lacks two years of thirty; and that his complexion is pale and\nsallow; indeed, his aspect is familiar from statues and coins, many of\nwhich are of base metal.\n\nMost of those who thus beheld the man who held in his hand the fate of\neach individual he passed, as of the empire at large, involuntarily asked\nthemselves afterward what impression he had made on them; and Caracalla\nhimself would have rejoiced in the answer, for he aimed not at being\nattractive or admired, but only at being feared. But, indeed, they had\nlong since learned that there was nothing too horrible to be expected of\nhim; and, now that they had seen him, they were of opinion that his\nappearance answered to his deeds. It would be hard to picture a more\nsinister and menacing looking man than this emperor, with his averted\nlooks and his haughty contempt for the world and mankind; and yet there\nwas something about him which made it difficult to take him seriously,\nespecially to an Alexandrian. There was a touch of the grotesque in the\nGallic robe with a red hood in which this ominous-looking contemner of\nhumanity was wrapped. It was called a 'Caracalla', and it was from this\ngarment that Bassianus Antoninus had gained his nickname.\n\nThe tyrant who wore this gaudy cloak was, no doubt, devoid alike of truth\nand conscience; but, as to his being a philosopher, who knew the\nworthlessness of earthly things and turned his back upon the world, those\nwho could might believe it! He was no more than an actor, who played the\npart of Timon not amiss, and who made use of his public to work upon\ntheir fears and enjoy the sight of their anguish. There was something\nlacking in him to make one of those thorough-going haters of their kind\nat whose mere aspect every knee must bend. The appearance, in short, of\nthis false philosopher was not calculated to subdue the rash tongues of\nthe Alexandrians.\n\nTo this many of them agreed; still, there was no time for such\nreflections till the dust had shrouded the chariot, which vanished as\nquickly as it had come, till the shouting was stilled, and the crowd had\nspread over the roadway again. Then they began to ask themselves why they\nhad joined in the acclamations, and had been so wildly excited; how it\nwas that they had so promptly surrendered their self-possession and\ndignity for the sake of this wicked little man. Perhaps it was his\nunlimited control over the weal and woe of the world, over the life and\ndeath of millions, which raised a mortal, not otherwise formed for\ngreatness, so far above common humanity to a semblance of divinity.\nPerhaps it was the instinctive craving to take part in the grand\nimpulsive expression of thousands of others that had carried away each\nindividual. It was beyond a doubt a mysterious force which had compelled\nevery one to do as his neighbors did as soon as Caesar had appeared.\n\nMelissa had succumbed with the rest; she had shouted and waved her\nkerchief, and had not heeded Andreas when he held her hand and asked her\nto consider what a criminal this man was whom she so eagerly hailed. It\nwas not till all was still again that she recollected herself, and her\ndetermination to get the famous physician to visit her lover revived in\nrenewed strength.\n\nFully resolved to dare all, she looked about with calm scrutiny,\nconsidering the ways and means of achieving her purpose without any aid\nfrom Andreas. She was in a fever of impatience, and longed to force her\nway at once into the Serapeum. But that was out of the question, for no\none moved from his place. There was, however, plenty to be seen. A\ncomplete revulsion of feeling had come over the crowd. In the place of\nExpectancy, its graceless step-child, Disappointment, held sway. There\nwere no more shouts of joy; men's lungs were no longer strained to the\nutmost, but their tongues were all the busier. Caesar was for the most\npart spoken of with contempt as Tarautas, and with the bitterness--the\ngrandchild of Expectancy-which comes of disappointment. Tarautas had\noriginally been the name of a stunted but particularly bloodthirsty\ngladiator, in whom ill-will had traced some resemblance to Caesar.\n\nThe more remarkable figures in the imperial train were curiously gazed at\nand discussed. A worker in mosaic, who stood near Melissa, had been\nemployed in the decoration of the baths of Caracalla at Rome, and had\nmuch information to impart; he even knew the names of several of the\nsenators and courtiers attached to Caesar. And, with all this, time was\nfound to give vent to discontent.\n\nThe town had done its utmost to make itself fine enough to receive the\nemperor. Statues had been erected of himself, of his father, his mother,\nand even of his favorite heroes, above all of Alexander the Great;\ntriumphal arches without number had been constructed. The vast halls of\nthe Serapeum, through which he was to pass, had been magnificently\ndecorated; and in front of the new temple, outside the Kanopic Gate,\ndedicated to his father, who now ranked among the gods, the elders of the\ntown had been received by Caesar, to do him homage and offer him the\ngifts of the city. All this had cost many talents, a whole heap of gold;\nbut Alexandria was wealthy, and ready to make even greater sacrifices if\nonly they had been accepted with thanks and condescension. But a young\nactor, who had been a spectator of the scene at the Kanopic Gate, and had\nthen hurried hither, declared, with dramatic indignation, that Caesar had\nonly replied in a few surly words to the address of the senate, and even\nwhile he accepted the gift had looked as if he were being ill-used. The\ndelegates had retired as though they had been condemned to death. To none\nbut Timotheus, the high-priest of Serapis, had he spoken graciously.\n\nOthers confirmed this report; and dissatisfaction found expression in\nmuttered abuse or satirical remarks and bitter witticisms.\n\n\"Why did he drive past so quickly?\" asked a tailor's wife; and some one\nreplied:\n\n\"Because the Eumenides, who haunt him for murdering his brother, lash him\non with their whips of snakes!\"\n\nA spice-merchant; who was not less indignant but more cautious, hearing a\nneighbor inquire why Tarautas drove panther-spotted horses, replied that\nsuch beasts of prey had spotted skins, and that like to like was a common\nrule. A cynical philosopher, who proclaimed his sect by his ragged\ngarment, unkempt hair, and rough mode of speech, declared that Caesar had\na senator to guide his chariot because he had long since succeeded in\nturning the senate-house into a stable.\n\nTo all this, however, Melissa turned a deaf ear, for the thought of the\ngreat Roman leech possessed her mind entirely. She listened earnestly to\nthe mosaic-worker, who had come close up to her, and officiously\nmentioned the names of the most important personages as they went past.\nCaesar's train seemed endless. It included not merely horse and foot\nsoldiers, but numberless baggage-wagons, cars, elephants--which Caracalla\nespecially affected, because Alexander the Great had been fond of these\nhuge beasts--horses, mules, and asses, loaded with bales, cases, tents,\nand camp and kitchen furniture. Mingling with these came sutlers,\nattendants, pages, heralds, musicians, and slaves of the imperial\nhousehold, in knots and parties, looking boldly about them at the\nbystanders. When they caught sight of a young and pretty woman on the\nedge of the path, they would wave a greeting; and many expressed their\nadmiration of Melissa in a very insolent manner. Woolly-headed negroes\nand swarthy natives of north Africa mixed with the fairer dwellers on the\nMediterranean and the yellow or red haired sons of northern Europe. Roman\nlictors, and Scythian, Thracian, or Keltic men-at-arms kept every one out\nof the way who did not belong to the imperial train, with relentless\ndetermination. Only the Magians, wonder-workers, and street wenches were\nsuffered to push their way in among the horses, asses, elephants, dogs,\nvehicles, and mounted troops.\n\nEach time that one of the unwieldy traveling-carriages, drawn by several\nhorses, came in sight, in which the wealthy Roman was wont to take his\nease on a long journey, or whenever a particularly splendid litter was\nborne past, Melissa asked the mosaic-worker for information. In some few\ninstances Andreas could satisfy her curiosity, for he had spent some\nmonths at Antioch on a matter of business, and had there come to know by\nsight some of Caesar's most illustrious companions.\n\nSo far the great Galenus was not of the number; for Caracalla, who was\nailing, had but lately commanded his presence. The famous physician had\nsailed for Pelusium, in spite of his advanced age, and had only just\njoined the sovereign's suite. The old man's chariot had been pointed out\nto the mosaic-worker at the Kanopic Gate, and he was certain that he\ncould not mistake it for any other; it was one of the largest and\nhandsomest; the side doors of it were decorated with the AEsculapius\nstaff and the cup of Hygeia in silver, and on the top were statuettes in\nwood of Minerva and of AEsculapius. On hearing all this, Melissa's face\nbeamed with happy and hopeful anticipation. With one hand pressed to her\nthrobbing bosom, she watched each vehicle as it drove past with such\nintense expectancy that she paid no heed to Andreas's hint that they\nmight now be able to make their way through the crowd.\n\nNow--and the freedman had called her once more--here was another\nmonstrous conveyance, belonging to Julius Paulinus, the former consul,\nwhose keen face, with its bright, merry eyes, looked out between the\nsilken curtains by the side of the grave, unsympathetic countenance of\nDion Cassius the senator and historian.\n\nThe consul, her informant told her--and Andreas confirmed the\nstatement--had displeased Severus, Caracalla's father, by some biting\njest, but, on being threatened with death, disarmed his wrath by saying,\n\"You can indeed have my head cut off, but neither you nor I can keep it\nsteady.\"\n\nThose of the populace who stood near enough to the speaker to hear this\nanecdote broke out in loud cheers, in which they were joined by others\nwho had no idea of what had given rise to them.\n\nThe consul's chariot was followed by a crowd of clients, domestic\nofficials, and slaves, in litters, on horses or mules, or on foot; and\nbehind these again came another vehicle, for some time concealed from\nsight by dust. But when at last the ten fine horses which drew it had\ngone past Melissa, and the top of the vehicle became visible, the color\nmounted to her cheeks, for on the corners of the front she recognized the\nfigures of AEsculapius and Minerva, which, if the mosaic-worker were\nright, distinguished the chariot of Galenus. She listened breathlessly to\nthe roll of the wheels of this coach, and she soon perceived the silver\nAEsculapius staff and bowl on the wide door of this house on wheels,\nwhich was painted blue. At an open window by the door a kindly old face\nwas visible, framed in long, gray hair.\n\nMelissa started at hearing the order to halt shouted from the Serapeum,\nfar down the road, and again, close at hand, \"Halt!\" The procession came\nto a standstill, the riders drew rein, the blue wheels ceased to turn,\nthe coach was immovable but a few steps in front of her, and her eyes met\nthose of the old man. The thought flashed through her brain that Fate\nitself had brought about this pause just at this spot; and when she heard\nthe mosaic-worker exclaim, \"The great Roman physician!\" horses, coach,\nand everything swam before her eyes; she snatched her hand away from that\nof Andreas, and stepped out on the roadway. In an instant she was\nstanding face to face with the venerable leech.\n\nShe heard the warning voice of her companion, she saw the crowd staring\nat her, she had, no doubt, a brief struggle with her maidenly shyness,\nbut she carried out her purpose. The thought that the gods themselves\nwere helping her to appeal to the only man who could save her lover,\nencouraged her to defy every obstacle.\n\nShe was standing by the vehicle; and scarcely had she raised her sweet,\ninnocent, blushing face with pathetic and touching entreaty to the\nwhite-haired Roman, her large, tear-filled eyes meeting his, when he\nbeckoned her to him, and in pleasant, sympathetic tones desired to know\nwhat she wanted. Then she made bold to ask whether he were the great\nRoman physician, and he replied with a flattered and kindly smile that he\nwas sometimes so called. Her thankful glance to heaven revealed what a\ncomfort his words were, and now her rosy lips moved freely, and she\nhurriedly, but with growing courage, gave him to understand that her\nbetrothed, the son of a respected Roman citizen of Alexandria, was lying\nbadly wounded in the head by a stone, and that the leech who was treating\nhim had said that none but he, the great Galenus, could save the young\nman's life. She also explained that Ptolemaeus, though he had said that\nDiodoros needed quiet above all things, had proposed to carry him to the\nSerapeum, and to commend him there to the care of his greater colleague,\nbut that she feared the worst results from the move. She glanced\npleadingly into the Roman's eyes, and added that he looked so kind that\nshe hoped that he would go instead to see the sufferer, who had, quite by\nchance, been taken into a Christian house not very far from the Serapeum,\nwhere he was being taken good care of, and--as a matter of course--cure\nher lover.\n\nThe old man had only interrupted her tale with a few sly questions as to\nher love-affair and her religion; for when she had told him that Diodoros\nwas under the care of Christians, it had occurred to him that this simply\nbut not poorly dressed girl, with her modest ways and sweet, calm face,\nmight herself be a Christian. He was almost surprised when she denied it,\nand yet he seemed pleased, and promised to grant her request. It was not\nfitting that a girl so young should enter any house where Caesar and his\ntrain took up their abode; he would wait for her, \"there\"--and he pointed\nto a small, round temple to Aphrodite, on the left-hand side of the\nstreet of Hermes, where the road was rather wider--for the coach had\nmeanwhile slowly moved on.\n\nNext day, at three hours after the rising of the fierce African sun--for\nhe could not bear its meridian heat--he would go thither in his litter.\n\"And be sure you are there in good time!\" he added, shaking his finger at\nher.\n\n\"If you come an hour too soon, you will find me waiting!\" she cried.\n\nHe laughed, and said, \"What pretty maid, indeed, would dare to be late\nfor an appointment under the very eyes of the goddess of Love!\" He bade\nher a friendly farewell, and lay back in the chariot.\n\nMelissa, radiant with happiness, looked about her for the place where she\nhad left her companion. However, in spite of the lictors, Andreas had\nfollowed her; he drew her hand under his arm, and led her through the\nnow-thinning crowd into a sidelane which led to the lake, opening out of\nthe colonnaded street opposite the little temple.\n\nMelissa's steps were winged. Her joy at having gained her end so quickly\nand so easily was uppermost in her mind, and as they threaded their way\namong the people she tried to tell Andreas what the great physician had\npromised. But the noise drowned her speech, for at this moment Caesar's\ntame lion, named the \"Sword of Persia\" was being led through the street\nby some Numidian slaves.\n\nEvery one was looking at the splendid beast; and, as she too turned to\ngaze, her eye met the ardent glance of a tall, bearded man standing at\nthe window of a house just behind the round temple to Aphrodite. She at\nonce recognized Serapion, the Magian, and whispered his name to Andreas;\nhe, however, without looking round, only drew her along more quickly, and\ndid not breathe easily till they found themselves in the narrow, deserted\nalley.\n\nThe Magian had observed her while she stood by the Roman's chariot, and\nhis conversation with a Syrian of middle age in his company had been of\nher. His companion's appearance was as insignificant as his own was\nstately and commanding. Nothing distinguished the Syrian from a thousand\nof his fellows but the cunning stamped on his sharply-cut features;\nstill, the great Magian seemed to hold him in some esteem, for he readily\nreplied to the little man's questions and remarks.\n\nAt this moment the Syrian waved his hand in the air with a gesture common\nto men of his race when displaying their own superior knowledge, as he\nsaid \"What did I spend ten years in Rome for, if I do not know Serenus\nSamonicus? He is the greatest book-collector in the empire. And he\nregards himself as a second AEsculapius, and has written a book on\nmedicine in verse, which Geta, Caesar's murdered brother, always had\nabout him, for he regarded the physicians here as mere bunglers. He is as\nrich as the Alabarch, and riding in his coach is Galenus, for whom Caesar\nsent. What can that girl want of him?\"\n\n\"H'm!\" muttered the other, stroking his beard with thoughtful dignity.\n\"She is a modest maiden; it can only be something urgent and important\nwhich has prompted her to address the Roman.\"\n\n\"Your Castor will be able to find out,\" replied the Syrian Annianus.\n\"That omniscient rascal can get through a key-hole, and by to-morrow will\nbe the best friend of the Roman's people, if you care to know.\"\n\n\"We will see,\" said Serapion. \"Her brother, perhaps, to-morrow evening,\nwill tell me what is going on.\"\n\n\"The philosopher?\" said the other, with a contemptuous flourish. \"You are\na great sage, Serapion, as the people hold; but you often sew with\nneedles too fine for me. Why, just now, when Caesar is here, and gain and\nhonor be in the streets for such a one as you only to stoop for--why, I\nsay, you should waste precious time on that poring fellow from the\nMuseum, I can not understand.\"\n\nA superior smile parted the Magian's lips; he stepped back into the room,\nfollowed by Annianus, and replied:\n\n\"You know how many who call themselves Magians will crowd round Caesar,\nand the fame of Sosibius, Hananja, and Kaimis, is not much behind mine.\nEach plies his art by his own formulas, though he may call himself a\nPythagorean or what not. None dare claim to belong to any recognized\nschool, since the philosophers of the guild pride themselves on\ncondemning the miracle-mongers. Now, in his youth, Caracalla went through\nhis courses of philosophy. He detests Aristotle, and has always attached\nhimself to Plato and the Pythagoreans. You yourself told me that by his\ndesire Philostratus is writing a life of Apollonius of Tyana; and, though\nhe may turn up his nose at the hair-splitting and frittering of the sages\nof the Museum, it is in his blood to look for marvels from those\nprivileged philosophers. His mother has made courtiers of them again; and\nhe, who looks for everything from the magic arts, has never yet met a\nMagian who could have been one of them.\"\n\nAt this the Syrian clapped his hands, exclaiming: \"And you propose to use\nPhilip as your signbearer to talk to the emperor of a thaumaturgist who\nis hand in hand with all the learning of the Museum? A cursed good idea!\nBut the gem-cutter's son does not look like a simpleton; and he is a\nskeptic into the bargain, and believes in nothing. If you catch him, I\nshall really and truly believe in your miraculous powers.\"\n\n\"There are harder things than catching him,\" said the Magian.\n\n\"You mean to break his will,\" said the Syrian, looking down at the\nground, \"by your eye and the laying on of hands, as you did mine and\nTriphis's two years ago?\"\n\n\"That, no doubt, formed the first bond between us,\" said Serapion. \"I now\nneed only your ventriloquism. Philip himself will come half-way to meet\nme on the main point.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\n\"You called him a skeptic, and he does, in fact, pride himself on going\nfurther than the old masters of the school. Diligent study has brought\nhim to the point of regarding nothing as certain, but, on the other hand,\neverything as possible. The last result he can arrive at is the\nprobability--since certainty there is none--that it is impossible ever to\nknow anything, be it what it may. He is always ready to listen with\nsympathetic attention to the arguments for the reappearance of the souls\nof the dead in the earthly form they have quitted, to visit and converse\nwith the living. He considers it a fallacy to say that anything is\nimpossible; and my arguments are substantial. Korinna will appear to him.\nCastor has discovered a girl who is her very image. Your arts will\nconvince him that it is she who speaks to him, for he never heard her\nvoice in life, and all this must rouse his desire to see her again and\nagain. And thus the skeptic will be convinced, in spite of his own\ndoctrine. In this, as in every other case, it is the passionate wish that\ngives rise to the belief.\"\n\n\"And when you have succeeded in getting him to this point?\" asked the\nSyrian, anxiously.\n\n\"Then,\" replied the Magian, \"he will help me, with his triumphant\ndialectics, to win Caesar over to the same conviction; and then we shall\nbe able to satisfy the emperor's desire to hold intercourse with the\ndead; and for that I count on your power of making voices proceed from\nany person present.\"\n\nHe said no more. The little man looked up at him approvingly, and said,\nmodestly: \"You are indeed wise, Serapion, and I will do my best to help\nyou. The next thing to be done is to seek representatives of the great\nAlexander, of Apollonius of Tyana, and of Caesar's brother,\nfather-in-law, and wife.\"\n\n\"Not forgetting Papinian, the noblest of his victims,\" added the Magian.\n\"Back again already, Castor?\"\n\nThese words were addressed to a tall and apparently elderly man in a long\nwhite robe, who had slipped in without a sound. His demeanor was so grave\nand dignified that he looked precisely like a Christian priest impressed\nwith the sanctity of his office; but hardly had he got into the room, and\ngreeted the Magian with much unction, than he pulled the white garment\noff over his head, rubbed from his cheeks the lines which gave him twenty\nadded years, stretched his lithe limbs, and exclaimed with delight:\n\n\"I have got her! Old Dorothea will bring her to your theatre!\"--and the\nyoung fellow's mobile face beamed with the happy radiance of success.\n\nIt almost seemed as though fermenting wine flowed in the man's veins\ninstead of blood; for, when he had made his report to the Magian, and had\nbeen rewarded with a handful of gold-pieces, he tossed the coins in the\nair, caught them like flies in the hollow of his hand, and then pitched\nwheel fashion over head and heels from one end of the room to the other.\nThen, when he stood on his feet once more, he went on, without a sign of\nbreathlessness:\n\n\"Forgive me, my lord! Nature asserts her rights. To play the pious for\nthree whole hours! Eternal gods, that is a hard task, and a man must--\"\n\n\"I know all about it,\" Serapion broke in with a smile and a threatening\nfinger. \"Now go and stretch your limbs, and then share your lightly\nearned gains with some pretty flute-player. But I want you again this\nevening; so, if you feel weak, I shall lock you up.\"\n\n\"Do,\" said Castor, as earnestly as if he had been promised some pleasure.\n\"What a merry, good-for-nothing set they are!-Dorothea will bring the\ngirl at the appointed hour. Everything is arranged.\"\n\nWhereupon he danced out of the room, singing a tune.\n\n\"An invaluable creature!\" said the Syrian, with an admiring glance.\n\n\"A better one spoiled,\" said Serapion. \"He has the very highest gifts,\nbut is utterly devoid of conscience to set a limit to his excesses. How\nshould he have one? His father was one of a troupe of Ephesian\npantomimists, and his mother a golden-haired Cyprian dancer. But he knows\nevery corner of Alexandria--and then, what a memory! What an actor he\nwould have made! Without even a change of dress, merely by a grimace, he\nat once becomes an old man, an idiot, or a philosopher.\"\n\n\"And what a genius for intrigue!\" Annianus went on enthusiastically. \"As\nsoon as he saw the portrait of Korinna he knew that he had seen her\ndouble among the Christians on the other side of the lake. This morning\nhe tracked her out, and now she is caught in the snare. And how sharp of\nhim to make Dorothea bring her here!\"\n\n\"I told him to do that, and use the name of Bishop Demetrius,\" observed\nthe Magian. \"She would not have come with a stranger, and Dorothea must\nbe known to her in the meetings of their congregation.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nWhile this conversation was taking place, Melissa and her companion had\nreached the shore of the lake, the large inland sea which washed the\nsouthern side of the city and afforded anchorage for the Nile-boats. The\nferry-boat which would convey them to the gardens of Polybius started\nfrom the Agathodaemon Canal, an enlarged branch of the Nile, which\nconnected the lake with the royal harbor and the Mediterranean; they had,\ntherefore, to walk some distance along the shore.\n\nThe setting sun shot slanting rays on the glittering surface of the\nglassy waters in which the numberless masts of the Nile-boats were\nmirrored.\n\nVessels large and small, with white or gayly-painted lateen sails\ngleaming in the evening glow, large galleys, light skiffs, and restless,\nskimming pleasure-boats, were flitting to and fro; and among them, like\nloaded wagons among chariots and horsemen, the low corn-barges scarcely\nseemed to move, piled as they were with pyramids of straw and grain as\nhigh as a house.\n\nThe bustle on the quay was less conspicuous than usual, for all who were\nfree to follow their curiosity had gone into the city. There were,\nhowever, many slaves, and Caesar's visit no more affected their day's\ntoil than it did the course of the sun. To-day, as every other day, they\nhad to pack and unload; and though few ships were sailing, numbers were\narriving from the south, and throwing out the landing-bridges which\nconnected them with the shore.\n\nThe number of pleasure-boats, on the other hand, was greater than usual;\nfor business was suspended, and many who hated the crowd found pleasure\nin rowing in their own boats. Others had come to see the imperial barge,\nwhich had been newly furnished up, and which was splendid enough to\nattract even the luxurious Alexandrians. Gold and ivory, purple sails,\nbronze and marble statues at the prow and stern, and in the little\nshrines on the after-deck, combined in a gorgeous display, made all the\nmore brilliant by the low sun, which added vividness to every hue.\n\nIt was pleasant to linger on the strand at this hour. Spreading sycamores\nand plumed palms cast a pleasant shade; the heat of the day had abated,\nand a light air, which always blew in from the lake, fanned Melissa's\nbrow. There was no crushing mob, and no dust came up from the\nwell-watered roadway, and yet the girl had lost her cheerful looks, in\nspite of the success of her bold venture; and Andreas walked by her side,\nsilent and ill-pleased.\n\nShe could not understand him; for, as long as she could remember, his\ngrave looks had always brightened at anything that had brought gladness\nto her or to her mother. Besides, her success with the Roman would be to\nthe advantage of Diodoros, and the freedman was devoted to him. Every now\nand then she perceived that his eye rested on her with a compassionate\nexpression, and when she inquired whether he were anxious about the\nsufferer, he gave her some evasive answer, quite unlike his usual\ndecisive speech. This added to her alarm. At last his dissatisfied and\nunsatisfactory replies vexed the usually patient girl, and she told him\nso; for she could not suspect how painfully her triumph in her hasty deed\njarred on her truth-loving friend. He knew that it was not to the great\nGalenus, but to the wealthy Serenus Samonicus, that she had spoken; for\nthe physician's noble and thoughtful features were familiar to him from\nmedals, statues, and busts. He had seen Samonicus, too, at Antioch, and\nheld his medical lore, as expressed in verse, very cheap. How worthless\nwould this man's help be! In spite of his promise, Diodoros would after\nall have to be conveyed to the Serapeum; and yet Andreas could not bear\nto crush his darling's hopes.\n\nHe had hitherto known her as a patient, dutiful child; to-day he had seen\nwith what unhesitating determination she could carry out a purpose; and\nhe feared that, if he told her the truth, she would at once make her way\ninto Caesar's quarters, in defiance of every obstacle, to crave the\nassistance of the true Galen. He must leave her in error, and yet he\ncould not bear to do so, for there was no art in which he was so inexpert\nas that of deceit. How hard it was to find the right answer, when she\nasked him whether he did not hope everything from the great physician's\nintervention, or when she inquired what were the works to which Galen\nowed his chief fame!\n\nAs they came near to the landing-stage whence the ferry started, she\nwanted to know how old he should suppose the Roman leech to be; and again\nhe avoided answering, for Galen was above eighty, and Serenus scarcely\nseventy.\n\nShe looked up at him with large, mournful eyes, saying, \"Have I offended\nyou, or is there something you are concealing from me?\"\n\n\"What could you do to offend me?\" he replied; \"life is full of sorrows,\nmy child. You must learn to have patience.\"\n\n\"Patience!\" echoed Melissa, sadly. \"That is the only knowledge I have\never mastered. When my father is more sullen than you are, for a week at\na time, I scarcely heed it. But when you look like that, Andreas, it is\nnot without cause, and that is why I am anxious.\"\n\n\"One we love is very sick, child,\" he said, soothingly; but she was not\nto be put off so, and exclaimed with conviction:\n\n\"No, no, it is not that. We have learned nothing fresh about Diodoro--and\nyou were ready enough to answer me when we came away from the Christian's\nhouse. Nothing but good has happened to us since, and yet you look as if\nthe locusts had come down on your garden.\"\n\nThey had reached a spot on the shore where a ship was being unloaded of\nits cargo of granite blocks from Syene. Black and brown slaves were\ndragging them to land. An old blind man was piping a dismal tune on a\nsmall reed flute to encourage them in their work, while two men of fairer\nhue, whose burden had been too heavy for them, had let the end of the\ncolumn they were carrying sink on the ground, and were being mercilessly\nflogged by the overseer to make them once more attempt the impossible.\n\nAndreas had watched the scene; a surge of fury had brought the blood to\nhis face, and, stirred by great and genuine emotion, he broke out:\n\n\"There--there you see the locusts which destroy my garden--the hail which\nruins my crops! It falls on all that bears the name of humanity--on me\nand you. Happy, girl? None of us can ever be happy till the Kingdom shall\narise for which the fullness of the time is come.\"\n\n\"But they dropped the column; I saw them myself,\" urged Melissa.\n\n\"Did you, indeed?\" said Andreas. \"Well, well, the whip, no doubt, can\nrevive exhausted powers. And that is how you look upon such deeds!--you,\nwho would not crush a worm in the garden, think this is right and just!\"\n\nIt suddenly struck Melissa that Andreas, too, had once been a slave, and\nthe feeling that she had hurt him grieved her to the heart. She had often\nheard him speak sternly and gravely, but never in scorn as he did now,\nand that, too, distressed her; and as she could not think of the right\nthing to say in atonement for the wrong she had done, she could only look\nup with tearful entreaty and murmur, \"Forgive me!\"\n\n\"I have nothing to forgive,\" he replied in an altered tone. \"You have\ngrown up among the unjust who are now in power. How should you see more\nclearly than they, who all walk in darkness? But if the light should be\nshown to you by one to whom it hath been revealed, it would not be\nextinguished again.--Does it not seem a beautiful thing to you to live\namong none but brethren and sisters, instead of among oppressors and\ntheir scourged victims; or is there no place in a woman's soul for the\nholy wrath that came upon Moses the Hebrew? But who would ever have\nspoken his great name to you?\"\n\nMelissa was about to interrupt his vehement speech, for, in a town where\nthere were so many Jews, alike among the citizens and the slaves, even\nshe had heard that Moses had been their lawgiver; but he prevented her,\nby adding hastily: \"This only, child, I would have you remember--for here\nis the ferry--the worst ills that man ever inflicts on his fellow-man are\nthe outcome of self-interest; and, of all the good he may do, the best is\nthe result of his achieving self-forgetfulness to secure the happiness\nand welfare of others.\"\n\nHe said no more, for the ferry-boat was about to put off, and they had to\ntake their places as quickly as possible.\n\nThe large flat barge was almost unoccupied; for the multitude still\nlingered in the town, and more than one seat was empty for the weary girl\nto rest on. Andreas paced to and fro, for he was restless; but when\nMelissa beckoned to him he came close to her, and, while he leaned\nagainst the little cabin, received her assurance that she now quite\nunderstood his desire to see all slaves made free. He, if any one, must\nknow what the feelings of those unhappy creatures were.\n\n\"Do I not know!\" he exclaimed, with a shake of the head. Then, glancing\nround at the few persons who were sitting at the other end of the boat,\nhe went on sadly: \"To know that, a man must himself have been branded\nwith the marks of his humiliation.\" He showed her his arm, which was\nusually hidden by the long sleeve of his tunic, and Melissa exclaimed in\nsorrowful surprise: \"But you were free-born! and none of our slaves bear\nsuch a brand. You must have fallen into the hands of Syrian pirates.\"\n\nHe nodded, and added, \"I and my father.\"\n\n\"But he,\" the girl eagerly put in, \"was a great man.\"\n\n\"Till Fate overtook him,\" Andreas said.\n\nMelissa's tearful eyes showed the warm sympathy she felt, as she asked:\n\n\"But how could it have happened that you were not ransomed by your\nrelations? Your father was, no doubt, a Roman citizen; and the law--\"\n\n\"The law forbids that such a one should be sold into slavery,\" Andreas\nbroke in, \"and yet the authorities of Rome left him in misery--left--\"\n\nAt this, her large, gentle eyes flashed with indignation, and, stirred to\nthe depths of her nature, she exclaimed:\n\n\"How was such horrible injustice possible? Oh, let me hear. You know how\ntruly I love you, and no one can hear you.\"\n\nThe wind had risen, the waves splashed noisily against the broad boat,\nand the song of the slaves, as they plied their oars, would have drowned\na stronger voice than the freedman's; so he sat down by her side to do\nher bidding.\n\nAnd the tale he had to tell was sad indeed.\n\nHis father had been of knightly rank, and in the reign of Marcus Aurelius\nhe had been in the service of Avidius Cassius, his fellow-countryman, the\nillustrious governor of Asia as 'procurator ab epistolis'. As holding\nthis high post, he found himself involved in the conspiracy of Avidius\nagainst the emperor. After the assassination of his patron, who had\nalready been proclaimed emperor by the troops, Andreas's father had been\ndeprived of his offices, his citizenship, and his honors; his possessions\nwere confiscated, and he was exiled to the island of Anaphe. It was to\nCaesar's clemency that he owed his life.\n\nOn their voyage into exile the father and son fell into the hands of\nSyrian pirates, and were sold in the slave-market of Alexandria to two\nseparate masters. Andreas was bought by a tavern-keeper; the procurator,\nwhose name as a slave was Smaragdus, by the father of Polybius; and this\nworthy man soon learned to value his servant so highly, that he purchased\nthe son also, and restored him to his father. Thus they were once more\nunited.\n\nEvery attempt of the man who had once held so proud a position to get his\nrelease, by an act of the senate, proved vain. It was with a broken heart\nand enfeebled health that he did his duty to his master and to his only\nchild. He pined in torments of melancholy, till Christianity opened new\nhappiness to him, and revived hope brought him back from the very brink\nof despair; and, even as a slave, he found the highest of all\ndignities--that, namely, which a Christian derives from his faith.\n\nAt this point Melissa interrupted her friend's narrative, exclaiming, as\nshe pointed across the waters:\n\n\"There! there! look! In that boat--I am sure that is Alexander! And he is\nmaking for the town.\"\n\nAndreas started up, and after convincing himself that she was indeed\nright, for the youth himself had recognized his sister, who waved her\nhand to him, he wrathfully exclaimed:\n\n\"Madman!\" and by intelligible and commanding signs he ordered the\nreckless young artist to turn his little skiff, and follow in the wake of\nthe ferry-boat, which was by this time nearing land.\n\nBut Alexander signaled a negative, and, after gayly blowing a kiss to\nMelissa, plied his oars again with as much speed and energy as though he\nwere rowing for a wager. How swiftly and steadily the keel of his little\nboat cut through the crisply foaming waves on which it rose and fell! The\ndaring youth did not lack strength, that was certain, and the couple who\nwatched him with so much uneasiness soon understood that he was striving\nto overtake another and larger bark which was at some distance in front\nof him. It was being pulled by slaves, whose stalwart arms made the pace\na good one, and under the linen awning which shaded the middle part of it\ntwo women were seated.\n\nThe rays of the sun, whose fiery globe was now sinking behind the\npalm-groves on the western shore, flooded the sky with ruby light, and\ntinged the white robes of these women, the light canopy over their heads,\nand the whole face of the lake, with a rosy hue; but neither Andreas nor\nhis companion heeded the glorious farewell of departing day.\n\nMelissa pointed out to her friend the strangeness of her brother's\nattire, and the hood which, in the evening light, seemed to be bordered\nwith gold. He had on, in fact, a Gallic mantle, such as that which had\ngained Caesar the nickname of Caracalla, and there was in this disguise\nsomething to reassure them; for, if Alexander pulled the hood low enough,\nit would hide the greater part of his face, and make it difficult to\nrecognize him. Whence he had procured this garment was not hard to\ndivine, for imperial servants had distributed them in numbers among the\ncrowd. Caesar was anxious to bring them into fashion, and it might safely\nbe expected that those Alexandrians who had held out their hands to\naccept them would appear in them on the morrow, as no order required that\nthey should be worn. Alexander could not do better than wear one, if only\nby such means he could escape Zminis and his men.\n\nBut who were the women he was pursuing? Before Melissa could ask the\nquestion, Andreas pointed to the foremost boat, and said:\n\n\"Those are Christian women, and the bark they are in belongs to Zeno, the\nbrother of Seleukus and of the high-priest of Serapis. That is his\nlanding-creek. He lives with his family, and those of the faith to whom\nhe affords refuge, in the long, white house you can just see there among\nthe palm-trees. Those vineyards, too, are his. If I am not mistaken, one\nof the ladies in that boat is his daughter, Agatha.\"\n\n\"But what can Alexander want of two Christian women?\" asked Melissa.\n\nAndreas fired up, and a vein started on his high forehead as he retorted\nangrily:\n\n\"What should he not want! He and those who are like him--the blind--think\nnothing so precious as what satisfies the eye.--There! the brightness has\nvanished which turned the lake and the shore to gold. Such is beauty!--a\nvain show, which only glitters to disappear, and is to fools,\nnevertheless, the supreme object of adoration!\"\n\n\"Then, is Zeno's daughter fair?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"She is said to be,\" replied the other; and after a moment's pause he\nadded: \"Yes, Agatha is a rarely accomplished woman; but I know better\nthings of her than that. It stirs my gall to think that her sacred purity\ncan arouse unholy thoughts. I love your brother dearly; for your mother's\nsake I can forgive him much; but if he tries to ensnare Agatha--\"\n\n\"Have no fear,\" said Melissa, interrupting his wrathful speech.\n\"Alexander is indeed a butterfly, fluttering from flower to flower, and\napt to be frivolous over serious matters, but at this moment he is\nenslaved by a vision--that of a dead girl; and only last night, I\nbelieve, he pledged himself to Ino, the pretty daughter of our neighbor\nSkopas. Beauty is to him the highest thing in life; and how should it be\notherwise, for he is an artist! For the sake of beauty he defies every\ndanger. If you saw rightly, he is no doubt in pursuit of Zeno's daughter,\nbut most likely not to pay court to her, but for some other season.\"\n\n\"No praiseworthy reason, you may be sure,\" said Andreas. \"Here we are.\nNow take your kerchief out of the basket. It is damp and cool after\nsundown, especially over there where I am draining the bog. The land we\nare reclaiming by this means will bring your future husband a fine income\nsome day.\"\n\nThey disembarked, and ere long reached the little haven belonging to\nPolybius's estate. There were boats moored there, large and small, and\nAndreas hailed the man who kept them, and who sat eating his supper, to\nask him whether he had unmoored the green skiff for Alexander.\n\nAt this the old fellow laughed, and said: \"The jolly painter and his\nfriend, the sculptor, met Zeno's daughter just as she was getting into\nher boat with Mariamne. Down they came, running as if they had gone mad.\nThe girl must have turned their heads. My lord Alexander would have it\nthat he had seen the spirit of one who was dead, and he would gladly give\nhis life to see her once again.\"\n\nIt was now dark, or it would have alarmed Melissa to see the ominous\ngravity with which Andreas listened to this tale; but she herself was\nsufficiently startled, for she knew her brother well, and that no risk,\nhowever great, would stop him if his artistic fancy were fired. He, whom\nshe had believed to be in safety, had gone straight into the hands of the\npursuers; and with him caution and reflection were flown to the winds\nwhen passion held sway. She had hoped that her friend Ino had at last\ncaptured the flutterer, and that he would begin to live a settled life\nwith her, as master of a house of his own; and now, for a pretty face, he\nhad thrown everything to the winds, even the duty of self-preservation.\nAndreas had good reason to be angry, and he spoke no more till they\nreached their destination, a country house of handsome and important\naspect.\n\nNo father could have received his future daughter more heartily than did\nold Polybius. The fiend gout racked his big toes, stabbing, burning, and\nnipping them. The slightest movement was torture, and yet he held out his\narms to her for a loving embrace, and, though it made him shut his eyes\nand groan, he drew her pretty head down, and kissed her cheeks and hair.\nHe was now a heavy man, of almost shapeless stoutness, but in his youth\nhe must have resembled his handsome son. Silvery locks flowed round his\nwell-formed head, but a habit of drinking wine, which, in spite of the\ngout, he could not bring himself to give up, had flushed his naturally\ngood features, and tinged them of a coppery red, which contrasted\nstrangely with his snowy hair and beard. But a kind heart, benevolence,\nand a love of good living, beamed in every look.\n\nHis heavy limbs moved but slowly, and if ever full lips deserved to be\ncalled sensual, they were those of this man, who was a priest of two\ndivinities.\n\nHow well his household understood the art of catering for his love of\nhigh living, was evident in the meal which was served soon after\nMelissa's arrival, and to eat which the old man made her recline on the\ncouch by his side.\n\nAndreas also shared the supper; and not the attendant slaves only, but\nDame Praxilla, the sister of their host, whose house she managed, paid\nhim particular honor. She was a widow and childless, and, even during the\nlifetime of Diodoros's mother, she had given her heart, no longer young,\nto the freedman, without finding her love returned or even observed. For\nhis sake she would have become a Christian, though she regarded herself\nas so indispensable to her brother that she had rarely left him to hold\nintercourse with other Christians. Nor did Andreas encourage her; he\ndoubted her vocation. Whatever happened in the house, the excitable woman\nmade it her own concern; and, although she had known Melissa from\nchildhood, and was as fond of her as she could be of the child of\n\"strangers,\" the news that Diodoros was to marry the gem-cutter's\ndaughter was displeasing to her. A second woman in the house might\ninterfere with her supremacy; and, as an excuse for her annoyance, she\nhad represented to her brother that Diodoros might look higher for a\nwife. Agatha, the beautiful daughter of their rich Christian neighbor\nZeno, was the right bride for the boy.\n\nBut Polybius had rated her sharply, declaring that he hoped for no\nsweeter daughter than Melissa, who was quite pretty enough, and in whose\nveins as pure Macedonian blood flowed as in his own. His son need look\nfor no wealth, he added with a laugh, since he would some day inherit his\naunt's.\n\nIn fact, Praxilla owned a fine fortune, increasing daily under the care\nof Andreas, and she replied:\n\n\"If the young couple behave so well that I do not rather choose to bestow\nmy pittance on worthier heirs.\"\n\nBut the implied threat had not disturbed Polybius, for he knew his\nsister's ways. The shriveled, irritable old lady often spoke words hard\nto be forgiven, but she had not a bad heart; and when she learned that\nDiodoros was in danger, she felt only how much she loved him, and her\nproposal to go to the town next morning to nurse him was sincerely meant.\n\nBut when her brother retorted: \"Go, by all means; I do not prevent you!\"\nshe started up, exclaiming:\n\n\"And you, and your aches and pains! How you get on when once my back is\nturned, we know by experience. My presence alone is medicine to you.\"\n\"And a bitter dose it is very often,\" replied the old man, with a laugh;\nbut Praxilla promptly retorted: \"Like all effectual remedies. There is\nyour ingratitude again!\"\n\nThe last words were accompanied by a whimper, so Polybius, who could not\nbear to see any but cheerful faces, raised his cup and drank her health\nwith kindly words. Then refilling the tankard, he poured a libation, and\nwas about to empty it to Melissa's health, but Praxilla's lean frame was\nstanding by his side as quickly as though a serpent had stung her. She\nwas drawing a stick of asparagus between her teeth, but she hastily\ndropped it on her plate, and with both hands snatched the cup from her\nbrother, exclaiming:\n\n\"It is the fourth; and if I allow you to empty it, you are a dead man!\"\n\n\"Death is not so swift,\" replied Polybius, signing to a slave to bring\nhim back the cup. But he drank only half of it, and, at his sister's\npathetic entreaties, had more water mixed with the wine. And while\nPraxilla carefully prepared his crayfish--for gout had crippled even his\nfingers--he beckoned to his white-haired body-slave, and with a cunning\nsmile made him add more wine to the washy fluid. He fixed his twinkling\nglance on Melissa, to invite her sympathy in his successful trick, but\nher appearance startled him. How pale the child was--how dejected and\nweary her sweet face, with the usually bright, expressive eyes!\n\nIt needed not the intuition of his kind heart to tell him that she was\ncompletely exhausted, and he desired his sister to take her away to bed.\nBut Melissa was already sound asleep, and Praxilla would not wake her.\nShe gently placed a pillow under her head, laid her feet easily on the\ncouch, and covered them with a wrap. Polybius feasted his eyes on the\nfair sleeper; and, indeed, nothing purer and more tender can be imagined\nthan the girl's face as she lay in dreamless slumber.\n\nThe conversation was now carried on in subdued tones, so as not to\ndisturb her, and Andreas completed the history of the day by informing\nthem that Melissa had, by mistake, engaged the assistance not of the\ngreat Galen but of another Roman practiced in the healing art, but of\nless illustrious proficiency. He must, therefore, still have Diodoros\nconveyed to the Serapeum, and this could be done very easily in the\nmorning, before the populace should again besiege the temple. He must\nforthwith go back to make the necessary arrangements. Praxilla whispered\ntenderly:\n\n\"Devoted man that you are, you do not even get your night's rest.\" But\nAndreas turned away to discuss some further matters with Polybius; and,\nin spite of pain, the old man could express his views clearly and\nintelligently.\n\nAt last he took his leave; and now Praxilla had to direct the slaves who\nwere to carry her brother to bed. She carefully arranged the cushions on\nhis couch, and gave him his medicine and night-draught. Then she returned\nto Melissa, and the sight of the sleeping girl touched her heart. She\nstood gazing at her for some time in silence, and then bent over her to\nwake her with a kiss. She had at last made up her mind to regard the\ngem-cutter's daughter as her niece, so, determined to treat her as a\nchild of her own, she called Melissa by name.\n\nThis awoke the sleeper, and when she had realized that she was still in\nPolybius's eating-room, she asked for Andreas.\n\n\"He has gone back to the town, my child,\" replied Praxilla. \"He was\nanxious about your betrothed.\"\n\n\"Is he worse, then?\" asked Melissa, in alarm. \"No, no,\" said the widow,\nsoothingly. \"It is only--I assure you we have heard nothing new--\"\n\n\"But what then?\" Melissa inquired. \"The great Galen is to see him early\nto-morrow.\" Praxilla tried to divert her thoughts. But as the girl would\ntake no answer to her declaration that Galen himself had promised to see\nDiodoros, Praxilla, who was little used to self-command, and who was\noffended by her persistency, betrayed the fact that Melissa had spoken to\nthe wrong man, and that Andreas was gone to remove Diodoros to the\nSerapeum.\n\nAt this, Melissa suddenly understood why Andreas had not rejoiced with\nher, and at the same time she said to herself that her lover must on no\naccount be exposed to so great a danger without her presence. She must\nlend her aid in transporting him to the Serapeum; and when she firmly\nexpressed her views to the widow, Praxilla was shocked, and sincerely\nrepented of having lost her self-control. It was far too late, and when\nthe housekeeper came into the room and gladly volunteered to accompany\nMelissa to the town, Praxilla threatened to rouse her brother, that he\nmight insist on their remaining at home; but at last she relented, for\nthe girl, she saw, would take her own way against any opposition.\n\nThe housekeeper had been nurse to Diodoros, and had been longing to help\nin tending him. When she left the house with Melissa, her eyes were moist\nwith tears of joy and thankfulness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe Nubian boat-keeper and his boy had soon ferried them across the lake.\nMelissa and her companion then turned off from the shore into a street\nwhich must surely lead into that where the Christians dwelt. Still, even\nas she went on, she began to be doubtful whether she had taken the right\none; and when she came out by a small temple, which she certainly had not\nseen before, she knew not which way to go, for the streets here crossed\neach other in a perfect labyrinth, and she was soon obliged to confess to\nher companion that she had lost her road. In the morning she had trusted\nherself to Andreas's knowledge of the town, and while talking eagerly to\nhim had paid no heed to anything else.\n\nWhat was to be done? She stood meditating; and then she remembered the\nspot where she had seen Caesar drive past. This she thought she could\ncertainly recognize, and from thence make her way to the street she\nsought.\n\nIt was quite easy to find the street of Hermes, for the noise of the\nrevelers, who were to-night even more numerous than usual in this busy\nhighway, could be heard at a considerable distance. They must follow its\nguidance till they should come to the little temple of Aphrodite; and\nthat was a bold enterprise, for the crowd of men who haunted the spot at\nthis hour might possibly hinder and annoy two unescorted women. However,\nthe elder woman was sturdy and determined, and sixty years of age; while\nMelissa feared nothing, and thought herself sufficiently protected when\nshe had arranged her kerchief so as to hide her face from curious eyes.\n\nAs she made her way to the wide street with a throbbing heart, but quite\nresolved to find the house she sought at any cost, she heard men's voices\non a side street; however, she paid no heed to them, for how, indeed,\ncould she guess that what they were saying could nearly concern her?\n\nThe conversation was between a woman and a man in the white robe of a\nChristian priest. They were standing at the door of a large house; and\nclose to the wall, in the shadow of the porch of a building opposite,\nstood a youth, his hair covered by the hood of a long caracalla,\nlistening with breathless attention.\n\nThis was Alexander.\n\nHe had been standing here for some time already, waiting for the return\nof Agatha, the fair Christian whom he had followed across the lake, and\nwho had vanished into that house under the guidance of a deaconess. The\ndoor had not long closed on them when several men had also been admitted,\nwhom he could not distinguish in the darkness, for the street was narrow\nand the moon still low.\n\nIt was sheer folly--and yet he fancied that one of them was his father,\nfor his deep, loud voice was precisely like that of Heron; and, what was\neven more strange, that of the man who answered him seemed to proceed\nfrom his brother Philip. But, at such an hour, he could more easily have\nsupposed them to be on the top of Mount Etna than in this quarter of the\ntown.\n\nThe impatient painter was very tired of waiting, so, seating himself on a\nfeeding-manger for asses which stood in front of the adjoining house, he\npresently fell asleep. He was tired from the sleepless night he had last\nspent, and when he opened his eyes once more and looked down the street\ninto which the moon was now shining, he did not know how long he had been\nslumbering. Perhaps the damsel he wanted to see had already left the\nhouse, and he must see her again, cost him what it might; for she was so\namazingly like the dead Korinna whom he had painted, that he could not\nshake off the notion that perhaps--for, after Serapion's discourse, it\nseemed quite likely--perhaps he had seen the spirit of the departed girl.\n\nHe had had some difficulty in persuading Glaukias, who had come across\nthe lake with him, to allow him to follow up the fair vision\nunaccompanied; and his entreaties and prohibitions would probably alike\nhave proved vain, but that Glaukias held taken it into his head to show\nhis latest work, which a slave was carrying, to some friends over a jar\nof wine. It was a caricature of Caesar, whom he had seen at the Kanopic\nGate, modeled while he was in the house of Polybius, with a few happy\ntouches.\n\nWhen Alexander woke, he crept into the shadow of the porch opposite to\nthe house into which Korinna's double had disappeared, and he now had no\nlack of entertainment. A man came out of the tall white house and looked\ninto the street, and the moonlight enabled the artist to see all that\ntook place.\n\nThe tall youth who had come to the door wore the robe of a Christian\npriest. Still, it struck Alexander that he was too young for such a\ncalling; and he soon detected that he was certainly not what he seemed,\nbut that there was some treachery in the wind; for no sooner had a woman\njoined him, whom he evidently expected, than she blamed him for his want\nof caution. To this he laughingly replied that he was too hot in his\ndisguise, and, pulling out a false beard, he showed it to the woman, who\nwas dressed as a Christian deaconess, exclaiming, \"That will do it!\"\n\nHe went on to tell her, in a quick, low tone, much of which escaped the\nlistener, that Serapion had dared much that day, and that the performance\nhad ended badly, for that the Christian girl he had so cleverly persuaded\nto come from the other side of the lake had taken fright, and had\ninsisted on knowing where she was.\n\nAt this the deaconess seemed somewhat dismayed, and poured out endless\nquestions in a low voice. He, however, cast all the blame on the\nphilosopher, whom his master had got hold of the day before. Then, as the\nwoman desired more particular information, he briefly told her the story.\n\nThe fair Agatha, he said, after being invited by him, at noon, in the\nname of Bishop Demetrius, to a meeting that evening, had reached the\nferryhouse at about sunset. She had been told that many things of\nimmediate importance were to be announced to the maidens of the Christian\ncongregation; more especially, a discussion was to be held as to the\norder issued by the prefect for their taking part in a procession in\nCaesar's honor when he should quit Alexandria. Old Dorothea had met the\ngirl at the ferry-house, and had brought her hither. The woman who had\nattended her across the lake was certainly none of the wisest, for\nDorothea had easily persuaded her to remain in her house during the\nmeeting.\n\n\"Once there,\" the sham priest went on, \"the girl's waiting-woman must\nhave had some dose in wine or sirup and water, for she is fast asleep at\nthis moment in the ferry-house, or wherever Dorothea took her, as she\ncould not be allowed to wake under Dorothea's roof.\n\n\"Thus every one was out of the way who could make any mischief; and when\nthe Syrian, dressed as a Christian priest, had explained to Agatha what\nthe patriarch required of his maidens, I led her on to the stage, on\nwhich the spectators were to see the ghosts through a small opening.\n\n\"The Syrian had desired her to put up so many and such prayers for the\ncongregation in its peril from Caesar; and, by Aphrodite! she was as\ndocile as a lamb. She fell on her knees, and with hands and eyes to\nheaven entreated her god. But hark!\n\n\"Did you hear anything? Something is stirring within. Well, I have nearly\ndone.\n\n\"The philosopher was to see her thus, and when he had gazed at her as if\nbewitched for some little time through the small window, he suddenly\ncried out, 'Korinna! Korinna!' and all sorts of nonsense, although\nSerapion had strictly forbidden him to utter a sound. Of course, the\ncurtain instantly dropped. But Agatha had heard him call, and in a great\nfright she wanted to know where she was, and asked to go home.--Serapion\nwas really grand. You should have heard how the fox soothed the dove, and\nat the same time whispered to me what you now are to do!\"\n\n\"I?\" said the woman, with some annoyance. \"If he thinks that I will risk\nmy good name in the congregation for the sake of his long beard--\"\n\n\"Just be quiet,\" said Castor, in a pacifying tone. \"The master's beard\nhas nothing to do with the case, but something much more substantial. Ten\nsolidi, full weight, shall be yours if you will take Agatha home with\nyou, or safe across the lake again, and pretend to have saved her from\nmystics or magicians who have decoyed her to some evil end. She knows you\nas a Christian deaconess, and will go with you at once. If you restore\nher to her father, he is rich, and will not send you empty away. Tell him\nthat you heard her voice out in the street, and with the help of a worthy\nold man--that am I--rescued her from any peril you may invent. If he asks\nyou where the heroic deed was done, name any house you please, only not\nthis. Your best plan is to lay it all on the shoulders of Hananja, the\nthaumaturgist; we have owed him a grudge this many a day. However, I was\nnot to teach you any lesson, for your wits are at least a match for\nours.\"\n\n\"Flattery will not win me,\" the woman broke in. \"Where is the gold?\"\n\nCastor handed her the solidi wrapped in a papyrus leaf, and then added:\n\n\"Stay one moment! I must remove this white robe. The girl must on no\naccount recognize me. I am going to force my way into the house with\nyou--you found me in the street, an old man, a total stranger, and\nappealed to me for help. No harm is done, nothing lost but Dorothea's\ncredit among the Christians. We may have to get her safe out of the town.\nI must escort you and Agatha, for nothing unpleasant must happen to her\non the way home. The master is imperative on that point, and so much\nbeauty will certainly not get through the crowded streets without remark.\nAnd for my part, I, of course, am thinking of yours.\"\n\nHere Castor laughed aloud, and rolled the white robe into a bundle.\nAlexander peeped out of his nook and shook his head in amazement, for the\nsupple youth, who a moment before stood stalwart and upright, had\nassumed, with a bent attitude and a long, white beard hastily placed on\nhis chin, the aspect of a weary, poor old man.\n\n\"I will give you a lesson!\" muttered Alexander to himself, and he shook\nhis fist at the intriguing rascal as he vanished into the house with the\nfalse deaconess.\n\nSo Serapion was a cheat! And the supposed ghost of Korinna was a\nChristian maiden who was being shamefully deluded. But he would keep\nwatch over her, and bring that laughing villain to account. The first aim\nof his life was not to lose sight of Agatha. His whole happiness, he\nfelt, depended on that. The gods had, as it were, raised her from the\ndead for him; in her, everything that he most admired was united; she was\nthe embodiment of everything he cared for and prized; every feeling sank\ninto the shade beside the one desire to make her his. She was, at this\nmoment, the universe to him; and all else--the pursuers at his heels, his\nfather, his sister, pretty Ino, to whom he had vowed his love only the\nnight before--had ceased to exist for him.\n\nPossessed wholly by the thought of her, he never took his eyes off the\ndoor opposite; and when at last the maiden came out with the deaconess,\nwhom she called Elizabeth, and with Castor, Alexander followed the\nill-matched trio; and he had to be brisk, for at first they hurried\nthrough the streets as though they feared to be overtaken. He carefully\nkept close to the houses on the shady side, and when they presently\nstopped, so did he.\n\nThe deaconess inquired of Agatha whither she would be taken. But when the\ngirl replied that she must go back to her own boat, waiting at the ferry,\nand return home, the deaconess represented that this was impossible by\nreason of the drunken seamen, who at this hour made the strand unsafe;\nshe could only advise Agatha to come home with her and remain till\ndaybreak. \"This kind old man,\" and she pointed to Castor, \"would no doubt\ngo and tell the oarsmen that they were not to be uneasy at her absence.\"\n\nThe two women stood talking in the broad moonlight, and the pale beams\nfell on Agatha's beautiful unveiled features, giving them that unearthly,\ncorpse-like whiteness which Alexander had tried to represent in his\npicture of Korinna. Again the thought that she was risen from the dead\nsent a chill through his blood--that she would make him follow her,\nperhaps to the tomb she had quitted. He cared not! If his senses had\ncheated him--if,--in spite of what he had heard, that pale, unspeakably\nlovely image were indeed a lamia, a goblin shape from Hecate's dark\nabode, yet would he follow wherever she might lead, as to a festival,\nonly to be with her.\n\nAgatha thanked the deaconess, and as she spoke raised her eyes to the\nwoman's face; and they were two large, dark orbs sparkling through tears,\nand as unlike as possible to the eyes which a ghost might snatch from\ntheir sockets to fling like balls or stones in the face of a pursuer. Oh,\nif only those eyes might look into his own as warmly and gratefully as\nthey now gazed into the face of that treacherous woman!\n\nHe had a hard struggle with himself to subdue the impulse to put an end,\nnow and here, to the fiendish tricks which guile was playing on the\npurest innocence; but the street was deserted, and if he had to struggle\nwith the bent old man, whose powerful and supple limbs he had already\nseen, and if the villain should plant a knife in his ribs--for as a\nwrestler he felt himself his match--Agatha would be bereft of a protector\nand wholly in the deceiver's power.\n\nThis, at any rate, must not be, and he even controlled himself when he\nheard the music of her words, and saw her grasp the hand of the pretended\ngraybeard, who, with an assumption of paternal kindness, dared to kiss\nher hair, and then helped her to draw her kerchief over her face. The\nstreet of Hermes, he explained, where the deaconess dwelt, was full of\npeople, and the divine gift of beauty, wherewith Heaven had blessed her,\nwould attract the baser kind, as a flame attracts bats and moths. The\nhypocrite's voice was full of unction; the deaconess spoke with pious\ngravity. He could see that she was a woman of middle age, and he asked\nhimself with rising fury whether the gods were not guilty who had lent\nmean wretches like these such winning graces as to enable them to lay\ntraps for the guileless? For, in fact, the woman's face was well-favored,\ngentle, and attractive.\n\nAlexander never took his gaze off Agatha, and his artist-eye reveled in\nher elastic step and her slender, shapely form. Above all, he was\nbewitched by the way her head was set, with a little forward bend; and as\nlong as the way led through the silent lanes he was never weary of\ncomparing her with lovely images-with a poppy, whose flower bows the\nstem; with a willow, whose head leans over the water; with the huntress\nArtemis, who, chasing in the moonlight, bends to mark the game.\n\nThus, unwearied and unseen, he had followed them as far as the street of\nHermes; there his task became more difficult, for the road was swarming\nwith people. The older men were walking in groups of five or six, going\nto or coming from some evening assembly, and talking as they walked; or\npriests and temple servants on their way home, tired from night services\nand ceremonies; but the greater number were young men and boys, some\nwearing wreaths, and all more or less intoxicated, with street-wenches on\nthe lookout for a companion or surrounded by suitors, and trying to\nattract a favorite or dismiss the less fortunate.\n\nThe flare of the torches which illuminated the street was mirrored in\neager eyes glowing with wine and passion, and in the glittering weapons\nof the Roman soldiery. Most of these were attached to Caesar's train. As\nin the field, so in the peaceful town, they aimed at conquest, and many a\nGreek sulkily resigned his claims to some fickle beauty in favor of an\nirresistible tribune or centurion. Where the courteous Alexandrians made\nway, they pushed in or thrust aside whatever came in their path, securely\nconfident of being Caesar's favorite protectors, and unassailable while\nhe was near. Their coarse, barbaric tones shook the air, and reduced the\nGreeks to silence; for, even in his drunken and most reckless moods, the\nGreek never lost his subtle refinement. The warriors rarely met a\nfriendly glance from the eye of a native; still, the gold of these lavish\nrevelers was as welcome to the women as that of a fellow-countryman.\n\nThe blaze of light shone, too, on many a fray, such as flared up in an\ninstant whenever Greek and Roman came into contact. The lictors and\ntownwatch could generally succeed in parting the combatants, for the\norders of the authorities were that they should in every case side with\nthe Romans.\n\nThe shouts and squabbling of men, the laughing and singing of women,\nmingled with the word of command. Flutes and lyres, cymbals and drums,\nwere heard from the trellised tavern arbors and cook-shops along the way;\nand from the little temple to Aphrodite, where Melissa had promised to\nmeet the Roman physician next morning, came the laughter and song of\nunbridled lovers. As a rule, the Kanopic Way was the busiest and gayest\nstreet in the town; but on this night the street of Hermes had been the\nmost popular, for it led to the Serapeum, where Caesar was lodged; and\nfrom the temple poured a tide of pleasure-seekers, mingling with the\nflood of humanity which streamed on to catch a glimpse of imperial\nsplendor, or to look at the troops encamped on the space in front of the\nSerapeum. The whole street was like a crowded fair; and Alexander had\nseveral times to follow Agatha and her escort out into the roadway,\nquitting the shelter of the arcade, to escape a party of rioters or the\nimpertinent addresses of strangers.\n\nThe sham old man, however, was so clever at making way for the damsel,\nwhose face and form were effectually screened by her kerchief from the\npassers-by, that Alexander had no opportunity for offering her his aid,\nor proving his devotion by some gallant act. That it was his duty to save\nher from the perils of spending a whole night under the protection of\nthis venal deceiver and her worthless colleague, he had long since\nconvinced himself; still, the fear of bringing her into a more painful\nposition by attracting the attention of the crowd if he were to attack\nher escort, kept him back.\n\nThey had now stopped again under the colonnade, on the left-hand side of\nthe road. Castor had taken the girl's hand, and, as he bade her\ngood-night, promised, in emphatic tones, to be with her again very early\nand escort her to the lake. Agatha thanked him warmly. At this a storm of\nrage blew Alexander's self-command to the four winds, and, before he knew\nwhat he was doing; he stood between the rascal and the Christian damsel,\nsnatched their hands asunder, gripping Castor's wrist with his strong\nright hand, while he held Agatha's firmly in his left, and exclaimed:\n\n\"You are being foully tricked, fair maid; the woman, even, is deceiving\nyou. This fellow is a base villain!\"\n\nAnd, releasing the arm which Castor was desperately but vainly trying to\nfree from his clutch, he snatched off the false beard.\n\nAgatha, who had also been endeavoring to escape from his grasp, gave a\nshriek of terror and indignation. The unmasked rogue, with a swift\nmovement, snatched the hood of the caracalla off Alexander's head, flew\nat his throat with the fury and agility of a panther, and with much\npresence of mind called for help. And Castor was strong too while\nAlexander tried to keep him off with his right hand, holding on to Agatha\nwith his left, the shouts of the deaconess and her accomplice soon\ncollected a crowd. They were instantly surrounded by an inquisitive mob,\nlaughing or scolding the combatants, and urging them to fight or\nbeseeching them to separate. But just as the artist had succeeded in\ntwisting his opponent's wrist so effectually as to bring him to his\nknees, a loud voice of malignant triumph, just behind him, exclaimed:\n\n\"Now we have snared our scoffer! The fox should not stop to kill the hare\nwhen the hunters are at his heels!\"\n\n\"Zminis!\" gasped Alexander. He understood in a flash that life and\nliberty were at stake.\n\nLike a stag hemmed in by dogs, he turned his head to this side and that,\nseeking a way of escape; and when he looked again where his antagonist\nhad stood, the spot was clear; the nimble rascal had taken to his heels\nand vanished among the throng. But a pair of eyes met the painter's gaze,\nwhich at once restored him to self-possession, and reminded him that he\nmust collect his wits and presence of mind. They were those of his sister\nMelissa, who, as she made her way onward with her companion, had\nrecognized her brother's voice. In spite of the old woman's earnest\nadvice not to mix in the crowd, she had pushed her way through, and, as\nthe men-at-arms dispersed the mob, she came nearer to her favorite but\ntoo reckless brother.\n\nAlexander still held Agatha's hand. The poor girl herself, trembling with\nterror, did not know what had befallen her. Her venerable escort was a\nyoung man--a liar. What was she to think of the deaconess, who was his\nconfederate; what of this handsome youth who had unmasked the deceiver,\nand saved her perhaps from some fearful fate?\n\nAs in a thunder-storm flash follows flash, so, in this dreadful night,\none horror had followed another, to bewilder the brain of a maiden who\nhad always lived a quiet life among good and quiet men and women. And now\nthe guardians of the peace had laid hands on the man who had so bravely\ntaken her part, and whose bright eyes had looked into her own with such\ntruth and devotion. He was to be dragged to prison; so he, too, no doubt,\nwas a criminal. At this thought she tried to release her hand, but he\nwould not let it go; for the deaconess had come close to Agatha, and, in\na tone of sanctimonious wrath, desired her to quit this scene.\n\nWhat was she to do? Terrified and undecided, with deceit on one hand and\non the other peril and perhaps disaster, she looked first at Elizabeth\nand then at Alexander, who, in spite of the threats of the man-at-arms,\ngazed in turns at her and at the spot where his sister had stood.\n\nThe lictors who were keeping off the mob had stopped Melissa too; but\nwhile Alexander had been gazing into Agatha's imploring eyes, feeling as\nthough all his blood had rushed to his heart and face, Melissa had\ncontrived to creep up close to him. And again the sight of her gave him\nthe composure he so greatly needed. He knew, indeed, that the hand which\nstill held Agatha's would in a moment be fettered, for Zminis had ordered\nhis slaves to bring fresh ropes and chains, since they had already found\nuse for those they had first brought out. It was to this circumstance\nalone that he owed it that he still was free. And, above all things, he\nmust warn Agatha against the deaconess, who would fain persuade her to go\nwith her.\n\nIt struck his alert wit that Agatha would trust his sister rather than\nhimself, whom the Egyptian had several times abused as a criminal; and\nseeing the old woman of Polybius's household making her way up to\nMelissa, out of breath, indeed, and with disordered hair, he felt light\ndawn on his soul, for this worthy woman was a fresh instrument to his\nhand. She must know Agatha well, if the girl were indeed the daughter of\nZeno.\n\nHe lost not an instant. With swift decision, while Zminis and his men\nwere disputing as to whither they should conduct the traitor as soon as\nthe fetters were brought, he released the maiden's hand, placing it in\nMelissa's, and exclaiming:\n\n\"This is my sister, the betrothed of Diodoros, Polybius's son--your\nneighbor, if you are the daughter of Zeno. She will take care of you.\"\nAgatha had at once recognized the old nurse, and when she confirmed\nAlexander's statement, and the Christian looked in Melissa's face, she\nsaw beyond the possibility of doubt an innocent woman, whose heart she\nmight fully trust.\n\nShe threw her arm round Melissa, as if to lean on her, and the deaconess\nturned away with well-curbed wrath and vanished into an open door.\n\nAll this had occupied but a very few minutes; and when Alexander saw the\ntwo beings he most loved in each other's embrace, and Agatha rescued from\nthe deceiver and in safe keeping, he drew a deep breath, saying to his\nsister, as if relieved from a heavy burden:\n\n\"Her name is Agatha, and to her, the image of the dead Korinna, my life\nhenceforth is given. Tell her this, Melissa.\"\n\nHis impassioned glance sought that of the Christian; and when she\nreturned it, blushing, but with grateful candor, his mirthful features\nbeamed with the old reckless jollity, and he glanced again at the crowd\nabout him.\n\nWhat did he see there? Melissa observed that his whole face was suddenly\nlighted up; and when Zminis signed to the man who was making his way to\nthe spot holding up the rope, Alexander began to sing the first words of\na familiar song. In an instant it was taken up by several voices, and\nthen, as if from an echo, by the whole populace.\n\nIt was the chant by which the lads in the Gymnasium of Timagetes were\nwont to call on each other for help when they had a fray with those of\nthe Gymnasium of the Dioscuri, with whom they had a chronic feud.\nAlexander had caught sight of his friends Jason and Pappus, of the\nsculptor Glaukias, and of several other fellow-artists; they understood\nthe appeal, and, before the night-watch could use the rope on their\ncaptive, the troop of young men had forced their way through the circle\nof armed men under the leadership of Glaukias, had surrounded Alexander,\nand run off with him in their midst, singing and shouting.\n\n\"Follow him! Catch him! Stop him!--living or dead, bring him back! A\nprice is on his head--a splendid price to any one who will take him!\"\ncried the Egyptian, foaming with rage and setting the example. But the\nyouth of the town, many of whom knew the artist, and who were at all\ntimes ready to spoil sport for the sycophants and spies, crowded up\nbetween the fugitive and his pursuers and barred the way.\n\nThe lictors and their underlings did indeed, at last, get through the\nsolid wall of shouting and scolding men and women; but by that time the\ntroop of artists had disappeared down a side street.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Force which had compelled every one to do as his neighbors\n     It is the passionate wish that gives rise to the belief\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nMelissa, too, would probably have found herself a prisoner, but that\nZminis, seeing himself balked of a triumph, and beside himself with rage,\nrushed after the fugitive with the rest. She had no further occasion to\nseek the house where her lover was lying, for Agatha knew it well. Its\nowner, Proterius, was an illustrious member of the Christian community,\nand she had often been to see him with her father.\n\nOn their way the girls confided to each other what had brought them out\ninto the streets at so unusual an hour; and when Melissa spoke of her\ncompanion's extraordinary resemblance to the dead daughter of\nSeleukus--which, no doubt, had been Alexander's inducement to follow\nher--Agatha told her that she had constantly been mistaken for her\nuncle's daughter, so early lost. She herself had not seen her cousin for\nsome few years, for Seleukus had quarreled with his brother's family when\nthey had embraced Christianity. The third brother, Timotheus, the\nhigh-priest of Serapis, had proved more placable, and his wife Euryale\nwas of all women the one she loved best. And presently it appeared that\nAgatha, too, had lost her mother, and this drew the girls so closely\ntogether, that they clasped hands and walked on like sisters or old and\ndear friends.\n\nThey were not kept long waiting outside the house of Proterius, for\nAndreas was in the vestibule arranging the litter for the conveyance of\nDiodoros, with the willing help of Ptolemaeus. The freedman was indeed\namazed when he heard Melissa's voice, and blamed her for this fresh\nadventure. However, he was glad to see her, for, although it seemed\nalmost beyond the bounds of possibility, he had already fancied more than\nonce, as steps had approached and passed, that she must surely be coming\nto lend him a helping hand.\n\nIt was easy to hear in his tone of voice that her bold venture was at\nleast as praiseworthy as it was blameworthy in his eyes, and the grave\nman was as cheerful as he commonly was only when among his flowers. Never\nbefore had Melissa heard a word of compliment from his lips, but as\nAgatha stood with one arm round Melissa's shoulders, he said to the\nphysician, as he pointed to the pair, \"Like two roses on one stem!\"\n\nHe had good reason, indeed, to be content. Diodoros was no worse, and\nGalen was certainly expected to visit the sick in the Serapeum. He\nregarded it, too, as a dispensation from Heaven that Agatha and Melissa\nshould have happened to meet, and Alexander's happy escape had taken a\nweight from his mind. He willingly acceded to Melissa's request that he\nwould take her and Agatha to see the sick man; but he granted them only a\nshort time to gaze at the sleeper, and then requested the deaconess to\nfind a room for the two damsels, who needed rest.\n\nThe worthy woman rose at once; but Melissa urgently entreated to be\nallowed to remain by her lover's side, and glanced anxiously at the keys\nin the matron's hand.\n\nAt this Andreas whispered to her: \"You are afraid lest I should prevent\nyour coming with us? But it is not so; and, indeed, of what use would it\nbe? You made your way past the guards to the senator's coach; you came\nacross the lake, and through the darkness and the drunken rabble in the\nstreets; if I were to lock you in, you would be brave enough to\njump out of the window. No, no; I confess you have conquered my\nobjections--indeed, if you should now refuse your assistance, I should be\nobliged to crave it. But Ptolemaeus wishes to leave Diodoros quite\nundisturbed till daybreak. He is now gone to the Serapeum to find a good\nplace for him. You, too, need rest, and you shall be waked in good time.\nGo, now, with Dame Katharine.--As to your relations,\" he added, to\nAgatha, \"do not be uneasy. A boy is already on his way to your father, to\ntell him where you are for the night.\"\n\nThe deaconess led the two girls to a room where there was a large double\nbed. Here the new friends stretched their weary limbs; but, tired as they\nwere, neither of them seemed disposed to sleep; they were so happy to\nhave found each other, and had so much to ask and tell each other! As\nsoon as Katharine had lighted a three-branched lamp she left them to\nthemselves, and then their talk began.\n\nAgatha, clinging to her new friend, laid her head on Melissa's shoulder;\nand as Melissa looked on the beautiful face, and remembered the fond\npassion which her heedless brother had conceived for its twin image, or\nas now and again the Christian girl's loving words appealed to her more\nespecially, she stroked the long, flowing tresses of her brown hair.\n\nIt needed, indeed, no more than a common feeling, an experience gone\nthrough together, an hour of confidential solitude, to join the hearts of\nthe two maidens; and as they awaited the day, shoulder to shoulder in\nuninterrupted chat, they felt as though they had shared every joy and\nsorrow from the cradle. Agatha's weaker nature found a support in the\ncalm strength of will which was evident in many things Melissa said; and\nwhen the Christian opened her tender and pitying heart to Melissa with\ntouching candor, it was like a view into a new but most inviting world.\n\nAgatha's extreme beauty, too, struck the artist's daughter as something\ndivine, and her eye often rested admiringly on her new friend's pure and\nregular features.\n\nWhen Agatha inquired of her about her father, Melissa briefly replied,\nthat since her mother's death he was often moody and rough, but that he\nhad a good, kind heart. The Christian girl, on the contrary, spoke with\nenthusiasm of the warm, human loving-kindness of the man to whom she owed\nher being; and the picture she drew of her home life was so fair, that\nthe little heathen could hardly believe in its truth. Her father, Agatha\nsaid, lived in constant warfare with the misery and suffering of his\nfellow-creatures, and he was, in fact, able to make those about him happy\nand prosperous. The poorest were dearest to his loving heart, and on his\nestate across the lake he had collected none but the sick and wretched.\nThe care of the children was left to her, and the little ones clung to\nher as if she were their mother. She had neither brother nor sister.--And\nso the conversation turned on Alexander, of whom Agatha could never hear\nenough.\n\nAnd how proud was Melissa to speak of the bright young artist, who till\nnow had been the sun of her joyless life! There was much that was good to\nbe said about him: for the best masters rated his talent highly in spite\nof his youth; his comrades were faithful; and none knew so well as he how\nto cheer his father's dark moods. Then, there were many amiable and\ngenerous traits of which she had been told, or had herself known. With\nhis very first savings, he had had the Genius with a reversed torch cast\nin bronze to grace his mother's grave, and give his father pleasure. Once\nhe had been brought home half dead after saving a woman and child from\ndrowning, and vainly endeavoring to rescue another child. He might be\nwild and reckless, but he had always been faithful to his art and to his\nlove for his family.\n\nAgatha's eyes opened widely when Melissa told her anything good about her\nbrother, and she clung in terror to her new friend as she heard of her\nexcited orgy with her lover.\n\nScared as though some imminent horror threatened herself, she clasped\nMelissa's hand as she listened to the tale of the dangers Alexander had\nso narrowly escaped.\n\nSuch things had never before reached the ears of the girl in her retired\nChristian home beyond the lake; they sounded to her as the tales of some\nbold seafarer to the peaceful husbandman on whose shores the storm has\nwrecked him.\n\n\"And do you know,\" she exclaimed, \"all this seems delightful to me,\nthough my father, I am sure, would judge it hardly! When your brother\nrisks his life, it is always for others, and that is right--that is the\nhighest life. I think of him as an angel with a flaming sword. But you do\nnot know our sacred scriptures.\"\n\nThen Melissa would hear more of this book, of which Andreas had\nfrequently spoken; but there was a knock at the door, and she sprang out\nof bed.\n\nAgatha did the same; and when a slave-girl had brought in fresh, cold\nwater, she insisted on handing her friend the towels, on plaiting her\nlong hair, pinning her peplos in its place, and arranging its folds. She\nhad so often longed for a sister, and she felt as though she had found\none in Melissa! While she helped her to dress she kissed her preserver's\nsister on the eyes and lips, and entreated her with affectionate urgency\nto come to see her, as soon as she had done all she could for her lover.\nShe must be made acquainted with her father, and Agatha longed to show\nher her poor children, her dogs, and her pigeons. And she would go to see\nMelissa, when she was staying with Polybius.\n\n\"And there,\" Melissa put in, \"you will see my brother, too.\"\n\nOn which the Christian girl exclaimed: \"You must bring him to our house.\nMy father will be glad to thank him--\" Here she paused, and then added,\n\"Only he must not again risk his life so rashly.\"\n\n\"He will be well hidden at the house of Polybius,\" replied Melissa,\nconsolingly. \"And Andreas has him fast by this time.\"\n\nShe once more kissed Agatha, and went to the door, but her friend held\nher back, and whispered \"In my father's grounds there is a famous hiding\nplace, where no one would ever find him. It has often been a refuge for\nweeks and months for persecuted members of our faith. When he is\nseriously threatened, bring him to us. We will gladly provide for his\nsafety, and all else. Only think, if they should catch him! It would be\nfor my sake, and I should never be happy again. Promise me that you will\nbring him.\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly,\" cried Melissa, as she hurried out into the vestibule,\nwhere Andreas and the leech were waiting for her.\n\nThey had done well to enlist the girl's services, for, since nursing her\nmother, she knew, as few did, how to handle the sick. It was not till\nthey had fairly set out that Melissa observed that Dame Katharine was of\nthe party; she had no doubt become reconciled to the idea of the sick\nman's removal to the Serapeum, for she had the same look of kindly calm\nwhich had so much attracted the girl at their first meeting.\n\nThe streets along which they passed in the pale morning light were now\ndeserted, and a film of mist, behind which glowed the golden light of the\nnewly risen sun, shrouded the horizon. The fresh air of morning was\ndelicious, and at this early hour there was no one to avoid--only the\npeasants and their wives carrying the produce of their gardens and fields\nto market on asses, or wagons drawn by oxen. The black slaves of the town\nwere sweeping the roadway. Here there were parties of men, women, and\nchildren on their way to work in factories, which were at rest but for a\nfew hours in the bustling town. The bakers and other provision-dealers\nwere opening their shops; the cobblers and metalworkers were already busy\nor lighting fires in their open stalls; and Andreas nodded to a file of\nslave-girls who had come across from the farm and gardens of Polybius,\nand who now walked up the street with large milk-jars and baskets of\nvegetables poised on their heads and supported with one gracefully raised\narm.\n\nThey presently crossed the Aspendia Canal, where the fog hung over the\nwater like white smoke, hiding the figure of the tutelary goddess of the\ntown on the parapet of the bridge from those who crossed by the roadway.\nThe leaves of the mimosa-trees by the quay--nay, the very stones of the\nhouses and the statues, wet with the morning dew--looked revived and\nnewly washed; and a light breeze brought up from the Serapeum broken\ntones of the chant, sung there every morning by a choir of priests, to\nhail the triumph of light over darkness.\n\nThe crisp morning air was as invigorating to Melissa as her cold bath had\nbeen, after a night which had brought her so little rest. She felt as\nthough she, and all Nature with her, had just crossed the threshold of a\nnew day, bidding her to fresh life and labor. Now and then a flame from\nLucifer's torch swallowed up a stretch of morning mist, while the Hours\nescorted Phoebus Apollo, whose radiant diadem of beams was just rising\nabove the haze; Melissa could have declared she saw them dancing forth\nbefore him and strewing the path of the sun with flowers. All this was\nbeautiful--as beautiful as the priest's chant, the aromatic sweetness of\nthe air, and the works of art in cast bronze or hewn marble which were to\nbe seen on the bridge, on the temple to Isis and Anubis to the right of\nthe street, under the colonnades of the handsomest houses, on the public\nfountains--in short, wherever the eye might turn. Her lover, borne before\nher in a litter, was on the way to the physician in whose hands lay the\npower to cure him. She felt as though Hope led the way.\n\nSince love had blossomed in her breast her quiet life had become an\neventful one. Most of what she had gone through had indeed filled her\nwith alarms. Serious questions to which she had never given a thought had\nbeen brought before her; and yet, in this brief period of anxiety she had\ngained the precious sense of youthfulness and of capacity for action when\nshe had to depend on herself. The last few hours had revealed to her the\npossession of powers which only yesterday she had never suspected. She,\nwho had willingly yielded to every caprice of her father's, and who, for\nlove of her brothers, had always unresistingly done their bidding, now\nknew that she had a will of her own and strength enough to assert it; and\nthis, again, added to her contentment this morning.\n\nAlexander had told her, and old Dido, and Diodoros, that she was fair to\nlook upon--but these all saw her with the eyes of affection; so she had\nalways believed that she was a well-looking girl enough, but by no means\nhighly gifted in any respect--a girl whose future would be to bloom and\nfade unknown in her father's service. But now she knew that she was\nindeed beautiful; not only because she had heard it repeatedly in the\ncrowd of yesterday, or even because Agatha had declared it while braiding\nher hair--an inward voice affirmed it, and for her lover's sake she was\nhappy to believe it.\n\nAs a rule, she would have been ready to drop with fatigue after so many\nsleepless hours and such severe exertions; but to-day she felt as fresh\nas the birds in the trees by the roadside, which greeted the sun with\ncheerful twitterings.\n\n\"Yes, the world is indeed fair!\" thought she; but at that very moment\nAndreas's grave voice was heard ordering the bearers to turn down a dark\nside alley which led into the street of Hermes, a few hundred paces from\nthe Rhakotis Canal.\n\nHow anxious the good man looked! Her world was not the world of the\nChristian freedman; that she plainly understood when the litter in which\nDiodoros lay was carried into one of the houses in the side street.\n\nIt was a large, plain building, with only a few windows, and those high\nup-in fact, as Melissa was presently informed, it was a Christian church.\nBefore she could express her surprise, Andreas begged her to have a few\nminutes' patience; the daemons of sickness were here to be exorcised and\ndriven out of the sufferer. He pointed to a seat in the vestibule to the\nchurch, a wide but shallow room. Then, at a sign from Andreas, the slaves\ncarried the litter into a long, low hall with a flat roof.\n\nFrom where she sat, Melissa could now see that a Christian in priest's\nrobes, whom they called the exorcist, spoke various invocations over the\nsick man, the others listening so attentively that even she began to hope\nfor some good effect from these incomprehensible formulas; and at the\nsame time she remembered that her old slave-woman Dido, who worshiped\nmany gods, wore round her neck, besides a variety of heathen amulets, a\nlittle cross which had been given her by a Christian woman. To her\nquestion why she, a heathen, wore this about her, the old woman replied,\n\"You can never tell what may help you some day.\" So perhaps these\nexorcisms might not be without some effect on her lover, particularly as\nthe God of the Christians must be powerful and good.\n\nShe herself strove to uplift her soul in prayer to the manes of her lost\nmother; but the scene going on around her in the vestibule distracted her\nmind with horror. Men, young and old, were slashing themselves with\nvehement scourgings on their backs. One white-haired old man, indeed,\nhanded his whip of hippopotamus-hide to a stalwart lad whose shoulders\nwere streaming with blood, and begged him as a brother, as fervently as\nthough it were the greatest favor, to let him feel the lash. But the\nyounger man refused, and she saw the weak old fellow trying to apply it\nto his own back.\n\nAll this was quite beyond her comprehension, and struck her as,\ndisgusting; and how haggard and hideous were the limbs of these people\nwho thus sinned against their own bodies--the noble temples of the Divine\nSpirit!\n\nWhen, a few minutes later, the litter was borne out of the church again,\nthe sun had triumphed over the mists and was rising with blinding\nsplendor in the cloudless sky. Everything was bathed in light; but the\ndreadful sight of the penitents had cast a gloom over the clear gladness\nshe had been so full of but just now. It was with a sense of oppression\nthat she took leave of the deaconess, who left her with cheerful\ncontentment in the street of Hermes, and followed the litter to the open\nsquare in front of the Serapeum.\n\nHere every thought of gloom vanished from her mind as at the touch of a\nmagician, for before her stood the vast Temple of Serapis, founded, as it\nwere, for eternity, on a substructure of rock and closely fitted masonry,\nthe noblest building on earth of any dedicated to the gods. The great\ncupola rose to the blue sky as though it fain would greet the sister\nvault above with its own splendor, and the copper-plating which covered\nit shone as dazzling as a second sun. From the wide front of the temple,\nevery being to whom the prayers and worship of mortals could be offered\nlooked down on her, hewn in marble or cast in bronze; for on the roof, on\nbrackets or on pedestals; in niches or as supporting the parapets and\nbalconies, were statues of all the guests at the Olympian banquet, with\nimages or busts of every hero or king, philosopher, poet, or artist whose\ndeeds or works had earned him immortality.\n\nFrom infancy Melissa had looked up at this temple with admiration and\npride, for here every art had done its utmost to make it without parallel\non earth. It was the work of her beloved native city, and her mother had\noften taken her into the Serapeum, where she herself had found comfort in\nmany a sorrow and disappointment, and had taught the child to love it.\nThat it had afterward been spoiled for her she forgot in her present\nmood.\n\nNever had she seen the great temple surrounded by so much gay and busy\nlife. The front of the building, toward the square, had in the early\nhours of the morning been decked with garlands and heavy wreaths of\nflowers, by a swarm of slaves standing on ladders and planks and benches\nlet down from the roof by ropes. The inclined ways, by which vehicles\ndrove up to the great door, were still deserted, and on the broad steps\nin the middle no one was to be seen as yet but a few priests in gala\nrobes, and court officials; but the immense open space in front of the\nsanctuary was one great camp, where, among the hastily pitched canvas\ntents, horses were being dressed and weapons polished. Several maniples\nof the praetorians and of the Macedonian phalanx were already drawn up in\ncompact ranks, to relieve guard at the gate of the imperial residence,\nand stand at Caesar's orders.\n\nBut more attractive to the girl than all this display were a number of\naltars which had been erected at the extreme edge of the great square,\nand on each of which a fire was burning. Heavy clouds of smoke went up\nfrom them in the still, pure atmosphere, like aerial columns, while the\nflames, paling in the beams of the morning sun, flew up through the reek\nas though striving to rise above it, with wan and changeful gleams of red\nand yellow, now curling down, and now writhing upward like snakes. Of all\nthese fires there was not one from which the smoke did not mount straight\nto heaven, though each burned to a different god; and Melissa regarded it\nas a happy sign that none spread or failed to rise. The embers were\nstirred from time to time by the priests and augurs of every god of the\nEast and West, who also superintended the sacrifices, while warriors of\nevery province of the empire stood round in prayer.\n\nMelissa passed by all these unwonted and soul-stirring sights without a\nregret; her hope for the cure soon to be wrought on her lover cast all\nelse into the shade. Still, while she looked around at the thousands who\nwere encamped here, and gazed up at the temple where so many men were\nbusied, like ants, it struck her that in fact all this belonged to one\nand was done for one alone. Those legions followed him as the dust\nfollows the wind, the whole world trembled at his nod, and in his hand\nlay the life and happiness of the millions he governed. And it was at\nthis omnipotent being, this god in human form, that her brother had\nmocked; and the pursuers were at his heels. This recollection troubled\nher joy, and when she looked in the freedman's grave and anxious face her\nheart began to beat heavily again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nMelissa had supposed that, according to custom, the litter would be\ncarried up the incline or the steps, and into the Serapeum by the great\ndoor; but in consequence of the emperor's visit this could not be. The\nsick man was borne round the eastern side of the huge building, which\ncovered a space on which a whole village might have stood. The door at\nthe back, to the south, through which he was finally admitted, opened\ninto a gallery passing by the great quadrangle where sacrifice was made,\nand leading to the inner rooms of the temple, to the cubicles among\nothers.\n\nIn these it was revealed to the sick in dreams by what means or remedies\nthey might hope to be healed: and there was no lack of priests to\ninterpret the visions, nor of physicians who came hither to watch\npeculiar cases, to explain to the sufferers the purport of the counsel of\nthe gods--often very dark--or to give them the benefit of their own.\n\nOne of these, a friend of Ptolemaeus, who, though he had been secretly\nbaptized, still was one of the pastophori of the temple, was awaiting the\nlittle party, and led the way as guide.\n\nThe bellowing of beasts met them on the very threshold. These were to be\nslaughtered at this early hour by the special command of Caracalla; and,\nas Caesar himself had promised to be present at the sacrificial rites,\nnone but the priests or \"Caesar's friends\" were admitted to the\ncourt-yard. The litter was therefore carried up a staircase and through a\nlong hall forming part of the library, with large windows looking down on\nthe open place where the beasts were killed and the entrails examined.\nDiodoros saw and heard nothing, for the injury to the skull had deprived\nhim of all consciousness; Ptolemaeus, however, to soothe Melissa, assured\nher that he was sleeping soundly.\n\nAs they mounted the stairs she had kept close to her lover's side; but on\nthis assurance she lingered behind and looked about her.\n\nAs the little procession entered the gallery, in which the rolls of\nmanuscript lay in stone or wooden cases on long rows of shelves, the\nshout was heard of \"Hail, Caesar!\" mingling with a solemn chant, and\nannouncing the sovereign's approach.\n\nAt this the physician pointed to the court-yard, and said to the girl,\nwhose beauty had greatly attracted him: \"Look down there if you want to\nsee Caesar. We must wait here, at any rate, till the crowd has gone past\nin the corridor beyond that door.\" And Melissa, whose feminine curiosity\nhad already tempted her to the window, looked down into the quadrangle\nand on to the steps down which a maniple of the praetorian guard were\nmarching, with noble Romans in togas or the uniform of legates, augurs\nwearing wreaths, and priests of various orders. Then for a few minutes\nthe steps were deserted, and Melissa thought she could hear her own heart\nbeating, when suddenly the cry: \"Hail, Caesar!\" was again heard, loud\ntrumpets rang out and echoed from the high stone walls which surrounded\nthe inclosure, and Caracalla appeared on the broad marble steps which led\ndown into the court of sacrifice.\n\nMelissa's eyes were riveted as if spell-bound on this figure, which was\nneither handsome nor dignified, and which nevertheless had a strange\nattraction for her, she knew not why. What was it in this man, who was\nshort rather than tall, and feeble rather than majestic, which so\nimperatively forbade all confident advances? The noble lion which walked\nby his side, and in whose mane his left hand was buried, was not more\nunapproachable than he. He called this terrible creature, which he\ntreated with as much familiarity as if it were a lapdog, his \"Persian\nsword\"; and as Melissa looked she remembered what fate might be in store\nfor her brother through this man, and all the crimes of which he was\naccused by the world--the murders of his brother, of his wife, and of\nthousands besides.\n\nFor the first time in her life she felt that she could hate; she longed\nto bring down every evil on that man's head. The blood mounted to her\ncheeks, and her little fists were clinched, but she never took her eyes\noff him; for everything in his person impressed her, if not as fine,\nstill as exceptional--if not as great, still as noteworthy.\n\nShe knew that he was not yet thirty, but yesterday, as he drove past her,\nhe had looked like a surly misanthropist of more than middle age. To-day\nhow young he seemed! Did he owe it to the laurel crown which rested on\nhis head, or to the white toga which fell about him in ample folds,\nleaving only the sinewy arm bare by which he led the lion?\n\nFrom where she stood she could only see his side-face as he came down the\nsteps, and indeed it was not ill-favored; brow, nose, and chin were\nfinely and nobly formed; his beard was thin, and a mustache curled over\nhis lips. His eyes, deeply set under the brows, were not visible to her,\nbut she had not forgotten since yesterday their sinister and terrible\nscowl.\n\nAt this moment the lion crept closer to his master.\n\nIf only the brute should spring on that more blood-stained and terrible\nbeast of prey who could kill not only with claws and teeth but with a\nword from his lips, a wave of his hand!--the world would be rid of the\nferocious curse. Ay, his eye, which had yesterday scorned to look at the\nmultitudes who had hailed his advent, was that of a cruel tyrant.\n\nAnd then--she felt as if he must have guessed her thoughts--while he\npatted the lion and gently pushed him aside he turned his face full on\nher, and she knew not whether to be pleased or angry, for the odious,\nsquinting eyes were not now terrible or contemptuous; nay, they had\nlooked kindly on the beast, and with a somewhat suffering expression. The\ndreadful face of the murderer was not hideous now, but engaging--the face\nof a youth enduring torments of soul or of body.\n\nShe was not mistaken. On the very next step Caracalla stood still,\npressed his right hand to his temples, and set his lips as if to control\nsome acute pain. Then he sadly shook his head and gazed up at the walls\nof the court, which had been decorated in his honor with hangings and\ngarlands of flowers. First he studied the frieze and the festal display\non his right, and when he turned his head to look at the side where\nMelissa stood, an inward voice bade her withdraw, that the gaze of this\nmonster might not blight her. But an irresistible attraction held her\nfast; then suddenly she felt as if the ground were sinking from under her\nfeet, and, as a shipwrecked wretch snatches at a floating spar, she clung\nto the little column at the left of the window, clutching it with her\nhand; for the dreadful thing had happened-Caracalla's eye had met hers\nand had even rested on her for a while! And that gaze had nothing\nbloodthirsty in it, nor the vile leer which had sparkled in the eyes of\nthe drunken rioters she had met last night in the streets; he only looked\nastonished as at some wonderful thing which he had not expected to see in\nthis place. But presently a fresh attack of pain apparently made him turn\naway, for his features betrayed acute suffering, as he slowly set his\nfoot on the next step below.\n\nAgain, and more closely, he pressed his hand to his brow, and then\nbeckoned to a tall, well-built man with flowing hair, who walked behind\nhim, and accepted the support of his offered arm.\n\n\"Theocritus, formerly an actor and dancer,\" the priest whispered to\nMelissa. \"Caesar's whim made the mimic a senator, a legate, and a\nfavorite.\"\n\nBut Melissa only knew that he was speaking, and did not take in the\npurport of his speech; for this man, slowly descending the steps,\nabsorbed her whole sympathy. She knew well the look of those who suffer\nand conceal it from the eyes of the world; and some cruel disease was\ncertainly consuming this youth, who ruled the earth, but whose purple\nrobes would be snatched at soon enough by greedy hands if he should cease\nto seem strong and able. And now, again, he looked old and worn--poor\nwretch, who yet was so young and born to be so abundantly happy! He was,\nto be sure, a base and blood-stained tyrant, but not the less a miserable\nand unhappy man. The more severe the pain he had to endure, the harder\nmust he find it to hide it from the crowd who were constantly about him.\nThere is but one antidote to hatred, and that is pity; it was with the\neager compassion of a woman's heart that Melissa marked every movement of\nthe imperial murderer, as soon as she recognized his sufferings, and when\ntheir eyes had met. Nothing now escaped her keen glance which could add\nto her sympathy for the man she had loathed but a minute before. She\nnoticed a slight limp in his gait and a convulsive twitching of his\neyelids; his slender, almost transparent hand, she reflected, was that of\na sick man, and pain and fever, no doubt, had thinned his hair, which had\nleft many places bald.\n\nAnd when the high--priest of Serapis and the augurs met him at the bottom\nof the steps and Caesar's eye again put on the cruel scowl of yesterday,\nshe would not doubt that it was stern self-command which gave him that\nthreatening glare, to seem terrible, in spite of his anguish, to those\nwhose obedience he required. He had really needed his companion's support\nas they descended the stair, that she could plainly see; and she had\nobserved, too, how carefully his guide had striven to conceal the fact\nthat he was upholding him; but the courtier was too tall to achieve the\ntask he had set himself. Now, she was much shorter than Caesar, and she\nwas strong, too. Her arm would have afforded him a much better support.\n\nBut how could she think of such a thing?--she, the sister of Alexander,\nthe betrothed of Diodoros, whom she truly loved!\n\nCaesar mingled with the priests, and her guide told her that the corridor\nwas now free. She peeped into the litter, and, seeing that Diodoros still\nslept, she followed him, lost in thought, and giving short and heedless\nanswers to Andreas and the physicians She had not listened to the\npriest's information, and scarcely turned her head to look out, when a\ntall, thin man with a bullet-head and deeply wrinkled brow was pointed\nout to her as Macrinus, the prefect of the body-guard, the most powerful\nman in Rome next to Caesar; and then the \"friends\" of Caracalla, whom she\nhad seen yesterday, and the historian Dion Cassius, with other senators\nand members of the imperial train.\n\nNow, as they made their way through halls and passages where the foot of\nthe uninitiated rarely intruded, she looked about her with more interest\nwhen the priest drew her attention to some particularly fine statue or\npicture, or some symbolical presentment. Even now, however, though\nassociation with her brothers had made her particularly alive to\neverything that was beautiful or curious, she glanced round with less\ninterest than she otherwise might have done, for she had much else to\nthink of. In the first place, of the benefits Diodoros was to derive from\nthe great Galen; then of her father, who this day must dispense with her\nassistance; and, finally, of the state of mind of her grave brother\nPhilip. He and Alexander, who usually were such united friends, now both\nwere in love with Agatha, and what could come of that? And from time to\ntime her thoughts flew back to Caesar, and she felt as though some tie,\nshe knew not what, linked them together.\n\nAs soon as the litter had to be carried up or down steps, she kept an eye\non the bearers, and gave such help as was needed when the sleeper's\nposition was changed. Whenever she looked in his handsome face, flushed\nas it was by fever and framed in tumbled curls, her heart swelled, and\nshe felt that she had much to thank the gods for, seeing that her lover\nwas so full of splendid youth and in no respect resembled the prematurely\ndecrepit and sickly wearer of the purple. Nevertheless, she thought a\ngood deal of Caracalla, and it even occurred to her once that if it were\nhe who was being carried instead of Diodoros, she would tend him no less\ncarefully than her betrothed. Caesar, who had been as far out of her ken\nas a god, and of whose overwhelming power she had heard, had suddenly\ncome down to her. She involuntarily thought of him as one of those few\nwith whom she had come into personal contact, and in whose weal or woe\nshe had some sympathetic interest. He could not be altogether evil and\nhardened. If he could only know what pain it caused her to see him\nsuffer, he would surely command Zminis to abandon the pursuit of her\nbrother.\n\nJust as they were reaching the end of their walk, the trumpets rang out\nonce more, reminding her that she was under the same roof with him. She\nwas so close to him--and yet how far he was from guessing the desires of\na heart which beat with compassion for him!\n\nSeveral sick persons, eager for some communication from the gods, and\nsome who, without being sick, had slept in the Serapeum, had by this time\nleft their beds, and were taking counsel in the great hall with\ninterpreters and physicians. The bustle was like that of a market-place,\nand there was one old man with unkempt hair and fiery eyes who repeated\nagain and again in a loud voice, \"It was the god himself who appeared to\nme, and his three-headed dog licked my cheeks.\" And presently a hideous\nold woman plucked at Melissa's robe, whispering: \"A healing draught for\nyour lover; tears from the eyes of the infant Horus. I have them from\nIsis herself. The effect is rapid and certain. Come to Hezron, the dealer\nin balsams in the street of the Nekropolis. Your lover's recovery--for\nfive drachmae.\"\n\nBut Melissa, who was no stranger here since her mother's last sickness,\nwent on without pausing, following the litter down the long hall full of\nbeds, a room with a stone roof resting on two rows of tall columns.\nFamiliar to her too was the aromatic scent of kyphi,--[incense]--which\nfilled the hall, although fresh air was constantly pouring in from\noutside through the high windows. Red and green curtains hung in front of\nthem, and the subdued light which came through fell in tinted twilight on\nthe colored pictures in relief of the history of the gods, which covered\nthe walls. Speech was forbidden here, and their steps fell noiseless on\nthe thick, heavy mats.\n\nMost of the beds were already empty; only those between the long wall and\nthe nearest row of columns were still for the most part occupied by the\nsick who sought the help of the god. On one of these Diodoros was laid,\nMelissa helping in silence, and with such skill as delighted even the\nphysicians. Still, this did not wake him, though on the next bed lay a\nman who never ceased speaking, because in his dream he had been bidden to\nrepeat the name of Serapis as many times as there were drops in a cup of\nwater filled from the Agathodaemon Canal.\n\n\"A long stay in this strong perfume will be bad for him,\" whispered\nPtolemaeus to the freedman. \"Galenus sent word that he would visit the\nsick early to-day; but he is not here yet. He is an old man, and in Rome,\nthey say, it is the custom to sleep late.\"\n\nHe was interrupted by a stir in the long hall, which broke in on the\nsilence, no one knew from whence; and immediately after, officious hands\nthrew open the great double doors with a loud noise.\n\n\"He is coming,\" whispered their priestly guide; and the instant after an\nold man crossed the threshold, followed by a troop of pastophori, as\nobsequious as the courtiers at the heels of a prince.\n\n\"Gently, brothers,\" murmured the greatest physician of his age in a low\nvoice, as, leaning on a staff, he went toward the row of couches. It was\neasy to see the traces of his eighty years, but his fine eyes still\ngleamed with youthful light.\n\nMelissa blushed to think that she could have mistaken Serenus Samonicus\nfor this noble old man. He must once have been a tall man; his back was\nbent and his large head was bowed as though he were forever seeking\nsomething. His face was pale and colorless, with a well-formed nose and\nmouth, but not of classic mold. Blue veins showed through the clear white\nskin, and the long, silky, silvery hair still flowed in unthinned waves\nround his massive head, bald only on the crown. A snowy beard fell over\nhis breast. His aged form was wrapped in a long and ample robe of costly\nwhite woolen stuff, and his whole appearance would have been striking for\nits peculiar refinement, even if the eyes had not sparkled with such\nvivid and piercing keenness from under the thick brows, and if the high,\nsmooth, slightly prominent forehead had not borne witness to the power\nand profundity of his mind. Melissa knew of no one with whom to compare\nhim; he reminded Andreas of the picture of John as an old man, which a\nwealthy fellow-Christian had presented to the church of Saint Mark.\n\nIf this man could do nothing, there was no help on earth. And how\ndignified and self-possessed were the movements of this bent old man as\nhe leaned on his staff! He, a stranger here, seemed to be showing the\nothers the way, a guide in his own realm. Melissa had heard that the\nstrong scent of the kyphi might prove injurious to Diodoros, and her one\nthought now was the desire that Galenus might soon approach his couch. He\ndid not, in fact, begin with the sick nearest to the door, but stood\nawhile in the middle of the hall, leaning against a column and surveying\nthe place and the beds.\n\nWhen his searching glance rested on that where Diodoros was lying, an\nanswering look met his with reverent entreaty from a pair of beautiful,\nlarge, innocent eyes. A smile parted his bearded lips, and going up to\nthe girl he said: \"Where beauty bids, even age must obey. Your lover,\nchild, or your brother?\"\n\n\"My betrothed,\" Melissa hastened to reply; and the maidenly embarrassment\nwhich flushed her cheek became her so well that he added:\n\n\"He must have much to recommend him if I allow him to carry you off, fair\nmaid.\"\n\nWith these words he went up to the couch, and looking at Diodoros as he\nlay, he murmured, as if speaking to himself and without paying any heed\nto the younger men who crowded round him:\n\n\"There are no true Greeks left here; but the beauty of the ancestral race\nis not easily stamped out, and is still to be seen in their descendants.\nWhat a head, what features, and what hair!\"\n\nThen he felt the lad's breast, shoulders, and arms, exclaiming in honest\nadmiration, \"What a godlike form!\"\n\nHe laid his delicate old hand, with its network of blue veins, on the\nsick man's forehead, again glanced round the room, and listened to\nPtolemaeus, who gave him a brief and technical report of the case; then,\nsniffing the heavy scent that filled the hall, he said, as the Christian\nleech ceased speaking:\n\n\"We will try; but not here--in a room less full of incense. This perfume\nbrings dreams, but no less surely induces fever. Have you no other room\nat hand where the air is purer?\"\n\nAn eager \"Yes,\" in many voices was the reply; and Diodoros was forthwith\ntransferred into a small cubicle adjoining.\n\nWhile he was being moved, Galenus went from bed to bed, questioning the\nchief physician and the patients. He seemed to have forgotten Diodoros\nand Melissa; but after hastily glancing at some and carefully examining\nothers, and giving advice where it was needful, he desired to see the\nfair Alexandrian's lover once more.\n\nAs he entered the room he nodded kindly to the girl. How gladly would she\nhave followed him! But she said to herself that if he had wished her to\nbe present he would certainly have called her; so she modestly awaited\nhis return. She had to wait a long time, and the minutes seemed hours\nwhile she heard the voices of men through the closed door, the moaning\nand sighing of the sufferer, the splashing of water, and the clatter of\nmetal instruments; and her lively imagination made her fancy that\nsomething almost unendurable was being done to her lover.\n\nAt last the physician came out. His whole appearance betokened perfect\nsatisfaction. The younger men, who followed him, whispered among\nthemselves, shaking their heads as though some miracle had been\nperformed; and every eye that looked on him was radiant with enthusiastic\nveneration. Melissa knew, as soon as his eyes met hers, that all was\nwell, and as she grasped the old man's hand she concluded from its cool\nmoisture that he had but just washed it, and had done with his own hand\nall that Ptolemaeus had expected of his skill. Her eyes were dim with\ngrateful emotion, and though Galenus strove to hinder her from pressing\nher lips to his hand she succeeded in doing so; he, however, kissed her\nbrow with fatherly delight in her warmhearted sweetness, and said:\n\n\"Now go home happy, my child. That stone had hit your lover's brain-roof\na hard blow; the pressure of the broken beam--I mean a piece of bone--had\nrobbed him of his consciousness of what a sweet bride the gods have\nbestowed on him. But the knife has done its work; the beam is in its\nplace again; the splinters which were not needed have been taken out; the\nroof is mended, and the pressure removed. Your friend has recovered\nconsciousness, and I will wager that at this moment he is thinking of you\nand wishes you were with him. But for the present you had better defer\nthe meeting. For forty-eight hours he must remain in that little room,\nfor any movement would only delay his recovery.\"\n\n\"Then I shall stay here to nurse him,\" cried Melissa, eagerly. But\nGalenus replied, decisively:\n\n\"That must not be if he is to get well. The presence of a woman for whom\nthe sufferer's heart is on fire is as certain to aggravate the fever as\nthe scent of incense. Besides, child, this is no place for such as you.\"\n\nHer head drooped sadly, but he nodded to her cheeringly as he added:\n\n\"Ptolemaeus, who is worthy of your entire confidence, speaks of you as a\ngirl of much sense, and you will surely not do anything to spoil my work,\nwhich was not easy. However, I must say farewell; other sick require my\ncare.\"\n\nHe held out his hand, but, seeing her eyes fixed on his and glittering\nthrough tears, he asked her name and family. It seemed to him of good\naugury for the long hours before him which he must devote to Caesar, that\nhe should, so early in the day, have met so pure and fair a flower of\ngirlhood.\n\nWhen she had told him her own name and her father's, and also mentioned\nher brothers, Philip the philosopher, and Alexander the painter, who was\nalready one of the chief masters of his art here, Galenus answered\nheartily:\n\n\"All honor to his genius, then, for he is the one-eyed king in the land\nof the blind. Like the old gods, who can scarce make themselves heard for\nthe new, the Muses too have been silenced. The many really beautiful\nthings to be seen here are not new; and the new, alas! are not beautiful.\nBut your brother's work,\" he added, kindly, \"may be the exception.\"\n\n\"You should only see his portraits!\" cried Melissa.\n\n\"Yours, perhaps, among them?\" said the old man, with interest. \"That is a\nreminder I would gladly take back to Rome with me.\"\n\nAlexander had indeed painted his sister not long before, and how glad she\nwas to be able to offer the picture to the reverend man to whom she owed\nso much! So she promised with a blush to send it him as soon as she\nshould be at home again.\n\nThe unexpected gift was accepted with pleasure, and when he thanked her\neagerly and with simple heartiness, she interrupted him with the\nassurance that in Alexandria art was not yet being borne to the grave.\nHer brother's career, it was true, threatened to come to an untimely end,\nfor he stood in imminent danger. On this the old man--who had taken his\nseat on a bench which the attendant physicians of the temple had brought\nforward-desired to know the state of the case, and Melissa briefly\nrecounted Alexander's misdemeanor, and how near he had been, yesterday,\nto falling into the hands of his pursuers. Then she looked up at the old\nman beseechingly; and as he had praised her beauty, so now--she herself\nknew not how she had such courage--the praises of his fame, his greatness\nand goodness, flowed from her lips. And her bold entreaties ended with a\nprayer that he would urge Caesar, who doubtless revered him as a father,\nto cease from prosecuting her brother.\n\nThe old man's face had grown graver and graver; he had several times\nstroked his white beard with an uneasy gesture; and when, as she spoke\nthe last words, she ventured to raise her timidly downcast eyes to his,\nhe rose stiffly and said in regretful tones:\n\n\"How can I be vexed with a sister who knocks at any door to save a\nbrother's life? But I would have given a great deal that it had not been\nat mine. It is hard to refuse when I would so gladly accede, and yet so\nit must be; for, though Claudius Galenus does his best for Bassianus\nAntoninus as a patient, as he does for any other, Bassianus the man and\nthe emperor is as far from him as fire from water; and so it must ever be\nduring the short space of time which may yet be granted to him and me\nunder the light of the sun.\"\n\nThe last words were spoken in a bitter, repellent tone, and yet Melissa\nfelt that it pained the old man to refuse her. So she earnestly\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Oh, forgive me! How could I guess--\" She suddenly paused and added,\n\"Then you really think that Caesar has not long to live?\"\n\nShe spoke with the most anxious excitement, and her question offended\nGalenus. He mistook their purport, and his voice was wrathful as he\nreplied, \"Long enough yet to punish an insult!\"\n\nMelissa turned pale. She fancied that she apprehended the meaning of\nthese stern words, and, prompted by an earnest desire not to be\nmisunderstood by this man, she eagerly exclaimed:\n\n\"I do not wish him dead--no, indeed not; not even for my brother's sake!\nBut just now I saw him near, and I thought I could see that he was\nsuffering great pain. Why, we pity a brute creature when it is in\nanguish. He is still so young, and it must be so hard to die!\"\n\nGalenus nodded approvingly, and replied:\n\n\"I thank you, in the name of my imperial patient.--Well, send me your\nportrait; but let it be soon, for I embark before sunset. I shall like to\nremember you. As to Caesar's sufferings, they are so severe, your tender\nsoul would not wish your worst enemy to know such pain. My art has few\nmeans of mitigating them, and the immortals are little inclined to\nlighten the load they have laid on this man. Of the millions who tremble\nbefore him, not one prays or offers sacrifice of his own free-will for\nthe prosperity of the monarch.\"\n\nA flash of enthusiasm sparkled in Melissa's eye, but Galenus did not heed\nit; he briefly bade her farewell and turned away to devote himself to\nother patients.\n\n\"There is one, at any rate,\" thought she, as she looked after the\nphysician, \"who will pray and sacrifice for that unhappy man. Diodoros\nwill not forbid it, I am sure.\"\n\nShe turned to Andreas and desired him to take her to her lover. Diodoros\nwas now really sleeping, and did not feel the kiss she breathed on his\nfore head. He had all her love; the suffering criminal she only pitied.\n\nWhen they had quitted the temple she pressed her hand to her bosom and\ndrew a deep breath as if she had just been freed from prison.\n\n\"My head is quite confused,\" she said, \"by the heavy perfume and so much\nanxiety and alarm; but O Andreas, my heart never beat with such joy and\ngratitude! Now I must collect my thoughts, and get home to do what is\nneedful for Philip. And merciful gods! that good-natured old Roman,\nSamonicus, will soon be expecting me at the Temple of Aphrodite; see how\nhigh the sun is already. Let us walk faster, for, to keep him waiting--\"\n\nAndreas here interrupted her, saying, \"If I am not greatly mistaken,\nthere is the Roman, in that open chariot, coming down the incline.\"\n\nHe was right; a few minutes later the chariot drew up close to Melissa,\nand she managed to tell Samonicus all that had happened in so courteous\nand graceful a manner that, far from being offended, he could wish every\nsuccess to the cure his great friend had begun. And indeed his promise\nhad somewhat weighed upon his mind, for to carry out two undertakings in\none day was too much, at his age, and he had to be present in the evening\nat a banquet to which Caesar had invited himself in the house of Seleukus\nthe merchant.\"\n\n\"The high-priest's brother?\" asked Melissa, in surprise, for death had\nbut just bereft that house of the only daughter.\n\n\"The same,\" said the Roman, gayly. Then he gave her his hand, with the\nassurance that the thought of her would make it a pleasure to remember\nAlexandria.\n\nAs she clasped his hand, Andreas came up, bowed gravely, and asked\nwhether it would be overbold in him, as a faithful retainer of the\nmaiden's family, to crave a favor, in her name, of Caesar's illustrious\nand familiar friend.\n\nThe Roman eyed Andreas keenly, and the manly dignity, nay, the defiant\nself-possession of the freedman--the very embodiment of all he had\nexpected to find in a genuine Alexandrian--so far won his confidence that\nhe bade him speak without fear. He hoped to hear something sufficiently\ncharacteristic of the manners of the provincial capital to make an\nanecdote for Caesar's table. Then, when he understood that the matter\nconcerned Melissa's brother, and a distinguished artist, he smiled\nexpectantly. Even when he learned that Alexander was being hunted down\nfor some heedless jest against the emperor, he only threatened Melissa\nsportively with his finger; but on being told that this jest dealt with\nthe murder of Geta, he seemed startled, and the tone of his voice\nbetrayed serious displeasure as he replied to the petitioner, \"Do you\nsuppose that I have three heads, like the Cerberus at the feet of your\ngod, that you ask me to lay one on the block for the smile of a pretty\ngirl?\"\n\nHe signed to his charioteer, and the horses whirled the light vehicle\nacross the square and down the street of Hermes.\n\nAndreas gazed after him, and muttered, with a shrug\n\n\"My first petition to a great man, and assuredly my last.\"\n\n\"The coward!\" cried Melissa; but Andreas said, with a superior smile.\n\n\"Let us take a lesson from this, my child. Those who reckon on the help\nof man are badly off indeed. We must all trust in God, and each in\nhimself.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nAndreas, who had so much on his shoulders, had lost much time, and was\nurgently required at home. After gratifying Melissa's wish by describing\nhow Diodoros had immediately recovered consciousness on the completion of\nthe operation performed by Galen, and painting the deep amazement that\nhad fallen on all the other physicians at the skill of this fine old man,\nhe had done all he could for the present to be of use to the girl. He was\nglad, therefore, when in the street of Hermes, now swarming again with\ncitizens, soldiers, and horsemen, he met the old nurse, who, after\nconducting Agatha home to her father, had been sent back to the town to\nremain in attendance, if necessary, on Diodoros. The freedman left it to\nher to escort Melissa to her own home, and went back to report to\nPolybius--in the first place, as to his son's state.\n\nIt was decided that Melissa should for the present remain with her\nfather; but, as soon as Diodoros should be allowed to leave the Serapeum,\nshe was to go across the lake to receive the convalescent on his return\nhome.\n\nThe old woman assured her, as they walked on, that Diodoros had always\nbeen born to good luck; and it was clear that this had never been truer\nthan now, when Galenus had come in the nick of time to restore him to\nlife and health, and when he had won such a bride as Melissa. Then she\nsang the praises of Agatha, of her beauty and goodness, and told her that\nthe Christian damsel had made many inquiries concerning Alexander. She,\nthe speaker, had not been chary of her praise of the youth, and, unless\nshe was much mistaken, the arrow of Eros had this time pierced Agatha's\nheart, though till now she had been as a child--an innocent child--as she\nherself could say, who had seen her grow up from the cradle. Her faith\nneed not trouble either Melissa or Alexander, for gentler and more modest\nwives than the Christian women were not to be found among the Greeks--and\nshe had known many.\n\nMelissa rarely interrupted the garrulous old woman; but, while she\nlistened, pleasant pictures of the future rose before her fancy. She saw\nherself and Diodoros ruling over Polybius's household, and, close at\nhand, on Zeno's estate, Alexander with his beautiful and adored wife.\nThere, under Zeno's watchful eye, the wild youth would become a noble\nman. Her father would often come to visit them, and in their happiness\nwould learn to find pleasure in life again. Only now and then the thought\nof the sacrifice which the vehement Philip must make for his younger\nbrother, and of the danger which still threatened Alexander, disturbed\nthe cheerful contentment of her soul, rich as it was in glad hopes.\n\nThe nearer they got to her own home, the more lightly her heart beat. She\nhad none but good news to report there. The old woman, panting for\nbreath, was obliged to beg her to consider her sixty years and moderate\nher pace.\n\nMelissa willingly checked her steps; and when, at the end of the street\nof Hermes, they reached the temple of the god from whom it was named and\nturned off to the right, the good woman parted from her, for in this\nquiet neighborhood she could safely be trusted to take care of herself.\n\nMelissa was now alone. On her left lay the gardens of Hermes, where, on\nthe southern side, stood her father's house and that of their neighbor\nSkopas. Though the old nurse had indeed talked of nothing that was not\npleasant, it was a comfort not to have to listen to her, but to be free\nto follow her own thoughts. Nor did she meet with anything to distract\nthem, for at this hour the great public garden was left almost entirely\nto children and their attendants, or to the inhabitants of the immediate\nneighborhood who frequented the temples of Hermes or Artemis, or the\nlittle shrine of Asklepios, which stood in a grove of mimosas on the\nskirt of the park, and to which Melissa herself felt attracted. It had\nbeen a familiar spot at the time when her mother was at the worst. How\noften had she flown hither from her home near at hand to pour oil on the\naltar of the god of healing--to make some small offering and find comfort\nin prayer!\n\nThe day was now hot, she was tired, and, when she saw the white marble\ncolumns gleaming among the greenery, she yielded to the impulse to enjoy\na few minutes' rest in the cool cella and accomplish the vow she had\ntaken an hour or two since. She longed, indeed, to get home, that her\nfather might share the happiness which uplifted her heart; but then she\nreflected that she would not soon have the opportunity of carrying out,\nunobserved, the purpose she had in her mind. Now, if ever, was the time\nto offer sacrifice for Caesar and for the mitigation of his sufferings.\nThe thought that Galenus perhaps was right, and that of Caracalla's\nmyriad subjects she might be the only one who would do so much for his\nsake, strengthened her resolve.\n\nThe chief temple of Asklepios, whom the Egyptians called Imhotep, was at\nthe Serapeum. Imhotep was the son of Ptah, who, at Alexandria, was merged\nin Serapis. There he was worshiped, conjointly with Serapis and Isis, by\nEgyptians, Greeks, and Syrians alike. The little sanctuary near her\nfather's house was the resort of none but Greeks. Ptolemaeus\nPhiladelphus, the second Macedonian King of Egypt, had built it as an\nappendage to the Temple of Artemis, after the recovery from sickness of\nhis wife Arsinoe.\n\nIt was small, but a masterpiece of Greek art, and the statues of Sleep\nand of A Dream, at the entrance, with the marble group behind the altar,\nrepresenting Asklepios with his sister Hygeia and his wife Epione the\nSoother, was reckoned by connoisseurs as among the noblest and most\nnoteworthy works of art in Alexandria.\n\nThe dignity and benevolence of the god were admirably expressed in the\nfeatures of the divinity, somewhat resembling the Olympian Zeus, who\nleaned on his serpent staff; and the graceful, inviting sweetness of\nHygeia, holding out her cup as though she were offering health to the\nsufferer, was well adapted to revive the hopes of the despondent. The\ngod's waving locks were bound with a folded scarf, and at his feet was a\ndog, gazing up at his lord as if in entreaty.\n\nThe sacred snakes lay coiled in a cage by the altar; they were believed\nto have the power of restoring themselves, and this was regarded as a\npromise to the sick that they should cast off their disease as a serpent\ncasts its skin. The swift power of the reptile over life and death, was\nan emblem to the votaries of the power of the god to postpone the death\nof man or to shorten his days.\n\nThe inside of the little sanctuary was a cool and still retreat. Tablets\nhung on the white marble walls, inscribed with the thanksgivings or vows\nof those who had been healed. On several, the remedies were recorded\nwhich had availed in certain cases; and on the left of the little hall,\nbehind a heavy hanging, a small recess contained the archives of the\ntemple, recipes, records of gifts, and documents referring to the history\nof the sanctuary.\n\nIn this deserted, shady spot, between these thick marble walls, it was\nmuch cooler than outside. Melissa lifted her hands in prayer before the\nstatue of the god. She was alone, with the exception of the priest in\ncharge. The temple-servant was absent, and the priest was asleep,\nbreathing heavily, in an arm-chair in a dark nook behind the marble\ngroup. Thus she was free to follow the impulse of her heart, and pray,\nfirst for her sick lover, and then for the sufferer to whom the whole\nsubservient world belonged.\n\nFor Diodoros, indeed, as she knew, other hands and hearts were uplifted\nin loving sympathy. But who besides herself was praying for the hated\nsovereign who had at his command the costliest and rarest gifts of\nfortune, all poisoned by bitter anguish of mind and body? The world\nthought only of the sufferings he had inflicted on others; no one dreamed\nof the pangs he had to endure--no one but herself, to whom Galenus had\nspoken of them. And had not his features and his look betrayed to her\nthat pain was gnawing at his vitals like the vulture at those of\nPrometheus? Hapless, pitiable youth, born to the highest fortune, and now\na decrepit old man in the flower of his age! To pray and sacrifice for\nhim must be a pious deed, pleasing to the gods. Melissa besought the\nmarble images over the altar from the very bottom of her heart, never\neven asking herself why she was bestowing on this stranger, this cruel\ntryant, in whose name her own brother was in danger of the law, an\nemotion which nothing but her care for those dearest to her had ever\nstirred. But she did not feel that he was a stranger, and never thought\nhow far apart they were. Her prayers came easily, too, in this spot; the\nbonds that linked her to these beautiful marble beings were familiar and\ndear to her. While she gazed up into the face of Asklepios, imploring him\nto be gracious to the imperial youth, and release him from the pain but\nfor which he might have been humane and beneficent, the stony features\nseemed to live before her eyes, and the majesty and dignity that beamed\non the brow assured her that the god's power and wisdom were great enough\nto heal every disease. The tender smile which played on his features\nfilled her soul with the certainty that he would vouchsafe to be\ngracious; nay, she could believe that he moved those marble lips and\npromised to grant her prayer. And when she turned to the statue of Hygeia\nshe fancied the beautiful, kind face nodded to her with a pledge of\nfulfillment.\n\nShe raised her beseeching arms higher still, and addressed her sculptured\nfriends aloud, as though they could hear her:\n\n\"I know that nothing is hidden from you, eternal gods,\" she began, \"and\nwhen it was your will that my mother should be taken from me my foolish\nheart rebelled. But I was then a child without understanding, and my soul\nlay as it were asleep. Now it is different. You know that I have learned\nto love a man; and many things, and, the certainty that the gods are\ngood, have come to me with that love. Forgive the maid the sins of the\nchild, and make my lover whole, as he lies under the protection and in\nthe sanctuary of the great Serapis, still needing your aid too. He is\nmending, and the greatest of thy ministers, O Asklepios, says he will\nrecover, so it must be true. Yet without thee even the skill of Galenus\nis of little avail; wherefore I beseech you both, Heal Diodoros, whom I\nlove!--But I would fain entreat you for another. You will wonder,\nperhaps--for it is Bassianus Antoninus, whom they call Caracalla and\nCaesar.\n\n\"Thou, Asklepios, dost look in amazement, and great Hygeia shakes her\nhead. And it is hard to say what moves me, who love another, to pray for\nthe blood-stained murderer for whom not another soul in his empire would\nsay a word to you. Nay, and I know not what it is. Perhaps it is but\npity; for he, who ought to be the happiest, is surely the most wretched\nman under the sun. O great Asklepios, O bountiful and gracious Hygeia,\nease his sufferings, which are indeed beyond endurance! Nor shall you\nlack an offering. I will dedicate a cock to you; and as the cock\nannounces a new day, so perchance shall you grant to Caracalla the dawn\nof a new existence in better health.\n\n\"Alas, gracious god! but thou art grave, as though the offering were too\nsmall. How gladly would I bring a goat, but I know not whether my money\nwill suffice, for it is only what I have saved. By and by, when the youth\nI love is my husband, I will prove my gratitude; for he is as rich as he\nis handsome and kind, and will, I know, refuse me nothing. And thou,\nsweet goddess, dost not look down upon me as graciously as before; I fear\nthou art angry. Yet think not\"--and she gave a low laugh--\"that I pray\nfor Caracalla because I care for him, or am in love with him. No, no, no,\nno! my heart is wholly given to Diodoros, and not the smallest part of it\nto any other. It is Caesar's misery alone that brings me hither. Sooner\nwould I kiss one of those serpents or a thorny hedgehog than him, the\nfratricide in the purple. Believe me, it is true, strange as it must\nseem.\n\n\"First and last, I pray and offer sacrifice indeed for Diodoros and his\nrecovery. My brother Alexander, too, who is in danger, I would fain\ncommend to you; but he is well in body, and your remedies are of no\neffect against the perils which threaten him.\"\n\nHere she ceased, and gazed into the faces of the statues, but they would\nnot look so friendly as before. It was, no doubt, the smallness of her\noffering that had offended them. She anxiously drew out her little\nmoney-bag and counted the contents. But when, after waking the priest,\nshe had asked how much a goat might cost for sacrifice, her countenance\ncleared, for her savings were enough to pay for it and for a young cock\nas well. All she had she left with the old man, to the last sesterce; but\nshe could only wait to see the cock sacrificed, for she felt she must go\nhome.\n\nAs soon as the blood of the bird had besprinkled the altar, and she had\ntold the divinities that a goat was also to be killed, she fancied that\nthey looked at her more kindly; and she was turning to the door, as light\nand gay as if she had happily done some difficult task, when the curtain\nscreening off the library of archives was lifted, and a man came out\ncalling her by name. She turned round; but as soon as she saw that he was\na Roman, and, as his white toga told her, of the upper class, she took\nfright. She hastily exclaimed that she was in a hurry, and flew down the\nsteps, through the garden, and into the road. Once there, she reproached\nherself for foolish shyness of a stranger who was scarcely younger than\nher own father; but by the time she had gone a few steps she had\nforgotten the incident, and was rehearsing in her mind all she had to\ntell Heron. She soon saw the tops of the palms and sycamores in their own\ngarden, her faithful old dog Melas barked with delight, and the happiness\nwhich the meeting with the stranger had for a moment interrupted revived\nwith unchecked glow.\n\nShe was weary, and where could she rest so well as at home? She had\nescaped many perils, and where could she feel so safe as under her\nfather's roof? Glad as she was at the prospect of her new and handsome\nhome on the other side of the lake, and of all the delights promised her\nby Diodoros's affection, her heart still clung fondly to the pretty, neat\nlittle dwelling whose low roof now gleamed in front of her. In the\ngarden, whose shell-strewn paths she now trod, she had played as a child;\nthat window belonged to the room where her mother had died. And then,\ncoming home was in itself a joy, when she had so much to tell that was\npleasant.\n\nThe dog leaped along by her side with vehement affection, jumping round\nher and on her, and she heard the starling's cry, first \"Olympias!\" and\nthen \"My strength!\"\n\nA happy smile parted her rosy lips as she glanced at the work-room; but\nthe two white teeth which always gleamed when she was gay were presently\nhidden, for her father, it would seem, was out. He was certainly not at\nwork, for the wide window was unscreened, and it was now nearly noon. He\nwas almost always within at this hour, and it would spoil half her\ngladness not to find him there.\n\nBut what was this? What could this mean? The dog had announced her\napproach, and old Dido's gray head peeped out of the house-door, to\nvanish again at once. How strangely she had looked at her--exactly as she\nhad looked that day when the physician had told the faithful creature\nthat her mistress's last hour was at hand!\n\nMelissa's contentment was gone. Before she even crossed the threshold,\nwhere the friendly word \"Rejoice\" greeted her in brown mosaic, she called\nthe old woman by name. No answer.\n\nShe went into the kitchen to find Dido; for she, according to her\ninvariable habit of postponing evil as long as possible, had fled to the\nhearth. There she stood, though the fire was out, weeping bitterly, and\ncovering her wrinkled face with her hands, as though she quailed before\nthe eyes of the girl she must so deeply grieve. One glance at the woman,\nand the tears which trickled through her fingers and down her lean arms\ntold Melissa that something dreadful had happened. Very pale, and\nclasping her hand to her heaving bosom, she desired to be told all; but\nfor some time Dido was quite unable to speak intelligibly. And before she\ncould make up her mind to it, she looked anxiously for Argutis, whom she\nheld to be the wisest of mankind, and who, she knew, would reveal the\ndreadful thing that must be told more judiciously than she could. But the\nGaul was not to be seen; so Dido, interrupted by sobs, began the\nmelancholy tale.\n\nHeron had come home between midnight and sunrise and had gone to bed.\nNext morning, while he was feeding the birds, Zminis, the captain of the\nnight-watch, had come in with some men-at-arms, and had tried to take the\nartist prisoner in Caesar's name. On this, Heron had raved like a bull,\nhad appealed to his Macedonian birth, his rights as a Roman citizen, and\nmuch besides, and demanded to know of what he was accused. He was then\ninformed that he was to be held in captivity by the special orders of the\nhead of the police, till his son Alexander, who was guilty of\nhigh-treason, should surrender to the authorities. But her master, said\nDido, sobbing, had knocked down the man who had tried to bind him with a\nmighty blow of his fist. At last there was a fearful uproar, and in fact\na bloody fight. The starling shouted his cry through it all, the birds\nfluttered and piped with terror, and it was like the abode of the damned\nin the nether world; and strangers came crowding about the house, till\nSkopas arrived and advised Heron to go with the Egyptian.\n\n\"But even at the door,\" Dido added, \"he called out to me that you,\nMelissa, could remain with Polybius till he should recover his liberty.\nPhilip was to appeal for help to the prefect Titianus, and offer him the\ngems--you know them, he said. And, last of all,\" and again she began to\ncry, \"he especially commended to my care the tomb--and the birds; and the\nstarling wants some fresh mealworms.\" Melissa heard with dismay; the\ncolor had faded from her cheeks, and as Dido ended she asked gloomily:\n\n\"And Philip--and Alexander?\"\n\n\"We have thought of everything,\" replied the old woman. \"As soon as we\nwere alone we held a council, Argutis and I. He went to find Alexander,\nand I went to Philip. I found him in his rooms. He had come home very\nlate, the porter said, and I saw him in bed, and I had trouble enough to\nwake him. Then I told him all, and he went on in such mad talk--it will\nbe no wonder if the gods punish him. He wanted to rush off to the\nprefect, with his hair uncombed, just as he was. I had to bring him to\nhis senses; and then, while I was oiling his hair and helping him into\nhis best new mantle, he changed his mind, for he declared he would come\nhome first, to talk with you and Argutis. Argutis was at home again, but\nhe had not found Alexander, for the poor youth has to hide himself as if\nhe were a murderer.\" And again she sobbed; nor was it till Melissa had\nsoothed her with kind speeches that she could go on with her story.\n\nPhilip had learned yesterday where Alexander was concealed, so he\nundertook to go across the lake and inform him of what had occurred. But\nArgutis, faithful and prudent, had hindered him, representing that\nAlexander, who was easily moved, as soon as he heard that his father was\na prisoner would unhesitatingly give himself up to his enemies as a\nhostage, and rush headlong into danger. Alexander must remain in hiding\nso long as Caesar was in Alexandria. He (Argutis) would go instead of\nPhilip, who, for his part, might call on the prefect later. He would\ncross the lake and warn Melissa not to return home, and to tell Alexander\nwhat he might think necessary. The watch might possibly follow Argutis;\nbut he knew every lane and alley, and could mislead and avoid them.\nPhilip had listened to reason. The slave went, and must now soon be back\nagain.\n\nOf how different a home-coming had Melissa dreamed! What new and terrible\ngriefs were these! Still, though distressed at the thought of her\nvehement father in prison, she shed no tears, but told herself that\nmatters could only be mended by rational action on behalf of the victims,\nand not by lamentations. She must be alone, to collect her strength and\nconsider the situation. So she desired Dido, to her great amazement, to\nprepare some food, and bring her wine and water. Then, seating herself,\nwith a melancholy glance at her embroidery where it lay folded together,\nshe rested her elbow on the table and her head in her hand, considering\nto whom she could appeal to save her father.\n\nFirst she thought of Caesar himself, whose eye had met hers, and for whom\nshe had prayed and offered sacrifice. But the blood fired her cheeks at\nthe thought, and she repelled it at once. Yet her mind would linger at\nthe Serapeum, where her lover, too, still rested his fevered head. She\nknew that the high-priests' spacious lodgings there, with their splendid\nrooms and banqueting halls, had been prepared for the emperor; and she\nremembered various things which her brother had told her of Timotheus,\nwho was at the head not only of the heathen priesthood, but also of the\nmuseum. He was said to be a philosopher, and Philip had more than once\nbeen distinguished by him, and invited to his house. Her brother must\napply to him. He, who was in a way Caracalla's host, would easily succeed\nin obtaining her father's release, from his imperial guest.\n\nHer grave face brightened at this thought, and, while she ate and drank,\nanother idea struck her. Alexander, too, must be known to the\nhigh-priest; for Timotheus was the brother of Seleukus, whose daughter\nthe artist had just painted, and Timotheus had seen the portrait and\npraised it highly. Thus it was not improbable that the generous man\nwould, if Philip besought him, intercede for Alexander. So all might turn\nout better than she had ventured to hope.\n\nFirmly convinced that it was her part to rescue her family, she once more\nreviewed in her mind every acquaintance to whom she might look for aid;\nbut even during her meditations her tired frame asserted its rights, and\nwhen Dido came in to remove the remains of the meal and the empty\nwine-cup, she found Melissa sunk in sleep.\n\nShaking her head, and saying to herself that it served the old man right\nfor his cruel treatment of a dutiful child--though, for Alexander's sake,\nshe might have tried to keep awake--the faithful soul pushed a cushion\nunder the girl's head, drew the screen across the window, and stood\nwaving off the flies which buzzed about her darling's flushed face, till\npresently the dog barked, and an energetic knock shook the house-door.\nMelissa started from her slumbers, the old woman threw aside the fan,\nand, as she hurried to admit the vehement visitor, cried out to Melissa:\n\n\"Be easy, dear child--be easy. It is nothing; depend upon that. I know\nthe knock; it is only Philip.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nDido was right. Heron's eldest son had returned from his errand. Tired,\ndisappointed, and with fierce indignation in his eyes, he staggered in\nlike a drunken man who has been insulted in his cups; and, without\ngreeting her--as his mother had taught her children to greet even their\nslaves--he merely asked in hoarse tones, \"Is Melissa come in?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" replied Dido, laying her finger to her lips. \"You roused her\nfrom a nap. And what a state you are in! You must not let her see you so!\nIt is very clear what news you bring. The prefect will not help us?\"\n\n\"Help us!\" echoed Philip, wrathfully. \"In Alexandria a man may drown\nrather than another will risk wetting his feet.\"\n\n\"Nay, it is not so bad as that,\" said the old woman. \"Alexander himself\nhas burned his fingers for others many a time. Wait a minute. I will\nfetch you a draught of wine. There is some still in the kitchen; for if\nyou appear before your sister in that plight--\"\n\nBut Melissa had recognized her brother's voice, and, although Philip had\nsmoothed his hair a little with his hands, one glance at his face showed\nher that his efforts had been vain.\n\n\"Poor boy!\" she said, when, in answer to her question as to what his news\nwas, he had answered gloomily, \"As bad as possible.\"\n\nShe took his hand and led him into the work-room. There she reminded him\nthat she was giving him a new brother in Diodoros; and he embraced her\nfondly, and wished her and her betrothed every happiness. She thanked him\nout of a full heart, while he swallowed his wine, and then she begged him\nto tell her all he had done.\n\nHe began, and, as she gazed at him, it struck her how little he resembled\nhis father and brother, though he was no less tall, and his head was\nshaped like theirs. But his frame, instead of showing their stalwart\nbuild, was lean and weakly. His spine did not seem strong enough for his\nlong body, and he never held himself upright. His head was always bent\nforward, as if he were watching or seeking something; and even when he\nhad seated himself in his father's place at the work-table to tell his\ntale, his hands and feet, even the muscles of his well-formed but\ncolorless face, were in constant movement. He would jump up, or throw\nback his head to shake his long hair off his face, and his fine, large,\ndark eyes glowed with wrathful fires.\n\n\"I received my first repulse from the prefect,\" he began, and as he\nspoke, his arms, on whose graceful use the Greeks so strongly insisted,\nflew up in the air as though by their own impulse rather than by the\nspeaker's will.\n\n\"Titianus affects the philosopher, because when he was young--long ago,\nthat is very certain--his feet trod the Stoa.\"\n\n\"Your master, Xanthos, said that he was a very sound philosopher,\"\nMelissa put in.\n\n\"Such praise is to be had cheap,\" said Philip, by the most influential\nman in the town. But his methods are old-fashioned. He crawls after Zeno;\nhe submits to authority, and requires more independent spirits to do the\nsame. To him the divinity is the Great First Cause. In this world of ours\nhe can discern the working of a purposeful will, and confuses his mind\nwith windy, worn-out ideals. Virtue, he says--but to what end repeat such\nstale old stuff?\"\n\n\"We have no time for it,\" said Melissa, who saw that Philip was on the\npoint of losing himself in a philosophical dissertation, for he had begun\nto enjoy the sound of his own voice, which was, in fact, unusually\nmusical.\n\n\"Why not?\" he exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders, and with a bitter\nsmile. \"When he has shot away all his arrows, the bowman may rest; and,\nas you will soon hear, our quiver is empty--as empty as this cup which I\nhave drained.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" exclaimed Melissa, eagerly. \"If this first attempt has failed,\nthat is the very reason for planning another. I, too, can use figures of\nspeech. The archer who is really eager to hit the object on which he has\nspent his arrows, does not retire from the fight, but fetches more; and\nif he can find none, he fights with his bow, or falls on the enemy with\nstones, fists, and teeth.\"\n\nPhilip looked at her in astonishment, and exclaimed in pleased surprise,\nwithout any of the supercilious scorn which he commonly infused into his\ntone when addressing his humble sister:\n\n\"Listen to our little girl! Where did those gentle eyes get that\ndetermined flash? From misfortune--from misfortune! They rob the gentle\ndove of her young--I mean her splendid Alexander--and lo, she becomes a\nvaliant falcon! I expected to find you a heart-broken lamb, over your\ntear-stained stitching, and behold it is you who try to fire me. Well,\nthen, tell me what arrows we have left, when you have heard me out. But,\nbefore I proceed, is Argutis at home again? No? He must go across again,\nto take various things to Alexander--linen, garments, and the like. I met\nGlaukias the sculptor, and he begged me not to forget it; for he knows\nwhere the lad is hidden, and was on the point of going over to see him.\nThe man had made himself perfectly unrecognizable. He is a true friend,\nif such a thing there be! And how grieved he was to hear of my father's\nill fortune! I believe he is envious of Diodoros.\"\n\nMelissa shook a finger at him; but she turned pale, and curiously\ninquired whether her brother had remembered to warn Glaukias on no\naccount to tell Alexander that it was in his power to release his father.\n\nPhilip struck his brow, and, with a helpless fall of the mouth, which was\nusually so firmly set and ready to sneer, he exclaimed, like a boy caught\nin mischief: \"That, that--I can not imagine how I forgot it, but I did\nnot mention it. What strange absence of mind! But I can remedy it at once\non the spot. Argutis--nay, I will go myself.\"\n\nHe sprang up, and was on the point of carrying out his sudden purpose,\nbut Melissa detained him. With a decisiveness which again amazed him, she\ndesired him to remain; and while he paced the workroom with rapid\nstrides, heaping abuse on himself, now striking his breast, and now\npushing his fingers through his disordered hair, she made it clear to him\nthat he could not reach Alexander in time to prevent his knowing all, and\nthat the only result of his visit would be to put the watch on the track.\nInstead of raving and lamenting, he would do better to tell her whither\nhe had been.\n\nFirst, he hastily began, he had gone to the prefect Titianus, who was an\nelderly man of a noble family, many of whose members had ere now occupied\nthe official residence of the prefect in Alexandria, and in other towns\nof Egypt. He had often met Philip at the disputations he was wont to\nattend in the Museum, and had a great regard for him. But of late\nTitianus had been out of health, and had kept his house. He had undergone\nsome serious operation shortly before Caesar's arrival at Alexandria had\nbeen announced, and this had made it impossible for him to be present at\nthe grand reception, or even to pay his respects to Caracalla.\n\nWhen Philip had sent in his name, Titianus had been very ready to receive\nhim; but while the philosopher was still waiting in the anteroom,\nwondering to find it so empty--for it was usually crowded with the\nclients, petitioners, and friends of the most important man in the\nprovince--a bustle had arisen behind him, and a tall man had been ushered\nin past him, whom he recognized as the senator on whose arm Caracalla had\nleaned in the morning. This was the actor, whom the priest of Serapis had\npointed out to Melissa as one of Caesar's most powerful favorites. From\nbeing a mere dancer he had risen in the course of a few years to the\nhighest dignities. His name was Theocritus, and although he was\ndistinguished by great personal beauty and exceptional cleverness, his\nunbridled greed had made him hated, and he had proved equally incompetent\nas a statesman and a general.\n\nAs this man marched through the anteroom, he had glanced haughtily about\nhim, and the look of contempt which fell on the philosopher probably\nreflected on the small number of persons present, for at that hour the\nanterooms of Romans of rank were commonly thronged. Most visitors had\nbeen dismissed, by reason of the prefect's illness, and many of the\nacquaintances and supplicants who were generally to be found here were\nassembled in the imperial quarters, or in the rooms of the praetorian\nprefect and other powerful dignitaries in Caracalla's train. Titianus had\nfailed to be present at the emperor's arrival, and keen courtier noses\nsmelled a fall, and judged it wise to keep out of the way of a tottering\npower.\n\nBesides all this, the prefect's honesty was well known, and it was\nstrongly suspected that he, as steward of all the taxes of this wealthy\nprovince, had been bold enough to reject a proposal made by Theocritus to\nembezzle the whole freight of a fleet loaded with corn for Rome, and\ncharge it to the account of army munitions. It was a fact that this base\nproposal had been made and rejected only the evening before, and the\nscene of which Philip became the witness was the result of this refusal.\n\nTheocritus, to whom an audience was always indispensable, carefully left\nthe curtains apart which divided the prefect's sick-room from the\nantechamber, and thus Philip was witness of the proceedings he now\ndescribed to his sister.\n\nTitianus received his visitor, lying down, and yet his demeanor revealed\nthe self-possessed dignity of a high-born Roman, and the calm of a Stoic\nphilosopher. He listened unmoved to the courtier, who, after the usual\nformal greetings, took upon himself to overwhelm the older man with the\nbitterest accusations and reproaches. People allowed themselves to take\nstrange liberties with Caesar in this town, Theocritus burst out;\ninsolent jests passed from lip to lip. An epigram against his sacred\nperson had found its way into the Serapeum, his present residence--an\ninsult worthy of any punishment, even of death and crucifixion.\n\nWhen the prefect, with evident annoyance, but still quite calmly, desired\nto know what this extraordinary insult might be, Theocritus showed that\neven in his high position he had preserved the accurate memory of the\nmime, and, half angry, but yet anxious to give full effect to the lines\nby voice and gesture, he explained that \"some wretch had fastened a rope\nto one of the doors of the sanctuary, and had written below it the\nblasphemous words:\n\n  'Hail! For so welcome a guest never came to the sovereign of Hades.\n   Who ever peopled his realm, Caesar, more freely than thou?\n   Laurels refuse to grow green in the darksome abode of Serapis;\n   Take, then, this rope for a gift, never more richly deserved.'\"\n\n\"It is disgraceful!\" exclaimed the prefect.\n\n\"Your indignation is well founded. But the biting tongue of the frivolous\nmixed races dwelling in this city is well known. They have tried it on\nme; and if, in this instance, any one is to blame, it is not I, the\nimprisoned prefect, but the chief and captain of the night-watch, whose\nbusiness it is to guard Caesar's residence more strictly.\"\n\nAt this Theocritus was furious, and poured out a flood of words,\nexpatiating on the duties of a prefect as Caesar's representative in the\nprovinces. \"His eye must be as omniscient as that of the all-seeing\nDeity. The better he knew the uproarious rabble over whom he ruled, the\nmore evidently was it his duty to watch over Caesar's person as anxiously\nas a mother over her child, as a miser over his treasure.\"\n\nThe high-sounding words flowed with dramatic emphasis, the sentimental\nspeaker adding to their impressiveness by the action of his hands, till\nit was more than the invalid could bear. With a pinched smile, he raised\nhimself with difficulty, and interrupted Theocritus with the impatient\nexclamation, \"Still the actor!\"\n\n\"Yes, still!\" retorted the favorite, in a hard voice. \"You, however, have\nbeen even longer--what you have, indeed, been too long--Prefect of\nEgypt!\" With an angry fling he threw the corner of his toga over his\nshoulder, and, though his hand shook with rage, the pliant drapery fell\nin graceful folds over his athletic limbs. He turned his back on the\nprefect, and, with the air of a general who has just been crowned with\nlaurels, he stalked through the anteroom and past Philip once more.\n\nThe philosopher had told his sister all this in a few sentences. He now\npaused in his walk to and fro to answer Melissa's question as to whether\nthis upstart's influence were really great enough to turn so noble and\nworthy a man out of his office.\n\n\"Can you ask?\" said Philip. \"Titianus had no doubts from the first; and\nwhat I heard in the Serapeum--but all in good time. The prefect was sorry\nfor my father and Alexander, but ended by saying that he himself needed\nan intercessor; for, if it were not to-day, at any rate to-morrow, the\nactor would inveigle Caesar into signing his death-warrant.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried the girl, spreading out her hands in horror; but\nPhilip dropped into a seat, saying:\n\n\"Listen to the end. There was evidently nothing to be hoped for from\nTitianus. He is, no doubt, a brave man, but there is a touch of the actor\nin him too. He is a Stoic; and where would be the point of that, if a man\ncould not appear to look on approaching death as calmly as on taking a\nbath?\n\n\"Titianus plays his part well. However, I next went to the Serapeum--it\nis a long way, and it was very hot in the sun--to ask for help from my\nold patron, the high-priest. Caesar is now his guest; and the prefect,\ntoo, had advised me to place my father's cause in his hands.\"\n\nHere Philip sprang up again, and rushed up and down, sometimes stopping\nfor a moment in front of his sister while he went on with his story.\n\nTheocritus had long since reached the Serapeum in his swift chariot when\nthe philosopher at last arrived there on foot. He was well known as a\nfrequent visitor, and was shown at once into the hall of that part of his\nabode which Timotheus had reserved for himself when he had given up all\nthe best rooms to his imperial visitor.\n\nThe anteroom was crowded, and before he got any farther he heard that the\nfavorite's accusations had already led to serious results, and rumors\nwere rife concerning the luckless witticisms of some heedless youth,\nwhich would bring grief upon the peaceable citizens. But before he could\nask what was meant, he was admitted to the high-priest's room.\n\nThis was a marked favor on such a day as this, and the benevolence with\nwhich he was received by the head of the priesthood of the whole city\nfilled him with good hopes of a successful issue. But hardly had Philip\nbegun to speak of his brother's misdemeanor, than Timotheus laid his hand\non his bearded lips, as a hint to be cautious, and whispered in his ear,\n\"Speak quickly and low, if you love your life!\"\n\nWhen Philip had hastily explained that Zminis had imprisoned his father,\nthe old man started to his feet with a promptitude to which his majestic\nperson was unaccustomed, and pointed to a curtained doorway on one side\nof the room.\n\n\"Through that door,\" he whispered, \"you will reach the western steps, and\nthe passage leading out of the precincts to the stadium. You are known to\nthe Romans in the anteroom. It is not the god to whom this building is\ndedicated who now rules within these walls. Your brother's rash words are\nrepeated everywhere, and have even come to Caesar's knowledge; and he has\nbeen told that it was the same traitor--who has for the moment escaped\nZminis and his men--who nailed a rope on one of our doors, and with it an\naudacious inscription. To speak a single word in behalf of Alexander or\nyour father would be to fling myself into the fire without putting it\nout. You do not know how fiercely it is burning. Theocritus is feeding\nthe flame, for he needs it to destroy the prefect. Now, not another word;\nand, come what may, so long as the Roman visitors dwell under this roof,\nbeware of it!\"\n\nAnd the high-priest opened the door with his own hand.\n\n\"I hurried home,\" Philip added, \"and if I forgot, in my dismay at this\nfresh disaster, to warn Glaukias to be careful--But, no, no! It is\nunpardonable!--Alexander is by this time crossing the lake, perhaps. I am\nlike Caracalla--my brother's murderer!\"\n\nBut Melissa laid her arm on his shoulder and besought the poor fellow to\nbe comforted; and her loving words of excuse seemed to have some good\neffect. But why was he always so reserved? Why could not Philip be as\nfrank with her as Alexander was? She had never been very near to him; and\nnow he was concealing from her something which moved him deeply.\n\nShe turned away sadly, for she could not even comfort him. But then again\nPhilip sighed from the bottom of his heart, and she could contain her\nself no longer. More tenderly than she had ever addressed him before, she\nbesought her brother to open his heart to her. She would gladly help him\nto endure what oppressed him; and she could understand, for she herself\nhad learned what the joys and sorrows of love were.\n\nShe had found the right clew. Philip nodded, and answered gloomily:\n\n\"Well, then, listen. It may do me good to speak.\" And thereupon he began\nto tell her what she had already heard from Alexander; and, covering her\ntingling cheeks with her hands, she listened with breathless attention,\nnot missing a word, though the question rose to her mind again and again\nwhether she should tell him the whole truth, which he as yet could not\nknow, or whether it would be better to spare his already burdened soul.\n\nHe described his love in glowing colors. Korinna's heart, he said, must\nhave gone forth to him; for, at their last meeting on the northern shore\nof the lake, her hand had rested in his while he helped her out of the\nboat; he could still feel the touch of her fingers. Nor had the meeting\nbeen pure accident, for he had since seen and recognized the presence on\nearth of her departed soul in her apparently living form. And she, too,\nwith the subtle senses of a disembodied spirit, must have had a yearning\ntowards him, for she had perceived all the depth and fervor of his\npassion. Alexander had given him this certainty; for when he had seen\nKorinna by the lake, her soul had long since abandoned its earthly\ntenement. Before that, her mortal part was already beyond his reach; and\nyet he was happy, for the spirit was not lost to him. Only last night\nmagic forces had brought her before him--his father, too, had been\npresent, and no deception was possible. He had gone to bed in rapturous\nexcitement, full of delicious hopes, and Korinna had at once appeared to\nhim in a dream, so lovely, so kind, and at the same time so subtle a\nvision, ready to follow him in his thoughts and strivings. But just as he\nhad heard a full assurance of her love from her own lips, and was asking\nher by what name he should call her when the craving to see her again\nshould wax strong in him, old Dido had waked him, to cast him out of\nelysium into the deepest earthly woes.\n\nBut, he added--and he drew himself up proudly--he should soon possess the\nMagian's art, for there was no kind of learning he could not master; even\nas a boy he had proved that to his teachers. He, whose knowledge had but\nyesterday culminated in the assurance that it was impossible to know\nanything, could now assert with positive conviction, that the human soul\ncould exist apart from the matter it had animated. He had thus gained\nthat fixed footing outside the earth which Archimedes had demanded to\nenable him to move it; and he should soon be able to exert his power over\ndeparted souls, whose nature he now understood as well as--ay, and better\nthan--Serapion. Korinna's obedient spirit would help him, and when once\nhe should succeed in commanding the souls of the dead, as their master,\nand in keeping them at hand among the living, a new era of happiness\nwould begin, not only for him and his father, but for every one who had\nlost one dear to him by death.\n\nBut here Melissa interrupted his eager and confident speech. She had\nlistened with increasing uneasiness to the youth who, as she knew, had\nbeen cheated. At first she thought it would be cruel to destroy his\nbright illusions. He should at least in this be happy, till the anguish\nof having thoughtlessly betrayed his brother to ruin should be a thing of\nthe past! But when she perceived that he purposed involving his father in\nthe Magian's snares by calling up his mother's Manes, she could no longer\nbe silent, and she broke out with indignant warning: \"Leave my father\nalone, Philip! For all you saw at the Magian's was mere trickery.\"\n\n\"Gently, child,\" said the philosopher, in a superior tone. \"I was of\nexactly the same opinion till after sundown yesterday. You know that the\ntendency of the school of philosophy to which I belong insists, above\nall, on a suspension of judgment; but if there is one thing which may be\nasserted with any dogmatic certainty--\"\n\nBut Melissa would hear no more. She briefly but clearly explained to him\nwho the maiden was whose hand he had held by the lake, and whom he had\nseen again at Serapion's house; and as she went on his interruptions\nbecame fewer. She did her utmost, with growing zeal, to destroy his\nluckless dream; but when the blood faded altogether from his colorless\ncheeks, and he clasped his hand over his brow as if to control some\nphysical suffering, she recovered her self-command; the beautiful fear of\na woman's heart of ever giving useless pain, made her withhold from\nPhilip what remained to be told of Agatha's meeting with Alexander.\n\nBut, without this further revelation, Philip sat staring at the ground as\nif he were overwhelmed; and what hurt him so deeply was less the painful\nsense of having been cheated by such coarse cunning, than the\nannihilation of the treasured hopes which he had founded on the\nexperiences of the past night. He felt as though a brutal foot had\ntrampled down the promise of future joys on which he had counted; his\nsister's revelations had spoiled not merely his life on earth, but all\neternity beyond the grave. Where hope ends despair steps in; and Philip,\nwith reckless vehemence, flung himself, as it were, into its arms. His\nwas an excitable nature; he had never thought of any one but himself, but\nlabored with egotistical zeal to cultivate his own mind and outdo his\nfellows in the competition for learning. The sullen words in which he\ncalled himself the most wretched man on earth, and the victim of the\nblackest ill-fortune, fell from his lips like stones. He rudely repelled\nhis sister's encouraging words, like a sick child whose pain is the\ngreater for being pitied, till at last she appealed to his sense of duty,\nreminding him that something must be done to rescue her father and\nAlexander.\n\n\"They also! They also!\" he cried. \"It falls on us all. Blind Fate drives\nus all, innocent as we are, to death and despair, like the Tantalides.\nWhat sin have you committed, gentle, patient child; or our father, or our\nhappy-hearted and gifted brother; or I--I myself? Have those whom we call\nthe rulers of the universe the right to punish me because I make use of\nthe inquiring spirit they have bestowed on me? Ah, and how well they know\nhow to torture us! They hate me for my learning, and so they turn my\nlittle errors to account to allow me to be cheated like a fool! They are\nsaid to be just, and they behave like a father who disinherits his son\nbecause, as a man, he notes his parent's weakness. With tears and anguish\nhave I striven for truth and knowledge. There is not a province of\nthought whose deepest depths I have not tried to fathom; and when I\nrecognized that it is not given to mortals to apprehend the essence of\nthe divinity because the organs bestowed on us are too small and feeble;\nwhen I refused to pronounce whether that which I can not apprehend exists\nor not, was that my fault, or theirs? There may be divine forces which\ncreated and govern the universe; but never talk to me of their goodness,\nand reasonableness, and care for human creatures! Can a reasonable being,\nwho cares for the happiness of another, strew the place assigned to him\nto dwell in with snares and traps, or implant in his breast a hundred\nimpulses of which the gratification only drags him into an abyss? Is that\nBeing my friend, who suffers me to be born and to grow up, and leaves me\ntied to the martyr's stake, with very few real joys, and finally kills\nme, innocent or guilty, as surely as I am born? If the divinity which is\nsupposed to bestow on us a portion of the divine essence in the form of\nreason were constituted as the crowd are taught to believe, there could\nbe nothing on earth but wisdom and goodness; but the majority are fools\nor wicked, and the good are like tall trees, which the lightning blasts\nrather than the creeping weed. Titianus falls before the dancer\nTheocritus, the noble Papinian before the murderer Caracalla, our\nsplendid Alexander before such a wretch as Zminis; and divine reason lets\nit all happen, and allows human reason to proclaim the law. Happiness is\nfor fools and knaves; for those who cherish and uphold reason--ay,\nreason, which is a part of the divinity--persecution, misery, and\ndespair.\"\n\n\"Have done!\" Melissa exclaimed. \"Have the judgments of the immortals not\nfallen hardly enough on us? Would you provoke them to discharge their\nfury in some more dreadful manner?\"\n\nAt this the skeptic struck his breast with defiant pride, exclaiming: \"I\ndo not fear them, and dare to proclaim openly the conclusions of my\nthoughts. There are no gods! There is no rational guidance of the\nuniverse. It has arisen self-evolved, by chance; and if a god created it,\nhe laid down eternal laws and has left them to govern its course without\nmercy or grace, and without troubling himself about the puling of men who\ncreep about on the face of the earth like the ants on that of a pumpkin.\nAnd well for us that it should be so! Better a thousand times is it to be\nthe servant of an iron law, than the slave of a capricious master who\ntakes a malignant and envious pleasure in destroying the best!\"\n\n\"And this, you say, is the final outcome of your thoughts?\" asked\nMelissa, shaking her head sadly. \"Do you not perceive that such an\noutbreak of mad despair is simply unworthy of your own wisdom, of which\nthe end and aim should be a passionless, calm, and immovable moderation?\"\n\n\"And do they show such moderation,\" Philip gasped out, \"who pour the\npoison of misfortune in floods on one tortured heart?\"\n\n\"Then you can accuse those whose existence you disbelieve in?\" retorted\nMelissa with angry zeal. \"Is this your much-belauded logic? What becomes\nof your dogmas, in the face of the first misfortune--dogmas which enjoin\na reserve of decisive judgment, that you may preserve your equanimity,\nand not overburden your soul, in addition to the misfortune itself, with\nthe conviction that something monstrous has befallen you? I remember how\nmuch that pleased me the first time I heard it. For your own sake--for\nthe sake of us all--cease this foolish raving, and do not merely call\nyourself a skeptic--be one; control the passion that is rending you. For\nlove of me--for love of us all--\"\n\nAnd as she spoke she laid her hand on his shoulder, for he had sat down\nagain; and although he pushed her away with some petulance, she went on\nin a tone of gentle entreaty: \"If we are not to be altogether too late in\nthe field, let us consider the situation calmly. I am but a girl, and\nthis fresh disaster will fall more hardly on me than on you; for what\nwould become of me without my father?\"\n\n\"Life with him has at any rate taught you patient endurance,\" her brother\nbroke in with a sullen shrug.\n\n\"Yes, life,\" she replied, firmly: \"life, which shows us the right way\nbetter than all your books. Who can tell what may have detained Argutis?\nI wilt wait no longer. The sun will have set before long, and this\nevening Caesar is to sup with Seleukus, the father of Korinna. I happen\nto know it from Samonicus, who is one of the guests. Seleukus and his\nwife have a great regard for Alexander, and will do for him all that lies\nin their power. The lady Berenike, he told me, is a noble dame. It should\nbe your part to entreat her help for our father and brother; but you must\nnot venture where Caesar is. So I will go, and I shall have no rest till\nKorinna's mother listens to me and promises to aid us.\"\n\nAt this Philip exclaimed, in horror: \"What! you will dare to enter the\nhouse where Caracalla is feasting with the rabble he calls his friends?\nYou, an inexperienced girl, young, beautiful, whose mere appearance is\nenough to stir their evil passions? Sooner than allow that, I will myself\nfind my way into the house of Seleukus, and among the spies who surround\nthe tyrant.\"\n\n\"That my father may lose another son, and I my only remaining brother?\"\nMelissa observed, with grave composure. \"Say no more, Philip. I am going,\nand you must wait for me here.\"\n\nThe philosopher broke out at this in despotic wrath:\n\n\"What has come over you, that you have suddenly forgotten how to obey?\nBut I insist; and rather than allow you to bring on us not trouble\nmerely, but shame and disgrace, I will lock you into your room!\"\n\nHe seized her hand to drag her into the adjoining room. She struggled\nwith all her might; but he was the stronger, and he had got her as far as\nthe door, when the Gaul Argutis rushed, panting and breathless, into the\nwork-room through the anteroom, calling out to the struggling couple:\n\n\"What are you doing? By all the gods, you have chosen the wrong time for\na quarrel! Zminis is on the way hither to take you both prisoners; he\nwill be here in a minute! Fly into the kitchen, girl! Dido will hide you\nin the wood-store behind the hearth.-You, Philip, must squeeze into the\nhenhouse. Only be quick, or it will be too late!\"\n\n\"Go!\" cried Melissa to her brother. \"Out through the kitchen window you\ncan get into the poultry-yard!\"\n\nShe threw herself weeping into his arms, kissed him, and added, hastily:\n\"Whatever happens to us, I shall risk all to save my father and\nAlexander. Farewell! The gods preserve us!\"\n\nShe now seized Philip's wrist, as he had before grasped hers, to drag him\naway; but he freed himself, saying, with an indifference which terrified\nher: \"Then let the worst come. Ruin may take its course. Death rather\nthan dishonor!\"\n\n\"Madman!\" the slave could not help exclaiming; and the faithful fellow,\nthough wont to obey, threw his arms round his master's son to drag him\naway into the kitchen, while Philip pushed him off, saying:\n\n\"I will not hide, like a frightened woman!\"\n\nBut the Gaul heard the approach of marching men, so, paying no further\nheed to the brother, he dragged Melissa into the kitchen, where old Dido\nundertook to hide her.\n\nPhilip stood panting in the studio. Through the open window he could see\nthe pursuers coming nearer, and the instinct of self-preservation, which\nasserts itself even in the strongest, prompted him to follow the slave's\nadvice. But before he could reach the door, in fancy he saw himself\njoining the party of philosophers airing themselves under the arcades in\nthe great court of the Museum; he heard their laughter and their bitter\njests at the skeptic, the independent thinker, who had sought refuge\namong the fowls, who had been hauled out of the hen-house; and this\npicture confirmed his determination to yield to force rather than bring\non himself the curse of ridicule. But at the same time other reasons for\nsubmitting to his fate suggested themselves unbidden--reasons more worthy\nof his position, of the whole course and aim of his thoughts, and of the\nsorrow which weighed upon his soul. It beseemed him as a skeptic to\nendure the worst with equanimity; under all circumstances he liked to be\nin the right, and he would fain have called out to his sister that the\ncruel powers whose enmity he had incurred still persisted in driving him\non to despair and death, worthy as he was of a better fate.\n\nA few minutes later Zminis came in, and put out his long lean arms to\napprehend him in Caesar's name. Philip submitted, and not a muscle of his\nface moved. Once, indeed, a smile lighted it up, as he reflected that\nthey would hardly have carried him off to prison if Alexander were\nalready in their power; but the smile gave way only too soon to gloomy\ngravity when Zminis informed him that his brother, the traitor, had just\ngiven himself up to the chief of the night-watch, and was now safe under\nlock and ward. But his crime was so great that, according to the law of\nEgypt, his nearest relations were to be seized and punished with him.\nOnly his sister was now missing, but they would know how to find her.\n\n\"Possibly,\" Philip replied, coldly. \"As justice is blind, Injustice has\nno doubt all the sharper eyes.\"\n\n\"Well said,\" laughed the Egyptian. \"A pinch of the salt which they give\nyou at the Museum with your porridge--for nothing.\"\n\nArgutis had witnessed this scene; and when, half an hour later, the\nmen-at-arms had left the house without discovering Melissa's\nhiding-place, he informed her that Alexander had, as they feared, given\nhimself up of his own free-will to procure Heron's release; but the\nvillains had kept the son, without liberating the father. Both were now\nin prison, loaded with chains. The slave had ended his tale some minutes,\nand Melissa still stood, pale and tearless, gazing on the ground as\nthough she were turned to stone; but suddenly she shivered, as if with\nthe chill of fever, and looked up, out through the windows into the\ngarden, now dim in the twilight. The sun had set, night was falling, and\nagain the words of the Christian preacher recurred to her mind: \"The\nfullness of the time is come.\"\n\nTo her and hers a portion of life had come to an end, and a new one must\ngrow out of it. Should the free-born race of Heron perish in captivity\nand death?\n\nThe evening star blazed out on the distant horizon, seeming to her as a\nsign from the gods; and she told herself that it must be her part, as the\nlast of the family who remained free, to guard the others from\ndestruction in this new life.\n\nThe heavens were soon blazing with stars. The banquet in Seleukus's\nhouse, at which Caesar was to appear, would begin in an hour.\nIrresolution and delay would ruin all; so she drew herself up resolutely\nand called to Argutis, who had watched her with faithful sympathy:\n\n\"Take my father's blue cloak, Argutis, to make you more dignified; and\ndisguise yourself, for you must escort me, and we may be followed. You,\nDido, come and help me. Take my new dress, that I wore at the Feast of\nAdonis, out of my trunk; and with it you will see my mother's blue fillet\nwith the gems. My father used to say I should first wear it at my\nwedding, but--Well, you must bind my hair with it to-night. I am going to\na grand house, where no one will be admitted who does not look worthy of\npeople of mark. But take off the jewel; a supplicant should make no\ndisplay.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Begun to enjoy the sound of his own voice\n     Cast off their disease as a serpent casts its skin\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nNothing delighted old Dido more than to dress the daughter of her beloved\nmistress in all her best, for she had helped to bring her up; but to-day\nit was a cruel task; tears dimmed her old eyes. It was not till she had\nput the finishing touches to braiding the girl's abundant brown hair,\npinned her peplos on the shoulders with brooches, and set the girdle\nstraight, that her face cleared, as she looked at the result. Never had\nshe seen her darling look so fair. Nothing, indeed, remained of the\nchild-like timidity and patient submissiveness which had touched Dido\nonly two days since, as she plaited Melissa's hair. The maiden's brow was\ngrave and thoughtful, the lips firmly set; but she seemed to Dido to have\ngrown, and to have gained something of her mother's mature dignity. She\nlooked, the old woman told her, like the image of Pallas Athene; adding,\nto make her smile, that if she wanted an owl, she, Dido, could fill the\npart. Jesting had never been the old woman's strong point, and to-day it\nwas less easy than ever; for, if the worst befell, and she were sent in\nher old age to a strange house--and Argutis, no doubt, to another--she\nwould have to turn the handmill for the rest of her days.\n\nBut it was a hard task which the motherless--and now fatherless--girl had\nset herself, and she must try to cheer her darling. While she was\ndressing her, she never ceased praying to all the gods and goddesses she\ncould think of to come to the maiden's aid and move the souls of those\nwho could help her. And though she was, as a rule, ready to expect the\nworst, this time she hoped for the best; for Seleukus's wife must have a\nheart of stone if she could close it to such innocence, such beauty, and\nthe pathetic glance of those large, imploring eyes.\n\nWhen at length Melissa quitted the house, deeply veiled, with Argutis to\nescort her, she took his arm; and he, wearing his master's mantle, and\nexempted long since from keeping his hair cropped, was so proud of this\nthat he walked with all the dignity of a freeman, and no one could have\nguessed that he was a slave. Melissa's face was completely hidden, and\nshe, like her companion, was safe from recognition. Argutis,\nnevertheless, led her through the quietest and darkest lanes to the\nKanopic way. Both were silent, and looked straight before them. Melissa,\nas she walked on, could not think with her usual calm. Like a suffering\nman who goes to the physician's house to die or be cured by the knife,\nshe felt that she was on her way to something terrible in itself, to\nremedy, if possible, something still more dreadful. Her\nfather--Alexander, so reckless and so good-hearted--Philip, whom she\npitied--and her sick lover, came in turn before her fancy. But she could\nnot control her mind to dwell on either for long. Nor could she, as\nusual, when she had any serious purpose in hand, put up a prayer to her\nmother's manes or the immortals; and all the while an inner voice made\nitself heard, confidently promising her that Caesar, for whom she had\nsacrificed, and who might be kinder and more merciful than others\nfancied, would at once grant all she should ask. But she would not\nlisten; and when she nevertheless ventured to consider how she could make\nher way into Caesar's presence, a cold shiver ran down her back, and\nagain Philip's last words sounded in her ears, \"Death rather than\ndishonor!\"\n\nOther thoughts and feelings filled the slave's soul. He, who had always\nwatched over his master's children with far more anxious care than Heron\nhimself, had not said a word to dissuade Melissa from her perilous\nexpedition. Her plan had, indeed, seemed to him the only one which\npromised any success. He was a man of sixty years, and a shrewd fellow,\nwho might easily have found a better master than Heron had been; but he\ngave not a thought to his own prospects--only to Melissa's, whom he loved\nas a child of his own. She had placed herself under his protection, and\nhe felt responsible for her fate. Thus he regarded it as great good\nfortune that he could be of use in procuring her admission to the house\nof Seleukus, for the door-keeper was a fellow-countryman of his, whom\nFate had brought hither from the banks of the Moselle. At every festival,\nwhich secured a few hours' liberty to all the slaves, they had for years\nbeen boon companions, and Argutis knew that his friend would do for him\nand his young mistress all that lay in his power. It would, of course, be\ndifficult to get an audience of the mistress of a house where Caesar was\na guest, but the door-keeper was clever and ingenious, and would do\nanything short of the impossible.\n\nSo he walked with his head high and his heart full of pride, and it\nconfirmed his courage when one of Zminis's men, whom they passed in the\nbrightly illuminated Kanopic street, and who had helped to secure Philip,\nlooked at him without recognizing him.\n\nThere was a great stir in this, the handsomest road through the city. The\npeople were waiting for Caesar; but stricter order was observed than on\nthe occasion of his arrival. The guard prohibited all traffic on the\nsouthern side of the way, and only allowed the citizens to walk up and\ndown the footpath, shaded by trees, between the two roadways paved with\ngranite flags, and the arcades in front of the houses on either side. The\nfree inhabitants, unaccustomed to such restrictions, revenged themselves\nby cutting witticisms at Caesar's expense, \"for clearing the streets of\nAlexandria by his men-at-arms as he did those of Rome by the executioner.\nHe seemed to have forgotten, as he kept the two roads open, that he only\nneeded one, now that he had murdered his brother and partner.\"\n\nMelissa and her companion were ordered to join the crowd on the footway;\nbut Argutis managed to convince a man on guard that they were two of the\nmimes who were to perform before Caesar--the door-keeper at the house of\nSeleukus would confirm the fact--and the official himself made way for\nthem into the vestibule of this splendid dwelling.\n\nBut Melissa was as little in the humor to admire all the lavish\nmagnificence which surrounded her as Alexander had been a few days since.\nStill veiled, she modestly took a place among the choir who stood on each\nside of the hall ready to welcome Caesar with singing and music. Argutis\nstopped to speak with his friend. She dimly felt that the whispering and\ngiggling all about her was at her expense; and when an elderly, man, the\nchoir-master, asked her what she wanted, and desired her to remove her\nveil, she obeyed at once, saying: \"Pray let me stand here, the Lady\nBerenike will send for me.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied the musician; and he silenced the singers, who were\nhazarding various impertinent guesses as to the arrival of so pretty a\ngirl just when Caesar was expected.\n\nAs Melissa dropped her veil the splendor of the scene, lighted up by\nnumberless tapers and lamps, forced itself on her attention. She now\nperceived that the porphyry columns of the great hall were wreathed with\nflowers, and that garlands swung in graceful curves from the open roof;\nwhile at the farther end, statues had been placed of Septimus Severus and\nJulia Domna, Caracalla's parents. On each side of these works of art\nstood bowers of plants, in which gay-plumaged birds were fluttering\nabout, excited by the lights. But all these glories swam before her eyes,\nand the first question which the artist's daughter was wont to ask\nherself, \"is it really beautiful or no?\" never occurred to her mind. She\ndid not even notice the smell of incense, until some fresh powder was\nthrown on, and it became oppressive.\n\nShe was fully conscious only of two facts, when at last Argutis returned:\nthat she was the object of much curious examination and that every one\nwas wondering what detained Caesar so long.\n\nAt last, after she had waited many long minutes, the door-keeper\napproached her with a young woman in a rich but simple dress, in whom she\nrecognized Johanna, the Christian waiting-maid of whom Alexander had\nspoken. She did not speak, but beckoned her to come.\n\nBreathing anxiously, and bending her head low, Melissa, following her\nguide, reached a handsome impluvium, where a fountain played in the midst\nof a bed of roses. Here the moon and starlight mingled with that of lamps\nwithout number, and the ruddy glare of a blaze; for all round the basin,\nfrom which the playing waters danced skyward, stood marble genii,\ncarrying in their hands or on their heads silver dishes, in which the\nleaping flames consumed cedar chips and aromatic resins.\n\nAt the back of this court, where it was as light as day, at the top of\nthree steps, stood the statues of Alexander the Great and Caracalla. They\nwere of equal size; and the artist, who had wrought the second in great\nhaste out of the slightest materials, had been enjoined to make Caesar as\nlike as possible in every respect to the hero he most revered. Thus they\nlooked like brothers. The figures were lighted up by the fires which\nburned on two altars of ivory and gold. Beautiful boys, dressed as armed\nErotes, fed the flames.\n\nThe whole effect was magical and bewildering; but, as she followed her\nguide, Melissa only felt that she was in the midst of a new world, such\nas she might perhaps have seen in a dream; till, as they passed the\nfountain, the cool drops sprinkled her face.\n\nThen she suddenly remembered what had brought her hither. In a minute she\nmust appear as a supplicant in the presence of Korinna's mother--perhaps\neven in that of Caesar himself--and the fate of all dear to her depended\non her demeanor. The sense of fulfilling a serious duty was uppermost in\nher mind. She drew herself up, and replaced a stray lock of hair; and her\nheart beat almost to bursting as she saw a number of, men standing on the\nplatform at the top of the steps, round a lady who had just risen from\nher ivory seat. Giving her hand to a Roman senator, distinguished by the\npurple edge to his toga, she descended the steps, and advanced to meet\nMelissa.\n\nThis dignified matron, who was awaiting the ruler of the world and yet\ncould condescend to come forward to meet a humble artist's daughter, was\ntaller by half a head than her illustrious companion; and the few minutes\nduring which Berenike was coming toward her were enough to fill Melissa\nwith thankfulness, confidence, and admiration. And even in that short\ntime, as she gazed at the magnificent dress of blue brocade shot with\ngold and sparkling with precious stones which draped the lady's majestic\nfigure, she thought how keen a pang it must cost the mother, so lately\nbereft of her only child, to maintain a kindly, nay, a genial aspect, in\nthe midst of this display, toward Caesar and a troop of noisy guests.\n\nThe sincerest pity for this woman, rich and preeminent as she was, filled\nthe soul of the girl, who herself was so much to be pitied. But when the\nlady had come up to her, and asked, in her deep voice, what was the\ndanger that threatened her brother, Melissa, with unembarrassed grace,\nand although it was the first time she had ever addressed a lady of such\nhigh degree, answered simply, with a full sense of the business in hand:\n\n\"My name is Melissa; I am the sister of Alexander the painter. I know it\nis overbold to venture into your presence just now, when you have so much\nelse to think of; but I saw no other way of saving my brother's life,\nwhich is in peril.\"\n\nAt this Berenike seemed surprised. She turned to her companion, who was\nher sister's husband, and the first Egyptian who had been admitted to the\nRoman Senate, and said, in a tone of gentle reproach:\n\n\"Did not I say so, Coeranus? Nothing but the most urgent need would have\nbrought Alexander's sister to speak with me at such an hour.\"\n\nAnd the senator, whose black eyes had rested with pleasure on Melissa's\nrare beauty, promptly replied, \"And if she had come for the veriest\ntrifle she would be no less welcome to me.\"\n\n\"Let me hear no more of such speeches,\" Berenike exclaimed with some\nannoyance.--\"Now, my child, be quick. What about your brother?\"\n\nMelissa briefly and truthfully reported Alexander's heedless crime and\nthe results to her father and Philip. She ended by beseeching the noble\nlady with fervent pathos to intercede for her father and brothers.\n\nMeanwhile the senator's keen face had darkened, and the lady Berenike's\nlarge eyes, too, were downcast. She evidently found it hard to come to a\ndecision; and for the moment she was relieved of the necessity, for\nrunners came hurrying up, and the senator hastily desired Melissa to\nstand aside.\n\nHe whispered to his sister-in-law:\n\n\"It will never do to spoil Caesar's good-humor under your roof for the\nsake of such people,\" and Berenike had only time to reply, \"I am not\nafraid of him,\" when the messenger explained to her that Caesar himself\nwas prevented from coming, but that his representatives, charged with his\napologies, were close at hand.\n\nOn this Coeranus exclaimed, with a sour smile: \"Admit that I am a true\nprophet! You have to put up with the same treatment that we senators have\noften suffered under.\"\n\nBut the matron scarcely heard him. She cast her eyes up to heaven with\nsincere thanksgiving as she murmured with a sigh of relief, \"For this\nmercy the gods be praised!\"\n\nShe unclasped her hands from her heaving bosom, and said to the steward\nwho had followed the messengers:\n\n\"Caesar will not be present. Inform your lord, but so that no one else\nmay hear. He must come here and receive the imperial representatives with\nme. Then have my couch quietly removed and the banquet served at once. O\nCoeranus, you can not imagine the misery I am thus spared!\"\n\n\"Berenike!\" said the senator, in a warning voice, and he laid his finger\non his lips. Then turning to the young supplicant, he said to her in a\ntone of regret: \"So your walk is for nothing, fair maid. If you are as\nsensible as you are pretty, you will understand that it is too much to\nask any one to stand between the lion and the prey which has roused his\nire.\"\n\nThe lady, however, did not heed the caution which her brother-in-law\nintended to convey. As Melissa's imploring eyes met her own, she said,\nwith clear decision:\n\n\"Wait here. We shall see who it is that Caesar sends. I know better than\nmy lord here what it is to see those dear to us in peril. How old are\nyou, child?\"\n\n\"Eighteen,\" replied Melissa.\n\n\"Eighteen?\" repeated Berenike, as if the word were a pain to her, for her\ndaughter had been just of that age. Then she said, louder and with\nencouraging kindness:\n\n\"All that lies in my power shall be done for you and yours.--And you,\nCoeranus, must help me.\"\n\n\"If I can,\" he replied, \"with all the zeal of my reverence for you and my\nadmiration for beauty. But here come the envoys. The elder, I see, is our\nlearned Philostratus, whose works are known to you; the younger is\nTheocritus, the favorite of fortune of whom I was telling you. If the\ncharm of that face might but conquer the omnipotent youth--\"\n\n\"Coeranus!\" she exclaimed, with stern reproof; but she failed to hear the\nsenator's excuses, for her husband, Seleukus, followed her down the\nsteps, and with a hasty sign to her, advanced to meet his guests.\n\nTheocritus was spokesman, and notwithstanding the mourning toga which\nwrapped him in fine folds, his gestures did not belie his origin as an\nactor and dancer. When Seleukus presented him to his wife, Theocritus\nassured her that when, but an hour since, his sovereign lord, who was\nalready dressed and wreathed for the banquet, had learned that the gods\nhad bereft of their only child the couple whose hospitality had promised\nhim such a delightful evening, he had been equally shocked and grieved.\nCaesar was deeply distressed at the unfortunate circumstance that he\nshould have happened in his ignorance to intrude on the seclusion which\nwas the prerogative of grief. He begged to assure her and her husband of\nthe high favor of the ruler of the world. As for himself, Theocritus, he\nwould not fail to describe the splendor with which they had decorated\ntheir princely residence in Caesar's honor. His imperial master would be\ntouched, indeed, to hear that even the bereaved mother, who, like Niobe,\nmourned for her offspring, had broken the stony spell which held her to\nSipylos, and had decked herself to receive the greatest of all earthly\nguests as radiant as Juno at the golden table of the gods.\n\nThe lady succeeded in controlling herself and listening to the end of\nthese pompous phrases without interrupting the speaker. Every word which\nflowed so glibly from his tongue fell on her ear as bitter mockery; and\nhe himself was so repugnant to her, that she felt it a release when,\nafter exchanging a few words with the master of the house, he begged\nleave to retire, as important business called him away. And this, indeed,\nwas the truth. For no consideration would he have left this duty to\nanother, for it was to communicate to Titianus, who had offended him, the\nintelligence that Caesar had deprived him of the office of prefect, and\nintended to examine into certain complaints of his administration.\n\nThe second envoy, however, remained, though he refused Seleukus's\ninvitation to fill his place at the banquet. He exchanged a few words\nwith the lady Berenike, and presently found himself taken aside by the\nsenator, and, after a short explanation, led up to Melissa, whom Coeranus\ndesired to appeal for help to Philostratus, the famous philosopher, who\nenjoyed Caesar's closest confidence.\n\nCoeranus then obeyed a sign from Berenike, who wished to know whether he\nwould be answerable for introducing this rarely pretty girl, who had\nplaced herself under their protection--and whom she, for her part, meant\nto protect--to a courtier of whom she knew nothing but that he was a\nwriter of taste.\n\nThe question seemed to amuse Coeranus, but, seeing that his sister-in-law\nwas very much in earnest, he dropped his flippant tone and admitted that\nPhilostratus, as a young man, had been one of the last with whom he would\ntrust a girl. His far-famed letters sufficiently proved that the witty\nphilosopher had been a devoted and successful courtier of women. But that\nwas all a thing of the past. He still, no doubt, did homage to female\nbeauty, but he led a regular life, and had become one of the most ardent\nand earnest upholders of religion and virtue. He was one of the learned\ncircle which gathered round Julia Domna, and it was by her desire that he\nhad accompanied Caracalla, to keep his mad passions in check when it\nmight be possible.\n\nThe conversation between Melissa and the philosopher had meanwhile taken\nan unexpected turn. At his very first address the reply had died on her\nlips, for in Caesar's representative she had recognized the Roman whom\nshe had seen in the Temple of Asklepios, and who had perhaps overheard\nher there. Philostratus, too, seemed to remember the meeting; for his\nshrewd face--a pleasing mixture of grave and gay--lighted up at once with\na subtle smile as he said:\n\n\"If I am not mistaken, I owe the same pleasure this evening to divine\nCaesar as to great Asklepios this morning?\"\n\nAt this, Melissa cast a meaning glance at Coeranus and the lady, and,\nalthough surprise and alarm sealed her lips, her uplifted hands and whole\ngesture sufficiently expressed her entreaty that he would not betray her.\nHe understood and obeyed. It pleased him to share a secret with this fair\nchild. He had, in fact, overheard her, and understood with amazement that\nshe was praying fervently for Caesar.\n\nThis stirred his curiosity to the highest pitch. So he said, in an\nundertone:\n\n\"All that I saw and heard in the temple is our secret, sweet maid. But\nwhat on earth can have prompted you to pray so urgently for Caesar? Has\nhe done you or yours any great benefit?\"\n\nMelissa shook her head, and Philostratus went on with increased\ncuriosity:\n\n\"Then are you one of those whose heart Eros can fire at the sight of an\nimage, or the mere aspect of a man?\"\n\nTo this she answered hastily:\n\n\"What an idea! No, no. Certainly not.\"\n\n\"No?\" said her new friend, with greater surprise. \"Then perhaps your\nhopeful young soul expects that, being still but a youth, he may, by the\nhelp of the gods, become, like Titus, a benefactor to the whole world?\"\n\nMelissa looked timidly at the matron, who was still talking with her\nbrother-in-law, and hastily replied:\n\n\"They all call him a murderer! But I know for certain that he suffers\nfearful torments of mind and body; and one who knows many things told me\nthat there was not one among all the millions whom Caesar governs who\never prays for him; and I was so sorry--I can not tell you--\"\n\n\"And so,\" interrupted the philosopher, \"you thought it praiseworthy and\npleasing to the gods that you should be the first and only one to offer\nsacrifice for him, in secret, and of your own free will? That was how it\ncame about? Well, child, you need not be ashamed of it.\"\n\nBut then suddenly his face clouded, and he asked, in a grave and altered\nvoice:\n\n\"Are you a Christian?\"\n\n\"No,\" she replied, firmly. \"We are Greeks. How could I have offered a\nsacrifice of blood to Asklepios if I had believed in the crucified god?\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Philostratus, and his eyes flashed brightly, \"I may promise\nyou, in the name of the gods, that your prayer and offering were pleasing\nin their eyes. I myself, noble girl, owe you a rare pleasure. But, tell\nme--how did you feel as you left the sanctuary?\"\n\n\"Light-hearted, my lord, and content,\" she answered, with a frank, glad\nlook in her fine eyes. \"I could have sung as I went down the road, though\nthere were people about.\"\n\n\"I should have liked to hear you,\" he said, kindly, and he still held her\nhand, which he had grasped with the amiable geniality that characterized\nhim, when they were joined by the senator and his sister-in-law.\n\n\"Has she won your good offices?\" asked Coeranus; and Philostratus\nreplied, quickly, \"Anything that it lies in my power to do for her shall\ncertainly be done.\"\n\nBerenike bade them both to join her in her own rooms, for everything that\nhad to do with the banquet was odious to her; and as they went, Melissa\ntold her new friend her brother's story. She ended it in the quiet\nsitting-room of the mistress of the house, an artistic but not splendid\napartment, adorned only with the choicest works of early Alexandrian art.\nPhilostratus listened attentively, but, before she could put her petition\nfor help into words, he exclaimed:\n\n\"Then what we have to do is, to move Caesar to mercy, and that--Child,\nyou know not what you ask!\"\n\nThey were interrupted by a message from Seleukus, desiring Coeranus to\njoin the other guests, and as soon as he had left them Berenike withdrew\nto take off the splendor she hated. She promised to return immediately\nand join their discussion, and Philostratus sat for a while lost in\nthought. Then he turned to Melissa and asked her:\n\n\"Would you for their sakes be able to make up your mind to face bitter\nhumiliation, nay, perhaps imminent danger?\"\n\n\"Anything! I would give my life for them!\" replied the girl, with spirit,\nand her eyes gleamed with such enthusiastic self-sacrifice that his\nheart, though no longer young, warmed under their glow, and the principle\nto which he had sternly adhered since he had been near the imperial\nperson, never to address a word to the sovereign but in reply, was blown\nto the winds.\n\nHolding her hand in his, with a keen look into her eyes, he went on:\n\n\"And if you were required to do a thing from which many a man even would\nrecoil--you would venture?\"\n\nAnd again the answer was a ready \"Yes.\" Philostratus released her hand,\nand said:\n\n\"Then we will dare the worst. I will smooth the way for you, and\nto-morrow--do not start--tomorrow you yourself, under my protection,\nshall appeal to Caesar.\"\n\nThe color faded from the girl's cheeks, which had been flushed with fresh\nhopes, and her counselor had just expressed his wish to talk the matter\nover with the lady Berenike, when she came into the room. She was now\ndressed in mourning, and her pale, beautiful face showed the traces of\nthe tears she had just shed. The dark shadows which, when they surround a\nwoman's eyes, betray past storms of grief, as the halo round the\nmoon--the eye of night--gives warning of storms to come, were deeper than\never; and when her sorrowful gaze fell on Melissa, the girl felt an\nalmost irresistible longing to throw herself into her arms and weep on\nher motherly bosom.\n\nPhilostratus, too, was deeply touched by the appearance of this mother,\nwho possessed so much, but for whom everything dearest to a woman's heart\nhad been destroyed by a cruel stroke of Fate. He was glad to be able to\ntell her that he hoped to soften Caesar. Still, his plan was a bold one;\nCaracalla had been deeply offended by the scornful tone of the attacks on\nhim, and Melissa's brother was perhaps the only one of the scoffers who\nhad been taken. The crime of the Alexandrian wits could not be left\nunpunished. For such a desperate case only desperate remedies could\navail; he therefore ventured to propose to conduct Melissa into Caesar's\npresence, that she might appeal to his clemency.\n\nThe matron started as though a scorpion had stung her. In great\nagitation, she threw her arm round the girl as if to shelter her from\nimminent danger, and Melissa, seeking help, laid her head on that kind\nbreast. Berenike was reminded, by the scent that rose up from the girl's\nhair, of the hours when her own child had thus fondly clung to her. Her\nmotherly heart had found a new object to love, and exclaiming,\n\"Impossible!\" she clasped Melissa more closely.\n\nBut Philostratus begged to be heard. Any plea urged by a third person he\ndeclared would only be the ruin of the rash mediator.\n\n\"Caracalla,\" he went on, looking at Melissa, \"is terrible in his\npassions, no one can deny that; but of late severe suffering has made him\nirritably sensitive, and he insists on the strictest virtue in all who\nare about his person. He pays no heed to female beauty, and this sweet\nchild, at any rate, will find many protectors. He shall know that the\nhigh-priest's wife, one of the best of women, keeps an anxious eye on\nMelissa's fate; and I myself, his mother's friend, shall be at hand. His\npassion for revenge, on the other hand, is boundless--no one living can\ncontrol it; and not even the noble Julia can shield those who provoke it\nfrom a cruel end. If you do not know it, child, I can tell you that he\nhad his brother Geta killed, though he took refuge in the arms of the\nmother who bore them both. You must understand the worst; and again I ask\nyou, are you ready to risk all for those you love? Have you the courage\nto venture into the lion's den?\"\n\nMelissa clung more closely to the motherly woman, and her pale lips\nanswered faintly but firmly, \"I am ready, and he will grant my prayer.\"\n\n\"Child, child,\" cried Berenike in horror, \"you know not what lies before\nyou! You are dazzled by the happy confidence of inexperienced youth. I\nknow what life is. I can see you, in your heart's blood, as red and pure\nas the blood of a lamb! I see--Ah, child! you do not know death and its\nterrible reality.\"\n\n\"I know it!\" Melissa broke in with feverish excitement. \"My dearest--my\nmother--I saw her die with these eyes. What did I not bury in her grave!\nAnd yet hope still lived in my heart; and though Caracalla may be a\nreckless murderer, he will do nothing to me, precisely because I am so\nfeeble. And, lady, what am I? Of what account is my life if I lose my\nfather, and my brothers, who are both on the high-road to greatness?\"\n\n\"But you are betrothed,\" Berenike eagerly put in. \"And your lover, you\ntold me, is dear to you. What of him? He no doubt loves you, and, if you\ncome to harm, sorrow will mar his young life.\"\n\nAt this Melissa clasped her hands over her face and sobbed aloud. \"Show\nme, then, any other way--any! I will face the worst. But there is none;\nand if Diodoros were here he would not stop me; for what my heart prompts\nme to do is right, is my duty. But he is lying sick and with a clouded\nmind, and I can not ask him. O noble lady, kindness looks out of your\neyes; cease to rub salt into my wounds! The task before me is hard enough\nalready. But I would do it, and try to get speech with that terrible man,\neven if I had no one to protect me.\"\n\nThe lady had listened with varying feelings to this outpouring of the\nyoung girl's heart. Every instinct rebelled against the thought of\nsacrificing this pure, sweet creature to the fury of the tyrant whose\nwickedness was as unlimited as his power, and yet she saw no other chance\nof saving the artist, whom she held in affectionate regard. Her own noble\nheart understood the girl's resolve to purchase the life of those she\nloved, even with her blood; she, in the same place, would have done the\nsame thing; and she thought to herself that it would have made her happy\nto see such a spirit in her own child. Her resistance melted away, and\nalmost involuntarily she exclaimed, \"Well, do what you feel to be right.\"\n\nMelissa flew into her arms again with a grateful sense of release from a\nload, and Berenike did all she could to smooth the thorny way for her.\nShe discussed every point with Philostratus as thoroughly as though for a\nchild of her own; and, while the tumult came up from the banquet in the\nmen's rooms, they settled that Berenike herself should conduct the girl\nto the wife of the high-priest of Serapis, the brother of Seleukus, and\nthere await Melissa's return. Philostratus named the hour and other\ndetails, and then made further inquiries concerning the young artist\nwhose mocking spirit had brought so much trouble on his family.\n\nOn this the lady led him into an adjoining room, where the portrait of\nher adored daughter was hanging. It was surrounded by a thick wreath of\nviolets, the dead girl's favorite flower. The beautiful picture was\nlighted up by two three-branched lamps on high stands; and Philostratus,\na connoisseur who had described many paintings with great taste and\nvividness, gazed in absorbed silence at the lovely features, which were\nrepresented with rare mastery and the inspired devotion of loving\nadmiration. At last he turned to the mother, exclaiming:\n\n\"Happy artist, to have such a subject! It is a work worthy of the early,\nbest period, and of a master of the time of Apelies. The daughter who has\nbeen snatched from you, noble lady, was indeed matchless, and no sorrow\nis too deep to do her justice. But the divinity who has taken her knows\nalso how to give; and this portrait has preserved for you a part of what\nyou loved. This picture, too, may influence Melissa's fate; for Caesar\nhas a fine taste in art, and one of the wants of our time which has\nhelped to embitter him is the paralyzed state of the imitative arts. It\nwill be easier to win his favor for the painter who did this portrait\nthan for a man of noble birth. He needs such painters as this Alexander\nfor the Pinakothek in the splendid baths he has built at Rome. If you\nwould but lend me this treasure to-morrow--\"\n\nBut she interrupted him with a decisive \"Never!\" and laid her hand on the\nframe as if to protect it. Philostratus, however, was not to be put off;\nhe went on in a tone of the deepest disappointment: \"This portrait is\nyours, and no one can wonder at your refusal. We must, therefore,\nconsider how to attain our end without this important ally.\" Berenike's\ngaze had lingered calmly on the sweet face while he spoke, looking more\nand more deeply into the beautiful, expressive features. All was silent.\n\nAt last she slowly turned to Melissa, who stood gazing sadly at the\nground, and said in a low voice: \"She resembled you in many ways. The\ngods had formed her to shed joy and light around her. Where she could\nwipe away a tear she always did so. Her portrait is speechless, and yet\nit tells me to act as she herself would have acted. If this work can\nindeed move Caracalla to clemency, then--You, Philostratus, really think\nso?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, decisively. \"There can be no better mediator for\nAlexander than this work.\" Berenike drew herself up, and said:\n\n\"Well, then, to-morrow morning early, I will send it to you at the\nSerapeum. The portrait of the dead may perish if it may but save the life\nof him who wrought it so lovingly.\" She turned away her face as she gave\nthe philosopher her hand, and then hastily left the room.\n\nMelissa flew after her and, with overflowing gratitude, besought the\nsobbing lady not to weep.\n\n\"I know something that will bring you greater comfort than my brother's\npicture: I mean the living image of your Korinna--a young girl; she is\nhere in Alexandria.\"\n\n\"Zeno's daughter Agatha?\" said Berenike; and when Melissa said yes, it\nwas she, the lady went on with a deep sigh: \"Thanks for your kind\nthought, my child; but she, too, is lost to me.\"\n\nAnd as she spoke she sank on a couch, saying, in a low voice, \"I would\nrather be alone.\"\n\nMelissa modestly withdrew into the adjoining room, and Philostratus, who\nhad been lost in the contemplation of the picture, took his leave.\n\nHe did not make use of the imperial chariot in waiting for him, but\nreturned to his lodgings on foot, in such good spirits, and so well\nsatisfied with himself, as he had not been before since leaving Rome.\n\nWhen Berenike had rested in solitude for some little time she recalled\nMelissa, and took as much care of her young guest as though she were her\nlost darling, restored to her after a brief absence. First she allowed\nthe girl to send for Argutis; and when she had assured the faithful slave\nthat all promised well, she dismissed him with instructions to await at\nhome his young mistress's orders, for that Melissa would for the present\nfind shelter under her roof.\n\nWhen the Gaul had departed, she desired her waiting-woman, Johanna, to\nfetch her brother. During her absence the lady explained to Melissa that\nthey both were Christians. They were freeborn, the children of a freedman\nof Berenike's house. Johannes had at an early age shown so much\nintelligence that they had acceded to his wish to be educated as a\nlawyer. He was now one of the most successful pleaders in the city; but\nhe always used his eloquence, which he had perfected not only at\nAlexandria but also at Carthage, by preference in the service of accused\nChristians. In his leisure hours he would visit the condemned in prison,\nspeak comfort to them, and give them presents out of the fine profits he\nderived from his business among the wealthy. He was the very man to go\nand see her father and brothers; he would revive their spirits, and carry\nthem her greeting.\n\nWhen, presently, the Christian arrived he expressed himself as very ready\nto undertake this commission. His sister was already busied in packing\nwine and other comforts for the captives-more, no doubt, as Johannes told\nBerenike, than the three men could possibly consume, even if their\nimprisonment should be a long one. His smile showed how confidently he\ncounted on the lady's liberality, and Melissa quickly put her faith in\nthe young Christian, who would have reminded her of her brother Philip,\nbut that his slight figure was more upright, and his long hair quite\nsmooth, without a wave or curl. His eyes, above all, were unlike\nPhilip's; for they looked out on the world with a gaze as mild as\nPhilip's were keen and inquiring.\n\nMelissa gave him many messages for her father and brothers, and when the\nlady Berenike begged him to take care that the portrait of her daughter\nwas safely carried to the Serapeum, where it was to contribute to mollify\nCaesar in the painter's favor, he praised her determination, and modestly\nadded: \"For how long may we call our own any of these perishable joys? A\nday, perhaps a year, at most a lustrum. But eternity is long, and those\nwho, for its sake, forget time and set all their hopes on eternity--which\nis indeed time to the soul--soon cease to bewail the loss of any\ntransitory treasure, were it the noblest and dearest. Oh, would that I\ncould lead you to place your hopes on eternity, best of women and most\ntrue-hearted mother! Eternity, which not the wisest brain can conceive\nof!--I tell you, lady, for you are a philosopher--that is the hardest and\ntherefore the grandest idea for human thought to compass. Fix your eye on\nthat, and in its infinite realm, which must be your future home, you will\nmeet her again whom you have lost--not her image returned to you, but\nherself.\"\n\n\"Cease,\" interrupted the matron, with impatient sharpness. \"I know what\nyou are aiming at. But to conceive of eternity is the prerogative of the\nimmortals; our intellect is wrecked in the attempt. Our wings melt like\nthose of Ikarus, and we fall into the ocean--the ocean of madness, to\nwhich I have often been near enough. You Christians fancy you know all\nabout eternity, and if you are right in that--But I will not reopen that\nold discussion. Give me back my child for a year, a month, a day even, as\nshe was before murderous disease laid hands on her, and I will make you a\nfree gift of your cuckoo-cloud-land of eternity, and of the remainder of\nmy own life on earth into the bargain.\"\n\nThe vehement woman trembled with renewed sorrow, as if shivering with\nague; but as soon as she had recovered her self-command enough to speak\ncalmly, she exclaimed to the lawyer:\n\n\"I do not really wish to vex you, Johannes. I esteem you, and you are\ndear to me. But if you wish our friendship to continue, give up these\nfoolish attempts to teach tortoises to fly. Do all you can for the poor\nprisoners; and if you--\"\n\n\"By daybreak to-morrow I will be with them,\" Johannes said, and he\nhastily took leave.\n\nAs soon as they were alone Berenike observed \"There he goes, quite\noffended, as if I had done him a wrong. That is the way with all these\nChristians. They think it their duty to force on others what they\nthemselves think right, and any one who turns a deaf ear to their\nquestionable truths they at once set down as narrow-minded, or as hostile\nto what is good. Agatha, of whom you were just now speaking, and Zeno her\nfather, my husband's brother, are Christians. I had hoped that Korinna's\ndeath would have brought the child back to us; I have longed to see her,\nand have heard much that is sweet about her: but a common sorrow, which\nso often brings divided hearts together, has only widened the gulf\nbetween my husband and his brother. The fault is not on our side. Nay, I\nwas rejoiced when, a few hours after the worst was over, a letter from\nZeno informed me that he and his daughter would come to see us the same\nevening. But the letter itself\"--and her voice began to quiver with\nindignation--\"compelled us to beg him not to come. It is scarcely\ncredible--and I should do better not to pour fresh oil on my wrath--but\nhe bade us 'rejoice'; three, four, five times he repeated the cruel\nwords. And he wrote in a pompous strain of the bliss and rapture which\nawaited our lost child--and this to a mother whose heart had been utterly\nbroken but a few hours before by a fearful stroke of Fate! He would meet\nthe bereaved, grieving, lonely mourner with a smile on his lips! Rejoice!\nThis climax of cruelty or aberration has parted us forever. Why, our\nblack gardener, whose god is a tree-stump that bears only the faintest\nlikeness to humanity, melted into tears at the news; and Zeno, our\nbrother, the uncle of that broken dower, could be glad and bid us\nrejoice! My husband thinks that hatred and the long-standing feud\nprompted his pen. For my part, I believe it was only this Christian\nfrenzy which made him suggest that I should sink lower than the brutes,\nwho defend their young with their lives. Seleukus has long since forgiven\nhim for his conduct in withdrawing his share of the capital from the\nbusiness when he became a Christian, to squander it on the baser sort;\nbut this 'Rejoice' neither he nor I can forgive, though things which\npierce me to the heart often slide off him like water off grease.\"\n\nHer black hair had come down as she delivered this vehement speech, and,\nwhen she ceased, her flushed cheeks and the fiery glow of her eyes gave\nthe majestic woman in her dark robes an aspect which terrified Melissa.\n\nShe, too, thought this \"Rejoice,\" under such circumstances, unseemly and\ninsulting; but she kept her opinion to herself, partly out of modesty and\npartly because she did not wish to encourage the estrangement between\nthis unhappy lady and the niece whose mere presence would have been so\ngreat a comfort to her.\n\nWhen Johanna returned to lead her to a bedroom, she gave a sigh of\nrelief; but the lady expressed a wish to keep Melissa near her, and in a\nlow voice desired the waiting-woman to prepare a bed for her in the\nadjoining room, by the side of Korinna's, which was never to be\ndisturbed. Then, still greatly excited, she invited Melissa into her\ndaughter's pretty room.\n\nThere she showed her everything that Korinna had especially cared for.\nHer bird hung in the same place; her lap-dog was sleeping in a basket, on\nthe cushion which Berenike had embroidered for her child. Melissa had to\nadmire the dead girl's lute, and her first piece of weaving, and the\nelegant loom of ebony and ivory in which she had woven it. And Berenike\nrepeated to the girl the verses which Korinna had composed, in imitation\nof Catullus, on the death of a favorite bird. And although Melissa's eyes\nwere almost closing with fatigue, she forced herself to attend to it all,\nfor she saw now how much her sympathy pleased her kind friend.\n\nMeanwhile the voices of the men, who had done eating and were now\ndrinking, came louder and louder into the women's apartments. When the\nmerriment of her guests rose to a higher pitch than usual, or something\namusing gave rise to a shout of laughter, Berenike shrank, and either\nmuttered some unintelligible threat or besought the forgiveness of her\ndaughter's manes.\n\nIt seemed to be a relief to her to rush from one mood to the other; but\nneither in her grief, nor when her motherly feeling led her to talk, nor\nyet in her wrath, did she lose her perfect dignity. All Melissa saw and\nheard moved her to pity or to horror. And meanwhile she was worn out with\nanxiety for her family, and with increasing fatigue.\n\nAt last, however, she was released. A gay chorus of women's voices and\nflutes came up from the banqueting-hall. With a haughty mien and dilated\nnostrils Berenike listened to the first few bars. That such a song should\nbe heard in her house of woe was too much; with her own hand she closed\nthe shutters over the window next her; then she bade her young guest go\nto bed.\n\nOh, how glad was the overtired girl to stretch herself on the soft couch!\nAs usual, before going to sleep, she told her mother in the spirit all\nthe history of the day. Then she prayed to the manes of the departed to\nlend her aid in the heavy task before her; but in the midst of her prayer\nsleep overcame her, and her young bosom was already rising and falling in\nregular breathing when she was roused by a visit from the lady Berenike.\n\nMelissa suddenly beheld her at the head of the bed, in a flowing white\nnight-dress, with her hair unpinned, and holding a silver lamp in her\nhand; and the girl involuntarily put up her arms as if to protect\nherself, for she fancied that the daemon of madness stared out of those\nlarge black eyes. But the unhappy woman's expression changed, and she\nlooked down kindly on Melissa. She quietly set the lamp on the table, and\nthen, as the cool nightbreeze blew in through the open window, to which\nthere was no shutter, she tenderly wrapped the white woolen blanket round\nMelissa, and muttered to herself, \"She liked it so.\"\n\nThen she knelt down by the side of the bed, pressed her lips on the brow\nof the girl, now fully awake, and said:\n\n\"And you, too, are fair to look upon. He will grant your prayer!\"\n\nThen she asked Melissa about her lover, her father, her mother, and at\nlast she, unexpectedly, asked her in a whisper:\n\n\"Your brother Alexander, the painter--My daughter, though in death,\ninspired his soul with love. Yes, Korinna was dear to him. Her image is\nliving in his soul. Am I right? Tell me the truth!\"\n\nOn this Melissa confessed how deeply the painter had been impressed by\nthe dead girl's beauty, and that he had given her his heart and soul with\na fervor of devotion of which she had never imagined him capable. And the\npoor mother smiled as she heard it, and murmured, \"I was sure of it.\"\n\nBut then she shook her head, sadly, and said \"Fool that I am!\"\n\nAt last she bade Melissa good-night, and went back to her own bedroom.\nThere Johanna was awaiting her, and while she was plaiting her mistress's\nhair the matron said, threateningly:\n\n\"If the wretch should not spare even her\"--She was interrupted by loud\nshouts of mirth from the banqueting-hall, and among the laughing voices\nshe fancied that she recognized her husband's. She started up with a\nvehement movement, and exclaimed, in angry excitement:\n\n\"Seleukus might have prevented such an outrage! Oh, I know that sorrowing\nfather's heart! Fear, vanity, ambition, love of pleasure--\"\n\n\"But consider,\" Johanna broke in, \"to cross Caesar's wish is to forfeit\nlife!\"\n\n\"Then he should have died!\" replied the matron, with stern decision.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nBefore sunrise the wind changed. Heavy clouds bore down from the north,\ndarkening the clear sky of Alexandria. By the time the market was filling\nit was raining in torrents, and a cold breeze blew over the town from the\nlake. Philostratus had only allowed himself a short time for sleep,\nsitting till long after midnight over his history of Apolonius of Tyana.\nHis aim was to prove, by the example of this man, that a character not\nless worthy of imitation than that of the lord of the Christians might be\nformed in the faith of the ancients, and nourished by doctrines produced\nby the many-branched tree of Greek religion and philosophy. Julia Domna,\nCaracalla's mother, had encouraged the philosopher in this task, which\nwas to show her passionate and criminal son the dignity of moderation and\nvirtue. The book was also to bring home to Caesar the religion of his\nforefathers and his country in all its beauty and elevating power; for\nhitherto he had vacillated from one form to another, had not even\nrejected Christianity, with which his nurse had tried to inoculate him as\na child, and had devoted himself to every superstition of his time in a\nway which had disgusted those about him. It had been particularly\ninteresting to the writer, with a view to the purpose of this work, to\nmeet with a girl who practiced all the virtues the Christians most highly\nprized, without belonging to that sect, who were always boasting of the\nconstraining power of their religion in conducing to pure morality.\n\nIn his work the day before he had taken occasion to regret the small\nrecognition his hero had met with among those nearest to him. In this, as\nin other respects, he seemed to have shared the fate of Jesus Christ,\nwhose name, however, Philostratus purposely avoided mentioning. Now,\nto-night, he reflected on the sacrifice offered by Melissa for Caesar\nwhom she knew not, and he wrote the following words as though proceeding\nfrom the pen of Apollonius himself: \"I know well how good a thing it is\nto regard all the world as my home, and all mankind as my brethren and\nfriends; for we are all of the same divine race, and have all one\nFather.\"\n\nThen, looking up from the papyrus, he murmured to himself: \"From such a\npoint of view as this Melissa might see in Caracalla a friend and a\nbrother. If only now it were possible to rouse the conscience of that\nimperial criminal!\"\n\nHe took up the written sheet on which he had begun a dissertation as to\nwhat conscience is, as exerting a choice between good and evil. He had\nwritten: \"Understanding governs what we purpose; consciousness governs\nwhat our understanding resolves upon. Hence, if our understanding choose\nthe good, consciousness is satisfied.\"\n\nHow flat it sounded! It could have no effect in that form.\n\nMelissa had confessed with far greater warmth what her feelings had been\nafter she had sacrificed for the suffering sinner. Every one, no doubt,\nwould feel the same who, when called on to choose between good and evil,\nshould prefer the good; so he altered and expanded the last words: \"Thus\nconsciousness sends a man with song and gladness into the sanctuaries and\ngroves, into the roads, and wherever mortals live. Even in sleep the song\nmakes itself heard, and a happy choir from the land of dreams lift up\ntheir voices about his bed.\"\n\nThat was better! This pleasing picture might perhaps leave some\nimpression on the soul of the young criminal, in whom a preference for\ngood could still, though rarely, be fanned to a flame. Caesar read what\nPhilostratus wrote, because he took pleasure in the form of his work; and\nthis sentence would not have been written in vain if only it should\nprompt Caracalla in some cases, however few, to choose the good.\n\nThe philosopher was fully determined to do his utmost for Melissa and her\nbrothers. He had often brought pictures under Caesar's notice, for he was\nthe first living authority as a connoisseur of painting, and as having\nwritten many descriptions of pictures. He built some hopes, too, on\nMelissa's innocence; and so the worthy man, when he retired to rest,\nlooked forward with confidence to the work of mediation, which was by no\nmeans devoid of danger.\n\nBut next morning it presented itself in a less promising light. The\nclouded sky, the storm, and rain might have a fatal effect on Caesar's\ntemper; and when he heard that old Galen, after examining his patient and\nprescribing certain remedies, had yesterday evening taken ship, leaving\nCaracalla in a frenzy of rage which had culminated in slight convulsions,\nhe almost repented of his promise. However, he felt himself pledged; so\nas early as possible he went to Caesar's rooms, prepared for the worst.\n\nHis gloomy anticipations were aggravated by the scene which met his eyes.\n\nIn the anteroom he found the chief men of the city and some\nrepresentative members of the Alexandrian Senate, who were anxious for an\naudience of their imperial visitor. They had been commanded to attend at\nan unusually early hour, and had already been kept a long time waiting.\n\nWhen Philostratus--who was always free to enter Caesar's presence--made\nhis appearance, Caracalla was seating himself on the throne which had\nbeen placed for him in the splendidly fitted audience-chamber. He had\ncome from his bath, and was wrapped in the comfortable white woolen robe\nwhich he wore on leaving it. His \"friends\" as they were called, senators,\nand other men of mark, stood round in considerable numbers, among them\nthe high-priest of Serapis. Pandion, Caesar's charioteer, was occupied,\nunder the sovereign's instructions, in fastening the lion's chain to the\nring fixed for the purpose in the floor by the side of the throne; and as\nthe beast, whose collar had been drawn too tight, uttered a low,\ncomplaining growl, Caracalla scolded the favorite. As soon as he caught\nsight of Philostratus, he signed to him to approach:\n\n\"Do you see nothing strange in me?\" he whispered. \"Your Phoebus Apollo\nappeared to me in a dream. He laid his hand on my shoulder toward\nmorning; indeed, I saw only horrible faces.\" Then he pointed out of the\nwindow, exclaiming:\n\n\"The god hides his face to-day. Gloomy days have often brought me good\nfortune; but this is a strange experience of the eternal sunshine of\nEgypt! Men and sky have given me the same kind welcome; gray, gray, and\nalways gray-without and within--and my poor soldiers out on the square!\nMacrinus tells me they are complaining. But my father's advice was sound:\n'Keep them content, and never mind anything else.' The heads of the town\nare waiting outside; they must give up their palaces to the bodyguard; if\nthey murmur, let them try for themselves how they like sleeping on the\nsoaking ground under dripping tents. It may cool their hot blood, and\nperhaps dilute the salt of their wit.--Show them in, Theocritus.\"\n\nHe signed to the actor, and when he humbly asked whether Caesar had\nforgotten to exchange his morning wrapper for another dress, Caracalla\nlaughed contemptuously, and replied:\n\n\"Why, an empty corn-sack over my shoulders would be dress enough for this\nrabble of traders!\" He stretched his small but muscular frame out at full\nlength, resting his head on his hand, and his comely face, which had lost\nthe suffering look it had worn the day before, suddenly changed in\nexpression. As was his habit when he wished to inspire awe or fear, he\nknit his brows in deep furrows, set his teeth tightly, and assumed a\nsuspicious and sinister scowl.\n\nThe deputation entered, bowing low, headed by the exegetes, the head of\nthe city, and Timotheus, the chief-priest of Serapis. After these came\nthe civic authorities, the members of the senate, and then, as\nrepresenting the large Jewish colony in the city, their alabarch or\nhead-man. It was easy to see in each one as he came in, that the presence\nof the lion, who had raised his head at their approach, was far from\nencouraging; and a faint, scornful smile parted Caracalla's lips as he\nnoted the cowering knees of these gorgeously habited courtiers. The\nhigh-priest alone, who, as Caesar's host, had gone up to the side of the\nthrone, and two or three others, among them the governor of the town, a\ntall, elderly man of Macedonian descent, paid no heed to the brute. The\nMacedonian bowed to his sovereign with calm dignity, and in the name of\nthe municipally hoped he had rested well. He then informed Caesar what\nshows and performances were prepared in his honor, and finally named the\nconsiderable sum which had been voted by the town of Alexandria to\nexpress to him their joy at his visit. Caracalla waved his hand, and\nsaid, carelessly:\n\n\"The priest of Alexander, as idiologos, will receive the gold with the\ntemple tribute. We can find use for it. We knew that you were rich. But\nwhat do you want for your money? What have you to ask?\"\n\n\"Nothing, noble Caesar,\" replied the governor. \"Thy gracious presence--\"\n\nCaracalla interrupted him with a long-drawn \"Indeed!\" Then, leaning\nforward, he gave him a keen, oblique look. \"No one but the gods has\nnothing to wish for; so it must be that you are afraid to ask. What can\nthat avail, unless to teach me that you look for nothing but evil from\nme; that you are suspicious of me? And if that is so, you fear me; and if\nyou fear, you hate me. The insults I have received in this house\nsufficiently prove the fact. And if you hate me,\" and he sprang up and\nshook his fist, \"I must protect myself!\"\n\n\"Great Caesar,\" the exegetes began, in humble deprecation, but Caracalla\nwent on, wrathfully:\n\n\"I know when I have to protect myself, and from whom. It is not well to\ntrifle with me! An insolent tongue is easily hidden behind the lips; but\nheads are less easy to hide, and I shall be content with them. Tell that\nto your Alexandrian wits! Macrinus will inform you of all else. You may\ngo.\"\n\nDuring this speech the lion, excited by his master's furious gestures,\nhad risen on his feet and showed his terrible teeth to the delegates. At\nthis their courage sank. Some laid their hands on their bent knees, as if\nto shield them; others had gradually sidled to the door before Caesar had\nuttered the last word. Then, in spite of the efforts of the governor and\nthe alabarch to detain them, in the hope of pacifying the potentate, as\nsoon as they heard the word \"go,\" they hurried out; and, for better or\nfor worse, the few bolder spirits had to follow.\n\nAs soon as the door was closed upon them, Caesar's features lost their\ncruel look. He patted the lion with soothing words of praise, and\nexclaimed, contemptuously:\n\n\"These are the descendants of the Macedonians, with whom the greatest of\nheroes conquered the world! Who was that fat old fellow who shrank into\nhimself so miserably, and made for the door while I was yet speaking?\"\n\n\"Kimon, the chief of the night-watch and guardian of the peace of the\ncity,\" replied the high-priest of Alexander, who as a Roman had kept his\nplace by the throne; and Theocritus put in:\n\n\"The people must sleep badly under the ward of such a coward. Let him\nfollow the prefect, noble Caesar.\"\n\n\"Send him his dismissal at once,\" said Caracalla; \"but see that his\nsuccessor is a man.\"\n\nHe then turned to the high-priest, and politely requested him to assist\nTheocritus in choosing a new head for the town-guard, and Timotheus and\nthe favorite quitted the room together.\n\nPhilostratus took ingenious advantage of the incident, by at once\ninforming the emperor that it had come to his knowledge that this coward,\nso worthily dismissed from office, had, on the merest suspicion, cast\ninto prison a painter who was undoubtedly one of the first of living\nartists, and with him his guiltless relations.\n\n\"I will not have it!\" Caesar broke out. \"Nothing but blood will do any\ngood here, and petty aggravations will only stir their bile and increase\ntheir insolence. Is the painter of whom you speak an Alexandrian?--I pine\nfor the open air, but the wind blows the rain against the windows.\"\n\n\"In the field,\" the philosopher remarked, \"you have faced the weather\nheroically enough. Here, in the city, enjoy what is placed before you.\nOnly yesterday I still believed that the art of Apelles was utterly\ndegenerate. But since then I have changed my opinion, for I have seen a\nportrait which would be an ornament to the Pinakothek in your baths. The\nnorthern windows are closed, or, in this land of inundations, and in such\nweather as this, we might find ourselves afloat even under cover of a\nroof; so it is too dark here to judge of a painting, but your\ndressing-room is more favorably situated, and the large window there will\nserve our purpose. May I be allowed the pleasure of showing you there the\nwork of the imprisoned artist?\"\n\nCaesar nodded, and led the way, accompanied by his lion and followed by\nthe philosopher, who desired an attendant to bring in the picture.\n\nIn this room it was much lighter than in the audience-chamber, and while\nCaracalla awaited, with Philostratus, the arrival of the painting, his\nIndian body-slave, a gift from the Parthian king, silently and skillfully\ndressed his thin hair. The sovereign sighed deeply, and pressed his hand\nto his brow as though in pain. The philosopher ventured to approach him,\nand there was warm sympathy in his tone as he asked:\n\n\"What ails you, Bassianus? Just now you bore all the appearance of a\nhealthy, nay, and of a terrible man!\"\n\n\"It is better again already,\" replied the sovereign. \"And yet--!\"\n\nHe groaned again, and then confessed that only yesterday he had in the\nsame way been tortured with pain.\n\n\"The attack came on in the morning, as you know,\" he went on, \"and when\nit was past I went down into the court of sacrifice; my feet would\nscarcely carry me. Curiosity--and they were waiting for me; and some\ngreat sign might be shown! Besides, some excitement helps me through this\ntorment. But there was nothing--nothing! Heart, lungs, liver, all in\ntheir right place.--And then, Galenus--What I like is bad for me, what I\nloathe is wholesome. And again and again the same foolish question, 'Do\nyou wish to escape an early death?' And all with an air as though Death\nwere a slave at his command--He can, no doubt, do more than others, and\nhas preserved his own life I know not how long. Well, and it is his duty\nto prolong mine.\n\n\"I am Caesar. I had a right to insist on his remaining here. I did so;\nfor he knows my malady, and describes it as if he felt it himself. I\nordered him--nay, I entreated him. But he adhered to his own way. He\nwent--he is gone!\"\n\n\"But he may be of use to you, even at a distance,\" Philostratus said.\n\n\"Did he do anything for my father, or for me in Rome, where he saw me\nevery day?\" retorted Caesar. \"He can mitigate and relieve the suffering,\nbut that is all; and of all the others, is there one fit to hand him a\ncup of water? Perhaps he would be willing to cure me, but he can not; for\nI tell you, Philostratus, the gods will not have it so. You know what\nsacrifices I have offered, what gifts I have brought. I have prayed, I\nhave abased myself before them, but none will hear. One or another of the\ngods, indeed, appears to me not infrequently as Apollo did last night.\nBut is it because he favors me? First, he laid his hand on my shoulder,\nas my father used to do; but his was so heavy, that the weight pressed me\ndown till I fell on my knees, crushed. This is no good sign, you think? I\nsee it in your face. I do not myself think so. And how loudly I have\ncalled on him, of all the gods! The whole empire, they say, men and women\nalike, besought the immortals unbidden for the welfare of Titus. I, too,\nam their lord; but\"--and he laughed bitterly--\"who has ever raised a hand\nin prayer for me of his own impulse? My own mother always named my\nbrother first. He has paid for it,--But the rest!\"\n\n\"They fear rather than love you,\" replied the philosopher. \"He to whom\nPhoebus Apollo appears may always expect some good to follow. And\nyesterday--a happy omen, too--I overheard by chance a young Greek girl,\nwho believed herself unobserved, who of her own prompting fervently\nentreated Asklepios to heal you. Nay, she collected all the coins in her\nlittle purse, and had a goat and a cock sacrificed in your behalf.\"\n\n\"And you expect me to believe that!\" said Caracalla, with a scornful\nlaugh.\n\nBut Philostratus eagerly replied:\n\n\"It is the pure truth. I went to the little temple because it was said\nthat Apollonius had left some documents there. Every word from his pen\nis, as you know, of value to me in writing his history. The little\nlibrary was screened off from the cella by a curtain, and while I was\nhunting through the manuscripts I heard a woman's voice.\"\n\n\"It spoke for some other Bassianus, Antoninus, Tarautus, or whatever they\nchoose to call me,\" Caesar broke in.\n\n\"Nay, my lord, not so. She prayed for you, the son of Severus. I spoke to\nher afterwards. She had seen you yesterday morning, and fancied she had\nnoted how great and severe your sufferings were. This had gone to her\nheart. So she went thither to pray and sacrifice for you, although she\nknew that you were prosecuting her brother, the very painter of whom I\nspoke. I would you too could have heard how fervently she addressed the\ngod, and then Hygeia!\"\n\n\"A Greek, you say?\" Caracalla remarked. \"And she really did not know you,\nor dream that you could hear her?\"\n\n\"No, my lord; assuredly not. She is a sweet maid, and if you would care\nto see her--\"\n\nCaesar had listened to the tale with great attention and evident\nexpectancy; but suddenly his face clouded, and, heedless of the slaves\nwho, under the guidance of his chamberlain Adventus, had now brought in\nthe portrait, he sprang up, went close to Philostratus, and stormed out:\n\n\"Woe to you if you lie to me! You want to get the brother out of prison,\nand then, by chance, you come across the sister who is praying for me! A\nfable to cheat a child with!\"\n\n\"I am speaking the truth,\" replied Philostratus, coolly, though the rapid\nwinking of Caesar's eyelids warned him that his blood was boiling with\nwrath.\n\n\"It was from the sister, whom I overheard in the temple, that I learned\nof her brother's peril, and I afterward saw that portrait.\"\n\nCaracalla stared at the floor for a moment in silence; then he looked up,\nand said, in a tone husky with agitation:\n\n\"I only long for anything which may bring me nearer to the perverse race\nover whom I rule, be it what it may. You offer it me. You are the only\nman who never asked me for anything. I have believed you to be as\nrighteous as all other men are not. And now if you, if this time--\"\n\nHe lowered his tones, which had become somewhat threatening, and went on\nvery earnestly: \"By all you hold most sacred on earth, I ask you, Did the\ngirl pray for me, and of her own free impulse, not knowing that any one\ncould hear her?\"\n\n\"I swear it, by the head of my mother!\" replied Philostratus, solemnly.\n\n\"Your mother?\" echoed Caesar, and his brow began to clear. But suddenly\nthe gleam of satisfaction, which for a moment had embellished his\nfeatures, vanished, and with a sharp laugh he added: \"And my mother! Do\nyou suppose that I do not know what she requires of you? It is solely to\nplease her that you, a free man, remain with me. For her sake you are\nbold enough to try now and then to quell the stormy sea of my passions.\nYou do it with a grace, so I submit. And now my hand is raised to strike\na wretch who mocks at me; he is a painter, of some talent, so, of course,\nyou take him under your protection. Then, in a moment, your inventive\ngenius devises a praying sister. Well, there is in that something which\nmight indeed mollify me. But you would betray Bassianus ten times over to\nsave an artist. And then, how my mother would fly to show her gratitude\nto the man who could quell her furious son! Your mother!--But I only\nsquint when it suits me. My eye must become dimmer than it yet is before\nI fail to see the connection of ideas which led you to swear by your\nmother. You were thinking of mine when you spoke. To please her, you\nwould deceive her son. But as soon as he touches the lie it vanishes into\nthin air, for it has no more substance than a soap bubble!\" The last\nwords were at once sad, angry, and scornful; but the philosopher, who had\nlistened at first with astonishment and then with indignation, could no\nlonger contain himself.\n\n\"Enough!\" he cried to the angry potentate, in an imperious tone. Then,\ndrawing himself up, he went on with offended dignity:\n\n\"I know what the end has been of so many who have aroused your wrath, and\nyet I have courage enough to tell you to your face, that to injustice,\nthe outcome of distrust, you add the most senseless insult. Or do you\nreally think that a just man--for so you have called me more than\nonce--would outrage the manes of the beloved woman who bore him to please\nthe mother of another man, even though she be Caesar's? What I swear to\nby the head of my mother, friend and foe alike must believe; and he who\ndoes not, must hold me to be the vilest wretch on earth; my presence can\nonly be an offense to him. So I beg you to allow me to return to Rome.\"\n\nThe words were manly and spoken firmly, and they pleased Caracalla; for\nthe joy of believing in the philosopher's statement outweighed every\nother feeling. And since he regarded Philostratus as the incarnation of\ngoodness--though he had lost faith in that--his threat of leaving\ndisturbed him greatly. He laid his hand on his brave adviser's arm, and\nassured him that he was only too happy to believe a thing so incredible.\n\nAny witness of the scene would have supposed this ruthless fatricide,\nthis tyrant--whose intercourse with the visions of a crazed and unbridled\nfancy made him capable of any folly, and who loved to assume the aspect\nof a cruel misanthrope--to be a docile disciple, who cared for nothing\nbut to recover the favor and forgiveness of his master. And Philostratus,\nknowing this man, and the human heart, did not make it too easy for him\nto achieve his end. When he at last gave up his purpose of returning to\nRome, and had more fully explained to Caesar how and where he had met\nMelissa, and what he had heard about her brother the painter, he lifted\nthe wrapper from Korinna's portrait, placed it in a good light, and\npointed out to Caracalla the particular beauties of the purely Greek\nfeatures.\n\nIt was with sincere enthusiasm that he expatiated on the skill with which\nthe artist had reproduced in color the noble lines which Caracalla so\nmuch admired in the sculpture of the great Greek masters; how warm and\ntender the flesh was; how radiant the light of those glorious eyes; how\nliving the waving hair, as though it still breathed of the scented oil!\nAnd when Philostratus explained that though Alexander had no doubt spoken\nsome rash and treasonable words, he could not in any case be the author\nof the insulting verses which had been found at the Serapeum with the\nrope, Caracalla echoed his praises of the picture, and desired to see\nboth the painter and his sister.\n\nThat morning, as he rose from his bed, he had been informed that the\nplanets which had been seen during the past night from the observatory of\nthe Serapeum, promised him fortune and happiness in the immediate future.\nHe was himself a practiced star-reader, and the chief astrologer of the\ntemple had pointed out to him how peculiarly favorable the constellation\nwas whence he had deduced his prediction. Then, Phoebus Apollo had\nappeared to him in a dream; the auguries from the morning's sacrifices\nhad all been favorable; and, before he dispatched Philostratus to fetch\nMelissa, he added:\n\n\"It is strange! The best fortune has always come to me from a gloomy sky.\nHow brightly the sun shone on my marriage with the odious Plautilla! It\nhas rained, on the contrary, on almost all my victories; and it was under\na heavy storm that the oracle assured me the soul of Alexander the Great\nhad selected this tortured frame in which to live out his too early ended\nyears on earth. Can such coincidence be mere chance? Phoebus Apollo, your\nfavorite divinity--and that, too, of the sage of Tyana--may perhaps have\nbeen angry with me. He who purified himself from blood-guiltiness after\nkilling the Python is the god of expiation. I will address myself to him,\nlike the noble hero of your book. This morning the god visited me again;\nso I will have such sacrifice slain before him as never yet was offered.\nWill that satisfy you, O philosopher hard to be appeased?\"\n\n\"More than satisfy me, my Bassianus,\" replied Philostratus. \"Yet remember\nthat, according to Apollonius, the sacrifice is effective only through\nthe spirit in which it is offered.\"\n\n\"Always a 'but' and an 'if'!\" exclaimed Caracalla, as his friend left the\nroom to call Melissa from the high-priest's quarters, where she was\nwaiting.\n\nFor the first time for some days Caesar found himself alone. Leading the\nlion by the collar, he went to the window. The rain had ceased, but black\nclouds still covered the heavens. Below him lay the opening of the street\nof Hermes into the great square, swarming with human life, and covered\nwith the now drenched tents of the soldiery; and his eyes fell on that of\na centurion, a native of Alexandria, just then receiving a visit from his\nfamily, to whom the varied fortunes of a warrior's life had brought him\nback once more.\n\nThe bearded hero held an infant in his arms--assuredly his own--while a\ngirl and boy clung to him, gazing up in his face with wondering black\neyes; and another child, of about three, paying no heed to the others,\nwas crowing as it splashed through a puddle with its little bare feet.\nTwo women, one young and one elderly, the man's mother and his wife, no\ndoubt, seemed to hang on his lips as he recounted perhaps some deed of\nvalor.\n\nThe tuba sounded to arms. He kissed the infant, and carefully laid it on\nits mother's bosom; then he took up the boy and the girl, laughingly\ncaught the little one, and pressed his bearded lips to each rosy mouth in\nturn. Last of all he clasped the young wife to his breast, gently stroked\nher hair, and whispered something in her ear at which she smiled up at\nhim through her tears and then blushingly looked down. His mother patted\nhim fondly on the shoulder, and, as they parted, he kissed her too on her\nwrinkled brow.\n\nCaracalla had remarked this centurion once before; his name was\nMartialis, and he was a simple, commonplace, but well-conducted creature,\nwho had often distinguished himself by his contempt for death. The\nimperial visit to Alexandria had meant for him a return home and the\ngreatest joy in life. How many arms had opened to receive the common\nsoldier; how many hearts had beat high at his coming! Not a day, it was\ncertain, had passed since his arrival without prayers going up to Heaven\nfor his preservation, from his mother, his wife, and his children. And\nhe, the ruler of the world, had thought it impossible that one, even one\nof his millions of subjects, should have prayed for him. Who awaited him\nwith a longing heart? Where was his home?\n\nHe had first seen the light in Gaul. His father was an African; his\nmother was born in Syria. The palace at Rome, his residence, he did not\ncare to remember. He traveled about the empire, leaving as wide a space\nas possible between himself and that house of doom, from which he could\nnever wipe out the stain of his brother's blood.\n\nAnd his mother? She feared--perhaps she hated him--her first-born son,\nsince he had killed her younger darling. What did she care for him, so\nlong as she had her philosophers to argue with, who knew how to ply her\nwith delicate flattery?\n\nThen Plautilla, his wife? His father had compelled him to marry her, the\nrichest heiress in the world, whose dowry had been larger than the\ncollected treasure of a dozen queens; and as he thought of the sharp\nfeatures of that insignificant, sour-faced, and unspeakably pretentious\ncreature, he shuddered with aversion.\n\nHe had banished her, and then had her murdered. Others had done the deed,\nand it did not strike him that he was responsible for the crime committed\nin his service; but her loveless heart, without a care for him--her\nbird-sharp face, looking out like a well-made mask from her abundant\nhair--and her red, pinched lips, were very present to him. What cutting\nwords those lips could speak; what senseless demands they had uttered;\nand nothing more insolent could be imagined than her way of pursing them\nup if at any time he had suggested a kiss!\n\nHis child? One had been born to him, but it had followed its mother into\nexile and to the grave. The little thing, which he had scarcely known,\nwas so inseparable from its detested mother that he had mourned it no\nmore than her. It was well that the assassins, without any orders from\nhim, should have cut short that wretched life. He could not long for the\nembraces of the monster which should have united Plautilla's vices and\nhis own.\n\nAmong the men about his person, there was not one for whom other hearts\nbeat warmer; no creature that loved him excepting his lion; no spot on\nearth where he was looked for with gladness. He waited, as for some\nmarvel, to see the one human being who had spontaneously entreated the\ngods for him. The girl must probably be a poor, tearful creature, as weak\nof brain as she was soft-hearted.\n\nThere stood the centurion at the head of his maniple, and raised his\nstaff. Enviable man! How content he looked; how clearly he spoke the word\nof command! And how healthy the vulgar creature must be--while he,\nCaesar, was suffering that acute headache again! He gnashed his teeth,\nand felt a strong impulse to spoil the happiness of that shameless\nupstart. If he were sent packing to Spain, now, or to Pontus, there would\nbe an end of his gladness. The centurion should know what it was to be a\nsolitary soul.\n\nActing on this malignant impulse, he had raised his hand to his mouth to\nshout the cruel order to a tribune, when suddenly the clouds parted, and\nthe glorious sun of Africa appeared in a blue island amid the ocean of\ngray, cheering the earth with glowing sheaves of rays. The beams were\nblinding as they came reflected from the armor and weapons of the men,\nreminding Caesar of the god to whom he had just vowed an unparalleled\nsacrifice.\n\nPhilostratus had often praised Phoebus Apollo above all gods, because\nwherever he appeared there was light, irradiating not the earth alone but\nmen's souls; and because, as the lord of music and harmony, he aided men\nto arrive at that morally pure and equable frame of mind which was\naccordant and pleasing to his glorious nature. Apollo had conquered the\ndark heralds of the storm, and Caracalla looked up. Before this radiant\nwitness he was ashamed to carry out his dark purpose, and he said,\naddressing the sun:\n\n\"For thy sake, Phoebus Apollo, I spare the man.\" Then, pleased with\nhimself, he looked down again. The restraint he had laid upon himself\nstruck him as in fact a great and noble effort, accustomed as he was to\nyield to every impulse. But at the same time he observed that the clouds,\nwhich had so often brought him good fortune, were dispersing, and this\ngave him fresh uneasiness. Dazzled by the flood of sunshine which poured\nin at the window, he withdrew discontentedly into the room. If this\nbright day were to bring disaster? If the god disdained his offering?\n\nBut was not Apollo, perhaps, like the rest of the immortals, an idol of\nthe fancy, living only in the imagination of men who had devised it?\nStern thinkers and pious folks, like the skeptics and the Christians,\nlaughed the whole tribe of the Olympians to scorn. Still, the hand of\nPhoebus Apollo had rested heavily on his shoulders in his dream. His\npower, after all, might be great. The god must have the promised\nsacrifice, come what might. Bitter wrath rose up in his soul at this\nthought, as it had often done before, with the immortals, against whom\nhe, the all-powerful, was impotent. If only for an hour they could be his\nsubjects, he would make them rue the sufferings by which they spoiled his\nexistence.\n\n\"He is called Martialis. I will remember that name,\" he thought, as he\ncast a last envious look at the centurion.\n\nHow long Philostratus was gone! Solitude weighed on him, and he looked\nabout him wildly, as though seeking some support. An attendant at this\nmoment announced the philosopher, and Caracalla, much relieved, went into\nthe tablinum to meet him. There he sat down on a seat in front of the\nwriting-table strewn with tablets and papyrus-rolls, rearranged the end\nof the purple toga for which he had exchanged his bathing-robe, rested\none foot on the lion's neck and his head on his hand. He would receive\nthis wonderful girl in the character of an anxious sovereign meditating\non the welfare of his people.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Galenus--What I like is bad for me, what I loathe is wholesome\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nThe philosopher announced the visitor to Caesar, and as some little time\nelapsed before Melissa came in, Caracalla forgot his theatrical\nassumption, and sat with a drooping head; for, in consequence, no doubt,\nof the sunshine which beat on the top of his head, the pain had suddenly\nbecome almost unendurably violent.\n\nWithout vouchsafing a glance at Melissa, he swallowed one of the\nalleviating pills left him by Galenus, and hid his face in his hands. The\ngirl came forward, fearless of the lion, for Philostratos had assured her\nthat he was tamed, and most animals were willing to let her touch them.\nNor was she afraid of Caesar himself, for she saw that he was in pain,\nand the alarm with which she had crossed the threshold gave way to pity.\nPhilostratus kept at her side, and anxiously watched Caracalla.\n\nThe courage the simple girl showed in the presence of the ferocious\nbrute, and the not less terrible man, struck him favorably, and his hopes\nrose as a sunbeam fell on her shining hair, which the lady Berenike had\narranged with her own hand, twining it with strands of white Bombyx. She\nmust appear, even to this ruthless profligate, as the very type of pure\nand innocent grace.\n\nHer long robe and peplos, of the finest white wool, also gave her an air\nof distinction which suited the circumstances. It was a costly garment,\nwhich Berenike had had made for Korinna, and she had chosen it from among\nmany instead of the plainer robe in which old Dido had dressed her young\nmistress. With admirable taste the matron had aimed at giving Melissa a\nsimple, dignified aspect, unadorned and almost priestess-like in its\nseverity. Nothing should suggest the desire to attract, and everything\nmust exclude the idea of a petitioner of the poorer and commoner sort.\n\nPhilostratus saw that her appearance had been judiciously cared for; but\nCaesar's long silence, of which he knew the reason, began to cause him\nsome uneasiness: for, though pain sometimes softened the despot's mood,\nit more often prompted him to revenge himself, as it were, for his own\nsufferings, by brutal attacks on the comfort and happiness of others.\nAnd, at last, even Melissa seemed to be losing the presence of mind he\nhad admired, for he saw her bosom heave faster and higher, her lips\nquivered, and her large eyes sparkled through tears.\n\nCaesar's countenance presently cleared a little. He raised his head, and\nas his eye met Melissa's she pronounced in a low, sweet voice the\npleasant Greek greeting, \"Rejoice!\"\n\nAt this moment the philosopher was seized with a panic of anxiety; he\nfelt for the first time the weight of responsibility he had taken on\nhimself. Never had he thought her so lovely, so enchantingly bewitching\nas now, when she looked up at Caracalla in sweet confusion and timidity,\nbut wholly possessed by her desire to win the favor of the man who, with\na word, could make her so happy or so wretched. If this slave of his\npassions, whom a mere whim perhaps had moved to insist on the strictest\nmorality in his court, should take a fancy to this delightful young\ncreature, she was doomed to ruin. He turned pale, and his heart throbbed\npainfully as he watched the development of the catastrophe for which he\nhad himself prepared the way.\n\nBut, once more, the unexpected upset the philosopher's anticipations.\nCaracalla gazed at the girl in amazement, utterly discomposed, as though\nsome miracle had happened, or a ghost had started from the ground before\nhim. Springing up, while he clutched the back of his chair, he exclaimed:\n\n\"What is this? Do my senses deceive me, or is it some base trickery? No,\nno! My eyes and my memory are good. This girl--\"\n\n\"What ails thee, Caesar?\" Philostratus broke in, with increasing anxiety.\n\n\"Something--something which will silence your foolish doubts--\" Caesar\npanted out. \"Patience--wait. Only a minute, and you shall see.--But,\nfirst\"--and he turned to Melissa--\"what is your name, girl?\"\n\n\"Melissa,\" she replied, in a low and tremulous voice.\n\n\"And your father's and your mother's?\"\n\n\"Heron is my father's name, and my mother--she is dead--was called\nOlympias, the daughter of Philip.\"\n\n\"And you are of Macedonian race?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord. My father and mother both were of pure Macedonian\ndescent.\"\n\nThe emperor glanced triumphantly at Philostratus, and briefly exclaiming,\n\"That will do, I think,\" he clapped his hands, and instantly his old\nchamberlain, Adventus, hurried in from the adjoining room, followed by\nthe whole band of \"Caesar's friends.\" Caracalla, however, only said to\nthem:\n\n\"You can wait till I call you.--You, Adventus! I want the gem with the\nmarriage of Alexander.\" The freedman took the gem out of an ebony casket\nstanding on Caesar's writing-table, and Caracalla, holding the\nphilosopher by the arm, said, with excited emphasis:\n\n\"That gem I inherited from my father, the divine Severus. It was engraved\nbefore that child came into the world. Now you shall see it, and if you\nthen say that it is an illusion--But why should you doubt it? Pythagoras\nand your hero Apollonius both knew whose body their souls had inhabited\nin a former existence. Mine--though my mother has laughed at my belief,\nand others have dared to do the same-mine, five hundred years ago, dwelt\nin the greatest of heroes, Alexander the Macedonian--a right royal\ntabernacle!\"\n\nHe snatched the gem from the chamberlain's hand, and while he devoured it\nwith his eyes, looking from time to time into Melissa's face, he eagerly\nran on:\n\n\"It is she. None but a blind man, a fool, a malignant idiot, could doubt\nit! Any who henceforth shall dare mock at my conviction that I was\nbrought into the world to fulfill the life-span of that great hero, will\nlearn to rue it! Here--it is but natural--here, in the city he founded\nand which bears his name, I have found positive proof that the bond which\nunites the son of Philip with the son of Severus is something more than a\nmere fancy. This maiden--look at her closely--is the re-embodiment of the\nsoul of Roxana, as I am of that of her husband. Even you must see now how\nnaturally it came about that she should uplift her heart and hands in\nprayer for me. Her soul, when it once dwelt in Roxana, was fondly linked\nwith that of the hero; and now, in the bosom of this simple maiden, it is\ndrawn to the unforgotten fellow-soul which has found its home in my\nbreast.\"\n\nHe spoke with enthusiastic and firm conviction of the truth of his\nstrange imagining, as though he were delivering a revelation from the\ngods. He bade Philostratus approach and compare the features of Roxana,\nas carved in the onyx, with those of the young supplicant.\n\nThe fair Persian stood facing Alexander; they were clasping each other's\nhands in pledge of marriage, and a winged Hymen fluttered above their\nheads with his flaming torch.\n\nPhilostratus was, in fact, startled as he looked at the gem, and\nexpressed his surprise in the liveliest terms, for the features of Roxana\nas carved in the cameo, no larger than a man's palm, were, line for line,\nthose of the daughter of Heron. And this sport of chance could not but be\namazing to any one who did not know--as neither of the three who were\nexamining the gem knew--that it was a work of Heron's youth, and that he\nhad given Roxana the features of his bride Olympias, whose living image\nher daughter Melissa had grown to be.\n\n\"And how long have you had this work of art?\" asked Philostratus.\n\n\"I inherited it, as I tell you, from my father,\" replied Caracalla.\n\"Severus sometimes wore it.--But wait. After the battle of Issos, in his\ntriumph over Pescennius Niger--I can see him now--he wore it on his\nshoulder, and that was--\"\n\n\"Two-and-twenty years ago,\" the philosopher put in; and Caracalla,\nturning to Melissa, asked her:\n\n\"How old are you, child?\"\n\n\"Eighteen, my lord.\" And the reply delighted Caesar; he laughed aloud,\nand looked triumphantly at Philostratus.\n\nThe philosopher willingly admitted that there was something strange in\nthe incident, and he congratulated Caesar on having met with such strong\nconfirmation of his inward conviction. The soul of Alexander might now do\ngreat things through him.\n\nDuring this conversation the alarm which had come over Melissa at\nCaesar's silence had entirely disappeared. The despot whose suffering had\nappealed to her sympathetic soul, now struck her as singular rather than\nterrible. The idea that she, the humble artist's daughter, could harbor\nthe soul of a Persian princess, amused her; and when the lion lifted his\nhead and lashed the floor with his tail at her approach, she felt that\nshe had won his approbation. Moved by a sudden impulse, she laid her hand\non his head and boldly stroked it. The light, warm touch soothed the\nfettered prince of the desert, and, rubbing his brow against Melissa's\nround arm, he muttered a low, contented growl.\n\nAt this Caesar was enchanted; it was to him a further proof of his\nstrange fancy. The \"Sword of Persia\" was rarely so friendly to any one;\nand Theocritus owed much of the favor shown him by Caracalla to the fact\nthat at their first meeting the lion had been on particularly good terms\nwith him. Still, the brute had never shown so much liking for any\nstranger as for this young girl, and never responded with such eager\nswinging of his tail excepting to Caesar's own endearments. It must be\ninstinct which had revealed to the beast the old and singular bond which\nlinked his master and this new acquaintance. Caracalla, who, in all that\nhappened to him, traced the hand of a superior power, pointed this out to\nPhilostratus, and asked him whether, perhaps, the attack of pain he had\njust suffered might not have yielded so quickly to the presence of the\nrevived Roxana rather than to Galen's pills.\n\nPhilostratus thought it wise not to dispute this assumption, and soon\ndiverted the conversation to the subject of Melissa's imprisoned\nrelations. He quietly represented to Caracalla that his noblest task must\nbe to satisfy the spirit of her who had been so dear to the hero whose\nlife he was to fulfill; and Caesar, who was delighted that the\nphilosopher should recognize as a fact the illusion which flattered him,\nat once agreed. He questioned Melissa about her brother Alexander with a\ngentleness of which few would have thought him capable; and the sound of\nher voice, as she answered him modestly but frankly and with sisterly\naffection, pleased him so well that he allowed her to speak without\ninterruption longer than was his wont. Finally, he promised her that he\nwould question the painter, and, if possible, be gracious to him.\n\nHe again clapped his hands, and ordered a freedman named Epagathos, who\nwas one of his favorite body-servants, to send immediately for Alexander\nfrom the prison.\n\nAs before, when Adventus had been summoned, a crowd followed Epagathos,\nand, as Caesar did not dismiss them, Melissa was about to withdraw; the\ndespot, however, desired her to wait.\n\nBlushing, and confused with shyness, she remained standing by Caesar's\nseat; and though she only ventured to raise her eyes now and then for a\nstolen look, she felt herself the object of a hundred curious, defiant,\nbold, or contemptuous glances.\n\nHow gladly would she have escaped, or have sunk into the earth! But there\nshe had to stand, her teeth set, while her lips trembled, to check the\ntears which would rise.\n\nCaesar, meanwhile, took no further notice of her. He was longing to\nrelate at full length, to his friends and companions, the wonderful and\nimportant thing that had happened; but he would not approach the subject\nwhile they took their places in his presence. Foremost of them, with\nTheocritus, came the high-priest of Serapis, and Caracalla immediately\ndesired them to introduce the newly appointed head-guardian of the peace.\nBut the election was not yet final. The choice lay, Theocritus explained,\nbetween two equally good men. One, Aristides, was a Greek of high repute,\nand the other was only an Egyptian, but so distinguished for zealous\nseverity that, for his part, he should vote for him.\n\nAt this the high-priest broke in, saying that the man favored by\nTheocritus did in fact possess the qualities for which he was commended,\nbut in such a measure that he was utterly hated by the Greek population;\nand in Alexandria more could be achieved by justice and mercy than by\ndefiant severity.\n\nBut at this the favorite laughed, and said that he was convinced of the\ncontrary. A populace which could dare to mock at the divine Caesar, the\nguest of their city, with such gross audacity, must be made to smart\nunder the power of Rome and its ruler. The deposed magistrate had lost\nhis place for the absurd measures he had proposed, and Aristides was in\ndanger of following in his footsteps.\n\n\"By no means,\" the high-priest said, with calm dignity. \"The Greek, whom\nI would propose, is a worthy and determined man. Now, Zminis the\nEgyptian, the right hand of the man who has been turned out, is, it must\nbe said, a wretch without ruth or conscience.\"\n\nBut here the discussion was interrupted. Melissa, whose ears had tingled\nas she listened, had started with horror as she heard that Zminis, the in\nformer, was to be appointed to the command of the whole watch of the\ncity. If this should happen, her brothers and father were certainly lost.\nThis must be prevented. As the high-priest ceased speaking, she laid her\nhand on Caesar's, and, when he looked up at her in surprise, she\nwhispered to him, so low and so quickly that hardly any one observed it\n\"Not Zminis; he is our mortal enemy!\"\n\nCaracalla scarcely glanced at the face of the daring girl, but he saw how\npale she had turned. The delicate color in her cheeks, and the dimple he\nhad seen while she stroked the lion had struck him as particularly\nfascinating. This had helped to make her so like the Roxana on the gem,\nand the change in her roused his pity. She must smile again; and so,\naccustomed as he was to visit his annoyance on others, he angrily\nexclaimed to his \"Friends\":\n\n\"Can I be everywhere at once? Can not the simplest matter be settled\nwithout me? It was the praetorian prefect's business to report to me\nconcerning the two candidates, if you could not agree; but I have not\nseen him since last evening. The man who has to be sought when I need him\nneglects his duty! Macrinus usually knows his. Does any one know what has\ndetained him?\"\n\nThe question was asked in an angry, nay, in an ominous tone, but the\npraetorian prefect was a powerful personage, whose importance made him\nalmost invulnerable. Yet the praetor Lucius Priscillianus was ready with\nan answer. He was the most malicious and ill-natured scandal-monger at\ncourt; and he hated the prefect, for he himself had coveted the post,\nwhich was the highest in the state next to Caesar's. He had always some\nslaves set to spy upon Macrinus, and he now said, with a contemptuous\nshrug:\n\n\"It is a marvel to me that so zealous a man--though he is already\nbeginning to break down under his heavy duties--should be so late.\nHowever, he here spends his evenings and nights in special occupations,\nwhich must of course be far from beneficial to the health and peace of\nmind which his office demands.\"\n\n\"What can those be?\" asked Caracalla; but the praetor added without a\npause:\n\n\"Merciful gods! Who would not crave to glance into the future?\"\n\n\"And it is that which makes him late?\" said Caesar, with more curiosity\nthan anger.\n\n\"Hardly by broad daylight,\" replied Priscillianus. \"The spirits he would\nfain evoke shun the light of day, it is said. But he may be weary with\nlate watching and painful agitations.\"\n\n\"Then he calls up spirits at night?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly, great Caesar. But, in this capital of philosophy, spirits\nare illogical it would seem. How can Macrinus interpret the prophecy that\nhe, who is already on the highest step attainable to us lower mortals,\nshall rise yet higher?\"\n\n\"We will ask him,\" said Caesar, indifferently. \"But you--guard your\ntongue. It has already cost some men their heads, whom I would gladly see\nyet among the living. Wishes can not be punished. Who does not wish to\nstand on the step next above his own? You, my friend, would like that of\nMacrinus.--But deeds! You know me! I am safe from them, so long as each\nof you so sincerely grudges his neighbor every promotion. You, my Lucius,\nhave again proved how keen your sight is, and, if it were not too great\nan honor for this refractory city to have a Roman in the toga praetexta\nat the head of its administration, I should like to make you the guardian\nof the peace here. You see me,\" he went on, \"in an elated mood\nto-day.--Cilo, you know this gem which came tome from my father. Look at\nit, and at this maiden.--Come nearer, priest of the divine Alexander; and\nyou too consider the marvel, Theocritus, Antigonus, Dio, Pandion,\nPaulinus. Compare the face of the female figure with this girl by my\nside. The master carved this Roxana long before she was born. You are\nsurprised? As Alexander's soul dwells in me, so she is Roxana, restored\nto life. It has been proved by irrefragable evidence in the presence of\nPhilostratus.\"\n\nThe priest of Alexander here exclaimed, in a tone of firm conviction:\n\n\"A marvel indeed! We bow down to the noble vessel of the soul of\nAlexander. I, the priest of that hero, attest that great Caesar has found\nthat in which Roxana's soul now exists.\" And as he spoke he pressed his\nhand to his heart, bowing low before Caesar; the rest imitated his\nexample. Even Julius Paulinus, the satirist, followed the Roman priest's\nlead; but he whispered in the ear of Cassius Dio \"Alexander's soul was\ninquisitive, and wanted to see how it could live in the body which, of\nall mortal tenements on earth, least resembles his own.\"\n\nA mocking word was on the ex-consul's lips as to the amiable frame of\nmind which had so suddenly come over Caesar; but he preferred to watch\nand listen, as Caracalla beckoned Theocritus to him and begged him to\ngive up the appointment of Zminis, though, as a rule, he indulged the\nfavorite's every whim. He could not bear, he said, to intrust the defense\nof his own person and of the city of Alexander to an Egyptian, so long as\na Greek could be found capable of the duty. He proposed presently to have\nthe two candidates brought before him, and to decide between them in the\npresence of the prefect of the praetorians. Then, turning to those of his\ncaptains who stood around him, he said:\n\n\"Greet my soldiers from me. I could not show myself to them yesterday. I\nsaw just now, with deep regret, how the rain has drenched them in this\nluxurious city. I will no longer endure it. The praetorians and the\nMacedonian legion shall be housed in quarters of which they will tell\nwonders for a long time to come. I would rather see them sleeping in\nwhite wool and eating off silver than these vile traders. Tell them\nthat.\"\n\nHe was here interrupted, for Epagathos announced a deputation from the\nMuseum, and, at the same time, the painter Alexander, who had been\nbrought from prison. At this Caracalla exclaimed with disgust:\n\n\"Spare me the hair-splitting logicians!--Do you, Philostratus, receive\nthem in my name. If they make any impudent demands, you may tell them my\nopinion of them and their Museum. Go, but come back quickly. Bring in the\npainter. I will speak with him alone.--You, my friends, withdraw with our\nidiologos, the priest of Alexander, who is well known here, and visit the\ncity. I shall not require you at present.\"\n\nThe whole troop hastened to obey. Caracalla now turned to Melissa once\nmore, and his eye brightened as he again discerned the dimple in her\ncheeks, which had recovered their roses. Her imploring eyes met his, and\nthe happy expectation of seeing her brother lent them a light which\nbrought joy to the friendless sovereign. During his last speech he had\nlooked at her from time to time; but in the presence of so many strangers\nshe had avoided meeting his gaze. Now she thought that she might freely\nshow him that his favor was a happiness to her. Her soul, as Roxana, must\nof course feel drawn to his; in that he firmly believed. Her prayer and\nsacrifice for him sufficiently proved it--as he told himself once more.\n\nWhen Alexander was brought in, it did not anger him to see that the\nbrother, who held out his arms to Melissa in his habitual eager way, had\nto be reminded by her of the imperial presence. Every homage was due to\nthis fair being, and he was, besides, much struck by Alexander's splendid\nappearance. It was long since any youthful figure had so vividly reminded\nhim of the marble statues of the great Athenian masters. Melissa's\nbrother stood before him, the very embodiment of the ideal of Greek\nstrength and manly beauty. His mantle had been taken from him in prison,\nand he wore only the short chiton, which also left bare his powerful but\nsoftly modeled arms. He had been allowed no time to arrange and anoint\nhis hair, and the light-brown curls were tossed in disorderly abundance\nabout his shapely head. This favorite of the gods appeared in Caesar's\neyes as an Olympic victor, who had come to claim the wreath with all the\ntraces of the struggle upon him.\n\nNo sign of fear, either of Caesar or his lion, marred this impression.\nHis bow, as he approached the potentate, was neither abject nor awkward,\nand Caesar felt bitter wrath at the thought that this splendid youth, of\nall men, should have selected him as the butt of his irony. He would have\nregarded it as a peculiar gift of fortune if this man--such a brother of\nsuch a sister--could but love him, and, with the eye of an artist,\ndiscern in the despot the great qualities which, in spite of his many\ncrimes, he believed he could detect in himself. And he hoped, with an\nadmixture of anxiety such as he had never known before, that the\npainter's demeanor would be such as should allow him to show mercy.\n\nWhen Alexander besought him with a trustful mien to consider his youth,\nand the Alexandrian manners which he had inherited both from his parents\nand his grandparents, if indeed his tongue had wagged too boldly in\nspeaking of the all-powerful Caesar, and to remember the fable of the\nlion and the mouse, the scowl he had put on to impress the youth with his\nawfulness and power vanished from Caesar's brow. The idea that this great\nartist, whose sharp eye could so surely distinguish the hideous from the\nbeautiful, should regard him as ill-favored, was odious to him. He had\nlistened to him in silence; but suddenly he inquired of Alexander whether\nit was indeed he, whom he had never injured, who had written the horrible\nepigram nailed with the rope to the door of the Serapeum and when the\npainter emphatically denied it, Caesar breathed as though a burden had\nfallen from his soul. He nevertheless insisted on hearing from the\nyouth's own lips what it was that he had actually dared to say. After\nsome hesitation, during which Melissa besought Caesar in vain to spare\nher and her brother this confession, Alexander exclaimed:\n\n\"Then the hunted creature must walk into the net, and, unless your\nclemency interferes, on to death! What I said referred partly to the\nwonderful strength that you, my lord, have so often displayed in the\nfield and in the circus; and also to another thing, which I myself now\ntruly repent of having alluded to. It is said that my lord killed his\nbrother.\"\n\n\"That--ah! that was it!\" said Caesar, and his face, involuntarily this\ntime, grew dark.\n\n\"Yes, my lord,\" Alexander went on, breathing hard. \"To deny it would be\nto add a second crime to the former one, and I am one of those who would\nrather jump into cold water both feet at once, when it has to be done.\nAll the world knows what your strength is; and I said that it was greater\nthan that of Father Zeus; for that he had cast his son Hephaestos only on\nthe earth, and your strong fist had cast your brother through the earth\ninto the depths of Hades. That was all. I have not added nor concealed\nanything.\"\n\nMelissa had listened in terror to this bold confession. Papinian, the\nbrave praetorian prefect, one of the most learned lawyers of his time,\nhad incurred Caracalla's fury by refusing to say that the murder of Geta\nwas not without excuse; and his noble answer, that it was easier to\ncommit fratricide than to defend it, cost him his life.\n\nSo long as Caesar had been kind to her, Melissa had felt repelled by him;\nbut now, when he was angry, she was once more attracted to him.\n\nAs the wounds of a murdered man are said to bleed afresh when the\nmurderer approaches, Caracalla's irritable soul was wont to break out in\na frenzy of rage when any one was so rash as to allude to this, his\nfoulest crime. This reference to his brother's death had as usual stirred\nhis wrath, but he controlled it; for as a torrent of rain extinguishes\nthe fire which a lightning-flash has kindled, the homage to his strength,\nin Alexander's satire, had modified his indignation. The irony which made\nthe artist's contemptuous words truly witty, would not have escaped\nCaracalla's notice if they had applied to any one else; but he either did\nnot feel it, or would not remark it, for the sake of leaving Melissa in\nthe belief that his physical strength was really wonderful. Besides, he\nthus could indulge his wish to avoid pronouncing sentence of death on\nthis youth; he only measured him with a severe eye, and said in\nthreatening tones, to repay mockery in kind and to remind the criminal of\nthe fate imperial clemency should spare him:\n\n\"I might be tempted to try my strength on you, but that it is worse to\ntry a fall with a vaporing wag, the sport of the winds, than with the son\nof Caesar. And if I do not condescend to the struggle, it is because you\nare too light for such an arm as this.\" And as he spoke he boastfully\ngrasped the muscles which constant practice had made thick and firm. \"But\nmy hand reaches far. Every man-at-arms is one of its fingers, and there\nare thousands of them. You have made acquaintance already, I fancy, with\nthose which clutched you.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" replied Alexander, with a faint smile, as he bowed humbly. \"I\nshould not dare resist your great strength, but the watch-dogs of the law\ntried in vain to track me. I gave myself up.\"\n\n\"Of your own accord?\"\n\n\"To procure my father's release, as he had been put in prison.\"\n\n\"Most magnanimous!\" said Caesar, ironically. \"Such a deed sounds well,\nbut is apt to cost a man his life. You seem to have overlooked that.\"\n\n\"No, great Caesar; I expected to die.\"\n\n\"Then you are a philosopher, a contemner of life.\"\n\n\"Neither. I value life above all else; for, if it is taken from me, there\nis an end of enjoying its best gifts.\"\n\n\"Best gifts!\" echoed Caesar. \"I should like to know which you honor with\nthe epithet.\"\n\n\"Love and art.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" said Caracalla, with a swift glance at Melissa. Then, in an\naltered voice, he added, \"And revenge?\"\n\n\"That,\" said the artist, boldly, \"is a pleasure I have not yet tasted. No\none ever did me a real injury till the villain Zminis robbed my guiltless\nfather of his liberty; and he is not worthy to do such mischief, as a\nfinger of your imperial hand.\"\n\nAt this, Caesar looked at him suspiciously, and said in stern tones:\n\n\"But you have now the opportunity of trying the fine flavor of vengeance.\nIf I were timid--since the Egyptian acted only as my instrument--I should\nhave cause to protect myself against you.\"\n\n\"By no means,\" said the painter, with an engaging smile, \"it lies in your\npower to do me the greatest benefit. Do it, Caesar! It would be a joy to\nme to show that, though I have been reckless beyond measure, I am\nnevertheless a grateful man.\"\n\n\"Grateful?\" repeated Caracalla, with a cruel laugh. Then he rose slowly,\nand looked keenly at Alexander, exclaiming:\n\n\"I should almost like to try you.\"\n\n\"And I will answer for it that you will never regret it!\" Melissa put in.\n\"Greatly as he has erred, he is worthy of your clemency.\"\n\n\"Is he?\" said Caesar, looking down at her kindly. \"What Roxana's soul\naffirms by those rosy lips I can not but believe.\"\n\nThen again he paused, studying Alexander with a searching eye, and added:\n\n\"You think me strong; but you will change that opinion--which I value--if\nI forgive you like a poor-spirited girl. You are in my power. You risked\nyour life. If I give it you, I must have a gift in return, that I may not\nbe cheated.\"\n\n\"Set my father free, and he will do whatever you may require of him,\"\nMelissa broke out. But Caracalla stopped her, saying: \"No one makes\nconditions with Caesar. Stand back, girl.\"\n\nMelissa hung her head and obeyed; but she stood watching the eager\ndiscussion between these two dissimilar men, at first with anxiety and\nthen with surprise.\n\nAlexander seemed to resist Caesar's demands; but presently the despot\nmust have proposed something which pleased the artist, for Melissa heard\nthe low, musical laugh which had often cheered her in moments of sadness.\nThen the conversation was more serious, and Caracalla said, so loud that\nMelissa could hear him:\n\n\"Do not forget to whom you speak. If my word is not enough, you can go\nback to prison.\" Then again she trembled for her brother; but some soft\nword of his mollified the fury of the terrible man, who was never the\nsame for two minutes together. The lion, too, which lay unchained by his\nmaster's seat, gave her a fright now and then; for if Caesar raised his\nvoice in anger, he growled and stood up.\n\nHow fearful were this beast and his lord! Rather would she spend her\nwhole life on a ship's deck, tossed to and fro by the surges, than share\nthis man's fate. And yet there was in him something which attracted her;\nnay, and it nettled her that he should forget her presence.\n\nAt last Alexander humbly asked Caracalla whether he might not tell\nMelissa to what he had pledged his word.\n\n\"That shall be my business,\" replied Caesar. \"You think that a mere girl\nis a better witness than none at all. Perhaps you are right. Then let it\nbe understood: whatever you may have to report to me, my wrath shall not\nturn against you. This fellow--why should you not be told, child?--is\ngoing into the town to collect all the jests and witty epigrams which\nhave been uttered in my honor.\"\n\n\"Alexander!\" cried Melissa, clasping her hands and turning pale with\nhorror. But Caracalla laughed to himself, and went on cheerfully:\n\n\"Yes, it is dangerous work, no doubt; and for that reason I pledged my\nword as Caesar not to require him to pay for the sins of others. On the\ncontrary, he is free, if the posy he culls for me is sufficient.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Alexander, on whom his sister's white face and warning looks\nwere having effect. \"But you made me another promise on which I lay great\nstress. You will not compel me to tell you, nor try to discover through\nany other man, who may have spoken or written any particular satire.\"\n\n\"Enough!\" said Caracalla, impatiently; but Alexander was not to be\nchecked. He went on vehemently: \"I have not forgotten that you said\nconditions were not to be made with Caesar; but, in spite of my\nimpotence, I maintain the right of returning to my prison and there\nawaiting my doom, unless you once more assure me, in this girl's\npresence, that you will neither inquire as to the names of the authors of\nany gibes I may happen to have heard, nor compel me by any means whatever\nto give up the names of the writers of epigrams. Why should I not satisfy\nyour curiosity and your relish of a sharp jest? But rather than do the\nsmallest thing which might savor of treachery--ten times rather the axe\nor the gallows!\"\n\nAnd Caracalla replied with a dark frown, loudly and briefly:\n\n\"I promise.\"\n\n\"And if your rage is too much for you?\" wailed Melissa, raising her hands\nin entreaty; but the despot replied, sternly:\n\n\"There is no passion which can betray Caesar into perjury.\"\n\nAt this moment Philostratus came in again, with Epagathos, who announced\nthe praetorian prefect. Melissa, encouraged by the presence of her kind\nprotector, went on:\n\nBut, great Caesar, you will release my father and my other brother?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" replied Caracalla. \"First we will see how this one carries out\nhis task.\"\n\n\"You will be satisfied, my lord,\" said the young man, looking quite happy\nagain, for he was delighted at the prospect of saying audacious things to\nthe face of the tyrant whom all were bent on flattering, and holding up\nthe mirror to him without, as he firmly believed, bringing any danger on\nhimself or others.\n\nHe bowed to go. Melissa did the same, saying, as airily as though she\nwere free to come and go here:\n\n\"Accept my thanks, great Caesar. Oh, how fervently will I pray for you\nall my life, if only you show mercy to my father and brothers!\"\n\n\"That means that you are leaving me?\" asked Caracalla.\n\n\"How can it be otherwise?\" said Melissa, timidly. \"I am but a girl, and\nthe men whom you expect--\"\n\n\"But when they are gone?\" Caesar insisted.\n\n\"Even then you can not want me,\" she murmured.\n\n\"You mean,\" said Caracalla, bitterly, \"that you are afraid to come back.\nYou mean that you would rather keep out of the way of the man you prayed\nfor, so long as he is well. And if the pain which first aroused your\nsympathy attacks him again, even then will you leave the irascible\nsovereign to himself or the care of the gods?\"\n\n\"Not so, not so,\" said Melissa, humbly, looking into his eyes with an\nexpression that pierced him to the heart, so that he added, with gentle\nentreaty:\n\n\"Then show that you are she whom I believe you to be. I do not compel\nyou. Go whither you will, stay away even if I send for you; but\"--and\nhere his brow clouded again--\"why should I try to be merciful to her from\nwhom I looked for sympathy and kindliness, when she flees from me like\nthe rest?\"\n\n\"O my lord!\" Melissa sighed distressfully. \"Go!\" Caesar went on. \"I do\nnot need you.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" the girl cried, in great trouble. \"Call me, and I will come.\nOnly shelter me from the others, and from their looks of scorn; only--O\nimmortal gods!--If you need me, I will serve you, and willingly, with all\nmy heart. But if you really care for me, if you desire my presence, why\nlet me suffer the worst?\" Here a sudden flood of tears choked her\nutterance. A smile of triumph passed over Caesar's features, and drawing\nMelissa's hands away from her tearful face, he said, kindly:\n\n\"Alexander's soul pines for Roxana's; that is what makes your presence so\ndear to me. Never shall you have cause to rue coming at my call. I swear\nit by the manes of my divine father--you, Philostratus, are witness.\"\n\nThe philosopher, who thought he knew Caracalla, gave a sigh of relief;\nand Alexander gladly reflected that the danger he had feared for his\nsister was averted. This craze about Roxana, of which Caracalla had just\nnow spoken to him as a certain fact, he regarded as a monstrous illusion\nof this strange man's, which would, however, be a better safeguard for\nMelissa than pledges and oaths.\n\nHe clasped her hand, and said with cheerful confidence: \"Only send for\nher when you are ill, my lord, as long as you remain here. I know from\nyour own lips that there is no passion which can betray Caesar into\nperjury. Will you permit her to come with me for the present?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Caracalla, sharply, and he bade him go about the business he\nhad in hand. Then, turning to Philostratus, he begged him to conduct\nMelissa to Euryale, the high-priest's noble wife, for she had been a kind\nand never-forgotten friend of his mother's.\n\nThe philosopher gladly escorted the young girl to the matron, who had\nlong been anxiously awaiting her return.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nThe statue of Serapis, a figure of colossal size, carved by the\nmaster-hand of Bryaxis, out of ivory overlaid with gold, sat enthroned in\nthe inner chamber of the great Temple of Serapis, with the kalathos\ncrowning his bearded face, and the three-headed Cerberus at his feet,\ngazing down in supreme silence on the scene around. He did not lack for\npious votaries and enthusiastic admirers, for, so long as Caesar was his\nguest, the curtain was withdrawn which usually hid his majestic form from\ntheir eyes. But his most devoted worshipers thought that the god's noble,\nbenevolent, grave countenance had a wrathful look; for, though nothing\nhad been altered in this, the finest pillared hall in the world; though\nthe beautiful pictures in relief on the walls and ceiling, the statues\nand altars of marble, bronze, and precious metals between the columns,\nand the costly mosaic-work of many colors which decked the floor in\nregular patterns, were the same as of yore, this splendid pavement was\ntrodden to-day by thousands of feet which had no concern with the service\nof the god.\n\nBefore Caesar's visit, solemn silence had ever reigned in this worthy\nhome of the deity, fragrant with the scarcely visible fumes of kyphi; and\nthe worshipers gathered without a sound round the foot of his statue, and\nbefore the numerous altars and the smaller images of the divinities\nallied to him or the votive tablets recording the gifts and services\ninstituted in honor of Serapis by pious kings or citizens. On feast-days,\nand during daily worship, the chant of priestly choirs might be heard, or\nthe murmur of prayer; and the eye might watch the stolists who crowned\nthe statues with flowers and ribbons, as required by the ritual, or the\nprocessions of priests in their various rank. Carrying sacred relics and\nfigures of the gods on trays or boats, with emblematic standards,\nscepters, and cymbals, they moved about the sacred precinct in prescribed\norder, and most of them fulfilled their duties with devotion and\nedification.\n\nBut Caesar's presence seemed to have banished these solemn feelings. From\nmorning till night the great temple swarmed with visitors, but their\nappearance and demeanor were more befitting the market-place or public\nbath than the sanctuary. It was now no more than the anteroom to Caesar's\naudience-chamber, and thronged with Roman senators, legates, tribunes,\nand other men of rank, and the clients and \"friends\" of Caesar, mingled\nwith soldiers of inferior grades, scribes, freedmen, and slaves, who had\nfollowed in Caracalla's train. There were, too, many Alexandrians who\nexpected to gain some benefit, promotion, or distinction through the\nemperor's favorites. Most of these kept close to his friends and\nintimates, to make what profit they could out of them. Some were corn and\nwine dealers, or armorers, who wished to obtain contracts for supplying\nthe army; others were usurers, who had money to lend on the costly\nobjects which warriors often acquired as booty; and here, as everywhere,\nbedizened and painted women were crowding round the free-handed\nstrangers. There were Magians, astrologers, and magicians by the dozen,\nwho considered this sacred spot the most suitable place in which to offer\ntheir services to the Romans, always inquisitive for signs and charms.\nThey knew how highly Egyptian magic was esteemed throughout the empire;\nthough their arts were in fact prohibited, each outdid the other in\nurgency, and not less in a style of dress which should excite curiosity\nand expectancy.\n\nSerapion held aloof. Excepting that he wore a beard and robe, his\nappearance even had nothing in common with them; and his talar was not\nlike theirs, embroidered with hieroglyphics, tongues, and flames, but of\nplain white stuff, which gave him the aspect of a learned and priestly\nsage.\n\nAs Alexander, on his way through the temple to fulfill Caesar's\ncommission, went past the Magian, Castor, his supple accomplice, stole up\nbehind a statue, and, when the artist disappeared in the crowd, whispered\nto his master:\n\n\"The rascally painter is at liberty!\"\n\n\"Till further notice!\" was the reply, and Serapion was about to give his\nsatellite some instructions, when a hand was laid on his shoulder, and\nZminis said in a low voice:\n\n\"I am glad to have found you here. Accusations are multiplying against\nyou, my friend; and though I have kept my eyes shut till now, that cannot\nlast much longer.\"\n\n\"Let us hope you are mistaken,\" replied the Magian, firmly. And then he\nwent on in a hurried whisper: \"I know what your ambition is, and my\nsupport may be of use to you. But we must not be seen together. We will\nmeet again in the instrument-room, to the left of the first stairs up to\nthe observatory. You will find me there.\"\n\n\"At once, then,\" said the other. \"I am to be in Caesar's presence in a\nquarter of an hour.\"\n\nThe Magian, as being one of the most skillful makers of astronomical\ninstruments, and attached to the sanctuary, had a key of the room he had\ndesignated. Zminis found him there, and their business was quickly\nsettled. They knew each other well, and each knew things of the other\nwhich inspired them with mutual fear. However, as time pressed, they set\naside all useless antagonisms, to unite against the common foe.\n\nThe Magian knew already that Zminis had been named to Caesar as a\npossible successor to the chief of the night-watch, and that he had a\npowerful rival. By the help of the Syrian, whose ventriloquism was so\nperfect that he never failed to produce the illusion that his feigned\nvoice proceeded from any desired person or thing, Serapion had enmeshed\nthe praetorian prefect, the greatest magnate in the empire next to Caesar\nhimself, and in the course of the past night had gained a firm hold over\nhim.\n\nMacrinus, a man of humble birth, who owed his promotion to Severus, the\nfather of Caracalla, had, the day before, been praying in the Pantheon to\nthe statue of his deceased patron. A voice had proceeded from the image,\ntelling him that the divine Severus needed him for a great work. A pious\nseer was charged to tell him more exactly what this was; and he would\nmeet him if he went at about sunset to the shrine of Isis, and called\nthree times on the name of Severus before the altar of the goddess.\n\nThe Syrian ventriloquist had, by Serapion's orders, hidden behind a\npillar and spoken to the prefect from the statue; and Macrinus had, of\ncourse, obeyed his instructions. He had met the Magian in the Temple of\nIsis, and what he had seen, heard, and felt during the night had so\ndeeply affected him that he had promised to revisit Serapion the next\nevening. What means he had used to enslave so powerful a man the Magian\ndid not tell his ally; but he declared that Macrinus was as wax in his\nhands, and he came to an agreement with the Egyptian that if he,\nSerapion, should bring about the promotion for which Zminis sighed,\nZminis, on his part, should give him a free hand, and commend his arts to\nCaesar.\n\nIt needed but a few minutes to conclude this compact; but then the Magian\nproceeded to insist that Alexander's father and brother should be made\naway with.\n\n\"Impossible,\" replied Zminis. \"I should be only too glad to wring the\nnecks of the whole brood; but, as it is, I am represented to Caesar as\ntoo stern and ruthless. And a pretty little slut, old Heron's daughter,\nhas entangled him in her toils.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Serapion, positively. \"I have seen the girl, and she is as\ninnocent as a child. But I know the force of contrast: when depravity\nmeets purity--\"\n\n\"Come, no philosophizing!\" interrupted the other. \"We have better things\nto attend to, and one or the other may turn to your advantage.\"\n\nAnd he told him that Caesar, whose whim it was to spare Alexander's life,\nregarded Melissa as an incarnation of Roxana.\n\n\"That is worth considering,\" said the Magian, stroking his beard\nmeditatively; then he suddenly exclaimed:\n\n\"By the law, as you know, all the relatives of a state criminal are sent\nto the quarries or the mines. Dispatch Heron and his philosopher son\nforthwith. Whither?--that is your concern; only, for the next few days\nthey must be out of reach.\"\n\n\"Good!\" said the Egyptian, and an odious smile overspread his thin brown\nface. \"They may go as galley-slaves and row themselves to the Sardinian\nmines. A good idea!\"\n\n\"I have even better ideas than that to serve a friend,\" replied Serapion.\n\"Only get the philosopher out of the way. If Caesar lends an ear to his\nready tongue, I shall never see you guardian of the peace. The painter is\nless dangerous.\"\n\n\"He shall share their fate,\" cried the spy, and he licked his thick lips\nas if tasting some dainty morsel. He waved an adieu to the Magian, and\nhastened back to the great hall. There he strictly instructed one of his\nsubordinates to take care that the gem-cutter and his son Philip found\nplaces on board a galley bound for Sardinia.\n\nAt the great door he again met Serapion, with the Syrian at his heels,\nand the Magian said:\n\n\"My friend here has just seen a clay figure, molded by some practiced\nhand. It represents Caesar as a defiant warrior, but in the shape of a\ndeformed dwarf. It is hideously like him; you can see it at the Elephant\ntavern.\"\n\nThe Egyptian pressed his hand, with an eager \"That will serve,\" and\nhastily went out.\n\nTwo hours slipped by, and Zminis was still waiting in Caesar's anteroom.\nThe Greek, Aristides, shared his fate, the captain hitherto of the armed\nguard; while Zminis had been the head of the spies, intrusted with\ncommunicating written reports to the chief of the night-watch. The\nGreek's noble, soldierly figure looked strikingly fine by the slovenly,\nlank frame of the tall Egyptian. They both knew that within an hour or so\none would be supreme over the other; but of this they thought it best to\nsay nothing. Zminis, as was his custom when he wished to assume an\nappearance of respect which he did not feel, was alternately abject and\npressingly confidential; while Aristides calmly accepted his hypocritical\nservility, and answered it with dignified condescension. Nor had they any\nlack of subjects, for their interests were the same, and they both had\nthe satisfaction of reflecting what injury must ensue to public safety\nthrough their long and useless detention here.\n\nBut when two full hours had elapsed without their being bidden to\nCaesar's presence, or taken any notice of by their supporters, Zminis\ngrew wroth, and the Greek frowned in displeasure. Meanwhile the anteroom\nwas every moment more crowded, and neither chose to give vent to his\nanger. Still, when the door to the inner chambers was opened for a\nmoment, and loud laughter and the ring of wine-cups fell on their ears,\nAristides shrugged his shoulders, and the Egyptian's eyes showed an\nominous white ring glaring out of his brown face.\n\nCaracalla had meanwhile received the praetorian prefect; he had forgiven\nhim his long delay, when Macrinus, of his own accord, had told him of the\nwonderful things Serapion had made known to him. The prefect's son, too,\nhad been invited to the banquet of Seleukus; and when Caracalla heard\nfrom him and others of the splendor of the feast, he had begun to feel\nhungry. Even with regard to food, Caesar acted only on the impulse of the\nmoment; and though, in the field, he would, to please his soldiers, be\ncontent with a morsel of bread and a little porridge, at home he highly\nappreciated the pleasures of the table. Whenever he gave the word, an\nabundant meal must at once be ready. It was all the same to him what was\nkept waiting or postponed, so long as something to his taste was set\nbefore him. Macrinus, indeed, humbly reminded him that the guardians of\nthe peace were awaiting him; but he only waved his hand with contempt,\nand proceeded to the dining-room, which was soon filled with a large\nnumber of guests. Within a few minutes the first dish was set before his\ncouch, and, as plenty of good stories were told, and an admirable band of\nflute-playing and singing girls filled up the pauses in the conversation,\nhe enjoyed his meal. In spite, too, of the warning which Galenus had\nimpressed on his Roman physician, he drank freely of the fine wine which\nhad been brought out for him from the airy lofts of the Serapeum, and\nthose about him were surprised at their master's unwonted good spirits.\n\nHe was especially gracious to the high-priest, whom he bade to a place by\nhis side; and he even accepted his arm as a support, when, the meal being\nover, they returned to the tablinum.\n\n'There he flung himself on a couch, with a burning head, and began\nfeeding the lion, without paying any heed to his company. It was a\npleasure to him to see the huge brute rend a young lamb. When the remains\nof this introductory morsel had been removed and the pavement washed, he\ngave the \"Sword of Persia\" pieces of raw flesh, teasing the beast by\nsnatching the daintiest bits out of his mouth, and then offering them to\nhim again, till the satiated brute stretched himself yawning at his feet.\nDuring this entertainment, he had a letter read to him from the senate,\nand dictated a reply to a secretary. His eyes twinkled with a tipsy leer\nin his flushed face, and yet he was perfectly competent; and his\ninstructions to the senate, though imperious indeed, were neither more\nnor less rational than in his soberest moods.\n\nThen, after washing his hands in a golden basin, he acted on Macrinus's\nsuggestion, and the two candidates who had so long been waiting were at\nlast admitted. The prefect of the praetorians had, by the Magian's\ndesire, recommended the Egyptian; but Caesar wished to see for himself,\nand then to decide. Both the applicants had received hints from their\nsupporters: the Egyptian, to moderate his rigor; the Greek, to express\nhimself in the severest terms. And this was made easy for him, for the\nannoyance which had been pent up during his three hours' waiting was\nsufficient to lend his handsome face a stern look. Zminis strove to\nappear mild by assuming servile humility; but this so ill became his\ncunning features that Caracalla saw with secret satisfaction that he\ncould accede to Melissa's wishes, and confirm the choice of the\nhigh-priest, in whose god he had placed his hopes.\n\nStill, his own safety was more precious to him than the wishes of any\nliving mortal; so he began by pouring out, on both, the vials of his\nwrath at the bad management of the town. Their blundering tools had not\neven succeeded in capturing the most guileless of men, the painter\nAlexander. The report that the men-at-arms had seized him had been a\nfabrication to deceive, for the artist had given himself up. Nor had he\nas yet heard of any other traitor whom they had succeeded in laying hands\non, though the town was flooded with insolent epigrams directed against\nthe imperial person. And, as he spoke, he glared with fury at the two\ncandidates before him.\n\nThe Greek bowed his head in silence, as if conscious of his\nshort-comings; the Egyptian's eyes flashed, and, with an amazingly low\nbend of his supple spine, he announced that, more than three hours since,\nhe had discovered a most abominable caricature in clay, representing\nCaesar as a soldier in a horrible pygmy form.\n\n\"And the perpetrator,\" snarled Caracalla, listening with a scowl for the\nreply.\n\nZminis explained that great Caesar himself had commanded his attendance\njust as he hoped to find the traces of the criminal, and that, while he\nwas waiting, more than three precious hours had been lost. At this\nCaracalla broke out in a fury:\n\n\"Catch the villain! And let me see his insolent rubbish. Where are your\neyes? You bungling louts ought to protect me against the foul brood that\npeoples this city, and their venomous jests. Past grievances are\nforgotten. Set the painter's father and brother at liberty. They have had\na warning. Now I want something new. Something new, I say; and, above\nall, let me see the ringleaders in chains; the man who nailed up the\nrope, and the caricaturists. We must have them, to serve as an example to\nthe others.\"\n\nAristides thought that the moment had now come for displaying his\nseverity, and he respectfully but decidedly represented to Caesar that he\nwould advise that the gem-cutter and his son should be kept in custody.\nThey were well-known persons, and too great clemency would only aggravate\nthe virulence of audacious tongues. The painter was free, and if his\nrelatives were also let out of prison, there was nothing to prevent their\ngoing off to the other end of the world. Alexandria was a seaport, and a\nship would carry off the criminals before a man could turn round.\n\nAt this the emperor wrathfully asked him whether his opinion had been\ninvited; and the cunning Egyptian said to himself that Caracalla was\nanxious to spare the father and his sons for the daughter's sake. And yet\nCaesar would surely wish to keep them in safety, to have some hold over\nthe girl; so he lied with a bold face, affirming that, in obedience to\nthe law of the land, he had removed Heron and Philip, at any rate for the\nmoment, beyond the reach of Caesar's mercy. They had in the course of the\nnight been placed on board a galley and were now on the way to Sardinia.\nBut a swift vessel should presently be sent to overtake it and bring them\nback.\n\nAnd the informer was right, for Caesar's countenance brightened. He did,\nindeed, blame the Egyptian's overhasty action; but he gave no orders for\nfollowing up the galley.\n\nThen, after reflecting for a short time, he said:\n\n\"I do not find in either of you what I require; but at a pinch we are\nfain to eat moldy bread, so I must need choose between you two. The one\nwho first brings me that clay figure, and the man who modeled it, in\nchains and bonds, shall be appointed chief of the night-watch.\"\n\nMeanwhile Alexander had entered the room. As soon as Caracalla saw him,\nhe beckoned to him, and the artist informed him that he had made good use\nof his time and had much to communicate. Then he humbly inquired as to\nthe clay figure of which Caesar was speaking, and Caracalla referred him\nto Zminis. The Egyptian repeated what the Magian had told him.\n\nAlexander listened calmly; but when Zminis ceased speaking, the artist\ntook a deep breath, drew himself up, and pointing a contemptuous finger\nat the spy, as if his presence poisoned the air, he said: \"It is that\nfellow's fault, great Caesar, if the citizens of my native town dare\ncommit such crimes. He torments and persecutes them in your name. How\nmany a felony has been committed here, merely to scoff at him and his\ncreatures, and to keep them on the alert! We are a light-headed race.\nLike children, we love to do the forbidden thing, so long as it is no\nstain on our honor. But that wretch treats all laughter and the most\ninnocent fun as a crime, or so interprets it that it seems so. From this\nmalignant delight in the woes of others, and in the hope of rising higher\nin office, that wicked man has brought misery on hundreds. It has all\nbeen done in thy great name, O Caesar! No man has raised you up more foes\nthan this wretch, who undermines your security instead of protecting it.\"\n\nHere Zminis, whose swarthy face had become of ashy paleness, broke out in\na hoarse tone: \"I will teach you, and the whole rabble of traitors at\nyour back--\"\n\nBut Caesar wrathfully commanded him to be silent, and Alexander quietly\nwent on: \"You can threaten, and you will array all your slanderous arts\nagainst us, I know you. But here sits a sovereign who protects the\ninnocent--and I and mine are innocent. He will set his heel on your head\nwhen he knows you--the curse of this city--for the adder that you are! He\nis deceiving you now in small things, great Caesar, and later he will\ndeceive you in greater ones. Listen now how he has lied to you. He says\nhe discovered a caricature of your illustrious person in the guise of a\nsoldier. Why, then, did he not bring it away from the place where it\ncould only excite disaffection, and might even mislead those who should\nsee it into the belief that your noble person was that of a dwarf? The\nanswer is self-evident. He left it to betray others into further mockery,\nto bring them to ruin.\"\n\nCaesar had listened with approval, and now sternly asked the Egyptian:\n\n\"Did you see the image?\"\n\n\"In the Elephant tavern!\" yelled the man.\n\nBut Alexander shook his head doubtfully, and begged permission to ask the\nEgyptian a question. This was granted, and the artist inquired whether\nthe soldier stood alone.\n\n\"So far as I remember, yes,\" replied Zminis, almost beside himself.\n\n\"Then your memory is as false as your soul!\" Alexander shouted in his\nface, \"for there was another figure by the soldier's side. The clay,\nstill wet, clung to the same board as the figure of the soldier, modeled\nby the same hand. No, no, my crafty fellow, you will not catch the\nworkman; for, being warned, he is already on the high-seas.\"\n\n\"It is false!\" shrieked Zminis.\n\n\"That remains to be proved,\" said Alexander, scornfully.--\"Allow me now,\ngreat Caesar, to show you the figures. They have been brought by my\norders, and are in the anteroom-carefully covered up, of course, for the\nfewer the persons who see them the better.\"\n\nCaracalla nodded his consent, and Alexander hurried away; the despot\nheaping abuse on Zminis, and demanding why he had not at once had the\nimages removed. The Egyptian now confessed that he had only heard of the\ncaricature from a friend, and declared that if he had seen it he should\nhave destroyed it on the spot. Macrinus here tried to excuse the spy, by\nremarking that this zealous official had only tried to set his services\nin a favorable light. The falsehood could not be approved, but was\nexcusable. But he had scarcely finished speaking, when his opponent, the\npraetor, Lucius Priscillianus, observed, with a gravity he but rarely\ndisplayed:\n\n\"I should have thought that it was the first duty of the man who ought to\nbe Caesar's mainstay and representative here, to let his sovereign hear\nnothing but the undistorted truth. Nothing, it seems to me, can be less\nexcusable than a lie told to divine Caesar's face!\"\n\nA few courtiers, who were out of the prefect's favor, as well as the\nhigh-priest of Serapis, agreed with the speaker. Caracalla, however, paid\nno heed to them, but sat with his eyes fixed on the door, deeply wounded\nin his vanity by the mere existence of such a caricature.\n\nHe had not long to wait. But when the wrapper was taken off the clay\nfigures, he uttered a low snarl, and his flushed face turned pale. Sounds\nof indignation broke from the bystanders; the blood rose to his cheeks\nagain, and, shaking his fist, he muttered unintelligible threats, while\nhis eyes wandered again and again to the caricatures. They attracted his\nattention more than all else, and as in an April day the sky is\nalternately dark and bright, so red and white alternated in his face.\nThen, while Alexander replied to a few questions, and assured him that\nthe host of the \"Elephant\" had been very angry, and had gladly handed\nthem over to him to be destroyed, Caracalla seemed to become accustomed\nto them, for he gazed at them more calmly, and tried to affect\nindifference. He inquired of Philostratus, as though he wished to be\ninformed, whether he did not think that the artist who had modeled these\nfigures must be a very clever follow; and when the philosopher assented\nconditionally, he declared that he saw some resemblance to himself--in\nthe features of the apple-dealer. And then he pointed to his own straight\nlegs, only slightly disfigured by an injury to the ankle, to show how\nshamefully unfair it was to compare them with the lower limbs of a\nmisshapen dwarf. Finally, the figure of the apple-dealer--a hideous pygmy\nform, with the head of an old man, like enough to his own--roused his\ncuriosity. What was the point of this image? What peculiarity was it\nintended to satirize? The basket which hung about the neck of the figure\nwas full of fruit, and the object he held in his hand might be an apple,\nor might be anything else.\n\nWith eager and constrained cheerfulness, he inquired the opinion of his\n\"friends,\" treating as sheer flattery a suggestion from his favorite,\nTheocritus, that this was not an apple-dealer, but a human figure, who,\nthough but a dwarf in comparison with the gods, nevertheless endowed the\nworld with the gifts of the immortals.\n\nAlexander and Philostratus could offer no explanation; but when the\nproconsul, Julius Paulinus, observed that the figure was offering the\napples for money, as Caesar offered the Roman citizenship to the\nprovincials, he knew for what, Caracalla nodded agreement.\n\nHe then provisionally appointed Aristides to the coveted office. The\nEgyptian should be informed as to his fate. When the prefect was about to\nremove the figures, Caesar hastily forbade it, and ordered the bystanders\nto withdraw. Alexander alone was commanded to remain. As soon as they\nwere together, Caesar sprang up and vehemently demanded to know what news\nhe had brought. But the young man hesitated to begin his report.\nCaracalla, of his own accord, pledged his word once more to keep his\noath, and then Alexander assured him that he knew no more than Caesar who\nwere the authors of the epigrams which he had picked up here and there;\nand, though the satire they contained was venomous in some cases, still\nhe, the sovereign of the world, stood so high that he could laugh them to\nscorn, as Socrates had laughed when Aristophanes placed him on the stage.\n\nCaesar declared that he scorned these flies, but that their buzzing\nannoyed him.\n\nAlexander rejoiced at this, and only expressed his regret that most of\nthe epigrams he had collected turned on the death of Caesar's brother\nGeta. He knew now that it was rash to condemn a deed which--\n\nHere Caesar interrupted him, for he could not long remain quiet, saying\nsternly:\n\n\"The deed was needful, not for me, but for the empire, which is dearer to\nme than father, mother, or a hundred brothers, and a thousand times\ndearer than men's opinions. Let me hear in what form the witty natives of\nthis city express their disapproval.\"\n\nThis sounded so dignified and gracious that Alexander ventured to repeat\na distich which he had heard at the public baths, whither he had first\ndirected his steps. It did not, however, refer to the murder of Geta, but\nto the mantle-like garment to which Caesar owed the nickname of\nCaracalla. It ran thus:\n\n     \"Why should my lord Caracalla affect a garment so ample?\n     'Tis that the deeds are many of evil he needs to conceal.\"\n\nAt this Caesar laughed, saying: \"Who is there that has nothing to\nconceal? The lines are not amiss. Hand me your tablets; if the others are\nno worse--\"\n\n\"But they are,\" Alexander exclaimed, anxiously, and I only regret that I\nshould be the instrument of your tormenting yourself--\"\n\n\"Tormenting?\" echoed Caesar, disdainfully. \"The verses amuse me, and I\nfind them most edifying. That is all. Hand me the tablets.\"\n\nThe command was so positive, that Alexander drew out the little diptych,\nwith the remark that painters wrote badly, and that what he had noted\ndown was only intended to aid his memory. The idea that Caesar should\nhear a few home-truths through him had struck him as pleasant, but now\nthe greatness of the risk was clear to him. He glanced at the scrawled\ncharacters, and it occurred to him that he had intended to change the\nword dwarf in one line to Caesar, and to keep the third and most\ntrenchant epigram from the emperor. The fourth and last was very\ninnocent, and he had meant to read it last, to mollify him. So he did not\nwish to show the tablets. But, as he was about to take them back,\nCaracalla snatched them from his hand and read with some difficulty:\n\n          \"Fraternal love was once esteemed\n          A virtue even in the great,\n\n          And Philadelphos then was deemed\n          A name to grace a potentate.\n          But now the dwarf upon the throne,\n          By murder of his mother's son,\n          As Misadelphos must be known.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" murmured Caesar, with a pale face, and then he went on in a\nlow, sullen tone: \"Always the same story--my brother, and my small\nstature. In this town they follow the example of the barbarians, it would\nseem, who choose the tallest and broadest of their race to be king. If\nthe third epigram has nothing else in it, the shallow wit of your\nfellow-citizens is simply tedious.--Now, what have we next? Trochaics!\nHardly anything new, I fear!--There is the water-jar. I will drink; fill\nthe cup.\" But Alexander did not immediately obey the command so hastily\ngiven; assuring Caesar that he could not possibly read the writing, he\nwas about to take up the tablets. But Caesar laid his hand on them, and\nsaid, imperiously: \"Drink! Give me the cup.\"\n\nHe fixed his eyes on the wax, and with difficulty deciphered the clumsy\nscrawl in which Alexander had noted down the following lines, which he\nhad heard at the \"Elephant\"\n\n       \"Since on earth our days are numbered,\n        Ask me not what deeds of horror\n        Stain the hands of fell Tarautas.\n        Ask me of his noble actions,\n        And with one short word I answer,\n        'None!'-replying to your question\n        With no waste of precious hours.\"\n\nAlexander meanwhile had done Caracalla's bidding, and when he had\nreplaced the jar on its stand and returned to Caesar, he was horrified;\nfor the emperor's head and arms were shaking and struggling to and fro,\nand at his feet lay the two halves of the wax tablets which he had torn\napart when the convulsion came on. He foamed at the mouth, with low\nmoans, and, before Alexander could prevent him, racked with pain and\nseeking for some support, he had set his teeth in the arm of the seat off\nwhich he was slipping. Greatly shocked, and full of sincere pity,\nAlexander tried to raise him; but the lion, who perhaps suspected the\nartist of having been the cause of this sudden attack, rose on his feet\nwith a roar, and the young man would have had no chance of his life if\nthe beast had not happily been chained down after his meal. With much\npresence of mind, Alexander sprang behind the chair and dragged it, with\nthe unconscious man who served him as a shield, away from the angry\nbrute.\n\nGalen had urged Caesar to avoid excess in wine and violent emotions, and\nthe wisdom of the warning was sufficiently proved by the attack which had\nseized him with such fearful violence, just when Caracalla had neglected\nit in both particulars. Alexander had to exert all the strength of his\nmuscles, practised in the wrestling-school, to hold the sufferer on his\nseat, for his strength, which was not small, was doubled by the demons of\nepilepsy. In an instant the whole Court had rushed to the spot on hearing\nthe lion's roar of rage, which grew louder and louder, and could be heard\nat no small distance, and then Alexander's shout for help. But the\nprivate physician and Epagathos, the chamberlain, would allow no one to\nenter the room; only old Adventus, who was half blind, was permitted to\nassist them in succoring the sufferer. He had been raised by Caracalla\nfrom the humble office of letter-carrier to the highest dignities and the\noffice of his private chamberlain; but the leech availed himself by\npreference of the assistance of this experienced and quiet man, and\nbetween them they soon brought Caesar to his senses. Caesar then lay pale\nand exhausted on a couch which had hastily been arranged, his eyes fixed\non vacancy, scarcely able to move a finger. Alexander held his trembling\nhand, and when the physician, a stout man of middle age, took the\nartist's place and bade him retire, Caracalla, in a low voice, desired\nhim to remain.\n\nAs soon as Caesar's suspended faculties were fully awake again, he turned\nto the cause of his attack. With a look of pain and entreaty he desired\nAlexander to give him the tablets once more; but the artist assured\nhim--and Caracalla seemed not sorry to believe--that he had crushed the\nwax in his convulsion. The sick man himself no doubt felt that such food\nwas too strong for him. After he had remained staring at nothing in\nsilence for some time, he began again to speak of the gibes of the\nAlexandrians. Surrounded as he was by servile favorites, whose superior\nhe was in gifts and intellect, what had here come under his notice seemed\nto interest him above measure.\n\nHe desired to know where and from whom the painter had got these\nepigrams. But again Alexander declared that he did not know the names of\nthe authors; that he had found one at the public baths, the second in a\ntavern, and the third at a hairdresser's shop. Caesar looked sadly at the\nyouth's abundant brown curls which had been freshly oiled, and said:\n\"Hair is like the other good gifts of life. It remains fine only with the\nhealthy. You, happy rascal, hardly know what sickness means!\" Then again\nhe sat staring in silence, till he suddenly started up and asked\nAlexander, as Philostratus had yesterday asked Melissa:\n\n\"Do you and your sister belong to the Christians?\"\n\nWhen he vehemently denied it, Caracalla went on: \"And yet these epigrams\nshow plainly enough how the Alexandrians feel toward me. Melissa, too, is\na daughter of this town, and when I remember that she could bring herself\nto pray for me, then--My nurse, who was the best of women, was a\nChristian. I learned from her the doctrine of loving our enemies and\npraying for those who despitefully treat us. I always regarded it as\nimpossible; but now--your sister--What I was saying just now about the\nhair and good health reminds me of another speech of the Crucified one\nwhich my nurse often repeated--how long ago!--'To him that hath shall be\ngiven, and from him that hath not shall be taken even that which he\nhath.' How cruel and yet how wise, how terribly striking and true! A\nhealthy man! What more can he want, and what abundant gifts that best of\nall gifts will gain for him! If he is visited by infirmity--only look at\nme!--how much misery I have suffered from this curse, terrible enough in\nitself, and tainting everything with the bitterness of wormwood!\"\n\nHe laughed softly but scornfully, and continued: \"But I! I am the\nsovereign of the universe. I have so much--oh yes, so much!--and for that\nreason more shall be given to me, and my wildest wishes shall be\nsatisfied!\"\n\n\"Yes, my liege!\" interrupted Alexander, eagerly. \"After pain comes\npleasure!\n\n       'Live, love, drink, and rejoice,\n        And wreath thyself with me!'\n\nsings Sappho, and it is not a bad plan to follow Anakreon's advice, even\nat the present day. Think of the short suffering which now and then\nembitters for you the sweet cup of life, as being the ring of Polykrates,\nwith which you appease the envy of the gods who have given you so much.\nIn your place, eternal gods! how I would enjoy the happy hours of health,\nand show the immortals and mortals alike how much true and real pleasure\npower and riches can procure!\"\n\nThe emperor's weary eyes brightened, and with the cry--\n\n\"So will I! I am still young, and I have the power!\" he started suddenly\nto his feet. But he sank back again directly on the couch, shaking his\nhead as if to say, \"There, you see what a state I am in!\" The fate of\nthis unhappy man touched Alexander's heart even more deeply than before.\n\nHis youthful mind, which easily received fresh impressions, forgot the\ndeeds of blood and shame which stained the soul of this pitiable wretch.\nHis artistic mind was accustomed to apprehend what he saw with his whole\nsoul and without secondary considerations, as if it stood there to be\npainted; and the man that lay before him was to him at that moment only a\nvictim whom a cruel fate had defrauded of the greatest pleasures in life.\nHe also remembered how shamelessly he and others had mocked at Caesar.\nPerhaps Caracalla had really spilled most of the blood to serve the\nwelfare and unity of the empire.\n\nHe, Alexander, was not his judge.\n\nIf Glaukias had seen the object of his derision lying thus, it certainly\nwould never have occurred to him to represent him as a pygmy monster. No,\nno! Alexander's artistic eye knew the difference well between the\nbeautiful and the ugly--and the exhausted man lying on the divan, was no\nhideous dwarf. A dreamy languor spread over his nobly chiselled features\nAn expression of pain but rarely passed over them, and Caesar's whole\nappearance reminded the painter of the fine Ephesian gladiator hallistos\nas he lay on the sand, severely wounded after his last fight, awaiting\nthe death-stroke. He would have liked to hasten home and fetch his\nmaterials to paint the likeness of the misjudged man, and to show it to\nthe scoffers.\n\nHe stood silent, absorbed in studying the quiet face so finely formed by\nNature and so pathetic to look at. No thoroughly depraved miscreant could\nlook like that. Yet it was like a peaceful sea: when the hurricane should\nbreak loose, what a boiling whirl of gray, hissing, tossing, foaming\nwaves would disfigure the peaceful, smooth, glittering surface!\n\nAnd suddenly the emperor's features began to show signs of animation. His\neye, but now so dull, shone more brightly, and he cried out, as if the\nlong silence had scarcely broken the thread of his ideas, but in a still\nhusky voice:\n\n\"I should like to get up and go with you, but I am still too weak. Do you\ngo now, my friend, and bring me back fresh news.\"\n\nAlexander then begged him to consider how dangerous every excitement\nwould be for him; yet Caracalla exclaimed, eagerly:\n\n\"It will strengthen me and dome good! Everything that surrounds me is so\nhollow, so insipid, so contemptible--what I hear is so small. A strong,\nhighly spiced word, even if it is sharp, refreshes me--When you have\nfinished a picture, do you like to hear nothing but how well your friends\ncan flatter?\"\n\nThe artist thought he understood Caesar. True to his nature, always\nhoping for the best, he thought that, as the severe judgment of the\nenvious had often done him (Alexander) good, so the sharp satire of the\nAlexandrians would lead Caracalla to introspection and greater\nmoderation; he only resolved to tell the sufferer nothing further that\nwas merely insulting.\n\nWhen he bade him farewell, Caracalla glanced up at him with such a look\nof pain that the artist longed to give him his hand, and speak to him\nwith real affection. The tormenting headache which followed each\nconvulsion had again come on, and Caesar submitted without resistance to\nwhat the physician prescribed.\n\nAlexander asked old Adventus at the door if he did not think that the\nterrible attack had been brought on by annoyance at the Alexandrians'\nsatire, and if it would not be advisable in the future not to allow such\nthings to reach the emperor's ear; but the man, looking at him in\nsurprise with his half-blind eyes, replied with a brutal want of sympathy\nthat disgusted the youth: \"Drinking brought on the attack. What makes him\nill are stronger things than words. If you yourself, young man, do not\nsuffer for Alexandrian wit, it will certainly not hurt Caesar!\"\n\nAlexander turned his back indignantly on the chamberlain, and he became\nso absorbed in wondering how it was possible that the emperor, who was\ncultivated and appreciated what was beautiful, could have dragged out of\nthe dust and kept near him two such miserable 'creatures as Theocritus\nand this old man, that Philostratus, who met him in the next room, had\nalmost to shout at him.\n\nPhilostratus informed him that Melissa was staying with the chief\npriest's wife; but just as he was about to inquire curiously what had\npassed between the audacious painter and Caesar--for even Philostratus\nwas a courtier--he was called away to Caracalla.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nIn one of the few rooms of his vast palace which the chief priest had\nreserved for the accommodation of the members of his own household, the\nyouth was received by Melissa, Timotheus's wife Euryale, and the lady\nBerenike.\n\nThis lady was pleased to see the artist again to whom she was indebted\nfor the portrait of her daughter. She had it now in her possession once\nmore, for Philostratus had had it taken back to her house while the\nemperor was at his meal.\n\nShe rested on a sofa, quite worn out. She had passed through hours of\ntorment; for her concern about Melissa, who had become very dear to her,\nhad given her much more anxiety than even the loss of her beloved\npicture. Besides, the young girl was to her for the moment the\nrepresentative of her sex, and the danger of seeing this pure, sweet\ncreature exposed to the will of a licentious tyrant drove her out of her\nsenses, and her lively fancy had resulted in violent outbreaks of\nindignation. She now proposed all sorts of schemes, of which Euryale, the\nmore prudent but not less warm-hearted wife of the chief priest,\ndemonstrated the impossibility.\n\nLike Berenike, a tender-hearted woman, whose smooth, brown hair had\nalready begun to turn gray, she had also lost her only child. But years\nhad passed since then, and she had accustomed herself to seek comfort in\nthe care of the sick and wretched. She was regarded all over the city as\nthe providence of all in need, whatever their condition and faith. Where\ncharity was to be bestowed on a large scale--if hospitals or almshouses\nwere to be erected or endowed--she was appealed to first, and if she\npromised her quiet but valuable assistance, the result was at once\nsecured. For, besides her own and her husband's great riches, this lady\nof high position, who was honored by all, had the purses of all the\nheathens and Christians in the city at her disposal; both alike\nconsidered that she belonged to them; and the latter, although she only\nheld with them in secret, had the better right.\n\nAt home, the society of distinguished men afforded her the greatest\npleasure. Her husband allowed her complete freedom; although he, as the\nchief Greek priest of the city, would have preferred that she should not\nalso have had among her most constant visitors so many learned\nChristians. But the god whom he served united in his own person most of\nthe others; and the mysteries which he superintended taught that even\nSerapis was only a symbolical embodiment of the universal soul,\nfulfilling its eternal existence by perpetually re-creating itself under\nconstant and immutable laws. A portion of that soul, which dwelt in all\ncreated things, had its abode in each human being, to return to the\ndivine source after death. Timotheus firmly clung to this pantheist\ncreed; still, he held the honorable post of head of the Museum--in the\nplace of the Roman priest of Alexander, a man of less learning--and was\nfamiliar not only with the tenets of his heathen predecessors, but with\nthe sacred scriptures of the Jews and Christians; and in the ethics of\nthese last he found much which met his views.\n\nHe, who, at the Museum, was counted among the skeptics, liked biblical\nsentences, such as \"All is vanity,\" and \"We know but in part.\" The\ncommand to love your neighbor, to seek peace, to thirst after truth, the\ninjunction to judge the tree by its fruit, and to fear more for the soul\nthan the body, were quite to his mind.\n\nHe was so rich that the gifts of the visitors to the temple, which his\npredecessors had insisted on, were of no importance to him. Thus he\nmingled a great deal that was Christian with the faith of which he was\nchief minister and guardian. Only the conviction with which men like\nClemens and Origen, who were friends of his wife, declared that the\ndoctrine to which they adhered was the only right one--was, in fact, the\ntruth itself--seemed to the skeptic \"foolishness.\"\n\nHis wife's friends had converted his brother Zeno to Christianity; but he\nhad no need to fear lest Euryale should follow them. She loved him too\nmuch, and was too quiet and sensible, to be baptized, and thus expose\nhim, the heathen high-priest, to the danger of being deprived of the\npower which she knew to be necessary to his happiness.\n\nEvery Alexandrian was free to belong to any other than the heathen\ncreeds, and no one had taken offence at his skeptical writings. When\nEuryale acted like the best of the Christian women, he could not take it\namiss; and he would have scorned to blame her preference for the teaching\nof the crucified God.\n\nAs to Caesar's character he had not yet made up his mind.\n\nHe had expected to find him a half-crazy villain, and his rage after he\nhad heard the epigram against himself, left with the rope, had\nstrengthened the chief priest's opinion. But since then he had heard of\nmuch that was good in him; and Timotheus felt sure that his judgment was\nunbiased by the high esteem Caesar showed to him, while he treated others\nlike slaves. His improved opinion had been raised by the intercourse he\nhad held with Caesar. The much-abused man had on these occasions shown\nthat he was not only well educated but also thoughtful; and yesterday\nevening, before Caracalla had gone to rest exhausted, the high-priest,\nwith his wise experience, had received exactly the same impressions as\nthe easily influenced artist; for Caesar had bewailed his sad fate in\npathetic terms, and confessed himself indeed deeply guilty, but declared\nthat he had intended to act for the best, had sacrificed fortune, peace\nof mind, and comfort to the welfare of the state. His keen eye had marked\nthe evils of the time, and he had acknowledged that his efforts to\nextirpate the old maladies in order to make room for better things had\nbeen a failure, and that, instead of earning thanks, he had drawn down on\nhimself the hatred of millions.\n\nIt was for this reason that Timotheus, on rejoining his household, had\nassured them that, as he thought over this interview, he expected\nsomething good--yes, perhaps the best--from the young criminal in the\npurple.\n\nBut the lady Berenike had declared with scornful decision that Caracalla\nhad deceived her brother-in-law; and when Alexander likewise tried to say\na word for the sufferer, she got into a rage and accused him of foolish\ncredulity.\n\nMelissa, who had already spoken in favor of the emperor, agreed, in spite\nof the matron, with her brother. Yes, Caracalla had sinned greatly, and\nhis conviction that Alexander's soul lived in him and Roxana's in her was\nfoolish enough; but the marvelous likeness to her of the portrait on the\ngem would astonish any one. That good and noble impulses stirred his soul\nshe was certain. But Berenike only shrugged her shoulders contemptuously;\nand when the chief priest remarked that yesterday evening Caracalla had\nin fact not been in a position to attend a feast, and that a portion, at\nleast, of his other offenses might certainly be put down to the charge of\nhis severe suffering, the lady exclaimed:\n\n\"And is it also his bodily condition that causes him to fill a house of\nmourning with festive uproar? I am indifferent as to what makes him a\nmalefactor. For my part, I would sooner abandon this dear child to the\ncare of a criminal than to that of a madman.\"\n\nBut the chief priest and the brother and sister both declared Caesar's\nmind to be as sound and sharp as any one's; and Timotheus asked who, at\nthe present time, was without superstition, and the desire of\ncommunicating with departed souls. Still the matron would not allow\nherself to be persuaded, and after the chief priest had been called away\nto the service of the god, Euryale reproved her sister-in-law for her too\ngreat zeal. When the wisdom of hoary old age and impetuous youth agree in\none opinion, it is commonly the right one.\n\n\"And I maintain,\" cried Berenike--and her large eyes flamed angrily--\"it\nis criminal to ignore my advice. Fate has robbed you as well as me of a\ndear child. I will not also lose this one, who is as precious to me as a\ndaughter.\"\n\nMelissa bent over the lady's hands and kissed them gratefully, exclaiming\nwith tearful eyes, \"But he has been very good to me, and has assured me-\"\n\n\"Assured!\" repeated Berenike disdainfully. She then drew the young girl\nimpetuously toward her, kissed her on her forehead, placed her hands on\nher head as if to protect her, and turned to the artist as she continued:\n\n\"I stand by what I recommended before. This very night Melissa must get\nfar away from here. You, Alexander, must accompany her. My own ship, the\n'Berenike and Korinna'--Seleukus gave it to me and my daughter--is ready\nto start. My sister lives in Carthage. Her husband, the first man in the\ncity, is my friend. You will find protection and shelter in their house.\"\n\n\"And how about our father and Philip?\" interrupted Alexander. \"If we\nfollow your advice, it is certain death to them!\"\n\nThe matron laughed scornfully.\n\n\"And that is what you expect from this good, this great and noble\nsovereign!\"\n\n\"He proves himself full of favors to his friends,\" answered Alexander,\n\"but woe betide those who offend him!\"\n\nBerenike looked thoughtfully at the ground, and added, more quietly:\n\n\"Then try first to release your people, and afterward embark on my ship.\nIt shall be ready for you. Melissa will use it, I know.--My veil, child!\nThe chariot waits for me at the Temple of Isis.--You will accompany me\nthere, Alexander, and we will drive to the harbor. There I will introduce\nyou to the captain. It will be wise. Your father and brother are dearer\nto you than your sister; she is more important to me. If only I could go\naway myself--away from here, from the desolate house, and take her with\nme!\"\n\nAnd she raised her arm, as if she would throw a stone into the distance.\n\nShe impetuously embraced the young girl, took leave of her sister-in-law,\nand left the room with Alexander.\n\nDirectly Euryale was alone with Melissa, she comforted the girl in her\nkind, composed manner; for the unhappy matron's gloomy presentiments had\nfilled Melissa with fresh anxieties.\n\nAnd what had she not gone through during the day!\n\nSoon after her perilous interview with Caracalla, Timotheus, with the\nchief of the astrologers from the Serapeum, and the emperor's astronomer,\nhad come to her, to ask her on what day and at what hour she was born.\nThey also inquired concerning the birthdays of her parents, and other\nevents of her life. Timotheus had informed her that the emperor had\nordered them to cast her nativity.\n\nSoon after dinner she had gone, accompanied by the lady Berenike, who had\nfound her at the chief priest's house, to visit her lover in the\nsick-rooms of the Serapeum. Thankful and happy, she had found him with\nfully recovered consciousness, but the physician and the freedman\nAndreas, whom she met at the door of the chamber, had impressed on her\nthe importance of avoiding all excitement. So it had not been possible\nfor her to tell him what had happened to her people, or of the perilous\nstep she had taken in order to save them. But Diodoros had talked of\ntheir wedding, and Andreas could confirm the fact that Polybius wished to\nsee it celebrated as soon as possible.\n\nSeveral pleasant subjects were discussed; but between whiles Melissa had\nto dissemble and give evasive answers to Diodoros's questions as to\nwhether she had already arranged with her brother and friends who should\nbe the youths and maidens to form the wedding procession, and sing the\nhymeneal song.\n\nAs the two whispered to one another and looked tenderly at each\nother--for Diodoros had insisted on her allowing him to kiss not only her\nhands but also her sweet red lips--Berenike had pictured her dead\ndaughter in Melissa's place. What a couple they would have been! How\nproudly and gladly she would have led them to the lovely villa at\nKanopus, which her husband and she had rebuilt and decorated with the\nidea that some day Korinna, her husband, and--if the gods should grant\nit--their children, might inhabit it! But even Melissa and Diodoros made\na fine couple, and she tried with all her heart not to grudge her all the\nhappiness that she had wished for her own child.\n\nWhen it was time to depart, she joined the hands of the betrothed pair,\nand called down a blessing from the gods.\n\nDiodoros accepted this gratefully.\n\nHe only knew that this majestic lady had made Melissa's acquaintance\nthrough Alexander, and had won her affection, and he encouraged the\nimpression that this woman, whose Juno-like beauty haunted him, had\nvisited him on his bed of sickness in the place of his long-lost mother.\n\nOutside the sick-room Andreas again met Melissa, and, after she had told\nhim of her visit to the emperor, he impressed on her eagerly on no\naccount to obey the tyrant's call again. Then he had promised to hide her\nsecurely, either on Zeno's estate or else in the house of another friend,\nwhich was difficult of access. When Dame Berenike had again, and with\nparticular eagerness, suggested her ship, Andreas had exclaimed:\n\n\"In the garden, on the ship, under the earth--only not back to Caesar!\"\n\nThe last question of the freedman's, as to whether she had meditated\nfurther on his discourse, had reminded her of the sentence, \"The fullness\nof the time is come\"; and afterward the thought occurred to her, again\nand again, that in the course of the next few hours some decisive event\nwould happen to her, \"fulfilling the time,\" as Andreas expressed it.\n\nWhen, therefore, somewhat later, she was alone with the chief priest's\nwife, who had concluded her comforting, pious exhortations, Melissa asked\nthe lady Euryale whether she had ever heard the sentence, \"When the\nfullness of the time is come.\"\n\nAt this the lady cried, gazing at the girl with surprised inquiry:\n\n\"Are you, then, after all, connected with the Christians?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" answered the young girl, firmly. \"I heard it\naccidentally, and Andreas, Polybius's freedman, explained it to me.\"\n\n\"A good interpreter,\" replied the elder lady. \"I am only an ignorant\nwoman; yet, child, even I have experienced that a day, an hour, comes to\nevery man in the course of his life in which he afterward sees that the\ntime was fulfilled. As the drops become mingled with the stream, so at\nthat moment the things we have done and thought unite to carry us on a\nnew current, either to salvation or perdition. Any moment may bring the\ncrisis; for that reason the Christians are right when they call on one\nanother to watch. You also must keep your eyes open. When the time--who\nknows how soon?--is fulfilled for you, it will determine the good or evil\nof your whole life.\"\n\n\"An inward voice tells me that also,\" answered Melissa, pressing her\nhands on her panting bosom. \"Just feel how my heart beats!\"\n\nEuryale, smiling, complied with this wish, and as she did so she\nshuddered. How pure and lovable was this young creature; and Melissa\nlooked to her like a lamb that stood ready to hasten trustfully to meet\nthe wolf!\n\nAt last she led her guest into the room where supper was prepared.\n\nThe master of the house would not be able to share it, and while the two\nwomen sat opposite one another, saying little, and scarcely touching\neither food or drink, Philostratus was announced.\n\nHe came as messenger from Caracalla, who wished to speak to Melissa.\n\n\"At this hour? Never, never! It is impossible!\" exclaimed Euryale, who\nwas usually so calm; but Philostratus declared, nevertheless, that denial\nwas useless. The emperor was suffering particularly severely, and begged\nto remind Melissa of her promise to serve him gladly if he required her.\nHer presence, he assured Euryale, would do the sick man good, and he\nguaranteed that, so long as Caesar was tormented by this unbearable pain,\nthe young woman had nothing to fear.\n\nMelissa, who had risen from her seat when the philosopher had entered,\nexclaimed:\n\n\"I am not afraid, and will go with you gladly--\"\n\n\"Quite right, child,\" answered Philostratus, affectionately. Euryale,\nhowever, found it difficult to keep back her tears while she stroked the\ngirl's hair and arranged the folds of her garment. When at last she said\ngood-by to Melissa and was embracing her, she was reminded of the\nfarewell she had taken, many years ago, of a Christian friend before she\nwas led away by the lictors to martyrdom in the circus. Finally, she\nwhispered something in the philosopher's ear, and received from him the\npromise to return with Melissa as soon as possible.\n\nPhilostratus was, in fact, quite easy. Just before, Caracalla's helpless\nglance had met his sympathizing gaze, and the suffering Caesar had said\nnothing to him but:\n\n\"O Philostratus, I am in such pain!\" and these words still rang in the\nears of this warm-hearted man.\n\nWhile he was endeavoring to comfort the emperor, Caesar's eyes had fallen\non the gem, and he asked to see it. He gazed at it attentively for some\ntime, and when he returned it to the philosopher he had ordered him to\nfetch the prototype of Roxana.\n\nClosely enveloped in the veil which Euryale had placed on her head,\nMelissa passed from room to room, keeping near to the philosopher.\n\nWherever she appeared she heard murmuring and whispering that troubled\nher, and tittering followed her from several of the rooms as she left\nthem; even from the large hall where the emperor's friends awaited his\norders in numbers, she heard a loud laugh that frightened and annoyed\nher.\n\nShe no longer felt as unconstrained as she had been that morning when she\nhad come before Caesar. She knew that she would have to be on her guard;\nthat anything, even the worst, might be expected from him. But as\nPhilostratus described to her, on the way, how terribly the unfortunate\nman suffered, her tender heart was again drawn to him, to whom--as she\nnow felt--she was bound by an indefinable tie. She, if any one, as she\nrepeated to herself, was able to help him; and her desire to put the\ntruth of this conviction to the proof--for she could only regard it as\ntoo amazing to be grounded in fact--was seconded by the less\ndisinterested hope that, while attending on the sufferer, she might find\nan opportunity of effecting the release of her father and brother.\n\nPhilostratus went on to announce her arrival, and she, while waiting,\ntried to pray to the manes of her mother; but, before she could\nsufficiently collect her thoughts, the door opened. Philostratus silently\nbeckoned to her, and she stepped into the tablinum, which was but dimly\nlighted by a few lamps.\n\nCaracalla was still resting here; for every movement increased the pain\nthat tormented him.\n\nHow quiet it was! She thought she could hear her own heart beating.\n\nPhilostratus remained standing by the door, but she went on tiptoe toward\nthe couch, fearing her light footsteps might disturb the emperor. Yet\nbefore she had reached the divan she stopped still, and then she heard\nthe plaintive rattle in the sufferer's throat, and from the background of\nthe room the easy breathing of the burly physician and of old Adventus,\nboth of whom had fallen asleep; and then a peculiar tapping. The lion\nbeat the floor with his tail with pleasure at recognizing her.\n\nThis noise attracted the invalid's attention, and when he opened his\nclosed eyes and saw Melissa, who was anxiously watching all his\nmovements, he called to her lightly with his hand on his brow:\n\n\"The animal has a good memory, and greets you in my name. You were sure\nto come--, I knew it!\"\n\nThe young girl stepped nearer to him, and answered, kindly, \"Since you\nneeded me, I gladly followed Philostratus.\"\n\n\"Because I needed you?\" asked the emperor.\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied, \"because you require nursing.\"\n\n\"Then, to keep you, I shall wish to be ill often,\" he answered, quickly;\nbut he added, sadly, \"only not so dreadfully ill as I have been to-day.\"\n\nOne could hear how laborious talking was to him, and the few words he had\nsought and found, in order to say something kind to Melissa, had so hurt\nhis shattered nerves and head that he sank back, gasping, on the\ncushions.\n\nThen for some time all was quiet, until Caracalla took his hand from his\nforehead and continued, as if in excuse:\n\n\"No one seems to know what it is. And if I talk ever so softly, every\nword vibrates through my brain.\"\n\n\"Then you must not speak,\" interrupted Melissa, eagerly. \"If you want\nanything, only make signs. I shall understand you without words, and the\nquieter it is here the better.\"\n\n\"No, no; you must speak,\" begged the invalid. \"When the others talk, they\nmake the beating in my head ten times worse, and excite me; but I like to\nhear your voice.\"\n\n\"The beating?\" interrupted Melissa, in whom this word awoke old memories.\n\"Perhaps you feel as if a hammer was hitting you over the left eye?\n\n\"If you move rapidly, does it not pierce your skull, and do you not feel\nas sick as if you were on the rocking sea?\"\n\n\"Then you also know this torment?\" asked Caracalla, surprised; but she\nanswered, quietly, that her mother had suffered several times from\nsimilar headaches, and had described them to her.\n\nCaesar sank back again on the pillows, moved his dry lips, and glanced\ntoward the drink which Galen had prescribed for him; and Melissa, who\nalmost as a child had long nursed a dear invalid, guessed what he wanted,\nbrought him the goblet, and gave him a draught.\n\nCaracalla rewarded her with a grateful look. But the physic only seemed\nto increase the pain. He lay there panting and motionless, until, trying\nto find a new position, he groaned, lightly:\n\n\"It is as if iron was being hammered here. One would think others might\nhear it.\"\n\nAt the same time he seized the girl's hand and placed it on his burning\nbrow.\n\nMelissa felt the pulse in the sufferer's temple throbbing hard and short\nagainst her fingers, as she had her mother's when she laid her cool hand\non her aching forehead; and then, moved by the wish to comfort and heal,\nshe let her right hand rest over the sick man's eyes. As soon as she felt\none hand was hot, she put the other in its place; and it must have\nrelieved the patient, for his moans ceased by degrees, and he finally\nsaid, gratefully:\n\n\"What good that does me! You are--I knew you would help me. It is already\nquite quiet in my brain. Once more your hand, dear girl!\"\n\nMelissa willingly obeyed him, and as he breathed more and more easily,\nshe remembered that her mother's headache had often been relieved when\nshe had placed her hand on her forehead. Caesar, now opening his eyes\nwide, and looking her full in the face, asked why she had not allowed him\nsooner to reap the benefit of this remedy.\n\nMelissa slowly withdrew her hand, and with drooping eyes answered gently:\n\n\"You are the emperor, a man. . . and I. . . . But Caracalla interrupted\nher eagerly, and with a clear voice:\n\n\"Not so, Melissa! Do not you feel, like me, that something else draws us\nto one another, like what binds a man to his wife?-There lies the gem.\nLook at it once again--No, child, no! This resemblance is not mere\naccident. The short-sighted, might call it superstition or a vain\nillusion; I know better. At least a portion of Alexander's soul lives in\nthis breast. A hundred signs--I will tell you about it later--make it a\ncertainty to me. And yesterday morning. . . . I see it all again before\nme. . . . You stood above me, on the left, at a window. . . . I looked\nup; . . . our eyes met, and I felt in the depths of my heart a strange\nemotion. . . . I asked myself, silently, where I had seen that lovely face\nbefore. And the answer rang, you have already often met her; you know\nher!\"\n\n\"My face reminded you of the gem,\" interrupted Melissa, disquieted.\n\n\"No, no,\" continued Caesar. \"It was some thing else. Why had none of my\nmany gems ever reminded me before of living people? Why did your picture,\nI know not how often, recur to my mind? And you? Only recollect what you\nhave done for me. How marvelously we were brought together! And all this\nin the course of a single, short day. And you also. . . . I ask you, by\nall that is holy to you. . . Did you, after you saw me in the court of\nsacrifice, not think of me so often and so vividly that it astonished\nyou?\"\n\n\"You are Caesar,\" answered Melissa, with increasing anxiety.\n\n\"So you thought of my purple robes?\" asked Caracalla, and his face\nclouded over; \"or perhaps only of my power that might be fatal to your\nfamily? I will know. Speak the truth, girl, by the head of your father!\"\n\nThen Melissa poured forth this confession from her oppressed heart:\n\n\"Yes, I could not help remembering you constantly, . . . and I never saw\nyou in purple, but just as you had stood there on the steps; . . . and\nthen--ah! I have told you already how sorry I was for your sufferings. I\nfelt as if . . . but how can I describe it truly?--as if you stood much\nnearer to me than the ruler of the world could to a poor, humble girl. It\nwas . . . eternal gods! . . .\"\n\nShe stopped short; for she suddenly recollected anxiously that this\nconfession might prove fatal to her. The sentence about the time which\nshould be fulfilled for each was ringing in her ears, and it seemed to\nher that she heard for the second time the lady Berenike's warning.\n\nBut Caracalla allowed her no time to think; for he interrupted her,\ngreatly pleased, with the cry:\n\n\"It is true, then! The immortals have wrought as great a miracle in you\nas in me. We both owe them thanks, and I will show them how grateful I\ncan be by rich sacrifices. Our souls, which destiny had already once\nunited, have met again. That portion of the universal soul which of yore\ndwelt in Roxana, and now in you, Melissa, has also vanquished the pain\nwhich has embittered my life. . . You have proved it!--And now . . . it\nis beginning to throb again more violently--now--beloved and restored\none, help me once more!\"\n\nMelissa perceived anxiously how the emperor's face had flushed again\nduring this last vehement speech, and at the same time the pain had again\ncontracted his forehead and eyes. And she obeyed his command, but this\ntime only in shy submission. When she found that he became quieter, and\nthe movement of her hand once more did him good, she recovered her\npresence of mind. She remembered how often the quiet application of her\nhand had helped her mother to sleep.\n\nShe therefore explained to Caracalla, in a low whisper directly he began\nto speak again, that her desire to give him relief would be vain if he\ndid not keep his eyes and lips closed. And Caracalla yielded, while her\nhand moved as lightly over the brow of the terrible man as when years ago\nit had soothed her mother to sleep.\n\nWhen the sufferer, after a little time, murmured, with closed eyes\n\n\"Perhaps I could sleep,\" she felt as if great happiness had befallen her.\n\nShe listened attentively to every breath, and looked as if spell-bound\ninto his face, until she was quite sure that sleep had completely\novercome Caesar.\n\nShe then crept gently on tiptoe to Philostratus, who had looked on in\nsilent surprise at all that had passed between his sovereign and the\ngirl. He, who was always inclined to believe in any miraculous cure, of\nwhich so many had been wrought by his hero Apollonius, thought he had\nactually witnessed one, and gazed with an admiration bordering on awe at\nthe young creature who appeared to him to be a gracious instrument of the\ngods.\n\n\"Let me go now,\" Melissa whispered to her friend. \"He sleeps, and will\nnot wake for some time.\"\n\n\"At your command,\" answered the philosopher, respectfully. At the same\nmoment a loud voice was heard from the next room, which Melissa\nrecognized as her brother Alexander's, who impetuously insisted on his\nright of--being allowed at any time to see the emperor.\n\n\"He will wake him,\" murmured the philosopher, anxiously; but Melissa with\nprompt determination threw her veil over her head and went into the\nadjoining room.\n\nPhilostratus at first heard violent language issuing from the mouth of\nTheocritus and the other courtiers, and the artist's answers were not\nless passionate. Then he recognized Melissa's voice; and when quiet\nsuddenly reigned on that side of the door, the young girl again crossed\nthe threshold.\n\nShe glanced toward Caracalla to see if he still slept, and then, with a\nsigh of relief, beckoned to her friend, and begged him in a whisper to\nescort her past the staring men. Alexander followed them.\n\nAnger and surprise were depicted on his countenance, which was usually so\nhappy. He had come with a report which might very likely induce Caesar to\norder the release of his father and brother, and his heart had stood\nstill with fear and astonishment when the favorite Theocritus had told\nhim in the anteroom, in a way that made the blood rush into his face,\nthat his sister had been for some time endeavoring to comfort the\nsuffering emperor--and it was nearly midnight.\n\nQuite beside himself, he wished to force his way into Caesar's presence,\nbut Melissa had at that moment come out and stood in his way, and had\ndesired him and the noble Romans, in such a decided and commanding tone,\nto lower their voices, that they and her brother were speechless.\n\nWhat had happened to his modest sister during the last few days? Melissa\ngiving him orders which he feebly obeyed! It seemed impossible! But there\nwas something reassuring in her manner. She must certainly have thought\nit right to act thus, and it must have been worthy of her, or she would\nnot have carried her charming head so high, or looked him so freely and\ncalmly in the face.\n\nBut how had she dared to come between him and his duty to his father and\nbrother?\n\nWhile he followed her closely and silently through the imperial rooms,\nthe implicit obedience he had shown her became more and more difficult to\ncomprehend; and when at last they stood in the empty corridor which\ndivided Caesar's quarters from those of the high-priest, and Philostratus\nhad returned to his post at the side of his sovereign, he could hold out\nno longer, and cried to her indignantly:\n\n\"So far, I have followed you like a boy; I do not myself know why. But it\nis not yet too late to turn round; and I ask you, what gave you the right\nto prevent my doing my best for our people?\"\n\n\"Your loud talking, that threatened to wake Caesar,\" she replied,\nseriously. \"His sleeping could alone save me from watching by him the\nwhole night.\"\n\nAlexander then felt sorry he had been so foolishly turbulent, and after\nMelissa had told him in a few words what she had gone through in the last\nfew hours he informed her of what had brought him to visit the emperor so\nlate.\n\nJohannes the lawyer, Berenike's Christian freedman, he began, had visited\ntheir father in prison and had heard the order given to place Heron and\nPhilip as state prisoners and oarsmen on board a galley.\n\nThis had taken place in the afternoon, and the Christian had further\nlearned that the prisoners would be led to the harbor two hours before\nsunset. This was the truth, and yet the infamous Zminis had assured the\nemperor, at noon, that their father and Philip were already far on their\nway to Sardinia. The worthless Egyptian had, then, lied to the emperor;\nand it would most likely cost the scoundrel his neck. But for this, there\nwould have been time enough next day. What had brought him there at so\nlate an hour was the desire to prevent the departure of the galley; for\nJohn had heard, from the Christian harbor-watch that the anchor was not\nyet weighed. The ship could therefore only get out to sea at sunrise; the\nchain that closed the harbor would not be opened till then. If the order\nto stop the galley came much after daybreak, she would certainly be by\nthat time well under way, and their father and Philip might have\nsuccumbed to the hard rowing before a swift trireme could overtake and\nrelease them.\n\nMelissa had listened to this information with mixed feelings. She had\nperhaps precipitated her father and brother into misery in order to save\nherself; for a terrible fate awaited the state-prisoners at the oars. And\nwhat could she do, an ignorant child, who was of so little use?\n\nAndreas had told her that it was the duty of a Christian and of every\ngood man, if his neighbor's welfare were concerned, to sacrifice his own\nfortunes; and for the happiness and lives of those dearest to her--for\nthey, of all others, were her \"neighbors\"--she felt that she could do so.\nPerhaps she might yet succeed in repairing the mischief she had done when\nshe had allowed the emperor to sleep without giving one thought to her\nfather. Instead of waking him, she had misused her new power over her\nbrother, and, by preventing his speaking, had perhaps frustrated the\nrescue of her people.\n\nBut idle lamenting was of as little use here as at any other time; so she\nresolutely drew her veil closer round her head and called to her brother,\n\"Wait here till I return!\"\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" asked Alexander, startled.\n\n\"I am going back to the invalid,\" she explained, decisively.\n\nOn this her brother seized her arm, and, wildly excited, forbade this\nstep in the name of his father.\n\nBut at his vehement shout, \"I will not allow it!\" she struggled to free\nherself, and cried out to him:\n\n\"And you? Did not you, whose life is a thousand times more important than\nmine, of your own free-will go into captivity and to death in order to\nsave our father?\"\n\n\"It was for my sake that he had been robbed of his freedom,\" interrupted\nAlexander; but she added, quickly:\n\n\"And if I had not thought only of myself, the command to release him and\nPhilip would by this time have been at the harbor. I am going.\"\n\nAlexander then took his hand from her arm, and exclaimed, as if urged by\nsome internal force, \"Well, then, go!\"\n\n\"And you,\" continued Melissa, hastily, \"go and seek the lady Euryale. She\nis expecting me. Tell her all, and beg her in my name to go to rest. Also\ntell her I remembered the sentence about the time, which was fulfilled.\n. . . Mark the words. If I am running again into danger, tell her that I do\nit because a voice says to me that it is right. And it is right, believe\nme, Alexander!\"\n\nThe artist drew his sister to him and kissed her; yet she hardly\nunderstood his anxious good wishes; for his voice was choked by emotion.\n\nHe had taken it for granted that he should accompany her as far as the\nemperor's room, but she would not allow it. His reappearance would only\nlead to fresh quarrels.\n\nHe also gave in to this; but he insisted on returning here to wait for\nher.\n\nAfter Melissa had vanished into Caesar's quarters he immediately carried\nout his sister's wish, and told the lady Euryale of all that had\nhappened.\n\nEncouraged by the matron, who was not less shocked than he had been at\nMelissa's daring, he returned to the anteroom, where, at first, greatly\nexcited, he walked up and down, and then sank on a marble seat to wait\nfor his sister. He was frequently overpowered by sleep. The things that\ncast a shadow on his sunny mind vanished from him, and a pleasing dream\nshowed him, instead of the alarming picture which haunted him before\nsleeping, the beautiful Christian Agatha.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThe waiting-room was empty when Melissa crossed it for the second time.\nMost of the emperor's friends had retired to rest or into the city when\nthey had heard that Caesar slept; and the few who had remained behaved\nquietly when she appeared, for Philostratus had told them that the\nemperor held her in high esteem, as the only person who was able to give\nhim comfort in his suffering by her peculiar and wonderful healing power.\n\nIn the tablinum, which had been converted into a sick-room, nothing was\nheard but the breathing and gentle snoring of the sleeping man. Even\nPhilostratus was asleep on an arm-chair at the back of the room.\n\nWhen the philosopher had returned, Caracalla had noticed him, and dozing,\nor perhaps in his dreams, he had ordered him to remain by him. So the\nlearned man felt bound to spend the night there.\n\nEpagathos, the freedman, was lying on a mattress from the dining-room;\nthe corpulent physician slept soundly, and if he snored too loudly, old\nAdventus poked him and quietly spoke a word of warning to him. This man,\nwho had formerly been a post messenger, was the only person who was\nconscious of Melissa's entrance; but he only blinked at her through his\ndim eyes, and, after he had silently considered why the young girl should\nhave returned, he turned over in order to sleep himself; for he had come\nto the conclusion that this young, active creature would be awake and at\nhand if his master required anything.\n\nHis wondering as to why Melissa had returned, had led to many guesses,\nand had proved fruitless. \"You can know nothing of women,\" was the end of\nhis reflections, \"if you do not know that what seems most improbable is\nwhat is most likely to be true. This maid is certainly not one of the\nflute-players or the like. Who knows what incomprehensible whim or freak\nmay have brought her here? At any rate, it will be easier for her to keep\nher eyes open than it is for me.\"\n\nHe then signed to her and asked her quietly to fetch his cloak out of the\nnext room, for his old body needed warmth; and Melissa gladly complied,\nand laid the caracalla over the old mans cold feet with obliging care.\n\nShe then returned to the side of the sick-bed, to wait for the emperor's\nawaking. He slept soundly; his regular breathing indicated this. The\nothers also slept, and Adventus's light snore, mingling with the louder\nsnoring of the physician, showed that he too had ceased to watch. The\nslumbering Philostratus now and then murmured incomprehensible words to\nhimself; and the lion, who perhaps was dreaming of his freedom in his\nsandy home, whined low in his sleep.\n\nShe watched alone.\n\nIt seemed to her as if she were in the habitation of sleep, and as if\nphantoms and dreams were floating around her on the unfamiliar noises.\n\nShe was afraid, and the thought of being the only woman among so many men\ncaused her extreme uneasiness.\n\nShe could not sit still.\n\nInaudibly as a shadow she approached the head of the sleeping emperor,\nholding her breath to listen to him. How soundly he slept! And she had\ncome that she might talk to him. If his sleep lasted till sunrise, the\npardon for her people would be too late, and her father and Philip,\nchained to a hard bench, would have to ply heavy oars as galley slaves by\nthe side of robbers and murderers. How terribly then would her father's\nwish to use his strength be granted! Was Philip, the narrow-chested\nphilosopher, capable of bearing the strain which had so often proved\nfatal to stronger men?\n\nShe must wake the dreaded man, the only man who could possibly help her.\n\nShe now raised her hand to lay it on his shoulder, but she half withdrew\nit.\n\nIt seemed to her as if it was not much less wicked to rob a sleeping man\nof his rest, his best cure, than to take the life of a living being. It\nwas not too late yet, for the harbor-chain would not be opened till the\nOctober sun had risen. He might enjoy his slumbers a little longer.\n\nWith this conclusion she once more sank down and listened to the noises\nwhich broke the stillness of the night.\n\nHow hideous they were, how revolting they sounded! The vulgarest of the\nsleepers, old Adventus, absolutely sawed the air with his snoring.\n\nThe emperor's breathing was scarcely perceptible, and how nobly cut was\nthe profile which she could see, the other side of his face leaning on\nthe pillow! Had she any real reason to fear his awakening? Perhaps he was\nquite unlike what Berenike thought him to be. She remembered the sympathy\nshe had felt for him when they had first met, and, in spite of all the\ntrouble she had experienced since, she no longer felt afraid. A thought\nthen occurred to her which was sufficient excuse for disturbing the sick\nman's sleep. If she delayed it, she would be making him guilty of a fresh\ncrime by allowing two blameless men to perish in misery. But she would\nfirst convince herself whether the time was pressing. She looked out\nthrough the open window at the stars and across the open place lying at\nher feet. The third hour after midnight was past, and the sun would rise\nbefore long.\n\nDown below all was quiet. Macrinus, the praetorian prefect, on hearing\nthat the emperor had fallen into a refreshing sleep, in order that he\nmight not be disturbed, had forbidden all loud signals, and ordered the\ncamp to be closed to all the inhabitants of the city; so the girl heard\nnothing but the regular footsteps of the sentries and the shrieks of the\nowls returning to their nests in the roof of the Serapeum. The wind from\nthe sea drove the clouds before it across the sky, and the plain covered\nwith tents resembled a sea tossed into high white waves. The camp had\nbeen reduced during the afternoon; for Caracalla had carried out his\nthreat of that morning by quartering a portion of the picked troops in\nthe houses of the richest Alexandrians.\n\nMelissa, bending far out, looked toward the north. The sea-breeze blew\nher hair into her face. Perhaps on the ocean whence it came the high\nwaves would, in a few hours, be tossing the ship on which her father and\nbrother, seated at the oar, would be toiling as disgraced galley-slaves.\nThat must not, could not be!\n\nHark! what was that?\n\nShe heard a light whisper. In spite of strict orders, a loving couple\nwere passing below. The wife of the centurion Martialis, who had been\nseparated for some time from her husband, had at his entreaty come\nsecretly from Ranopus, where she had charge of Seleukus's villa, to see\nhim, as his services prevented his going so far away. They now stood\nwhispering and making love in the shadow of the temple. Melissa could not\nhear what they said, yet it reminded her of the sacred night hour when\nshe confessed her love to Diodoros. She felt as if she were standing by\nhis bedside, and his faithful eyes met hers. She would not, for all that\nwas best in the world, have awakened him yesterday at the Christian's\nhouse, though the awakening would have brought her fresh promises of\nlove; and yet she was on the point of robbing another of his only cure,\nthe sleep the gods had sent him. But then she loved Diodoros, and what\nwas Caesar to her? It had been a matter of life and death with her lover,\nwhile disturbing Caracalla would only postpone his recovery a few hours\nat the utmost. It was she who had procured the imperial sleeper his rest,\nwhich she could certainly restore to him even if she now woke him. Just\nnow she had vowed for the future not to care about her own welfare, and\nthat had at first made her doubtful about Caracalla; but had it not\nreally been exceedingly selfish to lose the time which could bring\nfreedom to her father and brother, only to protect her own soul from the\nreproach of an easily forgiven wrong? With the question:\n\n\"What is your duty?\" all doubts left her, and no longer on tiptoe, but\nwith a firm, determined tread, she walked toward the slumberer's couch,\nand the outrage which she shrank from committing would, she saw, be a\ndeed of kindness; for she found the emperor with perspiring brow groaning\nand frightened by a severe nightmare. He cried with the dull, toneless\nvoice of one talking in his sleep, as if he saw her close by:\n\n\"Away, mother, I say! He or I! Out of the way! You will not? But I, I--If\nyou--\"\n\nAt the same he threw up his hands and gave a dull, painful cry.\n\n\"He is dreaming of his brother's murder,\" rushed through Melissa's mind,\nand in the same instant she laid her hand on his arm and with urgent\nentreaty cried in his ear: \"Wake up, Caesar, I implore you! Great Caesar,\nawake!\"\n\nThen he opened his eyes, and a low, prolonged \"Ah!\" rang from his\ntortured breast.\n\nHe then, with a deep breath and perplexed glance, looked round him; and\nas his eyes fell on the young girl his features brightened, and soon wore\na happy expression, as if he experienced a great joy.\n\n\"You?\" he asked, with pleased surprise. \"You, maiden, still here! It must\nbe nearly dawn? I slept well till just now. But then at the last--Oh, it\nwas fearful!--Adventus!\"\n\nMelissa, however, interrupted this cry, exhorting the emperor to be quiet\nby putting her finger to her lips; and he understood her and willingly\nobeyed, especially as she had guessed what he required from the\nchamberlain, Adventus. She handed him the cloth that lay on the table for\nhim to wipe his streaming forehead. She then brought him drink, and after\nCaracalla had sat up refreshed, and felt that the pain, which, after a\nsharp attack, lasted sometimes for days, had now already left him, he\nsaid, quite gently, mindful of her sign:\n\n\"How much better I feel already; and for this I thank you, Roxana; yes,\nyou know. I like to feel like Alexander, but usually--It is certainly a\npleasant thing to be ruler of the universe, for if we wish to punish or\nreward, no one can limit us. You, child, shall learn that it is Caesar\nwhom you have laid under such obligations. Ask what you will, and I will\ngrant it you.\"\n\nShe whispered eagerly to him:\n\n\"Release my father and brother.\"\n\n\"Always the same thing,\" answered Caracalla, peevishly. \"Do you know of\nnothing better to wish for?\"\n\n\"No, my lord, no!\" cried Melissa, with importunate warmth. \"If you will\ngive me what I most care for--\"\n\n\"I will, yes, I will,\" interrupted the emperor in a softer voice; but\nsuddenly shrugging his shoulders, he continued, regretfully: \"But you\nmust have patience; for, by the Egyptian's orders, your people have been\nfor some time afloat and at sea.\"\n\n\"No!\" the girl assured him. \"They are still here. Zminis has shamefully\ndeceived you;\" and then she informed him of what she had learned from her\nbrother.\n\nCaracalla, in obedience to a softer impulse, had wished to show himself\ngrateful to Melissa. But her demand displeased him; for the sculptor and\nhis son, the philosopher, were the security that should keep Melissa and\nthe painter attached to him. But though his distrust was so strong,\noffended dignity and the tormenting sense of being deceived caused him to\nforget everything else; he flew into a rage, and called loudly the names\nof Epagathos and Adventus.\n\nHis voice, quavering with fury, awakened the others also out of their\nsleep; and after he had shortly and severely rebuked them for their\nlaziness, he commissioned Epagathos to give the prefect, Macrinus,\nimmediate orders not to allow the ship on which Heron and Philip were, to\nleave the harbor; to set the captives at liberty; and to throw Zminis,\nthe Egyptian, into prison, heavily chained.\n\nWhen the freedman remarked, humbly, that the prefect was not likely to be\nfound, as he had purposed to be present again that night at the exorcisms\nof the magician, Serapion, Caesar commanded that Macrinus should be\ncalled away from the miracle-monger's house, and the orders given him.\n\n\"And if I can not find him?\" asked Epagathos.\n\n\"Then, once more, events will prove how badly I am served,\" answered the\nemperor. \"In any case you can act the prefect, and see that my orders are\ncarried out.\"\n\nThe freedman left hastily, and Caracalla sank back exhausted on the\npillows.\n\nMelissa let him rest a little while; then she approached him, thanked him\nprofusely, and begged him to keep quiet, lest the pain should return and\nspoil the approaching day.\n\nHe then asked the time, and when Philostratus, who had walked to the\nwindow, explained that the fifth hour after midnight was past, Caracalla\nbade him prepare a bath.\n\nThe physician sanctioned this wish, and Caesar then gave his hand to the\ngirl, saying, feebly and in a gentle voice: \"The pain still keeps away. I\nshould be better if I could moderate my impatience. An early bath often\ndoes me good after a bad night. Only go. The sleep that you know so well\nhow to give to others, you scarcely allow to visit you. I only beg that\nyou will be at hand. We shall both, I think, feel strengthened when next\nI call you.\"\n\nMelissa then bade him a grateful farewell; but as she was approaching the\ndoorway he called again after her, and asked her with an altered voice,\nshortly and sternly:\n\n\"You will agree with your father if he abuses me?\"\n\n\"What an idea!\" she answered, energetically. \"He knows who robbed him of\nhis liberty, and from me shall he learn who has restored it to him.\"\n\n\"Good!\" murmured the emperor. \"Yet remember this also: I need your\nassistance and that of your brother's, the painter. If your father\nattempts to alienate you--\"\n\nHere he suddenly let fall his arm, which he had raised threateningly, and\ncontinued in a confidential whisper: \"But how can I ever show you\nanything but kindness? Is it not so? You already feel the secret tie--You\nknow? Am I mistaken when I fancy that it grieves you to be separated from\nme?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" she replied, gently, and bowed her head.\n\n\"Then go,\" he continued, kindly. \"The day will come yet when you will\nfeel that I am as necessary to your soul as you are to mine. But you do\nnot yet know how impatient I can be. I must be able to think of you with\npleasure--always with pleasure--always.\"\n\nThereupon he nodded to her, and his eyelids remained for some time in\nspasmodic movement. Philostratus was prepared to accompany the young\ngirl, but Caracalla prevented him by calling:\n\n\"Lead me to my bath. If it does me good, as I trust it will, I have many\nthings to talk over with you.\"\n\nMelissa did not hear the last words. Gladly and quickly she hurried\nthrough the empty, dimly lighted rooms, and found Alexander in a sitting\nposition, half asleep and half awake, with closed eyes. Then she drew\nnear to him on tiptoe, and, as his nodding head fell on his breast, she\nlaughed and woke him with a kiss.\n\nThe lamps were not yet burned out, and, as he looked into her face with\nsurprise, his also brightened, and jumping up quickly he exclaimed:\n\n\"All's well; we have you back again, and you have succeeded! Our father-I\nsee it in your face--and Philip also, are at liberty!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes,\" she answered, gladly; \"and now we will go together and\nfetch them ourselves from the harbor.\"\n\nAlexander raised his eyes and arms to heaven in rapture, and Melissa\nimitated him; and thus, without words, though with fervent devotion, they\nwith one accord thanked the gods for their merciful ruling.\n\nThey then set out together, and Alexander said: \"I feel as if nothing but\ngratitude flowed through all my veins. At any rate, I have learned for\nthe first time what fear is. That evil guest certainly haunts this place.\nLet us go now. On the way you shall tell me everything.\"\n\n\"Only one moment's patience,\" she begged, cheerfully, and hurried into\nthe chief priest's rooms. The lady Euryale was still expecting her, and\nas she kissed her she looked with sincere pleasure into her bright but\ntearful eyes.\n\nAt first she was bent on making Melissa rest; for she would yet require\nall her strength. But she saw that the girl's wish to go and meet her\nfather was justifiable; she placed her own mantle over her shoulders--for\nthe air was cool before sunrise--and at last accompanied her into the\nanteroom. Directly the girl had disappeared, she turned to her\nsister-in-law's slave, who had waited there the whole night by order of\nhis mistress, and desired him to go and report to her what he had learned\nabout Melissa.\n\nThe brother and sister met the slave Argutis outside the Serapeum. He had\nheard at Seleukus's house where his young mistress was staying, and had\nmade friends with the chief priest's servants.\n\nWhen, late in the evening, he heard that Melissa was still with Caesar,\nhe had become so uneasy that he had waited the whole night through, first\non the steps of a staircase, then walking up and down outside the\nSerapeum. With a light heart he now accompanied the couple as far as the\nAspendia quarter of the town, and he then only parted from them in order\nthat he might inform poor old Dido of his good news, and make\npreparations for the reception of the home-comers.\n\nAfter that Melissa hurried along, arm in arm with her brother, through\nthe quiet streets.\n\nYouth, to whom the present belongs entirely, only cares to know the\nbright side of the future; and even Melissa in her joy at being able to\nrestore liberty to her beloved relations, hardly thought at all of the\nfact that, when this was done and Caesar should send for her again, there\nwould be new dangers to surmount.\n\nDelighted with her grand success, she first told her brother what her\nexperiences had been with the suffering emperor. Then she started on the\nrecollections of her visit to her lover, and when Alexander opened his\nheart to her and assured her with fiery ardor that he would not rest till\nhe had won the heart of the lovely Christian, Agatha, she gladly allowed\nhim to talk and promised him her assistance. At last they deliberated how\nthe favor of Caesar--who, Melissa assured him, was cruelly\nmisunderstood--was to be won for their father and Philip; and finally\nthey both imagined the surprise of the old man if he should be the first\nto meet them after being set at liberty.\n\nThe way was far, and when they reached the sea, by the Caesareum in the\nBruchium, the palatial quarter of the town, the first glimmer of\napproaching dawn was showing behind the peninsula of Lochias. The sea was\nrough, and tossed with heavy, oily waves on the Choma that ran out into\nthe sea like a finger, and on the walls of the Timoneum at its point,\nwhere Antonius had hidden his disgrace after the battle of Actium.\n\nAlexander stopped by the pillared temple of Poseidon, which stood close\non the shore, between the Choma and the theatre, and, looking toward the\nflat, horseshoe-shaped coast of the opposite island which still lay in\ndarkness, he asked:\n\n\"Do you still remember when we went with our mother over to Antirhodos,\nand how she allowed us to gather shells in the little harbor? If she were\nalive to-day, what more could we wish for?\"\n\n\"That the emperor was gone,\" exclaimed the girl from the depths of her\nheart; \"that Diodoros were well again; that father could use his hands as\nhe used, and that I might stay with him until Diodoros came to fetch me,\nand then . . . oh, if only something could happen to the empire that Caesar\nmight go away-far away, to the farthest hyperborean land!\"\n\n\"That will soon happen now,\" answered Alexander. \"Philostratus says that\nthe Romans will remain at the utmost a week longer.\"\n\n\"So long?\" asked Melissa, startled; but Alexander soon pacified her with\nthe assurance that seven days flew speedily by, and when one looked back\non them they seemed to shrink into only as many hours.\n\n\"But do not,\" he continued, cheerfully, \"look into the future! We will\nrejoice, for everything is going so well now!\"\n\nHe stopped here suddenly and gazed anxiously at the sea, which was no\nlonger completely obscured by the vanishing shadows of night. Melissa\nlooked in the direction of his pointing hand, and when he cried with\ngreat excitement, \"That is no little boat, it is a ship, and a large one,\ntoo!\" Melissa added, eagerly, \"It is already near the Diabathra. It will\nreach the Alveus Steganus in a moment, and pass the pharos.\"\n\n\"But yonder is the morning star in the heavens, and the fire is still\nblazing on the tower,\" interrupted her brother. \"Not till it has been\nextinguished will they open the outside chain. And yet that ship is\nsteering in a northwesterly direction. It certainly comes out of the\nroyal harbor.\" He then drew his sister on faster, and when, in a few\nminutes, they reached the harbor gate, he cried out, much relieved:\n\n\"Look there! The chain is still across the entrance. I see it clearly.\"\n\n\"And so do I,\" said Melissa, decidedly; and while her brother knocked at\nthe gate-house of the little harbor, she continued, eagerly:\n\n\"No ships dare go out before sunrise, on account of the rocks--Epagathos\nsaid so just now--and that one near the pharos--\"\n\nBut there was no time to put her thoughts into words; for the broad\nharbor gate was thrown noisily open, and a troop of Roman soldiers\nstreamed out, followed by several Alexandrian men-at-arms. After them\ncame a prisoner loaded with chains, with whom a leading Roman in\nwarrior's dress was conversing. Both were tall and haggard, and when they\napproached the brother and sister they recognized in them Macrinus the\npraetorian prefect, while the prisoner was Zminis the informer.\n\nBut the Egyptian also noticed the artist and his companion. His eyes\nsparkled brightly, and with triumphant scorn he pointed out to sea.\n\nThe magician Serapion had persuaded the prefect to let the Egyptian go\nfree. Nothing was yet known in the harbor of Zminis's disgrace, and he\nhad been promptly obeyed as usual, when, spurred on by the magician and\nhis old hatred, he gave the order for the galley which carried the\nsculptor and his son on board to weigh anchor in spite of the early hour.\n\nHeron and Philip, with chains on their feet, were now rowing on the same\nbench with the worst criminals; and the old artist's two remaining\nchildren stood gazing after the ship that carried away their father and\nbrother into the distance. Melissa stood mute, with tearful eyes, while\nAlexander, quite beside himself, tried to relieve his rage and grief by\nempty threats.\n\nSoon, however, his sister's remonstrances caused him to restrain himself,\nand make inquiry as to whether Macrinus, in obedience to the emperor's\norders, had sent a State ship after the galley.\n\nThis had been done, and comforted, though sadly disappointed, they\nstarted on their way home.\n\nThe sun in the mean time had risen, and the streets were filling with\npeople.\n\nThey met the old sculptor Lysander, who had been a friend of their\nfather's, outside the magnificent pile of buildings of the Caesareum. The\nold man took a deep interest in Heron's fate; and, when Alexander asked\nhim modestly what he was doing at that early hour, he pointed to the\ninterior of the building, where the statues of the emperors and empresses\nstood in a wide circle surrounding a large court-yard, and invited them\nto come in with him. He had not been able to complete his work--a marble\nstatue of Julia Domna, Caracalla's mother--before the arrival of the\nemperor. It had been placed here yesterday evening. He had come to see\nhow it looked in its new position.\n\nMelissa had often seen the portrait of Julia on coins and in various\npictures, but to-day she was far more strongly attracted than she had\never been before to look in the face of the mother of the man who had so\npowerfully influenced her own existence and that of her people.\n\nThe old master had seen Julia many years ago in her own home at Emesa, as\nthe daughter of Bassianus the high-priest of the Sun in that town; and\nlater, after she had become empress, he had been commanded to take her\nportrait for her husband, Septimus Severus. While Melissa gazed on the\ncountenance of the beautiful statue, the old artist related how\nCaracalla's mother had in her youth won all hearts by her wealth of\nintellect, and the extraordinary knowledge which she had easily acquired\nand continually added to, through intercourse with learned men. They\nlearned from him that his heart had not remained undisturbed by the\ncharms of his royal model, and Melissa became more and more absorbed in\nher contemplation of this beautiful work of art.\n\nLysander had represented the imperial widow standing in flowing\ndraperies, which fell to her feet. She held her charming, youthful head\nbent slightly on one side, and her right hand held aside the veil which\ncovered the back of her head and fell lightly on her shoulders, a little\nopen over the throat. Her face looked out from under it as if she were\nlistening to a fine song or an interesting speech. Her thick, slightly\nwaving hair framed the lovely oval of her face under the veil, and\nAlexander agreed with his sister when she expressed the wish that she\nmight but once see this rarely beautiful creature. But the sculptor\nassured them that they would be disappointed, for time had treated her\ncruelly.\n\n\"I have shown her,\" he continued, \"as she charmed me a generation ago.\nWhat you see standing before you is the young girl Julia; I was not\ncapable of representing her as matron or mother. The thought of her son\nwould have spoiled everything.\"\n\n\"He is capable of better emotions,\" Alexander declared.\n\n\"May be,\" answered the old man-- \"I do not know them. May your father and\nbrother be restored to you soon!--I must get to work!\"\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 7.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe high-priest of Serapis presided over the sacrifices to be offered\nthis morning. Caesar had given beasts in abundance to do honor to the\ngod; still, the priest had gone but ill-disposed to fulfill his part; for\nthe imperial command that the citizens' houses should be filled with the\ntroops, who were also authorized to make unheard-of demands on their\nhosts, had roused his ire against the tyrant, who, in the morning, after\nhis bath, had appeared to him unhappy indeed, but at the same time a\ngifted and conscientious ruler, capable of the highest and grandest\nenterprise.\n\nMelissa, in obedience to the lady Euryale, had taken an hour's rest, and\nthen refreshed herself by bathing. She now was breakfasting with her\nvenerated friend, and Philostratus had joined them. He was able to tell\nthem that a swift State galley was already on its way to overtake and\nrelease her father and brother; and when he saw how glad she was to hear\nit, how beautiful, fresh, and pure she was, he thought to himself with\nanxiety that it would be a wonder if the imperial slave to his own\npassions should not desire to possess this lovely creature.\n\nEuryale also feared this, and Melissa realized what filled them with\nanxiety; yet she by no means shared the feeling, and the happy confidence\nwith which she tried to comfort her old friends, at the same time\npacified and alarmed them. It seemed to her quite foolish and vain to\nsuppose that the emperor, the mighty ruler of the world, should fall in\nlove with her, the humble, obscure gem-cutter's child, who aspired to one\nsuitor alone. It was merely as a patient wishes for the physician, she\nassured herself, that the emperor wished for her presence--Philostratus\nhad understood that. During the night she had certainly been seized with\ngreat fears, but, as she now thought, without any cause. What she really\nhad to dread was that she might be falsely judged by his followers;\nstill, she cared nothing about all these Romans. However, she would beg\nEuryale to see Diodoros, and to tell him what forced her to obey the\nemperor's summons, if he should send for her. It was highly probable that\nthe sick man had been informed of her interview with Caracalla, and, as\nher betrothed, he must be told how she felt toward Caesar; for this was\nhis right, and jealous agitation might injure him.\n\nHer face so expressed the hope and confidence of a pure heart that when,\nafter a little time, she withdrew, Euryale said to the philosopher:\n\n\"We must not alarm her more! Her trustful innocence perhaps may protect\nher better than anxious precautions.\"\n\nAnd Philostratus agreed, and assured her that in any case he expected\ngood results for Melissa, for she was one of those who were the elect of\nthe gods and whom they chose to be their instruments. And then he related\nwhat wonderful influence she had over Caesar's sufferings, and praised\nher with his usual enthusiastic warmth.\n\nWhen Melissa returned, Philostratus had left the matron. She was again\nalone with Euryale, who reminded her of the lesson conveyed in the\nChristian words that she had explained to her yesterday. Every deed,\nevery thought, had some influence on the way in which the fulfillment of\ntime would come for each one; and when the hour of death was over, no\nregrets, repentance, or efforts could then alter the past. A single\nmoment, as her own young experience had taught her, was often sufficient\nto brand the name of an estimable man. Till now, her way through life had\nled along level paths, through meadows and gardens, and others had kept\ntheir eyes open for her; now she was drawing near to the edge of a\nprecipice, and at every turning, even at the smallest step, she must\nnever forget the threatening danger. The best will and the greatest\nprudence could not save her if she did not trust to a higher guidance;\nand then she asked the girl to whom she raised her heart when she prayed;\nand Melissa named Isis and other gods, and lastly the manes of her dead\nmother.\n\nDuring this confession, old Adventus appeared, to summon the girl to his\nsovereign. Melissa promised to follow him immediately; and, when the old\nman had gone, the matron said:\n\n\"Few here pray to the same gods, and he whose worship my husband leads is\nnot mine. I, with several others, know that there is a Father in heaven\nwho loves us men, his creatures, and guards us as his children. You do\nnot yet know him, and therefore you can not hope for anything from him;\nbut if you will follow the advice of a friend, who was also once young,\nthink in the future that your right hand is held firmly by the invisible,\nbeloved hand of your mother. Persuade yourself that she is by you, and\ntake care that every word, yes, every glance, meets with her approval.\nThen she will be there, and will protect you whenever you require her\naid.\"\n\nMelissa sank on the breast of her kind friend, embracing her as closely\nand kissing her as sincerely as if she had been the beloved mother to\nwhose care Euryale had commended her,\n\nThe counsels of this true friend agreed with those of her own heart, and\nso they must be right. When at last they had to part, Euryale wished to\nsend for one of the gentlemen of the court, whom she knew, that he might\nescort her through the troops of Caesar's attendants and friends who were\nwaiting, and of the visitors and petitioners; but Melissa felt so happy\nand so well protected by Adventus, that she followed him without further\ndelay. In fact, the old man had a friendly feeling for her, since she had\ncovered his feet so carefully the day before; she knew it by the tone of\nhis voice and by the troubled look in his dim eyes.\n\nEven now she did not believe in the dangers at which her friends trembled\nfor her, and she walked calmly across the lofty marble halls, the\nanteroom, and the other vast rooms of the imperial dwelling. The\nattendants accompanied her respectfully from door to door, in obedience\nto the emperor's commands, and she went on with a firm step, looking\nstraight in front of her, without noticing the inquisitive, approving, or\nscornful glances which were aimed at her.\n\nIn the first rooms she needed an escort, for they were crowded with\nRomans and Alexandrians who were waiting for a sign from Caesar to appeal\nfor his pardon or his verdict, or perhaps only wishing to see his\ncountenance. The emperor's \"friends\" sat at breakfast, of which Caracalla\ndid not partake. The generals, and the members of his court not\nimmediately attached to his person, stood together in the various rooms,\nwhile the principal people of Alexandria--several senators and rich and\nimportant citizens of the town--as well as the envoys of the Egyptian\nprovinces, in magnificent garments and rich gold ornaments, held aloof\nfrom the Romans, and waited in groups for the call of the usher.\n\nMelissa saw no one, nor did she observe the costly woven hangings on the\nwalls, the friezes decorated with rare works of art and high reliefs, nor\nthe mosaic floors over which she passed. She did not notice the hum and\nmurmur of the numerous voices which surrounded her; nor could she indeed\nhave understood a single coherent sentence; for, excepting the ushers and\nthe emperor's immediate attendants, at the reception-hour no one was\nallowed to raise his voice. Expectancy and servility seemed here to\nstifle every lively impulse; and when, now and then, the loud call of one\nof the ushers rang above the murmur, one of those who were waiting\nspontaneously bowed low, or another started up, as if ready to obey any\ncommand. The sensation, shared by many, of waiting in the vicinity of a\nhigh, almost godlike power, in whose hands lay their well-being or\nmisery, gave rise to a sense of solemnity. Every movement was subdued;\nanxious, nay, fearful expectation was written on many faces, and on\nothers impatience and disappointment. After a little while it was\nwhispered from ear to ear that the emperor would only grant a few more\naudiences; and how many had already waited in vain yesterday, for hours,\nin the same place!\n\nWithout delay Melissa went on till she had reached the heavy curtain\nwhich, as she already knew, shut off Caesar's inner apartments.\n\nThe usher obligingly drew it back, even before she had mentioned her\nname, and while a deputation of the town senators, who had been received\nby Caracalla, passed out, she was followed by Alexandrian citizens, the\nchiefs of great merchant-houses, whose request for an audience he had\nsanctioned. They were for the most part elderly men, and Melissa\nrecognized among them Seleukus, Berenike's husband.\n\nMelissa bowed to him, but he did not notice her, and passed by without a\nword. Perhaps he was considering the enormous sum to be expended on the\nshow at night which he, with a few friends, intended to arrange at the\ncircus in Caesar's honor.\n\nAll was quite still in the large hall which separated the emperor's\nreception-room from the anteroom. Melissa observed only two soldiers, who\nwere looking out of window, and whose bodies were shaking as though they\nwere convulsed with profound merriment.\n\nIt happened that she had to wait here some time; for the usher begged her\nto have patience until the merchants' audience was over. They were the\nlast who would be received that day. He invited her to rest on the couch\non which was spread a bright giraffe's skin, but she preferred to walk up\nand down, for her heart was beating violently. And while the usher\nvanished from the room, one of the warriors turned his head to look about\nhim, and directly he caught sight of Melissa he gave his comrade a push,\nand said to him, loud enough for Melissa to hear:\n\n\"A wonder! Apollonaris, by Eros and all the Erotes, a precious wonder!\"\n\nThe next moment they both stepped back from the window and stared at the\ngirl, who stood blushing and embarrassed, and gazed at the floor when she\nfound with whom she had been left alone.\n\nThey were two tribunes of the praetorians, but, notwithstanding their\nhigh grade, they were only young men of about twenty. Twin brothers of\nthe honorable house of the Aurelia, they had entered the army as\ncenturions, but had soon been placed at the head of a thousand men, and\nappointed tribunes in Caesar's body-guard. They resembled one another\nexactly; and this likeness, which procured them much amusement, they\ngreatly enhanced by arranging their coal-black beards and hair in exactly\nthe same way, and by dressing alike down to the rings on their fingers.\nOne was called Apollonaris, the other Nemesianus Aurelius. They were of\nthe same height, and equally well grown, and no one could say which had\nthe finest black eyes, which mouth the haughtiest smile, or to which of\nthem the thick short beard and the artistically shaved spot between the\nunder lip and chin was most becoming. The beautifully embossed ornaments\non their breast-plates and shirts of mail, and on the belt of the short\nsword, showed that they grudged no expense; in fact, they thought only of\nenjoyment, and it was merely for the honor of it that they were serving\nfor a few years in the imperial guard. By and by they would rest, after\nall the hardships of the campaign, in their palace at Rome, or in the\nvillas on the various estates that they had inherited from their father\nand mother, and then, for a change, hold honorary positions in the public\nservice. Their friends knew that they also contemplated being married on\nthe same day, when the game of war should be a thing of the past.\n\nIn the mean time they desired nothing in the world but honor and\npleasure; and such pleasure as well-bred, healthy, and genial youths,\nwith amiability, strength, and money to spend, can always command, they\nenjoyed to the full, without carrying it to reckless extravagance. Two\nmerrier, happier, more popular comrades probably did not exist in the\nwhole army. They did their duty in the field bravely; during peace, and\nin a town like Alexandria, they appeared, on the contrary, like mere\neffeminate men of fashion. At least, they spent a large part of their\ntime in having their black hair crimped; they gave ridiculous sums to\nhave it anointed with the most delicate perfumes; and it was difficult to\nimagine how effectively their carefully kept hands could draw a sword,\nand, if necessary, handle the hatchet or spade.\n\nTo-day Nemesianus was in the emperor's anteroom by command, and\nApollonaris, of his own freewill, had taken the place of another tribune,\nthat he might bear his brother company. They had caroused through half\nthe night, and had begun the new day by a visit to the flower market, for\nlove of the pretty saleswomen. Each had a half-opened rose stuck in\nbetween his cuirass and shirt of mail on the left breast, plucked, as the\ncharming Daphnion had assured them, from a bush which had been introduced\nfrom Persia only the year before. The brothers, at any rate, had never\nseen any like them.\n\nWhile they were looking out of the window they had passed the time by\nexamining every girl or woman who went by, intending to fling one rose at\nthe first whose perfect beauty should claim it, and the other flower at\nthe second; but during the half-hour none had appeared who was worthy of\nsuch a gift. All the beauties in Alexandria were walking in the streets\nin the cool hour before sunset, and really there was no lack of handsome\ngirls. The brothers had even heard that Caesar, who seemed to have\nrenounced the pleasures of love, had yielded to the charms of a lovely\nGreek.\n\nDirectly they saw Melissa they were convinced that they had met the\nbeautiful plaything of the imperial fancy, and each with the same action\noffered her his rose, as if moved by the same invisible power.\n\nApollonaris, who had come into the world a little sooner than his\nbrother, and who, by right of birth, had therefore a more audacious\nmanner, stepped boldly up to Melissa and presented his, while Nemesianus\nat the same instant bowed to her, and begged her to give his the\npreference.\n\nThough their speeches were flattering and well-worded, Melissa repulsed\nthem by remarking sharply that she did not want their flowers.\n\n\"We can easily believe that,\" answered Apollonaris, \"for are you not\nyourself a lovely, blooming rose?\"\n\n\"Vain flattery,\" replied Melissa; \"and I certainly do not bloom for you.\"\n\n\"That is both cruel and unjust,\" sighed Nemesianus, \"for that which you\nrefuse to us poor fellows you grant to another, who can obtain everything\nthat other mortals yearn for.\"\n\n\"But we,\" interrupted his brother, \"are modest, nay, and pious warriors.\nWe had intended offering up these roses to Aphrodite, but lo! the goddess\nhas met us in person.\"\n\n\"Her image at any rate,\" added the other.\n\n\"And you should thank the foam-born goddess,\" continued Apollonaris; \"for\nshe has lent you, in spite of the danger of seeing herself eclipsed, her\nown divine charms. Do you think she will be displeased if we withdraw the\nflowers and offer them to you?\"\n\n\"I think nothing,\" answered Melissa, \"excepting that your honeyed remarks\nannoy me. Do what you like with your roses, I will not accept them.\"\n\n\"How dare you,\" asked Apollonaris, approaching her--\"you, to whom the\nmother of love has given such wonderfully fresh lips--misuse them by\nrefusing so sternly the humble petition of her faithful worshipers? If\nyou would not have Aphrodite enraged with you, hasten to atone for this\ntransgression. One kiss, my beauty, for her votary, and she will forgive\nyou.\"\n\nHere Apollonaris stretched out his hand toward the girl to draw her to\nhim, but she motioned him back indignantly, declaring that it would be\nreprehensible and cowardly in a soldier to use violence toward a modest\nmaid.\n\nAt this the two brothers laughed heartily, and Nemesianus exclaimed, \"You\ndo not belong to the Temple of Vesta, most lovely of roses, and yet you\nare well protected by such sharp thorns that it requires a great deal of\ncourage to venture to attack you.\"\n\n\"More,\" added Apollonaris, \"than to storm a fortress. But what camp or\nstronghold contains booty so well worth capturing?\"\n\nThereupon he threw his arm round Melissa and drew her to him.\n\nNeither he nor his brother had ever conducted themselves badly towards an\nhonorable woman; and if Melissa had been but the daughter of a simple\ncraftsman, her reproachful remarks would have sufficed to keep them at a\ndistance. But such immunity was not to be granted to the emperor's\nsweetheart, who could so audaciously reject two brothers accustomed to\neasy conquests; her demure severity could hardly be meant seriously.\nApollonaris therefore took no notice of her violent resistance, but held\nher hands forcibly, and, though he could not succeed in kissing her for\nher struggling, he pressed his lips to her cheek, while she endeavored to\nfree herself and pushed him off, breathless with real indignation.\n\n'Till now, the brothers had taken the matter as a joke; but when\nApollonaris seized the girl again, and she, beside herself with fear,\ncried for help, he at once set her free.\n\nIt was too late; for the curtains of the audience-room were already\nwithdrawn, and Caracalla approached. His countenance was red and\ndistorted; he trembled with rage, and his angry glance fell like a flash\nof lightning on the luckless brothers. Close by his side was the prefect\nMacrinus, who feared lest he should be attacked by a fresh fit; and\nMelissa shared his fears, as Caracalla cried to Apollonaris in an angry\nvoice, \"Scoundrel that you are, you shall repent of this!\"\n\nStill, Aurelius had, by various wanton jokes, incurred the emperor's\nwrath before now, and he was accustomed to disarm it by some insinuating\nconfession, so he answered him with a roguish smile, while raising his\neyes to him humbly:\n\n\"Forgive me, great Caesar! Our poor strength, as you well know, is easily\ndefeated in conflicts against overpowering beauty. Dainties are sweet,\nnot only for children. Long ago Mars was drawn to Venus; and if I--\"\n\nHe had spoken these words in Latin, which Melissa did not understand; but\nthe color left the emperor's face, and, pale with excitement, he\nstammered out laboriously:\n\n\"You have--you have dared--\"\n\n\"For this rose,\" began the youth again, \"I begged a hasty kiss from the\nbeauty, which certainly blooms for all, and she--\" He raised his hands\nand eyes imploringly to the despot; but Caracalla had already snatched\nMacrinus's sword from its sheath, and before Aurelius could defend\nhimself he was struck first on the head with the flat of the blade, and\nthen received a series of sharp cuts on his brow and face.\n\nStreaming with blood from the gaping wounds which the victim, trembling\nwith fear and rage, covered with his hands, he surrendered himself to the\ncare of his startled brother, while Caesar overwhelmed them both with a\nflood of furious reproaches.\n\nWhen Nemesianus began to bind up his wounded brother's head with a\nhandkerchief handed to him by Melissa, and Caracalla saw the gaping\nwounds he had inflicted, he became quieter, and said:\n\n\"I think those lips will not try to steal kisses again for some time from\nhonorable maidens. You and Nemesianus have forfeited your lives; how\never, the beseeching look of those all-powerful eyes has saved you--you\nare spared. Take your brother away, Nemesianus. You are not to leave your\nquarters until further orders.\"\n\nWith this he turned his back on the twins, but on the threshold he again\naddressed them and said:\n\n\"You were mistaken about this maiden. She is not less pure and noble than\nyour own sister.\"\n\nThe merchants were dismissed from the tablinum more hastily than was due\nto the importance of their business, in which, until this interruption,\nthe sovereign had shown a sympathetic interest and intelligence which\nsurprised them; and they left Caesar's presence disappointed, but with\nthe promise that they should be received again in the evening.\n\nAs soon as they had retired, Caracalla threw himself again on the couch.\n\nThe bath had done him good. Still somewhat exhausted, though his head was\nclear, he would not be hindered from receiving the deputation for which\nhe had important matters to decide; but this fresh attack of rage\nrevenged itself by a painful headache. Pale, and with slightly quivering\nlimbs, he dismissed the prefect and his other friends, and desired\nEpagathos to call Melissa.\n\nHe needed rest, and again the girl's little hand, which had yesterday\ndone him good, proved its healing power. The throbbing in his head\nyielded to her gentle touch, and by degrees exhaustion gave way to the\ncomfortable languor of convalesence.\n\nTo-day, as yesterday, he expressed his thanks to Melissa, but he found\nher changed. She looked timidly and anxiously down into her lap excepting\nwhen she replied to a direct question; and yet he had done everything to\nplease her. Her relations would soon be free and in Alexandria once more,\nand Zminis was in prison, chained hand and foot. This he told her; and,\nthough she was glad, it was not enough to restore the calm cheerfulness\nhe had loved to see in her.\n\nHe urged her, with warm insistence, to tell him what it was that weighed\non her, and at last, with eyes full of tears, she forced herself to say:\n\n\"You yourself have seen what they take me for.\"\n\n\"And you have seen,\" he quickly replied, \"how I punish those who forget\nthe respect they owe to you.\"\n\n\"But you are so dreadful in your wrath!\" The words broke from her lips.\n\"Where others blame, you can destroy; and you do it, too, when passion\ncarries you away. I am bound to obey your call, and here I am. But I\nfancy myself like the little dog--you may see him any day--which in the\nbeast-garden of the Panaeum, shares a cage with a royal tiger. The huge\nbrute puts up with a great deal from his small companion, but woe betide\nthe dog if the tiger once pats him with his heavy, murderous paw--and he\nmight, out of sheer forgetfulness!\"\n\n\"But this hand,\" Caesar broke in, raising his delicate hand covered with\nrings, \"will never forget, any more than my heart, how much it owes to\nyou.\"\n\n\"Until I, in some unforeseen way--perhaps quite unconsciously--excite\nyour anger,\" sighed Melissa. \"Then you will be carried away by passion,\nand I shall share the common fate.\"\n\nCaracalla was about to reply indignantly, but just then Adventus entered\nthe room, announcing the chief astrologer of the Temple of Serapis.\nCaracalla refused to receive him just then, but he anxiously asked\nwhether he had any signs to report. The reply was in the affirmative, and\nin a few minutes Caesar had in his hand a wax tablet covered with words\nand figures. He studied it eagerly, and his countenance cleared; still\nholding the tablets, he exclaimed to Melissa:\n\n\"You, daughter of Heron, have nothing to fear from me, you of all the\nworld! In some quiet hour I will explain to you how my planet yearns to\nyours, and yours--that is, yourself--to mine. The gods have created us\nfor each other, child; I am already under your influence, but your heart\nstill hesitates, and I know why; it is because you distrust me.\"\n\nMelissa raised her large eyes to his face in astonishment, and he went\non, pensively:\n\n\"The past must stand; it is like a scar which no water will wash out.\nWhat have you not heard of my past? What did they feel, in their\nself-conscious virtue, when they talked of my crimes? Did it ever occur\nto any one, I wonder, that with the purple I assumed the sword, to\nprotect my empire and throne? And when I have used the blade, how eagerly\nhave fingers pointed at me, how gladly slanderous tongues have wagged!\nWho has ever thought of asking what compulsion led me to shed blood, or\nhow much it cost me to do it? You, fair child--and the stars confirm\nit--you were sent by fate to share the burden that oppresses me, and to\nyou I will ease my heart, to you I will confide all, unasked, because my\nheart prompts me to do so. But first you must tell me with what tales\nthey taught you to hate the man to whom, as you yourself confessed, you\nnevertheless felt drawn.\"\n\nAt this Melissa raised her hands in entreaty and remonstrance, and Caesar\nwent on:\n\n\"I will spare you the pains. They say that I am ever athirst for fresh\nbloodshed if only some one is rash enough to suggest it to me. You were\ntold that Caesar murdered his brother Geta, with many more who did but\nspeak his victim's name. My father-in-law, and his daughter Plautilla, my\nwife, were, it is said, the victims of my fury. I killed Papinian, the\nlawyer and prefect, and Cilo--whom you saw yesterday--nearly shared the\nsame fate. What did they conceal? Nothing. Your nod confesses it--well,\nand why should they, since speaking ill of others is their greatest\ndelight? It is all true, and I should never think of denying it. But did\nit ever occur to you, or did any one ever suggest to you, to inquire how\nit came to pass that I perpetrated such horrors; I--who was brought up in\nthe fear of the gods and the law, like you and other people?\"\n\n\"No, my lord, never,\" replied Melissa, in distress. \"But I beg you, I\nbeseech you, say no more about such dreadful things. I know full well\nthat you are not wicked; that you are much better than people think.\"\n\n\"And for that very reason,\" cried Caesar, whose cheeks were flushed with\npleasure in the hard task he had set himself, \"you must hear me. I am\nCaesar. There is no judge over me; I need give account to none for my\nactions. Nor do I. Who, besides yourself, is more to me than the flies on\nthat cup?\"\n\n\"And your conscience?\" she timidly put in.\n\n\"It raises hideous questions from time to time,\" he replied, gloomily.\n\"It can be obtrusive, but we can teach ourselves not to answer--besides,\nwhat you call conscience knows the motives for every action, and,\nremembering them, judges leniently. You, child, should do the same; for\nyou--\"\n\n\"O my lord, what can my poor judgment matter?\" Melissa panted out; but\nCaracalla exclaimed, as if the question pained him:\n\n\"Must I explain all that? The stars, as you know, proclaim to you, as to\nme, that a higher power has joined us as light and warmth are joined.\nHave you forgotten how we both felt only yesterday? Or am I mistaken? Has\nnot Roxana's soul entered into that divinely lovely form because it\nlonged for its lost companion spirit?\"\n\nHe spoke vehemently, with a quivering of his eyelids; but feeling her\nhand tremble in his own, he collected himself, and went on in a lower\ntone, but with urgent emphasis:\n\n\"I will let you glance into this bosom, closed to every other eye; for my\ndesolate heart is inspired by you to fresh energy and life; I am as\ngrateful to you as a drowning man to his deliverer. I shall suffocate and\ndie if I repress the impulse to open my heart to you!\"\n\nWhat change was this that had come over this mysterious being? Melissa\nfelt as though she was gazing on the face of a stranger, for, though his\neyelids still quivered, his eyes were bright with ecstatic fire and his\nfeatures looked more youthful. On that noble brow the laurel wreath he\nwore looked well. Also, as she now observed, he was magnificently\nattired; he wore a close-fitting tunic, or breast-plate made of thick\nwoolen stuff, and over it a purple mantle, while from his bare throat\nhung a precious medallion, shield-shaped, and set in gold and gems, the\ncenter formed by a large head of Medusa, with beautiful though terrible\nfeatures. The lion-heads of gold attached to each corner of the short\ncloak he wore over the sham coat of mail, were exquisite works of art,\nand sandals embroidered with gold and gems covered his feet and ankles.\nHe was dressed to-day like the heir of a lordly house, anxious to charm;\nnay, indeed, like an emperor, as he was; and with what care had his\nbody-slave arranged his thin curls!\n\nHe passed his hand over his brow and cast a glance at a silver mirror on\nthe low table at the head of his couch. When he turned to her again his\namorous eyes met Melissa's.\n\nShe looked down in startled alarm. Was it for her sake that Caesar had\nthus decked himself and looked in the mirror? It seemed scarcely\npossible, and yet it flattered and pleased her. But in the next instant\nshe longed more fervently than she ever had before for a magic charm by\nwhich she might vanish and be borne far, far away from this dreadful man.\nIn fancy she saw the vessel which the lady Berenike had in readiness. She\nwould, she must fly hence, even if it should part her for a time from\nDiodoros.\n\nDid Caracalla read her thought? Nay, he could not see through her; so she\nendured his gaze, tempting him to speak; and his heart beat high with\nhope as he fancied he saw that she was beginning to be affected by his\nintense agitation. At this moment he felt convinced, as he often had\nbeen, that the most atrocious of his crimes had been necessary and\ninevitable. There was something grand and vast in his deeds of blood, and\nthat--for he flattered himself he knew the female heart--must win her\nadmiration, besides the awe and love she already felt.\n\nDuring the night, at his waking, and in his bath, he had felt that she\nwas as necessary to him as the breath of life and hope. What he\nexperienced was love as the poets had sung it. How often had he laughed\nit to scorn, and boasted that he was armed against the arrows of Eros!\nNow, for the first time, he was aware of the anxious rapture, the ardent\nlonging of which he had read in so many songs. There stood the object of\nhis passion. She must hear him, must be his--not by compulsion, not by\nimperial command, but of the free impulse of her heart.\n\nHis confession would help to this end.\n\nWith a swift gesture, as if to throw off the last trace of fatigue, he\nsat up and began in a firm voice, with a light in his eyes:\n\n\"Yes, I killed my brother Geta. You shudder. And yet, if at this day,\nwhen I know all the results of the deed, the state of affairs were the\nsame as then, I would do it again! That shocks you. But only listen, and\nthen you will say with me that it was Fate which compelled me to act so,\nand not otherwise.\"\n\nHe paused, and then mistaking the anxiety which was visible in Melissa's\nface for sympathetic attention, he began his story, confident of her\ninterest:\n\n\"When I was born, my father had not yet assumed the purple, but he\nalready aimed at the sovereignty. Augury had promised it to him; my\nmother knew this, and shared his ambition. While I was still at my\nnurse's breast he was made consul; four years later he seized the throne.\nPertinax was killed, the wretched Didius Julianus bought the empire, and\nthis brought my father to Rome from Pannonia. Meanwhile he had sent us\nchildren, my brother Geta and me, away from the city; nor was it till he\nhad quelled the last resistance on the Tiber that he recalled us.\n\n\"I was then but a child of five, and yet one day of that time I remember\nvividly. My father was going through Rome in solemn procession. His first\nobject was to do due honor to the corpse of Pertinax. Rich hangings\nfloated from every window and balcony in the city. Garlands of flowers\nand laurel wreaths adorned the houses, and pleasant odors were wafted to\nus as we went. The jubilation of the people was mixed with the\ntrumpet-call of the soldiers; handkerchiefs were waved and acclamations\nrang out. This was in honor of my father, and of me also, the future\nCaesar. My little heart was almost bursting with pride; it seemed to me\nthat I had grown several heads taller, not only than other boys, but than\nthe people that surrounded me.\n\n\"When the funeral procession began, my mother wished me to go with her\ninto the arcade where seats had been placed for the ladies to view, but I\nrefused to follow her. My father became angry. But when he heard me\ndeclare that I was a man and the future Emperor, that I would rather see\nnothing than show myself to the people among the women, he smiled. He\nordered Cilo, who was then the prefect of Rome, to lead me to the seats\nof the past consuls and the old senators. I was delighted at this; but\nwhen he allowed my younger brother Geta to follow me, my pleasure was\nentirely spoiled.\"\n\n\"And you were then five years old?\" asked Melissa, astonished.\n\n\"That surprises you!\" smiled Caracalla. \"But I had already traveled\nthrough half the empire, and had experienced more than other boys of\ntwice my age. I was, at any rate, still child enough to forget everything\nelse in the brilliant spectacle that unfolded before my eyes. I remember\nto this day the colored wax statue which represented Pertinax so exactly\nthat it might have been himself risen from the grave. And the procession!\nIt seemed to have no end; one new thing followed another. All walked past\nin mourning robes, even the choir of singing boys and men. Cilo explained\nto me who had made the statues of the Romans who had served their\ncountry, who the artists and scholars were, whose statues and busts were\ncarried by. Then came bronze groups of the people of every nation in the\nempire, in their costumes. Cilo told me what they were called, and where\nthey lived; he then added that one day they would all belong to me; that\nI must learn the art of fighting, in case they resisted me, and should\nrequire suppressing. Also, when they carried the flags of the guilds\npast, when the horse and foot soldiers, the race-horses from the circus\nand several other things came by, he continued to explain them. I only\nremember it now because it made me so happy. The old man spoke to me\nalone; he regarded me alone as the future sovereign. He left Geta to eat\nthe sweets which his aunts had given him, and when I too wanted some my\nbrother refused to let me have any. Then Cilo stroked my hair, and said:\n'leave him his toys. When you are a man you shall have the whole Roman\nEmpire for your own, and all the nations I told you of.' Geta meanwhile\nhad thought better of it, and pushed some of the sweetmeats toward me. I\nwould not have them, and, when he tried to make me take them, I threw\nthem into the road.\"\n\n\"And you remember all that?\" said Melissa.\n\n\"More things than these are indelibly stamped on my mind from that day,\"\nsaid Caesar. \"I can see before me now the pile on which Pertinax was to\nbe burned. It was splendidly decorated, and on the top stood the gilt\nchariot in which he had loved to ride. Before the consuls fired the logs\nof Indian wood, my father led us to the image of Pertinax, that we might\nkiss it. He held me by the hand. Wherever we went, the senate and people\nhailed us with acclamations. My mother carried Geta in her arms. This\ndelighted the populace. They shouted for her and my brother as\nenthusiastically as for us, and I recollect to this day how that went to\nmy heart. He might have the sweets and welcome, but what the people had\nto offer was due only to my father and me, not to my brother. At that\nmoment I first fully understood that Severus was the present and I the\nfuture Caesar. Geta had only to obey, like every one else.\n\n\"After kissing the image, I stood, still holding my father's hand, to\nwatch the flames. I can see them now, crackling and writhing as they\ngained on the wood, licking it and fawning, as it were, till it caught\nand sent up a rush of sparks and fire. At last the whole pile was one\nhuge blaze. Then, suddenly, out of the heart of the flames an eagle rose.\nThe creature flapped its broad wings in the air, which was golden with\nsunshine and quivering with heat, soaring above the smoke and fire, this\nway and that. But it soon took flight, away from the furnace beneath. I\nshouted with delight, and cried to my father: 'Look at the bird! Where is\nhe flying?' And he eagerly answered: 'Well done! If you desire to\npreserve the power I have conquered for you always undiminished, you must\nkeep your eyes open. Let no sign pass unnoticed, no opportunity\nneglected.'\n\n\"He himself acted on this rule. To him obstacles existed only to be\nremoved, and he taught me, too, to give myself neither peace nor rest,\nand not to spare the life of a foe.--That festival secured my father the\nsuffrages of the Romans. Meanwhile Pescennius Niger rose up in the East\nwith a large army and took the field against Severus. But my father was\nnot the man to hesitate. Within a few months of the obsequies of Pertinax\nhis opponent was a headless corpse.\n\n\"There was yet another obstacle to be removed. You have heard of Clodius\nAlbinus. My father had adopted him and raised him to share his throne.\nBut Severus could not divide the rule with any man.\n\n\"When I was nine years old I saw, after the battle of Lugdunum, the dead\nface of Albinus's head; it was set up in front of the Curia on a lance.\n\n\"I now was the second personage in the empire, next to my father; the\nfirst among the youth of the whole world, and the future emperor. When I\nwas eleven the soldiers hailed me as Augustus; that was in the war\nagainst the Parthians, before Ktesiphon. But they did the same to Geta.\nThis was like wormwood in the sweet draught; and if then--But what can a\ngirl care about the state, and the fate of rulers and nations?\"\n\n\"Yes, go on,\" said Melissa. \"I see already what you are coming to. You\ndisliked the idea of sharing your power with another.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" cried Caracalla, vehemently, \"I not only disliked it, it was\nintolerable, impossible! What I want you to see is that I did not grudge\nmy brother his share of my father's inheritance, like any petty trader.\nThe world--that is the point--the world itself was too small for two of\nus. It was not I, but Fate, which had doomed Geta to die. I am certain of\nthis, and so must you be. Yes, it was Fate. Fate prompted the child's\nlittle hand to attempt its brother's life. And that was long before my\nbrain could form a thought or my baby-lips could stammer his hated name.\"\n\n\"Then you tried to kill your brother even in infancy?\" asked Melissa, and\nher large eyes dilated with horror as she gazed at the terrible narrator.\nBut Caracalla went on, in an apologetic tone:\n\n\"I was then but two years old. It was at Mediolanum, soon after Geta's\nbirth. An egg was found in the court of the palace; a hen had laid it\nclose to a pillar. It was of a purple hue-red all over like the imperial\nmantle, and this indicated that the newly born infant was destined to\nsovereignty. Great was the rejoicing. The purple marvel was shown even to\nme who could but just walk. I, like a naughty boy, flung it down; the\nshell cracked, and the contents poured out on the pavement. My mother saw\nit, and her exclamation, 'Wicked child, you have murdered your brother!'\nwas often repeated to me in after-years. It never struck me as\nparticularly motherly.\"\n\nHere he paused, gazing meditatively into vacancy, and then asked the\ngirl, who had listened intently:\n\n\"Were you never haunted by a word so that you could not be rid of it?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" cried Melissa; \"a striking rhythm in a song, or a line of\npoetry--\"\n\nCaracalla nodded agreement, and went on more vehemently: \"That is what I\nexperienced at the words, 'You have murdered your brother!' I not only\nheard them now and then with my inward ear, but incessantly, like the\ndreary hum of the flies in my camp-tent, for hours at a time, by day and\nby night. No fanning could drive these away. The diabolical voice\nwhispered loudest when Geta had done anything to vex me; or if things had\nbeen given him which I did not wish him to have. And how often that\nhappened! For I--I was only Bassianus to my mother; but her youngest was\nher dear little Geta.\n\n\"So the years passed. We had, while still quite young, our own teams in\nthe circus. One day, when we were driving for a wager-we were still boys,\nand I was ahead of the other lads--the horses of my chariot shied to one\nside. I was thrown some distance on the course. Geta saw this. He turned\nhis horses to the right where I lay. He drove over his brother as he\nwould over straw and apple-parings in the dust; and his wheel broke my\nthigh. Who knows what else it crushed in me? One thing is certain--from\nthat date the most painful of my sufferings originated. And he, the mean\nscoundrel, had done it intentionally. He had sharp eyes. He knew how to\nguide his steeds. He had never driven his wheel over a hazel-nut in the\nsand of the arena against his will; and I was lying some distance from\nthe driving course.\"\n\nCaesar's eyelids blinked spasmodically as he uttered this accusation, and\nhis very glance revealed the raging fire that was burning in his soul.\nMelissa's sad cry of:\n\n\"What terrible suspicion!\" he answered with a short, scornful laugh and\nthe furious assertion:\n\n\"Oh, there were friends enough who informed me what hope Geta had founded\non this act of treachery. The disappointment made him irritable and\nlistless, when Galenus had succeeded in curing me so far that I was able\nto throw away my Crutch; and my limp--at least so they tell me--is hardly\nperceptible.\"\n\n\"Not at all, most certainly not at all,\" Melissa sympathetically assured\nhim. He, however, went on:\n\n\"Yet what I endured meanwhile!--and while I passed so many long weeks of\npain and impatience on a couch, the words my mother had said about the\nbrother whom I murdered rang constantly in my ears as though a reciter\nwere engaged by day and night to reiterate them.\n\n\"But even this passed away. With the pain, which had spoiled many good\nhours for me, the quiet had brought me something more to the\npurpose-thoughts and plans. Yes, during those peaceful weeks the things\nmy father and tutor had taught me became clear and real for the first\ntime. I realized that I must become energetic if I meant ever to be a\nthorough sovereign. As soon as I could use my foot again I became an\nindustrious and docile pupil under Cilo. From a child up to the time of\nthis cruel experience, my youthful heart had clung to my nurse. She was a\nChristian from my father's African home--I knew she loved me best on\nearth. My mother knew of no higher destiny than that of being the\nDomna,--[Domna, lady or mistress, in corrupt Latin. Hence her name of\nJulia Domna] the lady of the soldiers, the mother of the camp, and the\nlady philosopher among the sages. What she gave me in the way of love was\nbut copper alms. She threw golden solidi of love into Geta's lap in\nlavish abundance. And her sister and her nieces, who often lived with us,\ntreated me exactly as she did. They were distantly civil, or they shunned\nme; but my brother was their spoiled plaything. I was as incapable as\nGeta was master of the art of stealing hearts; but in my childhood I\nneeded none of them: for, if I wished for a kind word, a sweet kiss, or\nthe love of a woman, my nurse's arms were open to me. Nor was she an\nordinary woman. As the widow of a tribune who had fallen in my father's\nservice, she had undertaken to attend on me. She loved me as no one else\never did. She was also the only person whom I would willingly obey. I\ncame into the world full of wild instincts, but she knew how to tame them\nkindly. My aversion to my brother was the one thing she checked but\nfeebly, for he was a thorn in her side too. I learned this when she, who\nwas so gentle, explained to me, with asperity in her tone, that there was\nbut one God in heaven, and on earth but one emperor, who should govern\nthe world in his name. She also imparted these convictions to others, and\nthis turned to her disadvantage. My mother parted us, and sent her back\nto her African home. She died soon after.\" He was silent, and gazed\npensively into vacancy; soon, however, he collected his thoughts and\nsaid, lightly:\n\n\"Well, I became Cilo's diligent pupil.\"\n\n\"But,\" asked Melissa, \"did you not say that at one time you attempted his\nlife?\"\n\n\"I did so,\" replied Caracalla darkly; \"for a moment arrived when I cursed\nhis teaching, and yet it was certainly wise and well meant. You see,\nchild, all of you who go through life humbly and without power are\ntrained to submit obediently to the will of Heaven. Cilo taught me to\nplace my own power, and the greatness of the realm which it would be\nincumbent on me to reign over, above everything, even above the gods. It\nwas impressed upon you and yours to hold the life of another sacred; to\nus, our duty as the sovereign transcends this law. Even the blood of a\nbrother must flow if it is for the good of the state intrusted to us. My\nnurse had taught me that being good meant doing unto others as we would\nbe done by; Cilo cried to me: 'Strike down, that you may not be struck\ndown--away with mercy, if the welfare of the state is threatened!' And\nhow many hands are raised against Rome, the universal empire, which I\nrule over! It needs a strong hand to keep its antagonistic parts\ntogether. Otherwise it would fall apart like a bundle of arrows when the\nstring that bound them is broken. And I, even as a boy, had sworn to my\nfather, by the Terminus stone in the Capitol, never to abandon a single\ninch of his ground without fighting for it. He, Severus, was the wisest\nof the rulers. Only the blind love for his second son, encouraged by the\nwomen, caused him to forget his moderation and prudence. My brother Geta\nwas to reign together with me over the empire, which ought to have been\nmine alone as the first-born. Every year festivals were kept, with\nprayers and sacrifices, to the 'love of the brothers.' You have perhaps\nseen the coins, which show us hand in hand, and have on them the\ninscription, 'Eternal union'!\n\n\"I in union--I hand in hand with the man I most hated under the sun! It\nalmost maddened me only to hear his voice. I would have liked best of all\nto spring at his throat when I saw him with his learned fellows\nsquandering their time. Do you know what they did? They invented the\nnames by which the voices of different animals were to be known. Once I\nsnatched the pencil out of the hand of the freedman as he was writing the\nsentences, 'The horse neighs, the pig grunts, the goat bleats, the cow\nlows, the sheep baas.' 'He, himself,' I added, 'croaks like a hoarse\njay.'\n\n\"That I should share the government with this miserable, faint-hearted,\npoisonous nobody could never be,--this enemy, who, when I said 'Yes,'\ncried 'No!' Who frustrated all my measures,--it was impossible! It would\nhave caused the destruction of the state, as certainly as it was the\nunfairest and unwisest of the deeds of Severus, to place the younger\nbrother as co-regent with the first-born, the rightful heir to the\nthrone. I, whom my father had taught to watch for signs, was reminded\nevery hour that this unbearable position must come to an end.\n\n\"After the death of Severus, we lived at first close to one another in\nseparate parts of the same palace like two lions in a cage across which a\npartition has been erected, so that they may not reciprocally mangle each\nother.\n\n\"We used to meet at my mother's.\n\n\"That morning my mastiff had bitten Geta's wolfhound and killed him,\nand they had found a black liver in the beast he had sent for sacrifice.\nI had been informed of this. Destiny was on my side. This indolent\ninactivity must be brought to a close. I myself do not know how I felt\nas I mounted the steps to my mother's rooms. I only remember distinctly\nthat a demon cried continually in my ear, 'You have murdered your\nbrother!' Then I suddenly found myself face to face with him. It was\nin the empress's reception-room. And when I saw the hated flat-shaped\nhead so close to me, when his beardless mouth with its thick underlip\nsmiled at me so sweetly and at the same time so falsely, I felt as if I\nagain heard the cry with which he had cheered on his horse. And I felt\n . . . I even felt the pain-as if he broke my thigh again with his\nwheel. And at the same time a fiend whispered in my ear: 'Destroy him,\nor he will kill you, and through him Rome will perish!'\n\n\"Then I seized my sword. In his odious, peevish voice he said\nsomething--I forget what nonsense--to me. Then it appeared to me as if\nall the sheep and goats over which he had squandered his time were\nbleating at me. The blood rushed to my head. The room spun round me in a\ncircle. Black spots on a red ground danced before my eyes.\n\n\"And then--What flashed in my right hand was my own naked sword! I\nneither heard nor said anything further. Nor had I planned, nor ever\nthought of, what then occurred. . . . But suddenly I felt as if a\nmountain of oppressive lead had fallen from my breast. How easily I could\nbreathe again! All that had just before turned round me in a mad,\nwhirling dance stood still. The sun shone brightly in the large room; a\nshaft of light, showing dancing dust, fell on Geta. He sank on his knees\nclose to me, with my sword in his breast. My mother made a fruitless\neffort to shield him. His blood trickled over her hand. I can still see\nevery ring on those slender, white fingers. I also remember distinctly\nhow, when I raised my sword against him, my mother rushed in between us\nto protect her favorite. The sharp blade, as she tried to seize it,\naccidentally grazed her hand--I know not how--only the skin was slightly\ncut. Yet what a scream she gave over the wound which the son had given\nhis mother! Julia Maesa, her daughter Mammara, and the other women,\nrushed in. How they exaggerated! They made a river out of every drop of\nblood.\n\n\"So the dreadful deed was done; and yet, had I let the wretch live, I\nshould have been a traitor to Rome, to myself, and to my father's life's\nwork. That day, for the first time, I was ruler of the world. Those who\naccuse me of fratricide no doubt believe themselves to be right. But they\ncertainly are not. I know better. You also know now with me that destiny,\nand not I, struck Geta out from among the living.\"\n\nHere he sat for some time in breathless silence. Then he asked Melissa:\n\n\"You understand now how I came to shed my brother's blood?\"\n\nShe started, and repeated gently after him: \"Yes, I understand it.\"\n\nDeep compassion filled her heart, and yet she felt she dare not sanction\nwhat she had heard and deplored. Torn by deep and conflicting feelings\nshe threw back her head, brushed her hair off her face, and cried: \"Let\nme go now; I can bear it no longer!\"\n\n\"So soft-hearted?\" asked he, and shook his head disapprovingly. \"Life\nrages more wildly round the throne than in an artist's home. You will\nhave to learn to swim through the roaring torrent with me. Believe me,\neven enormities can become quite commonplace. And, besides, why does it\nstill shock you when you yourself know that it was indispensable?\"\n\n\"I am only a weak girl, and I feel as if I had witnessed these fearful\ndeeds, and had to bear the terrible blood-guiltiness with you!\" broke\nfrom her lips.\n\n\"That is what you must and shall do! It is to that end that I have\nconfided to you what no one else has ever heard from my mouth!\" cried\nCaracalla, his eyes flashing more brightly. She felt as though this cry\ncalled her from her slumbers and revealed the precipice to which she had\nstrayed in her sleepwalking.\n\nWhen Caracalla had begun telling her of his youth, she had only listened\nwith half an ear; for she could not forget Berenike's rescuing ship. But\nsoon his confessions completely attracted her attention, and the lament\nof this powerful man on whom so many injuries and wrongs had fallen, who\neven in childhood had been deprived of the happiness of a mother's love,\nhad touched her tender heart. That which was afterward told to her she\nhad identified with her own humble life; she heard with a shudder that it\nwas to the malice of his brother that this unhappy being owed the injury\nwhich, like a poisonous blight, had marred for him all the joys of\nexistence, while she owed all that was loveliest and best in her young\nlife to a brother's love.\n\nThe grounds on which Caracalla had based the assertion that destiny had\ncompelled him to murder Geta appeared to her young and inexperienced mind\nas indisputable. He was only the pitiable victim of his birth and of a\ncruel fate. Besides, the humblest and most sober-minded can not resist\nthe charm of majesty; and this hapless man, who had honored Melissa with\nhis confidence, and who had assured her so earnestly that she was of such\nimportance to him and could do so much for him, was the ruler of the\nuniverse.\n\nShe had also felt, after Caesar's confession, that she had a right to be\nproud, since he had thought her worthy to take an interest in the tragedy\nin the imperial palace, as if she had been a member of the court. In her\nlively imagination she had witnessed the ghastly act to which he--as she\nhad certainly believed, even when she had replied to his question--had\nbeen forced by fate.\n\nBut the demand which had followed her answer now recurred to her. The\npicture of Diodoros, which had completely vanished from her thoughts\nwhile she had been listening, suddenly appeared to her, and, as she\nfancied, he looked at her reproachfully.\n\nHad she, then, transgressed against her betrothed?\n\nNo, no, indeed she had not!\n\nShe loved him, and only him; and for that very reason, her upright\njudgment told her now, that it would be sinning against her lover to\ncarry out Caracalla's wish, as if she had become his fellow-culprit, or\ncertainly the advocate of the bloody outrage. She could think of no\nanswer to his \"That is what you must and shall do!\" that would not awaken\nhis wrath. Cautiously, and with sincere thanks for his confidence in her,\nshe begged him once more to allow her to leave him, because she needed\nrest after such a shock to her mind. And it would also do him good to\ngrant himself a short rest. But he assured her he knew that he could only\nrest when he had fulfilled his duty as a sovereign. His father had said,\na few minutes before he drew his last breath:\n\n\"If there is anything more to be done, give it me to do,\" and he, the\nson, would do likewise.\n\n\"Moreover,\" he concluded, \"it has done me good to bring to light that\nwhich I had for so long kept sealed within me. To gaze in your face at\nthe same time was, perhaps, even better physic.\"\n\nAt this he rose and, seizing the startled girl by both hands, he cried:\n\n\"You, child, can satisfy the insatiable! The love which I offer you\nresembles a full bunch of grapes, and yet I am quite content if you will\ngive me back but one berry.\"\n\nAt the very commencement, this declaration was drowned by a loud shout\nwhich rang through the room in waves of sound.\n\nCaracalla started, but, before he could reach the window, old Adventus\nrushed in breathless; and he was followed, though in a more dignified\nmanner, with a not less hasty step and every sign of excitement, by\nMacrinus, the prefect of the praetorians, with his handsome young son and\na few of Caesar's friends.\n\n\"This is how I rest!\" exclaimed Caracalla, bitterly, as he released\nMelissa's hand and turned inquiringly to the intruders.\n\nThe news had spread among the praetorians and the Macedonian legions,\nthat the emperor, who, contrary to his custom, had not shown himself for\ntwo days, was seriously ill, and at the point of death. Feeling extremely\nanxious about one who had showered gold on them, and given them such a\ndegree of freedom as no other imperator had ever allowed them, they had\ncollected before the Serapeum and demanded to see Caesar. Caracalla's\neyes lighted up at this information, and, excitedly pleased, he cried:\n\n\"They only are really faithful!\"\n\nHe asked for his sword and helmet, and sent for the 'paludamentum', the\ngeneral's cloak of purple, embroidered with gold, which he never\notherwise wore except on the field. The soldiers should see that he\nintended leading in future battles.\n\nWhile they waited, he conversed quietly with Macrinus and the others;\nwhen, however, the costly garment covered his shoulders, and when his\nfavorite, Theocritus, who had known best how to support him during his\nillness, offered him an arm, he answered imperiously that he required no\nassistance.\n\n\"Nevertheless, you should, after so serious an attack--\" the physician in\nordinary ventured to exhort him; but he interrupted him scornfully, and,\nglancing toward Melissa, exclaimed:\n\n\"Those little hands there contain more healing power than yours and the\ngreat Galenus's put together.\"\n\nThereupon he beckoned to the young girl, and when she once more besought\nhis permission to go, he left the room with the commanding cry, \"You are\nto wait!\"\n\nHe had rather far to go and some steps to mount in order to reach the\nbalcony which ran round the base of the cupola of the Pantheon which his\nfather had joined to the Serapeum, yet he undertook this willingly, as\nthence he could best be seen and heard.\n\nA few hours earlier it would have been impossible for him to reach this\npoint, and Epagathos had arranged that a sedan-chair and strong bearers\nshould be waiting at the foot of the steps; but he refused it, for he\nfelt entirely restored, and the shouts of his warriors intoxicated him\nlike sparkling wine.\n\nMeanwhile Melissa remained behind in the audience-chamber. She must obey\nCaesar's command. Yet it frightened her; and, besides, she was woman\nenough to feel it as an offense that the man who had assured her so\nsincerely of his gratitude, and who even feigned to love her, should have\nrefused so harshly her desire to rest. She foresaw that, as long as he\nremained in Alexandria, she would have to be his constant companion. She\ntrembled at the idea; yet, if she tried to fly from him, all she loved\nwould be lost. No, this must not be thought of! She must remain.\n\nShe threw herself on a divan, lost in thought, and as she realized the\nconfidence of which the unapproachable, proud emperor had thought her\nworthy, a secret voice whispered to her that it was certainly a\ndelightful thing to share the overwhelming agitations of the highest and\ngreatest. And was he then really bad, he who felt the necessity of\nvindicating himself before a simple girl, and to whom it appeared so\nintolerable to be misjudged and condemned even by her? Besides being the\nemperor and a suffering man, Caracalla had also become her wooer. It\nnever once entered her mind to accept him; but still it flattered her\nextremely that the greatest of men should declare his love for her. Why,\nthen, need she fear him? She was so important to him, she could do so\nmuch for him, that he would surely take care not to insult or offend her.\nThis modest child, who till quite lately had trembled before her own\nfather's temper, now, in the consciousness of Caesar's favor, felt\nherself strong to triumph over the wrath and passions of the most\npowerful and most terrible of men. In the mean time she dared not risk\nconfessing to him that she was another's bride, for that might determine\nhim to let Diodoros feel his power. The thought that the emperor could\ncare about her good opinion greatly pleased her; it even had the effect\nof raising the hope in her inexperienced mind that Caracalla would\nmoderate his passion for her sake--when old Adventus came into the room.\n\nHe was in a hurry; for preparations had to be made in the dining-hall for\nthe reception of the ambassadors. But when at his appearance Melissa rose\nfrom the divan he begged her good-naturedly to continue resting. No one\ncould tell what humor Caracalla might be in when he returned. She had\noften seen how rapidly that chameleon could change color. Who that had\nseen him just now, going to meet his soldiers, would believe that he had\na few hours before sent away, with hard words, the widow of the Egyptian\ngovernor, who had come to beg mercy for her husband?\n\n\"So that wretch, Theocritus, has really carried out his intention of\nruining the honest Titianus?\" asked Melissa, horrified.\n\n\"Not only of ruining him,\" answered the chamberlain; \"Titianus is by this\ntime beheaded.\"\n\nThe old man bowed and left the room; but Melissa remained behind, feeling\nas if the floor had opened in front of her. He, whose ardent assurance\nshe had just now believed, that he had been forced to shed the blood of\nan impious wretch, in obedience to an overpowering fate, was capable of\nallowing the noblest of men to be beheaded, unjudged, merely to please a\nmercenary favorite! His confession, then, had been nothing but a\nrevolting piece of acting! He had endeavored to vanquish the disgust she\nfelt for him merely to ensnare her and her healing hand more surely--as\nhis plaything, his physic, his sleeping draught. And she had entered the\ntrap, and acquitted him of the most horrible blood-guiltiness.\n\nHe had that very day rejected, without pity, a noble Roman lady who\npetitioned for her husband's life, and with the same breath he had\nafterwards befooled her!\n\nShe started up, indignant and deeply wounded. Was it not ignominious even\nto wait here like a prisoner in obedience to the command of this wretch?\nAnd she had dared for one moment to compare this monster with Diodoros,\nthe handsomest, the best, and most amiable of youths!\n\nIt seemed to her inconceivable. If only he had not the power to destroy\nall that was dearest to her heart, what pleasure it would have been to\nshout in his face:\n\n\"I detest you, murderer, and I am the betrothed of another, who is as\ngood and beautiful as you are vile and odious!\"\n\nThen the question occurred to her whether it was only for the sake of her\nhealing hands that he had felt attracted to her, and had made her an\navowal as if she were his equal.\n\nThe blood mounted to her face at this thought, and with a burning brow\nshe walked to the open window.\n\nA crowd of presentiments rushed into her innocent and, till then,\nunsuspecting heart, and they were all so alarming that it was a relief to\nher when a shout of joy from the panoplied breasts of several thousand\narmed men rent the air. Mingling with this overpowering demonstration of\nunited rejoicing from such huge masses, came the blare of the trumpets\nand horns of the assembled legions. What a maddening noise!\n\nBefore her lay the square, filled with many legions of warriors who\nsurrounded the Serapeum in their shining armor, with their eagles and\nvexilla. The praetorians stood by the picked men of the Macedonian\nphalanx, and with these were all the troops who had escorted the imperial\ngeneral hither, and the garrisons of the city of Alexander who hoped to\nbe called out in the next war.\n\nOn the balcony, decorated with statues which surrounded the colonnade of\nthe Pantheon on which the cupola rested, she saw Caracalla, and at a\nrespectful distance a superb escort of his friends, in red and white\ntogas, bordered with purple stripes, and wearing armor. Having taken off\nhis gold helmet, the imperial general bowed to his people, and at every\nnod of his head, and each more vigorous movement, the enthusiastic cheers\nwere renewed more loudly than ever.\n\nMacrinus then stepped up to Caesar's side, and the lictors who followed\nhim, by lowering their fasces, signaled to the warriors to keep silence.\n\nInstantly the ear-splitting din changed to a speechless lull.\n\nAt first she still heard the lances and shields, which several of the\nwarriors had waved in enthusiastic joy, ringing against the ground, and\nthe clatter of the swords being put back in their sheaths; then this also\nceased, and finally, although only the superior officers had arrived on\nhorseback, the stamping of hoofs, the snorting of the horses, and the\nrattle of the chains at their bits, were the only sounds.\n\nMelissa listened breathlessly, looking first at the square and the\nsoldiers below, then at the balcony where the emperor stood. In spite of\nthe aversion she felt, her heart beat quicker. It was as if this\nimmeasurable army had only one voice; as if an irresistible force drew\nall these thousands of eyes toward one point--the one little man up there\non the Pantheon.\n\nDirectly he began to speak, Melissa's glance was also fixed on Caracalla.\n\nShe only heard the closing sentence, as, with raised voice, he shouted to\nthe soldiers; and from it she gathered that he thanked his companions in\narms for their anxiety, but that he still felt strong enough to share all\ntheir difficulties with them. Severe exertions lay behind them. The rest\nin this luxurious city would do them all good. There was still much to be\nconquered in the rich East, and to add to what they had already won,\nbefore they could return to Rome to celebrate a well-earned triumph. The\nweary should make themselves comfortable here. The wealthy merchants in\nwhose houses he had quartered them had been told to attend to their\nwants, and if they neglected to do so every single warrior was man enough\nto show them what a soldier needed for his comfort. The people here\nlooked askance at him and his soldiers, but too much moderation would be\nmisplaced.\n\nThere certainly were some things even here which the host was not bound\nto supply to his military; he, Caesar, would provide them with these, and\nfor that purpose he had put aside two million denarii out of his own\npoverty to distribute among them.\n\nThis speech had several times been interrupted by applause, but now such\na tremendous shout of joy went up that it would have drowned the loudest\nthunder. The number of voices as well as their power seemed to have\ndoubled.\n\nCaracalla had added another link to the golden chain which already bound\nhim to these faithful people; and, as he smiled and nodded to the\ndelighted crowd from the balcony, he looked like a happy, light-hearted\nyouth who had prepared a great treat for himself and several beloved\nfriends.\n\nWhat he said further was lost in the confusion of voices in the square.\nThe ranks were broken up, and the cuirasses, helmets, and arms of the\nmoving warriors caught the sun and sent bright beams of light crossing\none another over the wide space surrounded with dazzling white marble\nstatues.\n\nWhen Caracalla left the balcony, Melissa drew back from the window.\n\nThe compassionate impulse to lighten the lot of a sufferer, which had\nbefore drawn her so strongly to Caracalla, had now lost its sense and\nmeaning for this healthy, high-spirited man. She considered herself\ncheated, as if she had been fooled by sham suffering into giving\nexcessively large alms to an artful beggar.\n\nBesides, she loved her native town, and Caracalla's advice to the\nsoldiers to force the citizens to provide luxurious living for them, had\nmade her considerably more rebellious. If he ever put her again in a\nposition to speak her mind freely to him, she would tell him all\nundisguisedly; but instantly it again rushed into her mind that she must\nkeep guard over her tongue before the easily unchained wrath of this\ndespot, until her father and brothers were in safety once more.\n\nBefore the emperor returned, the room was filled with people, of whom she\nknew none, excepting her old friend the white-haired, learned Samonicus.\nShe was the aim and center of all eyes, and when even the kindly old man\ngreeted her from a distance, and so contemptuously, that the blood rushed\nto her face, she begged Adventus to take her into the next room.\n\nThe Chamberlain did as she wished, but before he left her he whispered to\nher: \"Innocence is trusting; but it is not of much avail here. Take care,\nchild! They say there are sand-banks in the Nile which, like soft\npillows, entice one to rest. But if you use them they become alive, and a\ncrocodile creeps out, with open jaws. I am talking already in metaphor,\nlike an Alexandrian, but you will understand me.\"\n\nMelissa bowed acknowledgment to him, and the old man went on:\n\n\"He may perhaps forget you; for many things had accumulated during his\nillness. If the mass of business, as it comes in, is not settled for\ntwenty four hours, it swells like a mill-stream that has the sluice down.\nBut when work is begun, it quite carries him away. He forgets then to eat\nand drink. Ambassadors have arrived also from the Empress-mother, from\nArmenia, and Parthia. If he does not ask for you in half an hour, it will\nbe suppertime, and I will let you out through that door.\"\n\n\"Do so at once,\" begged Melissa, with raised, petitioning hands; but the\nold man replied: \"I should then reward you but ill for having warmed my\nfeet for me. Remember the crocodile under the sand! Patience, child!\nThere is Caesar's zithern. If you can play, amuse yourself with that. The\ndoor shuts closely and the curtains are thick. My old ears just now were\nlistening to no purpose.\"\n\nBut Caracalla was so far from forgetting Melissa that although he had\nattended to the communication brought to him by the ambassadors, and the\nvarious dispatches from the senate, he asked for her even at the door of\nthe tablinum. He had seen her from the balcony looking out on the square;\nso she had witnessed the reception his soldiers had given him. The\nmagnificent spectacle must have impressed her and filled her with joy. He\nwas anxious to hear all this from her own lips, before he settled down to\nwork.\n\nAdverntus whispered to him where he had taken her, to avoid the\npersecuting glances of the numerous strangers, and Caracalla nodded to\nhim approvingly and went into the next room.\n\nShe sat there with the zithern, letting her fingers glide gently over the\nstrings.\n\nOn his entering, she drew back hastily; but he cried to her brightly: \"Do\nnot disturb yourself. I love that instrument. I am having a statue\nerected to Mesomedes, the great zithern-player--you perhaps know his\nsongs. This evening, when the feast and the press of work are over, I\nwill hear how you play. I will also playa few airs to you.\"\n\nMelissa then plucked up courage and said, decidedly: \"No, my lord; I am\nabout to bid you farewell for to-day.\"\n\n\"That sounds very determined,\" he answered, half surprised and half\namused. \"But may I be allowed to know what has made you decide on this\nstep?\"\n\n\"There is a great deal of work waiting for you,\" she replied, quietly.\n\n\"That is my affair, not yours,\" was the crushing answer.\n\n\"It is also mine,\" she said, endeavoring to keep calm; \"for you have not\nyet completely recovered, and, should you require my help again this\nevening, I could not attend to your call.\"\n\n\"No?\" he asked, wrathfully, and his eyelids began to twitch.\n\n\"No, my lord; for it would not be seemly in a maiden to visit you by\nnight, unless you were ill and needed nursing. As it is, I shall meet\nyour friends--my heart stands still only to think of it--\"\n\n\"I will teach them what is due to you!\" Caracalla bellowed out, and his\nbrow was knit once more.\n\n\"But you can not compel me,\" she replied, firmly, \"to change my mind as\nto what is seemly,\" and the courage which failed her if she met a spider,\nbut which stood by her in serious danger as a faithful ally, made her\nperfectly steadfast as she eagerly added: \"Not an hour since you promised\nme that so long as I remained with you I should need no other protector,\nand might count on your gratitude. But those were mere words, for, when I\nbesought you to grant me some repose, you scorned my very reasonable\nrequest, and roughly ordered me to remain and attend on you.\"\n\nAt this Caesar laughed aloud.\n\n\"Just so! You are a woman, and like all the rest. You are sweet and\ngentle only so long as you have your own way.\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" cried Melissa, and her eyes filled with tears. \"I only look\nfurther than from one hour to the next. If I should sacrifice what I\nthink right, merely to come and go at my own will, I should soon be not\nonly miserable myself, but the object of your contempt.\"\n\nOvercome by irresistible distress, she broke into loud sobs; but\nCaracalla, with a furious stamp of his foot, exclaimed:\n\n\"No tears! I can not, I will not see you weep. Can any harm come to you?\nNothing but good; nothing but the best of happiness do I propose for you.\nBy Apollo and Zeus, that is the truth! Till now you have been unlike\nother women, but when you behave like them, you shall--I swear it--you\nshall feel which of us two is the stronger!\"\n\nHe roughly snatched her hand away from her face and thereby achieved his\nend, for her indignation at being thus touched by a man's brutal hand\ngave Melissa strength to suppress her sobs. Only her wet cheeks showed\nwhat a flood of tears she had shed, as, almost beside herself with anger,\nshe exclaimed:\n\n\"Let my hand go! Shame on the man who insults a defenseless girl! You\nswear! Then I, too, may take an oath, and, by the head of my mother, you\nshall never see me again excepting as a corpse, if you ever attempt\nviolence! You are Caesar--you are the stronger. Who ever doubted it? But\nyou will never compel me to a vile action, not if you could inflict a\nthousand deaths on me instead of one!\"\n\nCaracalla, without a word, had released her hand and was staring at her\nin amazement.\n\nA woman, and so gentle a woman, defying him as no man would have dared to\ndo!\n\nShe stood before him, her hand raised, her bosom heaving; a flame of\nanger sparkled in her eyes through their tears, and he had never before\nthought her so fair. What majesty there was in this girl, whose simple\ngrace had made him more than once address her as \"child\"! She was like a\nqueen, an empress; perhaps she might become one. The idea struck him for\nthe first time. And that little hand which now fell--what soothing power\nit had, how much he owed to it! How fervently he had wished but just now\nto be understood by her, and to be thought better of by her than by the\nrest! And this wish still possessed him. Nay, he was more strongly\nattracted than ever to this creature, worthy as she was of the highest in\nthe land, and made doubly bewitching by her proud willfulness. That he\nshould see her for the last time seemed to him as impossible as that he\nshould never again see daylight; and yet her whole aspect announced that\nher threat was serious.\n\nHis aggrieved pride and offended sense of absolute power struggled with\nhis love, repentance, and fear of losing her healing presence; but the\nstruggle was brief, especially as a mass of business to be attended to\nlay before him like a steep hill to climb, and haste was imperative.\n\nHe went up to her, shaking his head, and said in the superior tone of a\nsage rebuking thoughtlessness:\n\n\"Like all the rest of them--I repeat it. My demands had no object in view\nbut to make you happy and derive comfort from you. How hot must the blood\nbe which boils and foams at the contact of a spark! Only too like my own;\nand, since I understand you, I find it easy to forgive you. Indeed, I\nmust finally express myself grateful; for I was in danger of neglecting\nmy duties as a sovereign for the sake of pleasing my heart. Go, then, and\nrest, while I devote myself to business.\"\n\nAt this, Melissa forced herself to smile, and said, still somewhat\ntearfully: \"How grateful I am! And you will not again require me to\nremain, will you, when I assure you that it is not fitting?\"\n\n\"Unluckily, I am not in the habit of yielding to a girl's whims.\"\n\n\"I have no whims,\" she eagerly declared. \"But you will keep your word\nnow, and allow me to withdraw? I implore you to let me go!\"\n\nWith a deep sigh and an amount of self-control of which he would\nyesterday have thought himself incapable, he let go her hand, and she\nwith a shudder thought that she had found the answer to the question he\nhad asked her. His eyes, not his words, had betrayed it; for a woman can\nsee in a suitor's look what color his wishes take, while a woman's eyes\nonly tell her lover whether or no she reciprocates his feelings.\n\n\"I am going,\" she said, but he remarked the deadly paleness which\noverspread her features, and her colorless cheeks encouraged him in the\nbelief that, after a sleepless night and the agitations of the last few\nhours, it was only physical exhaustion which made Melissa so suddenly\nanxious to escape from him. So, saying kindly:\n\n\"'Till to-morrow, then,\" he dismissed her.\n\nBut when she had almost left the room, he added: \"One thing more!\nTo-morrow we will try our zitherns together. After my bath is the time I\nlike best for such pleasant things; Adventus will fetch you. I am curious\nto hear you play and sing. Of all sounds, that of the human voice is the\nsweetest. Even the shouting of my legions is pleasing to the ear and\nheart. Do you not think so, and does not the acclamation of so many\nthousands stir your soul?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" she replied hastily; and she longed to reproach him for the\ninjustice he was doing the populace of Alexandria to benefit his\nwarriors, but she felt that the time was ill chosen, and everything gave\nway to her longing to be gone out of the dreadful man's sight.\n\nIn the next room she met Philostratus, and begged him to conduct her to\nthe lady Euryale; for all the anterooms were now thronged, and she had\nlost the calm confidence in which she had come thither.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nAs Melissa made her way with the philosopher through the crowd,\nPhilostratus said to her: \"It is for your sake, child, that these\nhundreds have had so long to wait to-day, and many hopes will be\ndisappointed. To satisfy all is a giant's task. But Caracalla must do it,\nwell or ill.\"\n\n\"Then he will forget me!\" replied Melissa, with a sigh of relief.\n\n\"Hardly,\" answered the philosopher. He was sorry for the terrified girl,\nand in his wish to lighten her woes as far as he could, he said, gravely:\n\"You called him terrible, and he can be more terrible than any man\nliving. But he has been kind to you so far, and, if you take my advice,\nyou will always seem to expect nothing from him that is not good and\nnoble.\"\n\n\"Then I must be a hypocrite,\" replied Melissa. \"Only to-day he has\nmurdered the noble Titianus.\"\n\n\"That is an affair of state which does not concern you,\" replied\nPhilostratus. \"Read my description of Achilles. I represent him among\nother heroes such as Caracalla might be. Try, on your part, to see him in\nthat light. I know that it is sometimes a pleasure to him to justify the\ngood opinion of others. Encourage your imagination to think the best of\nhim. I shall tell him that you regard him as magnanimous and noble.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" cried Melissa; \"that would make everything worse.\"\n\nBut the philosopher interrupted her.\n\n\"Trust my riper experience. I know him. If you let him know your true\nopinion of him, I will answer for nothing. My Achilles reveals the good\nqualities with which he came into the world; and if you look closely you\nmay still find sparks among the ashes.\"\n\nHe here took his leave, for they had reached the vestibule leading to the\nhigh-priest's lodgings, and a few minutes later Melissa found herself\nwith Euryale, to whom she related all that she had seen and felt. When\nshe told her older friend what Philostratus had advised, the lady stroked\nher hair, and said: \"Try to follow the advice of so experienced a man. It\ncan not be very difficult. When a woman's heart has once been attached to\na man--and pity is one of the strongest of human ties--the bond may be\nstrained and worn, but a few threads must always remain.\"\n\nBut Melissa hastily broke in:\n\n\"There is not a spider's thread left which binds me to that cruel man.\nThe murder of Titianus has snapped them all.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" replied the lady, confidently. \"Pity is the only form of love\nwhich even the worst crime can not eradicate from a kind heart. You\nprayed for Caesar before you knew him, and that was out of pure human\ncharity. Exercise now a wider compassion, and reflect that Fate has\ncalled you to take care of a hapless creature raving in fever and hard to\ndeal with. How many Christian women, especially such as call themselves\ndeaconesses, voluntarily assume such duties! and good is good, right is\nright for all, whether they pray to one God or to several. If you keep\nyour heart pure, and constantly think of the time which shall be\nfulfilled for each of us, to our ruin or to our salvation, you will pass\nunharmed through this great peril. I know it, I feel it.\"\n\n\"But you do not know him,\" exclaimed Melissa, \"and how terrible he can\nbe! And Diodoros! When he is well again, if he hears that I am with\nCaesar, in obedience to his call whenever he sends for me, and if evil\ntongues tell him dreadful things about me, he, too, will condemn me!\"\n\n\"No, no,\" the matron declared, kissing her brow and eyes. \"If he loves\nyou truly, he will trust you.\"\n\n\"He loves me,\" sobbed Melissa; \"but, even if he does not desert me when I\nam thus branded, his father will come between us.\"\n\n\"God forbid!\" cried Euryale. \"Remain what you are, and I will always be\nthe same to you, come what may; and those who love you will not refuse to\nlisten to an old woman who has grown gray in honor.\"\n\nAnd Melissa believed her motherly, kind, worthy friend; and, with the new\nconfidence which revived in her, her longing for her lover began to stir\nirresistibly. She wanted a fond glance from the eyes of the youth who\nloved her, and to whom, for another man's sake, she could not give all\nhis due, nay, who had perhaps a right to complain of her. This she\nfrankly confessed, and the matron herself conducted the impatient girl to\nsee Diodoros.\n\nMelissa again found Andreas in attendance on the sufferer, and she was\nsurprised at the warmth with which the high-priest's wife greeted the\nChristian.\n\nDiodoros was already able to be dressed and to sit up. He was pale and\nweak, and his head was still bound up, but he welcomed the girl\naffectionately, though with a mild reproach as to the rarity of her\nvisits.\n\nAndreas had already informed him that Melissa was kept away by her\nmediation for the prisoners, and so he was comforted by her assurance\nthat if her duty would allow of it she would never leave him again. And\nthe joy of having her there, the delight of gazing into her sweet, lovely\nface, and the youthful gift of forgetting the past in favor of the\npresent, silenced every bitter reflection. He was soon blissfully\nlistening to her with a fresh color in his cheeks, and never had he seen\nher so tender, so devoted, so anxious to show him the fullness of her\ngreat love. The quiet, reserved girl was to-day the wooer, and with the\nzeal called forth by her ardent wish to do him good, she expressed all\nthe tenderness of her warm heart so frankly and gladly that to him it\nseemed as though Eros had never till now pierced her with the right\nshaft.\n\nAs soon as Euryale was absorbed in conversation with Andreas, she offered\nhim her lips with gay audacity, as though in defiance of some stern\ndragon of virtue, and he, drunk with rapture, enjoyed what she granted\nhim. And soon it was he who became daring, declaring that there would be\ntime enough to talk another day; that for the present her rosy mouth had\nnothing to do but to cure him with kisses. And during this sweet give and\ntake, she implored him with pathetic fervor never, never to doubt her\nlove, whatever he might hear of her. Their older friends, who had turned\ntheir backs on the couple and were talking busily by a window, paid no\nheed to them, and the blissful conviction of being loved as ardently as\nshe loved flooded her whole being.\n\nOnly now and then did the thought of Caesar trouble for a moment the\nrapture of that hour, like a hideous form appearing out of distant\nclouds. She felt prompted indeed to tell her lover everything, but it\nseemed so difficult to make him understand exactly how everything had\nhappened, and Diodoros must not be distressed. And, indeed, intoxicated\nas he was with heated passion, he made the attempt impossible.\n\nWhen he spoke it was only to assure her of his love; and when the lady\nEuryale at last called her to go, and looked in the girl's glowing face,\nMelissa felt as though she were snatched from a rapturous dream.\n\nIn the anteroom they were stopped by Andreas. Euryale had indeed relieved\nhis worst fears, still he was anxious to lay before the girl the question\nwhether she would not be wise to take advantage of this very night to\nmake her escape. She, however, her eyes still beaming with happiness,\nlaid her little hand coaxingly on his bearded mouth, and begged him not\nto sadden her high spirits and hopes of a better time by warnings and\ndismal forecasts. Even the lady Euryale had advised her to trust\nfearlessly to herself, and sitting with her lover she had acquired the\ncertainty that it was best so. The freedman could not bear to disturb\nthis happy confidence, and only impressed on Melissa that she should send\nfor him if ever she needed him. He would find her a hiding-place, and the\nlady Euryale had undertaken to provide a messenger. He then bade them\ngodspeed, and they returned to the high-priest's dwelling.\n\nIn the vestibule they found a servant from the lady Berenike; in his\nmistress's name he desired Euryale to send Melissa to spend the night\nwith her.\n\nThis invitation, which would remove Melissa from the Serapeum, was\nwelcome to them both, and the matron herself accompanied the young girl\ndown a private staircase leading to a small side-door. Argutis, who had\ncome to inquire for his young mistress, was to be her escort and to bring\nher back early next morning to the same entrance.\n\nThe old slave had much to tell her. He had been on his feet all day. He\nhad been to the harbor to inquire as to the return of the vessel with the\nprisoners on board; to the Serapeum to inquire for her; to Dido, to give\nher the news. He had met Alexander in the forenoon on the quay where the\nimperial galleys were moored. When the young man learned that the trireme\ncould not come in before next morning at the soonest, he had set out to\ncross the lake and see Zeus and his daughter. He had charged Argutis to\nlet Melissa know that his longing for the fair Agatha gave him no peace.\n\nHe and old Dido disapproved of their young master's feather-brain, which\nhad not been made more steady and patient even by the serious events of\nthis day and his sister's peril; however, he did not allow a word of\nblame to escape him. He was happy only to be allowed to walk behind\nMelissa, and to hear from her own lips that all was well with her, and\nthat Caesar was gracious.\n\nAlexander, indeed, had also told the old man that he and Caesar were\n\"good friends\"; and now the slave was thinking of Pandion, Theocritus,\nand the other favorites of whom he had heard; and he assured Melissa\nthat, as soon as her father should be free, Caracalla would be certain to\nraise him to the rank of knight, to give him lands and wealth, perhaps\none of the imperial residences on the Bruchium. Then he, Argutis, would\nbe house steward, and show that he knew other things besides keeping the\nworkroom and garden in order, splitting wood, and buying cheaply at\nmarket.\n\nMelissa laughed and said he should be no worse off if only the first wish\nof her heart were fulfilled, and she were wife to Diodoros; and Argutis\ndeclared he would be amply content if only she allowed him to remain with\nher.\n\nBut she only half listened and answered absently, for she breathed faster\nas she pictured to herself how she would show Caesar, on whom she had\nalready proved her power, that she had ceased to tremble before him.\n\nThus they came to the house of Seleukus.\n\nA large force had taken up their quarters there. In the pillared hall\nbeyond the vestibule bearded soldiers were sitting on benches or\nsquatting in groups on the ground, drinking noisily and singing, or\nlaughing and squabbling as they threw the dice on the costly mosaic\npavement. A riotous party were toping and reveling in the beautiful\ngarden of the impluvium round a fire which they had lighted on the velvet\nturf. A dozen or so of officers had stretched themselves on cushions\nunder one of the colonnades, and, without attempting to check the wild\nbehavior of their men, were watching the dancing of some Egyptian girls\nwho had been brought into the house of their involuntary host. Although\nMelissa was closely veiled and accompanied by a servant, she did not\nescape rude words and insolent glances. Indeed, an audacious young\npraetorian had put out his hand to pull away her veil, but an older\nofficer stopped him.\n\nThe lady Berenike's rooms had so far not been intruded on; for Macrinus,\nthe praetorian prefect, who knew Berenike through her brother-in-law the\nsenator Coeranus, had given orders that the women's apartments were to be\nexempt from the encroachments of the quartermaster of the body-guard.\nBreathing rapidly and with a heightened color, Melissa at last entered\nthe room of Seleukus's wife.\n\nThe matron's voice was full of bitterness as she greeted her young\nvisitor with the exclamation \"You look as if you had fled to escape\npersecution! And in my house, too! Or\"--and her large eyes flashed\nbrightly--\"or is the blood-hound on the track of his prey? My boat is\nquite ready--\" When Melissa denied this, and related what had happened,\nBerenike exclaimed: \"But you know that the panther lies still and gathers\nhimself up before he springs; or, if you do not, you may see it to-morrow\nat the Circus. There is to be a performance in Caesar's honor, the like\nof which not even Nero ever saw. My husband bears the chief part cf the\ncost, and can think of nothing else. He has even forgotten his only\nchild, and all to please the man who insults us, robs and humiliates us!\nNow that men kiss the hands which maltreat them, it is the part of women\nto defy them. You must fly, child! The harbor is now closed, but it will\nbe open again to-morrow morning, and, if your folks are set free in the\ncourse of the day, then away with you at once! Or do you really hope for\nany good from the tyrant who has made this house what you now see it?\"\n\n\"I know him,\" replied Melissa, \"and I look for nothing but the worst.\"\n\nAt this the elder woman warmly grasped the girl's hand, but she was\ninterrupted by the waiting woman Johanna, who said that a Roman officer\nof rank, a tribune, craved to be admitted.\n\nWhen Berenike refused to receive him, the maid assured her that he was a\nyoung man, and had expressed his wish to bring an urgent request to the\nlady's notice in a becoming and modest manner.\n\nOn this the matron allowed him to be shown in to her, and Melissa hastily\nobeyed her instructions to withdraw into the adjoining room.\n\nOnly a half-drawn curtain divided it from the room where Berenike\nreceived the soldier, and without listening she could hear the loud voice\nwhich riveted her attention as soon as she had recognized it.\n\nThe young tribune, in a tone of courteous entreaty, begged his hostess to\nprovide a room for his brother, who was severely wounded. The sufferer\nwas in a high fever, and the physician said that the noise and rattle of\nvehicles in the street, on which the room where he now lay looked out,\nand the perpetual coming and going of the men, might endanger his life.\nHe had just been told that on the side of the women's apartments there\nwas a row of rooms looking out on the impluvium, and he ventured to\nentreat her to spare one of them for the injured man. If she had a\nbrother or a child, she would forgive the boldness of his request.\n\nSo far she listened in silence; then she suddenly raised her head and\nmeasured the petitioner's tall figure with a lurid fire in her eye. Then\nshe replied, while she looked into his handsome young face with a\nhalf-scornful, half-indignant air: \"Oh, yes! I know what it is to see one\nwe love suffer. I had an only child; she was the joy of my heart.\nDeath--death snatched her from me, and a few days later the sovereign\nwhom you serve commanded us to prepare a feast for him. It seemed to him\nsomething new and delightful to hold a revel in a house of mourning. At\nthe last moment--all the guests were assembled--he sent us word that he\nhimself did not intend to appear. But his friends laughed and reveled\nwildly enough! They enjoyed themselves, and no doubt praised our cook and\nour wine. And now--another honor we can duly appreciate!--he sends his\npraetorians to turn this house of mourning into a tavern, a wine-shop,\nwhere they call creatures in from the street to dance and sing. The rank\nto which you have risen while yet so young shows that you are of good\nfamily, so you can imagine how highly we esteem the honor of seeing your\nmen trampling, destroying, and burning in their camp-fires everything\nwhich years of labor and care had produced to make our little garden a\nthing of beauty. 'Only look down on them!' Macrinus, who commands you,\npromised me, moreover, that the women's apartments should be respected.\n'No praetorian, whether common soldier or commander,' and here she raised\nher voice, 'shall set foot within them!' Here is his writing. The prefect\nset the seal beneath it in Caesar's name.\"\n\n\"I know of the order, noble lady,\" interrupted Nemesianus, \"and should be\nthe last to wish to act against it. I do not demand, I only appeal humbly\nto the heart of a woman and a mother.'\n\n\"A mother!\" broke in Berenike, scornfully; \"yes! and one whose soul your\nlord has pierced with daggers--a woman whose home has been dishonored and\nmade hateful to her. I have enjoyed sufficient honor now, and shall stand\nfirmly on my rights.\"\n\n\"Hear but one thing more,\" began the youth, timidly; but the lady\nBerenike had already turned her back upon him, and returned with a proud\nand stately carriage to Melissa in the adjoining apartment.\n\nBreathing hard, as if stunned by her words, the tribune remained standing\non the threshold where the terrible lady had vanished from his sight, and\nthen, striving to regain his composure, pushed back the curling locks\nfrom his brow. But scarcely had Berenike entered the other room than\nMelissa whispered to her: \"The wounded man is the unfortunate Aurelius,\nwhose face Caracalla wounded for my sake.\"\n\nAt this the lady's eyes suddenly flashed and blazed so strangely that the\ngirl's blood ran cold. But she had no time to ask the reason of this\nemotion, for the next moment the queenly woman grasped the weaker one by\nthe wrist with her strong right hand, and with a commanding \"Come with\nme,\" drew her back into the room they had just quitted. She called to the\ntribune, whose hand was already on the door, to come back.\n\nThe young man stood still, surprised and startled to see Melissa; but the\nlady Berenike said, calmly, \"Now that I have learned the honor that has\nbeen accorded to you, too, by the master whom you so faithfully serve,\nthe poor injured man whom you call your brother shall be made welcome\nwithin these walls. He is my companion in suffering. A quiet, airy\nchamber shall be set apart for him, and he shall not lack careful\nattention, nor anything which even his own mother could offer him. Only\ntwo things I desire of you in return: that you admit no one of your\ncompanions-in-arms, nor any man whatever, into this dwelling, save only\nthe physician whom I shall send to you. Furthermore, that you do not\nbetray, even to your nearest friend, whom you found here besides myself.\"\n\nUnder the mortification that had wounded his brotherly heart, Aurelius\nNemesianus had lost countenance; but now he replied with a soldier's\nready presence of mind: \"It is difficult for me to find a proper answer\nto you, noble lady. I know right well that I owe you my warmest thanks,\nand equally so that he whom you call our master has inflicted as deep a\nwrong on us as on you; but Caesar is still my military chief.\"\n\n\"Still!\" broke in Berenike. \"But you are too youthful a tribune for me to\nbelieve that you took up the sword as a means of livelihood.\"\n\n\"We are sons of the Aurelia,\" answered Nemesianus, haughtily, \"and it is\nvery possible that this day's work may be the cause of our deserting the\neagles we have followed in order to win glory and taste the delights of\nwarfare. But all that is for the future to decide. Meanwhile, I thank\nyou, noble lady, and also in the name of my brother, who is my second\nself. On behalf of Apollinaris, too, I beg you to pardon the rudeness\nwhich we offered to this maiden--\"\n\n\"I am not angry with you any more,\" cried Melissa, eagerly and frankly,\nand the tribune thanked her in his own and his brother's name.\n\nHe began trying to explain the unfortunate occurrence, but Berenike\nadmonished him to lose no time. The soldier withdrew, and the lady\nBerenike ordered her handmaiden to call the housekeeper and other\nserving-women. Then she repaired quickly to the room she had destined for\nthe wounded man and his brother. But neither Melissa nor the other women\ncould succeed in really lending her any help, for she herself put forth\nall her cleverness and power of head and hand, forgetting nothing that\nmight be useful or agreeable in the nursing of the sick. In that wealthy,\nwell-ordered house everything stood ready to hand; and in less than a\nquarter of an hour the tribune Nemesianus was informed that the chamber\nwas ready for the reception of his brother.\n\nThe lady then returned with Melissa to her own sleeping apartment, and\ntook various little bottles and jars from a small medicine-chest, begging\nthe girl at the same time to excuse her, as she intended to undertake the\nnursing of the wounded man herself. Here were books, and there Korinna's\nlute. Johanna would attend to the evening meal. Tomorrow morning they\ncould consult further as to what was necessary to be done; then she\nkissed her guest and left the room.\n\nLeft to herself, Melissa gave herself up to varying thoughts, till\nJohanna brought her repast. While she hardly nibbled at it, the Christian\ntold her that matters looked ill with the tribune, and that the wound in\nthe forehead especially caused the physician much anxiety. Many questions\nwere needed to draw this much from the freedwoman, for she spoke but\nlittle. When she did speak, however, it was with great kindliness, and\nthere lay something so simple and gentle in her whole manner that it\nawakened confidence. Having satisfied her appetite, Melissa returned to\nthe lady Berenike's apartment; but there her heart grew heavy at the\nthought of what awaited her on the morrow. When, at the moment of\nleaving, Johanna inquired whether she desired anything further, she asked\nher if she knew a saying of her fellow-believers, which ran, \"The\nfullness of time was come.\"\n\n\"Yes, surely,\" returned the other; \"our Lord himself spoke them, and Paul\nwrote them to the Galatians.\"\n\n\"Who is this Paul?\" Melissa asked; and the Christian replied that of all\nthe teachers of her faith he was the one she most dearly loved. Then,\nhesitating a little, she asked if Melissa, being a heathen, had inquired\nthe meaning of this saying.\n\n\"Andrew, the freedman of Polybius and the lady Euryale, explained it to\nme. Did the moment ever come to you in which you felt assured that for\nyou the time was fulfilled?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Johanna, with decision; \"and that moment comes, sooner or\nlater, in every life.\"\n\n\"You are a maiden like myself,\" began Melissa, simply. \"A heavy task lies\nbefore me, and if you would confide to me--\"\n\nBut the Christian broke in: \"My life has moved in other paths than yours,\nand what has happened to me, the freedwoman and the Christian, can have\nno interest for you. But the saying which has stirred your soul refers to\nthe coming of One who is all in all to us Christians. Did Andrew tell you\nnothing of His life?\"\n\n\"Only a little,\" answered the girl, \"but I would gladly hear more of\nHim.\"\n\nThen the Christian seated herself at Melissa's side, and, clasping the\nmaiden's hand in hers, told her of the birth of the Saviour, of His\nloving heart, and His willing death as a sacrifice for the sins of the\nwhole world. The girl listened with attentive ear. With no word did she\ninterrupt the narrative, and the image of the Crucified One rose before\nher mind's eye, pure and noble, and worthy of all love. A thousand\nquestions rose to her lips, but, before she could ask one, the Christian\nwas called away to attend the lady Berenike, and Melissa was again alone.\n\nWhat she had already heard of the teaching of the Christians occurred to\nher once more, and above all that first saying from the sacred Scriptures\nwhich had attracted her attention, and about which she had just asked\nJohanna. Perhaps for her, too, the time was already fulfilled, when she\nhad taken courage to defy the emperor's commands.\n\nShe rejoiced at this action, for she felt that the strength would never\nfail her now to set her will against his. She felt as though she bore a\ncharm against his power since she had parted from her lover, and since\nthe murder of the governor had opened her eyes to the true character of\nhim on whom she had all too willingly expended her pity. And yet she\nshuddered at the thought of meeting the emperor again, and of having to\nshow him that she felt safe with him because she trusted to his\ngenerosity.\n\nLost in deep thought, she waited for the return of the lady and the\nChristian waiting-woman, but in vain. At last her eye fell upon the\nscrolls which the lady Berenike had pointed out to her. They lay in\nbeautiful alabaster caskets on an ebony stand. If they had only been the\nwritings of the Christians, telling of the life and death of their\nSaviour! But how should writings such as those come here? The casket only\nheld the works of Philostratus, and she took from it the roll containing\nthe story of the hero of whom he had himself spoken to her. Full of\ncuriosity, she smoothed out the papyrus with the ivory stick, and her\nattention was soon engaged by the lively conversation between the vintner\nand his Phoenician guest. She passed rapidly over the beginning, but soon\nreached the part of which Philostratus had told her. Under the form of\nAchilles he had striven to represent Caracalla as he appeared to the\nauthor's indulgent imagination. But it was no true portrait; it described\nthe original at most as his mother would have wished him to be. There it\nwas written that the vehemence flashing from the hero's bright eyes, even\nwhen peacefully inclined, showed how easily his wrath could break forth.\nBut to those who loved him he was even more endearing during these\noutbursts than before. The Athenians felt toward him as they did toward a\nlion; for, if the king of beasts pleased them when he was at rest, he\ncharmed them infinitely more when, foaming with bloodthirsty rage, he\nfell upon a bull, a wild boar, or some such ferocious animal.\n\nYes, indeed! Caracalla, too, fell mercilessly upon his prey! Had she not\nseen him hewing down Apollinaris a few hours ago?\n\nFurthermore, Achilles was said to have declared that he could drive away\ncare by fearlessly encountering the greatest dangers for the sake of his\nfriends. But where were Caracalla's friends?\n\nAt best, the allusion could only refer to the Roman state, for whose sake\nthe emperor certainly did endure many a hardship and many a wearisome\ntask, and he was not the only person who had told her so.\n\nThen she turned back a little and found the words: \"But because he was\neasily inclined to anger, Chiron instructed him in music; for is it not\ninherent in this art to soothe violence and wrath--And Achilles acquired\nwithout trouble the laws of harmony and sang to the lyre.\"\n\nThis all corresponded with the truth, and tomorrow she was to discover\nwhat had suggested to Philostratus the story that when Achilles begged\nCalliope to endow him with the gifts of music and poetry she had given\nhim so much of both as he required to enliven the feast and banish\nsadness. He was also said to be a poet, and devoted himself most ardently\nto verse when resting from the toils of war.\n\nTo hear that man unjustly blamed on whom her heart is set, only increases\na woman's love; but unmerited praise makes her criticise him more\nsharply, and is apt to transform a fond smile into a scornful one. Thus\nthe picture that raised Caracalla to the level of an Achilles made\nMelissa shrug her shoulders over the man she dreaded; and while she even\ndoubted Caesar's musical capacities, Diodoros's young, fresh, bell-like\nvoice rose doubly beautiful and true upon her memory's ear. The image of\nher lover finally drove out that of the emperor, and, while she seemed to\nhear the wedding song which the youths and maidens were so soon to sing\nfor them both, she fell asleep.\n\nIt was late when Johanna came to admonish her to retire to rest. Shortly\nbefore sunrise she was awakened by Berenike, who wished to take some\nrest, and who told her, before seeking her couch, that Apollinaris was\ndoing well. The lady was still sleeping when Johanna came to inform\nMelissa that the slave Argutis was waiting to see her.\n\nThe Christian undertook to convey the maiden's farewell greetings to her\nmistress.\n\nAs they entered the living-room, the gardener had just brought in fresh\nflowers, among them three rose-bushes covered with full-blown flowers and\nhalf-opened, dewy buds. Melissa asked Johanna timidly if the lady\nBerenike would permit her to pluck one--there were so many; to which the\nChristian replied that it would depend on the use it was to be put to.\n\n\"Only for the sick tribune,\" answered Melissa, reddening. So Johanna\nplucked two of the fairest blooms and gave them to the maiden--one for\nthe man who had injured her and one for her betrothed. Melissa kissed\nher, gratefully, and begged her to present the flowers to the sick man in\nher name.\n\nJohanna carried out her wish at once; but the wounded man, gazing\nmournfully at the rose, murmured to himself: \"Poor, lovely, gentle child!\nShe will be ruined or dead before Caracalla leaves Alexandria!\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Obstacles existed only to be removed\n     Speaking ill of others is their greatest delight\n     The past must stand; it is like a scar\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nThe slave Argutis was waiting for Melissa in the antechamber. It was\nevident that he brought good news, for he beamed with joy as she came\ntoward him; and before she left the house she knew that her father and\nPhilip had returned and had regained their freedom.\n\nThe slave had not allowed these joyful tidings to reach his beloved\nmistress's ear, that he might have the undivided pleasure of bringing\nthem himself, and the delight she expressed was fully as great as he had\nanticipated. Melissa even hurried back to Johanna to impart to her the\njoyful intelligence that she might tell it to her mistress.\n\nWhen they were in the street the slave told her that, at break of day,\nthe ship had cast anchor which brought back father and son. The prisoners\nhad received their freedom while they were still at sea, and had been\npermitted to return home at once. All was well, only--he added,\nhesitatingly and with tears in his eyes--things were not as they used to\nbe, and now the old were stronger than the young. Her father had taken no\nharm from the heavy work at the oars, but Philip had returned from the\ngalleys very ill, and they had carried him forthwith to the bedchamber,\nwhere Dido was now nursing him. It was a good thing that she had not been\nthere to hear how the master had stormed and cursed over the infamy they\nhad had to endure; but the meeting with his birds had calmed him down\nquickly enough.\n\nMelissa and her attendant were walking in the direction of the Serapeum,\nbut now she declared that she must first see the liberated prisoners. And\nshe insisted upon it, although Argutis assured her of her father's\nintention of seeking her at the house of the high-priest, as soon as he\nhad removed all traces of his captivity and his shameful work at the\ngalleys in the bath. Philip she would, of course, find at home, he being\ntoo weak to leave the house. The old man had some difficulty in following\nhis young mistress, and she soon stepped lightly over the \"Welcome\" on\nthe threshold of her father's house. Never had the red mosaic inscription\nseemed to shine so bright and friendly, and she heard her name called in\ndelighted tones from the kitchen.\n\nThis joyful greeting from Dido was not to be returned from the door only.\nIn a moment Melissa was standing by the hearth; but the slave, speechless\nwith happiness, could only point with fork and spoon, first to the pot in\nwhich a large piece of meat was being boiled down into a strengthening\nsoup for Philip, then to a spit on which two young chickens were browning\nbefore the fire, and then to the pan where she was frying the little fish\nof which the returned wanderer was so fond.\n\nBut the old woman's struggle between the duty that kept her near the fire\nand the love that drew her away from it was not of long duration. In a\nfew minutes Melissa, her hands clasping the slave's withered arm, was\nlistening to the tender words of welcome that Dido had ready for her. The\nslave woman declared that she scarcely dared to let her eyes rest upon\nher mistress, much less touch her with the fingers that had just been\ncleaning fish; for the girl was dressed as grandly as the daughter of the\nhigh-priest. Melissa laughed at this; but the slave went on to say that\nthey had not been able to detain her master. His longing to see his\ndaughter and the desire to speak with Caesar had driven him out of the\nhouse, and Alexander had, of course, accompanied him. Only Philip, poor,\ncrushed worm, was at home, and the sight of her would put more strength\ninto him than the strong soup and the old wine which his father had\nfetched for him from the store-room, although he generally reserved it\nfor libations on her mother's grave.\n\nMelissa soon stood beside her brother's couch, and the sight of him cast\na dark shadow over the brightness of this happy morn. As he recognized\nher, a fleeting smile crossed the pale, spiritualized face, which seemed\nto her to have grown ten years older in this short time; but it vanished\nas quickly as it had come. Then the great eyes gazed blankly again from\nthe shadows that surrounded them, and a spasm of pain quivered from time\nto time round the thin, tightly closed lips. Melissa could hardly\nrestrain her tears. Was this what he had been brought to-the youth who\nonly a few days ago had made them all feel conscious of the superiority\nof his brilliant mind!\n\nHer warm heart made her feel more lovingly toward her sick brother than\nshe had ever done when he was in health, and surely he was conscious of\nthe tenderness with which she strove to comfort him.\n\nThe unaccustomed, hard, and degrading work at the oars, she assured him,\nwould have worn out a stronger man than he; but he would soon be able to\nvisit the Museum again and argue as bravely as ever. With this, she bent\nover him to kiss his brow, but he raised himself a little, and said, with\na contemptuous smile:\n\n\"Apathy--ataraxy--complete indifference--is the highest aim after which\nthe soul of the skeptic strives. That at least\"--and here his eyes\nflashed for a moment--\"I have attained to in these cursed days. That a\nthinking being could become so utterly callous to everything--everything,\nbe it what it may--even I could never have believed!\" He sank into\nsilence, but his sister urged him to take courage--surely many a glad day\nwas before him yet.\n\nAt this he raised himself more energetically, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Glad days?--for me, and with you? That you should still be of such good\ncheer would please or else astonish me if I were still capable of those\nsentiments. If things were different, I should ask you now, what have you\ngiven the imperial bloodhound in return for our freedom?\"\n\nHere Melissa exclaimed indignantly, but he continued unabashed:\n\n\"Alexander says you have found favor with our imperial master. He calls,\nand you come. Naturally, it is for him to command. See how much can be\nmade of the child of a gem-cutter! But what says handsome Diodoros to all\nthis?--Why turn so pale? These, truly, are questions which I would fling\nin your face were things as they used to be. Now I say in all unconcern,\ndo what you will!\"\n\nThe blood had ebbed from Melissa's cheeks during this attack of her\nbrother's. His injurious and false accusations roused her indignation to\nthe utmost, but one glance at his weary, suffering face showed her how\ngreat was the pain he endured, and in her compassionate heart pity strove\nagainst righteous anger. The struggle was sharp, but pity prevailed; and,\ninstead of punishing him by a sharp retort, she forced herself to explain\nto him in a few gentle words what had happened, in order to dispel the\nunworthy suspicion that must surely hurt him as much as it did her. She\nfelt convinced that the sufferer would be cheered by her words; but he\nmade no attempt to show that he appreciated her kindly moderation, nor to\nexpress any satisfaction. On the contrary, when he spoke it was in the\nsame tone as before.\n\n\"If that be the case,\" he said, \"so much the better; but were it\notherwise, it would have to be endured just the same. I can think of\nnothing that could affect me now, and it is well. Only my body troubles\nme still. It weighs upon me like lead, and grows heavier with every word\nI utter. Therefore, I pray you, leave me to myself!\"\n\nBut his sister would not obey. \"No, Philip,\" she cried, eagerly, \"this\nmay not be. Let your strong spirit arise and burst asunder the bonds that\nfetter and cripple it.\"\n\nAt this a groan of pain escaped the philosopher, and, turning again to\nthe girl, he answered, with a mournful smile:\n\n\"Bid the cushion in that arm-chair do so. It will succeed better than I!\"\nThen crying out impatiently and as loudly as he could, \"Now go--you know\nnot how you torture me!\" he turned away from her and buried his face in\nthe pillows.\n\nBut Melissa, as if beside herself, laid her hands upon his shoulder, and,\nshaking him gently, exclaimed: \"And even if it vexes you, I will not be\ndriven away thus. The misfortunes that have befallen you in these days\nwill end by destroying you, if you will not pull yourself together. We\nmust have patience, and it can only come about slowly, but you must make\nan effort. The least thing that pains you hurts us too, and you, in\nreturn, may not remain indifferent to what we feel. See, Philip, our\nmother and Andrew taught us often not to think only of ourselves, but of\nothers. We ask so little of you; but if you--\"\n\nAt this the philosopher shook himself free of her hand, and cried in a\nvoice of anguish:\n\n\"Away, I say! Leave me alone! One word more, and I die!\" With this he hid\nhis head in the coverlet, and Melissa could see how his limbs quivered\nconvulsively as if shaken by an ague.\n\nTo see a being so dear to her thus utterly broken down cut her to the\nheart. Oh, that she could help him! If she did not succeed, or if he\nnever found strength to rouse himself, he, too, would be one of Caesar's\nvictims. Corrupted and ruined lives marked the path of this terrible\nbeing, and, with a shudder, she asked herself when her turn would come.\n\nHer hair had become disordered, and as she smoothed it she looked in the\nmirror, and could not but observe that in the simple but costly white\nrobe of the dead Korinna she looked like a maiden of noble birth rather\nthan the lowly daughter of an artist. She would have liked to tear it off\nand replace it by another, but her one modest festival robe had been left\nbehind at the house of the lady Berenike. To appear in broad daylight\nbefore the neighbors or to walk in the streets clad in this fashion\nseemed to her impossible after her brother's unjust suspicion, and she\nbade Argutis fetch her a litter.\n\nWhen they parted, Dido could see distinctly that Philip had wounded her.\nAnd she could guess how, so she withheld any questions, that she might\nnot hurt her. Over the fire, however, she stabbed fiercely into the fowl\ndestined for the philosopher, but cooked it, nevertheless, with all\npossible care.\n\nOn the way to the Serapeum, Melissa's anxiety increased. Till now,\neagerness for the fray, fear, hope, and the joyful consciousness of\nright-doing, had alternated in her mind. Now, for the first time, she was\nseized with a premonition of misfortune. Fate itself had turned against\nher. Even should she succeed in escaping, she could not hope to regain\nher lost peace of mind.\n\nPhilip's biting words had shown her what most of them must think of her;\nand, though the ship should bear her far away, would it be right to bring\nDiodoros away from his old father to follow her? She must see her lover,\nand if possible tell him all. The rose, too, which the Christian had\ngiven her for him, and which lay in her lap, she wished so much to carry\nto him herself. She could not go alone to the chamber of the\nconvalescent, and the attendance of a slave counted for nothing in the\neyes of other people. It was even doubtful if a bondsman might be\nadmitted into the inner apartments of the sanctuary. However, she would,\nshe must see Diodoros and speak to him; and thus planning ways and means\nby which to accomplish this, looking forward joyfully to the meeting with\nher father, and wondering how Agatha, the Christian, had received\nAlexander, she lost the feeling of deep depression which had weighed on\nher when she had left the house.\n\nThe litter stopped, and Argutis helped her to descend. He was breathless,\nfor it had been most difficult to open a way for her through the dense\ncrowds that were already thronging to the Circus, where the grand evening\nperformance in honor of the emperor was to begin as soon as it was dark.\nJust as she was entering the house, she perceived Andreas coming toward\nthem along the street of Hermes, and she at once bade the slave call him.\nHe was soon at her side, and declared himself willing to accompany her to\nDiodoros.\n\nThis time, however, she did not find her lover alone in the sick-room.\nTwo physicians were with him, and she grew pale as she recognized in one\nof them the emperor's Roman body-physician.\n\nBut it was too late too escape detection; so she only hastened to her\nlover's side, whispered warm words of love in his ear, and, while she\ngave him the rose, conjured him ever and always to have faith in her and\nin her love, whatever reports he might hear.\n\nDiodoros was up and had fully recovered. His face lighted up with joy as\nhe saw her; but, when she repeated the old, disquieting request, he\nanxiously begged to know what she meant by it. She assured him, however,\nthat she had already delayed too long, and referred him to Andreas and\nthe lady Euryale, who would relate to him what had befallen her and\nspoiled every happy hour she had. Then, thinking herself unobserved by\nthose present, she breathed a kiss upon his lips. But he would not let\nher go, urging with passionate tenderness his rights as her betrothed,\ntill she tore herself away from him and hurried from the room.\n\nAs she left, she heard a ringing laugh, followed by loud, sprightly\ntalking. It was not her lover's voice, and endeavoring, while she waited\nfor Andreas, to catch what was being said on the other side of the door,\nshe distinctly heard the body-physician (for no other pronounced the\nGreek language in that curious, halting manner) exclaim, gayly: \"By\nCerberus, young man, you are to be envied! The beauty my sovereign lord\nis limping after flies unbidden into your arms!\"\n\nThen came loud laughter as before, but this time interrupted by\nDiodoros's indignant question as to what this all meant. At last Melissa\nheard Andreas's deep voice promising the young man to tell him everything\nlater on; and when the convalescent impatiently asked for an immediate\nexplanation, the Christian exhorted him to be calm, and finally requested\nthe physician to grant him a few moments' conversation.\n\nThen there was quiet for a time in the room, only broken by Diodoros's\nangry questions and the pacifying exclamations of the freedman. She felt\nas if she must return to her lover and tell him herself what she had been\nforced to do in these last days, but maidenly shyness restrained her,\ntill at last Andreas came out. The freedman's honest face expressed the\ndeepest solicitude, and his voice sounded rough and hasty as he\nexclaimed, \"You must fly--fly this day!\"\n\n\"And my father and brother, and Diodoros?\" she asked, anxiously.\n\nBut he answered, urgently: \"Let them get away as they may. There is no\nhole or corner obscure enough to keep you hidden. Therefore take\nadvantage of the ship that waits for you. Follow Argutis at once to the\nlady Berenike. I can not accompany you, for it lies with me to occupy for\nthe next few hours the attention of the body-physician, from whom you\nhave the most to fear. He has consented to go with me to my garden across\nthe water. There I promised him a delicious, real Alexandrian feast, and\nyou know how gladly Polybius will seize the opportunity to share it with\nhim. No doubt, too, some golden means may be found to bind his tongue;\nfor woe to you if Caracalla discovers prematurely that you are promised\nto another, and woe then to your betrothed! After sundown, when every one\nhere has gone to the Circus, I will take Diodoros to a place of safety.\nFarewell, child, and may our heavenly Father defend you!\"\n\nHe laid his right hand upon her head as if in blessing; but Melissa\ncried, wringing her hands: \"Oh, let me go to him once more! How can I\nleave him and go far away without one word of farewell or of\nforgiveness?\"\n\nBut Andreas interrupted her, saying: \"You can not. His life is at stake\nas well as your own. I shall make it my business to look after his\nsafety. The wife of Seleukus will assist you in your flight.\"\n\n\"And you will persuade him to trust me?\" urged Melissa, clinging\nconvulsively to his arm.\n\n\"I will try,\" answered the freedman, gloomily. Melissa, dropped his arm,\nfor loud, manly voices were approaching down the stairs near which they\nstood.\n\nIt was Heron and Alexander, returning from their audience with the\nemperor. Instantly the Christian went to meet them, and dismissed the\ntemple servant who accompanied them.\n\nIn the half-darkness of the corridor, Melissa threw herself weeping into\nher father's arms. But he stroked her hair lovingly, and kissed her more\ntenderly on brow and eyes than he had ever clone before, whispering gayly\nto her: \"Dry your tears, my darling. You have been a brave maiden, and\nnow comes your reward. Fear and sorrow will now be changed into happiness\nand power, and all the glories of the world. I have not even told\nAlexander yet what promises to make our fortunes, for I know my duty.\"\nThen, raising his voice, he said to the freedman, \"If I have been rightly\ninformed, we shall find the son of Polybius in one of the apartments\nclose at hand.\"\n\n\"Quite right,\" answered the freedman, gravely, and then went on to\nexplain to the gem-cutter that he could not see Diodoros just now, but\nmust instantly leave the country with his son and daughter on Berenike's\nship. Not a moment was to be lost. Melissa would tell him all on the way.\n\nBut Heron laughed scornfully: \"That would be a pretty business! We have\nplenty of time, and, with the greatness that lies before us, everything\nmust be done openly and in the right way. My first thought, you see, was\nto come here, for I had promised the girl to Diodoros, and he must be\ninformed before I can consent to her betrothal to another.\"\n\n\"Father!\" cried Melissa, scarcely able to command her voice. But Heron\ntook no notice of her, and continued, composedly: \"Diodoros would have\nbeen dear to me as a son-in-law. I shall certainly tell him so. But when\nCaesar, the ruler of the world, condescends to ask a plain man for his\ndaughter, every other consideration must naturally be put aside. Diodoros\nis sensible, and is sure to see it in the right light. We all know how\nCaesar treats those who are in his way; but I wish the son of Polybius no\nill, so I forbore to betray to Caesar what tie had once bound you, my\nchild, to the gallant youth.\"\n\nHeron had never liked the freedman. The man's firm character had always\ngone against the gemcutter's surly, capricious nature; and it was no\nlittle satisfaction to him to let him feel his superiority, and boast\nbefore him of the apparent good luck that had befallen the artist's\nfamily.\n\nBut Andreas had already heard from the physician that Caracalla had\ninformed his mother's envoys of his intended marriage with an\nAlexandrian, the daughter of an artist of Macedonian extraction. This\ncould only refer to Melissa, and it was this news which had caused him to\nurge the maiden to instant flight.\n\nPale, incapable of uttering a word, Melissa stood before her father; but\nthe freedman grasped her hand, looked Heron reproachfully in the face,\nand asked, quietly, \"And you would really have the heart to join this\ndear child's life to that of a bloody tyrant?\"\n\n\"Certainly I have,\" returned Heron with decision, and he drew his\ndaughter's hand out of that of Andreas, who turned his back upon the\nartist with a meaning shrug of the shoulders. But Melissa ran after him,\nand, clinging to him, cried as she turned first to him and then to her\nfather:\n\n\"I am promised to Diodoros, and shall hold fast to him and my love; tell\nhim that, Andreas! Come what may, I will be his and his alone! Caesar--\"\n\n\"Swear not!\" broke in Heron, angrily, \"for by great Serapis--\"\n\nBut Alexander interposed between them, and begged his father to consider\nwhat he was asking of the girl. Caesar's proposals could scarcely have\nbeen very pleasing to him, or why had he concealed till now what\nCaracalla was whispering to him in the adjoining room? He might imagine\nfor himself what fate awaited the helpless child at the side of a husband\nat whose name even men trembled. He should remember her mother, and what\nshe would have said to such a union. There was little, time to escape\nfrom this terrible wooer.\n\nThen Melissa turned to her brother and begged him earnestly: \"Then you\ntake me to the ship Alexander; take charge of me yourself!\"\n\n\"And I?\" asked Heron, his eye cast gloomily on the ground.\n\n\"You must come with us!\" implored the girl, clasping her hands.--\"O\nAndreas! say something! Tell him what I have to expect!\"\n\n\"He knows that without my telling him,\" replied the freedman. \"I must go\nnow, for two lives are at stake, Heron. If I can not keep the physician\naway from Caesar, your daughter, too, will be in danger. If you desire to\nsee your daughter forever in fear of death, give her in marriage to\nCaracalla. If you have her happiness at heart, then escape with her into\na far country.\"\n\nHe nodded to the brother and sister, and returned to the sick-room.\n\n\"Fly!--escape!\" repeated the old man, and he waived his hand angrily.\n\"This Andreas--the freedman, the Christian--always in extremes. Why run\none's head against the wall? First consider, then act; that was what she\ntaught us whose sacred memory you have but now invoked, Alexander.\"\n\nWith this he walked out of the half-dark corridor into the open\ncourt-yard, in front of his children. Here he looked at his daughter, who\nwas breathing fast, and evidently prepared to resist to the last. And as\nhe beheld her in Korinna's white and costly robes, like a noble\npriestess, it occurred to him that even before his captivity she had\nceased to be the humble, unquestioning instrument of his capricious\ntemper. Into what a haughty beauty the quiet embroideress had been\ntransformed!\n\nBy all the gods! Caracalla had no cause to be ashamed of such an empress.\n\nAnd, unaccustomed as he was to keep back anything whatever from his\nchildren, he began to express these sentiments. But he did not get far,\nfor the hour for the morning meal being just over, the court-yard began\nto fill from all sides with officials and servants of the temple. So,\nfather and son silently followed the maiden through the crowded galleries\nand apartments, into the house of the highpriest.\n\nHere they were received by Philostratus, who hardly gave Melissa time to\ngreet the lady Euryale before he informed her, but with unwonted hurry\nand excitement, that the emperor was awaiting her with impatience.\n\nThe philosopher motioned to her to follow him, but she clung, as if\nseeking help, to her brother, and cried: \"I will not go again to\nCaracalla! You are the kindest and best of them all, Philostratus, and\nyou will understand me. Evil will come of it if I follow you--I can not\ngo again to Caesar.\"\n\nBut it was impossible for the courtier to yield to her, in the face of\nhis monarch's direct commands; therefore, hard as it was to him, he said,\nresolutely: \"I well understand what holds you back; still, if you would\nnot ruin yourself and your family, you must submit. Besides which, you\nknow not what Caesar is about to offer you-fortunate, unhappy child!\"\n\n\"I know--oh, I know it!\" sobbed Melissa; \"but it is just that . . . I\nhave served the emperor willingly, but before I consent become the wife\nof such a monster--\"\n\n\"She is right,\" broke in Euryale, and drew Melissa toward her. But the\nphilosopher took the girl's hand and said, kindly:--\"You must come with\nme now, my child, and pretend that you know nothing of Caesar's\nintentions toward you. It is the only way to save you. But while you are\nwith the emperor, who, in any case, can devote but a short time to you\nto-day, I will return here and consult with your people. There is much to\nbe decided, of the greatest moment, and not to you alone.\" Melissa turned\nwith tearful eyes to Euryale, and questioned her with a look; whereupon\nthe lady drew the girl's hand out of that of the philosopher, and saying\nto him, \"She shall be with you directly,\" took her away to her own\napartment.\n\nHere she begged Melissa to dry her eyes, and arranging the girl's hair\nand robe with her own hands, she promised to do all in her power to\nfacilitate her flight. She must do her part now by going into Caesar's\npresence as frankly as she had done yesterday and the day before. She\nmight be quite easy; her interests were being faithfully watched over.\n\nTaking a short leave of her father, who was looking very sulky because\nnobody seemed to care for his opinion, and of Alexander, who lovingly\npromised her his help, she took the philosopher's hand and walked with\nhim through one crowded apartment after another. They often had\ndifficulty in pressing through the throng of people who were waiting for\nan audience, and in the antechamber, where the Aurelians had had to pay\nso bitterly for their insolence yesterday, they were detained by the\nblonde and red-Haired giants of the Uermanian body-guard, whose leader,\nSabinus, a Thracian of exceptional height and strength, was acquainted\nwith the philosopher.\n\nCaracalla had given orders that no one was to be admitted till the\nnegotiations with the Parthian ambassadors, which had begun an hour ago,\nwere brought to a conclusion. Philostratus well knew that the emperor\nwould interrupt the most important business if Melissa were announced,\nbut there was much that he would have the maiden lay to heart before he\nled her to the monarch; while she wished for nothing so earnestly as that\nthe door which separated her from her terrible wooer might remain closed\nto the end of time. When the chamberlain Adventus looked out from the\nimperial apartments, she begged him to give her a little time before\nannouncing her.\n\nThe old man blinked consent with his dim eyes, but the philosopher took\ncare that Melissa should not be left to herself and the terrors of her\nheart. He employed all the eloquence at his command to make her\ncomprehend what it meant to be an empress and the consort of the ruler of\nthe world. In flaming colors he painted to her the good she might do in\nsuch a position, and the tears she might wipe away. Then he reminded her\nof the healing and soothing influence she had over Caracalla, and that\nthis influence came doubtless from the gods, since it passed the bounds\nof nature and acted so beneficently. No one might reject such a gift from\nthe immortals merely to gratify an ordinary passion. The youth whose love\nshe must give up would be able to comfort himself with the thought that\nmany others had had much worse to bear, and he would find no difficulty\nin getting a substitute, though not so beautiful a one. On the other\nhand, she was the only one among millions whose heart, obedient to a\nheaven-sent impulse, had turned in pity toward Caracalla. If she fled,\nshe would deprive the emperor of the only being on whose love he felt he\nhad some claim. If she listened to the wooing of her noble lover, she\nwould be able to tame this ungovernable being and soothe his fury, and\nwould gain in return for a sacrifice such as many had made before her,\nthe blissful consciousness of having rendered an inestimable service to\nthe whole world. For by her means and her love, the imperial tyrant would\nbe transformed into a beneficent ruler. The blessing of the thousands\nwhom she could protect and save would make the hardest task sweet and\nendurable.\n\nHere Philostratus paused, and gazed inquiringly at her; but she only\nshook her head gently, and answered:\n\n\"My brain is so confused that I can scarcely hear even, but I feel that\nyour words are well meant and wise. What you put before me would\ncertainly be worth considering if there were anything left for me to\nconsider about. I have promised myself to another, who is more to me than\nall the world--more than the gratitude and blessings of endangered lives\nof which I know nothing. I am but a poor girl who only asks to be happy.\nNeither gods nor men expect more of me than that I should do my duty\ntoward those whom I love. And, then, who can say for certain that I\nshould succeed in persuading Caesar to carry out my desires, whatever\nthey might be?\"\n\n\"We were witnesses of the power you exercised over him,\" replied the\nphilosopher; but Melissa shook her head, and continued eagerly: \"No, no!\nhe only values in me the hand that eases his pain and want of sleep. The\nlove which he may feel for me makes him neither gentler nor better. Only\nan hour or two before he declared that his heart was inclined to me, he\nhad Titianus murdered!\"\n\n\"One word from you,\" the philosopher assured her, \"and it would never\nhave happened. As empress, they will obey you as much as him. Truly,\nchild, it is no small thing to sit, like the gods, far above the rest of\nmankind.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" cried Melissa, shuddering. \"Those heights! Only to think of\nthem makes everything spin round me. Only one who is free from such\ngiddiness dare to occupy such a place. Every one must desire to do what\nhe can do best. I could be a good housewife to Diodoros, but I should be\na bad empress. I was not born to greatness. And, besides--what is\nhappiness? I only felt happy when I did what was my duty, in peace and\nquiet. Were I empress, fear would never leave me for a moment. Oh. I know\nenough of the hideous terror which this awful being creates around him;\nand before I would consent to let it torture me to death by day and by\nnight-morning, noon, and evening--far rather would I die this very day.\nTherefore, I have no choice. I must flee from Caesar's sight--away\nhence--far, far, away!\"\n\nTears nearly choked her voice, but she struggled bravely against them.\nPhilostratus, however, did not fail to observe it, and gazed, first\nmournfully into her face and then thoughtfully on the ground. At length\nhe spoke with a slight sigh:\n\n\"We gather experience in life, and yet, however old we may be, we act\ncontrary to it. Now I have to pay for it. And yet it still lies in your\nhands to make me bless the day on which I spoke on your behalf. Could you\nbut succeed in rising to real greatness of soul, girl--through you, I\nswear it, the subjects of this mighty kingdom would be saved from great\ntribulations!\"\n\n\"But, my lord,\" Melissa broke in, \"who would ask such lofty things of a\nlowly maiden? My mother taught me to be kind and helpful to others in the\nhouse, to my friends, and fellow-citizens; my own heart tells me to be\nfaithful to my betrothed. But I care not greatly for the Romans, and what\nto me are Gauls, Dacians, or whatever else these barbarians may be\ncalled?\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said Philostratus, \"you offered a sacrifice for the foreign\ntyrant.\"\n\n\"Because his pain excited my compassion,\" rejoined Melissa, blushing.\n\n\"And would you have done the same for any masterless black slave, covered\nwith pitiably deep wounds?\" asked the philosopher.\n\n\"No,\" she answered, quickly; \"him I would have helped with my own hand.\nWhen I can do without their aid, I do not appeal to the gods. And then--I\nsaid before, his trouble seemed doubly great because it contrasted so\nsharply with all the splendor and joy that surrounded him.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said the philosopher, earnestly, \"and a small thing that affects\nthe ruler recoils tenfold--a thousand-fold-on his subjects. Look at one\ntree through a cut glass with many facets, and it be comes a forest. Thus\nthe merest trifle, when it affects the emperor, becomes important for the\nmillions over whom he rules. Caracalla's vexation entails evil on\nthousands--his anger is death and ruin. I fear me, girl, your flight will\nbring down heavy misfortune on those who surround Caesar, and first of\nall upon the Alexandrians, to whom you belong, and against whom he\nalready bears a grudge. You once said your native city was dear to you.\"\n\n\"So it is,\" returned Melissa, who, at his last words had grown first red\nand then pale; \"but Caesar can not surely be so narrow-minded as to\npunish a whole great city for what the poor daughter of a gem-cutter has\ndone.\"\n\n\"You are thinking of my Achilles,\" answered the philosopher. \"But I only\ntransferred what I saw of good in Caracalla to the figure of my hero.\nBesides, you know that Caesar is not himself when he is in wrath. Has not\nexperience taught me that no reasons are strong enough to convince a\nloving woman's heart? Once more I entreat you, stay here! Reject not the\nsplendid gift which the gods offer you, that trouble may not come upon\nyour city as it did on hapless Troy, all for a woman's sake.\n\n\"What says the proverb? 'Zeus hearkens not to lovers' vows'; but I say\nthat to renounce love in order to make others happy, is greater and\nharder than to hold fast to it when it is menaced.\"\n\nThese words reminded her of many a lesson of Andreas, and went to her\nheart. In her mind's eye she saw Caracalla, after hearing of her flight,\nset his lions on Philostratus, and then, foaming with rage, give orders\nto drag her father and brothers, Polybius and his son, to the place of\nexecution, like Titianus. And Philostratus perceived what was going on in\nher mind, and with the exhortation, \"Remember how many persons' weal or\nwoe lies in your hands!\" he rose and began a conversation with the\nThracian commander of the Germanic guard.\n\nMelissa remained alone upon the divan. The picture changed before her,\nand she saw herself in costly purple raiment, glittering with jewels, and\nseated by the emperor's side in a golden chariot. A thousand voices\nshouted to her, and beside her stood a horn of plenty, running over with\ngolden solidi and crimson roses, and it never grew empty, however much\nshe took from it. Her heart was moved; and when, in the crowd which her\nlively imagination had conjured up before her, she caught sight of the\nwife of the blacksmith Herophilus, who had been thrown into prison\nthrough an accusation from Zminis, she turned to Caracalla whom she still\nimagined seated beside her, and cried, \"Pardon!\" and Caracalla nodded a\ngracious consent, and the next moment Herophilus's wife lay on her\nliberated husband's breast, while the broken fetters still clanked upon\nhis wrists. Their children were there, too, and stretched up their arms\nto their parents, offering their happy lips first to them and then to\nMelissa.\n\nHow beautiful it all was, and how it cheered her compassionate heart!\n\nAnd this, said the newly awakened, meditative spirit within her, need be\nno dream; no, it lay in her power to impart this happiness to herself and\nmany others, day by day, until the end.\n\nThen she felt that she must arise and cry to her friend, \"I will follow\nyour counsel and remain!\" But her imagination had already begun to work\nagain, and showed her the widow of Titianus, as she entreated Caesar to\nspare her noble, innocent husband, while he mercilessly repulsed her. And\nit flashed through her mind that her petitions might share the same fate,\nwhen at that moment the emperor's threatening voice sounded from the\nadjoining room.\n\nHow hateful its strident tones were to her ear! She dropped her eyes and\ncaught sight of a dark stain on the snow-white plumage of the doves in\nthe mosaic pavement at her feet.\n\nThat was a last trace of the blood of the young tribune, which the\nattendants had been unable to remove. And this indelible mark of the\ncrime which she had witnessed brought the image of the wounded Aurelius\nbefore her: just as he now lay, shaken with fever, so had she seen her\nlover a few days before. His pale face rose before her inward sight;\nwould it not be to him a worse blow than that from the stone, when he\nshould learn that she had broken her faith to him in order to gain power\nand greatness, and to protect others, who were strangers to her, from the\nfury of the tyrant?\n\nHis heart had been hers from childhood's hour, and it would bleed and\nbreak if she were false to the vows in which he placed his faith. And\neven if he succeeded at last in recovering from the wound she must deal\nhim, his peace and happiness would be destroyed for many a long day. How\ncould she have doubted for a moment where her real duty lay?\n\nIf she followed Philostratus's advice--if she acceded to Caracalla's\nwishes--Diodoros would have every right to condemn and curse her. And\ncould she then feel so entirely blameless? A voice within her instantly\nsaid no; for there had been moments in which her pity had grown so strong\nthat she felt more warmly toward the sick Caesar than was justifiable.\nShe could not deny it, for she could not without a blush have described\nto her lover what she felt when that mysterious, inexplicable power had\ndrawn her to the emperor.\n\nAnd now the conviction rapidly grew strong in her that she must not only\npreserve her lover from further trouble, but strive to make good to him\nher past errors. The idea of renouncing her love in order to intercede\nfor others, most likely in vain, and lighten their lot by sacrificing\nherself for strangers, while rendering her own and her lover's life\nmiserable, now seemed to her unnatural, criminal, impossible; and with a\nsigh of relief she remembered her promise to Andreas. Now she could once\nmore look freely into the grave and earnest face of him who had ever\nguided her in the right way.\n\nThis alone was right--this she would do!\n\nBut after the first quick step toward Philostratus, she stood still, once\nmore hesitating. The saying about the fulfilling of the time recurred to\nher as she thought of the Christian, and she said to herself that the\ncritical moment which comes in every life was before her now. The weal or\nwoe of her whole future depended on the answer she should give to\nPhilostratus. The thought struck terror to her heart, but only for a\nmoment. Then she drew herself up proudly, and, as she approached her\nfriend, felt with joy that she had chosen the better part; yea, that it\nwould cost her but little to lay down her life for it.\n\nThough apparently absorbed in his conversation with the Thracian,\nPhilostratus had not ceased to observe the girl, and his knowledge of\nhuman nature showed him quickly to what decision she had come. Firmly\npersuaded that he had won her over to Caracalla's side, he had left her\nto her own reflections. He was certain that the seed he had sown in her\nmind would take root; she could now clearly picture to herself what\npleasures she would enjoy as empress, and from what she could preserve\nothers. For she was shrewd and capable of reasoning, and above all--and\nfrom this he hoped the most--she was but a woman. But just because she\nwas a woman he could not be surprised at her disappointing him in his\nexpectations. For the sake of Caracalla and those who surrounded him he\nwould have wished it to be otherwise; but he had become too fond of her,\nand had too good a heart, not to be distressed at the thought of seeing\nher fettered to the unbridled young tyrant.\n\nBefore she could address him, he took his leave of the Thracian. Then, as\nhe led her back to the divan, he whispered: \"Well, I have gained one more\nexperience. The next time I leave a woman to come to a decision, I shall\nanticipate from the first that she will come to an opposite conclusion to\nthat which, as a philosopher and logical thinker, I should expect of her.\nYou are determined to keep faith with your betrothed and stab the heart\nof this highest of all wooers--after death he will be ranked among the\ngods--for such will be the effect of your flight.\"\n\nMelissa nodded gayly, and rejoined, \"The blunt weapon that I carry would\nsurely not cost Caesar his life, even if he were no future immortal.\"\n\n\"Scarcely,\" answered Philostratus; \"but what he may suffer through you\nwill drive him to turn his own all-too-sharp sword against others.\nCaracalla being a man, my calculations regarding him have generally\nproved right. You will see how firmly I believe in them in this case,\nwhen I tell you that I have already taken advantage of a letter brought\nby the messengers of the empress-mother to take my leave of the emperor.\nFor, I reasoned, if Melissa listens to the emperor, she will need no\nother confederate than the boy Eros; if, however, she takes flight--then\nwoe betide those who are within range of the tyrant's arm, and ten times\nwoe to me who brought the fugitive before his notice! Early to-morrow,\nbefore Caracalla leaves his couch, I shall return with the messengers to\nJulia; my place in the ship--\"\n\n\"O my lord,\" interrupted Melissa, in consternation, \"if you, my kind\nprotector, forsake me, to whom shall I look for help?\"\n\n\"You will not require it if you carry out your intentions,\" said the\nphilosopher. \"Throughout this day you will doubtless need me; and let me\nimpress upon you once more to behave before Caracalla in such a manner\nthat even his suspicious mind may not guess what you intend to do. To-day\nyou will still find me ready to help you. But, hark! That is Caesar\nraging again. It is thus he loves to dismiss ambassadors, when he wishes\nthey should clearly understand that their conditions are not agreeable to\nhim. And one word more: When a man has grown gray, it is doubly soothing\nto his heart that a lovely maiden should so frankly regret the parting. I\nwas ever a friend of your amiable sex, and even to this day Eros is\nsometimes not unfavorably inclined to me. But you, the more charming you\nare, the more deeply do I regret that I may not be more to you than an\nold and friendly mentor. But pity at first kept love from speaking, and\nthen the old truth that every woman's heart may be won save that which\nalready belongs to another.\"\n\nThe elderly admirer of the fair sex spoke these words in such a pleasant,\nregretful tone that Melissa gave him an affectionate glance from her\nlarge, bright eyes, and answered, archly: \"Had Eros shown Philostratus\nthe way to Melissa instead of Diodoros, Philostratus might now be\noccupying the place in this heart which belongs to the son of Polybius,\nand which must always be his in spite of Caesar!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThe door of the tablinum flew open, and through it streamed the Parthian\nambassadors, seven stately personages, wearing the gorgeous costume of\ntheir country, and followed by an interpreter and several scribes.\nMelissa noticed how one of them, a young warrior with a fair beard\nframing his finely molded, heroic face, and thick, curling locks escaping\nfrom beneath his tiara, grasped the hilt of his sword in his sinewy hand,\nand how his neighbor, a cautious, elderly man, was endeavoring to calm\nhim.\n\nScarcely had they left the antechamber than Adventus called Melissa and\nPhilostratus to the emperor. Caracalla was seated on a raised throne of\ngold and ivory, with bright scarlet cushions. As on the preceding day, he\nwas magnificently dressed, and wore a laurel wreath on his head. The\nlion, who lay chained beside the throne, stirred as he caught sight of\nthe new-comers, which caused Caracalla to exclaim to Melissa: \"You have\nstayed away from me so long that my 'Sword of Persia' fails to recognize\nyou. Were it not more to my taste to show you how dear you are to me, I\ncould be angry with you, coy bird that you are!\"\n\nAs Melissa bent respectfully before him, he gazed delighted into her\nglowing face, saying, as he turned half to her and half to Philostratus:\n\"How she blushes! She is ashamed that, though I could get no sleep during\nthe night, and was tortured by an indescribable restlessness, she refused\nto obey my call, although she very well knows that the one remedy for her\nsleepless friend lies in her beautiful little hand. Hush, hush! The\nhigh-priest has told me that you did not sleep beneath the same roof as\nI. But that only turned my thoughts in the right direction. Child,\nchild!--See now, Philostratus--the red rose has become a white one. And\nhow timid she is! Not that it offends me, far from it--it delights\nme.--Those flowers, Philostratus! Take them, Melissa; they add less to\nyour beauty than you to theirs.\" He seized the splendid roses he had\nordered for her early that morning and fastened the finest in her girdle\nhimself. She did not forbid him, and stammered a few-low words of thanks.\n\nHow his face glowed! His eyes rested in ecstatic delight upon his chosen\none. In this past night, after he had called for her and waited in vain\nwith feverish longing for her coming, it had dawned on him with\nconvincing force that this gentle child had awakened a new, intense\npassion in him. He loved her, and he was glad of it--he who till now had\ntaken but a passing pleasure in beautiful women. Longing for her till it\nbecame torture, he swore to himself to make her his, and share his all\nwith her, even to the purple.\n\nIt was not his habit to hesitate, and at daybreak he had sent for his\nmother's messengers that they might inform her of his resolve. No one\ndared to gainsay him, and he expected it least of all from her whom he\ndesigned to raise so high. But she felt utterly estranged from him, and\nwould gladly have told him to his face what she felt.\n\nStill, it was absolutely necessary that she should restrain herself and\nendure his insufferable endearments, and even force herself to speak. And\nyet her tongue seemed tied, and it was only by the utmost effort of her\nwill that she could bring herself to express her astonishment at his\nrapid return to health.\n\n\"It is like magic,\" she concluded, and he heartily agreed. Attacks of\nthat kind generally left their effects for four days or more. But the\nmost astonishing thing was that in spite of being in the best of health,\nhe was suffering from the gravest illness in the world. \"I have fallen a\nvictim to the fever of love, my Philostratus,\" he cried, with a tender\nglance at Melissa.\n\n\"Nay, Caesar,\" interrupted the philosopher, \"love is not a disease, but\nrather not loving.\"\n\n\"Prove this new assertion,\" laughed the emperor; and the philosopher\nrejoined, with a meaning look at the maiden, \"If love is born in the\neyes, then those who do not love are blind.\"\n\n\"But,\" answered Caracalla, gayly, \"they say that love comes not only from\nwhat delights the eye, but the soul and the mind as well.\"\n\n\"And have not the mind and the spirit eyes also?\" was the reply, to which\nthe emperor heartily assented.\n\nThen he turned to Melissa, and asked with gentle reproach why she, who\nhad proved herself so ready of wit yesterday, should be so reserved\ntoday; but she excused her taciturnity on the score of the violent\nemotions that had stormed in upon her since the morning.\n\nHer voice broke at the end of this explanation, and Caracalla, concluding\nthat it was the thought of the grandeur that awaited her through his\nfavor which confused her and brought the delicate color to her cheeks,\nseized her hand, and, obedient to an impulse of his better nature, said:\n\n\"I understand you, child. Things are befalling you that would make a\nstouter heart tremble. You have only heard hints of what must effect such\na decisive change in your future life. You know how I feel toward you. I\nacknowledged to you yesterday what you already knew without words. We\nboth feel the mysterious power that draws us to one another. We belong to\neach other. In the future, neither time nor space nor any other thing may\npart us. Where I am there you must be also. You shall be my equal in\nevery respect. Every honor paid to me shall be offered to you likewise. I\nhave shown the malcontents what they have to expect. The fate which\nawaits the consul Claudius Vindex and his nephew, who by their want of\nrespect to you offended me, will teach the others to have a care.\"\n\n\"O my lord, that aged man!\" cried Melissa, clasping her hands,\nimploringly.\n\n\"He shall die, and his nephew,\" was the inexorable answer. \"During my\nconference with my mother's messengers they had the presumption to raise\nobjections against you and the ardent desire of my heart in a manner\nwhich came very near to being treason. And they must suffer for it.\"\n\n\"You would punish them for my sake?\" exclaimed Melissa. \"But I forgive\nthem willingly. Grant them pardon! I beg, I entreat you.\"\n\n\"Impossible! Unless I make an example, it will be long before the\nslanderous tongues would hold their peace. Their sentence stands.\"\n\nBut Melissa would not be appeased. With passionate eagerness she\nentreated the emperor to grant a pardon, but he cut her short with the\nrequest not to interfere in matters which he alone had to decide and\nanswer for.\n\n\"I owe it to you as well as to myself,\" he continued, \"to remove every\nobstacle from the path. Were I to spare Vindex, they would never again\nbelieve in my strength of purpose. He shall die, and his nephew with him!\nTo raise a structure without first securing a solid foundation would be\nan act of rashness and folly. Besides, I undertake nothing without\nconsulting the omens. The horoscope which the priest of this temple has\ndrawn up for you only confirms me in my purpose. The examination of the\nsacrifices this morning was favorable. It now only remains to be seen\nwhat the stars say to my resolve. I had not yet taken it when I last\nquestioned the fortune-tellers of the sky. This night we shall learn what\nfuture the planets promise to our union. From the signs on yonder tablet\nit is scarcely possible that their answer should be otherwise than\nfavorable. But even should they warn me of misfortune at your side, I\ncould not let you go now. It is too late for that. I should merely take\nadvantage of the warning, and continue with redoubled severity to sweep\naway every obstacle that threatens our union. And one thing more--\"\n\nBut he did not finish, for Epagathos here reminded him of the deputation\nof Alexandrian citizens who had come to speak about the games in the\nCircus. They had been waiting several hours, and had still many\narrangements to make.\n\n\"Did they send you to me?\" inquired Caracalla, with irritation, and the\nfreedman answering in the affirmative, he cried: \"The princes who wait in\nmy antechamber do not stir until their turn comes. These tradesmen's\nsenses are confused by the dazzle of their gold! Tell them they shall be\ncalled when we find time to attend to them.\"\n\n\"The head of the night-watch too is waiting,\" said the freedman; and to\nthe emperor's question whether he had seen him, and if he had anything of\nconsequence to report, the other replied that the man was much\ndisquieted, but seemed to be exercising proper severity. He ventured to\nremind his master of the saying that the Alexandrians must have 'Panem et\ncircenses'; they did not trouble themselves much about anything else. In\nthese days, when there had been neither games, nor pageants, nor\ndistribution of corn, the Romans and Caesar had been their sole subjects\nof conversation. However, there was to be something quite unusually grand\nin the Circus to-night. That would distract the attention of the impudent\nslanderers. The night-watchman greatly desired to speak to the emperor\nhimself, to prepare him for the fact that excitement ran higher in the\nCircus here than even in Rome. In spite of every precaution, he would not\nbe able to keep the rabble in the upper rows quiet.\n\n\"Nor need they be,\" broke in the emperor; \"the louder they shout the\nbetter; and I fancy they will see things which will be worth shouting\nfor. I have no time to see the man. Let him thoroughly realize that he is\nanswerable for any real breach of order.\"\n\nHe signed to Epagathos to retire, but Melissa went nearer to Caesar and\nbegged him gently not to let the worthy citizens wait any longer on her\naccount.\n\nAt this Caracalla frowned ominously, and cried: \"For the second time, let\nme ask you not to interfere in matters that do not concern you! If any\none dares to order me--\" Here he stopped short, for, as Melissa drew back\nfrom him frightened, he was conscious of having betrayed that even love\nwas not strong enough to make him control himself. He was angry with\nhimself, and with a great effort he went on, more quietly:\n\n\"When I give an order, my child, there often lies much behind it of which\nI alone know. Those who force themselves upon Caesar, as these citizens\ndo, must learn to have patience. And you--if you would fill the position\nto which I intend to raise you--must first take care to leave all paltry\nconsiderations and doubts behind you. However, all that will come of\nitself. Softness and mercy melt on the throne like ice before the sun.\nYou will soon learn to scorn this tribe of beggars who come whining round\nus. If I flew in a passion just now, it was partly your fault. I had a\nright to expect that you would be more eager to hear me out than to\nshorten the time of waiting for these miserable merchants.\"\n\nWith this his voice grew rough again, but as she raised her eyes to him\nand cried beseechingly, \"O, my lord!\" he continued, more gently:\n\n\"There was not much more to be said. You shall be mine. Should the stars\nconfirm their first revelations, I shall raise you to-morrow to my side,\nhere in the city of Alexandria, and make the people do homage to you as\ntheir empress. The priest of Alexandria is ready to conduct the marriage\nceremonial. Philostratus will inform my mother of my determination.\"\n\nMelissa had listened to these arrangements with growing distress; her\nbreath came fast, and she was incapable of uttering a word; but Caesar\nwas delighted at the lovely confusion painted on her features, and cried,\nin joyful excitement:\n\n\"How I have looked forward to this moment--and I have succeeded in\nsurprising her! This is what makes imperial power divine; by one wave of\nthe hand it can raise the lowest to the highest place!\"\n\nWith this he drew Melissa toward him, kissed the trembling girl upon the\nbrow, and continued, in delighted tones:\n\n\"Time does not stand still, and only a few hours separate us from the\naccomplishment of our desires. Let us lend them wings. We resolved\nyesterday to show one another what we could do as singers and\nlute-players. There lies my lyre--give it me, Philostratus. I know what I\nshall begin with.\"\n\nThe philosopher brought and tuned the instrument; but Melissa had some\ndifficulty in keeping back her tears. Caracalla's kiss burned like a\nbrand of infamy on her brow. A nameless, torturing restlessness had come\nover her, and she wished she could dash the lyre to the ground, when\nCaracalla began to play, and called out to Philostratus:\n\n\"As you are leaving us to-morrow, I will sing the song which you honored\nwith a place in your heroic tale.\"\n\nHe turned to Melissa, and, as she owned to having read the work of the\nphilosopher, he went on \"You know, then, that I was the model for his\nAchilles. The departed spirit of the hero is enjoying in the island of\nLeuke, in the Pontus, the rest which he so richly deserves, after a life\nfull of heroic deeds. Now he finds time to sing to the lyre, and\nPhilostratus put the following verses--but they are mine--into his\nmouth.--I am about to play, Adventus! Open the door!\"\n\nThe freedman obeyed, and the emperor peered into the antechamber to see\nfor himself who was waiting there.\n\nHe required an audience when he sang. The Circus had accustomed him to\nlouder applause than his beloved and one skilled musician could award\nhim. At last he swept the strings, and began singing in a well-trained\ntenor, whose sharp, hard quality, however, offended the girl's critical\near, the song to the echo on the shores of Pontus:\n\n          Echo, by the rolling waters\n          Bathing Pontus' rocky shore,\n          Wake, and answer to the lyre\n          Swept by my inspired hand!\n\n          Wake, and raise thy voice in numbers\n          Sing to Homer, to the bard\n          Who has given life immortal\n          To the heroes of his lay.\n\n          He it was from death who snatched me;\n          He who gave Patroclus life;\n          Rescued, in perennial glory,\n          Godlike Ajax from the dead!\n\n          His the lute to whose sweet accents,\n          Ilion owes undying fame,\n          And the triumph and the praises\n          Which surround her deathless name.\n\nThe \"Sword of Persia\" seemed peculiarly affected by his master's song,\nwhich he accompanied by a long-drawn howl of woe; and, before the\nimperial virtuoso had concluded, a discordant cry sounded for a short\ntime from the street, in imitation of the squeaking of young pigs. It\narose from the crowd who were waiting round the Serapeum to see Caesar\ndrive to the Circus; and Caracalla must have noticed it, for, when it\nwaxed louder, he gave a sidelong glance toward the place from which it\ncame, and an ominous frown gathered upon his brow.\n\nBut it soon vanished, for scarcely had he finished when stormy shouts of\napplause rose from the antechamber. They proceeded from the friends of\nCaesar, and the deep voices of the Germanic bodyguard, who, joining in\nwith the cries they had learned in the Circus, lent such impetuous force\nto the applause, as even to satisfy this artist in the purple.\n\nTherefore, when Philostratus spoke words of praise, and Melissa thanked\nhim with a blush, he answered with a smile: \"There is something frank and\nuntrammeled in their manner of expressing their feelings outside. Forced\napplause sounds differently. There must be something in my singing that\ncarries the hearers away. My Alexandrian hosts, however, are overready to\nshow me what they think. It did not escape me, and I shall add it to the\nrest.\"\n\nThen he invited Melissa to make a return for his song by singing Sappho's\nOde to Aphrodite. Pale, and as if obeying some strange compulsion, she\nseated herself at the instrument, and the prelude sounded clear and\ntuneful from her skillful fingers.\n\n\"Beautiful! Worthy of Mesomedes!\" cried Caracalla, but Melissa could not\nsing, for at the first note her voice was broken by stormy sobs.\n\n\"The power of the goddess whom she meant to extol!\" said Philostratus,\npointing to her; and the tearful, beseeching look with which she met the\nemperor's gaze while she begged him in low tones--\"Not now! I can not do\nit to-day!\"--confirmed Caracalla in his opinion that the passion he had\nawakened in the maiden was in no way inferior to his own-perhaps even\ngreater. He relieved his full heart by whispering to Melissa a\npassionate, \"I love you,\" and, desiring to show her by a favor how kindly\nhe felt toward her, added: \"I will not let your fellow-citizens wait\noutside any longer--Adventus! The deputation from the Circus!\"\n\nThe chamberlain withdrew at once, and the emperor throwing himself back\non the throne, continued, with a sigh:\n\n\"I wonder how any of these rich tradesmen would like to undertake what I\nhave already gone through this day. First, the bath; then, while I\nrested, Macrinus's report; after that, the inspection of the sacrifices;\nthen a review of the troops, with a gracious word to every one. Scarcely\nreturned, I had to receive the ambassadors from my mother, and then came\nthe troublesome affair with Vindex. Then the dispatches from Rome\narrived, the letters to be examined, and each one to be decided on and\nsigned. Finally the settling of accounts with the idiologos, who, as\nhigh-priest of my choosing, has to collect the tribute from all the\ntemples in Egypt. . . . Next I gave audience to several people--to your\nfather among the rest. He is strange, but a thorough man, and a true\nMacedonian of the old stock. He repelled both greeting and presents, but\nhe longed to be revenged--heavily and bloodily--on Zminis, who denounced\nhim and brought him to the galleys. . . . How the old fellow must have\nraged and stormed when he was a prisoner! I treated the droll old\ngray-beard like my father. The giant pleases me, and what skillful\nfingers he has on his powerful hands! He gave me that ring with the\nportraits of Castor and Pollux.\"\n\n\"My brothers were the models,\" remarked Melissa, glad to find something\nto say without dissembling.\n\nCaracalla examined the stone in the gold ring more closely, and exclaimed\nin admiration: \"How delicate the little heads are! At the first glance\none recognizes the hand of the happily gifted artist. Your father's is\none of the noblest and most refined of the arts. If I can raise a statue\nto a lute-player, I can do so to a gem-cutter.\"\n\nHere the deputation for the arrangement of the festival was announced,\nbut the emperor, calling out once more, \"Let them wait,\" continued:\n\n\"You are a handsome race--the men powerful, the women as lovely as\nAphrodite. That is as it should be! My father before me took the wisest\nand fairest woman to wife. You are the fairest--the wisest?--well, that\ntoo, perhaps. Time will show. But Aphrodite never has a high forehead,\nand, according to Philostratus, beauty and wisdom are hostile sisters\nwith you women.\"\n\n\"Exceptions,\" interposed the philosopher, as he pointed to Melissa,\n\"prove the rule.\"\n\n\"Describe her in that manner to my mother,\" said Caracalla. \"I would not\nlet you go from me, were you not the only person who knows Melissa. I may\ntrust in your eloquence to represent her as she deserves. And now,\" he\ncontinued, hurriedly, \"one thing more. As soon as the deputation is\ndismissed and I have received a few other persons, the feast is to begin.\nYou would perhaps be entertained at it. However, it will be better to\nintroduce you to my 'friends' after the marriage ceremony. After dark, to\nmake up for it, there is the Circus, to which you will, of course,\naccompany me.\"\n\n\"Oh, my lord!\" exclaimed the maiden, frightened and unwilling. But\nCaracalla cried, decisively: \"No refusal, I must beg! I imagine that I\nhave proved sufficiently that I know how to shield you from what is not\nfitting for a maiden. What I ask of you now is but the first step on the\nnew path of honor that awaits you as future empress.\"\n\nMelissa raised both voice and hands in entreaty, but in vain. Caracalla\ncut her short, saying in authoritative tones:\n\n\"I have arranged everything. You will go to the Circus. Not alone with\nme-that would give welcome work to scandalous tongues. Your father shall\naccompany you--your brothers, too, if you wish it. I shall not join you\ntill after the performance has begun. Your fellow-citizens will divine\nthe meaning of this visit. Besides, Theocritus and the rest have orders\nto acquaint the people with the distinction that awaits you and the\nAlexandrians. But why so pale? Your cheeks will regain their color in the\nCircus. I know I am right--you will leave it delighted and enthralled.\nYou have only to learn for the first time how the acclamations of tens of\nthousands take hold upon the heart and intoxicate the senses. Courage,\ncourage, Macedonian maiden! Everything grand and unexpected, even\nunforeseen happiness, is alarming and bewildering. But we become\naccustomed even to the impossible. A strong spirit like yours soon gets\nover anything of the kind. But the time is running on. One word more: You\nmust be in the Circus by sunset. In any case, you must be in your place\nbefore I come. Adventus will see that you have a chariot or a litter,\nwhichever you please. Theocritus will be waiting at the entrance to lead\nyou to your seats.\"\n\nMelissa could restrain herself no longer, and, carried away by the wild\nconflict of passions in her breast, she threw control and prudence to the\nwinds, and cried:\n\n\"I will not!\" Then throwing back her head as if to call the heavens to\nwitness, she raised her great, wide-open eyes and gazed above.\n\nBut not for long. Her bold defiance had roused Caesar's utmost fury, and\nhe broke out with a growl of rage:\n\n\"You will not, you say? And you think, unreasoning fool, that this\nsettles the matter?\"\n\nHe uttered a wild laugh, pressed his hand firmly on his left eyelid,\nwhich began to twitch convulsively, and went on in a lower but defiantly\ncontemptuous tone:\n\n\"I know better! You shall! And you will not only go to the Circus, but\nyou will do it willingly, or at least with smiling lips. You will start\nat sunset! At the time appointed I shall find you in your place. If\nnot!--Must I begin so soon to teach you that I can be serious? Have a\ncare, girl! You are dear to me; yet--by the head of my father!--if you\ndefy me, my Numidian lion-keepers shall drag you to the place you belong\nto!\"\n\nThus far Melissa had listened to the emperor's raging with panting bosom\nand quivering nostrils, as at a performance, which must sooner or later\ncome to an end; and now she broke in regardless of the consequences:\n\n\"Send for them,\" she cried, \"and order them to throw me to the wild\nbeasts! It will doubtless be a welcome surprise to the lookers-on. Which\nof them can say they have ever seen the daughter of a free Roman citizen\nwho never yet came before the law, torn to pieces in the sand of the\narena? They delight in anything new! Yes, murder me, as you did\nPlautilla, although I never offended either you or your mother! Better\ndie a hundred deaths than parade my dishonor before the eyes of the\nmultitude in the open Circus!\"\n\nShe ceased, incapable of further resistance, threw herself weeping on the\ndivan, and buried her face in the cushions.\n\nConfounded and bewildered by such audacity, the emperor had heard her\nout. The soul of a hero dwelt in the frail body of this maiden! Majestic\nas all-conquering Venus she had resisted him for the second tune, and now\nhow touching did she appear in her tears and weakness! He loved her, and\nhis heart yearned to raise her in his arms, to beg her forgiveness, and\nfulfill her every wish. But he was a man and a monarch, and his desire to\nshow Melissa to the people in the Circus as his chosen bride had become a\nfixed resolve during the past sleepless night. And indeed he was\nincapable of renouncing any wish or a plan, even if he felt inclined to\ndo so. Yet he heartily regretted having stormed at the gentle Greek girl\nlike some wild barbarian, and thus himself thrown obstacles in the way of\nattaining his desire. His hot blood had carried him away again. Surely\nsome demon led him so often into excesses which he afterward repented of.\nThis time the fiend had been strong in him, and he must use every gentle\npersuasion he knew of to bend the deeply offended maiden to his will.\n\nHe was relieved not to meet her intense gaze as he advanced toward her\nand took Philostratus's place, who whispered to her to control herself\nand not bring death and ruin upon them all.\n\n\"I Truly I meant well toward you, dearest,\" he began, in altered tones.\n\"But we are both like overfull vessels--one drop will make them overflow.\nYou--confess now that you forgot yourself. And I--On the throne we grow\nunaccustomed to opposition. It is fortunate that the flame of my anger\ndies out so quickly. But it lies with you to prevent it from ever\nbreaking out; for I should always endeavor to fulfill a kindly expressed\nwish, if it were possible. This time, however, I must insist--\"\n\nMelissa turned toward the emperor, and stretching out beseeching hands,\nshe cried:\n\n\"Bid me do anything, however hard, and it shall be done, but do not force\nme to go with you to the Circus. If my mother were only alive! Wherever I\ncould go with her was right. But my father, not to speak of my madcap\nbrother Alexander, do not know what befits a maiden, nor does anybody\nexpect it of them.\"\n\n\"And rightly,\" interposed Caracalla. \"Now I understand your opposition,\nand thank you for it. But it fortunately lies in my power to remove your\nobjection. The women have to obey me, too. I shall at once issue the\nnecessary orders. You shall appear in the Circus surrounded by the\nnoblest matrons of the city. The wives of these citizens shall accompany\nyou. Even my mother will be sure to approve of this arrangement.\nFarewell, then, till we meet again in the Circus!\"\n\nHe spoke the last words with proud satisfaction, and with the grave\ndemeanor that Cilo had taught him to adopt in the curia.\n\nHe then gave the order to admit the Alexandrian citizens, and the words\nof entreaty died upon the lips of the unfortunate imperial bride, for the\nfolding doors were thrown open and the deputation advanced through them.\n\nOld Adventus signed to Melissa, and with drooping head she followed him\nthrough the rooms and corridors that led to the apartments of the\nhighpriest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nMelissa had wept her fill on the breast of the lady Euryale, who listened\nto her woes with motherly sympathy, and yet she felt as if a biting frost\nhad broken and destroyed the blossoms which only yesterday had so richly\nand hopefully decked her young heart. Diodoros's love had been to her\nlike the fair and sunny summer days that turn the sour, hard fruit into\nsweet and juicy grapes. And now the frost had nipped them. The whole\nfuture, and everything round her, now looked gray, colorless, and flat.\nOnly two thoughts held possession of her mind: on the one hand, that of\nher betrothed, from whom this visit to the Circus threatened to separate\nher forever; and on the other, that of her imperial lover, to escape whom\nshe would have flown anywhere, even to the grave.\n\nEuryale remarked with concern how weary and broken Melissa looked--so\ndifferent from her usual bright self, while she listened to her father\nand Alexander as they consulted with the lady as to the future.\nPhilostratus, who had promised his advice, did not appear; and to the\ngem-cutter, no proposal could seem so unwelcome as that of leaving his\nnative city and his sick favorite, Philip.\n\nHe considered it senseless, and a result of the thoroughly wrong-headed\nviews of sentimental women, to reject the monarch of the world when he\nmade honorable proposals to an unpretending girl. But the lady\nEuryale--of whom his late wife had always spoken with the highest\nrespect--and, supported by her, his son Alexander, had both represented\nto him so forcibly that a union with the emperor would render Melissa\nmost unhappy, if it did not lead to death, that he had been reduced to\nsilence. Only, when they spoke of the necessity of flight, he burst out\nagain, declaring that the time had not yet come for such extreme\nmeasures.\n\nWhen Melissa now rejoined them, he spoke of the emperor's behavior toward\nher as being worthy of a man of honor, and endeavored to touch her heart\nby representing what an old man must feel who should be forced to leave\nthe house where his father and grandfather had lived before him, and even\nthe town whose earth held all that was dearest to him.\n\nHere the tears which so easily rose to his eyes began to flow, and,\nseeing that Melissa's tender heart was moved by his sorrow, he gained\nconfidence, and reproached his daughter for having kindled Caracalla's\nlove, by her radiant eyes--so like her mother's! Honestly believing that\nhis affection was returned, Caesar was offering her the highest honor in\nhis power; if she fled from him, he would have every right to complain of\nhaving been basely deceived, and to call her a heartless wanton.\n\nAlexander now came to his sister's aid, and reminded him how Melissa had\nhazarded life and liberty to save him and her brothers. She had been\nforced to look so kindly into the tyrant's face if only to sue for their\npardon, and it became him ill to make this a reproach to his daughter.\n\nMelissa nodded gratefully to her brother, but Heron remained firm in his\nassertion that to think of flight would be foolish, or at least\npremature.\n\nAt this, Alexander repeated to him that Melissa had whispered in his ear\nthat she would rather die at once than live in splendor, but in perpetual\nfear, by the side of an unloved husband; whereupon Heron began to breathe\nhard, as he always did before an outburst of anger.\n\nBut a message, calling him to the emperor's presence, soon calmed him.\n\nAt parting, he kissed Melissa, and murmured \"Would you really drive your\nold father out of our dear home, away from his work, and his birds--from\nhis garden, and your mother's grave? Is it then so terrible to live as\nempress, in splendor and honor? I am going to Caesar--you can not hinder\nme from greeting him kindly from you?\"\n\nWithout waiting for an answer, he left the room; but when he was outside\nhe took care to glance at himself in the mirror, arrange his beard and\nhair, and place his gigantic form in a few of the dignified attitudes he\nintended to adopt in the presence of the emperor.\n\nMeanwhile Melissa had thrown off the indifference into which she had\nfallen, and her old doubts raised their warning heads with renewed force.\n\nAlexander swore to be her faithful ally; Euryale once more assured her of\nher assistance; and yet, more especially when she was moved with pity for\nher father, who was to leave all he loved for her sake, she felt as if\nshe were being driven hither and thither, in some frail bark, at the\nmercy of the waves.\n\nSuddenly a new idea flashed through her mind. She rose quickly.\n\n\"I will go to Diodoros,\" she cried, \"and tell him all! He shall decide.\"\n\n\"Just now?\" asked Euryale, startled. \"You would certainly not find your\nbetrothed alone, and since all the world knows of Caracalla's intentions,\nand gazes curiously after you, your visit would instantly be reported to\nCaesar. Nor is it advisable for you to present yourself before your\noffended lover, when you have neither Andreas nor any one else to speak\nfor you and take your part.\"\n\nMelissa burst into tears, but the matron drew her to her and continued\ntenderly:\n\n\"You must give that up--but, Alexander, do you go to your friend, and be\nyour sister's mouthpiece!\"\n\nThe artist consented with all the ardor of brotherly affection, and\nhaving received from Melissa, whose courage began to rise again, strict\ninjunctions as to what he was to say to her lover, he departed on his\nerrand.\n\nWholly absorbed by the stormy emotions of her heart, the maiden had\nforgotten time and every external consideration; but the lady Euryale was\nthoughtful for her, and now led her to her chamber to have her hair\ndressed for the Circus. The matron carefully avoided, for the present,\nall mention of her young friend's flight, though her mind was constantly\noccupied with it--and not in vain.\n\nThe skillful waiting-woman, whom she had bought from the house of the\npriest of Alexander, who was a Roman knight, loosened the girl's abundant\nbrown hair, and, with loud cries of admiration, declared it would be easy\nto dress such locks in the most approved style of fashion. She then laid\nthe curling-irons on the dish of coals which stood on a slender tripod,\nand was about to twist it into ringlets; but Melissa, who had never\nresorted to such arts, refused to permit it. The slave assured her,\nhowever, as earnestly as if it were a matter of the highest importance,\nthat it was impossible to arrange the curls of a lady of distinction\nwithout the irons. Euryale, too, begged Melissa to allow it, as nothing\nwould make her so conspicuous in her overdressed surroundings as\nexcessive simplicity. That was quite true, but it made the girl realize\nso vividly what was before her, that she covered her face with her hands\nand sobbed out:\n\n\"To be exposed to the gaze of the whole city--to its envy and its scorn!\"\n\nThe matron's warning inquiry, what had become of her favorite's\nhigh-minded calm, and her advice to restrain her weeping, lest she should\nappear before the public in the Amphitheater with tear-stained eyes,\nhelped her to compose herself.\n\nThe tire-woman had not finished her work when Alexander returned, and\nMelissa dared not turn her head for fear of disturbing her in her task.\nBut when Alexander began his report with the exclamation, \"Who knows what\nfoolish gossip has driven him to this?\" she sprang up, regardless of the\nslave's warning cry. And as her brother went on to relate how Diodoros\nhad left the Serapeum, in spite of the physician's entreaty to wait at\nleast until next morning, but that Melissa need not take it greatly to\nheart, it was too much for the girl who had already that day gone through\nsuch severe and varied experiences. The ground seemed to heave beneath\nher feet; sick and giddy she put out her hand to find some support, that\nshe might not sink on her knees; in so doing, she caught the tall tripod\nwhich held the dish of coals. It swayed and fell clattering to the\nground, bringing the irons with it. Its burning contents fell partly on\nthe floor and partly on the festal robe which Melissa had thrown over a\nchair before loosening her hair. Alexander caught her just in time to\nprevent her falling.\n\nWith her healthy nature, Melissa soon regained consciousness, and during\nthe first few moments her distress over the spoiled garment threw every\nother thought into the background. Shaking her head gravely over the\nblack-edged holes which the coals had burned in the peplos and the\nunder-robes, Euryale secretly rejoiced at the accident. She remembered\nthat when her heart was torn and bleeding, after the death of her only\nchild, her thoughts were taken off herself by the necessary duty of\nproviding mourning garments for herself, her husband, and the slaves.\nThis trivial task had at least helped her to forget for a few hours the\nbitterness of her grief.\n\nOnly anxious to lighten in some sort the fate of the sweet young creature\nwhom she had learned to love, she made much of the difficulty of\nprocuring a fresh dress for Melissa, though she was perfectly aware that\nher sister-in-law possessed many such. Alexander was commissioned to take\none of the emperor's chariots--which always stood ready for the use of\nthe courtiers between the Serapeum and the springs on the east--and to\nhasten to the lady Berenike. The lady begged that he, as an artist, would\nassist in choosing the robe; and the less conspicuous and costly it was\nthe better.\n\nTo this Melissa heartily agreed, and, after Alexander had gone, Euryale\nbore off her pale young charge to the eating-room, where she forced her\nto take some old wine and a little food, which she would not touch\nbefore. As the attendant filled the wine-cup, the high-priest himself\njoined them, greeted Melissa briefly and with measured courtesy, and\nbegged his wife to follow him for a moment into the tablinum.\n\nThe attendant, a slave who had grown gray in the service of Timotheus,\nnow begged the young guest, as though he represented his mistress, to\ntake a little food, and not to sip so timidly from the winecup. But the\nlonely repast was soon ended, and Melissa, strengthened and refreshed,\nwithdrew to the sleeping-apartment. Only light curtains hung at the doors\nof the high-priest's hurriedly furnished rooms, and no one noticed\nMelissa's entrance into the adjoining chamber.\n\nShe had never played the eavesdropper, but she had neither the presence\nof mind to withdraw, nor could she avoid hearing that her own name was\nmentioned.\n\nIt was the lady who spoke, and her husband answered in excited tones:\n\n\"As to your Christianity, and whatever there may be in it that is\noffensive to me as high-priest of a heathen god, we will speak of that\nlater. It is not a question now of a difference of opinion, but of a\nserious danger, which you with your easily-moved heart will bring down\nupon yourself and me. The gem-cutter's daughter is a lovely creature--I\nwill not deny it--and worthy of your sympathy; besides which, you, as a\nwoman, can not bear to see her most sacred feelings wounded.\"\n\n\"And would you let your hands he idle in your lap,\" interposed his wife,\n\"if you saw a lovable, innocent child on the edge of a precipice, and\nfelt yourself strong enough to save her from falling? You can not have\nasked yourself what would be the fate of a girl like Melissa if she were\nCaracalla's wife.\"\n\n\"Indeed I have,\" Timotheus assured her gravely, \"and nothing would please\nme better than that the maiden should succeed in escaping that fate.\nBut--the time is short, and I must be brief--the emperor is our guest,\nand honors me with boundless confidence. Just now he disclosed to me his\ndetermination to make Melissa his wife, and I was forced to approve it.\nThus he looks to me to carry out his wishes; and if the maiden escapes,\nand there falls on you, or, through you, on me, the shadow of a suspicion\nof having assisted in her flight, he will have every right to regard me\nas a traitor and to treat me as such. To others my life is made sacred by\nmy high office, but the man to whom a human life--no matter whose--is no\nmore than that of a sacrificial animal is to you or me, that man would\nshed the blood of us both without a quiver of the eyelid.\"\n\n\"Then let him!\" cried Euryale, hotly. \"My bereaved and worn-out life is\nbut a small price to pay for that of an innocent, blameless creature,\nglowing with youth and all the happiness of requited love, and with a\nright to the highest joys that life can offer.\"\n\n\"And I?\" exclaimed Timotheus, angrily. \"What am I to you since the death\nof our child? For the sake of the first person that came to you as a poor\nsubstitute for our lost daughter, you are ready to go to your death, and\nto drag me with you into the gloom of Hades. There speaks the Christian!\nEven that gentle philosopher on the throne, Marcus Aurelius, was\ndisgusted at your fellow-believers' hideous mania for death. The\nChristian expects in the next world all that is denied to him in this.\nBut we think of this life, in which the Deity has placed us. To me life\nis the highest blessing, and yours is dearer to me than my own. Therefore\nI say, firmly and decidedly: Melissa must not make her escape from this\nhouse. If she is determined to fly this night, let her do so--I shall not\nhinder her. If your counsel is of service to her, I am glad; but she must\nnot enter this house again after the performance in the Circus, unless\nshe be firmly resolved to become Caesar's wife. If she can not bring\nherself to this, the apartments which belong to us must be closed against\nher, as against a dangerous foe.\"\n\n\"And whither can she go?\" asked Euryale, sadly and with tearful eyes, for\nthere was no gainsaying so definite an order from her lord and master.\n\"The moment she is missed, they will search her father's house; and, if\nshe takes advantage of Berenike's ship, it will soon be discovered that\nit was your brother's wife who helped her to escape from Caracalla.\"\n\n\"Berenike will know what to do,\" answered Timotheus, composedly. \"She, if\nany one, knows how to take care of herself. She has the protection of her\ninfluential brother-in-law, Coeranus; and just now there is nothing she\nwould not do to strike a blow at her hated enemy.\"\n\n\"How sorrow and revenge have worked upon that strange woman!\" exclaimed\nthe lady, sadly. \"Caracalla has injured her, it is true--\"\n\n\"He has, and to-day he has added a further, deeper insult, for he forces\nher to appear in the Amphitheater, with the wives of the other citizens\nwho bear the cost of this performance. I was there, and heard him say to\nSeleukus, who was acting as spokesman, that he counted on seeing his\nwife, of whom he had heard so much, in her appointed place this evening.\n\n\"This will add fuel to the fire of her hatred. If she only does not allow\nher anger to carry her away, and to show it in a manner that she will\nafterward regret!--But my time is short. I have to walk before the sacred\nimages in full ceremonial vestments, and accompanied by the priest of\nAlexander. You, unfortunately, take no pleasure in such spectacles. Once\nmore, then--if the girl is determined to fly, she must not return here. I\nrepeat, if any one can help her to get away, it is Berenike. Our\nsister-in-law must take the consequences. Caesar can not accuse her of\ntreason, at any rate, and her interference in the matter will clear us of\nall suspicion of complicity.\"\n\nNo word of this conversation had escaped Melissa. She learned nothing new\nfrom it, but it affected her deeply.\n\nWarm-hearted as she was, she fully realized the debt of gratitude she\nowed to the lady Euryale; and she could not blame the high-priest, whom\nprudence certainly compelled to close his doors against her. And yet she\nwas wounded by his words. She had struggled so hard in these last days to\nbanish all thought of her own happiness, and shield her dear ones from\nharm, that such selfishness appeared doubly cruel to her. Did it not seem\nas if this priest of the great Deity to whom she had been taught to pray,\ncared little what became of his nearest relatives, so long as he and his\nwife were unmolested? That was the opposite of what Andreas had praised\nas the highest duty, the last time she had walked with him to the ferry;\nand since then Johanna had told her the story of Christ's sufferings, and\nshe understood the fervor with which the freedman had spoken of the\ncrucified Son of God--the great example of all unselfishness.\n\nIn the enthusiasm of her warm young heart she felt that what she had\nheard of the Christians' teacher was beautiful, and that she too would\nnot find it hard to die for those she loved.\n\nWith drooping head Euryale re-entered the room, and gazed with kind,\nanxious eyes into the girl's face, as if asking her forgiveness.\nFollowing the impulse of her candid heart, Melissa threw her fair young\narms round the aged lady, and, to her great surprise, after kissing her\nwarmly on brow and mouth and eyes, cried in tones of tender entreaty:\n\n\"Forgive me. I did not want to listen, and yet I could not choose but\nhear. No word of your discourse escaped me. I know now that I must not\nfly, and that I must bear whatever fate the gods may send me. I used\noften to say to myself, 'Of how little importance is my life or my\nhappiness!' And now that I must give up my lover, come what may I care\nnot what the future has in store for me. I can never forget Diodoros;\nand, when I think that everything is at an end between us, it is as if my\nheart were torn in pieces. But I have found out, in these last days, what\nheavy troubles one may bear without breaking down. If my flight is to\nbring danger, if not death and ruin, upon so many good people, I had\nbetter stay. The man who lusts after me--it is true, when I think of his\nembrace my blood runs cold! But perhaps I shall be able to endure even\nthat. And then--if I crush my heart into silence, and renounce Diodoros\nforever, and give myself up to Caesar--as I must--tell me you will not\nthen close your doors against me, but that I may stay with you till the\nhorrid hour comes when Caracalla calls me?\"\n\nThe matron had listened with deep emotion to Melissa's victory over her\ndesires and her aversions. This heathen maiden, brought up in the right\nway by a good mother, and to whom life had taught many a hard lesson, was\nshe not already treading in the footsteps of the Saviour? This child was\noffering up the great and pure love of her heart to preserve others from\nsorrow and danger; and what a different course of action was she herself\nto pursue in obedience to her husband's orders--her husband, whose duty\nit was to offer a shining example to the whole heathen world!\n\nShe thought of Abraham's sacrifice, and wondered if the Lord might not\nperhaps be satisfied with Melissa's willingness to lay her love upon the\naltar. In any case, whatever she, Euryale, could do to save her from the\nworst fate that could befall a woman, that should be done, and this time\nit was she who drew the other toward her and kissed her.\n\nHer heart was full to overflowing, and yet she did not forget to warn\nMelissa to be careful, when she was about to lay her head with its\nartificially arranged curls upon the lady's breast.\n\n\"No, no,\" she said, tenderly warding off the maiden's embrace. Then,\nlaying her hands on the girl's shoulders, she looked her straight in the\nface, and continued: \"Here you will ever find a resting-place. When your\nhair lies smoothly round your sweet face, as it did yesterday, then lay\nit on my breast as often as you will. Aye, and it can and shall be here\nin the Serapeum; though not in these rooms, which my lord and master\ncloses against you. I told you of the time being fulfilled for each one\nof us, and when yours came you proved yourself to be the good tree of\nwhich our Lord speaks as bearing good fruit. You look at me inquiringly;\nhow indeed should you understand the words of a Christian? But I shall\nfind time enough in the next few days to explain them to you; for--I say\nit again--you shall remain near me while the emperor searches the city\nand half the world over for you. Keep that firmly in your mind and let it\nhelp to give you courage in the Circus.\"\n\n\"But my father?\" cried Melissa, pointing to the curtain, through which\nHeron's loud voice now became audible.\n\n\"Depend on me,\" whispered the lady, hurriedly; \"and rest assured that he\nwill be warned in time. Do not betray my promise. If we were to take him\ninto our confidence now, he would spoil all. As soon as he is gone, and\nyour brother has returned, you two shall hear--\"\n\nThey were interrupted by the steward, who, with a peculiar smile upon his\nclean-shaven lips, came to announce Heron's visit.\n\nThe communicative gem-cutter had already confided to the servant what it\nwas that agitated him so greatly, but Melissa was astonished at the\nchange in her father's manner.\n\nThe shuffling gait of the gigantic, unwieldy man, who had grown gray\nstooping over his work, had gained a certain majestic dignity. His cheeks\nglowed, and the gray eyes, which had long since acquired a fixed look\nfrom straining over the gemcutting, now beamed with a blissful radiance.\nSomething wonderful must have happened to him, and, without waiting to be\nquestioned by the lady, he poured out to her the news that he would have\nbeen overjoyed to have shouted in the market-place for all to hear.\n\nThe reception accorded to him at Caesar's table, he declared, had been\nflattering beyond all words. The godlike monarch had treated him more\nconsiderately, nay, sometimes with more reverence, than his own sons. The\nbest dishes had been put before him, and Caracalla had asked all sorts of\nquestions about his future consort, and, on hearing that Melissa had sent\nhim greetings, he had raised himself and drunk to him as if he were a\nfriend.\n\nHis table-companions, too, had treated Heron with every distinction.\nImmediately on his arrival the monarch had desired them to honor him as\nthe father of the future empress. They had all agreed with him in\ndemanding that Zminis the Egyptian should be punished with death, and had\neven encouraged him to give the reins to his righteous anger. He, if any\none, was in the habit of being moderate in all things, if only as a good\nexample to his sons; and he had proved in many a Dionysiac feast that the\ngod could not easily overpower him. The amount of wine he had drunk\nto-day would generally have had no more effect upon him than water, and\nyet he had felt now and then as if he were drunken, and the whole festal\nhall turned round with him. Even now he would be quite incapable of\nwalking forward in a given straight line.\n\nWith the exclamation, \"Such is life!--a few hours ago on the\nrowing-bench, and fighting with the brander of the galleys for trying to\nbrand me with the slave-mark, and now one of the greatest among the\ngreat!\" he closed his tale, for a glance through the window showed him\nthat time pressed.\n\nWith strange bashfulness he then gazed at a ring upon his right hand, and\nsaid hesitatingly that his own modesty made the avowal difficult to him;\nbut the fact was, he was not the same man as when he last left the\nladies. By the grace of the emperor he had been made a praetorian. Caesar\nhad at first wanted to make him a knight; but he esteemed his Macedonian\ndescent higher than that class, to which too many freed slaves belonged\nfor his taste. This he had frankly acknowledged, and the emperor must\nhave considered his objections valid, for he immediately spoke a few\nwords to the prefect Macrinus, and then told the others to greet him as\nsenator with the rank of praetorian.\n\nThen indeed he felt as if the seat beneath him were transformed into a\nwild steed carrying him away, through sea and sky-wherever it pleased. He\nhad had to hold tightly to the arm of the couch, and only remembered that\nsome one--who it was he did not know--had whispered to him to thank\nCaesar.\n\n\"This,\" continued the gem-cutter, \"restored me so far to myself that I\ncould express my gratitude to your future husband, my child. I am only\nthe second Egyptian who has entered the senate. Coeranus was the only one\nbefore me. What favor! And how can I describe what followed? All the\ndistinguished members of the senate and the past consuls offered me a\nbrotherly embrace as their new colleague. When Caesar commanded me to\nappear at your side in the Circus, wearing the white toga with the broad\npurple stripe, and I remarked that the shops of the better\nclothes-sellers would be shut by this time on account of the performance,\nand that such a toga was not to be obtained, there was a great laugh over\nthe Alexandrian love of amusement. From all sides they offered me what I\nrequired; but I gave the preference to Theocritus, on account of his\nheight. What is long enough for him will not be too short for me.--And\nnow one of the emperor's chariots is waiting for me. If only Alexander\nwere at home! The house ought to have been illuminated and hung with\ngarlands for my arrival, and a crowd of slaves waiting to kiss my hands.\n\n\"There will soon be more than our two. I hope Argutis may understand how\nto fasten on the shoes with the straps and the crescent! Philip knows\neven less of these things than I do myself, besides which the poor boy is\nlaid low. It is lucky that I remembered him. I had very nearly forgotten\nhis existence. Ah!--if your mother were still alive! She had\nclever-fingers! She--Ah, lady Euryale, Melissa has perhaps told you about\nher. Olympias she was called, like the mother of the great Alexander,\nand, like her, she bore good children. You yourself were praising my boys\njust now. And the girl! . . Only a few days ago, it was a pretty, shy\nthing that no one would ever have expected to do anything great; and now,\nwhat have we not to thank that gentle child for? The little one was\nalways her mother's darling. Eternal gods! I dare not think of it! If\nonly she who is gone might have had the joy of hearing me called senator\nand praetor! O child! if she could have sat with us to-day in the\nemperor's seats, and we two could have seen you there--you, our pride,\nhonored by the whole city, Caesar's future bride.\"\n\nHere the strong man with the soft heart broke down, and, clasping his\nhands over his face, sobbed aloud, while Melissa clung to him and stroked\nhis bearded cheeks.\n\nUnder her loving words of consolation he soon regained his composure,\nand, still struggling against the rising tears, he cried:\n\n\"Thank Heaven, there can be no more foolish talk of flight! I shall stay\nhere; I shall never take advantage of the ivory chair that belongs to me\nin the curia in Rome. Your husband, my child, and the state, would\nscarcely expect it of me. If, however, Caesar presents me as his father,\nwith estates and treasures, my first thought shall be to raise a monument\nto your mother. You shall see! A monument, I tell you, without a rival.\nIt shall represent the strength of man submissive to womanly charm.\"\n\nHe bent down to kiss his daughter's brow, and whispered in her ear:\n\n\"Gaze confidently into the future, my girl. A father's eye is not easily\ndeceived, and so I tell you--that the emperor has been forced to shed\nblood do insure the safety of the throne; but, in personal intercourse\nwith him, I learned to know your future husband as a noble-hearted man.\nIndeed, I am not rich enough to thank the gods for such a son-in-law!\"\n\nMelissa gazed after her father, incapable of speaking. It went to her\nheart that all these hopes should be changed to sorrow and disappointment\nthrough her. And so she said, with tearful eyes, and shook hey head when\nthe lady assured her that with her it was a question of a cruelly spoiled\nlife, whereas her father would only have to renounce some idle vanities\nwhich he would forget as easily as he had seized upon them.\n\n\"You do not know him,\" answered the maiden, sadly. \"If I fly, then he too\nmust hide himself in a far country. He will never be happy again if they\ntake him from the little house--his birds--our mother's grave. It was for\nher sake alone that he took no thought for the ivory seat in the curia.\nIf you only knew how he clings to everything that reminds him of our\nmother, and she never left our city.\"\n\nHere she was interrupted by the entrance of Philostratus. He was not\nalone; an imperial slave accompanied him, bringing a graceful basket with\ngifts from the emperor to Melissa.\n\nFirst came a wreath of roses and lotos-flowers, looking as if they had\nbeen plucked just before sunrise, for among the blossoms and leaves there\nflashed and sparkled a glittering dew of diamonds, lightly fastened on\ndelicate silver wires. Next came a bunch of flowers, round whose stems a\nsupple golden snake was twined, covered with rubies and diamonds and\ndestined to coil itself round a woman's arm. The third was a necklace of\nextremely costly Persian pearls, which had once belonged--so the merchant\nhad declared--to great Cleopatra's treasure.\n\nMelissa loved flowers; and the costly gifts that accompanied them could\nnot fail to rejoice a woman's heart. And yet she only gave them a passing\nglance, reddening painfully as she did so.\n\nWhat the bearer had to say to her was of more importance to her than the\ngifts he brought, and in fact the troubled manner of the usually composed\nphilosopher betrayed that he had something more serious to deliver than\nthe gifts of his love-sick lord.\n\nThe lady Euryale, perceiving that he meant to try once more to persuade\nMelissa to yield, hastened to declare that she had found ways and means\nto help the maiden to escape; but he shook his head with a sigh, and\nsaid, thoughtfully:\n\n\"Well--well--I shall go on board the ship while the wild beasts are doing\ntheir part in the Circus. May we meet again happily, either here or else\nwhere! My way leads me first to Caesar's mother, to inform her of his\nchoice of a wife. Not that he needs her consent: whose consent or\ndisapproval does Caracalla care for? But I am to win Julia's heart for\nyou. Possibly I may succeed; but you--you scorn it, and fly from her son.\nAnd yet--believe me, child--the heart of that woman is a treasure that\nhas no equal, and, if she should open her arms to you, there would be\nlittle that you could not endure. When I left you, just now, I put myself\nin your place, and approved of your resolve; but it would be wrong not to\nremind you once more of what you must expect if you follow your own will,\nand if Caesar considers himself scorned, ill-treated, and deceived by\nyou.\"\n\n\"In the name of all the gods, what has happened?\" broke in Melissa,\npallid with fear. Philostratus pressed his hand to his brow, and his\nvoice was hoarse with suppressed emotion as he continued: \"Nothing\nnew-only things are taking their old course. You know that Caracalla\nthreatened old Claudius Vindex and his nephew with death because of their\nopposition to his union with you. We all hoped, however, that he would be\nmoved to exercise mercy. He is in love--he was so gracious at the feast!\nI myself was foremost among those who did their utmost to dispose Caesar\nto clemency.. But he would not be moved, and, before the sun goes down\nupon this day, the old man and the young one--the chiefest among the\nnobles of Rome--will be no more. And it is Caracalla's love for you,\nchild, that sheds this blood. Ask yourself after this how many lives will\nbe sacrificed when your flight causes hatred and fury to reign supreme in\nthe soul of the cheated monarch!\"\n\nWith quickened breath Euryale had listened to the philosopher, without\nregarding the girl; but scarcely had Philostratus uttered his last words\nthan Melissa ran to her, and, clasping her hands passionately on the\nmatron's arm, she cried, \"Ought I to obey you, Euryale, and the terrors\nof my own heart, and flee?\"\n\nThen releasing the lady, she turned again to the philosopher, and burst\nout: \"Or are you in the right, Philostratus? Must I stay, to prevent the\nmisery that threatens to overtake others?\"\n\nBeside herself, torn by the storm that raged in her soul, she clasped her\nhands upon her brow and continued, wildly: \"You are both of you so wise,\nand surely wish the best. How can you give me such opposite advice? And\nmy own heart?--why have the gods struck it dumb? Time was when it spoke\nloudly enough if ever I was in doubt. One thing I know for certain: if by\nthe sacrifice of my life I could undo it all, I would joyfully cast\nmyself before the lions and panthers, like the Christian maiden whom my\nmother saw smiling radiantly as she was led into the arena. Splendor and\npower are as hateful to me as the flowers yonder with their false dew. I\nwas ever taught to close my ear to the voice of selfishness. If I have\nany wish for myself, it is that I may keep my faith with him to whom it\nwas promised. But for love of my father, and if I could be certain of\nsaving many from death and misery, I would stay, though I should despise\nmyself and be separated forever from my beloved!\"\n\n\"Submit to the inevitable,\" interposed the philosopher, with eager\nentreaty. \"The immortal gods will reward you with the blessings of\nhundreds whom a word from you will have saved from ruin and destruction.\"\n\n\"And what say you?\" asked the maiden, gazing with anxious expectancy into\nthe matron's face. \"Follow your own heart!\" replied the lady, deeply\nmoved.\n\nMelissa had hearkened to both counselors with eager ear, and both hung\nanxiously on her lips, while, as if taken out of herself, she gazed with\npanting bosom into the empty air. They had not long to wait. Suddenly the\nmaiden approached Philostratus and said with a firmness and decision that\nastonished her friend:\n\n\"This will I do--this--I feel it here--this is the right. I remain, I\nrenounce the love of my heart, and accept what Fate has laid upon me. It\nwill be hard, and the sacrifice that I offer is great. But I must first\nhave the certainty that it shall not be in vain.\"\n\n\"But, child,\" cried Philostratus, \"who can look into the future, and\nanswer for what is still to come?\"\n\n\"Who?\" asked Melissa, undaunted. \"He alone in whose hand lies my future.\nTo Caesar himself I leave the decision. Go you to him now and speak for\nme. Bring him greeting from me, and tell him that I, whom he honors with\nhis love, dare to entreat him modestly but earnestly not to punish the\naged Claudius Vindex and his nephew for the fault they were guilty of on\nmy account. For my sake would he deign to grant them life--and liberty?\nAdd to this that it is the first proof I have asked of his magnanimity,\nand clothe it all in such winning words as Peitho can lay upon your\neloquent lips. If he grants pardon to these unfortunate ones, it shall be\na sign to me that I may be permitted to shield others from his wrath. If\nhe refuses, and they are put to death, then will he himself have decided\nour fate otherwise, and he sees me for the last time alive in the Circus.\nThus shall it be--I have spoken.\"\n\nThe last words came like a stern order, and Philostratus seemed to have\nsome hopes of the emperor's clemency, for his love's sake, and the\nphilosopher's own eloquence. The moment Melissa ceased, he seized her\nhand and cried, eagerly:\n\n\"I will try it; and, if he grant your request, you remain?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the maiden, firmly. \"Pray Caesar to have mercy, soften\nhis heart as much as you are able. I expect an answer before going to the\nCircus.\"\n\nShe hurried back into the sleeping-room without regarding Philostratus's\nanswer. Once there, she threw herself upon her knees and prayed, now to\nthe manes of her mother, now--it was for the first time--to the crucified\nSaviour of the Christians, who had taken upon himself a painful death to\nbring happiness to others. First she prayed for strength to keep her vow,\ncome what might; and then she prayed for Diodoros, that he might not be\nmade wretched if she found herself compelled to break her troth with him.\nHer father and brothers, too, were not forgotten, as she commended their\nlives to a higher power.\n\nWhen Euryale looked into the room, she found Melissa still upon her\nknees, her young frame shaken as with fever. So she withdrew softly, and\nin the Temple of Serapis, where her husband served as high-priest, she\nprayed to Jesus Christ that he who suffered little children to come unto\nhim would lead this wandering lamb into the right path.\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 9.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nThe lady Euryale's silent prayer was interrupted by the return of\nAlexander. He brought the clothes which Seleukus's wife had given him for\nMelissa. He was already dressed in his best, and crowned like all those\nwho occupied the first seats in the Circus; but his festal garb accorded\nill with the pained look on his features, from which every trace had\nvanished of the overflowing joy in life which had embellished them only\nthis morning.\n\nHe had seen and heard things which made him feel that it would no longer\nbe a sacrifice to give his life to save his sister.\n\nSad thoughts had flitted across his cheerful spirit like dark bats, even\nwhile he was talking with Melissa and her protectress, for he knew well\nhow infinitely hard his father would find it to have to quit Alexandria;\nand if he himself fled with Melissa he would be obliged to give up the\nwinning of fair Agatha. The girl's Christian father had indeed received\nhim kindly, but had given him to understand plainly enough that he would\nnever allow a professed heathen to sue for his daughter's hand. Besides\nthis, he had met with other humiliations which placed themselves like a\nwall between him and his beloved, the only child of a rich and respected\nman. He had forfeited the right of appearing before Zeus as a suitor; for\nindeed he was no longer such as he had been only yesterday.\n\nThe news that Caracalla proposed to marry Melissa had been echoed by\ninsolent tongues, with the addition that he, Alexander, had ingratiated\nhimself with Caesar by serving him as a spy. No one had expressly said\nthis to him; but, while he was hurrying through the city in Caesar's\nchariot, on the ladies' message, it had been made very plain to his\napprehension. Honest men had avoided him--him to whom hitherto every one\nfor whose regard he cared had held out a friendly hand; and much else\nthat he had experienced in the course of this drive had been unpleasant\nenough to give rise to a change of his whole inner being.\n\nThe feeling that every one was pointing at him the finger of scorn, or of\nwrath, had never ceased to pursue him. And he had been under no illusion;\nfor when he met the old sculptor Lysander, who only yesterday had so\nkindly told him and Melissa about Caesar's mother, as he nodded from the\nchariot his greeting was not returned; and the honest artist had waved\nhis hand with a gesture which no Alexandrian could fail to understand as\nmeaning, \"I no longer know you, and do not wish to be recognized by you.\"\n\nHe had from his childhood loved Diodoros as a brother, and in one of the\nside streets, down which the chariot had turned to avoid the tumult in\nthe Kanopic way, Alexander had seen his old friend. He had desired the\ncharioteer to stop, and had leaped out on the road to speak to Diodoros\nand give him at once Melissa's message; but the young man had turned his\nback with evident displeasure, and to the painter's pathetic appeal,\n\"But, at any rate, hear me!\" he answered, sharply: \"The less I hear of\nyou and yours the better for me. Go on--go on, in Caesar's chariot!\"\n\nWith this he had turned away and knocked at the door of an architect who\nwas known to them both; and Alexander, tortured with painful feelings,\nhad gone on, and for the first time the idea had taken possession of him\nthat he had indeed descended to the part of spy when he had betrayed to\nCaesar what Alexandrian wit had to say about him. He could, of course,\ntell himself that he would rather have faced death or imprisonment than\nhave betrayed to Caracalla the name of one of the gibers; still, he had\nto admit to himself that, but for the hope of saving his father and\nbrother from death and imprisonment, he would hardly have done Caesar\nsuch service. The mercy shown to them was certainly too like payment, and\nhis own part in the matter struck him as hateful and base. His\nfellow-townsmen had a right to bear him a grudge, and his friends to keep\nout of his way. A feeling came over him of bitter self-contempt, hitherto\nstrange to him; and he understood for the first time how Philip could\nregard life as a burden and call it a malicious Danaus-gift of the gods.\nWhen, finally, in the Kanopic way, close in front of Seleukus's house, a\nyouth unknown to him cried, scornfully, as the chariot was slowly making\nits way through the throng, \"The brother-in-law of Tarautas!\" he had\ngreat difficulty in restraining himself from leaping down and letting the\nrascal feel the weight of his fists. He knew, too, that Tarautas was the\nname of a hateful and bloodthirsty gladiator which had been given as a\nnickname to Caesar in Rome; and when he heard the insolent fellow's cry\ntaken up by the mob, who shouted after him, \"Tarautas's brother-in-law!\"\nwherever he went, he felt as though he were being pelted with mire and\nstones.\n\nIt would have been a real comfort to him if the earth would have opened\nto swallow him with the chariot, to hide him from the sight of men. He\ncould have burst out crying like a child that has been beaten. When at\nlast he was safe inside Seleukus's house, he was easier; for here he was\nknown; here he would be understood. Berenike must know what he thought of\nCaesar's suit, and seeing her wholesome and honest hatred, he had sworn\nto himself that he would snatch his sister from the hands of the tyrant,\nif it were to lead him to the most agonizing death.\n\nWhile she was engaged in selecting a dress for her protegee, he related\nto the lady Euryale what had happened to him in the street and in the\nhouse of Seleukus. He had been conducted past the soldiers in the\nvestibule and impluvium to the lady's private rooms, and there he had\nbeen witness to a violent matrimonial dispute. Seleukus had previously\ndelivered to his wife Caesar's command that she should appear in the\nAmphitheater with the other noble dames of the city. Her answer was a\nbitter laugh, and a declaration that she would mingle with the spectators\nin none but mourning robes. Thereupon her husband, pointing out to her\nthe danger to which such conduct would expose them, had raised\nobjections, and she at last had seemed to yield. When Alexander joined\nher he had found her in a splendid dress of shining purple brocade, her\nblack hair crowned with a wreath of roses, and a splendid diadem; a\ngarland of roses hung across her bosom, and precious stones sparkled\nround her throat and arms. In short, she was arrayed like a happy mother\nfor her daughter's wedding-day.\n\nSoon after Alexander's arrival Seleukus had come in, and this\nconspicuously handsome dress, so unbecoming to the matron's age, and so\nunlike her usual attire-chosen, evidently, to put the monstrosity of\nCaesar's demand in the strongest light--had roused her husband's wrath.\nHe had expressed his dissatisfaction in strong terms, and again pointed\nout to her the danger in which such a daring demonstration might involve\nthem; but this time there was no moving the lady; she would not despoil\nherself of a single rose. After she had solemnly declared that she would\nappear in the Circus either as she thought fit or not at all, her husband\nhad left her in anger.\n\n\"What a fool she is!\" Euryale exclaimed.\n\nThen she showed him a white robe of beautiful bombyx, woven in the isle\nof Kos, which she had decided on for Melissa, and a peplos with a border\nof tender sea-green; and Alexander approved of the choice.\n\nTime pressed, and Euryale went at once to Melissa with the new festal\nraiment. Once more she nodded kindly to the girl, and begged her, as she\nherself had something to discuss with Alexander, to allow the\nwaiting-woman to dress her. She felt as if she were bringing the robe to\na condemned creature, in which she was to be led to execution, and\nMelissa felt the same.\n\nEuryale then returned to the painter, and bade him end his narrative.\n\nThe lady Berenike had forthwith desired Johanna to pack together all the\ndead Korinna's festal dresses. Alexander had then followed her guidance,\naccompanying her to a court in the slaves' quarters, where a number of\nmen were awaiting her. These were the captains of Seleukus's ships, which\nwere now in port, and the superintendents of his granaries and offices,\naltogether above a hundred freedmen in the merchant's service. Each one\nseemed to know what he was here for.\n\nThe matron responded to their hearty greetings with a word of thanks, and\nadded, bitterly:\n\n\"You see before you a mourning mother whom a ruthless tyrant compels to\ngo to a festival thus--thus--only look at me--bedizened like a peacock!\"\n\nAt this the bearded assembly gave loud expression to their\ndissatisfaction, but Berenike went on \"Melapompus has taken care to\nsecure good places; but he has wisely not taken them all together. You\nare all free men; I have no orders to give you. But, if you are indeed\nindignant at the scorn and heart-ache inflicted on your lord's wife, make\nit known in the Circus to him who has brought them on her. You are all\npast your first youth, and will carefully avoid any rashness which may\ninvolve you in ruin. May the avenging gods aid and protect you!\"\n\nWith this she had turned her back on the multitude; but Johannes, the\nChristian lawyer, the chief freedman of the household, had hurried into\nthe court-yard, just in time to entreat her to give up this ill-starred\ndemonstration, and to extinguish the fire she had tried to kindle. So\nlong as Caesar wore the purple, rebellion against him, to whom the\nDivinity had intrusted the sovereignty, was a sin. The scheme she was\nplotting was meant to punish him who had pained her; but she forgot that\nit might cost these brave men, husbands and fathers, their life or\nliberty. The vengeance she called on them to take might be balm to the\nwounds of her own heart; but if Caesar in his wrath brought destruction\ndown on these, her innocent instruments, that balm would turn to burning\npoison.\n\nThese words, whispered to her with entire conviction, had not been\nwithout their effect. For some minutes Berenike had stared gloomily at\nthe ground; but then she had again approached the assembly, to repeat the\nwarning given her by the Christian, whom all respected, and by whom some\nindeed had been persuaded to be baptized.\n\n\"Johannes is right,\" she ended. \"This ill-used heart did wrong when it\nsent up its cry of anguish before you. Rather will I be trodden under\nfoot by the enemy, as is the manner of the Christians, than bring such\nmisfortune on innocent men, who are so faithful to our house. Be\ncautious, then. Give no overt expression to your feelings. Let each one\nwho feels too weak to control his wrath, avoid the Circus; and those who\ngo, keep still if they feel moved to act in my behalf. One thing only you\nmay do. Tell every one, far and wide, what I had purposed. What others\nmay do, they themselves must answer for.\"\n\nThe Christian had strongly disapproved of this last clause; but Berenike\nhad paid no heed, and had left the court-yard, followed by Alexander.\n\nThe shouts of the indignant multitude had rung in their ears, and, in\nspite of her warning, they had sounded like a terrible threat. Johannes,\nto be sure, had remained, to move them to moderation by further\nremonstrances.\n\n\"What were the mad creatures plotting?\" Euryale anxiously broke in; and\nhe hastily went on \"They call Caesar by no name but Tarautas; every mouth\nis full of gibes and rage at the new and monstrous taxes, the billeting\nof the troops, and the intolerable insolence of the soldiery, which\nCaracalla wickedly encourages. His contemptuous indifference has deeply\noffended the heads of the town. And then his suit to my sister! Young and\nold are wagging their tongues over it.\"\n\n\"It would be more like them to triumph in it,\" said the matron,\ninterrupting him. \"An Alexandrian in the purple, on the throne of the\nCaesars!\"\n\n\"I too had hoped that,\" cried Alexander, \"and it seemed so likely. But\nwho can understand the populace? Every woman in the place, I should have\nthought, would hold her head higher, at the thought that an Alexandrian\ngirl was empress; but it was from the women that I heard the most\nvindictive and shameless abuse. I heard more than enough; for, as we got\ncloser to the Serapeum, the more slowly was the chariot obliged to\nproceed, to make its way through the crowd. And the things I heard! I\nclinch my fists now as I only think of them.--And what will it be in the\nCircus? What will not Melissa have to endure!\"\n\n\"It is envy,\" the matron murmured to herself; but she was immediately\nsilent, for the young girl came toward them, out of the bedroom. Her\ntoilet was complete; the beautiful white dress became her well. The\nwreath of roses, with diamond dewdrops, lay lightly on her hair, the\nsnake-shaped bracelet which her imperial suitor had sent her clasped her\nwhite arm, and her small head, somewhat bent, her pale, sweet face, and\nlarge, bashful, inquiring, drooping eyes formed such an engaging, modest,\nand unspeakably touching picture, that Euryale dared to hope that even in\nthe Circus none but hardened hearts could harbor a hostile feeling\nagainst this gentle, pure blossom, slightly drooping with silent sorrow.\nShe could not resist the impulse to kiss Melissa, and the half-formed\npurpose ripened within her to venture the utmost for the child's\nprotection. The pity in her heart had turned to love; and when she saw\nthat to this sweet creature, at the mere sight of whom her heart went\nforth, the most splendid jewels, in which any other girl would have been\nglad to deck herself, were as a heavy burden to be borne but sadly, she\nfelt it a sacred duty to comfort her and lighten this trial, and shelter\nMelissa, so far as was in her power, from insult and humiliation.\n\nIt was many years since she had visited the Amphitheater, where the\nhorrible butchery was an abomination to her; but to-day her heart bade\nher conquer her old aversion, and accompany the girl to the Circus.\n\nHad not Melissa taken the place in her heart of her lost daughter? Was\nnot she, Euryale, the only person who, by showing herself with Melissa\nand declaring herself her friend, could give the people assurance that\nthe girl, who was exposed to misapprehension and odium by the favor she\nhad met with from the ruthless and hated sovereign, was in truth pure and\nlovable? Under her guardianship, by her side, the girl, as she knew,\nwould be protected from misapprehension and insult; and she, an old woman\nand a Christian, should she evade the first opportunity of taking up a\ncross in imitation of the Divine Master, among whose followers she\njoyfully counted herself--though secretly, for fear of men? All this\nflashed through her mind with the swiftness of lightning, and her call,\n\"Doris!\" addressed to her waiting-woman, was so clear and unexpected that\nMelissa's overstrung nerves were startled. She looked up at the lady in\namazement, as, without a word of explanation, she said to the woman who\nhad hurried in:\n\n\"The blue robe I wore at the festival of Adonis, my mother's diadem, and\na large gem with the head of Serapis for my shoulder. My hair--oh, a veil\nwill cover it! What does it matter for an old woman?--You, child, why do\nyou look at me in such amazement? What mother would allow a pretty young\ndaughter to appear alone in the Circus? Besides, I may surely hope that\nit will confirm your courage to feel that I am at your side. Perhaps the\npopulace may be moved a little in your favor if the wife of the\nhigh-priest of their greatest god is your companion.\"\n\nBut she could scarcely end her speech, for Melissa had flown into her\narms, exclaiming, \"And you will do this for me?\" while Alexander, deeply\ntouched by gratitude and joy, kissed her thin arm and the hem of her\npeplos.\n\nWhile Melissa helped the matron to change her dress--in the next room\nAlexander paced to and fro in great unrest. He knew the Alexandrians, and\nthere was not the slightest doubt but that the presence of this\nuniversally revered lady would make them look with kindlier eyes on his\nsister. Nothing else could so effectually impress them with the entire\npropriety of her appearance in the Circus. The more seriously he had\nfeared that Melissa might be deeply insulted and offended by the rough\ndemonstrations of the mob, the more gratefully did his heart beat; nay,\nhis facile nature saw in this kind act the first smile of returning good\nfortune.\n\nHe only longed to be hopeful once more, to enjoy the present--as so many\nphilosophers and poets advised--and especially the show in the Circus,\nhis last pleasure, perhaps; to forget the imminent future.\n\nThe old bright look came back to his face; but it soon vanished, for even\nwhile he pictured himself in the amphitheatre, he remembered that there,\ntoo, his former acquaintances might refuse to speak to him; that the\nodious names of \"Tarautas' brother-in-law\" or of \"traitor\" might be\nshouted after him on the road. A cold chill came over him, and the image\nof pretty Ino rose up before him--Ino, who had trusted in his love; and\nto whom, of all others, he had given cause to accuse him of\nfalse-heartedness. An unpleasant sense came over him of dissatisfaction\nwith himself, such as he, who always regarded self-accusation,\nrepentance, and atonement as a foolish waste of life, had never before\nexperienced.\n\nThe fine, sunny autumn day had turned to a sultry, dull evening, and\nAlexander went to the window to let the sea-breeze fan his dewy brow; but\nhe soon heard voices behind him, for Euryale and Melissa had re-entered\nthe room, followed by the house-steward, who presented to his mistress a\nsealed tablet which a slave had just brought from Philostratus. The women\nhad been talking of Melissa's vow; and Euryale had promised her that, if\nFate should decide against Caesar, she would convey the girl to a place\nof safety, where she could certainly not be discovered, and might look\nforward in peace to the future. Then she had impressed on her that, if\nthings should be otherwise ordered, she must endure even the unendurable\nwith patience, as an obedient wife, as empress, but still ever conscious\nof the solemn and beneficent power she might wield in her new position.\n\nThe tablets would now settle the question; and side by side the two women\nhastily read the missive which Philostratus had written on the wax, in\nhis fine, legible hand. It was as follows:\n\n\"The condemned have ceased to live. Your efforts had no effect but to\nhasten their end. Caesar's desire was to rid you of adversaries even\nagainst your will. Vindex and his nephew are no more; but I embarked soon\nenough to escape the rage of him who might have attained the highest\nfavors of fortune if he had but known how to be merciful.\"\n\n\"God be praised!--but alas, poor Vindex!\" cried Euryale, as she laid down\nthe tablets. But Melissa kissed her, and then exclaimed to her brother:\n\n\"Now all doubts are at an end. I may fly. He himself has settled the\nmatter!\"\n\nThen she added, more gently, but still urgently \"Do you take care of my\nfather, and Philip, and of yourself. The lady Euryale will protect me.\nOh, how thankful am I!\"\n\nShe looked up to heaven with fervent devotion Euryale whispered to them:\n\"My plan is laid. As soon as the performance is over, Alexander shall\ntake you home, child, to your father's house; you must go in one of\nCaesar's chariots. Afterward come back here with your brother; I will\nwait for you below. But now we will go together to the Circus, and can\ndiscuss the details on our way. You, my young friend, go now and order\naway the imperial litter; bid my steward to have the horses put to my\ncovered harmamaxa. There is room in it for us all three.\"\n\nBy the time Alexander returned, the daylight was waning, and the clatter\nof the chariots began to be audible which conveyed Caesar's court to the\nCircus.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nThe great Amphitheatre of Dionysus was in the Bruchium, the splendid\npalatial quarter of the city, close to the large harbor between the Choma\nand the peninsula of Lochias. Hard by the spacious and lofty rotunda, in\nwhich ten thousand spectators could be seated, stood the most fashionable\ngymnasia and riding-schools. These buildings, which had been founded long\nsince by the Ptolemiac kings, and had been repeatedly extended and\nbeautified, formed, with the adjoining schools for gladiators and\nbeast-fighters, and the stables for wild beasts from every part of the\nworld, a little town by themselves.\n\nAt this moment the amphitheatre looked like a beehive, of which every\ncell seems to be full, but in which a whole swarm expects yet to find\nroom. The upper places, mere standing-room for the common people, and the\ncheaper seats, had been full early in the day. By the afternoon the\nbetter class of citizens had come in, if their places were not reserved;\nand now, at sunset, those who were arriving in litters and chariots, just\nbefore the beginning of the show, were for the most part in Caesar's\ntrain, court officials, senators, or the rich magnates of the city.\n\nThe strains of music were by this time mingling with the shouting and\nloud talk of the spectators, or of the thousands who were crowding round\nthe building without hoping to obtain admission. But even for them there\nwas plenty to be seen. How delightful to watch the well-dressed women,\nand the men of rank and wealth, crowned with wreaths, as they dismounted;\nto see the learned men and artists arrive--more or less eagerly\napplauded, according to the esteem in which they were held by the\npopulace! The most splendid sight of all was the procession of priests,\nwith Timotheus, the high-priest of Serapis, at their head, and by his\nside the priest of Alexander, both marching with dignity under a canopy.\nThey were followed by the animals to be slaughtered for sacrifice, and\nthe images of the gods and the deified Caesars, which were to be placed\nin the arena, as the most worshipful of all the spectators. Timotheus\nwore the splendid insignia of his office; the priest of Alexander was in\npurple, as being the idiologos and head of all the temples of Egypt, and\nrepresentative of Caesar.\n\nThe advent of the images of the Caesars gave rise to a sort of judgment\nof the dead: for the mob hailed that of Julius Caesar with enthusiasm,\nthat of Augustus, with murmurs of disapproval; when Caligula appeared, he\nwas hissed; while the statues of Vespasian, Titus, Hadrian, and Antonine,\nmet with loud acclamations. That of Septimius Severus, Caracalla's\nfather, to whom the town owed many benefits, was very well received. The\nimages of the gods, too, had very various fates. Serapis, and Alexander,\nthe divine hero of the town, were enthusiastically welcomed, while\nscarcely a voice was heard on the approach of Zeus-Jupiter and Ares-Mars.\nThey were regarded as the gods of the hated Romans.\n\nThe companies of the imperial body-guard, who were placed about the\namphitheatre, found no great difference, so long as it was daylight,\nbetween the crowd round the Circus of Alexandria and that by the Tiber.\nWhat chiefly struck them was the larger number of dusky faces, and the\nfanciful garb of the Magians. The almost naked rabble, too, with nothing\non but a loin-cloth, who wriggled in and out of the throng, ready for any\nservice or errand, formed a feature unknown at Rome. But, as it grew\ndarker, the Romans began to perceive that it was not for nothing that\nthey had come hither.\n\nAt Rome, when some great show was promised, of beast-fighting,\ngladiators, and the like, there were, no doubt, barbarian princes to be\nseen, and envoys from the remotest ends of the earth in strange and\ngorgeous array; and there, too, small wares of every kind were for sale.\nBy the Tiber, again, night shows were given, with grand illuminations,\nespecially for the feast of Flora; but here, as soon as the sun had set,\nand the sports were about to begin, the scene was one never to be\nforgotten. Some of the ladies who descended from the litters, wore\ngarments of indescribable splendor; the men even displayed strange and\nhandsome costumes as they were helped out of their gilt and plated\nchariots by their servants. What untold wealth must these men have at\ntheir command, to be able to dress their slaves in gold and silver\nbrocade; and the runners, who kept up with the swiftest horses, must have\nlungs of iron! The praetorians, who had not for many a day seen anything\nto cause them to forget the motto of the greatest philosopher among their\npoets--never to be astonished at anything--repeatedly pushed each other\nwith surprise and admiration; nay, the centurion Julius Martialis, who\nhad just now had a visit in camp from his wife and children, in defiance\nof orders, while Caesar himself was looking on, struck his fist on his\ngreaves, and, exclaiming loudly, \"Look out!\" pointed to Seleukus's\nchariot, for which four runners, in tunics with long sleeves, made of\nsea-green bombyx, richly embroidered with silver, were making a way\nthrough the crowd.\n\nThe barefooted lads, with their nimble, gazellelike legs, were all well\nlooking, and might have been cast all in one mold. But what struck the\ncenturion and his comrades as most remarkable in their appearance were\nthe flash and sparkle from their slender ankles, as the setting sun\nsuddenly shot a fleeting ray through a rift in the heavy clouds. Each of\nthese fellows wore on his legs gold bands set with precious stones, and\nthe rubies which glittered on the harness of Seleukus's horse were of far\ngreater value.\n\nHe, as master of the festival, had come betimes, and this was the first\nof many such displays of wealth which followed each other in quick\nsuccession, as soon as the brief twilight of Egypt had given way to\ndarkness, and the lighting up of the Circus was begun.\n\nHere came a beautifully dressed woman in a roomy litter, over which waved\na canopy entirely of white ostrich-plumes, which the evening breeze\nswayed like a thicket of fern-leaves. This throne was borne by ten black\nand ten white slave-girls, and before it two fair children rode on tame\nostriches. The tall heir of a noble house, who, like Caesar at Rome,\nbelonged to the \"Blues,\" drove his own team of four splendid white\nhorses; and he himself was covered with turquoises, while the harness was\nset with cut sapphires.\n\nThe centurion shook his head in silent admiration. His face had been\ntanned in many wars, both in the East and West, and he had fought even in\ndistant Caledonia, but the low forehead, loose under lip, and dull eye\nspoke of small gifts of intellect. Nevertheless, he was not lacking in\nstrength of will, and was regarded by his comrades as a good beast of\nburden who would submit to a great deal before it became too much for\nhim. But then he would break out like a mad bull, and he might long ago\nhave risen to higher rank, had he not once in such a fit of passion\nnearly throttled a fellow-soldier. For this crime he had been severely\npunished, and condemned to begin again at the bottom of the ladder. He\nowed it chiefly to the young tribune Aurelius Apollinaris that he had\nvery soon regained the centurion's staff, in spite of his humble birth;\nhe had saved that officer's life in the war with the Armenians--to be\nhere, in Alexandria, cruelly mutilated by the hand of his sovereign.\n\nThe centurion had a faithful heart. He was as much attached to the two\nnoble brothers as to his wife and children, for indeed he owed them much;\nand if the service had allowed it he would long since have made his way\nto the house of Seleukus to learn how the wounded tribune was faring. But\nhe had not time even to see his own family, for his younger and richer\ncomrades, who wanted to enjoy the pleasures of the city, had put upon him\nno small share of their own duties. Only this morning a young soldier of\nhigh birth, who had begun his career at the same time as Martialis, had\npromised him some tickets of admission to the evening's performance in\nthe Circus if he would take his duty on guard outside the amphitheatre.\nAnd this offer had been very welcome to the centurion, for he thus found\nit possible to give those he loved best, his wife and his mother, the\ngreatest treat which could be offered to any Alexandrian. And now, when\nanything noteworthy was to be seen outside, he only regretted that he had\nalready some time since conducted them to their seats in one of the upper\nrows. He would have liked that they, too, should have seen the horses and\nthe chariots and the \"Blue\" charioteer's turquoises and sapphires;\nalthough a decurion observed, as he saw them, that a Roman patrician\nwould scorn to dress out his person with such barbaric splendor, and an\nAlexandrian of the praetorian guard declared that his fellow-citizens of\nGreek extraction thought more of a graceful fold than of whole strings of\nprecious stones.\n\n\"But why, then, was this 'Blue' so vehemently hailed by the mob!\" asked a\nPannonian in the guard.\n\n\"The mob!\" retorted the Alexandrian, scornfully. \"Only the Syrians and\nother Asiatics. Look at the Greeks. The great merchant Seleukus is the\nrichest of them all, but splendid as his horses, his chariots, and his\nslaves are, he himself wears only the simple Macedonian mantle. Though it\nis of costly material, who would suspect it? If you see a man swaggering\nin such a blaze of gems you may wager your house--if you have one--that\nhis birthplace lies not very far from Syria.\"\n\n\"Now, that one, in a mother-of-pearl shell on two wheels, is the Jew\nPoseidonius,\" the Pannonian put in. \"I am quartered on his father. But he\nis dressed like a Greek.\"\n\nAt this the centurion, in his delight at knowing something, opened his\nmouth with a broad grin: \"I am a native here,\" said he, \"and I can tell\nyou the Jew would make you answer for it if you took him for anything but\na Greek.\"\n\n\"And quite right,\" added another soldier, from Antioch. \"The Jews here\nare many, but they have little in common with those in Palestine. They\nwish to pass for Greeks; they speak Greek, assume Greek names, and even\ncease to believe in the great God their father; they study Greek\nphilosophy, and I know one who worships in the Temple of Serapis.\"\n\n\"Many do the same in Rome,\" said a man of Ostia. \"I know an epigram which\nridicules them for it.\"\n\nAt this point they were interrupted, for Martialis pointed to a tall man\nwho was coming toward them, and whom his sharp eye had recognized as\nMacrinus, the prefect of the praetorians. In an instant the soldiers were\nerect and rigid, but still many a helmeted head was turned toward the\nspot where their chief stood talking in an undertone to the Magian\nSerapion.\n\nMacrinus had persuaded Caesar to send for the exorciser, to test his\narts. Immediately after the performance, however late it might be, the\nMagian was to be admitted to his presence.\n\nSerapion thanked the prefect, and then whispered to him, \"I have had a\nsecond revelation.\"\n\n\"Not here!\" exclaimed Macrinus, uneasily, and, leading away his handsome\nlittle son, he turned toward the entrance.\n\nDusk, meanwhile, had given way to darkness, and several slaves stood\nready to light the innumerable little lamps which were to illuminate the\noutside of the Circus. They edged the high arches which surrounded the\ntwo lower stories, and supported the upper ranks of the enormous circular\nstructure. Separated only by narrow intervals, the rows of lights formed\na glittering series of frames which outlined the noble building and\nrendered it visible from afar.\n\nThe arches on the ground-floor led to the cells from which the men and\nbeasts were let out into the arena; but some, too, were fitted with\nshops, where flowers and wreaths, refreshments, drinks, handkerchiefs,\nfans, and other articles in request, were sold. On the footway between\nthe building and the row of pitch torches which surrounded it, men and\nwomen in thousands were walking to and fro. Smart, inquisitive girls were\npushing their way singly or in groups, and their laughter drowned the\ndeep, tragical voices of the soothsayers and Magians who announced their\nmagic powers to the passersby. Some of these even made their way into the\nwaiting-rooms of the gladiators and wrestlers, who to-day so greatly\nneeded their support that, in spite of severe and newly enforced\nprohibitions, many a one stole out into the crowd to buy some effectual\ncharm or protecting amulet.\n\nWhere the illuminations were completed, attempts of another kind were\nbeing made to work upon the mood of the people; nimble-tongued\nfellows--some in the service of Macrinus and some in that of the anxious\nsenate--were distributing handkerchiefs to wave on Caesar's approach, or\nflowers to strew in his path. More than one, who was known for a\nmalcontent, found a gold coin in his hand, with the image of the monarch\nhe was expected to hail; and on the way by which Caesar was to come many\nof those who awaited him wore the caracalla. These were for the most part\nbribed, and their acclamations were to mollify the tyrant's mood.\n\nAs soon as the prefect had disappeared within the building, the\npraetorian ranks fell out again. It was lucky that among them were\nseveral Alexandrians, besides the centurion Martialis, who had not long\nbeen absent from their native town; for without them much would have\nremained incomprehensible. The strangest thing to foreign eyes was a\nstately though undecorated harmamaxa, out of which stepped first a\nhandsome wreathed youth, then a matron of middle age, and at last an\nelegantly dressed girl, whose rare beauty made even Martialis--who rarely\nnoticed women--exclaim, \"Now, she is to my taste the sweetest-thing of\nall.\"\n\nBut there must have been something very remarkable about these three; for\nwhen they appeared the crowd broke out at first in loud shouts and\noutcries, which soon turned to acclamations and welcome, though through\nit all shrill whistles and hisses were heard.\n\n\"Caesar's new mistress, the daughter of a gemcutter!\" the Alexandrian\nmuttered to his comrades. That handsome boy is her brother, no doubt. He\nis said to be a mean sycophant, a spy paid by Caesar.\"\n\n\"He?\" said an older centurion, shaking his scarred head. \"Sooner would I\nbelieve that the shouts of the populace were intended for the old woman\nand not for the young one.\"\n\n\"Then a sycophant he is and will remain,\" said the Alexandrian with a\nlaugh. \"For, as a matter of fact, it is the elder lady they are greeting,\nand, by Heracles, she deserves it! She is the wife of the high-priest of\nSerapis. There are few poor in this city to whom she has not done a\nkindness. She is well able, no doubt, for her husband is the brother of\nSeleukus, and her father, too, sat over his ears in gold.\"\n\n\"Yes, she is able,\" interrupted Martialis, with a tone of pride, as\nthough it were some credit to himself. \"But how many have even more, and\nkeep their purse-strings tight! I have known her since she was a child,\nand she is the best of all that is good. What does not the town owe to\nher! She risked her life to move Caesar's father to mercy toward the\ncitizens, after they had openly declared against him and in favor of his\nrival Pescennius Niger. And she succeeded, too.\"\n\n\"Why, then, are they whistling?\" asked the older centurion.\n\n\"Because her companion is a spy,\" repeated the Alexandrian. \"And the\ngirl--In Caesar's favor! But, after all, which of you all would not\ngladly see his sister or his niece Caesar's light of love?\"\n\n\"Not I!\" cried Martialis. \"But the man who speaks ill of that girl only\ndoes so because he likes blue eyes best. The maiden who comes in the lady\nEuryale's chariot is spotless, you may swear.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" said the younger Alexandrian soothingly. \"That black-haired\nfellow and his companions would whistle another tune if they knew any\nevil of her, and she would not be in the lady Euryale's company--that is\nthe chief point--. But, look there! The shameless dogs are stopping their\nway! 'Green' to a man.--But here come the lictors.\"\n\n\"Attention!\" shouted Martialis, firmly resolved to uphold the guardians\nof the peace, and not to suffer any harm to the matron and her fair\ncompanion; for Euryale's husband was the brother of Seleukus, whom his\nfather and father-in-law had served years ago, while in the villa at\nKanopus his mother and wife were left in charge to keep it in order. He\nfelt that he was bound in duty to the merchant, and that all who were of\nthat household had a right to count on his protection. But no active\nmeasures were needed; a number of \"Blues\" had driven off the \"Greens\" who\nhad tried to bar Alexander's way, and the lictors came to their\nassistance.\n\nA young man in festal array, who had pushed into the front rank of the\nbystanders, had looked on with panting breath. He was very pale, and the\nthick wreath he wore was scarcely sufficient to hide the bandage under\nit. This was Diodoros, Melissa's lover. After resting awhile at his\nfriend's house he had been carried in a litter to the amphitheatre, for\nhe could yet hardly walk. His father being one of the senators of the\ntown, his family had a row of seats in the lowest and best tier; but\nthis, on this occasion, was entirely given up to Caesar and his court.\nConsequently the different members of the senate could have only half the\nusual number of seats. Still, the son of Polybius might in any case claim\ntwo in his father's name; and his friend Timon--who had also provided him\nwith suitable clothing--had gone to procure the tickets from the curia.\nThey were to meet at the entrance leading to their places, and it would\nbe some little time yet before Timon could return.\n\nDiodoros had thought he would behold his imperial rival; however, instead\nof Caracalla he had seen the contemptuous reception which awaited\nAlexander and Melissa, from some at least of the populace. Still, how\nfair and desirable had she seemed in his eyes, whom, only that morning,\nhe had been blessed in calling his! As he now moved away from the main\nentrance, he asked himself why it was such torture to him to witness the\nhumiliation of a being who had done him such a wrong, and whom he thought\nhe hated and scorned so utterly. Hardly an hour since he had declared to\nTimon that he had rooted his love for Melissa out of his heart. He\nhimself would feel the better for using the whistle he wore, in derision\nof her, and for seeing her faithlessness punished by the crowd. But now?\nWhen the insolent uproar went up from the \"Greens,\" whose color he\nhimself wore, he had found it difficult to refrain from rushing on the\ncowardly crew and knocking some of them down.\n\nHe now made his way with feeble steps to the entrance where he was to\nmeet his friend. The blood throbbed in his temples, his mouth was\nparched, and, as a fruit-seller cried her wares from one of the archways,\nhe took a few apples from her basket to refresh himself with their juice.\nHis hand trembled, and the experienced old woman, observing the bandage\nunder his wreath, supposed him to be one of the excited malcontents who\nhad perhaps already fallen into the hands of the lictors. So, with a\nsignificant grin, she pointed under the table on which her fruit-baskets\nstood, and said \"I have plenty of rotten ones. Six in a wrapper, quite\neasy to hide under your cloak. For whom you will. Caesar has given the\ngolden apple of Paris to a goddess of this town. I should best like to\nsee these flung at her brother, the sycophant.\"\n\n\"Do you know them?\" asked Diodoros, hoarsely.\n\n\"No,\" replied the old woman. \"No need for that. I have plenty of\ncustomers and good ears. The slut broke her word with a handsome youth of\nthe town for the sake of the Roman, and they who do such things are\nrepaid by the avenging gods.\" Diodoros felt his knees failing under him,\nand a wrathful answer was on his lips, when the huckster suddenly shouted\nlike mad: \"Caesar, Caesar! He is coming.\"\n\nThe shouts of the crowd hailing their emperor had already become audible\nthrough the heavy evening air, at first low and distant, and louder by\ndegrees. They now suddenly rose to a deafening uproar, and while the\nsound rolled on like approaching thunder, broken by shrill whistles\nsuggesting lightning, the sturdy old apple-seller clambered unaided on to\nher table, and shouted with all her might:\n\n\"Caesar! Here he is!--Hail, hail, hail to great Caesar!\"\n\nAt the imminent risk of tumbling off her platform, she bent low down to\nreach under the table for the blue cloth which covered her store of\nrotten apples, snatched it off, and waved it with frantic enthusiasm, as\nthough her elderly heart had suddenly gone forth to the very man for whom\na moment ago she had been ready to sell her disgusting missiles. And\nstill she shouted in ringing tones, \"Hail, hail, Caesar!\" again and\nagain, with all her might, till there was no breath left in her\noverbuxom, panting breast, and her round face was purple with the effort.\nNay, her emotion was so vehement that the bright tears streamed down her\nfat cheeks.\n\nAnd every one near was shrieking like the applewoman, \"Hail, Caesar!\" and\nit was only where the crowd was densest that a sharp whistle now and then\nrent the roar of acclamations.\n\nDiodoros, meanwhile, had turned to look at the main entrance, and,\ncarried away by the universal desire to see, had perched himself on an\nunopened case of dried figs. His tall figure now towered far above the\nthrong, and he set his teeth as he heard the old woman, almost speechless\nwith delight, gasp out:\n\n\"Lovely! wonderful! He would never have found the like in Rome. Here,\namong us--\"\n\nBut the cheers of the multitude now drowned every other sound. Fathers or\nmothers who had children with them lifted them up as high as they could;\nwhere a small man stood behind a tall one, way was willingly made, for it\nwould have been a shame to hinder his view of such a spectacle. Many had\nalready seen the great monarch in his shining, golden chariot, drawn by\nfour splendid horses; but such an array of torch-bearers as now preceded\nCaracalla was a thing never seen within the memory of the oldest or most\ntraveled man. Three elephants marched before him and three came behind,\nand all six carried in their trunks blazing torches, which they held now\nlow and now aloft to light his road. To think that beasts could be\ntrained to such a service! And that here, in Alexandria, such a display\ncould be made before the haughty and pampered Romans!\n\nThe chariot stood still, and the black Ethiopians who guided the huge\nfour-footed torch-bearers took the three leaders to join their fellows\nbehind the chariot. This really was a fine sight; this could not but fill\nthe heart of every one who loved his native town with pride and delight.\nFor what should a man ever shout himself hoarse, if not for such a\nsplendid and unique show? Diodoros himself could not take his eyes off\nthe elephants. At first he was delighted with them, but presently the\nsight annoyed him even more than it had pleased him; for he reflected\nthat the tyrant, the villain, his deadly enemy, would certainly take to\nhimself the applause bestowed on the clever beasts. With this, he grasped\nthe reed pipe in the breast of his tunic. He had been on the point of\nusing it before now, to retaliate on Melissa for some portion of the pain\nshe had inflicted on him. At this thought, however, the paltriness of\nsuch revenge struck him with horror, and with a hasty impulse he snapped\nthe pipe in two, and flung the pieces on the ground in front of the\napple-stall. The old woman observed it and exclaimed:\n\n\"Ay, ay, such a sight makes one forgive a great deal\"; but he turned his\nback on her in silence, and joined his friend at the appointed spot.\n\nThey made their way without difficulty to the seats reserved for the\nsenators' families, and when they had taken their places, the young man\nreplied but briefly to the sympathetic inquiries as to his health which\nwere addressed to him by his acquaintances. His friend Timon gazed\nanxiously into his handsome but pale, sad face, as Diodoros sat crushed\nand absorbed in thought. He would have liked to urge him to quit the\nscene at once, for the seats just opposite were those destined to Caesar\nand his court-among them, no doubt, Melissa. In the dim light which still\nprevailed in the vast amphitheatre it was impossible to recognize faces.\nBut there would soon be a blaze of light, and what misery must await the\nhapless victim of her faithlessness, still so far from perfect health!\nAfter the glare of light outside, which was almost blinding, the twilight\nwithin was for the moment a relief to Diodoros. His weary limbs were\nresting, a pleasant smell came up from the perfumed fountains in the\narena, and his eyes, which could not here rest on anything to gratify\nhim, were fixed on vacancy.\n\nAnd yet it was a comfort to him to think that he had broken his pipe. It\nwould have disgraced him to whistle it; and, moreover, the tone would\nhave reached the ear of the noble lady who had accompanied Melissa, and\nwhom he himself had, only yesterday, revered as a second mother.\n\nLoud music now struck up, he heard shouts and cheers, and just above\nhim--for it could only proceed from the uppermost tiers--there was an\nextraordinary tumult. Still he paid no heed, and as he thought of that\nmatron the question suddenly arose in his mind, whether she would have\nconsented to be seen with Melissa if she thought that the girl was indeed\ncapable of ruthless falsehood or any other unworthy act. He, who never\nmissed a show in the arena, had never seen the lady Euryale here. She\ncould hardly have come to-day for her own pleasure; she had come, then,\nfor Melissa's sake; and yet she knew that the girl was betrothed to him.\nUnless Caesar had commanded the matron's presence, Melissa must still be\nworthy of the esteem and affection of this best of women; and at this\nreflection Hope once more raised her head in his tortured soul.\n\nHe now suddenly wished that brighter light might dispel the gloom which\njust now he had found so restful; for the lady Euryale's demeanor would\nshow him whether Melissa were still a virtuous maiden. If the matron were\nas friendly with her as ever, her heart was perhaps still his; it was not\nthe splendor of the purple that had led her astray, but the coercion of\nthe tyrant.\n\nHis silent reflections were here interrupted by the loud sounding of\ntrumpets, battle-cries, and, immediately after, the fall of some heavy\nbody, followed by repeated acclamations, noisy outcries, and the applause\nof those about him. Not till then had he been aware that the performances\nhad begun. Below him, indeed, on the arena from which he had not once\nraised his eyes, nothing was to be seen on the yellow sand but the\nscented fountain and a shapeless body, by which a second and a third were\nsoon lying; but overhead something was astir, and, from the right-hand\nside, bright rays flashed across the wide space. Above the vast circle of\nseats, arranged on seven tiers, suns and huge, strangely shaped stars\nwere seen, which shed a subdued, many-tinted radiance; and what the youth\nsaw over his head was not the vault of heaven, which to-night bent over\nhis native city darkened by clouds, but a velarium of immense size on\nwhich the nocturnal firmament was depicted. This covered in the whole of\nthe open space. Every constellation which rose over Alexandria was\nplainly recognizable. Jupiter and Mars, Caesar's favorites, outdid the\nother planets in size and brightness; and in the center of this picture\nof the sky, which slowly revolved round it, stars were set to form the\nletters of Caracalla's names, Bassianus and Antoninus. But their light,\ntoo, was dim, and veiled as it were with clouds. Soft music was heard\nfrom these artificial heavens, and in the stratum of air immediately\nbeneath, the blare of war-trumpets and battle-cries were heard. Thus all\neyes were directed upward, and Diodoros's with the rest.\n\nHe perceived, with amazement, that the givers of the entertainment, in\ntheir anxiety to set something absolutely new before their imperial\nguest, had arranged that the first games should take place in the air. A\nbattle was being fought overhead, on a level with the highest places, in\na way that must surely be a surprise even to the pampered Romans. Black\nand gold barks were jostling each other in mid-air, and their crews were\nfighting with the energy of despair. The Egyptian myth of the gods of the\ngreat lights who sail the celestial ocean in golden barks, and of the\nsun-god who each morning conquers the demons of darkness, had suggested\nthe subject of this performance.\n\nThe battle between the Spirits of Darkness and of Light was to be fought\nout high above the best rows of seats occupied by Caesar and his court;\nand the combatants were living men, for the most part such as had been\ncondemned to death or to the hardest forced labor. The black vessels were\nmanned by negroes, the golden by fair-haired criminals, and they had\nembarked readily enough; for some of them would escape from the fray with\nonly a few wounds and some quite unhurt, and each one was resolved to use\nhis weapons so as to bring the frightful combat to a speedy end.\n\nThe woolly-haired blacks did not indeed know that they had been provided\nwith loosely made swords which would go to pieces at the first shock, and\nwith shields which could not resist a serious blow; while the fair-haired\nrepresentatives of the light were supplied with sharp and strong weapons\nof offense and defense. At any cost the spirits of darkness must not be\nallowed to triumph over those of light. Of what value was a negro's life,\nespecially when it was already forfeited?\n\nWhile Euryale and Melissa sat with eyes averted from the horrible scene\ngoing on above them, and the matron, holding her young companion's hand,\nwhispered to her:\n\n\"O child, child! to think that I should be compelled to bring you here!\"\nloud applause and uproarious clapping surrounded them on every side.\n\nThe gem-cutter Heron, occupying one of the foremost cushioned seats,\nradiant with pride and delight in the red-bordered toga of his new\ndignity, clapped his big hands with such vehemence that his immediate\nneighbors were almost deafened. He, too, had been badly received, on his\narrival, with shrill whistling, but he had been far from troubling\nhimself about that. But when a troop of \"Greens\" had met him, just in\nfront of the imperial dais, shouting brutal abuse in his face, he had\npaused, chucked the nearest man under the chin with his powerful fist,\nand fired a storm of violent epithets at the rest. Thanks to the lictors,\nhe had got off without any harm, and as soon as he found himself among\nfriends and men of rank, on whom he looked in speechless respect, he had\nrecovered his spirits. He was looking forward with intense satisfaction\nto the moment when he might ask Caesar what he now thought of Alexandria.\n\nLike his father, Alexander was intent on the bloody struggle--gazing\nupward with breathless interest as the combatants tried to fling each\nother into the yawning depth below them. But at the same time he never\nfor an instant forgot the insults he had endured outside. How deeply he\nfelt them was legible in his clouded face. Only once did a smile pass\nover it--when, toward the end of this first fight, the place was made\nlighter, he perceived in the row of seats next above him the daughter of\nhis neighbor Skopas, pretty Ino, whom but a few days since he had vowed\nto love. He was conscious of having treated her badly, and given her the\nright to call him faithless. Toward her, indeed, he had been guilty of\ntreachery, and it had really weighed on his soul. Their eyes met, and she\ngave him to understand in the plainest way that she had heard him\nstigmatized as Caesar's spy, and had believed the calumny. The mere sight\nof him seemed to fill her with anger, and she did her utmost to show him\nthat she had quickly found a substitute for him; and it was to Alexander,\nno doubt, that Ktesias, her young kinsman, who had long paid her his\naddresses, owed the kindliness with which Ino now gazed into his eyes.\nThis was some comfort to the luckless, banished lover. On her account, at\nany rate, he need reproach himself no longer. Diodoros was sitting\nopposite to him, and his attention, too, was frequently interrupted.\n\nThe flashing swords and torches in the hands of the Spirits of Light, and\nthe dimly gleaming stars above their heads, had not so far dispelled the\ndarkness as that the two young people could identify each other.\nDiodoros, indeed, even throughout this absorbing fight, had frequently\nglanced at the imperial seats, but had failed to distinguish his beloved\nfrom the other women in Caracalla's immediate vicinity. But it now grew\nlighter, for, while the battle was as yet undecided, a fresh bark, full\nof Spirits of Light, flourishing their torches, was unexpectedly launched\nto support their comrades, and Heaven seemed to have sent them forth to\nwin the fight, which had already lasted longer than the masters of the\nceremonies had thought possible.\n\nThe wild shouts of the combatants and the yells of the wounded had long\nsince drowned the soft music of the spheres above their heads. The call\nof tubas and bugles rang without ceasing through the great building, to\nthe frequent accompaniment of the most horrible sound of all in this\nhideous spectacle--the heavy fall of a dead man dropping from above into\nthe gulf.\n\nBut this dreadful thud was what gave rise to the loudest applause among\nthe spectators, falling on their satiated ears as a new sound. This\nfrenzied fight in the air, such as had never before been seen, gave rise\nto the wildest delight, for it led the eye, which was wont in this place\nto gaze downward, in a direction in which it had never yet been\nattracted. And what a glorious spectacle it was when black and white\nwrestled together! How well the contrast of color distinguished the\nindividual combatants, even when they clung together in close embrace!\nAnd when, toward the end of the struggle, a bark was overturned bodily,\nand some of the antagonists would not be parted, even as they fell,\ntrying to kill each other in their rage and hatred, the very walls of the\ngreat structure shook with the wild clamor and applause of thousands of\nevery degree.\n\nOnly once did the roar of approval reach a higher pitch, and that was\nafter the battle was ended, at what succeeded. Hardly had the victorious\nSpirits of Light been seen to stand up in their barks, waving their\ntorches, to receive from fluttering genii wreaths of laurel which they\nflung down to where Caesar sat, than a perfumed vapor, emanating from the\nplace where the painted sky met the wall of the circular building, hid\nthe whole of the upper part of it from the sight of the spectators. The\nmusic stopped, and from above there came a strange and ominous growling,\nhissing, rustling, and crackling. A dull light, dimmer even than before,\nfilled the place, and anxious suspicions took possession of the ten\nthousand spectators.\n\nWhat was happening? Was the velarium on fire; had the machinery for\nlighting up refused to work; and must they remain in this uncomfortable\ntwilight?\n\nHere and there a shout of indignation was heard, or a shrill whistle from\nthe capricious mob. But the mist had already gradually vanished, and\nthose who gazed upward could see that the velarium with the sun and stars\nhad made way for a black surface. No one knew whether this was the real\ncloudy sky, or whether another, colorless awning closed them in. But\nsuddenly the woven roof parted; invisible hands drew away the two halves.\nQuick, soft music began as if at a signal from a magician, and at the\nsame time such a flood of light burst down into the theatre that every\none covered his eyes with his hand to avoid being blinded. The full glory\nof sunshine followed on the footsteps of night, like a triumphant chorus\non a dismal mourning chant.\n\nThe machinists of Alexandria had done wonders. The Romans, who, even at\nthe night performances of the festival of Flora, had never seen the like,\nhailed the effect with a storm of applause which showed no signs of\nceasing, for, when they had sufficiently admired the source of the light\nwhich flooded the theatre, reflected from numberless mirrors, and glanced\nround the auditorium, they began again to applaud with hands and voices.\nAt a given signal thousands of lights appeared round the tiers of seats,\nand, if the splendor of the entertainment answered at all to that of the\nAlexandrian spectators, something fine indeed was to be expected.\n\nIt was now possible to see the beauty of the women and the costliness of\ntheir attire; not till now had the precious stones shown their flashing\nand changeful radiance. How many gardens and lotus-pools must have been\nplundered, how many laurel-groves stripped to supply the wreaths which\ngraced every head in the upper rows! And to look round those ranks and\nnote the handsome raiment in which men and women alike were arrayed,\nsuggested a belief that all the inhabitants of Alexandria must be rich.\nWherever the eye turned, something beautiful or magnificent was to be\nseen; and the numerous delightful pictures which crowded on the sight\nwere framed with massive garlands of lotos and mallow, lilies and roses,\nolive and laurel, tall papyrus and waving palm, branches of pine and\nwillow-here hanging in thick festoons, there twining round the columns or\nwreathing the pilasters and backs of seats.\n\nOf all the couples in this incomparable amphitheatre one alone neither\nsaw nor heard all that was going on. Scarcely had the darkness given way\nto light, when Melissa's eyes met those of her lover, and recognition was\nimmediately followed by a swift inquiry and reply which filled the\nunhappy pair with revived hopes. Melissa's eyes told Diodoros that she\nloved him and him alone, and she read in his that he could never give her\nup. Still, his also expressed the doubt and anxiety of his tortured soul,\nand sent question after question across to Melissa.\n\nAnd she understood the mute appeal as well as though looks were words.\nWithout heeding the curious crowd about her, or considering the danger of\nsuch audacity, she took up her nosegay and waved it toward him as though\nto refresh him with its fragrance, and then pressed a hasty kiss on the\nfinest of the half-opened buds. His responsive gesture showed that she\nhad been understood, for her lover's expressive eyes beamed with\nunqualified love and gratitude. Never, she thought, had he gazed more\nfervently in her face, and again she bent over the bunch of roses.\n\nBut even in the midst of her newly found happiness her cheeks tingled\nwith maidenly modesty at her own boldness. Too happy to regret what she\nhad done, but still anxious lest the friend whose opinion was all in all\nto her should disapprove, she forgot time and place, and, laying her head\non Euryale's shoulder, looked up at her in inquiry with her large eyes as\nthough imploring forgiveness. The matron understood, for she had followed\nthe girl's glance and felt what it was that stirred her heart; and,\nlittle thinking of the joy she was giving to a third person, she clasped\nher closely and kissed her on the temple, regardless of the people about\nthem.\n\nAt this Diodoros felt as though he had won the prize in a race; and his\nfriend Timon, whose artistic eye was feasting on the magnificent scene,\nstarted at the vehement and ardent pressure which Diodoros bestowed on\nhis hand.\n\nWhat had come over the poor, suffering youth whom he, Timon, had escorted\nto the Circus out of sheer compassion? His eyes sparkled, and he held his\nhead as high as ever. What was the meaning of his declaring that\neverything would go well with him now? But it was in vain that he\nquestioned the youth, for Diodoros could not reveal, even to his best\nfriend, what it was that made him happy. It was enough for him to know\nthat Melissa loved him, and that the woman to whom he looked up with\nenthusiastic reverence esteemed her as highly as ever. And now, for the\nfirst time, he began to feel ashamed of his doubts of Melissa. How could\nhe, who had known her from childhood, have believed of her anything so\nbase and foul? It must be some strong compulsion which bound her to\nCaesar, and she could never have looked at him thus unless she had some\nscheme--in which, perhaps, the lady Euryale meant to abet her--for\nescaping her imperial suitor before it was too late. Yes, it must be so;\nand the oftener he gazed at her the more convinced he felt.\n\nNow he rejoiced in the blaze of light about him, for it showed him his\nbeloved. The words which Euryale had whispered in her ear must have been\nan admonition to prudence, for she only rarely bestowed on him a loving\nglance, and he acknowledged that the mute but eager exchange of signals\nwould have been fraught with danger for both of them.\n\nThe first sudden illumination had revealed too many things to distract\nthe attention of the spectators, including Caesar's, for their\nproceedings to be observed. Now curiosity was to some extent satisfied,\nand even Diodoros felt that reserve was imperative.\n\nCaracalla had not yet shown himself to the people. A golden screen, in\nwhich there were holes for him to look through without being seen, hid\nhim from public gaze; still Diodoros could recognize those who were\nadmitted to his presence. First came the givers of the entertainment;\nthen the Parthian envoys, and some delegates from the municipal\nauthorities of the town. Finally, Seleukus presented the wives of the\nmagnates who had shared with him the cost of this display, and among\nthese, all magnificently dressed, the lady Berenike shone supreme by the\npride of her demeanor and the startling magnificence of her attire. As\nher large eyes met those of Caesar with a flash of defiance, he frowned,\nand remarked satirically:\n\n\"It seems to be the custom here to mourn in much splendor!\"\n\nBut Berenike promptly replied:\n\n\"It has nothing to do with mourning. It is in honor of the sovereign who\ncommanded the presence of the mourner at the Circus.\"\n\nDiodoros could not see the flame of rage in, Caesar's threatening eye,\nnor hear his reply to the audacious matron:\n\n\"This is a misapprehension of how to do me honor, but an opportunity will\noccur for teaching the Alexandrians better.\"\n\nEven across the amphitheatre the youth could see the sudden flush and\npallor of the lady's haughty face; and immediately after, Macrinus, the\npraetorian prefect, approached Caracalla with the master of the games,\nthe superintendent of the school of gladiators.\n\nAt the same time Diodoros heard his next neighbor, a member of the city\nsenate, say:\n\n\"How quietly it is going off! My proposal that Caesar should come in to a\ndim light, so as to keep him and his unpopular favorites out of sight for\na while, has worked capitally. Who could the mob whistle at, so long as\nthey could not see one from another? Now they are too much delighted to\nbe uproarious. Caesar's bride, of all others, has reason to thank me. And\nshe reminds me of the Persian warriors who, before going into battle,\nbound cats to their bucklers because they knew that the Egyptian foe\nwould not shoot at them so long as the sacred beasts were exposed to\nbeing hit by his arrows.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\" asked another, and received the brisk reply:\n\n\"The lady Euryale is the cat who protects the damsel. Out of respect for\nher, and for fear of hurting her, too, her companion has hitherto been\nspared even by those fellows up there.\"\n\nAnd he pointed to a party of \"Greens\" who were laying their heads\ntogether in one of the topmost tiers. But his friend replied:\n\n\"Something besides that keeps them within bounds. The three beardless\nfellows just behind them belong to the city watch, who are scattered\nthrough the general mass like raisins in doughcakes.\"\n\n\"That is very judicious,\" replied the senator.\n\n\"We might otherwise have had to quit the Circus a great deal quicker than\nwe came in. We shall hardly get home with dry garments as it is. Look how\nthe lights up there are flaring; you can hear the lashing of the storm,\nand such flashes are not produced by machinery. Zeus is preparing his\nbolts, and if the storm bursts--\"\n\nHere his discourse was interrupted by the sound of trumpets, mingling\nwith the roar of distant thunder following a vivid flash. The procession\nnow began, which was the preliminary to every such performance.\n\nThe statues of the gods had, before Caesar's arrival, been placed on the\npedestals erected for them to prevent any risk of a demonstration at the\nappearance of the deified emperors. The priests now first marched\nsolemnly round these statues, and Timotheus poured a libation on the sand\nto Serapis, while the priest of Alexandria did the same to the tutelary\nhero of the town. Then the masters of the games, the gladiators, and\nbeast-fighters came out, who were to make proof of their skill. As the\npriests approached Caesar's dais, Caracalla came forward and greeted the\nspectators, thus showing himself for the first time.\n\nWhile he was still sitting behind the screen, he had sent for Melissa,\nwho had obeyed the command, under the protection of Euryale, and he had\nspoken to her graciously. He now took no further notice of her, of her\nfather, or her brother, and by his orders their places had been separated\nby some little distance from his. By the advice of Timotheus he would not\nlet her be seen at his side till the stars had once more been consulted,\nand he would then conduct Melissa to the Circus as his wife-the day after\nto-morrow, perhaps. He thanked the matron for having escorted Melissa,\nand added, with a braggart air of virtue, that the world should see that\nhe, too, could sacrifice the most ardent wish of his heart to moral\npropriety.\n\nThe elephant torch-bearers had greatly delighted him, and in the\nexpectation of seeing Melissa again, and of a public recognition that he\nhad won the fairest maid there, he had come into the Circus in the best\nspirits. He still wore his natural expression; yet now and then his brow\nwas knit, for he was haunted by the eyes of Seleukus's wife. The haughty\nwoman--\"that bedizened Niobe\" he had contemptuously called her in\nspeaking to Macrinus--had appeared to him as an avenging goddess;\nstrangely enough, every time he thought of her, he remembered, too, the\nconsul Vindex and his nephew, whose execution Melissa's intercession had\nonly hastened, and he was vexed now that he had not lent an ear to her\nentreaties. The fact that the name Vindex signified an avenger disturbed\nhim greatly, and he could no more get it out of his mind than the image\nof the \"Niobe\" with her ominous dark eyes.\n\nHe would see her no more; and in this he was helped by the gladiators,\nfor they now approached him, and their frantic enthusiasm kept him for\nsome time from all other thoughts. While they flourished their\nweapons-some the sword and buckler, and others the not less terrible net\nand harpoon--the time-honored cry rose from their husky throats in eager\nacclamation: \"Hail, Caesar! those about to die salute thee!\" Then, in\nrows of ten men each, they crossed the arena at a rapid pace.\n\nBetween the first and second group one man swaggered past alone, as\nthough he were something apart, and he strutted and rolled as he walked\nwith pompous self-importance. It was his prescriptive right, and in his\nbroad, coarse features, with a snub nose, thick lips, and white, flashing\nteeth like those of a beast of prey, it was easy to see that the\nadversary would fare but ill who should try to humble him. And yet he was\nnot tall; but on his deep chest, his enormous square shoulders, and\nshort, bandy legs, the muscles stood out like elastic balls, showing the\nconnoisseur that in strength he was a giant. A loin-cloth was all he\nwore, for he was proud of the many scars which gleamed red and white on\nhis fair skin. He had pushed back his little bronze helmet, so that the\nterrible aspect of the left side of his face might not be lost on the\npopulace. While he was engaged in fighting three panthers and a lion, the\nlion had torn out his eye and with it part of his cheek. His name was\nTarautas, and he was known throughout the empire as the most brutal of\ngladiators, for he had also earned the further privilege of never\nfighting but for life or death, and never under any circumstances either\ngranting or asking quarter. Where he was engaged corpses strewed the\nplain.\n\nCaesar knew that he himself had been nicknamed Tarautas after this man,\nand he was not ill pleased; for, above all things, he aimed at being\nthought strong and terrible, and this the gladiator was without a peer in\nhis own rank of life. They knew each other: Tarautas had received many a\ngift from his imperial patron after hard-won victories in which his blood\nhad flowed. And now, as the scarred veteran, who, puffed up with conceit,\nwalked singly and apart in the long train of gladiators, cast a roving\nand haughty glance on the ranks of spectators, he was filled out of due\ntime with the longing to center all eyes on himself, the one aim of his\nso frequently risking his life in these games. His chest swelled, he\nbraced up the tension of his supple sinews, and as he passed the imperial\nseats he whirled his short sword round his head, describing a circle in\nthe air, with such skill and such persistent rapidity, that it appeared\nlike a disk of flashing steel. At the same time his harsh, powerful voice\nbellowed out, \"Hail, Caesar!\" sounding above the shouts of his comrades\nlike the roar of a lion; and Caracalla, who had not yet vouchsafed a\nfriendly word or pleasant look to any Alexandrian, waved his hand\ngraciously again and again to this audacious monster, whose strength and\nskill delighted him.\n\nThis was the instant for which the \"Greens\" in the third tier were\nwaiting. No one could prohibit their applauding the man whom Caesar\nhimself approved, so they forthwith began shouting \"Tarautas!\" with all\ntheir might. They knew that this would suggest the comparison between\nCaesar and the sanguinary wretch whose name had been applied to him, and\nall who were eager to give expression to their vexation or\ndissatisfaction took the hint and joined in the outcry. Thus in a moment\nthe whole amphitheatre was ringing with the name of \"Tarautas!\"\n\nAt first it rose here and there; but soon, no one knew how, the whole\ncrowd in the upper ranks joined in one huge chorus, giving free vent to\ntheir long-suppressed irritation with childish and increasing uproar,\nshouting the word with steady reiteration and a sort of involuntary\nrhythm. Before long it sounded as though the multitude must have\npracticed the mad chant which swelled to a perfect roar.\n\n\"Tarau-Tarau-Tarautas!\" and, as is always the case when a breach has been\nmade in the dam, one after another joined in, with here the shrill\nwhistle of a reed pipe and there the clatter of a rattle. Mingling with\nthese were the angry outcries of those whom the lictors or guardians of\nthe peace had laid hands on, or their indignant companions; and the\nthunder outside rolled a solemn accompaniment to the mutinous tumult\nwithin.\n\nCaesar's scowling brow showed that a storm threatened in that quarter\nalso; and no sooner had he discerned the aim of the crowd than, foaming\nwith rage, he commanded Macrinus to restore order.\n\nThen, above the chaos of voices, trumpet-calls were sounded. The masters\nof the games perceived that, if only they could succeed in riveting the\nattention of the mob by some exciting or interesting scene, that would\nsurely silence the demonstration which was threatening ruin to the whole\ncommunity; so the order was at once given to begin the performance with\nthe most important and effective scene with which it had been intended\nthat the whole should conclude.\n\nThe spectacle was to represent a camp of the Alemanni, surprised and\nseized by Roman warriors. In this there was a covert compliment to\nCaesar, who, after a doubtful victory over that valiant people, had\nassumed the name of Alemannicus. Part of the gladiators, clothed in\nskins, represented the barbarians, and wore long flowing wigs of red or\nyellow hair; others played the part of Roman troops, who were to conquer\nthem. The Alemanni were all condemned criminals, who were allowed no\narmor, and only blunt swords wherewith to defend themselves. But life and\nfreedom were promised to the women if, after the camp was seized, they\nwounded themselves with the sharp knives with which each one was\nprovided, at least deeply enough to draw blood. And any who succeeded in\nfeigning death really deceptively were to earn a special reward. Among\nthe Germans there were, too, a few gladiators of exceptional stature,\narmed with sharp weapons, so as to defer the decision for a while.\n\nIn a few minutes, and under the eyes of the spectators, carts, cattle,\nand horses were placed together in a camp, and surrounded by a wall of\ntree trunks, stones, and shields. Meanwhile shouts and whistles were\nstill heard; nay, when Tarautas came out on the arena in the highly\ndecorated armor of a Roman legate, at the head of a troop of heavily\narmed men, and again greeted the emperor, the commotion began afresh. But\nCaracalla's patience was exhausted, and the high-priest saw by his pale\ncheeks and twitching eyelids what was passing in his mind; so, inspired\nby the fervent hope of averting some incalculable disaster from his\nfellow-citizens, he took his place in front of the statue of the god,\nand, lifting up his hands, he began:\n\n\"In the name of Serapis, O Macedonians!\" His deep, ringing tones sounded\nabove the voices of the insurgents in the upper rows, and there was\nsilence.\n\nNot a sound was to be heard but the long-drawn howling of the wind, and\nnow and then the flap of a strip of cloth torn from the velarium by the\ngale. Mingling with these might be heard the uncanny hooting of owls and\ndaws which the illumination had brought out of their nests in the\ncornice, and which the storm was now driving in again.\n\nTimotheus, in a clear and audible address, now appealed to his audience\nto remain quiet, not to disturb the splendid entertainment here set\nbefore them, and above all to remember that great Caesar, the divine\nruler of the world, was in their midst, an honor to each and all. As the\nguest of the most hospitable city on earth, their illustrious sovereign\nhad a right to expect from every Alexandrian the most ardent endeavors to\nmake his stay here delightful. It was his part as high-priest to uplift\nhis warning voice in the name of the greatest of the gods, that the\nill-will of a few malcontents might not give rise to an idea in the mind\nof their beloved guest that the natives of Alexandria were blind to the\nblessings for which every citizen had to thank his beneficent rule.\n\nA shrill whistle here interrupted his discourse, and a voice shouted:\n\"What blessings? We know of none.\"\n\nBut Timotheus was not to be checked, and went on more vehemently\n\n\"All of you who, by the grace of Caesar, have been made Roman citizens--\"\n\nBut again a voice broke in--the speaker was the overseer of the granaries\nof Seleukus, sitting in the second tier--\"And do you suppose we do not\nknow what the honor costs us?\"\n\nThis query was heartily applauded, and then suddenly, as if by magic, a\nperfect chorus arose, chanting a distich which one man in the crowd had\nfirst given out and then two or three had repeated, to which a fourth had\ngiven a sort of tune, till it was shouted by every one present at the\nvery top of his voice, with marked application to him of whom it spoke.\nFrom the topmost row of places, on every side of the amphitheatre, rang\nout the following lines, which but a moment before no one had ever heard:\n\n  \"Death to the living, to pay for burying those that are dead;\n   Since, what the taxes have spared, soldiers have ruthlessly seized.\"\n\nAnd the words certainly came from the heart; of the people, for they\nseemed never weary of repeating them; and it was not till a tremendous\nclap of thunder shook the very walls that several were silent and looked\nup with increasing alarm. The moment's pause was seized on to begin the\nfight. Caesar bit his lip in powerless fury, and his hatred of the\ntowns-people, who had thus so plainly given him to understand their\nsentiments, was rising from one minute to the next. He felt it a real\nmisfortune that he was unable to punish on the spot the insult thus\noffered him; swelling with rage, he remembered a speech made by Caligula,\nand wished the town had but one head, that he might sever it from the\nbody. The blood throbbed so fiercely in his temples, and there was such a\nsinging in his ears, that for some little time he neither saw nor heard\nwhat was going on. This terrible agitation might cost him yet some hours\nof great suffering. But he need no longer dread them so much; for there\nsat the living remedy which he believed he had secured by the strongest\npossible ties.\n\nHow fair she was! And, as he looked round once more at Melissa, he\nobserved that her eye was turned on him with evident anxiety. At this a\nlight seemed to dawn in his clouded soul, and he was once more conscious\nof the love which had blossomed in his heart. But it would never do to\nmake her who had wrought the miracle so soon the confidante of his\nhatred. He had seen her angry, had seen her weep, and had seen her smile;\nand within the next few days, which were to make him a happy man instead\nof a tortured victim, he longed only to see her great eyes sparkle and\nher lips overflow with words of love, joy, and gratitude. His score with\nthe Alexandrians must be settled later, and it was in his power to make\nthem atone with their blood and bitterly rue the deeds of this night.\n\nHe passed his hand over his furrowed brow, as though to wake himself from\na bad dream; nay, he even found a smile when next his eyes met hers; and\nthose spectators to whom his aspect seemed more absorbing than the\nhorrible slaughter in the arena, looked at each other in amazement, for\nthe indifference or the dissimulation, whichever it might be, with which\nCaesar regarded this unequaled scene of bloodshed, seemed to them quite\nincredible.\n\nNever, since his very first visit to a circus, had Caracalla left\nunnoticed for so long a time the progress of such a battle as this.\nHowever, nothing very remarkable had so far occurred, for the actual\nseizure of the camp had but just begun with the massacre of the Alemanni\nand the suicide of the women.\n\nAt this moment the gladiator Tarautas, as nimble as a cat and as\nbloodthirsty as a hungry wolf, sprang on to one of the enemy's piled-up\nwagons, and a tall swordsman, with a bear-skin over his shoulder, and\nlong, reddish-gold hair, flew to meet him.\n\nThis was no sham German! Caracalla knew the man. He had been brought to\nRome among the captive chiefs, and, as he had proved to be a splendid\nhorseman, he had found employment in Caesar's stables. His conduct had\nalways been blameless till, on the day when Caracalla had entered\nAlexandria, he had, in a drunken fit, killed first the man set over him,\na hot-headed Gaul, and then the two lictors who had attempted to\napprehend him. He was condemned to death, and had been placed on the\nGerman side to fight for his life in the arena.\n\nAnd how he fought! How he defied the most determined of gladiators, and\nparried his strokes with his short sword! This was a combat really worth\nwatching; indeed, it so captivated Caracalla that he forgot everything\nelse. The name of the German's antagonist had been applied to\nhim--Caesar. Just now the many-voiced yell \"Tarautas!\" had been meant for\nhim; and, accustomed as he was to read an omen in every incident, he said\nto himself, and called Fate to witness, that the gladiator's doom would\nforeshadow his own. If Tarautas fell, then Caesar's days were numbered;\nif he triumphed, then a long and happy life would be his.\n\nHe could leave the decision to Tarautas with perfect confidence; he was\nthe strongest gladiator in the empire, and he was fighting with a sharp\nsword against the blunt one in his antagonist's hand, who probably had\nforgotten in the stable how to wield the sword as he had done of yore.\nBut the German was the son of a chief, and had followed arms from his\nearliest youth. Here it was defense for dear life, however glorious it\nmight be to die under the eyes of the man whom he had learned to honor as\nthe conqueror and tyrant of many nations, among them his own. So the\nstrong and practiced athlete did his best.\n\nHe, like his opponent, felt that the eyes of ten thousand were on him,\nand he also longed to purge himself of the dishonor which, by actual\nmurder, he had brought on himself and on the race of which he was still a\nson. Every muscle of his powerful frame gained more rigid tension at the\nthought, and when he was presently hit by the sword of his hitherto\nunconquered foe, and felt the warm blood flow over his breast and left\narm, he collected all his strength. With the battle-cry of his tribe, he\nflung his huge body on the gladiator. Heedless of the furious\nsword-thrust with which Tarautas returned the assault, he threw himself\noff the top of the packed wagon on to the stones of the camp inclosure,\nand the combatants rolled, locked together like one man, from the wall\ninto the sand of the arena.\n\nCaracalla started as though he himself had been the injured victim, and\nwatched, but in vain, to see the supple Tarautas, who had escaped such\nperils before now, free himself from the weight of the German's body.\n\nBut the struggle continued to rage round the pair, and neither stirred a\nfinger. At this Caesar, greatly disturbed, started to his feet, and\ndesired Theocritus to make inquiry as to whether Tarautas were wounded or\ndead; and while the favorite was gone he could not sit still. Agitated by\ndistressing fears, he rose to speak first to one and then to another of\nhis suite, only to drop on his seat again and glance once more at the\nbutchery below. He was fully persuaded that his own end must be near, if\nindeed Tarautas were dead. At last he heard Theocritus's voice, and, as\nhe turned to ask him the news, he met a look from the lady Berenike, who\nhad risen to quit the theatre.\n\nHe shuddered!--the image of Vindex and his nephew rose once more before\nhis mind's eye; at the same moment, however, Theocritus hailed him with\nthe exclamation:\n\n\"That fellow, Tarautas, is not a man at all! I should call him an eel if\nhe were not so broad shouldered. The rascal is alive, and the physician\nsays that in three weeks he will be ready again to fight four bears or\ntwo Alemanni!\"\n\nA light as of sudden sunshine broke on Caesar's face, and he was\nperfectly cheerful again, though a fearful clap of thunder rattled\nthrough the building, and one of those deluges of rain which are known\nonly in the south came pouring down into the open theatre, extinguishing\nthe fires and lights, and tearing the velarium from its fastenings till\nit hung flapping in the wind and lashing the upper tiers of places, so as\nto drive the spectators to a hasty retreat.\n\nMen were flying, women screaming and sobbing, and the heralds loudly\nproclaimed that the performance was suspended, and would be resumed on\nthe next day but one.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     He only longed to be hopeful once more, to enjoy the present\n     Never to be astonished at anything\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 10.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nThe amphitheatre was soon emptied, amid the flare of lightning and the\ncrash and roll of thunder. Caracalla, thinking only of the happy omen of\nTarautas's wonderful escape, called out to Melissa, with affectionate\nanxiety, to fly to shelter as quickly as possible; a chariot was in\nwaiting to convey her to the Serapeum. On this she humbly represented\nthat she would rather be permitted to return under her brother's escort\nto her father's house, and Caracalla cheerfully acceded. He had business\non hand this night, which made it seem desirable to him that she should\nnot be too near him. He should expect her brother presently at the\nSerapeum.\n\nWith his own hand he wrapped her in the caracalla and hood which old\nAdventus was about to put on his master's shoulders, remarking, as he did\nso, that he had weathered worse storms in the field.\n\nMelissa thanked him with a blush, and, going close up to her, he\nwhispered: \"To-morrow, if Fate grants us gracious answers to the\nquestions I shall put to her presently after this storm--tomorrow the\nhorn of happiness will be filled to overflowing for you and me. The\nthrifty goddess promises to be lavish to me through you.\"\n\nSlaves were standing round with lighted lanterns; for the torches in the\ntheatre were all extinguished, and the darkened auditorium lay like an\nextinct crater, in which a crowd of indistinguishable figures were moving\nto and fro. It reminded him of Hades and a troop of descending spirits;\nbut he would not allow anything but what was pleasant to occupy his mind\nor eye. By a sudden impulse he took a lantern from one of the attendants,\nheld it up above Melissa's head, and gazed long and earnestly into her\nbrightly illuminated face. Then he dropped his hand with a sigh and said,\nas though speaking in a dream: \"Yes, this is life! Now I begin to live.\"\n\nHe lifted the dripping laurel crown from his head, tossed it into the\narena, and added to Melissa: \"Now, get under shelter at once, sweetheart.\nI have been able to see you this whole evening, even when the lamps were\nout; for lightning gives light. Thus even the storm has brought me joy.\nSleep well. I shall expect you early, as soon as I have bathed.\"\n\nMelissa wished him sound slumbers, and he replied, lightly:\n\n\"If only all life were a dream, and if to-morrow I might but wake up, no\nlonger the son of Severus, but Alexander; and you, not Melissa, but\nRoxana, whom you so strongly resemble! To be sure I might find myself the\ngladiator Tarautas. But, then, who would you be? And your stalwart\nfather, who stands there defying the rain, certainly does not look like a\nvision, and this storm is not favorable to philosophizing.\"\n\nHe kissed his hand to her, had a dry caracalla thrown over his shoulders,\nordered Theocritus to take care of Tarautas and carry him a purse of\ngold--which he handed to the favorite--and then, pulling the hood over\nhis head, led the way, followed by his impatient courtiers; but not till\nhe had answered Heron, who had come forward to ask him what he thought of\nthe mechanical arts of the Alexandrians, desiring him to postpone that\nmatter till the morrow.\n\nThe storm had silenced the music. Only a few stanch trumpeters had\nremained in their places; and when they saw by the lanterns that Caesar\nhad left the Circus, they sounded a fanfare after him, which followed the\nruler of the world with a dull, hoarse echo.\n\nOutside, the streets were still crowded with people pouring out of the\namphitheatre. Those of the commoner sort sought shelter under the\narchways of the building, or else hurried boldly home through the rain.\nHeron stood waiting at the entrance for his daughter, though the\npurple-hemmed toga was wet, through and through. But she had, in fact,\nhurried out while he was pushing forward to speak to Caesar, and in his\nexcitement overlooked everything else. The behavior of his\nfellow-citizens had annoyed him, and he had an obscure impression that it\nwould be a blunder to claim Caesar's approval of anything they had done;\nstill, he had not self-control enough to suppress the question which had\nfluttered on his lips all through the performance. At last, in high\ndudgeon at the inconsiderateness of young people and at the rebuff he had\nmet with--with the prospect, too, of a cold for his pains--he made his\nway homeward on foot.\n\nTo Caracalla the bad weather was for once really an advantage, for it put\na stop to the unpleasant demonstrations which the \"Green\" party had\nprepared for him on his way home.\n\nAlexander soon found the closed carruca intended for Melissa, and placed\nher in it as soon as he had helped Euryale into her harmamaxa. He was\nastonished to find a man inside it, waiting for his sister. This was\nDiodoros, who, while Alexander was giving his directions to the\ncharioteer, had, under cover of the darkness, sprung into the vehicle\nfrom the opposite side. An exclamation of surprise was followed by\nexplanations and excuses, and the three young people, each with a heart\nfull almost to bursting, drove off toward Heron's house. Their conveyance\nwas already rolling over the pavement, while most of the magnates of the\ntown were still waiting for their slaves to find their chariots or\nlitters.\n\nFor the lovers this was a very different scene from the terrible one they\nhad just witnessed in the Circus, for, in spite of the narrow space and\ntotal darkness in which they sat, and the rain rattling and splashing on\nthe dripping black leather hood which sheltered them, in their hearts\nthey did not lack for sunshine. Caracalla's saying that the lightning,\ntoo, was light, proved true more than once in the course of their drive,\nfor the vivid flashes which still followed in quick succession enabled\nthe reunited lovers to exchange many confidences with their eyes, for\nwhich it would have been hard to find words. When both parties to a\nquarrel are conscious of blame, it is more quickly made up than when one\nonly needs forgiveness; and the pair in the carruca were so fully\nprepared to think the best of each other that there was no need for\nAlexander's good offices to make them ready and willing to renew their\nbroken pledges. Besides, each had cause to fear for the other; for\nDiodoros was afraid that the lady Euryale's power was not far-reaching\nenough to conceal Melissa from Caesar's spies, and Melissa trembled at\nthe thought that the physician might too soon betray to Caesar that she\nhad been betrothed before he had ever seen her, and to whom; for, in that\ncase, Diodoros would be the object of relentless pursuit. So she urged on\nher lover to embark, if possible, this very night.\n\nHitherto Alexander had taken no part in the conversation. He could not\nforget the reception he had met with outside the amphitheatre. Euryale's\npresence had saved his sister from evil imputations, but had not helped\nhim; and even his gay spirits could make no head against the\nconsciousness of being regarded by his fellow-citizens as a hired\ntraitor. He had withdrawn to one of the back seats to see the\nperformance; for as soon as the theatre was suddenly lighted up, he had\nbecome the object of dark looks and threatening gestures. For the first\ntime in his life he had felt compassion for the criminals torn by wild\nbeasts, and for the wounded gladiators, whose companion in misfortune he\nvaguely felt himself to be. But, what was worst of all, he could not\nregard himself as altogether free from the reproach of having accepted a\nreward for the service he had so thoughtlessly rendered.\n\nNor did he see the remotest possibility of ever making those whose\nopinion he cared for understand how it had come to pass that he should\nhave acceded to the desire of the villain in the purple, now that his\nfather, by showing himself to the people in the 'toga pretexta', had set\nthe seal to their basest suspicions. The thought that henceforth he could\nnever hope to feel the grasp of an honest man's hand gnawed at his heart.\n\nThe esteem of Diodoros was dear to him, and, when his young comrade spoke\nto him, he felt at first as though he were doing him an unexpected honor;\nbut then he fell back into the suspicion that this was only for his\nsister's sake.\n\nThe deep sigh that broke from him induced Melissa to speak a few words of\ncomfort, and now the unhappy man's bursting heart overflowed. In eloquent\nwords he described to Diodoros and Melissa all he had felt, and the\nterrible consequences of his heedless folly, and as he spoke acute regret\nfilled his eyes with tears.\n\nHe had pronounced judgment on himself, and expected nothing of his friend\nbut a little pity. But in the darkness Diodoros sought and found his\nhand, and grasped it fervently; and if Alexander could but have seen his\nold playfellow's face, he would have perceived that his eyes glistened as\nhe said what he could to encourage him to hope for better days.\n\nDiodoros knew his friend well. He was incapable of falsehood; and his\ndeed, which under a false light so easily assumed an aspect of villainy,\nhad, in fact, been no more than an act of thoughtlessness such as he had\nhimself often lent a hand in. Alexander, however, seemed determined not\nto hear the comfort offered him by his sister and his friend. A flash of\nlightning revealed him to them, sitting with a bent head and his hands\nover his brow; and this gloomy vision of one who so lately had been the\ngayest of the gay troubled their revived happiness even more than the\nthought of the danger which, as each knew, threatened the others.\n\nAs they passed the Temple of Artemis, which was brightly illuminated,\nreminding them that they were reaching their destination, Alexander at\nlast looked up and begged the lovers to consider their immediate affairs.\nHis mind had remained clear, and what he said showed that he had not lost\nsight of his sister's future.\n\nAs soon as Melissa should have effected her escape, Caesar would\nundoubtedly seize, not only her lover, but his father as well. Diodoros\nmust forthwith cross the lake and rouse Polybius and Praxilla, to warn\nthem of the imminent danger, while Alexander undertook to hire a ship for\nthe party. Argutis would await the fugitives in a tavern by the harbor,\nand conduct them on board the vessel which would be in readiness.\nDiodoros, who was not yet able to walk far, promised to avail himself of\none of the litters waiting outside the Temple of Artemis.\n\nJust before the vehicle stopped, the lovers took leave. They arranged\nwhere and how they might have news of each other, and all they said, in\nbrief words and a fervent parting kiss, in this moment, when death or\nimprisonment might await them, had the solemn purport of a vow.\n\nThe swift horses stopped. Alexander hastily leaned over to his friend,\nkissed him on both cheeks, and whispered:\n\n\"Take good care of her; think of me kindly if we should never meet again,\nand tell the others that wild Alexander has played another fool's trick,\nat any rate, not a wicked one, however badly it may turn out for him.\"\n\nFor the sake of the charioteer, who, after Melissa's flight, would be\ncertainly cross-examined, Diodoros could make no reply. The carruca\nrattled off by the way by which it had come; Diodoros vanished in the\ndarkness, and Melissa clasped her hands over her face. She felt as though\nthis were her last parting from her lover, and the sun would never shine\non earth again.\n\nIt was now near midnight. The slaves had heard the approach of the\nchariot, and received them as heartily as ever, but in obedience to\nHeron's orders they added the most respectful bows to their usual\nwell-meant welcome. Since their master had shown himself to Dido, in the\nafternoon, with braggart dignity, as a Roman magnate, she had felt as\nthough the age of miracles had come, and nothing was impossible. Splendid\nvisions of future grandeur awaiting the whole family, including herself\nand Argutis, had not ceased to haunt her; but as to the empress,\nsomething seemed to have gone wrong, for why had the girl wet eyes and so\nsad a face? What was all this long whispering with Argutis? But it was no\nconcern of hers, after all, and she would know all in good time, no\ndoubt. \"What the masters plot to-day the slaves hear next week,\" was a\nfavorite saying of the Gauls, and she had often proved its truth.\n\nBut the cool way in which Melissa received the felicitations which the\nold woman poured out in honor of the future empress, and her\ntear-reddened eyes, seemed at any rate quite comprehensible. The child\nwas thinking, no doubt, of her handsome Diodoros. Among the splendors of\nthe palace she would soon forget. And how truly magnificent were the\ndress and jewels in which the damsel had appeared in the amphitheatre!\n\n\"How they must have hailed her!\" thought the old woman when she had\nhelped Melissa to exchange her dress for a simpler robe, and the girl sat\ndown to write. \"If only the mistress had lived to see this day! And all\nthe other women must have been bursting with envy. Eternal gods! But,\nafter all, who knows whether the good luck we envy others is great or\nsmall? Why, even in this house, which the gods have filled to the roof\nwith gifts and favors, misfortune has crept in through the key hole. Poor\nPhilip!\n\n\"Still, if all goes well with the girl. Things have befallen her such as\nrarely come to any one, and yet no more than her due. The fairest and\nbest will be the greatest and wealthiest in the empire.\"\n\nAnd she clutched the amulets and the cross which hung round her arm and\nthroat, and muttered a hasty prayer for her darling.\n\nArgutis, for his part, did not know what to think of it all. He, if any\none, rejoiced in the good fortune of his master and Melissa; but Heron's\npromotion to the rank of praetor had been too sudden, and Heron demeaned\nhimself too strangely in his purple-bordered toga. It was to be hoped\nthat this new and unexpected honor had not turned his brain! And the\nstate in which his master's eldest son remained caused him the greatest\nanxiety. Instead of rejoicing in the honors of his family, he had at his\nfirst interview with his father flown into a violent rage; and though he,\nArgutis, had not understood what they were saying, he perceived that they\nwere in vehement altercation, and that Heron had turned away in great\nwrath. And then--he remembered it with horror, and could hardly tell what\nhe had seen to Alexander and Melissa in a reasonable and respectful\nmanner--Philip had sprung out of bed, had dressed himself without help,\neven to his shoes, and scarcely had his father set out in his litter\nbefore Philip had come into the kitchen. He looked like one risen from\nthe grave, and his voice was hollow as he told the slaves that he meant\nto go to the Circus to see for himself that justice was done. But Argutis\nfelt his heart sink within him when the philosopher desired him to fetch\nthe pipe his father used to teach the birds to whistle, and at the same\ntime took up the sharp kitchen knife with which Argutis slaughtered the\nsheep.\n\nThe young man then turned to go, but even on the threshold he had\nstumbled over the straps of his sandals which dragged unfastened, and\nArgutis had had to lead him, almost to carry him in from the garden, for\na violent fit of coughing had left him quite exhausted. The effort of\npulling at the heavy oars on board the galley had been too much for his\nweak chest. Argutis and Dido had carried him to bed, and he had soon\nfallen into a deep sleep, from which he had not waked since.\n\nAnd now what were these two plotting? They were writing; and not on wax\ntablets, but with reed pens on papyrus, as though it were a matter of\nimportance.\n\nAll this gave the slave much to think about, and the faithful soul did\nnot know whether to weep for joy or grief when Alexander told him, with a\ngravity which frightened him in this light-hearted youth, that, partly as\nthe reward of his faithful service and partly to put him in a position to\naid them all in a crisis of peculiar difficulty, he gave him his freedom.\nHis father had long since intended to do this, and the deed was already\ndrawn out. Here was the document; and he knew that, even as a freedman,\nArgutis would continue to serve them as faithfully as ever. With this he\ngave the slave his manumission, which he was in any case to have received\nwithin a month, at the end of thirty years' service, and Argutis took it\nwith tears of joy, not unmixed with grief and anxiety, while only a few\nhours since it would have been enough to make him the happiest of\nmortals.\n\nWhile he kissed their hands and stammered out words of gratitude, his\nuncultured but upright spirit told him that he had been blind ever to\nhave rejoiced for a moment at the news that Melissa had been chosen to be\nempress. All that he had seen during the last half-hour had convinced\nhim, as surely as if he had been told it in words, that his beloved young\nmistress scorned her imperial suitor, and firmly intended to evade\nhim--how, Argutis could not guess. And, recognizing this, a spirit of\nadventure and daring stirred him also. This was a struggle of the weak\nagainst the strong; and to him, who had spent his life as one of the\noppressed, nothing could be more tempting than to help on the side of the\nweak.\n\nArgutis now undertook with ardent zeal to get Diodoros and his parents\nsafely on board the ship he was to engage, and to explain to Heron, as\nsoon as he should have read the letter which Alexander was now writing,\nthat, unless he could escape at once with Philip, he was lost. Finally,\nhe promised that the epistle to Caesar, which Melissa was composing,\nshould reach his hands on the morrow.\n\nHe could now receive his letter of freedom with gladness, and consented\nto dress up in Heron's garments; for, as a slave, he would have been\nforbidden to conclude a bargain with a ship's captain or any one else.\n\nAll this was done in hot haste, for Caesar was awaiting Alexander, and\nEuryale expected Melissa. The ready zeal of the old man, free for the\nfirst time to act on his own responsibility in matters which would have\nbeen too much for many a free-born man, but to which he felt quite equal,\nhad an encouraging effect even on the oppressed hearts of the other two.\nThey knew now that, even if death should be their lot, Argutis would be\nfaithful to their father and sick brother, and the slave at once showed\nhis ingenuity and shrewdness; for, while the young people were vainly\ntrying to think of a hiding-place for Heron and Philip, he suggested a\nspot which would hardly be discovered even by the sharpest spies.\n\nGlaukias, the sculptor, who had already fled, was Heron's tenant. His\nwork-room, a barn-like structure, stood in the little vegetable-garden\nwhich the gem-cutter had inherited from his father-in-law, and none but\nHeron and the slave knew that, under the flooring, instead of a cellar,\nthere was a vast reservoir connected with the ancient aqueducts\nconstructed by Vespasian. Many years since Argutis had helped his master\nto construct a trap-door to the entrance to these underground passages,\nof which the existence had remained unknown even to Glaukias during all\nthe years he had inhabited the place. It was here that Heron kept his\ngold, not taking his children even into his confidence; and only a few\nmonths ago Argutis had been down with him and had found the old reservoir\ndry, airy, and quite habitable. The gem-cutter would be quite content to\nconceal himself where his treasure was, and the garden and work-room were\nonly distant a few hundred paces from his own home. To get Philip there\nwithout being seen was to Argutis a mere trifle. Alexander, too, old\nDido, and, if needful, Diodoros, could all be concealed there. But for\nMelissa, neither he nor Alexander thought it sufficiently secure.\n\nAs she took leave of him the young girl once more charged the newly freed\nman to greet her father from her a thousand times, to beseech his\nforgiveness of her for the bitter grief she must cause him, and to assure\nhim of her affection.\n\n\"Tell him,\" she added, as the tears streamed down her cheeks, \"that I\nfeel as if I were going to my death. But, come what may, I am always his\ndutiful child, always ready to sacrifice anything--excepting only the man\nto whom, with my father's consent, I pledged my heart. Tell him that for\nlove of him I might have been ready even to give my hand to the\nblood-stained Caesar, but that Fate--and perhaps the manes of her we\nloved, and who is dead--have ordered it otherwise.\"\n\nShe then went into the room where her mother had closed her eyes. After a\nshort prayer by that bed, which still stood there, she hastened to\nPhilip's room. He lay sleeping heavily; she bent over him and kissed the\ntoo high brow, which looked as though even in sleep the brain within were\nstill busy over some difficult and painful question.\n\nHer way led her once more through her father's work-room, and she had\nalready crossed it when she hastily turned back to look once more--for\nthe last time-at the little table where she had sat for so many years,\nbusy with her needle, in modest contentment by the artist's side,\ndreaming with waking eyes, and considering what she, with her small\nresources and great love, could do that would be of use to those she\nloved, or relieve them if they were in trouble. Then, as though she knew\nthat she was bidding a last farewell to all the pleasant companionship of\nher youth, she looked at the birds, long since gone to roost in their\ncages. In spite of his recent curule honors Heron had not forgotten them,\nand, before quitting the house to display himself to the populace in the\n'toga pretexa', he had as usual carefully covered them up. And now, as\nMelissa lifted the cloth from the starling's cage, and the bird muttered\nmore gently than usual, and perhaps in its sleep, the cry, \"Olympias!\" a\nshudder ran through her; and, as she stepped out into the road by\nAlexander's side, she said, dejectedly:\n\n\"Everything is coming to an end! Well, and so it may; for what has come\nover us all in these few days? Before Caesar came, what were you--what\nwas Philip? In my own heart what peace reigned!\n\n\"And my father? There is one comfort, at any rate; even as praetor he has\nnot forgotten his birds, and he will find feathered friends go where he\nmay.\n\n\"But I--And it is for my sake that he must hide like a criminal!\"\n\nBut here Alexander vehemently broke in: \"It was not you, it was I who\nbrought all this misery on us!\" And he went on to accuse himself so\nbitterly that Melissa regretted having alluded to the misfortunes of\ntheir family, and did her best to inspire him with courage.\n\nAs soon as Caesar should have left the city and she had evaded his\npursuit, the citizens would be easily persuaded of his innocence. They\nwould see then how little she had cared for the splendor and wealth of\nempire; why, he himself knew how quickly everything was forgotten in\nAlexandria. His art, too, would be a comfort to him, and if he only had\nthe chance of making his way in his career he would have no difficulty in\nwinning Agatha. He would have her on his side, and Diodoros, and the lady\nEuryale.\n\nBut to all these kind speeches the young man only sadly shook his head.\nHow could he, despised and contemned, dare to aspire to the daughter of\nsuch a man as Zeno? He ended with a deep sigh; and Melissa, whose heart\ngrew heavier as they approached the Serapeum through the side streets,\nstill forced herself to express her confidence as though the lady\nEuryale's protection had relieved her of every anxiety. It was so\ndifficult to appear calm and cheerful that more than once she had to wipe\nher eyes; still, their eager talk shortened the way, and she stood still,\nsurprised to find herself so near her destination, when Alexander showed\nher the chain which was stretched across the end of the street of Hermes\nto close in the great square in front of the Serapeum.\n\nThe storm had passed away and the rain had ceased; the sky was clear and\ncloudless, and the moon poured its silvery light in lavish splendor, as\nthough revived, on the temple and on the statues round the square. Here\nthey must part, for they saw that it was impossible that they should\ncross the open space together.\n\nIt was almost deserted, for the populace were not allowed to go there. Of\nthe hundreds of tents which till lately had covered it, only those of the\nseventh cohort of the praetorian guard remained; for these, having to\nprotect the person of the emperor, had not been quartered in the town. If\nAlexander and Melissa had crossed this vast square, where it was now as\nlight as clay, they would certainly have been seen, and Melissa would\nhave brought not herself only but her protectress also into the greatest\ndanger.\n\nShe still had so much on her mind that she wanted to say to her brother,\nespecially with regard to her father's welfare; and then--what a\nleavetaking was this when, as her gloomy forebodings told her, they were\nparting never to meet again But Euryale must have been long and anxiously\nwaiting for her, and Alexander, too, was very late for his appointment.\n\nIt was impossible to let the girl cross the square alone, for it was\nguarded by soldiers. If she could but reach the side of the sanctuary\nwhere she was expected, and where the road was in the shadow of the\nriding-school opposite, all would be well, and it seemed as though there\nwas no alternative but for Alexander to lead his sister through by-ways\nto her destination. They had just made up their minds to this inevitable\nwaste of time, when a young woman was seen coming toward them from one of\nthe tents with a swift, light step, winged with gladness. Alexander\nsuddenly released his sister's hand, and saying:\n\n\"She will escort you,\" he advanced to meet her. This was the wife of\nMartialis, who had charge of the villa at Kanopus, and whose acquaintance\nthe artist had made when he was studying the Galatea in the merchant's\ncountry-house for the portrait of Korinna. Alexander had made friends\nwith the soldier's wife in his winning, lively way, and she was delighted\nto meet him again, and quite willing to escort his sister across the\nsquare, and hold her tongue about it. So, after a short grasp of the\nhand, and a fervent last appeal to her brother, \"Never for a moment let\nus forget one another, and always remember our mother!\" Melissa followed\nher companion.\n\nThis evening the woman had sought her husband to tell him that she and\nher mother had got safely out of the Circus, and to thank him for the\nentertainment, of which the splendor, in spite of the various\ndisturbances and interruption, had filled their hearts and minds.\n\nThe first words she spoke to the girl led to the question as to whether\nshe, too, had been at the Circus; and when Melissa said yes, but that she\nhad been too frightened and horrified to see much, the chattering little\nwoman began to describe it all.\n\nQuite the best view, she declared, had been obtained from the third tier\nof places. Caesar's bride, too, had been pointed out to her. Poor thing!\nShe would pay dearly for the splendor of the purple. No one could dispute\nCaracalla's taste, however, for the girl was lovely beyond description;\nand as she spoke she paused to look at Melissa, for she fancied she\nresembled Caesar's sweetheart. But she went on again quicker than before,\nremarking that Melissa was not so tall, and that the other was more\nbrilliant looking, as beseemed an emperor's bride.\n\nAt this Melissa drew her kerchief more closely over her face; but it was\na comfort to her when the soldier's wife, after describing to her what\nshe herself had worn, added that Caracalla's choice had fallen on a\nmodest and well-conducted maiden, for, if she had not been, the\nhigh-priest's wife would never have been so kind to her. And the lady\nEuryale was sister-in-law to the master she herself served, and she had\nknown her all her life.\n\nThen, when Melissa, to change the subject, asked why the public were\nforbidden to approach the Serapeum, her companion told her that since his\nreturn from the Circus Caesar had been devoting himself to astrology,\nsoothsaying, and other abstruse matters, and that the noise of the city\ndisturbed him. He was very learned in such things, and if she only had\ntime she could have told Melissa wonderful things. Thus conversing, they\ncrossed the square, and when it lay behind them and they were under the\nshadow of the stadium, Melissa thanked her lively companion for her\nescort, while she, on her part, declared that it had been a pleasure to\ndo the friendly painter a service.\n\nThe western side of the immense temple stood quite detached from the\ntown. There were on that side but few bronze doors, and these, which were\nopened only to the inhabitants of the building, had long since been\nlocked for the night and needed no guard. As the inhabitants were\nforbidden to cross the space dividing the stadium from the Serapeum, all\nwas perfectly still. Dark shadows lay on the road, and the high\nstructures which shut it in like cliffs seemed to tower to the sky. The\nlonely girl's heart beat fast with fears as she stole along, close under\nthe wall, from which a warm vapor breathed on her after the recent rain.\nThe black circles which seemed to stare at her like dark, hollow\neye-sockets from the wall of the stadium, were the windows of the\nstables.\n\nIf a runaway slave, an escaped wild beast, or a robber were to rush out\nupon her! The owls swept across over her head on silent wings, and bats\nflitted to and fro, from one building to the other, almost touching the\nfrightened girl. Her terrors increased at every step, and the wall which\nshe must follow to the end was so long--so endlessly long!\n\nSupposing, too, that the lady Euryale had been tired of waiting and had\ngiven her up! There would then be nothing for it but to make her way back\nto the town past the guards, or to enter the temple through the great\ngates--where that dreadful man was--and where she would at once be\nrecognized! Then there could be no escape, none--and she must, yes, she\nmust evade her dreadful suitor. Every thought of Diodoros cried, \"You\nmust!\"--even at the cost of her young life, of which, indeed, she saw the\nimminent end nearer and nearer with every step. She knew not whither her\nflight might take her, but a voice within declared that it would be to an\nearly grave.\n\nOnly a narrow strip of sky was visible between the tall buildings, but,\nas she looked up to the heavens, she perceived that it was two hours past\nmidnight. She hurried on, but presently checked her pace again. From the\nsquare, three trumpet-calls, one after another, rang through the silence\nof the night. What could these signals mean at so unwonted an hour?\n\nThere could be but one explanation--Caesar had again condemned some\nhapless wretch to death, and he was being led to execution. When Vindex\nand his nephew were beheaded, three trumpet-calls had sounded; her\nbrother had told her so.\n\nAnd now, before her inward eye, rose the crowd of victims to Caracalla's\nthirst for blood. She fancied that Plautilla, whom her imperial consort\nhad murdered, was beckoning her to follow her to an early grave. The\nterrors of the night were too much for her; and, as when a child, at play\nwith her brothers, she flew on as fast as her feet would carry her. She\nfled as though she were pursued, her long dress hampering her steps,\nalong by the temple wall, till her gaze, fixed on her left, fell on the\nspot which had been designated to her.\n\nHere she stopped, out of breath; and, while she was identifying the\nlandmarks which she had impressed on her memory to guide her to the right\ndoorway, the temple wall seemed to open before her as if by a charm, and\na kind voice called her name, and then exclaimed, \"At last!\" and in a\nmoment she had grasped Euryale's hand and was drawn into the building.\n\nHere, as if at the touch of a magician's wand, all fear and horror\nvanished; and, although she still panted for breath, she would at once\nhave explained to her beloved protectress what it was that had prompted\nher to run so fast, but that Euryale interrupted her, exclaiming: \"Only\nmake haste! No one must see that block of porphyry turn on its pin. It is\ninvisible from the outside, and closes the passage by which the mystics\nand adepts find their way to the mysteries after dedication. All who know\nof it are sworn to secrecy.\"\n\nWith this she led the way into a dark vestibule adjoining the temple, and\nin a few moments the great block of stone which had admitted them had\nturned into its place again. Those who passed by, even in broad sunshine,\ncould not distinguish it from all the other blocks of which the\nground-floor of the edifice was built.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nWhile the lady Euryale preceded her young charge with a lamp up a narrow,\ndark staircase, Alexander waited in one of the audience-rooms till the\nemperor should call him. The high-priest of Serapis, several soothsayers\nof the temple, Aristides, the new head of the night-watch, and other\n\"friends\" of the monarch had accompanied him thus far. But admittance to\nthe innermost apartments had not been permitted, for Caracalla had\nordered the magician Serapion to call up spirits before him, and was\nhaving the future declared to him in the presence of the prefect of the\npraetorians and a few other trusty followers.\n\nThe deputation of citizens, who had come to apologize to Caesar for the\nannoying occurrences in the Circus, had been told to wait till the\nexorcisms were over. Alexander would have preferred to hold aloof from\nthe others, but no one here seemed to think ill of him for his\nthoughtless behavior. On the contrary, the courtiers pressed round\nhim--the brother of the future empress-with the greatest assiduity: the\nhigh-priest inquired after his brother Philip; and Seleukus, the\nmerchant, who had come with the deputation, addressed many flattering\nremarks to him on his sister's beauty. Some of the Roman senators whose\nadvances he had received coldly enough at first, now took up his whole\nattention, and described to him the works of art and the paintings in the\nnew baths of Caracalla; they advised him to offer himself as a candidate\nfor the ornamentation of some of the unfinished rooms with frescoes, and\nled him to expect their support. In short, they behaved toward the young\nman as if he might command their services, in spite of their gray hairs.\nBut Alexander saw through their purpose.\n\nTheir discourse ceased suddenly, for voices were audible in the emperor's\napartments, and they all listened with outstretched necks and bated\nbreath if they might catch a word or two.\n\nAlexander only regretted not having either charcoal or tablets at hand,\nthat he might fix their intent faces on the wood; but at last he stood\nup, for the door was opened and the emperor entered from the tablinum,\naccompanied by the magician who had shown Caesar several spirits of the\ndeparted. In the middle of the demonstration, at Caracalla's desire, the\nbeheaded Papinian had appeared in answer to Serapion's call. Invisible\nhands replaced his severed head upon his shoulders, and, having greeted\nhis sovereign, he promised him good fortune. Last of all great Alexander\nhad appeared, and assured the emperor in verse, and with many a flowery\nphrase, that the soul of Roxana had chosen the form of Melissa to dwell\nin. Caracalla would enjoy the greatest happiness through her, as long as\nshe was not alienated from him by love for another man. Should this\nhappen, Roxana would be destroyed and her whole race with her, but\nCaesar's glory and greatness would reach its highest point. The monarch\nneed have no misgivings in continuing to live out his (Alexander's) life.\nThe spirit of his godlike father Severus watched over him, and had given\nhim a counselor in the person of Macrinus, in whose mortal body the soul\nof Scipio Africanus had awakened to a new life.\n\nWith this, the apparition, which, like the others, had shown itself as a\ncolored picture moving to and fro upon the darkened wall of the tablinum,\nvanished. The voice of the great Macedonian sounded hollow and unearthly,\nbut what he said had interested the emperor deeply and raised his\nspirits.\n\nHowever, his wish to see more spirits had remained unsatisfied. The\nmagician, who remained upon his knees with uplifted hands while the\napparitions were visible, declared that the forces he was obliged to\nemploy in exercising his magic power over the spirits had exhausted him.\nHis fine, bearded face was deathly pale, and his tall form trembled and\nshook. His assistants had silently disappeared. They had kept themselves\nand their great scrolls concealed behind a curtain. Serapion explained\nthat they were his pupils, whose office it was to support his\nincantations by efficient formulas.\n\nCaracalla dismissed him graciously, then turning to the assembled\ncompany, he gave with much affability a detailed account of the wonders\nhe had seen and heard.\n\n\"A marvelous man, this Serapion,\" he exclaimed to the high-priest\nTimotheus--\"a master in his art. What he said before proceeding to the\nincantations is convincing, and explains much to me. According to him,\nmagic holds the same relation to religion as power to love, as the\ncommand to the request. Power! What magic effect it has in real life? We\nhave seen its influence upon the spirits, and who among the children of\nmen can resist it? To it I owe my greatest results, and hope to be still\nfurther indebted. Even reluctant love must bow to it.\"\n\nHe gave a self-satisfied laugh, and continued: \"As the pious worshiper of\nthe gods can move the heavenly ones by prayer and sacrifice, so--the\nwondrous man declared--the magician can force them by means of his secret\nlore to do his will. Therefore, he who knows and can call the gods and\nspirits by the right name, him they must obey, as the slave his master.\nThe sages who served the Pharaohs in the gray dawn of time succeeded in\nfathoming the mystery of these names given to the everlasting ones at\ntheir birth, and their wisdom has come down to him through the\ngenerations as a priceless secret. But it is not sufficient to murmur the\nname to one's self, or be able to write it down. Every syllable has its\nspecial meaning like every member of the human frame. It depends, too, on\nhow it is pronounced and where the emphasis lies; and this true name,\ncontaining in itself the spiritual essence of the immortals, and the\noutward sign of their presence, is different again from the names by\nwhich they are known among men.\n\n\"Could I have any suspicion--and here Serapion addressed himself to\nme--which god he forced to obey him when he uttered the words, 'Abar\nBarbarie Eloce Sabaoth Pachnuphis,' and more like it! I have only\nremembered the first few words. But, he continued, it was not enough to\nbe able to pronounce these words. The heavenly spirits would submit only\nto those mortals who shared in some of their highest characteristics.\nBefore the Magian dared to call them, he must purify his soul from all\nsensual taint, and sanctify his body by long and severe fasting. When the\nMagian succeeded, as he had done in these days, in rendering himself\nimpervious to the allurements of the senses, and in making his soul, as\nfar as was humanly possible, independent of the body, only then had he\nattained to that degree of godliness which entitled him to have\nintercourse with the heavenly ones and the entire spirit-world as with\nhis equals, and to subdue them to his will.\n\n\"He exerted his power, and we saw with our bodily eyes that the spirits\ncame to his call. But we discovered that it was not done by words alone.\nWhat a noble-looking man he is! And the mortifications that he\npractices--these, too, are heroic deeds! The cavilers in the Museum might\ntake example from him. Serapion performed an action and a difficult one.\nThey waste their time over words, miserable words! They will prove to you\nby convincing argument that yonder lion is a rabbit. The Magian waved his\nhands and the king of beasts cringed before him. Like the worthies of the\nMuseum, every one in this city is merely a mouth on two legs. Where but\nhere would the Christians--I know their doctrines--have invented that\nterm for their sublime teacher--The Word become flesh? I have heard\nnothing here,\" he turned to the deputation, \"but words and again\nwords--from you, who humbly assure me of your love and reverence; from\nthose who think that their insignificant persons may slip through my\nfingers and escape me, paltry, would-be witty words, dipped in poison and\ngall. In the Circus, even, they aimed words at me. The Magian alone dared\nto offer me deeds, and he succeeded wonderfully; he is a marvelous man!\"\n\n\"What he showed you,\" said the high-priest, \"was no more than what the\nsorcerers achieved, as the old writings tell us, under the builders of\nthe Pyramids. Our astrologers, who traced out for you the path of the\nstars--\"\n\n\"They, too,\" interrupted Caesar, bowing slightly to the astrologers,\n\"have something better to show than words. As I owe to the Magian an\nagreeable hour, so I thank you, my friends, for a happy one.\"\n\nThis remark had reference to the information which had been brought to\nCaesar, during a pause in the incantations, that the stars predicted\ngreat happiness for him in his union with Melissa, and that this\nprediction was well-founded, was proved by the constellations which the\nchief astrologer showed and explained to him.\n\nWhile Caracalla was receiving the thanks of the astrologers, he caught\nsight of Alexander, and at once graciously inquired how Melissa had got\nback to her fathers house. He then asked, laughingly, if the wits of\nAlexandria were going to treat him to another offering like the one on\nhis arrival. The youth, who had determined in the Circus to risk his\nlife, if need be, in order to clear himself of the taint of suspicion,\njudged that the moment had come to make good the mistake which had robbed\nhim of his fellow-citizens' esteem.\n\nThe presence of so many witnesses strengthened his courage; and fully\nexpecting that, like the consul Vindex, his speech would cost him his\nhead, he drew himself up and answered gravely, \"It is true, great Caesar,\nthat in a weak moment and without considering the results, I repeated\nsome of those witticisms to you--\"\n\n\"I commanded, and you had to obey,\" retorted Caesar, and added, coldly,\n\"But what does this mean?\"\n\n\"It means,\" began Alexander--who already saw the sword of execution leap\nfrom its scabbard--with pathetic dignity, which astonished the emperor as\ncoming from him, \"it means that I herewith declare before you, and my\nAlexandrian fellow-citizens here present, that I bitterly repent my\nindiscretion; nay, I curse it, since I heard from your own lips how their\nready wit has set you against the sons of my beloved native city.\"\n\n\"Ah, indeed! Hence these tears?\" interposed Caesar, adopting a well-known\nLatin phrase. He nodded to the painter, and continued, in a tone of\namused superiority: \"Go on performing as an orator, if you like; only\nmoderate the tragic tone, which does not become you, and make it short,\nfor before the sun rises we all--these worthy citizens and myself--desire\nto be in bed.\"\n\nBlushes and pallor alternated on the young man's face. Sentence of death\nwould have been more welcome to him than this supercilious check to a\nhazardous attempt, which he had looked upon as daring and heroic. Among\nthe Romans he caught sight of some laughing faces, and hurt, humiliated,\nconfused, scarcely capable of speaking a word, and yet moved by the\ndesire to justify himself, he stammered out: \"I have--I meant to\nassure--No, I am no spy! May my tongue wither before I--You can, of\ncourse--It is in your power to take my life!\"\n\n\"Most certainly it is,\" interposed Caracalla, and his tone was more\ncontemptuous than angry. He could see how deeply excited the artist was,\nand to save him--Melissa's brother-from committing a folly which he would\nbe obliged to punish, he went on with gracious consideration: \"But I much\nprefer to see you live and wield the brush for a long time to come. You\nare dismissed.\"\n\nThe young man bent his head, and then turned his back upon the emperor,\nfor he felt that he was threatened now with what, to an Alexandrian, was\nthe most unbearable fate-to appear ridiculous before so many.\n\nCaracalla allowed him to go, but, as he stepped across the threshold, he\ncalled after him: \"Tomorrow, then, with your sister, after the bath! Tell\nher the stars and the spirits are propitious to our union.\"\n\nCaesar then beckoned to the chief of the nightwatch, and, having laid the\nblame of the unpleasant occurrences in the Circus on his carelessness,\ncut the frightened officer short when he proposed to take every one\nprisoner whom the lictors had marked among the noisy.\n\n\"Not yet! On no account to-morrow,\" Caracalla ordered. \"Mark each one\ncarefully. Keep your eyes open at the next performance. Put down the\nnames of the disaffected. Take care that the rope hangs about the neck of\nthe guilty. The time to draw it tight will come presently. When they\nthink themselves safe, the cowardly show their true faces. Wait till I\ngive the signal--certainly not in the next few days; then seize upon\nthem, and let none escape!\"\n\nCaesar had given these orders with smiling lips. He wanted first to make\nMelissa his, and, like a shepherd, to revel with her in the sweetness of\ntheir love. No moment of this time should be darkened for him by the\ntears and prayers of his bride. When she should hear, later on, of her\nhusband's bloody vengeance upon his enemies, she would have to accept it\nas an accomplished fact; and means, no doubt, would be found to soothe\nher indignation.\n\nThose who after the insulting occurrences in the Circus had expected to\nsee Caesar raging and storming, were hurried from one surprise to\nanother; for even after his conversation with the night-watch he looked\ncheerful and contented, and exclaimed: \"It is long since you have seen me\nthus! My own mirror will ask itself if it has not changed owners. It is\nto be hoped it may have cause to accustom itself to reflect me as a happy\nman as often as I look in it. The two highest joys of life are before me,\nand I know not what would be left for me to desire if only Philostratus\nwere here to share the coming days with me.\"\n\nThe grave senator Cassius Dio here stepped forward and observed that\nthere were advantages in their amiable friend's withdrawal from the\nturmoil of court life. His Life of Apollonius, to which all the world was\nlooking forward, would come all the sooner to a close.\n\n\"If only that I might talk to him of the man of Tyana,\" cried the\nemperor, \"I wish his biographer were here to-day. To possess little and\nrequire nothing is the wish of the sage; and I can well imagine\ncircumstances in which one who has enjoyed power and riches to satiety\nshould consider himself blessed as a simple countryman following out the\nprecept of Horace, 'procul negotiis,' plowing his fields and gathering\nthe fruit of his own trees. According to Apollonius, the wise man must\nalso be poor, and, though the citizens of his state are permitted to\nacquire treasures, the wealthy are looked upon as dishonorable. There is\nsome sense in this paradox, for the possessions that are to be obtained\nwith money are but vulgar joys. I know by experience what it is that\npurifies the soul, that lifts it up and makes it truly blessed. It does\nnot come of power or riches. Whoso has known it, he to whom it has been\nrevealed--\"\n\nHe stopped short, surprised at himself; then laughed as he shook his head\nand exclaimed, \"Behold, the tragedy hero in the purple with one foot in\nan idyl!\" and wished the assembled company pleasant slumbers for the\nshort remains of the night.\n\nHe gave his hand to a few favored ones; but, as he clasped that of the\nproconsul Julius Paulinus, who, with unheard-of audacity, had put on\nmourning garments for his brother-in-law Vindex, beheaded that day,\nCaesar's countenance grew dark, and, turning his back upon them all, he\nwalked rapidly away. Scarcely had he disappeared when the mourning\nproconsul exclaimed in his dry manner, as if speaking to himself:\n\n\"The idyl is to begin. Would it might be the satyr-play that closes the\nbloodiest of tragedies!\"\n\n\"Caesar has not been himself to-day,\" said the favorite Theocritus; and\nthe senator Cassius Dio whispered to Paulinus, \"And therefore he was more\nbearable to look at.\"\n\nOld Adventus gazed in astonishment as Arjuna, the emperor's Indian\nbody-slave, disrobed him; for, though Caracalla had entered the apartment\nwith a dark and threatening brow, while his sandals were being\nunfastened, he laughed to himself, and cried to his old servant with\nbeaming eyes, \"To-morrow!\" and the chamberlain called down a blessing on\nthe morrow, and on her who was destined to fill the coming years with\nsunshine for mighty Caesar.\n\n          ........................\n\nCaracalla, generally an early riser, slept this time longer than on other\ndays. He had retired very late to rest, and the chamberlain therefore put\noff waking him, especially as he had been troubled by evil dreams, in\nspite of his happy frame of mind when he sought his couch. When at last\nhe rose he first inquired about the weather, and expressed his\nsatisfaction when he heard that the sun had risen with burning rays, but\nwas now veiled in threatening clouds.\n\nHis first visit led him to the court of sacrifice. The offerings had\nfallen out most favorably, and he rejoiced at the fresh and healthy\nappearance of the bullocks' hearts and livers which the augurs showed\nhim. In the stomach of one of the oxen they had found a flint arrow-head,\nand, on showing it to Caracalla, he laughed, and observed to the\nhigh-priest Timotheus: \"A shaft from Eros's quiver! A hint from the god\nto offer him a sacrifice on this happy day.\"\n\nAfter his bath he caused himself to be arrayed with peculiar care, and\nthen gave orders for the admittance, first, of the prefect of the\npraetorians, and then of Melissa, for whom a mass of gorgeous flowers\nstood ready.\n\nBut Macrinus was not to be found, although Caesar had commanded him\nyesterday to give in his report before doing anything else. He had twice\ncome to the antechamber, but had gone away again shortly before, and had\nnot yet returned.\n\nDetermined to let nothing damp his spirits, Caesar merely shrugged his\nshoulders, and gave orders to admit the maiden, and--should they have\naccompanied her--her father and brother. But neither Melissa nor the men\nhad appeared as yet, though Caracalla distinctly remembered having\ncommanded all three to visit him after the bath, which he had taken\nseveral hours later than usual.\n\nVexed, and yet endeavoring to keep his temper, he went to the window. The\nsky was overcast, and a sharp wind from the sea drove the first\nrain-drops in his face.\n\nIn the wide square at his feet a spectacle presented itself which would\nhave delighted him at another time, when in better spirits.\n\nThe younger men of the city--as many as were of Greek extraction--were\ntrooping in. They were divided into companies, according to the\nwrestling-schools or the Circus and other societies to which they\nbelonged. The youths marched apart from the married men, and one could\nsee that they came gladly, and hoped for much enjoyment from the events\nof the day. Some of the others looked less delighted. They were\nunaccustomed to obey the orders of a despot, and many were ill-pleased to\nlose a whole day from their work or business. But no one was permitted to\nabsent himself; for, when the chief citizens had invited the emperor to\nvisit their wrestling-schools, he replied that he preferred to inspect\nthe entire male youths of Alexandria in the Stadium. This was situated\nclose by his residence in the Serapeum, and in this great space a\nspectacle would be afforded to him at one glance, which he could\notherwise only enjoy by journeying laboriously from one gymnasium to\nanother. He loved the strong effects produced by great masses; and being\non the race-course, the wrestlers and boxers, the runners and\ndiscus-throwers, could give proof of their strength, dexterity, and\nendurance.\n\nIt occurred to him at the moment that among these youths and men there\nmight be some of the descendants of the warriors who, under the command\nof the great Alexander, had conquered the world. Here, then, was an\nopportunity of gathering round him--rejuvenated and, so to speak, born\nanew--those troops who, under the guidance of the man whose mission on\nearth he was destined to accomplish, had won such deathless victories.\nThat was a pleasure he had every right to permit himself, and he wished\nto show to Melissa the re-created military forces of him to whom, in a\nformer existence, as Roxana, she had been so dear.\n\nQuick as ever to suit the deed to the word, he at once ordered the head\ncitizens to assemble the youth of Alexandria on the morning of the day in\nquestion, and to form them into a Macedonian phalanx. He wished to\ninspect them in the stadium, and they were now marching thither.\n\nHe had ordered helmets, shields, and lances to be made after well-known\nMacedonian patterns and to be distributed to the new Hellenic legion.\nLater on they might be intrusted with the guarding of the city, should\nthere be a Parthian war; and he required the attendance of the\nAlexandrian garrison.\n\nThe inspection of this Greek regiment would be certain to give pleasure\nto Melissa. He expected, too, to see Alexander among them. When once his\nbeloved shared the purple with him, he could raise her brother to the\ncommand of this chosen phalanx.\n\nTroop after troop streamed on to the course, and he thought he had seldom\nseen anything finer than these slender youths, marching along with\nelastic step, and garlands in their black, brown, or golden locks.\n\nWhen the young noblemen who belonged to the school of Timagetes filed\npast him, he took such delight in the beauty of their heads, the\nwonderful symmetry of their limbs strengthened by athletic games, and the\nsupple grace of most of them, that he felt as if some magic spell had\ncarried him back to the golden age of Greece and the days of the Olympian\ngames in the Altis.\n\nWhat could be keeping Melissa? This sight would assuredly please her, and\nfor once he would be able to say something flattering about her people.\nOne might easily overlook a good deal from such splendid youths.\n\nCarried away by his admiration he waved his scarf to them, which being\nremarked by the gymnasiarch, who with his two assistants-herculean\nathletes--walked in front, was answered by him with a loud \"Hail,\nCaesar!\"\n\nThe youths who followed him imitated his example, and the troop that came\nafter them returned his greeting loud and heartily. The young voices\ncould be heard from afar, and the news soon spread to the last ranks of\nthe first division to whom these greetings were addressed. But, among the\nmen who already were masters of households of their own, there were many\nwho deemed it shameful and unworthy to raise their voices in greeting to\nthe tyrant whose heavy hand had oppressed them more than once; and a\ngroup of young men belonging to the party of the \"Greens,\" who ran their\nown horses, had the fatal audacity to agree among themselves that they\nwould leave Caesar's greeting unanswered. A many-headed crowd is like a\nrow of strings which sound together as soon as the note is struck to\nwhich they are all attuned; and so each one now felt sure that his\nacclamation would only increase the insolence of this fratricide, this\nbloodstained monster, this oppressor and enemy of the citizens. The\nsucceeding ranks of \"Greens\" followed the example, and from the midst of\na troop of young married men, members in the gymnasium of the society of\nthe Dioscuri, one foolhardy spirit had the reckless temerity to blow a\nshrill, far-sounding whistle between his fingers.\n\nHe found no imitators, but the insulting sound reached the emperor's ear,\nand seemed to him like the signal-call of Fate; for, before it had died\naway, the clouds broke, and a stream of brilliant sunshine spread over\nthe race-course and the assembled multitude. The cloudy day that was to\nhave brought happiness to Caesar had been suddenly transformed by the sun\nof Africa into a bright one; and the radiant light which cheered the\nhearts of others seemed to him to be a message from above to warn him\nthat, instead of the highest bliss, this day would bring him\ndisappointment and misfortune. He said nothing of this, for there was no\none there in whom it would be any relief to confide, or of whose sympathy\nhe could be sure. But those who watched him as he retired from the window\nsaw plainly that the idyl, which he had promised them should begin\nto-day, would assuredly not do so for the next few hours at least, unless\nsome miracle should occur. No, he would have to wait awhile for the\npastoral joys he had promised himself. And it seemed as if, instead of\nthe satyr-play of which old Julius Paulinus had spoken, that fatal\nwhistle had given the signal for another act in Caracalla's terrible\nlife-tragedy.\n\nThe \"friends\" of the emperor looked at him anxiously as, with furrowed\nbrow, he asked, impatiently: \"Macrinus not here yet?\"\n\nTheocritus and others who had looked with envy upon Melissa and her\nrelatives, and with distrust upon her union with the emperor, now\nheartily wished the girl back again.\n\nBut the prefect Macrinus came not; and while the emperor, having sent\nmessengers to fetch Melissa, turned with darkly boding brow to his\nstation overlooking the brightly lighted race-course, still hoping the\naugury would prove false, and the sunny day turn yet in his favor,\nMacrinus was in the full belief that the gate of greatness and power was\nopening to him. Superstitious as the emperor himself and every one else\nof his time, he was to-day more firmly persuaded than ever of the\nexistence of men whose mysterious wisdom gave them powers to which even\nhe must bend--the hard-headed man who had raised himself from the lowest\nto the highest station, next to the Caesar himself.\n\nIn past nights the Magian Serapion had caused him to see and hear much\nthat was incomprehensible. He believed in the powers exerted by that\nremarkable man over spirits, and his ability to work miracles, for he had\nproved in the most startling manner that he had perfect control even over\nsuch a determined mind as that of the prefect. The evening before, the\nmagician had bidden Macrinus come to him at the third hour after sunrise\nof the next day, which he had unhesitatingly promised to do. But the\nemperor had risen later than usual this morning, and the prefect might\nexpect to be called to his master at any moment. In spite of this, and\nalthough his absence threatened to rouse Caesar to fury, and everything\npointed to the necessity of his remaining within call, Macrinus, drawn by\nan irresistible craving, had followed the invitation, which sounded more\nlike a command. This, indeed, had seemed to him decisive; for, as the\nseer ruled over his stern spirit, albeit he was alive, even so must the\nspirits of the departed do his bidding. His every interest urged him now\nto believe in the prophecy made to him by Serapion, to-day for the third\ntime, which foretold that he, the prefect, should mount the throne of the\nCaesars, clad in the purple of Caracalla. But it was not alone to repeat\nthis prophecy that the seer had called Macrinus to him, but to inform him\nthat the future empress was betrothed to a young Alexandrian, and that\nthe tender intercourse between the lovers had not been interrupted during\nCaracalla's courtship. This had come to Serapion's ears yesterday\nafternoon, through his adroit assistant Kastor, and he had taken\nadvantage of the information to prepare Caesar during the night for the\nfaithlessness of his chosen bride.\n\nThe Magian assured the prefect that what the spirit of the great\nMacedonian had hinted at yesterday had since been confirmed by the demons\nin his service. It would now be easy for Macrinus to possibly hinder\nMelissa, who might have been all-powerful, from coming between him and\nthe great goal which the spirits had set before him.\n\nSerapion then repeated the prophecy, which came with such convincing\npower from the bearded lips of the sage that the prudent statesman cast\nhis last doubts from him, and, exclaiming, \"I believe your words, and\nshall press forward now in spite of every danger!\" he grasped the\nprophet's hand in farewell.\n\nUp to this point Macrinus, the son of a poor cobbler, who had had\ndifficulty in rearing his children at all, had received these prophetic\nutterances with cool deliberation, and had ventured no step nearer to the\nexalted aim which had been offered to his ambition. In all good faith he\nhad done his best to perform the duties of his office as an obedient\nservant to his master and the state. This had all changed now, and,\nfirmly resolved to risk the struggle for the purple, he returned to the\nemperor's apartments.\n\nMacrinus had no reason to expect a favorable reception when he entered\nthe tablinum, but his great purpose upheld his courage. He, the upstart,\nwas well aware that Fortune requires her favorites to keep their eyes\nopen and their hands active. He therefore took care to obtain a full\naccount of what had happened from his confidential friend the senator\nAntigonus, a soldier of mean birth, who had gained favor with Caesar by a\ndaring piece of horsemanship. Antigonus closed his report with the\nimpudent whistle of the Greek athlete; he dwelt chiefly on his\nastonishment at Melissa's absence. This gave food for thought to the\nprefect, too; but before entering the tablinum he was stopped by the\nfreedman Epagathos, who handed over to him a scroll which had been given\nto him for the emperor. The messenger had disappeared directly afterward,\nand could not be overtaken. Might it not endanger the life of the reader\nby exhaling a poisonous perfume?\n\n\"Nothing is impossible here,\" answered the prefect. \"Ours it is to watch\nover the safety of our godlike master.\"\n\nThis letter was that which Melissa had intrusted to the slave Argutis for\nCaesar, and with unwarrantable boldness the prefect and Epagathos now\nopened it and ran rapidly over its contents. They then agreed to keep\nthis strange missive from the emperor till Macrinus should send to ask\nwhether the youths were assembled in their full number on the\nrace-course. They judged it necessary to prepare Caesar in some sort, to\nprevent a fresh attack of illness.\n\nCaracalla was standing near a pillar at the window whence he might see\nwithout being seen. That whistle still shrilled in his ears. But another\nidea occupied him so intensely that he had not yet thought of wiping out\nthe insult with blood.\n\nWhat could be delaying Melissa and her father and brother?\n\nThe painter ought to have joined the other Macedonian youths on the\nrace-course, and Caracalla was engaged in looking out for him, stretching\nforward every time he caught sight of some curly head that rose above the\nothers.\n\nThere was a bitter taste in his mouth, and at every fresh disappointment\nhis rebellious, tortured heart beat faster; and yet the idea that Melissa\nmight have dared to flee from him never entered his mind.\n\nThe high-priest of Serapis had informed him that his wife had seen\nnothing of her as yet. Then it suddenly occurred to him that she might\nhave been wet through by the rain yesterday and now lay shaken by fever,\nand that this must keep her father away, too; a supposition which cheered\nthe egoist more than it pained him, and with a sigh of relief he turned\nonce more to the window.\n\nHow haughtily these boys carried their heads; their fleet, elastic feet\nskimmed over the ground; how daringly they showed off the strength and\ndexterity that almost seemed their birthright! This reminded him that,\nprematurely aged as he was by the wild excesses of his younger years,\nwith his ill-set broken leg and his thin locks, he must make a lamentable\ncontrast to these others of his own age; and he said to himself that\nperhaps the whistle had come from the lips of one of the strongest and\nhandsomest, who had not considered him worth greeting.\n\nAnd yet he was not weaker than any single individual down there; aye, and\nif he chose he could crush them all together, as he would the glow-worm\ncreeping on that window-sill. With one quick squeeze of his fingers he\nput an end to the pretty little insect, and at that moment he heard\nvoices behind him.\n\nHad his beloved come at last?\n\nNo, it was only the prefect. He should have been there long ago, if he\nwere obedient to his sovereign's commands. Macrinus was therefore a\nconvenient object on which to vent his anger. How mean was the face of\nthis long-legged upstart, with its small eyes, sharp nose, and furrowed\nbrow! Could the beautiful Diadumenianus really be his son? No matter! The\nboy, the apple of his father's eye, was in his power, and was a surety\nfor the old man's loyalty. After all, Macrinus was a capable, serviceable\nofficer, and easier to deal with than the Romans of the old noble\nfamilies.\n\nNotwithstanding these considerations, Caracalla addressed the prefect as\nharshly as if he had been a disobedient slave, but Macrinus received the\nflood of abuse with patience and humility. When the emperor reproached\nhim with never being at hand when he was wanted, he replied submissively\nthat it was just because he found he could be of service to Caesar that\nhe had dared to absent himself. The refractory young brood down there\nwere being kept well in hand, and it was entirely owing to his effectual\nmeasures that they had contented themselves with that one whistle. Later\non it would be their duty to punish such audacity and high-treason with\nthe utmost rigor.\n\nThe emperor gazed in astonishment at the counselor, who till now had ever\nadvised him to use moderation, and only yesterday had begged him to\nascribe much to Alexandrian manners, which in Rome would have had to be\ntreated with severity. Had the insolence of these unruly citizens be come\nunbearable even to this prudent, merciful man?\n\nYes, that must be it; and the grudge that Macrinus now showed against the\nAlexandrians hastened the pardon which Caesar silently accorded him.\n\nCaracalla even said to himself that he had underrated the prefect's\nintellect, for his eyes flashed and glowed like fire, notwithstanding\ntheir smallness, and lending a force to his ignoble face which Caracalla\nhad never noticed before. Had Caesar no premonition that in the last few\nhours this man had grown to be such another as himself?--for in his\nunyielding mind the firm resolve had been strengthened to hesitate at\nnothing--not even at the death of as many as might come between him and\nhis high aim, the throne.\n\nMacrinus knew enough of human nature to observe the miserable disquietude\nthat had seized upon the emperor at his bride's continued absence, but he\ntook good care not to refer to the subject. When Caracalla, however,\ncould no longer conceal his anxiety, and asked after her himself, the\nprefect gave the appointed sign to Epagathos, who then handed Melissa's\nfreshly re-sealed letter to his master.\n\n\"Let me open it, great Caesar,\" entreated Macrinus. \"Even Homer called\nEgypt the land of poison.\"\n\nBut the emperor did not heed him. No one had told him, and he had never\nin his life received a letter in a woman's hand, except from his mother;\nand yet he knew that this delicate little roll had come from a\nwoman--from Melissa.\n\nIt was closed with a silken thread, and the seal with which Epagathos had\nreplaced the one they had broken. If Caracalla tore it open, the papyrus\nand the writing might be damaged. He called impatiently for a knife, and\nthe body physician, who had just entered with other courtiers, handed him\nhis.\n\n\"Back again?\" asked Caracalla as the physician drew the blade from its\nsheath.\n\n\"At break of day, on somewhat unsteady legs,\" was the jovial answer.\nCaracalla took the knife from him, cut the silk, hastily broke the seal,\nand began to read.\n\nTill now his hands had performed their office steadily, but suddenly they\nbegan to tremble, and while he ran his eye over Melissa's refusal--there\nwere but a few lines-his knees shook, and a sharp, low cry burst from\nhim, like no sound that lies by nature in the throat of man. Rent in two\npieces, the strip of papyrus fluttered to the ground.\n\nThe prefect caught the despot, who, seized with giddiness, stretched out\nhis hands as if seeking a support. The physician hurriedly brought out\nthe drug which Galenus had advised him to use in such cases, and which he\nalways carried with him, and then, pointing to the letter, asked the\nprefect:\n\n\"In the name of all the gods, from whom?\"\n\n\"From the gem-cutter's fair daughter,\" replied Macrinus, with a\ncontemptuous shrug.\n\n\"From her?\" cried the physician, indignantly. From that light Phryne, who\nkissed and embraced my rich host's son down there in his sick-room?\n\n\"At this the emperor, who had not lost consciousness for one moment,\nstarted as if stung by a serpent, and sprang at the physician's throat\nscreaming while he threatened to strangle him:\n\n\"What was that? What did you say? Cursed babbler! The truth, villain, and\nthe whole truth, if you love your life!\"\n\nThe half-choked man, ever prone to talking, had no reason for concealing\nfrom Caesar what he had seen with his own eyes, and had subsequently\nheard in the Serapeum and at the table of Polybius.\n\nWhen life was at stake a promise to a freedman could be of no account, so\nhe gave free rein to his tongue, and answered the questions Caracalla\nhoarsely put to him without reserve, and--being a man used to the ways of\na court--with insinuations that were doubly welcome to a judge so eager\nfor damning evidence.\n\nYesterday, the day before, and the day before that--every day on which\nMelissa had pretended to feel the mysterious ties that bound her heart to\nhis, every day that she had feigned love and led him on to woo her, she\nhad--as he now learned--granted to another what she had refused to him\nwith such stern discretion. Her prayer for him, the sympathy she said she\nfelt, the maidenly sensibility which had charmed him in her--all, all had\nbeen lies, deceit, sham, in order to attain an object. And that old man\nand the brothers to serve whom she had dared to approach him--they all\nknew the cruel game she was playing with him and his heart's love. The\nlips that had lured him into the vilest trap with lying words had kissed\nanother. He seemed to hear the Alexandrians laughing at the forsaken\nbridegroom, to see them pointing the finger of derision at the man whom\ncunning woman had deceived even before marriage. What a feast for their\nribald wit!\n\nAnd yet--he would have willingly borne it all, and more, for the\ncertainty that she had really loved him once; that her heart had been\nhis, if only for one short hour.\n\nOn those shreds of papyrus scattered over the floor she confessed she was\nnot able to accede to his wishes, because she had already given her faith\nto another before she ever saw Caracalla. It was true she had felt\nherself drawn to him as to no other but her betrothed; and had he been\ncontent to let her be near him as a faithful servant and sicknurse, then\nindeed . . . In short, he was informed in so many words that every tie\nthat bound her to him must be broken in favor of another, and the\nhypocritical regret with which she sought to cover up the hard facts only\nmade him doubly indignant.\n\nLies, lies--even in this letter nothing but lies and heartless\ndissimulation!\n\nHow it stabbed his heart! But he possessed the power to wound her in\nreturn. Wild beasts should tear her fair body limb from limb, as she had\ntorn his soul in this hour.\n\nOne wish alone filled his heart--to see her whom he had loved above all\nothers, to whom he had revealed his inmost soul, for whose sake he had\namended his actions as he had never done for his own mother--to see her\nlying in the dust before him, and to inflict upon her such tortures as no\nmortal had ever endured before. And not only she, but all whom she loved\nand who were her accomplices, should atone for the torment of this hour.\nThe time of reckoning had come, and every evil instinct of his nature\nmingled its exulting voice with the anguished cries of his bleeding\nheart.\n\nThe prefect knew his master well, and watched his every expression while\napparently listening to the voluble physician, but in reality absorbed in\na train of thought. By the twitching of his eyelids, the sharply outlined\nred patches on his cheeks, the quivering nostrils, and the deep furrows\nbetween his eyes, he must be revolving some frightful plan in his mind.\n\nYesterday, had he found him in this condition, Macrinus would have\nendeavored by every means in his power to calm his wrath; but to-day, if\nCaesar had set the world in flames, he would only have added fuel to the\nfire, for who could more surely upset the firmly established power of\nthis emperor and son of emperors as Caracalla himself? The people of Rome\nhad endured unimaginable sufferings at his hands; but the cup was full,\nand, judging from Caesar's looks, he would cause it to overflow this day.\nThen the rising flood which tore the son of an idolized father from the\nthrone, might possibly bear him, the child of lowliness and poverty, into\nthe palace.\n\nBut Macrinus remained silent. No word from him should change the tenor of\nthe emperor's thoughts. The plan he was thinking out must be allowed to\nripen to its full horror. The lowering, uncertain glance that Caracalla\ncast round the tablinum at the close of the physician's narrative showed\nthat the prefect's reticence was an unnecessary precaution.\n\nCaesar's mind and tongue still seemed paralyzed; but at that moment\nsomething occurred which recalled him to himself and brought firmness to\nhis wandering gaze.\n\nThere was a sudden disturbance in the antechamber, with a confused sound\nof cries and shouting. Those friends of Caesar who wore swords drew them,\nand Caracalla, who was unarmed, called to Antigonus to give him his.\n\n\"A revolt?\" he asked Macrinus with flashing eyes, and as if he wished the\nanswer to be in the affirmative; but the prefect had hastened to the door\nwith drawn sword. Before he reached it, it was thrown open, and Julius\nAsper, the legate, burst into the tablinum as if beside himself, crying:\n\"Cursed den of murderers! An attempt on your life, great Caesar; but we\nhave him fast!\"\n\n\"Assassination!\" interrupted Caracalla with furious joy. \"That was the\nonly thing left undone! Bring the murderer! But first\"--and he addressed\nhimself to Aristides--\"close the city gates and the harbor. Not a man,\nnot a ship must be let through without being searched. The vessels that\nhave weighed anchor since daybreak must be followed and brought back.\nMounted Numidians under efficient officers must scour the high-roads as\nsoon as the gate-keepers have been examined. Every house must be open to\nyour men, every temple, every refuge. Seize Heron, the gem-cutter, his\ndaughter, and his two sons. Also--Diodoros is the young villain's\nname?--him, his parents, and everybody connected with them! The physician\nknows where they are to be found. Alive, do you hear?--not dead! I will\nhave them alive! I give you till midnight! Your head, if you let the jade\nand her brothers escape!\"\n\nWith drooping head the unhappy officer departed. On the threshold he was\nmet by Martialis, the praetorian centurion. After him, his hands bound\nbehind his back, walked the criminal. A deep flush overspread his\nhandsome face, his eyes glowed under the too lofty brow with the fierce\nlight of fever, his waving locks stood out in wild confusion round his\nhead, while the finely cut upper lip with its disdainful curl seemed the\nvery seat of scorn and bitterest contempt. Every feature wore that same\nexpression, and not a trace of fear or regret. But his panting breast\nbetrayed to the physician's first glance that they had here to deal with\na sick man in raging fever.\n\nThey had already torn off his mantle and discovered beneath its folds the\nsharp-edged butcher's knife which plainly betrayed his intentions. He had\npenetrated to the first antechamber when a soldier of the Germanic\nbody-guard laid hold on him. Martialis had him by the girdle now, and the\nemperor looked sharply and mistrustfully at the praetorian, as he asked\nif it were he who had captured the assassin.\n\nThe centurion replied that he had not. Ingiomarus, the German, had\nnoticed the knife; he, Martialis, was here only in right of his privilege\nas a praetorian to bring such prisoners before great Caesar.\n\nCaracalla bent a searching gaze upon the soldier; for he thought he\nrecognized in him the man who had aroused his envy and whose happiness he\nhad once greatly desired to damp, when against orders he had received his\nwife and child in the camp. Recollections rose in his mind that drove the\nhot blood to his cheek, and he cried, disdainfully:\n\n\"I might have guessed it! What can be expected beyond the letter of their\nservice from one who so neglects his duties? Did you not disport yourself\nwith lewd women in the camp before my very eyes, setting at naught the\nwell-known rules? Hands off the prisoner! This is your last day as\npraetorian and in Alexandria. As soon as the harbor is opened--to-morrow,\nI expect--you go on board the ship that carries reinforcements to Edessa.\nA winter on the Pontus will cool your lascivious blood.\"\n\nThis attack was so rapid and so unexpected to the somewhat dull-witted\ncenturion, that he failed at first to grasp its full significance. He\nonly understood that he was to be banished again from the loved ones he\nhad so long been deprived of. But when he recovered sufficiently to\nexcuse himself by declaring that it was his own wife and children who had\nvisited him, Caesar cut him short by commanding him to report his change\nof service at once to the tribune of the legion.\n\nThe centurion bowed in silence and obeyed. Caracalla then went up to the\nprisoner, and dragging him, weakly resisting, from the dark back ground\nof the room to the window, he asked with a sneer:\n\n\"And what are assassins like in Alexandria? Ah, ha! this is not the face\nof a hired cut-throat! Only thus do they look whose sharp wit I will\nanswer with still sharper steel.\"\n\n\"For that answer at least you are not wont to be at a loss,\" came\ncontemptuously from the lips of the prisoner.\n\nThe emperor winced as if he had been struck, and then exclaimed\n\n\"You may thank your bound hands that I do not instantly return you the\nanswer you seem to expect of me.\"\n\nThen turning to his courtiers, he asked if any of them could give him\ninformation as to the name and history of the assassin; but no one\nappeared to know him. Even Timotheus, the priest of Serapis, who as head\nof the Museum had so often delighted in the piercing intellect of this\nyouth, and had prophesied a great future for him, was silent, and looked\nat him with troubled gaze.\n\nIt was the prisoner himself who satisfied Caesar's curiosity. Glancing\nround the circle of courtiers, and casting a grateful look at his\npriestly patron, he said:\n\n\"It would be asking too much of your Roman table-companions that they\nshould know a philosopher. You may spare yourself the question, Caesar. I\ncame here that you might make my acquaintance. My name is Philippus, and\nI am son to Heron, the gem-cutter.\"\n\n\"Her brother!\" screamed Caracalla, as he rushed at him, and thrusting his\nhand into the neck of the sick youth's chiton--who already could scarcely\nstand upon his feet--he shook him violently, crying, with a scoffing look\nat the high-priest:\n\n\"And is this the ornament of the Museum, the free-thinker, the profound\nskeptic Philippus?\"\n\nHe stopped suddenly, and his eyes flashed as if a new light had burst\nupon him; he dropped his hand from the prisoner's robe, and bending his\nhead close to the other, he whispered in his ear, \"You have come from\nMelissa?\"\n\n\"Not from her,\" the other answered quickly, the flush deepening on his\nface, \"but in the name of that most unhappy, most pitiable maiden, and as\nthe representative of her noble Macedonian house, which you would defile\nwith shame and infamy; in the name of the inhabitants of this city, whom\nyou despoil and tread under foot; in the interests of the whole world,\nwhich you disgrace!\"\n\nTrembling with fury Caracalla broke in:\n\n\"Who would choose you for their ambassador, miserable wretch?\"\n\nTo which the philosopher replied with haughty calm:\n\n\"Think not so lightly of one who looks forward with longing to that of\nwhich you have an abject fear.\"\n\n\"Of death, do you mean?\" asked Caracalla, sneering, for his wrath had\ngiven place to astonishment.\n\nAnd Philip answered: \"Yes, Death--with whom I have sworn friendship, and\nwho should be ten times blessed to me if he would but atone for my\nclumsiness and rid the world of such a monster!\"\n\nThe emperor, still spell-bound by the unheard-of audacity of the youth\nbefore him, now felt moved to keep step with the philosopher, whom few\ncould equal in sharpness of wit; and, controlling the raging fury of his\nblood, he cried, in a tone of superiority:\n\n\"So that is the boasted logic of the Museum? Death is your dearest\ndesire, and yet you would give it to your enemy?\"\n\n\"Quite right,\" replied Philip, his lip curling with scorn. \"For there is\nsomething which to the philosopher stands higher than logic. It is a\nstranger to you, but you know it perhaps by name--it is called justice.\"\n\nThese words, and the contemptuous tone in which they were spoken, burst\nthe flood-gates of Caracalla's painfully restrained passion; his voice\nrose harsh and loud, till the lion growled angrily and dragged at his\nchain, while his master flung hasty words of fury in the face of his\nenemy:\n\n\"We shall soon see, my cunning fencer with words, whether I know how to\nfollow your advice, and how sternly I can exercise that virtue denied to\nme by an assassin. Will any one accuse me now of injustice if I punish\nthe accursed brood that has grown up in this den of iniquity with all the\nrigor that it deserves? Yes, glare at me with those great, burning eyes!\nAlexandrian eyes, promising all and granting nothing--persuading him who\ntrusts in them to believe in innocence and chastity, truth and affection.\nBut let him look closer, and he finds nothing but deep corruption, foul\ncunning, despicable self-seeking, and atrocious faithlessness!\n\n\"And everything else in this city is like those eyes! Where are there so\nmany gods and priests, where do they sacrifice so often, where do they\nfast and apply themselves so assiduously to repentance and the cleansing\nof the soul? And yet, where does vice display itself so freely and so\nunchecked? This Alexandria--in her youth as dissolute as she was\nfair--what is she now but an old hag? Now that she is toothless, now that\nwrinkles disfigure her face, she has turned pious, that, like the wolf in\nsheep's clothing, she may revenge herself by malice for the loss of joy\nand of the admiration of her lovers! I can find no more striking\ncomparison than this; for, even as hags find a hideous pleasure in empty\nchatter and spiteful slanderings, so she, once so beautiful and renowned,\nhas sunk deeper and deeper in the mire, and can not endure to see\nanything that has achieved greatness or glory without maliciously\nbespattering it with poison.\n\n\"Justice!--yes, I will exercise justice, oh, sublime and virtuous hero,\ngoing forth to murder--a dagger hidden in your bosom! I thank you for\nthat lesson!\n\n\"Pride of the Museum!--you lead me to the source whence all your\ncorruption flows. It is that famous nursery of learning where you, too,\nwere bred up. There, yes, there they cherish the heresy that makes the\ngods into puppets of straw, and the majesty of the throne into an owl for\npert and insignificant birds to peck at. Thence comes the doctrine that\nteaches men and women to laugh at virtue and to break their word. There,\nwhere in other days noble minds, protected by the overshadowing favor of\nprinces, followed out great ideas, they now teach nothing but\nwords--empty, useless words. I saw and said that yesterday, and now I\nknow it for certain--every poison shaft that your malice has aimed at me\nwas forged in the Museum.\"\n\nHe paused for breath, and then continued, with a contemptuous laugh:\n\n\"If the justice which you rate higher than logic were to take its course,\nnothing would be juster than to make an end this day of this hot-bed of\ncorruption. But your unlearned fellow-citizens shall taste of my justice,\ntoo. You yourself will be prevented by the beasts in the Circus from\nlooking on at the effect your warning words have produced. But as yet you\nare alive, and you shall hear what the experiences are which make the\nseverest measures the highest justice.\n\n\"What did I hope to find, and what have I really found? I heard the\nAlexandrians praised for their hospitality--for the ardor with which they\npursue learning--for the great proficiency of their astronomers--for the\npiety which has raised so many altars and invented so many doctrines;\nand, lastly, for the beauty and fine wit of their women.\n\n\"And this hospitality! All that I have known of it is a flood of\nmalicious abuse and knavish scoffing, which penetrated even to the gates\nof this temple, my dwelling. I came here as emperor, and treason pursued\nme wherever I went--even into my own apartments; for there you stand,\nwhom a barbarian had to hinder from stabbing me with the knife of the\nassassin. And your learning? You have heard my opinion of the Museum. And\nthe astrologers of this renowned observatory? The very opposite of all\nthey promised me has come to pass.\n\n\"Religion? The people, of whom you know as little from the musty volumes\nof the Museum as of 'Ultima Thule'--the people indeed practice it. The\nold gods are necessary to them. They are the bread of life to them. But\ninstead of those you have offered them sour, unripe fruit, with a\nglittering rind-from your own garden, of your own growing. The fruit of\ntrees is a gift from Nature, and all that she brings forth has some good\nin it; but what you offer to the world is hollow and poisonous. Your\nrhetoric gives it an attractive exterior, and that, too, comes from the\nMuseum. There they are shrewd enough to create new gods, which start up\nout of the earth like mushrooms. If it should only occur to them, they\nwould raise murder to the dignity of god of gods, and you to be his\nhigh-priest.\"\n\n\"That would be your office,\" interposed the philosopher.\n\n\"You shall see,\" returned the emperor, laughing shrilly, \"and the\nwitlings of the Museum with you! You use the knife; but hear the words of\nthe master: The teeth of wild beasts and their claws are weapons not to\nbe despised. Your father and brother, and she who taught me what to think\nof the virtue and faith of Alexandrian women, shall tell you this in\nHades. Soon shall every one of those follow you thither who forgot, even\nby a glance of the eye, that I was Caesar and a guest of this city! After\nthe next performance in the Circus the offenders shall tell you in the\nother world how I administer justice. No later than the day after\nto-morrow, I imagine, you may meet there with several companions from the\nMuseum. There will be enough to clap applause at the disputations!\"\nCaracalla ended his vehement speech with a jeering laugh, and looked\nround eagerly for applause from the \"friends\" for whose benefit his last\nwords had been spoken; and it was offered so energetically as to drown\nthe philosopher's reply.\n\nBut Caracalla heard it, and when the noise subsided he asked his\ncondemned victim:\n\n\"What did you mean by your exclamation, 'And yet I would that death might\nspare me'?\"\n\n\"In order, if that should come true,\" returned the philosopher quickly,\nhis voice trembling with indignation, \"that I might be a witness of the\ngrim mockery with which the all-requiting gods will destroy you, their\ndefender.\"\n\n\"The gods!\" laughed the emperor. \"My respect for your logic grows less\nand less. You, the skeptic, expect the deeds of a mortal man from the\ngods whose existence you deny!\"\n\nThen cried Philip, and his great eyes burning with hatred and indignation\nsought the emperor's: \"Till this hour I was sure of nothing, and\ntherefore uncertain of the existence of a god; but now I believe firmly\nthat Nature, by whom everything is carried out according to everlasting,\nimmutable laws, and who casts out and destroys anything that threatens to\nbring discord into the harmonious workings of all her parts, would of her\nown accord bring forth a god, if there be not one already, who should\ncrush you, the destroyer of life and peace, in his all-powerful hand!\"\n\nHere his wild outburst of indignation was brought to an abrupt close, for\na furious blow from Caracalla's fist sent his enfeebled enemy staggering\nback against the wall near the window.\n\nMad with rage, Caracalla shrieked hoarsely\n\n\"To the beasts with him! No, not to the beasts--to the torture! He and\nhis sister! The punishment I have bethought me of--scum of the earth--\"\n\nBut the wild despair of the other, in whose breast hatred and fever\nburned with equal strength, now reached the highest pitch. Like a hunted\ndeer which stays its flight for a moment to find an outlet or to turn\nupon his pursuers, he gazed wildly round him, and before the emperor\ncould finish his threat; leaning against the pillar of the window as if\nprepared to receive his death-blow, he interrupted Caracalla:\n\n\"If your dull wit can invent no death to satisfy your cruelty, the\nblood-hound Zminis can aid you. You are a worthy couple. Curses on\nyou! . . .\n\n\"At him!\" yelled the emperor to Macrinus and the legate, for no\nsubstitute had appeared for the centurion he had dismissed.\n\nBut while the nobles advanced warily upon the madman, and Macrinus called\nto the Germanic body-guard in the anteroom, Philip had turned like\nlightning and disappeared through the window.\n\nThe legates and Caesar came too late to hold him back, and from below\ncame cries of: \"Crushed!--dead! . . . What crime has he committed? They\ncast him down! . . . He can not have done it himself . . . Impossible!\n. . . His arms are bound. . . . A new manner of death invented specially\nfor the Alexandrians!\"\n\nThen another whistle sounded, and the shout, \"Down with the tyrant!\"\n\nBut no second cry followed. The place was too full of soldiers and\nlictors.\n\n\"Caracalla heard it all. He turned back into the room, wiped the\nperspiration from his brow, and said in a voice of studied unconcern, yet\nwith horrible harshness:\n\n\"He deserved his death-ten times over. However, I have to thank him for a\ngood suggestion. I had forgotten the Egyptian Zminis. If he is still\nalive, Macrinus, take him from his dungeon and bring him here. But\nquickly--in a chariot! Let him come just as he is. I can make use of him\nnow.\"\n\nThe prefect bowed assent, and by the rapidity with which he departed he\nbetrayed how willingly he carried out this order of his master's.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Possess little and require nothing\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 11.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nScarcely had Macrinus closed the door behind him, when Caracalla threw\nhimself exhausted on the throne, and ordered wine to brought.\n\nThe gloomy gaze he bent upon the ground was not affected this time. The\nphysician noted with anxiety how his master's breast heaved and his\neyelids quivered; but when he offered Caesar a soothing potion, he waved\nhim away, and commanded him to cease from troubling him.\n\nFor all that, he listened a little later to the legate, who brought the\nnews that the youths of the city assembled on the race-course were\nbeginning to be impatient. They were singing and applauding boisterously,\nand the songs they so loudly insisted on having repeated would certainly\nnot contain matter flattering to the Romans.\n\n\"Leave them alone,\" answered Caesar, roughly. \"Every line is aimed at me\nand no other. But the condemned are always allowed their favorite meal\nbefore the last journey. The food they love is venomous satire. Let them\nenjoy it to the full once more!--Is it far to Zminis's prison?\"\n\nThe reply was in the negative; and as Caracalla exclaimed, \"So much the\nbetter!\" a significant smile played on his lips.\n\nThe high-priest of Serapis had looked on in much distress of mind. He, as\nthe head of the Museum, had set high hopes on the youth who had come to\nsuch a terrible end. If Caesar should carry his threats into execution,\nthere would be an end to that celebrated home of learning which, in his\nopinion, bore such noble fruits of study. And what could Caracalla mean\nby his dark saying that the sport and mockery of those youths below was\ntheir last meal? The worst might indeed be expected from the fearful\ntyrant who was at once so deeply wounded and so grievously offended; and\nthe high-priest had already sent messengers--Greeks of good credit--to\nwarn the insurgent youths in the stadium. But, as the chief minister of\nthe divinity, he also esteemed it his duty, at any risk to himself, to\nwarn the despot, whom he saw on the verge of being carried away to deeds\nof unparalleled horror. He thought the time had come, when Caracalla\nlooked up from the brooding reverie into which he had again sunk, and\nwith an ominous scowl asked Timotheus whether his wife, under whose\nprotection Melissa had been seen the day before, had known that the\nfalse-hearted girl had given herself to another man while she feigned\nlove for him.\n\nThe high-priest repelled the suspicion with his usual dignity, and went\non to adjure Caesar not to visit on an industrious and dutiful community\nthe sins of a light-minded girl's base folly and falsehood.\n\nBut Caracalla would not suffer him to finish; he wrathfully inquired who\nhad given him a right to force his advice on Caesar.\n\nOn this Timotheus replied, with calm dignity:\n\n\"Your own noble words, great Caesar, when, to your honor be it spoken,\nyou reminded the misguided skeptic of the true meaning of the old gods\nand of what is due to them. The god whom I serve, great Caesar, is second\nto none: the heavens are his head, the ocean is his body, and the earth\nhis feet; the sunshine is the light of his all-seeing eye, and everything\nwhich stirs in the heart or brain of man is an emanation of his divine\nspirit. Thus he is the all-pervading soul of the universe, and a portion\nof that soul dwells in you, in me, in all of us. His power is greater\nthan any power on earth, and, though a well-grounded wrath and only too\njust indignation urge you to exert the power lent you by him--\"\n\n\"And I will exert it!\" Caesar exclaimed with haughty rage. \"It reaches\nfar. I need no help, not even that of your god!\"\n\n\"That I know,\" replied Timotheus. \"And the god will let those fall into\nyour hands who have sinned against your sacred majesty. Any punishment,\neven the severest, will be pleasing in his sight which you may inflict on\nthose guilty of high-treason, for you wear the purple as his gift and in\nhis name; those who insult you sin also against the god. I myself, with\nmy small power, will help to bring the criminals to justice. But when a\nwhole population is accused, when it is beyond the power of human justice\nto separate the innocent from the guilty, punishment is the prerogative\nof the god. He will visit on this city the crimes it has committed\nagainst you; and I implore you, in the name of your noble and admirable\nmother--whom it has been my privilege to entertain under this roof, and\nwho in gratitude for the favors of Serapis--\"\n\n\"And have I grudged sacrifices?\" Caesar broke in. \"I have done my utmost\nto win the graces of your god--and with what success? Everything that can\nmost aggrieve the heart of man has befallen me here under his eyes. I\nhave as much reason to complain of him as to accuse the reprobate natives\nof your city. He, no doubt, knows how to be avenged; the three-headed\nmonster at his feet does not look like a lap-dog. Why, he would despise\nme if I should leave the punishment of the criminals to his tender\nmercies! Nay, I can do that for myself. Though you have seen me in many\ncases show mercy, it has always been for my mother's sake. You have done\nwell to remind me of her. That lady--she is, I know, a votary of your\ngod. But to me the Alexandrians have dared to violate the laws of\nhospitality; to her they were cordial hosts. I will remember that in\ntheir favor. And if many escape unpunished, I would have the traitors to\nknow that they owe it to the hospitality shown to my mother by their\nparents, or perhaps by themselves.\"\n\nHe was here interrupted by the arrival of Aristides, who entered in great\nhaste and apparently pleased excitement. His spies had seized a\nmalefactor who had affixed an epigram of malignant purport to the statue\nof Julia Domna in the Caesareum. The writer was a pupil of the Museum,\nand had been taken in the stadium, where he was boasting of his exploit.\nA spy, mingling with the crowd, had laid hands on him, and the captain of\nthe watch had forthwith hurried to the Serapeum to boast of a success\nwhich might confirm him in his yet uncertain position. The rough sketch\nof the lines had been found on the culprit, and Aristides held the\ntablets on which they were written while Caracalla listened to his\nreport. Aristides was breathless with eagerness, and Caesar, snatching\nthe tablets impatiently from his hand, read the following lines:\n\n\"Wanton, I say, is this dam of irreconcilable brothers!\" \"Mean you\nJocasta?\" \"Nay, worse--Julia, the wife of Severus.\"\n\n\"The worst of all--but the last!\" Caracalla snarled, as, turning pale, he\nlaid the tablets down. But he almost instantly took them up again, and\nhanding the malignant and lying effusion to the high-priest, he\nexclaimed, with a laugh:\n\n\"This seals the warrant! Here is my mother slandered, too! Now, the man\nwho sues for mercy condemns himself to death!\" And, clinching his fist,\nhe muttered, \"And this, too, is from the Museum.\"\n\nTimotheus, meanwhile, had also read the lines. Even paler than Caracalla,\nand fully aware that any further counsel would be thrown away and only\nturn the emperor's wrath against himself, he expressed his anger at this\ncalumny directed against the noblest of women, and by a boy hardly free\nfrom school!\n\nBut Caracalla furiously broke in:\n\n\"And woe to you if your god refuses me the only thing I crave in return\nfor so many sacrifices--revenge, complete and sanguinary; atonement from\ngreat and small alike!\" But he interrupted himself with the exclamation:\n\"He grants it! Now for the tool I need.\"\n\nThe tool was ready--Zminis, the Egyptian, answering in every particular\nto the image which Caracalla had had in his mind of the instrument who\nmight execute his most bloodthirsty purpose.\n\nWith hair in disorder and a blue-black stubble of beard on his haggard\nyellow cheeks, in a dirty gray prison shirt, barefoot, and treading as\nsilently as Fate when it creeps on a victim, the rascal approached his\nsovereign. He stood before Caracalla exactly as the prefect, in a swift\nchariot, had brought him out of prison. The white of his long, narrow\neyes, which had so terrified Melissa, had turned yellow, and his glance\nwas as restless and shifting as that of a hyena. His small head on its\nlong neck was never for a moment still; the ruthless wretch had sat\nwaiting day after day in expectation of death, and it was by a miracle\nthat he found himself once more at the height of his ambition. But when\nat last he inquired of Caracalla, in the husky voice which had gained an\nadded hoarseness from the damp dungeon whence he had been brought, what\nhis commands were, looking up at him like a starving dog which hopes for\na titbit from his master's hand, even the fratricide, who himself held\nthe sword sharpened to kill, shuddered at the sight and sound.\n\nBut Caesar at once recovered himself, and when he asked the Egyptian:\n\n\"Will you undertake to help me, as captain of the night-watch, to punish\nthe traitors of Alexandria?\" the answer was confident:\n\n\"What man can do, I can do.\"\n\n\"Good!\" replied Caracalla. \"But this is not a matter of merely capturing\none or another. Every one--mark me--every one has merited death who has\nbroken the laws of hospitality, that hospitality which this lying city\noffered me. Do you understand? Yes? Well, then, how are we to detect the\nguilty? Where are we to find spies and executioners enough? How can we\npunish worst those whose wickedness has involved the rest in guilt,\nespecially the epigramatists of the Museum? How are we to discover the\nringleaders of those who insulted me yesterday in the Circus, and of\nthose among the youths in the stadium who have dared to express their\nvile disapproval by whistling in my very face? What steps will you take\nto hinder a single one from escaping? Consider. How is it to be done so\neffectually that I may lie down and say 'They have had their deserts. I\nam content'?\"\n\nThe Egyptian's eyes wandered round the floor, but he presently drew\nhimself up and answered briefly and positively, as though he were issuing\nan order to his men:\n\n\"Kill them all!\"\n\nCaracalla started, and repeated dully, \"All?\"\n\n\"All!\" repeated Zminis, with a hideous grin. \"The young ones are all\nthere, safe in the stadium. The men in the Museum fear nothing. Those who\nare in the streets can be cut down. Locked doors can be broken in.\"\n\nAt this, Caesar, who had dropped on to his throne, started to his feet,\nflung the wine-cup he held across the room, laughed loudly, and\nexclaimed:\n\n\"You are the man for me! To work at once! This will be a day!--Macrinus,\nTheocritus, Antigonus, we need your troops. Send up the legates. Those\nwho do not like the taste of blood, may sweeten it with plunder.\"\n\nHe looked young again, as if relieved from some burden on his mind, and\nthe thought flashed through his brain whether revenge were not sweeter\nthan love.\n\nNo one spoke. Even Theocritus, on whose lips a word of flattery or\napplause was always ready, looked down in his dismay; but Caracalla, in\nhis frenzy of excitement, heeded nothing.\n\nThe hideous suggestion of Zminis seemed to him worthy of his greatness by\nits mere enormity. It must be carried out. Ever since he had first donned\nthe purple he had made it his aim to be feared. If this tremendous deed\nwere done, he need never frown again at those whom he wished to terrify.\n\nAnd then, what a revenge! If Melissa should hear of it, what an effect it\nmust have on her!\n\nTo work, then!\n\nAnd he added in a gentler tone, as if he had a delightful surprise in\nstore for some old friend:\n\n\"But silence, perfect silence--do you hear?--till all is ready.--You,\nZminis, may begin on the pipers in the stadium and the chatterers in the\nMuseum. The prize for soldiers and lictors alike lies in the merchants'\nchests.\"\n\nStill no one spoke; and now he observed it. His scheme was too grand for\nthese feeble spirits. He must teach them to silence their conscience and\nthe voice of Roman rectitude; he must take on himself the whole\nresponsibility of this deed, at which the timid quaked. So he drew\nhimself up to his full height, and, affecting not to see the hesitancy of\nhis companions, he said, in a tone of cheerful confidence:\n\n\"Let each man do his part. All I ask of you is to carry out the sentence\nI pronounce as a judge. You know the crime of the citizens of this town,\nand, by virtue of the power I exercise over life and death, be it known\nto all that I, Caesar, condemn--mark the word, condemn--every free male\nof Alexandria, of whatever age or rank, to die by the sword of a Roman\nwarrior! This is a conquered city, which has forfeited every claim to\nquarter. The blood and the treasure of the inhabitants are the prize of\nmy soldiery. Only\"--and he turned to Timotheus--\"this house of your god,\nwhich has given me shelter, with the priests and the treasure of great\nSerapis, are spared. Now it lies with each of you to show whether or no\nhe is faithful to me. All of you\"--and he addressed his friends--\"all who\ndo me service in avenging me for the audacious insults which have been\noffered to your sovereign, are assured of my imperial gratitude.\"\n\nThis declaration was not without effect, and murmurs of applause rose\nfrom the \"friends\" and favorites, though less enthusiastic than Caracalla\nwas accustomed to hear. But the feebleness of this demonstration made him\nall the prouder of his own undaunted resolve.\n\nMacrinus was one of those who had most loudly approved him, and Caracalla\nrejoiced to think that this prudent counselor should advise his drinking\nthe cup of vengeance to the dregs. Intoxicated already before he had even\nsipped it, he called Macrinus and Zminis to his side, and with glowing\nlooks impressed on them to take particular care that Melissa, with her\nfather, Alexander, and Diodoros were brought to him alive.\n\n\"And remember,\" he added, \"there will be many weeping mothers here by\nto-morrow morning; but there is one I must see again, and that not as a\ncorpse--that bedizened thing in red whom I saw in the Circus--I mean the\nwife of Seleukus, of the Kanopic way.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nOn the wide ascent leading to the Serapeum the praetorians stood awaiting\nCaesar's commands. They had not yet formed in rank and file, but were\ngrouped round the centurion Martialis, who had come to tell them, sadly,\nof his removal to Edessa, and to take leave of his comrades. He gave his\nhand to each one of them in turn, and received a kindly pressure in\nreturn; for the stubborn fellow, though not of the cleverest, had proved\nhimself a good soldier, and to many of them a trusty friend. There was\nnot one who did not regret his going from among them. But Caesar had\nspoken, and there was no gainsaying his orders. In the camp, after\nservice, they might talk the matter over; for the present it were wise to\nguard their tongues.\n\nThe centurion had just said farewell to the last of his cohort, when the\nprefect, with the legate Quintus Flavius Nobilior, who commanded the\nlegion, and several other higher officers, appeared among them. Macrinus\ngreeted them briefly, and, instead of having the tuba blown as usual and\nletting them fall into their ranks, he told them to gather close round\nhim, the centurions in front. He then disclosed to them the emperor's\nsecret orders. Caesar, he began, had long exercised patience and mercy,\nbut the insolence and malice of the Alexandrians knew no bounds;\ntherefore, in virtue of his power over life and death, he had pronounced\njudgment upon them. To them as being nearest to his person he handed over\nthe most remunerative part of the work of punishment. Whomsoever they\nfound on the Kanopic way, the greatest and richest thoroughfare of the\ncity, they were to cut down as they would the rebellious inhabitants of a\nconquered town. Only the women and children and the slaves were to be\nspared. If for this task, a hideous one at best, they chose to pay\nthemselves out of the treasures of the citizens, nobody would blame them.\n\nA loud cheer followed these orders, and many an eye gleamed brighter.\nEven the coolest among them seemed to see a broad, deep pool of blood\ninto which he need only dip his hand and bring out something worth the\ncatching. And the fish that were to be had there were not miserable carp,\nbut heavy gold and silver vessels, and coins and magnificent ornaments.\nMacrinus then proceeded to inform the higher and lower officers of the\ncourse of action he had agreed upon with the emperor and Zminis. Seven\ntrumpet-blasts from the terrace of the Serapeum would give the signal for\nthe attack to begin. Then they were to advance, maniple on maniple; but\nthey were not required to keep their ranks--each man had his own work to\ndo. The legion was to assemble again at sunset at the Gate of the Sun, at\nthe eastern end of the road, after having swept it from end to end.\n\nBy order of the emperor, each man, however, must be particularly careful\nwhom he cut down in any hiding-place, for Caesar wished to give the\nfollowing Alexandrians--who had sinned most flagrantly against him--the\nbenefit of a trial, and they must therefore be taken alive. He then named\nthe gem-cutter Heron, his son Alexander, and his daughter Melissa, the\nAlexandrian senator Polybius, his son Diodoros, and the wife of Seleukus.\n\nHe described them as well as he was able. For each one Caesar promised a\nreward of three thousand drachmas, and for Heron's daughter twice as\nmuch, but only on condition of their being delivered up unhurt. It would\ntherefore be to their own advantage to keep their eyes open in the\nhouses, and to be cautious. Whoever should take the daughter of the\ngem-cutter--and he described Melissa once more--would render a special\nservice to Caesar and might reckon on promotion.\n\nThe centurion Julius Martialis stayed to hear the end of this discourse,\nand then hurriedly departed. He felt just as he had done in the war with\nthe Alemanni when a red-haired German had dealt him a blow on the helmet\nwith his club. His head whirled and swam as it did then--only to-day\nblood-red lights danced before his eyes instead of deep blue and gold. It\nwas some time before he could collect his thoughts to any purpose; but\nwhen he did, he clinched his fists as he recalled Caesar's malignant\ncruelty in forcing him away from his family.\n\nPresently his large mouth widened into a satisfied smile. He was no\nlonger in that company, and need take no part in the horrid butchery. In\nany other place he would no doubt have joined in it like the rest, glad\nof the rich booty; but here, in his own home, where his mother and wife\nand child dwelt, it seemed a monstrous and accursed deed. Besides the\ngemcutter's family, in whom Martialis took no interest, Caesar seemed to\nhave a special grudge against the lady Berenike, whose husband Seleukus\nhad been master to the centurion's father; nay, his own wife was still in\nthe service of the merchant.\n\nNot being skilled in any trade, he had entered the army early. As\nEvocatus he had married the daughter of a free gardener of Seleukus, and\nwhen he was ordered to Rome to join the praetorians his wife had obtained\nthe post of superintendent of the merchant's villa at Kanopus. For this\nthey had to thank the kindness of the lady Berenike and her now dead\ndaughter Korinna; and he was honestly grateful to the wife of Seleukus,\nfor, as his wife was established in the villa, he could leave her without\nanxiety and go with the army wherever it was ordered.\n\nHaving by this time reached the Kanopic street on his way to his family,\nhe perceived the statues of Hermes and Demeter which stood on each side\nof the entrance to the merchant's house, and his slow mind recapitulated\nthe long list of benefits he had received from Seleukus and his wife; a\nsecret voice urged upon him that it was his duty to warn them.\n\nHe owed nothing to Caesar, that crafty butcher, who out of pure malice\ncould deprive an honest soldier of his only joy in life and cheat him of\nhalf his pay--for the praetorians had twice the wages of the other\ntroops; and if he only knew some handicraft, he would throw away his\nsword today.\n\nHere, at least, he could interfere with Caesar's ruthless schemes,\nbesides doing his benefactors a good turn. He therefore entered the house\nof the merchant, instead of pursuing on his homeward way.\n\nHe was well known, and the mistress of the house was at once apprised of\nhis arrival.\n\nAll the lower apartments were empty, the soldiers who had been quartered\nin them having joined the others at the Serapeum.\n\nBut what had happened to the exquisite garden in the impluvium? What\nhideous traces showed where the soldiers had camped, and, drunk with\ntheir host's costly wine, had given free play to their reckless spirits!\n\nThe velvet lawn looked like a stable-floor; the rare shrubs had been\ndenuded of their flowers and branches. Blackened patches on the mosaic\npavement showed where fires had been kindled; the colonnades were turned\ninto drying-grounds for the soldiers' linen, and a rope on which hung\nsome newly washed clothes was wound at one end round the neck of a Venus\nfrom the hand of Praxiteles, and at the other round the lyre of an Apollo\nfashioned in marble by Bryaxis. Some Indian shrubs, of which his\nfather-in-law had been very proud, were trampled underfoot; and in the\ngreat banqueting-hall, which had served as sleeping-room for a hundred\npraetorians, costly cushions and draperies were strewn, torn from the\ncouches and walls to make their beds more comfortable.\n\nUsed to the sights of war as he was, the soldier ground his teeth with\nwrath at this scene. As long as he could remember, he had looked upon\neverything here with reverence and awe; and to think that his comrades\nhad destroyed it all made his blood boil.\n\nAs he approached the women's apartments he took fright. How was he to\ndisclose to his mistress what threatened her?\n\nBut it must be done; so he followed the waiting-maid Johanna, who led him\nto her lady's livingroom.\n\nIn it sat the Christian steward Johannes, with writing tablets and\nscrolls of papyrus, working in the service of his patroness. She herself\nwas with the wounded Aurelius; and Martialis, on hearing this, begged to\nbe admitted to her.\n\nBerenike was in the act of renewing the wounded soldier's bandages, and\nwhen the centurion saw how cruelly disfigured was the handsome, blooming\nface of the young tribune, to whom he was heartily attached, the tears\nrose to his eyes. The matron observed it, and witnessed with much\nsurprise the affectionate greeting between the young noble and the plain\nsoldier.\n\nThe centurion greeted her respectfully; but it was not till Nernesianus\nasked him how it was that the troops had been called to arms at this\nhour, that Martialis plucked up courage and begged the lady of the house\nto grant him an interview.\n\nBut Berenike had still to wash and bandage the wounds of her patient--a\ntask which she always performed herself and with the greatest care; she\ntherefore promised the soldier to be at his disposal in half an hour.\n\n\"Then it will be too late!\" burst from the lips of the centurion; then\nshe knew, by his voice and the terror-stricken aspect of the man whom she\nhad known so long, that he meant to warn her, and there was but one from\nwhom the danger could come.\n\n\"Caesar?\" she asked. \"He is sending out his creatures to murder me?\"\n\nThe imperious gaze of Berenike's large eyes so overpowered the simple\nsoldier as to render him speechless for a while. But Caesar had\nthreatened his mistress's life--he must collect himself, and thus he\nmanaged to stammer:\n\n\"No, lady, no! He will not have you killed assuredly not! On the\ncontrary-they are to let you live when they cut down the others!\"\n\n\"Cut down!\" cried Apollinaris, raising himself up and staring horrified\nat this messenger of terror; but his brother laid his hand upon the\ncenturion's broad shoulder, and, shaking him vigorously, commanded him as\nhis tribune to speak out.\n\nThe soldier, ever accustomed to obey, and only too anxious that his\nwarning should not come too late, disclosed in hurried words what he had\nlearned from the prefect. The brothers interrupted him from time to time\nwith some exclamation of horror or disgust, but Berenike remained silent\ntill Martialis stopped with a deep breath.\n\nThen the lady gave a shrill laugh, and as the others looked at her in\namazement she said coolly \"You men will wade through blood and shame with\nthat reprobate, if he but orders you to do so. I am only a woman, and yet\nI will show him that there are limits even to his malignity.\"\n\nShe remained for a few moments lost in thought, and then ordered the\ncenturion to go and find out where her husband was.\n\nMartialis obeyed at once, and no sooner was the door closed behind him\nthan she turned to the two brothers, and addressing herself first to one\nand then to the other with equal vehemence, she cried \"Who is right now?\nOf all the villains who have brought shame upon the throne and name of\nmighty Caesar, this is the most dastardly. He has written plainly enough\nupon Apollinaris's face how much he values a brave soldier, the son of a\nnoble house. And you, Nemesianus--are you not also an Aurelius? You say\nso; and yet, had he not chanced to let you care for your brother, you\nwould at this moment be wandering through the city like a mad dog, biting\nall who crossed your path. Why do you not speak? Why not tell me once\nmore, Nemesianus, that a soldier must obey his commander blindly?--And\nyou, Apollinaris, will you dare still to assert that the hand with which\nCaesar tore your face was guided only by righteous indignation at an\ninsult offered to an innocent maiden? Have you the courage to excuse the\nmurders by Caracalla of his own wife, and many other noble women, by his\nanxiety for the safety of throne and state? I, too, am a woman, and may\nhold up my head with the best; but what have I to do with the state or\nwith the throne? My eye met his, and from that moment the fiend was my\ndeadly enemy. A quick death at the hands of one of his soldiers seemed\ntoo good for the woman he hated. Wild beasts were to tear me to pieces\nbefore his eyes. Is that not sufficient for you? Put every abomination\ntogether, everything unworthy of an honorable man and abhorrent to the\ngods, and you have the man whom you so willingly obey. I am only the wife\nof a citizen. But were I the widow of a noble Aurelian and your mother--\"\nHere Apollinaris, whose wounds were beginning to burn again, broke in:\n\"She would have counseled us to leave revenge to the gods. He is Caesar!\"\n\n\"He is a villain!\" shrieked the matron--\"the curse, the shame of\nhumanity, a damnable destroyer of peace and honor and life, such as the\nworld has never beheld before! To kill him would be to earn the gratitude\nand blessing of the universe. And you, the scions of a noble house, you,\nI say, prove that there still are men among so many slaves! It is Rome\nherself who calls you through me--like her, a woman maltreated and\nwounded to the heart's core--to bear arms in her service till she gives\nyou the signal for making an end of the dastardly blood hound!\"\n\nThe brothers gazed at one another pale and speechless, till at last\nNemesianus ventured to say \"He deserves to die, we know, a thousand\ndeaths, but we are neither judges nor executioners. We can not do the\nwork of the assassin.\"\n\n\"No, lady, we can not,\" added Apollinaris, and shook his wounded head\nenergetically.\n\nBut the lady, nothing daunted, went on: \"Who has ever called Brutus a\nmurderer? You are young--Life lies before you. To plunge a sword into the\nheart of this monster is a deed for which you are too good. But I know a\nhand that understands its work and would be ready to guide the steel.\nCall it out at the right moment and be its guide!\"\n\n\"And that hand?\" Apollinaris asked in anxious expectation.\n\n\"It is there,\" replied Berenike, pointing to Martialis, who entered the\nroom at that moment. Again the brothers interchanged looks of doubt, but\nthe lady cried: \"Consider for a moment! I would fain go hence with the\ncertainty that the one burning desire shall be fulfilled which still\nwarms this frozen heart.\"\n\nShe motioned to the centurion, left the apartment with him, and preceded\nhim to her own room. Arrived there, she ordered the astonished freedman\nJohannes, in his office as notary, to add a codicil to her will. In the\nevent of her death, she left to Xanthe, the wife of the centurion\nMartialis, her lawful property the villa at Kanopus, with all it\ncontained, and the gardens appertaining to it, for the free use of\nherself and her children.\n\nThe soldier listened speechless with astonishment. This gift was worth\ntwenty houses in the city, and made its owner a rich man. But the\ntestator was scarcely ten years older than his Xanthe, and, as he kissed\nthe hem of his mistress's robe in grateful emotion, he cried: \"May the\ngods reward you for your generosity; but we will pray and offer up\nsacrifices that it may be long before this comes into our hands!\"\n\nThe lady shook her head with a bitter smile, and, drawing the soldier\naside, she disclosed to him in rapid words her determination to quit this\nlife before the praetorians entered the house. She then informed the\nhorror-stricken man that she had chosen him to be her avenger. To him,\ntoo, the emperor had dealt a malicious blow. Let him remember that, when\nthe time came to plunge the sword in the tyrant's heart. Should this\ndeed, however, cost Martialis his life--which he had risked in many a\nbattle for miserable pay--her will would enable his widow to bring up\ntheir children in happiness and comfort.\n\nThe centurion had thrown in a deprecatory word or two, but Berenike\ncontinued as if she had not heard him, till at last Martialis cried:\n\n\"You ask too much of me, lady. Caesar is hateful to me, but I am no\nlonger one of the praetorians, and am banished the country. How is it\npossible that I should approach him? How dare I, a common man--\"\n\nThe lady came closer to him, and whispered:\n\n\"You will perform this deed to which I have appointed you in the name of\nall the just. We demand nothing from you but your sword. Greater men than\nyou--the two Aurelians--will guide it. At their word of command you will\ndo the deed. When they give you the signal, brave Martialis, remember the\nunfortunate woman in Alexandria whose death you swore to revenge. As soon\nas the tribunes--\"\n\nBut the centurion was suddenly transformed. \"If the tribunes command it,\"\nhe interrupted with decision, his dull eye flashing--\"if they demand it\nof me, I do it willingly. Tell them Martialis's sword is ever at their\nservice. It has made short work of stronger men than that vicious\nstripling.\"\n\nBerenike gave the soldier her hand, thanked him hurriedly, and begged\nhim, as he could pass unharmed through the city, to hasten to her\nhusband's counting-house by the water-side, to warn him and carry him her\nlast greetings.\n\nWith tears in his eyes Martialis did as she desired. When he had gone,\nthe steward began to implore his mistress to conceal herself, and not\ncast away God's gift of life so sinfully; but she turned from him\nresolutely though kindly, and repaired once more to the brothers' room.\n\nOne glance at them disclosed to her that they had come to no definite\nconclusion; but their hesitation vanished as soon as they heard that the\ncenturion was ready to draw his sword upon the emperor when they should\ngive the signal; and Berenike breathed a sigh of relief at this\nresolution, and clasped their hands in gratitude.\n\nThey, too, implored her to conceal herself, but she merely answered:\n\n\"May your youth grow into happy old age! Life can offer me nothing more,\nsince my child was taken from me--But time presses--I welcome the\nmurderers, now that I know that revenge will not sleep.\"\n\n\"And your husband?\" interposed Nemesianus.\n\nShe answered with a bitter smile: \"He? He has the gift of being easily\nconsoled.--But what was that?\"\n\nLoud voices were audible outside the sick-room. Nemesianus stationed\nhimself in front of the lady, sword in hand. This protection, however,\nproved unnecessary, for, instead of the praetorians, Johanna entered the\nroom, supporting on her arm the half-sinking form of a young man in whom\nno one would have recognized the once beautifully curled and carefully\ndressed Alexander. A long caracalla covered his tall form; Dido the slave\nhad cut off his hair, and he himself had disguised his features with\nstreaks of paint. A large, broad-brimmed hat had slipped to the back of\nhis head like a drunken man's, and covered a wound from which the red\nblood flowed down upon his neck. His whole aspect breathed pain and\nhorror, and Berenike, who took him for a hired cut-throat sent by\nCaracalla, retreated hastily from him till Johanna revealed his name.\n\nHe nodded his head in confirmation, and then sank exhausted on his knees\nbeside Apollinaris's couch and managed with great difficulty to stammer\nout: \"I am searching for Philip. He went into the town-ill-out of his\nsenses. Did he not come to you?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Berenike. \"But what is this fresh blood? Has the slaughter\nbegun?\"\n\nThe wounded man nodded. Then he continued, with a groan: \"In front of the\nhouse of your neighbor Milon--the back of my head--I fled--a lance--\"\n\nHis voice failed him, and Berenike cried to the tribune: \"Support him,\nNemesianus! Look after him and tend him. He is the brother of the\nmaiden--you know--If I know you, you will do all in your power for him,\nand keep him hidden here till all danger is over.\"\n\n\"We will defend him with our lives!\" cried Apollinaris, giving his hand\nto the lady.\n\nBut he withdrew it quickly, for from the impluvium arose the rattle of\narms, and loud, confused noise.\n\nBerenike threw up her head and lifted her hands as if in prayer. Her\nbosom heaved with her deep breath, the delicate nostrils quivered, and\nthe great eyes flashed with wrathful light. For a moment she stood thus\nsilent, then let her arms fall, and cried to the tribunes:\n\n\"My curse be upon you if you forget what you owe to yourselves, to the\nRoman Empire, and to your dying friend. My blessing, if you hold fast to\nwhat you have promised.\"\n\nShe pressed their hands, and, turning to do the same to the artist, found\nthat he had lost consciousness. Johanna and Nemesianus had removed his\nhat and caracalla, to attend to his wound.\n\nA strange smile passed over the matron's stern features. Snatching the\nGallic mantle from the Christian's hand, she threw it over her own\nshoulders, exclaiming:\n\n\"How the ruffian will wonder when, instead of the living woman, they\nbring him a corpse wrapped in his barbarian's mantle!\"\n\nShe pressed the hat upon her head, and from a corner of the room where\nthe brothers' weapons stood, selected a hunting-spear. She asked if this\nweapon might be recognized as belonging to them, and, on their answering\nin the negative, said:\n\n\"My thanks, then, for this last gift!\"\n\nAt the last moment she turned to the waiting-woman:\n\n\"Your brother will help you to burn Korinna's picture. No shameless gaze\nshall dishonor it again.\" She tore her hand from that of the Christian,\nwho, with hot tears, tried to hold her back; then, carrying her head\nproudly erect, she left them.\n\nThe brothers gazed shudderingly after her. \"And to know,\" cried\nNemesianus, striking his forehead, \"that our own comrades will slay her!\nNever were the swords of Rome so disgraced!\"\n\n\"He shall pay for it!\" replied the wounded man, gnashing his teeth.\n\n\"Brother, we must avenge her!\"\n\n\"Yes--her, and--may the gods hear me!--you too, Apollinaris,\" swore the\nother, lifting his hand as for an oath.\n\nLoud screams, the clash of arms, and quick orders sounded from below and\nbroke in upon the tribune's vow. He was rushing to the window to draw\nback the curtain and look upon the horrid deed with his own eyes, when\nApollinaris called him back, reminding him of their duty toward Melissa's\nbrother, who was lost if the others discovered him here.\n\nHereupon Nemesianus lifted the fainting youth in his strong arms and\ncarried him into the adjoining room, laying him upon the mat which had\nserved their faithful old slave as a bed. He then covered him with his\nown mantle, after hastily binding up the wound on his head and another on\nhis shoulder.\n\nBy the time the tribune returned to his brother the noise outside had\ngrown considerably less, only pitiable cries of anguish mingled with the\nshouts of the soldiers.\n\nNemesianus hastily pulled aside the curtain, letting such a flood of\nblinding sunshine into the room that Apollinaris covered his wounded face\nwith his hands and groaned aloud.\n\n\"Sickening! Horrible! Unheard of!\" cried his brother, beside himself at\nthe sight that met his eyes. \"A battle-field! What do I say? The peaceful\nhouse of a Roman citizen turned into shambles. Fifteen, twenty, thirty\nbodies on the grass! And the sunshine plays as brightly on the pools of\nblood and the arms of the soldiers as if it rejoiced in it all. But\nthere--Oh, brother! our Marcipor--there lies our dear old Marci!--and\nbeside him the basket of roses he had fetched for the lady Berenike from\nthe flower-market. There they be, steeped in blood, the red and white\nroses; and the bright sun looks down from heaven and laughs upon it!\"\n\nHe broke down into sobs, and then continued, gnashing his teeth with\nrage: \"Apollo smiles upon it, but he sees it; and wait--wait but a little\nlonger, Tarautas! The god stretches out his hand already for the avenging\nbow! Has Berenike ventured among them? Near the fountain-how it flashes\nand glitters with the hues of Iris!--they are crowding round something on\nthe ground--Mayhap the body of Seleukus. No--the crowd is separating.\nEternal gods! It is she--it is the woman who tended you!\"\n\n\"Dead?\" asked the other.\n\n\"She is lying on the ground with a spear in her bosom. Now the\nlegate-yes, it is Quintus Flavius Nobilior--bends over her and draws it\nout. Dead--dead! and slain by a man of our cohort!\"\n\nHe clasped his hands before his face, while Apollinaris muttered curses,\nand the name of their faithful Marcipor, who had served their father\nbefore them, coupled with wild vows of vengeance.\n\nNemesianus at length composed himself sufficiently to follow the course\nof the horrible events going on below.\n\n\"Now,\" he went on, describing it to his brother, \"now they are\nsurrounding Rufus. That merciless scoundrel must have done something\nabominable, that even goes beyond what his fellows can put up with. There\nthey have caught a slave with a bundle in his hand, perhaps stolen goods.\nThey will punish him with death, and are themselves no better than he. If\nyou could only see how they come swarming from every side with their\ncostly plunder! The magnificent golden jug set with jewels, out of which\nthe lady Berenike poured the Byblos wine for you, is there too!--Are we\nstill soldiers, or robbers and murderers?\"\n\n\"If we are,\" cried Apollinaris, \"I know who has made us so.\"\n\nThey were startled by the approaching rattle of arms in the corridor, and\nthen a loud knock at the chamber-door. The next moment a soldier's head\nappeared in the doorway, to be quickly withdrawn with the exclamation,\n\"It is true--here lies Apollinaris!\"\n\n\"One moment,\" said a second deep voice, and over the threshold stepped\nthe legate of the legion, Quintus Flavius Nobilior, in all the panoply of\nwar, and saluted the brothers.\n\nLike them, he came of an old and honorable race, and was acting in place\nof the prefect Macrinus, whose office in the state prevented him from\ntaking the military command of that mighty corps, the praetorians. Twenty\nyears older than the twins, and a companion-in-arms of their father, he\nhad managed their rapid promotion. He was their faithful friend and\npatron, and Apollinaris's misfortune had disgusted him no less than the\norder in the execution of which he was now obliged to take part. Having\ngreeted the brothers affectionately, observed their painful emotion, and\nheard their complaints over the murder of their slave, he shook his manly\nhead, and pointing to the blood that dripped from his boots and greaves,\n\"Forgive me for thus defiling your apartments,\" he said. \"If we came from\nslaughtering men upon the field of battle, it could only do honor to the\nsoldier; but this is the blood of defenseless citizens, and even women's\ngore is mixed with it.\"\n\n\"I saw the body of the lady of this house,\" said Nemesianus, gloomily.\n\"She has tended my brother like a mother.\"\n\n\"But, on the other hand, she was imprudent enough to draw down Caesar's\ndispleasure upon her,\" interposed the Flavian, shrugging his shoulders.\n\"We were to bring her to him alive, but he had anything but friendly\nintentions toward her; however, she spoiled his game. A wonderful woman!\nI have scarcely seen a man look death--and self-sought death--in the face\nlike that! While the soldiers down there were massacring all who fell\ninto their hands--those were the orders, and I looked on at the butchery,\nfor, rather than--well, you can imagine that for yourselves--through one\nof the doors there came a tall, extraordinary figure. The wide brim of a\ntraveling hat concealed the features, and it was wrapped in one of the\nemperor's fool's mantles. It hurried toward the maniple of Sempronius,\nbrandishing a javelin, and with a sonorous voice reviling the soldiers\ntill even my temper was roused. Here I caught sight of a flowing robe\nbeneath the caracalla, and, the hat having fallen back, a beautiful\nwoman's face with large and fear-inspiring eyes. Then it suddenly flashed\nupon me that this grim despiser of death, being a woman, was doubtless\nshe whom we were to spare. I shouted this to my men; but--and at that\nmoment I was heartily ashamed of my profession--it was too late. Tall\nRufus pierced her through with his lance. Even in falling she preserved\nthe dignity of a queen, and when the men surrounded her she fixed each\none separately with her wonderful eyes and spoke through the death-rattle\nin her throat:\n\n\"'Shame upon men and soldiers who let themselves be hounded on like dogs\nto murder and dishonor!' Rufus raised his sword to make an end of her,\nbut I caught his arm and knelt beside her, begging her to let me see to\nher wound. With that she seized the lance in her breast with both hands,\nand with her last breath murmured, 'He desired to see the living\nwoman--bring him my body, and my curse with it! Then with a last supreme\neffort she buried the spear still deeper in her bosom; but it was not\nnecessary.\n\n\"I gazed petrified at the high-bred, wrathful face, still beautiful in\ndeath, and the mysterious, wide-open eyes that must have flashed so\nproudly in life. It was enough to drive a man mad. Even after I had\nclosed her eyes and spread the mantle over her--\"\n\n\"What has been done with the body?\" asked Apollinaris.\n\n\"I caused it to be carried into the house and the door of the\ndeath-chamber carefully locked. But when I returned to the men. I had to\nprevent them from tearing Rufus to pieces for having lost them the large\nreward which Caesar had promised for the living prisoner.\"\n\n\"And you,\" cried Apollinaris, excitedly, \"had to look on while our men,\nhonest soldiers, plundered this house--which entertained many of us so\nhospitably--as if they had been a band of robbers! I saw them dragging\nout things which were used in our service only yesterday.\"\n\n\"The emperor--his permission!\" sighed Flavius. \"You know how it is. The\nlowest instincts of every nature come out at such a time as this, and the\nsun shines upon it all. Many a poor wretch of yesterday will go to bed a\nwealthy man to-day. But, for all that, I believe much was hidden from\nthem. In the room of the mistress of the house whence I have just come, a\nfire was still blazing in which a variety of objects had been burned. The\nflames had destroyed a picture--a small painted fragment betrayed the\nfact. They perhaps possessed masterpieces of Apelles or Zeuxis. This\nwoman's hatred would lead her to destroy them rather than let them fall\ninto the hands of her imperial enemy; and who can blame her?\"\n\n\"It was her daughter's portrait,\" said Nemesianus, unguardedly.\n\nThe legate turned upon him in surprise. \"Then she confided in you?\" he\nasked.\n\n\"Yes,\" returned the tribune, \"and we are proud to have been so honored by\nher. Before she went to her death she took leave of us. We let her go;\nfor we at least could not bring ourselves to lay hands upon a noble\nlady.\"\n\nThe officer looked sternly at him and exclaimed, angrily:\n\n\"Do you suppose, young upstart, that it was less painful to me and many\nanother among us? Cursed be this day, that has soiled our weapons with\nthe blood of women and slaves, and may every drachma which I take from\nthe plunder here bring ill-luck with it! Call the accident that has kept\nyou out of this despicable work a stroke of good fortune, but beware how\nyou look down upon those whose oath forces them to crush out every human\nfeeling from their hearts! The soldier who takes part with his\ncommander's enemy--\"\n\nHe was interrupted by the entrance of Johanna, the Christian, who saluted\nthe legate, and then stood confused and embarrassed by the side of\nApollinaris's bed. The furtive glance she cast first at the side-room and\nthen at Nemesianus did not pass unobserved by the quick eye of the\ncommander, and with soldierly firmness he insisted on knowing what was\nconcealed behind that door.\n\n\"An unfortunate man,\" was Apollinaris's answer.\n\n\"Seleukus, the master of this house?\" asked Quintus Flavius, sternly.\n\n\"No,\" replied Nemesianus. \"It is only a poor, wounded painter. And\nyet--the praetorians will go through fire and water for you, if you\ndeliver up this man to them as their booty. But if you are what I hold\nyou to be--\"\n\n\"The opinion of hot-headed boys is of as little consequence to me as the\nfavor of my subordinates,\" interposed the commander. \"Whatever my con\nscience tells me is right, I shall do. Quick, now! Who is in there?\"\n\n\"The brother of the maiden for whose sake Caesar--\" stammered the wounded\nman.\n\n\"The maiden whom you have to thank for that disfigured face?\" cried the\nlegate. \"You are true Aurelians, you boys; and, though you may doubt\nwhether I am the man you take me for, I confess with pleasure that you\nare exactly as I would wish to have you. The praetorians have slain your\nfriend and servant; I give you that man to make amends for it.\"\n\nWith deep emotion Nemesianus seized his old friend's hands, and\nApollinaris spoke words of gratitude to him from his couch. The officer\nwould not listen to their thanks, and walked toward the door; but Johanna\nstood before him, and entreated him to allow the twins, whose servant had\nbeen killed, to take another, from whom they need have no fear of\ntreachery. He had been captured in the impluvium by the praetorians while\ntrying, in the face of every danger, to enter the house where the painter\nlay, to whose father he had belonged for many years. He would be able to\ntend both Apollinaris and Melissa's brother, and make it possible to keep\nAlexander's hiding-place a secret. The soldiery would be certain to\npenetrate as far as this, and other lives would be endangered if they\nshould bear off the faithful servant and force him on the rack to\ndisclose where Melissa's father and relatives were hidden.\n\nThe legate promised to insure the freedom of Argutis.\n\nA few more words of thanks and farewell, and Quintus had fulfilled his\nmission to the Aurelians. Shortly afterward the tuba sounded to assemble\nthe plunderers still scattered about Seleukus's house, and Nemesianus saw\nthe men marching in small companies into the great hall. They were\nfollowed by their armor-bearers, loaded with treasure of every kind; and\nthree chariots, drawn by fine horses, belonging to Seleukus and his\nmurdered wife, conveyed such booty as was too heavy for men to carry. In\nthe last of these stood the statue of Eros by Praxiteles. The glorious\nsunshine lighted up the smiling marble face; with the charm of bewitching\nbeauty he seemed to gaze at the lurid crimson pools on the ground, and at\nthe armed cohorts which marched in front to shed more blood and rouse\nmore hatred.\n\nAs Nemesianus withdrew from the window, Argutis came into the room. The\nlegate had released him; and when Johanna conducted the faithful fellow\nto Alexander's bedside, and he saw the youth lying pale and with closed\neyes, as though death had claimed him for his prey, the old man dropped\non his knees, sobbing loudly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nWhile Alexander, well nursed by old Argutis and Johanna, lay in high\nfever, raving in his delirium of Agatha and his brother Philip, and still\noftener calling for his sister, Melissa was alone in her hiding-place. It\nwas spacious enough, indeed, for she was concealed in the rooms prepared\nto receive the Exoterics before the mysteries of Serapis. A whole suite\nof apartments, sleeping-rooms and halls, were devoted to their use,\nextending all across the building from east to west. Some of these were\nsquare, others round or polygonal, but most of them much longer than they\nwere wide. Painters and sculptors had everywhere covered the walls with\npictures in color and in high relief, calculated to terrify or bewilder\nthe uninitiated. The statues, of which there were many, bore strange\nsymbols, the mosaic flooring was covered with images intended to excite\nthe fancy and the fears of the beholder.\n\nWhen Melissa first entered her little sleeping room, darkness had\nconcealed all this from her gaze. She had been only too glad to obey the\nmatron's bidding and go to rest at once. Euryale had remained with her\nsome time, sitting on the edge of the bed to hear all that had happened\nto the girl during the last few hours, and she had impressed on her how\nshe should conduct herself in case of her hiding-place being searched.\n\nWhen she presently bade her good-night, Melissa repeated what the\nwaiting-woman Johanna had told her of the life of Jesus Christ; but she\nexpressed her interest in the person of the Redeemer in such a strange\nand heathen fashion that Euryale only regretted that she could not at\nonce enlighten the exhausted girl. With a hearty kiss she left her to\nrest, and Melissa was no sooner alone than sleep closed her weary young\neyes.\n\nIt was near morning when she fell asleep; and when she awoke, accustomed\nas she was to early hours, she was startled to see how much of the day\nwas spent. So she rose hastily, and then perceived that the lady Euryale\nmust already have come to see her, for she found fresh milk by the\nbedside, and some rolls of manuscript which had not been there the day\nbefore. Her first thought was for her imperiled relatives--her father,\nher brothers, her lover--and she prayed for each, appealing first to the\nmanes of her mother, and then to mighty Serapis and kindly Isis, who\nwould surely hear her in these precincts dedicate to them.\n\nThe danger of those she loved made her forget her own, and she vividly\npictured to herself what might be happening to each, what each one might\nbe doing to protect her and save her from the spies of the despot, who by\nthis time must have received her missive. Still, the doubt whether he\nmight not, after all, be magnanimous and forgive her, rose again and\nagain to her mind, though everything led her to think it impossible.\n\nDuring her prayer and in her care for the others she had felt reasonably\ncalm; but at the first thought of Caesar a painful agitation took\npossession of her soul, and to overcome it she began an inspection of her\nspacious hiding-place, where the lady Euryale had prepared her to be\namazed. And, indeed, it was not merely strange, but it filled her heart\nand mind with astonishment and terror. Wherever she looked, mystic\nfigures puzzled her; and Melissa turned from a picture in relief of\nbeheaded figures with their feet in the air, and a representation of the\ndamned stewing in great caldrons and fanning themselves with diabolical\nirony, only to see a painting of a female form over whose writhing body\nboats were sailing, or a four-headed ram, or birds with human heads\nflying away with a mummified corpse. On the ceiling, too, there was\nstrange imagery; and when she looked at the floor to rest her bewildered\nfancy, her eyes fell on a troop of furies pursuing the wicked, or a pool\nof fire by which horrible monsters kept guard.\n\nAnd all these pictures were not stiff and formal like Egyptian decorative\nart, but executed by Greek artists with such liveliness and truth that\nthey seemed about to speak; and Melissa could have fancied many times\nthat they were moving toward her from the ceiling or the walls.\n\nIf she remained here long, she thought she must go out of her mind; and\nyet she was attracted, here by a huge furnace on whose metal floor large\nmasses of fuel seemed to be, and there by a pool of water with\ncrocodiles, frogs, tortoises, and shells, wrought in mosaic.\n\nBesides these and other similar objects, her curiosity was aroused by\nsome large chests in which book-rolls, strange vessels, and an endless\nvariety of raiment of every shape and size were stored, from the simple\nchiton of the common laborer to the star-embroidered talar of the adept.\n\nHer protectress had told her that the mystics who desired to be admitted\nto the highest grades here passed through fire and water, and had to go\nthrough many ceremonies in various costumes. She had also informed her\nthat the uninitiated who desired to enter these rooms had to open three\ndoors, each of which, as it was closed, gave rise to a violent ringing;\nso that she might not venture to get away from the room, into which,\nhowever, she could bar herself. If the danger were pressing, there was a\ndoor, known only to the initiated, which led to the steps and out of the\nbuilding. Her sleeping-place, happily, was not far from a window looking\nto the west, so that she was able to refresh her brain after the\nbewildering impressions which had crowded on her in the inner rooms.\n\nThe paved roadway dividing the Serapeum from the stadium was at first\nfairly crowded; but the chariots, horsemen, and foot-passengers on whose\nheads she looked down from her high window interested her as little as\nthe wide inclosure of the stadium, part of which lay within sight.\n\nA race, no doubt, was to be held there this morning, for slaves were\nraking the sand smooth, and hanging flowers about a dais, which was no\ndoubt intended for Caesar. Was it to be her fate to see the dreadful man\nfrom the place where she was hiding from him? Her heart began to beat\nfaster, and at the same time questions crowded on her excited brain, each\nbringing with it fresh anxiety for those she loved, of whom, till now,\nshe had been thinking with calm reassurance.\n\nWhither had Alexander fled?\n\nHad her father and Philip succeeded in concealing themselves in the\nsculptor's work-room?\n\nCould Diodoros have escaped in time to reach the harbor with Polybius and\nPraxilla?\n\nHow had Argutis contrived that her letter should reach Caesar's hands\nwithout too greatly imperiling himself?\n\nShe was quite unconscious of any guilt toward Caracalla. There had been,\nindeed, a strong and strange attraction which had drawn her to him; even\nnow she was glad to have been of service to him, and to have helped him\nto endure the sufferings laid upon him by a cruel fate. But she could\nnever be his. Her heart belonged to another, and this she had confessed\nin a letter--perhaps, indeed, too late. If he had a heart really capable\nof love, and had set it on her, he would no doubt think it hard that he\nshould have bestowed his affections on a girl who was already plighted to\nanother, even when she first appeared before him as a suppliant, though\ndeeply moved by pity; still, he had certainly no right to condemn her\nconduct. And this was her firm conviction.\n\nIf her refusal roused his ire--if her father's prophecy and\nPhilostratus's fears must be verified, that his rage would involve many\nothers besides herself in ruin, then--But here her thought broke off with\na shudder.\n\nThen she recalled the hour when she had been ready and willing to be his,\nto sacrifice love and happiness only to soften his wild mood and protect\nothers from his unbridled rage. Yes, she might have been his wife by this\ntime, if he himself had not proved to her that she could never gain such\npower over him as would control his sudden fits of fury, or obtain mercy\nfor any victim of his cruelty. The murder of Vindex and his nephew had\nbeen the death-blow of this hope. She best knew how seriously she had\ncome to the determination to give up every selfish claim to future\nhappiness in order that she might avert from others the horrors which\nthreatened them; and now, when she knew the history of the Divine Lord of\nthe Christians, she told herself that she had acted at that moment in a\nmanner well-pleasing to that sublime Teacher. Still, her strong common\nsense assured her that to sacrifice the dearest and fondest wish of her\nheart in vain would not have been right and good, but foolish.\n\nThe evil deeds which Caracalla was now preparing to commit he would have\ndone even if she were at his side. Of what small worth would she have\nseemed to him, and to herself!--When this tyranny should be overpast,\nwhen he should be gone to some other part of his immense empire, if those\nshe loved were spared she could be happy--ah! so happy with the man to\nwhom she had given her heart--as happy as she would have been miserable\nif she had become the victim to unceasing terrors as Caesar's wife.\n\nEuryale was right, and Fate, to which she had appealed, had decided well\nfor her. That, the greatest conceivable sacrifice, would have been in\nvain; for the sake of a ruthless tyrant's foul desire she would have been\nguilty of the basest breach of faith, have poisoned her lover's heart and\nsoul, and have wrecked his whole future life as well as her own. Away,\nthen, with foolish doubts! Pythagoras was wise in warning her against\ntorturing her heart. The die was cast. She and Caracalla must go on\ndivergent roads, Her duty now was to fight for her own happiness against\nany who threatened it, and, above all, against the tyrant who had\ncompelled her, innocent as she was, to hide like a criminal.\n\nShe was full of righteous wrath against the sanguinary persecutor, and\nholding her head high she went back into her sleeping-room to finish\ndressing. She moved more quickly than usual, for the bookrolls which\nEuryale had laid by her bed while she was still asleep attracted her eye\nwith a suggestion of promise. Eager to know what their contents were, she\ntook them up, drew a stool to the window, and tried to read.\n\nBut many voices came up to her from outside, and when she looked down\ninto the road she saw troops of youths crowding into the stadium. What\nfine fellows they were, as they marched on, talking and singing; and she\nsaid to herself that Diodoros and Alexander were taller even than most of\nthese, and would have been handsome among the handsomest! She amused\nherself for some time with watching them; but when the last man had\nentered the stadium, and they had formed in companies, she again took up\nthe rolls.\n\nOne contained the gospel of Matthew and the other that of Luke.\n\nThe first, beginning with the genealogy, gave her a string of strange,\nbarbarous names which did not attract her; so she took up the roll of\nLuke, and his simple narrative style at once charmed her. There were\ndifficulties in it, no doubt, and she skipped sundry unintelligible\npassages, but the second chapter captivated her attention. It spoke of\nthe birth of the great Teacher whom the Christians worshiped as their\nGod. Angels had announced to the shepherds in the field that great joy\nshould come on the whole world, because the Saviour was born; and this\nSaviour and Redeemer was no hero, no sage, but a child wrapped in\nswaddling-clothes and lying in a manger.\n\nAt this she smiled, for she loved little children, and had long known no\ngreater pleasure than to play with them and help them. How many\ndelightful hours did she owe to the grandchildren of their neighbor\nSkopas!\n\nAnd this child, hailed at its birth by a choir of angels, had become a\nGod in whom many believed! and the words of the angels' chant were:\n\"Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, good-will toward men!\"\n\nHow great and good it sounded! With eager excitement she fastened the\nrolls together, and on her features was depicted impatient longing to put\nan end to an intolerable state of things, as she exclaimed, though there\nwas no one but herself to hear: \"Ay, peace, salvation, good-will! Not\nthis hatred, this thirst for revenge, this blood, this persecution, and,\nas their hideous fruit, this terror, these horrible, cruel fears--\"\n\nHere she was interrupted by the clatter of arms and rapping of hammers\nwhich came up from below. Caesar's Macedonian guard and other infantry\ntroops were silently coming up in companies and vanishing into the\nside-doors which led to the upper tiers of the stadium. What could this\nmean? Meanwhile carpenters were busy fastening up the chief entrance with\nwooden beams. It looked like closing up sluice-gates to hinder the\ninvasion of a high tide. But the stadium was already full of men. She had\nseen thousands of youths march in, and there they stood in close ranks in\nthe arena below her. Besides these, there were now an immense number of\nsoldiers. They must all get out again presently, and what a crush there\nwould be in the side exits if the vomitorium were closed! She longed to\ncall down, to warn the carpenters of the folly of their act. Or was it\nthat the youth of the town were to be pent into the stadium to hear some\nnew and more severe decree, while some of the more refractory were\nsecured?\n\nIt must be so. What a shame!\n\nThen came a few vexilla of Numidian troopers at a slow pace. At their\nhead, on a particularly high horse, rode the legate, a very tall man. He\nglanced up to the side where she was, and Melissa recognized the Egyptian\nZminis. At this her hand sought the place of her heart, for she felt as\nthough it had ceased to beat. What! This wretch, the deadly foe of her\nfather and brother, here, at the head of the Roman troops? Something\nhorrible, impossible, must be about to happen!\n\nThe sun was mirrored in the shining coat of his horse, and in the\nlictor's axe he bore, carrying it like a commander's staff. He raised it\nonce, twice, and, high as she was above him, she could see how sharp the\ncontrast was between the yellow whites of his eyes and the swarthy color\nof his face.\n\nNow, for the third time, the bright steel of the axe flashed in the\nsunshine, and immediately after trumpet-calls sounded and were repeated\nat short intervals, which still, to her, seemed intolerably long. How\nMelissa had presence of mind enough to count them she knew not, but she\ndid. At the seventh all was still, and soon after a short blast on the\ntuba rang out from above, below, and from all sides of the stadium. Each\nwent like an arrow to the heart of the anxious, breathless girl. From the\nmoment when she had seen Zminis she had expected the worst, but the cry\nof rage and despair from a thousand voices which now split her ear told\nher how far the incredible reality outdid her most horrible imaginings.\n\nBreathless, and with a throbbing brain, she leaned out as far as she\ncould, and neither felt the burning sun-which was now beginning to fall\non the western face of the temple--nor heeded the risk of being seen and\ninvolving herself and her protectress in ruin. Trembling like a gazelle\nin a frosty winter's night, she would gladly have withdrawn from the\nwindow, but she felt as if some spell held her there. She longed to shut\nher ears and eyes, but she could not help looking on. Her every instinct\nprompted her to shriek for help, but she could not utter a sound.\n\nThere she stood, seeing and hearing, and her low moaning changed to that\nlaughter which anguish borrows from gladness when it has exhausted all\nforms of expression. At last she sank on her knees on the floor, and\nwhile she shed tears of pain still laughed shrilly, till she understood\nwith sudden horror what was happening. She started violently; a sob\nconvulsed her bosom; she wept and wept, and these tears did her good.\n\nWhen, at one in the afternoon, the sun fell full on her window, she had\nnot yet found strength to move. A flood of bright light, in which whirled\nmillions of motes, danced before her eyes; and as her breath sent the\natoms flying, it passed through her mind that at this very moment the\nreprobate utterance of a madman's lips was blowing happiness, joy, peace,\nand hope out of the lives of many thousands--blowing them into\nnothingness, like the blast of a storm.\n\nThen she commanded herself, for the horrible scene before her threatened\nto stamp itself on her eye like the image her father could engrave on an\nonyx; and she must avoid that, or give up all hope of ever being\nlight-hearted again. Hardly an hour since she had seen the arena looking\nlike a basket of fresh flowers, full of splendid, youthful men. Then the\nwarriors of the Macedonian phalanx had taken their places on the long\nranks of seats on which she looked down, with several cohorts of archers,\nbrown Numidians and black Ethiopians, like inquisitive spectators of the\nexpected show--but all in full armor. At first the youths and men had\nformed in companies, with singing, talk, and laughter, and here and there\na satirical chant; but presently there had been squabbles with the\ntown-watch, and while the younger and more careless still were gay\nenough, whole companies on the other hand had looked up indignantly at\nthe Romans; some had anxiously questioned each other's eyes, or stared\ndown in sullen dismay at the sand.\n\nThe hot, seething blood of these men--the sons of a free city, and\naccustomed to a life of rapid action in hard work and frenzied\nenjoyment--took the delay very much amiss; and when it was rumored that\nthe doors were being locked, impatience and distrust found emphatic\nutterance. Timid whistling and other expressions of disapproval had been\nfollowed by louder demonstrations, for to be locked up was intolerable.\nBut the lictors and guards took no notice, after removing the member of\nthe Museum who had perpetrated the epigram on Caesar's mother. This one,\nwho had certainly gone too far, was to pay for all, it would seem.\n\nThen the trumpets sounded, and the most heedless of the troop of youths\nbegan to feel acute anxiety and alarm. From her high post of observation\nMelissa could see that, although the appearance of Zminis on the scene\nhad caused a fever of agitation, they now broke their serried squares,\nwandered about as if undecided what to do, but prepared for the worst,\nand turned their curly heads now to this side and now to that, till the\ntrumpetblast from the seats attracted every eye upward, and the butchery\nbegan.\n\nDid the cry, \"Stop, wretches!\" really break from Melissa's lips, or had\nshe only intended to shout it down to the people in the stadium? She did\nnot know; but as she recollected the long rank of Numidians who, quick as\nlightning, lifted their curved bows and sent a shower of arrows down on\nthe defenseless lads in the arena, she felt as though she had again\nshrieked out: \"Stop!\" Then it seemed as though a storm of wind had torn\nthousands of straight boughs with metallic leaves that flashed in the\nsunshine from some huge invisible tree, and flung them into the arena;\nand, as her eve followed their fall, she could have fancied that she\nlooked on a corn-field beaten down by a terrific hail-storm; but the\nboughs and leaves were lances and arrows, and each ear of corn cut down\nwas a young and promising human being.\n\nZminis's preposterous suggestion had been acted on. Caracalla was avenged\non the youth of Alexandria.\n\nNot a tongue could wag now in abuse; every pair of young lips which had\ndared utter a scornful cry or purse up to whistle at the sight of Caesar,\nwas silenced forever-and, with the few guilty, a hundred times more who\nwere innocent. She knew now why the great gate had been barred with\nbeams, and why the troop had entered by the side-doors. The scene of the\nbrilliant display had become a lake of blood, full of the dead and dying.\nDeath had invaded the rows of seats; instead of laurel wreaths and\nprizes, deadly weapons were showered down into the arena. It seemed now\nas though the sun, with its blinding radiance, were mercifully fain to\nhinder the human eye from looking down on the horrible picture. To avoid\nthe sickening sight. Melissa closed her eyes and dragged herself to her\nfeet with an effort, to hide herself she knew not where.\n\nBut again there was a flourish of trumpets and loud acclamations, and\nagain an irresistible power dragged her to the window.\n\nA splendid quadriga had stopped at the gate of the stadium, surrounded by\ncourtiers and guards. It was Caracalla's, for Pandion held the reins.\nCould Caracalla approve of this most horrible crime, organized by the\nwretch Zminis, by appearing on the scene; or might it not be that, in his\nwrath at the bloodthirsty zeal of his vile tool, he had come to dismiss\nhim?\n\nShe hoped it was this; and, at any cost, she must know the truth as to\nthis question, which was not based on mere curiosity. Holding one hand to\nher wildly beating heart, she looked across the bloodstained arena to the\nrows of seats and the dais decorated for Caesar. There stood Caracalla,\nwith the Egyptian at his side, pointing down at the arena with his\nfinger. And what was to be seen on the spot he indicated was so horrible\nthat she again shut her eyes, and this time she even covered them with\nher hands. But she would and must see, and once more she looked across;\nand the man whose assurances she had once believed, that it was only his\ncare for the throne and state and the compulsion of cruel fate which had\never made him shed blood--that man was standing side by side with the\nvile, ruthless spy whose tall figure towered far above his master's. His\nhand lay on the villain's arm, his eye rested on the corpse-strewn arena\nbeneath; and now he raised his head, he turned his face, whose look of\nsuffering had once moved her soul, toward her--and he laughed--she could\nsee every feature--laughed so loud, so heartily, so gleefully, as she had\nnever before seen him laugh. He laughed till his whole body and shoulders\nshook. Now he took his hand from the Egyptian's arm and pointed to the\ndead lying at his feet.\n\nAs she saw that laugh, of which she could not hear a sound, Melissa felt\nas though a hyena had yelled in her ear, and, yielding to an irresistible\nimpulse, she looked down once more at the destruction of youthful life\nand happiness which had been wrought in one short hour--at the stream of\nblood after which so many bitter tears must flow. The sight indeed cut\nher to the heart, and yet she was thankful for it; for the first time the\nreckless cruelty of that laughing monster was evident in all its naked\natrocity. Horror, aversion, loathing for that man to whom everything but\npower, cruelty, and cunning, was as nothing, left no room for fear or\npity, or even the least shade of self-reproach for having aroused in him\na desire which she could not gratify.\n\nShe clenched her little fists, and, without vouchsafing another glance at\nthe detestable butcher who had dared to cast his eyes on her, she\nwithdrew from the window and cried out aloud, though startled at the\nsound of her own voice: \"The time, the time! It is fulfilled for him this\nday!\"\n\nAnd how her eyes flashed and her bosom heaved and fell! With what a firm\nstep did she pace the long suite of rooms, while the conviction was borne\nin on her that this deed of the vile assassin in the purple must bring\nthe day of salvation and peace nearer--that day of which Andreas dreamed!\nAs in her silent walk she passed the book-rolls which the lady Euryale\nhad so quietly laid by her bedside, she took up the glad message of Luke\nwith enthusiastic excitement, held it on high, and shouted the angels'\ngreeting which had impressed itself on her memory out of the window, as\nthough she longed that Caracalla should hear it--\"Peace on earth and\ngood-will toward men!\"\n\nThen she resumed her walk through the rooms of the heathen mystics,\nrepeating to herself all the comfortable words she had ever heard from\nEuryale and the freedman Andreas. The image of the divine Lord, who had\ncome to bestow love on the world, and seal his sublime doctrine by\nsacrificing his life, rose up before her soul, and all that the Christian\nJohanna had told her of him made the picture clear, till he stood plainly\nbefore her, beautiful and gentle, in a halo of love and kindness, and yet\nstrong and noble, for the crucified One was a heroic Saviour.\n\nAt this she remembered with satisfaction the struggle she herself had\nfought, and her comfort when she had decided to sacrifice her own\nhappiness to save others from sorrow. She now resolutely grasped the lady\nEuryale's book-rolls, for they contained the key to the inner chambers of\nthe wondrous structure into whose forecourt life itself and her own\nintimate experience had led her. She was soon sitting with her back to\nthe window, and unrolled the gospel of Matthew till she came to the first\nsentence which Euryale had marked for her with a red line.\n\nMelissa was too restless to read straight on; as impatient as a child who\nfinds itself for the first time in a garden which its parents have\nbought, she rushed from one tempting passage to another, applying each to\nherself, to those whom she loved, or in another sense to the disturber of\nher peace.\n\nWith a joyful heart she now believed the promise which at first had\nstaggered her, that the Kingdom of Heaven was at hand.\n\nBut her eye ran swiftly over the open roll, and was attracted by a mark\ndrawing her attention to a whole chapter. She there read how Jesus Christ\nhad gone up on to a mountain to address the vast multitude who followed\nhim. He spoke of the kingdom of heaven, and of who those were that should\nbe suffered to enter there. First, they were the poor in spirit--and she\nno doubt was one of those. Among those who were rich in spirit her\nbrother Philip was certainly one of the richest, and whither had an acute\nunderstanding and restless brain led him that they so seldom gave his\nfeelings time to make themselves heard?\n\nThen the mourners were to be comforted. Oh, that she could have called\nthe lady Berenike to her side and bid her participate in this promise!\nAnd the meek--well, they might come to power perhaps after the downfall\nof the wretch who had flooded the world with blood, and who, of all men\non earth, was the farthest removed from the spirit which gazed at her\nfrom this scripture, so mild and genial. Of those who hungered and\nthirsted after righteousness she again was one: they should be filled,\nand the lady Euryale and Andreas had already loaded the board for her.\n\nThe merciful, she read, should obtain mercy; and she, if any one, had a\nright to regard herself as a peacemaker: thus to her was the promise that\nshe should be called one of the children of God.\n\nBut at the next verse she drew herself up, and her face was radiant with\njoy, for it seemed to have been written expressly for her; nay, to find\nit here struck her as a marvel of good fortune, for there stood the\nwords: \"Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake:\nfor theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye when men shall revile\nyou, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you.\"\n\nAll these things had come upon her in these last days-though not, indeed,\nfor the sake of Jesus Christ and righteousness, but only for the sake of\nthose she loved; yet she would have been ready to endure the worst.\n\nAnd the hapless victims in the arena! Might not the promised bliss await\nthem too? Oh, how gladly would she have bestowed on them the fairest\nreward! And if this should indeed be their lot after death, where was the\nrevenge of their bloodthirsty murderer?\n\nOh, that her mother were still alive--that she, Melissa, had been\npermitted to share this great consolation with her! In a brief aspiration\nshe uplifted her soul to the beloved dead, and as she further unrolled\nthe manuscript her eye fell on the words: \"Love your enemies; bless them\nthat curse you, and do good to them that hate you.\" No, she could not do\nthis; this seemed to her to be too much to ask; even Andreas had not\nattained to this; and yet it must be good and lovely, if only because it\nhelped to cement the peace for which she longed more fervently than for\nany other blessing.\n\nNext she read: \"For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged,\" and\nshe shuddered as she thought of the future fate of the man who had by\ntreachery brought murder and death on an industrious and flourishing city\nas a punishment for the light words and jests of a few mockers, and the\ndisappointment he had suffered from an insignificant girl.\n\nBut then, again, she breathed more freely, for she read: \"Ask, and it\nshall be given unto you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be\nopened.\" Could there be a more precious promise? And to her, she felt, it\nwas already fulfilled; for her trembling finger had, as it were, but just\ntouched the door, and, to! it stood open before her, and that which she\nhad so long sought she had now found. But it was quite natural that it\nshould be so, for the God of the Christians loved those who turned to him\nas His own children. Here it was written why those who asked should\nreceive, and those who sought should find: \"For what man is there of you\nwhom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?\"\n\nIf it were only as a peacemaker, she was already a child of Him who had\nasked this, and she might look for none but good gifts from Him. And what\nwas commanded immediately after seemed to her so simple, so easy to obey,\nand yet so wise. She thought it over a little, and saw that in this\nprecept--of which it was said that it was all the law and the\nprophets--there was in fact a rule which, if it were obeyed, must keep\nall mankind guiltless, and make every one happy. These words, she\nthought, should be written over every door and on every heart, as the\nwinged sun was placed over every Egyptian temple gate, so that no one\nshould ever forget them for an instant. She herself would bear them in\nmind, and she repeated them to herself in an undertone, \"Whatsoever ye\nwould that men should do unto you, even so do unto them.\" Her eye\nwandered to the window and out to the stadium. How happy might the world\nbe under a sovereign who should obey that law! And Caracalla?--No, she\nwould not allow the contentment which filled her to be troubled by a\nthought of him.\n\nWith a hasty gesture she placed the ivory rod which she had found in the\nmiddle of the roll so as to flatten it out, and her eye fell on the\nwords, \"Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will\ngive you rest.\" To her, if to any one, was this glorious bidding\naddressed, for few had a heavier burden to bear. But indeed she already\nfelt it lighter, after the terrors she had gone through on the very verge\nof despair; and now, even though she was still surrounded by dangers, she\nwas far from feeling oppressed or terrified. Now her heart beat higher\nwith hopeful gladness, and she was full of fervent gratitude as she told\nherself with lively and confident assurance that she had found a new\nguide, and, holding His loving and powerful hand, could walk in the way\nin safety. She felt as though some beloved hand had given her a vial of\nprecious medicine that would cure every disease, when she had learned\nthis verse, too, by heart. She would never forget the friendly promise\nand invitation that lay in those words. And to Alexander, at least--poor,\nconscience-stricken Alexander--they might bring some comfort, if not to\nher father and Philip, since the call of the Son of God was addressed to\nhim too. And she looked as happy as though she had heard something to\nrejoice her heart and soul. Her red lips parted once more, showing the\ntwo white teeth which were never to be seen but when she smiled and some\nreal happiness stirred her soul.\n\nShe fancied she was alone, but, even while she was reading the words in\nwhich the Saviour called to him the weary and heavy-laden, the lady\nEuryale had noiselessly opened a secret door leading to Melissa's\nhiding-place, known only to herself and her husband, and had come close\nto her. She now stood watching the girl with surprise and astonishment,\nfor she had expected to find her beside herself, desperate, and more than\never needing comfort and soothing. The unhappy girl must have been drawn\nto the window by the cries of the massacred, and at least have glanced at\nthe revolting scene in the stadium. She would have thought it more\nnatural if she had found Melissa overcome by the horrors she had\nwitnessed, half distraught or paralyzed by distress and rage. And there\nsat the young creature, whom she knew to be soft-hearted and gentle,\nsmiling and with beaming eyes--though those eyes must have rested on the\nmost hideous spectacle--looking as though the roll in her lap were the\nfirst enchanting raptures of a lover. The book lying on Melissa's knees\nwas the gospel of Matthew, which she herself early this morning, while\nthe girl was still sleeping, had laid by her side to comfort her and give\nher some insight into the blessings of Christianity. But these\nscriptures, so sacred to Euryale, had seemed to count for less than\nnothing to this heathen girl, the sister of Philip the skeptic.\n\nEuryale loved Melissa, but far dearer to her was the book to whose\nall-important contents the maiden seemed to have closed her heart in\ncoldness.\n\nIt was for Melissa's sake that, when the high-priest's dwelling was\nsearched by the new magistrate's spies from cellar to garret, she had\npatiently submitted to her husband's hard words. She had liked to think\nthat she might bring this girl as a pure white lamb into the fold of the\nGood Shepherd, who to herself was so dear, and through whom her saddened\nlife had found new charm, her broken heart new joys. A few hours since\nshe had assured her friend Origen that she had found a young Greek who\nwould prove to him that a heathen who had gone through the school of\nsuffering with a pure and compassionate heart needed but a sign, a word\nof flame, to recognize at once the beatitude of Christianity and long to\nbe baptized. And here she discovered the maiden of whom she had such fair\nhopes, with a smile on her lips and beaming looks, while so many innocent\nmen were being slaughtered, as though this were a joy to her!\n\nWhat had become of the girl's soft, tender heart, which but yesterday had\nbeen ready for self-sacrifice if only she might secure the well-being of\nthose she loved? Was she, Euryale, in her dotage, that she could be so\ndeceived by a child?\n\nHer heart beat faster with disappointment; and yet she would not condemn\nthe sinner unheard. So, with a swift impulse she took the roll up from\nMelissa's lap, and her voice was sorrowful rather than severe as she\nexclaimed:\n\n\"I had hoped, my child, that these scriptures might prove to you, as to\nso many before you, a key to open the gates of eternal truth. I thought\nthat they would comfort you, and teach you to love the sublime Being\nwhose exemplary life and pathetic death are no longer unknown to you,\nsince Johanna told you the tale. Nay, I believed that they might\npresently arouse in you the desire to join us who--\"\n\nBut here she stopped, for Melissa had fallen on her neck, and while\nEuryale, much amazed, tried to release herself from her embrace, the girl\ncried out, half laughing and half in tears:\n\n\"It has all come about as you expected! I will live and die faithful to\nthat sublime Saviour, whom I love. I am one of you--yes, mother,\nnow--even before the baptism I long for. For I was weary and heavy-laden\nabove any, and the word of the Lord hath refreshed me. This book has\ntaught me that there is but one path to true happiness, and it is that\nwhich is shown us by Jesus Christ. O lady, how much fairer would our life\non earth be if what is written here concerning blessedness were stamped\non every heart! I feel as though in this hour I had been born again. I do\nnot know myself; and how is it possible that a poor child of man, in such\nfearful straits and peril as I, and after such a scene of horror, should\nfeel so thankful and so full of the purest gladness?\"\n\nThe matron clasped her closely in her arms, and her tears bedewed the\ngirl's face while she kissed her again and again; and the cheerfulness\nwhich had just now hurt her so deeply she now regarded as a beautiful\nmiracle.\n\nHer time was limited, for she was watched; and she had seized the\nhalf-hour during which the townguard had been mustered in the square to\nreport progress. So Melissa had to be brief, and in a few hasty words she\ntold her friend all that she had seen and heard from her high window, and\nhow the gospel of Matthew had been to her glad tidings; how it had given\nher comfort and filled her soul with infinite happiness in this the most\nterrible hour of her life. At this, Euryale also forgot the horrors which\nsurrounded them, till Melissa called her back to the dreadful present;\nfor, with bowed head and in deep anxiety, she desired to know whether her\nfriend knew anything of her relations and Diodoros.\n\nThe matron had a painful struggle with herself. It grieved her to inflict\nanxiety on Melissa's heart, as she stood before her eyes like one of the\nmaidens robed in white and going to be baptized, to whom presents were\ngiven on the festive occasion, and who were carefully sheltered from all\nthat could disturb them and destroy the silent, holy joy of their souls.\nAnd yet the question must be answered: so she said that of the other two\nshe knew nothing, any more than of Berenike and Diodoros, but that of\nPhilip she had bad news. He was a noble man, and, notwithstanding his\nerrors in the search after truth, well worthy of pity. At this, Melissa\nin great alarm begged to be told what had happened to her brother, and\nthe lady Euryale confessed that he no longer walked among the living, but\nshe did not relate the manner of his death; and she bade the weeping girl\nto seek for comfort from the Friend of all who grieve and whom she now\nknew; but to keep herself prepared for the worst, in full assurance that\nnone are tried beyond what they are able to bear, for that the fury of\nthe bloodthirsty tyrant hung like a black cloud over Alexandria and its\ninhabitants. She herself, merely by coming to Melissa, exposed herself to\ngreat danger, and she could not see her again till the morrow. To\nMelissa's inquiry as to whether it was her refusal to be his which had\nbrought such a fearful fate on the innocent youth of Alexandria, Euryale\ncould reply in the negative; for she had heard from her husband that it\nwas a foul epigram written by a pupil of the Museum which had led to\nCaesar's outbreak of rage.\n\nWith a few soothing words she pointed to a basket of food which she had\nbrought with her, showed the girl once more the secret door, and embraced\nher at parting as fondly as though Heaven had restored to her in Melissa\nthe daughter she had lost.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nMelissa was once more alone.\n\nShe now knew that Philip walked no longer among the living. He must have\nfallen a victim to the fury of the monster, but the thought that he might\nhave been slain for her sake left her mind no peace.\n\nShe felt that with the death of this youth--so gifted, and so dear to\nher--a corner-stone had been torn from the paternal house.\n\nIn the loving circle that surrounded her, death had made another gap\nwhich yawned before her, dismal and void.\n\nOne storm more, and what was left standing would fall with the rest.\n\nHer tears flowed fast, and the torturing thought that the emperor had\nslain her brother as a punishment for his sister's flight pierced her to\nthe heart.\n\nNow she belonged indeed to the afflicted and oppressed; and as yesterday,\nin the trouble of her soul, she had called upon Jesus Christ, though she\nscarcely knew of Him then, so now she lifted up her heart to Him who had\nbecome her friend, praying to Him to remember His promise of comfort when\nshe came to Him weary and heavy-laden.\n\nAnd while she tried to realize the nature of the Saviour who had laid\ndown His life for others, she remembered all she had dared for her father\nand brothers, and what fate had been her's during the time since; and she\nfelt she might acknowledge to herself that even if Philip had met his\ndeath because of Caracalla's anger toward her, at any rate she would\nnever have approached Caesar had she not wanted to save her father and\nbrothers. She had never glossed over any wrong-doing of her own; but her\nopen and truthful nature was just as little inclined to the torment of\nself-reproach when she was not absolutely certain of having committed a\nfault.\n\nIn this case she was not quite sure of herself; but she now remembered a\nsaying of Euryale and Andreas which she had not understood before. Jesus\nChrist, it said, had taken upon Himself the sins of the world. If she\nunderstood its meaning aright, the merciful Lord would surely forgive her\na sin which she had committed unwittingly and in no wise for her own\nadvantage. Her prayer grew more and more to be a discourse with her\nnew-found friend; and, as she finished, she felt absolutely sure that He\nat least understood her and was not angry with her. This reassured her,\nbut her cheerfulness had fled, and she could read no more.\n\nDeeply troubled, and more and more distressed as time went on by new\ndisturbing thoughts, she hurriedly paced from side to side of the long,\nnarrow chamber in the gathering darkness. The revolting images around her\nbegan to affect her unbearably once more. Near her chamber, to the west,\nlay the race-course with its horrible scenes; so she turned to the\neastern end that looked out upon the street of Hermes, where the sight\ncould scarcely be so terrible as from the windows at the opposite end.\nBut she was mistaken; for, looking down upon the pavement, she perceived\nthat this, too, swam with blood, and that the ground was covered with\ncorpses.\n\nSeized with a sudden horror, she flew back into the middle of the long\nroom. There she remained standing, for the scene of slaughter in the west\nwas still more appalling than that from which she had just fled. She\ncould not help wondering who could here have fallen a victim to the\ntyrant after he had swept all the youth of the city off the face of the\nearth.\n\nThe evening sun cast long shafts of golden light across the race-course\nand in at the western window, and Melissa knew how quickly the night fell\nin Alexandria. If she wished to find out who they were who had been\nsacrificed to the fury of the tyrant, it must be done at once, for the\nimmense building of the temple already cast long shadows. Determined to\nforce herself to look out, she walked quickly to the eastern window and\ngazed below. But it was some moments before she had the fortitude to\ndistinguish one form from another; they melted before her reluctant eyes\ninto one repulsive mass.\n\nAt last she succeeded in looking more calmly and critically.\n\nNot heaped on one another as on the racecourse, hundreds of Caracalla's\nvictims lay scattered separately over the open square as far as the\nentrance to the street of Hermes. Here lay an old man with a thick beard,\nprobably a Syrian or a Jew; there, his dress betraying him, a seaman; and\nfarther on-no, she could not be mistaken--the youthful corpse that lay so\nmotionless just beneath the window was that of Myrtilos, a friend of\nPhilip, and, like him, a member of the Museum.\n\nIn a fresh fit of terror she was going to flee again into her dreadful\nhiding-place, when she caught sight of a figure leaning against the basin\nof the beautiful marble fountain just in front of the eastern side-door\nof the Serapeum, and immediately below her. The figure moved, and could\ntherefore only be wounded, not dead; and round the head was bound a white\ncloth, reminding her of her beloved, and thereby attracting her\nattention. The youth moved again, turning his face upward, and with a low\ncry she leaned farther forward and gazed and gazed, unmindful of the\ndanger of being seen and falling a victim to the tyrant's fury. The\nwounded, living man-there, he had moved again--was no other than\nDiodoros, her lover!\n\nTill the last glimmer of light disappeared she stood at the window with\nbated breath, and eyes fixed upon him. No faintest movement of his\nescaped her, and at each one, trembling with awakening hope, she thanked\nHeaven and prayed for his rescue. At length the growing darkness hid him\nfrom her sight. With every instant the night deepened, and without\nthinking, without stopping to reflect--driven on by one absorbing\nthought--she felt her way back to her couch, beside which stood the lamp\nand fire-stick, and lighted the wick; then, inspired with new courage at\nthe thought of rescuing her lover from death, she considered for a moment\nwhat had best be done.\n\nIt was easy for her to get out. She had a little money with her; on her\npeplos she wore a clasp that had once belonged to her mother, with two\ngems in it from her father's hand, and on her rounded arm a golden\ncirclet. With these she could buy help. The only thing now was to\ndisguise herself.\n\nOn the great, smoke-blackened metal plate over which those mystics passed\nwho had to walk through fire, there lay plenty of charcoal, and yonder\nhung robes of every description. The next moment she had thrown off her\nown, in order to blacken her glistening white limbs and her face with\nsoot. Among the sewing materials which the lady Euryale had laid beside\nthe scrolls was a pair of scissors. These the girl seized, and with\nquick, remorseless hand cut off the long, thick locks that were her\nbrother's and her lover's delight. Then she chose out a chiton, which,\nreaching only to her knees, gave her the appearance of a boy. Her breath\ncame fast and her hands trembled, but she was already on her way to the\nsecret door through which she should flee from this place of horror, when\nshe came to a standstill, shaking her head gently. She had looked around\nher, and the wild disorder she was leaving behind her in the little room\nwent against her womanly feelings. But though this feeling would not in\nitself have kept her back, it warned her to steady her mind before\nleaving the refuge her friend had accorded to her. Thoughtful, and\naccustomed to have regard for others, she realized at once how dangerous\nit might prove to Euryale if these unmistakable traces of her presence\nthere should be discovered by an enemy. The kindness of her motherly\nfriend should not bring misfortune upon her. With active presence of mind\nshe gathered up her garments from the floor, swept the long locks of hair\ntogether, and threw them all, with the sewing and the basket that had\ncontained the food, into the stove on the hearth, and set them alight.\nThe scissors she took with her as a weapon in case of need.\n\nThen, laying the books of the gospels beside the other manuscripts, and\ncasting a last look round to assure herself that every sign of her\npresence had been destroyed, she addressed one more prayer to the tender\nComforter of the afflicted, who has promised to save those that are in\ndanger.\n\nShe then opened the secret door.\n\nWith a beating heart, and yet far more conscious of the desire to save\nher lover while there was yet time than of the danger into which she was\nrushing headlong, she flitted down the hidden staircase as lightly as a\nchild at play. So much time had been lost in clearing the room--and yet\nshe could not have left it so!\n\nShe had not forgotten where to press, so that the heavy stone which\nclosed the entrance should move aside; but as she sprang from the last\nstep her lamp had blown out, and blackest darkness concealed the surface\nof the smooth granite wall which lay between her and the street.\n\nWhat if, when she got outside, she should be seen by the lictors or\nspies?\n\nAt this thought fear overcame her for the first time. As she felt about\nthe door her hands trembled and beads of perspiration stood upon her\nbrow. But she must go to her wounded lover! When any one was bleeding to\ndeath every moment might bring the terrible \"too late.\" It meant\nDiodoros's death if she did not succeed in opening the granite slab.\n\nShe took her hands from the stone and forced herself, with the whole\nstrength of her will, to be calm.\n\nWhere had been the place by pressing which the granite might be moved?\n\nIt must have been high up on the right side. She carefully followed with\nher fingers the groove in which the stone lay, and having recalled its\nshape by her sense of touch, she began her search anew. Suddenly she felt\nsomething beneath her finger-tips that was colder than the stone. She had\nfound the metal bolt! With a deep breath, and without stopping to think\nof what might be before her, she pressed the spring; the slab turned-one\nstep-and she was in the street between the racecourse and the Serapeum.\n\nAll was still around her. Not a sound was to be heard except from the\nsquare to the north of the temple, where all who carried arms had\ngathered together to enjoy the wine which flowed in streams as a mark of\nthe emperor's approbation, and from the inner circle of the race-course\nvoices were audible. Of the citizens not one dared show himself in the\nstreets, although the butchery had ceased at sundown. All who did not\ncarry the imperial arms had shut themselves up in their houses, and the\nstreets and squares were deserted since the soldiers had assembled in\nfront of the Serapeum.\n\nNo one noticed Melissa. The dangers that threatened her from afar\ntroubled her but little. She only knew that she must go on--go on as fast\nas her feet would carry her, if she were to reach her loved one in time.\n\nSkirting the south side of the temple, in order to get to the fountain,\nher chief thought was to keep in its shadow. The moon had not yet risen,\nand they had forgotten to light either the pitch-pans or the torches\nwhich usually burned in front of the south facade of the temple. They had\nbeen too busy with other matters to-day, and now they needed all hands in\nheaping the bodies together. The men whose voices sounded across to her\nfrom the race-course had already begun the work. On--she must hurry on!\n\nBut it was not so easy as last night. Her light sandals were wet through,\nand there was ever a fresh impediment in her way. She knew what it was\nthat had wetted her foot--blood--noble, human blood--and every obstacle\nagainst which she stumbled was a human body. But she would not let\nherself dwell upon it, and hurried on as though they were but water and\nstones, ever seeing before her the image of the wounded youth who leaned\nagainst the basin.\n\nThus she reached the east side of the temple. Already she could hear the\nsplashing of the fountain, she saw the marble gleaming through the\ndarkness, and began seeking for the spot where she had seen her lover.\nShe suddenly stopped short; at the same time as herself, lights faint and\nbright were coming along from the south, from the entrance of the street\nthat led to Rhakotis, and down to the water. She was in the middle of the\nstreet, without a possibility of concealing herself except in one of the\nniches of the Serapeum.\n\nShould she abandon him? She must go on, and to seek protection in the\nouter wall of the temple meant turning back. So she stood still and held\nher breath as she watched the advancing lights. Now they stopped. She\nheard the rattle of arms and men's voices. The lantern-bearers were being\ndetained by the watch. They were the first soldiers she had seen, the\nothers being engaged in drinking, or in the work on the race-course.\nWould the soldiers find her, too? But, no! They moved on, the\ntorch-bearers in front, toward the street of Hermes.\n\nWho were those people who went wandering about among the slain, turning\nfirst to this side and then to that, as if searching for something?\n\nThey could not be robbing the dead, or the watch would have seized them.\n\nNow they came quite close to her, and she trembled with fright, for one\nof them was a soldier. The light of the lantern shone upon his armor. He\nwent before a man and two lads who were following a laden ass, and in one\nof them Melissa recognized with beating heart a garden slave of Polybius,\nwho had often done her a service.\n\nAnd now she took courage to look more closely at the man--and it\nwas--yes, even in the peasant's clothes he wore he could not deceive her\nquick eyes--it was Andreas!\n\nShe felt that every breath that came from her young bosom must be a\nprayer of thanksgiving; nor was it long before the freedman recognized\nMelissa in the light-footed black boy who seemed to spring from the earth\nin order to show them the way, and he, too, felt as if a miracle had been\nwrought.\n\nLike fair flowers that spring up round a scaffold over which the hungry\nravens croak and hover, so here, in the midst of death and horror, joy\nand hope began to blossom in thankful hearts. Diodoros lived! No\nword-only a fleeting pressure of the hand and a quick look passed between\nthe elderly man and the maiden--who looked like a boy scarcely passed his\nschool-days--to show what they felt as they knelt beside the wounded\nyouth and bound up the deep gash in his shoulder dealt by the sword that\nhad felled him.\n\nA little while afterward, Andreas drew from the basket which the ass\ncarried, and from which he had already taken bandages and medicine, a\nlight litter of matting. He then lifted Melissa on to the back of the\nbeast of burden, and they all moved onward.\n\nThe sights that surrounded them as long as they were near the Serapeum\nforced her to close her eyes, especially when the ass had to walk round\nsome obstruction, or when it and its guide waded through slimy pools. She\ncould not forget that they were red, nor whence they came; and this ride\nbrought her moments in which she thought to expire of shuddering horror\nand sorrow and wrath.\n\nNot till they reached a quiet lane in Rhakotis, where they could advance\nwithout let or hindrance, did she open her eyes. But a strange, heavy\npain oppressed her that she had never felt before, and her head burned so\nthat she could scarcely see Andreas and the two slaves, who, strong in\nthe joy of knowing that their young lord was alive, carried Diodoros\nsteadily along in the litter. The soldier--it was the centurion\nMartialis, who had been banished to the Pontus--still accompanied them,\nbut Melissa's aching head pained her so much that she did not think of\nasking who he was or why he was with them.\n\nOnce or twice she felt impelled to ask whither they were taking her, but\nshe had not the power to raise her voice. When Andreas came to her side\nand pointed to the centurion, saying that without him he would never have\nsucceeded in saving her beloved, she heard it only as a hollow murmur,\nwithout any consciousness of its meaning. Indeed, she wished rather that\nthe freedman would keep silent when he began explaining his opportune\narrival at the fountain, which must seem such a miracle to her.\n\nThe slave-brand on his arm had enabled him to penetrate into the house of\nSeleukus, where he hoped to obtain news of her. There Johanna had led him\nto Alexander, and with the Aurelians he had found the centurion and the\nslave Argutis. Argutis had just returned from the lady Euryale, and swore\nthat he had seen the wounded Diodoros. Andreas had then declared his\nintention of bringing the son of his former master to a place of safety,\nand the centurion had been prevailed upon by the young tribunes to open a\nway for the freedman through the sentinels. The gardeners of Polybius,\nwith their ass, had been detained in an inn on this side of Lake Mareotis\nby the closing of the harbor, and Andreas had taken the precaution of\nmaking use of them. Had it not been for the centurion, who was known to\nthe other soldiers, the watch would never have allowed the freedman to\nget so far as the fountain; Andreas therefore begged Melissa to thank\ntheir preserver. But his words fell upon her ear unnoticed, and when the\nstrange soldier left her to devote himself again to Diodoros she breathed\nmore freely, for his rapidly spoken words hurt her.\n\nIf he would only not come again--only not speak to her!\n\nShe had even ceased to look for her lover. Her one desire was to see and\nhear nothing. When she did force herself to raise her heavy, throbbing\nlids, she noticed that they were passing poor-looking houses which she\nnever remembered seeing before. She fancied, however, from the damp wind\nthat blew in her face and relieved her burning head, that they must be\nnearing the lake or the sea. Surely that was a fishing-net hanging yonder\non the fence round a but on which the light of the lantern fell. But\nperhaps it was something quite different, for the images that passed\nbefore her heavy eyes began to mingle confusedly, to repeat themselves,\nand be surrounded by a ring of rainbow colors. Her head had grown so\nheavy that her mind had lost all sense of hope or fear; only her thoughts\nstirred faintly as the procession moved on and on through the darkness,\nwithout a pause for rest.\n\nWhen they had passed the last of the huts she managed to look upward.\n\nThe evening star stood out clear against the sky, and she seemed to see\nthe other stars revolving quickly round it.\n\nHer mouth was painful and parched, and more than once she had been seized\nwith giddiness, which forced her to hold tightly to the saddle.\n\nNow they stopped beside a large piece of water, and she felt strangely\nwell and light of heart. That must be the dear, familiar lake. And there\nstood Agatha waving to her, and at her side the lady Euryale under the\nspreading shade of a mighty palm. Bright sunshine flooded them both, and\nyet it was the night; for there was the evening star beaming down upon\nher.\n\nHow could that be?\n\nYet, when she tried to understand it all, her head pained her so, and she\nturned so giddy, that she clutched the neck of the ass to save herself\nfrom falling.\n\nWhen she raised herself again she saw a large boat, out of which several\npeople came to meet them, the foremost of them a tall man in a long,\nwhite garment. That was no dream, she was quite certain. And yet-why did\nthe lantern which one of them held aloft burn her face so much and not\nhis? Oh, how it burned!\n\nEverything turned in a circle round her, and grew dark before her eyes.\n\nBut not for long; suddenly it became light as day, and she heard a deep\nand friendly voice calling her by name. She answered without fear, \"Here\nam I,\" and saw before her a stranger in a long, white robe, of lofty yet\ngentle aspect, just as she had imagined the crucified Saviour of the\nChristians, and in her ear sounded the loving message with which he bids\nthe weary and heavy-laden come to him that he may give them rest.\n\nHow gentle, how consoling, and how full of gracious promise were the\nwords, and how gladly would she do his bidding! \"Here am I!\" she cried\nagain, and saw the arms of the white-robed man stretched out to receive\nher. She staggered toward him, and felt a firm and manly hand clasp hers,\nand then rest in blessing on her throbbing brow. All grew dark again\nbefore her, and she saw and heard no more.\n\nAndreas had lifted her from the ass and supported her, while the two\nChristians thanked the soldier for his timely aid.\n\nHaving assured them that he had had no thought of helping them, but only\nof obeying his superior officers, he disappeared into the night, and the\nfreedman lifted Melissa in his strong arms and carried her down to Zeno's\nboat, which was waiting for them.\n\n\"Her mind wanders,\" said the freedman, with a loving look at the precious\nburden in his arms. \"Her spirit is strong, but the shocks she has\nsustained this day have been too much for her. 'Thou wilt give me rest,'\nwere her last words before losing consciousness. Can she have been\nthinking of the promise of the Saviour?\"\n\n\"If not,\" answered the deep, musical voice of Zeno, \"we will show her Him\nwho called the little children to Him, and the weary and heavy-laden. She\nbelongs to them, and she will see that the Lord fulfills what He so\nlovingly promises.\"\n\n\"One of Christ's sayings, and repeated by Paul in his letter to the\nGalatians, has taken great hold upon her,\" added Andreas, \"and I think\nthat in these days of terror, for her, too, the fullness of time has\ncome.\"\n\nAs he spoke he stepped on to the plank which led to the boat from the\nshore: Diodoros had already been placed on board. When Andreas laid the\ngirl on the cushioned seat in the little cabin, he exclaimed, with a sigh\nof relief, \"Now we are safe!\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     He has the gift of being easily consoled\n\n\n\n\nA THORNY PATH\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 12.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\nCaracalla's evening meal was ended, and for years past his friends had\nnever seen the gloomy monarch in so mad a mood. The high-priest of\nSerapis, with Dio Cassius the senator, and a few others of his suite, had\nnot indeed appeared at table; but the priest of Alexander, the prefect\nMacrinus, his favorites Theocritus, Pandion, Antigonus, and others of\ntheir kidney, had crowded round him, had drunk to his health, and wished\nhim joy of his glorious revenge.\n\nEverything which legend or history had recorded of similar deeds was\ncompared with this day's work, and it was agreed that it transcended them\nall. This delighted the half-drunken monarch. To-day, he declared with\nflashing eyes, and not till to-day, he had dared to be entirely what Fate\nhad called him to be--at once the judge and the executioner of an\naccursed and degenerate race. As Titus had been named \"the Good,\" so he\nwould be called \"the Terrible.\" And this day had secured him that grand\nname, so pleasing to his inmost heart.\n\n\"Hail to the benevolent sovereign who would fain be terrible!\" cried\nTheocritus, raising his cup; and the rest of the guests echoed him.\n\nThen the number of the slain was discussed. No one could estimate it\nexactly. Zminis, the only man who could have seen everything, had not\nappeared: Fifty, sixty, seventy thousand Alexandrians were supposed to\nhave suffered death; Macrinus, however, asserted that there must have\nbeen more than a hundred thousand, and Caracalla rewarded him for his\nstatement by exclaiming loudly \"Splendid! grand! Hardly comprehensible by\nthe vulgar mind! But, even so, it is not the end of what I mean to give\nthem. To-day I have racked their limbs; but I have yet to strike them to\nthe heart, as they have stricken me!\"\n\nHe ceased, and after a short pause repeated unhesitatingly, and as though\nby a sudden impulse, the lines with which Euripides ends several of his\ntragedies:\n\n       \"Jove in high heaven dispenses various fates;\n        And now the gods shower blessings which our hope\n        Dared not aspire to, now control the ills\n        We deemed inevitable. Thus the god\n        To these hath given an end we never thought.\"\n\n                   --Potter's translation.\n\nAnd this was the end of the revolting scene, for, as he spoke, Caesar\npushed away his cup and sat staring into vacancy, so pale that his\nphysician, foreseeing a fresh attack, brought out his medicine vial.\n\nThe praetorian prefect gave a signal to the rest that they should not\nnotice the change in their imperial host, and he did his best to keep the\nconversation going, till Caracalla, after a long pause, wiped his brow\nand exclaimed hoarsely: \"What has become of the Egyptian? He was to bring\nin the living prisoners--the living, I say! Let him bring me them.\"\n\nHe struck the table by his couch violently with his fist; and then, as if\nthe clatter of the metal vessels on it had brought him to himself, he\nadded, meditatively: \"A hundred thousand! If they burned their dead here,\nit would take a forest to reduce them to ashes.\"\n\n\"This day will cost him dear enough as it is,\" the high-priest of\nAlexander whispered; he, as idiologos, having to deposit the tribute from\nthe temples and their estates in the imperial treasury. He addressed his\nneighbor, old Julius Paulinus, who replied:\n\n\"Charon is doing the best business to-day. A hundred thousand obolus in a\nfew hours. If Tarautas reigns over us much longer, I will farm his\nferry!\"\n\nDuring this whispered dialogue Theocritus the favorite was assuring\nCaesar in a loud voice that the possessions of the victims would suffice\nfor any form of interment, and an ample number of thank-offerings into\nthe bargain.\n\n\"An offering!\" echoed Caracalla, and he pointed to a short sword which\nlay beside him on the couch. \"That helped in the work. My father wielded\nit in many a fight, and I have not let it rust. Still, I doubt whether in\nmy hands and his together it ever before yesterday slaughtered a hundred\nthousand.\"\n\nHe looked round for the high-priest of Serapis, and after seeking him in\nvain among the guests, he exclaimed:\n\n\"The revered Timotheus withdraws his countenance from us to-day. Yet it\nwas to his god that I dedicated the work of vengeance. He laments the\nloss of worshipers to great Serapis, as you, Vertinus\"--and he turned to\nthe idiologos--\"regret the slain tax-payers. Well, you are thinking of my\nloss or gain, and that I can not but praise. Your colleague in the\nservice of Serapis has nothing to care for but the honor of his god; but\nhe does not succeed in rising to the occasion. Poor wretch! I will give\nhim a lesson. Here Epagathos, and you, Claudius--go at once to Timotheus;\ncarry him this sword. I devote it to his god. It is to be preserved in\nhis holy of holies, in memory of the greatest act of vengeance ever\nknown. If Timotheus should refuse the gift--But no, he has sense--he\nknows me!\"\n\nHe paused, and turned to look at Macrinus, who had risen to speak to some\nofficials and soldiers who had entered the room. They brought the news\nthat the Parthian envoys had broken off all negotiations, and had left\nthe city in the afternoon. They would enter into no alliance, and were\nprepared to meet the Roman army.\n\nMacrinus repeated this to Caesar with a shrug of his shoulders, but he\nwithheld the remark added by the venerable elder of the ambassadors, that\nthey did not fear a foe who by so vile a deed had incurred the wrath of\nthe gods.\n\n\"Then it is war with the Parthians!\" cried Caracalla, and his eyes\nflashed. \"My breast-plated favorites will rejoice.\"\n\nBut then he looked grave, and inquired: \"They are leaving the town, you\nsay? But are they birds? The gates and harbor are closed.\"\n\n\"A small Phoenician vessel stole out just before sundown between our\nguard-ships,\" was the reply. \"Curse it!\" broke from Caesar's lips in a\nloud voice, and, after a brief dialogue in an undertone with the prefect,\nhe desired to have papyrus and writing materials brought to him. He\nhimself must inform the senate of what had occurred, and he did so in a\nfew words.\n\nHe did not know the number of the slain, and he did not think it worth\nwhile to make a rough estimate. All the Alexandrians, he said, had in\nfact merited death. A swift trireme was to carry the letter to Ostia at\ndaybreak.\n\nHe did not, indeed, ask the opinion of the senate, and yet he felt that\nit would be better that news of the day's events should reach the curia\nunder his own hand than through the distorting medium of rumor.\n\nNor did Macrinus impress on him, as usual, that he should give his\ndispatch a respectful form. This crime, if anything, might help him to\nthe fulfillment of the Magian's prophecy.\n\nAs Caesar was rolling up his missive, the long-expected Zminis came into\nthe room. He had attired himself splendidly, and bore the insignia of his\nnew office. He humbly begged to be pardoned for his long delay. He had\nhad to make his outer man fit to appear among Caesar's guests, for--as he\nboastfully explained--he himself had waded in blood, and in the\ncourt-yard of the Museum the red life-juice of the Alexandrians had\nreached above his horse's knees. The number of the dead, he declared with\nsickening pride, was above a hundred thousand, as estimated by the\nprefect.\n\n\"Then we will call it eleven myriad,\" Caracalla broke in. \"Now, we have\nhad enough of the dead. Bring in the living.\"\n\n\"Whom?\" asked the Egyptian, in surprise. Hereupon Caesar's eyelids began\nto quiver, and in a threatening tone he reminded his bloody-handed tool\nof those whom he had ordered him to take alive. Still Zminis was silent,\nand Caesar furiously shrieked his demand as to whether by his blundering\nHeron's daughter had escaped; whether he could not produce the gem-cutter\nand his son. The blood-stained butcher then perceived that Caesar's\nmurderous sword might be turned against him also. Still, he was prepared\nto defend himself by every means in his power. His brain was inventive,\nand, seeing that the fault for which he would least easily be forgiven\nwas the failure to capture Melissa, he tried to screen himself by a lie.\nRelying on an incident which he himself had witnessed, he began: \"I felt\ncertain of securing the gem-cutter's pretty daughter, for my men had\nsurrounded his house. But it had come to the ears of these Alexandrian\nscoundrels that a son of Heron's, a painter, and his sister, had betrayed\ntheir fellow-citizens and excited your wrath. It was to them that they\nascribed the punishment which I executed upon them in your name. This\nrabble have no notion of reflection; before we could hinder them they had\nrushed on the innocent dwelling. They flung fire-brands into it, burned\nit, and tore it down. Any one who was within perished, and thus the\ndaughter of Heron died. That is, unfortunately, proved. I can take the\nold man and his son tomorrow. To-day I have had so much to do that there\nhas not been time to bind the sheaves. It is said that they had escaped\nbefore the mob rushed on the house.\"\n\n\"And the gem-cutter's daughter?\" asked Caracalla, in a trembling voice.\n\"You are sure she was burned in the building?\"\n\n\"As sure as that I have zealously endeavored to let the Alexandrians feel\nyour avenging hand,\" replied the Egyptian resolutely, and with a bold\nface he confirmed his he. \"I have here the jewel she wore on her arm. It\nwas found on the charred body in the cellar. Adventus, your chamberlain,\nsays that Melissa received it yesterday as a gift from you. Here it is.\"\n\nAnd he handed Caracalla the serpent-shaped bracelet which Caesar had sent\nto his sweetheart before setting out for the Circus. The fire had damaged\nit, but there was no mistaking it. It had been found beneath the ruins on\na human arm, and Zminis had only learned from the chamberlain, to whom he\nhad shown it, that it had belonged to the daughter of Heron.\n\n\"Even the features of the corpse,\" Zminis added, \"were still\nrecognizable.\"\n\n\"The corpse!\" Caesar echoed gloomily. \"And it was the Alexandrians, you\nsay, who destroyed the house?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord; a raging mob, and mingled with them men of every\nrace-Jews, Greeks, Syrians, what not. Most of them had lost a father, a\nson, or a brother, sent to Hades by your vengeance. Their wildest curses\nwere for Alexander, the painter, who in fact had played the spy for you.\nBut the Macedonian phalanx arrived at the right moment. They killed most\nof them and took some prisoners. You can see them yourself in the\nmorning. As regards the wife of Seleukus--\"\n\n\"Well,\" exclaimed Caesar, and his eye brightened again.\n\n\"She fell a victim to the clumsiness of the praetorians.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" interrupted the legate Quintus Flavius Nobilior, who had\ngranted Alexander's life to the prayer of the twins Aurelius; and\nMacrinus also forbade any insulting observations as to the blameless\ntroops whom he had the honor to command.\n\nBut the Egyptian was not to be checked; he went on eagerly: \"Pardon, my\nlords. It is perfectly certain, nevertheless, that it was a\npraetorian--his name is Rufus, and he belongs to the second cohort--who\npierced the lady Berenike with his spear.\"\n\nFlavius here begged to be allowed to speak, and reported how Berenike had\nsought and found her end. And he did so as though he were narrating the\ndeath of a heroine, but he added, in a tone of disapproval: \"Unhappily,\nthe misguided woman died with a curse on you, great Caesar, on her\ntreasonable lips.\"\n\n\"And this female hero finds her Homer in you!\" cried Caesar. \"We will\nspeak together again, my Quintus.\"\n\nHe raised a brimming cup to his lips and emptied it at a draught; then,\nsetting it on the table with such violence that it rang, he exclaimed\n\"Then you have brought me none of those whom I commanded you to capture?\nEven the feeble girl who had not quitted her father's house you allowed\nto be murdered by those coarse monsters! And you think I shall look on\nyou with favor? By this time to-morrow the gem-cutter and his son\nAlexander are here before me, or by the head of my divine father you go\nto the wild beasts in the Circus.\"\n\n\"They will not eat such as he,\" observed old Julius Paulinus, and Caesar\nnodded approvingly. The Egyptian shuddered, for this imperial nod showed\nhim by how slender a thread his life hung.\n\nIn a flash he reflected whither he might fly if he should fail to find\nthis hated couple. If, after all, he should discover Melissa alive, so\nmuch the better. Then, he might have been mistaken in identifying the\nbody; some slave girl might have stolen the bracelet and put it on before\nthe house was burned down. He knew for a fact that the charred corpse of\nwhich he had spoken was that of a street wench who had rushed among the\nforemost into the house of the much-envied imperial favorite--the\ntraitress--and had met her death in the spreading flames.\n\nZminis had but a moment to rack his inventive and prudent brain, but he\nalready had thought of something which might perhaps influence Caesar in\nhis favor. Of all the Alexandrians, the members of the Museum were those\nwhom Caracalla hated most. He had been particularly enjoined not to spare\none of them; and in the course of the ride which Caesar, attended by the\narmed troopers of Arsinoe, had taken through the streets streaming with\nblood, he had stayed longest gazing at the heap of corpses in the\ncourt-yard of the Museum. In the portico, a colonnade copied from the\nStoa at Athens, whither a dozen or so of the philosophers had fled when\nattacked, he had even stabbed several with his own hand. The blood on the\nsword which Caracalla had dedicated to Serapis had been shed at the\nMuseum.\n\nThe Egyptian had himself led the massacre here, and had seen that it was\nthoroughly effectual. The mention of those slaughtered hair-splitters\nmust, if anything, be likely to mitigate Caesar's wrath; so no sooner had\nthe applause died away with which the proconsul's jest at his expense had\nbeen received, than Zminis began to give his report of the great massacre\nin the Museum. He could boast of having spared scarcely one of the empty\nword-pickers with whom the epigrams against Caesar and his mother had\noriginated. Teachers and pupils, even the domestic officials, had been\novertaken by the insulted sovereign's vengeance. Nothing was left but the\nstones of that great institution, which had indeed long outlived its\nfame. The Numidians who had helped in the work had been drunk with blood,\nand had forced their way even into the physician's lecture-rooms and the\nhospital adjoining. There, too, they had given no quarter; and among the\nsufferers who had been carried thither to be healed they had found\nTarautas, the wounded gladiator. A Numidian, the youngest of the legion,\na beardless youth, had pinned the terrible conqueror of lions and men to\nthe bed with his spear, and then, with the same weapon, had released at\nleast a dozen of his fellow-sufferers from their pain.\n\nAs he told his story the Egyptian stood staring into vacancy, as though\nhe saw it all, and the whites of his eyeballs gleamed more hideously than\never out of his swarthy face. The lean, sallow wretch stood before Caesar\nlike a talking corpse, and did not observe the effect his narrative of\nthe gladiator's death was producing. But he soon found out. While he was\nyet speaking, Caracalla, leaning on the table by his couch with both\nhands, fixed his eyes on his face, without a word.\n\nThen he suddenly sprang up, and, beside himself with rage, he interrupted\nthe terrified Egyptian and railed at him furiously:\n\n\"My Tarautas, who had so narrowly escaped death! The bravest hero of his\nkind basely murdered on his sick-bed, by a barbarian, a beardless boy!\nAnd you, you loathsome jackal, could allow it? This deed--and you know\nit, villain--will be set down to my score. It will be brought up against\nme to the end of my days in Rome, in the provinces, everywhere. I shall\nbe cursed for your crime wherever there is a human heart to throb and\nfeel, and a human tongue to speak. And I--when did I ever order you to\nslake your thirst for blood in that of the sick and suffering? Never! I\ncould never have done such a thing! I even told you to spare the women\nand helpless slaves. You are all witnesses, But you all hear me--I will\npunish the murderer of the wretched sick! I will avenge you, foully\nmurdered, brave, noble Tarautas!--Here, lictors! Bind him--away with him\nto the Circus with the criminals thrown to the wild beasts! He allowed\nthe girl whose life I bade him spare to be burned to death before his\neyes, and the hapless sick were slain at his command by a beardless\nboy!--And Tarautas! I valued him as I do all who are superior to their\nkind; I cared for him. He was wounded for our entertainment, my friends.\nPoor fellow--poor, brave Tarautas!\"\n\nHe here broke into loud sobs, and it was so unheard-of, so\nincomprehensible a thing that this man should weep who, even at his\nfather's death had not shed a tear, that Julius Paulinus himself held his\nmocking tongue.\n\nThe rest of the spectators also kept anxious and uneasy silence while the\nlictors bound Zminis's hands, and, in spite of his attempts to raise his\nvoice once more in self-defense, dragged him away and thrust him out\nacross the threshold of the dining-hall. The door closed behind him, and\nno applause followed, though every one approved of the Egyptian's\ncondemnation, for Caracalla was still weeping.\n\nWas it possible that these tears could be shed for sick people whom he\ndid not know, and for the coarse gladiator, the butcher of men and\nbeasts, who had had nothing to give Caesar but a few hours of excitement\nat the intoxicating performances in the arena? So it must be; for from\ntime to time Caracalla moaned softly, \"Those unhappy sick!\" or \"Poor\nTarautas!\"\n\nAnd, indeed, at this moment Caracalla himself could not have said whom he\nwas lamenting. He had in the Circus staked his life on that of Tarautas,\nand when he shed tears over his memory it was certainly less for the\ngladiator's sake than over the approaching end of his own existence, to\nwhich he looked forward in consequence of Tarautas's death. But he had\noften been near the gates of Hades in the battle-field with calm\nindifference; and now, while he thus bewailed the sick and Tarautas with\nbitter lamentations, in his mind he saw no sick-bed, nor, indeed, the\nstunted form of the braggart hero of the arena, but the slender, graceful\nfigure of a sweet girl, and a blackened, charred arm on which glittered a\ngolden armlet.\n\nThat woman! Treacherous, shameless, but how lovely and beloved! That\nwoman, under his eyes, as it were, was swept out of the land of the\nliving; and with her, with Melissa, the only girl for whom his heart had\never throbbed faster, the miracle-worker who had possessed the unique\npower of exorcising his torments, whose love--for so he still chose to\nbelieve, though he had always refused her petitions that he would show\nmercy--whose love would have given him strength to become a benefactor to\nall mankind, a second Trajan or Titus. He had quite forgotten that he had\nintended her to meet a disgraceful end in the arena under fearful\ntorments, if she had been brought to him a prisoner. He felt as though\nthe fate of Roxana, with whom his most cherished dream had perished, had\nquite broken his heart; and it was Melissa whom he really bewailed, with\nthe gladiator's name on his lips and the jewel before his eyes which had\nbeen his gift, and which she had worn on her arm even in death. But he\nere long controlled this display of feeling, ashamed to shed tears for\nher who had cheated him and who had fled from his love. Only once more\ndid he sob aloud. Then he raised himself, and while holding his\nhandkerchief to his eyes he addressed the company with theatrical pathos:\n\n\"Yes, my friends, tell whom you will that you have seen Bassianus weep;\nbut add that his tears flowed from grief at the necessity for punishing\nso many of his subjects with such rigor. Say, too, that Caesar wept with\npity and indignation. For what good man would not be moved to sorrow at\nseeing the sick and wounded thus maltreated? What humane heart could\nrefrain from loud lamentations at the sight of barbarity which is not\nwithheld from laying a murderous hand even on the sacred anguish of the\nsick and wounded? Defend me, then, against those Romans who may shrug\ntheir shoulders over the weakness of a weeping Caesar--the Terrible. My\noffice demands severity; and yet, my friends, I am not ashamed of these\ntears.\"\n\nWith this he took leave of his guests and retired to rest, and those who\nremained were soon agreed that every word of this speech, as well as\nCaesar's tears, were rank hypocrisy. The mime Theocritus admired his\nsovereign in all sincerity, for how rarely could even the greatest actors\nsucceed in forcing from their eyes, by sheer determination, a flood of\nreal, warm tears--he had seen them flow. As Caesar quitted the room, his\nhand on the lion's mane, the praetor Priscillianus whispered to Cilo:\n\n\"Your disciple has been taking lessons here of the weeping crocodile.\"\n\n          .........................\n\nOut on the great square the soldiers were resting after the day's bloody\nwork. They had lighted large fires in front of the most sacred sanctuary\nof a great city, as though they were in the open field. Round each of\nthese, foot and horse soldiers lay or squatted on the ground, according\nto their companies; and over the wine allowed them by Caesar they told\neach other the hideous experiences of the day, which even those who had\ngrown rich by it could not think of without disgust. Gold and silver\ncups, the plunder of the city, circulated round those camp-fires and the\njuice of the vine was poured into them out of jugs of precious metal.\nTongues were wagging fast, for, though there was indeed but one opinion\nas to what had been done, there were mercenaries enough and ambitious\npretenders who could dare to defend it. Every word might reach the\nsovereign's ears, and the day might bring promotion as well as gold and\nbooty. Even the calmest were still in some excitement over the massacre\nthey had helped in; the plunder was discussed, and barter and exchange\nwere eagerly carried on.\n\nAs Caracalla passed the balcony he stepped out for a moment, followed by\nthe lamp-bearers, to thank his faithful warriors for the valor and\nobedience they had shown this day. The traitorous Alexandrians had now\nmet their deserts. The greater the plunder his dear brethren in arms\ncould win, the better he would be pleased. This speech was hailed with a\nshout of glee drowning his words; but Caracalla had heard his dearly\nbought troops cheer him with greater zeal and vigor. There were here\nwhole groups of men who did not join at all, or hardly opened their\nmouths. And his ear was sharp.\n\nWhat cause could they have for dissatisfaction after such splendid booty,\nalthough they did not yet know that a war with the Parthians was in\nprospect?\n\nHe must know; but not to-day. They were to be depended on, he felt sure,\nfor they were those to whom he was most liberal, and he had taken care\nthat there should be no one in the empire whose means equaled his own.\nBut that they should be so lukewarm annoyed him. To-day, of all days, an\nenthusiastic roar of acclamations would have been peculiarly gratifying.\nThey ought to have known it; and he went to his bedroom in silent anger.\nThere his freedman Epagathos was waiting for him, with Adventus and his\nlearned Indian body slave Arjuna. The Indian never spoke unless he was\nspoken to, and the two others took good care not to address their lord.\nSo silence reigned in the spacious room while the Indian undressed\nCaracalla. Caesar was wont to say that this man's hands were matchless\nfor lightness and delicacy of touch, but to-day they trembled as he\nlifted the laurel wreath from Caesar's head and unbuckled the padded\nbreast plate. The events of the day had shaken this man's soul to the\nfoundations. In his Eastern home he had been taught from his infancy to\nrespect life even in beasts, living exclusively on vegetables, and\nholding all blood in abhorrence. He now felt the deepest loathing of all\nabout him; and a passionate longing for the peaceful and pure home among\nsages, from which he had been snatched as a boy, came over him with\nincreasing vehemence. There was nothing here but what it defiled him to\nhandle, and his fingers shrank involuntarily from their task, as duty\ncompelled him to touch the limbs of a man who, to his fancy, was dripping\nwith human blood, and who was as much accursed by gods and men as though\nhe were a leper.\n\nArjuna made haste that he might escape from the presence of the horrible\nman, and Caesar took no heed either of the pallor of his handsome brown\nface or the trembling of his slender fingers, for a crowd of thoughts\nmade him blind and deaf to all that was going on around him. They\nreverted first to the events of the day; but as the Indian removed the\nwarm surcoat, the night breeze blew coldly into the room, and he\nshivered. Was it the spirit of the slain Tarautas which had floated in at\nthe open window? The cold breath which fanned his cheek was certainly no\nmere draught. It was exactly like a human sigh, only it was cold instead\nof warm. If it proceeded from the ghost of the dead gladiator he must be\nquite close to him. And the fancy gained reality in his mind; he saw a\nfloating human form which beckoned him and softly laid a cold hand on his\nshoulder.\n\nHe, Caesar, had linked his fate to that of the gladiator, and now\nTarautas had come to warn him. But Caracalla had no mind to follow him;\nhe forbade the apparition with a loud cry of \"Away!\" At this the Indian\nstarted, and though he could scarcely utter the words, he besought Caesar\nto be seated that he might take off his laced shoes; and then Caracalla\nperceived that it was an illusion that had terrified him, and he shrugged\nhis shoulders, somewhat ashamed. While the slave was busy he wiped his\ndamp brow, saying to himself with a proud smile that of course spirits\nnever appeared in broad light and when others were present.\n\nAt last he dismissed the Indian and lay down. His head was burning, and\nhis heart beat too violently for sleep. At his bidding Epagathos and\nAdventus followed the Indian into the adjoining room after extinguishing\nthe lamp. . . Caracalla was alone in the dark. Awaiting sleep, he\nstretched himself at full length, but he remained as wide awake as by\nday. And still he could not help thinking of the immediate past. Even his\nenemies could not deny that it was his duty as a man and an emperor to\ninflict the severest punishment on this town, and to make it feel his\navenging hand; and yet he was beginning to be aware of the ruthlessness\nof his commands. He would have been glad to talk it all over with some\none else. But Philostratus, the only man who understood him, was out of\nreach; he had sent him to his mother. And for what purpose? To tell her\nthat he, Caesar, had found a wife after his own heart, and to win her\nfavor and consent. At this thought the blood surged up in him with rage\nand shame. Even before they were wed his chosen bride had been false to\nhim; she had fled from his embraces, as he now knew, to death, never to\nreturn.\n\nHe would gladly have sent a galley in pursuit to bring Philostratus back\nagain; but the vessel in which the philosopher had embarked was one of\nthe swiftest in the imperial fleet, and it had already so long a start\nthat to overtake it would be almost impossible. So within a few days\nPhilostratus would meet his mother; he, if any one, could describe\nMelissa's beauty in the most glowing colors, and that he would do so to\nthe empress, his great friend, was beyond a doubt. But the haughty Julia\nwould scarcely be inclined to accept the gem-cutter's child for a\ndaughter; indeed, she did not wish that he should ever marry again.\n\nBut what was he to her? Her heart was given to the infant son of her\nniece Mammaea;--[The third Caesar after Caracalla, Alexander Severus]--in\nhim she discovered every gift and virtue. What joy there would be among\nthe women of Julia's train when it was known that Caesar's chosen bride\nhad disdained him, and, in him, the very purple. But that joy would not\nbe of long duration, for the news of the punishment by death of a hundred\nthousand Alexandrians would, he knew, fall like a lash on the women. He\nfancied he could hear their howls and wailing, and see the horror of\nPhilostratus, and how he would join the women in bemoaning the horrible\ndeed! He, the philosopher, would perhaps be really grieved; aye, and if\nhe had been at his side this morning everything might perhaps have been\ndifferent. But the deed was done, and now he must take the consequences.\n\nThat the better sort would avoid him after such an act was\nself-evident--they had already refused to eat with him. On the other\nhand, it had brought nearer to him the favorites whom he had attracted to\nhis person. Theocritus and Pandion, Antigonus and Epagathos, the priest\nof Alexander, who at Rome was overwhelmed with debt, and who in Egypt had\nbecome a rich man again, would cling to him more closely.\n\n\"Base wretches!\" he muttered to himself.\n\nIf only Philostratus would come back to him! But he scarcely dared hope\nit. The evil took so much more care for their own well-being and\nmultiplication than the good. If one of the righteous fell away, all the\nothers forthwith turned their backs on him; and when the penitent desired\nto return to the fold, the immaculate repelled or avoided him. But the\nwicked could always find the fallen man at once, and would cling to him\nand hinder him from returning. Their ranks were always open to him,\nhowever closely he might formerly have been attached to the virtuous. To\nlive in exclusive intercourse with these reprobates was an odious\nthought. He could compel whom he chose to live with him; but of what use\nwere silent and reluctant companions? And whose fault was it that he had\nsent away Philostratus, the best of them all? Hers--the faithless\ntraitoress, from whom he had looked for peace and joy, who had declared\nthat she felt herself bound to him, the trickster in whom he had believed\nhe saw Roxana--But she was no more. On the table by his bed, among his\nown jewels, lay the golden serpent he had given her--he fancied he could\nsee it in the dark--and she had worn it even in death. He shuddered; he\nfelt as though a woman's arm, all black and charred, was stretched out to\nhim in the night, and the golden snake uncurled from it and reached forth\nas though to bite him.\n\nHe shivered, and hid his head under the coverlet; but, ashamed and vexed\nat his own foolish weakness, he soon emerged from the stifling darkness,\nand an inward voice scornfully asked him whether he still believed that\nthe soul of the great Macedonian inhabited his body. There was an end of\nthis proud conviction. He had no more connection with Alexander than\nMelissa had with Roxana, whom she resembled.\n\nThe blood seethed hotly in his veins; to live on these terms seemed to\nhim impossible.\n\nAs soon as it was day it must surely be seen that he was very seriously\nill. The spirit of Tarautas would again appear to him--and not merely as\na vaporous illusion--and put an end to his utter misery.\n\nBut he felt his own pulse; it beat no more quickly than usual. He had no\nfever, and yet he must be ill, very ill. And again he flushed so hotly\nthat he felt as if he should choke. Breathing hard, he sat up to call his\nphysician. Then he observed a light through the half-closed door of the\nadjoining room. He heard voices--those of Adventus and the Indian.\n\nArjuna was generally so silent that Philostratus had vainly endeavored to\ndiscover from him any particulars as to the doctrine of the Brahmans,\namong whom Apollonius of Tyana declared that he had found the highest\nwisdom, or concerning the manners of his people. And yet the Indian was a\nman of learning, and could even read the manuscripts of his country. The\nParthian ambassador had expressly dwelt on this when he delivered Arjuna\nto Caesar as a gift from his king. But Arjuna had never favored any of\nthese strangers with his confidence. Only with old Adventus did he ever\nhold conversation, for the chamberlain took care that he should be\nsupplied with the vegetables and fruit on which he was accustomed to\nlive--for meat never passed his lips; and now he was talking with the old\nman, and Caracalla sat up and laid his hand to his ear.\n\nThe Indian was absorbed in the study of a bookroll in his own tongue,\nwhich he carried about him. \"What are you reading?\" asked Adventus.\n\n\"A book,\" replied Arjuna, \"from which a man may learn what will become of\nyou and me, and all these slaughtered victims, after death.\"\n\n\"Who can know that?\" said the old man with a sigh; and Arjuna replied\nvery positively:\n\n\"It is written here, and there is no doubt about it. Will you hear it?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Adventus eagerly, and the Indian began translating out\nof his book:\n\n\"When a man dies his various parts go whither they belong. His voice goes\nto the fire, his breath to the winds, his eyes to the sun, his spirit to\nthe moon, his hearing becomes one with space, his body goes to the earth,\nhis soul is absorbed into ether, his hairs become plants, the hair of his\nhead goes to crown the trees, his blood returns to water. Thus, every\nportion of a man is restored to that portion of the universe to which it\nbelongs; and of himself, his own essence, nothing remains but one part\nwhat that is called is a great secret.\"\n\nCaracalla was listening intently. This discourse attracted him.\n\nHe, like the other Caesars, must after his death be deified by the\nsenate; but he felt convinced, for his part, that the Olympians would\nnever count him as one of themselves. At the same time he was philosopher\nenough to understand that no existing thing could ever cease to exist.\nThe restoration of each part of his body to that portion of the universe\nto which it was akin, pleased his fancy. There was no place in the\nIndian's creed for the responsibility of the soul at the judgment of the\ndead. Caesar was already on the point of asking the slave to reveal his\nsecret, when Adventus prevented him by exclaiming:\n\n\"You may confide to me what will be left of me--unless, indeed, you mean\nthe worms which shall eat me and so proceed from me. It can not be good\nfor much, at any rate, and I will tell no one.\"\n\nTo this Arjuna solemnly replied: \"There is one thing which persists to\nall eternity and can never be lost in all the ages of the universe, and\nthat is--the deed.\"\n\n\"I know that,\" replied the old man with an indifferent shrug; but the\nword struck Caesar like a thunder-bolt. He listened breathlessly to hear\nwhat more the Indian might say; but Arjuna, who regarded it as sacrilege\nto waste the highest lore on one unworthy of it, went on reading to\nhimself, and Adventus stretched himself out to sleep.\n\nAll was silent in and about the sleeping-room, and the fearful words,\n\"the deed,\" still rang in the ears of the man who had just committed the\nmost monstrous of all atrocities. He could not get rid of the haunting\nwords; all the ill he had done from his childhood returned to him in\nfancy, and seemed heaped up to form a mountain which weighed on him like\nan incubus.\n\nThe deed!\n\nHis, too, must live on, and with it his name, cursed and hated to the\nlatest generations of men. The souls of the slain would have carried the\nnews of the deeds he had done even to Hades; and if Tarautas were to come\nand fetch him away, he would be met below by legions of indignant\nshades--a hundred thousand! And at their head his stern father, and the\nother worthy men who had ruled Rome with wisdom and honor, would shout in\nhis face: \"A hundred thousand times a murderer! robber of the state!\ndestroyer of the army!\" and drag him before the judgment-seat; and before\njudgment could be pronounced the hundred thousand, led by the noblest of\nall his victims, the good Papinian, would rush upon him and tear him limb\nfrom limb.\n\nDozing as he lay, he felt cold, ghostly hands on his shoulder, on his\nhead, wherever the cold breath of the waning night could fan him through\nthe open window; and with a loud cry he sprang out of bed as he fancied\nhe felt a touch of the shadowy hand of Vindex. On hearing his voice,\nAdventus and the Indian hurried in, with Epagathos, who had even heard\nhis shriek in the farther room. They found him bathed in a sweat of\nhorror, and struggling for breath, his eyes fixed on vacancy; and the\nfreedman flew off to fetch the physician. When he came Caesar angrily\ndismissed him, for he felt no physical disorder. Without dressing, he\nwent to the window. It was about three hours before sunrise.\n\nHowever, he gave orders that his bath should be prepared, and desired to\nbe dressed; then Macrinus and others were to be sent for. Sooner would he\nstep into boiling water than return to that bed of terror. Day, life,\nbusiness must banish his terrors. But then, after the evening would come\nanother night; and if the sufferings he had just gone through should\nrepeat themselves then, and in those to follow, he should lose his wits,\nand he would bless the spirit of Tarautas if it would but come to lead\nhim away to death.\n\nBut \"the deed\"! The Indian was right--that would survive him on earth,\nand mankind would unite in cursing him.\n\nWas there yet time--was he yet capable of atoning for what was done by\nsome great and splendid deed? But the hundred thousand--\n\nThe number rose before him like a mountain, blotting out every scheme he\ntried to form as he went to his bath--taking his lion with him; he\nreveled in the warm water, and finally lay down to rest in clean linen\nwrappers. No one had dared to speak to him. His aspect was too\nthreatening.\n\nIn a room adjoining the bath-room he had breakfast served him. It was, as\nusual, a simple meal, and yet he could only swallow a few mouthfuls, for\neverything had a bitter taste. The praetorian prefect was roused, and\nCaesar was glad to see him, for it was in attending to affairs that he\nmost easily forgot what weighed upon him. The more serious they were, the\nbetter, and Macrinus looked as if there was something of grave importance\nto be settled.\n\nCaracalla's first question was with reference to the Parthian\nambassadors. They had, in fact, departed; now he must prepare for war.\nCaesar was eager to decide at once on the destination of each legion, and\nto call the legates together to a council of war; but Macrinus was not so\nprompt and ready as usual on such occasions. He had that to communicate\nwhich, as he knew, would to Caesar take the head of all else. If it\nshould prove true, it must withdraw him altogether from the affairs of\ngovernment; and this was what Macrinus aimed at when, before summoning\nthe legates, he observed with a show of reluctance that Caesar would be\nwroth with him if, for the sake of a council of war, he were to defer a\nreport which had just reached his ears.\n\n\"Business first!\" cried Caracalla, with decisive prohibition.\n\n\"As you will. I thought only of what I was told by an official of this\ntemple, that the gem-cutter's daughter--you know the girl--is still\nalive--\"\n\nBut he got no further, for Caesar sprang to his feet, and desired to hear\nmore of this.\n\nMacrinus proceeded to relate that a slaughterer in the court of sacrifice\nhad told him that Melissa had been seen last evening, and was somewhere\nin the Serapeum. More than this the prefect knew not, and Caesar\nforthwith dismissed him to make further inquiry before he himself should\ntake steps to prove the truth of the report.\n\nThen he paced the room with revived energy. His eye sparkled, and,\nbreathing fast, he strove to reduce the storm of schemes, plans, and\nhopes which surged up within him to some sort of order. He must punish\nthe fugitive--but yet more surely he would never again let her out of his\nsight. But if only he could first have her cast to the wild beasts, and\nthen bring her to life again, crown her with the imperial diadem, and\nload her with every gift that power and wealth could procure! He would\nread every wish in her eyes, if only she would once more lay her hand on\nhis forehead, charm away his pain, and bring sleep to his horror-stricken\nbed. He had done nothing to vex her; nay, every petition she had\nurged--But suddenly the image rose before him of old Vindex and his\nnephew, whom he had sent to execution in spite of her intercession; and\nagain the awful word, \"the deed,\" rang in his inward ear. Were these\nhideous thoughts to haunt him even by day?\n\nNo, no! In his waking hours there was much to be done which might give\nhim the strength to dissipate them.\n\nThe kitchen-steward was by this time in attendance; but what did\nCaracalla care for dainties to tickle his palate now that he had a hope\nof seeing Melissa once more? With perfect indifference he left the\ncatering to the skillful and inventive cook; and hardly had he retired\nwhen Macrinus returned.\n\nThe slaughterer had acquired his information through a comrade, who said\nthat he had twice caught sight of Melissa at the window of the chambers\nof mystery in the upper story of the Serapeum, yesterday afternoon. He\nhad hoped to win the reward which was offered for the recovery of the\nfugitive, and had promised his colleague half the money if he would help\nhim to capture the maiden. But just at sunset, hearing that the massacre\nwas ended, the man had incautiously gone out into the town, where he had\nbeen slain by a drunken solder of the Scythian legion. The hapless man's\nbody had been found, but Macrinus's informant had assured him that he\ncould entirely rely on the report of his unfortunate colleague, who was a\nsober and truthful man, as the chief augur would testify.\n\nThis was enough for Caracalla. Macrinus was at once to go for the\nhigh-priest, and to take care that he took no further steps to conceal\nMelissa. The slaughterer had ever since daybreak kept secret watch on all\nthe doors of the Serapeum, aided by his comrades, who were to share in\nthe reward, and especially on the stairway leading from the ground floor\nup to the mystic's galleries.\n\nThe prefect at once obeyed the despot's command. On the threshold he met\nthe kitchen-steward returning to submit his list of dishes for Caesar's\napproval.\n\nHe found Caracalla in an altered mood, rejuvenescent and in the highest\nspirits. After hastily agreeing to the day's bill of fare, he asked the\nsteward in what part of the building the chambers of mystery were; and\nwhen he learned that the stairs leading up to them began close to the\nkitchens, which had been arranged for Caesar's convenience under the\ntemple laboratory, Caracalla declared in a condescending tone that he\nwould go to look round the scene of the cook's labors. And the lion\nshould come too, to return thanks for the good meat which was brought to\nhim so regularly.\n\nThe head cook, rejoiced at the unwonted graciousness of a master whose\nwrath had often fallen on him, led the way to his kitchen hearth. This\nhad been constructed in a large hall, originally the largest of the\nlaboratories, where incense was prepared for the sanctuary and medicines\nconcocted for the sick in the temple hospital. There were smaller halls\nand rooms adjoining, where at this moment some priests were busy\npreparing kyphi and mixing drugs.\n\nThe steward, proud of Caesar's promised visit, announced to his\nsubordinates the honor they might expect, and he then went to the door of\nthe small laboratory to tell the old pastophoros who was employed there,\nand who had done him many a good turn, that if he wished to see the\nemperor he had only to open the door leading to the staircase. He was\nabout to visit the mystic chambers with his much-talked-of lion. No one\nneed be afraid of the beast; it was quite tame, and Caesar loved it as a\nson.\n\nAt this the old drug-pounder muttered some reply, which sounded more like\na curse than the expected thanks, and the steward regretted having\ncompared the lion to a son in this man's presence, for the pastophoros\nwore a mourning garment, and two promising sons had been snatched from\nhim, slain yesterday with the other youths in the stadium.\n\nBut the cook soon forgot the old man's ill-humor; he had to clear his\nsubordinates out of the way as quickly as possible and prepare for his\nillustrious visitor. As he bustled around, here, there, and everywhere,\nthe pastophoros entered the kitchen and begged for a piece of mutton.\nThis was granted him by a hasty sign toward a freshly slaughtered sheep,\nand the old man busied himself for some time behind the steward's back.\nAt last he had cut off what he wanted, and gazed with singular tenderness\nat the piece of red, veinless meat. On returning to his laboratory, he\nhastily bolted himself in, and when he came out again a few minutes later\nhis calm, wrinkled old face had a malignant and evil look. He stood at\nthe bottom of the stairs, looking about him cautiously; then he flew up\nthe steps with the agility of youth, and at a turn in the stairs he stuck\nthe piece of meat close to the foot of the balustrade.\n\nHe returned as nimbly as he had gone, cast a sorrowful glance through the\nopen laboratory window at the arena where all that had graced his life\nlay dead, and passed his hand over his tearful face. At last he returned\nto his task, but he was less able to do it than before. It was with a\ntrembling hand that he weighed out the juniper berries and cedar resin,\nand he listened all the time with bated breath.\n\nPresently there was a stir on the stairs, and the kitchen slaves shouted\nthat Caesar was coming. So he went out of the laboratory, which was\nbehind the stairs, to see what was going forward, and a turnspit at once\nmade way for the old man so as not to hinder his view.\n\nWas that little young man, mounting the steps so gayly, with the\nhigh-priest at his side and his suite at his heels, the dreadful monster\nwho had murdered his noble sons? He had pictured the dreadful tyrant\nquite differently. Now Caesar was laughing, and the tall man next him\nmade some light and ready reply--the head cook said it was the Roman\npriest of Alexander, who was not on good terms with Timotheus. Could they\nbe laughing at the high-priest? Never, in all the years he had known him,\nhad he seen Timotheus so pale and dejected.\n\nThe high-priest had indeed good cause for anxiety, for he suspected who\nit was that Caesar hoped to find in the mystic rooms, and feared that his\nwife might, in fact, have Melissa in hiding in that part of the building\nto which he was now leading the way. After Macrinus had come to fetch him\nhe had had no opportunity of inquiring, for the prefect had not quitted\nhim for a moment, and Euryale was in the town busy with other women in\nseeking out and nursing such of the wounded as had been found alive among\nthe dead.\n\nCaesar triumphed in the changed, gloomy, and depressed demeanor of a man\nusually so self-possessed; for he fancied that it betrayed some knowledge\non the part of Timotheus of Melissa's hiding-place; and he could jest\nwith the priest of Alexander and his favorite Theokritus and the other\nfriends who attended him, while he ignored the high-priest's presence and\nnever even alluded to Melissa.\n\nHardly had they gone past the old man when, just as the kitchen slaves\nwere shouting \"Hail, Caesar!\" the lady Euryale, as pale as death, hurried\nin, and with a trembling voice inquired whither her husband was\nconducting the emperor.\n\nShe had turned back when half way on her road, in obedience to the\nimpulse of her heart, which prompted her, before she went on her\nSamaritan's errand, to visit Melissa in her hiding-place, and let her see\nthe face of a friend at the beginning of a new, lonely, and anxious day.\nOn hearing the reply which was readily given, her knees trembled beneath\nher, and the steward, who saw her totter, supported her and led her into\nthe laboratory, where essences and strong waters soon restored her to\nconsciousness. Euryale had known the old pastophoros a long time, and,\nnoticing his mourning garb, she asked sympathetically: \"And you, too, are\nbereft?\"\n\n\"Of both,\" was the answer. \"You were always so good to them--Slaughtered\nlike beasts for sacrifice--down there in the stadium,\" and tears flowed\nfast down the old man's furrowed cheeks. The lady uplifted her hands as\nthough calling on Heaven to avenge this outrageous crime; at the same\ninstant a loud howl of pain was heard from above, and a great confusion\nof men's voices.\n\nEuryale was beside herself with fear. If they had found Melissa in her\nroom her husband's fate was sealed, and she was guilty of his doom. But\nthey could scarcely yet have opened the chambers, and the girl was clever\nand nimble, and might perhaps escape in time if she heard the men\napproaching. She eagerly flew to the window. She could see below her the\nstone which Melissa must move to get out; but between the wall and the\nstadium the street was crowded, and at every door of the Serapeum lictors\nwere posted, even at that stone door known only to the initiated, with\nthe temple slaughterers and other servants who seemed all to be on guard.\nIf Melissa were to come out now she would be seized, and it must become\nknown who had shown her the way into the hiding-place that had sheltered\nher.\n\nAt this moment Theokritus came leaping down the stairs, crying out to\nher: \"The lion--a physician--where shall I find a leech?\"\n\nThe matron pointed to the old man, who was one of the medical students of\nthe sanctuary, and the favorite shouted out to him, \"Come up!\" and then\nrushed on, paying no heed to Euryale's inquiry for Melissa; but the old\nman laughed scornfully and shouted after him, \"I am no beast-healer.\"\n\nThen, turning to the lady, he added:\n\n\"I am sorry for the lion. You know me, lady. I could never till yesterday\nbear to see a fly hurt. But this brute! It was as a son to that\nbloodhound, and he shall feel for once something to grieve him. The lion\nhas had his portion. No physician in the world can bring him to life\nagain.\"\n\nHe bent his head and returned to his laboratory; but the matron\nunderstood that this kind, peaceable man, in spite of his white hair, had\nbecome a poisoner, and that the splendid, guiltless beast owed its death\nto him. She shuddered. Wherever this unblest man went, good turned to\nevil; terror, suffering, and death took the place of peace, happiness,\nand life. He had forced her even into the sin of disobedience to her\nhusband and master. But now her secret hiding of Melissa against his will\nwould be avenged. He and she alike would probably pay for the deed with\ntheir life; for the murder of his lion would inevitably rouse Caesar's\nwildest passions.\n\nStill, she knew that Caracalla respected her; for her sake, perhaps, he\nwould spare her husband. But Melissa? What would her fate be if she were\ndragged out of her hiding-place?--and she must be discovered! He had\nthreatened to cast her to the beasts; and ought she not to prefer even\nthat fearful fate to forgiveness and a fresh outburst of Caesar's\npassion?\n\nPale and tearless, but shaken with alarms, she bent over the balustrade\nof the stairs and murmured a prayer commending herself, her husband, and\nMelissa to God. Then she hastened up the steps. The great doors leading\nto the chambers of mystery stood wide open, and the first person she met\nwas her husband.\n\n\"You here?\" said he in an undertone. \"You may thank the gods that your\nkind heart did not betray you into hiding the girl here. I trembled for\nher and for ourselves. But there is not a sign of her; neither here nor\non the secret stair. What a morning--and what a day must follow! There\nlies Caesar's lion. If his suspicion that it has been poisoned should be\nproved true, woe to this luckless city, woe to us all!\"\n\nAnd Caesar's aspect justified the worst anticipations. He had thrown\nhimself on the floor by the side of his dead favorite, hiding his face in\nthe lion's noble mane, with strange, quavering wailing. Then he raised\nthe brute's heavy head and kissed his dead eyes, and as it slipped from\nhis hand and fell on the floor, he started to his feet, shaking his fist,\nand exclaiming:\n\n\"Yes, you have poisoned him! Bring the miscreant here, or you shall\nfollow him!\"\n\nMacrinus assured him that if indeed some basest of base wretches had\ndared to destroy the life of this splendid and faithful king of beasts,\nthe murderer should infallibly be found. But Caracalla screamed in his\nface:\n\n\"Found? Dare you speak of finding? Have you even brought me the girl who\nwas hidden here? Have you found her? Where is she? She was seen here and\nshe must be here!\"\n\nAnd he hurried from room to room in undignified haste, like a slave\nhunting for some lost treasure of his master's, tearing open closets,\npeeping behind curtains and up chimneys, and snatching the clothes,\nbehind which she might have hidden, from the pegs on which they hung. He\ninsisted on seeing every secret door, and ran first down and then up the\nhidden stairs by which Melissa had in fact escaped.\n\nIn the great hall, where by this time physicians and courtiers had\ngathered round the carcass of the lion, Caesar sank on to a seat, his\nbrow damp with heat, and stared at the floor; while the leeches, who, as\nAlexandrians for the most part, were anxious not to rouse the despot's\nrage, assured him that to all appearance the lion, who had been highly\nfed and getting little exercise, had died of a fit. The poison had indeed\nworked more rapidly than any the imperial body physician was acquainted\nwith; and he, not less anxious to mollify the sovereign, bore them out in\nthis opinion. But their diagnosis, though well meant, had the contrary\neffect to that they had intended. The prosecution and punishment of a\nmurderer would have given occupation to his revengeful spirit and have\ndiverted his thoughts, and the capture of the criminal would have\npacified him; as it was, he could only regard the death of the lion as a\nfresh stroke of fate directed against himself. He sat absorbed in sullen\ngloom, muttering frantic curses, and haughtily desired the high-priest to\nrestore the offering he had wasted on a god who was so malignant, and as\nhostile to him as all else in this city of abomination.\n\nHe then rose, desired every one to stand back from where the lion lay,\nand gazed down at the beast for many minutes. And as he looked, his\nexcited imagination showed him Melissa stroking the noble brute, and the\nlion lashing the ground with his tail when he heard the light step of her\nlittle feet. He could hear the music of her voice when she spoke\ncoaxingly to the lion; and then again he started off to search the rooms\nonce more, shouting her name, heedless of the bystanders, till Macrinus\nmade so bold as to assure him that the slaughterer's report must have\nbeen false. He must have mistaken some one else for Melissa, for it was\nproved beyond a doubt that Melissa had been burned in her father's house.\n\nAt this Caesar looked the prefect in the face with glazed and wandering\neyes, and Macrinus started in horror as he suddenly shrieked, \"The deed,\nthe deed!\" and struck his brow with his fist.\n\nFrom that hour Caracalla had lost forever the power of distinguishing the\nillusions which pursued him from reality.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\nA week later Caracalla quitted Alexandria to make war on the Parthians.\nWhat finally drove the unhappy man to hurry from the hated place was the\ntorturing fear of sharing his lion's fate, and of being sent after the\nmurdered Tarautas by the friends who had heard his appeal to fate.\n\nQuite mad he was not, for the illusions which haunted him were often\nabsent for several hours, when he spoke with perfect lucidity, received\nreports, and gave orders. It was with peculiar terror that his soul\navoided every recollection of his mother, of Theokritus, and all those\nwhose opinion he had formerly valued and whose judgment was not\nindifferent to him.\n\nIn constant terror of the dagger of an avenger--a dread which, with many\nother peculiarities, the leech could hardly ascribe to the diseased\nphenomena of his mental state--he only showed himself to his soldiers,\nand he might often be seen making a meal off a pottage he himself had\ncooked to escape the poison which had been fatal to his lion. He was\nnever for an instant free from the horrible sense of being hated,\nshunned, and persecuted by the whole world.\n\nSometimes he would remember that once a fair girl had prayed for him; but\nwhen he tried to recall her features he could only see the charred arm\nwith the golden snake held up before him as he had pictured it that night\nafter the most hideous of his massacres; and every time, at the sight of\nit, that word came back to him which still tortured his soul above all\nelse--\"The deed.\" But his attendants, who heard him repeating it day and\nnight, never knew what he meant by it.\n\nWhen Zminis met his end by the wild beasts in the arena, it was before\nhalf-empty seats, though several legions had been ordered into the\namphitheatre to fill them. The larger number of the citizens were slain,\nand the remainder were in mourning for relatives more or less near; and\nthey also kept away from the scene to avoid the hated despot.\n\nMacrinus now governed the empire almost as a sovereign, for Caesar,\nformerly a laborious and autocratic ruler, shrank from all business. Even\nbefore they left Alexandria the plebeian prefect could see that\nSerapion's prophecy was fulfilling itself. He remained in close intimacy\nwith the soothsayer; but only once more, and just before Caesar's\ndeparture, could the magian be induced to raise the spirits of the dead,\nfor his clever accomplice, Castor, had fallen a victim in the massacre\nbecause, prompted by the high price set on Alexander's head, and his own\nfierce hatred of the young painter, he would go out to discover where he\nand his sister had concealed themselves.\n\nWhen at last the unhappy monarch quitted Alexandria one rainy morning,\nfollowed by the curses of innumerable mourners--fathers, mothers, widows,\nand orphans--as well as of ruined artisans and craftsmen, the ill-used\ncity, once so proudly gay, felt itself relieved of a crushing nightmare.\nThis time it was not to Caesar that the cloudy sky promised welfare--his\nlife was wrapped in gloom--but to the people he had so bitterly hated.\nThousands looked forward hopefully to life once more, in spite of their\nmourning robes and widows' veils, and notwithstanding the serious\nhindrances which the malice of their \"afflicted\" sovereign had placed in\nthe way of the resuscitation of their town, for Caracalla had commanded\nthat a wall should be built to divide the great merchant city into two\nparts.\n\nNay, he had intended to strike a death-blow even at the learning to which\nAlexandria owed a part of her greatness, by decreeing that the Museum and\nschools should be removed and the theatres closed.\n\nMaddening alike to heart and brain was the memory that he left behind\nhim, and the citizens would shake their fists if only his name were\nspoken. But their biting tongues had ceased to mock or jest. Most of the\nepigramatists were silenced forever, and the nimble wit of the survivors\nwas quelled for many a month by bitter curses or tears of sorrow.\n\nBut now--it was a fortnight since the dreadful man had left--the shops\nand stores, which had been closed against the plunderers, were being\nreopened. Life was astir again in the deserted and silent baths and\ntaverns, for there was no further fear of rapine from insolent soldiers,\nor the treacherous ears of spies and delators. Women and girls could once\nmore venture into the highways, the market was filled with dealers, and\nmany an one who was conscious of a heedless speech or suspected of\nwhistling in the circus, or of some other crime, now came out of his\nwell-watched hiding-place.\n\nGlaukias, the sculptor, among others, reopened his work-rooms in Heron's\ngarden-plot. In the cellar beneath the floor the gem-cutter had remained\nhidden with Polybius and his sister Praxilla, for the easy-going old man\ncould not be induced to embark in the vessel which Argutis had hired for\nthem. Sooner would he die than leave Alexandria. He was too much petted\nand too infirm to face the discomforts of a sea voyage. And his obstinacy\nhad served him well, for the ship in which they were to have sailed,\nthough it got out before the harbor was closed, was overtaken and brought\nback by an imperial galley.\n\nPolybius was, however, quite willing to accept Heron's invitation to\nshare his hiding-place.\n\nNow they could both come out again; but these few weeks had affected them\nvery differently. The gem-cutter looked like the shadow of himself, and\nhad lost his upright carriage. He knew, indeed, that Melissa was alive,\nand that Alexander, after being wounded, had been carried by Andreas to\nthe house of Zeno, and was on the way to recovery; but the death of his\nfavorite son preyed on his mind, and it was a great grievance that his\nhouse should have been wrecked and burned. His hidden gold, which was\nsafe with him, would have allowed of his building a far finer one in its\nstead, but the fact that it should be his fellow-citizens who had\ndestroyed it was worst of all. It weighed on his spirits, and made him\nmorose and silent.\n\nOld Dido, who had risked her life more than once, looked at him with\nmournful eyes, and besought all the gods she worshiped to restore her\ngood master's former vigor, that she might once more hear him curse and\nstorm; for his subdued mood seemed to her unnatural and alarming--a\nportent of his approaching end.\n\nPraxilla, too, the comfortable widow, had grown pale and thin, but old\nDido had learned a great deal from her teaching. Polybius only was more\ncheerful than ever. He knew that his son and Melissa had escaped the most\nimminent dangers. This made him glad; and then his sister had done\nwonders that he might not too greatly miss his cook. His meals had\nnevertheless been often scanty enough, and this compulsory temperance had\nrelieved him of his gout and done him so much good that, when Andreas led\nhim out into daylight once more, the burly old man exclaimed: \"I feel as\nlight as a bird. If I had but wings I could fly across the lake to see\nthe boy. It is you, my brother, who have helped to make me so much\nlighter.\" He laid his arm on the freedman's shoulder and kissed him on\nthe cheeks. It was for the first time; and never before had he called him\nbrother. But that his lips had obeyed the impulse of his heart might be\nseen in the tearful glitter of his eyes, which met those of Andreas, and\nthey, too, were moist.\n\nPolybius knew all that the Christian had done for his son and for\nMelissa, for him and his, and his jest in saying that Andreas had helped\nto make him lighter referred to his latest achievement. Julianus, the new\ngovernor of the city, who now occupied the residence of the prefect\nTitianus, had taken advantage of the oppressed people to extract money,\nand Andreas, by the payment of a large sum, had succeeded in persuading\nhim to sign a document which exonerated Polybius and his son from all\ncriminality, and protected their person and property against soldiers and\ntown guards alike. This safe-conduct secured a peaceful future to the\ngenial old man, and filled the measure of what he owed to the freedman,\neven to overflowing. Andreas, on his part, felt that his former owner's\nkiss and brotherly greeting had sealed his acceptance as a free man. He\nasked no greater reward than this he had just received; and there was\nanother thing which made his heart leap with gladness. He knew now that\nthe fullness of time had come in the best sense for the daughter of the\nonly woman he had ever loved, and that the Good Shepherd had called her\nto be one of His flock. He could rejoice over this without a pang, for he\nhad learned that Diodoros, too, had entered on the path which hitherto he\nhad pointed out to him in vain.\n\nA calm cheerfulness, which surprised all who knew him, brightened the\ngrave man; for him the essence of Christian love lay in the Resurrection,\nand he saw with astonishment that a wonderful new vitality was rising out\nof death. For Alexandria, too, the time was fulfilled. Men and women\ncrowded to the rite of baptism. Mothers brought their daughters, and\nfathers their sons. These days of horror had multiplied the little\nChristian congregation to a church of ten thousand members. Caracalla\nturned hundreds from heathenism by his bloody sacrifices, his love of\nfighting, his passion for revenge, and the blindness which made him cast\naway all care for his eternal soul to secure the enjoyment of a brief\nexistence. That the sword which had slain thousands of their sons should\nhave been dedicated to Serapis, and accepted by the god, alienated many\nof the citizens from the patron divinity of the town. Then the news that\nTimotheus the high-priest had abdicated his office soon after Caesar's\ndeparture, and, with his revered wife Euryale, had been baptized by their\nfriend the learned Clemens, confirmed many in their desire to be admitted\ninto the Christian community.\n\nAfter these horrors of bloodshed, these orgies of hatred and vengeance,\nevery heart longed for love and peace and brotherly communion. Who of all\nthose that had looked death in the face in these days was not anxious to\nknow more of the creed which taught that the life beyond the grave was of\ngreater importance than that on earth?--while those who already held it\nwent forth to meet, as it were, a bridegroom. They had seen men trodden\ndown and all their rights trampled on, and now every ear was open when a\ndoctrine was preached which recognized the supreme value of humanity, by\nascribing, even to the humblest, the dignity of a child of God. They were\naccustomed to pray to immortal beings who lived in privileged supremacy\nand wild revelry at the golden tables of the Olympian banquet; and now\nthey were told that the church of the Christians meant the communion of\nthe faithful with their fatherly God, and with His Son who had mingled\nwith other mortals in the form of man and who had done more for them than\na brother, inasmuch as He had taken upon Himself to die on the cross for\nlove of them.\n\nTo a highly cultured race like the Alexandrians it had long seemed an\nabsurdity to try to purchase the favor of the god; by blood-offerings.\nMany philosophical sects, and especially the Pythagoreans, had forbidden\nsuch sacrifices, and had enjoined the bringing of offerings not to\npurchase good fortune, but only to honor the gods; and now they saw the\nChristians not making any offerings at all, but sharing a love-feast.\nThis, as they declared, was to keep them in remembrance of their\nbrotherhood and of their crucified Lord, whose blood, once shed, His\nheavenly Father had accepted instead of every other sacrifice. The\nvoluntary and agonizing death of the Redeemer had saved the soul of every\nChristian from sin and damnation; and many who in the late scenes of\nhorror had been inconsolable in anticipation of the grave, felt moved to\nshare in this divine gift of grace.\n\nBeautiful, wise, and convincing sentences from the Bible went from lip to\nlip; and a saying of Clemens, whose immense learning was well known, was\nespecially effective and popular. He had said that \"faith was knowledge\nof divine things through revelation, but that learning must give the\nproof thereof\"; and this speech led many men of high attainments to study\nthe new doctrines.\n\nThe lower classes were no doubt those most strongly attracted, the poor\nand the slaves; and with them the sorrowing and oppressed. There were\nmany of these now in the town; ten thousand had seen those dearest to\nthem perish, and others, being wounded, had within a few days been ruined\nboth in health and estate.\n\nAs to Melissa in her peril, so to all these the Saviour's call to the\nheavy-laden that He would give them rest had come as a promise of new\nhope to car and heart. At the sound of these words they saw the buds of a\nnew spring-time for the soul before their eyes; any one who knew a\nChristian improved his intimacy that he might hear more about the\ntender-hearted Comforter, the Friend of children, the kind and helpful\nPatron of the poor, the sorrowful, and the oppressed.\n\nAssemblies of any kind were prohibited by the new governor; but the law\nof Aelius Marcianus allowed gatherings for religious purposes, and the\nlearned lawyer, Johannes, directed his fellow-Christians to rely on that.\nAll Alexandria was bidden to these meetings, and the text with which\nAndreas opened the first, \"Now the fullness of time is come,\" passed from\nmouth to mouth.\n\nApart from that period which had preceded the birth of Christ, these\nwords applied to none better than to the days of death and terror which\nthey had just gone through. Had a plainer boundary-stone ever been\nerected between a past and a future time? Out of the old vain and\ncareless life, which had ended with such fearful horrors, a new life\nwould now proceed of peace and love and pious cares.\n\nThe greater number of the citizens, and at their head the wealthy and\nproud, still crowded the heathen temples to serve the old gods and\npurchase their favor with offerings; still, the Christian churches were\ntoo small and few to hold the faithful, and these had risen to higher\nconsideration, for the community no longer consisted exclusively of the\nlower rank of people and slaves. No, men and women of the best families\ncame streaming in, and this creed--as was proclaimed by Demetrius, the\neloquent bishop; by Origen, who in power and learning--was the superior\nof any heathen philosopher; by the zealous Andreas, and many another\nchosen spirit--this creed was the religion of the future.\n\nThe freedman had never yet lived in such a happy and elevated frame of\nmind; as he looked back on his past existence he often remembered with\nthankful joy the promise that the last should be first, and that the\nlowly should be exalted. If the dead had risen from their graves before\nhis eyes it would scarcely have surprised him, for in these latter days\nhe had seen wonder follow on wonder. The utmost his soul had so fervently\ndesired, for which he had prayed and longed, had found fulfillment in a\nway which far surpassed his hopes; and through what blood and fear had\nthe Lord led His own, to let them reach the highest goal! He knew from\nthe lady Euryale that his desire to win Melissa's soul to the true faith\nhad been granted, and that she craved to be baptized. This had not been\nconfirmed by the girl herself, for, attacked by a violent fever, she had\nduring nine days hovered between life and death; and since then Andreas\nhad for more than a week been detained in the town arranging affairs for\nPolybius.\n\nThe task was now ended which he had set himself to carry through. He\ncould leave the city and see once more the young people he loved. He\nparted from Polybius and his sister at the garden gate, and led Heron and\nold Dido to a small cottage which his former master had given him to live\nin.\n\nThe gem-cutter was not to be allowed to see his children till the leech\nshould give leave, and the unfortunate man could not get over his\nsurprise and emotion at finding in his new home not only a work-table,\nwith tools, wax, and stones, but several cages full of birds, and among\nthese feathered friends a starling. His faithful and now freed slave,\nArgutis, had, by Polybius's orders, supplied everything needful; but the\nbirds were a thought of the Christian girl Agatha. All this was a\nconsolation in his grief, and when the gem-cutter was alone with old Dido\nhe burst into sobs. The slave woman followed his example, but he stopped\nher with loud, harsh scolding. At first she was frightened; but then she\nexclaimed with delight from the very bottom of her faithful heart, \"The\ngods be praised!\" and from the moment when he could storm, she always\ndeclared, Heron's recovery began.\n\n          ........................\n\nThe sun was setting when Andreas made his way to Zeno's house--a long,\nwhite-washed building.\n\nThe road led through a palm-grove on the Christian's estate. His anxiety\nto see the beloved sufferers urged him forward so quickly that he\npresently overtook another man who was walking in the same direction in\nthe cool of the evening. This was Ptolemaeus, the physician.\n\nHe greeted Andreas with cheerful kindness, and the freedman knew what he\nmeant when, without waiting to be asked, he said:\n\n\"We are out of the wood now; the fever has passed away. The delirious\nfancies have left her, and since noon she has slept. When I quitted her\nan hour ago she was sleeping soundly and quietly. Till now the shaken\nsoul has been living in a dream; but now that the fever has passed away,\nshe will soon be herself again. As yet she has recognized no one; neither\nAgatha nor the lady Euryale; not even Diodoros, whom I allowed to look at\nher yesterday for a moment. We have taken her away from the large house\nin the garden, on account of the children, to the little villa opposite\nthe place of worship. It is quiet there, and the air blows in on her\nthrough the open veranda. The Empress herself could not wish for a better\nsick-room. And the care Agatha takes of her! You are right to hasten. The\nlast glimmer of sunshine is extinct, and divine service will soon begin.\nI am satisfied with Diodoros too; youth is a soil on which the physician\nreaps easy laurels. What will it not heal and strengthen! Only when the\nsoul is so deeply shaken, as with Melissa and her brother, matters go\nmore slowly, even with the young. However, as I said, we are past the\ncrisis.\"\n\n\"God be praised!\" said Andreas. \"Such news makes me young again. I could\nrun like a boy.\" They now entered the well-kept gardens which lay behind\nZeno's house. Noble clumps of tall old trees rose above the green grass\nplots and splendid shrubs. Round a dancing fountain were carefully kept\nbeds of beautiful flowers. The garden ended at a palm-grove, which cast\nits shade on Zeno's little private place of worship--an open plot\ninclosed by tamarisk hedges like walls. The little villa in which Melissa\nlay was in a bower of verdure, and the veranda with the wide door through\nwhich the bed of the sufferer had been carried in, stood open in the cool\nevening to the garden, the palm-grove, and the place of worship with its\ngarland, as it were, of fragile tamarisk boughs.\n\nAgatha was keeping watch by Melissa; but as the last of the figures,\ngreat and small, who could be seen moving across the garden, all in the\nsame direction, disappeared behind the tamarisk screen, the young\nChristian looked lovingly down at her friend's pale and all too delicate\nface, touched her forehead lightly with her lips, and whispered to the\nsleeper, as though she could hear her voice:\n\n\"I am only going to pray for you and your brother.\"\n\nAnd she went out.\n\nA few moments later the brazen gong was heard--muffled out of regard for\nthe sick--which announced the hour of prayer to the little congregation.\nIt had sounded every evening without disturbing the sufferer, but\nto-night it roused her from her slumbers.\n\nShe looked about her in bewilderment and tried to rise, but she was too\nweak to lift herself. Terror, blood, Diodoros wounded, Andreas, the ass\non which she had ridden that night, were the images which first crowded\non her awakening spirit in bewildering confusion. She had heard that\npiercing ring of smitten brass in the Serapeum. Was she still there? Had\nshe only dreamed of that night-ride with her wounded lover? Perhaps she\nhad lost consciousness in the mystic chambers, and the clang of the gong\nhad roused her.\n\nAnd she shuddered. In her terror she dared not open her eyes for fear of\nseeing on all hands the hideous images on the walls and ceiling. Merciful\ngods! If her flight from the Serapeum and the rescue of Diodoros by\nAndreas had really been but a dream, then the door might open at any\nmoment, and the Egyptian Zminis or his men might come in to drag her\nbefore that dreadful Caesar.\n\nShe had half recovered consciousness several times, and as these thoughts\nhad come over her, her returning lucidity had vanished and a fresh attack\nof fever had shaken her. But this time her head seemed clearer; the cloud\nand humming had left her which had impeded the use of her ears and eyes.\n\nHer brain too had recovered its faculties. As soon as she tried to think,\nher restored intelligence told her that if she were indeed still in the\nSerapeum and the door should open, the lady Euryale might come in to\nspeak courage to her and take her in her motherly arms, and--And she\nsuddenly recollected the promise which had come to her from the\nScriptures of the Christians. It stood before her soul in perfect\nclearness that she had found a loving comforter in the Saviour; she\nremembered how gladly she had declared to the lady Euryale that the\nfullness of time had now indeed come to her, and that she had no more\nfervent wish than to become a fellow-believer with her kind friend--a\nbaptized Christian. And all the while she felt as though light were\nspreading in her and around her, and the vision she had last seen when\nshe lost consciousness rose again before her inward eye. Again she saw\nthe Redeemer as He had stood before her at the end of her ride,\nstretching out His arms to her in the darkness, inviting her, who was\nweary and heavy laden, to be refreshed by him. A glow of thankfulness\nwarmed her heart, and she closed her eyes once more.\n\nBut she did not sleep; and while she lay fully conscious, with her hands\non her bosom as it rose and fell regularly with her deep breathing,\nthinking of the loving Teacher, of the Christians, and of all the\nglorious promises she had read in the Sermon on the Mount, and which were\naddressed to her too, she could fancy that her head rested on Euryale's\nshoulder, while she saw the form of the Saviour robed in light and\nbeckoning to her.\n\nHer whole frame was wrapped in pleasant languor. Just so had she felt\nonce before-she remembered it well--and she remembered when it was. She\nhad felt just as she did now after her lover had for the first time\nclasped her to his heart, when, as night came on, she had sat by his side\non the marble bench, while the Christian procession passed. She had taken\nthe chanting train for the wandering souls of the dead and--how strange!\nNo--she was not mistaken. She heard at this moment the selfsame strain\nwhich they had then sung so joyfully, in spite of its solemn mode. She\ndid know when it had begun, but again it filled her with a bitter-sweet\nsense of pity. Only it struck deeper now than before, for she knew now\nthat it applied to all human beings, since they were all the children of\nthe same kind Father, and her own brethren and sisters.\n\nBut whence did the wonderful music proceed--Was she--and a shock of alarm\nthrilled her at the thought--was she numbered with the dead? Had her\nheart ceased to beat when the Saviour had taken her in His arms after her\nride through blood and darkness, when all had grown dim to her senses?\nWas she now in the abode of the blest?\n\nAndreas had painted it as a glorious place; and yet she shuddered at the\nthought. But was not that foolish? If she were really dead, all terror\nand pain were at an end. She would see her mother once more; and whatever\nmight happen to those she loved, she might perhaps be suffered to linger\nnear them, as she had done on earth, and hope with assurance to meet them\nagain here, sooner or later.\n\nBut no! Her heart was beating still; she could feel how strongly it\nthrobbed. Then where was she?\n\nThere certainly had not been any such coverlet as this on her bed in the\nSerapeum, and the room there was much lower. She looked about her and\nsucceeded in turning on her side toward the evening breeze which blew in\non her, so pure and soft and sweet. She raised her delicate emaciated\nhand to her head and found that her thick hair was gone. Then she must\nhave cut it off to disguise herself.\n\nBut where was she? Whither had she fled?\n\nIt mattered not. The Serapeum was far away, and she need no longer fear\nZminis and his spies. Now for the first time she raised her eyes\nthankfully to Heaven, and next she looked about her; and while she gazed\nand let her eyes feed themselves full, a faint cry of delight escaped her\nlips. Before her, in the silvery light of the bright disk of the young\nmoon lay a splendid blooming garden, and over the palms which towered\nabove all else, in shadowy masses, in the distance the evening star was\nrising just in front, the moonlight twinkled and flashed in the rising\nand falling drops of the fountain; and as she lay, stirred to the depths\nof her soul by this silent splendor, thinking of kindly Selene moving on\nher peaceful path above, of Artemis hunting in the moonlight, of the\nnymphs of the waters, and the dryads just now perhaps stealing out of the\ngreat trees to dance with sportive fauns, the chant suddenly broke out\nagain in solemn measure, and she heard, to deep manly voices, the\nbeginning of the Psalm:\n\n\"Give thanks unto the Lord and declare his name; proclaim his wonders\namong the nations.\n\n\"Sing of him and praise him; tell of all his wonders; glorify his holy\nname; their hearts rejoice that seek the Lord.\"\n\nHere the men ceased and the women began as though to confirm their praise\nof the most High, singing the ninetieth Psalm with enthusiastic joy:\n\n\"O Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations.\n\n\"Before the mountains were brought forth, or, ever thou hadst formed the\nearth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.\n\n\"For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is\npassed, and as a watch in the night.\"\n\nThen the men's voices broke in again\n\n\"The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament showeth his\nhandiwork.\n\n\"Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge.\"\n\nAnd the women in their turn took up the chant, and from their grateful\nbreasts rose clear and strong the Psalm of David:\n\n\"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy\nname.\n\n\"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.\n\n\"Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases.\n\n\"Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with\nloving-kindness and tender mercies.\"\n\nMelissa listened breathlessly to the singing, of which she could hear\nevery word; and how gladly would she have mingled her voice with theirs\nin thanksgiving to the kind Father in heaven who was hers as well as\ntheirs! There lay His wondrous works before her, and her heart echoed the\nverse:\n\n\"Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with\nloving-kindness and tender mercies,\" as though it were addressed\nespecially to her and sung for her by the choir of women.\n\nThe gods of whom she had but just been thinking with pious remembrance\nappeared to her now as beautiful, merry, sportive children, as graceful\ncreatures of her own kind, in comparison with the Almighty Creator and\nRuler of the universe, whose works among the nations, whose holy name,\nwhose wonders, greatness, and loving-kindness these songs of praise\ncelebrated. The breath of His mouth dispersed the whole world of gods to\nwhom she had been wont to pray, as the autumn wind scatters the\nmany-tinted leaves of faded trees. She felt as though He embraced the\ngarden before her with mighty and yet loving arms, and with it the whole\nworld. She had loved the Olympian gods; but in this hour, for the first\ntime, she felt true reverence for one God, and it made her proud to think\nthat she might love this mighty Lord, this tender Father, and know that\nshe was beloved by Him. Her heart beat faster and faster, and she felt as\nthough, under the protection of this God, she need never more fear any\ndanger.\n\nAs she looked out again at the palm-trees beyond the tamarisks, above\nwhose plumy heads the evening star now rode in the azure blue of the\nnight sky, the singing was taken up again after a pause; she heard once\nmore the angelic greeting which had before struck her soul as so\ncomforting and full of promise when she read it in the Gospel:\n\n\"Glory to God on high, on earth peace, good-will toward men.\"\n\nThat which she had then so fervently longed for had, she thought, come to\npass. The peace, the rest for which she had yearned so miserably in the\nmidst of terror and bloodshed, now filled her heart-all that surrounded\nher was so still and peaceful! A wonderful sense of home came over her,\nand with it the conviction that here she would certainly find those for\nwhom she was longing.\n\nAgain she looked up to survey the scene, and she was now aware of a white\nfigure coming toward her from the tamarisk hedge. This was Euryale. She\nhad seen Agatha among the worshipers, and had quitted the congregation,\nfearing that the sick girl might wake and find no one near her who cared\nfor her or loved her. She crossed the grass plot with a swift step. She\nhad passed the fountain; her head came into the moonlight, and Melissa\ncould see the dear, kind face. With glad excitement she called her by\nname, and as the matron entered the veranda she heard the convalescent's\nweak voice and hastened to her side. Lightly, as if joy had made her\nyoung again, she sank on her knees by the bed of the resuscitated girl to\nkiss her with motherly tenderness and press her head gently to her bosom.\nWhile Melissa asked a hundred questions the lady had to warn her to\nremain quiet, and at last to bid her to keep silence.\n\nFirst of all Melissa wanted to know where she was. Then her lips\noverflowed with thankfulness and joy, and declarations that she felt as\nshe was sure the souls in bliss must feel, when Euryale had told her in\nsubdued tones that her father was living, that Diodoros and her brother\nhad found a refuge in the house of Zeno, and that Andreas, Polybius, and\nall dear to them were quite recovered after those evil days. The town had\nlong been rid of Caesar, and Zeno had consented to allow his daughter\nAgatha to marry Alexander.\n\nIn obedience to her motherly adviser, the convalescent remained quiet for\na while; but joy seemed to have doubled her strength, for she desired to\nsee Agatha, Alexander, and Andreas, and--she colored, and a beseeching\nglance met Euryale's eyes--and Diodoros.\n\nBut meanwhile the physician Ptolemaeus had come into the room, and he\nwould allow no one to come near her this evening but Zeno's daughter. His\ngrave eyes were dim with tears as, when taking leave, he whispered to the\nLady Euryale:\n\n\"All is well. Even her mind is saved.\"\n\nHe was right. From day to day and from hour to hour her recovery\nprogressed and her strength improved. And there was much for her to see\nand hear, which did her more good than medicine, even though she had been\nmoved to fresh grief by the death of her brother and many friends.\n\nLike Melissa, her lover and Alexander had been led by thorny paths to the\nstars which shine on happy souls and shed their light in the hearts of\nthose to whom the higher truth is revealed. It was as Christians that\nDiodoros and Alexander both came to visit the convalescent. That which\nhad won so many Alexandrians to the blessings of the new faith had\nattracted them too, and the certainty of finding their beloved among the\nChristians had been an added inducement to crave instruction from Zeno.\nAnd it had been given them in so zealous and captivating a manner that,\nin their impressionable hearts, the desire for learning had soon been\nturned to firm conviction and inspired ardor.\n\nAgatha was betrothed to Alexander.\n\nThe scorn of his fellow-citizens, which had fallen on the innocent youth\nand which he had supposed would prevent his ever winning her love, had in\nfact secured it to him, for Agatha's father was very ready to trust his\nchild to the man who had rescued her, whom she loved, and in whom he saw\none of the lowly who should be exalted.\n\nAlexander was not told of Philip's death till his own wounds were healed;\nbut he had meanwhile confided to Andreas that he had made up his mind to\nfly to a distant land that he might never again see Agatha, and thus not\nrob the brother on whom he had brought such disaster of the woman he\nloved. The freedman had heard him with deep emotion, and within a few\nhours after Andreas had reported to Zeno the self-sacrificing youth's\npurpose, Zeno had gone to Alexander and greeted him as his son.\n\nMelissa found in Agatha the sister she had so long pined for; and how\nhappy it made her to see her brother's eyes once more sparkle with\ngladness! Alexander, even as a Christian and as Agatha's husband,\nremained an artist.\n\nThe fortune accumulated by Andreas--the solidi with which he had formerly\npaid the scapegrace painter's debts included--was applied to the erection\nof a new and beautiful house of God on the spot where Heron's house had\nstood. Alexander decorated it with noble pictures, and as this church was\nsoon too small to accommodate the rapidly increasing congregation, he\npainted the walls of yet another, with figures whose extreme beauty was\nfamous throughout Christendom, and which were preserved and admired till\ngloomy zealots prohibited the arts in churches and destroyed their works.\n\nMelissa could not be safe in Alexandria. After being quietly married in\nthe house of Polybius, she, with her young husband and Andreas, moved to\nCarthage, where an uncle of Diodoros dwelt. Love went them, and, with\nlove, happiness. They were not long compelled to remain in exile; a few\nmonths after their marriage news was brought to Carthage that Caesar had\nbeen murdered by the centurion Martialis, prompted by the tribunes\nApollinaris and Nemesianus Aurelius. Immediately on this, Macrinus, the\npraetorian prefect, was proclaimed emperor by the troops.\n\nThe ambitious man's sovereignty lasted less than a year; still, the\nprophecy of Serapion was fulfilled. It cost the Magian his life indeed;\nfor a letter written by him to the prefect, in which he reminded him of\nwhat he had foretold, fell into the hands of Caracalla's mother, who\nopened the letters addressed to her ill-fated son at Antioch, where she\nwas then residing. The warning it contained did not arrive, however, till\nafter Caesar's death, and before the new sovereign could effectually\nprotect the soothsayer. As soon as Macrinus had mounted the throne the\npersecution of those who had roused the ire of the unhappy Caracalla was\nat an end. Diodoros and Melissa, Heron and Polybius, could mingle once\nmore with their fellow-citizens secure from all pursuit.\n\nDiodoros and other friends took care that the suspicion of treachery\nwhich had been cast on Heron's household should be abundantly disproved.\nNay, the death of Philip, and Melissa's and Alexander's evil fortunes,\nplaced them in the ranks of the foremost foes of tyranny.\n\nWithin ten months of his accession Macrinus was overthrown, after his\ndefeat at Immae, where, though the praetorians still fought for him\nbravely, he took ignominious flight; Julia Domna's grandnephew was then\nproclaimed Caesar by the troops, under the name of Heliogabalus, and the\nyoung emperor of fourteen had a statue and a cenotaph erected at\nAlexandria to Caracalla, whose son he was falsely reputed to be. These\ntwo works of art suffered severely at the hands of those on whom the\nhated and luckless emperor had inflicted such fearful evils. Still, on\ncertain memorial days they were decked with beautiful flowers; and when\nthe new prefect, by order of Caracalla's mother, made inquiry as to who\nit was that laid them there, he was informed that they came from the\nfinest garden in Alexandria, and that it was Melissa, the wife of the\nowner, who offered them. This comforted the heart of Julia Domna, and she\nwould have blessed the donor still more warmly if she could have known\nthat Melissa included the name of her crazed son in her prayers to her\ndying day.\n\nOld Heron, who had settled on the estate of Diodoros and lived there\namong his birds, less surly than of old, still produced his miniature\nworks of art; he would shake his head over those strange offerings, and\nonce when he found himself alone with old Dido, now a freed-woman, he\nsaid, irritably: \"If that little fool had done as I told her she would be\nempress now, and as good as Julia Domna. But all has turned out\nwell--only that Argutis, whom every one treats as if our old Macedonian\nblood ran in his veins, was sent yesterday by Melissa with finer flowers\nfor Caracalla's cenotaph than for her own mother's tomb--May her\nnew-fangled god forgive her! There is some Christian nonsense at the\nbottom of it, no doubt. I stick to the old gods whom my Olympias served,\nand she always did the best in everything.\"\n\nOld Polybius, too, remained a heathen; but he allowed the children to\nplease themselves. He and Heron saw their grandchildren brought up as\nChristians without a remonstrance, for they both understood that\nChristianity was the faith of the future.\n\nAndreas to his latest day was ever the faithful adviser of old and young\nalike. In the sunshine of love which smiled upon him his austere zeal\nturned to considerate tenderness. When at last he lay on his death-bed,\nand shortly before the end, Melissa asked him what was his favorite verse\nof the Scriptures, he replied firmly and decidedly:\n\n\"Now the fullness of time is come.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" replied Melissa with tears in her eyes. He smiled and nodded,\nsigned to Diodoros to draw off his signet ring--the only thing his father\nhad saved from the days of his wealth and freedom--and desired Melissa to\nkeep it for his sake. Deeply moved, she put it on her finger; but Andreas\npointed to the motto, and said with failing utterance:\n\n\"That is your road--and mine--my father's motto: Per aspera ad astra. It\nhas guided me to my goal, and you--all of you. But the words are in\nLatin; you understand them? By rough ways to the stars--Nay what they say\nto me is: Upward, under the burden of the cross, to bliss here and\nhereafter--And you too,\" he added, looking in his darling's face. \"You\ntoo, both of you; I know it.\"\n\nHe sighed deeply, and, laying his hand on Melissa's head as she knelt by\nhis bed, he closed his faithful eyes in the supporting arms of Diodoros.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE THORNY PATH:\n\n     Begun to enjoy the sound of his own voice\n     Cast off their disease as a serpent casts its skin\n     For what will not custom excuse and sanctify?\n     Force which had compelled every one to do as his neighbors\n     Galenus--What I like is bad for me, what I loathe is wholesome\n     He has the gift of being easily consoled\n     He only longed to be hopeful once more, to enjoy the present\n     It is the passionate wish that gives rise to the belief\n     Man, in short, could be sure of nothing\n     Misfortunes commonly come in couples yoked like oxen\n     Never to be astonished at anything\n     Obstacles existed only to be removed\n     Possess little and require nothing\n     Speaking ill of others is their greatest delight\n     The past must stand; it is like a scar\n\n\n\n\nIN THE FIRE OF THE FORGE, Complete\n\nA ROMANCE OF OLD NUREMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary J. Safford\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nOn the eve of St. Medard's Day in the year 1281, the moon, which had just\nrisen, was shining brightly upon the imperial free city of Nuremberg; its\nrays found their way into the street leading from the strong Marienthurm\nto the Frauenthor, but entrance to the Ortlieb mansion was barred by a\nhouse, a watchtower, and--most successfully of all--by a tall linden\ntree. Yet there was something to be seen here which even now, when\nNuremberg sheltered the Emperor Rudolph and so many secular and\necclesiastical princes, counts, and knights, awakened Luna's curiosity.\nTrue, this something had naught in common with the brilliant spectacles\nof which there was no lack during this month of June; on the contrary, it\nwas very quiet here. An imperial command prohibited the soldiery from\nmoving about the city at night, and the Frauenthor, through which during\nthe day plenty of people and cattle passed in and out had been closed\nlong before. Very few of the worthy burghers--who went to bed betimes and\nrose so early that they rarely had leisure to enjoy the moonlight\nlong--passed here at this hour. The last one, an honest master weaver,\nhad moved with a very crooked gait. As he saw the moon double--like\neverything else around and above him--he had wondered whether the man up\nthere had a wife. He expected no very pleasant reception from his own at\nhome. The watchman, who--the moon did not exactly know why--lingered a\nshort time in front of the Ortlieb mansion, followed the burgher. Then\ncame a priest who, with the sacristan and several lantern bearers, was\ncarrying the sacrament to a dying man in St. Clarengasse.\n\nThere was usually more to be seen at this hour on the other side of the\ncity--the northwestern quarter--where the fortress rose on its hill,\ndominating the Thiergartenthor at its foot; for the Emperor Rudolph\noccupied the castle, and his brother-in-law, Burgrave Friedrich von\nZollern, his own residence. This evening, however, there was little\nmovement even there; the Emperor and his court, the Burgrave and his\ntrain, with all the secular and ecclesiastical princes, counts, and\nknights, had gone to the Town Hall with their ladies. High revel was held\nthere, and inspiring music echoed through the open windows of the\nspacious apartment, where the Emperor Rudolph also remained during the\nball. Here the moonbeams might have been reflected from glittering steel\nor the gold, silver, and gems adorning helmets, diadems, and gala robes;\nor they might surely have found an opportunity to sparkle on the ripples\nof the Pegnitz River, which divided the city into halves; but the\nheavenly wanderer, from the earliest times, has preferred leafy hidden\nnooks to scenes of noisy gaiety, a dim light to a brilliant glare. Luna\nlikes best to gaze where there is a secret to be discovered, and mortals\nhave always been glad to choose her as a confidante. Something exactly\nsuited to her taste must surely be going on just now near the linden\nwhich, in all the splendour of fullest bloom, shaded the street in front\nof the Ortlieb mansion; for she had seen two fair girls grow up in the\nancient dwelling with the carved escutcheon above the lofty oak door, and\nthe ample garden--and the younger, from her earliest childhood, had been\non especially intimate terms with her.\n\nNow the topmost boughs of the linden, spite of their dense foliage,\npermitted a glimpse of the broad courtyard which separated the patrician\nresidence from the street.\n\nA chain, which with graceful curves united a short row of granite posts,\nshut out the pedestrians, the vehicles and horsemen, the swine and other\nanimals driven through the city gate. In contrast with the street, which\nin bad weather resembled an almost impassable swamp, it was always kept\nscrupulously clean, and the city beadle might spare himself the trouble\nof looking there for the carcasses of sucking pigs, cats, hens, and rats,\nwhich it was his duty to carry away.\n\nA young man with an unusually tall and powerful figure was standing in\nthis yard, gazing up at a window in the second story. The shadow of the\nlinden concealed his features and his dress, but the moon had already\nseen him more than once in this very spot and knew that he was a handsome\nfellow, whose bronzed countenance, with its prominent nose and broad\nbrow, plainly indicated a strong will. She had also seen the scar\nstretching from the roots of his long brown locks across the whole\nforehead to the left cheek-bone, that lent the face a martial air. Yet he\nbelonged to no military body, but was the son of a noble family of\nNuremberg, which boasted, it is true, of \"knightly blood\" and the right\nof its sons to enter the lists of the tournament, but was engaged in\npeaceful pursuits; for it carried on a trade with Italy and the\nNetherlands, and every male scion of the Eysvogel race had the birthright\nof being elected a member of the Honourable Council and taking part in\nthe government of Nuremberg.\n\nThe moon had long known that the young man in the courtyard was an\nEysvogel, nor was this difficult to discover. Every child in Nuremberg\nwas familiar with the large showy coat of arms lately placed above the\nlofty doorway of the Eysvogel mansion; and the nocturnal visitor wore a\ndoublet on whose left breast was embroidered the same coat of arms, with\nthree birds in the shield and one on the helmet.\n\nHe had already waited some time in vain, but now a young girl's head\nappeared at the window, and a gay fresh voice called his Christian name,\n\"Wolff!\"\n\nWaving his cap, he stepped nearer to the casement, greeted her warmly,\nand told her that he had come at this late hour to say good-night, though\nonly from the front yard.\n\n\"Come in,\" she entreated. \"True, my father and Eva have gone to the dance\nat the Town Hall, but my aunt, the abbess, is sitting with my mother.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied Wolff, \"I only stopped in passing. Besides, I am\nstealing even this brief time.\"\n\n\"Business?\" asked the young girl. \"Do you know, I am beginning to be\njealous of the monster which, like an old spider, constantly binds you\ncloser and closer in its web. What sort of dealing is this?--to give the\nwhole day to business, and only a few minutes of moonlight to your\nbetrothed bride!\n\n\"I wish it were otherwise,\" sighed Wolff. \"You do not know how hard these\ntimes are, Els! Nor how many thoughts beset my brain, since my father has\nplaced me in charge of all his new enterprises.\"\n\n\"Always something new,\" replied Els, with a shade of reproach in her\ntone. \"What an omnivorous appetite this Eysvogel business possesses!\nUllmann Nutzel said lately: 'Wherever one wants to buy, the\nbird--[vogel]--has been ahead and snapped up everything in Venice and\nMilan. And the young one is even sharper at a bargain,' he added.\"\n\n\"Because I want to make a warm nest for you, dearest,\" replied Wolff.\n\n\"As if we were shopkeepers anxious to secure customers!\" said the girl,\nlaughing. \"I think the old Eysvogel house must have enough big stoves to\nwarm its son and his wife. At the Tuckers the business supports seven,\nwith their wives and children. What more do we want? I believe that we\nlove each other sincerely, and though I understand life better than Eva,\nto whom poverty and happiness are synonymous, I don't need, like the\nwomen of your family, gold plates for my breakfast porridge or a bed of\nLevantine damask for my lapdog. And the dowry my father will give me\nwould supply the daughters of ten knights.\"\n\n\"I know it, sweetheart,\" interrupted Wolff dejectedly; \"and how gladly I\nwould be content with the smallest--\"\n\n\"Then be so!\" she exclaimed cheerily. \"What you would call 'the\nsmallest,' others term wealth. You want more than competence, and I--the\nsaints know-would be perfectly content with 'good.' Many a man has been\nshipwrecked on the cliffs of 'better' and 'best.'\"\n\nFired with passionate ardour, he exclaimed, \"I am coming in now.\"\n\n\"And the business?\" she asked mischievously. \"Let it go as it will,\" he\nanswered eagerly, waving his hand. But the next instant he dropped it\nagain, saying thoughtfully: \"No, no; it won't do, there is too much at\nstake.\"\n\nEls had already turned to send Katterle, the maid, to open the heavy\nhouse door, but ere doing so she put her beautiful head out again, and\nasked:\n\n\"Is the matter really so serious? Won't the monster grant you even a\ngood-night kiss?\"\n\n\"No,\" he answered firmly. \"Your menservants have gone, and before the\nmaid could open----There is the moon rising above the linden already. It\nwon't do. But I'll see you to-morrow and, please God, with a lighter\nheart. We may have good news this very day.\"\n\n\"Of the wares from Venice and Milan?\" asked Els anxiously.\n\n\"Yes, sweetheart. Two waggon trains will meet at Verona. The first\nmessenger came from Ingolstadt, the second from Munich, and the one from\nLandshut has been here since day before yesterday. Another should have\narrived this morning, but the intense heat yesterday, or some cause--at\nany rate there is reason for anxiety. You don't know what is at stake.\"\n\n\"But peace was proclaimed yesterday,\" said Els, \"and if robber knights\nand bandits should venture----But, no! Surely the waggons have a strong\nescort.\"\n\n\"The strongest,\" answered Wolff. \"The first wain could not arrive before\nto-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"You see!\" cried the girl gaily. \"Just wait patiently. When you are once\nmine I'll teach you not to look on the dark side. O Wolff, why is\neverything made so much harder for us than for others? Now this evening,\nit would have been so pleasant to go to the ball with you.\"\n\n\"Yet, how often, dearest, I have urged you in vain----\" he began, but she\nhastily interrupted \"Yes, it was certainly no fault of yours, but one of\nus must remain with my mother, and Eva----\"\n\n\"Yesterday she complained to me with tears in her eyes that she would be\nforced to go to this dance, which she detested.\"\n\n\"That is the very reason she ought to go,\" explained Els. \"She is\neighteen years old, and has never yet been induced to enter into any of\nthe pleasures other girls enjoy. When she isn't in the convent she is\nalways at home, or with Aunt Kunigunde or one of the nuns in the woods\nand fields. If she wants to take the veil later, who can prevent it, but\nthe abbess herself advises that she should have at least a glimpse of the\nworld before leaving it. Few need it more, it seems to me, than our Eva.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" Wolff assented. \"Such a lovely creature! I know no girl more\nbeautiful in all Nuremberg.\"\n\n\"Oh! you----,\" said his betrothed bride, shaking her finger at her lover,\nbut he answered promptly,\n\n\"You just told me that you preferred 'good' to 'better,' and so doubtless\n'fair' to 'fairer,' and you are beautiful, Els, in person and in soul. As\nfor Eva, I admire, in pictures of madonnas and angels, those wonderful\nsaintly eyes with their uplifted gaze and marvellously long lashes, the\nslight droop of the little head, and all the other charms; yet I gladly\ndispense with them in my heart's darling and future wife. But you,\nEls--if our Lord would permit me to fashion out of divine clay a life\ncompanion after my own heart, do you know how she would look?\"\n\n\"Like me--exactly like Els Ortlieb, of course,\" replied the girl\nlaughing.\n\n\"A correct guess, with all due modesty,\" Wolff answered gaily. \"But take\ncare that she does not surpass your wishes. For you know, if the little\nsaint should meet at the dance some handsome fellow whom she likes better\nthan the garb of a nun, and becomes a good Nuremberg wife, the excess of\nangelic virtue will vanish; and if I had a brother--in serious earnest--I\nwould send him to your Eva.\"\n\n\"And,\" cried Els, \"however quickly her mood changes, it will surely do\nher no harm. But as yet she cares nothing about you men. I know her, and\nthe tears she shed when our father gave her the costly Milan suckenie, in\nwhich she went to the ball, were anything but tears of joy.\"\n\n   [Suckenie--A long garment, fitting the upper part of the body\n   closely and widening very much below the waist, with openings for\n   the arms.]\n\n\"I only wonder,\" added Wolff, \"that you persuaded her to go; the pious\nlamb knows how to use her horns fiercely enough.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Els assented, as if she knew it by experience; then she\neagerly continued, \"She is still just like an April day.\"\n\n\"And therefore,\" Wolff remarked, \"the dance which she began with tears\nwill end joyously enough. The young knights and nobles will gather round\nher like bees about honey. Count von Montfort, my brother-in-law\nSiebenburg says, is also at the Town Hall with his daughter.\"\n\n\"And the comet Cordula was followed, as usual, by a long train of\nadmirers,\" said Els. \"My father was obliged to give the count lodgings;\nit could not be avoided. The Emperor Rudolph had named him to the Council\namong those who must be treated with special courtesy. So he was assigned\nto us, and the whole suite of apartments in the back of the house,\noverlooking the garden, is now filled with Montforts, Montfort household\nofficials, menservants, squires, pages, and chaplains. Montfort horses\nand hounds crowd our good steeds out of their stalls. Besides the twenty\nstabled here, eighteen were put in the brewery in the Hundsgasse, and\neight belong to Countess Cordula. Then the constant turmoil all day long\nand until late at night! It is fortunate that they do not lodge with us\nin the front of the house! It would be very bad for my mother!\"\n\n\"Then you can rejoice over the departure all the more cordially,\"\nobserved Wolff.\n\n\"It will hardly cause us much sorrow,\" Els admitted. \"Yet the young\ncountess brings much merriment into our quiet house. She is certainly a\ntireless madcap, and it will vex your proud sister Isabella to know that\nyour brother-in-law Siebenburg is one of her admirers. Did she not go to\nthe Town Hall?\"\n\n\"No,\" Wolff answered; \"the twins have changed her wonderfully. You saw\nthe dress my mother pressed upon her for the ball--Genoese velvet and\nVenetian lace! Its cost would have bought a handsome house. She was\ninclined, too, to appear as a young mother at the festival, and I assure\nyou that she looked fairly regal in the magnificent attire. But this\nmorning, after she had bathed the little boys, she changed her mind.\nThough my mother, and even my grandmother, urged her to go, she insisted\nthat she belonged to the twins, and that some evil would befall the\nlittle ones if she left them.\"\n\n\"That is noble!\" cried Els in delight, \"and if I should ever---. Yet no,\nIsabella and I cannot be compared. My husband will never be numbered\namong the admirers of another woman, like your detestable brother-in-law.\nBesides, he is wasting time with Cordula. Her worldliness repels Eva, it\nis true, but I have heard many pleasant things about her. Alas! she is a\nmotherless girl, and her father is an old reveller and huntsman, who\nrejoices whenever she does any audacious act. But he keeps his purse open\nto her, and she is kind-hearted and obliging to a degree----\"\n\n\"Equalled by few,\" interrupted Wolff, with a sneer. \"The men know how to\npraise her for it. No paternoster would be imposed upon her in the\nconfessional on account of cruel harshness.\"\n\n\"Nor for a sinful or a spiteful deed,\" replied Els positively. \"Don't say\nanything against her to me, Wolff, in spite of your dissolute\nbrother-in-law. I have enough to do to intercede for her with Eva and\nAunt Kunigunde since she singed and oiled the locks of a Swiss knight\nbelonging to the Emperor's court. Our Katterle brought the coals. But\nmany other girls do that, since courtesy permits it. Her train to the\nTown Hall certainly made a very brave show; the fifty freight waggons you\nare expecting will scarcely form a longer line.\"\n\nThe young merchant started. The comparison roused his forgotten anxiety\nafresh, and after a few brief, tender words of farewell he left the\nobject of his love. Els gazed thoughtfully after him; the moonlight\nrevealed his tall, powerful figure for a long time. Her heart throbbed\nfaster, and she felt more deeply than ever how warmly she loved him. He\nmoved as though some heavy burden of care bowed his strong shoulders. She\nwould fain have hastened after him, clung to him, and asked what troubled\nhim, what he was concealing from her who was ready to share everything\nwith him, but the Frauenthor, through which he entered the city, already\nhid him from her gaze.\n\nShe turned back into the room with a faint sigh. It could scarcely be\nsolely anxiety about his expected goods that burdened her lover's mind.\nTrue, his weak, arrogant mother, and still more his grandmother, the\ndaughter of a count, who lived with them in the Eysvogel house and still\nruled her daughter as if she were a child, had opposed her engagement to\nWolff, but their resistance had ceased since the betrothal. On the other\nhand, she had often heard that Fran Eysvogel, the haughty mother,\ndowerless herself, had many poor and extravagant relations besides her\ndaughter and her debt-laden, pleasure-loving husband, Sir Seitz\nSiebenburg, who, it could not be denied, all drew heavily upon the\ncoffers of the ancient mercantile house. Yet it was one of the richest in\nNuremberg. Yes, something of which she was still ignorant must be\noppressing Wolff, and, with the firm resolve to give him no peace until\nhe confessed everything to her, she returned to the couch of her invalid\nmother.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nWolff had scarcely vanished from the street, and Els from the window,\nwhen a man's slender figure appeared, as if it had risen from the earth,\nbeside the spurge-laurel tree at the left of the house. Directly after\nsome one rapped lightly on the pavement of the yard, and in a few minutes\nthe heavy ironbound oak doors opened and a woman's hand beckoned to the\nlate guest, who glided swiftly along in the narrow line of shadow cast by\nthe house and vanished through the entrance.\n\nThe moon looked after him doubtfully. In former days the\nnarrow-shouldered fellow had been seen near the Ortlieb house often\nenough, and his movements had awakened Luna's curiosity; for he had been\nengaged in amorous adventure even when work was still going on at the\nrecently completed convent of St. Clare--an institution endowed by the\nEbner brothers, to which Herr Ernst Ortlieb added a considerable sum. At\nthat time--about three years before--the bold fellow had gone there to\nkeep tryst evening after evening, and the pretty girl who met him was\nKatterle, the waiting maid of the beautiful Els, as Nuremberg folk called\nthe Ortlieb sisters, Els and Eva. Many vows of ardent, changeless love\nfor her had risen to the moon, and the outward aspect of the man who made\nthem afforded a certain degree of assurance that he would fulfil his\npledges, for he then wore the long dark robe of reputable people, and on\nthe front of his cap, from which a net shaped like a bag hung down his\nback, was a large S, and on the left shoulder of his long coat a T, the\ninitials of the words Steadfast and True. They bore witness that the\nperson who had them embroidered on his clothing deemed these virtues the\nhighest and noblest. It might have been believed that the lean fellow,\nwho scarcely looked his five-and-thirty years, possessed these lofty\ntraits of character; for, though three full years had passed since his\nlast meeting with Katterle at the building site, he had gone to his\nsweetheart with his wonted steadfastness and truth immediately after the\nEmperor Rudolph's entry.\n\nHe had given her reason to rely upon him; but the moon's gaze reaches\nfar, and had discovered the quality of Walther Biberli's \"steadfastness\nand truth.\"\n\nIn one respect it proved the best and noblest; for among thousands of\nservitors the moon had not seen one who clung to his lord with more loyal\ndevotion. Towards pretty young women, on the contrary, he displayed his\nprincipal virtues in a very singular way; for the pallid nocturnal\nwanderer above had met him in various lands and cities, and wherever he\ntarried long another maid was added to the list of those to whom Biberli\nvowed steadfastness and truth.\n\nTrue, whenever Sir Long Coat's travels led him back to any one to whom he\nhad sworn eternal love, he went first to her, if she, too, retained the\nold affection. But Katterle had cause to care for him most, for he was\nmore warmly devoted to her than to any of the others, and in his own\nfashion his intentions were honest. He seriously intended, as soon as his\nmaster left the imperial court--which he hoped would not happen too\nsoon--and returned to his ancestral castle in his native Switzerland, to\nestablish a home of his own for his old age, and no one save Katterle\nshould light the hearth fire. Her outward circumstances pleased him, as\nwell as her disposition and person. She was free-born, like himself--the\nson of a forest keeper--and, again like him, belonged to a Swiss family;\nher heritage (she was an orphan), which consisted of a house and arable\nland in her home, Sarnen, where she still sent her savings, satisfied his\nrequirements. But above all she believed in him and admired his versatile\nmind and his experience. Moreover, she gave him absolute obedience, and\nloved him so loyally that she had remained unwedded, though a number of\nexcellent men had sought her in marriage.\n\nKatterle had met him for the first time more than three years before\nwhen, after the battle of Marchfield, he remained several weeks in\nNuremberg. They had sat side by side at a tournament, and, recognising\neach other as Swiss-born by the sharp sound of the letters \"ch\" and the\npronunciation of other words, were mutually attracted.\n\nKatterle had a kind heart; yet at that time she almost yielded to the\ntemptation to pray Heaven not to hasten the cure of a brave man's wounds\ntoo quickly, for she knew that Biberli was a squire in the service of the\nyoung Swiss knight Heinz Schorlin, whose name was on every lip because,\nin spite of his youth, he had distinguished himself at the battle of\nMarchfield by his rare bravery, and that the young hero would remain in\nNuremberg only until his severe injuries were completely healed. His\ndeparture would bring to her separation from his servant, and sometimes\nwhen homesickness tortured her she thought she would be unable to survive\nthe parting. Meanwhile Biberli nursed his master with faithful zeal, as\nif nothing bound him to Nuremberg, and even after his departure Katterle\nremained in good health.\n\nNow she had him again. Directly after the Emperor Rudolph's entrance,\nfive days before, Biberli had come openly to the Ortlieb house and\npresented himself to Martsche,--[Margaret]--the old house keeper, as the\ncountryman and friend of the waiting maid, who had brought her a message\nfrom home.\n\nTrue, it had been impossible to say anything confidential either in the\ncrowded kitchen or in the servants' hall. To-night's meeting was to\nafford the opportunity.\n\nThe menservants, carrying sedan chairs and torches, had all gone out with\ntheir master, who had taken his younger daughter, Eva, to the dance. They\nwere to wait in front of the Town Hall, because it was doubtful whether\nthe daughter of the house, who had been very reluctant to go to the\nentertainment, might not urge an early departure. Count von Montfort,\nwhose quarters were in the Ortlieb mansion, and his whole train of male\nattendants, certainly would not come back till very late at night or even\nearly morning, for the Countess Cordula remained at a ball till the\nclose, and her father lingered over the wine cup till his daughter called\nhim from the revellers.\n\nAll this warranted the lovers in hoping for an undisturbed interview. The\nplace of meeting was well chosen. It was unsatisfactory only to the moon\nfor, after Biberli had closed the heavy door of the house behind him,\nLuna found no chink or crevice through which a gliding ray might have\nwatched what the true and steadfast Biberli was saying to Katterle. There\nwas one little window beside the door, but it was closed, and the opening\nwas covered with sheepskin. So the moon's curiosity was not gratified.\n\nInstead of her silver rays, the long entry of the Ortlieb house, with its\nlofty ceiling, was illumined only by the light of three lanterns, which\nstruggled dimly through horn panes. The shining dots in a dark corner of\nthe spacious corridor were the eyes of a black cat, watching there for\nrats and mice.\n\nThe spot really possessed many advantages for the secret meeting of two\nlovers, for as it ran through the whole width of the house, it had two\ndoors, one leading to the street, the other into the yard. In the right\nwall of the entry there were also two small doors, reached by a flight of\nsteps. At this hour both closed empty rooms, for the office and the\nchamber where Herr Ernst Ortlieb received his business friends had not\nbeen occupied since sunset, and the bathroom and dressing-room adjoining\nwere used only during the day.\n\nTrue, some unbidden intruder might have come down the long broad\nstaircase leading to the upper story. But in that case the lovers had the\nbest possible hiding-place close at hand, for here large and small boxes,\nstanding side by side and one above another, formed a protecting wall;\nyonder heaps of sacks and long rows of casks afforded room for\nconcealment behind them. Rolls of goods packed in sacking leaned against\nthe chests, inviting a fugitive to slip back of them, and surely no one\nwould suspect the presence of a pair of lovers in the rear of these\nmountains of hides and bales wrapped in matting. Still it would scarcely\nhave been advisable to remain near them; for these packages, which the\nOrtlieb house brought from Venice, contained pepper and other spices that\nexhaled a pungent odor, endurable only by hardened nerves.\n\nValuable goods of various kinds lay here until they could be placed in\ncellars or storehouses or sold. But there was many an empty space, too,\nin the broad corridor for, spite of Emperor Rudolph's strictness, robbery\non the highroads had by no means ceased, and Herr Ernst Ortlieb was still\ncompelled to use caution in the transportation of costly wares.\n\nAfter Biberli and his sweetheart had assured themselves that the ardour\nof their love had by no means cooled, they sat down on some bags filled\nwith cloves and related to each other the experiences through which they\nhad passed during the period of separation.\n\nKatterle's life had flowed on in a pleasant monotony. She had no cause to\ncomplain of her employers.\n\nFran Maria Ortlieb, the invalid mistress of the house, rarely needed her\nservices.\n\nDuring a ride to visit relatives in Ulm, the travellers, who were under\nthe same escort of men at arms as a number of Nuremberg freight waggons,\nhad been attacked by the robber knights Absbach and Hirschhorn. An arrow\nhad struck Frau Ortlieb's palfrey, causing the unfortunate woman a severe\nfall, which produced an internal injury, from which she had not yet\nrecovered. The assault resulted unfortunately for young Hirschhorn, who\nled it; he met with a shameful death on the gallows.\n\nThe information enraged Biberli. Instead of feeling any sympathy for the\nseverely injured lady, he insisted that the Nuremberg burghers had dealt\nwith Hirschhorn in a rascally fashion; for he was a knight, and\ntherefore, as honest judges familiar with the law, they ought to have put\nhim to death by the sword instead of with the rope. And Katterle agreed\nwith him; she never contradicted his opinions, and surely Biberli must\nknow what treatment befitted a knight, since he was the foster-brother of\none.\n\nNor did the maid, who was in the personal service of the daughters of the\nhouse, make any complaint against them. Indeed, she could not praise Els,\nthe elder, sufficiently. She was very just, the careful nurse of her\ninvalid mother, and always unvarying in her cheerful kindness.\n\nShe had no fault to find with Eva either, especially as she was more\nreligious than any one in the whole house. Spite of her marvellous\nbeauty--Katterle knew that there was nothing false about it--she would\nprobably end by joining the nuns in the convent. But her mood changed\nwith every breath, like the weathercock on the steeple. If she got out of\nbed the wrong way, or one did not guess her wishes before they were\nuttered, she would fly into a rage at the least trifle. Then she\nsometimes used very unkind words; but no one could cherish anger against\nher long, for she had an indescribably lovely manner of trying to atone\nfor the offences which her hasty young blood made her commit. She had\ngone to the ball that night as if it were a funeral; she shunned men like\npoison, and even kept out of the way of her sister's friends.\n\nBiberli laughed, as if there could be no doubt of his opinion, and\nexclaimed: \"Just wait a while! My master will meet her at the Town Hall\ntonight, and if the scrawny little squirrel I saw three years ago has\nreally grown up into such a beauty, if he does not get on her track and\ncapture her, my name isn't Biberli.\"\n\n\"But surely,\" replied Katterle doubtfully, \"you told me that you had not\nyet succeeded in persuading him to imitate you in steadfastness and\ntruth.\"\n\n\"But he is a knight,\" replied the servant, striking himself pompously\nunder the T on his shoulder, as if he, too, belonged to this favoured\nclass, \"and so he is as free to pursue a woman as to hunt the game in the\nforest. And my Heinz Schorlin! You saw him, and admitted that he was\nworth looking at. And that was when he had scarcely recovered from his\ndangerous wounds, while now----The French Knight de Preully, in Paris,\nwith whom my dead foster-brother, until he fell sick-----\" Here he\nhesitated; an enquiring look from his sweetheart showed that--perhaps for\nexcellent reasons--he had omitted to tell her about his sojourn in Paris.\n\nNow that he had grown older and abandoned the wild revelry of that period\nin favour of truth and steadfastness, he quietly related everything she\ndesired to know.\n\nHe had acquired various branches of learning while sharing the studies of\nhis foster-brother, the eldest son of the old Knight Schorlin, who was\nthen living, and therefore, when scarcely twenty, was appointed\nschoolmaster at Stansstadt. Perhaps he might have continued to teach--for\nhe promised to be successful--had not a vexatious discovery disgusted him\nwith his calling.\n\nHe was informed that the mercenaries in the Schnitzthurm guard were paid\nfive shillings a week more than he, spite of the knowledge he had gained\nby so much toil.\n\nIn his indignation he went back to Schorlin Castle, which was always open\nto him, and he arrived just at the right time.\n\nHis present master's older brother, whose health had always been\ndelicate, being unable to follow the profession of arms, was on the eve\nof departing to attend the university at Paris, accompanied by the\nchaplain and an equerry. When the Lady Wendula, his master's mother,\nlearned what an excellent reputation Biberli had gained as a\nschoolmaster, she persuaded her husband to send him as esquire with their\nsickly son.\n\nIn Paris there was at first no lack of pleasures of every description,\nespecially as they met among the king's mercenaries many a dissolute\nSwiss knight and man at arms. His foster-brother, to his sorrow, was\nunable to resist the temptations which Satan scatters in Paris as the\npeasants elsewhere sow rye and oats, and the young knight was soon\nattacked, by a severe illness. Then Biberli's gay life ended too. For\nmonths he did not leave his foster-brother's sick bed a single hour, by\nday or night, until death released him from his suffering.\n\nOn his return to Castle Schorlin he found many changes; the old knight\nhad been called away from earth a few days before his son's death, and\nHeinz Schorlin, his present master, had fallen heir to castle and lands.\nThis, however, was no great fortune, for the large estates of the\nSchorlin family were burdened by heavy debts.\n\nThe dead lord, as countryman, boon companion, and brother in arms of the\nEmperor Rudolph, had been always ready to place his sword at his service,\nand whenever a great tournament was held he never failed to be present.\nSo the property had been consumed, and the Lady Wendula and her son and\nthree daughters were left in moderate circumstances. The two older girls\nhad taken the veil, while the youngest, a merry little maiden, lived with\nher mother.\n\nBut the Emperor Rudolph had by no means forgotten the Lady Wendula and\nher dead husband, and with the utmost kindness requested her to send him\nher only son as soon as he was able to wield a sword and lance. He\nintended to repay Heinz for the love and loyalty his father had shown him\nthrough his whole life.\n\n\"And the Hapsburg,\" Biberli added, \"had kept his word.\"\n\nIn a few years his young lord was ready for a position at court.\n\nGotthard von Ramsweg, the Lady Wendula's older brother, a valiant knight,\nwent to his sister's home after her husband's death to manage the estate\nand instruct his nephew in all the exercises of knighthood. Soon the\nstrong, agile, fearless son of a brave father, under the guidance of such\na teacher, excelled many an older youth. He was barely eighteen when the\nLady Wendula sent him to his imperial master. She had given him, with her\nblessing, fiery horses, the finest pieces of his father's suits of mail,\nan armour bearer, and a groom to take with him on his journey; and his\nuncle had agreed to accompany him to Lausanne, where the Emperor Rudolph\nwas then holding his court to discuss with Pope Gregory--the tenth of the\nname--arrangements for a new crusade. But nothing had yet been said about\nBiberli. On the evening before the young noble's departure, however, a\ntravelling minstrel came to the castle, who sang of the deeds of former\ncrusaders, and alluded very touchingly to the loneliness of the wounded\nknight, Herr Weisenthau, on his couch of pain. Then the Lady Wendula\nremembered her eldest son, and the fraternal tendance which Biberli had\ngiven him.\n\n\"And so,\" the servant went on, \"in the anxiety of a mother's heart she\nurged me to accompany Heinz, her darling, as esquire; and watch over his\nwelfare.\"\n\n\"Since I could use a pen, I was to write now and then what a mother\ndesires to hear of a son. She felt great confidence in me, because she\nbelieved that I was true and steadfast. And I have kept in every respect\nthe vow I then made to the Lady Wendula--that she should not find herself\nmistaken in me. I remember that evening as if it were only yesterday. To\nkeep constantly before my eyes the praise my mistress had bestowed upon\nme, I ventured to ask my young master' sister to embroider the T and the\nS on the cap and the new coat, and the young lady did so that very night.\nSince that time these two initials have gone with me wherever our horses\nbear us, and as, after the battle of Marchfield, Biberli nursed his\nmaster back to health with care and toil, he thinks he can prove to you,\nhis sole sweetheart, that he wears his T and S with good reason.\"\n\nIn return for these words Katterle granted her friend the fitting reward\nwith such resignation that it was robbing the moon not to permit her to\nlook on. Her curiosity, however, was not to remain wholly ungratified;\nfor when Biberli found that it was time for him to repair to the Town\nHall to learn whether his master, Heinz Schorlin, needed his services,\nKatterle came out of the house door with him.\n\nThey found much more to say and to do ere they parted.\n\nFirst, the Swiss maid-servant wished to know how the Emperor Rudolph had\nreceived Heinz Schorlin; and she had the most gratifying news.\n\nDuring their stay at Lausanne, where he won the victory in a tournament,\nHeinz was knighted; but after the battle of Marchfield he became still\ndearer to the Emperor, especially when a firm friendship united the young\nSwiss to Hartmann, Rudolph's eighteen-year-old son, who was now on the\nRhine. That very day Heinz had received a tangible proof of the imperial\nfavour, on account of which he had gone to the dance in an extremely\ncheerful mood.\n\nThis good news concerning the knight, whom her young mistress had perhaps\nalready met, awakened in the maid, who was not averse to the business of\nmatchmaking, so dear to her sex, very aspiring plans which aimed at\nnothing less than a union between Eva and Heinz Schorlin. But Biberli had\nscarcely perceived the purport of Katterle's words when he anxiously\ninterrupted her and, declaring that he had already lingered too long, cut\nshort the suggestion by taking leave.\n\nHis master's marriage to a young girl who belonged to the city nobility,\nwhich in his eyes was far inferior in rank to a Knight Schorlin, should\ncast no stone in the pathway of fame that was leading him so swiftly\nupward. Many things must happen before Biberli could honestly advise him\nto give up his present free and happy life and seek rest in his own nest.\n\nIf Eva Ortlieb were as lovely as the Virgin herself, and Sir Heinz's\ninflammable heart should blaze as fervently as it always did, she should\nnot lure him into the paralysing bondage of wedlock so long as he was\nthere and watched over him.\n\nIf he must be married, Biberli had something else in view for\nhim--something which would make him a great lord at a single stroke. But\nit was too soon even for that.\n\nWhen he crossed the Fleischbrucke in the market place and approached the\nbrilliantly lighted Town Hall, he had considerable difficulty in moving\nforward, for the whole square was thronged with curious spectators,\nservants in gala liveries, sedan chairs, richly caparisoned steeds, and\ntorchbearers. The von Montfort retinue, which had quarters in the Ortlieb\nhouse, was one of the most brilliant and numerous of all, and Biberli's\neyes wandered with a look of satisfaction over the gold-mounted sedan\nchair of the young countess. He would rather have given his master to her\nthan to the Nuremberg maiden whom Katterle compared to a weathercock, and\nwho therefore certainly did not possess the lofty virtue of\nsteadfastness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nSir Heinz Schorlin's servant was on intimate terms with many of the\nservitors of the imperial family, and one of them conducted him to the\nbalcony of the city pipers, which afforded a view of the great hall. The\nEmperor sat there at the head of the banquet table, and by his side, on a\nlower throne, his sister, the Burgravine von Zollern. Only the most\ndistinguished and aristocratic personages whom the Reichstag attracted to\nNuremberg, with their ladies, shared the feast given by the city in their\nhonour.\n\nBut yonder, at a considerable distance from them, though within the space\nenclosed by a black and yellow silk cord, separated from the glittering\nthrong of the other guests, he perceived--he would not trust his own\neyes--the Knight Heinz Schorlin, and by his side a wonderfully charming\nyoung girl.\n\nBiberli had not seen Eva Ortlieb for three years, yet he knew that it was\nno other than she. But into what a lovely creature the active, angular\nchild with the thin little arms had developed!\n\nThe hall certainly did not lack superb women of all ages and every style\nof figure and bearing suited to please the eye. Many might even boast of\nmore brilliant, aristocratic beauty, but not one could vie in witchery\nwith her on whom Katterle had cast an eye for his master. She had only\nbegun a modest allusion to it, but even that was vexatious; for Biberli\nfancied that she had thereby \"talked of the devil,\" and he did not wish\nhim to appear.\n\nWith a muttered imprecation, by no means in harmony with his character,\nhe prepared to leave the balcony; but the scene below, though it\nconstantly filled him with fresh vexation, bound him to the spot as if by\nsome mysterious spell.\n\nEspecially did he fancy that he had a bitter taste in his mouth when his\ngaze noted the marvellous symmetry of Heinz Schorlin's powerful though\nnot unusually tall figure, his beautiful waving locks, and the\naristocratic ease with which he wore his superb velvet robe-sapphire blue\non the left side and white on the right, embroidered with silver\nfalcons-or perceived how graciously the noblest of the company greeted\nhim after the banquet; not, indeed, from envy, but because it pierced\nhis very heart to think that this splendid young favourite of fortune,\nalready so renowned, whom he warmly loved, should throw himself away on\nthe daughter of a city merchant, though his motley wares, which he had\njust seen, were adorned by the escutcheon of a noble house.\n\nBut Heinz Schorlin had already been attracted by many more aristocratic\nfair ones, only to weary of them speedily enough. This time, also,\nBiberli would have relied calmly on his fickleness had Katterle's foolish\nwish only remained unuttered, and had Heinz treated his companion in the\ngay, bold fashion which usually marked his manner to other ladies. But\nhis glance had a modest, almost devout expression when he gazed into the\nlarge blue eyes of the merchant's daughter. And now she raised them! It\ncould not fail to bewitch the most obdurate woman hater!\n\nFaithful, steadfast Biberli clenched his fists, and once even thought of\nshouting \"Fire!\", into the ballroom below to separate all who were\nenjoying themselves there wooing and being wooed.\n\nBut those beneath perceived neither him nor his wrath--least of all his\nmaster and the young girl who had come hither so reluctantly.\n\nAt home Eva had really done everything in her power to be permitted to\nstay away from the Town Hall. Herr Ernst Ortlieb, her father, however,\nhad been inflexible. The chin of the little man with beardless face and\nhollow cheeks had even begun to tremble, and this was usually the\nprecursor of an outburst of sudden wrath which sometimes overpowered him\nto such a degree that he committed acts which he afterwards regretted.\n\nThis time he had been compelled not to tolerate the opposition of his\nobstinate child. Emperor Rudolph himself had urged the \"honourable\"\nmembers of the Council to gratify him and his daughter-in-law Agnes, whom\nhe wished to entertain pleasantly during her brief visit, by the presence\nof their beautiful wives and daughters at the entertainment in the Town\nHall.\n\nHerr Ortlieb's invalid wife could not spare Els, her older daughter and\nfaithful nurse, so he required Eva's obedience, and compelled her to give\nup her opposition to attending the festival; but she dreaded the vain,\nworldly gaiety--nay, actually felt a horror of it.\n\nEven while still a pupil at the convent school she had often asked\nherself whether it would not be the fairest fate for her, like her Aunt\nKunigunde, the abbess of the convent of St. Clare, to vow herself to the\nSaviour and give up perishable joys to secure the rapture of heaven,\nwhich lasted throughout eternity, and might begin even here on earth, in\na quiet life with God, a complete realisation of the Saviour's loving\nnature, and the great sufferings which he took upon himself for love's\nsake. Oh, even suffering and bleeding with the Most High were rich in\nmysterious delight! Aye, no earthly happiness could compare with the\nblissful feeling left by those hours of pious ecstasy.\n\nOften she had sat with closed eyes for a long time, dreaming that she was\nin the kingdom of heaven and, herself an angel, dwelt with angels. How\noften she had wondered whether earthly love could bestow greater joy than\nsuch a happy dream, or the walks through the garden and forest, during\nwhich the abbess told her of St. Francis of Assisi, who founded her\norder, the best and most warmhearted among the successors of Christ, of\nwhom the Pope himself said that he would hear even those whom God would\nnot! Moreover, there was no plant, no flower, no cry of any animal in the\nwoods which was not familiar to the Abbess Kunigunde. Like St. Francis;\nshe distinguished in everything which the ear heard and the eye beheld\nvoices that bore witness to the goodness and greatness of the Most High.\nThe abbess felt bound by ties of sisterly affection to every one of God's\ncreatures, and taught Eva to love them, too, and, as a person who treats\na child kindly wins the mother's heart also, to obtain by love of his\ncreatures that of the Creator.\n\nOthers had blamed her because she held aloof from her sister's friends\nand amusements. They were ignorant of the joys of solitude, which her\naunt and her saint had taught her to know.\n\nShe had endured interruptions and reproaches, often humbly, oftener\nstill, when her hot blood swept away her self-control, with vehement\nindignation and tears; but meanwhile she had always cherished the secret\nthought that the time would come when she, too, would be permitted, at\none with God and the Saviour, to enjoy the raptures of eternal bliss. She\nloved her invalid mother and, often as his sudden fits of passion alarmed\nher, she was tenderly attached to her father; yet it would have seemed to\nher an exquisite delight to be permitted to imitate the saints and sever\nall bonds which united her to the world and its clogging demands. She had\nlong been yearning for the day when she would be allowed to entreat the\nabbess to grant her admittance to the convent, whose doors would be flung\nwide open for her because, next to the brothers Ebner, who founded it,\nher parents had contributed the largest sum for its support.\n\nBut she was obliged to wait patiently, for Els, her older sister, would\nprobably soon marry her Wolff, and then it would be her turn to nurse her\ninvalid mother. Her own heart dictated this, and the abbess had said:\n\"Let her enter eternity clasping your hand before you begin, with us, to\ndevote all your strength to securing your own salvation. Besides, you\nwill thereby ascend a long row of steps nearer to your sublime goal.\"\n\nBut Eva would far rather have given her hand now, aloof from the world,\nto the Most High in an inviolable bond. What marvel that, with such a\ngoal in view, she was deeply reluctant to enter the gay whirl of a noisy\nball!\n\nWith serious repugnance she had allowed Katterle and her sister to adorn\nher, and entered the sedan chair which was to convey her to the Town\nHall. Doubtless her own image, reflected in the mirror, had seemed\ncharming enough, and the loud expressions of delight from the servants\nand others who admired her rich costume had pleased her; but directly\nafter she realized the vanity of this emotion and, while approaching the\nballroom in her chair, she prayed to her saint to help her conquer it.\n\nStriving honestly to vanquish this error, she entered the hall soon after\nthe Emperor and his young daughter-in-law; but there she was greeted from\nthe balcony occupied by the city pipers and musicians, long before\nBiberli entered it, with the same fanfare that welcomed the illustrious\nguests of the city, and with which blended the blare of the heralds'\ntrumpets. Thousands of candles in the chandeliers and candelabra diffused\na radiance as brilliant as that of day and, confused by the noise and\nwaves of light which surged around her, she had drawn closer to her\nfather, clinging to him for protection. She especially missed her sister,\nwith whom she had grown up, who had become her second self, and whom she\nneeded most when she emerged from her quiet life of introspection into\nthe gay world.\n\nAt first she had stood with downcast lashes, but soon her eyes wandered\nover the waving plumes and flashing jewels, the splendour of silk and\nvelvet, the glitter of gold and glimmer of pearls.\n\nSometimes the display in church had been scarcely less brilliant, and\neven without her sister's request she had gazed at it, but how entirely\ndifferent it was! There she had rejoiced in her own modest garb, and told\nherself that her simplicity was more pleasing to God and the saints than\nthe vain splendour of the others, which she might so easily have imitated\nor even surpassed. But here the anxious question of how she appeared\namong the rest of the company forced itself upon her.\n\nTrue, she knew that the brocade suckenie, which her father had ordered\nfrom Milan, was costly; that the sea-green hue of the right side\nharmonised admirably with the white on the left; that the tendrils and\nlilies of the valley wrought in silver, which seemed to be scattered over\nthe whole, looked light and airy; yet she could not shake off the feeling\nthat everything she wore was in disorder--here something was pulled awry,\nthere something was crushed. Els, who had attended to her whole toilet,\nwas not there to arrange it, and she felt thoroughly uncomfortable in the\nmidst of this worldly magnificence and bustle.\n\nNotwithstanding her father's presence, she had never been so desolate as\namong these ladies and gentlemen, nearly all of whom were strangers.\n\nHer sister was intimate with the other girls of her age and station, few\nof whom were absent, and if Eva could have conjured her to her side\ndoubtless many would have joined them; but she knew no one well, and\nthough many greeted her, no one lingered. Everybody had friends with whom\nthey were on far more familiar terms. The young Countess von Montfort, a\ngirl of her own age and an inmate of her own home, also gave her only a\npassing word. But this was agreeable to her--she disliked Cordula's free\nmanners.\n\nMany who were friends of Els had gathered around Ursula Vorchtel, the\ndaughter of the richest man in the city, and she intentionally avoided\nthe Ortliebs because, before Wolff Eysvogel sued for Els's hand, he and\nUrsula had been intended for each other.\n\nEva was just secretly vowing that this first ball should also be the\nlast, when the imperial magistrate, Herr Berthold Pfinzing, her\ngodfather, came to present her to the Emperor, who had requested to see\nthe little daughter of the Herr Ernst Ortlieb whose son had fallen in\nbattle for him. His \"little saint,\" Herr Pfinzing added, looked no less\nlovely amid the gay music of the Nuremberg pipers than kneeling in prayer\namid the notes of the organ.\n\nEvery tinge of colour had faded from Eva's cheeks, and though a few hours\nbefore she had asked her sister what the Emperor's greatness signified in\nthe presence of God that she should be forced, for his sake, to be\nfaithless to the holiest things, now fear of the majesty of the powerful\nsovereign made her breath come quicker.\n\nHow, clinging to her godfather's hand, she reached the Emperor Rudolph's\nthrone she could never describe, for what happened afterwards resembled a\nconfused dream of mingled bliss and pain, from which she was first\nawakened by her father's warning that the time of departure had come.\n\nWhen she raised her downcast eyes the monarch was standing before the\nthrone placed for him. She had been compelled to bend her head backward\nin order to see his face, for his figure, seven feet in height, towered\nlike a statue of Roland above all who surrounded him. But when, after the\nAustrian duchess, his daughter-in-law, who was scarcely beyond childhood,\nand the Burgrave von Zollern, his sister, had graciously greeted her, and\nEva with modest thanks had also bowed low before the Emperor Rudolph, a\nsmile, spite of her timidity, flitted over her lips, for as she bent the\nknee her head barely reached above his belt. The Burgravine, a vivacious\nmatron, must have noticed it, for she beckoned to her, and with a few\nkind words mentioned the name of the young knight who stood behind her,\nbetween her own seat and that of the young Duchess Agnes of Austria, and\nrecommended him as an excellent dancer. Heinz Schorlin, the master of the\ntrue and steadfast Biberli, had bowed courteously, and answered\nrespectfully that he hoped he should not prove himself unworthy of praise\nfrom such lips.\n\nMeanwhile his glance met Eva's, and the Burgravine probably perceived\nwith what, ardent admiration the knight's gaze rested on the young\nNuremberg beauty, for she had scarcely stepped back after the farewell\ngreeting when the noble lady said in a low tone, but loud enough for\nEva's quick ear to catch the words, \"Methinks yonder maiden will do well\nto guard her little heart this evening against you, you unruly fellow!\nWhat a sweet, angelic face!\"\n\nEva's cheeks crimsoned with mingled shame and pleasure at such words from\nsuch lips, and she would have been only too glad to hear what the knight\nwhispered to the noble lady.\n\nThe attention of the young Duchess Agnes, daughter of King Ottocar of\nBohemia and wife of the Emperor's third son, who also bore the name of\nRudolph, had been claimed during this incident by the Duke of Nassau, who\nhad presented his ladies to her, but they had scarcely retired when she\nbeckoned to Heinz Schorlin, and while talking with him gazed into his\neyes with such warm, childlike pleasure that Eva was incensed; she\nthought it unseemly for a wife and a duchess to be on such familiar terms\nwith a simple knight. Nay, her disapproval of the princess's conduct must\nhave been very deep, for during the whole time of her conversation with\nthe knight there was a loud singing in the young girl's ears. The\nBohemian's face might be considered pretty; her dark eyes sparkled\nbrightly, animating the immature features, now slightly sunburnt; and\nalthough four years younger than Eva, her figure, though not above middle\nheight, was well developed and, in spite of its flexibility, aristocratic\nin bearing. While conversing with Heinz Schorlin she seemed joyously\nexcited, unrestrainedly cordial, but her manner expressed disappointment\nand royal hauteur as another group of ladies and gentlemen came forward\nto be presented, compelling her to turn her back upon the young Swiss\nwith a regretful shrug of her shoulders.\n\nThe counts and countesses, knights and ladies who thronged around her\nconcealed her from Eva's eyes, who, now that Heinz Schorlin had left the\nBohemian, again turned her attention to the Emperor, and even ventured to\napproach him. What paternal gentleness Rudolph's deep tones expressed!\nHow much his face attracted her!\n\nTrue, it could make no pretensions to beauty--the thin, hooked nose was\nfar too large and long; the corners of the mouth drooped downward too\nmuch; perhaps it was this latter peculiarity which gave the whole face so\nsorrowful an aspect. Eva thought she knew its source. The wound dealt a\nfew months before by the death of his faithful wife, the love of his\nyouth, still ached. His eyes could not be called either large or bright;\nbut how kindly, how earnest, shrewd and, when an amusing thought passed\nthrough his mind, how mischievous they could look! His light-brown hair\nhad not yet turned very grey, spite of his sixty-three years, but the\nlocks had lost their luxuriance and fell straight, except for a slight\ncurl at the lower ends, below his neck.\n\nEva's father, when a young man, had met Frederic II, of the Hohenstaufen\nline, in Italy, and was wont to call this a special boon of fate. True,\nher aunt, the abbess, said she did not envy him the honour of meeting the\nAntichrist; yet that very day after mass she had counselled Eva to\nimpress the Emperor Rudolph's appearance on her memory. To meet noble\ngreat men elevates our hearts and makes us better, because in their\npresence we become conscious of our own insignificance and the duty of\nemulating them. She would willingly have given more than a year of her\nlife to be permitted to gaze into the pure, loving countenance of St.\nFrancis, who had closed his eyes seven years after her birth.\n\nSo Eva, who was accustomed to render strict obedience to her honoured\naunt, honestly strove to watch every movement of the Emperor; but her\nattention had been continually diverted, mainly by the young knight, from\nwhom--the Emperor's sister, Burgravine Elizabeth, had said so\nherself--danger threatened her heart.\n\nBut the young Countess Cordula von Montfort, the inmate of her home, also\ncompelled her to gaze after her, for Heinz Schorlin had approached the\nvivacious native of the Vorarlberg, and the freedom with which she\ntreated him--allowing herself to go so far as to tap him on the arm with\nher fan--vexed and offended her like an insult offered to her whole sex.\nTo think that a girl of high station should venture upon such conduct\nbefore the eyes of the Emperor and his sister!\n\nNot for the world would she have permitted any man to talk and laugh with\nher in such a way. But the young knight whom she saw do this was again\nthe Swiss. Yet his bright eyes had just rested upon her with such devout\nadmiration that lack of respect for a lady was certainly not in his\nnature, and he merely found himself compelled, contrary to his wish, to\ndefend himself against the countess and her audacity.\n\nEva had already heard much praise of the great valour of the young knight\nHeinz Schorlin. When Katterle, whose friend and countryman was in his\nservice, spoke of him--and that happened by no means rarely--she had\nalways called him a devout knight, and that he was so, in truth, he\nshowed her plainly enough; for there was fervent devotion in the eyes\nwhich now again sought hers like an humble penitent.\n\nThe musicians had just struck up the Polish dance, and probably the\nknight, whom the Emperor's sister had recommended to her for a partner,\nwished by this glance to apologise for inviting Countess Cordula von\nMontfort instead. Therefore she did not need to avoid the look, and might\nobey the impulse of her heart to give him a warning in the language of\nthe eyes which, though mute, is yet so easily understood. Hitherto she\nhad been unable to answer him, even by a word, yet she believed that she\nwas destined to become better acquainted, if only to show him that his\npower, of which the Burgravine had spoken, was baffled when directed\nagainst the heart of a pious maiden.\n\nAnd something must also attract him to her, for while she had the honour\nof being escorted up and down the hall by one of the handsome sons of the\nBurgrave von Zollern to the music of the march performed by the city\npipers, Heinz Schorlin, it is true, did the same with his lady, but he\nlooked away from her and at Eva whenever she passed him.\n\nHer partner was talkative enough, and his description of the German order\nwhich he expected to enter, as his two brothers had already done, would\nhave seemed to her well worthy of attention at any other time, but now\nshe listened with but partial interest.\n\nWhen the dance was over and Sir Heinz approached, her heart beat so\nloudly that she fancied her neighbours must hear it; but ere he had\nspoken a single word old Burgrave Frederick himself greeted her, inquired\nabout her invalid mother, her blithe sister, and her aunt, the abbess,\nwho in her youth had been the queen of every dance, and asked if she\nfound his son a satisfactory partner.\n\nIt was an unusual distinction to be engaged in conversation by this\ndistinguished gentleman, yet Eva would fain have sent him far away, and\nher replies must have sounded monosyllabic enough; but the sweet shyness\nthat overpowered her so well suited the modest young girl, who had\nscarcely passed beyond childhood, that he did not leave her until the\n'Rai' began, and then quitted her with the entreaty that she would remove\nthe cap which had hitherto rendered her invisible, to the injury of\nknights and gentlemen, and be present at the dance which he should soon\ngive at the castle.\n\nThe pleasant old nobleman had scarcely left her when she turned towards\nthe young man who had just approached with the evident intention of\nleading her to the dance, but he was again standing beside Cordula von\nMontfort, and a feeling of keen resentment overpowered her.\n\nThe young countess was challenging his attention still more boldly,\ntossing her head back so impetuously that the turban-like roll on her\nhair, spite of the broad ribbon that fastened it under her chin, almost\nfell on the floor. But her advances not only produced no effect, but\nseemed to annoy the knight. What charm could he find in a girl who, in a\ncostume which displayed the greatest extreme of fashion, resembled a Turk\nrather than a Christian woman? True, she had an aristocratic bearing, and\nperhaps Els was right in saying that her strongly marked features\nrevealed a certain degree of kindliness, but she wholly lacked the spell\nof feminine modesty. Her pleasant grey eyes and full red lips seemed\ncreated only for laughter, and the plump outlines of her figure were\nbetter suited to a matron than a maiden in her early girlhood. Not the\nslightest defect escaped Eva during this inspection. Meanwhile she\nremembered her own image in the mirror, and a smile of satisfaction\nhovered round her red lips.\n\nNow the knight bowed.\n\nWas he inviting the countess to dance again? No, he turned his back to\nher and approached Eva, whose lovely, childlike face brightened as if a\nsun beam had shone upon it. The possibility of refusing her hand for the\n'Rai' never entered her head, but he told her voluntarily that he had\ninvited Countess Cordula for the Polish dance solely in consequence of\nthe Burgravine's command, but now that he was permitted to linger at her\nside he meant to make up for lost time.\n\nHe kept his word, and was by no means content with the 'Rai'; for, after\nthe young Duchess Agnes had summoned him to a 'Zauner', and during its\ncontinuance again talked with him far more confidentially than the modest\nNuremberg maiden could approve, he persuaded Eva to try the 'Schwabeln'\nwith him also; and though she had always disliked such dances she\nyielded, and her natural grace, as well as her quick ear for time, helped\nher to catch the unfamiliar steps without difficulty. While doing so he\nwhispered that even the angels in heaven could have no greater bliss than\nit afforded him to float thus through the hall, clasping her in his arm,\nwhile she glanced up at him with a happy look and bent her little head in\nassent. She would gladly have exclaimed warmly: \"Yes, indeed! Yet the\nBurgravine says that danger threatens me from you, you dear, kind fellow,\nand I should do well to avoid you.\"\n\nBesides, she felt indebted to him. What would have befallen her here in\nhis absence! Moreover, it gave her a strange sense of pleasure to gaze\ninto his eyes, allow herself to be borne through the wide hall by his\nstrong arm, and while pressed closely to his side imagine that his\nswiftly throbbing heart felt the pulsing of her own. Instead of injuring\nher, wishing her evil, and asking her to do anything wrong, he certainly\nhad only good intentions. He had cared for her as if he occupied the\nplace of her own brother who fell in the battle of Marchfield. It would\nhave given him most pleasure--he had said so himself--to dance everything\nwith her, but decorum and the royal dames who kept him in attendance\nwould not permit it. However, he came to her in every pause to exchange\nat least a few brief words and a glance. During the longest one, which\nlasted more than an hour and was devoted to the refreshment of the\nguests, he led her into a side room which had been transformed into a\nblossoming garden.\n\nSeats were placed behind the green birch trees--amid whose boughs hung\ngay lamps--and the rose bushes which surrounded a fountain of perfumed\nwater, and Eva had already followed the Swiss knight across the threshold\nwhen she saw among the branches at the end of the room the Countess\nCordula, at whose feet several young nobles knelt or reclined, among them\nSeitz Siebenburg, the brother-in-law of Wolff Eysvogel, her sister's\nbetrothed bridegroom.\n\nThe manner of the husband and father whose wife, only six weeks before,\nhad become the mother of twin babies--beautiful boys--and who for\nCordula's sake so shamefully forgot his duties, crimsoned her cheeks with\na flush of anger, while the half-disapproving, half-troubled look that\nSir Boemund Altrosen cast, sometimes at the countess, sometimes at\nSiebenburg, showed her that she herself was on the eve of doing something\nwhich the best persons could not approve; for Altrosen, who leaned\nsilently against the wall beside the countess, ever and anon pushing back\nthe coal-black hair from his pale face, had been mentioned by her\ngodfather as the noblest of the younger knights gathered in Nuremberg. A\nvoice in her own heart, too, cried out that this was no fitting place for\nher.\n\nIf Els had been with her, Eva said to herself, she certainly would not\nhave permitted her to enter this room, where such careless mirth\nprevailed, alone with a knight, and the thought roused her for a short\ntime from the joyous intoxication in which she had hitherto revelled, and\nawakened a suspicion that there might be peril in trusting herself to\nHeinz Schorlin without reserve.\n\n\"Not here,\" she entreated, and he instantly obeyed her wish, though the\nCountess Cordula, as if he were alone, instead of with a lady, loudly and\ngaily bade him stay where pleasure had built a hut under roses.\n\nEva was pleased that her new friend did not even vouchsafe the young\ncountess an answer. His obedience led her also to believe that her\nanxiety had been in vain. Yet she imposed greater reserve of manner upon\nherself so rigidly that Heinz noticed it, and asked what cloud had dimmed\nthe pure radiance of her gracious sunshine.\n\nEva lowered her eyes and answered gently: \"You ought not to have taken me\nwhere the diffidence due to modesty is forgotten.\" Heinz Schorlin\nunderstood her and rejoiced to hear the answer. In his eyes, also,\nCountess Cordula this evening had exceeded the limits even of the liberty\nwhich by common consent she was permitted above others. He believed that\nhe had found in Eva the embodiment of pure and beautiful womanhood.\n\nHe had given her his heart from the first moment that their eyes met. To\nfind her in every respect exactly what he had imagined, ere he heard a\nsingle word from her lips, enhanced the pleasure he felt to the deepest\nhappiness which he had ever experienced.\n\nHe had already been fired with a fleeting fancy for many a maiden, but\nnot one had appeared to him, even in a remote degree, so lovable as this\ngraceful young creature who trusted him with such childlike confidence,\nand whose innocent security by the side of the dreaded heart-breaker\ntouched him.\n\nNever before had it entered his mind concerning any girl to ask himself\nthe question how she would please his mother at home. The thought that\nshe whom he so deeply honoured might possess a magic mirror which showed\nher her reckless son as he dallied with the complaisant beauties whose\ngraciousness, next to dice-playing, most inflamed his blood, had\nsometimes disturbed his peace of mind when Biberli suggested it. But when\nEva looked joyously up at him with the credulous confidence of a trusting\nchild, he could imagine no greater bliss than to hear his mother,\nclasping the lovely creature in her arms, call her her dear little\ndaughter.\n\nHis reckless nature was subdued, and an emotion of tenderness which he\nhad never experienced before thrilled him as she whispered, \"Take me to a\nplace where everybody can see us, but where we need not notice anyone\nelse.\"\n\nHow significant was that little word \"we\"! It showed that already she\nunited herself and him in her thoughts. To her pure nature nothing could\nbe acceptable which must be concealed from the light of the sun and the\neyes of man. And her wish could be fulfilled.\n\nThe place where Biberli had discovered them, and where refreshments had\njust been served to the Emperor and the ladies and gentlemen nearest to\nhis person, who had been joined by several princes of the Church, was\nshut off by the bannerets, thus preventing the entrance of any uninvited\nperson; but Heinz Schorlin belonged to the sovereign's suite and had\nadmittance everywhere.\n\nSo he led Eva behind the black and yellow rope to two vacant chairs at\nthe end of the enclosed space where the banquet had been swiftly arranged\nfor the Emperor and the other illustrious guests of Nuremberg.\n\nThese seats were in view of the whole company, yet it would have been as\ndifficult to interrupt him and his lady as any of the table companions of\nthe imperial pair. Eva followed the knight without anxiety, and took her\nplace beside him in the well-chosen seat.\n\nA young cup-bearer of noble birth, with whom Heinz was well acquainted,\nbrought unasked to him and his companion sparkling Malvoisie in Venetian\nglasses, and Heinz began the conversation by inviting Eva to drink to the\nmany days brightened by her favour which, if the saints heard his prayer,\nshould follow this, the most delightful evening of his life. He omitted\nto ask her to pour the wine for him, knowing that many of the guests in\nthe ballroom were watching them; besides the saucy little count came\nagain and again to fill his goblet, and he wished to avoid everything\nwhich might elicit sarcastic comment. The young cup-bearer desisted as\nsoon as he noticed the respectful reserve with which Heinz treated his\nlady, and the youth was soon obliged to leave the hall with his liege\nlord, Duke Rudolph of Austria, who was to set out for Carinthia early the\nfollowing morning, and withdrew with his wife without sharing the\nbanquet. The latter accompanied her husband to the castle, but she was to\nremain in Nuremberg during the session of the Reichstag with the lonely\nwidowed Emperor, who was especially fond of the young Bohemian princess.\nBefore and during the dance with Heinz the latter had requested him to\nuse the noble Arabian steed, a gift from the Sultan Kalaun to the\nEmperor, who had bestowed it upon her, and also expressed the hope of\nmeeting the knight frequently.\n\nIn the conversation which Heinz began with Eva he was at first obliged to\ndefend himself, for she had admitted that she had heard the Burgravine's\nwarning to beware of him.\n\nAt the same time she had found opportunity to tell him that her heart\nyearned for something different from worldly love, and that she felt safe\nfrom every one because St. Clare was constantly watching over her.\n\nHe replied that he had been reared in piety, that he knew the close\nrelations existing between her patron saint and the holy Francis of\nAssisi, and that he, too, had experienced many things from this man of\nGod. Eva, with warm interest, asked when and where, and he willingly told\nher.\n\nOn the way from Augsburg to Nuremberg, while riding in advance of the\nimperial court, he had met an old barefooted man who, exhausted by the\nheat of the day, had sunk down by the side of the road as if lifeless,\nwith his head resting against the trunk of a tree. Moved with compassion,\nhe dismounted, to try to do something for the greybeard. A few sips of\nwine had restored him to consciousness, but his weary, wounded feet would\ncarry him no farther. Yet it would have grieved the old man sorely to be\nforced to interrupt his journey, for the Chapter General in Portiuncula,\nin Italy, had sent him with an important message to the brothers of his\norder in Germany, and especially in Nuremberg.\n\nThe old Minorite monk was especially dignified in aspect, and when he\nchanced to mention that he had known St. Francis well and was one of\nthose who had nursed him during his last illness, a dispute had arisen\nbetween Heinz Schorlin, the armor bearer, and his servant Walther\nBiberli, for each desired to give up his saddle to the old man and pursue\nhis journey on foot for his sake and the praise of God.\n\nBut the Minorite could not be persuaded to break his vow never again to\nmount a knight's charger and, even had it not been evident from his\nwords, Heinz asserted that the aristocratic dignity of his bearing would\nhave shown that he belonged to a noble race.\n\nBiberli's eloquence gained the victory in this case also, and though the\ngroom led by the bridle another young stallion which the ex-schoolmaster\nmight have mounted, he had walked cheerily beside the old monk, sweeping\nup the dust with his long robe. At the tavern the knight and his\nattendants had been abundantly repaid for their kindness to the Minorite,\nfor his conversation was both entertaining and edifying; and Heinz\nrepeated to his lady, who listened attentively, much that the monk had\nrelated about St. Francis.\n\nEva, too, was also on the ground dearest and most familiar to her. Her\nlittle tongue ran fast enough, and her large blue eyes sparkled with an\nunusually bright and happy lustre as she completed and corrected what the\nyoung knight told her about the saint.\n\nHow much that was lovable, benevolent, and wonderful there was to relate\nconcerning this prophet of peace and good-will, this apostle of poverty\nand toil who, in every movement of nature, perceived and felt a summons\nto recognise the omnipotence and goodness of God, an invitation to devout\nsubmission to the Most High!\n\nHow many amusing, yet edifying and touching anecdotes, the Abbess\nKunigunde had narrated of him and the most beloved of his followers! Much\nof this conversation Eva repeated to the knight, and her pleasure in the\nsubject of the conversation increased the vivacity of her active mind,\nand soon led her to talk with eager eloquence. Heinz Schorlin fairly hung\non her lips, and his eyes, which betrayed how deeply all that he was\nhearing moved him, rested on hers until a flourish of trumpets announced\nthat the interval between the dances was over.\n\nHe had listened in delight and, he felt, was forever bound to her. When\nduty summoned him to attend the Emperor he asked himself whether such a\nconversation had ever been held in the midst of a merry dance; whether\nGod, in his goodness, had ever created a being so perfect in soul and\nbody as this fair saint, who could transform a ballroom into a church.\n\nAye, Eva had done so; for, ardent as was the knight's love, something\nakin to religious devotion blended with his yearning desire. The last\nwords which he addressed to her before leading her back to the others\ncontained the promise to make her patron saint, St. Clare, his own.\n\nThe Princess of Nassau had invited him for the next dance, but she found\nHeinz Schorlin, whom the young Duchess Agnes had just said was merry\nenough to bring the dead to life, a very quiet partner; while young Herr\nSchurstab, who danced with Eva and, like all the members of the\nHonourable Council, knew that she desired to take the veil, afterwards\ntold his friends that the younger beautiful E would suit a Carthusian\nconvent, where speech is prohibited, much better than a ballroom.\n\nBut after this \"Zauner\" Heinz Schorlin again loosed her tongue. When he\nhad told her how he came to the court, and she had learned that he had\njoined the Emperor Rudolph at Lausanne just as he took the vow to take\npart in the crusade, there was no end to her questions concerning the\nreason that the German army had not already marched against the infidels,\nand whether he himself did not long to make them feel his sword.\n\nThen she asked still further particulars concerning Brother Benedictus,\nthe old Minorite whom he had treated so kindly. Heinz told her what he\nknew, and when he at last enquired whether she still regretted having met\nhim whom she feared, she gazed frankly into his eyes and, smiling\nfaintly, shook her head.\n\nThis increased his ardour, and he warmly entreated her to tell him where\nhe could meet her again, and permit him to call her his lady. But she\nhesitated to reply, and ere he could win from her even the faintest\nshadow of consent, Ernst Ortlieb, who had been talking with other members\nof the council in the room where the wine was served, interrupted him to\ntake his daughter home.\n\nShe went reluctantly. The clasp of the knight's hand was felt all the way\nto the house, and it would have been impossible and certainly ungracious\nnot to return it.\n\nHeinz Schorlin had obtained no assent, yet the last glance from her eyes\nhad been more eloquent than many a verbal promise, and he gazed after her\nenraptured.\n\nIt seemed like desecration to give the hand in which hers had rested to\nlead any one else to the dance, and when the rotund Duke of Pomerania\ninvited him to a drinking bout at his quarters at the Green Shield he\naccepted; for without Eva the hall seemed deserted, the light robbed of\nits brilliancy, and the gay music transformed to a melancholy dirge.\n\nBut when at the Green Shield the ducal wine sparkled in the beakers, the\ngold shone and glistened on the tables, and the rattle of the dice\ninvited the bystanders to the game, he thought that whatever he undertook\non such a day of good fortune must have a lucky end.\n\nThe Emperor had filled his purse again, but the friendly gift did not\ncover his debts, and he wanted to be rid of them before he told his\nmother that he had found a dear, devout daughter for her, and intended to\nreturn home to settle in the ancestral castle, his heritage, and share\nwith his uncle the maintenance of his rights and the management of fields\nand forests.\n\nBesides, he must test for the first time the power of his new patroness,\nSt. Clare, instead of his old one, St. Leodegar. But the former served\nhim ill enough--she denied him her aid, at any rate in gambling. The full\npurse was drained to its last 'zecchin' only too soon, and Heinz,\nlaughing, turned it inside out before the eyes of his comrades. But\nthough the kind-hearted Duke of Pomerania, with whom Heinz was a special\nfavourite, pushed a little heap of gold towards him with his fat hands,\nthat the Swiss might try his luck again with borrowed money, which brings\ngood fortune, he remained steadfast for Eva's sake.\n\nOn his way to the Green Shield he had confessed to Biberli--who, torch in\nhand, led the way--that he intended very shortly to turn his back on the\ncourt and ride home, because this time he had found the right chatelaine\nfor his castle.\n\n\"That means the last one,\" the ex-schoolmaster answered quietly,\ncarefully avoiding fanning the flame of his young master's desire by\ncontradiction. Only he could not refrain from entreating him not to burn\nhis fingers with the dice, and, to confirm it, added that luck in\ngambling was apt to be scanty where fortune was so lavish in the gifts of\nlove.\n\nHeinz now remembered this warning. It had been predicted to his darling\nthat meeting him would bring her misfortune, but he was animated by the\nsincere determination to force the jewel of his heart to remember Heinz\nSchorlin with anything but sorrow and regret.\n\nWhat would have seemed impossible to him a few hours before, he now\nrealised. With a steady hand he pushed back the gold to the duke, who\npressed it upon him with friendly glances from his kind little eyes and\nan urgent whispered entreaty, and took his leave, saying that to-night\nthe dice and he were at odds.\n\nWith these words he left the room, though the host tried to detain him\nalmost by force, and the guests also earnestly endeavoured to keep the\npleasant, jovial fellow. The loss, over which Biberli shook his head\nangrily, did, not trouble him. Even on his couch Heinz found but a short\ntime to think of his empty purse and the lovely maid who was to make the\nold castle among his beloved Swiss mountains an earthly paradise, for\nsleep soon closed his eyes.\n\nThe next morning the events of the evening seemed like a dream. Would\nthat they had been one! Only he would not have missed, at any cost, the\nsweet memories associated with Eva. But could she really become his own?\nHe feared not; for the higher the sun rose the more impracticable his\nintentions of the night before appeared. At last he even thought of the\nreligious conversation in the dancing hall with a superior smile, as if\nit had been carried on by some one else. The resolve to ask from her\nfather the hand of the girl he loved he now rejected. No, he was not yet\nfit for a husband and the quiet life in the old castle. Yet Eva should be\nthe lady of his heart, her patron saint should be his, and he would never\nsue for the love of any other maiden. Hers he must secure. To press even\none kiss on her scarlet lips seemed to him worth the risk of life. When\nhe had stilled this fervent longing he could ride with her colour on helm\nand shield from tourney to tourney, and break a lance for her in every\nland through which he passed with the Emperor. What would happen\nafterwards let the saints decide. As usual, Biberli was his confidant,\nand declared himself ready to use Katterle's services in his master's\nbehalf.\n\nHe had his own designs in doing this. He could rely upon the waiting\nmaid's assistance, and if there were secret meetings between Eva Ortlieb\nand his lord, which would appease the knight's ardour, even in a small\ndegree, the task of disgusting Heinz with his luckless idea of an early\nmarriage would not prove too difficult.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nEva Ortlieb had been borne home from the ball in her sedan chair with a\nhappy smile hovering round her fresh young lips.\n\nIt still lingered there when she found her sister in their chamber,\nsitting at the spinning wheel. She had not left her suffering mother\nuntil her eyes closed in slumber, and was now waiting for Eva, to hear\nwhether the entertainment had proved less disagreeable than she feared,\nand--as she had sent her maid to bed--to help her undress.\n\nOne glance at Eva told her that she had perhaps left the ballroom even\nmore reluctantly than she entered it; but when Els questioned her so\naffectionately, and with maternal care began to unfasten the ribbon which\ntied her cap, the young girl, who in the sedan chair had determined to\nconfess to no one on earth what so deeply moved her heart, could not\nresist the impulse to clasp her in her arms and kiss her with impetuous\nwarmth.\n\nEls received the caress with surprise for, though both girls loved each\nother tenderly, they, like most sisters, rarely expressed it by tangible\nproofs of tenderness. Not until Eva released her did Els exclaim in merry\namazement: \"So it was delightful, my darling?\"\n\n\"Oh, so delightful!\" Eva protested with hands uplifted, and at the same\ntime met her sister's eyes with a radiant glance.\n\nYet the thought entered her mind that it ill beseemed her to express so\nmuch pleasure in a worldly amusement. Her glance fell in shame, and she\ngently continued in that tone of self-compassion which was by no means\nunfamiliar to the members of her family. \"True, though the Emperor is so\nnoble, and both he and the Burgravine were so gracious to me, at\nfirst--and not only for a brief quarter of an hour, but a very long time\nI could feel no real pleasure. What am I saying? Pleasure! I was\nindescribably desolate and alone among all those vain, bedizened\nstrangers. I was like a shipwrecked sailor washed ashore by the waves and\nsurrounded by people whose language is unfamiliar.\"\n\n\"But half Nuremberg was at the ball,\" her sister interrupted. \"Now you\nsee the trouble, darling. Whoever, like you, remains in seclusion and\nmounts a tall tree to be entirely alone, will be deserted; for who would\nbe kind-hearted enough to learn to climb for your sake? But it seems that\nafterwards one and another----\"\n\n\"Oh!\" Eva interrupted, \"if you think that any of your friends gave me\nmore than a passing greeting, you are mistaken. Not even Barbel, Ann, or\nMetz took any special notice of your sister. They kept near Ursel\nVorchtel, and she and her brother Ulrich, of course, behaved as if I wore\na fern cap and had become invisible. I cannot tell you how uncomfortable\nI felt, and then--yes, Els, then I first realised distinctly what you are\nto me. Obstinate as I often am, in spite of all your kindness and care,\nungraciously as I often treat you, to-night I clearly perceived that we\nbelong together, like a pair of eyes, and that without you I am only half\nmyself--or, at any rate--not complete. And--as we are speaking in\nimages--I felt like a sapling whose prop has been removed; even your\nWolff can never have longed for you more ardently. My father found little\ntime to give me. As soon as he saw me take my place in the Polish dance\nhe went with Uncle Pfinzing to the drinking room, and I did not see him\nagain till he came to bring me home. He had asked Fran Nutzel to look\nafter me, but her Kathrin was taken ill, as I heard when we were leaving,\nand she disappeared with her during the first dance. So I moved forlornly\nhere and there until he--Heinz Schorlin--came and took charge of me.\"\n\n\"He? Sir Heinz Schorlin?\" asked Els in surprise, a look of anxious\nsuspense clouding her pretty, frank face. \"The reckless Swiss, whom\nCountess Cordula said yesterday was the pike in the dull carp pond of the\ncourt, and the only person for whom it was worth while to bear the\npenance imposed in the confessional?\"\n\n\"Cordula von Montfort!\" cried Eva scornfully. \"If she speaks to me I\nshall not answer her, I can tell you. My cheeks crimson when I think of\nthe liberty----\"\n\n\"Never mind her,\" said her sister soothingly. \"She is a motherless child,\nand therefore unlike us. As for Heinz Schorlin, he is certainly a gallant\nknight; but, my innocent lambkin, he is a wolf nevertheless.\"\n\n\"A wolf?\" asked Eva, opening her large eyes as wide as if they beheld\nsome terrible object. But she soon laughed softly, and added quietly:\n\"But a very harmless wolf, who humbly changes his nature when the right\nhand strokes him. How you stare at me! I am not thinking of your beloved\nWolff, whom you have tamed tolerably well, but the wolf of Gubbio, which\ndid so much mischief, and to which St. Francis went forth, accosted him\nas Brother Wolf, and reminded him that they both owed their lives to the\ngoodness of the same divine Father. The animal seemed to understand this,\nfor it nodded to him. The saint now made a bargain with the wolf, which\ngave him its paw in pledge of the oath; and it kept the promise, for it\nfollowed St. Francis into the city, and never again harmed anyone. The\ncitizens of Gubbio fed the good beast, and when it died sincerely mourned\nit. If you wish to know from whom I heard this edifying story--which is\ntrue, and can be confirmed by some one now in Nuremberg who witnessed\nit--let me tell you that it was the wicked wolf himself; not the Gubbio\none, but he from Switzerland. An old Minorite monk, to whom he\ncompassionately gave his horse, is the witness I mentioned. At the tavern\nthe priest told him what he had beheld with his own eyes. Do you still\ninveigh against the dangerous beast, which acts like the good Samaritan,\nand finds nothing more delightful than hearing or speaking of our dear\nsaint?\"\n\n\"And this in the Town Hall during the dance?\" asked Els, clasping her\nhands as if she had heard something unprecedented.\n\nEva, fairly radiant with joy, nodded assent; and Els heard the ring of\npleasure in her clear voice, too, as she exclaimed: \"That was just what\nmade the ball so delightful. The dancing! Oh, yes, it is easy enough to\nwalk and turn in time to the music when one has such a knight for a\npartner; but that was by no means the pleasantest part of it. During the\ninterval--it seemed but an instant, yet it really lasted a considerable\ntime--we first entered into conversation.\"\n\n\"In one of the side rooms?\" asked Els, the bright colour fading from her\ncheeks.\n\n\"What are you thinking of?\" replied Eva in a tone of offence. \"I believe\nI know what is seemly as well as anybody else. True, your Countess\nCordula did not set the most praiseworthy example. She allowed the whole\nthrong of knights to surround her in the ante-room, and your future\nbrother-in-law, Siebenburg, outdid them all. We--Heinz Schorlin and\nI--sat near the Emperor's table in the great hall, where everybody could\nsee us. There the conversation naturally passed from the old Minorite to\nthe holy founder of his order, and remained there. And if ever valiant\nknight possessed a devout mind, it is Heinz Schorlin. Whoever goes into\nbattle without relying upon God and his saints,' he said, 'will find his\ncourage lack wings, and his armour the surest defensive 'weapon.'\"\n\n\"In the ballroom!\" again fell from her sister's lips in the same tone of\namazement.\n\n\"Where else?\" asked Eva angrily. \"I never met him except there. What do\nyou other girls talk about at such entertainments, if it surprises you?\nBesides, St. Francis was by no means our only subject; we spoke of the\nfuture crusade, too. And oh!--you may believe me--we would have been glad\nto talk of such things for hours. He knew many things about our saint;\nbut the precise one which makes him especially great and lovable, and\nwithal so powerful that he attracted all whom he deemed worthy to follow\nhim, he had not understood, and I was permitted to be the first person to\nbring it clearly before his mind. Ah! and his wit is as keen as his\nsword, and his heart is as open to all that is noble and sacred as it is\nloyal to his lord and Emperor. If we meet again I shall win him for the\nwhite cross on the black mantle and the battle against the enemies of the\nfaith.\"\n\n\"But, Eva,\" interrupted her sister, still under the spell of\nastonishment, \"such conversation amid the merry music of the pipers!\"\n\n\"'Wherever three Christians meet, even though they are only laymen, there\nis a church,' says Tertullian,\" Eva answered impressively. \"One need not\ngo to the house of God to talk about the things which ought to be the\nhighest and dearest to every one; and Heinz Schorlin--I know it from his\nown lips--is of the same opinion, for he told me voluntarily that he\nwould never forget the few hours which we had enjoyed together.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said her sister thoughtfully. \"But whether he does not owe this\npleasure more to the dancing than to the edifying conversation----\"\n\n\"Certainly not!\" replied Eva, very positively. \"I can prove it, too; for\nlater, after he had heard many things about St. Clare, the female\ncounterpart of Francis, he vowed to make her his patron saint. Or do you\nsuppose that a knight changes his saints, as he does his doublet and coat\nof mail, without having any great and powerful motive? Do you think it\npossible that the idle pleasure of the dance led him to so important a\ndecision?\"\n\n\"Certainly not. Nothing led him to it except the irresistible zeal of my\ndevout sister,\" answered Els, smiling, as she continued to comb her fair\nhair. \"She spoke with tongues in the ballroom, as the apostles did at\nPentecost, and thus our 'little saint' performed her first miracle: the\nconversion of a godless knight during the dancing.\"\n\n\"Call it so, if you choose,\" replied Eva, her red lips pouting\nscornfully, as if she felt raised above such pitiful derision. \"How you\nhurt, Els! You are pulling all the hair out of my head!\"\n\nThe object of this rebuke had used the comb with the utmost care, but the\ngreat luxuriance of the long, fair, waving locks had presented many an\nimpediment, and Eva seemed unusually sensitive that night. Els thought\nshe knew why, and made no answer to the unjust charge. She knew her\nsister; and as she wound the braids about her head, and then, in the\nmaid's place, hung part of her finery on hooks, and laid part carefully\nin the chest, she asked her numerous questions about the dance, but was\nvouchsafed only monosyllabic replies.\n\nAt last Els knelt before the prie-dieu. Eva did the same, resting her\nhead so long upon her clasped hands that the patient older sister could\nnot wait for the \"Amen,\" but, in order not to disturb Eva's devotion,\nonly pressed a light kiss upon her head and then carefully drew the\ncurtains closely over the windows which, instead of glass, contained\noiled parchment.\n\nEva's excitement filled her with anxiety. She knew, too, what a powerful\ninfluence the bright moonlight sometimes exerted upon her while she\nslept, and cast another glance at the closely curtained window before she\nwent to her own bed. There she lay a long time, with eyes wide open,\npondering over her sister's words, and in doing so perceived more and\nmore clearly that love was now knocking at the heart of the child\nkneeling before the prie-dieu. Sir Heinz Schorlin, the wild butterfly,\ndesired to sip the honey from this sweet, untouched flower, and then\nprobably abandon her like so many before her. Love and anxiety made the\ngirl, whose opinion was usually milder than her sister's, a stern and\nunwise judge, for she assumed that the Swiss--whose character in reality\nwas far removed from base hypocrisy--the man whom she had just termed a\nwolf, had donned sheep's clothing to make her poor lambkin an easier\nprey. But she was on guard and ready to spoil his game.\n\nDid Eva really fail to understand the new feeling which had seized her so\nswiftly and powerfully? Did she lull herself in the delusion that she\ncared only for the welfare of the soul of the pious young knight?\n\nYes, it might be so, and prudent Els, who had watched her own little\nworld intently enough, said to herself that it would be pouring oil upon\nthe flames to tease Eva about the defeat which she, the \"little saint,\"\nhad sustained in the battle against the demands of the world and of the\nfeminine heart. Besides, her sister was too dear for her to rejoice in\nher humiliation. Els resolved not to utter a word about the Swiss unless\ncompelled to do so.\n\nEva's prayers before retiring were often very long, but to-night it\nseemed as if they would never end.\n\n\"She is not appealing to St. Clare for herself alone, but for another,\"\nthought Els. \"I spend less time in doing it. True, a Heinz Schorlin needs\nlonger intercession than my Eva, my Wolff, and my poor pious mother. But\nI won't disturb her yet.\"\n\nSighing faintly, she changed her position, but remained sitting propped\nagainst the white pillows in order not to allow herself to be overcome by\nsleep. But it was a hard struggle, and her lids often fell, her head\ndrooped upon her breast.\n\nDawn was already glimmering without when the supplicant at last rose and\nsought her couch. Her sister let her lie quietly for a while, then she\nrose and put out the lamp which Eva had forgotten to extinguish. The\nlatter noticed it, turned her face towards her and called her gently. \"To\nthink that you should have to get up again, my poor Els! Give me a\ngood-night kiss.\"\n\n\"Gladly, dearest,\" replied the other. \"But it is really quite time to say\n'good-morning.\"'\n\n\"And you have kept awake so long!\" replied Eva compassionately, as she\nthrew her arms gratefully around her sister's neck, kissed her tenderly,\nand then pressed her hot cheek to hers.\n\n\"What is this?\" cried Els, with sincere anxiety. \"Are you hurt, child?\nSurely you are weeping?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" was the reply. \"I am only--I only thought that I had adorned\nmyself, decked myself out with idle finery, although I know how many poor\npeople are starving in want and misery, and how much more pleasing in the\nsight of the Lord is the grey robe of the cloistered nun. I could\nscarcely leave the hall in my overweening pleasure, and yet it would have\nbeseemed me far better to share the sufferings of the crucified Saviour.\"\n\n\"But, child,\" replied Els, striving to soothe her sister, \"how often I\nhave heard from you and our aunt, the abbess, that no one was so cheerful\nand so glad to witness the enjoyment of human beings and animals as your\nSt. Francis!\"\n\n\"He--he!\" groaned Eva, \"he who attained the highest goal, who heard the\nvoice of the Lord wherever he listened; he who chose poverty as his\nbeloved bride, who scorned show and parade and the trappings of wealth,\nas he disdained earthly love; he who celebrated in song the love of the\nsoul glowing for the highest things, as no troubadour could do--oh, how\nardently he knew how to love, but to love the things which do not belong\nto this world!\"\n\nEls longed to ask what Eva knew about the ardent fire of love; but she\nrestrained herself, darkened the bed as well as she could with the\nmovable curtain which hung from the ceiling on both sides above the\ndouble couch, and said: \"Be sensible, child, and put aside such thoughts.\nHow loudly the birds are twittering outside! If our father is obliged to\nbreakfast alone there may be a storm, and I should be glad to have an\nhour's nap. You need slumber, too. Dancing is tiresome. Shut your eyes\nand sleep as long as you can. I'll be as quiet as a mouse while I am\ndressing.\"\n\nAs she spoke she turned away from her sister and no longer resisted the\nsleep which soon closed her weary eyes.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Shipwrecked on the cliffs of 'better' and 'best'\n\n\n\n\nIN THE FIRE OF THE FORGE\n\nA ROMANCE OF OLD NUREMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nAs her father had ordered the servants not to disturb the young girls,\nEls did not wake till the sun was high in the heavens. Eva's place at her\nside was empty. She had already left the room. For the first time it had\nbeen impossible to sleep even a few short moments, and when she heard\nfrom the neighbouring cloister the ringing of the little bell that\nsummoned the nuns to prayers, she could stay in bed no longer.\n\nUsually she liked to dress slowly, thinking meanwhile of many things\nwhich stirred her soul. Sometimes while the maid or Els braided her hair\nshe could read a book of devotion which the abbess had given her. But\nthis morning she had carried the clothes she needed into the next room on\ntiptoe, that she might not wake her sister, and urged Katterle, who\nhelped her dress, to hurry.\n\nShe longed to see her aunt at the convent. While kneeling at the\nprie-dieu, she had reached the certainty that her patron saint had led\nHeinz Schorlin to her. He was her knight and she his lady, so he must\nrender her obedience, and she would use it to estrange him from the\nvanity of the world and make him a champion of the holy cause of the\nChurch of Christ, the victorious conqueror of her foes. Sky-blue, the\nHoly Virgin's colour, should be hers, and thus his also, and every\nvictory gained by the knight with the sky-blue on his helmet, under St.\nClare's protection, would then be hers.\n\nHeinz Schorlin was already one of the boldest and strongest knights; her\nlove must render him also one of the most godly. Yes, her love! If St.\nFrancis had not disdained to make a wolf his brother, why might she not\nfeel herself the loving sister of a youth who would obey her as a noble\nfalcon did his mistress, and whom she would teach to pursue the right\nquarry? The abbess would not forbid such love, and the impulse that drew\nher so strongly to the convent was the longing to know how her aunt would\nreceive her confession.\n\nThe night before when, after her conversation with Els, she began to\npray, she had feared that she had fallen into the snare of earthly love,\nand dreaded the confession which she had to make to her aunt Kunigunde.\nNow she found that it was no fleshly bond which united her to the knight.\nOh, no! As St. Francis had gone forth to console, to win souls for the\nLord, to bring peace and exhort to earnest labour in the service of the\nSaviour, as his disciples had imitated him, and St. Clare had been\nuntiring in working, in his spirit, among women, she, too, would obey the\ncall which had come to her saint in Portiuncula, and prove herself for\nthe first time, according to the Scripture, \"a fisher of souls.\"\n\nNow she gladly anticipated the meeting; for though her sister did not\nunderstand her, the abbess must know how to sympathise with what was\npassing in her mind. This expectation was fulfilled; for as soon as she\nwas alone with her aunt she poured forth all her hopes and feelings\nwithout reserve, eagerly and joyfully extolling her good fortune that,\nthrough St. Clare, she had been enabled to find the noblest and most\nvaliant knight, that she might win him for the Holy War under her saint's\nprotection and to her honour.\n\nThe abbess, who knew women's hearts, had at first felt the same fear as\nEls; but she soon changed her opinion, and thought that she might be\npermitted to rejoice over the new emotion in her darling's breast.\n\nNo girl in love talked so openly and joyously of the conquest won, least\nof all would her truthful, excitable niece, whom she had drawn into her\nown path, speak thus of the man who disturbed her repose. No sensitive\ngirl, unfamiliar with the world and scarcely beyond childhood, would\ndecide with such steadfast firmness, so wholly free from every selfish\nwish, the future of the man dearest to her heart. No, no! Eva had already\nattained her new birth, and was not to be compared with other girls She\nhad already once reached that ecstatic rapture which followed only a long\nabsorption in God and an active sympathy with the deep human love of the\nSaviour and the unspeakable sufferings which he had taken upon himself.\nLittle was to be feared from earthly love for one who devoted herself\nwith all the passion of her fervid nature to the divine Bridegroom. Among\nthe many whom Kunigunde received into the convent as novices, she was\nmost certainly \"called.\" If she felt something which resembled love for\nthe young knight--and she made no concealment of it--it was only the\nresult of the sweet joy of winning for the Lord, the faith, and her saint\na soul which seemed to her worthy of such grace.\n\nDear, highly gifted child!\n\nShe, the abbess Kunigunde, was willing it should be so, and that Eva\nshould surpass herself. She should prove that genuine piety conquers even\nthe yearning of a quickly throbbing heart.\n\nTrue, she must keep her eyes open in order to prevent Satan, who is\neverywhere on the watch, from mingling in a game not wholly free from\nperil. But, on the other hand, the abbess intended to help her beloved\nniece to reap the reward of her piety.\n\nIt was scarcely to be doubted that Heinz Schorlin was fired with ardent\nlove for Eva; but, for that very reason, he would be ready to yield her\nobedience, and therefore it was advisable to tell her exactly to what she\nmust persuade him. She must win him to join the Order of Malta, and if\nthe famous champion of Marchfield performed heroic deeds with the white\ncross on his black mantle, or in war on his red tunic, he, the Emperor's\nfavourite, would be sure of a high position among the military members of\nthe order.\n\nThe young girl listened eagerly, but the elderly abbess herself became\nexcited while encouraging the young future \"Sister\" to her noble task.\nThe days when, with the inmates of the convent, she had prayed that the\nEmperor Rudolph might fulfil the Pope's desire, and in a new crusade\nagain wrest the Holy Land from the infidels, came back to her memory, and\nHeinz Schorlin, guided by the nuns of St. Clare, seemed the man to bring\nthe fulfilment of this old and cherished wish.\n\nIt appeared like a leading of the saints and a sign from God that Heinz\nhad been dubbed a knight, and commenced his glorious career at Lausanne\nwhile the Emperor Rudolph pledged himself to a new crusade.\n\nShe detained Eva so long that dinner was over at the Ortlieb mansion, and\nher impatient father would have sent for her had not the invalid mother\nurged him to let her remain.\n\nTrue, she longed to have a talk with her darling, who for the first time\nin her life had attended a great entertainment, and doubtless it grieved\nher to think that Eva did not feel the necessity of pouring out her heart\nto her own mother rather than to any one else, and sharing with her all\nthe new emotions which undoubtedly had thrilled it; but she knew her\nchild, and would have considered it selfish to place any obstacle in the\npathway to eternal salvation of the elect whom God summoned with so loud\na voice. Formerly she would rather have seen the young girl, whose charms\nwere developing into such rare beauty, wedded to some good man; but now\nshe rejoiced in the idea that Eva was summoned to rule over the nuns in\nthe neighbouring cloister some day as abbess, in the place of her\nsister-in-law Kunigunde. Her own days, she knew, were numbered, but where\ncould her child more surely find the happiness she desired for her than\nwith the beloved sisters of St. Clare, whose home she and her husband had\nhelped to build?\n\nEls had concealed from her parents what she fancied she had discovered,\nfor any anxiety injured the invalid, and no one could anticipate how her\nirritable father might receive the information of her fear. On the other\nhand, she could confide her troubles without anxiety to Wolff, her\nbetrothed husband. He was wise, prudent, loved Eva like a sister, and in\nexchanging thoughts with him she always discovered the right course to\npursue; but though she expected him so eagerly and confidently, he did\nnot come.\n\nWhen, in the afternoon, Eva returned home, her whole manner expressed\nsuch firm, cheerful composure that Els began to hope she might have been\nmistaken. The undemonstrative yet tender affection with which she met her\nmother, too, by no means harmonised with her fears.\n\nHow lovely the young girl looked as she sat on a low stool at the head of\nthe invalid's couch and, with her mother's emaciated hand clasped in\nhers, told her all that she had seen and experienced the evening before!\nTo please the beloved sufferer, she dwelt longer on the description of\nthe gracious manner of the Emperor Rudolph and his sister to her and her\nfather, the conversation with which the Burgrave had honoured her, and\nhis son's invitation to dance. Then for the first time she mentioned\nHeinz Schorlin, whom she had found a godly knight, and finally spoke\nbriefly of the distinguished foreign nobles and ladies whom he had\npointed out and named.\n\nAll this reminded the mother of former days and, in spite of the warning\nof watchful Els not to talk too much, she did not cease questioning or\nrecalling the time when she herself attended such festivals, and as one\nof the fairest maidens received much homage.\n\nIt had been a good day, for it was long since she had enjoyed so much\nquiet in her own home. The von Montforts, she told Eva, had set off\nearly, with a great train of knights and servants, to ride to Radolzburg,\nthe castle of the Burgrave von Zollern. Her father thought they would\nprobably have a dance there, for the young sons of the Burgrave would act\nas hosts.\n\nEva asked carelessly who rode with Cordula this time to submit to her\nwhims, but Els perceived by her sister's flushed cheeks and the tone of\nher voice what she desired to know, and answered as if by accident that\nSir Heinz Schorlin certainly was not one of her companions, for he had\nridden through the Frauenthor that afternoon in the train of the Emperor\nRudolph and his Bohemian daughter-in-law.\n\nTwilight was already beginning to gather, and Els could not see whether\nthis news afforded Eva pleasure or annoyance, for her mother had taken\ntoo little heed of her weakness, and one of the attacks which the\nphysician so urgently ordered her to avoid by caution commenced.\n\nEls and the convent Sister Renata, who helped her nurse the invalid, were\nnow completely absorbed in caring for her, but Eva turned away from the\nbeloved sufferer--her sensitive nature could not endure the sight of her\nconvulsions.\n\nAs soon as her mother again lay weak but quiet on the pillows which Els\nhad rearranged for her, Eva obeyed her entreaty to go away, and went to\nher own chamber. When another attack drew her back to the invalid, a sign\nfrom her sister as she reached the threshold bade her keep away from the\ncouch. Should it prove necessary, she whispered, she would call her. If\nWolff came, Eva was to tell him that she could not leave her mother, but\nhe must be sure to return early the next morning, as she had a great deal\nto say to him.\n\nEva then went to her father, who was dressing to attend a banquet at the\nhouse of Herr Berthold Vorchtel, the first Losunger--[Presiding\nOfficer]--in the Council, from which he would be loath to absent himself\nfor the very reason that his host's family had been hostile to him ever\nsince the rumour of the betrothal of Wolff Eysvogel, whom the Vorchtels\nhad regarded as their daughter Ursula's future husband.\n\nNevertheless, Herr Ernst would not have gone to the entertainment had his\nwife's condition given cause for anxiety. But he was familiar with these\nconvulsions which, it is true, weakened the invalid, but produced no\nother results; so he permitted Eva to help him put the last touches to\nhis dress, on which he lavished great care. Spick and span as if he were\njust out of a bandbox, the elderly man, before leaving the house, went\nonce more to the sick-room, and Eva stood near as, after many questions\nand requests, he whispered something to Els which she did not hear. With\nexcited curiosity she asked what he had said so secretly, but he only\nanswered hurriedly, \"The name of the Man in the Moon's dog,\" kissed her\ncheek, and ran downstairs.\n\nAt the foot he again turned to Eva and told her to send for him if her\nmother should grow worse, for these entertainments at the Vorchtels\nusually lasted a long time.\n\n\"Will the Eysvogels be there too?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"Who knows,\" replied her father. \"I shall be glad if Wolff comes.\"\n\nThe tone in which he uttered the name of his future son-in-law distinctly\nshowed how little he desired to meet any other member of the family, and\nEva said sympathisingly, \"Then I hope you will have an opportunity to\nremember me to Wolff.\"\n\n\"Shall I say nothing to Ursel?\" asked the father, pressing a good-night\nkiss upon the young girl's forehead.\n\n\"She would not care for it,\" was the reply. \"It cannot be easy to forget\na man like Wolff.\"\n\n\"I wish he had stuck to Ursel, and let Els alone,\" her father answered\nangrily. \"It would have been better for both.\"\n\n\"Why, father,\" interrupted Eva reproachfully, \"do not our lovers seem\nreally created for each other?\"\n\n\"If the Eysvogels were only of the same opinion,\" exclaimed Ernst\nOrtlieb, shrugging his shoulders with a faint sigh. \"Whoever marries,\nchild, weds not only a man or a woman; all their kindred, unhappily, must\nbe taken into the bargain. However, Els did not lack earnest warning.\nWhen your time comes, girl, your father will be more careful.\"\n\nSmiling tenderly, he passed his hand over the little cap which covered\nher thick, fair hair, and went out.\n\nEva returned to her room and sat down at the spinning-wheel in the bow\nwindow, where Katterle had just drawn the curtains closely and lighted\nthe hanging lamp. But the distaff remained untouched, and her thoughts\nwandered swiftly to the evening before and the ball at the Town Hall.\nHeinz Schorlin's image rose more and more distinctly before her mind, and\nthis pleased her, for she fancied that he wore on his helm the blue\nfavour which she had chosen, and it led her to consider against what foe\nshe should first send him in the service of his lady and the Holy Church.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nEva had gazed into vacancy a long time, and beheld a succession of\npleasing pictures, in every one of which, Heinz Schorlin appeared. Once,\nin imagination, she placed a wreath on his helmet after a great victory\nover the infidels.\n\nWhy should not this vision become a reality? Doubtless it owed its origin\nto a memory, for Wolff Eysvogel had been fired with love for her sister\nwhile Els was winding laurel around his helmet.\n\nAfter the Honourable Council had resolved that the youths belonging to\nnoble families, who had fought in the battle of Marchfield and returned\nvictorious, should be adorned with wreaths by the maidens of their\nchoice, Fate had appointed her sister to crown Eysvogel.\n\nAt that time Wolff had but recently recovered from the severe wounds with\nwhich he had returned from the campaign. But while he knelt before Els\nand his eyes met hers, love had overmastered him so swiftly and\npowerfully, that at the end of a few days he determined to woo her.\n\nMeanwhile his own family resolutely opposed his choice. The father\ndeclared that he had made an agreement with Berthold Vorchtel to marry\nhim to his daughter Ursula, and withdrawal on his son's part would\nembarrass him. His grandmother, the arrogant old Countess Rotterbach,\nagreed with him, and declared that Wolff ought to wed no one except a\nlady of the most aristocratic birth or an heiress like Ursula. Her\ndaughter Rosalinde Eysvogel, as usual, was the echo of her mother.\n\nHerr Ernst Ortlieb, too, would far rather have seen his Els marry into\nanother home; but Wolff himself was a young man of such faultless honour,\nand the bride he had chosen was so eager to become his, that he deemed it\na duty to forget the aversion inspired by the suitor's family.\n\nAs for Wolff, he had so firmly persisted in his resolve that his parents\nat last permitted him to ask for his darling's hand, but his father had\nmade it a condition that the betrothal, on account of the youth of the\nlovers, should not be announced till after Wolff had returned from Milan,\nwhere he was to finish the studies commenced in Venice. True, everyone\nhad supposed that they were completed long ago, but Eysvogel senior\ninsisted upon his demand, and afterwards succeeded in deferring the\nannouncement of the betrothal, until the resolute persistence of Wolff,\nwho meanwhile had entered the great commercial house, and the wish of his\nown aged mother, a sensible woman, who from the first had approved her\ngrandson's choice and to whom Herr Casper was obliged to show a certain\ndegree of consideration, compelled him to give it publicity.\n\nA few days later Herr Casper's brother died, and soon after his estimable\nold mother. He used these events as a pretext for longer delay, saying\nthat both he and his wife needed at least six months' interval ere they\ncould forget their mourning in a gay wedding festival. Besides, he would\nprefer not to have the marriage take place until after Wolff's election\nto the Council, which, in all probability, would occur after Walpurgis of\nthe coming year.\n\nErnst Ortlieb had sullenly submitted to all this. Nothing but his love\nfor his child and respect for Herr Casper's dead mother, who had taken\nEls to her heart like a beloved granddaughter, would have enabled him to\nconquer his hasty temper in his negotiations with the man whom he\ndetested in his inmost soul, and not hurl back the consent so reluctantly\ngranted to his son.\n\nThe friends who knew him admired the strength of will with which he\ngoverned his impetuous nature in this transaction. Some asserted that\nsecret obligations compelled him to yield to the rich Eysvogel; for\nthough the Ortlieb mercantile house was reputed wealthy, the business\nprudence of its head resulted in smaller profits, and people had not\nforgotten that it had suffered heavy losses during the terrible period of\ndespotism which had preceded the Emperor Rudolph's accession to the\nthrone.\n\nThe insecurity of the high-roads had injured every merchant, but in\ntrying to find some explanation for Herr Ortlieb's submission the attacks\nwhich had cost him one and another train of wares were regarded as\nspecially disastrous.\n\nFinally, the dowry which Els was to bring bore no comparison to the large\nsums Ernst Ortlieb had lavished upon the erection of the St. Clare\nConvent, and hence it was inferred that the wealth of the firm had\nsustained considerable losses. This found ready credence, owing to the\nretired life led by the Ortliebs,--whose house had formerly been one of\nthe most hospitable in the city,--ever since the wife had become an\ninvalid and Eva had grown up with an aversion to the world. Few took the\ntrouble to inquire into the very apparent causes for the change.\n\nYet this view of the matter was opposed by many-nay, when the\nconversation turned upon these subjects, Herr Berthold Vorchtel, perhaps\nthe richest and most distinguished man in Nuremberg, who rented the\nimperial taxes, made comments from which, had it not been so difficult to\nbelieve, people might have inferred that Casper Eysvogel was indebted to\nErnst Ortlieb rather than the latter to him.\n\nYet the cautious, prudent man never explained the foundation of his\nopinion, for he very rarely mentioned either of the two firms; yet prior\nto the battle of Marchfield he had believed that his own daughter Ursula\nand Wolff Eysvogel would sooner or later wed. Herr Casper, the young\nman's father, had strengthened this expectation. He himself and his wife\nesteemed Wolff, and his \"Ursel\" had shown plainly enough that she\npreferred him to the other friends of her elder brother Ulrich.\n\nWhen he returned home the two met like brother and sister, and the\nparents of Ursula Vorchtel had expected Wolff's proposal until the day on\nwhich the wreaths were bestowed had made them poorer by a favourite wish\nand destroyed the fairest hope of their daughter Ursula.\n\nThe worthy merchant, it is true, deemed love a beautiful thing, but in\nNuremberg it was the parents who chose wives and husbands for their sons\nand daughters; yet, after marriage, love took possession of the newly\nwedded pair. A transgression of this ancient custom was very rare, and\neven though Wolff's heart was fired with love for Els Ortlieb, his\nfather, Herr Vorchtel thought, should have refused his consent to the\nbetrothal, especially as he had already treated Ursel as his future\ndaughter. Some compulsion must have been imposed upon him when he\npermitted his son to choose a wife other than the one selected.\n\nBut what could render one merchant dependent upon another except business\nobligations?--and Berthold Vorchtel was sharp-sighted. He knew the heavy\ndraft which Herr Casper had made upon the confidence reposed in the old\nfirm, and thought he had perceived that the great splendour displayed by\nthe women of the Eysvogel family, the liberality with which Herr Casper\nhad aided his impoverished noble relatives, and the lavish expenditure of\nhis son-in-law, the debt-laden Sir Seitz Siebenburg, drew too heavily\nupon the revenues of the ancient house.\n\nEven now Casper Eysvogel's whole conduct proved how unwelcome was his\nson's choice. To him, Ursula's father, he still intimated on many an\noccasion that he had by no means resigned every hope of becoming, through\nhis son, more nearly allied to his family, for a betrothal was not a\nwedding.\n\nBerthold Vorchtel, however, was not the man to enter into such\ndouble-dealing, although he saw plainly enough how matters stood with his\npoor child. She had confided her feelings to no one; yet, in spite of\nUrsula's reserved nature, even a stranger could perceive that something\nclouded her happiness. Besides, she had persistently refused the\ndistinguished suitors who sought the wealthy Herr Berthold's pretty\ndaughter, and only very recently had promised her parents, of her own\nfree will, to give up her opposition to marriage.\n\nEver since the betrothal, to the sincere sorrow of Els, she had\nstudiously avoided Wolff's future bride, who had been one of her dearest\nfriends; and Ulrich, Herr Vorchtel's oldest son, took his sister's part,\nand at every opportunity showed Wolff--who from a child, and also in the\nbattle of Marchfield, had been a favourite comrade--that he bore him a\ngrudge, and considered his betrothal to any one except Ursula an act of\nshameful perfidy.\n\nThe fair-minded father did not approve of his son's conduct, for his wife\nhad learned from her daughter that Wolff had never spoken to her of love,\nor promised marriage.\n\nTherefore, whenever Herr Berthold Vorchtel met Els's father--and this\noften happened in the Council--he treated him with marked respect, and\nwhen there was an entertainment in his house sent him an invitation, as\nin former years, which Ernst Urtlieb accepted, unless something of\nimportance prevented.\n\nBut though the elder Vorchtel was powerless to change his children's\nconduct, he never wearied of representing to his son how unjust and\ndangerous were the attacks with which, on every occasion, he irritated\nWolff, whose strength and skill in fencing were almost unequalled in\nNuremberg. In fact, the latter would long since have challenged his\nformer friend had he not been so conscious of his own superiority, and\nshrunk from the thought of bringing fresh sorrow upon Ursula and her\nparents, whom he still remembered with friendly regard.\n\nEva was fond of her future brother-in-law, and it had not escaped her\nnotice that of late something troubled him.\n\nWhat was it?\n\nShe thoughtfully gave the wheel a push, and as it turned swiftly she\nremembered the Swiss dance the evening before, and suddenly clenched her\nsmall right hand and dealt the palm of her left a light blow.\n\nShe fancied that she had discovered the cause of Wolff's depression, for\nshe again saw distinctly before her his sister Isabella's husband, Sir\nSeitz Siebenburg, as he swung Countess Cordula around so recklessly that\nher skirt, adorned with glittering jewels, fluttered far out from her\nfigure. In the room adjacent to the hall he had flung himself upon his\nknees before the countess, and Eva fancied she again beheld his big, red\nface, with its long, thick, yellow mustache, whose ends projected on both\nsides in a fashion worn by few men of his rank. The expression of the\nwatery blue eyes, with which he stared Cordula in the face, were those of\na drunkard.\n\nTo-day he had followed her to the Kadolzburg, and probably meant to spend\nthe night there. So Wolff had ample reason to be anxious about his sister\nand her peace of mind. That must be it!\n\nPerhaps he would yet come that evening, to give Els at least a greeting\nfrom the street. How late was it?\n\nShe hastily tried to draw the curtains aside from the window, but this\nwas not accomplished as quickly as she expected--they had been care fully\nfastened with pins. Eva noticed it, and suddenly remembered her father's\nwhispered words to Els.\n\nThey were undoubtedly about the window. According to the calendar, the\nmoon would be full that day, and she knew very well that it had a strange\ninfluence upon her. True, within the past year it appeared to have lost\nits power; but formerly, especially when she had devoted herself very\nearnestly to religious exercises, she had often, without knowing how or\nwhy, left her bed and wandered about, not only in her chamber but through\nthe house. Once she had climbed to the dovecot in the courtyard, and\nanother time had mounted to the garret where, she did not know in what\nway, she had been awakened. When she looked around, the moon was shining\ninto the spacious room, and showed her that she was perched on one of the\nhighest beams in the network of rafters which, joined with the utmost\nskill, supported the roof. Below her yawned a deep gulf, and as she\nlooked down into it she was seized with such terror that she uttered a\nloud shriek for help, and did not recover her calmness until the old\nhousekeeper, Martsche, who had started from her bed in alarm, brought her\nfather to her.\n\nShe had been taken down with the utmost care. No one was permitted to\nhelp except white-haired Nickel, the old head packer, who often let a\nwhole day pass without opening his lips; for Herr Ernst seemed to lay\ngreat stress upon keeping the moon's influence on Eva a secret. There was\nindeed something uncanny about this night-walking, for even now it seemed\nincomprehensible how she had reached the beam, which was at least the\nheight of three men above the floor. A fall might have cost her life, and\nher father was right in trying to prevent a repetition of such nocturnal\nexcursions. This time Els had helped him.\n\nHow faithfully she cared for them all!\n\nYes, she had barred out even the faintest glimmer. Eva smiled as she saw\nthe numerous pins with which her sister had fastened the curtain, and an\nirresistible longing seized her to see once more the wonderful light that\npromoted the growth of the hair if cut during its increase, and also\nexerted so strange an influence upon her.\n\nShe must look up at the moon!\n\nSwiftly and skilfully, as if aided by invisible hands, her dainty fingers\nopened curtain and window.\n\nDrawing a deep breath, with an emotion of pleasure which she had not\nexperienced for a long time, she gazed at the linden before the house\nsteeped in silvery radiance, and upward to the pure disk of the full moon\nsailing in the cloudless sky. How beautiful and still the night was! How\ndelightful it would be to walk up and down the garden, with her aunt the\nabbess, with Els, and perhaps--she felt the blood crimson her\ncheeks--with Heinz Schorlin!\n\nWhere was he now?\n\nUndoubtedly with the Emperor and his ladies, perhaps at the side of the\nBohemian princess, the young Duchess Agnes, who yesterday had so plainly\nshowed her pleasure in his society.\n\nJust then the watch, marching from the Marienthurn to the Frauenthor,\ngave her vagrant thoughts a new turn. The city guard was soon followed by\na troop of horse, which probably belonged to the Emperor's train.\n\nIt was delightful to gaze, at this late hour, into the moonlit street,\nand she wondered that she had never enjoyed it before. True, it would\nhave been still pleasanter had Els borne her company; and, besides, she\nlonged to tell her the new explanation she had found for Wolff's altered\nmanner.\n\nPerhaps her mother was asleep, and she could come with her.\n\nHow still the house was!\n\nCautiously opening the door of the sick-room, she glanced in. Els was\nstanding at the head of the bed, supporting her mother with her strong\nyoung arms, while Sister Renata pushed the cushions between the\nsufferer's back and the bedstead.\n\nThe old difficulty of breathing had evidently attacked her again.\n\nYes, yes, the dim light of the lamp was shining on her pale face, and the\nlarge sunken eyes were gazing with imploring anguish at the image of the\nVirgin on the opposite wall.\n\nHow gladly Eva would have afforded her relief! She looked with a faint\nsense of envy at her sister, whose skilful, careful hands did everything\nto the satisfaction of the beloved sufferer, while in nursing she failed\nonly too often in giving the right touch. But she could pray--implore the\naid of her saint very fervently; nay, she was more familiar with her, and\nmight hope that she would fulfil a heartfelt wish of hers more quickly\nthan for her sister. It would not do to call Els to the window. She\nclosed the door gently, returned to her chamber, knelt and implored St.\nClare, with all the fervour of her heart, to grant her mother a good\nnight. Then she again drew the curtains closely over the window, and went\nto call Katterle to help her undress.\n\nBut the maid was just entering with fresh water. What was the matter with\nher?\n\nHer hand trembled as she braided her young mistress's hair and sometimes,\nwith a faint sigh, she stopped the movement of the comb.\n\nHer silence could be easily explained; for Eva had often forbidden\nKatterle to talk, when she disturbed her meditation. Yet the girl must\nhave had some special burden on her mind, for when Eva had gone to bed\nshe could not resolve to leave the room, but remained standing on the\nthreshold in evident embarrassment.\n\nEva encouraged her to speak, and Katterle, so confused that she often\nhesitated for words and pulled at her ribbons till she was in danger of\ntearing them from her white apron, stammered that she did not come on her\nown account, but for another person. It was well known in the household\nthat her betrothed husband, the true and steadfast Walther Biberli,\nserved a godly knight, her countryman.\n\n\"I know it,\" said Eva with apparent composure, \"and your Biberli has\ncommissioned you to bear me the respectful greeting of Sir Heinz\nSchorlin.\"\n\nThe girl looked at her young mistress in surprise. She had been prepared\nfor a sharp rebuke, and had yielded to her lover's entreaties to under\ntake this service amid tears, and with great anxiety; for if her act\nshould be betrayed, she would lose, amid bitter reproaches, the place she\nso greatly prized. Yet Biberli's power over her and her faith in him were\nso great that she would have followed him into a lion's den; and it had\nscarcely seemed a more desirable venture to carry a love-greeting to the\npious maiden who held men in such disfavour, and could burst into\npassionate anger as suddenly as her father.\n\nAnd now?\n\nEva had expected such a message. It seemed like a miracle to Katterle.\n\nWith a sigh of relief, and a hasty thanksgiving to her patron saint, she\nat once began to praise the virtue and piety of the servant as well as\nhis lord; but Eva again interrupted, and asked what Sir Heinz Schorlin\ndesired.\n\nKatterle, with new-born confidence, repeated, as if it were some trivial\nrequest, the words Biberli had impressed upon her mind.\n\n\"By virtue of the right of every good and devout knight to ask his lady\nfor her colour, Sir Heinz Schorlin, with all due reverence, humbly prays\nyou to name yours; for how could he hold up his head before you and all\nthe knights if he were denied the privilege of wearing it in your honour,\nin war as well as in peace?\"\n\nHere her mistress again interrupted with a positive \"I know,\" and, still\nmore emboldened, Katterle continued the ex-schoolmaster's lesson to the\nend:\n\n\"His lord, my lover says, will wait here beneath the window, in all\nreverence, though it should be till morning, until you show him your\nsweet face. No, don't interrupt me yet, Mistress Eva, for you must know\nthat Sir Heinz's lady mother committed her dear son to my Biberli's care,\nthat he might guard him from injury and illness. But since his master met\nyou, he has been tottering about as though he had received a\nspear-thrust, and as the knight confessed to his faithful servitor that\nno leech could help him until you permitted him to open his heart to you\nand show you with what humble devotion----\"\n\nBut here the maid was interrupted in a manner very different from her\nexpectations, for Eva had raised herself on her pillows and, almost\nunable to control her voice in the excess of her wrath, exclaimed:\n\n\"The master who presumes to seek through his servant----And by what right\ndoes the knight dare thus insolently----But no! Who knows what modest\nwish was transformed in your mouth to so unprecedented a demand? He\ndesired to see my face? He wanted to speak to me in person, to confess I\nknow not what? From you--you, Katterle, the maid--the knight expects----\"\n\nHere she struck her little hand angrily against the wood of the bedstead\nand, panting for breath, continued:\n\n\"I'll show him!----Yet no! What I have to answer no one else----From me,\nfrom me alone, he shall learn without delay. There is paper in yonder\nchest, on the very top; bring it to me, with pen and ink.\"\n\nKatterle silently hurried to obey this order, but Eva pressed her hand\nupon her heaving bosom, and gazed silently into vacancy.\n\nThe manservant and the maid whom Heinz Schorlin had made his messengers\ncertainly could have no conception of the bond that united her to him;\neven her own sister had misunderstood it. He should now learn that Eva\nOrtlieb knew what beseemed her! But she, too, longed for another meeting,\nand this conduct rendered it necessary.\n\nThe sooner they two had a conversation, the better. She could confidently\nventure to invite him to the meeting which she had in view; her aunt, the\nabbess, had promised to stand by her side, if she needed her, in her\nintercourse with the knight.\n\nBut her colour?\n\nKatterle had long since laid the paper and writing materials before her,\nbut she still pondered. At last, with a smile of satisfaction, she seized\nthe pen. The manner in which she intended to mention the colour should\nshow him the nature of the bond which united them.\n\nShe was mistress of the pen, for in the convent she had copied the\ngospels, the psalms, and other portions of the Scriptures, yet her hand\ntrembled as she committed the following lines to the paper:\n\n\"I am angered--nay, even grieved--that you, a godly knight, who knows the\nreverence due to a lady, have ventured to await my greeting in front of\nmy father's house. If you are a true knight, you must be aware that you\nvoluntarily promised to obey my every glance. I can rely upon this\npledge, and since I find it necessary to talk with you, I invite you to\nan interview--when and where, my maid, who is betrothed to your servant,\nshall inform him. A friend, who has your welfare at heart as well as\nmine, will be with me. It must be soon, with the permission of St. Clare,\nwho, since you have chosen her for your patron saint, looks down upon you\nas well as on me.\n\n\"As for my colour, I know not what to name; the baubles associated with\nearthly love are unfamiliar to me. But blue is the colour of the pure\nheaven and its noble queen, the gracious Virgin. If you make this colour\nyours and fight for it, I shall rejoice, and am willing to name it mine.\"\n\nAt the bottom of the little note she wrote only her Christian name \"Eva,\"\nand when she read it over she found that it contained, in apt and seemly\nphrases, everything that she desired to say to the knight.\n\nWhile folding the paper and considering how she could fasten it, as there\nwas no wax at hand, she thought of the narrow ribbons with which Els tied\ntogether, in sets of half a dozen, the fine kerchiefs worn over the neck\nand bosom, when they came from the wash. They were sky-blue, and nothing\ncould be more suitable for the purpose.\n\nKatterle brought one from the top of the chest. Eva wound it swiftly\naround the little roll, and the maid hastily left the room, sure of the\ngratitude of the true and steadfast Biberli.\n\nWhen Eva was again alone, she at first thought that she might rejoice\nover her hasty act; but on asking herself what Els would say, she felt\ncertain that she would disapprove of it and, becoming disconcerted, began\nto imagine what consequences it might entail.\n\nThe advice which her father had recently given Wolff, never to let any\nimportant letter pass out of his hands until at least one night had\nelapsed, returned to her memory, and from that instant the little note\nburdened her soul like a hundred-pound weight.\n\nShe would fain have started up to get it back again, and a strong\nattraction drew her towards the window to ascertain whether Heinz\nSchorlin had really come and was awaiting her greeting.\n\nPerhaps Katterle had not yet delivered the note. What if she were still\nstanding at the door of the house to wait for Biberli? If, to be\nabsolutely certain, she should just glance out, that would not be looking\nfor the knight, and she availed herself of the excuse without delay.\n\nIn an instant she sprang from her bed and gently drew the curtain aside.\nThe street was perfectly still. The linden and the neighbouring houses\ncast dark, sharply outlined shadows upon the light pavement, and from the\nconvent garden the song of the nightingale echoed down the quiet moonlit\nstreet.\n\nKatterle had probably already given the note to Heinz Schorlin who,\nobedient to his lady's command, as beseemed a knight, had gone away. This\nsoothed her anxiety, and with a sigh she went back to bed.\n\nBut the longing to look out into the street again was so strong that she\nyielded to the temptation; yet, ere she reached the window, she summoned\nthe strength of will which was peculiar to her and, lying down, once more\nclosed her lids, with the firm resolve to see and hear nothing. As she\nhad not shut her eyes the night before and, from dread of the ball, had\nslept very little during the preceding one, she soon, though the moon was\nshining in through the parted curtains, lapsed into a condition midway\nbetween sleep and waking. Extreme fatigue had deadened consciousness, yet\nshe fancied that at times she heard the sound of footsteps on the\npavement outside, and the deep voices of men.\n\nNor was what she heard in her half-dozing state, which was soon followed\nby the sound slumber of youth, any delusion of the senses.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nThe moon found something in front of the Ortlieb house worth looking at.\nRarely had she lighted with purer, brighter radiance the pathway of the\nmortals who excited her curiosity, than that of the two handsome young\nmen who, at a moderate interval of time, passed through the Frauenthor,\nand finally entered the courtyard of the Ortlieb residence almost at the\nsame instant.\n\nLuna first saw them pace silently to and fro, and delighted in the\nresentful glances they cast at each other. This joy increased as the one\nin the long coat, embroidered on the shoulder with birds, and then the\nother, whose court costume well became his lithe, powerful limbs, sat\ndown, each on one of the chains connecting the granite posts between the\nstreet and the courtyard.\n\nThe very tall one, who looked grave and anxious, was Wolff Eysvogel; the\nother, somewhat shorter, who swung gaily to and fro on the chain as if it\nafforded him much amusement, Heinz Schorlin.\n\nBoth frequently glanced up at the lighted bow-window and the smaller one\non the second story, behind which Eva lay half asleep. This was the first\nmeeting of the two men.\n\nWolff, aware of his excellent right to remain on this-spot, would have\nshown the annoying intruder his displeasure long before, had he not\nsupposed that the other, whom at the first glance he recognised as a\nknight, was one of Countess Cordula von Montfort's admirers. Yet he soon\nbecame unable to control his anger and impatience. Yielding to a hasty\nimpulse, he left the chain, but as he approached the stranger the latter\ngave his swaying seat a swifter motion and, without vouchsafing him\neither greeting or introductory remark, said carelessly, \"This is a\nlovely night.\"\n\n\"I am of the same opinion,\" replied Wolff curtly. \"But I would like to\nask, sir, what induced you to choose the courtyard of this house to enjoy\nit?\"\n\n\"Induced?\" asked the Swiss in astonishment; then, looking the other in\nthe face with defiant sharpness, he added scornfully:\n\n\"I am warming the chain because it suits me to do so.\"\n\n\"You are allowed the pleasure,\" returned Wolff in an irritated tone;\n\"nay, I can understand that night birds of your sort find no better\namusement. Still, it seems to me that a knight who wishes to keep iron\nhot might attain his object better in another way.\"\n\n\"Why, of course,\" cried Heinz Schorlin, springing swiftly to his feet\nwith rare elasticity. \"It gives a pleasant warmth when blade strikes\nblade or the hot blood wets them. I am no friend to darkness, and it\nseems to me, sir, as if we were standing in each other's light here.\"\n\n\"There our opinions concur for the second time this lovely night,\"\nquietly replied the patrician's son, conscious of his unusual strength\nand skill in fencing, with a slight touch of scorn. \"Like you, I am\nalways ready to cross blades with another; only, the public street is\nhardly the fitting place for it.\"\n\n\"May the plague take you!\" muttered the Swiss in assent to Wolff's\nopinion. \"Besides, sir, who ever grasps iron so swiftly is worth a\nparley. To ask whether you are of knightly lineage would be useless\ntrouble, and should it come to a genuine sword-dance.\n\n\"You will find a partner in me at any time,\" was the reply, \"as I, who\nwear my ancient escutcheon with good right, would gladly give you a\ncrimson memento of this hour--though you were but the son of a cobbler.\nBut first let us ascertain--for I, too, dislike darkness--whether we are\nreally standing in each other's light. With all due respect for your\nfancy for warming chains, it would be wise, ere Sir Red Coat--[The\nexecutioner]--puts his round our ankles for disturbing the peace, to have\na sensible talk.\"\n\n\"Try it, for aught I care,\" responded Heinz Schorlin cheerily. \"Unluckily\nfor me, I live in a state of perpetual feud with good sense. One thing,\nhowever, seems certain without any serious reflection: the attraction\nwhich draws me here, as well as you, will not enter the cloister as a\nmonk, but as a little nun, wears no beard, but braids her hair. Briefly,\nthen, if you are here for Countess Cordula von Montfort's sake, your\nerrand is vain; she will sleep at Kadolzburg to-night.\"\n\n\"May her slumber be sweet!\" replied Wolff calmly. \"She is as near to me\nas yonder moon.\"\n\n\"That gives the matter a more serious aspect,\" cried the knight angrily.\n\"You or I. What is your lady's name?\"\n\n\"That, to my mind, is asking too much,\" replied Wolff firmly.\n\n\"And the law of love gives you the right to withhold an answer. But, sir,\nwe must nevertheless learn for the sake of what fairest fair we have each\nforegone sleep.\"\n\n\"Then tell me, by your favour, your lady's colour,\" Wolff asked the\nSwiss.\n\nThe latter laughed gaily: \"I am still putting that question to my saint.\"\n\nThen, noticing Wolff's shake of the head, he went on in a more serious\ntone: \"If you will have a little patience, I hope I may be able to tell\nyou, ere we part.\"\n\nThis assurance also seemed to Wolff an enigma. Who in the wide world\nwould come from under the respectable Ortlieb roof, at this hour, to tell\na stranger anything whatsoever concerning one of its daughters? Neither\ncould have given him the right to regard her as his lady, and steal at\nnight, like a marten, around the house which contained his dearest\ntreasure. This obscurity was an offence to Wolff Eysvogel, and he was not\nthe man to submit to it. Yonder insolent fellow should learn, to his\nhurt, that he had made a blunder.\n\nBut scarcely had he begun to explain to Heinz that he claimed the right\nto protect both the daughters of this house, the younger as well as the\nolder, since they had no brother, when the knight interrupted:\n\n\"Oho! There are two of them, and she, too, spoke of a sister. So, if it\ncomes to sharing, sir, we need not emulate the judgment of Solomon. Let\nus see! The colour is uncertain, but to every Christian mortal a name\nclings as closely as a shadow and, if I mention the initial letter of the\none which adorns my lady, I believe I shall commit no offence that a\ncourt of love could condemn. The initial, which I like because it is\ndaintily rounded and not too difficult to write-mark it well--is 'E.'\"\n\nWolff Eysvogel started slightly and gripped the dagger in his belt, but\ninstantly withdrew his hand and answered with mingled amusement and\nindignation: \"Thanks for your good will, Sir Knight, but this, too,\nbrings us no nearer our goal; the E is the initial of both the Ortlieb\nsisters. The elder who, as you may know, is my betrothed bride, bears the\nname of Elizabeth, or Els, as we say in Nuremberg.\"\n\n\"And the younger,\" cried Heinz joyously, \"honours with her gracious\ninnocence the name of her through whom sin came into the world.\"\n\n\"But you, Sir Knight,\" exclaimed Wolff fiercely, \"would do better not to\nname sin and Eva Ortlieb in the same breath. If you are of a different\nopinion----\"\n\n\"Then,\" interrupted the Swiss, \"we come back to warming the iron.\"\n\n\"As you say,\" cried Wolff resolutely. \"In spite of the peace of the\ncountry, I will be at your service at any time. As you see, I went out\nunarmed, and it would not be well done to cross swords here.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" Heinz assented. \"But many days and nights will follow\nthis moonlight one, and that you may have little difficulty in finding me\nwhenever you desire, know that my name is Heinrich--or to more intimate\nfriends, among whom you might easily be numbered if we don't deprive each\nother of the pleasure of meeting again under the sun--Heinz Schorlin.\"\n\n\"Schorlin?\" asked Wolff in surprise. \"Then you are the knight who, when a\nbeardless boy, cut down on the Marchfield the Bohemian whose lance had\nslain the Emperor's charger, the Swiss who aided him to mount the steed\nof Ramsweg of Thurgau--your uncle, if I am not mistaken--and then took\nthe wild ride to bring up the tall Capeller, with his troops, who so\ngloriously decided the day.\"\n\n\"And,\" laughed Heinz, \"who was finally borne off the field as dead before\nthe fulfilment of his darling wish to redden Swiss steel with royal\nBohemian blood. This closed the chronicle, Herr--what shall I call you?\"\n\n\"Wolff Eysvogel, of Nuremberg,\" replied the other.\n\n\"Aha! A son of the rich merchant where the Duke of Gulich found\nquarters?\" cried the Swiss, lifting his cap bordered with fine miniver.\n\"May confusion seize me! If I were not my father's son, I wouldn't mind\nchanging places with you. It must make the neck uncommonly stiff,\nmethinks, to have a knightly escutcheon on door and breast, and yet be\nable to fling florins and zecchins broadcast without offending the devil\nby an empty purse. If you don't happen to know how such a thing looks, I\ncan show you.\"\n\n\"Yet rumour says,\" observed Wolff, \"that the Emperor is gracious to you,\nand knows how to fill it again.\"\n\n\"If one doesn't go too far,\" replied Heinz, \"and my royal master, who\nlacks spending money himself only too often, doesn't keep his word that\nit was done for the last time. I heard that yesterday morning, and\nthought that the golden blessing which preceded it would last the dear\nsaints only knew how long. But ere the cock had crowed even once this\nmorning the last florin had vanished. Dice, Herr Wolff Eysvogel--dice!\"\n\n\"Then I would keep my hands off them,\" said the other meaningly.\n\n\"If the Old Nick or some one else did not always guide them back! Did\nyou, a rich man's son, never try what the dice would do for you?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir Knight. It was at Venice, where I was pursuing my studies, and\ntried my luck at gambling on many a merry evening with other sons of\nmercantile families from Nuremberg, Augsburg, and Cologne.\"\n\n\"And your feathers were generously plucked?\"\n\n\"By no means. I usually left a winner. But after they fleeced a dear\nfriend from Ulm, and he robbed his master, I dropped dice.\"\n\n\"And you did so as easily as if it were a short fast after an abundant\nmeal?\"\n\n\"It was little more difficult,\" Wolff asserted. \"My father would have\ngladly seen me outdo my countrymen, and sent me more money than I needed.\nWhy should I deprive honest fellows who had less?\"\n\n\"That's just the difficulty,\" cried his companion eagerly. \"It was easy\nfor you to renounce games of chance because your winnings only added more\nto the rest, and you did not wish to pluck poorer partners. But I! A poor\ndevil like me cannot maintain armour-bearer, servants, and steeds out of\nwhat the dear little mother at home in her faithful care can spare from\ncrops and interest. How could we succeed in making a fair appearance at\ncourt and in the tournament if it were not for the dice? And then, when I\nlose, I again become but the poor knight the saints made me; when I win,\non the contrary, I am the great and wealthy lord I would have been born\nhad the Lord permitted me to choose my own cradle. Besides, those who\nlose through me are mainly dukes, counts, and gentlemen with rich fiefs\nand fat bourgs, whom losing doubtless benefits, as bleeding relieves a\nsick man. What suits the soldier does not befit the merchant. We live\nwholly amid risks and wagers. Every battle, every skirmish is a game\nwhose stake is life. Whoever reflects long is sure to lose. If I could\nonly describe, Herr Eysvogel, what it is to dash headlong upon the foe!\"\n\n\"I could imagine that vividly enough,\" Wolff eagerly interposed. \"I, too,\nhave broken many a lance in the lists and shed blood enough.\"\n\n\"What a dunce I am!\" cried Heinz in amazement, pressing his hand upon his\nbrow. \"That's why your face was so familiar! By my saint! I am no knight\nif I did not see you then, before the battle waxed hot. It was close\nbeside your Burgrave Frederick, who held aloft the imperial banner.\"\n\n\"Probably,\" replied Wolff in a tone of assent. \"He sometimes entrusted\nthe standard to me, when it grew too heavy for his powerful arm, because\nI was the tallest and the strongest of our Nuremberg band. But,\nunluckily, I could not render this service long. A scimitar gashed my\nhead. The larger part of the little scar is hidden under my hair.\"\n\n\"The little scar!\" repeated Heinz gaily. \"It was wide enough, at any\nrate, for the greatest soul to slip through it. A scar on the head from a\nwound received four years ago, and yet distinctly visible in the\nmoonlight!\"\n\n\"It should serve as a warning,\" replied Wolff, glancing anxiously up the\nstreet. \"If the patrol, or any nocturnal reveller should catch sight of\nus, it would be ill for the fair fame of the Ortlieb sisters, for\neverybody knows that only one--Els's betrothed lover--has a right to\nawait a greeting here at so late an hour. So follow me into the shadow of\nthe linden, I entreat you; for yonder--surely you see it too--a figure is\ngliding towards us.\"\n\nHeinz Schorlin's laugh rang out like a bell as he whispered to the\nNuremberg patrician: \"That figure is familiar to me, and neither we nor\nour ladies need fear any evil from it. Excuse me moment, and I'll wager\ntwenty gold florins against yonder linden leaf that, ere the moonlight\nhas left the curbstone, I can tell you my lady's colour.\"\n\nAs he spoke he hastened towards the figure, now, standing motionless\nwithin the shadow of the door post beside the lofty entrance.\n\nWolff Eysvogel remained alone, gazing thoughtfully upon the ground.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe silent wanderer above had expected to behold a scene very unlike an\ninterview between two men. The latter required neither her purest,\nfullest light, nor the shadow of a blossoming linden.\n\nNow Luna saw the young Nuremberg merchant gaze after the Swiss with an\nexpression of such deep anxiety and pain upon his manly features that she\nfelt the utmost pity for him. He did not look upward as usual to the\nwindow of his beautiful Els, but either fixed his eyes upon the spot\nwhere his new acquaintance was conversing with another person, or bent\nthem anxiously upon the ground.\n\nAs Wolff thought of Heinz Schorlin, it seemed as if Fate had thrown him\ninto the way of the Swiss that he might feel with twofold anguish the\nthorns besetting his own life path. The young knight was proffered the\nrose without the thorn. What cares had he? The present threw into his lap\nits fairest blessings, and when he looked into the future he beheld only\nthe cheering buds of hope.\n\nYet this favourite of fortune had expressed a desire to change places\nwith him. The thought that many others, too, would be glad to step into\nhis shoes tortured Wolff's honest heart as though he himself were to\nblame for the delusion of these short-sighted folk.\n\nApart from his strength and health, his well-formed body, his noble\nbirth, his faith in the love of his betrothed bride--at this hour he\nforgot how much these things were--he found nothing in his lot which\nseemed worth desiring.\n\nHe might not even rejoice in his stainless honesty with the same perfect\nconfidence as in his betrothal.\n\nYes, he had cared for noble old Berthold Vorchtel's daughter as if she\nwere his sister. He had even found pleasure in the thought that Ursula\nwas destined to become his wife, yet no word either of love or allusion\nto future marriage had been exchanged between them. He had felt free, and\nhad a right to consider himself so, when love for Els Ortlieb overwhelmed\nhim so swiftly and powerfully.\n\nYet Ursula and her oldest brother treated him as if he had been guilty of\nbase disloyalty. His pure conscience, however, enabled him to endure this\nmore easily than the other burden, of which he became aware on the\nlong-anticipated day when his father made him a partner in the old firm\nand gave him an insight into the condition of the property and the course\nof the business.\n\nThen he had learned the heavy losses which had been sustained recently,\nand the sad disparity existing between the great display by which his\nfather and mother, as well as his grandmother, the countess, maintained\nthe appearance of their former princely wealth, and the balances of the\nlast few years.\n\nWhen he had just boasted to the reckless young knight that he had given\nup gaming, he told but half the truth, for though since his period of\nstudy in Venice, and later in Milan, he had not touched dice, he had been\nforced to consent to a series of enterprises undertaken by his father,\nwhose stakes were far different from the gambling of the knights and\nnobles at the Green Shield or in the camp.\n\nYet he intended to bind the fate of the woman he loved to his own, for\nEls, spite of the opposition of his family, would have been already\nindissolubly united to him, had not one failure after another destroyed\nhis courage to take her hand. Finally, he deemed it advisable to await\nthe result of the last great enterprise, now on the eve of decision. It\nmight compensate for many of the losses of recent years. Should it be\nfavourable, the heaviest burden would be lifted from his soul; in the\nopposite case the old house would be shaken to its foundations. Yet even\nits fall would have been easier for him to endure than this cruel\nuncertainty, to which was added the torturing anxiety of bearing the\nresponsibility of things for which he was not to blame, and of which,\nmoreover, he was even denied a clear view. Yet he felt absolutely certain\nthat his father was concealing many things, perhaps the worst, and often\nfelt as if he were walking in the darkness over a mouldering bridge. Ah,\nif it could only be propped up, and then rebuilt! But if it must give\nway, he hoped the catastrophe would come soon. He knew that he possessed\nthe strength to build a new home for Els and himself. Even were it small\nand modest, it should be erected on a firm foundation and afford a safe\nabode for its inmates.\n\nWhat did the young, joyous-hearted fellow who was wooing Eva know of such\ncares? Fate had placed him on the sunny side of life, where everything\nflourished, and set him, Wolff, in the shade, where grass and flowers\ndied.\n\nThere is a magic in fame which the young soul cannot easily escape, and\nthe name of Heinz Schorlin was indeed honoured and on every lip. The\nimagination associated with it the cheerful nature which, like a loyal\ncomrade, goes hand in hand with success, deserved and undeserved good\nfortune, woman's favour, doughty deeds, the highest and strongest traits\nof character.\n\nAn atmosphere like sunshine, which melts all opposition, emanated from\nHeinz. Wolff had experienced it himself. He had seriously intended to\nmake the insolent intruder feel his strong arm, but since he had learned\nthe identity of the Swiss his acts and nature appeared in a new light.\nHis insolence had gained the aspect of self-confidence which did not lack\njustification, and when a valiant knight talked to him so frankly, like a\nyounger brother to an older and wiser one, it seemed to the lonely man\nwho, of late, completely absorbed in the course of business, had held\naloof from the sports, banquets, and diversions of the companions of his\nown age, that he had experienced something unusually pleasant. How tender\nand affectionate it sounded when Heinz alluded to the \"little mother\" at\nhome! He, Wolff, on the contrary, could think only with a shade of\nbitterness of the weak woman to whom he owed his existence, and whom\nfilial duty and earnest resolution alike commanded him to love, yet who\nmade it so difficult for him to regard her with anything save anxiety or\nsecret disapproval.\n\nPerhaps the greatest advantage which the Swiss possessed over him was his\nmanner of speaking of his family. How could it ever have entered Wolff\nEysvogel's mind to call the tall, stiff woman, who was the feeble echo of\nher extravagant, arrogant mother, and who rustled towards him, even in\nthe early morning, adorned with feathers and robed in rich brocade, his\n\"dear little mother\"?\n\nWhoever spoke in the warm, loving tones that fell from the lips of Sir\nHeinz when he mentioned his relatives at home certainly could have no\nevil nature. No one need fear, though his usual mode of speech was so\nwanton, that he would trifle with a pure, innocent creature like Eva.\n\nHow Heinz had succeeded in winning so speedily the devout child, who was\nso averse to the idle coquetries of the companions of her own age, seemed\nincomprehensible, but he had no time to investigate now.\n\nHe must go, for he had long been burning with impatience to depart. The\ndeclaration of peace had taken effect only a few hours before, and the\nlong waggon trains from Italy, of which he had told Els yesterday, were\nstill delayed. The freight of spices and Levantine goods, Milan velvets,\nsilks, and fine Florentine cloths, which they were bringing from the city\nof St. Mark, represented a large fortune. If it arrived in time, the\nprofits would cover a great portion of the losses of the past two years,\nand the house would again be secure. If the worst should befall, how\nwould his family submit to deprivation, perhaps even to penury? He had\nless fear of his grandmother's outbursts of wrath, but what would become\nof his feeble mother, who was as dependent as a child on her own mother?\nYet he loved her; he felt deeply troubled by the thought of the severe\nhumiliation which menaced her. His sister Isabella, too, was dear to him,\nin spite of her husband, the reckless Sir Seitz Siebenburg, in whose\nhands the gold paid from the coffers of the firm melted away, yet who was\nburdened with a mountain of debts.\n\nWolff had left orders at home to have his horse saddled. He had intended\nonly to wave a greeting to his Els and then ride to Neumarkt, or, if\nnecessary, as far as Ingolstadt, to meet the wains.\n\nA word of farewell to the new acquaintance, who was probably destined to\nbe his brother-in, law, and then--But just at that moment Heinz\napproached, and in reply to Wolff's low question \"And your lady's\ncolour?\" he answered joyously, pointing to the breast of his doublet: \"I\nam carrying the messenger which promises to inform me, here on my heart.\nIn the darkness it was silent; but the bright moonlight yonder will loose\nits tongue, unless the characters here are too unlike those of the\nprayer-book.\"\n\nDrawing out Eva's little roll as he spoke, he approached a brightly\nlighted spot, pointed to the ribbon which fastened it, and exclaimed:\n\"Doubtless she used her own colour to tie it. Blue, the pure, exquisite\nblue of her eyes! I thought so Forget-me-not blue! The most beautiful of\ncolours. You must pardon my impatience!\"\n\nHe was about to begin to read the lines; but Wolff stopped him by\npointing to the Ortlieb residence and to two drunken soldiers who came\nout of the tavern \"For Thirsty Troopers,\" and walked, singing and\nstaggering, up the opposite side of the street. Then, extending his hand\nto Heinz in farewell, he asked in a low tone, pointing to Biberli's\nfigure just emerging from the shade, who was the messenger of love who\nserved him so admirably.\n\n\"My shadow,\" replied the knight. \"I loosed him from my heels and bade him\nstand there. But no offence, Herr Wolff Eysvogel; you'll make the queer\nfellow's acquaintance if, like myself, it would be agreeable to you to\nmeet often, not only on iron chains, but on friendly terms with each\nother.\"\n\n\"Nothing would please me more,\" replied the other. \"But how in the world\ncould it happen that this well-guarded fortress surrendered to you after\nso short a resistance?\"\n\n\"Heinz Schorlin rides swiftly,\" he interrupted; but Wolff exclaimed:\n\n\"A swift ride awaits me, too, though of a different kind. When I return,\nI shall expect you to tell me how you won our 'little saint,' my\nsister-in-law Eva. The two beautiful Ortlieb 'Es' are one in the eyes of\nthe townsfolk, so we also will be often named in the same breath, and\nshall do well to feel brotherly regard for each other. There shall be no\nfault on my part. Farewell, till we meet again, an' it please God in and\nnot outside of our ladies' dwelling.\"\n\nWhile speaking he clasped the knight's hand with so firm a grasp that it\nseemed as if he wished to force him to feel its pressure a long time, and\nhastened through the Frauenthor.\n\nHeinz Schorlin gazed thoughtfully after him a short time, then beckoned\nto Biberli and, though the interval required for him to reach his\nmaster's side was very brief, it was sufficient for the bold young lover,\ntortured by his ardent longing, to form another idea.\n\n\"Look yonder, Biberli!\" he exclaimed. \"The holy-water basin on the\ndoor-post, the escutcheon on the lintel above, the helmet, which would\nprobably bear my weight. From there I can reach the window-sill with my\nhand, and once I have grasped it, I need only make one bold spring and,\nhurrah! I'm on it.\"\n\n\"May our patron saint have mercy on us!\" cried the servant in horror.\n\"You can get there as easily as you can spring on your two feet over two\nhorses; but the coming down would certainly be a long distance lower than\nyou would fancy--into the 'Hole,' as they call the prison here, and,\nmoreover, though probably not until some time later, straight to the\nflames of hell; for you would have committed a great sin against a noble\nmaiden rich in every virtue, who deemed you worthy of her love. And,\nbesides, there are two Es. They occupy the same room, and the house is\nfull of men and maid servants.\"\n\n\"Pedagogue!\" said the knight, peevishly.\n\n\"Ay, that was Biberli's calling once,\" replied the servant, \"and, for the\nsake of your lady mother at home, I wish I were one still, and you, Sir\nHeinz, would have to obey me like an obedient pupil. You are well aware\nthat I rarely use her sacred name to influence you, but I do so now; and\nif you cherish her in your heart and do not wish to swoop down on the\ninnocent little dove like a destroying hawk, turn your back upon this\nplace, where we have already lingered too long.\"\n\nBut this well-meant warning seemed to have had brief influence upon the\nperson to whom it was addressed. Suddenly, with a joyous: \"There she is!\"\nhe snatched his cap from his head and waved a greeting to the window.\n\nBut in a few minutes he replaced it with a petulant gesture of the hand,\nsaying sullenly: \"Vanished! She dared not grant me a greeting, because\nshe caught sight of you.\"\n\n\"Let us thank and praise a kind Providence for it,\" said his servitor\nwith a sigh of relief, \"since our Lord and Saviour assumed the form of a\nservant, that of a scarecrow, in which he has done admirable service, is\nfar too noble and distinguished for Biberli.\"\n\nAs he spoke he walked on before the knight, and pointing to the tavern\nbeside the Frauenthurm whose sign bore the words \"For Thirsty Troopers,\"\nhe added: \"A green bush at the door. That means, unless the host is a\nrogue, a cask fresh broached. I wonder whether my tongue is cleaving to\nmy palate from dread of your over-hasty courage, or whether it is really\nso terribly sultry here!\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" Heinz interrupted, \"a cup of wine will harm neither of us;\nfor I myself feel how oppressive the air is. Besides, it is light in the\ntavern, and who knows what the little note will tell me.\"\n\nMeanwhile they passed the end of St. Klarengasse and went up to the green\nbush, which projected from the end of a pole far out into the street.\n\nSoldiers in the pay of the city, and men-at-arms in the employ of the\nEmperor and the princes who had come to attend the Reichstag, were\nsitting over their wine in the tavern. From the ceiling hung two crossed\niron triangles, forming a six-pointed star. The tallow candles burning\nlow in their sockets, which it contained, and some pitch-pans in the\ncorners, diffused but a dim light through the long apartment.\n\nMaster and man found an empty table apart from the other guests, in a\nniche midway down the rear wall.\n\nWithout heeding the brawling and swearing, the rude songs and disorderly\nshouts, the drumming of clenched fists upon the oak tables, the wild\nlaughter of drunken soldiers, the giggling and screeching of bar-maids,\nand the scolding and imperious commands of the host, they proved that the\ngreen bush had not lied, for the wine really did come from a freshly\nopened cask just brought up from the cellar. But as the niche was\nillumined only by the tiny oil lamp burning beneath the image of the\nVirgin, bedizened with flowers and gold and silver tinsel, fastened\nagainst the wall, Biberli asked the weary bar-maid for a brighter light.\n\nWhen the girl withdrew he sighed heavily, saying: \"O my lord, if you only\nknew! Even now, when we are again among men and the wine has refreshed\nme, I feel as if rats were gnawing at my soul. Conscience, my\nlord-conscience!\"\n\n\"You, too, are usually quite ready to play the elf in the rose-garden of\nlove,\" replied Heinz gaily. \"Moreover, I shall soon need a T and an S\nembroidered on my own doublet, for----Why don't they bring the light?\nAnother cup of wine, the note, and then with renewed vigour we'll go back\nagain.\"\n\n\"For God's sake,\" interrupted Biberli, \"do not speak, do not even think,\nof the bold deed you suggested! Doesn't it seem like a miracle that not\none of the many Ortlieb and Montfort servants crossed your path? Even\nsuch a child of good luck as yourself can scarcely expect a second one\nthe same evening. And if there is not, and you go back under the window,\nyou will be recognised, perhaps even seized, and then--O my lord,\nconsider this!--then you will bear throughout your life the reproach of\nhaving brought shame and bitter sorrow upon a maiden whom you yourself\nknow is lovely, devout, and pure. And I, too, who serve you loyally in\nyour lady mother's behalf, as well as the poor maid who, to pleasure me,\ninterceded for you with her mistress, will run the risk of our lives if\nyou are caught climbing into the window or committing any similar\noffence; for in this city they are prompt with the stocks, the stone\ncollar, the rack, and the tearing of the tongue from the mouth whenever\nany one is detected playing the part of go-between in affairs of love.\"\n\n\"Usually, old fellow,\" replied Heinz in a tone of faint reproach, \"we\nconsidered it a matter of course that, though we took the most daring\nrisks in such things, we were certain not to be caught. Yet, to be frank,\nsome incomprehensible burden weighs upon my soul. My feelings are\nconfused and strange. I would rather tear the crown from the head of\nyonder image of the Virgin than do aught to this sweet innocence for\nwhich she could not thank me.\"\n\nHere he paused, for the bar-maid brought a two-branched candelabrum, in\nwhich burned two tallow candles.\n\nHeinz instantly opened the little roll.\n\nHow delicate were the characters it contained! His heart's beloved had\ncommitted them to the paper with her own hand, and the knight's blood\nsurged hotly through his veins as he gazed at them. It seemed as though\nhe held in his hand a portion of herself and, obeying a hasty impulse, he\nkissed the letter.\n\nThen he eagerly began to study the writing; he had never seen anything so\ndelicate and peculiar in form.\n\nThe deciphering of the first lines in which, it is true, she called him a\ngodly knight, but also informed him that his boldness had angered her,\ncaused him much difficulty, and Biberli was often obliged to help.\n\nWould she have rebuffed him so ungraciously with her lips as with the\npen? Was it possible that, on account of a request which every lover\nventured to address to his lady, she would withdraw the favour which\nrendered him so happy? Oh, yes, for innocence is delicate and sensitive.\nShe ought to have repelled him thus. He was secretly rejoiced to see the\nsweet modesty which had so charmed him again proved. He must know what\nthe rest of the letter contained, and the ex-schoolmaster was at hand to\ngive the information at once.\n\nTrue, the hastily written sentences presented some difficulties even for\nBiberli, but after glancing through the whole letter, he exclaimed with a\nsatisfied smile: \"Just as I expected! At the first look one might think\nthat the devout little lady was wholly unlike the rest of her sex, but on\nexamining more closely she proves as much like any other beautiful girl\nas two peas. With good reason and prudent caution she forbids the\nlanguishing knight to remain beneath her window, yet she will risk a\npleasant little interview in some safe nook. That is wise for so young a\ngirl, and at the same time natural and womanly. I don't know why you knit\nyour brows. Since the first Eve came from a crooked rib, all her\ndaughters prefer devious ways. But first hear what she writes.\" Then,\nwithout heeding his master's gloomy face, he began to read the note\naloud.\n\nHeinz listened intently, and after he had heard that the lady of his love\ndid not desire to meet him alone, but only under the protection of a\nfriend and her saint, when he heard her name her colour, it is true, but\nalso express the expectation that, as a godly knight, he would fight for\nher sake in honour of the gracious Virgin, his face brightened.\n\nDuring Biberli's scoffing comments he had felt as if a tempest had hurled\nher pure image in the dust. But now that he knew what she asked of him,\nit returned as a matter of course to its old place and, with a sigh of\nrelief, he felt that he need not be ashamed of the emotions which this\nwonderful young creature had awakened in his soul. She had opened her\npious heart like a trusting sister to an older brother, and what he had\nseen there was something unusual--things which had appeared sacred to him\neven when a child. Since he took leave of her in the ball-room he had\nfelt as though Heaven had loaned this, its darling, to earth for but a\nbrief space, and her brocade robe must conceal angel wings. Should it\nsurprise him that the pure innocence which filled her whole being was\nexpressed also in her letter, if she summoned him, not to idle\nlove-dalliance but to a covenant of souls, a mutual conflict for what was\nhighest and most sacred? Such a thing was incomprehensible to Biberli;\nbut notwithstanding her letter--nay, even on its account--he longed still\nmore ardently to lead her home to his mother and see her receive the\nblessing of the woman whom he so deeply honoured.\n\nHe had Eva's letter read for the second and the third time. But when\nBiberli paused, and in a few brief sentences cast fresh doubts upon the\nwriter, Heinz angrily stopped him. \"The longing of the godly heart of a\npure maiden--mark this well--has naught in common with that diabolical\ndelight in secret love--dalliance for which others yearn. My wish to\nforce my way to her was sinful, and it was punished severely enough, for\nduring your rude scoffs I felt as though you had set fire to the house\nover my head. But from this I perceive in what a sacred, inviolable spot\nher image had found a place. True, it is denied you to follow the lofty,\nheavenward aspiration of a pure soul--\"\n\n\"O my lord,\" interrupted the servitor with hands uplifted in defence,\n\"who besought you not to measure this innocent daughter of a decorous\nhousehold, who was scarcely beyond childhood, by the standard you applied\nto others? Who entreated you to spare her fair fame? And if you deem the\nstuff of which the servant is made too coarse to understand what moves so\npure a soul, you do Biberli injustice, for, by my patron saint, though\nduty commanded me to interpose doubts and scruples between you and a\npassion from which could scarcely spring aught that would bring joy to\nyour mother's heart I, too, asked myself the question why, in these days,\na devout maiden should not long to try her skill in conversion upon a\nvaliant knight who served her. Ever since St. Francis of Assisi appeared\nin Italy, barefooted monks and grey-robed nuns, who follow him,\nFranciscans and Sisters of St. Clare stream hither as water flows into a\nmill-race when the sluice-gates are opened. With what edification we,\ntoo, listened to the old Minorite whom we picked up by the wayside, at\nthe tavern where we usually found pleasure in nothing but drinking,\ngambling, shouting, and singing! Besides, I know from my sweetheart with\nwhat exemplary devotion the lovely Eva follows St. Clare.\"\n\n\"Who is now and will remain my patron saint also, old Biber,\" interrupted\nHeinz with joyful emotion, as he laid his hand gratefully on his\nfollower's shoulder; then rising and beckoning to the bar-maid, added:\n\"The stuff of which you are made, old comrade, is inferior to no man's.\nOnly now and then the pedagogue plays you a trick. Had you uttered your\nreal opinion in the first place, the wine would have tasted better to us\nboth. Let Eva try the work of conversion on me! What, save my lady's\nlove, is more to me than our holy faith? It must indeed be a delight to\ntake the field for the Church and against her foes!\" While speaking, he\npaid the reckoning and went out with Biberli.\n\nThe moon was now pouring her silver beams, with full radiance, over the\nquiet street, the linden in front of the Ortlieb house, and its lofty\ngable roof. Only a single room in the spacious mansion was still lighted,\nthe bow-windowed one occupied by the two sisters.\n\nHeinz, without heeding Biberli's renewed protest, looked upward, silently\nimploring Eva's pardon for having misjudged her even a moment. His gaze\nrested devoutly on the open window, behind which a curtain was stirring.\nWas it the night breeze that almost imperceptibly raised and lowered it,\nor was her own dear self concealed behind it?\n\nJust at that moment he suddenly felt his servant's hand on his arm, and\nas he followed his horror-stricken gaze, a chill ran through his own\nveins. From the heavy door of the house, which stood half open, a\nwhite-robed figure emerged with the solemn, noiseless footfall of a\nghost, and advanced across the courtyard towards him.\n\nWas it a restless spirit risen from its grave at the midnight hour, which\nmust be close at hand? Through his brain, like a flash of lightning,\ndarted the thought that Eva had spoken to him of her invalid mother. Had\nshe died? Was her wandering soul approaching him to drive him from the\nthreshold of the house which hid her endangered child?\n\nBut no!\n\nThe figure had stopped before the door and now, raising its head, gazed\nwith wide eyes upward at the moon, and--he was not mistaken--it was no\nspectre of darkness; it was she for whom every pulse of his heart\nthrobbed--Eva!\n\nNo human creature had ever seemed to him so divinely fair as she in her\nlong white night-robe, over which fell the thick waves of her light hair.\nThe horror which had seized him yielded to the most ardent yearning.\nPressing his hand upon his throbbing heart, he watched her every\nmovement. He longed to go forward to meet her, yet a supernatural spell\nseemed to paralyse his energy. He would sooner have dared clasp in his\narms the image of a beautiful Madonna than this embodiment of pure,\nhelpless, gracious innocence.\n\nNow she herself drew nearer, but he felt as if his will was broken, and\nwith timid awe he drew back one step, and then another, till the chain\nstopped him.\n\nJust at that moment she paused, stretched out her white arm with a\nbeckoning gesture, and again turned towards the house, Heinz following\nbecause he could not help it, her sign drew him after her with magnetic\npower.\n\nNow Eva entered the dimly lighted corridor, and again her uplifted hand\nseemed to invite him to follow. Then--the impetuous throbbing of his\nheart almost stifled him--she set her little white foot on the first step\nof the stairs and led the way up to the first landing, where she paused,\nlifting her face to the open window, through which the moonbeams streamed\ninto the hall, flooding her head, her figure, and every surrounding\nobject with their soft light.\n\nHeinz followed step by step. It seemed as if the wild surges of a sea\nwere roaring in his ears, and glittering sparks were dancing before his\nyearning, watchful eyes.\n\nHow he loved her! How intense was the longing which drew him after her!\nAnd yet another emotion stirred in his heart with still greater\npower-grief, sincere grief, which pierced his in, most soul, that she\ncould have beckoned to him, permitted him to follow her, granted him what\nhe would never have ventured to ask. Nay, when he set his foot on the\nfirst step, it seemed as if the temple which contained his holiest\ntreasure fell crashing around him, and an inner voice cried loudly:\n\"Away, away from here! Would you exchange the purest and loftiest things\nfor what tomorrow will fill you with grief and loathing?\" it continued to\nadmonish. \"You will relinquish what is dearest and most sacred to secure\nwhat is ready to rush into your arms on all the high-roads.\n\n\"Hence, hence, you poor, deluded mortal, ere it is too late!\"\n\nBut even had he known it was the fair fiend Venus herself moving before\nhim under the guise of Eva, the spell of her unutterable beauty would\nhave constrained him to follow her, though the goal were the Horselberg,\ndeath, and hell.\n\nOn the second landing she again stood still and, leaning against a\npillar, raised her arms and extended them towards the moon, in whose\nsilvery light they gleamed like marble. Heinz saw her lips move, heard\nhis own name fall from them, and all self-control vanished.\n\n\"Eva!\" he cried with passionate fervor, holding out his arms to clasp\nher; but, ere he even touched her, a shriek of despairing anguish echoed\nloudly back from the walls.\n\nThe sound of her own name had broken the threads with which the\nmysterious power of the moonlight had drawn her from her couch, down\nthrough the house, out of doors, and again back to the stairs.\n\nSleep vanished with the dream which she had shared with him and,\nshuddering, she perceived where she was, saw the knight before her,\nbecame conscious that she had left her chamber in her night-robe, with\ndisordered hair and bare feet; and, frantic with horror at the thought of\nthe resistless might with which a mysterious force constrained her to\nobey it against her own will, deeply wounded by the painful feeling that\nshe had been led so far across the bounds of maidenly modesty, hurt and\nangered by the boldness of the man before her, who had dared to follow\nher into her parents' house, she again raised her voice, this time to\ncall her from whom she was accustomed to seek and find help in every\nsituation in life.\n\n\"Els! Els!\" rang up the stairs; and the next moment Els, who had already\nheard Eva's first scream, sprang down the few steps to her sister's side.\n\nOne glance at the trembling girl in her nightrobe, and at the moonlight\nwhich still bathed her in its rays, told Els what had drawn Eva to the\nstairs.\n\nThe knight must have slipped into the house and found her there. She knew\nhim and, before Heinz had time to collect his thoughts, she said\nsoothingly to her sister, who threw her arms around her as though seeking\nprotection, \"Go up to your room, child!--Help her, Katterle. I'll come\ndirectly.\"\n\nWhile Eva, leaning on the maid's arm, mounted the stairs with trembling\nknees, Els turned to the Swiss and said in a grave, resolute tone: \"If\nyou are worthy of your escutcheon, Sir Knight, you will not now fly like\na coward from this house across whose threshold you stole with shameful\ninsolence, but await me here until I return. You shall not be detained\nlong. But, to guard yourself and another from misinterpretation, you must\nhear me.\"\n\nHeinz nodded assent in silence, as if still under the spell of what he\nhad recently experienced. But, ere he reached the entry below, Martsche,\nthe old housekeeper, and Endres, the aged head packer, came towards him,\njust as they had risen from their beds, the former with a petticoat flung\nround her shoulders, the latter wrapped in a horse-blanket.\n\nEva's shriek had waked both, but Els enjoined silence on everyone and,\nafter telling them to go back to bed, said briefly that Eva in her\nsomnambulism had this time gone out into the street and been brought back\nby the knight. Finally, she again said to Heinz, \"Presently!\" and then\nwent to her sister.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nWhen Biberli bade farewell to his sweetheart, who gave him Eva's little\nnote, he had arranged to meet her again in an hour or, if his duties\ndetained him longer, in two; but after the \"true and steadfast\" fellow\nleft her, her heart throbbed more and more anxiously, for the wrong she\nhad done in acting as messenger between the young daughter of her\nemployers and a stranger knight was indeed hard to forgive.\n\nInstead of waiting in the kitchen or entry for her lover's return, as she\nhad intended, she had gone to the image of the Virgin at the gate of the\nConvent of St. Clare, before which she had often found consolation,\nespecially when homesick yearning for the mountains of her native\nSwitzerland pressed upon her too sorely. This time also it had been\ngracious to her, for after she had prayed very devoutly and vowed to give\na candle to the Mother of God, as well as to St. Clare, she fancied that\nthe image smiled upon her and promised that she should go unpunished.\n\nOn her return the knight had just followed Eva into the house, and\nBiberli pursued his master as far as the stairs. Here Katterle met her\nlover, but, when she learned what was occurring, she became greatly\nenraged and incensed by the base interpretation which the servant placed\nupon Eva's going out into the street and, terrified by the danger into\nwhich the knight threatened to plunge them all, she forgot the patience\nand submission she was accustomed to show the true and steadfast Biberli.\nBut--resolved to protect her young mistress from the presumptuous\nknight-scarcely had she angrily cried shame upon her lover for this base\nsuspicion, protesting that Eva had never gone to seek a knight but, as\nshe had often done on bright moonlight nights, walked in her sleep down\nthe stairs and out of doors, when the young girl's shriek of terror\nsummoned her to her aid.\n\nBiberli looked after her sullenly, meanwhile execrating bitterly enough\nthe wild love which had robbed his master of reason and threatened to\nhurl him, Biberli, and even the innocent Katterle, whose brave defence of\nher mistress had especially pleased him, into serious misfortune.\n\nWhen old Endres appeared he had slipped behind a wall formed of bales\nheaped one above another, and did not stir until the entry was quiet\nagain.\n\nTo his amazement he had then found his master standing beside the door of\nthe house, but his question--which, it is true, was not wholly devoid of\na shade of sarcasm--whether the knight was waiting for the return of his\nsleep-walking sweetheart, was so harshly rebuffed that he deemed it\nadvisable to keep silence for a time.\n\nThough Heinz Schorlin had perceived that he had followed an unconscious\nsomnambulist, he was not yet capable of calmly reflecting upon what had\noccurred or of regarding the future with prudence. He knew one thing\nonly: the fear was idle that the lovely creature whose image, surrounded\nby a halo of light, still hovered before him like a vision from a higher,\nmore beautiful world, was an unworthy person who, with a face of angelic\ninnocence, transgressed the laws of custom and modesty. Her shriek of\nterror, her horror at seeing him, and the cry for help which had brought\nher sister to her aid and roused the servants from their sleep, gave him\nthe right to esteem her as highly as ever; and this conviction fanned\ninto such a blaze the feeling of happiness which love had awakened and\nhis foolish distrust had already begun to stifle, that he was firmly\nresolved, cost what it might, to make Eva his own.\n\nAfter he had reached this determination he began to reflect more quietly.\nWhat cared he for liberty and a rapid advance in the career upon which he\nhad entered, if only his future life was beautified by her love!\n\nIf he were required to woo her in the usual form, he would do so. And\nwhat a charming yet resolute creature was the other E, who, in her\nanxiety about her sister, had crossed his path with such grave, firm\ndignity! She was Wolff Eysvogel's betrothed bride, and it seemed to him a\nvery pleasant thing to call the young man, whom he had so quickly learned\nto esteem, his brother-in-law.\n\nIf the father refused his daughter to him, he would leave Nuremberg and\nride to the Rhine, where Hartmann, the Emperor Rudolph's son, whom he\nloved like a younger brother, was now living. Heinz had instructed the\nlad of eighteen in the use of the lance and the sword, and Hartmann had\nsent him word the day before that the Rhine was beautiful, but without\nhim he but half enjoyed even the pleasantest things. He needed him.\nHundreds of other knights and squires could break in the new horses for\nthe Emperor and the young Bohemian princess, though perhaps not quite so\nskilfully. Hartmann would understand him and persuade his imperial father\nto aid him in his suit. The warmhearted youth could not bear to see him\nsorrowful, and without Eva there was no longer joy or happiness.\n\nHe was roused from these thoughts and dreams by his own name called in a\nlow tone.\n\nKatterle had gone with Eva to the chamber, whither the older sister\nfollowed them. Tenderly embracing the weeping girl, she had kissed her\nwet eyes and whispered in an agitated voice, with which, however, blended\na great deal of affectionate mischief: \"The wolf who forced his way into\nthe house does not seem quite so harmless as mine, whom I have succeeded\nin taming very tolerably. Go to mother now, darling. I'll be back\ndirectly.\"\n\n\"What do you intend to do?\" asked Eva timidly, still unable, under the\ninfluence of her strange experiences, to regain her self-control.\n\n\"To look around the house,\" replied her sister, beckoning to Katterle to\naccompany her.\n\nIn the entry she questioned the maid with stern decision, and the\ntrembling girl owned, amid her tears, that Eva had sent a little note to\nthe knight in reply to his request that she would name her colour, and\nwhatever else her anxious mistress desired hastily to learn.\n\nAfter a threatening \"We will discuss your outrageous conduct later,\" Els\nhurried down-stairs, and found in the entry the man whose pleasure in the\npursuit of the innocent child whom she protected she meant to spoil. But\nthough she expressed her indignation to the knight with the utmost\nharshness, he besought a hearing with so much respect and in such seemly\nwords, that she requested him, in a gentler tone, to speak freely. But\nscarcely had he begun to relate how Eva, at the ball, had filled his\nheart with the purest love, when the trampling of horses' hoofs, which\nhad come nearer and nearer to the house, suddenly ceased, and Biberli,\nwho had gone into the court-yard, came hurrying back, exclaiming in a\ntone of warning, \"The von Montforts!\"\n\nAt the same moment two men-servants threw back both leaves of the door,\ntorchlight mingled with the moonbeams in the courtyard, and the next\ninstant a goodly number of knights and gentlemen entered the hall.\n\nBiberli was not mistaken. The von Montforts had returned home, instead of\nspending the night at Kadolzburg, and neither Els nor the Swiss had the\ntime or disposition to seek concealment.\n\nThe intruders were preceded by men-servants, whose torches lighted the\nlong, lofty storehouse brilliantly. It seemed to Els as if her heart\nstopped beating and she felt her cheeks blanch.\n\nHere she beheld Count von Montfort's bronzed face, the countenance of a\nsportsman and reveller; yonder the frank, handsome features of the young\nBurgrave, Eitelfritz von Zollern, framed by the hood of the Knights of\nSt. John, drawn up during the night-ride; there the pale, noble visage of\nthe quiet knight Boemund Altrosen, far famed for his prowess with lance\nand sword; beyond, the scarred, martial countenance of Count Casper\nSchlick, set in a mass of tangled brown locks; and then the watery, blue\neyes of Sir Seitz Siebenburg, the husband of her future sister-in-law\nIsabella.\n\nThey had pressed in, talking eagerly, laughing, and rejoicing that the\nwild night ride proposed by Cordula von Montfort, which had led over dark\nforest paths, lighted only by a stray moonbeam, and often across fields\nand ditches and through streams, had ended without mischance to man or\nbeast.\n\nNow they all crowded around the countess, Seitz Siebenburg bending\ntowards her with such zeal that the ends of his huge mustache brushed the\nplumes in her cap, and Boemund Altrosen, who had just been gazing into\nthe flushed face of the daring girl with the warm joy of true love, cast\na look of menace at him.\n\nEls, too, greatly disliked \"the Mustache,\" as her future brother-in-law\nwas called because the huge ornament on his upper lip made him\nconspicuous among the beardless knights. She was aware that he returned\nthe feeling, and had left no means untried to incite Wolff Eysvogel's\nparents to oppose his betrothal. Now he was one of the first to notice\nher and, after whispering with a malicious smile to the countess and\nthose nearest to him, he looked at her so malevolently that she could\neasily guess what interpretation he was trying to put upon her nocturnal\nmeeting with the Swiss in the eyes of his companions.\n\nHer cheeks flamed with wrath, and like a flash of lightning came the\nthought of the pleasure it would afford this wanton company, whose\ngreatest delight was to gloat over the errors of their neighbours, if the\nknight who had brought her into this suspicious situation, or she\nherself, should confess that not she, but the devout Eva, had attracted\nHeinz hither. What a satisfaction it would be to this reckless throng to\ntell such a tale of a young girl of whom the Burgravine von Zollern had\nsaid the evening before to their Uncle Pfinzing, that purity and piety\nhad chosen Eva's lovely face for a mirror!\n\nWhat if Heinz Schorlin, to save her, Els, from evil report, should\nconfess that she was here only to rebuke his insolent intrusion into a\ndecorous household?\n\nThis must be prevented, and Heinz seemed to understand her; for after\ntheir eyes had met, his glance of helpless enquiry told her that he would\nleave her to find an escape from this labyrinth.\n\nThe merry party, who now perceived that they had interrupted the\nnocturnal tryst of lovers, did not instantly know what to do and, as one\nlooked enquiringly at another, an embarrassed silence followed their\nnoisy jollity.\n\nBut the hush did not last long, and its interruption at first seemed to\nEls to bode the worst result; it was a peal of gay, reckless laughter,\nringing from the lips of the very Cordula von Montfort, into whose eyes,\nas the only one of her own sex who was present, Els had just gazed with a\nlook imploring aid.\n\nHad Eva's aversion to the countess been justified, and was she about to\ntake advantage of her unpleasant position to jeer at her?\n\nHad the two quarreled at the ball the night before, and did Cordula now\nperceive an opportunity to punish the younger sister by the humiliation\nof the older one?\n\nYet her laugh sounded by no means spiteful--rather, very gay and natural.\nThe pleasant grey eyes sparkled with the most genuine mirth, and she\nclapped her little hands so joyously that the falcon's chain on the\ngauntlet of her riding glove rattled.\n\nAnd what was this?\n\nNo one looks at a person whom one desires to wound with an expression of\nsuch cheerful encouragement as the look with which Cordula now gazed at\nEls and Heinz Schorlin, who stood by her side. True, they were at first\nextremely perplexed by the words she now shouted to those around her in a\ntone of loud exultation, as though announcing a victory; but from the\nbeginning they felt that there was no evil purpose in them. Soon they\neven caught the real meaning of the countess's statement, and Els was\nashamed of having feared any injury from the girl whose defender she had\nalways been.\n\n\"Won, Sir Knight--cleverly won!\" was her first sentence to Heinz.\n\nThen, turning to Els, she asked with no less animation: \"And you, my fair\nmaid and very strict housemate, who has won the wager now? Do you still\nbelieve it is an inconceivable thought that the modest daughter of a\ndecorous Nuremberg race, entitled to enter the lists of a tourney, would\ngrant a young knight a midnight meeting?\" And addressing her companions,\nshe continued, in an explanatory yet still playful tone: \"She was ready\nto wager the beautiful brown locks which she now hides modestly under a\nkerchief, and even her betrothed lover's ring. It should be mine if I\nsucceeded in leading her to commit such an abominable deed. But I was\ncontent, if I won the wager, with a smaller forfeit; yet now that I have\ngained it, Jungfrau Ortlieb, you must pay!\"\n\nThe whole company listened in astonishment to this speech, which no one\nunderstood, but the countess, nodding mischievously to her nearest\nneighbours, went on:\n\n\"How bewildered you all look! It might tempt me to satisfy your curiosity\nless speedily, but, after the delightful entertainment you gave us, my\nLord Burgrave, one becomes merciful. So you shall hear how I, as wise as\nthe serpent, craftily forced this haughty knight\"--she tapped Heinz\nSchorlin's arm with her riding whip--\"and you, too, Jungfrau Ortlieb,\nwhose pardon I now entreat, to help me win the bet. No offence, noble\nsirs! But this bet was what compelled me to drag you all from Kadolzburg\nand its charms so early, and induce you to attend me on the reckless ride\nthrough the moonlit night. Now accept the thanks of a lady whose heart is\ngrateful; for your obedience helped me win the wager. Look yonder at my\nhandsome, submissive knight, Sir Heinz Schorlin, so rich in every virtue.\nI commanded, him, on pain of my anger, to meet me at midnight at the\nentrance of our quarters--that is, the entry of the Ortlieb mansion; and\nto this modest and happy betrothed bride (may she pardon the madcap!) I\nrepresented how it troubled me and wounded my timid delicacy to enter so\nlate at night, accompanied only by gentlemen, the house which so\nhospitably sheltered us, and go to my sleeping room, though I should not\nfear the Sultan and his mamelukes, if with this in my hand\"--she motioned\nto her riding whip--\"and my dear father at my side, I stood on my own\nfeet which, though by no means small, are well-shod and resolute. Yet, as\nwe are apt to measure others by our own standard, the timid, decorous\ngirl believed me, and poor Cordula, who indeed brought only her maids and\nno female guardian, and therefore must dispense with being received on\nher return by a lady capable of commanding respect, did not appeal in\nvain to the charitable feelings of her beautiful housemate. She promised\nfaithfully to come down into the entry, when the horses approached, to\nreceive the poor lamb, surrounded by lynxes, wild-cats, foxes, and\nwolves, and lead it into the safe fold--if one can call this stately\nhouse by such a name. Both Sir Heinz Schorlin and Jungfrau Elizabeth\nOrtlieb kept their word and joined each other here--to their extreme\namazement, I should suppose, as to my knowledge they never met before--to\nreceive me, and thus had an interview which, however loudly they may\ncontradict it, I call a nocturnal meeting. But my wager, fair child, is\nwon, and tomorrow you will deliver to me the exquisite carved ivory\ncasket, while I shall keep my bracelet.\"\n\nHere she paused, paying no heed to the merry threats, exclamations of\namazement, and laughter of her companions.\n\nBut while her father, striking his broad chest, cried again and again,\nwith rapturous delight, \"A paragon of a woman!\" and Seitz Siebenburg, in\nbitter disappointment, whispered, \"The fourteen saintly helpers in time\nof need might learn from you how to draw from the clamps what is not\nworth rescue and probably despaired of escape,\" she was trying to give\ntime to recover more composure her young hostess, to whom she was\nsincerely attached, and who, she felt sure, could have met Heinz\nSchorlin, who perhaps had come hither on her own account, only by some\ncruel chance. So she added in a quieter tone: \"And now, Jungfrau Ortlieb,\nin sober earnest I will ask your protection and guidance through the dark\nhouse, and meanwhile you shall tell me how Sir Heinz greeted you and what\npassed between you, either good or bad, during the time of waiting.\"\n\nEls summoned up her courage and answered loud enough to be heard by all\npresent: \"We were speaking of you, Countess Cordula, and the knight said:\n\n\"I ventured to remark, Countess,\" said Heinz, interrupting the new ally,\n\"that though you might understand how to show a poor knight his folly, no\nkinder heart than yours throbbed under any bodice in Switzerland, Swabia,\nor France.\" Cordula struck him lightly on the shoulder with her riding\nwhip, saying with a laugh: \"Who permits you to peep under women's bodices\nthrough so wide a tract of country, you scamp? Had I been in Jungfrau\nOrtlieb's place I should have punished your entry into a respectable\nhouse:\n\n\"Oh, my dear Countess,\" Heinz interrupted, and his words bore so\ndistinctly the stamp of truth and actual experience that even Sir Seitz\nSiebenburg was puzzled, \"though I am always disposed to be grateful to\nyou, I cannot feel a sense of obligation for this lady's reception of me,\neven to the most gracious benefactress. For, by my patron saint, she\nforbade me the house as if I were a thief and a burglar.\"\n\n\"And she was right!\" exclaimed the countess. \"I would have treated you\nstill more harshly. Only you would have spared yourself many a sharp word\nhad you confessed at once that it was I who summoned you here. I'll talk\nwith you tomorrow, and am I not right, Jungfrau Elsyou won't make him\nsuffer for losing the wager, but exercise your domestic authority after a\nmore gentle fashion?\"\n\nWhile speaking, she looked at Els with a glance so full of meaning that\nthe young girl's cheeks crimsoned, and the longing to put an end to this\ndeceitful game became almost uncontrollable. The thought of Eva alone\nsealed her lips.\n\n\n\n\nIN THE FIRE OF THE FORGE\n\nA ROMANCE OF OLD NUREMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nOne person only besides Sir Seitz Siebenburg had not been deceived--the\nyoung knight Boemund Altrosen, whose love for Cordula was genuine, and\nwho, by its unerring instinct, felt that she had invented her tale and\nfor a purpose which did honour to her kindness of heart. So his calm\nblack eyes rested upon the woman he loved with proud delight, while Seitz\nSiebenburg twisted his mustache fiercely. Not a look or movement of\neither of the two girls had escaped his notice, and Cordula's bold\ninterference in behalf of the reckless Swiss knight, who now seemed to\nhave ensnared his future sister-in-law also, increased the envy and\njealousy which tortured him until he was forced to exert the utmost\nself-restraint in order not to tell the countess to her face that he, at\nleast, was far from being deceived by such a fable. Yet he succeeded in\ncontrolling himself. But as he forced his lips to silence he gazed with\nthe most open scorn at the bales of merchandise heaped around him. He\nwould show the others that, though the husband of a merchant's daughter,\nhe retained the prejudices of his knightly rank.\n\nBut no one heeded the disagreeable fellow, who had no intimate friends in\nthe group. Most of the company were pressing round Heinz Schorlin with\njests and questions, but bluff Count von Montfort warmly clasped Els's\nhand, while he apologised for the bold jest of his young daughter who, in\nspite of her recklessness, meant kindly.\n\nNothing could have been more unwelcome to a girl in so unpleasant a\nsituation than this delay. She longed most ardently to get away but, ere\nshe succeeded in escaping from the friendly old noble, two gentlemen\nhastily entered the brightly lighted entry, at sight of whom her heart\nseemed to stop beating.\n\nThe old count, who noticed her blanched face, released her, asking\nsympathisingly what troubled her, but Els did not hear him.\n\nWhen she felt him loose her hand she would fain have fled up the stairs\nto her mother and sister, to avoid the discussions which must now follow.\nBut she knew into what violent outbursts of sudden anger her usually\nprudent father could be hurried if there was no one at hand to warn him.\n\nThere he stood in the doorway, his stern, gloomy expression forming a\nstrange contrast to the merry party who had entered in such a jovial\nmood.\n\nHis companion, Herr Casper Eysvogel, had already noticed his future\ndaughter-in-law, recognised her by an amazed shrug of the shoulders which\nwas anything but a friendly greeting, and now eyed the excited revellers\nwith a look as grave and repellent as that of the owner of the house.\nHerr Casper's unusual height permitted him to gaze over the heads of the\nparty though, with the exception of Count von Montfort, they were all\ntall, nay, remarkably tall men, and the delicacy of his clear-cut,\npallid, beardless face had never seemed to Els handsomer or more\nsinister. True, he was the father of her Wolff, but the son resembled\nthis cold-hearted man only in his unusual stature, and a chill ran\nthrough her veins as she felt the stately old merchant's blue eyes, still\nkeen and glittering, rest upon her.\n\nOn the day of her betrothal she had rushed into his arms with a warm and\ngrateful heart, and he had kissed her, as custom dictated; but it was\ndone in a strange way--his thin, well-cut lips had barely brushed her\nbrow. Then he stepped back and turned to his wife with the low command,\n\"It is your turn now, Rosalinde.\" Her future mother-in-law rose quickly,\nand doubtless intended to embrace her affectionately, but a loud cough\nfrom her own mother seemed to check her, for ere she opened her arms to\nEls she turned to her and excused her act by the words, \"He wishes it.\"\nYet Els was finally clasped in Frau Rosalinde's arms and kissed more\nwarmly than--from what had previously occurred--she had expected.\n\nWolff's grandmother, old Countess Rotterbach, who rarely left the huge\ngilt armchair in her daughter's sitting-room, had watched the whole scene\nwith a scornful smile; then, thrusting her prominent chin still farther\nforward, she said to her daughter, loud enough for Els to hear, \"This\ninto the bargain?\"\n\nAll these things returned to the young girl's memory as she gazed at the\ncold, statuesque face of her lover's father. It seemed as if he held his\ntall, noble figure more haughtily erect than usual, and that his plain\ndark garments were of richer material and more faultless cut than ever;\nnay, she even fancied that, like the lion, which crouches and strains\nevery muscle ere it springs upon its victim, he was summoning all his\npride and sternness to crush her.\n\nEls was innocent; nay, the motive which had brought her here to defend\nher sister could not fail to be approved by every well-disposed person,\nand certainly not last by her father, and it would have suited her\ntruthful nature to contradict openly Countess Cordula's friendly\nfalsehood had not her dread of fatally exposing Eva imposed silence.\n\nHow her father's cheeks glowed already! With increasing anxiety, she\nattributed it to the indignation which overpowered him, yet he was only\nheated by the haste with which, accompanied by his future son-in-law's\nfather, he had rushed here from the Frauenthor as fast as his feet would\ncarry him. Casper Eysvogel had also attended the Vorchtel entertainment\nand accompanied Ernst Ortlieb into the street to discuss some business\nmatters.\n\nHe intended to persuade him to advance the capital for which he had just\nvainly asked Herr Vorchtel. He stood in most urgent need for the next few\ndays of this great sum, of which his son and business partner must have\nno knowledge, and at first Wolff Eysvogel's future father-in-law saw no\nreason to refuse. But Herr Ernst was a cautious man, and when his\ncompanion imposed the condition that his son should be kept in ignorance\nof the loan, he was puzzled. He wished to learn why the business partner\nshould not know what must be recorded in the books of the house; but\nCasper Eysvogel needed this capital to silence the Jew Pfefferkorn, from\nwhom he had secretly borrowed large sums to conceal the heavy losses\nsustained in Venice the year before at the gaming table.\n\nAt first courteously, then with rising anger, he evaded the questions of\nthe business man, and his manner of doing so, with the little\ncontradictions in which the arrogant man, unaccustomed to falsehood,\ninvolved himself, showed Herr Ernst that all was not as it should be.\n\nBy the time they reached the Frauenthor, he had told Casper Eysvogel\npositively that he would not fulfil the request until Wolff was informed\nof the matter.\n\nThen the sorely pressed man perceived that nothing but a frank confession\ncould lead him to his goal. But what an advantage it would give his\ncompanion, what a humiliation it would impose upon himself! He could not\nforce his lips to utter it, but resolved to venture a last essay by\nappealing to the father, instead of to the business man; and therefore,\nwith the haughty, condescending manner natural to him, he asked Herr\nErnst, as if it were his final word, whether he had considered that his\nrefusal of a request, which twenty other men would deem it an honour to\nfulfil, might give their relations a form very undesirable both to his\ndaughter and himself?\n\n\"No, I did not suppose that a necessity,\" replied his companion firmly,\nand then added in an irritated tone: \"But if you need the loan so much\nthat you require for your son a father-in-law who will advance it to you\nmore readily, why, then, Herr Casper--\"\n\nHere he paused abruptly. A flood of light streamed into the street from\nthe doorway of the Ortlieb house. It must be a fire, and with the\nstartled cry, \"St. Florian aid us! my entry is burning!\" he rushed\nforward with his companion to the endangered house so quickly that the\ntorchbearers, who even in this bright night did good service in the\nnarrow streets, whose lofty houses barred out the moonlight, could\nscarcely follow.\n\nThus Herr Ernst, far more anxious about his invalid, helpless wife than\nhis imperilled wares, soon reached his own door. His companion crossed\nthe threshold close behind him, sullen, deeply incensed, and determined\nto order his son to choose between his love and favour and the daughter\nof this unfriendly man, whom only a sudden accident had prevented from\nbreaking the betrothal.\n\nThe sight of so many torches blazing here was an exasperating spectacle\nto Ernst Ortlieb, who with wise caution and love of order insisted that\nnothing but lanterns should be used to light his house, which contained\ninflammable wares of great value; but other things disturbed his\ncomposure, already wavering, to an even greater degree.\n\nWhat was his Els doing at this hour among these gentlemen, all of whom\nwere strangers?\n\nWithout heeding them or the countess, he was hastening towards her to\nobtain a solution of this enigma, but the young Burgrave Eitelfritz von\nZollern, the Knight of Altrosen, Cordula von Montfort, and others barred\nhis way by greeting him and eagerly entreating him to pardon their\nintrusion at so late an hour.\n\nHaving no alternative, he curtly assented, and was somewhat soothed as he\nsaw old Count von Montfort, who was still standing beside Els, engaged in\nan animated conversation with her. His daughter's presence was probably\ndue to that of the guests quartered in his home, especially Cordula,\nwhom, since she disturbed the peace of his quiet household night after\nnight, he regarded as the personification of restlessness and reckless\nfreedom. He would have preferred to pass her unnoticed, but she had clung\nto his arm and was trying, with coaxing graciousness, to soften his\nindignation by gaily relating how she had come here and what had detained\nher and her companions. But Ernst Ortlieb, who would usually have been\nvery susceptible to such an advance from a young and aristocratic lady,\ncould not now succeed in smoothing his brow. In his excitement he was not\neven able to grasp the meaning of the story she related merrily, though\nwith well-feigned contrition. While listening to her with one ear, he was\nstraining the other to catch what Sir Seitz Siebenburg was saying to his\nfather-in-law, Casper Eysvogel.\n\nHe gathered from Countess Cordula's account that she had succeeded in\nplaying some bold prank in connection with Els and the Swiss knight Heinz\nSchorlin, and the words \"the Mustache\" was whispering to his\nfather-in-law-the direction of his glance betrayed it--also referred to\nEls and the Swiss. But the less Herr Ernst heard of this conversation the\nmore painfully it excited his already perturbed spirit.\n\nSuddenly his pleasant features, which, on account of the lady at his\nside, he had hitherto forced to wear a gracious aspect, assumed an\nexpression which filled the reckless countess with grave anxiety, and\nurged the terrified Els, who had not turned her eyes from him, to a hasty\nresolution. That was her father's look when on the point of an outbreak\nof fury, and at this hour, surrounded by these people, he must not allow\nhimself to yield to rage; he must maintain a tolerable degree of\ncomposure.\n\nWithout heeding the young Burgrave Eitelfritz or Sir Boemund Altrosen,\nwho were just approaching her, she forced her way nearer to her father,\nHe still maintained his self-control, but already the veins on his brow\nhad swollen and his short figure was rigidly erect. The cause of his\nexcitement--she had noticed it--was some word uttered by Seitz\nSiebenburg. Her father was the only person who had understood it, but she\nwas not mistaken in the conjecture that it referred to her and the Swiss\nknight, and she believed it to be base and spiteful.\n\nIn fact, after his father-in-law had told him that Ernst Ortlieb thought\nhis house was on fire, \"the Mustache,\" in reply to Herr Casper's enquiry\nhow his son's betrothed bride happened to be there, answered scornfully:\n\"Els? She did not hasten hither, like the old man, to put the fire out,\nbut because one flame was not enough for her. Wolff must know it\nto-morrow. By day the slender little flame of honourable betrothed love\nflickers for him; by night it blazes more brightly for yonder Swiss\nscoundrel. And the young lady chooses for the scene of this toying with\nfire the easily ignited warehouse of her own father!\"\n\n\"I will secure mine against such risks,\" Casper Eysvogel answered; then,\ncasting a contemptuous glance at Els and a wrathful one at the Swiss\nknight, he added with angry resolution: \"It is not yet too late. So long\nas I am myself no one shall bring peril and disgrace upon my house and my\nson.\"\n\nThen Herr Ernst had suddenly become aware of the suspicion with which his\nbeautiful, brave, self-sacrificing child was regarded. Pale as death, he\nstruggled for composure, and when his eyes met the imploring gaze of the\nbasely defamed girl, he said to himself that he must maintain his\nself-control in order not to afford the frivolous revellers who\nsurrounded him an entertaining spectacle.\n\nWolff was dear to him, but before he would have led his Els to the house\nwhere the miserable \"Mustache\" lived, and whose head was the coldhearted,\ngloomy man whose words had just struck him like a poisoned arrow, he,\nwhom the Lord had bereft of his beloved, gallant son, would have been\nready to deprive himself of his daughters also and take both to the\nconvent. Eva longed to go, and Els might find there a new and beautiful\nhappiness, like his sister, the Abbess Kunigunde. In the Eysvogel house,\nnever!\n\nDuring these hasty reflections Els extended her hand toward him, and the\nshining gold circlet which her lover had placed on her ring finger\nglittered in the torchlight. A thought darted through his brain with the\nspeed of lightning, and without hesitation he drew the ring from the hand\nof his astonished daughter, whispering curtly, yet tenderly, in reply to\nher anxious cry, \"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"Trust me, child.\"\n\nThen hastily approaching Casper Eysvogel, he beckoned to him to move a\nlittle aside from the group.\n\nThe other followed, believing that Herr Ernst would now promise the sum\nrequested, yet firmly resolved, much as he needed it, to refuse.\n\nErnst Ortlieb, however, made no allusion to business matters, but with a\nswift gesture handed him the ring which united their two children. Then,\nafter a rapid glance around had assured him that no one had followed\nthem, he whispered to Herr Casper: \"Tell your Wolff that he was, and\nwould have remained, dear to us; but my daughter seems to me too good for\nhis father's house and for kindred who fear that she will bring injury\nand shame upon them. Your wish is fulfilled. I hereby break the\nbetrothal.\"\n\n\"And, in so doing, you only anticipate the step which I intended to take\nwith more cogent motives,\" replied Casper Eysvogel with cool composure,\nshrugging his shoulders contemptuously. \"The city will judge to-morrow\nwhich of the two parties was compelled to sever a bond sacred in the\nsight of God and men. Unfortunately, it is impossible for me to give your\ndaughter the good opinion you cherish of my son.\"\n\nDrawing his stately figure to its full height as he spoke, he gazed at\nhis diminutive adversary with a look of haughty contempt and, without\nvouchsafing a word in farewell, turned his back upon him.\n\nRepressed fury was seething in Ernst Ortlieb's breast, and he would\nscarcely have succeeded in controlling himself longer but for the\nconsolation afforded by the thought that every tie was sundered between\nhis daughter and this cold, arrogant, unjust man and his haughty, evil\ndisposed kindred. But when he again looked for the daughter on whom his\nhasty act had doubtless inflicted a severe blow, she was no longer\nvisible.\n\nDirectly after he took the ring she had glided silently, unnoticed by\nmost of the company, up the stairs to the second story. Cordula von\nMontfort told him this in a low tone.\n\nEls had made no answer to her questions, but her imploring, tearful eyes\npierced the young countess to the heart. Her quick ear had caught\nSiebenburg's malicious words and Casper Eysvogel's harsh response and,\nwith deep pity, she felt how keenly the poor girl must suffer.\n\nThe happiness of a whole life destroyed without any fault of her own!\nFrom their first meeting Els had seemed to her incapable of any careless\nerror, and she had merely tried, by her bold, interference, to protect\nher from the gossip of evil tongues. But Heinz Schorlin had just\napproached and whispered that, by his knightly honour, Els was a total\nstranger to him, and he only wished he might find his own dear sister at\nhome as pure and free from any fault.\n\nPoor child! But the countess knew who had frustrated her intervention in\nbehalf of Els. It was Sir Seitz Siebenburg, \"the Mustache,\" whose\nofficious homage, at first amusing, had long since become repulsive. Her\nheart shrank from the thought that, merely from vain pleasure in having a\nthrong of admirers, she had given this scoundrel more than one glance of\nencouragement. The riding whip fairly quivered in her right hand as,\nafter informing Ernst Ortlieb where Els had gone, she warned the\ngentlemen that it was time to depart, and Seitz Siebenburg submissively,\nyet as familiarly as if he had a right to her special favour, held out\nhis hand in farewell.\n\nBut Countess Cordula withdrew hers with visible dislike, saying in a tone\nof chilling repulse: \"Remember me to your wife, Sir Knight. Tell her to\ntake care that her twin sons resemble their father as little as\npossible.\"\n\n\"Then you want to have two ardent admirers the less?\" asked Siebenburg\ngaily, supposing that the countess's remark was a jest.\n\nBut when she did not, as he expected, give these insulting words an\ninterpretation favourable to him, but merely shrugged her shoulders\nscornfully, he added, glancing fiercely at the Swiss knight:\n\n\"True, you would doubtless be better pleased should the boys grow up to\nresemble the lucky Sir Heinz Schorlin, for whose sake you proved yourself\nthe inventor of tales more marvellous, if not more credible, than the\nmost skilful travelling minstrel.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" replied the countess with contemptuous brevity. \"But I\nshould be satisfied if the twins--and this agrees with my first wish\nshould grow up honest men. If you should pay me the honour of a visit\nduring the next few days, Sir Seitz, I could not receive it.\"\n\nWith these words she turned away, paying no further heed to him, though\nhe called her name aloud, as if half frantic.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nIt was after midnight when the servants closed the heavy door of the\nOrtlieb mansion. The late guests had left it, mounted their horses, and\nridden away together through the Frauenthor into the city.\n\nThe moon no longer lighted their way. A sultry wind had swept from the\nsouthwest masses of grey clouds, which constantly grew denser and darker.\nHeinz Schorlin did not notice it, but his follower, Biberli, called his\nattention to the rising storm and entreated him to choose the nearest\nroad to the city. To remain outside the gate in such darkness would be\nuncomfortable, nay, perhaps not without peril, but the knight merely\nflung him the peevish answer, \"So much the better,\" and, to Biberli's\nsurprise, turned into St. Klarengasse, which brought him by no means\nnearer to his distant lodgings in the Bindergasse.\n\nIt was unfortunate to be warmly devoted to a master who had no fear, whom\nhe was obliged to serve as a messenger of love, and who now probably\nscarcely knew himself whither this love would lead him.\n\nBut true and steadfast Biberli would really have followed Sir Heinz, not\nonly in a dangerous nocturnal ramble, but through all the terrors of.\nhell. So he only glanced down at his long, lean legs, which would be\nexposed here to the bites of the dogs, with whom he stood on especially\nbad terms, raised his long robe higher, as the paths over which they must\npass were of doubtful cleanliness, and deemed it a good omen when his\nfoot struck against a stout stick, which his patron saint had perhaps\nthrown in his way as a weapon. Its possession was somewhat soothing, it\nis true, yet he did not regain the pleasant consciousness of peace in\nwhich his soul had rejoiced a few short hours before.\n\nHe knew what to expect from the irritable mood into which recent events\nappeared to have thrown his master. Heinz usually soon forgot any such\ntrivial disappointment, but the difficulty threatening himself and\nKatterle was far worse--nay, might even assume terrible proportions.\n\nThese alarming thoughts made him sigh so deeply that Heinz turned towards\nhim.\n\nHe would gladly have relieved his own troubled breast in the same way.\nNever before had the soul of this light-hearted child of good fortune\nserved as the arena for so fierce a struggle of contending emotions.\n\nHe loved Eva, and the image of her white, supernaturally beautiful\nfigure, flooded by the moonlight, still stood before him as distinctly as\nwhen, after her disappearance, he had resolved to plead his suit for her\nto her sister; but the usually reckless fellow asked himself, shuddering,\nwhat would have happened had he obeyed Eva's summons and been found with\nher, as he had just been surprised with her sister. She was not wholly\nfree from guilt, for her note had really contained an invitation to a\nmeeting; yet she escaped. But his needless impetuosity and her sudden\nappearance before the house had placed her modest, charming sister, the\nbetrothed bride of the gallant fellow who had fought with him in the\nMarchfield, in danger of being misunderstood and despised. If the finger\nof scorn were pointed at her, if a stain rested on her fair fame, the\naustere Wolff Eysvogel would hardly desire to make her his wife, and then\nthis also would be his fault.\n\nHis kind, honest heart suffered keenly under these self-accusations, the\nfirst which he had ever heeded.\n\nHitherto the volatile young fellow, who had often gaily risked his life\nin battle and his last penny at the gaming table, had never thought of\nseriously examining his own soul, battling by his own strength of will\nagainst some secret longing and shunning its cause. On the contrary, from\nchildhood he had accustomed himself to rely on the protection and aid of\nthe Virgin and the saints; and when they passed the image with the\never-burning lamp, where Katterle had just sought and found consolation,\nhe implored it not to let his bold intrusion into the home of the maiden\nhe loved bring evil upon her and her sister. He also vowed to the convent\nand its saint--which, come what might, should also be his--a rich gift\nwhenever the Emperor or the gaming table again filled his purse.\n\nThe thought of being burdened his whole life long with the reproach of\nhaving made two such charming, innocent creatures miserable seemed\nunendurable. He would gladly have given gold and blood to remove it.\n\nIt was too late that day, but he resolved to go to the confessional on\nthe morrow, for absolution had always relieved and lightened his heart.\nBut how trivial his errors had been! True, the wrong he had now committed\nwas not a mortal sin, and would hardly impose a severe penance upon him,\nyet it burdened him like the most infamous crime. He did not understand\nhimself, and often wondered why he, reckless Heinz, thus made a mountain\nout of a molehill. Yet when, after this reflection, he uttered a sigh of\nrelief, it seemed as if a voice within commanded him not to think lightly\nof what had passed, for on that evening he had ceased to bestow pleasure\non every one, and instead of, as usual, being helpful and agreeable, he\nhad plunged others who had done him no wrong--nay, perhaps a whole\nhousehold, whose daughter had given him the first love of her young\nheart-into misery and disgrace. Had he considered the consequences of his\nact, he would still be merry Heinz. Then he remembered how, when a boy,\nplaying with other lads high up among the mountains just as it was\nbeginning to thaw, he had hurled the work they had finished with so much\ntoil, a snow man, down the slope, rejoicing with his playfellows over its\nswift descent towards the valley, until they noticed with what frightful\nspeed its bulk increased as it sped over its snowy road, till at last,\nlike a terrible avalanche, it swept away a herdsman's hut--fortunately an\nempty one. Now, also, his heedlessness had set in motion a mass which\nconstantly rolled onward, and how terrible might be the harm it would do!\n\nIf Hartmann, the Emperor's son, were only there! He confided everything\nto him, for he was sure of his silence. Both his duty as a knight and his\nconscience forbade him to relate his experiences and ask counsel from any\none else.\n\nHe was still absorbed in these gloomy thoughts when, just before reaching\nthe Walch, he heard Biberli's deep sigh. Here, behind and beside the\nframes of the cloth weavers, stood the tents before which the followers\nand soldiers of the princes and dignitaries who had come to the Reichstag\nwere still sitting around the camp fire, carousing and laughing.\n\nAny interruption was welcome to him, and to Biberli it seemed like a\ndeliverance to be permitted to use his poor endangered tongue, for his\nmaster had asked what grief oppressed him.\n\n\"If you desired to know what trouble did not burden my soul I could find\na speedier answer,\" replied Biberli piteously. \"Oh, this night, my lord!\nWhat has it not brought upon us and others! Look at the black clouds\nrising in the south. They are like the dark days impending over us poor\nmortals.\"\n\nThen he confided to Heinz his fears for himself and Katterle. The\nknight's assurance that he would intercede for him and, if necessary,\neven appeal to the Emperor's favour, somewhat cheered his servitor's\ndrooping spirits, it is true, but by no means restored his composure, and\nhis tone was lugubrious enough as he went on:\n\n\"And the poor innocent girl in the Ortlieb house! Your little lady, my\nlord, broke the bread she must now eat herself, but the other, the older\nE.\"\n\n\"I know,\" interrupted the knight sorrowfully. \"But if the gracious Virgin\naids us, they will continue to believe in the wager Cordula von\nMontfort----\"\n\n\"She! she!\" Biberli exclaimed, enthusiastically waving his stick aloft.\n\"The Lord created her in a good hour. Such a heart! Such friendly\nkindness! And to think that she interposed so graciously for you--you,\nSir Heinz, to whom she showed the favour of combing your locks, as if you\nwere already her promised husband, and who afterwards, for another's\nsake, left her at the ball as if she wore a fern cap and had become\ninvisible. I saw the whole from the musician's gallery. True, the\nsomnambulist is marvellously beautiful.\"\n\nBut the knight interrupted him by exclaiming so vehemently: \"Silence!\"\nthat he paused.\n\nBoth walked on without speaking for some distance ere Heinz began again:\n\n\"Even though I live to grow old and grey, never shall I behold aught more\nbeautiful than the vision of that white-robed girlish figure on the\nstairs.\"\n\nTrue and steadfast Biberli sighed faintly. Love for Eva Ortlieb held his\nmaster as if in a vise; but a Schorlin seemed to him far too good a match\nfor a Nuremberg maiden who had grown up among sacks of pepper and chests\nof goods and, moreover, was a somnambulist. He looked higher for his\nHeinz, and had already found the right match for him. So, turning to him\nagain, he said earnestly:\n\n\"Drive the bewitching vision from your mind, Sir Heinz. You don't\nknow--but I could tell you some tales about women who walk in their sleep\nby moonlight.\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked Heinz eagerly.\n\n\"As a maiden,\" Biberli continued impressively, with the pious intention\nof guarding his master from injury, \"the somnambulist merely runs the\nrisk of falling from the roof, or whatever accident may happen to a\nsleepwalker; but if she enters the estate of holy matrimony, the evil\npower which has dominion over her sooner or later transforms her at\nmidnight into a troll, which seizes her husband's throat in his sleep and\nstrangles him.\"\n\n\"Nursery tales!\" cried Heinz angrily, but Biberli answered calmly:\n\n\"It can make no difference to you what occurs in the case of such\npossessed women, for henceforward the Ortlieb house will be closed\nagainst you. And--begging your pardon--it is fortunate. For, my lord, the\nhorse mounted by the first Schorlin--the chaplain showed it to you in the\npicture--came from the ark in which Noah saved it with the other animals\nfrom the deluge, and the first Lady Schorlin whom the family chronicles\nmention was a countess. Your ancestresses came from citadels and castles;\nno Schorlin ever yet brought his bride from a tradesman's house. You, the\nproudest of them all, will scarcely think of making such an error, though\nit is true--\"\n\n\"Ernst Ortlieb, spite of his trade, is a man of knightly lineage, to whom\nthe king of arms opens the lists at every tournament!\" exclaimed Heinz\nindignantly.\n\n\"In the combat with blunt weapons,\" replied Biberli contemptuously.\n\n\"Nay, for the jousts and single combat,\" cried Heinz excitedly. \"The\nEmperor Frederick himself dubbed Herr Ernst a knight.\"\n\n\"You know best,\" replied Biberli modestly. But his coat of arms, like his\nentry, smells of cloves and pepper. Here is another, however, who, like\nyour first ancestress, has a countess's title, and who has a right--My\nname isn't Biberli if your lady mother at home would not be more than\nhappy were I to inform her that the Countess von Montfort and the darling\nof her heart, which you are:\n\n\"The name of Montfort and what goes with it,\" Heinz interrupted, \"would\nsurely please those at home. But the rest! Where could a girl be found\nwho, setting aside Cordula's kind heart, would be so great a contrast to\nmy mother in every respect?\"\n\n\"Stormy mornings merge into quiet days,\" said the servant. \"Everything\ndepends, my lord, upon the heart of which you speak so slightingly--the\nheart and, even above that, upon the blood. 'Help is needed there,' cried\nthe kind heart just now, and then the blood did its 'devoir'. The act\nfollowed the desire as the sound follows the blow of the hammer, the\nthunder the flash of lightning. Well for the castle that is ruled by such\na mistress! I am only the servant, and respect commands me to curb my\ntongue; but to-day I had news from home through the Provost Werner, of\nLucerne, whom I knew at Stansstadt. I meant to tell you of it over the\nwine at the Thirsty Troopers, but that accursed note and the misfortune\nwhich followed prevented. It will not make either of us more cheerful,\nbut whoever is ordered by the leech to drink gall and wormwood does\nwisely to swallow the dose at one gulp. Do you wish to empty the cup\nnow?\"\n\nThe knight nodded assent, and Biberli went on. \"Home affairs are not\ngoing as they ought. Though your uncle's hair is already grey, the\nknightly blood in his veins makes him grasp the sword too quickly. The\nquarrel about the bridge-toll has broken out again more violently than\never. The townsfolk drove off our cattle as security and, by way of\npunishment, your uncle seized the goods of their merchants, and they came\nto blows. True, the Schorlin retainers forced back the men from town with\nbloody heads, but if the feud lasts much longer we cannot hold out, for\nthe others have the money, and since the war cry has sounded less\nfrequently there has been no lack of men at arms who will serve any one\nwho pays. Besides, the townsfolk can appeal to the treaty of peace, and\nif your uncle continues to seize the merchant's wares they will apply to\nthe imperial magistrate, and then:\n\n\"Then,\" cried Heinz eagerly, \"then the time will have come for me to\nleave the court and return home to look after my rights.\"\n\n\"A single arm, no matter how strong it may be, can avail nothing there,\nmy lord,\" Biberli protested earnestly. \"Your Uncle Ramsweg has scarcely\nhis peer as a leader, but even were it not so you could not bring\nyourself to send the old man home and put yourself in his place. Besides,\nit would be as unwise as it is unjust. What is lacking at home is money\nto pay the town what it demands for the use of the bridge, or to increase\nthe number of your men, and therefore:\n\n\"Well?\" asked Heinz eagerly.\n\n\"Therefore seek the Countess von Montfort, who favours you above every\none else,\" was the reply; \"for with her all you need will be yours\nwithout effort. Her dowry will suffice to settle twenty such bridge dues,\nand if it should come to a fray, the brave huntress will ride to the\nfield at your side with helmet and spear. Which of the four Fs did\nCountess Cordula von Montfort ever lack?\"\n\n\"The four Fs?\" asked Heinz, listening intently. \"The Fs,\" explained the\nex-pedagogue, \"are the four letters which marriageable knights should\nconsider. They are: Family, figure, favour, and fortune. But hold your\ncap on! What a hot blast this is, as if the storm were coming straight\nfrom the jaws of hell. And the dust! Where did all these withered leaves\ncome from in the month of June? They are whirling about as if the foliage\nhad already fallen. There are big raindrops driving into my face too\nB-r-r! You need all four Fs. No rain will wash a single one of them away,\nand I hope it won't efface the least word of my speech either. What,\naccording to human foresight, could be lacking to secure the fairest\nhappiness, if you and the countess--\"\n\n\"Love,\" replied Heinz Schorlin curtly.\n\n\"That will come of itself,\" cried Biberli, as if sure of what he was\nsaying, \"if the bride is Countess Cordula.\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" answered the knight, \"but the heart must not be filled by\nanother's image.\"\n\nHere he paused, for in the darkness he had stumbled into the ditch by the\nroad.\n\nThe whirlwind which preceded the bursting of the storm blew such clouds\nof dust and everything it contained into their faces that it was\ndifficult to advance. But Biberli was glad, for he had not yet found a\nfitting answer. He struggled silently on beside his master against the\nwind, until it suddenly subsided, and a violent storm of rain streamed in\nbig warm drops on the thirsty earth and the belated pedestrians. Then,\nspite of Heinz's protestations, Biberli hurriedly snatched the long robe\nembroidered with the St from his shoulders and threw it over his master,\ndeclaring that his shirt was as safe from injury as his skin, but the\nrain would ruin the knight's delicate embroidered doublet.\n\nThen he drew over his head the hood which hung from his coat, and\nmeanwhile must have decided upon an answer, for as soon as they moved on\nhe began again: \"You must drive your love for the beautiful sleepwalker\nout of your mind. Try to do so, my dear, dear master, for the sake of\nyour lady mother, your young sister who will soon be old enough to marry,\nour light-hearted Maria, and the good old castle. For your own happiness,\nyour lofty career, which began so gloriously, you must hear me! O master,\nmy dear master, tear from your heart the image of the little Nuremberg\nwitch, tempting though it is, I admit. The wound will bleed for a brief\ntime, but after so much mirthful pleasure a fleeting disappointment in\nlove, I should think, would not be too hard to bear if it will be\nspeedily followed by the fairest and most enduring happiness.\"\n\nHere a flash of lightning, which illumined the hospital door close before\nthem, and made every surrounding object as bright as day, interrupted the\naffectionate entreaty of the faithful fellow, and at the same time a\ntremendous peal of thunder crashed and rattled through the air.\n\nMaster and servant crossed themselves, but Heinz exclaimed:\n\n\"That struck the tower yonder. A little farther to the left, and all\ndoubts and misgivings would have been ended.\"\n\n\"You can say that!\" exclaimed Biberli reproachfully while passing with\nhis master through the gate which had just been opened for an imperial\nmessenger. \"And you dare to make such a speech in the midst of this\nheavenly wrath! For the sake of a pair of lovely eyes you are ready to\nexecrate a life which the saints have so blessed with every gift that\nthousands and tens of thousands would not give it up from sheer gratitude\nand joy, even if it were not a blasphemous crime!\"\n\nAgain the lightning and thunder drowned his words. Biberli's heart\ntrembled, and muttering prayers beseeching protection from the avenging\nhand above, he walked swiftly onward till they reached the Corn Market.\nHere they were again stopped, for, notwithstanding the late hour, a\nthrong of people, shouting and wailing, was just pouring from the\nLedergasse into the square, headed by a night watchman provided with\nspear, horn, and lantern, a bailiff, torchbearers, and some police\nofficers, who were vainly trying to silence the loudest outcries.\n\nAgain a brilliant flash of lightning pierced the black mass of clouds,\nand Heinz, shuddering, pointed to the crowd and asked, \"Do you suppose\nthe lightning killed the man whom they are carrying yonder?\"\n\n\"Let me see,\" replied Biberli, among whose small vices curiosity was by\nno means the least. He must have understood news gathering thoroughly,\nfor he soon returned and informed Heinz, who had sought shelter from the\nrain under the broad bow window of a lofty house, that the bearers were\njust carrying to his parents' home a young man whose thread of life had\nbeen suddenly severed by a stab through the breast in a duel. After the\nwitnesses had taken the corpse to the leech Otto, in the Ledergasse, and\nthe latter said that the youth was dead, they had quickly dispersed,\nfearing a severe punishment on account of the breach of the peace. The\nmurdered man was Ulrich Vorchtel, the oldest son of the wealthy Berthold\nVorchel, who collected the imperial taxes.\n\nAgain Heinz shuddered. He had seen the unfortunate young man the day\nbefore yesterday at the fencing school, and yesterday, full of\noverflowing mirth, at the dance, and knew that he, too, had fought in the\nbattle of Marchfield. His foe must have been master of the art of\nwielding the sword, for the dead man had been a skilful fencer, and was\ntall and stalwart in figure.\n\nWhen the servant ended his story Heinz stood still in the darkness for a\ntime, silently listening. The bells had begun to ring, the blast of the\nwatchman's horn blended with the wailing notes summoning aid, and in two\nplaces--near the Thiergartenthor and the Frauenthor--the sky was\ncrimsoned by the reflection of a conflagration, probably kindled by some\nflash of lightning, which flickered over the clouds, alternately rising\nand falling, sometimes deeper and anon paler in hue. Throngs of people,\nshouting \"Fire!\" pressed from the cross streets into the square. The\nstillness of the night was over.\n\nWhen Heinz again turned to Biberli he said in a hollow tone:\n\n\"If the earth should swallow up Nuremberg tonight it would not surprise\nme. But over yonder--look, Biber, the Duke of Pomerania's quarters in the\nGreen Shield are still lighted. I'll wager that they are yet at the\ngaming table. A plague upon it! I would be there, too, if my purse\nallowed. I feel as if yonder dead man and his coffin were burdening my\nsoul. If it was really good fortune in love that snatched the zecchins\nfrom my purse yesterday:\n\n\"Then,\" cried Biberli eagerly, \"to-night is the very time, ere Countess\nCordula teaches you to forget what troubles you, to win them back. The\ngold for the first stake is at your disposal.\"\n\n\"From the Duke of Pomerania, you think?\" asked Heinz; then, in a quick,\nresolute tone, added: \"No! Often as the duke has offered me his purse, I\nnever borrow from my peers when the prospect of repayment looks so\nuncertain.\"\n\n\"Gently, my lord,\" returned Biberli, slapping his belt importantly. \"Here\nis what you need for the stake as your own property. No miracles have\nbeen wrought for us, only I forgot But look! There are the black clouds\nrolling northward over the castle. That was a frightful storm! But a\nspendthrift doesn't keep house long-and the thunder has not yet followed\nthat last flash of lightning. There is plenty of uproar without it. It's\nhard work to hear one's self speak amid all the ringing, trumpeting,\nyelling, and shrieking. It seems as if they expected to put out the fire\nwith noise. The fathers of the city can attend to that. It doesn't appear\nto disturb the duke and his guests at their dice; and here, my lord, are\nfifty florins which, I think, will do for the beginning.\"\n\nBiberli handed the knight a little bag containing this sum, and when\nHeinz asked in perplexity where he obtained it, the ex-schoolmaster\nanswered gaily: \"They came just in the nick of time. I received them from\nSuss, the jockey, while you were out riding this afternoon.\"\n\n\"For the black?\" Heinz enquired.\n\n\"Certainly, my lord. It's a pity about the splendid stallion. But, as you\nknow, he has the staggers, and when I struck him on the coronet he stood\nas if rooted to the earth, and the equerry, who was there, said that the\ndisease was proved. So the Jew silently submitted, let the horse be led\naway, and paid back what we gave him. Fifty heavy florins! More than\nenough for a beginning. If I may advise you, count on the two and the\nfive when fixed numbers are to be thrown or hit. Why? Because you must\nturn your ill luck in love to advantage: and those from whom it comes are\nthe two beautiful Ortlieb Es, as Nuremberg folk call the ladies Els and\nEva. That makes the two. But E is the fifth letter in the alphabet, so I\nshould choose the five. If Biberli did not put things together\nshrewdly--\"\n\n\"He would be as oversharp as he has often been already,\" Heinz\ninterrupted, but he patted Biberli's wet arm as he spoke, and added\nkindly \"Yet every day proves that my Biberli is a true and steadfast\nfellow; but where in the wide world did you, a schoolmaster, gain\ninstruction in the art of throwing the dice?\"\n\n\"While we were studying in Paris, with my dead foster brother,\" replied\nthe servant with evident emotion. \"But now go up, my lord, before the\nfire alarm, and I know not what else, makes the people upstairs separate.\nThe iron must be forged during this wild night. Only a few drops of rain\nare falling. You can cross the street dry even without my long garment.\"\n\nWhile speaking he divested the knight of his robe, and continued eagerly:\n\"Now, my lord, from the coffin, or let us say rather the leaden weight,\nwhich oppresses your soul, let a bolt be melted that will strike\nmisfortune to the heart. Glittering gold has a cheering colour.\"\n\n\"Stop! stop!\" Heinz interrupted positively. \"No good wishes on the eve of\nhunting or gaming.\n\n\"But if I come bounding down the stairs of the Green Shield with a purse\nas heavy as my heart is just now--why, Biberli, success puts a new face\non many things, and yours shall again look at me without anxiety.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nThe thunderclouds had gathered in the blackest masses above the\nFrauenthor and the Ortlieb mansion. Ere the storm burst the oppressive\natmosphere had burdened the hearts within as heavily as it weighed\noutside upon tree, bush, and all animated creation.\n\nIn the servants' rooms under the roof the maids slept quietly and\ndreamlessly; and the men, with their mouths wide open, snored after the\nlabour of the day, unconscious of what was passing outside in the sky or\nthe events within which had destroyed the peace of their master and his\nfamily.\n\nThe only bed unoccupied was the one in the little room next to the stairs\nleading to the garret, which was occupied by Katterle. The Swiss,\nkneeling before it with her face buried in the coarse linen pillow case,\nalternately sobbed, prayed, and cursed herself and her recklessness.\n\nWhen the gale, which preceded the thunderstorm, blew leaves and straws in\nthrough the open window she started violently, imagining that Herr\nOrtlieb had come to call her to account and her trial was to begin. The\nbarber's widow, whom she had seen a few days before in the pillory, with\na stone around her neck, because she had allowed a cloth weaver's\nheedless daughter to come to her lodging with a handsome trumpeter who\nbelonged to the city musicians, rose before her mental vision. How the\npoor thing had trembled and moaned after the executioner's assistant hung\nthe heavy stone around her neck! Then, driven frantic by the jeers and\ninsults of the people, the missiles flung by the street boys, and the\nunbearable burden, she could control herself no longer but, pouring forth\na flood of curses, thrust out her tongue at her tormentors.\n\nWhat a spectacle! But ere she, Katterle, would submit to such disgrace\nshe would bid farewell to life with all its joys; and even to the\ncountryman to whom her heart clung, and who, spite of his well-proven\ntruth and steadfastness, had brought misery upon her.\n\nNow the memory of the hateful word which she, too, had called to the\nbarber's widow weighed heavily on her heart. Never, never again would she\nbe arrogant to a neighbour who had fallen into misfortune.\n\nThis vow, and many others, she made to St. Clare; then her thoughts\nwandered to the city moat, to the Pegnitz, the Fischbach, and all the\nother streams in and near Nuremberg, where it was possible to drown and\nthus escape the terrible disgrace which threatened her. But in so doing\nshe had doubtless committed a heavy sin; for while recalling the Dutzen\nPond, from whose dark surface she had often gathered white water lilies\nafter passing through the Frauenthor into the open fields, and wondering\nin what part of its reedy shore her design could be most easily executed,\na brilliant flash of lightning blazed through her room, and at the same\ntime a peal of thunder shook the old mansion to its foundations.\n\nThat was meant for her and her wicked thoughts. No! For the sake of\nescaping disgrace here on earth, she dared not trifle with eternal\nsalvation and the hope of seeing her dead mother in the other world.\n\nThe remembrance of that dear mother, who had laboured so earnestly to\ntrain her in every good path, soothed her. Surely she was looking down\nupon her and knew that she had remained upright and honest, that she had\nnot defrauded her employers of even a pin, and that the little fault\nwhich was to be so grievously punished had been committed solely out of\nlove for her countryman, who in his truth and steadfastness meant\nhonestly by her. What Biberli requested her to do could be no heavy sin.\n\nBut the powers above seemed to be of a different opinion; for again a\ndazzling glare of light illumined the room, and the crash and rattle of\nthe thunder of the angry heavens accompanied it with a deafening din.\nKatterle shrieked aloud; it seemed as if the gates of hell had opened\nbefore her, or the destruction of the world had begun.\n\nFrantic with terror, she sprang back from the window, through which the\nraindrops were already sprinkling her face. They cooled her flushed\ncheeks and brought her back to reality. The offence she had just\ncommitted was no trivial one. She, whom Herr Ortlieb, with entire\nconfidence, had placed in the service of the fair young girl whose\ninvalid mother could not care for her, had permitted herself to be\ninduced to persuade Eva, who was scarcely beyond childhood, to a\nrendezvous with a man whom she represented to the inexperienced maiden as\na godly, virtuous knight, though she knew from Biberli how far the latter\nsurpassed his master in fidelity and steadfastness.\n\n\"Lead us not into temptation!\" How often she had repeated the words in\nthe Lord's Prayer, and now she herself had become the serpent that\ntempted into sin the innocent child whom duty should have commanded her\nto guard.\n\nNo, no! The guilt for which she was threatened with punishment was by no\nmeans small, and even if her earthly judge did not call her to account,\nshe would go to confession to-morrow and honestly perform the penance\nimposed.\n\nMoved by these thoughts, she gazed across the courtyard to the convent.\nJust at that moment the lightning again flashed, the thunder pealed, and\nshe covered her face with her hands. When she lowered her arms she saw on\nthe roof of the nuns' granary, which adjoined the cow-stable, a slender\ncolumn of smoke, followed by a narrow tongue of flame, which grew\nsteadily brighter.\n\nThe lightning had set it on fire.\n\nSympathy for the danger and losses of others forced her own grief and\nanxiety into the background and, without pausing to think, she slipped on\nher shoes, snatched her shawl from the chest, and ran downstairs,\nshouting: \"The lightning has struck! The convent is burning!\"\n\nJust at that moment the door of the chamber occupied by the two sisters\nopened, and Ernst Ortlieb, with tangled hair and pallid cheeks, came\ntoward her.\n\nWithin the room the dim light of the little lamp and the fiery glare of\nthe lightning illumined tear-stained, agitated faces.\n\nAfter Heinz Schorlin had called to her, and Els had hurried to her aid,\nEva, clad in her long, plain night robe, and barefooted, just as she had\nrisen from her couch, followed the maid to her room. What must the\nknight, who but yesterday, she knew, had looked up to her as to a saint,\nthink of her now?\n\nShe felt as if she were disgraced, stained with shame. Yet it was through\nno fault of her own, and overwhelmed by the terrible conviction that\nmysterious, supernatural powers, against which resistance was hopeless,\nwere playing a cruel game with her, she had felt as if the stormy sea\nwere tossing her in a rudderless boat on its angry surges.\n\nUnable to seek consolation in prayer, as usual, she had given herself up\nto dull despair, but only for a short time. Els had soon returned, and\nthe firm, quiet manner with which her prudent, helpful friend and sister\nmet her, and even tried to raise her drooping courage by a jest ere she\nsent her to their mother's sick room, had fallen on her soul like\nrefreshing dew; not because Els promised to act for her--on the contrary,\nwhat she intended to do roused her to resistance.\n\nShe had been far too guilty and oppressed to oppose her, yet indignation\nconcerning the sharp words which Els had uttered about the knight, and\nher intention of forbidding him the house, perhaps forever, had\nstimulated her like strong acid wine.\n\nNot until after her sister had left her did she become capable of clearly\nunderstanding what she had felt during her period of somnambulism.\n\nWhile her mother, thanks to a narcotic, slept soundly, breathing quietly,\nand in the entry below something, she knew not what, perhaps due to her\nfather's return, was occurring, she sat thinking, pondering, while an\nimpetuous throng of rebellious wishes raised their voices, alternately\nasking and denying, in her agitated breast.\n\nHow she had happened to rise from her couch and go out had vanished\nutterly from her memory, but she was still perfectly conscious of her\nfeelings during the night walk. If hitherto she had yearned to drain\nheavenly bliss from the chalice of faith, during her wanderings through\nthe house she had longed for nothing save to drink her fill from the cup\nof earthly joy. Ardent kisses, of which she had forbidden herself even to\nthink, she awaited with blissful delight. Her timorous heart, held in\ncheck by virgin modesty, accustomed to desire nothing save what she could\nhave confessed to her sister and the abbess, seemed as if it had cast off\nevery fetter and boldly resolved to risk the most daring deeds. The\nsomnambulist had longed for the moment when, after Heinz Schorlin's\nconfession that he loved her, she could throw her arms around his neck\nwith rapturous gratitude.\n\nIf, while awake, she had desired only to speak to him of her saint and of\nhis duty to overthrow the foes of the Church, she had wished while gazing\nat the moon from the stairs, and in front of the house door, to whisper\nsweet words of love, listen to his, and in so doing forget herself, the\nworld, and everything which did not belong to him, to her, and their\nlove.\n\nAnd she remembered this longing and yearning in a way very unlike a mere\ndream. It seemed rather as if, while the moon was attracting her by its\nmagic power, something, which had long slumbered in the depths of her\nsoul, had waked to life; something, from which formerly, ere her heart\nand mind had been able rightly to understand it, she had shrunk with\npious horror, had assumed a tangible form.\n\nNow she dreaded this newly recognised sinful part of her own nature,\nwhich she had imagined a pure vessel that had room only for what was\nnoble, sacred, and innocent.\n\nShe, too--she knew it now--was only a girl like those on whose desire for\nlove she had looked down with arrogant contempt, no bride of heaven or\nsaint.\n\nShe had not yet taken the veil, and it was fortunate, for what would have\nbecome of her had she not discovered until after her profession this part\nof her nature, which she thought every true nun, if she possessed it,\nmust discard, like the hair which was shorn from her head, before taking\nthe vow of the order.\n\nDuring this self-inspection it became more and more evident that she was\nnot one person, but two in one--a twofold nature with a single body and\ntwo distinct souls; and this conviction caused her as much pain as if the\ncut which had produced the separation were still bleeding.\n\nJust at that moment her eyes fell upon the image of the Virgin opposite,\nand the usual impulse to lift her soul in prayer took possession of her\neven more powerfully than a short time before.\n\nWith fervent warmth she besought her to release her from this newly\nawakened nature, which surely could not be pleasing in the sight of\nHeaven, and let her once more become what she was before the unfortunate\nramble in the moonlight.\n\nBut the composure she needed for prayer was soon destroyed, for the image\nof the knight rose before her again and again, and it seemed as if her\nown name, which he had called with such ardent longing, once more rang in\nher ears.\n\nWhoever thus raises his voice in appeal to another loves that person.\nHeinz Schorlin's love was great and sincere and, instead of heeding the\ninner voice that warned her to return to prayer, she cried defiantly, \"I\nwill not!\"\n\nShe could not yet part from the man for whom her heart throbbed with such\npassionate yearning, who was so brave and godly, so ardently devoted to\nher.\n\nTrue, it had been peacefully beautiful to dream herself into the bright\nglory of heaven, yet the stormy rapture she had felt while thinking of\nhim and his love seemed richer and greater. She could not, would not part\nfrom him.\n\nThen she remembered her sister's intention of driving Heinz--Eva already\ncalled the knight by that name in her soliloquy--from her presence, and\nthe thought that she might perhaps wound him so keenly that knightly\nhonour would forbid his return alarmed and incensed her.\n\nWhat right had Els to distrust him? A godly knight played no base game\nwith the chosen lady of, his heart, and that, yes, that she certainly\nwas, since she had named her colour to him. Nothing should separate them.\nShe needed him for her happiness as much as she did light and air.\nHitherto she had longed for bliss in another world, but she was so young\nshe probably had a long life before her, and what could existence on\nearth offer if robbed of the hope of his possession?\n\nThe newly awakened part of her nature demanded its rights. It would never\nagain allow itself to be forced into the old slumber.\n\nIf her sister came back and boasted of having driven away the dangerous\nanimal forever, she would show her that she had a different opinion of\nthe knight, and would permit no one to interpose between them. But, while\nstill pondering over this plan, the door of the sick-room was softly\nopened and her father beckoned to her to follow him.\n\nSilently leading the way through the dusky corridor, no longer illumined\nby the moonlight, he entered his daughter's room before her. The lamp,\nstill burning there, revealed the agitated face of her sister who,\nresting her chin on her hand, sat on the stool beside the spinning wheel.\n\nEva's courage, which had blazed up so brightly, instantly fell again.\n\n\"Good heavens! What has happened?\" she cried in terror; but her father\nanswered in a hollow tone:\n\n\"For the sake of your noble sister, to whom I pledged my word, I will\nforce myself to remain calm. But look at her! Her poor heart must be like\na graveyard, for she was doomed to bury what she held dearest. And who,\"\nhe continued furiously, so carried away by grief and indignation as to be\nunmindful of his promise to maintain his composure, \"who is to blame for\nit all, save you and your boundless imprudence?\"\n\nEva, with uplifted hands, tried to explain how, unconscious of her acts,\nshe had walked in her sleep down the stairs and out of the house, but he\nimperiously cut her short with:\n\n\"Silence! I know all. My daughter gave a worthless tempter the right to\nexpect the worst from her. You, whom we deemed the ornament of this\nhouse, whose purity hitherto was stainless, are to blame if people\npassing on the street point at it! Alas! alas! Our honour, our ancient,\nunsullied name!\"\n\nGroaning aloud, the father struck his brow with his clenched hand; but\nwhen Els rose and passed her arm around his shoulders to speak words of\nconsolation, Eva, who hitherto had vainly struggled for words, could\nendure no more.\n\n\"Whoever says that of me, my father,\" she exclaimed with flashing eyes;\nscarcely able to control her voice, \"has opened his ears to slander; and\nwhoever terms Heinz Schorlin a worthless tempter, is blinded by a\ndelusion, and I call him to his face, even were it my own father, to whom\nI owe gratitude and respect--\"\n\nBut here she stopped and extended her arms to keep off the deeply angered\nman, for he had started forward with quivering lips, and--she perceived\nit clearly--was already under the spell of one of the terrible fits of\nfury which might lead him to the most unprecedented deeds. Els, however,\nhad clung to him and, while holding him back with all her strength, cried\nout in a tone of keen reproach, \"Is this the way you keep your promise?\"\n\nThen, lowering her voice, she continued with loving entreaty: \"My dear,\ndear father, can you doubt that she was asleep, unconscious of her acts,\nwhen she did what has brought so much misery upon us?\"\n\nAnd, interrupting herself, she added eagerly in a tone of the firmest\nconviction: \"No, no, neither shame nor misery has yet touched you, my\nfather, nor the poor child yonder. The suspicion of evil rests on me, and\nme alone, and if any one here must be wretched it is I.\"\n\nThen Herr Ernst, regaining his self-control, drew back from Eva, but the\nlatter, as if fairly frantic, exclaimed: \"Do you want to drive me out of\nmy senses by your mysterious words and accusations? What, in the name of\nall the saints, has happened that can plunge my Els into misery and\nshame?\"\n\n\"Into misery and shame,\" repeated her father in a hollow tone, throwing\nhimself into a chair, where he sat motionless, with his face buried in\nhis hands, while Els told her sister what had occurred when she went down\ninto the entry to speak to the knight.\n\nEva listened to her story, fairly gasping for breath. For one brief\nmoment she cherished the suspicion that Cordula had not acted from pure\nsympathy, but to impose upon Heinz Schorlin a debt of gratitude which\nwould bind him to her more firmly. Yet when she heard that her father had\ngiven back his daughter's ring to Herr Casper Eysvogel and broken his\nchild's betrothal she thought of nothing save her sister's grief and,\nsobbing aloud, threw herself into Els's arms.\n\nThe girls held each other in a close embrace until the first flash of\nlightning and peal of thunder interrupted the conversation.\n\nThe father and daughters had been so deeply agitated that they had not\nheard the storm rising outside, and the outbreak of the tempest surprised\nthem. The peal of thunder, which so swiftly followed the lightning, also\nstartled them and when, soon after, a second one shook the house with its\ncrashing, rattling roar, Herr Ernst went out to wake the chief packer.\nBut old Endres was already keeping watch among the wares entrusted to him\nand when, after a brief absence, the master of the house returned, he\nfound Eva again clasped in her sister's arms, and saw the latter kissing\nher brow and eyes as she tenderly strove to comfort her.\n\nBut Eva seemed deaf to her soothing words. Els, her faithful Els, was no\nlonger the betrothed bride of her Wolff; her great, beautiful happiness\nwas destroyed forever. On the morrow all Nuremberg would learn that Herr\nCasper had broken his son's betrothal pledge, because his bride, for the\nsake of a tempter, Sir Heinz Schorlin, had failed to keep her troth with\nhim.\n\nHow deeply all this pierced Eva's heart! how terrible was the torture of\nthe thought that she was the cause of this frightful misfortune!\nDissolved in an agony of tears, she entreated the poor girl to forgive\nher; and Els did so willingly, and in a way that touched her father to\nthe very depths of his heart. How good the girls must be who, spite of\nthe sore suffering which one had brought upon the other, were still so\nloving and loyal!\n\nConvinced that Eva, too, had done nothing worthy of punishment, he went\ntowards them to clasp both in his arms, but ere he could do so the clap\nof thunder which had frightened Katterle so terribly shook the whole\nroom. \"St. Clare, aid us!\" cried Eva, crossing herself and falling upon\nher knees; but Els rushed to the window, opened it, and looked down the\nstreet. Nothing was visible there save a faint red glow on the distant\nnorthern horizon, and two mailed soldiers who were riding into the city\nat a rapid trot. They had been sent from the stables in the Marienthurm\nto keep order in case a fire should break out. Several men with hooks and\npoles followed, also hurrying to the Frauenthor.\n\nIn reply to the question where the fire was and where they going, they\nanswered: \"To the Fischbach, to help. Flames have burst out apparently\nunder the fortress at the Thiergartenthor.\"\n\nThe long-drawn call for help from the warder's horn, which came at the\nsame moment, proved that the men were right.\n\nHerr Ernst hastened out of the room just as Katterle's shriek, \"The\nlightning struck! the convent is burning!\" rung from the upper step of\nthe stairs.\n\nHe had already pronounced her sentence, and the sight of her roused his\nwrath again so vehemently that, spite of the urgent peril, he shouted to\nher that, whatever claimed his attention now, she certainly should not\nescape the most severe punishment for her shameful conduct.\n\nThen he ordered old Endres and two of the menservants to watch the\nsleeping-room of his invalid wife, that in case anything should happen\nthe helpless woman might be instantly borne to a place of safety.\n\nEre he himself went to the scene of the conflagration he hurried back to\nhis daughters.\n\nWhile the girls were giving him his hat and cloak he told them where the\nfire had broken out, and this caused another detention of the anxious\nmaster of the house, for Eva seized her shoes and stockings and, kicking\nher little slippers from her feet, declared that she, too, would not\nremain absent from the place when her dear nuns were in danger. But her\nfather commanded her to stay with her mother and sister, and went to the\ndoor, turning back once more on the threshold to his daughters with the\nanxious entreaty: \"Think of your mother!\"\n\nAnother peal of thunder drowned the sound of his footsteps hurrying down\nthe stairs. When Els, who had watched her father from the window a short\ntime, went back to her sister, Eva dried her eyes and cheeks, saying:\n\"Perhaps he is right; but whenever my heart urges me to obey any warm\nimpulse, obstacles are put in my way. What a weak nonentity is the\ndaughter of an honourable Nuremberg family!\"\n\nEls heard this complaint with astonishment. Was this her Eva, her \"little\nsaint,\" who yesterday had desired nothing more ardently than with humble\nobedience, far from the tumult of the world, to become worthy of her\nHeavenly Bridegroom, and in the quiet peace of the convent raise her soul\nto God? What had so changed the girl in these few hours? Even the most\nworldly-minded of her friends would have taken such an impeachment ill.\n\nBut she had no time now to appeal to the conscience of her misguided\nsister. Love and duty summoned her to her mother's couch. And then! The\nchild had become aware of her love, and was she, Els, who had been parted\nfrom Wolff by her own father, and yet did not mean to give him up,\njustified in advising her sister to cast aside her love and the hope of\nfuture happiness with and through the man to whom she had given her\nheart?\n\nWhat miracles love wrought! If in a single night it had transformed the\ndevout future Bride of Heaven into an ardently loving woman, it could\naccomplish the impossible for her also.\n\nWhile Eva was gazing out of the window Els returned to her mother. She\nwas still asleep and, without permitting either curiosity or longing to\ndivert her from her duty, Els kept her place beside the couch of the\nbeloved invalid, spite of the fire alarm which, though somewhat subdued,\nwas heard in the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nEva was standing at the open window. The violence of the storm seemed\nexhausted. The clouds were rolling northward, and the thunder followed\nthe flashes of lightning at longer and longer intervals. Peace was\nrestored to the heavens, but the crowd and noise in the city and the\nstreet constantly increased.\n\nThe iron tongues of the alarm bells had never swung so violently, the\nwarder's horn had never made the air quiver with such resonant appeals\nfor aid.\n\nNor did the metallic voices above call for help in vain, for while a\nroseate glow tinged the linden in front of her window and the houses on\nthe opposite side of the street with the hues of dawn, the crowds\nthronging from the Frauenthor to St. Klarengasse grew denser and denser.\n\nThe convent was not visible from her chamber, but the acrid odor of the\nsmoke and the loud voices which reached her ear from that direction\nproved that the fire was no trivial one. While she was seeking out the\nspot from which Heinz must have looked up to her window, the Ortlieb\nmenservants, with some of the Montfort retainers, came out of the house\nwith pails and ladders.\n\nA female figure glided into the dark street after them. A black shawl\nconcealed her head and the upper part of her figure, and she held a\nbundle in her hand.\n\nIt must be Katterle.\n\nWhere was she going at this hour? As she was carrying the package, she\ncould scarcely intend to help in putting out the fire. Was she stealing\naway from fear of punishment? Poor thing! Even the maid was hurled into\nmisfortune through her guilt.\n\nIt pierced her very heart. But while she called to Katterle to stop her,\nsomething else, which engrossed her still more, diverted her\nattention--the loud voice of Countess Cordula reached her from the street\ndoor. With whom was she talking? Did the girl, who ventured upon so many\nthings which ill-beseemed a modest maiden, intend to join the men? Eva\nforgot that she, too, would have hurried to the nuns had not her father\nprevented it. The countess was already standing in the courtyard.\n\nAfter Eva had given her a hasty glance she again looked for the maid, but\nKatterle had already vanished in the darkness. This grieved her; she had\nneglected something which might have saved the girl, to whom she was\nwarmly attached, from some imprudent act. But while attracted by the\nstrange appearance of the countess she had forgotten the other.\n\nCordula had probably just left her couch, for she wore only a plain dress\ntucked up very high, short boots, which she probably used in hunting, and\na shawl crossed over her bosom; another was wound round her head in the\nfashion of the peasant women who brought their goods to market on cold\nwinter days. No farmer's wife could be more simply clad, and yet--Eva was\nforced to admit it--there was something aristocratic in her firm bearing.\n\nHer companions were her father's chaplain and the equerry who had grown\ngrey in his service. Both were trying to dissuade her. The former pointed\nto a troop of women who were following the chief of police and some city\nconstables, and said warningly: \"Those are all wanton queans, whom the\nlaw of this city compels to lend their aid in putting out fires. How\nwould it beseem your rank to join these who shame their sex----No, no! It\nwould be said to-morrow that the ornament of the house of Montfort\nhad----\"\n\n\"That Countess Cordula had used her hands in extinguishing the fire,\" she\ninterrupted with gay self-confidence. \"Is there any disgrace in that?\nMust my noble birth debar me from being numbered among those who help\ntheir neighbours so far as lies in their power? If any good is\naccomplished here, those poor women yonder will make it no worse by their\naid. If people here believe that they do, it will give me double pleasure\nto ennoble it by working with them. Putting out the flames will not\ndegrade me, and will make the women better. So, forward! See how the fire\nis blazing yonder! Help is needed there and, thank Heaven, I am no\nweakling. Besides, there are women who want assistance and, to women in\nperil, the most welcome aid is woman's.\"\n\nThe old equerry, his eyes glittering with tears, nodded assent, and led\nthe way into the street; but the countess, instead of following\ninstantly, glanced back for the page who was to carry the bandages which\nshe had learned to use among her retainers at home. The agile boy did not\ndelay her long; but while his mistress was looking to see that he had\nforgotten nothing of importance, he perceived at the window Eva, whose\nbeauty had long since fired his young heart, and cast a languishing\nglance at her. Then Cordula also noticed her and called a pleasant\ngreeting. Eva was on the point of answering in the same tone, when she\nremembered that Cordula had spoken of Heinz Schorlin in the presence of\nothers as if he were awaiting her in all submission. Anger surged hotly\nin her breast, and she drew back into the room as if she had not heard\nthe salutation.\n\nThe countess perceived it, and shrugged her shoulders pityingly.\n\nEva, dissatisfied with herself, continued to gaze down into the street\nlong after the crowds of people flocking from the city had concealed\nCordula from her eyes. It seemed as though she would never again succeed\nin anything that would bring contentment. Never had she felt so weak, so\nill-tempered, so devoid of self-reliance. Yet she could not, as usual,\nseek consolation with her saint. There was so much here below to divert\nher attention.\n\nThe roseate glow on the linden had become a crimson glare, the flickering\nlight on the opposite walls a dazzling illumination. The wind, now\nblowing from the west, bore from St. Klarengasse burning objects which\nscattered sparks around them--bundles of hay caught by the flames--from\nthe convent barn to the Marienthurm opposite, and into the street.\nBesides, the noise above and behind, before and below her, grew louder\nand louder. The ringing of the bells and the blare of trumpets from the\nsteeples continued, and with this constant ringing, pealing, and crashing\nfrom above, mingled the high, clear voices of the choir of nuns in the\nconvent, beseeching in fervent litanies the help of their patron saint.\nTrue, the singing was often drowned by the noise from the street, for the\nfire marshals and quartermasters had been informed in time, and watchmen,\nsoldiers in the pay of the city, men from the hospital, and the abandoned\nwomen (required by law to help put out the fires) came in little groups,\nwhile bailiffs and servants of the Council, barbers (who were obliged to\nlend their aid, but whose surgical skill could find little employment\nhere), members of the Council, priests and monks arrived singly. The\nstreet also echoed with the trampling of many steeds, for mounted\ntroopers in coats of mail first dashed by to aid the bailiffs in\nmaintaining order, then the inspector of water works, with his chief\nsubordinate, trotted along to St. Klarengasse on the clumsy horses placed\nat their disposal by the Council in case of fire. He was followed by the\nmillers, with brass fire engines. While their well-fed nags drew on\nsledges, with little noise, through the mire of the streets now softened\nby the rain, the heavy wooden water barrels needed in the work of\nextinguishing the flames, there was a loud rattling and clanking as the\ncarts appeared on which the men from the Public Works building were\nbringing large and small ladders, hooks and levers, pails and torches, to\nthe scene of the conflagration.\n\nBesides those who were constrained by the law, many others desired to aid\nthe popular Sisters of St. Clare and thereby earn a reward from God. A\nbrewer had furnished his powerful stallions to convey to the scene of\naction, with their tools, the eight masons whose duty it was to use their\nskill in extinguishing the flames. All sorts of people--men and\nwomen--followed, yelling and shrieking, to seek their own profit during\nthe work of rescue. But the bailiffs kept a sharp eye on them, and made\nway when the commander of the German knights, with several companions on\nwhose black mantles the white cross gleamed, appeared on horseback, and\nat last old Herr Berthold Vorchtel trotted up on his noble grey, which\nwas known to the whole city. He still had a firm seat in the saddle, but\nhis head was bowed, and whoever knew that only one hour before the corpse\nof his oldest son, slain in a duel, had been brought home, admired the\naged magistrate's strength of will. As First Losunger and commander in\nchief he was the head of the Council, and therefore of the city also.\nDuty had commanded him to mount his steed, but how pale and haggard was\nhis shrewd face, usually so animated!\n\nJust in front of the Ortlieb mansion the commander of the German knights\nrode to his side, and Eva saw how warmly he shook him by the hand, as if\nhe desired to show the old man very cordially his deep sympathy in some\nsore trouble which had assailed him.\n\nEver since Wolff's betrothal to Els had been announced the Vorchtels had\nceased to be on terms of intimacy with the Ortliebs; but old Herr\nBerthold, though he himself had probably regarded young Eysvogel as his\n\"Ursel's\" future husband, had always treated Eva kindly, and she was not\nmistaken--tears were glittering on his cheeks in the torchlight. The\nsight touched the young girl's inmost heart. How eagerly she desired to\nknow what had befallen the Vorchtels, and to give the old man some token\nof sympathy! What could have caused him so much sorrow? Only a few hours\nbefore her father had returned from a gay entertainment at his house. It\ncould scarcely concern Herr Berthold's wife, his daughter Ursula, or\neither of his two vigorous sons. Perhaps death had only bereft him of\nsome more distant, though beloved relative, yet surely she would have\nknown that, for the Ortliebs were connected by marriage both with the old\ngentleman and his wife.\n\nTortured by a presentiment of evil, Eva gazed after him, and also watched\nfor Heinz Schorlin among the people in the street. Must not anxiety for\nher bring him hither, if he learned how near her house the fire was\nburning?\n\nWhenever a helmet or knight's baret appeared above the crowd she thought\nthat he was coming. Once she believed that she had certainly recognised\nhim, for a tall young man of knightly bearing appeared, not mounted, but\non foot, and stopped opposite to the Ortlieb house. That must be he! But\nwhen he looked up to her window, the reflection of the fire showed that\nthe man who had made her heart beat so quickly was indeed a young and\nhandsome knight, but by no means the person for whom she had mistaken\nhim. It was Boemund Altrosen, famed as victor in many a tournament, who\nwhen a boy had often been at the house of her uncle, Herr Pfinzing. There\nwas no mistaking his coal-black, waving locks. It was said that the\ndark-blue sleeve of a woman's robe which he wore on his helmet in the\njousts belonged to the Countess von Montfort. She was his lady, for whom\nhe had won so many victories.\n\nHeinz Schorlin had mentioned him at the ball as his friend, and told her\nthat the gallant knight would vainly strive to win the reckless countess.\nPerhaps he was now looking at the house so intently on Cordula's account.\nOr had Heinz, his friend, sent him to watch over her while he was\npossibly detained by the Emperor?\n\nBut, no; he had just gone nearer to the house to question a man in the\nvon Montfort livery, and the reply now led him to move on towards the\nconvent.\n\nWere the tears which filled Eva's eyes caused by the smoke that poured\nfrom the fire more and more densely into the street, or to disappointment\nand bitter anguish?\n\nThe danger which threatened her aunt and her beloved nuns also increased\nher excitement. True, the sisters themselves seemed to feel safe, for\nsnatches of their singing were still audible amid the ringing of the\nbells and the blare of the trumpets, but the fire must have been very\nhard to extinguish. This was proved by the bright glow on the linden tree\nand the shouts of command which, though unintelligible, rose above every\nother sound.\n\nThe street below was becoming less crowded. Most of those who had left\ntheir beds to render aid had already reached the scene of the\nconflagration. Only a few stragglers still passed through the open gate\ntowards the Marienthurm. Among them were horsemen, and Eva's heart again\nthrobbed more quickly, but only for a short time. Heinz Schorlin was far\ntaller than the man who had again deceived her, and his way would hardly\nhave been lighted by two mounted torch bearers. Soon her rosy lips even\nparted in a smile, for the sturdy little man on the big, strong-boned\nVinzgau steed, whom she now saw distinctly, was her dearest relative, her\ngodfather, the kind, shrewd, imperial magistrate, Berthold Pfinzing, the\nhusband of her father's sister, good Aunt Christine.\n\nIf he looked up he would tell her about old Herr Vorchtel. Nor did he\nride past his darling's house without a glance at her window, and when he\nsaw Eva beckon he ordered the servants to keep back, and stopped behind\nthe chains.\n\nAfter he had briefly greeted his niece and she had enquired what had\nbefallen the Vorchtels, he asked anxiously: \"Then you know nothing yet?\nAnd Els--has it been kept from her, too?\"\n\n\"What, in the name of all the saints?\" asked Eva, with increasing alarm.\n\nThen Herr Pfinzing, who saw that the door of the house was open, asked\nher to come down. Eva was soon standing beside her godfather's big bay,\nand while patting the smooth neck of the splendid animal he said\nhurriedly, in a low tone: \"It's fortunate that it happened so. You can\nbreak it gradually to your sister, child. To-night Summon up your\ncourage, for there are things which even a man--To make the story short,\nthen: Tonight Wolff Eysvogel and young Vorchtel quarreled, or rather\nUlrich irritated your Wolff so cruelly that he drew his sword--\"\n\n\"Wolff!\" shrieked Eva, whose hand had already dropped from the horse.\n\"Wolff! He is so terribly strong, and if he drew his sword in anger----\"\n\n\"He dealt his foe one powerful thrust,\" replied the imperial magistrate\nwith an expressive gesture. \"The sword pierced him through. But I must go\non Only this one thing more: Ulrich was borne back to his parents as a\ncorpse. And Wolff Where is he hiding? May the saints long be the only\nones who know! A quarrel with such a result under the Emperor's eyes, now\nwhen peace has just been declared throughout the land! Who knows what\nsentence will be pronounced if the bailiffs show themselves shrewder this\ntime than usual! My office compelled me to set the pack upon him. That is\nthe reason I am so late.  Tell Els as cautiously as possible.\"\n\nHe bowed gallantly and trotted on, but Eva, as if hunted by enemies,\nrushed up the staircase, threw herself on her knees before the prie dieu,\nand sobbed aloud.\n\nYoung Vorchtel had undoubtedly heard of the events in the entry, taunted\nWolff with his betrothed bride's nocturnal interview with a knight, and\nthus roused the strong man to fury. How terrible it all was! How could\nshe bear it! Her thoughtlessness had cost a human life, robbed parents of\ntheir son! Through her fault her sister's betrothed husband, whom she\nalso loved, was in danger of being placed under ban, perhaps even of\nbeing led to the executioner's block!\n\nShe had no thought of any other motive which might have induced the\nhot-blooded young men to cross swords and, firmly convinced that her\nluckless letter had drawn Heinz Schorlin to the house and thus led to all\nthese terrible things, she vainly struggled for composure.\n\nSometimes she beheld in imagination the despairing Els; sometimes the\naged Vorchtels, grieving themselves to death; sometimes Wolff, outlawed,\nhiding like a hunted deer in the recesses of the forest; sometimes the\nmaid, fleeing with her little bundle into the darkness of the night;\nsometimes the burning convent; and at intervals also Heinz Schorlin, as\nhe knelt before her and raised his clasped hands with passionate\nentreaty.\n\nBut she repelled every thought of him as a sin, and even repressed the\nimpulse to look out into the street to seek him. Her sole duty now was to\npray to her patron saint and the Mother of God in behalf of her sister,\nwhom she had hurled into misfortune, and her poor heart bleeding from\nsuch deep wounds; but the consolation which usually followed the mere\nuplifting of her soul in prayer did not come, and it could not be\notherwise, for amid her continual looking into her own heart and\nlistening to what went on around her no real devotion was possible.\n\nAlthough she constantly made fresh efforts to collect her thoughts, and\ncontinued to kneel with clasped hands before the prie dieu, not a\nhoof-beat, not a single loud voice, escaped her ear. Even the alternate\ndeepening and paling of the reflection of the fire, which streamed\nthrough the window, attracted her attention, and the ringing of bells and\nbraying of trumpets, which still continued, maintained the agitation in\nher soul.\n\nYet prayer was the sole atonement she could make for the wrong she had\ndone her sister; so she did not cease her endeavours to plead for her to\nthe Great Helper above, but her efforts were futile. Yet even when she\nheard voices close by the house, among which she distinguished Countess\nCordula's and--if she was not mistaken--her father's, she resisted the\nimpulse to rise from her knees.\n\nAt last the vain struggle was ended by an interruption from without.\nAfter unusually loud voices exclaiming and questioning had reached her\nfrom the entry, the door of her chamber suddenly opened and old Martsche\nlooked in. The housekeeper was seeking something; but when she found the\ndevout child on her knees she did not wish to disturb her, and contented\nherself with the evidence of her eyes. But Eva stopped her, and learned\nthat she was searching for Katterle, who could neither be found in her\nroom, or anywhere else. Herr Ortlieb had brought Countess von Montfort\nhome severely burned, and there were all sorts of things for the maid to\ndo.\n\nEva clung shuddering to the back of the prie dieu, for the certainty that\nthe unfortunate girl had really fled was like strewing salt on her\nwounds.\n\nWhen Martsche left her and Els entered, her excitement had risen to such\na pitch that she flung herself before her, as if frantic and, clinging to\nher knees, heaping self-accusations upon herself with passionate\nimpetuosity, she pleaded, amid her sobs, for pardon and mercy.\n\nMeanwhile Els had been informed by her father of her lover's fatal deed,\nand as soon as she perceived what tortured her sister she relieved her,\nwith loving words of explanation, from the reproach of being the cause of\nthis misfortune also, for the quarrel had taken place so early that no\ntidings of the meeting in the entry could have reached young Vorchtel\nwhen he became involved in the fray with Wolff.\n\nNor was it solely to soothe Eva that she assured her that, deeply as she\nmourned the death of the hapless Ulrich and his parents' grief, Wolff's\ndeed could not diminish either her love or her hope of becoming his.\n\nEva listened to this statement with sparkling eyes. The love in her\nsister's heart was as immovably firm as the ancient stones of her native\nstronghold, which defied every storm, and on which even the destroying,\nkindling lightning could inflict no injury. This made her doubly dear,\nand from the depths of dull despair her soul, ever prone to soar upwards,\nrose swiftly to the heights of hopeful exaltation.\n\nWhen Els at last entreated her to go to rest without her, she willingly\nconsented, for her mother was comfortable, and Sister Renata was watching\nat her bedside.\n\nEva kept her promise, after Els, who wanted to see the Countess von\nMontfort, had satisfied her concerning the welfare of the nuns and\npromised to go to rest herself as soon as possible.\n\nThe stopping of the alarm bells proved that the fire was under control.\nEven its reflection had disappeared, but the eastern sky was beginning to\nbe suffused with a faint tinge of rose colour.\n\nWhen her sister left her Eva herself drew the curtains before the window,\nand sleep soon ended her thoughts and yearnings, her grief and her hope.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nCountess Cordula von Montfort's room faced the east and looked out into\nthe garden. The sun of the June morning had just risen, filling it with\ncheerful light.\n\nThe invalid's maid had wished to deny Els admittance, but the countess\ncalled eagerly to her, and then ordered the windows to be opened, because\nshe never felt comfortable unless it was light around her and she could\nbreathe God's pure air.\n\nThe morning breeze bore the smoke which still rose from the fire in\nanother direction, and thus a refreshing air really entered the room from\nthe garden, for the thunderstorm had refreshed all nature, and flower\nbeds and grass, bush and tree, exhaled a fresh odour of earth and leafage\nwhich it was a delight to breathe.\n\nThe leech Otto, to whom the severely wounded Ulrich Vorchtel had been\ncarried, had just left the countess. The burns on her hands and arms had\nbeen bandaged--nay, the old gentleman had cut out the scorched portions\nof her tresses with his own hand. Cordula's energetic action had made the\nfamous surgeon deem her worthy of such care. He had also advised her to\nseek the nursing of the oldest daughter of her host, whose invalid wife\nhe was attending, and she had gladly assented; for Els had attracted her\nfrom their first meeting, and she was accustomed to begin the day at\nsunrise.\n\n\"How does it happen that you neither weep nor even hang your head after\nall the sorrow which last night brought you?\" asked Cordula, as the\nNuremberg maiden sat down beside her bed. \"You are a stranger to the\nSwiss knight, and when we surprised you with him you had not come to a\nmeeting--I know that full well. But if so true and warm a love unites you\nto young Eysvogel, how does it happen that your joyous courage is so\nlittle damped by his father's denial and his own unhappy deed, which at\nthis time could scarcely escape punishment? You do not seem frivolous,\nand yet--\"\n\n\"Yet,\" replied Els with a pleasant smile, \"many things have made a deeper\nimpression. We are not all alike, Countess, yet there is much in your\nnature which must render it easy for you to understand me; for,\nCountess----\"\n\n\"Call me Cordula,\" interrupted the girl in a tone of friendly entreaty.\n\"Why should I deny that I am fond of you? and at the risk of making you\nvain, I will betray----\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked Els eagerly.\n\n\"That the splendid old leech described you to me exactly as I had\nimagined you,\" was the reply. You were one of those, he said, whose mere\npresence beside a sick-bed was as good as medicine, and so you are; and,\ndear Jungfrau Els, this salutary medicine benefits me.\"\n\n\"If I am to dispense with the 'Countess,'\" replied the other, \"you must\nspare me the 'Jungfrau.' Nursing you will give me all the more pleasure\non account of the warm gratitude----\"\n\n\"Never mind that,\" interrupted Cordula. \"But please look at the bandage,\nbeneath which the flesh burns and aches more than is necessary, and then\ngo on with your explanation.\"\n\nEls examined the countess's arm, and then applied a household remedy\nwhose use she had learned from the wife of Herr Pfinzing, her Aunt\nChristine, who was familiar with the healing art. It relieved the pain,\nand when Cordula told her so, Els went on with her explanation. \"When all\nthese blows fell upon me, they at first seemed, indeed, unprecedented and\nscarcely possible to endure. When afterwards my Wolff's unhappy deed was\nadded, I felt as though I were standing in a dense, dark mist, where each\nstep forwards must lead me into a stifling morass or over a precipice.\nThen I began to reflect upon what had happened, as is my custom; I\nseparated, in my thoughts, the evil menacing in the future from the good,\nand had scarcely made a little progress in this way when morass and abyss\nlost their terrors; both, I found, could be left to take care of\nthemselves, since neither Wolff nor I lack love and good will, and we\npossess some degree of prudence and caution.\"\n\n\"Yes, this thinking and considering!\" cried the countess, with a faint\nsigh. \"It succeeds in my case, too, only, unluckily, I usually don't\nbegin until it is too late and the folly has been committed.\"\n\n\"Then, henceforth, you must reverse the process,\" answered Els cheerily.\nBut directly after she changed her tone, which sounded serious enough as\nshe added: \"The sorrow of the poor Vorchtels and the grief my betrothed\nhusband must endure, because the dead man was once a dear friend,\ncertainly casts a dark shadow upon many things; but you, who love the\nchase, must surely be familiar with the misty autumn mornings to which I\nallude. Everything, far and near, is covered by a thick veil, yet one\nfeels that there is bright sunshine behind it. Suddenly the mist\nscatters----\"\n\n\"And mountain and forest, land and water, lie before us in the radiant\nsunlight!\" cried the countess. \"How well I know such scenes! And how I\nshould rejoice if a favourable wind would sweep the grey mist away for\nyou right speedily! Only--indeed, I am not disposed to look on the dark\nside--only, perhaps you do not know how resolute the Emperor is that the\npeace of the country shall be maintained. If your lover allowed himself\nto be carried away----\"\n\n\"This was not the first time,\" Els eagerly interrupted, \"that young\nVorchtel tried to anger him in the presence of others; and he believed\nthat he was justified in bearing a grudge against his former friend--it\nwas considered a settled thing that Wolff and his sister Ursula were to\nmarry.\"\n\n\"Until,\" Cordula broke in, \"he gazed into your bright eyes.\"\n\n\"How could you know that?\" asked Els in confusion.\n\n\"Because, in love and hate, as well as in reckoning, two and three follow\none,\" laughed the countess. \"As for your Wolff, in particular, I will\ngladly believe, with you, that he can succeed in clearing himself before\nthe judges. But with regard to old Eysvogel, who looks as though, if he\nmet our dear Lord Himself, he would think first which of the two was the\nricher, your future brother-in-law Siebenburg, that disagreeable\n'Mustache,' and his poor wife, who sits at home grieving over her\ndissolute husband--what gratitude you can expect from such kindred--\"\n\n\"None,\" replied Els sadly. Yet a mischievous smile hovered around her\nlips as, bending over the invalid, she added in a whisper: \"But the good\nI expect from all the evil is, that we and the Eysvogels will be\nseparated as if by wall and moat. They will never cross them, but Wolff\nwould find the way back to me, though we were parted by an ocean, and\nmountains towering to the sky divided----\"\n\n\"This confidence, indeed, maintains the courage,\" said the countess, and\nwith a faint sigh she added: \"Whatever evil may befall you, many might\nenvy you.\"\n\n\"Then love has conquered you also?\" Els began; but Cordula answered\nevasively:\n\n\"Let that pass, dear Jungfrau. Perhaps love treats me as a mother deals\nwith a froward child, because I asked too much of her. My life has become\nan endless battue. Much game of all kinds is thus driven out to be shot,\nbut the sportsman finds true pleasure only in tracking the single\nheathcock, the solitary chamois. Yet, no,\" and in her eagerness she flung\nher bandaged hand so high into the air that she groaned with pain and was\nforced to keep silence. When able to speak once more, still tortured by\nsevere suffering, she exclaimed angrily: \"No, I want neither driving nor\nstalking. What do I care for the prey? I am a woman, too. I would fain be\nthe poor persecuted game, which the hunter pursues at the risk of\nbreaking his bones and neck. It must be delightful; one would willingly\nbear the pain of a wound for its sake. I don't mean these pitiful burns,\nbut a deep and deadly one.\"\n\n\"You ought to have spared yourself these,\" said Els in a tone of\naffectionate warning. \"Consider what you are to your father, and how your\nsuffering pains him! To risk a precious human life for the sake of a\nstupid brute--\"\n\n\"They call it a sin, I know,\" Cordula burst forth. \"And yet I would\ncommit the same tomorrow at the risk of again--Oh, you cautious city\npeople, you maidens with snow-white hands! What do you know of a girl\nlike me? You cannot even imagine what my child life was; and yet it is\ntold in a single word--motherless! I was never permitted to see her, to\nhear her dear, warning voice. She paid with her own life for giving me\nmine. My father? How kind he is! He meant to supply his dead wife's place\nby anticipating my every wish. Had I desired to feast my eyes on the\ncastle in flames, it would, perhaps, now lie in ashes. So I became what I\nam. True--and this is something--I grew to be at least one person's\njoy--his. No, no, at home there are others also, though they dwell in\nwretched hovels, who would gladly welcome me back. But except these, who\nwill ask about the reckless countess? I myself do not care to linger long\nwhen the mirror shows me my image. Do you wish to know what this has to\ndo with the fire? Much; for otherwise I should scarcely have been\nwounded. The lightning had struck only the convent barn; the cow stable,\nwhen we arrived, was still safe, but the flames soon reached it also.\nNeither the nuns nor the men had thought of driving the cattle out. Poor\ncity cattle! In the country the animals have more friendly care. When the\nwork of rescue was at last commenced the cows naturally refused to leave\ntheir old home. Some prudent person had torn the door off the hinges that\nthey might not stifle. Just in front of it stood a pretty red cow with a\nwhite star on her face. A calf was by her side, and the mother had\nalready sunk on her knees and was licking it in mortal terror. I pitied\nthe poor thing, and as Boemund Altrosen, the black-haired knight who\nentered your house with the rest after the ride to Kadolzburg, had just\ncome there, I told him to save the calf. Of course he obeyed my wish, and\nas it struggled he dragged it out of the stable with his strong arms. The\nbuilding was already blazing, and the thatched roof threatened to fall\nin. Just at that moment the old cow looked at me so piteously and uttered\nsuch a mournful bellow that it touched me to the heart. My eyes rested on\nthe calf, and a voice within whispered that it would be motherless, like\nme, and miss during the first part of its life God's best gift. But\nsince, as you have heard, I act before I think, I went myself--I no\nlonger know how--into the burning stable. It was hard to breathe in the\ndense smoke, and fiery sparks scorched my shawl and my hair, but I was\nconscious of one thought: You must save the helpless little creature's\nmother! So I called and lured her, as I do at home, where all the cows\nare fond of me, but it was useless; and just as I perceived this the\nthatched roof fell in, and I should probably have perished had not\nAltrosen this time carried my own by no means light figure out of the\nstable instead of the calf.\"\n\n\"And you?\" asked Els eagerly.\n\n\"I submitted,\" replied the countess.\n\n\"No, no,\" urged Els. \"Your heart throbbed faster with grateful joy, for\nyou saw the desire of your soul fulfilled. A hunter, and one of the\nnoblest of them all, risked his life in the pursuit of your love. O\nCountess Cordula, I remember that knight well, and if the dark-blue\nsleeve which he wore on his helm in the tournament was yours--\"\n\n\"I believe it was,\" Cordula interrupted indifferently. \"But, what was of\nmore importance, when I opened my eyes again the cow was standing\noutside, licking her recovered calf.\"\n\n\"And the knight?\" asked Els. \"Whoever so heroically risks his life for\nhis lady's wish should be sure of her gratitude.\"\n\n\"Boemund can rely on that,\" said Cordula positively. \"At least, what he\ndid this time for my sake weighs more heavily in the scale than the\nlances he has broken, his love songs, or the mute language of his longing\neyes. Those are shafts which do not pierce my heart. How reproachfully\nyou look at me! Let him take lessons from his friend Heinz Schorlin, and\nhe may improve. Yes, the Swiss knight! He would be the man for me, spite\nof your involuntary meeting with him and your devout sister, for whom he\nforgot every one else, and me also, in the dancing hall. O Jungfrau Els,\nI have the hunter's eyes, which are keen-sighted! For his sake your\nbeautiful Eva, with her saintly gaze, might easily forget to pray. It was\nnot you, but she, who drew him to-night to your house. Had this thought\nentered my head downstairs in the entry I should probably, to be honest,\nhave omitted my little fairy tale and let matters take their course. St.\nClare ought to have protected her future votary. Besides, it pleases the\narrogant little lady to show me as plainly as possible, on every\noccasion, that I am a horror to her. Let those who will accept such\ninsults. My Christianity does not go far enough to offer her the right\ncheek too. And shall I tell you something? To spoil her game, I should be\ncapable, in spite of all the life preservers in the world, of binding\nSchorlin to me in good earnest.\"\n\n\"Do not!\" pleaded Els, raising her clasped hands beseechingly, and added,\nas if in explanation: \"For the noble Boemund Altrosen's sake, do not.\"\n\n\"To promise that, my darling, is beyond my power,\" replied Cordula\ncoolly, \"because I myself do not know what I may do or leave undone\ntomorrow or the day after. I am like a beech leaf on the stream. Let us\nsee where the current will carry it. It is certain,\" and she looked at\nher bandaged hands, \"that my greatest beauty, my round arms, are\ndisfigured. Scars adorn a man; on a woman they are ugly and repulsive. At\na dance they can be hidden under tight sleeves, but how hot that would be\nin the 'Schwabeln' and 'Rai'! So I had better keep away from these\nfoolish gaieties in future. A calf turns a countess out of a ballroom!\nWhat do you think of that? New things often happen.\"\n\nHere she was interrupted; the housekeeper called Els. Sir Seitz\nSiebenburg, spite of the untimely hour, had come to speak to her about an\nimportant matter. Her father had gone to rest and sleep. The knight also\nenquired sympathisingly about Countess von Montfort and presented his\nrespects.\n\n\"Of which I can make no use!\" cried Cordula angrily. \"Tell him so,\nMartsche.\"\n\nAs the housekeeper withdrew she exclaimed impatiently: \"How it burns! The\nheat would be enough to convert the rescued calf into an appetising\nroast. I wish I could sleep off the pain of my foolish prank! The\nsunlight is beginning to be troublesome. I cannot bear it; it is\nblinding. Draw the curtain over the window.\"\n\nCordula's own maid hastened to obey the order. Els helped the countess\nturn on her pillows, and as in doing so she touched her arm, the sufferer\ncried angrily: \"Who cares what hurts me? Not even you!\"\n\nHere she paused. The pleading glance which Els had cast at her must have\npierced her soft heart, for her bosom suddenly heaved violently and,\nstruggling to repress her sobs, she gasped, \"I know you mean kindly, but\nI am not made of stone or iron either. I want to be alone and go to\nsleep.\"\n\nShe closed her eyes as she spoke and, when Els bent to kiss her, tears\nbedewed her cheeks.\n\nSoon after Els went down into the entry to meet her lover's\nbrother-in-law. He had refused to enter the empty sitting-room. The\nCountess von Montfort's unfriendly dismissal had vexed him sorely, yet it\nmade no lasting impression. Other events had forced into the background\nthe bitter attack of Cordula, for whom he had never felt any genuine\nregard.\n\nThe experiences of the last few hours had converted the carefully\nbedizened gallant into a coarse fellow, whose outward appearance bore\nvisible tokens of his mental depravity. The faultlessly cut garment was\npushed awry on his powerful limbs and soiled on the breast with wine\nstains. The closely fitting steel chain armour, in which he had ridden\nout, now hung in large folds upon his powerful frame. The long mustache,\nwhich usually curled so arrogantly upwards, now drooped damp and limp\nover his mouth and chin, and his long reddish hair fell in dishevelled\nlocks around his bloated face. His blue eyes, which usually sparkled so\nbrightly, now looked dull and bleared, and there were white spots on his\ncopper-coloured cheeks.\n\nSince Countess Cordula gave him the insulting message to his wife he had\nundergone more than he usually experienced in the course of years.\n\n\"An accursed night!\" he had exclaimed, in reply to the housekeeper's\nquestion concerning the cause of his disordered appearance.\n\nEls, too, was startled by his looks and the hoarse sound of his voice.\nNay, she even drew back from him, for his wandering glance made her fear\nthat he was intoxicated.\n\nOnly a short time before, it is true, he had scarcely been able to stand\nerect, but the terrible news which had assailed him had quickly sobered\nhim.\n\nHe had come at this unwontedly early hour to enquire whether the Ortliebs\nhad heard anything of his brother-in-law Wolff. There was not a word of\nallusion to the broken betrothal.\n\nIn return for the promise that she would let the Eysvogels know as soon\nas she received any tidings of her lover, which Els gave unasked,\nSiebenburg, who had always treated her repellently or indifferently,\nthanked her so humbly that she was surprised. She did not know how to\ninterpret it; nay, she anticipated nothing good when, with urgent\ncordiality, he entreated her to forget the unpleasant events of the\npreceding night, which she must attribute to a sudden fit of anger on\nHerr Casper's part. She was far too dear to all the members of the family\nfor them to give her up so easily. What had occurred--she must admit that\nherself--might have induced even her best friend to misunderstand it. For\none brief moment he, too, had been tempted to doubt her innocence. If she\nknew old Eysvogel's terrible situation she would certainly do everything\nin her power to persuade her father to receive him that morning,\nor--which would be still better--go to his office. The weal and woe of\nmany persons were at stake, her own above all, since, as Wolff's\nbetrothed bride, she belonged to him inseparably.\n\n\"Even without the ring?\" interrupted Els bitterly; and when Siebenburg\neagerly lamented that he had not brought it back, she answered proudly\n\"Don't trouble yourself, Sir Seitz! I need this sacred pledge as little\nas the man who still wears mine. Tell your kinsfolk so. I will inform my\nfather of Herr Casper's wish; he is asleep now. Shall I guess aright in\nbelieving that the other disasters which have overtaken you are connected\nwith the waggon trains Wolff so anxiously expected?\"\n\nSiebenburg, twirling his cap in confusion, assented to her question,\nadding that he knew nothing except that they were lost and, after\nrepeating his entreaty that she would accomplish a meeting between the\ntwo old gentlemen, left her.\n\nIt would indeed have been painful for him to talk with Els, for a\nmessenger had brought tidings that the waggons had been attacked and\nrobbed, and the perpetrators of the deed were his own brothers and their\ncousin and accomplice Absbach. True, Seitz himself had had no share in\nthe assault, yet he did not feel wholly blameless for what had occurred,\nsince over the wine and cards he had boasted, in the presence of the\nrobbers, of the costly wares which his father-in-law was expecting, and\nmentioned the road they would take.\n\nSeitz Siebenburg's conscience was also burdened with something quite\ndifferent.\n\nVexed and irritated by the countess's insulting rebuff, he had gone to\nthe Green Shield to forget his annoyance at the gaming table in the Duke\nof Pomerania's quarters. He had fared ill. There was no lack of fiery\nRhine wine supplied by the generous host; the sultry atmosphere caused by\nthe rising thunderstorm increased his thirst and, half intoxicated, and\nincensed by the luck of Heinz Schorlin, in whom he saw the preferred\nlover of the lady who had so suddenly withdrawn her favour, he had been\nled on to stakes of unprecedented amount. At last he risked the lands,\ncastle, and village which he possessed in Hersbruck as his wife's dower.\nMoreover, he was aware of having said things which, though he could not\nrecall them to memory in detail, had roused the indignation of many of\nthose who were present. The remarks referred principally to the Ortlieb\nsisters.\n\nAmid the wild uproar prevailing around the gaming table that night the\nduel which had cost young Vorchtel his life was not mentioned until the\nlast dice had been thrown. In the discussion the victor's betrothed bride\nhad been named, and Siebenburg clearly remembered that he had spoken of\nthe breaking of his brother-in-law's engagement, and connected it with\naccusations which involved him in a quarrel with several of the guests,\namong them Heinz Schorlin.\n\nSimilar occurrences were frequent, and he was brave, strong, and skilful\nenough to cope with any one, even the dreaded Swiss; only he was vexed\nand troubled because he had disputed with the man to whom he had lost his\nproperty. Besides, his father-in-law had so earnestly enjoined it upon\nhim to put no obstacle in the way of his desire to make peace with the\nOrtliebs that he was obliged to bow his stiff neck to them.\n\nThe arrogant knight's position was critical, and real inward dignity was\nunknown to him. Yet he would rather have been dragged with his brothers\nto the executioner's block than humbled himself before the Swiss. But he\nmust talk with him for the sake of his twin sons, whose heritage he had\nso shamefully gambled away. True, the utmost he intended was the\nconfession that, while intoxicated, he had staked his property at the\ngaming table and said things which he regretted. Heinz Schorlin's\ngenerosity was well known. Perhaps he might offer some acceptable\narrangement ere the notary conveyed his estate to him. He did not yet\nfeel that he could stoop so low as to receive a gift from this young\nupstart.\n\nIf his father-in-law, who supported him, was really ruined, as he had\njust asserted, he would indeed be plunged into beggary, with his wife,\nwhose stately figure constantly rose before him, with a look of mute\nreproach, his beautiful twin boys, and his load of debt.\n\nThe gigantic man felt physically crushed by the terrible blows of fate\nwhich had fallen upon him during this last wakeful night. He would fain\nhave gone to the nearest tavern and there left it to the wine to bring\nforgetfulness. To drink, drink constantly, and in the intervals sleep\nwith his head resting on his arms, seemed the most tempting prospect. But\nhe was obliged to return to the Eysvogels. There was too much at stake.\nBesides, he longed to see the twins who resembled him so closely, and of\nwhom Countess Cordula had said that she hoped they would not be like\ntheir father.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Abandoned women (required by law to help put out the fires)\n     The heart must not be filled by another's image\n\n\n\n\nIN THE FIRE OF THE FORGE\n\nA ROMANCE OF OLD NUREMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nThe city gates were already open. Peasants and peasant women bringing\nvegetables and other farm produce to market thronged the streets, wains\nloaded with grain or charcoal rumbled along, and herds of cattle and\nswine, laden donkeys, the little carts of the farmers and bee keepers\nconveying milk and honey to the city, passed over the dyke, which was\nstill softened by the rain of the preceding night.\n\nThe thunderstorm had cooled the air, but the rays of the morning sun were\nalready scorching. A few heavy little clouds were darkly relieved against\nthe blue sky, and a peasant, driving two sucking pigs before him, called\nto another, who was carrying a goose under each arm, that the sun was\ndrawing water, and thundershowers seldom came singly.\n\nYet the city looked pleasant enough in the freshness of early June. The\nmaidservants who were opening the shutters glanced gaily out into the\nstreets, and arranged the flowers in front of the windows or bowed\nreverently as a priest passed by on his way to mass. The barefooted\nCapuchin, with his long beard, beckoned to the cook or the tradesman's\nwife and, as she put something into his beggar's sack and he thanked her\nkindly with some pious axiom, she felt as if she herself and all her\nhousehold had gained a right to the blessing of Heaven for that day, and\ncheerily continued her work.\n\nThe brass counter in the low, broad bow window of the baker's house\nglittered brightly, and the pale apprentice wiped the flour from his face\nand gave his master's rosy-cheeked daughter fresh warm cakes to set on\nthe shining shelves. The barber's nimble apprentice hung the towel and\nbasin at the door, while his master, wearied by the wine-bibbing and talk\nat the tavern or his labour at the fire, was still asleep. His active\nwife had risen before him, strewed the shop with fresh sand, and renewed\nthe goldfinch's food.\n\nThe workshops and stores were adorned with birch branches, and the young\ndaughters of the burghers, in becoming caps, the maid servants and\napprentices, who were going to market with baskets on their arms, wore a\nflower or something green on their breasts or in their caps.\n\nThe first notes of the bells, pealing solemnly, were summoning\nworshippers to mass, the birds were singing in the garden, and the cocks\nwere crowing in the yards of the houses. The animals passing in the\nstreet lowed, grunted, and cackled merrily in the dawn of the young day.\n\nGay young men, travelling students who had sought cheap quarters in the\ncountry, now entered the city with a merry song on their lips just shaded\nby the first down of manhood, and when a maiden met them she lowered her\neyes modestly before the riotous fellows.\n\nThe terrors of the frightful thunderstorm seemed forgotten. Nuremberg\nlooked gladsome; a carpet hung from many a bow-window, and flags and\nstreamers fluttered from roofs and balconies to honour the distinguished\nguests. Many signs of their presence were visible, squires and equerries,\nin their masters' colours, were riding spirited horses, and a few knights\nwho loved early rising were already in the saddle, their shining helmets\nand coats of mail flashing brightly in the sunshine.\n\nThe gigantic figure of Sir Seitz Siebenburg moved with drooping head\nthrough the budding joy of this June day towards the Eysvogel dwelling.\n\nHis gloomy, haggard face and disordered attire made two neatly dressed\nyoung shoemaker's apprentices, on their way to their work, nudge each\nother and look keenly at him.\n\n\"I'd rather meet him here in broad daylight among houses and people than\nin the dusk on the highway,\" remarked one of them.\n\n\"There's no danger,\" replied the other. \"He wears the curb now. He moved\nfrom the robber nest into the rich Eysvogel house opposite. That's Herr\nCasper's son-in-law. But such people can never let other folks' property\nalone. Only here they work in another way. The shoes he wears were made\nin our workshop, but the master still whistles for his pay, and he owes\neverybody--the tailor, the lacemaker, the armourer, the girdlemaker, and\nthe goldsmith. If an apprentice reminds him of the debt, let him beware\nof bruises.\"\n\n\"The Emperor Rudolph ought to issue an edict against such injustice!\"\nwrathfully exclaimed the other and taller youth, the handsome son of a\nmaster of the craft from Weissenburg on the Sand, who expected soon to\ntake his father's place. \"Up at Castle Graufels, which is saddled on our\nlittle town, master and man would be going barefoot but for us; yet for\nthree years we haven't seen so much as a penny of his, though my father\nsays times have already improved, since the Hapsburg, as a just man----\"\n\n\"Things have not been so bad here for a long while, the saints be\npraised!\" his companion broke in. \"Siebenburg, or some of his wife's rich\nkindred, will at last be compelled to settle matters. We have the law and\nthe Honourable Council to attend to that. Look up! Yonder stately old\nhouse gave its daughter to the penniless knight. She is one of our\ncustomers too; a handsome woman, and not one of the worst either. But her\nmother, who was born a countess--if the shoe doesn't make a foot small\nwhich Nature created big, there's such an outcry! True, the old woman,\nher mother, is worse still; she scolds and screams. But look up at the\nbow window. There she stands. I'm only a poor brewer's son, but before\nI----\"\n\n\"You don't say so!\" the other interrupted. Have you seen the owl in the\ncage in front of the guardhouse at the gate of the hospital? It is her\nliving image; and how her chin projects and moves up and down, as though\nshe were chewing leather!\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said the other, as if insisting upon something difficult to\nbelieve, \"and yet the old woman is a real countess.\"\n\nThe Weissenburg apprentice expressed his astonishment with another: \"You\ndon't say so!\" but as he spoke he grasped his companion's arm, adding\nearnestly: \"Let us go. That ugly old woman just looked at me, and if it\nwasn't the evil eye I shall go straight to the church and drive away the\nmisfortune with holy water.\"\n\n\"Come, then,\" answered the Nuremberg youth, but continued thoughtfully:\n\"Yet my master's grandmother, a woman of eighty, is probably older than\nthe one up there, but nobody could imagine a kinder, pleasanter dame.\nWhen she looks approvingly at one it seems as if the dear God's blessing\nwere shining from two little windows.\"\n\n\"That's just like my grandmother at home!\" exclaimed the Weissenburg\napprentice with sparkling eyes.\n\nTurning from the Eysvogel mansion as they spoke, they pursued their way.\n\nSiebenburg had overtaken the apprentices, but ere crossing the threshold\nof the house which was now his home he stopped before it.\n\nIt might, perhaps, be called the largest and handsomest in Nuremberg; but\nit was only a wide two-story structure, though the roof had been adorned\nwith battlements and the sides with a small bow-windowed turret. At the\nsecond story a bracket, bearing an image of the Madonna, had been built\nout on one side, and on the other the bow window from which old Countess\nRotterbach had looked down into the street.\n\nThe coat of arms was very striking and wholly out of harmony with the\nsimplicity of the rest of the building. Its showy splendour, visible for\na long distance, occupied the wide space between the door of the house\nand the windows of the upper story. The escutcheon of the noble family\nfrom which Rosalinde, Herr Casper's wife, had descended rested against\nthe shield bearing the birds. The Rotterbach supporters, a nude man and a\nbear standing on its hind legs, rose on both sides of the double\nescutcheon, and the stone cutter had surmounted the Eysvogel helmet with\na count's coronet.\n\nThis elaborate decoration of the ancient patrician house had become one\nof the sights of the city, and had often made Herr Casper, at the\nHonourable Council and elsewhere, clench his fist under his mantle, for\nit had drawn open censure and bitter mockery upon the arrogant man, but\nhis desire to have it replaced by a more modest one had been baffled by\nthe opposition of the women of his family. They had had it put up, and\nwould not permit any one to touch it, though Wolff, after his return from\nItaly, had strenuously urged its removal.\n\nIt had brought the Eysvogels no good fortune, for on the day of its\ncompletion the business received its first serious blow, and it also\nserved to injure the commercial house externally in a very obvious\nmanner. Whereas formerly many wares which needed to be kept dry had been\nhoisted from the outer door and the street to the spacious attic, this\nwas now prevented by the projecting figures of the nude men and the\nbears. Therefore it became necessary to hoist the goods to be stored in\nthe attic from the courtyard, which caused delay and hindrances of many\nkinds. Various expedients had been suggested, but the women opposed them\nall, for they were glad that the ugly casks and bales no longer found\ntheir way to the garret past their windows, and it also gratified their\narrogance that they were no longer visible from the street.\n\nSiebenburg now looked up at the huge escutcheon and recalled the day\nwhen, after having been specially favoured by Isabella Eysvogel at a\ndance in the Town Hall, he had paused in the same place. A long line of\nladen waggons had just stopped in front of the door surmounted by the\ndouble escutcheon, and if he had previously hesitated whether to profit\nby the favour of Isabella, whose haughty majesty, which attracted him,\nalso inspired him with a faint sense of uneasiness, he was now convinced\nhow foolish it would be not to forge the iron which seemed aglow in his\nfavour. What riches the men-servants were carrying into the vaulted\nentry, which was twice as large as the one in the Ortlieb mansion!\nBesides, the escutcheon with the count's coronet had given the knight\nassurance that he would have no cause to be ashamed, in an assembly of\nhis peers, of his alliance with the Nuremberg maiden. Isabella's hand\ncould undoubtedly free him from the oppressive burden of his debts, and\nshe was certainly a magnificent woman! How well, too, her tall figure\nwould suit him and the Siebenburgs, whose name was said to be derived\nfrom the seven feet of stature which some of them measured!\n\nNow he again remembered the hour when she had laid her slender hand in\nhis. For a brief period he had been really happy; his heart had not felt\nso light since early childhood, though at first he had ventured to\nconfess only one half his load of debt to his father-in-law. He had even\nassumed fresh obligations to relieve his brothers from their most\npressing cares. They had attended his brilliant wedding, and it had\nflattered his vanity to show them what he could accomplish as the wealthy\nEysvogel's son-in-law.\n\nBut how quickly all this had changed! He had learned that, besides the\nwoman who had given him her heart and inspired him with a passion\nhitherto unknown, he had wedded two others.\n\nNow, as the image of old Countess Rotterbach, Isabella's grandmother,\nforced itself upon his mind, he unconsciously knit his brow. He had not\nheard her say much, but with every word she bestowed upon him he was\nforced to accept something bitter. She rarely left her place in the\narmchair in the bow window in the sitting-room, but it seemed as if her\nlittle eyes possessed the power of piercing walls and doors, for she knew\neverything that concerned him, even his greatest secrets, which he\nbelieved he had carefully concealed. More on her account than on that of\nhis mother-in-law, who did nothing except what the former commanded, he\nhad repeatedly tried to remove with his wife to the estate of\nTannenreuth, which had been assigned to him on the day of the marriage,\nthat its revenues might support the young couple, but the mother and\ngrandmother detained his wife, and their wishes were more to her than\nhis. Perhaps, however, he might have induced her to go with him had not\nhis father-in-law made his debts a snare, which he drew whenever it was\nnecessary to stifle his wishes, and he, too, wanted to retain his\ndaughter at home.\n\nSince Wolff's return from Italy he had become aware that the stream of\ngold from the Eysvogel coffers flowed more sparingly, or even failed\naltogether to satisfy his extravagant tastes. Therefore his relations\nwith his brother-in-law, whose prudent caution he considered avarice, and\nwhose earnest protests against his often unprecedented demands frequently\nroused his ire, became more and more unfriendly.\n\nThe inmates of the Eysvogel house rendered his home unendurable, and from\nthe experiences of his bachelor days he knew only too well where mirth\nreigned in Nuremberg. So he became a rare guest at the Eysvogels, and\nwhen Isabella found herself neglected and deceived, she made him feel her\nresentment in her own haughty and--as soon as she deemed herself\ninjured--harsh manner.\n\nAt first her displeasure troubled him sorely, but the ardent passion\nwhich had absorbed him during the early days of their marriage had died\nout, and only flamed up with its old fervour occasionally; but at such\ntimes the haughty, neglected wife repulsed him with insulting severity.\n\nYet she had never permitted any one to disparage her husband behind his\nback. True, Siebenburg did not know this, but he perceived more and more\nplainly that both the Eysvogels, father and son, were oppressed by some\ngrave anxiety, and that the sums which Wolff now paid him no longer\nsufficed to hold his creditors in check. He was not accustomed to impose\nany restraint upon himself, and thus it soon became known throughout the\ncity that he did not live at peace with his wife and her family.\n\nYet five weeks ago matters had appeared to improve. The birth of the\ntwins had brought something new into his life, which drew him nearer to\nIsabella.\n\nThe children at first seemed to him two lovely miracles. Both boys, both\nexactly like him. When they were brought to him on their white,\nlace-trimmed pillows, his heart had swelled with joy, and it was his\ngreatest delight to gaze at them.\n\nThis was the natural result.\n\nHe, the stalwart Siebenburg, had not become the father of one ordinary\nboy, but of two little knights at once. When he returned home--even if\nhis feet were unsteady--his first visit was to them, and he had often\nfelt that he was far too poor and insignificant to thank his neglected\nwife aright for so precious a gift.\n\nWhenever this feeling took possession of him he expressed his love to\nIsabella with tender humility; while she, who had bestowed her hand upon\nhim solely from love, forgot all her wrongs, and her heart throbbed\nfaster with grateful joy when she saw him, with fatherly pride, carry the\ntwins about with bent knees, as if their weight was too heavy for his\ngiant arms to bear.\n\nThe second week after their birth Isabella fell slightly ill. Her mother\nand grandmother undertook the nursing, and as the husband found them both\nwith the twins whenever he came to see the infants and their mother, the\nsick-room grew distasteful to him. Again, as before their birth, he\nsought compensation outside of the house for the annoyance caused by the\nwomen at home; but the memory of the little boys haunted him, and when he\nmet his companions at the tavern he invited them to drink the children's\nhealth in the host's best wine.\n\nSo life went on until the Reichstag brought the von Montforts, whom he\nhad met at a tournament in Augsburg, to the city of Nuremberg.\n\nMirth reigned wherever Countess Cordula appeared, and Siebenburg needed\namusement and joined the train of her admirers--with what evil result he\nnow clearly perceived for the first time.\n\nHe again stood before the stately dwelling where he had hoped to find\nluxury and wealth, but where his heart now throbbed more anxiously than\nthose of his kinsmen had formerly done in the impoverished castle of his\nfather, who had died so long ago.\n\nThe Eysvogel dwelling, with its showy escutcheon above the door, was\nthreatened by want, and hand in hand with it, he knew, the most hideous\nof all her children--disgrace.\n\nNow he also remembered what he himself had done to increase the peril\nmenacing the ancient commercial house. Perhaps the old man within was\nrelying upon the estate of Tannenreuth, which he had assigned to him, to\nprotect some post upon which much depended, and he had gambled it away.\nThis must now be confessed, and also the amount of his own debts.\n\nAn unpleasant task confronted him but, humiliating and harassing as was\nthe interview awaiting him beyond the threshold before which he still\nlingered, at least he would not find Wolff there. This seemed a boon,\nsince for the first time he would have felt himself in the wrong in the\npresence of his unloved brother-in-law. Even the burden of his debts\nweighed less heavily on his conscience than the irritating words with\nwhich he had induced his father-in-law to break off Wolff's betrothal to\nEls Ortlieb. The act was base and malicious. Greatly as he had erred, he\nhad never before been guilty of such a deed, and with a curse upon\nhimself on his bearded lips he approached the door; but when half way to\nit he stopped again and looked up to the second-story windows behind\nwhich the twins slept. With what delight he had always thought of them!\nBut this time the recollection of the little boys was spoiled by Countess\nCordula's message to his wife to rear them so that they would not be like\nhim, their father.\n\nAn evil wish! And yet the warmest love could have devised no better one\nin behalf of the true welfare of the boys.\n\nHe told himself so as he passed beneath the escutcheon through the heavy\nopen door with its iron ornaments. He was expected, the steward told him,\nbut he arched his broad breast as if preparing for a wrestling match,\npulled his mustache still longer, and went up the stairs.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nThe spacious, lofty sitting-room which Seitz Siebenburg entered looked\nvery magnificent. Gay Flanders tapestries hung on the walls. The ceiling\nwas slightly vaulted, and in the centre of each mesh of the net designed\nupon it glittered a richly gilded kingfisher from the family coat of\narms. Bear and leopard skins lay on the cushions, and upon the shelf\nwhich surrounded three sides of the apartment stood costly vases, gold\nand silver utensils, Venetian mirrors and goblets. The chairs and\nfurniture were made of rare woods inlaid with ebony and mother of pearl,\nbrought by way of Genoa from Moorish Spain. In the bow window jutting out\ninto the street, where the old grandmother sat in her armchair, two green\nand yellow parrots on brass perches interrupted the conversation,\nwhenever it grew louder, with the shrill screams of their ugly voices.\n\nSiebenburg found all the family except Wolff and the twins. His wife was\nhalf sitting, half reclining, on a divan. When Seitz entered she raised\nher head from the white arm on which it had rested, turned her oval face\nwith its regular features towards him, and gathered up the fair locks\nwhich, released from their braids, hung around her in long, thick\ntresses. Her eyes showed that she had been weeping violently, and as her\nhusband approached she again sobbed painfully.\n\nHer grandmother seemed annoyed by her lamentations for, pointing to\nIsabella's tears, she exclaimed sharply, glancing angrily at Siebenburg:\n\n\"It's a pity for every one of them!\"\n\nThe knight's blood boiled at the words, but they strengthened his\ncourage. He felt relieved from any consideration for these people, not\none of whom, except the poor woman shedding such burning tears, had given\nhim occasion to return love for love. Had they flowed only for the lost\nwealth, and not for him and the grief he caused Isabella, they would not\nhave seemed \"a pity\" to the old countess.\n\nSiebenburg's breath came quicker.\n\nThe gratitude he owed his father-in-law certainly did not outweigh the\nhumiliations with which he, his weak wife, and ill-natured mother-in-law\nhad embittered his existence.\n\nEven now the old gentleman barely vouchsafed him a greeting. After he had\nasked about his son, called himself a ruined man, and upbraided the\nknight with insulting harshness because his brothers--the news had been\nbrought to him a short time before--were the robbers who had seized his\ngoods, and the old countess had chimed in with the exclamation, \"They are\nall just fit for the executioner's block!\" Seitz could restrain himself\nno longer; nay, it gave him actual pleasure to show these hated people\nwhat he had done, on his part, to add to their embarrassments. He was no\norator, but now resentment loosened his tongue, and with swift, scornful\nwords he told Herr Casper that, as the son-in-law of a house which liked\nto represent itself as immensely rich, he had borrowed from others\nwhat--he was justified in believing it--had been withheld through\nparsimony. Besides, his debts were small in comparison with the vast sums\nHerr Casper had lavished in maintaining the impoverished estates of the\nRotterbach kindred. Like every knight whose own home was not pleasant, he\nsometimes gambled; and when, yesterday, ill luck pursued him and he lost\nthe estate of Tannenreuth, he sincerely regretted the disaster, but it\ncould not be helped.\n\nTerror and rage had sealed the old countess's lips, but now they parted\nin the hoarse cry: \"You deserve the wheel and the gallows, not the\nhonourable block!\" and her daughter, Rosalinde Eysvogel, repeated in a\ntone of sorrowful lamentation, \"Yes, the wheel and the gallows.\"\n\nA scornful laugh from Siebenburg greeted the threat, but when Herr\nCasper, white as death and barely able to control his voice, asked\nwhether this incredible confession was merely intended to frighten the\nwomen, and the knight assured him of the contrary, he groaned aloud:\n\"Then the old house must succumb to disgraceful ruin.\"\n\nYears of life spent together may inspire and increase aversion instead of\nlove, but they undoubtedly produce a certain community of existence. The\nbitter anguish of his aged household companion, the father of his wife,\nto whom bonds of love still unsevered united him, touched even Seitz\nSiebenburg. Besides, nothing moves the heart more quickly than the grief\nof a proud, stern man. Herr Casper's confession did not make him dearer\nto the knight, but it induced him to drop the irritating tone which he\nhad assumed, and in an altered voice he begged him not to give up his\ncause as lost without resistance. For his daughter's sake old Herr\nOrtlieb must lend his aid. Els, with whom he had just spoken, would cling\nfirmly to Wolff, and try to induce her father to do all that was possible\nfor her lover's house. He would endeavour to settle with his own\ncreditors himself. His sharp sword and strong arm would be welcome\neverywhere, and the booty he won----Here he was interrupted by the\ngrandmother's query in a tone of cutting contempt: \"Booty? On the\nhighway, do you mean?\"\n\nOnce more the attack from the hostile old woman rendered the knight's\ndecision easier, for, struggling not to give way to his anger, he\nanswered: \"Rather, I think, in the Holy Land, in the war against the\ninfidel Saracens. At any rate, my presence would be more welcome anywhere\nthan in this house, whose roof shelters you, Countess. If, Herr Casper,\nyou intend to share with my wife and the twins what is left after the old\nwealth has gone, unfortunately, I cannot permit you to do so. I will\nprovide for them also. True, it was your duty; for ever since Isabella\nbecame my wife you have taken advantage of my poverty and impaired my\nright to command her. That must be changed from this very day. I have\nlearned the bitter taste of the bread which you provide. I shall confide\nthem to my uncle, the Knight Heideck. He was my dead mother's only\nbrother, and his wife, as you know, is the children's godmother. They are\nchildless, and would consider it the most precious of gifts to have such\nboys in the castle. My deserted wife must stay with him, while I--I know\nnot yet in what master's service--provide that the three are not\nsupported only by the charity of strangers---\"\n\n\"Oh, Seitz, Seitz!\" interrupted Isabella, in a tone of urgent entreaty.\nShe had risen from her cushions, and was hurrying towards him. \"Do not\ngo! You must not go so!\"\n\nHer tall figure nestled closely against him as she spoke, and she threw\nher arms around his neck; but he kissed her brow and eyes, saying, with a\ngentleness which surprised even her: \"You are very kind, but I cannot,\nmust not remain here.\"\n\n\"The children, the little boys!\" she exclaimed again, gazing up at him\nwith love-beaming eyes. Then his tortured heart seemed to shrink, and,\npressing his hand on his brow, he paused some time ere he answered\ngloomily: \"It is for them that I go. Words have been spoken which appeal\nto me, and to you, too, Isabella: 'See that the innocent little creatures\nare reared to be unlike their unhappy father.' And the person who uttered\nthem----\"\n\n\"A sage, a great sage,\" giggled the countess, unable to control her\nbitter wrath against the man whom she hated; but Siebenburg fiercely\nretorted:\n\n\"Although no sage, at least no monster spitting venom.\"\n\n\"And you permit this insult to be offered to your grandmother?\" Frau\nRosalinde Eysvogel wailed to her daughter as piteously as if the injury\nhad been inflicted on herself. But Isabella only clung more closely to\nher husband, heeding neither her mother's appeal nor her father's warning\nnot to be deluded by Siebenburg's empty promises.\n\nWhile the old countess vainly struggled for words, Rosalinde Eysvogel\nstood beside the lofty mantelpiece, weeping softly. Before Siebenburg\nappeared, spite of the early hour and the agitating news which she had\njust received, she had used her leisure for an elaborate toilette. A long\ntrailing robe of costly brocade, blue on the left side and yellow on the\nright, now floated around her tall figure. When the knight returned she\nhad looked radiant in her gold and gems, like a princess. Now, crushed\nand feeble, she presented a pitiable image of powerless yet offensively\nhollow splendour. It would have required too much exertion to assail her\nson-in-law with invectives, like her energetic mother; but when she saw\nher daughter, to whom she had already appealed several times in a tone of\nanguished entreaty, rest her proud head so tenderly on her husband's\nbroad breast, as she had done during the first weeks of their marriage,\nbut never since, the unhappy woman clearly perceived that the knight's\nincredible demand was meant seriously. What she had believed an idle\nboast he actually requested. Yonder hated intruder expected her to part\nwith her only daughter, who was far more to her than her unloved husband,\nher exacting mother, or the son who restricted her wishes, whom she had\nnever understood, and against whom her heart had long been hardened. But\nit could not be and, losing all self-control and dignity, she shrieked\naloud, tore the blue headband from her hair and, repeating the \"never\"\nconstantly as if she had gone out of her senses, gasped: \"Never, never,\nnever, so long as I live!\"\n\nAs she spoke she rushed to her startled husband, pointed to her\nson-in-law, who still held his wife in a close embrace, and in a\nhalf-stifled voice commanded Herr Casper to strike down the gambler,\nrobber, spendthrift, and kidnapper of children, or drive him out of the\nhouse like some savage, dangerous beast. Then she ordered Isabella to\nleave the profligate who wanted to drag her down to ruin; and when her\ndaughter refused to obey, she burst into violent weeping, sobbing and\nmoaning till her strength failed and she was really attacked with one of\nthe convulsions she had often feigned, by the advice of her own mother,\nto extort from her husband the gratification of some extravagant wish.\n\nIndignant, yet full of sincere sympathy, Herr Casper supported his wife,\nwhose queenly beauty had once fired his heart, and in whose embrace he\nhad imagined that he would be vouchsafed here below the joys of the\nredeemed. As she rested her head, with its long auburn tresses, still so\nluxuriant, upon his shoulder, exquisite pictures of the past rose before\nthe mental vision of the elderly man; but the spell was quickly broken,\nfor the kerchief with which he wiped her face was dyed red from her\nrouged cheeks.\n\nA bitter smile hovered around his well-formed, beardless lips, and the\nman of business remembered the vast sums which he had squandered to\ngratify the extravagant wishes of the mother and daughter, and show these\ncountesses that he, the burgher, in whose veins ran noble blood,\nunderstood as well as any man of their own rank how to increase the charm\nof life by luxury and splendour.\n\nWhile he supported his wife, and the old countess was seeking to relieve\nher, Isabella also prepared to hasten to her mother's assistance, but her\nhusband stopped her with resistless strength, whispering: \"You know that\nthese convulsions are not dangerous. Come with me to the children. I want\nto bid them farewell. Show me in this last hour, at least, that these\nwomen are not more to you than I.\" He released her as he spoke, and the\nmental struggle which for a short time made her bosom heave violently\nwith her hurried breathing ended with a low exclamation, \"I will come.\"\n\nThe nurse, whom Isabella sent out of the room when she entered with her\nhusband, silently obeyed, but stopped at the door to watch. She saw the\nturbulent knight kneel beside the children's cradle before the wife whom\nhe had so basely neglected, raise his tearful eyes to the majestic woman,\nwhose stature was little less than his own and, lifting his clasped\nhands, make a confession which she could not hear; saw her draw him\ntowards her, nestle with loving devotion against his broad breast, and\nplace first one and then the other twin boy in his arms.\n\nThe young mother's cheeks as well as the father's were wet, but the eyes\nof both sparkled with grateful joy when Isabella, in taking leave of her\nhusband, thanked him with a last loving kiss for the vow that, wherever\nhe might go, he would treasure her and the children in his heart, and do\neverything in his power to secure a fate that should be worthy of them.\n\nAs Siebenburg went downstairs he met his father-in-law on the\nsecond-story landing. Herr Casper, deadly pale, was clinging with his\nright hand to the baluster, pressing his left on his brow, as he vainly\nstruggled for composure and breath. He had forgotten to strengthen\nhimself with food and drink, and the terrible blows of fate which had\nfallen upon him during these last hours of trial crushed, though but for\na short time, his still vigorous strength. The knight went nearer to help\nhim, but when he offered Herr Casper his arm the old merchant angrily\nthrust it back and accepted a servant's support.\n\nWhile the man assisted him upstairs he repented that he had yielded to\nresentment, and not asked his son-in-law to try to discover Wolff's\nhiding place, but no sooner had food and fiery wine strengthened him than\nhis act seemed wise. The return of the business partner, without whose\nknowledge he had incurred great financial obligations, would have placed\nhim in the most painful situation. The old gentleman would have been\nobliged to account to Wolff for the large sum which he owed to the Jew\nPfefferkorn, the most impatient of his creditors, though he need not have\ntold him that he had used it in Venice to gratify his love of gaming. How\nshould he answer his son if he asked why he had rejected his betrothed\nbride, and soon after condescended to receive her again as his daughter\nand enter into close relations with her father? Yet this must be done.\nErnst Ortlieb was the only person who could help him. It had become\nimpossible to seek aid from Herr Berthold Vorchtel, the man whose oldest\nson Wolff had slain, and yet he possessed the means to save the sinking\nship from destruction.\n\nWhen the news of the duel reached him the messenger's blanched face had\nmade him believe that Wolff had fallen. In that moment he had perceived\nthat his loss would have rendered him miserable for the rest of his life.\nThis was a source of pleasure, for since Wolff had extorted his consent\nto the betrothal with Els Ortlieb, and thus estranged him from the\nVorchtels, he had seriously feared that he had ceased to love him. Nay,\nin many an hour when he had cause to feel shame in the presence of his\nprudent, cautious, and upright partner, it had seemed as if he hated him.\nNow the fear of the judge whom he saw in Wolff was blended with sincere\nanxiety concerning his only son, whose breach of the peace menaced him\nwith banishment--nay, if he could not pay the price of blood which the\nVorchtels might demand, with death. Doubtless he had done many things to\nprejudice Wolff against his betrothed bride, yet he who had cast the\nfirst stone at her now felt that, in her simple purity, she would be\ncapable of no repudiation of the fidelity she owed her future husband.\nHowever strongly he had struggled against this conviction, he knew that\nshe, if any one, could make his son happy--far happier than he had ever\nbeen with the tall, slender, snow-white, unapproachable countess, who had\nhelped bring him to ruin.\n\nWhile consuming the food and drink, he heard his wife, usually a most\nobedient daughter, disputing with her mother. This was fortunate; for, if\nthey were at variance, he need not fear that they would act as firm\nallies against him when he expressed the wish to have Wolff's marriage\nsolemnised as soon as circumstances would permit.\n\nIt was not yet time to discuss the matter with any one. He would first go\nto the Jew Pfefferkorn once more to persuade him to defer his claims, and\nthen, before the meeting of the Council, would repair to the Ortliebs, to\ncommit to Herr Ernst the destiny of the Eysvogel firm and his partner\nWolff, on which also depended the welfare of the young merchant's\nbetrothed bride. If the father remained obdurate, if he resented the\nwrong he had inflicted yesterday upon him and his daughter, he was a lost\nman; for he had already availed himself of the good will of all those\nwhose doors usually stood open to him. Doubtless the news of his recent\nsevere losses were in every one's mouth, and the letter which he had just\nreceived threatened him with an indictment.\n\nThe luckless Siebenburg's creditors, too, would now be added to his own.\nIt was all very well for him to say that he would settle his debts him\nself. As soon as it was rumoured abroad that he had gambled away the\nestate of Tannenreuth, whose value gave the creditors some security, they\nwould rise as one man, and the house assailed would be his, Casper\nEysvogel's.\n\nThe harried man's thoughts of his son-in-law were by no means the most\nkindly.\n\nMeanwhile the latter set out for the second distasteful interview of the\nmorning.\n\nHis purpose was to make some arrangement with Heinz Schorlin about the\nlost estate and obtain definite knowledge concerning his quarrel with\nhim, of which he remembered nothing except that intoxication and jealousy\nhad carried him further than would have happened otherwise. He had\nundoubtedly spoken insultingly of Els; his words, when uttered against a\nlady, had been sharper than beseemed a knight. Yet was not any one who\nfound a maiden alone at night with this man justified in doubting her\nvirtue? In the depths of his soul he believed in her innocence, yet he\navoided confessing it. Why should not the Swiss, whom Nature had given\nsuch power over the hearts of women, have also entangled his\nbrother-in-law's betrothed bride in a love affair? Why should not the gay\ngirl who had pledged her troth to a grave, dull fellow like Wolff, have\nbeen tempted into a little love dalliance with the bold, joyous Schorlin?\n\nNot until he had received proof that he had erred would he submit to\nrecall his charges.\n\nHe had left his wife with fresh courage and full of good intentions. Now\nthat he was forced to bid her farewell, he first realised what she had\nbeen to him. No doubt both had much to forgive, but she was a splendid\nwoman. Though her father's storehouses contained chests of spices and\nbales of cloth, he did not know one more queenly. That he could have\npreferred, even for a single moment, the Countess von Montfort, whose\nsole advantage over her was her nimble tongue and gay, bold manners, now\nseemed incomprehensible. He had joined Cordula's admirers only to forget\nat her feet the annoyances with which he had been wearied at home. He had\nbut one thing for which to thank the countess--her remark concerning the\nfuture of the twins.\n\nYet was he really so base that it would have been a disgrace for his\ndarlings to resemble him? \"No!\" a voice within cried loudly, and as the\nsame voice reminded him of the victories won in tournaments and sword\ncombats, of the open hand with which, since he had been the rich\nEysvogel's son-in-law, he had lent and given money to his brothers, and\nespecially of the manly resolve to provide for his wife and children as a\nsoldier in the service of some prince, another, lower, yet insistent,\nrecalled other things. It referred to the time when, with his brothers,\nhe had attacked a train of freight waggons and not cut down their armed\nescort alone. The curse of a broad-shouldered Nordlinger carrier, whose\nbreast he had pierced with a lance though he cried out that he was a\nfather and had a wife and child to support, the shriek of the pretty boy\nwith curling brown hair who clung to the bridle of his steed as he rode\nagainst the father, and whose arm he had cut off, still seemed to ring in\nhis ears. He also remembered the time when, after a rich capture on the\nhighway which had filled his purse, he had ridden to Nuremberg in\nmagnificent new clothes at the carnival season in order, by his brothers'\ncounsel, to win a wealthy bride. Fortune and the saints had permitted him\nto find a woman to satisfy both his avarice and his heart, yet he had\nneither kept faith with her nor even showed her proper consideration.\nBut, strangely enough, the warning voice reproached him still more\nsharply for having, in the presence of others, accused and disparaged his\nbrother-in-law's betrothed bride, whose guilt he believed proved. Again\nhe felt how ignoble and unworthy of a knight his conduct had been. Why\nhad he pursued this course? Merely--he admitted it now--to harm Wolff,\nthe monitor and niggard whom he hated; perhaps also because he secretly\ntold himself that, if Wolff formed a happy marriage, he and his children,\nnot Siebenburg's twin boys, would obtain the larger share of the Eysvogel\nproperty.\n\nThis greed of gain, which had brought him to Nuremberg to seek a wife,\nwas probably latent in his blood, though his reckless accumulation of\ndebts seemed to contradict it. Yesterday, at the Duke of Pomerania's, it\nhad again led him into that wild, mad dice-throwing.\n\nSeitz Siebenburg was no calm thinker. All these thoughts passed singly in\nswift flashes through his excited brain. Like the steady monotone of the\nbass accompanying the rise and fall of the air, he constantly heard the\nassurance that it would be a pity if his splendid twins should resemble\nhim.\n\nTherefore they must grow up away from his influence, under the care of\nhis good uncle. With this man's example before their eyes they would\nbecome knights as upright and noble as Kunz Heideck, whom every one\nesteemed.\n\nFor the sake of the twins he had resolved to begin a new and worthier\nlife himself. His wife would aid him, and love should lend him strength\nto conduct himself in future so that Countess von Montfort, and every one\nwho meant well by his sons, might wish them to resemble their father.\n\nHe walked on, holding his head proudly erect. Seeing the first\nworshippers entering the Church of Our Lady, he went in, too, repeated\nseveral Paternosters, commended the little boys and their mother to the\ncare of the gracious Virgin, and besought her to help him curb the\nturbulent impulses which often led him to commit deeds he afterwards\nregretted.\n\nMany people knew Casper Eysvogel's tall, haughty son-in-law and marvelled\nat the fervent devotion with which, kneeling in the first place he found\nnear the entrance, beside two old women, he continued to pray. Was it\ntrue that the Eysvogel firm had been placed in a very critical situation\nby the loss of great trains of merchandise? One of his neighbours had\nheard him sigh, and declared that something must weigh heavily upon the\n\"Mustache.\" She would tell her nephew Hemerlein, the belt-maker, to whom\nthe knight owed large sums for saddles and harnesses, that he would be\nwise to look after his money betimes.\n\nSiebenburg quitted the church in a more hopeful mood than when he entered\nit.\n\nThe prayers had helped him.\n\nWhen he reached the fruit market he noticed that people gazed at him in\nsurprise. He had paid no heed to his dress since the morning of the\nprevious day, and as he always consumed large quantities of food and\ndrink he felt the need of refreshment. Entering the first barber's shop,\nhe had the stubble removed from his cheeks and chin, and arranged his\ndisordered attire, and then, going to a taproom close by, ate and drank,\nwithout sitting down, what he found ready and, invigorated in body and\nmind, continued his walk.\n\nThe fruit market was full of busy life. Juicy strawberries and early\ncherries, red radishes, heads of cabbages, bunches of greens, and long\nstalks of asparagus were offered for sale, with roses and auriculas,\nbalsams and early pinks, in pots and bouquets, and the ruddy peasant\nlasses behind the stands, the stately burgher women in their big round\nhats, the daughters of the master workmen with their long floating locks\nescaping from under richly embroidered caps, the maidservants with neat\nlittle baskets on their round arms, afforded a varied and pleasing scene.\nEverything that reached the ear, too, was cheery and amusing, and\nrendered the knight's mood brighter.\n\nProud of his newly acquired power of resistance, he walked on, after\nyielding to the impulse to buy the handsomest bouquet of roses offered by\nthe pretty flower girl Kuni, whom, on Countess Cordula's account, during\nthe Reichstag he had patronised more frequently than usual. Without\nknowing why himself, he did not tell the pretty girl, who had already\ntrusted him very often, for whom he intended it, but ordered it to be\ncharged with the rest.\n\nAt the corner of the Bindergasse, where Heinz Schorlin lodged, he found a\nbeggar woman with a bandaged head, whom he commissioned to carry the\nroses to the Eysvogel mansion and give them to his wife, Fran Isabella\nSiebenburg, in his--Sir Seitz's--name.\n\nIn front of the house occupied by the master cloth-maker Deichsler, where\nthe Swiss had his quarters, the tailor Ploss stopped him. He came from\nHeinz Schorlin, and reminded Siebenburg of his by no means inconsiderable\ndebt; but the latter begged him to have patience a little longer, as he\nhad met with heavy losses at the gaming table the night before, and Ploss\nagreed to wait till St. Heinrich's day--[15th July].\n\nHow many besides the tailor had large demands! and when could Seitz begin\nto cancel his debts? The thought even darted through his mind that\ninstead of carrying his good intentions into effect he had not paid for\nthe roses--but flowers were so cheap in June!\n\nBesides, he had no time to dwell upon this trifle, for while quieting the\ntailor he had noticed a girl who, notwithstanding the heat of the day,\nkept her face hidden so far under her Riese--[A kerchief for the head,\nresembling a veil, made of fine linen.]--that nothing but her eyes and\nthe upper part of her nose were visible. She had given him a hasty nod\nand, if he was not mistaken, it was the Ortlieb sisters' maid, whom he\nhad often seen.\n\nWhen he again looked after the muffled figure she was hurrying up the\ncloth-maker's stairs.\n\nIt was Katterle herself.\n\nAt the first landing she had glanced back, and in doing so pushed the\nkerchief aside. What could she want with the Swiss? It could scarcely be\nanything except to bring him a message from one of her mistresses,\ndoubtless Els.\n\nSo he had seen aright, and acted wisely not to believe the countess.\n\nPoor Wolff! Deceived even when a betrothed lover! He did not exactly wish\nhim happiness even now, and yet he pitied him.\n\nSeitz could now stand before Heinz Schorlin with the utmost confidence.\nThe Swiss must know how matters stood between the older E and him self,\nthough his knightly duty constrained him to deny it to others.\nSiebenburg's self-reproaches had been vain. He had suspected no innocent\ngirl--only called a faithless betrothed bride by the fitting name.\n\nThe matter concerning his estate of Tannenreuth was worse. It had been\ngambled away, and therefore forfeited. He had already given it up in\nimagination; it was only necessary to have the transfer made by the\nnotary. The Swiss should learn how a true knight satisfies even the\nheaviest losses at the gaming table. He would not spare Heinz Schorlin.\nHe meant to reproach the unprincipled fellow who by base arts had\nalienated the betrothed bride of an honest man--for that Wolff certainly\nwas--when adverse circumstances prevented his watching the faithless\nwoman himself. Twisting the ends of his mustache with two rapid motions,\nhe knocked at the young knight's door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nTwice, three times, Siebenburg rapped, but in vain. Yet the Swiss was\nthere. His armour-bearer had told Seitz so downstairs, and he heard his\nvoice within. At last he struck the door so heavily with the handle of\nhis dagger that the whole house echoed with the sound. This succeeded;\nthe door opened, and Biberli's narrow head appeared. He looked at the\nvisitor in astonishment.\n\n\"Tell your master,\" said the latter imperiously, recognising Heinz\nSchorlin's servant, \"that if he closes his lodgings against dunning\ntradesfolk--\"\n\n\"By your knock, my lord,\" Biberli interrupted, we really thought the\nsword cutler had come with hammer and anvil. My master, however, need\nhave no fear of creditors; for though you may not yet know it, Sir\nKnight, there are generous noblemen in Nuremberg during the Reichstag who\nthrow away castles and lands in his favour at the gaming table.\"\n\n\"And hurl their fists even more swiftly into the faces of insolent\nvarlets!\" cried Siebenburg, raising his right hand threateningly. \"Now\ntake me to your master at once!\"\n\n\"Or, at any rate, within his four walls,\" replied the servitor, preceding\nSeitz into the small anteroom from which he had come. \"As to the 'at\nonce,' that rests with the saints, for you must know----\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" interrupted the knight. \"Tell your master that Siebenburg has\nneither time nor inclination to wait in his antechamber.\"\n\n\"And certainly nothing could afford Sir Heinz Schorlin greater pleasure\nthan your speedy departure,\" Biberli retorted.\n\n\"Insolent knave!\" thundered Seitz, who perceived the insult conveyed in\nthe reply, grasping the neck of his long robe; but Biberli felt that he\nhad seized only the hood, swiftly unclasped it, and as he hurried to a\nside door, through which loud voices echoed, Siebenburg heard the low cry\nof a woman. It came from behind a curtain spread over some clothes that\nhung on the wall, and Seitz said to himself that the person must be the\nmaid whom he had just met. She was in Els Ortlieb's service, and he was\nglad to have this living witness at hand.\n\nIf he could induce Heinz to talk with him here in the anteroom it would\nbe impossible for her to escape. So, feigning that he had noticed\nnothing, he pretended to be much amused by Biberli's nimble flight.\nForcing a laugh, he flung the hood at his head, and before he opened the\ndoor of the adjoining room again asked to speak to his master. Biberli\nreplied that he must wait; the knight was holding a religious\nconversation with a devout old mendicant friar. If he might venture to\noffer counsel, he would not interrupt his master now; he had received\nvery sad news, and the tailor who came to take his measure for his\nmourning garments had just left him. If Seitz had any business with the\nknight, and expected any benefit from his favour and rare generosity----\n\nBut Siebenburg let him get no farther. Forgetting the stratagem which was\nto lure Heinz hither, he burst into a furious rage, fiercely declaring\nthat he sought favour and generosity from no man, least of all a Heinz\nSchorlin and, advancing to the door, flung the servant who barred his\npassage so rudely against the wall that he uttered a loud cry of pain.\n\nEre it had died away Heinz appeared on the threshold. A long white robe\nincreased the pallor of his face, but yesterday so ruddy, and his\nreddened eyes showed traces of recent tears.\n\nWhen he perceived what had occurred, and saw his faithful follower, with\na face distorted by pain, rubbing his shoulder, his cheeks flushed\nangrily, and with just indignation he rebuked Siebenburg for his unseemly\nintrusion into his quarters and his brutal conduct.\n\nThen, without heeding the knight, he asked Biberli if he was seriously\ninjured, and when the latter answered in the negative he again turned to\nSeitz and briefly enquired what he wanted. If he desired to own that,\nwhile in a state of senseless intoxication he had slandered modest\nmaidens, and was ignorant of his actions when he staked his castle and\nlands against the gold lying before him, Heinz Schorlin, he might keep\nTannenreuth. The form in which he would revoke his calumny to Jungfrau\nOrtlieb he would discuss with him later. At present his mind was occupied\nwith more important matters than the senseless talk of a drunkard, and he\nwould therefore request the knight to leave him.\n\nAs Heinz uttered the last words he pointed to the door, and this\nindiscreet, anything but inviting gesture robbed Siebenburg of the last\nremnant of composure maintained with so much difficulty.\n\nNothing is more infuriating to weak natures than to have others expect\nthem to pursue a course opposite to that which, after a victory over\nbaser impulses, they have recognised as the right one and intended to\nfollow. He who had come to resign his lost property voluntarily was\nregarded by the Swiss as an importunate mendicant; he who stood here to\nprove that he was perfectly justified in accusing Els Ortlieb of a crime,\nSchorlin expected to make a revocation against his better knowledge. And\nwhat price did the insolent fellow demand for the restored estate and the\nright to brand him as a slanderer? The pleasure of seeing the unwelcome\nguest retire as quickly as possible. No greater degree of contempt and\noffensive presumption could be imagined, and as Seitz set his own\nadmirable conduct during the past few hours far above the profligate\nbehaviour of the Swiss, he was fired with honest indignation and, far\nfrom heeding the white robe and altered countenance of his enemy, gave\nthe reins to his wrath.\n\nPale with fury, he flung, as it were, the estate the Swiss had won from\nhim at his feet, amid no lack of insulting words.\n\nAt first Heinz listened to the luckless gambler's outbreak of rage in\nsilent amazement, but when the latter began to threaten, and even clapped\nhis hand on his sword, the composure which never failed him in the\npresence of anything that resembled danger quickly returned.\n\nHe had felt a strong aversion to Siebenburg from their first meeting, and\nthe slanderous words with which he had dragged in the dust the good name\nof a maiden who, Heinz knew, had incurred suspicion solely through his\nfault, had filled him with scorn. So, with quiet contempt, he let him\nrave on; but when the person to whom he had just been talking--the old\nMinorite monk whom he had met on the highroad and accompanied to\nNuremberg--appeared at the door of the next room, he stopped Seitz with a\nfirm \"Enough!\" pointed to the old man, and in brief, simple words, gave\nthe castle and lands of Tannenreuth to the monastery of the mendicant\nfriars of the Franciscan order in Nuremberg.\n\nSiebenburg listened with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, then he\nsaid bitterly: \"I thought that a life of poverty was the chief rule in\nthe order of St. Francis. But no matter! May the gift won at the gaming\ntable profit the holy Brothers. For you, Sir Knight, it will gain the\nfavour of the Saint of Assisi, whose power is renowned. So you have acted\nwisely.\"\n\nHere he hesitated; he felt choked with rage. But while the Minorite was\nthanking Heinz for the generous gift, Siebenburg's eyes again rested on\nthe curtain behind which the maid was concealed.\n\nIt was now his turn to deal the Swiss a blow. The old mendicant friar was\na venerable person whose bearing commanded respect, and Heinz seemed to\nvalue his good opinion. For that very reason the Minorite should learn\nthe character of this patron of his order.\n\n\"Since you so earnestly desire to be rid of my company, Sir Heinz\nSchorlin,\" he continued, \"I will fulfil your wish. Only just now you\nappeared to consider certain words uttered last night in reference to a\nlady--\"\n\n\"Let that pass,\" interrupted Heinz with marked emphasis.\n\n\"I might expect that desire,\" replied Siebenburg scornfully; \"for as you\nare in the act of gaining the favour of Heaven by pious works, it will be\nagreeable to you--\"\n\n\"What?\" asked the Swiss sharply.\n\n\"You will surely desire,\" was the reply, \"to change conduct which is an\noffence to honourable people, and still more to the saints above. You who\nhave estranged a betrothed bride from her lover and lured her to midnight\ninterviews, no doubt suppose yourself safe from the future husband, whom\nthe result of a duel--as you know--will keep from her side. But Wolff\nhappens to be my brother-in-law, and if I feel disposed to take his place\nand break a lance with you----\"\n\nHeinz, pale as death, interrupted him, exclaiming in a tone of the\ndeepest indignation: \"So be it, then. We will have a tilt with lances,\nand then we will fight with our swords.\"\n\nSiebenburg looked at him an instant, as if puzzled by his adversary's\nsharp assault, but quickly regained his composure and answered: \"Agreed!\nIn the joust--[single combat in the tourney]--with sharp weapons it will\nsoon appear who has right on his side.\"\n\n\"Right?\" asked Heinz in astonishment, shrugging his shoulders scornfully.\n\n\"Yes, right,\" cried the other furiously, \"which you have ceased to\nprize.\"\n\n\"So far from it,\" the Swiss answered quietly, \"that before we discuss the\nmode of combat with the herald I must ask you to recall the insults with\nwhich yesterday, in your drunkenness, you injured the honour of a\nvirtuous maiden in the presence of other knights and gentlemen.\"\n\n\"Whose protector,\" laughed Seitz, \"you seem to have constituted yourself,\nby your own choice, in her bridegroom's place.\"\n\n\"I accept the position,\" replied Heinz with cool deliberation. \"Not you,\nnay, I will fight in Wolff Eysvogel's stead--and with his consent, I\nthink. I know him, and esteem him so highly----\"\n\n\"That you invite his plighted bride to nocturnal love dalliance, and\nexchange love messages with her,\" interrupted the other.\n\nThis was too much for Heinz Schorlin and, with honest indignation, he\ncried: \"Prove it! Or, by our Lord's blood!--My sword, Biberli!--Spite of\nthe peace proclaimed throughout the land, you shall learn, ere you open\nyour slandering lips again----\"\n\nHere he paused suddenly, for while Biberli withdrew to obey the command\nwhich, though it probably suited his wishes, he was slow in executing,\ndoubtless that he might save his master from a reckless act, Siebenburg,\nfrantic with fury, rushed to the curtain. Ere Heinz could interfere, he\njerked it back so violently that he tore it from the fastenings and\nforced the terrified maid, whose arm he grasped, to approach the knight\nwith him.\n\nHeinz had seen Katterle only by moonlight and in the twilight, so her\nunexpected appearance gave him no information. He gazed at her\nenquiringly, with as much amazement as though she had risen from the\nearth. Siebenburg gave him no time to collect his thoughts, but dragged\nthe girl before the monk and, raising his voice in menace, commanded:\n\"Tell the holy Brother who you are, woman!\"\n\n\"Katterle of Sarnen,\" she answered, weeping. \"And whom do you serve?\" the\nknight demanded.\n\n\"The Ortlieb sisters, Jungfrau Els and Jungfrau Eva,\" was the reply.\n\n\"The beautiful Es, as they are called here, holy Brother,\" said\nSiebenburg with a malicious laugh, \"whose maid I recognise in this girl.\nIf she did not come hither to mend the linen of her mistress's friend--\"\n\nBut here Biberli, who on his return to the anteroom had been terrified by\nthe sight of his sweetheart, interrupted the knight by turning to Heinz\nwith the exclamation: \"Forgive me, my lord. Surely you know that she is\nmy betrothed bride. She came just now--scarcely a dozen Paternosters\nago-to talk with me about the marriage.\"\n\nKatterle had listened in surprise to the bold words of her true and\nsteadfast lover, yet she was not ill pleased, for he had never before\nspoken of their marriage voluntarily. At the same time she felt the\nobligation of aiding him and nodded assent, while Siebenburg rudely\ninterrupted the servant by calling to the monk: \"Lies and deception,\npious Brother. Black must be whitened here. She stole, muffled, to her\nmistress's gallant, to bring a message from the older beautiful E, with\nwhom this godly knight was surprised last night.\"\n\nAgain the passionate outbreak of his foe restored the Swiss to composure.\nWith a calmness which seemed to the servant incomprehensible, though it\nfilled him with delight, he turned to the monk, saying earnestly and\nsimply: \"Appearances may be against me, Pater Benedictus. I will tell you\nall the circumstances at once. How this maid came here will be explained\nlater. As for the maiden whom this man calls the older beautiful E,\nnever--I swear it by our saint--have I sought her love or received from\nher the smallest token of her favour.\"\n\nThen turning to Siebenburg he continued, still calmly, but with menacing\nsternness: \"If I judge you aright, you will now go from one to another\ntelling whom you found here, in order to injure the fair fame of the\nmaiden whom your wife's valiant brother chose for his bride, and to place\nmy name with hers in the pillory.\"\n\n\"Where Els Ortlieb belongs rather than in the honourable home of a\nNuremberg patrician,\" retorted Siebenburg furiously. \"If she became too\nbase for my brother-in-law, the fault is yours. I shall certainly take\ncare that he learns the truth and knows where, and at what an hour, his\nbetrothed bride met foreign heartbreakers. To open the eyes of others\nconcerning her will also be a pleasant duty.\"\n\nHeinz sprang towards Biberli to snatch the sword from his hand, but he\nheld it firmly, seeking his master's eyes with a look of warning\nentreaty; but his faithful solicitude would have been futile had not the\nmonk lent his aid. The old man's whispered exhortation to his young\nfriend to spare the imperial master, to whom he was so deeply indebted, a\nfresh sorrow, restored to the infuriated young knight his power of\nself-control. Pushing the thick locks back from his brow with a hasty\nmovement, he answered in a tone of the most intense contempt:\n\n\"Do what you will, but remember this: Beware that, ere the joust begins,\nyou do not ride the rail instead of the charger. The maidens whose pure\nname you so yearn to sully are of noble birth, and if they appear to\ncomplain of you----\"\n\n\"Then I will proclaim the truth,\" Siebenburg retorted, \"and the Court of\nLove and Pursuivant at Arms will deprive you, the base seducer, of the\nright to enter the lists rather than me, my handsome knight!\"\n\n\"So be it,\" replied Heinz quietly. \"You can discuss the other points with\nmy herald. Wolff Eysvogel, too--rely upon it--will challenge you, if you\nfulfil your base design.\"\n\nThen, turning his back upon Seitz without a word of farewell, he motioned\nthe monk towards the open door of the antechamber, and letting him lead\nthe way, closed it behind them.\n\n\"He will come to you, you boaster!\" Siebenburg shouted contemptuously\nafter the Swiss, and then turned to Biberli and the maid with a\npatronising question; but the former, without even opening his lips in\nreply, hastened to the door and, with a significant gesture, induced the\nknight to retire.\n\nSeitz submitted and hastened down the stairs, his eyes flashing as if he\nhad won a great victory. At the door of the house he grasped the hilt of\nhis sword, and then, with rapid movements, twisted the ends of his\nmustache. The surprise he had given the insolent Swiss by the discovery\nof his love messenger--it had acted like a spell--could not have\nsucceeded better. And what had Schorlin alleged in justification?\nNothing, absolutely nothing at all. Wolff Eysvogel's herald should\nchallenge the Swiss, not him, who meant to open the deceived lover's eyes\nconcerning his betrothed bride.\n\nHe eagerly anticipated the joust and the sword combat with Heinz. The\nsharper the herald's conditions the better. He had hurled more powerful\nfoes than the Swiss from the saddle, and from knightly \"courtoisie\" not\neven used his strength without consideration. Heinz Schorlin should feel\nit.\n\nHe gazed around him like a victor, and throwing his head back haughtily\nhe went down the Bindergasse, this time past the Franciscan monastery\ntowards the Town Hall and the fish market. Eber, the sword cutler, lived\nthere and, spite of the large sum he owed him, Seitz wished to talk with\nhim about the sharp weapons he needed for the joust. On his way he gave\nhis imagination free course. It showed him his impetuous onset, his\nenemy's fall in the sand, the sword combat, and the end of the joust, the\nswift death of his hated foe.\n\nThese pictures of the future occupied his thoughts so deeply that he\nneither saw nor heard what was passing around him. Many a person for whom\nhe forgot to turn aside looked angrily after him. Suddenly he found his\nfarther progress arrested. The crier had just raised his voice to\nannounce some important tidings to the people who thronged around him\nbetween the Town Hall and the Franciscan monastery. Perhaps he might have\nsucceeded in forcing a passage through the concourse, but when he heard\nthe name \"Ernst Ortlieb,\" in the monotonous speech of the city crier, he\nfollowed the remainder of his notice. It made known to the citizens of\nNuremberg that, since the thunderstorm of the preceding night, a maid had\nbeen missing from the house of the Honourable Herr Ernst Ortlieb, of the\nCouncil, a Swiss by birth, Katharina of Sarnen, called Katterle, a woman\nof blameless reputation. Whoever should learn anything concerning the\ngirl was requested to bring the news to the Ortlieb residence.\n\nWhat did this mean?\n\nIf the girl had vanished at midnight and not returned to her employers\nsince, she could scarcely have sought Heinz Schorlin as a messenger of\nlove from Els. But if she had not come to the Swiss from one of the Es,\nwhat proof did he, Seitz, possess of the guilt of his brother-in-law's\nbride? How should he succeed in making Wolff understand that his beloved\nEls had wronged him if the maid was to play no part in proving it?\nYesterday evening he had not believed firmly in her guilt; that very\nmorning it had even seemed to him a shameful thing that he had cast\nsuspicion upon her in the presence of others. The encounter with the maid\nat the Swiss knight's lodgings had first induced him to insist on his\naccusation so defiantly. And now? If Heinz Schorlin, with the help of the\nOrtliebs, succeeded in proving the innocence of those whom he had\naccused, then--ah, he must not pursue that train of thought--then, at the\nlady's accusation, he might be deprived of the right to enter the lists\nin the tournament; then all the disgrace which could be inflicted upon\nthe slanderous defamer of character threatened him; then Wolff would\nsummon him to a reckoning, as well as Heinz Schorlin. Wolff, whom he had\nbegun to hate since, with his resistless arm of iron, he had exposed him\nfor the first time to the malicious glee of the bystanders in the fencing\nhall.\n\nYet it was not this which suddenly bowed his head and loudly admonished\nhim that he had again behaved like a reckless fool. Cowardice was his\nleast fault. He did not fear what might befall him in battle. Whether he\nwould be barred out from the lists was the terrible question which\ndarkened the bright morning already verging towards noon. He had charged\nEls with perfidy in the presence of others, and thereby exposed her, the\nplighted bride of a knight, to the utmost scorn. And besides--fool that\nhe was!--his brothers had again attacked a train of waggons on the\nhighway and would soon be called to account as robbers. This would\ncertainly lead the Swiss and others to investigate his own past, and the\nPursuivant at Arms excluded from joust and tourney whoever \"injured trade\nor merchant.\" What would not his enemy, who was in such high favour with\nthe Emperor, do to compass his destruction? But--and at the thought he\nuttered a low imprecation--how could he ride to the joust if his\nfather-in-law closed his strong box which, moreover, was said to be\nempty? If the old man was forced to declare himself bankrupt Siebenburg's\ncreditors would instantly seize his splendid chargers and costly suits of\narmour, scarcely one half of which were paid for. How much money he\nneeded as security in case of defeat! His sole property was debts. Yet\nthe thought seemed like an illumination--his wife's valuable old jewels\ncould probably still be saved, and she might be induced to give him part\nof the ornaments for the tournament. He need only make her understand\nthat his honour and that of the twins were at stake. Would that Heaven\nmight spare his boys such hours of anxiety and self-accusation!\n\nBut what was this? Was he deluding himself? Did his over-excited\nimagination make him hear a death knell pealing for his honour and his\nhopes, which must be borne to their grave? Yet no! All the citizens and\npeasants, men and women, great and small, who thronged the salt market,\nwhich he had just entered, raised their heads to listen with him; for\nfrom every steeple at once rang the mournful death knell which announced\nto the city the decease of an \"honourable\" member of the Council, a\nsecular or ecclesiastical prince. The mourning banner was already waving\non the roof of the Town Hall, towards which he turned. Men in the service\nof the city were hoisting other black flags upon the almshouse, and now\nthe Hegelein--[Proclaimer of decrees]--in mourning garments, mounted on a\nsteed caparisoned with crepe, came riding by at the head of other\nhorsemen clad in sable, proclaiming to the throng that Hartmann, the\nEmperor Rudolph's promising son, had found an untimely end. The noble\nyouth was drowned while bathing in the Rhine.\n\nIt seemed as if a frost had blighted a blooming garden. The gay bustle in\nthe market place was paralysed. The loud sobs of many women blended with\nexclamations of grief and pity from bearded lips which had just been\nmerrily bargaining for salt and fish, meat and game. Messengers with\ncrepe on their hats or caps forced a passage through the throng, and a\ntrain of German knights, priests, and monks passed with bowed heads,\nbearing candles in their hands, between the Town Hail and St. Sebald's\nChurch towards the corn magazine and the citadel.\n\nMeanwhile dark clouds were spreading slowly over the bright-blue vault of\nthe June sky. A flock of rooks hovered around the Town Hall, and then\nflew, with loud cries, towards the castle.\n\nSeitz watched them indifferently. Even the great omnipotent sovereign\nthere had his own cross to bear; tears flowed in his proud palace also,\nand sighs of anguish were heard. And this was just. He had never wished\nevil to any one who did not injure him, but even if he could have averted\nthis sore sorrow from the Emperor Rudolph he would not have stirred a\nfinger. His coronation had been a blow to him and to his brothers.\nFormerly they had been permitted to work their will on the highways, but\nthe Hapsburg, the Swiss, had pitilessly stopped their brigandage. Now for\nthe first time robber-knights were sentenced and their castles destroyed.\nThe Emperor meant to transform Germany into a sheepfold, Absbach\nexclaimed. The Siebenburg brothers were his faithful allies, and though\nthey complained that the joyous, knightly clank of arms would be silenced\nunder such a sovereign, they themselves took care that the loud battle\nshouts, cries of pain, and shrieks for aid were not hushed on the roads\nused for traffic by the merchants. But this was not Seitz's sole reason\nfor shrugging his shoulders at the expressions of the warmest sympathy\nwhich rose around him. The Emperor was tenderly attached to Heinz\nSchorlin, and the man who was so kindly disposed to his foe could never\nbe his friend. Perhaps to-morrow Rudolph might behead his brothers and\nelevate Heinz Schorlin to still greater honors. Seitz, whose eyes had\noverflowed with tears when the warder of his native castle lost his aged\nwife, who had been his nurse, now found no cause to grieve with the\nmourners.\n\nSo he continued his way, burdened with his own anxieties, amid the tears\nand lamentations of the multitude. The numerous retinue of servants in\nthe Eysvogel mansion were moving restlessly to and fro; the news of the\nprince's death had reached them. Herr Casper had left the house. He was\nprobably at Herr Ernst Ortlieb's. If the latter had already learned what\nhe, Seitz Siebenburg, had said at the gaming table of his daughter,\nperhaps his hand had dealt the first decisive blow at the tottering house\nwhere, so long as it stood, his wife and the twins would under any\ncircumstances find shelter. Resentment against the Swiss, hatred, and\njealousy, had made him a knave, and at the same time the most\nshortsighted of fools.\n\nAs he approached the second story, in which the nursery was situated and\nwhere he expected to find his wife, it suddenly seemed as if a star had\nrisen amid the darkness. If he poured out his heart to Isabella and let\nher share the terrible torture of his soul, perhaps it would awaken a\ntender sympathy in the woman who still loved him, and who was dearer to\nhim than he could express. Her jewels were certainly very valuable, but\nfar more precious was the hope of being permitted to rest his aching head\nupon her breast and feel her slender white hand push back the hair from\nhis anxious brow. Oh, if misfortune would draw her again as near to him\nas during the early months of their married life and directly before it,\nhe could rise from his depression with fresh vigour and transform the\nbattle, now half lost, into victory. Besides, she was clever and had\npower over the hearts of her family, so perhaps she might point out the\npathway of escape, which his brain, unused to reflection, could not\ndiscover.\n\nHis heart throbbed high as, animated by fresh hope, he entered the\ncorridor from which opened the rooms which he occupied with her. But his\nwish to find her alone was not to be fulfilled; several voices reached\nhim.\n\nWhat was the meaning of the scene?\n\nIsabella, her face deadly pale, and her tall figure drawn up to its full\nheight, stood before the door of the nursery with a stern, cold\nexpression on her lovely lips, like a princess pronouncing sentence upon\na criminal. She was panting for breath, and before her, her mother, and\nher grandmother, Countess Cordula's pretty page, whom Siebenburg knew\nonly too well, was moving to and fro with eager gestures. He held in his\nhand the bunch of roses which Seitz had sent to his newly-won wife and\ndarling as a token of reconciliation, and Siebenburg heard his clear,\nboyish tones urge: \"I have already said so and, noble lady, you may\nbelieve me, this bouquet, which the woman brought us, was intended for my\ngracious mistress, Countess von Montfort. It was meant to give her a fair\nmorning greeting, and--Do not let this vex you, for it was done only in\nthe joyous game of love, as custom dictated. Ever since we came here your\nlord has daily honoured my countess with the loveliest flowers whose buds\nunfold in the region near the Rhine. But my gracious mistress, as you\nhave already heard, believes that you, noble lady, have a better right to\nthese unusually beautiful children of the spring than she who last\nevening bade your lord behold in you, not in her, fair lady, the most\nfitting object of his homage. So she sent me hither, most gracious madam,\nto lay what is yours at your feet.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the agile boy, with a graceful bow, tried to place the\nflowers in Isabella's hand, but she would not receive the bouquet, and\nthe abrupt gesture with which she pushed them back flung the nosegay on\nthe floor. Paying no further heed to it, she answered in a cold, haughty\ntone: \"Thank your mistress, and tell her that I appreciated her kind\nintention, but the roses which she sent me were too full of thorns.\"\nThen, turning her back on the page, she advanced with majestic pride to\nthe door of the nursery.\n\nHer mother and grandmother tried to follow, but Siebenburg pressed\nbetween them and his wife, and his voice thrilled with the anguish of a\nsoul overwhelmed by despair as he cried imploringly: \"Hear me, Isabella!\nThere is a most unhappy misunderstanding here. By all that is sacred to\nme, by our love, by our children, I swear those roses were intended for\nyou, my heart's treasure, and for you alone.\"\n\nBut Countess Rotterbach cut him short by exclaiming with a loud chuckle:\n\"The unripe early pears will probably come from the fruit market to the\nhousewife's hands later; the roses found their way to Countess von\nMontfort more quickly.\"\n\nThe malicious words were followed like an echo by Frau Rosalinde's\ntearful \"It is only too true. This also!\"\n\nThe knight, unheeding the angry, upbraiding woman, hastened in pursuit of\nhis wife to throw himself at her feet and confess the whole truth; but\nshe, who had heard long before that Sir Seitz was paying Countess Cordula\nmore conspicuous attention than beseemed a faithful husband, and who,\nafter the happy hour so recently experienced, had expected, until the\narrival of the page, the dawn of brighter, better days, now felt doubly\nabased, deceived, betrayed.\n\nWithout vouchsafing the unfortunate man even a glance or a word, she\nentered the nursery before he reached her; but he, feeling that he must\nfollow her at any cost, laid his hand on the lock of the door and tried\nto open it. The strong oak resisted his shaking and pulling. Isabella had\nshot the heavy iron bolt into its place. Seitz first knocked with his\nfingers and then with his clenched fist, until the grandmother exclaimed:\n\"You have destroyed the house, at least spare the doors.\"\n\nUttering a fierce imprecation, he went to his own chamber, hastily thrust\ninto his pockets all the gold and valuables which he possessed, and then\nwent out again into the street. His way led him past Kuni, the flower\ngirl from whom he had bought the roses. The beggar who was to carry them\nto his wife did not hear distinctly, on account of her bandaged head, and\nnot understanding the knight, went to the girl from whom she had seen him\npurchase the blossoms to ask where they belonged. Kuni pointed to the\nlodgings of the von Montforts, where she had already sent so many\nbouquets for Siebenburg. The latter saw both the flower-seller and the\nbeggar woman, but did not attempt to learn how the roses which he\nintended for his wife had reached Countess Cordula. He suspected the\ntruth, but felt no desire to have it confirmed. Fate meant to destroy\nhim, he had learned that. The means employed mattered little. It would\nhave been folly to strive against the superior power of such an\nadversary. Let ruin pursue its course. His sole wish was to forget his\nmisery, though but for a brief time. He knew he could accomplish this by\ndrink, so he entered the Mirror wine tavern and drained bumper after\nbumper with a speed which made the landlord, though he was accustomed to\nmarvellous performances on the part of his guests, shake the head set on\nhis immensely thick neck somewhat suspiciously.\n\nThe few persons present had gathered in a group and were talking sadly\nabout the great misfortune which had assailed the Emperor. The universal\ngrief displayed so hypocritically, as Seitz thought, angered him, and he\ngazed at them with such a sullen, threatening look that no one ventured\nto approach him. Sometimes he stared into his wine, sometimes into\nvacancy, sometimes at the vaulted ceiling above. He harshly rebuffed the\nlandlord and the waiter who tried to accost him, but when the peasant's\nprediction was fulfilled and the thunderstorm of the preceding night was\nfollowed at midnight by one equally severe, he arose and left the\nhostelry. The rain tempted him into the open air. The taproom was so\nsultry, so terribly sultry. The moisture of the heavens would refresh\nhim.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nThe fury of the tempest had ceased, but the sky was still obscured by\nclouds. A cool breeze blew from the northeast through the damp, heavy\nair.\n\nHeinz Schorlin was coming from the fortress, and after crossing the\nDiligengasse went directly towards his lodgings. His coat of mail, spurs,\nand helmeted head were accoutrements for the saddle, yet he was on foot.\nA throng of men, women, and children, whispering eagerly together,\naccompanied him. One pointed him out to another, as if there was\nsomething unusual about him. Two stalwart soldiers in the pay of the city\nfollowed, carrying his saddle and the equipments of his horse, and kept\nback the boys or women who boldly attempted to press too near.\n\nHeinz did not heed the throng. He looked pale, and his thick locks,\nfalling in disorder from under his helmet, floated around his face. The\nchain armour on his limbs and his long surcoat were covered with mire.\nThe young knight, usually so trim, looked disordered and, as it were,\nthrown off his balance. His bright face bore the impress of a horror\nstill unconquered, as he gazed restlessly into vacancy, and seemed to be\nseeking something, now above and now in the ground.\n\nThe pretty young hostess, Frau Barbara Deichsler, holding her little\nthree-year-old daughter by the hand, stood in front of the house in the\nBindergasse where he lodged. The knight usually had a pleasant or merry\nword for her, and a gay jest or bit of candy for Annele. Nay, the young\nnoble, who was fond of children, liked to toss the little one in his arms\nand play with her.\n\nFrau Barbara had already heard that, as Heinz was returning from the\nfortress, the lightning had struck directly in front of him, killing his\nbeautiful dun charger, which she had so often admired. It had happened\ndirectly before the eyes of the guard, and the news had gone from man to\nman of the incredible miracle which had saved the life of the young\nSwiss, the dearest friend of the Emperor's dead son.\n\nWhen Heinz approached the door Frau Barbara stepped forward with Annele\nto congratulate him that the dear saints had so graciously protected him,\nbut he only answered gravely: \"What are we mortals? Rejoice in the child,\nFrau Barbara, so long as she is spared to you.\"\n\nHe passed into the entry as he spoke, but Frau Deichsler hastily prepared\nto call his armour-bearer, a grey-bearded Swiss who had served the\nknight's father and slept away the hours not devoted to his duties or to\nthe wine cup. He must supply the place of Biberli, who had left the house\na long time before, and for the first time in many years was keeping his\nmaster waiting. But Heinz knew where he was, and while the armour-bearer\nwas divesting him, awkwardly enough, of his suit of mail and gala attire,\nhe was often seized with anxiety about his faithful follower, though many\nthings with which the morning had burdened his soul lay nearer to his\nheart.\n\nNever had he been so lucky in gambling as last night in the Duke of\nPomerania's quarters. Biberli's advice to trust to the two and five had\nbeen repeatedly tested, and besides the estate of Tannenreuth, which\nSiebenburg had staked against all his winnings, he had brought home more\ngold than he had ever seen before.\n\nYet he had gone to rest in a mood by no means joyous. It was painful to\nhim to deprive any one of his lands and home. He had even resisted\naccepting Siebenburg's reckless stake, but his obstinate persistence and\ndemand could not be opposed. The calumnies by which the \"Mustache\" had\nassailed the innocent Els Ortlieb haunted him, and many others had shown\ntheir indignation against the traducer. Probably thirty gentlemen at the\ngaming table had been witnesses of these incidents, and if, to-morrow, it\nwas in everybody's mouth that he, Heinz, had been caught at mid-night in\nan interview with the elder beautiful Ortlieb E, the fault was his, and\nhe would be burdened with the guilt of having sullied the honour and name\nof a pure maiden, the betrothed bride of an estimable man.\n\nAnd Eva!\n\nWhen he woke in the morning his first thought had been of her. She had\nseemed more desirable than ever. But his relatives at home, and the\ncounsel Biberli had urged upon him during their nocturnal wandering, had\nconstantly interposed between him and the maiden whom he so ardently\nloved. Besides, it seemed certain that the passion which filled his heart\nmust end unhappily. Else what was the meaning of this unexampled good\nluck at the gaming table? The torture of this thought had kept him awake\na long time. Then he had sunk into a deep, dreamless sleep. In the\nmorning Biberli, full of delight, roused him, and displayed three large\nbags filled with florins and zecchins, the gains of the night before.\n\nThe servant had begged to be permitted to count the golden blessing,\nwhich in itself would suffice to buy the right to use the bridge from the\ncity of Luzerne twice over, and the best thing about which was that it\nwould restore the peace of mind of his lady mother at Schorlin Castle.\n\nNow, in the name of all the saints, let him continue his life of liberty,\nand leave the somnambulist to walk over the roofs, and suffer Altrosen,\nwho had worn her colour so patiently, to wed the countess.\n\nBut how long the servitor's already narrow face became when Heinz, with a\ngrave resolution new to Biberli, answered positively that no ducats would\nstray from these bags to Schorlin Castle. If, last night, anxiety had\nburdened his mind like the corpse of a murdered man, these gains weighed\nupon his soul like the loathsome body of a dead cat. Never in his whole\nlife had he felt so poor as with this devil's money. The witch-bait which\nBiberli had given him with the two and the five had drawn it out of the\npockets of his fellow gamblers. He would be neither a cut-purse nor a\ndealer in the black arts. The wages of hell should depart as quickly as\nthey came. While speaking, he seized the second largest bag and gave it\nto the servant, exclaiming: \"Now keep your promise to Katterle like an\nhonest man. The poor thing will have a hard time at her employer's. I\nmake but one condition: you are to remain in my service. I can't do\nwithout you.\"\n\nWhile the armour-bearer, in the agile Biberli's place, was handing him\nthe garments to be worn in the house, Heinz again remembered how the\nfaithful fellow had thrown himself on his knees and kissed his master's\nhands and arms in the excess of his joyful surprise, and yet he had felt\nas if a dark cloud was shadowing the brightness of his soul. The morning\nsun had shone so radiantly into his window, and Annele had come with such\nbewitching shyness to bring him a little bunch of lilies of the valley\nwith a rose in the centre, and a pleasant morning greeting from her\nmother, that the cloud could not remain, yet it had only parted\noccasionally to close again speedily, though it was less dense and dark\nthan before.\n\nYet he had taken the child in his arms and looked down into the narrow\nstreet to show her the people going to market so gaily in the early\nmorning. But he soon put her down again, for he recognised in a horseman\napproaching on a weary steed Count Curt Gleichen, the most intimate\nfriend of young Prince Hartmann and himself, and when he called to him he\nhad slid from his saddle with a faint greeting.\n\nHeinz instantly rushed out of the house to meet him, but he had found him\nbeside his steed, which had sunk on its knees, and then, trembling and\npanting, dragged itself, supported by its rider's hand, into the entry.\nThere it fell, rolled over on its side, and stretched its limbs stiffly\nin death. It was the third horse which the messenger had killed since he\nleft the Rhine, yet he was sure of arriving too soon; for he had to\nannounce to a father the death of his promising son.\n\nHeinz listened, utterly overwhelmed, to the narrative of the eye-witness,\nwho described how Hartmann, ere he could stretch out a hand to save him,\nhad been dragged into the depths by the waves of the Rhine.\n\nIn spite of the sunny brightness of the morning the young Swiss had had a\npresentiment of some great misfortune, and had told himself that he would\nwelcome it if it relieved him from the burden which had darkened his soul\nsince the disgraceful good luck of the previous night. Now it had\nhappened, and how gladly he would have continued to bear the heaviest\nload to undo the past. He had sobbed on his friend's breast like a child,\naccusing Heaven for having visited him with this affliction.\n\nHartmann had been not only his friend but his pupil--and what a pupil! He\nhad instructed him in horsemanship and the use of the sword, and during\nthe last year shared everything with him and young Count Gleichen as if\nthey were three brothers and, like a brother, the prince had constantly\ngrown closer to his heart. Had he, Heinz, accompanied Hartmann to the\nRhine and been permitted to remain with him, neither or both would have\nfallen victims to the river! And Hartmann's aged father, the noble man to\nwhom he owed everything, and who clung with his whole soul to the beloved\nyouth, his image in mind and person--how would the Emperor Rudolph endure\nthis? But a few months ago death had snatched from him his wife, the love\nof his youth, the mother of his children, the companion of his glorious\ncareer! The thought of him stirred Heinz to the depths of his soul, and\nhe would fain have hastened at once to the castle to help the stricken\nfather bear the new and terrible burden imposed upon him. But he must\nfirst care for the messenger of these terrible tidings who, with lips\nwhite from exhaustion, needed refreshment.\n\nBiberli, who saw and thought of everything, had already urged the hostess\nto do what she could, and sent the servant to the tailor that, when Heinz\nrode to the fortress, he might not lack the mourning--a tabard would\nsuffice--which could be made in a few hours.\n\nFrau Barbara had just brought the lunch and promised to obey the command\nto keep the terrible news which she had just heard a secret from every\none, that the rumor might not reach the fortress prematurely, when\nanother visitor appeared--Heinz Schorlin's cousin, Sir Arnold Maier of\nSilenen, a tall, broad-shouldered man of fifty, with stalwart frame and\npowerful limbs.\n\nHis grave, bronzed countenance, framed by a grey beard, revealed that he,\ntoo, brought no cheering news. He had never come to his young cousin's at\nso early an hour.\n\nHis intelligent, kindly grey eyes surveyed Heinz with astonishment. What\nhad befallen the happy-hearted fellow? But when he heard the news which\nhad wet the young knight's eyes with tears, his own lips also quivered,\nand his deep, manly tones faltered as he laid his heavy hands on the\nmourner's shoulders and gazed tearfully into his eyes. At last he\nexclaimed mournfully: \"My poor, poor boy! Pray to Him to whom we owe all\nthat is good, and who tries us with the evil. Would to God I had less\npainful tidings for you!\"\n\nHeinz shrank back, but his cousin told him the tidings learned from a\nSwiss messenger scarcely an hour before. The dispute over the bridge toll\nhad caused a fight. The uncle who supplied a father's place to Heinz and\nmanaged his affairs--brave old Walther Ramsweg--was killed; Schorlin\nCastle had been taken by the city soldiery and, at the command of the\nchief magistrate, razed to the ground. Wendula Schorlin, Heinz's mother,\nwith her daughter Maria, had fallen into the hands of the city soldiers\nand been carried to the convent in Constance, where she and her youngest\nchild now remained with the two older daughters.\n\nHeinz, deeply agitated by the news, exclaimed: \"Uncle Ramsweg, our kind\nsecond father, also in the grave without my being able to press his\nbrave, loyal hand in farewell! And Maria, our singing bird, our nimble\nlittle squirrel, with those grave, world-weary Sisters! And my mother!\nYou, too, like every one, love her, Cousin--and you know her. She who has\nbeen accustomed to command, and to manage the house and the lands, who\nlike a saint dried tears far and near amid trouble and deprivation--she,\ndeprived of her own strong will, in a convent! Oh, Cousin, Cousin! To\nhear this, and not be able to rush upon the rabble who have robbed us of\nthe home of our ancestors, as a boy crushes a snail shell! Can it be\nimagined? No Castle Schorlin towering high above the lake on the cliff at\nthe verge of the forest. The room where we all saw the light of the world\nand listened to our mother's songs destroyed; the sacred chamber where\nthe father who so lovingly protected us closed his eyes; the chapel where\nwe prayed so devoutly and vowed to the Holy Virgin a candle from our\nlittle possessions, or, in the lovely month of May, brought flowers to\nher from our mother's little garden, the cliff, or the dark forest. The\ncourtyard where we learned to manage a steed and use our weapons, the\nhall where we listened to the wandering minstrels, in ruins! Gone, gone,\nall gone! My mother and Maria weeping prisoners!\"\n\nHere his cousin broke in to show him that love was leading him to look on\nthe dark side. His mother had chosen the convent for her daughter's sake;\nshe was by no means detained there by force. She could live wherever she\npleased, and her dowry, with what she had saved, would be ample to\nsupport her and Maria, in the city or the country, in a style suited to\ntheir rank.\n\nThis afforded Heinz some consolation, but enough remained to keep his\ngrief alive, and his voice sounded very sorrowful as he added: \"That\nlessens the bitterness of the cup. But who will re build the ancient\ncastle? Who will restore our uncle? And the Emperor, my beloved, fatherly\nmaster, dying of grief! Our Hartmann dead! Washed away like a dry branch\nwhich the swift Reuss seizes and hurries out of our sight! Too much, too\nhard, too terrible! Yet the sun shines as brightly as before! The\nchildren in the street below laugh as merrily as ever!\"\n\nGroaning aloud, he covered his face with his hands, and those from whom\nhe might have expected consolation were forced to leave him in the midst\nof the deepest sorrow; for the Swiss mail, which had come to Maier of\nSilenen as the most distinguished of his countrymen, was awaiting\ndistribution, and Count Gleichen was forced to fulfill his sorrowful duty\nas messenger. His friend Heinz had lent him his second horse, the black,\nto ride to the fortress.\n\nWhile Heinz, pursued by grief and care, sometimes paced up and down the\nroom, sometimes threw himself into the armchair which Frau Barbara, to do\nhim special honour, had placed in the sitting-room, the Minorite monk\nBenedictus, whom he had brought to Nuremberg, had come uninvited from the\nneighbouring monastery to give him a morning greeting. The enthusiasm\nwith which St. Francis had filled his soul in his early years had not\ndied out in his aged breast. He who in his youth had borne the escutcheon\nof his distinguished race in many a battle and tourney, as a knight\nworthy of all honour, sympathised with his young equal in rank, and found\nhim in the mood to provide for his eternal salvation. On the ride to\nNuremberg he had perceived in Heinz a pious heart and a keen intellect\nwhich yearned for higher things. But at that time the joyous youth had\nnot seemed to him ripe for the call of Heaven; when he found him bowed\nwith grief, his eyes, so radiant yesterday, swimming in tears, the\nconviction was aroused that the Omnipotent One Himself had taken him by\nthe hand to lead the young Swiss, to whom he gratefully wished the best\nblessings, into the path which the noble Saint of Assisi himself had\npointed out to him, and wherein he had found a bliss for which in the\nworld he had vainly yearned.\n\nBut his conversation with his young friend had been interrupted, first by\nthe tailor who was to make his mourning garb, then by Siebenburg, and\neven later he had had no opportunity to school Heinz; for after Seitz had\ngone Biberli and Katterle had needed questioning. The result of this was\nsufficiently startling, and had induced Heinz to send the servant and his\nsweetheart on the errand from which the former had not yet returned.\n\nWhen the young knight found himself alone he repeated what the monk had\njust urged upon him. Then Eva's image rose before him, and he had asked\nhimself whether she, the devout maiden, would not thank her saint when\nshe learned that he, obedient to her counsel, was beginning to provide\nfor his eternal salvation.\n\nMoved by such thoughts, he had smiled as he told himself that the\nMinorite seemed to be earnestly striving to win him for the monastery.\nThe old man meant kindly, but how could he renounce the trade of arms,\nfor which he was reared and which he loved?\n\nThen he had been obliged to ride to the fortress to wait upon the Emperor\nand tell him how deeply he sympathised with his grief. But he was denied\nadmittance. Rudolph desired to be alone, and would not see even his\nnearest relatives.\n\nOn the way home he wished to pass through the inner gate of the\nThiergartnerthor into Thorstrasse to cross the milk market. The violence\nof the noonday thundershower had already begun to abate, and he had\nridden quietly forward, absorbed in his grief, when suddenly a loud,\nrattling crash had deafened his ears and made him feel as if the earth,\nthe gate, and the fortress were reeling. At the same moment his horse\nleaped upward with all four feet at once, tossed its clever head\nconvulsively, and sank on its knees.\n\nHalf blinded by the dazzling light he saw, and bewildered by the\nsulphurous vapour he noticed, Heinz nevertheless retained his presence of\nmind, and had sprung from the saddle ere the quivering steed fell on its\nside. Several of the guard at the gate quickly hastened to his\nassistance, examined the horse with him, and found the noble animal\nalready dead. The lightning had darted along the iron mail on its\nforehead and the steel bit, and struck the ground without injuring Heinz\nhimself. The soldiers and a Dominican monk who had sought shelter from\nthe rain in the guardhouse extolled this as a great miracle. The people\nwho had crowded to the spot were also seized with pious awe, and followed\nthe knight to whom Heaven had so distinctly showed its favour.\n\nHeinz himself only felt that something extraordinary had happened. The\nworld had gained a new aspect. His life, which yesterday had appeared so\nimmeasurably long, now seemed brief, pitifully brief. Perhaps it would\nend ere the sun sank to rest in the Haller meadows. He must deem every\nhour that he was permitted to breathe as a gift, like the earnest money\nhe, placed in the trainer's hand in a horse trade. According to human\njudgment the lightning should have killed him as well as the horse. If he\nstill lived and breathed and saw the grey clouds drifting across the sky,\nthis was granted only that he might secure his eternal salvation, to\nwhich hitherto he had given so little concern. How grateful he ought to\nbe that this respite had been allowed him--that he had not been snatched\naway unwarned, like Prince Hartmann, in the midst of his sins!\n\nWould not Eva feel the same when she learned what had befallen him?\nPerhaps Biberli would come back soon--he had been gone so long--and could\ntell him about her.\n\nEven before the thunderbolt had stirred the inmost depths of his being,\nwhen he was merely touched by his deep grief and the monk's admonition,\nhe had striven to guide the servant and his sweetheart into the right\npath, and the grey-haired monk aided him. The monastic life, it is true,\nwould not have suited Biberli, but he had shown himself ready to atone\nfor the wrong done the poor girl who had kept her troth for three long\nyears and, unasked, went back with her to her angry master.\n\nEre Heinz set forth on his ride to the fortress he had gone out declaring\nthat he would prove the meaning of his truth and steadfastness, thereby\nincurring a peril which certainly gave him a right to wear the T and St\non his long robe and cap forever. He must expect to be held to a strict\naccount by Ernst Ortlieb. If the incensed father, who was a member of the\nCouncil, used the full severity of the law, he might fare even worse than\nill. But he had realised the pass to which he had brought his sweetheart,\nand the Minorite led his honest heart to the perception of the sin he\nwould commit if he permitted her to atone for an act which she had done\nby his desire--nay, at his command.\n\nWith the gold Heinz had given him, and after his assurance that he would\nretain him in his service even when a married man, he could, it is true,\nmore easily endure being punished with her who, as his wife, would soon\nbe destined to share evil with him as well as good. He had also secured\nthe aid of both his master and the Minorite, and had arranged an account\nof what had occurred, which placed his own crime and the maid's in a\nmilder light. Finally--and he hoped the best result from this--Katterle\nwould bring the Ortliebs good news, and he was the very man to make it\nuseful to Jungfrau Els.\n\nSo he had committed his destiny to his beloved master, behind whom was\nthe Emperor himself, to the Minorite, who, judging from his great age and\ndignified aspect, might be an influential man, St. Leodogar, and his own\nfull purse and, with a heart throbbing anxiously, entered the street with\nthe closely muffled Katterle, to take the unpleasant walk to the\nexasperated master and father.\n\nThe morning had been rife with important events to Biberli also. The\nmeans of establishing a household, the conviction that it would be hard\nfor him to remain a contented man without the idol of his heart, and the\nstill more important one that it would not be wise to defer happiness\nlong, because, as the death of young Prince Hartmann had shown, and Pater\nBenedictus made still more evident, the possibility of enjoying the\npleasures of life might be over far too speedily.\n\nHe had been within an ace of losing his Katterle forever, and through no\none's guilt save that of the man on whose truth and steadfastness she so\nfirmly relied. After Siebenburg's departure she had confessed with tears\nto him, his master, and the monk, what had befallen her, and how she had\nfinally reached the Bindergasse and Sir Heinz Schorlin's lodgings.\n\nWhen, during the conflagration, fearing punishment, she had fled, she\nwent first to the Dutzen pond. Determined to end her existence, she\nreached the goal of her nocturnal and her life pilgrimage. The mysterious\nblack water with its rush-grown shore, where ducks quacked and frogs\ncroaked in the sultry gloom, lay before her in the terrible darkness.\nAfter she had repeated several Paternosters, the thought that she must\ndie without receiving the last unction weighed heavily on her soul. But\nthis she could not help, and it seemed more terrible to stand in the\nstocks, like the barber's widow, and be insulted, spit upon by the\npeople, than to endure the flames of purgatory, where so many\nothers--probably among them Biberli, who had brought her to this\npass--would be tortured with her.\n\nSo she laid down the bundle which--she did not know why herself--she had\nbrought with her, and took off her shoes as if she were going into the\nwater to bathe. Just at that moment she suddenly saw a red light\nglimmering on the dark surface of the water. It could not be the\nreflection of the fires of purgatory, as she had thought at first. It\ncertainly did not proceed from the forge on the opposite shore, now\nclosed, for its outlines rose dark and motionless against the moon. No--a\nbrief glance around verified it--the light came from the burning of the\nconvent. The sky was coloured a vivid scarlet in two places, but the glow\nwas brightest towards the southeastern part of the city, where St.\nKlarengasse must be. Then she was overpowered by torturing curiosity.\nMust she die without knowing how much the fire had injured the newly\nbuilt convent, on whose site she had enjoyed the springtime of love, and\nhow the good Sisters fared? It seemed impossible, and her greatest fault\nfor the first time proved a blessing. It drew her back from the Dutzen\npond to the city.\n\nOn reaching the Marienthurm she learned that only a barn and a cow stable\nhad b@en destroyed by the flames. For this trivial loss she had suffered\nintense anxiety and been faithless to her resolution to seek death, which\nends all fears.\n\nVexed by her own weakness, she determined to go back to her employer's\nhouse and there accept whatever fate the saints bestowed. But when she\nsaw a light still shining through the parchment panes in the room\noccupied by the two Es, she imagined that Herr Ernst was pronouncing\njudgment upon Eva. In doing so her own guilt must be recalled, and the\nthought terrified her so deeply that she joined the people returning from\nthe fire, for whom the Frauenthor still stood open, and allowed the crowd\nto carry her on with them to St. Kunigunde's chapel in St. Lawrence's\nchurch; and when some, passing the great Imhof residence, turned into the\nKotgasse, she followed.\n\nHitherto she had walked on without goal or purpose, but here the question\nwhere to seek shelter confronted her; for the torchbearers who had\nlighted the way disappeared one after another in the various houses. Deep\ndarkness suddenly surrounded her, and she was seized with terror. But ere\nthe last torch vanished, its light fell upon one of the brass basins\nwhich hung in front of the barbers' shops.\n\nThe barber! The woman whom she had seen in the stocks was the widow of\none, and the house where she granted the lovers the meeting, on whose\naccount she had been condemned to so severe a punishment, was in the\nKotgasse, and had been pointed out to her. It must be directly opposite.\nThe thought entered her mind that the woman who had endured such a\nterrible punishment, for a crime akin to her own, would understand better\nthan any one else the anguish of her heart. How could the widow yonder\nrefuse her companion in guilt a compassionate reception!\n\nIt was a happy idea, but she would never have ventured to rouse the woman\nfrom her sleep, so she must wait. But the first grey light of dawn was\nalready appearing in the eastern horizon on the opposite side of the\nsquare of St. Lawrence, and perhaps Frau Ratzer would open her house\nearly.\n\nThe street did honour to the name of Kotgasse--[Kot or koth-mire].\nHolding her dress high around her, Katterle waded across to the northern\nrow of houses and reached the plank sidewalk covered with mud to her\nankles; but at the same moment a door directly in front of her opened,\nand two persons, a man and a woman, entered the street and glided by; but\nthey came from Frau Ratzer's--she recognised it by the bow-window above\nthe entrance. The maid hurried towards the door, which still stood open,\nand on its threshold was the woman to whom she intended to pay her early\nvisit.\n\nAlmost unable to speak, she entreated her to grant a poor girl, who did\nnot know where to seek shelter at this hour, the protection of her house.\n\nThe widow silently drew Katterle into the dark, narrow entry, shut the\ndoor, and led her into a neat, gaily ornamented room. A lamp which was\nstill burning hung from the ceiling, but Frau Ratzer raised the tallow\ncandle she had carried to the door, threw its light upon her face, and\nnodded approvingly. Katterle was a pretty girl, and the flush of shame\nwhich crimsoned her cheeks was very becoming. The widow probably thought\nso, too, for she stroked them with her fat hand, promising, as she did\nso, to receive her and let her want for nothing if she proved an obedient\nlittle daughter. Then she pinched the girl's arm with the tips of her\nfingers so sharply that she shrank back and timidly told the woman what\nhad brought her there, saying that she was and intended to remain a\nrespectable girl, and had sought shelter with Frau Ratzer because she\nknew what a sore disgrace she had suffered for the same fault which had\ndriven her from home.\n\nBut the widow, starting as if stung by a scorpion, denounced Katterle as\nan impudent hussy, who rightfully belonged in the stocks, to which the\nbase injustice of the money-bags in the court had condemned her. There\nwas no room in her clean house for anyone who reminded her of this\noutrage and believed that she had really committed so shameful an act.\nThen, seizing the maid by the shoulders, she pushed her into the street.\n\nMeanwhile it had grown light. The sun had just risen in the east above\nthe square of St. Lawrence and spread a golden fan of rays over the azure\nsky. The radiant spectacle did not escape the eyes of the frightened\ngirl, and she rejoiced because it gave her the assurance that the\nterrifying darkness of the night was over.\n\nHow fresh the morning was, how clear and beautiful the light of the young\nday! And it shone not only on the great and the good, but on the lowly,\nthe poor, and the wicked. Even for the horrible woman within the sky\nadorned itself with the exquisite blue and glorious brilliancy.\n\nUttering a sigh of relief she soon reached the Church of St. Lawrence,\nwhich the old sexton was just opening. She was the first person who\nentered the stately house of God that morning and knelt in one of the\npews to pray.\n\nThis had been the right thing for her to do. Dear Lord! Where was there\nany maid in greater trouble, yet Heaven had preserved her from the death\non a red-hot gridiron which had rendered St. Lawrence, whose name the\nchurch bore, a blessed martyr. Compared with that, even standing in the\npillory was not specially grievous. So she poured out her whole soul to\nthe saint, confessing everything which grieved and oppressed her, until\nthe early mass began. She had even confided to him that she was from\nSarnen in Switzerland, and had neither friend nor countryman here in\nNuremberg save her lover, the true and steadfast Biberli. Yet no! There\nwas one person from her home who probably would do her a kindness, the\nwife of the gatekeeper in the von Zollern castle, a native of Berne, who\nhad come to Nuremberg and the fortress as the maid of the Countess\nElizabeth of Hapsburg, the present Burgravine. This excellent woman could\ngive her better counsel than any one, and she certainly owed the\nrecollection of Frau Gertrude to her patron saint.\n\nAfter a brief thanksgiving she left the church and went to the fortress.\n\nAs she expected, her countrywoman received her kindly; and after Katterle\nhad confided everything to her, and in doing so mentioned Wolff Eysvogel,\nthe betrothed husband of the elder of her young mistresses, Frau Gertrude\nlistened intently and requested her to wait a short time.\n\nYet one quarter of an hour after another elapsed before she again\nappeared. Her husband, the Bernese warder, a giant of a man to whom the\nred and yellow Swiss uniform and glittering halberd he carried in his\nhand were very becoming, accompanied his wife.\n\nAfter briefly questioning Katterle, he exacted a solemn promise of\nsecrecy and then motioned to her to follow him. Meanwhile the maid had\nbeen informed how the duel between Wolff Eysvogel and Ulrich Vorchtel had\nended, but while she still clasped her hands in horror, the Swiss had\nopened the door of a bright, spacious apartment, where Els Ortlieb's\nbetrothed husband received her with a kind though sorrowful greeting.\nThen he continued his writing, and at last gave her two letters. One, on\nwhose back he drew a little heart, that she might not mistake it for the\nother, was addressed to his betrothed bride; the second to Heinz\nSchorlin, whom Wolff--no, her ears did not deceive her--called the future\nhusband of his sister-in-law Eva. At breakfast, which she shared with her\ncountry people and their little daughter, Katterle would have liked to\nlearn how Wolff reached the fortress, but the gatekeeper maintained\nabsolute silence on this subject.\n\nThe maid at last, without hindrance, reached the Deichsler house and\nfound Biberli (not) at home. She ought to have returned to the Ortliebs\nin his company long before, but the knight still vainly awaited his\nservant's appearance. He missed him sorely, since it did not enter his\nhead that his faithful shadow, Biberli, knew nothing of the thunderbolt\nwhich had almost robbed him of his master and killed his pet, the dun\nhorse. Besides, he was anxious about his fate and curious to learn how he\nhad found the Ortlieb sisters; for, though Eva alone had power to make\nHeinz Schorlin's heart beat faster, the misfortune of poor Els affected\nhim more deeply as the thought that he was its cause grew more and more\npainful.\n\nWolff's letter, which Katterle delivered to him, revealed young\nEysvogel's steadfast love for the hapless girl. In it he also alluded to\nhis nocturnal interview with Heinz, and in cordial words admitted that he\nthought he had found in him a sincere friend, to whom, if to any one, he\nwould not grudge his fair young sister-in-law Eva. Then he described how\nthe unfortunate duel had occurred.\n\nAfter mentioning what had excited young Ulrich Vorchtel's animosity, he\nrelated that, soon after his interview with Heinz, he had met young\nVorchtel, accompanied by several friends. Ulrich had barred his way,\nloading him with invectives so fierce and so offensive to his honour,\nthat he was obliged to accept the challenge. As he wore no weapon save\nthe dagger in his belt, he used the sword which a German knight among\nUlrich's companions offered him. Calm in the consciousness that he had\ngiven his former friend's sister no reason to believe in his love, and\nfirmly resolved merely to bestow a slight lesson on her brother, he took\nthe weapon. But when Ulrich shouted to the crusader that the blade he\nlent was too good for the treacherous hand he permitted to wield it, his\nblood boiled, and with his first powerful thrust all was over.\n\nThe German knight had then introduced himself as a son of the Burgrave\nvon Zollern and taken him to the castle, where, with his father's\nknowledge, the noble young Knight Hospitaller concealed him, and the\npoint now was to show the matter, which was undoubtedly a breach of the\npeace, to the Emperor Rudolph in the right light. The young Burgrave\nthought that he, Heinz Schorlin, could aid in convincing the sovereign,\nwho would lend him a ready ear, that he, Wolff, had only drawn his sword\nunder compulsion. So truly as Heinz himself hoped to be a happy man\nthrough Eva's love, he must help him to bridge the chasm which, by his\nluckless deed, separated him from his betrothed bride.\n\nHeinz had had this letter read aloud twice. Then when Biberli had gone\nand he rode to the fortress, he had resolved to do everything in his\npower for the young Nuremberg noble who had so quickly won his regard,\nbut the sorely stricken imperial father had refused to see him, and\ntherefore it was impossible to take any step in the matter.\n\nYet Wolff's letter had showed that he believed him in all earnestness to\nbe Eva's future husband, and thus strengthened his resolve to woo her as\nsoon as he felt a little more independent.\n\nAfter the thunderbolt had killed the horse under him, and the old\nMinorite had again come and showed him that the Lord Himself, through the\nmiracle He had wrought, had taken him firmly and swiftly by the hand as\nHis chosen follower, it seemed to his agitated mind, when he took up the\nletter a second time, as though everything Wolff had written about him\nand Els's sister was not intended for him.\n\nEva was happiness--but Heaven had vouchsafed a miracle to prove the\ntransitoriness of earthly life, that by renunciation here he might attain\nendless bliss above. Sacrifice and again sacrifice, according to the\nMinorite, was the magic spell that opened the gates of heaven, and what\nharder sacrifice could he offer than that of his love? \"Renounce!\nrenounce!\" he heard a voice within cry in his ears as, with much\ndifficulty, he himself read Wolff's letter, but whatever he might cast\naway of all that was his, he still would fail to take up his cross as\nFather Benedictus required; for even as an unknown beggar he would have\nenjoyed--this he firmly believed--in Eva's love the highest earthly\nbliss. Yet divine love was said to be so much more rapturous, and how\nmuch longer it endured!\n\nAnd she? Did not the holy expression of her eyes and the aspiration of\nher own soul show that she would understand him, approve his sacrifice,\nimitate it, and exchange earthly for heavenly love? Neither could\nrenounce it without inflicting deep wounds on the heart, but every drop\nof blood which gushed from them, the Minorite said, would add new and\nheavy weight to their claim to eternal salvation.\n\nAy, Heinz would try to resign Eva! But when he yielded to the impulse to\nread Wolff's letter again he felt like a dethroned prince whom some\nstranger, ignorant of his misfortune, praises for his mighty power.\n\nThe visions of the future which the greyhaired monk conjured up, all that\nhe told hint of his own regeneration, transformation, and the happiness\nwhich he would find as a disciple of St. Francis in poverty, liberty, and\nthe silent struggle for eternal bliss, everything which he described with\nfervid eloquence, increased the tumult in the young knight's deeply\nagitated soul.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Deem every hour that he was permitted to breathe as a gift\n\n\n\n\nIN THE FIRE OF THE FORGE\n\nA ROMANCE OF OLD NUREMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nIN THE FIRE OF THE FORGE--PART II.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThe vesper bells had already died away, yet Heinz was still listening\neagerly to the aged Minorite, who was now relating the story of St.\nFrancis, his breach with everything that he loved, and the sorrowful\ncommencement of his life. The monk could have desired no more attentive\nauditor. Only the young knight often looked out of the window in search\nof Biberli, who had not yet returned.\n\nThe latter had gone to the Ortlieb mansion with Katterle.\n\nThe runaway maid, whose disappearance, at old Martsche's earnest request,\nhad already been \"cried\" in the city, had no cause to complain of her\nreception; for the housekeeper and the other servants, who knew nothing\nof her guilt, greeted her as a favourite companion whom they had greatly\nmissed, and Biberli had taken care that she was provided with answers to\nthe questions of the inquisitive. The story which he had invented began\nwith the false report that a fire had broken out in the fortress. This\nhad startled Katterle, and attracted her to the citadel to aid her\ncountrywoman and her little daughter. Then came the statement that she\nspent the night there, and lastly the tale that in the morning she was\ndetained in the Swiss warder's quarters by a gentleman of rank--perhaps\nthe Burgrave himself--who, after he had learned who she was, wished to\ngive her some important papers for Herr Ernst Ortlieb. She had waited\nhours for them and finally, on the way home, chanced to meet Biberli.\n\nAt first the maid found it difficult to repeat this patchwork of truth\nand fiction in proper order, but the ex-schoolmaster impressed it so\nfirmly on his sweetheart's mind that at last it flowed from her lips as\nfluently as his pupils in Stanstadt had recited the alphabet.\n\nSo she became among the other servants the heroine of an innocent\nadventure whose truth no one doubted, least of all the housekeeper, who\nfelt a maternal affection for her. Some time elapsed ere she could reach\nthe Es; they were still with their mother, who was so ill that the leech\nOtto left the sick-room shaking his head.\n\nAs soon as he had gone Biberli stopped Els, who had accompanied the\nphysician outside the door of the sufferer's chamber, and earnestly\nentreated her to forgive him and Katterle--who stood at his side with\ndrooping head, holding her apron to her eyes and persuade her father also\nto let mercy take the place of justice.\n\nBut kind-hearted Els proved sterner than the maid had ever seen her.\n\nAs her mother had been as well as usual when she woke, they had told her\nof the events of the previous night. Her father was very considerate, and\neven kept back many incidents, but the invalid was too weak for so\nunexpected and startling a communication. She was well aware of her\nexcitable daughter's passionate nature; but she had never expected that\nher little \"saint,\" the future bride of Heaven, would be so quickly fired\nwith earthly love, especially for a stranger knight. Moreover, the\nconduct of Eva who, though she entreated her forgiveness, by no means\nshowed herself contritely ready to resign her lover, had given her so\nmuch food for thought that she could not find the rest her frail body\nrequired.\n\nSoon after these disclosures she was again attacked with convulsions, and\nEls thought of them and the fact that they were caused by Eva's\nimprudence, instigated by the maid, when she refused Biberli her\nintercession with her father in behalf of him and his bride, as he now\ncalled Katterle.\n\nThe servitor uttered a few touching exclamations of grief, yet meanwhile\nthrust his hand into the pocket of his long robe and, with a courteous\nbow and the warmest message of love from her betrothed husband, whom\nKatterle had seen in perfect health and under the best care in the\nZollern castle, delivered to the indignant girl the letter which Wolff\nhad entrusted to the maid. Els hurried with the missive so impatiently\nexpected to the window in the hall, through which the sun, not yet\nreached by the rising clouds, was shining, and as it contained nothing\nsave tender words of love which proved that her betrothed husband firmly\nrelied upon her fidelity and, come what might, would not give her up, she\nreturned to the pair, and hurriedly, but in a more kindly tone, informed\nthem that her father was greatly incensed against both, but she would try\nto soften him. At present he was in his office with Herr Casper Eysvogel;\nBiberli might wait in the kitchen till the latter went away.\n\nEls then entered the sick-chamber, but Biberli put his hand under his\nsweetheart's chin, bent her head back gently, and said: \"Now you see how\nBiberli and other clever people manage. The best is kept until the last.\nThe result of the first throw matters little, only he who wins the last\ngoes home content. To know how to choose the bait is also an art. The\ntrout bites at the fly, the pike at the worm, and a yearning maiden at\nher lover's letter. Take notice! To-day, which began with such cruel\nsorrow, will yet have a tolerable end.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" cried Katterle, nudging him angrily with her elbow, \"we never had\na day begin more happily for us. The gold with which we can set up\nhousekeeping--\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" interrupted Biberli, \"the zecchins and gold florins are\ncertainly no trifle. Much can be bought with them. But Schorlin Castle\nrazed to the ground, my master's lady mother and Fraulein Maria held as\nhalf captives in the convent, to say nothing of the light-hearted Prince\nHartmann and Sir Heinz's piteous grief--if all these things could be\nundone, child, I should not think the bag of gold, and another into the\nbargain, too high a price to pay for it. What is the use of a house\nfilled with fine furniture when the heart is so full of sorrow? At home\nwe all eat together out of a cracked clay dish across which a tinker had\ndrawn a wire, with rude wooden spoons made by my father, yet how we all\nrelished it!--what more did we want?\"\n\nAs he spoke he drew her into the kitchen, where he found a friendly\nreception.\n\nTrue, the Ortlieb servants were attached to their employers and sincerely\nsorry for the ill health of the mistress of the house, but for several\nyears the lamentations and anxiety concerning her had been ceaseless. The\nyoung prince's death had startled rather than saddened them. They did not\nknow him, but it was terrible to die so young and so suddenly. They would\nnot have listened to a merry tale which stirred them to laughter, but\nBiberli's stories of distant lands, of the court, of war, of the\ntournament, just suited their present mood, and the narrator was well\npleased to find ready listeners. He had so many things to forget, and he\nnever succeeded better than when permitted to use his tongue freely. He\nwagged it valiantly, too, but when the thunderstorm burst he paused and\nwent to the window. His narrow face was blanched, and his agile limbs\nmoved restlessly. Suddenly remarking, \"My master will need me,\" he held\nout his hand to Katterle in farewell. But as the zigzag flash of\nlightning had just been followed by the peal of thunder, she clung to\nhim, earnestly beseeching him not to leave her. He yielded, but went out\nto learn whether Herr Casper was still in the office, and in a short time\nreturned, exclaiming angrily: \"The old Eysvogel seems to be building his\nnest here!\"\n\nThen, to the vexation of the clumsy old cook, whom he interrupted by his\nrestless movements in the Paternosters she was repeating on her rosary,\nhe began to stride up and down before the hearth.\n\nHis light heart had rarely been so heavy. He could not keep his thoughts\nfrom his master, and felt sure that Heinz needed him; that he, Biberli,\nwould have cause to regret not being with him at this moment. Had the\nstorm destroyed the Ortlieb mansion he would have considered it only\nnatural; and as he glanced around the kitchen in search of Katterle, who,\nlike most of the others, was on her knees with her rosary in her hand,\nold Martsche rushed in, hurried up to the cook, shook her as if to rouse\nher from sleep, and exclaimed: \"Hot water for the blood-letting! Quick!\nOur mistress--she'll slip through our hands.\"\n\nAs she spoke, the young kitchen maid Metz helped the clumsy woman up, and\nBiberli also lent his aid.\n\nJust as the jug was filled, Els, too, hastened in, snatched it from the\nhand of Martsche, whose old feet were too slow for her, and hurried with\nit into the entry and up the stairs, passing her father, to whom she had\ncalled on the way down.\n\nCasper Eysvogel stood at the bottom of the steps, and called after her\nthat it would not be his fault, but her father's, if everything between\nher and his son was over.\n\nShe probably heard the words, but made no answer, and hastened as fast as\nher feet would carry her to her mother's bed.\n\nThe old physician was holding the gasping woman in his arms, and Eva\nknelt beside the high bedstead sobbing, as she covered the dry, burning\nhand with kisses.\n\nWhen Ernst Ortlieb entered the chamber of his beloved wife a cold chill\nran down his back, for the odour of musk, which he had already inhaled\nbeside many a deathbed, reached him.\n\nIt had come to this! The end which he had so long delayed by tender love\nand care was approaching. The flower which had adorned his youth and,\nspite of its broken stem, had grown still dearer and was treasured beyond\neverything else that bloomed in his garden, would be torn from him.\n\nThis time no friendly potion had helped her to sleep through the noise of\nthe thunderstorm. Soon after the attack of convulsions the agitated,\nfeeble sufferer had started up in terror at the first loud peal of\nthunder. Fright followed fright, and when the leech came voluntarily to\nenquire for her, he found a dying woman.\n\nThe bleeding restored her to consciousness for a short time, and she\nevidently recognised her husband and her children. To the former she gave\na grateful, tender glance of love, to Els an affectionate, confidential\ngesture, but Eva, her pride and joy, whom the past night had rendered a\nchild of sorrow, claimed her attention most fully.\n\nHer kind, gentle eyes rested a long time upon her: then she looked toward\nher husband as if beseeching him to cherish this child with special\ntenderness in his heart; and when he returned the glance with another, in\nwhich all the wealth of his great and loyal love shone through his tears,\nher fever-flushed features brightened. Memories of the spring of her love\nseemed to irradiate her last moments and, as her eyes again rested on\nEva, her lips once more smiled with the bewitching expression, once her\nhusband's delight, which had long deserted them.\n\nIt seemed during this time as if she had forgotten the faithful nurse who\nfor years had willingly sacrificed the pleasures of her days and the\nsleep of her nights, to lavish upon the child of her anxiety all that her\nmother-heart still contained, which was naught save love.\n\nEls doubtless noticed it, but with no bitter or sorrowful thoughts. She\nand the beloved dying woman understood one another. Each knew what she\nwas to the other. Her mother need not doubt, nor did she, that, whatever\nobstacles life might place in her pathway, Els would pursue the right\ncourse even without counsel and guidance. But Eva needed her love and\ncare so much just now, and when the sufferer gave her older daughter also\na tender glance and vainly strove to falter a few words of thanks, Els\nherself replaced in Eva's the hand which her mother had withdrawn.\n\nFran Maria nodded gently to Els, as if asking her sensible elder daughter\nto watch over her forsaken sister in her place.\n\nThen her eyes again sought her husband, but the priest, to whom she had\njust confessed, approached her instead.\n\nAfter the holy man had performed the duties of his office, she again\nturned her head toward Eva. It seemed as though she was feasting her eyes\non her daughter's charms. Meanwhile she strove to utter what more she\ndesired to say, but the bystanders understood only the words--they were\nher last: \"We thought--should be untouched--But now Heaven----\"\n\nHere she paused and, after closing her eyes for a time, went on in a\nlower but perfectly distinct tone: \"You are good--I hope--the forge-fire\nof life--it is fortunate for you The heart and its demands The\nhap--pi--ness--which it--gave--me----It ought--it must--you, too----\"\n\nWhilst speaking she had again glanced towards her husband, then at the\nAbbess Kunigunde, who knelt beside him, and as the abbess met the look\nshe thought, \"She is entrusting the child to me, and desires Eva to be\nhappy as one of us and the fairest of the brides of Heaven!\" Ernst\nOrtlieb, wholly overpowered by the deepest grief, was far from enquiring\ninto the meaning of these last words of his beloved dying wife.\n\nEls, on the contrary, who had learned to read the sufferer's features and\nunderstood her even without words when speech was difficult, had watched\nevery change in the expression of her features with the utmost attention.\nWithout reflecting or interpreting, she was sure that the movements of\nher dying mother's lips had predicted to Eva that the \"forge fire of\nlife\" would exert its purifying and moulding influence on her also, and\nwished that in the world, not in the convent, she might be as happy as\nshe herself had been rendered by her father's love.\n\nAfter these farewell words Frau Maria's features became painfully\ndistorted, the lids drooped over her eyes, there was a brief struggle,\nthen a slight gesture from the physician announced to the weeping group\nthat her earthly pilgrimage was over.\n\nNo one spoke. All knelt silently, with clasped hands, beside the couch,\nuntil Eva, as if roused from a dream, shrieked, \"She will never come back\nagain!\" and with passionate grief threw herself upon the lifeless form to\nkiss the still face and beseech her to open her dear eyes once more and\nnot leave her.\n\nHow often she had remained away from the invalid in order to let her aunt\npoint out the path for her own higher happiness whilst Els nursed her\nmother; but now that she had left her, she suddenly felt what she had\npossessed and lost in her love. It seemed as if hitherto she had walked\nbeneath the shadow of leafy boughs, and her mother's death had stripped\nthem all away as an autumn tempest cruelly tears off the foliage.\nHenceforth she must walk in the scorching sun without protection or\nshelter. Meanwhile she beheld in imagination fierce flames blazing\nbrightly from the dark soot--the forge fire of life, to which the dead\nwoman's last words had referred. She knew what her mother had wished to\nsay, but at the present time she lacked both the desire and the strength\nto realise it.\n\nFor a time each remained absorbed by individual grief. Then the father\ndrew both girls to his heart and confessed that, with their mother's\ndeath life, already impoverished by the loss of his only son, had been\nbereft of its last charm. His most ardent desire was to be summoned soon\nto follow the departed ones.\n\nEls summoned up her courage and asked: \"And we--are we nothing to you,\nfather?\"\n\nSurprised by this rebuke, he started, removed his wet handkerchief from\nhis eyes, and answered: \"Yes, yes--but the old do not reckon Ay, much is\nleft to me. But he who is robbed of his best possession easily forgets\nthe good things remaining, and good you both are.\"\n\nHe kissed his daughter lovingly as he spoke, as if wishing to retract the\nwords which had wounded her; then gazing at the still face of the dead,\nhe said: \"Before you dress her, leave her alone with me for a\ntime----There is a wild turmoil here and here\"--he pointed to his breast\nand brow--\"and yet The last hours----There is so much to settle and\nconsider in a future without her With her, with her dear calm features\nbefore my eyes----\"\n\nHere a fresh outburst of grief stifled his voice; but Els pointed to the\nimage of the Virgin on the wall and beckoned to her sister.\n\nWholly engrossed by her own sorrow, Eva had scarcely heeded her father's\nwords, and now impetuously refused to leave her mother. Herr Ernst,\npleased by this immoderate grief for the one dearest to him, permitted\nher to remain, and asked Els to attend to the outside affairs which a\ndeath always brought with it.\n\nEls accepted the new duty as a matter of course and went to the door; but\nat the threshold she turned back, rushed to the deathbed, kissed the pure\nbrow and closed eyelids of the sleeper, and then knelt beside her in\nsilent prayer. When she rose she clasped Eva, who had knelt and risen\nwith her, in a close embrace, and whispered: \"Whatever happens, you may\nrely on me.\"\n\nThen she consulted her father concerning certain arrangements which must\nbe made, and also asked him what she should say to the maid's lover, who\nhad come to beseech his forgiveness.\n\n\"Tell him to leave me in peace!\" cried Herr Ernst vehemently. Els tried\nto intercede for the servant, but her father pressed both hands over his\nears, exclaiming: \"Who can reach a decision when he is out of his senses\nhimself? Let the man come to-morrow, or the day after. Whoever may call,\nI will see no one, and don't wish to know who is here.\"\n\nBut the peace and solitude for which he longed seemed denied him. A few\nhours after he left the chamber of death he was obliged to go to the Town\nHall on business which could not be deferred; and when, shortly before\nsunset, he returned home and locked himself into his own room, old\nEysvogel again appeared.\n\nHe looked pale and agitated, and ordered the manservant--who denied him\nadmittance as he had been directed--to call Jungfrau Els. His voice\ntrembled as he entreated her to persuade her father to see him again. The\nmatter in question was the final decision of the fate of his ancient\nhouse, of Wolff, and also her own and her marriage with his son. Perhaps\nthe death of his beloved wife might render her father's mood more gentle.\nHe did not yet know all Now he must learn it. If he again said \"No,\" it\nwould seal the ruin of the Eysvogel firm.\n\nHow imploringly he could plead! how humbly the words fell from the old\nmerchant's lips, moving Els to her inmost heart as she remembered the\ncurt inflexibility with which, only yesterday, this arrogant man, in that\nvery spot, had refused any connection with the Ortliebs! How much it must\ncost him to bow his stiff neck before her, who was so much younger, and\napproach her father, whose heart he had so pitilessly trampled under\nfoot, in the character of a supplicant for aid, perhaps a beggar!\n\nBesides, Wolff was his son!\n\nWhatever wrong the father had done her she must forget it, and the task\nwas not difficult; for now--she felt it--no matter from what motive, he\nhonestly desired to unite her to his son. If her lover now led her\nthrough the door adorned with the huge, showy escutcheon, she would no\nlonger come as a person unwillingly tolerated, but as a welcome\nhelper-perhaps as the saviour of the imperilled house. Of the women of\nthe Eysvogel family she forbade herself to think.\n\nHow touching the handsome, aristocratic, grey-haired man seemed to her in\nhis helpless weakness! If her father would only receive him, he would\nfind it no easier than she to deny him the compassion he so greatly\nneeded.\n\nShe knocked at the lonely mourner's door and was admitted.\n\nHe was sitting, with his head bowed on his hands, opposite to the large\nportrait of her dead mother in her bridal robes. The dusk of the\ngathering twilight concealed the picture, but he had doubtless gazed long\nat the lovely features, and still beheld them with his mental vision.\n\nEls was received with a mournful greeting; but when Herr Ernst heard what\nhad brought her to him, he fiercely commanded her to tell Herr Casper\nthat he would have nothing more to do with him.\n\nEls interceded for the unfortunate man, begging, pleading, and assuring\nher father that she would never give up Wolff. The happiness of her whole\nlife was centred in him and his love. If he refused the Eysvogels the aid\nbesought by the old merchant who, in his humility, seemed a different\nman----\n\nHere her father indignantly broke in, ordering her to disturb him no\nlonger. But now the heritage of his own nature asserted itself in Els\nand, with an outburst of indignation, she pointed to the picture of her\nmother, whose kind heart certainly could not have endured to see a\nbroken-hearted man, on whose rescue the happiness of her own child\ndepended, turned from her door like an importunate beggar.\n\nAt this the man whose locks had long been grey sprang from his chair with\nthe agility of a youth, exclaiming in vehement excitement: \"To embitter\nthe hours devoted to the most sacred grief is genuine Eysvogel\nselfishness. Everything for themselves! What do they care for others? I\nexcept your Wolff; let the future decide what concerns him and you. I\nwill stand by you. But to hope for happiness and peace-nay, even a life\nwithout bitter sorrow for you from the rest of the kin--is to expect to\ngather sweet pears from juniper bushes. Ever since your betrothal your\nmother and I have had no sleep, disturbed whenever we talked to each\nother about your being condemned to live under the same roof with that\nold devil, the countess, her pitiable daughter, and that worthless\nSiebenburg. But within the past few hours all this has been changed. The\ntable-cloth has been cut between the Eysvogels and the Ortliebs. No power\nin the world can ever join it. I have not told you what has happened. Now\nyou may learn that you----But first listen, and then decide on whose side\nyou will stand.\n\n\"Early this morning I went to the session of the Council. In the\nmarket-place I met first one member of it, then a second, third, and\nfourth; each asked me what had happened to the beautiful E, my lovely\nlittle daughter. Gradually I learned what had reached their ears.\nYesterday evening, on his way home from here, the man outside, Casper\nEysvogel, sullied your--our--good name, child, in a way I have just\nlearned the particulars. He boasted, in the presence of those estimable\nold gentlemen, the Brothers Ebner, that he had flung at my feet the ring\nwhich bound you to his son. You had been surprised at midnight, he said,\nin the arms of a Swiss knight, and that base scoundrel Siebenburg, his\ndaughter's husband, dared at the gaming-table, before a number of knights\nand gentlemen--among them young Hans Gross, Veit Holzschuher, and\nothers-to put your interview with the Swiss in so false a light that No,\nI cannot bring my lips to utter it----\n\n\"You need hear only this one thing more: the wretch said that he thanked\nhis patron saint that they had discovered the jade's tricks in time. And\nthis, child, was the real belief of the whole contemptible crew! But now\nthat the water is up to their necks, and they need my helping hand to\nsave them from drowning-now they will graciously take Ernst Ortlieb's\ndaughter if he will give them his property into the bargain, that they\nmay destroy both fortune and child. No--a thousand times no! It is not\nseemly, at this hour, to yield to the spirit of hate; but she who is\nlying in her last sleep above would not have counselled me by a single\nword to such suicidal folly. I did not learn the worst until I went to\nthe Council, or I would have turned the importunate fellow from the door\nthis morning. Tell the old man so, and add that Ernst Ortlieb will have\nnothing more to do with him.\"\n\nHere the deeply incensed father pointed to the door.\n\nEls had listened with eyes dilating in horror. The result surpassed her\nworst fears.\n\nShe had felt so secure in her innocence, and the countess had interceded\nfor her so cleverly that, absorbed by anxieties concerning Eva, Cordula,\nand her mother, she had already half forgotten the disagreeable incident.\n\nYet, now that her fair name was dragged through the mire, she could\nscarcely be angry with those who pointed the finger of scorn at her; for\nfaithlessness to a betrothed lover was an offence as great as infidelity\nto a husband. Nay, her friends were more ready to condemn a girl who\nbroke her vow than a wife who forgot her duty.\n\nAnd if Wolff, in his biding-place in the citadel, should learn what was\nsaid of his Els, to whom yesterday old and young raised their hats in\nglad yet respectful greeting, would he not believe those who appealed to\nhis own father?\n\nYet ere she had fully realised this fear, she told herself that it was\nher duty and her right to thrust it aside. Wolff would not be Wolff if\neven for a moment he believed such a thing possible. They ought not,\ncould not, doubt each other. Though all Nuremberg should listen to the\nbase calumny and turn its back upon her, she was sure of her Wolff. Ay,\nhe would cherish her with twofold tenderness when he learned by whom this\nterrible suffering had been inflicted upon her.\n\nDrawing a long breath, she again fixed her eyes upon her mother's\nportrait. Had she now rushed out to tell the old man who had so cruelly\ninjured her--oh, it would have lightened her heart!--the wrong he had\ndone and what she thought of him, her mother would certainly have stopped\nher, saying: \"Remember that he is your betrothed husband's father.\" She\nwould not forget it; she could not even hate the ruined man.\n\nAny effort to change her father's mood now--she saw it plainly--would be\nfutile. Later, when his just anger had cooled, perhaps he might be\npersuaded to aid the endangered house.\n\nHerr Ernst gazed after her sorrowfully as, with a gesture of farewell,\nshe silently left the room to tell her lover's father that he had come in\nvain.\n\nThe old merchant was waiting in the entry, where the wails of the\nservants and the women in the neighbourhood who, according to custom,\nwere beating their brows and breasts and rending their garments, could be\nheard distinctly.\n\nDeadly pale, as if ready to sink, he tottered towards the door.\n\nWhen Els saw him hesitate at the top of the few steps leading to the\nentry, she gave him her arm to support him down. As he cautiously put one\nfoot after the other on the stairs, she wondered how it was possible that\nthis man, whose tall figure and handsome face were cast in so noble a\nmould, could believe her to be so base; and at the same moment she\nremembered the words which old Berthold Vorchtel had uttered in her\npresence to his son Ulrich: \"If anything obscure comes between you and a\nfriend, obtain a clear understanding and peace by truth.\"\n\nHad the young man who had irritated his misjudged friend into crossing\nswords with him followed this counsel, perhaps he would have been alive\nnow. She would take it herself, and frankly ask Wolff's father what\njustified him in accusing her of so base a deed.\n\nThe lamps were already lighted in the hall, and the rays from the central\none fell upon Herr Casper's colourless face, which wore an expression of\ndespair. But just as her lips parted to ask the question the odour of\nmusk reached her from the death-chamber, whose door Eva had opened. Her\nmother's gentle face, still in death, rose before her memory, and she was\nforced to exert the utmost self-control not to weep aloud. Without\nfurther reflection she imposed silence upon herself and--yesterday she\nwould not have ventured to do it--threw her arm around Herr Casper's\nshoulders, gazed affectionately at him, and whispered: \"You must not\ndespair, father. You have a faithful ally in this house in Els.\"\n\nThe old man looked down at her in astonishment, but instead of drawing\nher closer to him he released himself with courteous coldness, saying\nbitterly: \"There is no longer any bond between us and the Ortliebs,\nJungfrau Els. From this day forth I am no more your father than you are\nthe bride of my son. Your will may be good, but how little it can\naccomplish has unfortunately been proved.\"\n\nShrugging his shoulders wearily as he spoke, he nodded a farewell and\nleft the house.\n\nFour bearers were waiting outside with the sedan-chair, three servants\nwith torches, and two stout attendants carrying clubs over their\nshoulders. All wore costly liveries of the Eysvogel colours, and when\ntheir master had taken his seat in the gilded conveyance and the men\nlifted it, Els heard a weaver's wife, who lived near by, say to her\nlittle boy: \"That's the rich Herr Eysvogel, Fritzel. He has as much money\nto spend every hour as we have in a whole year, and he is a very happy\nman.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nEls went back into the house.\n\nThe repulse which she had just received caused her bitter sorrow. Her\nfather was right. Herr Casper had treated her kindly from a purely\nselfish motive. She herself was nothing to him.\n\nBut there was so much for her to do that she found little time to grieve\nover this new trouble.\n\nEva was praying in the death-chamber for the soul of the beloved dead\nwith some of the nuns from the convent, who had lost in her mother a\ngenerous benefactress.\n\nEls was glad to know that she was occupied; it was better that her sister\nshould be spared many of the duties which she was obliged to perform.\nWhilst arranging with the coffin-maker and the \"Hegelein,\" the sexton and\nupholsterer, ordering a large number of candles and everything else\nrequisite at the funeral of the mistress of an aristocratic household,\nshe also found time to look after her father and Countess Cordula, who\nwas better. Yet she did not forget her own affairs.\n\nBiberli had returned. He had much to relate; but when forced to admit\nthat nothing was urgent, she requested him to defer it until later, and\nonly commissioned him to go to the castle, greet Wolff in her name, and\nannounce her mother's death; Katterle would accompany him, in order to\nobtain admittance through her countryman, the Swiss warder.\n\nEls might have sent one of the Ortlieb servants; but, in the first place,\nthe fugitive's refuge must be concealed, and then she told herself that\nBiberli, who had witnessed the occurrence of the previous evening, could\nbest inform Wolff of the real course of events. But when she gave him\npermission to tell her betrothed husband all that he had seen and heard\nthe day before at the Ortlieb mansion, Biberli replied that a better\nperson than he had undertaken to do so. As he left his master, Sir Heinz\nwas just going to seek her lover. When she learned all that had befallen\nthe knight, she would understand that he was no longer himself. Els,\nhowever, had no time to listen, and promised to hear his story when he\nreturned; but he was too full of the recent experience to leave it\nuntold, and briefly related how wonderfully Heaven had preserved his\nmaster's life. Then he also told her hurriedly that the trouble which had\ncome upon her through Sir Heinz's fault burdened his soul. Therefore he\nwould not let the night pass without at least showing her betrothed\nhusband how he should regard the gossip of idle tongues if it penetrated\nto his hiding-place.\n\nEls uttered a sigh of relief. Surely Wolff must trust her! Yet what\nviciously coloured reports might reach him from the Eysvogels! Now that\nhe would learn the actual truth from the most credible eye-witnesses she\nno longer dreaded even the worst calumny.\n\nNo one appeared at supper except her father. Eva had begged to be\nexcused. She wished to remain undisturbed; but the world, with rude yet\nbeneficent hand, interrupted even her surrender to her grief for her\nmother.\n\nThe tailor, who protested that, owing to the mourning for young Prince\nHartmann, he had fairly \"stolen\" this hour for the beautiful Ortlieb\nsisters, came with his assistant, and at the same time a messenger\narrived from the cloth-house in the market-place bringing the packages of\nwhite stuffs for selection. Then it was necessary to decide upon the\npattern and material; the sisters must appear in mourning the next\nmorning at the consecration, and later at the mass for the dead.\n\nEva had turned to these worldly matters with sincere repugnance, but Els\nwould not release her from giving them due attention.\n\nIt was well for her tortured soul and the poor eyes reddened by weeping.\nBut when she again knelt in the chamber of death beside her dear nuns and\nsaw the grey robe, which they all wore, the wish to don one, which she\nhad so often cherished, again awoke. No other was more pleasing to her\nHeavenly Bridegroom, and she forbade herself in this hour to think of the\nonly person for whose sake she would gladly have adorned herself. Yet the\nstruggle to forget him constantly recalled him to her mind, no matter how\nearnestly she strove to shut out his image whenever it appeared. But,\nafter her last conversation, must not her mother have died in the belief\nthat she would not give up her love? And the dead woman's last words?\nYet, no matter what they meant, here and now nothing should come between\nher and the beloved departed. She devoted herself heart and soul to the\nmemory of the longing for her.\n\nGrief for her loss, repentance for not having devoted herself faithfully\nenough to her, and the hope that in the convent her prayers might obtain\na special place in the world beyond for the beloved sleeper, now revived\nher wish to take the veil. She felt bound to the nuns, who shared her\naspirations. When her father came to send her to her rest and asked\nwhether, as a motherless child, she intended to trust his love and care\nor to choose another mother who was not of this world, she answered\nquietly with a loving glance at the picture of St. Clare, \"As you wish,\nand she commands.\"\n\nHerr Ernst kindly replied that she still had ample time to make her\ndecision, and then again urged her to leave the watch beside the dead to\nthe women who had been appointed to it and the nuns, who desired to\nremain with the body; but Eva insisted so eagerly upon sharing it that\nEls, by a significant gesture to her father, induced him to yield.\n\nShe kept her sister away whilst the corpse was being laid out and the\nwomen were performing their other duties by asking Eva to receive their\nAunt Christine, the wife of Berthold Pfinzing, who had hurried to the\ncity from Schweinau as soon as she had news of her sister-in-law's death.\n\nNothing must cloud the memory of the beloved sufferer in the mind of her\nchild, and Els knew that Frau Christine had been a dear friend of the\ndead woman, that Eva clung to her like a second mother, and that nothing\ncould reach her sister from her honest heart which would not benefit her.\nNor was she mistaken, for the warm, affectionate manner in which the\nmatron greeted the young girl restored her composure; nay, when Fran\nChristine was obliged to go, because her time was claimed by important\nduties, she would gladly have detained her.\n\nWhen Eva, in a calmer mood than before, at last entered the hall where\nher mother's body now lay in a white silk shroud on the snowy satin\npillows, as she was to be placed before the altar for the service of\nconsecration on the morrow, she was again overwhelmed with all the\nviolence of the deepest grief; nay, the burning anguish of her soul\nexpressed itself so vehemently that the abbess, who had returned whilst\nthe sisters were still taking leave of their Aunt Christine, did not\nsucceed in soothing her until, drawing her aside, she whispered:\n\"Remember our saint, child. He called everything, even the sorest agony,\n'Sister Sorrow'. So you, too, must greet sorrow as a sister, the daughter\nof your heavenly Father. Remember the supreme, loving hand whence it\ncame, and you will bear it patiently.\"\n\nEva nodded gratefully, and when grief threatened to overpower her she\nthought of the saint's soothing words, \"Sister Sorrow,\" and her heart\ngrew calmer.\n\nEls knew how much the emotions of the previous nights must have wearied\nher, and had permitted her to share the vigil beside the corpse only\nbecause she believed that she would be unable to resist sleep. She had\nslipped a pillow between her back and that of the tall, handsome chair\nwhich she had chosen for a seat, but Eva disappointed her expectation;\nfor whatever she earnestly desired she accomplished, and whilst Els often\nclosed her eyes, she remained wide awake. When sleep threatened to\noverpower her she thought of her mother's last words, especially one\nphrase, \"the forge fire of life,\" which seemed specially pregnant with\nmeaning. Yet, ere she had reached any definite understanding of its true\nsignificance, the cocks began to crow, the song of the nightingale\nceased, and the twittering of the other birds in the trees and bushes in\nthe garden greeted the dawning day.\n\nThen she rose and, smiling, kissed Els, who was sleeping, on the\nforehead, told Sister Renata that she would go to rest, and lay down on\nher bed in the darkened chamber.\n\nWhilst praying and reflecting she had thought constantly of her mother.\nNow she dreamed that Heinz Schorlin had borne her in his strong arms out\nof the burning convent, as Sir Boemund Altrosen had saved the Countess\nvon Montfort, and carried her to the dead woman, who looked as fresh and\nwell as in the days before her sickness.\n\nWhen, three hours before noon, she awoke, she returned greatly refreshed\nto her dead mother. How mild and gentle her face was even now; yet the\ndear, silent lips could never again give her a morning greeting and,\noverwhelmed by grief, she threw herself on her knees before the coffin.\n\nBut she soon rose again. Her recent slumber had transformed the\npassionate anguish into quiet sorrow.\n\nNow, too, she could think of external things. There was little to be done\nin the last arrangement of the dead, but she could place the delicate,\npale hands in a more natural position, and the flowers which the gardener\nhad brought to adorn the coffin did not satisfy her. She knew all that\ngrew in the woods and fields near Nuremberg, and no one could dispose\nbouquets more gracefully. Her mother had been especially fond of some of\nthem, and was always pleased when she brought them home from her walks\nwith the abbess or Sister Perpetua, the experienced old doctress of the\nconvent. Many grew in the forest, others on the brink of the water. The\nbeloved dead should not leave the house, whose guide and ornament she had\nbeen, without her favourite blossoms.\n\nEva arranged the flowers brought by the gardener as gracefully as\npossible, and then asked Sister Perpetua to go to walk with her, telling\nher father and sister that she wished to be out of doors with the nun for\na short time.\n\nShe told no one what she meant to do. Her mother's favourite flowers\nshould be her own last gift to her.\n\nOld Martsche received the order to send Ortel, the youngest manservant in\nthe household, a good-natured fellow eighteen years old, with a basket,\nto wait for her and Sister Perpetua at the weir.\n\nAfter the thunderstorm of the day before the air was specially fresh and\npure; it was a pleasure merely to breathe. The sun shone brightly from\nthe cloudless sky. It was a delightful walk through the meadows and\nforest over the footpath which passed near the very Dutzen pool, where\nKatterle the day before had resolved to seek death. All Nature seemed\nrevived as though by a refreshing bath. Larks flew heavenward with a low\nsweet song, from amidst the grain growing luxuriantly for the winter\nharvest, and butterflies hovered above the blossoming fields. Slender\ndragon-flies and smaller busy insects flitted buzzing from flower to\nflower, sucking honey from the brimming calyxes and bearing to others the\nseeds needed to form fruit. The songs of finches and the twitter of\nwhite-throats echoed from many a bush by the wayside.\n\nIn the forest they were surrounded by delightful shade animated by\nhundreds of loud and low voices far away and close at hand. Countless\nbuds were opening under the moss and ferns, strawberries were ripening\nclose to the ground, and the delicate leafy boughs of the bilberry bushes\nwere full of juicy green oared fruit.\n\nNear the weir they heard a loud clanking and echoing, but it had a very\ndifferent effect from the noise of the city; instead of exciting\ncuriosity there was something soothing in the regularity of the blows of\nthe iron hammer and the monotonous croaking of the frogs.\n\nIn this part of the forest, where the fairest flowers grew, the morning\ndew still hung glittering from the blossoms and grasses. Here it was\nsecluded, yet full of life, and amidst the wealth of sounds in which\nmight be heard the tapping of the woodpecker, the cry of the lapwing, and\nthe call of the distant wood-pigeon, it was so still and peaceful that\nEva's heart grew lighter in spite of her grief.\n\nSister Perpetua spoke only to answer a question. She sympathised with\nEva's thought when she frankly expressed her pleasure in every new\ndiscovery, for she knew for whom and with what purpose she was seeking\nand culling the flowers and, instead of accusing her of want of feeling,\nshe watched with silent emotion the change wrought in the innocent child\nby the effort to render, in league with Nature, an act of loving service\nto the one she held dearest.\n\nTrue, even now grief often rudely assailed Eva's heart. At such times she\npaused, sighing silently, or exclaimed to her companion, \"Ah, if she\ncould be with us!\" or else asked thoughtfully if she remembered how her\nmother had rejoiced over the fragrant orchid or the white water-lily\nwhich she had just found.\n\nSister Perpetua had taken part of the blossoms which she had gathered;\nbut Ortel already stood waiting with the basket, and the house-dog,\nWasser, which had followed the young servant, ran barking joyously to\nmeet the ladies. Eva already had flowers enough to adorn the coffin as\nshe desired, and the sun showed that it was time to return.\n\nHitherto they had met no one. The blossoms could be arranged here in the\nforest meadow under the shade of the thick hazel-bushes which bordered\nthe pine wood.\n\nAfter Eva had thrown hers on the grass, she asked the nun to do the same\nwith her own motley bundle.\n\nBetween the thicket and the road stood a little chapel which had been\nerected by the Mendel family on the spot where a son of old Herr Nikolaus\nhad been murdered. Four Frank robber knights had attacked him and the\ntrain of waggons he had ridden out to meet, and killed the spirited young\nman, who fought bravely in their defence.\n\nSuch an event would no longer have been possible so near the city. But\nEva knew what had befallen the Eysvogel wares and, although she did not\nlack courage, she started in terror as she heard the tramp of horses'\nhoofs and the clank of weapons, not from the city, but within the forest.\n\nShe hastily beckoned to her companion who, being slightly deaf had heard\nnothing, to hide with her behind the hazel-bushes, and also told the\nyoung servant, who had already placed the basket beside the flowers, to\nconceal himself, and all three strained their ears to catch the sounds\nfrom the wood.\n\nOrtel held the dog by the collar, silenced him, and assured his mistress\nthat it was only another little band of troopers on their way from\nAltdorf to join the imperial army.\n\nBut this surmise soon proved wrong, for the first persons to appear were\ntwo armed horsemen, who turned their heads as nimbly as their steeds, now\nto the right and now to the left, scanning the thickets along the road\ndistrustfully. After a somewhat lengthy interval the tall figure of an\nelderly man followed, clad in deep mourning. Beneath his cap, bordered\nwith fine fur, long locks fell to his shoulders, and he was mounted on a\npowerful Binzgau charger. At his side, on a beautiful spirited bay, rode\na very young woman whose pliant figure was extremely aristocratic in its\nbearing.\n\nAs soon as the hazel-bushes and pine trees, which had concealed the noble\npair, permitted a view of them, Eva recognised in the gentleman the\nEmperor Rudolph, and in his companion Duchess Agnes of Austria, his young\ndaughter-in-law, whom she had not forgotten since the dance at the Town\nHall. Behind them came several mailed knights, with the emblems of the\ndeepest mourning on their garments and helmets, and among those nearest\nto the Emperor Eva perceived--her heart almost stood still--the person\nwhom she had least expected to meet here--Heinz Schorlin.\n\nWhilst she was gathering the flowers for her mother's coffin his image\nhad almost vanished from her mind. Now he appeared before her in person,\nand the sight moved her so deeply that Sister Perpetua, who saw her turn\npale and cling to the young pine by her side, attributed her altered\nexpression to fear of robber knights, and whispered, \"Don't be troubled,\nchild; it is only the Emperor.\"\n\nNeither the first horsemen-guards whom the magistrate, Berthold Pfinzing,\nEva's uncle, had assigned to the sovereign without his knowledge, to\nprotect him from unpleasant encounters during his early morning ride--nor\nthe Emperor and his companions could have seen Eva whilst they were\npassing the chapel; but scarcely had they reached it when the dog Wasser,\nwhich had escaped from Ortel's grasp, burst through the hazel copse and,\nbarking furiously, dashed towards the duchess's horse.\n\nThe spirited animal leaped aside, but a few seconds later Heinz Schorlin\nhad swung himself from the saddle and dealt the dog so vigorous a kick\nthat it retreated howling into the thicket. Meanwhile he had watched\nevery movement of the bay, and at the right instant his strong hand had\ngrasped its nostrils and forced it to stand.\n\n\"Always alert and on the spot at the right time!\" cried the Emperor, then\nadded mournfully, \"So was our Hartmann, too.\"\n\nThe duchess bent her head in assent, but the grieving father pointed to\nHeinz, and added: \"The boy owed his blithe vigour partly to the healthful\nSwiss blood with which he was born, but yonder knight, during the\ndecisive years of life, set him the example. Will you dismount, child,\nand let Schorlin quiet the bay?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" replied the duchess, \"I understand the animal. You have not yet\nbroken the wonderful son of the desert of shying, as you promised. It was\nnot the barking cur, but yonder basket that has dropped from the skies,\nwhich frightened him.\"\n\nShe pointed, as she spoke, to the grass near the chapel where, beside\nEva's flowers, stood the light willow basket which was to receive them.\n\n\"Possibly, noble lady,\" replied Heinz, patting the glossy neck of the\nArabian, a gift to the Emperor Rudolph from the Egyptian Mameluke Sultan\nKalaun. \"But perhaps the clever creature merely wished to force his royal\nrider to linger here. Graciously look over yonder, Your Highness; does it\nnot seem as if the wood fairy herself had laid by the roadside for your\nillustrious Majesty the fairest flowers that bloom in field and forest,\nmere and moss?\"\n\nAs he spoke he stooped, selected from the mass of blossoms gathered by\nEva those which specially pleased his eye, hastily arranged them in a\nbouquet, and with a respectful bow presented them to the duchess.\n\nShe thanked him graciously, put the nosegay in her belt, and gazed at him\nwith so warm a light in her eyes that Eva felt as if her heart was\nshrinking as she watched the scene.\n\nEven princesses, who were separated from him by so wide a gulf, could not\nhelp favouring this man. How could she, the simple maiden whom he had\nassured of his love, ever have been able to give him up?\n\nBut she had no time to think and ponder; the Emperor was already riding\non with the Bohemian princess, and Heinz went to his horse, whose bridle\nwas held by one of the troopers who followed the train.\n\nEre he swung himself into the saddle again, however, he paused to\nreflect.\n\nThe thought that he had robbed some flower or herb-gatherer of a portion\nof the result of her morning's work had entered his mind and, obeying a\nhasty impulse, he flung a glittering zecchin into the basket.\n\nEva saw it, and every fibre of her being urged her to step forward, tell\nhim that the flowers were hers, and thank him in the name of the poor for\nwhom she destined his gift; but maidenly diffidence held her in check,\nalthough he gave her sufficient opportunity; for when he perceived the\nimage of the Virgin in the Mendel chapel, he crossed himself, removed his\nhelmet, and bending the knee repeated, whilst the others rode on without\nhim, a silent prayer. His brown locks floated around his head, and his\nfeatures expressed deep earnestness and glowing ardour.\n\nOh, how gladly Eva would have thrown herself on her knees beside him,\nclasped his hands, and--nay, not prayed, her heart was throbbing too\nstormily for that-rested her head upon his breast and told him that she\ntrusted him, and felt herself one with him in earthly as well as heavenly\nlove!\n\nWhoever prayed thus in solitude had a soul yearning for the loftiest\nthings. Others might say what they chose, she knew him better. This man,\nfrom the first hour of their meeting, had loved her with the most ardent\nbut also with the holiest passion; never, never had he sought her merely\nfor wanton amusement. Her mother's last wish would be fulfilled. She need\nonly trust him with her whole soul, and leave the \"forge fire of life\" to\nstrengthen and purify her.\n\nNow she remembered where the dying woman had heard the phrase.\n\nHer Aunt Christine had used it recently in her mother's presence. Young\nKunz Schurstab had fallen into evil ways in Lyons. Every one, even his\nown father, had given him up for lost; but after several years he\nreturned home and proved himself capable of admirable work, both in his\nfather's business and in the Council. In reply to Frau Ortlieb's enquiry\nwhere this transformation in the young man had occurred, her aunt\nanswered:\n\n\"In the forge fire of life.\" Eva told herself that she had intentionally\nkept aloof from its flames, and in the convent, perhaps, they would never\nhave reached her. Yesterday they had seized upon her for the first time,\nand henceforward she would not evade them, that she might obey her mother\nand become worthy of the man praying silently yonder. He owed to his\nheroic courage and good sword a renowned name; but what had she ever done\nsave selfishly to provide for her own welfare in this world and the next?\nShe had not even been strong enough to hold the head of the mother, to\nwhom she owed everything and who had loved her so tenderly, when the\nconvulsions attacked her.\n\nEven after she closed her eyes in death--she had noticed it--she had been\nkept from every duty in the household and for the beloved dead, because\nit was deemed unsuitable for her, and Els and every one avoided putting\nthe serious demands of life between the \"little saint\" and her\naspirations towards the bliss of heaven. Yet Eva knew that she could\naccomplish whatever she willed to do, and instead of using the strength\nwhich she felt stirring with secret power in her fragile body, she had\npreferred to let it remain idle, in order to dwell in another world from\nthat in which she had been permitted to prove her might. The fire of the\nforge, by whose means pieces of worthless iron were transformed into\nswords and ploughshares, should use its influence upon her also. Let it\nburn and torture her, if it only made her a genuine, noble woman, a woman\nlike her Aunt Christine, from whom her mother had heard the phrase of\n\"the forge fire of life,\" who aided and pointed out the right path to\nhundreds, and probably, at her age, had needed neither an Els nor an\nAbbess Kunigunde to keep her, body and soul, in the right way. She loved\nboth; but some impulse within rebelled vehemently against being treated\nlike a child, and--now that her mother was dead--subjecting her own will\nto that of any other person than the man to whom she would have gladly\nlooked up as a master.\n\nWhilst Heinz knelt in front of the chapel without noticing Sister\nPerpetua, who was praying before the altar within, these thoughts darted\nthrough Eva's brain like a flash of lightning. Now he rose and went to\nhis horse, but ere he mounted it the dog, barking furiously, again broke\nfrom the thicket close at her side.\n\nHeinz must have seen her white mourning robes, for her own name reached\nher ears in a sudden cry, and soon after--she herself could not have told\nhow--Heinz was standing beside the basket amidst the flowers, with her\nhand clasped in his, gazing into her eyes so earnestly and sadly that he\nseemed a different person from the reckless dancer in the Town Hall,\nthough the look was equally warm and tender. Whilst doing so, he spoke of\nthe deep wound inflicted upon her by her mother's death. Fate had dealt\nhim a severe blow also, but grief taught him to turn whither she, too,\nhad directed him.\n\nJust at that moment the blast of the horn summoning the Emperor's train\nto his side echoed through the forest.\n\n\"The Emperor!\" cried Heinz; then bending towards the flowers he seized a\nfew forget-me-nots, and, whilst gazing tenderly at them and Eva, murmured\nin a low tone, as if grief choked his utterance: \"I know you will give\nthem to me, for they wear the colour of the Queen of Heaven, which is\nalso yours, and will be mine till my heart and eyes fail me.\"\n\nEva granted his request with a whispered \"Keep them\"; but he pressed his\nhand to his brow and, as if torn by contending emotions, hastily added:\n\"Yes, it is that of the Holy Virgin. They say that Heaven has summoned me\nby a miracle to serve only her and the highest, and it often seems to me\nthat they are right. But what will be the result of the conflicting\npowers which since that flash of lightning have drawn one usually so\nprompt in decision as I, now here, now there? Your blue, Eva, the hue of\nthese flowers, will remain mine whether I wear it in honour of the\nBlessed Virgin, or--if the world does not release me--in yours. She or\nyou! You, too, Eva, I know, stand hesitating at the crossing of two\npaths--which is the right one? We will pray Heaven to show it to you and\nto me.\"\n\nAs he spoke he swung himself swiftly into the saddle and, obeying the\nsummons, dashed after his imperial master.\n\nEva gazed silently at the spot where he had vanished behind a group of\npine trees; but Ortel, who had gathered a few early strawberries for her,\nsoon roused her from her waking dream by exclaiming, as he clapped his\nbig hands: \"I'll be hanged, Jungfrau Eva, if the knight who spoke to you\nisn't the Swiss to whom the great miracle happened yesterday!\"\n\n\"The miracle?\" she asked eagerly, for Els had intentionally concealed\nwhat she heard, and this evidently had something to do with the\n\"wonderful summons\" of which Heinz had spoken without being understood.\n\n\"Yes, a great, genuine miracle,\" Ortel went on eagerly. \"The lightning--I\nheard it from the butcher boy who brings the meat, he learned it from his\nmaster's wife herself, and now every child in the city knows it--the\nlightning struck the knight's casque during the thundershower yesterday;\nit ran along his armour, flashing brightly; the horse sank dead under him\nwithout moving a limb, but he himself escaped unhurt, and the mark of a\ncross can be seen in the place where the lightning struck his helmet.\"\n\n\"And you think this happened to the very knight who took the flowers\nyonder?\" asked Eva anxiously.\n\n\"As certainly as I hope to have the sacrament before I die, Jungfrau\nEva,\" the youth protested. \"I saw him riding with that lank Biberli,\nKatterle's lover, who serves him, and such noblemen are not found by the\ndozen. Besides, he is one of those nearest to the Emperor Rudolph's\nperson. If it isn't he, I'll submit to torment----\"\n\n\"Fie upon your miserable oaths!\" Eva interrupted reprovingly. \"Do you\nknow also that the tall, stately gentleman with the long grey hair----\"\n\n\"That was the Emperor Rudolph!\" cried Ortel, sure he was right. \"Whoever\nhas once seen him does not forget him. Everything on earth belongs to\nhim; but when the knight took our flowers so freely just now as if they\nwere his own, I thought But there--there--there! See for yourself,\nJungfrau! A heavy, unclipped yellow zecchin!\"\n\nAs he spoke he took the coin in his hand, crossed himself, and added\nthoughtfully: \"The little silver coin, or whatever he flung in\nhere--perhaps to pay for the flowers, which are not worth five\nshillings--has been changed into pure gold by the saint who wrought the\nmiracle for him. My soul! If many in Nuremberg paid so high for forage,\nthe rich Eysvogel would leave the Council and go in search of wild\nflowers!\"\n\nEva begged the man to leave the zecchin, promising to give him another at\nhome and half a pound in coppers as earnest money. \"This is what I call a\nlucky morning!\" cried Ortel. But directly after he changed his tone,\nremembering Eva's white mourning robe and the object of their expedition,\nand his fresh voice sounded very sympathetic as he added: \"If one could\nonly call your lady mother back to life! Ah, me! I'd spend all my savings\nto buy for the saints as many candles as my mother has in her little\nshop, if that would change things.\"\n\nWhilst speaking he filled the basket with flowers, and the nun helped\nhim. Eva walked before them with bowed head.\n\nCould she hope to wed the man for whom Heaven had performed such a\nmiracle? Was it no sin to hope and plead that he would wear their common\ncolour, not in honour of the Queen of Heaven, but of the lowly Eva, in\nwhom nothing was strong save the desire for good? Was not Heinz forcing\nher to enter into rivalry with one the most distant comparison with whom\nmeant defeat? Yet, no! Her gracious Friend above knew her and her heart.\nShe knew with what tender love and reverence she had looked up to her\nfrom childhood, and she now confided the love in her heart to her who had\nshown herself gracious a thousand times when she raised her soul to her\nin prayer.\n\nEva was breathing heavily when she emerged from the forest and stopped to\nwait until Sister Perpetua had finished her prayer in the chapel and\novertook her. Her heart was heavy, and when, in the meadow beyond the\nwoods, the heat of the sun, which was already approaching the zenith,\nmade itself felt, it seemed as if she had left the untroubled happiness\nof childhood behind her in the green thicket. Yet she would not have\nmissed this forest walk at any price. She knew now that she had no rival\nsave the one whom Heinz ought to love no less than she. Whether they both\ndecided in favour of the world or the cloister, they would remain united\nin love for her and her divine Son.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nOutside the courtyard of the Ortlieb mansion Eva saw Biberli going\ntowards the Frauenthor. He had been with Els a long time, giving a report\nas frankly as ever. The day before he said to Katterle: \"Calm yourself,\nmy little lamb. Now that the daughters need you and me to carry secret\nmessages, the father will leave us in peace too. A member of the Council\nwould be like the receiver of stolen goods if he allowed a man whom he\ndeemed worthy of the stocks to render him many services.\"\n\nAnd Herr Ernst Ortlieb really did let him alone, because he was forced to\nrecognise that Biberli and Katterle were indispensable in carrying on his\ndaughter's intercourse with Wolff.\n\nEls had forgiven the clever fellow the more willingly the more consoling\nbecame the tidings he brought her from her betrothed bridegroom. Besides,\nshe regarded it as specially fortunate that she learned through him many\nthings concerning Heinz Schorlin, which for her sister's sake she was\nglad to know.\n\nTrue, it would have been useless trouble to try to extort from the true\nand steadfast Biberli even a single word which, for his master's sake, it\nwould have been wiser to withhold, yet he discussed matters patiently,\nand told her everything that he could communicate conscientiously. So,\nwhen Eva returned, she was accurately informed of all that had befallen\nand troubled the knight the day before.\n\nShe listened sympathisingly to the servant's lamentation over the\nmarvellous change which had taken place in Heinz since his horse was\nkilled under him. But she shook her head incredulously at Biberli's\nstatement that his master seriously intended to seek peace in the\ncloister, like his two older sisters; yet at the man's animated\ndescription of how Father Benedictus had profited by Sir Heinz's mood to\nestrange him from the world, the doubt vanished.\n\nBiberli's assurance that he had often seen other young knights rush into\nthe world with specially joyous recklessness, who had suddenly halted as\nif in terror and known no other expedient than to change the coat of mail\nfor the monk's cowl, reminded her of similar incidents among her own\nacquaintances. The man was right in his assertion that most of them had\nbeen directed to the monastery by monks of the Order of St. Francis,\nsince the name of the Saint of Assisi and the miracles he performed had\nbecome known in this country also. Whoever believed it impossible to see\nthe gay Sir Heinz in a monk's cowl, added the experienced fellow, might\nfind himself mistaken.\n\nHe had intentionally kept silence concerning Sir Seitz Siebenburg's\nchallenge and his master's other dealings with the \"Mustache.\" On the\nother hand, he had eagerly striven to inform Els of the minutest details\nof the reception he met with from her betrothed lover. With what zealous\nwarmth he related that Wolff, like the upright man he was, had rejected\neven the faintest shadow of doubt of her steadfastness and truth, which\nwere his own principal virtues also.\n\nEven before Sir Heinz Schorlin's visit young Herr Eysvogel had known what\nto think of the calumnies which, it is true, were repeated to him. His\ncalm, unclouded courage and clear mind were probably best shown by the\nnumerous sheets of paper he had covered with estimates, all relating to\nthe condition of the Eysvogel business. He had confided these documents\nalso to him to be delivered to his father, and after discharging this\nduty he had come to her. According to his custom, he had reserved the\nbest thing for the last, but it was now time to give it to her.\n\nAs he spoke he drew from the breast pocket of his long coat a\nwrought-iron rose. Els knew it well; it had adorned the clasp of her\nlover's belt, and the unusual delicacy of the workmanship had often\naroused her admiration. What the gift was to announce she read on the\npaper accompanying it, which contained the following simple lines:\n\n     \"The iron rude, when shaped by fire and blows,\n     Delights our eyes as a most beauteous rose.\n     So may the lies which strove to work us ill\n     But serve our hearts with greater love to fill.\"\n\nBiberli withdrew as soon as he had delivered the gift; his master was\nawaiting him on his return from his early ride with the Emperor; but Els,\nwith glowing cheeks, read and reread the verse which brought such\ncheering consolation from her lover. It seemed like a miracle that they\nrecalled the words of her dying mother concerning the forge fire which,\nin her last moments, she had mentioned in connection with Eva's future.\nHere it had formed from rude iron the fairest of flowers. Nothing sweeter\nor lovelier, the sister thought, could be made from her darling. But\nwould the fire also possess the power to lead Eva, as it were, from\nheaven to earth, and transform her into an energetic woman, symmetrical\nin thought and deed? And what was the necessity? She was there to guide\nher and remove every stone from her path.\n\nAh, if she should renounce the cloister and find a husband like her\nWolff! Again and again she read his greeting and pressed the beloved\nsheet to her lips. She would fain have hastened to her mother's corpse to\nshow it to her. But just at that moment Eva returned. She must rejoice\nwith her over this beautiful confirmation of her hope, and as, with\nflushed cheeks and brow moist with perspiration, she stood before her,\nEls tenderly embraced her and, overflowing with gratitude, showed her her\nlover's gift and verse, and invited her to share the great happiness\nwhich so brightly illumined the darkness of her grief. Eva, who was so\nweary that she could scarcely stand thought, like her sister, as Els read\nWolff's lines aloud, of her mother's last words. But the forge fire of\nlife must not transform her into a rose; she would become harder, firmer,\nand she knew why and for whose sake. Only yesterday, had she been so\nexhausted, nothing would have kept her, after a few brief words to\nprevent Els's disappointment, from lying down, arranging her pillows\ncomfortably, and refreshing herself with some cooling drink; but now she\nnot only succeeded in appearing attentive, but in sympathising with all\nher heart in her sister's happiness. How delightful it was, too, to be\nable to give something to the person from whom hitherto she had only\nreceived.\n\nShe succeeded so fully in concealing the struggle against the claims of\nher wearied body that Els, after joyously perceiving how faithfully her\nsister sympathised with her own delight, continued to relate what she had\njust heard. Eva forced herself to listen and behave as if her account of\nHeinz Schorlin's wonderful escape and desire to enter a monastery was\nnews to her.\n\nNot until Els had narrated the last detail did she admit that she needed\nrest; and when the former, startled by her own want of perception, urged\nher to lie down, she would not do so until she had put the flowers she\nhad brought home into water. At last she stretched herself on the couch\nbeside her sister, who had so long needed sleep and rest, and a few\nminutes after the deep dreamless slumber of youth chained both, until\nKatterle, at the end of an hour, woke them.\n\nBoth used the favourable moments which follow the awakening from a sound\nsleep to cherish the best thoughts and most healthful resolutions. When\nEva left her chamber she had clearly perceived what the last hours had\ntaken and bestowed, and found a positive answer to the important question\nwhich she must now confront.\n\nEls, like her lover, would cling fast to her love, and strive with\ntireless patience to conquer whatever obstacles it might encounter,\nespecially from the Eysvogel family.\n\nBefore leaving home Eva adorned the beloved dead with the flowers,\nleaves, and vines which the gardener had brought and she herself had\ngathered, and at the church she put the last touches to this work so dear\nto her heart. She gave the preference to the flowers which had been her\nmother's favourites, but the others were also used. With a light hand and\na delicate appreciation of harmony and beauty she interwove the children\nof the forest with those of the garden. She could not be satisfied till\nevery one was in the right place.\n\nCountess Cordula had insisted upon attending the consecration, but she\nhad not known who cared for its adornment. Yet when she stood in the\nchurch by the side of the open coffin she gazed long at the gentle face\nof the quiet sufferer, charming even in death, who on her bright couch\nseemed dreaming in a light slumber. At last she whispered to Els: \"How\nwonderfully beautiful! Did you arrange it?\"\n\nThe latter shook her head, but Cordula added, as if soliloquising: \"It\nseems as though the hands of the Madonna herself had adorned a sleeping\nsaint with garden flowers, and child-angels had scattered over her the\nblossoms of the forest.\"\n\nThen Els, who hitherto had refused to talk in this place and this solemn\nhour, broke her silence and briefly told Cordula who had artistically and\nlovingly adorned her mother.\n\n\"Eva?\" repeated the countess, as if surprised, gazing at her friend's\nyounger sister who, as the music of the organ and the alternate chanting\nhad just begun, had already risen from her knees. Cordula felt\nspellbound, for the young girl looked as fresh as a May rose and so\ntouchingly beautiful in the deep, earnest devotion which filled her whole\nbeing, and the white purity of her mourning robes, that the countess did\nnot understand how she could ever have disliked her. Eva, with her up\nlifted eyes, seemed to be gazing directly into the open heavens.\n\nCordula paid little attention to the sacred service, but watched the Es,\nas she liked to call the sisters, all the more closely. The elder, though\nso overwhelmed with grief that she could not help sobbing aloud, did not\ncease to think of her dear ones, and from time to time gazed with tender\nsympathy at her father or with quiet sorrow at her sister. Eva, on the\ncontrary, was completely absorbed by her own anguish and the memory of\nher to whom it was due. The others appeared to have no existence for her.\nWhilst the large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, she sometimes gazed\ntenderly at the face of the beloved dead; sometimes, with fervent\nentreaty, at the image of the Virgin. The pleading expression of the\nlarge blue eyes seemed to the countess to express such childlike need of\nhelp that the impetuous girl would fain have clasped her to her heart and\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Wait, you lovely, obstinate little orphan; Cordula, whom you dislike, is\nhere, and though you don't wish to receive any kindness from her, you\nmust submit. What do I care for all the worshippers of a very poor idol\nwho call themselves my 'adorers'? I need only detain wandering pilgrims,\nor invite minnesingers to the castle, to shorten the hours. And he for\nwhom yonder child-angel's heart yearns--would he not be a fool to prefer\na Will-o'-the-wisp like me? Besides, it is easy for the peasant to give\nhis neighbour the cloud which hangs over his field. True, before the\ndance----But the past is past. Boemund Altrosen is the only person who is\nalways the same. One can rely upon him, but I really need neither. If I\ncould only do without the open air, the forest, horses, and hunting, I\nshould suit convent walls far better than this Eva, whom Heaven itself\nseems to have created to be the delight of every man's heart. We will see\nwhat she herself decides.\"\n\nThen she recognised Sir Boemund Altrosen in the congregation and pursued\nher train of thought. \"He is a noble man, and whoever thus makes himself\nmiserable about me I ought to try to cure. Perhaps I will yet do so.\"\n\nSimilar reflections occupied her mind until she saw Heinz Schorlin\nkneeling, half concealed by a pillar, behind Boemund Altrosen. He had\nlearned from Biberli at what hour the consecration would take place, and\nhis honest heart bade him attend the service for the dead woman who had\nso much to forgive him.\n\nThe Ortlieb sisters did not see him, but Cordula unconsciously shook her\nhead as she gazed. Was this grave man, so absorbed in devotion that he\ndid not vouchsafe those who surrounded him even a single glance, the\nHeinz whose delightful gaiety had captivated her heart? The linden, with\nfoliage withered by the autumn blasts, was more like the same tree in the\nspring when the birds were singing in its boughs, than yonder absorbed\nsupplicant resembled the bold Heinz of a few days ago. The old mocker,\nChamberlain Wiesenthau, was right when he told her and her father that\nmorning that the gay Swiss had been transformed by the miracle which had\nbefallen him, like the Saul of holy writ, in the twinkling of an eye,\ninto a Paul. The calendar-makers were already preparing to assign a day\nto St. Schorlin.\n\nBut she ought not to have joined in the boisterous laugh with which her\nfather rewarded the old slanderer's news. No! The knight's experience\nmust have made a deeper impression than the others suspected.\n\nPerhaps little Eva's love would result in her seeking with the sisters of\nSt. Clare, and Heinz with the Franciscans, peace and a loftier passion.\nShe was certainly to be pitied if love had taken as firm a hold upon her\nheart as Cordula thought she had perceived.\n\nAgain her kind heart throbbed with tender sympathy, and when the sisters\nleft the sedan chairs which had brought them back to the house, and\nCordula met Eva in the corridor, she held out her hand with frank\ncordiality, saying, \"Clasp it trustingly, girl. True, you do not value it\nmuch, but it is offered to no one to whom Cordula does not mean kindly.\"\n\nEva, taken by surprise, obeyed her request. How frank and kindly her grey\neyes were! Cordula herself must be so, too, and, obeying a hasty impulse,\nshe nodded with friendly warmth; then, as if ashamed of her change of\nmood, hurried past her up the stairs.\n\nThe following day had been appointed for the mass for the dead in St.\nSebald's Church.\n\nEls had told Eva that the countess had seen Heinz Schorlin at the\nconsecration. The news pleased her, and she expressed her joy so\nanimatedly and spoke so confidently of the knight's love that Els felt\nanxious. But she did not have courage to disturb her peace of mind, and\nher father's two sisters, the abbess, and Herr Pfinzing's wife, also said\nnothing to Eva concerning the future as they helped Els to arrange the\ndead woman's clothing, which was to be given to the poor, decide to what\npersons or charitable institutions it should be sent, and listened to her\naccount of the facts that formed the foundation of the slanders against\nher, which were being more loudly and universally discussed throughout\nthe city.\n\nEva felt painfully how incapable of rendering assistance the others\nconsidered her, and her pride forbade her to urge it upon them. Even her\nAunt Kunigunde scarcely asked her a question. It seemed to the abbess\nthat the right hour for a decisive enquiry had not yet come, and wise\nAunt Christine never talked with her younger niece upon religious\nsubjects unless she herself requested her to do so.\n\nThe mass for the dead was to be celebrated at an unusually early hour,\nfor another, which would be attended by the whole city and all the\ndistinguished persons, knights, and nobles who had come to the Reichstag,\nwas to begin four hours before noon. This was for Prince Hartmann, who\nhad been snatched away so prematurely.\n\nThe Ortliebs, with all their kindred and servants, the members of the\nCouncil with their wives and daughters, and many burghers and burgher\nwomen, assembled soon after sunrise in St. Sebald's Church.\n\nThose present were almost lost in the spacious, lofty interior with its\nthree naves. At first there was little appearance of devotion, for the\nearly arrivals had many things to ask and whisper to one another. The\ncity architect lowered his loud voice very little as he discussed with a\nbrother in the craft from Cologne in what way the house of God, which\noriginally had been built in the Byzantine style, could be at least\npartly adapted to the French pointed arch which was used with such\nremarkable success in Germany, at Cologne and Marburg. They discussed the\neastern choir, which needed complete rebuilding, the missing steeples,\nand the effect of the pointed arch which harmonised so admirably with the\nGerman cast of character, and did not cease until the music began. Now\nthe great number of those present showed how much love the dead woman had\nsowed and reaped. The sisters, when they first looked around them, saw\nwith grateful joy the father of the young man who had fallen in the duel\nwith Wolff, old Herr Berthold Vorchtel, his wife, and Ursula. On the\nother hand, the pew adorned with the Eysvogel coat of arms was still\nempty. This wounded Els deeply; but she uttered a sigh of relief\nwhen--the introitus had just begun--at least one member of the haughty\nfamily to which she felt allied through Wolff appeared, Isabella\nSiebenburg, her lover's sister. It was kind in her to come\nnotwithstanding the absence of the others, and even her own husband. Els\nwould return it to her and her twins.\n\nThe music, whose heart-stirring notes accompanied the solemn service,\ndeeply moved the souls of both sisters; but when, after the Gloria in\nexcelsis Deo, the Cum Sancto Spiritu pealed forth, Eva, who, absorbed in\ndevotion, had long since ceased to gaze around her, felt her sister's\nhand touch her arm and, following the direction of her glance, saw at\nsome distance the man for whom her heart yearned, and the grave, devout\nknight yonder seemed far nearer to her than the gay companion who, in the\nmazes of the dance, had gazed so boldly into the faces of the men, so\ntenderly into those of the fair women. How fast her heart throbbed! how\nardently she longed for the moment when he would raise his head and look\nacross at her! But when he moved, it was only to follow the sacred\nservice and with it Christ's sacrifice upon the cross.\n\nThen Eva reproached herself for depriving her dead mother, to the repose\nof whose soul this hour was dedicated, of her just due, and she strove\nwith all her power to regain the spirit of devotion which she had lost.\nBut her lover sat opposite and, though she lowered her eyes, her earnest\nendeavour to concentrate her thoughts was futile.\n\nHer struggle was interrupted by the commencement of the Credo, and during\nthis confession, which brings before the Christian in a fixed form what\nit is incumbent upon him to believe, the thought entered her mind of\nbeseeching her whose faithful love had always guided her safely and for\nher good--the Queen of Heaven, to whom Heinz was as loyally devoted as\nshe herself--that she might give her a sign whether she might continue to\nbelieve in his love and keep faith with him, or whether she should return\nto the path which led to a different form of happiness.\n\nDuring the singing of the Credo the heavenly Helper, for whose aid she\nhoped, made known to her that if, before the end of the Sanctus, which\nimmediately followed the Credo, Heinz looked over at her and returned her\nglance, she might deem it certain that the Holy Virgin would permit her\nto hope for his love. If he omitted to do so, then she would consider it\ndecided that he renounced his earthly for his heavenly love, and try\nherself to give up the earthly one, in which, however, she believed she\nhad recognised something divine. The Credo closed and died away, the\nresonant harmonies of the Sanctus filled the wide space, and the knight,\nwith the same devout attention, followed the sacred service in which, in\nthe imagination of believers, the bread and wine is transformed into the\nbody and blood of Christ, and a significant, painless ceremony represents\nthe Saviour's bloody death upon the cross.\n\nEva told herself that she ought to have followed with the same intentness\nas Heinz the mass celebrated for the soul of her own mother, but she\ncould no longer succeed in doing so. Besides, she was denied the\nprivilege of looking freely and often at him upon whose movements\ndepended the fate of her life. Many glances were undoubtedly directed at\nher, the daughter of the dead woman in whose memory so many citizens had\ngathered; many, perhaps, had come solely to see the beautiful Es.\nTherefore propriety and modesty forbade her to watch Heinz. She only\nventured to cast a stolen glance at him.\n\nEvery note of the Sanctus was familiar to her, and when it drew near the\nend Heinz retained the same position. The fairest hope of her life must\nbe laid with the flowers in her mother's coffin.\n\nNow the last bars of the Sanctus were commencing. He had scarcely had\ntime to change his attitude since her last secret glance at him, yet she\ncould not resist the temptation, though it was useless, of looking at him\nonce more. She felt like the prisoner who sees the judge rise and does\nnot know whether he intends to acquit or condemn him. The city\nlute-player who led the choir was just raising his hands again to let\nthem fall finally at the close of the Sanctus, and as she turned her eyes\nfrom him in the direction whence only too soon she was to be deprived of\nthe fairest of rights, a burning blush suddenly crimsoned her cheeks.\nHeinz Schorlin's eyes had met hers with a full, clear gaze.\n\nEva pressed her clasped hands, as if beseeching aid, upon her bosom,\nwhich rose and fell beneath them with passionate emotion; and No, she\ncould not be mistaken; he had understood her, for his look expressed a\nwealth of sympathy, the ardent, sorrowful sympathy which only love knows.\nThen the eyes of both fell. When their glances met again, the hosanna of\nthe choir rang out to both like a shout of welcome with which liberated\nNature exultingly greets the awakening spring; and to the deeply agitated\nknight, who had resolved to fly from the world and its vain pleasures,\nthe hosanna which poured its waves of sound towards him, whilst the eyes\nof the woman he loved met his for the second time, seemed to revive the\nwaning joy of existence. The shout which had greeted the Saviour on his\nentry into Jerusalem reached the \"called\" man like a command from love to\nopen wide the gate of the heart, and whether he willed it or not, love,\namidst the solemn melody of the hosanna, made a new and joyous entrance\ninto his grateful soul. But during the Benedictus he was already making\nthe first attempt to resist this emotion; and whilst Eva, first offering\nthanks for the cheering decision, and then earnestly striving to enter\nwith her whole soul into the sacred service, modestly denied herself the\npleasure of looking across at her lover, Heinz was endeavouring to crush\nthe hopes which had again mastered the soul resolved on renunciation.\n\nYet he found the conflict harder than he expected and as, at the close of\nthe mass, the Dona nobis pacem (grant us peace) began, he joined\nbeseechingly in the prayer.\n\nIt was not granted, for even during the high mass for the soul of his\ndearest friend, which also detained the Ortliebs in church, he sought\nEva's glance only too often, but always in vain. Once only, when the Dona\nnobis pacem pealed forth again, this time for the prince, his eyes met\nthose of the woman he loved.\n\nThe young Duchess Agnes noticed whither he looked so often, but when\nCountess Cordula knelt beside the Ortliebs, cordially returned every\nglance of the knight's, and once even nodded slightly to him, the young\nBohemian believed the report that Heinz Schorlin and the countess were\nthe same as betrothed, and it vexed her--nay, spoiled the whole of the\nday which had just begun.\n\nWhen Heinz left the church Eva's image filled his heart and mind. He went\ndirectly from the sanctuary to his lodgings; but there neither Frau\nBarbara, his pretty young hostess, nor Biberli would believe their eyes\nor ears, when the former heard in the entry, the latter in the adjoining\nroom, the lash of a scourge upon naked limbs, and loud groans. Both\nsounds were familiar to Barbel through her father, and to Biberli from\nthe time of penance after his stay in Paris, and his own person.\n\nHeinz Schorlin, certainly for the first time in his life, had scourged\nhimself.\n\nIt was done by the advice of Father Benedictus but, although he followed\nthe counsel so earnestly that for a long time large bloody stripes\ncovered his back and shoulders, this remedy for sinful thoughts produced\nan effect exactly opposite to the one expected; for, whenever the places\nwhere the scourge had struck him so severely smarted under his armour,\nthey reminded him of her for whose sake he had raised his hand against\nhimself, and the blissful glance from her eyes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nDuring the days which succeeded the mass for the dead the Ortlieb mansion\nwas very silent. The Burgrave von Zollern, who still gladly concealed in\nhis castle the brave companion in arms to whom he had entrusted the\nimperial standard on the Marchfield, when his own strong arm needed rest,\nhad permitted Herr Ernst, as the young man's future father-in-law, to\nvisit him. Both were now in constant communication, as Els hoped, for the\nadvantage of the Eysvogel business.\n\nBiberli did not cease acting as messenger between her and her future\nbridegroom; nay, he could now devote the lion's share of his days to it;\nhis master, for the first time since he had entered his service, had left\nhim.\n\nThe Emperor had been informed of the great shock experienced by the young\nknight, but it was unnecessary; an eye far less keen would not have\nfailed to note the change in Heinz Schorlin.\n\nThe noble man who, even as a sovereign, retained the warmth of heart\nwhich had characterised him in his youth as a count, sincerely loved his\nblithe, loyal, brave young countryman, whose father he had valued, whose\nmother he highly esteemed, and who had been the dearest friend of the son\nwhom death had so early snatched from him.\n\nHe knew him thoroughly, and had watched his development with increasing\nwarmth of sympathy, the more so as many a trait of character which he\nrecognised in Heinz reminded him of his own nature and aspirations at his\nage.\n\nAt the court of Frederick II he too had not always walked in the paths of\nvirtue but, like Heinz, he had never let this merge into licentiousness,\nand had maintained the chivalrous dignity of his station even more\nstrictly than the former.\n\nNeither had he at any time deviated from the sincere piety which he had\nbrought from his home to the imperial court, and this was far more\ndifficult in the train of the bold and intellectual Hohenstaufen, who was\nprone to blaspheme even the holiest things, than for Heinz. Finally he,\ntoo, had lapsed into the mood which threatened to lead the light-hearted\nSchorlin into a monastery.\n\nThe mighty impulse which, at that time, owing to the example and\nteachings of St. Francis in Italy, had taken possession of so many minds,\nalso left its impress on his young soul, already agitated by sympathy\nwith many an extravagant idea, many an opinion condemned by the Church.\nBut ere he had taken even the first decisive step he was summoned home.\nHis father had resolved to obtain on the sacred soil of Palestine the\nmercy of Heaven which was denied to the excommunicated Emperor, and\ndesired his oldest son, Rudolph, to represent him at home.\n\nBefore his departure he confided to his noble son his aspirations for the\ngrandeur and enlargement of his house, and the youth of twenty-one did\nnot venture to tell the dignified, far-sighted man, whom his subjects\nrightly surnamed \"the Wise,\" his ardent desire to live henceforth solely\nfor the salvation of his endangered soul.\n\nThe sense of duty inherited from father and mother, which both had\nimprinted deeply upon his soul, and also the ambition that had been\nsedulously fostered at the court of the Emperor Frederick, had given him\ncourage to repress forever the wish with which he had left the\nHohenstaufen court. The sacrifice was hard, but he made it willingly as\nsoon as it became apparent to his reflective mind that not only his\nearthly but his heavenly Father had appointed the task of devoting the\nfull wealth of his talents and the power of his will to the elevation of\nthe house of Hapsburg.\n\nThe very next year he stood in the place of his father who fell at\nAscalon, deeply lamented.\n\nThe arduous labour imposed by the management of his own great\npossessions, and the ceaseless endeavour to enlarge them, in accordance\nwith the dead man's wishes, gave him no time to cherish the longing for\nthe peace of the cloister.\n\nAfter his election as King of Germany, which had long been neglected\nunder the government of sham emperors, increased the burden of his duties\nthe more seriously he took them, and the more difficult the Bohemian king\nOttocar, especially, rendered it for him to maintain the crown he had\nwon, the more eagerly he strove, particularly after the victory of\nMarchfield had secured his sovereignty, to increase the power of his\nhouse.\n\nA binding duty, a difficult task, must also withhold Heinz Schorlin from\nthe wish for whose fulfilment his fiery young soul now fervently longed,\nand which he knew was receiving powerful sustenance from a worthy and\neloquent Minorite.\n\nRudolph's own brother had died in peace as canon of Basel and Strasbourg;\nhis sister was happy in her convent as a modest Dominican; but the young\nknight over whose welfare he had promised his mother to watch, and whom\nhe loved, was not fitted for the monastic life.\n\nHowever earnest might be his intention--after the miracle which seemed to\nhave been wrought specially for him--of renouncing the world, sooner or\nlater the time must come when Heinz would long to return to it and the\nprofession of arms, for which he was born and reared. But if he could not\nbe deterred from entering the modest order of the mendicant monks, who\nproudly called poverty their beloved bride, and should become the head of\na bishopric while young, he would inevitably be one of those fighting\nprelates who seemed to the Emperor--who disliked halfway\nmeasures--neither knight nor priest, and with whom he had had many a\nquarrel.\n\nOpposition would merely have sharpened the young knight's desire;\ntherefore his imperial patron had treated him as if he were ignorant of\nwhat was passing in his mind. Without circumlocution, he commanded him,\nat the head of several bodies of Frank, Swabian, and Swiss troopers, whom\nhe placed at his orders, to attack the brothers Siebenburg and their\nallies, and destroy their castle. If possible, he was to bring them alive\nbefore the imperial judgment seat, and recover for the Eysvogels the\nmerchandise of which they had been robbed.\n\nWhen Heinz, after the Emperor Rudolph had mentioned the latter name,\nearnestly entreated him to prevent Wolff's persecution, the sovereign\npromised to fulfil the wish as soon as the proper time came. He himself\ndesired to be gracious to the brave champion of Marchfield, who under\ngreat irritation had drawn his sword. But when Heinz also asked the\nEmperor to send his friend Count Gleichen with him, the request was\nrefused. He must have the entire responsibility of the expedition which\nhe commanded; for nothing except an important duty that no one would help\nhim bear, gave promise of making him forget everything that usually\nengrossed his attention, and thus his new object of longing. Besides, if\nhe returned victorious his fame and reward would be undivided.\n\nThe Hapsburg wished to try upon his young favourite the means which had\navailed to keep his own footsteps in the path which he desired to see\nHeinz follow: constant occupation associated with heavy responsibility,\nthe success which brings with it the hope of future achievement and\nthereby rouses ambition.\n\nThe wisdom and kindness of heart of the Emperor Rudolph, whom the\ngrey-haired ruler's friends called \"Wisdom,\" had certainly chosen the\nright course for Heinz. But he who had always regarded every opportunity\nof drawing his sword for his master as a rare piece of good fortune,\nshrank in dismay from this, the most important and honourable charge that\nhad ever been bestowed upon him. It drew him away from the new path in\nwhich he did not yet feel at home, because the love he could not abjure\nconstantly thrust him into the world, into the midst of the life and\ntumult from which Heaven itself commanded him to turn aside.\n\nThe Minorite had scarcely been right in the assertion that only the first\nrounds of the ladder which leads to heavenly bliss were hard to climb.\n\nHow quickly he had set his foot on the first step; but each upward stride\nwas followed by one that dragged him down-nay, it had seemed advisable\nwholly to renounce the effort to ascend them, when the monk expected him\nto sever the bond which united him to the Emperor, and to tell the\nsovereign that he had entered the service of a greater Master, who\ncommanded him to fight with other weapons than the sword and lance.\n\nHeinz had regarded this demand as a summons to turn traitor. It did not\nseem to be the call of the devout, experienced director of souls to the\ndisciples, but the Guelph to the Ghibelline, for Ghibelline he meant to\nremain. Gratitude was a Christian virtue, too, and to refuse his service\nto the Emperor, who had been a father to him, to whom he had sworn\nfealty, and who had loaded him with benefits, could not be pleasing in\nthe sight of any God. He could never become a Guelph, he told his\nvenerable friend. The Emperor Rudolph was his beloved master, from whom\nhe had received nothing but kindness. He might as well be required to\nrefuse obedience to his own father.\n\n\"What Guelph? What Ghibelline?\" cried the Minorite in a tone of grave\nrebuke. \"The question is submission to the Most High, or to the world and\nits claims. And why should not Heaven require, as you term it, that you\nshould obey the Lord more willingly than your earthly father--you, whom\nthe mercy of God summoned amidst thunder and lightning in the presence of\nthousands? When Francis, our beloved model, the son of Pier Bernardone,\nwas threatened with his father's curse if he did not turn back from the\npath which led to the highest goal, Francis restored all that he had\nreceived from him, except his last garment, and with the exclamation,\n'Our Father who art in heaven, not Pier Bernardone,' he made the choice\nbetween his earthly and his heavenly Father. From the former he would\nhave received in abundance everything that the heart of a child of the\nworld desires-wealth, paternal love, and the blessing which is said to\nbuild houses on earth. But Francis preferred poverty and contempt, nay,\neven his father's curse and the reproach of ingratitude, receiving in\nexchange possessions of a nobler nature and more lasting character. You\nhave heard their names. To obtain them, means to share the bliss of\nheaven. And you\"--he continued loudly, adopting for the first time a tone\nof authoritative severity--\"if you really yearned for the greatest\npossessions, go to the fortress this very hour, and with the cry in your\nheart, though not on your lips, 'Our Father who art in heaven, not my\ngracious master and benefactor Rudolph,' inform the Emperor what higher\nLord you have vowed to serve.\"\n\nThis kindled a fierce conflict in Heinz Schorlin's soul, which perhaps\nmight have ended in favour of a new career and St. Francis, had not\nBiberli, ere he reached a conclusion, rushed into the room shouting:\n\"Seitz Siebenburg, the Mustache, has joined his brothers, and the Knight\nof Absbach, with several others--von Hirsdorf, von Streitberg, and\nwhatever their names may be--have made common cause with them! It is said\nthat they also expected reinforcements from the Main, in order that the\nright to the road----\"\n\n\"Gossip, or positive news?\" interrupted Heinz, drawing himself up to his\nfull height with the cool composure which he attained most easily when\nany serious danger threatened him.\n\n\"As positive,\" replied his follower eagerly, \"as that Siebenburg is the\ngreatest rascal in Germany. You will be robbed of your joust with him,\nfor he'll mount the block instead of the steed, just as you predicted.\nThe ladies will drive him from the lists with pins and rods, to say\nnothing of the scourging by which knight and squire will silence him. Oh,\nmy lord, if you only knew!\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked the knight anxiously.\n\nThen Biberli, paying no further heed to his master's orders never to\nmention the Ortlieb sisters again in his presence, burst forth\nindignantly: \"It might move a stone to pity to know the wrong the monster\nhas done Jungfrau Eva and her pure and virtuous sister, the loyal\nbetrothed bride of a brave man--and the abominable names bestowed on the\nyoung ladies, whom formerly young and old, hat in hand, called the\nbeautiful Es.\"\n\nHeinz stamped his foot on the floor and, half frantic, impetuously\nexclaimed, his blood boiling with honest indignation: \"May the air he\nbreathes destroy the slandering scoundrel! May I be flayed on the rack\nif----\"\n\nHere he was interrupted by a low exclamation of warning from the\nMinorite, who perceived in the knight's fierce oaths a lamentable\nrelapse. Heinz himself felt ashamed of the ungodly imprecations; yet he\ncould by no means succeed in regaining his former composure as, drawing a\nlong breath, he continued: \"And those city hypocrites, who call\nthemselves Christians, and build costly cathedrals for the good of their\nsouls, are not ashamed--yes, holy Father, it is true--basely to deny our\nLord and Saviour, who is Love itself, and deemed even the Magdalen worthy\nof His mercy, and rub their hands in fiendish malignity when unpunished\nthey can sully the white robe of innocence, and drag pious, lovely\nsimplicity to the pillory.\"\n\n\"That is the very reason, my son,\" the monk interrupted soothingly, \"that\nwe disciples of the Saint of Assisi go forth to show the deluded what the\nLord requires of them. Therefore leave behind you the dust of the world,\nwhich defiles both body and soul, join us, who did so before you, and\nhelp, as one of our order, to make those who are perishing in sin and\ndishonouring the name of Christ better and purer, genuine Christians. In\nthis hour of stress lay the sword out of your hand, and leave the\nsteed----\"\n\n\"I shall ride forth, rely upon it, holy Father,\" Heinz burst forth\nafresh. \"With the sky-blue of the gracious Virgin, whom I love, on my\nshield and helmet, I will dash like the angel Michael amongst the\nSiebenburgs and their followers. And let me tell you, holy Father--you\nwho were once a knight also--if the Mustache, weltering in his blood at\nmy feet, prays for mercy, I'll teach him----\"\n\n\"Son! son!\" interrupted the monk again, this time raising his hands\nimploringly; but Heinz, paying no heed, exclaimed hoarsely:\n\n\"Where did you get this news?\"\n\n\"From our Berne countryman at the fortress,\" replied the servant eagerly;\n\"Brandenstein, Schweppermann, and Heidenab brought the tidings. The\nEmperor received them at the gate of the citadel, where he was keeping\nwatch ere he mounted his steed. He heard him call to the messengers, 'So\nour Heinz Schorlin will have a hard nut to crack.'\"\n\n\"Which he will crush after his own heart!\" cried Heinz, with flashing\neyes.\n\nThen, forcing himself to be calm, he exclaimed in broken sentences,\nwhilst Biberli was helping him put on his armour: \"Your wish, reverend\nFather, is also mine. The world--the sooner I can rid myself of it the\nbetter; yet what you describe in the most alluring terms is the peace in\nyour midst, I--I--Never, never will my heart be calm until----\"\n\nHere he paused suddenly, struck his breast swiftly and repeatedly with\nhis fists, and continued eagerly: \"Here, Father Benedictus, here are old\nand strong demands, which you, too, must once have known ere you offered\nthe other cheek to the foe. I know not what to call them, but until they\nare satisfied I shall never be yours. They must be fulfilled; then, if in\nbattle and bloodshed I can also forget the love which ever rises again\nwhen I think I have given it the deathblow, if Heaven still desires poor,\nheartsick Heinz Schorlin, it shall have him.\"\n\nThe Minorite received the promise with a silent bend of the head. He felt\nthat he might seriously endanger the fulfilment of his ardent wish to\ngain this soul for heaven if he urged Heinz further now. Patiently\nawaiting a more fitting season, he therefore contented himself with\nquestioning him carelessly about the foe and his castles.\n\nThe day was hot, and as Biberli laced the gambeson--the thick, quilted\nundergarment over which was worn the heavy leather coat covered with\nscales and rings--the monk exclaimed: \"When the duty which you believe\nyou owe to the world has been fulfilled, you will gratefully learn, as\none of our order, how pleasant it is to walk with liberated soul in our\nlight-brown cowl.\"\n\nBut he ought to have repressed the remark, for Heinz cast a glance at him\nwhich expressed his astonishment at being so misunderstood, and answered\nwith unyielding resolution: \"If I long for anything in your order,\nreverend Father, it is not for easy tasks, but for the most difficult\nburden of all. Your summons to take our Redeemer's cross upon me pleases\nme better.\"\n\n\"And I, my son, believe that your words will be inscribed amongst those\nwhich are sure of reward,\" the monk answered; then with bowed head added\n\"At that moment you were nearer the kingdom of heaven than the aged\ncompanion of St. Francis.\"\n\nBut perceiving how impatiently Heinz shrugged his shoulders, and\nconvinced that it would be advisable to leave him to himself for a time,\nthe old man blessed him with paternal affection and went his way. When\nthe fiery youth had performed the task which now claimed all his powers,\nhe hoped to find him more inclined to allow himself to be led farther\nalong the path which he had entered.\n\n\n\n\nIN THE FIRE OF THE FORGE\n\nA ROMANCE OF OLD NUREMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe Minorite had gone. Biberli had noticed with delight that his master\nhad not sought as usual to detain him. The iron now seemed to him hot,\nand he thought it would be worth while to swing the hammer.\n\nThe danger in which Heinz stood of being drawn into the monastery made\nhim deeply anxious, and he had already ventured several times to oppose\nhis design. Life was teaching him to welcome a small evil when it barred\nthe way to a greater one, and his master's marriage, even with a girl of\nfar lower station than Eva Ortlieb, would have been sure of his favour,\nif only it would have deterred him from the purpose of leaving the world\nto which he belonged.\n\n\"True,\" the servitor began, \"in such heat it is easier to walk in the\nthin cowl than in armour. The holy Father is right there. But when it is\nnecessary to be nimble, the knight has his dancing dress also. Oh, my\nlord, what a sight it was when you were waltzing with the lovely Jungfrau\nEva! Look at Heinz Schorlin, the brave hero of Marchfield, and the girl\nwith the angel face who is with him!' said those around me, as I was\ngazing down from the balcony. And just think--I can't help speaking of it\nagain--that now respectable people dare to point their fingers at the\nsisters and join in the base calumny uttered by a scoundrel!\"\n\nThen Heinz fulfilled Biberli's secret longing to be questioned about the\nEs and the charges against them, and he forged the iron.\n\nNot from thirst, he said, but to ascertain what fruit had grown from the\nhellish seeds sown by Siebenburg, and probably the still worse ones of\nthe Eysvogel women, he went from tavern to tavern, and there he heard\nthings which made him clench his fists, and, at the Red Ox, roused him to\nsuch violent protest that he went out of the tap-room faster than he\nentered it.\n\nThereupon, without departing far from the truth, he related what was said\nabout the beautiful Es in Nuremberg.\n\nIt was everywhere positively asserted that a knight belonging to the\nEmperor's train had been caught at the Ortlieb mansion, either in a\nnocturnal interview or while climbing into the window. Both sisters were\nsaid to be guilty. But the sharpest arrows were aimed at Els, the\nbetrothed bride of the son of a patrician family, whom many a girl would\nhave been glad to wed. That she preferred the foreigner, whether a\nBohemian, a Swabian, or even a Swiss, made her error doubly shameful in\nthe eyes of most persons.\n\nWhenever Biberli had investigated the source of these evil tales, he had\ninvariably found it to be Seitz Siebenburg, his retainers, the Eysvogel\nbutler, or some man or maidservant in their employ.\n\nThe Vorchtels, who, as he knew from Katterle, would have had the most\nreason to cherish resentment against the Ortliebs, had no share in these\nslanders.\n\nThe shrewd fellow had discovered the truth, for after Seitz Siebenburg\nhad wandered about in the open air during the storm, he again tried to\nsee his wife. But the effort was vain. Neither entreaties nor threats\nwould induce her to open the door. Meanwhile it had grown late and, half\nfrantic with rage, he went to the Duke of Pomerania's quarters in the\nGreen Shield to try his luck in gaming. The dice were again moving\nrapidly, but no one grasped the box when he offered a stake. No more\ninsulting rebuff could be imagined, and the repulse which he received\nfrom his peers, and especially the duke, showed him that he was to be\nexcluded from this circle.\n\nHe was taught at the same time that if he answered the challenge of the\nSwiss he would not be permitted to enter the lists. Thus he confronted\nthe impossibility of satisfying a demand of honour, and this terrible\nthought induced him to declare war against everything which honour had\nhitherto enjoined, and with it upon its guardians.\n\nIf they treated him as a robber and a dishonoured man, he would behave\nlike one; but those who had driven him so far should suffer for it.\n\nDuring the rest of the night and on the following day, until the gate was\nclosed, he wandered, goblet in hand, only half conscious of what he was\ndoing, from tavern to tavern, to tell the guests what he knew about the\nbeautiful Es; and at every repetition of the accusations, of whose\njustice he was again fully convinced, his hatred against the sisters, and\nthose who were their natural defenders and therefore his foes, increased.\nEvery time he repeated the old charges an addition increasing the slander\nwas made and, as if aided by some mysterious ally, it soon happened that\nin various places his own inventions were repeated to him by the lips of\nothers who had heard them from strangers. True, he was often\ncontradicted, sometimes violently but, on the whole, people believed him\nmore readily than would have happened in the case of any other person;\nfor every one admitted that, as the brother-in-law of the older E, he had\na right to express his indignation in words.\n\nMeanwhile his twins often returned to his memory. The thought ought to\nhave restrained him from such base conduct; but the idea that he was\navenging the wrong inflicted upon their father's honour, and thus upon\ntheirs, urged him further and further.\n\nNot until a long ride through the forest had sobered him did he see his\nconduct in the proper light.\n\nInsult and disgrace would certainly await him in the city. His brothers\nwould receive him kindly. They were of his own blood and could not help\nwelcoming his sharp sword. Side by side with them he would fight and, if\nit must be, die. A voice within warned him against making common cause\nwith those who had robbed the family of which he had become a member, yet\nhe again used the remembrance of his innocent darlings to palliate his\npurpose. For their sakes only he desired to go to his death, sword in\nhand, like a valiant knight in league with those who were risking their\nlives in defence of the ancient privilege of their class. They must not\neven suspect that their father had been shut out from the tournament, but\ngrow up in the conviction that he had fallen as a heroic champion of the\ncause of the lesser knights to whom he belonged, and on whose neck the\nEmperor had set his foot.\n\nThe assurance which Biberli brought Heinz Schorlin that Seitz Siebenburg\nhad joined those whom he was ordered to punish, placed the task assigned\nhim by the Emperor in a new and attractive light; but the servant's\nreport, so far as it concerned the Ortlieb sisters, pierced the inmost\ndepths of his soul. He alone was to blame for the disgrace which had\nfallen upon innocent maidens. By the destruction of the calumny he would\nat least atone for a portion of his sin. But this did not suffice. It was\nhis duty to repair the wrong he had done the sisters. How? That he could\nnot yet determine; for whilst wielding the executioner's sword in his\nmaster's service all these thoughts must be silenced; he could consider\nnothing save to fulfil the task confided to him by his imperial\nbenefactor and commander in chief, according to his wishes, and show him\nthat he had chosen wisely in trusting him to \"crack the nut\" which he\nhimself had pronounced a hard one. The yearning and renunciation, the\nreproaches and doubts which disturbed his life, until recently so easy,\nhad disgusted him with it. He would not spare it. Yet if he fell he would\nbe deprived of the possibility of doing anything whatever for those who\nthrough his imprudence had lost their dearest possession--their good\nname. Whenever this picture rose before him it sometimes seemed as if Eva\nwas gazing at him with her large, bright eyes as trustingly as during the\npause in the dancing, and anon he fancied he saw her as she looked at her\nmother's consecration in her deep mourning before the altar. At that time\nher grief and pain had prevented her from noticing how his gaze rested on\nher; yet never had she appeared more desirable, never had he longed more\nardently to clasp her in his arms, console her, and assure her that his\nlove should teach her to forget her grief, that she was destined to find\nnew happiness in a union with him.\n\nThis had happened to him just as he commenced the struggle for a new\nlife. Startled, he confessed it to his grey-haired guide, and used the\nmeans which the Minorite advised him to employ to attain forgetfulness\nand renunciation, but always in vain. Had he, like St. Francis, rushed\namong briers, his blood would not have turned into roses, but doubtless\nfresh memories of her whose happiness his guilt had so suddenly and\ncruelly destroyed.\n\nFor her sake he had already begun to doubt his vocation on the very\nthreshold of his new career, and did not recover courage until Father\nBenedictus, who had communicated with the Abbess Kunigunde, informed him\nthat Eva was wax in her hands, and within the next few days she would\ninduce her niece to take the veil.\n\nThis news had exerted a deep influence upon the young knight's soul. If\nEva entered the cloister before him, the only strong tie which united him\nto the world would be severed, and nothing save the thought of his mother\nwould prevent his following his vocation. Yet vehement indignation seized\nhim when he heard from Biberli that the slanderer's malice would force\nEva to seek refuge with the Sisters.\n\nNo, a thousand times no! The woman whom he loved should need to seek\nrefuge from nothing for which Heinz Schorlin's desire and resolve alike\ncommanded him to make amends.\n\nHe must succeed in proving to the whole world that she and her sister\nwere as pure as they lived in his imagination, either by offering in the\nlists the boldest defiance to every one who refused to acknowledge that\nboth were the most chaste and decorous ladies in the whole world, and\nEva, at the same time, the loveliest and fairest, or by the open\ninterference of the Emperor or the Burggravine in behalf of the\npersecuted sisters, after he had confessed the whole truth to his exalted\npatrons.\n\nBut when Biberli pointed out the surest way of restoring the endangered\nreputation of the woman he loved, and begged him to imagine how much more\nbeautiful she would look in the white bridal veil than in her mourning\nRiese--[Kerchief of fine linen, arranged like a veil]--he ordered him to\nkeep silence.\n\nThe miracle wrought in his behalf forbade him to yearn for happiness and\njoy here below. It was intended rather to open his eyes and urge him to\nleave the path which led to eternal damnation. It pointed him to the\nkingdom of heaven and its bliss, which could be purchased only by severe\nsacrifice and the endurance of every grief which the Saviour had taken\nupon Himself. But he could at least pay one honour to the maiden to whom\nhe was so strongly attracted, and whose happiness for life was menaced by\nhis guilt. When he had assembled his whole force at Schwabach, he would\ngo into battle with her colour on his helmet and shield. The Queen of\nHeaven would not be angry with him if he wore her light blue to atone to\nthe pure and pious Eva, who was hers even more fully than he himself, for\nthe wrong inflicted upon her by spiteful malice.\n\nHeinz Schorlin's friends thought the change in his mood a natural\nconsequence of the events which had befallen him; young Count Gleichen,\nhis most intimate companion, even looked up to him since his \"call\" as a\nconsecrated person.\n\nHis grey-haired cousin, Sir Arnold Maier, of Silenen, was a devout man\nwhose own son led a happy life as a Benedictine monk at Engelberg. The\nsign by which Heaven had signified its will to Heinz had made a deep\nimpression upon him, and though he would have preferred to see him\ncontinue in the career so auspiciously begun, he would have considered it\nimpious to dissuade him from obeying the summons vouchsafed by the Most\nHigh. So he offered no opposition, and sent by the next courier a letter\nto Lady Wendula Schorlin, his young cousin's mother, in which, with\nHeinz's knowledge-nay, at his request--he related what her son had\nexperienced, and entreated her not to withhold him from the vocation of\nwhich God deemed him worthy.\n\nMeanwhile, Biberli wrote to his master's mother in a different strain,\nand did not desist from expressing his opinion, to Heinz, and assuring\nhim that his place was on a battle charger, with his sword in its sheath\nor in his hand, rather than in a monastery with a rosary hanging from a\nhempen girdle.\n\nThis had vexed Heinz--nay, made him seriously angry with the faithful\nfellow; and when in full armour he prepared to mount his steed to receive\nthe last directions of his imperial master, and Biberli asked him on\nwhich horse he should follow, he answered curtly that this time he would\ngo without him.\n\nYet when he saw tears fill the eyes of his \"true and steadfast\"\ncompanion, he patted the significant St. on his cap, and added kindly:\n\"Never mind, Biber, everything will be unchanged between us till I obey\nmy summons, and you build your own nest with Katterle.\"\n\nSo Biberli had remained in Nuremberg whilst Heinz Schorlin, after the\nEmperor with fatherly kindness had dismissed him, granting him full\nauthority, set forth at the head of his troops as their commander, to\ntake the field against the Siebenburgs and their allies.\n\nThe servant was permitted to attend him only to the outskirts of the\ncity.\n\nBefore the Spitalthor, Countess Cordula, though she was returning from a\nride into the country, had wheeled her spirited dappled horse and joined\nhim as familiarly as though she belonged to him. Heinz, who would have\nliked best to be alone, and to whom any other companion would have been\nmore welcome, showed her this plainly enough, but she did not seem to\nnotice it, and during the whole of their ride together gave her tongue\nfree rein and, though he often indignantly interrupted her, described\nwith increasing warmth what the Ortlieb sisters had suffered through his\nfault. In doing so she drew so touching a picture of Eva's silent sorrow\nthat Heinz sometimes longed to thank her, but more frequently to have her\ndriven away by his men at arms; for he had mounted his horse with the\nintention of dividing the time of his ride between pious meditations and\nplans for the arrangement of the expedition. What could be more unwelcome\nthan the persistent loquacity of the countess, who filled his heart and\nmind with ideas and wishes that threatened most seriously to imperil his\ndesign?\n\nCordula plainly perceived how unwillingly he listened. Nay, as Heinz more\nand more distinctly, at last even offensively, showed her how little he\ndesired her society, it only increased the animation of her speech, which\nseemed to her not to fail wholly in the influence she desired to exert in\nEva's favour; therefore she remained at his side longer than she had at\nfirst intended. She did not even turn back when they met the young\nDuchess Agnes, who with her train was returning to the city from a ride.\n\nThe Bohemian princess had known that Heinz would ride through the\nSpitalthor at this hour to confront his foe, and had intended that the\nmeeting with her should seem like a good omen. The thought of wishing him\nsuccess on his journey had been a pleasant one. True, Cordula's presence\ndid not prevent this, but it disturbed her, and she was vexed to find the\ncountess again at Heinz Schorlin's side.\n\nShe showed her displeasure so plainly that her Italian singing mistress,\nthe elderly spinster Caterina de Celano, took sides with her, and\nscornfully asked the countess whether she had brought her curling irons\nwith her.\n\nBut she bit her lips at Cordula's swift retort \"O no! Malice meets us on\nevery road, but in Germany we do not pull one another's hair on the\nhighway over every venomous or foolish word.\"\n\nShe turned her back on her as she spoke until the duchess had taken leave\nof Heinz, and then rode on with him; but as soon as a portion of the road\nintervened between her and the countess the young Bohemian exclaimed: \"We\nmust certainly try to save Sir Heinz from this disagreeable shrew!\"\n\n\"And the saints will aid the good work,\" the Italian protested, \"for they\nthemselves have a better right to the charming knight. How grave he\nlooked! Take care, your Highness, he is following, as my nimble cousin\nFrangipani did a short time ago, in the footsteps of the Saint of\nAssisi.\"\n\n\"But he must not, shall not, go into the monastery!\" cried the young\nduchess, with childish refractoriness. \"The Emperor is opposed to it, and\nhe, too, does not like the von Montfort's boisterous manner. We will see\nwhether I cannot accomplish something, Caterina.\"\n\nHere she stopped. They had again reached the village of Rottenpach, and\nin front of the newly built little church stood its pastor, with the\ndignitaries of the parish, and the children were scattering flowers in\nthe path. She checked her Arabian, dismounted, and graciously inspected\nthe new house of God, the pride of the congregation.\n\nOn the way home, just beyond the village, her horse again shied. The\nanimal had been startled by an old Minorite monk who sat under a crab\napple tree. It was Father Benedictus, who had set out early to anticipate\nHeinz and surprise him in his night quarters by his presence. But he had\noverestimated his strength, and advanced so slowly that Heinz and his\ntroopers, from whom he had concealed himself behind a dusty hawthorn\nbush, had not seen him. From Schweinau the walk had become difficult,\nespecially as it was contrary to the teaching of the saint to use a\nstaff. Many a compassionate peasant, many a miller's lad and Carter, had\noffered him a seat on the back of his nag or in his waggon but, without\naccepting their friendly offers, he had plodded on with his bare feet.\n\nPerhaps this journey would be his last, but on it he would redeem the\npromise which he had made his dying master, to go forth according to the\ncommand of the Saviour, which Francis of Assisi had made his own and that\nof his order, to preach and to proclaim, \"The kingdom of heaven is at\nhand!\"\n\n\"Without price,\" ran the words, \"have ye received, without price give.\"\nHe had no regard for earthly reward, therefore he yearned the more\nardently for the glad knowledge that he had saved a soul for heaven.\n\nHe had learned to love Heinz as the saint had formerly loved him, and he\ndid not grudge him the happiness which, at the knight's age, had fallen\nto the lot of the man whose years now numbered eighty. How long he had\nbeen permitted to enjoy this bliss! True, during the last decades it had\nbeen clouded by many a shadow.\n\nHe had endured much hardship in the service of his sacred cause, but the\ngreater the sacrifice he offered the more exquisite was the reward reaped\nby his soul. Oh, if this pilgrimage might yield him Heinz Schorlin's vow\nto follow his saint and with him the Saviour!--if he might be permitted,\nclasping in his the hand of the beloved youth he had saved, to exchange\nthis world for eternal bliss!\n\nEarth had nothing more to offer; for he who was one of the leaders of his\nbrotherhood beheld with grief their departure from the paths of their\nfounder. Poverty, which secures freedom to the body, which knows nothing\nof the anxieties of this world and the burden of possession, which\npermits the soul to soar unfettered far above the dust--poverty, the\ndivine bride of St. Francis, was forsaken in many circles of his brother\nmonks. With property, ease and the longing for secular influence had\nstolen into many a monastery. Many shunned the labour which the saint\nenjoined upon his disciples, and the old jugs were often filled with new\nwine, which he, Benedictus, never tasted, and which the saint rejected as\npoison. He was no longer young and strong enough to let his grief and\nindignation rage like a purifying thunderstorm amidst these abuses.\n\nBut Heinz Schorlin!\n\nIf this youth of noble blood, equally gifted in mind and person, whom\nHeaven itself had summoned with lightning and thunder, devoted himself\nfrom sincere conviction, with a heart full of youthful enthusiasm, to his\nsacred cause--if Heinz, consecrated by him, and fully aware of the real\npurposes of the saint, who, also untaught and rich only in knowledge of\nthe heart, had begun a career so momentous in consequences, announced\nhimself as a fearless champion of St. Francis's will, then the St. George\nhad been found who was summoned to slay the dragon, and with his blood\ninstil new life at last into the monasteries of Germany, then perhaps the\nfresh prosperity which he desired for the order was at hand. The larger\nnumber of its recruits came from the lower ranks of the people. Sir Heinz\nSchorlin's example would perhaps bring it also, as an elevating element,\nthe sons of his peers.\n\nSo, bathed in perspiration, and often on the point of fainting, he\nfollowed Heinz through the dust of the highway.\n\nOften, when his strength failed, and he sat down by the roadside to take\nbreath, his soul-life gained a loftier aspiration.\n\nAfter Heinz rode by without seeing him he continued his way until his\nfeet grew so heavy that he was forced to sit down beside the road. Then\nhe imagined that the Saviour Himself came towards him, gazed lovingly\ninto his face, and turned to beckon some one, Benedictus did not know\nwhom, heavenward. Suddenly the clouds that had covered the sky parted,\nand the old man fancied he heard the song of the troubadour whose soul\nhad been subdued by love for God, which his friend and master had\naddressed to his Redeemer. It must come from the lips of his angels on\nhigh, but he longed to join in the strain. True, his aged lips, rapidly\nas they moved, uttered no sound, but he fancied he was sharing in this\nsong of the soul, glowing with fervent, consuming flames of love,\ndedicated to the Saviour, the source of all love:\n\n       \"Love's flames my kindling heart control,\n        Love for my Bridegroom fair,\n        When on my hand he placed the ring,\n        The Lamb whose fervent love I share\n        Did pierce my inmost soul,\"\n\nthe fiery song began, and an absorbing yearning for death and the beloved\nRedeemer, whose form had vanished in the sea of flames surging before his\ndilated eyes, moved the very depths of his soul as he commenced the\nsecond verse:\n\n       \"My heart amidst Love's tortures broke,\n        Slain by the might of Love's keen stroke,\n        To earth my senseless body sank,\n        Love's flames my life-blood drank.\"\n\nWith flushed cheeks, utterly borne away from the world and everything\nwhich surrounded him, he raised his arms towards heaven, then they\nsuddenly fell. Starting up, he passed his hand over his dazzled eyes and\nshook his head sorrowfully. Instead of the angels' song, he heard the\nbeat of horses' hoofs coming nearer and nearer. The open heavens had\nclosed again; he lay a poor exhausted mortal, with burning brow, beside\nthe road.\n\nDuchess Agnes, after visiting the new church at Rottenpach, rode past him\non her return to Nuremberg.\n\nNeither she nor her train heeded the old monk. But the Italian who, as\nshe rode by, had been attracted by the noble features of the aged man,\nwhose eyes still sparkled with youthful enthusiasm, gazed at him\nenquiringly. Her glance met his, and the Minorite's wrinkled features\nwore a look of eager enquiry. He longed to rise and ask the name of the\nblack-eyed lady at the duchess's side. But ere he could stand erect, the\nparty had passed on.\n\nDisturbed in mind, and scarcely able to set one sore foot before the\nother, he dragged himself forward.\n\nBefore he reached Rottenpach he met one of the duchess's pages who had\nremained at the village forge and was now riding after his mistress.\nFather Benedictus called to him, and the boy, awed by the grey-haired\nmonk, answered his questions, and told him that the lady on the horse\nwith the white star on its face was the duchess's Italian singing\nmistress, Caterina de Celano.\n\nEvery drop of blood receded from the Minorite's fever-flushed cheeks, and\nthe page was about to spring from his saddle to support him, but the monk\nwaved him back impatiently, and by the exertion of all his strength of\nwill forced himself to stagger on.\n\nHe had just felt happy in the heart of eternal love; but now the\nexpression of his countenance changed, and his dark, sunken eyes flashed\nangrily.\n\nThe faded woman beside the duchess bore the name of the lady whose\nfaithlessness had first induced him to seek rest and forgetfulness in the\npeace of the cloister, and led him to despise her whole sex.\n\nThe horsewoman must be a granddaughter, daughter, or niece of the woman\nwho had so basely betrayed him. How much she resembled the traitress, but\nshe did not understand how to hide her real nature as well; her faded\nfeatures wore a somewhat malicious expression. The resentment which he\nthought he had conquered again awoke. He would have liked to rush after\nher and call her to her face----. Yet what would that avail? How was she\nto blame for the treachery of another person, whom perhaps she did not\neven know?\n\nYet he longed to follow her.\n\nHis fevered blood urged him on, but his exhausted, aching limbs refused\nto serve him. One more violent effort, and sparks flashed before his\neyes, his lips were wet with blood, and he sank gasping on the ground.\n\nAfter some time he succeeded in dragging himself to the side of the road,\nwhere he lay until a Nuremberg carrier, passing with his team of four\nhorses, lifted him, with the help of his servant, into his cart and took\nhim on.\n\nAt Schweinau the jolting of the vehicle became unendurable to the\nsufferer, and the carrier willingly fulfilled his wish to be taken to the\nhospital where mangled criminals, tortured by the rack, were nursed.\n\nThere, however, they instantly perceived that his place was not in this\nhouse dedicated to criminal misfortune, and the kind Beguines of\nSchweinau took charge of him.\n\nOn the way the old monk suffered severely in both soul and body. It\nseemed like treason, like a rejection of his pure and pious purposes,\nthat Heaven itself barred the path along which he was wearily wandering\nto win it a soul.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThe entombment of the magnificent coffin of Frau Maria Ortlieb under the\npavement of the family chapel was over. The little group of sympathising\nfriends had left the church. Only the widower and his daughters remained,\nand when he knew that he could no longer be seen by the few who still\nlingered in the house of God, he clasped the two girls to his heart with\na suppressed sob.\n\nNever had he experienced such deep sorrow, such anguish of soul. He had\nnot even been permitted to take leave of his beloved companion with\nunmixed grief; fierce resentment had mingled with his trouble.\n\nTo remain alone in the house with his daughters after the burial and\nanswer their questions seemed to him impossible.\n\nThe meeting of the Council, which would soon begin, served as a pretence\nfor leaving them. Eva was to blame for what he had just suffered; but he\nknew everything concerning the rumours about the inexperienced girl and\nHeinz Schorlin, and there fore was aware that her fault was trivial. To\ncensure her seemed as difficult as to discuss calmly with her and the\nsensible Els what could be done under existing circumstances; besides, he\nwas firmly convinced that Eva had nothing left except to take, without\ndelay, the veil for which she had longed from childhood. His sister, the\nAbbess Kunigunde, was keeping the door of the convent open. She had\npromised the girl to await her at home. In taking leave of his daughters,\nhe begged them not to wait for him, because the Council were to decide\nthe fate of the Eysvogel business, and the session might last a long\nwhile.\n\nThen his Els gazed at him with a look of such earnest entreaty that he\nnodded, and in a tone of the warmest compassion began: \"I shall be more\nthan glad to aid your Wolff, my dear girl, but he himself told you how\nthe case stands. What would it avail if I beggared myself and you for the\nEysvogels and their tottering house? I must remain hard now, in order\nlater to smooth the path for Wolff and you, Els. If Berthold Vorchtel\nwould make up his mind to join me, it might be different, but he summoned\nthe Council as a complainant, and if he is the one to overthrow the\nreeling structure, who can blame him? We shall see. Whatever I can\nreasonably do for the unfortunate family shall be accomplished, my girl.\"\n\nThen he kissed his older daughter on the forehead, hastily gave the\nyounger the same caress, and left the chapel. But Els detained him,\nwhispering: \"Whatever wrong was inflicted upon us yesterday, do not let\nit prejudice you, father. It was meant neither for her whose peace\nnothing can now disturb, nor for you. We alone----\"\n\n\"You certainly,\" Herr Ernst interrupted bitterly, \"were made to feel how\nfar superior in virtue they considered themselves to you, who are better\nand purer than all of them. But keep up Eva's courage. I have been\ntalking with your Uncle Pfinzing and your Aunt Christine. You yourself\ntook them into your confidence, and we will consult together how the\nserpent's head is to be crushed.\"\n\nHe turned away as he spoke, but Els went back to her sister, and after a\nbrief prayer they left the church with bowed heads.\n\nThe sedan-chairs were waiting outside. Each was to be borne home\nseparately, but both preferred, spite of the bright summer weather, to\ndraw the curtains, that unseen they might weep, and ask themselves how\nsuch wrongs could have been inflicted upon the dead woman and themselves.\n\nThe respect of high and low for the Ortlieb family had been most\nbrilliantly displayed when the body of the son, slain in battle, had been\ninterred in the chapel of his race. And their mother? How many had held\nher dear! to how many she had been kind, loving, and friendly! How great\na sympathy the whole city had shown during her illness, and how many of\nall classes had attended the mass for her soul! And the burial which had\njust taken place?\n\nTrue, on her father's account all the members of the Council were\npresent, but scarcely half the wives had appeared. Their daughters--Els\nhad counted them--numbered only nine, and but three were included among\nher friends. The others had probably come out of curiosity. And the\ncommon people, the artisans, the lower classes, who in countless numbers\nhad accompanied her brother's coffin to its resting place, and during the\nmass for the dead had crowded the spacious nave of St. Sebald's? There\nhad been now only a scanty group. The nuns from the convent were present,\ndown to the most humble lay Sister; but they were under great obligations\nto her mother, and their abbess was her father's sister. There were few\nother women except the old crones from the hospitals and nurseries, who\nwere never absent when there was an opportunity to weep or to backbite.\nIn going through the nave of the church into the chapel the sisters had\npassed a group of younger lads and maidens, who had nudged one another in\nso disrespectful a way, whispering all sorts of things, that Els had\ntried to draw Eva past them as swiftly as possible.\n\nHer wish to keep her more sensitive sister from noticing the disagreeable\ngestures and insulting words of the cruel youths and girls was gratified.\nTrue, Eva also felt with keen indignation that far too little honour was\npaid to her beloved dead; that the blinded people believed the slanderers\nwho repeated even worse things of her Els than of herself, and made their\npoor mother, who had lived and suffered like a saint, atone for what they\nimagined were the sins of her daughters; but the jeers and scorn which\nhad obtruded themselves upon her father and sister from more than one\nquarter, in many a form, had entirely escaped her notice. She had\naccustomed herself from childhood to indulge in reflections and emotions\napart from the demands of the world. Whatever occupied her mind or soul\nabsorbed her completely; here she had been wholly engrossed in this\nsilent intercourse with the departed, and a single glance at the group\nassembled in the church had showed her everything which she desired to\nknow of her surroundings.\n\nHeinz had gone to the field the day before yesterday. Her silent colloquy\nconcerned him also. How difficult he made it for her to maintain the\nresolution which she had formed during the mass for the dead, since he\nremained aloof, without giving even the slightest token of remembrance.\nTrue, an inward voice constantly repeated that he could not part from her\nany more easily than she from him; but her maidenly pride rebelled\nagainst the neglect with which he grieved her. The defiant desire to\npunish him for departing without a word of farewell urged her back to the\nconvent. She had spent many hours there daily, and in its atmosphere of\npeace felt better and happier than in her father's house or any other\nspot which she visited. The close association with her aunt, the abbess,\nwas renewed. True, she had not urged Eva to a definite statement by so\nmuch as a single word, yet she had made her feel plainly how deeply it\nwould wound her if her pupil should resolve to disappoint the hopes which\nshe herself had fostered. If Eva refused to take the veil, would not her\nkind friend be justified in charging her with unequalled ingratitude? and\nwhose opinion did she value even half as much, if she excepted her\nlover's, whose approval was more to her than that of all the rest of the\nworld?\n\nHe was better than she, and who could tell what important motive kept him\naway? Countless worldly wishes had blended with the devotion which she\nfelt in the convent; and had not the abbess herself taught her to obey,\nwithout regard to individuals or their opinion, the demands of her own\nnature, which were in harmony with the will of the Most High? and how\nloudly every voice within commanded her to be loyal to her love! She had\nmade her decision, but offended pride, the memory of the happy, peaceful\nhours in the convent and, above all, the fear of grieving the beloved\nguide of her childhood, withheld her from the firm and irrevocable\nstatement to which her nature, averse to hesitation and delay, impelled\nher.\n\nThe nearer the sedan-chair came to the Ortlieb mansion the faster her\nheart beat, for that very day, probably within the next few hours, the\nabbess would compel her to choose between her father's house and the\nconvent.\n\nShe was panting for breath and deadly pale when, just after Els's\narrival, she stepped from the chair. It had become intensely hot. Within\nthe vaulted corridor with its solid, impenetrable walls, a cooler\natmosphere received her, and she hoped to find in her own chamber\nfresher, purer air, and--at least for the next few hours--undisturbed\npeace.\n\nBut what was the meaning of this scene? At her entrance, the conversation\nwhich Els had evidently just commenced with several other women at the\ndoor of the office suddenly ceased. It must be due to consideration for\nher; for she had not failed to notice the significant glance with which\nher sister looked at her and then removed her finger from her lips.\n\nThe abbess, who had been concealed by a wall of chests piled one above\nanother, now came forward and laid her hand upon the shoulder of a little\nelderly woman, who must have been disputing vehemently with the old\nhousekeeper, Martsche, for she was flushed with excitement, and the\nhousekeeper's chin still quivered.\n\nUsually Eva paid little heed to the quarrels of the servants, but this\none appeared to have some connection with herself, and the cause could be\nno trivial one, since Aunt Kunigunde took part in it.\n\nBut she had no sooner approached the other women than the abbess drew her\naside and asked her a few unimportant questions. They were probably\nintended to keep her away from the disputants. But Eva knew the little\nwoman, and wished to learn what offence had been given modest, humble\nWidow Vorkler. Her husband had been employed by the Ortlieb firm as a\ncarrier, who had driven his team of six horses to Milan faithfully until\nkilled in the Tyrol during an attack by robber knights in the lawless\nperiod before the coronation of the Emperor Rudolph.\n\nWith the aid of Herr Ernst Ortlieb, the widow had then set up a little\nshop for the sale of wax candles, images of the saints, rosaries, and\nmodest confirmation gifts, by which means she gained an honest livelihood\nfor her seven children and herself. Her oldest son, who on account of hip\ndisease was not fit for hard work, helped her, and the youngest was\nOrtel, who had carried Eva's basket on the day of her dead mother's\nconsecration. Her daughter Metz was also in the Ortlieb's service as\nassistant to the chief cook.\n\nWhen Frau Vorkler had come to see her children, she had scarcely been\nable to find words which sufficiently expressed her grateful\nappreciation, but to-day she seemed like a different person.\n\nThe brief colloquy between the abbess and Eva already appeared to her too\nlong, and when the former bade her finish her business later with Els and\nold Martsche, she angrily declared that, with all due reverence for the\nLady Abbess, she must inform Jungfrau Eva also what compelled her, a\nvirtuous woman with a grateful heart, to take her children from the\nservice of the employer for whom her husband had sacrificed his life.\n\nEls, who was eager to conceal the woman's insulting errand from Eva,\ntried to silence Frau Vorkler, but she defiantly persisted, and with\nredoubled zeal protested that speak she must or her heart would break.\nThen she declared that she had been proud to place her children in so\ngodly a household, but now everything was changed, and though it grieved\nher to the soul, she must insist upon taking Metz and Ortel from its\nservice. She lived by the piety of people who bought candles for the dear\nsaints and rosaries for praying; but even the most devout had eyes\neverywhere, and if it were known that her young children were serving in\na house where such things happened, as alas! were reported through the\nwhole city concerning the daughters of this family----\n\nHere old Martsche with honest indignation interrupted the excited woman;\nbut Fran Vorkler would not be silenced, and asked what a poor girl like\nher Metz possessed except her good name. How quickly suspicion would rest\non a lass whose respectability was questioned! People had begun to do so\never since the Ortlieb sisters were called the \"beautiful\" instead of the\npious and virtuous Es. This showed how such notice of the face and figure\nbenefited Christian maidens. Yesterday and to-day she had given a\nthree-farthing candle to her saint as a thank offering that this horror\nhad not reached their mother's ears. The dead woman had been a truly\ndevout and noble lady, and her soul would be grateful to her for\nimpressing upon the minds of her motherless daughters that the path which\nthey had recklessly entered----\n\nThis was too much for Ortel, who, concealed behind a heap of sacks, had\nlistened to the discussion, and clasping his hands beseechingly, he now\nwent up to his mother and entreated her to beware of repeating the\nslanders of evil-minded people who had dared to cast stones at the\ngracious maidens, who were as pure and innocent as their saint herself.\n\nPoor Ortel! His kind young eyes streaming with tears might have softened\na rock; but the enraged candle-dealer misinterpreted his honest emotion,\nand he certainly would not have been allowed to go on so far had not rage\nand amazement kept her silent. But Frau Vorkler never lost the use of her\ntongue long, and what a flood of abuse of the degenerate children of the\ntime, who forgot the respect and gratitude due to their own mother, she\nbegan to pour forth! But when faithful Endres, who had grown grey in the\nOrtlieb service, and under whose orders Ortel was placed to help in\nunpacking, commanded her to be silent or leave the house, and told her\nson, instead of following her, to stay with his old employer, Frau\nVorkler proceeded to lament over the corruption of the whole world, and\ndid not fail to deal a few side-thrusts at the two daughters of the\nhouse.\n\nBut here also she made little progress, for the abbess led Eva up the\nstairs, and the two old family servants, Martsche representing the\nguiding mind and Endres the rude strength, made common cause. The latter\nupheld Ortel in his refusal to leave the house, and the former declared\nthat Metz must remain the usual time after giving notice. She would not\nhelp Frau Vorkler to force the poor child into an unequal, miserable\nmarriage with the old miser to whom she wanted to give her.\n\nThis remark was aimed at the master-tailor Seubolt, the guardian of the\nVorkler children, who, though forty years her senior, wanted to make\npretty Metz his wife, and who had also promised the widow to obtain for\nhis future brother-in-law Ortel an excellent place in the stables of the\nGerman order of military monks. Not outraged morality, but the guardian\nand suitor in one person, had induced the candle-dealer to take her\nchildren from their good places in the Ortlieb household. The widow's\nfear of having her real motive detected spared the necessity of using\nforce. But whilst slowly retiring backwards, crab fashion, she shrieked\nat her antagonists the threat that her children's guardian, no less a\npersonage than master-tailor Nickel Seubolt, was a man who would help her\ngain her just rights and snatch the endangered souls of Ortel and her\npoor young Metz from temporal and eternal destruction in this Sodom and\nGomorrah----\n\nThe rest of the burden which oppressed her soul she was forced to confide\nto the street. Endres closed the heavy door of the house behind her with\na strength and celerity marvellous in a man of his years.\n\nOrtel was terribly agitated. Soon after his mother's departure he went\nwith his sister to the woodhouse, where both wept bitterly; for Metz had\ngiven her heart to a young carrier who was expected to return from a trip\nto Frankfort the first of July, and would rather have thrown herself into\nthe Pegnitz than married the rich old tailor to whom she knew her mother\nhad promised her pretty daughter; whilst her brother, like many youths of\nhis station, thought that the place of driver of a six-horse wain was the\nmost delightful calling in the world, and both were warmly attached to\ntheir employer and the family whom they served. And yet both felt that it\nwas a heavy sin to refuse to obey their mother.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nEva was spared witnessing the close of this unpleasant incident. The\nabbess had led her up the stairs into the sitting-room. St. Clare\nherself, she thought, had sent Fran Vorkler to render the choice she\nintended to place before her niece that very day easier for Eva.\n\nEven whilst ascending the broad steps she put her arm around her, but in\nthe apartment, whence the noonday sun had been shut out and they were\ngreeted with a cool atmosphere perfumed with the fragrance of the\nbouquets of roses and mignonette which Eva and the gardener had set in\njars on the mantelpiece early in the morning, the abbess drew her darling\ncloser to her side, saying, \"The world is again showing you its most\ndisagreeable face, my poor child, ere you bid it farewell.\"\n\nShe kissed her brow and eyes tenderly as she spoke, expecting Eva, as she\nhad often done when anything troubled her young soul, to return the\ncaress impulsively, and accept with grateful impetuosity the invitation\nto the shelter which she offered; but the vile assault of the coarse\nwoman who brought to her knowledge what people were thinking and saying\nabout her produced upon the strange child, who had already given her many\na surprise, an effect precisely opposite to her expectations. No, Eva had\nby no means forgotten the pain inflicted by Frau Vorkler's base\naccusations; but if whilst in the sedan-chair she had feared that she\nshould lack courage to inflict upon her beloved aunt and friend so great\na disappointment, she now felt that this dread had been needless, and\nthat her offended maidenly pride absolved her from consideration for any\nperson.\n\nWith cautious tenderness she released herself from the arms of the\nabbess, gazed sorrowfully at her with her large eyes as if beseeching\nforgiveness then, as she saw her aunt look at her with pained surprise,\nagain threw herself on her breast.\n\nInstead of being protectingly embraced by the elder woman, the young girl\nclasped her closely to her heart, kissed and patted her with caressing\nlove, and with the winning charm peculiar to her besought her forgiveness\nif she denied herself and her that which she had long desired as the\nfairest and noblest goal.\n\nWhen the abbess interrupted her to represent what awaited her in the\nworld and in the convent, Eva listened, nestling closely to her side\nuntil she had finished, then sighing as deeply as if her own resolve\ncaused her the keenest suffering, threw her head back, exclaiming, \"Yet,\nin spite of everything, I cannot, must not enter the convent now.\"\nClasping the abbess's hand, she explained what prevented her from\nfulfilling the wish of her childhood's guide, which had so long been her\nown, extolling with warm, sincere gratitude the quiet happiness and sweet\nanticipations enjoyed with her beloved nuns ere love had conquered her.\n\nDuring the recent days of sorrow she had again sought the path to her\nsaints and found the greatest solace in prayer; but whenever she uplifted\nher heart to the Saviour, whose bride she had once so fervently vowed to\nbecome, the Redeemer had indeed appeared as usual before the eyes of her\nsoul, but he resembled in form and features Sir Heinz Schorlin, and,\ninstead of turning her away from the world to divine love, she had\nsurrendered herself completely to earthly affection. Prayer had become\nsin. The saint's song:\n\n          \"O Love, Love's reign announcing,\n            Why dost thou wound me so?\n          Into thy fiercest flames I fling\n            My heart, my life below.\"\n\nno longer invited her to give herself up to be fused into divine love,\nbut merely rendered the need of her own soul clearer, and expressed in\nwords the yearning of her heart for her lover.\n\nHere her aunt interrupted her with the assurance that all this--she had\nhad the same experience when, renouncing the love of the noblest and best\nof men, she took the veil--would be different, wholly different, when\nwith St. Clare's aid she had again found the path on which she had\nalready once so nearly reached heaven. Even now she beheld in imagination\nthe day when Eva would look back upon the world she had left as if it\nwere a mere formless mass of clouds. These were no idle words. The\npromise was something derived from her own experience.\n\nOn her pilgrimage to Rome she had gazed from an Alpine peak and beheld at\nher feet nothing save low hills, forests, valleys, and flashing streams,\nwith here and there a village; but she could distinguish neither human\nbeings nor animals; a light mist had veiled everything, converting it\ninto one monotonous surface. But above her head the sky, like a giant\ndome free from cloud and mist, arched in a beautiful vault, blue as\nturquoise and sapphire. It seemed so close that the eagle soaring near\nher might reach it with a few strokes of his pinions. She was steeped in\nradiance, and the sun shone down upon her with overpowering brilliancy\nlike the eye of God.\n\nClose at her side a gay butterfly hovered about the solitary little white\nflower which grew from a bare rock on the topmost summit. In the\nbrilliant light and amidst the solemn silence that butterfly seemed like\na transfigured soul, and aroused the question, Who that was permitted to\nlive on this glowing height, so near the Most High, could desire to\nreturn to the grey mist below?\n\nSo the human soul which soared to the shining height where it was so near\nheaven, would blissfully enjoy the purity of the air and the un shadowed\nlight which bathed it, and all that was passing in the world below would\nblend into a single vanquished whole, whose details could no longer be\ndistinguished. Thus Heinz Schorlin's image would also mingle with the\nremainder of the world, lying far below her, to which he belonged. It\nshould merely incite her to rise nearer and nearer to heaven, to the\nradiant light above, to which her soul would mount as easily as the eagle\nthat before the pilgrim's eyes had vanished in the divine blue and the\ngolden sunshine.\n\n\"So come and dare the flight!\" she concluded with warm enthusiasm. \"The\nwings you need have grown from your soul, you chosen bride of Heaven. Use\nthem. That which now most repels you from the goal will fall away as the\nsnake sheds its skin. Like the phoenix rising from its ashes, the\ndestruction of the little earthly love which even now causes you more\npain than pleasure, will permit the ascent of the great love for Him Who\nis Love incarnate, the love which encompasses the lonely butterfly on the\nwhite blossom in the silent, deserted mountain solitude, which lacks no\nfeather on its wings, no tiniest hair on its feelers, as warmly and\ncarefully as the vast, unlimited universe whose duration ends only with\neternity.\"\n\nEva, with labouring breath, had fairly hung upon the lips of the revered\nwoman, who at last gazed upwards with dilated eyes like a prophetess.\n\nWhen she paused the young girl nodded assent. Her teacher and friend\nseemed to have crushed her resistance.\n\nLike the eagle which had disappeared before the pilgrim's eyes in the\nazure vault of heaven, the radiant light on the pure summit summoned her\npure soul to dare the flight.\n\nThe abbess watched with delight the influence of her words upon the soul\nof her darling, who, gazing thoughtfully at the floor, now seemed to be\npondering over what she had urged.\n\nBut suddenly Eva raised her bowed head, and her eyes, sparkling with a\nbrighter light, sought those of the abbess.\n\nHer quick intellect had attentively considered what she had heard, and\nher vivid power of imagination had enabled her to transfer to reality the\npicture which had already half won her over to her friend's wishes.\n\n\"No, Aunt Kunigunde, no!\" she began, raising her hands as if in repulse.\n\"Your radiant height strongly allures me also, yet, gladly as I believe\nthat, for many the world would be easily forgotten above, where no sound\nfrom it reaches us and the mist conceals individual figures from our\neyes, for me, now that love has filled my heart, it would be impossible\nto ascend the peak alone and without him.\n\n\"Hear me, aunt!\n\n\"What was it that attracted me so powerfully from the beginning? At\nfirst, as you know, the hope of making him a combatant for the\npossessions which I have learned through you to regard as the highest and\nmost sacred. Then, when love came, when a new power, heretofore unknown,\nawoke within me and--everything must be told--I longed for his wooing and\nhis embrace, I also felt that our union could take root and put forth\nblossoms only in the full harmony of our mutual love for God and the\nSaviour. And though since the mass for the dead was celebrated for my\nmother--it wounded me, and defiance and the wish to punish him urged me\nto put the convent walls between us--no further token of his love has\ncome, though I know as well as you that he desired to quit the world,\nthis by no means impairs--nay, it only strengthens--the confidence I feel\nthat our souls belong to one another as inseparably as though the\nsacrament had hallowed our union.\n\n\"Therefore I should never succeed in coming so near heaven as you, the\nlonely, devout pilgrim, attained on the summit of your mountain peak,\nunless he accompanied me in spirit, unless his soul joined mine in the\nascent or the flight. It rests in mine as mine rests in his, and were\nthey separated both would bleed as if from severed veins. For this\nreason, aunt, he can never blend into a uniform mass with the rest of the\nworld below me; for if I gained the radiant height, he would remain at my\nside and gaze with me at the mist-veiled world beneath. He can never\nvanish from the eyes of my soul, and so, dear aunt, because I owe it to\nhim to avoid even the semblance----\"\n\nHere she hesitated; for from the adjoining room they heard a man's deep\nvoice telling Els something in loud, excited tones.\n\nThis interruption was welcome to the abbess; she had as yet found no\nanswer to her niece's startling objection.\n\nEva answered her questioning glance with the exclamation, \"Uncle\nPfinzing!\"\n\n\"He?\" replied the abbess dejectedly. \"His opinion has some weight with\nyou, and this very day, during the burial, he told me how glad he should\nbe to see you sheltered in the convent from the hateful calumnies caused\nby your imprudence!\"\n\n\"Yet--you will see it directly,\" the girl declared, \"he will surely\nunderstand me when I explain that I would rather endure the worst than\nappear to seek refuge from evil tongues in flight. Whoever has expected\nEva Ortlieb to shelter herself from malice behind strong walls will be\nmistaken. Heinz is certainly aware of the shameful injustice which has\npursued us, and if he returns he must find me where he left me. I am now\nencountering what my dead mother called the forge fire of life, and I\nwill not shun it like a coward. Heinz, I know, will overthrow the man who\nunchained this generation of vipers against us; but if he does not\nreturn, or can bring himself to cast the love that unites us behind him\nwith the world from which he would fain turn, then, aunt\"--and Eva's eyes\nflashed brightly with passionate fire, and her clear voice expressed the\nfirm decision of a vigorous will--\"then I will commit our cause to One\nwho will not suffer falsehood to conquer truth or wrong to triumph over\nright. Then, though it should be necessary to walk over red-hot\nploughshares, let the ordeal bear witness for us.\"\n\nThe abbess, startled, yet rejoicing at the fulness of faith flaming in\nher darling's passionate speech, approached Eva to soothe her; but\nscarcely had she begun to speak when the door opened and Berthold\nPfinzing entered with his older niece.\n\nHe was holding Els by the hand, and it was evident that some sorrowful\nthought occupied the minds of both.\n\n\"Has any new horror happened?\" fell in tones of anxious enquiry from\nEva's lips before she even greeted her dearest relative.\n\n\"Think of something very bad,\" was her sister's reply, in a tone so\ndejected and mournful, that Eva, with a low cry--\"My father!\"--pressed\nher hand upon her heart.\n\n\"Not dead, darling,\" said the magistrate, stroking her head soothingly\nwith his short, broad hand, \"by all the saints, not even wounded or ill.\nYet the daughter has guessed aright, and I have kept the 'Honourables'\nwaiting, that I might tell you the news myself; for what may not such\ntidings become whilst passing from lip to lip! It is a toad, a very ugly\ntoad, and I would not permit a dragon to be brought into the house to you\npoor things in its place.\"\n\nHe poured all this forth very rapidly, for, notwithstanding the intense\nheat, and the burden of business at the Town Hall, he had left it, though\nonly to do his dear Es a kindness, lie and his worthy wife Christine, the\nsister of Herr Ernst Ortlieb and of the abbess, had long been familiar\nwith all the tales which slander had called to life, and had striven\nzealously enough to refute them. What he had now to relate filled him\nwith honest indignation against the evil tongues, and he knew how deeply\nit would excite and grieve Eva, his godchild, who stood especially near\nhis heart. He would gladly have said a few kind words to her before\nbeginning his story, but he was obliged to return to the Town Hall\nimmediately to open the important conference concerning the fate of the\nEysvogel business.\n\nHis appearance showed how rapidly he had hurried to the house through the\nburning sunshine, for drops of perspiration were trickling down his\nbroad, low forehead over his plump, smoothshaven cheeks and thick red\nneck, in which his small chin vanished as if it were a cushion. Besides,\nhe constantly raised a large linen handkerchief to his face, and his huge\nchest laboured for breath as he hastily repeated to Eva and the abbess\nwhat he had just announced to Els in a few rapid words.\n\nHerr Ernst Ortlieb had gone to the Town Hall, where he attended an\nexamination in his character as magistrate, and had entered the court\nyard to enjoy the cool air for a short time with a few other\n\"Honourables,\" in the shady walk near the main gate.\n\nJust then master-tailor Seubolt, the guardian of Ortel and his sister,\nwho were in service at the Ortlieb mansion, approached the Town Hall. No\none could have supposed that the tall, grey-headed man with the bowed\nback, who was evidently nearing sixty, really meant to make a young girl\nlike Metz Vorkler his wife. Besides, he assumed a very humble, modest\ndemeanour when, passing through the vaulted entrance of the Town Hall,\nwhich stood open to every citizen, he approached Herr Ernst to ask, with\nmany bows and humble phrases, for the permission, which he had been\nrefused at the Ortlieb house, to remove his wards from a place which\ntheir mother, as well as he himself, felt sure--he had supposed that the\n\"Honourable\" would have no objection--would be harmful to them in both\nbody and soul.\n\nSurprised and indignant, but perfectly calm, Herr Ernst had requested him\nto tell him whatever he had to say at a more convenient time. But as the\ntailor insisted that the matter would permit no delay, he invited him to\nstep aside with him, in order not to make the councillors who were with\nhim witnesses of the unpleasant discussion.\n\nSeubolt, however, seemed to have no greater desire than to be heard by as\nmany people as possible. Raising his voice to a very loud tone, though he\nstill maintained an extremely humble manner, he began to give the reasons\nwhich induced him, spite of his deep regret, to remove his wards from the\nOrtlieb house. And now, sheltering himself behind frequent repetitions of\n\"As people say\" and \"Heaven forbid that I should believe such things,\" he\nbegan to relate what the most venomous slander had dared to assert\nconcerning the beautiful Es.\n\nFor a time Herr Ernst had forced himself to listen quietly to this\nmalicious abuse of those whom he held dearest, but at last it became too\nmuch for the quick-tempered man. The tailor had ventured to allude to\nJungfrau Els \"who certainly had scarcely given full cause for such evil\nslander\" in words which caused even the councillors standing near to\ncontradict him loudly, and induced Herr Pfinzing, who had just come up,\nto beckon to the city soldiers. At that instant the blood mounted to the\ninsulted father's brain, and the misfortune happened; for as the tailor,\nwith an unexpected gesture of the arm he was flourishing, brushed Herr\nErnst's cap, the latter, fairly insane with rage, snatched the pike from\none of the men who, obeying Herr Pfinzing's signal, were just approaching\nthe tailor, and with a wild cry struck down the base traducer.\n\nHerr Pfinzing, with the presence of mind characteristic of him, instantly\nordered the beadles to carry the wounded man into the Town Hall, and thus\nprevented the luckless deed of violence from creating any excitement.\n\nThe few persons in the courtyard had been detained, and perhaps\neverything might yet be well. Herr Ernst had instantly delivered himself\nup to justice, and instead of being taken to prison like a common\ncriminal, had been conveyed in a closed sedan-chair to the watch-tower.\n\nThe pike had pierced the tailor's shoulder, but the wound did not seem to\nbe mortal, and Herr Ernst's rash deed might be made good by the payment\nof blood-money, though, it is true, on account of the tailor's position\nand means, this might be a large sum.\n\n\"My horse,\" said Herr Berthold in conclusion, \"was waiting for me, and\nbrought me here as swiftly as he must carry me back again. But, you poor\nthings! as for you, my Els, you have a firm nature, and if you insist\nupon refusing the invitation to our house, why, wait here to learn\nwhether your father needs you. You, my little goddaughter Eva, are\nprovided for. This sorrow, of course, will throw the veil over your fair\nhead.\"\n\nThe worthy man, as he spoke, laid his hand on her shoulder and looked at\nher with a glance which seemed to rely on her assent, but she interrupted\nhim with the exclamation, \"No, uncle! Until you have convinced yourself\nthat no one will dare assail Eva Ortlieb's honour, do not ask her again\nif she desires the protection of the convent.\"\n\nThe magistrate hurriedly passed his huge handkerchief over his face; then\ntaking Eva's head between his hands, kissed her brow, and--turning the\nshrewd, twinkling eyes, which were as round as everything else about his\nperson, towards the others, said: \"Did any one suggest this, or did the\n'little saint' have the sensible idea herself?\"\n\nWhen Eva, smiling, pointed to her own forehead, he exclaimed: \"My\nrespects, child. They say that what stirs up there descends from\ngodfather to godchild, and I'll never put goblet to my lips again if I--\"\n\nHere he stopped, and called after Els that he had not meant to hint, for\nshe was hurrying out to get her uncle something to drink. But ere the\ndoor closed behind her he went on eagerly:\n\n\"But to you, my saintly child, I will say: your piety soars far too high\nfor me to follow with my heavy body; yet on the ride here I, old sinner\nthat I am, longed--no offence, sister-in-law abbess!--to warn you against\nthe convent, for the very reason which keeps you away from your saint.\nWe'll find the gag to stop the mouths of these accursed slanderers\nforever, and then, if you want to enter the convent, they shall not say,\nwhen you take the veil, 'Eva Ortlieb is hiding from her own shame and the\ntricks with which we frightened her out of the world.' No! All Nuremberg\nshall join in the hosanna!\"\n\nThen taking the goblet which Els had just filled, he drained it with\ngreat satisfaction, and rushing off, called back to the sisters: \"I'll\nsoon see you again, you brave little Es. My wife is coming to talk over\nthe matter with you. Don't let that worthless candle-dealer's children\nleave the house till their time is up. If you wish to visit your father\nin the watch-tower there will be no difficulty. I'll tell the warder.\nOnly the drawbridge will be raised after sunset. You can provide for his\nbodily needs, too, Els. We cannot release him yet; the law must take its\ncourse.\"\n\nAt the door he stopped again and called back into the room: \"We can't be\nsure. If Frau Vorkler and the tailor's friends make an outcry and molest\nyou, send at once to the Town Hall. I'll keep my eyes open and give the\nnecessary orders.\"\n\nA few minutes after he trotted through the Frauenthor on his clumsy\nstallion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe watch-tower was in the northern part of the city, in the corn\nmagazine of the fortress, and the whole width of Nuremberg must be\ntraversed to reach it. Even before Herr Pfinzing had left the house the\nsisters determined to go to their father, and the abbess approved the\nplan. She invited the girls to spend the night at the convent, if they\nfound the deserted house too lonely, but they did not promise to do so.\n\nCountess Cordula, who was on friendly terms with Eva, also emptied the\nvials of her wrath with all the impetuosity of her nature upon Sir Seitz\nSiebenburg and the credulity and malice of the people. From the beginning\nshe had been firmly convinced that the \"Mustache,\" as she now called the\nknight in a tone of the most intense aversion, had contrived this base\nconspiracy, and her opinion was strengthened by Biberli. Now she would\ngladly have torn herself into pieces to mitigate the sisters' hard lot.\nShe wanted to accompany them to the watch-tower, to have them taken there\nin her sedan-chair carried by horses, which had room for several persons,\nand at last begged for the favour of being allowed to spend the night in\nthe room adjoining theirs. If the girls, amidst all these base\nsuspicions, should find Nuremberg unendurable, she would leave the scene\nof the Reichstag with them to-morrow, if necessary, and take them to her\ncastle in the Vorarlberg. She had other plans for them, too, in her mind,\nbut lacked time now to explain them to the sisters; they could not obtain\nadmittance to their father's prison after sundown, and in a few hours the\nlong summer day would be over.\n\nIt was not advisable to use their sedan-chairs adorned with the Ortlieb\ncoat of arms, which every one knew, so they went on foot with their faces\nshrouded by the 'Reise' which was part of their mourning dress; and, in\norder not to violate usage, were accompanied by two servants, old\nMartsche and Katterle.\n\nFrom the Fleischbrucke they might have avoided the market-place, but Els\nwanted to enquire whether the Eysvogel matter was being discussed. One of\nthe \"Honourables\"--all of whom she knew--was always to be found near the\nTown Hall, and Eva understood her sister's anxiety and went with her\nwillingly.\n\nBut when they were passing the prison she became frightened.\n\nThrough the squares formed by the iron grating in front of the broad\nwindow of the largest one, head after head, hand after hand, was thrust\ninto the street. The closely cropped heads of the prisoners, many of\nwhich showed mutilations by the hand of the executioner, which had barely\nhealed, formed, as separated only by the iron bars, they protruded above,\nbelow, and beside one another into the open air, a mosaic picture,\nstartlingly repulsive in appearance; for savage greed glittered in the\neyes of most, and showed itself in the movements of the long, thin hands\nextended for gifts. Bitter need and passionate longing gazed defiantly,\nbeseechingly, and threateningly at the people who crowded round the\nwindow. Few were silent; they implored the curious and pitying men,\nwomen, and children, who in the presence of their misery rejoiced in\ntheir more favoured lot, for aid in their distress, and rarely in vain;\nfor many a mother gave her children a loaf to hand to the unfortunates,\nand meanwhile impressed on their minds the lesson that they would fare as\nbadly as the most horrible of the mutilated prisoners unless they were\ngood and obedient to their parents and teachers.\n\nStreet boys held out an apple or a bit of bread, to snatch it away just\nas they touched it with their finger-tips, thus playing with them for\ntheir own amusement, but the tribulation of the wretched captives. Then\nsome man who had seen better days, or a criminal whom sudden passion had\nmade a murderer, would burst into a rage and, seizing the iron bars,\nshake them savagely, whilst the others, shrieking, drew in their heads.\nThen fierce curses, threats, and invectives echoed over the market-place\nand, screaming aloud, the boys ran back; but they soon resumed their\nmalicious sport.\n\nOften, it is true, a mother came who placed her gift in the hands of her\nchild, or a modest old woman, tradesman, or soldier, from motives of\ngenuine compassion, offered the prisoners a jug of new milk or\nstrengthening wine. Nor was there any lack of priests or monks who\ndesired to give the consolations of religion to the pitiable men behind\nthe bars, but most of them reaped little gratitude; only a few listened\nto their exhortations with open hearts, and but too frequently they were\nsilenced by insults and rude outcries.\n\nWhilst the sisters, attended by their maidservants, were passing these\npitiable people, Frau Tucher, whose daughter had been very ill, sent, for\nthe love of God, a large basket of freshly baked bread to the prisoners.\nOne of her servants was distributing it, and they greedily snatched the\nwelcome gift from his hand. A woman, who was about to give one of the\nrolls to the hollow-eyed child in her arms just as a rude fellow who had\nlost his ears snatched it, scratched his dirty, freckled face with her\nsharp nails, and the sight of the blood which dripped from his lip over\nhis chin upon the roll was so hideous a spectacle that Eva clung closer\nto her sister, who had just put her hand into the pocket hanging from her\nbelt to give the unfortunates a few shillings, and drew her away with\nher.\n\nBoth, followed by the two maids, made their way as fast as possible\nthrough the people who had flocked hither in great numbers for a purpose\nwhich the sisters were to learn only too soon.\n\nIt was a long time since they had been here, and a few weeks previously\nthe \"Honourables\" had had the pillory moved from the other side of the\nTown Hall to this spot. Katterle's warning was not heard in the din\naround them.\n\nThe crowd grew denser every moment, and Eva had already asked her sister\nto turn back, when Els saw the man who brought to her father the summons\nto the meetings of the Council, and requested him to accompany them\nthrough the throng to the courtyard; but amidst the uproar of shouts and\ncries he misunderstood her, and supposing that she wished to witness the\nspectacle which had attracted so many, forced a way for the sisters into\nthe very front rank.\n\nThe person who had just been bound in this place of shame was the\nbarber's widow from the Kotgasse, who had already been here once for\ngiving lovers an opportunity for secret meetings, and to whom Katterle\nhad fled for shelter. Bowed by the weight of the stone which had been\nhung around her neck, the woman, with outstretched head, looked furiously\naround the circle of her tormentors like a wild beast crouched to spring,\nand scarcely had the messenger brought the sisters and their servants to\na place near her when, recognising Katterle, she shrieked shrilly to the\ncrowd that there were the right ones, the dainty folk who, if they did\nnot belong to a rich family, would be put in the place where, in spite of\nthe Riese over their faces, with which they mourned for their lost good\nname, they had more reason to be than she, who was only the lowly widow\nof a barber.\n\nOverwhelmed with horror the girls pressed on, and at Eva's terrified\nexclamation, \"Let us, O let us go!\" the man did his best. But they made\nslow progress through the crowd, whose yells, hisses, and catcalls\npursued them to the entrance of the neighbouring Town Hall.\n\nHere the guard, with crossed halberds, kept back the people who were\ncrowding after the insulted girls, and it was fortunate, for Eva's feet\nrefused to carry her farther, and her older sister's strength to support\nher failed.\n\nSighing deeply, Els led her to a bench which stood between two pillars,\nand then ordered old Martsche, and Katterle, who was trembling in every\nlimb, to watch Eva till her return.\n\nBefore they went on, her sister must have some rest, and Martin Schedel,\nthe old Clerk of the Council, was the man with whom to obtain it.\n\nShe went in search of him as fast as her feet would bear her, and by a\nlucky accident met the kind old man, whom she had known from childhood,\non the stairs leading to the Council chamber and the upper offices.\n\nErnst Ortlieb's unhappy deed, and the story of the base calumnies in\ncirculation about the unfortunate man's daughters, which he had just\nheard from Herr Pfinzing, had filled the worthy old clerk's heart with\npity and indignation; so he eagerly embraced the opportunity afforded to\natone to the young girls for the wrongs committed against them by their\nfellow-citizens. Telling the maidservants to wait in the antechamber of\nthe orphan's court-room, he led the sisters to his own office, helping\nEva up the long flight of stairs with an arm which, though aged, was\nstill vigorous. After insisting that she should sit in the armchair\nbefore the big desk, and placing wine and water before her, he begged the\nyoung girls to wait until his return. He was obliged to be present at the\nmeeting, which had probably already begun. The matter in question was the\nEysvogel business, and if Els would remain he could tell her the result.\nThen he left them.\n\nEva, deadly pale, leaned back with closed eyes in the clerk's high chair.\nEls bathed her brow with a wet handkerchief, consoling her by\nrepresenting how foolish it would be to suffer the lowest of the populace\nto destroy her happiness.\n\nHer sister nodded assent, saying: \"Did you notice the faces of those\npeople behind the bars? Most of them, I thought, looked stupid rather\nthan evil.\" Here she hesitated, and then added thoughtfully: \"Yet they\ncannot be wise. These poor creatures seldom obtain any great sum by\nthieving and cheating. To what terrible punishments they expose\nthemselves both in this world and the next! And conscience!\"\n\n\"Yes, conscience!\" Els eagerly repeated. \"So long as we can say that we\nhave done nothing wrong, we can suffer even the worst to be said of us\nwithout grieving.\"\n\n\"Still,\" sighed Eva, \"I feel as if that horrible woman's insults had\nsullied me with a stain no water can wash away. What sorrows have come\nupon us since our mother died, Els!\"\n\nHer sister nodded, and added mournfully: \"Our father, my Wolff, your\npoor, stricken heart, and below in the Council chamber, Eva, perhaps\nwhilst we are talking, those who are soon to be my kindred are being\ndoomed. That is harder to bear, child, than the invectives with which a\nwicked woman slanders us. Often I do not know myself where I get the\nstrength to keep up my courage.\"\n\nShe turned away as she spoke to wipe the tears from her eyes without\nbeing seen; but Eva perceived it, and rose to clasp her in her arms and\nwhisper words of cheer. Ere she had taken the first step, however, she\nstarted; in rising she had upset the clerk's tin water-pail, which fell\nrattling on the floor.\n\n\"The water!\" she exclaimed sadly, \"and my tongue is parched.\"\n\n\"I'll fetch more,\" said Els consolingly; \"Herr Martin brought it from\nover yonder.\"\n\nOpening the door to which she had pointed, she entered a low, spacious\nanteroom, in which was a brass fire engine, ladders, pails, and various\nother utensils for extinguishing a fire in the building, hung on the\nrough plastered wall which separated this room from the office of the\ncity clerk. The centre of the opposite wall was occupied by two small\nwindows surmounted by a broad, semicircular arch, and separated by a\nshort Roman pillar. The sashes of both, whose leaden casings were filled\nwith little round horn panes, stood wide open. This double window was in\nthe upper part of the Council chamber, which occupied two stories. To\ncreate a draught this hot day it had been flung wide open, and Els could\ndistinguish plainly the words uttered below. The first that reached her\nwas the name: \"Wolff Eysvogel.\"\n\nA burning sensation thrilled her. If she went nearer to the window she\ncould hear what the Honourables decided concerning the Eysvogel house;\nand, overpowered by her ardent desire not to lose a single word of the\ndiscussion which was to determine the happiness of Wolff's life, and\ntherefore hers, she instantly silenced the voice which admonished her\nthat listening was wrong. Yet the habit of caring for Eva was so dear to\nher, and ruled her with such power, that before listening to what was\npassing in the Council chamber below she looked for the water, which she\nspeedily found, took it to the thirsty girl, and hurriedly told her what\nshe had discovered in the next room and how she intended to profit by it.\n\nIn spite of Eva's entreaty not to do it, she hastened back to the open\nwindow.\n\nThe younger sister, though she shook her head, gazed after her with a\nsignificant smile.\n\nTo Eva this was no accident.\n\nPerhaps it was her saint herself who, when her sister went to seek\nrefreshment for her, had guided her to the window. Eva deemed it a boon\nto be permitted to find here in solitude the rest needful for her body\nwhich, though usually so strong, had been shaken by horror, and to\nstruggle and pray for a clear understanding of the many things which\ntroubled her; for to her prayer was far more than the petition for a\nspiritual or earthly blessing; nay, she prayed far less frequently to\nimplore anything than from yearning for the Most High to whose presence\nthe wings of prayer raised her. So long as she was absorbed in it, she\nfelt removed from the world and borne into the abode of God.\n\nNow also, whilst Els was listening, she brought no earthly matter to the\nPower who guided the universe as well as her own little individual life,\nbut merely lost herself in supplication and in her intercourse with the\nOmnipotent One, who seemed to her a familiar friend; she forgot what\ngrieved and troubled her and how she had been pained. But meanwhile the\nprediction she had made to the abbess was verified; she felt as if her\nlover's soul rose with hers to the pure height where she dwelt, and that\nthe earthly love which filled her heart and his was but an effluence of\nthe Eternal Love, whose embodiment to her was God and the Saviour.\n\nThe union of herself and Heinz seemed imaged by two streams flowing from\nthe same great inexhaustible, pure, and beneficent fountain, which, after\nhaving run through separate channels, meet to traverse as a single river\nthe blooming meadows and keep them fresh and green. God's love, her own,\nand his were each separate and yet the same, portions of the great fount\nwhich animated, saved, and blessed her, him, and the whole vast universe.\nThe spring gushing from her love and his was eternal, and therefore\nneither could be exhausted, no matter how much it gave.\n\nBut both were still in the world. As he would certainly put forth all his\nmight to show himself worthy of the confidence placed in him by his\nEmperor and master, she too must test her youthful strength in the\narduous conflict which she had begun. Her recent experiences were the\nflames of the forge fire of life of which her mother had spoken--and how\npitifully she had endured their glow! This must be changed. She had often\nproved that when the body is wearied the soul gains greater power to\nsoar. Should she not begin to avail herself of this to make her feeble\nbody obey her will? With compressed lips and clenched hand she resolved\nto try.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nWhilst Eva, completely absorbed in herself, was forming this resolution,\nEls, panting for breath, stood at the open window under the ceiling of\nthe Council chamber, gazing down and listening to the sounds from\nbeneath.\n\nDirectly opposite to her was the inscription\n\n\"Feldt Urtel auf erden, als ir dort woldt geurtheilt werden,\" in the\nGerman and Latin languages, and below this motto, urging the magistrates\nto justice, was a large fresco representing the unjust judge Sisamnes\nbeing flayed by an executioner in the costume of the Nuremberg\nLeben--[Executioner's assistant. Really \"Lowen.\"]--before the eyes of\nKing Cambyses, in order to cover the judgment seat with his skin. Another\npicture represented this lofty throne, on which sat the ruler of Persia\ndispensing justice. The subject of a third was the Roman army interrupted\nin its march by the order of the Emperor Trajan, that he might have time\nto hear a widow's accusation of the murderer of her son and to punish the\ncriminal.\n\nEls did not bestow a single glance upon these familiar pictures, but\ngazed down at the thirteen elderly and the same number of much younger\nmen, who in their high-backed chairs were holding council together at her\nleft hand far below her. These were the burgomasters of the city, of whom\nan elder and a younger one directed for the space of a month, as\n\"Questioner,\" the government of the public affairs of the city and the\nbusiness of the \"Honourable Council.\"\n\nAt this time the office was filled by Albert Ebner and Jorg Stromer,\nwhilst in the secret council formed by seven of the older gentlemen, as\nthe highest executive authority, Hans Schtirstab as the second and\nBerthold Vorchtel as first Losunger filled the chief offices.\n\nSo this year the deeply offended father held the highest place in the\nCouncil, and in the whole community of Nuremberg he, more than any one\nelse, would decide the fate of the Eysvogels.\n\nEls knew this, and with an anxious heart saw him gaze earnestly and sadly\nat the papers which Martin Schedel, the city clerk, had just brought to\nhim from a special desk. At his side, in the centre of the table covered\nwith green cloth, sat the listener's uncle, the magistrate Berthold\nPfinzing, who in the Emperor's name presided over the court of justice.\n\nHe also appeared in his character of protector of the Jews, and Samuel\nPfefferkorn, a Hebrew usurer, had just left the hall after an\nexamination.\n\nCasper Eysvogel was gazing after him with a face white as death. His\nhandsome head shook as the imperial magistrate, turning to Berthold\nVorchtel, the chief Losunger, said in a tone loud enough to be heard by\nall present, \"So this is also settled. Herr Casper contracted the great\ndebt to the Jew without the knowledge of his son and partner, and this\nexplains to a florin the difference between the accounts of the father\nand son. The young man was intentionally kept in the dark about the\ngreatest danger which threatened the business. To him the situation of\nthe house must have appeared critical, but by no means hopeless. But for\nthe Siebenburgs and the other bandits, who transformed the last important\nand promising venture of the firm into a great loss, and with the sale of\nthe landed property, it might perhaps have speedily risen, and under\nprudent and skilful management regained its former prosperity. The\nenormous sum to which the debt to Samuel Pfefferkorn increased gives the\nposition of affairs a different aspect. Since, as protector of the Jew, I\nmust insist upon the payment of this capital with the usual interest, the\nold Eysvogel firm will be unable to meet its obligations--nay, its\ncreditors can be but partially paid. Therefore nothing remains for us to\ndo save to consider how to protect as far as possible our city and the\ncitizens who are interested. Yet, in my opinion, the entire firm does not\ndeserve punishment--only the father, who concealed from his upright son\nhis own accounts and those of Samuel Pfefferkorn, and--it is hard for me\nto say this in Herr Casper's presence;--also, when the peril became\nurgent, illegally deprived his business partner of the possibility of\nobtaining a correct view of the real situation of affairs. So, in the\nEmperor's name, let justice take its course.\"\n\nThese words pronounced the doom of the ancient, great, and wealthy\nEysvogel firm; yet the heart of Els throbbed high with joy when, after a\nbrief interchange of opinions between the assembled members of the\nCouncil, the imperial magistrate, turning to Herr Vorchtel, again began:\n\"As Chief Losunger, it would be your place, Herr Berthold, to raise your\nvoice on the part of the Honourable Council in defence of the accused;\nbut since we are all aware of the great grief inflicted upon you by the\nson of the man in whose favour you would be obliged to speak, we should,\nI think, spare you this duty, and transfer it to Herr Hans Schtirstab,\nthe second Losunger, or to Herr Albert Ebner, the oldest of the governing\nburgomasters, who, though equally concerned in this sad case, are less\nclosely connected with the Eysvogels themselves.\"\n\nEls uttered a sigh of relief, for both the men named were friendly to\nWolff; but Herr Vorchtel had already risen and began to speak, turning\nhis wise old head slowly to and fro, and drawing his soft grey beard\nthrough his hand.\n\nHe commenced his address as quietly as if he were talking with friends at\nhis own table, and the tones of his deep voice, as well as the expression\nof his finely moulded aged features, exerted a soothing influence upon\nhis listeners.\n\nEls, with a throbbing heart, felt that nothing which this man advocated\ncould be wrong, and that whatever he recommended would be sure of\nacceptance; for he stood amongst his young and elderly fellow directors\nof the Nuremberg republic like an immovably steadfast guardian of duty\nand law, who had grown grey in the atmosphere of honesty and honour. Thus\nshe had imagined the faithful Eckart, thus her own Wolff might look some\nday when age had bleached his hair and labour and anxiety had lined his\nlofty brow with wrinkles; Berthold Vorchtel, and other \"Honourables\" who\nresembled him; grey-haired Conrad Gross; tall, broad-shouldered Friedrich\nHolzschuher, whose long, snow-white hair fell in thick waves to his\nshoulders; Ulrich Haller, in whose locks threads of silver were just\nappearing, princely in form and bearing; stately Hermann Waldstromer, who\nhad the keen eyes of a huntsman; the noble Ebner brothers, who would have\nattracted attention even in an assembly of knights and counts--nay, the\nEmperor Rudolph was probably thinking of the men below when he said that\nthe Nuremberg Council reminded him of a German oak wood, where firm\nreliance could be placed on every noble trunk.\n\nHerr Berthold Vorchtel was just such a noble, reliable tree. Els told\nherself so, and though she knew how deeply he was wounded when Wolff\npreferred her to his daughter Ursula, and how sorely he mourned his son\nUlrich's death, she was nevertheless convinced that this man would bear\nthe Eysvogels no grudge for the grief suffered through them, for no word\nwhich was not just and estimable would cross his aged lips.\n\nShe was not mistaken; for after Herr Berthold had insisted upon his right\nto raise his voice, not in behalf of Herr Casper but for his business\nfirm and its preservation, he remarked, by way of introduction, that for\nthe sake of Nuremberg he would advise that the Eysvogel house should not\nbe abandoned without ceremony to the storm which its chief had aroused\nagainst the ancient, solid structure.\n\nThen he turned to the papers and parchments, to which the city clerk had\njust added several books and rolls. His address, frequently interrupted\nby references to the documents before him, sounded clear and positive.\nThe amount of the sums owed by the Eysvogel firm, as well as the names of\nits creditors in Nuremberg, Augsburg, Ulm, and Regensburg, Venice, Milan,\nBruges, and other German and foreign cities, formed the most important\nportion of his speech. During its progress he frequently seized a bit of\nchalk and blackboard, writing rapidly on the green table whole rows of\nfigures, and the young burgomasters especially exchanged admiring smiles\nas the experienced old merchant added and subtracted in an instant sums\nfor which they themselves would have needed twice as much time.\n\nThe figures and names buzzed in the ears of the listener at the window\nlike the humming of a swarm of gnats. To understand and remember them was\nimpossible, and she gazed in astonishment at the old man who so clearly\ncomprehended the confused tangle and drew from it so readily just what he\nneeded for his purpose.\n\nWhen he closed, and with a loud \"Therefore\" began to communicate the\nresult, she summoned all the mental power she possessed in order to\nunderstand it. She succeeded, but her knees fairly trembled when she\nheard the sum which the house was obliged to repay to others.\n\nYet, when Herr Berthold lastly gave the estimate of the Eysvogel property\nin merchandise, buildings, and estates, she was again surprised. She had\nnot supposed that Wolff's proud family was so wealthy; but the close of\nthis report brought fresh disappointment, for including the sum which\nHerr Casper had borrowed from the Jew Pfefferkorn, the debts of the firm\nexceeded its possessions far more than Els had expected from the amount\nof its riches.\n\nShe was wholly ignorant of the condition of her own father's property;\nbut she thought she knew that it was far from being enough to suffice\nhere. And this appeared to be the case, for when Berthold Vorchtel\nresumed his speech he alluded to Ernst Ortlieb. In words full of sympathy\nhe lamented the unprecedented insult which had led him to commit the deed\nof violence that prevented his sharing in this consultation. But before\nhis removal he had given him an important commission. Upon certain\nconditions--but only upon them--he would place a considerable portion of\nhis fortune at his disposal for the settlement of this affair. Still,\nlarge as was the promised sum, it would by no means be sufficient to save\nthe Eysvogel business from ruin. Yet he, Berthold Vorchtel, was of the\nopinion that its fall must be prevented at any cost. The sincerity of\nthis conviction he intended to prove by the best means at a merchant's\ncommand-the pledge of his own large capital.\n\nThese words deeply moved the whole assembly, and Els saw her uncle glance\nat the old gentleman with a look which expressed the warm appreciation of\na man of the same mind.\n\nCasper Eysvogel, who, lost in thought, had permitted the statements of\nthe Losunger, which were mingled with many a bitter censure of his own\nconduct, to pass without contradiction--nay, apparently in a\nstate of apathy in which he was no longer capable of following\ndetails--straightened his bowed figure and gazed enquiringly into Herr\nBerthold's face as if he did not venture to trust his own ears; but the\nother looked past him, as he added that what he was doing for the\nEysvogel business was due to no consideration for the man who had\nhitherto directed it, or his family, but solely on account of the good\ncity whose business affairs the confidence of the Council had summoned\nhim to direct, and her commerce, whose prosperity was equally dear to\nmost of the Honourables around him.\n\nCries and gestures of assent accompanied the last sentence; but Berthold\nVorchtel recognised the demonstration by remarking that it showed him\nthat the Council, in the name of the city, would be disposed to do its\nshare in raising the amount still lacking.\n\nThis statement elicited opposition, expressed in several quarters in low\ntones, and from one seat loudly, and Herr Berthold heard it. Turning to\nPeter Ammon, one of the Eysvogels' principal creditors, who was making\nthe most animated resistance, he remarked that no one could be more\nunwilling than himself to use the means of the community to protect from\nthe consequences of his conduct a citizen whose own errors had placed him\nin a perilous position, but, on the other hand, he would always--and in\nthis case with special zeal--be ready to aid such a person in spite of\nthe faults committed, if he believed that he could thus protect the\ncommunity from serious injury.\n\nThen he asked permission to make a digression, and being greeted with\ncries of \"Go on!\" from all sides, began in brief, clear sentences to show\nhow the commerce of Nuremberg from small beginnings had reached its\npresent prosperity. Instead of the timid, irregular exchange of goods as\nfar as the Rhine, the Main, and the Danube, regular intercourse with\nVenice, Milan, Genoa, Bohemia, and Hungary, Flanders, Brabant, and the\ncoast of the Baltic had commenced. Trade with the Italian cities, and\nthrough them, even with the Levant, had made its first successful opening\nunder the Hohenstaufen rule; but during the evil days when the foreign\nmonarchs had neglected Germany and her welfare, it sustained the most\nserious losses. By the election of Rudolph of Hapsburg who, with vigour,\ngood-will, and intelligence, had devoted his attention to the security of\ncommerce in the countries over which he reigned, better days for the\nmerchant had returned, and it was very evident what his work required,\nwhat injured and robbed it of its well-earned reward. Confidence at home\nand abroad was the foundation of prosperity, not alone of the Nuremberg\nmerchant but of trade in general. Under the Hohenstaufen rule their\nupright ancestors had so strengthened this confidence that wherever he\nwent the Nuremberg merchant received respect and confidence above\nmany--perhaps all others. The insecurity of the roads and of justice in\nthe lawless times before the election of the Hapsburgs might have\nimpaired this great blessing; but since Rudolph had wielded the sceptre\nwith virile energy, made commerce secure, and administered justice,\nconfidence had also returned, and to maintain it no sacrifice should be\ntoo great. As for him, Berthold Vorchtel, he would not spare himself, and\nif he expected the city to imitate him he would know how to answer for\nit.\n\nHere he was interrupted by loud shouts of applause; but, without heeding\nthem, he quietly went on: \"And it is necessary to secure confidence in\nthe Nuremberg merchant in two directions: his honesty and the capital at\nhis command. Our business friends, far and near, must be permitted to\ncontinue to rely upon our trustworthiness as firmly as upon rock and\niron. If we brought the arrogant Italian to say of us that, amongst the\nGerman cities who were blind, Nuremberg was the one-eyed, we ought now to\nforce them to number us amongst those who see with both eyes, the honest,\ntrust-inspiring blue eyes of the German. But to attain this goal we need\nthe imperial protection, the watchful power of a great and friendly\nruler. The progress which our trade owed to the Hohenstaufen proves this;\nthe years without an Emperor, on the contrary, showed what threatens our\ncommerce as soon as we lack this aid. Rights and privileges from\nsovereigns smoothed the paths in which we have surpassed others. To\nobtain new and more important ones must be our object. From the first\nReichstag which the Emperor Rudolph held here, he has shown that he\nesteems us and believes us worthy of his confidence. Many valuable\nprivileges have revealed this. To maintain this confidence, which is and\nwill remain the source of the most important favours to Nuremberg, is\nenjoined upon us merchants by prudence, upon us directors of the city by\nregard for its prosperity. But, my honourable friends, reluctantly as I\ndo so, I must nevertheless remind you that this confidence, here and\nthere, has already received a shock through the errors of individuals.\nWho could have forgotten the tale of the beautiful cap of the unhappy\nMeister Mertein, who has preceded us into the other world? Doubtless it\nconcerned but one scabby sheep, yet it served to bring the whole flock\ninto disrepute. Perhaps the fact that it occurred so soon after Rudolph's\nelection to the sovereignty, during the early days of his residence in\nour goodly city, imprinted it so deeply upon our imperial master's\nmemory. A few hours ago he asked for some information concerning the sad\naffair which now occupies our attention, and when I represented that the\npublic spirit and honesty of my countrymen, fellow-citizens, and\nassociate members of the Council would prevent it from injuring our trade\nat home or abroad, he alluded to that story, by no means in the jesting\nway with which he formerly mentioned the vexatious incident that\nredounded to the honour of no one more than that of his own shrewdness,\nwhich at that time--seven years ago--was so often blended with mirth.\"\n\nWhen the speaker began to allude to this much-discussed incident a smile\nhad flitted over the features of his listeners, for they remembered it\nperfectly, and the story of Emperor Rudolph and the cap was still related\nto the honour of the presence of mind of the wise Hapsburg judge.\n\nDuring the period of the assembly of the princes a Nuremberg citizen had\ntaken charge of a bag containing two hundred florins for a foreign\nmerchant who had lodged with him, but when he was asked for the property\nentrusted to him denied that he had received it.\n\nThis disgraceful occurrence was reported to the Emperor, but he\napparently paid no heed to it, and received Master Mertein, amongst other\ncitizens who wished to be presented to him. The dishonest man appeared in\na rich gala dress and as, embarrassed by the Emperor's piercing gaze, he\nawkwardly twirled his cap--a magnificent article bordered with costly\nfur; the sovereign took it from his hand, examined it admiringly and,\nwith the remark that it would suit even a king, placed it on his own\nroyal head. Then he approached one after another to exchange a few words\nand, as if forgetting that he wore the head-gear, left the apartment to\norder a messenger to take the cap at once to its owner's wife, show it to\nher as a guarantee of trustworthiness, and ask her to bring the bag which\nthe foreign merchant had given him to the castle. The woman did so and\nthe cheat was unmasked.\n\nEveryone present, like Els, was familiar with this story, which wrongly\ncast so evil a light upon the uprightness of the citizens of Nuremberg.\nWho could fail to be painfully affected by the thought that Rudolph,\nduring his present stay amongst them, must witness the injury of others\nby a Nuremberg merchant? Who could have now opposed Herr Berthold, when\nhe asked, still more earnestly than before, that the community would do\nits share to maintain confidence in the reliability of the Nuremberg\ncitizens, and especially of the Honourable Council and everyone of its\nmembers?\n\nBut when he mentioned the large sum which he himself, and the other which\nErnst Ortlieb intended on certain conditions to devote to the settlement\nof this affair, Peter Ammon also withdrew his opposition. The First\nLosunger's proposal was unanimously accepted, and also the condition made\nby his associate, Ernst Ortlieb. Casper Eysvogel, on whom the resolution\nbore most heavily, submitted in silence, shrugging his shoulders.\n\nHow high Els's heart throbbed, how she longed to rush down into the\nCouncil chamber and clasp the hand of the noble old man at the green\ntable, when he said that in consequence of Ernst Ortlieb's\ncondition--which he also made--the charge of the newly established\nEysvogel business must be transferred from Herr Casper's hands to those\nof his son, Herr Wolff, as soon as the imperial pardon permitted him to\nleave his hiding-place. He, Berthold Vorchtel, would make no complaint\nagainst him, for he knew that Wolff had been forced to cross swords with\nhis Ulrich. He had formed this resolution after a severe struggle with\nhimself; but as a Christian and a fair-minded man he had renounced the\nhuman desire for revenge, and as God had wished to give him a token of\nhis approval, he had sent to his house a substitute for his dead son.\nFresh cries of approval interrupted this communication, whose meaning Els\ndid not understand.\n\nNot a word of remonstrance was uttered when the imperial magistrate at\nlast proposed that Casper Eysvogel and the women of his family should\nleave the city and atone for his great offence by ten years in exile. One\nof his estates, which he advised the city to buy, could be assigned him\nas a residence. Herr Casper's daughter, Frau Isabella Siebenburg, had\nalready, with her twin sons, found shelter at the Knight Heideck's\ncastle. Her husband, who had joined his guilty brothers, would speedily\nfall into the hands of justice and reap what he had sowed. For the final\nsettlement of this affair he begged the Honourable Council to appoint\ncommissioners, whom he would willingly join.\n\nThen Herr Vorchtel again rose and requested his honourable friends to\ntreat the new head of the house with entire confidence; for from the\nbooks of the firm and the statements which he had made in his\nhiding-place and sent to the Council, both he and the city clerk had\nbecome convinced that he was one of the most cautious and upright young\nmerchants in Nuremberg. Their opinion was also shared by the most\nprominent business acquaintances of the house.\n\nThis pleased the listener. But whilst the speaker sat down amidst the\neager assent of his associates in office, and Herr Casper Eysvogel,\nleaning on the arm of his cousin, Conrad Teufel, left the hall with\ntottering steps, utterly crushed, she saw the city clerk Schedel, after a\nhasty glance upwards, approach the side door, through which he could\nreach the staircase leading to his rooms.\n\nHe evidently intended to tell the result of the discussion. But the old\ngentleman would need considerable time to reach her, so she again\nlistened to what was passing below.\n\nShe heard her uncle, the magistrate, speak of her father's unfortunate\ndeed, and tell the Council how the name of Herr Ernst's daughters, who\nwere held in such honour, had become innocently, through evil gossip, the\ntalk of the people. Just at that moment the old man's shuffling step\nsounded close by the door.\n\nEls stopped listening to hasten towards the messenger of good tidings,\nand the old gentleman could scarcely believe his own eyes when he saw the\nhappiness beaming in the girl's beautiful fresh face, whose anxiety and\npallor had just roused his deep sympathy.\n\nIt was scarcely possible that anyone could have anticipated him with the\nglad news, and spite of his seventy-two years the city clerk had retained\nthe keen eyes of youth. When he entered the anteroom with Els and saw the\nopen window and beside it the white Riese which she had removed in order\nto hear better, he released himself from the arm she had passed around\nhis shoulders, shook his finger threateningly at her, and cried: \"It's\nfortunate that I find only the Riese, and not the listener, otherwise I\nshould be compelled to deliver her to the jailer, or even the torturer,\nfor unwarranted intrusion into the secrets of the honourable Council. I\ncan hardly institute proceedings against a bit of linen!\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Welcome a small evil when it barred the way to a greater one\n\n\n\n\nIN THE FIRE OF THE FORGE\n\nA ROMANCE OF OLD NUREMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 7.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nA few minutes later the sisters left the Town Hall. Their white Rieses\nwere wound so closely about their faces that their features were\ncompletely hidden, but the thin material permitted them to see Herr\nVorchtel, leaning upon the arm of the young burgomaster, Hans Nutzel,\nleave the Council chamber, where the other Honourables were still\ndeliberating. Pointing to the old man, the city clerk told Els with a\nsignificant smile that Ursula Vorchtel was engaged to the talented,\nattractive young merchant now walking with her father, and that he had\npromised Herr Vorchtel to aid him and his younger son in the management\nof his extensive business. This was a great pleasure to the noble old\nmerchant, and when he, the city clerk, met Ursula that morning, spite of\nher deep mourning, she again looked out upon the world like the happy\nyoung creature she was. Her new joy had greatly increased her beauty, and\nher lover was the very person to maintain it. Herr Schedel thought it\nwould be pleasant news to Els, too. The young girl pressed his hand\nwarmly; for these good tidings put the finishing touch to the glad\ntidings she had just heard. The reproach which, unjust as it might be,\nhad spoiled many an hour for Wolff and entailed such fatal consequences,\nwas now removed, and to her also \"Ursel's\" altered manner had often\nseemed like a silent accusation. She felt grateful, as if it were a\npersonal joy, for the knowledge that the girl who had believed herself\ndeserted by Wolff, her own lover, was now a happy betrothed bride.\n\nUrsula's engagement removed a burden from Eva's soul, too, only she did\nnot understand how a girl whose heart had once opened to a great love\ncould ever belong to anyone else. Els understood her; nay, in Ursula's\nplace she would have done the same, if it were only to weave a fresh\nflower in her afflicted father's fading garland of joy.\n\nThe city clerk accompanied them to the great entrance door of the Town\nHall.\n\nSeveral jailers and soldiers in the employ of the city were standing\nthere, and whilst their old friend was promising to do his utmost to\nsecure Ernst Ortlieb's liberation and recommending the girls to the\nprotection of one of the watchmen, Eva's cheeks flushed; for a messenger\nof the Council had just approached the others, and she heard him utter\nthe name of Sir Heinz Schorlin and his follower Walther Biberli. Els\nlistened, too, but whilst her sister in embarrassment pressed her hand\nupon her heart, she frankly asked the city clerk what had befallen the\nknight and his squire, who was betrothed to her maid. She heard that at\nthe last meeting of the Council an order had been issued for Biberli's\narrest.\n\nHis name must have been brought up during the discussions of the slanders\nwhich had so infamously pursued the Ortlieb sisters, but she could not\nenquire how or in what connection, for the sun was already low in the\nwestern sky, and if the girls wished to see their father there was no\ntime to lose.\n\nYet, though Katterle had just said that Countess von Montfort was waiting\noutside in her great sedan-chair for the young ladies, they were still\ndetained, for they would not leave the Town Hall without thanking the\ncity clerk and saying farewell to him. He was still near, but the captain\nof the city soldiers had drawn him aside and was telling him something\nwhich seemed to permit no delay, and induced the old gentleman to glance\nat the sisters repeatedly.\n\nEva did not notice it; for Biberli's arrest, which probably had some\nconnection with Heinz and herself, had awakened a series of anxious\nthoughts associated with her lover and his faithful follower. Els\ntroubled herself only about the events occurring in her immediate\nvicinity, and felt perfectly sure that the captain's communications\nreferred not only to the four itinerant workmen and the three women who\nhad just been led across the courtyard to the \"Hole,\" and to whom the\nspeaker pointed several times, but especially to her and her sister.\n\nWhen the city clerk at last turned to them again, he remarked carelessly\nthat a disagreeable mob in front of the Ortlieb mansion had been\ndispersed, and then, with urgent cordiality, invited the two girls to\nspend the night under the protection of his old housekeeper. When they\ndeclined, he assured them that measures would be taken to guard them from\nevery insult. He had something to tell their uncle, and the communication\nappeared to permit no delay, for with a haste very unusual in the\ndeliberate old gentleman he left the two sisters with a brief farewell.\n\nMeanwhile Countess Cordula had become weary of waiting in the\nsedan-chair. She came striding to meet her new friends, attired in a\nrustling canary-green silk robe whose train swept the ground, but it was\nraised so high in front that the brown hunting-boots encasing her\nwell-formed feet were distinctly visible. She was swinging her heavy\nriding-whip in her hand, and her favourite dogs, two black dachshunds\nwith yellow spots over their eyes, followed at her heels.\n\nAs it was against the rules to bring dogs into the Town Hall, the\ndoorkeeper tried to stop her, but without paying the slightest attention\nto him, she took Els by the hand, beckoned to Eva, and was turning to\nleave the path leading to the market-place.\n\nIn doing so her eyes fell upon the courtyard, where, just after the Ave\nMaria, a motley throng had gathered. Here, guarded by jailers, stood\nvagabonds and disreputable men and women, sham blind beggars and\ncripples, swindlers, and other tatterdemalions, who had been caught in\nillegal practices or without the beggar's sign. In another spot,\ndark-robed servants of the Council were discussing official and other\nmatters. Near the \"Hole\" a little party of soldiers were resting, passing\nfrom hand to hand the jug of wine bestowed by the Honourable\nCouncil. The \"Red Coat\"--[Executioner]--was giving orders to his\n\"Life\"--[Executioner's assistant (\"Lion\")]--as they carried across the\ncourtyard a new instrument of torture intended for the room adjoining the\nCouncil chamber, where those who refused to make depositions were forced\nto it. In a shady corner sat old people, poorly clad women, and\npale-faced children, the city poor, who at this hour received food from\nthe kitchen of the Town Hall. A few priests and monks were going into the\nwing of the building which contained the \"Hole,\" with its various cells\nand the largest chamber of torture, to give the consolations of religion\nto the prisoners and those tortured by the rack who had not yet been\nconveyed to the hospital at Schweinau.\n\nThe countess's keen glance wandered from one to another. When they\nreached the group of paupers they rested upon a woman with deadly pale,\nhollow cheeks, pressing a pitifully emaciated infant to her dry breast,\nand her eyes swiftly filled with tears.\n\n\"Here,\" she whispered to old Martsche, taking several gold coins from the\npocket that hung at her belt, \"give these to the poorest ones. You are\nsensible. Divide it so that several will have a share and the money will\nreach the right hands. You can take your time. We need neither you nor\nKatterle. Go back to the house. I will carry your young mistresses to\ntheir father and home again. Where I am you need have no fear that harm\nwill befall them.\"\n\nThen she turned again towards the \"Hole,\" and seeing the people yelling\nand shouting while awaiting imprisonment, she pointed to them with her\nwhip, saying, \"That's a part of the pack which was set upon you. You\nshall hear about it presently. But now come.\"\n\nAs she spoke she went before the girls and urged them to step quickly\ninto the large, handsome sedan-chair, around which an unusual number of\npeople had assembled, for she wished to avoid any recognition of the\nsisters by the curious spectators. The gilded box, borne between two\npowerful Brabant horses in such a way that it hung between the tail of\nthe first and the head of the second, would have had room for a fourth\noccupant.\n\nWhen it moved forward, swaying from side to side, Cordula pointed to the\ncurtained windows, and said: \"Shameful, isn't it? But it is better so,\nchildren. That arch-rascal Siebenburg robbed the people of the little\nsense they possessed, and that cat of a candle-dealer, with her mate, the\ntailor, or rather his followers, poisoned the minds of the rest. How\nquickly it worked! Goodness, it seems to me, acts more slowly. True, your\nhot-tempered father spoiled the old rascal's inclination to woo pretty\nMetz for a while; but his male and female gossips, aunts, cousins, and\nwork-people apparently allowed themselves to be persuaded by his future\nmother-in-law to the abominable deed, which caused the brawling rabble\nyou saw in the Town Hall court to content themselves with a hard couch in\nthe 'Hole' overnight.\"\n\n\"They have done everything bad concerning us, though I don't know exactly\nwhat,\" cried Els indignantly.\n\n\"Wished to do, Miss Wisdom,\" replied the countess, patting Els's arm\nsoothingly. \"We kept our eyes open, and I helped to put a stop to their\nproceedings. The rabble gathered in front of your house, yelling and\nshrieking, and when I stepped into your bow-window there was as great an\noutcry as if they were trying to bring down the walls of Jericho a second\ntime. Some boys even flung at me everything they could find in the mire\nof the streets. The most delightful articles! There was actually a dead\nrat! I can see its tail flying now! Our village lads know how to aim\nbetter. Before the worst came, by the advice of the equerry and our wise\nchaplain, whom I consulted, we had done what was necessary, and summoned\nthe guard at the Frauenthor to our assistance. But the soldiers were in\nno great haste; so when matters were going too far, I stepped into the\nbreach myself, called down to tell them my name, and also showed my\ncrossbow with an arrow on the string. This had an effect. Only a few\nwomen still continued to load me with horrible abuse. Then the chaplain\ncame to the window and this restored silence; but, in spite of his\nearnest words, not a soul stirred from the spot until the patrol arrived,\ndispersed the rabble, and arrested some of them.\"\n\nEls, who sat by Cordula's side, drew her towards her and kissed her\ngratefully; but Eva's eyes had filled with tears of grief at the\nbeginning of the countess's report of this new insult, and the hostility\nof so many of the townsfolk; yet she succeeded in controlling herself.\nShe would not weep. She had even forced herself to gaze, without the\nquiver of an eyelash, at the sorrowful and horrible spectacle outside of\nthe \"Hole.\" She must cease being a weak child. How true her dying\nmother's words had been! To be able to struggle and conquer, she must not\nwithdraw from life and its influences, which, if she did not spare\nherself, promised to transform her into the resolute woman she desired to\nbecome.\n\nShe had listened with labouring breath to the speaker's last words, and\nwhen Els embraced Cordula, she raised her little clenched hand,\nexclaiming with passionate emotion: \"Oh, if I had only been at home with\nyou! You are brave, Countess, but I, too, would not have shrunk from\nthem. I would voluntarily have made myself the target for their malice,\nand called to their faces that only miserably deluded people or shameless\nrascals could throw stones at my Els, who is a thousand times better than\nany of them!\"\n\n\"Or at you, you dear, brave child,\" added Cordula in an agitated tone.\n\nFrom the day following the burning of the convent the countess had given\nup her whim of winning Heinz Schorlin. She now knew that all her nobler\nfeelings spoke more loudly in favour of the quiet man who had borne her\nout of the flames. Sir Boemund Altrosen's love had proved genuine, and\nshe would reward him for it; but the heart of the pretty creature\nopposite to her was also filled with deep, true love, and she would do\neverything in her power for Eva, whom she had loved ever since her\naffliction had touched her tender heart.\n\nBoth sisters were now aware of Cordula's kind intentions, and the warm\npleasure she displayed when Els told her what the Council had determined,\nshowed plainly enough that the motherless young countess, who had neither\nbrother nor sister, clung to the daughters of her host like a third\nsister. Old Herr Vorchtel's treatment of the man who had inflicted so\ndeep a sorrow upon him touched her inmost soul. It was grand, noble; the\nSaviour himself would have rejoiced over it. \"If it would only please the\ngood old man,\" she exclaimed, \"I would rather offer him my lips to kiss\nthan the handsomest young knight.\"\n\nThough two of Count von Montfort's mounted huntsmen and several\nconstables accompanied the unusually large and handsome sedan-chair, a\ncurious crowd had followed it; but the opinion probably prevailed that\nthe countess's companions were some of her waiting-women. When they\nalighted in front of the watch-tower, however, an elderly laundry-maid\nwho had worked for the Ortliebs recognised the sisters and pointed them\nout to the others, protesting that it was hard for a woman of her chaste\nspirit to have served in a house where such things could have happened.\nThen a tailor's apprentice, who considered the whole of the guild\ninsulted in the wounded Meister Seubolt, put his fingers to his wide\nmouth and emitted a long, shrill whistle; but the next instant a blow\nfrom a powerful fist silenced him. It was young Ortel, who had come to\nthe watch-tower to seek Herr Ernst and tell him that he and his sister\nMetz, spite of their mother and guardian, meant to stay in his service.\nHis heart's blood would not have been too dear to guard Eva, whom he\ninstantly recognised, from every insult; but he had no occasion to use\nhis youthful strength a second time, for the soldiers who guarded the\ntower and the city mercenaries drove back the crowd and kept the square\nin front of the tower open.\n\nThe countess would not be detained long, for the sun had already sunk\nbehind the towers and western wall of the fortress, and the reflection of\nthe sunset was tinging the eastern sky with a roseate hue. The warden\nreally ought to have refused them admittance, for the time during which\nhe was permitted to take visitors to the imprisoned \"Honourable\" had\nalready passed. But for the daughters of Herr Ernst Ortlieb, to whom he\nwas greatly indebted, he closed his eyes to this fact, and only entreated\nthem to make their stay brief, for the drawbridge leading to the tower\nmust be raised when darkness gathered.\n\nThe young girls found their father, absorbed in grief as if utterly\ncrushed, seated at a table on which stood a leaden inkstand with several\nsheets of paper. He still held the pen in his hand.\n\nHe received his daughters with the exclamation, \"You poor, poor\nchildren!\" But when Els tried to tell him what had given her so much\npleasure, he interrupted her to accuse himself, with deep sorrow, of\nhaving again permitted sudden passion to master him. Probably this was\nthe last time; such experiences would cool even the hottest blood. Then\nhe began to relate what had induced him to raise his hand against the\ntailor, and as, in doing so, he recalled the insolent hypocrite's\nspiteful manner, he again flew into so violent a rage that the blow which\nhe dealt the table made the ink splash up and soil both the paper lying\nbeside it and his own dress, still faultlessly neat even in prison. This\ncaused fresh wrath, and he furiously crushed the topmost sheet, already\nhalf covered with writing, and hurled it on the floor.\n\nNot until Els stooped to pick it up did he calm himself, saying, with a\nshrug of the shoulders, \"Who can remain unmoved when the whirlwind of\ndespair seizes him? When a swarm of hornets attacks a horse, and it\nrears, who wonders? And I--What stings and blows has Fate spared me?\" Els\nventured to speak soothingly to him, and remind him of God, and the\nsaints to whom he had made such generous offerings in building the\nconvent; but this awakened an association, and he asked if it were true\nthat Eva had refused to take the veil.\n\nShe made a silent gesture of assent, expecting another outburst of anger;\nbut her father only shook his head sorrowfully, clasped her right hand in\nboth his, and said sadly: \"Poor, poor child! But she, she--your\nmother--would probably----The last words her dear lips bestowed upon us\nconcerned you, child, and I believe their meaning----\"\n\nHere the warden interrupted him to remind the girls that it was time to\ndepart; but whilst Els was begging the man for a brief delay, Herr Ernst\nlooked first at the paper and writing materials, then at his daughters,\nand added with quiet decision: \"Before you go, you must hear that, in\nspite of everything, I did not wholly lose courage, but began to act.\"\n\n\"That is right, dear father,\" exclaimed Els, and told him briefly and\nquickly what the Council had decided, how warmly old Berthold Vorchtel\nhad interceded for Wolff, and that the management of the business was to\nbe confided solely to him.\n\nThese tidings swiftly and powerfully revived the fading hopes of the\nsorely stricken man. He drew up his short figure as if the vigour of\nyouth had returned, declaring that he now felt sure that this first star\nin the dark night would soon be followed by others. \"It will now be your\nWolff's opportunity,\" he exclaimed, \"to make amends for much that Fate\nBut I was commencing something else. Give me that bit of crumpled paper.\nI'll look at it again early to-morrow morning; it is a letter to the\nEmperor I was composing. Your brother ought not to have given up his\nyoung life on the battlefield for the Crown in vain. He owes me\ncompensation for the son, you for the brother. He is certainly a\nfair-minded man, and therefore will not shut his ears to my complaint.\nJust wait, children! And you, my devout Eva, pray to your saint that the\npetition, which concerns you also, may effect what I expect.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\" asked Eva anxiously. \"That the wrong done you, you\npoor, deceived child, shall be made good,\" replied Herr Ernst with\nimperious decision.\n\nEva clasped his hand, pleading warmly and tenderly: \"By all that you hold\ndear and sacred, I beseech you, father, not to mention me and Sir Heinz\nSchorlin in your letter. If he withdrew his love from me, no imperial\ndecree--\"\n\nThe veins on the Councillor's brow again swelled with wrath, and though\nhe did not burst into a passion, he exclaimed in violent excitement: \"A\nnobleman who declares his love to a chaste Nuremberg maiden of noble\nbirth assumes thereby a duty which, if unfulfilled, imposes a severe\npunishment upon him. This just punishment, at least, the tempter shall\nnot escape. The Emperor, who proclaimed peace throughout the land and\ncleared the highways of the bands of robbers, will consider it his first\nduty--\"\n\nHere the warden interrupted him by calling from the threshold of the room\nthat the draw-bridge would be raised and the young ladies must follow him\nwithout delay.\n\nEva again besought her father not to enter an accusation against the\nknight, and Els warmly supported her sister; but their brief, ardent\nentreaty produced no effect upon the obstinate man except, after he had\npressed a farewell kiss upon the brows of both, to tell them with\nresolute dignity that the night would bring counsel, and he was quite\nsure that this time, as usual, he should pursue the right course for the\nreal good of his dear children.\n\nHitherto Herr Ernst had indeed proved himself a faithful and prudent head\nof his family, but this time his daughters left him with heavy, anxious\nhearts.\n\nFear of her father's intention tortured Eva like a new misfortune, and\nEls and the countess also hoped that the petition would go without the\naccusation against Heinz.\n\nWhilst the sedan-chair was bearing the girls home few words were\nexchanged. Not until they approached the Frauenthor did they enter into a\nmore animated conversation, which referred principally to Biberli and the\nquestion whether the Honourable Council would call Katterle to account\nalso, and what could be done to save both from severe punishment. Cordula\nhad drawn aside the curtain on the right and was gazing into the street,\napparently from curiosity, but really with great anxiety. But Herr\nPfinzing had done his part, and with the exception of several soldiers in\nthe pay of the city there were few people in sight near the Ortlieb\nmansion.\n\nA horse was being led up and down on the opposite side of the courtyard,\nand behind the chains stood a sedan-chair with several men, to whom Metz\nhad just brought from the kitchen a coal of fire to light their torches.\nThe pretty girl looked as bright as if she felt small concern for the\nsevere wound of the grey-haired tailor who had chosen her for his wife.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nAs the young girls were getting out of their sedan-chair, the Frauenthor,\nwhich was closed at nightfall, opened to admit another whose destination\nalso seemed to be the Ortlieb mansion.\n\nKatterle was standing in the lower entry with her apron raised to her\nface. She had learned that her true and steadfast lover had been carried\nto the \"Hole,\" and was waiting here for her mistresses and also for Herr\nPfinzing and his wife, whom old Martsche had conducted to the sittingroom\nin the second story. Herr Pfinzing, in her opinion, had as much power as\nthe Emperor, and his wife was famed all over the city for her charitable\nand active kindness. When the noble couple came down Katterle meant to\nthrow herself on her knees at their feet and beseech them to have mercy\non her betrothed husband. The sisters and Cordula comforted her with the\npromise that they would commend Biberli's cause to the magistrate; but as\nthey went upstairs they again expressed to one another the fear that\nKatterle herself would sooner or later follow the man she loved to\nprison.\n\nThey found Herr Pfinzing and his wife in the sitting-room.\n\nKatterle was not wrong in expecting kindly help from this lady, for a\nmore benevolent face than hers could scarcely be imagined, and, more\nover, Fran Christine certainly did not lack strength to do what she\ndeemed right. Though not quite so broad as her short, extremely corpulent\nhusband, she surpassed him in height by several inches, and time had\ntransformed the pretty, slender, modest girl into a majestic woman. The\nslight arch of the nose, the lofty brow, the light down on the upper lip,\nand the deep voice even gave her a somewhat imperious aspect. Had it not\nbeen for the kind, faithful eyes, and an extremely pleasant expression\nabout the mouth, one might have wondered how she could succeed in\ninspiring everyone at the first glance with confidence in her helpful\nkindness of heart.\n\nHer grey pug had also been brought with her. How could an animal supply\nthe place of beloved human beings? Yet the pug had become necessary to\nher since her son, like so many other young men who belonged to patrician\nNuremberg families, had fallen in the battle of Marchfield, and her\ndaughter had accompanied her husband to his home in Augsburg. The onerous\nduties of her husband's office compelled him to leave her alone a great\ndeal, and even in her extremely active life there were lonely hours when\nshe needed a living creature that was faithfully devoted to her.\n\nShe was often overburdened with work, for every charitable institution\nsought her as a \"fosterer.\" True, in many cases their request was vain.\nWhatever she undertook must be faultlessly executed, and the charge of\nthe orphan children in the city, the Beguines, and the hospital at her\nsummer residence occupied her sufficiently. During the winter she lived\nwith her husband at his official quarters in the castle, but as soon as\nspring came she longed for her little manor at Schweinau, for she had\ntaken into the institution erected there for the widows of noble\ncrusaders, but in which only the last four of these ladies were now\nsupported, a number of Beguines. These were godly girls and women who did\nnot wish to submit to convent rules, or did not possess the favour or the\nmoney required for admission.\n\nWithout pledging themselves to celibacy or any of the other restrictions\nimposed upon the nuns, they desired only, in association with others of\nthe same mind, to lead a life pleasing in the sight of God and devoted to\nChristian charity. Schweinau afforded abundant opportunity for charitable\nwomen to aid suffering fellow-mortals, since it was here that the\nunfortunates who had been mutilated by the hands of the executioner and\nhis assistants, or wounded on the rack, often nearly unto death, were\nbrought to be bandaged, and as far as possible healed. The Beguines\noccupied themselves in nursing them, but had many a conflict with the\nspiritual authorities, who preferred the monks and nuns bound by a\nmonastic vow. The order of St. Francis alone regarded them with favour,\ninterceded for them, and watched over them with kindly interest, taking\ncare that they were kept aloof from everything which would expose them to\nreproach or blame.\n\nFrau Christine, the Abbess Kunigunde's sister, aided her in this effort,\nand the Beguines, to whom the magistrate's wife in no way belonged, but\nwho had given them a home on her own estate, silently rendered her\nobedience when she wished to see undesirable conditions in their common\nlife removed.\n\nEls, as well as Eva, had long since told Frau Christine, who was equally\ndear to both, everything that afforded ground for the shameful calumnies\nwhich had now urged their father to a deed for which he was atoning in\nprison.\n\nWhen, a few hours before, a messenger from her husband informed her of\nwhat had occurred, she had instantly come to the city to see that the\nright thing was done, and take the girls thus bereft of their father from\nthe desolate Ortlieb mansion to her own house. Herr Pfinzing had warmly\napproved this plan, and accompanied her to the \"Es,\" as he, too, was fond\nof calling his nieces.\n\nWhen she had been told what motives induced Eva not to confide herself\njust now to the protection of the convent, Frau Christine struck her\nbroad hips, exclaiming, \"There's something in blood! The young creature\nacts as if her old aunt had thought for her.\"\n\nHer invitation sounded so loving and cordial, her husband pressed it with\nsuch winning, jovial urgency, and the pug Amicus, whose attachment to Eva\nwas especially noticeable, supported his mistress's wish with such ardent\nzeal, that she called the sisters' attention to his intercession.\n\nMeanwhile the girls had already expressed to each other, with the mute\nlanguage of the eyes, their inclination to accept the invitation so\naffectionately extended. Els only made the condition that they were not\nto go to Schweinau until early the following morning, after their visit\nto their father; Eva, on the other hand, desired to go as soon as\npossible, gladly and gratefully confessing to her aunt how much more\ncalmly she would face the future now that she was permitted to be under\nher protection.\n\n\"Just creep under the old hen's wings, my little chicken; she will keep\nyou warm,\" said the kind-hearted woman, kissing Eva. But, as she began to\nplan for the removal of the sisters, more visitors were\nannounced--indeed, several at once; first, Albert Ebner, of the Council,\nand his wife, then Frau Clara Loffelholz, who came without her husband,\nand the two daughters of the imperial ranger Waldstromer, Els's most\nintimate friends. They had come in from the forest-house the day before\nto attend Frau Maria Ortlieb's burial. Now, with their mother's\npermission, they came to invite the deserted girls to the forest. The\nothers also begged the sisters to come to them, and so did Councillors\nSchurstab, Behaim, Gross, Holzschuher, and Pirckheimer, who came, some\nwith their wives and some singly, to look after the daughters of their\nimprisoned colleague.\n\nThe great sitting-room was filled with guests, and the stalwart figures\nand shrewd, resolute faces of the men, the kind, good, and usually\npleasing countenances of the women, whose blue eyes beamed with\nphilanthropic benevolence, though they carried their heads high enough,\nafforded a delightful spectacle, and one well calculated to inspire\nrespect. There could be no doubt that those whose locks were already grey\nrepresented distinguished business houses and were accustomed to manage\ngreat enterprises. There was not a single one whom the title \"Honour of\nthe Family\" could not have well befitted; and what cheerful\nself-possession echoed in the deep voices of the men, what maternal\nkindness in those of the elder women, most of whom also spoke in sonorous\ntones!\n\nEls and Eva often cast stolen glances at each other as they greeted the\nvisitors, thanked them, answered questions, gave explanations, accepted\napologies, received and courteously declined invitations. They did not\ncomprehend what had produced this sudden change of feeling in so many of\ntheir equals in rank, what had brought them in such numbers at so late an\nhour, as if the slightest delay was an offence, to their quiet house,\nwhich that very day had seemed to Frau Vorkler too evil to permit her\nchildren to remain in its service.\n\nThe old magistrate and his wife, on the contrary, thought that they knew.\nThey had helped the sisters to receive the first callers; but when Frau\nBarbara Behaim, a cousin of the late Frau Maria, had appeared, they gave\nup their post to her, and slipped quietly into the next room to escape\nthe throng.\n\nThere they retired to the niche formed by the deep walls of the broad\ncentral window of the house, and Herr Berthold Pfinzing whispered to his\nwife: \"There was too much philanthropy and kindness for me in there. A\ngreat deal of honey at once cloys me. But you, prophetess, foresaw what\nis now occurring, and I, too, scarcely expected anything different. So\nlong as one still has a doublet left compassion is in no haste, but when\nthe last shirt is stripped from the body charity--thank the\nsaints!--moves faster. We are most ready to help those who, we feel very\nsure, are suffering more than they deserve. There are many motherless\nchildren; but young girls who have lost both parents, exposed to every\ninjustice----\"\n\n\"Are certainly rare birds,\" his wife interrupted, \"and this will\nundoubtedly be of service to the children. But if they are now invited to\nthe houses of the same worthy folk who, a few hours ago, thought\nthemselves too good to attend the funeral of their admirable mother, and\nanxiously kept their own little daughters away from them, they probably\nowe it especially to the right mediators, noble old Vorchtel and\nanother.\"\n\n\"To-day, if ever, certainly furnished evidence how heavily the testimony\nand example of a really estimable man weighs on the scale. The First\nLosunger interceded for the children as if they were his own daughters,\nattacked the slanderers, and of course I didn't leave him in the lurch.\"\n\n\"Peter Holzschuher declared that you defended them like the Roman\nCicero,\" cried Frau Christine merrily. \"But don't be vexed, dear husband;\nno matter how heavily the influence of the two Bertholds--Vorchtel's and\nyours--weighed in the balance, nay, had that of a third and a fourth of\nthe best Councillors been added, what is now taking place before our eyes\nand ears would not have happened, if---\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked the magistrate eagerly.\n\n\"If,\" replied the matron in a tone of the firmest conviction, \"they had\nnot all been far from believing, even for a moment, in their inmost souls\nthe shameful calumny which baseness dared to cast upon those two--just\nlook more closely.\"\n\n\"Yet if that was really the case--\" her husband began to object, but she\neagerly continued: \"Many did not utter their better knowledge or faith\nbecause the evil heart believes in wickedness rather than virtue,\nespecially if their own house contains something--we will say a young\ndaughter--whose shining purity is thereby brought into a clearer light.\nBesides, we ourselves have often been vexed by--let us do honour to the\ntruth!--by the defiant manner in which your devout godchild--yonder\n'little saint'--held aloof in her spiritual arrogance from the companions\nof her own age----\"\n\n\"And then,\" the corpulent husband added, \"two young girls cannot be\ncalled 'the beautiful Es' unpunished in houses which contain a less\ncomely T, S, and H. Just think of the Katerpecks. There--thank the\nsaints!--they are taking leave already.\"\n\n\"Don't say anything about them!\" said Frau Christine, shaking her finger\nthreateningly. \"They are good, well-behaved children. It was pretty\nErmengarde Muffel yonder by the fireplace who, after the dance at the\nTown Hall, assailed your godchild most spitefully with her sharp tongue.\nMy friend Frau Nutzel heard her.\"\n\n\"Ah, that dance!\" said the magistrate, sighing faintly. \"But the child\nwas certainly distinguished in no common way. The Emperor Rudolph himself\nlooked after her as if an angel had appeared to him. You yourself heard\nhis sister's opinion of her. Her husband, the old Burgrave, and his son,\nhandsome Eitelfritz--But you know all that. Half would have been enough\nto stir ill-will in many a heart.\"\n\n\"And to turn her pretty little head completely,\" added his wife.\n\n\"That, by our Lady, Christine,\" protested the magistrate, \"that, at\nleast, did not happen. It ran off from her like water from an oil jar. I\nnoticed it myself, and the abbess--\"\n\n\"Your sister,\" interrupted the matron thoughtfully, \"she was the very one\nwho led her into the path that is not suited for her.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" the magistrate eagerly asserted. \"God did not create a girl,\nthe mere sight of whom charms so many, to withdraw her from the gaze of\nthe world.\"\n\n\"Husband! husband!\" exclaimed Frau Christine, tapping his arm gaily. \"But\nthere go the Schurstabs and Ebners. What a noise there is in the street\nbelow!\"\n\nHer husband looked out of the bow window, pointed down, and asked her to\ncome and stand beside him. When she had risen he passed his arm around\nthe slenderest part of her waist, which, however, he could not quite\nclasp, and eagerly continued: \"Just look! One would think it was a\nbanquet or a dance. The whole street is filled with sedan-chairs,\nservants, and torch-bearers. A few hours ago the constables had hard work\nto prevent the deluded people from destroying the house of the profligate\nEs, and now one half of the distinguished honourable Councillors come to\npay their homage. Do you know, dear, what pleases the most in all this?\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked Frau Christine, turning her face towards him with a look of\neager enquiry, which showed that she expected to hear something good. But\nhe nodded slightly, and answered:\n\n\"We members of patrician families cling to old customs; each wants to\nkeep his individuality, as he would share or exchange his escutcheon with\nno one. Then, when one surpasses the rest in external things, whatever\nname they may bear, no one hastens to imitate him. We men are\nindependent, rugged fellows. But if the heart and mind of any one of us\nare bent upon something really good and which may be said to be pleasing\nin the sight of God, and he successfully executes it, then, Christine,\nthen--I have noticed it in a hundred instances--then the rest rush after\nhim like sheep after the bellwether.\"\n\n\"And this time you, and the other Berthold, were the leaders,\" cried Fran\nChristine, hastily pressing a kiss upon her old husband's cheek behind\nthe curtain.\n\nThen she turned back into the dusky chamber, pointed to the open door of\nthe sitting-room, and said, \"just look! If that isn't----There comes\nUrsula Vorchtel with her betrothed husband, young Hans Nutzel! What a\nfine-looking man the slender youth has become! Ursel--her visit is\nprobably the greatest pleasure which Els has had during this blessed\nhour.\"\n\nThe wise woman was right; for when Ursel held out her hands to her former\nfriend, whom she had studiously avoided so long, the eyes of both girls\nwere moist, and Els's cheeks alternately flushed and paled, like the play\nof light and shadow on the ground upon a sunny morning in a leafy wood\nwhen the wind sways the tree tops.\n\nWhat did they not have to say to each other! As soon as they were\nunnoticed a moment Ursel kissed her newly regained friend, and whispered,\npointing to her lover, with whom Fran Barbara Behaim was talking: \"He\nfirst taught me to know what true love is, and since then I have realised\nthat it was wrong and foolish for me to be angry with you, my dear Els,\nand that Wolff did right to keep his troth, hard as his family made it\nfor him to do so. Had my Hans met me a little sooner, we should not now\nhave to mourn our poor Ulrich. I know--for I have tried often enough to\nsoothe his resentment--how greatly he incensed your lover. Oh, how sad it\nall is! But your aunt, the abbess, was right when she told us before our\nconfirmation, 'When the cross that is imposed upon us weighs too heavily,\nan angel often comes, lifts it, and twines it with lovely roses!' That\nhas been my experience, dear Els; and what great injustice I did you when\nI kept out of your way so meanly! I always felt drawn to you. But when\nthat evil gossip began I turned against them all and bade them be silent\nin my presence, for it was all false, base lies. I upheld your Eva, too,\nas well as you, though she had been very ungracious whenever we met.\"\n\nHow joyously Els opened her heart to these confessions! How warmly she\ninterceded for her sister! The girls had passed their arms around each\nother, as if they had returned to the days of their childhood, and when\nUrsel's lover glanced at his betrothed bride, who, spite of her\nwell-formed figure and pleasant face, could not be classed amongst the\nmost beautiful of women, he thought she might compare in attractiveness\nwith the loveliest maidens, but no one could equal her in kindness of\nheart. She saw this in the warm, loving look with which he sought her\npleasant grey eyes, as he approached to remind her that it was time to\ngo; but beckoning to him, she begged him to wait just a moment longer,\nwhich she employed in whispering to Els: \"You should find shelter with\nus, and no one else, if my father----Don't think he refused to let me\ninvite you on account of poor Ulrich, or because he was angry with you.\nIt's only because----After the session to-day they all praised his noble\nheart, and I don't know what else, so loudly and with such exaggeration\nthat it was too much to believe. If he interceded for the Eysvogel firm\nand you poor children, it was only because, as a just man, he could not\ndo otherwise.\"\n\n\"Oh, Ursel!\" Els here interrupted, wishing to join in her father's\npraise; but the latter would not listen and eagerly continued:\n\n\"No, no, he really felt so. His modesty made him unwilling to awaken the\nbelief that he asked the betrothed bride of the man--you understand and\nher sister into his house, to set an example of Christian reconciliation.\nFalse praise, he says, weighs more heavily than disgrace. He has already\nheard more of it than he likes, and therefore, for no other reason, he\ndoes not open his house to you, but upon his counsel and his aid, he bids\nme tell you, you can confidently rely.\"\n\nThen the friends took leave of each other, and Ursula also embraced Eva,\nwho approached her with expressions of warm gratitude, kissed her, and\nsaid, as she went away, \"When next we meet, Miss Ungracious, I hope we\nshall no longer turn our backs on each other.\"\n\nWhen Ursel had gone with her lover, and most of the others had followed,\nEls felt so elated by thankfulness that she did not understand how her\nheart, burdened with such great and heavy anxieties, could be capable of\nrising to such rapturous delight.\n\nHow gladly she would have hastened to Wolff to give him his share of this\nfeeling! But, even had not new claims constantly pressed upon her, she\ncould on no account have sought his hiding-place at this hour.\n\nWhen the last guest and the abbess also had retired, Aunt Christine asked\nEls to pack whatever she and her sister needed for the removal to\nSchweinau, for Eva was to go there with her at once.\n\nCountess Cordula, who, much as she regretted the necessity of being\nseparated from her companions, saw that they were right to abandon the\nhouse from which their father had been torn, wanted to help Els, but just\nas the two girls were leaving the room a new visitor arrived--Casper\nTeufel, of the Council, a cousin of Casper Eysvogel, who had leaned on\nhis arm for support when he left the session that afternoon.\n\nEls would not have waited for any other guest, but this one, as his first\nwords revealed, came from the family to which she felt that she belonged,\nand the troubled face of the greyhaired, childless widower, who was\nusually one of the most jovial of men, as well as the unusually late hour\nof his call, indicated so serious a reason for his coming that she\nstopped, and with anxious urgency asked what news he had brought.\n\nIt was not unexpected, yet his brief report fell heavily on the heart of\nEls, which had just ventured to beat gaily and lightly.\n\nHer uncle and aunt, Eva and the countess, also listened to the story.\n\nHe had accompanied Casper Eysvogel to his home and remained with him\nwhilst, overflowing with resentment and vehement, unbridled complaints of\nthe injustice and despotism to which--owing specially to the hostility\nand self-conceit of old Berthold Vorchtel--he had fallen a victim, he\ninformed Fran Rosalinde and her mother what the Council had determined\nconcerning his own future and that of his family.\n\nWhen he finally reported that he himself and the ladies must leave the\nhouse and the city, Countess Rotterbach, with a scornful glance at her\ndeeply humiliated son-in-law, exclaimed, \"This is what comes of throwing\none's self away!\" The unfortunate man, already shaken to the inmost\ndepths of his being, sank on his knees.\n\nConrad Teufel had instantly placed him in bed and sent for the leech; but\neven after they had bathed his head with cold water and bled him he did\nnot regain consciousness. His left side seemed completely paralysed, and\nhis tongue could barely lisp a few unintelligible words.\n\nAt the leech's desire a Sister of Charity had been sent for. Isabella\nSiebenburg, the sufferer's daughter, had already gone with her twin sons,\nin obedience to her husband's wish, to Heideck Castle.\n\nShe had departed in anger, because she had vainly endeavoured to induce\nher mother and grandmother, who opposed her, to speak more kindly of her\nhusband. When they disparaged the absent man with cruel harshness, she\nfelt--she had told her cousin so--as if the infants could understand the\ninsult offered to their father, and, to protect the children even more\nthan herself, from her husband's feminine foes, she left the falling\nhouse, in spite of the entreaties and burning tears with which, in the\nhour of parting, her mother strove to detain her.\n\nEre her departure she gave her jewels and the silver which her\ngrandfather had bequeathed to her to Conrad Teufel, to satisfy the most\nurgent demands of her husband's creditors. Her father and she had parted\nkindly, and he made no attempt to oppose her.\n\nNo one except the Sister of Charity was now in attendance upon the old\ngentleman; for his wife wept and wailed without finding strength to do\nanything, and even reproached her own mother, whom she accused of having\nplunged them all into misfortune, and caused the stroke of paralysis from\nwhich her husband was suffering.\n\nThe grey-haired countess, the cousin went on, had passed from one attack\nof convulsions into another, and when he approached her had shrieked the\nwords \"ingratitude\" and \"base reward\" so shrilly at him, in various\ntones, that they were still ringing in his ears.\n\nEverything in the luckless household was out of gear, and its noble\nguest, the Duke von Gulich, would feel the consequences, for the servants\nhad lost their wits too. Spite of the countless men and maids, he had\nbeen obliged to go himself to the pump to get a glass of water for the\nsick man, and the fragments of the vase which the grandmother had flung\nat him with her own noble hand were still lying on the floor. His name\nwas Teufel--[devil]--but even in his home in Hades things could scarcely\nbe worse.\n\nWhen Herr Teufel at last paused, the magistrate and his wife exchanged a\nsignificant glance, while Eva gazed with deep suspense, and Cordula with\nearnest pity, at Els, who had listened to the story fairly panting for\nbreath.\n\nWhen she raised her tearful eyes to Herr Pfinzing and Frau Christine,\nsaying mournfully, \"I must beg you to excuse me, my dear aunt and uncle;\nyou have heard how much my Wolff's father needs me,\" all saw their\nexpectations fulfilled.\n\n\"Hard, hard!\" said the magistrate, patting her on the shoulder. \"Yet the\nlead with which we burden ourselves from kindly intentions becomes wood,\nor at last even feathers.\"\n\nBut Frau Christine was not content with uttering cheering words; she\noffered to accompany Els and secure the place to which she was entitled.\nFrau Rosalinde had formerly often visited the matron to seek counsel, and\nhad shown her, with embarrassing plainness, how willingly she admitted\nher superior ability. She disliked the old countess--but with whom would\nnot the self-reliant woman, conscious of her good intentions, have dared\nto cope? Since the daughter of the house had left her relatives, the\nplace beside his father's sick-bed belonged to the son's future wife.\nFrau Rosalinde was weak, but not the worst of women. \"Just wait, child,\"\nAunt Christine concluded, \"she will see soon enough what a blessing\nenters the house and the sick-room with you. We will try to erect a wall\nagainst the old woman's spite.\"\n\nConrad Teufel confessed that he had come with the hope of inducing Els,\nwho had nursed her own mother so skilfully and patiently, to make so\npraiseworthy a resolution. In taking leave he promised to keep a sharp\nlookout for her rights, and, if necessary, to show the old she-devil his\nown cloven foot.\n\nAfter he, too, had gone, the preparations for the sisters' departure were\ncommenced. Whilst Cordula was helping Eva to select the articles she\nwished to take to Schweinau, and her older sister, with Katterle's\nassistance, was packing the few pieces of clothing she needed as a nurse\nin the Eysvogel family, the countess offered to visit Herr Ernst in the\nwatch-tower early the following morning and tell him what detained his\ndaughters. Towards evening Eva could come into the city under the\nprotection of her aunt, who had many claims upon her the next day, and\nsee the prisoner.\n\nThis time, to the surprise of her sister, who had always relieved her of\nsuch cares, Eva herself did the packing. When she had finished she led\nthe weeping Katterle to her uncle, that she might beg for mercy upon her\nlover.\n\nThe magistrate was thoroughly aware of the course of affairs, and talked\nto the maid with the gentle manner, pervaded with genuine kindness of\nheart, which was one of his characteristics. Biberli had already been\nsubjected to an examination by torture; but even on the rack he had not\nsaid one word about his betrothed bride, and had resolutely denied\neverything which could criminate his master. A second trial awaited him\non the morrow, but the magistrate promised to do all in his power to\nobtain the mildest possible sentence for him. At any rate, like all whose\nblood was shed by a legal sentence, he would be sent to Schweinau to be\ncured, and as Katterle would accompany Eva there, she could find an\nopportunity of nursing her betrothed husband herself.\n\nWith these words he dismissed the girl, but when again alone with his\nwife he admitted to her that the poor fellow might easily fare\nbadly--nay, might even lose his tongue--if on the rack, which was one of\nthe instruments of torture to which he must again be subjected, he\nconfessed having forced his way into the house of an \"Honourable\" at\nnight. True, the fact that in doing so he had only followed his master,\nwould mitigate the offence. He must bind the judges to secrecy, should it\nprove impossible to avoid the necessity of informing them of Eva's\nsomnambulism. If the sentence were very severe, he might perhaps be able\nto delay its execution. Sir Heinz Schorlin, who stood high in the\nEmperor's favour, would then be asked to apply to the sovereign to annul\nit, or at any rate to impose a lighter punishment.\n\nHere he was interrupted by his nieces and Cordula, and soon after Frau\nChristine went out with Els to go to the Eysvogels. Herr Pfinzing\nremained with the others.\n\nA personage of no less distinction than the Duchess Agnes had complained\nto him of the reckless countess. Only yesterday she had ridden into the\nforest with her father, and when the young Bohemian princess met her,\nCordula's dogs had assailed her skittish Arabian so furiously that it\nwould have been difficult for a less practised rider to keep her seat in\nthe saddle. This time the docile animals had refused to obey their\nmistress, and the duchess expressed the suspicion that she had not\nintended to call them off; for, though she had carelessly apologised, she\nasked, as if the words were a gibe, if there was anything more delightful\nthan to curb a refractory steed. She had an answer ready for Cordula,\nhowever, and retorted that the disobedience of her dogs proved that, if\nshe understood how to obtain from horses what she called the greatest\ndelight, she certainly failed in the case of other living creatures. She\ntherefore offered her royal condolence on the subject.\n\nThen she remarked to the magistrate that the incident had occurred in the\nimperial forest where, as she understood, the unrestricted wandering of\nstrange hunting dogs was prohibited. Therefore, in future, Countess von\nMontfort might be required to leave hers at home when she rode to the\nwoods.\n\nThe magistrate now brought the complaint to the person against whom it\nwas made, adopting a merry jesting tone, in which Cordula gaily joined.\n\nWhen the old gentleman asked whether she had previously angered the\nirritable princess, she answered laughing, \"The saints have hitherto\ndenied to the wife of the Emperor's son, as well as to other girls of\nthirteen or fourteen, the blessing of children, so she likes to play with\ndolls. She chanced to prefer the same one for which she saw me stretch\nout my hands.\"\n\nThe old magistrate vainly sought to understand this jest; but Eva knew\nwhom the countess meant by the doll, and it grieved her to see two women\nhostile to each other, seeking to amuse themselves with one who bore so\nlittle resemblance to a toy, and to whom she looked up with all the\nearnestness of a soul kindled by the deepest passion.\n\nWhile the magistrate and the countess were gaily arguing and jesting\ntogether she sat silent, and the others did not disturb her.\n\nAfter a long time Frau Christine returned. Traces of tears were plainly\nvisible, though she had tried, whilst in the sedan-chair, to efface them.\nThe scenes which Els had experienced at the Eysvogels' had certainly been\nfar worse than she had feared--nay, the old countess's attack upon her\nwas so insulting, Frau Rosalinde's helpless grief and Herr Casper's\ncondition were so pitiable, that she had thought seriously of bringing\nthe poor girl back with her, and removing her from these people who, she\nwas sure, would make Els's life a torment as soon as she herself had\ngone.\n\nThe grandmother's enquiry whether Jungfrau Ortlieb expected to find her\nSwiss gallant there, and similar insolent remarks, seemed fairly steeped\nwith rancour.\n\nWhat a repulsive spectacle the old woman, utterly bereft of dignity,\npresented as with solemn mockery she courtesied to Els again and again,\nas if announcing herself her most humble servant; but the poor child kept\nsilence until Frau Christine herself spoke, and assigned her niece to the\nplace beside Herr Casper's sick-bed, which no one else could fill so\nwell.\n\nStillness reigned in this chamber, and Els scarcely had occasion to dread\nmuch disturbance, for the countess had been strictly forbidden to enter\nthe sufferer's room. Frau Rosalinde seemed to fear the sight of the\nhelpless man, and the Sister of Charity was a strong, resolute woman, who\nwelcomed Els with sincere cordiality, and promised Frau Christine to let\nno evil befall her.\n\nThe sedan-chairs were already waiting outside, and the lady would have\ngladly deferred her account of these sorrowful events until later, but\nCordula so affectionately desired to learn how her friend had fared in\nher lover's home, that she hurriedly and swiftly gratified her wish.\nSpeaking of the matter relieved her heart, and in a somewhat calmer mood\nshe was carried to Schweinau.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nThe little Pfinzing castle in Schweinau was neither spacious nor\nsplendid, but it was Fran Christine's favourite place of abode.\n\nThe heat of summer found no entrance through the walls--three feet in\nthickness--of the ancient building. Early in the morning and at evening\nit was pleasant to stay in the arbour, a room open in the front,\nextending the whole length of the edifice, where one could breathe the\nfresh air even during rainy weather. It overlooked the herb garden, which\nwas specially dear to its mistress, for it contained roses, lilies,\npinks, and other flowers; and part of the beds, after being dug by the\ngardener, who had charge of the kitchen garden in the rear, were planted\nand tended by her own hand.\n\nThe hour between sunrise and mass was devoted to this work, in which Eva\nwas to help her, and it would afford her much information; for her aunt\nraised many plants which possessed healing power. Some of the seeds or\nbulbs had been brought from foreign lands, but she was perfectly familiar\nwith the virtues of all. Schweinau afforded abundant opportunity to use\nthem, and the nurses in the city hospital, and the leech Otto, and other\nphysicians, as well as many noble dames in the neighbourhood who took the\nplace of a physician among their peasants and dependents, applied to Fran\nChristine when they needed certain roots, leaves, berries, and seeds for\ntheir sick. Nor did the monks and nuns, far and near, ever come to her\nfor such things in vain.\n\nTrue, the life at Castle Schweinau was by no means so quiet as the one\nwhich Eva had hitherto loved.\n\nWhen she accepted the invitation she knew that, if she shared all her\naunt's occupations, she would not have even a single half hour of her\nown; but this was not her first visit here, and she had learned that Frau\nChristine allowed her entire liberty, and required nothing which she did\nnot offer of her own free will.\n\nWhen she saw the matron, after the mass and the early repast which her\nhusband shared with her before going to the city, visit the aged widows\nof the crusaders in the little institution behind the kitchen garden and\ninspect and regulate the work of the Beguines, she often wondered where\nthis woman, whose age was nearer seventy than sixty, found strength for\nall this, as well as the duties which followed. First there were orders\nto give in the kitchen that the principal meal, after the vesper bells\nhad rung, should always win from the master of the house the \"Couldn't be\nbetter,\" which his wife heard with the same pleasure as ever. Then, after\nvisiting the wash-house, the bleachcry, the linen presses, the cellar,\nthe garret, and even the beehives to see that everything was in order,\nand emerging from the hands of the maid as a well-dressed noblewoman, she\nreceived visit after visit. Members of the patrician families of\nNuremberg arrived; monks and nuns on various errands for their cloisters\nand their poor; gentlemen and ladies from ecclesiastical and secular\ncircles, in both city and country, among them frequently the most\naristocratic attendants of the Reichstag; for she numbered the Burgrave\nand his wife among her friends, and when questioned about the Nuremberg\nwomen, the Burgrave Frederick mentioned her as second to none in ability,\nshrewdness, and kindness of heart.\n\nBoth he and his worthy wife sometimes sought her in the sphere of\noccupation which consumed the lion's share of her time and strength--the\nsuperintendence of the Schweinau hospital. True, she often let days\nelapse without entering it; but if anything went wrong and her assistance\nwas desirable or necessary in serious cases, she remained there until\nlate at night, or even until the following morning.\n\nAt such times even the most distinguished visitors were sent home with\nthe message that Frau Christine could not leave the sick.\n\nThe Burgrave and his wife were the only persons permitted to follow her\ninto the hospital, and they had probably gained the privilege of speaking\nto her there because they were among its most liberal supporters, and\nthree of their sons wore the cross of the Knights Hospitaller, and often\nspent weeks there, as the rule of the order prescribed, in nursing the\nsufferers.\n\nWomen also had the right to enter the hospital to be cured of the wounds\ninflicted by the scourge or the iron of the executioner.\n\nEach sufferer was to be nursed there only three days, but Frau Christine\ntook care that no one to whom such treatment might be harmful should be\nput out. The Honourable Council was obliged, willing or unwilling, to\ndefray the necessary expense. The magistrate had many a battle to fight\nfor these encroachments, but he always found a goodly majority on the\nside of the hospital and his wife. If the number of those who required\nlonger nursing increased too rapidly they did not spare their own fine\nresidence.\n\nThe hospital and the hope of being allowed to help within its walls had\nbrought Eva to Schweinau. The experiences of the past few days had swept\nthrough the peace of her young soul like a tempest, overthrowing firmly\nbuilt structures and fanning glimmering sparks to flames. Since her quiet\nself-examination in the room of the city clerk, she had known what she\nlacked and what duty required her to become. The bond which united her to\nher saint and the Saviour still remained, but she knew what was commanded\nby him from whom St. Clare's mission also came, what Francis of Assisi\nhad enjoined upon his followers whose experiences had been like hers.\n\nThey were to strive to restore peace to their perturbed souls by faithful\ntoil for their brothers and sisters; and what toil better suited a feeble\ngirl like herself than the alleviation of her unhappy neighbour's\nsuffering? The harder the duties imposed upon her in the service of love,\nthe better. She would set to work in the hope of making herself the true,\nresolute woman which her mother, with the eyes of the soul, had seen her\nfragile child become; but she could imagine nothing more difficult than\nthe tasks to be fulfilled here. This was the real fierce heat of the\nforge fire to which the dead woman had wished to entrust her purification\nand transformation. She would not shun, but hasten to it. While her lover\nwas wielding the sword she, too, had a battle to fight. She had heard\nfrom Biberli that Heinz wished to undergo the most severe trials. This\nwas noble, and her enthusiastic nature, aspiring to the loftiest goal,\nwas filled with the same desire. Eager to learn how they would bear the\ntest, she scanned her young shoulders and gazed at the burden which she\nintended to lay upon them.\n\nWhen, the year before, her aunt took her to the hospital for the first\ntime, she had returned home completely unnerved. She had not even had the\nslightest suspicion that there was such suffering on earth, such pain\namongst those near her, such depravity amongst those of her own sex. What\ncomparison was there between what Els had done for her gentle, patient\nmother, or what she would do for old Herr Casper, who lay in a soft\nbed--it had been shown to her as something of rare beauty, of ebony and\nivory--and the task of nursing these infamous gallows-birds bleeding from\nsevere wounds, and these depraved sick women? But if God's own Son gave\nup His life amidst the most cruel suffering for sinful humanity, how\ndared she, the weak, erring, slandered girl, who had no goodness save her\npassionate desire to do what was right, shrink from helping the most\npitiable of her neighbours? Here in the hospital at Schweinau lay the\nheavy burden which she wished to take upon herself.\n\nShe desired it also in order to maintain the bond which had united her to\nthe Saviour. She would be constantly reminded here of his own words,\n\"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren,\nye have done it unto me.\" To become a bride of Jesus Christ and, closely\nunited to Him in her inmost soul, await the hour when He would open His\ndivine arms to her, had seemed the fairest lot in life. Now she had\npledged herself in the world to another, and yet she did not wish to give\nup her Saviour. She desired to show Him that though she neither could nor\nwould resign her earthly lover, her heart still throbbed for the divine\nOne as tenderly as of yore. And could He who was Love incarnate condemn\nher, when He saw how, without even being permitted to hope that her lover\nwould find his way back to her, she clung with inviolable steadfastness\nto her troth, though no one save He and His heavenly Father had witnessed\nher silent vow?\n\nShe belonged to Heinz, and he--she knew it--to her. Even though later,\nafter all the world had acknowledged her innocence, the walls of convent\nand monastery divided them, their souls would remain indissolubly united.\nIf there should be no meeting for them here below, in the other world the\nSaviour would lead them to each other the more surely, the more\nobediently they strove to fulfil His divine command. As Heinz desired to\ntake up the cross in imitation of Christ she, too, would bear it. It was\nto be found beside the straw pallets of the wounded criminals. The\nfulfilment of every hard duty which she voluntarily performed seemed like\na step that brought her nearer to the Saviour, and at the same time to\nthe union with her lover, even though in another world.\n\nThe first request she made to her aunt on the way to mass, early in the\nmorning of the first day of her stay in Schweinau, was an entreaty for\npermission to work in the hospital. It was granted, but not until the\neyes of the experienced woman, ever prompt in decision, had rested with\nanxious hesitation upon the beautiful face and exquisite lithe young\nfigure. The thought that it would be a pity for such lovely, pure,\nstainless girlish charms to be used in the service of these outcasts had\nalmost determined her to utter a resolute \"No\"; but she did not do it;\nnay, a flush of shame crimsoned her face as her eyes rested on the image\nof the crucified Redeemer which stood beside the road leading to the\nlittle village church; for whom had He, the Most High, summoned to His\nservice and deemed specially worthy of the kingdom of heaven? The\nsimple-hearted, the children, the adulterers, the sinners and publicans,\nthe despised, and the poor! No, no, it would not degrade the lovely child\nto help the miserable creatures yonder, any more than it did the rarest\nplant which she raised in her herb garden when she used it to heal the\nhurts of some abandoned wretch.\n\nAnd besides, with what deep loathing she herself had gone to the hospital\nat first, and how fully conscious of her own infinite superiority she had\nreturned from amongst these depraved beings to the outdoor air.\n\nYet how this feeling, which had stirred within her heart, gradually\nchanged!\n\nDuring her closer acquaintance with the poor and the despised, the nature\nand work of Christ first became perfectly intelligible to her; for how\nmany traits of simple, self-sacrificing readiness to help, what touching\ncontentment and grateful joy in the veriest trifle, what childlike piety\nand humble resignation even amidst intolerable suffering, these\nunfortunates had shown! Nay, when she had become familiar with the lives\nof many of her protegees and learned how they had fallen into the hands\nof the executioner and reached Schweinau, she had asked herself whether,\nunder similar circumstances, the majority of those who belonged to her\nown sphere in life would not have found the way there far more speedily,\nand whether they would have endured the punishment inflicted half so\npatiently or with so much freedom from bitterness and rebellion against\nthe decrees of the Most High. She had discovered salutary sap in many a\nhuman plant that had at first seemed absolutely poisonous; where she had\nshrunk from touching such impurity, violets and lilies had bloomed amidst\nthe mire. Instead of holding her head haughtily erect, she had often left\nthe hospital with a sense of shame, and it was long since she had ceased\nto use the proud privilege of her rank to despise people of lower degree.\nIf sometimes tempted to exercise it, the impulse was roused far more\nfrequently by those of her own station, who were base in mind and heart,\nthan by the sufferers in the hospital.\n\nShe had become very modest in regard to herself, why should she wake to\nnew life the arrogance now hushed in Eva's breast?\n\nMuch secret distress of mind and anguish of soul had been endured by the\npoor child, who yesterday had opened her whole heart to her, when she\nwent to rest in her chamber. How lowly she felt, how humble was the\nlittle saint who recently had elevated herself above others only too\nquickly and willingly! It would do her good to descend to the lowest\nranks and measure her own better fate by their misery. She who felt\nbereaved could always be the giver in the hospital, and she felt with\nsubtle sympathy what attracted Eva to her sufferers.\n\nThe magistrate's wife was a religious matron, devoted to her Church, but\nin her youth she had been by no means fanatical. The Abbess Kunigunde,\nher younger sister, however, had fought before her eyes the conflict of\nthe soul, which had finally sent the beautiful, much-admired girl within\nconvent walls. No one except her quiet, silent sister Christine had been\npermitted to witness the mental struggle, and the latter now saw repeated\nin her young niece what Kunigunde had experienced so many years before.\nDifficult as it had then been for her to understand the future abbess,\nnow, after watching many a similar contest in others, it was easy to\nfollow every emotion in Eva's soul.\n\nDuring a long and happy married life, in which year by year mutual\nrespect had increased, the magistrate and his wife had finally attained\nthe point of holding the same opinions on important questions; but when\nHerr Berthold returned from the city, and finding Eva already at the\nhospital, told his wife, at the meal which she shared with him, that from\nhis point of view she ought to have strenuously opposed her niece's\ndesire, and he only hoped that her compliance might entail no disastrous\nconsequences upon the excitable, sensitive child, the remarkable thing\nhappened that Frau Christine, without as usual being influenced by him,\ninsisted upon her own conviction.\n\nSo it happened that this time the magistrate was robbed of the little nap\nwhich usually followed the meal, and yet, in spite of the best will to\nyield, he could not do his wife the favour of allowing himself to be\nconvinced. Still, he did not ask her to retract the consent which she had\nonce given, so Eva was permitted to continue to visit the hospital.\n\nThe nurse, a woman of estimable character and strong will, would\nfaithfully protect her whatever might happen. Frau Christine had placed\nthe girl under her special charge, and the Beguine Hildegard, a woman of\nnoble birth and the widow of a knight who had yielded his life in Italy\nfor the Emperor Frederick, received her with special warmth because she\nhad a daughter whom, just at Eva's age, death had snatched from her.\n\nYet the magistrate would not be soothed. Not until he saw from the\narbour, whilst the dessert still remained on the table; Cordula riding up\non horseback did he cease recapitulating his numerous objections and go\nto meet the countess.\n\nTo his straightforward mind and calm feelings the most incomprehensible\nthing had been Frau Christine's description of the soul-life of her\nsister and her niece. He knew the terrible impressions which even a man\ncould not escape amongst the rabble in the hospital, and had used the\ncomparison that what awaited Eva there was like giving a weak child\npepper.\n\nAs Countess Cordula, aided by the old man's hand, swung herself from the\nsaddle of her spirited dappled steed, he thought: \"If it were she who\nwanted to tend our sick rascals instead of the delicate Eva, I wouldn't\nobject. She'd manage Satan himself whilst my little godchild was holding\nintercourse with her angels in heaven.\"\n\nIn the arbour Cordula explained why she had not come before; but her\naccount told the elderly couple nothing new.\n\nWhen she went to see Ernst Ortlieb in the watch-tower that morning he had\nalready been taken to the Town Hall. No special proceedings were\nrequired, since he was his own accuser, and many trustworthy witnesses\ndeposed that he had been most grossly irritated--nay, as his advocate\nrepresented, had wounded the tailor in self-defence. Yet Ernst Ortlieb\ncould not be dismissed from imprisonment at once, because the tailor's\nrepresentative demanded a much larger amount of blood-money than the\ncourt was willing to grant. The wound was not dangerous to life, but\nstill prevented his leaving his bed and appearing in person before his\njudges. The candle-dealer was nursing him in his own house and\ninstigating him to make demands whose extravagance roused the judges'\nmirth. As after a tedious discussion Meister Seubolt still insisted upon\nthem, the magistrates from the Council and the Chief of Police, who\ncomposed the court, advised Herr Ernst to have the sentence deferred and\nrecognise the tailor's claim that his case belonged to the criminal\ncourt. Out of consideration for the citizens and the excited state of the\nwhole guild of tailors, it seemed advisable to avoid any appearance of\npartiality, yet in that case the self-accuser must submit to imprisonment\nuntil the sentence was pronounced. This delay, however, was of trivial\nimportance; for Herr Pfinzing had promised his brother-in-law that his\ncause should be considered and settled on the following day.\n\nHerr Berthold had told his wife all this soon after his return, and\nadded, with much admiration of the valiant fellow's steadfastness, that\nBiberli, Sir Heinz Schorlin's servant, had again been subjected to an\nexamination by torture and was racked far more severely than justice\ncould approve.\n\nThe countess reported that after her friend's father had been taken back\nto the watch-tower a few hours before, she had found him in excellent\nspirits.\n\nTrue, the Burgrave von Zollern had not come to visit him in person, like\nmany \"Honourables\" and gentlemen, but he had sent his son Eitelfritz to\nenquire how he fared, and the prisoner was occupied with the petition\nwhich he wished to send the sovereign the next day through Meister\nGottlieb von Passau, the Emperor Rudolph's protonotary. He had told\nCordula, with a resolute air, that it contained the charge that Sir Heinz\nSchorlin had found his way into his house at night, and would not even\nsuffer her to finish her entreaty to omit the accusation. \"And now,\" the\ncountess added mournfully, \"I urge you, to whom the young girl is dear,\nto consider the pitiable manner in which, by her own father's folly,\nEva's name will be on the tongues of the whole court, and what the\ngossips throughout the city will say about the poor child in connection\nwith such an accusation.\"\n\nFrau Pfinzing sighed heavily, and rose, but her husband, who perceived\nher intention, stopped her with the remark that it would be useless to go\nthat day, for the sun was already setting and the watchtower was closed\nat nightfall.\n\nThis induced the matron to return to her seat; but she had scarcely\ntouched the easy-chair ere she again rose and told the servant to saddle\nthe big bay. She would ride to the city on horseback this time; the\nbearers moved too slowly. Then turning to her husband, she said gaily:\n\n\"I thank you for the excuse you have made for me, but I cannot use it in\nthis case. My foolish brother must on no account make the charge which\nwill expose his daughter; it would be a serious misfortune were I to\narrive too late. What is the use of being the wife of the imperial\nmagistrate, if a Nuremberg drawbridge cannot be raised for me even after\nsunset? If the petition has already gone, I must see Meister Gottlieb.\nTrue, it was not to be sent until to-morrow, but there is nothing of\nwhich we are more glad to rid ourselves than the disagreeable\ntransactions from which we shrink. Give me a pass for the warder,\nPfinzing; and you, Countess, excuse me; it is you who send me away.\"\n\nWhilst the maid brought her headkerchief and her cloak, and the\nmagistrate in a low tone told he servant to have his horse ready, too,\nFrau Christine asked Cordula to bring Eva from the hospital, if she felt\nno disgust at the sight of common people suffering from wounds.\n\n\"The huts of our wood-cutters, labourers, and fishermen look cleaner, it\nis true, than the hovels of the charcoal burners and quarrymen in the\nMontfort forests and mountains; yet none of them are perfumed with\nsandal-wood and attar of roses, and the blow of the axe which gashes one\nof our wood-cutter's flesh presents a similar spectacle to the wounds\nwhich your criminals bring with them to Schweinau. And let me tell you, I\nam the leech in Montfort, and unless death is near, and the chaplain\naccompanies me bearing the sacrament, I often go alone with the\nmanservant, the maid, or the pages who carry my medicines. Since I grew\nup I have attended to our sick, and I cannot tell you how many fractures,\nwounds, hurts, and fevers I have cured or seen progress to a fatal end. I\nstand godmother to nearly all the newborn infants in our villages and\nhamlets. The mothers whom I nurse insist upon it. There are almost as\nmany Cordulas as girls on the Montfort estates, and in many a hut there\nare two or three of them. Michel the fisherman has a Cordula, a Cordel,\nand a Dulla. Therefore it follows that I am accustomed to severe wounds,\nthough my heart often aches at the sight of them. I know how to bandage\nas well as a barber, and, if necessary, can even use the knife.\"\n\n\"I thought so,\" cried the magistrate, much comforted. \"Set my delicate\nlittle Eva an example if her courage fails; or, what would be still\nbetter, if you see that the horrible business goes too much against the\ngrain, persuade her to give up work which requires stronger hands and a\nless sensitive nature. But there are the horses already. I want to go to\nthe city, too, Christel, and it's lucky that I don't have to go alone at\nnight.\"\n\n\"So said the man who jumped in to save somebody from drowning,\" replied\nFran Christine laughing: \"It's lucky it happened, because I was just\ngoing to take a bath!\" But it pleased her to have her husband's\ncompanionship, and she did not approach her horse until he had examined\nthe saddle-girth and the bridle with the utmost care.\n\nBefore putting her foot in the stirrup, she told the old housekeeper to\ntake Countess von Montfort to the hospital and commend her to the special\ncare of Sister Hildegard. She would call for Cordula and Eva on her\nreturn from the city; but they must not wait for her should the strength\nof either fail. She had ordered a sedan-chair to be kept ready for her\nniece at the hospital. A second one would be at the countess's disposal.\n\n\"That's what I call foresight!\" cried the magistrate laughing. \"Only, my\ndear countess, see that our little saint doesn't attempt anything too\nhard. Her pious heart would run her little head against the wall if\nmatters came to that and, like the noble Moorish steeds, she would drop\ndead in her tracks rather than stop. Such a delicate creature is like a\nlute. When the key is raised higher and higher the string snaps, and we\nwant to avoid that. With you, my young heroine----\"\n\n\"There is no danger of that kind,\" Cordula gaily protested. \"This\ninstrument is provided with metal strings; the tone is neither sweet nor\nmusical, but they are durable.\"\n\n\"Good, firm material, such as I like,\" the magistrate declared. Then he\nhelped his wife mount her horse, placed the bridle in her left hand,\nlooked at the saddle-girth again, and, spite of his corpulence, swung\nhimself nimbly enough on his strong steed. Then, with Frau Christine, he\ntrotted after the torch-bearers towards the city.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nThe drawbridge before the watch-tower was promptly lowered for the\nimperial magistrate and his wife. He would have dissuaded Frau Chris the\nfrom the ride and come alone, had not experience taught him that Ernst\nOrtlieb was more ready to listen to her than to him. But they came too\nlate; just before sunset Herr Ernst had availed himself of the visit of\nthe imperial forester, Waldstromer, to give him the petition to convey to\nthe protonotary, by whom it was to reach the Emperor. Nor did he regret\nthis decision, but insisted that his duty as a father and a Nuremberg\n\"Honourable\" would not permit the wrong done to his child and his\nhousehold by a foreign knight to pass unpunished.\n\nTrue, Fran Christine exerted all her powers of persuasion to change his\nopinion, and her husband valiantly supported her, but they accomplished\nnothing except to gain the prisoner's consent that if the paper had not\nyet reached the Emperor the protonotary might defer its presentation\nuntil he was asked for it.\n\nHerr Ernst had made this concession after the magistrate's representation\nthat Sir Heinz Schorlin had been subjected to an experience which had\nstirred the inmost depths of his soul, and soon after had been\nunexpectedly sent in pursuit of the Siebenburgs. Hence he had found no\ntime to speak to the father. If he persisted in his intention of entering\na monastery, the petition would be purposeless. If it proved that he was\nmerely trifling with Eva, there would be time enough to call upon the\nEmperor to punish him. Besides, he knew from Maier of Silenen that the\nknight had firmly resolved to renounce the world.\n\nBut the magistrate and his wife did not take their nocturnal ride in\nvain, for after leaving the watch-tower they met the protonotary at St.\nSebald's. He had received the petition, but had not yet delivered it to\nhis royal master, and promised to withhold it for a time.\n\nRejoicing over this success, Herr Pfinzing accompanied Fran Christine,\nwho wanted to visit Els, to the Eysvogel residence.\n\nThe din of many voices and loud laughter greeted them from the spacious\nentry. Three mendicant friars, with overflowing pouches, pressed past\nthem, and two others were still standing with the men and the\nmaidservants assembled in the light of the lanterns. They had filled the\nbarefooted monks' bags, for the salvation of their own souls, with the\nprovisions of the house, and were talking garrulously, already half\nintoxicated by the jugs of wine which the butler willingly filled to earn\na sweet reward from the young maids, who eagerly sought the favour of the\nrotund bachelor whose hair was just beginning to turn grey.\n\nThe magistrate's entrance startled them, and the butler vainly strove to\nhide a large jar whose shape betrayed that it came from Sicily and\ncontained the noble vintage of Syracuse. Two of the maids slid under\ntheir aprons the big hams and pieces of roast meat with which they had\nalready begun to regale themselves.\n\nHerr Berthold, smiling sadly, watched the conduct of the masterless\nservants; then raising his cap, bowed with the utmost respect to the\ndisconcerted revellers, and said courteously, \"I hope it will agree with\nyou all.\"\n\nThe startled group looked sheepishly at one another. The butler was the\nonly person who quickly regained his composure, came forward to the\nmagistrate cap in hand, and said obsequiously that he and his\nfellow-servants were in evil case. The house had no master. No one knew\nfrom whom he or she was to receive orders. Most of them had been\ndischarged by the Honourable Councillor, but no one knew when he was to\nleave or whom to ask for his wages.\n\nThe magistrate then informed them that Herr Wolff Eysvogel had the right\nto give orders, and during his absence his betrothed bride, Jungfrau Els\nOrtlieb. The next morning a member of the Council would examine the\nclaims of each, pay the wages, and with Frau Rosalinde and Jungfrau Els\ndetermine the other matters.\n\nThe butler had imbibed a goodly share of the noble wine. His fat cheeks\nglowed, and at the magistrate's last remark he laughed softly: \"If we\nwait for the folk upstairs to agree we shall stay here till the Pegnitz\nflows up the valley. Just listen to their state of harmony, sir!\"\n\nIn fact the shrill, angry accents of a woman's loud voice, with which\nmingled deeper tones that were very familiar to Herr Berthold, echoed\ndown into the entry. It certainly looked ill for the concord of the women\nof the house; yet the magistrate could not permit the unprincipled\nservant's insolence to pass unpunished, so he answered quietly:\n\n\"You are right, fellow. One can put a stop to this shameful conduct more\nquickly than several, and by virtue of my office I will therefore be the\none to command here. You will leave this house and service to-morrow.\"\n\nBut when the angry butler, with the hoarse tones of a drunkard, declared\nthat in Nuremberg none save rascals were turned out of doors directly\nafter a discharge, the magistrate, with grave dignity, cut him short by\nremarking that he would do better not to bring before the magistrates the\nquestion of what beseemed the servant who wasted the valuable property\nentrusted to his care, as had been done here.\n\nWith these words he pointed to the spot where the jug of wine which he\nhad plainly seen was only half concealed, and the threat silenced the\nman, whose conscience reproached him far more than Herr Pfinzing could\nimagine.\n\nMeanwhile quiet had not been restored upstairs. Frau Christine had\nreleased Els from a store-room in which the old countess, after\npersuading her daughter to this spiteful and childish trick, had locked\nher. A serious discussion amongst the women followed, which was closed\nonly by the interposition of the magistrate. Perhaps this might have been\naccomplished less quickly had not the leech Otto appeared as a welcome\naid.\n\nFrau Rosalinde penitently besought forgiveness, her mother was again\nforbidden to come to the lower story, and threatened, if she approached\nthe sick-room, with immediate removal from the house.\n\nThis strictness was necessary to render it possible for Els to maintain\nher difficult position.\n\nThe day had been filled with painful incidents and shameful humiliations.\nThe old countess had summoned two relatives, both elderly canonesses, to\naid her in her assault upon the intruder, and perhaps they were the\npersons who advised locking up Sir Casper's nurse, to whom they denied\nthe right of still calling herself the bride of the young master of the\nhouse.\n\nFrau Christine had arrived at the right time. Els was beginning to lose\ncourage. She had found nothing which could aid her to sustain it.\n\nSince Biberli had been deprived of his liberty she had rarely heard from\nWolff, and his invalid father, for whose sake she remained in the house,\nseemed to view her with dislike. At first he had tried neither to speak\nto nor look at her, but that morning, while raising a refreshing cup to\nhis parched lips, he had cast at her from the one eye whose lid still\nmoved a glance whose enmity still haunted her.\n\nEven the priest who visited him several times was by no means kindly\ndisposed towards her. He belonged to the Dominican order, and was the\nconfessor of the old countess and Frau Rosalinde. They must have\nslandered her sorely to him; and as the order of St. Francis, to which\nthe Sisters of St. Clare belonged, was a thorn in his flesh, he bore her\na grudge because, as the Abbess Kunigunde's niece, she stood by her and\nher convent, and threatened to win the Eysvogel household over to the\nFranciscans.\n\nBefore the magistrate and his wife left their niece, Herr Berthold\nordered the men and maidservants to stand in separate rows, then, in the\nphysician's presence, introduced Els to them as the mistress whom they\nwere to obey, and requested her to choose those whose services she wished\nto retain. The rest would be compensated at the Town Hall the next day\nfor their abrupt dismissal.\n\nEls had never found it harder to say good-by to her relatives; but the\nleech Otto remained with her some time, and was soon joined by Conrad\nTeufel, thereby rendering it a little easier for her to persist in the\nperformance of her difficult duty. On the way home to Schweinau the\nmagistrate and his wife talked together as eagerly as if they had just\nmet after a long separation. They had gone back to the query how nursing\nthe wounded criminals would affect Eva, and both hoped that Cordula's\npresence and encouragement would strengthen her power of resistance.\n\nBut what did this mean?\n\nAs they approached the little castle they saw from the road in the\narbour, which was lighted with links, the figure of the countess. She was\nsitting in Frau Christine's easy chair, but Eva was nowhere in view. Had\nher strength failed, and was Cordula awaiting their return after putting\nher more delicate friend to bed? And Boemund Altrosen, who stood opposite\nto her, leaning against one of the pillars which supported the arched\nceiling of the room, how came he here? The Pfinzings had known him from\nearly childhood, for his father had been a dear friend and brother in\narms of the magistrate; and--whilst Boemund, as a boy, was enjoying the\ninstruction of the Benedictines in the monastery of St. AEgidius, he had\nbeen a favourite comrade of Frau Christine's son, who had fallen in\nbattle, and always found a cordial reception in his parents' house.\n\nWith what tender anxiety the knight gazed into Cordula's pale face!\nSomething must have befallen the blooming, vigorous huntress and daring\nhorsewoman, and both Herr Berthold and his wife feared that it concerned\nEva.\n\nThe young couple now perceived their approach, and Cordula, rising, waved\nher handkerchief to them. Yet how slowly she rose, how feebly the\nvivacious girl moved her hand.\n\nHerr Berthold helped his wife from the saddle as quickly as possible, and\nboth hurried anxiously towards the arbour. Frau Christine did not remain\nin the winding path, but though usually she strictly insisted that no one\nshould tread on the turf, hastily crossed it to reach her goal more\nquickly. But ere she could put the question she longed to ask, Cordula\nsorrowfully exclaimed: \"Don't judge me too severely. 'He who exalts\nhimself shall be humbled,' says the Bible, and also that the first shall\nbe last, and the last first; but I have been forced to sit upon the\nground whilst Eva occupies the throne. I belong at the end of the last\nrank, whilst she leads the foremost.\"\n\n\"Please explain the riddle at once,\" pleaded Frau Christine.\n\nSir Boemund Altrosen came forward, held out his hand to his old friend,\nand spoke for Cordula \"The horror and loathsomeness were too much for\nher, whilst Jungfrau Ortlieb endured them.\"\n\n\"Eva remained at the hospital,\" the countess added dejectedly, \"because a\ndying woman would not let her go; whilst I--the knight is right--could\nbear it no longer.\"\n\nFrau Christine glanced triumphantly at her husband, but when she saw\nCordula's pale cheeks she exclaimed: \"Poor child! And there was no one\nhere to----One moment, Countess!\"\n\nThrowing down her riding-whip and gloves as she spoke, she was hurrying\ntowards the sideboard on which stood the medicine-case, to prepare a\nstrengthening drink; but Cordula stopped her, saying: \"The housekeeper\nhas already supplied the necessary stimulant. I will only ask to have my\nhorse brought to the door, or my father will be anxious. I was obliged to\nawait your return, because----Well, my flight from the hospital certainly\nwas not praiseworthy, and it affords me no special pleasure to confess\nit. But you must not think me even more pitiful than I proved myself, so\nI stayed to tell you myself----\"\n\n\"That it is one thing,\" interrupted Sir Boemund, \"to nurse worthy\nwood-cutters, gamekeepers, fishermen, and charcoal-burners, who, when\nwounded and ill, look up to their gracious mistress as if she were an\nangel of deliverance, and quite a different matter to mingle with the\nmiserable rabble yonder. The bloody stripes which the executioner's lash\ncuts in the criminal's back do not render him more gentle; the mutilation\nwhich he curses, and the disgrace with which an abandoned woman----\"\n\n\"Stop!\" interrupted Cordula, whose lips and cheeks had again grown\ncolourless. \"Do not mention those scenes which have poisoned my soul. It\nwas too hideous, too terrible! And how the woman with the red band around\nher neck, the mark of the rope by which she carried the stone, rushed at\nthe other whose eye had been put out! how they fought on the floor,\nscratching, biting, tearing each other's hair----\"\n\nHere the tender-hearted girl, covering her convulsed face with her hands,\nsobbed aloud.\n\nFrau Christine drew her compassionately to her heart, pressed the\nmotherless child's head to her bosom, and let her weep her fill there,\nwhilst the magistrate said to Sir Boemund: \"And Eva Ortlieb also\nwitnessed this hideous scene, yet the delicate young creature endured\nit?\"\n\nAltrosen nodded assent, adding eagerly, as if some memory rose vividly\nbefore him: \"She often looked distressed by these horrors, but\nusually--how shall I express it?--usually calm and content.\"\n\n\"Content,\" repeated the magistrate thoughtfully. Then, suddenly\nstraightening his short, broad figure, he thrust his little fat hand into\na fold of the knight's doublet, exclaiming: \"Boemund, do you want to know\nthe most difficult riddle that the Lord gives to us men to solve? It\nis--take heed--a woman's soul.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Altrosen curtly; the word sounded like a sigh.\n\nWhile speaking, his dark eye was bent on Cordula, whose head still rested\non Frau Christine's breast.\n\nThen, adjusting the bandage which since the fire had been wound around\nhis forehead and his dark hair, he continued in a tone of explanation:\n\"Count von Montfort sent me, when it grew dark, to accompany his daughter\nhome. From your little castle I was directed to the hospital, where I\nfound her amongst the horrible women. She had struggled faithfully\nagainst her loathing and disgust, but when I arrived her power of\nresistance was already beginning to fail. Fortunately the sedan-chair was\nthere, for she felt that her feet would scarcely carry her back. I\nordered one to be prepared for Jungfrau Ortlieb, though I remembered the\ndying woman who kept her. As if the matter were some easy task, she\nbegged the countess to excuse her, and remained beside the wretched straw\npallet.\"\n\nThe deeply agitated girl had just released herself from the matron's\nembrace, and begged the knight to have her Roland saddled; but Frau\nChristine stopped him, and entreated Cordula, for her sake, to use her\nsedan-chair instead of the horse.\n\n\"If it will gratify you,\" replied the countess smiling; \"but I should\nreach home safely on the piebald.\"\n\n\"Who doubts it?\" asked the matron. \"Give her your arm, husband. The\nbearers are ready, and you will soon overtake them on your horse,\nBoemund.\"\n\n\"The walk through the warm June night will do me good,\" the latter\nprotested.\n\nSoon after the sedan-chair which conveyed Cordula, lighted by several\ntorch-bearers on foot and on horseback, began to move towards the city.\n\nAt St. Linhard, Boemund Altrosen, who walked beside it, asked the\nquestion, \"Then I may hope, Countess? I really may?\"\n\nShe nodded affectionately, and answered under her breath: \"You may; but\nwe must first try whether the flower of love which blossomed for you out\nof my weakness is the real one. I believe it will be.\"\n\nHe joyously raised her hand to his lips, but a torch-bearer's shout--\"\nCount von Montfort and his train!\"--urged him back from the sedan chair.\nA few seconds after Cordula welcomed her father, who had anxiously ridden\nforth to meet his jewel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\"I can hardly do more, and yet I must,\" groaned Frau Christine, as she\ngazed after the torch-bearers who preceded Cordula. Her husband, however,\ntried to detain her, offering to go to their young guest in her place.\n\nBut the effort was vain. The motherless child, whom the captive father\nprobably believed to be in safety with her sensible sister, was at a post\nof danger, and only a woman's eye could judge whether it would do to\nyield to Eva's wish, which the housekeeper had just told her mistress,\nand allow her--it was already past midnight-to remain longer at the\nhospital.\n\nShe would not have hesitated to require her niece's return home had not\nmaternal solicitude urged her to deprive her of nothing which could aid\nher troubled soul to regain its poise. If possible at all, it would be\nthrough devotion to an arduous work of charity that she would understand\nher own nature, and find an answer to the question whether, when the\nslanderers were silenced, she would take the veil or cling firmly to the\nhopeless love which had mastered her young heart.\n\nIf she succeeded in remaining steadfast here and, in spite of the glad\nconsciousness of having conquered by the sign of the cross, was still\nloyal to her worldly love, then the latter was genuine and strong, and\nEva did not belong to the convent; then her sister, the abbess, was\nmistaken in the girl whose soul she had guided from early childhood.\n\nFrau Christine, who usually formed an opinion quickly and resolutely, had\nnot dared to give Eva a positive answer the previous evening.\n\nWith sympathising emotion the matron had heard her confess that during\nher nocturnal wanderings a new feeling, which she could no longer still,\nhad awakened in her breast. When she also told her the image of true love\nwhich she had formed, she could not bring herself to undeceive her.\n\nThe abbess had made a somewhat similar confession to her, the older\nsister, when her young heart--how long ago it seemed!--had also been\nmastered by love. The object of its ardent passion was no less a\npersonage than the Burgrave von Zollern.\n\nFrau Christine had seen his marriage with the Hapsburg princess awaken\nher sister's desire to renounce the world. Kunigunde was then a maiden of\nrare, majestic beauty, and only the Burgrave's exalted station had\nprevented his wedding \"Eva,\" as she was called before she took the veil.\n\nAs a husband and father, he had found deep happiness in the love of the\nCountess Elizabeth, the future Emperor Rudolph's sister, yet he had\nremained a warm friend of the abbess; and when he treated Eva with such\nmarked distinction at the dance, she owed it not only to her own charms\nbut also to the circumstance that, like the girl whom he had loved in his\nyouth, she bore the name of \"Eva Ortlieb,\" and the expression of her eyes\nvividly recalled the happiest time in his life.\n\nThe abbess, after a still more severe renunciation, had attained even\ngreater happiness in the convent. Her sister could not blame her for\nwishing the same lot for the devout young niece, whose fate seemed to\nbear a closer and closer resemblance to her own; but yesterday she had\nargued with her, for Kunigunde had insisted firmly that if the girl did\nnot voluntarily knock at the convent door she should be forced to enter,\nnot only for her own sake but also Sir Heinz Schorlin's. Nothing could\nrouse the ire of every true Christian more than the thought that a noble\nknight, for whose conversion Heaven had wrought a miracle, could turn a\ndeaf ear to the summons for the sake of a girl scarcely beyond childhood.\nTo place convent walls between the pair would therefore be a work\npleasing in the sight of God-nay, necessary for the example.\n\nThis statement sounded so resolute and imperative that Frau Christine,\nwho knew her sister's gentle nature, had been convinced that she was\nobeying the mandate of a superior. Soon afterward she learned that\nKunigunde had followed the dictates of the zealous prior of the\nDominicans, who was regarded as the supreme judge in religious affairs.\nAt a chance meeting she had imprudently asked this man, who had never\nbeen friendly to her or her order, to give his opinion concerning this\nmatter, which gave her no rest.\n\nFrau Christine had eagerly opposed her. The case of Heinz Schorlin was\ndifferent from that of the Burgrave Frederick, who could never be\npermitted to wed the daughter of a Nuremberg merchant. If the Swiss\nrenounced his intention of entering the monastery, there was nothing to\nprevent his wooing Eva. It should by no means be as the prior of the\nDominicans had said: \"They must both renounce the world,\" but, \"They must\ntest themselves, and if the world holds them firmly, and the Emperor, who\nis a fatherly friend to Heinz, makes no objection, it would be a duty to\nunite the pair.\"\n\nThe decisive hour for Eva was now at hand, and Fran Christine, eager to\nlearn in what condition she should find her niece, had herself carried to\nthe hospital.\n\nHer husband and several men-servants accompanied her, for at this late\nhour the neighbourhood, where so many criminals were nursed for a short\ntime, was by no means safe. Companions, friends, and relatives of the\ncriminals were often attracted thither by sympathy, curiosity, or\nbusiness affairs. Whoever had occasion to shun appearing by daylight in a\nplace which never lacked bailiffs and city soldiers, slunk to the\nhospital at night.\n\nAs a heavy rain had just begun to fall, the short distance to be\ntraversed by the magistrate and his wife was empty. Ample provision also\nseemed to have been made to guard the place of healing, for several armed\ntroopers belonging to the city guard were pacing up and down before he\nboard fence which surrounded it, and the approach of the late visitors\nwas heralded by the deep baying of large hounds.\n\nThe magistrate was well known here, and the doorkeeper, roused from his\nsleep, hastened to light the way for him and his wife with a lantern. In\nspite of the planks which had been placed in he courtyard, the task of\ncrossing it was by no means easy; for the night was intensely dark, and\nthe foot passed beyond the boards, it plunged into the mire, on which\nthey floated rather than lay.\n\nAt first the barking of the dogs had drowned very other sound, but as\nthey approached the house thatched with straw, where the wounded men were\nnursed, harsh voices, interrupted at times by the angry oaths of some\npatient roused from sleep, or the watchman's command to keep quiet,\nreached them in a loud uproar.\n\nA narrow passage dimly lighted by a lantern led to the women's quarters,\nwhere Eva had remained. The magistrate entered the men's dormitory to\nmake an inspection, while his wife, needing no guidance, passed on to the\nwomen, meeting no one on her way except a Sister of Charity and two\nmen-servants who, under the guidance of a sleepy Dominican monk, were\nbearing out the corpse of some one who had just passed away.\n\nSister Hildegard, who was sitting at the door of the dormitory, half\nasleep, started up as Frau Christine crossed the threshold.\n\nThe knight's widow, a vigorous matron, whose hair had long been grey,\npointed with the rosary in her hand to the end of the long, dimly lighted\napartment, and said in a low tone: \"The sick woman seems to be asleep\nnow. The prior sent the old Dominican to whom Eva is talking. He is said\nto be the most learned and eloquent member of the order. If I am right,\nhe came here to appeal to your niece's conscience. At least his first\nquestion was for her, and you see how eagerly he is speaking. When yonder\nsick woman seemed to be drawing near her end she asked for the sacrament,\nwhich was administered by the Dominican. It was a sorrowful farewell on\naccount of her children, but the barber thinks we may perhaps save her\nyet. Father Benedictus, the old Minorite, who was found on the road and\nbrought to us, seems, on the other hand, to be dying. We will gladly keep\nhim in the Beguines home until the angel summons him. Unfortunately,\nyonder poor woman's third day will end tomorrow. We are not permitted to\nshelter her here any longer, and if we turn her out--\"\n\n\"What is the matter with the woman?\" interrupted Frau Christine, but the\nother gazed into her face with warm sympathising affection and such\ntender entreaty that the magistrate's wife, before she began her reply,\nexclaimed: \"So it is the old, pitiful story! But let her stay! Yes, even\nthough, instead of every pound of farthings, she cost us ten times as\nmuch in gold! But we will spare what is necessary for her. I see by your\nface that it will not be wasted.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied Sister Hildegard gratefully. \"Oh, how she came\nhere! Now, it is true, she has more than she needs. Your dear niece--she\nis an angel of charity--sent her Katterle out to get what was wanted. But\nwhere is the girl?\" She gazed around the spacious chamber as she spoke,\nbut could not find Katterle.\n\nTrue, a dim light pervaded the whole apartment, and Sister Hildegard,\nreferring to it, added \"The light keeps many of the patients awake, and\nwe have a better use for the pennies which the oil and chips cost. When\nthere are brilliant entertainments to be given, or works of mercy done\nwhich the whole world sees, the Honourables let their gold flow freely\nenough, but who beholds the abodes of horror? We look best in the dark,\nand no one will miss what we save in light.\"\n\nCertainly no one present incurred any danger of seeing at this hour the\npitiable spectacles visible by day; for what was occurring at the\nopposite end of the room could not be perceived from the door. So when it\nclosed Eva could not distinguish who had entered.\n\nBut this was agreeable to Frau Christine; for before going to her niece\nshe wished to inquire about the woman by whom she had been detained.\n\nLike the others, she was lying upon the board platform which surrounded\nthe four walls of the room, interrupted only by the door through which\nshe had just passed. It rose in a slanting direction towards the wall,\nthat the sufferers' heads might be higher than their feet. Instead of\ncushions, it was covered with a thick layer of straw, the beds of the\npatients who were nursed here. It seemed to be changed very rarely, for\nespecially near the door at which the two women were still standing a\ndamp, unpleasant odour emanated from the straw. It belonged here,\nhowever, as feathers are a part of birds, and the people who were nursed\nwithin its walls were accustomed to nothing better. When, fifteen years\nbefore, the oversight of the hospital was entrusted to Frau Christine,\nshe had found the condition of affairs still worse, and the idea of\nprocuring beds for the injured persons to be cured here was as far from\nher thoughts, or those of the rest of the world, as cushioning the\nstable.\n\nThat was the way things were at Schweinau. Straw of all sorts might be\nexpected to be found here, not only on the wooden platform but on the\nfloor, in the yard, and everywhere else, as surely as leaves upon the\nground of a wood in the autumn. To leave the house without taking stalks\nin the hair and garments was as impossible as for any person accustomed\nto better conditions, who did not wish to faint from discomfort, to do\nwithout a scent bottle.\n\nFormerly Frau Christine had endeavoured to obtain better air, but even\nher kind-hearted husband had laughed at the foolish idea, because such\nthings would benefit only herself and some of the nurses. In the taverns\nusually frequented by the inmates of the hospital they learned to endure\na different atmosphere, which was stifling to him.\n\nAfter contagious diseases certain precautions were always taken. On\nSunday morning it was even fumigated with juniper-berries on hot tin and\nboiling vinegar.\n\nFrau Christine had introduced this disinfectant herself by the advice of\nOtto the leech, when all who had been brought hither with open wounds,\namong them vigorous young men, had died like flies. At that time the\ndistinguished physician had even succeeded in getting the Honourable\nCouncil to defray the cost of having the walls newly white washed and\nfresh clay stamped on the floor. He had also directed that the old straw\nshould be replaced by clean every Sunday morning, and now matters were\nbetter still, for the rule was that every sick person should have a fresh\nlayer. True, it was not always fulfilled, and many a person was forced to\nbe content with his predecessor's couch.\n\nIn the women's room, however, the change of straw was more rigidly\nrequired. The nurse herself attended to it, and Sister Hildegard gave her\nenergetic assistance.\n\nIn difficult cases the influence of the leech Otto was called to her aid,\nbut he had grown old and no longer came to Schweinau. Two barbers now\ncared for the bandaging and healing of the wounds, and if they were at a\nloss the younger city physician was summoned.\n\nSister Hildegard now pointed to the couch beside which the Dominican was\ntalking to Eva, and said: \"She is the widow of a carrier and the child of\nworthy people; her father was the sexton of St. Sebald's. True, he died\nlong ago, at the same time as her mother. It was twelve years since,\nduring the plague.\n\n\"Reicklein, yonder, had no other relatives here--her parents were from\nBamberg--but she was well off, and her husband, Veit, earned enough by\nhis travels through the country. But on St. Blaise's day, early in the\nmonth of February, during a trip to Vogtland, it was at Hof, he was\novertaken by a snowstorm, and the worthy man was found frozen under a\ndrift, with his staff and pouch. The sad news reached her just after the\nbirth of a little boy, and there were two other mouths to feed besides.\nHer savings went quickly enough, and she fell into dire poverty, for she\nhad not yet recovered her strength, and could not do housework. During\nPassion Week she sold her bed to pay what she had borrowed and to feed\nthe children. It was cold, she had not a copper, nor any possibility of\nearning anything. Then the rest went, too, and there was no way of\ngetting food enough for the children and herself.\n\n\"But as her father had been in the employ of the city and was an honest\nman, by the advice of the provost of St. Sebald's, who had been her\nconfessor from childhood, she applied to the Honourable Council, and\nreceived the answer that old Hans Schab was by no means forgotten, and\ntherefore, to relieve her need, she was referred to the beadle, who would\ngive her the permit which enabled her to ask alms from those who went to\nSt. Sebald's Church, and had already afforded many a person ample\nsupport.\n\n\"For her children's sake she crushed the pride which rebelled against it,\nand stood at the church door, not once, but again and again. The other\nmendicants, however, treated her so roughly, and the cruel enmity with\nwhich they tried to crowd her out of her place seemed so unbearable, that\nshe could not hold out. Once, when they insulted her too much, and again\nthrust her back so spitefully that not even one of the many churchgoers\nnoticed her, she, fled to her children in the little room, determined to\nstop this horrible begging. This happened the Saturday before\nWhitsuntide, and as she had gone out hoping this time to bring something\nback, she had promised the children food enough to satisfy their hunger.\nThey should have some Whitsuntide cakes, too, as they did years ago. When\nshe reached the house and little Walpurga--you'll see her presently, a\npretty child six years old--ran to meet her, asking for the cakes and the\nbread to satisfy her hunger, while Annelein, who is somewhat older, but\nless bright and active, did the same, she felt as if she should die, and\ncarrying the baby, which she had held in her arms while begging at the\nchurch door, back into the room, she told Walpurga to watch it, as she\nhad long been in the habit of doing, until she came back with the bread.\n\n\"For the children's sake she would try begging once more, but she could\nnot go to St. Sebald's.\n\n\"So she went from house to house, asking alms; but she was a well-formed\nwoman, who did not show her serious illness. She kept herself tidy, too,\nand looked better in her poor rags than many who were better off. Had she\ncarried her nursing infant, perhaps she might have succeeded better, but\neven the most compassionate housewives either turned her from their doors\nor offered her work at the wash-tub, or in cleaning or gardening. The\nweakness from which she had suffered since the birth of her child made\nstooping so painful that she could not do what they required.\n\n\"When she was at last obliged to turn homeward, because the baby had\nprobably been screaming for her a long time, she had only one small\ncopper coin, with which she went to the baker Kilian's, in the\nStopfelgasse, to ask for a penny's worth of bread. The baker's wife was\nnot there, and her spinster sister-in-law, an elderly, ill-natured woman,\nwas serving the customers in her place.\n\n\"As she turned to cut the bit of bread, and all sorts of nice sweet cakes\nlay on the shining counters before poor Riecklein, the children seemed to\nstand before her, headed by Walpurga, asking for the cakes and the bread\nshe had promised them to eat their fill; and as no one was passing in the\nquiet street, Satan stirred within her for the first time, and a sweet\njumble slid into the little basket on her arm. Had she stopped there she\nmight have escaped unpunished; but there were two hungry little beaks\nagape in the nest, and she saw a pretty lamb with a little red flag on\nits back. If Walpurga could only have it! And with the clumsiness due to\nher inexperience in such matters she seized that, too, and put it with\nthe other.\n\n\"Meanwhile the sister-in-law had turned, and instead of enquiring at a\ntime so near the holy feast what had induced her to commit such a crime,\nshe shrieked, 'Stop thief!' and similar cries.\n\n\"So the widow was taken to the Hole, and as she had hitherto borne an\nunsullied reputation and was the child of a good man, justice allowed\nitself to be satisfied with having her scourged with rods privately\ninstead of in public. So she came here. But as her poor body was too\nfragile to withstand all the trouble which had come upon her, she had a\nviolent attack of fever, and a few hours ago death stretched its hand\ntowards her.\"\n\n\"And the children?\" asked Frau Christine, deeply moved.\n\n\"She was allowed to have the baby,\" answered Sister Hildegard, \"but she\ntold us about the others and their desolate condition. In the delirium of\nfever she saw them stealing and the constable seizing them. Then your Eva\nencouraged me to send for them by promising to provide their food. So\nthey came here. The worker on cloth from whom she rented her little room\nhad helped them, and it was from her that Sister Pauline, whom I sent\nthere, first learned that Walpurga, for whose sake she had so sadly\nforgotten her duty, was not even her own child, but an adopted one whom\nher late husband, on one of his trips, had found abandoned on the\nhighroad at Vierzehnheiligen, beside an image of the Virgin, and brought\nhome with him.\"\n\nHere Sister Hildegard paused, and Frau Christine also remained silent a\nlong time.\n\nYet, it was horrible here, and the air was impure; but had Countess\nCordula looked more closely she would probably have seen one of the\nbeautiful flowers which often bloomed amidst all the weeds, the poisonous\nand parasitic vegetation.\n\nEva was right to pity this woman, and if her life could be saved she\nherself would relieve her necessities and secure her children's future.\nShe silently made this resolve whilst the Sister led the way to the couch\nof the scourged thief. The unfortunate woman should learn that God often\ncompels us to traverse the roughest and stoniest paths in the wilderness\nere he leads us into the Promised Land.\n\nEva was so deeply absorbed in her conversation with the Dominican that\nshe did not see her aunt until she stood before her.\n\nThey greeted each other with a silent nod, and a smile of satisfaction\nflitted over the girl's face as she motioned to the sleeper whose slumber\nshe was watching.\n\nThe young mother's pretty face still glowed with the flush of fever. One\narm clasped the baby, which lay amidst the white linen Katterle had just\nbrought. He was a pretty child, who showed no traces of the poverty in\nwhich he had been reared. Beside the widow were two little girls about\nsix years old. The one at the left was sound asleep, with her head\nresting on her little fat arm. The other, at the sick woman's right,\npressed her fair head upon her breast. Her slumber was very light, and\nshe often opened her large, blue eyes and gazed with touching anxiety at\nthe sick woman. This was the adopted child, Walpurga, and never had the\nmatron beheld amongst the poor and suffering so lovely a human flower as\nthis little six-year-old child, struggling with sleep in her affectionate\ndesire to render aid. The other little girl's free hand also touched her\nmother, and thus these four, united in poverty and sorrow, but also in\nlove, seemed to form a single whole. What a peaceful, charming picture!\n\nFrau Christine gazed with earnest sympathy at each member of this group.\nHow well-formed was every one! how pure and innocent the features of the\nchildren looked! how kind and loving those of the suffering mother, who\nwas a thief, and whose tender back had felt the scourge of the\nexecutioner!\n\nThe thought made her shudder. But when little Walpurga, half asleep,\nraised her tiny hand and lovingly stroked the wounded shoulder of her\nadopted mother, the matron, as usual when anything pleasant moved her\nheart, longed to have her husband at her side. How easily, since he was\nso near, she could afford him a sight of this touching picture! It should\nprove that she had been right to let Eva remain here.\n\nFaithful to her custom of permitting no delay in the execution of a good\nresolution, she wanted to send Katterle to call her husband, but the girl\ncould not be found.\n\nThen Frau Christine went herself, beckoning to Eva to follow; but they\nhad scarcely reached the centre of the room when a peal of shrill\nlaughter greeted them from a couch on the left.\n\nThe person from whom it came was the barber's widow, whose attack had\nalarmed Eva so terribly the day before in front of the pillory. It pealed\nloudly and shrilly through the stillness of the night, and when the\nmatron turned angrily to reprove the person who so inconsiderately\ndisturbed the rest of the others, the woman clapped her hands and\ninstantly a chorus of sharp, screaming voices rose around her. The\nbarber's widow, who knew everybody who lived in Nuremberg, had recognised\nthe magistrate's wife at her entrance, and secretly incited her\nneighbours to follow her example and, as soon as she gave the signal,\ndemand better fare and make Frau Christine, the patroness of the\nhospital, feel what they thought of the cruelty of her husband, who had\ndelivered them to the executioner.\n\nThe female thieves and swindlers-in short, all the reprobate women around\nFrau Ratzer, whose feet had just been tied on account of her unruly\nbehaviour in the Countess von Montfort's presence--obeyed her signal, and\nthe fierce voices raised in demand and invective woke those who were\nsleeping farther away. Weeping, wailing, and screaming they started up,\nclamouring to know what danger threatened them, whilst Frau Ratzer and\nher fellow-conspirators shrieked for beer or wine instead of water, for\nmeat with the black bread and wretched broth and, yelling and howling,\nbade the patroness tell her husband that they thought him a brute and a\nbloodhound.\n\nThere was a hideous, confused, ear-splitting din, which threatened\nserious consequences, for some of the women, leaving their straw beds,\nhastened towards the door or surrounded Frau Christine and Eva with\nuplifted fists and threatening nails.\n\nThe warning voices of the matrons, to whose aid the Beguines had\nhastened, were drowned by the uproar, but the danger which specially\nthreatened Eva, whom the barber's widow pointed out to her neighbour who\nhad stolen a child to train it to beg, was soon ended, for the wild cries\nhad reached the men's building, from which Herr Berthold Pfinzing came\nhurrying in, accompanied by the superintendent, his assistants, and\nseveral monks.\n\nIf the women reproached the magistrate, who in reality was a lenient\njudge, with being a cruel tyrant, they were now to learn that he\ncertainly did not lack uncompromising energy. The unpleasant position in\nwhich he found his wife and his beloved godchild did not incline him to\ngentleness. He would have liked to have tied the hands of all these\nwomen, most of whom had forfeited the consideration due their sex. This\nwas really done to the most unruly, while the barber's widow was carried\nto the prison-chamber, which the hospital did not lack.\n\nAfter quiet was at last restored and Frau Christine had told her husband\nthat she had been attacked while on her way to show him a delightful\nscene in the midst of all this terrible misery, he angrily exclaimed: \"A\nmagnificent picture! Balm for the eyes and ears of your own brother's\nvirginal daughter! The saints be praised that you both escaped so easily.\nCan there be in the worst hell anything more horrible than what has just\nbeen witnessed here? Really, where a Countess Cordula cannot endure----\"\n\nHere Frau Christine soothingly interrupted her irate husband, and so\ngreat was her influence over him, that his tone sounded like friendly\nencouragement as he added: \"You wanted to show me something special, but\nI was detained over there. Though it was late, I wanted to see the worthy\nfellow again. What a man he is! I mean Sir Heinz Schorlin's squire.\"\n\n\"Poor Biberli?\" asked Eva eagerly; and there was a faint tone of reproach\nin her voice as she continued, \"You promised to look after him.\"\n\n\"So I did, child,\" the magistrate protested. \"But justice must take its\ncourse, and the rack is part of the examination by torture. He might\neasily have lost his tongue, and if his master doesn't return soon and\nanother accuser should appear, who knows what will happen!\"\n\n\"But that must not, shall not be!\" cried Eva, the old defiance echoing\nimperiously in her voice. \"Heinz Schorlin--you said so yourself--would\nnot plead in vain for mercy to the Emperor; and before I will see the\nfaithful fellow----\"\n\n\"Gently, child,\" whispered Frau Christine to her niece, laying her hand\non her arm, but the magistrate, shaking his finger at her, answered\nsoothingly: \"Jungfrau Ortlieb would rather thrust her own little feet\ninto the Spanish boot. Be comforted! The three pairs we have are all too\nlarge to squeeze them.\"\n\nEva lowered her eyes in embarrassment, and exclaimed in a modest,\nbeseeching tone: \"But, uncle, do not you, too, feel that it would be\ncruel and unjust to make this honest fellow a cripple in return for his\nfaithful services?\"\n\n\"I do feel it,\" answered Herr Berthold, his face assuming an expression\nof regret; \"and for that very reason I ventured to take a girl over whom\nI have no authority out of her service.\"\n\n\"Katterle?\" asked Eva anxiously.\n\nHer uncle nodded assent, adding: \"First hear what interested me so\nquickly in the strange fellow. At the first charge, which merely accused\nhim of having carried a message of love from his master to Jungfrau\nOrtlieb, I interceded for him, and yesterday the other magistrates, to\nwhom I had explained the case, joined me. So he escaped with a sentence\nof exile from the city for five years. I hoped it would not be necessary\nto present the second accusation, for it was signed by no name, but\nmerely bore three crosses, and for a long time most of the magistrates,\nfollowing my example, have considered such things as treacherous attacks\nmade by cowards who shun the light of day; but it was impossible to\nsuppress it entirely, because the law commands me to withhold no\ncomplaint made to the court. So it was read aloud, and Hans Teufel's\nmotion to let it drop without any action met with no approval, warmly as\nI supported it.\n\n\"We must not blame the gentlemen. They all wish to act for your benefit,\nand desire nothing except a clear understanding of this vexatious\nbusiness. But in that indictment Biberli was charged with having forced\nhis way into an Honourable's house at night to obtain admittance for his\nmaster. In collusion with a maid-servant he was also said to have\nmaintained the love correspondence between Herr Ernst Ortlieb's two\ndaughters, a Swiss knight, and Boemund Altrosen.\"\n\n\"Infamous!\" cried Eva. \"What, in the name of all the saints, have we to\ndo with Altrosen?\"\n\n\"You certainly have very little,\" replied Frau Christine, \"but the\nOrtlieb mansion has all the more. To-night he will again be seen before\nits door, and if still later he appears with his lute under Countess\nCordula's windows and is heard singing to her, it wouldn't surprise me.\"\n\n\"And people,\" exclaimed Eva with increasing indignation, \"will add\nanother link to the chain of slander. If a Vorkler and her companions\nrepeat the calumny, who can wonder? But that the magistrates should\nbelieve such shameful things about the brothers of their own\nfellow-member----\"\n\n\"It was precisely because they do not believe it and wish to keep you\naway from the court,\" her uncle interrupted, \"that they insisted upon the\nexamination. They desired to show the people by their verdict and the\nseverity of the procedures how thoroughly in earnest they were. But\nwhilst I was compelled to absent myself an hour because the Emperor\nwished to inspect the new towers on the city wall, and I had to attend\nhim in the character of showman, they sentenced the poor fellow, since\nhis loose tongue had brought the whole rout and rabble against him, to\ntorture so severe that I shuddered when told of it.\"\n\n\"And Biberli?\" asked Eva, trembling with suspense.\n\n\"All honour is due the man!\" cried Herr Berthold, raising his cap. \"The\nrods scourged his fettered limbs, his thumbs were pressed in the screws,\nbound to the ladder, he was dragged over the larded hare---\"\n\n\"Oh, hush!\" cried Fran Christine with uplifted hands, and her husband\nnodded understandingly. Then, with a faint sigh, he added:\n\n\"Why should I torture you with these horrors? Nothing was spared him. Yet\nthe worthy fellow stuck to his statement that he had accompanied his\nmaster to your house in the full moonlight to take a somnambulist who had\nwandered out of the open door back to her friends. Sir Heinz Schorlin had\nmet Jungfrau Ortlieb only once--at the dance in the Town Hall. Though he\nhad sometimes appeared before her father's house, it was not on account\nof Herr Ernst's daughters, but--and this was an allusion to Cordula von\nMontfort--for the sake of another lady.\n\n\"After the lightning had killed his master's horse under him he had\navoided every woman, because he wished to enter a monastery. He could\nprove all these statements by many witnesses. Yesterday he named them,\nand Count Gleichen and his retainers appeared with several others. The\nMinorite Benedictus was vainly sought at the Franciscans.\"\n\n\"He is here in the house of the Beguines,\" replied Frau Christine, \"and\nweak as he is, he will have strength enough to make a deposition in the\nknight's favour.\"\n\nThe magistrate said that this might be necessary if a new charge were\nbrought against the servitor, Katterle, and perhaps even Sir Heinz\nSchorlin himself. Rarely had he seen a bad cause maintained with so much\nobstinacy. The complainants had witnesses who testified under oath what\nthey had heard in taverns and tap-rooms from Sir Seitz Siebenburg and\nthose who repeated his tales. Their examination had lasted a long time,\nand what they alleged was as absurd as possible, yet for that very reason\ndifficult to refute. These depositions had aided the cause of the\naccused, but in consequence of such numerous charges many questions of\ncourse were put to Biberli, and thus the torture had been cruelly\nincreased and prolonged.\n\nHere Eva interrupted the speaker with another outburst of indignation,\nbut he only shrugged his shoulders pityingly, saying: \"Gently, child! A\nshoemaker who recently upbraided the 'Honourables' for something similar\nwas publicly scourged, and if cruelties have been practised here it is\nthe fault of the law, not of the judges. But worse yet may come, if the\npack is not silenced by a higher will.\"\n\n\"The Emperor?\" asked the girl with quivering lips.\n\n\"Yes, child,\" was the reply, \"and your old godfather had thought of\nbringing this evil cause before our royal master. He gladly exercises\nmercy, but only after carefully investigating the pros and cons. In this\ncase there is but one person in whom he has full confidence, and who is\nalso in a position to tell him the exact truth.\"\n\n\"Heinz Schorlin!\" cried Eva. \"He must be informed at once, without\ndelay.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Herr Pfinzing quietly. \"And since, as the uncle and\ngodfather of Jungfrau Eva, who would have gladly undertaken the ride, I\ncould not order her horse to be saddled, I sent some one else whose heart\nalso will point out the way.\"\n\n\"Uncle!\" Eva eagerly interrupted, raising her clasped hands in gratitude.\n\"But whom can you----\"\n\nHere she hesitated, then suddenly exclaimed as if sure of her point: \"Oh,\nI know the messenger, Countess von Montfort----\"\n\n\"You've aimed too high,\" replied Herr Berthold smiling, \"yet I think the\nchoice was no worse. Your maid, child, the poor fellow's sweetheart.\"\n\nFrau Christine and Eva, in the same breath, uttered an exclamation of\nsurprise and assent, and both asked how the magistrate had chanced to\nselect her.\n\nA waggon from Schwabach, which happened opportunely to be on its way to\nSiebenburg, had brought Biberli to Schweinau on its homeward trip, just\nbefore the magistrate and his wife reached the hospital.\n\nKatterle had been present when the tortured man was brought out and laid\nupon his couch of straw.\n\nShe did not recognise him until, with pathetic reproach, he called her by\nname and, horrified by the spectacle he presented, she fell upon her\nknees. But the couch at her side had already been prepared for him, and\nshe did not need to rise again in order to stroke him, comfort him, and\npromise not to desert him, even if he should be a miserable cripple for\nlife.\n\nWhen the magistrate approached the couple, to offer Biberli his friendly\naid, the latter faltered that he had only one desire--to see his beloved\nmaster once more. Besides, his case was hopeless unless the knight\nobtained a pardon for him from the Emperor Rudolph, for his persecutors\nwould not cease their pursuit of him, and he could not endure the torture\na second time.\n\nHere the magistrate paused in his narrative, for he thought of an\nincident which he was reluctant to mention in the presence of the\nDominican who had administered the sacrament to the suffering widow and\nnow joined the group of listeners. This was, that a member of the\nlatter's order had approached Biberli and exhorted him not to fear\nanother examination by torture, for the Lord gave the innocent strength\nto maintain the truth even under the keenest suffering. A peculiar smile\nhovered around the lips of the poor tortured fellow, which Herr Berthold\nfully understood; for the brave servitor had by no means stuck to the\ntruth during the pangs inflicted upon him.\n\n\"Oh, my dear ones,\" Herr Pfinzing continued, \"a harder heart than mine\nwould have been touched by what I saw and heard beside that couch of\nstraw when I was left alone with poor Biberli and his sweetheart. If you\ncould have seen how Katterle threw herself upon her lover after I had\ntold her that even the most agonizing torture could not force him to\nconfirm the charge which had been brought against her! Rarely does one\nmortal pour forth such a flood of ardent gratitude upon another; and when\nBiberli repeated that his dear master's help would be necessary to\nprotect her and him from another examination, she offered to go in search\nof him at once, notwithstanding the rain and the darkness.\n\n\"Then I thought that no messenger could be found who was more familiar\nwith the course of affairs, and at the same time inspired with more\nloving zeal. So, as the waggon in which Biberli had come was still\nwaiting outside, I spoke to the carter, who had brought a load of wheat\nto Nuremberg, and now, on his way home, had ample room under the tilt. I\nknew the man, and we soon came to an agreement. From Schwabach, his\nbrother, who knows every foot of the road, will take her to the imperial\ntroops who are fighting with the Siebenburgs. I undertook to arrange with\nyou for her absence. She is now rolling along in the old carter Apel's\nwaggon towards Schwabach and Sir Heinz Schorlin.\"\n\nHitherto the magistrate had maintained his composure, but now his deep\nvoice lost its firmness, and it was neither the loving words of\nappreciation whispered by his wife nor the gratitude which Eva tenderly\ndisplayed that checked his speech, but the remembrance of the parting\nbetween the man so cruelly tortured and his sweetheart.\n\nBiberli had hoped that she would nurse him; the sight of her would have\ncheered his eyes and heart, yet he sent her out into darkness and danger.\nGratitude and love, the consciousness that just now she could be of\ninfinite importance to him and do much for him, bound her to his couch\nlike so many fetters, yet she had gone, and had even assumed the\nappearance of doing so willingly and being confident of success.\n\nHow their faces had brightened when the magistrate told them that his\nwife and Eva would take charge of him, and he himself would see that he\nhad a better bed!\n\nBiberli murmured sadly: \"Straw and I have been used to each other in many\na tavern, but now a somewhat softer couch might be of service, for\nwherever my racked body was touched I believe there would be something\nout of joint.\"\n\nHerr Berthold had no reason to be ashamed of his emotion, for he had\nlearned from the barber that the poor fellow had by no means exaggerated,\nand, as a witness of part of the torture, he knew that even the most\ncruel anguish had not conquered the faithful Biberli's firm resolve to\nbring neither his master nor his sweetheart before the judge.\n\nIn recalling this noble act of the lowly servitor he grew eloquent, and\ndescribed minutely what the poor fellow had suffered, and how, after\nKatterle had left him, he lay motionless, with his thin, pale face\nirradiated by a grateful smile.\n\nThe women, too, and the monk AEgidius, an old Minorite, who had been\nwatching beside the aged Brother of his order, Benedictus, and had just\njoined them, shed tears at his story; but Eva, from the very depths of\nher soul, exclaimed aloud, \"Happy is he who is permitted to endure such\ntortures for love's sake!\"\n\nThe others gazed in surprise at the young girl who, with her clasped\nhands pressed upon her heaving bosom, and her large eyes uplifted, looked\nas if she beheld heaven opening before her.\n\nThe old Minorite's heart swelled at this confession and the sight of the\nmaiden. Thus, though far less richly endowed with the divine gift of\nbeauty, he had seen St. Clare absorbed in prayer. The words uttered by\nthe fresh lips of this favoured girl, whom he beheld for the first time,\nexpressed a feeling which might guide her into the path of the Holy\nMartyrs and, filled with pious enthusiasm, he approached, drew her\nclasped hands away from her breast, pressed them in his own and,\nremembering what the Abbess Kunigunde had told him yesterday beside the\ncouch of Benedictus concerning her severe conflict, exclaimed:\n\n\"Whoever said that, knows the words of Holy Writ which promise the crown\nof eternal life to those who are faithful unto death. Obey the voice, my\nchild, which unites you to those who are called. St. Clare herself\nsummons you to her heavenly home.\"\n\nThe others listened to the old monk in silence. Eva slightly shook her\nhead. But when the disappointed Minorite released her hands she clasped\nhis thin one, saying modestly: \"How could I be worthy of so sublime a\npromise? The poor servant on his straw bed, with his T and St embroidered\non cap and cloak, of whom my uncle told us, has a tenfold greater claim,\nI think, to the crown of life, for which, as yet, I have been permitted\nto do so little. But I hope to win it, and the saint who calls everything\nthat breathes and lives brothers and sisters, as children of the same\nexalted Father, cannot teach that the fidelity shown in the world\ndeserves less reward than that of the chosen ones in the convent.\"\n\n\"That is a foolish and sacrilegious opinion,\" answered the Dominican\nsternly. \"We will take care, my dear daughter, to guide your soul from\npathless wandering into the right path which Holy Church has marked out\nfor you.\"\n\nHe turned his back upon the group as he spoke, but the grey-haired\nMinorite, smiling sadly, turned to Eva, saying: \"I cannot contradict him.\nFidelity to those whom we love, my child, is far less meritorious than\nthat which we show to Heaven. To you, daughter, its doors have already\nopened. How strong must be the pleasure felt by the children of the world\nin this brief earthly happiness, since they are so ready to sacrifice for\nit the certainty of eternal bliss! Your error will grieve the abbess and\nFather Benedictus.\"\n\nWith these words he, too, took his leave, but Frau Christine whispered to\nher niece: \"These monks are not the Holy Church to which we both belong\nas obedient daughters. To my poor mind and heart it seems as if the\nSaviour would deem you right.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" added the magistrate, who had heard his wife's murmured words.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     False praise, he says, weighs more heavily than disgrace\n\n\n\n\nIN THE FIRE OF THE FORGE\n\nA ROMANCE OF OLD NUREMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nDay followed day, a week elapsed, and no message had reached Schweinau\nfrom Heinz Schorlin or Katterle.\n\nThe magistrate had learned that the Siebenburg brothers, with the robber\nknights who had joined them, were obstinately defending their castles and\nmaking it difficult for Heinz Schorlin to perform his task. The day\nbefore news had come that the Absbach's strong mountain fortress had\nfallen; that the allied knights, in a sortie which merged into a\nminiature battle, had been defeated, and the Siebenburgs could not hold\nout much longer; but in the stress of his duties the knight seemed to\nhave forgotten to make the slightest effort in behalf of his faithful\nservant. At least the protonotary Gottlieb, a friend of Herr Berthold,\nthrough whose hands passed all letters addressed to the Emperor,\npositively assured them that, though plenty of military reports had\narrived, in not a single one had the young commander mentioned his\nservant even by a word. He, the protonotary, had taken advantage of a\nfavourable hour to urge his royal master, as a reward for Biberli's rare\nfidelity, to protect him from further persecution by the citizens of\nNuremberg; but the Emperor Rudolph did not even allow him to finish,\nbecause, as a matter of principle, he refrained from interference in\nmatters whose settlement rightfully pertained to the Honourable Council.\n\nWhen soon after Herr Pfinzing availed himself of a report which he had to\ndeliver to the Emperor to intercede himself for the valiant fellow, the\nHapsburg, with the ruler's strong memory, recalled the protonotary's plea\nand referred Herr Berthold to the answer the former had received,\nremarking, less graciously than usual, that the imperial magistrate ought\nto know that he would be the last to assail the privileges which he had\nhimself bestowed upon the city.\n\nFinally even Burgrave Frederick, whose sympathy had been enlisted in\nBiberli's behalf by Herr Berthold, fared no better.\n\nHis interests were often opposed to those of the Council and, kindly as\nwas his disposition, disputes concerning many questions of law were\nconstantly occurring between him and the Honourables. When he began to\npersuade the Emperor to prevent by a pardon the cruelty which the Council\nintended to practise upon a servant of Sir Heinz Schorlin, who was doing\nsuch good service in the field, the sovereign told even him, his friend\nand brother-in-law, who had toiled so energetically to secure him the\ncrown, that he would not interfere, though it were in behalf of a beloved\nbrother, with the decrees of the Council, and the noble petitioner was\nsilenced by the reasons which he gave. The Burgrave deemed the Emperor's\ndesire to maintain the Honourables' willingness to grant the large loan\nhe intended to ask to fill his empty treasury still more weighty than\nthose with which he had repulsed Herr Pfinzing.\n\nOn the other hand, the pardon granted to Ernst Ortlieb and Wolff Eysvogel\ncould only tend to increase the good will of the Council. The former was\ngiven at once, the latter only conditionally after the First Losunger of\nthe city, with several other Honourables, had recommended it. The Emperor\nthought it advisable to defer this act of clemency. A violation of the\npeace of the country committed under his own eyes ought not to be\npardoned during his stay in the place where the bloody deed was\ncommitted. It would have cast a doubt upon the serious intent of the\nimportant measure which threatened with the severest punishment any\nattempt upon the lives and property of others.\n\nSo long as the Emperor held his court at Nuremberg, Wolff, against whom\nno accuser had yet appeared, must remain concealed. When the sovereign\nhad left the city he might again mingle with his fellow-citizens. An\nimperial letter alluding to the gratitude which Rudolph owed to the\nsoldiers of Marchfield, to whose band the evildoer belonged, and the\nwhole good city of Nuremberg for the hospitable reception tendered to him\nand his household, should shield from punishment the young patrician who\nhad only drawn his sword in self-defence, and fulfil the petition of the\nCouncil for Wolff Eysvogel's restoration to the rights which he had\nforfeited.\n\nThe news of this promise gave Els the first happy hour after long days of\ndiscomfort and the most arduous mental conflict. True, the measures\nadopted by her friends seemed to have guarded her from the attacks of the\nold Countess Rotterbach; but Fran Rosalinde, since she had been allowed\nmore freedom to move about than her mother, who had been confined to the\nupper story, felt like a boat drifting rudderless down the stream. She\nneeded guidance and, as Els now ruled the house, asked direction from her\nfor even the most simple matters. Clinging to her like a child deserted\nby its nurse, she told her the most hostile and spiteful remarks which\nthe countess never failed to make whenever it suited her daughter to bear\nher company. During the last few days the old lady had again won\nRosalinde over to her side, and in consequence an enmity towards Els had\nsprung up, which was often very spiteful in its manifestations, and was\nthe more difficult to bear, the more rigidly her position as daughter of\nthe house forbade energetic resistance.\n\nBut most painful of all to the volunteer nurse was the sick man's manner;\nfor though Herr Casper rarely regained perfect consciousness, he showed\nhis unfriendly disposition often enough by glances, gestures, and words\nstammered with painful effort.\n\nYet the brave girl's patience seemed inexhaustible, and she resolutely\nperformed even the most arduous tasks imposed by nursing the sufferer.\nNay, the thought that Wolff owed his life to him aided her always to be\nkind to her father-in-law, no matter how much he wounded her, and to tend\nhim no less carefully than she had formerly cared for her invalid mother.\n\nSo she had held out valiantly until, at the end of a long, torturing\nweek, something occurred which destroyed her courage. On returning from\nan errand in the city, she was received at the door of the sick-room by\nher future mother-in-law with the statement that she would take charge of\nher husband herself, and no longer allow the intruder to keep her from\nthe place which belonged to her alone. The old countess's power of\npersuasion had strengthened her courage, and the unwonted energy of the\nweak, more than yielding woman, exerted so startling and at the same time\ndisheartening an effect upon the wearied, tortured young creature that\nshe attempted no resistance. The entreaties of the leech and kind Herr\nTeufel, however, induced her to persist a short time longer.\n\nBut when, soon after, the same incident occurred a second time, it seemed\nimpossible to remain in their house even another day.\n\nWithout opposing her lover's mother, she retired to her chamber and,\nweeping silently, spite of the earnest entreaties of the Sister of\nCharity, packed the few articles she had brought with her and prepared to\nleave the post maintained with so much difficulty. To be again with Eva\nunder the protection of her uncle and aunt now seemed the highest goal of\nher longing. She did not wish to go home; for after his liberation from\nthe tower her father had had a long conversation with Wolff and old\nBerthold Vorchtel, and then, at the desire of the Council, had ridden to\nAugsburg and Ulm to arrange the affairs of the Eysvogel firm. He had felt\nthat he could be spared by his family, knowing that his younger daughter\nwas safe at Schweinau, and having heard that Wolff's pardon would not be\nlong delayed.\n\nEva, too, had experienced toilsome days and many an anxious night. True,\nBiberli and the carrier's widow, with her children, had been moved to the\nBeguines' house, where she could pursue her charitable work safe from the\nrude attacks of the criminal inmates of the hospital; but what heavy\ncares had burdened her concerning the two patients for whom she was\nbattling with death! how eagerly she watched for tidings from the\nneighbourhood of the Siebenburgs! what hours of trouble were caused by\nthe prior of the Dominicans and his envoys, who strove to convince her\nthat her intention of renouncing her conventual life was treason to God,\nand that the boldness with which she had released herself from the former\nguides of her spiritual life and sought her own way would lead her to\nheresy and perdition! How painful, too, was the feeling that she was\nbeing examined to discover whether the Abbess Kunigunde had any share in\nher change of purpose!\n\nThe torture to which stronger men rarely succumbed seemed to threaten the\nlife of the more delicate ex-schoolmaster. At first the leech Otto, who,\nto please Els and Fran Christine, and touched by the brave spirit of this\nhumble man, had daily visited Biberli, believed that he could not save\nhim. On the straw pallet, and with the incompetent nursing at the\nhospital, he would have died very speedily, and what would have befallen\nhis poor mangled toes and fingers in the hands of the barbers who managed\naffairs there?\n\nAt the Beguines the kindly, skilful old physician had bandaged his hands\nand feet as carefully as if he had been the most aristocratic gentleman,\nand no prince could have been more tenderly and patiently watched by\ntrained nurses; for, wonderful to relate, Eva, who had so willingly left\nher sick mother to her sister's care, and had often been vexed with\nherself because she could not even remotely equal Els beside the couch of\nthe beloved invalid, rendered the mangled squire every service with a\ntouch so light and firm that the old physician often watched her with\nglad astonishment.\n\nCaution, the quality she most lacked, seemed to have suddenly waked from\na long slumber with doubly clear, far-seeing eyes. If it was necessary to\nturn the sick man, she paid special heed to every aching spot in his\ntortured body, and invented contrivances which she arranged with patient\ncare to save him pain.\n\nHer own bed had been placed in the widow's chamber next to Biberli's, and\nfrom the night that her Aunt Christine had permitted her to remain in the\nBeguine house, she, who formerly had loved sleep and slumbered soundly,\nhad been beside the sick woman at the least sign. On the third day she\nrendered her, with her own hands, every service for which she had\nformerly needed a Beguine's aid. She had possessed the gift of uttering\nwords of cheer and comfort even to her invalid mother better than any one\nelse, and often gave new courage to the suffering man when almost driven\nto despair by the anguish of pain assailing him in ten places at once.\nHow kindly she taught him what comfort the sufferer finds who not only\nmoves his lips and turns his rosary in prayer, as he had hitherto done,\nbut commends himself and his pain to Him who endured still worse agonies\non the cross! What a smile of content rested on the lips of the man who,\nin the ravings of fever, had so often repeated the words \"steadfast and\ntrue,\" when she told him that he had done honour most marvellously to his\nfavourite virtue, represented by the T and St, and might expect his\nmaster's praise and gratitude!\n\nAll these things fell from her lips more warmly the more vividly she\nconjured up the image of the man for whose sake the gallant fellow had\nendured this martyrdom, the happier it made her to help Heinz, though\nwithout his knowledge, to pay the great debt of gratitude which he owed\nthe faithful servitor. She was not aware of it, but the strongest of all\neducational powers--sorrow and love--were transforming the unsocial,\ncapricious \"little saint\" into a noble, self-sacrificing woman. She was\ntraining herself to be what she desired to become to her lover, and the\nsecret power whose influence upon her whole being she distinctly felt at\neach success, she herself called--remembering the last words of her dying\nmother--\"the forge fire of life.\"\n\nAt first it had been extremely painful for Biberli to allow himself to be\nnursed with such devoted, loving care by the very person from whom he had\nearnestly endeavoured to estrange his master; but soon the warmest\ngratitude cast every other feeling into the shade, and when he woke from\nthe light slumber into which he frequently fell and saw Eva beside his\nbed, his heart swelled and he often felt as if Heaven had sent her to him\nto restore the best gifts for which he was struggling--life and health.\nWhen he began to recover, the faithful fellow clung to her with the\nutmost devotion; but this by no means lessened his love for his master\nand his absent sweetheart. On the contrary, the farther his convalescence\nprogressed the more constantly and anxiously he thought of Heinz and\nKatterle, the more pleasure it afforded him to talk about them and to\ndiscuss with Eva what could have befallen both.\n\nIt was impossible--Biberli believed this as firmly as his nurse--that\nHeinz could coldly forget his follower or Katterle neglect what she had\nundertaken. So both agreed in the conjecture that the messengers sent by\nthe absent ones had been prevented from reaching their destination.\n\nThe supposition was correct. Two troopers despatched by Heinz had been\ncaptured by the Siebenburgs, and the maid's messenger had cheated her by\npocketing the small fee which she paid him and performing another\ncommission instead of going to Schweinau. Of the knight's letters which\nhad fallen into the wrong hands, one had besought the Emperor Rudolph to\npardon the loyal servant, the other had thanked Biberli, and informed him\nthat his master remembered and was working for him.\n\nKatterle had reached Heinz, had been required to tell him everything she\nknew about Eva and Biberli down to the minutest detail and had then been\ncommissioned to repeat to the latter what had been also contained in the\nletter. On the way home, however, she only reached Schwabach, for the\nlong walk in the most terrible anxiety, drenched by a pouring rain,\nwhilst enquiring her way to Heinz, and especially the terrible\nexcitements of the last few days, had been too much even for her vigorous\nconstitution. Her pulse was throbbing violently and her brow was burning\nwhen she knocked at the door of Apel, the carrier, who had taken her into\nhis waggon at Schweinau, and the good old man and his wife received and\nnursed her. The fever was soon broken, but weakness prevented her\njourneying to Schweinau on foot, and, as Apel intended to go to Nuremberg\nthe first of the following week, she had been forced to content herself\nwith sending the messenger who had betrayed her confidence.\n\nHow hard it was for Katterle to wait! And her impatience reached its\nheight when, before she could leave, some of the imperial troopers\nstabled their horses at the carrier's and reported that Castle Siebenburg\nand the robber stronghold of the Absbachs were destroyed. Sir Heinz\nSchorlin had fought like St. George. Now he was detained only by the\nfortresses of the knights Hirschhorn and Oberstein, whose situation on\ninaccessible crags threatened long to defy the imperial power.\n\nThe thought that the strong Swiss girl might be ill never entered the\nmind of Biberli or Eva, but in quiet hours he asked himself which it\nwould probably grieve him most to miss forever--his beautiful young nurse\nor his countrywoman and sweetheart. His heart belonged solely to\nKatterle, but towards Eva he obeyed the old trait inherent in his nature,\nand clung with the same loyalty hitherto evinced for his master to her\nwhom he now regarded as his future mistress.\n\nThis she must and should be, because already life seemed to him no longer\ndesirable without her voice. Never had he heard one whose pure tones\npenetrated the heart more deeply. And had Heinz been permitted to hear\nher talk with the Dominicans, he would have given up his wish to renounce\nthe world and, instead of entering a monastery, striven with every power\nof his being to win this wonderful maiden, for whom his heart glowed with\nsuch ardent love. When she persisted in her refusal to take the veil\nbecause she had learned that it is possible in the world to live at peace\nwith one's self, feel in harmony with God, and follow in love and\nfidelity the footsteps of the Saviour, she had heard many a kindly word\nof admonition, many a sharp reproof, and many a fierce threat from the\nDominicans, but she did not allow herself to be led astray, and\nunderstood how to defend herself so cleverly and forcibly that his heart\ndilated, and he asked himself how a girl of eighteen could maintain her\nground so firmly, so shrewdly, and with such thorough knowledge of the\nScriptures, against devout, highly educated men--nay, the most learned\nand austere.\n\nThe Abbess Kunigunde had also appeared sometimes at his bedside, and\nEva's conversations with her revealed to him that she had obtained her\narmour against the Dominicans from the Sisters of St. Clare. True, at\nfirst the former had laboured with the utmost earnestness to win her back\nto the convent, but two days before she had met two Dominicans, and the\nevident efforts of one who seemed to hold a distinguished position among\nhis brother monks to gain Eva for his own order and withdraw her from the\nSisters of St. Clare, whom he believed to be walking in paths less\npleasing to God, had so angered the abbess that she lost the power, and\nperhaps also the will, to maintain her usual composure. Therefore,\nyesterday she had opposed her niece's wish to remain in the world less\nstrongly than before; nay, on parting with her she had clasped her in her\narms and, as it were, restored her freedom by admitting that various\npaths led to the kingdom of heaven.\n\nThis was balm to the convalescent's wounds; for he cherished no wish more\nardent than to accompany his master to the marriage altar, where Eva\nwould give her hand to Heinz Schorlin as her faithful husband, and the\nabbess's last visit seemed to favour this desire. Besides, he who had\ngazed at life with open eyes had never yet beheld a brave young warrior,\nsoon after reaping well-earned renown, yearn for the monk's cowl. Doubt,\nsuffering, and a miraculous escape from terrible peril had inspired the\njoyous-hearted Heinz with the desire to renounce the world. Now, perhaps,\nHeaven itself was showing him that he had not received the boon of life\nto bury himself in a monastery, but to be blessed with the fairest and\nnoblest of gifts, the love of a woman who, in his opinion, had not her\nequal beneath the wide vault of the azure sky.\n\nCountess Cordula was not suited for his master. During the long hours\nthat he lay quietly on his pallet a hundred reasons strengthened this\nopinion. The man for whom he had steadfastly endured such severe agony,\nand was suffering still, was worthy of a more beautiful, devout, and calm\ncompanion-nay, the very loveliest and best--and that, in his eyes, was\nthe girl for whom Heinz had felt so overmastering a passion just before\nhis luckless winnings at the gaming table. This potent fire of love might\ndoubtless be smothered with sand and ashes, but never extinguished.\n\nSuch were Biberli's thoughts as he recalled the events of the previous\nday. He had found Eva less equable in her tender management than usual.\nSome anxiety concerning something apart from her patients seemed to\noppress her. True, she had not wished to reveal it, but his eyes were\nkeen.\n\nSoon after sunrise that morning she had carefully rebandaged his crushed\nthumb, which was not yet healed. Then she had gone away, as she assured\nhim, for only a few hours. Now the sun was already high in the heavens,\nyet she did not return, though it was long past the time for the bandages\nto be renewed, and the drops to be given which sustained the life of the\ndying Minorite in the adjoining room. It made him uneasy, and when\nanxiety had once taken root in his heart it sent its shoots forward and\nbackward, and he remembered many things in which Eva had been different\nthe day before. Why had she whispered so long with Herr Pfinzing and then\nlooked so sorrowfully at him, Biberli? Why had Frau Christine come not\nless than three times yesterday afternoon, and again in the evening? She\nhad some secret to discuss with the surgeon Otto. Had any change taken\nplace in his condition? and did the leech intend to amputate his thumb,\nor even his hand? But, no! only yesterday he had been assured that he\ncould save all five fingers, and his sorely mangled left foot too. The\nwidow was better, and all hope of saving the Minorite's life had been\nrelinquished two days ago. Eva's anxiety must have some other cause, and\nhe asked himself, in alarm, whether she could have received any bad news\nfrom his master or Katterle?\n\nA terrible sense of uneasiness overpowered him, and the necessity of\nconfiding it to some one took such possession of the loquacious man that\nhe called little Walpurga from the next room. But instead of running to\nhis bedside, she darted forward with the joyful cry, \"She is coming!\"\ntowards the door and Eva.\n\nSoon after the latter, leading the child by the hand, entered the room.\nBiberli felt as if the sun were rising again. How gay her greeting\nsounded! The expression of her blue eyes seemed to announce something\npleasant. Whoever possessed this maiden would be sure to have no lack of\nlight in his home, no matter how dark the night might be.\n\nHe must have been mistaken concerning the anxiety which had seemed to\noppress her on his account. Instead of bad news, she was surely bringing\ngood tidings. Nay, she had the best of all; for Katterle, Eva told him,\nwould soon arrive. But his future wife had been ill too. Her cheeks had\nnot yet regained their roundness or their bright colour.\n\nSharp-sighted Biberli noticed this, and exclaimed: \"Then she is here\nalready! For, my mistress, how else could you know how her cheeks look?\"\n\nSoon afterwards the maid was really standing beside her lover's couch.\n\nEva allowed them to enjoy the happiness of meeting undisturbed, and went\nto her other two patients. When she returned to the couple, Katterle had\nalready related what she had experienced in Schwabach. It was little more\nthan Eva had already heard from her uncle and others.\n\nThat Seitz Siebenburg, whom he bitterly hated, had fallen in a sword\ncombat by his master's own hand, afforded Biberli the keenest delight. No\nportion of the narrative vexed him except the nonarrival of the\nmessengers, and the probability that some time must yet elapse ere Heinz\ncould sheathe his sword.\n\nEva's cheeks flushed with joy and pride as she heard how nobly her lover\nhad justified the confidence of his imperial patron. But it seemed to be\nimpossible to follow Biberli's flood of eloquence to the end. She was in\nhaste, and he had been right concerning the cares which oppressed her.\n\nShe had stood beside his couch the day before with a heavy heart, and it\nrequired the exercise of all her strength to conceal the anxiety with\nwhich her mind was filled, for if she did not intercede for him that very\nday; if his pardon could not be announced early the following morning\nduring the session of the court in the Town Hall, then the half-recovered\nman must be surrendered to the judges again, and Otto believed that the\ntorture would be fatal to his enfeebled frame.\n\nThe tailor and his adherents, as Eva knew from Herr Pfinzing, were making\nevery effort to obtain his condemnation and prove to the city that they\nhad not censured the proceedings of the Ortlieb household as mere\nreckless slanderers. Eva and her sister would be again mentioned in the\ninvestigation, and were even threatened with an examination.\n\nAt first this had startled her, but she believed her uncle's assurance\nthat this examination would fully prove her innocence before the eyes of\nthe whole world. For her own sake Eva surely would not have suffered\nherself to be so tortured by anxiety night and day, or undertaken and\nresolved to dare so much. The thought that the faithful follower whom her\npatient nursing had saved from death and to whom she had become warmly\nattached must now lose his life, and Heinz Schorlin be robbed of the\npossibility of doing anything for him, had cast every other fear in the\nshade, and had kept her constantly in motion the evening before and this\nmorning.\n\nBut all that she and her Aunt Christine had attempted in behalf of the\nimperilled man had been futile. To apply to the Emperor again every one,\nincluding the magistrate, had declared useless, since even the Burgrave\nhad been refused.\n\nThe members of the Council and the judges in the court had already, at\nAunt Christine's solicitation, deferred the proceedings four days, but\nthe law now forbade longer delay. Though individuals would gladly have\nspared the accused the torture, its application could scarcely be\navoided, for how many accusers and witnesses appeared against him, and if\nthere were weighty depositions and by no means truthful replies on the\npart of the prisoner, the torture could not be escaped. It legally\nbelonged to the progress of the investigation, and how many who had by no\nmeans recovered from the last exposure to the rack were constantly\nobliged to enter the torture chamber? Besides, the judges would be\ncharged with partiality by the tailor and his followers, and to show such\nvisible tokens of favour threatened to prejudice the dignity of the\ncourt.\n\nShe had found good will everywhere, but all had withheld any positive\npromise. It was so easy to retreat behind the high-sounding words\n\"justice and law,\" and then: who for the sake of a squire--who, moreover,\nwas in the service of a foreign knight--would awaken the righteous\nindignation of the artisans, who made the tailor's cause their own.\n\nWhatever the aunt and niece tried had failed either wholly or partially.\nBesides, Eva had been obliged to keep in the background in order not to\nexpose herself to the suspicion of pleading her own cause. Many probably\nthought that Frau Christine herself was talking ostensibly in behalf of\nthe servant and really for her brother's slandered daughter.\n\nWhen Eva met Katterle in front of the hospital, she had passed without\nnoticing her, so completely had sorrow, anxiety, and the effort to think\nof some expedient engrossed her attention.\n\nIt had been very difficult to meet Biberli with an untroubled manner, yet\nshe had even succeeded in showing a bright face to the carrier's widow,\nas well as to Father Benedictus, whose hours seemed to be numbered, and\nwho only yesterday had wounded her deeply.\n\nWhen she returned from the Minorite's room to Biberli's the lovers were\nno longer alone. The fresh, pleasant face of a vigorous woman, who had\nalready visited the sufferer several times, greeted her beside his couch.\n\nWhen, in the exchange of salutations, her eyes met Eva's the latter\nsuddenly found the plan of action she had vainly sought. Gertrude of\nBerne could help her take the chance which, in the last extremity, she\nmeant to risk, for she was the wife of the Swiss warder in the Burgrave's\ncastle. It certainly would not be difficult for her to procure her an\ninterview with the Burgravine Elizabeth. If the noble lady could not aid\nherself, she could--her cheeks paled at the thought, yet she resolutely\nclung to it--present her to her brother, the Emperor.\n\nWhen Eva, in a low tone, told Frau Gertrude what she hoped to accomplish\nat the castle, she learned that the Emperor had ridden with the\nArchduchess Agnes and a numerous train to the imperial forest, to show\nhis Bohemian daughter-in-law the beekeeper's hives, and would scarcely\nreturn before sunset; but the Burgravine had remained at home on account\nof a slight illness.\n\nNevertheless Eva wished to go to the castle, and, whatever reception the\nnoble lady bestowed upon her, she would return to Schweinau as soon as\npossible. Father Benedictus was so ill that she could not remain away\nfrom him long.\n\nIf the Burgravine could do nothing for Biberli, she would undertake the\nrisk which made her tremble, because it compelled her, the young girl, to\nappear alone at the court with all its watchful eyes and sharp tongues.\nShe would go to the fortress to beseech the Emperor herself for pardon.\n\nShe could act with entire freedom to-day, for her uncle had ridden to the\ncity and, Frau Gertrude said, was one of the party who accompanied the\nEmperor to the beekeeper's, whilst her aunt had just gone to Nuremberg to\nsee Els, who had besought her, in a despairing letter, to let her come to\nSchweinau, for her power of endurance was exhausted.\n\nHow gladly Eva would have accompanied her aunt to her sister to exhort\nher to take courage! What a strange transformation of affairs! Ever since\nshe could think Els had sustained her by her superior strength and\nperseverance. Now she was to be the stronger, and teach her to exercise\npatience.\n\nShe thought she had gained the right to do so. Whilst Eva was still\nexplaining her plan to Frau Gertrude, she herself perceived that she had\ntaken no account of time.\n\nIt was nearly noon, and if she ordered a sedan-chair to convey her to the\ncity and back again to Schweinau, it would be too late to approach the\nEmperor as a petitioner. She could fulfil her design only by riding; but\nthe warder's wife reminded her that it would be contrary to custom--nay,\nscarcely possible--to appear before the Emperor, or even his sister, in a\nriding habit.\n\nBut the young girl speedily found a way to fulfil her ardent wish to aid.\nOn her swift palfrey, which her uncle had sent to Schweinau long before\nthat she might refresh herself, after her arduous duties, by a ride, she\nwould go to the city, stop at her own home, and have her new expensive\nmourning clothes taken to the castle. The only doubt was whether she\ncould change her garments in the quarters of the Swiss, and whether Frau\nGertrude would help her do so.\n\nThe latter gladly assented. There was no lack of room in her apartments,\nnor did Frau Gertrude, who had served the Burgravine as waiting maid many\nyears before her marriage, lack either skill or good will.\n\nSo she went directly home on her mule; but Eva, after promising her\npatients to return soon, hastened to her uncle's residence.\n\nThere she mounted the palfrey and reached the city gate a long time\nbefore the Swiss. The clothes she needed were soon found in the Ortlieb\nmansion, and she was then carried in a sedan-chair to the castle with her\nwardrobe, whilst the groom led her palfrey after her. Countess Cordula\nwas not at home; she, too, had ridden to the forest with the Emperor.\n\nThe Burgravine Elizabeth willingly consented to receive the charming\nchild whose fate had awakened her warm interest. She had just been\nhearing the best and most beautiful things about Eva, for the leech Otto\nhad been called to visit her in her attack of illness, and the old man\nwas overflowing with praises of both sisters. He indignantly mentioned\nthe vile calumnies with which Heinz Schorlin's name was associated, and\nwhich base slander had fixed upon the innocent girls whose pure morality\nhe would guarantee.\n\nThe great lady, who probably remembered having directed Heinz's attention\nto Eva at the dance, understood very clearly that they could not fail to\nattract each other. Of all the knights in her imperial brother's train,\nnone seemed to the Burgravine more worthy of her favour than her gay\nyoung countryman, whose mother had been one of the friends of her youth.\nShe would gladly have rendered him a service and, in this case, not only\nfor his own sake but still more on account of the rare fidelity of his\nservant, who was also a native of her beloved Swiss mountains. Yet,\nnotwithstanding all this, it seemed impossible to bring this matter again\nbefore the Emperor. She knew her husband, and after the rebuff he had\nreceived on account of the tortured man he would be angry if she should\nplead his cause with her royal brother.\n\nBut her kind heart, and the regard which both Eva and Heinz Schorlin had\ninspired, strengthened her desire to aid, as far as lay in her power, the\nbrave maiden who urged her suit with such honest warmth, and the\npetitioner's avowal of her intention, as a last resort, of appealing to\nthe Emperor in person showed her how to convert her kind wishes into\ndeeds.\n\nLet Eva's youth and beauty try to persuade the Emperor to an act of\nclemency which he had refused to wisdom and power.\n\nAfter supper her brother received various guests, and she could present\nthe daughter of a Nuremberg patrician whom he already knew, and whose\nrare charms had attracted his notice.\n\nThough she had been compelled to forego the ride to the forest, she was\nwell enough to appear at supper in the Emperor's residence, which was\nclose to her own castle. When the meal was over she would take Eva\nherself to her royal brother.\n\nShe told her this, and the gratitude which she received was so warm and\nearnest that it touched her heart, and as she bade the beautiful, brave\nchild farewell she clasped her in her arms and kissed her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nEncouraged and hopeful, Eva again mounted her palfrey, and urged the\nswift animal outside the city to so rapid a pace that the old groom on\nhis well-fed bay was left far behind. But the change of dress, the\nwaiting, and the numerous questions asked by the Burgravine had consumed\nso much time that the poplars were already casting long shadows when she\ndismounted before the hospital.\n\nSister Hildegard received her with an embarrassment by no means usual,\nbut which Eva thought natural when the former told her that the dying\nFather Benedictus had asked for her impatiently. The widow was doing\nwell, and Biberli would hardly need her; for the wife of a Swabian knight\nin whose service he had formerly been was sitting by his couch with her\nyoung daughter, and their visit seemed to please him.\n\nEva remarked in surprise that she thought the sick man had never served\nany one except the Schurlins, but she was in too much haste for further\nquestions, and entered the room where Biberli lay.\n\nHer face was flushed by the rapid ride; her thick, fair hair, which\nusually fell loosely on her shoulders, had been hastily braided before\nshe mounted her horse, but the long, heavy braids had become unfastened\non the way, and now hung in tresses round her face and pliant figure.\n\nShe waved her hand gaily from the threshold to the patient for whom she\nhad done and dared so much; but ere approaching his couch she modestly\nsaluted the stately matron who was with Biberli, and nodded a pleasant\nwelcome to her daughter, whose pretty, frank face attracted her. After\nthe Swabians had cordially returned her greeting, she briefly excused\nherself, as an urgent duty would not permit her to yield to her desire to\nremain with them.\n\nLastly, she addressed a few hasty questions to the squire about his\nhealth, kissed little Walpurga, who had nestled to her side, bade her\ntell her another that she would come to her later, and entered the next\nroom.\n\n\"Well?\" Biberli asked his visitors eagerly, after the door had closed\nbehind her.\n\n\"Oh, how beautiful she is!\" cried the younger lady quickly, but her\nmother's voice trembled with deep emotion as she answered: \"How I\nobjected to my son's marriage with the daughter of a city family! Nay, I\nintended to cast all the weight of my maternal influence between Heinz\nand the Nuremberg maiden. Yet you did not say too much, my friend, and\nwhat your praise began Eva's own appearance has finished. She will be\nwelcome to me as a daughter. I have scarcely ever seen anything more\nlovely. That she is devout and charitable and, moreover, has a clear\nintellect and resolute energy, can be plainly perceived in spite of the\nfew minutes which she could spare us. If Heaven would really suffer our\nHeinz to win the heart of this rare creature----\"\n\n\"Every fibre of it is his already,\" interrupted Biberli. \"The rub--pardon\nme, noble lady!--is somewhere else. Whether he--whether Heinz can be\ninduced to renounce the thought of the monastery, is the question.\"\n\nHe sighed faintly as he gazed into the still beautiful, strong, and yet\nkindly face of the Lady Wendula Schorlin, Sir Heinz's mother, for she was\nthe older visitor.\n\n\"We ought not to doubt that,\" replied the matron firmly. \"As the last of\nhis ancient race, it is his duty to provide for its continuance, not\nsolely for his own salvation. He was always a dutiful son.\"\n\n\"Yet,\" replied Biberli thoughtfully, \"'Away with those who gave us life!'\nwas the exhortation of Father Benedictus in the next room. 'Away with the\nservice of sovereign and woman!' he cried to our knight. 'Away with\neverything that stands in the way of your own salvation!' And,\" Biberli\nadded, \"St. Francis was not the first to devise that. Our Lord and\nSaviour commanded His disciples to leave father and mother and to follow\nHim.\"\n\n\"Who will prevent his walking in the paths of Jesus Christ?\" replied the\nLady Wendula? \"Yet, though he follows His footsteps, he must and can do\nso as a scion of a noble race, as a knight and the brave soldier and true\nservant of his Emperor, which he is, as a good son and, God willing, as a\nhusband and father. He is sure of my blessing if he wields his sword as a\nchampion of his holy faith. When my two daughters took the veil I\nsubmissively yielded. They can pray for heavenly bliss for their brother\nand ourselves. My only son, the last Schorlin, I neither can nor will\npermit to renounce the world, in which he has tasks to perform which God\nHimself assigned him by his birth.\"\n\n\"And how could Heinz part from this angel,\" cried Maria--to whom, next to\nher mother, her brother was the dearest person on earth--\"if he is really\nsure of her love!\"\n\nShe herself had not yet opened her heart to love. To wander through\nforest and field with the aged head of her family, assist her mother in\nhousekeeping, and nurse the sick poor in the village, had hitherto been\nthe joy and duty of her life. Gaily, often with a song upon her lips, she\nhad carelessly seen one day follow another until Schorlin Castle was\nbesieged and destroyed, and her dear uncle, the Knight Ramsweg, was slain\nin the defence of the fortress confided to his care. Then she and her\nmother were taken to the convent at Constance. Both remained there in\nperfect freedom, as welcome guests of the nuns, until the mounted courier\nbrought a letter from the Knight Maier of Silenen, her cousin, who wrote\nfrom Nuremberg that Heinz, like his sisters, intended to renounce the\nworld.\n\nLady Schorlin set out at once, and with an anxious heart rode to\nNuremberg with her daughter as fast as possible.\n\nThey had arrived a few hours before and gone to their cousin from\nSilenen. From him the Lady Wendula learned what her maternal love desired\nto know. Biberli's fate brought her, after a brief rest, to the hospital,\nand how it comforted the faithful fellow's heart to see the noble lady\nwho had confided his master to his care, and in whose house the T and St\nhad been embroidered on his long coat and cap!\n\nLady Wendula had remembered these letters, and when she spoke of them he\nreplied that since he had partially verified what the T and St had\nannounced to people concerning his character, and to which the letters\nhad themselves incited him, he no longer needed them.\n\nThen he lapsed into silence, and at last, as the result of his\nmeditations, told his mistress that there was something unusual about his\ninsignificant self, because he earnestly desired to practise the virtues\nwhose possession he claimed before the eyes of the people. He had usually\nfound the worst wine in the taverns with showy signs, and when the Lady\nWendula's daughter had embroidered those letters on the cloth for him,\nwhat he furnished the guests was also of very doubtful quality. On his\nsick bed he had been obliged to place no curb upon his proneness to\nreflection, and in doing so had discovered that there was no virtue which\ncan be owned like a house or a steed, but that each must be constantly\ngained anew, often amidst toil and suffering. One thing, however, was now\nfirmly established in his belief: that his favourite virtues were really\nthe fairest of all, because--one will answer for all--man never felt\nhappier than when he had succeeded in keeping his fidelity inviolate and\nmaintaining his steadfastness. He had learned, too, from Fraulein Eva\nthat the Redeemer Himself promised the crown of eternal life to those who\nremain faithful unto death. In this confidence he awaited the jailers,\nwho perhaps would come very soon to lead him into the most joyless of all\napartments--the Nuremberg torture chamber.\n\nThen he told the ladies what he knew of the love which united Heinz and\nEva. The four Fs which he had advised his master to heed in his\nwooing--Family, Figure, Favor, and Fortune--he no longer deemed the right\ntouch-tones. Whilst he was forced to lie idly here he had found that they\nshould rather be exchanged for four Ss--Spirituality, Steadfastness,\nStimulation, and Solace--for the eyes and the heart.\n\nAll these were united in Eva and, moreover, there could be no objection\nto the family to which she belonged.\n\nThereupon he had commenced so enthusiastic a eulogy of his beloved nurse\nand preserver that more than once Lady Wendula, smiling, stopped him,\naccusing him of permitting his grateful heart to lead him to such\nexaggeration that the maiden he wished to serve would scarcely thank him.\n\nYet Eva's personal appearance had disappointed neither the experienced\nmother nor the easily won daughter. Nay, when Maria Schorlin gazed at her\nthrough the half-open door of the Minorite's room, because she did not\nwant to lose sight of the girl who had already attracted her on account\nof her hard battle in the cause of love, and who specially charmed her\nbecause it was her Heinz whom she loved, she thought no human being could\nresist the spell which emanated from Eva.\n\nWith her finger on her lip she beckoned to her mother, and she, too,\ncould not avert her eyes from the wonderful creature whom she hoped soon\nto call daughter, as she saw Eva standing, with eyes uplifted to heaven,\nbeside the old man's couch, and heard her, in compliance with his wish,\nas she had often done before, half recite, half sing in a low voice the\nSong of the Sun, the finest work of St. Francis.\n\nThe words were in the Italian language, in which this song had flowed\nfrom the poet heart of the Saint of Assisi, so rich in love to God and\nall animate nature; for she had learned to speak Italian in the Convent\nof St. Clare, to which several Italians had been transferred from their\nown home and that of their order and its founder.\n\nLady Wendula and her daughter could also follow the song; for the mother\nhad learned the beautiful language of the Saint of Assisi from the\nminnesingers in her youth, and in the early years of her marriage had\naccompanied the Emperor Frederick, with her husband, across the Alps. So\nshe had taught Maria.\n\nAs Lady Schorlin approached the door Eva, with her large eyes uplifted,\nwas just beginning the second verse:\n\n     \"Praised by His creatures all\n     Praised be the Lord my God\n     By Messer Sun, my brother, above all,\n     Who by his rays lights us and lights the day.\n     Radiant is he, with his great splendour stored,\n     Thy glory, Lord, confessing.\n\n     \"By sister Moon and stars my Lord is praised,\n     Where clear and fair they in the heavens are raised.\n\n     \"By brother Wind, my Lord, thy praise is said,\n     By air and clouds, and the blue sky o'erhead,\n     By which thy creatures all are kept and fed.\n\n     \"By one most humble, useful, precious, chaste,\n     By sister Water, O my Lord, thou art praised.\n\n     \"And praised is my Lord\n     By brother Fire-he who lights up the night;\n     Jocund, robust is he, and strong and bright.\n\n     \"Praised art Thou, my Lord, by mother Earth,\n     Thou who sustainest her and governest,\n     And to her flowers, fruit, herbs, dost colour give and birth.\n\n     \"And praised is my Lord\n     By those who, for Thy love, can pardon give\n     And bear the weakness and the wrongs of men.\n\n     \"Blessed are those who suffer thus in peace,\n     By Thee, the Highest, to be crowned in heaven.\n\n     \"Praised by our sister Death, my Lord, art Thou,\n     From whom no living man escapes.\n     Who die in mortal sin have mortal woe,\n     But blessed are they who die doing Thy will;\n     The second death can strike at them no blow.\n\n     \"Praises and thanks and blessing to my Master be!\n     Serve ye Him all, with great humility.\"\n\nHow God was loved by this saint, who beheld in everything the Most High\nhad created kindred whom he loved and held intercourse with as with\nbrother and sister! Whatever the divine Father's love had formed--the\nsun, the moon and stars, the wood, water and fire, the earth and her fair\nchildren, the various flowers and plants--he made proclaim, each for\nitself and all in common, like a mighty chorus, the praise of God. Even\ndeath joins in the hymn, and all these sons and daughters of the same\nexalted Father call to the minds of men the omnipotent, beneficent rule\nof the Lord. They help mortals to appreciate God's majesty, fill their\nhearts with gratitude, and summon them to praise His sublimity and\ngreatness. In death, whom the poet also calls his sister, he sees no\ncruel murderer, because she, too, comes from the Most High. \"And what\nsister,\" asks the saint, \"could more surely rescue the brother from\nsorrow and suffering?\" Whoever, as a child of God, feels like the loving\nSaint of Assisi, will gratefully suffer death to lead him to union with\nthe Father.\n\nBenedictus had followed the magnificent poem with rapture. At the lines,\n\n     \"But blessed are they who die doing Thy will;\n     The second death can strike at them no blow,\"\n\nhe nodded gently, as if sure that the close of his earthly pilgrimage\nmeant nothing to him except the beginning of a new and happy life; but\nwhen Eva ended with the command to serve the Lord with great humility, he\nlowered his eyes to the floor hesitatingly, as if not sure of himself.\n\nBut he soon raised them again and fixed them on the young girl. They\nseemed to ask the question whether this noble hymn did not draw his nurse\nalso to him who had sung it; whether, in spite of it, she still\npersisted, with sorrowful blindness, in her refusal to join the Sisters\nof St. Clare, whom the saintly singer also numbered amongst his\nfollowers. Yet he felt too feeble to appeal to her conscience now, as he\nhad often done, and bear the replies with which this highly gifted,\npeculiar creature, in every conversation his increasing weakness\npermitted him to share with her, had pressed him hard and sometimes even\nsilenced him.\n\nTrue, they fought with unequal weapons. Pain and illness paralysed his\nkeen intellect, and difficulty of breathing often checked the eloquent\ntongue, both of which had served him so readily in his intercourse with\nHeinz Schorlin. She contended with the most precious goal of youth before\nher eyes, fresh and healthy in mind and body, conscious, in the midst of\nthe struggle, against doubt and suffering, for what she held dearest of\nher own vigorous energy, panoplied by the talisman of the last mandate\nfrom the lips of her dying mother.\n\nBenedictus, during a long life devoted to the highest aims, had battled\nenough. He already saw Sister Death upon the threshold, and he wished to\ndepart in peace and reap the reward for so much conflict, pain, and\nsacrifice. The Lord Himself had broken his weapons. The Minorite Egidius,\nhis friend and companion in years, must carry on with Eva, Father\nIgnatius, the most eloquent member of the order in Nuremberg, with Heinz\nSchorlin, the work which he, Benedictus, had begun. Though he himself\nmust retire from the battlefield, he was sure that his post would not\nremain empty.\n\nThe chant had placed him in the right mood to take leave of the Brothers,\nwhose arrival Sister Hildegard had just announced.\n\nSince yesterday he had seen the Saviour constantly before his mental\nvision. Sometimes he imagined that he beheld Him beckoning to him;\nsometimes that He extended His arms to him; sometimes he even fancied\nthat he heard His voice, or that of St. Francis, and both invited him to\napproach.\n\nTo-day-the leech had admitted it, and he himself felt it by his fevered\nbrow, the failing pulsations of the heart, and the chill in the cold\nfeet, perhaps already dead--he might expect to leave the dust of the\nworld and behold those for whom he longed face to face in a purer light.\n\nHe wished to await the end surrounded only by the Brothers, who were\nfighting the same battle, reminded by nothing of the world, as if in the\nouter court of heaven.\n\nEva, the beautiful yet perverse woman, was one of the last persons whom\nhe would have desired to have near him when he took the step into the\nother world.\n\nSpeech was difficult. A brief admonition to renounce her earthly love in\norder to share the divine one whose rich joys he hoped to taste that very\nday was the farewell greeting he vouchsafed Eva. When she tried to kiss\nhis hand he withdrew it as quickly as his weakness permitted.\n\nThen she retired, and Father AEgidius led the Brothers of the order in\nNuremberg into the room. Meanwhile it had grown dark, and the Beguine\nPaulina brought in a two-branched candelabrum with burning candles. Eva\ntook it from her hand and placed it so that the light should not dazzle\nher patient; but he saw her and, by pointing with a frowning brow to the\ndoor, commanded her to leave the room.\n\nShe gladly obeyed. When she had passed the Brothers, however, she paused\non the threshold before going into the entry and again gazed at the old\nman's noble, pallid features illumined by the candlelight.\n\nShe had never seen him look so. He was gazing, radiant with joy, at the\nmonks, who were to give him the benediction at his departure. Then he\nraised his dark eyes as if transfigured; he was thanking Heaven for so\nmuch mercy, but the other Minorites fell on their knees beside the bed\nand prayed with him.\n\nHow lovingly the old man looked into each face! He had never favoured her\nwith such a glance. Yet no other nursing had been so difficult and often\nso painful. At first he had shown a positive enmity to her, and even\nasked Sister Hildegard for another nurse; but no suitable substitute for\nEva could be found. Then he had earnestly desired to be removed to the\nFranciscan monastery in Nuremberg; this, however, could not be done\nbecause it would have hastened his death. So he was forced to remain, and\nEva felt that her presence was not the least thing which rendered the\nhospital distasteful.\n\nYet, as his aged eyes refused their service and he liked to have someone\nread aloud from the gospels which he carried with him, or from notes\nwritten by his own hand, which also comprised some of the poems of St.\nFrancis, and no one else in the house was capable of performing this\noffice, he at last explicitly desired to keep her for his nurse.\n\nTo anoint and bandage, according to the physician's prescription, his\nsore feet and the deep scars made on his back by severe scourging, which\nhad reopened, became more difficult the more plainly he showed his\naversion to her touch, because she--he had told her so himself--was a\nwoman. She certainly had not found it easy to keep awake and wear a\npleasant expression when, after a toilsome day, he woke her at midnight\nand forced her to read aloud until the grey dawn of morning. But hardest\nof all for Eva to bear were the bitter words with which he wounded her,\nand which sounded specially sharp and hostile when he reproached her for\nstanding between Heinz Schorlin and the eternal salvation for which the\nknight so eagerly longed. He seemed to bear her a grudge like that which\nthe artist feels towards the culprit who has destroyed one of his\nmasterpieces.\n\nOften, too, a chance word betrayed that he blamed Heaven for having\ndenied him victory in the battle for the soul of Heinz. Schorlin which he\nhad begun to wage in its name. True, such murmuring was always followed\nby deep repentance. But in every mood he still strove to persuade Eva to\nrenounce the world.\n\nWhen she confessed what withheld her from doing so, he at first tried to\nconvince her by opposing reasons, but usually strength to continue the\ninterchange of thought soon failed him. Then he confined himself to\ncondemning with harsh words her perverse spirit and worldly nature, and\nthreatening her with the vengeance of Heaven.\n\nOnce, after repeating the Song of the Sun, as she had done just now, he\nasked whether she, too, felt that nothing save the peace of the cloister\nwould afford the possibility of feeling the greatness and love of the\nMost High as warmly and fully as this majestic song commands us to do.\n\nThen, summoning her courage, she assured him of the contrary. Though but\na simple girl, she, who had often been the guest of the abbess, felt the\ngrandeur and glory of God as much more deeply in the world and during the\nfulfilment of the hardest duties which life imposed than with the Sisters\nof St. Clare, as the forests and fields were wider than the little\nconvent garden.\n\nThe old man, in a rage, upbraided her with being a blinded fool, and\nasked her whether she did not know that the world was finite and limited,\nwhilst what the convent contained was eternal and boundless.\n\nAnother time he had wounded her so deeply by his severity that she had\nfound it impossible to restrain her tears. But he had scarcely perceived\nthis ere he repented his harshness. Nothing but love ought to move his\nheart on the eve of a union with Him whom he had just called Love itself,\nand with earnest and tender entreaties he besought Eva to forgive him for\nthe censure which was also a work of love. Throughout the day he had\ntreated her with affectionate, almost humble, kindness.\n\nAll these things returned to Eva's thoughts as she left her grey-haired\npatient.\n\nHe was standing on the threshold of the other world, and it was easy for\nher to think of him kindly, deeply as he had often wounded her. Nay, her\nheart swelled with grateful joy because she had been so patient and\nsuffered nothing to divert her from the arduous duty which she had\nundertaken in nursing the old man, who regarded her with such disfavour.\n\nA light had been brought into Biberli's room too. When Eva entered with\nglowing cheeks she found the Swabians still sitting beside his couch. The\ndoor leading into the chamber of the dying man had been closed long\nbefore, yet the notes of pious litanies came from the adjoining room.\nLady Schorlin noticed her deep emotion with sympathy, and asked her to\nsit down by her side. Maria offered her own low stool, but Eva declined\nits use, because she would soon be obliged to ride back to the city. She\npressed her hand upon her burning brow, sighing, \"Now, now--after such an\nhour, at court!\"\n\nLady Wendula urged her with such kindly maternal solicitude to take a\nlittle rest that the young girl yielded.\n\nThe matron's remark that she, too, was invited to the reception at the\nimperial residence that evening brought an earnest entreaty from Eva to\naccept the invitation for her sake, and the Swabian promised to gratify\nher if nothing occurred to prevent. At any rate, they would ride to the\ncity together.\n\nBiberli's astonished enquiry concerning the cause of Eva's visit to the\nfortress was answered evasively, and she was glad when the singing in the\nnext room led the Swabian to ask whether it was true that the master of\nher suffering friend on the couch, who intended to devote himself to a\nmonastic life, meant to enter the order of the Minorite whom she had just\nleft and become a mendicant friar. When Eva assented, the lady remarked\nthat members of this brotherhood had rarely come to her castle; but\nBiberli said that they were quiet, devout men who, content with the alms\nthey begged, preached, and performed other religious duties. They were\nrecruited more from the people than from the aristocratic classes. Many,\nhowever, joined them in order to live an idle life, supported by the\ngifts of others.\n\nEva eagerly opposed this view, maintaining that true piety could be most\nsurely found in the order of St. Francis. Then, with warm enthusiasm, she\npraised its founder, asserting that, on the contrary, the Saint of Assisi\nhad enjoined labour upon his followers. For instance, one of his\nfavourite disciples was willing to shake the nuts from the rotten\nbranches of a nut tree which no one dared to climb if he might have half\nthe harvest. This was granted, but he made a sack of his wide brown cowl,\nfilled it with the nuts, and distributed them amongst his poor.\n\nThis pleased the mother and daughter; yet when the former remarked that\nwork of this kind seemed to her too easy for a young, noble, and powerful\nknight, Eva agreed, but added that the saint also required an activity in\nwhich the hands, it is true, remained idle, but which heavily taxed even\nthe strongest soul. St. Francis himself had set the example of performing\nthis toil cheerfully and gladly.\n\nWhilst giving this information she had again risen. Sister Hildegard had\nannounced that her palfrey and the horses of the guests had been led up.\n\nFinally Eva promised to mount at the same time as the Swabians, bade\nfarewell to Biberli, who looked after her with surprise, yet silently\nconjectured that this errand to the Emperor was in his behalf, and then\nwent into the entry, where Sister Hildegard told her that Father\nBenedictus had just died.\n\nThe monks were still chanting beside his deathbed. Brother AEgidius, the\nfriend and comrade of the dead man, however, had left them and approached\nEva.\n\nDeeply agitated, he struggled to repress his sobs as he told her that the\nold man's longing was fulfilled and his Saviour had summoned him. To die\nthus, richly outweighed the many sacrifices he had so willingly made here\nbelow during a long life. If Eva had witnessed his death she would have\nperceived the aptness of the saying that a monk's life is bitter, but his\ndeath is sweet. Such an end was granted only to those who cast the world\naside. Let her consider this once more, ere she renounced the eternal\nbliss for which formerly she had so devoutly yearned.\n\nEva's only answer was the expression of her grief for his friend's\ndecease. But whilst passing out into the darkness she thought: the holy\nBrother certainly had a beautiful and happy death, yet how gently,\ntrusting in the mercy of her Redeemer, my mother also passed away, though\nduring her life and on her deathbed she remained in the world. And\nthen--whilst Father Benedictus was closing his eyes--what concern did he\nprobably have for aught save his own salvation, but my mother forgot\nherself and thought only of others, of those whom she loved, whilst the\nSaviour summoned her to Himself. Her eyes were already dim and her tongue\nfaltered when she uttered the words which had guided her daughter until\nnow. The forge fire of life burns fiercely, yet to it my gratitude is due\nif the resolutions I formed in the forest after I had gathered the\nflowers for her and saw Heinz kneeling in prayer have not been vain, but\nhave changed the capricious, selfish child into a woman who can render\nsome service to others.\n\nIf Heinz comes now and seeks me, I think I can say trustingly, \"Here I\nam!\" We have both striven for the divine Love and recognised its glorious\nbeauty. If later, hand in hand, we can interweave it with the earthly\none, why should it not be acceptable to the Saviour? If Heinz offers me\nhis affection I will greet it as \"Sister Love,\" and it will certainly\nsummon me with no lower voice to praise the Father from whom it comes and\nwho has bestowed it upon me, as do the sun, the moon and stars, the fire\nand water.\n\nWhilst speaking she went out, and after learning that Frau Christine and\nher husband had not yet returned, she rode with the Swabians towards the\ncity.\n\nIn order not to pass through the whole length of Nuremberg, Eva guided\nher friends around the fortifications. Their destination was almost the\nsame, and they chose to enter at the Thiergartnerthor, which was in the\nnorthwestern part of the city, under the hill crowned by the castle,\nwhilst the road to Schweinau usually led through the Spitalthor.\n\nOn the way Lady Wendula induced Eva to tell her many things about\nherself, urging her to describe her father and her dead mother. Her\ndaughter Maria, on the other hand, was most interested in her sister Els,\nwho, as she had heard from Biberli, was the second beautiful E.\n\nEva liked to talk about her relatives, but her depression continued and\nshe spoke only in reply to questions, for the Minorite's death had\naffected her, and her heart throbbed anxiously when she thought of the\nmoment that she must appear amongst the courtiers and see the Emperor.\n\nWould her errand be vain? Must poor Biberli pay for his resolute fidelity\nwith his life? What pain it would cause her, and how heavily it would\nburden his master's soul that he had failed to intercede for him!\n\nNot until Lady Schorlin questioned her did Eva confess what troubled her,\nand how she dreaded the venture which she had undertaken on her own\nresponsibility.\n\nThey were obliged to wait outside the Thiergartnerthor, for it had just\nbeen opened to admit a train of freight waggons.\n\nWhilst Eva remained on the high-road, with the castle before her eyes,\nshe sighed from the depths of her troubled heart: \"Why should the Emperor\nRudolph grant me, an insignificant girl, what he refused his sister's\nhusband, the powerful Burgrave, to whom he is so greatly indebted? Oh,\nsuppose he should treat me harshly and bid me go back to my spinning\nwheel!\"\n\nThen she felt the arm of the dignified lady at her side pass round her\nand heard her say: \"Cheer up, my dear girl. The blessing of a woman who\nfeels as kindly towards you as to her own daughter will accompany you,\nand no Emperor will ungraciously rebuff you, you lovely, loyal,\ncharitable child.\"\n\nAt these words from her kind friend Eva's heart opened as if the dear\nmother whom death had snatched from her had inspired her with fresh\ncourage, and from the very depths of her soul rose the cry, \"Oh, how I\nthank you!\"\n\nShe urged her nimble palfrey nearer the lady's horse to kiss her left\nhand, which held the bridle, but Lady Wendula would not permit it and,\ndrawing her towards her, exclaimed, \"Your lips, dear one,\" and as her red\nmouth pressed the kind lady's, Eva felt as if the caress had sealed an\nold and faithful friendship. But this was not all. Maria also wished to\nshow the affection she had won, and begged for a kiss too.\n\nWithout suspecting it, Eva, on the way to an enterprise she dreaded,\nreceived the proof that her lover's dearest relatives welcomed her with\ntheir whole hearts as a new member of the family.\n\nOn the other side of the gate she was obliged to part from the Swabians.\n\nLady Wendula bade her farewell with an affectionate \"until we meet\nagain,\" and promised positively to go to the reception at the castle.\n\nEva uttered a sigh of relief. It seemed like an omen of success that this\nlady, who had so quickly inspired her with such perfect confidence, was\nto witness her difficult undertaking. She felt like a leader who takes\nthe field with a scanty band of soldiers and is unexpectedly joined by\nthe troops of a firm friend.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nWhen Arnold, the warder from Berne, helped Eva from the saddle, a blaze\nof light greeted her from the imperial residence. The banquet was just\nbeginning.\n\nFrau Gertrude had more than one piece of good news to tell while\nassisting the young girl. Among the sovereign's guests was her uncle the\nmagistrate, who had accompanied the Emperor to the beekeeper's, and with\nhis wife, whom she would also find there, had been invited to the\nbanquet. Besides--this, as the best, she told her last--her father, Herr\nErnst Ortlieb, had returned from Ulm and Augsburg, and a short time\nbefore had come to the fortress to conduct Jungfrau Els, by the\nBurgrave's gracious permission, to her betrothed husband's hiding place.\nFran Gertrude had lighted her way, and a long separation might be borne\nfor such a meeting.\n\nThe ex-maid was obliged to bestir herself that Eva might have a few\nminutes for her sister and Wolff, yet she would fain have spent a much\nlonger time over the long, thick, fair hair, which with increasing\npleasure she combed until it flowed in beautiful waving tresses over the\nrich Florentine stuff of her plain white mourning robe.\n\nThe Swiss had also provided white roses from the Burgrave's garden to\nfasten at the square neck of Eva's dress. The latter permitted her to do\nthis, but her wish to put a wreath of roses on the young girl's head,\naccording to the fashion of the day, was denied, because Eva thought it\nmore seemly to appear unadorned, and not as if decked for a festival when\nshe approached the Emperor as a petitioner. The woman whose life had been\nspent at court perceived the wisdom of this idea, and at last rejoiced\nthat she had not obtained her wish; for when her work was finished Eva\nlooked so bewitching and yet so pure and modest, that nothing could be\nremoved or--even were it the wreath of roses--added without injuring the\nperfect success of her masterpiece.\n\nLack of time soon compelled the young girl to interrupt the exclamations\nof admiration uttered by the skilful tiring woman herself, her little\ndaughter, the maidservant, and the friend whom Fran Gertrude had invited\nto come in as if by accident.\n\nWhile following the warder's wife through various corridors and rooms,\nEva thought of the hour in her own home before the dance at the Town\nHall, and it seemed as if not days but a whole life intervened, and she\nwas a different person, a complete contrast in most respects to the Eva\nof that time.\n\nBefore the dance she had secretly rejoiced in the applause elicited by\nher appearance; now she was indifferent to it--nay, the more eagerly the\nspectators expressed their delight the more she grieved that the only\nperson whom she desired to please was not among them.\n\nHow easy it had been to be led to the dance, and how hard was the errand\nawaiting her! Her heart shrank before the doubt awakened by the flood of\nlight pouring from the windows of the imperial residence; the doubt\nwhether her lover would not avoid her if--ah, had it only been\npossible!--if he should meet her among the guests yonder; whether the\neloquent Father Ignatius, who had followed him, might not already have\nwon from the knight a vow compelling him to turn from her and summon all\nhis strength of will to forget her.\n\nBut, no! He could no more renounce his love than she hers. She would not,\ndare not, let such terrible thoughts torture her now.\n\nHeinz was far away, and the fate of her love would be decided later. The\ncause of her presence here was something very different, and the\nconviction that it was good, right, and certain of his approval,\ndispelled the pain that had overpowered her, and raised her courage.\n\nUnspeakably hard trials lay behind her, and harder ones must, perhaps,\nyet be vanquished. But she no longer needed to fear them, for she felt\nthat the strength which had awakened within her after she became\nconscious of her love was still sustaining and directing her, and would\nenable her to govern matters which she could not help believing that she\nherself would be too weak to guide to their goal. She felt freed from her\nformer wavering and hesitation, and as formerly in the modest house of\nthe Beguines, now in the stately citadel she realised that, in sorrow and\nsevere trial, she had learned to assert her position in life by her own\nstrength. Her father, whom she was to meet presently, would find little\noutward change in her, but when he had perceived the transformation\nwrought in the character of his helpless \"little saint\" it would please\nhim to hear from her how wonderfully her mother's last prophetic words\nwere being fulfilled.\n\nShe was emerging from the forge fire of life, steeled for every conflict,\nyet those would be wrong who believed that, trusting to her own newly won\nstrength, she had forgotten to look heavenward. On the contrary, never\nhad she felt nearer to her God, her Saviour, and the gracious Virgin.\nWithout them she could accomplish nothing, yet for the first time she had\nundertaken tasks and sought to win goals which were worthy of beseeching\nthem for aid. Love had taught her to be faithful in worldly life, and she\nsaid to herself, \"Better, far better I can certainly become; but firmer\nfaith cannot be kept.\"\n\nWolff's hiding place was a large, airy room, affording a view of the\nFrank country, with its meadows, fields, and forests. Eva saw there by\nthe light of the blazing pine chips her father, sister, and\nbrother-in-law.\n\nYet the meeting between all these beloved ones after a long separation\npartook more of sorrow than of joy. Els had really resolved to leave the\nEysvogel mansion, yet she met her Aunt Christine with the joyful cry: \"I\nshall stay! Wolff's father and I have become good friends.\"\n\nIn fact, a few hours before Herr Casper had looked at her kindly and\ngratefully, and when she showed him how happy this rendered her, warmly\nentreated her in a broken voice not to leave him. She had proved herself\nto be his good angel, and the sight of her was the only bright spot in\nhis clouded life. Then she had gladly promised to stay, and intended to\nkeep her word. She had only accompanied her father, who had unexpectedly\nreturned for a short time, because she could trust the nun who shared her\nnursing of the paralysed patient, and he rarely recognised his watcher at\nnight.\n\nHow long Els had been separated from her lover! When Eva greeted the\nreunited pair they had already poured forth to each other the events\nwhich had driven them to the verge of despair, and which now once more\npermitted them with budding hope to anticipate new happiness.\n\nEva had little time, yet the sisters found an opportunity to confide many\nthings to each other, though at first their father often interrupted them\nby opposing his younger daughter's intention of going to the Emperor as a\nsupplicant.\n\nThe girl whose wishes but a short time ago he had refused or gratified,\naccording to the mood of the moment, like those of a child, had since\ngained, even in his eyes, so well founded a claim to respect, she opposed\nhim in her courteous, modest way with such definiteness of purpose,\nBiberli's fate interested him so much, and the prospect of seeing his\ndaughters brought before the court was so painful, that he admitted the\nforce of Eva's reasons and let her set forth on her difficult mission\naccompanied by his good wishes.\n\nEls had dropped her maternal manner; nay, she received her sister as her\nsuperior, and began to describe her work in the hospital to Wolff in such\nvivid colours that Eva laid her hand on her lips and hurried out of the\nroom with the exclamation, \"If you insist upon our changing places, we\nwill stand in future side by side and shoulder to shoulder! Farewell till\nafter the battle!\"\n\nShe could not have given much more time to her relatives under any\ncircumstances, for the Burgravine's maid of honour who was to attend her\nto the reception was already waiting somewhat impatiently in Frau\nGertrude's room, and took her to the castle without delay.\n\nThe place where they were to stay was the large apartment adjoining the\ndining hall.\n\nThe confidence which Eva had regained on her way to her relatives\nvanished only too quickly in the neighbourhood of the sovereign and the\nsight of the formal reception bestowed on all who entered. Her heart\nthrobbed more and more anxiously as she realised for the first time how\nserious a step she had taken; nay, it was long ere she succeeded in\ncalming herself sufficiently to notice the clatter of the metal vessels\nand the Emperor's deep voice, which often drowned the lower tones of the\nguests. Reverence for royalty was apparent everywhere.\n\nHow much quieter this banquet was than those of the princes and nobles!\nThe guests knew that the Emperor Rudolph disliked the boisterous manners\nof the German nobility. Besides, the sovereign's mourning exerted a\nrestraint upon mirth and recklessness. All avoided loud laughter, though\nthe monarch was fond of gaiety and heroically concealed the deep grief of\nhis own soul.\n\nWhen the lord high steward announced to the maid of honour who had\nbrought Eva here that dessert was served, the latter believed that the\ndreaded moment when she would be presented to the Emperor was close at\nhand, but quarter of an hour after quarter of an hour passed and she\nstill heard the clanking of metal and the voices of the guests, which now\nbegan to grow louder, and amidst which she sometimes distinguished the\nstrident tones of the court fool, Eyebolt, and the high ones of the\nCountess Cordula.\n\nTime moved at a snail's pace, and she already fancied her heart could no\nlonger endure its violent throbbing, when at last--at last--the heavy oak\nchairs were pushed noisily back over the stone floor of the dining hall.\n\nFrom the balcony of the audience chamber a flourish of trumpets echoed\nloudly along the arches of the lofty, vaulted ceiling of the apartment,\nand the Emperor, leading the company, crossed the threshold attended by\nseveral dignitaries, the court jesters, and some pages.\n\nHis august sister, the Burgravine Elizabeth, leaned on his arm. The papal\nambassador, Doria, in the brilliant robe of a cardinal, followed,\nescorting the Duchess Agnes, but he parted from her in the hall. Among\nmany other secular and ecclesiastical princes and dignitaries appeared\nalso Count von Montfort and his daughter, the old First Losunger of\nNuremberg, Berthold Vorchtel, and Herr Pfinzing with his wife.\n\nSeveral guests from the city entered at the same time through another\ndoor, among whom, robed in handsome festal garments, were Eva's new\nSwabian acquaintances. How gladly she would have hastened to them! But a\ngrey-haired stately man of portly figure, whose fur-trimmed cloak hung to\nhis ankles--Sir Arnold Maier of Silenen, led them to a part of the hall\nvery distant from where she was standing.\n\nTo make amends, Count von Montfort and Cordula came very near her; but\nshe could not greet them. Each person--she felt it--must remain in his or\nher place. And the restraint became stronger as the Duchess Agnes, giving\none guest a nod, another a few words, advanced nearer and nearer, pausing\nat last beside Count von Montfort.\n\nThe old huntsman advanced respectfully towards the Bohemian princess, and\nEva heard the fourteen-year-old wife ask, \"Well, Count, how fares your\nwish to find the right husband for your wilful daughter?\"\n\n\"Of course it must be fulfilled, Duchess, since your Highness deigned to\napprove it,\" he answered, with his hand upon his heart.\n\n\"And may his name be known?\" she queried with evident eagerness, her dark\neyes sparkling brightly and a faint flush tingeing the slight shade of\ntan on her child face.\n\n\"The duty of a knight and paternal weakness unfortunately still seal my\nlips,\" he answered. \"Your Highness knows best that a lady's wish--even if\nshe is your own child--is a command.\"\n\n\"You are praised as an obedient father,\" replied the Bohemian with a\nslight shrug of the shoulders. \"Yet you probably need not conceal whether\nthe happy man, who is not only encouraged, but this time also chosen by\nthe charming huntress of many kinds of game, is numbered among our\nguests.\"\n\n\"Unfortunately he is denied the pleasure, your Highness,\" replied the\ncount; but Cordula, who had noticed Eva, and had heard the Duchess\nAgnes's last words, approached her royal foe, and with a low, reverential\nbow, said: \"My poor heart must imagine him far away from here amid peril\nand privation. Instead of breaking ladies' hearts, he is destroying the\ncastles of robber knights and disturbers of the peace of the country.\"\n\nThe duchess, in silent rage, clenched her white teeth upon her quivering\nlips, and was about to make an answer which would scarcely have flattered\nCordula, when the Emperor, who had left his distinguished attendants,\napproached Eva, with the Burgravine still leaning on his arm.\n\nShe did not notice it; she was vainly trying to interpret the meaning of\nCordula's words. True, she did not know that when no messenger brought\nHeinz Schorlin's intercession for Biberli, in whose fate the countess\nfelt a sincere interest, she had commanded her own betrothed husband to\nride his horse to death in order to tell the master of the sorely\nimperilled man what danger threatened his faithful servant, and remind\nhim, in her name, that gratitude was one of the virtues which beseemed a\ntrue knight, even though the matter in question concerned only a servant\nBoemund Altrosen had obeyed, and must have overtaken Heinz long ago and\nprobably aided him to rout the Siebenburgs and their followers. But\nCordula read the young Bohemian's child heart, and it afforded her\nspecial pleasure to deal her a heavy blow in the warfare they were\nwaging, which perhaps might aid another purpose.\n\nThe surprise and bewilderment which the countess's answer had aroused in\nEva heightened the spell of her beauty.\n\nHad she heard aright? Could Heinz really have sued for the countess's\nhand and been accepted? Surely, surely not! Neither was capable of such\nperfidy, such breach of faith. Spite of the testimony of her own ears,\nshe would not believe it. But when she at last saw the Emperor's tall\nfigure before her, and he gazed down at her with a kind, fatherly glance,\nshe answered it with her large blue eyes uplifted beseechingly, and\nwithal as trustilly, as if she sought to remind him that, if he only\nchose to do so, his power made it possible to convert everything which\ntroubled and oppressed her to good.\n\nThe tearful yet bright gaze of those resistless eyes pierced the\nEmperor's very soul, and he imagined how this lovely vision of purity and\ninnocence, this rare creature, of whom he had heard such marvellous\nthings from Herr Pfinzing during their ride through the forest, would\nhave fired the heart of his eighteen-year-old son, so sensitive to every\nimpression, whom death had snatched from him so suddenly. And whilst\nremembering Hartmann, he also thought of his dead son's most loyal and\ndearest friend, Heinz Schorlin, who was again showing such prowess in his\nservice, and had earned a right to recognition and reward.\n\nHe did not know his young favourite's present state of mind concerning\nhis desire for a monastic life, but he had probably become aware that his\nswiftly kindled, ardent love for yonder lovely child had led him into an\nact of culpable imprudence. Besides, that very day many things had\nreached his ears concerning these two who suited each other as perfectly\nas Heinz Schorlin seemed--even to the Hapsburg, who was loyally devoted\nto the Holy Church--unfit for a religious life.\n\nThe Emperor could do much to further the union of this pair, yet he too\nwas obliged to exercise caution. If he joined them in wedlock as though\nthey were his own children he might be sure of causing loud complaints\nfrom the priesthood, and especially the Dominicans, who were very\ninfluential at the court of Rome--nay, he must be prepared for opposition\ndirected against himself as well as the young pair. The prior of the\norder had already complained to the nuncio of the lukewarmness of the\nSuperior of the Sisters of St. Clare, who idly witnessed the estrangement\nfrom the Church of the soul of a maiden belonging to a distinguished\nfamily; and Doria had told the sovereign of this provoking matter, and\nexpressed the prior's hope that Sir Heinz Schorlin, who enjoyed the\nmonarch's favour, would be won for the monastic life. Opposition to this\nmarriage, which he approved, and therefore desired to favour, was also to\nbe expected from another quarter. Therefore he must act with the utmost\ncaution, and in a manner which his antagonists could not oppose.\n\nAt this reflection a peculiar smile, familiar to the courtiers as an omen\nof a gracious impulse, hovered around his lips, which during the past\nmonth had usually revealed by their expression the grief that burdened\nhis soul and, raising his long forefinger in playful menace, he began:\n\n\"Aha, Jungfrau Eva Ortlieb! What have you been doing since I had the boon\nof meeting so rare a beauty at the dance? Do you know that you have\ncaused a turmoil amongst both ecclesiastical and secular authorities, and\nthat many a precious hour has been shortened for me on your account? You\nhave disturbed both the austere Dominican Fathers and the devout Sisters\nof St. Clare. The former think the gentle nuns treat you too indulgently,\nand the latter charge the zealous followers of St. Domingo with too much\nstrictness concerning you.\n\n\"And, besides, if you were not so well aware of it yourself, you would\nscarcely believe it: for the sake of an insignificant serving man, who is\nunder your special protection, I, who carry the burden of so many serious\nand weighty affairs, am beset by those of high and low degree. How much,\ntoo, I have also suffered on account of his master, Sir Heinz\nSchorlin--again in connection with you, you lovely disturber of the\npeace! To say nothing of the rest, your own father brings a charge\nagainst him. The accusation is made in a letter which Meister Gottlieb,\nour protonotary, was to withhold by Herr Ortlieb's desire, but through a\nwelcome accident it fell into my hands. This letter contains statements,\nmy lovely child, which I--Nay, don't be troubled; the roses on your\ncheeks are glowing enough already, and for their sake I will not mention\nits contents; only they force me to ask the question--come\nnearer--whether, though it caused you great annoyance that a certain\nyoung Swiss knight forced his way into your father's house under cover of\nthe darkness, you do not hope with me, the more experienced friend, that\nthis foolhardy fellow, misguided by ardent love, with the aid of the\nsaints to whom he is beginning to turn, may be converted to greater\ncaution and praiseworthy virtue? Whether, in your great charity--which I\nhave heard so highly praised--you would be capable\"--Here he paused and,\nlowering his voice to a whisper, added:\n\n\"Do me the favour to lend your ear--what a well-formed little thing it\nis!--a short time longer, to confide to the elderly man who feels a\nfather's affection for you whether you would be wholly reluctant to\nattempt the reformation of the daring evil-doer yourself were he to\noffer, not only his heart, but the little ring with--I will guarantee\nit--his honourable, knightly hand?\"\n\n\"Oh, your Majesty!\" cried Eva, gazing at the gracious sovereign with an\nexpression of such imploring entreaty in her large, tearful blue eyes\nthat, as if regretting his hasty question, he added soothingly:\n\n\"Well, well, we will reach the goal, I think, at a slower pace. Such a\nconfession will probably flow more easily from the lips when sought by\nthe person for whom it means happiness or despair, than when a\nstranger--even one as old and friendly as I--seeks to draw it from a\nmodest maiden.\"\n\nHere he paused; he had just recognised Lady Wendula Schorlin. Waving his\nhand to her in joyous greeting, he ordered a page to conduct her to him\nand, again turning to Eva, said: \"Look yonder, my beautiful child: there\nis someone in whom you would confide more willingly than in me. I think\nSir Heinz's mother, who is worthy of all reverence and love--\"\n\nHere surprise and joy forced from Eva's lips the question, \"His mother?\"\nand there was such amazement in the tone that, as the Lady Wendula,\nbowing low, approached the Emperor, after exchanging the first greetings\nwhich pass between old friends who have been long separated, he asked how\nit happened that though Eva seemed to have already met the matron, she\nheard with such surprise that she was the mother of his brave favourite.\n\nLady Wendula then confessed the name she had given herself, that she\nmight study the young girl without being known; and again that peculiar\nsmile flitted across the Emperor Rudolph's beardless face, and lingered\nthere, as he asked the widow of his dead companion in arms whether, after\nsuch an examination, she believed she had found the right wife for her\nson; and she replied that a long life would not give her time enough to\nthank Heaven sufficiently for such a daughter.\n\nThe maiden who was the subject of this whispering, whose purport only a\nloving glance from the Lady Wendula revealed, pressed her hand upon her\nheart, whose impetuous throbbing stifled her breath. Oh, how gladly she\nwould have hastened to the mother of the man she loved and his young\nsister, who stood at a modest distance, to clasp them in her arms, and\nconfide to them what seemed too great, too much, too beautiful for\nherself alone, yet which might crumble at a single word from her lover's\nlips like an undermined tower swept away by the wind! But she was forced\nto have patience, and submit to whatever might yet be allotted to her.\n\nNor was she to lack agitating experiences, for the Emperor's murmured\nquestion whether she desired to hear herself called \"daughter\" by this\nadmirable lady had scarcely called forth an answer, which, though mute,\nrevealed the state of her heart eloquently enough, than he added in a\nlouder tone, though doubtfully: \"Then, so far, all would be well; but,\nfair maiden, my young friend, unfortunately, was by no means satisfied,\nif I heard aright, with knocking at the door of a single heart. Things\nhave reached my ears--But this, too, must be----\"\n\nHere he suddenly paused, for already during this conversation with the\nladies there had been a noise at the door of the hall, and now the person\nwhom the Emperor had just accused entered, closely followed by the\nchamberlain, Count Ebenhofen, whose face was deeply flushed from his vain\nattempts to keep Sir Heinz Schorlin back.\n\nHeinz's cheeks were also glowing from his struggle with the courtier, who\nconsidered it a grave offence that a knight should dare to appear before\nthe Emperor at a peaceful social assembly clad in full armour.\n\nHis appearance created a joyful stir among the other members of the\ncourt--nay, in spite of the sovereign's presence, cordial expressions of\nwelcome fell from the lips of ladies and nobles. The Bohemian princess\nalone cast an angry glance at the blue ribbon which adorned the helmet of\nthe returning knight; for \"blue\" was Countess von Montfort's colour, and\n\"rose red\" her own.\n\nThe ecclesiastics whom Heinz passed whispered eagerly together. The\nDuchess Agnes's confessor, an elderly Dominican of tall stature, was\nlistening to the provost of St. Sebald's, a grey-haired man a head\nshorter than he, of dignified yet kindly aspect, who, looking keenly at\nHeinz, remarked: \"I fear that your prior hopes too confidently to win\nyonder young knight. No one walks with that bearing who is on the eve of\nrenouncing the world. A splendid fellow!\"\n\n\"To whom armour is better suited than the cowl,\" observed the Bishop of\nBamberg, a middleaged prelate of aristocratic appearance, approaching the\nothers. \"Your prior, my dear brothers, would have little pleasure, I\nthink, in the fish he is so eagerly trying to drag from the Minorite's\nnet into his own. He would leap ashore again all too quickly. He is not\nfit for the monastery. He would do better for a priest, and I would bid\nhim welcome as a military brother in office.\"\n\n\"Bold enough he certainly is,\" added the Dominican. \"I would not advise\nevery one to enter the Emperor's presence and this distinguished\ngathering in such attire.\"\n\nIn fact, Heinz showed plainly that he had come directly from the\nbattlefield and the saddle, for a suit of stout chain armour, which\ncovered the greater part of his tolerably long tunic, encased his limbs,\nand even the helmet which he bore on his arm, spite of the blue ribbon\nthat adorned it, was by no means one of the delicate, costly ones worn in\nthe tournament. Besides, many a bruise showed that hard blows and thrusts\nhad been dealt him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nAt Heinz Schorlin's quarters the day before his young hostess, Frau\nBarbel, had had the costly armour entrusted to her care, and the\ntrappings belonging to it, cleaned and put in order, but her labour was\nvain; for Heinz Schorlin had ridden directly to the fortress from\nSchweinau, without stopping at his lodgings in the city.\n\nOnly a short time before he had learned that his two messengers had been\ncaptured and failed to reach their destination. He owed this information\nto Sir Boemund Altrosen--and many another piece of news which Cordula had\ngiven him.\n\nThe main portion of Heinz Schorlin's task was completed when the\ncountess's ambassador reached him, so he set out on his homeward way at\nonce, and this time his silent friend had been eloquent and told him\neverything which had occurred during his absence.\n\nHe now knew that Boemund and Cordula had plighted their troth, what the\nfaithful Biberli had done and suffered for him, and lastly--even to the\nminutest detail--the wonderful transformation in Eva.\n\nWhen he had ridden forth he had hoped to learn to renounce her whom he\nloved with all the might of his fervid soul, and to bring himself to\nclose his career as a soldier with this successful campaign; but whilst\nhe destroyed castles and attacked the foe, former wishes were stilled,\nand a new desire and new convictions took their place. He could not give\nup the profession of arms, which all who bore the name of Schorlin had\npractised from time immemorial, and to resign the love which united him\nto Eva was impossible. She must become his, though she resembled an April\nday, and Biberli's tales of the danger which threatened the husband from\na sleep-walking wife returned more than once to his memory.\n\nYet what beautiful April days he had experienced, and though Eva might\nhave many faults, the devout child, with her angel beauty, certainly did\nnot lack the will to do what was right and pleasing to God. When she was\nonce his she should become so good that even his mother at home would\napprove his choice.\n\nHe had wholly renounced the idea of going into the monastery. The\nMinorite Ignatius, whom Father Benedictus had sent after him that he\nmight finish the work which the latter had begun, was a man who lacked\nneither intellect nor eloquence; but he did not possess the fiery\nenthusiasm and aristocratic confidence of the dead man. Yet when the\nzealous monks, whom the prior of the Dominicans had despatched to\ncomplete Heinz's conversion, opposed him, the former entered into such\nsharp and angry arguments with them that the young knight, who witnessed\nmore than one of their quarrels, startled and repelled, soon held aloof\nfrom all three and told them that he had resolved to remain in the world,\nand his onerous office gave him no time to listen to their well-meant\nadmonitions.\n\nHe was not created for the monastery. If Heaven had vouchsafed him a\nmiracle, it was done to preserve his life that--as Eva desired--he might\nfight to the last drop of his blood for the Church, his holy faith, and\nthe beloved Emperor. But if he remained in the world, Eva would do the\nsame; they belonged to each other inseparably. Why, he could not have\nexplained, but the voice which constantly reiterated it could not lie.\n\nAfter he had slain Seitz Siebenburg in the sword combat, and destroyed\nhis brother's castle, his resolve to woo Eva became absolutely fixed.\n\nHis heart dictated this, but honour, too, commanded him to restore to the\nmaiden and her sister the fair fame which his passionate impetuosity had\ninjured.\n\nDuring the rapid ride which he and Boemund Altrosen took to Nuremberg he\nhad stopped at Schweinau hospital, and found in Biberli, Eva's former\nenemy, her most enthusiastic panegyrist. Heinz also heard from him how\nquickly she had won the hearts of his mother and Maria, and that he would\nfind all three at the fortress.\n\nLastly, Sister Hildegard had informed him of the great peril threatening\nhis beloved faithful servant and companion, \"old Biber,\" which had led\nEva there to appeal to the Emperor.\n\nBeside the body of Father Benedictus he learned how beautiful had been\nthe death of the old man who had so honestly striven to lead him into the\npath which he believed was the right one for him to tread. In a brief\nprayer beside his devout friend Heinz expressed his gratitude, and called\nupon him to witness that, even in the world, he would not forget the\nshortness of this earthly pilgrimage, but would also provide for the\nother life which endured forever. True, Heinz had but a few short moments\nto devote to this farewell, the cause of the faithful follower who,\nunasked, had unselfishly endured unutterable tortures for him, took\nprecedence of everything else and would permit no delay.\n\nWhen the knight, with his figure drawn up to its full height, strode\nhastily into the royal hall, he beheld with joyful emotion those who were\nmost dear to him, for whose presence he had longed most fervently during\nthe ride--his mother, Eva, his sister, and the imperial friend he loved\nso warmly.\n\nOverwhelmed by agitation, he flung himself on his knees before his\nmaster, kissing his hand and his robe, but the Emperor ordered him to\nrise and cordially greeted him.\n\nBefore speaking to his relatives, Heinz informed the monarch that he had\nsuccessfully executed his commission and, receiving a few words of thanks\nand appreciation, modestly but with urgent warmth entreated the Emperor,\nif he was satisfied with his work, instead of any other reward, to save\nfrom further persecution the faithful servant who for his sake had borne\nthe most terrible torture.\n\nThe face of the sovereign, who had welcomed Heinz as if he were a\nlong-absent son, assumed a graver expression, and his tone seemed to\nvibrate with a slight touch of indignation, as he exclaimed: \"First, let\nus settle your own affairs. Serious charges have been made against you,\nmy son, as well as against your servant, on whose account I have been so\ntormented. A father, who is one of the leading men in this city, accuses\nyou of having destroyed his daughter's good name by forcing yourself into\nhis house after assuring his child of your love.\"\n\nHeinz turned to Eva, to protest that he was here to atone for the wrong\nhe had done her, but the Emperor would not permit him to speak. It was\nimportant to silence at once any objection which could be made against\nthe marriage by ecclesiastical and secular foes; therefore, eagerly as he\ndesired to enjoy the happiness of the young pair, he forced himself to\nmaintain the expression of grave dissatisfaction which he had assumed,\nand ordered a page to summon the imperial magistrate, the First Losunger\nof the city, and his protonotary, who were all amongst the guests, and,\nlastly, the Duchess Agnes.\n\nHe could read the latter's child eyes like the clear characters of a\nbook, and neither the radiant glow on her face at Heinz Schorlin's\nentrance nor her hostile glance at the Countess von Montfort had escaped\nhis notice. Both her affection and her jealous resentment should serve\nhim.\n\nThe young Bohemian now thought herself certain that Heinz Schorlin, and\nno other, was Cordula's chosen knight; the countess, at his entrance, had\nexclaimed to her father loudly enough, \"Here he is again!\"\n\nWhen the princess stood before the Emperor, with the gentlemen whom he\nhad summoned, he asked her to decide the important question.\n\n\"Yonder knight--he motioned towards Heinz--had been guilty of an act\nwhich could scarcely be justified. Though he had wooed the daughter of a\nnoble Nuremberg family, and even forced his way into her father's house,\nhe had apparently forgotten the poor girl.\n\n\"And,\" cried the young wife indignantly, \"the unprincipled man has not\nonly made a declaration of love to another, but formally asked her hand.\"\n\n\"That would seem like him,\" said the Emperor. \"But we must not close our\nears to the charge of the Nuremberg Honourable. His daughter, a lovely,\nmodest maiden of excellent repute, has been seriously injured by Heinz\nSchorlin, and so I beg you, child, to tell us, with the keen appreciation\nof the rights and duties of a lady which is peculiar to you, what\nsentence, in your opinion, should be imposed upon Sir Heinz Schorlin to\natone for the wrong he has done to the young Nuremberg maiden.\"\n\nHe beckoned to the protonotary, as he spoke, to command him to show Ernst\nOrtlieb's accusation to the duchess, but she seemed to have practised the\nart of reading admirably; for, more quickly than it would otherwise have\nappeared possible to grasp the meaning of even the first sentences, she\nexclaimed, drawing herself up to her full height and gazing at Cordula\nwith haughty superiority: \"There is but one decision here, if the\nmorality of this noble city is to be preserved and the maiden daughters\nof her patrician families secured henceforward from the misfortune of\nbeing a plaything for the wanton levity of reckless heart breakers. But\nthis decision, on which I firmly and resolutely insist, as lady and\nprincess, in the name of my whole sex and of all knightly men who, with\nme, prize the reverence and inviolable fidelity due a lady, is: Sir Heinz\nSchorlin must ask the honourable gentleman who, with full justice,\nbrought this complaint to your imperial Majesty, for his daughter's hand\nand, if the sorely injured maiden vouchsafes to accept it, lead her to\nthe marriage altar before God and the world.\"\n\n\"Spoken according to the feelings of my own heart,\" replied the Emperor\nand, turning to the citizens of Nuremberg, he added: \"So I ask you,\ngentlemen, who are familiar with the laws and customs of this good city\nand direct the administration of her justice, will such a marriage remove\nthe complaint made against Sir Heinz Schorlin and his servant?\"\n\n\"It will,\" replied old Herr Berthold Vorchtel, gravely and firmly.\n\nHerr Pfinzing also assented, it is true, but added earnestly that an\nunfortunate meeting had caused another to suffer even more severely than\nEva from the knight's imprudence. This was her older sister, the\nbetrothed bride of young Eysvogel. For her sake, as well as to make the\nbond between Sir Heinz Schorlin and the younger Jungfrau Ortlieb valid,\nthe father's consent was necessary. If his imperial Majesty desired to\nbring to a beautiful end, that very day, the gracious work so\nauspiciously commenced there was no obstacle in the way, for Ernst\nOrtlieb was at the von Zollern Castle with the daughter who had been so\nbasely slandered.\n\nThe Emperor asked in surprise how they came there, and then ordered Eva's\nfather and sister to be brought to him. He was eager to make the\nacquaintance of the second beautiful E.\n\n\"And Wolff Eysvogel?\" asked the magistrate.\n\n\"We agreed to release him after we had turned our back on Nuremberg,\"\nreplied the sovereign. \"Much as we have heard in praise of this young\nman, gladly as we have shown him how gratefully we prize the blood a\nbrave man shed for us upon the Marchfield, no change can be made in what,\nby virtue of our imperial word----\"\n\n\"Certainly not, little brother,\" interrupted the court fool, Eyebolt,\n\"but for that very reason you must open the Eysvogel's cage as quickly as\npossible and let him fly hither, for on the ride to the beekeeper's you\ncrossed in your own seven-foot tall body the limits of this good city,\nwhose length does not greatly surpass it--your imperial person, I mean.\nSo you as certainly turned your back upon it as you stand in front of\nthings which lie behind you. And as an emperor's word cannot have as much\nadded or subtracted as a fly carries off on its tail, if it has one, you,\nlittle brother, are obliged and bound to have the strange monster, which\nis at once a wolf and a bird, immediately released and summoned hither.\"\n\n\"Not amiss,\" laughed the Emperor, \"if the boundaries of Nuremberg saw our\nback for even so brief a space as it needs to make a wise man a fool.\n\n\"We will follow your counsel, Eyebolt.--Herr Pfinzing, tell young\nEysvogel that the Emperor's pardon has ended his punishment. The breach\nof the country's peace may be forgiven the man who so heroically aided\nthe battle for peace.\"\n\nThen turning to Meister Gottlieb, the protonotary, he whispered so low\nthat he alone could hear the command, that he should commit to paper a\nform of words which would give the bond between Heinz Schorlin and Eva\nOrtlieb sufficient legal power to resist both secular authority and that\nof the Dominicans and Sisters of St. Clare.\n\nDuring this conference court etiquette had prevented the company from\nexchanging any remarks. Whatever one person might desire to say to\nanother he was forced to entrust to the mute language of the eyes, and a\nsportive impulse induced Emperor Rudolph to maintain the spell which held\napart those who were most strongly attracted to each other.\n\nMeantime, whilst he was talking with the protonotary, the bolder guests\nventured to move about more freely, and of them all Cordula imposed the\nleast restraint upon herself.\n\nEre Heinz had found time to address a word to Eva or to greet his mother\nshe glided swiftly to his side and, with an angry expression on her face,\nwhispered: \"If Heaven bestowed the greatest happiness upon the most\ndeserving, you must be the most favoured of mortals, for a more exquisite\nmasterpiece than your future wife--I know her--was never created. But now\nopen your ears and follow my advice: Do not reveal the state of your\nheart until you have left the castle so far behind that you are out of\nsight of the Bohemian princess, or your ship of happiness may be wrecked\nwithin sight of port.\"\n\nThen, with a well-assumed air of indignation, she abruptly turned her\nback upon him.\n\nAfter moving away, she intentionally remained standing near the duchess,\nwith drooping head. The latter hastily approached her, saying with\nadmirably simulated earnestness: \"You, Countess, will probably be the\nlast to refuse your approval of my interference against our knightly\nbutterfly and in behalf of the poor inexperienced girl, his victim.\"\n\n\"If that is your Highness's opinion,\" replied Cordula, shrugging her\nshoulders as if it were necessary to submit to the inevitable, \"for my\npart I fear your kind solicitude may send me behind convent walls.\"\n\n\"Countess von Montfort a nun!\" cried the child wife, laughing. \"If it\nwere Sir Heinz Schorlin to whom you just alluded, you, too, are among the\ndeluded ones whom we must pity, yet with prudent foresight you provided\ncompensation long ago. Instead of burying yourself in a convent, you,\nwhom so many desire, would do better to beckon to one of your admirers\nand bestow on him the happiness of which the other was not worthy.\"\n\nCordula fixed her eyes thoughtfully on the floor a short time, then, as\nif the advice had met with her approval, exclaimed: \"Your Royal\nHighness's mature wisdom has found the right expedient this time also. I\nam not fit for the veil. Perhaps you may hear news of me to-morrow. By\nthat time my choice will be determined. What would you say to the\ndark-haired Altrosen?\"\n\n\"A brave champion!\" replied the Bohemian, and this time the laugh which\naccompanied her words came from the heart. \"Try him, in the name of all\nthe saints! But look at Sir Heinz Schorlin! A gloomy face for a happy\nman! He does not seem quite pleased with our verdict.\"\n\nShe beckoned, as she spoke, to her chamberlain and the high steward, took\nleave of her imperial father-in-law and, with her pretty little head\nflung proudly back, rustled out of the hall.\n\nSoon after Herr Pfinzing ushered Ernst Ortlieb, his daughter, and Wolff\ninto the presence of the sovereign, who gazed as if restored to youth at\nthe handsome couple whose weal or woe was in his hands. This\nconsciousness afforded him one of the moments when he gratefully felt the\nfull beauty and dignity of his responsible position.\n\nWith friendly words he restored Wolff's liberty, and expressed the\nexpectation that, with such a companion, he would raise the noble house\nof his ancestors to fresh prosperity.\n\nWhen he at last turned to Heinz again he asked in a low tone: \"Do you\nknow what this day means to me?\"\n\n\"Nineteen years ago it gave you poor Hartmann,\" replied the knight, his\ndowncast eyes resting sadly on the floor.\n\nThe kind-hearted sovereign nodded significantly, and said, \"Then it must\nbenefit those who, so long as he lives, may expect his father's favour.\"\n\nHe gazed thoughtfully into vacancy and, faithful to his habit of fixing\nhis eye on a goal, often distant, and then carefully carrying out the\ndetails which were to ensure success, ere he turned to the next one, he\nsummoned the imperial magistrate and the First Losunger to his side.\n\nAfter disclosing to them his desire to allow the judges to decide and,\nshould the verdict go against Biberli, release him from punishment by a\npardon, both undertook to justify the absence of the accused from the\ntrial. The wise caution with which the Emperor Rudolph avoided\ninterfering with the rights of the Honourable Council afforded old Herr\nBerthold Vorchtel great satisfaction. Both he and the magistrate, sure of\nthe result, could promise that this affair, which had aroused so much\nexcitement, especially among the artisans, would be ended by the marriage\nof the two Ortlieb sisters and the payment of the blood money to the\nwounded tailor. Any new complaint concerning them would then be lawfully\nrejected by both court and magistrate.\n\nNever had Heinz thanked his imperial benefactor more warmly for any gift,\nbut though the Emperor received his gallant favourite's expressions of\ngratitude and appreciation kindly, he did not yet permit him to enjoy his\nnew happiness.\n\nThere were still some things which must be decided, and for the third\ntime his peculiar smile showed the initiated that he was planning some\npleasant surprise for those whom it concerned.\n\nThe mention of the blood money which Herr Ernst Ortlieb owed the\nslandering tailor, who had not yet recovered from his wound, induced the\nEmperor to look at the father of the beautiful sisters.\n\nHe knew that Herr Ernst had also lost a valiant son in the battle of\nMarchfield, and Eva's father had been described as an excellent man, but\none with whom it was difficult to deal. Now, spite of the new happiness\nof his children, the sovereign saw him glance gloomily, as if some wrong\nhad been done him, from his daughters to Heinz, and then to Lady Schorlin\nand Maria, to whom he had not yet been presented. He doubtless felt that\nthe Emperor had treated him and his family with rare graciousness, and\nwas entitled to their warmest gratitude yet, as a father and a member of\nthe proud and independent Honourable Council of the free imperial city of\nNuremberg, he considered his rights infringed--nay, it had cost him a\nsevere struggle not to protest against such arbitrary measures. He had\nhis paternal rights even here--Els and Eva were not parentless orphans.\n\nThe noble monarch and shrewd judge of human nature perceived what was\npassing in the Nuremberg merchant's mind, but the pleasant smile still\nrested on his lips as, with a glance at the ill-humoured Honourable, he\nexclaimed to his future son-in-law: \"I have just remembered something,\nHeinz, which might somewhat cool your warm expressions of gratitude.\nYonder lovely child consented to become yours, it is true, but that does\nnot mean very much, for it was done without the consent of her father, by\nwhich the compact first obtains signature and seal. Herr Ernst Ortlieb,\nhowever, seems to be in no happy mood. Only look at him! He is certainly\nmutely accusing me of vexatious interference with his paternal rights,\nand yet he may be sure that I feel a special regard for him. His son's\nblood, which flowed for his Emperor's cause, gives him a peculiar claim\nupon our consideration, and we therefore devoted particular attention to\nhis complaint. In this he now demands, my son, that you restore to him,\nHerr Ernst Ortlieb, the two hundred silver marks which are awarded to the\ntailor as blood money and he must pay to the injured artisan. The prudent\nbusiness man can scarcely be blamed for making this claim, for the wound\nhe inflicted upon the ill-advised tradesman who so basely, insulted those\ndearest to him would certainly not have been dealt had not your insolent\nintrusion into the Ortlieb mansion unchained evil tongues. So, Heinz, you\ncaused his hasty act, and therefor, are justly bound to answer for the\nconsequence; If he brings the accusation, the judges will condemn you to\npay the sum. I therefore ask whether you have it ready.\"\n\nHere Herr Ernst attempted to explain that, in the present state of\naffairs, there could be no further mention of a payment which was only,\nintended to punish the disturber of his domestic peace more severely; but\nthe Emperor stopper him and bade Heinz speak.\n\nThe latter gazed in embarrassment at the helmet he held in his hand, and\nhad not yet found; fitting answer when the Emperor cried: \"What am I to\nthink? Was the Duke of Pomerani; wrong when he told me of a heap of\ngold----\"\n\n\"No, Your Majesty,\" Heinz here interrupter without raising his eyes.\n\"What was left of the money would have more than sufficed to cover the\nsum required----\"\n\n\"I thought so!\" exclaimed the sovereign with out letting him finish; \"for\na young knight who like a great lord, bestows a fine estate upon the\npious Franciscans, certainly need only command his treasurer to open the\nstrong box----\"\n\n\"You are mocking me, Your Majesty,\" Heinz quietly interposed. \"You are\ndoubtless well aware whence the golden curse came to me. I thrust it\naside like noxious poison, and if I am reluctant to use it to buy, as it\nwere, what is dearest and most sacred to me, indeed it does not spring\nfrom parsimony, for I had resolved to offer the two remaining purses to\nthe devout Sisters of St. Clare and the zealous Minorite Brothers, one of\nthe best of whom laboured earnestly for the salvation of my soul.\"\n\n\"That is right, my son,\" fell from the Emperor's lips in a tone of warm\napproval. \"If the gold benefits the holy poverty of these pious Brothers\nand Sisters, the devil's gift may easily be transformed into a divine\nblessing. You both--\" he gazed affectionately at Heinz and Eva as he\nspoke--\"have, as it were, deserted the cloister, and owe it compensation.\nBut your depriving yourself of your golden treasure, my friend--for two\nhundred silver marks are no trifle to a young knight--puts so different a\nface upon this matter that--that----\" Here he lowered his voice and\ncontinued with affectionate mirthfulness--\"that a friend must determine\nto do what he can for him. True, my gallant Heinz, I see that your future\nfather-in-law, the other Nuremberg Honourables, and even your mother, are\nready to pay the sum; but he who is most indebted to you holds fast this\nprivilege, and that man am I, my brave champion! What you did for your\nEmperor and his best work, the peace of the country, deserves a rich\nreward and, thanks to the saints, I have something which will discharge\nmy debt. The Swabian fief of Reichenbach became vacant. It has a strong\ncitadel, from which we command you to maintain the peace of the country\nand overthrow robber knights. This fief shall be yours. You can enjoy it\nwith your dear wife. It must belong to your children and children's\nchildren forever; for that a Schorlin should be born who would be\nunworthy of such a fief and faithless to his lord and Emperor seems to me\nimpossible. Three villages and broad forests, with fields and meadows,\npertain to the estate. As lord of Reichenbach, it will be easy for you to\npay the blood money, if your father-in-law is not too importunate a\ncreditor.\"\n\nThe latter certainly would not be that, and it cost Ernst Ortlieb no\neffort to bend the knee gratefully before the kindly monarch.\n\nThe Emperor Rudolph accepted the homage, but he clasped the young lord of\nReichenbach to his heart like a beloved son, and as he placed Eva's hand\nin his, and she raised her beautiful face to him, he stooped and kissed\nher with fatherly kindness.\n\nWhen Wolff entreated him to bless his alliance in the place of his\nsuffering father, he did so gladly; and Els also willingly offered him\nher lips; when he requested the same favour her sister had granted him,\nthat he might boast of the kisses bestowed on him by the two beautiful\nEs, Nuremberg's fairest maidens.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nHeinz heeded Cordula's warning. In the royal hall every one would have\nbeen justified in believing him a very cool lover, but during the walk\nwith Eva to the lodgings of his cousin Maier of Silenen, where the\nSchurlins, Ortliebs, Wolff, and Herr Pfinzing and his wife were to meet\nto celebrate the betrothal, the moon, whose increasing crescent was again\nin the sky, beheld many things which gave her pleasure.\n\nThe priest soon united Heinz and Eva, but the celestial pilgrim willingly\nresigned the power formerly exerted over the maiden to the husband, who\nclasped her to his heart with tender love.\n\nLuna was satisfied with Wolff and Els also. She afterwards watched the\nfate of both couples in Swabia and Nuremberg, and when the showy\nescutcheon was removed from the Eysvogel mansion, and a more modest one\nput in its place, she was gratified.\n\nShe soon saw that a change had also been made in the one above the door\nof the Ortlieb house, for the Ortlieb coat of arms, in accordance with\nthe family name, had borne the figure of a cat, the animal which loves\nthe place,--[Ort, place.]--the house to which it belongs, but on the\nwedding day of the two beautiful Es the Emperor Rudolph had commanded\nthat, in perpetual remembrance of its two loveliest daughters, the\nOrtliebs should henceforward bear on their escutcheon two linden leaves\nunder tendrils, the symbol of loyal steadfastness.\n\nWhen, a few months after Wolff's union with his heart's beloved, the\ncoffin of old Countess Rotterbach, adorned with a handsome coronet upon\nthe costly pall, was borne out of the house at the quiet evening hour,\nshe thought there was no cause to mourn.\n\nOn the other hand, she grieved when, for a long time, she did not see old\nCasper Eysvogel, whose tall figure she had formerly watched with pleasure\nwhen, at a late hour, he returned from some banquet, his bearing erect,\nand his step as firm as if wine could not get the better of him. But\nsuddenly one warm September noon, when her pale, waxing crescent was\nplainly visible in the blue sky by daylight, she beheld him again. He was\nless erect than before, but he seemed content with his fate; for, as a\ncooler breeze waved the light cobwebs in the little garden, into which he\nhad been led, his daughter-in-law Els with loving care wrapped his feet\nin the rug which she had embroidered for him with the Eysvogel coat of\narms, and he gratefully kissed her brow.\n\nIt was fully ten years later that Luna saw him also borne to the grave.\nFrau Rosalinde, his son, and his beautiful wife followed his coffin with\nsincere sorrow. The three gifted children whom Els had given to her Wolff\nremained standing in front of the house with Frau Rickel, their nurse.\nThe carrier's widow, who had long since regained her health in the\nBeguine House at Schweinau, had been taken into Frau Eysvogel's service.\nHer little adopted daughter Walpurga, scarcely seventeen years old, had\njust been married to the Ortlieb teamster Ortel. The moon heard the nurse\ntell what a pleasant, quiet man Herr Casper had been, and how, away from\nhis own business affairs and those of the Council, his sole effort had\nseemed to be to interfere with no one.\n\nThe moon had forgotten to look at Frau Rosalinde. Besides, after her\nmother's death she was rarely seen even by the members of her own\nhousehold, but when Els desired to seek her she was sure of finding her\nwith the children. The parents willingly afforded her the pleasure she\nderived from the companionship of the little ones, but they were often\nobliged to oppose her wish to dress her grandchildren magnificently.\n\nFrau Rosalinde rarely saw the twin sons of her daughter Isabella, who\ntook the veil after her husband's death to pray for his sorely imperilled\nsoul.\n\nThe Knight Heideck, the uncle and faithful teacher of the boys, was\nunwilling to let them go to the city. He ruled them strictly until they\nhad proved that Countess Cordula's wish had been fulfilled and,\nresembling their unfortunate father only in figure and beauty, strength\nand courage, they had grown into valiant, honourable knights.\n\nWolff justified the expectations of Berthold Vorchtel and the Honourable\nCouncil concerning his excellent ability. When, eight years after he\nundertook the sole guidance of the business, the Reichstag again met in\nNuremberg, it was the house of Eysvogel which could make the largest loan\nto the Emperor Rudolph, who often lacked necessary funds.\n\nAt the Reichstag of the year 1289, whose memory is shadowed by many a\nsorrowful incident, most of the persons mentioned in our story met once\nmore.\n\nCountess Cordula, now the happy wife of Sir Boemund Altrosen, had also\ncome and again lodged in the Ortlieb house. But this time the only person\nwhose homage pleased her was the grey-haired, but still vigorous and\nsomewhat irascible Herr Ernst Ortlieb.\n\nThe Abbess Kunigunde alone was absent. When, after many an arduous\nconflict, especially with the Dominicans, who did not cease to accuse her\nof lukewarmness, she felt death approaching, she had summoned her darling\nEva from Swabia, and the young wife's husband, who never left her save\nwhen he was wielding his sword for the Emperor, willingly accompanied her\nto Nuremberg.\n\nWith Eva's hand clasped in hers, and supported by Els, the abbess died\npeacefully, rich in beautiful hopes. How often she had described such an\nend to her pupil as the fairest reward for the sacrifices in which\nconvent life was so rich! But the memory of her mother's decease had\nbrought to Eva, while in Schweinau, the firm conviction that dwellers in\nthe world were also permitted to find a similar end. The Saviour Himself\nhad promised the crown of eternal life to those who were faithful unto\ndeath, and she and her husband maintained inviolable fidelity to the\nSaviour, to each other, and to every duty which religion, law, and love\ncommanded them to fulfil. Therefore, why should they not be permitted to\ndie as happily and confidently as her aunt, the abbess?\n\nHer life was rich in happiness, and though Heinz Schorlin as a husband\nand father, as the brave and loyal liegeman of his Emperor, and the\nprudent manager of his estate, regained his former light-heartedness, and\ntaught his wife to share it, both never forgot the painful conflict by\nwhich they had won each other.\n\nWhen Eva passed the village forge and saw the smith draw the glowing iron\nfrom the fire and, with heavy hammer strokes, fashion it upon the anvil\nas he desired, she often remembered the grievous days after her mother's\ndeath, which had made the \"little saint\"--she did not admit it herself,\nbut the whole Swabian nobility agreed in the opinion--the most faithful\nof wives and mothers, the Providence of the poor, the zealous promoter of\ngoodness, the most simply attired of noblewomen far and near, yet the\nmost aristocratic and distinguished in her appearance of them all.\n\nHand in hand with her husband she devoted the most faithful care to their\nchildren, and if Biberli, the castellan of the castle, and Katterle his\nwife, who had remained childless, were too ready to read the wishes of\ntheir darlings in their eyes, she exclaimed warningly to the loyal old\nfriend, \"The fire of the forge!\" He and Katterle knew what she meant, for\nthe ex-schoolmaster had explained it in the best possible way to his\ndocile wife.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     His sole effort had seemed to be to interfere with no one\n     No virtue which can be owned like a house or a steed\n     Retreat behind the high-sounding words \"justice and law\"\n     Strongest of all educational powers--sorrow and love\n     Usually found the worst wine in the taverns with showy signs\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE FIRE OF THE FORGE:\n\n     Abandoned women (required by law to help put out the fires)\n     Deem every hour that he was permitted to breathe as a gift\n     False praise, he says, weighs more heavily than disgrace\n     His sole effort had seemed to be to interfere with no one\n     No virtue which can be owned like a house or a steed\n     Retreat behind the high-sounding words \"justice and law\"\n     Shipwrecked on the cliffs of 'better' and 'best'\n     Strongest of all educational powers--sorrow and love\n     The heart must not be filled by another's image\n     Usually found the worst wine in the taverns with showy signs\n     Welcome a small evil when it barred the way to a greater one\n\n\n\n\nMARGERY, Complete\n\n(GRED)\nA TALE OF OLD NUREMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nTranslated from the German by Clara Bell\n\nVolume 1.\nTRANSLATOR'S NOTE:\n\nIn translating what is supposed to be a transcript into modern German of\nthe language of Nuremberg in the fifteenth century, I have made no\nattempt to imitate English phraseology of the same date. The difficulty\nwould in fact be insuperable to the writer and the annoyance to the\nreader almost equally great.\n\nI have merely endeavored to avoid essentially modern words and forms of\nspeech.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION:\n\n\"PIETRO GIUSTINIANI, merchant, of Venice.\" This was the signature affixed\nto his receipt by the little antiquary in the city of St. Mark, from whom\nI purchased a few stitched sheets of manuscript. What a name and title!\n\nAs I remarked on the splendor of his ancestry he slapped his pocket, and\nexclaimed, half in pride and half in lamentation:\n\n\"Yes, they had plenty of money; but what has become of it?\"\n\n\"And have you no record of their deeds?\" I asked the little man, who\nhimself wore a moustache with stiff military points to it.\n\n\"Their deeds!\" he echoed scornfully. \"I wish they had been less zealous\nin their pursuit of fame and had managed their money matters\nbetter!--Poor child!\"\n\nAnd he pointed to little Marietta who was playing among the old books,\nand with whom I had already struck up a friendship. She this day\ndisplayed some strange appendage in the lobes of her ears, which on\ncloser examination I found to be a twist of thread.\n\nThe child's pretty dark head was lying confidentially against my arm and\nas, with my fingers, I felt this singular ornament, I heard, from behind\nthe little desk at the end of the counter, her mother's shrill voice in\ncomplaining accents: \"Aye, Sir, it is a shame in a family which has given\nthree saints to the Church--Saint Nicholas, Saint Anna, and Saint\nEufemia, all three Giustinianis as you know--in a family whose sons have\nmore than once worn a cardinal's hat--that a mother, Sir, should be\ncompelled to let her own child--But you are fond of the little one, Sir,\nas every one is hereabout. Heh, Marietta! What would you say if the\ngentleman were to give you a pair of ear-rings, now; real gold ear-rings\nI mean? Thread for ear-rings, Sir, in the ears of a Giustiniani! It is\nabsurd, preposterous, monstrous; and a right-thinking gentleman like you,\nSir, will never deny that.\"\n\nHow could I neglect such a hint; and when I had gratified the antiquary's\nwife, I could reflect with some pride that I might esteem myself a\nbenefactor to a family which boasted of its descent from the Emperor\nJustinian, which had been called the 'Fabia gens' of Venice, and, in its\nday had given to the Republic great generals, far-seeing statesmen, and\nadmirable scholars.\n\nWhen, at length, I had to quit the city and took leave of the\ncuriosity-dealer, he pressed my hand with heartfelt regret; and though\nthe Signora Giustiniani, as she pocketed a tolerably thick bundle of\npaper money, looked at me with that kindly pity which a good woman is\nalways ready to bestow on the inexperienced, especially when they are\nyoung, that, no doubt, was because the manuscript I had acquired bore\nsuch a dilapidated appearance. The margins of the thick old Nuremberg\npaper were eaten into by mice and insects, in many places black patches\nlike tinder dropped away from the yellow pages; indeed, many passages of\nthe once clear writing had so utterly faded that I scarcely hoped to see\nthem made legible again by the chemist's art. However, the contents of\nthe document were so interesting and remarkable, so unique in relation to\nthe time when it was written, that they irresistibly riveted my\nattention, and in studying them I turned half the night into day. There\nwere nine separate parts. All, except the very last one, were in the same\nhand, and they seemed to have formed a single book before they were torn\nasunder. The cover and title-page were lost, but at the head of the first\npage these words were written in large letters: \"The Book of my Life.\"\nThen followed a long passage in crude verse, very much to this effect.\n\n       \"What we behold with waking Eye\n        Can, to our judgment, never lie,\n        And what through Sense and Sight we gain.\n        Becometh part of Soul and Brain.\n        Look round the World in which you dwell\n        Nor, Snail-like, live within your Shell;\n        And if you see His World aright\n        The Lord shall grant you double Sight.\n        For, though your Mind and Soul be small,\n        If you but open them to all\n        The great wide World, they will expand\n        Those glorious Things to understand.\n        When Heart and Brain are great with Love\n        Man is most like the Lord above.\n        Look up to Him with patient Eye\n        Not on your own Infirmity.\n        In pious Trust yourself forget\n        For others only toil and fret,\n        Since all we do for fellow Men\n        With right good Will, shall be our Gain.\n        What if the Folk should call you Fool\n        Care not, but act by Virtue's Rule,\n        Contempt and Curses let them fling,\n        God's Blessing shields you from their Sting.\n        Grey is my Head but young my Heart;\n        In Nuremberg, ere I depart,\n        Children and Grandchildren, for you\n        I write this Book, and it is true.\"\n\n                    MARGERY SCHOPPER.\n\nBelow the verses the text of the narrative began with these words: \"In\nthe yere of our Lord M/CCCC/lx/VI dyd I begynne to wrtre in thys lytel\nBoke thys storie of my lyf, as I haue lyued it.\"\n\nIt was in her sixty-second year that the writer had first begun to note\ndown her reminiscences. This becomes clear as we go on, but it may be\ngathered from the first lines on the second page which begins thus:\n\n   \"I, Margery Schopper, was borne in the yere of our Lord M/CCCC/IV on\n   a Twesday after 'Palmarum' Sonday, at foure houris after mydnyght.\n   Myn uncle Kristan Pfinzing was god sib to me in my chrystening. My\n   fader, God assoyle his soul, was Franz Schopper, iclyped the Singer.\n   He dyed on a Monday after 'Laetare'--[The fourth Sunday in Lent.]--\n   Sonday M/CCCC/IV. And he hadde to wyf Kristine Peheym whyche was my\n   moder. Also she bare to hym my brethren Herdegen and Kunz Schopper.\n   My moder dyed in the vigil of Seint Kateryn M/CCCC/V. Thus was I\n   refte of my moder whyle yet a babe; also the Lord broughte sorwe\n   upon me in that of hys grace He callyd my fader out of thys worlde\n   before that ever I sawe the lyght of dai.\"\n\nThese few lines, which I read in the little antiquary's shop, betrayed me\nto my ruin; for, in my delight at finding the daily journal of a German\nhousewife of the beginning of the fifteenth century my heart overflowed;\nforgetting all prudence I laughed aloud, exclaiming \"splendid,\"\n\"wonderful,\" \"what a treasure!\" But it would have been beyond all human\npower to stand speechless, for, as I read on, I found things which far\nexceeded my fondest expectations. The writer of these pages had not been\ncontent, like the other chroniclers of her time and of her native\ntown-such as Ulman Stromer, Andres Tucher and their fellows--to register\nnotable facts without any connection, the family affairs, items of\nexpenditure and mercantile measures of her day; she had plainly and\ncandidly recorded everything that had happened to her from her childhood\nto the close of her life. This Margery had inherited some of her father's\nartistic gifts; he is mentioned in Ulman Stromer's famous chronicle,\nwhere he is spoken of as \"the Singer.\" It was to her mother, however,\nthat she owed her bold spirit, for she was a Behaim, cousin to the famous\ntraveller Behaim of Schwarzbach, whose mother is known to have been one\nof the Schopper family, daughter to Herdegen Schopper.\n\nIn the course of a week I had not merely read the manuscript, but had\ncopied a great deal of what seemed to me best worth preservation,\nincluding the verses. I subsequently had good reason to be glad that I\nhad taken so much pains, though travelling about at the time; for a cruel\ndisaster befel the trunk in which the manuscript was packed, with other\nbooks and a few treasures, and which I had sent home by sea. The ship\nconveying them was stranded at the mouth of the Elbe and my precious\nmanuscript perished miserably in the wreck.\n\nThe nine stitched sheets, of which the last was written by the hand of\nMargery Schopper's younger brother, had found their way to Venice--as was\nrecorded on the last page--in the possession of Margery's great-grandson,\nwho represented the great mercantile house of Im Hoff on the Fondaco, and\nwho ultimately died in the City of St. Mark. When that famous firm was\nbroken up the papers were separated from their cover and had finally\nfallen into the hands of the curiosity dealer of whom I bought them. And\nafter surviving travels on land, risk of fire, the ravages of worms and\nthe ruthlessness of man for four centuries, they finally fell a prey to\nthe destructive fury of the waves; but my memory served me well as to the\ncontents, and at my bidding was at once ready to aid me in restoring the\nnarrative I had read. The copied portions were a valuable aid, and\nimagination was able to fill the gaps; and though it failed, no doubt, to\nreproduce Margery Schopper's memoirs phrase for phrase and word for word,\nI have on the whole succeeded in transcribing with considerable\nexactitude all that she herself had thought worthy to be rescued from\noblivion. Moreover I have avoided the repetition of the mode of talk in\nthe fifteenth century, when German was barely commencing to be used as a\nwritten language, since scholars, writers, and men of letters always\nchose the Latin tongue for any great or elegant intellectual work. The\nnarrator's expressions would only be intelligible to a select few, and, I\nshould have done my Margery injustice, had I left the ideas and\ndescriptions, whose meaning I thoroughly understood, in the clumsy form\nshe had given them. The language of her day is a mirror whose uneven\nsurface might easily reflect the fairest picture in blurred or distorted\nout lines to modern eyes. Much, indeed which most attracted me in her\ndescriptions will have lost its peculiar charm in mine; as to whether I\nhave always supplemented her correctly, that must remain an open\nquestion.\n\nI have endeavored to throw myself into the mind and spirit of my Margery\nand repeat her tale with occasional amplification, in a familiar style,\nyet with such a choice of words as seems suitable to the date of her\nnarrative. Thus I have perpetuated all that she strove to record for her\ndescendants out of her warm heart and eager brain; though often in mere\noutline and broken sentences, still, in the language of her time and of\nher native province.\n\n\n\n\nMARGERY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nI, MARGERY SCHOPPER, was born in the year of our Lord 1404, on the\nTuesday after Palm Sunday. My uncle Christan Pfinzing of the Burg, a\nwidower whose wife had been a Schopper, held me at the font. My father,\nGod have his soul, was Franz Schopper, known as Franz the Singer. He died\nin the night of the Monday after Laetare Sunday in 1404, and his wife my\nmother, God rest her, whose name was Christine, was born a Behaim; she\nhad brought him my two brothers Herdegen and Kunz, and she died on the\neve of Saint Catharine's day 1404; so that I lost my mother while I was\nbut a babe, and God dealt hardly with me also in taking my father to\nHimself in His mercy, before I ever saw the light.\n\nInstead of a loving father, such as other children have, I had only a\ngrave in the churchyard, and the good report of him given by such as had\nknown him; and by their account he must have been a right merry and\nlovable soul, and a good man of business both in his own affairs and in\nthose pertaining to the city. He was called \"the Singer\" because, even\nwhen he was a member of the town-council, he could sing sweetly and\nworthily to the lute. This art he learned in Lombardy, where he had been\nliving at Padua to study the law there; and they say that among those\noutlandish folk his music brought him a rich reward in the love of the\nItalian ladies and damsels. He was a well-favored man, of goodly stature\nand pleasing to look upon, as my brother Herdegen his oldest son bears\nwitness, since it is commonly said that he is the living image of his\nblessed father; and I, who am now an old woman, may freely confess that I\nhave seldom seen a man whose blue eyes shone more brightly beneath his\nbrow, or whose golden hair curled thicker over his neck and shoulders\nthan my brother's in the high day of his happy youth.\n\nHe was born at Eastertide, and the Almighty blessed him with a happy\ntemper such as he bestows only on a Sunday-child. He, too, was skilled in\nthe art of singing, and as my other brother, my playmate Kunz, had also a\nliking for music and song, there was ever a piping and playing in our\norphaned and motherless house, as if it were a nest of mirthful\ngrasshoppers, and more childlike gladness and happy merriment reigned\nthere than in many another house that rejoices in the presence of father\nand mother. And I have ever been truly thankful to the Almighty that it\nwas so; for as I have often seen, the life of children who lack a\nmother's love is like a day when the sun is hidden by storm-clouds. But\nthe merciful God, who laid his hand on our mother's heart, filled that of\nanother woman with a treasure of love towards me and my brothers.\n\nOur cousin Maud, a childless widow, took upon herself to care for us. As\na maid, and before she had married her departed husband, she had been in\nlove with my father, and then had looked up to my mother as a saint from\nHeaven, so she could have no greater joy than to tell us tales about our\nparents; and when she did so her eyes would be full of tears, and as\nevery word came straight from her heart it found its way straight to\nours; and as we three sat round, listening to her, besides her own two\neyes there were soon six more wet enough to need a handkerchief.\n\nHer gait was heavy and awkward, and her face seemed as though it had been\nhewn out of coarse wood, so that it was a proper face to frighten\nchildren; even when she was young they said that her appearance was too\nlike a man and devoid of charms, and for that reason my father never\nheeded her love for him; but her eyes were like open windows, and out of\nthem looked everything that was good and kind and loving and true, like\nangels within. For the sake of those eyes you forgot all else; all that\nwas rough in her, and her wide nose with the deep dent just in the\nmiddle, and such hair on her lip as many a young stripling might envy\nher.\n\nAnd Sebald Kresz knew very well what he was about when he took to wife\nMaud Im Hoff when he was between sixty and seventy years of age; and she\nhad nothing to look forward to in life as she stood at the altar with\nhim, but to play the part of nurse to a sickly perverse old man. But to\nMaud it seemed as fair a lot to take care of a fellow-creature as it is\nto many another to be nursed and cherished; and it was the reward of her\nfaithful care that she could keep the old man from the clutch of Death\nfor full ten years longer. After his decease she was left a well-to-do\nwidow; but instead of taking thought for herself she at once entered on a\nlife of fresh care, for she undertook the duty of filling the place of\nmother to us three orphans.\n\nAs I grew up she would often instruct me in her kind voice, which was as\ndeep as the bass pipe of an organ, that she had set three aims before her\nin bringing us up, namely: to make us good and Godfearing; to teach us to\nagree among ourselves so that each should be ready to give everything up\nto the others; and to make our young days as happy as possible. How far\nshe succeeded in the first I leave to others to judge; but a more united\nfamily than we ever were I should like any man to show me, and because it\nwas evident from a hundred small tokens how closely we clung together\nfolks used to speak of us as \"the three links,\" especially as the arms\nborne by the Schoppers display three rings linked to form a chain.\n\nAs for myself, I was the youngest and smallest of the three links, and\nyet I was the middle one; for if ever it fell that Herdegen and Kunz had\ndone one thing or another which led them to disagree and avoid or defy\neach other, they always came together again by seeking me and through my\nmeans. But though I thus sometimes acted as peacemaker it is no credit to\nme, since I did not bring them together out of any virtue or praiseworthy\nintent, but simply because I could not bear to stand alone, or with only\none ring linked to me.\n\nAlas! how far behind me lies the bright, happy youth of which I now\nwrite! I have reached the top of life's hill, nay, I have long since\noverstepped the ridge; and, as I look back and think of all I have seen\nand known, it is not to the end that I may get wisdom for myself whereby\nto do better as I live longer. My old bones are stiff and set; it would\nbe vain now to try to bend them. No, I write this little book for my own\npleasure, and to be of use and comfort to my children and grandchildren.\nMay they avoid the rocks on which I have bruised my feet, and where I\nhave walked firmly on may they take example by an old woman's brave\nspirit, though I have learned in a thousand ways that no man gains profit\nby any experience other than his own.\n\nSo I will begin at the beginning.\n\nI could find much to tell of my happy childhood, for then everything\nseems new; but it profits not to tell of what every one has known in his\nown life, and what more can a Nuremberg child have to say of her early\ngrowth and school life than ever another. The blades in one field and the\ntrees in one wood share the same lot without any favour. It is true that\nin many ways I was unlike other children; for my cousin Maud would often\nsay that I would not abide rule as beseems a maid, and Herdegen's lament\nthat I was not born a boy still sounds in my ears when I call to mind our\nwild games. Any one who knows the window on the first floor, at the back\nof our house, from which I would jump into the courtyard to do as my\nbrothers did, would be fairly frightened, and think it a wonder that I\ncame out of it with whole bones; but yet I was not always minded to riot\nwith the boys, and from my tenderest years I was a very thoughtful little\nmaid. But there were things; in my young life very apt to sharpen my\nwits.\n\nWe Schoppers are nearly allied with every worshipful family in the town,\nor of a rank to sit in the council and bear a coat of arms; these being,\nin fact, in Nuremberg, the class answering to the families of the\nSignoria in Venice, whose names are enrolled in the Libro d'Oro. What the\nBarberighi, the Foscari, the Grimaldi, the Giustiniani and the like, are\nthere, the families of Stromer, Behaim, Im Hoff, Tucher, Kresz,\nBaumgartner, Pfinzing, Pukheimer, Holzschuher, and so forth, are with us;\nand the Schoppers certainly do not rank lowest on the list. We who hold\nourselves entitled to bear arms, to ride in tournaments, and take office\nin the Church, and who have a right to call ourselves nobles and\npatricians, are all more or less kith and kin. Wherever in Nuremberg\nthere was a fine house we could find there an uncle and aunt, cousins and\nkinsmen, or at least godparents, and good friends of our deceased\nparents. Wherever one of them might chance to meet us, even if it were in\nthe street, he would say: \"Poor little orphans! God be good to the\nfatherless!\" and tears would sparkle in the eyes of many a kindhearted\nwoman. Even the gentlemen of the Council--for most of the elders of our\nfriends were members of it--would stroke my fair hair and look at me as\npitifully as though I were some poor sinner for whom there could be no\nmercy in the eyes of the judges of a court of justice.\n\nWhy was it that men deemed me so unfortunate when I knew no sorrow and my\nheart was as gay as a singing bird? I could not ask cousin Maud, for she\nwas sorely troubled if I had but a finger-ache, and how could I tell her\nthat I was such a miserable creature in the eyes of other folks? But I\npresently found out for myself why and wherefore they pitied me; for\nseven who called me fatherless, seventy would speak of me as motherless\nwhen they addressed me with pity. Our misfortune was that we had no\nmother. But was there not Cousin Maud, and was not she as good as any\nmother? To be sure she was only a cousin, and she must lack something of\nwhat a real mother feels.\n\nAnd though I was but a heedless, foolish child I kept my eyes open and\nbegan to look about me. I took no one into the secret but my brothers,\nand though my elder brother chid me, and bid me only be thankful to our\ncousin for all her goodness, I nevertheless began to watch and learn.\n\nThere were a number of children at the Stromers' house--the Golden Rose\nwas its name--and they were still happy in having their mother. She was a\nvery cheerful young woman, as plump as a cherry, and pink and white like\nblood on snow; and she never fixed her gaze on me as others did, but\nwould frolic with me or scold me sharply when I did any wrong. At the\nMuffels, on the contrary, the mistress was dead, and the master had not\nlong after brought home another mother to his little ones, a stepmother,\nSusan, who was my maid, was wont to call her; and such a mother was no\nmore a real mother than our good cousin--I knew that much from the fairy\ntales to which I was ever ready to hearken. But I saw this very\nstepmother wash and dress little Elsie, her husband's youngest babe and\nnot her own, and lull her till she fell asleep; and she did it right\ntenderly, and quite as she ought. And then, when the child was asleep she\nkissed it, too, on its brow and cheeks.\n\nAnd yet Mistress Stromer, of the Golden-Rose House, did differently; for\nwhen she took little Clare that was her own babe out of the water, and\nlaid it on warm clouts on the swaddling board, she buried her face in the\nsweet, soft flesh, and kissed the whole of its little body all over,\nbefore and behind, from head to foot, as if it were all one sweet, rosy\nmouth; and they both laughed with hearty, loving merriment, as the mother\npressed her lips against the babe's white, clean skin and trumpeted till\nthe room rang, or clasped it, wrapped in napkins to her warm breast, as\nif she could hug it to death. And she broke into a loud, strange laugh,\nand cried as she fondled it: \"My treasure, my darling, my God-sent jewel!\nMy own, my own--I could eat thee!\"\n\nNo, Mistress Muffel never behaved so to Elsie, her husband's babe.\nNotwithstanding I knew right well that Cousin Maud had been just as fond\nof me as Dame Stromer of her own babes, and so far our cousin was no way\ndifferent from a real mother. And I said as much to myself, when I laid\nme down to sleep in my little white bed at night, and my cousin came and\nfolded her hands as I folded mine and, after we had said the prayers for\nthe Angelus together, as we did every evening, she laid her head by the\nside of mine, and pressed my baby face to her own big face. I liked this\nwell enough, and I whispered in her ear: \"Tell me, Cousin Maud, are you\nnot my real, true mother?\"\n\nAnd she hastily replied, \"In my heart I am, most truly; and you are a\nvery lucky maid, my Margery, for instead of only one mother you have two:\nme, here below, to care for you and foster you, and the other up among\nthe angels above, looking down on you and beseeching the all-gracious\nVirgin who is so nigh to her, to keep your little heart pure, and to\npreserve you from all ill; nay, perhaps she herself is wearing a glory\nand a heavenly crown. Look at her face.\" And Cousin Maud held up the lamp\nso that the light fell on a large picture. My eyes beheld the lovely\nportrait in front of me, and meseemed it looked at me with a deep gaze\nand stretched out loving arms to me. I sat up in my bed; the feelings\nwhich filled my little heart overflowed my lips, and I said in a whisper:\n\"Oh, Cousin Maud! Surely my mammy might kiss me for once, and fondle me\nas Mistress Stromer does her little Clare.\"\n\nCousin Maud set the lamp on the table, and without a word she lifted me\nout of bed and held me up quite close to the face of the picture; and I\nunderstood. My lips softly touched the red lips on the canvas; and, as I\nwas all the happier, I fancied that my mother in Heaven must be glad too.\n\nThen my cousin sighed: \"Well, well!\" and murmured other words to herself;\nshe laid me in the bed again, tucked the coverlet tightly round me as I\nloved to have it, gave me another kiss, waited till I had settled my head\non the pillow, and whispered: \"Now go to sleep and dream of your sainted\nmother.\"\n\nShe quitted the room; but she had left the lamp, and as soon as I was\nalone I looked once more at the picture, which showed me my mother in\nright goodly array. She had a rose on her breast, her golden fillet\nlooked like the crown of the Queen of Heaven, and in her robe of rich,\nstiff brocade she was like some great Saint. But what seemed to me more\nheavenly than all the rest was her rose and white young face, and the\nsweet mouth which I had touched with my lips. Oh if I had but once had\nthe happiness of kissing that mouth in life! A sudden feeling glowed in\nmy heart, and an inward voice told me that a thousand kisses from Cousin\nMaud would never be worth one single kiss from that lovely young mother,\nand that I had indeed lost almost as much as my pitying friends had said.\nAnd I could not help sorrowing, weeping for a long time; I felt as though\nI had lost just what was best and dearest, and for the first time I saw\nthat my good cousin was right ugly as other folks said, and my silly\nlittle head conceived that a real mother must be fair to look upon, and\nthat however kind any one else might be she could never be so gracious\nand lovable.\n\nAnd so I fell asleep; and in my dreams the picture came towards me out of\nthe frame and took me in her arms as Madonna takes her Holy Child, and\nlooked at me with a gaze as if all the love on earth had met in those\neyes. I threw my arms round her neck and waited for her to fondle and\nplay with me like Mistress Stromer with her little Clare; but she gently\nand sadly shook her head with the golden crownlet, and went up to Cousin\nMaud and set me in her lap.\n\n\"I have never forgot that dream, and often in my prayers have I lifted up\nmy heart to my sainted mother, and cried to her as to the blessed Virgin\nand Saint Margaret, my name-saint; and how often she has heard me and\nrescued me in need and jeopardy! As to my cousin, she was ever dearer to\nme from that night; for had not my own mother given me to her, and when\nfolks looked at me pitifully and bewailed my lot, I could laugh in my\nheart and think: 'If only you knew! Your children have only one mother,\nbut we have two; and our own real mother is prettier than any one's,\nwhile the other, for all that she is so ugly, is the best.'\"\n\nIt was the compassion of folks that first led me to such thoughts, and as\nI grew older I began to deem that their pity had done little good to my\nyoung soul. Friends are ever at hand to comfort every job; but few are\nthey who come to share his heaviness, all the more so because all men\ntake pleasure in comparing their own fair lot with the evil lot of\nothers. Compassion--and I am the last to deny it--is a noble and right\nhealing grace; but those who are so ready to extend it should be cautious\nhow they do so, especially in the case of a child, for a child is like a\nsapling which needs light, and those who darken the sun that shines on it\nsin against it, and hinder its growth. Instead of bewailing it, make it\nglad; that is the comfort that befits it.\n\nI felt I had discovered a great and important secret and I was eager to\nmake our sainted mother known to my brothers; but they had found her\nalready without any aid from their little sister. I told first one and\nthen the other all that stirred within me, and when I spoke to Herdegen,\nthe elder, I saw at once that it was nothing new to him. Kunz, the\nyounger, I found in the swing; he flew so high that I thought he would\nfling himself out, and I cried to him to stop a minute; but, as he\nclutched the rope tighter and pulled himself together to stand firm on\nthe board, he cried: \"Leave me now, Margery; I want to go up, up; up to\nHeaven--up to where mother is!\"\n\nThat was enough for me; and from that hour we often spoke together of our\nsainted mother, and Cousin Maud took care that we should likewise keep\nour father in mind. She had his portrait--as she had had my\nmother's--brought from the great dining-room, where it had hung, into the\nlarge children's room where she slept with me. And this picture, too,\nleft its mark on my after-life; for when I had the measles, and Master\nPaul Rieter, the town physician and our doctor, came to see me, he stayed\na long time, as though he could not bear to depart, standing in front of\nthe portrait; and when he turned to me again, his face was quite red with\nsorrowful feeling--for he had been a favorite friend of my father, at\nPadua--and he exclaimed: \"What a fortunate child art thou, little\nMargery!\"\n\nI must have looked at him puzzled enough, for no one had ever esteemed me\nfortunate, unless it were Cousin Maud or the Waldstromers in the forest;\nand Master Paul must have observed my amazement, for he went on. \"Yea, a\nhappy child art thou; for so are all babes, maids or boys, who come into\nthe world after their father's death.\" As I gazed into his face, no less\nastonished than before, he laid the gold knob of his cane against his\nnose and said: \"Remember, little simpleton, the good God would not be\nwhat he is, would not be a man of honor--God forgive the words--if he did\nnot take a babe whom He had robbed of its father before it had seen the\nlight or had one proof of his love under His own special care. Mark what\nI say, child. Is it a small thing to be the ward of a guardian who is not\nonly Almighty but true above all truth?\" And those words have followed me\nthrough all my life till this very hour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThus passed our childhood, as I have already said, in very great\nhappiness; and by the time that my brothers had left the leading strings\nfar behind them, and were studying their 'Donatus', Cousin Maud was\nteaching me to read and write, and that with much mirth and the most\nfrolicsome ways. For instance, she would stamp four copies of each letter\nout of sweet honey-cakes, and when I knew them well she gave me these\ntiny little A. B. C. cakes, and one I ate myself, and gave the others to\nmy brothers, or Susan, or my cousin. Often I put them in my satchel to\ncarry them into the woods with me, and give them to my Cousin Gotz's\nfavorite hound or his cross-beak; for he himself did not care for sweets.\nI shall have many things to tell of him and the forest; even when I was\nvery small it was my greatest joy to be told that we were going to the\nwoods, for there dwelt the dearest and most faithful of all our kinsmen:\nmy uncle Waldstromer and his family. The stately hunting-lodge in which\nhe dwelt as head forester of the Lorenzerwald in the service of the\nEmperor and of our town, had greater joys for me than any other, since\nnot only were there the woods with all their delights and wonders, but\nalso, besides many hounds, a number of strange beasts, and other pastimes\nsuch as a town child knows little of.\n\nBut what I most loved was the only son of my uncle and aunt Waldstromer,\nfor whose dog I kept my cake letters; for though Cousin Gotz was older\nthan I by eleven years, he nevertheless did not scorn me, but whenever I\nasked him to show me this or that, or teach me some light woodland craft,\nhe would leave his elders to please me.\n\nWhen I was six years old I went to the forest one day in a scarlet velvet\nhood, and after that he ever called me his little \"Red riding-hood,\" and\nI liked to be called so; and of all the boys and lads I ever met among my\nbrothers' friends or others I deemed none could compare with Gotz; my\nguileless heart was so wholly his that I always mentioned his name in my\nlittle prayers.\n\nTill I was nine we had gone out into the forest three or four times in\neach year to pass some weeks; but after this I was sent to school, and as\nCousin Maud took it much to heart, because she knew that my father had\nset great store by good learning, we paid such visits more rarely; and\nindeed, the strict mistress who ruled my teaching would never have\nallowed me to break through my learning for pastime's sake.\n\nSister Margaret, commonly called the Carthusian nun, was the name of the\nsingular woman who was chosen to be my teacher. She was at once the most\npious and learned soul living; she was Prioress of a Carthusian nunnery\nand had written ten large choirbooks, besides others. Though the rule of\nher order forbade discourse, she was permitted to teach.\n\nOh, how I trembled when Cousin Maud first took me to the convent.\n\nAs a rule my tongue was never still, unless it were when Herdegen sang to\nme, or thought aloud, telling me his dreams of what he would do when he\nhad risen to be chancellor, or captain-in chief of the Imperial army, and\nhad found a count's or a prince's daughter to carry home to his grand\ncastle. Besides, the wild wood was a second home to me, and now I was\nshut up in a convent where the silence about me crushed me like a too\ntight bodice. The walls of the vast antechamber, where I was left to\nwait, were covered with various texts in Latin, and several times\nrepeated were these words under a skull.\n\n\"Bitter as it is to live a Carthusian, it is right sweet to die one.\"\n\nThere was a crucifix in a shrine, and so much bright red blood flowed\nfrom the Crown of Thorns and the Wounds that the Sacred Body was half\ncovered with it, and I was sore afraid at the sight--oh I can find no\nwords for it! And all the while one nun after another glided through the\nchamber in silence, and with bowed head, her arms folded, and never so\nmuch as lifting an eye to look at me.\n\nIt was in May; the day was fine and pleasant, but I began to shiver, and\nI felt as if the Spring had bloomed and gone, and I had suddenly\nforgotten how to laugh and be glad. Presently a cat stole in, leapt on to\nthe bench where I sat, and arched her back to rub up against me; but I\ndrew away, albeit I commonly laved to play with animals; for it glared at\nme strangely with its green eyes, and I had a sudden fear that it would\nturn into a werewolf and do me a hurt.\n\nAt length the door opened, and a woman in nun's weeds came in with my\ncousin; she was the taller by a head. I had never seen so tall a woman,\nbut the nun was very thin, too, and her shoulders scarce broader than my\nown. Ere long, indeed, she stooped a good deal, and as time went on I saw\nher ever with her back bent and her head bowed. They said she had some\nhurt of the back-bone, and that she had taken this bent shape from\nwriting, which she always did at night.\n\nAt first I dared not look up in her face, for my cousin had told me that\nwith her I must be very diligent, that idleness never escaped her keen\neyes; and Gotz Waldstromer knew the meaning of the Latin motto with which\nshe began all her writings: \"Beware lest Satan find thee idle!\" These\nwords flashed through my mind at this moment; I felt her eye fixed upon\nme, and I started as she laid her cold, thin fingers on my brow and\nfirmly, but not ungently, made me lift my drooping head. I raised my\neyes, and how glad I was when in her pale, thin face I saw nothing but\ntrue, sweet good will.\n\nShe asked me in a low, clear voice, though hardly above a whisper, how\nold I was, what was my name, and what I had learnt already. She spoke in\nbrief sentences, not a word too little or too many; and she ever set me\nmy tasks in the same manner; for though, by a dispensation, she might\nspeak, she ever bore in mind that at the Last Day we shall be called to\naccount for every word we utter.\n\nAt last she spoke of my sainted parents, but she only said: \"Thy father\nand mother behold thee ever; therefore be diligent in school that they\nmay rejoice in thee.--To-morrow and every morning at seven.\" Then she\nkissed me gently on my head, bowed to my cousin without a word, and\nturned her back upon us. But afterwards, as I walked on in the open air\nglad to be moving, and saw the blue sky and the green meadows once more,\nand heard the birds sing and the children at play, I felt as it were a\nload lifted from my breast; but I likewise felt the tall, silent nun's\nkiss, and as if she had given me something which did me honor.\n\nNext morning I went to school for the first time; and whereas it is\ncommonly the part of a child's godparents only to send it parcels of\nsweetmeats when it goes to school, I had many from various kinsfolks and\nother of our friends, because they pitied me as a hapless orphan.\n\nI thought more of my riches, and how to dispense them, than of school and\ntasks; and as my cousin would only put one parcel into my little satchel\nI stuffed another--quite a little one, sent me by rich mistress Grosz,\nwith a better kind of sweeties--into the wallet which hung from my\ngirdle.\n\nOn the way I looked about at the folks to see if they observed how I had\ngot on, and my little heart beat fast as I met my cousin Gotz in front of\nMaster Pernhart's brass-smithy. He had come from the forest to live in\nthe town, that he might learn book-keeping under the tax-gatherers. We\ngreeted each other merrily, and he pulled my plait of hair and went on\nhis way, while I felt as if this meeting had brought me good luck indeed.\n\nIn school of course I had to forget such follies at once; for among\nSister Margaret's sixteen scholars I was far below most of them, not,\nindeed in stature, for I was well-grown for my years, but in age and\nlearning and this I was to discover before the first hour was past.\n\nFifteen of us were of the great city families, and this day, being the\nfirst day of the school-term, we were all neatly clad in fine woollen\nstuffs of Florence or of Flanders make, and colored knitted hose. We all\nhad fine lace ruffs round the cuffs of our tight sleeves and the square\ncut fronts of our bodices; each little maid wore a silken ribbon to tie\nher plaits, and almost all had gold rings in her ears and a gold pin at\nher breast or in her girdle. Only one was in a simple garb, unlike the\nothers, and she, notwithstanding her weed was clean and fitting, was\narrayed in poor, grey home spun. As I looked on her I could not but mind\nme of Cinderella; and when I looked in her face, and then at her feet to\nsee whether they were as neat and as little as in the tale, I saw that\nshe had small ankles and sweet little shoes; and as for her face, I\ndeemed I had never seen one so lovely and at the same time so strange to\nme. Yea, she seemed to have come from another world than this that I and\nthe others lived in; for we were light or brown haired, with blue or grey\neyes, and healthy red and white faces; while Cinderella had a low\nforehead and with big dark eyes strange, long, fine silky lashes; and\nheavy plaits of black hair hung down her back.\n\nUrsula Tetzel was accounted by the lads the comeliest maiden of us all;\nand I knew full well that the flower she wore in her bodice had been\ngiven to her by my brother Herdegen early that morning, because he had\nchosen her for his \"Lady,\" and said she was the fairest; but as I looked\nat her beside this stranger I deemed that she was of poorer stuff.\n\nMoreover Cinderella was a stranger to me, and all the others I knew well,\nbut I had to take patience for a whole hour ere I could ask who this fair\nCinderella was, for Sister Margaret kept her eye on us, and so long as I\nwas taught by her, no one at any time made so bold as to speak during\nlessons or venture on any pastime.\n\nAt last, in a few minutes for rest, I asked Ursula Tetzel, who had come\nto the convent school for a year past. She put out her red nether-lip\nwith a look of scorn and said the new scholar had been thrust among us\nbut did not belong to the like of us. Sister Margaret, though of a noble\nhouse herself, had forgot what was due to us and our families, and had\ntaken in this grey bat out of pity. Her father was a simple clerk in the\nChancery office and was accountant to the convent for some small wage.\nHis name was Veit Spiesz, and she had heard her father say that the\nscribe was the son of a simple lute-player and could hardly earn enough\nto live. He had formerly served in a merchant's house at Venice. There he\nhad wed an Italian woman, and all his children, which were many, had,\nlike her, hair and eyes as black as the devil. For the sake of a \"God\nrepay thee!\" this maid, named Ann, had been brought to mix with us\ndaughters of noble houses. \"But we will harry her out,\" said Ursula, \"you\nwill see!\"\n\nThis shocked me sorely, and I said that would be cruel and I would have\nno part in such a matter; but Ursula laughed and said I was yet but a\ngreen thing, and turned away to the window-shelf where all the new-comers\nhad laid out their sweetmeats at the behest of the eldest or first of the\nclass; for, by old custom, all the sweetmeats brought by the novices on\nthe first day were in common.\n\nAll the party crowded round the heap of sweetmeats, which waxed greater\nand greater, and I was standing among the others when I saw that the\nscribe's daughter Ann, Cinderella, was standing lonely and hanging her\nhead by the tiled stove at the end of the room. I forthwith hastened to\nher, pressed the little packet which Mistress Grosz had given me into her\nhand--for I had it still hidden in my poke--and, whispered to her: \"I had\ntwo of them, little Ann; make haste and pour them on the heap.\"\n\nShe gave me a questioning look with her great eyes, and when she saw that\nI meant it truly she nodded, and there was something in her tearful look\nwhich I never can forget; and I mind, too, that when I passed the little\npacket into her hand it seemed that I, and not she, had received the\nfavor.\n\nShe gave the sweetmeats she had taken from me to the eldest, and spoke\nnot a word, and did not seem to mark that they all mocked at the\nsmallness of the packet. But soon enough their scorn was turned to glee\nand praises; for out of Cinderella's parcel such fine sweetmeats fell on\nto the heap as never another one had brought with her, and among them was\na little phial of attar of roses from the Levant.\n\nAt first Ann had cast an anxious look at me, then she seemed as though\nshe cared not; but when the oil of roses came to light she took it firmly\nin her hand to give to me. But Ursula cried out: \"Nay. Whatsoever the\nnew-comers bring is for all to share in common!\" Notwithstanding, Ann\nlaid her hand on mine, which already held the phial, and said boldly: \"I\ngive this to Margery, and I renounce all the rest.\"\n\nAnd there was not one to say her nay, or hinder her; and when she refused\nto eat with them, each one strove to press upon her so much as fell to\nher share.\n\nWhen Sister Margaret came back into the room she looked to find us in\ngood order and holding our peace; and while we awaited her Ann whispered\nto me, as though to put herself right in my eyes: \"I had a packet of\nsweetmeats; but there are four little ones at home.\"\n\nCousin Maud was waiting at the convent gate to take me home. As I was\nsetting forth at good speed, hand in hand with my new friend, she looked\nat the little maid's plain garb from top to toe, and not kindly. And she\nmade me leave hold, but yet as though it were by chance, for she came\nbetween us to put my hood straight. Then she busied herself with my\nneckkerchief and whispered in my ear: \"Who is that?\"\n\nSo I replied: \"Little Ann;\" and when she went on to ask who her father\nmight be, I told her she was a scrivener's daughter, and was about to\nspeak of her with hearty good will, when my cousin stopped me by saying\nto Ann: \"God save you child; Margery and I must hurry.\" And she strove to\nget me on and away; but I struggled to be free from her, and cried out\nwith the wilful pride which at that time I was wont to show when I\nthought folks would hinder that which seemed good and right in my eyes:\n\"Little Ann shall come with us.\"\n\nBut the little maid had her pride likewise, and said firmly: \"Be dutiful,\nMargery; I can go alone.\" At this Cousin Maud looked at her more closely,\nand thereupon her eyes had the soft light of good will which I loved so\nwell, and she herself began to question Ann about her kinsfolk. The\nlittle maid answered readily but modestly, and when my Cousin understood\nthat her father was a certain writer in the Chancery of whom she had\nheard a good report, she was softer and more gentle, so that when I took\nhold again of Ann's little hand she let it pass, and presently, at\nparting, kissed her on the brow and bid her carry a greeting to her\nworthy father.\n\nNow, when I was alone with Cousin Maud and gave her to understand that I\nloved the scribe's little daughter and wished for no dearer friend, she\nanswered gravely; \"Little maids can hold no conversation with any but\nthose whose mothers meet in each other's houses. Take patience till I can\nspeak to Sister Margaret.\" So when my Cousin went out in the afternoon I\ntarried in the most anxious expectation; but she came home with famous\ngood tidings, and thenceforward Ann was a friend to whom I clung almost\nas closely as to my brothers. And which of us was the chief gainer it\nwould be hard to say, for whereas I found in her a trusted companion to\nwhom I might impart every thing which was scarce worthy of my brothers'\nor my Cousin's ears, and foremost of all things my childish good-will for\nmy Cousin Gotz and love of the Forest, to her the place in my heart and\nin our house were as a haven of peace when she craved rest after the\nheavy duties which, for all she was so young, she had already taken upon\nherself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTrue it is that the class I learnt in at the convent was under the\nstrictest rule, and that my teacher was a Carthusian nun; and yet I take\npleasure in calling to mind the years when my spirit enjoyed the benefit\nof schooling with friendly companions and by the side of my best friend.\nNay, even in the midst of the silent dwelling of the speechless Sisters,\nright merry laughter might be heard during the hours of rest, and in\nspite of the thick walls of the class-room it reached the nuns' ears.\nAlbeit at first I was stricken with awe, and shy in their presence, I\nsoon became familiar with their strange manner of life, and there was\nmany an one whom I learnt truly to love: with some, too, we could talk\nand jest right merrily, for they, to be sure, had good ears, and we, were\nnot slow in learning the language of their eyes and fingers.\n\nAs concerning the rule of silence no one, to my knowledge, ever broke it\nin the presence of us little ones, save only Sister Renata, and she was\ndismissed from the convent; yet, as I waxed older, I could see that the\nnuns were as fain to hear any tidings of the outer life that might find a\nway into the cloister as though there was nothing they held more dear\nthan the world which they had withdrawn from by their own free choice.\n\nFor my part, I have ever been, and remain to the end, one of those least\nfitted for the Carthusian habit, notwithstanding that Sister Margaret\nwould paint the beatitudes and the purifying power of her Order in fair\nand tempting colors. In the hours given up to sacred teaching, when she\nwould shed out upon us the overflowing wealth and abundant grace of her\nloving spirit--insomuch that she won not less than four souls of our\nsmall number to the sisterhood--she was wont and glad to speak of this\nmatter, and would say that there was a heavenly spirit living and moving\nin every human breast. That it told us, with the clear and holy voice of\nangels, what was divine and true, but that the noise of the world and our\nown vain imaginings sounded louder and would not suffer us to hear. But\nthat they who took upon them the Carthusian rule and hearkened to it\nspeechless, in a silent home, lending no ear to distant outer voices, but\nonly to those within, would ere long learn to mark the heavenly voice\nwith the inward ear and know its warning. That voice would declare to\nthem the glory and the will of the Most High God, and reveal the things\nthat are hidden in such wise as that even here below he should take part\nin the joys of paradise.\n\nBut, for all that I never was a Carthusian nun, and that my tongue was\never apt to run too freely, I conceive that I have found the Heavenly\nSpirit in the depths of my own soul and heard its voice; but in truth\nthis has befallen me most clearly, and with most joy, when my heart has\nbeen most filled with that worldly love which the Carthusian Sisters shut\nout with a hundred doors. And again, when I have been moved by that love\ntowards my neighbor which is called Charity, and wearied myself out for\nhim, sparing nothing that was my own, I have felt those divine emotions\nplainly enough in my breast.\n\nThe Sister bid us to question her at all times without fear, and I was\never the foremost of us all to plague her with communings. Of a certainty\nshe could not at all times satisfy my soul, which thirsted for knowledge,\nthough she never failed to calm it; for I stood firm in the faith, and\nall she could tell me of God's revelation to man I accepted gladly,\nwithout doubt or cavil. She had taught us that faith and knowledge are\nthings apart, and I felt that there could be no more peace for my soul if\nI suffered knowledge to meddle with faith.\n\nLed by her, I saw the Saviour as love incarnate; and that the love which\nHe brought into the world was still and ever a living thing working after\nHis will, I strove to confess with my thinking mind. But I beheld even\nthe Archbishops and Bishops go forth to battle, and shed the blood of\ntheir fellow men with vengeful rage; I saw Pope excommunicate Pope--for\nthe great Schism only came to an end while I was yet at school; peaceful\ncities in their sore need bound themselves by treaties, under our eyes,\nfor defence against Christian knights and lords. The robber bands of the\ngreat nobles plundered merchants on the Emperor's highway, though they\nwere of the same creed, while the citizens strove to seize the\nstrongholds of the knights. We heard of many more letters of defiance\nthan of peacemaking and friendship. Even the burgesses of our good\nChristian town--could not the love taught by the Redeemer prevail even\namong them? And as with the great so with the simple; for was it love\nalone that reigned among us maidens in a Christian school? Nay, verily;\nfor never shall I forget how that Ursula Tetzel, and in fellowship with\nher a good half of the others, pursued my sweet, sage Ann, the most\ndiligent and best of us all, to drive her out of our midst; but in vain,\nthanks to Sister Margaret's upright justice. Nay, the shrewish plotters\nwere fain at last to see the scrivener's daughter uplifted to be our\nhead, and this compelled them to bend their pride before her.\n\nAll this and much more I would say to the good Sister; nay, and I made so\nbold as to ask her whether Christ's behest that we should love our enemy\nwere not too high for attainment by the spirit of man. This made her\ngrave and thoughtful; yet she found no lack of comforting words, and said\nthat the Lord had only showed the way and the end. That men had turned\nsadly from both; but that many a stream wandered through divers windings\nfrom the path to its goal, the sea, before it reached it; and that\nmankind was wondrous like the stream, for, albeit they even now rend each\nother in bloody fights, the day will come when foe shall offer to foe the\npalm of peace, and when there shall be but one fold on earth and one\nShepherd.\n\nBut my anxious questioning, albeit I was but a child, had without doubt\ntroubled her pure and truthful spirit. It was in Passion week, of the\nfifth year of my school-life--and ever through those years she had become\nmore bent and her voice had sunk lower, so that many a time we found it\nhard to hear her--that it fell that she could no longer quit her cell;\nand she sent me a bidding to go to her bedside, and with me only two of\nus all: to wit my Ann, and Elsa Ebner, a right good child and a diligent\nbee in her work.\n\nAnd it befell that as Sister Margaret on her deathbed bid us farewell for\never, with many a God speed and much good council for the rest likewise,\nher heart waxed soft and she went on to speak of the love each Christian\nsoul oweth to his neighbor and eke to his enemy. She fixed her eye in\nespecial on me, and confessed with her pale lips that she herself had\nofttimes found it hard to love evil-minded adversaries and those whose\nways had been contrary to hers, as the law of the Saviour bid her. To\nthose young ones among us who had made their minds up to take the veil\nshe had, ere this, more especially shown what was needful; for their way\nlay plain before them, to walk as followers of Christ how bitter soever\nit might be to their human nature; but we were bound to live in the\nworld, and she could but counsel us to flee from hate as the soul's worst\nfoe and the most cunning of all the devils. But an if it should befall\nthat our heart could not be subdued after a brave struggle to love such\nor such an one, then ought we to strive at least to respect all that was\ngood and praiseworthy in him, inasmuch as we should ever find something\nworthy of honor even in the most froward and least pleasing to ourselves.\nAnd these words I have ever kept in mind, and many times have they given\nme pause, when the hot blood of the Schoppers has bid me stoop and pick\nup a stone to fling at my neighbor.\n\nNo longer than three days after she had thus bidden us to her side,\nSister Margaret entered into her rest; she had been our strait but gentle\nteacher, and her learning was as far above that of most women of her time\nas the heavens are high; and as her mortal body lay, no longer bent, but\nat full length in the coffin, the saintly lady, who before she took the\nvows had been a Countess of Lupfen, belonged, meseemed, to a race taller\nthan ours by a head. A calm, queenlike dignity was on her noble thin\nface; and, this corpse being the first, as it fell, that I had ever\nlooked on, it so worked on my mind that death, of which I had heretofore\nbeen in terror, took the image in my young soul of a great Master to whom\nwe must indeed bow, but who is not our foe.\n\nI never could earn such praise as Ann, who was by good right at our head;\nnotwithstanding I ever stood high. And the vouchers I carried home were\nenough to content Cousin Maud, for her great wish that her\nfoster-children should out-do others was amply fulfilled by Herdegen, the\neldest. He was indeed filled with sleeping learning, as it were, and I\noften conceived that he needed only fitting instruction and a fair start\nto wake it up. For even he did not attain his learning without pains, and\nthey who deem that it flew into his mouth agape are sorely mistaken. Many\na time have I sat by his side while he pored over his books, and I could\nsee how he set to work in right earnest when once he had cast away sports\nand pastime. Thus with three mighty blows he would smite the nail home,\nwhich a weaker hand could not do with twenty. For whole weeks he might be\nidle and about divers matters which had no concern with schooling; and\nthen, of a sudden, set to work; and it would so wholly possess his soul\nthat he would not have seen a stone drop close at his feet.\n\nMy second brother, Kunz, was not at all on this wise. Not that he was\nsoft-witted; far from it. His head was as clear as ever another's for all\nmatters of daily life; but he found it hard to learn scholarship, and\nwhat Herdegen could master in one hour, it took him a whole livelong day\nto get. Notwithstanding he was not one of the dunces, for he strove hard\nwith all diligence, and rather would he have lost a night's sleep than\nhave left what he deemed a duty only half done. Thus there were sore\nhalf-hours for him in school-time; but he was not therefor to be pitied,\nfor he had a right merry soul and was easily content, and loved many\nthings. Good temper and a high spirit looked out of his great blue eyes;\naye, and when he had played some prank which was like to bring him into\ntrouble he had a look in his eyes--a look that might have melted a stone\nto pity, much more good Cousin Maud.\n\nBut this did not altogether profit him, for after that Herdegen had\ndiscovered one day how easily Kunz got off chastisement he would pray him\nto take upon himself many a misdeed which the elder had done; and Kunz,\nwho was soft-hearted, was fain rather to suffer the penalty than to see\nit laid on his well-beloved brother. Add to this that Kunz was a\nwell-favored, slender youth; but as compared with Herdegen's splendid\nlooks and stalwart frame he looked no more than common. For this cause he\nhad no ill-wishers while our eldest's uncommon beauty in all respects,\nand his hasty temper, ever ready to boil over for good or evil, brought\nupon him much ill-will and misliking.\n\nWhen Cousin Maud beheld how little good Kunz got out of his learning, in\nspite of his zeal, she was minded to get him a private governor to teach\nhim; and this she did by the advice of a learned doctor of Church-law,\nAlbrecht Fleischmann, the vicar and provost of Saint Sebald's and member\nof the Imperial council, because we Schoppers were of the parish of Saint\nSebald's, to which church Albrecht and Friedrich Schopper, God rest their\nsouls, had attached a rich prebendary endowment.\n\nHis Reverence the prebendary Fleischmann, having attended the Council at\nCostnitz, whither he was sent by the town elders with divers errands to\nthe Emperor Sigismund, who was engaged in a disputation with John Huss\nthe Bohemian schismatic, brought to my cousin's knowledge a governor\nwhose name was Peter Pihringer, a native of Nuremberg. He it was who\nbrought the Greek tongue, which was not yet taught in the Latin schools\nof our city, not in our house alone, but likewise into others; he was not\nindeed at all like the high-souled men and heroes of whom his Plutarch\nwrote; nay, he was a right pitiable little man, who had learnt nothing of\nlife, though all the more out of books. He had journeyed long in Italy,\nfrom one great humanistic doctor to another, and while he had sat at\ntheir feet, feeding his soul with learning, his money had melted away in\nhis hands--all that he had inherited from his father, a worthy\ntavern-keeper and master baker. Much of his substance he had lent to\nfalse friends never to see it more, and it would scarce be believed how\nmany times knavish rogues had beguiled this learned man of his goods. At\nlength he came home to Nuremberg, a needy traveller, entering the city by\nthe same gate as that by which Huss had that same day departed, having\ntarried in Nuremberg on his way to Costnitz and won over divers of our\nlearned scholars to his doctrine. Now, after Magister Peter had written a\nvery learned homily against the said Hans Huss, full of much Greek--of\nwhich, indeed, it was reported that it had brought a smile to the\ndauntless Bohemian's lips in the midst of his sorrow--he found a patron\nin Doctor Fleischmann, who was well pleased with this tractate, and he\nthenceforth made a living by teaching divers matters. But he sped but\nill, dwelling alone, inasmuch as he would forget to eat and drink and\nmislay or lose his hardly won wage. Once the town watch had to see him\nhome because, instead of a book, he was carrying a ham which a gossip had\ngiven him; and another day he was seen speeding down the streets with his\nnightcap on, to the great mirth of the lads and lasses.\n\nNotwithstanding he showed himself no whit unworthy of the high praise\nwherewith his Reverence the Prebendary had commended him, inasmuch as he\nwas not only a right learned, but likewise a faithful and longsuffering\nteacher. But his wisdom profited Herdegen and Ann and me rather than\nKunz, though it was for his sake that he had come to us; and as, touching\nthis strange man's person, my cousin told me later that when she saw him\nfor the first time she took such a horror of his wretched looks that she\nwas ready to bid him depart and desire the Reverend doctor to send us\nanother governor. But out of pity she would nevertheless give him a\ntrial, and considering that I should ere long be fully grown, and that a\nyoung maid's heart is a strange thing, she deemed that a younger teacher\nmight lead it into peril.\n\nAt the time when Master Pihringer came to dwell with us, Herdegen was\nalready high enough to pass into the upper school, for he was first in\nhis 'ordo'; but our guardian, the old knight Hans Im Hoff, of whom I\nshall have much to tell, held that he was yet too young for the risks of\na free scholar's life in a high school away from home, and he kept him\ntwo years more in Nuremberg at the school of the Brethren of the Holy\nGhost, albeit the teaching there was not of the best. At any rate Master\nPihringer avowed that in all matters of learning we were out of all\nmeasure behind the Italians; and how rough and barbarous was the Latin\nspoken by the reverend Fathers and taught by them in the schools, I\nmyself had later the means of judging.\n\nTheir way of imparting that tongue was in truth a strange thing; for to\nfix the quantity of the syllables in the learners' mind, they were made\nto sing verses in chorus, while one of them, on whose head Father\nHieronymus would set a paper cap to mark his office, beat the measure\nwith a wooden sword; but what pranks of mischief the unruly rout would be\nplaying all the time Kunz could describe better than I can.\n\nThe great and famous works of the Roman chroniclers and poets, which our\nMaster had come to know well in Italy--having besides fine copies of\nthem--were never heard of in the Fathers' school, by reason, that those\nwriters had all been mere blind heathen; but, verily, the common school\ncatechisms which were given to the lads for their instruction, contained\nsuch foolish and ill-conceived matters, that any sage heathen would have\nbeen ashamed of them. The highest exercise consisted of disputations on\nall manner of subtle and captious questions, and the Latin verses which\nthe scholars hammered out under the rule of Father Jodocus were so vile\nas to rouse Magister Peter to great and righteous wrath. Each morning,\nbefore the day's tasks began, the fine old hymn Salve Regina was chanted,\nand this was much better done in the Brothers' school than in ever\nanother, for those Monks gave especial heed to the practice of good\nmusic. My Herdegen profited much thereby, and he was the foremost of all\nthe singing scholars. He likewise gladly and of his own free will took\npart in the exercises of the Alumni, of whom twelve, called the Pueri,\nhad to sing at holy mass, and at burials and festivals, as well as in the\nstreets before the houses of the great city families and other worthy\ncitizens. The money they thus earned served to help maintain the poorer\nscholars, and to be sure, my brother was ready to forego his share; nay,\nand a great part of his own pocket-money went to those twelve, for among\nthem were comrades he truly loved.\n\nThere was something lordly in my elder brother, and his fellows were ever\nsubject to his will. Even at the shooting matches in sport he was ever\nchosen captain, and the singing pueri soon would do his every behest.\nCousin Maud would give them free commons on many a Sunday and holy-day,\nand when they had well filled their hungry young crops at our table for\nthe coming week of lean fare, they went out with us into the garden, and\nit presently rang with mirthful songs, Herdegen beating the measure,\nwhile we young maids joined in with a will.\n\nFor the most part we three: Ann, Elsa Ebner, and I--were the only maids\nwith the lads, but Ursula Tetzel was sometimes with us, for she was ever\nfain to be where Herdegen was. And he had been diligent enough in waiting\nupon her ere ever I went to school. There was a giving and taking of\nflowers and nosegays, for he had chosen her for his Lady, and she called\nhim her knight; and if I saw him with a red knot on his cap I knew right\nwell it was to wear her color; and I liked all this child's-play myself\nright well, inasmuch as I likewise had my chosen color: green, as\npertaining to my cousin in the forest.\n\nBut when I went to the convent-school all this was at an end, and I had\nno choice but to forego my childish love matters, not only for my tasks'\nsake, but forasmuch as I discerned that Gotz had a graver love matter on\nhand, and that such an one as moved his parents to great sorrow.\n\nThe wench to whom he plighted his love was the daughter of a common\ncraftsman, Pernhart the coppersmith, and when this came to my ears it\nangered me greatly; nay, and cost me bitter tears, as I told it to Ann.\nBut ere long we were playing with our dollies again right happily.\n\nI took this matter to heart nevertheless, more than many another of my\nyears might have done; and when we went again to the Forest Lodge and I\nmissed Gotz from his place, and once, as it fell, heard my aunt lamenting\nto Cousin Maud bitterly indeed of the sorrows brought upon her by her\nonly son--for he was fully bent on taking the working wench to wife in\nholy wedlock--in my heart I took my aunt's part. And I deemed it a\nshameful and grievous thing that so fine a young gentleman could abase\nhimself to bring heaviness on the best of parents for the sake of a\nlowborn maid.\n\nAfter this, one Sunday, it fell by chance that I went to mass with Ann to\nthe church of St. Laurence, instead of St. Sebald's to which we belonged.\nHaving said my prayer, looking about me I beheld Gotz, and saw how, as he\nleaned against a pillar, he held his gaze fixed on one certain spot. My\neyes followed his, and at once I saw whither they were drawn, for I saw a\nyoung maid of the citizen class in goodly, nay--in rich array, and she\nwas herself of such rare and wonderful beauty that I myself could not\ntake my eyes off her. And I remembered that I had met the wench erewhile\non the feast-day of St. John, and that uncle Christian Pfinzing, my\nworshipful godfather, had pointed her out to Cousin Maud, and had said\nthat she was the fairest maid in Nuremberg whom they called, and rightly,\nFair Gertrude.\n\nNow the longer I gazed at her the fairer I deemed her, and when Ann\ndiscovered to me, what I had at once divined, that this sweet maid was\nthe daughter of Pernhart the coppersmith, my child's heart was glad, for\nif my cousin was without dispute the finest figure of a man in the whole\nassembly Fair Gertrude was the sweetest maid, I thought, in the whole\nwide world.\n\nIf it had been possible that she could be of yet greater beauty it would\nbut have added to my joy. And henceforth I would go as often as I might\nto St. Laurence's, and past the coppersmith's house to behold Fair\nGertrude; and my heart beat high with gladness when she one day saw me\npass and graciously bowed to my silent greeting, and looked in my face\nwith friendly inquiry.\n\nAfter this when Gotz came to our house I welcomed him gladly as\nheretofore; and one day, when I made bold to whisper in his ear that I\nhad seen his fair Gertrude, and for certain no saint in heaven could have\na sweeter face than hers, he thanked me with a bright look and it was\nfrom the bottom of his soul that he said: \"If you could but know her\nfaithful heart of gold!\"\n\nFor all this Gotz was dearer to me than of old, and it uplifted me in my\nown conceit that he should put such trust in a foolish young thing as I\nwas. But in later days it made me sad to see his frank and noble face\ngrow ever more sorrowful, nay, and full of gloom; and I knew full well\nwhat pained him, for a child can often see much more than its elders\ndeem. Matters had come to a sharp quarrel betwixt the son and the\nparents, and I knew my cousin well, and his iron will which was a by-word\nwith us. And my aunt in the Forest was of the same temper; albeit her\nbody was sickly, she was one of those women who will not bear to be\nwithstood, and my heart hung heavy with fear when I conceived of the\noutcome of this matter.\n\nHence it was a boon indeed to me that I had my Ann for a friend, and\ncould pour out to her all that filled my young soul with fears. How our\ncheeks would burn when many a time we spoke of the love which was the\nbond between Gotz and his fair Gertrude. To us, indeed, it was as yet a\nmystery, but that it was sweet and full of joy we deemed a certainty. We\nwould have been fain to cry out to the Emperor and the world to take arms\nagainst the ruthless parents who were minded to tread so holy a blossom\nin the dust; but since this was not in our power we had dreams of\nessaying to touch the heart of my forest aunt, for she had but that one\nson and no daughter to make her glad, and I had ever been her favorite.\n\nThus passed many weeks, and one morning, when I came forth from school, I\nfound Gotz with Cousin Maud who had been speaking with him, and her eyes\nwere wet with tears; and I heard him cry out:\n\n\"It is in my mother's power to drive me to misery and ruin; but no power\nin heaven or on earth can drive me to break the oath and forswear the\nfaith I have sworn!\"\n\nAnd his cheeks were red, and I had never seen him look so great and tall.\n\nThen, when he saw me, he held out both hands to me in his frank, loving\nway, and I took them with all my heart. At this he looked into my eyes\nwhich were full of tears, and he drew me hastily to him and kissed me on\nmy brow for the first time in all his life, with strange passion; and\nwithout another word he ran out of the house-door into the street. My\ncousin gazed after him, shaking her head sadly and wiping her eyes; but\nwhen I asked her what was wrong with my cousin she would give me no\ntidings of the matter.\n\nThe next day we should have gone out to the forest, but we remained at\nhome; Aunt Jacoba would see no one. Her son had turned his back on his\nparents' dwelling, and had gone out as a stranger among strangers. And\nthis was the first sore grief sent by Heaven on my young heart.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nMany of the fairest memories of my childhood are linked with the house\nwhere Ann's parents dwelt. It was indeed but a simple home and not to be\nnamed with ours--the Schopperhof--for greatness or for riches; but it was\na snug nest, and in divers ways so unlike ever another that it was full\nof pleasures for a child.\n\nMaster Spiesz, Ann's father, had been bidden from Venice, where he had\nbeen in the service of the Mendel's merchant house, to become head clerk\nin Nuremberg, first in the Chamber of Taxes, and then in the Chancery, a\nrespectable post of much trust. His father was, as Ursula Tetzel had said\nin the school, a luteplayer; but he had long been held the head and chief\nof teachers of the noble art of music, and was so greatly respected by\nthe clergy and laity that he was made master and leader of the church\nchoir, and even in the houses of the city nobles his teaching of the lute\nand of singing was deemed the best. He was a right well-disposed and\ncheerful old man, of a rare good heart and temper, and of wondrous good\ndevices. When the worshipful town council bid his son Veit Spiesz come\nback to Nuremberg, the old man must need fit up a proper house for him,\nsince he himself was content with a small chamber, and the scribe was by\nthis time married to the fair Giovanna, the daughter of one of the\nSensali or brokers of the German Fondaco, and must have a home and hearth\nof his own.\n\n   [Sensali--Agents who conducted all matters of business between the\n   German and Venetian merchants. Not even the smallest affair was\n   settled without their intervention, on account of the duties\n   demanded by the Republic. The Fondaco was the name of the great\n   exchange established by the Republic itself for the German trade.]\n\nThe musician, who had as a student dwelt in Venice, hit on the fancy that\nhe would give his daughter-in-law a home in Nuremberg like her father's\nhouse, which stood on one of the canals in Venice; so he found a house\nwith windows looking to the river, and which he therefore deemed fit to\nease her homesickness. And verily the Venetian lady was pleased with the\nplacing of her house, and yet more with the old man's loving care for\nher; although the house was over tall, and so narrow that there were but\ntwo windows on each floor. Thus there was no manner of going to and fro\nin the Spiesz's house, but only up and down. Notwithstanding, the\nVenetian lady loved it, and I have heard her say that there was no spot\nso sweet in all Nuremberg as the window seat on the second story of her\nhouse. There stood her spinning-wheel and sewing-box; and a bright Venice\nmirror, which, in jest, she would call \"Dame Inquisitive,\" showed her all\nthat passed on the river and the Fleisch-brucke, for her house was not\nfar from those which stood facing the Franciscan Friars. There she ruled\nin peace and good order, in love and all sweetness, and her children\nthrove even as the flowers did under her hand: roses, auriculas, pinks\nand pansies; and whosoever went past the house in a boat could hear mirth\nwithin and the voice of song. For the Spiesz children had a fine ear for\nmusic, both from their grandsire and their mother, and sweet, clear,\nbell-like voices. My Ann was the queen of them all, and her nightingale's\nthroat drew even Herdegen to her with great power.\n\nOnly one of the scribe's children, little Mario, was shut out from the\nworld of sound, for he was a deaf-mute born; and when Ann tarried under\nour roof, rarely indeed and for but a short while, her stay was brief for\nhis sake; for she tended him with such care and love as though she had\nbeen his own mother. Albeit she thereby was put to much pains, these were\nas nothing to the heartfelt joys which the love and good speed of this\nchild brought her; for notwithstanding he was thus born to sorrow, by his\nsister's faithful care he grew a happy and thankful creature. Ofttimes my\nCousin Maud was witness to her teaching of her little brother, and all\nAnn did for the child seemed to her so pious and so wonderful, that it\nbroke down the last bar that stood in the way of our close fellowship.\nAnd Ann's well-favored mother likewise won my cousin's good graces,\nalbeit she was swift to mark that the Italian lady could fall in but ill\nwith German ways, and in especial with those of Nuremberg, and was ever\nready to let Ann bear the burthen of the household.\n\nAll our closest friends, and foremost of these my worshipful godfather\nUncle Christian Pfinzing, ere long truly loved my little Ann; and of all\nour fellows I knew of only one who was ill-disposed towards her, and that\nwas Ursula Tetzel, who marked, with ill-cloaked wrath, that my brother\nHerdegen cared less and less for her, and did Ann many a little courtesy\nwherewith he had formerly favored her. She could not dissemble her anger,\nand when my eldest brother waited on Ann on her name day with the 'pueri'\nto give her a 'serenata' on the water, whereas, a year agone, he had done\nUrsula the like honor, she fell upon my friend in our garden with such\nfierce and cruel words that my cousin had to come betwixt them, and then\nto temper my great wrath by saying that Ursula was a motherless child,\nwhose hasty ways had never been bridled by a loving hand.\n\nAs I mind me now of those days I do so with heartfelt thankfulness and\njoy. To be sure it but ill-pleased our grand-uncle and guardian, the\nknight Im Hoff, that Cousin Maud should suffer me, the daughter of a\nnoble house, to mix with the low born race of a simple scrivener; but in\nsooth Ann was more like by far to get harm in our house, among my\nbrethren and their fellows, than I in the peaceful home by the river,\nwhere none but seemly speech was ever heard and sweet singing, nor ever\nseen but labor and good order and content.\n\nRight glad was I to tarry there; but yet how good it was when Ann got\nleave to come to us for the whole of Sunday from noon till eventide; when\nwe would first sit and chatter and play alone together, and talk over all\nwe had done in school; thereafter we had my brothers with us, and would\ngo out to take the air under the care of my cousin or of Magister Peter,\nor abide at home to sing or have merry pastime.\n\nAfter the Ave Maria, the old organist, Adam Heyden, Ann's grand uncle,\nwould come to seek her, and many sweet memories dwell in my mind of that\nworthy and gifted man, which I might set down were it not that I am Ann's\ndebtor for so many things that made my childhood happy. It was she, for a\ncertainty, who first taught me truly to play; for whereas my dolls, and\nmen-at-arms and shop games, albeit they were small, were in all points\nlike the true great ones, she had but a staff of wood wrapped round with\na kerchief which she rocked in her arms for a babe; and when she played a\nshop game with the little ones, she marked stones and leaves to be their\nwares and their money, and so found far greater pastime than we when we\nplayed with figs and almonds and cloves out of little wooden chests and\nlinen-cloth sacks, and weighed them with brass weights on little scales\nwith a tongue and string. It was she who brought imagination to bear on\nmy pastimes, and many a time has she borne my fancy far enough from the\nPegnitz, over seas and rivers to groves of palm and golden fairy lands.\n\nOur fellowship with my brethren was grateful to her as it was to me; but\nmeseems it was a different thing in those early years from what it was in\nlater days. While I write a certain summer day from that long past time\ncomes back to my mind strangely clear. We had played long enough in our\nchamber, and we found it too hot in the loft under the roof, where we had\nclimbed on to the beams, which were great, so we went down into the\ngarden. Herdegen had quitted us in haste after noon, and we found none\nbut Kunz, who was shaping arrows for his cross-bow. But he ere long threw\naway his knife and came to be with us, and as he was well-disposed to Ann\nas being my friend, he did his best to make himself pleasing, or at least\nnoteworthy in her sight. He stood on his head and then climbed to the top\nof the tallest fruit-tree and flung down pears, but they smote her head\nso that she cried out; then he turned a wheel on his hands and feet, and\na little more and his shoe would hit her in the face; and when he marked\nthat he was but troubling us, he went away sorrowful, but only to hide\nbehind a bush, and as we went past, to rush out on a sudden and put us in\nfear by wild shouting.\n\nMy eldest brother well-nigh affrighted us more when he presently joined\nus, for his hair was all unkempt and his looks wild. He was now of an age\nwhen men-children deem maids to be weak and unfit for true sport, but\nnevertheless strive their utmost to be marked and chosen by them. Hence\nUrsula's good graces, which she had shown right openly, had for a long\nwhile greatly pleased him, but by this time he was weary of her and began\nto conceive that good little Ann, with her nightingale's voice, was more\nto his liking.\n\nAfter hastily greeting us, he forthwith made us privy to an evil matter.\nOne of his fellowship, Laurence Abenberger, the son of an apothecary, who\nwas diligent in school, and of a wondrous pious spirit, gave up all his\nspare time to all manner of magic arts, and albeit he was but seventeen\nyears of age, he had already cast nativities for many folks and for us\nmaids, and had told us of divers ill-omens for the future. This\nAbenberger, a little fellow of no note, had found in some ancient papers\na recipe for discovering treasure, and had told the secret to Herdegen\nand some other few. To begin, they went at his bidding to the graveyard\nwith him, and there, at the full moon, they poured hot lead into the left\neye-hole of a skull and made it into arrow-heads. Yesternight they had\njourneyed forth as far as Sinterspuhel, and there, at midnight, had stood\nat the cross-roads and shot with these same arrow-heads to the four\nquarters, to the end that they might dig for treasure wheresoever the\nshafts might fall. But they found no treasure, but a newly-buried body,\nand on this had taken to their heels in all haste. Herdegen only had\ntarried behind with Abenberger, and when he saw that there were deep\nwounds on the head of the dead man his intent was to carry the tidings to\nthe justices in council; nevertheless he would delay a while, because\nAbenberger had besought him to keep silence and not to bring him to an\nevil end. But as he had gone past the school of arms he had learnt that\nan apprentice was missing, and that it was feared lest he had been\nwaylaid by pillagers, or had fallen into evil hands; so he now deemed it\nhis plain duty to keep no longer silence concerning the finding of the\nbody, and desired to be advised by me and Ann. While I, for my part,\nshortly and clearly declared that information must at once be laid before\nhis worship the Mayor, a strange trembling fell on Ann, and\nnotwithstanding she could not say me nay, she was in such fear that grave\nmischief might overtake Herdegen by reason of his thoughtless deed, that\ntears ran in streams down her cheeks, and it cost me great pains or ever\nI could comfort her, so brave and reasonable as she commonly was. But\nHerdegen was greatly pleased by her too great terrors; and albeit he\nlaughed at her, he called her his faithful, fearful little hare, and\nstuck the pink he wore in his jerkin into her hair. At this she was soon\nherself again; she counselled him forthwith to do that it was his duty to\ndo; and when thereafter the authorities had made inquisition, it came to\nlight that our lads had in truth come upon the body of the slain\napprentice. And though Herdegen did his best to keep silence as touching\nAbenberger's evildoings, they nevertheless came out through other ways,\nand the poor wight was dismissed from the school.\n\nBy the end of two years after this, matters had changed in our household.\n\nThe twelve 'pueri' had been our guests at dinner, and were in the garden\nsinging merry rounds well known to us, and I joined in, with Ann and\nUrsula Tetzel. Now, while Herdegen beat the time, his ear was intent on\nAnn's singing, as though there were revelation on her lips; and his\nwell-beloved companion, Heinrich Trardorf, who erewhile had, with due\nmodesty, preferred me, Margery, seemed likewise well affected to her\nsinging; and when we ceased he fell into eager talk with her, for he had\nbewailed to her that, albeit he loved me well, as being the son of simple\nfolk he might never lift up his eyes so high.\n\nHerdegen's eyes rested on the twain with some little wrath; then he\nhastily got up! He snatched the last of Cousin Maud's precious roses from\nher favorite bush and gave them to Ursula, and then waited on her as\nthough she were the only maid there present. But ere long her father came\nto fetch her, and so soon as she had departed, beaming, with her roses,\nHerdegen hastily came to me and, without deeming Ann worthy to be looked\nat even, bid me good even. I held his hand and called to her to come to\nme, to help me hinder him from departing, inasmuch as one of the pueri\nwas about to play the lute for the rest to dance. She came forward as an\nhonest maid should, looked up at him with her great eyes, and besought\nhim full sweetly to tarry with us.\n\nHe pointed with his hand to Trardorf and answered roughly: \"I care not to\ngo halves!\" And he turned to go to the gate.\n\nAnn took him by the hand, and without a word of his ways with Ursula, not\nin chiding but as in deep grief, she said: \"If you depart, you do me a\nhurt. I have no pleasure but when you are by, and what do I care for\nHeinrich?\"\n\nThis was all he needed; his eye again met hers with bright looks, and\nfrom that hour of our childhood she knew no will but his.\n\nFrom that hour likewise Ann held off from all other lads, and when he was\nby it seemed as though she had no eyes nor ears save for him and me\nalone. To Kunz she paid little heed; yet he never failed to wait on her\nand watch to do her service, as though she were the daughter of some\ngreat lord, and he no more than her page.\n\nAnn freely owned to me that she held Herdegen to be the noblest youth on\nearth, nor could I marvel, when I was myself of the same mind. What\nshould I know, when I was still but fourteen and fifteen years old, of\nlove and its dangers? I had felt such love for Gotz as Ann for my elder\nbrother, and as I had then been glad that my dear Cousin had won the love\nof so fair a maid as Gertrude, I likewise believed that Ann would some\nday be glad if Herdegen should plight his troth to a fair damsel of high\ndegree. Hence I did all that in me lay to bring them together whenever it\nmight be, and in truth this befell often enough without my aid; for not\nmusic alone was a bond between them, nor yet that Herdegen and I taught\nher to ride on a horse, on the sandy way behind our horse-stalls--the\nGreek lessons for which Magister Peter had come into the household were a\nplea on which they passed many an hour together.\n\nI was slow to learn that tongue; but Ann's head was not less apt than my\nbrother's, and he was eager and diligent to keep her good speed at the\nlike mark with his own, as she was so quick to apprehend. Thus both were\nat last forward enough to put Greek into German, and then Magister Peter\nwas bidden to lend them his aid. Now, the change in the worthy man, after\neating for four years at our table, was such that many an one would have\nsaid it was a miracle. At his first coming to us he himself said he\nweened he was a doomed son of ill-luck, and he scarce dared look man or\nwoman in the face; and what a good figure he made now, notwithstanding\nthe divers pranks played on his simplicity by my brothers and their\nfellows, nay, and some whiles by me.\n\nMany an one before this has marked that the god Amor is the best\nschoolmaster; and when our Magister had learnt to stoop less, nay almost\nto hold himself straight, when as now, he wore his good new coat with\nwide hanging sleeves, tight-fitting hose, a well-stiffened, snow-white\ncollar, and even a smart black feather in his beretta, when he not alone\nsmoothed his hair but anointed it, all this, in its beginnings, was by\nreason of his great and true love for my Ann, while she was yet but a\nchild.\n\nMy cautious Cousin Maud had, it is true, done the blind god of Love good\nservice; for many a time she would, with her own hand, set some matter\nstraight which the Magister had put on all askew, and on divers occasions\nwould give him a piece of fine cloth, and with it the cost of the\ntailor's work, in bright new coin wrapped in colored paper. She brought\nhim to order and to keep his hours, and when grave speech availed not she\ncould laugh at him with friendly mockery, such as hurts no man, inasmuch\nas it is the outcome of a good heart. Thus it was, that, by the time when\nHerdegen was to go to the high school at Erfurt, Magister Peter was not\nstrangely unlike other learned men of his standing; and when it fell that\nhe had to discourse of the great masters of learning in Italy, or of the\nglorious Greek writers, I have seen his eye light up like that of a\nyouth.\n\nOur guardian kept watch over my brothers' speed in learning. The old\nknight Im Hoff was a somewhat stern man and shy of his kind, but scarce\nanother had such great wealth, or was so highly respected in our town. He\nwas our grand-uncle, as old Adam Heyden was Ann's, and two men less alike\nit would be hard to find.\n\nWhen we were bid to pay our devoir to my guardian it was seldom done but\nwith much complaining and churlishness; whereas it was ever a festival to\nbe suffered to go with Ann to the organist's house. He dwelt in a fine\nlodging high up in the tower above the city, and he could look down from\nhis windows, as God Almighty looks down on the earth from the bright\nheavens, over Nuremberg, and the fortress on the hill, the wide ring of\nforest which guards it on the north and east and south, the meadows and\nvillages stretching between the woods, and the walls and turrets of our\ngood city, and the windings of the river Pegnitz. He loved to boast that\nhe was the first to bid the sun welcome and the last to bid it\ngood-night; and perchance it was to the light, of which he had so goodly\na share, that his spirit owed its ever gay good-cheer. He was ever ready\nwith a jest and some little gift for us children; and, albeit these were\nof little money's worth, they brought us much joy. And indeed there was\nnever another man in Nuremberg who had given away so many tokens and made\nso many glad hearts and faces thereby as Adam Heyden. True, indeed, after\na short but blessed wedded life he had been left a widower and childless,\nand had no care to save for his heirs; and yet Gottfried Spiesz, Ann's\ngrandfather, was in the right when he said that he had more children than\never another in Nuremberg, inasmuch as that he was like a father to every\nlad and maid in the town.\n\nWhen he walked down the street all the little ones were as glad though\nthey had met Christ the Lord or Saint Nicholas; and as they hung on to\nhis long gown with the left hand, with the right they crammed their\nmouths with the apples or cakes whereof his pockets seemed never to be\nempty.\n\nBut Master Adam had his weak side, and there were many to blame him for\nthat he was over fond of good liquor. Albeit he did his drinking after a\nmanner of his own, in no unseemly wise. To wit, on certain year-days he\nwould tarry alone in his tower, and his lamp might be seen gleaming till\nmidnight. There he would sit alone, with his wine jar and cup, and he\nwould drink the first and second and third in silence, to the good speed\nof Elsa, his late departed wife. After that he began to sing in a low\nvoice, and before each fresh cup as he raised it he cried aloud \"Prosit,\nAdam!\" and when it was empty: \"I Heartily thank you, Heyden!\"\n\nThus would he go on till he had drunk out divers jugs, and the tower\nseemed to be spinning round him. Then to his bed, where he would dream of\nhis Elsa and the good old days, the folks he had loved, his youthful\ncourtships, and all the fine and wondrous things which his lonely\ndrinking bout had brought to his inward eye. Next morning he was\nfaithfully at his duty. Common evenings, which were of no mark to him, he\nspent with the Spiesz folks in the little house by the river, or else in\nthe Gentlemen's tavern in the Frohnwage; for albeit none met there but\nsuch as belonged to the noble families of the town, and learned men, and\nartists of mark, Adam Heyden the organist was held as their equal and a\nright welcome guest.\n\nAnd now as touching our grand-uncle and guardian the Knight Sir Sebald Im\nHoff.\n\nMany an one will understand how that my fear of him grew greater after\nthat I one evening by mishap chanced to go into his bed chamber, and\nthere saw a black coffin wherein he was wont to sleep each night, as it\nwere in a bed. It was easy to see in the man himself that some deep\nsorrow or heavy sin gnawed at his heart, and nevertheless he was one of\nthe stateliest old gentlemen I have met in a long life. His face seemed\nas though cast in metal, and was of wondrous fine mould, but deadly and\nunchangefully pale. His snowy hair fell in long locks over his collar of\nsable fur, and his short beard, cut in a point, was likewise of a silver\nwhiteness. When he stood up he was much taller than common, and he walked\nwith princelike dignity. For many years he had ceased to go to other\nfolks' houses, nevertheless many others sought him out. In every family\nof rank, excepting in his own, the Im Hoff family, wherever there was a\nmanchild or a maid growing up they were brought to him; but of them all\nthere were but two who dare come nigh him without fear. These were my\nbrother Herdegen and Ursula Tetzel; and throughout my young days she was\nthe one soul whom mine altogether shut out.\n\nNotwithstanding I must for justice sake confess that she grew up to be a\nwell-favored damsel. Besides this, she was the only offspring of a rich\nand noble house. She went from school a year before Ann and I did, and\nafter that her father, a haughty and eke a surly man, who had long since\nlost his wife, her mother, prided himself on giving her such attires as\nmight have beseemed the daughter of a Count or a Prince-Elector. And the\nbrocades and fine furs and costly chains and clasps she wore graced her\nlofty, round shape exceeding well, and she lorded it so haughtily in them\nthat the worshipful town-council were moved to put forth an order against\nover much splendor in women's weed.\n\nShe was, verily and indeed, the last damsel I could have wished to see\nbrought home as mistress of the \"Schopperhof,\" and nevertheless I knew\nfull well, before my brother went away to the high school, that our grand\nuncle was counting on giving her and him to each other in marriage.\nMaster Tetzel likewise would point to them when they stood side by side,\nso high and goodly, as though they were a pair; and this old man, whose\nface was as grey and cold and hueless as all about his daughter was\nbright and gay, would demean himself with utter humbleness and homage to\nthe lad who scarce showed the first down on his lip and chin, by reason\nthat he looked upon him, who was his granduncle's heir, as his own\nson-in-law.\n\nIt was, to be sure, known to many that rich old Im Hoff was minded to\nleave great endowments to the Holy Church, and meseemed that it was\npraiseworthy and wise that he should do all that in him lay to gain the\nprayers of the Blessed Virgin and the dear Saints; for the evil deed\nwhich had turned him from a dashing knight into a lonely penitent might\nwell weigh in torment on his poor soul. I will here shortly rehearse all\nI myself knew of that matter.\n\nIn his young days my grand uncle had carried his head high indeed, and\ndeemed so greatly of his scutcheon and his knightly forbears that he\nscorned all civic dignities as but a small matter. Then, whereas in the\nmiddle of the past century all towns were forbid by imperial law to hold\ntournaments, he went to Court, and had been dubbed knight by the Emperor\nCharles, and won fame and honor by many a shrewd lance-thrust. His more\nthan common manly beauty gained him favor with the ladies, and since he\npreferred what was noble and knightly to all other graces he would wed no\ndaughter of Nuremberg but the penniless child of Baron von Frauentrift.\nBut my grand-uncle had made an evil choice; his wife was high-tempered\nand filled full of conceits. When princes and great lords came into our\ncity, they were ever ready to find lodging in the great and wealthy house\nof the Im Hoffs; but then she would suffer them to pay court to her, and\ngrant them greater freedom than becomes the decent honor of a Nuremberg\ncitizen's hearth. Once, then, when my lord the duke of Bavaria lay at\ntheir house with a numerous fellowship, a fine young count, who had\ncourted my grand uncle's wife while she was yet a maid, fanned his\njealousy to a flame; and, one evening, at a late hour, while his wife was\nyet not come home from seeing some friends, as it fell he heard a noise\nand whispering of voices, beneath their lodging, in the courtyard wherein\nall these folks' chests and bales were bestowed. He rushed forth, beside\nhimself; and whereas he shouted out to the courtyard and got no reply, he\nthrust right and left at haphazard with his naked sword among the chests\nwhence he had heard the voices, and a pitiful cry warned him that he had\nstruck home. Then there came the wailing of a woman; and when the squires\nand yeomen came forth with torches and lanterns, he could see that he had\nslain Ludwig Tetzel, Ursula's uncle, a young unwedded man. He had stolen\ninto the courtyard to hold a tryst with the fair daughter of the\nmaster-weigher in the Im Hoffs' house of trade, and the loving pair, in\ntheir fear of the master, had not answered his call, but had crept behind\nthe baggage. Thus, by ill guidance, had my grand-uncle become a murderer,\nand the judges broke their staff over him; albeit, since he freely\nconfessed the deed of death, and had done it with no evil intent, they\nwere content to make him pay a fine in money. But some said that they\nlikewise commanded the hangman to nail up a gallows-cord behind his house\ndoor; others, rather, that he had taken upon himself the penance of ever\nwearing such a cord about his neck day and night.\n\nAs touching the Tetzels themselves, they made no claim for blood; and for\nthis he was so thankful to them, all his life through, that he gave them\nhis word that he would name Ursula in his testament; whereas he ever\nhated the Im Hoffs to the end, after that they, on whom he had brought so\nmuch vexation by his wilful and haughty temper, took counsel after the\njudgment as to whether it behooved them not to strip him of their good\nold name and thrust him forth from their kinship. Four only, as against\nthree, spoke in his favor, and this his haughty spirit could so ill\nendure that never an Im Hoff dared cross his threshold, though one and\nanother often strove to win back his favor.\n\nHe had little comfort from his wife in his grief, for when he was found\nguilty of manslaughter she quitted him to return to the Emperor's court\nat Prague, and there she died after a wild hunt which she had followed in\nKing Wenzel's train, while she was not yet past her youth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThree years were past since Herdegen had first gone to the High School,\nand we had never seen him but for a few weeks at the end of the first\nyear, when he was on his way from Erfurt to Padua. In the letters he\nwrote from thence there was ever a greeting for Mistress Anna, and often\nthere would be a few words in Greek for her and me; yet, as he knew full\nwell that she alone could crack such nuts, he bid me to the feast only as\nthe fox bid the stork. While he was with us he ever demeaned himself both\nto me and to her as a true and loving brother, when he was not at the\nschool of arms proving to the amazement of the knights and nobles his\nwondrous skill in the handling of the sword, which he had got in the High\nSchool. And during this same brief while be at divers times had speech of\nUrsula, but he showed plainly enough that he had lost all delight in her.\n\nHe had found but half of what he sought at Erfurt, but deemed that he was\nripe to go to Padua; for there, alone, he thought--and Magister Peter\nsaid likewise--could he find the true grist for his mill. And when he\ntold us of what he hoped to gain at that place we could but account his\njudgment good, and wish him good speed and that he might come home from\nthat famous Italian school a luminary of learning. When, at his\ndeparting, I saw that Ann was in no better heart than I was, but looked\nright doleful, I thought it was by reason of the sickness which for some\nwhile past had now and again fallen on her good father. Kunz likewise had\nquitted school, and he could not complain that learning weighed too\nheavily on his light heart and merry spirit. He was now serving his\napprenticeship in our grand uncle's business, and whereas the traffic was\nmainly with Venice he was to learn the Italian tongue with all diligence.\nOur Magister, who was well-skilled in it, taught him therein, and was, as\nheretofore, well content to be with us. Cousin Maud would never suffer\nhim to depart, for it had grown to be a habit with her to care for him;\nalbeit many an one can less easily suffer the presence of a man who needs\nhelp, than of one who is himself of use and service.\n\nMaster Peter himself, under pretence of exercising himself in the Italian\ntongue, would often wait upon Dame Giovanna. We on our part would\nremember the fable of the Sack and the Ass and laugh; while Ann slipped\noff to her garret chamber when the Magister was coming; and she could\nnever fail to know of it, for no son of man ever smote so feebly as he\nwith the knocker on the door plate.\n\nThus the years in which we grew from children into maidens ran past in\nsheer peace and gladness. Cousin Maud allowed us to have every pastime\nand delight; and if at times her face was less content, it was only by\nreason that I craved to wear a longer kirtle than she deemed fitting for\nmy tender years, or that I proved myself over-rash in riding in the\nriding school or the open country.\n\nMy close friendship with Ann brought me to mark and enjoy many other and\nbetter things; and in this I differed from the maidens of some noble\nfamilies, who, to this day, sit in stalls of their own in church, apart\nfrom such as have no scutcheon of arms. But indeed Ann was an honored\nguest in many a lordly house wherein our school and playmates dwelt.\n\nIn summer days we would sometimes go forth to the farm belonging to us\nSchoppers outside the town, or else to Jorg Stromer our worthy cousin at\nthe mill where paper is made; and at holy Whitsuntide we would ride forth\nto the farm at Laub, which his sister Dame Anna Borchtlin had by\ninheritance of her father. Nevertheless, and for all that there was to\nsee and learn at the paper-mill, and much as I relished the good fresh\nbutter and the black home-bread and the lard cakes with which Dame\nBorchtlin made cheer for us, my heart best loved the green forest where\ndwelt our uncle Conrad Waldstromer, father to my cousin Gotz, who still\nwas far abroad.\n\nNow, since I shall have much to tell of this well-beloved kinsman and of\nhis kith and kin, I will here take leave to make mention that all the\nStromers were descended from a certain knight, Conrad von Reichenbach,\nwho erewhile had come from his castle of Kammerstein, hard by Schwabach,\nas far forth as Nuremberg. There had he married a daughter of the\nWaldstromers, and the children and grandchildren, issue of this marriage,\nwere all named Stromer or Waldstromer. And the style Wald--or\nwood--Stromer is to be set down to the fact that this branch had, from a\nlong past time, heretofore held the dignity of Rangers of the great\nforest which is the pride of Nuremberg to this very day. But at the end\nof the last century the municipality had bought the offices and dignities\nwhich were theirs by inheritance, both from Waldstromer and eke from\nKoler the second ranger; albeit the worshipful council entrusted none\nothers than a Waldstromer or a Koler with the care of its woods; and in\nmy young days our Uncle Conrad Waldstromer was chief Forester, and a\nright bold hunter.\n\nWhensoever he crossed our threshold meseemed as though the fresh and\nwholesome breath of pine-woods was in the air; and when he gave me his\nhand it hurt mine, so firm and strong and loving withal was his grip, and\nthat his heart was the same all men might see. His thick, red-gold hair\nand beard, streaked with snowy white, his light, flax-blue eyes and his\ngreen forester's garb, with high tan boots and a cap of otter fur\ngarnished with the feather of some bird he had slain--all this gave him a\nstrange, gladsome, and gaudy look. And as the stalwart man stepped forth\nwith his hanger and hunting-knife at his girdle, followed by his hounds\nand badger-dogs, other children might have been affrighted, but to me,\nbetimes, there was no dearer sight than this of the terrible-looking\nforester, who was besides Cousin Gotz's father.\n\nWell, on the second Sunday after Whitsunday, when the apple blossoms were\nall shed, my uncle came in to town to bid me and Cousin Maud to the\nforest lodge once more; for he ever dwelt there from one Springtide till\nthe next, albeit he was under a bond to the Council to keep a house in\nthe city. I was nigh upon seventeen years old; Ann was past seventeen\nalready, and I would have expressed my joy as freely as heretofore but\nthat somewhat lay at my heart, and that was concerning my Ann. She was\nnot as she was wont to be; she was apt to suffer pains in her head, and\nthe blood had fled from her fresh cheeks. Nay, at her worst she was all\npale, and the sight of her thus cut me to the heart, so I gladly agreed\nwhen Cousin Maud said that the little house by the river was doing her a\nmischief, and the grievous care of her deaf-mute brother and the other\nlittle ones, and that she lacked fresh air. And indeed her own parents\ndid not fail to mark it; but they lacked the means to obey the leech's\norders and to give Ann the good chance of a change to fresh forest air.\n\nWhen my uncle had given his bidding, I made so bold as to beseech him\nwith coaxing words that he would bid her go with me. And if any should\ndeem that it was but a light matter to ask of a good-hearted old man that\nhe should harbor a fair young maid for a while, in a large and wealthy\nhouse, he will be mistaken, inasmuch as my uncle was wont, at all times\nand in all places, to have regard first to his wife's goodwill and\npleasure.\n\nThis lady was a Behaim, of the same noble race as my mother, whom God\nkeep; and what great pride she set on her ancient and noble blood she had\nplainly proven in the matter of her son's love-match. This matter had in\ntruth no less heavily stricken his father's soul, but he had held his\npeace, inasmuch as he could never bring himself to play the lord over his\nwife; albeit he was in other matters a strict and thorough man; nay a\nright stern master, who ruled the host of foresters and hewers, warders\nand beaters, bee-keepers and woodmen who were under him with prudence and\nstraitness. And yet my aunt Jacoba was a feeble, sickly woman, who rarely\nwent forth to drink in God's fresh air in the lordly forest, having lost\nthe use of her feet, so that she must be borne from her couch to her bed.\n\nMy uncle knew her full well, and he knew that she had a good and pitiful\nheart and was minded to do good to her kind; nevertheless he said his\npower over her would not stretch to the point of making her take a\nscrivener's child into her noble house, and entertaining her as an equal.\nThus he withstood my fondest prayers, till he granted so much as that Ann\nshould come and speak for herself or ever he should leave the house.\n\nWhen she had hastily greeted my cousin and me, and Cousin Maud had told\nher who my uncle was, she went up to him in her decent way, made him a\ncurtsey, and held out her hand, no whit abashed, while her great eyes\nlooked up at him lovingly, inasmuch as she had heard all that was good of\nhim from me.\n\nThereupon I saw in the old forester's face that he was \"on the scent\" of\nmy Ann--to use his own words--so I took heart again and said: \"Well,\nlittle uncle?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said he slowly and doubtingly. But he presently uplifted Ann's\nchin, gazed her in the face, and said: \"To be sure, to be sure! Peaches\nget they red cheeks better where we dwell than here among stone walls.\"\nAnd he pulled down his belt and went on quickly, as though he weened that\nhe might have to rue his hasty words: \"Margery is to be our welcome guest\nout in the forest; and if she should bring thee with her, child, thou'lt\nbe welcome.\"\n\nNor need I here set down how gladly the bidding was received; and Ann's\nparents were more than content to let her go. Thenceforth had Cousin\nMaud, and our house maids, and Beata the tailor-wife, enough on their\nhands; for they deemed it a pleasure to take care to outfit Ann as well\nas me, since there were many noble guests at the forest lodge, especially\nabout St. Hubert's day, when there was ever a grand hunt.\n\nDame Giovanna, Ann's mother, was in truth at all times choicely clad, and\nshe ever kept Ann in more seemly and richer habit than others of her\nstanding; yet she was greatly content with the summer holiday raiment\nwhich Cousin Maud had made for us. Likewise, for each of us, a green\nriding habit, fit for the forest, was made of good Florence cloth; and if\never two young maids rode out with glad and thankful hearts into the\nfair, sunny world, we were those maids when, on Saint Margaret's day in\nthe morning--[The 13th July, old style.]--we bid adieu and, mounted on\nour saddles, followed Balzer, the old forester, whom my uncle had sent\nwith four men at arms on horseback to attend us, and two beasts of\nburthen to carry Susan and the \"woman's gear.\"\n\nAs we rode forth at this early hour, across the fields, and saw the lark\nmount singing, we likewise lifted up our voices, and did not stop singing\ntill we entered the wood. Then in the dewy silence our minds were turned\nto devotion and a Sabbath mood, and we spoke not of what was in our\nminds; only once--and it seems as I could hear her now--these simple\nwords rose from Ann's heart to her lips: \"I am so thankful!\"\n\nAnd I was thankful at that hour, with my whole heart; and as the great\nhills of the Alps cover their heads with pure snow as they get nearer to\nheaven, so should every good man or woman, when in some happy hour he\nfeels God's mercy nigh him, deck his heart with pure and joyful\nthanksgiving.\n\nAt last we drew up on a plot shut in by tall trees, in front of a\nbee-keeper's hut, and while we were there, refreshing on some new milk\nand the store Cousin Maud had put into our saddle bags, we heard the\nbarking of hounds and a noise of hoofs, and ere long Uncle Conrad was\ngiving us a welcome.\n\nHe was right glad to let us wait upon him and fell to with a will; but he\nmade us set forth again sooner than was our pleasure, and as we fared\nfarther the old forest rang with many a merry jest and much laughter. To\nAnn it seemed that my uncle was but now opening her eyes and ears to the\nmystery of the forest, which Gotz had shown me long years ago. How many a\nbird's pipe did he teach her to know which till now she had never marked!\nAnd each had its special significance, for my uncle named them all by\ntheir names and described them; whereas his son could copy them so as to\ndeceive the ear, twittering, singing, whistling and calling, each after\nhis kind. To the end that Ann and my uncle should learn to come together\nclosely I put no word into his teaching.\n\nNot till we came to the skirts of the clearing, where the forest lodge\ncame in sight against the screen of trees, was my uncle silent; then,\nwhile he lifted me from the saddle, he asked me in a low tone if I had\nalready warned Ann of my aunt's strange demeanor. This I could tell him I\nhad indeed done; nevertheless I saw by his face that he was not easy till\nhe could lead Ann to his wife, and had learnt that the maid had found\nsuch favor in her eyes as, in truth, nor he nor I were so bold as to\nhope. But with what sweet dignity did the clerk's daughter kiss the\nsomewhat stern lady's hand--as I had bidden her, and how modestly, though\nwith due self-respect, did she go through Dame Jacoba's inquisition. For\nmy part I should have lost patience all too soon, if I had thus been\nquestioned touching matters concerning myself alone; but Ann kept calm\ntill the end, and at the same time she spoke as openly as though the\ninquisitor had been her own mother. This, in truth, somewhat moved me to\nfear; for, albeit I likewise cling to the truth, meseemed it showed it a\nlack of prudence and foresight to discover so freely and frankly all that\nwas poor or lacking in her home; inasmuch as there was much, even there,\nwhich could not be better or more seemly in the richest man's dwelling.\nIn truth, to my knowledge there was not the smallest thing in the little\nhouse by the river of which a virtuous damsel need feel ashamed. But at\nnight, in our bed-chamber, Ann confessed to me that she had taken it as a\nfavor of fortune that she should be allowed, at once, to lay bare to the\ngreat lady who had been so unwilling to open her doors to her, exactly\nwhat she was and to whom she belonged.\n\n\"To be deemed unworthy of heed by my lady hostess,\" said she, \"would have\nbeen hard to bear; but whereas she truly cared to question me, a simple\nmaid, and I have nothing hid, all is clear and plain betwixt us.\"\n\nMy aunt doubtless thought in like manner; for she was a truthful woman,\nand Ann's honest, firm, and withal gentle way had won her heart. And yet,\nsince she was strait in her opinions, and must deem it unseemly in me and\nmy kinsfolk to receive a maid of lower birth as one of ourselves, she\nstoutly avowed that Ann's worthy father, as being chief clerk in the\nChancery, might claim to be accounted one of the Council. Never, as she\nsaid to my uncle, would she have suffered a workingman's daughter to\ncross her threshold, whereas she had a large place, not alone at her\ntable but in her heart, for this gentle daughter of a worthy member of\nthe worshipful Council.\n\nAnd such speech was good to my ears and to my uncle Conrad's; but the\nbest of all was that already, by the end of a week or two, Ann seemed\nlikely to supplant me wholly in the love my aunt had erewhile shown to\nme; Ann thenceforth was diligent in waiting on the sick lady, and such\nloving duty won her more and more of my uncle's love, who found his\nweakly, suffering wife much on his hands, and that in the plainest sense\nof the words, since, whenever he might be at home, she would allow no\nother creature to lift her from one spot to another.\n\nNow, whereas Uncle Conrad had taught Ann to mark the divers voices of the\nforest, so did she open my eyes to the many virtues of my aunt, which,\nheretofore, I had been wont to veil from my own sight out of wrath at her\nhardness to my cousin Gotz.\n\nAnn, in her compassion and thankfulness, had truly learnt to love her,\nand she now led me to perceive that she was in many ways a right wise and\ngood woman. Her low, sheltered couch in the peaceful chimney-corner was,\nas it were, the centre of a wide net, and she herself the spider-wife who\nhad spun it, for in truth her good counsel stretched forth over the whole\nrange of forest, and over all her husband's rough henchmen. She knew the\nname of every child in the furthest warders' huts, and never did she\nsuffer one of the forest folks to die unholpen. She was, indeed, forced\nto see with other eyes and give with other hands than her own, and\nnotwithstanding this she ever gave help where it was most needed, since\nshe chose her messengers well and lent an ear to all who sought her.\n\nShe soon found work for us, making us do many a Samaritan-task; and many\na time have we marvelled to mark the skill with which she wove her web,\nand the wisdom coupled with her open-handed bounty.\n\nNo one else could have found a place in the great books which she filled\nwith her records; but to her they were so clear that the craft of the\nmost cunning was put to shame when she looked into them. Never a soul,\nwhether master or man, said her nay in the lightest thing, to my\nknowledge, and this was a plea for the one fault which had hitherto set\nme against her.\n\nEverything here was new to Ann; and what could be more delightful, what\ncould give me greater joy than to be able to show all that was noteworthy\nand pleasant, and to me well-known, to a well-beloved friend, and to tell\nher the use and end of each thing. In this two men were ever ready to\nhelp me: Uncle Conrad and the young Baron von Kalenbach, a Swabian who\nhad come to be my uncle's disciple and to learn forestry.\n\nThis same young Baron was a slender stripling, well-grown and not\nill-favored; but it seemed as though his lips were locked, and if a man\nwas fain to hear the sound of his voice and get from him a \"yea\" or \"nay\"\nthere was no way but by asking him a plain question. His eye, on the\nother hand, was full of speech, and by the time I had been no more than\nthree weeks at the Lodge it told me, as often as it might, that he was\ndeeply in love with me; nay, he told the reverend chaplain in so many\nwords that his first desire was that he might take me home as his wife to\nSwabia, where he had rich estates.\n\nNever would I have said him yea, albeit I liked him well; nor did I hide\nit from him; nay indeed, now and again I may have lent him courage,\nthough truly with no evil intent, since I was not ill pleased with the\ntale his eyes told me. And I was but a young thing then, and wist not as\nyet that a maid who gives hope to a suitor though she has no mind to hear\nhim, is guilty of a sin grievous enough to bring forth much sorrow and\nheart-ache. It was not till I had had a lesson which came upon me all too\nsoon, that I took heed in such matters; and the time was at hand when men\nfolks thought more about me than I deemed convenient.\n\nAs I have gone so far as to put this down on paper, I, an old woman now,\nwill put aside bashfulness and freely confess that both Ann and I were at\nthat time well-favored and good to look upon.\n\nI was of the greater height and stouter build, while she was more slender\nand supple; and for gentle sweetness I have never seen her like. I was\nrose and white, and my golden hair was no whit less fine than Ursula\nTetzel's; but whoso would care to know what we were to look upon in our\nyouth, let him gaze on our portraits, before which each one of you has\nstood many a time. But I will leave speaking of such foolish things and\ncome now to the point.\n\nThough for most days common wear was good enough at the Forest Lodge, we\nsometimes had occasion to wear our bravery, for now and again we went\nforth to hunt with my uncle or with the Junker, on foot or on horseback,\nor hawking with a falcon on the wrist. There was no lack of these noble\nbirds, and the bravest of them all, a falcon from Iceland beyond seas,\nhad been brought thence by Seyfried Kubbeling of Brunswick. That same\nstrange man, who was my right good friend, had ere now taught me to\nhandle a falcon, and I could help my uncle to teach my friend the art.\n\nI went out shooting but seldom, by reason that Ann loved it not ever\nafter she had hit one of the best hounds in the pack with her arrow; and\nmy uncle must have been well affected to her to forgive such a shot,\ninasmuch as the dogs were only less near his heart than his closest kin.\nThey had to make up to him for much that he lacked, and when he stood in\ntheir midst he saw round him, yelping and barking on four legs, well nigh\nall that he had thought most noteworthy from his childhood up. They bore\nnames, indeed, of no more than one or two syllables, but each had its\nsense. They were for the most part the beginning of some word which\nreminded him of a thing he cared to remember. First he had, in sport,\nnamed some of them after the metrical feet of Latin verse, which had been\nbut ill friends of his in his school days, and in his kennel there was a\nTroch, Iamb, Spond and Dact, whose full names were Trochee, Iambus,\nSpondee and Dactyl. Now Spond was the greatest and heaviest of the\nwolfhounds; Anap, rightly Anapaest, was a slender and swift greyhound;\nand whereas he found this pastime of names good sport he carried it\nfurther. Thus it came to pass that the witless creatures who shared his\nloneliness were reminders of many pleasant things. One of a pair of fleet\nbloodhounds which were ever leashed together was named Nich, and the\nother Syn, in memory that he had been betrothed on the festival of Saint\nNicodemus and wedded on Saint Synesius' day. A noble hound called Salve,\nor as we should say Welcome, spoke to him of the birth of his first born,\nand every dog in like manner had a name of some signification; thus Ann\ntook it not at all amiss that he should call a fine young setter after\nher name. There had long been a Gred, short for Margaret.\n\nNevertheless we spent much more time in seeing the sick to whom my aunt\nsent us on her errands, than we did in shooting or heron-hawking. She\never packed the little basket we were to carry with her own hands, and\nthere was never a physic which she did not mingle, nor a garment she had\nnot made choice of, nor a victual she had not judged fit for each one it\nwas sent to.\n\nThus many a time our souls ached to see want and pain lying in darksome\nchambers on wretched straw, though we earned thanks and true joy when we\nsaw that healing and ease followed in our steps. And whatever seemed to\nme the most praiseworthy grace in my Aunt Jacoba, was, that albeit she\ncould never hear the hearty thanksgiving of those she had comforted and\nhealed, she nevertheless, to the end of her days, ceased not from caring\nfor the poor folks in the forest like a very mother.\n\nMy Ann was never made for such work, inasmuch as she could never endure\nto see blood or wounds; yet was it in this tending of the sick that I had\nreason to mark and understand how strong was the spirit of this frail,\nslender flower.\n\nSince a certain army surgeon, by name Haberlein, had departed this life,\nthere was no leech at the Forest lodge, but my aunt and the chaplain, a\nman of few words but well trained in good works and a right pious servant\nof the Lord, were disciples of Galen, and the leech from Nuremberg came\nforth once a week, on each Tuesday; and since the death of Doctor Paul\nRieter, of whom I have made mention, it was his successor Master\nUlsenius. His duty it was to attend on the sick mistress, and on any\nother sick folks if they needed it; and then it was our part to wait on\nthe leech, and my aunt would diligently instruct us in the right way to\nuse healing drugs, or bandages.\n\nThe first time we were bidden to a woman who gathered berries, who had\nbeen stung in the toe by an adder; and when I set to work to wash the\nwound, as my aunt had taught me, Ann turned as white as a linen cloth.\nAnd whereas I saw that she was nigh swooning I would not have her help;\nbut she gave her help nevertheless, though she held her breath and half\nturned away her face. And thus she ever did with sores; but she ever paid\nthe penalty of the violence she did herself. As it fell Master Ulsenius\ncame to the Forest one day when my aunt's waiting-woman had fared forth\non a pilgrimage to Vierzelmheiligen, and my uncle likewise being out of\nthe way, the leech called us to him to lend him a helping hand. Then I\ncame to know that a fall unawares with her horse had been the beginning\nof my aunt's long sickness. She had at that time done her backbone a\nmischief, and some few months later a wound had broken forth which was\npart of her hurt.\n\nNow when all was made ready Aunt Jacoba begged of Ann that she should\nhold the sore closed while Master Ulsenius made the linen bands wet. I\nremembered my friend's weakness and came close to her, to take her place\nunmarked; but she whispered: \"Nay, leave me,\" in a commanding voice, so\nthat I saw full well she meant it in earnest, and withdrew without a\nword. And then I beheld a noble sight; for though she was pale she did as\nshe was bidden, nor did she turn her eyes off the wound. But her bosom\nrose and fell fast, as if some danger threatened her, and her nostrils\nquivered, and I was minded to hold out my arms to save her from falling.\nBut she stood firm till all was done, and none but I was aware of her\nhaving defied the base foe with such true valor.\n\nThenceforth she ever did me good service without shrinking; and\nwhensoever thereafter I had some hateful duty to do which meseemed I\nmight never bring myself to fulfil, I would remember Ann holding my\naunt's wound. And out of all this grew the good saying, \"They who will,\ncan\"--which the children are wont to call my motto.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     As every word came straight from her heart\n     Be cautious how they are compassionate\n     Beware lest Satan find thee idle!\n     Brought imagination to bear on my pastimes\n     Comparing their own fair lot with the evil lot of others\n     Faith and knowledge are things apart\n     Flee from hate as the soul's worst foe\n     For the sake of those eyes you forgot all else\n     Her eyes were like open windows\n     Last Day we shall be called to account for every word we utter\n     Laugh at him with friendly mockery, such as hurts no man\n     Maid who gives hope to a suitor though she has no mind to hear\n     May they avoid the rocks on which I have bruised my feet\n     Men folks thought more about me than I deemed convenient\n     No man gains profit by any experience other than his own\n     One of those women who will not bear to be withstood\n     The god Amor is the best schoolmaster\n     They who will, can\n     When men-children deem maids to be weak and unfit for true sport\n\n\n\n\nMARGERY\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nSummer wore away; the oats in the forest were garnered and the vintage\nhad begun in the vine-lands. It was a right glorious sunny day; and if\nyou ask me at which time of the year forest life is the sweeter, whether\nin Springtide or in Autumn, I could scarce say.\n\nAye, it is fair indeed in the woods when Spring comes gaily in. Spring is\nthe very Saviour, as it were, of all the numberless folk, great and\nsmall, which grow green and blossom there, wherefore the forest holds\nfestival for his birthday and cradle feast as is but fitting! The\nfir-tree lights up brighter tips to its boughs, as children do with\ntapers at Christmastide. Then comes the largesse. It lasts much more than\none evening, and the gifts bestowed on all are without number, and bright\nand various indeed to behold. As a father's tinkling bell brings the\nchildren together, so the snowdrop bells call forth all the other\nflowers. First and foremost comes the primrose, and cowslips--Heaven's\nkeys as we call them--open the gates to all the other children of the\nSpring. \"Come forth, come forth!\" the returning birds shout from out the\nbushes, and silver-grey catkins sprout on every twig. Beech leaves burst\noff their sharp, brown sheaths and open to the light, as soft as taffety\nand as green as emeralds.\n\nThe other trees follow the example, and so teach their boughs to make a\nleafy shade against the sun as it mounts higher. Every creature that\nloves its kind finds a voice under the blossoming May, and the dumb\nforest is full of the call and answer of thankful and gladsome loving\nthings which have met together, and of sweet tunefulness and songs of\nbridal joy.\n\nRound nests have come into being in a thousand secret places--in the\ntree-tops, in the thick greenwood of the bushes, in the reeds of the\nmarsh; ere long young living things are twittering there, the father and\nmother-birds call each other, singing to be of good cheer, and taking joy\nin caring for their young. At that season of love, of growth, of\nunfolding life, meseems, as I walk through the woods, that the\nloving-kindness of the Most High is more than ever nigh unto me; for the\nforest is as a church, a glorious cathedral at highest festival, all\nfilled with light and song, and decked in every nook and corner with gay\nfresh flowers and leafy garlands.\n\nThen all is suddenly hushed. It is summer.\n\nBut in Autumn the forest is a banqueting-hall where men must say\nfarewell, but with good cheer, in hope of a happy meeting. All that has\nlived is hasting to the grave. Nevertheless on some fair days everything\nwears as it were the face of a friend who holds forth a hand at parting.\nThe wide vaults of the woods are finely bedecked with red and yellow\nsplendor, and albeit the voices of birds are few, albeit the cry of the\njay, and the song of the nightingale, and the pipe of the bull-finch must\nbe mute, the greenwood is not more dumb than in the Spring; the hunter's\nhorn rings through the trees and away far over their tops, with the\nbaying of the hounds, the clapping of the drivers, and the huntsmen\nshouting the view halloo. Every bright, strong, healthful child of man,\nthen feels himself lord of all that creeps or flies, and his soul is\nready to soar from his breast. How pure is the air, how spicy is the\nscent from the fallen leaves on such an autumn day! In Spring, truly,\nwhite and rose-red, blue and yellow chequer the green turf; but now gold\nand crimson are bright in the tree tops, and on the service trees. The\ndistance is clearer than before, and fine silver threads wave in the air\nas if to catch us, and keep us in the woods whose beauty is so fast\nfading.\n\nThe sunny autumn air was right full of these threads when on St.\nMaurice's day--[September 22nd]--Ann and I went forth to our duty of\nfetching in the birds which had been caught in the springes set for them.\n\n        When birds are early to flock and flee\n        Hard and cold will winter be,\n\nsaith the woodman's saw; and they had gathered early this year--thrushes\nand field-fares; many a time the take was so plentiful that our little\nwallets could scarce hold them, and among them it was a pity to see many\na merry, tuneful red-breast.\n\nThe springes were set at short spaces apart on either side of two forest\npaths. I went down one and Ann down the other. They met again nigh to the\nroad leading to the town. Balzer set the snares, and we prided ourselves\non which should carry home the greater booty; and when we had done our\ntask as we sat on a grassy seat which the Junker had made for me, we told\nthe tale of birds and thought it right good sport. Nor did we need a\nsquire, inasmuch as Spond, the great hound, would ever follow us.\n\nThis day I was certain I had the greater number of birds in my wallet,\nand I walked in good heart toward the end of the path.\n\nMethought already I had heard the noise of hoofs on the highway, and now\nthe hound sniffed the air, so, being inquisitive, I moved my feet\nsomewhat faster till I caught sight of a horseman, who sprang from his\nsaddle, and leaving his steed, hurried toward the clearing whither Ann\nmust presently come from her side. Thereupon I forced my way through the\nunderwood which hindered me from seeing, and when I presently saw Ann\ncoming and had opened my lips to call, something, meseemed, took me by\nthe throat, and I was fain to stand still as though I had taken root\nthere, and could only lend eye and ear, gasping for breath, to what was\ndoing yonder by the highroad. And verily I knew not whether to rejoice\nfrom the bottom of my heart, or to lament and be wroth, and fly forth to\nput an end to it all.\n\nNevertheless I stirred not a limb, and my tongue was spell-bound. The\nheart in my bosom and the veins in my head beat as though hammers were\nsmiting within; mine eyes were dazed, albeit they could see as well as\never they did, and I espied first, on one side of the clearing, the\nhorseman, who was none other than Herdegen, my well-beloved elder\nbrother, and on the other side thereof Ann carrying her wallet in her\nhand, and numbering the birds she had taken from the snares, with a\ncontented smile.\n\nBut ere I had time to hail the returned traveller a voice rang through\nthe wood--it was my brother's voice, and yet, meseemed it was not; it\nspoke but one word \"Ann!\" And in the long drawn cry there was a ring of\nheart's delight and lovesick longing such as I had never heard save from\nthe nightingale lover when in the still May nights he courts his beloved.\nThis cry pierced to my heart, even mine; and it brought the color to\nAnn's face, which had long ceased to be pale. Like a doe which comes\nforth from a thicket and finds her young grazing in the glade, she lifted\nher head and looked with brightest eyes away to the high road whence the\ncall had come. Then, though they were yet far asunder, his eyes met hers,\nand hers met his, and they uplifted their arms, as though some invisible\npower had moved them both, and flew to meet each other. There was no\ndoubt nor pause; and I plainly perceived that they were borne along as\nflowers are in a raging torrent; albeit she, or ever she reached him; was\novercome by maiden shamefacedness, and her arms fell and her head was\nbent. But the little bird had ventured too far into the springe, and the\nfowler was not the man to let it escape; before Ann could foresee such a\ndeed he had both his arms round her, and she did not hinder him, nay, for\nshe could not. So she clung to him and let him lift up her head and kiss\nher eyes and then her mouth, and that not once, no, but many a time and\nagain, and so long that I, a sixteen-year-old maid, was in truth\naffrighted.\n\nThere stood I; my knees quaked, and I weened that this which was doing\nwas a thing that beseemed not a pious maid, and that must ill-please the\nheart of a virtuous daughter's mother; yea, it was a grief to me that it\nshould have been done, and that I knew that of my Ann which she would\nfain hide from the light. Nevertheless I could not but find a joy in it,\nand meseemed it was a cruel act to fetch her away so soon from such sweet\nbliss.\n\nWhen presently their lips were free, and at last he spoke a few words to\nher, methought it was now time for me to greet my brother. I called up\nall my strength and while I walked toward them my spirit's sense came\nback to me, for indeed it had altogether left me, and a voice within\nasked: \"What shall come of this?\"\n\nHe put forth his arm to hold her to him again, and forasmuch as I was\nabashed to think of coming in to their secret, before I stepped forth,\nfrom the thicket, I hailed Herdegen by name. And soon I was in his arms;\nbut although that he kissed me lovingly, meseemed that something strange\nwas on his lips which pleased me not, and I yet remember that I put my\nkerchief to my mouth to wipe that from it.\n\nAnd then we walked homeward. Herdegen led his horse by the bridle, and\nAnn went between him and me and gazed up into his face with shining eyes,\nfor in these two years he had grown in stature and in manhood. She\nlistened wide-eared to all his tidings, but once, when his horse grew\nrestive, so that he turned away from us women-kind she kissed my cheek,\nbut in great haste, as though she would not have him see it. We were\ngladly welcomed at the forest lodge. How truly my uncle and aunt rejoiced\nat my brother's home-coming could be seen in their eyes, though the\nmother, who had banished her own son, was cut to the heart by the sight\nof such another well-grown youth.\n\nThe evening before guests had come to the lodge his excellency the Lord\nJustice Wigelois von Wolfstein, and Master Besserer of Ulm. Now we had to\nmake ready in all haste for dinner, and never had Ann made such careful\nand diligent use of our little mirror. As it fell, we could be alone\ntogether for a few minutes only, and had no chance of speaking to each\nother privily. This was likewise the case at table, and then, as my uncle\nhad prepared for a hunt in the afternoon, in honor of his guests, and as\nthe supper afterwards lasted until midnight, the not over-strong thread\nof my good patience was not seldom in danger of giving way. But many\nthings were going forward which gave me matter for thought, and increased\nthe distress I already felt. Ann threw herself into the sport with all\nher heart, and on the way back fell behind with Herdegen in such wise\nthat they did not reach home till long after the door closed on the last\nof us.\n\nAt supper she nodded to me many times with much contentment; except for\nthat I might have been buried for aught she noted, for she hearkened only\nto Herdegen's tales as though they were a revelation from above. For his\npart, he now and again stole a hasty, fiery glance at her; otherwise he\nof set purpose made a show of having little to do with her. He often lay\nback as though he were weary; and yet, when their Excellencies questioned\nhim of any matter, he was ever ready with a swift and discreet answer. He\nhad lost nothing of his wonderfully clear and shrewd wit; nevertheless, I\nwas not so much at my ease with him as of old time. When my uncle said in\njest that the wise owl from Padua seemed to wear a motley of gay\nfeathers, his intent was plain as soon as one looked at my brother; and\nin the fine clothes he had chosen to wear at supper the noble lad was\nless to my mind than in the hunting weed which he had journeyed in,\ninasmuch as the too great length of the sleeves of his mantle was in his\nway when eating, and the over-long points to his shoes hindered him in\nwalking.\n\nWhen, presently, my Aunt Jacoba left the hall that the men might the\nbetter enjoy the heady wine and freer speech, we maidens were bound to\nfollow her duteously; but Herdegen signed to me to come apart with him,\nand now I hoped he would open his heart to me and treat me as he had been\nwont, as my true and dear brother, whose heart had ever been on the tip\nof his tongue. Far from it; he spoke nought but flattery, as \"how fair I\nhad grown,\" and then desired news of Cousin Maud, and Kunz, and our\ngrand-uncle, and at last of Ursula Tetzel, which made me wroth.\n\nI answered him shortly, and asked him whether he had no more than that to\nsay to me. He gazed down at the ground and said to himself: \"To be sure,\nto be sure.\" But in a minute he went back to his first manner, and when I\nbid him good-night in anger he put his arm round me and turned me about\nas if to dance.\n\nI got myself free and went away, up to our chamber, hanging my head.\nThere I found my old Sue, taking off Ann's fine gown; and whereas Ann\nnodded to me right sweetly and, as I thought, with a secret air, I\nguessed that it was the waiting-woman who stayed her speech and I sent my\nnurse away.\n\nNow I should sooner have looked for the skies to fall than for Ann, my\nheart's closest friend, to keep the secret of what had befallen that very\nmorning; and yet she kept silence.\n\nWe were commonly wont to chirp like a pair of crickets while we braided\nour hair and got into our beds; but this night there was not a sound in\nthe chamber. Commonly we laid us down with a simple \"Good night,\nMargery,\" \"Sleep well, Ann,\" after we had said our prayers before the\nimage of the Blessed Virgin; but this night my friend held me close in\nher arms, and as I was about to get into bed she ran to me again and\nkissed me with much warmth. Whether I was so loving to her I cannot, at\nthis day, tell; but I remember well that I remained dumb, and my heart\nseemed to ache with sorrow and pain. I thought myself defrauded, and my\ntrue love scorned. Was it possible? Did my Ann trust me no longer, or had\nshe never trusted me?\n\nNay more. Was she at all such as I had believed, if she could carry on an\nunderhand and forbidden love-making with Herdegen behind my back; and\nthis, Merciful Virgin, peradventure, for years past!\n\nThe taper had burnt out. We lay side by side striving to sleep, while\ndistress of mind and a wounded heart brought the tears into my eyes.\n\nThen I heard a strange noise from her bed, and was aware that Ann\nlikewise was weeping, more bitterly and deeply every minute. This pierced\nthe very depths of my soul. Yet I tried to harden my heart till I heard\nher voice saying: \"Margery!\"\n\nThat was an end of our silence, and I answered: \"Ann.\"\n\nThen she sobbed out: \"As we came home from the hunt he made me promise\nnever to reveal it, but it is bursting my heart. Oh! Margery, Margery, I\nought to hide and bury it in my soul; so he bid me, and\nnevertheless. . . .\"\n\nI sat up on the pillow as if new life had come to me, and cried: \"Oh Ann,\nyou can tell me nothing that I know not already, for I saw him dismount\nand how he embraced you.\"\n\nAnd then, before I was aware of her, she leaped up and was kneeling on\nher knees by the head of my bed, and her lips were kissing mine, and her\ncheeks were against my face and her tears running down my cheeks and neck\nand bosom while she confessed all. In our peaceful little chamber there\nwas a wild outpouring of vows of love and words of fear, of plans for the\nfuture, and long tales of how it all had come to pass.\n\nI had with mine own eyes seen it in the bud and, unwittingly indeed, had\nfostered its growth. How then could I be dismayed when now I beheld the\nflower?\n\nTheir meeting this morning had been as the striking of flint and steel,\nand if sparks had come of it how could they help it? And I took Ann's\nword when she said that she would have flown into the arms of her\nbeloved, if father and mother and a hundred more had been standing round\nto warn her.\n\nAll she said that night was full of perfect and joyful assurance, and it\ntook hold of my young soul; and albeit I could not blind myself, but saw\nthat great and sore hindrances stood in the way of my brother's choice, I\nvowed to myself that I would smooth their path so far as in me lay.\n\nAll was now forgotten that I had taken amiss that evening in the returned\nwanderer; and when I gave Ann a last kiss that night how well I loved her\nagain!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nThe cocks had already crowed before I fell asleep, and when I awoke Ann\nwas sitting in front of the mirror, plaiting her hair. I knew full well\nwhat had led her to quit her bed so early, and, as she met her lover at\nbreakfast, her form and face meseemed had gained in beauty, so that I\ncould not take my eyes off from her. My aunt and his Excellency marked\nthe wonderful change which had taken effect in her that night, and the\ngentleman thenceforth waited closely on Ann and sued for her favor like a\nyoung man, in spite of his grey hair, while worthy Master Besserer\nfollowed his ensample.\n\nAt the first favorable chance I drew Herdegen apart. Ann had already told\nhim that I had been witness to their first meeting again; this indeed\npleased him ill, and when I asked him as to how he purposed to demean\nhimself henceforth towards his betrothed, he answered that matters had\nnot gone so far with them; and that until he had taken his Doctor's hood\nwe must keep the secret I had by chance discovered closely hidden from\nall the good people of Nuremberg; that much water would flow into the sea\nor ere he could bid me wag my tongue, if our grand-uncle should continue\nto bear the weight of his years so bravely. For the present he was one of\nthe happiest of men on earth, and if I loved him I must help him to enjoy\nhis heart's desire, and often see the lovely violet which had bloomed so\nsweetly for him here in the deep heart of the forest.\n\nHis bright young spirit smiled upon my soul once more as it had done long\nago. Only his unloving mention of our grand-uncle, who had been as a\nsecond father to him, struck to my heart, and this I said to him; adding\nlikewise, that it must be a point of honor with him to give and take\nrings with Ann, even though it should be in secret.\n\nThis he was ready and glad to do; I gave him the gold ring, with a hearty\ngood will, which Cousin Maud had given me for my confirmation, and he put\nit on his sweetheart's finger that very day, albeit her silver ring was\ntoo small for his little finger. So he bid her wear it, and solemnly\npromised to keep his troth, even without a ring, till the next\nhome-coming; and Ann put her trust in her lover as surely as in rock and\niron.\n\nMany were the guests who came to the forest that fair autumn tide; there\nwas no end of hunting and sport of all kinds, and Ann was ever ready and\nwell content to share her lover's fearless delight in the chase; when she\ncame home from the forest the joy of her heart shone more clearly than\never in her eyes; and seeing her then and thus, no man could doubt that\nshe was at the crown and top of human happiness. Albeit, up on that\nheight meseemed a keen wind was blowing, which she did battle with so\nhardly that through many a still night I could hear her sighs. Withal she\nshowed a strange selfishness such as I had never before marked in her,\nwhich, however, only concerned her lover, with constant unrest when apart\nfrom others whom she loved; and all this grieved me, though indeed I\ncould not remedy it.\n\nStrangest of all, as it seemed to me, was it that these twain who\nerewhile had never spent an hour together without singing, would now pass\nday after day without a song. But then I remembered how that the maiden\nnightingale likewise pipes her sweetest only so long as her bosom is full\nof pining love; but so soon as she has given her heart wholly to her\nmate, her song grows shorter and less tender.\n\nNot that this pair had as yet gone so far as this; and once, when I gave\nthem warning that they should not forget how to sing, they marvelled at\ntheir own neglect, and as thereupon they began to sing it sounded sweeter\nand stronger than in former days.\n\nAmong the youths who at that time enjoyed the hospitality of the\nWaldstromers, Herdegen's friend, Franz von Welemisl, held the foremost\nplace. He was the son of a Bohemian baron, and his mother, who was dead,\nhad been of one of the noblest families of Hungary. And whereas his name\nwas somewhat hard to the German tongue, we one and all called him simply\nRitter Franz or Sir Franz. He was a well made and well favored youth in\nface and limb, who had found such pleasure in my brother's company at\nErfurt that he had gone with him to Padua. His father's sudden death had\ntaken him home from college sooner than Herdegen, and he was now in\nmourning weed. He ever held his head a little bowed, and whereas\nHerdegen, with his brave, splendid manners and his long golden locks, put\nsome folks in mind of the sun, a poet might have likened his friend to\nthe moon, inasmuch as he had the same gentle mien and pale countenance,\nwhich seemed all the more colorless for his thick, sheeny black hair\nwhich framed it, with out a wave or a curl. His voice had a sorrowful\nnote, and it went to my heart to see how loving was his devotion to my\nbrother. He, for his part, was well pleased to find in the young knight\nthe companionship he had erewhile had in the pueri.\n\nAfter the young Bohemian's father had departed this life, the Emperor\nhimself had dubbed his sorrowing son Knight, and nevertheless he was\ndevoid alike of pride and scornfulness. When, with his sad black eyes, he\nlooked into mine, humbly and as though craving comfort, I might easily\nhave lulled my soul with the glad thought that I likewise had opened the\ndoor to Love; but then I cared not if I saw him, and I thought of him but\ncoldly, and this gave the lie to such hopes; what I felt was no more than\nthe compassion due to a young man who was alone in the world, without\nparents or brethren or near kin.\n\nOne morning I went to seek Herdegen in the armory and there found him\nstripped of his jerkin, with sleeves turned up; and with him was the\nBohemian, striving with an iron file to remove from my brother's arm a\ngold bracelet which was not merely fastened but soldered round his arm.\nSo soon as he saw that I had at once descried the band, though he\nattempted to hide it with his sleeve, he sought to put off my\nquestioning, at first with a jest and then with wrathful impatience flung\non his jerkin and turned his back on me. Forthwith I examined Ritter\nFranz, and he was led to confess to me that a fair Italian Marchesa had\nprevailed on Herdegen to have this armlet riveted on to his arm in token\nof his ever true service.\n\nOn learning this I was moved to great dread both for my brother's sake\nand for Ann's; and when I presently upbraided him for his breach of faith\nhe threw his arms round me with his wonted outrageous humor and\nboisterous spirit, and said: What more would I have, since that I had\nseen with my own eyes that he was trying to be quit of that bond? To get\nat the Marchesa he would need to cross a score of rivers and streams; and\neven in our virtuous town of Nuremberg it was the rule that a man might\nbe on with a new love when he had left the third bridge behind him.\n\nI liked not this fashion of speech, and when he saw that I was\nill-pleased and grieved, instead of falling in with his merry mood, he\ntook up a more earnest vein and said: \"Never mind, Margery. Only one tall\ntree of love grows in my breast, and the name of it is Ann; the little\nflowers that may have come up round it when I was far away have but a\nshort and starved life, and in no case can they do the great tree a\nmischief.\"\n\nThen with all my heart I besought him that, as he had now bound up the\nlife and happiness of the sweetest and most loving maid on earth with his\nown, he would ever keep his faith and be to her a true man. Seeing,\nhowever, that he was but little moved by this counsel, the hot blood of\nthe Schoppers mounted to my head and thereupon I railed at his sayings\nand doings as sinful and cruel, and he likewise flared out and bid me\nbeware how I spoke ill of my own father; for that like as he, Herdegen,\nhad carried the image of Ann in his heart, so had father carried that of\nour dear mother beyond the Alps, and nevertheless at Padua he had played\nthe lute under the balcony of many a blackeyed dame, and won the name of\n\"the Singer\" there. A living fire, quoth he, waxed not the colder because\nmore than one warmed herself thereat; all the matter was only to keep the\nplace of honor for the right owner, and of that Ann was ever certain.\n\nSir Franz was witness to these words, and when presently Herdegen had\nquitted the room, he strove to appease and to comfort me, saying that his\ngreatly gifted friend, who was full of every great and good quality, had\nbut this one weakness: namely, that he could not make a manful stand\nagainst the temptations that came of his beauty and his gifts. He, Franz\nhimself was of different mould.\n\nAnd he went on to confess that he loved me, and that, if I would but\nconsent to be his, he would ever cherish and serve me, with more humility\nand faithfulness even than his well-beloved Lord and King, who had dubbed\nhim knight while he was yet so young.\n\nAnd his speech sounded so warm and true, so full of deep and tender\ndesires, that at any other time I might have yielded. But at that hour I\nwas minded to trust no man; for, if Herdegen's love were not the truth,\nwhereas it had grown up with him and was given to one above me in so many\nways, what man's mind could I dare to build on? Yea, and I was too full\nof care for the happiness of my brother and of my friend to be ready to\nthink of my own; so I could only speak him fair, but say him nay. Hardly\nhad I said the words when a strange change came over him; his calm, sad\nface suddenly put on a furious aspect, and in his eyes, which hitherto\nhad ever been gentle, there was a fire which affrighted me. Nay and even\nhis voice, as he spoke, had a sharp ring in it, as though the bells had\ncracked which erewhile had tolled so sweet a peal. And all he had to say\nwas a furious charge against me who had, said he, led him on by eye and\nspeech, only to play a cruel trick upon him, with words of dreadful\npurpose against the silent knave who had come between him and me to\ndefraud him; and by this he meant the Swabian, Junker von Kalenbach.\n\nI was about to upbraid him for his rude and discourteous manners when we\nheard, outside, a loud outcry, and Ann ran in to fetch me. All in the\nLodge who had legs came running together; all the hounds barked and\nhowled as though the Wild Huntsman were riding by, and mingling therewith\nlo! a strange, outlandish piping and drumming.\n\nA bear-leader, such as I had before now seen at the town-fair, had made\nhis way to the Lodge, and the swarthy master, with his two companions, as\nit might be his brothers, were like all the men of their tribe. A thick\ngrowth of hair covered the mouth below an eaglenose, and on their shaggy\nheads they wore soft red bonnets. One was followed by a tall camel,\nslowly marching along with an ape perched on his hump; the other led a\nbrown bear with a muzzle on his snout.\n\nThe master's wife, and a dark-faced young wench, were walking by the side\nof a little wagon having two wheels, to which an over-worked mule was\nharnessed. A youth, of may-be twelve years of age, blew upon a pipe for\nthe bear to dance, and inasmuch as he had no clothes but a ragged little\ncoat, and a sharp east wind was blowing, he quaked with cold and shivered\nas he piped. Notwithstanding he was a fine lad, well-grown, and with a\ncountenance of outlandish but well nigh perfect beauty. He had come, for\ncertain, from some distant land; yet was he not of the same race as the\nothers.\n\nWhen we had seen enough of the show, my uncle commanded that meat should\nbe brought for the wanderers; and when pease-pottage and other messes had\nbeen given them, they fetched, from under the wagon-tilt, a swarthy babe,\nwhich, meseemed was a sweet little maid albeit she was so dark-colored.\n\nAnn and I gazed at these folks while they ate, and it seemed strange to\nus to see that the well-favored lad put away from him with horror the\nbacon which the old bear-leader set before him; and for this the man\ndealt him a rude blow.\n\nAfter their meal the master went on his way; and when we likewise had\neaten our dinner, my dear godfather and uncle, Christian Pfinzing, came\nfrom the town, bringing a troop of mercenaries to the camp where they\nwere to be trained that they might fight against the Hussites. He, like\nthe other guests, made friends with the strangers, and in his merry\nfashion he bid the older bear leader tell our fortunes by our hands,\nwhile the young ones should dance.\n\nThe man then read the future for each of us; my fortune was sheer folly,\nwhereof no single word ever came true. He promised my brother a Count's\ncoronet and a wife from a race of princes; and when Ann heard it, and\nheld up her finger at Herdegen for shame, he whispered in her ear that\nshe was of the race of the Sovereign Queen of all queens--of Venus, ruler\nof the universe. All this she heard gladly; yet could no one persuade her\nto let her hand be read.\n\nAt last it was the woman's turn to dance; before she began she had\nsmoothed her hair and tied it with small gold pieces; and indeed she was\na well grown maid and slender, well-favored in face and shape, with a\nright devilish flame in her black eyes. It was a strange but truly a\npleasing thing to see her; first she laid a dozen of eggs in a circle on\nthe grass, and then she beat her tambourine to the piping of the lad and\nthe drumming of one of the men who had remained with her, and rattled it\nover her head with wanton lightness till the bells in the hoop rang out,\nwhile she turned and bent her supple body in a mad, swift whirl, bowing\nand rising again. Her falcon eyes never gazed at the ground, but were\never fixed upwards or on the bystanders, and nevertheless her slender\nbare feet never went nigh the eggs in the wildest spinning of her dance.\n\nThe gentlemen, and we likewise, clapped our hands; then, while she stayed\nto take breath, she snatched Herdegen's hat from his head--and she had\nlong had her eye on him--and gathered all the eggs into it with much\nbowing and bending to the measure of the music. When she had put all the\neggs into the hat she offered it to my brother kneeling on one knee, and\nshe touched the rim of her tambourine with her lips. The froward fellow\nput his fingers to his lips, as the little children do to blow a kiss,\nand when his eyes fell on that wench's, meseemed that this was not the\nfirst time they had met.\n\nIt was now a warm and windless autumn day, and after dinner my aunt was\ncarried out into the courtyard. When the dancing was at an end, she, as\nwas her wont, questioned the men and the elder woman as to all she\ndesired to know; and, learning from them that the men were likewise\ntinkers, she bid Ann hie to the kitchen and command that the house-keeper\nshould bring together all broken pots and pans. But now, near by the\nwagon, was a noise heard of furious barking, and the pitiful cry of a\nchild.\n\nThe Junker, who had set forth early in the day to scour the woods, had\nbut now come home; the hounds with him had scented strangers, and had\nrushed on the brown babe, which was playing in the sand behind the wagon,\nmaking cakes and pasties. The dogs were indeed called off in all haste,\nbut one of them, a spiteful badger-hound, had bitten deep into the little\none's shoulder.\n\nI ran forthwith to the spot, and picked up the babe in my arms, seeing\nits red blood flow; but the elder woman rushed at me, beside her wits\nwith rage, to snatch it from me; and whereas she was doubtless its mother\nor grand-dame, I might have yielded up the child, but that Ritter Franz\ncame to me in haste to bid me, from my Aunt Jacoba, carry it to her.\n\nWho better than she knew the whole art and secret of healing the wounds\nof a hound's making? And so I told the old dame, to comfort her, albeit\nshe struggled furiously to get the babe from me. Nay and she might have\ndone so if the little thing had not clung round my neck with its right\narm that had no hurt, as lovingly as though it had been mine own and no\nkin to the shrieking old woman.\n\nBut ere long a clear and strange light was cast on the matter; for when\nwe had loosened the child's little shirt, and my aunt had duly washed the\nblood from the wounds, under the dark hue of its skin behold it was\ntender white, and so it was plain that here was a stolen child, needing\nto be rescued.\n\nThen the house-stewardess, the widow of a forester whose husband had been\nslain by poachers, and who labored bravely to bring up her five orphan\nchildren, with my aunt's help--this woman, I say, now remembered that\nwhen she had made her pilgrimage, but lately, to Vierzehnheiligen, the\nKnight von Hirschhorn, treasurer to the Lord Bishop of Bamberg at\nSchesslitz, not far from the place of pilgrimage, had lost a babe, stolen\naway by vagabond knaves. Then Aunt Jacoba bethought herself that\nrestitution and benevolence might be made one; and, quoth she, this\nmatter might greatly profit the housekeeper and her little ones, inasmuch\nas that the sorrowing father had promised a ransom of thirty Hungarian\nducats to him who should bring back his little daughter living; and\nforthwith the whole tribe of the bear-leaders were to be bound. The old\nbeldame gave our men a hard job, for she tried to make off to the forest,\nand called aloud: \"Hind--Hind!\" which was the young wench's name, with\noutlandish words which doubtless were to warn her to flee; but the\nserving men gained their end and made the wild hag fast.\n\nAnn was pale and in pain with her head aching, but she helped my aunt to\ntend the child; and I was glad, inasmuch as I conceived that I knew where\nto find Herdegen and the young dancing wench, and I cared only to save\nhis poor betrayed sweetheart from shame and sorrow. I crept away,\nunmarked, through the garden of herbs behind the lodge, to a moss but\nwhich my banished cousin had built up for me, in a covert spot between\ntwo mighty beech-trees, while I was yet but a school maid.\n\nVerily my imagination was not belied, for whereas I passed round the\npine-grove I heard my brother cry out: \"Ah--wild cat!\" and the hussy's\nloathsome laugh. And thereupon they both came forth, only in the doorway\nhe held her back to kiss her. At this she showed her white teeth, and\nmeseemed she would fain bite him; she thrust him away and laughed as she\nsaid: \"To-night; not too much at once.\" Howbeit he snatched her to him,\nand thereupon I called him by name and went forward.\n\nHe let her go soon enough then, but he stamped with his foot for sheer\nrage. This, indeed, moved me not; with a calm demeanor I bid the wench\nfollow me, and to that faithless knave I cried: \"Fie!\" in a tone of scorn\nwhich must have made his ears burn a good while. Before we entered the\ngarden I bid him go round about the house and come upon the others from\nthe right hand; she was to come with me and round by the left side.\n\nI now saw that there were shreds of moss and dry leaves in the young\nwoman's hair and bid her brush them out. This she did with a mocking\nsmile, and said in scorn: \"Your lover?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said I, \"far from it. But yet one whom I would fain shield from\nevil.\" She shrugged her shoulders; I only said: \"Come on.\"\n\nAs we went round to the front of the house the elder woman was being led\naway with her hands bound, and no sooner did the young one descry her\nthan she picked up her skirts and with one wild rush tried to be off and\naway. I called Spond, my trusty guard, and bid him stay her; and the\nnoble hound dogged her steps till the men could catch her and lead her to\nmy aunt. The lady questioned her closely, deeming that so young and\ncomely a creature might be less stubborn that the old hag who had grown\ngrey in sins; but Hind stood dumb and made as though she knew not our\nlanguage. As to Herdegen, he meanwhile had greeted Ann with great\ncourtesy; nevertheless he had kept close to the dancing wench, and took\nupon himself to tie her bonds and lead her to the dungeon cell. He sped\nwell, inasmuch as he got away with her alone, as he desired; for Sir\nFranz delayed me again, and such a suit as he now pleaded can but seldom\nhave found a match, for I was bent only on following my brother, to\nrescue him from the vagabond woman's snares; and while the knight held me\nfast by the hand, and swore he loved me, I was only striving to be free,\nand gazing after Herdegen and Hind, heeding him not. At length he hurt my\nhand, which I could not get away from him; and whereas he was beginning\nto look wildly and to seem crazed, I besought him to leave me free\nhenceforth and try his fortune elsewhere. But still he would never have\nset me free so hastily if an evil star had not brought the Swabian Junker\nto the spot.\n\nSir Franz, without a word of greeting or warning, went up to him and\nupbraided him for having caused a mischief to a helpless babe through his\nheedless conduct. But if Sir Franz knew not already that he, to whom he\nspoke as roughly as though he were a froward serving man, was in truth\nson and heir of a right noble house, he learnt it now. His last words\nwere: \"And for the future have your savage hounds in better governance!\"\nWhereupon the other coolly answered: \"And you, your tongue.\"\n\nOn this the other shrugged his shoulders and replied in scorn that to be\nsure his tongue was for use and not for silence like some folks'. And I\nmarvelled where the Swabian, who was so slow of speech, found the words\nfor retort and answer, till at length it was too much for him and he laid\nhis hand on his hanger as a second and a sharper tongue.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe dancing-wench was locked into the cell with the rest of the\nwanderers, and as I looked in through the window at the fine young\ncreature, squatting in a corner, I had pity on her, and for my part I\nwould fain have sent her forth and away never to see her more.\n\nI could nowhere find Herdegen; I had no mind for Uncle Christian's jests;\nand when, at last, I betook me to my own chamber, meseemed that some\nhorrible doom was in the air, from which there was no escape. And matters\nwere no better when Ann, who of late had been free from her bad headache,\ncame up to bed, to hide her increasing pain among the pillows. So I sat\ndumb and thoughtful by her side, till Aunt Jacoba sent for me to lay cold\nwater on the arm of the little kidnapped maid. The child had been well\nwashed, and lay clean and fresh between the sheets, and the swarthy dirty\nlittle changeling was now a sweet, fair-haired darling. I tended it\ngladly; all the more when I thought of the joy it would bring to its\nfather and mother; notwithstanding the evil nightmare would not be cast\noff, not even when the clatter of wine cups and Uncle Christian's big\nlaugh fell on my ear.\n\nSeldom had I so keenly missed Herdegen's mirthful voice. The housekeeper\ntold me that he had gone on horseback into the town at about the hour of\nAve Maria. My grand-uncle had bidden him to go to him. The vagabond\nknaves had already been put to the torture in my brother's presence, but\nthey had confessed nothing of their guilt; inasmuch, indeed, as in our\ndungeon there were none other instruments of torture than the rack, the\nthumbscrew, and scourges needful for the Bamberg torture, and a\nPomeranian cap, made to crush the head somewhat; but in Nuremberg there\nwas a store, less mild and of more active effect.\n\nThe air was hot and heavy, the sun had set behind black clouds, yellow\nand dim, like a blind eye. A strange languor came over me, though I was\nwont to be so brisk, and with it a long train of dismal and hideous\nimages. First I saw the Junker and Sir Franz, who had fallen out about\nme, a foolish maid; then it was my Ann, pining with grief, paler than\never with a nun's veil on her; or standing by the Pegnitz, on the very\nspot where, erewhile, in the sweet Springtide, a forsaken maid had cast\nherself in.\n\nThe first lightning rent the sky and the storm came up in haste, bursting\nabove our heads, and as the thunder roared closer and closer after the\nflash I was more and more frightened. Moreover the sick child wept\npiteously and waxed restless with fever and pain. By this time all was\nstill in the dining-hall; but when my aunt bid me let the housekeeper\ntake my place by the little one's bed and go to my rest, I would not; for\nindeed I could in no wise have slept.\n\nThey let me have my way, and soon after midnight, seized with fresh dread\nanent Herdegen, I was at the open window to let the rough wind fan my hot\nhead, when suddenly the hounds set up a furious barking, as though the\nForest lodge were beset on all sides by robbers. And at the same time I\nsaw, by the glare of the lightning, that the old lime-tree in the midst\nof my aunt's herb garden was lying on the earth. This cut me to the\nheart, inasmuch as this tree was dear to my uncle, having been planted by\nhis grandfather; and there was never a spot where his ailing wife was so\nfain to be in the hot summer days as under its shadow. Aye, and all my\nyoung life's happiness, meseemed, was like that tree-torn up by the\nroots, and I gazed spellbound at the blasted lime-tree till I was\naffrighted by a new horror; on the furthest rim of the sky, on the side\nwhere the town lay, I beheld a line of light which waxed broader and\nbrighter till it was rose and blood-red.\n\nA wild uproar came up from the kennels and foresters' huts, and I heard a\nmedley of many voices; and whereas the distant flare began to soar more\nbrightly heavenward I believed those who were saying below that all\nNuremberg was in flames.\n\nEven Aunt Jacoba had quitted her bed, and every soul under that roof\nlooked forth at the fire and gave an opinion as to whether it were waxing\nor waning. And, thanks be to the Blessed Virgin, the latter were in the\nright; some few granaries, or stores of goods it might be, had been burnt\nout, and I, among other fainting hearts, was beginning to breathe more\neasily, when the watchman's cry was heard once more and what next befell\nshowed that my fears had not been groundless.\n\nIt was the vigil of Saint Simon and Saint Jude's day--[October 28th]--in\nthe year of our Lord 1420, and never shall I forget it. The great things\nwhich befell that night are they not written in the Chronicles of the\ntown, and still fresh in many minds? but peradventure in none are they\nmore deeply printed than in mine; and while I move my pen I can, as it\nwere, see the great hall of the hunting lodge with my very eyes. Many\nfolks are astir, and all in scant attire and full of eager thirst for\ntidings. The alarm of fire has brought them from their pillows in all\nhaste, and they press close and gaze through the door, which stands wide\nopen, at the light spot in the sky. Not one dares go forth in the wild\nwind, and many a one draws his garment or cloak or coverlet closer round\nhim; the gale sweeps in with such fury that the pitch torches against the\nwall are well nigh blown out, and the red and yellow glare casts a weird\nlight in the hall.\n\nThen the watchman's call is silent, and the growling and wailing of the\nforest folk comes nigher and nigher.\n\nPresently a man totters across the threshold, upheld with sore difficulty\nby the gate-keeper Endres inasmuch as his own knees quake; and he who\ncomes home thus, as he might be drunken or grievously hurt, is none other\nthan my brother Herdegen. The torchlight falls on his face, and whereas\nmy eyes descry him I cry aloud, and my soul has no thought of him but\nsheer pity and true love.\n\nI haste to take Endres' place while Eppelein, his faithful serving-man,\nwhom he had not taken with him as is his wont, holds him up on the other\nhand.\n\nBut touch him where we may he feels a hurt; and while Uncle Conrad and\nthe rest press him with questions, he can only point to his head and\nlips, which are too weak for thinking or speaking.\n\nAlas! that poor fellow, meseems, bears but little likeness to my noble\nHerdegen, on whose arm the Italian Marchesa riveted her golden fetter.\nHis face is swollen and bloodshot in one part, and cruelly torn in\nothers. Where are the lovelocks that graced him so well? His left arm is\nhelpless, his rich attire hangs about him in rags. He might be a\nbattered, wretched beggar picked up in the high-road, and I rejoice truly\nto think that Ann is within the shelter of her bed and escapes the sight.\n\nMy aunt, who had long ere this been carried down to the hall, felt all\nhis limbs and joints, and found that no bones were broken, while my uncle\nquestioned him; and he told us in broken words that his horse had taken\nfright in the forest at a flash of lightning, had thrown him, and then\ndragged him through the brushwood; it was his man's nag which, as it\nfell, he had taken out that evening, and it was roaming now about the\nwoods.\n\nHe had scarce ended his tale, when one of the warders of the dungeon and\nthe gate-keeper rushed in with the tidings that one of the prisoners, and\nthat the young wench, had escaped, although the door of the keep was\nlocked and the window barred. She was clearly a witch, and only one thing\nwas possible; namely that she had flown through the barred window, after\nthe manner of witches on a broomstick, or in the shape of a bird, a bat,\nor an owl; nay, this was as good as certain, inasmuch as that the\nwatchman had seen a wraith in the woods at about the hour of midnight,\nand the same face had appeared to the kennel-keeper. Both swore they had\ncrossed themselves thereat, and said many paternosters. The other\ncaptives bore witness to the same, declaring that the wench had never\nbeen one of them, but had joined herself unawares to their company last\nmidsummer eve, without saying whence, or whither she would go. She had\nflown off some hours since in the form of a monstrous vampire, but had\nfallen upon them first with tooth and nail; and albeit they were an\nevil-disposed crew their tale seemed truthful, whereas they were covered\nwith many scratches which were not caused by the torture.\n\nAt these tidings my brother lost all heart, and fell back in the\narm-chair as pale as ashes. I was presently left alone with him; but he\nanswered nothing to my questions, and meseemed he slept. As day dawned I\nwas chilled with the cold, so, inasmuch I could do nothing to help him, I\nwent down stairs. There I found our gentlemen taking leave, for one was\noff to the city to make inquisition as to the fire, and the other would\nfain seek his warm bed.\n\nHot elecampane wine had been served to give them comfort, when again we\nheard horses' hoofs and the watchman's call. Everybody came out in haste,\nonly Uncle Christian Pfinzing did not move, for, so long as the wine jug\nwas not empty, it would have needed more than this to stir him. He was a\nmighty fat man, with a short brick-red neck, cropped grey hair, and a\nround, well-favored countenance, with shrewd little eyes which stood out\nfrom his head.\n\nWe young Schoppers loved this jolly, warm-hearted uncle, who was\nchildless, with all our hearts; but I clung to him most of all, since he\nwas my dear godfather; likewise had he for many years shown an especial\nand truly fatherly care for Ann.\n\nWell, Uncle Christian had peacefully gone on drinking the fiery liquor,\nwaiting for the others; but when they came to tell him what tidings the\nhorseman had brought, the cup fell from his hand, clattering down on the\npaved floor and spilling the wine; and at the same time his kind,\nfaithful head dropped to one side, and for a few minutes his senses had\nleft him. Albeit we were able ere long to bring him back to life again, I\nfound, to my great distress, that his tongue seemed to have waxed heavy.\nHowbeit, by the help of the Blessed Virgin, he afterwards was so far\nrecovered that when he sat over his cups his loud voice and deep laugh\ncould be heard ringing through the room.\n\nThe tidings delivered by the messenger and which brought on this\nsickness--of which the leech Ulsenius had ere this warned him--might have\nshaken the heart of a sterner man; for my Uncle Christian lodged in the\nImperial Fort as its warder, and his duty it was to guard it. Near it,\nlikewise, on the same hill-crag, stood the old castle belonging to the\nHigh Constable, or Burgrave Friedrich. Now the Burgrave had come to high\nwords with Duke Ludwig the Bearded, of Bayern-Ingolstadt, so that the\nDuke's High Steward, the noble Christoph von Laymingen, who dwelt at\nLauf, had made so bold, with his lord at his back, as to break the peace\nwith Friedrich, although he had lately become a powerful prince as\nElector of the Mark of Brandenburg.\n\nThe said Christoph von Laymingen, so the horsemen told us, had ridden\nforth to Nuremberg this dark night and had seized the castle--not indeed\nthe Imperial castle, which stood unharmed, but the stronghold of the old\nZollern family which had stood by its side--and bad burnt it to the\nground. This, indeed, was no mighty offence in the eyes of the\ntown-council, inasmuch as it bore no great friendship to his Lordship the\nConstable and Elector, and had had many quarrels with him-nay, long after\nthis the council was able to gain possession of the land and ruins by\npurchases--till, uncle Christian bitterly rued having sent his\nmen-at-arms, whose duty it was to defend the castle, out into the\ncountry, though it were for so good a purpose as fighting against the\nHussites.\n\nIt might have brought him into bad favor with the Elector; however, it\ndid him no further mischief. One thing was certainly proven beyond doubt:\nthat knavish treason had been at work in this matter; at Nuremberg, under\nthe torture, it came out that the bear-master had been a spy and\ntell-tale bribed by Laymingen to discover whither Pfinzing and his men\nhad removed.\n\nAnd lest any one should conceive that here was an end to the woes that\nhad fallen on the forest lodge in that short time from midnight to\ndaybreak, I must record one more; for the new day, which dawned with no\nhue of rose, grey and dismal over the tawny woods, brought us fresh\nsorrow and evil.\n\nBehind the moss-hut, wherein I had found my Herdegen with the dancing\nhussy, the Swabian Junker and Ritter Franz had fought, without any heed\nof the law and order of such combat--fought for life or death, and for my\nsake. And as though in this cruel time I were doomed to go through all\nthat should worst wound my poor heart, I must need go forth to see the\nstricken limetree at that very moment when the Junker had dealt his enemy\na deadly stroke and came rushing away with his hair all abroad like a mad\nman. It was indeed a merciful chance that my Uncle Conrad and the\nchaplain likewise had come forth to the garden, so that I might go with\nthem to see the wounded knight.\n\nThe youth was lying on the wet grass, now much paler than ever, and his\nlips trembling with pain. A faded leaf had fallen on his brow and was\nstrange to behold against his ashen skin; but I bent me down and took it\noff. By him was lying the uprooted limetree, from which that leaf had\nfallen, and whereas the rain was dropping from it fast, meseemed it was\nweeping.\n\nAnd my heart was knit as it never had been before, to this young knight\nwho had shed his blood in my behalf; but while I gazed down right\nlovingly into his face the Swabian came close up to him with ruthful\neyes, and from those of the wounded man there shot at me a glance so full\nof hate and malice that I shuddered before it. This was an end, then, to\nall pity and tenderness. And yet, as I looked on his cold, set face, as\npale and white as dull chalk, I could not forbear tears; for it is ever\npitiful to see when death overtakes one who is not ripe for dying, as we\nbewail the green corn which is smitten by the hail, and hold festival\nwhen the reaper cuts the golden ears.\n\nThus were there three sick and wounded in the forest-lodge, besides my\naunt; for Uncle Christian must have some few days of rest and nursing.\nHowbeit there was no lack of us to tend them; Ann was recovered to-day\nand Cousin Maud had come in all haste so soon as she knew of what had\nbefallen Herdegen; for, of us all, he held the largest room in her heart;\nand even when he was at school, albeit he had money and to spare of his\nown, she had given him so freely of hers that he was no whit behind the\nsons of wealthy Counts.\n\nBiding the time till my cousin should come--and she could not until the\nevening--it was my part to stay with my brother; but whereas Ann would\nfain have helped me, this Aunt Jacoba conceived to be in no way fitting\nfor a young maid; much less then would she grant my earnest desire that I\nmight devote me to the care of Sir Franz; though she had it less in mind\nto consider its fitness, than to conceive that it would be of small\nbenefit to the wounded man, at the height of his fever, to know that the\nmaid for whose love he had vainly sued was at his side.\n\nThus I was forbidden to see Ann in my brother's chamber; nevertheless I\nhad much on my heart and I could guess that she likewise was eager to\nspeak with me; but when at last I was alone with her in our bed chamber,\nshe had matter for speech of which I had not dreamed. When I asked her\nwhat message she might desire me to give Herdegen from her, she besought\nme as I loved her not to name her at all in his presence. This, indeed,\namazed me not a little, inasmuch as I weened not that she knew of all the\ngrief I had suffered yestereve. But this was not so; I learnt now that\nshe had marked everything, and had heard the men's light talk about the\ndashing youth whom the dark-eyed hussy had been so swift to choose from\namong them all. I, indeed, tried to make the best of the matter, but she\ngave me to understand that, if her lover had not done himself a mischief,\nit had been her intent to question him that very day as to whether he was\nin earnest with his love-pledges, or would rather that she should give\nhim back his ring and his word. All this she spoke without a tear or a\nsigh, with steadfast purpose; and already I began, for my part, to doubt\nof the truth of her love; and I told her this plainly. Thereupon she\nclasped me to her, and while the tears gathered and sparkled in her great\neyes, expounded to me all the matter; and in truth it was all I should\nmyself have said in her place. She, of simple birth, would enter the\ncircle of her betters on sufferance, and her new friends would, of a\ncertainty, not do her more honor than her own husband. On his manner of\ntreating her therefore would depend what measure of respect she might\nlook for as his wife. And so long as their promise to marry was a secret,\nshe would have him show, whether to her alone or before all the world,\nthat he held her consent as of no less worth than that of the wealthiest\nand highest born heiress.\n\nAll this she spoke in hot haste while her cheeks glowed red. I saw the\nblue veins swell on her pure brow, and can never forget the image of her\nas she raised her tearful eyes to Heaven and pressing her hands on her\npanting bosom cried: \"To go forth with him to want or death is as\nnothing! But never will I be led into shame, not even by him.\"\n\nWhen presently I left her, after speaking many loving words to her, and\nholding her long in my arms, she was ready to forgive him; but she held\nto this: \"Not a word, not a glance, not a kiss, until Herdegen had vowed\nthat yesterday's offence should be the first and last she should ever\nsuffer.\"\n\nHow clearly she had apprehended the matter!\n\nAlbeit she little knew how deeply her beloved had sinned against the\ntruth he owed her. They say that Love is blind, and so he may be at\nfirst. But when once his trust is shaken the bandage falls, and the\npurblind boy is turned into a many-eyed, sharp-sighted Argus.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nEvery one was ready to nurse the little maid who called herself \"little\nKatie.\" But as to Herdegen, I was compelled for the time to say nothing\nto him of what Ann required of him, for he lay sick of a fever. He was\nfaithfully tended by Eppelein, the son of a good servant of our father's\nwho had lost his life in waiting on his master when stricken with the\nplague. Eppelein had indeed grown up in our household, among the horses;\neven as a lad he had by turns helped Herdegen in his sports, and rendered\nhim good service, and had ever shown him a warmer love than that of a\nhireling.\n\nIt fell out one day that my brother's best horse came to harm by this\nyouth's fault, and when Herdegen, for many days, would vouchsafe no word\nto him the lad took it so bitterly to heart that he stole away from the\nhouse, and whereas no one could find him, we feared for a long time that\nhe had done himself a mischief. Nevertheless he was alive and of good\nheart. He had passed the months in a various life; first as a crier to a\nwandering quack, and afterwards, inasmuch as he was a nimble and likely\nlad, he had waited on the guests at one of the best frequented inns at\nWurzberg. It came then to pass that his eminence Cardinal Branda, Nuncio\nfrom his Holiness the Pope, took up his quarters there, and he carried\nthe lad away with him as his body-servant to Italy, and treated him well\ntill the restless wight suddenly fell into a languor of home-sickness,\nand ran away from this good master, as erewhile he had run away from our\nhouse. Perchance some love-matter drove him to fly. Certain it is that in\nhis wandering among strangers he had come to be a mighty handy,\nwide-awake fellow, with much that was good in him, inasmuch as with all\nhis subtlety he had kept his true Nuremberger's heart.\n\nWhen he had journeyed safely home again he one day stole unmarked into\nour courtyard, where his old mother lived in an out-building on the\ncharity of the Schoppers; he went up to her and stood before her, albeit\nshe knew him not, and laid the gold pieces he had saved one by one on the\nwork-table before her. The little old woman scarce knew where she was for\nsheer amazement, nor wist she who he was till he broke out into his old\nloud laugh at the sight of her dismay. Verily, as she afterwards said,\nthat laugh brought more gladness to her heart and had rung sweeter in her\nears than the gold pieces.\n\nThen Susan had called us down to the courtyard, and when a smart young\nstripling came forth to meet us, clad in half Italian and half German\nguise, none knew who he might be till he looked Herdegen straight in the\nface, and my brother cried out: \"It is our Eppelein!\" Then the tears\nflowed fast down his cheeks, but Herdegen clasped him to him and kissed\nhim right heartily on both cheeks.\n\nAll this did I bring to mind as I saw this said Eppelein carefully and\nsorrowfully laying a wet cloth, at my aunt's bidding, on his master's\nhead where it was so sorely cut; and methought how well it would have\nbeen if Herdegen were still so ready to follow the prompting of his\nheart.\n\nUnderstanding anon that I was not needed by this bed, where Eppelein kept\nfaithful watch and ward, and that Sir Franz's chamber was closed to me, I\nwent down stairs again, for I had heard a rumor that the swarthy lad--who\nhad yesterday played on the pipe--was to be put to the torture. This I\nwould fain have hindered, whereas by many tokens I was certain that the\nsaid comely youth was not one of the vagabond crew, but, like little\nKatie, might well be a child knavishly kidnapped from some noble house.\nWhereas I reached the hall, Balzer, the keeper, was about bringing the\nlad in. Outside indeed it was dim and wet, but within it was no less\ncomfortable, for a mighty fire was blazing in the wide chimney-place. My\naunt was warming her thereat, and Ann likewise was of the company, with\nUncle Conrad, Jost Tetzel, my godfather Christian Pfinzing, and the\nseveral guests.\n\nI joined myself to them and in an under tone told them what I had noted,\nsaying that, more by token the youth must have a good conscience; for,\nwhereas he had not been cast into the cell but had been locked into a\nstable to take charge of the camels and the ape, he had nevertheless not\ntried to escape, although it would have been easy.\n\nTo this opinion some inclined; and seeing that the boy spoke but a few\nwords of German, but knew more of Italian, I addressed him in that\ntongue; and then it came to light that he was verily and indeed a stolen\nchild. The vagabonds had bartered for him in Italy, giving a fair girl\nwhom they had with them in exchange; likewise he said he was of princely\nbirth, but had fallen into slavery some two years since, when a fine\ngalley governed by his father, an Emir or prince of Egypt, had fought\nwith another coming from Genoa in Italy.\n\nWhen I had presently interpreted these words to the others, Jost Tetzel,\nUrsula's father, declared them to be sheer lies and knavery; even Uncle\nConrad deemed them of little worth; and for this reason: that if the lad\nhad indeed been the son of some grand Emir of Egypt the bear-leader would\nfor certain have made profit of him by requiring his ransom.\n\nBut when I told the lad of this he fixed his great eyes very modestly on\nme, and in truth there was no small dignity in his mien and voice as he\nasked me:\n\n\"Could I then bring poverty on my parents, who were ever good to me, to\nbestow wealth on that evil brood? Never should those knavish rogues have\nlearnt from me what I have gladly revealed to thee who are full of\ngoodness and beauty!\"\n\nThis speech went to my heart; and if it were not truth then is there no\ntruth in all the world! But when again I had interpreted his words, and\nTetzel still would but shrug his shoulders, this vexed me so greatly that\nit was as much as I could do to refrain myself, and hold my peace.\n\nI had seen from the first, in Uncle Christian's eyes, that he was of the\nsame mind with me; yet could I not guess what purpose he had in his head,\nalthough to judge by her face it was something passing strange, when he\nmuttered some behest to Ann with his poor fettered tongue. Then, when she\ntold me what my godfather required of me, I was not in any haste to obey,\nfor, indeed, maidenly bashfulness and pity hindered me. Yet, whereas the\nbrave old man nodded to spur me on, with his heavy head, still covered\nwith a cold wet cloth, I called up all my daring, and before the lad was\naware I dealt him a slap on the cheek.\n\nIt was not a hard blow, but the lad seemed as much amazed as though the\nearth had opened at his feet. His dark face turned ashen-grey and his\ngreat eyes looked at me in tearful enquiry, but so grievously that I\nalready rued my unseemly deed.\n\nSoon, however, I had cause to be glad; the youth's demeanor won his\ncause. Uncle Christian had only desired to prove him. He knew men well,\nand he knew that youths of various birth take a blow in the face in\nvarious ways; now, the Emir's son had demeaned him as one of his rank,\nand had stood the ordeal! So my aunt Jacoba told him, for she had at once\nseen through Uncle Christian's purpose, and presently Jost Tetzel\nhimself, though ill-pleased and sullen, confessed his error. Then, when\nthey had promised the youth that he should be spared all further\nill-usage, he opened the lining of his garment and showed us a gem which\nhis mother had privily hung about his neck, and which was a lump or\ntablet of precious sky-blue turkis-stone, as large as a great plum,\nwhereon was some charm inscribed in strange, outlandish signs which the\nJewish Rabbi Hillel, when he saw it, declared to be Arabic letters.\n\nThe bear-leader had called the lad Beppo; but his real name was a long\none and hard to utter, out of which my forest uncle picked up two\nsyllables for a name he could speak with ease, calling him Akusch.\n\nWith Cousin Maud's assent the black youth was attached to my service as\nSquire, inasmuch as it was I who at first had \"dubbed him knight;\" and\nwhen I gave him to understand this he could not contain himself for joy,\nand from that hour he ever proved my most ready servant, ever alert and\nthankful; and the little benevolence it was in my power to shew the poor\nlad bore fruit more than a thousand fold in after times, to me and mine.\n\nAfter noon that same day Ann confessed to me that she had it in her mind\nto quit the lodge that very evening, journeying home with Master\nUlsenius; and when she withstood all my entreaties she told Cousin Maud\nlikewise that she had indeed already left her own kin too long without\nher succor.\n\nAunt Jacoba was in her chimney corner, and how she took this sudden\npurpose on Ann's part, may be imagined.\n\nIt was so gloomy a day that there was scarce a change when dusk fell.\nGrey wreaths of cloud hung over the tree-tops, and fine rain dripped with\na soft, steady patter, as though it would never cease; nor was there\nanother sound, inasmuch as neither horn, nor watchman's cry, nor bell\nmight break the silence, for the sake of the wounded men; nay, even the\nhounds, meseemed, understood that the daily course of life was out of\ngear.\n\nAnn had gone to pack her little baggage with Susan's help, but she had\nbid me remain with the child. It was going on finely; it would play with\nthe doll my Aunt had given it in happy pastime, and now I did the little\none's bidding and was right glad to be her play fellow for a while. Time\nslipped on as I sat there making merry with little Katie, doing the\ndolly's leather breeches and jerkin off and on, blowing on the child's\nlittle shoulder when it smarted or giving her a sweetmeat to comfort her,\nand still Ann came not, albeit she had promised to join me so soon as her\nbaggage was ready.\n\nHereupon a sudden fear seized me, and as soon as the housekeeper came up\nI went to seek Ann in our chamber. There stood all her chattel, so neat\nas only she could make them; and I learnt from Susan that Ann had gone\ndown, some time since, into Aunt Jacoba's chamber.\n\nI was minded to seek her there, and went by the ante-chamber where the\nsick lady's writing-table and books stood, and which led to the sitting\nchamber. I trod lightly by reason that the knight's chamber was beneath;\nthus no one heard me; but I could see beyond the dark ante-chamber into\nthe further one, where wax lights were burning in a double candlestick,\nand lo! Ann was on her knees by the sick lady's couch, like to the\nlinden-tree which the storm had overthrown yesternight; and she hid her\nface in my aunt's lap and sobbed so violently that her slender body shook\nas though in a fever. And Aunt Jacoba had laid her two hands on Ann's\nhead, as it were in blessing. And I saw first one large tear, and then\nmany more, run down the face of this very woman who had cast out her own\nfair son. Often had I marked on her little finger a certain ring in which\na little white thing was set; yet was this no splinter of the bone of a\nSaint, but the first tooth her banished son had shed. And, when she\ndeemed that no man saw her, she would press her hand to her lips and kiss\nthe little tooth with fervent love. And now, whereas love had waked up\nagain in her heart, that son had his part and share in it; for albeit\nnone dared make mention of him in her presence she ever loved him as the\napple of her eye.\n\nI was no listener, yet could I not shut mine ears; I heard how the frail\nold lady exhorted the love-sick maid, and bid her trust in God, and in\nHerdegen's faithfulness. Also I heard her speak well indeed of my\nbrother's spirit and will as noble and upright; and she promised Ann to\nuphold her to the best of her power.\n\nShe bid her favorite farewell with a fond kiss, and many comforting\nwords; and as she did so I minded me of a wondrously fair maiden, the\ndaughter of Pernhart the coppersmith, known to young and old in the town\nas fair Gertrude, who, each time I had beheld her of late, meseemed had\ngrown even sadder and paler, and whom I now knew that I should never see\nmore, inasmuch as that only yestereve Uncle Christian had told us, with\ntears in his eyes, that this sweet maid had died of pining, and had been\nburied only a day or two since with much pomp. Now my aunt had heard\nthese tidings, and she had shaken her head in silence and folded her\nhands, as it were in prayer, fixing her eyes on the ground.\n\nCousin Gotz and Herdegen--fair Gertrude and my Ann; what made them so\nunlike that my aunt should bring herself to mete their bonds of love with\nso various a measure?\n\nI quitted the room when Ann came forth, and outside the door I clasped\nher in my arms; and in the last hour we spent together at the forest\nlodge she bid me greet her heart's beloved from her, and gave me for him\nthe last October rose-bud, which my uncle had plucked for her at parting.\nYet she held to her demands.\n\nShe left us after supper, escorted by Master Ulsemus. She had come hither\none sunny morn with the song of the larks, and now she departed in\ndarkness and gloom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\"By Saint Bacchus--if there be such a saint in the calendar, there is\nstuff in the lad, my boy!\" cried burly Uncle Christian Pfinzing, and he\nthumped the table with his fists so that all the vessels rang. His tongue\nwas still somewhat heavy, but he had mended much in the three weeks since\nAnn had departed, and it was hard enough by this time to get him away\nfrom the wine-jug.\n\nIt was in the refectory of the forest lodge that he had thus delivered\nhimself to my Uncle Conrad and Jost Tetzel, Ursula's father; and it was\nof my brother Herdegen that he spoke.\n\nHerdegen was healed of his bruises and his light limbs had never been\nmore nimble than now; still he bore his left arm in a sling, for there it\nwas, said he, that the horse's hoof had hit him. Whither the horse had\nfled none had ever heard; nor did any man enquire, inasmuch as it was\nonly Eppelein's nag, and my granduncle had given him a better one.\n\nMy silly brain, from the first, had been puzzled to think wherefor my\nbrother should have taken that nag to ride to see his guardian, who\nthought more than other men of a good horse. And in truth I was not far\nfrom guessing rightly, so I will forthwith set down whither indeed my\ndear brother's horse had vanished, and by what chance and hap he had\nfallen into so evil a plight.\n\nHe had aforetime met the young wench on his way from Padua to Nuremberg,\nnot far from Dachau and had then and there begun his tricks with her,\ngiving her to wit that she might find him again at the forest lodge in\nthe Lorenzer wall. Now when matters took so ill a turn, he pledged\nhimself to get her safe away from the dungeon cell. To this end he\nfeigned that he would ride into the town, after possessing himself of the\nkey of the black hole and after stowing a suit of his man's apparel and a\nloaf of bread into his saddle-poke. Then he wandered about the wood for\nsome time, and as soon as it fell dark he stole back to the house again\non foot. He had made a bold and well-devised plan, and yet he might have\ncome to a foul end; for, albeit the hounds, who knew him well, let him\npass into the cell, within he was so fiercely set upon that it needed all\nhis strength and swiftness to withstand it. The froward wretches had\nplotted to fall upon him and to escape with the wench from their prison,\neven if it were over his dead body.\n\nOne of the bear-leaders had made shift to strip the cords from his hands,\nand when my brother entered into the dark place where the prisoners lay,\nthey flew at him to fell him. But even on the threshold Herdegen saw\nthrough their purpose, and had no sooner shut the door than he drew his\nhunting knife. Then the old beldame gripped him by the throat and clawed\nhim tooth and nail; one of the ruffians beat him with a stave torn from\nthe bedstead till he weened he had broken or bruised all his limbs, while\nthe other, whose hands were yet bound, pressed between him and the door.\nIn truth he would have come to a bad end, but that the younger woman\nsaved him at the risk of her own life. The man who had rid himself of his\nbonds had raised the heavy earthen pitcher to break Herdegen's head\nwithal, when the brave wench clutched the wretch by the arm and hung on\nto him till Herdegen stuck him with his knife. Thus the ringleader fell,\nand my brother pulled up his deliverer and dragged her to the door. As he\nopened it the old woman and the other prisoner put forth their last\nstrength to force their way out, but with his strong arm he thrust them\nback and locked the door upon them.\n\nThus he led the young woman, who had come off better than he had feared\nin the fray, forth to freedom, to keep his word to her.\n\nOut in the wood, in spite of thunder and lightning, he made her to put on\nEppelein's weed and mount the nag. Thereafter he led her horse to the\nbrook, which floweth through the woods down to the meadow-land, and bid\nher ride along in the water so far as she might, to put the hounds off\nthe scent. The bread in the saddle-bag would feed her for a few days, and\nnow it lay with her to escape pursuit. And this good deed of my brother's\nhad smitten the lost creature to the heart; when he was about to help her\nto mount he dropped down on the wet ground from loss of blood, but as he\nopened his eyes again, behold, his head was resting on her lap and she\nkissed his brow. Despite her own peril she had not left him in such evil\nplight, but had done all she could to bring him to his senses; nay, she\nhad gathered leaves by the glare of the lightning to staunch the blood\nwhich flowed freely from the worst of his wounds. Nor was she to be moved\nto go on her way till he showed her that in truth he could walk.\n\nThus it befel that I long after thought of her with kindness; and indeed,\nshe was not wholly vile; and every human soul hath in it somewhat good\nwhich spurs forth to love, inasmuch as it is love which can cast light on\nall, and that full brightly; and what is bright is good; and that light\ndieth not till the last spark is dead.\n\nAs to Herdegen, verily I have never understood how he could find it in\nhis heart to peril his life for the sake of keeping his word to a\nvagabond hussy while, at the same time, he was breaking troth with the\nfairest and sweetest maid on earth. Yet I count it to him chiefly for\ngood that he could risk life and honor to hinder those who fell upon him\nso foully from escaping the arm of justice; and it is this upholding of\nthe law which truly does more to lift men above us women-folk than any\nother thing.\n\nWell, by that evening when Uncle Christian thus pledged my brother,\nHerdegen was quite himself again in mind and body. At first it had seemed\nas though a wall had been raised up between us; but after that I had told\nhim that I had concealed from Ann all that I had seen by ill-hap at the\nmoss-hut, he was as kind and trusting as of old, and he showed himself\nmore ready to give Ann the pledge she required than I had looked to find\nhim, stiff-necked as he ever was. And he hearkened unmoved when I told\nhim what Ann had said: \"That she was ready to follow him to death, but\nnot to shame.\"\n\n\"That,\" quoth he, \"she need never fear from any true man, and with all\nhis wildness he might yet call himself that.\" Then he stretched himself\nat full length on his chair, and threw his arms in the air, and cried:\n\n\"Oh, Margery. If you could but slip for one half-hour into your mad\nbrother's skin. In your own, which is so purely white, you can never,\ntill the day of doom, understand what I am. If ever I have seemed weary\nit is but to keep up a mannerly appearance; verily I could break forth\nten times a day and shoot skywards like a rocket for sheer joy in life.\nWhen that mood comes over me there is no holding me, and I should dare\nswear that the whole fair earth had been made and created for my sole and\nfree use, with all that therein is--and above all other creatures the\ndear, sweet daughters of Eve!--and I can tell you, Margery, the women\nagree with me. I have only to open my arms and they flutter into them,\nand not to close them tight--that, Margery, is too much to look for; yet\nis there but one true bliss, and but one Ann, and the best of all joys is\nto clasp her to my heart and kiss her lips. I will keep faith with her; I\nwill have nought to say to the rest. But how shall I keep them away from\nme? Can I wish that those rascals had put my eyes out, had crippled my\nlimbs, had thrashed me to a scare-crow, to the end that the maids should\nturn their backs on me? Nay, and even no rain-torrent could cool the hot\nblood of the Schoppers; no oak staff nor stone pitcher could kill the\nwild cravings within. There is nothing for it but to cast my body among\nthorns like Saint Francis. But what would even that profit me? You see\nyourself how well this skin heals of the worst wounds!\"\n\nHereupon I earnestly admonished him of his devoir to that lady who was so\ntruly his, and with whom he had exchanged rings. But he cried: \"Do you\nbelieve that I did not tell myself, every hour of the day, that she was a\nthousand-fold more worth than all the rest put together? Never could I\ndeem any maid so sweet as she has been ever since we were children\ntogether; nay, and if I lost her I should utterly perish, for it is from\nher that I, a half-ruined wretch, get all that yet is best in me!\"\n\nAnd many a time did I hear him utter the like; and when I saw his large\nblue eyes flash as he spoke, while he pushed the golden curls back from\nhis brow, verily he was so goodly a youth to look upon that it was easy\nto view that the daughters of Eve might be ready to cast themselves into\nhis arms.\n\nThis evening, as it fell, Aunt Jacoba was not with her guests, but\nunwillingly, inasmuch as we were to depart homewards next morning, and\nthe gentlemen sat late over their farewell cups. It had become Cousin\nMaud's care to hinder Uncle Christian from drinking more freely than he\nought; but this evening he had made the task a hard one; nay, when she\nsteadfastly forbade him a third cup he got it by craft and in spite of\nher, nor could she persuade him to forego the dangerous joy. When he had\ncried, as has been told, that \"there was stuff\" in my brother, it was by\nreason of his having perceived that Herdegen had already filled his cup\nfor the fourteenth time, and when the youth had drunk it off the old man\nsang out in high glee:\n\n          \"Der Eppela Gaila von Dramaus\n          Reit' allezeit zu vierzeht aus!\"\n\n   [An old popular rhyme in Nuremberg. \"Eppela (Apollonius) Gaila of\n   Dramaus--or Drameysr--could always go as far as fourteen cups.\"\n   Apollonius von Gailingen was a brigand chief who brought much damage\n   and vexation on the town. Drameysel, in popular form Dramaus, was\n   his stronghold near Muggendorf in Swiss Franconia.]\n\n\"Now, if the boy can drink three times the mystic seven, he will do what\nI could do at his age.\"\n\nAnd presently Herdegen did indeed drink his one and twenty cups, and when\nat last he paced the whole length of the great dining hall on one seam of\nthe flooring the old man was greatly pleased, and rewarded him with the\ngift of a noble tankard which he himself had won of yore at a drinking\nbout. All this made good sport for us, save only for Jost Tetzel, who was\nhimself a right moderate man; indeed, in aftertimes, when at Venice I saw\nhow that wealthy and noble gentlemen drank but sparingly of the juice of\nthe grape, I marvelled wherefor we Germans are ever proud of a man who is\nable to drink deep, and apt to look askance at such as fear to see the\nbottom of the cup. And if I had an answer ready, that likewise I owed to\nmy uncle Christian; inasmuch as that very eve, when I would fain have\nwarned Herdegen against the good liquor, my uncle put in his word and\nsaid it was every man's duty to follow in the ways of Saint George the\ndragon-killer, and to quell and kill every fiend; be it what it might.\n\"Now in the wine cup, quoth he, there lurks a dragon named drunkenness,\nand it beseemeth German valor and strength not merely to vanquish it, but\neven to make it do good service: The fiend of the grape, like the serpent\nkilled by the saint, has two wide pinions, and the true German drinker\nmust make use of them to soar up to the seventh heaven.\"\n\nAnd as concerns my Herdegen, I must confess that when he had well drunk\nhis spirits were higher, his mind clearer, and his song more glad; and\nthis is not so save in those dragon-slayers who have been blessed with a\nfine temper and a strong brain inherited from their parents.\n\nEvery evening had there been the like mirthful doings over their wine;\nbut Sir Franz had been ever absent. He was even now forced to remain in\nhis chamber, albeit Master Ulsenius had declared that his life was out of\ndanger. The damage done to his lungs he must to be sure carry to his\ngrave, nor could he be able to follow us for some weeks yet. He was not\nto think of making the journey to his own home in Bohemia during this\nwinter season, and at this farewell drinking bout we held council as to\nwhose roof he might find lodging under. He, for his part, would soonest\nhave found shelter with us; but Cousin Maud refused it, and with good\nreason, inasmuch as I had freely told her that never in this world would\nI hearken to his suit.\n\nAt last it seemed plain that it was Jost Tetzel's part to offer him a\nhome in his great house; nor did he refuse, by reason that Sir Franz von\nWelemisl was a man of birth and wealth, and his Bohemian and Hungarian\nkin stood high at the Imperial court.\n\nNext morning, as we drank the stirrup cup, my eyes filled with tears, and\nit was with a sad heart that I bid farewell to the woods, to my uncle,\nand to Aunt Jacoba, whom I had during my sojourn learnt to love as was\nher due. I, like Ann, rode home in a more sober mood than I had come in;\nfor I was no more a child and an end must ever come to wild mirth.\n\nMy new squire Akusch rode behind me, and thus, on a fine November day, we\nmade our way back to Nuremberg, in good health and spirits. The camels,\nthe bear, and the monkeys, which had been taken from the vagabonds, were\nsafely cared for in the Hallergarden, and the rogues themselves had been\nhanged God have mercy on their souls!\n\nAnn had had tidings of our home-coming, yet I found her not at our house,\nand when I had waited for her till evening, and in vain, I sought her in\nher own dwelling. But no sooner had I crossed the threshold of the Venice\nhouse than I was aware that all was not well; inasmuch as that here,\nwhere there were ever half a dozen pairs of little feet hopping up and\ndown, and no end of music and singing from morning till night, all was\nstrangely silent. I stood to hearken, and I now perceived that the metal\nplate whereon the knocker fell was wrapped in felt.\n\nThis foreboded evil, and a vision rose before me of two biers; on one lay\nAnn, pale and dumb, and on the other my Cousin Gotz's sweetheart, fair\nGertrude, the copper-smith's daughter. Then I heard steps on the stair\nand the vision faded; and I breathed once more, for Ann's grandfather,\nthe old lute-player Gottlieb Spiesz, came towards me, with deep lines of\nsorrow on his kind face and a finger on his lips; and he told me that his\nson was lying sick of a violent brain fever, and that Master Ulsenius had\nfeared the worst since yestereve.\n\nHis voice broke with sheer grief; nevertheless his serving lad was\ncarrying his lute after him, and as he gave me his hand to bid me\ngood-day he told me that Ann was above tending her father. \"And I,\" quoth\nhe, and his voice was weary but not bitter, \"I must go to work--there is\nso much needed here, and food drops into no man's lap! First to the\nTetzels to teach the young ones a madrigal to sing for Master Jost's\nfiftieth birthday. And they count on your help and your brother's, sweet\nMistress.--Well, children, be happy while it is yet time!\"\n\nHe passed his hand across his eyes, and glanced up at the top room where\nhis son lay with aching head, and so went forth to teach light-hearted\nyoung creatures to sing festal rounds and catches.\n\nIn a minute I had Ann in my arms; yea, and she was as sweet and bright as\never. The stern duty she had had to do had been healthful, albeit she had\ngood cause to fear for the future; for, with her father, the household\nwould lose the bread-winner.\n\nIt was an unspeakable joy to me to be able to assure her of Herdegen's\nfaithful love, and to repeat to her the many kind words he had spoken\nconcerning her. And she was right glad to hear them; and whereas true\nlove is a flower which, when it droops, needs but a little drop of dew to\nuplift it again, hers had already raised its head somewhat after my last\nletter.\n\nAnd at this, the time of the worst sorrow she had known, another great\ncomfort had been vouchsafed to her: Master Ulsenius and his good wife,\nhaving had her to lodge with them the night of her return from the\nforest, had taken much fancy to her, and the goodhearted leech, a man of\ngreat learning, had been fain to admit her to the use of his fine\nlibrary. Thus I found Ann of brave cheer notwithstanding her woe; and if\nheartfelt prayers for a sick man might have availed him, it was no blame\nto me when her father made a sad and painful end on the fifth day after\nmy home-coming. When I heard the tidings meseemed that a cold hand had\nbeen laid on my glad faith; for it was hard indeed for a poor,\nshort-sighted human soul to see to what end and purpose this man should\nhave been snatched away in the prime of age and strength.\n\nTo keep his large family, to free the little house from debt, and to lay\naside a small sum, he had undertaken, besides the duties of his place,\nthe stewardship of certain private properties; thus he had many a time\nturned night into day, and finally, albeit a stalwart man, he had fallen\nill of the brain fever which had carried him off. It seemed, then, that\nhonest toil and brave diligence had but earned the heaviest dole that\ncould befall a man in his state of life; namely: to depart from those he\nloved or ever he could provide for their future living.\n\nWe all followed him to the grave, and it was by the bier of her worthy\nfather that Ann for the first time met my brother once more. There was a\ngreat throng present, and he could do no more than press her hand with\nsilent ardor; yet, at the same time he met her eye with such a truthful\ngaze that it was as a promise, a solemn pledge of faithfulness.\n\nThe prebendary of Saint Laurence, Master von Hellfeld, spoke the funeral\nsermon, and that in a right edifying manner; and whereas he took occasion\nto say that our Lord and Redeemer would bid all to be his guests and hold\nHimself their debtor who should show true Christian love towards these\nwho henceforth had no father, Herdegen privily clasped my hand tightly.\n\nKunz likewise was present, and standing by the body of the man who had\never loved him best of us three, he wept as sorely as though he had lost\nhis own father.\n\nThe gentlemen of the council were all assembled to do the last honors to\none whose office had brought them closely together, and I marked that\nmore than one nudged his neighbor to note Ann's more than common beauty,\nwho in her black weed stood among her young brethren and sisters as a\nconsoling angel, who weepeth with them that weep and comforteth the\nsorrowing. And so it came about that I heard many a father of fair\ndaughters confess that this maid had not her like for beauty in all\nNuremberg. And this came to Herdegen's ears, and I could see that it\nuplifted his spirit and confirmed him in good purpose.\n\nIt soon befell that he might show by deed of what mind he was. Master\nHolzschuher, the notary, who was near of kin and a right good friend of\nCousin Maud's, had been named guardian of his children by the deceased\nMaster Spiesz, and he it was who, in our house one day, said that the\nwidow and orphans were in better care than he had looked for, and could\nkeep their little house over their heads if wealthy neighbors could be\nmoved to open their purses and pay off a debt that was upon it. Then my\nbrother sprang up and declared that the family of an upright and faithful\nservant of the State, and of a friend of the Schoppers, should have some\nbetter and more honorable means of living than beggars' pence. He was not\nyet of full age, but it was his intent to demand forthwith of our\nguardian Im Hoff so much of that which would be his, as might be needed\nto release the house from the burden of debt; and albeit Master\nHolzschuher shook his head thereat, and this was no light thing that\nHerdegen had undertaken, he departed at once to seek his granduncle.\n\nFrom him indeed he met with rougher treatment than he had looked for; for\nthe old man made the diligent stewardship of these trust-moneys a point\nof honor, to the end that when he should give an account of them before\nthe city council it might be seen, by the greatness of the sum, how wise\nand well advised he had been in getting increase. What my brother called\n\"beggars' pence,\" he said, was a well-earned guerdon which did the dead\nclerk's family an honor and was no disgrace; he was indeed minded to pay\none-third of the whole sum at his own charges. As to the moneys left to\nus three by our parents, not a penny thereof would he ever part with.\nMoreover, Ann's rare charm had touched even my grand-uncle's heart, and\nhe must have been dull-witted indeed if he had not hit on Herdegen's true\nreasons; and these in his eyes would be the worst of the matter,\nforasmuch as he was firmly bent on bringing Ursula Tetzel and Herdegen\ntogether so soon as my brother should have won his doctor's hood.\n\nThus it came to pass that, for the first time, our grand-uncle parted\nfrom his favorite nephew in wrath, and when Herdegen came home with\ncrimson cheeks and almost beside himself, he confessed to me that for the\npresent he had not yet been so bold as to tell the old man how deeply he\nwas pledged to Ann, but in all else had told him the plain truth.\n\nAt supper Herdegen scarce ate a morsel, for he could not bring himself to\nendure that his betrothed should sink so low as to receive an alms. He\nrose from table sullen and grieved, and whereas Cousin Maud could not\nendure to see her favorite go to rest in so much distress of mind, she\nled him aside, and inasmuch as she had already guessed how matters stood\nbetwixt him and Ann, not without some fears, she spoke to him kindly, and\ndeclared herself ready to free the Spiesz household from debt without any\nhelp of strangers. To see him and her dear Ann happy she would gladly\nmake far greater sacrifices, for indeed she did not at all times know\nwhat she might do with her own money.\n\nNo later than next morning the matter was privily settled by our notary;\nand albeit Master Holzschuher did so dispose things as though the\ndeceased had left money to pay the debt withal, Ann saw through this,\nwhereas her beautiful mother did but thoughtlessly rejoice over such good\nfortune.\n\nHenceforth it was Ann's little hand which ruled the fatherless household\nwith steadfast thrift, while Mistress Giovanna, as had ever been her\nwont, lived only to take care of the children's garments, that they\nshould be neat and clean, of the flowers in the window and the beautiful\nneedlework, and to fondle the little ones, so soon as she had got through\nher light toil in the kitchen.\n\nIt was granted to her and hers that they should dwell henceforth forever\nin the house by the Pegnitz, humbly indeed, but honorably and without the\naid of strangers. One alms to be sure was bestowed on them soon after the\nfirst day of each month, and that right privily; for at that time without\nfail a little packet in which were two Hungarian ducats was found on the\nthreshold of the hall. And who was the giver of this kind token would\nhave remained secret till doomsday had not Susan by chance, and to his\ngreat vexation, betrayed my brother Kunz. My grand-uncle had granted him\nthree ducats a month since he had left school, and of these he ever\nprivily gave two to help the household ruled over by Ann. Our old Susan\nit was who aided him in the matter, so, when he was by any means hindered\nfrom laying the little packet on the threshold, she had to find an excuse\nfor going to the little house by the river.\n\nThe worshipful council and many friends whose good-will the deceased\nscribe had won, got the orphans into the best schools in the town, and\nwhat Ann had learned as head of the school at the Carthusian convent she\nnow handed down to her younger sisters by diligent teaching; and, as of\nyore, she gave her most loving care to her little deaf and dumb brother.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Be happy while it is yet time\n     Germans are ever proud of a man who is able to drink deep\n     On with a new love when he had left the third bridge behind him\n     The not over-strong thread of my good patience\n     Vagabond knaves had already been put to the torture\n\n\n\n\nMARGERY\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nHerdegen was to be back in Padua before Passion week, and I shall\nremember with thankfulness to the day of my death the few months after\nworthy Veit Spiesz's burial and before my brother's departure. Not a day\npassed without our meeting; and after my heart had moved me to tell\nCousin Maud all that had happened, and Herdegen had given his consent, we\nwere rid once for all of the mystery which had at first weighed on our\nsouls.\n\nVerily the worthy lady found it no light matter to look kindly on this\nearly and ill-matched betrothal; yet had she not the heart, nor the\npower, to make any resistance. When two young folks who are dear to her\nare brimfull of high happiness, the woman who would turn them out of that\nGarden of Eden and spoil their present bliss with warnings of future woe\nmust be of another heart and mind than Cousin Maud. She indeed foresaw\ngrief to come in many an hour of mistrust by day and many a sleepless\nnight, more especially by reason of her awe and dread of my grand-uncle;\nand indeed, she herself was not bereft of the old pride of race which\ndwells in every Nuremberger who is born under a knight's coat of arms.\nThat Ann was poor she held of no account; but that she was not of noble\nbirth was indeed a grief and filled her with doubts. But then, when her\nbest-beloved Herdegen's eyes shone so brightly, and she saw Ann cling to\nhim with maidenly rapture, vexation and care were no more.\n\nIf I had sung a loud hymn of praise in the woods over their spring and\nautumn beauty--and verily it had welled up from my heart--I was ready to\nthink winter in the town no less gladsome, in especial under the shelter\nof a home so warm and well built as our old Schopper-hof.\n\nIn the last century, when, at the time of the Emperor Carolus--[Charles\nIV., 1348]--coming to the throne, the guilds, under the leadership of the\nGaisbarts and Pfauentritts, had risen against the noble families and the\nworshipful council, they accused the elders of keeping house not as\nbeseemed plain citizens but after the manner of princes; and they were\nnot far wrong, for indeed I have heard tell that when certain merchants\nfrom Scandinavia came to our city, they said that the dwelling of a\nNuremberg noble was a match in every way for their king's palace.\n\n   [Gaisbart (goat's beard) and Pfauentritt (peacock-strut), were\n   nicknames given to the leaders of the guilds who rebelled against\n   the patrician families in Nuremberg, from whom alone the aldermen or\n   town-council could be elected. This patrician class originated in\n   1198 under the Emperor Henry IV., who ennobled 38 families of the\n   citizens. They were in some sort comparable with the families\n   belonging to the Signoria at Venice, from whom, in the same way, the\n   great council was chosen.]\n\nAs touching our house, it was four stories high, and with seven windows\nin every story; with well devised oriels at the corners, and pointed\nturrets on the roof. The gables were on the street, in three steps; over\nthe great house door there was our coat of arms, the three links of the\nSchopppes and the fool's head with cap and bells as a crest on the top of\nthe casque. The middle windows of the first and second stories were of\nnoble size, and there glittered therein bright and beautiful panes of\nVenice glass, whereas the other windows were of small roundels set in\nlead.\n\nAnd while from outside it was a fine, fair house to look upon, I never\nhope to behold a warmer or more snug and comfortable dwelling than the\nliving-rooms within which was our home the winter through; albeit I found\nthe saloons and chambers in the palaces of the Signori at Venice loftier\nand more airy, and greater and grander. Whenever I have been homesick\nunder the sunny blue sky of Italy, it was for the most part that I longed\nafter the rich, fresh green foliage and flowing streams of my own land;\nbut, next to them, after our pleasant chamber in the Schopper-house, with\nits warm, green-tiled stove, with the figures of the Apostles, and the\ncorner window where I had spun so many a hank of fine yarn, and which was\nso especially mine own--although I was ever ready and glad to yield my\nright to it, when Herdegen required it to sit in and make love to his\nsweetheart.\n\nThe walls of this fine chamber were hung with Flanders tapestry, and I\ncan to this day see the pictures which were so skilfully woven into it.\nThat I loved best, from the time when I was but a small thing, was the\nBirth of the Saviour, wherein might be seen the Mother and Child, oxen\nand asses, the three Holy Kings from the East--the goodliest of them all\na blackamoor with a great yellow beard flowing down over his robes. On\nthe other hangings a tournament might be seen; and I mind me to this day\nhow that, when I was a young child, I would gaze up at the herald who was\nblowing the trumpet in fear lest his cheeks should burst, inasmuch as\nthey were so greatly puffed out and he never ceased blowing so hard.\nBetween the top of these hangings and the ceiling was a light wood\ncornice of oak-timber, on which my father, God rest him, had caused\nvarious posies to be carved of his own devising. You might here read:\n\n          \"Like a face our life may be\n          To which love lendeth eyes to see.\"\n\nOr again,\n\n          \"The Lord Almighty hides his glorious face\n          That so we may not cease to seek his grace.\"\n\nOr else,\n\n          \"The Lord shall rule my life while I sit still,\n          And rule it rightly by his righteous will.\"\n\nAnd whereas my father had loved mirthful song he had written in another\nplace:\n\n          \"If life be likened to a thorny place\n          Song is the flowery spray that lends it grace.\"\n\nSome of these rhymes had been carved there by my grandfather, for example\nthese lines:\n\n          \"By horse and wain I've journeyed up and down,\n          Yet found no match for this my native town.\"\n\nAnd under our coat of arms was this posy.\n\n          \"While the chain on the scutcheon holds firm and fast\n          The fool on the crest will be game to the last.\"\n\nOf the goodly carved seats, and the cushions covered with motley woven\nstuffs from the Levant, right pleasant to behold, of all the fine\ntreasures on the walls, the Venice mirrors, and the metal cage with a\ngrey parrot therein, which Jordan Kubbelmg, the falconer from Brunswick,\nhad given to my dear mother, I will say no more; but I would have it\nunderstood that all was clean and bright, well ordered and of good\nchoice, and above all snug and warm. Nay, and if it had all been far less\ncostly and good to look at, there was, as it were, a breath of home which\nmust have gladdened any man's heart: inasmuch as all these goodly things\nwere not of yesterday nor of to-day, but had long been a joy to many an\none dear to us; so that our welfare in that dwelling was but the\ncontinuing of the good living which our parents and grandparents had\nknown before us.\n\nHowbeit, those who will read this writing know what a patrician's house\nin Nuremberg is wont to be; and he who hath lived through a like\nchildhood himself needs not to be told how well hide and seek may be\nplayed in a great hall, or what various and merry pastime can be devised\nin the twilight, in a dining hall where the lights hang from the huge\nbeams of the ceiling; and we for certain knew every game that was worthy\nto be named.\n\nBut by this time all this was past and gone; only the love of song would\nnever die out in the dwelling of the man who had been well-pleased to\nhear himself called by his fellows \"Schopper the Singer.\" Ah! how\nmarvellous well did their voices sound, Ann's and my brother's, when they\nsang German songs to the lute or the mandoline, or perchance Italian\nairs, as they might choose. But there was one which I could never weary\nof hearing and which, meseemed, must work on Herdegen's wayward heart as\na cordial. The words were those of Master Walther von der Vogelweirde,\nand were as follows:\n\n          \"True love is neither man nor maid,\n          No body hath nor yet a soul,\n          Nor any semblance here below,\n          Its name we hear, itself unknown.\n          Yet without love no man may win\n          The grace and favor of the Lord.\n          Put then thy trust in those who love;\n          In no false heart may Love abide.\"\n\nAnd when they came to the last lines Kunz would ofttimes join in, taking\nthe bass part or continuo to the melody. Otherwise he kept modestly in\nthe background, for since he had come to know that Herdegen and Ann were\nof one mind he waited on her as a true and duteous squire, while he was\nnow more silent than in past time, and in his elder brother's presence\nalmost dumb. Yet at this I marvelled not, inasmuch as I many a time\nmarked that brethren are not wont to say much to each other, and even\nbetween friends the one is ready enough to be silent if the other takes\nthe word. Moreover at Easter Kunz was likewise to quit home, and go to\nVenice at my granduncle's behest. Herdegen's love for his brother had, of\na certainty, suffered no breach; but, like many another disciple of\nMinerva, he was disposed to look down on the votaries of Mercury.\n\nNevertheless the links of the Schopper chain, to which Ann had now been\njoined as a fourth, held together right bravely, and when we sang not,\nbut met for friendly talk, our discourse was but seldom of worthless,\nvain matters, forasmuch as Herdegen was one of those who are ready and\nfree of speech to impart what he had himself learned, and it was Ann's\nespecial gift to listen keenly and question discreetly.\n\nAnd what was there that my brother had not learned from the great\nGuarino, and the not less great Humanist, his disciple Vittorino da\nFeltre, at that time Magistri at Padua? And how he had found the time, in\na right gay and busy life, to study not merely the science of law but\nalso Greek, and that so diligently that his master was ever ready to laud\nhim, was to me a matter for wonder. And how gladly we hearkened while he\ntold us of the great Plato, and gave us to know wherefore and on what\ngrounds his doctrine seemed to him, Herdegen, sounder and loftier than\nthat of Aristotle, concerning whom he had learned much erewhile in\nNuremberg. And whereas I was moved to fear lest these works of the\nheathen should tempt him to stray from the true faith, my soul found\ncomfort when he proved to us that so glorious a lamp of the Church as\nSaint Augustine had followed them on many points. Also Herdegen had\nwritten out many verses of Homer's great song from a precious written\nbook, and had learned to master them well from the teaching of the doctor\nof Feltre. They were that portion in which a great hero in the fight, or\never he goes forth to battle, takes leave of his wife and little son; and\nto me and Ann it seemed so fine and withal so touching, that we could\nwell understand how it should be that Petrarca wrote that no more than to\nbehold a book of Homer made him glad, and that he longed above all things\nto clasp that great man in his arms.\n\nIndeed, the poems and writings of Petrarca yielded us greater delights\nthan all the Greek and Roman heathen. Master Ulsenius had before now lent\nthem to Ann, and she like a bee from a flower would daily suck a drop of\nhoney from their store. Yet was there one testimony of Petrarca's--who\nwas, for sure, of all lovers the truest--which she loved above all else.\nIn the dreadful time of the Black Death which came as a scourge on all\nthe world, and chiefly on Italy, in the past century, the lady to whom he\nhad vowed the deepest and purest devotion, appeared to him in a dream one\nfair spring morning as an angel of Heaven. And whereas he inquired of her\nwhether she were in life, she answered him in these words: \"See that thou\nknow me; for I am she who led thee out of the path of common men,\ninasmuch as thy young heart clung to me.\" And lo! on that very sixth of\nApril, which brought him that vision, one and twenty years after that he\nhad first beheld her, Laura had made a pious end.\n\nWith beseeching eyes Ann would repeat to her best beloved, as they sat\ntogether in the oriel bay, how that Laura had led her Petrarca from the\nways of common men; and it went to my heart to hear her entreat him, with\ntimid and yet fond and heartfelt prayer, to grant to her to be his Laura\nand to guide him far from the beaten path, forasmuch as it was narrow and\nlow for his winged spirit. And while she thus spoke her great eyes had a\nmarvellous clear and glorious light, and when I looked in her face\nwrapped in the veil of her mourning for her father, my spirit grew\nsolemn, as though I were in church. Herdegen must have felt this\nlikewise, methinks, for he would bend the knee before her and hide his\nface in her lap, and kiss her hands again and again.\n\nBut these solemn hours were few.\n\nFirst and last it was a happy fellowship, free and gay, though mingled\nwith earnest, that held us together; and when Ann's father had been some\nfew weeks dead our old gleefulness came back to us again, and then, after\ngazing at her for a while, Herdegen would suddenly strike the lute and\nsing the old merry round:\n\n          \"Come, sweetheart, come to me.\n            Ah how I pine for thee!\n            Ah, how I pine for thee\n          Come, sweetheart, come to me.\n          Sweet rosy lips to kiss,\n            Come then and bring me bliss,\n            Come then and bring me bliss,\n          Sweet rosy lips to kiss!\"\n\nAnd we would all join in, even Cousin Maud; nay and she would look\nanother way or quit the chamber, stealing away behind Kunz and holding up\na warning finger, when she perceived how his Ann's \"sweet, rosy lips\"\ntempted Herdegen's to kiss them. But there were other many songs, and\nofttimes, when we were in a more than common merry mood, we strange young\nthings would sing the saddest tales and tunes we knew, such as that\ncalled \"Two Waters,\" and yet were we only the more gay.\n\nHerdegen could not be excused from his duty of paying his respects from\ntime to time to the many friends of our honorable family, yet would he\never keep away from dances and feastings, and when he was compelled to\nattend I was ever at his side, and it was a joy to me to see how\ncourteous, and withal how cold, was his demeanor to all other ladies.\n\nThe master's fiftieth birthday was honored in due course at the Tetzels'\nhouse, and to please my granduncle, Herdegen could not refuse to do his\npart in song and in the dance, and likewise to lead out Ursula, the\ndaughter of the house, in the dances. Nor did he lose his gay but\ncareless mien, although she would not quit his side and chose him to\ndance with her in \"The Sulkers,\" a dance wherein the man and maid first\nturn their backs on each other and then make it up and kiss. But when it\ncame to this, maiden shame sent the blood into my cheeks; for at the\nsound of the music, in the face of all the company she fell into his\narms, as it were by mishap; and it served her right when he would not\nkiss her lips, which she was ready enough to offer, but only touched her\nbrow with his.\n\nForasmuch as she had danced with him the Dance of Honor or first dance,\nit was his part to beg her hand for the last dance--the \"grandfather's\ndance;\"--[Still a well-known country dance in Germany.]--but she would\nfain punish him for the vexation he had caused her and turned her back\nupon him. He, however, would have none of this; he grasped her hand ere\nshe was aware of him, and dragged her after him. It was vain to struggle,\nand soon his strong will was a pleasure to her, and her countenance\nbeamed again full brightly, when as this dance requires, he had led the\nway with her, the rest all following, through chamber and hall, kitchen\nand courtyard, doors and windows, nay, and even the stables. In the\ncourse of this dance each one seized some utensil or house-gear, as we do\nto this day; only never a broom, which would bring ill-luck. Ursula had\nsnatched up a spoon, and when the mad sport was ended and he had let go\nher hand, she rapped him with it smartly on the arm and cried: \"You are\nstill what you ever were, in the dance at least!\"\n\nBut my brother only said: \"Then will I try to become not the same, even\nin that.\"\n\nRound the Christmas tree and at the sharing of gifts which Cousin Maud\nmade ready for Christmas eve, we were all friendly and glad at heart, and\nAnn found her way to join us after that she had put the little ones to\nbed.\n\nHerdegen said she herself was the dearest gift for which he could thank\nthe Christ-child, and he had provided for her as a costly token the great\nPetrarca's heroic poem of Africa, in which he sings the deeds of the\nnoble Scipio, and likewise his smaller poems, all written in a fair hand.\nThey made three neat books, and on the leathern cover, the binder, by\nHerdegen's orders, had stamped the words, \"ANNA-LAURA,\" in a wreath of\nfull-blown roses. Nor was she slow to understand their intent, and her\nheart was uplifted with such glad and hopeful joy that the Christ-child\nfor a certainty found no more blissful or thankful creature in all\nNuremberg that Christmas eve.\n\nThe manifold duties which filled up all her days left her but scant time\nwherein to work for him she loved; nevertheless she had wrought with her\nneedle a letter pouch, whereon the Schoppers' arms were embroidered in\nmany colored silks, and the words 'Agape' and 'Pistis'--which are in\nGreek Love and Faithfulness in Greek letters with gold thread. Cousin\nMaud had dipped deep into her purse and likewise into her linen-press,\nand on the table under the Christmas-tree lay many a thing fit for the\nbride-chest of a maid of good birth; and albeit Ann could not but rejoice\nover these gifts for their own sake, she did so all the more gladly,\ninasmuch as she guessed that Cousin Maud was well-disposed to speed her\nmarriage.\n\nWe were all, indeed, glad and thankful; all save the Magister, whose face\nwas ill-content and sour by reason that he had culled many verses and\nmaxims concerning love, for the most part from the Greek and Latin poets,\nand yet all his attempts to repeat them before Ann came to nothing,\ninasmuch as she was again and again taken up with Herdegen and with me,\nafter she had once shaken hands with him and given him her greetings.\n\nAt supper he was as dumb as the carp which were served, and it befell\nthat for the first time Herdegen took his seat between him and his\nheart's beloved; and verily I was grieved for him when, after supper, he\nwithdrew downcast to his own chamber. The rest of us went forth to Saint\nSebald's church, where that night there would be midnight matins, as\nthere was every year, and a mass called the Christ mass. Cousin Maud and\nKunz were with us, as in the old happy days when we were children and\nwhen we never missed; and in the streets as we went, we met all manner of\nfolks singing gladly:\n\n          Puer natus in Bethlehem,\n          Sing, rejoice, Jerusalem!\n\nor the carol:\n\n          Congaudeat turba fadelium!\n          Natus est rex, Salvator omnium\n          In Bethlehem.\n\nand we joined in; and at last all went together to see Ann to her home.\n\nNext evening there were more costly gifts, but albeit Puer natus was\nstill to be heard in the streets, we no longer were moved to join in.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nEvery Christmas all my grand-uncle's kith and kin, or so many of them as\nwere on good terms with him, assembled in the great house of the Im\nHoffs. Everything in that dwelling spoke of ease and wealth, and no\nbanqueting-hall could be more brightly lighted or more richly decked than\nthat where the old man welcomed us on the threshold; and yet, how well\nsoever the hearth was piled or the stove heated, a chill breath seemed to\nblow there.\n\nWhile great and small were rejoicing over the grand old knight's bounty\nhe himself would ever stand apart, and his calm, hueless countenance\nexpressed no change. Meseemed he cared but little for the pleasure he\ngave us all; yet was he not idle in the matter, nor left it to others;\nfor there was no single gift which he had not himself chosen as befitting\nhim to whom it should be given.\n\nThe trade of his great house was for the most part with Venice, and it\nwould have been easy to fancy oneself in some fine palazzo on the grand\ncanal as one marked the carpets, the mirrors, the brocade, and the\nvessels in his house; and not a few of his tokens had likewise been\nbrought from thence.\n\nBefore this largesse in his own house he was wont to bestow another, and\na very noble one, on the old men and women of the poor folks in the town;\nand when this was over he went with them to the church of Saint Aegidius,\nand washed the feet of about a score of them, which act of penitential\nhumility he was wont to repeat in Passion week.\n\nThen when he had welcomed his kin, each one to his house, he would say to\nsuch as thanked him, if it were a child, very soberly: \"Be a good child.\"\nBut for elder folks he had no more than \"It is well,\" or an almost\nchurlish: \"That is enough.\"\n\nThis evening he had given me a gown of costly brocade of Cyprus; to Kunz\neverything that a Junker might need on his travels; and to Herdegen the\nsame sword which he himself had in past time worn at court; the hilt was\nset with gems and ended in the lion rampant, couped, of the Im Hoffs.\nUrsula Tetzel, like me, had had a gown-piece which was lying near by the\nsword.\n\nHerdegen, holding the jewelled weapon in his hand, thanked his\ngrand-uncle, who muttered as was his wont \"'Tis well, 'tis well,\" when\nJost Tetzel put in his word, saying that the gift of a sword was supposed\nto part friends, but that this ill-effect might be hindered if he who\nreceived it made a return-offering to the giver, and so the token was\nmade into a purchase.\n\nAt this Herdegen hastened to take out a gold pin set with sapphire\nstones, which Cousin Maud had given him, from his neck-kerchief, to offer\nit to his uncle; but the elder would have nothing to say to such\nfoolishness, and pushed the pin away. But then when my brother did not\ncease, but besought him to accept it, inasmuch as he cared so greatly for\nhis uncle's fatherly kindness, the old knight cried that he wanted no\nsuch sparkling finery, but that the day might come when he should require\nsome payment and that Herdegen was then to remember that he was in his\ndebt.\n\nAt this minute they were hindered from further speech by the servants,\nwho came in to bid us to supper, and there stood ready wild fowl and\nfish, fruits and pastry, with the rarest wines and the richest vessels;\nthe great middle table and the side buffet alike made such a show as\nthough Pomona, Ceres, Bacchus, and Plutus had heaped it with prodigal\nhand. Yet was there no provision for merry-making. My grand-uncle loved\nto be quit of his guests at an early hour; hence no table was laid for\nthem to sit down to meat, and each one held his plate in one hand.\n\nPresently, as I strove to get free of young Master Vorchtel who had\nserved me--and by the same token made love to me--I found my cousin in\nspeech with my grand-uncle, and the last words of his urgent discourse,\nspoken as I came up with them, were that a woman of sound understanding,\nas she commonly seemed, should no longer suffer such a state of things.\n\nThen Cousin Maud answered him, saying: \"But you, my noble and worshipful\nCousin Im Hoff, know how that a Schopper is ever ready to run his head\nagainst a wall. If we strive to thwart this hot-headed boy, he will of a\ncertainty defy us; but if we leave him for a while to go his own way, the\nwaters will not be dammed up, but will run to waste in the sand.\"\n\nThis was evil hearing, and much as it vexed me Ursula chafed me even\nmore, whereas she made a feint of caring for none of the company present\nexcepting only Sir Franz--who was yet her housemate--and being still pale\nand weak needed a friendly woman's hand for many little services,\ninasmuch as even now he could scarce use his right arm. Nay, and he\nseemed to like Ursula well enough as his helper; albeit he owed all her\nsweet care and loving glances to Herdegen, for she never bestowed them\nbut when he chanced to look that way.\n\nWhen we all took leave my grand-uncle bid Herdegen stay, and Kunz waited\non us; but notwithstanding all his merry quips as we went home, not once\ncould we be moved to laughter. My heart was indeed right heavy; a bitter\ndrop had fallen into it by reason of Cousin Maud. I had ever deemed her\nincapable of anything but what was truest and best, and she had proved\nherself a double-dealer; and young as I was, and rejoicing in life, I\nsaid, nevertheless, in my soul's dejection, that if life was such that\nevery poor human soul must be ever armed with doubt, saying, \"Whom shall\nI trust or doubt?\" then it was indeed a hard and painful journey to win\nthrough.\n\nI slept in my cousin's room, and albeit Cousin Maud wist not that I had\noverheard her counsel given to my grand-uncle, she kept out of my way\nthat night, and we neither of us spoke till we said good-night. Then\ncould I no longer refrain myself, and asked whether it were verily and\nindeed her intent to part Herdegen from Ann.\n\nAnd her ill-favored countenance grew strangely puckered and her bosom\nheaved till suddenly she cried beside herself: \"Cruel! Unhappy! Oh! It\nwill eat my heart out!\" And she sobbed aloud, while I did the same,\ncrying:\n\n\"But you love them both?\"\n\n\"That I do, and that is the very matter,\" she broke in sadly enough.\n\"Herdegen, and Ann! Why, I know not which I hold the dearer. But find me\na wiser man in all Nuremberg than your grand-uncle. But verily, merciful\nVirgin, I know not what I would be at--I know not . . . !\"\n\nOn this I forgot the respect due to her and put in: \"You know not?\" And\nwhereas she made no reply, I railed at her, saying: \"And yet you gave her\nthe linen, and half the matters for her house-gear as a Christmas gift,\nas though they were known for a bride and groom to all the town. As old\nas you are and as wise, can you take pleasure in a love-match and even\nspeed it forward as you have done, and yet purpose in your soul to hinder\nit at last? And is this the truth and honesty whereof early and late you\nhave ever taught me? Is this being upright and faithful, or not rather\nspeaking with two tongues?\"\n\nMy fiery blood had again played me an evil trick, and I repented me when\nI perceived what great grief my violent speech had wrought in the dear\nsoul. Never had I beheld her so feeble and doubting, and in a minute I\nwas in her arms and a third person might have marvelled to hear us each\ncraving pardon, she for her faint-hearted fears, and I for my unseemly\noutbreak. But in that hour I became her friend, and ceased to be no more\nthan her child and fondling.\n\nHerdegen was to be ready to set forth before Passion week; but ere he\nquitted home he made all the city ring with his praises, for, whereas he\nhad hitherto won fame in the school of arms only, by the strength and\nskill of his arm, he now outdid every other in the procession of masks.\nAlbeit this custom is still kept up to this very day, yet many an one may\nhave forgotten how it first had its rise, although in my young days it\nwas well known to most folks.\n\nThis then is to record, that in the days when the guilds were in revolt\nagainst the city council, the cutlers and the fleshers alone remained\ntrue to the noble families, and whereas they refused to take any guerdon\nfor their faithfulness, which must have been paid them at the cost of the\nrest, they craved no more than the right of a making a goodly show in a\ndance and procession at the Carnival; and they were by the same token\nprivileged at that time to wear apparel of velvet and silk, like gentle\nfolks of noble and knightly degree.\n\nNow this dance and its appurtenances were known at the masked show, and\ninasmuch as the aid of the governing class was needed to keep the streets\nclear for the throng of craftsmen, and as likewise the yearly outlay was\nbeyond their means, the sons of the great houses took a pride in paying\ngoodly sums for the right of taking a place in the procession. And as for\nour high-spirited young lord, skilled as he was with his weapon, he had\nseen and taken part in many such gay carnival doings among the Italians,\nand it was a delight to him to join in the like sport at home, and many\nwere fain to gaze at him rather than at the guilds.\n\nThey assembled under the walls in two bands, and marched past the town\nhall and from thence to a dance of both guilds. Each had a dance of its\nown. The Fleshers' was such a dance as in England is called a country\ndance and they held leather-straps twisted to look like sausages; the\ncutlers' dance was less clumsy, and they carried naked swords.\n\nBut the show which most delighted the bystanders was the procession of\nmasks, wherein, indeed, there were many things pleasant and fair to\nbehold.\n\nA party of men in coarse raiment called the men of the woods, carrying\nsheaves of oak boughs with acorns, and a number of mummers in fools'\ngarb, wielding wooden bats, cleared the way for the procession; first\nthen came minstrels, with drums and pipes and trumpets and bag-pipes, and\nmerry bells ringing out withal. Next came one on horseback with nuts,\nwhich he flung down among the children, whereat there was merry scuffling\nand screaming on the ground. From the windows likewise and balconies\nthere was no end of the laughter and cries; the young squires gave the\nmaids and ladies who sat there no peace for the flowers and sweetmeats\nthey cast up at them, and eggs filled with rose-water.\n\nThis year, whereof I write, many folks in the procession wore garments of\nthe same color and shape; but among them there were some who loved a\njest, and were clothed as wild men and women, or as black-amoors, ogres\nthat eat children, ostrich-birds, and the like. Last of all came the\nchief glory of the show, various great buildings and devices drawn by\nhorses: a Ship of Fools, and behind that a wind-mill, and a fowler's\ndecoy wherein Fools, men and women both, were caught, and other such\npastimes.\n\nMy Herdegen had mingled with this wondrous fellowship arrayed as a knight\ncrusader leading three captive Saracen princes; namely, the two young\nMasters Loffelholz and Schlebitzer, who had stirred him to dress in the\nfencing-school, mounted on horses, and between them my squire Akusch on\nthe bear-leader's camel, all in white as a Son of the Desert; and the\nthree of them fettered with chains made of wood.\n\nMy grand-uncle had lent Herdegen the suit of mail he himself had worn in\nhis youth at a tournament;\n\nCousin Maud had provided his white cloak with a red cross, and as he rode\nforth on a noble black steed in mail-harness with scarlet housings--the\nfinest and stoutest horse in the Im Hoffs' stables-and his golden hair\nshining in the sun, many a maid could not take her eyes off from him.\n\nKunz, in the garb of a fool, hither and thither, nay, and everywhere at\nonce, doubtless had the better sport; but Herdegen's heart beat the\nhigher, for he could hear a thousand voices proclaiming him the most\ncomely and his troop the most princely of all; from many a window a\nflower was shed on him, or a ribband, or a knot. At last, when the dance\nwas all over, the guilds with the town-pipers betook them to the head\nconstable's quarters, where they were served with drink and ate the\nShrove-Tuesday meal of fish which was given in their honor. When the\nprocession was past and gone my grand-uncle bid Herdegen go to him, and\nthat which the old man then said and did to move him to give up his love\nwas shrewdly planned and not without effect on his mind. After looking at\nhim from head to foot, saying nothing but with no small contentment, he\nclapped him kindly on the shoulder and led him, as though by chance, up\nto the Venice mirror in the dining-hall. Then pointing to the image\nbefore him: \"A Tancred!\" he cried, \"a Godfrey! Richard of the Lion-heart!\nAnd the bride a miserable scrivener's wench!--a noble bride!\" Thereupon\nHerdegen fired up and began to speak in praise of Ann's rare and choice\nbeauty; but his guardian stopped him short, laid his arm round his\nshoulders, and muttered in his ear that in his young days likewise youths\nof noble birth had to be sure made love to the fair daughters of the\ncommon citizens, but the man who could have thought of courting one of\nthem in good faith. . . .\n\nHere he broke off with a sharp laugh, and drawing the boy closer to him,\ncried:\n\n\"No harm is meant my Tancred! And you may keep the black horse in\nremembrance of this hour.\"\n\nIt was old Berthold, my uncle's body-servant who told me all this;\nHerdegen when he came home answered none of my questions. He would not\ngrant my prayer that he should show himself to Ann in his knight's\nharness, and said somewhat roughly that she loved not such mummery. Thus\nit was not hard to guess what was in his mind; but how came it to pass\nthat this old man, whose princely wife had wrought ruin to his peace and\nhappiness, could so diligently labor to lead him he best loved on earth\ninto the like evil course? And among many matters of which I lacked\nunderstanding there was yet this one: Wherefore should Eppelein, who so\ndevoutly loved his master, and who knew right well how to value a young\nmaid's beauty--and why should my good Susan and the greater part of our\nservitors have turned so spitefully against Ann, to whom in past days\nthey were ever courteous and serviceable, since they had scented a\nbetrothal between her and my eldest brother?\n\nFrom the first I had been but ill-pleased to see Herdegen so diligent\nover this idle sport and spending so many hours away from his sweetheart,\nwhen he was so soon to quit us all. Nevertheless I had not the heart to\nadmonish him, all the more as in many a dull hour he was apt to believe\nthat, for the sake of his love, he must need deny himself sundry\npleasures which our father had been free to enjoy; and I weened that I\nknew whence arose this faint-heartedness which was so little akin to his\nwonted high spirit.\n\nLooking backward, a little before this time, I note first that Ann had\nnot been able to keep her love-matters a secret from her mother. Albeit\nthe still young and comely widow had solemnly pledged herself to utter no\nword of the matter, like most Italian women--and may be many a\nNuremberger--she could not refrain herself from telling that of which her\nheart and brain were full, deeming it great good fortune for her child\nand her whole family; and she had shared the secret with all her nearest\nfriends. Eight days before Shrove Tuesday Cousin Maud and we three\nSchoppers had been bidden to spend the evening in the house by the river,\nand Dame Giovanna, kind-hearted as ever, but not far-seeing, had likewise\nbidden her father-in-law, the lute-player, and Adam Heyden from the\ntower, and Ann's one and only aunt, the widow of Rudel Hennelein.\n\nThis Hennelein had been the town bee-master, the chief of the\nbee-keepers, who, then as now, had their business out in the\nLorenzer-Wald. His duties had been to hold an assize for the bee-keepers\nthree times in the year at a village called Feucht, and to lend an ear to\ntheir complaints; and albeit he had fulfilled his office without blame,\nhe had dwelt in strife with his wife, and being given to rioting, he was\nwont rather to go to the tavern than sit at table with his cross-grained\nwife.\n\nWhen he presently died there was but small leaving, and the widow in the\nlittle house in the milk market had need to look twice at every farthing,\nalthough she had not chick nor child. And whereas full half of the\nofferings sent by the bee-keepers to help out their master's widow were\nin honey, she strove to turn this to the best account, and to this end\nshe would by no means sell it to the dealers who would offer to take it,\nbut carried it herself in neat little crocks, one at a time, to the\nhouses of the rich folks, whereby her gains were much the greater.\n\nWhereas her husband had been a member of the worshipful class of\nmagistrates, she deemed that such trading ill-beseemed her dignity; and\nshe at all times wore a great fur hat as large round as a cart-wheel of\nfair size, and all the other array of a well-to-do housewife, though in\ntruth somewhat threadbare. Then she would offer her honey as a gift to\nthe mothers of children for their dear little ones; nor could she ever be\nmoved to name a price for her gift, inasmuch as it was not fitting that a\nbee-master's widow should do so, while it was all to her honor when a\nlittle bounty was offered as civil return.\n\nHer honey was good enough, and the children were ever glad to see her:\nall the more so for that they had their sport of her behind her back,\ninasmuch as that she was a laughable little body, who had a trick of\nrepeating the last word of every sentence she spoke. Thus she would say\nnot: \"Ah! here comes Kunz,\" but, \"Here comes Kunz Kunz.\" Moreover, she\never held her head between her two hands, tightly, as though with that\ngreat fur cap her thin neck were in danger of breaking.\n\nIn this way she had dealings with most of our noble families; and the\nyoung ones would call her not Hennelein, as her name was, but\nHenneleinlein, in jest at her foolish trick of repeating her last word.\n\nSo long as I could remember, Mistress Henneleinlein had been wont to\nbring honey to our house, and had received from Cousin Maud, besides many\na bright coin, likewise sundry worn but serviceable garments as\n\"remembrances.\" And Herdegen foremost of us all had been ready to make\nsport of her; but it had come to his knowledge that she was ever benign\nto lovers, and had helped many a couple to come together.\n\nThe glad tidings that her niece was chosen by fate to rule over the house\nof the Schoppers had filled her above all others with pride and\ncontentment, and Dame Giovanna having told her this secret and then\nbidden her to meet us, she stuck so closely to Herdegen that Ann was\nfilled with vexation and fears. I could not but mark that my brother was\nsorely ill-pleased when Dame Henneleinlein patted his arm; and when she\nkissed his sweetheart on the lips he shrank as though someone had laid\nafoul hand on his light-hued velvet doublet. He had always felt a warm\nfriendship for the worthy lute-player, who was a master in his own art;\nyea, and many a time had he right gladly mounted the tower-stairs to see\nthe old organist; but now, to be treated as a youngster of their own kith\nby these two good men filled him with loathing; for it may well be that\nmany an one whom we are well pleased to seek and truly value in his own\nhome and amid his own company, seems another man when he makes claim to\nlive with us as one of ourselves.\n\nCousin Maud had not chosen to accept Dame Giovanna's bidding, perchance\nfor my grand-uncle's sake; she thus escaped the vexation of seeing\nHerdegen, on this first night spent with his future kindred, so silent\nand moody that he was scarce like himself. He turned pale and bit his\nnether lip, as he never did but when he was mastering his temper with\ngreat pains, when Mistress Henneleinlein who had hitherto known him only\nas a roystering young blade and now interpreted his reserve and silence\nafter her own fashion noted mysteriously that the Junker would have to\ntake a large family with his young bride--though, indeed, there was a\nhope that the burden might ere long be lighter. For she went on to say,\nwith a leer at Mistress Giovanna, that so comely a step-mother would have\nsuitors in plenty, and she herself had one in her eye, if he were but\nbrought to the point, who would provide abundantly not only for the\nmother but for all the brood of little ones.\n\nThis and much more did he himself repeat to me as we walked home,\nspeaking with deep ire and in tones of wrath; and what else Dame\nHenneleinlein had poured into his ear was to me not so much unpleasing as\na cause of well-grounded fears, inasmuch as the old body had told him\nthat the man who was fain to pay his court to Mistress Giovanna was none\nother than the coppersmith, Ulman Pernhart, the father of the fair maid\nfor whose sake Aunt Jacoba had banished her only son.\n\nIn vain did I in all honesty speak the praises of the coppersmith;\nHerdegen turned a deaf ear, even as my uncle and aunt had done. The\nthought that his wife should ever be required to honor this\nhandicraftsman, if only as a step-father, and that he should hear himself\naddressed by him as \"Son,\" was too shrewd a thrust.\n\nThe next morning the Junkers had carried him off to the school of arms\nand then to the gentlemen's tavern to take his part in the masquerade;\nand when, at a later hour, after the throng had scattered, Ann came to\nour house, her lover was not at home: he had gone off again to the revels\nat the tavern where he would meet such workingmen as his sweetheart's\nfuture step-father.\n\nAt the same time, as it fell, Brother Ignatius, of the order of Grey\nFriars, had come many times to hold forth at our house, by desire of my\ngrand-uncle whose almoner he was, and when Herdegen announced to us on\nAsh Wednesday that the holy man had craved to be allowed to travel in his\ncompany as far as Ingolstadt, I foresaw no good issue; for albeit the\nFather was a right reverend priest, whose lively talk had many a time\ngiven me pleasure, it must for certain be his intent to speed my uncle's\nwishes.\n\nIn spite of all, Herdegen was in such deep grief at departing that I put\naway all doubts and fears.\n\nAnn, who felt in all matters as he felt and put her whole trust in him,\nwas wise enough to know that he could have no bond with her kith and kin;\nnay, that it must be hard on him to have to call such a woman as Mistress\nHenneleinlein his aunt. Also he and she had agreed that hereafter he\nshould dwell no more at Nuremberg, but seek some office and duty in the\nImperial service; and Sir Franz had been diligent in asking his uncle's\ngood word, he being one of those highest in power at the Emperor's court.\n\nNow, when a short time before his departing they were alone with me, Ann,\nbearing in mind this pact they had made, cried out: \"You promise me we\nshall build our nest in some place far from hence; and be it where it\nmay, wherever we may be left to ourselves and have but each other, a\nhappy life must await us.\"\n\nAt this his eyes flashed, and he cried with a lad's bold spirit:\n\n\"With a doctor's hood, at the Emperor's court, I shall ere long be\ncouncillor, and at last, God willing, Chancellor of the Realm!\"\n\nAfter this they spoke yet many loving and touching words, and when he was\nalready in the saddle and waved her a last farewell, tears flowed from\nhis eyes--\n\nI saw them for certain.--And at that moment I besought the Lord that He\nwould rather chastise and try me with pain and grief, but bring these two\ntogether and let their marriage be crowned by the highest bliss ever\nvouchsafed to human hearts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nSpring was past, and again the summer led me and Ann back into the green\nwood. Aunt Jacoba's sickness was no whit amended, and the banishment of\nher only and comely son gnawed at her heart; but the more she needed\ntending and cheering the more Ann could do for her and the dearer she\nbecame to the heart of the sick woman.\n\nKunz was ever in Venice. Herdegen wrote right loving letters at first\nfrom Padua, but then they came less often, and the last Ann ever had to\nshow me was a mere feint which pleased me ill indeed, inasmuch as, albeit\nit was full of big words, it was empty of tidings of his life or of his\nheart's desire. What all this must mean Ann, with her clear sense and\ntrue love, could not fail to see; nevertheless she ceased not from\nbuilding on her lover's truth; or, if she did not, she hid that from all\nthe world, even from me.\n\nWe came from the forest earlier than we were wont, on Saint Maurice's\nday, forasmuch as that Ann could not be longer spared and, now more than\never, I could not bear to leave her alone.\n\nUncle Christian rode to the town with us, and if he had before loved her\nwell, in this last long time of our all being together he had taken her\nyet more into his heart. And now, whereas he had given her the right to\nwarn him against taking too much wine, he was fain to call her his little\nwatchman, by reason that it is the watchman's part to give warning of the\nenemy's onset.\n\nBut while Ann was so truly beloved at the Forest lodge, on her return\nhome she found no pleasant welcome. In her absence the coppersmith\nPernhart had wooed her mother in good earnest, and the eldest daughter\nnot being on the spot, had sped so well that the widow had yielded. Ann\nonce made bold to beseech her mother with due reverence to give up her\npurpose, but she fell on her child's neck, as though Ann were the mother,\nentreating her, with many tears, to let her have her will. Ann of a\ncertainty would not now be long under her roof to cherish the younger\nchildren, and it was not in her power as their mother to guide them in\nthe way in which their father would have them to walk. For this Ulman\nPernhart was the fittest man. Her dead husband had been a schoolmate of\nher suitor's, and of his brother the very reverend lord Bishop, and he\nhad thought highly of Master Ulman. This it was gave her strength to\nfollow the prompting of her heart. In this way did the mother try to move\nher child to look with favor on the desire of her fiery Italian heart,\nnow shame-faced and coaxing, and anon with tears in her eyes; and albeit\nthe widow was past five and thirty and her suitor nigh upon fifty, yet no\nman seeing the pair together would have made sport of their love. The\nVenice lady had lost so little of her youthful beauty and charms that it\nwas in truth a marvel; and as to Master Pernhart, he was not a man to be\noverlooked, even among many.\n\nAs he was at this time he might be taken for the very pattern of a\nstalwart and upright German mastercraftsman; nay, nor would a knight's\nharness of mail have ill-beseemed him. Or ever he had thought of paying\ncourt to Mistress Giovanna I had heard the prebendary Master von Hellfeld\nspeak of Pernhart as a right good fellow, of whom the city might be\nproud; and he then spoke likewise of Master Ulman's brother, who had\nbecome a servant of the Holy Church, and while yet a young man had been\nraised to the dignity of a bishop.\n\nWhen the great schism had come to a happy ending, and one Head, instead\nof three, ruled the Church, Pope Martin V. had chosen him to sit in his\ncouncil and kept him at Rome, where he was one of the powers of the\nCuria.\n\nAlbeit his good German name of Pernhart was now changed to Bernardi, he\nhad not ceased to love his native town and his own kin, and had so\nlargely added to the wealth and ease of his own mother and his only\nbrother that the coppersmith had been able to build himself a dwelling\nlittle behind those of the noble citizens. He had been forlorn in his\ngreat house of late, but no such cause as that was needed to move him to\ncast his eye on the fair widow of his very reverend brother's best\nfriend.\n\nWhile Ann was away in the forest Mistress Giovanna had let Pernhart into\nthe secret of her daughter's betrothal to Herdegen, and so soon as the\nyoung maid was at home again he had spoken to her of the matter, telling\nher, in few but hearty words, that she would be ever welcome to his house\nand there fill the place of his lost Gertrude; but that if she was fain\nto wed an honest man, he would make it his business to provide her\noutfit.\n\nThese things, and much more, inclined me in his favor, little as I\ndesired that he should wed the widow, for Herdegen's sake; and when I met\nhim for the first time as betrothed to Ann's mother, and the grandlooking\nman shook my hand with hearty kindness, and then thanked me with warmth\nand simplicity for whatsoever I had done for her who henceforth would be\nhis dearest and most precious treasure, I returned the warm grasp of his\nhand with all honesty, and it was from the bottom of my heart that I\nanswered him, saying that I gladly hailed him as a new friend, albeit I\ncould not hope for the same from my brother.\n\nHe heard this with a strange smile, half mournful, but, meseemed, half\nproud; then he held forth his horny, hard-worked hand, and said that to\nbe sure it was an ill-matched pair when such a hand as that should clasp\na soft and white one such as might come out of a velvet sleeve; that\nwhereas, in order to win the woman he loved, he had taken her tribe of\nchildren into the bargain, and fully purposed to have much joy of them\nand be a true father to them, my lord brother, if his love were no less\ntrue, must make the best of his father-in-law, whose honor, though he was\nbut of simple birth, was as clean as ever another man's in the eyes of\nGod.\n\nAnd as we talked I found there was more and nobler matter in his brain\nand heart than I had ever weened I might find in a craftsman. We met\noften and learned to know each other well, and one day it fell that I\nasked him whether he had in truth forgiven the Junker through whom he had\nlost the one he loved best.\n\nHe forthwith replied that I was not to lay the blame on one whom he would\never remember as a brave and true-hearted youth, inasmuch as it was not\nmy cousin, but he himself who had put an end to the love-making between\nGotz and Gertrude. It was after the breach between Gotz and his parents\nthat it had been most hard to turn a deaf ear to the prayers of the\ndevoted lover and of his own child. But, through all, he had borne in\nmind the doctrine by which his father had ever ruled his going, namely,\nnot to bring on our neighbor such grief as would make our own heart sore.\nTherefore he examined himself as to what he would feel towards one who\nshould make his child to wed against his will with a suitor he liked not;\nand whereas his own dignity as a man and his care for his daughter's\nwelfare forbade that he should give her in marriage to a youth whose\nkinsfolks would receive her with scorn and ill-feeling, rather than with\nlove and kindness, he had at last set his heart hard against young\nWaldstromer, whom he had loved as his own son, and forced him to go far\naway from his sweetheart. I, in my heart, was strangely wroth with my\ncousin in that he had not staked his all to win so fair a maid; nay, and\nI made so bold as to confess that in Gertrude's place I should have gone\nafter my lover whithersoever he would, even against my father's will.\n\nAnd again that proud smile came upon Ulman Pernhart's bearded lips, and\nhis eye flashed fire as he said: \"My life moves in a narrow round, but\nall that dwell therein bend to my will as the copper bends under my\nhammer. If you think that the Junker gave in without a struggle you are\ngreatly mistaken; after I had forbidden him the house, he had tempted\nGertrude to turn against me and was ready to carry her off; nay, and\nwould you believe it, my own mother sided with the young ones. The priest\neven was in readiness to marry them privily, and they would have won the\nday in spite of me. But the eyes of jealousy are ever the sharpest; my\nhead apprentice, who was madly in love with the maid, betrayed the plot,\nand then, Mistress Margery, were things said and done--things concerning\nwhich I had best hold my peace. And if you crave to know them, you may\nask my mother. You will see some day, if you do not scorn to enter my\nhouse and if you gain her friendship--and I doubt not that you will,\nalbeit it is not granted to every one--she will be glad enough to\ncomplain of my dealings in this matter--mine, her own son's, although on\nother points she is wont to praise my virtues over-loudly.\"\n\nThis discourse raised my cousin once more to his old place in my opinion,\nand I knew now that the honest glance of his blue eyes, which doubtless\nhad won fair Gertrude's heart, was trustworthy and true.\n\nMaster Ulman Pernhart was married in a right sober fashion to fair\nMistress Giovanna, and I remember to this day seeing them wed in Saint\nLaurence's Church. It was a few months before this that I was taken for\nthe first time to a dance at the town hall. There, as soon as I had\nforgotten my first little fears, I took my pleasure right gladly to the\nsound of the music, and I verily delighted in the dance. But albeit I\nfound no lack of young ladies my friends, and still less of youths who\nwould fain win my favor, I nevertheless lost not the feeling that I had\nleft part of my very being at home; nay, that I scarce had a right to\nthese joys, since my brothers were in a distant land and Ann could not\nshare them with me, and while I was taking my pleasure she had the\nheart-ache.\n\nThen was there a second dance, and a third and fourth; and at home there\ncame a whole troop of young men in their best apparel to ask of Cousin\nMaud, each after his own fashion, to be allowed to pay court to me; but\nalbeit they were all of good family, and to many a one I felt no dislike,\nI felt nothing at all like love as I imagined it, and I would have\nnothing to say to any one of them. And all this I took with a light\nheart, for which Cousin Maud many a time,--and most rightly--reproved me.\n\nBut at that time, and yet more as the months went on, I hardly knew my\nown mind; another fate than my own weighed most on my soul; and I thought\nso little of my own value that meseemed it could add to no man's\nhappiness to call me his. All else in life passed before my eyes like a\nshadow; a time came when all joy was gone from me, and my suitors sought\nme in vain in the dancing-hall, for a great and heavy grief befell me.\n\nAll was at an end--even now I scarce can bear to write the words--between\nAnn and Herdegen; and by no fault of hers, but only and wholly by reason\nof his great and unpardonable sin.\n\nBut I will write down in order how it came about. So early as at\nMartinmas I heard from Cousin Maud--and my grand-uncle had told her--that\nHerdegen had quitted Padua and that it was his intent to take the degree\nof doctor at Paris whither the famous Gerson's great genius was drawing\nthe studious youth of all lands; and his reason for this was that a\nbloody fray had made the soil of Italy too hot for his feet. \"These\ntidings boded evil; all the more as neither we nor Ann had a word from\nHerdegen in his own hand to tell us that he had quitted the country and\nhis school. Then, in my fear and grief, I could not help going to my\ngrand-uncle, but he would have nothing to say to me or to Cousin Maud, or\nelse he put us off with impatient answers, or empty words that meant\nnothing. Thus we lived in dread and sorrow, till at last, a few days\nbefore Pernhart was married, a letter came to me from Eppelein, and I\nhave it before me now, among other papers all gone yellow.\n\n\"From your most duteous and obedient servant Eppelein Gockel to the lady\nMargery Schopper,\" was the superscription. And he went on to excuse\nhimself in that he knew not the art of writing, and had requested the\nservice of the Magister of the young Count von Solms.\n\n\"And inasmuch as I erewhile pledged my word as a, man to the illustrious\nand worshipful Mistress Margery, in her sisterly care, that I would write\nto her if we at any time needed the favor of her counsel and help, I\nwould ere now have craved for the Magister's aid if the all-merciful\nVirgin had not succored us in due season.\n\n\"Nevertheless my heart was moved to write to you, gracious and worshipful\nMistress Margery, inasmuch as I wist you would be in sorrow, and longing\nfor tidings of my gracious master; for it is by this time long since I\ngave his last letter for the Schopperhof in charge to the German\npost-runner; and meseems that my gracious master has liked to give his\nprecious time to study and to other pastimes rather than to those who,\nbeing his next of kin, are ever ready and willing to be patient with him;\nas indeed they could if they pleased enquire of my lord the knight Sebald\nIm Hoff as to his well-being. My gracious master gave him to know by long\nletters how matters were speeding with him, and of a certainty told him\nhow that the old Marchese and his nephews, malicious knaves, came to\nblows with us at Padua by reason of the old Marchese's young and fair\nlady, who held my gracious master so dear that all Padua talked thereof.\n\n\"Nevertheless it was an evil business, inasmuch as three of them fell on\nus in the darkness of night; and if the merciful Saints had not protected\nus with their special grace nobler and more honorable blood should have\nbeen shed than those rogues. Also we came to Paris in good heart; and\nsafe and sound in body; and this is a city wherein life is far more\nravishing than in Nuremberg.\n\n\"Whereas I have known full well that you, most illustrious Mistress\nMargery, have ever vouchsafed your gracious friendship to Mistress Ann\nSpiesz--and indeed I myself hold her in the highest respect, as a lady\nrich in all virtue--I would beseech her to put away from her heart all\nthought of my gracious master as soon as may be, and to strive no more to\nkeep his troth, forasmuch as it can do no good: Better had she look for\nsome other suitor who is more honest in his intent, that so she may not\nwholly waste her maiden days--which sweet Saint Katharine forbid! Yet,\nmost worshipful Mistress Margery, I entreat you with due submission not\nto take this amiss in your beloved brother, nor to withdraw from him any\nshare of your precious love, whereas my gracious master may rightly look\nhigher for his future wife. And as touching his doings now in his\nunmarried state, of us the saying is true: Like master, like man. And\nwhereas I, who am but a poor and simple serving man, have never been fain\nto set my heart on one only maid, no less is to be looked for in my\ngracious master, who is rich and of noble birth.\"\n\nThis epistle would of a certainty have moved me to laughter at any other\ntime but, as things stood, the matter and manner of the low varlet's\nletter in daring to write thus of Ann, roused me to fury. And yet he was\na brave fellow, and of rare faithfulness to his master; for when the\nMarchese's nephew had fallen upon Herdegen, he had wrenched the sword out\nof the young nobleman's hand at the peril of his own life and had\nthereafter modestly held his peace as to that brave deed. It was, in\ntruth, hard not to betray the coming of this letter, even by a look; yet\ndid I hide it; but when another letter was brought, not long after, all\ncare and secrecy were vain.\n\nOh! that dreadful letter. I could not hide the matter of it; but I let\npass her mother's wedding before I confessed to Ann what my brother had\nwritten to me.\n\nThat cruel letter lies before me now. It is longer than any he had\nwritten me heretofore, and I will here write it fair, for indeed I could\nnot, an I would, copy the writing, so wild and reckless as it is.\n\n\"All must be at an end, Margery, betwixt Ann and me\"--and those first\nwords stung me like a whip-lash. \"There. 'Tis written, and now you know\nit. I was never worthy of her, for I have sold my heart's love for money,\nas Judas sold the Lord.\n\n\"Not that my love or longing are dead. Even while I write I feel dragged\nto her; a thousand voices cry to me that there is but one Ann, and when a\nfew weeks ago the young Sieur de Blonay made so bold as to vaunt of his\nlady and her rose-red as above all other ladies and colors, my sword\ncompelled him to yield the place of honor to blue--for whose sake you\nknow well.\n\n\"And nevertheless I must give her up. Although I fled from temptation, it\npursued me, and when it fell upon me, after a short battle I was brought\nlow. The craving for those joys of the world which she tried to teach me\nto scorn, is strong within me. I was born to sin; and now as matters\nstand they must remain. A wight such as I am, who shoots through life\nlike a wild hawk, cannot pause nor think until a shaft has broken his\nwings. The bitter fate which bids me part from Ann has stricken me thus,\nand now I can only look back and into my own soul; and the fairer, the\nsweeter, the loftier is she whom I have lost, the darker and more vile,\nmeseemeth, is all I discover in myself.\n\n\"Yet, or ever I cast behind me all that was pure and noble, righteous and\ntruly blissful, I hold up the mirror to my own sinful face, and will\nbring, myself to show to you, my Margery, the hideous countenance I\nbehold therein.\n\n\"I will not cloke nor spare myself in anything; and yet, at this hour,\nwhich finds me sober and at home, having quitted my fellows betimes this\nnight, I verily believe that I might have done well, and not ill, and\nwhat was pleasing in the sight of God, and in yours, my Margery, and in\nthe eyes of Ann and of all righteous folk, if only some other hand had\nhad the steering of my life's bark.\n\n\"Margery, we are orphans; and there is nothing a man needs so much, in\nthe years while he is still unripe and unsure of himself, as a master\nwhom he must revere in fear or in love. And we--I--Margery, what was my\ngrand-uncle to me?\n\n\"You and I again are of one blood and so near in age that, albeit one may\ncounsel the other, it is scarce to be hoped that I should take your\njudgment, or you mine, without cavil.\n\n\"Then Cousin Maud! With all the mother's love she has ever shown us, all\nI did was right in her eyes; and herein doubtless lies the difference\nbetween a true mother, who brought us with travail into the world, and a\nloving foster-mother, who fears to turn our hearts from her by harshness;\nbut the true mother punishes her children wherein she deems it good,\ninasmuch as she is sure of their love. My cousin's love was great indeed,\nbut her strictness towards me was too small. Out of sheer love, when I\nwent to the High School she kept my purse filled; then, as I grew older,\nour uncle did likewise, though for other reasons; and now that I have\nredenied Ann, to do his pleasure, I loathe myself. Nay, more and more\nsince I am raised to such fortune as thousands may envy me; inasmuch as\nmy granduncle purposes to make me his heir by form of law. Last night,\nwhen I came home with great gains from play in my pocket, I was nigh to\nput an end to the woes of this life. . . .\n\n\"But have no fear, Margery. A light heart soon will bring to the top\nagain what ruth, at this hour, is bearing to the deeps. Of what use is\nwaiting? Am I then the first Junker who has made love to a sweet maid of\nlow birth, only to forget her for a new lady love?\n\n\"Sooth to say, Margery, my confessor, to whom--albeit with bitter\npains--I am laying open every fold of my heart--yes, Margery, if Ann's\ncradle had been graced with a coat of arms matters would be otherwise.\nBut to call a copper-smith father-in-law, and little Henneleinlein Madame\nAunt! In church, to nod from the old seats of the Schoppers to all those\ncommon folk as my nearest kin, to meet the lute-player among my own\npeople, teaching the lads and maids their music, and to greet him as dear\ngrandfather, to see my brethren and sisters-in-law busy in the clerks'\nchambers or work-shops--all this I say is bitter to the taste; and yet\nmore when the tempter on the other side shows the gaudy young gentleman\nthe very joys dearest to his courtly spirit. And with what eloquence and\ngood cheer has Father Ignatius set all this before mine eyes here in\nParis, doubtless with honest intent; and he spoke to my heart soberly and\nto edification, setting forth all that the precepts of the Lord, and my\nold and noble family required of me.\n\n\"Much less than all this would have overruled so feeble a wight as I am.\nI promised Father Ignatius to give up Ann, and, on my home-coming, to\nsubmit in all things to my uncle and to agree with him as to what each\nshould yield up and renounce to the other--as though it were a matter of\nmerchandise in spices from the Levant, or silk kerchiefs from Florence;\nand thereupon the holy Friar gave me his benediction, as though my\nsalvation were henceforth sure in this world and the next.\n\n\"I rode forth with him even to the gate, firm in the belief that I had\nthrown the winning number in life's game; but scarce had I turned my\nhorse homeward when I wist that I had cast from me all the peace and joy\nof my soul.\n\n\"It is done. I have denied Ann--given her up forever--and whereas she\nmust one day hear it, be it done at once. You, my poor Margery, I make my\nmessenger. I have tried, in truth, to write to Ann, but it would not do.\nOne thing you must say, and that is that, even when I have sinned most\nagainst her, I have never forgotten her; nay, that the memory of that\nhappy time when she was fain to call herself my Laura moved me to ride\nforth to Treviso, where, in the chapel of the Franciscan Brethren, there\nmay be seen a head of the true Laura done by the limner Simone di\nMartino, the friend of Petrarca, a right worthy work of art. Methought\nshe drew me to her with voice and becks. And yet, and yet--woe, woe is\nme!\n\n\"My pen has had a long rest, for meseemed I saw first Petrarca's lady\nwith her fair braids, and then Ann with her black hair, which shone with\nsuch lustrous, soft waves, and lay so nobly on the snow-white brow. Her\neyes and mien are verily those of Laura; both alike pure and lofty. But\nhere my full heart over-flows; it cannot forget how far Ann exceeds Laura\nin sweet woman's grace.\n\n\"Day is breaking, and I can but sigh forth to the morning: 'Lost, lost! I\nhave lost the fairest and the best!'\n\n\"Then I sat long, sunk in thought, looking out of window, across the bare\ntree-tops in the garden, at the grey mist which seems as though it ended\nonly at the edge of the world. It drips from the leafless boughs, and\nmine eyes--I need not hide it--will not be kept dry. It is as though the\nleaves from the tree of my life had all dropped on the ground--nay, as\nthough my own guilty hand had torn them from the stem.\"\n\n\"I have but now come home from a right merry company! It is of a truth a\nmerciful fashion which turns night into day. Yes, Margery, for one whose\nfirst desire is to forget many matters, this Paris is a place of delight.\nI have drunk deep of the wine-cup, but I would call any man villain who\nshould say that I am drunk. Can I not write as well as ever another--and\nthis I know, that if I sold myself it was not cheap. It has cost me my\nlove, and whereas it was great the void is great to fill. Wherefore I\nsay: 'Bring hither all that giveth joy, wine and love-making, torches and\nthe giddy dame in velvet and silk, dice and gaming, and mad rides, the\nfresh greenwood and bloody frays!' Is this nothing? Is it even a trivial\nthing?\n\n\"How, when all is said and done, shall we answer the question as to which\nis the better lot: heavenly love, soaring on white swan's wings far above\nall that is common dust, as Ann was wont to sing of it, or earthly joys,\nbold and free, which we can know only with both feet on the clod?\n\n\"I have made choice and can never turn back. Long life to every pleasure,\ncall it by what name you will! You have a gleeful, rich, and magnificent\nbrother, little Margery; and albeit the simple lad of old, who chose to\nwife the daughter of a poor clerk, may have been dearer to you--as he was\nto my own heart--yet love him still! Of his love you are ever sure;\nremember him in your prayers; and as for that you have to say to Ann, say\nit in such wise that she shall not take it over much to heart. Show her\nhow unworthy of her is this brother of yours, though in your secret soul\nyou shall know that my guardian saint never had, nor ever shall have, any\nother face than hers.\n\n\"Now will I hasten to seal this letter and wake Eppelein that he may give\nit to the post-rider. I am weary of tearing up many sheets of paper, but\nif I were to read through in all soberness that I have written half\ndrunk, this letter would of a certainty go the way of many others written\nby me to you, and to my beloved, faithful, only love, my lost Ann.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nMaster Pernhart was wed on Tuesday after Palm Sunday. Ann was wont to\ncome to our house early on Wednesday morning, and this was ever a happy\nmeeting to which we gave the name of \"the Italian spinning-hour,\" by\nreason that one of us would turn her wheel and draw out the yarn, while\nthe other read aloud from the works of the great Italian poets.\n\nNor did Ann fail to come on this Wednesday after the wedding; but I had\nthrust Herdegen's letter into the bosom of my bodice and awaited her with\na quaking heart.\n\nHer spirit was heavy; I could see in her eyes that they had shed tears,\nand at my first question they filled again. Had she not seen her mother\nthis morn beaming with happiness, and then remembered, with new pangs of\nheartache, the father she had lost scarce a year ago and whose image\nseemed to have faded out of the mind of the wife he had so truly loved.\n\nWhen I said to her that I well understood her sorrow, but that I had\nother matter to lay before her which might bring her yet more cruel\ngrief, she knew that it must be as touching Herdegen; and whereas before\nI spoke I could only clasp her to me and could not bring out a single\nword, she thrust me from her and cried: \"Herdegen? Speak! Some ill has\ncome upon him! Margery--Merciful Virgin! How you are sobbing!--Dead--is\nhe dead?\"\n\nAs she said these words her cheeks turned pale and, when I shook my head,\nshe seized my hand and asked sadly: \"Worse? Then he has broken faith once\nmore?\"\n\nMeseemed I could never speak again; and yet I might not keep silence, and\nthe words broke from my bursting heart: \"Ah, worse and far worse; more\nstrange, more terrible! I have it here, in his hand.--Henceforth--my\nuncle, his rich inheritance. . . . All is over, Ann, betwixt him and you.\nAnd I--oh, that he should have left it to me to tell it!\"\n\nShe stood in front of me as if rooted to the ground, and it was some time\nbefore she could find a word. Then she said in a dull voice: \"Where is\nthe letter?\"\n\nI snatched it out of the bosom of my dress and was about to rend it as I\nwent towards the hearth, but she stood in my way, snatched the letter\nviolently from me, and cried: \"Then if all is at an end, I will at any\nrate be clear about it. No false comfort, no cloaking of the truth!\"\n\nAnd she strove to wrench Herdegen's letter from me. But my strength was\ngreater than hers, indeed full great for a maid; yet my heart told me\nthat in her case my will would have been the same, so I made no more\nresistance but yielded up the letter. Then and there she read it; and\nalthough she was pale as death and I marked how her lips trembled and\nevery nerve in her body, her eyes were dry, and when she presently folded\nthe letter and held it forth to me, she said with light scorn which cut\nin--to the heart: \"This then is what matters have come to! He has sold\nhis love and his sweetheart! Only her face, it would seem, is not in the\nbargain by reason that he keeps that to rob his saint of her holiness!\nWell, he is free, and the wild joys of life in every form are to make up\nfor love; and yet--and yet, Margery, pray that he may not end miserably!\"\n\nGentle pity had sounded in these last words, and I took her hand and\nbesought her right earnestly: \"And you, Ann. Do you pray with me.\" But\nshe shook her head and replied: \"Nay, Margery; all is at an end between\nhim and me, even thoughts and yearning. I know him no more--and now let\nme go.\" With this she put on her little cloak, and was by the door\nalready when Cousin Maud came in with some sweetmeats, as she was ever\nwont to do when we thus sat spinning; and as soon as she had set down\nthat which she was carrying she opened her arms to the outcast maid, to\nclasp her to her bosom and comfort her with good words; but Ann only took\nher hand, pressed it to her lips, and vanished down the stairs.\n\nAt dinner that morning the dishes would have been carried out as full as\nthey were brought in, if Master Peter had not done his best to hinder it;\nand as soon as the meal was over I could no longer bear myself in the\nhouse, but went off straight to the Pernharts'.\n\nThere the air seemed warmer and lighter, and Mistress Giovanna welcomed\nme to her new home right gladly; but she would not suffer me to go to\nAnn's chamber, forasmuch as that she had a terrible headache and had\nprayed to see no one, not even me. Yet I felt strongly drawn to her, and\nas the new-made wife knew that she and I were as one she did not forbid\nme from going upstairs, where Pernhart had made dead Gertrude's room all\nclean and fresh for Ann. Now whereas I knew that when her head ached\nevery noise gave her pain, I mounted the steps with great care and opened\nthe door softly without knocking. Also she was not aware of my coming. I\nwould fain have crept away unseen; or even rather would have fallen on my\nknees by her side to crave her forgiveness for the bitter wrong my\nbrother had done her. She was lying on the bed, her face hidden in the\npillows, and her slender body shook as in an ague fit, while she sobbed\nlow but right bitterly. Nor did she mark my presence there till I fell on\nmy knees by the bed and cast my arms about her. Then she suddenly raised\nherself from the pillows, passed her hand across her wet eyes, and\nentreated me to leave her. Yet I did not as she bade me; and when she saw\nhow deeply I took her griefs to heart, she rose from her couch, on which\nshe had lain down with all her clothes on, and only prayed me that this\nshould be the last time I would ever speak with her of Herdegen.\n\nThen she led me to her table and showed me things which she had laid out\nthereon; poor little gifts which my brother had brought her; every one,\nexcept only the Petrarca with the names in gold: Anna-Laura. And she\ndesired that I would take them all and send them back to Herdegen at some\nfitting time.\n\nAs I nodded sadly enough, she must have seen in my face that I missed the\nlittle volumes and, ere I was aware, she had taken them out of her chest\nand thrown them in with the rest.\n\nThen she cried in a changed voice: \"That likewise--Ah, no, not that! It\nis the best gift he ever made me, and he was so good and kind then--You\ndo not know, you do not know!--How I long to keep the books! But away,\naway with them!\"\n\nThen she put everything into a silken kerchief, tied it up with hard\nknots, pushed the bundle into my hand, and besought me to go home.\n\nI went home, sick at heart, with the bundle in my cold hand, and when the\ndoor was opened by Akusch, who, poor wight, bore our bitter winters but\nill, I heard from above-stairs loud and right merry laughter and glee;\nand I knew it for the voice of Cousin Maud who seemed overpowered by\nsheer mirth. My wrath flared up, for our house this day was of a\ncertainty the last where such merriment was fitting.\n\nMy cheeks were red from the snow-storm, yet rage made them even hotter as\nI hastened up-stairs. But before I could speak a single word Cousin Maud,\nwith whom were the Magister and old Pirkheimer the member of council,\ncried out as soon as she saw me: \"Only imagine, Margery, what rare\ntidings his Excellency has brought us.\" And she went on to tell me, with\ngreat joy, while his worship added facts now and then, that the Magister\nhad since yestereve become a rich man, inasmuch as his godmother, old\nDame Oelhaf, had died, leaving him no small wealth.\n\nThis was verily marvellous and joyful hearing, for many had imagined the\ndeceased to be a needy woman who had carried on the business left her by\nher husband, albeit she had no service but that of an ill-paid shop-lad,\nwho was like one of the lean ears of Pharaoh's dream and moreover blind\nof one eye. Nevertheless I remembered well that her little shop, which\nwas no greater than a fair-sized closet, had ever been filled with buyers\nwhen we had stolen in, against all commands, to buy a few dried figs. I\ncan see the little crippled mistress now as she limped across the shop or\nalong the street, and the boys would call after her: \"Hip hop! Lame\nduck!\" and all Nuremberg knew her better by the nickname of the Lame Duck\nthan by her husband's.\n\nThat the poor little woman had departed this life we had all heard\nyestereve; but even the Magister had fully believed that her leavings\nwould scarce be worth the pains of a walk to the town hall. But now the\nlearned advocate told him that by her will, drawn up and attested\naccording to law, she had devised to him all she had to leave as being\nthe only child she had ever been thought worthy to hold at the font.\n\nThen, due inquisition being made in her little place, a goodly number of\nworn stockings were found in the straw of her bed and other hiding\nplaces, and in them, instead of her lean little legs, many a gulden and\nHungarian ducat of good gold. Moreover she had a house at Nordlingen and\na mill at Schwabach, and thus the inheritance that had come to Magister\nPeter was altogether no small matter.\n\nThe simple man had never hoped for such fortune, and it was in truth\nlaughable to see how he forgot his dignity, and leaped first on one foot\nand then the other, crying: \"No, no! It cannot be true! Then poor Irus is\nbecome rich Croesus!\"\n\nAnd thus he went on till he left us with Master Perkheimer. Then I\nlaughed with my cousin; and when I was once more alone I marvelled at the\nmercy of a benevolent Providence, by whose ruling a small joy makes us to\nforget our heavy griefs, though it were but for a moment.\n\nAt night, to be sure, I could not help thinking with fresh sorrow of that\nwhich had come upon us; but then, on the morrow, I saw the Magister\nagain, and would fain have rejoiced in his gladness; but lo, he was now\nsilent and dull, and at the first opening he led ne aside and said, right\nhumbly and with downcast eyes: \"Think no evil of me, Mistress Margery, in\nthat yestereve my joy in earthly possessions was over much for my wits;\nbelieve me, it was not the glitter of mammon, but far other matters that\nturned my brain.\" And he confessed to me that he had ever borne Ann in\nhis heart, even when she was but a young maid at school, and had made the\nwinning of her the goal of his life. To this end, and whereas without\nsome means of living he could not hope, he had laid by every penny he had\nearned by teaching at our house and in the Latin classes, and had\nforegone the buying of many a fine and learned book, or even of a jar of\nwine to drink in the company of his fellows. Thus had he saved a goodly\nsum of money; nay, he had thought himself within reach of his high aim\nwhen he had discovered, that Christmas eve before Herdegen's departing,\nthat the Junker had robbed him of his one ewe lamb. There was nought left\nfor him to do but to hold his peace, albeit in bitter sorrow, till within\nthe last few days Heaven had showered its mercies on him. The powerful\nJunker--for so it was that he ever spoke and thought of my elder\nbrother--had it seemed, released the lamb, and he himself was now in a\nstate of life in which he might right well set up housekeeping. Then he\nwent on to beseech me with all humbleness to speak a word for him to the\nlady of his choice, and I found it not in my heart to give the death-blow\nforthwith to his fond and faithful hopes, albeit I wist full surely that\nthey were all in vain. Thus I bid him to have patience at least till\nChristmas, inasmuch as he should give Ann time to put away the memory of\nHerdegen; and he consented with simple kindness, although he had changed\nmuch and for the better in these late years, and could boast of good\nrespect among the learned men of our city; and thus, albeit not a wealthy\nman, and in spite of his mature years, he would be welcomed as a\nson-in-law by many a mother of daughters.\n\nThus the Magister, who had waited so long, held back even yet awhile. One\nweek followed another, the third Sunday in Advent went by, and the holy\ntide was at hand when the delay should end which the patient suitor had\nallowed.\n\nI had seen Ann less often than in past times. In the coppersmith's great\nhousehold she commonly had her hands full, and I felt indeed that her\nface was changed towards me. A kind of fear, which I had not marked in\nher of old, had come over her of late; meseemed she lived ever in dread\nof some new insult and hurt; also she had courteously but steadfastly\nrefused to join in the festivities to which she was bidden by Elsa Ebner\nor others of the upper class, and even said nay to uncle Christian's\nbidding to a dance, to be given this very day, being his name-day, at his\nlodgings in the Castle. I likewise was bidden and had accepted my\ngodfather's kindness; but my timid endeavor to move Ann to do his will,\nas her best and dearest old friend, brought forth the sorrowful answer\nthat I myself must judge how little she was fit for any merry-makings of\nthe kind. My friendship with her, which had once been my highest joy, had\nthus lost all its lightheartedness, albeit it had not lost all its joys,\nnor was she therefore the less dear to me though I dealt with her now as\nwith a well-beloved child for whose hurt we are not wholly blameless.\n\nNow it fell that on this day, the 20th December, being my godfather's\nname-day, I found her not with the rest, but in her own chamber in\nviolent distress. Her cheeks were on fire, and she was in such turmoil as\nthough she had escaped some terrible persecution. Thereupon I questioned\nher in haste and fear, and she answered me with reserve, till, on a\nsudden, she cried:\n\n\"It is killing me! I will bear it no more!\" and hid her face in her\nhands, I clasped her in my arms, and to soothe her spoke in praise of her\nstepfather, Master Pernhart, and his high spirit and good heart; then she\nsobbed aloud and said: \"Oh, for that matter! If that were all!\"\n\nAnd suddenly, or even I was aware, she had cast her arms about me and\nkissed my lips and cheeks with great warmth. Then she cried out: \"Oh,\nMargery! You cannot turn from me! I indeed tried to turn from you; and I\ncould have done it, even if it had cost me my heart's blood! But now and\nhere I ask you: Is it just that I should lay myself on the rack because\nhe has so cruelly hurt me? No, no. And I need your true soul to help me\nto shake off the burden which is crushing me to the earth and choking me.\nHelp me to bear it, or I shall come to a bad end--I shall follow her who\ndied here in this very chamber.\"\n\nMy soul had ever stood open to her and so I told her right heartily, and\nher face became once more as it had been of old; and albeit those things\nshe had to tell me were not indeed comforting, still I could in all\nhonesty bid her to be of good heart; and I presently felt that to\nunburden herself of all that had weighed upon her these last few weeks,\ndid her as much good as a bath. For it still was a pain to her to see her\nmother cooing like a pigeon round her new mate. She herself was full of\nhis praises, albeit this man, well brought up and trained to good\nmanners, would ever abide by the old customs of the old craftsmen, and\nhis venerable mother likewise held fast by them, so that his wife had\nstriven in vain to change the ways of the house. Thus master and\nmistress, son and daughter, foreman and apprentice, sewing man and maid\nall ate, as they had ever done, at the same table. And whereas the\ndaughters, by old custom, sat in order on the mother's side, the youngest\nnext to her and the oldest at the end, it thus fell that Ann was placed\nnext to the foreman, who was that very one who had betrayed Gotz\nWaldstromer to his master because he had himself cast an eye on Gertrude.\nThe young fellow had ere long set his light heart on Ann; and being a\nfine lad, and the sole son of a well-to-do master in Augsburg, he was\nlikewise a famous wooer and breaker of maiden hearts, and could boast of\nmany a triumphant love affair among the daughters of the simpler class.\nHe was, in his own rank of life, cock of the walk, as such folks say; and\nI remembered well having seen him at an apprentices' dance at the May\nmerrymakings, whither he had come apparelled in a rose-colored jerkin and\nlight-hued hose, bedecked with flowers and greenery in his cap and belt;\nhe had fooled with the daughters of the master of his guild like the\ncoxcomb he was, and whirled them off to dance as though he did them high\nhonor by paying court to them. It might, to be sure, have given him a\nlesson to find that his master's fair daughter scorned his suit; yet that\nsank not deep, inasmuch as it was for the sake of a Junker of high\ndegree. With Ann he might hope for better luck; for although from the\nfirst she gave him to wit that he pleased her not, he did not therefore\nleave her in peace, and this very morning, finding her alone in the hall,\nhe had made so bold as to put forth his hand to clasp her. Albeit she had\nforthwith set him in his place, and right sharply, it seemed that to\nprotect herself against his advances there was no remedy but a complaint\nto his master, which would disturb the peace of the household. She was\nindeed able enough to take care of herself and to ward off any unseemly\nboldness on his part; but she felt her noble purity soiled by contact\nwith that taint of commonness of which she was conscious in this young\nfellow's ways, and in many other daily experiences.\n\nEvery meal, with the great dish into which the apprentice dipped his\nspoon next to hers, was a misery to her; and when the master's old mother\nmarked this, and noted also how uneasily she submitted to her new place\nand part in life, seeing likewise Ann's tear-stained eyes and sorrowful\ncountenance, she conceived that all this was by reason that Ann's pride\ncould hardly bend to endure life in a craftsman's dwelling. And her heart\nwas turned from her son's step-daughter, whom at first she had welcomed\nright kindly; she overlooked her as a rule, or if she spoke to her, it\nwas in harsh and ungracious tones. This, as Ann saw its purpose, hurt her\nall the more, as she saw more clearly that the new grandmother was a\nwarm-hearted and worthy and right-minded woman, from whose lips fell many\na wise word, while she was as kind to the younger children as though they\nhad been her own grandchildren. Nay, one had but to look at her to see\nthat she was made of sound stuff, and had head and heart both in the\nright place.\n\nA few hours since Ann had opened her heart to her Father confessor, the\nreverend prebendary von Hellfeld; and he had counselled her to take the\nveil and win heavenly bliss in a convent as the bride of Christ. And\nwhereas all she craved was peace, and a refuge from the world wherein she\nhad suffered so much, and Cousin Maud and I likewise deemed it the better\ncourse for her, she would gladly have followed this good counsel, but\nthat her late dear father had ever been strongly averse to the life of\nthe cloister. Self-seeking, he would say, is at the root of all evil, and\nhe who becomes an alien from this world and its duties to seek happiness\nin a convent--inasmuch as that beatitude for which monks and nuns strive\nis nothing else than a higher form of happiness, extending beyond the\ngrave to the very end of all things--may indeed intend to pursue the\nhighest aim, and yet it is but self-seeking, although of the loftiest and\nnoblest kind. Also, but a few days ere he died, he had admonished Ann, in\nwhom he had long discerned the true teacher of his younger children, to\nwarn them above all things against self-seeking, inasmuch as now that the\nhand of death was already on him, he found his chiefest comfort in the\nassurance of having labored faithfully, trusting in his Redeemer's grace,\nto do all that in him lay for his own kith and kin, and for other folks'\norphans, whether rich or poor.\n\nThis discourse had sunk deep into Ann's soul, and had been in her mind\nwhen she spoke such brave words to Herdegen, exhorting him to higher\naims. Now, again, coming forth from the good priest's door, she had met\nher grand-uncle the organist, and asking him what he would say if a\nhapless and forlorn maid should seek the peace she had lost in the\nsilence of the cloister, the simple man looked her full in the eyes and\nmurmured sadly to himself: \"Alack! And has it come to this!\" Then he went\nclose up to her, raised her drooping head, and cried in a cheering voice:\n\n\"In a cloister? You, in a cloister! You, our Ann, who have already learnt\nto be so good a mother in the Sisters's school? No child, and again and\nagain I say No. Pay heed rather to the saying which your old grand-uncle\nonce heard from the lips of a wise and good man, when in the sorest hour\nof his life he was about to knock at the gate of a Cistercian\nconvent.--His words were: 'Though thou lose all thou deemest thy\nhappiness, if thou canst but make the happiness of others, thou shalt\nfind it again in thine own heart.'\"\n\nAnd at a later day old Heyden himself told me that he, who while yet but\na youth had been the prefectus of the town-pipers, had been nigh to\nmadness when his wife, his Elslein, had been snatched from him after\nscarce a year and a half of married life. After he had recovered his\nwits, he had conceived that any balance or peace of mind was only to be\nfound in a convent, near to God; and it was at that time that the wise\nand excellent Ulman Stromer had spoken the words which had been\nthenceforth the light and guiding line of his life. He had remained in\nthe world; but he had renounced the more honorable post of prefect of the\ntown-musicians, and taken on him the humble one of organist, in which it\nhad been granted to him to offer up his great gift of music as it were a\nsacrifice to Heaven. This maxim, which had spared the virtuous old man to\nthe world, made its mark on Ann likewise; and whereas I saw how gladly\nshe had received the doctrine that happiness should be found in making\nothers happy, I prayed her to join me in taking it henceforth as the\nguiding lamp of our lives. At this she was well pleased; and she went on\nto point wherein and how we should henceforth strive to forget ourselves\nfor our neighbor's sake, with that soaring flight of soul in which I\ncould scarce follow her but as a child lags after a butterfly or a bird.\n\nThen, when I presently saw that she was in better heart, I took courage,\nbut in jest, being sure of her refusal, to plead the Magister's suit.\nThis, however, was as I was departing; I had already stayed and delayed\nher over-long, inasmuch as I had yet to array myself for the feast at\nUncle Christian's. But, as I was about to speak; a serving man came in\nwith a letter written by the kind old man to Ann herself, his \"dear\nwatchman\" in which, for the third time, he besought her, with pressing\nwarmth, not to refuse to go to him on his name day and pledge him in the\nloving cup to his health and happiness.\n\nWith the help of this tender appeal I made her say she would go; yet she\nspoke the words in haste and great agitation.\n\nMy uncle's messenger had hindered my suing, so while we hastily looked\nthrough Ann's store of holiday raiment, I brought my pleading for Master\nPeter to an end; and what I looked for came, in truth, to pass: without\nseeming one whit surprised she steadfastly rejected his suit, saying that\nhe was the poor, good, faithful Magister, and worthy to win a wife whose\nheart was all his own.\n\nAt my uncle's house that night, with the exception of certain learned and\nreverend gentlemen, Ann alone was not of gentle birth. Yet was she in no\nwise the least, neither in demeanor nor in attire; and when I beheld her\nin the ante-chamber, all lighted up with wax tapers, in her sky-blue\ngown, thanking the master of the house and his sister--who kept house for\nhim--for their condescension, as she upraised her great eyes with loving\nrespect, I could have clasped her in my arms in the face of all the\nworld, and I marvelled how my brother Herdegen could have sinfully cast\nsuch a jewel from him.\n\nThen, when we went on together into the guest chamber, it fell that the\ntown-pipers at that minute ceased to play and there was silence on all,\nas though a flourish of trumpets had warned of the approach of a prince;\nand yet it was only in honor of Ann and her wondrous beauty. Each and all\nof the young men there would, meseemed, gladly have stepped into\nHerdegen's place, and she was so fully taken up with dancing that she\ncould scarce mark how diligently all the mothers and maidens overlooked\nher. Howbeit, Ursula Tetzel was not content with that, but went up to her\nand with a sneer enquired whether Junker Schopper at Paris were well.\n\nAnn drew herself up with pride and hastily answered that if any one\ncraved news of him he had best apply to Mistress Ursula Tetzel, inasmuch\nas she was ever wont to have a keen eye on her dear cousin.\n\nAt this Ursula cried out: \"How well our old schoolmate remembers the\nlessons she learnt; even the fable of the Fox and the Grapes!\" then,\nturning to me she added: \"Nor has she lost her skill in learning; she has\nnot long been in her stepfather's dwelling and she has already mastered\nthe art of hitting blows as the coppersmiths do.\" And she turned her back\non us both.\n\nAnd presently, when it came to her turn to join the chain in which Ann\nwas taking part, I marked well that she urged the youth she danced with\nto stand away from the craftsman's daughter. Howbeit I at once brought\nher plot to naught and the young gentleman to shame. Not that she needed\nany such defence, for her beauty led every man to seek her above all\nothers. And when, at supper, Uncle Christian called her to his side and\nmade it fully manifest to all present how dear she was to his faithful\nheart, I hoped that indeed the day was won for her, and that henceforth\nour friendship would be regarded as a matter apart from any concern with\nher step-father the coppersmith. What need she care about those\ndiscourteous women, who made it, to be sure, plain enough at their\ndeparting, that they took her presence there amiss.\n\nOn our way home methought she was in a meditative mood, and as we parted\nshe bid me go to see her early next morning. This I should have done in\nany case, inasmuch as I knew no greater pleasure, after a feast or dance\nat which we had been together, than to talk with her of any matter we\nmight each have marked, but there was something more than this in her\nmind.\n\nNext day, indeed, when I had greeted her, she had lost her cheerful mien\nof the day before; it was plain to see that she had not slept, and I\npresently learned that she had been thinking through the night what her\nlife must be, and how she could best fulfill the vow we had both made.\nThe more diligently she had considered of the matter, the more worthy had\nshe deemed our purpose; and the dance at my Uncle Christian's had clearly\nproven to her that among our class there were few to whom her presence\ncould be welcome, and none to whom it could bring any real pleasure.\n\nIn this she was doubtless right; yet was I startled when, with the\nsteadfast will which she ever showed, she said that, after duly weighing\nthe matter, she had made up her mind to accept the Magister.\n\nWhen she perceived how greatly I was amazed, she besought me, with the\nsame eager haste as I had marvelled at the day before, that I would not\ncontend against a conclusion she had fully weighed; inasmuch as that the\nMagister was a worthy man whom she could make truly happy. Moreover, his\nnewly-acquired wealth would enable her to help many indigent persons in\ntheir need and misery. I enquired of her earnestly how about any love for\nhim, and she broke out with much vehemence, saying that I must know for\ncertain that for her all love and the joys of love were numbered with the\ndead. She would tell this to Master Peter with all honesty, and she was\nsure that he would be content with her friendship and warm goodwill.\n\nBut all this she poured out as though she could not endure to hear her\nown words. An inward voice at the same time warned me that she had made\nup her mind to this step, in order that Herdegen might fully understand\nthat to him she was lost for ever, albeit I had not given up all hope\nthat they might some day come together, and that Ann's noble love of what\nwas best in my brother might thus rescue him from utter ruin. Hence her\nill-starred resolve filled me with rage, to such a degree that I railed\nat it as a mad and sinful deed against her own peace of mind, and indeed\nagainst him whom she had once held as dear as her own life.\n\nBut Ann cut me short, and bade me sharply to mind my promise, and never\nspeak of Herdegen again. My hot blood rose at this and I made for the\ndoor; nay, I had the handle of the latch in my hand when she flew after\nme, held me back by force, and entreated me with prayers that I would let\nher do her will, for that she had no choice. She purposed in solemn\nearnest henceforth at all times to devote herself to the happiness of\nothers, and whereas that demanded heavy sacrifice, she was now ready to\nmake it. If indeed I still refused to carry her answer to the Magister,\nthen would she send it through her step-father or Dame Henneleinlein, who\nwas apt at such errands, and bid her suitor come to see her.\n\nThen I perceived that there was but small hope; with a heavy heart, and,\nindeed, a secret intent behind, I took the task upon me, for I saw\nplainly that my refusal would ruin all. All the same, meseemed it was a\nhappy ordering that the Magister should have set forth early that morning\nto spend a few days at Nordlingen, to take possession of the house he had\nfallen heir to; for, when a great misfortune lies ahead, a hopeful soul\nclings to delay as the harbinger of deliverance.\n\nI made my way home full of forebodings, and in front of our door I saw my\nForest uncle's horses in waiting. He was above stairs with cousin Maud,\nand I soon was informed that he had come to bid me and Ann to the great\nhunt which was to take place at the New Year. His Highness Duke Albrecht\nof Bavaria, with divers other knights and gentlemen, had promised to take\npart in it, and he needed our help for his sick and suffering wife; also,\nsaid he, he loved to see \"a few smart young maids\" at his board. Already\nhe and cousin Maud had discussed at length whether it would be seemly to\nbring the coppersmith's stepdaughter into the company of such illustrious\nguests; and the balance in her favor had been struck in his mind by his\nopinion that a fair young maid must ever be pleasing in the hunter's eyes\nout in the forest, whatever her rank might be.\n\nHe had now but one care, and that was that neither he nor any other man\nhad hitherto dared to utter the name of Master Ulman Pernhart to my aunt\nJacoba, and that she therefore knew not of his marriage with her dear\nAnn's mother. Yet must the lady be informed thereof; so, finding that my\ncousin Maud made no secret of her will to speed the Magister's wooing,\nwhile I weened, with good reason, that my aunt would gladly support me in\nhindering it, I then and there made up my mind to go back with my uncle,\nand hold council with his shrewd-witted wife.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A small joy makes us to forget our heavy griefs\n     All I did was right in her eyes\n     Especial gift to listen keenly and question discreetly\n     Happiness should be found in making others happy\n     Have never been fain to set my heart on one only maid\n     Hopeful soul clings to delay as the harbinger of deliverance\n     No false comfort, no cloaking of the truth\n     One Head, instead of three, ruled the Church\n     Though thou lose all thou deemest thy happiness\n\n\n\n\nMARGERY\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nWe reached the forest lodge that evening with red faces and half-frozen\nhands and feet. The ride through the deep snow and the bitter December\nwind had been a hard one; but the woods in their glittering winter\nshroud, the sharp, refreshing breath of the pure air, and a thousand\ntrifling matters--from the white hats that crowned every stock and stone\nto the tiny crystals of snow that fell on the green velvet of my\nfur-lined bodice--were a joy to me, albeit my heart was heavy with care.\nThe evening star had risen or ever we reached the house; and out here,\nunder God's open heavens, among the giants of the forest and its sturdy,\nweather-beaten folk, it scarce seemed that it could be true that I should\nsee my bright, young Ann sharing the sorry life of the Magister, an alien\nfrom all this world's joys. Those who dwelt out here in these wilds must,\nmethought, feel this as I felt it; and so in truth it proved. After I had\ntaken my place at the hearth by my aunt's side, and she had mingled some\nspiced wine for us with her own feeble hands, she bid me speak. When she\nheard what it was that had brought me forth to the forest so late before\nChristmas, which we ever spent with our grand-uncle Im Huff she at first\ndid but laugh at our Magister's suit; but as soon as I told her that it\nwas Ann's earnest purpose to wed with him, she swore that she would never\nsuffer such a deed of mad folly.\n\nMaster Peter had many times been her guest at the lodge; and she, though\nso small and feeble herself, loved to see tall and stalwart men, so that\nshe had given him the name of \"the little dry Bookworm,\" hardly\naccounting him a man at all. When she heard of his newly-gained wealth,\nshe said: \"If instead of being the richer by these thousands he could but\nbe the same number of years younger, lift a hundredweight more, and see a\nhundred miles further out into the world, I would not mind his seeking\nhis happiness with that lovely child!\"\n\nAs for my uncle, he did but hum a burly bass to the tune of the \"Little\nwee wife.\" But, being called away, he turned to me before closing the\ndoor behind him, and asked me very keenly, as though he had been\nrestraining his impatience for some space: \"And how about your brother?\nHow is it that this matter has come about? Was not Herdegen pledged to\nmarry Ann?\"\n\nThereupon I told my aunt all I knew, and gave her Herdegen's letter to\nread, which I had taken care to bring with me; and even as she read it\nher countenance grew dark and fearful to look upon; she set her teeth\nlike a raging hound, and hit her little hand on the table that stood by\nher couch so that the cups and phials standing thereon danced and\nclattered. Nay, she forgot her weakness, and made as though she would\nspring up, but the pain was more than she could bear and she fell back on\nher pillows with a groan.\n\nShe had never loved my grand-uncle Im Hoff, and, as soon as she had\nrecovered herself, she vowed she would bring his craft to nought and\nlikewise would let her nephew, now in Paris, know her opinion of his\nknavish unfaith to a sacred pledge.\n\nI then went on to tell her how hard and altogether insufferable Ann's\nlife had become, and at length took courage to inform her who the man was\nwhom she now called step-father. To this she at first said not a word,\nbut cast down her eyes as though somewhat confused; but presently she\nasked wherefore and how it was that she had not heard of this marriage\nlong since, and when I told her that folks for the most part had feared\nto speak the name of Master Ulman Pernhart in her presence, she again\nsuddenly started up and cried in my face that in truth she forbade any\nmention of that villain and caitiff who had taken foul advantage of her\nson's youth and innocence to turn his heart from his parents and bring\nhim to destruction.\n\nAnd this led me, for the first time in my life, to break through the\nreverence I owed to the venerable lady, who so well deserved to be in all\nways respected and spared; for I made so bold as to point out to her her\ncruel injustice, and to plead Master Ulman's cause with earnest zeal. For\nsome time she was speechless with wrath and amazement, inasmuch as she\nwas not wont to be thus reproved; but then she paid me back in the like\ncoin; one word struck forth the next, and my rising wrath hastened me on\nso that at last I told her plainly, that Master Pernhart had turned her\nson Gotz out of doors to hinder him from a breach of that obedience he\nowed to his parents. Furthermore I informed her of all that the\ncoppersmith's mother had told me of the attempt to carry away Gertrude,\nand what the end of that had been. Indeed, so soon as the foreman had\nbetrayed the lovers' plot, Master Ulman had locked his daughter into her\nchamber; and when her lover, after waiting for her in vain at the altar\nwith the hireling priest, came at last to seek her, her father told him\nthat unless he--Gotz--ceased his suit, he should exert his authority as\nher father to compel Gertrude to marry the foreman and go with him to\nAugsburg, or give her the choice of taking the veil. And this he\nconfirmed by a solemn oath; and when Gotz, like one in a frenzy, strove\nto make good his claim to see his sweetheart, and hear from her own lips\nwhether she were minded to yield to her father's yoke, they came to\nblows, even on the stairs leading to Gertrude's chamber, and there was a\nfierce battle, which might have had a bloody end but that old dame\nMagdalen herself came between them to part them. And then Master Ulman\nhad sworn to Gotz that he would keep his daughter locked up as a captive\nunless the youth pledged himself to cease from seeing Gertrude till he\nhad won his parents' consent. Thereupon Gotz went forth into a strange\nland; but he did not forget his well-beloved, and from time to time a\nletter would reach her assuring her of his faithfulness.\n\nAt the end of three years after his departing he at last wrote to the\ncoppersmith that he had found a post which would allow of his marrying\nand setting up house and he straightly besought Master Ulman no longer to\nkeep apart two who could never be sundered. Nor did Pernhart delay to\nanswer him, hard as he found it to use the pen, inasmuch as there was no\nmore to say than that Gertrude was sleeping under the sod with her\nlover's ring on her finger and the last violets he had ever given her\nunder her head, as she had desired.\n\nThus ended the tale of poor Gertrude; but before I had half told it my\nwrath had cooled. For my aunt sat in silence, listening to me with devout\nattention. Nor were my eyes dry, nor even those of that strong-willed\ndame, and when, at the end, I said: \"Well, Aunt?\" she woke, as it were,\nfrom a dream, and cried out: \"And yet those craftsmen folk robbed me of\nmy son, my only child!\"\n\nAnd she sobbed aloud and hid her face in her hands, while I knelt by her\nside, and threw my arms about her, and kissed her thin fingers which\ncovered her eyes, and said softly, as if by inspiration: \"But the\ncraftsman loved his child; yea, and she was a sweet and lovely maid, the\nfairest in all the town, and her father's pride. And what was it that\nsnatched her so early away but that she pined for your son? Gotz may soon\nbe recalled to his mother's arms; but the coppersmith may never see his\nchild--fair Gertrude, the folks called her--never see her more. And he\nmight have been rejoiced in her presence to this day if. . . .\"\n\nShe broke in with words and gestures of warning, and when I nevertheless\nwould not cease from entreating her no longer to harden her heart, but to\nbid her son come home to her, who was her most precious treasure, she\ncommanded me to quit her chamber. Such a command I must obey, whether I\nwould or no; nay, while I stood a moment at the door she signed to me to\ngo; but, as I turned away, she cried after me: \"Go and leave me, Margery.\nBut you are a good child, I will tell you that!\"\n\nAt supper, which I alone shared with my uncle and the chaplain, I told my\nuncle that I had spoken to his wife of Master Pernhart, and when he heard\nthat I had even spoken a good word for him, he looked at me as though I\nhad done a right bold deed; yet I could see that he was highly pleased\nthereat, and the priest, who had sat silent--as he ever did, gave me a\nglance of heartfelt thanks and added a few words of praise. It was long\nafter supper, and my uncle had had his night-draught of wine when my aunt\nsent the house-keeper to fetch me to her. Kindly and sweetly, as though\nshe set down my past wrath to a good intent, she bid me sit down by her\nand then desired that I would repeat to her once more, in every detail,\nall I could tell her as touching Gotz and Gertrude. While I did her\nbidding to the best of my powers she spoke never a word; but when I ended\nshe raised her head and said, as it were in a dream: \"But Gotz! Did he\nnot forsake father and mother to follow after a fair face?\"\n\nThen again I prayed her right earnestly to yield to the emotions of her\nmother's heart. But seeing her fixed gaze into the empty air, and the set\npout of her nether lip, I could not doubt that she would never speak the\nword that would bid him home.\n\nI felt a chill down my back, and was about to rise and leave, but she\nheld me back and once more spoke of Herdegen and that matter. When she\nhad heard all the tale, she looked troubled: \"I know my Ann,\" quoth she.\n\"When she has once given her promise to the Bookworm all the twelve\nApostles would not make her break it, and then she will be doomed to\nmisery, and her fate and your brother's are both sealed.\"\n\nShe then went on to ask when the Magister was to return home, and as I\ntold her he was expected on the morrow great trouble came upon her.\n\nIt was past midnight or ever I left her, and as it fell I slept but ill\nand late, insomuch that I was compelled to make good haste, and as it\nfell that I went to the window I saw the snow whirling in the wind, and\nbehold, in the shed, a great wood-sleigh was being made ready, doubtless\nfor some sick man to be carried to the convent.\n\nI found my aunt in the hall, whither she scarce ever was carried down\nbefore noon-day; and instead of her every-day garb--a loose\nmorning-gown---she was apparelled in strange and shapeless raiment, so\nmuffled in kerchiefs and cloaks as to seem no whit like any living woman,\nmuch less herself, insomuch that her small thin person was like nothing\nelse than a huge, shapeless, many-coated onion. Her little face peeped\nout of the veils and kerchiefs that wrapped her head, like a half-moon\nout of thick clouds; but her bright eyes shone kindly on me as she cried:\n\"Come, haste to your breakfast, lie-a-bed! I thought to find you fitted\nand ready, and you are keeping the men waiting as though it were an\nevery-day matter that we should travel together.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye! She is bent on the journey,\" my uncle said with a groan, as he\ncast a loving glance at his frail wife and raised his folded hands to\nHeaven. \"Well, chaplain, miracles happen even in our days!\" And his\nReverence, silent as he was, this time had an answer ready, saying with\nhearty feeling: \"The loving heart of a brave woman has at all times been\nable to work miracles.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" said my uncle, pressing his lips on the top of his wife's muffled\nhead.\n\nHowbeit I remembered our talk yesternight, and the sleigh I had seen\nbeing harnessed; indeed, the look alone which the unwonted traveller cast\non me was enough to tell me what my sickly aunt purposed to do for the\nsake of Ann. Then something came upon me, I know not what; with a passion\nall unlike that of yesterdayeve, I fell on my knees and kissed her as a\nchild whose mother has made it a Christmas gift of what it most loves and\nwishes to have, while my lips were pressed to her eyes, brow, and cheeks,\nwherever the wrappings covered them not, and she cried out:\n\n\"Leave me, leave me, crazy child! You are choking me. What great matter\nis it after all? One woman will ride through the snow to Nuremberg for\nthe sake of a chat with another, and who turns his head to look at her?\nNow, foolish wench, let me be. What a to-do for nothing at all!\"\n\nHow I ate my porridge in the winking of an eye, and then sprang into the\nsleigh, I scarce could tell, and in truth I marked little of our\ndeparting; mine eyes were over full of tears. Packed right close to my\naunt, whereas she filled three-fourths of the seat, I flew with her over\nthe snow; nor did we need any great following on horseback to bear us\ncompany, inasmuch as my uncle rode on in front, and the Buchenauers and\nSteinbachers and other highway robbers who made the roads unsafe about\nNuremberg, all lived in peace with uncle Waldstromer for the sake of the\nshooting.\n\nWhen we got into the town, and I bid the rider take us to the\nSchopperhof, my aunt said: \"No, to Ulman Pernhart's house, the\ncoppersmith.\"\n\nAt this the faithful old serving-man, who had heard many rumors of his\nbanished young master's dealings with the craftsman's fair daughter, and\nwho was devoted to Gotz, muttered the name of his protecting saint and\nlooked about him as though some giant cutthroat were ready to rush out of\nthe brush wood and fall upon the sleigh; nor, indeed, could I altogether\nrefrain my wonder. Howbeit, I recovered myself at once, and pointed out\nto her that it scarce beseemed her to enter a stranger's house for the\nfirst time in such attire. Moreover, Akusch had been sent in front to\nannounce her coming to cousin Maud. I could send for Ann; as, indeed, it\nbeseemed her, the younger, to wait upon my aunt.\n\nBut she held to her will to go to Master Ulman's dwelling; yet, whereas\nthe kerchiefs and wraps were a discomfort to her, she agreed to lay them\naside at our house first.\n\nCousin Maud pressed her almost by force to take rest and meat and drink;\nbut she refused everything; though all was in readiness and steaming hot;\ntill, as fate would have it, as she was being carried down and out again,\nthe Magister came in from his journey to Nordlingen. In his high fur\nboots and the heavy wrapping he had cast about his head to screen him\nfrom the wintry blast, he had not to be sure, the appearance of a suitor\nfor a fair young maiden; and the glance cast at him by my aunt, half in\nmockery and half in wrath, eyeing him from head to foot, would have said\nplainly enough to other men than Master Peter--who, for his part made her\na right humble and well-turned speech--\"Wait awhile, young fellow! I am\nhere now! And if you find a flea in your ear, you have me to thank for\nit!\"\n\nApparelled now as befitted a lady of her degree, in a furred cloak and\nhood, she was borne off in Cousin Maud's well-curtained litter. I had\nsent Akusch to Ann with a note, but he had not found her within, and\nawaited me in the street; thus it fell that no one at the Pernharts was\naware of what was coming upon them.\n\nWhen presently the bearers set down the litter, Aunt Jacoba looked at the\nfine house before which we stood, and enquired what this might mean,\nwhereas it was seven years since she had been in the city, and the\nmaster's new dwelling was not at that time built. Also she was greatly\namazed to find a craftsman in so great a house. But better things were to\ncome: as I was about to knock at the door it opened, and five gentlemen\nof the Council, all men of the first rank among the Elders of the city,\nappeared on the threshold, and Master Pernhart in their midst. They shook\nhands with him as with one of themselves, and he towered above them all;\nnay, if he had not stood there as he had come from the forge, in his\nleathern apron, with his smith's cap in his hand, any one might have\nconceived him to be the chief of them all.\n\nNow these gentlemen had come to Master Pernhart to announce to him that\nhe had been chosen one of the eight wardens of the guilds who at that\ntime formed part of the worshipful town council of forty-two. Veit\nGundling, the old master-brewer, had lately departed this life, and the\nelectors had been of one mind in choosing the coppersmith to fill his\nplace, and he was likewise approved by the guilds. They had come to him\nforthwith, albeit their choice would not be declared till Saint Walpurgis\nday, inasmuch as it was deemed well to have the matter settled before the\nclose of the old year.\n\nThus it came to pass that my aunt was witness while they took leave, and\nhe returned thanks in a few heartfelt words. These, to be sure, were cut\nshort by her coming, by reason that she was well-known to these five\nnoble gentlemen, who all, as in duty bound, assured her of their surprise\nand pleasure in greeting her once more, here in the town.\n\nThat the feeble and suffering lady had come to Pernhart's dwelling not\nmerely to order a copper-lid or a preserving pan was easy to be\nunderstood, but she cut short all inquisition, and the litter was\nforthwith carried in through the widely-opened door.\n\nThe master received her in the hall.\n\nHe had till now never seen her but from a distance, yet had he heard\nenough about her to form a clear image of her. With her it was the same.\nShe saw this man, to whom she owed such bitter grudge, for the first time\nhere, under his own roof, and it was right strange to behold the two\neyeing each other so keenly; he with a slight bow, almost timidly, and\ncap in hand; she unabashed, but with an expression as though she well\nknew that nothing pleasant lay before her.\n\nThe master spoke first, bidding her welcome to his dwelling, in accents\nof truth but with all due respect, and never speaking of it, as is the\nwont of his class, as \"humble\" or \"poor,\" and as he was about to help her\nout of the litter I could see her face brighten, and this assured me that\nshe would let bygones be bygones, as they say, and declare to Master\nPernhart in plain words to what intent and purpose she had knocked at his\ndoor. By the time she was in the best chamber, the last sour curl had\ndisappeared from her mouth; and indeed all was snug and seemly therein;\nDame Giovanna being well-skilled in giving things a neat appearance, well\npleasing to the eye.\n\nPernhart meanwhile had said but little, and his face was still dark,\nalmost solemn of aspect. The master's mother again, to whom Gertrude had\nbeen all-in-all, and who had done what she could to speed her marriage,\ncould read the other woman's heart, and understood how great had been the\nsacrifice she had taken upon herself. There was no trace of the old\ngrudge in her speech, and it sounded not ill when, as she put my aunt's\ncushions straight, she said she could not envy her, forasmuch as she the\nelder was thus permitted to be of service to the younger. When Pernhart\npresently quitted the chamber, perchance to don more seemly attire the\ntwo old women sat in eager talk; and if the lady were thin and sickly and\nthe craftsman's mother stout and sturdy, yet were there many points of\nresemblance between them. Both, for certain, loved to rule, and as I\nwatched them, seeing each shoot out her nether lip if the other spoke a\nword to cross her, I found it right good sport; but at the same time I\nwas amazed to hear how truly old Dame Pernhart understood and spoke of\nAnn. I had indeed hitherto seen many a thing in my friend with other\neyes, and yet I could not accuse the good woman of injustice, or deny\nthat the coppersmith's step-daughter, from knowing me and from keeping\ncompany with us, had grown up with manners and desires unlike those of\never another clerk's or even a craftsman's daughter.\n\nAlbeit she strove to hide her deep discomfort, the old woman said, she\ncould by no means succeed. A household was a body, and any member of it\nwho could not be content with its ways was ill at ease with the rest, and\nmade it hard for them to do it such service and pleasure as they would\nfain do. Ann fulfilled her every duty, down to the very least of them, by\nreason that she had a steadfast spirit and great dominion over herself;\nbut she got small thanks, and by her own fault, inasmuch as she did it\njoylessly. To look for bright cheer from her was to seek grapes on a\nbirch-tree; and whereas the grandmother had till lately hoped to find in\nthis gentle maid one who might fill the place of her who was no more, she\ncould now only wish that she might find some other home.\n\nTo all this my aunt agreed, and presently, when Pernhart came in, clad in\nhis holiday garb--a goodly man and well fitted for his new dignity, Aunt\nJacoba bid me go look out for Ann. I saw that she desired my absence that\nshe might deal alone with the mother and son, so I hastily departed and\nstayed in the upper chambers with the children till I caught sight of Ann\nand her mother coming towards the house. I ran down to meet them and\nbehold! as we all three went into the guest chamber, Pernhart was in the\nact of bending over my aunt's hand to press it to his lips, and tears\nwere sparkling in his eyes as well as in those of the women; nay, they\nwere so greatly moved that no one heard the door open, and the old woman\nbelieved herself to be alone with her son as she cried to my aunt: \"Oh\nwherefor did not Heaven vouchsafe to guide you to us some years since!\"\n\nMy aunt only nodded her head in silence, and Dame Magdalen doubtless took\nthis for assent; but I read more than this in her face, and something as\nfollows: \"We have hurt each other deeply, and I am thankful that all is\npast and forgiven; yet, much as I may now esteem you, in the matter you\nhad so set your heart on I would no more have yielded to-day than I did\nat that time.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nAnn looked right sweetly as she told my aunt that she felt put to shame\nby the great loving-kindness which had brought the feeble lady out\nthrough the forest in the bitter winter weather for her sake, and she\nkissed the thin, small hand with deep feeling; and even the elder woman\nunbent and freely gave vent before her favorite to the full warmth of her\nheart, which she was not wont to display. She had told the Pernharts what\nwere the fears which had brought her into the town, so the chamber was\npresently cleared, and the master called away Mistress Giovanna after\nthat my aunt had expressed her admiration of her rare charms.\n\nAs I too was now preparing to retire, which methought but seemly Aunt\nJacoba beckoned me to stay. Ann likewise understood what had brought her\nsickly friend to her, and she whispered to me that albeit she was deeply\nthankful for the abundant goodness my aunt had ever shown her, yet could\nshe never swerve from her well-considered purpose. To this I was only\nable to reply that on one point at least she must change her mind, for\nthat I knew for certain that old grand-dame Pernhart loved her truly. At\nthis she cried out gladly and thankfully: \"Oh, Margery! if only that were\ntrue!\"\n\nSo soon as we three were left together, my aunt went to the heart of the\nmatter at once, saying frankly to what end she had come hither, that she\nknew all that Ann had suffered through Herdegen, and how well she had\ntaken it, and that she had now set her mind on wedding with the Magister.\n\nAnd whereas Ann here broke in with a resolute \"And that I will!\" my aunt\nput it to her that she must be off with one or ever she took on the other\nlover. Herdegen had come before Master Peter, and the first question\ntherefor was as to how matters stood with him.\n\nAt this Ann humbly besought her to ask nothing concerning him; if my aunt\nloved her she would forbear from touching on the scarce-healed wound. So\nmuch as this she said, though with pain and grief; but her friend was not\nto be moved, but cried: \"And do I not thank Master Ulsenius when he\nthrusts his probe to the heart of my evil, when he cuts or burns it? Have\nyou not gladly approved his saying that the leech should never despair so\nlong as the sick man's heart still throbs? Well then, your trouble with\nHerdegen is sick and sore and lies right deep. . . .\"\n\nBut Ann broke in again, crying: \"No, no, noble lady, the heart of that\nmatter has ceased to beat. It is dead and gone for ever!\"\n\n\"Is it so?\" said my aunt coolly. \"Still, look it close in the face. Old\nIm Hoff--I have read the letter-commands your lover to give you up and do\nhis bidding. Yet, child, does he take good care not to write this to you.\nFinding it over hard to say it himself, he leaves the task to Margery.\nAnd as for that letter; a Lenten jest I called it yestereve; and so it is\nverily! Read it once more. Why, it is as dripping with love as a garment\ndrips when it is fished out of a pool! While he is trying to shut the\ndoor on you he clasps you to his heart. Peradventure his love never\nglowed so hotly, and he was never so strongly drawn to you as when he\nwrote this paltry stuff to burst the sacred bands which bind you\ntogether. Are you so dull as not to feel this?\"\n\n\"Nay, I see it right well,\" cried Ann eagerly, \"I knew it when I first\nread the letter. But that is the very point! Must not a lover who can\nbarter away his love for filthy lucre be base indeed? If when he ceased\nto be true he had likewise ceased to love, if the fickle Fortunatus had\nwearied of his sweetheart--then I could far more easily forgive.\"\n\n\"And do you tell me that your heart ever throbbed with true love for\nhim?\" asked her friend in amazement, and looking keenly into her eyes as\nthough she expected her to say No. And when Ann cried: \"How can you even\nask such a question?\" My aunt went on: \"Then you did love him? And\nMargery tells me that you and she have made some strange compact to make\nother folks happy. Two young maids who dare to think they can play at\nbeing God Almighty! And the Magister, I conceive, was to be the first to\nwhom you proposed to be a willing sacrifice, let it cost you what it may?\nThat is how matters stand?\"\n\nAnn was not now so ready to nod assent, and my aunt murmured something I\ncould not hear, as she was wont to do when something rubbed her against\nthe grain; then she said with emphasis: \"But child, my poor child, love,\nand wounded pride, and heart-ache have turned your heart and good sense.\nI am an old woman, and I thank God can see more clearly. It is real, true\nlove, pleasing to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, aye and to the\nmerciful Virgin and all the saints who protect you, which has bound you\nand Herdegen together from your infancy. He, though faithless and a\nsinner, still bears his love in his heart and you have not been able to\nroot yours up and cast it out. He has done his worst, and in doing\nit--remember his letter--in doing it, I say, has poisoned his own young\nlife already. In that Babel called Paris he does but reel from one\npleasure to another. But how long can that last? Do you not see, as I\nsee, that the day must come when, sickened and loathing all this folly he\nwill deem himself the most wretched soul on earth, and look about him for\nthe firm shore as a sailor does who is tossed about in a leaking ship at\nsea? Then will he call to mind the past, his childhood and youth, his\npure love and yours. Then you yourself, you, Ann, will be the island\nhaven for which he will long. Then--aye, child, it is so, you will be the\nonly creature that may help him; and if you really crave to create\nhappiness--if your love is as true as--not so long ago--you declared it\nto be, on your knees before me and with scalding tears, he, and not\nMaster Peter must be the first on whom you should carry out your\nday-dreams--for I know not what other name to give to such vain\nimaginings.\"\n\nAt this Ann sobbed aloud and wrung her hands, crying: \"But he cast me\noff, sold me for gold and silver. Can I, whom he has flung into the dust,\nseek to go after him? Would it beseem an honest and shamefaced maid if I\ncalled him back to me? He is happy--and he will still be happy for many\nlong, long years amid his reckless companions; if the time should ever\ncome of which you speak, most worshipful lady, even then he will care no\nmore for Ann, bloomless and faded, than for the threadbare bravery in\nwhich he once arrayed himself. As for me and my love, warmly as it will\never glow in my breast, so long as I live and breathe, he will never need\nit in the life of pleasure in which he suns himself. It is no vain\nimagining that I have made my goal, and if I am to bring joy to the\nwretched I must seek others than he.\"\n\n\"Right well,\" said my aunt, \"if so be that your love is no worthier nor\nbetter than his.\"\n\nAnd from the unhappy maid's bosom the words were gasped out: \"It is\nverily and indeed true and worthy and deep; never was truer love . . .\"\n\n\"Never?\" replied my aunt, looking at her enquiringly. \"Have you not read\nof the love of which the Scripture speaketh? Love which is able and ready\nto endure all things.\"\n\nAnd the words of the Apostle came into my mind which the Carthusian\nsister had graven on our memories, burning them in, as it were, as being\nthose which above all others should live in every Christian woman's\nheart; and whereas I had hitherto held back as beseemed me, I now came\nforward and said them with all the devout fervor of my young heart, as\nfollows: \"Charity suffereth long and is kind; Charity envieth not;\nCharity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up; seeketh not her own, is\nnot easily provoked, thinketh no evil; beareth all things, believeth all\nthings, hopeth all things, endureth all things.\"\n\nWhile I spoke Ann, panting for breath, fixed her eyes on the ground, but\nmy aunt rehearsed the words after me in a clear voice: \"beareth all\nthings, believeth all things, hopeth and endureth all things.\" And she\nadded right earnestly; therefore do thou believe and hope and endure yet\nlonger, my poor child, and tell me in all truth: Does it seem to you a\nlesser deed to lead back the sinner into the way of righteousness and\nbliss in this world and the next, than to give alms to the beggar?\"\n\nAnn shook her head, and my aunt went on: \"And if there is any one--let me\nrepeat it--who by faithful love may ever rescue Herdegen, albeit he is\nhalf lost, it is you. Come, come,\" and she signed to her, and Ann did her\nbidding and fell on her knees by her, as she had done erewhile in the\nforest-lodge. The elder lady kissed her hair and eyes, and said further:\n\"Cling fast to your love, my darling. You have nothing else than love,\nand without it life is shallow indeed, is sheer emptiness. You will never\nfind it in the Magister's arms, and that your heart is of a certainty,\nnot set on marrying a well-to-do man at any cost . . . .\"\n\nBut she did not end her speech, inasmuch as Ann imploringly raised her\ngreat eyes in mild reproach, as though to defend herself from some hurt.\nSo my aunt comforted her with a few kind words, and then went on to\nadmonish her as follows: \"Verily it is not love you lack, but patient\ntrust. I have heard from Margery here what bitter disappointments you\nhave suffered. And it is hard indeed to the stricken heart to look for a\nnew spring for the withered harvest of joy. But look you at my good\nhusband. He ceases not from sowing acorns, albeit he knows that it will\nnever be vouchsafed to him to see them grown to fine trees, or to earn\nany profit from them. Do you likewise learn to possess your soul in\npatience; and do not forget that, if Herdegen is lost, the question will\nbe put to you: 'Did you hold out a hand to him while it was yet time to\nsave him, or did you withdraw from him your love and favor in\nfaint-hearted impatience at the very first blow?'\"\n\nThe last words fell in solemn earnest from my aunt's lips, and struck Ann\nto the heart; she confessed that she had many times said the same things\nto her self, but then maiden pride had swelled up in her and had\nforbidden her to lend an ear to the warning voice; and nevertheless none\nhad spoken so often or so loudly in her soul, so that her heart's deepest\nyearning responded to what her friend had said.\n\n\"Then do its bidding,\" said my aunt eagerly, and I said the same; and\nAnn, being not merely overruled but likewise convinced, yielded and\nconfessed that, even as Master Peter's wife, she could never have slain\nthe old love, and declared herself ready to renounce her pride and wrath.\n\nThus had my aunt's faithful love preserved her from sin, and gladly did I\nconsent to her brave spirit when she said to Ann: \"You must save yourself\nfor that skittle-witted wight in Paris, child; for none other than he can\nmake you rightly happy, nor can he be happy with any other woman than my\ntrue and faithful darling!\"\n\nAnn covered my aunt's hands with kisses, and the words flowed heartily\nand glaaiy from her lips as she cried: \"Yes, yes, yes! It is so! And if\nhe beat me and scorned me, if he fell so deep that no man would leap in\nafter him, I, I, would never let him sink.\"\n\nAnd then Ann threw herself on my neck and said: \"Oh, how light is my\nheart once more. Ah, Margery! now, when I long to pray, I know well\nenough what for.\"\n\nMy aunt's dim eyes had rarely shone so brightly as at this hour, and her\nvoice sounded clearer and firmer than it was wont when she once more\naddressed us and said: \"And now the old woman will finish up by telling\nyou a little tale for your guidance. You knew Riklein, the spinster, whom\nfolks called the night-spinster; and was not she a right loving and\ncheerful soul? Yet had she known no small meed of sorrows. She died but\nlately on Saint Damasius' day last past, and the tale I have to tell\nconcerns her. They called her the night-spinster, by reason that she\nofttimes would sit at her wheel till late into the night to earn money\nwhich she was paid at the rate of three farthings the spool. But it was\nnot out of greed that the old body was so keen to get money.\n\n\"In her youth she had been one of the neatest maids far and wide, and had\nset her heart on a charcoal burner who was a sorry knave indeed, a\nsheep-stealer and a rogue, who came to a bad end on the rack. But for all\nthat Riklein never ceased to love him truly and, albeit he was dead and\ngone, she did not give over toiling diligently while she lived yet for\nhim. The priest had told her that, inasmuch as her lover had taken the\nSacrament of the Lord's Supper on the scaffold, the Kingdom of Heaven was\nnot closed to him, yet would it need many a prayer and many a mass to\ndeliver him from the fires of purgatory. So Riklein, span and span, day\nand night, and stored up all she earned, and when she lay on her\ndeath-bed, not long ago, and the priest gave her the Holy Sacrament, she\ntook out her hoard from beneath her mattress and showed it to him, asking\nwhether that might be enough to pay to open the way for Andres to the\njoys of Heaven? And when the chaplain said that it would be, she turned\naway her face and fell asleep. So do you spin your yarn, child, and let\nthe flax on your distaff be glad assurance; and, if ever your heart sinks\nwithin you, remember old Riklein!\"\n\n\"And the Farmer's daughter in 'Poor Heinrich,'\" I said, \"who gladly gave\nher young blood to save her plighted lord from leprosy.\"\n\nThus had my aunt gained her end; but when she strove to carry Ann away\nfrom her home and kindred, and keep her in the forest as her own\nchild--to which Master Pernhart and his mother gave their consent--she\nfailed in the attempt. Ann was steadfast in her desire to remain with her\nmother and the children, and more especially with her deaf and dumb\nbrother, Mario. If my aunt should at any time need her she had but to\ncommand her, and she would gladly go to her, this very day if she desired\nit; howbeit duly to work out her spinning--and by this she meant that she\nbore Riklein in mind--she must ever do her part for her own folk, with a\nclear conscience.\n\nThus it was fixed that Ann should go to the Forest lodge to stay till\nChristmas and the New Year were past, only she craved a few hours delay\nthat she might remove all doubt from the Magister's mind. I offered to\ntake upon myself this painful task; but she altogether rejected this, and\nhow rightly she judged was presently proved by her cast-off suitor's\ndemeanor; inasmuch as he was ever after her faithful servant and called\nher his gracious work-fellow. When she had told him of her decision he\nswore, well-nigh with violence, to become a monk, and to make over his\ninheritance to a convent, but Ann, with much eloquence, besought him to\ndo no such thing, and laid before him the grace of living to make others\nhappy; she won him over to join our little league and whereas he\nconfessed that he was in no wise fit for the life, she promised that she\nwould seek out the poor and needy and claim the aid only of his learning\nand his purse. And some time after she made him a gift of an alms-bag on\nwhich she had wrought the words, \"Ann, to her worthy work-fellow.\"\n\nHere I am bound to tell that, not to my aunt alone, but to me likewise\ndid the good work which the old organist had pointed out to my friend,\nseem a vain imagining when it had led her to accept a lover whom she\nloved not. But when it became a part of her life, stripped of all bigotry\nor overmuch zeal, and when the old musician had led us to know many poor\nfolks, it worked right well and we were able to help many an one, not\nalone with money and food, but likewise with good counsel and nursing in\nsore need. Whenever we might apply to the Magister, his door and purse\nalike were open to us, and peradventure he went more often to visit and\nsuccor the needy than he might otherwise have done, inasmuch as he\nthereby found the chance of speech with his gracious \"work-fellow,\" of\nwinning her praises and kissing her hand, which Ann was ever fain to\ngrant when he had shown special zeal.\n\nWe were doubtless a strange fellowship of four: Ann and I, the organist\nand Master Peter, and, albeit we were not much experienced in the ways of\nthe world, I dare boldly say that we did more good and dried more tears\nthan many a wealthy Abbey.\n\nAt the New Year I followed Ann to the forest, and helped to grace the\nhunter's board \"with smart wenches;\" and when she and I came home\ntogether after Twelfth day, she found that the forward apprentice had\nquitted her step-father's house. Not only had my aunt told old Dame\nMagdalen of his ill-behaving, but his father at Augsburg was dead, and so\nPemhart could send him home to the dwelling he had inherited without\ndisgracing him. Yet, after this, he made so bold as to sue for Ann in a\nright fairly written letter, to which she said him nay in a reply no less\nfairly written.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nA thoughtful brain could never cease to marvel at the wonders which\nhappen at every step and turn, were it not that due reflection proves\nthat strange events are no less necessary and frequent links in the\nmingled chain of our life's experience than commonplace and every-day\nthings; wherefor sheer wonder at matters new to our experience we leave\nfor the most part to children and fools. And nevertheless the question\nmany a time arose in my mind: how a woman whose heart was so truly in the\nright place as my aunt's could cast off her only son for the cause of an\nill-match, and notwithstanding strive with might and main to remove all\nhindrances in the way of another such ill-match.\n\nThis indeed brought to my mind other, no less miracles. Thus, after Ann's\nhome-coming, when I would go to see her at Pernhart's house, I often\nfound her sitting with the old dame, who would tell her many things, and\nthose right secret matters. Once, when I found Ann with the old woman\nfrom whom she had formerly been so alien, they were sitting together in\nthe window-bay with their arms about each other, and looking in each\nother's face with loving but tearful eyes. My entrance disturbed them;\nDame Magdalen had been telling her new favorite many matters concerning\nher son's youthful days, and it was plain to see that she rejoiced in\nthese memories of the best days of her life, when her two fine lads had\never been at the head of their school. Her eldest, indeed, had done so\nwell that the Lord Bishop of Bamberg, in his own person, had pressingly\ndesired her late departed husband to make him a priest. Then the father\nhad apprenticed Ulman to himself, and dedicated the elder, who else\nshould have inherited the dwelling-house and smithy, to the service of\nthe Church, whereupon he had ere long risen to great dignity.\n\nNone, to be sure, listened so well as Ann, open-eared to all these tales,\nand it did old Dame Magdalen good to see the maid bestir herself\ncontentedly about the house-keeping; but her changed mind proceeded from\nyet another cause. My aunt had done a noble deed of pure human kindness,\nof real and true Christian charity, and the bright beam of that love\nwhich could drag her feeble body out into the winter's cold and to her\nfoe's dwelling, cast its light on both these miracles at once. This it\nwas which had led the high-born dame to cast aside all the vanities and\nfoolishness in which she had grown up, to the end that she might protect\na young and oppressed creature whom she truly cared for from an ill fate.\nYea, and that sunbeam had cast its light far and wide in the\ncoppersmith's home, and illumined Ann likewise, so that she now saw the\nold mother of the household in a new light.\n\nWhen the very noblest and most worshipful deems it worthy to make a great\nsacrifice out of pure love for a fellow-creature, that one is, as it\nwere, ennobled by it; it opens ways which before were closed; and such a\nway was that to old Dame Magdalen's heart, who now, on a sudden,\nbethought her that she found in Ann all she had lost in her well-beloved\ngrandchild Gertrude.\n\nNever had Ann and I been closer friends than we were that winter, and to\nmany matters which bound us, another was now added--a sweet secret,\nconcerning me this time, which, strange to tell, drew us even more near\ntogether.\n\nThe weeks before Lent presently came upon us; Ann, however, would take\npart in no pleasures, albeit she was now a welcome guest, since her\nstep-father was a member of the worshipful council. Only once did she\nyield to my beseeching and go with me to a dance at a noble house; but\nwhereas I perceived that it disturbed her cheerful peace of mind,\nalthough she was treated with hearty respect, I troubled her no more, and\nfor her sake withdrew myself in some measure from such merry-makings.\n\nAfter Easter, when the spring-tide was already blossoming, my soul\nlikewise went forth to seek joy and gladness, and now will I tell of the\nnew marvel which found fulfilment in my heart.\n\nA grand dance was to be given in honor of certain ambassadors from the\nEmperor Sigismund, who had come to treat with his Highness the Elector\nand the Town Council as to the Assembly of the States to be held in the\nsummer at Ratisbon, at the desire of Theodoric, Archbishop of Cologne.\nThe illustrious chief of this Embassy, Duke Rumpold of Glogau in Silesia,\nhad been received as guest in a house whither, that very spring, the\neldest son had come home from Padua and Paris, where he had taken the\ndignity of Doctor of Ecclesiastical and Civil Laws with great honors, and\nhe it was who first moved my young heart to true love.\n\nAs a child I had paid small heed to Hans Haller, as a lad so much older\nthat he overlooked little Margery, and by no means took her fancy like\nCousin Gotz; thus he came upon me as one new and strange.\n\nHe had dwelt five years in other lands and the first time ever I looked\ninto his truthful eyes methought that the maid he should choose to wife\nwas born in a lucky hour.\n\nBut every mother and daughter of patrician rank doubtless thought the\nsame; and that he should ever uplift me, giddy, hasty Margery, to his\nside, was more than I dared look for. Yet, covertly, I could not but\nhope; inasmuch as at our first meeting again he had seemed well-pleased\nand amazed at my being so well-favored, and a few days later, when many\nyoung folks were gathered together at the Hallers' house, he spoke a\ngreat while and right kindly with me in especial. Nor was it as though I\nwere some unripe child, such as these young gentlemen are wont to esteem\nus maids under twenty--nay, but as though I were his equal.\n\nAnd thus he had brought to light all that lay hid in my soul. I had\nanswered him on all points freely and gladly; yet, meanwhile, I had been\non my guard not to let slip any heedless speech, deeming it a precious\nfavor to stand well in the opinion of so noble and learned a gentleman.\n\nAnd presently, when it was time for departing, he held my hand and\npressed it; and, as he wrapped me in my cloak, he said in a low voice\nthat, whereas he had thought it hard to make himself at home once more in\nour little native town, now, if I would, I might make Nuremberg as\ndear--nay, dearer to him than ever it had been of yore; and the hot blood\nboiled in my veins as I looked up at him beseechingly and bid him never\nmock me thus.\n\nBut he answered with all his heart that it was sacred earnest and that,\nif I would make home sweet to him and himself one of the happiest of\nmankind, I must be his, inasmuch as in all the lands of the earth he had\nseen nought so dear to him as the child whom he had found grown to be so\nsweet a maid, and, quoth he, if I loved him never so little, would I not\ngive him some little token.\n\nI looked into his eyes, and my heart was so full that no word could I say\nbut his Christian name \"Hans,\" whereas hitherto I had ever called him\nMaster Hailer. And meseemed that all the bells in the town together were\nringing a merry peal; and he understood at once the intent of my brief\nanswer, and murmured right loving words in mine ear. Then did he walk\nhome with me and Cousin Maud; and meseemed the honored mothers among our\nfriends, who were wont so to bewail my loneliness as a motherless maid,\nhad never looked upon me with so little kindness as that evening which\nlove had made so blessed.\n\nBy next morning the tidings were in every mouth that a new couple had\nplighted their troth, and that the Hallers' three chevronells were to be\nquartered with the three links of the Schoppers.\n\nAnn was the first to be told of my happiness, and whereas she had\nhitherto been steadfastly set on eschewing the great dances of the upper\nclass so long as she was unwed, this time she did our will, for that she\nhad no mind to spoil my pleasure by her absence.\n\nThus had Love taken up his abode with me likewise; and meseemed it was\nlike a fair, still, blooming morning in the Forest. A pure, perfect, and\npeaceful gladness had opened in my soul, a way of seeing which lent\nsweetness and glory to all things far and wide, and joyful thanksgiving\nfor that all things were so good.\n\nAs I looked back on that morning when Ann had flown to Herdegen's breast,\nand as I called to mind the turmoil of passion of which I had read in\nmany a poem and love-tale, I weened that I had dreamed of somewhat else\nas the first blossoming of love in my heart, that I had looked to feel a\nfierce and glowing flame, a burning anguish, a wild and stormy fever. And\nyet, as it had come upon me, methought it was better; albeit the sun of\nmy love had not risen in scarlet fire, it was not therefore small nor\ncool; the image of my dear mother was ever-present with me; and methought\nthat the love I felt was as pure and fair as though it had come upon me\nfrom her heavenly home.\n\nAnd how loving and hearty was the welcome given me by my lover's parents,\nwhen they received me in their noble dwelling, and called me their dear\ndaughter, and showed me all the treasures contained in the home of the\nHallers'. In this fine house, with its broad fair gardens--a truly lordly\ndwelling, for which many a prince would have been fain to exchange his\ncastle and hunting demesne--I was to rule as wife and mistress at the\nright hand of my Hans' mother, whose kind and dignified countenance\npleased me well indeed, and by whose friendly lips I, an orphan, was so\nglad to be called \"Child\" and daughter. Nor were his worshipful father\nand his younger brethren one whit less dear to me. I was to become a\nmember--nay, as the eldest son's wife, the female head--of one of the\nhighest families in the town, of one whose sons would have a hand in its\ngovernment so long as there should be a town-council in Nuremberg.\n\nMy lover had indeed been elected to sit in the minor council soon after\nhis homecoming, being no longer a boy, but near on thirty years of age.\nAnd his manners befitted his years; dignified and modest, albeit cheerful\nand full of a young man's open-minded ardor for everything that was above\nthe vulgar. With him, for certain, if with any man, might I grow to be\nall I desired to become; and could I but learn to rule my fiery temper, I\nmight hope to follow in the ways of his mother, whom he held above all\nother women. The great dance, of which I have already made mention, and\nwhither Ann had agreed to come with us, was the first I should go to with\nmy well-beloved Hans. The worshipful Council had taken care to display\nall their best bravery in honor of the Emperor's envoys; they had indeed\nallied themselves with the constable of the Castle, the Prince Elector,\nto do all in their power to have the Assembly held at Nuremberg, rather\nthan at Ratisbon, and to that end it was needful to win the good graces\nof the Ambassadors.\n\nAll the patricians and youth of the good city were gathered at the\ntown-hall, and the beginning of the feast was pure enjoyment. The guests\nwere indeed amazed at the richness of our great hall and civic treasure,\nas likewise at the brave apparel and great show of jewels worn by the\ngentlemen and ladies.\n\nThere were six envoys, and at their head was Duke Rumpold of Glogau; but\namong the knights in attendance on him I need only name that very Baron\nFranz von Welemisl who had been so sorely hurt out in the forest garden\nfor my sake, and a Junker of Altmark, by name Henning von Beust, son of\none of the rebellious houses who strove against the customs, laws, and\nrights over the marches, as claimed by our Lord Constable the Elector.\n\nBaron Franz was now become chamberlain to the emperor and, albeit cured\nindeed of his wounds, was plagued by a bad cough. Still he could boast of\nthe same noble and knightly presence as of old, and his pale face, paler\nthan ever I had known it, under his straight black hair, with the feeble\ntones of his soft voice, went right to many a maiden's heart; also his\nrich black dress, sparkling with fine gems, beseemed him well.\n\nPresently, when he saw that Hans and I were plighted lovers, he feigned\nas though his heart were stricken to death; but I soon perceived that he\ncould take comfort, and that he had bestowed the love he had once\nprofessed for me, with compound increase on Ursula Tetzel. She was ready\nenough to let him make love to her, and I wished the swarthy courtier all\ngood speed with the damsel.\n\nA dancing-hall is in all lands a stew full of fish, as it were, for\ngentlemen from court, and Junker Henning von Beust had no sooner come in\nthan he began to angle; and whereas Sir Franz's bait was melancholy and\nmourning, the Junker strove to win hearts by sheer mirth and bold\nmanners.\n\nMy lover himself had commended him to my favor by reason that the\ngentleman was lodging under his parents' roof; and he and I and Ann had\nfound much pleasure these two days past in his light and openhearted\nfriendliness. Nought more merry indeed might be seen than this red-haired\nyoung nobleman, in parti-colored attire, with pointed scallops round the\nneck and arm-holes, which fluttered as he moved and many little bells\ntwinkling merrily. Light and life beamed forth out of this gladsome\nyouth's blue eyes. He had never sat at a school-desk; while our boys had\nbeen poring over their books, he had been riding with his father at a\nhunt or a fray, or had lurked in ambush by the highway for the laden\nwagons of those very \"pepper sacks\"--[A nickname for grocery\nmerchants]--whose good wine and fair daughters he was so far from\nscorning in their own town-hall.\n\nHe had already fallen in love with Ann at the Hallerhof, and never quit\nher side although, after I had overheard certain sharp words by which\nUrsula Tetzel strove to lower the maid in his opinion, I told him plainly\nof what rank and birth she was.\n\nFor this he cared not one whit; nay, it increased his pleasure in making\nmuch of her and trying to spoil her shrewish foe's sport. It seemed as\nthough he could never have enough of dancing with Ann, and so soon as the\ntown pipers struck up, with cornets, trumpets, horns, and haut-boys,\nfiddles, sack-buts and rebecks, the rattle of drums and the groaning of\nbagpipes, while the Swiss fifes squeaked shrilly above the clatter of the\nkettle-drums, methought the music itself flung him in the air and brought\nhim low again. With his free and mirthful ways he carried all before him,\nand when presently it was plain to all that he could outdo our nimblest\ndancers, and was a master of each kind of dance which was held in favor\nat every court, whether of Brandenburg, of Saxony, of Bohemia, or at our\nown Emperor Sigismund's Hungarian court, he was ere long entreated to\nshow us some new figures of the dance; nor was he loth to do so.\n\nNay, he presently went to such lengths that our Franconian and Nuremberg\nnobles could but turn away their faces, inasmuch as he began so wild and\nunseemly a dance as was overmuch even for me, despite my youth and sheer\ndelight in the quick measure.\n\nMy Hans, the young councillor, took pleasure in leading me forth in the\nPolish dance, or with due dignity in the Swabian figure, but he held\nback, as was fitting, from the mad whirl of the gipsy dance and of the\n\"Dove dance;\" and he, and I likewise, courteously withstood his bidding\nto join in the Dance of the Dead as it was in use in Brandenburg,\nHungary, and Schleswig: one has to be for dead, and as he lieth another\nshall come to wake him with a kiss. On this Junker von Beust, who was, as\nthe march--men say, the dance-corpse, entrapped Ann in a strange\nadventure. Ann kissed not his cheek, but in the air near by it, and the\nbold knave, who had no mind to forego so sweet a boon, declared to her\nafter the dance was over that she was his debtor, and that he would give\nher no peace till she should pay him his due.\n\nAnn courteously prayed him that he would be a merciful creditor and remit\nthe payment of that she had indeed omitted, though truly out of no\nill-will. And whereas he would by no means consent, the dispute was taken\nup by others present and Jorg Loffelholz devised the fancy of holding a\nCourt of Love to decide the case.\n\nThis met with noisy approval, and albeit I and my dear Hans, and some\nothers with us, made protest, the damsels were presently seated in a\ncircle and Jorg Loffelholz, who was chosen to preside, asked of each to\npronounce sentence. Thus it came to the turn of Ursula Tetzel and she,\nlooking round on Junker Henning or ever she spoke, said, with a proud\ncurl of her red lips, that she could give no opinion, inasmuch as she\nonly knew what beseemed young maids of noble birth.\n\nOn this the Junker answered with such high and grave dignity as I should\nnot have looked for in so scatter-brained a wight: \"The best patent of\nnobility, fair lady, is that of the maid to whom God Almighty has\nvouchsafed the gentlest soul and sweetest grace; and in all this assembly\nI have found none more richly endowed with both than the damsel against\nwhom I in jest have made complaint. Wherefor I pray the presiding judge\nof this Court of Love to ask you once more for your verdict.\"\n\nUrsula found this ill to brook; nevertheless her high spirit was ready to\nmeet it. She laughed loudly, and with seeming lightness, as she hastily\nanswered him: \"Then you haughty lords of the marches allow not that it is\nin the Emperor's power to grant letters of nobility, but ascribe it to\nHeaven alone! A bold opinion. Howbeit, I care not for politics, and will\npronounce my sentence. If it had been Margery Schopper, who had refused\nthe kiss, or Elsa Ebner, or any one of us whose ancestors bore arms by\ngrace of the Emperor, and not of the God of the Brandenburgers, I would\nhave condemned her to give you, in lieu of one kiss, two, in the presence\nof witnesses; but inasmuch as it is Mistress Ann Spiesz who has dared to\nwithhold from a noble gentleman, a guest of the town, what we highborn\ndamsels would readily have paid I grant her of our mercy, grace and leave\nto kiss the hand of Junker Henning von Beust, in token of penitence.\" The\nwords were spoken clearly and steadfastly; all were silent, and I will\nconfess that as Ursula gave her answer to the Junker with beaming eyes\nand quivering lips, never had I seen her more fair. It could plainly be\nseen by her heaving bosom how gladly she gave free vent to her old\ncherished grudge; and that she had in truth wounded the maid she hated to\nthe very soul, Ann showed by her deathly paleness. Yet found she not a\nword in reply; and while Ursula was speaking, meseemed in the fullness of\nmy wrath and grief as though a cloud were rising before my eyes. But so\nsoon as she ceased and my eyes met the triumphant look in hers, my mind\nsuddenly grew clear again, and never heeding the multitude that stood\nabout us, I went a step forward, and cried: \"We all thank you, Junker;\nyou have taken the worthier part; the only part, Ursula,\" and I looked\nher sternly in the face, \"the only part which I would have a friend of\nmine take, or any true heart.\"\n\nThe Junker bowed, and with a reproachful glance at Ursula he said: \"Would\nto God I might never have a harder choice to make!\" Whereupon he turned\nhis back on her and went up to Ann; but Ursula again laughed loudly and\ncalled after him in defiance: \"Oh! may heaven ever keep your wits clear\nwhen you have to choose, and especially when you have to discern on the\nhigh-road betwixt what is your own and what belongs to other folks.\"\n\nThe blood mounted to the Junker's face, and, as with a hasty gesture he\nsmoothed back the fierce hair on his lip, methought he might seem the\nsame as when he rose in his saddle to rush down on our merchants' wains;\nfor indeed it was the Beusts, with the Alvenslebens, their near\nkinsfolks, who had fallen upon the train of waggons belonging to the\nMuffels and the Tetzels, near Juterbock, not a year ago.\n\nBut, hotly as his blood boiled, the Junker refrained himself, inasmuch as\nknightly courtesy forbade him to repay Ursula in the like coin; and as it\nfell Cousin Maud was enabled to aid him in this praiseworthy selfrule.\nShe came forward with long strides, and her eyes flashed wrathful\nthreats, till meseemed they were more fiery than the jewels in the tall\nplumes she wore on her head. She thrust aside the young men and maid who\nmade up the Court of Love as a swift ship cuts through the small fry in\nthe water. Without let or pause she pushed on, and as soon as she caught\nsight of Ann she seized her by the arm, stroked her hair and cheeks, and\nflung a few sharp words at Ursula:\n\n\"I will talk to you presently!\" Then she bid me remain behind with Hans\nand withdrew, carrying Ann with her, while Junker Henning followed\npraying to be forgiven for all the discomfort she had suffered by reason\nof him. This Ann gladly granted, and besought us and him alike to come\nwith her no further.\n\nWhen he came back to us Ursula, who was aggrieved by the looks of\ndispleasure she met on all sides, cried out: \"Back already, Sir Junker?\nIf you had so lightly yielded your rights to kiss of mine, you may be\ncertain that I would have appealed to any one who would do my behest to\ncall you to account for such scorn!\"\n\nShe eyed the young nobleman with a bold gaze, never weening that this\nchallenge was all he waited for. He tossed his curly head, and cried with\nsparkling eyes: \"Then, mistress, I would have you to know that I would\ntake no kiss from you, even if you were to offer it. I have spoken--now\ncall forth your champions.\"\n\nHe was silent a moment, and then, glancing round at the bystanders with\ndefiant looks, he went on: \"If any gentleman here present sets a higher\nprice than I, the high-born Henning Beust, heir and Lord of Busta and\nSchadstett, on a kiss from the lips which have wronged my fair lady with\nspiteful speech, let him now stoop and pick up my glove. There it lies!\"\n\nAnd he flung it on the ground, while Ursula turned pale. Her eyes turned\nfrom one to another of the young gentlemen who paid her court and they\nwere many--and the longer silence reigned the faster came her breath and\nthe hotter waxed her ire. But on a sudden she was calm; her eyes had\nlighted on Sir Franz von Welemisl, and all might read what she demanded\nof him. The Bohemian understood her; he picked up the glove and muttered\nto the Junker with a shrug: \"Mistress Ursula commands me!\"\n\nA look of pain passed over the brave youth's merry face, for that\nheretofore the young knight and he had been in good fellowship, and he\nhastily answered: \"Nay, Sir Knight; I would have crossed swords with you\nreadily enough or ever you had felt the prick of Swabian steel; but now\nyou are not yet fully yourself again, and to fight with a friend who is\nsick is against the rule of my country.\"\n\nThe words were spoken from a kind and honest heart, and I saw in Sir\nFranz's face that he knew their intent was true; but as he put forth his\nhand to grasp the Junker's, Ursula tossed her head in high disdain. Sir\nFranz hastily changed his mien, and cried: \"Then you will do well to act\nagainst the rule of your country, and fight the champion of the lady you\nhave offended.\"\n\nHere the dispute had an end, forasmuch as that my lord the duke, leader\nof the embassy, hearing the Brandenburger's fierce voice, came in haste\nfrom the supper-board to restore peace; and as he led away the Junker it\nwas plain to all that he was taking him sharply to task. It was, in\ntruth, a criminal misdeed in one of the Imperial envoy to cast down his\nglove at a dance, where he was the guest of a peaceful city; and that the\nduke imposed no severe penance for it the Junker might thank the\nworshipful members of the council who were present; they were indeed\ndisposed to let well alone, inasmuch as they had it at heart to send the\nwhole party home again well-pleased with Nuremberg.\n\nThe music was soon sounding merrily again in the solemn town-hall, and of\nall the young folks who danced so gleefully, and laughed and chattered\nUrsula was the last to let it be seen how this grand revel had been\ntroubled by her fault. Her eyes were bright with glad contentment, and\nshe was so free with Sir Franz that it might have seemed that they would\nquit the town hall a plighted couple.\n\nThe festival was drawing to an end, and when I had danced the last dance,\nand was looking about me, I beheld to my amazement Ursula Tetzel in eager\nspeech with Junker Henning. On our way home the young gentleman informed\nme that she had given him to understand that, during the meeting of the\nImperial Assembly, he might look to be waited on by a noble youth who\nwould pick up his glove in duty to her, and prove to him that there were\nother than sick champions glad to draw the sword for her.\n\nThe Brandenburger would fain have known with whom he would have to deal;\nbut I held my peace, albeit I felt certain that Ursula had set her hopes\non none other than my brother Herdegen.\n\nOn the morrow the whole of the Ambassadors' fellowship rode away, back to\nthe emperor's court; I, for my part made my way to the Pernharts, where I\nfound Ann amazed rather than wroth or distressed by Ursula's base attack.\nAlso she was to have some amends; my dear godfather, Uncle Christian,\nwith certain other gentlemen of the council, had notified old Tetzel that\nhe was required to crave pardon of Ann and her stepfather for his\ndaughter's haughty and reckless speech.\n\nThe proud and surly old man would have to submit to this penance without\ncavil, by reason that Pernhart had, since Saint Walpurgis' day, been a\nmember of the council, and he and his family had part and share in the\npatrician festival. For, albeit craftsmen and petty merchants were\nexcluded, the worshipful councillors chosen by the guilds enjoyed the\nsame rights as those born to that high rank.\n\nIt was by mishap only that the coppersmith had not been at the town-hall\nyestereve, and on a later day, when he and his wife appeared there, they\nwere among the finest of the elder couples. Ann did not, indeed, go with\nthem; but it was neither vexation nor sorrow that kept her at home. My\ngreat gladness as it were warmed her likewise, and we were looking for\nHerdegen's speedy home-coming.\n\nShe looked forward to this with such firm hope as filled me with fears,\nwhen I minded me of my brother's letters, in which he never had aught to\ntell of but vain pleasures and pastimes.\n\nMy betrothal to Hans Haller was after his own heart; he wrote of him as\nof a man whose gifts and birth were worthy of me; and went on to say that\nhe would follow his example, and, whereas he had renounced love in\nseeking a bride, he would take counsel of his head, and not of his heart,\nand quarter our ancient coat of arms with one no less noble.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nThough Ann's hopeful mood distressed me, these same hopes in my\nworld-wise Aunt Jacoba raised my spirit; but again, when I heard my\ngrand-uncle speak of Herdegen as his duteous son, it fell as low as\nbefore. The old man had shown much contentment at my plighting to Hans,\nand had given me a precious set of rubies as a wedding gift; yet could I\nscarce take pleasure in them, inasmuch as he told me then and there that\nhe had the like in store for the noble damsel whom Herdegen should wed.\n\nCousin Maud was in great wrath, when she knew that we had it in our minds\neven yet to bring Ann and Herdegen together; howbeit this did not hinder\nher from being as kind to Ann as she was ever wont to be, and giving her\npleasure with gifts great and small whenever she might. She had her own\nthoughts touching my brother's faithlessness. She deemed it a triumph of\nnoble blood over the yearnings of his heart; and the more she loved to\nthink well of her darling the more comfort she found in this\ninterpretation.\n\nAmong those few who had known of his betrothal to Ann was the\nbee-master's widow, Dame Henneleinlein; and she had cradled herself so\ngladly in the hope of being ere long kin to a noble family, that its\nwrecking filled her heart with bitter rage, and in all the houses whither\nshe carried her honey she never failed to speak slander of Herdegen.\n\nAll this would never have troubled me, if only I might have rejoiced in\nthe presence of my dear love; but alas! no more than three weeks after\nour betrothal he was sent, as squire to Master Erhart Schurstab, away to\ncourt, where they were to lay before the Emperor Sigismund in the name of\nNuremberg the various hindrances in the way of our trafficking with\nVenice, whereas since the late war his Majesty had been mightily\nill-disposed towards that great and famous city.\n\nThere was no remedy but patience; my lover wrote to me often, and his\nloving letters would have filled me with joy, if it had not been that in\neach one there was ever some sad tidings of Junker Henning, whom I yet\nheld in high esteem. This young lord, who was in attendance on his\nMajesty--who never held his court for more than a few days at the same\nplace--or ever he left Vienna to go to Ratisbon, had made a close\nfriendship with my plighted master, and had been serviceable to him in\nall things wherein he might; and Hans had said of him that he was one in\nwhom there was no guile, with the open heart and bright temper of a\nchild. Such an one, indeed, was his; yet, in the midst of the gayest\nmirth, his grief of heart would so mightily come upon him that he fell\ninto a sudden gloom; and out of the fulness of his sorrow he confessed to\nHans that he could never cease to think of Ann. Whereupon my dear love\nconceived that it must be his woeful duty to tell his friend that the\nlady of his choice had no free heart to give him. Yet to the Junker's\nquestion whether she were plighted to another, and whether he were minded\nto wed her, Hans was forced in truth to say nay. This gave the lovesick\nyouth new courage, and at length he went so far as that Hans enquired of\nme whether Ann might not after all be willing to give up Herdegen, who\nwell deserved it at her hands, and to take pity on so brave and\ntrue-hearted a lover as the Junker.\n\nTo this I could make no answer other than: \"Never--never;\" inasmuch as,\nhaving shown Ann this letter, and, moreover, loudly sung the praise of\nher suitor, she asked me right sadly whether I was weary of confirming\nher in her love for my brother; and when I eagerly denied this, she\ncried: \"And you know me well! And you must know that nothing on\nearth--nor you, nor Mistress Jacoba, nor all Nuremberg, could turn my\nheart from my love!\"\n\nThis did I forthwith write to Hans; but that letter never reached him,\nand thus was he delivered from the grievous duty of robbing the Junker of\nhis last hope.\n\nAlas, my Hans! How sorely I did long for thee every hour! And yet shall I\never remember the month of June in that year with thankfulness.\n\nDay after day did we maidens sit in the Hallers' garden, for Hans' worthy\nmother had soon taken Ann into her heart, and it became a fear to me ere\nlong lest her rare beauty should turn the head of his younger brother\nPaulus, a likely lad of nineteen. As the summer waxed hot we went into\nthe forest at the bidding of my uncle and aunt, who took great joy in\nseeing their favorite in right good heart and wondrous beauty, Mistress\nGiovanna having provided her with seemly and brave apparel. Nor was there\nany lack of good fellowship; many young noblemen bore us company, and\nwhereas the town was full of illustrious guests, many of them found their\nway out to the forest.\n\nThis was by reason that the Prince Electors and the other rulers of the\nEmpire, and foremost of them all our High Constable, had, indeed,\ndeclared that the great Assembly should be held at Nuremberg and not at\nRatisbon; and when they were all gathered in our good town, the Emperor\nSigismund, after he had waited for five days at Ratisbon, was fain at\nlast, whether or no, to follow them hither. Then had his Chamberlains\nbeen sent before him, and among them again came Duke Rumpold von Glogau\nand Junker Henning von Beust, while his Majesty kept my Hans still about\nhis person. Now, when the Emperor's forerunners had fulfilled their\nduties, they likewise were bidden to the forest-lodge; and with them came\nthe lord of Eberstein, and an Italian Conte, Fazio di Puppi, both well\nskilled in song and the lute. Yet was my brother Herdegen still absent,\nalbeit we had looked for him at Whitsuntide.\n\nCousin Maud bided at home, where there was much to be done in preparing\nfitting cheer for the noble fellowship who were to be lodged in the\nSchopperhof; nay, the old house was to be decked outside with a festal\ndress, in obedience to the behest of the town-council that every citizen\nshould do his utmost so to cleanse and adorn his house, that it should\nplease the eyes of his Majesty the Emperor.\n\nTowards evening on Saint Liborius' day,--[July 23rd.]--my lord the Duke\ncame forth on horseback to the forest lodge, and as I write, I can see\nthe beaming countenance of Junker Henning as he greeted Ann; she,\nhowever, took his devoted demeanor coolly and courteously, yet could she\nnot hinder him from coming between her and the other gentlemen in an\nover-marked way. The company was a large one for us two maidens, and\nthere was none other with us save Elsa Ebner, our best-beloved\nschoolmate, and on her young Master Jorg Loffelholz had cast his eyes.\n\nNot long after dinner Akusch came to me with the tidings that Herdegen\nhad ridden into Nuremberg yestereve. My grand-uncle, to whom he had sent\nword of his coming, had gone forth to meet him on the way, and, with him\nJost Tetzel and his daughter Ursula. My brother had alighted at the Im\nHoff's house, and had waited on Cousin Maud this morning early. In the\nafternoon it was his intent to come out to the forest with my uncle's\nleave, to see me.\n\nWhen I repeated all this to Aunt Jacoba, she was mightily disturbed and\nbid me stand by Ann, and in all points obey the counsel she might find it\ngood to give her. She desired I would fetch my friend to her July 23rd.\nforthwith, and then made a plan for all the young folks to go forth to\nthe fair garden of a certain bee-keeper, one Martein, where flowers grew\nin great abundance, and where we might wind the wreaths which Uncle\nChristian would need to grace the Empress' chambers withal. Thither,\nquoth she, would she send Herdegen on his coming; for she knew full well\nthat the tidings brought by Akusch could not remain hid.\n\nWhereas Ann turned a little paler, my aunt shook her head in displeasure,\nand admonished her to remain calm; albeit she had charges to bring\nagainst that wild youth, yet, for the present, she must keep them to\nherself. Least of all was she to let him suppose that his faithlessness\nhad caused her any bitter heart-ache; if she desired that matters end\nrightly she must command herself to receive the home-comer no more than\nkindly, and to demean her as though his denying of her had touched her\nbut lightly; nay, as though it were a pleasure to her vanity to be\ncourted by the Brandenburg Junker and other noble gentlemen. If she could\nbut seem to rate him as less than either of them, she would have won a\ngreat part of the victory.\n\nSuch subtlety had no charm for Ann; howbeit, my aunt gave no place to her\ndoubting, and once more her urgent eloquence prevailed on the sorrowing\nmaid to govern the yearning of her soul; and when I promised my friend to\nsupport her, she gave the wise lady, who had shown her such plain proofs\nof her devoted friendship, her word that she would in every point obey\nher.\n\nMany a time have we seen, in the churches of Nuremberg, certain acting of\nplays wherein right honest and worthy persons have appeared as Judas\nIscariot, or even as the very Devil himself; and at Venice likewise have\nI seen such plays, called there Boinbaria, wherein men and women,\ninnocent of all guilt, were made to stand for Calumny, Cruelty, and\nCraft; and that so cunningly that a man might swear that they were\nreprobate Knaves full ripe for the gallows. From this it may be seen that\nmen are fit and able to seem other than they are by nature; nay, such\nfeigning is a pleasure to most folks, as we plainly see from the delight\ntaken by great and small alike in mummery at Carnival tide. Howbeit, they\ncan scarce have their heart in such sport; and for my part, meseemeth\nthat to play such a part as my aunt had set before Ann is one of the\nhardest that can be laid upon a pure-hearted and truthful maid. At the\ntime I wist not clearly what was the end of such rash trifling; but now,\nwhen I know men better, meseems it was well conceived, and could not fail\nof its intent, albeit the course of events made it plain to my\nunderstanding how little the thoughts and plans of the wisest can avail\nwhen Heaven rules otherwise.\n\nThe gentlemen in the hall were more than ready to agree to our bidding;\nyet none but I could guess what made Ann's lip to quiver from time to\ntime, while her gay spirit charmed the young men who bore us company\nthrough the woods to the beekeeper's garden.\n\nI and Elsa cut the flowers helped by Jorg Loffelholz, while Ann sat under\na shady lime-tree hard by an arbor of honeysuckle, and showed the others,\nwho lay on the grass about her; how to wind a garland. Each one was ready\nto be taught by lips so sweet, and in guiding of fingers and words of\npraise or blame, there was right merry laughing and chatter and pastime.\n\nJunker Henning lay at her feet, and near him my Hans' brother Paulus, and\nyoung Master Holzschuher. The Knight von Eberstein had fetched him a\nstool out from the beekeeper's house, and twisted and tied with great\nzeal; the Italian Conte, Fagio di Puppi, struck the mandoline, which he\ncalled \"the lady of his heart\" from whom he never parted even on the\nlongest journey.\n\nWhen Elsa and I had flowers enough, we sat down with the others, and it\nwas pleasant there to rest in the shade of the lime-tree, whose leaves\nfluttered in a soft air, while bees and butterflies hovered above the\nflowers in the warm sunshine. The birds sang no more; they had finished\nnesting long ago; but we, with our young hearts overfull of love, were in\nthe right mind for song, and when Puppi had charmed us with a sweet\nItalian lay, and I had decked his lute with a rose as a guerdon, my lord\nof Eberstein took example from him, and they then besought Ann and me to\ndo our part; but Junker Henning was the more eager. Whereupon Ann smiled\non him so graciously that I was in pain for him, and she signed to me,\nand, I taking the lower part as was our wont, we gave Prince Wizlav's\n\"Song to Dame Love.\" It rang out right loud and clear from our throats\nover the gentlemen's heads as they sat at our feet, and through the\ngarden close:\n\n          \"Earth is set free and flowers\n          In all the meads are springing,\n          The balmy noontide hours\n          Are sweet with odors rare;\n          The hills for joy are leaping.\n          The happy birds are singing,\n          And now, while winds are sleeping,\n          Soar through the sunny air.\n\n          Now hearts begin to kindle\n          And burn with love's sweet anguish\n          As tapers blaze and dwindle.\n          Love, our lady! lend thine ear!\n          Would'st thou but spoil our pleasure?\n          Ah, leave us not to languish!\n          Who vows to thee his treasure,\n          Haughty lady, must beware.\"\n\nWe had sung so much as this when the sound of hoofs, of which we had\nalready been aware on the soft soil of the woods, gave us pause. Then,\nbehold! Ann turned pale and pressed her hands, full of the roses she had\nchosen for her garland, tightly to her bosom, as though in pain. Junker\nHenning, who, while she sang, had gazed at her devoutly, nay, in rapture,\nmarked this gesture and leaped to his feet to succour her; but she\ncommanded herself with wonderful readiness, and laughed as she showed him\nher finger, from which two drops of blood had fallen on her white gown.\nAnd while the garden-gate was opening, she held out her hand to the young\nman, saying in haste: \"Pricked,--a thorn!--would you please to take it\nout for me, Junker?\"\n\nHe seized her hand and held it long in his own, as some jewel or marvel,\nbefore he remembered that he was required to take out the thorn. The\nother gentle men, and among them my brother-in-law Paulus, had likewise\nsprung forward to lend their aid; he, indeed, had snatched his lace\nneck-tie off and dipped it in the fountain.\n\nMeanwhile the new-comers had joined the circle: First, Duke Rumpold, then\nJost Tetzel, and lastly Herdegen with Ursula.\n\nI flew to meet him, and when he held me in his arms and kissed me, and\nwished me joy of my betrothal right heartily, I forgot all old grievances\nand only rejoiced at having him home once more; till Ursula greeted me,\nand Herdegen came in sight of Ann. She had remained sitting under the\nlime-tree, on a saddle cushion of blue velvet, as on a throne; and in\ntruth meseemed she might have been a queen, as she graciously accepted\nthe service of the gentlemen who had been so moved by her pricked finger.\nThe Junker wrapped it with care in a green leaf which, as his lady\ngrandmother had taught him, had a healing gift; Paulus held forth the\nlaced kerchief, and the Italian was striking wailing tones from his lute.\n\nAll this to-do, at any other time would, for a certainty, have made sport\nfor me, but now laughing was far from me, and I had no eyes but for Ann\nin her little court, and for my brother.\n\nAt first she feigned as though she saw him not; and whereas the Junker\nstill held her hand, she hit his fingers with a pink, albeit she was\nnever apt to use such unseemly freedom.\n\nThen she first marked my lord the duke, and rose to greet him with a\ncourteous reverence, and not till she had bowed coldly and curtly to\nTetzel and his daughter did she seem to be aware that Herdegen was of the\ncompany. At that moment I minded me of the morning when Love had thrown\nher into his arms, and it was with pain and wonder that I marked her\nfurther demeanor. In truth it outdid all I could have dreamed of: she\nheld out her hand with an inviting smile, bid him welcome home and to the\nforest, reproved him for staying so long away from me, his dear little\nsister, and our good cousin, and then turned her back upon him to desire\nthe Junker to place her cushions aright. Therewith she gave this young\ngentleman her hand to support her to her seat, and asked him whether, in\nhis country, they did not do service and devoir to the divine Dame\nMusica? And whereas he replied that verily they did, that in his own land\nhe had heard many a sweet ditty sung by noble ladies to the harp and\nlute, that the children would ever sing at their sports, and that he,\ntoo, had oftentimes uplifted his voice in singing of madrigals, she\nbesought him that he would make proof of some ballad or song. The rest of\nthe company joining in her entreaties she left him no peace till he gave\nway to her desire, and after that he had protested that his singing was\nno better than the twitter of a starling or a bullfinch, and his ditty\nonly such as he remembered from his boyhood's time, he sang the song \"It\nrained on the bridge and I was wet\" in a voice neither loud nor fine, but\npurely, and with great modesty.\n\nAnn highly lauded this simple and right childish ditty, and said that she\nfelt certain that she, by her teaching, could make a fine singer of the\nJunker.\n\nThe others were of the same opinion, and Herdegen, meanwhile, who was\nstanding somewhat apart, with Ursula, looked on, marvelling greatly as\nthough he could not believe what his ear heard and his eye beheld.\n\nThen, inasmuch as my lord duke desired to hear more music made, we were\nready enough to obey and uplifted our voices, while he leaned on an easy\ncouch, listening diligently, and gave us the guerdon of his gracious\npraise.\n\nStill, as heretofore, many were obedient to Ann's lightest sign, but\nnever till now had I seen her proud of her power and so eager to use it.\nNow and again she would turn to Herdegen with some light word and a free\ndemeanor, yet he, it was plain, would not vouchsafe to take his seat\nbefore her with the rest.\n\nNay, meseemed that he and Ursula had no part with us; inasmuch as that\nshe was arrayed in velvet and rich brocade, and a bower, as it were, of\nyellow and purple ostrich plumes curled above her riding-hat.\n\nHerdegen likewise was in brave array, after the fashion of the French,\nand a bunch of tall feathers stood up above his head, being held in a\nsilken fillet that bound his hair. His cross-belt was set with gems and\nhung with little bells, tinkling as he moved and jarring with our song;\nand in this hot summer-tide it could not have been for his easement that\nhe wore the tagged lappets, which fell, a hand-breadth deep, from his\nshoulders over the sleeves of his velvet tunic.\n\nThe more gleefully we sang and the more it was made plain that we, to all\nseeming, were only to obey the wishes of Ann and of his highness the\nduke, the less could my brother refrain himself to hide his ill-pleasure;\nand when presently the Junker besought Ann that she would sing\n\"Tanderadei,\" which she very readily did, Herdegen could bear no more; he\nasked the Italian to lend him his mandoline, and struck the strings as\nthough merely for his own good pleasure. Whereupon Ann turned to him and\ncourteously entreated him for a song, and he asking her which song she\nwould have, she hastily replied: \"Your old ditties are already known to\nme, Junker Schopper; and, to judge by your seeming, you now take no\npleasure save in French music. Let us then hear somewhat of the latest\nParis fashion.\"\n\nTo this he replied, however: \"Here, in my own land, I would like better\nto sing in my own tongue, by your gracious leave, fair mistress.\"\n\nThen bowing to Ursula and to me, without even casting a glance at Ann, he\nwent on to say: \"And seeing that methinks you love madrigals, I will sing\na Franconian ditty after the Junker's Brandenburg ballad.\"\n\nHe boldly struck the strings, and the little birds, which by this time\nhad gone to rest in the linden-tree, again uplifted their little heads,\nand all that had ears and soul, near and far, Ann not the least,\nhearkened as he began with his clear voice and noble skill.\n\n          \"To all this goodly company\n          I sing as best I may,\n          A madrigal of ladies fair\n          And damsels soote and gay.\n          Through many countries great and small\n          I roam, and ladies fair I see\n          Many! but fairest of them all\n          The maidens of my own countree.\n          The maidens of Franconia\n          I ever love to meet,\n          They dwell in fond remembrance\n          A vision ever sweet.\n          Of maids they are the crown and pearl!\n          And if I might but spin them\n          I would make the spindle whirl!\"\n\nMy lord duke clapped hearty praise of the singer, and we all did the\nsame; all save Junker Henning, who had not failed to mark that Herdegen\nhad striven to out-do his modest warble, and likewise the ardent eyes he\nturned on the lady of his choice. Hence he moved not. Ann clapped her\nhands but lightly, sat looking into her lap, and for some time could say\nnot a word; indeed, if she had trusted herself to speak the game would of\na certainty have been lost.\n\nThe knight of Eberstein it was, who ere long, albeit unwittingly, came to\nher aid; he challenged Ursula to give us a song in thanks to Junker\nHerdegen's praise of the maids of Franconia.\n\nThe damsel thought to do somewhat fine by making choice, instead of a\nGerman song, of a French lay by the Sieur de Machault \"J'aim la flour,\"\nwhich was well known to all of us by reason that she had learnt it from\nold Veit Spiesz, Ann's grandfather; and she had no need to fear to uplift\nher voice, inasmuch as it was strong and as clear as a bell. But she sang\nover-loud and with a mode of speech which made Herdegen smile, and I can\nsee her now as she stood upright in her fine yellow and purple garb,\nsinging the light-tripping ditty,\n\n            \"J'aim la flour\n             De valour\n             Sans falour\n             Et l'aour\n             Nuit et jour.\"\n\nwith all her might, as though stirring them to battle. The folly of so\nwrong-headed a fashion of singing such words was plain to Ann, in whose\nvery blood, as it were, lay all that was most choice in musical feeling,\nand Herdegen's smile brought her a calmer mind again. When, presently,\nUrsula, believing that she had done somewhat marvellous, boldly turned\nupon Ann and besought her to sing--as though there had never been a\nbreach between the twain--Ann refused, as not caring but yet firm in her\nmind. Then the Duke, who was even yet a fine singer and bore in mind how\nUrsula had demeaned herself towards Ann at the great dance, desired to\nhave the lute and sang the song as follows:\n\n          \"Behold a lady sweet and fair\n          In simple dress,\n          But right well clothed upon is she\n          With seemliness.\n          By her do flowers seem less bright,\n          And she is such a glorious sight\n   As, on May morns, the golden sun which lights up hill and lea--\n   But froward maids delight us not, with all their bravery.\"\n\nAnd he sang the little verse to Ann as though it were in her praise, till\nat the last line, which fell from his lips as it were in scorn, he cast a\nreproving glance at Ursula, and many an one might see and feel how well\nthe song befitted one and the other of the hostile damsels.\n\nYet was it hard to guess what Ursula was thinking of all this; she\nthanked the Duke right freely for his fine song which held up the mirror\nto all froward ladies. At the same time she looked steadfastly at Ann,\nand led both Herdegen and the Knight of Eberstein to talk with herself;\nyet how often all the time did my brother cast his eyes at his heart's\nbeloved, whom he had betrayed.\n\nAs for myself, I can call to mind little enough of all that was said, for\nthe most part concerning the flowers and trees in the garden. Only Ann\nand my brother dwell in my memory, each feigning neither to see nor to\nhear the other, while covertly each had not eyes nor ears for any other.\nYes, and I mind me how my brother's unrest and distress so filled me now\nwith joy and now with pity, that I longed to cry out to the Junker that\nthis was a base trick they were playing on him, inasmuch as Ann poured\noil and more oil on the flame of his love.\n\nAnd there stood old Tetzel and his daughter, and it was plain to see that\nthey deemed that they had Herdegen safe in their toils; nay, it seemed\nlikely enough that he had done his uncle's bidding and was already\nbetrothed to her. Howbeit this strange lover had up to that moment cast\nnot one loving look on his lady love.\n\nWhat should come of it all? How could I ever find peace and comfort in so\nperverse a world, and amid this feigning which had turned upside down all\nthat heretofore had seemed upright? Whichever way I turned there were\nthings which I did not crave to see, and the saints know full well that I\ngazed not round about me; nay, that my eyes were set on two small specks\nplain to be seen--the two drops of blood which had fallen from Ann's\nfinger, and which were now two dark, round spots on her white gown; and,\nas it grew dusk, meseemed they waxed blacker and greater.\n\nAt length, to my great joy, my lord the Duke rose and made as though he\nwere departing; whereupon the false image vanished, and I beheld Ann\ngiving her hand with a witching smile to Junker Henning, that he might\nhelp her to rise.\n\nSupper was waiting for us at the Forest lodge. My Aunt Jacoba placed the\nDuke in the seat of honor at her right hand, with Ann and Junker Henning\nnext to him. Herdegen she sent to the other end of the table to sit near\nhis uncle, and Ursula far from him near the middle; to the end that it\nmight be clearly seen that she knew naught of any alliance between that\ndamsel and her nephew.\n\nDuring that meal my squire had little cause to be pleased with his lady.\nThe foolish sport begun in the garden was yet carried on and I liked it\nnot, no more than my brother's French bravery; at table he appeared in a\nlong red and blue garment of costly silken stuff, with a cord round the\nmiddle instead of a belt, so that it was for all the world like the loose\ngown which was worn by our Magister and by many a worthy citizen when\ntaking his easement in his own home.\n\nBesides all this, my heart was heavy with longing for my own true love,\nand my eyes filled with tears a many times, also I thanked the Saints\nwith all my heart when at length my aunt left the table.\n\nWhen we were outside she asked me privily whether Ann had rightly played\nher part; to which I answered \"Only too well.\"\n\nHerdegen, also, so soon as he had bid good night to Ursula, led me aside\nand desired to know what had come upon Ann. To this I hastily replied\nthat of a surety he could not care to know, inasmuch as he had broken\ntroth with her. Thereat he was vexed and answered that as matters were,\nso might they remain; but that he was somewhat amazed to mark how lightly\nshe had got over that which had spoiled many a day and night for him.\n\nThen I asked him whether he had in truth rather have found her in woe and\ngrief, and would fain have had her young days saddened for love of him?\nHe broke in suddenly, declaring that he knew full well that he had no\nright to hinder her in any matter, but that one thing he could not bear,\nand that was that she, whom he had revered as a saint, should now demean\nherself no more nobly nor otherwise than any other maid might. On this I\nasked him wherefor he had denied his saint; nay, for the sake--as it\nwould seem--of a maid who was, for sure, the worldliest of us all. And,\nto end, I boldly enquired of him how matters stood betwixt him and\nUrsula; but all the answer I got was that first he must know whether Ann\nwere in earnest with the Junker. On this I said in mockery that he would\ndo well to seek out the truth of that matter to the very bottom; and\nrunning up the steps by which we were standing, I kissed my hand to him\nfrom the first turning and wished him a good night's rest.\n\nUp in our chamber I found Ann greatly disturbed.\n\nShe, who was commonly so calm, was walking up and down the narrow space\nwithout pause or ceasing; and seeing how sorely her fears and her\nconscience were distressing her, pity compelled me to forego my intent of\nnot giving her any hopes; I revealed to her that I had discovered that my\nHerdegen's heart was yet hers in spite of Ursula.\n\nThis comforted her somewhat; but yet could it not restore her peace of\nmind. Meseemed that the ruthless work she had done that day had but now\ncome home to her; she could not refrain herself from tears when she\nconfessed that Herdegen had privily besought her to grant him brief\nspeech with her, and that she had brought herself to refuse him.\n\nAll this was told in a whisper; only a thin wall of wood parted Ursula's\nchamber from ours. As yet there was no hope of sleep, inasmuch as that\nthe noise made, by the gentlemen at their carouse came up loud and clear\nthrough the open window and, the later it grew, the louder waxed\nHerdegen's voice and the Junker's, above all others. And I knew what hour\nthe clocks must have told when my brother shouted louder than ever the\nold chorus:\n\n          \"Bibit heres, bibit herus\n          Bibit miles, bibit clerus\n          Bibit ille, bibit illa\n          Bibit servus cum ancilla.\n          Bibit soror, bibit frater\n          Bibit anus, bibit mater\n          Bibit ista, bibit ille:\n          Bibunt centem, bibunt milee.\"\n\n          [The heir drinks, the owner drinks,\n          The soldier and the clerk,\n          He drinks, she drinks,\n          The servant and the wench.\n          The sister drinks and eke the brother,\n          The grand dam and the gaffer,\n          This one drinks, that one drinks,\n          A hundred drink--a thousand!]\n\nNor was this the end. The Latin tongue of this song may peradventure have\nroused Junker Henning to make a display of learning on his part, and in a\nvoice which had won no mellowness from the stout Brandenburg ale--which\nis yclept \"Death and murder\"--or from the fiery Hippocras he had been\ndrinking he carolled forth the wanton verse:\n\n          \"Per transivit clericus\n          [Beneath the greenwood shade;]\n          Invenit ibi stantent,\n          [A fair and pleasant maid;]\n          Salve mi puella,\n          [Hail thou sweetest she;]\n          Dico tibi vere\n          [Thou my love shalt be!]\"\n\nThe rest of the song was not to be understood whereas Herdegen likewise\nsang at the same time, as though he would fain silence the other:\n\n          \"Fair Lady, oh, my Lady!\n          I would I were with thee,\n          But two deep rolling rivers\n          Flow down 'twixt thee and me.\"\n\nAnd as Herdegen sang the last lines:\n\n          \"But time may change, my Lady,\n          And joy may yet be mine,\n          And sorrow turn to gladness\n          My sweetest Elselein!\"\n\nI heard the Junker roar out \"Annelein;\" and thereupon a great tumult, and\nmy Uncle Conrad's voice, and then again much turmoil and moving of\nbenches till all was silence.\n\nEven then sleep visited us not, and that which had been doing below was\nas great a distress to me as my fears for my lover. That Ann likewise\nnever closed an eye is beyond all doubt, for when the riot beneath us\nwaxed so loud she wailed in grief: \"Oh, merciful Virgin!\" or \"How shall\nall this end?\" again and again.\n\nNay, nor did Ursula sleep; and through the boarded wall I could not fail\nto hear well-nigh every word of the prayers in which she entreated her\npatron saint, beseeching her fervently to grant her to be loved by\nHerdegen, whose heart from his youth up had by right been hers alone, and\ninvoking ruin on the false wench who had dared to rob her of that\ntreasure.\n\nI was right frightened to hear this and, in truth, for the first time I\nfelt honest pity for Ursula.\n\n[End of the original Volume One of the print edition]\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Love which is able and ready to endure all things\n     Wonder we leave for the most part to children and fools\n\n\n\n\nMARGERY\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThe Imperial Diet in Nuremberg!--the Imperial Advent!\n\nThe next day their Majesties were to enter into the town, and with them\nmy Hans.\n\nA messenger had brought the tidings, and now we must use all diligence;\nAnn and Elsa and I, with one and twenty more, had been chosen among all\nthe daughters of the worshipful gentlemen of the council, to go forth to\ngreet the Emperor and Empress with flowers and a discourse. This Ursula\nwas to speak, by reason that she was mistress of all such arts; likewise\nwas she by birth the chiefest of us all, inasmuch as that her late\ndeparted mother was daughter to the great Reynmar, lord of Sulzbach. Nor\nneed Ann and I seek far for the flowers. The Hallers' garden had not its\nlike in all Nuremberg, and my dear parents-in-law had promised that we\nshould pluck all we needed for our posies.\n\nOr ever I mounted my horse, I had tidings that Herdegen and Junker\nHenning had, last evening, come to bitter strife, nay, well-nigh to\nbloodshed; for that when my brother had sung the ditty in praise of one\nElselein and the other had called upon him to put in the name of Ann,\nHerdegen had cried: \"An if you mean red-haired Ann, the tapster wench at\nthe Blue Pike, well and good!\" Whereupon the Junker sprang up and flung\nthe tankard he had just emptied at Herdegen's head. Herdegen had nimbly\nducked, and had rushed on the drunken fellow sword in hand; but Duke\nRumpold had put a word in, and by this morning Junker Henning seemed to\nhave forgotten the matter. In Brandenburg, verily, such frays were common\nat the drinking-bouts of the lords and gentlemen, and by dawn all offence\ngiven over-night in their cups was wiped out of mind.\n\nMy brother lodged again at our grand-uncle's, while the Junker dwelt at\nthe Waldstromer's townhouse. My Lord Duke found quarters at the\nHallerhof, and his Highness the Prince Elector, and Archbishop Conrad of\nMainz likewise lodged there, with a great following. Cousin Maud had made\nready to welcome the Margrave of Baden and the Count von Henneberg under\nour roof. The upper floor of the Pernhart's house was given up to his\nEminence Cardinal Branda, the most steadfast friend at Rome of Master\nUlman's brother the bishop. His Holiness the Pope had sent that\nright-reverend prelate as his legate to the assembly, and he presently\ncelebrated mass with great dignity in the presence of their Majesties and\nof the assembled lords and princes.\n\nTo this day my memory is right good in all ways; and of what followed on\nthese events much is yet as clear and plain in my mind as though I saw\nand heard it all at this present time; albeit I, an old woman, would fain\nhide my face in my hands and weep thereat. For, notwithstanding there\nwere certain hours in those days which brought me sweet love-making, and\nothers of sheer mirth and vanity, yet is the spirit of man so tempered\nthat, when great sorrow follows hard on the greatest joy it sufficeth to\ndarken it wholly. And thus we may liken heaviness of heart to the chiming\nof bells, which hurts the ear if they sound over near, but at a distance\nmake a sweet and devout music. Now, in sooth, inasmuch as I must make\nrecord of the deepest woe of my life, the brazen toll is a sad one, and\nthe long-healed wounds ache afresh.\n\nThose two months of the Imperial Diet! They lie behind me like distant\nhills. I can no more discern them apart, albeit certain landmarks, as it\nwere, stand forth plainly to be seen, like the church-tower, the\nwindmill, and the old oak on the ridge on the horizon.\n\nHow the night sped after our return from the forest and the morning next\nafter--the 27th of July in the year of our Lord 1422--I can no longer\ncall to mind; but I can see myself now as, the afternoon of that day, I\nset forth with Ann, attired in silk and lace--all white and new from head\nto foot, as it were for a wedding--to go to the open place between St.\nJames' Church and the German House, within the Spital Gate. Whichever way\nwe looked, behold flowers, green garlands, hangings, pennons, and\nbanners; it was as though all the gardens in Franconia had been stripped\nof their blossoms. Never had such a brave show been seen, and with every\nbreath we drank in the odors of the leaves and flowers which were already\nwithering in the July sunshine. A finer Saint Pantaloon's day I never\nremember; the very sky seemed to share the city's gladness and was fair\nto see, in spotless blue. A light wind assuaged the waxing heat, and\nhelped the flags and banners to unfurl: Our fine churches were decked all\nover and about with garlands, boughs, and banners, and meseemed were like\nhappy brides awaiting their marriage in holiday array. The market-place\nwas a scene of high festival, the beautiful fountain was a mighty bower\nof flowers, the triumphal arches, methought, were such as the gods of\nwood and garden might have joined to raise. Every balcony was richly\nhung, and even the crested gables and the turrets on the roofs displayed\nsome bravery. All, so far as eye could see, was motley-hued and spick and\nspan for brightness. The tiniest pane in the topmost dormer-window\nglittered without a spot. The poorest were clad in costly finery; the\npatrician folk were in the dress of knights and nobles; every craftsman\nwas arrayed as though he were a councillor, every squire like his lord.\nYou would have weened that day that there were none but rich folk in\nNuremberg. The maidens' pearl chaplets gleamed in the sun, and the golden\njewels in their fur bonnets; and what did their mothers care for the heat\nas they went to and fro to display the costly fur turbans which crowned\ntheir heads as it were with a glory of fur? How carefully had they\ndressed the little ones! They were to see the Emperor and Empress with\ntheir own eyes, and their Majesties might even, by good hap, see them!\n\nPresently we saw the procession of the guilds with their devices and\nbanners; never had they come forth in such goodly bravery. They were to\nform in ranks, on each side of the streets and the highway, a long space\noutside the gate.\n\nAt last it was nigh the hour when their Majesties should arrive. We maids\nhad all assembled. Albeit we had agreed all to be clad in white, Ursula\nhad decked her head-gear with Ostrich feathers of rose-pink and sky-blue;\nright costly plumes they were, but over many. Now would she look into her\nparchment scroll, and for us she had brief words and few. The nosegay\nwhich her servant in scarlet livery bore in his hand was a mighty fine\none; and Akusch and a gardener's boy presently came up with the posies\nculled for Ann and me in the Hallers' garden. We, and many another maid,\nclasped our hands in sheer delight, but Ursula cast a look on them which\nmight, if it could, have robbed the roses and Eastern lilies of their\nsweetness.\n\nThe Emperor, it was said, would keep to the hour fixed on; then all the\nbells began to ring. I knew them all well, and one I liked best of all;\nthe Benedicta in Saint Sebalds Church, which had been cast by old Master\nGrunewald, Master Pernhart's closest friend. Their brazen voices stirred\nmy soul and heart, and presently the cannon in the citadel and on the\nwails rattled out a thundering welcome to the Emperor, rending the summer\nair. My heart beat higher and faster. But suddenly I meseemed that all\nthe bravery of the town and the holiday weed of the folks, the chiming of\nbells and the roaring of cannon were not meant to do honor to the\nEmperor, but only to my one true love who was coming in his train.\n\nAll my thoughts and hopes were set on him. And when the town-pipers\nstruck up with trumpets and kettledrums, bagpipes and horns, when the\nfar-away muttering and roll of voices swelled to a roaring outcry and an\nuproarious shout, when from every mouth at every window the cry rose:\n\"They are corning!\"--yet did I not gaze at their Majesties, to whom the\nday and festival belonged, but only sought him who was mine--my own.\n\nThere they are! close before us.--The Emperor and his noble wife, Queen\nBarbara, the still goodly daughter of the great Hungarian Count of Cilly.\n\nAye! and he looks the man to rule six realms; worthy to stand at the head\nof the great German nation. He might be known among a thousand for an\nEmperor, and the son of an Emperor! How straight he sits in his saddle,\nhow youthful yet is the fire in his eye, albeit he has past his fiftieth\nbirthday! High spirit and contentment in his look; and meseems he has\nforgotten that he ever summoned the Diet to meet at Ratisbon and is\nentering the gates of Nuremberg against his will, by reason that the\nElectors and German princes have chosen to assemble there. His wife\nlikewise is of noble mien, and she rides a white palfrey which, as she\ndraws rein, strives to turn its pink nostrils to greet the bay horse on\nwhich her lord is mounted.\n\nYet do my eyes not linger long on the lordly pair; they wander down the\nlong train of Knights wherein he is coming, though among the last. For a\nmoment they rest on the stalwart forms of the Hungarian nobles, all\nblazing with jewels even to the harness of the steeds; and glance\nunheedingly at the Electors and Princes, the Dukes, Counts and\nKnights-all in velvet and silk, gold and silver; at the purple and\nscarlet of the prelates; at the solemn black with gold chains of the town\ncouncillors; on and beyond all the magnificent train which has come with\nhis Majesty from Hungary or gone forth to meet him.\n\nHereupon Ursula steps forth to speak the address; but sooner may a man\nhear a cricket in a thunderstorm than a maid's voice amid that pealing of\nbells and shouting and cries of welcome. Meseems verily as though the\nfluttering handkerchiefs, the flying pennons, and the caps waved in the\nair had found voice; and Ursula turns her head to this side and that as\nthough seeking help.\n\nEmperor Sigismund signs with his hand, and the two heralds who head the\ntrain uplift their trumpets with rich embroidered banners. A rattling\nblast procures silence: in a moment it is as though oil were poured on a\nsurging sea. Men and guns are hushed; the only sounds to be heard are the\nbrazen tongue of the bells, the whinnying of a horse, the dull mutter of\nmen's voices in the far-off lanes and alleys, and the clear voice of a\nyoung maid.\n\nUrsula made her speech, her voice so loud at the last that it might have\nseemed that the honeyed verses were words of reproof. The imperial pair\ngave each other a glance expressing surprise rather than pleasure, and\nvouchsafed a few words of thanks to the speaker. His Majesty spoke in\nGerman; but in his Bohemian home and Hungarian Kingdom he had caught the\ntrick of a sharper accent than ours.\n\nA chamberlain now gave the signal, and we maidens all went forth towards\nour Sovereign lord and lady. Two and two--Tucher and Schilrstab--Groland\nand Stromer; and the sixth couple were Ann and I--Ann as the daughter of\na member of the council--and my godfather it was, besides her sweet face,\nwho had done most to get her chosen.\n\nNoble youths clad as pages in velvet and silks had received the flowers\noffered by the damsels; but as Ann and I stood forth, the Emperor and\nEmpress looked down on us. I could see that they gazed upon us\ngraciously, and heard them speak together in a language I knew not; and\nPorro, the King's fool--and I say the King's, inasmuch as it was not till\nlater that Sigismund was crowned Emperor at Rome, and by the same token\nit was at that time that my Hans' brothers, Paul and Erhart, were dubbed\nKnights--Porro, who rode at his lord's side on a piebald pony spotted\nblack and yellow, cried out: \"May we all be turned into drones, Nunkey,\nif the flowers which have given this town the name of the Bee-garden are\nnot of the same kith and kin as these!\"\n\nAnd he pointed to us; whereupon the King asked him whether he meant the\ndamsels or the posies. But the jester, rolling on his nag after a merry\nfashion, till the bells in his cap rang again, answered him: \"Nay,\nNunkey, would you tempt a Christian to walk on the ice? An if I say the\ndamsels, I shall get into trouble by reason of your strict morality; but\nif I say the posies, I shall peril my poor soul's health by a foul lie.\"\n\n\"Then choose thee another shape,\" quoth the Queen, \"for I fear lest the\nbees should take thee for a stinging wasp, Porro.\"\n\n\"True, by my troth,\" said the fool, thinking. \"Since Eve fell into sin,\nwomen's counsel is often the best. You, Nunkey, shall be turned into a\nbutterfly, and not into a drone, and grace the flowers as you flutter\nround them.\"\n\nAnd he waved his arms as they were wings and rode round about us on his\npony with right merry demeanor, like a moth fluttering over us. Ann\nlooked down, reddening for shame, and the blood rose to my cheeks\nlikewise for maiden shyness; nevertheless I heard the King's deep,\noutlandish tones, and his noble wife's pleasant voice, and they lauded\nour posies and made enquiry as to our names, and straitly enjoined Ann\nand me not to fail of appearing at every dance and banquet; and I\nremember that we made answer with seemly modesty till the King's\ngrand-master came up and so ended our discourse.\n\nAnd I fancy I can see the multitude coming on; the motley hues of velvet\nand silk, the housings and trappings of the horses, the bright sheen of\npolished metal, and the sparkle of cut gems dazzle my eyes, I ween, to\nthis day. But on a sudden it all fades into dimness; the cries and\nvoices, the bells, the neighing, the crash and clatter are silent--for he\nis come. He waves his hand, more goodly, more truly mine and dearer to my\nheart than ever. But not here do we truly meet again; that joy is to come\nlater in his own garden.\n\nThat garden could already tell a tale of two happy human creatures, and\nof hours of the purest bliss ever vouchsafed to two young hearts; but\nwhat thereafter befell I remember as bright, hot, summer days, full of\nmirth and play-acting, of tourneys and courtly sports, of music and song,\ndancing and pleasuring. The gracious favor of the King and Queen and the\npresence of many princes ceased not to grace it, and went to our brain\nlike heady wine. Things that had hitherto seemed impossible now came\ntrue. Out of sheer joy in those intoxicating pleasures, and for the sake\nof the manifold demands that came upon us in these over-busy days, we\nforgot those nearest and dearest to our hearts. Yet never was I given to\nself-seeking, neither before nor since that time.\n\nAnn's beguiling of the Junker, the homage paid to her by all, even the\nhighest, Herdegen's seething ire, his strivings to win back the favor of\nthe maid he had slighted, his strange and various and high-handed\ndemeanor, his shameless ways with Ursula, to whom he paid great court\nwhen my grand-uncle was present, albeit at other times he would cast dark\nglances at her as if she were a foe--all this glides past me as in a\nmist, and concerning me but little. Then, in the midst of this turmoil\nand magnificence, this love-making and royal grace, now and again\nmeseemed I was suddenly alone and forlorn; even at the tourney or dance;\nnay, even when the King and Queen would vouchsafe to discourse with me, I\nwould be filled with longing for peace and silent hours--notwithstanding\nthat the mighty Sovereign himself took pleasure in questioning me and\nmoving me to those quick replies whereof I never found any lack. Queen\nBarbara would many a time bid me to her chamber, and keep me with her for\nhours; sometimes would Ann also be bidden, and she bestowed on us both\nmany costly jewels.\n\nThen, no sooner had we quitted the castle, where their Majesties lodged,\nthan we must think of our own noble guests; for Markgraf Bernhard of\nBaden, who was quartered on us, would often ask for me, and Cardinal\nBranda would desire Ann to attend him. The larger half of our days was\ngiven to arranging our persons, and while Cousin Maud and Susan would\ndress me I was already thinking of making ready the weed, the ribbons,\nand the feathers needed for the next day. My Hans was now a Knight. The\nsame honor was promised to Herdegen--honor on honor, pleasure on\npleasure, bravery and display! In the stead of our old sun twenty,\nmeseemed, were blazing in the heavens. Many a time it was as though my\nbreath came so lightly that I could float on air, and then again a\nnightmare load oppressed me. Even through the night, in my very dreams,\nthe sounds of music and singing ceased not; but when I awoke the question\nwould arise: \"To what end is this?\"\n\nHans held the helm, and was ever the same, thoughtful yet truly loving.\nAlso he never forgot to keep a lookout for the surety of the bark, and if\nthe pace seemed too great, or he saw rocks ahead, he did his part and\nlikewise guarded me with faithful care from heedless demeanor or\nover-weariness. Margery the rash, who was wanted everywhere, and was at\nall times in the foremost rank, at the behest of the King and Queen, did\nher devoir in all points and nought befell which could hurt or grieve\nher--and she knew full well whom she had to thank for that.\n\nLikewise I discerned with joy that my lover kept the Junker's ardors in\ncheck, for he would fain have courted Ann as hotly as though he were\nsecure of her love; and Hans called upon my brother Herdegen to quit\nhimself as a man should and make an end of this double game by choosing\neither Ann or Ursula, once for all.\n\nIn the forest Uncle Conrad had bidden this noble company to the Lodge.\nAfter the hunt was over we went forth once more to the garden of Martin\nthe bee-keeper, by reason that Duke Ernest of Austria, and Count\nFriedrich of Meissen, and my Lord Bishop of Lausanne, and other of the\nnoble lords, desired to see somewhat of the far-famed bee-keeping huts in\nour Lorenzer-Wald. My uncle himself led the way, and Herdegen helped him\ndo the honors.\n\nPresently, as he over-hastily opened a hive, some bees stung his hand\nbadly; I ran to him and drew the stings out. Ann was close by me, and\nHerdegen tried to meet her eyes, and sang in a low voice a verse of a\nsong, which sounded sad indeed and strange, somewhat thus:\n\n          \"Augustho pirlin pcodyas.\"\n\nWhereupon Ann asked of him in what tongue he spoke; for it was not known\nto her. He, however, replied that of a certainty it was known to her, and\nwhen she looked at him, doubtful yet, he laughed bitterly and said that\nhe could but be well-content if she had forgotten the sound of those\nwords, inasmuch as to him they were bound up with the first great sorrow\nhe had known.\n\nI saw that she was ill-at-ease; but as she turned away he held her back\nto put the words into German, saying, in so dull and low a voice that I\nscarce could hear him, while he stirred up the earth with the point of\nhis sword, purposing to lay some on his swollen hand.\n\n          \"A froward bee hath stung my hand;\n          Mother Earth will heal the smart.\n          But when I lie beneath the turf,\n          Say, Will she heal my broken heart?\"\n\nThen I saw that Ann turned pale as she said somewhat stiffly: \"There are\nother remedies for you against even the worst!\" and he replied: \"But\nyours, Ann, work the best cure.\"\n\nBy this time she was herself again, and answered as though she cared not:\n\"I learnt them from a skilled master.--But in what tongue is your song,\nJunker Schopper, and who taught you that?\"\n\nTo which he hastily answered: \"A swarthy wench of gipsy race.\"\n\nAnd she, taking courage, said: \"One peradventure whom you erewhile met in\nthe forest here?\" Herdegen shook his curly head, and his eye flashed\nlovingly as he spoke: \"No, Ann, and by all the Saints it is not so! It\nwas of a gipsy mother that I learnt it; she sang it to a man in\ndespair--in despair for your sake, Ann--in the forest of Fontainebleau.\"\n\nWhereupon Ann shook her head and strove to speak lightly as she said\n\"Despair! Are you not like the man in the fable, who deemed that he was\nburnt whereas he had thrust another into the fire? The cap fits,\nmethinks, Junker Schopper.\"\n\nHe replied sadly, and there was true grief in his voice: \"Is a hard jest\nall you have to give me now?\" quoth he, \"Nay, then, tell me plainly, Ann,\nif there is no hope for me more.\"\n\n\"None,\" said she, firm and hard. But she forth with added more gently.\n\"None, Herdegen, none at all so long as a single thread remains unbroken\nwhich binds you to Ursula.\"\n\nOn this he stepped close up to her and cried in great emotion: \"She, she!\nAye, she hath indeed cast her devil's tangle of gold about me to ensnare\nall that is vain and base in me; but she has no more room in my heart\nthan those bees have. And if you--if my good angel will but be mine again\nI will cry 'apage'--I tear her toils asunder.\"\n\nHe ceased, for certain ladies and gentlemen came nigh, and foremost of\nthem Ursula; aye, and I can see her now drawing off her glove and\nstooping to gather up some earth to lay on the burning hand of the man\nwhom in truth she loved, while he strove to forestall her and not to\naccept such service. That night we stayed at the lodge, and Ursula again\nhad the chamber next to ours; and again I heard her appealing to her\nSaints, while Ann poured out to me her overflowing heart in a low\nwhisper, and confessed to me, now crying and now laughing, how much she\nhad endured, and how that she was beginning to hope once more.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nOur grand-uncle and guardian, the old knight Im Hoff, had ever, so long\nas I could remember, demeaned himself as a penitent, spending his nights,\nand not sleeping much, in a coffin, and giving the lion's share of his\ngreat revenues to pious works to open unto himself the gates of Heaven;\nbut what a change was wrought in him by the Emperor's coming! This\nstraight-backed and stiff necked man, who had never bowed his head save\nonly in church and before the holy images of the saints, learnt now to\nstoop and bend. His bloodless face, which had long ceased to smile, was\nnow the very home of smiles. His great house was filled, for there lodged\nDuke Ernst of Austria, the Hungarian Count of Gara--who through his wife\nwas near of kin to the Emperor, and his Majesty's trusty secretary,\nKaspar Slick, and all their people. And so soon as either of these came,\na gleam as of starlight lighted up his old features, or, if it fell that\nthe sovereign granted to him to attend him, it was broad sunshine that\nillumined it. And whereas the other gentlemen of the council, hereditary\nand elected, albeit they were ever ready to shake hands with a common\nworkman, would stand face to face with their Majesties or the dukes and\nnotables, upright and duly mindful of their own worth, my guardian would\ncast off his gravity and dignity both together; and verily we all knew\nfull well to what end. He, who had been defrauded of his life's happiness\nby a Baron's daughter, yearned to move the King to raise him to the rank\nof Baron. He loaded the Secretary Slick with gifts and favors, and seeing\nthat his Majesty was graciously pleased to smile on me, his ward, he\nwould be at much pains to flatter me, calling me his \"golden hair\" or\n\"Blue-eyes;\" and enjoin it on me that I should make mention of him to the\nKing as his Majesty's most faithful servant, ever ready for any sacrifice\nin his service, at the same time he asked with a grin how it would\npleasure me to hear Herdegen called by the name and title of Baron von\nSchopper-Im Hoff?\n\nOur own honest and honorable name I weened was good enough for us three;\nyet, for my brother's sake and for Ann's, I held my peace, and took\noccasion while he was in so friendly a mood to urge him to release\nHerdegen, and grant him to choose another than Ursula. But how wroth he\nwaxed, how hastily he put on the icy, forbidding bearing he was wont to\nwear, as he rated me for a wilful simpleton who would undo her brother's\nweal!\n\nIt was now St. Susannah's day--[August 11th]--We were bidden to the\ntourney. Duke Ernest of Austria had challenged Duke Kanthner of Oels in\nSilesia to meet him in the lists and, besides the glory to be gained,\nthere was a prize of sixty and four gold pieces. Other knights also were\nto joust in the ring.\n\nQueen Barbara, of her grace, had bidden me attend with her ladies. At the\njousting-place I found Ann; her mother had remained at home by reason\nthat the old mother was sick. My faithful Uncle Christian Pfinzing, who\nplayed the host to the Emperor and Empress at the Castle as representing\nthe town council, had brought his \"dear watchman\" hither and placed her\nin the keeping of certain motherly dames. Presently, seeing a moment when\nshe might speak with me, Ann said in my ear: \"I will end this sport,\nMargery; I can no longer endure it. He hath sworn to renounce all and\neverything that may keep us apart!\" There was no time for more. Each one\nhad to take his seat. As yet their Majesties were not come, and there was\ntime to gaze about.\n\nThe lists were in the midst of the market-place. The benches were decked\nwith hangings, the lords and ladies who filled them, the feathers waving,\nthe sparkle of jewels, the glitter of gold and silver, the sheen of silk\nand velvet, the throng of common folk, head over head in the topmost\nplaces, the music and uproar, nay, the very savor of the horses dwell\nstill in my mind; yet far be it from me to write of things well-known to\nmost men.\n\nThen my grand-uncle came forth. He had Ursula on his arm as he walked\nthrough the gate-way into the lists and across the sanded ring to his\nseat on the far side. This was in truth forbidden, but the unabashed old\nman defied the rules, and as for Ursula she was well pleased to be gazed\nat. The old knight was smiling; how stately was his mien, and how well\nthe silver breast plate beseemed him, with the golden lion rampant of the\nIm Hoffs! That helmet and breastplate had been forged for his special use\nof the finest silver and gold plate, and were better fit to turn the\npoint of my pen-knife than that of sword and lance. Yet many an one\nadmired the stalwart gait of the old man in his heavy harness. Even\nTetzel's dull face was less dull than its wont, and Ursula's eyes\nsparkled as though her knight had carried off the prize.\n\nPresently my grand-uncle saw where I was sitting, and waved and bowed to\nme as though he had some good tidings to give me. Tetzel did likewise,\nseeming like the old man's pale and creeping shadow. Ursula's triumphing\neyes proclaimed that now she had indeed gained her end; the dullest wit\nmight not miss her meaning. In spite of Ann, Herdegen had pledged his\ntroth to Ursula. The lists and seats, meseemed, whirled round me in a\nmaze, and scarce had they settled down again, as it were, when Cousin\nMaud sat down heavily in her place, and by her face made me aware that\nsome great thing had befallen; for now and again she drew in her cheeks\nand pursed her lips as though she would fain blow out a light. When my\neyes met hers she privily pointed with her fan to show me Herdegen and\nUrsula, and shrugged her shoulders so high that her big head with its\ngreat feathered turban sank between them. And if there was surging and\nwrath in her breast not less was there in mine. Howbeit I had to put on a\nguise of content, nay of gladness, for the Royal pair had bidden me to\ntheir side and it was my task to explain all they desired to learn.\n\nA sunny blue sky bent over the ground; albeit dark clouds came up from\nthe west, and I found it hard to make fitting answer to their Majesties'\nquestions.\n\nWhile the horses were pawing and neighing, and the lances rattled on the\nshields, nay, even when the Dukes of Austria and Schleswig rushed on each\nother and the Austrian unhorsed his foe, I scarce looked on the\njousting-place on which all other eyes were fixed as though held by\nchains and bonds. Mine were set on the spot where Ursula and Ann were\nsitting, and with them the young knight from Brandenburg, Sir Apitz of\nRochow, and my brother Herdegen. Junker Henning had his part to play in\nthe tournament. To Rochow the tourney was all in all; Herdegen gazed only\nat Ann. She, to be sure, made no return, but still he would fix his eyes\non her and speak with her. Ursula had turned paler, and meseemed she had\neyes only for him and his doings. What went forward in the pauses of the\ntilting I could not mark, inasmuch as my eyes and ears were their\nMajesties' alone.\n\nNow, two more knights sprang forth. What cared I of what nation they\nwere, what arms they bore and what they and their horses might do; I had\nsomewhat else to think of. Ursula and I had long been at war, but to-day\nI felt nought but compassion for her: and indeed, on this very day, when\nshe believed she had won the victory, she more needed pity than when she\nhad so besought Heaven to grant her Herdegen's love, inasmuch as my\nbrother sat whispering to Ann with his hand on his heart. And Ann herself\nhad put away all false seeming; and while she gazed into her lover's eyes\nwith soft passion, Ursula sat bending her fan as though she purposed to\nbreak it.\n\nTo think of Ursula as ruling in our house, and of Ann pining with heart\nsickness was cruel grief, and yet were these two things almost less hard\nto endure than the shameless flightiness and strange demeanor of my noble\nbrother, the pride of my heart.\n\nThe town council had voted eight hundred gulden to King Sigismund, and\nfour hundred to the Queen; two hundred and thirty to Porro the jester,\nand great gifts to many of the notables and knights as a free offering\nfrom the city; and now, in a pause in the jousting, his Majesty announced\nhis great delight at the faithful, bountiful, and overflowing hand held\nout to him by his good town of Nuremberg, which had ever been dear to his\nlate beloved father King Charles. And then he pointed to the gentlemen of\nthe council, who made a goodly and reverend show indeed in their long\nflowing hair and beards, their dark velvet robes bordered with fine fur,\nand thin gold chains; and he spoke of their noble and honorable dealing.\nI heard him say that each one of them was to be respected as joint ruler\nwith him over that which was his own, and likewise in greater matters.\nEach one was his equal in manly virtue, and the worthy peer of his\nImperial self. Then he pointed out to the Queen certain noble and goodly\nheads, and it was my part to make known whatsoever I could tell of their\npossessions and their manner of trade. The Hallers were well known to\nhim, and not alone my best beloved, inasmuch as they did great trading\nwith his kingdom of Hungary; and he was well pleased to see my Hans with\nhis father as one of the council.\n\nHis gracious wife was pleased to compare the good order, and cleanness,\nand comfort of Nuremberg with the cities in their native country. Whereas\nshe had already been into some of our best houses, and indeed into our\nown, she spoke well of the wealth, and art, and skill in all crafts of\nthe Nuremberg folk, saying they had not their like in all the world so\nfar as she knew. And then again she spoke her pleasure at the honorable\nseemliness of the councillors, and asked me many questions concerning\nthis one and that, and, among the rest, concerning Master Ulman Pernhart.\nThe royal pair marked, in one his noble brow, in another his long flowing\nhair, in a third his keen and shrewd eye, till presently King Sigismund\nasked his Fool, Porro, which of all the heads in the ranks opposite he\nmight judge to be the wisest and weightiest. The jester's twinkling eyes\nlooked along the rows of folk, and whereas they suddenly fell on little\nDame Henneleinlein, the Honey-wife, who sat, as was her wont, with her\nhead propped on her hands, he took the King's word up and answered in\nmock earnest: \"Unless I am deceived it is that butter-cup queen, Nuncle,\nseeing that her head is so heavy that she is fain to hold it up with both\nhands.\"\n\nAnd he pointed with his bauble to the old woman, who, as the bee-master's\nwidow, had boldly thrust herself into the front rank with those of\nknight's degree; and there she sat, in a gown of bright yellow brocade\nwhich Cousin Maud had once given her, stretching her long neck and\nresting her head on her hands. The King and Queen, looking whither the\nFool pointed, when they beheld a little old woman instead of a stately\ncouncillor, laughed aloud; but the jester bowed right humbly towards the\ndame, and, she, so soon as she marked that the eyes of his Majesty and\nhis gracious lady were turned upon her, and that her paltry person was\nthe object of their regard, fancied that I had peradventure named her as\nbeing Ann's cousin, or as the widow of the deceased bee-master who, long\nyears ago, had led the Emperor Charles to see the bee-gardens, so she\nmade reverence again and again, and meanwhile laid her head more and more\non one side, ever leaning more heavily on her hand, till the King and\nQueen laughed louder than ever and many an one perceived what was doing.\nThe cup-bearer and chamberlain drew long faces, and Porro at last ended\nthe jest by greeting the old woman with such dumbshow as no one could\nthink an honor. The cunning little woman saw now that she was being made\ngame of, and whereas not their Majesties alone, but all the Court about\nthem were holding their sides, and she saw that I was in their midst, she\nbelieved me to be at the bottom of their mischief, and cast at me such\nvengeful glances as warned me of evil in store.\n\nAfter this tourney there was to be a grand dance in the School of Arms,\nto which their Majesties were bidden with all the princes, knights, and\nnotables of the Diet, and the patricians of the town. Next day, being\nSaint Clara's day, there would be a great feast at the Tetzels' house by\nreason that it was the name-day of Dame Clara, Ursula's grandmother, and\nthe eldest of their kin. At this banquet Herdegen's betrothal was to be\nannounced to all their friends and kindred--this my uncle whispered to me\nas he went off after the jousting to attend the King, who had sent for\nhim. The old man had seen nought of Herdegen's doings with Ann, by reason\nthat he and old Tetzel had both been seated on the same side of the\nlists, and the tall helmets and feathers had hidden the young folks from\nhis sight. So assurance and contentment even yet beamed in his eye.\n\nThe tourney had lasted a long time. I scarce had time enough to change my\nweed for the dance. Till this day I had sported like a fish in this\ntorrent of turmoil and pleasure; but to-day I was weary. My body was in\npain with my spirit, and I would fain have staid at home; but I minded me\nof the Queen who, albeit she was so much older, and was watched by\nall--every one expecting that she should be gracious--in her heavy royal\narray, went through all this of which I was so weary.\n\nMeanwhile a great storm had burst upon us and passed over; all creatures\nwere refreshed, and I likewise uplifted my head and breathed more freely.\nThe fencing school--a great square chamber, as it is to this day, with\nplaces all round for the folk to look on--was lighted up as bright as\nday. My lover and I, now in right good heart once more, paced through the\nPolish dance led by the King and Queen. Ann's mother had been compelled\nto stay at home, to tend the master's old mother, and my friend had come\nunder Cousin Maud's protection. She was led out to dance by Junker\nHenning; his fellow country-man, Sir Apitz von Rochow, walked with Ursula\nand courted her with unfailing ardor. Franz von Welemisl, who was wont to\ncreep like her shadow, and who was again a guest at the Tetzels' house,\nhad been kept within doors by the cough that plagued him. Likewise I\nlooked in vain for Herdegen.\n\nThe first dance indeed was ended when he came in with my great-uncle; but\nthe old knight looked less confidently than he had done in the morning.\n\nAnn was pale, but, meseemed fairer than ever in a dress of\npomegranate-red and white brocade, sent to her from Italy by her\nstep-father's brother, My lord Bishop, by the hand of Cardinal Branda. As\nsoon as I had presently begun to speak with her, she was carried off by\nJunker Henning, and at that same moment my grand-uncle came towards me to\nask who was that fair damsel of such noble beauty with whom I was but now\nspeaking. He had never till now beheld Ann close at hand, and how gladly\ndid I reply that this was the daughter of Pernhart the town Councillor\nand she to whom Herdegen had plighted his faith.\n\nThe old man was startled and full wroth yet, by reason of all the fine\nfolk about us, he was bound to refrain himself, and he presently\ndeparted.\n\nThe festival went forward and I saw that Herdegen danced first with\nUrsula and then with Ann. Then they stood still near the flower shrubs\nwhich were placed round about the hall to garnish it, and it might have\nbeen weened from their demeanor that they had quarrelled and had come to\nhigh words. I would fain have gone to them, but the Queen had bid me stay\nwith her and never ceased asking me a hundred questions as to names and\nother matters.\n\nAt last, or ever it was midnight, their Majesties departed. I breathed\nmore freely, put my hand on my Hans' arm, and was minded to bid him take\nme to Herdegen and speak out my mind, but my brother, as it fell,\nprevented me. He came up to me and with what a mien! His eyes flashing,\nhis cheeks burning, his lips tight-set. He signed to me and Hans to\nfollow whither he went, and then passionately besought us that we would\ndepart from the dance for a while with him and his sweetheart, that was\nAnn. Such an entreaty amazed us greatly, yet, when he told us that she\nwould go no whither with him save under our care, and that everything\ndepended on his learning this very hour how he stood with her, we did his\nwill. And he likewise told us that he had not indeed given his word that\nmorning to my grand-uncle and Jost Tetzel, but had only pledged his word\nthat he would give them his answer next day.\n\nSo presently Hans and I stole out behind the pair, out into the road. I,\nfor my part, was well content and thankful and, when we beheld them\naccuse and answer each other right doughtily, we laughed, and were agreed\nthat Aunt Jacoba's counsel had led to a good issue; and I told my Hans\nthat I should myself take a lesson from all this and let the smart\nJunkers and Knights make love to me to their hearts' content, if ever I\nshould be moved to play him a right foolish trick.\n\nPresently, when we had many times paced the road to and fro the\nPernharts' house, Ann was minded to knock at the door; but behold she was\nsaved the pains. Mistress Henneleinlein just then came out whereas she\nhad been helping Dame Giovanna to tend the sick grandmother. The lantern\nEppelein carried in front of us was not so bright as the sun, yet could I\nsee full plainly the old woman's venomous eye; and what high dudgeon\nsounded in her voice! Each one had his meed, even my Hans, to whom she\ncried: \"Keep thy bride out of Porro's way, Master Haller. It ill-beseems\nthe promised wife of a worshipful Councillor to be casting her lot in\nwith a Fool! Howbeit, to laugh is better than to weep, and he laughs\nlongest who laughs last!\" And thereupon she herself laughed loudly and,\nwith a scornful nod to Ann, turned her back on us.\n\nAll was still in Master Pernharts' house; he himself had gone to rest. At\nHerdegen's bidding we followed him into the hall, and there he clasped\nAnn to his heart, and declared to us that now, and henceforth for ever,\nthey were one. Whereupon we each and all embraced; but my friend clung\nlongest to me, and whispered in my ear that she was happier than ever she\ncould deserve to be. Herdegen asked me whether now he had made all right,\nand whether I would be the same old Margery again? And I right gladly put\nup my lips for his to kiss; and the returned prodigal, who had come back\nto that which was his best portion, was like one drunk with wine. He was\nbeside himself with joy, so that he clasped first me and then Hans in his\narms, and slapped Eppelein, who carried a lantern to show us the pools\nleft by the storm of rain, again and again on the shoulder, and thrust a\npurse full of money into his free hand, albeit there was an end now of my\ngrand-uncle's golden bounty. Nought would persuade him to go back to the\ndancing-hall, to meet Ursula and her kin; and when he presently departed\nfrom us we heard him along the street, singing such a love song as no\nfalse heart may imagine, as glad as the larks which would now ere long be\nsoaring to the sky.\n\nWe got back to the great hall. The dancing and music were yet at their\nheight; our absence we deemed had scarce been marked; howbeit, as soon as\nwe entered, my grand-uncle made enquiry \"where Herdegen might be,\" and\nwhen I looked about me at haphazard I beheld--my eyes did not cheat me--I\nbeheld Mistress Henneleinlein in one of the side-stalls.\n\nNo man told me, yet was I sure and certain that she was saying somewhat\nwhich concerned me, and presently I discerned in the dim back-ground the\nfeathered plume which Ursula had worn at the dance. My heart beat with\nfears; every word spoken by the old Dame would of a surety do us a\nmischief. Hans mocked at my alarms and at a maid's folly in ever taking\nto herself matters which concern her not.\n\nThen Ursula came forth into the hall again, and how she swept past us on\nJunker Henning's arm.\n\nA young knight of the Palatinate now led me out to a dance I had erewhile\npromised him.\n\nWe stopped for lack of breath. The festival was over; yet did Ursula and\nthe Junker walk together. He was hearkening eagerly to all she might say,\nand on a sudden he clapped his hand into hers which she held out to him,\nand his eyes, which he had held set on the floor, fired up with a flash.\nPresently he and the Knight von Rochow made their way, arm in arm through\nthe press, and both were laughing and pulling their long red beards.\n\nI still clung to my lover's arm and entreated him to take me to speak\nwith Junker Henning, inasmuch as I sorely wanted to question him; but the\nJunker diligently kept far from us. Nevertheless we at last stayed him,\nand after that I had enquired, as it were in jest, whether he had healed\nhis old feud with Mistress Ursula and concluded a truce, or peradventure\nmade peace with her, he answered me, in a tone all unlike his wonted\nfrank and glad manner, that this for a while must remain privy to him and\nher, and that we should scarce be the first to whom he should reveal the\nmatter; and forthwith he bid us farewell with a courtly reverence. But my\nlover would not let him thus depart, and asked him, calmly, what was the\ninterpretation of this speech, whereupon Rochow spoke for his young\nfellow-countryman, and enquired, in the high-handed and lordly tone which\never marked his voice and manner, whether here, in the native land of\nNuremberg playthings, love and faith were accounted of as toys.\n\nJunker Henning however, broke in, and said, casting a warning look at me:\n\"Far be it from him to break friendship with an honorable gentleman, such\nas my Hans, before having an explanation.\" And he held out his hand\nsomewhat more readily than before, bowed sweetly to me and led away his\ncousin.\n\nAt last we got out with the Haller parents and Cousin Maud. The old folks\ngot into litters, and the serving men were lighting the way before me to\nmine, when my lover stayed me, saying: \"It is already grey in the East.\nNever before were we together so well betimes, Margery, and happy hours\nare few. If thou'rt not too weary, let us walk home together in this\nfresh morning air.\"\n\nI was right well-content and we went gently forward, I clinging to him\nclosely. He felt how high my heart was beating and, when he asked me\nwhether it was for love that it beat so fast, I confessed in truth that,\nwhereas the Brandenburgers outdid all other knights in the kingdom, in\ndefiance and hotheadedness, I feared lest there should be a passage of\narms betwixt Junker Henning and my brother Herdegen. But Hans made answer\nthat, if it were the Brandenburgers intent to challenge him, he could not\nhinder it; yet be trowed it would be to their own damage; that Herdegen\nhad scarce found his match at the Paris school of arms; and at least\nshould we not mar this sweet morning walk by such fears.\n\nAnd he held me closer to him, and while we slowly wandered on he poured\nforth his whole heart to me, and confessed that through all his lonely\nlife in foreign lands he had ever lacked a great matter; that even with\nthe gayety of his favorite comrades, even when his best diligence had\nbeen crowned with great issues, yet had he never had full joy in life.\nNor was it till my love had made him a complete and truly happy man that\nhe had felt, as it were, whole, inasmuch as that alone had stilled the\nstrange craving which till then had made his heart sick.\n\nYea, and I could tell him that it had been the same with me; and as for\nwhat more we said, verily it should rather have been sung to sweet and\nlofty music on the lute and mandoline. Two rightly matched souls stood\nrevealed each to each, and Heaven itself, meseemed, was opened in the\nstrait ways of our town.\n\nWe kissed as we stood on the threshold of the Schopper-house, and when at\nlength we must need part he held me once more to his heart, longer than\never he had before, and tore himself away; and laying his hands on my\nshoulders, as he looked into my eyes in the pale light of dawn, he said:\n\"Come what may, Margery, we love each other truly and have learned\nthrough each other what true happiness means; and nevertheless we are as\nyet but in the March-moon of our love, and its May days, which are\nsweeter far, are yet to come. But even the March-joy is good--right good\nto me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nI had forgotten my fears and gloomy forebodings by the time I climbed\ninto bed in my darkened chamber. Sleep forthwith closed my eyes, and I\nlay without even a dream till Cousin Maud waked me. I turned over by\nreason that I was still heavy with slumber; yet she stood by my bed, and\nscarce half a quarter of an hour after, lo, again I felt her hand on my\nshoulder and woke up quaking, with a cold sweat on my brow. I had dreamed\nthat I was riding out in the Lorenzer-wald with Hans and my grand-uncle\nand other some; but we went slowly and softly, by reason that all our\nhorses fell lame. And it fell that on the very spot where Ann had flown\ninto Herdegen's arms I beheld a high, yellow grave-stone, and on it was\nwritten in great black letters: \"HANS HALLER.\"\n\nHereupon I had started up with a loud cry, and it was long or ever my\nbrain was clear as to the world about me. Cousin Maud laughed to see me\nso drunk asleep, as was not my wont; yet could she not deny that my dream\nboded no good. Nevertheless, quoth she, it was small marvel that such a\nheathen Turkish turmoil as we had been living in should beget monstrous\nfancies in a young maid's brain. She would of set purpose have left me to\nsleep the day through, to give me strength; howbeit Herdegen had twice\ncome to ask for me, and so likewise had Ann and Hans, and it wanted but\nan hour and a half of noon. This made me laugh; nevertheless I minded me\nthen and there of all that had befallen last night at Pernhart's\nhouse-door and in the school of arms, and, moreover, that we were bidden\nthis day to eat with the Tetzels; also that they, and eke my grand-uncle,\nwere still in the belief that Herdegen's betrothal to Ursula might be at\nonce proclaimed to their friends.\n\nI began to dress in haste and fear, and Susan was in the act of plaiting\nmy hair when Cousin Maud flew in to say that Queen Barbara had sent her\nown litter to carry me to her. Thus had I to make all speed.\n\nThe royal quarters in the castle had been newly ordered by the town at\nhis Majesty's desire, and they were indeed bravely decked; yet never had\nthe like show pleased me less. The Queen was giving audience to the\nPope's Legate, to their excellencies the envoys from the Greek Emperor,\nto my Lord Conrad the Elector of Maintz, and many more nobles. She had\nmade so bold as to declare that the German maidens were no less skilled\nin the art of song than the damsels of Italy, and had bidden me to her in\nsuch hot haste that I might let the notables there assembled hear a few\nlays. I might not say nay to the royal behest; for better, for worse, I\nmust fain take my lute and sing, at first alone, and then with my lord\nConte di Puppi. Our voices presently brought the King to the chamber, and\nin truth I won praise enough if I had best cared to hear it. Nay, for the\nfirst time it was a torment to me to sing, and when the notables had all\nbeen sent forth, and I was alone with the Queen and her ladies, I knew\nnot what ailed me but I burst into tears, hot and bitter tears. The\ngracious Queen took me in her arms with womanly sweetness, but while she\ngave me her phial of vinegar to smell, and spoke words of comfort, I was\nsuddenly scared at hearing close behind me right woeful sobbing and\nsighing, as from a woman's breast. I looked about me, and beheld Porro,\nthe jester, who had cast himself on a couch and was mocking me, pulling\nsuch a grimace the while that his smooth, long, thin face seemed grown to\nthe length of two lean faces. The sight was so merry that I was fain to\nlaugh. Whereas he nevertheless ceased not from sobbing, the Queen\nreproved him and bid him not carry his fooling too far. Whereupon he\nsobbed out: \"Nay, royal and gracious Coz, thou art in error. Never have I\nso shamelessly forgotten to play my part as Fool, as at this moment.\nAlack, alack! what a thing is life! Were we not one and all born fools,\nand if we did but measure it as it is now and ever shall be, with the\nwisdom of the sage, we should never cease to bewail ourselves, from the\nnurse's rod to the scythe of death.\"\n\nWhether Porro were in earnest I could not divine; his face, like a mystic\noracle, might bear manifold interpretations; verily his speech went to my\nheart. And albeit hitherto life had brought me an hundredfold more\nreasons for thanksgiving than sorrow, meseemed that it had many griefs in\nstore. The Queen indeed replied full solemnly: \"Peradventure it is true.\nYet forget not that it is not as Sage that you attend us.--Moreover I, as\na good Hungarian, know my Latin, and the great Horatius Flaccus puts your\ndismal lore to shame; albeit, as a Christian woman, I am fain to confess\nthat it is wiser and more praiseworthy to bewail our own sins and the\nsins of the world, and to meditate on the life to come, than to live only\nfor present joys. As for thee, sweet maid, for a long time yet thou\nmay'st take pleasure in the flowers, even though venom may be hidden in\ntheir cups.\"\n\n\"Men are not wont to eat them,\" replied the fool. \"And I have often\nmarvelled wherefor the flighty butterfly wears such gay and painted\nwings, while every creature that creeps and grubs is grey or brown and\nfoul to behold.\"\n\nWhereupon he burst into loud laughter and such boisterous mirth that we\nfairly wept for merriment, and my lady Queen bid him hold his peace.\n\nOn my departing I had need to pass through the King's audience-chamber.\nHe was bidding my Hans depart right graciously, and I went forth into the\ncastle yard with Masters Tucher, Stromer, and Schurstab, all members of\nthe Council. I fancy I hear them now thanking Hans for his fearless\nmanfulness in saying to his Majesty that the treasure-chest must ever be\nempty if the old disorder were suffered to prevail. Likewise they\napproved the well-devised plan which he had proposed for the bettering of\nsuch matters, and my heart beat high with pride as I perceived the great\nesteem in which the worshipful elders of our town held their younger\nfellow.\n\nHans might not part company from them; but when I got into the litter he\nwhispered to me: \"Be not afraid--as to Herdegen and the Junker--you know.\nFarewell till we meet at the Tetzels'.\"\n\nWhen I came home I learnt that my brother, and Ann, and then Eppelein had\ncome to ask for me; now must I change my attire for the feast, and my\nheart beat heavy in my bosom. The bold Brandenburger and my brother were\nperchance at this very hour crossing swords.\n\nCousin Maud, who now knew all, and I stepped out of our litters at the\nTetzels' door. Eppelein was standing by the great gate, booted and\nspurred, holding two horses by their bridles. My lord who spoke with him\nwas my dear Hans. We went into the hall together, and as our eyes met, I\nwist that there was evil in the air. The letter he held bid him ride\nforthwith to Altenperg. Junker Henning and my brother were minded to have\na passage of arms, and with sharp weapons. This, however, they might not\ndo within the limits of the city save at great risk, inasmuch as that the\ntown was within the King's peace, and by a severe enactment knight or\nsquire, lord or servant, in short each and every man was threatened by\nthe Emperor with outlawry, who should make bold to provoke another to\nchallenge him, or to lift a weapon against another with evil intent, be\nhe who he might, throughout the demesne of Nuremberg or so long as the\ndiet was sitting. Hence they would go forth to Altenperg, inasmuch as it\nwas the nearest to arrive at of any township without the limits of the\ncity.\n\nAll this my lover had heard betimes that morning; but Herdegen had told\nhim that Master Schlebitzer and a certain Austrian Knight would attend\nhim. Now the letter was to say that they had both played him false; the\nformer in obedience to the stern behest of his father, the\ntown-councillor; the second by reason that his Duke commanded his\nattendance. And Herdegen hereby urgently besought my Hans that he would\ntake the place thus left unfilled and ride forthwith to Altenperg.\n\nNor was this all the letter. In it my brother set forth that he had\npledged his word solemnly and beyond recall to Ann and her parents, and\nentreated my lover to declare to the Tetzels and to his grand-uncle that\nhenceforth and forever he renounced Ursula. He would speak of the matter\nat greater length at the place of meeting.\n\nCousin Maud and Hans and I held a brief council, and we were of one mind:\nthat this message should not be given to the Tetzels till after the great\ndinner and when we should know the issue of the combat. My heart urged me\nindeed to desire my lover to forego this ride, and I mind me yet how I\nimplored him with uplifted hands and how he forced himself to put them\nfrom him with steadfast gentleness. And when he told me that he for\ncertain, if any one, could pacify the combatants or ever blood should be\nshed, I gazed into his brave and manful and kind face, and methought\nwhither he went all must be for the best, and I cried with fresh\nassurance: \"Then go!\" Every word do I remember as though it were graven\nin brass.\n\nEppelein cracked his whip against his leathern boot-tops; old Tetzel's\nleaden voice cried out to enquire where we were lingering, and a silken\ntrain came rustling down the stairs. My lover kissed his hand to me, and\nI went forth with him into the court-yard. His fiery horse gave him so\nmuch to do that he never marked my farewell. On a sudden it flashed\nthrough my brain that this was that very horse which my grand-uncle had\ngiven to Herdegen, and herein again, meseemed, was an omen of ill.\nLikewise I noted that Hans was in silken hose with neither spurs nor\nriding-boots. Howbeit the Hallers had many horses; and as a lad he had\nbeen wont to ride with or without a saddle, and was a rider whom none\ncould unhorse, even in the jousting-ring.\n\nHe had soon quelled his steed and was trotting lightly over the stones,\nfollowed by Eppelein; but as he vanished round the first corner meseemed\nthat the bourn stone, as he rode past it, was turned into the yellow\ngravestone I had seen in my dream, and that again I saw the great black\nletters of the name \"Hans Haller.\"\n\nI passed my hands across my eyes to chase away the hideous vision, and I\nwas young enough and brave enough to return Ursula's greeting without any\nquaking of my knees. Cousin Maud, meanwhile, had walked up the stairs,\nsnorting and fuming like a boiling kettle; nor could she be at peace,\neven among the company who were awaiting the bidding to table. Many an\none marked that something more than common was amiss with her. I\nrefrained myself well enough, and I excused my brother's and my lover's\nabsence with a plea of weighty affairs. My grand-uncle, however, guessed\nthe truth, and when I gave true answer to his short, murmured questions\nhe wrathfully cried: then these were the thanks he got? Henceforth he\nwould plainly show how he, who had been a benefactor, could deal with the\nyouth who had dared to mock his authority. Hereupon I besought him first\nto grant me a hearing for a few words; but he waved me away in ire, and\nsigned to Ursula, who hung on his arm, and she set her lips tight when he\npresently with wrathful eyes whispered somewhat in her ear whereof I\nbelieved I could guess the intent. And when I beheld her call Sir Franz\nvon Welemisl to her side and give him her hand, speaking a few words in a\nlow voice, I discerned that, in truth she knew all.\n\nShe presently led her father aside and told him somewhat which brought\nthe blood to his ashy face, and led him to say her nay right vehemently.\nBut, as she was wont, she made good her own will and he shrugged his\nshoulders, wrathful indeed, but overmastered by her.\n\nDuring this space the great door of the refectory had been thrown open,\nand when Tetzel with his old mother moved that way, desiring the guests\nto follow him, my Uncle Christian, Ann's faithful friend, whispered to me\nthat Herdegen had told him that he was now pledged to his \"dear little\nwarder,\" and likewise what was on hand between him and the Junker von\nBeust. I might be easy, quoth he; the Brandenburger would have a bitter\ntaste of Nuremberg steel, of that he was fully assured. And he ended his\nspeech with a merry: \"Hold up your head, Margery.\"\n\nThen we all sat down at the laden table, Dame Clara sitting at the top,\nalbeit she looked but sullen and ill to please.\n\nUrsula had chosen to set Sir Franz by her side. Herdegen's seat, at her\nleft hand, was vacant; and she bid her white Brabant hound, as though in\njest, to leap into it. The meal was served, but it all went in such\ngloomy silence that Master Muffel, of the town-council, whom they named\nMaster Gall-Muffel, whispered across the table to my Uncle Christian \"was\nit not strange to give a funeral feast without ever a corpse.\" Again I\nshuddered. My jovial uncle had already lifted his glass, and stretching\nhimself at his ease he nodded to me, and drank, saying loud enough for\nall to hear: \"To the last pledged couple, and the faithfullest pair of\nlovers.\"\n\nI nodded back to him, for I wist what he meant, and drank with all my\nheart. Ursula had meanwhile kept her ears and eyes intent on us, and she\nnow signed to her father and he slowly rose, clinked on his glass, and\nseeing that many were hearkening for what he should say, he declared to\nhis guests that he had bidden them to this banquet not alone to do honor\nto the name-day of his venerable mother, whose praises his friend Master\nTucher had eloquently spoken, but rather that he might announce to them\nthe betrothal of his daughter Ursula to the noble knight and baron Franz\nvon Welemisl. Then was there shouting and clinking and emptying of wine\ncups, whereat old Dame Clara Tetzel, who was deaf and had failed to\ngather the purport of her son's address, cried aloud \"Is young Schopper\ncome at last then?\"\n\nHereupon Sir Franz turned pale; he had gone up to the old woman, glass in\nhand, with Ursula, and she now spoke into her grand-dame's ear to explain\nthe matter. The old woman looked first at her son and then at my\ngrand-uncle, and shook her head; nevertheless she put a good face on a\nbad case, gave Sir Franz her hand to kiss, and was duly embraced by\nUrsula; yet she sat nodding her head up and down, and ever more shrewdly\nas she heard the bridegroom cough. Amazement sat indeed on the faces of\nall the guests; howbeit the ice was broken, and the silent and gloomy\ncompany had on a sudden turned right mirthful. Cousin Maud, meseemed, was\nthe most content of all. Ursula's betrothal had rescued her favorite from\ngreat peril, and henceforth her plumed head-gear was at rest once more.\n\nAll about me was talk and laughter, glasses ringing, voices uplifted in\nset speeches, and many a shout of gratulation. When a betrothal is in the\nwind, folks ever believe that they have hold of the guiding clue to\nhappiness, even if it be between a simpleton and a deaf mute.\n\nThe seat on my left hand, which my lover should have filled, remained\nempty; on my right sat his reverence Master Sebald Schurstab, the\nminorite preacher and prior who, so soon as he had spoken in honor of one\ntoast, fixed his eyes on the board and thought only of the next. Thus, in\nthe midst of all this mirthful fellowship, there was nought to hinder my\nfears and hopes from taking their way. Each time that a cry of \"Hoch!\"\nwas raised, I roused me and joined in; scarce knowing, however, in whose\nhonor. Likewise the hall waxed hotter and hotter, and the air right heavy\nto breathe.\n\nTo-day again, as yesterday, a storm burst over us. Albeit the sun was not\nyet set, it was presently so dark that lights had been brought in and\nfifty tapers in the silver candlesticks added to the heat. The lightning\nflashes glared in at the curtained windows like a flitting lamp, and the\nroar of the thunder shook the panes which rattled and clanked in their\nleaden frames. The reverend Prior called on the blessed saints whose\nspecial protection this house had never neglected to secure, and crossed\nhimself. We all did the same, and had soon forgotten the storm without.\nThe glasses ere long were clinking once more. I watched the numberless\ndishes borne in and out-roasted peacocks, with showy spread tails and\ncrested heads raised as it were in defiance: boars' heads with a lemon in\ntheir mouth and gaily wreathed; huge salmon lying in the midst of blue\ntrout, with scarlet crawfish clinging to them; pasties and\nskilfully-devised sweetmeats; nay, now and again, I scarce consciously\nput forth my hand and carried this or that morsel to my mouth but whether\nit were bread or ginger my tongue heeded not the savor. Silver tankards\nand Venetian glasses were filled from flasks and jugs; I heard the guests\npraising the wines of Furstenberg and Bacharach, of Malvoisie and Cyprus,\nand I marked the effects of the noble and potent grape-juice, nay, now\nand then I played the part of \"warder\" to Uncle Christian; yet meseemed\nthat it was only by another's will or ancient habit that I raised a\nwarning finger. Was I in truth at a banquet or was I only dreaming that I\nsat as a guest at the richly spread board? The only certain matter was\nthat the storm was overpast, and that no hail nor rain now beat upon the\nwindow panes. How wet must my Hans be, who had ridden forth in court\narray, without a cloke to cover him.\n\nTo judge by the voices and demeanor of the menfolk the end of the endless\nmeal must surely be not far off, and indeed dishes were by this time\nbeing served with packets of spices and fruits and pies and sweetmeats\nfor the little ones at home. I drew a deeper breath, and methought the\ncompany would soon rise from the table, forasmuch as that Jost Tetzel had\nalready quitted his seat. Then I beheld his pale face through a curtain\nand his lean hand beckoning to my grand-uncle. He likewise rose, and\nUrsula followed him. Forthwith, from without came a strange noise of\nfootsteps to and fro and many voices. A serving man came to hail forth\nMaster Ebner and Uncle Tucher, and the muttering and stir without waxed\nlouder and louder. The guests sat in silence, gazing and enquiring of\neach other. Somewhat strange, and for certain somewhat evil, had\nbefallen.\n\nMy heart beat in my temples like the clapper of an alarm-bell. That which\nwas going forward, and to which one after another was called forth, was\nmy concern; it must be, and mine alone. I felt I could not longer keep my\nplace, and I had pushed back my seat when I saw Uncle Tucher standing by\nCousin Maud, and his kind and worthy face, still ruddy from the wine he\nhad drunk, was a very harbinger of horror and woe. He bent over my cousin\nto speak in her ear.\n\nMy eyes were fixed on his lips, and lo! she, my second mother, started up\nhastily as any young thing and, clasping her hand to her breast she\nwell-nigh screamed: \"Jesu-Maria! And Margery!\"\n\nAll grew dark before my eyes. A purple mist shrouded the table, the\ncompany, and all I beheld. I shut my eyes, and when presently I opened\nthem once more, close before me, as it were within reach, behold the\nyellow headstone with black letters thereon, as in my dream; and albeit I\nclosed my eyes again the name \"Hans Haller\" was yet there and the letters\nfaded not, nay, but waxed greater and came nigher, and meseemed were as a\nrow of gaping werewolves.\n\nI held fast by the tall back of my heavy chair to save me from falling,\non my knees; but a firm hand thrust it aside, and I was clasped in a pair\nof old yet strong arms to a faithful heart, and when I heard Cousin\nMaud's voice in mine ear, though half-choked with tears, crying: \"My\npoor, poor, dear good Margery!\" meseemed that somewhat melted in my heart\nand gushed up to my eyes; and albeit none had told me, yet knew I of a\ncertainty that I was a widow or ever I was a wife, and that Cousin Maud's\ntears and my own were shed, not for Herdegen, but for him, for him. . . .\n\nAnd behold, face to face with me, who was this? Ursula stood before me,\nher blue eyes drowned in tears--tears for me, telling me that my woe was\ndeep enough and bitter enough to grieve even the ruthless heart of my\nenemy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThe storm had cleared the air once more. How fair smiled the blue sky,\nhow bright shone the sun, day after day and from morning till night; but\nmeseemed its splendor did but mock me, and many a time I deemed that my\nheart's sorrow would be easier to bear with patience if it might but\nrain, and rain and rain for ever. Yea, and a grey gloomy day would have\nbrought rest to eyes weary with weeping. And in my sick heart all was\ndark indeed, albeit I had not been slow to learn how this terror had come\nabout.\n\nThat was all the tidings I had craved; as to how life should fare\nhenceforth I cared no more, but let what might befall without a wish or a\nwill. Sorrow was to me the end and intent of life. I spurned not my\ngrief, but rather cherished and fed it, as it were a precious child, and\nnought pleased me so well as to cling to that alone.\n\nHowbeit I seldom had the good hap to be left to humor this craving. I was\nwroth with the hard and bitter world for its cruelty; yet it was in truth\nthat very world, and its pitiless call to duty, which at that time\nrescued me from worse things. Verily I now bless each one who then strove\nto rouse me from my selfish and gloomy sorrow, from the tailor who cut my\nmourning weed to Ann, whose loving comfort even was less dear to me than\nthe solitude in which I might give myself up to bitter grieving. All I\ncared for was to hear those who could tell of his last hours and\ndeparting from this life, till at last meseemed I myself had witnessed\nhis end.\n\nFrom all the tidings I could learn, I gathered that old Henneleinlein,\nwhose gall had been raised against me by the Court Fool, had no sooner\nparted from us at Master Pernhart's door than she had hastened to the\nschool of arms to make known to Ursula that my brother had plighted his\ntroth anew to his cast-off sweetheart. Hereupon Ursula had dared to say\nto the Junker that Herdegen was her knight, who would pick up his glove\nwhich he had cast down at the former dance; but that he nevertheless was\nplaying a two-fold game, and had treacherously promised Ann to wed her,\nto win her favor likewise. Hereupon the Brandenburger had been filled\nwith honest ire, had sworn to Ursula that he would chastise her false\nlover, and was ready, not alone to accept my brother's defiance, but to\nfight with ruthless fury.\n\nThus Ursula's plot had prospered right well, inasmuch as, so long as she\nhoped to win Herdegen, she had been in deathly fear lest the Junker\nshould fall out with him; whereas, now that in her wrath she only desired\nthat the faithless wight should give an account to the Junker's sword,\nshe thought fit in her deep and malignant fury to brand my brother as the\nchallenger, knowing that if the combat had a bloody issue he would of a\nsurety suffer heavy penalty. And in truth she had not reckoned wrongly\nwhen she declared that my brother, whom she knew only too well, would be\nher ready, champion.\n\nOn the morning next after the great dance she had addressed a brief\nletter to Herdegen beseeching him, for the friendship's sake which had\nbound them from their youth up, and by reason that she had no brother, to\nteach Junker von Beust that a patrician's daughter of Nuremberg should\nnot lack a true knight, when Brandenburg pride dared to cast scorn on her\nin the face of all the world. My brother's response to this letter was a\nchallenge to the Junker; yet had he not perchance been in such hot haste,\nsave that he had long burned to punish the overweening young noble who\nhad given him many an uneasy hour. He scarce, indeed, would have drawn\nhis sword at Ursula's behest, inasmuch as he could plainly see that what\nshe had most at heart was to make their breach wear such seeming to other\nfolks as though he, who had been looked upon by the whole city as her\npledged husband, had not quitted her, but had been ready rather to shed\nhis heart's blood in her service.\n\nVerily Ursula believed that she had found a sure instrument of vengeance,\nwhereas she had heard say that Junker Henning von Beust was one of the\nmost dreaded swordsmen in the Marches. Herdegen, to be sure, was likewise\nfamed in Nuremberg as a doughty champion; yet it is ever the way in\nFranconia, nay, and in all Germany, to esteem outlandish means more\nhighly than the best at home. Moreover she had many a time heard my\ngrand-uncle declare that the gentlemen of our patrician families were not\nabove half knights, and her intent was to sacrifice Herdegen to the\nBrandenburger's weapon.\n\nHowbeit she had reckoned ill. Hans, who did service to my brother as his\nsecond at Altenperg, after striving faithfully to make peace between the\ntwo, was witness how our Nuremberg swordsman, who had had the finest\nschooling at Erfurt, Padua, and Paris, not merely withstood the\nBrandenburger, but so far outdid him in strength and swiftness that the\nJunker fell into the arms of his friends with wounds in the head and\nbreast, while Herdegen came forth from the fray with no more hurt than a\nslight scratch on the arm.\n\nThe witnesses saw what he could do with amazement, and Sir Apitz von\nRochow avowed that at my brother's first thrust he foresaw his cousin's\nevil plight; and they said that during the combat the supple blade of the\nNuremberger's bedizened sword was changed into a raging serpent, which\nwound in everywhere, and bit through iron and steel. Afterwards he set\nforth that perchance Junker Schopper, who was said to be even better\nversed in all manner of writing than in the use of his weapon, had made\nuse of some magic art, whereat a pious Knight of the Marches would fain\ncross himself.\n\nNow whereas Junker von Beust had been in attendance on the King's person,\nthe end of the fray could not be hidden from his Majesty, and so soon as\nthe wounded man had been carried into the priest's house at Altenperg for\nshelter and care, it was needful to remove his fortunate foe into surety\nfrom King Sigismund's wrath. In this matter both Rochow and Muschwitz,\nwho were the Junker's seconds, demeaned them as true nobles, inasmuch as\nthey offered my brother refuge and concealment in their castles, albeit\nthey accused him between themselves of some secret art; but he who was so\nsoon to die counselled him to bide a while with Uncle Conrad at the\nforest lodge, and see what he himself and other of his friends might do\nto win his pardon.\n\nWhen, at length, my lover was about to depart, the storm had burst;\nwherefore the Brandenburgers besought him to tarry in the priest's house\ntill it should be overpast. This he would not do, by reason that his\nsweetheart looked for him with a fearful heart, knowing that her brother\nwas in peril; and forthwith he rode away. Herdegen gave him Eppelein to\nattend him, and to bring back to him such matters as he had need of, and\nso my beloved set forth for the town, the serving man riding behind him.\n\nIt rained indeed and lightened and thundered, yet all was well till, nigh\nto Saint Linhart, the hail came down, beating on them heavily. At that\nmoment a burning flash, with a terrible crash of thunder, reft a tree\nasunder by the road-way; his powerful horse was maddened with fear, stood\nupright, fell back, and crushed his rider against the trunk of a poplar\ntree. Never more did I look on the face of the true lover to whom I was\nso closely knit--save only in dreams; and I thank those who held me back\nfrom beholding his broken skull. To this day he rises before me, a silent\nvision, and I see him as he was in that hour when he gave me a parting\nkiss on our threshold, in the pale gleam of early morning, solemnly glad\nand in his festal bravery. Yet they could not hinder me from pressing my\nlips to the hands of the beloved body in its winding-sheet.\n\nIt was on a fair and glorious morning--the day of the Assumption of the\nBlessed Virgin--when Hans Haller, Knight, Doctor, and Town councillor,\nthe eldest of his ancient race, my dear lord and plighted lover, was\ncarried to the grave. The velvet pall wherewith his parents covered the\nbier of their beloved and firstborn son was so costly, that the price\nwould easily have fed a poor household for years. How many tapers were\nburnt for him, how many masses said! Favor and good-will were poured\nforth upon me, and wherever I might go I was met with the highest\nrespect. Even in my own home I was looked upon as one set apart and\ndedicated, whose presence brought grace, and who should be spared all\ncontact with the common and lesser troubles of life. Cousin Maud, who was\never wont to mount the stair with an echoing tread and a loud voice, now\nwent about stepping softly in her shoes, and when she called or spoke it\nwas gently and scarce to be heard.\n\nAs for me I neither saw nor heard all this. It did not make me thankful\nnor even serve to comfort me.\n\nAll things were alike to me, even the Queen's gracious admonitions. The\ndiligent humility of great and small alike in their demeanor chilled me\nin truth; sometimes meseemed it was in scorn.\n\nTo my lover, if to any man, Heaven's gates might open; yet had he\nperished without shrift or sacrament, and I could never bear to be absent\nwhen masses were said for his soul's redemption. Nay, and I was fain to\ngo to churches and chapels, inasmuch as I was secure there from the\nspeech of man. All that life could give or ask of me, I had ceased to\ncare for.\n\nIf, from the first, I had been required to bestir myself and bend my\nwill, matters had not perchance have gone so hard with me. The first call\non my strength worked as it were a charm. The need to act restored the\npower to act: and a new and bitter experience which now befell was as a\ndraught of wine, making my heavy heart beat high and steady once more.\nNought, indeed, but some great matter could have roused me from that dull\nhalf-sleep; nor was it long in coming, by reason that my brother\nHerdegen's safety and life were in peril. This danger arose from the fact\nthat, not long ere the passage of arms at Altenperg, in despite of strait\nenactments, the peace of the realm had many times been broken under the\nvery eyes of his Majesty by bloody combats, and the Elector Conrad of\nMaintz had gone hand in hand with him of Brandenburg to entreat his\nMajesty to make an example of this matter. These two were likewise the\nmost powerful of all the electors; the spiritual prince had, at the\nclosing of the Diet, been named Vicar of the Empire, and he of\nBrandenburg was commander-in-chief of all the Imperial armies. And his\nvoice was of special weight in this matter, inasmuch as the great\nfriendship which had hitherto bound him to the Emperor had of late cooled\ngreatly, and both before and during the sitting of the Diet, his Majesty\nhad keenly felt what power the Brandenburger could wield, and with what\ngrave issues to himself.\n\nThus, when my lord the Elector and the high constable Frederick demanded\nthat the law should be carried out with the utmost rigor in the matter of\nHerdegen, it was not, as many deemed, by reason that the King was not at\none with our good town and the worshipful council, and that he was well\ncontent to vent his wrath on the son of one of its patrician families,\nbut contrariwise, that his Majesty, who hated all baseness, had heard\ntidings of Herdegen's bloody deeds at Padua and his wild ways at Paris.\nLikewise it had come to his Majesty's ears that he had falsely plighted\nhis troth to two maidens. Nay, and my grand-uncle had made known to King\nSigismund that Ursula, who had been known to the Elector from her\nchildhood up, had been driven by despair at Herdegen's breach of faith to\ngive her hand to the sick Bohemian Knight, Sir Franz von Welemisl.\n\nMoreover the Knight Johann von Beust, father of Junker Henning, had\njourneyed to Nuremberg to visit his wounded son; and whereas he learnt\nmany matters from his son's friends around his sick-bed, he earnestly\nbesought the Elector so to bring matters about that due punishment should\novertake the Junker's foeman.\n\nMy lord the Elector had many a time showed his teeth to the knighthood of\nBrandenburg, appealing to law and justice when he had taken part with the\ncitizens and humbled the overbearing pride of the nobles. It was now his\npart to show that he would not suffer noble blood to be spilt unavenged,\nthough it were by the devilish skill of a citizen; forasmuch as that if\nindeed he should do so all men would know thereby that he was the sworn\nfoe of the nobles of Brandenburg and kept so tight a hand on them, not\nfor justice' sake, but for sheer hatred and ill-will.\n\nWhen at a later day, I saw the old knight, with his ruddy steel-eaters'\nface and great lip-beard, and was told that in his youth he had been a\ndoughty free booter and highway robber, who by his wealth and power had\nmade himself to be a mainstay of the Elector in Altmark, I could well\nimagine how his threats had sounded, and that all men had been swift to\nlend ear to his words. Yet that just King to whom he accused Herdegen\ngave a hearing to von Rochow and the other witnesses; they could but\ndeclare that all had been done by rule, and that Rochow had said from the\nfirst that of a certainty the devil himself guided Herdegen's sword.\nMuschwitz, indeed, was sure that he had seen his blade flash forth fire.\nHereupon the father was urgent on the King's Majesty that he should seek\nto seize my brother, pronounce him a banished outlaw, and that whenever\nhis person should be taken he was to be punished with death.\n\nAll this I learnt not till some time after, inasmuch as folks would not\nadd new cause of grief to my present sorrow.\n\nThe way I was going could lead no-whither save to madness or the\ncloister; I had so lost my wits in self, that I weened that I had done my\npart for my brother when I had humbly entreated their Majesties to\nvouchsafe him their gracious pardon, and had signed my name to certain\npetitions in favor of the accused. Of a truth I wist not yet in what\nperil he stood, and rarely enquired for him when Uncle Conrad had assured\nme that he lay in safe hiding.\n\nSometimes, indeed, meseemed as though Ann and the others kept somewhat\nprivy from me; but even all care to enquire was gone from me, nor cared I\nfor aught but to be left in peace. And thus matters stood till rumor\nwaxed loud and roused me from my leaden slumber.\n\nI had passed the day for myself alone, refusing to see our noble guests;\nI was sitting in silence and dreaming by my spinning-wheel, which I had\nlong ceased to turn, when on a sudden there were heavy steps and wrathful\nvoices on the stairs. The door of the room was thrown open and, in spite\nof old Susan's resistance, certain beadles of the city came in, with two\nof the Emperor's men-at-arms. My cousin was not within doors, as had\nbecome common of late, and I was vexed and grieved to be thus\nunpleasantly surprised. I rose to meet the strangers, making sharp\nenquiry by what right they broke the peace of a Nuremberg patrician's\nhousehold. Hereupon their chief made answer roundly that he was here by\nhis Majesty's warrant, and that of the city authorities, to make certain\nwhether Junker Herdegen Schopper, who had fled from the Imperial ban,\nwere in hiding or no in the house of his fathers. At first it was all I\ncould do to save myself from falling; but I presently found heart and\ncourage. I assured the bailiffs that their search would be vain, albeit I\ngave them free leave to do whatsoever their office might require of them,\nonly to bear in mind that great notables were guests in the house; and\nthen I drew a deep breath and meseemed I was as a child forgotten and\nleft in a house on fire which sees its father pressing forward to rescue\nit.\n\nHitherto no man had told me what fate it was that threatened my brother,\nand now that I knew, I hastily filled up the meaning of many a word to\nwhich I had lent but half an ear. My cousin's frequent absence in court\narray, Ann's tear-stained eyes and strange mien, and many another matter\nwas now full plain to me.\n\nMy newly-awakened spirit and restored power asserted their rights, and,\nas in the days of old, neither could rest content till it knew for a\ncertainty what it might do.\n\nWhile Susan and the other serving folks, with certain of the retainers\nbrought by our guests, were searching the house through, I hastily did on\nmy shoes and garments for out-door wear, and albeit it was already dusk,\nI went forth. Yea, and I held my head high and my body straight as I went\nalong the streets, whereas for these weeks past I had crept about hanging\nmy head; meseemed that a change had come over my outward as well as my\ninner man. And as I reached Pernhart's house, with long swift steps, more\nfolks would have seen me for what in truth I was: a healthy young\ncreature, with a long span of life before me yet and filled with strength\nand spirit enough to do good service, not to myself alone, but to many\nanother, and chiefest of all to my dearly beloved brother.\n\nAnd when I was at my walk's end and stood before the old mother,--who was\nnow recovered from her sickness and sitting upright and sound in her\narm-chair with her youngest grandchild in her lap,--I knew forthwith that\nI had come to the right person.\n\nThe worthy old dame had not been slow to mark what ailed me; nay, if\nCousin Maud had not besought her to spare my sorrowing soul, she long\nsince had revealed to me what peril hung over Herdegen. She had not\nfailed to perceive that my weary submission to ills which might never be\nremedied, had broken my power and will to fulfil what good there was in\nme. And now I stood before her, freed from that sleepwalking dulness of\nwill, eager to know the whole truth, and declared myself ready to do all\nthat in me lay to attain one thing alone, namely to rescue my brother. On\nthis I learnt from the venerable dame's lips that now I was indeed the\nold Margery, albeit Cousin Maud had of late denied it, and with good\nreason; and the old woman was right, inasmuch as that the more terrible\nand unconquerable the danger seemed, the more my courage rose and the\ngreater was my spirit. Now, too, I heard that what I had taken for\nlove-sick weakness in Ann was only too-well founded heart-sickness; and\nthat she likewise, on her part, had not been idle, but, under the\nguidance of Cousin Maud and Uncle Christian, had moved heaven and earth\nto succor her lover, albeit alas! in vain.\n\nIn truth the cause was as good as lost; and Uncle Christian, who ever\nhoped for the best, made it no secret that, in the most favorable, issue\nHerdegen must begin life afresh in some distant land. Yet was neither Ann\nnor I disposed to let our courage fail, and it was at that time that our\nfriendship put forth fresh flowers. We fought shoulder to shoulder as it\nwere, comrades in the struggle, full of love towards each other and of\nlove for my brother; and when I bid her farewell and she would fain walk\nhome with me, all those who dwelt in the coppersmith's house were of the\nsame mind as men might be in a beleaguered town, who had been about to\nyield and then, on a sudden, beheld the reinforcements approaching with\nwaving banners and a blast of trumpets.\n\nIn truth there was a shrewd fight to be waged; and the stronghold which\nday by day waxed harder to conquer was my lord chief Constable, the\nElector Frederick; his peer, the Elector of Maintz, put all on him when\nCardinal Branda, who was Ann's kind patron, besought his mercy.\n\nUntil I had been roused to this new care in life I had never been to\ncourt, in spite of many a gracious bidding from my lady, the Queen. My\nsupplications found no answer, and when Queen Barbara granted me audience\nat my entreaty, though she received me graciously, yet would she not hear\nme out. She would gladly help, quoth she, but that she, like all, must\nobey the laws; and at last she freely owned that her good will would come\nto nought against the demands of the Elector of Brandenburg. The\ngreatness of that wise and potent prince was plainly set before our eyes\nthat same day, for on him, as commander-in-chief of the crusade to be\nsent forth against the Hussite heresy, the Emperor's own sword was\nsolemnly bestowed in the church of Saint Sebald. It was girt on to him by\nreverend Bishops, after that he had received from the hand of the Pope's\nlegate a banner which his Holiness had himself blessed, and which was\nborne before him by the Count of Hohenlohe as he went forth.\n\nThat it would be a hard matter to get speech with so potent a lord at\nsuch a time was plain to see; howbeit I was able to speak privily at any\nrate with his chamberlain, and from him I learned in what peril my\nbrother was, inasmuch as not the Junker's father alone was bent on\nbringing him to extreme punishment, but likewise no small number of\nNuremberg folk, who had of yore been aggrieved by my brother's\nover-bearing pride.\n\nEvery one who had ever met him in the streets with a book under his arm,\nor had seen him, late at night, through the lighted window-pane, sitting\nover his papers and parchments, was ready to bear witness to his study of\nthe black arts. Thus the diligence which he had ever shown through all\nhis wild ways was turned to his destruction; and it was the same with the\nopen-handed liberality which had ever marked him, by reason that the\npoor, to whom he had tossed a heavy ducat instead of a thin copper piece,\nwould tell of the Devil's dole he had gotten, and how that the coin had\nburnt in his hand. Nay and Eppelein's boasting of the gold his young lord\nhad squandered in Paris, and wherewith he had filled his varlet's\npockets, gave weight to this evil slander. Many an one held it for a\ncertainty that Satan himself had been his treasurer.\n\nThus a light word, spoken at first as a figure of speech by the Knight\nvon Rochow, had grown into a charge against him, heavy enough to wreck\nthe honor and freedom of a man who had no friends, and even to bring him\nto the stake; and I know full well that many an one rejoiced beforehand\nto think that he should see that lordly youth with all his bravery\nstanding in the pointed cap with the Devil's tongue hung round his neck,\nand gasping out his life amid the licking flames.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe Diet was well-nigh over, yet had we not been able to gain aught in\nHerdegen's favor. One day my Forest Aunt, who had marked all our doings\nwith wise counsel and hearty good-will, sent word that he on whose mighty\nword hung Herdegen's weal or woe, the Elector Frederich himself, had\npromised to visit at the Lodge next day to the end that he might hunt,\nand that we should ride thither forthwith.\n\nBy the time we alighted there his Highness had already come and gone\nforth to hunt the deer; wherefor we privily followed after him, and at a\nsign from Uncle Christian we came out of the brushwood and stood before\nhim. Albeit he strove to escape from us with much diligence and no small\ncraftiness, we would not let him go, and kept up with him, pressing him\nso closely that he afterwards declared that we had brought him to bay\nlike a hunted beast. Of a truth no bear nor badger ever found it harder\nto escape the hounds than he, at that moment, to shut his eyes and ears\nagainst bright eyes and women's tongues made eloquent by Dame Love\nherself. Moreover my mourning array, worn as it was for a youth who had\nstood above most others in his love, would have checked any hard words on\nhis lips; thus was he once more made to know that Eve's power was not yet\nwholly departed. Yet were we far from believing in any such power in\nourselves, as we appeared before that great and potent sovereign, whose\nmanly, calm, and withal fatherly dignity made him, to my mind, more\nmajestic than the tall but unresting Emperor.\n\nI can see him as he stood with his booted foot on the hart's neck, and\nturned his noble head, with its long, smooth grey hair, gazing at us with\nhis great blue eyes, kindly at first, but presently with vexation and\nwell-nigh in wrath.\n\nWe held our hands tight on our hearts, striving to call to mind some few\nof the words we had meditated with intent to speak them in defence of\nHerdegen. And our love, and our steadfast purpose that we would win grace\nand mercy for him came to our aid; and whereas my lord's first enquiry\nwas to know whether I were that Mistress Margery Schopper who had been\nbetrothed to his dear Hans Haller, too soon departed, my eyes filled with\ntears, but the memory of the dead gave me courage, so that I dared to\nmeet the great man's eye, and was right glad to find that the words which\nin my dread I had forgot, now came freely to my mind. Likewise meseemed\nthat, in overriding my own fears, I had conquered Ann's; whereas she had\nbeen pale and speechless, clinging to the folds of my dress, she now\nstood forth boldly by my side.\n\nThen, when I had presented her to his Highness as Herdegen's promised\nbride, to whom he had been plighted in love from their childhood, I made\nknown to his lordship that it was not my brother's desire, but that of my\ngrand-uncle, that Ursula should be his wife. Likewise I strove to release\nmy brother from the charge of making gold, by diligently showing that the\nold Knight had ever showered ducats on him to beguile him to his will.\nThen I spoke at length of Herdegen's skill with the sword, and hereupon\nAnn made bold to say that it would be well to bid her lover return in\nsafe-keeping to Nuremberg, and there let him give proof of his skill with\na weapon specially blessed by my lord Cardinal Julianus Caesarinus, the\nPope's legate, which could have no taint of devilish arts.\n\nThus did we give utterance to everything we had meditated beforehand; and\nalbeit the Elector at first made wrathful answer, and even made as though\nhe would turn his back on us, each time we made shift to hold him fast.\nNay, or ever we had ceased he had taken his foot from the stag's neck,\nand at length we walked with him back to the forest lodge, half amused,\nyet half grieved, with the mocking words he tormented us with. Then he\nbid us quit him, promising that he would once more examine into the\nmatter of that young criminal.\n\nWithin doors supper was now ready, but we, as beseemed us, kept out of\nthe way. My brother's case was now in safe hands, inasmuch as my Uncle\nConrad and Christian sat at table with my lord. Likewise we were much\ncomforted, whereas my aunt told us that the elder Knight, Junker Henning\nvon Beust's father, who was here in the Elector's following, had, of his\nown free will, said to her that he now rued his deed in so violently\naccusing Herdegen, by reason that his son, who was now past all danger,\nhad earnestly besought him to save this man, whose skill was truly a\nmarvel, and had likewise said that he whom Hans Haller had honored with\nhis friendship could not have practised black arts. Also he held me dear\nas the widowed maid to whom his friend was to have been wed, and he could\nnever forgive himself if fresh woe came upon me through him or his kith\nand kin.\n\nAll this was glad tidings indeed, not alone for Herdegen's sake, but also\nby reason that there are few greater joys than that of finding good cause\nto approve one whom we respect, and yet whom we have begun to doubt.\n\nAnn and I went to our chamber greatly comforted, and in such good heart\nas at that time I could be, and when from thence I heard Uncle\nChristian's great voice, as full of jollity as ever, I was certain that\nmatters were all for the best for Herdegen. Our last fears and doubts\nwere ere long cleared away; while the gentlemen beneath were still over\ntheir cups a heavy foot tramped up the stairs, a hard finger knocked at\nour chamber door, and Uncle Christian's deep voice cried: \"Are you asleep\nbetimes or still awake, maidens?\"\n\nWhereupon Ann, foreboding good, answered in the gladness of her heart\nthat we were long since sleeping sweetly, and my uncle laughed.\n\n\"Well and good,\" quoth he, \"then sleep on, and let me tell you what\nmeseems your very next dream will be: You will be standing with all of us\nout in a green mead, and a little bird will sing: 'Herdegen is freed from\nhis ban.' At this you will greatly rejoice; but in the midst of your joy\na raven shall croak from a dry branch: 'Can it be! The law must be\nupheld, and I will not suffer the rascal to go unpunished.' Whereupon the\nlittle bird will twitter again: 'Well and good; 't will serve him right.\nOnly be not too hard on him.' And we shall all say the same, and\nthereupon you will awake.\"\n\nAnd he tramped down the stair again, and albeit we cried after him, and\nbesought him to tell us more of the matter, he heard us not at all.\n\nWhen we were at home again, lo, the Elector had done much to help us. I\nfound a letter waiting for me, sealed with the Emperor's signet, wherein\nit was said that, by his Majesty's grace and mercy, my brother Herdegen\nwas purged of his outlawry, but was condemned in a fine of a thousand\nHungarian ducats as pain and penalty.\n\nThus the little bird and the raven had both been right. Howbeit, when I\npresently betook me to the castle to speak my thanks to the Empress, I\nwas turned away; and indeed it had already been told to me that at Court\nthis morning that sorrowful Margery, with her many petitions, was looked\nupon with other eyes than that other mirthful Margery, who had come with\nflowers and songs whensoever she was bidden. None but Porro the jester\nseemed to be of the same mind as ever; when he met me in the castle yard\nhe greeted me right kindly and, when I had told him of the tidings in the\nEmperor's letter, he whispered as he bid me good day: \"If I had a fox for\na brother, fair child, I would counsel him to lurk in his cover till the\nhounds were safe at home again. In Hungary once I met a certain fellow\nwho had been kicked by a highway thief after he had emptied his pockets.\nI tell you what. A man may well pawn his last doublet, if he may thereby\ngain a larger. He need never redeem the first, and it is given some folks\nto coin gold ducats out of humbler folks' sins. Ah! If I had a fox for a\nbrother!\"\n\nHe sang the last words to himself as it were, and vanished, seeing\ncertain persons of the Court.\n\nNow I took this well-meant warning as it was intended; and albeit Ann and\nI were heartsick with longing to see Herdegen and to release him from his\nhiding, we nevertheless took patience. The legal guardians of our estate,\nhaving my uncle's consent, took my Cousin Maud's suretyship, and\nexpressed themselves willing to pay the fine out of the moneys left by\nour parents, into the Imperial treasury. And that which followed\nthereafter showed us how wise the Fool's admonition had been.\n\nThe knight, Sir Apitz von Rochow, who had served as Junker Henning's\nsecond in the fight, tarried yet in Nuremberg, and this rude, arrogant\nyouth had devoted himself with such true loving-kindness to the care of\nhis young cousin, at first in the priest's house at Altenpero and\nafterwards in the Deutsch-haus in the town, that he had taken no rest,\nday nor night, until the Junker's father came, and then he fell into a\nviolent fever. It was but of late that the leech had granted him to go\nout of doors, and his first walk was to our house to show me his sorrow\nfor my grief, and to thank my cousin for many pleasant trifles which she\nhad sent to him and the Junker during their sickness, to refresh them. At\nthe same time he broke forth in loud and unstinted wrath against Sir\nFranz von Welemisl, and gave us to wit that with his whole heart he\ngrudged him the fair Ursula, whose favor he himself had so diligently\nsued for since the first days of the Diet. From our house he went to the\nTetzels', and then he and the Bohemian forthwith came to high words and\ndefiant glances.\n\nShortly after this, and a few hours only after my brother's penalty had\nbeen paid into the Treasury, the two young gentlemen met in the nobles'\nwine-room by the Frohnwage, and von Rochow, heated by wine and heeding\nneither moderation nor manners, began to taunt Ursula's betrothed. After\nputting it to him that he had left the task to Herdegen of picking up the\nglove, \"which peradventure he had thought was of too heavy leather,\" to\nwhich the other made seemly reply, he enquired, inasmuch as they were\ndiscoursing of marriage, whether the Church, which forbids the joining of\nthose who are near of kin, hath not likewise the power to hinder a young\nand blooming maid from binding herself for life to a sickly husband. Such\ndiscourse was ill-pleasing by reason of the Bohemian's presence there:\nand the Junker went yet further, till to some speech made by old Master\nGrolaud, he made answer by asking what then might be a priest's duty, if\nthe sick bridegroom failed to say \"yes\" at the altar by reason of his\ncoughing? And as he spoke he cast a challenging look at Welemisl.\n\nThe hot blood of the Bohemian flew to his brain; or ever any one could\nhinder him, his knife was buried to the hilt in the other's shoulder. All\nhastened to help the Brandenburger, and when presently some turned to\nseize the criminal he was no more to be seen.\n\nThis dreadful deed caused just dismay, and most of all at Court, inasmuch\nas the chamberlain and the maid of honor in close attendance on their\nMajesties' persons were near kin to the Bohemian, whose mother was of the\nnoble Hungarian house of Pereny.\n\nAs to the Emperor, he flew into great fury and threatened to cancel the\nmurderer's coat of arms and punish him with death. Never within the peace\nof his realm, nay and under his very eyes, had so much noble blood been\nshed in base brawling as here in our sober city, and he would forthwith\nmake an example of the guilty men. He would make young Schopper pay some\npenalty yet more than a mere fine, to that he pledged his royal word, and\nas for young Welemisl, he was minded to devise some punishment that\nshould hinder many an over-bold knight from drawing his sword! And he\ncommanded that not only his own constables and men-at-arms, but likewise\nthe town bailiffs, should forthwith seek and take both those young men.\n\nOnly two days later Sir Franz was brought in by the city watch; he had\ndressed himself in the garments of a waggoner, but had betrayed himself\nin a tavern at Schwabach by his coughing. Howbeit his Majesty had by this\ntime come to another mind; nay, Queen Barbara left him less peace than\neven the court-folks, for indeed her father, Count Cilly, was near of kin\nto the Perenys, and through them to the Welemisl.\n\nThe Emperor Sigismund was a noble-minded and easy-living prince, who\nonce, when forty thousand ducats had been poured into his ever-empty\ntreasure chest, divided it forthwith among his friends, saying: \"Now\nshall I sleep well, for that which broke my rest you bear away with you.\"\nAnd this light-hearted man, who was ever tossed hither and thither\nagainst his will, now saw that his peace was in evil plight by reason of\nSir Franz. This was ill to bear; and whereas his royal wife called to\nmind in a happy hour that Welemisl had been provoked out of all measure\nby Rochow's scorn, and had done the deed out of no malice aforethought\nbut, being heated with wine, in a sudden rage, and that he was in so far\nmore worthy of mercy than young Schopper, who had shed noble blood with a\nguilty intent, counting on his skill as a swordsman, the Emperor\nsurrendered at discretion. In this he was confirmed by his privy\nsecretary, Caspar Slick, whom the Queen had beguiled; and this man,\nlearned in the law, was ready with a decision which the Imperial\nmagistrate gladly agreed to forthwith, as mild yet sufficient. Matters in\nshort were as follows: About ten years ago the Knight Sir Endres von\nSteinbach had slain a citizen of Nuremberg in a fray with the town, and\nhad made his peace afterwards with the council under the counsel of the\nAbbot of Waldsassen: by taking on himself, as an act of penance, to make\na pilgrimage to Vach and to Rome, to set up stone crosses in four\nconvents, and henceforth to do service to the town in every quarrel, in\nhis own person, with a fellowship of ten lances for the space of two\nyears. All this he had duly done, and it came about that the Emperor now\ncondemned the Bohemian and my brother both alike to make a pilgrimage,\nnot only to Rome--inasmuch as their guilt was greater than\nSteinbach's--but likewise to Jerusalem, to the Holy Sepulchre and other\nsacred places. Welemisl was to pay the same penalty in money as Herdegen\nhad paid, and in consideration of their having thus made atonement for\nthe blood they had shed, and as their victims had escaped death, they\nwere released from the doom of outlawry. On returning from their\npilgrimage they were to be restored to their rank and estates, and to all\ntheir rights, lordships, and privileges.\n\nNot long after this sentence was passed the Court removed from Nuremberg\nthrough Ratisbon, where the Emperor strove to make up his quarrel with\nthe Duke Bavaria and then to Vienna; but ere his departing he gave strait\norders to the chief magistrate to see that the two criminals should fare\nforth on their pilgrimage not longer than twenty-four hours after the\ndeclaration of their doom.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     All things were alike to me\n     Fruits and pies and sweetmeats for the little ones at home\n     Were we not one and all born fools\n\n\n\n\nMARGERY\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nShall I now set forth how that Ann and I found Herdegen in his\nhiding-place, a simple little beekeeper's but in the most covert part of\nthe Lorenzer wald, a spot whither no horseman might pass; how that even\nin his poor peasant's weed my brother was yet a goodly man, and clasped\nhis sweetheart in his arms as ardently as in that first day on his\nhomecoming from Italy--and how that the dear, hunted fellow, beholding me\nin mourning dress, took his sister to his heart as soon as his plighted\nlove had left the place free? Yea, for the dead had been dear to him\nlikewise, and his love for me had never failed.\n\nWhen we presently gave ourselves up in peace to the joy of being all\ntogether once more, I weened that his eye was more steadfast, and his\nvoice graver and calmer than of old; and whensoever he spoke to me it was\nin a soft and heartfelt tone, which gave me comforting assurance that he\ngrieved for my grief. And how sweetly and gravely did he beguile Ann to\nmake the most of this sad meeting, wherein welcome and God-speed so\nclosely touched. In the house once more I rejoiced in the lofty flight\nwhich lifted this youth's whole spirit above all things common or base;\nand his sweetheart's eyes rested on him in sheer delight as he talked\nwith my uncle, or with the magistrate who had come forth with us to the\nForest. And albeit it was in truth his duty to the Emperor his master, to\nfulfil his behest, nevertheless he gave us his promise that he would put\noff the announcement of the sentence till we should return to the town\nnext day, and prolong our time together and with Cousin Maud as much as\nin him lay.\n\nMy aunt's eyes shone with sheer joy when they fell on her darling with\nHerdegen at her side, and she could say to herself no doubt that these\ntwo, who, as she conceived, were made for each other, would hardly have\ncome together again but for her help. Or ever we set forth on the morrow,\nshe called Herdegen to her once more to speak with him privily, and bid\nhim bear in mind that if ever in his wanderings he should meet another\nyouth--and he knew who--he might tell him that at home in the\nLorenzerwald a mother's heart was yet beating, which could never rest\ntill his presence had gladdened it once more.\n\nMy uncle rode with us into the town. It was at the gate that the\nmagistrate told Herdegen what his fate should be: that he must leave\nNuremberg on the morrow at the same hour; and to my dying day I shall\never remember with gladness and regret the meal we then sat down to with\nour nearest and dearest.\n\nCousin Maud called it her darling's condemnation supper. She had watched\nthe cooking of every dish in the kitchen, and chosen the finest wine out\nof the cellar. Yet the victual might have been oatmeal porridge, and the\nnoble liquor the smallest beer, and it would have been no matter to our\ngreat, albeit melancholy gladness. And indeed, no man could have gazed at\nthe pair now come together again after so many perils, and not have felt\nhis heart uplifted. Ah! and how dear to me were those twain! They had\nlearnt that life was as nothing to either of them without the other, and\ntheir hearts meseemed were henceforth as closely knit as two streams\nwhich flow together to make one river, and whose waters no power on earth\ncan ever sunder. They sat with us, but behind great posies of flowers, as\nit were in an isle of bliss; yet were they in our midst, and showed how\nglad it made them to have so many loving hearts about them.\nNotwithstanding her joy and trouble Ann forgot not her duty as\n\"watchman,\" and threatened Uncle Christian when he would take more than\nhe should of the good liquor. He, however, declared that this day was\nunder the special favor of the Saints, and that no evil could in any wise\nbefall him. My Forest-uncle and Master Pernhart had been found in\ndiscourse together, and the matter of which they spoke was my Cousin\nGotz. And how it gladdened the father to speak of his far-off son! More\nespecially when Pernhart's lips overflowed with praise of the youth to\nwhom his only child owed her early death.\n\nMost marvellous of all was the Magister. Herdegen's return to his beloved\nrobbed Master Peter of his last hope; nevertheless his eyes had never\nrested on her with fonder rapture. Verily his faithful heart was warmed\nas it were by the happiness which surrounded her as with a glory, and\nindeed it was not without some doubts that I saw the worthy man, who was\nwont to be so sober, raise his glass again and again to drink to Ann,\nwhether she marked him or not, and drain his glass each time in her\nhonor. My Uncle Christian likewise filled his cup right diligently, and\nseeing him quaff it with such lusty good will I feared lest he should\nkeep us all night at table, when the time was short for Ann and my\nbrother to have any privy speech together. But that good man forgot not,\neven over the wine-jar, what might pleasure other folks; and albeit it\nwas hard for him to quit a merry drinking-bout he was the first to move\naway. We were alone by sundown. The Magister had been carried to bed and\nwoke not till noon on the morrow.\n\nThe plighted couple sat once more in the oriel where they had so often\nsat in happier days, and seeing them talking and fondling in the\ngathering dusk, meseemed for a while that that glad winter season had\ncome again in which they had rejoiced in the springtide of their love.\n\nThus the hours passed, and I was in the very act of enquiry whether it\nwere not time to light the lamps, when we heard voices on the stairs, and\nCousin Maud came in saying that Sir Franz had made his way into the\nhouse, and that he declared that his weal or woe, nay and his life lay in\nHerdegen's hand, so that she had not the heart to refuse to suffer him to\ncome in. Hereupon my brother started up in a rage, but the chamber door\nwas opened, and with the maid, who brought the lamp in, the Bohemian\ncrossed the threshold. We maids would fain have quitted them; but the\nknight besought us to remain, saying, as his eyes humbly sued to mine,\nthat rather should I tarry and speak a good word for him. Then, when\nHerdegen called upon him to speak, but did not hold forth his hand, Sir\nFranz besought him to suffer him to be his comrade in his pilgrimage.\nHowbeit so doleful a fellow was by no means pleasing in my brother's\neyes, and so he right plainly gave him to understand; then the Bohemian\ncalled to mind their former friendship, and entreated him to put himself\nin his place and not to forget that he, as a man sound of limb, would\nhave avenged the scorn put on him by Rochow in fair fight instead of with\na dagger-thrust. They were condemned to a like penance and, if Herdegen\nwould not suffer him and give him his company, this would be the\ndeath-blow to his blighted honor.\n\nHereupon I appealed to my brother right earnestly, beseeching him not to\nreject his former friend if it were only for love of me. And inasmuch as\non that day his whole soul was filled with love, his hardness was\nsoftened, and how gladly and thankfully my heart beat when I beheld him\ngive his hand to the man who had endured so much woe for my sake.\n\nPresently, while they were yet speaking of their departing, again there\nwere voices without; and albeit I could scarce believe my ears I mistook\nnot, and knew the tones for Ursula's. Ann likewise heard and knew them,\nand she quitted the chamber saying: \"None shall trouble me in such an\nhour, least of all shall Ursula!\" The angelus had long since been tolled,\nand somehap of grave import must have brought us so rare a guest at so\nlate an hour. My cousin, who would fain have hindered her from coming in,\nheld her by the arm; and her efforts to shake off the old lady's grasp\nwere all in vain till she caught sight of Herdegen. Then at length she\nfreed herself and, albeit she was gasping for breath, her voice was one\nof sheer triumph as she cried: \"I had to come, and here I am!\"\n\n\"Aye, but if you come as a Mar-joy I will show you the way out, my word\nfor that!\" my cousin panted; but the maid heeded her not, but went\nstraight toward Herdegen and said: \"I felt I must see you once more ere\nyou depart--I must! Old Jorg attended me, and when I am gone forth again\nDame Maud will speak my 'eulogium'. Only look at her! But it is all one\nto me. Find me a place, Herdegen, where I may speak with you and Ann\nSpiesz alone. I have a message for you.\"\n\nHereupon my cousin broke in with a scornful laugh, such as I could never\nhave looked to hear from her, with her kind and single heart; and my\nbrother told Ursula shortly and plainly that with her he had no more to\ndo. To this she made answer that it would be a sin to doubt that,\ninasmuch as he was now a pious pilgrim and honorably betrothed,\nnevertheless she craved to see Ann. That, too, was denied her, and she\ndid but shrug her shoulders; then she turned to the Bohemian, who had\ngone towards her, and asked him with icy politeness to remove from her\npresence, inasmuch as he was an offence to her. Hereupon I saw the last\ndrop of red blood fade away from the young Knight's sickly cheek, and it\nwent to my heart to see him uplift his hands and implore her right\nhumbly: \"You know, Ursula, all that hath befallen me for your sake, and\nhow hard a lot awaits me. Three times have I been plighted to you, my\npromised bride, and as many times cast off. . . .\"\n\n\"To spare you the like fate a fourth time; all good things being in\nthrees!\" she put in, mocking him. \"Verily you have cured me of any desire\never to be your Dame, Sir Knight. And since meseems this day our speech\nis free and truthful, I am fain to confess that such a wish was ever far\nenough from me, and even when we stood betrothed. A strange thing is\nlove! 'Here's to fair Margery!' one day, on every noble gentleman's lips;\nand on the morrow: 'Here's to sweet Ursula!' In some folks it grows\ninwardly, as it were a polypus, and of such, woe is me, am I. My love, if\nyou would know the truth, my lord Baron von Welemisl, love such I have\nknown I gave once for all to that man Herdegen Schopper; it has been his\nfrom the time when, in my short little skirts, I learnt to write; and so\nit has ever been, till the hour when worthy Dame Henneleinlein, the noble\nJunker's new cousin--it is enough to make one die of laughing!--when that\nillustrious lady whispered the truth in my ear that her intending kinsman\nhad thrown me over, and, with me, old Im Hoff's wealth, for the sake of a\nscrivener's wench. And to think that as a boy he was wont to bring me\nposies, and wear my colors! Nay, and since that time he has shot many a\nfiery glance at me. Only lately he wrote to his uncle from Paris that he\nwas minded to make me his wife. Ah, you may open your eyes wide, most\nrespected every-one's-cousin Maud, and you likewise, prim and spotless\nMistress Margery! Cross yourselves in the name of all the Saints! A dead\nwolf cannot bite, and as for my love for that man, I may boldly declare\nthat it is dead and buried. But mark me,\" and she clapped her hand to her\nheaving bosom, \"mark me, somewhat else hath made entrance here, with\ndrums and trumpets and high jubilee: Hate!--I hate you, Herdegen, as I\nhate death, pestilence, and hell; and I hate you twice as much since your\nskill with the rapier brought the combat with the Brandenburger, into\nwhich I entrapped you, to so perverse an end.\"\n\nHereupon Cousin Maud, wild with rage herself, gripped her again by the\narm to draw her forth from the chamber, but Ursula went on in a milder\ntone:\n\n\"Only a few moments longer, I pray you; for by the Blessed Virgin and all\nthe Saints I swear that I would not have come hither at so late an hour\nbut to deliver my message to Herdegen.\"\n\nMy cousin released her, and she drew forth a written paper and again\nenquired for Ann; howbeit my brother said that he did not purpose to call\nher in, and desired that she would give him the paper, if indeed it\nconcerned him. To this she answered that he would presently know that\nmuch, inasmuch as it was her intent to read it to the company, only she\nwould fain have had his fair mistress among the hearers. Howbeit she had\na good loud voice, she thanked the Saints, and the doors in the\nSchoppers' house were scarce thicker than in other folks' houses. The\nletter in her hand had been given to her to deliver to Herdegen by the\nnewlymade vicar of his Highness the Elector and Archbishop of Treves, who\nwas lodged with the Tetzels. He had not been able to find him, no more\nthan the Emperor's men-at-arms; so he had bidden her take good heed that\nshe gave it into Junker Schopper's own hand. But verily she would do yet\nmore, and spare him the pains of reading it.\n\nHereupon my brother, in great ire, bid her no longer keep that which was\nnot her own; yet she refused, and whereas Herdegen seized her hand to\nwrench away the paper she shrieked out to the Bohemian: \"Give him his\ndue, for a knave who offends maidens; that outcast for whom I scorned and\nmisprized you! Help, help, if you are no churl!\"\n\nMy brother nevertheless had already snatched the letter from her, and the\nBohemian, who had laid his hand on his dagger, thought better of it as\nhis eye met my look of warning.\n\nIt was a fearful moment of terror, and Ursula, whose hair had fallen\nloose, while her flashing blue eyes, full of hate, shot lightnings on one\nand another, stood clinging to the heavy dresser whereon our silver and\nglass vessels were displayed, and cried out as loudly as she could shout:\n\"The letter is from his lady-love in Padua, the Marchesa Bianca Zorzi.\nThat cunning swordsman's blade made her a widow, and now she bids him\nreturn to her embrace. The fond and ardent lady is in Venice, and her\nintent is to revel there in love and pleasure with her husband's\nmurderer. And he--though he may have sworn a thousand vows to the\nscrivener's hussy--he will do the Italian Circe's bidding, and if he may\nescape her snares he will fall into those of another. Oh! I know him; and\nI feel in my soul that his fate will be to dally with one and another in\ndelights and raptures, till the Saints fulfil my heart's chiefest desire,\nand he comes to despair and anguish and want, and the scrivener's wench\nbreaks her heart under my very eyes with pining and sheer shame. Away,\naway, Herdegen Schopper! Go forth to joy and to misery! Go-with your pale\nblack-haired mate. Revel and wallow, till you, who have trampled on this\nheart's true love, are brought low--as loathsome in the eyes of men as a\nleper and a beggar.\"\n\nAnd she shook the dresser so that the precious glass cup which the German\nmerchants of the Fondaco at Venice had given to my father at his\ndeparting, fell to the floor and was broken to pieces with a loud crash.\n\nWe had hearkened to her ravings as though spellbound and frozen; and when\nwe at last took heart to put an end to her wild talk, lo, she was gone,\nand flying down the stairs with long strides.\n\nHerdegen, who had turned pale, struggled to command himself. Cousin Maud,\nwho had lost her breath with dismay, burst into loud weeping; the wild\nmaid's curse had fallen heavy on her soul. I alone kept my senses, so far\nas to go to the window and look out at her. I saw her walking along,\nhanging her head; the serving man carried the lantern before her, and the\nBohemian was speaking close in her ear.\n\nWhen I came back into the chamber Cousin Maud had her arm round Herdegen,\nand was saying to him, with many tears, that the curse of the wicked had\nno power over a pious and faithful Christian; yet he quitted her in haste\nto seek Ann, who doubtless would have stayed in the next chamber, and\nperchance needed his succor.  Howbeit the door was opened, and we could\nscarce believe our eyes when she came in with that same roguish smile\nwhich she was wont to wear when, in playing hide-and-seek, she had stolen\nhome past the seeker, and she cried: \"Thank the Virgin that the air is\nclear once more! You may laugh, but in truth I fled up to the very garret\nfor sheer dread of Mistress Tetzel. Did she come to fetch her\nbridegroom?\"\n\nHerdegen could not refrain from smiling at this question, and we likewise\ndid the same; even Cousin Maud, who till this moment had sat on the couch\nlike one crushed, with her feet stretched out before her, made a face and\ncried: \"To fetch him! Ursula who has caught the Bohemian! She is a\nmonster! Were ever such doings seen in our good town?--And her mother was\nso wise, so worthy a woman! And the hussy is but nineteen!--Merciful\nFather, what will she be at forty or fifty, when most women only begin to\nbe wicked!\" And thus she went on for some while.\n\nEre long we forgot Ursula and all the hateful to-do, and passed the\nprecious hours in much content, till after midnight, when the Pernharts\nsent to fetch Ann home. Herdegen and I would walk with her. After a\ngrievous yet hopeful leave-taking I came home again, leaning on his arm,\nthrough the cool autumn night.\n\nWhen I now admonished Herdegen as we walked, as to the fair Marchesa and\nher letter, he declared to me that in those evil weeks he had spent in\nbitter yearning as a serving man in the bee-keeper's hut, he had learned\nto know his own mind. Neither the Marchesa, whom he scorned from the\nbottom of his heart, inasmuch as, with all her beauty, she was full of\ncraft and lies, no, nor event Dame Venus herself could now turn him aside\nfrom the love and duty he had sworn to Ann. He would, indeed, take ship\nfrom Genoa rather than from Venice, were it not for shame of such fears\nof his own weakness, and that he longed once more to set eyes on our\nbrother Kunz whom he had not seen for so long a space.\n\nI found it hard to see clear in this matter. Yet could I not deem it wise\nto deny him the first chance of proving himself true and honest; likewise\nmeseemed that our younger brother's presence would be a safe guard\nagainst temptation. Under the eye of our parent's pictures I bid him good\nnight for the few hours till he should depart, and when I pointed up to\nthem he understood me, and clasped me fondly in his arms saying: \"Never\nfear, little mother Margery!\"\n\nWe were with Herdegen again or ever it was morning. While we had been\nsleeping he had written a loving letter to my grand-uncle, who had\nyesterday forbidden him his presence, to bear witness to his duty and\nthankfulness.\n\nThe cocks still were crowing in the yards, and the country-folk were\ncoming into town with asses and waggons, when I mounted my horse to ride\nforth with my brother. He was busied in the courtyard with the new\nserving-man he had hired, by reason that Eppelein, who for safety's sake\nhad not been suffered to go with him into hiding, had vanished as it were\nfrom the face of the earth. Nay, and we knew for what cause and reason,\nfor Dame Henneleinlein had counselled the King's men to seize him, to the\nend that he might be put on the rack to give tidings of where his master\nlay hid. If they had caught him his stout limbs would have fared ill\nindeed; but the light-hearted varlet was a favorite with the serving men\nand wenches of the court-folk, jolly at the wine cup and all manner of\nsport, and thus they had bestowed him away. And so, while we were living\nfrom day to day in great fear, an old charcoal wife would come in from\nthe forest twice or thrice in every week and bring charcoal to the\nkitchen wench to sell, and albeit she was ever sent away, yet would she\ncome again and ask many questions.\n\nWhile we were yet tarrying for Herdegen to be ready the old wife came by\nwith her cart, and when she had asked of some needful matters she pulled\noff her kerchief with a loud laugh, and lo, in her woman's weed, there\nstood Eppelein and none other. Hereupon was much rejoicing and, in a few\nminutes, the crafty fellow was turned again into a sturdy riding man,\nalbeit beardless.\n\nEppelein's return helped Cousin Maud over the grief of leave-taking. Yet,\nwhen at last we must depart, it went hard with her. At the gate we were\nmet by the Pernharts with Ann and Uncle Christian. My lord the chief\nmagistrate likewise was there, to bear witness to Herdegen's departing;\nalso Heinrich Trardorf, his best beloved schoolmate, who had ever been\nhis faithful friend.\n\nWe had left the walls and moat of the town far behind us, when we heard\nswift horses at our heels, and Sir Franz, with two serving-men, joined\nthe fellowship. My brother had soon found a place at Ann's side, and we\nwent forward at an easy pace; and if they were minded to kiss, bending\nfrom their saddles, they need fear no witness, for the autumn mist was so\nthick that it hid every one from his nearest neighbor.\n\nThus we went forth as far as Lichtenhof, and while we there made halt to\ntake a last leave, meseemed that Heaven was fain to send us a friendly\npromise. The mist parted on a sudden as at the signal of a magician, and\nbefore us lay the city with its walls, and towers, and shining roofs,\nover-topped by the noble citadel. Thus we parted in better cheer than we\nhad deemed we might, and the lovers might yet for a long space signal to\neach other by the waving of hat and of kerchief.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nHerdegen's departing marks my life's way with another mile-stone. All\nfears about him were over, and a great peace fell upon me.\n\nI had learnt by experience that it was within my power to be mistress of\nany heart's griefs, and I could tell myself that dull sufferance of woe\nwould have ill-pleased him whose judgment I most cared for. To remember\nhim was what I best loved, and I earnestly desired to guide my steps as\nwould have been his wish and will. In some degree I was able to do so,\nand Ann was my great helper.\n\nMy eyes and ears were opened again to what should befall in the world in\nwhich my lover had lived; all the more so as matters now came about in\nthe land and on its borders which deeply concerned my own dear home and\nthreatened it with great peril.\n\nAfter the Diet was broken up, the Elector Frederick of Brandenburg was\nforced to take patience till the princes, lords, and mounted men-at-arms\nsent forth by the townships, five or six from each, could muster at his\nbidding to pursue the Hussites in Bohemia. One year was thus idly spent;\nalbeit the Bohemian rebels meanwhile could every day use their weapons,\nand instead of waiting to be attacked marched forward to attack. Certain\ntroops of the heretics had already crossed the borders, and our good town\nhad to strengthen its walls and dig its moat deeper to make ready for\nstorm and siege. Or ever the Diet had met, many hands had already been at\nwork on these buildings; and in these days every man soul in Nuremberg,\nfrom the boys even to the grey-haired men, wielded the spade or the\ntrowel. Every serving-man in every household, whether artisan or\npatrician--and ours with the rest--was bound to toil at digging, and our\nfine young masters found themselves compelled to work in sun or rain, or\nto order the others; and it hurt them no more than it did the Magister,\nwhose feebleness and clumsiness did the works less benefit than the labor\ndid to his frail body.\n\nWheresoever three men might be seen in talk, for sure it was of\nstate-matters, and mostly of the Hussites. At first it would be of the\nKing's message of peace; of the resistance made by the Elector Palatine,\nLudwig, in the matter of receiving the ecclesiastical Elector of Mainz as\nVicar-general of the Empire; of the same reverend Elector's loss of\ndignity at Boppard, and of the delay and mischief that must follow. Then\nit was noised abroad that the Margrave Frederick of Meissen, who now held\nthe lands of the late departed Elector Albrecht of Saxony in fief from\nthe King, and whose country was a strong bulwark against the Bohemians,\nwas about to put an end to the abomination of heresy. Howbeit, neither he\nnor Duke Albrecht of Austria did aught to any good end against the foe;\nand matters went ill enough in all the Empire.\n\nThe Electors assembled at Bingen made great complaints of the King\ntarrying so far away, and with reason; and when he presently bid them to\na Diet at Vienna they would not obey. The message of peace was laughed to\nscorn; and how much blood was shed to feed the soil of the realm in many\nand many a fight!\n\nAnd what fate befell the army whereon so great hopes had been set? The\ncourage and skill of the leader were all in vain; the vast multitude of\nwhich he was captain was made up of over many parts, all unlike, and each\nwith its own chief; and the fury of the heretics scattered them abroad.\nLikewise among our peaceful citizens there was no small complaining, and\nwith good cause, that a King should rule the Empire whose Realm of\nHungary, with the perils that beset it from the Ottoman Turks, the\nBohemians, and other foes, so filled his thoughts that he had neither\ntime, nor mind, nor money to bestow due care on his German States. His\ntreasury was ever empty; and what sums had the luckless war with Venice\nalone swallowed up! He had not even found the money needful to go to Rome\nto be crowned Emperor. He had failed to bring the contentious Princes of\nthe Empire under one hat, so to speak; and whereas his father, Charles\nIV., had been called the Arch-stepfather of the German Empire, Sigismund,\nalbeit a large-hearted, shrewd, and unresting soul, deserved a scarce\nbetter name, inasmuch as that he, like the former sovereign, when he fell\nheir to his Bohemian fatherland, knew not how to deal even with that as a\ntrue father should.\n\nNot a week passed after Herdegen's departing but a letter by his own hand\ncame to Ann, and all full of faithful love. I, likewise, had, not so long\nsince, had such letters from another, and so it fell that these, which\nbrought great joy to Ann, did but make my sore heart ache the more. And\nwhen I would rise from table silent and with drooping head, the Magister\nwould full often beg leave to follow me to my chamber, and comfort me\nafter his own guise. In all good faith would he lay books before my eyes,\nand strive to beguile me to take pleasure in them as the best remedy\nagainst heaviness of soul. The lives of the mighty heathen, as his\nPlutarch painted them, would, he said, raise even a weak soul to their\ngreatness and the Consolatio Philosophiae of Boetius would of a surety\nrefresh my stricken heart. Howbeit, one single well-spent hour in life,\nor one toilsome deed fruitful for good, hath at all times brought me\nbetter comfort than a whole pile of pig-skin-covered tomes. Yet have\ncertain verses of the Scripture, or some wise and verily right noble\nmaxim from the writings of the Greeks or Latins dropped on my soul now\nand again as it were a grain of good seed.\n\nSad to tell, those first letters from Herdegen, all dipped in sunshine,\nwere followed by others which could but fill us with fears. The pilgrims\nhad been over-long in getting so far as Venice, by reason that Sir Franz\nhad fallen sick after they had passed the Bienner, and my brother had\ndiligently and faithfully tended him. Thus it came to pass that another\nchild of Nuremberg, albeit setting forth after them, passed them by; and\nthis was Ursula Tetzel, whose father deemed it well to send her forth\nfrom the city, where, of a truth, the ground had waxed too hot for her,\ninasmuch as she had given cause for two bloody frays; and Cousin Maud, to\nbe sure, had not kept silence as to her unbridled demeanor in our house.\n\nNow Mistress Mendel, her aunt, had many years ago gone to the city of St.\nMark, and albeit it was there against the laws for a noble to marry with\na stranger maiden, she had long since by leave of the Republic, become\nthe wife of Filippo Polani, with whom she was still living in much ease\nand honor. In Augsberg, in Ulm, and in Frankfort, there were many noble\nfamilies of the Tetzels' kith and kin, yet she had chosen to go to this\naunt in Venice; and doubtless the expectation of meeting Herdegen there,\nwhether in love or hate, had had its weight with her.\n\nThus it came to pass that she found him at Brixen, where he tarried with\nthe sick knight; and he wrote that, as it fell, he had had more to do\nwith her and her father than he had cared for, and that in a strange\nplace many matters were lightly smoothed over, whereas at home walls and\nmoats would have parted them; nay, that in Italy the Nuremberger would\neven call a man of Cologne his countryman.\n\nFor my part, I could in no wise conceive how those two should ever more\nspeak a kind word to each other, and this meeting in truth pleased me\nill. Howbeit, his next letter gave us better cheer. He had then seen\nKunz, meeting him right joyfully, and was lodged in the Fondaco, the\nGerman Merchants' Hall, where likewise Kunz had his own chamber.\n\nHerdegen's next letter from Venice brought us the ill tidings that the\nplague had broken out, and that he could find no fellowship to travel\nwith him, by reason that, so long as the sickness raged in Venice, her\nvessels would not be suffered to cast anchor in any seaport of the\nLevant. And a great fear came over me, for our dear father had fallen a\nprey to that evil.\n\nIn his third or fourth letter our pilgrim told us, with somewhat of\nscorn, that the Marchesa Zorzi, who had in fact removed thither from\nPadua, and had made friends with Ursula in the house of Filippo Polani,\nhad bidden him to wait on her, by one of her pages; yet might he be\nproud--he said--of the high-handed and steadfast refusal he had returned,\nonce for all. In truth I was moved to deeper fears by what both my\nbrothers wrote of the black barges, loaded to the gunwale with naked\ncorpses, which stole along the canals in the silent night, to cast forth\ntheir dreadful freight in the grave yards on the shore, or into the open\nsea. The plague was raging nigh to the Fondaco, and my two brothers were\nliving in the midst of the dead; nay, and Ann knew that Ursula would not\ndepart from her lover, although the Palazzo Polani, where she had found\nlodging, lay hard by the Fondaco.\n\nYet, hard as as it is to conceive of it, never had the music sounded with\nnoisier delights in the dancing-halls of Venice, nor had the money been\nmore lightly tossed from hand-to-hand over the gaming-tables, nor, at any\ntime, had there been hotter love-making. It must be that each one was\nminded to enjoy, in the short space of life that might yet be his, all\nthe delights of long years.--And foremost of these was the Marchesa\nBianca Zorzi.\n\nAs for Herdegen, not long did he brook the narrow chambers of the\nFondaco-house; driven forth by impatience and heart-sickness, from\nmorning till night he was in his boat, or on the grand Piazza, or on the\nwatery highways; and inasmuch as he ever fluttered to where ladies of\nrank and beauty were to be found, as a moth flies to the light, that evil\nwoman was ever in his path, day after day, and whensoever her hosts would\nsuffer it, Ursula would be with her. Nay, and the German maiden, who had\nlearned better things of the Carthusian sisters, was not ashamed to aid\nand abet that sinful Italian woman. Thus my brother was in great peril\nlest Ursula's prophecy should be fulfilled by his own fault. Indeed he\nalready had his foot in the springe, inasmuch as that he could not say\nnay to the Marchesa's bidding that he would go to her house on her\nname-day. It was a higher power that came betwixt them, vouchsafing him\nmerciful but grievous repentance; the plague, Death's unwearied\nexecutioner, snatched the fair, but sinful lady, from among the living.\nUrsula lamented over her as though it were her own sister that had died;\nand it seemed that the Marchesa was fain to keep up the bond that had\nheld them together even beyond the grave, for it was at her funeral that\nthe son of one of the oldest and noblest families of the Republic first\nsaw Mistress Ursula Tetzel, and was fired with love for the maiden. She\nhad many a time been seen abroad with the Marchesa, or with the Polanis,\nand the young gentlemen of the Signoria, the painters, and the poets, had\nmarked her well; the natural golden hue of her hair was an amazement and\na delight to the Italians; indeed many a black-haired lady and common\nhussy would sit on her roof vainly striving to take the color out of her\nown locks. It was the same with her velvet skin, which even at Nuremberg\nhad many a time brought to men's minds the maid in the tale of\n\"Snow-white and Rose-red.\"\n\nThus it fell that Anselmo Guistiniani had heard of her during the\nlifetime of his cousin the Marchesa Zorzi, while he was absent from\nVenice on state matters. And when he beheld her with his own eyes among\nthe mourners, there was an end to his peace of heart; he forthwith set\nhimself to win her for his own. Howbeit Ursula met her noble suitor with\nicy coldness, and when he and Herdegen came together at the Palazzo\nPolani, where she was lodging, she made as though she saw my lord not at\nall, and had no eyes nor ears save for my brother; till it was more than\nGuistinani would bear, and he abruptly departed. Herdegen's letter, which\ntold us all these things, was full of kindly pity for the fair and\nhapless damsel who had demeaned herself so basely towards him, by reason\nthat her fiery love had turned her brain, and that she still was pining\nfor him to whom she had ever been faithful from her childhood up. She had\nfreely confessed as much even under the very eyes of so lordly a suitor\nas Anselmo Giustiniani; and albeit Ann might be sure of his constancy,\neven in despite of Ursula, yet would he not deny that he could forgive\nUrsula much in that she had loved much, as the Scripture saith. Every\nshadow of danger for him was gone and overpast; he had already bid Ursula\nfarewell, and was to ride forth next morning to Genoa, leaving the\nplague-stricken city behind him, and would take ship there. It was well\nindeed that he should be departing, inasmuch as yestereve, when he bid\nUrsula good night, Giustiniani had given him to understand that he,\nHerdegen, was in his way; at home he would have shown his teeth, and with\ngood right, to any man who had dared to speak to him, but in Venice every\nman who lodged in the Fondaco was forbid the use of weapons, and he had\nheard tell of Anselmo Giustiniani that he, unlike the rest of his noble\nrace, who were benevolent men and patrons of learning, albeit he was a\nprudent statesman and serviceable to the city, was a stern and violent\nman. This much in truth a man might read in his gloomy black eyes; and\nmany a stranger, for all he were noble and a Knight, who had fallen out\nwith a Venetian Signor of his degree had vanished forever, none knew\nwhither.\n\nAs we read these words the blood faded from Ann's cheek; but I set my\nteeth, for I may confess that Herdegen's ways and words roused my wrath.\nIn Ann's presence I could, to be sure, hide my ire; but when I was alone\nI struck my right fist into my left hand and asked of myself whether a\nman or a woman were the vainer creature? For what was it that still drew\nmy brother to that maid who had ever pursued him and the object of his\nlove with cruel hate--so strongly, indeed, that he would have been ready\nto cherish and comfort her--but joy at finding himself--a mere townbred\nJunker--preferred above that grand nobleman? For my part, I plainly saw\nthat Ursula was playing the same game again as she had carried on here\nwith Herdegen and the Brandenburger. She spoke the man she hated fair\nbefore the jealous Marchese, only to rouse that potent noble's fury\nagainst my brother.\n\nAfter all this my heart rejoiced when we received Herdegen's first letter\nwritten from Genoa, nay, on board of the galleon which was to carry him,\nSir Franz and Eppelein to Cyprus. In this he made known that he had\ndeparted from Venice without let or hindrance, and he bid us farewell\nwith such good cheer, and love, and hope, that Ann and I forgot and\nforgave with all our hearts everything that had made us wroth. This last\ngreeting came as a fragrant love-posy, and it helped us to think of\nHerdegen's long pilgrimage as he himself did--as of a ride forth to the\nForest. From this letter we were likewise aware that he had never known\nwhat peril he had escaped; for ere long I learned from Kunz that paid\nassassins had fallen on him the very next evening after Herdegen's\ndeparting, in the crooked street called of Saint Chrysostom, at the back\npart of the German Merchants' House; yea, and they would easily have\noverpowered him but that certain great strong Tyrolese bale-packers of\nthe Fondaco came to his succor or ever it was too late. And it was right\ncertain that these murderers were in Giustiniani's pay, and in the dusk\nhad taken Kunz for his brother, who was some what like him. The younger\nhad come off unharmed by the special mercy of the Saints, but it might\nwell have befallen that, as of old in his schooldays, he should have\nborne the penalty for Herdegen's misdoings. And whereas I mind me here of\nthe many ways in which my eldest brother prospered and got the best of it\nover the younger, and of other like cases, meseems it is the lot of\ncertain few to suffer others, not their betters, to stand in their sun,\nand eat the fruit that has ripened on their trees.\n\nHowbeit, Herdegen had by good hap escaped a sharp fray; and when Ann and\nI, kneeling side by side in Saint Laurence's church, had offered up a\nthanksgiving from the bottom of our hearts, meseemed we were as some\nCaptain who sings Te Deum after a victory.\n\nYet, as ofttimes in the month of May, when for a while the sun bath shone\nwith summer heat and glory, there comes a gloomy time with dark days and\nsharp frost at nights, so did we deem the long space which followed after\nthat glad and pious church-going. Days grew to weeks and weeks to months\nand we had no tidings, no word from our pilgrims, for good or for evil.\n\nVerily it was well-nigh a comfort and a help when those who were on the\nlook-out, Kunz and other friends, gave it as certain tidings that the\ngalleon which was carrying Herdegen to Cyprus, and which belonged to the\nLomellini of Genoa, had been lost at sea. Saracen pirates, so it was\ntold, had seized the ship; but further tidings were not to be got, as to\nwhat had befallen the crew and the travellers, albeit Kunz forthwith\nbetook himself to Genoa and the Futterers, who had a house and trade of\ntheir own there, did all they might to find their traces. The eldest and\nthe finest link of the Schopper chain had, we deemed, been snatched away,\nperadventure for ever; the death of her lover had made life henceforth\nbitter to the third and least, and only the middle one, Kunz, remained\nunhurt and still such as it might have gladdened his parents' hearts to\nbehold him. Thus I deemed, at least, when after long parting I set eyes\non him once more, a goodly man, tall and of a fair countenance. All that\nhad ever been good and worthy in him had waxed and sped well at Venice,\nthat high school of the merchant class; but where was the smiling\nmirthfulness which had marked him as a youth? The same earnest calm shone\nin his wise and gentle gaze, and rang in the deep voice he had now\ngotten.\n\nMy grand-uncle had esteemed him but lightly, so long as Herdegen was his\ndelight; but whereas Kunz had done good service at Venice and the master\nof the Im Hoff house there was dead, and our guardian himself, on whom a\ngrievous sickness had fallen, gave himself up day and night to meet his\nend, he had, little by little, given over the whole business of the trade\nto his young nephew; thus it came to pass that Kunz, when he was but just\ntwenty, was called upon to govern matters such as are commonly trusted\nonly to a man of ripe years. But his power and wisdom grew with the\nweight of his burthens. Whether it were at Nuremberg or at Venice, he was\never early to rise and ready, if need should be, to give up his night's\nrest, sitting over his desk or travelling at great speed; and he seemed\nto have no eyes nor ears for the pleasures of youth. Or ever he was four\nand twenty I found the first white hair in his brown locks. Many there\nwere who deemed that the uncommon graveness of his manners came of the\nweight of care which had been laid on him so young, and verily not\nwithout reason; yet my sister's heart was aware of another cause. When I\nchanced to see his eye rest on Ann, I knew enough; and it was a certainty\nthat I had not erred in my thought, when old Dame Pernhart one day in his\npresence spoke of Ann as her poor, dear little widow, and the blood\nmounted to his brow.\n\nI would fain have spoken a word of warning to Ann when she would thank\nhim with heartfelt and sisterly love for all the pains he had been at,\nwith steadfast patience, to find any token of our lost brother. And how\nfair was the forlorn bride in these days of waiting and of weary\nunsatisfied longing!\n\nPoor Kunz! Doubtless he loved her; and yet he neither by word nor deed\ngave her cause to guess his heart's desire. When, at about this time, old\nHans Tucher died, one of the worthiest and wisest heads of the town and\nthe council, Kunz gave Ann for her name-day a prayer-book with the old\nman's motto, which he had written in it for Kunz's confirmation, which\nwas as follows:\n\n          \"God ruleth all things for the best\n          And sends a happy end at last.\"\n\nAnd Ann took the gift right gladly; and more than once when, after some\ndisappointment, my spirit sank, she would point to the promise \"And sends\na happy end at last.\"\n\nWhereupon I would look up at her, abashed and put to shame; for it is one\nthing not to despair, and another to trust with steadfast confidence on a\nhappy outcome. She, in truth, could do this; and when I beheld her day by\nday at her laborious tasks, bravely and cheerfully fulfilling the hard\nand bitter exercises which her father-confessor enjoined, to the end that\nshe might win the favor of the Saints for her lover, I weened that the\nApostle spake the truth when he said that love hopeth all things and\nbelieveth all things.\n\nNotwithstanding it was not easy to her, nor to us, to hold fast our\nconfidence; now and again some trace of the lost man would come to light\nwhich, so soon as Kunz followed it up, vanished in mist like a jack-o'\nlantern. And often as he failed he would not be overweary; and once, when\nhe was staying at Nuremberg and tidings came from Venice that a certain\nGerman who might be Herdegen was dwelling a slave at Joppa, he made ready\nto set forth for that place to ransom him forthwith. My grand-uncle, who\nin the face of death was eagerly striving to win the grace of Heaven by\ngood works, suffered him to depart, and at my entreaty he took my squire\nAkusch with him, inasmuch as he could still speak Arabic, which was his\nmother-tongue. Likewise I besought Kunz to make it his care to restore\nthe lad to his people, if it should befall that he might find them,\nalbeit hitherto we had made enquiry for them in vain. This he promised me\nto do; yet, often as that good youth had longed to see his native land\nonce more, and much as he had talked in praise of its hot sun, in our\ncold winter seasons, it went hard with the good lad to depart from us;\nand when he took leave of me he could not cease from assuring me that in\nhis own land he would do all that in him lay to find the brother of his\nbeloved mistress.\n\nThus they fared forth to the Levant; and this once again we were doomed\nto vain hopes. Kunz found not him he sought, but a wild Swiss soldier who\nhad fallen into the hands of the Saracens. Him he ransomed, as being a\nChristian man, for a small sum of money; and as for Akusch he left him at\nJoppa, whereas his folk were Egyptians and he deemed he had found some\ntrack of them there.\n\nKunz did not go thither with him, inasmuch as in Alexandria all had been\ndone that might be done to discover and ransom a Frankish captive. Nor\nwas Akusch idle there, and moreover fate had brought another child of\nNuremberg to that place.\n\nUrsula had become the wife of the Marchese Anselmo Giustiniani, by\nspecial favor of the great council, and had come with him to Egypt,\nwhither he was sent by the Republic as Consul. There she now dwelt with\nher noble lord, and in many letters to my granduncle she warmly declared\nto him that, so far as in her lay, all should be done to discover where\nthe lover of her youth might be. Her husband was the most powerful Frank\nin all the Sultan's dominions, and it was a joy to her to see with what\ndiligence he made search for the lost youth. Herdegen, indeed, had\nill-repaid her childish love, yet she knew of no nobler revenge than to\nlay him under the debt of thanks to her and her husband for release and\nransom. These words doubtless came from the bottom of her heart; she were\nno true woman if she could not forgive a man in misfortune for the sins\nof a happier time. And above all she was ever of a rash and lawless mind,\nand truthful even to the scorn of modesty and good manners, rather than\ncrafty and smooth of tongue.\n\nYet she likewise failed to find the vanished wanderer, and the weeks and\nmonths grew to be years while we waited in vain. It was on the\ntwenty-second day of March in the second twelve month after Herdegen's\ndeparting that the treasures of the realm, and among them a nail from the\nCross and the point of the spear wherewith they pierced the Lord's side,\nwere to be brought into the town in a solemn procession, and I, with many\nothers, rode forth to meet it. They were brought hither from Blindenberg\non the Danube, and the Emperor sent them in token of his grace, that we\nmight hold them in safe keeping within our strong walls. They had been\nbrought thus far right privily, under the feint that the waggon wherein\nthey were carried bore wine vats, and a great throng gathered with shouts\nof joy to hail these precious things. Prisoners were set free in honor of\ntheir coming; and for my own part I mind the day full well, by reason\nthat I put off my black mourning weed and went forth in a colored holiday\ngarb for the first time in a long while.\n\nIf I had, in truth, been able by good courage to shake off in due time\nthe oppressing weight of my grief, I owed it in no small measure to the\nforest-whither we went forth, now as heretofore, to sojourn in the spring\nand autumn seasons--and to its magic healing. How many a time have I\nrested under its well-known trees and silently looked back on the past.\nAnd, when I mind me of those days, I often ask myself whether the real\nglad times themselves or those hours of calmer joy in remembrance were\nindeed the better.\n\nAs I sat in the woods, thinking and dreaming, there was plenty for the\neye to see and the ear to hear. The clouds flew across in silence, and\nthe soft green at my feet, with all that grew on tree and bush, in the\ngrass, and by the brink of the pool, made up a peaceful world, innocently\nfair and full of precious charm. Here there was nought to remind me of\nthe stir of mankind, with its haste and noise and fighting and craving,\nand that was a delight; nor did the woodland sounds.--The song of birds,\nthe hum of chafers and bees, the whisper of leaves, and all the rush and\nrustle of the forest were its mother-tongue.\n\nYet, not so! There was in truth one human soul of whom I was ever minded\nwhile thinking and dreaming in these woods through whom I had first known\nthe joy of loving, and that was the youth whose home was here, for whose\nreturn my aunt longed day and night, whose favorite songs I was ever\nbidden to sing to my uncle when he would take the oars in his strong old\nhands of an evening, and row us on the pool-he who peradventure had long\nsince followed my lover, and was dead in some far-off land.\n\nAnn, who was ever diligent, took less pleasure in idle dreaming; she\nwould ever carry a book or some broidery in her hand. Or she would abide\nalone with my aunt; and whereas my aunt now held her to be her fellow in\nsorrow, and might talk with her of the woe of thinking of the dearest on\nearth as far away and half lost, they grew closer to each other, and\nthere was bitter grief when our duty took us back to the town once more.\nAt home likewise Herdegen was ever in our minds, nevertheless the\nsunshine was as bright and the children's faces as dear as heretofore,\nand we could go about the tasks of the hour with fresh spirit.\n\nIf now and again grief cast a darker shade over Ann, still the star of\nHope shone with more comfort for her than for me and Cousin Maud; and it\nwas but seldom that you might mark that she had any sorrow. Truly there\nwere many matters besides her every-day duties, and her errands within\nand without the house to beguile her of her fears for her lost lover.\nFirst of all there came her stepfather's brother, his Eminence Cardinal\nBernhardi--for to this dignity had his Holiness raised the Bishop--from\nRome to Nuremberg, where he lodged in the house of his fathers. Now this\nhigh prelate was such a man as I never met the like of, and his goodly\nface, beardless indeed, but of a manly brown, with its piercing, great\neyes, I weened was as a magic book, having the power to compel others,\neven against their will, to put forth all that was in them of grace and\ngood gifts. Yet was he not grave nor gloomy, but of a happy cheer, and\nready to have his jest with us maidens; only in his jests there would\never be a covert intent to arouse thought, and whensoever I quitted his\ncompany I deemed I had profited somewhat in my soul.\n\nHe likewise vouchsafed the honor of knowing him to the Magister; and\nwhereas he brought tidings of certain Greek Manuscripts which had been\nnewly brought into Italy, Master Peter came home as one drunk with wine,\nand could not forbear from boasting how he had been honored by having\nspeech with such a pearl among Humanists.\n\nMy lord Cardinal was right well pleased to see his home once more; but\nwhat he loved best in it was Ann. Nay, if it had lain with him, he would\nhave carried her to Rome with him. But for all that she was fain to look\nup to such a man with deep respect, and wait lovingly on his behests, yet\nwould she not draw back from the duty she had taken upon her to care for\nher brothers and sisters, and chiefly for the deaf and dumb boy. And she\ndeemed likewise that she was as a watchman at his post; it was at\nNuremberg that all was planned for seeking Herdegen, and hither must the\nfirst tidings come that could be had of him. The old grand dame also was\nmore than ever bound up in her, and so soon as my lord Cardinal was aware\nthat it would greatly grieve his old mother to lose her he renounced his\ndesire.\n\nAs for me, I was dwelling in a right happy life with Cousin Maud; never\nhad I been nearer to her heart. So long as she conceived that her\ncomforting could little remedy my woe, she had left me to myself; and as\nsoon as I was fain to use my hands again, and sing a snatch as I went up\nand down the house, meseemed her old love bloomed forth with double\nstrength. Meseemed I could but show her my thankfulness, and my ear and\nheart were at all times open when she was moved to talk of her\nbest-beloved Herdegen, and reveal to me all the wondrous adventures he\nhad gone through in her imagination. And this befell most evenings, from\nthe hour when we unclothed till long after we had gone to rest; and I was\nfain to keep my eyes open while, for the twentieth time, she would\nexpound to me her far-fetched visions: that the Mamelukes of Egypt, who\nwere all slaves and whose Sultan was chosen from among themselves, had of\na surety set Herdegen on the throne, seeing him to be the goodliest and\nnoblest of them all. And perchance he would not have refused this honor\nif he might thereby turn them from their heathenness and make of them\ngood Christians. Nay, nor was it hard for her to fancy Ann arrayed in\nsilk and gems as a Sultana. And then, when I fell asleep in listening to\nthese fancies, which she loved to paint in every detail, behold my dreams\nwould be of Turks and heathen; and of bloody battles by land and sea.\n\nNo man may tell his dreams fasting; but as soon as I had eaten my first\nmouthful she would bid me tell her all, to the veriest trifle, and would\nsolemnly seek the interpretation of every vision.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nMy lord Cardinal had departed from Nuremberg some long while, by reason\nthat he was charged by his holiness the Pope with a mission which took\nhim through Cologne and Flanders to England. Inasmuch as he was not\nsuffered to have Ann herself in his company, he conceived the wish to\npossess her likeness in a picture; and he sent hither to that end a\nmaster of good fame, of the guild of painters in Venice. We owed this\ngood limner thanks for many a pleasant hour. Sir Giacomo Bellini was a\nyouth of right merry wit, knowing many Italian ditties, and who made good\npastime for us while we sat before him; for I likewise must be limned,\ninasmuch as Cousin Maud would have it so, and the painter's eye was\ngreatly pleased by my yellow hair.\n\nWhereas he could speak never a word of German, it was our part to talk\nwith him in Italian, and this exercise to me came not amiss. Also I could\nscarce have had a better master to teach me than Giacomo Bellini, who set\nhimself forthwith to win my heart and turn my head; nay, and he might\nhave done so, but that he confessed from the first that he had a fair\nyoung wife in Venice, albeit he was already craving for some new love.\n\nThus through him again I learned how light a touch is needed to overthrow\na man's true faith; and when I minded me of Herdegen and Ann, and of this\nGiacomo--who was nevertheless a goodly and well-graced man--and his young\nwife, meseemed that the woman who might win the love of a highly-gifted\nsoul must ofttimes pay for that great joy with much heaviness and\nheartache.\n\nHowbeit, I mind me in right true love of the mirthful spirit and manifold\nsportiveness which marked our fellowship with the Italian limner; and\nafter that I had once given him plainly and strongly to understand that\nthe heart of a Nuremberg damsel was no light thing or plaything, and her\nvery lips a sanctuary which her husband should one day find pure, all\nwent well betwixt us.\n\nThe picture of Ann, the first he painted, showed her as Saint Cecelia\nhearkening to music which sounds from Heaven in her ears. Two sweet angel\nbabes floated on thin clouds above her head, singing hymns to a mandoline\nand viol. Thus had my lord Cardinal commanded, and the work was so\nexcellent that, if the Saint herself vouchsafed to look down on it out of\nHeaven, of a certainty it was pleasing in her eyes.\n\nAs to mine own presentment; at first I weened that I would be limned in\nmy peach-colored brocade gown with silver dolphins thereon, by reason\nthat I had worn that weed in the early morn after the dance, when Hans\nspoke his last loving farewell at the door of our house. But whereas one\ncold day I went into Master Giacomo's work-chamber in a red hood and a\ngreen cloak bordered with sable fur, he would thenceforth paint me in no\nother guise. At first he was fain to present me as going forth to church;\nthen he deemed that he might not show forth my very look and seeming if I\nwere limned with downcast head and eyes. Therefor he gave me the falcon\non my hand which had erewhile been my lover's gift. My eyes were set on\nthe distance as though I watched for a heron; thus I seemed in truth like\none hunting--\"chaste Diana,\" quoth the painter, minding him of the\nreproofs I had given him so often. But it would be a hard task to tell of\nall the ways whereby the painter would provoke me to reprove him. When\nthe likeness was no more than half done, he painted his own merry face to\nthe falcon on my wrist gazing up at me with silly languor. Thereupon,\nwhen he presently quitted us, I took the red chalk and wrote his wife's\nname on a clear place in front of the face and beneath it the image of a\nbirch rod; and on the morrow he brought with him a right pleasant Sonnet,\nwhich I scarce had pardoned had he not offered it so humbly and read it\nin so sweet a voice. And, being plainly interpreted, it was as follows:\n\n       \"Upon Olympus, where the gods do dwell\n        Who with almighty will rule earth and heaven,\n        Lo! I behold the chiefest of them all\n        Jove, on his throne with Juno at his side.\n        A noble wedded pair. In all the world\n        The eye may vainly seek nor find their like.\n        The nations to his sanctuary throng,\n        And kings, struck dumb, cast down their golden crowns.\n\n       \"Yet even these are not for ever one.\n        The god flies from the goddess.--And a swan\n        Does devoir now, the slave of Leda's charms.\n\n       \"Thus I behold the beams of thy bright eye,\n        And bid my home farewell,--I, hapless wight,\n        Fly like the god, fair maid, to worship thee!\"\n\nAlbeit I suffered him to recite these lines to the end I turned from him\nwith a countenance of great wrath, and tore the paper whereon they were\nwrit in two halves which I flung behind the stove. Nor did I put away my\nangry and offended mien until he had right humbly besought my\nforgiveness. Yet when I had granted it, and he presently quitted the\nchamber, I did, I confess, gather up the torn paper and bestow it in my\ngirdle-poke. Nay, meseems that I had of intent rent it only in twain, to\nthe end that I might the better join it again. Thus to this day it lieth\nin my chest, with other relics of the past; yet I verily believe that\nanother Sonnet, which Sir Giacomo found on the morrow, laid on his easel,\nwas not so treasured by him. It was thus:\n\n     \"There was one Hans, and he was fain to try,\n     Like to Olympian Jove, the magic arts\n     Of witchcraft upon some well-favored maid.\n     Bold the adventure, but the prize how sweet!\n     'Farewell, good wife,' quoth he, 'Or e'er the dawn\n     Hath broke I must be forward on my way.\n     Like Jupiter I will be blessed and bless\n     With love; and in the image of a swan.'\n\n     \"The magic spell hath changed him. With a wreath\n     About his head he deems he lacketh nought\n     Of what may best beguile a maiden's soul.\n\n     \"Thus to fair Leda flies the hapless wight.--\n     With boisterous mirth the dame beholds the bird.\n     'A right fine goose! Thou'lt make a goodly roast.'\"\n\nHowbeit Giacomo would not leave this verse without reply; and to this\nday, if you look close into the picture, you may see a goose's head deep\nin shade among the shrubs in the back part of it, but clearly to be\ndiscerned.\n\nNotwithstanding many such little quarrels we liked each other well, and I\nmay here note that when, in the following year, which was the year of our\nLord one thousand four hundred and twenty-six, a little son was born to\nhim, since grown to be a right famous painter, known as\nGiambellini--which is to say Giovanni, or Hans, Bellini, I, Margery\nSchopper, stood his sponsor at the font. Yea and I was ever a true godsib\nto him, and that painter might indeed thank my kith and kin when he was\ncharged with a certain office in the Fondaco in Venice, which is worth\nsome hundreds of ducats yearly to him, to this day.\n\nThus were the portraits ended, and when I behold my own looking from the\nwide frame with so mirthful and yet so longing a gaze, meseems that\nGiacomo must have read the book of my soul and have known right well how\nto present that he saw therein; at that time in truth I was a happy young\ncreature, and the aching and longing which would now and again come over\nme, in part for him who was gone, and in part I wist not for what, were\nbut the shadow which must ever fall where there is light. And verily I\nhad good cause to be thankful and of good cheer; I was in health as sound\nas a trout in the brook, and had good chances for making the most of\nthose humble gifts and powers wherewith I was blessed.\n\nAs to Herdegen, it was no small comfort to us to learn that my lord\nCardinal Bernhardi had taken that matter in hand, and had bidden all the\npriests and friars in the Levant to make enquiry for tidings of him.\n\nThe good prelate was to be nine months journeying abroad, and whereas\nfive months were now spent we were rejoicing in hope of his homecoming;\nbut there was one in Nuremberg who looked for it even more eagerly than\nwe did, and that was my grand-uncle Im Iloff. The old knight had, as I\nhave said, done us thank-worthy service as our guardian; yet had he never\nbeen dear to me, and I could not think of him but with silent wrath.\nHowbeit he was now in so sad and cruel a plight that a heart of stone\nmust have melted to behold him. Thus pity led me to him, although it was\na penance to stay in his presence. The old Baron,--for of this title\nlikewise he could boast, since he had poured a great sum into the\nEmperor's treasury,--this old man, who of yore had but feigned a false\nand evil show of repentance--as that he would on certain holy days wash\nthe feet of beggar folk who had first been cleansed with care, now in\nsickness and the near terror of death was in terrible earnest, and of\nhonest intent would fain open the gates of Heaven by pious exercises. He\nhad to be sure at the bidding of Master Ulsenius the leech, exchanged the\ncoffin wherein he had been wont to sleep for a common bedstead of wood;\nyet in this even he might get no rest, and was fain to pass his sleepless\nnights in his easy chair, resting his aching feet in a cradle which, with\nhis wonted vain-glory, he caused to be made of the shape and color of a\npearl shell. But his nights in the coffin, and mockery of death, turned\nagainst him; he had ever been pale, and now he wore the very face of a\ncorpse. The blood seemed frozen in his veins, and he was at all times so\ncold that the great stove and the wide hearth facing him were fed with\nmighty logs day and night.\n\nIn this fearful heat the sweat stood on my brow so soon as I crossed the\nthreshold, and if I tarried in the chamber I soon lacked breath. The sick\nman's speech was scarce to be heard, and as to all that Master Ulsenius\ntold us of the seat of his ill, and of how it was gnawing him to death I\nwould fain be silent. Instead of that Lenten mockery of the foot washing\nhe now would do the hardest penance, and there was scarce a saint in the\nCalendar to whom he had not offered gifts or ever he died.\n\nA Dominican friar was ever in his chamber, telling the rosary for him and\ndoing him other ghostly service, especially in the night season, when he\nwas haunted by terrible restlessness. Nothing eased him as a remedy\nagainst this so well as the presence of a woman to his mind. But of all\nthose to whom, on many a Christmas eve, he had made noble gifts, few came\na second time after they had once been in that furnace; or, if they did,\nit would be no more than to come and depart forthwith. Cousin Maud could\nendure to stay longest with him; albeit afterwards she would need many a\nglass of strong waters to strengthen her heart.\n\nAs for me, each time when I came home from my grand-uncle's with pale\ncheeks she would forbid me ever to cross his threshold more: but when his\nbidding was brought me she likewise was moved to compassion, and suffered\nme to obey.\n\nNevertheless, if I had not been more than common strong, thank the\nSaints, long sitting with the sick man would of a certainty have done me\na mischief, for body and soul had much to endure. Meseemed that pain had\nloosened the tongue of that hitherto wordless old man, and whereas he had\never held his head high above all men, he would now abase himself before\nthe humblest. He would stay any man or woman who would tarry, to tell of\nall his sufferings, and of what he endured in mind and body. His\nconfessor had indeed forbidden him to complain of the evil wherewith\nHeaven had punished him, but none could hinder him from bewailing the\nevil he had committed in his sinfulness and vanity. And his\nself-accusings were so manifold and fearful, that I was fain to believe\nhis declaration that all he had ever thought or done that was good was,\nas it were, buried; and that nought but the ill he had suffered and\ncommitted was left and still had power over him. The death-stroke he had\ndealt all unwittingly, in heedless passion, rose before his soul day and\nnight as an accursed and bloody deed; and every moment embittered by his\nwife's unfaith, even to the last hour when, on her death-bed, she cursed\nhim, he lived through again, night after night. Whereupon he would clasp\nhis thin hands, through which you might see the light, over his\ntear-stained face and would not be still or of better cheer till I could\nno longer hide my own great grief for him.\n\nHowbeit, when I had heard the same tale again and again it ceased from\ntouching me so deeply; so that at last, instead of such deep compassion,\nit moved me only to dull gloom and, I will confess, to unspeakable\nweariness. The tears came not to my eyes, and the only use for my\nkerchief was to hide my yawning and vinaigrette. Thus it fell that the\nold penitent took no pleasure in my company, and at last weeks might pass\nwhile he bid me not to his presence.\n\nNow, when the pictures were ended, whereas he heard that they were right\ngood likenesses, and moreover was told that my lord Cardinal was minded\nto come home within no long space, he fell into a strange tumult and\ndesired to behold those pictures both of me and of Ann. At this I\nmarvelled not: he had long since learned to think of Councillor\nPernbart's step-daughter in all kindness; nay, he had desired me to beg\nher to forgive a dying old man. We were well-disposed to do his will, and\nthe Pernharts no less; on a certain Wednesday the pictures were carried\nto his house, and on the morrow, being Thursday, I would go and know\nwhether he were content. And behold my likeness was set in a corner where\nhe scarce could see it; but that of Ann was face to face with him and, as\nI entered the chamber, his eyes were fixed thereon as though ravished by\nthe vision of a Saint from Heaven. And he was so lost in thought that he\nlooked not away till the Dominican Brother spoke to him.\n\nThereupon he hastily greeted me, and went on to ask of me whether I duly\nminded that he had been a faithful and thankworthy guardian. And when I\nanswered yes he whispered to me, with a side-look at the friar, that of a\nsurety my lord Cardinal must hold Ann full dear, if he would bid so\nfamous a master to Nuremberg that he might possess her image. Now\ninasmuch as I wist not yet to what end he sought to beguile me by these\nquestions, I confirmed his words with all prudence; and then he glanced\nagain at the monk, and whispered hastily in my ear, and so low that I\nscarce might hear him:\n\n\"That fellow is privily drinking up all my old Cyprus wine and Malvoisie.\nAnd the other priests, the Plebian here--do you know their worldly and\nbase souls? They take up no cross, neither mortify the flesh by holy\nfasting, but cherish and feed it as the lost heathen do. Are they holy\nmen following in the footsteps of the Crucified Lord? All that brings\nthem to me is a care for my oblations and gifts. I know them, I know them\nall, the whole lot of them here in Nuremberg. As the city is, so are the\npastors thereof! Which of them all mortifies himself? Is there any high\ncourt held here? To win the blessing of a truly lordly prelate, a man\nmust journey to Bamberg or to Wurzburg. Of what avail with the Blessed\nVirgin and the Saints are such as these ruddy friars? Fleischmann,\nHellfeld, nay the Dominican prior himself--what are they? Why, at the\nDiet they walked after the Bishop of Chiemsee and Eichstadt. In the\nmatters of the city--its rights, alliances, and dealings--they had indeed\na hand; there is nought so dear to them--in especial to Fleischmann--as\npolitics, and they are overjoyed if they may but be sent on some embassy.\nAye, and they have done me some service, as a merchant trader, whensoever\nI have desired the safe conduct of princes and knights; but as to\ncharging them with the safe conduct of my soul, the weal or woe of my\nimmortal spirit!--No, no, never! Aye, Margery, for I have been a great\nsinner. Greater power and more mighty mediation are needed to save and\ndeliver me, and behold, my Margery, meseems--hear me Margery--meseems a\nspecial ruling of Heaven hath sent. . . . When is it that his Eminence\nCardinal Bernhardi will return from England?\"\n\nHereupon I saw plainly what was in the wind. I answered him that his\nEminence purposed to return hither in three or four months' time; he\nsighed deeply: \"Not for so long--three months, do you say?\"\n\n\"Or longer,\" quoth I, hastily; but he, forgetting the Friar, cried out as\nthough he knew better than I \"No, no, in three months. So you said.\"\n\nThen he spoke low again, and went on in a confident tone: \"So long as\nthat I can hold out, by the help of the Saints, if I. . . . Yea, for I\nhave enough left to make some great endowment. My possessions, Margery,\nthe estate which is mine own--No man can guess what a well-governed\ntrading-house may earn in half a century.--Yes, I tell you, Margery, I\ncan hold out and wait. Two, or at most three months; they will soon slip\naway. The older we grow and the duller is life, the swifter do the days\nfly.\"\n\nAnd verily I had not the heart to tell him that he might have to take\nmuch longer patience, and, whereas I noted how hard he found it to speak\nout that which weighed on his mind, I gave him such help as I might; and\nthen he freely confessed that what he most desired on earth was to\nreceive absolution and the Viaticum from the hands of the Cardinal.\nMeseemed he believed that his Eminence's prayers would serve him better\nin Heaven than those of our simple priests, who had not even gained a\nbishop's cope; just as the good word of a Prince Elector gains the\nEmperor's ear sooner than the petition of a town councillor. Likewise it\nsoothed his pride, doubtless, to think that he might turn his back on\nthis world under the good guidance of a prelate in the purple. Hereupon I\npromised that his case should be brought to the Cardinal's knowledge by\nAnn, and then he gave me to understand that it was his desire that Ann\nshould come to see him, inasmuch as that her presentment only had brought\nhim more comfort than the strongest of Master Ulsenius' potions. He could\nnot be happy to die without her forgiveness, and without blessing her by\nhand and word.\n\nAnd he pointed to my likeness, and said that, albeit it was right well\ndone, he could bear no more to see it; that it looked forth so full of\nhealth and hope, that to him it seemed as though it mocked his misery,\nand he straitly desired me to send Ann to him forthwith; the Saints would\ngrant her a special grace for every hour she delayed not her coming.\n\nThereupon I departed; Ann was ready to do the dying man's bidding, and\nwhen I presently went with her into his presence he gazed on her as he\nhad on her portrait, as it were bewitched by her person and manners; and\never after, if she were absent for more than a day or two, he bid her\ncome to him, with prayers and entreaties. And he found means to touch her\nheart as he had mine; yet, whereas I, ere long, wearied of his\ncomplaining, Ann's compassion failed not; instead of yawning and being\nhelpless to comfort him, she with great skill would turn his thoughts\nfrom himself and his sufferings.\n\nThen they would often talk of Herdegen, and of how to come upon some\ntrace of him, and whereas the old man had in former days left such\nmatters to other folks, he now showed a right wise and keen experience in\ncounselling the right ways and means. Hitherto he had trusted to Ursula's\ngood words and commended us to the same confidence; now, however, he\nremembered on a sudden how ill-disposed she had ever been to my lost\nbrother, and whereas it was the season of the year when the trading fleet\nshould set sail from Venice for Alexandria in the land of Egypt, he sent\nforth a messenger to Kunz, charging him to take ship himself and go\nthither to seek his brother. This filled Ann and me likewise with fresh\nhope and true thankfulness. Yet, in truth, as for my grand-uncle, he owed\nmuch to Ann; her mere presence was as dew on his withered heart, and the\nhope she kept alive in him, that her uncle, my lord Cardinal, would ere\nlong reach home and gladly fulfil his desires, gave him strength and will\nto live on, and kept the feeble spark of life burning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nThe month of October had come; the Forest claimed us once more, and\nindeed at that season I was needed at the Forest lodge. A pressing\nbidding had likewise come to Ann; yet, albeit her much sitting in my\ngrand-uncle's hot chamber had been visited on her with many a headache,\nshe had made her attendance on him one of her duties and nought could\nmove her to be unfaithful.\n\nMoreover, it was known to us that by far the greater half of the Venetian\ngalleons had sailed from the Lido between the 8th and 25th of the past\nmonth, and were due to be at home again by the middle of October or early\nin November. A much lesser fleet went forth from Venice late in the year\nand came to anchor there again, loaded with spices, in the month of March\nor not later than April. Hence now was the time when we might most surely\nlook for tidings from the Levant, and Ann would not be out of the way in\ncase any such might come to Nuremberg.\n\nI rode forth on Saint Dionysius' day, the 9th day of October, alone with\nCousin Maud; other guests were not long in following us and among them my\nbrothers-in-law and the young Loffelholz pair; Elsa Ebner having wed,\nsome months since, with young Jorg Loffelholz.\n\nUncle Christian would come later and, if she would consent, would bring\nAnn with him, for he held himself bound to give his \"little watchman\"\nsome fresh air. Also he was a great friend in the Pernharts' house, and\naught more happy and pleasant than his talks with the old Dame can scarce\nbe conceived of.\n\nNever had the well-beloved home in the Forest been more like to a pigeon\ncote. Every day brought us new guests, many of them from the city; still,\nnone had any tidings yet of the Venice ships or of our Kunz, who should\ncome home with them. And at this my heart quaked for fear, in despite of\nthe hunting-sports, and of many a right merry supper; and Aunt Jacoba was\nno better. The weeks flew past, the red and yellow leaves began to fall,\nthe scarlet berries of the mountain ash were shrivelled, and the white\nrime fell of nights on the meadows and moor-land.\n\nOne day I had ridden forth with my Uncle Conrad, hawking, and when we\ncame home in the dusk I could add a few birds to the gentlemen's booty.\nAll the guests at that time present were standing in the courtyard\ntalking, many a one lamenting or boasting of the spite or favor of Saint\nHubert that day, when the hounds, who were smelling about the game,\nsuddenly uplifted their voices, and the gate-keeper's horn blew a merry\nblast, as though to announce some right welcome guest.\n\nThe housekeeper's face was seen at Aunt Jacoba's window, and so soon as\ntidings were brought of who it as that came, the dog-keeper's whips\nhastily silenced the hounds and drove them into the kennel. The\nserving-men carried off the game, and when the courtyard was presently\ncleared, behold, a strange procession came in.\n\nFirst a long wain covered in by a tilt so high I trove that meseemed many\na town gate might be over low to let it pass; and it was drawn by four\nright small little horses, with dark matted coats and bright, wilful\neyes. A few hounds of choice breed ran behind it. From within the\nhangings came a sharp, shrill screaming as were of many gaudy parrots.\n\nIn front of this waggon two men rode, unlike in stature and mien, and a\nloutish fellow led the horses. Now, we all knew this wain right well.\nHeretofore, in the life-time of old Lorenz Waldstromer, the father of my\nUncle Conrad, it had been wont to come hither once or twice a year, and\nwas ever made welcome; if it should happen to come in the month of August\nit was at that season filled with noble falcons, to be placed on Board\nships at Venice, inasmuch as the Sultan of Egypt and his Emirs were so\nfain to buy them that they would give as much as a hundred and fifty\nsequins for he finest and best.\n\nOld Jordan Kubbeling of Brunswick, the father of he man who had now come\nhither, was wont to send the birds to Alexandria by the hand of dealers,\nto sell them for him there; but his son Seyfried, who was to this day\ncalled Young Kubbeling, albeit he was nigh on sixty, would carry his\nfeathered wares thither himself. Verily he was not suffered to sell any\nother goods in the land, inasmuch as the Republic set strait bounds to\nthe dealings of German traders. If such an one would have aught from the\nLevant he may get it only through the Merchants' Hall or Fondaco in\nVenice; and much less is a German suffered to carry his wares, of what\nkind soever, out of Venice into the East, inasmuch as every German trader\nis bound to sell by the hand of the syndicate all which his native land\ncan produce or make in Venice itself. And in no other wise may a German\ntraffic in any matters, great or small, with the Venice traders; and all\nthis is done that the Republic may lose nought of the great taxes they\nset on all things.\n\nAs to Seyfried Kubbeling, the great Council, by special grace, and\nconsidering that none but he could carry his birds over seas in good\ncondition, had granted to him to go with them to the land of Egypt. For\nmany and many a year had the Kubbelings brought falcons to the\nWaldstromers, and whensoever my uncle needed such a bird, or if he had to\nprovide one for our lord constable and prince elector the Duke of\nBavaria, or any other great temporal or spiritual prince, it was to be\nhad from Seyfried--or Young Kubbeling. To be sure no man better knew\nwhere to choose a fine bird, and while he journeyed between Brunswick,\nItaly, and the Levant, his sons and brothers went as far as to Denmark,\nand from thence to Iceland in the frozen Seas, where the royal falcon\nbreeds. Yet are there right noble kinds likewise to be found in the Harz\nmountains, nigh to their native country.\n\nThe man who was ever Kubbeling's fellow, going with him to the Levant\nnow, as, erewhile to the far North, was Uhlwurm, who, albeit he had been\nold Jordan's serving-man, was held by Seyfried as his equal; and whoso\nwould make one his guest must be fain to take the other into the bargain.\nThis was ever gladly done at the Forest-lodge; Uhlwurm was a man of few\nwords, and the hunting-lads and kennel-men held him to be a wise man, who\nknew more than simply which side his bread was buttered. At any rate he\nwas learned in healing all sick creatures, and in especial falcons,\nhorses, and hounds, by means of whispered spells, the breath of his\nmouth, potions, and electuaries; and I myself have seen him handle a\nfurious old she-wolf which had been caught in a trap, so that no man\ndared go nigh her, as though it were a tame little dog. He was taller\nthan his master by a head and a half, and he was ever to be seen in a\nhood, on which an owl's head with its beak and ears was set. Verily the\nwhole presence of the man minded me of that nightbird; and when I think\nof his Master Seyfried, or Young Kubbeling, I often remember that he was\never wont to wear three wild-cats' skins, which he laid on his breast and\non each leg, as a remedy against pains he had. And the falcon-seller, who\nwas thick-set and broad-shouldered, was in truth not unlike a wild-cat in\nhis unkempt shagginess, albeit free from all craft and guile. His whole\nmien, in his yellow leather jerkin slashed with green, his high boots,\nand ill-shaven face covered with short, grey bristles, was that of a\nwoodsman who has grown strange to man in the forest wilds; howbeit we\nknew from many dealings that he was honest and pitiful, and would endure\nhard things to be serviceable and faithful to those few whom he truly\nloved.\n\nAll the creatures he brought with him were for sale; even the Iceland\nponies, which he but seldom led home again, by reason that they were in\ngreat favor with the Junkers and damsels of high degree in the castles\nwhere he found shelter; and my uncle believed that his profits and\nsavings must be no small matter.\n\nScarce had Kubbeling and his fellow entered the court-yard, when the\nhouse wife appeared once more at my aunt's window, and bid him come up\nforthwith to her mistress. But the Brunswicker only replied roughly and\nshortly: \"First those that need my help.\" And he spoke thus of a wounded\nman, whom he had picked up, nigh unto death, by the road-side. While,\nwith Uhlwurm's help, he carefully lifted the youth from under the tilt,\nmy uncle, who had long been hoping for his advent, gave him a questioning\nlook. The other understood, and shook his head sadly to answer him No.\nAnd then he busied himself with the stricken man, as he growled out to my\nuncle: \"I crossed the pond to Alexandria, but of your man--you know\nwho--not a claw nor a feather. As to the Schopper brothers on the other\nhand. . . . But first let us try to get between this poor fellow and the\ngrave. Hold on, Uhlwurm!\" And he was about to lift the sick man in doors.\nHowbeit, I went up to the Brunswicker, who in his rough wise had ever\nliked me well, and whereas meseemed he had seen my brothers, I besought\nhim right lovingly to give me tidings of them; but he only pointed to the\nhelpless man and said that such tidings as he had to give I should hear\nonly too soon; and this I deemed was so forbidding and so dismal that I\nmade up my mind to the worst; nay, and my fears waxed all the greater as\nhe laid his big hand on my sleeve, as it might be to comfort me, inasmuch\nas that he had never yet done this save when he heard tell of my Hans'\nuntimely end.\n\nAnd then, since he would have none of my help in attending on the sick\nman, I ran up to my aunt to tell her with due care of the tidings I had\nheard; but my uncle had gone before me, and in the doorway I could see\nthat he had just kissed his beloved wife's brow. I could read in both\ntheir faces that they were bereft of another hope, yet would my aunt go\nbelow and herself speak with Young Kubbeling. My uncle would fain have\nhindered her, but she paid no heed to his admonitions, and while her\ntiring-woman arrayed her with great care to appear at table, she thanked\nthe saints for that Ann was far away on this luckless day.\n\nThus the hours sped between our homecoming from the chase and the evening\nmeal, and we presently met all our guests in the refectory. Aunt Jacoba,\nas was her wont, sat on her couch on which she was carried, at the upper\nend of the table near the chimneyplace, next to which a smaller table was\nspread, where Kubbeling and Uhlwurm took their seats as though they had\nnever sat elsewhere in their lives; and in truth old Jordan had taken his\nmeals in that same place, and whenever they came to the Lodge the serving\npeople knew right well what was due to them and their fellows. And\nwhereas they did not sit at the upper table, it was only by reason that\nold Jordan, sixty years ago, had deemed it a burthensome honor, and more\nthan his due; and Young Kubbeling would in all things do as his father\nhad done before him. My seat was where I might see them, and an empty\nchair stood between me and my aunt; this was left for Master Ulsenius,\nthe leech. This good man loved not to ride after dark, by reason of\nhighway robbers and plunderers, and some of us were somewhat ill at ease\nat his coming so late. Notwithstanding this, the talk was not other than\ncheerful; new guests had come to us from the town at noon, and they had\nmuch to tell. Tidings had come that the Sultan of Egypt had fallen upon\nthe Island of Cyprus, and that the Mussulmans had beaten King Janus, who\nruled over it, and had carried him beyond seas in triumph to Old Cairo, a\nprisoner and loaded with chains. Hereupon we were instructed by that\nlearned man, Master Eberhard Windecke, who was well-read in the history\nof all the world--he had come to Nuremberg as a commissioner of finance\nfrom his Majesty, and Uncle Tucher had brought him forth to the\nForest--he, I say, instructed us that the forefather of this King Janus\nof Cyprus had seized upon the crown of Jerusalem at the time of the\ncrusades, during the lifetime of the mighty Sultan Saladin, by poison and\nperjury, and had then bartered it with the English monarch Richard Coeur\nde lion, in exchange for the Kingdom of Cyprus. That ancestor of King\nJanus was by name Guy de Lusignan, and the sins of the fathers, so Master\nWindecke set forth with flowers of eloquence, were ever visited on the\nchildren, unto the third and fourth generation.\n\nI, like most of the assembled company, had hearkened with due respect to\nthis discourse; yet had I not failed to note with what restless eyes my\naunt watched the two men when, after hardly staying their hunger and\nthirst, they forthwith quitted the hall to tend the sick man; she\ntruly--as I would likewise--would rather have heard some present tidings\nthan this record of sins of the Lusignans dead and gone. Presently the\ntwo men came back to their seats, and when Master Windecke, who, in\nspeaking, had forgotten to eat, fell to with double good will, Uncle\nConrad gravely bid Kubbeling to out with what he had to say; and yet the\nman, who was lifting the leg of a black-cock to his mouth, would reply no\nmore than a rough, \"All in good time, my lord.\"\n\nThus we had to wait; nor was it till the Brunswicker had cracked his last\nnut with his strong teeth, and the evening cup had been brought round,\nthat he broke silence and told us in short, halting sentences how he had\nsailed from Venice to Alexandria in the land of Egypt, and all that had\nbefallen his falcons. Then he stopped, as one who has ended his tale, and\nUhlwurm said in a deep voice, and with a sweep of his hand as though to\nclear the crumbs from the table \"Gone!\"--And that \"Gone\" was well-nigh\nthe only word that ever I heard from the lips of that strange old man. As\nhe went on with his tale Kubbeling made free with the wine, and albeit it\nhad no more effect on him than clear water, still meseemed he talked on\nfor his own easement; only when he told how and where he had vainly\nsought the banished Gotz he looked grievously at my aunt's face. And\nKunz, who had crossed the sea in the same ship with him, had helped him\nin that search.\n\nWhen I then asked him whether Kunz had not likewise come home with him to\nVenice, and Kubbeling had answered me no, Uhlwurm said once more, or ever\nhis master had done speaking, \"Gone!\" in his deep, mournful voice, and\nagain swept away crumbs, as it might be, in the air. Hereupon so great a\nfear fell upon me that meseemed a sharp steel bodkin was being thrust\ninto my heart; but Kubbeling had seen me turn pale, and he turned upon\nUhlwurm in high wrath, and to the end that I might take courage he cried:\n\"No, no, I say no. What does the old fool know about it! It is only by\nreason that the galley tarried for Junker Schopper and weighed anchor\nhalf a day later, that he forbodes ill. The delay was not needed. And who\ncan tell what young masters will be at? They get a fancy in their green\nyoung heads, and it must be carried out whether or no. He swore to me\nwith a high and solemn oath that he would not rest till he had found some\ntrace of his brother, and if he kept the galleon waiting for that reason,\nwhat wonder? Is it aught to marvel at? And you, Mistress Margery, have of\na surety known here in the Forest whither a false scent may lead.--Junker\nKunz! Whither he may have gone to seek his brother, who can tell? Not I,\nand much less Uhlwurm. And young folks flutter hither and thither like an\nuntrained falcon; and if Master Kunz, who is so much graver and wiser\nthan others of his green youth, finds no one to open his eyes, then he\nmay--I do not say for certain, but peradventure, for why should I\nfrighten you all?--he may, I say, hunt high and low to all eternity. The\nlate Junker Herdegen. . . .\"\n\nAnd again I felt that sharp pang through my heart, and I cried in the\nanguish of my soul: \"The late Junker--late Junker, did you say? How came\nyou to use such a word? By all you hold sacred, Kubbeling, torture me no\nmore. Confess all you know concerning my elder brother!\"\n\nThis I cried out with a quaking voice, but all too soon was I speechless\nagain, for once more that dreadful \"Gone!\" fell upon my ear from\nUhlwurm's lips.\n\nI hid my face in my hands, and sitting thus in darkness, I heard the\nbird-dealer, in real grief now, repeat Uhlwurm's word of ill-omen:\n\"Gone.\" Yet he presently added in a tone of comfort: \"But only\nperchance--not for certain, Mistress Margery.\"\n\nAlbeit he was now willing to tell more, he was stopped in the very act.\nNeither he nor I had seen that some one had silently entered the hall\nwith my Uncle Christian and Master Ulsenius, had come close to us, and\nhad heard Uhlwurm's and Kubbeling's last words. This was Ann; and, as she\nanswered to the Brunswicker \"I would you were in the right with that\n'perchance'.  How gladly would I believe it!\" I took my hands down from\nmy face, and behold she stood before me in all her beauty, but in deep\nmourning black, and was now, as I was, an unwedded widow.\n\nI ran to meet her, and now, as she clung to me first and then to my aunt,\nshe was so moving a spectacle that even Uhlwurm wiped his wet cheeks with\nhis finger-cloth. All were now silent, but Young Kubbeling ceased not\nfrom wiping the sweat of anguish from his brow, till at last he cried:\n\"'Perchance' was what I said, and 'perchance' it still shall be; aye, by\nthe help of the Saints, and I will prove it. . . .\"\n\nAt this Ann uplifted her bead, which she had hidden in my aunt's bosom,\nand Cousin Maud let drop her arms in which she held me clasped. The\nlearned Master Windecke made haste to depart, as he could ill-endure such\ntouching matters, while Uncle Conrad enquired of Ann what she had heard\nof Herdegen's end.\n\nHereupon she told us all in a low voice that yestereve she had received a\nletter from my lord Cardinal, announcing that he had evil tidings from\nthe Christian brethren in Egypt. She was to hold herself ready for the\nworst, inasmuch as, if they were right, great ill had befallen him.\nHowbeit it was not yet time to give up all hope, and he himself would\nnever weary of his search: Young Kubbeling, who had meanwhile sent\nUhlwurm with the leech to see the sick man and then taken his seat again\nwith the wine-cup before him, had nevertheless kept one ear open, and had\nhearkened like the rest to what Ann had been saying; then on a sudden he\nthrust away his glass, shook his big fist in wrath, and cried out, to the\ndoor, as it were, through which Uhlwurm had departed, \"That croaker, that\ndeath-watch, that bird of ill-omen! If he looks up at an apple-tree in\nblossom and a bird is piping in the branches, all he thinks of is how\nsoon the happy creature will be killed by the cat! 'Gone! gone' indeed;\nwhat profits it to say gone! He has befogged even my brain at last with\nhis black vapors. But now a light shines within me; and lend me an ear,\nyoung Mistress, and all you worshipful lords and ladies; for I said\n'perchance' and I mean it still.\"\n\nWe listened indeed; and there was in his voice and mien a confidence\nwhich could not fail to give us heart. My lord Cardinal's assurance that\nwe were not to rest satisfied with the evil tidings he had received,\nKubbeling had deemed right, and what was right was to him a fact.\nTherefore had he racked his brain till the sweat stood on his brow, and\nall he had ever known concerning Herdegen had come back to his mind and\nthis he now told us in his short, rude way, which I should in vain try to\nset down.\n\nHe said that, since the day when they had landed in Egypt, he had never\nmore set eyes on Kunz, but that he himself had made enquiry for Herdegen.\nAnselmo Giustiniani was still the Republic's consul there, and lodging at\nthe Venice Fondaco with Ursula his wife; but the serving men had said\nthat they had never heard of Schopper of Nuremberg; nor was it strange\nthat Kunz's coming should be unknown to them, inasmuch as, to be far from\nUrsula, he had found hospitality with the Genoese and not with the\nVenetians. When, on the eve of sailing for home, the Brunswicker had\nagain waited on the authorities at the Fondaco, to procure his leave to\ndepart and fetch certain moneys he had bestowed there, he had met\nMistress Ursula; and whereas she knew him and spoke to him, he seized the\nchance to make enquiry concerning Herdegen. And it was from her mouth,\nand from none other, that he had learned that the elder Junker Schopper\nhad met a violent death; and, when he had asked where and how, she had\nanswered him that it was in one of those love-makings which were ever the\naim and business of his life. Thus he might tell all his kith and kin in\nNuremberg henceforth to cease their spying and prying, which had already\ncost her more pains and writing than enough.\n\nThis discourse had but ill-pleased Kubbeling, yet had he not taken it\namiss, and had only said that she would be doing Kunz--who had come to\nEgypt with him--right good service, if she would give him more exact\ntidings of how his brother had met his end.\n\n\"Whereupon,\" said the bird-seller, \"she gave me a look the like of which\nnot many could give; for inasmuch as the lady is, for certain, over eyes\nand ears in love with Junker Kunz. . . .\"\n\nBut I stopped him, and said that in this he was of a certainty mistaken;\nHowbeit he laughed shortly and went on. \"Which of us saw her? I or you?\nBut love or no love--only listen till the end. Mistress Ursula for sure\nknew not till then that Junker Kunz was in Alexandria, and so soon as she\nlearnt it she began to question me. She must know the day and hour when\nhe had cast anchor there, wherefor he had chosen to lodge in the Genoa\nFondaco, when I last had seen him, nay, and of what stuff and color his\ngarments were made. She went through them all, from the feather in his\nhat to his hose. As for me, I must have seemed well nigh half witted, and\nI told her at last that I had no skill in such matters, but that I had\never seen him of an evening in a white mantle with a peaked hood.\nHereupon the blood all left her face, and with it all her beauty. She\nclapped her hand to her forehead like one possessed or in a fit, as\nthough caught in her own snare, and she would have fallen, if I had not\nheld her upright. And then, on a sudden, she stood firm on her feet, bid\nme depart right roughly, and pointed to the door; and I was ready and\nswift enough in departing. When I was telling of all this to Uhlwurm, who\nhad stayed without, and what I had heard concerning Junker Herdegen, he\nhad nought to say but that accursed 'Gone!' And how that dazes me, old\nmole that I am, you yourselves have seen. But the demeanor of Mistress\nTetzel of Nuremberg, I have never had it out of my mind since, day or\nnight, nor again, yesterday.\"\n\nHe rubbed his damp brow, drank a draught, and took a deep breath; he was\nnot wont to speak at such length. But whereas we asked him many questions\nof these matters, he turned again to us maidens, and said \"Grant me a few\nwords apart from the matter you see, in time a man gets an eye for a\nfalcon, and sees what its good points are, and if it ails aught. He\nlearns to know the breed by its feathers, and breastbone, and the color\nof its legs, and many another sign, and its temper by its eye and\nbeak;--and it is the same with knowing of men. All this I learned not of\nmyself, but from my father, God rest him; and like as you may know a\nfalcon by the beak, so you may know a man or a woman by the mouth. And as\nI mind me of Mistress Ursula's face, as I saw it then, that is enough for\nme. Aye, and I will give my best Iceland Gerfalcon for a lame crow if\nevery word she spoke concerning the death of Junker Herdegen was not\nfalse knavery. She is a goodly woman and of wondrous beauty; yet, as I\nsat erewhile, thinking and gazing into the Wurzburg wine in my cup, I\nremembered her red lips and white teeth, as she bid me exhort his kin at\nhome to seek the lost man no more. And I will plainly declare what that\nmouth brought to my mind; nought else than the muzzle of the she-wolf you\ncaught and chained up. That was how she showed her tusks when Uhlwurm\nwheedled her after his wise, and she feigned to be his friend albeit she\nthirsted to take him by the throat.--False, I say, false, false was every\nword that came to my ears out of that mouth! I know what I know; she is\nmad for the sake of one of the Schoppers, and if it be not Kunz then it\nis the other, and if it be not with love then it is with hate. Make the\nsign of the cross, say I; she would put one or both of them out of the\nworld, as like as not. For certain it is that she would fain have had me\nbelieve that the elder Junker Schopper had already come to a bad end, and\nit is no less certain that she had some foul purpose in hand.\"\n\nThe old man coughed, wiped his brow, and fell back in his seat; we,\nindeed, knew not what to think of his discourse, and looked one at the\nother with enquiry. Jung Kubbeling was the last man on earth we could\nhave weened would read hearts. Only Uncle Christian upheld him, and\ndeclared that the future would ere long confirm all that wise old\nJordan's son had foretold from sure signs.\n\nThe dispute waxed so loud that even our silent Chaplain put in his word,\nto express his consent to the Brunswicker's opinion of Ursula, and to put\nforward fresh proofs why, in spite of her statement, Herdegen might yet\nbe in the land of the living.\n\nAt this moment the door flew open, and the housekeeper--who was wont to\nbe a right sober-witted widow--rushed into the refectory, followed by my\naunt's waiting-maid, both with crimson cheeks and so full of their matter\nthat they forgot the reverence due to our worshipful guests, and it was\nhard at first to learn what had so greatly disturbed them. So soon as\nthis was clear, Cousin Maud, and Ann and I at her heels, ran off to the\nchamber where Master Ulsenius still tarried with the sick traveller,\ninasmuch as that if the women were not deceived, the poor fellow was none\nother than Eppelein, Herdegen's faithful henchman. The tiringwoman\nlikewise, a smart young wench, believed that it was he; and her opinion\nwas worthy to be trusted by reason that she was one of the many maids who\nhad looked upon Eppelein with favor.\n\nWe presently were standing by the lad's bedside; Master Ulsenius had just\ndone with bandaging his head and body and arms; the poor fellow had been\nindeed cruelly handled, and but for the Brunswicker's help he must have\ndied. That Kubbeling should not have known him, although they had often\nmet in past years, was easy to explain; for I myself could scarce have\nbelieved that the pale, hollow-eyed man who lay there, to all seeming\ndying, was our brisk and nimble-witted Eppelein. Yet verily he it was,\nand Ann flung herself on her knees by the bed, and it was right piteous\nto hear her cry: \"Poor, faithful Eppelein!\" and many other good words in\nlow and loving tones. Yet did he not hear nor understand, inasmuch as he\nwas not in his senses. For the present there was nought of tidings to be\nhad from him, and this was all the greater pity by reason that the\nthieves had stripped off his clothes, even to his boots, and thus, if he\nwere the bearer of any writing, he might now never deliver it. Yet he had\ncome with some message. When the men left us there Ann bent over him and\nlaid a wet kerchief on his hot head, and he presently opened his eyes a\nlittle way, and pointed with his left hand, which was sound, to the end\nof the bed-place where his feet lay, and murmured, scarce to be heard and\nas though he were lost: \"The letter, oh, the letter!\" But then he lost\nhis senses; and presently he said the same words again and again. So his\nheart and brain were full of one thing, and that was the letter which\nsome one--and who else than his well-beloved Master--had straitly charged\nhim to deliver rightly.\n\nEvery word he might speak in his fever might give us some important\ntidings, and when at midnight my aunt bid us go to bed, Ann declared it\nto be her purpose to keep watch by Eppelein all night, and I would not\nfor the world have quitted her at such a moment. And whereas she well\nknew Master Ulsenius, and had already lent a helping hand of her own free\nwill to old Uhlwurm, the tending the sick man was wholly given over to\nher; and I sat me down by the fire, gazing sometimes at the leaping\nflames and flying sparks, and sometimes at the sick-bed and at all Ann\nwas doing. Then I waxed sleepy, and the hours flew past while I sat wide\nawake, or dreaming as I slept for a few minutes. Then it was morning\nagain, and there was somewhat before my eyes whereof I knew not whether\nit were happening in very truth, or whether it were still a dream, yet\nmeseemed it was so pleasant that I was still smiling when the\nhouse-keeper came in, and that chased sleep away. I thought I had seen\nAnn lead ugly old Uhlwurm to the window, and stroke down his rough cheeks\nwith her soft small hand. This being all unlike her wonted timid modesty,\nit amused me all the more, and the old man's demeanor likewise had made\nme smile; he was surly, and notwithstanding courteous to her and had said\nto her I know not what. Now, when I was wide-awake, Ann had indeed\ndeparted, and the house-wife had seen her quit the house and walk towards\nthe stables, following old Uhlwurm.\n\nHereupon a strange unrest fell upon me, and when Kubbeling presently\nanswered to my questioning that old Uhlwurm had craved leave to be absent\ntill noon, to the end that he might go to the very spot where they had\nfound Eppelein, and make search for that letter which he doubtless had\nhad on his person, I plainly saw wherefor Ann had beguiled the old man.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Forty or fifty, when most women only begin to be wicked\n     Shadow which must ever fall where there is light\n     Woman who might win the love of a highly-gifted soul (Pays for it)\n\n\n\n\nMARGERY\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 7.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\"The old owl! I will give him somewhat to remember me by till some one\nelse can say 'Gone' over him!\" This was what my Uncle Christian growled a\nlittle later, out near the stables, where Matthew was putting the bridle\non my bay nag, while the other serving-men were saddling the horses for\nthe gentlemen. I had stolen hither, knowing full well that the old folks\nwould not have suffered me to ride forth after Ann, and my good godfather\neven now ceased not from railing, in his fears for his darling. \"What\nelse did we talk of yestereve, Master leech and I, all the way we rode\nwith the misguided maid, but of the wicked deeds done in these last few\nweeks on the high roads, and here in this very wood? With her own ears,\nshe heard us say that the town constable required us to take seven\nmounted men as outriders, by reason that the day before yesterday the\nwhole train of waggons of the Borchtels and the Schnods was overtaken,\nand the convoy would of a certainty have been beaten if they had not had\nthe aid, by good-hap, of the fellowship marching with the Maurers and the\nDerrers.--And it was pitch dark, owls were flitting, foxes barking; it\nwas enough to make even an old scarred soldier's blood run cold. It is a\nsin and a shame how the rogues ply their trade, even close under the\nwalls of the city! They cut off a bleacher's man's ears, and when I\nwished that young Eber of Wichsenstein, and all the rout that follows him\nmight come to the gallows, Ann made bold to plead for them, by reason\nthat he only craved to visit on the Nurembergers the cruel death they\nbrought upon his father the famous thief. As if she did not know full\nwell that, since Eppelein of Gailingen was cast into prison, our land has\nnever been such a den of murder and robbery as at this day. If there is\nless dust to be seen on the high-ways, said the keeper, it is by reason\nthat it is washed away in blood. And notwithstanding all this the crazy\nmaid runs straight into the Devil's arms, with that old dolt.\"\n\nThen, when I went into the stable to mount, Uncle Conrad turned on\nKubbeling in stormy ire for that he had suffered Uhlwurm to lead Ann into\nsuch peril; howbeit the Brunswicker knew how to hold his own, and\ndeclared at last that he could sooner have looked to see a falcon grow a\nlion's tail in place of feathers, than that old death-watch make common\ncause with a young maiden. \"He had come forth,\" quoth he, \"to counsel\ntheir excellencies to take horse.\" But my uncle's question, whether he,\nKubbeling, believed that they had come forth to the stables to hear mass,\nput an end to his discourse; the gentlemen called to the serving-men to\nmake speed, and I was already in the saddle. Then, when I had commanded\nEndres to open the great gate, I bowed my head low and rode out through\nthe stable door, and bade the company a hearty good-day. To this they\nmade reply, while Uncle Conrad asked whether I had forgotten his\ncounsels, and whither it was my intent to ride; whereupon I hastily\nreplied: \"Under safe guidance, that is to say yours, to follow Ann.\"\n\nMy uncle slashed his boot with his whip, and asked in wrath whether I had\nconsidered that blood would perchance be shed, and ended by counselling\nme kindly: \"So stay at home, little Margery!\"\n\n\"I am as obedient as ever,\" was my ready answer, \"but whereas I am now\nwell in the saddle, I will stay in the saddle.\"\n\nAt this the old man knew not whether to take a jest as a jest, or to give\nme a stern order; and while he and the others were getting into their\nstirrups he said: \"Have done with folly when matters are so serious,\nmadcap child! We have enough to do to think of Ann, and more than enough!\nSo dismount, Margery, with all speed.\"\n\n\"All in good time,\" said I then, \"I will dismount that minute when we\nhave found Ann. Till then the giant Goliath shall not move me from the\nsaddle!\"\n\nHereupon the old man lost patience, he settled himself on his big brown\nhorse and cried out in a wrathful and commanding tone: \"Do not rouse me\nto anger, Margery. Do as I desire and dismount.\"\n\nBut that moment he could more easily have made me to leap into the fire\nthan to leave Ann in the lurch; I raised the bridle and whip, and as the\nbay broke into a gallop Uncle Conrad cried out once more, in greater\nwrath than before: \"Do as I bid you!\" and I joyfully replied \"That I will\nif you come and fetch me!\" And my horse carried me off and away, through\nthe open gate.\n\nThe gentlemen tore after me, and if I had so desired they would never\nhave caught me till the day of judgment, inasmuch as that my Hungarian\npalfrey, which my Hans had brought for me from the stables of Count von\nCilly, the father of Queen Barbara, was far swifter than their heavy\nhook-nosed steeds; yet as I asked no better than to seek Ann in all peace\nwith them, and as my uncle was a mild and wise man, who would not take\nthe jest he could not now spoil over seriously, I suffered them to gain\nupon me and we concluded a bargain to the effect that all was to be\nforgotten and forgiven, but that I was pledged to turn the bay and make\nthe best of my way home at the first sign of danger. And if the gentlemen\nhad come to the stables in a gloomy mood and much fear, the wild chase\nafter me had recovered their high spirits; and, albeit my own heart beat\nsadly enough, I did my best to keep of good cheer, and verily the sight\nof Kubbeling helped to that end. He was to show us the way to the spot\nwhere he had found Eppelem, and was now squatted on a very big black\nhorse, from which his little legs, with their strange gear of catskins,\nstuck out after a fashion wondrous to behold. After we had thus gone at a\nsteady pace for some little space, my confidence began to fail once more;\neven if Ann and her companion had been somewhat delayed by their search,\nstill ought we to have met them by this time, if they had gone to the\nplace without tarrying, and set forth to return unhindered. And when,\npresently, we came to an open plot whence we might see a long piece of\nthe forest path, and yet saw nought but a little charcoal burner's cart,\nmeseemed as though a cold hand had been laid on my heart. Again and again\nI spied the distance, while a whole army of thoughts and terrors tossed\nmy soul. I pictured them in the power of the vengeful Eber von\nWichsenstein and his fierce robber fellows; methought the covetous\nBremberger had dragged them into his castle postern to exact a great\nransom--nor was this the worst that might befall. If Abersfeld the\nwildest freebooter of all the plundering nobles far or near were to seize\nher? My blood ran cold as I conceived of this chance. Ann was so fair;\nwhat lord who might carry her off could she fail to inflame? And then I\nminded me of what I had read of the Roman Lucretia, and if I had been\npossessed of any magic art, I would have given the first raven by the way\na sharp bodkin that he should carry it to her.\n\nIn my soul's anguish, while I held my bridle and whip together in my left\nhand, with the right I lifted the gold cross on my breast to my lips and\nin a silent heartfelt prayer I besought the Blessed Virgin, and my own\ndear mother in Heaven to have her in keeping.\n\nAnd so we rode on and on till we came to the pools by Pillenreuth. Hard\nby the larger of these, known as the King's pool, was a sign-post, and\nnot far away was the spot where they had found Eppelein, stripped and\nplundered; and in truth it was the very place for highwaymen and\nfreebooters, lying within the wood and aside from the highway; albeit, if\nit came to their taking flight, they might find it again by Reichelstorf.\nNor was there any castle nor stronghold anywhere nigh; the great building\nwith walls and moats which stood on the south side of the King's pool was\nbut the peaceful cloister of the Augustine Sisters of Pillenreuth. All\nabout the water lay marsh-ground overgrown with leafless bushes, rushes,\ntall grasses, and reeds. It was verily a right dismal and ill-boding\nspot.\n\nThe boggy tract across which our path lay was white with fresh\nhoar-frost, and the thicket away to the south was a haunt for crows such\nas I never have seen again since; the black birds flew round and about it\nin dark clouds with loud shrieks, as though in its midst stood a charnel\nand gallows, and from the brushwood likewise, by the pool's edge, came\nother cries of birds, all as full of complaining as though they were\nbewailing the griefs of the whole world.\n\nHere we stayed our horses, and called and shouted; but none made answer,\nsave only toads and crows. \"This is the place, for certain,\" said Young\nKubbeling, and Grubner the head forester, sprang to his feet to help him\ndown from his tall mare. The gentlemen likewise dismounted, and were\nabout to follow the Trunswicker across the mead to the place where\nEppelein had been found; but he bid them not, inasmuch as they would mar\nthe track he would fain discover.\n\nThey, then, stood still and gazed after him, as I did likewise; and my\nfears waxed greater till I verily believed that the crows were indeed\nbirds of ill-omen, as I saw a large black swarm of them wheel croaking\nround Kubbeling. He, meanwhile, stooped low, seeking any traces on the\nfrosted grass, and his short, thick-set body seemed for all the world one\nof the imps, or pixies, which dwell among the roots of trees and in the\nholes in the rocks. He crept about with heedful care and never a word,\nprying as he went, and presently I could see that he shook his big head\nas though in doubt, nay, or in sorrow. I shuddered again, and meseemed\nthe grey clouds in the sky waxed blacker, while deathly pale airy forms\nfloated through the mist over the pools, in long, waving winding-sheets.\nThe thick black heads of the bulrushes stood up motionless like\ngrave-stones, and the grey silken tufts of the bog-grass, fluttering in\nthe cold breath of a November morning, were as ghostly hands, threatening\nor warning me.\n\nEre long I was to forget the crows, and the fogs, and the reed-grass, and\nall the foolish fears that possessed me, by reason of a real and\nwell-founded terror; again did Kubbeling shake his head, and then I heard\nhim call to my Uncle Conrad and Grubner the headforester, to come close\nto him, but to tread carefully. Then they stood at his side, and they\nlikewise stooped low and then my uncle clasped his hands, and he cried in\nhorror, \"Merciful Heaven!\"\n\nIn two minutes I had run on tip-toe across the damp, frosted grass to\njoin them, and there, sure enough, I could see full plainly the mark of a\nwoman's dainty shoe. The sole and the heel were plainly to be seen, and,\nhard by, the print of a man's large, broad shoes, with iron-shod heels,\nwhich told Kubbeling that they were those of Uhlwurm's great boots. Yet\nthough we had not met those we sought, the forest was full of by-ways, by\nwhich they might have crossed us on the road; but nigh to the foot-prints\nof the maid and the old man were there three others. The old woodsman\ncould discern them only too well; they had each and all been made in the\nhoar-frost by men's boots. Two, it was certain, had been left by\nfinely-cut soles, such as are made by skilled city cordwainers; and one\nleft a track which could only be that of a spur; whereas the third was so\nflat and broad that it was for sure that of the shoe of a peasant, or\ncharcoal burner.\n\nThere was a green patch in the frost which could only be explained as\nhaving been made by one who had lain long on the earth, and the back of\nhis head, where he had fallen, had left a print in the grass as big as a\nman's fist. Here was clear proof that Ann and her companion had, on this\nvery spot, been beset by three robbers, two of them knights and one of\nlow degree, that Uhlwurm had fought hard and had overpowered one of them\nor had got the worst of it, and had been flung on the grass.\n\nAlas! there could be no doubt, whereas Kubbeling found a foot-print of\nAnn's over which the spurred mark lay, plainly showing that she had come\nthither before those men. And on the highway we found fresh tracks of\nhorses and men; thus it was beyond all doubt that knavish rogues had\nfallen upon Ann and Uhlwurm, and had carried them off without bloodshed,\nfor no such trace was to be seen anywhere on the mead.\n\nMeanwhile the forester had followed the scent with the bloodhounds,\nstarting from the place where the man had lain on the grass, and scarce\nwere they lost to sight among the brushwood when they loudly gave tongue,\nand Grubner cried to us to come to him. Behind a tall alder bush, which\nhad not yet lost its leaves, was a wooden lean-to on piles, built there\nby the Convent fisherman wherein to dry his nets; and beneath this\nshelter lay an old man in the garb of a serving-man, who doubtless had\nlost his life in the struggle with Uhlwurm. But Kubbeling was soon\nkneeling by his side, and whereas he found that his heart still beat, he\npresently discovered what ailed the fellow. He was sleeping off a drunken\nbout, and more by token the empty jar lay by his side. Likewise hard by\nthere stood a hand-barrow, full of such wine-jars, and we breathed more\nfreely, for if the drunken rogue were not himself one of the highway\ngang, they must have found him there and seized the good liquor.\n\nNow, while Kubbeling fetched water from the pool, Uncle Christian tried\nthe quality of the jars in the barrow, and the first he opened was fine\nMalvoisie. Whether this were going to the Convent or no the drunken churl\nshould tell, and a stream of cold November-water ere long brought him to\nhis wits. Then was there much mirth, as the rogue thus waked on a sudden\nfrom his sleep let the water drip off him in dull astonishment, and\nstared at us open-mouthed; and it needed some patience till he was able\nto tell us of many matters which we afterwards heard at greater length\nand in fuller detail.\n\nHe was a serving-man to Master Rummel of Nuremberg, who had been sent\nforth from Lichtenau to carry this good liquor to the nuns at\nPillenreuth; the market-town of Lichtenau lieth beyond Schwabach and had\nof yore belonged to the Knight of Heideck, who had sold it to that city,\nof which the Rummels, who were an old and honored family, had bought it,\nwith the castle.\n\nNow, whereas yestereve the Knight of Heideck, the former owner of the\ncastle, a noble of staunch honor, was sitting at supper with Master\nRummel in the fortress of Lichtenau, a rider from Pillenreuth had come in\nwith a petition from the Abbess for aid against certain robber folk who\nhad carried away some cattle pertaining to the convent. Hereupon the\ngentlemen made ready to go and succor the sisters, and with wise\nforesight they sent a barrow-load of good wine to Pillenreuth, to await\nthem there, inasmuch as that no good liquor was to be found with the\npious sisters. When the gentlemen had, this very morning, come to the\nplace where the highwaymen had fallen on Eppelein, they had met Ann who\nwas known to them at the Forest lodge, where she was in the act of making\nsearch for Herdegen's letter, and they, in their spurred boots, had\nhelped her. At last they had besought her to go with them to the Convent,\nby reason that the men-at-arms of Lichtenau had yesternight gone forth to\nmeet the thieves, and by this time peradventure had caught them and found\nthe letter on them. Ann had consented to follow this gracious bidding, if\nonly she might give tidings of where she would be to those her friends\nwho would for certain come in search of her. Thereupon Master Rummel had\ncommanded the servingman, who had come up with the barrow, to tarry here\nand bid us likewise to the Convent; the fellow, however, who had already\nmade free on his way with the contents of the jars, had tried the liquor\nagain. And first he had tumbled down on the frosted grass and then had\nlaid him down to rest under the fisherman's hut.\n\nRarely indeed hath a maiden gone to the cloister with a lighter heart\nthan I, after I had heard these tidings, and albeit there was yet cause\nfor fear and doubting, I could be as truly mirthful as the rest, and or\never I jumped into my saddle again I had many a kiss from bearded lips as\na safe conduct to the Sisters. My good godfather in the overflowing joy\nof his heart rushed upon me to kiss me on both cheeks and on my brow, and\nI had gladly suffered it and smiled afterwards to perceive that he would\nallow the barrow-man to tarry no longer.\n\nIn the Convent there was fresh rejoicing. The mist had hidden us from\ntheir sight, and we found them all at breakfast: the gentlemen and Ann,\nthe lady Abbess and a novice who was the youngest daughter of Uncle\nEndres Tucher of Nuremberg, and my dear cousin, well-known likewise to\nAnn. Albeit the Convent was closed to all other men, it was ever open to\nits lord protector. Hereupon was a right happy meeting and glad greeting,\nand at the sight of Ann for the second time this day, though it was yet\nyoung, the bright tears rolled over Uncle Christian's round twice-double\nchin.\n\nNow wheresoever a well-to-do Nuremberg citizen is taking his ease with\nvictuals and drink, if others join him they likewise must sit down and\neat with him, yea, if it were in hell itself. But the Convent of\nPillenreuth was a right comfortable shelter, and my lady the Abbess a\nwoman of high degree and fine, hospitable manners; and the table was made\nlonger in a winking, and laid with white napery and plates and all\nbefitting. None failed of appetite and thirst after the ride in the sharp\nmorning air, and how glad was my soul to have my Ann again safe and\nunharmed.\n\nWe were seated at table by the time our horses were tied up in the\nstables, and from the first minute there was a mirthful and lively\nexchange of talk. For my part I forthwith fell out with the Knight von\nHeideck, inasmuch as he was fain to sit betwixt Ann and me, and would\nhave it that a gallant knight must ever be a more welcome neighbor to a\ndamsel than her dearest woman-friend. And the loud cheer and merrymaking\nwere ere long overmuch for me; and I would gladly have withdrawn with Ann\nto some lonely spot, there to think of our dear one.\n\nAt last we were released; Jorg Starch, the captain of the Lichtenau\nhorsemen, a tall, lean soldier, with shrewd eyes, a little turned-up\ncock-nose, and thick full beard, now came in and, lifting his hand to his\nhelmet, said as sharply as though he were cutting each word short off\nwith his white teeth: \"Caught; trapped; all the rabble!\"\n\nIn a few minutes we were all standing on the rampart between the pools\nand the Convent, and there were the miserable knaves whom Jorg Starch and\nhis men-at-arms had surrounded and carried off while they were making\ngood cheer over their morning broth and sodden flesh. They had declared\nthat they had been of Wichsenstein's fellowship, but had deserted Eber by\nreason of his over-hard rule, and betaken themselves to robbery on their\nown account. Howbeit Starch was of opinion that matters were otherwise.\nWhen he had been sent forth to seek them he had as yet no knowledge of\nthe attack on Eppelein; now, so soon as he heard that they had stripped\nhim of his clothes, he bid them stand in a row and examined each one; in\ntruth they were a pitiable crew, and had they not so truly deserved our\ncompassion their rags must have moved us to laughter. One had made his\ncloak of a woman's red petticoat, pulling it over his head and cutting\nslits in it for arm-holes, and another great fellow wore a friar's brown\nfrock and on his head a good-wife's fur turban tied on with an infant's\nswaddling band. Jorg Starch's enquiries as to where were Eppelein's\ngarments made one of them presently point to his decent and whole jerkin,\nanother to his under coat, and the biggest man of them all to his hat\nwith the cock's feather, which was all unmatched with his ragged weed.\nStarch searched each piece for the letter, and meanwhile Uhlwurm stooped\nhis long body, groping on the ground in such wise that it might have\nseemed that he was seeking the four-leaved clover; and on a sudden he\nlaid hands on the shoes of a lean, low fellow, with hollow cheeks and a\nthrifty beard on his sharp chin, who till now had looked about him, the\nboldest of them all; he felt round the top of the shoes, and looking him\nin the face, asked him in a threatening voice: \"Where are the tops?\"\n\n\"The tops?\" said the man in affrighted tones. \"I wear shoes, Master, and\nshoes are but boots which have no tops; and mine. . . .\"\n\n\"And yours!\" quoth Uhlwurm in scorn. \"The rats have made shoes of your\nboots and have eaten the tops, unless it was the mice? Look here,\nCaptain, if it please you. . . .\"\n\nStarch did his bidding, and when he had made the lean knave put off his\nleft shoe he looked at it on all sides, stroked his beard the wrong way,\nand said solemnly: \"Well said, Master, this is matter for thought! All\nthis gives the case a fresh face.\" And he likewise cried to the rogue:\n\"Where are the tops?\" The fellow had had time to collect himself, and\nanswered boldly: \"I am but a poor weak worm, my lord Captain; they were\nfull heavy for me, so I cut them away and cast them into the pool, where\nby now the carps are feeding on them.\" And he glanced round at his\nfellows, as it were to read in their faces their praise of his quick wit.\nHowbeit they were in overmuch dread to pay him that he looked for; nay,\nand his bold spirit was quelled when Starch took him by the throat and\nasked him: \"Do you see that bough there, my lad? If another lie passes\nyour lips, I will load it with a longer and heavier pear than ever it\nbore yet? Sebald, bring forth the ropes.--Now my beauty; answer me three\nthings: Did the messenger wear boots? How come you, who are one of the\nleast of the gang, to be wearing sound shoes? And again, Where are the\ntops?\"\n\nWhereupon the little man craved, sadly whimpering, that he might be asked\none question at a time, inasmuch as he felt as it were a swarm of\nhumble-bees in his brain, and when Starch did his will he looked at the\nothers as though to say: \"You did no justice to my ready wit,\" and then\nhe told that he had in truth drawn off the boots from the messenger's\nfeet and had been granted them to keep, by reason that they were too\nsmall for the others, while he was graced with a small and dainty foot.\nAnd he cast a glance at us ladies on whom he had long had an eye, a sort\nof fearful leer, and went on: \"The tops--they . . . \" and again he stuck\nfast. Howbeit, as Starch once more pointed to the pear-tree, he confessed\nin desperate terror that another man had claimed the tops, one who had\nnot been caught, inasmuch as they were so high and good. Hereupon Starch\nlaughed so loud and clapped his hand with such a smack as made us maidens\nstart, and he cried: \"That's it, that is the way of it! Zounds, ye\nknaves! Then the Sow--[Eber, his name, means a boar. This is a sort of\npunning insult]--of Wichsenstein was himself your leader yesterday, and\nit was only by devilish ill-hap that the knave was not with you when I\ntook you! You ragged ruffians would never have given over the tops in\nthis marsh and moorland, to any but a rightful master, and I know where\nthe Sow is lurking--for the murderer of a messenger is no more to be\ncalled a Boar. Now then, Sebald! In what hamlet hereabout dwells there a\ncobbler?\"\n\n\"There is crooked Peter at Neufess, and Hackspann at Reichelstorf,\" was\nthe answer.\n\n\"Good; that much we needed to know,\" said Starch. \"And now, little one,\"\nand he gave the man another shaking, \"Out with it. Did the Sow--or, that\nthere may be no mistake--did Eber of Wichsenstein ride away to Neufess or\nto Reichelstorf? Who was to sew the tops to his shoes, Peter or\nHackspann?\"\n\nThe terrified creature clasped his slender hands in sheer amazement, and\ncried: \"Was there ever such abounding wisdom born in the land since the\ntime of chaste Joseph, who interpreted Pharaoh's dreams? The man who\nshall catch you asleep, my lord Captain, must rise earlier than such\nmiserable hunted wretches as we are. He rode to Neufess, albeit Hackspann\nis the better cobbler. Reichelstorf lies hard by the highway by which you\ncame, my lord; and if Eber does but hear the echo of your right glorious\nname, my lord Baron and potent Captain. . . .\"\n\n\"And what is my name--your lord Baron and potent Captain?\" Starch\nthundered out.\n\n\"Yours?\" said the little man unabashed. \"Yours? Merciful Heaven! Till\nthis minute I swear I could have told you; but in such straits a poor\nlittle tailor such as I might forget his own father's honored name!\" At\nthis Starch laughed out and clapped the little rogue in all kindness\nbehind the ears, and when his men-at-arms, whom he had commanded to make\nready, had mounted their horses, he cried to Uhlwurm: \"I may leave the\nrest to you, Master; you know where Barthel bestows the liquor!--Now,\nSebald, bind this rabble and keep them safe.--And make a pig-sty ready.\nIf I fail to bring the boar home this very night, may I be called Dick\nDule to the end of my days instead of Jorg Starch!\"\n\nAnd herewith he made his bow, sprang into his saddle, and rode away with\nhis men.\n\n\"A nimble fellow, after God's heart!\" quoth Master Rummel to my Uncle\nConrad as they looked after him. And that he was in truth; albeit we\ncould scarce have looked for it, we learned on the morrow that he might\nbear his good name to the grave, inasmuch as he had taken Eber of\nWichsenstein captive in the cobbler's work-place, and carried him to\nPillenreuth, whence he came to Nuremberg, and there to the gallows.\n\nStarch had left a worthy man to fill his place; hardly had he departed\nwhen old Uhlwurm pulled off the tailor's right shoe, and now it was made\nplain wherefor Eppelein had so anxiously pointed to his feet; the letter\nentrusted to him had indeed been hid in his boot. Under the lining\nleather of the sole it lay, but only one from Akusch addressed to me.\nHowbeit, when we had threatened the now barefoot knave with cruel\ntorture, he confessed that, having been an honest tailor till of late, he\nhad soft feet by reason that he had ever sat over his needle. And when he\npulled on the stolen shoes somewhat therein hard hurt his sole, and when\nhe made search under the leather, behold a large letter closely folded\nand sealed. This had been the cause and reason of his being ill at ease,\nand he had opened it, being of an enquiring mind, and, inasmuch as he was\na schoolmaster's son he could read with the best. Howbeit, at that time\nthe gang were about to light a fire to make their supper, and whereas it\nwould not burn by reason of the wet, they had taken the dry paper and\nused it to make the feeble flame blaze up.\n\nThus there was nought more to be hoped for, save that the tailor might by\ngood hap remember certain parts of the letter; and in truth he was able\nto tell us that it was written to a maid named Ann, and in it there were\nsuch words of true love in great straits and bitter parting as moved him\nto tears, by reason that he likewise had once had a true love.\n\nWhile he spoke thus he perceived that Ann was the maiden to whom the\nletter had been writ, and he forthwith poured forth a great flow of fiery\nlove-vows such as he may have learned from his Amadis, but never, albeit\nhe said it, from that letter.\n\nOne thing at least he could make known to us from Herdegen's letter; and\nthat was that the writer said much concerning slavery and a great ransom,\nand likewise of a malignant woman who was his foe, and of her husband,\nwhose wiles could by no means be brought to nought unless it were by\ncunning and prudent craft. This, indeed, he could repeat well-nigh word\nfor word, by reason that he had conceived the plan of urging Eber to set\nforth for the land of Egypt with his robber-band, and deliver that\nguiltless slave from the hands of the misbelieving heathen. Albeit he had\nmade himself a highway thief, it was only by reason that he had been told\nthat von Wichsenstein had no other end than to restore to the poor that\nof which the rich had robbed them, and to release the oppressed from the\npower of the mighty. All this had not suffered him to rest on his\ntailor's bench till he had laid down the needle and seized the cook's\ngreat roasting spit. Ere long he had discovered that, like master like\nman, each man cared for himself alone. He himself had been forced to do\nmany cruel and knavish deeds, sorely against his will and all that was\ngood in him. From his pious and gentle mother he had come by a soft and\nharmless soul, so that in the winter season he would strew sugar for the\nflies when they were starving, and it had even gone against him to stick\nhis needle into a flesh-colored garment for sheer fear of hurting it.\nWhen the others had left the messenger-lad stripped on the road, he had\ngone back alone and had bound up the wound in his head with his own\nkerchief, and more by token that he spoke the truth the kerchief bore his\nChristian name in the corner of it, \"Pignot,\" which his good mother, God\nrest her, had sewn there. He was but a poor orphan, and if. . . . Here his\nvoice failed him for sobs. But ere long he recovered his good cheer; for\nAnn had indeed marked the letter P on the cloth about Eppelein's head,\nand the poor wight was of a truth none other than he had declared.\nHereupon we made bold to speak for him, and it was to his own act of\nmercy and the letters set in his kerchief by that pious mother that he\nowed it. He afterwards came to be an honest and worthy master-tailor at\nVelden, and instead of taking up the cudgels for his oppressed fellow\nmen, he suffered stern treatment in much humility at the hands of the\ngreat woman whom he chose to wife, notwithstanding he was so small a man.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nHerdegen's letter was burnt with fire, and the letter from Akusch was to\nme, and contained little besides thanks and assurances of faithfulness\ndue to me his \"beloved mistress,\" with greetings to Cousin Maud, who had\never with just reproofs kept him in the right way, and to every member of\nthe household. The Pastscyiptum only contained tidings of great import;\nand it was as follows:\n\n\"Moreover I declare and swear to you, my gracious lady, that my kindred\ntake as good care of my Lord Kunz as though he were at home in Nuremberg.\nHis wounds are bad, yet by faithful care, and by the grace and help of\nGod the all-merciful, they shall be healed. He lacks for nothing. In the\nmatter of my lord Herdegen's ransom there are many obstacles.\n\n\"Had God the all-merciful but granted to my dear father to hold his high\nestate a few weeks longer, it would have been a small matter to him to\nrelease a slave; but now he is cast into a dungeon by the evil malice of\nhis enemies. Oh! that the all-wise God should suffer such malignant men\nto live as his foes and as that shameless woman whom you have long known\nby the name of Ursula Tetzel! But you will have learnt by my lord\nHerdegen's letter all I could tell, and you will understand that your\nhumble servant will daily beseech the Most High God to prosper you, and\ncause you to send hither some wise and potent captain to the end that we\nmay be delivered; inasmuch as the craft and fury of our foes are no less\nthan their power. They are lions and likewise poisonous serpents.\"\n\nThese lines were signed with the name of Akusch, and the words, Ibn Tagri\nVerdi al-Mahmudi, which is to say: Akusch, Son of Tagri Verdi al-Mahmudi.\n\nWe were at home at the Forest-lodge or ever the sun had set; there we\nfound Aunt Jacoba more calm than we had hoped for, inasmuch as that not\nonly had her husband sent her brief tidings of us, but likewise she had\nheard more exactly all that had kept us away. Kubbeling, albeit the lady\nAbbess had bidden him to her table, had privily stolen forth to send a\nmessenger to the grieving lady, whereas the thought of her gave him no\npeace among the feasters. Eppelein was neither better nor worse. But, in\nhis stead, Master Windecke the Imperial Councillor, who was learned in\nthe trading matters of all the world and who, in our absence, had wholly\nwon the heart of the other women and, above all, of Cousin Maud by his\ngood discourse, was able to interpret somewhat which had been dark to us\nin Akusch's letter. When I showed it to him he started to his feet in\namazement and declared that my squire's father, Tagri Verdi al-Mahmudi,\nhad been one of the most famous Captains of the host who had struck the\ngreat blow in Cyprus and carried off King Janus to the Sultan at Cairo.\nNay, and he could likewise tell us what had led to the overthrow of this\nsame Tagri Verdi, inasmuch as he had heard the tale from a certain noble\ngentleman of Cyprus, who had come to the court of Emperor Sigismund to\nentreat him to provide moneys for the ransom of King Janus, as follows:\nWhen Akusch's glorious father was raised to the dignity of a chief\nMameluke, together with Burs Bey, now the Sultan of Egypt, they were both\ncast into prison during a certain war and lay in the same dungeon. There\nhad Tagri Verdi dreamed one night that his fellow, Burs Bey, would in due\ntime be placed on the throne, and had revealed this to him. Then, when\nthis prophecy was fulfilled, and Burs Bey was Sultan, Tagri Verdi rose\nstep by step to high honor, and had won many glorious fights as his\nSovereign's chief Emir and Captain. The Sultan heaped him with honors and\ntreasure, until he learned that his former companion had dreamed another\ndream, and this time that it was to be his fate to mount the throne.\nHereupon Burs Bey was sore afraid; thus he had cast the victorious\nCaptain into prison, and many feared for Tagri that his life would not be\nspared.\n\nAnd Master Windecke could tell us yet more of the matter; and whereas\nfrom him we heard that our Emperor, by reason that his coffers were\nempty, could do nought to ransom King Janus, and that the Republic of\nVenice was fain to take it in hand, we were in greater fear than ever,\ninasmuch as this must need add yet more to the high respect already\nenjoyed by the Republic in the land of Egypt, and to that in which its\nConsul Giustiniani was held; and thereby his wife Ursula might, with the\ngreater security, give vent to that malice she bore in her heart against\nHerdegen.\n\nThus we went to our beds silent and downcast; and after we had lain there\na long time and found no sleep the words would come, and I said: \"My\npoor, dear Kunz! to be there in that hot Moorish land, wounded and alone!\nOh, Ann, that must be full hard to bear.\"\n\n\"Hard indeed!\" quoth she in a low voice. \"But for a free man, and so\nproud a man as Herdegen, to be a slave to a misbelieving Heathen, far\naway from all he loves, and chidden and punished for every unduteous\nlook; Oh, Margery! to think of that!\" And her voice failed.\n\nI spoke to her, and showed that we had much to make us thankful, inasmuch\nas we now at last knew that he we loved was yet alive.\n\nThen was there silence in the chamber; but I minded me then of what\nAkusch had written, that he besought some wise and mighty gentleman to\nset forth from Nuremberg to overpower the foe, and now I racked my brain\nto think whom we might send to take my brothers' cause in hand--yet still\nin vain. None could I think of who might conveniently quit home for so\nlong, or who was indeed fit for such an enterprise.\n\nWhich of us twain first fell asleep I wist not; when I woke in the\nmorning Ann had already quitted the chamber; and while Susan braided my\nhair, all I had been planning in the night grew plainer to me, and I went\nforth and down stairs full of a great purpose which made my heart beat\nthe faster. When I entered the ball, behold, I saw the same thing, albeit\nI was now awake, as I had seen yestermorn in my half-sleep. Yet was it\nnot Uhlwurm, but Kubbeling, to whom Ann was paying court. As he stood\nfacing her, she looked him trustfully in the eyes, and held his great\nhand in hers; nay, and when she saw me she did not let it go, but cried\nout in a clear and thankful voice: \"Then so it is, Father Seyfried; and\nif you do as I beseech you, all will come to a good end and you will\nremember so good a deed with great joy all your life long.\"\n\n\"As to 'great joy' I know not,\" replied he. \"For if I be not the veriest\nfool in all the land from Venice to Iceland, my name is not Kubbeling. I\nscarce know myself! Howbeit, let that pass: I stand by my word, albeit\nthe pains I shall endure in the winter journey.\"\n\n\"The Saints will preserve you on so pious an errand,\" Ann declared. \"And\nif they should nevertheless come upon you, dear Father, I will tend you\nas your own daughter would. And now again your hand, and a thousand,\nthousand thanks.\"\n\nWhereupon Kubbeling, with a melancholy growl, and yet a smile on his\nface, held forth his hand, and Ann held it fast and cried to me: \"You are\nwitness, Margery, that he has promised to do my will. Oh, Margery, I\ncould fly for gladness!\"\n\nAnd verily meseemed as though the wings had grown, and her eyes sparkled\nright joyfully and thankfully. And I had discerned from her very first\nwords whereunto she had beguiled Kubbeling; and verily to me it was a\nmarvel, inasmuch as I myself had imagined the self-same thing in the\nwatches of the night, and while my hair was doing: namely, to beseech\nKubbeling to be my fellow and keeper on a voyage to Egypt. Who but he\nknew the way so well? Howbeit, Ann had prevented me, and now, whereas I\nheard the sound of voices on the stair, I yet found time to cry to her:\n\"We go together, Ann; that is a settled matter!\"\n\nHereupon she looked at me, at first in amazement and then with a blissful\nconsenting smile, and said \"You had imagined the same thing, I know. Yes,\nMargery, we will go.\"\n\nThe others now trooped in, and I had no more time but hastily to clasp\nher hand. Howbeit, when most of our guests had gone into the refectory,\nwhere the morning meal was by this time steaming on the board, none were\nleft with us save Cousin Maud and Uncle Conrad and Uncle Christian; and\nUncle Conrad enquired of the Brunswicker whether he purposed indeed to\nset forth this day, and the man answered No, if so be that his lordship\nthe grand-forester would grant him shelter yet awhile, and consent to a\nplan to which he had been just now beguiled.\n\nAnd my uncle gave him his hand, and said the longer he might stay the\nbetter. And then he went on to ask with some curiosity what that plan\nmight be. Howbeit, I took upon me to speak, and I told him in few words\nhow that we had been thinking whom we might best send forth to help my\nbrethren, and that, with the morning sun, light had dawned on our minds,\nand that whereas we had found a faithful and experienced companion, it\nwas our firm intent. . . .\n\nHere Cousin Maud broke in, having come close to me with open ears, crying\naloud in terror: \"What?\" Howbeit I looked her in the eyes and went on:\n\n\"When our mind is set, Cousin, the thing will be done, of that you and\nall may make certain--that stands as sure as the castle on the rock. And\nbe it known to you all, with all due respect, that this time I will\nsuffer none to cross my path. Once for all, I, Margery, and Ann with me,\nare going forth to the land of Egypt in Kubbeling's company, and to Cairo\nitself!\"\n\nThe worthy old woman gave a scream, and while the Brunswicker shut the\ndining-hall door, that we might not be heard, she broke out, with glowing\neyes, beside herself with wrath: \"Verily and indeed! So that is your\npurpose! Thanks be to the Virgin, to say and to do are not one and the\nsame, far from it. Do you conceive that you hold all love for those two\nyouths yonder in sole fief or lease? As though others were not every whit\nas ready as you to give their best to save them. A head that runs at a\nwall cracks its skull! Maids should never touch matters which do not\nbeseem them! What next for a skittle-witted fancy!--That it should have\ncome into the brain of a Schopper is no marvel, but Ann, prudent Ann!\nWould any man have dreamed of such a thing in our young days, Master\nCousin? There they stand, two well born Nuremberg damsels, who have never\nbeen suffered to go next door alone after Ave Maria! And they are fain to\ncross the seas to a dark outlandish place, into the very jaws of the\ndreadful Heathen who butcher Christian people!\" Whereupon she clapped her\nhands and laughed aloud, albeit not from her heart, and then raved on:\n\"At least is it a new thing, and the first time that the like hath ever\nbeen heard of in Nuremberg!\"\n\nIf the whole of the holy Roman Empire had risen up to make resistance and\nto mock us, it would have failed to move Ann or me, and I answered, loud\nand steadfast: \"Everything right and good that ever was done in\nNuremberg, my heart's beloved Cousin, was done there once for the first\ntime; and it is right and good that we should go, and we mean to do it!\"\nWhereupon Cousin Maud drew back in disgust and amazement, and gazed from\none to the other of us with enquiring eyes, and as wondering a face as\nthough she were striving to rede some dark riddle. Then her vast bosom\nbegan to heave up and down, and we, who knew her, could not fail to\nperceive that somewhat great and strange was moving her. And whereas she\npresently shook her heavy head to and fro, and set her fists hard on her\nhips, I looked for a sudden and dreadful storm, and my Uncle Conrad\nlikewise gazed her in the face with expectant fear; yet it was long in\nbreaking forth. What then was my feeling when, at last, she took her\nhands from her sides and struck her right hand in her left palm so that\nit rang again, and burst forth eagerly, albeit with roguish good humor\nand tearful eyes: \"If indeed everything good and right that ever was done\nin Nuremberg must have once been done there for the first time, our good\ntown shall now see that a grey-headed old woman with gout in her toes can\nsail over seas, from the Pegnitz even to the land of the barbarian\nHeathen and Cairo! Your hand on it, Young Kubbeling, and yours, Maidens.\nWe will be fellow-travellers. Signed and sealed. Strew sand on it!\"\n\nHereupon Ann, who was wont to be still, shrieked loudly and cast herself\nfirst on my cousin's neck and then on mine and then on my uncle's; he\nindeed stood as though deeply offended, as likewise did my good godfather\nChristian. Yet they would not speak, that they might not mar our joy,\nalbeit Uncle Pfinzing growled forth that our plan was sheer youthful\nfolly, wilfulness, and the like. \"At any rate it is an unlaid egg, so\nlong as my wife has not added mustard to the peppered broth,\" Uncle\nConrad declared, and he departed to carry tidings to my aunt of what mad\nfolly these women's heads had brewed.\n\nEven Kubbeling shook his head, albeit he spoke not, inasmuch as he knew\nthat it was hard to contend with the powers beyond seas.\n\nHe and Cousin Maud had ever been on terms of good-fellowship with Uncle\nChristian, but to-day my uncle was ill to please; neither look nor word\nhad he for his heart's darling, Ann; and when he presently recovered\nsomewhat, he stormed around, with so red a face and such furious ire that\nwe feared lest he should have another dizzy stroke, saying \"that\nKubbeling and Cousin Maud might be ashamed of themselves, inasmuch as\nthey were old enough to know better and were acting like a pair of young\nmadcaps.\" And thus he went on, till it was overmuch for the Brunswicker's\nendurance, and on a sudden he cried out in great wrath that that he had\npromised was in truth not wise, forasmuch as that he would gain nought\nbut mischief thereby, yet that it concerned him alone and he took it all\non himself, although Master Pfinzing might yet ask for why and to what\nend he should risk a hurt by it, whereas, to his knowledge, the\nill-starred Junker Schopper could be little more to him than the man in\nthe moon. He was wont, quoth he, to take good care not to risk his skin\nfor other folks, but in this matter it seemed to him not too dear a\nbargain. Neither the stoutest will nor the strongest fist might avail\nagainst Mistress Ursula, the veriest witch in all the land of Egypt; a\nbetter head was needed for that, than the heavy brain-pan which God\nAlmighty had set on his short neck, and yet he had sworn to bring her\nknavery to nought. Our faithful hearts and shrewd heads would be the aid\nhe needed. He trusted to Cousin Maud to dare to dance with old Nick\nhimself, if need should arise. And he was man enough to protect us all\nthree. And now Master Pfinzing knew all about it and, if he yet craved to\nhear more, he would find him among the birds, whereas Uhlwurm was to\ndepart on his way with them that very day, without him.\n\nAnd he turned his back on my uncle, and quitted the chamber with a heavy\ntread; but he turned on the threshold and cried: \"Yet keep your lips from\ntelling what you have in your mind, Master, and in especial to those who\nare at their meal in there, as touching that Tetzel-adder; for the wind\nflies over seas faster than we can.\"\n\nWhile he spoke thus Uncle Christian had recovered his temper, and he\nfollowed after Kubbeling with such a haste as his huge body would allow,\nnor was it to quarrel with him any more.\n\nThe rest, who had sat at breakfast, had by good hap heard nought of our\ndisputing, by reason that Master Windecke had so much new matter for\ndiscourse that every ear hung on his words; and he, again, forgot to eat\nwhile he talked. In Cousin Maud, indeed, as she hearkened to my\ngodfather's wrathful speech, certain doubts had arisen; yet even stronger\nresistance would never have turned her aside from anything she deemed\ntruly good and right; howbeit she was more than willing to leave it to us\nto settle matters with Aunt Jacoba. We went up-stairs to her, and at her\nchamber door our courage failed us, inasmuch as we could hear through the\ndoor my uncle's angry speech, and that laugh which my aunt was wont to\nutter when aught came to her ears which she was not fain to hear.\n\n\"And if she were to say No?\" said I to Ann. Hereupon a right sorrowful\nand painful cloud overspread her face, and it was in a dejected tone that\nshe answered me that then indeed all must be at an end, and her fondest\nhopes nipped, by reason that she owed more to Mistress Waldstromer than\never she could repay, and whatsoever she might undertake against her will\nwould of a certainty come to no good end. And we heard my aunt's laugh\nagain; but then I took heart, and raised the latch, and Ann led the way\ninto the chamber.\n\nHowbeit, if we had cherished the smallest hope without, within it failed\nus wholly. As we went in my uncle was standing close by my aunt; his back\nwas towards us, and he saw us not; but his mien alone showed us that he\nwas wroth and provoked: his voice quaked as he cried aloud with a shrug\nof his shoulders and his hand uplifted: \"Such a purpose is sheer madness\nand most unseemly!\"\n\nThen, when for the third time I coughed to make our presence known to\nhim, he turned his red face towards us, and cried out in great fury:\n\"Here you are to answer for yourselves; and come what may, this at least\nshall be said: 'If mischief comes of it, I wash my hands in innocence!'\"\n\nWhereupon he went in all haste to the door and had lifted his hand to\nslam it to, when he minded him of his beloved wife's sick health and\ngently shut it and softly dropped the latch.\n\nWe stood in front of Aunt Jacoba, and could scarce believe our eyes and\nears when she opened wide her arms and, with beaming eyes, cried in a\nvoice of glad content: \"Come, come to my heart, children! Oh, you good,\ndear, brave maids! Why, why am I so old, so fettered, so sick a creature?\nWhy may I not go with you?\"\n\nAt her first words we had fallen on our knees by her side, and she\nfervently clasped our heads to her bosom, kissed our lips and foreheads,\nand cried, with ever-streaming eyes: \"Yes, children, yes! It is brave,\nand the right way; Courage and true love are not dead in the hearts of\nthe women of Nuremberg. Ah, and how many a time have I imagined that I\nmight myself rise and fly after my froward, dear, unduteous exile, my own\nGotz, be he where he may, over mountains and seas to the ends of the\nearth!--I, a hapless, suffering skeleton! Yet what is denied to the old,\nthe young may do, and the Virgin and all the Saints shall guard you! And\nKubbeling, Young-Kubbeling, that bravest, truest Seyfried! Bring him up\nto speak with me. So rough and so good!--My old man, to be sure, must\nstorm and rave, but then his feeble and sickly nobody of a little wife\ncan wind him round her finger. Leave him to me, and be sure you shall win\nhis blessing.\" After noon Uhlwurm and the waggon of birds set forth to\nFrankfort, where Kubbeling's eldest son was tarrying to meet his father\nwith fresh falcons. Or ever the grim old grey-beard mounted his horse, he\nwhispered to Ann: \"Truest of maidens, find some device to move Seyfried\nto take me in your fellowship to the land of Egypt, and I will work a\ncharm which shall of a surety give your lover back to you, if indeed he\nis not . . .\" and he was about to cry \"gone\" as was his wont; yet he\nrefrained himself and spoke it not. Young Kubbeling tarried at the\nForest-lodge; and as for my uncle, it was soon plain enough that my aunt\nhad been in the right in the matter; nay, when we went home to the city,\nmeseemed as though he and his wife had from the first been of one mind.\nOur purpose pleased him better as he learned to believe more surely that\nour little women's wits would peradventure be able to find his wandering\nson, and to tempt him to return to his father's forest home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nWe carefully obeyed Kubbeling's counsel that we should keep our purpose\ndark, and it remained hidden even from the guests at the lodge. On the\nother hand they had been told all that Herdegen's letter had contained,\nand that it was Ursula who was pursuing him with such malignant spite.\nYet albeit we bound over each one to hold his peace on the matter in\nNuremberg, no woman, nor perchance no man either, could keep such strange\ndoings privy from near kith and kin; and whereas we might not tell what\nin truth it was which stood in the way of our brothers' homecoming, it\nwas rumored among our cousins and gossips that some vast and unattainable\nsum was needed to ransom the two young Schoppers. And other marvellous\nreports got abroad, painting my brother's slavery in terrible colors.\n\nAt first this made me wroth, but presently it provoked me less, inasmuch\nas that great compassion was aroused; and those very citizens and dames\nwho of old were wont to chide Herdegen as a limb of Satan, and would have\ngladly seen him led to the gallows, now remembered him otherwise. Yea,\nfellow-feeling hath kindly eyes, widely open to all that is good, and\nwilling to be shut to all that is evil, and so it came to pass that the\nnoble gifts of the poor slave now lost to the town, were lauded to the\nskies. Hereupon came a letter from my lord Cardinal with these tidings of\ngood comfort: that he was willing to administer extreme unction to my\ngrand-uncle Im Hoff, if his life should be in peril when his eminence\nreturned from England. Our next letters were, by his order, to find him\nat Brussels, and when old Dame Pernhart had given her consent to our\njourneying to the land of Egypt--whereas Aunt Jacoba held her wisdom and\nshrewd wit in high honor,--and had moved her son and Dame Giovanna to do\nlikewise, Ann wrote a long letter to my lord Cardinal, the venerable head\nof the Pernhart family, setting forth in touching words for what cause\nand to what end she had dared so bold a venture. She besought his aid and\nblessing, and declared that the inward voice, which he had taught her to\nobey, gave her assurance that the purpose she had in hand was pleasing in\nthe eyes of God and the Virgin.\n\nI, for my part, could never have writ so fair a letter; and how calmly\nwould Ann now fulfil the duties of each day, while Cousin Maud, albeit\nher feet scarce might carry her, was here, there, and everywhere, like a\nWill-o'-the-Wisp.\n\nAnn it was who first conceived the idea of going with Young Kubbeling to\nthe Futterers' house and there making enquiries as to the roads to Genoa,\nand also concerning the merchants who might there be found ready and\nwilling to ship his falcons for sale in Alexandria; inasmuch as that it\nwas only by journeying in a galleon which sailed not from Venice that we\ncould escape Ursula's spies; and that Kubbeling should suffer loss\nthrough us we could by no means allow. And whereas old Master Futterer\nhimself was now in Nuremberg, he declared himself willing to buy the\nbirds on account of his own house, at the same price as the traders in\nVenice; nor was the Brunswicker any whit loth, forasmuch as that he might\npresently get a better price on the Lido, when it should be known that he\nhad other ways and means at his command. Also the journey by Genoa gave\nus this advantage: that we were bound to no time or season. Old Master\nFutterer pledged himself to find a ship at any time when Kubbeling should\nneed it.\n\nWhereas we purposed to set forth in the middle of December, we went to\nthe forest-lodge early in that month, and as it was with me at that time,\nso, for sure, must it be with the swallows and the nightingales or ever\nthey fly south over mountains and seas. Never had the pure air been\nsweeter, never had I looked forward to the future with greater hope and\nstrength or higher purpose. And my feeble, sickly Aunt Jacoba, meseemed,\nwas like-minded with me. In spirit, ever eager, she was with us already\nin that distant region, and albeit of old she ever had preferred Ann\nabove me, now on a sudden the tables were turned; she could never see\nenough of me, and when at last Ann was fain to go home to town with Uncle\nChristian, she besought so pressingly that I would stay with her that I\nwas bound to yield; and indeed I was well content to tarry there, the\nforest being now in all its glory.\n\nThe daintiest lace was hung over the frosted trees. They had been dipped,\nmeseemed, in melted silver and crystal, and the whole forest was\nbroidered over with shining enamel and thickly strewn with clear diamond\nsparks. And how brightly everything glittered when the sun rose up from\nthe morning mist, and blazed down on all this glory from a blue sky! At\nnight the moon lighted up the frosted forest with a softer and more\nloving ray, and till a late hour I would gaze forth at it, or up at the\nstarry vault where the shooting stars came flying across from the dark\nblue deep. Now it is well-known to many who are still in their green\nyouth that, whensoever it befalls that we are in the act of thinking of\nsome heartfelt wish just as a star falls, it is sure of fulfilment; and\nbehold, on the very next night, as I was gazing upwards and wondering in\nmy heart whether indeed we might be able to rescue my brothers, and to\nfind my Cousin Gotz as his sick mother so fervently hoped, a bright star\nfell, as it were right in front of me. Whereupon I went to bed in such\ngood cheer and so sure of myself as I have rarely felt before or since\nthat night.\n\nAnd next morning, as I went to my aunt in high spirits and happy mood,\nshe perceived that some good hap had befallen me. Then, when I had told\nher what I had had in my mind as the star fell which, as little children\nbelieve, is dropped from the hand of an angel blinded by the glory of\nAlmighty God, she looked me in the face with a sad smile and bid me sit\ndown by her side. And she took my hand in hers and opened her heart so\nwide as she had never done till this hour. It was plain to see that she\nhad long been biding her time for this full and free discourse, and she\nconfessed that she had never shown me such love and care as were indeed\nmy due. The mere sight of me had ever hurt the open wound, inasmuch as\nlong ago, or ever I first went to school, her fondest hopes had been set\non me. She had looked on me ever as her only son's future wife, and Gotz\nhimself had been of the same mind, whereas in his boyhood, and even when\nhis beard was coming, he loved nought better than little Margery in her\nred hood.\n\nAnd she reminded me now of many a kind act her son had done me, and how\nthat once on a time, when my lord the High Constable had bidden him with\nother lads to Kadolzburg, which she and my uncle took as a great honor,\nhe had said, No, he would not go from home, by reason that Cousin Maud\nwas to come that day and bring me with her.\n\n   [Kadolzburg--A country lodge belonging to the High Constables of the\n   city of Nuremberg, and their favorite resort, even after they had\n   became Electors of Brandenburg. It was at about three miles and a\n   half west of the town]\n\nWhereupon arose his first sharp dispute with his parents, and when my\nuncle threatened that he would carry him thither by force he had stolen\naway into the woods, and stayed all night with some bee-keeper folk, and\nnot come home till midday on the morrow, when it was too late to ride to\nthe Castle in good time. 'To punish him for this he was locked up; but\nhearing my voice below he had let himself down by the gutter-pipe, seized\nmy hand, and ran away to the woods with me, nor did he come back till Ave\nMaria. And hereupon he was soundly thrashed, albeit he was even then a\ngreat lad and of good counsel in all matters.\n\nMy uncle's wrath at that time had dwelt in my mind, but my share in the\nmatter was new to me and brought the color to my face. Howbeit, I deemed\nit might have been better if my aunt had never told me; for though it was\nindeed good to hear and gladdened my soul, yet it would hinder me from\nlooking Gotz freely in the face if by good hap I should meet him.\n\nThen she went on to tell me in full all that had befallen my cousin until\nhe had gone forth to wander. When they had parted in wrath, he had\nwritten to her from the town to say that if she were steadfast in her\ndispleasure he should seek a new home for himself and his sweetheart in a\nfar country; and she had sent him a letter to tell him that her arms were\never open to receive him, but that rather than suffer the only son and\nheir of the old and noble race of Waldstromer to throw himself away on a\ncraftsman's daughter, she would never more set eyes on him whom she loved\nwith all her heart. Never more, and she swore it by the Saviour's wounds\nwith the crucifix in her hand, should his parents' doors be opened to him\nunless he gave up the coppersmith's daughter and besought his mother's\npardon.\n\nAnd now the sick old woman bewailed her stern hardness and her over-hasty\noath with bitter tears; Gotz had been faithful to his Gertrude in despite\nof her letter, and when, three years later, the tidings reached him that\nhis sweetheart had pined away for grief and longing, and departed this\nlife with his name on her lips, he had written in the wild anguish of his\nyoung soul that, now Gertrude was dead, he had nought more to crave of\nhis parents; and that whereas his mother had sworn with her hand on the\nimage of the Saviour never to open her doors to him till he had renounced\nhis sweet, pure love, he now made an oath not less solemn and binding, by\nthe image of the Crucified Christ, that he would never turn homewards\ntill she bid him thither of her own free will, and owned that she\nrepented her of that innocent maid's early death, whereas there was not\nher like among all the noble maidens of Nuremberg, whatever their names\nmight be.\n\nThis letter I read myself, and I plainly saw that these twain had sadly\nmarred their best joy in life by over-hasty ire. Albeit, I knew full well\nhow stubborn a spirit was Aunt Jacoba's, I nevertheless strove to move\nher to send a letter to her son bidding him home; yet she would not,\nthough she bewailed herself sorely.\n\n\"Only one thing of those he requires of me can I in all truth grant him,\"\nquoth she. \"If you find him, you may tell him that his mother sends her\nfondest blessing, and assure him of my heart's deepest devotion; nay, and\nlet him understand that I am pining with longing for him, and that I obey\nhis will inasmuch as that I truly mourn the death of his beloved; for\nthat is verily the truth, the Virgin and the Saints be my witness. Yet I\nmay not and I will not open my doors to him till he has craved my\nforgiveness, and if I did so he must think of his own mother as a\nperjured woman.\"\n\nHereupon I showed her--and my eyes overflowed--that his oath stood forth\nas against her oath, and that one was as weighty as the other in the\nsight of the Most High.\n\n\"Set aside that cruel vow, my dear aunt,\" cried I, \"I will make any\npilgrimage with you, and I know full well that no penance will seem\noverhard to you.\"\n\n\"No, no, of a surety, Margery, no!\" she replied with a groan. \"And the\nChaplain said the like to me long ago; and yet I feel in my heart that\nyou and he are in the wrong. An oath sworn by Christ's wounds!--Moreover\nI am the elder and his mother, he is the younger and my son. It is his\npart to come to me, and if he then shall make a pilgrimage it shall be to\nRome and the Holy Sepulchre. He has time before him in which to do any\npenance the Holy Church may require of him. I--I would lay me on the rack\nonly to see him once more, I would fast and scourge myself till my dying\nday; but I am his mother, and he is my son, and it is his part to take\nthe first step, not mine who bore him.\"\n\nHow warmly I urged her again and again, and how often was she on the\npoint of yielding to her heart's loud outcry! Yet she ever came back to\nthe same point: that it ill-beseemed her to be the first to put forth her\nhand, albeit her every feeling drove her to it.\n\nThe letters sent to Gotz had reached him through a merchant's house in\nVenice. This his parents knew, and they had long since charged Kunz to\ninquire where he dwelt. Yet had his pains been for nought, inasmuch as\nthe banished youth had forbidden the traders to tell any one, whosoever\nmight ask. Howbeit my uncle had implored his son in many a letter to mind\nhim of his mother's sickness, and come home; and in his answers Gotz had\nmany a time given his parents assurance of his true and loving devotion;\nyet had he kept his oath, and tarried beyond seas. These letters likewise\ndid my aunt show me, and while I read them she charged me to make it my\nduty not to quit that merchant's house and to take no rest until I had\nlearned where her son was dwelling: saying that what an Italian might\ndeny to a man a fair young maiden might yet obtain of him.\n\nIt was not yet dusk when Master Ulsenius came and broke off our\ndiscourse. He had come forth in part to see Eppelein, and presently, when\na lamp was brought, as we stood by the faithful lad he called me by name,\nand then Uncle Conrad, and said that albeit he was weary of limb he was\neasy and comfortable; that he felt a smart now and then, and in especial\nabout his neck, yet that troubled him but little, inasmuch as that it\nplainly showed him that the thought which had haunted him, that he was\nreally killed and in a darksome hell, was but a horrible dream.\n\nThen when he had spoken thus much, with great pains, his pale face turned\nred on a sudden, and again he asked, as he had many times in his\nsickness, where was his master's letter. Hereupon I hastily told him that\nwe had hunted down the robbers and rescued it, and it was a joy to see\nhow much comfort and delight this was to him. And when he had swallowed a\ngood cup of strong Malvoisie, he could sit up, and enquired if the Baron\nvon Im Hoff were minded to satisfy the Sultan's over-great demand. And to\nthis I replied, to give him easement, that we had good reason to hope so.\nAnd was his mind now clear enough to enable him to remember how great a\nsum was demanded for ransom?\n\nHe smiled craftily, and said that even as a dead man he could scarce have\nforgotten that, by reason that he had muttered the words to himself on\nhis way oftener than any old monk mumbles his Paternoster. And when Uncle\nConrad laughed and bid him jestingly repeat it, he said, like a school\nboy who is sure of his task: \"For Master Herdegen Schopper, slave of the\nsaid unbeliever Abou Sef--[Father of the scimitar]--in the armory of\nSultan Burs Bey in the Castle of Cairo, a ransom is demanded of\ntwenty-four thousand Venice sequins. George--Christina! Death and fire on\nthe head of the misbelieving wretch!\"\n\nWhen we heard this we all believed that he had of a surety been wrong as\nto the sum or the coin, likewise we thought his last strange words were\ndue to a wandering mind; howbeit, we were soon to learn that verily his\ntidings were the truth. He forthwith went on to say with some pains that\nhis master had made him to use a means by which he might remember the\nnumber from all others in case, by ill-hap, the letter should be lost.\nAnd on this wise he gave us to know for certain that the vast sum\ndemanded was not an error on his part. It was to this end that he had\nstamped on his memory the names of Saint George and Saint Christina,\nwhose days in the calendar are on the 24th of April and the 24th of July,\nand the number of thousands named for the ransom was likewise four and\ntwenty. Also Herdegen had bid him think of twice the twelve apostles, and\nof the twenty-four hours from midnight till midnight again. It would seem\nbeyond belief to most folks, he said, yet it was indeed twenty-four\nthousand, and not hundred, sequins which that devilish Sultan has asked,\nas indeed we must know from the letter. Presently, when he had rested a\nwhile, we made him tell us more, and we learned that the Sultan had been\nminded to set Herdegen free without price, and he would have had him led\nforthwith to the imprisoned King Janus of Cyprus, to whom he thought he\nmight thus do a pleasure, but that Ursula Tetzel, who was standing by\nwith her husband, had whispered to the Sultan that she would not see him\nrobbed of a great profit forasmuch as that yonder Christian slave--and\nshe pointed to my brother--was of one of the richest families of her\nnative town, who could pay a royal ransom for him and find it no great\nburthen; and that the same was true of Sir Franz, who was likewise to\nhave been set free. Hereupon the Sultan, who at all times lacked moneys,\nnotwithstanding the heavy tribute he levied on all merchandise, commanded\nthat Herdegen and the Bohemian should be led away again and then he asked\nthis overweening ransom. Then Ursula took upon herself of her own free\nwill to send tidings of the Sultan's demands to the slaves' kith and kin,\nand of her deep malice had never done so.\n\nThat evening we might not hear how and on what authority Eppelein knew\nall this, for much talking had wearied him. All we could then learn was\nthat it was Ursula, and none other, whom the lad would still speak of as\nthe She-devil, who had plotted the snare which had well nigh cost my\nother brother his life. Yet had he left him so far amended that he,\nEppelein, would be glad to be no worse.\n\nAlbeit these tidings of Kunz were good to cheer us, our hopes of\nransoming Herdegen were indeed far away, or rather in the realm of\nnevermore; even if my grand-uncle were possessed of so great a sum, it\nwas a question whether he would be willing to pay it; and as for us, we\ncould never have raised it at the cost of all our fortune. At that time\nthe Venice sequin and Nuremberg gulden were not far asunder in value, and\nwhat the sum of twenty-four thousand gulden meant any man may imagine\nwhen I say that, no more than twelve years sooner, the liberty of coining\nfor the whole city was granted by the Emperor Sigismund to Herdegen\nValzner for four thousand Rhenish gulden; and that Master Ulman Stromer\npurchased his fine dwelling-house behind the chapel of Our Lady, with the\nhouses pertaining thereto, and his share in the Rigler's house for two\nthousand eight hundred gulden. For such a sum as was demanded a whole\nstreet in Nuremberg might have been sold; nay, the great castle of\nMalmsbach on the Pegnitz would lately have been bought by the city for a\nthousand Rhenish gulden, but that Master Ulrich Rummel, whose it was,\nwould not part with it. And we were now required to pay the price of two\ndozen such strongholds! It was indeed an unheard-of and devilish\nextortion; and when Kubbeling came to hear of it he turned his\nwild-cat-skin pocket inside out, and fell to raging and storming.\n\nAunt Jacoba turned pale when she heard the great sum named, and she\nlikewise was of opinion that old Im Hoff, who had of late been spending\nmuch money in vows and foundations, would never give forth so vast a sum.\nThe richest families in Nuremberg might be moved to pay fifty, and at the\nmost a hundred gulden for the ransom of a Christian and a\nfellow-countryman, but if even twenty might be found so open-handed,\nwhich was not to be looked for, and if my godfather Christian Pfinzing,\nand the Waldstromers, and the Hallers should do their utmost, and we\nshould give the greater part of all our possessions, we could scarce make\nit up to twenty-four thousand sequins if my grand-uncle did not help.\n\nThus after a day of hope came a first night of despairing, and many\nanother must follow, and I was to know once more that misfortunes never\ncome singly.\n\nI had hoped of a surety to speak with Eppelein once more or ever I\ndeparted at noon, and to ask him of many matters; howbeit, when I went up\nto his chamber Master Ulsenius met me with a face of care and told me\nthat the poor fellow was again wandering in his wits. When I presently\nwent forth from the house, a bee-keeper's waggon was slowly moving from\nthe court-yard. The housewife waved her hand, and from beneath the tilt\nthe face of Dame Henneleinlein looked at me with a scornful grin. Since\nher evil demeanor at the Pernbarts' they had closed their house on her,\nand when she had dared once to go to the Schopperhof, thence likewise had\nshe been shut out, and thus she felt no good-will towards us. Now when I\nenquired of the housekeeper what might be the end and reason for this\nvisit, the woman hid beneath her apron a jar of honey which the old dame\nhad given her as a sweetmeat for the children; and she gave me to\nunderstand that the worthy lady had come forth to the forest to collect\nher widow's dues of honey, and had tarried on her way for a little\nfriendly discourse. But methought that \"little\" must have had some\nstrange meaning, inasmuch as the housewife's withered cheeks were of the\ncolor of a robin's breast. Hereupon I threatened her with my finger, and\nenquired of her whether she had not betrayed more to the evil-tongued old\nwoman than she ought, but she eagerly denied the charge.\n\nMy ride home to the town after noon was not altogether a pleasant one, by\nreason that icy rain poured from heaven in streams, mingled with snow.\nThe further we went the worse the roads were, and yet when my companions\nturned at the city-gate to ride homewards again, a strange, fierce\nconfidence came upon me. Whether it were that the wet which ran off from\nme and my stout horse had singularly refreshed me, or whether it was the\nsteadfast purpose I had set as I rode along, to risk my all to the end\nthat I might redeem my brethren, I know not. But to this hour I mind me\nthat, as I rode in through the dark streets, my heart beat high with\ncontentment, and that had I been such another man as Herdegen I might\nhave been ready enough to pick a quarrel with the first who should have\nsaid me nay.\n\nThus I fared on past my grand-uncle's house; there I beheld from afar a\nlighted lantern, as it were a glow-worm at midsummer, moving along the\nstreet, and when I perceived that it was none other than old\nHenneleinlein who carried it, I put my horse, which till now had been\nwading through the mire step by step, to a swift gallop, as fast as he\nmight go, and the servingman behind me, passing close by her. And what\nsimple glee was mine when our horses splashed the old woman from head to\nfoot, inasmuch as I wist for certain that she could have stolen to my\ngrand-uncle's house at that late hour to no end but to reveal whatsoever\nshe might have picked up from her friend and gossip at the forest-lodge.\n\nThus I reached home in better cheer than I had hoped; and when Susan told\nme that Cousin Maud was in the kitchen ordering the supper, I crept\nup-stairs, hastily changed my wet raiment, sent forth my man to tell Ann\nthat she was to come to me, and then, in the best chamber, I fetched\nforth the elecampane wine which I had ever found the best remedy when my\ncousin needed some strength. Nor was my care in vain; for when I had told\nher, little by little, as it were in small doses, all the tidings I had\nheard yesterday, and ended with the great and cruel price demanded by the\nSultan, she shrieked aloud and clasped her hands to her heart in such\nwise that I was verily in great fear. Then the elecampane wine did good\nservice; yet was it not till she had drunk of it many times that her\ntongue spoke plainly again. And presently, when she was able to wag it,\nit went on for a long time with no pause nor rest, in sheer impatience\nand godless railing.\n\nWhen she had thus relieved her mind, she began pacing up and down the\nfloor on one and the same plank, like a lion in its cage, and to call to\nmind, one by one, all our earthly possessions, and to reckon at how we\nmight attain to selling it for gold. The whole sum was not much to\ncomfort us, for her worldly estate, like that of the Waldstromers, was in\nland, and in these days of peril from the Hussites it was hard enough to\nsell landed property, and her best portion was in meads and pasture and a\nfew vineyards near Wurzburg.\n\nIt was from the first her fixed intent, as though it were a matter of\ncourse, to give everything she had, down to her jewels; and whereas she\nconceived, and rightly, that for Herdegen's sake I should be like-minded,\nshe asked me no questions but added to it in her mind, the Schopper\njewels which had come to me from my father and mother, and then began to\ncount and reckon. It might perchance come to so much as eleven thousand\nsequins if we sold all we had to sell; yet our inheritance lay in\nChancery, and, as she knew full well, not a farthing thereof might be\ngiven up but with the full and well-proven authority of Herdegen and\nKunz. Nor might I even have that which was mine own, by reason that our\ninheritance had never been shared, and our houses and lands had not been\nvalued at a price. Thus I must have long patience or ever I came by my\nown; all the more so whereas the gentlemen of the Chancery were required\nto answer for the wealth of orphans in their keeping with their own.\n\nHereupon we again thought of my grand-uncle, and Cousin Maud declared\nthat he would of a certainty be ready to pay half the required ransom for\na purpose so pleasing in the eyes of God, and that the other half might\nbe raised by the help of our friends. Then she was fain to think of the\nfuture. And the longer she did so, even when Ann had come to us and had\nbeen told all our tidings, the better cheer she showed; nay, it might\nhave been conceived that it would be a far more easy and delightful\nmatter to live in narrow poverty than in superfluous riches, and\nthereupon she put me in mind how that many a time, when the men-folks\nwere away from home, she and I had been content to make good cheer with\nsome sweet porridge, and had very gladly dined without flesh-meat, which\nwas so costly. We should be free from the vexation of so many serving-men\nand wenches; and whereas of late she had been forced to turn Brigitta out\nof the house, had she not herself scarce escaped a fever from sheer worry\nof mind. Susan would ever be true to us; she would be ready to share our\npoverty with us, and the unresting up-stairs and down had long been a\ntorment to her old feet.\n\nThe Magister was a well-disposed man, and if he found it an over-hard\nmatter to depart from us we might very gladly let him board with us, if\nhe could be content to live with us in her little house in the\nGrassmarket, in which Rosmuller now dwelt. There was no lack of good\nhome-spun cloth in Nuremberg; nay, and if we should never again have new\ngarments that would be all the better for our souls' health. As for me, I\nmight perchance have fewer suitors, but if one should pay his court to\nme, he would have no thought but for Margery, and how she looked and\nmoved. Nay, take it for all in all, we owed much thanks to Ursula and the\nreprobate heathen Sultan if we were by their means brought low from\nill-starred wealth and ease to God-pleasing poverty.\n\nAnn was far less horror-struck at the fearful sum of the ransom than we\nhad been, by reason that she was ever possessed by the assurance that\nHeaven had created her and Herdegen for each other, and would bring them\ntogether at last.\n\nMoreover she had good cause to build her hopes on my grand-uncle's help.\nIn a letter from the Cardinal to her he said that now, as of old, he\ncould only counsel her to follow the voice of her heart; that he would\nput no hindrance in the way of our departing, albeit he urgently prayed\nus to put it off till after his homecoming, which should now be in a\nshort space. She was to let Baron Im Hoff know that he was ready to do\nhis will, albeit he hoped at his coming to find him in mended health. She\nhad forthwith carried these good tidings to my grand-uncle, and they had\nso uplifted and comforted his heart that verily it seemed as though my\nlord Cardinal's good hopes might find fulfilment. And this very morning\nshe had seen him, and a right strange mind had come over him; he had\nenquired of her straitly, and as though it was to him a great matter, all\nthat she could tell him of my lord Cardinal's way of life, of the duties\nof his office and the like; and whereas she answered him that of all\nthese matters she knew but little, yet had she heard from his own mouth\nthat his eminence was bound in thankfulness to his Holiness the Pope, by\nreason that he had made him to be high Almoner of the Papal treasury and\nthus put it into his power to do many good works; and this she deemed,\nhad brought great easement to my granduncle. Then when she rose to depart\nfrom him, he had sent his serving-man to bid Master Holzschuher, the\nnotary, to come to him, and to bring with him two trustworthy witnesses\nduly sworn to secrecy. As he bid her farewell he had laughed, and\nwhispered to her that his Eminence the Cardinal would be well-content\nwith old Im Hoff, yea, and she likewise, and her lover.\n\nAll this gave us matter for thought, and also gave us good heart; only it\nweighed upon our souls that our departing was not to be yet for some\nweeks.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nNext morning Cousin Maud let me see in a right pleasant way how truly she\nwas in earnest in the matter of thrift henceforth; she would take but one\nsmall pat of butter from the country wench who brought it, she sent away\nthe butcher's man and would have no flesh meat, and at breakfast she\nabstained from butter on her bread, as she was wont to eat it. Likewise\nthe chain and the great gold pin which she ever wore from morning till\nnight, flashing on her bosom like a watchman's lantern, were now laid\naside, and while I was eating my porridge she showed me the coffer\nwherein she had bestowed all she possessed of rings, pins, and the like,\nwhich she would presently take to the weigh-house to be weighed and then\nto a goldsmith to be valued. Howbeit, when I was fain to do likewise with\nmy jewels she would not have it so, inasmuch as youth, quoth she, needed\nsuch bravery, and first we must learn how great a portion of the ransom\nmy grand-uncle would take upon himself to pay.\n\nHereupon, in fulfilment of my purpose yestereve, I made it my hard duty\nto carry the evil tidings to the old baron, and humbly to remind him of\nhis promise to take care for Herdegen's ransom. It was raining heavily,\nand a wet west wind whistled along the miry streets. It was weariful to\nwade through them, and when at last I reached the Im Hoff house Master\nUlsenius called to me down the stairs: \"Silence, Mistress Margery; there\nis worse weather in here than without doors!\"\n\nThus as I went into the overheated chamber, I saw there was no good to be\nhoped for: yet were matters worse than I had looked to find them. So soon\nas my grand-uncle set eyes on me he frowned darkly, his hollow eyes had\nan angry glare and, without answering my good-day, he croaked at me: \"You\nhoped that the old man might have passed away into eternity or ever you\nset forth on your wild adventure? Hah, hah But you are mistaken. I shall\nyet be granted time enough to show you whom you have to deal with, as it\nhas likewise been enough to show me what you truly are! Whereas I trusted\nto have found a faithful and wise brain, what have I seen? Loveless and\nmalignant privity, miserable folly, and such schemes as might have been\ndreamed of in a mad-house!\"\n\n\"But, uncle, only hearken,\" I tried to say, and forthwith the idea fell\ninto my mind, which I afterwards found to be a true one, that either\nHenneleinlein, had yestereve betrayed to him or to her gossip his\nhousekeeper, all she had heard at the Forest Lodge. He would not suffer\nme to speak to the end, but went on to chide and complain, and broke in\nagain and again, even when at last I found words and made it plain to him\nthat we had kept our purpose privy from him to no end but to save him\nfrom grieving so long as we might; and albeit he might be wroth with us,\nyet he must grant that heretofore we had ever been modest and seemly\nmaidens; but now, when it was a matter of life and freedom for those who\nwere nearest and dearest to our hearts. . . .\n\nHere he broke in with scornful laughter, and cried out that he, for his\npart, might not indeed hope to be numbered among those chosen few. He had\never known full well that when we did him any Samaritan service it had\nbeen to no end save to draw from his purse the money to ransom my\nbrothers and Ann's lover. Every kind word had been pure lies and\nfalseness; yea, and worse than either of us were that crafty witch out in\nthe forest, and the old scarecrow who made boast of having been as a\nmother to me. Thus far had I suffered his railing in patience, but now it\nwas too much for the hot blood of the Schoppers; I could refrain myself\nno longer, and broke out in great wrath and reproaches for so vile an\naccusation. If it were not that his age and infirmities claimed our\ncompassion, I would, said I, after such evil treatment, desire of Ann\nthat she should never more cross the threshold of a man who could so\ncruelly defame us, and those two good women to whom we owed so much.\n\nI spoke right loudly, beside myself with rage, and my face aglow; nor was\nit till I marked that my uncle was staring at me as at some marvel that I\nrecovered myself, and on a sudden held my peace, inasmuch as the thought\nflashed through my brain that I was denying my brother even as Peter\ndenied the Lord, albeit not indeed through any fear of man, but by giving\nway to my angered pride. Howbeit I had not long ceased when the stern old\nman cried out in pitiful entreaty.\n\n\"Nay, Margery, in the name of the Saints I pray you! You will not make\nAnn my foe. How hardhearted you can be, and how wroth, and against an old\nman sick unto death on the edge of the grave!--what was it, in truth,\nthat brought the bitter words to my tongue, but my care and fears for\nyou, who are verily and indeed my only comfort and all I have to love on\nearth? And now when I say again: I will not suffer you to depart. I will\nsacrifice all, everything to keep you from running into certain death,\nwill you even then threaten to leave me alone in my misery, and to\nbeguile Ann to desert me likewise?\"\n\nHereupon I spoke him fair and as lovingly as in truth I might, and\npledged my word that Ann should not set foot without the city gates or\never my lord Cardinal had come into them, and had given him the comfort\nof his blessing. And then he was of better cheer, and of his own free\nwill he minded me of his promise to pay certain moneys for Herdegen's\nransom; and all this he spoke full lovingly and my heart overflowed with\ntrue and fervent thankfulness, so that I took his thin hand and kissed\nit. Howbeit, he knew not yet how great a sum was needed: and whereas I\nwas about to prepare his mind for the worst, Ann came into the chamber,\nand as soon as my grand-uncle saw her he cried out in glad good cheer:\n\"Thank God, sweet maid, all is peace between us again. You forego your\nmad purpose, and I--I will pay the ransom.\" At this Ann flew to his side\nand thanked him, with overflowing eyes, and little by little we led him\non, till he cried out: \"Well, well, children, they surely cannot set the\nprice of a kingdom on that young scapegrace Schopper's head!\"\n\nSo Ann took courage, and told him that Ursula had, of her deep malice,\ndeclared that Herdegen was one of the richest youths of Germany, and that\nby reason of this the Sultan had demanded the great price of twenty-four\nthousand sequins.\n\nThe truth was out; I marvelled to mark that my grand-uncle was not\ndismayed as I had looked to see him; nay, but he laughed aloud and said:\n\"That would indeed be somewhat new and strange! You children would ever\nrack your brains over the Italian poets rather than over matters of mine\nand thine, albeit that is the axis on which the world turns. There would,\nin truth, be no justice in so vast a sum, but that in the markets of\nEgypt they reckon in Venice sequins with none but the Franks; nigh upon\nthirteen of their dirhems go to the gold sequin, and thus we have-let me\nreckon--the old trader has not forgotten his skill on his sick-bed--we\nhave one thousand eight hundred and forty and six sequins; and that is a\nvast ransom still such as is never paid but for lords of the highest\ndegree. Four and twenty thousand sequins!\" And again he laughed aloud.\n\"It is easily spoken, children, but you cannot even guess what it would\nmean. Believe me when I tell you that many a well-to-do merchant in\nNuremberg, who is at the head of a fine trade, would be at his wits' end\nif he were desired to pay down half of your four and twenty thousand\nsequins in hard coin!\"\n\nThen I took up my parable and told him how Eppelein had stamped the sum\non his mind, and that he for certain was in the right, both as to the sum\nand as to the Venice sequins, forasmuch as that Herdegen, to the end that\nhe might know it rightly, had told him that they should be ducats such as\nhe had three in a red stuff wrapper, and Kunz and I likewise each two, in\nour money-boxes as christening-gifts.\n\nNow while I thus spoke the old man was sorely troubled, and his wax-white\nface turned paler at each word. He raised himself up, leaning on the arms\nof the great chair, so high that we were filled with amazement, and he\ngazed about him with his glassy eyes and then said, still holding himself\nup: \"That, that. . . . And yesterday, only yesterday. . . . The captive\nhimself. . . . Four and twenty thousand sequins, do you say? . . . and I\n--oh, what were my words? . . . But what old Im Hoff promises that he\nwill do. . . . And yet. . . . If you maids had but been duteous children,\nif you had but come to me first, as trustful daughters. . . . Only\nyesterday I might--Yes, perchance I might. . . .\" And then he stormed\nforth: \"But who is there indeed to care for me? Who ever comes nigh me\nwith true love and honest trustfulness? Not one, no, not one!. . . .\nUrsula--the lad whom from an infant--and you--both of you, what have you\ndone? . . . Yesterday, only yesterday! . . . But to-day. . . . Four and\ntwenty thousand sequins!\" His arms on a sudden failed him, and he sank\nback in a deep swoon, his colorless face drooping on his shoulder. Now,\nwhile we did all in our power to revive him, and while one serving-man\nran for the leech and another for the friar, meseemed that the old man's\nleft side was strangely stiff and numb; yet the low flame of his feeble\nlife was still burning.\n\nHowbeit, when Master Ulsenius had let blood the old man opened his right\neye; and when presently he was able to say: \"Book,\" and then again\n\"Book,\" we perceived by sundry signs that what he craved was water, and\nthat he spoke one word for another. And thus it was till his chief\nconfessor, Master Leonard Derrer, the reverend Prior of the Dominicans,\ncame in with the sacristan, to administer to him extreme unction. But\nnow, when the reverend Father came toward the dying man with the Body of\nthe Lord, there was so dreadful and sorrowful a sight to be seen as I may\nnever forget to my latter day. Instead of receiving that Holy Sacrament\nin all thankful humility, my grand-uncle thrust away my lord Prior--a\nwhitebearded old man, of a venerable and commanding presence--with great\nfury and ungoverned rage, storming at him in strangely-mingled words,\nwhich for sure, he meant for others, but in a voice and with a mien which\nplainly showed that he would have nought of that Messenger of Grace. And\nfrom time to time he turned that eye he could use on Ann, and albeit he\nspoke one word for another, he made shift many times to repeat the\nCardinal's name with impatient bidding, so that it was not hard to\nunderstand his meaning and his intent to receive the Viaticum from none\nother than that high prelate.\n\nHowbeit, to us it seemed nothing less than treason to the dying man to\ninterpret this to my lord Prior, in especial since my grand-uncle had,\nbut now, shown us so much favor. Indeed we were moved to show him all\nloving kindness. Ann held his hand in hers, and whispered to him again\nand again that he should take patience, and that his Eminence was already\non his way and would ere long be here. The reverend Prior showed indeed\ntrue Christian forbearance, thinking that the departing soul was more\nsorely troubled than was in truth the fact. He heeded not the old man's\nthreats and struggles, but stood in silence at his post, and when\npresently the old Baron's hand dropped lifeless from Ann's grasp he sent\nus from the chamber.\n\nWe could hear through the door the good priest's voice in prayer and\nbenediction, pronouncing absolution over the dying man, and at times my\ngrand uncle's wrathful tones, feeble indeed, but terrible to hear. Each\ntime he broke in on the Prior's pious words we shuddered, and when at\nlast the priest rang his little bell a great terror fell upon us, whereas\nthis ordinance is wont to bring comfort and edification to the soul.\n\nWe had been on our knees some long space, praying fervently for that\nhapless, imperilled soul, when the door was opened, and my lord Prior\ndeclared in a loud voice that the noble Baron and Knight Sebald Im Hoff\nhad made a good end after receiving the most holy Sacrament.\n\nThen thought I, a good end peradventure, by the grace of Christ and the\nVirgin, but a peaceful end alas! by no means. And this might be seen even\nin the dead man's face. In later years, whensoever it has been my lot to\ngaze on the face of the dead, I have ever perceived that death hath lent\nthem an aspect of peaceful calm so that the saying of common folk, that\nthe Angel of Death hath kissed them is right fitting; but my\ngrand-uncle's face was as that of a man whose dignity is broken by a\nmightier than he, and who hath suffered it in silent, gloomy rebellion.\n\nWith all our might and soul we prayed for him again and again; howbeit,\nas must ever befall, other cares came crowding in, to swallow up that\none. As soon as the tidings of the old noble's death were rumored abroad,\nthose who had known him in life came pouring in, and messengers from the\ntown-council, notaries with sealing-wax and seals, priests for the\nburying, neighbors, and other good folk, and among them many friars and\nnuns. Lastly came Doctor Holzschuher of the council, my grand-uncle's\nnotary, and one of our own father's most trusted friends, in all points a\nman of such worth and honesty that no words befit him so well as the\nCardinal's saying: that he reminded him of an oak of the German forests.\n\nWhen, now, this man, who in his youth had been one of the goodliest in\nall Nuremberg, and who was still of noble aspect with his long\nsilver-grey hair lying on his shoulders--when he now greeted us maids\nwell-nigh gloomily, and with no friendly beck or nod, we knew forthwith\nthat he must have great and well-founded fears for our concerns. Yea, and\nso it was. Presently, when he had held grave discourse with the High\nTreasurer and the other chief men of the council, he called to him Cousin\nMaud and me, and told us that old Im Hoff's latest dealing was such, to\nall seeming, as to take from us all hope that our inheritance from him\nshould help us to pay the ransom for Herdegen. And on the morrow his will\nwould be opened and read and we should learn thereby in what way that old\nman had cared for those who were nearest and dearest to him.\n\nHereupon we had no choice but to bury many a fair hope in the grave; and\nnotwithstanding this, we might owe no grudge to the departed; for albeit\nhe had cared first and chiefly for the salvation of his own sinful soul,\nhe nevertheless had taken thought to provide for my brothers and likewise\nfor Ann and to keep the pledge he had given. Never in all his days--and\nthis was confessed even by his enemies, of whom he had many--had he\nbroken his word, and it was plain to be seen from all his instructions\nthat the true cause of the deadly blow which had killed him was the\nsudden certainty that, by his own act, he had bereft himself of the power\nto redeem Herdegen by paying the ransom as he had promised.\n\nAnd this was my uncle's will:\n\nWhen he had heard from Ann that my lord Cardinal was minded to hasten his\nhome-coming and give him extreme unction, and had likewise had tidings\nthat that high Prelate took great joy in his liberty of dealing with the\nPapal treasury for alms, he had bidden to him, that very evening, Doctor\nHolzschuher, his notary, and certain sworn witnesses, and had in all due\nform cancelled his former will, and in a fine new one had devised his\nestate as follows:\n\nUrsula Tetzel was to have the five thousand gulden which he had promised\nher when he had unwittingly killed young Tetzel.\n\nTo Kunz he bequeathed the great trade both in Nuremberg and Venice, with\nall that pertained thereto and certain moneys in capital for carrying it\non; likewise his fine dwelling-house, inasmuch as Herdegen would have our\nhouse for his own. And Kunz should be held bound to carry on the said\ntrade in the same wise as my grand-uncle had done in his life-time, and\npay out of it two-third parts of the profits to Herdegen and Ann; and\nthat these two should wed was the dearest wish of his old age. Not a\nfarthing was to be taken from the moneyed capital for twenty years to\ncome, and this was expressly recorded; nor might the trade be sold, or\ncease to be carried on. If Kunz should die within that space, then he\ncharged the head clerk of the house to conduct the business under the\nsame pledge. And if and when Kunz should wed, then should he pay only\nhalf the profits to his brother instead of two-thirds.\n\nThe eldest son of Herdegen and Ann was to fall next heir to the business;\nbut if this marriage came to nought, or they had no male issue, then\nHerdegen's son-in-law, or my son, or Kunz's.\n\nLikewise he believed that he had made good provision for the maintenance\nof the young pair, inasmuch as though it could scarce be hoped that\nHerdegen would be able to take the lead of the trading house, yet his own\nfortune was not so great as to assure to Ann a life so free from\nburthens, and in all ways so easy as he desired for her, and as beseemed\nthe mistress of so ancient a Nuremberg family.\n\nHis landed estates he had for the most part devised to the holy Church,\nand the remainder in equal halves to Herdegen and to me.\n\nThree thousand gulden, which he had lent to the Convent of\nVierzehnheiligen, and of which he might at any time require the\nrepayment, he had set apart to ransom Herdegen and pay for his\nhome-coming.\n\nOf his possessions in hard coin, three thousand gulden were for\nHerdegen's share, and one thousand each for Ann and me as a bride-gift,\nand he had devised goodly sums of money to the hospitals and poor of the\ncity, and the serving-folk and retainers of the household.\n\nBut then where was the great and well-nigh royal treasure of which old Im\nHoff had, not so long since, been possessed; so that in the time of the\nDiet he had paid down in hard coin thirty thousand Hungarian ducats to\nbuy himself a Baron's title? Master Holzschuher could tell us well\nenough. When that old man had once said to Ann that she could scarce\nbelieve how great profit might be gained in a few years by well-directed\ntrading with Venice, he spoke not without book. After endowing many\nchurches and convents in Franconia while he was yet living, with truly\nlordly generosity, and providing for masses for his soul and other pious\noffices, he had still a sum of forty and four thousand Hungarian ducats\nto dispose of. And these moneys, notwithstanding Master Holzschuher's\nentreaties that he would devise at least half of these vast possessions\nto his own town and near of kin, he had bequeathed to the alms-coffers of\nhis Holiness the Pope, to be dealt with at the pleasure of his Eminence\nCardinal Bernliardi, with this sole condition: that every year, on his\nname-day, mass should be said by some high Prelate for his miserable\nsoul, which sorely needed such grace. Moreover he had provided that the\ndocument, duly attested by the notary and witnesses, should be sent to\nRome on the morrow by a specially appointed messenger; thus it was long\nsince far away and out of reach when my grand-uncle had learnt that all\nhis remaining possessions were not enough to release Herdegen. And this,\nas I have already said, had fallen heavy on his soul.\n\nVerily there hath been no lack of fervent prayers for his soul on our\npart; and at a later time, when I came to know to how many hapless\nwretches his testament had brought a blessing, little by little I forgave\nthis strange bestowal of his wealth, and could pronounce over his grave a\nclear \"Requiescat in pace!\" May he rest in peace!\n\nWhen we had presently duly weighed and reckoned with Master Holzschuher\nwhat we had indeed inherited from our rich kinsman, and how much we might\nere long hope to collect of our own and from Cousin Maud, we had it\nbefore our eyes in plain writing that a large portion of the ransom was\nyet lacking. The trade of the Im Hoffs' was to be sure of great money\nvalue; but by my grand-uncle's will we might not touch it for twenty\nyears. Likewise Master Holzschuher pointed out to us by many an example\nhow wrong it would be, and in especial at this very time, to sell landed\nestate at any price, that is to say at about one-third of its real worth.\nAnd finally he told us that the Chancery guardians were not at that\npresent time suffered to pay down one farthing of our inheritance from\nour father. Thus we were heavy at heart, while Doctor Holzschuher was\ndiscoursing in a low voice with Uncle Christian and Master Pernhart, and\nnoting certain matters on paper.\n\nThen those gentlemen rose up; and whereas I looked in the face of the\nworthy notary meseemed it was as withered grass well bedewed with rain;\nand glad assurance beamed on me from his goodly and noble features. And I\nread the same promise in the looks of Uncle Christian and Master\nPernhart, and where three such men led the fray methought the victory was\ncertain.\n\nAnd now we were told what was the matter of their discourse. If they\nmight find a fitting envoy, they might perchance move the Sultan to\nforego some portion of the ransom; yet would they bear in mind what the\nwhole sum was. Much of our possessions we were indeed not suffered to\nsell, yet might we borrow on them or pledge them, and the good feeling of\nour friends and fellow citizens would, for sure, help us to the\nremainder. Nay, and these gentlemen methought had some privy purpose;\nyet, inasmuch as they told us nought of their own free will, we were\ncareful to put no questions. As we took leave they besought us yet to\ndelay our departing and to suffer them to be free to do what they would.\nAnd we were fain to yield, albeit the blood of the Schoppers boiled at\nthe thought that I must tarry here idle, and others go round as it were\nwith the beggars' staff, in our name, and for the sake of a son of our\nhouse who had done no good to any man. Howbeit, I knew full well that\npride and defiance were now out of place; and while I was walking\nhomewards with Ann and Cousin Maud, on a sudden my cousin asked me: If\nLorenz Stromer were in Herdegen's plight would I not gladly give of my\nestate; and when I said yes, quoth she: \"Then all is well.\" And inasmuch\nas she was of the same mind she could, without a qualm, suffer the\ngentlemen to ask from door to door in Herdegen's name and in her own. It\nwas our part only to show that we, as his nearest and dearest, were\nforemost in giving. And on that same day Ann brought all she possessed in\ngold and jewels, even to her christening coins which she had kept in her\nmoney-box, and among them likewise a costly cross of diamonds which my\nlord Cardinal had given her a few months ago.\n\nThat evening, again, as dusk was falling, Ann once more knocked at our\ndoor, and the reason of her coming was in truth a sad one: her\ngrand-uncle, old Adam Heyden the organist, our friend of the tower, felt\nthat his last hour was nigh, and bid us go to see him. Thus it came to\npass that in two following days we had to stand by a death-bed. On each\nlay an old man departing to the other world, and meseemed their end had\nfallen so close together to yield warning and meditation to our young\nsouls. Now, as I toiled up the steep turret-stair, after flying,\nyesterday, up the matted steps of the wealthy house of the Im Hoffs,\nmeseemed that the two men's lives had been like to these staircases, and,\nyoung as I was, I nevertheless could say to myself that the humbler man's\nsteep stair, which of late he could not mount without much panting, led\nup to a higher and brighter home than the wide steps of the rich\nmerchant's palace.\n\nHowbeit, when I had presently closed that good old man's eyes, I would\nnot suffer myself to think thus of the twain, by reason that I could not\nendure to mar my remembrance of that other, to whom, after all, we owed\nmuch thanks.\n\nThe old organist had received the Holy Sacrament at mid-day from the hand\nof his old friend Nikolas Laister, the Vicar of Saint Sebald's. He would\nhave no one to see him save ourselves and Hans Richter the churchwarden,\na man after his own heart, and the Pernharts; and at first he marked not\nour coming, inasmuch as he was just then giving a toy to the deaf-mute\nboy, which he had carved with his own hand, and Dame Giovanna had much\npains to carry away the child, who had cast himself on the old man with\npassionate love. Everything that moved the little one's soul he was\nforced, as it were, to express with unreasoning violence; and now, when\nthe child was so boisterous as to disturb the peace of the others, his\nmother took him by the hand to lead him away into another chamber; but\nthe dying man signed to him with a look which none may describe, and that\nmoment the little fellow set his teeth hard and stood in silence by the\ndoor. Whereupon the old man nodded to him as though the child had done\nhim some kindness.\n\nThen he shut his eyes for a good while, and presently asked for some of\nthe fine Bacharach wine which Cousin Maud had sent him; but his voice\ncould scarce be heard. Ann reached him the glass, and at a sign from him\nshe tasted of it; then he drank it with much comfort while Dame Giovanna\nheld him sitting. The old, sweet smile was on his lips, and as he yet\nheld the stem of the glass with a shaking hand, and suffered that I\nshould help him, he cried in a clear voice: \"Once more, Prosit, Elsie!\nYou have waited long enough up there for your old man. And Prosit,\nlikewise, to my dear old home, the fair city of Nuremberg.\" Then he took\nbreath and added according to his wont: \"Prosit, Adam! Thanks, Heyden!\"\nAnd emptied the cup which I tilted up for him, to the very bottom. Then,\nwhen he fell back and gazed before him in silence, I found speech, and\nnoted, albeit it struck me in truth as somewhat strange, that he bore our\ngood town in mind then, in drinking his old pledge. Hereupon he nodded\nkindly and added, with an enquiring glance at the churchwarden: \"It is\nrightly the duty of every true Christian man to pray for all mankind!\nWell, well; but they are so many, so infinitely many; and I, like every\nother man, have my own little world, inside the great world, as it were,\nand that is my dear old, staunch town of Nuremberg. Never have I been\nbeyond its precincts, and it contains all on earth that is dear and\nprecious to me. To me the citizens of Nuremberg are all mankind, and our\ncity and so much as the eye can see from this tower all my world, small\nthough it may be. I could ever find some good matter for thought in\nNuremberg, something noble and well-compact, a fine whole. I have never\nsought the boundaries of the other, greater world.\"\n\nYet, that his world was in truth wider than he weened, was plain to us\nfrom the prayer he murmured wherein we could hear my brothers' names,\nalbeit land and seas parted them from him. And after that, for a space\nall were silent, and he lay gazing at the bone crucifix on the wall; and\nat last he besought Dame Giovanna to lift him somewhat higher, and he\ndrank again a little more, and said right softly as he cast a loving\nglance upon us each in turn: \"I have looked into my own heart and gazed\non Him on the Cross! That is our ensample! And I depart joyfully--and if\nyou would know what maketh death so easy to me; it is that I have needed\nbut little, and kept little for myself; and whereas I was wont to give\naway what other men save, I came to know of a certainty that all the good\nwe do to others is the best we can do for ourselves. It is that, it is\nthat!\"\n\nAnd he stretched forth his hand, and when we had all kissed it, he cried\nout: \"My God, I now can say I thank Thee! What to-morrow may bring, Thou\nalone canst know! Margery, Ann, my poor children! May the bright day of\nmeeting dawn for you! May Heaven in mercy protect the youths beyond seas!\nHere, close at hand is Mistress Kreutzer with her orphan children, you\nknow them--you and Master Peter--they are in sore need of help--and the\ngood we do to others. But come close to me, come all of you--and the\nlittle ones likewise.\"\n\nAnd we fell upon our knees by the bed, and he spread forth his hands and\nsaid in a clear voice: \"The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord lift up\nhis countenance upon you and be merciful unto you.\"\n\nAnd then he sighed deeply, and his hands fell, and Dame Giovanna closed\nhis eyes.\n\nYea! Death had come easy to this simple soul. Never knew I any man who\ngave so much out of a little, and never have I seen a happier or more\npeaceful face on a death-bed.\n\nMy grand-uncle's burial was grand and magnificent. All the town-council,\nand many of the nobles joined in the funeral-train. Bells tolling and\npriests chanting, crape, tapers, incense and the rest of it--we had more\nthan enough of them all. Only one thing was lacking, namely, tears--not\nthose of the hirelings who attended it, but such as fall in silence from\na sorrowing eye.\n\nIn the Im Hoffs' great house all was silence till the burying was done;\nup in the tower, where old Adam Heyden lay asleep, the bells rang out as\nthey did every day, for wedding and christening, for mass and mourning;\nyet by the low door which led to the narrow turret-stair I saw a crowd of\nlittle lads and maids with their mothers; and albeit the leaves were off\nthe trees and the last flowers were frozen to death, many a child had\nfound a green twig or carried a little bunch of everlasting flowers in\nits little hand to lay on the bier of that kind old friend. It was all\nthe sacristan could do to keep away the multitudes who were fain to look\non his face once more; and when he was borne to the grave-yard, not above\ntwo hours after my grand-uncle, there was indeed a wondrous great\nfollowing. The snow was falling fast in the streets, and the fine folks\nwho had attended him to the grave were soon warming themselves at home\nafter the burying of old Im Hoff. But there came behind Adam Heyden's\nbier many right honest and respected folk, and a throng, reaching far\naway, of such as might feel the wind whistling cold through the holes in\ntheir sleeves and about their bare heads. And among these was there many\na penniless woman who wiped her eyes with her kerchief or her hand, and\nmany a widow's child, who tightened its little belt as it saw him who had\nso often given it a meal carried to the grave.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Marred their best joy in life by over-hasty ire\n     Misfortunes never come singly\n\n\n\n\nMARGERY\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nOur good hope of going forth with good-speed into the wide world to risk\nall for our lover and brother was not to be yet. We were fain to take\npatience; and if this seemed hard to us maidens, it was even worse for\nKubbeling; the man was wont to wander free whither he would, and during\nthese days of tarrying at the forest-lodge, first he lost his mirthful\nhumor, and then he fell sick of a fever. For two long weeks had he to be\nabed, he, who, as he himself told, had never to this day needed any\nhealing but such as the leech who medicined his beasts could give him. We\nawaited the tidings of him with much fear; and at this time we likewise\nknew not what to think of those gentlemen who heretofore had been such\nsteadfast and faithful friends to us, inasmuch as that Doctor Holzschuher\ngave no sign, and soon after my grand-uncle's burying Uncle Christian and\nMaster Pernhart had set forth for Augsburg on some privy matters of the\ntown council. Yet we could do nought but submit, by reason that we knew\nthat every good citizen thinks of the weal of the Commonwealth before all\nelse.\n\nEven our nearest of kin had laid our concerns on the shelf, while day and\nnight alike it weighed on our souls, and we made ready for a long time to\ncome of want and humble cheer. The Virgin be my witness that at that time\nI was ready and willing to give up many matters which we were forced to\nforego; howbeit, we found out that it was easier to eat bread without\nbutter and no flesh meat, than to give up certain other matters. As for\nmy jewels, which Cousin Maud would not sell, but pledged them to a\ngoldsmith, I craved them not. Only a heart with a full great ruby which I\nhad ever worn as being my Hans' first lovetoken, I would indeed have been\nfain to keep, yet whereas Master Kaden set a high price on the stone I\nsuffered him to break it out, notwithstanding all that Cousin Maud and\nAnn might say, and kept only the gold case. It was hard likewise to send\nforth the serving-folk and turn a deaf ear to their lamenting. Most of\nthe men, when they heard how matters stood, would gladly have stayed to\nserve us for a lesser wage, and each and all went about looking as if the\nhail had spoilt their harvest; only old Susan held her head higher than\never, by reason that we had chosen her to share our portion during the\nyears of famine. Likewise we were glad to promise the old horse-keeper,\nwho had served our father before us, that we would care for him all his\ndays; he besought me eagerly that I would keep my own Hungarian palfrey,\nfor, to his mind, a damsel of high degree with no saddle nor steed was as\na bird that cannot rise on its wings. Howbeit, we found those who were\nglad to buy the horse, and never shall I forget the hour when for the\nlast time I patted the smooth neck of my Bayard, the gift of my lost\nlover, and felt his shrewd little head leaning against my own. Uncle\nTucher bought him for his daughter Bertha, and it was a comfort to me to\nthink that she was a soft, kind hearted maid, whom I truly loved. All the\nsilver gear likewise, which we had inherited, was pledged for money, and\nwhere it lay I knew not; yet of a truth the gifts of God taste better out\nof a silver spoon than out of a tin one. Cousin Maud, who would have no\nhalf measures, carried many matters of small worth to the pawn-broker;\nyet all this grieved us but lightly, although the sky hung dark over the\ntown, by reason that other events at that time befell which gave us\nbetter cheer.\n\nThe Magister, as soon as he had tidings of our purpose, came with right\ngood will to offer us his all, and declared his intent to share our\nsimple way of life, and this was no more than we had looked for, albeit\nwe steadfastly purposed only to take from him so much as he might easily\nmake shift to spare. But it was indeed a joyful surprise when, one right\ndreary day, Heinz Trardorf, Herdegen's best-beloved companion in his\nyouth, who had long kept far from the house, came to speak with us of\nHerdegen's concerns. He had now followed his father, who was dead, as\nmaster in his trade, and was already so well thought of that the Council\nhad trusted his skilled hands to build a new great organ for the Church\nof Saint Laurence. I knew full well, to be sure, that when Herdegen had\ncome back from Paris in all his bravery, he had cared but little for\nTrardorf's fellowship; but I had marked, many a time in church, that his\neyes were wont to rest full lovingly on me.\n\nAnd now, when I gave him my hand and asked him what might be his will, at\nfirst he could scarce speak, albeit he was a man of substance to whom all\nfolks would lift their hat. At last he made bold to tell me that he had\nheard tidings of the sum demanded to ransom Herdegen, and that he,\ninasmuch as that he dwelt in his own house and that his profits\nmaintained him in more than abundance, could have no greater joy than to\npay the moneys he had by inheritance to ransom my brother.\n\nAnd as the good fellow spoke the tears stood in his eyes, and mine\nlikewise were about to flow; and albeit Cousin Maud here broke in and, to\nhide how deeply her heart was touched, said, well-nigh harshly, that\nwithout doubt the day was not far off when he would have a wife and\nfamily, and might rue the deed by which he had parted with his estate,\nnever perchance to see it more, I freely and gladly gave him my hand, and\nsaid to him that for my part his offering would be dearest to me of any,\nand that for sure Herdegen would be of the same mind. And a beam as of\nsunshine overspread his countenance, and while he shook my hand in\nsilence I could see that he hardly refrained himself from betraying more.\nAfter this, I came to know from his good mother that this offer of moneys\nhad cost him a great pang, but only for this cause: that he had loved me\nfrom his youth up, and his noble soul forbid him to pay court to me when\nhe had in truth done me so great a service.\n\nStill, and in despite of these gleams of light, I must ever remember\nthose three weeks as a full gloomy and sorrowful time.\n\nKubbeling's eldest son and his churlish helpmate had fared forth to\nVenice instead of himself. They might not sail for the land of Egypt, and\nthis chafed Uhlwurm sorely, by reason that he was sure in himself that\nhe, far better than his master or than any man on earth, could do good\nservice there to Ann, on whom his soul was set more than on any other of\nus.\n\nTowards the end of the third week we rode forth to spend a few days again\nat the lodge, and there we found Young Kubbeling well nigh healed of his\nfever, and Eppelein's tongue ready to wag and to tell us of his many\nadventures without overmuch asking. Howbeit, save what concerned his own\nmishaps, he had little to say that we knew not already.\n\nThe Saracen pirate who had boarded the galleon from Genoa which was\ncarrying him and his lord to Cyprus, had parted him from Herdegen and Sir\nFranz, and sold him for a slave in Egypt. There had he gone through many\nfortunes, till at last, in Alexandria, he had one day met Akusch. At that\ntime my faithful squire's father was yet in good estate, and he forthwith\nbought Eppelein, who was then a chattel of the overseer of the market, to\nthe end that the fellow might help his son in the search for Herdegen.\nThis search they had diligently pursued, and had discovered my brother\nand Sir Franz together in the armory of the Sultan's Palace, in the fort\nover against Cairo, whither they had come after they had both worked at\nthe oars in great misery for two years, on board a Saracen galley.\n\nBut then Herdegen had made proof, in some jousting among the young\nMamelukes, of how well skilled he was with the sword, and thereby he had\nwon such favor that they were fain to deliver sundry letters which he\nwrote to us, into the care of the Venice consul. Whereas he had no answer\nhe had set it down to our lack of diligence at home, till at last he was\nput on the right track by Akusch, and it was plainly shown that those\nletters had never reached us, and that by Ursula's malice. To follow up\nthese matters Akusch had afterwards betaken himself again to Alexandria;\nnotwithstanding by this time his father had fallen on evil days. And\nbehold, on the very evening after their return, as they were passing\nalong by the side of the Venice Fondaco, whither they had gone to see the\nleech who attended the Consul--having heard that he was a German by\nbirth--they were aware of a loud outcry hard by, and presently beheld a\nwounded man, whom they forthwith knew for Kunz.\n\nAt first they believed that their eyes deceived them; and that it should\nhave been these two, of all men, who found their master's brother lying\nin his blood, I must ever deem a miracle. To be sure, any man from the\nWest who was fain to seek another in the land of Egypt, must first make\nenquiry here at the Fondaco.\n\nA few hours later Kunz was in bed and well tended in the house of\nAkusch's mother, and it was on their return to Cairo, to speak with my\neldest brother of these matters, that Eppelein was witness to Ursula's\nvile betrayal and the vast demand of the Sultan. Then my brother, by the\nhelp of some who showed him favor, had that letter conveyed to Akusch of\nwhich Eppelein had been robbed hard by Pillenreuth. More than this the\ngood fellow had not to tell.\n\nAs I, on my ride home through the wood, turned over in my mind who might\nbe the wise and trusty friend to whom we could confide our case and our\nfears, if Kubbeling should leave us in the lurch, verily I found no\nreply. If indeed Cousin Gotz--that wise and steadfast wayfaring man, rich\nwith a thousand experiences of outlandish life--if he were willing to\nmake common cause with his Little Red-riding-hood, and the companion of\nhis youth! But a terrible oath kept him far away, and where in the wide\nworld might he be found?\n\nAnn likewise had much to cause her heaviness, and I thanked the Saints\nthat I was alone with Eppelein when he told me that his dear lord was\nsorely changed, albeit having seen him only from afar, he could scarce\ntell me wherein that change lay.\n\nThus we rode homewards in silence, through the evening dusk, and as we\ncame in sight of the lights of the town all my doubting and wandering\nfears vanished on a sudden in wonderment as to who should be the first\nperson we might meet within the gate, inasmuch as Cousin Maud had ever\nset us the unwise example of considering such a meeting as a sign, or\ntoken, or Augury.\n\nNow, as soon as we had left the gate behind us, lo, a lantern was lifted,\nand we saw, by the light twinkling dimly through the horn, instead of old\nHans Heimvogel's red, sottish face, a sweet and lovely maiden's; by\nreason that he had fallen into horrors, imagining that mice were rushing\nover him, so that his fair granddaughter Maria was doing duty for him.\nAnd I greeted her right graciously, inasmuch as Cousin Maud held it to be\na good sign when a smiling maid should be the first to meet her as she\ncame into the city gates.\n\nAs for Ann, she scarce marked that it was Maria; and when, after we were\ncome home, I spoke of this token of good promise, she asked me how, in\nthese evil days, I could find heart to think of such matters; and she\nsighed and cried: \"Oh, Margery, indeed I am heavy at heart! For three\nlong years have I taken patience and with a right good will. But the end,\nmeseems, is further than ever, and he who should have helped us is\ndisabled or ever he has stirred a finger, and even my lord Cardinal's\nhome-coming is put off, albeit all men know that Herdegen is as a man in\na den of lions--and I, my spirit sinks within me. And even my wise\ngrandmother can give me no better counsel than to 'wait patiently' and\nyet again 'Wait' . . .\"\n\nWhereupon Susan, who had taken off from us our wet hoods, broke in with:\n\"Aye, Mistress Ann, and that has ever from the days of Adam and Eve, been\nthe best of all counsel. For life all through is but waiting for the end;\nand even when we have taken the last Sacrament and our eyes are dim in\ndeath then most of all must we take Patience, waiting for that we shall\nfind beyond the grave. Here below! By my soul, I myself grew grey waiting\nin vain for one who long years ago gave me this ring. Others had better\nluck; yet if the priest had wed us, would that have made an end of\nPatience? I trow not! It might have been for weal or it might have been\nfor woe. A wife may go to mass every day in the month. But is that an end\nof Patience? Will the storks bring her a babe or no? Will it be a boy or\na maid? And if the little one should come, after the wife has told her\nbeads till her fingers are sore, what will the waiting babe turn out?\nSuch an one as Junker Herdegen grows up to be the delight of every eye\nand heart, and if that make less need of Patience meseems we know full\nwell! And Mistress Waldstromer, out in the forest, a lady, she, of stern\nstuff, she could tell a tale; and I say, Mistress Ann, if old Dame\nPernhart's answer sinks into your heart, God's blessing rest on it!--I am\nwaiting, as you are waiting. We each and all are waiting for one; if by\nthe merciful help of the Saints he ever comes home, yet never dream,\nMistress Ann, that Patience will be out of court.\"\n\nAnd with such comfort as this the old woman hung our garments to dry\nwhile we bowed our heads and went up-stairs.\n\nUp in the guest-chamber we heard loud voices, and as we went in a strange\nsight met our eyes. Uncle Christian and Doctor Holzschuher were sitting\nface to face with Cousin Maud, and she was laughing so heartily that she\ncould not control herself, but flung up her arms and then dropped them on\nher knees, for all the world as she had taught us children to play at a\ngame of \"Fly away, little birds.\"\n\nWhen she marked my presence she forgot to greet me, and cried to me well\nnigh breathless:\n\n\"A drink of wine, Margery, and a morsel of bread. I am ready to split--I\nshall die of laughing!\"\n\nThen, when I heard my good Godfather Christian's hearty laughing, and saw\nthat Master Holzschuher had but just ceased, I was fain to laugh\nlikewise, and even Ann, albeit she had but now been so sad, joined in.\nThis lasted a long while till we learned the cause of such unwonted\nmirth; and this was of such a kind as to afford great comfort and new\nassurance, and we were bound to crave our good friends' pardon for having\ndeemed them lacking in diligence. Master Holzschuher had indeed made the\nbest use of the time to move every well-to-do man in Nuremberg who had\nknown our departed father, and the Abbots of the rich convents, and many\nmore, to give of their substance as they were able, to redeem Herdegen\nfrom the power of the heathen; and the other twain had worked wonders\nlikewise, in Augsburg.\n\nBut that which had moved Cousin Maud to mirth was that my Uncle Christian\nhad related how that he and Master Pernhart, finding old Tetzel, Ursula's\nfather, at Augsburg, had agreed together to make him pay a share towards\nHerdegen's ransom; and my godfather's face beamed again now, with\ncontentment in every feature, as he told us by what means he had won the\nchurlish old man over to the good cause.\n\nWhereas the three good gentlemen had considered that all of Jost Tetzel's\ngreat possessions must presently fall to his daughter, and that it would\nbe a deed pleasing to God to bring some chastisement on that traitorous\nquean, they had laid a plot against her father; and it was for that alone\nthat Uncle Christian, who could ill endure the ride in the winter-season,\nhad set forth, with Master Pernhart, for Augsburg. And there he had\nachieved a rare masterpiece of skill, painting Dame Ursula's reprobate\nmalice in such strong colors to her father that Master Pernhart was in\nfear lest he should bring upon himself another fit. And he had\nfurthermore sworn to lay the whole matter before the Emperor, with whom,\nas all men knew, he enjoyed much privilege, inasmuch as he had been as it\nwere his host when his Majesty held his court at Nuremberg. Ursula, to be\nsure, was no subject now of his gracious Majesty's; yet would he,\nChristian Pfinzing, know no rest till the Emperor had compelled her\nfather, Jost Tetzel, to cut off from her who had married an Italian, the\npossessions she counted on from a German city.\n\nThereupon Pernhart had spoken in calm but weighty words, threatening that\nhis brother, the Cardinal, would visit the heaviest wrath of the Pope on\nthe old man and his daughter, unless he were ready and willing to make\namends and atonement for his child's accursed sin, whereby a Christian\nman had fallen into the hands of the godless heathen. And when at last\nthey had conquered the churlish old man's hardness of heart and\nstiff-necked malice, they drove him to a strange bargain. Old Tetzel was\nsteadfast in his intention to give up as little as he might of his\ndaughter's inheritance, while his tormentors raised their demands, and\nclaimed a hundred gulden and a hundred gulden more, up to many hundreds,\nwhich Tetzel was forced to yield; till at last he gave his bond, signed\nand sealed, to renounce all his daughter's estate, and to add thereto two\nthousand gulden of his own moneys, and to hold the sum in readiness to\nransom Herdegen.\n\nThus, at one stroke, all our fears touching the moneys were at an end;\nand when the notary showed us the parchment roll on which each one had\nset down the sum he would give, we were struck dumb; and when we reckoned\nit all together, the sum was far greater than that which had cost us so\nmany sleepless nights.\n\nBy this time we scarce could read for tears, and our souls were so moved\nto thankfulness as we marked the large sums set forth against the names\nof the noble families and of the convent treasurers, that we had never\nfelt so great a love for our good city and the dear, staunch friends who\ndwelt therein. Nay, and many simple folk had promised to pay somewhat of\ntheir modest store; and although my soul overflowed with thankful joy\nover the great sums to be given by our kith and kin, I rejoiced no less\nover the five pounds of farthings promised by a cordwainer, whom we had\nholpen some years ago when he had been sick and in debt.\n\nAnd then was there hearty embracing and kissing, and the men, as was\nbefitting after a deed so well done, craved to drink. Cousin Maud\nhastened with all zeal to do honor to friends and guests so dear; but as\nshe reached the door she stood still as in doubt, and signed to me so\nthat I perceived that somewhat had gone wrong. And so indeed it had,\ninasmuch as our silver vessels, down to the very least cup, had gone to\nthe silversmith in pledge, and Uncle Tucher, the Councillor, who had\nbought my palfrey, had also been fain to have all our old wine, whereof\nmany goodly rows of casks, and jars sealed with pitch, lay in our\ncellars. A few hams still hung in the chimney by good luck; and there\nwere chickens and eggs in plenty; but of all else little enough, even of\nbutter. When Cousin Maud set forth all this with a right lamentable face\nI could not refrain my mirth, and I promised her that if she could send\nup a few dainty dishes from the kitchen, I would make shift to please our\nbeloved guests. That as for the wine, I would take that upon myself, and\nno Emperor need be ashamed of our Venice glasses. And herewith I sent her\ndown stairs; but I then frankly confessed to our friends how matters\nstood; and when they had heard me, now laughing heartily, and now in\namazement and shaking their heads, I enquired of Doctor Holzschuher, as a\nman of law, how I might deal with the wine, inasmuch as it had already\nfound a purchaser? Hereupon arose much jocose argument and discussion,\nand at last the learned notary and doctor of laws declared that he held\nit to be his duty, as adviser to the Council and administrator of the\nSchopper estates, to taste and prove with all due caution whether the\nprice promised by Tucher, and not yet paid down, were not all too little\nfor the liquor, inasmuch as his clients, being but women-folk, had no\nskill in the good gifts of Bacchus, and could not know their value. To\nabstain from such testing he held would be a breach of duty, and whereas\nhe did not trust his own skill alone, he must call upon Master Christian\nPfinzing as a man of ripe experience, and Master Councillor Pernhart,\nwho, as brother to a great prelate, had doubtless drunk much good liquor,\nin due form to proceed with him to the Schoppers' cellar, and there to\nmark those vessels or jars out of which the wine should be drawn for the\ntesting. Moreover, to satisfy all the requirements of the case, a\nserving-man should be sent to call upon Master Tucher, as the purchaser,\nto be present in his own person at the ceremony. Inasmuch as it yet\nlacked two hours of midnight, he would, without doubt, be found in the\ngentlemen's tavern; and it might be enjoined on the messenger to add,\nthat if Master Tucher were fain to bring with him one skilled in such\nmatters to bear him witness on his part, such an one would be made right\nwelcome at the Schopperhof.\n\nThus within a quarter of an hour the three worthy gentlemen, and Ann and\nI, were seated with the winejars before us, they having chosen for\nthemselves of the best our cellar could afford; and when the meats which\nCousin Maud sent up were set on the table, albeit there were but earthen\nplates and crocks, and no silver glittered on the snow-white cloth, yet\nGod's good gifts lacked not their savor.\n\nAnd presently Uncle Tucher came in, and with him, as his skilled witness,\nold Master Loffelholz; and when they likewise had sat down with us, and\nwhen we had bidden the Magister to join us, there was such hearty and\njoyful emptying of glasses and friendly discourse that Master Tucher\ndeclared that the happy spirit of our father, the singer, still dwelt\nwithin our walls. Howbeit, Ann had to do her duty as watcher over my\nuncle more often that evening than for a long time past.\n\nIn the course of that right joyful supper many weighty matters were\ndiscussed, and the gentlemen, meseemed, were greatly more troubled than\nCousin Maud or I that we should so hastily have parted with sundry\nmatters which should not be lacking in a house of good family, but which,\nas we had learned by experience, were in no wise needful in life. And\nmany a jesting word was spoken concerning our poor platters and dishes,\nand tin spoons, and empty stables. The bargain over the wine was declared\nto be null and void, and my cousin took heart to assure the gentlemen, in\nright seemly speech, that now again she was happy, when she knew that\nwhat she had set before such worshipful and welcome guests was indeed our\nown, and not another's.\n\nBy the time of their departing it was nearer to cockcrow than to\nmidnight; and when, on the morrow, I went into the chamber in the\nmorning, to look forth into the street, the sun was shining brightly in a\nblue sky. I minded me with silent thanksgiving of all the good cheer\nyestereve had brought us, and of the wisdom and faithfulness of our good\nfriends. Many a wise and a witty word uttered over their wine came back\nto me then; and I was wondering to myself what new plot had been brewing\nbetween my godfather and Uncle Tucher, whereas I had marked them laying\ntheir heads together, when behold, the stable-lad from the Tuchers'\ncoming down the street, leading my own dear bayhorse; and as I saw him\ncloser I beheld that his mane and flowing tail were plaited up with fine\nred ribbons. He stood still in front of our door and, when I flew down to\ngreet the faithful beast, the lad gave me a letter wherein nought was\nwritten save these Latin words in large letters: \"AMICITIA FIDEI\" which\nis to say: \"Friendship to Fidelity.\"\n\nThus the pinch and sacrifice were on a sudden ended; and albeit a\nsnow-storm ere long came down on us, yet the sunshine in my bosom was\nstill as bright as though Spring had dawned there in the December season,\nand all care and fear were banished.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nIt was noon. Master Peter could not come to table for a bad headache, and\nCousin Maud scarce opened her lips. The sudden turn of matters had upset\nher balance, and so dazed her brain that she would answer at\ncross-purposes, and had ordered so many pats of butter from the farm\nwench as though she had cakes to bake for a whole convent full of\nsisters. Likewise a strange unrest kept her moving to and fro, and this\nwas beginning to come upon me likewise, by reason that Ann came not,\nalbeit in the morning she had promised to be here again at noon.\n\nI was about to make ready to seek her, when I was stopped, first by a\nmessage from the forest bidding me, albeit I had scarce left the lodge,\nto return thither no later than on the morrow; and next by an\nunlooked-for guest, who had for long indeed been lost to sight. This was\nLorenz Abenberger, the apothecary's son, erewhile a companion of Herdegen\nin his youth, and he who, after he had beguiled the other pueri to dig\nfor treasure, had been turned out of the school. Since those days, when\nlikewise he had cast nativities for us maidens, and many a time amused us\nwith his magic arts, we had no knowledge of him but that, after his\nparents' death, he had ceased to ply the apothecary's trade, and had\ngiven himself up to the study of Alchemy. If folks spoke truth he had\nalready discovered the philosopher's stone, or was nigh to doing so: but\nnotwithstanding that many learned men, and among them the Magister had\nassured me, that such a thing was by no means beyond the skill of man,\nLorenz Abenberger for certain had not attained his end, inasmuch as that,\nwhen he appeared in my presence, his aspect was rather that of a beggar\nthan of a potent wise-head at whose behest lead and copper are transmuted\ninto gold.\n\nHe had heard of the great sum needed for Herdegen's ransom, and he now\ncame to assure me of the warm friendship he had ever cherished for his\nold school-mate, and that he had it in his power to create the means of\nreleasing him from bondage. Then, marking that I gazed pitifully on his\nthread-bare, meagre, and by no means clean raiment, whence there came a\nsour, drug-like smell, he broke into a foul laugh and said that, to be\nsure, it would seem strange that so beggarly a figure should make bold to\npromise so great a treasure; howbeit, he stood to his word. So sure as\nnight follows day, he could reach the goal for which he had consumed all\nhis father's and mother's estate, nay all he had in the world, if he\nmight but once have three pounds of pure gold to do whatsoever he would\nwithal. If I would yield to his entreaties and be moved to grant what he\nneeded, he was ready to pledge his body and soul to death and damnation,\nand sign the bond with his heart's blood, if by the end of the thirteenth\nday he had not found the red Lion, and through its aid 'Aurum potabile'\nand the panacea against every evil of body or soul. This would likewise\ngive him the power of turning every mineral, even the most worthless,\ninto pure gold, as easily as I might turn my spinning-wheel or say a\nPaternoster.\n\nAll this he poured forth with rolling eyes and panting breath, and that\nhe spoke every word in sacred earnest none could doubt; and indeed the\nfervent, eager longing which appealed to my compassion and charity from\nevery fibre of his being, might have moved me to bestow on him that which\nhe craved, if I had possessed such wealth; but, as it was, I was forced\nto say him nay; and whereas at this minute Susan came in with the tidings\nthat a man had come from the Pernharts', bidding me go forthwith to Ann,\nI threw over me my cloak and gave him to understand how matters stood\nwith me, bidding him farewell with all gentleness yet of set purpose.\n\nThe blood mounted into his pale cheeks; he came close up to me, and set\nhis teeth, and said wrathfully that I must and I should save him, and\nwith him my own brother, if I did but clearly understand the sense and\npurpose of his entreaty. And he began with a flood of speech to tell me\nhow near he was to his end, with a number of outlandish, magical words\nsuch as \"the great Magisterium,\" \"the Red Lion,\" \"the Red Tincture,\" and\nthe like, till meseemed my brain reeled with the sinful gibberish;\nnotwithstanding, to this day I believe that in all truth he was nigh\nattaining his purpose; and he might have done so at last were it not\nthat, a short space after this, he was choked by the vapor from an\nalembic which burst.\n\nBut whence might I at that day procure the means to succor him?\n\nAgain and again I strove to check his fiery zeal, but in vain, till I\ntold him plainly that I had not at my command three pounds of brass\nfarthings, much less three pounds of gold, and that he must apply\nelsewhere and no longer keep me tarrying.\n\nAnd I gave him my hand to bid him farewell; howbeit he seized it with\nboth of his, and wrung and shook my arm till it ached; and being beside\nhim self with rage, he admonished me with threatening words and gestures\nnot to ruin his life's work, and him, and those dear to me, by my base\navarice. When I had got over my first fear I snatched myself free from\nthe miserable little man, and turned my back upon him; but he leaped in\nfront of me, spread forth his arms to bar the doorway, and shrieked,\nfoaming with fury:\n\n\"Away, away, down to the depths! Away with us all! Woe unto thee, mean,\nblind fool that thou art! Woe unto us all! Take away that hand! Verily\neven if my mouth were gagged, yet shouldst thou hear what is coming upon\nthee and all thy race! I could have hindered it, and I would have\nhindered it; but now it shall be fulfilled. Oh, it was not for nothing\nthat we were young together! I read thy horoscope and that arrogant\nbrawler thy brother's long ago, and when I interpret it to thee, if the\nblood does not curdle in thy veins. . . .\"\n\nHereupon the blood of the Schoppers surged up; I laid hands on the mad\nwight, whose strength was scarce greater than mine, but he hit and\nstamped about like one bereft, crying: \"Your planets stand over the\nhouses of Death, Captivity, and Despair. The fulfilment thereof began on\nSaint Lazarus' day, and on this day it falls first on thee; and thus the\ndoom shall run its course till it hath an end on Saint John's eve, by\nreason that ye will then have nought left to lose!\"\n\nHere Abenberger's raving came to a sudden end. His outcry had brought up\nCousin Maud, and when she opened the door behind him and saw a man\nstanding in my way, she clutched him from behind, throwing her arms about\nhim, and dragged him out of the chamber. Meanwhile she shrieked aloud\n\"Fire!\" and \"Murder!\" and again \"Fire!\" and all the men and wenches ran\nup in hot haste and had the gold-maker down the stairs fast enough.\n\nHowbeit, I felt truly grieved for him; yet, as I gazed down on him from\nthe window, I saw that he had taken his stand without in the street, and\nwas shaking his fist up at me till a constable saw it and sent him\nhomewards.\n\nThen I must first comfort Cousin Maud for this untoward scene, and suffer\nher to rub my wrists with wine and spirit of balm, forasmuch as they\ntingled like fire and were scratched by the hapless wight's nails. She\nwas beside herself with rage, and the evil prediction of the master of\nthe black arts and of star-gazing filled her with unbounded terrors. Thus\nit was my part, though; the younger, to give her courage, notwithstanding\nthe awful curse haunted me likewise, and rang in my ears even when at\nlast I made my way through the dark streets, followed by the serving-man,\nto do Ann's bidding. My heart was heavier than it had been for many a\nday; for my fears were mingled with pity for that hapless soul, so\nskilled in much learning. I had learned to feel other woes and joys\nbesides my own, and I could full well picture in my mind the despair\nwhich at this hour, must wring the soul of that poor fellow. I was glad\nto think that the serving-man might believe that I put my kerchief to my\neyes only to wipe away the whirling snow. At the same time, methought\nthat for certain some new and terrible sorrow hung over us nay, never so\nclearly as then, after Abenberger's violent attack, had I perceived how\nmuch alone and without protection I stood in the world. And wherefor had\nAnn not come to me? For what reason or matter had she sent for me at so\nlate an hour?\n\nThen, when I looked up at the Pernharts' house; saw that the windows of\nthe first floor which had been made ready as guest chambers some days ago,\nfor my lord Cardinal, were lighted up, so he must have come home and now\nbe lodging there again.\n\nBut Ann knew full well how truly I honored the reverend and illustrious\nuncle, and for sure if he had brought her good tidings she would\nforthwith have sent me word, or have come to me herself.\n\nWhat then was now the matter? In what form had the misfortune come upon\nus which Abenberger had read in the stars?\n\nI lifted the knocker with a faint heart, and could scarce breathe when I\nhad to knock three times or ever the door was opened.\n\nHow swiftly my Ann was wont to fly to me when she heard my tap! Was she\nthen afraid to meet me with the message of woe which my lord Cardinal had\nperchance received from Cairo through his chaplains there? We had the\nransom ready to be sure; yet Ursula would be almost forced, after her\ntreacherous deed, to pursue Herdegen to his death; what could she look\nfor if he ever came home again? Come what might then, and were it the\nworst, I must set out, and that forthwith, even if I found no fellowship\nbut Cousin Maud and Eppelein. And to this purpose I had come, when at\nlast the door was opened.\n\nBelow stairs nought was stirring. I hastily flung my wet mantle to Mario,\nthe deaf-mute, who had let me in, and ran up stairs. Hardly had I reached\nthe second floor when Ann met me, well and of good cheer; and when I\nbegan, in the outer chamber, to beseech her to be no less steadfast than\nI was in departing for the East, she nodded consent, and pointed the way\ninto the inner chamber, where we might be more at our ease. I was amazed\nto see her in such good heart, and all the more so when she told me that\nmy lord Cardinal had come home that morning.\n\nThere was above stairs, she hastily told me, a noble Italian Knight, who\nhad desired to see our pictures; so we went into the guest chamber, which\nwas all lighted up as when company was bidden. Nay, it was of such festal\naspect as well nigh dazzled me, and I discerned at once that my portrait,\nwhich only a few days ago had been hanged on the wall by the side of\nAnn's for my lord Cardinal, was now placed on two chairs and leaning\nagainst the high backs.\n\nAll this and more I perceived in a few hasty glances, and when I enquired\nwhere might this stranger from Italy be, I was told that he had gone with\nMaster Pernhart into the chamber which had been fitted for his Eminence\nwith the magnificent stuffs from Rome and Florence which he had brought\nas a gift for his old mother. The finest of these were certain hangings\nof fine tissue and of many colors, which hung over the wide opening\nbetween the great guest chamber and that next to it. And the Italian must\nlikewise have seen these, inasmuch as that they hung down, whereas they\nwere wont to be drawn to the sides. Behind them, all was dark; thus the\nMaster and his wife, with their strange guest, must have withdrawn into\nthe chamber at the back of the house, where the Cardinal had loved to\nwork, and wherein there were sundry works of art to be seen, and choice\nGreek manuscripts which he had brought with him to show to the learned\ndoctors in his native town; as being rare and precious.\n\nNone was here save the old grandam, and her countenance beamed with joy\nas she held out her hands to me from her arm-chair, in glad and hearty\ngreeting. She was dressed in her bravest array, and there was in her\naspect likewise somewhat solemn and festal.\n\nAlbeit I was truly minded at all times to rejoice with those who were\nrejoicing, all this bravery, at this time, was sorely against the grain\nof my troubled heart and its forebodings of ill. I could not feel at\nease, and meseemed that all this magnificence and good cheer mocked my\nhapless and oppressed spirit.\n\nIn truth, I could scarce bring myself to return the old dame's greeting\nwith due gladness; and her keen eyes at once discerned how matters were\nwith me. She held me by the hand, and asked me in a hearty voice whence\ncame the clouds that darkened my brow. When her bright, high-spirited\nMargery, whom she had never known to be in a gloomy mood, looked like\nthis, for sure some great evil had befallen.\n\nWhereupon what came over me I know not. Whether it were that the\nblackness and the terror in my bosom were too great a contrast with the\ngladness and splendor about me, or what it was that so tightly gripped my\nheart, I cannot tell to this day; but I know full well that all which had\noppressed me since Abenberger denounced me came rushing down on my soul\nas it were, and that I burst into tears and cried out \"Yes, grandmother\ndear, I have gone through a dreadful, terrible hour! I have had to\nwithstand the attack of a madman, and hear a horrible curse from his\nlips. But it is not that alone, no, verily and indeed! I can, for that\nmatter, make any man to know his place, were he twice the man that little\nAbenberger is; and as to curses, I learnt from a child to mind my dear\nfather's saying: 'Curse me if you will! What matters it if I may earn\nGod's blessing!'\"\n\n\"And you have earned it, honestly earned it,\" quoth she, drawing me down\nto kiss my forehead. Hereupon I ceased weeping and bid my heart take\nfresh courage, and went on, still much moved: \"It is nought but a woman's\nshameless craft that troubles me so sorely. Ursula's hate hangs over my\nbrothers like a black storm-cloud; and on my way hither meseemed I saw\nfull plainly that the ransom is not the end of the matter. Nay, if we had\ntwice so much, yet Herdegen will never come home alive if we fail to\ncross Ursula's scheming; has she not cause to fear the worst, if ever he\ncomes home in safety? But where is the envoy who would dare so much? Kunz\nlies wounded in a strange land, Young Kubbeling would doubtless be ready\nto cross the seas, notwithstanding his fever, but good-will would not\nserve him, so little is he skilled in such matters. Our other friends are\nover old, or forced to stay in Nuremberg. Thus do matters stand. What\nthen is left to us--to Ann and me, Grandmother? I ask you--what, save to\nact on our first and only wise intent? And that which it is our part to\ndo, which we may not put off one day longer than we need, is to take\nship, under the grace of the Blessed Virgin, and ourselves to carry fresh\ncourage to those who are nearest and dearest to us. Of a truth I am but\nan orphaned maid; my lover and my guardian are both dead; and yet do I\nnot fear to depart for a land beyond seas; true and faithful love is the\nguiding-star which shall lead us, and we have seen in Ann how true is the\nApostle's saying that love conquereth all things. Any creature who stands\nstraight on a pair of strong legs, and who is sound in soul and body, and\nwho looks up to Heaven and trusts in God's grace with joyful assurance,\neven if it be but a weak maiden, may rescue a fellow-creature in need;\nand I, thank God, am sound and whole. Nay, and I will even pledge my word\nthat I will tear asunder the subtlest web which Ursula may spin, in\nespecial if I have Ann's keen wit to aid me. So I will go forth, and\naway, through frost and snow, to find my brethren; and if his pains keep\nKubbeling at home in spite of his catskins, and if Master Ulsenius should\nforbid Eppelein to ride so far, yet will we find some other to be our\nfaithful squire.\"\n\nAnd with this I drew a deep breath; and when I turned to seek Ann, with a\nlighter heart, to the end that she should signify her consent, on a\nsudden me seemed as though the floor of the chamber rose up beneath my\nfeet, and I was nigh falling, by reason that the fine hangings which hid\nthe Cardinal's chamber from my eyes were drawn asunder, and a tall man,\ntanned brown by the sun, came forth, and said in a deep voice: \"Wilt thou\ntrust these hands, Margery? They are ready and willing to serve thee\nfaithfully.\"\n\nHereupon a cry of joy broke from me: \"Gotz,\" and again \"Gotz!\"\n\nAnd albeit meseemed as though the walls, and tables, and chairs were\nwhirling round me, and as though the ceiling, nay and the blue sky above\nit had yawned above me, yet I fell not, but hastened to meet this\nnew-comer, and grasped his kind, strong hand.\n\nYet was not this all; or ever I was rightly aware how it befell, he had\nclasped me in his arms, and I was leaning on his breast, and his warm\nbearded lips were for the first time set on mine.\n\nMaster Pernhart and his wife had come out of the further chamber with my\ncousin, and Ann, and the grandam, and the elder children gazed at us; yet\nneither he nor I paid heed to them and, as each looked into the other's\neyes, and I saw that his face was the same as of old, albeit of a darker\nbrown, and more well-favored and manly; then my heart sang out in joyful\ntriumph, and I made no resistance when he held me closer to him and\nwhispered in my ear: \"But Margery, how may a cousin, who is not an old\nman, go forth as squire to a fair young maid, and so further on through a\nlifetime, and not rouse other folks to great and righteous wrath?\"\n\nAt this the blood mounted to my face; and albeit I by no means doubted of\nmy reply, he spared my bashfulness and went on with deep feeling: \"But if\nhe did so as your wedded husband, what aunt or gossip then might dare to\nblame him and his honored wife, Dame Margery Waldstromer?\"\n\nWhereat I smiled right gladly up at my new lover, and answered him in a\nwhisper: \"Not one, Gotz, not one.\"\n\nThus I plighted my troth to him that very evening; and as for the costly\njewels which he had bought on the Rialto at Venice to bring to his dear\nRed-riding-hood, and now gave me as his first love-tokens, what were they\nto me as compared with the joyful news wherewith he could rejoice our\nhearts? So presently we sat with the Pernharts after that Cousin Maud and\nUncle Christian Pfinzing, my dear godfather, had been bidden to join us.\nGotz sat with his arm round me, and my hand rested in his.\n\nFor how long a space had lands and seas lain betwixt us, how swift and\nsudden had his wooing been and my consent! And yet, meseemed as though I\nhad but now fulfilled the purpose of Providence for me from the\nbeginning; and there was singing and blossoming in my breast and heart,\nas though they were an enchanted garden wherein fountains were leaping,\nand roses and tulips and golden apples and grapes were blooming and\nripening among pine-trees and ivy-wreaths.\n\nNevertheless I lost no word of his speech, and could have listened to him\ntill morning should dawn again. And while we thus sat, or paced the room\narm-in-arm, I heard many matters, and yet not enough of Gotz's\nadventurous fate, and of the happy turn my brothers' concerns had taken\nwith his good help. And what we now learned from his clear and plain\nreport, answering our much questioning, was that, after separating from\nhis home, he had taken service as a soldier of the Venice Republic, and\nhad done great deeds under the name of Silvestri, which is to say \"of the\nWoods.\" Of all the fine things he had done before Salonica and elsewhere,\nfighting against Sultan Mourad and the Osmanli, yea, and in many fights\nagainst other infidels, thereby winning the favor of his general, the\ngreat Pietro Loredano--of all this he would tell us at great length\nanother day. Not long since he had been placed as chief, at the head of\nthe armed force on board the fleet sent forth by the Republic to\nAlexandria to treat with the Sultan as concerning the King of Cyprus, who\nwas held a prisoner. With him likewise, on the greatest of the galleys,\nwere there sundry great gentlemen of the most famous families of Venice,\nand chief of them all, Marino Cavallo, Procurator of Saint Mark; inasmuch\nas that the Council desired to ransom the King of Cyprus with Venice\ngold, and to that end had sent Angelo Michieli with the embassy, he being\nthe Senior of one of the most powerful and wealthy merchants' houses in\nthe East.\n\nWith all of these Gotz, as a hero in war, was on right friendly terms,\nand when they landed at Alexandria, Anselmo Giustiniani, the Consul, had\ngiven them all fine quarters in the Fondaco.\n\nHere, then, my new lover had met Ursula; howbeit, he made not himself\nknown to her, by reason that already he had heard an evil report of her\nhusband's dealings as Consul, and of her deeds and demeanors. Yet was\nthere one man dwelling in the Fondaco to whom he confessed his true name,\nand that was Hartmann Knorr, a son of Nuremberg and of good family, who,\nafter gaining his doctor's degree at Padua, had taken the post of leech\nto the Consul, provided and paid by the Republic. In this, his fellow\ncountryman's chamber, the two, who had been schoolmates, had much privy\ndiscourse, and inasmuch as that Master Knorr knew of old that Gotz was\nnear of kin to the Schoppers, he forthwith made known to him that he had\nbeen bidden to the house of Akusch's parents to tend and heal Kunz, and\nhad learnt from him many strange tidings; accusing Ursula of the guilt of\nhaving concealed and kept back the letters written by Herdegen and Sir\nFranz to their kindred at home, of having set her husband's hired knaves\non himself, to murder him, and lastly, of having maliciously increased\nthe sum for his brother's ransom. Hereupon the worthy leech was minded to\nsail to Venice in the next homeward-bound galleon, to do what he might\nfor his countrymen in sore straits; howbeit, Gotz might now perchance\nwork out their release from grief and slavery in some other wise. And\nwhereas Master Knorr could give him tidings of other criminal deeds\ncommitted by Giustiniani, my new lover had forthwith written a petition\nof accusation to the Council at Venice, and forthwith Marino Cavallo, in\nhis rights as procurator of Saint Mark, had commanded the Consul and his\nwife to depart for Venice and present themselves before the Collegium of\nthe Pregadi, which hath the direction of the Consuls beyond seas.\n\nLikewise Gotz had taken in hand the cause of Herdegen and Sir Franz and\nforasmuch as he was held in great respect, Master Angelo Michieli was not\nhardly won to do what he might for them, taking Gotz and Kunz for surety.\nThe Venice embassy went forth to Cairo, and whereas Master Michieli, who\nwas skilled in such matters, beat down the ransom demanded for King Janus\nto the sum of two hundred thousand ducats, and paid it down for the royal\ncaptive, he likewise moved the Sultans to be content with fifteen\nthousand ducats each for Herdegen and Sir Franz, and my brother and his\nfellow in misfortune were set free.\n\nAll through this tale my heart beat higher; I secretly hoped that\nperadventure my brothers had come home with Gotz, and were hiding\nthemselves away, only for some reason privy to themselves. Howbeit, I\npresently heard that they had set forth with their faces to Jerusalem; to\nthe end that they might, at their homecoming, tell the Emperor with the\ngreater assurance, that they had taken upon themselves the penance of\ngoing at last to the Holy Places whither they had been bidden to go.\n\nWhen Gotz had ended these great and comforting tidings, and I enquired of\nhim what then had at last brought him homewards, he freely confessed that\nmy brothers' discourse had recalled to him so plainly his fathers' house,\nhis parents, and all that was dear and that he had left, that he could no\nlonger endure to stay away beyond seas. Then he looked me in the eyes and\nwhispered: \"The images of my sick mother and my grey-headed father drew\nme most strongly; yet was a third; a dear, sweet, childish face; the very\nsame as now looks into mine so gladly and lovingly. Yes, it is the very\nface I had hoped to find it; and when, erewhile, I saw your likeness in\nthe red hood, and heard your speech as you poured forth your inmost soul\nto grandmother Pernhart, I knew my own mind.\"\n\nHow dear the newcomer was, in truth, to all in the Pernhart household I\nmight mark that evening. The old grandam's eyes rested on him as though\nhe were a dear son, and Master Pernhart would come close to him now and\nagain, and stroke his arm. Twice only did he hastily turn away and\nprivily wipe his eyes. Nevertheless he saw our love-making with no\njealousy; nay, when Gotz could scarce tear himself away from my picture,\nMaster Pernhart whispered to him that if ever a maid should stand in his\nGertrude's place it should be Margery, and the grandam had cried Amen.\n\nIt was already midnight when horses' hoofs were heard in the street, and\nwhen they stopped Gotz rose, and then presently all the others vanished\nfrom the chamber. Yet were we not long suffered to enjoy each other's\nfellowship, inasmuch as he himself had ordered his horse, to the end that\nhe might ride forth spite of the lateness of the hour to the forest. His\nservingman, himself the son of a forester, had been there already to\ndesire Grubner, the headman, to bid my uncle to his dwelling early on the\nmorrow, and the good son purposed there to gladden himself by meeting his\nfather, after that he had greeted the house unseen in the darkness.\n\nBut how hard it was to part after so brief a meeting from this\nnewly-found and best-beloved lover, and to see the weary traveller fare\nforth once more into the dark night. And how few words in secret had we\nas yet spoken, how little had we discussed what might befall on the\nmorrow, and how he should demean himself to his mother!\n\nTo my humble entreaty that he would set aside the unnatural and sinful\noath which forbade him to enter his parents' house he had turned a deaf\near. Yet how lovingly had he given me to understand his stern refusal,\nwhich I justly deserved, inasmuch as I knew full well the meaning of an\noath; and yet I besought him with all my heart to send away his horse,\nand bid me not farewell when welcome had scarce been spoken. On the\nmorrow it would be a joy to me to ride forth with him, and my uncle could\nnever chafe at a few short hours' delay.\n\nAll this poured from my lips smoothly and warmly enough, and he calmly\nheard me to the end; but then he solemnly declared to me that, sweet as\nhe might deem it to have me by his side to keep him company, it might not\nbe; and he set forth clearly and fully how he had ordered the matter\nyestereve, and I looked up at him as to a general who foresees and\ngoverns all that may befall, to the wisest ends. So steadfast and clear a\npurpose I had never met; howbeit, Mother Eve's part in me was\nill-content. It was too much for me to suffer that he should depart, and,\nlike the fool that I was, the desire possessed me to bend to my will this\nman of all men, whose stiff-necked will was ever as firm as iron.\n\nI began once more to beseech him, and this time he broke in, declaring\nthat, say what I would, he must depart, and therewith he pulled the hood\nof his cloak over his head so that his well-favored, honest brown face,\nwith its pointed beard, framed as it were in the green cloth, looked down\non me, the very image of manly beauty and mild gravity.\n\nMy heart beat higher than ever for joy and pride at calling the heart of\nsuch a man mine own, and therewith my desire waxed stronger to exert my\npower. And I knew right well how to get the upper-hand of my lovers. My\nHans had never said me nay when I had entreated him with certain wiles.\nAnd whereas I had in no wise forgotten my tricks, I took Gotz by the hem\nof his hood and drew his dear head down to my face. Then I rubbed my nose\nagainst his as hares do when they sniff at each other, put up my lips for\na kiss, stood on tip-toe, offered him my lips from afar, and whispered to\nhim right sweetly and beseechingly:\n\n\"And, in spite of all, now you are to be my good, dear heart's treasure,\nand will do Margery's bidding when she entreats you so fondly and will\ngive you a sweet kiss for your pains.\"\n\nBut I had reckoned vainly. The reward for which my Hans modestly served\nme, this bold warrior cared not to win. His bearded lips, to be sure,\nwere ready enough to meet mine, nor was he content with one kiss only;\nbut, as soon as he had enjoyed the last, he took both my hands tight in\nhis own, and said solemnly but sweetly:\n\n\"Do you not love me, Margery?\" And when I had hastily declared that I\ndid, he went on in the same tone, and still holding my bands: \"Then you\nmust know, once for all, that I could refuse you nought, neither in great\nmatters nor small, unless it were needful. Yet, when once I have said,\"\nand he spoke loud, \"nothing can move me in the very least. You have known\nme from a child, and of your own free will you have given yourself over\nto this iron brain. Now, kiss me once more, and bear me no malice! Till\nto-morrow. Out in the forest, please God, we will belong to each other\nfor many a long day!\"\n\nTherewith he clasped me firmly and truly in his arms, and I willingly and\nhotly returned his kiss, and or ever I could find a word to reply he had\nquitted the chamber. I hastened to the window, and as he waved his hand\nand rode off down the street facing the snow-storm, I pressed my hand to\nmy breast, and rarely has a human being so overflowed with pure gladness\nat being twice worsted in the fray, albeit I had forced it on myself.\n\nHow I returned home I know not; but I know that I had rarely knelt at my\nprayers with such fervent thanksgiving, and that meseemed as though my\nmother in Heaven and my dead Hans likewise must rejoice at this which had\nbefallen me.\n\nAs I lay in bed, or ever I slept, all that was fairest in my past life\ncame back to me as clearly as if it were living truth, and first and\nchiefest I saw myself as little Red-riding-hood, under the forest-trees\nwith Gotz, who did me a thousand services and preferred me above all\nothers till, for Gertrude's sake, he departed beyond seas, and set my\nchildish soul in a turmoil.\n\nThen came the joy and the pain I had had by reason of the loves of\nHerdegen and Ann, and then my Hans crossed my path, and how glad I was to\nremember him and the bliss he had brought me! But or ever I had come to\nthe bitterest hour of my young days, sleep overcame me, and the manly\nform of Gotz, steeled by much peril and strife for his life, came to me\nin my dreams; and he did not, as Hans would have done, give me his hand;\nOh no! He snatched me up in his arms and carried me, as Saint Christopher\nbears the Holy Child, and strode forward with a firm step over plains and\nabysses, whithersoever he desired; and I suffered him to go as he would,\nand made no resistance, and felt scarce a fear, albeit meseemed the\nstrong grip of his iron arm hurt me. And thus we went on and on, through\nancient mountain-forests, while the boughs lashed my face and I could\nlook into the nests of the eagles and wood-pigeons, of the starlings and\nsquirrels. It was a wondrous ramble; now and then I gasped for breath,\nyet on we went till, on the topmost bough of an oak, behold, there was\nLorenz Abenberger, and the evil words he spoke made me wake up.\n\nAfter this I could sleep no more, and in thought I followed Gotz through\nthe snow-storm. And in spirit I saw Waldtrud, the fair daughter of\nGrubner, the chief forester, bidding him welcome, and giving him hot\nspiced wine after his cold ride, and sipping the cup with her rosy lips.\nHereupon a pang pierced my heart, and methought indeed how well favored a\nmaid was the forester's daughter, and not more than a year older than I,\nand by every right deemed the fairest in all the forest. And the evil\nfiend jealousy, which of yore had had so little hold over me that I could\nbear to see my Hans pay the friendliest court to the fairest maidens, now\nwhispered wild suspicions in mine ear that Gotz, with his bold warrior's\nways, might be like enough to sue for some light love-tokens from the\nfair and mirthful Waldtrud.\n\nHowbeit, I presently called to mind the honest eyes of my new heart's\nbeloved, and that brought me peace; and how I was struck with horror to\nthink that I had known the sting of that serpent whom men call jealousy.\nMust it ever creep in where true love hath found a nest? And if indeed it\nwere so, then--and a hot glow thrilled through me--then the love which\nhad bound me to Hans Haller had been a poor manner of thing, and not the\nreal true passion.\n\nNo, no! Albeit it had worn another aspect than this brand new flame,\nwhich I now felt burning and blazing up from the early-lighted and long\nsmouldering fire, nevertheless it had been of the best, and faithful and\ntrue. Albeit as the betrothed of Hans Haller I had been spared the pangs\nof jealousy, I owed it only to the great and steadfast trust I had gladly\nplaced in him. And Gotz, who had endured so much anguish and toil to be\nfaithful to his other sweetheart, was not less worthy of my faith, and it\nmust be my task to fight against the evil spirit with all the strength\nthat was in me.\n\nThen again I fell asleep; and when, as day was breaking, I woke once more\nand remembered all that had befallen me yestereve, I had to clutch my\nshoulders and temples or ever I was certain that indeed my eyes were open\non another day. And what a day! My heart overflowed as I saw, look which\nway I might, no perils, none, nothing, verily nothing that was not\nwell-ordered and brought to a good end, nothing that was not a certainty,\nand such a blessed certainty!\n\nI rose as fresh and thankful as the lark, my Cousin Maud was standing, as\nyet not dressed and with screws of paper in her hair, in front of the\npictures of my parents, casting a light on their faces from her little\nlamp; and it was plain that she was telling them, albeit without speech,\nthat her life's labor and care had come to a happy issue, and I was\nirresistibly moved to fly to her brave and faithful heart; and although,\nwhile we held each other in an embrace, we found no words, we each knew\nfull well what the other meant.\n\nAfter this, in all haste we made ready to set forth, and the Magister\ncame down to us in the hall, inasmuch as my cousin had called him. He\nmade his appearance in the motley morning gabardine which gave him so\nstrange an aspect, and to my greeting of \"God be with 'ee!\" he gaily\nreplied that he deemed it wasted pains to ask after my health.\n\nThen, when he had been told all, at first he could not refrain himself\nand good wishes flowed from his lips as honey from the honey-comb; and he\nwas indeed a right merry sight as, in the joy of his heart, he clapped\nhis arms together across his breast, as a woodhewer may, to warm his\nhands in winter. On a sudden, however, he looked mighty solemn, and when\nCousin Maud, bethinking her of Ann, spoke kindly to him, saying that\nmatters were so in this world, that one who stood in the sun must need\ncast a shadow on other folks, the Magister bowed his head sadly and\ncried: \"A wise saying, worthy Mistress Maud; and he who casts the shade\ncommonly does so against his will, 'sine ira et studio'. And from that\nsaying we may learn--suffer me the syllogism--that, inasmuch as all\nthings which bring woe to one bring joy to another, and vice-versa, there\nmust ever be some sad faces so long as there is no lack of happy ones. As\nto mine own poor countenance, I may number it indeed with those in\nshadow--notwithstanding\"--here his flow of words stopped on a sudden.\nHowbeit, or ever we could stay him, he went on in a loud and well-nigh\ntriumphant voice. \"Notwithstanding I am no wise woeful--no, not in the\nleast degree. I have found the clue, and who indeed could fail to see it:\nYour shadow can fall so black on me only by reason that you stand in the\nfullest sunshine! As for me, it is no hard matter for me to endure the\nblackness of night; and may you, Mistress Margery, for ever and ever\nstand in the glory of light, henceforth till your life's end.\"\n\nAs he spoke he upraised his eyes and hands to heaven as in prayer, and\nwithout bidding us \"Vale,\" or \"Valete,\" as was his wont, he gathered his\ngaudy robe and fled up-stairs again.\n\nThe storm was yet as heavy as it had been yestereve; howbeit, though\nBayard sank into the snow so deep that I swept it with the hem of my\nkirtle, yet the ride to the forest-lodge meseemed was as short as though\nI had flown. Cousin Maud would ride slowly in the sleigh, so I suffered\nher to creep along, and presently outstripped her.\n\nGotz and I had yestereve agreed that I should first see Aunt Jacoba, and\nthen meet him at Grubner's lodge to report of what mind she might seem to\nbe. Ann had no choice but to stay at home, inasmuch as she must be in\nattendance at the Cardinal's homecoming.\n\nNo one in all the dear old forest home was aware of my coming save the\ngate warden. My uncle had ridden forth at an early hour, and was not yet\nreturned, but my aunt I found below stairs, strange to say, against her\nwont, dressed and in discourse with the chaplain. Peradventure then her\nhusband had already made known to her what had taken him forth to\nGrubner's dwelling, and if so he had lifted a heavy task from me, for\nindeed my whole soul yearned to this dearly-beloved aunt, yet meseemed it\nwas no light matter to prepare her, who was so feeble and yet so\nself-willed, for the joy and the strife of soul which awaited her. The\nboard was spread for them as it were, and yet she and Gotz, by their\nbaleful oath, had barred themselves from tasting of that bread and that\ncup.\n\nI crossed the threshold in trembling, and as soon as she beheld me she\ncried out, with burning cheeks, which glowed not so, for sure, from the\nblaze in the chimney: \"Margery, Margery! And so happy as she looks! You\nhave seen your uncle, child, and can tell me wherefor he is gone forth?\"\n\nI told her truly that I had not; and then bid her rejoice with me,\ninasmuch as that all the price of Herdegen's ransom had been paid and,\nbest of all, that we had good tidings of our brothers' well-being.\n\nThen she was fain to know when and through whom, and made enquiry in such\nwise as though she had some strong suspicion; and I answered her as\ncalmly as I might, that a pilgrim from the East had come to us yestereve,\na right loyal and worthy gentleman, whom, indeed, I hoped to bring to her\nknowledge.\n\nBut I might say no more by reason that her eyes on a sudden flashed up\nbrightly, and she vehemently broke in:\n\n\"Chaplain, Chaplain! Now what do you say? When the old man rode forth so\nearly this morning, and bid me farewell in so strange a wise, then--hear\nme, Margery--he likewise spoke to me of a messenger from the East who\nrode into the city yestereve--just as you say. But it was not of Herdegen\nthat he brought tidings, but of him--of him--of Gotz that he had sure\nknowledge. And when the old man told me so much as that, for certain\nsomewhat lay behind it.--And now, Margery--when I see you--when I\nconsider. . . .\" Here, as I cast a meaning glance at the Chaplain, on a\nsudden she shrieked with such a yell as pierced my bones and marrow; and\nor ever I saw her, her weak, lean hand had clutched my wrist, and she\ncried in a hoarse voice:\n\n\"Then you, you have hid somewhat from me! The look wherewith you warned\nthe Chaplain, oh! I marked it well.--And you hesitate--and\nnow--you--Margery--Margery! By Christ's wounds I ask you, Margery. What\nis it?--What of Gotz? Has he . . . out with it--out with the truth. . . .\nHas he written?--No.--You shake your head. . . . Merciful Virgin!\nHe--he--Gotz is on his way Home wards.\" And she clapped her hands over\nher face. I fell on my knees by her side, dragged first her left hand and\nthen her right hand away from her eyes, covered them with kisses, and\nwhispered to her: \"Yes, yes, Aunt, Mother, sweet, dear little mother!\nOnly wait--You shall hear all. Gotz is weary of wandering; he had not\nforgotten his father and mother, nor me, his little Red-riding-hood--I\nknow it, I am sure of it. Patience! only a little patience and he will be\nhere--in Germany, in Franconia, in Nuremberg, in the forest, in the\nhouse, in this hall, here, here where I am kneeling, at your feet, in\nyour arms!\"\n\nThen the deeply-moved dame, who had listened to me breathless, flung her\nhands high in the air as if she were seeking somewhat, and it was as\nthough her eyes turned inside out; and I was seized with sudden terror,\ninasmuch as I deemed that she had drunk death out of the overfull cup of\njoy that my hand had put to her lips. Howbeit, it was but a brief swoon\nwhich had come upon her, and as soon as she had come to herself again and\nI had told her the whole truth, little by little and with due caution,\neven that Gotz and I had found each other and both fervently and\nearnestly longed for her motherly blessing, she gave it me in rich\nabundance.\n\nNow was it my part to make known to her that her returned son held fast\nto his oath; and I had already begun to tell her this when she waved her\nhands, and eagerly broke in: \"And do you think I ever looked that he, who\nis a Waldstromer and a Behaim both in one, should ever break a vow? And\nof a truth he hath given me time enough to consider of it!--But to-day,\nthis very day, early in the morning I found the right way out of the\nmatter, albeit it is as like a trick of woman's craft as one egg is like\nanother.--You know that reckless oath. It requires me never, never to bid\nGotz home again; but yet,\"--and now her eyes began to sparkle brightly\nwith gladness--\"what my oath does not forbid is that I should go forth to\nmeet Gotz, and find him wheresoever he may be.\"\n\nHereupon the Chaplain clapped his hands and cried:\n\n\"And thus once more the love of a woman's heart hath digged a pit for\nSatan's craft.\"\n\nAnd I ran forth to bid them harness the sleigh, whereas I knew full well\nthat no counsel would avail.\n\nAnd now, as of yore when she had fared into the town for love of Ann, she\nwas wrapped in a mountain of warm garments, so we clothed her to-day in a\nheap of such raiment, and Young Kubbeling would suffer no man but himself\nto drive the horses. Thus we went at a slow pace to Grubner's lodge, and\nall the way we rode we met not a soul save Cousin Maud, and she only\nnodded to me, by reason that she could not guess that a living human\ncreature was breathing beneath the furs and coverlets at my side. Young\nKubbeling on the box, and the ravens and tomtits and redbreasts in the\nwoods had not many words from us. While I was thinking with fear and\nexpectation of the outcome of this meeting of the mother and son, I\nscarce spoke more than a kind word of good cheer now and again to my\naunt, to which Kubbeling would ever add in a low voice: \"All will come\nright!\" or \"God bless thee, most noble lady!\" And each time we thus spoke\nI was aware of a small movement about my knees, and would then press my\nlips to the outermost cover of the beloved bundle by my side.\n\nAt about two hundred paces from the Forester's but the path turned off\nfrom the highway, so that we might be seen from the windows thereof; and\nscarce had the sleigh turned into this cross-road, when the door of the\nlodge was opened and my uncle and Gotz came forth.\n\nThe son had his arm laid on his father's shoulder and they gazed at us.\nAnd indeed it was a noble and joyful sight as they stood there, the old\nman and the young one, both of powerful and stalwart build, both grown\nstrong in wind and weather, and true and trustworthy men. The slim young\npine had indeed somewhat overtopped the gnarled oak, but the crown of the\nolder tree was the broader. Such as the young man was now the old man\nmust have been, and what the son should one day be might be seen--and I\nrejoiced to think it--in his father's figure and face. Howbeit, as a\nhusband Gotz gave no promise of treading in his father's footsteps, and\nwhen I thought of this, and of the lesson I had yestereve received, my\ncheeks grew redder than they had already turned in the sharp December\nair, or under the gaze of my new lover.\n\nHowbeit I had no time for much thought; the sleigh was already at the\ndoor, and or ever I was aware the old man had me in his arms and kissed\nmy lips and brow, and called me his dear and well-beloved daughter. Then\nthe younger man pressed forward to assert his claims, and when he bent\nover me I threw my arms round his neck, and he lifted me up, for all that\nI was none of the lightest in my winter furs and thick raiment, out of\nthe sleigh like a child, and again his lips were on mine. But we might\nnot suffer them to meet for more than a brief kiss. Uncle Conrad had\ndiscovered my aunt's face among all her wrappings, and gave loud\nutterance to his well-founded horror, while my aunt cried out to her\nlong-lost son by name again and again, with all the love of a longing and\nlong-robbed mother's heart.\n\nI gladly set my lover free, and at the next minute he was on his knees in\nthe snow and his trembling hands removed wrap after wrap from the beloved\nhead, Kubbeling helping him from the driving-seat with his great hands,\npurpled by the cold.\n\nAnd again in a few minutes the mother was covering her only son's head\nwith tender kisses, so violently and so long that her strength failed her\nand she fell back on the pillows, overdone.\n\nHereupon Gotz bowed over her, and as he had erewhile lifted his\nsweetheart out of the sleigh, so now he lifted his mother; and while he\nheld her thus in his arms and bore her into the house, not heeding the\nkerchiefs which dropped off by degrees and lay in a long line covering\nthe ground behind her, as coals do which are carried in a broken scuttle,\nshe cried in a trembling voice: \"Oh you bad, only boy, you my darling and\nheart-breaker, you noble, wicked, perverse fellow! Gotz my son, my own\nand my All!\"\n\nAnd when she had found a place in the warm room, in the head forester's\nwife's arm-chair by the fire, I removed her needless raiment and Gotz\nsank down at her feet, and she took his head in her hands, and cried:\n\n\"I did not wait for you to come, but flew to meet you, my lad, by reason\nthat, as you know--I took a sinful oath never to bid you to come home.\nBut oath and vow are nought; they are null and void! I have learned from\nthe depths of my heart that Heaven had nought to do with them--that it\nwas pure pride and folly; and I bid you home with my whole heart and\nsoul, and beseech your forgiveness for all the sorrow we have brought\nupon each other, and I will have and keep you henceforth, and nought else\nhere on earth! Ah, and Gertrude, poor maid! She would have been heartily,\nentirely welcome to me as at this day, were it not that there is another\nmaiden who is dearest to my heart of all the damsels on earth!\"\n\nThen was there heartfelt embracing and kissing on both parts, and, as I\nsaw her weep, I made an unspoken vow that if the eyes of this mother and\nher son should ever shed tears again I would be the last to cause them,\nand that I would ever be ready and at hand to dry them carefully away.\n\nI mind me likewise that I then beheld fair Waldtrud, the forester's\ndaughter, inasmuch as she full heartily wished me joy; yet I remember\neven better that I felt no pang of jealousy, and indeed scarce looked at\nthe wench, by reason that there were many other matters of which the\nsight gave me far greater joy.\n\nIt was a delightful and never-to-be-forgotten hour, albeit over-short; by\nmy uncle's desire we ere long made ready to go homewards. Now when Gotz\nwas carrying his mother from the hot chamber to the sleigh, and I was\nleft looking about me for certain kerchiefs of my aunt's, I perceived,\nsquatted behind the great green-tiled stove, Young Kubbeling in a heap,\nand with his face hidden in his hands. He moved not till I spoke to him;\nthen he dried his wet eyes with his fur hood, and when I laid my hand on\nhis shoulder he drew a deep breath, and said:\n\n\"It has been a moving morning, Mistress Margery. But it will all come\nright. It has come upon me as a sharp blow to be sure; and I have no\nlonger any business here in the forest, all the more so by reason that I\nhave children and grandchildren at home who have looked over-long for the\nold man's home-coming. I will set forth to-morrow early. To tell the\ntruth to none but you, I cannot endure to be away from the old place a\nlonger space than it takes to go to Alexandria and back. My old heart is\ngrown over-soft and weary for an absence of two journeys. And yet another\nmatter for your ear alone: You will be the wife of a noblehearted man,\nbut mind you, he has long been free to wander whithersoever he would.\nTake it to heart that you make his home dear and happy, else it will be\nwith you as it is with my old woman, who hath never mastered that matter,\nand who lives alone for more days in the year than ever we dreamed the\nmorning we were wed.\"\n\nHereupon we went forth together; and I took his counsel to heart, and\nGotz never left me for any long space of time, save when he must.\n\nAs for Kubbeling, he kept his word and departed from us on the morrow\nmorning; yet we often saw him again after that time, and the finest\nfalcon in our mews is that he sent us as a wedding gift; and after our\nmarriage Ann received a fine colored parrot as a gift from old Uhlwurm,\nand the old man had made it speak for her in such wise that it could say\nright plainly: \"Uhlwurm is Ann's humble servant.\"\n\nWe now spent two days at the forest lodge in bliss, as though paradise\nhad come down on earth; and albeit it is a perilous thing to rejoice in\nthe love of a man who has wandered far beyond seas, yet has it this good\nside: that many matters which to another seem far away and out of reach,\nhe deems near at hand, and half the world is his as it were. And how well\ncould Gotz make me to feel as though I shared his possession!\n\nOn the morning of the third day after his coming, my lord Cardinal rode\nforth to the forest with Ann; and, inasmuch as the duties of his office\nnow led, him to sojourn in Wurzberg and Bamberg, he could promise us that\nhe would bless our union or ever he departed to Italy. Albeit methought\nit would be a happy chance if we might stand at the altar at the same\ntime with Herdegen and Ann, Gotz's impatience, which had waxed no lesser\neven during his journeyings, was set against our waiting for my brother's\ncoming. Likewise he desired that we might live together a space as man\nand wife, before he should go to Venice to get his release from the\nservice of the Republic.\n\nAt the same time he deemed it not prudent to take me with him on that\njourney, howbeit, after that we were wed, when he was about to depart, I\nmade so bold as to beseech him; and he plainly showed me that I had not\nmade him wroth or troubled him whereas he willingly granted me to journey\nwith him, and without reproof. Thus I fared with him to the great and\nmighty city of Saint Mark, which I had ever longed to behold with my\nbodily eyes. I never went beyond seas, yet we journeyed as far as Rome,\nand there, under the protection and guidance of my lord Cardinal, I spent\nmany never-to-be-forgotten days by the side of my Gotz.\n\nBut one thing at a time; some day, if my many years may suffer, I will\nwrite more concerning these matters.\n\nHow well my aunt and the Cardinal were minded towards each other would be\nhard to describe, albeit now and again they fell to friendly strife; the\nreverend prelate found it hard to depart from the lodge and from that\nstrange woman, whose clear and busy brain in her sickly body came, in\nafter times, to be accounted as one of the great marvels of her native\ntown. Howbeit, it was his duty to pass Christmas-eve with his venerable\nmother. He plighted Gotz and me as he had promised us, and to his life's\nend he was ever a kind and honored friend and patron to us and to our\nchildren.\n\nAnn was ever his favorite, and ere he quitted Nuremberg, he bestowed on\nher a dowry such as few indeed of our richest nobles could give with\ntheir daughters.\n\nChristmas-eve, which we spent at the lodge with our parents and the\nChaplain and my dear godfather, uncle Christian Pfinzing, was a right\nglorious festival, bringing gladness to our souls; yet was it to end with\nthe first peril that befell our love's young joy. After the others had\ngone to their chambers, and Gotz had indeed given me a last parting kiss,\nhe stayed me a moment and besought me to be ready early in the morning to\nride with him to the hut of Martin the bee keeper, whose wife had been\nhis nurse. On many a Christmas morning had he greeted the good woman with\nsome little posy, and now he had not found one hour to spare her since\nhis home-coming. Now I would fain have granted this simple request but\nthat I had privily, with the Chaplain's help, made the school children to\nlearn a Christmas carol wherewith to wake the parents and Gotz from their\nslumbers. Thus, when he bid me hold myself in readiness at an early hour,\nI besought him to make it later. This, however, by no means pleased him;\nhe answered that the good dame was wont of old to look for him full early\non Christmas morning, and he had already too long deferred his greeting.\nYet the surprise I had plotted was uppermost in my mind, and I craved of\nhim right duteously that he would grant me my will. Whereupon his\neyebrows, which met above his nose, were darkly knit, and he gave me to\nwit, shortly and well-nigh harshly, that he would abide by his own.\n\nAt this the blood rose to my head, and a wrathful answer was indeed on my\ntongue when I minded me of the evening when we had come together, and I\nasked of him calmly whether he verily deemed that I was so foolish or\nevil-minded as to hinder him in a pious and kindly office if I had not\nsome worthy reason. And herein I had hit on the right way; he recovered\nhimself, his brow cleared, and saying only \"Women, women!\" he shook his\nhead and clasped me to him; and as I fervently returned his kiss, and\nopened my chamber door, he called after me: \"We will see in the morning,\nbut as early as may be.\"\n\nWhen I presently was in my bed I minded me of the carol the little ones\nwere to sing; and then I remembered my own school-days, and how the\nCarthusian Sisters had explained to us those words of Scripture: \"And the\ntimes shall be fulfilled.\" They were written, to be sure, of a special\nmatter, of the birth of our Saviour and Redeemer; yet I applied them to\nmyself and Gotz, and wondered in my heart whether indeed anything that\nhad ever befallen me in life, whether for joy or for sorrow, had been in\nvain, and how matters might have stood with me now if, as a young\nunbroken thing, or ever I had gone through the school of life, I had been\nplighted to this man, whom the Almighty had from the first fated to be my\nhusband. If the wilful blood of the Schoppers, unquelled as it had then\nbeen, had come into strife with Gotz's iron will, there would have been\nmore than enough of hard hitting on both sides, and how easily might all\nour happiness have been wrecked thereby.\n\nIt was past midnight when at last I slept; and in the dim morning\ntwilight the Christmas chorus rang through the house in the words the\nShepherds heard in Angels' voices: \"Glory to God in the highest, and on\nearth peace.\" It woke Gotz, and when we presently got into the sleigh, he\nwhispered to me: \"How piously glad was your hymn, my sweetheart! And you\nwere right yestereve, and peace shall indeed reign on earth, and above\nall betwixt you and me, everywhere and at all times till the E N D.\"\n\n          ..........................\n\n\n\nA POSTSCRIPTUM BY KUNZ SCHOPPER\n\nThe children entreat me to write more of Margery's unfinished tale.\nHowbeit I am nigh upon eighty years of age, and how may I hope to win\nfavor in the exercise of an act to which I am unskilled save in matters\nof business? Yet, whereas I could never endure to say nay to any\nreasonable prayer of those who are dearest to my heart, I will fulfil\ntheir desire, only setting down that which is needful, and in the\nplainest words.\n\nThey at whose bidding I sit here, all knew my dear sister well. Margery,\nthe widow of the late departed Forest-ranger, the Knight Sir Gotz\nWaldstromer, Councillor to his Imperial Majesty and Captain of the\nmen-at-arms in our good city; and each profited during a longer or\nshorter space by her loving-kindness, and her wise and faithful counsel.\n\nMany of them can likewise remember the late Anna Spiesz, sometime wife of\nHerdegen Schopper; and as to the said Herdegen Schopper, my dear brother,\nMargery's book of memorabilia right truly shows forth the manner of his\nlife and mind in the bloom of his youth, and verily it is a sorrowful\ntask for me to set forth the decay and end of so noble a man.\n\nAs to myself, the last remaining link of the Schopper chain whereof\nMargery hath many times made mention, I am still with you, my dear ones;\nand I remain but little changed, inasmuch as that my life has ever flowed\ncalmly and silently onward.\n\nHow it came to pass that Margery should so suddenly have brought her\nmemories to an end most of you know already; howbeit I will set it down\nfor the younger ones.\n\nTill she reached the age of sixty and seven years, she never rode in a\nlitter, but ever made her journeyings on horseback. For many years past\nshe and her husband abode in the forest during the summer months only,\nand dwelt in their town-house the winter through. Now on a day, when in\nher written tale she had got as far as the time when she and Gotz, her\ndear husband, were wed, she besought him to ride forth with her to the\nforest, inasmuch as that she yearned once more to see the spot in the\nwinter season which had seen the happiest days of her life in that\nlong-past December. Thus they fared forth on horseback, although it was\nnigh on Christmas-tide, and when they waved their hands to me as they\npassed me by in sheer high spirits and mirthfulness, meseemed that in all\nNuremberg, nay in Franconia or in the whole German Empire a man might\nscarce find an old white-haired pair of lovers to match these for\nlight-heartedness and goodly mien. Some few happy and glad days were at\nthat time vouchsafed to them in the old well-known forest; but on the\nride home Margery's palfrey stumbled close without the city gates on the\nfrozen ground. Her arm-bone was badly broken and her right hand remained\nso stiff, notwithstanding Master Hartmann Knorr's best skill, that she\ncould no more use the pen save with great pain, albeit she often after\nthis rode on horseback. Thus the little book lay aside for a long space;\nand while she was yet diligently striving to write with her left hand\ndeath snatched from her Ann Schopper, the widow of our late dear brother\nHerdegen Schopper and her heart's best friend, and this fell upon her\nsoul as so cruel a grief that she never after could endure to take up the\npen.\n\nThen, when she lost her dearly-beloved husband, a few months after their\ngolden wedding day, all was at an end for her; the brave old woman gave\nup all care for life, and died no more than three months after him. And\nindeed often have I seen how that, when one of a pair, who have dwelt\ntogether so many years in true union of hearts, departs this life, this\nearth is too lonely for the other, so that one might deem that their\nhearts had grown to be as it were one flesh, and the one that is left\nhath bled to death inwardly from the Reaper's stroke.\n\nThen I read through this book of memories once more, and meseemed that\nMargery had written of herself as less worthy than of a truth she was in\nher life's spring-tide.\n\nMost of you can yet remember how that my lord the Mayor spoke of the\nbride with the golden chaplet crowning her thick silver hair, as the\npride of our city, the best friend and even at times the wisest\ncounsellor of our worshipful Council, the comforter and refuge of the\npoor; and you know full well that Master Johannes Lochner, the priest,\nspoke over her open grave, saying that, as in her youth she had been\nfairest, so in old age she was the noblest and most helpful of all the\ndames of the parish of Saint Sebald; and you yourselves have many a time\nbeen her almoners, or have gazed in silence to admire her portrait.\n\nAnd at Venice I have heard from the lips of the very master who limned\nher, and who was one of the greatest painters of the famous guild to\nwhich he belonged, that such as she had he imagined the stately queen of\nsome ancient German King defeated by the Romans, or Eve herself, if\nindeed one might conceive of our cold German fatherland as Paradise. Yea,\nthe most charming and glowing woman he had ever set eyes on was your\nmother and grandmother.\n\nAnd whensoever she went to a dance all the young masters of noble birth,\nand the counts and knights, yea even at the Emperor's court, were of one\nmind in saying that Margery Schopper was the fairest and likewise the\nmost happy-tempered maid and most richly endowed with gifts of the mind,\nin all Nuremberg. None but Ann could stand beside her, and her beauty was\nItalian and heavenly rather than German and earthly.\n\nMargery's manuscript ends where she had reached a happy haven; howbeit\nthere were others of whom she makes mention who were not so happy as to\ncast anchor betimes, and if I am to set forth my own tale I must go back\nto Alexandria in the land of Egypt.\n\nThe dagger hired by Ursula to kill Herdegen struck me; howbeit, by the\ntime when my cousin Gotz brought my dear brother to see me, himself a\nfree man, I was already healed of my wound and ready to depart. The\nworthy mother of Akusch had tended me with a devotion which would have\ndone honor to a Christian woman, and it was under her roof that first I\nsaw Herdegen and my cousin once more. And how greatly was I surprised to\nsee Gotz, taller than of old, appear before me in the magnificent array\nand harness of a chief captain in the army of the all-powerful Republic\nof Venice! Instead of an exiled adventurer I found him a stalwart\ngentleman, in every respect illustrious and honored, whose commanding eye\nshowed that he was wont to be obeyed, albeit his voice and mien revealed\na compassionate and friendly soul. Yea, and meseemed that at his coming a\nfresher, purer air blew about me; and as soon as he had made Herdegen's\ncause his own and stood surety for him, the chief of the great trading\nhouse of Michieli paid the ransom, which to me, knowing the value of\nmoney, must have seemed never to be compassed, unless my grand-uncle had\nbeen fain to help us. Howbeit, my cousin would not do the like service\nfor the Knight of Welemisl, in whose mien and manners he put less trust,\nwherefore I became his surety, out of sheer pity and at Herdegen's\nprayer.\n\nHere you will ask of me wherefore I do not first speak of my meeting\nagain with my dear long-suffering brother. And indeed my heart beat high\nwith joy and thanksgiving, when we held each other clasped; but alack\nwhat changes had come over him in these years of slavery! When he came\ninto my chamber, his head bowed and his hands behind his back, after that\nwe had greeted I turned from him and made as though I had some matter to\norder, to the end that he might not see me dry my tears; inasmuch as that\nhe who stood before me was my Herdegen indeed, and yet was not.\n\nFor eighteen long months had he plied the oars on board of a Saracen\ngalley, while Sir Franz, who was overweak for such toil, served as keeper\nof slaves on the benches, himself with chains on his feet. And it was\nthis long, hard toil which had made my brother diligently to hide his\nhands behind his back, as though he were ashamed of them; whereas those\nstrong hands of his with their costly rings he had ever been wont to deem\na grace, and now of a truth they were grown coarse and as red as a brick,\nand were like to those of a hewer in the woods. And whereas men are apt\noften to pay less heed to another's face than to the shape and state of\nhis hands, I ever mind me of Herdegen's as I saw them on that day, and a\nstar and a crescent were branded in blue on the back of his right, so\nthat all men must see it.\n\nLikewise his deep breast had lost some of its great strength, and he held\nhimself less stately than of old. Meseemed as though the knight had laid\nsome part of his sickness upon him, inasmuch that many a time he coughed\nmuch. Likewise the long golden hair, which had flowed in rich abundance\ndown over his shoulders, had been shorn away after the manner of the\nunbelievers, and this gave to his well-favored face a narrow and right\nstrange appearance. Only the shape of his countenance and his eyes were\nwhat they had ever been; nay, meseemed that his eyes had a brighter and\nmoister light in them than of yore.\n\nOne thing alone was a comfort to me, and that was that my heart beat with\nmore pitiful and faithful love for him than ever. And when evening fell,\nas we brethren sat together with Gotz and Master Knorr and Akusch,\ndrinking our wine, which only Akusch would not touch, this comforting\nassurance waxed strong within me, by reason that Herdegen's voice was as\nsweet as of old, both in speech and in song; and when he set forth all\nthe adventures and sufferings he had gone through in these last past\nyears I was fain to listen, and even so was Gotz; and first he drew tears\nfrom our eyes and presently made us laugh right mirthfully. And what had\nhe not gone through?\n\nI betook me to bed that night in hope and contentment; howbeit, on the\nmorrow Master Knorr told me privily that whereas my brother's lungs had\nnever been of the strongest, if now, in the cold December season, he\nshould fare north of the Alps after such long sojourning under a warmer\nsky, it could not fail to do him a serious mischief, as it likewise would\nto Sir Franz. Thus it must be my part to delay our homecoming; and albeit\nthe leech's tidings made me heavy at heart I was fain to yield, inasmuch\nas that Herdegen might not appear in the presence of his sweetheart in\nhis present guise.\n\nTo this end we made him to believe that he might not come home in safety\nunless he had performed the penance laid upon him by the Emperor; and\nalbeit felt it a hard matter to refrain the craving of his heart,\nnevertheless he gave way to our pressing admonitions.\n\nNow, while Gotz fared back to Venice, the galleon which carried Don\nJaime, Prince of Catalonia, as far Joppa, brought us likewise to the\nPromised Land to the holy city of Jerusalem. From thence we made our\npilgrimage to many other Holy Places, under the protection of the great\nfellowship of that royal Prince who ever showed us much favor.\n\nAt last we journeyed homewards, passing by Naples and Genoa; at Damietta,\nin the land of Egypt, Sir Franz departed from our company to make his way\nto Venice. It was with care and grief that I saw him set forth on his way\nalone, and Herdegen was like-minded; in their misfortune he had learned\nto mark much that was good in him, and during our long journeying had\nseen that not only was he sick in body, but likewise that a shroud hung\nover his soul and brain. Also, if Ursula were yet free to work her will,\nthe very worst might haply befall him in Venice, by reason that the\nGiustinianis were of a certainty evil-disposed towards him, and the power\nand dignity of that family were by no means lessened, although, as at\nthat time Antonio Giustiniani had dishonored his name in Albania, and had\nbeen punished by the Forty with imprisonment and sundry penalties. Yet\nhis cousin Orsato was one of the greatest and richest of the signori at\nVenice, and Ursula's husband would have found in him a strong upholder,\nas in truth we heard at Naples, where tidings reached us that the\nPregadi, who had passed judgment upon him, had amerced him in a penalty\nof no more than two thousand ducats, which Orsato paid for him by reason\nthat he would not suffer that his kinsman should he in prison.\n\nAt Genoa we found many letters full of good tidings of our kindred at\nhome, all overflowing with love and the hope of speedily seeing us there.\nHereupon Herdegen could not refrain himself for impatience and, if I had\nsuffered it, he would have ridden onward by day and by night with no\npause nor rest, taking fresh horses as he might need them; for my part\nwhat I chiefly cared for was to bring him home as fresh and sound as I\nmight, and so preserve Ann from grief of heart. Herdegen had given me her\nletters to read, and how true and deep a love, how lofty and pure a soul\nspoke in those lines! Howbeit, when I heard her, as it were, cry out by\nthose letters, how that she longed for the moment when she might again\nstroke his flowing locks and press his dear faithful hand to her lips as\nhis dutiful maid, my heart beat with fresh fears. He held him more\nupright, to be sure, and his countenance was less pale and hollow than it\nhad been; but nevermore might he be a strong man. His light eyes were\ndeep in their sockets, his hair was rarer on his head, and there were\nthreads of silver among the gold. Ah, and those luckless hands! It was by\nreason of his hands--albeit you will doubtless smile at the\nconfession--that I moved him to refrain his longing, even when we were so\nnear our journey's end as Augsburg, and to grant me another day's delay,\ninasmuch as that I cared most that he should at first hide them in gloves\nfrom the womankind at home. And in all the great town was there not a\npair to be and that would fit him, and it would take a whole day to make\nhim a pair to his measure. Thus were we fain to tarry, and whereas we had\nin Augsburg, among other good friends, a faithful ally in trading matters\nat the Venice Fondaco, Master Sigismund Gossenprot, we lodged in his\ndwelling, which was one of the finest that fine city; and, as good-hap\nruled it, he had, on the very eve of that day, come home from Venice.\n\nHe and his worthy wife had known Herdegen of old, and I was cut to the\nheart to see how the sight of him grieved them both. Nay, and the fair\nyoung daughter of the house ne'er cast an eye on the stranger guest,\nwhose presence had been wont to stir every maiden's heart to beat faster.\nHowbeit, here again I found comfort when I marked at supper that the\nsweet damsel no longer heeded my simple person, whereas she had at first\ngazed at me with favor, but hearkened with glowing cheeks to Herdegen's\ndiscourse. At first, to be sure, this was anything rather than gay,\ninasmuch as Master Gossenprot was full of tidings from Venice, and of Sir\nFranz's latter end, which, indeed, was enough to sadden the most\nmirthful.\n\nWhen the Bohemian had come to Venice he had lodged at a tavern, by name\n\"The Mirror,\" and there mine host had deemed that he was but a gloomy and\nsilent guest. And it fell that one day the city was full of a dreadful\nuproar, whereas it was rumored that in the afternoon, at the hour when\nDame Ursula Giustiniani was wont to fare forth in her gondola, a strange\nman clad in black had leaped into it from his own and, before the\nserving-men could lay hands on him, he had stabbed her many times to the\nheart with his dagger. Then, as they were about to seize him, he had\nturned the murderous weapon still wet with his victim's blood, on\nhimself, and thus escaped the avenging hand of justice.\n\nAs soon as the host of The Mirror heard this tale, he minded him of that\nstrange, dark man and, when that way-farer came not home to his inn, he\nmade report thereof to the judges. Then, on making search in his wallet,\nit was discovered that he had entered there under a false name, and that\nit was Sir Franz von Welemisl who had taken such terrible vengeance on\nUrsula for her sins against himself and Herdegen.\n\nFrom Augsburg we now made good speed, and when, one fine June morning,\nour proud old citadel greeted our eyes from afar, and I saw that\nHerdegen's eyes were wet as he gazed upon it, mine eyes likewise filled\nwith tears, and as we rode we clasped hands fervently, but in silence.\n\nI sent forward a messenger from our last halting-place to give tidings of\nour coming; and when, hard by Schweinau, behold a cloud of dust, our eyes\nmet and told more than many and eloquent words.\n\nGreat and pure and thankful joy filled and bore up my soul; but presently\nthe cloud of dust was hid by a turn in the road behind the trees, and\neven so, quoth my fearful heart, the shroud of the future hid what next\nmight befall us.\n\nThe cruel blows of fate which had fallen on Herdegen had not been all in\nvain, and the growing weakness of his frame warned him not to spend his\nstrength and eagerness on new and ever new things. Yet what troubled me\nwas that he was not aware of the changes that had come upon him within\nand without. From all his speech with me I perceived that, even now, he\nmight not conceive that life could be other than as he desired:\nnotwithstanding it gave me secret joy to look upon this dear fellow, for\nwhom life should have had no summer heats nor winter frosts, but only\nblossoming spring-tide and happy autumn days.\n\nBut now we had got round the wood, and we might see what the cloud of\ndust had concealed. Foremost there came a train of waggons loaded with\nmerchandise and faring southwards, and the first waggon had met a\npiled-up load of charcoal coming forth from the forest at a place in the\nroad where they were pent between a deep ditch on one hand and thick\nbrushwood and undergrowth on the other; thus neither could turn aside,\nand their wheels were so fast locked that they barred the road as it had\nbeen a wall. Thus the second waggon likewise had come to hurt by the\nsudden stopping of the first, and it was but hardly saved from turning\nover into the ditch. There was a scene of wild turmoil. The waggons\nstopped the way, and neither could the rest of the train, nor their armed\noutriders, nor our own folks come past, by reason that the ditch was full\ndeep and the underwood thick. We likewise were compelled to draw rein and\nlook on while the six fine waggon horses which had but just come from the\nstable, their brown coats shining like mirrors, were unharnessed, and\nlikewise the draughtoxen were taken out of the charcoal-waggon; which was\ndone with much noise and cursing, and the brass plates that decked the\nleathern harness of the big horses jingling so loud and clear that we\nmight not hear the cries of our kinsfolks. Nay, it was the plume in\nGotz's hat, towering above the throng, which showed us that they were\ncome.\n\nNow, while Herdegen was vainly urging and spurring his unwilling horse to\nleap down into the ditch and get round this fortress of waggons, two of\nthe others--and I instantly saw that they were Ann and her father, on\nhorseback--had made their way close to the charcoal waggon; howbeit, they\ncould get no further by reason that it had lurched half over and strewed\nthe way with black charcoal-sacks.\n\nMy heart beat as though it would crack, and lo, as I looked round to\npoint them out to Herdegen, he had put forth his last strength to make\nhis horse take the leap, and could scarce hold himself in the saddle; his\nanguish of mind, and the foolish struggle with the wilful horse, had\nexhausted the strength of his sickly frame. His face was pale and his\nbreath came hard as he sat there, on the edge of the ditch, and held his\ngreat hand to his breast as though he were in pain. Hereupon I likewise\nfelt a deep pang of unspeakable torment, albeit I knew from experience\nthat for such ills there was no remedy but perfect rest. I looked away\nfrom him and beheld, a little nearer now, Ann high on her saddle,\ndiligently waving her kerchief, and at her side her father, lifting his\ncouncillor's hat.\n\nIn a few moments we were united once more. But no. . . .\n\nAs I wrote the foregoing words with a trembling hand I vowed that I would\nset down nought but the truth and the whole truth. And inasmuch as I have\nnot shrunk from making mention of certain matters which many will deem of\nsmall honor to Herdegen, who was, by the favor of Heaven, so far more\nhighly graced in all ways than I, who have never been other than middling\ngifted, it would ill-become me to shrink from relating matters whereof I\nmyself have lived to repent.\n\nThere, by the ditch, was my dear only brother, weary and pale, a man\nmarked for an early grave; and in front of me, within a few paces, the\nwoman to whom my heart's only and fervent love had been given even as a\nchild. She sat like a King's daughter on a noble white horse with rich\ntrappings. A magnificent garment of fine cloth, richly broidered with\nFlanders velvet, flowed about her slender body. The color thereof was\nwhite and sapphire-blue, and so likewise were the velvet cap and\nfinely-rounded ostrich feather, which was fastened into it with a brooch\nof sparkling precious stones. I had always deemed her fairest in sheeny\nwhite, and she knew it, while Herdegen had taken blue for his color; and\nbehold she wore both, for love per chance of both brothers. Never had I\nseen her fairer than at this minute and she had likewise waxed of a buxom\ncomeliness, and how sweet were her red cheeks, and swan-white skin, and\nebony-black hair, which flowed out from beneath her little hat in long\nplaits twined with white and sapphire-blue velvet ribbon.\n\nNever did a maid seem more desirable to a man. And her father on his\ngreat brown horse--he was no more a craftsman! In his councillor's robes\nbordered with fur, with the golden chain round his neck, his\nwell-favored, grave, and manly countenance, and the long, flowing hair\ndown to his shoulders, meseemed he might have been the head of some\nancient and noble family. None in Nuremberg might compare with these two\nfor manly dignity and womanly beauty, and was that sickly, bent horseman\nby the ditch worthy of them? \"No, no,\" cried a voice in my heart. \"Yes,\nYes!\" cried another; and in the midst of this struggle I could but say to\nmyself: \"He has an old and good right to her, and as soon as he has found\nbreath he will claim it.\"\n\nBut she? What will she do; how will she demean her; is she aware of his\npresence? Will she shrink from him as Dame Gossenprot did at Augsburg,\nand the inn-keeper's smart wife at Ingolstadt, who of old was so\nover-eager to be at his service? Would Ann, who had rejected many a\nlordly suitor, be as sweet as of yore to that breathless creature? And if\nshe were to follow the example which he long since set her, if she now\ncut the bond which he of old had snatched asunder, or if--Merciful\nVirgin!--if his sickness should increase, and he himself should shrink\nfrom fettering her blooming young life to his own--then, oh, then it\nmight be my turn, then. . . .\n\nAnd on a sudden there was a cry from the depths of my heart, but heard by\nnone: \"Look on this side. Look on me, my one and only beloved! Turn from\nhim who once turned from thee, and hearken to Kunz who loves thee with a\nmore faithful and fervent love than that man, who to this day knows not\nwhat thy true worth is, whose heart is as fickle as mine is honest and\ntrue. Here I stand, a strong and stalwart man, the friend of every good\nman, willing and able to carry you in my strong hands through a life\ncrowned with wealth and happiness!\"\n\nAnd while the voice of the Evil One whispered this and much more, my\ngaze, meseemed, was spellbound to her countenance, and the light of her\neyes from afar shone deep into mine. And on a sudden I flung up my arms\nand, without knowing what I did, stretched them forth, as though beside\nmyself, towards that hotly-loved maiden. Whether she saw this or no I may\nnever learn. And the grace of the Blessed Virgin or of my guardian Saint,\npreserved me from evil and disgrace, for whereas all that was in me\nyearned for that beloved one, a clear voice called to me by name, and\nwhen I turned, behold it was Margery, who had leaped her light palfrey\ninto the ditch and now had sprung up the grassy bank. It was a breakneck\npiece of horsemanship, to which she had been driven by longing and\nsisterly love; and behind her came a man, my cousin Gotz, whose\nnewly-married wife's daring leap was indeed after his own heart. One more\nplunge, and their horses were on the highroad, and I had lifted Margery\nout of her saddle and we held each other clasped, stammering out foolish\ndisconnected words, while we first laughed and then wept.\n\nThis went on for some while till I was startled by an outcry, and behold,\nEppelein, in his impatience to greet his dear master, had been fain to do\nas Margery and Gotz had done, but with less good fortune, inasmuch as\nthat he had fallen under his horse, which had rolled over with him. His\nlamentable outcry told me that he needed help, and once more in my life I\nfulfilled my strange fate, which has ever been to cast to the winds that\nfor which my soul most longed, for another to take it up. While Margery\nturned to greet Herdegen I hastened down the bank to rescue the faithful\nfellow who had endured so much in my brother's service, ere the worst\nshould befall him.\n\nAnd this, with no small pains, I was able to do; and when I was aware\nthat he had suffered no mortal hurt, I clambered up on to the road again,\nand then once more my heart began to beat sadly. Ann and Herdegen had met\nagain, and once for all. How was she able to refrain herself as she\nbeheld the changed countenance of her lover, and to be mistress of her\nhorror and dismay?\n\nNow, when I had climbed the bank with some pains, in my heavy\nriding-boots, I saw that the waggon-men had harnessed the six brown\nhorses to their cart once more, and behind them, on the skirt of the\nwood, were the pair that I sought; and as I went nearer to them Ann had\ndrawn the glove, for which we had tarried so long in Augsburg, from off\nher lover's battered right hand, and was gazing at it lovingly, with no\nsign of horror, but with tears in her eyes; and she cried as she kissed\nit again and again: \"Oh, that poor, dear, beloved hand, how cruelly it\nhas suffered, how hard it must have tolled! And that? That is where the\nblue brand-mark was set? But it is almost gone. And it is in my color,\nblue, our favorite sapphire-blue!\" And she pointed joyously to her goodly\narray, and she confessed that it was for him alone, that he might see\nfrom afar how well she loved and honored him, that she had arrayed\nherself in the color of fidelity in which he had ever best loved to see\nher. And he clasped her to him, and when she kissed his thin, streaked\nhair, and spoke of those dear flowing curls, to which love and care would\nrestore their beauty, I swore a solemn vow before God that I would never\nlook on the union of Herdegen and Ann but with thanksgiving and without\nenvy, and ever do all that in me lay for those two and for their welfare.\n\nOf the glad meeting with our other kith and kin I will say nought. As to\nCousin Maud, she had remained at home to welcome her darling at the gate\nof the Schopperhof, which she had decked forth bravely. Yea, her warm\nheart beat more fondly for him than for us. She could not wholly conceal\nher dismay at seeing him so changed. She would stroke him from time to\ntime with a cherishing hand, yet she went about him as though there were\nsomewhat in him of which she was afeard.\n\nHowbeit, in the evening it was with her as it had been with me in the\nland of Egypt, and she found him again for whom her heart yearned so\nfaithfully. Now, that which had seemed lacking came to light once more,\nand from that hour she no longer grieved for what he had lost and which a\ntrue mother peradventure might never have missed; indeed as his bodily\nhealth failed, and she shared the care of tending him with Ann, none\ncould have conceived that he was not verily and indeed her own son.\n\nThe evil monster which had crept into my brother's breast grew, thank\nHeaven, but slowly; and when the young pair had been wed, with a right\nsplendid feast, and my brother had taken Ann home to the Schoppers' house\nas his dear wife, a glad hope rose up in me that Master Knorr had taken\nan over-gloomy view of the matter, and that Herdegen might blossom again\ninto new strength and his old hearty health. Howbeit it was but his\nheart's gladness which lent him so brave and glad an aspect; the sickness\nmust have its course, and it was as it were a serpent, gnawing silently\nat my joy in life, and its bite was all the more cruel by reason that I\nmight tell no man what it was that hurt me save the old Waldstromers. But\nthey likewise grew young again after their son's homecoming, and\nnotwithstanding her feeble frame, Aunt Jacoba saw Margery's eldest son\ngrow to be six years of age. And she sent him his packet of sweetmeats\nthe first day he went to school; but when the little lad went to thank\nhis grandmother, the old dame was gone to her rest; and her husband lived\nafter her no more than a few months.\n\nOne grief only had darkened the latter days of this venerable pair, in\ntruth it was a heavy one; it was the death of my dear brother Herdegen,\nwhich befell at the end of the fifth year after he was happily married.\n\nAt the end of the fourth year his sickness came upon him with more\nviolence, yet he went forth and back, and ever hoped to be healed, even\nwhen he took to his bed four weeks before the end.\n\nOn the very last day, on a certain fine evening in May, it was that he\nsaid to Ann: \"Hearken, my treasure, I am surely better! On the day after\ntomorrow we will go forth into the sweet Spring, to hear Dame Nightingale\nwho is singing already, and to see Margery. Oh, out in the forest breezes\nblow to heal the sick!\"\n\nYet they went not; two hours later he had departed this life. By ill\nfortune at that very time I was at Venice on a matter of business, and\nwhen the tidings came to me that my only beloved brother was dead,\nmeseemed as though half my being were torn away, aye, and the nobler and\nbetter half; that part which was not content to grieve and care for none\nbut earthly estate and for all that cometh up and passeth away here\nbelow, but which hath a position in the bliss of another world, where we\nask not only of what use and to what end this or that may be, as I have\never done in my narrow soul.\n\nWhen Herdegen's eyes closed in death, my wings were broken as it were;\nwith him I lost the highest aim and end of all my labors. For five hard\nyears had I toiled and struggled, often turning night into day, and not\nfor myself, but for him and his, ever upheld and sped forward by the\nsight of his high soul and great happiness. Our grand-uncle Im Hoff had\nleft me his house and the conduct of his trade, as you have learned\nalready from Margery's little book; and during my long journeyings many\nmatters had not been done to my contentment, and the sick old man had\ntaken out overmuch moneys from the business. A goodly sum came to us from\nour parents' estate, and my brother and sister and Cousin Maud were fain\nto entrust me with theirs; but how much I had to do in return!\n\nMoreover a great care came upon me from without, by reason that Sir\nFranz's kin and heirs refused to repay the moneys for the ransom which\nMaster Michieli of Venice had laid down, and for which Herdegen and I had\nbeen sureties. Albeit in this matter we had applied to the law, we might\nnot suffer Michieli to come to loss by reason of his generosity, so I\ntook upon me the whole debt, and that was a hard matter in those times\nand in my case; and the fifteen thousand ducats which were repaid me by\njudgment of law, thirty years afterwards, made me small amends, inasmuch\nas by that time I had long been wont to reckon with much greater sums.\n\nI made good my friend's payment of Herdegen's ransom to the last\nfarthing; yet what pressed me most hardly, so long as my brother lived,\nwas his housekeeping; few indeed in Nuremberg could have spent more.\n\nMy eldest brother was the only one of us three who might keep any\nremembrance of our father, whose trade with Venice and Flanders had\nyielded great profits, and he could yet mind him how full the house had\never been of guests, and the stables of horses. Now, therefor, he was\nfain to live on the same wise, and this he deemed was right and seemly,\ninasmuch as he took the moneys which I gave him as half the clear profits\nof the Im Hoff trade, which were his by right. And I was fain to suffer\nhim to enjoy that belief, albeit at that time concerns looked but badly.\nIt was I, not he, whose part it was to care for those concerns; and I\nrejoiced with all my heart when he and his lovely young wife rode forth\nin such bravery, when he sat as host at the head of a table\nwell-furnished with guests, and won all hearts by his lofty and fiery\nspirit, which conquered even the least well-disposed. Yet was it not easy\nto supply that which was needed, or to refrain from speech or reproof\nwhen, for instance, my brother must need have from the land of Egypt for\nAnn such another noble horse as the Emirs there are wont to ride. Or\ncould I require him to pay when, after that Heaven had blessed him with a\nfirst born child, Herdegen, radiant with pride and joy, showed me a\ncradle all of ivory overlaid with costly carved work which he had\ncommanded to be wrought for his darling by the most skilled master known\nfar and wide, for a sum which at that time would have purchased a small\nhouse? Albeit it was nigh upon quarter day, I would have taken this and\nmuch more upon me rather than have quenched his heart's great gladness;\nand when I saw thee, Margery the younger, who art now thyself a\ngrandmother, sleeping like a king's daughter in that precious cradle, and\nperceived with how great joy it filled thy parents to have their jewel in\nso costly a bed, I rejoiced over my own patience.\n\nIt did my heart good, though I spoke not, to hear the Schoppers' house\npraised as the friendliest in all Nuremberg; yet at other times meseemed\nI saw shame and poverty standing at the door; and whereas, indeed, those\nyears of magnificence, which for sure were the hardest in all my life,\ncame to no evil issue, I owe this, next to Heaven's grace, to the trust\nwhich many folks in Nuremberg placed in my honesty and judgment, far\nbeyond my desert. And when once, not long before my brother's over-early\ndeath, I found myself to the very brow in water, as it were, it was that\nfaithfulest of all faithful friends, Uncle Christian Pfinzing, who read\nthe care in my eyes and face during the very last great banquet at\nHerdegen's table, and led me into the oriel bay, and offered me all his\nsubstance; and this is a goodly sum indeed and saved my trade from\nshipwreck.\n\nNext to him it is Cousin Maud that we three links the Schopper chain\nought ever to hold dearest in memory; and it was by a strange chance that\nhe and she died, not only on the same day, but, as it were, of the same\ndeath. Death came upon him at the Schoppers' table with the cup in his\nhand, after that Ann, his \"watchman\" had warned him to be temperate; and\nthis was three years after her husband's death. And Cousin Maud, as she\ncame forth from the kitchen, whither she had gone to heat her famous\nspiced wine for Uncle Christian, who was already gone, fell dead into\nMargery's arms when she heard the tidings of his sudden end.\n\nAmong the sundry matters which long dwelt in the minds both of Margery\nand Ann, and were handed down to their grandchildren, were the Magister's\nLatin verses in their praise. It is but a few years since Master Peter\nPiehringer departed this life at a great age, and when Gotz's boys went\nthrough their schooling so fast and so well they owed it to his care and\nlearning. But chiefly he devoted himself to Ann's daughters, Margery and\nAgnes, and indeed it is ever so that our heart goeth forth with a love\nlike to that for our own sons or daughters to the offspring of the woman\nwe have loved, even when she has never been our own.\n\nEppelein Gockel, my brother's faithful serving-man, was wed to Aunt\nJacoba's tiring-woman. After his master's death I made him to be host in\nthe tavern of \"The Blue Sky,\" and whereas his wife was an active soul,\nand his tales of the strange adventures he had known among the Godless\nheathen brought much custom to his little tavern parlor, he throve to be\na man of great girth and presence.\n\nBy the seventh year after our home-coming my hardest cares for the\nconcerns of my trade were overpast, albeit I must even yet keep my eyes\nopen and give brain and body no rest. Half my life I spent in journeying,\nand whereas I perceived that it was only by opening up other branches of\ntrade that I might fulfil the many claims which ever beset me, I set\nmyself to consider the matter; and inasmuch as that I had seen in the\nhouse of Akusch how gladly the women of Egypt would buy hazel-nuts from\nour country, I began to deal in this humble merchandise in large measure;\nand at this day I send more than ten thousand sequins' worth of such\nwares, every year, by ship to the Levant. Likewise I made the furs of\nNorth Germany and the toys of Nuremberg a part of my trade, which in my\nuncle's life-time had been only in spices and woven goods. And so, little\nby little, my profits grew to a goodly sum, and by God's favor our house\nenjoyed higher respect than it ever had had of old.\n\nAnd it is a matter of rejoicing to me that at this time there is again an\nIm Hoff at its head with me, so that the old name shall be handed down;\nAnn's oldest daughter, Margery Schopper, having married one Berthold Im\nHoff, who is now my worthy partner.\n\nThe sons of the elder Margery, the young Waldstromers, had much in them\nof the hasty Schopper temper, and a voice for song; and all three have\ndone well, each in his way. Herdegen is now the Hereditary Ranger, and\nheld in no less honor than Kunz Waldstromer, my beloved godson, who is a\nman of law in the service of our good town. Franz, who dedicated himself\nto the Church at an early age, under the protection of my lord Cardinal\nBernhardi, has already been named to be the next in office after our\npresent aged and weakly Bishop.\n\nThe son of Agnes, Herdegen's younger daughter, is Martin Behaim, a\nhigh-spirited youth in whom his grandfather's fiery and restless temper\nlives again, albeit somewhat quelled.\n\nAnd if you now enquire of me how it is that I, albeit my heart beats\nwarmly enough for our good town and its welfare and honor, have only\ntaken a passing part in the duties of its worshipful Council, this is my\nanswer: Inasmuch as to provide for the increase of riches for the\nSchopper family took all the strength I had, I lacked time to serve the\ncommonwealth as my heart would have desired; and by the time when my dear\nnephew Berthold Im Hoff came to share the conduct of the trade with me I\nwas right willing to withdraw behind my young partner, Ann's son-in-law,\nand to take his place in the business, while he and Kunz Waldstromer were\nchosen to high dignity on the Council. Nevertheless it is well-known that\nI have given up to the town a larger measure of time and labor and moneys\nthan many a town-mayor and captain of watch. Of this I make mention to\nthe end that those who come after me shall not charge me with evil\nself-seeking.\n\nLikewise some may ask me wherefor I, the last male offspring of the old\nSchopper race, have gone through life unwed. Yet of a certainty they may\nspare me the answer to whom I have honestly confessed all my heart's\npangs at the meeting of Herdegen with Ann.\n\nAfter the death of her best-beloved lord the young widow was overcome\nwith brooding melancholy from which nothing could rouse her. At that time\nyou, my Margery and Agnes, her daughters, clung to me as to your own\nfather; and when, at the end of three years, your mother was healed of\nthat melancholy, it had come about that you had learned to call me father\nwhile I had sported with you and loved you in \"your\" mother's stead, and\ntaught you to fold your little hands in prayer and led you out for air\nwalking by your side. Your mother had heeded it not; but then, when she\nbloomed forth in new and wondrous beauty, and I beheld that Hans Koler\nand the Knight Sir Henning von Beust, who had likewise remained unwed,\nwere again her suitors, the old love woke up in my heart; and one fair\nMay evening, out in the forest, the question rose to my lips whether she\ncould not grant me the right to call you indeed my children before all\nthe world, and her. . . .\n\nBut to what end touch the wound which to this day is scarce healed?\n\nIn this world and the next she would never be any man's but his to whom\nher heart's great and only love had been given. But from that evening\nforth I, the rejected suitor, must suffer that you children should no\nlonger call me father, but Uncle Kunz; and when afterwards it came to be\ndear little uncle you may believe that I was thankful. She no less\nrejected the suit of Koler and of von Beust; but the last-named gentleman\nmade up for his dismissal by marrying a noble damsel of Brandenburg. At a\nlater time when he came to Nuremberg he was made welcome by Margery, and\nthen, meeting with Ann once more, he showed himself to be still so\nyouthful and duteous in his service to her, in despite of her grey hairs,\nthat for certain it was well for his happiness at home that he should\nhave come without his wife.\n\nNot long after Ann's rejection I confessed to Margery what had befallen,\nand when she heard it, she cast her arms about my neck and cried: \"Why,\nne'er content, must you crave a new home and family? Are not two warm\nhearths yours to sit at, and the love and care of two faithful\nhouse-wives; and are you not the father and counsellor, not alone of your\nnephews and nieces, but of their parents likewise?\" All this she said in\nan overflow of sisterly love; and if it comforted me, as I here make\nrecord of it, by reason that I sorely needed such good words, if I here\nrecall how sad life often seemed to me.\n\nNay, nay! It was sweet, heavenly sweet, and worthy of all thanksgiving\nthat I, who of the three Schopper links was so far the most humbly\ngifted, was suffered by Fate to be of some use to the other two, and even\nto their children and grandchildren, and to help in adding to their\nwell-being. In this--insomuch I may say with pride--in this I have had\nall good-speed; thus my life's labor has not been in vain, and I may call\nmy lot a happy one. And thus I likewise have proved the truth of old Adam\nHeyden's saying, that he who does most for other folks at the same time\ndoes the best for himself.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Ever creep in where true love hath found a nest--(jealousy)\n     One who stood in the sun must need cast a shadow on other folks\n     We each and all are waiting\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE \"MARGERY\":\n\n     A small joy makes us to forget our heavy griefs\n     All I did was right in her eyes\n     All things were alike to me\n     As every word came straight from her heart\n     Be cautious how they are compassionate\n     Be happy while it is yet time\n     Beware lest Satan find thee idle!\n     Brought imagination to bear on my pastimes\n     Comparing their own fair lot with the evil lot of others\n     Especial gift to listen keenly and question discreetly\n     Ever creep in where true love hath found a nest--(jealousy)\n     Faith and knowledge are things apart\n     Flee from hate as the soul's worst foe\n     For the sake of those eyes you forgot all else\n     Forty or fifty, when most women only begin to be wicked\n     Fruits and pies and sweetmeats for the little ones at home\n     Germans are ever proud of a man who is able to drink deep\n     Happiness should be found in making others happy\n     Have never been fain to set my heart on one only maid\n     Her eyes were like open windows\n     Hopeful soul clings to delay as the harbinger of deliverance\n     Last Day we shall be called to account for every word we utter\n     Laugh at him with friendly mockery, such as hurts no man\n     Love which is able and ready to endure all things\n     Maid who gives hope to a suitor though she has no mind to hear\n     Marred their best joy in life by over-hasty ire\n     May they avoid the rocks on which I have bruised my feet\n     Men folks thought more about me than I deemed convenient\n     Misfortunes never come singly\n     No man gains profit by any experience other than his own\n     No false comfort, no cloaking of the truth\n     On with a new love when he had left the third bridge behind him\n     One Head, instead of three, ruled the Church\n     One who stood in the sun must need cast a shadow on other folks\n     One of those women who will not bear to be withstood\n     Shadow which must ever fall where there is light\n     The god Amor is the best schoolmaster\n     The not over-strong thread of my good patience\n     They who will, can\n     Though thou lose all thou deemest thy happiness\n     Vagabond knaves had already been put to the torture\n     We each and all are waiting\n     Were we not one and all born fools\n     When men-children deem maids to be weak and unfit for true sport\n     Woman who might win the love of a highly-gifted soul (Pays for it)\n     Wonder we leave for the most part to children and fools\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary J. Safford\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThe sun sometimes shone brightly upon the little round panes of the\nancient building, the Golden Cross, on the northern side of the square,\nwhich the people of Ratisbon call \"on the moor\"; sometimes it was veiled\nby gray clouds. A party of nobles, ecclesiastics, and knights belonging\nto the Emperor's train were just coming out. The spring breeze banged\nbehind them the door of the little entrance for pedestrians close beside\nthe large main gateway.\n\nThe courtiers and ladies who were in the chapel at the right of the\ncorridor started. \"April weather!\" growled the corporal of the Imperial\nHalberdiers to the comrade with whom he was keeping; guard at the foot of\nthe staircase leading to the apartments of Charles V, in the second story\nof the huge old house.\n\n\"St. Peter's day,\" replied the other, a Catalonian. \"At my home fresh\nstrawberries are now growing in the open air and roses are blooming in\nthe gardens. Take it all in all, it's better to be dead in Barcelona than\nalive in this accursed land of heretics!\"\n\n\"Come, come,\" replied the other, \"life is life! 'A live dog is better\nthan a dead king,' says a proverb in my country.\"\n\n\"And it is right, too,\" replied the Spaniard. \"But ever since we came\nhere our master's face looks as if imperial life didn't taste exactly\nlike mulled wine, either.\"\n\nThe Netherlander lowered his halberd and answered his companion's words\nfirst with a heavy sigh, and then with the remark: \"Bad weather upstairs\nas well as down--the very worst! I've been in the service thirteen years,\nbut I never saw him like this, not even after the defeat in Algiers. That\nmeans we must keep a good lookout. Present halberds! Some one is coming\ndown.\"\n\nBoth quickly assumed a more erect attitude, but the Spaniard whispered to\nhis comrade: \"It isn't he. His step hasn't sounded like that since the\ngout--\"\n\n\"Quijada!\" whispered the Netherlander, and both he and the man from\nBarcelona presented halberds with true military bearing; but the staves\nof their descending weapons soon struck the flags of the pavement again,\nfor a woman's voice had detained the man whom the soldiers intended to\nsalute, and in his place two slender lads rushed down the steps.\n\nThe yellow velvet garments, with ash-gray facings, and cap of the same\nmaterial in the same colours, were very becoming to these youths--the\nEmperor's pages--and, though the first two were sons of German and\nItalian counts, and the third who followed them was a Holland baron, the\nsentinels took little more notice of them than of Queen Mary's pointers\nfollowing swiftly at their heels.\n\n\"Of those up there,\" observed the halberdier from Haarlem under his\nbreath, \"a man would most willingly stiffen his back for Quijada.\"\n\n\"Except their Majesties, of course,\" added the Catalonian with dignity.\n\n\"Of course,\" the other repeated. \"Besides, the Emperor Charles himself\nbestows every honour on Don Luis. I was in Algiers at the time. A hundred\nmore like him would have made matters different, I can tell you. If it\nbeseemed an insignificant fellow like me, I should like to ask why his\nMajesty took him from the army and placed him among the courtiers.\"\n\nHere he stopped abruptly, for, in spite of the gaily dressed nobles and\nladies, priests, knights, and attendants who were passing up and down the\ncorridor, he had heard footsteps on the stairs which must be those of men\nin high position. He was not mistaken--one was no less a personage than\nthe younger Granvelle, the Bishop of Arras, who, notwithstanding his\nnine-and-twenty years, was already the favourite counsellor of Charles V;\nthe other, a man considerably his senior, Dr. Mathys, of Bruges, the\nEmperor's physician.\n\nThe bishop was followed by a secretary clad in black, with a portfolio\nunder his arm; the leech, by an elderly assistant.\n\nThe fine features of the Bishop of Arras, which revealed a nature capable\nof laughter and enjoyment, now looked as grave as his companion's--a fact\nwhich by no means escaped the notice of the courtiers in the corridor,\nbut no one ventured to approach them with a question, although--it had\nbegun to rain again--they stopped before going out of doors and stood\ntalking together in low tones.\n\nMany would gladly have caught part of their conversation, but no one\ndared to move nearer, and the Southerners and Germans among them did not\nunderstand the Flemish which they spoke.\n\nNot until after the leech had raised his tall, pointed hat and the\nstatesman had pressed his prelate's cap closer upon his short, wavy dark\nhair and drawn his sable-trimmed velvet cloak around him did several\ncourtiers hasten forward with officious zeal to open the little side door\nfor them.\n\nSomething must be going wrong upstairs.\n\nDr. Mathys's jovial face wore a very different expression when his\nimperial patient was doing well, and Granvelle always bestowed a friendly\nnod on one and another if he himself had cause to be content.\n\nWhen the door had closed behind the pair, the tongues of the\necclesiastics, the secular lords, and the ladies in the corridor were\nagain loosed; but there were no loud discussions in the various languages\nnow mingling in the Golden Cross, far less was a gay exclamation or a\npeal of laughter heard from any of the groups who stood waiting for the\nshower to cease.\n\nAlthough each individual was concerned about his own affairs, one\nthought, nevertheless, ruled them all--the Emperor Charles, his health,\nand his decisions. Upon them depended not only the destiny of the world,\nbut also the weal and woe of the greatest as well as the humblest of\nthose assembled here.\n\n\"Emperor Charles\" was the spell by which the inhabitants of half the\nworld obtained prosperity or ill-luck, war or peace, fulfilment or denial\nof the wishes which most deeply stirred their souls. Even the highest in\nthe land, who expected from his justice or favour fresh good-fortune or\nthe averting of impending disasters, found their way to him wherever, on\nhis long and numerous journeys, he established his court.\n\nNumerous petitioners had also flocked to Ratisbon, but the two great\nnobles who now entered the Golden Cross certainly did not belong to their\nnumber. One shook the raindrops from his richly embroidered velvet cloak\nand the plumes in his cap, the other from his steel helmet and suit of\nMilan mail, inlaid with gold. Chamberlain de Praet accosted the former,\nDuke Peter of Columna, in Italian; the latter, the Landgrave of\nLeuchtenberg, in a mixture of German and his Flemish native tongue. He\nhad no occasion to say much, for the Emperor wished to be alone. He had\nordered even crowned heads and ambassadors to be denied admittance.\n\nThe Duke of Columna gaily begged for a dry shelter until the shower was\nover, but the Landgrave requested to be announced to the Queen of\nHungary.\n\nThe latter, however, had also declined to grant any audiences that\nafternoon. The royal lady, the Emperor's favourite sister, was in her own\nroom, adjoining her imperial brother's, talking with Don Luis Quijada,\nthe brave nobleman of whom the Spanish and the Netherland soldiers had\nspoken with equal warmth.\n\nHis personal appearance rendered it an easy matter to believe in the\nsincerity of their words, for the carriage of his slender, vigorous form\nrevealed all the pride of the Castilian noble. His face, with its closely\ncut pointed beard, was the countenance of a true warrior, and the\nexpression of his black eyes showed the valiant spirit of a loyal, kind,\nand simple heart.\n\nThe warm confidence with which Mary, the widow of the King of Hungary,\nwho fell in the Turkish war, gazed into Quijada's finely modelled,\nslightly bronzed countenance proved that she knew how to estimate his\nworth aright. She had sent for him to open her whole heart.\n\nThe vivacious woman, a passionate lover of the chase, found life in\nRatisbon unendurable. She would have left the city long ago to perform\nher duties in the Netherlands--which she ruled as regent in the name of\nher imperial brother--and devote herself to hunting, to her heart's\ncontent, if the condition of the monarch's health had not detained her\nnear him.\n\nShe pitied Charles because she loved him, yet she was weary of playing\nthe sick nurse.\n\nShe had just indignantly informed Quijada what an immense burden of work,\nin spite of the pangs of the gout, her suffering brother had imposed upon\nhimself ever since the first cock-crow. But he would take no better care\nof himself, and therefore it was difficult to help him. Was it not\nutterly unprecedented? Directly after mass he had examined dozens of\npapers, made notes on the margins, and affixed his signature; then he\nreceived Father Pedro de Soto, his confessor, the nuncio, the English and\nthe Venetian ambassadors; and, lastly, had an interview with young\nGranvelle, the Bishop of Arras, which had continued three full hours, and\nperhaps might be going on still had not Dr. Mathys, the leech, put an end\nto it.\n\nQueen Mary had just found him utterly exhausted, with his face buried in\nhis hands.\n\n\"And you, too,\" she added in conclusion, \"can not help admitting that if\nthis state of things continues there must be an evil end.\"\n\nQuijada bent his head in assent, and then answered modestly:\n\n\"Yet your Majesty knows our royal master's nature. He will listen calmly\nto you, whom he loves, or to me, who was permitted to remain at his side\nas a page, or probably to the two Granvelles, Malfalconnet, and others\nwhom he trusts, when they venture to warn him--\"\n\n\"And yet keep on in his mad career,\" interrupted Queen Mary with an angry\ngesture of the hand.\n\n\"Plus ultra--more, farther--is his motto,\" observed Quijada in a tone of\njustification.\n\n\"Forward ceaselessly, for aught I care, so long as the stomach and the\nfeet are sound!\" replied the Queen, raising her hand to the high lace\nruff, which oppressed the breathing of one so accustomed to the outdoor\nair. \"But when, like him, a man must give up deer-stalking and at every\nmovement makes a wry face and can scarcely repress a groan--it might move\na stone to pity!--he ought to choose another motto. Persuade him to do\nso, Quijada, if you are really his friend.\"\n\nThe smile with which the nobleman listened to this request plainly showed\nthe futility of the demand.\n\nThe Queen noticed it, threw her arm aloft as if she were hurling a\nhunting spear, and exclaimed \"I'm not easily deceived, Luis. Whether you\ncould or not, the will is lacking. You shun the attempt! Because you are\nyoung yourself, and can still cope with the bear and wild boar, you like\nthe motto, which will probably lead to new wars, and thereby to fresh\nrenown. But, alas! my poor, poor brother, who--how long ago it is!--could\nonce have thrown even you upon the sand, what can he do, with this\naccursed gout? And besides, what more can the Emperor Charles gain, since\nthere is no chance of obtaining the sovereignty of the world, of which he\nonce dreamed? He must learn to be content! Surely at his age! It is easy\nto calculate, for his life began with the century, and this is its\nforty-sixth year. Of course, with you soldiers the years of warfare count\ndouble, and he--Duke Alba said so--was born a general. One need not be\nable to reckon far in order to number how many months he has spent in\ncomplete peace. And then he attained his majority at fifteen, and with\nwhat weighty cares the man of the 'plus ultra' has loaded his shoulders\nsince that time! You, and many others at the court, had still more to do,\nbut, Luis, one thing, and it is the hardest burden, you were all spared.\nI know it. It is called responsibility. Compared with this all others are\nmere fluttering feathers. Its weight may become unendurable when the weal\nand woe of half the world are at stake. Thus every year of government was\nequal to three of war; but you, Luis--the question is allowable when put\nto a man-how old are you?\"\n\n\"Within a few months of forty.\"\n\n\"So young!\" cried the Queen. \"Yet, when one looks at you closely, your\nappearance corresponds with your years.\"\n\nQuijada pointed to the gray locks on his temples, but the Queen eagerly\ncontinued:\n\nI noticed that at Brussels. And do you know what gave you those few white\nhairs? Simply the responsibility that so cruelly shortened the Emperor's\nyouth, and which at least grazes you. As I saw him to-day, Luis, many a\nman of sixty has a more vigorous appearance.\"\n\n\"And yet, if your Majesty will permit me to say so,\" Quijada replied with\na low bow, \"he may be in a very different condition to-morrow. I heard\nDr. Mathys himself remark that the life of a gouty patient was like a\nshowery day in July--gloomy enough while the thunder-storm was raging,\nbut radiant before and afterward until the clouds rose again. Surely your\nMajesty remembers how erect, how vigorous, and how knightly his bearing\nwas when he greeted you on your arrival. The happiness of having his\nbeloved sister again restored his paralyzed buoyancy speedily enough,\nalthough just at present there is certainly no lack of cares pressing\nupon him, and notwithstanding the disastrous conditions which we found\nexisting among the godless populace here. That this cruel responsibility,\nhowever, can mature the mind without harming the body your Majesty is a\nliving example.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" retorted the regent in protest. \"From you, at least, I forbid\nidle flattery!\"\n\nAs she spoke she pointed with the riding whip, which, on account of her\nfour-footed favourites, she carried in her hand, to her own hair. True,\nso far as it was visible under the stiff jewelled velvet cap which\ncovered her head, the fair tresses had a lustrous sheen, and the braids,\ninterwoven with pearls, were unusually thick, but a few silver threads\nappeared amid the locks which clustered around the intellectual brow.\n\nQuijada saw them, and, with a respectful bow, answered.\n\n\"The heavy burden of anxiety for the Netherlands, which is not always\nrewarded with fitting gratitude.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" replied the Queen, shrugging her shoulders contemptuously.\n\"Yes, many things in Brussels rouse my indignation, but they do not turn\nmy hair gray. It began to whiten up here, under the widow's cap, if you\ncare to know it, and, if the Emperor's health does not improve, the locks\nthere will soon look like my white Diana's.\"\n\nHere she hesitated, and, accustomed both in the discharge of the duties\nof her office and during the chase not to deviate too far from the goal\nshe had in view, she first gave her favourite dog, which had leaped on\nDon Luis in friendly greeting, a blow with her whip, and then said in a\ntotally different tone:\n\n\"But I am not the person in question. You have already heard that you\nmust help me, Luis. Did you see the Emperor yesterday after vespers?\"\n\n\"I had the honour, your Majesty.\"\n\n\"And did not the conviction that he is in evil case force itself upon\nyou?\"\n\n\"I felt it so keenly that I spoke to Dr. Mathys of his feeble appearance,\nhis bowed figure, and the other things which I would so gladly have seen\notherwise.\"\n\n\"And these things? Speak frankly!\"\n\n\"These things,\" replied the major-domo, after a brief hesitation, \"are\nthe melancholy moods to which his Majesty often resigns himself for\nhours.\"\n\n\"And which remind you of Queen Juana, our unhappy mother?\" asked the\nQueen with downcast eyes.\n\n\"Remind is a word which your Majesty will permit me to disclaim,\" replied\nQuijada resolutely. \"The great thinker, who never loses sight of the most\ndistant goal, who weighs and considers again and again ere he determines\nupon the only right course in each instance--the great general who\nunderstands how to make far-reaching plans for military campaigns as ably\nas to direct a cavalry attack--the statesman whose penetration pierces\ndeeper than the keen intelligence of his famous councillors--the wise\nlaw-giver, the ruler with the iron strength of will and unfailing memory,\nis perhaps the soundest person mentally among all of us at court-nay,\namong the millions who obey him. But, so far as my small share of\nknowledge extends, melancholy has nothing to do with the mind. It is\ndependent upon the state of the spirits, and springs from bile----\"\n\n\"You learned that from Dr. Mathys,\" interrupted the royal lady, \"and the\nquacks repeat it from their masters Hippocrates and Galen. Such parrot\ngabble does not please me. To my woman's reason, it seems rather that\nwhen the mind is ill we should try a remedy whose effect upon it has\nalready been proved, and I think I have found it.\"\n\n\"I am still ignorant of it,\" replied Quijada eagerly; \"but I would swear\nby my saint that you have hit upon the right expedient.\"\n\n\"Listen, then, and this time I believe you will have no cause to repent\nyour hasty oath. Since death robbed our sovereign lord of his wife, and\nthe gout has prevented his enjoyment of the chief pleasures of\nlife--hunting, the tournament, and the other pastimes which people of our\nrank usually pursue--in what can he find diversion? The masterpieces of\npainters and other artists, the inventions of mechanicians and\nclock-makers, and the works of scholars have no place here, but\nprobably----\"\n\n\"Then it is the noble art of music which your Majesty has in view,\"\nQuijada eagerly interrupted. \"Admirable! For, since the days of King Saul\nand the harper David----\"\n\n\"There is certainly no better remedy for melancholy,\" said the Queen,\ncompleting the exclamation of the loyal man. \"But it could affect no one\nmore favourably than the Emperor. You yourself know how keen a\nconnoisseur he is, and how often this has been confirmed by our greatest\nmasters. Need I remind you of the high mass in Cologne, at which the\nmagnificent singing seemed fairly to reanimate him after the defection of\nthe heretical archbishop--which threatens to have a disastrous influence\nupon my Netherlanders also--had robbed him of the last remnant of his\nenjoyment of life, already clouded? The indignation aroused by the German\nprinces, and the difficult decision to which their conduct is forcing\nhim, act upon his soul like poison. But hesitation is not in my nature,\nso I thought: Let us have music--good, genuine music. Then I sent a\nmounted messenger to order Gombert, the conductor of his orchestra, and\nthe director of my choir of boys, to bring their musicians to Ratisbon.\nThe whole company will arrive this evening. Dash forward is my motto, and\nnot only while in the saddle during the chase. But, Luis, you must now\ntell me--\"\n\n\"That your Majesty's sisterly affection has discovered the only right\ncourse,\" cried Quijada, deeply touched, pressing his lips respectfully to\nthe flowing sleeve of her robe.\n\nThe major--domo's assurance undoubtedly sprang from the depths of his\nheart, yet the doubts which the hasty action of the vivacious sovereign\naroused in his mind compelled him to represent to her, though with the\ncourteous caution which his position demanded, that her bold measure\nmight only too easily arouse the displeasure of the person whom it was\nintended to benefit. The expense it would entail especially troubled\nQuijada, and the Queen herself appeared surprised when he estimated the\nsum which would be required for the transportation of the band and the\nboy choir from Brussels to Ratisbon and back again.\n\nForty musicians, twelve boy singers, the leaders, and the paymaster must\nbe moved, and in their train were numerous grooms and attendants, as well\nas conveyances for the baggage and the valuable instruments.\n\nBesides, the question of accommodation for this large number in the\nalready crowded city now arose, for the Queen confessed that, in order to\nmake the surprise complete, no one had been commissioned to find\nlodgings.\n\nThe musicians, who had displayed the most praiseworthy promptness, would\narrive three days earlier than she had expected.\n\nThe royal lady readily admitted that the utmost haste was necessary. Yet\nshe knew that, if any one could accomplish the impossible, it was\nQuijada, where the object in view was to serve her and the Emperor.\n\nThe influence of this eulogy was doubled by a tender glance from her\nbright eyes, and the Spaniard promised to do everything in his power to\nsecure the success of her beautiful surprise. There would undoubtedly be\ndifficulties with his Majesty and the treasurer on the score of the\nexpense, for their finances were at the very lowest ebb.\n\n\"There is always the same annoyance where money is concerned,\" cried the\nQueen irritably, \"in spite of the vast sums which my Netherlands pour\ninto the treasury--four times as much as Spain supplies, including the\ngold and silver of the New World. You keep it secret, but two fifths of\nthe revenue from all the countries over which Charles reigns are\ncontributed by my provinces. Torrents of ducats inundate your treasury,\nand yet--yet--it's enough to drive one mad!--in spite of this and the\nlamentable parsimony with which the Emperor deprives himself of both\ngreat and small pleasures--it is simply absurd!--the story is always: The\nfinances are at the lowest ebb--save and save again. To protect the\nplumes in his new cap from being injured by the rain, the sovereign of\nhalf the world ordered an old hat to be brought, and waited in the shower\nuntil the shabby felt came. And where are the millions which this\nexcellent economist saves from his personal expenses? The dragon War\ndevours them all. True, he has vanquished foes enough, but the demon of\nmelancholy, that makes even Dr. Mathys anxious, is far worse than the\ninfidels before whom you were compelled to retreat in Algiers--far more\nterrible than the Turks and heretics combined. Yet what are you and the\nwise treasurer doing? The idea of lessening the salaries of the\nphysician-in-ordinary and his colleagues has never entered the heads of\nthe estimable gentlemen who call themselves his Majesty's faithful\nservants. Very well! Then put the musicians' travelling expenses upon the\napothecary's bill. They have as much right to be there as the senna\nleaves. But, if the penny pinchers in the council of finance refuse to\nadvance the necessary funds, why--charge this medicine to my account.\nI'll pay for it, in spite of the numerous leeches that suck my\nsubstance.\"\n\n\"It certainly will not come to that, your Majesty,\" replied Quijada\nsoothingly. \"Our sovereign lord knows, too, that it beseems him to be\nless rigid in saving. Only yesterday he dipped into his purse deeply\nenough for another remedy.\"\n\n\"What was that?\" asked the Queen in surprise.\n\n\"He paid the debts of my colleague Malfalconnet, not less than ten\nthousand ducats.\"\n\n\"There it is!\" exclaimed the regent, striking her hands sharply together.\n\"The baron dispels the Emperor's melancholy by his ready wit, which often\nhits the nail on the head, and his nimble tongue, but my medicine must\nprovide the fitting mood for Malfalconnet's dearly bought jests and\nwitticisms to exert the proper influence.\"\n\n\"And, moreover,\" Quijada added gaily, \"your Majesty will present the\ncompleted deed for the treasurer's action. But now I most humbly entreat\nyou to dismiss me. I must inform the quartermasters at once, and look\nafter the matter myself if your Majesty's costly magic pills are not to\nbe spoiled by this wet April weather. Besides, many of the musicians are\nnot the strongest of men.\"\n\nBowing as he spoke, he prepared to take leave of the Queen, but she\ndetained him with the remark:\n\n\"Our invitation went to Sir Wolf Hartschwert also. He is a native of\nRatisbon, and can aid you and the quartermasters in assigning lodgings.\"\n\n\"A fresh proof of the wise caution of my august mistress,\" replied\nQuijada. \"If your Majesty will permit, I should like to talk with my\nroyal patroness about this man shortly. I have something in my mind\nconcerning him which can not be easily explained in a few words,\nespecially as I know that the modest, trustworthy fellow----\"\n\n\"If what you have in view is for his benefit,\" the Queen eagerly\ninterrupted, \"it is granted in advance.\"\n\nThe promise reached Quijada just as he gained the threshold; ere he\ncrossed it, Queen Mary called to him again, saying frankly: \"I will not\nlet you go so, Luis! You are an honest man, and I am ashamed to deceive\nyou. The cure of his Majesty's melancholy is my principal object, it is\ntrue, but one half the expense of this medicine ought to be credited to\nme; for--but do not tell the treasurer--for it will afford me relief\nalso. I can endure these rooms no longer. The forest is putting forth its\nfirst green leafage. The birds are returning. Red deer are plenty in the\nwoods along the Danube. I must get out of doors into the open air. As\nmatters are now, I could not leave his Majesty; but when the band and the\nboy choir are at his disposal, they will dispel his melancholy moods, and\nI can venture later to leave him to you and Malfalconnet, whose wit will\nbe freshly seasoned by the payment of his debts. O Luis! if only I can\nget out of doors! Meanwhile, may music do for my imperial brother what we\nanticipate! And one thing more: Take Master Adrian with you. I released\nhim from attendance upon the Emperor until midnight. It was no easy\nmatter. When you have provided the favourites of Apollo with lodgings,\ncome to me again, however late the hour may be. Sir Wolf Hartschwert must\ncall early to-morrow morning. The nuncio brought some new songs from\nRome. The music is too high for my voice, and the knight understands how\nto transpose the notes for me better than even the leader of the choir,\nAppenzelder.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe April sun, ere it sank to rest, had won the victory and kindly dried\nthe garments of the horsemen who were approaching Ratisbon by the\nNuremberg road.\n\nA young man who had ridden forward in advance of the great train of\ntravellers behind him checked his steed above the village of Kneiting,\njust where the highway descended in many a curve to the valley of the\nDanube, and gazed at the landscape whose green spring leafage, freshened\nby rain, appeared before him.\n\nHis heart throbbed faster, and he thought that he had seen no fairer\nprospect in all the wide tract of earth over which he had wandered during\nthe past five years. Below him were green meadows and fields, pleasant\nvillages, and the clear, full current of the Danube, along whose left\nbank extended a beautifully formed mountain chain, whose declivity toward\nthe river presented a rich variety to the eye, for sometimes it was\nclothed in budding groves, sometimes displayed picturesque bare cliffs,\nand again vineyards in which labourers were working. From the farthest\ndistance the steeples of Ratisbon offered the first greeting to the\nresting horseman.\n\nWhat a wealth of memories this pleasant landscape awoke in the mind of\nthe returning traveller! How often he had walked through these charming\nvalleys, climbed these heights, stopped in these villages! It was\ndifficult for him to turn from this view, but he let his bay horse have\nits way when the companion whom he had left behind overtook him here, and\nthe animal followed the other's black Brabant steed, with which it had\nlong been on familiar terms. He rode slowly at his friend's side into the\nvalley.\n\nBoth silently feasted their eyes upon the scene opening with increasing\nmagnificence before them.\n\nAs they reached the village of Winzer, the victorious sun was approaching\nthe western horizon, and diffused over it a fan of golden rays. The gray\ncloud bank above, which a light breeze was driving before it, was\nbordered with golden edges. The young green foliage, refreshed by the\nrain, glittered as richly and magnificently as emerald and chrysoprase,\nand the primroses and other early spring flowers, which had just grown up\nalong the roadside and in the meadows, shone in brighter colours than in\nthe full light of noon. The big fresh drops on the leaves and blossoms\nsparkled and glittered in the last rays of the sun.\n\nNow Ratisbon also appeared.\n\nThe city, with its throng of steeples, was surrounded by a damp vapour\nwhich the reflection of the sun coloured with a faint, scarcely\nperceptible roseate hue. The notes of bells from the twin towers of the\ncathedral and the convent of Nieder Munster, from St. Emmeram on the\nright, and the church of the Dominicans on the left, echoed softly in\nthis hour when Nature and human activity were at rest--often dying away\nin the distance--to greet the returning citizen.\n\nObeying an involuntary impulse, Wolf Hartschwert raised his hat. Within\nthe shelter of the walls of this venerable city he had played as a boy,\ncompleted his school and student days, and early felt the first quickened\nthrobbing of the heart. Here he had first been permitted to test what\nknowledge he had won in the schools of poetry and music.\n\nHe had remained in Ratisbon until his twenty-first year, then he had\nventured out into the world, and, after an absence of five years, he was\nreturning home again.\n\nBut was the stately city before him really his home?\n\nWhen he had just gazed down upon it from the height, this question had\noccupied his thoughtful mind.\n\nHe had not been born on the shore of this river, but of the Main. All who\nhad been dearest to him in Ratisbon--the good people who had reared him\nfrom his fourth year as their own child, the woman who gave him birth,\nand the many others to whom he was indebted for kindnesses--were no\nlonger there.\n\nBut why had he not thought first of the mother, who is usually the centre\nof the circle of love, and whose figure precedes every other, now that he\nwas approaching the place where she rested beneath the turf? He asked\nhimself the question with a faint feeling of self-reproach, but he did\nnot confess the true reason.\n\nWhen the summons to Ratisbon had reached him in Brussels, he had been\njoyously ready to obey it--nay, he had felt it a great happiness to see\nagain the beloved place for which he had never ceased to long. And yet,\nthe nearer he approached it, the more anxiously his heart throbbed.\n\nWhen, soon after noonday, the rain drenched him, he had experienced no\ndiscomfort, because such exquisite sunny visions of the future had\nhovered before him; but as the sky cleared they had shrivelled and doubt\nof the result of the decision which he was riding to meet had cast\neverything else into the shade.\n\nNow the whole city appeared before him, and, as he looked at the\ncathedral, whose machicolated tower permitted the rosy hue of the sky to\nshine through, his heart rose again, and he gazed with grateful delight\nat the verdant spring attire of his home and the magnificence with which\nshe greeted him; her returning son.\n\n\"Isn't it beautiful here?\" he asked, suddenly breaking the silence as he\nturned to Massi, the violinist, who rode at his side, and then was\nsecretly grateful to him when, after a curt \"Very pleasant,\" he disturbed\nhim with no further speech.\n\nIt was so delightful to listen to the notes of the bells, so familiar to\nhim, whose pure tones had accompanied with their charming melody all his\nwanderings in childhood and youth. At the same time, the mood in which\nthe best musical ideas came to him suddenly overpowered him. A new air,\nwell worth remembering, pressed itself on him unbidden, and his excited\nimagination showed him in its train himself, and by his side, first, a\nromping, merry child, and then a girlish figure in the first budding\ncharm of youth. He thought he heard her sing, and old, unforgotten notes\nof songs swiftly crowded out his own musical creations.\n\nEvery tone from the fresh red lips of the lovely fair-haired girl\nawakened a new memory. The past lived again, and, without his volition,\ntransformed the image of the child of whom he had thought whenever he\nrecalled his youthful days in Ratisbon into that of a lovely bride, with\nthe myrtle wreath on her waving hair, while beside her he beheld himself\nwith the wedding bouquet on his slashed velvet holiday doublet.\n\nHe involuntarily seized the saddlebag which contained the handsomest gift\nhe had bought in Brussels for the person who had drawn him back to\nRatisbon with a stronger power of attraction than anything else. If all\nwent well, that very day, perhaps, he might have the right to call her\nhis own.\n\nThese visions of the future aroused so joyous a feeling in his young soul\nthat Massi, the violinist, read in his by no means mobile features what\nwas passing in his mind. His cheery \"Well, Sir Knight!\" awakened his\never-courteous colleague and travelling companion from his dream, and,\nwhen the latter started and turned toward him, Alassi gaily continued:\n\"To see his home and his family again does, indeed, make any man glad!\nThe sight of yonder shining steeples and roofs seems to make your heart\nlaugh, Sir Wolf, and, by Our Lady, you have good reason to bestow one or\nmore candles upon her, for, besides other delightful things, a goodly\nheritage is awaiting you in Ratisbon.\"\n\nHere he paused, for the sunny radiance vanished simultaneously from the\nsky and from his companion's face. The violinist, as if in apology,\nadded: \"Some trouble always precedes an inheritance, and who knows\nwhether, in your case also, rumour did not follow the evil custom of\nlying or making a mountain out of a molehill?\"\n\nWolf Hartschwert slightly shrugged his shoulders and calmly answered:\n\n\"It is all true about the heritage, Massi, and also the trouble, but it\nis unpleasant to hear you, too, call me 'Sir.' Let it drop for the\nfuture, if we are to be intimate. To others I shall, of course, be the\nknight or cavalier. You know what the title procures for a man, though\nyour saying--\n\n       'Knightly Knightly rank with lack of land\n        More care than joy hath at command,'\n\nis but too true. As for the heritage, an old friend has really named me\nin his will, but you must not expect that it is a large bequest. The man\nwho left it to me was a plain person of moderate property, and I myself\nshall not learn until the next few days what I am to receive in addition\nto his modest house.\"\n\n\"The more it is, the more cordially I shall congratulate you,\" cried the\nviolinist, and then looked back toward the other travellers.\n\nWolf did the same, and turned his horse. If he did not urge on the\nloiterers the gate, which was closed at nightfall, would need to be\nopened for them, for the five troopers who acted as escort had deemed\ntheir duty done when Winzer was reached, and made themselves comfortable\nin the excellent tavern there.\n\nThe carters had used the lash stoutly, yet it had been no easy matter to\nadvance rapidly. The rain had softened the road, and the horses and\nbeasts of burden were sorely wearied by the long trip from Brussels to\nRatisbon, which had been made in hurried days' journeys. The train of\nhorsemen and wagons stretched almost beyond the range of vision, for it\ncomprised the whole world-renowned orchestra of the Emperor Charles, and\nQueen Mary's boy choir.\n\nOnly the leaders were absent. Gombert had left Brussels later than the\nothers, and hastened after them with post-horses, overtaking them about\nan hour before, when he induced Appenzelder, the leader of the boy choir,\nto enter his carriage, though the latter was reluctant to leave the young\nsingers who were intrusted to his care. As to the other travellers, the\nQueen and Don Luis Quijada had made a great mistake in their\ncalculations--the number considerably exceeded a hundred. Neither had\nthought of the women and children who accompanied the musicians.\n\nMost of the women were the wives of the members of the orchestra, who had\navailed themselves of this opportunity to see something of the world.\nOthers, from motives of love or jealousy, would not part from their\nhusbands. The little children had been taken because their mothers, who\nwere fond of travelling and, like their husbands, were natives of all\ncountries, possessed no relatives in Brussels who would care for them.\n\nThe jealous spouses especially had not joined the party without cogent\nreasons, for the mirth in the first long wagon, covered with a linen\ntilt, was uproarious enough.\n\nWolf and his companion heard shrill laughter and loud shrieks echoing\nfrom its dusky interior.\n\nThe younger men and the women who liked journeying were sitting in motley\nconfusion upon the straw which covered the bottom of the vehicle, and the\nboisterous mirth of the travellers gave ample proof that the huge jugs of\nwine carried with them as the Emperor's provision for the journey had\nbeen freely used.\n\nIn the second cart, an immense ark, swaying between four wheels and drawn\nby a team of four horses, grave older artists sat silently opposite to\neach other, all more or less exhausted by the continual rocking motion of\nthe long ride. These men and the other travellers were joyfully surprised\nby the news that the goal of the journey was already at hand. Pressing\ntheir heads together, they gazed out of the open linen tilt which arched\nabove the first cart or crowded to the little windows of the coaches to\nsee Ratisbon.\n\nEven the old Neapolitan nurse, who was predicting future events from a\npack of cards, dropped them and peered out. But the noise in the second\ntilted wagon was especially confused, for there the gay shouts of the boy\nchoir, only half of whom were on horseback, mingled with the loud talking\nof the women, the screams of the babies, and the barking of the dogs.\n\nThe groans of two young singers who were seriously ill were drowned by\nthe din and heeded by no one except the old drummer's pitying wife, who\nsometimes wiped the perspiration from the sufferers' brows or supported\ntheir heads.\n\nOther carts, containing the musicians' instruments, followed this tilted\nwagon. Some members of the orchestra would not part with theirs, and\nbehind the saddle of many a mounted virtuoso or attendant was fastened a\nviolin case or a shapeless bag which concealed some other instrument.\n\nA large number of musicians mounted on horses or mules surrounded the\ntwo-wheeled cart in which sat Hernbeize of Ghent, the treasurer of the\norchestra, and his fat wife. The corpulent couple, squeezed closely\ntogether, silent and out of humour, had taken no notice of each other or\ntheir surrounding since Frau Olympia had presumed to drag her husband by\nforce out of the first wagon, where he was paying a visit to a clarionet\nplayer's pretty young wife.\n\nWhenever Wolf appeared he urged the horsemen and drivers to greater\nhaste, and thus the musical caravan, with its unauthorized companions,\nsucceeded in passing through the gate ere it closed. Beyond it the\ntravellers were received by Quijada, the imperial valet, Adrian Dubois,\nand several quartermasters, who meanwhile had provided lodgings.\n\nThe major-domo greeted the musicians with dignified condescension, Wolf\nwith familiar friendship. Master Adrian, the valet, also shook hands\ncordially with him and Massi, the \"first violin\" of the orchestra.\nFinally Don Luis rode up to Wolf and informed him that the Queen of\nHungary wished to speak to him early the next morning, and that he also\nhad something important to discuss at the earliest opportunity. Then he\nlistened to the complaints of the quartermasters.\n\nThese men, who performed their duties with great lack of consideration,\nhad supposed that they had provided for all the expected arrivals, but,\nafter counting heads, they discovered that the billets were sufficient\nfor only half the number. Their attempt to escape providing for the wives\nwas baffled by the vigorous interposition of the treasurer and by a\npositive order from Quijada.\n\nOf course, under these circumstances they were very glad to have Sir Wolf\nHartschwert return his billet--the room in the Crane allotted to him by\nthe valet was large enough to accommodate half a dozen women.\n\nThe nobleman returning to his home had no occasion to find shelter in a\ntavern.\n\nYet, as he wished to remove the traces of the long ride ere he entered\nhis own house and appeared before the person for whose sake he had gladly\nleft Brussels, he asked Massi's permission to use his room in the Red\nCock for a short time.\n\nLeonhard Leitgeb, the landlord, and his bustling better half received\nWolf as a neighbour's son and an old acquaintance. But, after they had\nshown him and Massi to the room intended for them and gone downstairs\nagain, the landlady of the Cock shook her head, saying:\n\n\"He was always a good lad and a clever one, too, but even if a duke's\ncoronet should fall upon the thin locks of the poor knight's son I should\nnever take him for a real nobleman.\"\n\n\"Better let that drop,\" replied her husband. \"Besides, the fine fellow is\nof more consequence since he had the legacy. If he should come here for\nour Kattl, I'll wager you wouldn't keep him waiting.\"\n\n\"Indeed I wouldn't,\" cried the landlady, laughing. \"But just hear what a\nracket those soldiers are making again down below!\"\n\nMeanwhile Wolf was hurriedly attending to his outer man.\n\nMassi had stretched himself on the thin cushion which covered the seat of\nthe wooden bench in the bay-window, and thrust his feet far out in front\nof him.\n\nAs he watched the Ratisbon knight diligently use the little hand mirror\nwhile arranging his smooth, fair locks, he straightened himself, saying:\n\n\"No offence, Sir Knight, but when I think of the radiant face with which\nyou gazed down into the valley of the Danube from the hill where you\nstopped before sunset, and now see how zealously you are striving to\nadorn your person, it seems to me that there must be in this good city\nsome one for whom you care more than for all you left behind in Brussels.\nAt your age, that is a matter of course, if there is a woman in the case,\nas I suppose. I know very well what I should do if I were in your place.\nLonging often urges me back to Spain like a scourge. I have already told\nyou why I left my dear wife there in our home. A few more years in the\nservice, and our savings and the pension together will be enough to\nsupport us there and lay aside a little marriage dowry for our daughter.\nWhen I have what is necessary, I shall turn my back on the orchestra and\nthe court of Brussels that very day, dear as music is to me, and sure as\nI am that I shall never again find a leader like our Gombert. You do not\nyet know with how sharp a tooth yearning rends the soul of the man whom\nFate condemns to live away from his family. This place is your home, and\ndearer to you than any other, so build yourself a snug nest here with the\nperson you have in mind.\"\n\n\"How gladly I would do so!\" replied the young knight, \"but whether I can\nmust be decided within the next few davs.\"\n\n\"Inde-e-ed?\" drawled Massi; then he bent his eyes thoughtfully upon the\nfloor for a short time, and, after calling Wolf by name in a tone of\ngenuine friendly affection, he frankly added: \"Surely you know how dear a\ncomrade you are to me! Yet precisely for that reason I stick to my\ncounsel. It's not only on account of the homesickness--I am, thinking\nrather of your position at court--and, let me speak candidly, it is\nunworthy of a nobleman and a musician of such ability. The regent is\ngraciously disposed toward you, and you praise her liberality, but do you\nyourself know the name of the office which you fill? More than enough is\nplaced upon you, and yet, so far as I see, nothing complete. They\nunderstand admirably how to make use of you. It would be well if that\napplied solely to the musician. But sometimes she makes you secretary,\nand you have to waste whole days in writing letters and do penance for\nhaving learned so many languages; sometimes you must share in the folly\nof arranging performances, and your wealth of knowledge is industriously\nutilized in preparing mythological figures and devising new ideas for the\nexhibitions at which we have to furnish the music. This affords plenty of\nlabour, but others reap the credit. Recently the Bishop of Arras even\nasked you to write in German what he dictated in French, although you are\nin the regent's service, and just at that time you were transposing the\nold church songs for the boy choir. I regret to see you do such\ntradesmen's work without adequate reward. Why, even if her Majesty would\ngive you a fat living or appoint you to the imperial council which\ndirects musical affairs in the Netherlands! Pardon me, Sir Wolf! But give\npeople an inch, and they take an ell, and your ever ready obligingness\nwill injure you, for the harder it is to win a thing the higher its value\nbecomes. You made yourself too cheap at court here people will surely\nknow how to put a higher value upon a man who is equally skilful in\nNetherland, Italian, and German music. In counterpoint you are little\ninferior to Maestro Gombert, and, besides, you play as many instruments\nas you have fingers on your hands. We all like to have you lead us,\nbecause you do it with such delicate taste and comprehension, and,\nmoreover, with a vigour which one would scarcely expect from you. You\nwill not lack patrons. Look around you here or elsewhere for a position\nas leader of an orchestra. Goinbert, to relieve himself a little, would\nlike to have de Hondt come from Antwerp to Brussels. His place would be\nthe very one for you if you find nothing worthy of you here, where you\nhave a house of your own and other things that bind you to the city.\"\n\n\"Here I should probably be obliged to crowd somebody else out of one in\norder to obtain a position,\" replied Wolf, \"and I am unwilling to do so.\"\n\n\"You are wrong,\" cried the violinist. \"The course of the world causes the\nstronger--and that you are--to take precedence of the weaker. Learn at\nlast to give up this modest withdrawal and elbow your way forward!\"\n\n\"Pressing and jostling are not in my nature;\" replied Wolf with a slight\nshrug of the shoulders. \"Since I may hope to be relieved of anxiety\nconcerning my daily bread, I am disposed to leave the court and seek\nquiet happiness in a more definite circle of duties at home. You see,\nMassi, it is just the same with us human beings as with material things.\nThere is my man cutting the rope from yonder package with his sharp\nknife. The contents are distributed in a trice, and yet it was tiresome\nto collect them and pack them carefully. Thus it would need only a word\nto separate myself from the court; but to join it again would be a\ntotally different affair. There have been numerous changes in this city\nsince I went away, and many a hand which pressed mine in farewell is no\nlonger here, or would perhaps be withdrawn, merely because I am a\nCatholic and intend to stay here among the Protestants. Besides--lay the\nroll on the table, Janche--besides, as you have already heard, the final\ndecision does not depend upon myself.--Take care, Jan. That little\npackage is breakable!\"\n\nThis last exclamation was addressed to Wolf's Netherland servant, who was\njust unpacking his master's leather bag.\n\nMassi noticed that the articles taken out could scarcely be intended for\na man's use, and, pointing to a piece of Flanders velvet, he gaily\nremarked:\n\n\"So my guess was correct. Here, too, the verdict is to be pronounced by\nbeardless lips.\" Wolf blushed like a girl, but, after the violinist had\nwaited a short time for the confirmation of his conjecture, he continued\nmore gravely:\n\n\"It ill befits me to intrude upon your secret. Every one must go his own\nway, and I have wondered why a person who so readily renders a service to\nothers pursues his own path so unsocially. Will you ever let your friend\nknow what stirs your heart?\"\n\n\"I should often have confided in you gladly,\" replied Wolf, \"but a\ncertain shyness always restrained me. How can others be interested in\nwhat befalls a lonely, quiet fellow like me? It is not my habit to talk\nmuch, but you will always find me ready to use hand and brain in behalf\nof one who is as dear to me as you, Massi.\"\n\n\"You have already given me proof of that,\" replied the violinist, \"and I\noften marvel how you find time, without neglecting your own business, to\ndo so much for others with no payment except thanks. I thought you would\naccomplish something great, because you paid no heed to women; but\nprobably you depend on other powers, for if it is a pair of beautiful\neyes whose glance is to decide so important a matter----\"\n\n\"Never mind that,\" interrupted Wolf beseechingly, raising his hand\nsoothingly. \"I confess with Terentius that nothing human is strange to\nme. As soon as the decision comes, I will tell you--but you\nalone--several particulars. Now accept my thanks for your well-meant\ncounsel and the use of your room. I'll see you again early to-morrow. I\npromised Gombert and the leader of the boy choir to lend them a helping\nhand, so we shall probably meet at the rehearsal.--Go to the stable,\nJanche, and see that the groom has rubbed the bay down thoroughly. As for\nthe rolls and packages here----\"\n\n\"I'll help you carry them,\" said the violinist, seizing his shoes; but\nWolf eagerly declined his assistance, and went out to ask the landlord to\nlet him have one of his men.\n\nBut the servants of the overcrowded Red Cock all had their hands full, so\nthe nine-year-old son of the Leitgeb couple and the cellar man's two\nsomewhat younger boys, who had not yet gone to bed, were made bearers of\nthe parcels.\n\nHow eager they were to do something which suited grown people, and, when\nWolf described the place where they were to carry the articles, Fran\nLeitgeb sympathizingly helped him, and charged the children to hold the\nvaluable packages very carefully. They must not spare the knocker in the\nsecond story of the cantor house, for old Ursula's hearing was no longer\nthe best, and since the day before yesterday--Kathl had brought the news\nhome--she had been ill. \"Some rare luck,\" the landlady continued, \"will\nsurely follow the knight up to the Blombergs. The same old steep path,\nleads there; but as to Wawer!--it would be improper to say Jungfrau\nBarbara--you will surer open your eyes--\" Here she was summoned to the\nkitchen, and Wolf followed his little assistants into the street.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe cantor house was only a few steps from the Red Cock, and Wolf knew\nevery stone in the street, which was named for the tavern. Yet that very\ncircumstance delayed him, for even the smallest trifle which had changed\nduring his absence attracted his attention.\n\nHe had already noticed at the familiar inn that the gay image of the\nMadonna and Cluld, and the little lamp above, were no longer there. The\npictures of the saints had been removed from the public rooms, and even\nthe painting which had been impressed upon his memory from boyhood--like\na sign of the house--had vanished. A large red cock, crowing with\nwide-open beak at the Apostle Peter, had been there.\n\nThis venerable work of an old artist ought to have been retained, no\nmatter what doctrine the Leitgebs now professed. Its disappearance\naffected the knight unpleasantly.\n\nIt also induced him to see whether the Madonna with the swords in her\nheart, which, at the time of his departure, had adorned the Ark, the\ngreat house at the corner of the Haidplatz, had met with the same fate,\nand this sacred witness of former days had likewise been sacrificed to\nthe iconoclasm of the followers of the new Protestant faith. This also\ngrieved him, and urged him to go from street to street, from church to\nchurch, from monastery to monastery, from one of the chapels which no\ngreat mansion in his native land lacked to another, in order to ascertain\nwhat else religious fanaticism had destroyed; but he was obliged to\nhasten if he wished to be received by those in his home whom he most\ndesired to see.\n\nThe windows of the second story in the Golden Cross, opposite to the Ark,\nwere brilliantly lighted. The Emperor Charles lodged there, and probably\nhis royal sister also. Wolf had given his heart to her with the devotion\nwith which he had always clung to every one to whom he was indebted for\nany kindness. He knew her imperial brother's convictions, too, and when\nhe saw at one of the windows a man's figure leaning, motionless against\nthe casement with his hand pressed upon his brow, he realized what deep\nindignation had doubtless seized upon him at the sight of the changes\nwhich had taken place here during the five years of his absence.\n\nBut Emperor Charles was not the man to allow matters which aroused his\nwrath and strong disapproval to pass unpunished. Wolf suspected that the\ntime was not far distant when yonder monarch at the window, who had won\nso many victories, would have a reckoning with the Smalcalds, the allied\nProtestants of Germany, and his vivid imagination surrounded him with an\nalmost mystical power.\n\nHe would surely succeed in becoming the master of the Protestant princes;\nbut was the steel sword the right weapon to destroy this agitation of the\nsoul which had sprung from the inmost depths of the German nature? He\nknew the firm, obstinate followers of the new doctrine, for there had\nbeen a time when his own young mind had leaned toward it.\n\nSince those days, however, events had happened which had bound him by\nindestructible fetters to the old faith. He had vowed to his dying mother\nto remain faithful to the Holy Church and loyally to keep his oath. It\nwas not difficult for one of his modest temperament to be content with\nthe position of spectator of the play of life which he occupied. He was\nnot born for conflict, and from the seat to which he had retired he\nthought he had perceived that the burden of existence was easier to bear,\nand the individual not only obtained external comfort, but peace of mind\nmore speedily, if he left to the Church many things which the Protestant\nwas obliged to settle for himself. Besides, as such, he would have missed\nmany beautiful and noble things which the old faith daily bestowed upon\nhim, the artist.\n\nPeople in Ratisbon held a different opinion. Defection from the Roman\nCatholic Church, which seemed to him reprehensible, was considered here a\nsacred duty, worthy of every sacrifice. This threatened to involve him in\nfresh spiritual conflicts, and, as he dreaded such things as nocturnal\nbirds shun the sunlight, he stood still, thoughtfully asking himself\nwhether he ought not at once to give up the desire of striking new roots\ninto this perilous soil.\n\nOnly one thing really bound him to Ratisbon, and that was by no means the\nhouse which he had inherited, but a very young girl, and, moreover, a\nvery changeable one, of whose development and life he had heard nothing\nduring his absence except that she had not become another's wife. Perhaps\nthis girl, whose charm and musical talent, according to his opinion, were\nunequalled in Ratisbon, had remained free solely because she was keeping\nthe promise made when, a child of sixteen, she bade him farewell. She had\ntold him, though only in her lively childish fashion, that she would wait\nfor him and become his wife when he returned home a made man. Yet it now\nseemed that she had been as sincerely in earnest in that youthful\nbetrothal as he himself.\n\nThis fair hope crowded every scruple far into the shade. If Barbara had\nkept her troth to him, he would reward her. Wherever he might build his\nnest with her, he would be sure of the richest happiness. Therefore he\npersisted in making his decision for the future depend upon her\nreception.\n\nThe only question was whether it had not already grown too late for him\nto visit her and her father, who went to bed with the chickens. But the\nnew clock in Jacobsplatz pealed only nine bell-like strokes through the\nstillness of the evening, and, as he had sent his gifts in advance, he\nwas obliged to follow them.\n\nHe might now regard the cantor house, which was quickly gained, as his\nown. Though it was now in the deepest darkness, he gazed up at the high,\nnarrow building, with the pointed arches of the windows and the bracket\nwhich supported the image of St. Cecilia carved from sandstone, as\nintently as if he could distinguish every defect in the windows, every\nornament carved in the ends of the beams.\n\nThe second story, which projected above the ground floor into the street,\nwas completely dark; but a faint glimmer of light streamed from the\nlittle window over the spurge laurel tree, and--this was the main\nthing--the bow window in the third story was still lighted.\n\nShe whom he sought was waiting there with her father, while beneath it\nwas the former abode of the precentor and organist and his wife, who had\nreared Wolf, and whose heir, after the old man's death, he had become.\n\nHe would take up his quarters in the room which he had occupied as a\nscholar, where he had studied, practised music, trained himself in the\nart of composition, and in leisure hours had even drawn and painted a\nlittle.\n\nOld Ursula, as he had learned from the legal document which informed him\nof his inheritance, was taking care of the property bequeathed to him.\nWith what pleasure the old maid-servant, faithful soul, who had come with\nhim--then a little four-year-old boy--and his mother to Ratisbon\ntwenty-two years ago, would make a bed for him and again cook the\npancakes, which she knew to be his favourite dish!\n\nThe thought of the greeting awaiting him from her dispelled the timidity\nwith which he had set his foot on the first of the three steps that led\nup to the threshold of the house. He had no occasion to use the knocker;\na narrow, long streak of light showed that, notwithstanding the late\nhour, the outer door was ajar.\n\nNow he heard an inner door open, and this again aroused the anxiety he\nhad just conquered. Suppose that he should find Wawerl below? Ardently as\nhe yearned for her to whom all the love of his heart belonged, this\nmeeting would have come too quickly. Yet she might very easily happen to\nbe in the lower story, for the lighted window beside the door belonged to\nthe little house chapel, and since her confirmation she had undertaken to\nsweep it, clean the candlesticks and lamps, and keep them in order, fill\nthe vases on the little altar with blossoms, and adorn the image of the\nMadonna with flowers on Lady day and other festivals.\n\nHow often he had helped the child and heard her father call her \"his\nlittle sacrist\"!\n\nThe chapel here had gained greater importance to him when the Blombergs\nplaced above the altar the Madonna and Child which he, who tried all the\narts, had copied with his own hand from an ancient painting. This had\nbeen in July; but when, on the Virgin's Assumption day in August, Barbara\nwas twining a beautiful garland of summer flowers around it, and he, with\nan overflowing heart, was helping her, his head accidentally struck\nagainst hers, and to comfort her he compassionately kissed the bruised\nspot. Only a short time ago she had frankly thrown her arms around his\nneck if she wanted him to gratify a wish or forgive an offence without\never receiving a response to her affection. This time he had been the\naggressor, and received an angry rebuff; during the little scuffle which\nnow followed, Wolf's heart suddenly grew hot, and his kiss fell upon her\nscarlet lips. The first was followed by several others, until steps on\nthe stairs parted the young lover from the girl, who offered but a feeble\nresistance.\n\nNow he remembered the incident, and his cheeks flushed again. Oh, if\nto-day he should possess the right to have those refractory lips at his\ndisposal!\n\nDuring the five months spent in Ratisbon after that attack in the chapel\nhe had more than once been bold enough to strive for more kisses, but\nalways in vain, and rarely without bearing away a sharp reprimand, for\nBarbara had felt her slight resistance in the chapel as a grave offence.\nShe had permitted something forbidden under the eyes of the Virgin's\nimage, and this had seemed to her so wicked that she had confessed it,\nand not only been sternly censured, but had a penance imposed.\n\nBarbara had not forgotten this, and had understood how to keep him aloof\nwith maidenly austerity until, on the evening before his departure, he\nhad hung around her neck the big gold thaler his godfather had given him.\n\nThen, obeying an impulse of gratitude, she had thrown her arms around his\nneck; but even then she would not allow him to kiss her lips again.\nInstead, she hastily drew back to examine the gold thaler closely,\npraised its weight and beauty, and then promised Wolf that when she was\nrich and he had become a great lord she would have a new goblet made for\nhim out of just such coins, like one which she had seen at the Wollers in\nthe Ark, the richest of her wealthy relatives.\n\nAs Wolf now recalled this promise it vexed him again.\n\nWhat had he expected from that parting hour--the vow of eternal fidelity,\na firm betrothal, ardent kisses, and a tender embrace? But, instead of\nobtaining even one of these beautiful things, he had become involved in a\ndispute with Barbara because he desired to receive nothing from her, and\nonly claimed the right of showering gifts upon her later.\n\nThis had pleased her, and, when he urged her to promise to wait for him\nand become his wife when he returned home a made man, she laughed gaily,\nand declared that she liked him, and, if it should be he who obtained for\nher what she now had in mind, she would be glad.\n\nThen his loving heart overflowed, and with her hands clasped in his he\nentreated her to give up these arrogant thoughts, be faithful to him, and\nnot make him wretched.\n\nThe words had poured so ardently, so passionately from the quiet, sedate\nyoung man's lips that the girl was thoroughly frightened, and wrenched\nher hands from his grasp. But when she saw how deeply her struggling hurt\nhim, she voluntarily held out her right hand, exclaiming:\n\n\"Only succeed while you are absent sufficiently to build a house like our\nold one in the Kramgasse, and when the roof is on and your knightly\nescutcheon above the door we will move in together, and life will be\nnothing but music and happiness.\"\n\nThis was all that gave him the right to consider her as his betrothed\nbride, for after a brief farewell and a few kisses of the hand flung to\nhim from the threshold, she had escaped to the little bow-windowed room\nand thereby also evaded from the departing lover an impressive,\nwell-prepared speech concerning the duties of a betrothed couple.\n\nYet in Rome and Brussels Wolf had held fast to the conviction that a\nbeloved betrothed bride was awaiting him in Ratisbon.\n\nSo long as his foster-parents lived he had had news from them of the\nBlombergs. After the death of the old couple, Barbara's father had\nanswered in a very awkward manner the questions which he had addressed to\nhim in a letter, and his daughter wrote a friendly message under the old\ncaptain's signature. True, it was extremely brief, but few fiery love\nletters ever made the recipient happier or were more tenderly pressed to\nthe lips.\n\nThe girl he loved still bore the name of Barbara Blomberg.\n\nThis outweighed a whole archive of long letters. The captain, who, for\nthe sake of fighting the infidels, had so sadly neglected his property\nthat his own house in the Kramgasse fell into the hands of his creditors,\nhad rented the second story in the cantor house. Barbara at that time was\nvery small, but now she had ceased to be a child, and, after she devoted\nherself earnestly to acquiring the art of singing, the old warrior had\nundertaken to keep the little chapel in order.\n\nThe task certainly seemed strangely ill-suited to the tall,\nbroad-shouldered man with the bushy eyebrows, long beard, and mustache\ntwisted stiffly up at the ends, who had obtained in Tunis and during the\nTurkish war the reputation of being one of the most fearless heroes, and\ncarried away severe wounds; but he knew how to make scoffers keep their\ndistance, and did not trouble himself at all about other people.\n\nRegularly every evening he went down the stairs and performed the duty he\nhad undertaken with the punctilious care of a neat housewife.\n\nHe was a devout man, and did his work there in the hope of pleasing the\nHoly Virgin, because the reckless old warrior was indebted to her for\nmore than one deliverance from impending death, and because he trusted\nthat she would repay it to him in his child.\n\nBesides, his income was not large enough for him to keep a maid-servant\nof his own, and he could not expect old Ursel, who had worked for the\nprecentor and his wife, and performed the roughest labour in the third\nstory for a mere \"thank you,\" to take care of the chapel also. She had\nplenty to do, and besides she had been a Protestant three years, and took\nthe Lord's Supper in a different form.\n\nThis would have induced him to break off every connection with his old\nfriend's maid-servant had not his kind, grateful heart forbidden him to\nhurt her feelings. Besides, she was almost indispensable to his daughter\nand himself; it was difficult enough, in any case, for the nobly born\ncaptain to meet the obligations imposed by his position.\n\nHe now received only a very small portion of the profits of the lumber\ntrade which had supported his ancestors, his father, and himself very\nhandsomely, for he had been compelled to mortgage his share in the\nbusiness.\n\nNotwithstanding the title of \"Captain\" with which his imperial commander\nhad honoured him when he received his discharge, the pension he had was\nscarcely worth mentioning, and, besides, it was very irregularly paid.\nTherefore the father and daughter had tried to obtain some means of\nearning money which could be kept secret from their fellow-citizens. The\n\"Captain\" busied himself with tracing coats-of-arms, ornaments, and\ninscriptions upon tin goblets, mugs, tankards, and dishes. Barbara, when\nshe had finished her exercises in singing, washed fine laces. This was\ndone entirely in secret. A certain Frau Lerch, who when a girl had served\nBarbara's dead mother as waiting maid, and now worked as a dressmaker for\nthe most aristocratic women in Ratisbon, privately obtained this\nemployment. It was partly from affection for the young lady whom she had\ntended when a child; but the largest portion of Barbara's earnings\nreturned to her, for she cut for the former all the garments she needed\nto appear among her wealthy relatives and young companions at dances,\nmusical entertainments, banquets, and excursions to the country. True,\nFrau Lerch, who was a childless woman, worked very cheaply for her, and,\nwhen she heard that Barbara had again been the greatest beauty, it\npleased her, and she saw her seed ripening.\n\nWhat a customer the vain darling, who was very ambitious, promised to\nbecome in the future as the wife of a rich aristocrat! She would\nundoubtedly be that. There was absolute guarantee of it in her\nmarvellously beautiful head, with its abundant golden hair, her\nmagnificent figure, which--she could not help knowing it--was unequalled\nin Ratisbon, and her nightingale voice.\n\nEven old Blomberg, who kept aloof from the meetings of his distinguished\nfellow-citizens, but, on the other hand, when his supply of money would\npermit, enjoyed a drinking bout at the tavern with men of the sword all\nthe more, rejoiced to hear his daughter's rare gifts lauded. The use of\nthe graver was thoroughly distasteful and unsuited to his rank; but even\nthe most laborious work gained a certain charm for his paternal heart\nwhen, while wiping the perspiration from his brow, he thought of what his\ndiligence would allow him to devote to the adornment and instruction of\nhis daughter.\n\nHe preferred to be alone at home, and his reserved, eccentric nature had\ncaused his relatives to shun his house, which doubtless seemed to them\ncontemptibly small.\n\nBarbara endured this cheerfully, for, though she had many relatives and\nacquaintances among the companions of her own age, she possessed no\nintimate friend.\n\nAs a child, Wolf had been her favourite playmate, but now visits from her\naunts and cousins would only have interrupted her secret work, and\ndisturbed her practice of singing.\n\nWhen Wolf entered the house, the captain had just left the chapel. He did\nnot notice the returning owner, for people must have made their way into\nthe quiet dwelling. At least he had heard talking in the entry of the\nsecond story, where usually it was even more noiseless than in his\nlodgings in the third, since it was tenanted only by old Ursel, who was\nnow confined to her bed.\n\nWolf saw Barbara's father, whose height surpassed the stature of ordinary\nmen by a head, hurrying up the stairs. It was a strange, and, for\nchildren, certainly an alarming, sight--his left leg, which had been\nbroken by a bullet from a howitzer, had remained stiff, and, as he leaped\nup three stairs at a time, he stretched his lean body so far forward that\nit seemed as though he could not help losing his balance at the next\nstep. He was in haste, for he thought that at last he could again acquit\nhimself manfully and cope with one or rather with two or three of the\nburglars who, since the Duke of Bavaria had prohibited the conveyance of\nprovisions into Ratisbon as a punishment for its desertion of the\nCatholic Church, had pursued their evil way in the city.\n\nHe first discovered with what very small ill-doers he had to deal when he\nheld the little lamp toward them, and, to his sincere vexation, found\nthat they were only little boys, who, moreover, were the children of\nhonest folk, and therefore could scarcely be genuine scoundrels.\n\nYet it could hardly be any laudable purpose which brought them at so late\nan hour to the cantor house, and therefore, with the intention of turning\nthe serious attack into a mirthful one; he shouted in a harsh voice the\ngibberish which he had compounded of scraps of all sorts of languages,\nand whose effect upon unruly youngsters he had tested to his own\namusement.\n\nAs his rough \"Larum gardum quantitere runze punze ke hi voi la\" now\nreached the little ones, the impression was far deeper than he had\nintended, for the cellar man's youngest son, a little fellow six years\nold, first shrieked aloud, and, when the terrible old man's long arms\nbarred his way, he began to cry piteously.\n\nThis troubled the kind-hearted giant, who was really fond of children,\nand, ere the little lad was aware of it, the captain's free left hand\ngrasped the waistband of his little leather breeches and lifted him into\nthe air.\n\nThe swift act doubled the terror and anguish of the struggling little\nwight.\n\nAs the strong man held him on his arm he fought bravely with his fat\nlittle fists and his sturdy little legs. But though in the unequal\nconflict the boy pitilessly pulled the powerful monster's grayishy yellow\nimperial and bushy mustache, and the captain recognised the child from\nthe Red Cock as one of the rascals who often shouted their nickname of\n\"Turkey gobbler\" after his tall figure, conspicuous from its height and\ncostume, he strove with honest zeal to soothe the little one.\n\nHis deep voice, meanwhile, sounded so gentle and friendly, and his\npromise to give him a piece of spice cake which he was bringing home to\nUrsel to sweeten the disagreeable taste of her medicine produced so\nsoothing an influence, that little Hans at last looked up at him\ntrustingly and hopefully.\n\nThe cellar man's oldest son, who had violently assaulted the old\ngentleman to release his little brother, now stood penitently before him,\nand the landlord's boy related, in somewhat confused but perfectly\nintelligible words, the object of their coming, and in whose name they\nwere bringing the roll and yonder little package to old Ursel.\n\nThe story sounded humble enough, but as soon as the captain had set\nlittle Hans on his feet and bent curiously over the forerunners of the\ndear friend, which had been placed on the little bench by the door, the\nthree boys dashed down the stairs, and the shrill voice of the landlord's\nson shrieked from the lowest step one \"Turkey gobbler\" and \"Pope's slave\"\nafter another.\n\n\"Satan's imps!\" shouted the old man; but the outer door, which banged\nbelow him, showed that pursuit of the naughty mockers would result to his\ndisadvantage. Then as, with an angry shake of the head, he drew back from\nthe banisters, he saw his daughter's playmate.\n\nHow dear the latter was to him, and how fully his aged heart had retained\nits capacity of feeling, were proved by the reception which he gave the\nreturning knight. The injury just inflicted seemed to have been entirely\nforgotten. With tears in his eyes and a voice tremulous with deep\nemotion, he drew Wolf toward him, kissing first his head, which reached\nonly to his lips, then his cheeks and brow. Then, with youthful vivacity,\nhe expressed his pleasure in seeing him again, and, without permitting\nWolf to speak, he repeatedly exclaimed:\n\n\"And my Wawerl, and Ursel in there! There'll be a jubilee!\"\n\nWhen Wolf had at last succeeded in returning his old friend's greeting\nand then expressed a wish, first of all, to clasp the faithful old\nmaid-servant's hand, the old gentleman's beaming face clouded, and he\nsaid, sighing:\n\n\"What has not befallen us here since you went away, my dear Wolf! My path\nhas been bordered with tombstones as poplars line the highway. But we\nwill let the dead rest. Nothing can now disturb their peace. Old Ursel,\ntoo, is longing for the end of life, and we ought not to grudge it to\nher. Only I dread the last hour, and still more the long eternity which\nwill follow it, for the good, patient woman entered the snare of the\nSatanic Protestant doctrine, and will not hear of taking the holy\nsacrament.\"\n\nWolf begged him to admit him at once, but Blomberg declared that, after\nthe attack of apoplexy which she had recently had, one thing and another\nmight happen if she should so unexpectedly see the man to whom her whole\nheart clung. Wolf would do better first to surprise the girl upstairs,\nwho had no suspicion of his presence. He, Blomberg, must look after the\nold woman now. He would carry those things--he pointed to the parcels\nwhich the boys had left--into the young nobleman's old room. Ursel had\nalways kept it ready for his return, as though she expected him daily.\nThis suited Wolf, only he insisted upon having his own way about the\narticles he had brought, and took them upstairs with him.\n\nHe would gladly have greeted the faithful nurse of his childhood at once,\nyet it seemed like a fortunate dispensation that, through the old man's\ndelay below, his wish to have his first meeting with the woman he loved\nwithout witnesses should be fulfilled.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nIn spite of the darkness and the zigzag turns of the stairs, Wolf was so\nfamiliar with every corner of the old house that he did not even need to\ngrope his way with his hand.\n\nHe found the door of the Blomberg lodgings open. Putting down in the\nanteroom whatever might be in his way while greeting Barbara, and\ncarrying the roll of velvet under his arm and a little box in his pocket,\nhe entered the chamber which the old man called his artist workshop. It\nwas in total darkness, but through the narrow open door in the middle of\nthe left wall one could see what was going on in Barbara's little\nbow-windowed room. This was quite brightly lighted, for she was ironing\nand crimping ruffs for the neck, small lace handkerchiefs, and cuffs.\n\nThe light required for this purpose was diffused by a couple of tallow\ncandles and also by the coals which heated the irons.\n\nAs she bent over the glow, it shone into her beautiful face and upon her\nmagnificent fair hair, which rippled in luxuriant confusion about her\nround head or fell in thick waves to her hips. The red kerchief which had\nconfined it was lying on the floor. Another had slipped from her neck and\nwas hanging on the corner of the ironing board. Her stockings had lost\ntheir fastenings and slipped down to her feet, revealing limbs whose\nwhiteness and beauty of form vied with the round arms which, after\nholding the iron near her hot cheeks, she moved with eager diligence.\n\nThe image of a vivacious, early developed child had impressed itself upon\nWolf's mind. Now he stood before a maiden in the full bloom of her\ncharms, whose superb symmetry of figure surprised and stirred him to the\ndepths of his nature.\n\nIn spite of her immature youth, he had cherished her in his inmost heart.\nyouth, she confronted him as an entirely new and doubly desirable\ncreature. The quiet longing which had mastered him was transformed into\npassionate yearning, but he restrained it by exerting all the strength of\nwill peculiar to him, for a voice within cried out that he was too\ninsignificant for this marvellous maiden.\n\nBut when she dipped the tips of her fingers into the dainty little bowl,\nwhich he had once given her for a birthday present, sprinkled the linen\nwith water, and meanwhile sang in fresh, clear notes the 'ut, re, me, fa,\nsol, la' of Perissone Cambio's singing lesson, new wonder seized him.\nWhat compass, what power, what melting sweetness the childish voice\nagainst whose shrillness his foster-father and he himself had zealously\nstruggled now possessed! Neither songstress nor member of the boy choir\nwhom he had heard in Italy or the Netherlands could boast of such\nbell-like purity of tone! He was a connoisseur, and yet it seemed as\nthough every tone which he heard had received the most thorough\ncultivation.\n\nWho in Ratisbon could have been her teacher? To whom did she owe this\nmasterly training? As if by a miracle, he knew not whether from looking\nor listening, he found a combination of notes which he had long been\nseeking for the motet on which he was working. When he had registered it,\nand she sang a few passages from it, what an exquisite delight awaited\nhim! But what should he do now? Ought he to surprise her in this way? It\nwould certainly have been proper to be first announced by her father; but\nhe could not bring himself even to stir a foot. Beads of perspiration\nstood upon his brow. Panting for breath, he seized his handkerchief to\nwipe it, and in doing so the roll of velvet which he had held under his\narm fell on the floor.\n\nWolf stooped, and, ere he had straightened himself again, he heard\nBarbara call in a questioning tone, \"Father?\" and saw her put down the\niron and stand listening.\n\nThen, willing or not, he was obliged to announce his presence, and, with\na timid \"It is I, Wolf,\" he approached the little bow-windowed room and\nhesitatingly crossed the threshold.\n\n\"Wolf, my tame Wolf,\" she repeated gaily, without being in the least\nconcerned about the condition of her dress. \"I knew that we should soon\nmeet again, for, just think of it! I dreamed of you last night. I was\nentering a golden coach. It was very high, so I put my foot on your hand,\nand you lifted me in.\"\n\nThen, without the least embarrassment, she held out her right hand, but\nslapped his fingers smartly when he passionately endeavoured to raise it\nto his lips.\n\nYet the blow was not unkindly meant, for even while he drew back she\nvoluntarily clasped both his hands, scrutinized him intently from head to\nfoot, and said calmly:\n\n\"Welcome to the old home, Sir Knight!\" Then, laughing gaily, she added:\n\"Why, such a thing is unprecedented! Not a feature, not a look is unlike\nwhat it used to be! And yet you've been roaming five years in foreign\nlands! Changes take place--only look at me!--changes take place more\nswiftly here in Ratisbon. How you stare at me! I thought so! Out with it!\nHasn't the feather-head of those days become quite a charming young\nlady?\"\n\nNow Wolf would gladly have made as many flattering speeches as she could\ndesire, but his tongue refused to obey him. The new meeting was too\nunlike his expectation. The sight of the self-conscious woman who, in her\nwonderful beauty, stood leaning with folded arms on the ironing-table\nstirred his heart and senses too strongly.\n\nStanding motionless, he strove for words, while his eyes revealed plainly\nenough the passionate rapture which agitated his soul. Barbara perceived\nwhat was passing in his thoughts, and also noticed how her dress had\nbecome disarranged during her work.\n\nFlushing slightly, she pursed up her lips as if to whistle, and with her\nhead thrust forward she blew into the air in his direction. Then, shaking\nher finger at him, she hastily sat down on the chest beside the\nfireplace, wound the kerchief which had fallen off closer around her\nneck, and, without the least embarrassment, pulled up her stockings.\n\n\"What does it matter!\" she cried with a slight shrug of the shoulders.\n\"How often we two have waded together in water above our knees, like the\nstorks! And yet such a thing turns the head of a youth who has returned\nfrom foreign lands a made man, and closes his bearded lips! Have you\ngiven me even a single honest word of welcome? That's the way with all of\nyou! And you? If you stand there already like a dumb sign-post, how will\nit be when I thoroughly turn your head like all the rest with my\nsinging?\"\n\n\"I've heard you already!\" he answered quickly; \"magical, bewildering,\nmagnificent! Who in the world wrought this miracle with your voice?\"\n\n\"There we have it!\" she cried, laughing merrily and clapping her hands.\n\"To make you speak, one need only allude distantly to music. That, too,\nhas remained unchanged, and I am glad, for I have much to ask you in\nrelation to it. I can learn many things from you still. But what have you\nthere in your hand? Is it anything pretty from Brabant?\" This question\nflowed from her lips with coaxing tenderness, and she passed her soft\nhand swiftly over his cheek.\n\nHow happy it made him!\n\nHitherto he had been the receiver--nay, an unfair taker--but now he was\nto become the giver and she would be pleased with his present.\n\nAs if relieved from a nightmare, he now told her that he had gone from\nRome, through the Papal Legate Contarini, whom he had accompanied to\nItaly as a secretary skilled in German and music--to the imperial court,\nwhere he now enjoyed the special favour of the Regent of the Netherlands,\nthe widowed Queen of Hungary; that the royal lady, the sister of the\nEmperor Charles, had chosen him to be director of her lessons in singing,\nand also permitted him to write German letters for her; and what\nassistance worthy of all gratitude he had enjoyed through the director of\nthe imperial musicians, Gombert, the composer and leader of the royal\norchestra, and his colleague Appenzelder, who directed the Queen's boy\nchoir.\n\nAt the mention of these names, Barbara listened intently. She had sung\nseveral of Gombert's compositions, and was familiar with one of\nAppenzelder's works.\n\nWhen she learned that both must have arrived in Ratisbon several hours\nbefore, she anxiously asked Wolf if he would venture to make her\nacquainted with these great masters.\n\nWolf assented with joyous eagerness, while Barbara's cheeks crimsoned\nwith pleasure at so valuable a promise.\n\nYet this subject speedily came to a close, for while talking Wolf had\nripped the linen cover in which the roll of velvet was sewed, and, as\nsoon as he unfolded the rich wine-coloured material, Barbara forgot\neverything else, and burst into loud exclamations of pleasure and\nadmiration. Then, when Wolf hastened out and with hurrying fingers opened\nthe little package he had brought and gave her the costly fur which was\nto serve as trimming for the velvet jacket, she again laughed gleefully,\nand, ere Wolf was aware of it, she had thrown her arms around his neck\nand kissed him on both cheeks.\n\nHe submitted as if dazed, and did not even regain his senses sufficiently\nto profit by what she had granted him with such unexpected liberality.\nNor did she allow him to speak as she loosed her arms from his neck, for,\nwith a bewitching light in her large, blue eyes, fairly overflowing with\ngrateful tenderness, she cried:\n\n\"You dear, dear, kind little Wolf! To think that you should have\nremembered me so generously! And how rich you must be! If I had become so\nbefore you, I should have given myself a dress exactly like this. Now\nit's mine, just as though it had dropped from the sky. Wine-coloured\nFlanders velvet, with a border of dark-brown marten fur! I'll parade in\nit like the Duchess of Bavaria or rich Frau Fugger. Holy Virgin! if that\nisn't becoming to my golden hair! Doesn't it just suit me, you little\nWolf and great spendthrift? And when I wear it at the dance in the New\nScale or sing in it at the Convivium musicum, my Woller cousins and the\nThun girl will turn yellow with envy.\"\n\nWolf had only half listened to this outburst of delight, for he had\nreserved until the last his best offering--a sky-blue turquoise breastpin\nset with small diamonds. It brought him enthusiastic thanks, and Barbara\neven allowed him to fasten the magnificent ornament with his own fingers,\nwhich moved slowly and clumsily enough.\n\nThen she hurried into her chamber to bring the hand-mirror, and when in\nan instant she returned and, at her bidding, he held the shining glass\nbefore her, she patted his cheeks with their thin, fair, pointed beard,\nand called him her faithful little Wolf, her clear, stupid pedant and\nSatan in person, who would fill her mind with vanity.\n\nFinally, she laid the piece of velvet over the back of a chair, let it\nfall down to the floor, and threw the bands of fur upon it. Every graver\nword, every attempt to tell her what he expected from her, the girl cut\nshort with expressions of gratitude and pleasure until her father\nreturned from the suffering Ursel.\n\nThen, radiant with joy, she showed the old man her new treasures, and the\nfather's admiration and expressions of gratitude were not far behind the\ndaughter's.\n\nIt seemed as though Fate had blessed the modest rooms in Red Cock Street\nwith its most precious treasures.\n\nIt might be either Wolf's return, the hopes for his daughter which were\nassociated with it in the crippled old warrior's heart, or the unexpected\ncostly gifts, to which Wolf had added for his old friend a Netherland\ndrinking vessel in the form of a silver ship, which had moved the old\ngentleman so deeply, but at any rate he allowed himself to be tempted\ninto an act of extravagance, and, in an outburst of good spirits which he\nhad not felt for a long time, he promised Wolf to fetch from the cellar\none of the jugs of wine which he kept there for his daughter's wedding.\n\n\"Over this liquid we will open our hearts freely to each other, my boy,\"\nhe said. \"The night is still long, and even at the Emperor's court there\nis nothing better to be tasted. My dead mother used to say that there are\nalways more good things in a poor family which was once rich than in a\nrich one which was formerly poor.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe captain limped out into the cellar, but Barbara was already standing\nbehind the table again, moving the irons.\n\n\"When I am rich,\" she exclaimed, in reply to Wolf, who asked her to stop\nher work in this happy hour and share the delicious wine with him and her\nfather, \"I shall shun such maid-servant's business. But what else can be\ndone? We have less money than we need to keep up our position, and that\nmust be remedied. Besides, a neatly crimped ruff is necessary if a poor\ngirl like me is to stand beside the others in the singing rehearsal early\nto-morrow morning. Poor folks are alike everywhere, and, so long as I can\ndo no better--but luck will come to me, too, some day--this right hand\nmust be my maid. Let it alone, or my iron will burn your fingers!\"\n\nThis threat was very nearly fulfilled, for Wolf had caught her right hand\nto hold it firmly while he at last compelled her to hear that his future\ndestiny depended upon her decision.\n\nHow much easier he had expected to find the wooing! Yet how could it be\notherwise? Every young man in Ratisbon was probably courting this\npeerless creature. No doubt she had already rebuffed many another as\nsharply as she had just prevented him from seizing her hand. If her\nmanner had grown more independent, she had learned to defend herself\ncleverly.\n\nHe would first try to assail her heart with words, and they were at his\ndisposal in black and white. He had placed in the little box with the\nbreastpin a piece of paper on which he had given expression to his\nfeelings in verse. Hitherto it had remained unnoticed and fluttered to\nthe ground. Picking it up, he introduced his suit, after a brief\nexplanation, by reading aloud the lines which he had composed in Brussels\nto accompany his gifts to her.\n\nIt was an easy task, for he had painted rather than written his poetic\nhomage, with beautiful ornaments on the initial letters, and in the most\ncareful red and black Gothic characters, which looked like print. So,\nwith a vivacity of intonation which harmonized with the extravagance of\nthe poetry, he began:\n\n       \"Queen of my heart wert thou in days of old,\n        Beloved maid, in childhood's garb so plain;\n        I bring thee velvet now, and silk and gold\n        Though I am but a poor and simple swain\n        That in robes worthy of thee may be seen\n        My sovereign, of all thy sex the queen.\"\n\nBarbara nodded pleasantly to him, saying: \"Very pretty. Perhaps you might\narrange your little verse in a duo, but how you must have taxed your\nimagination, you poor fellow, to transform the flighty good-for-nothing\nwhom you left five years ago into a brilliant queen!\"\n\n\"Because, even at that time,\" he ardently exclaimed. \"I had placed you on\nthe throne of my heart, because the bud already promised--Yet no! In\nthose days I could not suspect that it would unfold into so marvellous a\nrose. You stand before me now more glorious than I beheld you in the most\nradiant of all my dreams, and therefore the longing to possess you, which\nI could never relinquish, will make me appear almost insolently bold. But\nit must be risked, and if you will fulfil the most ardent desire of a\nfaithful heart--\"\n\n\"Gently, my little Wolf, gently,\" she interposed soothingly. \"If I am\nright, you mounted our narrow stairs to seek a wife and, when my father\nreturns, you will ask for my hand.\"\n\n\"That I will,\" the young knight declared with eager positiveness. \"Your\n'Yes' or 'No,' Wawerl, is to me the decree of Fate, to which even the\ngods submit without opposition.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" she answered, uttering the word slowly, with downcast eyes.\nThen suddenly drawing herself to her full height, she added with a graver\nmanner than he had ever seen her wear: \"It is fortunate that I have\nlearned the stories of the gods which are so popular in the Netherlands.\nIf any one else should come to me with such pretences, I would scarcely\nbelieve that he had honest intentions. You are in earnest, Wolf, and wish\nto make me your wife. But 'Yes' and 'No' can not be spoken as quickly as\nyou probably imagine. You were always a good, faithful fellow, and I am\nsincerely attached to you. But have I even the slightest knowledge of\nwhat you obtained abroad or what awaits you here?\"\n\n\"Wawerl!\" he interrupted reproachfully. \"Would I as an honest man seek\nyour hand if I had not made money enough to support a wife whose\nexpectations were not too extravagant? You can not reasonably doubt that,\nand now, when the most sacred of bonds is in question, it ought--\"\n\n\"It ought, you think, to satisfy me?\" she interrupted with confident\nsuperiority. \"But one of two things must follow this sacred\nbond-happiness or misery in the earthly life which is entered from the\nchurch steps. I am tired of the miserable starving and struggling, my\ndear Wolf. Marriage must at least rid me of these gloomy spectres. My\nfather will not let you leave soon the good wine he allows himself and\nyou to enjoy--you know that. Tell him how you are situated at the court,\nand what prospects, you have here in Ratisbon or elsewhere; for instance,\nI would gladly go to the magnificent Netherlands with my husband. Inform\nyourself better, too, of the amount of your inheritance. The old man will\ntake me into his confidence early to-morrow morning. But I will confess\nthis to you now: The most welcome husband to me would be a zealous and\nskilful disciple of music, and I know that wish will be fulfilled with\nyou. If, perhaps, you are already what I call a successful man, we will\nsee. But--I have learned that--no happiness will thrive on bread and\nwater, and even a modest competence, as it is called, won't do for me.\"\n\n\"But Wawerl,\" he interrupted dejectedly, \"what could be better than true,\nloyal love? Just hear what I was going to tell you, and have not yet\nreached.\"\n\nBut Barbara would not listen, cutting his explanation short with the\nwords:\n\n\"All that is written as distinctly on the tender swain's face as if I had\nit before me in black letter, but unfortunately it has as little power to\nmove me to reckless haste as the angry visage into which your\naffectionate one is now transformed. The Scripture teaches us to prove\nbefore we retain. Yet if, on this account, you take me for a woman whose\nheart and hand can be bought for gold, you are mistaken. Worthy Peter\nSchlumperger is constantly courting me. And I? I have asked him to wait,\nalthough he is perhaps the richest man in the city. I might have Bernard\nCrafft, too, at any time, but he, perhaps, is as much too young as Herr\nPeter is too old, yet, on the other hand, he owns the Golden Cross, and,\nbesides, has inherited a great deal of money and a flourishing business.\nI keep both at a distance, and I did the same--only more rigidly--last\nyear when the Count Palatine von Simmern made me proposals which would\nhave rendered me a rich woman, but only aroused my indignation. I dealt\nmore indulgently with the Ratisbon men, but I certainly shall take\nneither of them, for they care more for the wine in the taproom than the\nmost exquisite pleasures which music offers, and, besides, they are foes\nof our holy faith, and Herr Schlumperger is even one of those who most\nzealously favour the heretical innovations.\"\n\nHere she hesitated and her eyes met his with distrustful keenness as she\nasked in an altered tone:\n\n\"And you? Have not you returned to the false doctrines with which your\nboyish head was bewildered in the school of poetry?\"\n\n\"I confided to you then,\" he exclaimed, deeply hurt, \"the solemn vow I\nmade to my poor mother ere she closed her eyes in death.\"\n\n\"Then that obstacle is removed,\" Barbara answered in a more gentle tone,\n\"but I will not take back even a single word of what I have said about\nother matters. I am not like the rest of the girls. My father--Holy\nVirgin!--how much too late he was born! Among the Crusaders this fearless\nhero, whom the pepper-bags here jeer at as a 'Turkey gobbler,' would have\nbeen sure of every honour. How ill-suited he is for any mercantile\nbusiness, on the other hand, he has unfortunately proved. Wherever he\nattempted anything, disappointment followed disappointment. To fight in\nTunis against the crescent, he let our flourishing lumber trade go to\nruin! And my mother! How young I was when her dead body was borne out of\nthe house, yet I can still see the haughty woman--whose image I am said\nto be--in her trailing velvet robe, with plumes waving amid the curls\narranged in a towering mass upon her head. She was dressed in that way\nwhen the men came to sell our house in the Kramgasse at auction. She must\nhave been one of the women under whose management, as a matter of course,\nthe household is neglected.\"\n\n\"How can you talk so about your own mother?\" Wolf interrupted in a\nsomewhat reproachful tone.\n\n\"Because we are not here to flatter the dead or to speak falsely to each\nother, but to understand how matters are between us,\" she answered\ngravely. \"How you are constituted is best known to yourself, but it seems\nto me that while far away you have formed a totally false opinion of me,\nwhom you placed upon the throne of your heart, and I wish to correct it,\nthat you may not plunge into misfortune like a deluded simpleton and drag\nme with you. Where, as in my case, so many things are different from what\nthe good and humble would desire them to be, it is not very pleasant to\nopen one's whole heart to another, and there is no one else in the world\nfor whom I would do it. Perhaps I shall not succeed at all, for often\nenough I am incomprehensible to myself. I shall understand myself most\nspeedily if I bring before my mind my father's and my mother's nature,\nand recall the ancient saying that young birds sing like the old ones. My\nfather--I love him in spite of all his eccentricities and weaknesses.\nDear me! he needs me so much, and would be miserable without me. Though\nhe is a head taller than you, he has remained a child.\"\n\n\"But a good, kind-hearted one!\" Wolf interrupted with warm affection.\n\n\"Of course,\" Barbara eagerly responded; \"and if I have inherited from him\nanything which is ill-suited to me, it is the fearless courage which does\nnot beseem us women. We progress much farther if we hold back timidly.\nTherefore, often as it impels me to resistance, I yield unless it is too\nstrong for me. Besides, but for your interruption, I should have said\nnothing about my father. What concerns us I inherited from my mother,\nand, as I mean kindly toward you, this very heritage compels me to warn\nyou against marrying me if you are unable to support me so that I can\nmake a good appearance among Ratisbon wives. Moreover, poor church mouse\nthough I am, I sometimes give them one thing and another to guess, and I\nhaven't far to travel to learn what envy is. In my present position,\nhowever, compassion is far more difficult to bear than ill-will. But I by\nno means keep out of the way on that account. I must be seen and heard if\nI am to be happy, and I shall probably succeed so long as my voice\nretains the melting tone which is now peculiar to it. Should anything\ndestroy that, there will be a change. Then--I know this in advance--I\nshall tread in the footsteps of my mother, who had no means of satisfying\nher longing for admiration except her pretty face, her beautiful figure,\nand the finery which she stole from the poverty of her husband, and her\nonly child. How you are staring at me again! But I can not forget that\nnow; for, had it not been so, we should still be living in our own house\nas a distinguished family of knightly rank, and I should have no need to\nspend my best hours in secretly washing laces for others--yes, for\nothers, Wolf--to gain a wretched sum of which even my father must be\nignorant. You do not know how we are obliged to economize, and yet I can\nonly praise the pride of my father, who induced me to return the gifts\nwhich the Council sends to the house by the town clerk when I sing in the\nConvivium musicum. But what a pleasure it is to show the bloated fellow\nthe door when he pulls out the linen purse! True, many things must be\nsacrificed to do it, and how hard that often is can not be described. I\nwould not bear it long. But, if I were your wife and you had only\nproperty enough for a modest competence, you would scarcely fare better,\nthrough my fault, than my poor father. That would surely be the\nresult\"--she raised her voice in passionate eagerness as she spoke:\n\n\"I know myself. As for the immediate future, I feel that the\never-increasing longing for better days and the rank which is my due will\nkill me if I do not satisfy it speedily. I shall never be content with\nany half-way position, and I fear you can not offer me more. Talk with my\nfather, and think of it during the night. Were I in your place, I would\nat once resign the wish to win a person like me, for if you really love\nme as ardently as it seems, you will receive in exchange only a lukewarm\nliking for your person and a warm interest in what you can accomplish;\nbut in other respects, far worse than nothing--peril after peril. But if\nyou will be reasonable and give up your suit, I shall not blame you a\nmoment. How bewildered you still stare at me! But there comes father, and\nI must finish my work before the irons get cold.\"\n\nWolf gazed after her speechlessly, while she withdrew behind the table as\nquietly as if they had been discussing the most commonplace things.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A live dog is better than a dead king\n     Always more good things in a poor family which was once rich\n     Harder it is to win a thing the higher its value becomes\n     No happiness will thrive on bread and water\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThe old captain blew the dust from the wine flagon and carefully removed\nthe seal. His presence prevented Wolf from renewing the interrupted\nconversation.\n\nReflection doubtless warned him that it would be a dangerous venture to\nenter the same life-boat with this woman, yet how bewitchingly beautiful\nshe had seemed to him in her proud superiority, in the agitation of soul\naroused by the yearning for a fairer fate! Have her he must, even though\nhe was permitted to call her his own but for a year, a month, an hour.\n\nMany of her words had been harsh and apparently unfeeling, yet how noble\nmust be the soul of this young creature who, for the sake of being loyal\nto truth, the pure source of everything grand and lofty, paid no heed to\nmuch that is usually sacred to human beings!\n\nBut Barbara's conduct during the next hour appeared to belie this opinion\nof the man who loved her, for scarcely had her father sat down with the\nknight before the venerable wine flagon than she flung down the smoothing\niron, hastily piled the finished articles one above another, and then,\nwithout heeding the parchment on which Wolf's verses were written, rolled\nup the ruby velvet. Directly after, with the package under her arm, she\nwished the men a merry drinking bout, and added that poor Ursel might\nneed her. Besides, she wanted to show her the beautiful material, which\nwould please the faithful soul.\n\nThen, without even pausing at the rooms in the second story, she hurried\nswiftly down the stairs into the street.\n\nShe was carrying Wolf's gift to Frau Lerch, her dressmaker.\n\nThe Grieb, where the latter lived as wife of the keeper of the house, was\nonly a few steps distant. If the skilful woman, who was indebted to her\nfor many a customer, began the work of cutting at once, her cousins, the\nWollers, could help her the next day with the sewing. True, these were\nthe very girls who would \"turn yellow with rage\" at the sight of the\nvelvet, but precisely because these rich girls had so many things of\nwhich she was deprived she felt that, in asking their aid, she was\ncompelling Fate to atone for an injustice.\n\nHaste was necessary for, at the first glance at the velvet, she had\ndetermined to wear it at the next dance in the New Scales, and she also\nsaw distinctly in imagination the person whose attention she desired to\nattract.\n\nTrue, the recruiting officer sent to Ratisbon, of whom she was thinking,\nwas by no means a more acceptable suitor, but a handsome fellow, a scion\nof a noble family, and, above all, an excellent dancer.\n\nShe did not love him--nay, she was not even captivated by him like so\nmany others. But, if his heart throbbed faster for any one, it was\nBarbara. Yet perhaps his glances strayed almost as frequently to one\nother maiden. The velvet gown should now decide whether he gave the\npreference to her or to pretty Elspet Zohrer--of course, only in the\ndance--for she would never have accepted him as a serious suitor.\n\nBesides, the young noble, Pyramus Kogel, himself probably thought of no\nsuch folly.\n\nIt was very different with Wolf Hartschwert. She had been told the small\namount of his inheritance long before, and on that account she would have\nbeen obliged to refuse him positively at once, yet the affectionate\nrelations existing between them must not be clouded. He might still\nbecome very useful to her and, besides, the modest companion of her\nchildhood was dear to her. She would have sincerely regretted an\nirreparable breach with him.\n\nHer father indulged her in every respect, only he strictly forbade his\nbeautiful child to leave the house alone after sunset. Therefore Barbara\nhad not told him the real object of her visit. She now had no occasion to\nfear his following her.\n\nYet she made all possible haste, and, as she found Frau Lerch at home,\nand the skilful little woman was instantly at her service, she crowded\ninto the space of an hour the many points about the cutting which were to\nbe discussed.\n\nThen she set out on her way home, expecting to traverse the short\ndistance swiftly and without delay; but, when she had gone only a few\npaces from the Grieb, a tall man came toward her.\n\nTo avoid him she crossed nimbly to the other side of the dark little\nstreet, but just where it turned into Red Cock Street he suddenly barred\nher way. She was startled, but the oft-proved courage of the Blomberg\nrace, to which she had just alluded, really did animate her, and, with\nstern decision, she ordered her persecutor to stand aside.\n\nHe, however, was not to be intimidated, but exclaimed as joyously as\nthough some great piece of good fortune had befallen him:\n\n\"Thanks for accosting me, Jungfrau Barbara, for, though the words are\nharsh, they prove that, in spite of the darkness here, my eyes did not\ndeceive me. Heaven be praised!\"\n\nThen the girl recognised the recruiting officer and excellent dancer of\nwhom she had just been thinking in connection with the velvet upper robe,\nand answered sharply:\n\n\"Certainly it is I; but if you are really a nobleman, Sir Pyramus, take\ncare that I am not exposed by your fault to evil gossip, and can not\ncontinue to hold my head erect as I now do.\"\n\n\"Who will see us in this little dark street?\" he asked in low, persuasive\ntones. \"May all the saints guard me from assailing the honour of a modest\nmaiden, fairest Barbara; yet, if you fear that I might prevent your\nremaining in the future what the favour of the Most High permits you to\nbe, I shall rather accuse you of having inflicted upon me what you fear\nmay befall you; for, since the last dance, I am really no longer myself,\nand can never become so until I have received from your beautiful lips\nthe modest consolation for which this poor, tortured, loyal soul is\nyearning. May I not linger at your side long enough to ask you one\nquestion, you severe yet ardently beloved maiden?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied Barbara with repellent harshness. \"I never gave\nyou a right to speak to me of love; but, above all, I shall not seek the\nsharer of a game of question and answer in the street.\"\n\n\"Then name a place,\" he whispered with passionate ardour, trying\nmeanwhile to clasp her hand, \"where I may be permitted, in broad sunlight\nand before the eyes of the whole world, to say to you what robs me of\nrest by day and sleep by night. Drop the cruel harshness which so\nstrangely and painfully contradicts the language of your glances the\nevening of the last dance. Your eyes have kindled these flames, and this\npoor heart will consume in their glow if I am not suffered to confess to\nyou that I love you with more ardour than was ever bestowed on any\nmaiden. This place--I will admit that it is ill-chosen--but what other\nwas open to me? After all, here, too, a bit of the sky with its many\nstars is looking down upon us. But, if you still unkindly refuse me, or\nthe dread of crossing the barrier of strict decorum forbids you to listen\nto me here, you can mercifully name another spot. Allow me to go to your\nfather and beg him for the clear hand which, in a happier hour, by not\nresisting the pressure of mine, awakened the fairest hopes in my heart.\"\n\n\"This is too much,\" Barbara indignantly broke in. \"Make way for me at\nonce, and, if you are well advised, you will spare yourself the visit to\nmy father; for, even if you were in earnest with your love and came as an\nhonest suitor to our modest house, it might easily happen that you would\ndescend the staircase, which is very steep and narrow, in as sorrowful a\nmood as you climbed it secure of victory.\"\n\nThen Pyramus Kogel changed his tone, and said bitterly:\n\n\"So your victorious eyes were only carrying on an idle game with my\nunsuspecting heart? You laugh! But I expected to find in my German native\nland only girls whose chaste reserve and simple honesty could be trusted.\nIt would be a great sorrow if I should learn through you, Jungfrau\nBarbara, that here, too, it would have been advisable to arm myself\nagainst wanton deception. True, the French chansons you sing sound unlike\nour sincere German songs. And then you, the fairest of the fair, can\nchoose at will among men; but the Emperor's service carries me from one\ncountry to another. I am only a poor nobleman--\"\n\n\"I care not,\" she interrupted him here with icy coldness; \"you might be\njust good enough for the daughter of another nobleman, who has little\nmore to call his own than you, Sir Knight, but nevertheless far too\nlittle for me to grant you permission to load me with unjust reproaches.\nBesides, you wholly lack the one advantage which the man to whom I am\nwilling to betroth myself must possess.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\" he asked eagerly.\n\n\"Neither gold nor lands, rank nor splendour,\" she answered proudly, \"but\nchangeless fidelity of the heart. Remember your fluttering from lovely\nElspet Zohrer to me, and from me to Elspet, Sir Pyramus, and ask yourself\nwhat reason you would give me to expect the fulfilment of such a demand.\nYour fine figure and gay manner please us girls very well at a dance,\nbut, though you should possess the wealth of the Fuggers and the power of\nthe Sultan, it would be useless trouble to seek my consent. Stand out of\nmy path at once! There come the Emperor's body guards, and, if you do not\nobey me, as surely as I hope for salvation I will call them!\"\n\nThe last words had escaped her lips in a raised voice, and vibrated with\nsuch honest indignation that the recruiting officer yielded; but a\ntriumphant smile flitted over her beautiful face.\n\nHad she known before how complete a victory he had already won over\npretty Elspet Zohrer, her most dangerous rival, this late errand would\nhave been unnecessary.\n\nYet she did not regret it; true, she cared no more for Pyramus Kogel than\nfor any one else--the certainty that he, too, had succumbed to the spell\nof her beauty was associated with a feeling of pleasure whose charm she\nknew and valued.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nEvery one in Ratisbon or at the court who spoke of Sir Wolf Hartschwert\ncalled him an excellent fellow. In fact, he had so few defects and faults\nthat perhaps it might have been better for his advancement in life and\nhis estimation in the circle of society to which he belonged if more of\nthem had clung to him.\n\nHitherto the vice of avarice was the last with which he could have been\nreproached. But, when his old friend filled his glass with wine, the\ndesire that the property left to him might prove larger than he had\nexpected overpowered every other feeling.\n\nFormerly it had been welcome mainly as a testimonial of his old friend's\naffection. He did not need it for his own wants; his position at court\nyielded him a far larger income than he required for the modest life to\nwhich he was accustomed. For Barbara's sake alone he eagerly hoped that\nhe had greatly underestimated his foster parents' possessions.\n\nOught he to blame her because she desired to change the life of poverty\nwith her father for one which better harmonized with her worth and\ntastes? He himself, who had lived years in a Roman palace, surrounded by\nexquisite works of the gloriously developed Italian art, and then in the\none at Brussels, furnished with imperial splendour, did not feel\nperfectly content in the more than simple room which Blomberg called his\n\"artist workshop.\"\n\nA few rude wooden chairs, a square table with clumsy feet, and an open\ncupboard in which stood a few tin cups, were, the sole furniture of the\nnarrow, disproportionately long room, whose walls were washed with gray.\nThe ceiling, with its exposed beams, was blackened by the pine torches\nwhich were often used for lights. Pieces of board were nailed over the\ndefective spots in the floor, and the lines where the walls met rarely\nshowed a right angle.\n\nThe window disappeared in the darkness. It was in the back of the niche\nformed by the unusually thick walls. During the day its small, round\npanes gave the old gentleman light while he guided his graving tool. A\nwooden tripod supported the board on which his tools lay. The stool,\nwhich usually stood on a wooden trestle opposite to it, now occupied a\nplace before the table bearing the flagon of wine, and was intended for\nBarbara.\n\nAfter the torches had ceased to burn, a single tallow candle in a\nwrought-iron candlestick afforded the two men light, and threatened to go\nout when, in the eagerness of their conversation, they forgot to use the\nsnuffers.\n\nNeither curtain, carpet, nor noteworthy work of art pleased the eye in\nthis bare, strangely narrow room. The weapons and pieces of armour of the\naged champion of the faith, which hung high above the window, made no\npretension to beauty. Besides, the rays of the dim candle did not extend\nto them any more than to the valueless pictures of saints and virgins on\nthe wall.\n\nThe door of Barbara's little bow-window room stood open. Nothing but a\nsmall oil lamp was burning there. But the articles it contained, though\ndainty in themselves, were standing and lying about in such confusion\nthat it also presented an unpleasant aspect.\n\nYet Barbara's beauty had shed such radiance upon this hideous environment\nthat the scene of her industry had seemed to Wolf like an Eden.\n\nNow he could scarcely understand this; but he found it so much the easier\nto comprehend that these wretched surroundings no longer suited such a\npearl, and that it behooved him to procure it a worthier setting.\n\nStill, it was by no means easy to ask the captain what he desired to\nknow, for during the young knight's absence a great many important things\nhad happened which Blomberg was longing to tell.\n\nHe was in such haste to do this that he detained Wolf, who wanted to\nspeak to old Ursel before he began to drink the wine, by the statement\nthat she suffered from wakefulness, and he would disturb her just as she\nwas falling asleep.\n\nThe account of the property bequeathed to the young knight was only too\nquickly completed, for, though the precentor's will made his foster son\nthe sole heir, the legacy consisted only of the house, some portable\nproperty, and scarcely more than a thousand florins.\n\nYet perhaps something else was coming to Wolf; early yesterday Dr.\nHiltner, the syndic of the city, had asked his place of residence, and\nadded that he had some news for him which promised good fortune.\n\nAfter these communications Blomberg hoped to be able to mention the\nimportant events which had occurred in Ratisbon during his young friend's\nabsence; but Wolf desired with such eager curiosity to hear the syndic's\nnews first that it vexed the captain, and he angrily told him that he\nwould bite off his tongue before he would even say \"How are you?\" to that\nman, and to play eavesdropper to any one was not at all in his line.\n\nHere his companion interrupted with the query, What had caused the\nlearned scholar, whom every one, as well as the precentor, had highly\nesteemed, to forfeit his friend's good opinion?\n\nBlomberg had waited for such a question.\n\nHe had been like a loaded culverin, and Wolf had now touched the burning\nmatch to the powder. To understand why he, Blomberg, who wished only the\nbest fortune to every good Christian, would fain have this thorough\nscoundrel suffer all the torments of hell, the young knight must first\nlearn what had happened in Ratisbon since the last Reichstag.\n\nUntil then the good city had resisted the accursed new religious\ndoctrines which had gained a victory in Nuremberg and the other cities of\nthe empire.\n\nHere also, as Wolf himself had probably experienced, there had been no\nlack of inclination toward the Lutheran doctrine. It was certainly\nnatural, since it suited the stomach better to fill itself, even during\nLent, than to renounce meat; since there were shameless priests who would\nrather embrace a woman than to remain unmarried; since the Church\nproperty bestowed by pious souls was a welcome morsel to princes and to\ncities, and, finally, because licentiousness was more relished than\nwholesome discipline. The wicked desires inspired by all the evil spirits\nand their tool, the Antichrist Luther, had gained the upper hand here\nalso, and Dr. Hiltner, above all others, had prepared the way for them in\nRatisbon. Even at the last Reichstag his Majesty the Emperor had\nearnestly, but with almost too much gracious forbearance, endeavoured to\neffect a union between the contending parties, but directly after his\ndeparture from the city rebellion raised its head with boundless\ninsolence. The very next year the Council formally introduced the evil\nwhich they called ecclesiastical reformation. The blinded people flocked\nto the new parish church to attend the first service, which they called\n\"Protestant.\" Then the mischief hastened forward with gigantic strides.\n\n\"Last year,\" cried the old gentleman, hoarse with indignation, striking\nthe table with his clenched fist as if he were in camp, \"I saw them with\nmy own eyes throw down and drag away, I know not where, the pillar with\nthe beautiful image of Mary, the masterpiece of Erhard Heydenreich, the\narchitect of the cathedral, which stood in front of the new parish\nchurch. Songs had been composed in her honour, and she was dear and\nprecious to you from early childhood, as well as to every native of\nRatisbon; the precentor--God rest his soul!--read to me from your letter\nfrom Rome what exquisite works of art you saw there every day, but that\nyou still remembered with pleasure the beautiful Virgin at home.\n\n\"But what do these impious wretches care about beautiful and sacred\nthings? The temple desecrators removed and destroyed one venerable, holy\nimage after another. True, they did not venture into the cathedral,\nprobably from fear of his Majesty the Emperor, and whoever had undertaken\nto lay hands upon the altar painting and the Madonna in our chapel would\nhave paid for it--I am not boasting--with his life. Though 'the beautiful\nMary,' in her superabundant mercy, quietly endured the affront offered,\nour Lord himself punished it, for he inspired the illustrious Duke of\nBavaria to issue an edict which forbids his subjects to trade with\nRatisbon. Whoever even enters the city must pay a heavy fine. This set\nmany people thinking. Ursel will tell you what sinful prices we have paid\nsince for butter and meat. Even the innocent are obliged to buckle their\nbelts tighter. Those who wished to escape fasting are now compelled by\npoverty to practise abstinence. It is said the Roman King Ferdinand is\nurging the revocation of the order. If I were in his place, I would\nadvise making it more stringent till the rebels sweat blood and crept to\nthe cross.\"\n\nThen Blomberg bewailed the untimely leniency of the Emperor, for there\nwas not even any rumour of a serious assault upon the Turks. And yet, if\nonly he, Blomberg, was commissioned to raise an army of the cross,\nChristianity would soon have rest from its mortal foe! But if it should\ncome to fighting--no matter whether against the infidels or the\nheretics--in spite of Wawerl and his lame leg, he would take the field\nagain. No death could be more glorious than in battle against the\ndestroyer of souls. The scoundrels were flourishing like tares among the\nwheat. At the last Reichstag the Electors of Brandenburg and Saxony, as\nwell as the Landgrave Philip of Hesse, brought their own preachers, whose\nsermons turned many heads, even the pastor of St. Emmeran's, Zollern, who\nwas a child of Ratisbon. At Staufferhof Baron von Stauff, formerly a man\nworthy of all honour, had opened his chapel of St. Ann to all the\ncitizens to permit them to participate in the Lutheran idolatry. Two\nProtestant ministers, one of whom, Dr. Forster, Luther himself had\nbrought to Ratisbon, were liberally paid by the Council. Whether Wolf\nbelieved it or not, Father Hamberger, whom he surely remembered as Prior\nof the Minorites, and who at that time enjoyed universal esteem, had\ntaken a wife, and the rest of the monks had followed the iniquitous\nexample. Many other priests had married if it suited them, and, instead\nof the cowl, wore secular garments. The instruction given in the school\nof poets was perfectly abominable, as he heard from Councillor Steuerer,\nwho was faithful to the Catholic Church, and strove to induce the Duke of\nBavaria to adopt still sterner measures against all this disorder.\n\nVery recently men hitherto blameless, like Andreas Weinzierl and Georg\nSeidl, had sent their eighteen-year-old sons to the University of\nWittenberg, where the Lutheran heresies were flourishing most\nluxuriantly.\n\nBut the worst of all was that even faithful sons and daughters of Holy\nChurch could not keep themselves wholly untouched by such mischief. Among\nthese, alas! were he and his Wawerl, for he had been obliged to allow the\ngirl to join the choristers who sang in the Convivium Musicum, which the\nCouncil had established in the summer three years before. Two councillors\nwere assigned to each Convivium, and thus these arrangements were in\nProtestant hands.\n\n\"Of course,\" he added dejectedly, \"I wished to forbid her taking part in\nthem, but, though with me it is usually bend or break, what can a man do\nwhen a woman is pestering him day and night, sometimes begging with\ntears, sometimes with caresses?\n\n\"Besides, many a good Catholic entreated me to give up my opposition.\nThey, do not grudge the girl her progress, and how much she already owes\nto the music teacher who now directs the Collegium Musicuin! Singing is\neverything to her, and what else can I give the poor child? At any rate,\nthe Netherlander whom the Council brought here three years ago--so\nconnoisseurs say--scarcely has his equal anywhere in knowledge and\nability. The man came to me and frankly said that he needed the girl's\nvoice for the Convivium, and, if I refused to let Wawerl take part, he\nwould stop teaching her. As he is a just man of quiet temperament and\nadvanced in years.\"\n\n\"Where is he from, and what is his name?\" Wolf eagerly interrupted.\n\n\"Damian Feys,\" replied the captain, \"and he is a native of Ghent in the\nNetherlands. Although he is in the pay of the city, he has remained--he\ntold me so himself--a good Catholic. There was nothing to be feared for\nthe child on the score of religion. The anxieties which are troubling me\non her account come from another source.\"\n\nThen, with a mischievous mirthfulness usually foreign to his nature, Wolf\nraised his goblet, exclaiming:\n\n\"Cast them upon me, Father Blomberg! I will gladly help you bear them as\nyour loyal son-in-law.\"\n\n\"So that's the way of it,\" was the captain's answer, his honest eyes\nbetraying more surprise than pleasure.\n\nYet he pledged Wolf, and, touching his glass to his, said:\n\n\"I've often thought that this might happen if you should see how she has\ngrown up. If she consents, nothing could please me better; but how many\nlovers she has already encouraged, and then, before matters became\nserious, dismissed! I have experienced it. If you succeed in putting an\nend to such trifling, may this hour be blessed! But do you know the huge\nmaggots she keeps under her golden hair?\"\n\n\"Both large and small ones,\" cried Wolf, with glowing cheeks. \"Truthful\nas she is, she did not conceal from the playmate of her youth a single\nimpulse of her ambitious soul.\"\n\n\"And did she give you hope?\" asked the captain, thrusting his head\neagerly forward.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the youth firmly; but he quickly corrected himself, and,\nin a less confident tone, added, \"That is, if I could offer her a\ncare-free life.\"\n\n\"There it is,\" sighed the old man. \"She knows what she wants, and holds\nfirmly to it. You are the son of a knight, and on account of the music\nwhich you can pursue together--With her everything is possible and little\nis impossible. In any case, you will have no easy life with her, and, ere\nyou order the wedding ring----\" Here he suddenly stopped, for a\nbird-song, high, clear, and yet as insinuatingly sweet as though, on this\nevening in late April, the merriest and most skilful feathered songsters\nwhich had recently found their way home to the fresh green leafage on the\nshore of the Danube had made an appointment on the steps of the gloomy\nhouse in Red Cock Street, rose nearer and nearer to the two men who were\nsitting over their wine.\n\nIt was difficult to believe that this whistling and chirping, trilling\nand cuckoo calling, came from the same throat; but when the bird notes\nceased just outside the door, and Barbara, with bright mirthfulness and\nthe airiest grace, sang the refrain of the Chant des Oiseaux, 'Car la\nsaison est bonne', bowing gracefully meanwhile, the old enemy of the\nTurks fairly beamed with delight.\n\nHis eyes, wet with tears of grateful joy, sought the young man's, and,\nthough he had just warned him plainly enough against courting his\ndaughter, his sparkling gaze now asked whether he had ever met an equally\nbewitching marvel.\n\n\"The deuce!\" he cried out to his daughter when she at last paused and\nextended her hand to him. He leaned comfortably farther back in his\narm-chair as he spoke, but she kissed him lightly on the forehead, while\nher large blue eyes shone with cheerful content.\n\nShe had gained her object.\n\nWhen she sang this song she was safe from any troublesome questions.\nBesides, Gombert, of Bruges, the director of the imperial orchestra, who\nhad arrived in Ratisbon that very day, was the composer of the charming\nbird-song, and she knew from her singing master that, though her voice\nwas best adapted to solemn hymns, nothing in the whole range of secular\nmusic suited it better than this \"Car la saison est bonne.\" She longed\nfor the praise of such a musician, and Wolf must accompany her to him.\n\nThe young knight had not only been joyfully surprised, but most deeply\ndelighted by the bewitching execution of this most charmingly arranged\nrefrain.\n\nMaestro Gombert and his colleague Appenzelder, the conductor of the boy\nchoir, must hear it on the morrow. And how gladly Barbara consented to\nfulfil this wish!\n\nShe had received the greatest praise, she said, in the motet of the\nBlessed Virgin, by Josquin de Pres, in the noble song 'Ecce tu pulchra\nes'. Her teacher specially valued this master and his countryman Gombert,\nand his exquisite compositions were frequently and gladly sung at the\nConvivium.\n\nThis pleased Wolf, for he had a right to call himself, not only the\npupil, but the friend of the director of the orchestra. As, seizing the\nlute, he began Gombert's Shepherd and Shepherdess, Barbara, unasked,\ncommenced the song.\n\nWhen, after Barbara's bell-like, well-trained voice had sung many other\nmelodies, the young knight at last took leave of his old friends, he\nwhispered that he had not expected to find home so delightful.\n\nShe, too, went to rest in a joyous, happy mood, and, as she lay in her\nnarrow bed, asked herself whether she could not renounce her ardent\nlonging for wealth and splendour and be content with a modest life at\nWolf's side.\n\nShe liked him, he would cherish her, and lovingly devote the great skill\nwhich he had gained in Italy and the Netherlands to the final cultivation\nof her voice. Her house would become a home of art, her life would be\npervaded and ennobled by song and music. What grander existence could\nearth offer?\n\nBefore she found an answer to this question, sleep closed her weary eyes.\nBut when, the next morning, the cobbler's one-eyed daughter, who, since\nold Ursel's illness, had done the rough work in the chambers and kitchen,\nwaked her, she speedily changed her mind. It was hard to rise early after\nthe day's ironing and the late hour at which she had retired, and,\nbesides, when Barbara returned from mass, the maid reported that Frau\nLerch had been there and left the message that Fran Itzenweck wanted the\nlaces which had been promised to her early that day.\n\nSo Barbara was obliged to go to work again immediately after the early\nbreakfast. But, while she was loosening the laces from the pins and\nstirring her slender white fingers busily for the wretched pittance, her\nsoul was overflowing with thoughts of the most sublime works of music,\nand the desire for success, homage, and a future filled with happiness\nand splendour.\n\nVehement repugnance to the humble labour to which necessity forced her\nwas like a bitter taste in her mouth, and, ere she had folded the last\nstrips of lace, she turned her back to the work-table and pressed both\nhands upon her bosom, while from the inmost depths of her tortured soul\ncame the cry: \"I will never bear it! In one way or another I will put an\nend to this life of beggary.\"\n\nThanks to old Ursel's care, Wolf had found his bed made and everything he\nneeded at hand in his foster parents' deserted lodging. To avoid\ndisturbing the sick woman, he removed his shoes in the entry, and then\nglided into his former little room. Weariness had soon closed his eyes\nalso, but only for a few hours. His fevered blood, fear, and hope drove\nhim from his couch at the first dawn of morning.\n\nEre returning to the two men the evening before, Barbara had hastily\nspoken to Ursula, and brought her whatever she preferred to receive from\nher hands rather than those of the one-eyed maid who spent the night with\nher--her Sunday cap and a little sealed package which she kept in her\nchest. When Wolf tapped at her door early the next morning, she was\nalready up, and had had her cap put on. This was intended to give her a\nholiday appearance, but the expression of her faithful eyes and the smile\nupon her sunken mouth showed her darling that his return was a festival\nto her.\n\nThe stroke of apoplexy which had attacked the woman of seventy had been\nslight, and merely affected her speech a little. But she found plenty of\nwords to show Wolf how happy it made her to see him again, and to tell\nhim about his foster parents' last illness and death.\n\nThe precentor and organist, aided by Bishop Pangraz Sinzenhofer and\nBlasius, the captain of the city guard, had endeavoured to collect the\npapers which proved Wolf's noble birth. The package that Barbara handed\nto her the evening before contained the patent of nobility newly\nauthorized by King Frederick at Vienna and the certificate of baptism\nwhich proved him to be the only son of the Frank Knight Ullmann\nHartschwert and the Baroness Wendula Sandhof.\n\nHis mother's family died with her; on his father's side, as the precentor\nhad learned, he still had an uncle, his father's older brother, but his\ncastle had been destroyed during the Peasant War. He himself had\ncommanded for several years a large troop of mercenaries in the service\nof the Queen of England, and his three children, a son and two daughters,\nhad entered monastic and conventual life.\n\nThe contents of the package confirmed all these statements. Moreover, the\nvery Dr. Hiltner, of whom Barbara's father had spoken so disagreeably,\nhad paid a visit the day before to Ursel, who had won the esteem of the\npreceptor's old friend, and told her that he wished to talk with Wolf\nabout an important matter.\n\nIt afforded the young man genuine pleasure to wait upon the faithful old\nwoman and give her her medicine and barley-gruel. His mother had brought\nhim to Ratisbon when he was a little boy four years old, and Ursel at\nthat time had been his nurse. She had clung more closely to him than the\nwoman to whom he owed his life, for his mother had deserted him to take\nthe veil in the convent of the Sisters of St. Clare, but her maid-servant\nUrsel would not part from him. So she was received by his foster parents\nwhen they adopted him, and had served them faithfully until their deaths.\n\nThe wrinkled countenance of the old woman, who, even on her sick-bed,\nretained her neat appearance, expressed shrewdness and energy.\n\nWolf's services were a pleasure and an honour. A grateful, affectionate\nglance acknowledged each, and meanwhile he became clearly aware of the\ntreasure which he, the orphaned youth, possessed in this faithful old\nfriend.\n\nIf he saw aright, she might yet live a long time, and this gave him\nheartfelt joy. With her he would lose the last witness of his childhood,\nthe chronicle, as it were, of his earliest youth. He could not understand\nwhy he had never before induced her to tell him her recollections.\n\nDuring his boyhood, which was crowded with work, he had been content when\nshe told him in general outlines that, during the Peasant War, fierce\nbands had attacked his father's castle, that one of his own bondmen had\nslain him with an axe, and that his mother had fled with Wolf to\nRatisbon, where her brother lived as provost of the cathedral. He had\ninvited her, at the outbreak of the peasant insurrection, to place\nherself under his protection.\n\nThe old woman had also described to him how, amid great hardships, they\nhad reached the city in midwinter, and finally that his mother found\nBaron Sandhof, her brother, at the point of death, and, after her hope of\nhaving a home with the provost of the cathedral was baffled, she had\ntaken the veil in the convent of the Dominicans, called here the Black\nPenitents. Wolf's foster father, the organist Stenzel, who was closely\nconnected with his uncle, had rendered this step easier for the deserted\nwidow by receiving the little boy in his childless home.\n\nUrsel must give him more minute particulars concerning all these things.\n\nHis mother, who knew that he was well cared for, had troubled herself\nvery little about him, and devoted her life to the care of her own\nsalvation and that of her murdered husband, who had died without the\nbenefit of the holy sacrament.\n\nWhen he was fifteen, she closed her eyes on the world, and the hour when,\non her death bed, she had asked of him a vow to be faithful to the\nCatholic Church and shut his heart against heresy, was as vividly before\nhis memory as if she had just passed away.\n\nHe did not allude to these things now, for his heart urged him to confide\nto the faithful old woman what he thought of Barbara, and the beautiful\nhopes with which he had left her.\n\nUrsel closed her eyes for a while and twirled the thumb of the hand she\ncould use around the other for some time; but at last she gently nodded\nthe little head framed in her big cap, and said carelessly:\n\n\"So you would like to seek a wife, child? Well, well! It comes once to\nevery one. And you are thinking of Wawerl? It would certainly be\nfortunate for the girl. Marriages are made in heaven, and God's mills\ngrind slowly. If the result is not what you expect, you must not murmur,\nand, above all things, don't act rashly. But now I can use my heavy\ntongue no longer. Remember Dr. Hiltner. When duty will permit, you'll\nfind time for another little chat with old Ursel.\"\n\nCasting a loving farewell glance at Wolf as she spoke, she turned over on\nthe other side.\n\nAs his footsteps receded from her bedside, she pressed her lips more\nfirmly together, thinking: \"Why should I spoil his beautiful dream of\nhappiness? What Wawerl offers to the eyes and ears of men is certainly\nmost beautiful. But her heart! It is lacking! Unselfish love would be\nprecisely what the early orphaned youth needs, and that Wawerl will never\ngive him. Yet I wish no heavier anxieties oppressed me! One thing is\ncertain--the husband of the girl upstairs must wear a different look from\nmy darling, with his modest worth. The Danube will flow uphill before she\ngoes to the altar with him! So, thank Heaven, I can console myself with\nthat!\"\n\nBut, soon after, she remembered many things which she had formerly\nbelieved impossible, yet which, through unexpected influence, had\nhappened.\n\nThen torturing uneasiness seized her. She anxiously clasped her emaciated\nhands, and from her troubled bosom rose the prayer that the Lord would\npreserve her darling from the fulfilment of the most ardent desire of his\nheart.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nWolf's first walk took him to the Golden Cross, the lodgings of the\nEmperor Charles and his court. The sky had clouded again, and a keen\nnorthwest wind was blowing across the Haidplatz and waving the banner on\nthe lofty square battlemented tower at the right of the stately old\nedifice.\n\nIt had originally belonged to the Weltenburg family as a strong offensive\nand defensive building, then frequently changed hands.\n\nThe double escutcheon on the bow-window was that of the Thun and Fugger\nvon Reh families, who had owned it in Wolf's childhood.\n\nNow he glanced up to see whether young Herr Crafft, to whom the building\nnow belonged, had not also added an ornament to it. But when Wolf's gaze\nwandered so intently from the tower to the bow-window, and from the\nbow-window to the great entrance door, it was by no means from pleasure\nor interest in the exterior of the Golden Cross, but because Barbara had\nconfessed that the nineteen-year-old owner of the edifice, who was still\na minor, was also wooing her.\n\nWhat was the probable value of this stately structure, this aristocratic\nimperial abode? How rich its owner was! yet she, the brilliant young\nbeauty who had grown up in poverty, disdained young Crafft because her\nheart did not attract her to him.\n\nSo, in this case, faithful Ursel must deceive herself and misjudge the\ngirl, for the old woman's strangely evasive words had revealed plainly\nenough that she did not consider Barbara the right wife for him.\n\nThe good people of Ratisbon could not understand this rare creature! Her\nartist nature gave her peculiar, unusual traits of character, which were\ndistasteful to the ways of German burghers. Whatever did not fit the\nusual forms, whatever surpassed ordinary models, was regarded with\ndistrust. He himself had scarcely been able to understand how a girl so\nfree and independent in her feelings, and probably also in her actions,\nsuch a mistress of the art of singing, whose performances fulfilled the\nhighest demands, could have bloomed and matured in this environment.\n\nOld Ursel's evasion had wounded and troubled him; the thoughts associated\nwith the double escutcheon on the bow-window, however, revived the\nclouded feeling of happiness, and, with head erect, he passed the guards\nat the entrance and went into the corridor, which was again crowded with\nlords and ladies of the court, priests of all ranks, knights, pages, and\nservants.\n\nHis position gave him access to the Queen of Hungary's apartments without\ndelay--nay, he might hope to be received by her Majesty sooner than many\nof the knights, lords and ladies, ecclesiastical and secular dignitaries\nwho were waiting there; the stewards, chamberlains and heralds, the\nladies of the court, pages, and lackeys knew that the royal lady not only\nsummoned Sir Wolf Hartschwert frequently, but welcomed his presence.\n\nNearly all were Spaniards or natives of the Netherlands, and it was\nfortunate for Wolf, on the one hand, that he had learned their language\nquickly and well in Italy and Brussels, and, on the other, that his birth\nentitled him to a place with nobles who had the rank of knights.\n\nHow formal and stiffly precise everything was here! How many backs bowed\nlow, how softly bombastic, high-sounding words were murmured! It seemed\nas if every free, warm impulse would lapse into stiffness and coldness;\nmoreover, those assembled here were not the poor petitioners of other\nantechambers, but lords and ladies who belonged to the most illustrious\nand aristocratic families, while among the waiting ecclesiastics there\nwas many a prelate with the dignified bearing of a bishop.\n\nSome of the Netherlanders alone frequently threw off the constraint which\nfettered all, and one even turned with the gayest ease from one person to\nanother. This was Baron Malfalconnet, one of the Emperor's major-domos.\nHe was permitted to do what no one else ventured, for his cheerfulness\nand wit, his gift of story-telling, and sharp tongue often succeeded in\ndispelling the clouds of melancholy from the brow of his imperial master.\n\nAt Wolf's entrance the baron greeted him with merry banter, and then\nwhispered to him that the regent was expecting him in her private room,\nwhere the leaders of the newly arrived musicians had already gone. As\nWolf belonged to the \"elect,\" he would conduct him to her Majesty before\n\"the called\" who were here in the waiting room.\n\nAs he spoke he delivered him to the Emperor's confidential secretary,\nGastelu, whom Wolf had often aided in the translation of German letters,\nand the latter ushered him into the Queen's reception room.\n\nIt was the royal lady's sleeping apartment, a moderately wide, unusually\ndeep chamber, looking out upon the Haidplatz. The walls were hung with\nFlanders Gobelin tapestry, whose coloured pictures represented woodland\nlandscapes and hunters. The Queen's bed stood halfway down the long wall\nat the right.\n\nLittle could be seen of her person, for heavy gold-embroidered damask\ncurtains hung around the wide, lofty bedstead, falling from the canopy\nprojecting, rootlike, above the top, where gilded child genii bore a\nroyal crown. On the side toward the room the curtains were drawn back far\nenough to allow those who were permitted to approach the regent to see\nher head and the upper portion of her body, which was wrapped in an\nermine cape.\n\nShe leaned in a sitting posture against a pile of white satin pillows,\nand her thick locks, interwoven with strings of pearls, bore witness to\nthe skill of the maid who had combed and curled them so artistically and\nadorned them with a heron's plume. Two beautiful English pointers and a\nslender hound were moving about and sometimes disturbed the repose of the\ntwo Wachtersbach badger dogs, who were trained to keep side by side\neverywhere--in the room as well as in hunting. When the door opened they\nonly raised their sagacious little heads with a low growl.\n\nThe other living beings who had obtained admittance to the Queen's\nchamber at so early an hour were constrained by etiquette to formal,\nsilent quiescence. Only the ladies in waiting and the chamberlains moved\nto and fro unasked, but they also stepped lightly and graduated the depth\nof the bow with which they greeted each individual to suit his or her\nrank, while the pages used their nimble feet, whose tread silken shoes\nrendered noiseless, lightly and carelessly.\n\nThe features of most of the persons present expressed reverence and\nexpectation. But although, on account of the clouded sky and the small\nwindow panes, the rear of the deep apartment especially was only dimly\nlighted, the impression produced was neither gloomy nor depressing. This\nwas prevented by the swift movements of the pages, the shrill screams of\nthe gay parrots at the window, the paraphernalia of the chase hung on the\nwall, and especially by the regent herself, whose clear voice broke the\nsilence with gay unconcern, and exerted a redeeming influence upon the\nconstraint of the listeners.\n\nShe had just received the Bishop of Hildesheim, the Prince of Savoy, and\nthe Countess Tassis, but gave each only a brief audience, for the\nentrance of the conductor of the orchestra had not escaped her attention.\n\nSeveral other personages of the highest rank were still among the waiting\ngroup, and her chamberlain, Count Hochstraaten, asked in a low tone\nwhether she would deign to receive the Count Palatine von Simmern; but\nshe was determined to close the audience, for Wolf Hartschwert had\nentered the room, and the subjects which she desired to discuss with him\nand the musicians would permit no witnesses.\n\nSo, without answering Hochstraaten's question, she turned her face toward\nthe chamber, and said, loudly enough to be heard by all present:\n\n\"This reception must suffice for to-day! Whoever does not know that I\nused last night in his Majesty's service for a better purpose than sleep\nwill deem me a lazy sluggard. Would to Heaven I had no worse fault! The\nrising sun sees me more frequently at my station in the hunting grounds\nthan it does many of you, my honoured friends, at the breakfast table.\nSo, Hochstraaten, be kind enough to tell the ladies and gentlemen who\nhave given me the pleasure of their visits, that their patience shall be\nless severely tried this evening before vespers.\"\n\nWhile speaking, she beckoned to the Marquise de Leria, her oldest lady in\nwaiting, and, as the latter bent her aged back to adjust the pillows, the\nQueen whispered to her to detain the conductor of the orchestra and Sir\nWolf Hartschwert.\n\nThe order was instantly obeyed, but some time elapsed ere the last of\nthose who had sought an audience left the room, for, although the regent\nvouchsafed no one a glance, but turned the pages of a note-book which had\nbeen lying on the little table at the head of her bed, each person,\nbefore crossing the threshold, bowed toward the couch in the slow, formal\nmanner which etiquette dictated.\n\nAs soon as Queen Mary found herself alone with the musicians and the\nmarquise, she beckoned graciously to the former, but with familiar\nkindness to Wolf, and asked for a brief account of his journey. Then she\nconfessed that the Emperor's sufferings and melancholy mood had induced\nher to subject them to the discomforts of the trip to Ratisbon. His\nMajesty was ignorant of their presence, but she anticipated the most\nfavourable result upon her royal brother, who so warmly loved and keenly\nappreciated music, if he could hear unexpectedly the finest melodies,\nsometimes inspiring, sometimes cheering in tone.\n\nHer inquiry whether his Majesty's orchestra and her own boys would be\nable to give a performance that evening was eagerly answered in the\naffirmative by Maestro Gombert, the conductor of the orchestra, and\nBenedictus Appenzelder, conductor of the boy choir, who was in her\npersonal service. She expressed her pleasure in the knowledge, and then\nproposed to surprise the Emperor at the principal meal, about midnight,\nwith Jacob Hobrecht's Missa Graecorum, whose magnificent profundity his\nMajesty especially admired.\n\nGombert forced himself to keep silence, but the significant smile on his\ndelicate, beardless lips betrayed what he thought of this selection. The\nconductor of the boy choir was franker. He slightly shook his ponderous\nhead, whose long, gray hair was parted in the middle, and then honestly\nadmitted, in his deep tones, that the Missa Graecorum seemed to him too\nmajestic and gloomy for this purpose. Wolf, too, disapproved of the\nQueen's suggestion for the same reason, and, though she pointed out that\nshe had chosen this composition precisely on account of its deep\nreligious earnestness, the former persisted in his opposition, and\nmodestly mentioned the melody which would probably be best suited for a\nsurprise at his imperial Majesty's repast.\n\nMaestro Gombert had recently composed a Benedictio Mensae for four\nvoices, and, as it was one of his most effective creations, had never\nbeen executed, and therefore would be entirely new to the Emperor, it was\nspecially adapted to introduce the concert with which the monarch was to\nbe surprised at table.\n\nThe Queen would have preferred that a religious piece should commence the\nmusical performance, but assented to Wolf's proposal. Gombert himself\ndispelled her fear that his composition would be purely secular in\ncharacter, and Wolf upheld him by singing to the musical princess, to the\naccompaniment of the lute, snatches of the principal theme of the\nBenedictio, which had impressed itself upon his faithful memory.\n\nGombert assisted him, but Appenzelder stroked his long beard, signifying\nhis approval by nods and brief exclamations of satisfaction. The Queen\nwas now sincerely glad that this piece of music had been brought to her\nnotice; certainly nothing more suitable for the purpose could have been\nfound. Besides, her kindly nature and feminine tact made her grateful to\nWolf for his hint of distinguishing, by the first performance of one of\nhis works, the able conductor and fine composer upon whom she had imposed\nso fatiguing a journey.\n\nShe would gladly have given Appenzelder also some token of her favour,\nbut she could not have used any of his compositions--the most famous of\nwhich was a dirge--upon this occasion, and the blunt long-beard frankly\nadmitted this, and declared unasked that he desired nothing better than\nto offer his Majesty, with the Benedictio, the first greeting of\nNetherland music.\n\nGombert's bearing was that of an aristocrat, his lofty brow that of a\nthinker, and his mobile mouth rendered it easy to perceive what a wealth\nof joyous mirth dwelt within the soul of this artist, who was equally\ndistinguished in grave and gay moods.\n\nQueen Mary was by no means blind to these merits, and lamented the\nimpossibility of being on more familiar terms of intercourse with him and\nhis colleague of the boy choir. But both were of humble birth, and from\nchildhood custom had prohibited her, as well as the other female members\nof her family, from associating with persons who did not belong to the\nnobility. So there was no place for either in her household.\n\nRough Appenzelder regarded this as fortunate; Gombert thought it a matter\nof course because custom so ordained.\n\nThe stimulus which the Queen could expect from Wolf Hartschwert was\ncertainly far less deep and varied; yet to him who, as a knight, belonged\nto her train, she granted many favours which she denied the famous\nGombert. Besides, Wolf's musical knowledge was as remarkable as his\nusefulness as a secretary. Lastly, his equable disposition, his unerring\nsense of propriety, and his well-proved fidelity had gained the full\nconfidence of the royal lady.\n\nBy the side of the two composers and leaders of the musicians he looked\nalmost boyish, yet, as the regent was overburdened with affairs of state,\nshe confided to him alone the care of the further success of the\nsurprise.\n\nHe was familiar with the rooms of the Golden Cross, and before midnight\nwould have posted the singers and musicians so that his Majesty would\nfirst learn through his ears the pleasure which they intended to bestow\nupon him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nThe Queen's commission imposed upon Wolf a long series of inspections,\ninquiries, orders, and preparations, the most important of which detained\nhim a long time at the Golden Cross.\n\nAfter he had done what was necessary there, he hastily took a lunch, and\nthen went to the house of the Golden Stag. The steward of the Schiltl\nfamily, to whom the house belonged, but who were now in the country, had\ngiven the boy choir shelter there, and Wolf was obliged to inform the\nleader of his arrangements. Appenzelder had intended to practise\nexercises with his young pupils in the chapel belonging to this old\nhouse, familiar to all the inhabitants of Ratisbon, but Wolf found it\nempty. On the other hand, young, clear voices echoed from a room in the\nlower story.\n\nThe door stood half open, and, before he crossed the threshold, he had\nheard with surprise the members of the boy choir, lads ranging from\ntwelve to fifteen, discussing how they should spend the leisure time\nawaiting them.\n\nThe ringleader, Giacomo Bianchi, from Bologna, was asserting that \"the\nold bear\"--he meant Appenzelder--\"would never permit the incomplete choir\nto sing before the Emperor and his royal sister.\"\n\n\"So we shall have the afternoon,\" he exclaimed. \"The grooms will give me\na horse, and after dinner I, and whoever cares to go with me, will ride\nback to the village where we last stopped. What do I want there? I'll get\nthe kiss which the tavernkeeper's charming little daughter owes me. Her\nsweet mouth and fair braids with the bows of blue ribbon--I saw nothing\nprettier anywhere!\"\n\n\"Yes, these blondes!\" cried Angelo Negri, a Neapolitan boy of thirteen,\nrolling his black eyes upward enthusiastically, and kissing, for lack of\nwarm lips, the empty air.\n\n\"Sweet, sweet, sweet,\" sighed Giacoma Bianchi.\n\n\"Sweet enough,\" remarked little thick-set Cornelius Groen from Breda, in\nbroken Italian. \"Yet you surely are not thinking of that silly girl, with\nher flaxen braids, but of the nice honey and the light white pastry she\nbrought us. If we can get that again, I'll ride there with you.\"\n\n\"I won't,\" protested Wilhelm Haldema, from Leuwarden in Friesland. \"I\nshall go down to the river with my pole. It's swarming with fish.\"\n\nWolf had remained concealed until this moment. Now he entered the huge\napartment.\n\nThe boys rushed toward him with joyous ease, and, as they crowded around\nhim, asking all sorts of questions, it was evident that he possessed\ntheir affection and confidence.\n\nHe kindly motioned to them to keep silence, and asked what induced them\nto expect leisure time on that day, when, by the exertion of all their\npowers, they were to display their skill in the presence of their\nmistress and the Emperor.\n\nThe answer was not delayed--nay, it sprang from many young lips at the\nsame time. Unfortunately, its character was such that Wolf scarcely\nventured to hope for the full success of the surprise.\n\nJohann of Cologne and Benevenuto Bosco of Catania, in Sicily, the two\nleaders and ornaments of the choir, were so very ill that their recovery\ncould scarcely be expected even within the next few days. The native of\nCologne had been attacked on the way by a hoarseness which made the\nfifteenyear-old lad uneasy, because signs of the approaching change of\nvoice had already appeared.\n\nThe break meant to the extremely musical youth, who had been\ndistinguished by the bell-like purity of his tones, the loss of his\nwell-paid position in the boy choir, which, for his poor mother's sake,\nhe must retain as long as possible. So, with mingled grief and hope, he\ndipped deeply into his slender purse when, at Neumarkt, where the\ntravelling musicians spent the night just at the time the annual fair was\nheld, he met a quack who promised to help him.\n\nThis extremely talkative old man, who styled himself \"Body physician to\nmany distinguished princes and courts,\" boasted of possessing a secret\nremedy of the famous Bartliolomaus Anglicus, which, besides other merits,\nalso had the power of bestowing upon a harsh voice the melody of David's\nharp.\n\nStill, the young native of Cologne delayed some time before using the\nnostrum. Not until the hoarseness increased alarmingly did he in his need\ntake the leech's prescription, and Benevenuto Bosco, whom he had admitted\nto his confidence, and who also felt a certain rawness in his throat,\nsince beyond Nuremberg one shower of rain after another had drenched the\ntravellers, asked him to let him use the medicine also.\n\nAt first both thought that they felt a beneficial result; but soon their\ncondition changed for the worse, and their illness constantly increased.\n\nOn reaching Ratisbon they were obliged to go to bed, and a terrible night\nwas followed by an equally bad morning.\n\nWhen Appenzelder returned from the audience at the Golden Cross, he found\nhis two best singers in so pitiable a condition that he was obliged to\nsummon the Emperor's leech, Dr. Mathys, to the sufferers.\n\nThe famous physician was really under obligations to remain near the\nsovereign at this time of day. Yet he had gone at once to the Stag, and\npronounced the patients there to be the victims of severe poisoning.\n\nA Ratisbon colleague, whom he found with the sufferers, was to\nsuperintend the treatment which he prescribed.\n\nHe had left the house a short time before. Master Appenzelder, Wolf heard\nfrom the choir boys, was now with the invalids, and the knight set off to\ninquire about them at once.\n\nHe had forbidden the idle young singers who wanted to go with him to\nfollow, but one had secretly slipped after, and, in one of the dark\ncorridors of the big house, full of nooks and corners, he suddenly heard\na voice call his name. Ere he was aware of it, little Hannibal Melas, a\nyoung Maltese in the boy choir, whose silent, reserved nature had\nobtained for him from the others the nickname Tartaruga, the tortoise,\nseized his right hand in both his own.\n\nIt was done with evident excitement, and his voice sounded eagerly urgent\nas he exclaimed:\n\n\"I fix my last hope on you, Sir Knight, for you see there is scarcely one\nof the others who would not have an intercessor. But I! Who would trouble\nhimself about me? Yet, if you would only put in a good word, my time\nwould surely come now.\"\n\n\"Your time?\" asked Wolf in astonishment; but the little fellow eagerly\ncontinued:\n\n\"Yes, indeed! What Johann of Cologne or at least what Benevenuto can do,\nI can trust myself to do too. The master need only try it with me, and,\nnow that both are ill, put me in place of one or the other.\"\n\nWolf, who knew what each individual chorister could do, shook his head,\nand began to tell the boy from Malta for what good reason the master\npreferred the two sick youths; but little Hannibal interrupted by\nexclaiming, in tones of passionate lamentation:\n\n\"So you are the same? The master having begun it, all misjudge and crush\nme! Instead of giving me an opportunity to show what I can do in a solo\npart, I am forced back into the crowd. My best work disappears in the\nchorus. And yet, Sir Wolf, in spite of all, I heard the master's own lips\nsay in Brussels--I wasn't listening--that he had never heard what lends a\nwoman's voice its greatest charm come so softly and tenderly from the\nthroat of a boy. Those are his own words. He will not deny them, for at\nleast he is honest. What is to become of the singing without Johann and\nBenevenuto? But if they would try me, and at least trust a part of\nBosco's music to me--\"\n\nHere he stopped, for Master Appenzelder was just coming from the door of\nthe sick-room into the corridor; but Wolf, with a playful gesture, thrust\nhis fingers through the lad's bushy coal-black hair, turned him in the\ndirection from which he came, and called after him, \"Your cause is in\ngood hands, you little fellow with the big name.\"\n\nThen, laying his hand on the arm of the deeply troubled musician, and\npointing to the boy who was trotting, full of hope, down the corridor, he\nsaid: \"'Hannibal ante portas!' A cry of distress that is full of terror;\nbut the Maltese Hannibal who is vanishing yonder gave me an idea which\nwill put an end to your trouble, my dear Maestro. The sooner the two\npoisoned lads recover the better, of course; yet the Benedictio Mensae\nneed not remain unsung on account of their heedlessness, for little\nHannibal showed me the best substitute.\"\n\nThis promise flowed from Wolf's lips with such joyous confidence that the\ngrave musician's sombre face brightened; but it swiftly darkened again,\nand he exclaimed, \"We don't give such hasty work!\" When the knight tried\nto tell him what he had in mind, the other brusquely interrupted with the\nrequest that he would first aid him in a more important matter. Wolf was\nacquainted with the city, and perhaps would spare him a walk by informing\nhim where the sick lads would find the best shelter. The Stag was\novercrowded, and he was reluctant to leave the poor fellows in the little\nsleeping room which they shared with their companions. The Ratisbon\nphysician had ordered them to be sent to the hospital; but the boy from\nCologne opposed it so impetuously that he, Appenzelder, thought it his\nduty to seek another shelter for the sufferers.\n\nWhen Wolf with the older man entered the low, close chamber, he found the\nlad, a handsome, vigorous boy, with his fair, curling hair tossed in\ndisorder around his fevered face, standing erect in his bed. While the\ndoctor was trying to compel him to obey and enter the litter which stood\nwaiting for him, he beat him back with his strong young fists. He would\nrather jump into the open grave or into the rushing river, he shrieked to\nthe corpulent leech, than be dragged into the hospital, which was the\nplague, death, hell.\n\nHe emphasized his resistance with heavy blows, while his Italian\ncompanion in suffering, livid, ashen-gray, with bowed head and closed\nlids, permitted himself to be placed in the litter without moving.\n\nAt Wolf's entrance the German youth, like a drowning man who sees a\nfriend on the shore, shrieked an entreaty to save him from the murderers\nwho wanted to drag him to death. The young knight gazed compassionately\nat the lad's flushed face, and, after a brief pause of reflection,\nproposed committing the sufferers to the care of the Knights\nHospitallers.\n\nThis removed the burden from the young Rhinelander's tortured soul, yet\nhe insisted, with passionate impetuosity, upon having his master and the\nnobleman accompany him, that the physician whom, in his fevered fancy, he\nregarded as his mortal foe, should not drag him to the pest-house after\nall.\n\nBoth musicians yielded to his wish. On the way Appenzelder held the lad's\nburning hand in his own, and never wearied of talking affectionately to\nhim. Not until after he had seen his charges, with the physician's\nassistance, comfortably lodged, and had left the house of the\nHospitallers, did he permit himself to test the almost incredible news\nwhich Sir Wolf Hartschwert had brought him.\n\nWith what fiery zeal Wolf persuaded him, how convincing was his assurance\nthat a substitute for Johann of Cologne, and a most admirable one, was\nactually to be found here in Ratisbon!\n\nHe had no need to seek for fitting words in the description of Barbara\nBlomberg, the melody of her voice, and her admirable training. The fact\nthat she was a woman, he protested, need not be considered, nay, it might\nbe kept secret. The Church, it is true, prohibited the assistance of\nwomen, but the matter here was simply the execution of songs in a private\nhouse.\n\nAt first Appenzelder listened grumbling, and shaking his head in dissent,\nbut soon the proposal seemed worth heeding; nay, when he heard that the\nsinger, whose talent and skill the quiet, intelligent German praised so\nhighly, owed her training to his countryman, Damian Feys, whom he knew,\nhe began to ask questions with, increasing interest. But, ere Wolf had\nanswered the first queries, some one else made his appearance on the\nHaid, and the very person who was best fitted to give information about\nBarbara--her teacher, Feys, who had sought Gombert, his famous Brussels\ncompanion in art, and was just taking him to a rehearsal of the Convivium\nmusicum. At this meeting the leader of the boy choir, in spite of his\npleasure at seeing his valued countryman and companion in art, showed far\nless patience than before, for, after the first greeting, he at once\nasked Feys what he thought of his pupil Barbara. The answer was so\nfavourable that Appenzelder eagerly accepted the invitation to attend the\nrehearsal also. So the four fellow-artists crossed the Haidplatz\ntogether, and Maestro Gombert was obliged to remind his colleague of the\nboy choir that people who occupied the conductor's desk forgot to run on\na wager.\n\nWolf's legs were by no means so long as those of the tall, broad\nmusician, yet, in his joyous excitement, it was an easy matter to keep\npace with him. In the happy consciousness of meriting the gratitude of\nthe woman whom he loved, he gazed toward the New Scales, the large\nbuilding beneath whose roof she whose image filled his heart and mind\nmust already have found shelter.\n\nDid she see him coming? Did she suspect who his companions were, and what\nawaited her through them?\n\nYet, sharply as he watched for her, he could discover no sign of her fair\nhead behind any of the windows.\n\nYet Barbara, from the little room where the singers laid aside their\ncloaks and wraps, had seen Wolf, with her singing master Feys and two\nother gentlemen, coming toward the New Scales, and correctly guessed the\nnames of the slender, shorter stranger in the sable-trimmed mantle and\nthe big, broad-shouldered, bearded one who accompanied her friend. Wolf\nhad described them both, and a presentiment told her that something great\nawaited her through them.\n\nGombert was the composer of the bird-song, and, as she remembered how the\nrefrain of this composition had affected Wolf the day before, she heard\nthe door close behind the group.\n\nThen the desire to please, which had never left her since she earned the\nfirst applause, seized upon her more fiercely than ever.\n\nOf what consequence were the listeners before whom she had hitherto sung\ncompared with those whose footsteps were now echoing on the lowest\nstairs? And, half animated by an overpowering secret impulse, she sang\nthe refrain \"Car la saison est bonne\" aloud while passing the stairs on\nher way into the dancing hall, where the rehearsal was to take place.\n\nWhat an artless delight in the fairest, most pleasing thing in Nature to\na sensitive young human soul this simple sentence voiced to the\nNetherland musicians! It seemed to them as if the song filled the dim,\ncold corridor with warmth and sunlight. Thus Gombert had heard within his\nmind the praise of spring when he set it to music, but had never before\nhad it thus understood by any singer, reproduced by any human voice.\n\nThe excitable man stood as if spellbound; only a curt \"My God! my God!\"\ngave expression to his emotion. The blunter Appenzelder, on the contrary,\nwhen the singer suddenly paused and a door closed behind her, exclaimed:\n\"The deuce, that's fine!--If that were your helper in need, Sir Wolf, all\nwould be well!\"\n\n\"It is,\" replied Wolf proudly, with sparkling eyes; but the honest old\nfellow rushed after Barbara, held out both hands to her in his frank,\ncordial way, and cried:\n\n\"Thanks, heartfelt thanks, my dear, beautiful young lady! But if you\nimagine that this drop of nectar will suffice, you are mistaken. You have\nawakened thirst! Now see--and Gombert will thank you too--that it is\nquenched with a fuller gift of this drink of the gods.\"\n\nThe Netherlanders found the table spread, and this rehearsal of the\nConvivium musicum brought Barbara Blomberg the happiest hours which life\nhad ever bestowed.\n\nShe saw with a throbbing heart that her singing not only pleased, but\ndeeply stirred the heart of the greatest composer of his time, whose name\nhad filled her with timid reverence, and that, while listening to her\nvoice, the eyes of the sturdy Appenzelder, who looked as if his broad\nbreast was steeled against every soft emotion, glittered with tears.\n\nThis had happened during the execution of Josquin de Pres's \"Ecce tu\npulchra es'.\"\n\nBarbara's voice had lent a special charm to this magnificent motet, and,\nwhen she concluded the \"Quia amore langueo\"--\"Because I yearn for\nlove\"--to which she had long given the preference when she felt impelled\nto relieve her heart from unsatisfied yearning, she had seen Gombert look\nat the choir leader, and understood the \"inimitable\" which was not\nintended for her, but for his fellow-artist.\n\nHitherto she had done little without pursuing a fixed purpose, but this\ntime Art, and the lofty desire to serve her well, filled her whole being.\nIn the presence of the most famous judges she imposed the severest\ndemands upon herself. Doubtless she was also glad to show Wolf what she\ncould do, yet his absence would not have diminished an iota of what she\ngave the Netherlanders. She felt proud and grateful that she belonged to\nthe chosen few who are permitted to express, by means of a noble art, the\nloftiest and deepest feelings in the human breast. Had not Appenzelder\nbeen compelled to interrupt the rehearsal, she would gladly have sung on\nand on to exhaustion.\n\nShe did not yet suspect what awaited her when, in well-chosen yet cordial\nwords, Gombert expressed his appreciation.\n\nShe neither saw nor heard the fellow-singers who surrounded her; nay,\nwhen Dr. Hiltner, the syndic's, daughter, seventeen years old, who had\nlong looked up to her with girlish enthusiasm, pressed forward to her\nside, and her charming mother, sincerely pleased, followed more quietly,\nwhen others imitated their example and expressed genuine gratification or\nmade pretty speeches, Barbara scarcely distinguished the one from the\nother, honest good will from bitter envy.\n\nShe did not fully recover her composure until Appenzelder came up to her\nand held out his large hand.\n\nClasping it with a smile, she permitted the old musician to hold her\nlittle right hand, while in a low tone, pointing to Wolf, who had\nfollowed him, he said firmly:\n\n\"May I believe the knight? Would you be induced to bestow your\nmagnificent art upon an ardent old admirer like myself, though to-day\nonly as leader of the voices in the boy choir--\"\n\nHere Wolf, who had noticed an expression of refusal upon Barbara's lips,\ninterrupted him by completing the sentence with the words, addressed to\nher, \"In order to let his Majesty the Emperor enjoy what delights us\nhere?\"\n\nThe blood receded from Barbara's cheeks, and, as she clung to the\nwindow-sill for support, it seemed as though some magic spell had\nconveyed her to the summit of the highest steeple. Below her yawned the\ndizzy gulf of space, and the air was filled with a rain of sceptres,\ncrowns, and golden chains of honour falling upon ermine and purple robes\non the ground below.\n\nBut after a few seconds this illusion vanished, and, ere Wolf could\nspring to the assistance of the pallid girl, she was already passing her\nkerchief across her brow.\n\nThen, drawing a long breath, she gave the companion of her childhood a\ngrateful glance, and said to Appenzelder:\n\n\"Dispose of my powers as you deem best,\" adding, after a brief pause, \"Of\ncourse, with my father's consent.\"\n\nAppenzelder, as if rescued, shook her hand again, this time with so\nstrong a pressure that it hurt her. Yet her blue eyes sparkled as\nbrightly as if her soul no longer had room for pain or sorrow. After\nBarbara had made various arrangements with the choir leader, it seemed to\nher as though the sunny, blissful spring, which her song had just\ncelebrated so exquisitely, had also made its joyous entry into the narrow\ndomain of her life.\n\nOn the way home she thanked the friend who accompanied her with the\naffectionate warmth of the days of her childhood, nay, even more eagerly\nand tenderly; and when, on reaching the second story of the cantor house,\nhe took leave of her, she kissed his cheek, unasked, calling down the\nstairs as she ran up:\n\n\"There is your reward! But, in return, you will accompany me first to the\nrehearsal with the singing boys, and then--if you had not arranged it\nyourself you would never believe it--go to the Golden Cross, to the\nEmperor Charles.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe Emperor's table was laid in one of the lower rooms of the Golden\nCross. The orchestra and the boy choir had been stationed in Saint\nLeonhard's chapel. A wide door led from the consecrated chamber, spanned\nby a vaulted roof, into the dining-room. When it was opened, the music\nand singing would pour in a full flood to those seated around the board.\n\nShortly before midnight everything in kitchen and cellar was ready for\nthe royal couple. The wax candles and lamps were already lighted when\nQueen Mary prepared to bring her imperial brother to the surprise which\nshe had planned, and whose influence she eagerly anticipated.\n\nThe Emperor had received the last report half an hour before, and then\ncommissioned his physician, who had again warned him against the excess\nof work, to protect him from interruption--he desired to have an hour\nalone.\n\nDr. Mathys had fulfilled this order with the utmost strictness. Even the\nEnglish ambassador was dismissed. The members of the royal household and\nthe nobles who during their stay in Ratisbon crowded around the royal\nbrother and sister, and even at this late hour filled the rooms and\ncorridors of the spacious building with busy life, had been commanded to\nstep lightly and keep silent.\n\nThe lord chamberlain, Count Heinrich of Nassau, saw that nothing was\nstirring near the apartment of his imperial master, and the stewards,\nQuijada and Malfalconnet, aided him. But they could not prevent the\nbarking of Queen Mary's hunting dogs, and when their royal mistress\nfollowed them to accompany her illustrious brother to the dining-hall,\nMalfalconnet ventured to remark that the lion, when he retires to\nsolitude, sometimes values rest more than the presence of even the most\nbeloved and adorable member of his noble race; but the regent quickly\nretorted that she had not yet reached lion hunting, but she knew that\neven the king of beasts possessed a stomach, and would be glad to have\nrest seasoned with dainty food.\n\n\"The banquet is ready,\" added Count Buren, and Malfalconnet, with a low\nbow, said:\n\n\"And a portion of it is the covered chiming dish with which your\nMajesty's love and wisdom intends to surprise the illustrious epicure.\"\n\nWhile speaking, he cautiously opened the door of the royal apartment, but\nthe dogs were held back by the pages who had carried the train of the\nfestal robe. Two others zealously aided her to throw the trailing brocade\nacross her arm, and in this manner she entered her distinguished\nbrother's chamber.\n\nThis was so deep that a short walk was necessary to reach the window near\nwhich the Emperor sat. The office of lighting the vast room was assigned\nto a dozen wax candles in a silver candelabrum, but they were so\ninadequate to the task that neither the mythological scenes on the\nBrabant Gobelin curtains with which the walls were hung, nor the very\nscanty furniture of the remainder of the long chamber could be seen from\nthe door.\n\nThus the prevailing dusk concealed the surroundings of the great monarch\nwho was resting there, and the only object visible to the entering Queen\nwas his figure illumined by the light. In her soul everything else\nreceded far behind the person, welfare, and pleasure of this mighty\nsovereign. Yet she had already crossed half the room, and her entrance\nstill remained unnoticed.\n\nThe Emperor Charles, with his forehead resting on his hand, sat absorbed\nin thought before the papers which had occupied his attention. How\nmournful he looked, what sorrowful thoughts were doubtless again\nburdening that anxious brain! Never before had he seemed to his sister so\nold.\n\nPerhaps it was the ceaseless planning and pondering of the statesman and\ngeneral which, during the last few years, had thinned the light-brown\nhair at the corners of the brow.\n\nThe resting ruler now seemed to have brought his mind to repose also, for\nevery emotion had vanished from his pallid face. Even the sharply cut\nnostrils of the long nose, which usually moved swiftly, were perfectly\nstill. The heavy chin, framed by a thin, closely clipped beard, had sunk\nupon the high ruff as if for support, and the thick, loosely hanging\nlower lip appeared to have lost its elasticity.\n\nIn this hour of rest and relaxation this tireless and successful\nsovereign, utterly exhausted, had even relinquished seeming what he was;\nhis brown hair framed his brow and temples in a tangled, disordered mass;\nthe lacings of his velvet doublet were loosened; a shabby woollen\ncoverlet of anything but imperial appearance was wound around his lower\nlimbs, and the foot in which the gout throbbed and ached rested on his\nsleeping hound, and was wrapped in the cloths which his valet Adrian\nfound at hand after the Venetian ambassador, the confessor, and the leech\nhad left his master.\n\nIt pierced his sister to the heart to see her mighty brother, upon whose\ndominions, it was said, the sun never set, in this guise.\n\nHer glance rested sorrowfully upon him a long time, but even when she\nmoved several paces nearer he retained the same motionless rigidity which\nhad seized upon him and even communicated itself to the dog. The animal\nknew the regent, and did not let her disturb its repose.\n\nThen a terrible fear assailed her, and the image of the Cid Campeador\nwho, mounted on horseback, went swaying on his steed to meet the foe,\nrose before her.\n\n\"Your Majesty,\" then again \"Your Majesty,\" she called in a low tone, that\nshe might not startle him; but the answer for which she waited in\nbreathless suspense did not come, and now the anxious dread that filled\nher sisterly heart forced from her lips the cry, \"Carlos!\" and once more\n\"Carlos!\"\n\nThe dog stirred, and at the same time the Emperor raised his bowed head\nand turned toward his sister.\n\nDrawing a long breath, as if relieved from a heavy burden, she hastened\nto his side, and, clasping his delicately formed hand, kissed it with\npassionate tenderness; but the Emperor withdrew it, saying with a\nmournful smile, which gave his rigid countenance a new and more winning\nexpression, in the Castilian language in which he always addressed her:\n\n\"Why are you so agitated, Querida? Did the sight of the silent brother\nalarm the sister? Ay, darling, there are some things more terrible than\nthe wild boar at which the brave huntress hurls her spear. Our mother's\nbequest----\"\n\nQueen Mary, with hands outstretched beseechingly, bowed the knee before\nhim; but he raised her with more strength than would have been expected\nfrom him just before, and, sighing faintly, continued:\n\n\"There are hours, Mary, when the demon that overpowered the mother\nstretches his talons toward the son also. But, in spite of his satanic\norigin, he is a cowardly wight, and a loving face, a tender word, drives\nhim away.\"\n\n\"Then may my coming be blessed!\" she answered warmly. \"Yet it can\nscarcely be a demon or any being of mortal mould that is spoiling the\nlife happiness of my beloved brother and sovereign lord. After all, they\nare tolerably alike in the main point, and what semblance would the son\nof hell wear that dares to assail the most powerful and vigorous mind of\nall the ages, and yet is seized with panic terror at the glance of a\nfeeble woman? Whoever knows the anxieties which have recently burdened\nyour Majesty, and the wide range of the decision to which the course of\nevents is urging you, can not wonder if, as just now, your cheerful\nspirits desert you. No demons or evil creatures of that sort, Heaven\nknows, are needed to accomplish it.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied the Emperor. \"Yet it does not matter what name\nis borne by the unconquerable power which poisons with horrible images\nthe few hours of repose allotted to the solitary man who is bereft of\nlove and joy. But let us drop the subject! When you appear and raise your\nvoice, it seems as though all gloomy thoughts heard the view hallo which\ndrives your stags and roes back into their coverts, Mary. I suppose you\nhave come to summon me to the table?\"\n\nThe Queen assented, and now he could not prevent her kissing his hand.\nThen she seized the dainty little bell on the table to ring for the valet\nAdrian; but the Emperor Charles stopped her with the exclamation:\n\n\"Never mind him. I will go with you as I am, if you do not object to\nsharing your meal with such a scarecrow of a man. Only permit me to lock\nup these papers.\"\n\n\"From Rome?\" asked the regent eagerly.\n\n\"That is easily discerned,\" replied the Emperor. \"New and amazingly\nfavourable promises. Nothing is required of me except the trifling\nobligation to allow the Protestants nothing in religious affairs which\nthe Pope or the Council do not approve. If I agree to accept the\npromises, every one will think that I have the advantage, and yet, if the\ncontract is made, it is tearing from the sky the political polestar of\nmany a lustrum, and burying one of my clearest, ripest, most sacred\nhopes.\"\n\nHere the startled Queen interrupted him: \"That would surely, inevitably\nbe the evil fruit which would grow from such a treaty. It would deliver\nto the Pope, with fettered hands, this very Council which your Majesty so\nconfidently expected would remove or diminish, in orderly methods, the\nabuses which are urging so many Christians to abandon the Catholic\nChurch. How often I have heard even her most faithful sons acknowledge\nthat such abuses exist! But if you make the alliance, the self-interest\nof the hierarchy will know how to prevent the introduction of even a\nsingle vigorous amendment, and, instead of the conqueror of the hydra of\nabuse, your Majesty will render yourself its guardian.\"\n\n\"And,\" added the Emperor affectionately--he still retained his seat at\nthe writing table--\"this alliance, moreover, would force me to the\npainful necessity of opposing the earnest wish of the dearest, fairest,\nand wisest of my sisters.\"\n\n\"Because it would render war with the evangelical princes inevitable,\"\ncried the Queen excitedly. \"Oh, your Majesty, you know that the heretical\nmovement, which is making life a burden to me in my provinces, is going\nmuch too far for me, as well as for you here in Germany; nay, that it is\nhateful to me, because I value nothing more than our holy Church, her\ngreatness and unity. But would it really redound to her welfare if the\nschism now existing, and which you yourself expected to heal through the\nCouncil, should by this very Council be embittered and even perhaps\nperpetuated? For a long time nothing has seemed to me more execrable than\nthis war. Your Majesty knows that, and therefore my lord and brother can\nnot be vexed with me if I remind him of the hour when, a few months ago,\nhe promised to avoid it and do all in his power to bring what relates to\nreligious matters in these German countries to a peaceful conclusion.\"\n\nThe Emperor looked his sister full in the face, and, while struggling to\nhis feet, said with majestic dignity:\n\n\"And I have never given your Highness occasion to doubt my word.\" Then,\nchanging his tone, he continued kindly: \"No means--I repeat it--shall\nremain untried to preserve peace. I am in earnest, child, though there\nare now many reasons for breaking the promise. I put them together on the\nlong list yonder, and the Spaniards at the court add new ones every hour.\nIf you care to know them----\"\n\nHere he hesitated, because the gout in his foot gave him a sharper\ntwinge; but the Queen availed herself of the pause to exclaim: \"I think I\nam aware of them. It is especially hard just now for the statesman and\nsoldier to keep the sword in the sheath, because Rome offers more than\never, because at the present time no serious opposition is to be feared\nfrom the most important states, and because the princes of the empire\nhave neglected nothing which could rouse the resentment of my imperial\nbrother. I know all this, and yet it is as firmly established as Alpine\nmountains----\"\n\nHere a low laugh escaped the Emperor's lips.\n\n\"The political course which could be thus firmly established is to be\nfound, you experienced regent, only in one place--the strong imagination\nof a high hearted woman, who desires to accomplish what she deems right.\nI, too, you may believe me, am opposed to this war, and, as matters stand\nnow, the German renegades, rather than we, may expect a glorious result.\nBut, nevertheless, it may happen that I shall be compelled to ask you to\ngive me back my promise.\"\n\n\"I should like to see the person who could compel my august brother to\nundertake anything against his imperial will,\" the Queen passionately\ninterrupted.\n\n\"We will hope that this superior being may not appear only too soon,\"\nreplied the Emperor, smiling bitterly. \"The invincible oppressor bears\nthe name of unexpected circumstances; I encountered one of his harbingers\nto-day. There lie the documents. Do you know to what those miserable\npapers force me, the Emperor?--ay, force, I repeat it. To nothing less,\nMary, than consciously to deal a blow in the face of justice, whose\ndefender I ought and desire to be. I am not exaggerating, for I am\nwithdrawing a fratricide from the courts, nay, am paving the way for him\nto evade punishment.\"\n\n\"You mean Alfonso Diaz, who had his brother murdered by a hired assassin\nbecause he abandoned the holy Church and accepted the Lutheran religion,\"\nsaid the Queen sorrowfully. \"Malvenda was just telling me----\"\n\n\"He was the instigator of the crime,\" interrupted the Emperor. \"Now he\nrejoices in it as a deed well pleasing to God, and many thousands, I\nknow, agree with him. And I? Had Juan Diaz been a German Johannes or\nHans, the Emperor Charles would have made Alfonso expiate his crime upon\nthe block this very day. But the brothers were Spaniards, and that alters\nthe case.\"\n\nWith this sentence, which fell from his lips in firm, resolute tones, his\nbearing regained its old decision, and his eyes met his sister's with a\nflashing glance as he continued:\n\n\"The seed which here in the North, in carefully prepared soil and under\nthe fostering care of men only too skilful and ready for conflict, took\ndeep root in the domain of religion, which we were obliged to tolerate\nbecause it grew too rapidly and strongly for us to extirpate or crush it\nwithout depopulating a great empire and jeopardizing other very important\nmatters, would mean ruin to our Spain. Whoever dared to transplant the\nheresy to her soil would be the most infamous of the corrupters of a\nnation, for the holy Church and the kingdom of Spain are one. The mere\nthought of a Juan Diaz, who had absorbed the heretical Lutheran doctrine\nhere, returning home to infect the hearts of the Castilians with its\nvenom, makes my blood boil also. Therefore, for the sake of Spain, a\nhigher justice compels me to offend the secular one. The people beyond\nthe Pyrenees shall learn that, even for the brother, it is no sin, but a\nduty, to shorten the life of the brother who abandoned the holy Church.\nLet Alfonso Diaz strive to obtain absolution. It will not be difficult.\nHe can sleep calmly, so far as the judges are concerned who dispense\njustice in the name of Charles V.\"\n\nAs he spoke he waved his hand to repel the hound which, when he raised\nhis voice, had pressed closer to him, and glanced at the artistically\nwrought Nuremberg clocks on the writing table, two of which struck the\nhour at the same time. Then he himself seized the little bell, rang it,\nand permitted the valet Adrian to brush his hair and make the necessary\nchanges in his dress.\n\nThen he invited his sister to accompany him to the table.\n\nWalking without a shoe was difficult, and, when he saw the Queen look\ndown sorrowfully at the cloths which swathed the foot, he said while\ntoiling on:\n\n\"Imagine that we have been hunting and the boot remained stuck in the\nmud. I am sure of indulgence from you. As to the others, even with only\none shoe I am still the Emperor.\"\n\nHe opened the door as he spoke, and, while the valet held the hound back,\nthe Emperor, with chivalrous courtesy, insisted that his sister should\nprecede him, though she resisted until Baron Malfalconnet, with a low bow\nto the royal dame, said:\n\n\"The meal is served, your Majesty, and if you lead the way you will\nprotect our Emperor and sovereign lord from the unworthy suspicion of\nwishing to be first at the trencher.\"\n\nHe motioned toward the threshold as he uttered the words, but Charles,\nwho often had a ready answer for the baron's jests, followed his sister\nin silence with a clouded brow.\n\nLeaning on her arm and the crutch which Quijada had mutely presented to\nhim, Charles cautiously descended the stairs. He had indignantly rejected\nthe leech's proposal to use a litter in the house also, if the gout\ntortured him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nMajesty, whose nature demands that people should look up to it, shuns the\ndownward glance of compassion. Yet during this walk the Emperor Charles,\neven at the risk of presenting a pitiable spectacle, would gladly have\navailed himself of the litter.\n\nHe, who had cherished the proud feeling of uniting in himself, his own\nimperial power, the temporal and ecclesiastical sovereignty over all\nChristendom, would now willingly have changed places with the bronzed,\nsinewy halberdiers who were presenting arms to him along the sides of the\nstaircase. Yet he waved back Luis Quijada with an angry glance and the\nsharp query, \"Who summoned you?\" when, in an attitude of humble entreaty,\nhe ventured to offer him the support of his strong arm. Still, pain.\ncompelled him to pause at every third step, and ever and anon to lean\nupon the strong hip of his royal sister.\n\nQueen Mary gladly rendered him the service, and, as she gazed into his\nface, wan with anxiety and suffering, and thought of the beautiful\nsurprise which she had in store, she waved back, unnoticed by her royal\nbrother, the pages and courtiers who were following close behind. Then\nlooking up at him, she murmured:\n\n\"How you must suffer, Carlos! But happiness will surely follow the\nmartyrdom. Only a few steps, a few minutes more, and you will again look\nlife in the face with joyous courage. You will not believe it? Yet it is\ntrue. I would even be inclined to wager my own salvation upon it.\"\n\nThe Emperor shook his head dejectedly, and answered bitterly:\n\n\"Such things should not be trifled with; besides, you would lose your\nwager. Joyous courage, Querida, was buried long ago, and too many cares\ninsure its having no resurrection. The good gifts which Heaven formerly\npermitted me to enjoy have lost their zest; instead of bread, it now\ngives me stones. The best enjoyment it still grants me--I am honest and\nnot ungrateful in saying so--is a well-prepared meal. Laugh, if you\nchoose! If moralists and philosophers heard me, they would frown. But the\nconsumption of good things affords them pleasure too. It's a pity that\nsatiety so speedily ends it.\"\n\nWhile speaking, he again descended a few steps, but the Queen, supporting\nhim with the utmost solicitude, answered cheerily:\n\n\"The baser senses, with taste at their head, and the higher ones of sight\nand hearing, I know, are all placed by your Majesty in the same regiment,\nwith equal rank; your obedient servant, on the contrary, bestows the\ncommissions of officers only on the higher ones. That seems to me the\ncorrect way, and I don't relinquish the hope of winning for it the\napproval of the greatest general and most tasteful connoisseur of life.\"\n\n\"If the new cook keeps his promise, certainly not,\" replied Charles,\nentering into his sister's tone. \"De Rye asserts that he is peerless. We\nshall see. As to the senses, they all have an equal share in enabling us\nto receive our impressions and form an opinion from them. Why should the\ntongue and the palate--But stay! Who the devil can philosophize with such\ntwinges in the foot?\"\n\n\"Besides, that can be done much better,\" replied the Queen, patting the\nsufferer's arm affectionately, \"while the five unequal brothers are\nperforming the duties of their offices. The saints be praised! Here we\nare at the bottom. No, Carlos, no! Not through the chapel! The stone\nflags there are so hard and cold.\"\n\nAs she spoke she guided him around it into the dining-room, where a large\ntable stood ready for the monarch's personal suite and a smaller one for\nhis sister and himself.\n\nThe tortured sovereign, still under the influence of the suffering which\nhe had endured, crossed himself and sat down. Quijada and young Count\nTassis, the Emperor's favourite page, placed the gouty foot in the most\ncomfortable position, and Count Buren, the chamberlain, presented the\nmenu. Charles instantly scanned the list of dishes, and his face clouded\nstill more as he missed the highly seasoned game pasty which the culinary\nartist had proposed and he had approved. Queen Mary had ordered that it\nshould be omitted, because Dr. Mathys had pronounced it poison for the\ngouty patient, and she confessed the offence.\n\nThis was done with the frank affection with which she treated her\nbrother, but Charles, after the first few words, interrupted her, harshly\nforbidding any interference, even hers, in matters which concerned\nhimself alone, and in the same breath commanded Count Buren to see that\nthe dish should still be made. Then, as if to show his sister how little\nhe cared for her opposition, he seized the crystal jug with his own hand,\nwithout waiting for the cup-bearer behind him, filled the goblet with\nfiery Xeres wine, and hurriedly drained it, though the leech had\nforbidden him, while suffering from the gout, to do more than moisten his\nlips with the heating liquor.\n\nThe eyes of the royal huntress, though she was by no means unduly\nsoft-hearted, grew dim with tears. This was her brother's gratitude for\nthe faithful care which she bestowed upon him! Who could tell whether her\nsurprise, instead of pleasing him, might not rouse his anger? He was\nstill frowning as though the greatest injury had been inflicted upon him,\nand his sister's tearful eyes led him to exclaim wrathfully, as if he\nwished to palliate his unchivalrous indignation to a lady:\n\n\"I am deprived of one pleasure after another, and the little enjoyment\nremaining is lessened wherever it can be. Who has heavier loads of\nanxiety to endure?--yet you spoil my recreation during the brief hours\nwhen I succeed in casting off the burden.\"\n\nHere he paused and obstinately grasped the golden handle of the pitcher\nagain. The Queen remained silent. Contradiction would have made the\nobdurate sovereign empty another goblet also. Even a look of entreaty\nwould have been out of place on this occasion. So she fixed her eyes\nmutely and sadly upon her silver plate; but even her silence irritated\nthe Emperor, and he was about to give fresh expression to his ill-humour,\nwhen the doors of the chapel opposite to him opened, and the surprise\nbegan.\n\nThe signal for the commencement of the singing had been the delivery of\nthe first dish from the steward to one of the great nobles, who presented\nit to their Majesties.\n\nThe Queen's face brightened, and tears of heartfelt joy, instead of grief\nand disappointment, now moistened her eyes, for if ever a surprise had\naccomplished the purpose desired it was this one.\n\nCharles was gazing, as if the gates of Paradise had opened before him,\ntoward the chapel doors, whence Maestro Gombert's Benedictio Mensae, a\nmelody entirely new to him, was pouring like a holy benediction, devout\nyet cheering, sometimes solemn, anon full of joy.\n\nThe lines of anxiety vanished from his brow as if at the spell of a\nmagician. The dull eyes gained a brilliant, reverent light, the bent\nfigure straightened itself. He seemed to his sister ten years younger.\nShe saw in his every feature how deeply the music had affected him.\n\nShe knew her imperial brother. Had not his heart and soul been fully\nabsorbed by the flood of pure and noble tones which so unexpectedly\nstreamed toward him, his eyes would have been at least briefly attracted\nby the dish which Count Krockow more than once presented, for it\ncontained an oyster ragout which a mounted messenger had brought that\nnoon from the Baltic Sea to the city on the Danube.\n\nYet many long minutes elapsed ere he noticed the dish, though it was one\nof his favourite viands. Barbara's song stirred the imperial lover of\nmusic at the nocturnal banquet just as it had thrilled the great\nmusicians a few hours before. He thought that he had never heard anything\nmore exquisite, and when the Benedictio Mensa: died away he clasped his\nsister's hand, raised it two or three times to his lips, and thanked her\nwith such affectionate warmth that she blessed the accomplishment of her\nhappy idea, and willingly forgot the unpleasant moments she had just\nundergone.\n\nNow, as if completely transformed, he wished to be told who had had the\nlucky thought of summoning his orchestra and her boy choir, and how the\nplan had been executed; and when he had heard the story, he fervently\npraised the delicacy of feeling and true sportsmanlike energy of her\nstrong and loving woman's heart.\n\nThe court orchestra gave its best work, and so did the new head cook. The\npheasant stuffed with snails and the truffle sauce with it seemed\ndelicious to the sovereign, who called the dish a triumph of the culinary\nart of the Netherlands. The burden of anxieties and the pangs inflicted\nby the gout seemed to be forgotten, and when the orchestra ceased he\nasked to hear the boy choir again.\n\nThis time it gave the most beautiful portion of Joscluin de Pres's hymn\nto the Virgin, \"Ecce tu pulchra es\"; and when Barbara's \"Quia amore\nlangueo\" reached his ear and heart with its love-yearning melody, he\nnodded to his sister with wondering delight, and then listened, as if\nrapt from the world, until the last notes of the motet died away.\n\nWhere had Appenzelder discovered the marvellous boy who sang this \"Quia\namore langueo\"? He sent Don Luis Quijada to assure the leader and the\nyoung singer of his warmest approbation, and then permitted the Queen\nalso to seek the choir and its leader to ask whom the latter had\nsucceeded in obtaining in the place of the lad from Cologne, whom he had\noften heard sing the \"tu pulchra es,\" but with incomparably less depth of\nfeeling.\n\nWhen she returned she informed the Emperor of the misfortune which had\nbefallen the two boys, and how successful Appenzelder had been in the\nchoice of a substitute. Yet she still concealed the fact that a girl was\nnow the leader of his choir, for, kindly as her brother nodded to her\nwhen she took her place at the table again, no one could tell how he\nwould regard this anomaly.\n\nBesides, the next day would be the 1st of May, the anniversary of the\ndeath of his wife Isabella, who had passed away from earth seven years\nbefore, and the more she herself had been surprised by the rare and\nsingular beauty of the fair-haired songstress, the less could she venture\non that day or the morrow to blend with the memories of the departed\nQueen the image of another woman who possessed such unusual charms. The\nEmperor had already asked her a few questions about the young singers,\nand learned that the bell-like weaker voice, which harmonized so\nexquisitely with that of the invalid Johannes's substitute, belonged to\nthe little Maltese lad Hannibal, whose darling wish, through Wolf's\nintercession, had been fulfilled. His inquiries, however, were\ninterrupted by a fresh performance of the boy choir.\n\nThis again extorted enthusiastic applause from the sovereign, and when,\nwhile he was still shouting \"Brava!\" the highly seasoned game pasty which\nmeanwhile, despite the regent's former prohibition, had been prepared,\nand now, beautifully browned, rose from a garland of the most tempting\naccessories, was offered, he waved it away. As he did so his eyes sought\nhis sister's, and his expressive features told her that he was imposing\nthis sacrifice upon himself for her sake.\n\nIt was long since he had bestowed a fairer gift. True, in this mood, it\nseemed impossible for him to refrain from the wine. It enlivened him and\ndoubled the unexpected pleasure. Unfortunately, he was to atone only too\nspeedily for this offence against medical advice, for his heated blood\nincreased the twinges of the gout to such a degree that he was compelled\nto relinquish his desire to listen to the exquisite singing longer.\n\nGroaning, he suffered himself--this time in a litter--to be carried back\nto his chamber, where, in spite of the pangs that tortured him, he asked\nfor the letter in which Granvelle informed his royal master every evening\nwhat he thought of the political affairs to be settled the next day.\nMaster Adrian, the valet, had just brought it, but this time Charles\nglanced over the important expressions of opinion given by the young\nminister swiftly and without deeper examination. The saying that the\nEmperor could not dispense with him, but he might do without the Emperor,\nhad originally applied to his father, whose position he filled to the\nmonarch's satisfaction in every respect.\n\nThe confessor had reminded the sovereign of the anniversary which had\nalready dawned, and which he was accustomed to celebrate in his own way.\n\nVery early in the morning, after a few hours spent in suffering, he heard\nmass, and then remained for hours in the sable-draped room where he\ncommuned with himself alone.\n\nThe regent knew that on this memorable day he would not be seen even by\nher. The success of the surprise afforded a guarantee that music would\nsupply her place to him on the morrow also, and ere she left him she\nrequested a short leave of absence to enjoy the hunting for which she\nlonged, and permission to take his major-domo Quijada with her.\n\nAn almost unintelligible murmur from the sufferer told her that he had\ngranted the petition. It was done reluctantly, but the Queen departed at\ndawn with Don Luis and a small train of attendants, while the Emperor\nretired into the black-draped chamber.\n\nThe gout would really have prohibited him from kneeling before the altar,\nwhence the agonized face of the crucified Redeemer, carved in ivory by a\ngreat Florentine master, gazed at him, but he took this torture upon\nhimself.\n\nEven in the period of health and happiness when, at the age of\ntwenty-three, besides the great boon of health, besides fame, power, and\nwoman's love, he had enjoyed in rich abundance all the gifts which Heaven\nbestows on mortals, his devout nature had led him to retreat into a\ngloomy, solitary apartment.\n\nThe feeling that constantly drew him thither again was akin to the dread\nwhich the ancients had of the envy of the gods, and, moreover, the\nadmonition of his pious teacher who afterward became Pope Adrian, that\nthe less man spares himself the more confidently he can rely upon the\nforbearance of God.\n\nAnd, in truth, this mighty sovereign, racked by almost unendurable pain,\ndealt cruelly enough with himself when he compelled his aching knee to\nbend until consciousness threatened to fail under the excess of agony.\n\nNowhere did he find more complete calmness than here, in no spot could he\npray more fervently, and the boon which he most ardently besought from\nHeaven was that it would spare him the fate of his insane mother, hold\naloof the fiend which in many a gloomy hour he saw stretching a hand\ntoward him.\n\nHere, too, he sought to penetrate the nature of death. In this room,\nclothed with the sable hue of mourning, he felt that alreadv, while on\nearth, he had fallen into its all-levelling power. Here his mind, like\nthat of a dying man's, grasped for brief intervals what life had offered\nand what awaited him beyond the confines of this short earthly existence,\nin eternity.\n\nWhile thus occupied, the sovereign, accustomed to speculation,\nencountered many a dangerous doubt, but he only needed to gaze at the\ncrucified Saviour to find the way again to the promises of his Church.\n\nThe last years had deprived him of so large a portion of the most\nvaluable possessions and the best ornaments of his life, and inflicted,\nboth in wardly and outwardly, such keen suffering, that it was easy for\nhim to perceive what a gain death would bring.\n\nWhat it could take from him was easily lost; the relief it promised to\nafford no power, science, or art here on earth could procure for\nhim--release from cruel suffering and oppressive cares.\n\nWhile he was learning the German language the name \"Friend Hein,\" which\nhe heard applied to death, perplexed him; now he thought that he\nunderstood it, for the man with the scythe wore to him also the face of a\nfriend, who when the time had come would not keep him waiting long. As he\nthought of his wife, of whose death this day was the anniversary, he felt\ninclined to envy her. What he had lost by her decease seemed very little\nto others who were aware of the long periods of time during which,\nseparated from each other, they had gone their own ways; but he knew that\nit was more than they supposed, for with Isabella he had lost the\ncertainty that the sincere, nay, perhaps affectionate interest of a being\nunited to him by the sacrament of marriage accompanied his every step.\n\nHis pleasure in life had withered with the growth of the harsh conviction\nthat he was no longer loved by any one for his own sake.\n\nIn this chamber, draped with sable hangings, his own heart seemed dead,\nlike dry wood from which only a miracle could lure green leafage again.\nWith the only real pity which was at his command, compassion on himself,\nhe rose from the kneeling posture which had become unbearable.\n\nWith difficulty he sank into the arm-chair which stood ready for him,\nand, panting for breath, asked himself whether every joy had indeed\nvanished. No!\n\nMusic still stirred his benumbed heart to swifter throbbing. He thought\nof the pleasure which the previous evening had afforded, and suddenly it\nseemed as if he again heard the \"Quia amore langueo\"--\"Because I long for\nlove\"--that had touched his soul the day before.\n\nYes, he, too, still longed for love, for a different, a warmer feeling\nthan the lukewarm blood of his royal mother had bestowed upon her\nchildren, or the devotion of the sister to whom the chase was dearer than\naught else, certainly than his society.\n\nBut such thoughts did not befit this room, which was consecrated to\nserious reflections. The anniversary summoned him to far different\nfeelings. Yet, powerfully as he resisted them, his awakened senses\ncontinued to demand their rights, and, while he closed his eyes and\npressed his brow against the base of the altar covered with black cloth,\nchangeful images of happier days rose before him. He, too, had rejoiced\nin a vigorous, strong, and pliant body. In the jousts he had been sure of\nvictory over even dreaded opponents; as a bull-fighter he had excelled\nthe matador; as a skilful participant in riding at the ring, as well as a\ntireless hunter, he had scarcely found his equal. In the prime of his\nyouth the hearts of many fair women had throbbed warmly for him, but he\nhad been fastidious. Yet where he had aimed at victory, he had rarely\nfailed.\n\nThe sensuous, fair-haired Duchess of Aerschot, the dark-eyed Cornelia\nAnnoni of Milan, the devout Dolores Gonzaga, with her large, calm,\nenthusiastic eyes, and again and again, crowding all the others into the\nbackground, the timid Johanna van der Gheynst, who under her delicate\nframe concealed a volcano of ardent passion. She had given him a daughter\nwhose head was now adorned by a crown. In spite of the brief duration of\ntheir love bond, she had been clearer to him than all the rest--clearer\neven than the woman to whom the sacrament of marriage afterward united\nhim. And she of whom seven years ago death had bereft him?\n\nAt this question a bitter smile hovered around his full lips. How much\nbetter love than hers he had known! And how easy Isabella had rendered it\nnot to weary of her, for during his long journeys and frequent dangerous\ncampaigns, instead of accompanying him, she had led in some carefully\nguarded castle a life that suited her quiet tastes.\n\nA sorrowful smile curled his lips as he recalled the agreement which they\nhad made just before a separation. At that time both were young, yet how\nwillingly she had accepted his proposal that, when age approached, they\nshould separate forever, that she in one cloister and he in another might\nprepare for the end of life!\n\nWhat reply would a woman with true love in her heart have made to such a\ndemand?\n\nNo, no, Isabella had felt as little genuine love for him as he for her!\nHer death had been a sorrow to him, but he had shed no tears over it.\n\nHe could not weep. He no longer knew whether he was able to do so when a\nchild. Since his beard had grown, at any rate, his eyes had remained dry.\nThe words of the Roman satirist, that tears were the best portion of all\nhuman life, returned to his memory. Would he himself ever experience the\nrelief which they were said to afford the human heart?\n\nBut who among the living would he have deemed worthy of them? When his\ninsane mother died, he could not help considering the poor Queen\nfortunate because Heaven had at last released her from such a condition.\nOf the children whom his wife Isabella and Johanna van der Gheynst had\ngiven him, he did not even think. An icy atmosphere emanated from his son\nPhilip which froze every warm feeling that encountered it. He remembered\nhis daughter with pleasure, but how rarely he was permitted to enjoy her\nsociety! Besides, he had done enough for his posterity, more than enough.\nTo increase the grandeur of his family and render it the most powerful\nreigning house in the world, he had become prematurely old; had\nundertaken superhuman tasks of toil and care; even now he would permit\nhimself no repose. The consciousness of having fulfilled his duty to his\nfamily and the Church might have comforted him in this hour, but the plus\nultra--more, farther--which had so often led him into the conflict for\nthe dream of a world sovereignty, the grandeur of his own race, and\nagainst the foes of his holy faith, now met the barrier of a more\npowerful fate. Instead of advancing, he had seemed, since the defeat at\nAlgiers, to go backward.\n\nBesides, how often the leech threatened him with a speedy death if he\nindulged himself at table with the viands which suited his taste! Yet the\nother things that remained for him to enjoy scarcely seemed worth\nmentioning. To restore unity to the Church, to make the crowns which he\nwore the hereditary possessions of his house, were two aims worthy of the\nhardest struggles, but, unless he deceived himself, he could not\nhope to attain them. Thus life, until its end--perhaps wholly\nunexpectedly--arrived within a brief season, offered him nothing save\nsuffering and sacrifice, disappointment, toil, and anxieties.\n\nWith little cheer or elevation of soul, he looked up and rang the bell.\nTwo chamberlains and Master Adrian appeared, and while Baron\nMalfalconnet, who did not venture to jest in this spot, offered him his\narm and the valet the crutch, his confessor, Pedro de Soto, also entered\nthe black-draped room.\n\nA single glance showed him that this time the quiet sojourn in the gloomy\napartment, instead of exerting an elevating and brightening influence,\nhad had a depressing and saddening effect upon the already clouded spirit\nof his imperial penitent. In spite of the most zealous effort, he had not\nsucceeded in finding his way into the soul-life of this sovereign,\nequally great in intellect and energy, but neither frank nor truthful,\nyet, on the other hand, his penetration often succeeded in fathoming the\ncauses of the Emperor's moods.\n\nWith the quiet firmness which harmonized so perfectly with a personal\nappearance that inspired confidence, the priest now frankly but\nrespectfully expressed what he thought he had observed.\n\nTrue, he attributed the Emperor's deep despondency to totally different\ncauses, but he openly deplored the sorrowful agitation which the memories\nof the beloved dead had awakened in his Majesty.\n\nIn natural, simple words, the learned man, skilled in the art of\nlanguage, represented to the imperial widower how little reason he had to\nmourn his devout wife. He was rather justified in regarding her death\nhour as the first of a happy birthday. For the sleeper whose dream here\non earth he, Charles, had beautified in so many ways, a happy waking had\nlong since followed in the land for which she had never ceased to yearn.\nFor him, the Emperor, Heaven still had great tasks in this world, and\nmany a victory awaited him. If his prayer was heard, and his Majesty\nshould decide to battle for the holiest cause, sorrowful anxieties would\nvanish from his pathway as the mists of dawn scatter before the rising\nsun. He well knew the gravity of the demands which every day imposed upon\nhis Majesty, but he could give him the assurance that nothing could be\nmore pleasing to Heaven than that he, who was chosen as its champion,\nshould, by mastering them, enjoy the gifts with which Eternal Love set\nits board as abundantly for the poorest carter as for the mightiest\nruler.\n\nThen he spoke of the surprise of the night before, and how gratefully he\nhad heard that music had once more exerted its former magic power. Its\neffect would be permanent, even though physical suffering and sorrowful\nmemories might interrupt it for a few brief hours.\n\n\"That,\" he concluded, \"Nature herself just at this season teaches us to\nhope. This day of fasting and sadness will be followed by a series of the\nbrightest weeks--the time of leafage, blossom, and bird songs, which is\nso dear to the merciful mother of God. May the month of May, called by\nthe Germans the joy month, and which dawns to-day with bright sunshine\nand a clear, blue sky, be indeed a season of joy to your Majesty!\"\n\n\"God grant it!\" replied the Emperor dully, and then, with a shrug of the\nshoulders, added: \"Besides, I can not imagine whence such joy should come\nto me. A boy's bell-like voice sang to me yesterday, 'Quia amore\nlangueo.' This heart, too, longs for love, but it will never find it on\nearth.\"\n\n\"Why not, if your Majesty sends forth to seek it?\" replied the confessor\neagerly. \"The Gospel itself gives a guarantee of success. 'Seek, and ye\nshall find,' it promises. To the heart which longs for love the\nall-bountiful Father sends that for which it longs to meet it halfway.\"\n\n\"When it is young,\" added the Emperor, shrugging his shoulders\nimpatiently. \"But when the soul's power of flight has failed, who will\nbestow the ability to traverse the half of the way allotted to it?\"\n\n\"The omnipotence which works greater miracles,\" replied the priest in a\ntone of the most ardent conviction, pointing upward.\n\nCharles nodded a mournful assent, and, after a sign which indicated to\nthe confessor that he desired the interview to end, he continued his\npainful walk.\n\nHe had waved aside the litter which the lord chamberlain, Count Heinrich\nof Nassau, had placed ready for him, and limped, amid severe suffering,\nto his room.\n\nThere the Bishop of Arras awaited him with arduous work, and the Emperor\ndid not allow himself a moment's rest while his sister was using the\nbeautiful first of May to ride and hunt. Charles missed her, and still\nmore the faithful man who had served him as a page, and whom he had been\naccustomed since to have in close attendance upon him.\n\nTo gratify his sister's passion for the chase he had given Quijada leave\nof absence, and now he regretted it. True, he told no one that he missed\nDon Luis, but those who surrounded him were made to feel his ill-humour\nplainly enough. Only he admitted to the Bishop of Arras that the radiant\nlight which was shining into his window was disagreeable. It made too\nstrong a contrast to his gloomy soul, and it even seemed as though the\ncourse of the sun, in its beaming, unattainably lofty path, mocked the\nhapless, painful obstruction to his own motion.\n\nAt noon he enjoyed very little of the meal, prepared for a fast day,\nwhich the new cook had made tempting enough.\n\nIn reply to the Count of Nassau's inquiry whether he wished to hear any\nmusic, he had answered rudely that the musicians and the boy choir could\nplay and sing in the chapel for aught he cared. Whether he would listen\nto the performance was doubtful.\n\nSingle tones had reached his ears, but he did not feel in the mood to\ndescend the stairs.\n\nHe went to rest earlier than usual. The next morning, after mass, he\nhimself asked for Josquin's \"Ecce tu pulchra es.\" It was to be sung\nduring the noonday meal. But when, instead of the Queen and Quijada, a\nlittle note came from his sister, requesting, in a jesting tone, an\nextension of the leave of absence because she trusted to the healing\npower of the sun and the medicine \"music\" upon her distinguished brother,\nand the chase bound her by a really magic spell to the green May woods,\nhe flung the sheet indignantly away, and, just before the beginning of\nthe meal, ordered the singing to be omitted.\n\nEither in consequence of the fasting or the warm sunshine, the pangs of\nthe gout began to lessen; but, nevertheless, his mood grew still more\nmelancholy, for he had believed in the sincere affection of two human\nbeings, and Queen Mary left him alone in his misery, while his faithful\nLuis, to please the female Nimrod, did the same.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Dread which the ancients had of the envy of the gods\n     Shuns the downward glance of compassion\n     That tears were the best portion of all human life\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nDuring the singing in the chapel on the fast day Barbara had waited\nvainly for a word of appreciation from the Emperor. The Queen of Hungary\nhad gone to the chase, and the monarch had remained in his apartments,\nwhile she had done her best below. A few lords and ladies of the court,\nseveral priests, knights, and pages had been the only listeners.\n\nThis had sorely irritated her easily wounded sensitiveness, but she had\nappeared at the rehearsal in the New Scales on the following morning.\nAgain she reaped lavish praise, but several times she met Appenzelder's\nwell-founded criticisms with opposition.\n\nThe radiant cheerfulness which, the day before yesterday, had invested\nher nature with an irresistible charm had vanished.\n\nWhen the tablatures were at last laid aside, and the invitation to sing\nin the Golden Cross did not yet arrive, her features and her whole manner\nbecame so sullen that even some of the choir boys noticed it.\n\nSince the day before a profound anxiety had filled her whole soul, and\nshe herself wondered that it had been possible for her to conquer it just\nnow during the singing.\n\nHow totally different an effect she had expected her voice--which even\nthe greatest connoisseurs deemed worthy of admiration--to produce upon\nthe music-loving Emperor!\n\nWhat did she care if the evening of the day before yesterday the Queen of\nHungary had paid her fine compliments and assured her of the high\napproval of her imperial brother, since Appenzelder had informed her\nyesterday that it was necessary to conceal from his Majesty the fact that\na woman was occupying the place of the lad from Cologne, Johannes. The\nawkward giant had been unfriendly to women ever since, many years before,\nhis young wife had abandoned him for a Neapolitan officer, and his bad\nopinion of the fairer sex had been by no means lessened when Barbara, at\nthis communication, showed with pitiless frankness the anger and\nmortification which it aroused in her mind. A foul fiend, he assured\nGombert, was hidden in that golden-haired delight of the eyes with the\nsiren voice; but the leader of the orchestra had interceded for her, and\nthought that her complaint was just. So great an artist was too good to\nfill the place of substitute for a sick boy who sang for low wages. She\nhad obliged him merely to win the applause of the Emperor and his\nillustrious sister, and to have the regent turn her back upon Ratisbon\njust at this time, and without having informed his Majesty whose voice\nhad with reason aroused his delight, would be felt even by a gentler\nwoman as an injury.\n\nAppenzelder could not help admitting this, and then dejectedly promised\nBarbara to make amends as soon as possible for the wrong which the\nregent, much against his will, had committed.\n\nHe was compelled to use all the power of persuasion at his command to\nkeep her in the boy choir, at least until the poisoned members could be\nemployed again, for she threatened seriously to withdraw her aid in\nfuture.\n\nWolf, too, had a difficult position with the girl whom his persuasion had\ninduced to enter the choir. What Appenzelder ascribed to the devil\nhimself, he attributed merely to the fervour of her fiery artist\ntemperament. Yet her vehement outburst of wrath had startled him also,\nand a doubt arose in his mind as to what matrimonial life might be with a\ncompanion who, in spite of her youth, ventured to oppose elderly,\ndignified men so irritably and sharply. But at the very next song which\nhad greeted him from her rosy lips this scruple was forgotten. With\nsparkling eyes he assented to Gombert's protestation that, in her wrath,\nshe had resembled the goddess Nemesis, and looked more beautiful than\never.\n\nIn spite of his gray hair, she seemed to have bewitched the great\nmusician, like so many other men, and this only enhanced her value in\nWolf's sight.\n\nUrgently, nay, almost humbly, he at last entreated her to have patience,\nfor, if not at noon, his Majesty would surely desire to hear the boy\nchoir in the evening. Besides, he added, she must consider it a great\ncompliment that his Majesty had summoned the singers to the Glen Cross\nthe evening before at all, for on such days of fasting and commemoration\nthe Emperor was in the habit of devoting himself to silent reflection,\nand shunned every amusement.\n\nBut honest Appenzelder, who frankly contradicted everything opposed to\nthe truth, would not let this statement pass. Nay, he interrupted Wolf\nwith the assurance that, on the contrary, the Emperor on such days\nfrequently relied upon solemn hymns to transport him into a fitting mood.\nBesides, the anniversary was past, and if his Majesty did not desire to\nhear them to-day, business, or the gout, or indigestion, or a thousand\nother reasons might be the cause. They must simply submit to the pleasure\nof royalty. They was entirely in accordance with custom that his Majesty\ndid not leave his apartments the day before. He never did so on such\nanniversaries unless he or Gombert had something unusual to offer.\n\nBarbara bit her lips, and, while the May sun shone brilliantly into the\nhall, exclaimed:\n\n\"So, since this time you could offer him nothing 'unusual,' Master, I\nwill beg you to grant me leave of absence.\" Then turning swiftly upon her\nheel and calling to Wolf, by way of explanation, \"The Schlumpergers and\nothers are going to Prufening to-day, and they invited me to the May\nexcursion too. It will be delightful, and I shall be glad if you'll come\nwith us.\"\n\nThe leader of the choir saw his error, and with earnest warmth entreated\nher not to make his foolish old head suffer for it. \"If, after all, his\nMajesty should desire to hear the choir that noon, it would only be\nbecause----\"\n\nHere he hesitated, and then reluctantly made the admission--\"Because you\nyourself, you fair one, who turns everybody's bead, are the 'unusual'\nsomething which our sovereign lord would fain hear once more, if the gout\ndoes not----\"\n\nThen Barbara laughed gaily in her clear, bell like tones, seized the\nclumsy Goliath's long, pointed beard, and played all sorts of pranks upon\nhim with such joyous mirth that, when she at last released him, he ran\nafter her like a young lover to catch her; but she had nimbler feet, and\nhe was far enough behind when she called from the threshold:\n\n\"I won't let myself be caught, but since your pretty white goat's beard\nbewitches me, I'll be obliging to-day.\"\n\nShe laughingly kissed her hand to him from the doorway as she spoke, and\nit seemed as though her yielding was to be instantly rewarded, for before\nshe left the house Chamberlain de Praet appeared to summon the choir to\nthe Golden Cross at one o'clock.\n\nBarbara's head was proudly erect as she crossed the square. Wolf followed\nher, and, on reaching home, found her engaged in a little dispute with\nher father.\n\nThe latter had been much disgusted with himself for his complaisance the\nday before. Although Wolf had come to escort Barbara to the Emperor's\nlodgings, he had accompanied his child to the Golden Cross, where she was\nreceived by Maestro Appenzelder. Then, since he could only have heard the\nsinging under conditions which seemed unendurable to his pride, he\nsullenly retired to drink his beer in the tap-room of the New Scales.\n\nAs, on account of the late hour, he found no other guest, he did not\nremain there long, but returned to the Haidplatz to go home with Barbara.\n\nThis he considered his paternal duty, for already he saw in imagination\nthe counts and knights who, after the Emperor and the Queen had loaded\nher with praise and honour, would wish to escort her home. Dainty pages\ncertainly would not be deprived of the favour of carrying her train and\nlighting her way with torches. But he knew courtiers and these saucy\nscions of the noblest houses, and hoped that her father's presence would\nhold their insolence in check. Therefore he had endeavoured to give to\nhis outer man an appearance which would command respect, for he wore his\nhelmet, his coat of mail, and over it the red scarf which his dead wife\nhad embroidered with gold flowers and mountains-his coat-of-arms.\n\nIn spite of the indispensable cane in his right hand, he wore his long\nbattle sword, but he would have been wiser to leave it at home.\n\nWhile pacing up and down before the Golden Cross in the silent night to\nwait for his daughter, the halberdiers at the entrance noticed him.\n\nWhat was the big man doing here at this late hour? How dared he venture\nto wear a sword in the precincts of the Emperor's residence, contrary to\nthe law, and, moreover, a weapon of such unusual length and width, which\nhad not been carried for a long while?\n\nAfter the guards were relieved they had suddenly surrounded him, and, in\nspite of his vigorous resistance, would have taken him prisoner. But\nfortunately the musicians, among them Barbara and Wolf, had just come out\ninto the street, and the latter had told the sergeant of the guards, whom\nhe knew, how mistaken he had been concerning the suspicions pedestrian,\nand obtained his release. Thus the careful father's hopes had been\nfrustrated. But when he learned that his daughter had not seen the\nEmperor at all, and had neither been seen nor spoken to by him, he\ngave--notwithstanding his reverence for the sacred person of his mighty\ncommander--full expression to his indignation.\n\nFool that he had been to permit Barbara to present herself at court with\na troop of ordinary singing boys! Even on the following day he persisted\nin the declaration that it was his duty, as a father and a nobleman, to\nprotect his daughter from further humiliations of this sort.\n\nYet when, on the day of fasting, the invitation to sing came, he\npermitted Barbara to accept it, because it was the Emperor who summoned\nher. He had called for her again, and on the way home learned that\nneither his Majesty nor the regent had been among the listeners, and he\nhad gone to rest like a knight who has been hurled upon the sand.\n\nThe next morning, after mass, Barbara went to the rehearsal, and returned\nin a very joyous mood with the tidings that the Emperor wished to hear\nher about noon. But this time her father wanted to forbid her taking part\nin the performance, and Wolf had not found it easy to make him understand\nthat this would insult and offend his Majesty.\n\nThe dispute was by no means ended when the little Maltese summoned her to\nthe New Scales. Wolf accompanied her only to the Haidplatz, for he had\nbeen called to the Town Hall on business connected with his inheritance;\nbut Barbara learned in the room assigned to the musicians that the noon\nperformance had just been countermanded, and no special reason had been\ngiven for the change.\n\nThe leader of the orchestra had been accustomed to submit to the\nsovereign's arrangements as unresistingly as to the will of higher\npowers, and Barbara also restrained herself.\n\nTrue, wrath boiled and seethed in her breast, but before retiring she\nonly said briefly, with a seriousness which revealed the contempt\nconcealed beneath:\n\n\"You were quite right, Maestro Appenzelder. The Emperor considered my\nvoice nothing unusual, and nothing else is fit for the august ears of his\nMajesty. Now I will go to the green woods.\"\n\nThe leader of the boy choir again did his best to detain her, for what\nthe noon denied the evening would bring, and Gombert aided him with\ncourteous flatteries; but Barbara listened only a short time, then,\ninterrupting both with the exclamation, \"I force myself upon no one, not\neven the highest!\" she left the room, holding her head haughtily erect.\n\nAppenzelder fixed his eyes helplessly upon the ground.\n\n\"I'd rather put a hoarse sailor or a croaking owl into my choir\nhenceforward than such a trilling fair one, who has more whims in her\nhead than hairs on it.\"\n\nThen he went out to look for Wolf, for he, as well as Gombert, had\nnoticed that he possessed a certain degree of influence over Barbara.\nWhat should he say to their Majesties if they ordered the choir for the\nlate meal and missed the voice about which the Queen had said so many\ncomplimentary things in the Emperor's name?\n\nWolf had told him that he was summoned to the Town Hall. The maestro\nfollowed him, and when he learned there that he had gone to the syndic,\nDr. Hiltner, he inquired the way to this gentleman's house.\n\nBut the knight was no longer to be found there. For the third time the\nbusy magistrate was not at home, but he had been informed that the syndic\nexpected him that afternoon, as he wished to discuss a matter of\nimportance. Dr. Hiltner's wife knew what it was, but silence had been\nenjoined upon her, and she was a woman who knew how to refrain from\nspeech.\n\nShe and her daughter Martina--who during Wolf's absence had grown to\nmaidenhood--were sincerely glad to see him; he had been the favourite\nschoolmate of her adopted son, Erasmus Eckhart, and a frequent guest in\nher household. Yet she only confirmed to the modest young man, who shrank\nfrom asking her more minute questions, that the matter concerned an offer\nwhose acceptance promised to make him a prosperous man. She was expecting\nher Erasmus home from Wittenberg that evening or early the next morning,\nand to find Wolf here again would be a welcome boon to him.\n\nWhat had the syndic in view? Evidently something good. Old Ursel should\nhelp counsel him. The doctor liked her, and, in spite of the severe\nillness, she had kept her clever brain.\n\nHe would take Barbara into his confidence, too, for what concerned him\nconcerned her also.\n\nBut when he turned from the Haidplatz into Red Cock Street he saw three\nfine horses in front of the cantor house. A groom held their bridles. The\nlarge chestnut belonged to the servant. The other two-a big-boned bay and\nan unusually wellformed Andalusian gray, with a small head and long\nsweeping tail--had ladies' saddles.\n\nThe sister of rich old Peter Schlumperger, who was paying court to\nBarbara, had dismounted from the former. She wanted to persuade the young\ngirl, in her brother's name, to join the party to the wood adjoining\nPrfifening Abbey.\n\nAt first she had opposed the marriage between the man of fifty and\nBarbara; but when she saw that her brother's affection had lasted two\nyears, nay, had increased more and more, and afforded new joy to the\nchildless widower, she had made herself his ally.\n\nShe, too, was widowed and had a large fortune of her own. Her husband, a\nmember of the Kastenmayr family, had made her his heiress. Blithe young\nBarbara, whose voice and beauty she knew how to value, could bring new\nlife and brightness into the great, far too silent house. The girl's\npoverty was no disadvantage; she and her brother had long found it\ndifficult to know what to do with the vast wealth which, even in these\nhard times, was constantly increasing, and the Blomberg family was as\naristocratic as their own.\n\nThe widow's effort to persuade the girl to ride had not been in vain, for\nWolf met Frau Kastenmayr on the stairs, and Barbara followed in a plain\ndark riding habit, which had been her mother's.\n\nSo, in spite of Maestro Appenzelder, Miss Self-Will had really determined\nto leave the city.\n\nHer hasty information that the Emperor did not wish to hear the choir at\nnoon somewhat relieved his mind; but when, in answer to his no less hasty\nquestion about the singing at the late meal, the answer came, \"What is\nthat to me?\" he perceived that the sensitiveness which yesterday had\nalmost led her to a similar step had now urged her to an act that might\ncause Appenzelder great embarrassment, and rob her forever of the honour\nof singing before their Majesties.\n\nWhile the very portly Frau Kastenmayr went panting down the narrow\nstairs, Wolf again stopped Barbara with the question why she so\ncarelessly trifled with what might be the best piece of good fortune in\nher life, and shook his head doubtfully as, tossing hers higher, with\nself-important pride she answered low enough not to be heard by the\nwidow, \"Because a ride through the green woods in the month of May is\npleasanter than to sing into vacancy at midnight unheeded.\"\n\nHere the high, somewhat shrill voice of Frau Kastenmayr, who felt jealous\nin her brother's behalf at hearing Barbara whispering with the young\nknight, interrupted them.\n\nHer warning, \"Where are you, my darling?\" made the girl, with the skirt\nof her riding habit thrown over her arm, follow her swiftly.\n\nWolf, offended and anxious, would have liked to make her feel his\ndispleasure, but could not bring himself to let her go unattended, and,\nwith some difficulty, first helped Frau Kastenmayr upon her strong steed,\nthen, with very mingled feelings, aided Barbara to mount the noble\nAndalusian. While she placed her little foot in his hand to spring thence\nwith graceful agility into the saddle, the widow, with forced courtesy,\ninvited the young gentleman to accompany her and her brother to\nPrufening. There would be a merry meal, which she herself had provided,\nin the farmhouse on the abbey lands.\n\nWithout giving a positive answer, Wolf bowed, and his heart quivered as\nBarbara, from her beautiful gray horse, waved her riding whip to him as a\nqueen might salute a vassal.\n\nHow erect she sat in her saddle! how slender and yet how well rounded her\nfigure was! What rapture it would be to possess her charms!\n\nThat she would accept the elderly Schlumperger for the sake of his money\nwas surely impossible. And yet! How could she, with laughing lips, cast\nto the wind the rare favour of fortune which permitted her to display her\nart to the Emperor, and so carelessly leave him, Wolf, who had built the\nbridge to their Majesties, in the lurch, unless she had some special\npurpose in view; and what could that be except the resolution to become\nthe mistress of one of the richest houses in Ratisbon? The words \"My\ndarling,\" which Frau Kastenmayr had called to Barbara, again rang in his\nears, and when the two ladies and the groom had vanished, he returned in\na very thoughtful mood to the faithful old maid-servant.\n\nEvery one else who was in the street or at the window looked after\nBarbara, and pointed out to others the beautiful Jungfrau Blomberg and\nthe proud security with which she governed the spirited gray. She had\nbecome a good rider, first upon her father's horses, and then at the\nWollers in the country, and took risks which many a bold young noble\nwould not have imitated.\n\nHer aged suitor's gray Andalusian was dearer than the man himself, whom\nshe regarded merely as a sheet-anchor which could be used if everything\nelse failed.\n\nThe thought of what might happen when, after these days of working for\nher bread ended, still more terrible ones followed, had troubled her\nagain and again the day before. Now she no longer recollected these\nmiserable things. What a proud feeling it was to ride on horseback\nthrough the sweet May air, in the green woods, as her own mistress, and\nbid defiance to the ungrateful sovereign in the Golden Cross!\n\nThe frustration of the hope that her singing would make the Emperor\ndesire to hear her again and again had wounded her to the depths of her\nsoul and spoiled her night's rest. The annoyance of having vainly put\nforth her best efforts to please him had become unendurable after the\nfresh refusal which, as it were, set the seal upon her fears, and in the\ndefiant flight to the forest she seemed to have found the right antidote.\nAs she approached the monarch's residence, she felt glad and proud that\nhe, who could force half the world to obey him, could not rule her.\n\nTo attract his notice by another performance would have been the most\nnatural course, but Barbara had placed herself in a singular relation\ntoward the Emperor Charles. To her he was the man, not the Emperor, and\nthat he did not express a desire to hear her again seemed like an insult\nwhich the man offered to the woman, the artist, who was ready to obey his\nsign.\n\nHer perverse spirit had rebelled against such lack of appreciation of her\nmost precious gifts, and filled her with rankling hatred against the\nfirst person who had closed his heart to the victorious magic of her\nvoice.\n\nWhen she refused Appenzelder her aid in case the Emperor Charles desired\nto hear the choir that evening, and promised Frau Kastenmayr to accompany\nher to Prufening, she had been like a rebellious child filled with the\ndesire to show the man who cared nothing for her that, against her will,\nhe could not hear even a single note from her lips.\n\nThey were to meet the other members of the party at St. Oswald's Church\non the Danube, so they were obliged to pass the Golden Cross.\n\nThis suited Barbara and, with triumphant selfconfidence, in which mingled\na slight shade of defiance, she looked up to the Emperor's windows. She\ndid not see him, it is true, but she made him a mute speech which ran:\n\"When, foolish sovereign, who did not even think it worth while to grant\nme a single look, you hear the singing again to-night, and miss the voice\nwhich, I know full well, penetrated your heart, you will learn its value,\nand long for it as ardently as I desired your summons.\"\n\nHere her cheeks glowed so hotly that Frau Kastenmayr noticed it, and with\nmaternal solicitude asked, from her heavy, steady bay horse:\n\n\"Is the gray too gay for you, my darling?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nShortly after sunset Appenzelder received the order to have the boy choir\nsing before the Emperor.\n\nDuring the noon hour, which the monarch had spent alone, thoughts so sad,\nbordering upon melancholy, had visited him, although for several hours he\nhad been free from pain, that he relinquished his resentful intention of\nshowing his undutiful sister how little he cared for her surprise and how\nslight was his desire to enjoy music.\n\nIn fact, he, too, regarded it as medicine, and hoped especially for a\nfavourable effect from the exquisite soprano voice in the motet \"Tu\npulchra es.\"\n\nHe still had some things to look over with Granvelle, but the orchestra\nand the boy choir must be ready by ten o'clock.\n\nWould it not have been foolish to bear this intolerable, alarming mood\nuntil the midnight meal? It must be dispelled, for he himself perceived\nhow groundless it was. The pain had passed away, the despatches contained\nno bad news, and Dr. Mathys had permitted him to go out the next day.\nWhen Adrian already had his hand on the door knob, he called after him,\n\"And Appenzelder must see that the exquisite new voice--he knows--is\nheard.\"\n\nSoon after, when Granvelle had just left him, the steward, Malfalconnet,\nentered, and, in spite of the late hour--the Nuremberg clock on the\nwriting table had struck nine some time before--asked an audience for Sir\nWolf Hartschwert, one of her Highness the regent's household, to whom she\ncommitted the most noiseless and the most noisy affairs, namely, the\nsecret correspondence and the music.\n\n\"The German?\" asked Charles, and as the baron, with a low bow, assented,\nthe Emperor continued: \"Then it is scarcely an intrigue, at any rate a\nsuccessful one, unless he is unlike the usual stamp. But no! I noticed\nthe man. There is something visionary about him, like most of the\nGermans. But I have never seen him intoxicated.\"\n\n\"Although he is of knightly lineage, and, as I heard, at home in the\nneighbourhood of the Main, where good wine matures,\" remarked\nMalfalconnet, with another bow. \"At this moment he looks more than sober,\nrather as though some great fright had roused him from a carouse. Poor\nknight!\"\n\n\"Ay, poor knight!\" the Emperor assented emphatically. \"To serve my sister\nof Hungary in one position may be difficult for a man who is no\nsportsman, and now in two! God's death! These torments on earth will\nshorten his stay in purgatory.\"\n\nThe Emperor Charles had spoken of his sister in a very different tone the\nday before, but now she remained away from him and kept with her a friend\nwhom he greatly needed, so he repaid her for it.\n\nTherefore, with a shrug of the shoulders expressive of regret, he added,\n\"However badly off we may be ourselves, there is always some one with\nwhom we would not change places.\"\n\n\"Were I, the humblest of the humble, lucky enough to be in your Majesty's\nskin,\" cried the baron gaily, \"I wouldn't either. But since I am only\npoor Malfalconnet, I know of nobody--and I'm well acquainted with Sir\nWolf--who seems to me more enviable than your Majesty.\"\n\n\"Jest, or earnest?\" asked the Emperor.\n\n\"Earnest, deep, well-founded earnest,\" replied the other with an upward\nglance whose solemn devotion showed the sovereign that mischief was\nconcealed behind it. \"Let your Majesty judge for yourself. He is a knight\nof good family, and looks like a plain burgher. His name is Wolf\nHartschwert, and he is as gentle as a lamb and as pliant as a young\nwillow. He appears like the meek, whom our Lord calls blessed, and yet he\nis one of the wisest of the wise, and, moreover, a master in his art.\nWherever he shows himself, delusion follows delusion, and every one\nredounds to his advantage, for whoever took him for an insignificant man\nmust doff his hat when he utters his name. If a shrewd fellow supposed\nthat this sheep would not know A from B, he'll soon give him nuts to\ncrack which are far too hard for many a learned master of arts. Nobody\nexpects chivalric virtues and the accompanying expenditure from this\nsimple fellow; yet he practises them, and, when he once opens his hand,\npeople stare at him as they do at flying fish and the hen that lays a\ngolden egg. Appreciative surprise gazes at him, beseeching forgiveness,\nwherever he is known, as surely as happy faces welcome your Majesty's\nentry into any Netherland city. Fortune, lavish when she once departs\nfrom her wonted niggardliness, guards this her favourite child from\ndisappointment and misconstruction.\"\n\n\"The blessing of those who are more than they seem,\" replied the Emperor.\n\n\"That is his also,\" sighed Malfalconnet. \"That man, your Majesty, and I\nthe poorest of the poor! I was born a baron, and, as the greatest piece\nof good fortune, obtained the favour of my illustrious master. Now\neverybody expects from me magnificence worthy of my ancient name, and a\nstyle of living in keeping with the much-envied grace that renders me\nhappy. But if your Majesty's divine goodness did not sometimes pay my\ndebts, which are now a part of me as the tail belongs to the comet--\"\n\n\"Oho!\" cried the Emperor here. \"If that is what is coming--\"\n\n\"Do I look so stupid,\" interrupted the baron humbly, \"as to repeat to-day\nthings which yesterday did not wholly fail to make an impression upon\nyour Majesty?\"\n\n\"They would find deaf cars,\" Charles replied. \"You are certainly less\ndestitute of brains than of money, because you lack system. One proceeds\nin a contrary direction from the other. Besides, your ancient name,\nthough worthy of all honour, does not inspire the most favourable\nimpression. Malfalconnet! Mal is evil, and falconnet--or is it\nfalconnelle?--is a cruel, greedy bird of prey. So whoever encounters no\nevil from you, whoever escapes you unplucked, also enjoys a pleasant\nsurprise. As for not being plucked, I, at least, unfortunately have not\nexperienced this. But we will not cloud by too long waiting the good\nfortune of the gentleman outside who was born under such lucky stars.\nWhat brings the Wolf in sheep's clothing to us?\"\n\n\"One would almost suppose,\" replied the baron with a crafty smile, \"that\nhe was coming to-day on a useless errand, and meant to apply to your\nMajesty for the payment of his debts.\"\n\nHere the Emperor interrupted him with an angry gesture; but Malfalconnet\nwent on soothingly: \"However, there is nothing to be feared from lambs in\nsheep's clothing. Just think, your Majesty, how warm they must be in\ntheir double dress! No; he comes from the musicians, and apparently\nbrings an important message.\"\n\n\"Admit him, then,\" the Emperor commanded. A few minutes later Wolf stood\nbefore the sovereign, and, in Appenzelder's name, informed him in a tone\nof sincere regret, yet with a certain degree of reserve, that the\nperformance of the choir boys that day would leave much to be desired,\nfor two of the best singers had not yet recovered.\n\n\"But the substitute, the admirable substitute?\" Charles impatiently\ninterrupted.\n\n\"That is just what troubles us,\" Wolf replied uneasily. \"The magnificent\nnew voice wishes to desert the maestro to-night.\"\n\n\"Desert?\" cried the Emperor angrily. \"A choir boy in the service of her\nMajesty the Queen of Hungary! So there is still something new under the\nsun.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Wolf with a low bow, still striving, in obedience to\nthe regent's strict command, not to reveal the sex of the new member of\nthe choir. \"And this case is especially unusual. This voice is not in her\nMajesty's service. It belongs to a volunteer, as it were, a native of\nthis city, whose wonderful instrument and rare ability we discovered.\nBut, begging your Majesty's pardon, the soul of such an artist is a\nstrange thing, inflammable and enthusiastic, but just as easily wounded\nand disheartened.\"\n\n\"The soul of a boy!\" cried Charles contemptuously. \"Appenzelder does not\nlook like a man who would permit such whims.\"\n\n\"Not in his choir, certainly,\" said the young nobleman. \"But this\nvoice--allow me to repeat it--is not at his disposal. It was no easy\nmatter to obtain it at all, and, keenly as the maestro disapproves of the\ncaprices of this beautiful power, he can not force it--the power, I\nmean--to the obedience which his boys----\"\n\nHere the Emperor laughed shrilly. \"The power, the voice! The songstress,\nyou should say. This whimsical volunteer with the voice of an angel, who\nis so tenderly treated by rough Appenzelder, is a woman, not a refractory\nchoir boy. How you are blushing! You have proved a very inapt pupil in\nthe art of dissimulation and disguise in my royal sister's service.\nReally and truly, I am right!\"\n\nHere another bow from Wolf confirmed the Emperor's conjecture; but the\nlatter, highly pleased with his own penetration, laughed softly,\nexclaiming to the baron: \"Where were our ears? This masquerade is surely\nthe work of the Queen, who so dearly loves the chase. And she forbade you\ntoo, Malfalconnet, to give me your confidence?\" Again a silent bow\nassented.\n\nThe Emperor bent his eyes on the ground a short time, and then said, half\nin soliloquy: \"It was not possible otherwise. Whence could a boy learn\nthe ardent, yearning longing of which that 'Quia amore langueo' was so\nfull? And the second, less powerful voice, which accompanied her, was\nthat a girl's too? No? Yet that also, I remember, had a suggestion of\nfeminine tenderness. But only the marvellously beautiful melody of one\nhaunted me. I can hear it still. The irresistible magic of this 'Amore\nlangueo' mingled even in my conversation with Granvelle.\"\n\nThen he passed his hand across his lofty brow, and in a different tone\nasked Wolf, \"So it is a girl, and a native of this city?\"\n\n\"Yes, your Majesty,\" was the reply.\n\n\"And, in spite of the praise of the gracious mother of God, a Protestant,\nlike the other fools in this country?\"\n\n\"No, my lord,\" replied the nobleman firmly; \"a pious Catholic Christian.\"\n\n\"Of what rank?\"\n\n\"She belongs, through both parents, to a family of knightly lineage,\nentitled to bear a coat-of-arms and appear in the lists at tournaments.\nHer father has drawn his sword more than once in battle against the\ninfidels--at the capture of Tunis, under your own eyes, your Majesty, and\nin doing so he unfortunately ruined the prosperity of his good, ancient\nhouse.\"\n\n\"What is his name?\"\n\n\"Wolfgang Blomberg.\"\n\n\"A big, broad-shouldered German fighter, with a huge mustache and pointed\nbeard. Shot in the leg and wounded in the shoulder. Pious, reckless, with\nthe courage of a lion. Afterward honoured with the title of captain.\"\n\nFull of honest amazement at such strength of memory, Wolf endeavoured to\nexpress his admiration; but the imperial general interrupted him with\nanother question, \"And the daughter? Does her appearance harmonize with\nher voice?\"\n\n\"I think so,\" replied Wolf in an embarrassed tone.\n\n\"Wonderfully beautiful and very aristocratic,\" said the baron, completing\nthe sentence, and raising the tips of his slender fingers to his lips.\n\nBut this gesture seemed to displease his master, for he turned from him,\nand, looking the young Ratisbon knight keenly in the face, asked\nsuspiciously, \"She is full of caprices--I am probably right there\nalso--and consequently refuses to sing?\"\n\n\"Pardon me, your Majesty,\" replied Wolf eagerly. \"If I understand her\nfeelings, she had hoped to earn your Majesty's approval, and when she\nreceived no other summons, nay, when your Majesty for the second time\ncountermanded your wish to hear the boy choir, she feared that her art\nhad found no favour in your Majesty's trained ears, and, wounded and\ndisheartened--\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" the Emperor broke in wrathfully. \"The contrary is true. The\nQueen of Hungary was commissioned to assure the supposed boy of my\napproval. Tell her this, Sir Wolf Hartschwert, and do so at once. Tell\nher--\"\n\n\"She rode to the forest with some friends,\" Wolf timidly ventured to\ninterpose to save himself other orders impossible to execute. \"If she has\nnot returned home, it might be difficult--\"\n\n\"Whether difficult or easy, you will find her,\" Charles interrupted.\n\"Then, with a greeting from her warmest admirer, Charles, the music\nlover, announce that he does not command, but entreats her to let him\nhear again this evening the voice whose melody so powerfully moved his\nheart.--You, Baron, will accompany the gentleman, and not return without\nthe young lady!--What is her name?\"\n\n\"Barbara Blomberg.\"\n\n\"Barbara,\" repeated the sovereign, as if the name evoked an old memory;\nand, as though he saw before him the form of the woman he was describing,\nhe added in a low tone: \"She is blue-eyed, fairskinned and rosy, slender\nyet well-rounded. A haughty, almost repellent bearing. Thick, waving\nlocks of golden hair.\"\n\n\"That is witchcraft!\" the baron exclaimed. \"Your Majesty is painting her\nportrait in words exactly, feature by feature. Her hair is like that of\nTitian's daughter.\"\n\n\"Apparently you have not failed to scrutinize her closely,\" remarked the\nEmperor sharply. \"Has she already associated with the gentlemen of the\ncourt?\"\n\nBoth promptly answered in the negative, but the Emperor continued\nimpatiently: \"Then hasten! As soon as she is here, inform me.--The meal,\nMalfalconnet, must be short-four courses, or five at the utmost, and no\ndessert. The boy choir is not to be stationed in the chapel, but in the\ndining hall, opposite to me.--We leave the arrangement to you, Sir Wolf.\nOf course, a chair must be placed for the lady.--Have the larger table\nset in another room, baron, and, for ought I care, serve with all twenty\ncourses and a dessert. Old Marquise de Leria will remain here. She will\noccupy Queen Mary's seat at my side. On account of the singer, I mean.\nBesides, it will please the marquise's vanity.\"\n\nHis eyes sparkled with youthful fire as he gave these orders. When the\nambassadors were already on the threshold, he called after them:\n\n\"Wherever she may be, however late it may become, you will bring her.\nAnd,\" he added eagerly, as the others with reverential bows were\nretiring, \"and don't forget, I do not command--I entreat her.\"\n\nWhen he was alone, Charles drew a long breath, and, resting his head on\nhis hand, his thoughts returned to the past. Half-vanished pictures\nunconsciously blended with the present, which had so unexpectedly assumed\na bright colouring.\n\n\"Barbara,\" he murmured, almost inaudibly. Then he continued in soliloquy:\n\"The beautiful Jungfrau Groen in Brussels was also called Barbara, and\nshe was the first. Another of this name, and perhaps the last. How can\nthis ardent yearning take root in my seared soul and grow so vigorously?\"\n\nMeanwhile he fancied that the \"Quia amore langueo\" again greeted him\nyearningly in the sweet melody of her voice.\n\n\"How powerfully the ear affects the heart!\" he continued, pursuing the\nsame train of thought. \"Slender, well-rounded, golden-haired. If she\nshould really resemble the Brussels Barbara! Malfalconnet is a\nconnoisseur. Perhaps, after these gloomy days and years, a semblance of\nsunlight may return. It is long enough since politics and war have\ngranted me even the slightest refreshment of the heart. And yet, methinks\nHeaven might feel under obligation to do something for the man who has\nmade it his life-task to hold its enemies in check.\"\n\nHe rose quickly as he spoke, and, while moving forward to ring the little\nbell whose peal summoned the valet, not the slightest trace of the gouty\npain in his foot was perceptible.\n\nAdrian saw with joyful surprise that his master approached without a\ncrutch the door through which he had come, and the faithful servant\nexpressed his astonishment in terms as eager as his position permitted.\n\nOn reaching his sleeping-room, the Emperor interrupted him. He wished to\nbe dressed for dinner.\n\nMaster Adrian would not believe his own ears. He was to bring one of the\nnew reception robes, and yet to-day not even the Queen of Hungary was to\nshare his Majesty's repast. One of the costliest new costumes! What had\ncome over his lord, who for months, when no distinguished guests were\npresent, had worn only the most comfortable and often very shabby clothes\nat table, saving the better new garments like an economical housekeeper?\n\nBut Charles was not satisfied even with these, for, when Adrian hung over\nthe back of a chair a handsome black court dress, slashed with satin, his\nmaster signed to him to take it away, and asked for one of the newest\nworks of art of his Brussels tailor, a violet velvet garment, with\nslashes of golden yellow sill: on the breast, in the puffed sleeves and\nshort plush breeches. With this were silk stockings tightly incasing the\nfeet and limbs, as well as a ruff and cuffs of Mechlin lace.\n\nShaking his head, the valet took these articles of dress from the chest;\nbut before he put them on his master, the latter sat down to have his\nhair and beard carefully arranged.\n\nFor weeks he had performed this slight task himself, though with very ill\nsuccess, for his hair and beard had seemed to his visitors rough and\nunkempt. This time, on the contrary, mirror in hand, he directed the work\nof the skilful servant with many an objection, showing as much vanity as\nin his youth.\n\nAfter Adrian had put on the new costume, the Emperor shook off the large,\nwarm boot, and held out his gouty foot to the valet.\n\nThe faithful fellow gazed beseechingly into his master's face, and\nmodestly entreated him to remember the pain from which he had scarcely\nrecovered; but the Emperor imperiously commanded, \"The shoes!\" and the\nservant brought them and cautiously, with grave anxiety, fitted the\nlow-cut violet satin shoes on his feet.\n\nLastly, the sovereign ordered the Golden Fleece, which he usually wore on\na hook below his neck, to be put on the gold chain which, as the head of\nthe order, he had a right to wear with it, and took from the jewel case\nseveral especially handsome rings and a very costly star of diamonds and\nrubies, which he had fastened in the knot of the bow of his ruff. The\nstate sword and sheath, which Adrian handed to him unasked, were\nrejected.\n\nHe needed no steel weapons to-day; the victory he sought must be won by\nhis person.\n\nWhen the servant held the Venetian mirror before him, he was satisfied.\nThe elderly, half-broken-down man of the day before had become a tall,\nstately noble in the prime of life; nay, in spite of his forty-six years,\nhis eyes sparkled far more brightly and proudly than many a young\nknight's in his train.\n\nHis features, even now, did not show beautiful symmetry, but they bore\nthe stamp of a strong, energetic mind. The majestic dignity which he knew\nhow to bestow upon it, made his figure, though it did not exceed middle\nheight, appear taller; and the self-confident smile which rested on his\nfull lips, as he was sure of a speedy triumph, well beseemed a general\nwhose sword and brain had gained the most brilliant victories.\n\nAdrian had seen him thus more than once after battles had been won or\nwhen he had unhorsed some strong antagonist in the tournament, but it was\nmany a long year ago. He felt as though a miracle was wrought before his\neyes, and, deeply loved, kissed his master's sleeve.\n\nCharles noticed it, and, as if in token of gratitude, patted him lightly\non the shoulder. This was not much, but it made the faithful fellow\nhappy. How long it was since the last time his imperial aster had\ngladdened him by so friendly a sign of satisfaction!\n\nWere the days to return when, in the Netherlands, Charles had\ncondescended to treat even humble folk with blunt familiarity?\n\nAdrian did not doubt that he should learn speedily enough what had caused\nthis unexpected change; but the discovery of the real reason was now far\nfrom his alert mind, because he was still confident that the Emperor's\nheart had for years been closed against the charms of woman.\nNevertheless, the experienced man told himself that some woman must be\nconnected with this amazing rejuvenation. Otherwise it would surely have\nbeen one of the wonders which he knew only from legends.\n\nAnd lo! Chamberlain de Praet was already announcing a lady--the Marquise\nde Leria.\n\nIf Master Adrian had ever permitted himself to laugh in his master's\npresence, it would certainly have happened this time, for the curtseying\nold woman in velvet, silk, and plumes, whose visit his Majesty did not\nrefuse, was probably the last person for whose sake Charles endured the\nsatin shoe on his sensitive foot.\n\nHow oddly her round, catlike head, with its prominent cheek bones, and\nthe white wig combed high on the top, contrasted with the rouged, sunken\ncheeks and eyebrows dyed coal black!\n\nAdrian hastily calculated that she was not far from seventy. But how\ntightly she laced, how erect was her bearing, how sweet the smile on her\nsunken mouth! And how did her aged limbs, which must have lost their\nflexibility long ago, accomplish with such faultless grace the low\ncurtseys, in which she almost touched the floor?\n\nBut the valet, who had grown gray in Charles's service, had witnessed\nstill more surprising things, and beheld the presence of royalty bestow\nstrength for performances which even now seemed incomprehensible. The\nlame had leaped before his eyes, and feeble invalids had stood erect long\nhours when the duties of the court, etiquette, the command of royalty,\ncompelled them to do so.\n\nWhat a mistress in ruling herself the marquise had become during her long\nservice at the French and Netherland courts! for not a feature betrayed\nher surprise at the Emperor's altered appearance while she was thanking\nhim fervently for the favour of being permitted to share the meal with\nthe august sovereign, which had bestowed so much happiness upon her.\n\nCharles cut this speech short, and curtly requested her to take under her\ncharge, in his royal sister's place, a young lady of a noble family.\n\nThe marquise cast a swift glance of understanding at the Emperor, and\nthen, walking backward with a series of low bows, obeyed the sovereign's\nsignal to leave him.\n\nWithout any attempt to conceal from the valet the strong excitement that\nmastered him, Charles at last impatiently approached the window and\nlooked down into the Haidplatz.\n\nWhen his master had turned his back upon him, Adrian allowed himself to\nsmile contentedly. Now he knew all, and therefore thought, for the first\ntime, that a genuine miracle had been wrought in the monarch. Yet it gave\nhim pleasure; surely it was a piece of good fortune that this withering\ntrunk was again putting forth such fresh buds.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nWolf Hartschwert had asked the guards who were stationed at the end of\nRed Cock Street whether any riders had passed them.\n\nSeveral horses always stood saddled for the service of the court.\nMalfalconnet mounted his noble stallion, and Count Lanoi, the equerry,\ngave his companion a good horse and furnished two mounted torch-bearers.\n\nBut the Emperor's envoys had not far to ride; halfway between the abbey\nof Prufening and Ratisbon, just outside the village of Dcchbetten, they\nmet the returning excursionists.\n\nBarbara's voice reached Wolf from a considerable distance.\n\nHe knew the playmate of his childhood; her words never sounded so loud\nand sharp unless she was excited.\n\nShe had said little on the way out, and Herr Peter Schlumperger asked\nwhat had vexed her. Then she roused herself, and, to conquer the great\nanxiety which again and again took possession of her, she drank Herr\nPeter's sweet Malmsey wine more recklessly than usual.\n\nAt last, more intoxicated by her own vivacity than by the juice of the\ngrape, she talked so loudly and freely with the other ladies and\ngentlemen that it became too much even for Frau Kastenmayr, who had\nglanced several times with sincere anxiety from her golden-haired\nfavourite to her brother, and then back to Barbara.\n\nSuch reckless forwardness ill beseemed a chaste Ratisbon maiden and the\nfuture wife of a Peter Schlumperger, and she would gladly have urged\ndeparture. But some of the city pipers had been sent to the forest, and\nwhen they began to play, and Herr Peter himself invited the young people\nto dance, her good humour wholly disappeared; for Barbara, whom the young\ngentlemen eagerly sought, had devoted herself to dancing with such\npassionate zest that at last her luxuriant hair became completely\nloosened, and for several measures fluttered wildly around her. True, she\nhad instantly hastened deeper into the woods with Nandl Woller, her\ncousin, to fasten it again, but the incident had most unpleasantly\nwounded Frau Kastenmayr's strict sense of propriety.\n\nNothing unusual ought to happen to a girl of Barbara's age, and the\ncareless manner in which she treated what had befallen her before the\neyes of so many men angered the austere widow so deeply that she withdrew\na large share of her favour. This was the result of the continual\nsinging.\n\nAny other girl would fasten her hair firmly and resist flying in the\ndance from one man's arm to another's, especially in the presence of a\nsuitor who was in earnest, and who held aloof from these amusements of\nyouth.\n\nDoubtless it was her duty to keep her brother from marriage with a girl\nwho, so long as her feet were moving in time to the violins and\nclarionets, did not even bestow a single side glance upon her estimable\nlover.\n\nSo her displeasure had caused the early departure.\n\nTorch-bearers rode at the head of the tolerably long train of the\nresidents of Ratisbon, and some of the guests carried cressets. So there\nwas no lack of light, and as the lantern in her neighbour's hand\npermitted the baron to recognise Barbara, Malfalconnet, according to the\nagreement, rode up to the singer, while Wolf accosted Herr Peter\nSchlumperger, and informed him of the invitation which the steward, in\nthe Emperor's name, was bringing his fair guest.\n\nThe Ratisbon councillor allowed him to finish his explanation, and then\nwith quiet dignity remarked that his Majesty's summons did not concern\nhim. It rested entirely with jungfrau Blomberg to decide whether she\nwould accept it at so late an hour.\n\nBut Barbara had already determined.\n\nThe assent was swift and positive, but neither the light of the more\ndistant torches nor of the lantern close at hand was brilliant enough to\nshow the baron how the girl's face blanched at the message that the\nEmperor Charles did not command, but only humbly entreated her to do him\na favour that evening.\n\nShe had with difficulty uttered a few words of thanks; but when the\nadroit baron, with flattering urgency, besought her to crown her kindness\nand remember the saying that whoever gives quickly gives doubly, she\npressed her right hand on her throbbing heart, and rode to Frau\nKastenmayr's side to explain briefly what compelled her to leave them,\nand say to her and her brother a few words of farewell and gratitude.\n\nHerr Peter replied with sincere kindness; his sister with equally\nwell-meant chilling displeasure. Then Barbara rode on with the two\nenvoys, in advance of the procession, at the swiftest trot. Her tongue,\njust now so voluble, seemed paralyzed. The violent throbbing of her heart\nfairly stopped her breath. A throng of contradictory thoughts and\nfeelings filled her soul and mind. She was conscious of one thing only. A\ngreat, decisive event was imminent, and the most ardent wish her heart\nhad ever cherished was approaching its fulfilment.\n\nIt is difficult to talk while riding rapidly; but Malfalconnet was master\nof the power of speech under any circumstances, and the courtier, with\nready presence of mind, meant to avail himself of the opportunity to win\nthe favour of the woman whose good will might become a precious\npossession.\n\nBut he was not to accomplish this, for, when he addressed the first\nquestion to Barbara, she curtly replied that she did not like to talk\nwhile her horse was trotting.\n\nWolf thought of the loud voice which had reached him a short time before\nfrom the midst of the Ratisbon party, but he said nothing, and the baron\nhenceforward contented himself with occasionally uttering a few words.\n\nThe whole ride probably occupied only a quarter of an hour, but what a\nflood of thoughts and feelings swept in this short time through Barbara's\nsoul!\n\nShe had just been enraged with herself for her defiance and the reckless\nhaste which perhaps had forever deprived her of the opportunity to show\nthe Emperor Charles her skill as a singer. The cruel anxiety which\ntortured her on this account had urged her at Prufening to the loud\nforwardness which hitherto she had always shunned. She had undoubtedly\nnoticed how deeply this had lowered her in Frau Kastenmayr's esteem, and\nthe discovery had been painful and wounded her vanity; but what did she\ncare now for her, for her brother, for all Ratisbon? She was riding\ntoward the great man who longed to see her, and to whom--she herself\nscarcely knew whence she gained the courage--she felt that she belonged.\n\nShe had looked up to him as to a mountain peak whose jagged summit\ntouched the sky when her father and others had related his knightly\ndeeds, his victories over the most powerful foes, and his peerless\nstatesmanship. Only the day before yesterday she had listened to Wolf\nwith silent amazement when he told her of the countries and nations over\nwhich this mightiest of monarchs reigned, and described the magnificence\nof his palaces in the Netherlands, in Spain, and in Italy. Of the extent\nof his wealth, and the silver fleets which constantly brought to him from\nthe New World treasures of the noble metal of unprecedented value,\nBarbara had already heard many incredible things.\n\nYet, during this ride through the silent night, she did not even bestow\nthe lightest thought upon the riches of the man who was summoning her to\nhis side. The gold, the purple, the ermine, the gems, and all the other\nsplendours which she had seen, as if in a dream, hovering before her at\nthe first tidings that she was invited to sing before the Emperor\nCharles, had vanished from her imagination.\n\nShe only longed to display her art before the greatest of men, whose\n\"entreaty\" had intoxicated her with very different power from the Malmsey\nat Herr Peter's table, and show herself worthy of his approval. That the\nmightiest of the mighty could not escape pain seemed to her like a\nmockery and a spiteful cruelty of Fate, and at the early mass that day\nshe had prayed fervently that Heaven might grant him recovery.\n\nNow she believed that it was in her own hands to bring it to him.\n\nHow often had she been told that her singing possessed the power to cheer\nsaddened souls! Surely the magic of her art must exert a totally\ndifferent influence upon the man to whom her whole being attracted her\nthan upon the worthy folk here, for whom she cared nothing. She, ay, she,\nwas to free his troubled spirit from every care, and if she succeeded,\nand he confessed to her that he, too, found in her something unusual,\nsomething great in its way, then the earnest diligence which Master Feys\nhad often praised in her would be richly rewarded; then she would be\njustified in the pride which, notwithstanding her poverty, was a part of\nher, like her eyes and her lips, and for which she had so often been\nblamed.\n\nShe had always rejected coldly and unfeelingly the young men who sought\nher favour, but with what passionate yearning her heart throbbed for the\nfirst person whom she deemed worthy of it, yet from whom she expected\nnothing save warm sympathy for the musical talents which she held in\nreadiness for him, earnest appreciation which raised her courage, and\nalso, perhaps, the blissful gift of admiration!\n\nNever had she rejoiced so gleefully, so proudly, and so hopefully in the\nmagic of her voice, and she also felt it as a piece of good fortune that\nshe was beautiful and pure as the art with which she expected to elevate\nand cheer his soul.\n\nTransported out of herself, she did not heed the starry heavens above her\nhead, at which she usually gazed with so much pleasure--Wolf had taught\nher to recognise the most beautiful planets and fixed stars--nor at the\nnight birds which, attracted by the torches of the horsemen riding in\nadvance, often darted close by her, nor the flattering words to which she\nwas wont to listen willingly, and which few understood how to choose\nbetter than the well-trained breaker of hearts at her side.\n\nThe envoys had taken care that the city gate should be kept open for\nthem. Not until the hoofs of her gray horse rang upon the pavement did\nBarbara awake from the dream of longing which had held her captive. She\nstarted in alarm, raised her little plumed cap, and drew a long breath.\nThe ancient, well-known houses along the sides of the streets brought her\nback to reality and its demands.\n\nShe could not appear before the Emperor just as she was, in her riding\nhabit, with disordered hair. Besides, her head was burning after the\ndancing and the wine which she had drunk. She must calm herself ere\nentering the presence of the royal connoisseur whose approval could\nrender her so happy, whose dissatisfaction or indifference would make her\nwretched.\n\nQuickly forming her resolution, she turned to Malfalconnet and explained\nthat she could not appear before his Majesty until after she had allowed\nherself a short period of rest; but the baron, who probably feared that\nsome feminine caprice would spoil, even at the twelfth hour, the\nsuccessful issue of his mission, thought that he must deny this wish,\nthough in the most courteous manner and with the assurance that he would\nprocure her an opportunity to collect her thoughts quietly in the Golden\nCross.\n\nBarbara unexpectedly wheeled her horse, struck him a blow with the whip,\nand called to the astonished gentlemen, \"In front of the Golden Cross in\na quarter of an hour. You, Wolf, can wait for me at the Grieb.\"\n\nThe last words were already dying away as she clashed swiftly up the\nstreet and across the Haidplatz. Bright sparks flashed from the paving\nstones struck by her horse's hoofs.\n\n\"Confounded witch!\" cried Malfalconnet. \"And how the unruly girl wheels\nher horse and sits erect in her wild career over the flagstones! If the\ngray falls, it will do her no harm. Such rising stars may drop from the\nskies, but they will leap up again like the cats which I threw from the\nroof when a boy. His Majesty will get something to trouble him if he\ncontinues his admiration. Sacre Dieu! What a temperament!--and a German!\"\n\nHitherto both had ridden on at a walk, gazing after Barbara, although she\nhad already vanished in the darkness, which was illumined only by the\nstars in the cloudless sky. Now the clock struck half-past ten, and\nMalfalconnet exclaimed, half to the young knight, half to himself, \"If\nonly the wild bird does not yet escape our snare!\"\n\n\"Have no fear,\" replied Wolf. \"She will keep her promise, for she is\ntruthfulness itself. But you would oblige me, Herr Baron, if in future\nyou use a tone less light in speaking of this young lady, who is worthy\nof every honour. Her reputation is as faultless as the purity of her\nvoice, and, obstinate as she may be----\"\n\n\"So this masterpiece of the Creator finds much favour in your eyes and\nyour keen ears, Sir Knight,\" Malfalconnet gaily interrupted. \"From any\none else, my young friend, I should not suffer such a warning to pass;\nbut we are now riding in the Emperor's precincts, so it would cause me\nsore embarrassment if my steel pierced you, for my neck, which is very\nprecious to me, would then probably fall under the rude axe of the\nexecutioner. Besides, I wish you well, as you know, and I understand you\nGerman pedants. Henceforward--I swear it by all the saints!--I will utter\nno disrespectful word of your lovely countrywoman until you yourself\nrelease my tongue.\"\n\n\"That will never be done!\" Wolf eagerly protested, \"and the mere\nsupposition would force me to bare my sword, if it were not you----\"\n\n\"If it were not sheer madness for your thumb-long parade dagger to cross\nblades with my good sword,\" laughed Malfalconnet. \"Ere you drew your\nrapier, I think your lust for murder would have fled. So let us leave our\nblades in their sheaths and permit my curiosity, to ask just one more\nquestion: What consideration induces you, Sir Knight, to constrain\nyourself to discreet peaceableness toward me, who, Heaven knows, excited\nyour ire with no evil intent?\"\n\n\"The same which restrains you from the duel with me,\" replied Wolf\nquietly; and then, in a warmer tone, continued: \"You are dear to me\nbecause you have shown me kindness ever since I came to the court. But\nyou are the last person who would admit that gratitude should fetter the\nhand which desires to defend itself. In comparison with you, Baron, I am\nbut an insignificant man, but noble blood flows in my veins as well as in\nyours, and I, too, am no coward. Perhaps you suspect it because I have\naccepted many things from you which I would overlook from no one else.\nBut I know that, however your jesting tongue sins against me, it has\nnothing to do with your disposition, whose kindness has ever been proved\nwhen the occasion offered. But you are now denying respect to a lady--\"\n\n\"From that, too, my heart is as far removed as the starry sky above our\nheads from the wretched pavement of this square,\" Malfalconnet\ninterrupted.\n\n\"Yes, Sir Knight, you judged me aright, and God save me from thinking or\nspeaking evil of a lady who is so dear to the heart of a friend!\"\n\nAs he spoke he held out his right hand to his companion with gay yet\nstately cordiality.\n\nWolf eagerly clasped it, and directly after both swung themselves from\ntheir horses in the courtyard of the Golden Cross, Malfalconnet to inform\nthe Emperor of the successful result of his ride, the Ratisbon knight to\narrange for the proper stationing of the boy choir, and then, obedient to\nBarbara's injunction, to go to the Grieb.\n\nHe knew the baron, and was aware that any one whom this chivalrous\ngentleman assured of his friendship might rely upon it, but that he did\nnot spare even the most sacred things if he might hope thereby to win the\napproval and arouse the mirth of his imperial master.\n\nIn the glad conviction that he had done his best for the woman he loved,\nand yet had not forfeited the favour of the influential man to whom he\nowed a debt of gratitude, whose active mind he admired, and who had,\nmoreover, won his affection, he went to the neighbouring Grieb.\n\nThe favour which the Emperor showed Barbara seemed to him not only a\npiece of great good fortune for her, but also for himself. He knew\nCharles's delicate appreciation of music, and could confidently\nanticipate that her voice would satisfy him and win his interest. But if\nthis occurred, and the sovereign learned that Wolf wished to marry the\nsinger to whom their Majesties owed such great pleasure, it would be an\neasy matter for the Emperor to place him in a position which could not\nfail to content the just desire of the girl whom he loved for an\nexistence free from want. The interview with the monarch, to which he was\nto lead Barbara at once, therefore seemed to him like a bridge to her\nconsent, and when he met at the Ark the court musician, Massi, followed\nby a servant carrying his violin case, he called to him: \"Just look at\nthe shining stars up above us, Massi! They are friendly to me, and, if\nthey keep their promise, the journey here will be blessed.\"\n\n\"Amen!\" replied the other as he pressed his hand cordially and asked for\nfurther particulars; but Wolf put him off until the next day, exclaim\ning: \"Jungfrau Blomberg, whose voice and execution bewitched you also, is\nnow to sing before his Majesty. Wish her the best luck, for on her\nsuccess depend many things for her, and perhaps for your friend also.\nOnce more, uphold us!\"\n\nHe turned toward the Grieb as he spoke, and the longing for Barbara\nquickened his pace.\n\nThe fear that the gouty monarch could cherish any other wishes concerning\nthe young girl than to enjoy her singing was farthest from his thoughts.\n\nWho would ever have seen an aspirant for woman's favour in the suffering\nEmperor, bowed during the last few years by the heaviest political cares,\nand whose comparative youthfulness was easily overlooked?\n\nAt the main entrance of the Grieb Wolf was accosted by the master of the\nhouse.\n\nThe wife of this obedient husband, Frau Lerch, known throughout all\nRatisbon as \"Lerch, the mantuamaker,\" had told him to keep watch, and\nimpressed it upon him to let no one, no matter who it might be, enter her\nrooms on the ground floor except the cantor knight, as she called Wolf.\n\nBarbara had had little time for reflection as she fled from the Emperor's\nenvoys, but a clever woman's brain thinks quickly when an important\ndecision is to be made, and while turning the gray she had decided that\nit would be better for her purpose, and the haste connected with it, to\ngo to Frau Lerch than to her own home.\n\nIn the Grieb she was sure of finding admittance at once if she knocked at\nFrau Lerch's window, while the cantor house was closed early, and a long\ntime might pass before the door opened to her. Besides, she did not know\nhow her father, who could never be depended upon in such matters, would\nregard the honour that awaited her; thirdly--and this alone was\ndecisive--the white dress, which she meant to wear instead of the riding\nhabit, was at Frau Lerch's, and what good service the skilful, nimble\nfingers of her mother's ex-maid could render in this hurried change of\ngarb.\n\nBesides, it had also darted into her mind that the baron might accompany\nher to her shabby abode, and that would have seemed like a humiliation.\nWhy should the court know what indigent circumstances had been the\nportion of the artist to whom the Emperor, through no less a personage\nthan Baron Malfalconnet, sent an \"entreaty\" for her appearance?\n\nAll this had been clear to her in the course of a few seconds, and her\nchoice had proved fortunate, for the gate of the Grieb was still\nunlocked, and the old hostler Kunz, who had been in the service of the\nGravenreuths, the former owners of the Grieb, and had known \"Wawerl\" from\nchildhood, was just coming out of the tavern, and willingly agreed to\ntake the gray back to Peter Schlumperger's stable.\n\nWhen Barbara entered the huge building a ray of light shone from the\nprivate chapel at the left, dedicated to Saint Dorothea.\n\nThis seemed to her like a sign from heaven, and, before knocking at Frau\nLerch's door, she glided into the sanctuary, threw herself upon her knees\nbefore the image of the saint, and besought her to bestow the most\nmelting sweetness and the deepest influence upon her voice while singing\nbefore his Majesty.\n\nThen it seemed as though the face of the kindly saint smiled assent, and\nin hurried words Barbara added that the great monarch was also the most\nthorough connoisseur, and the altar here should lack neither candles nor\nflowers if she would bestow upon her the power to win his approval. While\nspeaking, she raised her clasped hands toward the Virgin's image, and\nconcluded her fervent prayer with the passionate exclamation: \"Oh, hear\nme, hear me, thou inexhaustible fountain of mercy, for if I do not fulfil\nwhat he expected when he entreated me to sing before him, and I see that\nhe lets me go disappointed, the peace of this heart will be destroyed!\nHear, oh, hear me, august Queen of Heaven!\"\n\nRelieved and strengthened, she at last sprang up, and a few minutes after\nFrau Lerch, with loud exclamations of admiration, was combing her long,\nthick, waving locks of fair hair.\n\nOverflowing with delight at such beauty, the thin little woman then\nhelped her \"darling Wawerl,\" her \"wonderfully sweet nightingale,\" to\nchange her dress.\n\nWolf's gift, the velvet robe with the marten border, would have been too\nheavy and oppressive for singing, and, besides, was not yet finished.\nBarbara, she declared, had done right to choose the white one, which was\nintended for the next dance at the New Scales. Nothing could be more\nbecoming to her enchanting little princess, and Barbara yielded herself\nentirely to the experienced assistant, who had all the laces and ribbons\nshe needed close at hand. She could even supply her with new and dainty\nsatin shoes.\n\nWhile Frau Lerch was working with wonderful dexterity, she also permitted\nher nimble tongue no rest. In the tenderest accents of faithful maternal\nsolicitude she counselled her how to conduct herself in his Majesty's\npresence. Hurriedly showing Barbara how the stiff Spanish ladies of the\ncourt curtsied, she exclaimed: \"And another thing, my darling pet: It is\nimportant for all ladies, even those of royal blood, to try to win the\nfavour of so great a monarch when they meet him for the first time. You\ncan use your eyes, too, and how effectually! I saw you a short time ago,\nand, if I had been a young gentleman, how gladly I would have changed\nplaces with the handsome recruiting officer Pyramus at the New Scales!\nThat was a flaming fire! Now, isn't it true, darling--now we no longer\nhave even a single glance for such insignificant fellows! Consider that\nsettled! But things of that sort have no effect upon his august Majesty.\nYou must cast down your sparkling blue eyes in modest embarrassment, as\nif you still wore the confirmation wreath. All the fashionable sons of\nthe burghers complain of your repellent coldness. Let his Majesty feel it\ntoo. That will pour oil on the flames, and they must blaze up high; I'd\nstake both my hands on it, much as I need them. But if it results as I\nexpect, my darling, don't forget old Lerch, who loves you even more than\nyour own mother did. How beautiful and stately she was! But she forgot\nher little Wawerl only too often. I have a faithful nature, child, and\nunderstand life. If, sooner or later, you need the advice of a true,\nhelpful friend, you know where to find little old Lerch.\"\n\nThese warnings had sounded impressive enough, but Barbara had by no means\nlistened attentively. Instead, she had been anticipating, with torturing\nimpatience, her appearance before the great man for whom she was adorned\nand the songs which she would have to sing. If she was permitted to\nchoose herself, he would also hear the bird-song, with the \"Car la saison\nest bonne,\" which had extorted such enthusiastic applause from the\nNetherland maestro.\n\nBut no!\n\nShe must choose something grander, more solemn, for she wished to make a\ndeeper, stronger, more lasting impression upon the man who was now to\nlisten to her voice.\n\nMere lukewarm satisfaction would not content her in the case of the\nEmperor Charles; she wished to arouse his enthusiasm, his rapture. What\nbliss it would be if she was permitted to penetrate deeply into his soul,\nif it were allotted to her to make the ruler's grave eyes sparkle with\nradiant delight!\n\nIn increasing excitement, she saw herself, in imagination, lowering the\nsheet of music, and the sovereign, deeply moved, holding out both hands\nto her.\n\nBut that would have been too much happiness! What if the violent\nthrobbing of her heart should silence her voice? What if the oppressive\ntimidity, which conquers every one who for the first time is permitted to\nstand in the presence of majesty, should cause her to lose her memory and\nbe unable to find the mood which she required in order to execute her\ntask with the perfection that hovered before her mind?\n\nYes, that would happen! With cruel self-torture she dwelt upon the\nterrible dread, for she thought she had noticed that the best success\noften followed when she had expected the worst result. Fran Lerch\nperceived what was passing in her mind, and instilled courage until she\nhad finished her work and held up the mirror before Barbara.\n\nThe girl, whether she desired to do so or not, could not help looking in.\nShe did it reluctantly, and, after hastily assuring herself that she was\npresentable, she turned the glittering disk away and would not glance at\nit again.\n\nShe feared that the contemplation of her own image might disturb her; she\nwished to think only of the worthy execution of her task, and the shorter\ntime she kept the Emperor waiting the less she need fear having an\nill-humoured listener.\n\nSo she hurriedly ejaculated a few words of gratitude to the old attendant\nand seized the kerchief for her head, which she had taken to Prufening\nwith her; but the dressmaker wound around her hair a costly lace veil\nwhich she had ready for a customer.\n\n\"The valuable article may be lost,\" she thought. \"But if, sooner or\nlater, something happens which my lambkin, who thinks only of her sweet\nbabble, does not dream, it will return to me with interest. Besides, she\nmust see what maternal affection I feel for her.\" Then, with tender\ncaution, she kissed the girl's glowing cheeks, and the blessing with\nwhich she at last dismissed her sounded devout and loving enough.\n\nWolf had not waited long; it was just striking eleven when Barbara met\nhim at the door talking with Herr Lerch, the owner of the house.\n\nBefore leaving the Grieb, she again glanced into the chapel in the\ncourtyard dedicated to Saint Dorothea, and uttered a swift though silent\nprayer for good success, and that her singing might have a deep influence\nupon the august hearer.\n\nMeanwhile she scarcely heeded what her friend was saying, and, while\nwalking at his side the short distance through a part of Red Cock Street\nand across the Haidplatz, he had no words from her lips except the\nrequest that he would tell her father of the great honour awaiting her.\n\nWolf, too, had imposed silence upon himself; it was necessary for the\nsinger, on the eve of this important performance, to refrain from talking\nin the night air.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nBaron Malfalconnet possessed the gift of lending Time wings and using the\nsimplest incident as the foundation for an entertaining story.\n\nHe knew that his Majesty did not like waiting, and the quarter of an hour\nwhich Barbara had mentioned might easily become a longer period. So he\nadorned the description of his ride as an envoy most generously with many\npartially invented details. Wolf, Herr Peter Schlumperger, Frau\nKastenmayr, his estimable sister, and the party of Ratisbon\nexcursionists, upon whom he had scarcely bestowed a passing glance, all\nplayed a large and by no means enviable part.\n\nBut he gained his object, for the impatient monarch listened gladly, and\nall the more willingly in proportion to the more brilliant eloquence with\nwhich the clever connoisseur of mankind placed Barbara in contrast to all\nthe obscure, insignificant, and ridiculous personages whom he pretended\nto have met. The peculiar charm which her individuality thus obtained\ncorresponded with the idea which the monarch himself had formed of the\nexpected guest, and it flattered him to hear his conjecture so remarkably\nconfirmed.\n\nA few questions from the monarch followed the baron's report. While the\nlatter was still answering the last one, Chamberlain de Praet announced\nthe singer's arrival, and Count Bueren escorted the aged Marquise de\nLeria to the monarch.\n\nThe Emperor went at once to the table, and as he descended the stairs,\nleaning lightly on Malfalconnet's arm, it was scarcely perceptible that\nhe used the left foot less firmly than the other.\n\nAccording to his command, only the small table at which he was to sit\nwith the marquise had been laid in the dining-room. The boy choir had\ntaken a position opposite to it.\n\nAt his entrance Barbara rose quickly from the chair, into which she had\nsunk by no means from weariness.\n\nWith a throbbing heart, and still heavily oppressed by anxiety, she\nawaited the next moments and what they would bring.\n\nThe Benedictio Mensae was again to open the concert. She needed no notes\nfor this familiar music. Yet she looked toward Appenzelder, who had\nthanked her for her appearance as if she had done him a great favour.\n\nNow the orchestra behind her was silent. Now she saw the lackeys and\nattendants bow profoundly. Now Appenzelder raised his arm.\n\nShe saw it, but he had not yet touched the desk with the little ebony\nstaff, and she availed herself of the pause to glance toward the\nanxiously expected sovereign, whose presence she felt.\n\nThere he stood.\n\nBarbara scarcely noticed the old lady at his left; he, he alone\ncaptivated her eyes, her heart, her senses, her whole being.\n\nWhat a happy surprise!\n\nHow Wolf, Maestro Gombert, and others had described the Emperor, and how\nhe stood before her!\n\nThis chivalrous, superb, almost youthful gentleman and hero, whose\nhaughty, self-assured bearing so admirably suited the magnificence of his\nrich-hued garments, was said to be a gouty old man, bowed by the weight\nof care! Had it not been so abominable, it would have tempted her to\nlaugh.\n\nHow petty men were, how cruel was the fate of the great, to whom envy\nclings like their own shadow, and whose image was basely distorted even\nby those who knew the grandeur of their intellect and their deeds, and\nwho owed to them their best success in life!\n\nHer heart beat for this man, not only with the artist's desire to satisfy\nthe connoisseur, no, but with stormy passion--she felt it now; yet,\nthough the god of love was called a blind boy, she had retained the full,\nclear strength of vision and the absolute power of discernment.\n\nNo one, not even the handsomest young knight, could compare in her eyes\nwith the mature, powerful guide of the destiny of many millions, whose\nlofty brow was illumined by the grandeur of his intellect, and with whose\nname the memory of glorious victories was associated. The pride justified\nby his birth had led him from one lofty deed to another, and he could not\nhelp carrying his head so high, for how far all the rest of mankind lay\nbeneath him! There was no living mortal to whom the Emperor Charles would\nhave been obliged to look up, or before whom he need bow his head at all.\n\nShe would fain have been able to stamp his image deeply, ineffaceably\nupon her soul. But, alas!\n\nJust at that moment a short, imperious sound reached her ear. Appenzelder\nhad struck the desk with his baton. The Benedictio must begin at once,\nand now her breath was really coming so quickly that it seemed impossible\nfor her to sing in this condition.\n\nDeeply troubled, she pressed her hand upon her bosom.\n\nThen the cruel, tyrannical baton struck the wood a second time, and----\n\nBut what did this mean?\n\nThe Emperor had left his elderly companion after she was seated at the\ntable, and was advancing--her eyes, clouded by anxious expectation, did\nnot deceive her--and was walking with stately dignity toward the boy\nchoir; no, not to it, but directly toward herself.--Now it seemed as\nthough her heart stood still.\n\nAt no price could she have produced even a single note.\n\nBut it was not required, for the wave of the imperial hand which she saw\nwas to Appenzelder, and commanded him to silence his choir.\n\nThe unexpected movement concerned her alone, and ere Barbara found time\nto ask herself what brought him to her, he already stood before her.\n\nHow friendly and yet how chivalrously stately as the slight bow which the\nmonarch bestowed upon her; and he had scarcely done so when, in peculiar\nGerman, whose strange accent seemed to her extremely charming and\nmusical, he exclaimed: \"we welcome you to the Golden Cross, fairest of\nmaidens. You now behold what man can accomplish when he strives for\nanything with genuine zeal. The wisest among the wise declare that even\ngods fail in the conflict against the obstinacy of beautiful women, and\nyet our longing desire succeeded in capturing you, lovely fugitive.\"\n\nBarbara alternately flushed and paled as she listened to these words.\n\nShe had not heard Frau Lerch's counsel, and yet, obedient to a secret\nimpulse, she timidly lowered her blue eyes. But not a word of the\nsovereign had escaped her, and, though she still lacked the power of\nspeech, she found courage to smile and shake her head in denial.\n\nThe Emperor did not miss a single change of feature, and, swiftly\nunderstanding her mute contradiction, went on gaily: \"Look! look! So,\nfairest of the fair, you refuse to acknowledge our glorious victory? That\nbears witness to a specially independent comprehension of things. But we,\nhow are we to explain such a denial of an accomplished fact?\"\n\nThen Barbara summoned up courage and answered, still with downcast eyes,\n\"But, your Majesty, how can I regard myself as conquered and captured\nwhen I voluntarily yielded to your Majesty's wish?\"\n\n\"And may I perhaps also hope that it gives you pleasure to grant my\nentreaty?\" asked the sovereign in a subdued tone, gazing as he spoke deep\ninto the eyes which the young girl had just raised to his.\n\nBarbara did not instantly find the reply she sought, and only bent her\nhead in assent, but the Emperor was not satisfied with this mute answer,\nand eagerly desired to learn whether it was so difficult for her to admit\nwhat he so ardently wished to hear.\n\nMeanwhile her quick intellect had found the fitting response, and, with a\nlook which told the questioner more than she intended to betray, she\nanswered softly: \"Why should I not have fulfilled your Majesty's request\ngladly and proudly? But what followed the walk here, what befell me here,\nis so much more beautiful and greater--\"\n\n\"And may we know,\" interrupted the Emperor urgently, \"what you find here\nthat affords your heart so much pleasure?\n\n\"You and your favour,\" she answered quickly, and the flush which suddenly\ncrimsoned her cheeks showed him how deeply she was moved.\n\nThen Charles went close to her and whispered: \"And do you wish to know,\nmost bewitching woman, how he, in whose presence you confess that you are\nglad to remain, looked forward to your coming? As he would greet\nhappiness, spring. And note that I look you in the face, it seems as\nthough Easter bells were pealing the resurrection of a love long buried\nin this breast. And you, maiden, you will not belie this hope?\"\n\nBarbara clung to the back of the chair for support, while from her deeply\nagitated soul struggled the exclamation: \"This poor heart, my lord,\nbelongs to you--to you alone! How it mastered me, who can describe? But\nhere, my lord, now----\"\n\nThen the monarch whispered warmly: \"You are right. What we have to say to\neach other requires a more fitting time and a different place, and we\nwill find them.\"\n\nThen he stepped back, drew himself up to his full height, waved his hand\nto her with gracious condescension, and in a loud, imperious tone\ncommanded Appenzelder to begin the Benedictio.\n\n\"It rests with the lovely artist yonder,\" he added, glancing kindly at\nBarbara, \"whether she will now ennoble with her wonderful voice the\nsinging of the boy choir. Later she will probably allow us to hear the\nclosing melody of the 'Ecce tu pulchra es', which, with such good reason,\ndelighted the Queen of Hungary, and myself no less.\"\n\nHe seated himself at the table as he spoke, and devoted himself to the\ndishes offered him so eagerly that it was difficult to believe in the\ndeep, yearning emotion that ruled him. Only the marquise at his side and\nMalfalconnet, who had joined the attendant nobles, perceived that he ate\nmore rapidly than usual, and paid no attention to the preparation of the\nviands.\n\nThe aged eyes, of the Emperor's watchful companion, to whom up to the\nclose of the repast he addressed only a few scattered words, also\ndetected something else. Rarely, but nevertheless several times, the\nEmperor glanced at the boy choir, and when, in doing so, his Majesty's\neyes met the singer's, it was done in a way which proved to the marquise,\nwho had acquired profound experience at the French court, that an\nunderstanding existed between the sovereign and the artist which could\nscarcely date from that day. This circumstance must be considered, and\nbehind the narrow, wrinkled brow of the old woman, whose cradle had stood\nin a ducal palace, thronged a succession of thoughts and plans precisely\nsimilar to those which had filled the mind of the dressmaker and ex-maid\nere she gave Barbara her farewell kiss.\n\nWhat the marquise at first had merely conjectured and put together from\nvarious signs, became, by constant assiduous observation, complete\ncertainty when the singer, after a tolerably long pause, joined in\nJosquin's hymn to the Virgin.\n\nIn the Benedictio Mensae she remained silent, but at the first effective\npassage joined in the singing of the boys.\n\nNot until the 'Tu pulchra es' did she display the full power of her art.\n\nFrom the commencement she took part in the execution of this magnificent\ncomposition eagerly and with deep feeling, and when the closing bars\nbegan and the magic of her singing developed all its heart-thrilling\npower, the watchful lady in waiting perceived that his Majesty forgot the\nfood and hung on Barbara's lips as though spellbound.\n\nThis was something unprecedented. But when the monarch continued for some\ntime to display an abstemiousness so unlike him, the marquise cast a\nhasty glance of inquiry at Malfalconnet. But the affirmative answer which\nshe expected did not come. Had the baron's keen eye failed to notice so\nimportant a matter, or had his Majesty taken him into his confidence and\ncommanded him to keep the secret?\n\nThat Malfalconnet was merely avoiding making common cause with the old\nintriguer, was a suspicion which vanity led her to reject the more\npositively the more frequently her countryman sought her to learn what he\ndesired to know.\n\nBesides, she soon required no further confirmation, for what now happened\nput an end to every doubt.\n\nBarbara had to sing the \"Quia amore langueo\" again, and how it sounded\nthis time to the listening hearer!\n\nNo voice which the Emperor Charles had ever heard had put such pure,\nbewitching melody into this expression of the deepest yearning. It seemed\nas though the longing of the whole world was flowing to him from those\nfresh, young, beautifully formed red lips.\n\nA heart which was not itself languishing for love could not pour forth to\nanother with such convincing truth, overwhelming power, and glowing\nfervour the ardent longing of a soul seized by the omnipotence of love.\n\nThe mighty pressure of rising surges of yearning dashed against the\nmonarch's heart, and with tremendous impetuosity roused on all sides the\ntender desires which for a long time had been gathering in his soul. It\nseemed as though this \"Because I long for love\" was blending with the\nlong-repressed and now uncontrollable yearning that filled his own\nbreast, and he was obliged to restrain himself in order not to rush\ntoward this gifted singer, this marvellously lovely woman, whose heart\nwas his, and, before the eyes of all, clasp her in his embrace.\n\nThe master of dissimulation forgot himself, and--what a delight to the\neyes of the marquise!--the Emperor Charles, the great epicure and thirsty\ndrinker, left the pasty and the wine, to listen standing, with hands\nresting on the table and outstretched head, to Barbara's voice.\n\nIt seemed as though he feared his ear might miss a note of this song, his\neye a movement of this source of melody.\n\nBut when the song ceased, and Barbara, panting for breath, returned the\nardent look of gratitude and delight which beamed upon her from his eyes,\nthe Emperor left the table, and, without noticing Count Krockow, who was\njust lifting the silver cover from the roast capon, the last of the five\ndishes ordered, went up to Barbara.\n\nWould he really end the meal now? The old marquise thought it impossible,\nbut if the incredible event occurred, then things were to be expected,\nthings----\n\nBut ere she had imagined how this unprecedented event could take place,\nthe Emperor himself informed her, for, half addressing Barbara, half the\nlady in waiting, he exclaimed in a slightly muffled tone: \"Thanks,\ncordial thanks for this great pleasure, my dear Jungfrau! But we wish to\nadd to words another token of appreciation, a token of more lasting\nduration.--Do us the favour, Marquise de Leria, to conduct this noble\nartist to the upper rooms, that she may receive what we intended for\nher.\"\n\nHe left the hall as he spoke; but the marquise beckoned to Barbara,\ndetained her with words of sweet flattery a short time and then, with the\nyoung girl, ascended the stairs up which the Emperor had preceded them.\n\nMeanwhile the old noblewoman continued to talk with her; but Barbara did\nnot listen. While following her guide, it seemed as though the steps her\nlight foot trod were a heavenly ladder, and at their end the gates of\nParadise would open.\n\nShe felt with inexpressible delight that she had never before succeeded\nso well in expressing a strong feeling in music, and what her song\nendeavoured to tell the Emperor--no, the man whom she loved--had been\nunderstood, and found an echo in his soul.\n\nCould there be a greater happiness?\n\nAnd yet, while she was approaching him, he must be awaiting her.\n\nShe had wished to arouse his attention, his approval, his delight in her\nsinging. All three had become hers, and now new wishes had mastered her,\nand probably him also. She desired his love, he hers, and, fearing\nherself, she felt the great peril into which her aged companion was\nconducting her.\n\nThe Emperor was indeed the greatest and noblest of men! The mere\nconsciousness that he desired not only her singing, but her heart,\ninspired the deepest bliss. Yet it seemed as if she ought not to cross\nthe threshold of the room which opened before her; as if she ought to\nrush down the stairs and fly from him, as she had dashed away when his\nmessengers wished to lead her to his presence.\n\nBut he was already advancing from the end of the large apartment, and the\nmere sight of him put an end to every further consideration and crushed\nher will.\n\nObedient to a glance from the Emperor's eyes, the marquise, bowing\nreverently, retreated into the corridor whence they had come and closed\nthe door.\n\nThe clang against the jambs told Barbara that she was alone with the\nruler of half the world, whom she dared to love.\n\nBut she was not granted a moment to collect her thoughts; the Emperor\nCharles already stood before her, and with the exclamation, \"Quia amore\nlangueo!\" opened his arms.\n\nShe, too, was longing for love, and, as if intoxicated by the lofty\nfeeling of being deemed worthy of the heart of this mighty sovereign, she\nyielded to his kisses; and as she herself threw her arm around his neck\nand felt--that she had a right to do so, it seemed as though an invisible\nhand was placing a royal crown upon her brow.\n\nThe joy which filled her little heart appeared too rich and great for it\nwhen, repeating the \"Amore langueo\" with her head upon his breast, he\nwhispered sweet love phrases and confessed that those words, since she\nhad sung them for the first time, had echoed through his hours of\nreflection, through the cares of business, through the brief hours of\nrepose which he allowed himself, and so it must continue, and her love,\nher voice, and her beauty render the downward path of life the fairest\nportion which he had traversed.\n\nThen Barbara, with the low exclamation, \"Because I, too, long for love,\"\nagain offered him her lips, and he accepted the sweet invitation with\nimpetuous passion.\n\nAlready, for the second time since her entrance, the clock on Charles's\nwriting-table struck the quarter of an hour, and, as if startled from a\ndeep slumber, she withdrew from his embrace and gazed, as if bewildered,\ntoward the door. Directly after it opened, and Don Luis Quijada with firm\nstep entered the room.\n\nThe trusted favourite of the Emperor was always free to seek his\npresence. He had returned to Ratisbon in advance of the Queen of Hungary,\nwho would not arrive until the following morning, and, after a brief\nconversation with Malfalconnet and Master Adrian, the loyal nobleman had\ngone without delay, and at the risk of angering him, to his imperial\nmaster. Without even rising from the divan, and still clasping the hand\nwhich Barbara attempted to withdraw as Don Luis advanced, Charles asked\nwith stern rebuke what had caused his entrance at so late an hour.\nQuijada requested a brief audience, but Charles replied that he had\nnothing to conceal from this companion.\n\nA low bow followed this remark; then, with quiet dignity, the major-domo\nreported that the leaders of the orchestra and the boy choir had been\nwaiting below--and with them Sir Wolf Hartschwert and an old gentleman,\nthe father of this lady--a considerable time for her return. So it seemed\nto him advisable, unless his majesty wished to reveal this sweet secret\nto the world, to part from his beautiful friend, at least for a short\nspace.\n\nThe Emperor Charles did not permit such suggestions even from those who\nwere nearest and dearest to him, and he was already starting up\nindignantly to thrust Don Luis back behind the barriers through which he\nhad broken, when Barbara with tender persuasion entreated her lover, for\nher sake, to exercise caution. Charles at last consented to part from her\nfor a time. He was sure of her; for he read in the dewy brightness of her\neyes how hard it was for her also to release herself from his embrace.\n\nThen, removing the diamond and ruby star from the lace at his neck, he\npinned it on Barbara's bosom, with the exclamation, \"In memory of this\nhour!\"\n\nHe afterward added, as if in explanation, that the star might show to\nthose below what had detained her here, and asked earnestly whether he\nmight hope to see her again in an hour, if a faithful man--here he\nmotioned to Quijada--accompanied her hither, and later escorted her home\nagain?\n\nA silent nod promised the fulfilment of this request.\n\nThe Emperor then carried on a short conversation with Quijada, which was\nunintelligible to Barbara; and after he had retired to summon the\nmarquise, Charles profited, like an impetuous youth, by the brief period\nin which he was again alone with his love, and entreated her to consider\nthat, if she remained absent long, the \"amore langueo\" would rob him of\nhis reason.\n\n\"Your great intellect,\" she replied, with a faint sigh. \"My small\nwits--Holy Virgin!--flew far away at the first word of love from the lips\nof my royal master.\"\n\nThen, drawing herself up to her full height, she passed her hand across\nher brow and defiantly exclaimed: \"And why should I think and ponder? I\nwill be happy, and make you happy also, my only love!\"\n\nAs she spoke she again threw herself upon his breast, but only for a few\nbrief moments. Don Luis Quijada reappeared with the marquise, and\nconducted both ladies out of the imperial apartment.\n\nOutside the door the major-domo detained Barbara, and had a tolerably\nlong conversation with her, of which the marquise vainly endeavoured to\ncatch even a few words.\n\nAt last he committed the girl to the old nobleman's charge and returned\nto the Emperor.\n\nThe marquise received Barbara with the assurance that she had found in\nher a warm, nay, a maternal friend.\n\nIf this beautiful creature was not alreadv the object of the Emperor's\nlove, the experienced old woman told herself, she must very soon become\nso.\n\nYet there had never been a favourite at this monarch's court, and she was\ncurious to learn what position would be assigned to her.\n\nAfter accompanying the girl intrusted to her care down the stairs with\nflattering kindness, she committed her to the musicians and Wolf, who,\nwith old Blomberg, were awaiting her in the chapel with increasing\nimpatience. The captain had obtained admittance through Wolf.\n\nAt her first glance at Barbara the eyes of the old marquise had rested on\nthe glittering star which the Emperor had fastened on the lady of his\nlove.\n\nThe men did not notice it until after they had congratulated the singer\nupon her exquisite performance and the effect which it had produced upon\nhis Majesty.\n\nMaestro Gombert perceived it before the others, and Captain Blomberg and\nWolf rejoiced with him and Appenzelder over this tangible proof of the\nimperial favour.\n\nA conversation about the Emperor's judgment and the rarity with which he\nbestowed such costly tokens of his regard was commencing in the chapel,\nbut Barbara speedily brought it to a close by the assurance that she was\nutterly exhausted and needed rest.\n\nOn the way home she said very little, but when Wolf, in the second story\nof the house, held out his hand in farewell, she pressed it warmly, and\nthanked him with such evident emotion that the young man entered his\nrooms full of hope and deep secret satisfaction.\n\nAfter Barbara had crossed the threshold of hers, she said good-night to\nher father, who wished to learn all sorts of details, alleging that she\ncould scarcely speak from weariness.\n\nThe old gentleman went to rest grumbling over the weakness of women in\nthese days, to which even his sturdy lass now succumbed; but Barbara\nthrew herself on her knees beside the bed in her room, buried her face in\nthe pillows, and sobbed aloud. Another feeling, however, soon silenced\nher desire to weep. Her lover's image and the memory of the happy moments\nwhich she had just experienced returned to her mind. Besides, she must\nhasten to arrange her hair again, and--this time with her own\nhands--change her clothing.\n\nWhile she was loosening her golden tresses and gazing into the mirror,\nher eyes again sparkled with joy. The greatest, the loftiest of mortals\nloved her. She belonged to him, body and soul, and she had been permitted\nto call him \"her own.\"\n\nAt this thought she drew herself up still more haughtily in proud\nself-consciousness, but, as her glance fell upon the image of the Virgin\nabove the priedieu, she again bowed her head.\n\nDoubtless she desired to pray, but she could not.\n\nShe need confess nothing to the august Queen of Heaven. She knew that she\nhad neither sought nor desired what now burdened her heart so heavily,\nand yet rendered her so infinitely happy. She had obeyed the Emperor's\nsummons in order to win approval and applause for her art, and to afford\nthe monarch a little pleasure and cheer, and, instead, the love of the\ngreatest of all men had flamed ardently from the earth, she had left her\nwhole heart with him, and given herself and all that was in her into his\npower. Now he summoned her--the Holy Virgin knew this, too--and she must\nobey, though the pure face yonder looked so grave and threatening.\n\nAnd for what boon could she beseech the Queen of Heaven?\n\nWhat more had the woman, to whom the Emperor's heart belonged, to desire?\n\nThe calmness of her soul was at an end, and not for all the kingdoms\nCharles possessed would she have exchanged the tumult and turmoil in her\nbreast for the peace which she had enjoyed yesterday.\n\nObeying a defiant impulse, she turned from the benign face, and her hands\nfairly flew as, still more violently agitated, she completed the changes\nin her dress.\n\nIn unfastening the star, her lover's gift, she saw upon the gold at the\nback Charles's motto, \"Plus ultra!\"\n\nBarbara had known it before, but had not thought of it for a long time,\nand a slight tremor ran through her frame as she said to herself that,\nfrom early childhood, though unconsciously, it had been hers also.\nHeaven--she knew it now--Fate destined them for each other.\n\nSighing heavily, she went at last, in a street dress, to open the\nbow-window which looked upon Red Cock Street.\n\nBarbara felt as if she had outgrown herself. The pathos which she had\noften expressed in singing solemn church music took possession of her,\nand left no room in her soul for any frivolous emotion. Proud of the\nlofty passion which drew her with such mighty power to her lover's arms,\nshe cast aside the remorse, the anxiety, the deep sense of wrong which\nhad overpowered her on her return home.\n\nWhat was greater than the certainty of being beloved by the greatest of\nmen? It raised her far above all other women, and, since she loved him in\nreturn, this certainty could not fail to make her happy also, when she\nhad once fully recovered her composure and ventured to look the wonderful\nevent which had happened freely in the face.\n\nThe stars themselves, following their appointed course in yonder blue\nfirmament--his device taught that--made her belong to him. If she could\nhave forced herself to silence the desire of her heart, it would have\nbeen futile. Whoever divides two trees which have grown from a single\nroot, she said to herself, destroys at least one; but she would live,\nwould be happy on the highest summit of existence. She could not help\nobeying his summons, for as soon as she listened to the warning voice\nwithin, the \"Because I long for love\" with which he had clasped her in\nhis arms, urged her with irresistible power toward the lover who awaited\nher coming.\n\nThe clock now struck two, and a tall figure in a Spanish cloak stood\noutside the door of the house. It was Don Luis Quijada, the Emperor's\nmajordomo.\n\nIt would not do to keep him waiting, and, as she turned back into the\nroom to take the little lamp, her glance again fell upon the Virgin's\nimage above the priedieu and rested upon her head.\n\nThen the figure of her imperial lover stood in tangible distinctness\nbefore her mind, and she imagined that she again heard the first cry of\nlonging with which he clasped her in his arms, and without further\nthought or consideration she kissed her hand to the image, extinguished\nthe little lamp, and hurried as fast as the darkness permitted into the\nentry and down the stairs.\n\nOutside the house Wolf returned to her memory a moment.\n\nHow faithfully he loved her!\n\nYet was it not difficult to understand how she could even think of the\npoor fellow at all while hastening to the illustrious sovereign whose\nheart was hers, and who had taught her with what impetuous power true\nlove seizes upon the soul. Barbara threw her head back proudly, and,\ndrawing a long breath, opened the door of the house. Outside she was\nreceived by Quijada with a silent bend of the head; but she remembered\nthe far more profound bows with which he greeted the monarch, and, to\nshow him of how lofty a nature was also the woman whom the Emperor\nCharles deemed worthy of his love, she walked with queenly dignity\nthrough the darkness at her aristocratic companion's side without\nvouchsafing him a single glance.\n\nTwo hours later old Ursula was sitting sleepless in her bed in the second\nstory of the cantor house. A slight noise was heard on the stairs, and\nthe one-eyed maid-servant who was watching beside her exclaimed: \"There\nit is again! just as it was striking two I said that the rats were coming\nup from the cellar into the house.\"\n\n\"The rats,\" repeated the old woman incredulously; and then, without\nmoving her lips, thought: \"Rats that shut the door behind them? My poor\nWolf!\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     The blessing of those who are more than they seem\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\"Poor Wolf!\" old Ursel had exclaimed. But whoever had met the young\nknight the following morning, as he went up the stairs to the Blombergs'\nrooms, would have deemed him, like Baron Malfalconnet, the happiest of\nmortals.\n\nHe had obeyed Dr. Hiltner's summons, and remained a long time with him.\nThen he went home at a rapid pace, for he longed to tell Barbara how fair\na prospect for their future was opening before him.\n\nShe had showed her liking for him plainly enough yesterday when they\nparted. What should prevent her from becoming his now that he could\npromise an ample income?\n\nThere was some one stirring in the private chapel as he passed, but he\npaid no heed; in former days many people from the neighbourhood prayed\nhere frequently.\n\nHe found no one in the Blombergs' home except the father.\n\nBarbara would certainly return immediately, the old man said. She had\ngone down to the chapel a short time before. She was not in the habit of\ndoing so at this hour, but the great favour shown her by the Emperor had\nprobably gone to her head, and who could wonder?\n\nWolf also thought it natural that so great a success should excite her\npowerfully: but he, too, had a similar one to relate, and, with joyful\nemotion, he now told the old gentleman what the syndic had offered.\n\nThe Council, which, by the establishment of the \"Convivium,\" had already\nprovided for the fostering of the noble art of music, wished to do still\nmore. The project had been dear to the recently deceased Martin Luther,\nand the Ratisbon syndic, who had enjoyed his friendship, thought he was\ncarrying out his wishes----\n\nHere Wolf was interrupted, for the table groaned under the blow of the\nold warrior's still powerful fist, coupled with the exclamation: \"So\nthere is still to be no rest from the accursed disturber of the peace,\nalthough he is dead! No offence, my lad; but there can be nothing\nedifying to a good Christian where that Wittenberg fellow is concerned.\"\n\n\"Only have patience,\" Wolf interposed here, secure of victory, and now,\nslightly vexed with himself for his imprudence in mentioning Martin\nLuther's name to the old hater of Turks and heretics, he explained that\nDr. Hiltner, in the name of the Council, had offered him the position of\nDamian Feys, Barbara's teacher. The Netherlander was going home, and the\nmagistrate was glad to have found in him, Wolf, a native of Ratisbon who\nwould be no less skilled in fostering music in this good city. To bind\nhim securely, and avoid the danger of a speedy invitation elsewhere, the\nposition offered was provided with an annual salary hitherto\nunprecedented in this country, and which far exceeded that of many an\nimperial councillor. This had been rendered possible through a bequest,\nwhose interest was to be devoted to the development of music, and--if he\nshould accept the place--to him and his future wife.\n\nWhen he heard this, he would fain have instantly bestowed the most\nbeautiful candles upon the Holy Virgin, but the scruple concerning\nreligion had prevented his rejoicing fully; and when he told the syndic\nthat under no circumstances could he abandon the old faith, it was done\nwith the fear that the glittering bird would fly away from him. But the\nresult had been different, for Dr. Hiltner replied that religion did not\nenter into the matter. He knew Wolf and his peaceful nature, and\ntherefore hoped that he would be advised that music was a language\nequally intelligible to all persons of feeling, whatever tongue they\nspoke and whatever creed they preferred. This opinion was also that of\nthe Catholic maestro Feys, and he had therefore escaped all difficulty.\nWolf must, of course, consider the circumstances which he would find\nhere. If he would accommodate himself to them, the Council would be\nwilling to overlook his faith; besides, Hiltner, on his own authority,\nhad given him the three days' time to reflect, for which he had asked on\nBarbara's account.\n\nA long-drawn \"H'm\" from Blomberg followed this disclosure. Then he shook\nhis clumsy head, and, grasping his mustache with his hand, as if he\nwanted in that way to stop the motion of his head, he said thoughtfully:\n\"Not a whole thing, Wolf, rather a double one, or--if we look at it\ndifferently--it is only a half, for an honest friend of our Holy Church.\nThe way into which they tempt you is paved with gold, but--but--I see the\nsnares and pitfalls----\"\n\nHe rose as he spoke, muttering all sorts of unintelligible things, until\nhe finally exclaimed, \"Yet perhaps one might----\"\n\nThen he looked impatiently toward the door, and asked: \"Where is the girl\nloitering? Would Eve probably bite the apple of temptation also?\"\n\n\"Shall I call her?\" cried Wolf eagerly.\n\n\"No, no,\" said the captain. \"It is sinful to disturb even our nearest\nrelatives at prayer. Besides, you would not believe how the maestro's\npraises and the imperial gift have excited the vanity in her woman's\nnature. For the first time in I know not how many years, she overslept\nthe hour of mass. It was probably ten o'clock when I knocked at her\nchamber door. Toward eleven there was a movement in her room. Then I\nopened the door to bid her good-morning, but she neither heard nor saw\nanything, and knelt at the priedieu as if turned to stone. Before going\nto sleep and early in the morning I expect such things, but when it is\nalmost noon! Her porridge still stood untouched on the table here, and\nto-day there is no occasion for fasting. But I did not like to disturb\nher, and perhaps she would still be kneeling before the Virgin's image if\nthe maid-servant hadn't blundered in to carry a bouquet which Herr Peter\nSchlumperger's servant had brought. Then Barbara started up as if a\nhornet had stung her. And how she looked at me! Once--I knew it\ninstantly--I had gazed into such a marvellously beautiful face, such\nhelpless blue eyes. Afterward I remembered who and where it had been. God\nguard me from sinning against my own child, but that was exactly the way\nthe young girl looked who they--it was farther back in the past than you\ncan remember--burned here for a witch, as the halberdiers and monks led\nher to the place of execution. Susanne Schindler--that was her name--was\nthe daughter of a respectable notary's clerk, who was obliged to wander\nabout the world a great deal, and perished in Hungary just as she reached\nwomanhood. Her mother had died when she was born, and an old woman had\ntaken care of her out of friendship. People called the lass 'beautiful\nSusel,' and she was wonderfully charming. Pink and white, like the maiden\nin the fairy tale, and with glittering golden hair just like my Wawerl's.\nThe old woman with whom she lived--her aunt or some other relative--had\nlong practised the healing of all sorts of infirmities, and when a young\nSpanish count, who had come here with the Emperor Charles to the\nReichstag in the year '31, fell under his horse in leaping a ditch, his\nlimbs were injured so that he could not use them. As he did not recover\nunder the care of the Knights of St. John, who first nursed him, he went\nto the herb doctress, and she took charge of him, and cured him, too,\nalthough the skill of the most famous doctors and surgeons had failed to\nhelp him.\n\n\"But, to make amends, Satan, who probably had the largest share in the\nmiracle, visited him with the sorest evil, for 'beautiful Susel,' who was\nthe old woman's assistant, had so bewitched the young count that he not\nonly fell in love with her, but actually desired to make her his wife.\n\n\"Then all the noble relatives at home interfered. The Holy Inquisition\ncommanded the investigation of the case, and sent a stern vicar general\nto direct the proceedings of the Dominicans, who had seized the\ntemptress. Then it came to light that 'beautiful Susel' had bewitched the\nluckless young count and robbed him of reason by her wicked arts.\n\n\"The old woman, whom they had also examined, escaped her just punishment\nbecause she died of the plague, which was raging here at that time, but\n'beautiful Susel' was burned, and I looked on while it was done.\n\n\"When the Dominicans had led her to the stake, she turned toward the\npeople who had flocked here from all quarters. Many doubtless pitied her\non account of her marvellous beauty, and because the devil had given her\nthe mask of the most touching kindness of heart; but she gazed directly\ninto my face with her large, blue eyes as I stood close by, and for years\nI saw the witch's look distinctly before me. Yet what do we not at last\nforget? And now it must happen that what reminded me of her again is my\nown innocent child! Wawerl just looked into my eyes as if 'beautiful\nSusel' had risen from her grave. It was not long, yet it seemed as if she\nshrank in terror from me, her own clear father. She gazed up at me in\nhelpless despair, as if she feared God and the world.\n\n\"I have learned little about shivering, but a chill ran down my spine. Of\ncourse, I did not let her notice anything. Poor child! after the honour\nbestowed yesterday, I thought there would be nothing to-day except\nlaughter and loud singing. But my grandmother used to say that the grief\nwhich tortures a young girl--she herself knows not why--is the hardest to\nbear, and then Barbara must now make up her mind about marriage, for,\nbesides you, there are Peter Schlumperger and young Crafft to be\nconsidered.\n\n\"I remembered all this, and so, as usual, I took her face between my\nhands to give her her morning kiss. She always offers me her lips, but\nto-day she turned away so that my mouth barely brushed her cheeks.\n'Women's whims!' I thought, and therefore let it pass. You can imagine\nhow glad I should have been to hear something more about yesterday\nevening, but I made no objection when she wished to go to the chapel at\nonce, because she had overslept the hour of mass. She would be back again\nbefore the porridge was heated. But the little bowl has stood there\nprobably three quarters of an hour, and we are still waiting in vain.\"\n\nHere he paused in his voluble flow of speech, and then burst forth\nangrily: \"The devil may understand such a girl's soul! Usually Wawerl\ndoes just the opposite of what one expects; but if she does accept you,\nshe will--as an honest man I ought not to conceal it from you--she will\ngive you many a riddle to guess. Whims and freaks are as plenty with her\nas buttercups in spring turf; but you can't find a more pious girl in all\nRatisbon. From ancient times the motto of the Blombergs has been 'Faith,\nCourage, and Honour,' and for that very reason it seems to me highly\nimprobable that Wawerl would advise you to accept an office which, after\nall, will force you to yield to the will of heretical superiors. The high\npay alone will hardly win her.\"\n\n\"It will not?\" asked Wolf in astonishment. \"It is for her alone, not for\nmyself, that I value the increased income.\"\n\n\"For her?\" repeated the old man, shrugging his shoulders incredulously.\n\"Open your eyes, and you will see what she cares for gold and jewels.\"\n\n\"The splendid bouquet there--do you suppose that she even looked at it?\nBright pinks, red roses, and stately lilies in the centre. Where were\nthey obtained, since April is scarcely past? And yet she threw the costly\nbirthday gift aside as if the flowers were apple parings. It was not she,\nbut I, who afterward put them in the pitcher, for I can't bear to see any\nof God's creatures thirst, even though it is only a flower. Besides, we\nboth know that the fullest purse in the city, and a man worthy of all\nrespect to boot, are attached to the bouquet. Yes, indeed! For a long\ntime she has been unwilling to share my poverty, and if Herr Peter had\nremained loyal to our holy religion, I would persuade her myself.\"\n\nHere, exhausted by his eager speech, he paused with flushed cheeks--for\nit was a hot day--and raised his long arm to take his hat from the hook,\nto refresh his dry palate at the tavern.\n\nBut, after a brief pause for reflection, he restored it to its place.\n\nHe had remembered that he had not stirred a finger that morning, and had\npromised to have an inscription on a jug completed early the next day.\nBesides, the baker had not been paid for four weeks, so, sighing heavily,\nhe dragged himself to the workbench to move the burin with a weary hand.\n\nWolf had followed him with his eyes, and the sight of the chivalrous\nhero, the father of the girl whom he loved, undertaking such a wretched\noccupation, in such a mood, pierced him to the heart.\n\n\"Father Blomberg,\" he said warmly, putting his hand on his shoulder, \"let\nyour graver rest. I am a suitor for your child's hand. We are old\nfriends, and if from my abundance I offer you----\"\n\nHere the hot-blooded old man furiously exclaimed: \"Don't forget to whom\nyou are speaking, young fellow! How important he feels because he gets\nhis living at court! True, there is no abundance here; but I practise\nthis art merely because I choose, and because it cools my hot blood in\nthis lukewarm time of peace. But if on that account,\" he added\nthreateningly, while his prominent eyes protruded even farther than\nusual, \"you ever again venture to talk to me as though I were a day\nlabourer or a receiver of alms----\"\n\nHere he hesitated, for in the midst of his outbreak Barbara had\nnoiselessly entered the room. Now she approached him, and, in a more\ngentle and affectionate tone than she had ever used before, entreated him\nto rest.\n\nThe captain, groaning, shook his head, but Barbara stepped lightly upon\nthe low wooden bench on which he sat, drew his gray head toward her, and\ntenderly stroked his hair and beard, whispering: \"Rise, father, and let\nsomebody else finish the engraving, it is so cool and shady in the green\nwoods where the birds are singing, and only yesterday you praised the\nrefreshing drink at the Red Cock.\"\n\nHere he impatiently, yet with a pleased senile, endeavoured to release\nhimself from her arms, but she interrupted his exclamation, \"Don't you\nknow, Miss Thoughtless,\" with the whispered entreaty: \"Here me out first,\nfather! Maestro Appenzelder asked me to add my voice to the boy choir a\nfew times more, and yesterday evening the treasurer told me that the\nQueen of Hungary had commissioned him to give me as many ducats as the\nboys received pennies.\"\n\nShe spoke the truth; but the old man laughed heartily in his deep tones,\ncast a quick glance at Wolf, who was looking up at his weapons, and,\nlowering his voice, cried gaily, \"That's what I call a feminine\nChrysostomus or golden mouth, and I should think----\"\n\nHere he hesitated, for a doubt arose in his chivalrous mind whether it\nwas seemly for a young girl who belonged to a knightly race to accept\npayment for her singing. But the thought that it came from the hand of\nroyalty, and that even the great Duke of Alba, the renowned Granvelles,\nand so many princes, counts, and barons received golden wages for their\nservices from the Emperor's hand, put an end to these scruples.\n\nSo, in a happier frame of mind than he had experienced for a long time,\nhe said in a low tone, that he might not be understood by their guest:\n\"Greater people than we rejoice in the gifts which emperors and kings\nbestow, and--we can use them, can't we?\"\n\nThen he rubbed his hands, laughed as if he had outwitted the people of\nwhom he was thinking, and whispered to his daughter: \"The baker will\nwonder when he gets paid this time in glittering gold, and the butcher\nand Master Reinhard! My boots still creak softly when I step, and you\nknow what that means. The soles of your little shoes probably only sing,\nbut they, too, are not silent.\"\n\nThe old man, released from a heavy burden of care, laughed merrily again\nat this jest, and then, raising his voice, told his daughter and Wolf\nthat he would first get a cool drink and then go outside the gate\nwherever his lame foot might carry him. Would not the young nobleman\naccompany him?\n\nBut Wolf preferred to stay with Barbara, that he might plead his cause in\nperson. There was something so quiet and diffident in her manner. If she\nwould not listen to him to-day, she never would. In saying farewell, the\ncaptain remarked that he would not meddle in the affair of the Council.\nWawerl alone must decide that.\n\n\"When I return home,\" he concluded, \"you will have come to an agreement,\nand, whatever the determination may be, I shall be satisfied. Perhaps\nsome bright idea may come to me, too, over the wine. I'll go to the Black\nBear, where I always meet fellow-soldiers.\"\n\nThen he raised his hand with a gay farewell salute, and left the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nAs soon as the captain's limping steps died away on the stairs, Wolf\nsummoned all his courage and moved nearer to Barbara.\n\nHis heart throbbed anxiously as he told himself that the next few minutes\nwould decide his future destiny.\n\nAs he saw her before him, fairer than ever, with downcast eyes, silent\nand timid, without a trace of the triumphant self-assurance which she had\ngained during his absence, he firmly believed that he had made the right\nchoice, and that her consent would render him the most enviable of happy\nmortals. If she refused him her hand--he felt this no less plainly--his\nlife would be forever robbed of light and joy.\n\nTrue, he was no longer as blithe and full of hope as when he entered her\nplain lodgings a short time before.\n\nThe doubt of the worthy man, behind whom the house door had just closed,\nhad awakened his doubts also. Yet what he now had it in his power to\noffer, since his conversation with the syndic, was by no means trivial.\nHe must hold fast to it, and as he raised his eyes more freely to her his\ncourage increased, for she was still gazing at the floor in silent\nsubmission, as if ready to commit her fate into his hands; nay, in the\nbrief seconds during which his eyes rested upon her, he perceived an\nexpression which seemed wholly alien to her features, and bestowed upon\nthis usually alert, self-assured, vivacious creature an air of weary\nhelplessness.\n\nWhile he was generally obliged to maintain an attitude of defence toward\nher, she now seemed to need friendly consolation. So, obeying a hasty\nimpulse, he warmly extended both hands, and in a gentle, sympathizing\ntone exclaimed, \"Wawerl, my dear girl, what troubles you?\"\n\nThen her glance met his, and her blue eyes flashed upon him with an\nexpression of defiant resistance; but he could not help thinking of the\nyoung witch who was said to have resembled her, and a presentiment told\nhim that she was lost to him.\n\nThe confirmation of this foreboding was not delayed, for in a tone whose\nrepellent sternness startled him, she angrily burst forth: \"What should\ntrouble me? It as ill becomes you to question me with such looks and\nqueries as it pleases me.\" Wolf, in bewilderment, assured her that she\nhad seemed to him especially charming in her gracious gentleness. If\nanything had happened to cloud her fearless joyousness, let her forget\nit, for the matter now to be considered concerned the happiness of two\nhuman lives.\n\nThat was what she was saying to herself, Barbara replied in a more\nfriendly tone, and, with newly awakened hope, the young knight informed\nher that the time had now come when, without offending against modesty,\nhe might call himself a \"made man.\"\n\nWith increasing eagerness and confidence he then told her what the\ncouncillor had offered. Without concealing her father's scruples, he\nadded the assurance that he felt perfectly secure against the temptations\nof which there would certainly be no lack while he was in the service of\na Protestant magistracy.\n\n\"And when you, devout, pure, true girl, stand by my side,\" he concluded\nwith an ardour which surprised Barbara in this quiet, reserved man, \"when\nyou are once mine, my one love, then I shall conquer the hardest obstacle\nas if it were mere pastime, then I would not change places with the\nEmperor, for then my happiness would be----\"\n\nHitherto she had silently permitted him to speak, but now her cheeks\nsuddenly flamed with a deep flush, and she warmly interrupted: \"You\ndeserve to be happy, Wolf, and I could desire nothing more ardently than\nto see you glad and content; but you would never become so through me.\nHow pale you grow! For my sake, do not take it so much to heart; it\ngrieves me to see you suffer. Only believe that. It cuts me to the heart\nto inflict such great sorrow upon one so loyal, good, and dear, who\nvalues me so much more than I deserve.\"\n\nHere Wolf, deeply agitated, wildly called her name, and besought her not\nto cast aside so harshly the wealth of love and fidelity which he\noffered.\n\nHis own anguish of soul, and the pain inflicted by the cruel blow which\ncrushed his dearest hopes, robbed him of fortitude and calmness. With\ntears in his eyes, he threw himself on his knees before her and gazed\ninto her face with anxious entreaty, exclaiming brokenly: \"Do not--do not\ninflict this suffering upon me, Wawerl! Rob me of everything except hope.\nDefer your acceptance until I can offer you a still fairer future, only\nbe merciful and leave me hope!\"\n\nTears now began to glitter in Barbara's eyes also, and Wolf, noticing it,\nhastened with reviving courage to assure her how little it would cost him\nto reject, once for all, to please her, the tempting position offered to\nhim here. He could soon obtain a good office elsewhere, since their\nMajesties were not only favourably disposed toward him, but now toward\nher also. True, to him even the most brilliant external gifts of life\nwould be valueless and charmless without her love.\n\nBut here Barbara imperatively commanded him to rise, and not make his own\nheart and hers still heavier without avail.\n\nWolf pressed his hands upon his temples as violently as if he feared\nlosing his senses; but the young girl voluntarily put her arm around his\nshoulders, and said with sincere emotion: \"Poor Wolf! I know how\nthoroughly in earnest you are, but I dare not even leave you hope--I\nneither can nor ought. Yet you may hear this: From my childhood you have\nbeen dearer to me than any one else, and never shall I forget how firmly\nyou cling to me, how hard it is for you to give me up.\"\n\nThen Sir Wolf vehemently asked to know what stood between them; and\nBarbara, after a brief pause for reflection, answered, \"Love for\nanother.\"\n\nThe confession pierced him like a dagger thrust, and he passionately\nentreated her to tell him the name of the man who had defrauded him of\nthe happiness to which he possessed an older and better right than any\none else.\n\nHe paced the room with long strides as he spoke, gazing around him as if\nhe imagined that she had his rival concealed somewhere.\n\nIn doing so his glance fell upon Herr Schlumperger's bouquet, and he\nwildly cried: \"He? So, after all, wealth----\"\n\nBut this was too much for Barbara, and she stopped him with the\nexclamation: \"Fool that you are! As if You did not know that I am not to\nbe bought for the paltry florins of a Ratisbon moneybag!\"\n\nBut the next instant she had repented her outbreak, and in words so\nloving and gentle, so tender and considerate that his heart melted and he\nwould fain have flung himself again at her feet, she explained to him\nmore particularly why she was obliged to inflict this suffering upon him.\n\nHer heart was no longer free, and precisely because he was worthy of the\nwhole affection of a loyal heart she would not repay him in worthless\nmetal for the pure gold of his love. She was no prophetess, yet she knew\nfull well that some day he would bless this hour. What she concealed from\nevery one, even her father, as an inviolable secret, she had confessed to\nhim because he deserved her confidence.\n\nThen she began to speak of Dr. Hiltner's offer, and discussed its pros\nand cons with interest as warm as if her own fate was to be associated\nwith his.\n\nThe result was that she dissuaded him from settling in Ratisbon. She\nexpected higher achievements from him than he could attain here among the\nProtestants, who, on account of his faith, would place many a\nstumbling-block in his way.\n\nThen, changing her businesslike tone, she went on with greater warmth to\nurge him, for her sake, and that he might be the same to her as ever, to\nremain loyal to the religion they both professed. She could not fulfil\nhis hopes, it is true, but her thoughts would often dwell with him and\nher wishes would follow him everywhere. His place was at court, where\nsome day he would win a distinguished position, and nothing could render\nher happier than the news that he had attained the highest honour,\nesteem, and fame.\n\nHow gentle and kind all this sounded! Wolf had not imagined that she\ncould be so thoughtful, so forgetful of self, and so affectionate in her\nsympathy. He hung upon her lips in silent admiration, yet it was\nimpossible for him to determine whether this sisterly affection from\nBarbara was pouring balm or acrid lye upon his wounds.\n\nPositively as she had refused to answer his question concerning the happy\nmortal whom she preferred to him, Wolf could not help secretly searching\nfor him.\n\nAgitated and tortured to the verge of despair, even the friendliness with\nwhich she was trying to sweeten his cruel fate became unbearable, and\nwhile she was entreating him to continue to care for her and to remain on\nthe same terms of intimacy with her father and herself, he suddenly\nseized her hand, covered it with ardent kisses, and then, without a\nfarewell word, hastily left the room.\n\nWhen Barbara was alone she retired into the bow-window and fell into a\nsilent reverie, during which she often shook her head, as if amazed at\nherself, and often curled her full lips in a haughty smile.\n\nThe maid-servant brought in the modest meal.\n\nHer father had forgotten it, but he would undoubtedly find more\nsubstantial viands at the Black Bear. Barbara was speedily satisfied. How\npoorly the food was cooked, how unappetizing was the serving! When the\nmaid had removed the dishes, Barbara continued her reverie, and even her\nfather had never gazed into vacancy with such gloomy earnestness.\n\nWhat would she now have given for a mother, a reliable, faithful\nconfidante! But she had none; and Wolf, on whose unselfish love she could\ndepend, was the last person whom she could initiate into her secret.\n\nHer father!\n\nIf she had confided to him the matter which so deeply troubled her and\nyet filled her with the greatest pride, the poor old warrior, who valued\nhonour far more than life, would have turned her out of the house.\n\nEarly that morning she had averted her lips from his because she felt as\nif the Emperor's kiss had consecrated them. She was still under the\nmastery of the feeling that some disagreeable dream had borne her back to\nthese miserable rooms, while her true place was in the magnificent\napartments of royalty.\n\nShe had slept too late to attend mass, and therefore went to the private\nchapel, the abode of the only confidante to whom she could open her whole\nheart without reserve or timidity--the Mother of God.\n\nShe had done this with entire devotion, and endeavoured to reflect upon\nwhat had happened and what obligations she must meet. But she had had\nlittle success, for as soon as she began to think, her august lover rose\nbefore her eyes, she imagined that she heard his tender words, and her\nmind wandered to the future.\n\nOnly she had clearly perceived that she had lost something infinitely\ngreat, and obtained in its place something that was far more exquisite,\nthat she had been deemed worthy of a loftier honour, a richer happiness\nthan any one else.\n\nAh, yes, she was happy, more than happy, and yet not entirely so, for\nhappiness must be bright, and a dark, harassing shadow fell again and\nagain over the sunny enthusiasm which irradiated her nature and lent her\na haughtier bearing.\n\nShe ascribed it to the novelty of her elevation to a height of which she\nhad never dreamed. Eyes accustomed to twilight must also endure pain, she\ntold herself, ere they became used to the brilliance of the sun.\n\nPerhaps Heaven, in return for such superabundant gifts, demanded a\nsacrifice, and denied complete enjoyment. She would gladly do all in her\npower to satisfy the claim, and so she formed the resolve--which seemed\nto her to possess an atoning power--no longer to deceive the worthy man\nwho loved her so loyally, and for whom she felt an affection. At the very\nnext opportunity Wolf should learn that she could never become his, and\nwhen she had just confessed it so gently and lovingly, she had only\nfulfilled the vow made in the chapel before the Virgin's image. There,\ntoo, she had determined, if the Emperor ever gave her any power over his\ndecisions, to reward Wolf's loyal love by interceding for him wherever it\ncould be done.\n\nNow he had left her; but she could wait for her father no longer. She\nmust go to Fran Lerch.\n\nThe idea of confiding to her the secret which filled her with happy dread\nwas far from her thoughts; but love had both increased her vanity\ntenfold, and confined it within narrower limits. She could not be\nbeautiful enough for the lover who awaited her, yet she wished to be\nbeautiful for him alone. But her stock of gowns and finery was so very\nscanty, and no one understood how to set off her charms so well as the\nobliging, experienced old woman, who had an expedient for every\nemergency.\n\nRetiring to her little bow-windowed room, she examined her store of\nclothes.\n\nThere, too, lay her royal lover's gift, the glittering star.\n\nShe involuntarily seized it to take the jewel to the Grieb and show it to\nthe old woman; but the next instant, with a strange feeling of\ndissatisfaction, she flung it back again among the other contents of the\nchest.\n\nThus, in her impetuous fashion, she thrust it out of her sight. Maestro\nGombert had pronounced the star extremely valuable, and she desired\nnothing from the Emperor Charles, nothing from her beloved lord save his\nlove.\n\nShe had already reached the outer door, when her two Woller cousins from\nthe Ark greeted her. They were merry girls, by no means plain, and very\nfond of her. The younger, Anne Mirl, was even considered pretty, and had\nmany suitors. They had learned from their house steward, who had been\ntold by a fellow-countryman in the royal service, that his Majesty had\nrewarded Barbara for her exquisite singing with a magnificent ornament,\nand they wanted to see it.\n\nSo Barbara was obliged to open the chest again, and when the star flashed\nupon them the rich girls clapped their hands in admiration, and Anne Mirl\ndid not understand how any one could toss such an exquisite memento into\na chest as if it were a worn-out glove. If the Emperor Charles had\nhonoured her with such a gift, she would never remove it from her neck,\nbut even wear it to bed.\n\n\"Everybody to her taste,\" replied Barbara curtly, shrugging her\nshoulders.\n\nNever had her cousins seemed to her so insignificant and commonplace;\nand, besides, their visit was extremely inopportune.\n\nBut the Woller sisters were accustomed to see her in all sorts of moods,\nand Nandl, the elder, a quiet, thoughtful girl, asked her how she felt.\nTo possess such heavenly gifts as her voice and her beauty must be the\nmost glorious of all glorious things.\n\n\"And the honour, the honour!\" cried Anne Mirl. \"Do you know, Wawerl, one\nmight almost want to poison you from sheer envy and jealousy. Holy\nVirgin! To be in your place when you sing to the Emperor Charles again!\nAnd to talk with him as you would to anybody else!\"\n\nBarbara assured them that she would tell the whole story at their next\nmeeting, but she had no time to spare now, for she was expected at the\nrehearsal.\n\nThe sisters then bade her good-bye, but asked to see the star again, and\nAnne Mirl counted the jewels, to be able to describe it to her mother\nexactly.\n\nAt last Barbara was free, but before, still vexed by the detention, she\ncould set out for Fran Lerch's, she heard loud voices upon the stairs. It\nstartled her, for if the Emperor sent Don Luis Quijada, or even Baron\nMalfalconnet, to her wretched lodgings, it would now be even more\nunpleasant than before.\n\nBarbara was obliged to wait some time in vain. Her cousins had been\nstopped below, and were talking there with her father and another man. At\nlast the captain came stumping up the stairs with his limping steps.\nBarbara noticed that he was hurrying, and he reached the top more quickly\nthan usual and opened the door.\n\nHe looked merry, and his massive but well-formed and manly features were\nflushed. He came from Erbach in the Black Bear, it is true, but in so\nshort a time--his daughter knew that--the spirits of the wine could have\ndone him no harm. Besides, his voice sounded as deep and firm as usual as\nhe called to her from the threshold: \"A guest, Wawerl, a distinguished\nguest! A splendid fellow! You've already spoken of him, and I made his\nacquaintance in the Bear. I learned many and many a piece of news from\nhim about how things are going in the world-news, I tell you, girl! My\nheart is fairly dancing in my body. And, besides, a little puss like you\nis always glad to hear of an admirer, and only a short time ago you\npraised him loudly enough as a splendid dancer. A downright good fellow,\nchild, just as I was myself at his age. An uncle of his, a captain of\narquebusiers, Pyramus Kogel.\"\n\nHitherto Barbara, with increasing displeasure, had only suspected whom\nher father meant; but when he now mentioned his new friend's name, the\nindignant blood crimsoned her cheeks.\n\nShe had liked the handsome officer, for it was true that few men so well\nunderstood the art of guiding a partner through the dance; she, fool that\nshe was, had made eyes at him in order not to let pretty Elspet Zohrer\nhave the precedence. But he had himself confessed how much farther he had\nentered the snare than she intended when, on her way home from Fran\nLerch's after her meeting with Wolf, the young officer had met her\noutside of the Grieb and sued for her hand.\n\nNow the amorous swain had probably tried his luck with her father, and\nhow the latter, in spite of poor Wolf and Herr Schlumperger, had treated\nhim was evident from the fact that he, who usually closed his home\nagainst old friends, opened it wide to this stranger.\n\nThis was not only unpleasant to Barbara, but anger crimsoned her cheeks.\n\nHow dared the man whom she had so positively and sternly refused venture\nto continue his suit? Since the Emperor had loved her, she felt raised\ninfinitely above the poor nobleman. Nay, she considered it a\nreprehensible impropriety that he still sought her. And, besides what\nconsequences the visit of so stately a ladykiller, whose unusual height\nrendered him easily recognised, might now entail upon her! Suppose that\nhe should meet a messenger from the Emperor on the stairs, or it should\nbe rumoured at court that she received such visitors. How quickly\nwhatever happened in Ratisbon was noised abroad among the people she had\njust learned through the Woller girls.\n\nThe happiness which filled her was so great that everything which\nthreatened to affect it, even remotely, alarmed her, and thus anxiety\nblended with indignation as, deeply agitated, she interrupted her father,\nand in the most unfilial manner reproached him for allowing the flattery\nof a boastful coxcomb to make him forget what he owned to her and her\ngood name.\n\nThe brave champion of the faith dejectedly, almost humbly, strove to\nsoothe her, and at least induce her not to offend his guest by unfriendly\nwords; but she ignored his warnings with defiant passion, and when the\nrecruiting officer, who had been detained some time on the staircase by\nthe Wollers, knocked at the door, she shot the bolt noisily, calling to\nher father in a tone so loud that it could not fail to be heard outside:\n\"I repeat it, I will neither see nor speak to this importunate gentleman.\nWhen he attacked me in the street at night, I thought I showed him\nplainly enough how I felt. If he forces his way into our house now,\nreceive him, for aught I care; you have a right to command here. But if\nhe undertakes to speak to me, he can wait for an answer till the day of\njudgment!\"\n\nThen she hastily slipped the bolt back again, darted past Pyramus Kogel,\nwho did not know what had befallen him, without vouchsafing him a single\nglance, and then, with haughty composure, descended the stairs.\n\nThe officer, incapable of uttering a word, gazed after her.\n\nThe feeling that attracted him to Barbara was something entirely new,\nwhich since the last dance at the New Scales had robbed him of sleep by\nnight and rest by day. He had fallen under her spell, body and soul, and\nhe, whose business took him from city to city, from country to country,\nhad resolved, ere he accosted Barbara in the street, to give up the free,\ngay life which he enjoyed with the eager zest of youth, and seek her hand\nin marriage.\n\nHer first rebuff had by no means discouraged him; nay, the handsome,\nspoiled soldier was firmly convinced that her ungracious treatment was\nnot due to his proposal, but to its certainly ill-chosen place. A wife of\nsuch rigid austerity would suit him, for he would often be compelled to\nleave her a long time alone.\n\nWhen he heard the day before that he would find her among Peter\nSchlumperger's guests in Prufening, he had joined them, as if by\naccident, toward evening, and Barbara had danced with him twice.\n\nIn the schwabeln she had trusted herself to his guidance even longer than\nusual, and with what perfect time, with what passionate enjoyment she had\nwhirled around with him under the sway of the intense excitement which\nhad mastered her! He imagined that he felt her heart throb against his\nown breast, and had surrendered himself to the hope that it was newly\nawakened love for him which had deprived her of her calm bearing.\n\nTrue, she had refused his company on the way home, but this was probably\nbecause she was afraid of being gossipped about in connection with him.\n\nWell satisfied with his success, he had gone to Red Cock Street the next\nmorning to renew his suit. On the way he met her father, and in the Black\nBear had tried on the old warrior, with excellent success, the art of\nwinning other men, in which, as a recruiting officer, he had become an\nadept.\n\nJoyously confident of victory, he had accepted Blomberg's invitation, and\nnow had experienced an unprecedentedly mortifying rebuff.\n\nWith a face blanched to the pallor of death, he stood before the old man.\nThe wound which he had received burned so fiercely, and paralyzed his\nwill so completely, that the clumsy graybeard found fitting words sooner\nthan the ready, voluble trapper of men.\n\n\"You see,\" the captain began, \"what is to be expected from one's own\nchild in these days of insubordination and rebellion, though my Wawerl is\nas firm in her faith as the tower at Tunis of which I was telling you.\nBut trust experience, Sir Pyramus! It is easier, far easier for you to\nexact obedience from a refractory squad of recruits than for a father to\nguide his little daughter according to his own will. For look! If it gets\nbeyond endurance, you can seize the lash, or, if that won't do, a weapon;\nbut where a fragile girl like that is concerned, we can't give vent to\nour rage, and, though she spoils the flavour of our food and drink by her\npouting and fretting, we must say kind words to her into the bargain.\nMine at least spares me the weeping and wailing in which many indulge,\nbut it is easier to break iron than her obstinacy when her will differs\nfrom that of the person whom, on account of the fourth commandment,\nshe----\"\n\nPyramus Kogel, with both hands resting on the large basket handle of his\nlong rapier, had listened to him in silence; now he interrupted the\ncaptain with the exclamation: \"Iron against iron, comrade! Throw it into\nthe fire, and swing the hammer. It will bend then. All that is needed is\nthe right man, and I know him. If I did not feel very sorry for such a\ncharming creature, I would laugh at the insult and go my way. But, as it\nis, I have a good memory, and it will be a pleasure, methinks, to keep so\nunruly a beauty and artistic nightingale in mind. It shall be done until\nmy turn comes. In my pursuit I do not always succeed at the first\nattempt, but whoever I once fix my eyes upon comes on the roll at last,\nand I will keep the foremost place open for your lovely, refractory\ndaughter. We shall meet again, Captain, and I haven't said my last word\nto your ungracious daughter either.\"\n\nHe held out his hand to Blomberg as he spoke, and after a brief delay the\nlatter clasped it.\n\nThe fearless foe of the Turks was troubled by the recruiting officer's\nmysterious menaces, but his kind heart forbade him to add a new offence\nto the bitter mortification inflicted upon this man by his daughter.\nBesides, he had taken a special fancy to the stately, vigorous soldier,\nwhose height and breadth of shoulder were little inferior to his own, and\nwhile descending the stairs he thought, \"It would serve Wawerl right if\nyonder fellow put a stop to her obstinacy, pranks, and caprices.\"\n\nBut he quickly silenced the wish, for Barbara did not often give the rein\nto her self-will so freely, and her objectionable traits of character had\nbeen inherited from her mother. She was a good girl at heart, and how\nmuch pleasure and favour her beautiful gift brought, how much honour came\nto him and his ancient name through this rare child! Yet at that time he\nwas not aware of the new benefit he was to owe to her within the next\nhour.\n\nBefore Barbara had returned home the treasurer of the imperial and royal\nmusicians came to his house and, in the regent's name, handed him the\ngold of which Barbara had spoken for services rendered in the boy choir\nof her Majesty Queen Mary. He was obliged to sign the receipt in his\ndaughter's name, and when the portly Netherlander, who could also make\nhimself understood in German, asked where a sup of good wine or beer\ncould be had in Ratisbon, he was ready to act as his guide.\n\nThanks to his daughter's rich gifts, he need not wield the graver any\nlonger that day, and for the second time could grant himself a special\ntreat.\n\nWhen he returned home he learned from the one-eyed maid that Barbara had\nbeen summoned by the Queen of Hungary to sing for her.\n\nWeary as he was, he went to rest, and soon after the young girl entered\nhis room to bid him \"good night.\"\n\nThe Queen had been very gracious, and after the singing was over had\ninquired about hundreds of things--who had been her singing master, what\nher religion was, whether her mother was still living, what calling her\nfather followed, whether he, too, had drawn the sword against the Turks,\nher husband's murderers, whether she was accustomed to riding, and,\nlastly, whether she was obliged to endure the narrow city streets in the\nsummer.\n\nBarbara had then been able to answer that the Wollers sometimes invited\nher to their country seat at Abbach, and intentionally added that they\nwere her nearest relatives, and owned the Ark, the large, handsome family\nmansion which stood exactly opposite to the Golden Cross and her\nMajesty's windows. She had also often been the guest of her uncle\nWolfgang Lorberer, who stood at the head of the community at Landshut.\n\nIt had gratified her to boast of these distinguished blood relations.\n\nShe had then been asked whether she could consent to leave her father for\na time to go into the country with the old Marquise de Leria, whom she\nknew, and who was charmed with the beauty of her singing.\n\nThe leech desired to remove the invalid lady in waiting from the city\nair, and she had chosen Barbara for a companion.\n\nHere the young girl hesitated, and then carelessly asked her father what\nhe thought of the plan.\n\nAs Blomberg knew the name of Leria to be one of the most aristocratic in\nthe empire, and many things were beckoning to him in the future in which\nBarbara's presence would only have been a hindrance, he left the decision\nto her.\n\nHe had made the acquaintance at the Black Bear, through Pyramus Kogel, of\nvarious soldiers who had fought in the same ranks--good Catholics, eager\nfor a fray, who were waiting here for the outbreak of the war against the\nSmalkalds. What delightful hours their companionship would bestow if\nBarbara was provided for at present, now that he himself was no longer\nobliged to save every shilling so carefully!\n\nBut he had also thought of something else which was far more important,\nfor the warlike conversation had affected him as the blast of a trumpet\nstirs the battle charger drawing a plough.\n\nHe had found complete enjoyment of life only in war, in the presence of\ndeath, in cutting and slashing, and he felt by no means too old to keep\nhis seat in the saddle and lead his company of horsemen to the assault.\nHe was not mistaken there, and, besides not only the recruiting officer,\nbut also the scarred old captain whom they called little Gorgl, asserted\nthat the Emperor would welcome every brave, tried soldier, even though\nolder than he, as soon as war was declared.\n\nMeanwhile Pyramus Kogel was constantly in his mind, and at last he\nthought it his duty to speak to Barbara about her unseemly treatment of\nthis estimable man.\n\nHe had intended ever since she entered to call her to account for it,\nbut, though he did not admit it even to himself, the old soldier dreaded\nhis daughter's firm power of resistance.\n\nYet he could not keep silence this time; her behaviour had transgressed\nthe bounds of propriety too far.\n\nSo he summoned up his courage, and, with a \"What I was going to say,\"\nbegan to speak of the admirable officer whom he had brought into his\nhouse.\n\nThen, clearing his throat, he drew himself up, and, raising his voice,\nasked how she dared to assail this gallant nobleman with such abominable,\narrogant, and insulting words.\n\nBut he was to wait an answer in vain, for, with the brief declaration\nthat she had not come to be lectured like a schoolgirl, Barbara banged\nthe door behind her. Directly after, however, she opened it again, and\nwith a pleasant, \"No offence, father,\" wished the old gentleman a no less\npleasant goodnight.\n\nThen she went to her room, but in old Ursel's chamber, at the same hour\nas on the preceding night, a similar conversation took place.\n\nThe one-eyed maid spoke of the rats which had forced their way into the\nhouse, and the sick woman repeated impatiently, \"The rats!\" and, with\nprudent reserve, silently kept her thoughts to herself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nThe Queen of Hungary had returned home the evening before, and on the\nfollowing morning summoned Barbara to the Golden Cross to sing with the\nboy choir.\n\nWhen the major-domo, Quijada, obedient to her command, entered the room\nat eleven o'clock, she called to him: \"Miracles, Luis, mighty miracles in\nthese godless times! I have just come from his Majesty, and in what did I\nfind him occupied? Turning over music with Maestro Gombert--of course,\nfor a female voice. Besides, he looked as if he had just defeated the\nTurks and Frenchmen at once. As for the gout, he'll be dancing the\n'hoppedei' with the peasants presently.\"\n\n\"Day before yesterday he surprised us by wearing satin shoes,\" remarked\nQuijada. \"May I congratulate you on the really magical effect of your\nMajesty's prescription?\"\n\n\"Continue to think so, if it suits you,\" cried the Queen gaily. \"Only a\nfew powerful drops from elsewhere have probably fallen into the potion.\nBut how stupidly artless you can look when you feign ignorance, Luis! In\nthis case, however, you need not let your breathing be oppressed by the\nmask. I bow to your masculine secrecy--but why did my worldly-wise\nbrother mingle a petticoat in this delicate business if he wishes to keep\nit hidden?\"\n\n\"The Marquise Leria!\" cried the major-domo, shrugging his shoulders\nangrily, as if against an inevitable misfortune.\n\n\"My, senior lady in waiting,\" said the regent in assent to this\nconjecture. \"Make haste to bestow a stately candle, because it is she,\nand no one else. You might spare yourself that smile; I know her better\nthan you do. If she had as many teeth as she possesses vices, she might\nbe happy; yet one admirable quality mingles with the evil traits in her\ncharacter.\"\n\n\"And that?\" asked Quijada, as if he deemed a satisfactory answer\nimpossible.\n\n\"Secrecy,\" replied the Queen firmly. \"She keeps what she has overheard to\nherself as closely as a miser guards his gold.\"\n\n\"In order to turn it to account when the favourable moment comes,\"\nremarked the major-domo. \"Your Majesty will also permit me to observe\nthat if the marquise has already betrayed what was intended to remain\nsecret----\"\n\n\"Her boasted reticence can not be very great, you think,\" interrupted the\nQueen. \"But justice for all, my handsome lord. At present she is in any\nservice, and no other. Whose bread I eat, his song I sing--which in this\ncase means: His secret I keep, and to him I carry whatever I discover.\nBesides, this time even the person betrayed owes her a debt of gratitude,\nfor you know how difficult it is for him to use his limbs, and she is\nmost obligingly smoothing the path for him. I tell you, Luis, with all\ndue respect for his Majesty as a general and a statesman, in a skirmish\nof intrigue this woman will outwit you all. The schemes her aged brain\ninvents have neither fault nor flaw. The wheels work upon one another as\nthey do in the Emperor's best Nuremberg clock. I want to watch their\nturning before I go, for, be it known to you, early tomorrow morning--the\nsaints be praised!--I start for Brussels.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Quijada with an expression of sincere regret; but the\nQueen gravely said: \"There can be no further delay, Luis. It may sound\nimprobable that there is something which draws me back to the Netherlands\nmore strongly than the desire for freedom of movement, a pleasant ride\nthrough the forest, and the excitement of the chase, which lends spice to\nthe insipidity of my life, yet you may believe it.\"\n\n\"Business matters?\" asked the nobleman anxiously.\n\nThe Queen nodded assent, and then eagerly continued: \"And important ones\nwhich his Majesty himself solemnly enjoined upon me to hasten my\ndeparture. His zeal resembled a rude gesture toward the door, as much as\none rotten egg looks like another, for, under certain circumstances, the\naffectionate brother prefers to have his beloved sister as far away as\npossible. Had I been of a more obstinate nature, I would stay; but there\nreally are matters to be settled in the Netherlands which can not be\ndeferred, and the manner of his farewell showed plainly enough that he no\nlonger needed me. Merciful Heaven! When we parted yesterday, I dreaded\nhis Majesty's anger. I had left him in the lurch to gratify my own love\nfor copse and forest. I had remained beyond the allotted time, and had\nresolved, bend or break, to return to my post in Brussels. When I rode in\nhere I really felt as though I was entering the lion's den. But then came\nmiracle after miracle. Do you know something, Luis? The best results have\noften followed my most reckless acts.\"\n\n\"Probably because even your Majesty's least prudent deeds merit a modest\nreward,\" replied Quijada, \"and because, besides the heavenly powers,\nthere are also less estimable ones that meddle with the affairs of this\nworld.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so!\" exclaimed the Queen, astonished at this idea. \"Perhaps the\nPrince of Darkness finds pleasure in this affair, and, as a fair-minded\ndevil, is grateful to me. One thing is certain: What a woman of my age\ncould not tell her daughter or--if she has none--her young niece, she\nshould not meddle with. All this is by no means pleasing to me, and yet,\nLuis, yet We ought to rejoice in this love affair, not only for\nourselves, but for his Majesty. De Soto, too, I know, is satisfied; nay,\nit seems as if he saw a special act of divine favour in this late blazing\nof the flames of love in a heart whose fires had apparently burned out.\"\n\n\"Wherever this passion originates,\" observed Quijada, \"it seems to have\nhad a good influence upon his Majesty's mood. It is said that Satan often\ndesigns evil and yet works good, and if this late and very tender emotion\nis a gift of hell, it nevertheless affords our sovereign lord unexpected\nand therefore all the more exquisite joys.\"\n\n\"In whose behalf it may also be said that they are numbered among those\nwhich can hardly be approved, or even forbidden ones,\" the regent eagerly\ninterrupted. \"But no matter! Happy is he whose pathway at the beginning\nof life's evening is once more so brilliantly illumined by the sun of\nlove. In my devotion to the duties of government and the chase, I have\nnot yet wholly forgotten enthusiasm. Whoever has once been really young\nretains this advantage, and I have, Luis. Therefore I could envy my\nbeloved brother to-day no less sincerely than I pitied him yesterday. Joy\nis the best thing in life, and who bestows it more certainly and lavishly\nthan the little winged god? It is fortunate for my Charles that he is\nagain permitted to quaff the beaker of happiness! Only too soon--I know\nit--he will again withdraw it from his lips with his own hand, if it were\nonly because the inclination to self-torture which he inherits, the\nascetic instinct, that constantly increases in strength, destroys and\nstamps as sinful forgetfulness of duty every pleasure which he enjoys for\nany length of time. We will hope that he will not retain this new\nhappiness too briefly. It would be of service to us all. What he might\npossibly have granted me after long hesitation and consideration, and\nwith many a delay, he yielded after mass this morning with smiling lips.\nLove expands the heart, and at the same time enlarges the views,\nespecially if it is not an unfortunate one; but this Barbara Blomberg is\na genuine daughter of Eve, over whom the mother of nations, if she met\nher by chance, would rejoice. A German Venus, whom I would gladly send to\nTitian for a model. And her voice and the unexpected good fortune of\nfinding such a teacher here! Appenzelder and Gombert are full of her\npraises. Good heavens! How she sang yesterday evening! It was enough to\nstir the dead. Afterward I drew her aside for a short time.\"\n\n\"And your Majesty did her the honour to feel her teeth?\"--[A German\nphrase meaning to sound a person's intentions.--TR.]--queried Quijada.\n\n\"Feel her teeth?\" replied the Queen. \"It might have been worth while, for\nthose that glitter between her rosy lips are white and beautifully\nformed. But I did even more--I tested the girl's heart and mind.\"\n\n\"And the result?\"\n\n\"H'm!\" said the Queen. \"Very favourable. Yet no. If I must be honest,\nthat is saying too little. She stood it very, surprisingly well. Her\nintellect is anything but limited; nay, her comprehension is so swift\nthat she can be sure of not trying his Majesty's patience unduly. Her\nmanners, too, are not amiss for a German; but what is the main point--she\nis pious, firm in the faith, and ardent in her hatred of the foes of the\nHoly Church. My life upon it! all this is as genuine as the diamond in my\nring, and so the white raven is complete. That she has returned the\nEmperor Charles love for love by no means sullies her plumage. In my\neyes, it only shines the more brightly, since one so great as he permits\nher, though only for a short distance, to share his glorious flight. This\nBarbara is certainly a rare bird. But in the chase, and as regent of a\nrestless nation, one's sight becomes keen--\"\n\n\"And now,\" cried Quijada, \"comes the 'but.'\"\n\n\"It does come,\" replied the regent firmly, \"and I will point it out to\nyou. I only found the trail; but you, Luis, as a good sportsman and a\nloyal friend of his Majesty, will keep a sharp watch upon it. This girl\nis obstinate to the verge of defiance, vain, and unusually ambitious.\"\n\n\"She has already shown us the obstinacy,\" observed the Castilian.\n\n\"When she wheeled her horse to escape you?\" asked the Queen.\n\n\"But there she was perfectly right. What a heedless, inconsiderate\nmasculine idea, to usher a woman directly from a horseback ride into a\ncompany of gentlemen to sing before the Emperor! As to the vanity, I do\nnot find much fault with that. It would be far worse if she lacked it.\nOne can not imagine a genuine woman without it. It has been called pride\nin charms which we do not possess, but it also serves to place actual\ncharms in a brighter light, and that I expect from this fair one. If she\nknows how to avoid extravagance, it will willingly be indulged. But her\nambition, Luis; perils may arise from that. If it begins to stir too\ncovetously, remember your duty as watcher--sound the horn and set the\npacks upon her.\"\n\n\"For the sake of our sovereign lord, I will not fail,\" replied Quijada.\n\"So far as she herself is concerned, she is one of those women whose\nbeauty I acknowledge, but to whom I am indifferent. More modest manners\nplease me better.\"\n\n\"You are thinking of Dona Magdalena de Ulloa,\" observed the Queen, \"you\npoor loyal widower, while the loveliest of wives still lives. Certainly\nthis German bears so little resemblance to her----\"\n\n\"That I most humbly entreat your Majesty,\" interposed Quijada with\nhaughty decision, \"not to compare these two women, even by way of\ncontrast.\"\n\n\"B-r-r!\" said the regent, extending her hands toward him as if to repel\nan assault. \"Yet I like you in this mood, Luis. You are a true Castilian!\nSo we will leave Dona Magdalena in her Villagarcia, and only permit\nmyself to admire the self-sacrifice of a woman who grants a husband like\nyou so long a leave of absence. As to the Ratisbon maiden----\"\n\n\"I should be very glad to know,\" Quijada began, this time in a submissive\ntone, \"by what sign your Majesty's penetration discovered this young\ncreature's ambition.\"\n\n\"That is soon told,\" replied the regent kindly. \"She specially mentioned\nher distinguished relatives in the city and in Landshut, and when I\nadvised her to show due respect to the marquise, who, in spite of\neverything, is a woman of high rank and certainly an old lady, before\nwhose gray hairs Scripture commands us to rise, something hovered around\nher lips--they are ripe for kisses--something which it is not easy to\nfind exactly the right words to describe: a blending of repugnance,\nself-assertion, and resistance. She suffered it to remain on her\nbeautiful face only a few minutes, but it gave me reason enough to urge\nyou to sound a warning if his Majesty's late love should render him more\nyielding than is desirable.\"\n\n\"The warned man will heed what prescient wisdom enjoins upon him,\" the\nmajor-domo protested, with his hand upon his heart. \"But if I know his\nMajesty, his strong and well-warranted sense of imperial dignity will\nrender my attentive solicitude needless. The moment that the singer\nassails it will put a speedy end to my royal master's love.\"\n\nThe Queen shook her head, and answered doubtfully: \"If only you do not\nundervalue the blind boy-god's power! Yet it must be owned that your\ntheory has a certain degree of justification.\" She went to the window as\nshe spoke, and added: \"Karlowitz, the minister of Duke Maurice of Saxony,\nis leaving the house. He looks pleased, and if he has come to an\nagreement with the Bishop of Arras, that will also help to put the\nEmperor in a pleasant mood--\"\n\n\"And all of us!\" exclaimed Quijada, grasping his sword hilt. \"If this\nenergetic young prince, with his military ability and his army, joins us,\nwhy, then----\"\n\n\"Then there will be war,\" interrupted the Queen, completing the sentence;\n\"then there will be great joy among you younger, belligerent Castilians!\nWhat do you care for the tears of mothers and the blood of husbands and\nsons? Both will flow in streams, and, even if we were certain of\nvictory--which we are not--what will the gain be?\"\n\n\"Triumph, the restored unity of Holy Church!\" cried Quijada\nenthusiastically.\n\n\"For which I daily pray,\" said the regent. \"But even if you succeeded in\ngaining a complete victory, if every church in city and country again\nbelonged to the only faith by which we can obtain salvation, I shall\nstill see them deprived of their holy vocation, for they will stand\nempty, because then the men who would rather die than abjure their\ndelusion will be lying silent upon battlefields.\"\n\n\"May they rot there!\" cried the Spaniard. \"But we are not fighting only\nfor to-day and tomorrow. New generations will again fill churches and\nchapels. We will shed the last drops of our blood to accomplish it, and\nevery true Castilian thinks as I do.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" sighed the regent, \"and it is not my business to preach to\ndeaf ears. But one thing more: Do you know that his Majesty has just\naccepted the Marquise de Leria's offer?\"\n\n\"No; but I should be greatly indebted to your royal----\"\n\n\"Then listen,\" the Queen hastily interrupted. \"In the suburb of Prebrunn,\nin a large garden, stands the pretty little castle of the Prince Prior of\nBerchtesgaden--I don't mean the one belonging to the worthy Trainer, on\nwhose preserves we hunted once in April, and which is erroneously called\nhere the 'cassl.' The reverend owner offered it to his Majesty to shelter\na guest of high rank. Now the marquise is to occupy it, because country\nair would benefit her. The singer will establish herself under the\nnoblewoman's maternal care. You know the Marquise de Leria's huge litter,\nwhich was borne here by two strong mules that Ruy Gomez--what will not\npeople do to find out something?--gave her. The black ark, with the\ncoats-of-arms of the De Lerias and the Duke of Rency on the back, the\nfront, and both sides, is probably well known here. At first the boys ran\nafter the monster; now they are used to the thing, and no longer notice\nit. But it is comfortable, and it can be opened. When the old woman uses\nthe litter the cover will be removed and people will see her; when it is\nclosed, the most sharp-sighted can not discover who is within. If his\nMajesty desires to go out to Prebrunn and return here, he will take it,\nand, even if his foot pains him, will reach his fair goal unseen. The\nyoung girl consented yesterday to move there with the marquise, and\ndirectly after it will be your duty, aided by Master Adrian, to attend to\nthe furnishing of the little castle. I will aid you. You will hear the\nparticulars from his Majesty. The marquise will take Barbara directly to\nthe chapel, where the choir is to sing. People must become accustomed to\nsee and speak of the two together. What would you think of an alliance\nbetween Leria and Blomberg? If I see correctly, the old woman will train\nthe girl to be a useful tool.\"\n\n\"And if the tool cuts her fingers in the process,\" said Quijada, \"I shall\nbe glad.\"\n\n\"So shall I!\" assented the Queen, laughing. Then she dismissed the\nmajor-domo, and a short time later singing was heard in the chapel.\n\nThe Emperor, after he had finished his meal, heard it also, and listened\nto Barbara as if enraptured when, in Hobrecht's motet for five voices,\nSalve crux arbor vitae, in the sublime O crux lignum triumphale, she\nraised her voice with a power, a wealth of pious devotion which he had\nnever before heard in the execution of this forceful composition.\n\nThe little Maltese Hannibal again acquitted himself admirably, and in one\nof the duets in the second part Johannes of Cologne could prove that he\nhad recovered.\n\nHis young companion in illness had also escaped lasting injury.\n\nAppenzelder, too, showed himself fully satisfied with Barbara's\nexecution. Something new and powerful, rising from the inmost depth of\nthe soul, a passion of devout exaltation, rang in her voice which he had\nnot perceived during the first rehearsals. Her art seemed to him to grow\nunder his eyes like a wonderful plant, and the quiet, reserved man\nexpressed his delight so unequivocally that the Emperor beckoned to him\nand asked his opinion of the singer's performance.\n\nThe musician expressed with unreserved warmth the emotions that filled\nhis honest heart; but the monarch listened approvingly, and drew from his\nfinger a costly ring to bestow it upon the discoverer of this glorious\njewel.\n\nThe leader of the choir, it is true, declined this title of honour to\naward it to Sir Wolf Hartschwert; but the Emperor asserted that he was\ngrateful to him also for many a service, and then ordered the gold chain,\nwhich had long been intended for him, to be brought for Maestro Gombert.\n\nAfter these tokens of favour, which awakened the utmost surprise in those\nwho were present, as the Emperor very rarely yielded to such impulses of\ngenerosity, the monarch's eyes sought Barbara's, and his glance seemed to\nsay: \"For your sake, love. Thus shall those who have deserved it from you\nbe rewarded.\"\n\nFinally he accosted her, intentionally raising his voice as he did so.\n\nWord for word was intended to be heard by every one, even the remark that\nhe wished to make the acquaintance of her father, whom he remembered as a\nbrave comrade. Barbara would oblige him if she would request him to call\nupon him that afternoon. It was his duty to thank the man through whose\ndaughter he enjoyed such lofty pleasure.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nA short time after, the Emperor Charles, accompanied by the Queen of\nHungary and several lords and ladies, took a ride in the open air for the\nfirst time after long seclusion.\n\nAccording to his custom, he had spent Passion week in the monastery.\nEaster had come on the latest day possible--the twenty-fifth of\nApril--and when he bade farewell to the monks the gout had already\nattacked him again.\n\nNow he rode forth into the open country and the green woods like a\nrescued man; the younger Granvelle, long as he had been in his service,\nhad never seen him so gay and unconstrained. He could now understand his\nfather's tales of his Majesty's better days, his vigorous manly strength\nand eager delight in existence.\n\nTrue, the period of anxiety concerning the tidings of political affairs\nwhich had arrived the day before and that morning appeared to be over,\nfor Herr von Parlowitz, the minister of Duke Maurice of Saxony, had\nexpressed his conviction that this active young monarch might be induced\nto separate from the other Protestant princes and form an alliance with\nthe Emperor, especially as his Majesty had not the most distant intention\nof mingling; religious matters in the war that was impending.\n\nDespatches had also been sent from Valladolid by Don Philip, the\nEmperor's oldest son, which afforded the greatest satisfaction to the\nsovereign. If war was waged against the Smalkalds, the allied Protestants\nof Germany, Spain, which had been taught to regard the campaign as a\nreligious war, was ready to aid Charles with large subsidies of money and\nmen.\n\nLastly, it seemed as if two betrothals were to be made which promised to\nsustain the Emperor's statesmanship. Two of his nieces, the daughters of\nhis brother Ferdinand, expected to marry--one the heir to the Bavarian\nthrone, the other the Duke of Cleves.\n\nThus many pleasant things came to him simultaneously with his recovery,\nand his mind, inclined to mysticism, received them as a sign that Heaven\nwas favourable to his late happiness in love.\n\nGranvelle attributed the Emperor's unexpectedly rapid convalescence and\nthe fortunate change which had taken place in his gloomy mood to the\nfavourable political news, and perhaps also to the music which, as a\nzealous patron of art, he himself loved. He, who usually did not fail to\nnote even the veriest trifle when he desired to trace the motives of\nevents which were difficult to explain, now thought he need seek no\nfurther for causes.\n\nDuring the ride Barbara was not thought of, but in the Golden Cross it\nwas to become evident to the keen intelligence of the young master of\nstatecraft that something extremely important might escape even his\npenetration.\n\nWhile waiting with Malfalconnet in the reception room of the monarch, who\nhad gone into his chamber, for Charles's return, and summing up to the\nbaron in a most charming way the causes which had effected the wonderful\nrejuvenation of his Majesty, the other showed him that he, Granvelle, had\nbeen short-sighted enough to overlook the most powerful influence.\n\nThis would have been vexatious to the statesman had not his mind been\nwholly occupied in considering how this unexpected event could be made\nmost profitable to himself, and also to his master, whom he served with\nloyal devotion.\n\nMalfalconnet had received no confidence either from the Emperor or any\nmale member of the court, yet he knew all, for, though the Marquise de\nLeria well deserved the reputation of secrecy, she did not keep her\ntongue sufficiently in check while talking with her gay countryman. What\nshe overheard, he succeeded by his amiable wiles in learning, and this\ntime also he had not failed.\n\nSoon after the Emperor had appeared again audience was given to several\nambassadors. Then Chamberlain de Praet announced Captain Blomberg.\n\nThe latter, clad in full armour, entered the apartment. Over the shining\ncoat of mail, which he himself had cleaned with the utmost care, he wore\na somewhat faded scarf, and his long battle sword hung at his left side.\n\nHe looked stately enough, and his grave, oldfashioned, but thoroughly\nsoldierly manners admirably suited the elderly warrior.\n\nThe Emperor Charles accosted the father of the woman he loved with the\nsame blunt friendliness that so easily won the hearts of the companions\nin arms to whom he condescended.\n\nBlomberg must tell him this thing and that, and the old man gazed into\nhis face with honest amazement and sincere delight when the monarch\nsupplied the names of places and persons which had escaped his own feeble\nmemory.\n\nHe accepted the praise of his daughter with a smile and the modest\nremark: \"She is certainly a dear, kind-hearted child; and as for her\nvoice, there were probably some to which people found less pleasure in\nlistening. But, your Majesty, that of the nightingale battering down\nsolid walls sounds still more beautiful to me.\"\n\nThe Emperor knew that the German cannoneers gave their guns the name of\nnightingale, and was pleased with the comparison.\n\nBut while he was still talking gaily with the old warrior, who had really\ndisplayed truly leonine courage on many an occasion, Count Buren brought\nin a new despatch, remarking, as he did so, that unfortunately the\nbearer, a young Spanish noble, had been thrown from his horse just\noutside the city, and was lying helpless with a broken leg.\n\nSincere compassion was expressed, in which the Bishop of Arras joined,\nmeanwhile glancing through the somewhat lengthy document.\n\nIt came from the heir and regent, Don Philip, in Valladolid. The prince\ndesired to know the state of the negotiations with Rome and with Duke\nMaurice of Saxony.\n\nAfter Granvelle had read the despatch he handed it to the monarch, and\nthe latter, in a low tone, charged him not yet to inform his son of the\nfair prospects for an alliance with Maurice, but to send an answer at\nonce.\n\nWhile the minister withdrew to the writing table, the Emperor asked\nwhether a trustworthy horseman could be had, since the Spaniard was\ndisabled; and Reitzenstein, Beust, and Van der Kapellen, in whom implicit\nconfidence could be placed, had been sent off that morning.\n\nThen the Bishop of Arras again turned to the monarch, cast a significant\nglance at Malfalconnet, and, pointing to Blomberg, eagerly exclaimed: \"If\nthis valiant and faithful soldier still has a firm seat in the saddle,\nthis highly important message might be intrusted to him.\"\n\nThe proposal affected the adventure-loving old man like music. With\nyouthful fire he protested that he could ride a horse as fast and endure\nfatigue as long as the youngest man, even though the goal were the end of\nthe world.\n\nSuch an exertion, however, was by no means expected of him, for he was to\nset sail at Flushing and land at Loredo in Spain. There\nPostmaster-General de Tassis would furnish him with horses.\n\nThe Emperor had listened to this proposal from his counsellor with a\nsmile of satisfaction. His purpose was sufficiently obvious.\n\nHow thoroughly this young diplomat understood men! With how delicate a\nscent he had again discovered a secret and removed a stone of offence\nfrom his master's path! He was competent to fill his clever father's\nplace in every respect. It was evident that neither promises nor gifts\nwould have induced the old warrior to favour the tender wishes of his\nimperial master. Now he himself hastened to leave the field clear, and\nGranvelle had foreseen how he would receive the proposal. Charles\nintentionally refrained from taking any personal share in the\narrangements with the old man which now followed. A communication from\nMalfalconnet appeared to claim his whole attention, until the Bishop of\nArras announced that the captain had received his instructions and was\nready to set out for Flushing and Valladolid.\n\nThe monarch listened with a slight shake of the head, and expressed his\nhesitation about intrusting so important a message to a man of such\nadvanced age; but Malfalconnet, in a tone of good-natured anxiety, called\nto the captain, \"One may be the father of a nightingale, my brave hero,\nand yet miss the way to the south without a guide.\"\n\n\"True, true,\" the Emperor assented. \"So we will give our gallant friend a\ntravelling companion who understands Castilian, and on whom we can also\nrely. Besides, affairs of so much moment are better cared for by two\nmessengers than by one. What is the name of the cavalier, Malfalconnet,\nwho spoke to you of the friendship which unites him to this brave old\nchampion of the faith?\"\n\n\"Wolf Hartschwert, your Majesty,\" was the reply.\n\n\"The musician,\" said the monarch, as if some memory was awakened in his\nmind. \"A modest fellow, whose reliability my sister praised.--And now, my\nvigorous friend, a prosperous journey! Your daughter, whom the favour of\nHeaven has so richly endowed with beautiful gifts, has found, I have\nheard, a maternal guardian in the Marquise de Leria. We, too, will gladly\ninterest ourselves in the charming singer who affords us such rare\npleasure.\"\n\nAs he spoke he showed his old companion in arms the unusual honour of\nextending his hand to him, and when the latter, deeply moved by such\ngraciousness, ardently kissed it, he hurriedly withdrew it, saying, as he\nkindly patted his arm, \"You are doing us a greater service than you\nimagine, Captain Blomberg.\"\n\nThen, wishing him a successful journey, he went to the writing table, on\nwhich the secretary Gastelu had laid the newly received despatches.\n\nRadiant with joy, the captain, making many profound bows, left the\napartment of the gracious monarch, for whom now he would really have\nridden to the world's end.\n\nOn the stairs he was detained. Malfalconnet handed him two heavy rolls of\ngold for the expenses of the journey, and enjoined it upon him to be\nready to set out early the following morning. He might make his own\narrangements with Sir Wolf Hartschwert, and assure him of his Majesty's\ngratitude in advance.\n\nA short time after, Barbara was packing the gray-haired courier's\nknapsack.\n\nShe had never yet worked for her father with so much filial solicitude.\nEverything that might be of use to him on the way was carefully\nconsidered.\n\nThough she had not been taken into his confidence, she knew the reason\nthat he had been selected to undertake this toilsome journey.\n\nThe Emperor Charles was sending the old man far away that the happiness\nof her love might be undisturbed and unclouded, and the consciousness\nweighed heavily upon her by no means unduly sensitive conscience.\n\nWolf, who was already unhappy on her account, had fared the same. When\nher father told her that the knight was to accompany him, she had felt as\nif an incident of her childhood, which had often disturbed her dreams,\nwas repeated.\n\nShe had been swinging with boyish recklessness in the Woller garden.\nSuddenly one of the ropes broke, and the board which supported her feet\nturned over out of her reach. For a time, clinging with her hands to the\nuninjured rope, she swayed between heaven and earth. No one was near,\nand, though she soon stood once more on the firm ground unhurt, the\nmoment when her feet, during the ascent, lost their support, was\nassociated with feelings of so much terror that she--who at that time was\nconsidered the bravest of her playfellows--had never forgotten it.\n\nNow she felt as though something similar had befallen her.\n\nShe had seen the props on which she might depend removed from under her\nfeet. If her father and Wolf left her, she would look in vain for counsel\nand support.\n\nThat her lover was the most powerful sovereign on earth, and she could\nappeal to him if she needed help, did not enter her mind. Nay, a vague\nforeboding told her that he and what was associated with him formed the\npower against which she must struggle.\n\nThe sham affection of the aristocratic lady who was to be her chaperon;\nthe Queen, who last evening had catechised her as if she were a child,\nand whom she distrusted; the servile flatterer, Malfalconnet, in whose\nmirthful manner that day for the first time she thought she had detected\ndislike and slight sarcasm; the imperial love messenger, Don Luis\nQuijada, who with icy, dutiful coldness scarcely vouchsafed a word to\nher; and, lastly, the confessor Pedro de Soto, who treated her like a\nperson who needed pity, and probably only awaited a fitting time to hurl\nan anathema into her face--passed before her memory, and in all these\npersons, so far above her in birth and rank, she believed that she saw\nfoes.\n\nBut how was it with the man who could trample them all in the dust like\nworms--with her imperial lover?\n\nUntil now he had been observant of her every sign, but yesterday night\nthe lion had raised his paw against her.\n\nA slight pain had again made itself felt in his foot. She had eagerly\nlamented it, and in doing so deplored the fact that she would never be\npermitted to share the pleasure of dancing with the man she loved and who\nhad first taught her how beautiful life was. This perhaps incautious\nremark had roused the ire of the suffering monarch.\n\nHow sensitive was this man's consciousness of sovereignty, how much\nsuspicion and bitterness must have gathered in his heart, if he could see\nin the girl's innocent compassion an offence to his dignity, a\nhumiliating reproach!\n\nThe rebuking sharpness with which he expressed his displeasure had\npierced her very soul. She felt as if she were shivering with a sudden\nchill, and for a long time she could not recover the loving warmth with\nwhich she had previously treated him. True, he had soon done everything\nin his power to atone for the pain which his irritability had inflicted,\nbut the incident had given her the perception that the poets whose songs\nshe sung were right when they made sorrow go hand in hand with the joys\nof love.\n\nBut as yet these joys of love far, far outweighed the suffering which it\ncaused.\n\nEven while, before the full knapsack which only needed locking, she was\ntrying to discover what fault was to be found with the man whom she\nloved, while saying to herself that Charles's inconsiderate, selfish\ntreatment of her father was unworthy of a generous man, and while also\nthinking of the separation from the faithful Wolf, her heart still longed\nfor her lover.\n\nWas she not, after all, under obligation to be grateful to him for\neverything for which she reproached him?\n\nHow dear she must be to this great sovereign, since, in order to possess\nher freely and completely, he allowed himself to be urged to an act which\nwas unworthy of him!\n\nIf he had wounded her deeply, he had a right to expect her to excuse many\nthings in him.\n\nHow he loved her, and how delicately he could woo and flatter, and mingle\nwith his tender speeches the costly gifts of his rich and mobile\nintellect! How beautifully and aptly he could speak of her own art, and\ninduce her to oppose to his clever remarks her own modest opinion! He had\ncheerfully endured contradiction the night before during the conversation\nconcerning music.\n\nBut what had followed her luckless regret about his lame foot?\n\nThe words had pierced her heart like knives; even now she did not\nunderstand where she obtained the strength to withhold the sharp answer\nfor which her lips had already parted; but she knew her hasty spirit,\nwhich only too easily led her to outbreaks of anger. Had the power of\nlove, or the magic spell which emanates from genuine royalty, forced her\nto silence?\n\nNo matter.\n\nA good angel had aided her to control herself, and in a rapid prayer she\nbesought the Holy Virgin to assist her in future if her august lover\nagain roused her to rebellion.\n\nNow that she was losing her most sincere friends, the only ones who might\nhave ventured a kindly warning, she must learn to guard herself.\n\nPerhaps it was fortunate that she had already discovered how necessary it\nwas not only to show the mighty sovereign to whom her heart belonged that\nhe was dear to her, but also to display the timid reverence with which\nmillions bowed before him. But if she imposed this constraint upon\nherself, would her love still remain the same?\n\n\"No, no, and again no!\" cried the refractory spirit within.\n\nWas he not a weak, fallible mortal, subject, like every one else, to\nsuffering and disease, overcome by his passion, who had even been guilty\nof an act which, had it been committed by the son of a Ratisbon family,\nwould have seemed to her reprehensible?\n\nAgain and again this question forced itself upon her, and with it\nanother--whether she, the woman who had never tolerated such a thing from\nany one, ought not to undertake to defend herself against unjust\nassaults, which humiliated her in her own eyes, no matter whence they\nmight come?\n\nWould she not hold a higher position in his sight if she showed him, whom\nno one ventured to contradict, that the woman he deemed worthy of his\nlove dared to defend her dignity, although he had deprived her of her\nnatural protectors?\n\nPrecisely because she was conscious of loving him with her whole soul,\nbecause for his sake she had given the world the right to deny her honour\nand dignity, she was eager to show him that she prized both, and was not\ninclined to let them be assailed.\n\nHitherto she had not regarded it as a disgrace, but as the highest\ndistinction, to be deemed worthy of the love of the greatest monarch on\nearth, and, with a sense of pride, had sacrificed her most sacred\npossession to his wishes. But how could she retain this feeling if he no\nlonger showed her that he, too, regarded her worthy of him?\n\nShe had defied custom, law, the voice of her own conscience, and she did\nnot regret that she had done so. On no account would she have changed\nwhat had occurred if only she succeeded in guarding herself from being\nhumiliated by her lover. To accomplish this, it was worth while to\nconfront a great danger boldly. It was the greatest of all, the peril of\nlosing him, for what would she be if he deserted her?\n\nAt the bare thought a torturing dread overwhelmed her.\n\nNever had she felt so irresolute, so deeply agitated, and she uttered a\nsigh of relief when her father returned from his visit to old Ursel, and\npraised the care with which she had selected the articles that filled his\nknapsack.\n\nThe flushed cheeks which he noticed could scarcely be the result of the\nlight labour which she had performed for him. With the instinct of\npaternal love, he probably perceived that she was agitated, but he had so\nlittle idea of the mental conflict which had taken possession of her soul\nthat her anxiety pleased him. The separation must be hard for the poor\nchild, and how could the honour bestowed upon the father fail to affect\nthe daughter's mind also.\n\nHe had hoped to find Wolf in Ursel's room, but he had already been away\nsome time, and had told the old woman that he was going to the Hiltners,\nand should probably remain there a long while, as his schoolmate, Erasmus\nEckhart, the nephew and adopted son of the syndic and his wife, had\nreturned home from Wittenberg.\n\nTo find Wolf and deliver the important message Blomberg would have been\nobliged to enter the accursed heretic's house, and, rather than do it, he\nprotested he would inflict this and that upon himself.\n\nBut whom should he trust to represent him? The best plan would be for\nBarbara to write to the young knight, informing him of the honour in\nstore for him.\n\nHe himself wielded the sword so much better than the pen.\n\nThe obliging daughter put a speedy end to her father's embarrassment by\noffering to go in search of Wolf in person; she by no means shunned the\nHiltners. In fact, the doctor's wife had always been especially kind to\nher at the Convivium musicum, and her young daughter Martina, during the\nmonths in which she, too, was permitted to sing in the chorus, had\ndisplayed, whenever opportunity offered, an admiration for Barbara which\nbordered on enthusiasm. Besides, there was no obligation to keep Barbara\nfrom this errand; the removal to Prebrunn to join the marquise was not to\ntake place until noon of the following day.\n\nThe pious captain, it is true, was as reluctant to let his daughter go to\nthe heretic's as to a pesthouse, but Wolf's notification permitted no\ndelay, so he consented, and expressed his willingness to accompany her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nBarbara had scarcely entered the street with her father when they were\nstopped by Master Adrian, the Emperor's valet. He came from his Majesty\nto inform Blomberg that the regent could not spare Sir Wolf Hartschwert,\nand the captain might choose another companion for his ride. The Emperor\nexpected him to select only a loyal, trustworthy, and vigorous nobleman\nwho had taken the oath of fealty to his Majesty. If he should be in the\nmilitary service, the necessary leave of absence was granted in advance;\nonly he must present himself to the Lord Bishop of Arras that very day.\nSir Wolf Hartschwert must depart for Brussels in the regent's train early\nthe next morning.\n\nThis news by no means pleased the old soldier, yet, before the valet had\nfinished the message, his features smoothed--he thought he had already\nfound the right man.\n\nAfter assuring himself that the imperial messenger had fulfilled his\ncommission, he took a hasty leave of him and his daughter.\n\nHis kind heart impelled him to show his chosen companion his friendly\nremembrance of him, and thereby atone for the offence which had been\ninflicted upon him in his house. To Barbara's inquiry whom he would take\nwith him, he hurriedly replied that he should not decide until he joined\nhis military comrades in the Black Bear. As soon as this important matter\nwas settled he would return home, for it had now become unnecessary to\ninform Wolf. The maid-servant could be sent to summon him to the Golden\nCross. Barbara might go herself at once to Ursel and soothe her--anxiety\nabout her beloved young knight weighed heavily upon her soul.\n\nDuring this conversation? Master Adrian had gone to her side; but as soon\nas Blomberg had retired, he informed Barbara, in his master's name, that\nhe should expect her after vespers in the apartments of the Queen of\nHungary. He longed to hear her voice. The regent desired to know whether\nshe had any special wishes concerning the Prebrunn house. She need not\nrestrict herself on the score of expense; the Prebrunn steward would be\nauthorized to pay everything. True, most of the furniture was supplied\nand the necessary servants had been obtained, but her Majesty the Queen\nadvised her to take with her a maid or companion whom she personally\nliked.\n\nBarbara's face crimsoned as she listened, and then asked anxiously\nwhether the Emperor Charles knew of these arrangements.\n\nHe had no doubt of it, the man replied, for he had heard his Majesty\nremark that, if the marquise's companion was not to become the toy of her\ncaprices, she must be enabled to obtain what she desired independently of\nthe old lady. He was anxious to make Barbara's life in Prebrunn a\npleasant one.\n\nThe latter, with downcast eyes, thanked Master Adrian and turned away;\nbut he detained her with the inquiry whether he should probably find Sir\nWolf Hartschwert at home, and received the answer that he had gone to\nSyndic Hiltner's.\n\nThe valet then hastily took his leave, because just at that time his\nroyal master needed him. Any one else could summon the knight to the\nregent in his place.\n\nIn the corridor of the Golden Cross he met Brother Cassian, the body\nservant of the Confessor de Soto, a middle-aged Swabian, who had formerly\nas a lay brother worked as a bookbinder in the Dominican monastery at\nCologne. He was clad in a half-secular, half-priestly garb, and was an\nhumble, extremely devout man, whose yielding nature had rendered him\npopular among the servants at the court. His bullet-shaped head was\nunusually large, and his face, with its narrow brow and small, lustreless\neyes, showed that he was not prone to thinking. Yet he fulfilled every\norder precisely according to directions, and possessed his full share of\nthe cunning which is often a characteristic of narrow minds.\n\nHe willingly undertook to summon Sir Wolf Hartschwert, whom he knew, to\nthe presence of the Queen of Hungary. No special haste was needful, and,\nas he loved good wine and did not lack gifts from those who desired an\naudience with his master, he went first to the English Greeting, where\nthe travelling clergy lodged and often deigned to accost him.\n\nBarbara had returned home with bowed head, and threw herself into her\nfather's arm-chair in his workshop. She gazed into vacancy with a sore\nand anxious heart, and, as an insane violinist lures the same tone from\nthe instrument again and again, she constantly returned to the same\nthought, \"Lost! lost!--too late! too late!\"\n\nBarbara gave herself up to this mood for several minutes, but at last she\nremembered her lover's summons for that evening.\n\nHe longed to hear her voice, Master Adrian had said.\n\nSurely, surely he himself had clothed the expression in a totally\ndifferent, a hundred times warmer form. How bewitchingly he, the great\nEmperor, understood how to flatter, and, with the memory of the charm of\nhis manner, the thought of the blissful hours which she had enjoyed\nthrough his love returned to her mind. It was in his power to bestow the\nhighest happiness which earth can give; after all, his love outweighed\neverything that she must sacrifice for it. To enjoy it, though but for a\nbrief season, she ought not to refuse to bear the hardest, most terrible\nthings, and, if what was now her secret became rumoured among the people,\nto accept humiliation, shame, and scorn. Let the respectable women of\nRatisbon, in their pride of virtue, maliciously cast stones at her; they\ncould not look down upon her, for, as the object of the most illustrious\nsovereign's love, she was raised far above them.\n\nMeanwhile, with a feeling of defiant self-confidence, she was again\nbraiding her hair. But the mental firmness which she had regained did not\nlast; more than once her hand faltered while the comb was dividing the\nwealth of her golden tresses. How ardently Charles had praised their\nluxuriant beauty!-and to-day he was to rejoice in it again. But why had\nnot even one poor word from his own hand accompanied the summons?\n\nWhy had his messenger been only a valet? Why had he wounded her so deeply\nthe night before?\n\nWhy did leaden weights seem to hang upon her soul when she attempted to\nsoar upward?\n\nOh, what a state of things!\n\nWho had given the regent, to whom nothing attracted her, the right to\ndispose of her as though she were a chattel or her captive?\n\nHad she, with her heart and her honour, also resigned her freedom to her\nlover?\n\nIf she had only possessed one, one single person to whom she could utter\nher thoughts!\n\nThen her glance fell upon the knapsack, and she remembered Wolf. He was\nto set out on his journey early the next morning; her lover expected her\nafter vespers; so perhaps she would not be permitted to see him again,\nfor she scarcely dared to hope that, after the rebuff which he had\nexperienced, he would seek her again. Yet she longed once more to clasp\nthe hand of the man for whom she felt a sister's affection and yet had so\ndeeply wounded.\n\nWithout one kind farewell word from him, the bitterest drop of all would\nfall into the wormwood which already mingled in her happiness. It seemed\nincomprehensible that he who from childhood had given her his whole heart\nwould henceforth deny her every friendly feeling. For her own sake, and\nalso for his, this should not be.\n\nHow many had sought her love! But perhaps the time would soon come when,\non account of the one who must supply the place of all others, no one\nwould care for her. Then she wished at least to be sure of the sympathy,\nthe friendship of this good loyal man.\n\nThere were still many things for her to do, but to seek Wolf she left\nthem all, even the visit to Frau Lerch, whom she wished to ask to devote\nherself exclusively to her service in Prebrunn.\n\nFull of anxious cares, lofty anticipations, and the ardent desire to\nconciliate Wolf, she took the by no means lengthy walk to the Hiltners.\nNot until she reached the doctor's house did it occur to her that she had\nforgotten to execute her father's commission and relieve Ursel's anxiety\nabout her darling.\n\nHow did it happen that, if any affair of her own interested her, she\nalways forgot what she owed to others?\n\nBarbara was obliged to wait in the broad, lofty hall of the syndic's\nhouse for the maid-servant, who announced her; and the stout man with the\nbig head, who had seized the knocker just before she entered, shared her\nfate.\n\nHe was now leaning with bowed head against the wall, both hands clasped\nunder his beardless chin, and might have been taken for a monk repeating\nhis prayers. The long, brown doublet fastened around his hips by a Hemp\nrope, instead of a girdle, made him resemble a Franciscan. But his thick,\nflaxen hair lacked the tonsure, the rope the rosary, and he wore coarse\nleather shoes on his large feet.\n\nBarbara fancied that she had seen this strange figure somewhere, and he,\ntoo, must have recognised her, for he bowed when she looked at him. There\nwas not the slightest movement of the body except the small eyes, which\nwandered restlessly around the spacious room as if they missed something.\n\nThe inquiry what he found lacking here was already rising to Barbara's\nlips when the syndic's wife came toward her, preceded by her daughter\nMartina, who, radiant with joy at seeing the ardently admired singer in\nher own house, kissed her with fervent affection.\n\nThe mother merely extended her hand to Barbara, yet the whole manner of\nthe gentle, reserved woman showed that she was a welcome guest.\n\nFrau Sabina loved and understood music, still enjoyed singing hymns with\nthe members of her household, and had done everything in her power to aid\nthe establishment of the Convivium musicum and foster its progress.\n\nInterest in music had also united her to Dr. Martin Luther, her husband's\nfriend, and mane a composition of the Wittenberg ecclesiastic had first\nbeen performed at the Hiltners.\n\nThe old faith offered so much more to charm the senses than the new one!\nTherefore it seemed a special cause for thanksgiving that singing and\nplaying upon the organ occupied a prominent place in the Protestant\nreligious service, and that Luther most warmly commended the fostering of\nmusic to those who professed the evangelical belief. Besides, her adopted\nson Erasmus, the new Wittenberg master of arts, had devoted himself\neagerly to music, and composed several hymns which, if Damian Feys\npermitted it, would be sung in the Convivium musicum.\n\nFrau Sabina Hiltner had often met Barbara there, and had noticed with\nadmiration and pleasure the great progress which this richly gifted young\ncreature had made under the direction of the Netherland master.\n\nOther members of the Convivium, on the contrary, bore Barbara a grudge\nbecause she remained a Catholic, and many a mother of a daughter whom\nBarbara, as a singer, had cast too far into the shade, would gladly have\nthrust her out of the circle of music-loving citizens.\n\nFrau Sabina and Master Feys, who, like the much-envied girl, was a\nprofessor of the old faith, interceded for her all the more warmly.\n\nBesides, it afforded Frau Hiltner scarcely less pleasure to hear Barbara\nthan it did Martina, and she could also fix her eyes with genuine\ndevotion upon the girl's wonderfully beautiful and nobly formed features.\nThe mother and daughter owed to this peerless singer the best enjoyment\nwhich the Collegium afforded them, and, when envy and just displeasure\napproached Frau Sabina to accuse Barbara of insubordination, obstinacy,\npride, and forwardness, which were unseemly for one so young, as well as\nexchanging coquettish glances with the masculine members of the choir,\nthe profoundly respected wife of the syndic and her young daughter warmly\ndefended the persecuted girl.\n\nIn this her husband strongly supported her, for, when necessary, he dealt\nweighty blows and upheld what he deemed just without fear of man and with\nthe powerful aids of his strong intellect and the weight of the esteem he\nhad won by a stainless, industrious life.\n\nDoubtless Frau Sabina also perceived something unusual in Barbara's\nnature and conduct, traits of defiance, almost rebellion, which would\nhave troubled her in her Martina, who, though no beauty, was a pretty\ngirl, with the most winning, childlike charm; but she secretly asked\nherself whether she would not accept it gratefully if, in exchange, her\ngirl could possess such a wonderful gift of God; for, sharply as the eye\nof envy followed Barbara's every act, she had never given cause to doubt\nher chastity, and this Frau Hiltner considered greatly in her favour; for\nwhat tremendous temptations must have assailed this marvellously\nbeautiful creature, this genuine artist, who had grown to womanhood\nwithout a mother, and whose only counsellor and protector was a crippled,\neccentric old soldier.\n\nAs Martina opened the door of the sitting room a loud conversation in\nmen's voices became audible, and with the deep, resonant tones of the\nsyndic Barbara recognised the higher, less powerful ones of the man whom\nshe was seeking.\n\nThe kiss of the scarcely unfolded bud of girlhood, the child of a mother\nwhose presence in the Convivium had often helped her to curb an impetuous\nimpulse, pleased Barbara, and yet awakened the painful feeling that in\naccepting it without resistance she was guilty of a deception. Besides,\nshe had not confessed, and it seemed as if, in feeling the young\nheretic's kiss an honour, she were adding to the burden which had not yet\nbeen removed from her conscience.\n\nYet she could not overcome an emotion of rare pleasure when Frau Sabina,\nafter beckoning to her husband, took her hand and led her into the\nreception room. Erasmus Eckhart, the adopted son of the house, hastened\ntoward Barbara to greet her as an acquaintance of his school days,\nflushing deeply in his surprise at her great beauty as he did so.\n\nBut the mistress of the house gave him no time to renew the relations of\nchildhood, and led her away from him to her husband and her\nmother-in-law, a woman of ninety, to whom she presented her with kind,\nnay, with extremely flattering, words. Barbara lowered her eyes in\nconfusion, and did not see how, at her entrance, Wolf's face had blanched\nand old Frau Hiltner had sat up in her cushioned arm-chair at the window\nto look her sharply and fixedly in the eyes with the freedom of age.\n\nMeanwhile the man from the hall had stationed himself beside the door in\nthe same attitude, with his hands clasped under his chin and his cap\nbetween his breast and arm, and stood motionless. He did not appear to be\nat ease, and gnawed his thick lower lip with a troubled look as he\noccasionally cast a glance at the strong countenance of Martin Luther,\nwhose portrait, the size of life, gazed at him from its gilt frame on the\nopposite wall.\n\nBarbara did not regain complete self-control until the syndic asked his\nerrand.\n\nThe man in the brown doublet was Brother Cassian, the body servant of the\nEmperor's confessor. He now unclasped his hands to grasp the cap under\nhis arm, which he twirled awkwardly in his fingers while saying, in a\nrapid, expressionless tone, as though he were repeating a lesson, that he\nhad come to summon Wolf Hartschwert to the Queen of Hungary, with whom he\nmust set out for Brussels early the next morning.\n\nBarbara then remarked in a subdued tone that she had come here for the\nsame purpose, and also for another-to shake hands with the playmate of\nher childhood, because she probably would not see him again before his\ndeparture.\n\nWolf listened to this statement in surprise, and then told the messenger\nthat he would obey her Majesty's command.\n\n\"Obey the command,\" Cassian repeated, according to his servant custom.\nThen he was about to retire, but Frau Sabina had filled a goblet with\nwine for him, and Martina, according too an old custom of the family,\noffered it to the messenger.\n\nBut, much as Cassian liked the juice of the grape, he waved back the\nkindly meant gift of the mistress of the house with a hoarse \"No, no!\"\nand shaking his head, turned on his heel, and without a word of thanks or\nfarewell left the room.\n\n\"The heretic's wine,\" observed Dr. Hiltner, shrugging his shoulders\nregretfully, and then asked Wolf, \"Do you know the queer fellow?\"\n\n\"The body servant of the almoner, Pedro de Soto,\" was the reply. The bang\nof the closed outer door was heard at the same moment, for Cassian had\nrushed into the open air as fast as his feet would carry him. After\nleaving part of the street behind him, he stopped, and with a loud\n\"B-r-r-r!\" shook himself like a poodle that has just come out of the\nwater.\n\nInto what an abominable heretic house Master Adrian had sent him!\n\nTo despatch a good Christian to such an unclean hole!\n\nNo images of the Virgin and the saints, no crucifix nor anything else\nthat elevates a human soul in the whole dwelling, but the portrait of the\nanti-Christ, the arch-heretic Luther, in the best place in the room!\nHowever he turned his eyes away, the fat heretic face had forced him to\nlook at it. Meanwhile he had felt as if the devil himself was already\nstretching out his arm from the ample sleeve to seize him by the collar.\n\n\"B-r-r-r!\" he repeated, and hurried off to Saint Leonhard's chapel in the\nGolden Cross, where he sprinkled himself eagerly with holy water, and\nthen sought Master Adrian. But the valet was with the Emperor, and so he\nwent to his master and told him where he had unexpectedly wandered.\n\nThe latter lent a willing ear and shook his sagacious head indignantly\nwhen he learned that, besides Sir Wolf Hartschwert, Cassian had also met\n\"the singer\" at the house of the syndic, the soul of the evangelical\nmovement in Ratisbon.\n\nMeanwhile Barbara was taking leave of the friend of her youth at the\nHiltner house.\n\nThe others, with the exception of the deaf old dame, had considerately\nleft the room.\n\nWolf felt it gratefully, for a dark suspicion, which Barbara's\ninformation of her father's long ride as a messenger only confirmed,\nweighed heavily upon his heart.\n\nThe man for whose sake the woman he loved had given him up must be Baron\nMalfalconnet.\n\nIt was well known how recklessly this gay, gallant noble trifled with\nwomen's hearts, and he had mentioned Barbara in his presence in a way\nthat justified the conjecture.\n\nTherefore, ere Wolf clasped her hand, he told her the suspicions which\nfilled him with anxiety about her.\n\nBut he was soon to discover the baselessness of this fear.\n\nWhatever the truthful girl so positively and solemnly denied must be far\nfrom her thoughts, and he now clasped her right hand in both his.\n\nThe heavy anxiety that his \"queen\" had fallen into the baron's hands as a\ntoy had been removed. The thought of the Emperor Charles was as far\nremoved from his mind as heaven from earth, though Barbara emphasized the\nfact that the man whom she loved would be sure of his respect. She also,\nwith deep emotion, assured him that she wished him the best and most\nbeautiful life, and would always retain her friendship for him whatever\nFate might have in store for both.\n\nThe words sounded so truthful and loyal that Wolf's heart was moved to\nits inmost depths, and he now, in his turn, assured her that he would\nnever forget her, and would treasure her image in his heart's core to the\nend. True, he must endure the keenest suffering for her sake, but he also\nowed her the greatest happiness life had granted him.\n\nThe eyes of both were dim, but when he began to talk in the old pathetic\nway of the magic of love, which would at last bring together those whom\nHeaven destined for one another, she tore herself away, hastily begged\nhim to say farewell to Fran Hiltner for her, and then went into the hall;\nbut here Martina overtook the departing guest, threw herself impetuously\ninto her arms, and whispered the question whether she would permit her to\npay her a visit at Prebrunn when she was with her old marquise, she had\nso much, so very much, to tell her.\n\nBut the wish, of which her mother was ignorant, remained unfulfilled, for\nBarbara, scarcely able to control her voice in her embarrassment,\nhurriedly replied that while with the lady in waiting she would no longer\nbe her own mistress, pressed a hasty kiss upon the innocent child's brow,\nreleased herself from her embrace, and rushed through the door, which\nWolf was holding open for her, into the street.\n\nThe former gazed after her with a troubled heart, and, after she was out\nof sight, returned to the others. He conscientiously delivered Barbara's\nfarewell, and the praise which Frau Sabina lavished upon her pleased him\nas much as if nothing had come between them. Finally he made an\nengagement to see Erasmus Eckhart that evening in his lodgings, and then\nwent to the Queen of Hungary.\n\nAfter he had left the Hiltners Frau Sabina bent down to her\nmother-in-law's ear--though she had lost her quickness of hearing, she\nhad retained her sight perfectly--and, raising her voice, told her the\nname of the young lady who had just left them. Then she asked if she,\ntoo, did not admire Barbara's beauty, and what she thought of her.\n\nThe grandmother nodded, exclaiming in a low tone, \"Beautiful,\nbeautiful--a wonderfully beautiful creature!\" Then she gazed thoughtfully\ninto vacancy, and at last asked whether she had heard correctly that\nJungfrau Blomberg was also a remarkable singer.\n\nHer daughter-in-law eagerly nodded assent to this question.\n\nThe aged woman silently bowed her head, but quickly raised it again, and\nthere was a faint tinge of regret in her voice as she began: \"Too much,\ncertainly too much. Such marvels are rare. But one thing or the other.\nFor women of her stamp there are only two conditions, and no\nother--rapturous happiness and utter misery. She will be content with no\naverage. It does not suit such natures.\"\n\nHere she paused abruptly, for Martina entered the room, and with\naffectionate solicitude said to her granddaughter: \"Young Trainer was\nhere just now. Has anything happened between you? I see by your eyes that\nyou have been weeping.\"\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Cunning which is often a characteristic of narrow minds\n     Pride in charms which we do not possess (vanity)\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe Emperor Charles loved his sister Mary, and he now desired to show her\nhow dear she was to his heart. She had been obliging to him, and he had\nin mind the execution of a great enterprise which she had hitherto\nzealously opposed, yet for which he needed her co-operation.\n\nIt satisfied him to know that the father of his love would be absent from\nRatisbon for the present. He did not care who accompanied him.\n\nWhen the regent reproached him for having taken Sir Wolf Hartschwert from\nher without a word of consultation, although she was unwilling to spare\nhim, he had instantly placed Wolf at her disposal again.\n\nThe simplest and cheapest plan would have been to let Blomberg pursue his\njourney alone; but the monarch feared that the despatch might not be\nquickly delivered if anything happened to the old man on the way, and he\nhad said before witnesses that he would not allow him to go without\ncompanionship.\n\nHe scarcely thought of Barbara's filial feeling. She loved him, and the\nplace which she gave to any one else in her heart could and must\ntherefore be extremely small.\n\nHow powerfully the passionate love for this girl had seized him he dared\nnot confess to himself. But he rejoiced in the late love which\nrejuvenated him and filled him with a joy in existence whose fresh\nblossoming would have seemed impossible a few days before.\n\nHow superb a creature he had found in this German city, from which, since\nits change of religion, he had withdrawn his former favour! In his youth\nhis heart had throbbed ardently for many a fair woman, but she surpassed\nin beauty, in swift intelligence, in fervour, in artistic ability, and,\nabove all, in sincere, unfeigned devotion every one whom his faithful\nmemory recalled.\n\nHe would hold fast to the loved one who bestowed this happiness and fresh\nvigour of youth. To make warm the nest which was to receive his dear\nnightingale he had conquered the economy which was beginning to\ndegenerate into avarice, and also intended to accomplish other sacrifices\nin order to procure her the position which she deserved.\n\nHe no longer knew that he had wounded her deeply the night before. He was\nin the habit of casting aside whatever displeased him unless it appeared\nadvantageous to impose restraint upon himself; and who would ever have\ndared to resist the expression of his indignation? Had Barbara obeyed her\nhasty temper and returned him a sharp answer, he certainly would not have\nforgotten it. The bare thought of her dispelled melancholy thoughts from\nhis mind; the hope of soon seeing and hearing her again rendered him\nfriendly and yielding to those about him. The trivial sin which this\nsweet love secret contained had been pardoned in the case of the man\nbound by no older obligation, after a slight penance, and now for the\nfirst time he fully enjoyed the wealth of the unexpected new happiness.\nIt must also be acceptable to Heaven, for this was distinctly shown by\nthe more and more favourable turn of politics, and he held the return\ngift.\n\nThat it was the right one was proved by the nature of the gratifying news\nbrought by the very last despatches. They urged him directly toward the\nwar which hitherto, from the most serious motives, he had avoided, and,\nas his royal sister correctly saw, would destroy a slowly matured,\nearnest purpose; for it forced him to renounce the hope of effecting at\nTrent a reformation of the Church according to his own ideas, and a\nrestoration of the unity of religion in a peaceful manner by yielding on\none side and reasonable concessions on the other. He had long since\nperceived that many things in the old form of religion needed\nreformation. If war was declared, he would be compelled to resign the\nhope that these would be undertaken by Rome, and the opposition, the\ndefiance, the bold rebellion of the Protestant princes destroyed every\nhope of propitiation on their part. They were forcing him to draw the\nsword, and he might venture to do so at this time, for he need now feel\nno fear of serious opposition from any of the great powers around him.\nMaurice of Saxony, too, was on the point of withdrawing from the\nSmalkalds and becoming his ally; so, with the assistance of Heaven, he\nmight hope to win the victory for the cause of the Church, and with it\nalso that of the crown.\n\nWith regard to the probability of this war, he had much to expect from\nthe activity of his sister in the Netherlands, and though she now\nadvocated peace, in the twelfth hour, which must soon strike, he could\nrely upon her. Yet she was a woman, and it was necessary to bind her to\nhim by every tie of the heart and intellect.\n\nHe loved Barbara as warmly as he was capable of loving; but had Mary that\nevening required his separation from the singer as the price of her\nassistance in promoting his plans, the desire of the heart would perhaps\nhave yielded to the wishes of the statesman.\n\nBut the regent did not impose this choice; she did not grudge him his\nlate happiness, and gratefully appreciated the transformation which\nBarbara's rare gifts had wrought.\n\nThe affectionate sister's heart wished that the bond which produced so\nfavourable a result might be of the longest possible duration, and she\nhad therefore personally attended to the furnishing of the Prebrunn\nhouse, and made all sorts of arrangements to render Barbara's life with\nthe marquise, not only endurable, but pleasant.\n\nThe Emperor had allowed a considerable sum for this purpose, but she did\nnot trouble herself about the amount allotted. If she exceeded it,\nCharles must undertake the payment, whether he desired it or not.\n\nHer vivid imagination had showed her how she, in the Emperor's place,\nwould treat the object of his love, and she acted accordingly, without\nquestioning him or the girl for whom her arrangements were made.\n\nNothing was too expensive for the favoured being who dispelled the\nEmperor's melancholy, and she had proved how much can be accomplished in\na brief space where there is good will on all sides.\n\nBy her orders entirely separate suites of apartments had been prepared\nfor Barbara and the marquise. Quijada had selected four of her own saddle\nhorses for the stable of the little castle, and supplied it with the\nnecessary servants. Her steward had been commissioned to provide the\nservants wanted in the kitchen, and one of her Netherland officials had\nreceived orders to manage the household of the marquise and her\ncompanion, and in doing so to anticipate Barbara's wishes in the most\nattentive manner. One of her best maids, the worthy and skilful Frau\nLamperi, though she was reluctant to part with her, had been sent to\nPrebrunn to serve Barbara as garde-robiere. The advice that the Emperor's\nlove should take her own waiting maid also came from her. She knew the\nvalue, amid new circumstances, of a person long known and trusted. The\nidea that Barbara would take her own maid with her rested, it is true, on\nthe supposition that so well-dressed a young lady, who belonged to an\nancient family, must as surely possess such a person as eyes and hands.\n\nBarbara had just induced Frau Lerch to accompany her to Prebrunn. The old\nwoman's opposition had only been intended to extort more favourable\nterms. She knew nothing of the regent's arrangements.\n\nQueen Mary was grateful to Charles for so readily restoring the useful\nSir Wolf Hartschwert, and when the latter presented himself he was\nreceived even more graciously than usual.\n\nShe had some work ready for him. A letter in relation to the betrothal of\nher nieces, the daughters of King Ferdinand, was to be sent to the\nImperial Councillor Schonberg at Vienna. It must be written in German,\nbecause the receiver understood no other language.\n\nAfter she had told the knight the purpose of the letter, she left him;\nthe vesper service summoned her, and afterward Barbara detained her as\nshe sang to the Emperor, alone and accompanied by Appenzelder's boy\nchoir, several songs, and in a manner so thoroughly artistic that the\nQueen lingered not only in obedience to her brother's wish, but from\npleasure in the magnificent music, until the end of the concert.\n\nJust as Wolf, seated in the writing room, which was always at his\ndisposal, finished the letter, the major-domo, Don Luis Quijada, sought\nhim.\n\nHe had already intimated several times that he had something in view for\nhim which promised to give Wolf's life, in his opinion, a new and\nfavourable turn. Now he made his proposal.\n\nThe duties imposed upon him by the service compelled him to live apart\nfrom his beloved, young, and beautiful wife, Dona Magdalena de Ulloa, who\nhad remained at his castle Villagarcia in Spain. She possessed but one\ntrue comforter in her solitude--music. But the person who had hitherto\ninstructed her--the family chaplain--was dead. So far as his ability and\nhis taste were concerned, it would have been easy to replace him, but\nQuijada sought in his successor qualities which rarely adorned a single\nindividual, but which he expected to find united in the knight.\n\nIn the first place, the person he desired must be, like the chaplain, of\nnoble birth; for to see his wife closely associated with a man of\ninferior station was objectionable to the Spanish grandee, who was\nperhaps the most popular of all the officers in the army, not only on\naccount of his valour in the field, but also for the kindly good will and\nabsolute justice which he bestowed upon even the humblest soldier.\n\nThat the chaplain's successor must be a good artist, thoroughly familiar\nwith Netherland and Italian music, was a matter of course. But Don Luis\nalso demanded from Dona Magdalena's new teacher and household companion\ngraceful manners, a modest disposition, and, above all things, a\ncharacter on which he could absolutely rely. Not that he would have\ncherished any fears of the fidelity of the wife whom he honoured as the\npurest and noblest of her sex, and of whom he spoke to the knight with\nreverence and love; he desired only to guard her from any occurrence that\nmight offend her.\n\nWolf listened in surprise. He had firmly resolved that on no account\nwould he stay in Ratisbon. What could he find save fresh anxiety and\nnever-ending anguish of the heart if he remained near Barbara, who\ndisdained his love?\n\nHe possessed little ambition. It was only for the sake of the woman he\nloved that he had recently made more active exertions, but with his\nexcellent acquirements and the fair prospects which were open to him at\nthe court, it seemed, even to his modest mind, too humble a fate to bury\nhimself in a Spanish castle in order to while away with music the lonely\nhours of a noblewoman, no matter how high her rank, how beautiful and\nestimable she might be, or how gladly he would render her admirable\nhusband a favour.\n\nQuijada had said this to himself, and perceived plainly enough what was\npassing in the young knight's thoughts.\n\nSo he frankly confessed that he was well aware how few temptations his\ninvitation offered a man endowed with Wolf's rare advantages, but he came\nby no means with empty hands--and he now informed the listening musician\nwhat he could offer him.\n\nThis certainly gave his proposal a different aspect.\n\nThe aristocratic Quijada family--and as its head he himself--had in its\ngift a rich living, which annually yielded thousands of ducats, in the\ngreat capital of Valladolid. Many a son of a distinguished race sought\nit, but he wished to bestow it upon Wolf. It would insure him more than a\ncomfortable support, permit him to marry the woman of his choice, and, if\nhe remained several years in Villagarcia, afford him the possibility of\naccumulating a neat little property, as he would live in Quijada's castle\nas a welcome guest and scarcely ever be obliged to open his purse\nstrings. Besides, music was cultivated in Valladolid, and if Don Luis\nintroduced him to the clergy there, it might easily happen that they\nwould avail themselves of his great knowledge and fine ability and\nintrust to him the amendment and perhaps, finally, the direction of the\nchurch music.\n\nAs Dona Magdalena often spent several months with her brother, the\nMarquis Rodrigo de la Mota, Wolf could from time to time be permitted to\nvisit the Netherlands or Italy to participate in the more active musical\nlife of these countries.\n\nWolf listened to this explanation with increasing attention.\n\nThe narrow path which buried itself in the sand was becoming a\nthoroughfare leading upward. He was glad that he had withheld his\nrefusal; but this matter was so important that the prudent young man,\nafter warmly thanking Don Luis for his good opinion, requested some time\nfor consideration.\n\nTrue, Quijada could assure him that, for the sake of his wife, Dona\nMagdalena de Ulloa, whom from childhood she had honoured with her special\nfavour, the regent would place no obstacle in the way of his retirement\nfrom her service. But Wolf begged him to have patience with him. He was\nnot a man to make swift decisions, and nowhere could he reflect better\nthan in the saddle during a long ride. He would inform him of his\ndetermination by the first messenger despatched from Brussels to the\nEmperor. Even now he could assure him that this generous offer seemed\nvery tempting, since solitude always had far more charm for him than the\nnoisy bustle of the court.\n\nQuijada willingly granted the requested delay, and, before bidding him\nfarewell, Wolf availed himself of the opportunity to deliver into his\nhands the papers collected by his adopted father, which he had on his\nperson. They contained the proof that he was descended from the legal\nmarriage of a knight and a baroness; and Don Luis willingly undertook to\nhave them confirmed by the Emperor, and his patent renewed in a way\nwhich, if he accepted his proposal, might also be useful to him in Spain.\n\nSo Wolf took leave of the major-domo with the conviction that he\npossessed a true friend in this distinguished man. If the regent did not\narbitrarily detain him, he would show himself in Villagarcia to be worthy\nof his confidence.\n\nOn the stairs he met the Emperor's confessor, Don Pedro de Soto. Wolf\nbowed reverently before the dignified figure of the distinguished\nDominican, and the latter, as he recognised him, paused to request curtly\nthat he would give him a few minutes the following day.\n\n\"If I can be of any service to your Reverence,\" replied Wolf, taking the\nprelate's delicate hand to kiss it; but the almoner, with visible\ncoldness, withdrew it, repellently interrupting him: \"First, Sir Knight,\nI must ask you for an explanation. Where the plague is raging in every\nstreet, we ought to guard our own houses carefully against it.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly,\" replied Wolf, unsuspiciously. \"But I shall set out early\nto-morrow morning with her Majesty.\"\n\n\"Then,\" replied the Dominican after a brief hesitation, \"then a word with\nyou now.\"\n\nHe continued his way to the second story, and Wolf, with an anxious mind,\nfollowed him into a waiting room, now empty, near the staircase.\n\nThe deep seriousness in the keen eyes of the learned confessor, which\ncould look gentle, indulgent, and sometimes even merry, revealed that he\ndesired to discuss some matter of importance; but the very first question\nwhich the priest addressed to him restored the young man's composure.\n\nThe confessor merely desired to know what took him to the house of the\nman who must be known to him as the soul of the evangelical innovations\nin his native city, and the friend of Martin Luther.\n\nWolf now quietly informed him what offer Dr. Hiltner, as syndic of\nRatisbon, had made him in the name of the Council.\n\n\"And you?\" asked the confessor anxiously.\n\n\"I declined it most positively,\" replied Wolf, \"although it would have\nsuited my taste to stand at the head of the musical life in my native\ncity.\"\n\n\"Because you prefer to remain in the service of her Majesty Queen Mary?\"\nasked De Soto.\n\n\"No, your Eminence. Probably I shall soon leave the position near her\nperson. I rather feared that, as a good Catholic, I would find it\ndifficult to do my duty in the service of an evangelical employer.\"\n\n\"There is something in that. But what led the singer--you know whom I\nmean--to the same house?\"\n\nWolf could not restrain a slight smile, and he answered eagerly: \"The\nyoung lady and I grew up together under the same roof, your Eminence, and\nshe came for no other purpose than to bid me farewell. A lamb that clings\nmore firmly to the shepherd, and more strongly abhors heresy, could\nscarcely be found in our Redeemer's flock.\"\n\n\"A lamb!\" exclaimed the almoner with a slight touch of scorn. \"What are\nwe to think of the foe of heresy who exchanges tender kisses with the\nwife of the most energetic leader of Protestantism?\"\n\n\"By your permission, your Eminence,\" Wolf asserted, \"only the daughter\noffered her her lips. She and her mother made the singer's acquaintance\nat the musical exercises established here by the Council. Music is the\nonly bond between them.\"--\"Yet there is a bond,\" cried De Soto\nsuspiciously. \"If you see her again before your departure, advise her, in\nmy name, to sever it. She found a friendly welcome and much kindness in\nthat house, and here at least--tell her so--only one faith exists. A\nprosperous journey, Sir Knight.\"\n\nThe delay caused by this conversation induced Wolf to quicken his pace.\nIt had grown late, and Erasmus Eckhart had surely been waiting some time\nfor his school friend in the old precentor's house.\n\nThis was really the case, but the Wittenberg theologian, whose course of\nstudy had ended only a fortnight before, and who, with his long, brown\nlocks and bright blue eyes, still looked like a gay young student, had\nhad no reason to lament the delay.\n\nHe was first received by Ursel, who had left her bed and was moving\nslowly about the room, and how much the old woman had had to tell her\nyoung fellow-believer from Wittenberg about Martin Luther, who was now no\nlonger living, and Professor Melanchthon; but Erasmus Eckhart liked to\ntalk with her, for as a schoolmate and intimate friend of Wolf he had\npaid innumerable visits to the house, and received in winter an apple, in\nsummer a handful of cherries, from her.\n\nThe young man was still less disposed to be vexed with Wolf for his delay\nwhen Barbara appeared in Ursel's room. Erasmus had played with her, too,\nwhen he was a boy, and they shared a treasure of memories of the fairest\nportion of life.\n\nWhen Wolf at last returned and Barbara gave him her hand, Erasmus envied\nhim the affectionate confidence with which it was done. She was charged\nwith the warmest messages from her father to the knight, and\nconscientiously delivered them. The old gentleman's companion had advised\nstarting that evening, because experience taught that, on a long ride, it\nwas better for man and beast to spend the night outside the city.\n\nThey were to put up at the excellent tavern in Winzer, an hour's journey\nfrom Ratisbon, and continue the ride from that point.\n\nWolf knew that many couriers did the same thing, in order to avoid delay\nat the gate, and only asked whom her father had chosen for a companion.\n\n\"A young nobleman who was here as a recruiting officer,\" replied Barbara\ncurtly.\n\nShe had not heard until the last moment whom her father had selected, and\nhad only seen Pyramus Kogel again while the captain's groom was buckling\nhis knapsack upon the saddle. He had ridden to the house, and while she\ngazed past him, as though an invisible cap concealed him from her eyes,\nhe asked whether she had no wish concerning her father at heart.\n\n\"That some one else was to accompany him,\" came her sharp reply.\n\nThen, before the captain put his foot into the stirrup, she threw her\narms around the old man's neck, kissed him tenderly, and uttered loving\nwishes for him to take with him on his way.\n\nHer father, deeply moved, at last swung himself into the saddle,\ncommending her to the protection of the gracious Virgin. It was not\nwholly easy for him to part with her, but the prospect of riding out into\nthe world with a full purse, highly honoured by his imperial master,\ngratified the old adventure-loving heart so much that he could feel no\ngenuine sympathy. Too honest to feign an emotion which he did not\nexperience, he behaved accordingly; and, besides, he was sure of leaving\nhis child in the best care as in her earlier years, when, glad to leave\nthe dull city, business, and his arrogant, never-satisfied wife behind,\nhe had gone with a light heart to war.\n\nWhile pressing the horse's flanks between his legs and forcing the\nspirited animal, which went round and round with him in a circle, to\nobedience, he waved his new travelling hat; but Barbara, meanwhile, was\nthinking that he could only leave her with his mind thus free from care\nbecause she was deceiving him, and, as her eyes rested on her father's\nwounded limb projecting stiffly into the air, bitter grief overwhelmed\nher.\n\nHow often the old wounds caused him pain! Other little infirmities, too,\ntortured him. Who would bind them up on the journey? who would give him\nthe medicine which afforded relief?\n\nThen pity affected her more deeply than ever before, and it was with\ndifficulty that she forced back the rising tears. Her father might\nperhaps have noticed them, for one groom carried a torch, and the\none-eyed maid's lantern was shining directly into her face.\n\nBut while she was struggling not to weep aloud, emotion and anxiety for\nthe old man who, through her fault, would be exposed to so much danger,\nextorted the cry: \"Take care of him, Herr Pyramus! I will be grateful to\nyou.\"\n\n\"That shall be a promise, lovely, ungracious maiden,\" the recruiting\nofficer quickly answered. But the old man was already waving his hat\nagain, his horse dashed upon the Haidplatz at a gallop, and his\ncompanion, with gallant bearing, followed.\n\nBarbara had then gone back into the house, and the maid-servant lighted\nher upstairs.\n\nIt had become perfectly dark in her rooms, and the solitude and silence\nthere oppressed her like a hundredweight burden. Besides, terrible\nthoughts had assailed her, showing her herself in want and shame,\ndespised, disdained, begging for a morsel of bread, and her father under\nhis fallen horse, on his lonely, couch of pain, in his coffin.\n\nThen her stay in her lonely rooms seemed unendurable. She would have lost\nher reason ere Quijada came at midnight to conduct her for a short time\nto the Golden Cross. She could not remain long with her lover, because\nthe servants were obliged to be up early in the morning on account of the\nregent's departure.\n\nWith Ursel she would be protected from the terrors of solitude, for,\nbesides the old woman's voice, a man's tones also reached her through the\nopen window. It was probably the companion of her childhood. In his\nsociety she would most speedily regain her lost peace of mind.\n\nIn his place she had at first found only Erasmus Eckhart.\n\nThe strong, bold boy had become a fine-looking man.\n\nA certain gravity of demeanour had early taken possession of him, and\nwhile his close-shut lips showed his ability to cling tenaciously to a\nresolution, his bright eyes sparkled with the glow of enthusiasm.\n\nBarbara could believe in this young man's capacity for earnest, lofty\naspiration, and for that very reason it had aroused special displeasure\nin her mind when he gaily recalled the foolish pranks, far better suited\nto a boy, into which as a child she had often allowed herself to be\nhurried.\n\nShe felt as if, in doing so, he was showing her a lack of respect which\nhe would scarcely have ventured toward a young lady whom he esteemed, and\nthe petted singer, whom no less a personage than the Emperor Charles\ndeemed worthy of his love, was unwilling to tolerate such levity from so\nyoung a man.\n\nShe made no claim to reverence, but she expected admiration and the\nrecognition of being an unusual person, who was great in her own way.\n\nFor the sake of the monarch who raised her to his side, she owed it to\nherself to show, even in her outward bearing, that she did not stand too\nfar below him in aristocratic dignity.\n\nShe succeeded in this admirably during the conversation on music and\nsinging which she carried on with Erasmus.\n\nWhen she at last desired to return home, Wolf accompanied her up the\nstairs, informed her of his conversation with the confessor, and at the\nsame time warned her against incautious visits to the Hiltners so long as\nthe Emperor held his court in Ratisbon.\n\nTo have fallen under suspicion of heresy would have been the last thing\nBarbara expected, and she called it foolish, nay, ridiculous. But, ere\nshe clasped Wolf's hand in farewell, she promised to show the almoner at\nthe first opportunity upon how false a trail he had come.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nWhen Wolf went back to Erasmus the latter assured his friend that he had\nmet no maiden in Ratisbon who, to rare gifts, united the dignity which he\nhad hitherto admired only in the ladies whom he had met at the court of\nthe Elector of Saxony. His sparkling eyes flashed more brightly as he\nspoke, and, like a blushing girl, he confessed to his friend that\nJungfrau Blomberg's promise to sing one of his own compositions to him\nmade him a happy man.\n\nBarbara's conduct had made the repressed fire of love blaze up anew in\nWolf.\n\nNow, for the first time, the woman he loved fully and entirely fulfilled\nthe ideal which he had formed of the \"queen\" of his heart.\n\nWas it the sad separation from him, the taking leave of her father, or\nher new love, which was bestowed on a man whom he also esteemed, that\nimpressed upon her nature the stamp of a nobility which beseemed her as\nwell as it suited her aristocratic beauty?\n\nNever had it appeared to him so utterly impossible that he could yield\nher to another without resistance. Perhaps the man chosen by such a jewel\nwas more worthy than he, but no one's love could surpass his in strength\nand fervour. She had tested it, and he need no longer call himself an\ninsignificant suitor; for, if he gained possession of the living which\nDon Luis had ready for him, if he obtained a high position in\nValladolid--But his friend gave him no time to pursue such thoughts\nfurther, for, while Barbara shortly after midnight stole down the stairs\nlike a criminal, and Quijada conducted her to her imperial lover, Erasmus\nbegan to press him with demands which he was obliged to reject.\n\nThe Wittenberg master of arts, ever since his first meeting with his\nfriend, had been on the point of asking the question how he, who had\nobtained in the school of poets an insight into the pure word of God,\ncould prevail upon himself to continue to wear the chains of Rome and\nremain a Catholic.\n\nWolf had expected this query, and, while he filled his companion's goblet\nwith the good Wurzburg wine which Ursula provided, he begged him not to\nbring religion into their conversation.\n\nThe young Wittenberg theologian, however, had come for the express\npurpose of discussing it with his friend.\n\nReligion, he asserted in the fervid manner characteristic of him, was in\nthese times the axis around which turned the inner life of the world and\nevery individual. He himself had resolved to live for the object for\nwhose sake it was worth while to die. He knew the great perils which\nwould be associated with it for one of his warlike temperament, but he\nhad become, by the divine summons, an evangelical theologian, a combatant\nfor the liberation of the slaves sighing under the tyranny of Rome. A\nserious conversation with a friend who was a German and resisted yielding\nto a movement of the spirit which was kindling the inmost depths of the\nGerman nature, thoughts, and feelings, and was destined to heal the woes\nof the German nation and preserve it from the basest abuse, would be to\nhim inconceivable.\n\nWolf interrupted this avowal with the assurance that he must nevertheless\ndecline a religious discussion with him, for the weapons they would use\nwere too different. Erasmus, as a theologian, was deeply versed in the\nProtestant faith, while he professed Catholicism merely as a consequence\nof his birth and with a layman's understanding and knowledge. Yet he\nwould not shun the conflict if his hands were not bound by the most\nsacred of oaths. Then he turned to the past, and while he himself, as it\nwere, lived through for the second time the most affecting moment in his\nexistence, he transported his friend to his dead mother's sick-bed.\n\nIn vivid language he described how the devout widow and nun implored her\nson to resist like a rock in the sea the assault of the new heretical\nideas, that the thousands of prayers which she had uttered for him, for\nhis soul, and his father's, might not be vain.\n\nThen Wolf confessed that just at that time, as a pupil in the school of\npoets, he had come under the influence of the scholar Naevius, whose\nevangelical views Erasmus knew, and related how difficult it had been for\nhim to take the oath which, nevertheless, now that he had once sworn it,\nhe would keep, even though life and his own intelligence would not have\ntaught him to prefer the old faith to every new doctrine, whether it\nemanated from Luther, from Calvin, or from Zwingli.\n\nFor a short time Erasmus found no answer to this statement, and Wolf's\nold nurse, who herself clung to the Protestants from complete conviction,\nand had listened attentively to his words, urged her young\nco-religionist, by all sorts of signs, to respect his friend's decision.\n\nThe confession of his schoolmate had not been entirely without effect\nupon the young theologian. The name of \"mother\" also filled him with\nreverence.\n\nTrue, his birth had cost his own mother her life, but he had long\npossessed a distinct idea of her nature and being, and had given her\nprecisely the same position which, in the early days of his school life,\nthe Virgin Mary had occupied.\n\nTo induce another to break a vow made to his mother would have been\nsinful. But a brief reflection changed his mind.\n\nWere there not circumstances in which the Bible itself commanded a man to\nleave father and mother? Had not Jesus Christ made the surrender of every\nold relation and the following after him the duty of those who were to\nbecome his disciples? What was the meaning of the words the Saviour had\nuttered to his august mother, \"Woman, what have I to do with thee?\"\nexcept it was commanded to turn even from the mother when religion was at\nstake?\n\nMany another passage of Scripture had strengthened the courage of the\nyoung Bible student when at last, with a look of intelligence, he pledged\nWolf, and remarking, \"How could I venture the attempt to lead you to\nbreak so sacred an oath?\" instantly brought forward every plea that a son\nwho, in religious matters, followed a different path from his mother\ncould allege in his justification.\n\nA short time before, in Brussels, Wolf had seen a superior of the new\nSociety of Jesus, whose members were now appearing everywhere as\ndefenders of the violently assailed papacy, seek to win back to\nCatholicism the son of evangelical parents with the very same arguments.\nHe told his friend this, and also expressed the belief that the Jesuit,\ntoo, had spoken in good faith.\n\nErasmus shrugged his shoulders, saying \"Doubtless there are many mansions\nin our Father's house, but who will blame us if we left the dilapidated\nold one, where our liberty was restricted and our consciences were\nburdened, and preferred the new one, in which man is subject to no other\nmortal, but only to the plain words of the Bible and to the judge in his\nown breast? If we prefer this mansion, which stands open to every one\nwhose heart the old one oppresses, to the ruinous one of former days----\"\n\n\"Yet,\" interrupted Wolf, \"you must say to yourselves that you leave\nbehind in the old one much which the new one lacks, no matter with how\nmany good things you may equip it. The history of our religion and its\ndevelopment does not belong to your new home--only to the old one.\"\n\n\"We stand upon it as every newer thing rests on the older,\" replied\nErasmus eagerly. \"What we cast aside and refuse to take into the new home\nwith us is not the holy faith, but merely its deformity, abasement, and\nfalsification.\"\n\n\"Call it so,\" replied Wolf calmly. \"I have heard others name and\ninterpret differently what you probably have in mind while using these\nharsh epithets. But is it not the old house, and that alone, in which the\nmartyrs shed their blood for Christianity? Where did it fulfil its lofty\ntask of saturating the heart of mankind with love, softening the customs\nof rude pagans, clearing away forests, transforming barren wastes into\ncultivated fields, planting the cross on chapels and churches, summoning\nmen with the consecrated voice of the bell to the sermon which proclaims\nlove and peace? Where did it open the doors of the school which prepares\nthe intellect to satisfy its true destiny, and first qualifies man to\nbecome the image of God? By the old mansion this country, covered with\nmarshes, moors; and impenetrable forests, was rendered what it now is;\nfrom it proceeded that fostering of science and the arts of which as yet\nI have seen little in your circles.\"\n\n\"Give us time,\" cried the theologian, \"and perhaps in our home their\nflowering will attain an unsurpassed richness of development. With what\nloose bonds the humanists are still united to you!\"\n\n\"And the finest intellect of all, the great scholar whose name you bear,\nthough he deemed many things in our old home deserving of improvement,\nremained with us until his death. Jesus Christ is one, and so his Church\nmust also remain. The only question is, What the Saviour still is to you\nProtestants, what he is to you, my friend?\"\n\n\"Before how many saints, and many another whom your Church desires to\nhonour, do you bow the knee?\" Erasmus fervidly answered; \"but we do so\nonly to the august Trinity. And do you wish to know what Jesus Christ,\nthe Son, is to me? All, and more than all, is the answer; I live and\nbreathe in my Saviour Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and\nthroughout eternity.\"\n\nThe young theologian raised his sparkling eyes heavenward as he spoke,\nand continued: \"Our doctrine is founded on him, his word, his love alone;\nand who among the enthusiastic heralds of Christianity in ancient times\ngrasped faith in him with warmer sincerity than the very Martin Luther\nwhom you would have led to the stake had not the Emperor Charles's\nplighted word been dearer to him than the approval of Rome? Oh, my\nfriend, our young faith can also show its martyrs. Think of the Bohemian\nJohn Huss and the true Christians who, in the Netherlands and Spain, were\nburned at the stake and bled upon the scaffold because they read the\nBible, the Word of God and their Saviour, and would rather die than deny\nit. If it should come to the worst, thousands here would also be ready to\nascend the funeral pyre, and I at their head. If war is declared now, the\nEmperor Charles will gain the victory; and if he does not wish to\nwithdraw in earnest from Romish influences, who can tell what will then\nawait us Protestants? But I am not anxious about what may come. We German\ncitizens, who are accustomed to guide our own destinies and maintain the\nsystem of government we arranged for ourselves, who built by our own\nstrength our solid, comfortable, gable-roofed houses and noble, towering\ncathedrals, will also independently maintain the life of our minds and\nour souls. Rome, with her legions of priests, claimed the right not only\nto interfere in our civil life, but also to intrude into our houses, our\nmarried lives, and our nurseries. What could she not decide for the\nindividual by virtue of the power she arrogates to bind and to loose, to\nforgive sins, and to open or to close the door of heaven for the dying?\nWhat she has done with the Church's gifts of grace we know.\n\n\"There is a deep, beautiful meaning underlying this idea. But it has\ndegenerated into a base traffic in indulgences. We have sincere natures.\nFor a long time we believed that salvation is gained by works--gifts to\nthe Church, fasts, scourgings, seclusion from the world, self-confinement\nin a cell--and our wealth went to Rome. Rarely do we look vainly in the\nmost beautiful sites on mountain or by river for a monastery! But at last\nthe sound sense of Germany rebelled, and when Luther saw in Rome poor\nsufferers from gout and cripples ascending the stairs of the Lateran on\ntheir knees, a voice within cried out to him the great 'sola fide' on\nwhich our faith is founded. On it alone, on devotion to Jesus Christ,\ndepends our salvation.\"\n\n\"Then,\" asked Wolf, \"you boldly deny any saving power to good works?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" was the firm reply, \"so far as they do not proceed from faith.\"\n\n\"As if the Church did not impose the same demand!\" replied Wolf in a more\nanimated tone. \"True, base wrong has been done in regard to the sale of\nindulgences, but at the Council of Trent opposition will be made to it.\nNo estimable priest holds the belief that money can atone for a sin or\nwin the mercy of Heaven. With us also sincere repentance or devout faith\nmust accompany the gift, the fasting, and whatever else the believer\nimposes upon himself here below. Man is so constituted that the only\nthings which make a deep impression are those that the body also feels.\nThe teacher's blow has a greater effect than his words, a gift produces\nmore willingness than an entreaty, and the tendency toward asceticism and\npenance is genuinely Christian, and belongs to many a people of a\ndifferent faith. Your Erasmus said that his heart was Catholic, but his\nstomach desired to be Protestant. You have an easier task than we.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" the young theologian burst forth. \"It is mere child's\nplay for you to obtain forgiveness by acts which really do not cut deeply\ninto the flesh; but if one of us errs, how hard must be the conflict in\nhis own breast ere he attains the conviction that his guilt is expiated\nby deep repentance and better deeds!\"\n\n\"I can answer for that,\" here interposed old Ursel, who from her\narm-chair had listened to the conversation between the two with intense\ninterest.\n\n\"Good heavens! One went forth from the confessional as pure as a white\ndove after absolution had been received and the penance performed; but\nnow that I belong to the Protestants, it is hard to reach a perfect\nunderstanding with the dear Saviour and one's self.\"\n\n\"And ought that to redound to the discredit of my faith?\" asked Wolf. \"So\nfar as I have learned to know men, the majority, at least, will not\nhasten to attain our Ursel's complete understanding with one's self. I\nshould even fear that there are many among you who no longer feel a\ndesire to heed little sins and their forgiveness----\"\n\nHere Ursel again interrupted him with an exclamation of dissent,\naccompanied by a gesture of denial from her thin old hand; but Wolf\nglanced at the clock which the precentor had received as a testimonial of\naffection from the members of the cathedral choir, which he had led for\nyears.\n\nIt was already half past one, and for the sake of Ursel, who was still\nobliged to take care of herself, he urged departure, adding gaily that he\nhad not the ability to \"defend himself against two.\" Erasmus, too, was\nsurprised to find it so late, and, after shaking hands with the old woman\nand promising to visit her soon again, seized his cap. Wolf accompanied\nhim.\n\nThe May night was sultry, and the air in the low room had been hot and\noppressive.\n\nHe would gladly have dropped the useless discussion, but Erasmus's heart\nwas set upon winning his schoolmate to the doctrine which he believed\nwith his whole soul. He toiled with the utmost zeal, but during their\nnocturnal walk also he failed to convince his opponent. Both were true to\ntheir religion. Erasmus saw in his faith the return to the pure teachings\nof Christ and the liberation of the human soul from ancient fetters;\nWolf, who had had them pointed out to him at school by a Protestant\nteacher, by no means denied the abuses that had crept into his, but he\nclung with warm love to Holy Church, which offered his soul an abundance\nof what it needed.\n\nHis art certainly also owed to her its best development--from the\ninexhaustible spring of faith which is formed from thousands of rivulets\nand tributaries in the holy domain of the Catholic Church, and in it\nalone, the most sublime of all material flowed to the musician, and not\nto him only, but to the artist, the architect, and the sculptor. The\nfullest stream--he was well aware of it--came from ancient pagan times,\nbut from whatever sources the spring was fed, the Church had understood\nhow to assimilate, preserve, and sanctify it.\n\nErasmus listened silently while Wolf eagerly made these statements; but\nwhen the latter closed with the declaration that the evangelical faith\nwould never attain the same power of elevating hearts, he interrupted the\nknight with the exclamation, \"We shall have to wait for that!\"\n\nLuther, he went on, had given the most powerful encouragement to music,\nand the German Protestant composers even now were not so very far behind\nthe Netherland ones. The Catholic Church could no longer claim the great\nAlbrecht Durer, and, if art ceased to create images of the saints, with\nwhich the childish minds of the common people practised idolatry, so much\nthe better. The Infinite and Eternal was no subject for the artist. The\nhumanization of God only belittled his infinite and illimitable nature.\nEarthly life offered art material enough. Man himself would be the\nworthiest model for imitation, and perhaps no earlier epoch had created\nhandsomer likenesses of men and women than would now be produced by\nevangelical artists.\n\nTo their own surprise, during this conversation they had reached the\nHiltner house, and Erasmus invited his friend to come to his room and\nover a glass of wine answer him, as he had had the last word. But Wolf\nhad already drunk at his own home more of the fiery Wurzburg from the\nprecentor's cellar than usual. Besides, much as he still had to say in\nreply to Erasmus, the sensible young man deemed it advisable to avoid the\nsyndic's house for the present. The confessor's suspicion had been\naroused, and De Soto was a Dominican, who certainly did not stand far\nfrom the Holy Inquisition.\n\nTherefore while Erasmus, with burning head and great excitement, was\nstill urging his friend to come in, Wolf unexpectedly bade him a hasty\nand resolute farewell.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nWolf left the Hiltner house behind him with the feeling that he had\nupheld the cause of his Church against the learned opponent to the best\nof his ability, and had not been defeated. Yet he was not entirely\nsatisfied. In former years he had read the Hutten dialogues, and, though\nhe disapproved of their assaults upon the Holy Father in Rome, he had\nwarmly sympathized with the fiery knight's love for his native land.\n\nFar as, at the court of Charles, the German ranked below the\nNetherlander, the Spaniard, and the Italian, Wolf was proud of being a\nGerman, and it vexed him that he had not at least made the attempt to\nrepel the theologian's charge that the Catholic, to whom the authority of\nRome was the highest, would be inferior to the Protestant in patriotism.\n\nBut he would have succeeded no better in convincing Erasmus than the\nlearned theologians who, at the Emperor's instance, had held an earnest\nreligious discussion in Ratisbon a short time before, had succeeded in\narriving at even a remote understanding.\n\nAs he reached the Haidplatz new questions of closer interest were casting\nthese of supreme importance into the shade.\n\nHe was to enter his home directly, and then the woman whom he loved would\nrest above him, and alone, unwatched, and unguarded, perhaps dream of\nanother.\n\nWho was the man for whose sake she withdrew from him the heart to whose\npossession he had the best and at any rate the oldest right?\n\nCertainly not Baron Malfalconnet.\n\nNeither could he believe it to be Peter Schlumperger or young Crafft.\n\nYet perhaps the fortunate man belonged to the court. If that was the\ncase, how easy would the game now be made for him with the girl, who was\nguarded by no faithful eye!\n\nHis heart throbbed faster as he entered Red Cock Street.\n\nThe moon was still in the cloudless, starry sky, shining with her calm,\nsilver radiance upon one side of the street. Barbara's bow-window was\ntouched by it, and--what did it mean?--a small lamp must still be burning\nin her room, for the window was illuminated, though but dimly. Perhaps\nshe had kept the light because she felt timid in her lonely chamber. Now\nWolf crossed obliquely toward his house.\n\nJust at that moment he saw the tall figure of a man.\n\nWhat was he doing there at this hour? Was it a thief or a burglar? There\nwas no lack of evil-disposed folk in this time of want.\n\nWolf still wore his court costume, and the short dress sword which\nbelonged to it hung in its sheath.\n\nHis heart beat quicker as he loosed the blade and advanced toward the\nsuspicious night-bird.\n\nJust then he saw the other calmly turn the big key and take it out of the\ndoor.\n\nThat could be no thief! No, certainly not!\n\nIt was a gentleman of tall stature, whose aristocratic figure and Spanish\ncourt costume were partially covered by a long cloak.\n\nThere was no doubt! Wolf could not be mistaken, for, while the former was\nputting the key in his pocket, the mantle had slipped from one shoulder.\n\n\"Malfalconnet,\" muttered Wolf, grasping the hilt of his short sword more\nfirmly.\n\nBut at the same moment the moonlight showed him the Spaniard's face. A\nchill ran through his frame, followed by a feverish heat, for the\nnocturnal intruder into his house was not the baron, but Quijada, the\nnoble Don Luis, his patron, who had just been lauding to the skies the\nvirtues, the beauty, the goodness of the peerless Dona Magdalena de\nUlloa, his glorious wife. He had intended to send Wolf, the friend and\nhousemate of his victim, to Spain to become the instructor of his\ndeceived wife.\n\nHe saw through the game, and it seemed as if he could not help laughing\naloud in delight at his own penetration, in rage and despair.\n\nHow clearly, and yet how coarsely and brutally, it had all been planned!\n\nThe infamous scoundrel, who possessed so much influence over the Emperor,\nhad first sent old Blomberg away; now he, Wolf, was to follow, that no\none might stand between the game and the pursuer.\n\nBarbara's lover must be Quijada. For the Spaniard's sake she had given\nhim up, and perhaps even played the part of adviser in this abominable\nbusiness. It must be so, for who else could know what she was to him?\n\nYet no! He himself had aided the guilty passion of this couple, for how\nwarmly he had sung Barbara's praises to Don Luis! And then in how many a\nconversation with Barbara had Quijada's name been mentioned, and he had\nalways spoken of this man with warm regard. Hence her remark that he\nhimself deemed her lover worthy of esteem.\n\nIn a few seconds these thoughts darted through his heated brain with the\nspeed of lightning.\n\nThe street began to whirl around him, and a deep loathing of the base\ntraitor, a boundless hatred of the destroyer of his happiness, of the\nbetrayed girl, and the life which led through such abysses overpowered\nthe deluded man.\n\nThe infamous girl had just left her lover's arms, her kiss was doubtless\nstill glowing on his faithless lips!\n\nWolf groaned aloud like a sorely stricken deer, and for a moment it\nseemed to him that the best course would be to put an end to his own\nruined life. But rage and hate urged him upon another victim, and, unable\nto control himself, he rushed with uplifted blade upon the hypocritical\nseducer.\n\nThis utterly unexpected attack did not give Don Luis time to draw his\nsword, but, with ready presence of mind, he forced the hand wielding the\nweapon aside, and, while he felt a sharp pain in his left arm, seized the\nassassin with his right hand, swung his light figure upward, and with the\nstrength and skill peculiar to him hurled it with all his might upon the\nstone steps of the dwelling.\n\nNot a single word, only a savage cry of fury, followed by a piteous moan,\nhad escaped Wolf's lips during this swift deed of violence.\n\nThe Spaniard scornfully thrust aside with his foot the inert body lying\non the ground. His arrogance did not deem it worth while to ascertain\nwhat had befallen the murderer who had been punished. He had more\nimportant things to do, for his own blood was flowing in a hot, full\nstream over his hand.\n\nAccustomed in bull fighting and in battle to maintain his calmness and\ncaution even in the most difficult situation, he said to himself that, if\nhis wound should be connected with the murder before this house it would\nbetray his master's secret to the Ratisbon courts of justice, and thereby\nto the public.\n\nHe had heard the skull of the lurking thief strike against the granite\nsteps of the house. So the dark, motionless mass before him was probably\na corpse. There was no hurry about that, but his own condition compelled\nhim to take care of himself. Entering the shadow of a tall building\nopposite the dwelling, he assured himself that the street was entirely\nempty, and then, drawing the aching arm from the doublet, he examined the\nwound as well as the dim light would permit. It was deep, it is true, but\nthe robber's weapon appeared merely to have cut the flesh.\n\nA jerk, and Quijada had stripped the ruff from his neck, and, as this did\nnot suffice, he cut with his sword blade and his teeth a piece of fine\nlinen from his shirt.\n\nThis would do for the first bandage. The skilful hand which, in battle,\nhad aided many a bleeding comrade soon completed the task.\n\nThen he flung his uninjured cloak around him again, and turned toward the\nlifeless body at the foot of the steps.\n\nThere lay the murderer's weapon--a delicately fashioned short dress\nsword, with an ivory hilt, not the knife of a common highwayman.\n\nThat was the reason the wound was so narrow.\n\nBut who had sought his life with this dainty steel blade?\n\nThere were few at court who envied him the Emperor's favour--his office\noften compelled him to deny even persons of higher rank access to his\nMajesty; but he had never--this he could assure himself--treated even men\nof humble station harshly or unjustly. If he had offended any one by\nhaughty self-confidence, it had been unintentional. He was not to blame\nfor the manner natural to the Castilian.\n\nBesides, he had little time for reflection; scarcely had he hastily wiped\noff with the little cloak that lay beside him the blood which covered the\nface of the prostrate man than he started back in horror, for the person\nwho had sought his life was the very one whom he had honoured with his\nhighest confidence, and had chosen as the teacher and companion of the\nwife who was dearer than his own existence.\n\nSome cruel misunderstanding, some pitiable mistake must have been at work\nhere, and he came upon the right trail speedily enough.\n\nThe hapless knight loved Barbara, and had taken him, Luis, for her\nbetrayer and nocturnal visitor.\n\nFatal error of the Emperor, whose lamentable consequences were already\nbeginning!\n\nWith sincere repentance for his needlessly violent act of defence, he\nbent over the severely injured man. His heart was still beating, but\ndoubtless on account of the great loss of blood--it throbbed with\nalarming weakness. Don Luis also soon found a wound in the skull, which\nappeared to be fractured.\n\nIf speedy aid was not rendered, the unfortunate man was lost.\n\nQuijada laid Wolf's head quickly and carefully on his cloak, which he\nplaced in a roll beneath it, and then hurried to the Red Cock, where one\nservant was just opening the door and another was leading out two horses.\nThe latter was Jan, Wolf's Netherland servant, who wanted to water the\nanimals before starting on the journey.\n\nHe instantly recognised the nobleman; but the latter had resolved to keep\nthe poor musician's attack a secret.\n\nAs Jan bowed respectfully to him, he ordered him and the servant of the\nRed Cock to leave everything and follow him. He had found a dead man in\nthe street.\n\nA few minutes after the three were standing at the steps of the house,\nbefore the object of their solicitude.\n\nThe groom of the Red Cock, who still held a lantern in his hand, though\ndawn was already beginning to glimmer faintly in the east, threw the\nlight upon the face of the bleeding form, and Jan exclaimed in grief and\nterror that the injured man was his master.\n\nThe Brabant lad wailed, and the German, who had known the \"precentor\ncavalier\" all his life, joined in the lamentation; but Quijada induced\nthem both to think only of saving the wounded nobleman.\n\nThe old groom, with savage imprecations upon the scoundrels who now\ninfested their quiet streets, raised the wounded man's head and told Jan\nto lift his feet. Both were familiar with the house, and, while the\nservants bore Wolf up the narrow stairs, the proud Spanish grandee\nlighted their way with the lantern, supporting the wounded man's injured\nhead, with his free hand. At the door of the young knight's rooms he told\nthe servants to attend to his needs, and then hurried back to the Golden\nCross.\n\nHe found a great bustle prevailing there. Tilted wagons were being loaded\nwith the regent's luggage, couriers and servants were rushing to and fro,\nand in the courtyard men were currying the horses which were to be ridden\non the journey.\n\nDon Luis paid no heed to all this, hastening first to the chapel to ask a\nyoung German chaplain to administer the sacrament to Sir Wolf\nHartschwert, to whose house he hurriedly directed him. Then going swiftly\nto the third story, he waked Dr. Mathys, the Emperor's leech.\n\nThe portly physician rubbed his eyes angrily; but as soon as he learned\nfor whom he was wanted and how serious was the injury, he showed the most\npraiseworthy haste and, with the attendant who carried his surgical\ninstruments and medicines, was standing beside the sufferer's couch\nalmost as soon as the wounded man.\n\nThe result of his examination was anything but gratifying.\n\nHe would gladly do all that his skill would permit for the knight, but in\nso serious a fracture of the skull only the special mercy of Heaven could\npreserve life.\n\nDr. Doll, the best physician in Ratisbon, assisted him with the\nbandaging, and old Ursel had suddenly recovered her lost strength.\n\nWhen the maid-servant asked timidly if she should not call Wawerl down\nfrom upstairs, she shrugged her shoulders with a movement which the\none-eyed girl understood, and which signified anything but acceptance of\nthe proposal.\n\nYet Barbara would perhaps have rendered most efficacious assistance.\n\nTrue, she was still sleeping the sound slumber of wearied youth. Directly\nafter her return from her imperial lover, she had gone to rest in the\nlittle chamber behind the bow-windowed room. It looked out upon the\ncourtyard, and was protected from the noise of the street. When she heard\nsounds in the house, she thought that old Ursel was ill and they were\nsummoning the doctor. For a moment she felt an impulse to rise and go\ndownstairs, but she did not like to leave her warm bed, and Wolf would\nmanage without her. She had always lacked patience to wait upon the sick,\nand Ursel had grown so harsh and disagreeable since she joined the\nProtestants. Finally, Barbara had brought home exquisite recollections of\nher illustrious lover, which must not be clouded by the suffering of the\nold woman, whom, besides, she could rarely please.\n\nShe did not learn what had happened until she went to mass, and then it\nweighed heavily upon her heart that she had not given Wolf her\nassistance, especially as she suspected, with strange certainty, that she\nherself was connected with this terrible misfortune.\n\nNow--ah, how gladly!--she would have helped Ursel with the nursing, but\nshe forbade her to enter the sick-room. The most absolute quiet must\nreign there. No one was permitted to cross the threshold except herself\nand an elderly nun, whom the Clares had sent for the sake of the wounded\nman's dead mother. A Dominican also soon came, whom the old woman could\nnot shut out because he was despatched by the Queen of Hungary, and the\nviolinist Massi, whom she gladly welcomed as a good friend of her Wolf.\nHe proved himself loyal, and devoted every leisure hour of the night to\nthe sufferer. Barbara knocked at the door very often, but Ursel persisted\nin refusing admittance. She knew that the girl had rejected her darling's\nproposal, and it was a satisfaction to her when, toward noon, the former\ntold her that she was about to leave the house to go to Prebrunn.\n\nA cart would convey her luggage, but it would be only lightly laden. Fran\nLerch went with the baggage.\n\nAn hour later Barbara herself moved into the little castle, which had\nbeen refurnished for her. Mounted upon a spirited bay horse from her\nPrebrunn stables, she rode beside the Marquise de Leria's huge litter to\nher new home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThe very harsh execrations which the regent bestowed upon pleasant\nRatisbon when she learned what had befallen Sir Wolf Hartschwert were\nbetter suited to the huntress than to the queen and sister of a mighty\nemperor.\n\nMurderous knaves who, in the heart of the city, close to the imperial\nprecincts, endangered the lives of peaceful people at night! It was\nunprecedented, and yet evidently only a result of the heretical abuses.\n\nShe had sprung into the saddle--she always travelled on horseback--in the\nworst possible mood, but had urged all who were near the Emperor\nCharles's person, and also the almoner Pedro de Soto, to remember the\nwounded man and do everything possible to aid his recovery.\n\nShe did not mention Barbara, even by a single word, in her farewell to\nher royal brother.\n\nThe latter had intended to accompany her a portion of the way, but a\ngreat quantity of work--not least in consequence of the loss of time\noccasioned by the new love life--had accumulated, and he therefore\npreferred to take leave of his sister in the courtyard of the Golden\nCross.\n\nThere, with his assistance, she mounted her horse.\n\nQuijada, who usually rendered her this service, stood aloof, silent and\npale. The regent had noticed it, and attributed his appearance to grief\nfor her departure. No one at court held a higher place in her regard, and\nit pleased her that he, too, found it so hard to do without her.\n\nAs her horse started, her last salute was to the monarch and to him.\n\nMalfalconnet, whose eyes were everywhere, noticed it, and whispered to\nthe Marquise de Leria, who was standing beside him: \"Either Don Luis\nwould do well to intrust himself to our Mathys's treatment, or this\ngentleman is an accomplished actor, or our most gracious lady has\ntampered with the fidelity of this most loyal husband, and the\npaternosters and pilgrimages of Dona Magdalena de Ulloa have been vain.\"\n\nA few minutes after, the Emperor Charles was sitting at the writing table\nexamining, with the Bishop of Arras, a mountain of reports and documents.\nTwo or three hours elapsed ere he received ambassadors and gave\naudiences, and during that time Quijada was not needed by his royal\nmaster.\n\nHe had previously had leisure only to provide for the wounded man,\ncleanse himself from blood, change his dress, bid Queen Mary farewell,\nand bandage the hurt afresh. He had done this with his own hands because\nhe distrusted the reticence of his extremely skilful but heedless French\nvalet.\n\nWhen he returned to his lodgings, Master Adrian followed him, and\nmodestly, yet with all the warmth of affection which he felt for this\ntrue friend of his master, entreated him to permit him to speak freely.\nHe had perceived, not only by the pallor of Don Luis's cheeks, but other\nsigns, that he was suffering, and in the name of his wife, who, when her\nhusband was summoned from her side, had urged him with the earnestness of\nanxious love to watch over him, begged him not to force himself beyond\nhis strength to perform his service, if his sufferings corresponded with\nhis appearance.\n\nDon Luis looked sharply into the faithful face, and what he found there\ninduced him to admit that he was concealing a wound. Adrian silently\nbeckoned to him, and led the way into his own room, where he entreated\nDon Luis to show him the injury. When he saw it, his by no means mobile\nfeatures blanched.\n\nHe knew that Quijada had accompanied Barbara home that night. On this\nerrand, he was sure of it, Don Luis must have received this serious wound\nat the same time as Wolf, or even obtained it from the young knight\nhimself. Besides, he felt certain that the object of the Emperor's love\nwas connected with both disasters. Yet not a word which could have\nresembled a question escaped his beardless lips while he examined, sewed,\nand bandaged the deep sword thrust with the skill and care of a surgeon.\n\nWhen he had finished his task, he thanked Don Luis for the confidence\nreposed in him.\n\nQuijada pressed his hand gratefully, and begged him to do his best that\nno one, not even the Emperor, should learn anything about this vexatious\nmischance. Then, not from curiosity, for grave motives, he desired to\nknow what relations existed between Sir Wolf Hartschwert and Barbara.\n\nThe answer was somewhat delayed, for Wolf had won the affection of the\ninfluential valet, and what Master Adrian had learned concerning the\nyoung knight's personal affairs from himself, his own wife in Brussels,\nand the violinist Massi, he would have confided to no one on earth except\nQuijada, and perhaps not even to him had he not accompanied his inquiry\nwith the assurance that what he intrusted to him would remain buried in\nhis soul, and be used only for Wolf's advantage.\n\nThis promise loosed the cautious valet's tongue. He knew his man, and,\nwhen Don Luis also desired to learn whether the knight had already\ndiscovered that Barbara was now the Emperor's love, he thought he could\nanswer in the negative.\n\nWhat he had heard of Wolf's relation to Barbara was only that the two had\nspent their early youth in the same house, that the knight loved the\nsinger, but that she had rejected his suit.\n\nThis avowal appeared to satisfy Quijada, and it really did calm him. He\nnow believed that Wolf had misjudged him, and, supposing that he was\ncoming from a meeting with the girl he loved, had drawn his sword against\nhim. The manner in which he had attempted to rid himself of the rival\nseemed criminal enough, yet the nocturnal attack had scarcely concerned\nhim personally, and he would not condemn the man who was usually so calm\nand sensible without having heard him.\n\nIf Wolf lived--and he desired it from his heart--this act, which he\nappeared to have committed in a fit of blind jealousy, should do him no\ninjury.\n\nWith a warm clasp of the hand, which united these two men more firmly\nthan a long period of mutual intercourse, each went his way in quiet\ncontent.\n\nIn the afternoon Master Adrian was sent out to Prebrunn to announce to\nBarbara a visit from the Emperor after vespers.\n\nWolf, it is true, had told her many things about Adrian Dubois, and\ninformed her how much pleasure he had had at Brussels in visiting him and\nhis sensible, cheerful wife, how implicitly the Emperor trusted him, how\nfaithfully he served him, how highly the ambassadors and the most\naristocratic gentlemen esteemed him, and how great an advantage it had\nbeen to him, Wolf, to possess his friendship; yet she thought proper to\ntreat the valet with the haughty reserve which beseemed her as the\nEmperor's favourite, and which yesterday evening had won the approval of\nthe Wittenberg theologian and of Wolf.\n\nBut Master Adrian appeared to take no notice of her manner, and performed\nhis errand with businesslike composure.\n\nThe Emperor Charles wished to know how she liked her new home.\n\nIn reality she had found its beauty and comfort far beyond her\nexpectations, had clapped her hands in surprise when she was conducted by\nthe marquise through the new abode, and, under the guidance of the house\nsteward Steen, had been shown the kitchen, the stable, the four horses,\nand the garden. In her reception-room she found a lute and a harp of\nexquisitely beautiful workmanship, and a small Milan cabinet made of\nebony inlaid with ivory, in which was a heavy casket bound with silver.\nThe key had been given to her the evening before by the regent herself,\nand when Barbara opened it she discovered so many shining zecchins and\nducats that a long time was occupied when she obeyed Fran Lerch's request\nto count them.\n\nThe dressmaker from the Grieb was already in her service, and had been a\nwitness of her sincere delight and grateful pleasure. The second hour\nafter their arrival she had helped her to employ Frau Lamperi, the maid\nwhom the steward called the 'garde-robiere', and had already been to the\ncity herself to buy, for her fortunate \"darling\" costly but, on account\nof the approach of summer, light materials. But she had seen Master\nAdrian corning, and, while he was passing through the garden, gave her\nthe advice by no means to praise what she found here, but to appear as\nthough she had been accustomed to such surroundings, and found this and\nthat not quite worthy of her, but needing addition and improvement.\n\nAt first Barbara had succeeded in assuming the airs of the spoiled lady,\nbut when Adrian, with prosaic definiteness, asked for details, and she\nsaw herself compelled to begin the game of dissimulation anew, it grew\nrepugnant to her.\n\nTo her artist nature every restraint soon became irksome, especially so\nunpleasant a one, which was opposed to her character, and ere she was her\nself aware of it she was again the vivacious Wawerl, and frankly and\nfreely expressed her pleasure in the beautiful new things she owed to her\nlover's kindness.\n\nA smile, so faint and brief that Barbara did not perceive it, was\nhovering meanwhile around the valet's thin lips. The causes of this\nstrange change of opinion and mood would have been sufficiently\nintelligible to him, even had he not perceived one of the reproving\nglances which Frau Lerch cast at Barbara.\n\nShe, too, had met one; but since she had once obeyed the impulse of her\nown nature, and felt content in doing so, she troubled herself no further\nabout the monitor, and there was nothing in her new home which was not\nfar more beautiful than what she had had in the precentor's modest house.\n\nThe marquise displeased her most deeply, and this also she plainly told\nMaster Adrian, and begged him to inform his Majesty, with her dutiful\ngreeting. His best gift was the precaution which he had taken that she\nshould live apart from the old monkey.\n\nThe valet received this commission, like all the former ones, with a\nslight, grave bow.\n\nOn the whole, the experienced man was not ill-pleased with her, only it\nseemed to him strange that Barbara did not mention the serious misfortune\nwhich had befallen Wolf; yet she knew from his own lips that he loved the\nknight, and had learned that the latter's life was in serious danger.\n\nSo he turned the conversation to his young friend, and in an instant a\nremarkable change took place in Barbara. Wolf's sorrowful fate and severe\nwound had weighed heavily upon her heart, but what the present brought\nwas so novel and varied that it had crowded the painful event, near as\nwas the past to which it belonged, into the shadow.\n\nShe now desired to know who the murderer was who had attacked him, and\ncursed him with impetuous wrath. She thought it base and shameful that\nshe had been denied access to his couch.\n\nPoor, poor Wolf!\n\nOf all the men on earth, he was the best! Meanwhile tears of genuine\ncompassion flowed from her eyes and, with passionate vehemence, she\ndeclared that no power in the world should keep her from him. The mere\nsound of her voice, she knew, would be a cordial to him.\n\nSo Master Adrian had not been mistaken.\n\nIt was not only in song that she was capable of deep feeling, and the\nlove which had seized the Emperor Charles so late, and yet so powerfully,\nhad not gone far astray.\n\nHe could scarcely have bestowed it upon a more beautiful woman. While\npleasure in her new surroundings held sway over her, it was a real\npleasure to see her face. But this creature, so richly gifted by the\ngrace of God, was not suited for his modest young friend; this had become\nespecially evident to him when an almost evil expression escaped her lips\nwhile she emptied the vial of her wrath upon Wolf's murderer.\n\nIf she deemed herself worthy of his master's love, she would not lack\nAdrian's protection, which was the more effective the more persistently\nhe refrained from asking of the Emperor's favour even the slightest thing\nfor himself, his wife, or others; that the time would come when she would\nneed it, he was certain.\n\nNo one knew the Emperor so well as he, and he saw before him the cliffs\nwhich threatened to shatter the little ship of this love bond. Already an\nimprudent violation of his extreme sense of the dignity of majesty, or of\nthe confidence which he bestowed upon her, might become fatal to it.\n\nBut, ardently as she might return his love, loyal and discreet as her\nconduct might be, there were other grave perils menacing the tie which\nunited the Emperor to Barbara.\n\nCharles was a man of action, of work, of fulfilment of duty. The moment\nthat he perceived this love bond would impede his progress toward the\nlofty goals to which he aspired might easily mark the beginning of its\nend.\n\nNow, in the midst of peace, such a result was scarcely to be feared; but\nif it came to fighting--and many a sign showed Adrian that war was not\nfar distant--a great change would take place in his master's character;\nthe general would assert his rights. Every other consideration would then\nbe pitilessly thrust aside and, if Charles still remained loyal to his\naffection, he would have fallen under the spell of one of those great\npassions which defy every assault of time and circumstance and find an\nend only in death. But the sharp-sighted man could not believe in such\nlove on his master's part; in his nature the claims of reason threw those\nof the heart too far into the shade. If Barbara was wise, her daily\nprayer should be for the maintenance of peace.\n\nTo speak of these fears to the care-free girl would have been cruel, but\nhe could probably give her a useful hint as opportunity offered.\n\nAccustomed to perform his duty silently and, where speech was necessary,\nto study the utmost brevity, he had not learned the art of clothing his\nthoughts in pleasing forms. So, without circumlocution, he whispered to\nBarbara the advice to send away Frau Lerch, who was not fit for her\nservice, and as soon as possible to dismiss her entirely.\n\nThe girl flew into a rage, and no whisper or urgency from another, but\nher own unbridled, independent nature, which during continual struggle\nhad been steeled to assert herself, in spite of her poverty, among the\nrich companions of her own rank, as well as the newly awakened haughty\nconsciousness that now, as the object of the mightiest monarch's love,\nshe was exalted far above the companions of her own rank--led her to\nrebuff the warning of the well-meaning man with a sharpness that it ill\nbeseemed one so much younger to use toward the Emperor's gray-haired\nmessenger.\n\nThe valet shrugged his shoulders compassionately, and his regular\nfeatures, whose expression varied only under the influence of strong,\ndeep feelings, distinctly betrayed how sincerely he lamented her conduct.\n\nBarbara noticed it, and instantly remembered what Wolf had told her about\nhim and his wife. She did not think of the influence which he exercised\nupon the Emperor and the service which he might render her, but all the\nmore vividly of his steadfast, devoted loyalty, and what he was and had\naccomplished for the man whom she loved, and, seized with sincere\nrepentance, obeying a powerful impulse, she held out her hand with frank\ncordiality just as he was already bowing in farewell. Adrian hesitated a\nmoment.\n\nWhat did this mean?\n\nWhat accident was causing this new change of feeling in this April day of\na girl?\n\nBut when her sparkling blue eyes gazed at him so brightly and at the same\ntime so plainly showed that she knew she had wronged him, he clasped the\nhand, and his face again wore a friendly expression.\n\nThen Barbara laughed in her bewitching, bell-like tones and, like a\nnaughty child begging forgiveness for a trivial fault, asked him gaily\nnot to take offence at her foolish arrogance. All the new things here had\nsomewhat turned her silly brain. She knew how faithfully he served her\nCharles, and for that reason she could not help liking him already.\n\n\"If you have any cause to find fault with me,\" she concluded merrily,\n\"out with it honestly.\" Then addressing Frau Lerch, not as though she\nwere speaking to a servant, but to an older friend, she asked her to\nleave her alone with Herr Adrian a short time; but she insisted\npositively on having her own way when the dressmaker remarked that she\ndid not know why, after the greatest secret of all had been forced upon\nher, her discretion should be distrusted.\n\nAs soon as she had retired the valet entreated Barbara to beware of the\nadvice of this woman, whose designs he saw perfectly. He, Adrian, would\nwish her to have a companion of nobler nature and more delicate\nperceptions.\n\nBut this warning seemed scarcely endurable to Barbara. Although she did\nnot fly into a passion again, she asked in an irritated tone whether\nAdrian had been granted the power of looking into another's soul. What\nshe perceived with absolute certainty in Frau Lerch, who, as her dead\nmother's maid, had tended her as a child, was great faithfulness and\nsecrecy and the most skilful hands. Still, she promised to remember his\nwell-meant counsel.\n\nAdrian's warning always to consider what a position her lord occupied in\nthe world, and to beware of crossing the border line which separated the\nmonarch from his subjects, and even from those who were of the highest\nrank and dearest to him, was gratefully received, for she remembered the\nsharp rebuff which she had already experienced from her lover. It proved\nthis excellent man's good will toward her, and her eyes fairly hung upon\nhis lips as he informed her of some of his master's habits and\npeculiarities which she must regard. He warned her, with special\nearnestness, not to allow herself to be used by others to win favour or\npardon for themselves or their kindred. She might perhaps find means for\nit later; now she would at once awaken in the extremely suspicious\nmonarch doubt of her unselfishness.\n\nThis was certainly good advice, and Barbara confessed to the valet that\nthe marquise had requested her at dinner that day to intercede for her\nunfortunate son, who, unluckily, had the misfortune to be misunderstood\nby the Emperor Charles. Master Adrian had expected something of the kind,\nfor the lady in waiting had more than once urged him also to obtain his\nMajesty's pardon for this ruined profligate, the shame of his noble race.\nHe had persistently refused this request, and now enjoined it upon\nBarbara to follow his example. Before leaving her, he undertook to send\nher tidings of Wolf's health now and then by the violinist Massi, as he\nhad not leisure to do it himself. At the same time he earnestly entreated\nher to repress her wish to see the sufferer again, and to bear in mind\nthat she could receive no visitor, take no step in this house or in the\ncity, which would not be known in the Golden Cross.\n\nBarbara passionately demanded to know the spy who was watching her, and\nwhether she must beware specially of the marquise, her French maid, the\nSpanish priest who accompanied the old woman as her confessor, the\ngarde-robiere Lamperi, who nevertheless had a good face, or who else\namong the servants.\n\nOn this point, however, the valet would or could give no information. He\nknew only his master's nature. Just as he was better acquainted with\nevery province than the most experienced governor, with every band of\nsoldiers than the sergeant, so nothing escaped him which concerned the\nprivate lives of those whom he valued. It need not grieve her that he\nwatched her so carefully. Her acts and conduct would not become a matter\nof indifference to him until he withdrew his confidence from her or his\nlove grew cold.\n\nThe deep impression which this information made upon the girl surprised\nAdrian. While he was speaking her large eyes dilated more and more, and\nwith hurried breathing she listened until he had finished. Then pressing\nboth hands upon her temples, she frantically exclaimed: \"But that is\nhorrible! it is base and unworthy! I will not be a prisoner--! will not,\ncan not bear it! My whole heart is his, and never belonged to any other;\nbut, rather than be unable to take a step that is not watched, like the\nSultan's female slaves, I will return to my father.\"\n\nHere she hesitated; for the first time since she had entered Prebrunn she\nremembered the old man who for her sake had been sent out into the world.\nBut she soon went on more calmly: \"I even permitted my father to be taken\nfrom me and sent away, perhaps to death. I gave everything to my\nsovereign, and if he wants my life also,\" she continued with fresh\nemotion, \"he may have it; but the existence of a caged bird!--that will\ndestroy me.\"\n\nHere the sensible man interrupted her with the assurance that no one,\nlast of all his Majesty, thought of restricting her liberty more than was\nreasonable. She would be permitted to walk and to use her horses exactly\nas she pleased, only the object of her walks and rides must be one which\nshe could mention to her royal lover without timidity.\n\nBarbara, still with quickened breathing, then put the question how she\ncould know this; and Adrian, with a significant smile, replied that her\nheart would tell her, and if it should ever err--of this he was\ncertain--the Emperor Charles.\n\nWith these words he took leave of her to go, on behalf of his master, to\nthe marquise, and Barbara stood motionless for some time, gazing after\nhim.\n\nIn the Golden Cross Quijada asked Adrian what he thought of the singer,\nand it was some time ere he answered deliberately: \"If only I knew\nexactly myself, your lordship--I am only a plain man, who wishes every\none the best future. Here I do so out of regard for his Majesty, Sir Wolf\nHartschwert, and the inexperienced youth of this marvellously beautiful\ncreature. But if you were to force me by the rack to form a definite\nopinion of her, I could not do it. The most favourable would not be too\ngood, the reverse scarcely too severe. To reconcile such contrasts is\nbeyond my power. She is certainly something unusual, that will fit no\nmould with which I am familiar.\"\n\n\"If you had a son,\" asked Don Luis, \"would you receive her gladly as a\ndaughter-in-law?\"\n\nA gesture of denial from the valet gave eloquent expression of his\nopinion; but Quijada went on in a tone of anxious inquiry: \"Then what\nwill she whom he loves be to the master whose happiness and peace are as\ndear to you as to me?\"\n\nAdrian started, and answered firmly: \"For him, it seems to me, she will\nperhaps be the right one, for what power could she assert against his?\nAnd, besides, there is something in his Majesty, as well as in this girl,\nwhich distinguishes them from other mortals. What do I mean by that? I\nsee and hear it, but I can neither exactly understand nor name it.\"\n\n\"That might be difficult even for a more adroit speaker,\" replied\nQuijada; \"but I think I know to what you allude. You and I, Master\nAdrian, have hearts in our breasts, like thousands of other people, and\nin our heads what is termed common sense. In his Majesty something else\nis added. It seems as though he has at command a messenger from heaven\nwho brings him thought and decisions.\"\n\n\"That's it!\" exclaimed Adrian eagerly; \"and whenever she raises her voice\nto sing, a second one stands by the side of this Barbara Blomberg.\"\n\n\"Only we do not yet know,\" observed Quijada anxiously, \"whether this\nsecond one with the singer is a messenger from heaven, like his\nMajesty's, or an emissary of hell.\"\n\nThe valet shrugged his shoulders irresolutely, and said quietly: \"How\ncould I venture to express an opinion about so noble an art? But when I\nwas listening to the hymn to the Virgin yesterday, it seemed as if an\nangel from heaven was singing from her lips.\"\n\n\"Let us hope that you may be right,\" replied the other. \"But no matter! I\nthink I know whence comes the invisible ally his Majesty has at his\ndisposal. It is the Holy Ghost that sends him--there is no doubt of it!\nHis control is visible everywhere. With miraculous power he urges him on\nin advance of all others, and even of himself. This becomes most\ndistinctly perceptible in war.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" declared the valet, \"and your lordship has surely hit the\nright clew. For\"--he glanced cautiously around him and lowered his\nvoice--\"whenever I put on my master's armour I always feel how he is\ntrembling--yes, trembling, your lordship. His face is livid, and the\ndrops of perspiration on his brow are not due solely to the heat.\"\n\n\"And then,\" cried Quijada, his black eyes sparkling with a fiery\nlight--\"then in his agitation he scarcely knows what he is doing as I\nhold the stirrup for him. But when, once in his saddle, his divine\ncompanion descends to him, he dashes upon the foe like a whirlwind and,\nwherever he strikes, how the chips fly! The strongest succumb to his\nblows. 'Victory! victory!' men shout exultingly wherever he goes. Even in\nthe last accursed Algerian defeat his helper was at his side; for,\nAdrian\"--here he, too, lowered his voice--\"without him and his wonderful\npower every living soul of us, down to the last boat and camp follower,\nwould have been destroyed.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Catholic, but his stomach desired to be Protestant (Erasmus)\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nAfter this conversation the two men who, in different positions, stood\nnearest to the Emperor Charles, placed no obstacle in Barbara's way.\n\nThe third--the Bishop of Arras--also showed a friendly spirit toward the\nEmperor's love affair. True, he had not been taken into his confidence,\nbut he rarely failed to be present when Barbara sang with the boy choir,\nor alone, in the Golden Cross, before the monarch or distinguished\nguests.\n\nCharles summoned her there almost daily, and always at different hours.\n\nThis was done to strengthen the courtiers and the citizens of Ratisbon in\nthe belief that Barbara owed his favour solely to her singing.\n\nGranvelle, who appreciated and was interested in music as well as in\npainting and sculpture, found real pleasure in listening to Barbara, yet\nwhile doing so he did not forget that she might be of service to him. If\nshe only remained on good terms with him she would, he was sure of that,\nwhether willing or not, be used as his tool.\n\nSpite of his nine-and-twenty years, he forbade himself to cherish any\nother wishes, because he would have regarded it treachery to the royal\nmaster whom he served with faithful devotion. But, as he accepted great\ngifts without ever allowing himself to be tempted to treason or\nforgetfulness of duty, so he did not reject little tokens of friendliness\nfrom Barbara, and of these she showed no lack. The young Bishop of Arras\nwas also an extremely fine-looking man, whose clever brain and bright,\npenetrating glance harmonized with his great intellect and his position.\nWolf had already told her how much the monarch regarded the opinion of\nthis counsellor.\n\nThe fourth person whose good will had been represented to her as valuable\nwas the almoner, Pedro de Soto; but he, who usually understood how to pay\nhomage to beautiful women in the most delicate manner, kept rigidly\naloof.\n\nTrue, he had placed no obstacle in the way of the late kindling of the\nheart of his imperial master, but since his servant's report, from which\nit appeared that Barbara was on friendly terms with heretics, and\ntherefore cherished but a lukewarm devotion to her own faith, she was no\nlonger the same to him. In Spain this would have been enough to deliver\nher to the Holy Inquisition. Here, however, matters were different.\nEverywhere he saw the lambs associating with the wolves, and the larger\nnumber of the relatives of the Emperor's love had become converts to\nheresy. Therefore indulgence was demanded, and De Soto would have gladly\nbeen convinced of Barbara's orthodoxy under such difficult circumstances.\nBut if it proved that the girl not only associated with heretics, but\ninclined to their error, then gentle inaction must be transformed into\ninexorable sternness, even though the rejuvenating power which she\nexerted upon the monarch were tenfold stronger than it doubtless was; for\nwhat danger might threaten the Emperor and Christianity from the\nbewitching woman who seemed to love Charles, if she undertook to\ninfluence him in favour of the new doctrines, which, in the eyes of every\nearnest Dominican, the Emperor treated far too leniently!\n\nHe, the confessor, even knew that Charles considered several demands of\nthe Protestants to which the Church could never consent, entirely\njustifiable--nay, that he deemed a reformation of the Church by the\ncouncil now in session at Trent extremely desirable.\n\nTherefore it was a duty to withhold from him every influence which could\nfavour these pernicious views and wishes, and Pedro de Soto had also been\nyoung and knew only too well what power so beautiful a woman, with such\nbewitching gifts, could exert upon the man whose heart cherishes her.\n\nSo, immediately after Barbara's entrance into Prebrunn, the confessor\nadopted his measures. Although the conversation to which he subjected her\nhad resulted in her favour, he had deemed it beneficial to place a priest\nwho was devoted to him among the ecclesiastics in the little castle.\n\nTo surround her with spies chosen from the lay class was repugnant to his\nlofty nature. Besides, they would have been superfluous; for a short time\nbefore his servant Cassian had asked permission to marry the marquise's\nFrench maid, and Alphonsine, who was neither young nor pretty, was\ninclined to all sorts of intrigues. She supplied slow, pious Cassian's\ndeficiencies in the best possible manner. A chance word from the\ndistinguished prelate had sufficed to make it their duty to watch Barbara\nand her visitors.\n\nIn Alphonsine's mistress, the Marquise de Leria, the almoner also\npossessed a willing tale-bearer. She had avoided him since his refusal to\ncommend her ruined son to the favour of his imperial penitent. Now,\nunasked, she had again approached him, and her explanation first gave\nmany an apparently unimportant communication from the servants its real\nvalue.\n\nThe atmosphere of the court was her vital air. Even when she had\nvoluntarily offered to take Barbara under her charge, in a secluded house\nin the suburb, she had been aware how greatly she would miss the presence\nof royalty. Yet she would have endured far more difficult things, for a\nthousand signs betrayed that this time his Majesty's heart had not been\nmerely superficially touched, and Barbara's traits of character made it\nappear probable that, like many a beauty at the court of Francis I of\nFrance, she might obtain an influence over the Emperor. If this occurred,\nthe marquise had found the most powerful tool for the deliverance of her\nson.\n\nThis hope filled the old noblewoman's heart and brain. It was her last,\nfor the Emperor was the only person who could save the worthless idol of\nher soul from ruin, and yet, when she had grovelled at his knees in her\ndespair, she received an angry repulse and the threat of being instantly\ndeprived of her position if she ever again attempted to speak to him\nabout this vexatious matter. She knew only too well that Charles would\nkeep his word, and therefore had already induced every person whom she\nbelieved possessed even a small share of influence over the monarch to\nintercede for her, but they had been no less sharply rebuffed than\nherself; for the sovereign, usually so indulgent to the reckless pranks\nof the young nobles, would not even hear the name of the aristocratic\nsharper, who was said to have sold the plans of the fortifications to\nFrance.\n\nCharles now loved a woman whom, with swift presence of mind, she had\nbound to herself, and what no one else had succeeded in doing Barbara\nmight accomplish.\n\nTherefore the marquise had retired to the solitude which she hated, and\nhourly humbled herself to cringing flattery of a creature whom, on\naccount of her birth, she scorned.\n\nBut Barbara was warned and, difficult as it often was for her to\nwithstand the humble entreaties to which the old lady in waiting\nfrequently condescended, persisted in her refusal.\n\nYet the unhappy mother did not give up hope, for as soon as the singer\ncommitted any act which she was obliged to conceal she could obtain power\nover her. So she kept her eyes open and, whenever the Emperor sought the\nyoung girl and was alone with her, she stole into the garden and peered\nthrough the badly fitting window shutters into the lighted room which was\nthe scene of the happiness of the ill-matched lovers.\n\nWhat she overheard, however, only increased the feeling of powerlessness\nagainst the hated creature whom she so urgently needed; for the\ntenderness which Charles showed Barbara was so great that it not only\nfilled the marquise with surprise and bitter envy, but also awakened the\nconviction that it must be a small matter for the singer to obtain from\nso ardent a lover far greater things than she had asked.\n\nSo she continued to watch and listen unweariedly, day after day and\nevening after evening, but always in vain. She had not the most trivial\nthing for which Barbara could be seriously reproached to report to the\nconfessor; yet De Soto desired nothing better, for Barbara still exerted\nan extremely favourable influence upon the Emperor's mood. Therefore it\nvexed him that Cassian informed him of many things which prevented his\nrelying firmly upon her orthodoxy.\n\nAt any rate, there were Protestants among her visitors and,\nunfortunately, they included Herr Peter Schlumperger, whom De Soto knew\nas an active promoter of the apostasy of the Ratisbon burghers. He had\ncalled upon her the second day after her arrival and remained a long time\nbut, it is true, had not appeared again. With the others also she held no\nregular intercourse--nay, she scarcely seemed to enjoy their visits. Thus\nthe daughters of the Woller family from the Ark, who had appeared one\nafternoon, had been detained only a little longer by her than other\nProtestant matrons and maidens.\n\nAll this was scarcely sufficient to foster his anxiety; but Cassian\nreported one visit with which the case was different. Barbara had not\nonly received this guest alone, but she had kept him more than an hour,\nand the servant could swear that the young man to whom she sang long\nsongs--which, it is true, sounded like church music--to the lute and also\nto the harp, was Erasmus Eckhart, the adopted son of the archtraitor, Dr.\nHiltner, who had just obtained the degree of Master of Arts in\nWittenberg. This seemed suspicious, and induced De Soto to investigate\nthe matter thoroughly.\n\nErasmus had come in the morning, at a time when the Emperor never visited\nBarbara. Nothing remarkable had taken place during their interview, but\nCassian had heard her dismiss him with a warning which, even to a less\ndistrustful person, would have seemed suspicious. Why had she assured the\nWittenberg theologian, as she extended her hand to him in farewell, that\nwhat he offered her had given her great pleasure, and she would gladly\ninvite him to bring her similar things often, but must deny herself this\ngratification from motives which he could imagine? His urgent entreaty at\nleast to be permitted to call on her sometimes she had curtly and\npositively refused, but the Wittenberg heretic did not allow himself to\nbe rebuffed, for Cassian had seen him several times in the neighbourhood\nof the castle.\n\nThere was as little cause to object to the visits paid to her by Gombert,\nAppenzelder, Damian Feys, occasionally some noblemen or guests of the\ncourt, and once even by no less a personage than the Bishop of Arras, as\nto the rides she took every afternoon; for the latter were always under\nthe charge of Herr de Fours, an old equerry of the Emperor, and in the\ncompany of several courtiers, among whom Baron Malfalconnet was often\nincluded. A number of gay young pages always belonged to this brilliant\ncavalcade, whose number never lacked the handsome sixteen-year-old Count\nTassis, who spent his whole large stock of pocket money in flowers which\nhe sent every morning to Barbara.\n\nThe confessor was glad to hear that the estimable violinist Massi\nfrequently visited the girl, for he was firm in the faith, and that he\nbrought her tidings of the sorely wounded Sir Wolf Hartschwert could only\nbe beneficial, for perhaps he warned her of the seriousness of life and\nthat there were other things here below than the joy of love, jest, and\nlaughter. The almoner's doubt of Wolf's orthodoxy had been entirely\ndispelled by his confession. Men do not deceive in the presence of death.\n\nIt would have been a genuine boon had Barbara selected him to open her\nheart to him in the confessional, for her relation to the wounded man\nrendered it difficult for him to trust her entirely.\n\nWolf's thoughts in his fever constantly dwelt upon her, and he sometimes\naccused her of the basest treachery, sometimes coupled her name with\nMalfalconnet's, sometimes with Luis Quijada's. The Emperor's, on the\ncontrary, he had not mentioned.\n\nHe must love Barbara with ardent passion, and she, too, still seemed\nwarmly attached to him, for to see him again she had bravely exposed\nherself to serious danger.\n\nEye and ear witnesses had reported that, notwithstanding his Majesty's\npositive orders to avoid her old home, she had entered the house and the\nknight's apartments, knelt beside his couch, and even kissed his weak,\nburning hand with tender devotion.\n\nBut though she still retained a portion of her former affection for Wolf\nHartschwert, she loved the Emperor Charles with passionate fervour. Even\nthe marquise did not venture to doubt this. Often as she had watched the\nmeetings of the lovers, she had marvelled at the youthful ardour of the\nmonarch, the joyous excitement with which Barbara awaited him, and her\nsorrowful depression when he left her. During the first week the old\nnoblewoman thought that she had never met a happier pair. The almoner\ndeemed it unworthy of him to listen to a report of the caresses which she\nscornfully mentioned.\n\nThe time even came when he no longer needed confirmation from others, and\nforbade himself to doubt Barbara's fidelity to her religion; for at the\nend of the first week in Prebrunn she had desired to ask a servant of the\nChurch what she must do to make herself worthy of such abundance of the\nhighest happiness, and to atone for the sin she was committing through\nher love.\n\nIn doing so she had opened her heart to the confessor with childlike\nfrankness, and what De Soto heard on this occasion sincerely delighted\nhim and endeared to him this thoroughly sound, beautiful creature\novermastered by a first great passion. He believed her, and indignantly\nrejected what the spies afterward brought to him.\n\nYet he did not close his ears to the marquise when, in her clever,\nentertaining way, she told him what, against her will, she had overheard\nin consequence of the careless construction of the little castle, built\nonly for a summer residence, or had seen during a walk in the garden when\nthe shutters, through forgetfulness, had not been closed.\n\nHow should he not have heard gladly that the monarch, at every interview\nwith Barbara, listened to her singing with special pleasure?\n\nAt first she chose grave, usually even religious songs, and among them\nCharles's favourite was the \"Quia amore langueo.\"\n\nTo listen to these deeply felt tones of yearning always seemed to possess\na fresh charm for him.\n\nNo wonder!\n\nThe singer understood how to produce a new effect each time by means of\nwonderful gradations of expression in the comprehension and execution.\n\nOnce she had also succeeded in cheering her lover with Perissone Cambio's\nmerry singing lesson on the 'ut re mi fa sol', and again with Willaert's\nlaughing song, \"Sempre mi ridesta.\"\n\nTwo days later there had again been a great deal of laughing because\nBarbara undertook to sing to his Majesty another almost recklessly merry\nsong by the same composer. The marquise knew it, and declared that\nBarbara's style and voice did not suit such things. She admitted that her\nexecution of serious, especially religious and solemn compositions, was\nnot amiss--nay, often it was wonderfully fine--but in such secular tunes\nher real nature appeared too plainly, and the skilful singer became a\nBacchante.\n\nIt had been a sorry pleasure to her to watch the boisterous manner and\nsinging of this creature, who had been far too highly favoured by the\ncaprice of Fortune.\n\nThese reckless songs, unless she was mistaken, had also been by no means\npleasing to his Majesty. The light had fallen directly upon his face just\nas she happened to glance up at the house from under the group of\nlindens, and she had distinctly seen him angrily thrust out his lower\nlip, which every one near his person knew was a sign of extreme\ndispleasure.\n\nBut the girl had gone beyond all bounds. Old as she was, she could not\nhelp blushing at the mere thought of it. In her reckless mood she had\nprobably forgotten that she had drawn her imperial lover into her net by\narts of an entirely different nature. The almoner listened incredulously,\nfor in his youth the Emperor Charles had joined in the wildest songs of\nthe soldiery, and had well understood, on certain occasions, how to be\nmerry with the merry, laugh and carouse in a Flemish tavern. After the\nconfession the almoner heard things to which he would gladly have shut\nhis ears, though they proved that the time which the marquise had spent\nat the French court had benefited her powers of observation.\n\nThree days before the Emperor, for the first time, had seriously found\nfault with Barbara.\n\nIt had been impossible for the lady in waiting to discover the cause; but\nwhat she knew certainly was that her lover's censure had roused the girl\nto vehement contradiction, and that his Majesty, after a sharp reply, had\nbeen on the point of leaving her. True, the reckless beauty had repented\nher imprudent outburst of wrath speedily enough, and had understood how\nto conciliate the far too indulgent sovereign by such humility and such\nsweet tenderness that he probably must have forgiven her--at least the\nfarewell had been as affectionate as ever.\n\nNevertheless, on the following evening, for the first time, he did not\ncome to the castle, and the marquise had feared that the Emperor might\nnow withdraw his favour from Barbara, which would have been too soon for\nher own wishes.\n\nBut yesterday evening, after sunset, the dark litter, to the old\nnoblewoman's relief, had again stopped behind the garden gate, and the\npleasure of having her lover again had so deeply overjoyed Barbara that\nhe, too, was infected by her radiant delight.\n\nThen, in the midst of the most tender caresses, he had been summoned out\nof the room, and when he returned, with frowning brow, the marquise had\nwitnessed at least the commencement of a scene which seemed to justify\nher opinion that his Majesty: would have no taste for Barbara's utter\nfreedom from restraint and gay secular songs.\n\nUnfortunately, she had been prematurely driven from her post of\nobservation; but she had seen the Emperor come in, and Barbara, without\nnoticing his altered expression, or rather, probably, to cheer him by\nsomething especially merry, gaily began Baldassare Donati's superb\ndancing-master's song, \"Qui la gagliarda vuol imparare,\" at the same time\nin the merriest, most graceful manner imitating the movements of the\ngagliarda dancer.\n\nBut Charles soon interrupted her, sharply requesting her to sing\nsomething else or cease entirely for that day.\n\nStartled, she again asked forgiveness, and then pleaded in justification\nthe universally acknowledged beauty of this charming song, which Maestro\nGombert also admired; but the Emperor flew into a passion, and cut her\nshort with the loud remark that he was not in the habit of having his own\njudgment corrected by the opinion of others. The jest did all honour to\nthe skill and merry mood of the composer, but the contrary might be said\nof the singer who ventured to sing it to a person in whom it could awaken\nonly bitter feelings.\n\nBut when, so painfully surprised that her eyes filled with tears, she\nconfessed that her selection perhaps had not been very appropriate, and\nsadly added the inquiry why her beloved sovereign condemned a trivial\noffence so harshly, he wrathfully exclaimed, \"For more than one reason.\"\n\nThen, rising, he paced the room several times with a somewhat limping\ngait, saying, in so loud a tone that it could be distinctly heard in the\ndark, sultry garden: \"Because it shows little delicacy of feeling when\nthe man who is satiated tells the starving one of the dainty meal which\nhe has just eaten; because--because I call it shameful for a person who\ncan see to tell one who is blind of the pleasure he derives from the\nsplendid colours of gay flowers; because I expect from the woman whom I\nhonour with my love more consideration for me and what shadows my life.\nBecause\"--and here he raised his voice still more angrily--\"I demand from\nany one united to me, the Emperor, by whatever bond----\"\n\nThe marquise had been unable to hear more of the monarch's violent\nattack, for the messenger who had just brought the unwelcome news--it was\nAdrian Dubois--had not only passed her, but ventured to call to her and\nremark that she would be wise to go into the house--a thunderstorm was\nrising. He was not afraid of the rain, and would wait there for his\nMajesty.\n\nSo the listener did not hear how the incensed monarch continued with the\ndemand that the woman he loved should neither tell him falsehoods nor\ndeceive him.\n\nUntil then Barbara had listened, silent and pale, biting her trembling\nlips in order to adhere to her resolve to submit without reply to\nwhatever Charles's terrible irritability inflicted upon her. But he must\nhave noticed what was passing in her mind, for he suddenly paused in his\nwalk, and, abruptly standing before her, gazed full into her face,\nexclaiming: \"It is not you who are offended, but I, the sovereign whom\nyou say you love. Day before yesterday I forbade you to go to the\nmusician in Red Cock Street, yet you were with him to-day. I asked you\njust now whether you had obeyed me and, with smiling lips, you assented.\"\n\nBarbara was already prepared with an answer in harmony with the sharpness\nof the attack, yet her lover's reproof was well founded.\n\nWhen he had left the room shortly before he must have been informed that,\nin defiance of his explicit command, she had gone to the knight's house\nthat morning.\n\nBut no one had ever charged her with lack of courage. Why had she not\ndared to confess the fault which, from a good and certainly pardonable\nimpulse, she had committed?\n\nWas she not free, or when had she placed herself under obligation to\nrender blind obedience to her lover?\n\nBut the falsehood!\n\nHow severely she must perhaps atone for it this time!\n\nYet the esteem, the love of the man to whom her heart clung, whom she\nworshipped with all the fervour of her passionate soul, might be at\nstake, and when he now seized his hat to withdraw she barred his way.\n\nSobbing aloud, she threw herself at his feet, confessed that she was\nguilty, and remorsefully admitted that fear of his resentment, which\nseemed to her more terrible than death, had induced her to deny what she\nhad done. She could hate herself for it. Nothing could palliate the\ndeparture from the path of truth, but her disobedience might perhaps\nappear to him in a milder light if he learned what had induced her to\ncommit it.\n\nCharles, still in an angry, imperious tone, ordered her to rise. She\nsilently obeyed, and when he threw himself on the divan she timidly sat\ndown by his side, turning toward him her troubled face, which for the\nfirst time he saw wet with tears.\n\nYet a hopeful smile brightened her moist eyes, for she felt that, since\nhe permitted her to remain at his side, all might yet be well.\n\nThen she timidly took his hand and, as he permitted it, she held it\nfirmly while she explained what ties had bound her to Wolf from\nchildhood.\n\nShe represented herself as the sisterly counsellor of the friend who had\ngrown up in the same house with her. Music and the Catholic religion, in\nthe midst of a city which had fallen into the Protestant heresy, had been\nthe bond between them. After his return home he had probably been unable\nto help falling in love with her, but, so truly as she hoped for Heaven's\nmercy, she had kept her heart closed against Cupid until he, the Emperor,\nhad approached in order, like that other Caesar, to come, to see, and to\nconquer. But she was only a woman, and pity in a woman's soft heart was\nas hard to silence as the murmur of a swift mountain stream or the\nrushing of the wind.\n\nYesterday she had learned from the violinist Massi that the knight's\ncondition was much more critical, and he desired before his death to\nclasp her hand again. So, believing that disobedience committed to\nlighten the last hours of a dying man would be pardonable before God and\nhuman beings, she had visited the unfortunate Wolf.\n\nThe helpful and joy-bestowing power of good works, which the Protestants\ndenied, had thus become very evident to her; for since she had clasped\nthe sufferer's hand an indescribable sense of happiness had taken\npossession of her, while the knight began to improve. The news had\nreached her just before this, the Emperor's, arrival, had made her happy,\nand, in spite of her evil conscience, had put her in a very cheerful\nmood. But now this beautiful evening had become the saddest one of her\nwhole life.\n\nFresh tears, and the other means of conciliation inspired by her loving\nheart, then induced the angry lover to forgive her.\n\nBarbara felt this as a great piece of good fortune, and made every effort\nto curb the refractory temper which, hitherto, had found nothing less\nwelcome than humble submission.\n\nDay after day since that evening the confessor had been informed that\nnothing interrupted the concord of the lovers, and that Barbara often\nprayed very fervently in the private chapel. This pleased the almoner,\nand when Cassian told him that, on the evening after the quarrel, the\nEmperor had again come to the castle to remain a long time, he rejoiced.\n\nTo Barbara this visit had been a true heavenly blessing, but though\nCharles showed himself sufficiently loving, she felt, even during the\nsucceeding visits, that since that fateful episode something difficult to\ndescribe or explain had rested like a gloomy shadow on the Emperor's\njoyous confidence.\n\nThis change in her lover could scarcely be due to her, for she had\nhonestly endeavoured to avoid everything which could anger him.\n\nHow should she have suspected that the great student of human nature to\nwhom she had given her heart perceived the restraint which she imposed\nupon herself in every interview with him, and that the moderation to\nwhich she submitted from love robbed her of a portion of the charm her\ngay unconcern had exerted upon him? Charles suspiciously attributed this\nchange in the disposition of the woman he loved sometimes to one cause,\nsometimes to another; and when he showed her that he missed something in\nher which had been dear to him, she thought it a new token of his\ndissatisfaction, and increased the restraint which she placed upon\nherself.\n\nIf the gout again attacked him or the pressure of business, which at that\ntime constantly made more and more imperious demands upon the Emperor\nCharles, detained him from her on one or another evening, torturing\nanxiety assailed her, and she had no sleep all night.\n\nBesides, the marquise did not cease to press her with entreaties and\nexpostulations, and Frau Lerch constantly urged Barbara to profit by the\nfavour of such a lover. She ought to think of the future, and indemnify\nherself with estates and titles for the sad fate awaiting her if his\nMajesty wearied of her love.\n\nThe ex-maid knew how to describe, in vivid hues, how all would turn from\nher if that should happen, and how little the jewels with which he\nsometimes delighted her would avail.\n\nBut Barbara had cared only for her lord's love, and it was not even\ndifficult for her to resist the urgency. Yet whenever she was alone with\nCharles, and he showed plainly how dear she was to him, the question\nforced itself upon her whether this would not be the right time to speak\nof her future, and to follow the counsel of the experienced woman who\ncertainly meant kindly toward her.\n\nThis made her silent and constrained for a time, and when she saw that\nher manner annoyed her lover she thrust aside the selfish impulse which\nwas rendering her unlovable, and sometimes showed her delight in the\nvictory of love over every other feeling so impetuously, that her nature\nseemed to have lost the unvarying cheerfulness which had formerly\ndelighted him, and he left her in a less satisfied mood.\n\nBesides, the marquise had received a letter from Paris, in which her son\ndeclared that if his gambling debts were not paid by the first of August\nhe would be completely disgraced, and nothing would remain for him except\nto end an existence which had lost all charm. The wretched mother again\nopened her heart to Barbara and, when she still resisted her lamentations\nand entreaties, threw herself on her knees and sobbing besought her to\nlet her heart be softened.\n\nThe sight of the aged noblewoman writhing like a maniac in the dust was\nso pitiful and touching that it melted Barbara's heart, and induced her\nto promise to use the first favourable opportunity to intercede with the\nEmperor in behalf of her son and his child, a little girl of six. From\nthat time she awaited at every new interview the opportune moment; but\nwhen Charles was less gracious, the right time certainly had not come,\nand when he was especially loving the happiness of possessing his heart\nseemed to her so great that it appeared sinful to risk it for the sake of\na stranger.\n\nThis waiting and conflict with herself also did not remain unnoticed, and\nit was characteristic of Charles to reflect upon and seek reasons for it.\nOnly the spell of her voice and her beauty had remained unchanged, and\nwhen she sang in the Golden Cross in the presence of the guests, who\nbecame more numerous the nearer drew the time of the opening of the\nReichstag, fixed for the fifth of June, and he perceived their delight,\nvanity fanned the dying fire again, for he still loved her, and therefore\nfelt associated with her and her successes.\n\nSo the days became weeks, and though they brought Barbara a wealth of\nhappiness, they were not free from gloomy and bitter hours.\n\nThe marquise, who saw her son's doom drawing nearer and nearer, made the\nmealtimes and every moment which she spent with her a perfect hell. Frau\nLerch continued to urge her, and now advised her to persuade the Emperor\nto rid her of the old tormentor.\n\nIn another matter also she was at a loss what to do. The Wittenberg\ntheologian, Erasmus Eckhart, found that his own songs, when she sang them\nto him, seemed entirely new, and the gratitude he felt merged into ardent\nlove, the first which had taken possession of his young soul. But Barbara\nresolutely refused to receive his visits, and thereby deprived him of the\npossibility of opening his heart to her. So, in despair, he wandered\nabout her house more and more frequently, and sent her one fiery love\nletter after another.\n\nTo betray his unseemly conduct to the Emperor or to the confessor would\nhave brought upon him too severe a punishment for an offence which, after\nall, was the most profound homage. She dared not go to the Hiltners, from\nfear of a fresh misunderstanding, and it would be a long time ere Wolf's\nhealth would permit him to be excited by such matters.\n\nSo she was forced to content herself with censuring Erasmus's conduct,\nthrough Frau Lerch, in the harshest manner, and threatening to appeal to\nhis foster-parents and, in the worst extremity, to the magistrate, to rid\nherself of his importunities. Nearly two thirds of May had passed when\nthe Emperor found himself prevented by a second attack of gout from\nvisiting her. But Barbara's heart drew her toward him so strongly that\nduring the usual noon ride she hit upon an idea, for whose execution she\nimmediately made preparations by secretly entreating young Count Tassis\nto lend her one of his suits of clothes.\n\nThe merry page, a handsome boy of sixteen, who had already crossed\nrapiers with one of his companions for her sake, was about her height,\nand delighted to share a secret with her. His most expensive costume,\nwith everything belonging to it, was placed in her room at twilight, and\nwhen night closed in, disguised as a page, she entered the litter and was\ncarried to the Golden Cross, where Adrian received her and conducted her\nto his royal master.\n\nThe elderly man thought he had never seen her look so charming as in the\nyellow velvet doublet with ash-gray facings, the gray silk hose, and the\nyellow and gray cap resting on her glittering golden hair.\n\nAnd the Emperor Charles was of the same opinion.\n\nBesides, her lively prank transported him back to his own youth, when he\nhimself had glided more than once in page's attire to some beautiful\nyoung lady of the court, and gaily as in better days, tenderly as an\nardent youth, he thanked her for her charming enterprise.\n\nAfter a few blissful hours, which crowded all that she had lately\nsuffered into oblivion, she left him.\n\nWhen she again entered the little Prebrunn castle she would gladly have\nembraced the whole world.\n\nFrom the litter she had noticed a light in the windows of the marquise's\nsitting-room, but she could now look the poor old noblewoman freely in\nthe face, for this time, sure of experiencing no sharp rebuff, she had\nfound courage to speak of the son to her royal lover.\n\nTrue, as soon as Charles heard what she desired, he kindly requested her\nnot to sully her beautiful lips with the name of a scoundrel who had long\nsince forfeited every claim to his favour, and her mission was thereby\nfrustrated; but she had now kept her promise.\n\nWith the entreaty to spare him in future the pain of refusing any wish of\nthe woman he loved, the disagreeable affair had been dismissed.\n\nWhen Barbara took the lute, he had begged the fairest of all troubadours\nto sing once more, before any other song, his beloved \"Quia amore\nlangueo,\" and the most vigorous applause was bestowed on every one which\nshe afterward executed.\n\nNow she had done all that was possible for the marquise, but no power on\nearth should induce her to undertake anything of the sort a second time;\nShe was saying this to herself as she entered the little castle.\n\nLet the old noblewoman come now!\n\nShe was not long in doing so. But how she looked!\n\nThe little gray curls done up in papers stood out queerly from her narrow\nhead. Her haggard cheeks were destitute of rouge and lividly pale.\n\nHer black eyes glittered strangely from their deep sockets as if she were\ninsane, and ragged pieces of her morning dress, which she had torn in a\nfit of helpless fury, hung down upon her breast.\n\nThe sight made Barbara shudder. She suspected the truth.\n\nDuring her absence a new message of evil had reached the marquise.\n\nUnless ten thousand lire could be sent to her son at once, he would be\ncondemned to the galleys, and his child would be abandoned to misery and\ndisgrace.\n\nWhile speaking, the wretched mother, with trembling hands, tore out a\nlocket which she wore on a little chain around her neck. It contained the\nangelic face, painted on ivory by an artist's hand, of a fair-haired\nlittle girl. The child bore her name, Barbara. The singer knew this. How\noften the affectionate grandmother had told her with sparkling eyes of\nher little \"Babette\"!\n\nThe father chained to the rowers' bench among the most abominable\nruffians, this loveliest of children perishing in hunger, misery, and\nshame--what a terrible picture! Barbara beheld it with tangible\ndistinctness, and while the undignified old aristocrat, deprived of all\nself-control, sobbed and besought her to have compassion, the girl who\nhad grown up amid poverty and care went back in memory to the days when,\nto earn money for a thin soup, a bit of dry bread, a small piece of cheap\ncow beef, or to protect herself from the importunity of an unpaid\ntradesman, she had washed laces with her own delicate hands and seen her\nnobly born, heroic father scratch crooked letters and scrawling ornaments\nupon common gray tin.\n\nThe same fate, nay, one a thousand times worse, awaited this wonderfully\nlovely patrician child, whose father was to wield the oars in the galleys\nif no one interceded for the unfortunate man.\n\nWhat was life!\n\nFrom the height of happiness it led her directly to such an abyss of the\ndeepest woe.\n\nWhat contrasts!\n\nA day, an hour had transported her from bitter poverty and torturing\nyearning to the side of the highest and greatest of monarchs, but who\ncould tell for how long--how soon the fall into the gulf awaited her?\n\nA shudder ran through her frame, and a deep pity for the sweet creature\nwhose coloured likeness she held in her hand seized upon her.\n\nShe probably remembered her lover's refusal, and that she only needed to\nallude to it to release herself from the wailing old woman, but an\ninvisible power sealed her lips. She was filled with an ardent desire to\nhelp, to avert this unutterable misery, to bring aid to this child,\ndevoted to destruction.\n\nTo rise above everything petty, and with the imperial motto \"More,\nfarther,\" before her eyes, to attain a lofty height from which to look\ndown upon others and show her own generosity to them, had been the\nlonging of her life. She was still permitted to feel herself the object\nof the love of the mightiest sovereign on earth, and should she be denied\nperforming, by her own power, an act of deliverance to which heart and\nmind urged her?\n\nNo, and again no!\n\nShe was no longer poor Wawerl!\n\nShe could and would show this, for, like an illumination, words which she\nhad heard the day before in the Golden Cross had flashed into her memory.\n\nMaster Wenzel Jamnitzer, the famous Nuremberg goldsmith, had addressed\nthem to her in the imperial apartments, where he had listened to her\nsinging the day before.\n\nHe had come to consult with the Emperor Charles about the diadems which\nhe wished to give his two nieces, the daughters of Ferdinand, King of the\nRomans, who were to be married in July in Ratisbon. Their manufacture had\nbeen intrusted to Master Jamnitzer, and after the concert the Nuremberg\nartist had thanked Barbara for the pleasure which he owed her. In doing\nso, he had noticed the Emperor's first gift, the magnificent star which\nshe wore on her breast at the side of her squarenecked dress. Examining\nit with the eye of an expert, he had remarked that the central stone\nalone was worth an estate.\n\nIf she deprived herself of this superb ornament, the despairing old\nmother would be consoled, and the lovely child saved from hunger and\ndisgrace.\n\nWith Barbara, thought, resolve, and action followed one another in rapid\nsuccession.\n\n\"You shall have what you need to-morrow,\" she called to the marquise,\nkissed--obeying a hasty impulse--her little namesake's picture, rejected\nany expression of thanks from the astonished old dame, and went to rest.\n\nFrau Lerch had never seen her so radiant with happiness, yet she was\nirritated by the reserve of the girl for whom she thought she had\nsacrificed so much, yet whose new garments had already brought her more\nprofit than the earnings of the three previous years.\n\nThe next morning Master Jamnitzer called the valuable star his own, and\npledged himself to keep the matter secret, and to obtain from the Fuggers\na bill of exchange upon Paris for ten thousand lire.\n\nThe honest man sent her through the Haller banking house a thousand\nducats, that he might not be open to the reproach of having defrauded\nher.\n\nYet the gold which she did not need for the marquise seemed to Barbara\nlike money unjustly obtained. While she was riding out at noon, Frau\nLerch found it in her chest, and thought that she now knew what had made\nthe girl so happy the day before. She was all the more indignant when,\nsoon after, Barbara gave half the new wealth to the Prebrunn town clerk\nto distribute among the poor journeymen potters whose huts had been\nburned down the previous night. The rest she kept to give to the\nrelatives of her one-eyed maid-servant at home, who were in the direst\npoverty.\n\nFor the first time she had felt the pleasure of interposing, like a\nhigher power, in the destiny of others. What she had hoped from the\ngreatness to which she had risen now appeared on the eve of being\nactually and wholly fulfilled.\n\nEven the strange manner in which the marquise thanked her for her\ngenerosity could but partially impair the exquisite sense of happiness\nwhich filled her heart.\n\nAs soon as the old noblewoman heard that the bill of exchange for her son\nwas on the way to Paris, she expressed her intention of thanking his\nMajesty for this noble donation.\n\nStartled and anxious, Barbara was obliged to forbid this, and to confess\nthat, on the contrary, the Emperor had refused to do anything whatever\nfor her son, and that morning, for little Babette's sake, she had used\nher own property.\n\nThe marquise then angrily declared that a Marquise de Leria could accept\nsuch a favour without a blush solely from his Majesty. Even from an equal\nin station she must refuse gifts of such value. If Barbara was honest,\nshe would admit that she had never, even by a syllable, asked for a\ndonation, but always only for her intercession with his Majesty. Her\nhasty action made withdrawal impossible, but the humiliation which she\nhad experienced through her was so hard to conquer that she could\nscarcely bring herself to feel grateful for a gift which, in itself, was\ncertainly worthy of appreciation.\n\nIn fact, from that time the marquise entirely changed her manner, and\ninstead of flattering her ward as before, she treated her with haughty\ncoldness, and sometimes remarked that poverty and hostility were often\neasier to bear than intrusive kindness and humiliating gifts.\n\nHitherto Barbara had placed no one under obligation to be grateful, and\ntherefore the ugliness of ingratitude was unknown to her.\n\nNow she was to become acquainted with it.\n\nAt first this disappointment wounded her, but soon the marquise's\nintention of ridding herself, by this conduct, of a heavy debt became\napparent, and she opposed to the base cunning a gay defence, but was then\nforced to encounter the marquise's condemnation of it as the outgrowth of\nan ungenerous soul.\n\nHow unpleasant this was! Yet she kept what she had done for the old\naristocrat and the way in which she had requited it a secret, even from\nFrau Lerch, especially as the Emperor soon alluded to his denial of her\nentreaty, and gave a description of young Leria which filled her with\nhorror, and led to the conviction that the sacrifice which she had made\nfor him and his little daughter had been utterly futile.\n\nLittle Babette, she also heard, was cared for in the best possible\nmanner, having been withdrawn front her father's influence long before\nand placed in charge of an estimable, wealthy, and aristocratic aunt, her\nmother's sister, who filled the latter's place.\n\nThis act of charity had been utterly spoiled for the overhasty giver,\nand, while the glad remembrance of the pure delight which she had felt\nafter her generous resolve faded more and more, she began to be uneasy\nabout her reckless transaction with the Nuremberg goldsmith, for the\nEmperor during his very next visit had asked about the star, and in her\nconfusion she had again been forced into a falsehood, and tried to excuse\nherself for so rarely wearing his beautiful present by the pretext that\nthe gold pin which fastened it was bent.\n\nShe could have inflicted various punishments upon herself for her\nprecipitate yielding to a hastily awakened sympathy, for it would surely\nanger the Emperor if he learned how carelessly she had treated his first\ncostly gift.\n\nPerhaps some hint of its sale had already reached his ears, for, although\nhe had made no opposition to her apology, he afterward remained taciturn\nand irritable.\n\nEvery subsequent interview with her lover was terribly shadowed by the\ndread that he might think of the unlucky ornament again.\n\nYet, on this occasion also, fear prevented the brave girl from confessing\nthe whole truth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nOn St. Desiderius's Day--[May 23rd]--the Emperor again missed the star,\nand, as it was in the Golden Cross and the heat was great, Barbara\nreplied that her dress was too thin for the heavy ornament. But the\ninquiry had made her fear of additional questions so great that she\nrejoiced over the news that her lover would not visit her the next day.\n\nOn the day before yesterday Christoph Madrucci, the Cardinal of Trent,\nhis warlike brother Hildebrand, and the Count of Arco had arrived,\nbringing news from the Council; but on the morrow Duke Maurice of Saxony\nwas expected, and the most important negotiations were to be carried on\nnot only with him, but also with the former, each individual being dealt\nwith singly and at different hours.\n\nIn the evening the welcome guest was to be entertained by music and, if\nagreeable to Barbara, by singing also. On the twenty-fifth the city had\ndecided to give a May festival under the lindens in honour of the duke.\nThe Emperor and the whole court were of course invited.\n\nBarbara then acknowledged that she was fond of such magnificent\nexhibitions, and begged Charles to allow her to attend the festival with\nthe marquise.\n\nThe answer was an assent, but the Emperor gave it after some delay, and\nwith the remark that he could devote little time to her, and expected\nthat she would subject herself to some restraint.\n\nTrue, the painful surprise which her features expressed vividly enough\nled him to add the apology that, on account of the presence of the two\ncardinals--for one had come from Augsburg--he would be compelled to deny\nhimself the pleasure of showing her anything more than courteous\nconsideration in public; but she could not succeed in conquering the\nmortification which, besides the grief of disappointment, had taken\npossession of her sensitive soul.\n\nCharles probably perceived, by the alternate flushing and paling of her\ncheeks, what was passing in her thoughts, and would gladly have soothed\nher; but he refrained, and forced himself to be content with the few\nconciliatory words which he had already addressed to her.\n\nGreat events were impending. If he decided upon war, nothing, not even\nlove, could be permitted to encroach too heavily upon his time and\nstrength; but Barbara and the demands which her love made upon him would\nsurely do this if he did not early impose moderation upon her and\nhimself.\n\nHe had heard nothing about the sale of the star, and whatever had\ndispleased him in Barbara's conduct during the last few weeks she had\nsucceeded in effacing. Yet he had often been on the point of breaking off\nhis relations with her, for just at this time it was of infinite\nimportance that he should keep himself free and strong in mind and body.\n\nMoreover, in a few days he expected his brother Ferdinand with his grown\nchildren. Two of his nieces were to be married here in his presence, and\nhe felt that he ought not to let either them or the Cardinal of\nTrent--who was coming from the Council and would return there--see how\nstrong were the fetters with which, at his age and just at this time, he\nallowed himself to be bound by love for a beautiful singer.\n\nThe wisdom which had long been characteristic of him commanded him to\nsever abruptly the connection with the woman he loved and remove her from\nhis path. But the demands of the heart and the senses were too powerful\nfor the man who indulged to excess in fiery wine and spiced foods, though\nhe knew that greater abstinence would have spared him torturing pangs.\n\nHe had succeeded hundreds of times in obtaining the victory over other\nurgent wishes, and conquering strong affections. But this was different,\nfor separation from Barbara must, at any rate, destroy the exquisite late\nhappiness of the newly unfolded enjoyment of life, and for this heavy\nloss he saw no compensation. To part from her entirely, therefore, seemed\nto him impossible--at any rate, for the present. On the other hand, the\nduty of the sovereign and consideration for his relatives both commanded\nhim to restrict the demands of her passionate young heart and his own,\nwhich had so recently awaked from slumber.\n\nHe had recognised this necessity, and considered the pros and cons\nprecisely as if the matter were a political question. He who, without the\nquiver of an eyelash, had sent many a band of soldiers to certain death\nin order to execute a well-conceived plan of battle, was compelled to\ninflict keen suffering upon the woman he loved and himself, that greater\ninterests might not be injured.\n\nHe had commenced the retreat that day.\n\nThe constraint which it was necessary to impose upon themselves must be\nequally painful to them both, yet this could not be altered.\n\nHad it affected him alone, in defiance of his sense of rank and the\ntyranny of court etiquette, he would have led Barbara, attired like a\ntrue queen, with his own hand to the festival under the lindens, but the\ngratification of this heartfelt wish would have entailed too many evil\nconsequences.\n\nToying with her, who so quickly understood and so gratefully accepted the\ngifts of the intellect which he offered, was so sweet, but in these days\nit must not be permitted to impair mental repose, keen thought. What he\nhad to discuss and settle with Maurice of Saxony and Cardinal Madrucci\nwas of too momentous importance to the destiny of the world, to the\nChurch, to his fame as a sovereign, to his own greatness and that of his\nrace.\n\nHe would have liked best to send Barbara away from Ratisbon, as he had\ndespatched her father three weeks before, and not recall her until these\ndecisive days were over; but this was prohibited by his ardent desire for\nher presence, her clever questions and appreciative listening, and, above\nall, her singing, which he valued perhaps even more than her beauty.\n\nHad he confided to Barbara the important reasons which compelled him to\nimpose restrictions for a short time upon the demands of his heart, she,\nwho esteemed his grandeur little less than his love, would have\ncheerfully submitted to what was necessary and right; but truthfulness\nand frankness were far more characteristic of her nature than of that of\nthe politician who was accustomed to the tricks and evasions of the time\nof Machiavelli. He never lacked credible reasons when he desired to place\nan intention in a favourable light, and where he wished to keep Barbara\naway from him, during the next few days, such were certainly to be found\nin each individual instance. Suppose the woman he loved did not accept\nthem? So much the worse for her; he was the Emperor.\n\nAs for Barbara, with the subtle power of presentiment of a loving heart\nshe felt that his passion was waning, and tortured her mobile intellect\nto discover the right cause.\n\nIf the luckless star was connected with it, why had he not blamed her\nopenly?\n\nNo, no!\n\nAdrian had already predicted it; his constancy could not be relied upon,\nand if war was in prospect he forgot everything that was usually dear to\nhis heart, and the appearance of the Duke of Saxony certainly seemed to\nindicate an outbreak. Many an intimation of the Emperor, Granvelle, and\nthe almoner seemed to suggest this, and, deeply troubled, she went to\nrest.\n\nDuring the silent night her worst fears became certainty.\n\nShe recalled to mind every hour which they had spent alone together. Some\nchange had certainly taken place in him of late.\n\nDuring her visit as a page the passion of former days had once more\nglowed hotly, as the fire on the hearth blazes up brightly before it\nexpires.\n\nThe alteration had begun with the reproaches for her visit to the\nsuffering Wolf. Now he was aiming to rid himself of her, though with a\nconsiderate hand. And she, what could she do to win back the man who held\nevery fixed resolve as firmly as the rocks of the cliff hold the pine\nwhich grows from them?\n\nNothing, except to bear patiently whatever he inflicted upon her.\n\nThis, however, seemed to her so impossible and painful, so humiliating\nand shocking, that she sprang from her bed and for a long time paced with\nbare feet the sleeping-room, which was but dimly lighted by the lamp. Yet\nall her thoughts and pondering were futile, and when she lay down again\nshe slept until mass.\n\nBy daylight she found that she had regarded matters in far too dark a\nlight. True, Charles probably no longer loved her as ardently as before,\nyet she need scarcely fear the worst at present. But the bare thought of\nhaving so soon lost the power to bind him to her aroused a storm of\nfeeling in her passionate soul, and when it subsided bitter thoughts\nfollowed, and a series of plans which, on closer examination, proved\nimpracticable.\n\nThe day dragged slowly along.\n\nDuring the ride in the country she was so depressed and downcast that her\ncompanions asked what troubled her.\n\nThe lonely evening seemed endless. A short letter from her father, which\ninformed her that he had not expected too much of himself, and was in\ngood health, she cast aside after reading. During the night the feeling\nof unhappiness and apprehension increased. But the next morning the sun\nshone brightly into her windows, and after mass a messenger from the\nGolden Cross announced that Duke Maurice of Saxony had arrived, and in\nthe afternoon his Majesty wished to see her and hear her sing.\n\nThis news cheered her wonderfully; but while Fran Lerch was dressing her\nshe, too, missed the star, and it seemed to Barbara that with it she had\nlost a portion of her charm.\n\nIn going out, the marquise met her in the corridor, but Barbara passed\nwithout returning her greeting.\n\nWhen she arrived, the company had assembled in the chapel. The Duke of\nSaxony sat between the Emperor and Granvelle.\n\nWhat a handsome, knightly man this Maurice was! A prince from head to\nfoot, young, and yet, while talking with the Emperor and Granvelle, grave\nand self-possessed as if he felt himself their peer.\n\nAnd what fire glowed in his bright glance whenever it rested upon her!\n\nIn the chase and over the wine-cup this brave soldier and subtle\nstatesman was said scarcely to have his equal. Many tales of his\nsuccesses with fair women had been told her. He pleased her, too, in\nspite of the bold, free manner in which he gazed at her, and which she\nwould not have tolerated in any one else.\n\nAfter she had finished the last song, the duke expressed his appreciation\nin gay, flattering words, at the same time complimenting her beauty.\n\nThere had been something remarkably winning in his compliments; but when\nshe pleased her imperial lover, the acknowledgment was very different.\nThen there was no mere praise clad in the form of enthusiastic homage,\nbut in addition always acute remarks. With the recognition blended\nopinions which revealed the true connoisseur.\n\nThis Maurice was certainly wise and brave, and, moreover, far handsomer\nthan his imperial master; but what illumined Charles's prominent brow and\nbrilliant eyes she had never beheld in any one else. To him, to him alone\nher heart belonged, worthy of esteem as the duke, who was so much his\njunior, appeared.\n\nWhile taking leave the Saxon held her hand in his for a time and, as she\npermitted it, she met a glance from her lover which warned her to be ware\nof incautious familiarity with this breaker of hearts.\n\nBarbara felt as if a sudden brightness had filled her soul, and on her\nway home the seed which that look had cast into it began to put forth\nvigorous shoots.\n\nThe ardent young Saxon duke would have been a dangerous rival for any\none, even the handsomest and most powerful of men. Suppose that she\nshould profit by the wish he showed so plainly, and through jealousy bind\nthe man whom she loved anew and more firmly than ever?\n\nShe probably admitted to herself that in doing so she would incur a great\nrisk, but it seemed easier to lose her greatest treasure entirely than\nonly to half possess it; and when she had once looked this thought in the\nface it attracted her, as with the gaze of a basilisk, more and more\nstrongly.\n\nThe afternoon of the following day, with the marquise, she entered the\nscene of festivity under the lindens.\n\nTo punish Barbara for not returning her greeting, the gray-haired lady in\nwaiting had at first been inclined to excuse herself on the plea of\nillness; but the taste for amusement with which her nature was still\npervaded, as well as curiosity to see the much-discussed Duke Maurice,\nand the desire to watch Barbara's conduct, drew her to the place where\nthe festival was held.\n\nRatisbon had done her best to receive this guest, whom she especially\ndesired to honour, with all possible magnificence. Flags and streamers\nbearing the colours of the empire, with the Burgundian red and gold of\nthe Emperor, the silver-crossed keys on a red field of the city of\nRatisbon, and with the Saxon coats of arms, rose amid the leafy tops of\nthe lindens, and floated from tall poles in the sunny May air. The blue\nand yellow Saxon flag, with the black and yellow chevron in the field and\na lozenged chaplet from the left corner to the top, was more frequently\nseen than any other banner.\n\nEven though this festival was held for Duke Maurice, no one could fail to\nnotice how much more space was given to his escutcheon than to the\nEmperor's.\n\nThe entertainment had opened at noon with a tournament and riding at the\nring. The duke had participated in the sport a short time, and carried\noff several rings on his sword while in full career.\n\nThe Emperor had held aloof from this game, in which he had formerly\njoined gladly and with much skill, but, on the other hand, he had\npromised to appear at the festival under the lindens, which was to last\nuntil night. The Council had had a magnificent tent erected for him, Duke\nMaurice, and the court, and in order to ornament the interior suitably\nhad allowed the use of the beautiful tapestries in the town hall. These\nrepresented familiar incidents from famous love tales: Tristan and Isolde\nseeing the face of King Mark in the mirror of the spring, Frau Venus as,\nsurrounded by her court, she receives Tannhauser in the Horselberg, and\nsimilar scenes. Other art textiles showed incidents in the lives of\nforest people--little men and women in striped linen garments, wonderful\ntrees and birds such as no human eye ever beheld--but above the hangings\na row of coats of arms again appeared, in which the imperial escutcheon\nalternated with the Saxon.\n\nThe front of the tent, covered with red and white material, stood open,\npermitting the guests who did not belong to the court to survey the\ninterior.\n\nArtistic platters, large dishes, in which dainty sweets and fruits were\ngracefully heaped and the cathedral of Ratisbon and other devices stood,\nthe costly silverware of the city, and many beautifully formed wine\nflagons attracted the gaze. Beside these were dishes of roast meats,\nfish, and cakes for the illustrious guests.\n\nStewards and guards of the Council, clad in red and white, with the\ncrossed keys in silver embroidery on the shoulder, offered refreshments.\nTwo superb thrones stood ready for the Emperor and the duke, easy-chairs\nfor the cardinals, princes, and counts, stools for the barons, knights,\nand ladies.\n\nOpposite to the tent stands were erected for the Council, the patrician\nfamilies, and the other ladies and gentlemen whom the city had invited to\nthe festival. In their midst rose a large, richly decorated stage for the\nEmperor's orchestra, which, with his Majesty's permission, had been\ninduced to play a few pieces, and by the side of the stands was a\ntowerlike structure, from whose summit the city pipers of Ratisbon,\njoined by those of Landshut, were to be heard.\n\nA large, round stage, encircled by a fence of young birch logs, had been\nbuilt for dancing amid the leafy lindens, and stood directly opposite to\nthe imperial tent. Near the linden-shaded square at the shooting house\nwere posted the cannon and howitzers, which were to receive the\ndistinguished guests with loud volleys and lend fresh animation to the\nfestival.\n\nThe Lindenplatz belonged to the same suburb of Prebrunn in which stood\nthe little castle of the Prince Abbot of Berchtesgaden, which Barbara\noccupied. So, during the short distance which she and the marquise had to\ntraverse in litters, uproar, music, and the thunder of artillery greeted\nthem.\n\nThis exerted an intoxicating influence upon Barbara, who had been so long\nabsent from such scenes. At home she had abandoned her intention of\narousing the Emperor's jealousy; now her excited nerves urged her to\nexecute it. The advantage she hoped to derive was well worth the risk.\nBut if the bold game failed, and the proud, sensitive monarch should be\nseriously angry----\n\nJust then shots crashed again, music and shouts echoed more loudly in her\nears.\n\n\"A Blomberg does not fear,\" and with newly awakened defiance she closed\nher ears to the warning voice.\n\nThe festival was commencing.\n\nShe, too, would be gay for once, and if she was cautious the bold\nenterprise must succeed. A merry evening awaited her and, if all went\nwell, on the morrow, after a few unpleasant hours, her lover's whole\nheart would once more be hers.\n\nWhen she reached the scene of festivity it was already thronged with\nrichly attired princes and counts, knights and ladies, citizens of\nRatisbon, as well as nobles and distinguished townspeople from the\nneighbouring castles, citadels, and cities.\n\nMusic and a loud medley of shouts and conversation greeted her at her\nentrance. Her heart throbbed quickly, for she did not forget her daring\npurpose, and a throng of memories of modest but more carefree days rushed\nupon her.\n\nHere, when a little girl, she had attended the May festival\nVirgatum--which owed its name to the green rods or twigs with which the\nschool children adorned themselves--and played under yonder lindens with\nWolf, with the wilder Erasmus, and other boys. How delightful it had\nbeen!--and when the enlarged band of city pipers struck up a gavotte her\nfeet unconsciously kept time, and she could not help thinking of the last\ndance in the New Scales, the recruiting officer who had guided her so\nfirmly and skilfully in the Schwabeln, and through him of her father, of\nwhom she had not thought again since the good news received two evenings\nbefore.\n\nShe still stood at the crowded entrance gazing around her.\n\nThe interior of the imperial tent could not be seen from here, but she\ncould overlook the stand of the noble families, and there she saw her\ncousins Anne Mirl and Nandl Woller, with Martina Hiltner beside them.\n\nShe had refused to receive all three in her little castle at Prebrunn;\nthe true reason she alone knew. Her excuse had perhaps appeared to the\ngirls trivial and unkind.\n\nNow her glance met Nandl's, and her warmhearted friend beckoned eagerly\nto her; but her mother drew her arm down, and it was evident that the\ncorpulent lady said something reproving.\n\nBarbara looked away from the stand, and the question where her place was\nhere suddenly disturbed her.\n\nShe had received no invitation from the Council of the city, and perhaps\nshe would have been refused admittance to the stand. She did not know\nwhether before the Emperor's arrival she would be received in the court\ntent, which Cardinal Madrucci of Trent, in superb scarlet robes, was just\napproaching, and an oppressive anxiety again subdued the courage which\nhad just resolved on the boldest venture.\n\nAt that moment Baron Malfalconnet saw her, and instantly approached.\nGaily offering one arm to her and the other to the marquise, he escorted\nboth to the tent, whispering meanwhile in Barbara's ear, \"Glowing summer,\nbetween spring and winter,\" and, as soon as he had taken them to the\nbuffet, off he hurried again to offer his arm to the Margravine of\nLeuchtenberg, who was followed by two charming daughters, with pretty\npages bearing their trains.\n\nHow the gold, jewels, and shining armour in the tent glittered! How the\ncrimson glowed, the plumes waved, the heavy velvet attracted the eye by\nrich hues, the light laces by their delicate fineness! How the silk\nrustled, and one superb piece of fur vied with the other in costliness,\nthe white with the red rose in beauty!\n\nBarbara involuntarily looked at her sea-green brocade, and felt its heavy\ntexture and the softness of the fur trimming on the overdress, which at\nhome she had called a masterpiece of Frau Lerch's work. She could be\nsatisfied with her appearance, and the string of pearls on her neck and\nthe bracelet which her lover had sent to her, after her visit in the\npage's costume, were also costly ornaments. The magnificent star was\nmissing; in its place she wore at the square-cut neck of her dress two\nbeautiful halfblown roses, and her mirror had showed her how becoming\nthey were.\n\nShe did not need gold or gems. What gave her power to subdue the hearts\nof men was of higher value.\n\nYet, when she mingled among the other dignitaries, she felt like an\nintruder in this circle.\n\nThe marquise had left her, and joined those of her own rank. Most of the\nladies were strangers to Barbara, and she was avoided by those whom she\nknew; but, to make amends, she was soon surrounded by many aristocratic\ngentlemen, and her mobile nature speedily made her forget what had just\ndepressed her joyous spirit.\n\nThen the cannon and culverins thundered louder, the blare of trumpets\nrent the air with deafening shrillness, the ringing of bells in all the\nsteeples of Ratisbon, the exulting shouts of the crowd upon the stands\nand in the whole Lindenplatz poured in mighty waves of sound into the\ntent, where the nobles and aristocratic ladies around Barbara now raised\ntheir voices also.\n\nWith a throbbing heart she mingled her cheers with those of the others\nand, like them, waved her handkerchief and her fan.\n\nThe man whom she loved was approaching! This crashing and echoing, this\nwild uproar of enthusiastic shouts and cries, this flutter of flags and\nwaving of handkerchiefs were all in his honour and, stirred to her inmost\nsoul by impetuous enthusiasm and ardent gratitude, her eyes grew dim with\ntears, and she joined far more loudly and freely in the cheers of the\nmultitude than the aristocrats around her, to whom court etiquette\ndictated reserve on all occasions, even this one.\n\nThe loving woman saw nothing save the man who was advancing. How should\nshe have noticed the scornful glances which her unrestrained vivacity\nelicited?\n\nHer gaze was fixed solely upon the one sun to which the little stars\naround her owed their paler or brighter radiance. She scarcely noticed\neven the handsome young prince at Charles's side. Yet Duke Maurice would\nhave been well worthy of her whole attention, for with what a free, proud\nstep he advanced, while his imperial master used his arm as a support!\n\nCharles also looked magnificent in the Castilian court costume, with the\nchain of the Grand Master of the Golden Fleece about his neck; but the\nyoung Saxon duke was considerably his superior in height, and the\nsilver-embroidered, steel-gray suit of Spanish cut and the black velvet\nmantle trimmed with a border of marten fur, were extremely becoming. Both\nsaluted the crowd that welcomed them so warmly and loudly, gazing\nmeanwhile at the festal scene, the Emperor with haughty, almost\nindifferent dignity, the duke with less reserve and more eager gestures.\n\nBarbara knew the sovereign, and when she saw him thrust his lower lip\nslightly forward she was sure that something vexed him.\n\nPerhaps she ought not to venture to irritate the lion that day.\n\nWas his anger roused by the boldness of the city magistrates, who dared\nto favour the Saxon escutcheon and banners so openly? It seemed to her\nexasperating, punishable insolence. But perhaps in his greatness he did\nnot grudge this distinction to a guest so much his inferior, and it was\nonly the gout again inflicting its pangs upon his poor tortured foot.\n\nThe way was strewn with leaves and green branches, and the Saxon was\nleading her lord directly over the hard little boughs in the middle of\nthe path. Barbara would fain have called to him to look at the ground and\nnot up at the banners and escutcheons bearing his colours, whose number\nseemed to flatter him. Had Charles been leaning on her arm, she would\nhave performed the office of guide better.\n\nAt last the distinguished pair, with the companions who followed them,\nreached the tent and took their seats upon the thrones. Again Maurice\ngazed eagerly around him, but Charles vouchsafed the Lindenplatz and\nstands only a few careless glances. He had no time to do more, for the\nyoung Landgravines of Leuchtenber; and several other newcomers at court\nwere presented to him by the Count of Nassau, and, after greeting the\noccupants of the tent by a gracious gesture, the monarch addressed a few\nkind words to each.\n\nBarbara was obliged to content herself with the others, yet her heart\nached secretly that he gave her no word of welcome.\n\nThen, when the performances began and the chamberlains and major-domo\nseated the aristocratic ladies and older dignitaries according to their\nsex and rank, and she was thus placed very far in the rear, she felt it\nas a grievous injustice. Was she no longer the love of the man who\nreigned over everything here? And since no one could deny this claim, why\nneed she be satisfied with a place beside the insignificant ladies of\nhonour of the princelings who were present?\n\nHow forsaken and ill-treated she seemed to herself!\n\nBut there was Don Luis Quijada already making his way to her to bring a\ngreeting from his Majesty and escort her to a place from which she could\nhave a better view of what the city had arranged for the entertainment of\nthe distinguished guest.\n\nSo she was not wholly forgotten by her lover, but with what scanty alms\nhe fed her!\n\nWhat did she care for the exhibition which was about to begin?\n\nThe minutes dragged on at a snail's pace while the lanterns on the\nlindens and poles, the torches, and pitch pans were lighted.\n\nHad not the gentlemen and ladies been so completely separated, it might\nperhaps have been a little gay. But, as it was, no one of the\naristocratic women who surrounded her granted her even one poor word; but\nthe number of glances, open and secret, cast at her became all the\ngreater as one noble dame whispered to another that she was the singer\nwhom his Majesty condescended to distinguish in so remarkable a manner.\n\nTo know that she was thus watched might be endured, as she was aware that\nshe could be satisfied with her appearance, but vanity compelled her to\nassume an expression and bearing which would not disappoint the gazers,\nand after the performances began this imposed a wearisome restraint.\n\nOnce only was her solitude in the midst of this great company pleasantly\ninterrupted, for the Bishop of Arras, without troubling himself about the\nseparation of the sexes, had sought her out and whispered that he had\nsomething to ask of her, whose details they would discuss later. On the\nevening of the day after to-morrow his Majesty's most distinguished\nguests, with their ladies, were to assemble at his house. If she desired\nto place him under the deepest obligations, she would join them there and\nadorn the festival with her singing. Barbara asked in a low tone whether\nthe Emperor would also be present, and the statesman, smiling, answered\nthat court etiquette prohibited such things. Yet it was not impossible\nthat, as a special favour, his Majesty might listen for a short time in\nthe festal hall, only he feared that the gout might interpose--the evil\nguest was already giving slight warnings of its approach.\n\nThen, without waiting for a reply, the young minister went back to his\nroyal master; but his invitation exerted a disturbing influence upon\nBarbara. She would have been more than glad to accept, for the\nentertainments of the Bishop of Arras were unequalled in varied\nattractions, magnificence, and gaiety, and what a satisfaction to her\nambition it would be to sing before such an audience, dine at the same\ntable with such ladies and gentlemen! She knew also how heavily this\nman's favour would weigh in the scales with the Emperor, yet to appear at\nthe banquet without her lover's knowledge was utterly impossible, and\njust now she felt reluctant to ask his permission. What heavy chains\nloaded the favoured woman who possessed the love of this greatest of\nsovereigns!\n\nHowever, reflections concerning Granvelle's invitation passed away the\ntime until the lighting of the Lindenplatz was completed. Then the shrill\nblare of trumpets again rent the air, the city pipers in the towers\nstruck up a gay march, and the entertainment began.\n\nThe gods of Olympus, led by Fame and Fortune, offered their homage to the\nEmperor. A youth from the school of poets, attired as the goddess of\nFame, bewailed in well-rhymed verses that for a long time no one had\ngiven her so much to do as the Emperor Charles. His comrade, who, bearing\na cornucopia in his arms, represented Fortune, assured her companion, in\nstill more bombastic verse, that she should certainly expect far more\nfrom her, the goddess of Fame, in favour of his Majesty. This would\ncontinue until her own end and that of all the Olympians, because the\nEmperor Charles himself was an immortal. He had made them both subject to\nhim. Fortune as well as Fame must obey his sign. But there was another\nyounger friend of the gods for whom, on account of the shortness of his\nlife, they had been able to do less, but for whom they also held in\nreadiness their best and greatest gifts. He, too, would succeed in\nrendering them his subjects. While speaking, Fortune pointed with the\ncornucopia and Fame with the trumpet to Duke Maurice, and besought their\nindulgent lord and master, the Emperor Charles, to be permitted to show\nsome of their young favourite's possessions, by whose means he, too,\nwould succeed in retaining them in his service.\n\nThen Pallas Athene appeared with the university city of Leipsic, the\nlatter laden with all sorts of symbols of knowledge. Next came Plutus,\nthe god of Wealth, followed by Freiberg miners bearing large specimens of\nsilver ore in buckets and baskets; and, lastly, Mars, the god of War,\nleading by a long chain two camels on which rode captive and fettered\nTurks.\n\nDuring these spectacles, which were followed by other similar ones,\nBarbara had been thinking of her own affairs, and gazed more frequently\nat her lover and his distinguished guests than at the former.\n\nBut the next group interested her more because it seemed to honour the\nEmperor's taste for astronomy, of which he had often talked with her.\n\nOn a long cart, drawn by powerful stallions, appeared a gigantic\nfirmament in the shape of a hemisphere, on whose upper surface the sun,\nmoon, and stars were seen shining in radiant light. The moon passed\nthrough all her changes, the sun and planets moved, and from the dome\nechoed songs and lute-playing, which were intended to represent the music\nof the spheres. Another chorus was heard from a basket of flowers of\nstupendous size. Among the natural and artificial blossoms sat and lay\nupon leaves and in the calyxes of the flowers child genii, who flung to\nthe Emperor beautiful bouquets, and into the laps and at the feet of the\nladies in the tent smaller ones and single flowers.\n\nBarbara, too, did not go with empty hands. The Cupid who had thrown his\nto her was the little Maltese Hannibal, who sang with other boys as\n\"Voices of the Flowers,\" and later was to take part in the great chorus.\n\nThis friendly remembrance of her young fellow-artist cheered Barbara, and\nwhen a fight began, which was carried on by a dozen trained champions\nbrought from Strasburg expressly for this purpose, she turned her\nattention to it.\n\nAt first this dealing blows at one another with blunt weapons offered her\nlittle amusement; but when shouts from the tent and the stands cheered\nthe men from the Mark, and powerful blows incensed to fury those who were\nstruck, the scene began to enthral her.\n\nA handsome, agile youth, to her sincere regret, had just fallen, but\nswiftly recovered his elasticity, and, springing to his feet, belaboured\nhis opponent, a clumsy giant, so skilfully and vigorously that the bright\nblood streamed down his ugly face and big body. Barbara's cheeks flushed\nwith sympathy. That was right. Skill and grace ought everywhere to\nconquer hideous rude force.\n\nIf she had been a man she would have found her greatest happiness, as her\nfather did, in battle, in measuring her own strength with another's. Now\nshe was obliged to defend herself with other weapons than blunt swords,\nand when she saw the champions, six against six, again rush upon one\nanother, and one side drive the other back, her vivid imagination\ntransported her into the midst of the victors, and it seemed as if the\nmarquise and the whole throng of arrogant dames in the tent, as well as\nthe Ratisbon women on the stands who had insulted her by their haughty\nairs of virtue, were fleeing from her presence.\n\nHow repulsive these envious, hypocritical people were! How she hated\neverything that threatened to estrange her lover's heart! To them also\nbelonged the scoundrel who, she supposed, had betrayed the sale of the\nstar to the Emperor. She resolved to confess to Charles how she had been\nled to commit this offence, which was indeed hard to forgive. Perhaps all\nwould then be well again, for in this unfortunate action she could\nrecognise the sole wrong which she had ever inflicted upon her lover. She\ncould not help attributing his humiliating manner to it alone, for her\nlove had always remained the same, and only yesterday, after she had sung\nbefore the Duke of Saxony, Appenzelder, who never flattered, had assured\nher that her voice had gained in power, her expression in depth, and she\nherself felt that it was so.\n\nMusic was still the firmest bond that united her to her lover. So long as\nher art remained faithful, he could not abandon her. This conviction was\ntransformed into certainty when the final performance began, and the\nRatisbon choir, under the direction of Damian Feys, commenced the mighty\nhymn with which the composer, Jean Courtois, had greeted the Emperor\nCharles in Cambray:\n\n\"Venite populi terrai\"--\"Come hither, ye nations of the earth\"--this\nmotet for four voices called imperiously to all mankind like a joyous\nsummons.\n\n\"Ave Cesar, ave majestas sacra,\" sounded in solemn, religious tones the\ngreeting to the greatest of monarchs. It seemed to transport the listener\nto the summit of the cathedral, as the choir now called to the ruler that\nthe earth was full of his renown. The Ratisbon singers and the able Feys\ndid their best, and this mighty act of homage of all the nations of the\nearth by no means failed to produce its effect upon him to whom it was\naddressed.\n\nWhile Barbara listened, deeply agitated, she did not avert her eyes from\nher lover's face, which was brightly illumined by a pyramid of candles on\neach side of the two thrones.\n\nEvery trace of weariness, indifference, and discomfort had vanished from\nCharles's features. His heart, like hers--she knew it--was now throbbing\nhigher. If he had just been enduring pain, this singing must have driven\nit away or lessened it, and he had certainly felt gratefully what power\ndwells in the divine art.\n\nThis noble composition, Barbara realized it, would again draw her near\nher lover, and the confirmation of this hope was not delayed, for as soon\nas the last notes of the motet and the storm of applause that followed\nhad died away, the Emperor, amid the renewed roar of the artillery, rose\nand looked around him--surely for her.\n\nThe good citizens of Ratisbon! No matter how much more bunting they had\ncut up in honour of the Saxon duke than of the Emperor, how bombastic\nwere the verses composed and repeated in praise of Maurice, this paean of\nhomage put all their efforts to shame. It suited only one, lauded a\ngrandeur and dignity which stood firm as indestructible cliffs, and which\nno one here possessed save the Emperor Charles.\n\nWho would have ventured to apply this motet to the brave and clever\nSaxon, high as he, too, towered above most of his peers? What did the\nnations of the earth know about him? How small was the world still that\nwas full of his renown!\n\nThis singing had reminded both princes of Barbara, and they looked for\nher. The Emperor perceived her first, beckoned kindly to her, and, after\nconversing with her for a while so graciously that it aroused the envy of\nthe other ladies in the tent, he said eagerly: \"Not sung amiss for your\nRatisbon, I should think. But how this superb composition was sung six\nyears ago at Catnbray, under the direction of Courtois himself!--that,\nyes, that is one of the things never to be forgotten. Thirty-four\nsingers, and what power, what precision, and, moreover, the great charm\nof novelty! I have certainly been permitted to hear many things----\"\n\nHere he paused; the Cardinal of Trent was approaching with the Bishop of\nArras.\n\nThe younger Granvelle, with his father, had also been present at the\nperformance of this motet of homage at Cambray, and respectfully\nconfirmed his Majesty's remark, speaking with special warmth of the\nfervour and delicacy with which Jean Courtois had conducted the choir.\n\nThe cardinal had no wish to detract from the merits of the Netherland\nmaestro, but he called the Emperor's attention to young Orlando di Lasso,\nthe leader of the orchestra in the Lateran at Rome, who, in his opinion,\nwas destined as a composer and conductor to cast into the shade all the\nmusicians of his time. He was born in Hennegau. The goddess of Music\ncontinued to honour the Netherlands with her special favour.\n\nDuring this conversation Barbara had stepped modestly aside. Charles\nglanced toward her several times to address her again, but when the\nBishop of Arras whispered that, before the commencement of the festival,\nthe cardinal had received despatches from the Council and from Rome, he\nmotioned to both prelates to follow him, and, paying no further heed to\nBarbara--nay, without even vouchsafing her a farewell wave of the\nhand--conducted them to the rear of the tent.\n\nAgain the girl's heart ached in her abandonment. Duke Maurice, too, had\nvanished. When he saw the Emperor address her he had left the tent.\n\nDancing had begun, and he was now accepting the invitation of the\nmagistrate Ambrosius Ammann to inaugurate the young people's pleasure as\nleader of the Polish dance.\n\nFor a time Barbara stood as if spellbound to the spot where her lover had\nso suddenly turned away from her.\n\nShe was again experiencing what Adrian had predicted--politics made\nCharles forget everything else, even love. How would it be when war\nactually came?\n\nNow, after the Emperor had showed her that he still deemed her worthy of\nregard, she felt for the first time thoroughly neglected, and with\ndifficulty restrained her tears. She would have liked to follow Charles,\nand at every peril whisper softly, so that he alone could hear, yet with\nall the sharpness of her resentment, that it was unchivalrous to leave\nher standing here like an outcast, and that she demanded to learn why she\nhad forfeited his love.\n\nThe wild throbbing of her heart impeded her breathing, and, in the\nindignation of her soul, she longed to escape fresh humiliation and to\nleave the festival.\n\nBut again Baron Malfalconnet appeared as a preserver in the hour of need,\nand, with the profound submissiveness bordering upon mockery which he\nalways showed her, asked why she had so speedily deprived his Majesty of\nthe pleasure of her society. Barbara gave way to her wrath and, while\nvehemently forbidding the unseemly jibe, glanced with a bitter smile\ntoward the Emperor, who, in conversation with the two dignitaries, seemed\nto have forgotten everything around him.\n\n\"The destiny of the world,\" observed the baron, \"can not be set to dance\nmusic. The domain of your obedient admirer, Malfalconnet, on the\ncontrary, obeys solely the heart throbs in this loyal breast; and if you,\nfairest of women, will allow yourself to be satisfied with so small a\nrealm of sovereignty, it is at your disposal, together with these\ntolerably agile feet, which still wait in vain for the well-merited\nimperial gout.\"\n\nThe sharp refusal which this proposition received amused the baron\ninstead of offending him, and passing into a more conversational tone, he\nproposed to her to leave this abode of ennui, where even the poor satyrs\non the hangings were holding their big hands over their mouths to hide\ntheir yawns, and go with him to the dancing floor.\n\nBarbara laid her hand on his arm and followed him to the pleasure ground\nunder the lindens, where the pretty daughters of the Ratisbon noble\nfamilies had just commenced a dance with the gentlemen belonging to their\ncircle.\n\nBarbara had gone to school, exchanged kisses, and was a relative or\nfriend of most of these young girls in light gala dresses, adorned with\ncoloured flowers, whose names Malfalconnet asked, yet, after an interval\nof these few weeks, she met them like a stranger.\n\nThe love which united her to the Emperor had raised her far above them.\n\nAccustomed to give herself up entirely to the gifts which the present\noffered, she had turned her back on Ratisbon and its inhabitants, with\nwhom, during this period of happiness she could easily dispense, as if\nthey were a forgotten world. There was no one in her native city whom she\nseriously missed or to whom she was strongly drawn. That she, too,\noffered these people little, and was of small importance, self-love had\nnever permitted her to realize, and therefore she felt an emotion of\npainful surprise when she perceived the deep gulf which separated her\nfrom her fellow-citizens of both sexes.\n\nNow her old friends and acquaintances showed her plainly enough how\nlittle they cared for her withdrawal.\n\nPretty Elspet Zohrer, with whom she had contended for the recruiting\nofficer, Pyramus Kogel, was standing opposite to her, by her partner's\nside, in the same row with charming little Mietz Schiltl, Anne Mirl\nWoller, her cousin, Marg Thun, and the others.\n\nThe Zauner, which they were dancing with a solemn dignity that aroused\nthe baron's mirth, afforded them an opportunity to look around them, and\nthey eagerly availed themselves of it; nay, they almost all glanced at\nBarbara, and then, with evident intention, away from her, after Elspet\nZohrer, with a contemptuous elevation of her dainty little snub nose, had\nignored her schoolmate's greeting.\n\nBarbara drew herself up, and the air of unapproachable dignity which she\nassumed well suited the aristocratic gentleman at her side, whom every\none knew as the most brilliant, witty, and extravagant noble at the\nEmperor's court. At the same time she addressed the baron, whom she had\nhitherto kept at a distance, with unconstrained familiarity, and as the\neyes of the mothers also rested upon her, remarks which might have driven\nthe blood to her cheeks were made upon the intimate terms existing\nbetween the \"Emperor's sweetheart\" and the profligate and spendthrift\nMalfalconnet.\n\nTrue, Barbara could not understand what they were saying, but it was easy\nenough to perceive in what way they were talking about her.\n\nYet what gave these women the right to condemn her?\n\nThey bore her a grudge because she had distinguished herself by her art,\nwhile their little geese were idle at home or, at most, busied themselves\nin the kitchen, at the spinning wheel, in dancing, and whatever was\nconnected with it while waiting for their future husbands. The favour\nwhich the most illustrious of mortals showed her they imputed to her as a\ncrime.\n\nHow could they know that she was more to the Emperor than the artist\nwhose singing enraptured him?\n\nThe girls yonder--her Woller cousins certainly--merely held aloof because\ntheir mothers commanded them to do it. Only in the case of a few need she\nfear that jealousy and envy had taken possession of them. Yet what did\nshe care for them and their behaviour? She looked over their heads with\nthe air of a queen.\n\nBut what was the meaning of this?\n\nAs soon as the dance was over, a pretty young girl, scarcely seventeen\nyears old, with blue forget-me-nots in her fair hair and on her breast,\nleft her partner and came directly toward Barbara.\n\nHer head drooped and she hesitated shyly as she did so, but her modest\ntimidity was so charming that the dissolute courtier at Barbara's side\nfelt a throb of sympathy, and gazed down at her like a benevolent\nfatherly friend as she held out her hand to his companion.\n\nHe did not think Martina Hiltner actually beautiful as she stood close\nbefore him, but, on the other hand, inexpressibly charming in her modest\ngrace.\n\nThat it was she who came to Barbara so confidingly increased his good\nopinion of the self-reliant, hot-blooded girl who had won the Emperor's\nlove, and therefore he was deeply angered when the latter answered\nMartina's greeting curtly and coldly, and, without vouchsafing her any\nfurther words, requested him to summon one of the attendants who were\nserving refreshments.\n\nMalfalconnet glanced significantly toward Martina, and, while offering\nBarbara a goblet of lemonade, said, \"There is candied lemon and other\nseasoning in it, so it will probably suit your taste, exacting beauty,\nsince you appear to dislike what is pure.\"\n\n\"Only when poison is mixed with it,\" she answered quickly, tossing her\nhead arrogantly. Then, controlling herself, she added in an explanatory\ntone: \"In this case, Baron, your far-famed penetration deceived you. It\ngave me more pain than you will believe to reject the friendly advances\nof this lovely child, but her father is the head of the Lutheran heresy\nhere, and the almoner----\"\n\n\"Then that certainly alters the case,\" the other interrupted. \"Where the\nHoly Inquisition threatens, I should be capable of denying a friend\nthrice ere the cock crew. But what a number of charming young faces there\nare on this Lindenplatz! Here one can understand why Ratisbon, like the\nFrench Arles, is famed for the beauty of her daughters. It was not easy\nfor you to earn the reputation of the greatest beauty here. You have also\ngained that of the most cruel one. You make me feel it. But if you wish\nto cast into oblivion the poisoned cup proffered just now, do me the\nfavour to trust yourself to my guidance in the next dance.\"\n\n\"Impossible,\" answered Barbara firmly. \"If I were really cruel, I would\nyield to your skill in tempting, and render you the base betrayer of the\ngreatest and noblest of masters.\"\n\n\"Does not every one who gazes at your beauty or listens to your song\nbecome such a monster, at least in thought?\" asked the baron gaily. \"Are\nyou really so inexorable about the dance?\"\n\n\"As this statue,\" Barbara answered with mirthful resolution, pointing to\na plaster figure which was intended to represent the goddess Flora or the\nmonth of May. \"But let us stay here a few minutes longer, though only as\nspectators.\"\n\nBarbara expressed this wish because a group of young gentlemen, who had\nalways been among those who sought her most eagerly for a partner at the\ndances in the New Scales, had attracted her attention. They were engaged\nin an animated discussion, which from their glances and gestures\nevidently concerned Barbara.\n\nBernhard Trainer, the tall son of an old and wealthy family, who loved\nMartina Hiltner, and had been incensed by Barbara's treatment of her,\nseemed to gain his point, and when the city pipers began to play again,\nall of them--probably a dozen in number--passed by her arm-in-arm in\ncouples, with their eyes studiously fixed upon the opposite side of the\ndancing floor.\n\nBarbara could entertain no doubt that this insulting act was intended to\nwound her. The \"little castle,\" as it was called in Prebrunn, owned by\nBernhard Trainer's family, was near the bishop's house which she\noccupied. Therefore the Trainers had probably heard more than others\nabout the visits she received. Or did the gentlemen consider that she\ndeserved punishment for not treating Martina more kindly?\n\nWhatever might have caused the unseemly act, in Barbara's eyes it was a\nbase trick, which filled her with furious rage against the instigators.\nHad she shared the Emperor's power, it would have been a delight to her\nin this hour to repay the malignant insult in the same or far heavier\ncoin. But, on Malfalconnet's account, she must submit in silence to what\nhad been inflicted upon her.\n\nSo, in a muffled tone, she requested the baron to take her back to the\ntent, but while fulfilling her wish he wondered at the long strides of\nthe capricious young lady at his side, and the mortifying inattention\nwith which she received his questions.\n\nMeanwhile the Emperor had returned to the throne, and Maurice of Saxony\nwas again standing beside him, while the chamberlain Andreas Wolff was\nhumbly, inviting the monarch to make the Ratisbon young people happy by\nvisiting the scene of the dancing.\n\nAfter a dance of inquiry at the duke, Charles assented to this request.\nBut they must pardon him if he remained a shorter time than he himself\nwould desire, as the physician was urging his return home.\n\nWhile the chamberlain was retiring, Charles saw Barbara leaning on\nMalfalconnet's arm, beckoned to them, and asked her whether she had\nyielded to her love for dancing.\n\nA brief \"No, your Majesty,\" assured him of the contrary, and led him to\nmake the remark that whoever exercised a noble art so admirably as she\nwould be wise to refrain from one which could afford nobody any higher\npleasure than the peasant and his sweetheart, if they only had sound\nfeet.\n\nThe counsel sounded harsh, almost warning, and the already irritated girl\nwith difficulty restrained a sharp reply; but the Emperor was already\nrising, that, leaning on Quijada's arm, he might seek the dancing ground.\n\nMeantime the young Saxon duke had approached Barbara, and expressed his\nadmiration of the successful festival, but she scarcely heard what he\nsaid. Yet when she turned her face toward him, and his ardent gaze rested\nyearningly upon her, she felt that the opportunity had now come to carry\nout her half-forgotten intention of arousing the jealousy of her royal\nlover.\n\nWhatever it might cost, she must undertake the risk.\n\nSummoning all her strength of will, she silenced the bitter resentment\nwhich filled her heart, and a sunny glance told Duke Maurice how much his\nescort pleased her. Malfalconnet had watched every look of the lady on\nhis arm, as well as the duke's, and as they approached the scene of the\ndance he asked the latter if his Highness would condescend to relieve him\nfor a short time of a delightful duty. An important one in the service of\nhis imperial Majesty----\n\nHere the duke's eager assent interrupted him, and the next moment Barbara\nwas leaning on the arm of the handsome young prince.\n\nShe had found in him the tool which she needed, and Maurice entered into\nher design only too readily, for the baron had scarcely retired ere he\nchanged his tone of voice and began an attack upon her heart.\n\nHe had no need to respect the older rights of his imperial host, for\nCharles had distrustfully concealed from him the bond which united him to\nthe beautiful singer. So, with glowing eloquence, he described to Barbara\nhow quickly and powerfully the spell of her beauty and her wonderful art\nhad fired his brain, and besought her to aid him not to commence one of\nthe most important periods of his life with a sore heart and sick with\nlonging; but she allowed him to speak, without interrupting him by a\nsingle word.\n\nShe could not misunderstand what he desired, and many a glance permitted\nhim to interpret it in his favour; but resentment still continued to stir\nin her soul, growing and deepening as the Emperor, seated on the throne\nerected for him, without noticing her appearance, sometimes listened to\nthe chamberlain, who mentioned the names of the handsomest dancers,\nsometimes addressed a question to the Bishop of Arras and the other\ngentlemen who had followed him.\n\nHer royal lover deprived her of even the possibility of rousing him by\njealousy from the consciousness of the secure possession of her person.\nBesides, the flushed faces of the young men who had so shamelessly\ninsulted her were beaming before her with the joy of the festival.\n\nBut the expression of their features was already changing. Duke Maurice\nhad been recognised, and now all who felt entitled to do so approached\nhim, among them her foes, at their head Bernhard Trainer, who were\nobliged to bend low before him, and therefore before her also.\n\nJust then the city pipers struck up a gagliarde, and the music was the\nair of the dancing-master's song by Baldassaro Donati, which had roused\nthe Emperor's indignation a few days ago. In imagination she again heard\nhis outburst of anger, again saw him rise from his seat in wrath at the\ninnocent \"Chi la gagliarda vuol imparare.\"\n\nThe time of reckoning had come, and he should pay her for the bitterness\nof that hour! Yonder malevolent fellows, who now looked bewildered and\nuneasy, should be forced to retreat before her and perceive what power\nshe had obtained by her beauty and her art.\n\nWith fevered blood and panting breath she listened to the gay music of\nthe enlarged band of city pipers, and watched the movements of the\ncouples who had already commenced the gagliarde, and--how was it possible\nin such a mood?--a passionate desire to dance took possession of her.\n\nWithout heeding the many persons who stood around them, she whispered\nsoftly to the duke, \"It would be a pleasure to keep time to the music of\nthe gagliarde with you, your Highness.\"\n\nAn ardent love glance accompanied this invitation, and the bold Saxon\nduke was a man to avail himself of every advantage.\n\nHe instantly expressed to the Ratisbon gentlemen his desire to try the\ngagliarde himself to such excellent music, and at a sign from the master\nof ceremonies the dance stopped.\n\nSeveral members of the Council requested the couples to make way, and\nMaurice took his partner's hand and led her on the stage.\n\nThe sudden cessation of the music attracted the Emperor's attention also.\nIn an instant he perceived what was about to take place, and looked at\nBarbara. Her eyes met his, and such a glow of indignation, nay, wrath, so\nimperious a prohibition flashed from his glance that her flushed cheeks\npaled, and she strove to withdraw her hand from the duke's.\n\nBut Maurice held it firmly, and at the same moment the city pipers began\nto play again, and the music streamed forth in full, joyous tones.\n\nThe wooing notes fell into her defiant soul like sparks on dry brushwood.\nShe could not help dancing, though it should be her death. Already she\nhad begun, and with mischievous joy the thought darted through her mind\nthat now Charles, too, would perceive what anguish lay in the fear of\nlosing those whom we love.\n\nIf this grief brought him back to her, she thought, while eagerly\nfollowing the figures of the dance, she would tend him all her life like\na maidservant; if his pride severed the bond between them--that could not\nbe done, because he loved her--she must bear it. Doubtless the conviction\nforced itself upon her superstitious mind that Fate would be ready to\nruin her by the dance, yet she executed what must bring misfortune upon\nher; to retreat was no longer possible.\n\nThese thoughts darted in wild confusion in a few moments through her\nburning brain, and while Maurice swung her around it seemed as if the\nmusic reached her through the roar and thunder of breakers. The words\n\"Chi la gagliarda vuol imparare\" constantly echoed in her ears, mocking,\nreckless, urging her to retaliation.\n\nThe dancing-master, Bernandelli, whom the Council had summoned from Milan\nto the Danube, had taught her and the other young people of Ratisbon the\ngagliarde. The sensible teacher, to suit the taste of the German\nburghers, had divested the gay dance of its recklessness. But he had\nshowed his best pupils with how much more freedom the Italians performed\nthe gagliarde, and Barbara had not forgotten the lesson. Duke Maurice\nmoved and guided her with the same unfettered ease that the little\nmaestro had displayed in former days. Willing or not, she was obliged to\nfollow his lead, and she did so, carried away by the demands of her\nexcited blood and the pleasure of dancing, so long denied, yet with the\ngrace and perfect ear for time which were her special characteristics.\n\nNeither the Ratisbon citizens nor Charles, who had been a good dancer\nhimself, had ever seen the gagliarde danced in this way by either the\ngentleman or the lady. A better-matched couple could scarcely be imagined\nthan the tall, powerful, chivalrous young prince and the beautiful,\nsuperbly formed, golden-haired girl who seemed, as it were, carried away\nby the music.\n\nBut Charles did not appear to share the pleasure which the sight of this\nrare couple and their dancing awakened even in the most envious and\naustere of the Ratisbon spectators, for when, in a pause, Barbara, with\nsparkling eyes, glanced first into the duke's face and then, with a merry\nlook of inquiry, at her lover, she found his features no longer distorted\nby anger, but disgusted, as though he were witnessing an unpleasant\nspectacle.\n\nNevertheless she danced a short time longer without looking at him, until\nsuddenly the remembrance of his reproving glance spoiled her pleasure in\nthis rare enjoyment.\n\nShe whispered to the duke that she was satisfied.\n\nA wave of his hand stopped the music but, ere returning the bow of her\ndistinguished partner, Barbara looked for the Emperor.\n\nHer eyes sought him in vain-he had left the turf under the lindens before\nthe close of the dance. The Bishop of Arras, Malfalconnet, and several of\nthe ladies and gentlemen who had left the tent in no small number and\ngone to the scene of the dancing after learning what was taking place\nthere, had remained after the monarch's departure. Most of them joined in\nthe applause which the younger Granvelle eagerly commenced when the city\npipers lowered their instruments.\n\nBarbara heard it, and saw that Bernhard Trainer and other young citizens\nof Ratisbon were following the courtiers' example, but she seemed\nscarcely to notice the demonstration.\n\nThe doubt whether Charles had merely not waited till the end of the\ndance, or had already left the festival, made her forget everything else.\nThrough the Bishop of Arras she learned that his Majesty had gone home.\n\nNo one, not even the baron and Quijada, had received a message for her.\n\nThis fresh humiliation pierced her heart like a knife.\n\nOn every similar occasion hitherto he had sent her a few kind words, or,\nif Don Luis was the messenger, tender ones.\n\nYet she was obliged to force herself to smile, in order not to betray\nwhat was passing in her mind. Besides, she could not shake off the Duke\nof Saxony like the poor, handsome recruiting officer, Pyramus Kogel.\n\nFortunately, some of the most prominent Ratisbon citizens now crowded\naround Maurice to thank him for the honour which he had done the city.\n\nShe availed herself of the favourable opportunity to beg Granvelle, in a\nlow tone, to keep the duke away from her the next morning until his\ndeparture at noon, and, if possible, now.\"\n\n\"One service for another,\" replied the statesman. \"I will rid you of the\nmost desirable admirer in Germany. But, on the day after to-morrow, you\nwill adorn my modest banquet with the singing of the most gifted artist\nin the world.\"\n\n\"Gladly, unless his Majesty forbids me to do so,\" replied Barbara.\n\nA few minutes later she informed her passionate young ducal lover, who\nwished to call upon her in her own home that very evening, that it would\nbe utterly impossible. With an air of the greatest regret, she said that\nher little castle was guarded like an endangered citadel; and when the\nduke proposed a meeting, he was interrupted by the Bishop of Arras, who\ndesired to speak to him about \"important business.\"\n\nIn spite of the late hour, the minister, even without the girl's request,\nwould have sought an audience with the duke, and to the ambitious Maurice\npolitics and the important plans being prepared for immediate execution\nwere of infinitely greater value than a love adventure, no matter what\nhours of pleasure it promised to afford.\n\nSo Barbara succeeded in taking leave of the duke without giving him\noffence.\n\nThe marquise was waiting for her with ill-repressed indignation. The\nweary old woman had wanted to return home long before, but the command of\nthe grand chamberlain compelled her to wait for Barbara and accompany her\nthe short distance to the house.\n\nWith an angry glance and a few bitter-sweet words of greeting, the old\ndame entered the litter. Barbara preferred to walk beside hers, for\nclouds had darkened the sky; it had become oppressively sultry, and she\nfelt as if she would stifle in the close, swaying box.\n\nFour torch-bearers accompanied the litters. She ordered the knight and\nthe two lackeys whom Quijada had commissioned to attend her to remain\nbehind, and also refused the service of the little Maltese, who--oh, how\ngladly!--would have acted as a page and carried her train.\n\nAs the shipwrecked man on a plank amid the endless surges longs for land,\nBarbara longed to get away, far away from the noise of the festival. Yet\nshe dreaded the solitude which she was approaching, for she now perceived\nhow foolishly she had acted, and with what sinful recklessness she had\nperhaps forfeited the happiness of her life on this luckless evening.\n\nBut need she idly wait for the doom to which she was condemned? He whose\nbright eyes could beam on her so radiantly had just wounded her with\nangry glances, like a foe or a stern judge, and his indignation had not\nbeen groundless.\n\nWhat had life to offer her without his love? The wantonly bold venture\nhad been baffled. Yet no! All was not yet lost!\n\nSuppose she should summon courage to steal back to him and on her knees\nrepentantly beseech him to forgive her?\n\nBut she cherished this desire only a few moments. Then the angry, wronged\nheart rebelled against such humiliation. She had not so shame fully\noffended the Emperor, but the lover, and it was his place to entreat her\nnot to withdraw the love which made him happy.\n\nThe young girl raised her head with fresh courage. What had happened more\nthan she had expected?\n\nBecause he loved her, he had become jealous, and made her feel his anger.\nBut if she should now persistently withdraw from him, and let him realize\nhow deeply he had offended her, she could not fail to win the game. In\nspite of all his crowns and kingdoms, he was only a man, and must not\nshe, who in a few brief hours had forced a Maurice of Saxony to sue\nyearningly for her love, succeed by the might of her art and her beauty\nin transforming the wrath of the far older man, Charles, into his former\npassion?\n\nIf the Italian novels with which she was familiar did not lie, not only\njealousy, but apparent indifference on the part of the beloved object,\nfanned the heart of man to burst into fresh flames.\n\nIt was only necessary to hold her impetuous temper in check, and profit\nby the jealousy which had now been aroused in Charles's mind. Hitherto\nshe had always obeyed hasty impulses. Why should not she, too, succeed in\naccomplishing a well-considered plan? With the torturing emotions of\nfailure, mortification, desertion, remorse, and yearning for forgiveness,\nnow blended the hope of yet bringing to a successful conclusion the\nhazardous enterprise which she had already given up as hopeless, and,\nwhile walking on, her brain toiled diligently over plans for the campaign\nwhich would compel the great general to return with twofold devotion the\nlove of which he had deprived her.\n\nSo, in the intense darkness, she followed the light which the torches\ncast upon the uneven path. At first she had taken up the train of her\ndress; now it was sweeping the dusty road.\n\nWhat did she care for the magnificent robe if she regained Charles's\nlove? Of what use would it be if she had lost it, lost it forever?\n\nBefore the litters reached the little castle a gust of wind rose, driving\nlarge drops of rain, straw, and withered leaves-Barbara could not imagine\nwhence they came in the month of May--into her face. She was obliged to\nstruggle against these harbingers of the coming tempest, and her heart\ngrew lighter during the conflict. She was not born to endure, but to\ncontend.\n\nThe scene of the festivities emptied rapidly. The duke and Granvelle\ndrove back to the city in the minister's carriage. Malfalconnet and\nQuijada, in spite of the gathering storm, went home on foot.\n\n\"What a festival!\" said Don Luis scornfully.\n\n\"In former days such things presented a more superb spectacle even here.\nBut now! No procession, no scarlet save on the cardinals, no golden\ncross, no venerable priest's head on the whole pleasure ground, and,\nmoreover, neither consecration nor the pious exhortation to remember\nHeaven, whence comes the joy in which the crowd is rejoicing.\"\n\n\"I, too, missed something here,\" cried the baron eagerly, \"and now I\nlearn through you what it is.\"\n\n\"Will not the heretics themselves gradually feel that they are robbing\nthe pasty of faith of its truffles--what am I saying?--of its salt? May\ntheir dry black bread choke them! The only thing that gave the unseasoned\nmeal a certain charm was the capitally performed gagliarde.\n\n\"Which angered his Majesty more deeply than you imagine,\" replied Don\nLuis. \"The singer's days are probably numbered. It is a pity! She was\nwonderfully successful in subduing the spirits of melancholy.\"\n\n\"The war, on which we can now depend, will do that equally well, if not\nbetter,\" interrupted the baron. \"Within a short time I, too, have lost\nall admiration for this fair one. Cold-hearted and arrogant. Capable of\nthe utmost extremes when her hot blood urges her on. Unpopular with the\npeople to whom she belongs, and, in spite of her bold courage,\nsurprisingly afraid of the Holy Inquisition. Here, among the heretics,\nthat gives cause for thought.\"\n\n\"Enough!\" replied Don Luis. \"We will let matters take their course. If\nthe worst comes, I, at least, will not move a finger in her behalf.\"\n\n\"Nor will I,\" said Malfalconnet, and both walked quietly on.\n\n[The End of Volume One of the Print Edition]\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Attain a lofty height from which to look down upon others\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 7.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThrough the storm, which lashed her face with whirling clouds of dust and\ndrops of rain, Barbara reached the little Prebrunn castle.\n\nThe marquise had not yet left her litter. The wind had extinguished two\nof the torches. One bearer walked in front of Barbara with his, and the\ngale blew the smoking flame aside. But, ere she had reached the gate, a\nman who had been concealed behind the old elm by the path stepped forward\nto meet her. She started back and, as he called her by name, she\nrecognised the young Wittenberg theologian, Erasmus Eckhart. Sincerely\nindignant, she ordered him to go away at once, but her first words were\ninterrupted by the shrill voice of the marquise, who had now left her\nlitter, and with loud shrieks ordered the steward to seize the burglar.\n\nErasmus, however, trusted to his strength and nimbleness and, instead of\npromptly taking flight, entreated Barbara to listen to him a moment. Not\nuntil, far from allowing herself to be softened, she, too, threatened\nhim, did he attempt to escape, but both litters were in his way, and when\nhe had successfully passed around them the gardener, suddenly emerging\nfrom the darkness, seized him. But the sturdy young fellow knew how to\ndefend his liberty, and had already released himself from his assailant\nwhen other servants grasped him.\n\nAbove the roar of the storm now rose the shrieks of the marquise, the\nshouts of \"Stop thief!\" from the men, and Erasmus's protestations that he\nwas no robber, coupled with an appeal to Jungfrau Blomberg, who knew him.\n\nBarbara now stated that he was the son of a respectable family, and had\nby no means come here to steal the property of others; but the marquise,\nthough she probably correctly interpreted the handsome young fellow's\nlate visit, vehemently insisted upon his arrest. She treated Barbara's\nremonstrance with bitter contempt; and when Cassian, the almoner's\nservant, appeared and declared that he had already caught this rascal\nmore than once strolling in a suspicious manner near the castle, and that\nhe himself was here so late only because his beloved bride, in her\nmistress's absence, was afraid of the robber and his companions,\nBarbara's entreaties and commands were disregarded, and Erasmus's hands\nwere bound.\n\nBy degrees the noise drew most of the inmates of the castle out of doors,\nand among them Frau Lerch. Lastly, several halberdiers, who were coming\nfrom the Lindenplatz and had heard the screams in the garden, appeared,\nchained the prisoner, and took him to the Prebrunn jail.\n\nBut scarcely had Erasmus been led away when the priests of the household\nalso came out and asked what had happened. In doing this Barbara's\ncaution in not calling Erasmus by name proved to have been futile, for\nCassian had recognised him, and told the ecclesiastics what he knew. The\nchaplain then asserted that, as the property of the Prince Abbot of\nBerchtesgaden, the house and garden were under ecclesiastical\njurisdiction, and committed the further disposal of the burglar's fate to\nthe Dominican whom the almoner had placed there. For the present he might\nremain in secular custody. Early the following morning he must be brought\nbefore the Spanish Dominicans who had come with the Emperor, and from\nwhom greater severity might be expected than from the Ratisbon\nbrotherhood, by whom monastic discipline had been greatly relaxed.\n\nMeanwhile the wind had subsided, and the storm had burst with thunder,\nlightning, and torrents of rain. Priests and laymen retreated into the\nhouse, and so did Barbara and the marquise. The latter had exposed\nherself to the tempest only long enough to emphasize the necessity of\ndelivering the heretical night-bird to the Spanish Dominicans very early\nthe next morning, and to show Barbara that she did not overlook the\nsignificance of the incidents under the lindens. With a disagreeable\nblending of tenderness and malice, she congratulated the young girl on\nthe applause she had received as a dancer, the special favour which she\nhad enjoyed from the Duke of Saxony, and the arrest of the dangerous\nburglar, which would also be a gratification to his Majesty.\n\nWith these words the old aristocrat, coughing slightly, tripped up the\nstairs; but Barbara, without vouchsafing an answer to this speech, whose\npurpose she clearly understood, turned her back upon her and went to her\nown room.\n\nShe had desired no gift in return when, to save this contemptible woman's\nson and his child, she sacrificed her lover's precious memento; but the\nbase reward for the kind deed added a burning sense of pain to the other\nsorrows which the day had brought. What a shameful crime was ingratitude!\nNone could be equally hateful to eternal justice, for--she now learned it\nby her own experience--ingratitude repaid kindness with evil instead of\nwith good, and paralyzed the disappointed benefactor's will to perform\nanother generous deed.\n\nWhen she entered her sleeping-room the courage which she had summoned\nduring the walk, and the hope to which she had yielded, appeared to be\nscattered and blown away as if by a gust of wind. Besides, she could not\nconceal from herself that she had drawn the nails from the planks of her\nwrecked ship of life with her own hand.\n\nDid it not seem as if she had intentionally done precisely what she ought\nmost studiously to have left undone? Her sale of the star had been only\nan unfortunate act of weakness, but the dance, the luckless dance! Not\nonce only, several times Charles had stated plainly enough how unpleasant\nit was to him even to hear the amusement mentioned. She had behaved as if\nshe desired to forfeit his favour.\n\nAnd why, in Heaven's name, why? To arouse his jealousy?\n\nFool that she was! This plant took root only in a heart filled with love\n\nAnd his?\n\nBecause she perceived that his love was dying, she had awakened this\nfatal passion. Was it not as if she had expected to make a water-lily\nblossom in the sands of the desert?\n\nTrue, still another motive had urged her to this mad act. She knew not\nwhat name to give it, yet it was only too possible that, in spite of her\nrecent experiences, it might overpower her again on the morrow.\n\nSurprised at herself, she struck her brow with her hand, and when Frau\nLerch, who was just combing her wet hair, perceived it, she sobbed aloud,\nexclaiming: \"Poor, poor young gentleman, and the Hiltners, who love him\nas if he were their own son! Such a terrible misfortune! Old fool that I\nam! The first time he asked admittance to show you the tablature, and you\ndid not want to receive him, I persuaded you to do so. Then he fared like\nall the others whose heads you have turned with your singing. Holy\nVirgin! If the Hiltners learn that you and I let him be bound without\nmaking any real protest. It will fall heaviest upon me; you can believe\nthat, for Fran Hiltner and Jungfrau Martina, since the young girl has\ngone to dances, have been among my best customers. Now they will say:\nFrau Lerch, who used to be a good little woman, left the young fellow in\nthe lurch when his life was at stake, for they will take him to the\nSpanish Dominicans. They belong, to the Holy Inquisition, and think no\nmore of burning people at the stake than we do of a few days in prison.\"\n\nHere Barbara interrupted her with the remark that Erasmus could be\nconvicted of no crime, and the Holy Inquisition had no authority in\nRatisbon.\n\nBut Frau Lerch knew better. That was all very well during the Emperor's\nabsence, but now that his Majesty resided in the city the case was\ndifferent. Erasmus had been arrested on ecclesiastical ground, the\nchaplain had ordered him to be delivered to the Spaniards early the next\nmorning and, ere the syndic could interpose, the rope would already be\ntwisted for him, for with these gentlemen the executioner stood close\nbeside the judge. Besides, she had heard of a pamphlet against the Pope,\nwhich the young theologian had had published, that had aroused great\nindignation among the priesthood. If he fell into the hands of the\nDominicans, he would be lost, as surely as she hoped to be saved. If he\nwere only in the custody of the city, of course a better result might be\nhoped.\n\nHere she stopped with a shriek, dropping the comb, for the thundercloud\nwas now directly over the city, and a loud peal, following close upon the\nflash of lightning, shook the house; but Barbara scarcely heeded the\ndazzling glare and the rattling panes.\n\nShe had risen with a face as white as death. She knew what severe\nsentences could be pronounced by the Council of the Inquisition, and the\nthought that the keenest suffering should be inflicted upon the Hiltners\nthrough her, to whom they had showed so much kindness, seemed\nunendurable. Besides, what she had just said to herself concerning\ningratitude returned to her mind.\n\nAnd then, Inquisition and the rack were two ideas which could scarcely be\nseparated from one another. What might not be extorted from the accused\nby the torture! In any case, the almoner's suspicion would obtain fresh\nnourishment, and her lover had told her more than once--what a special\ndislike he felt for women who, with their slender intelligence, undertook\nto set themselves above the eternal truths of the Holy Church. And the\njealousy which, fool that she was, she had desired to arouse in her\nlover, what abundant nourishment it would derive from the events which\nhad occurred on her return from the festival!\n\nBut even these grave fears were overshadowed by the thought of Dr.\nHiltner's wife and daughter. With what fair-mindedness the former in the\nConvivium had made her cause her own, how touching had been Martina's\neffort to approach her, and how ill that very day she had requited their\nloyal affection! Erasmus was as dear as a beloved son to these good\nwomen, and Frau Lerch's reproach that her intercession for him was but\nlukewarm had not been wholly groundless. The next day these friends who,\nnotwithstanding the difference in their religious belief, had treated her\nmore kindly than any one in Ratisbon, would hear this and condemn her.\nThat should not be! She would not suffer them to think of her as she did\nof the shameless old woman whose footsteps she still heard over her head.\n\nShe must not remain idly here, and what her impetuous nature so\npassionately demanded must be carried into execution, though reason and\nthe loud uproar of the raging storm opposed it.\n\nFran Lerch had just finished arranging her hair and handed her her\nnight-coif, when she started up and, with the obstinate positiveness\ncharacteristic of her, declared that she was going at once to the\nHiltners to inform the syndic of what had happened here. Erasmus was\nstill in the hands of the town guards, and perhaps it would be possible\nfor the former to withdraw the prisoner from ecclesiastical jurisdiction.\n\nFrau Lerch clasped her hands in horror, exclaiming: \"Holy Virgin, child!\nHave you gone crazy? Go out in this weather? Whoever is not killed by\nlightning will drown in the puddles.\"\n\nBut with that violent peal of thunder the storm had reached its height,\nand when the next flash of lightning came the thunder did not follow\nuntil some time after, though the rain continued to beat as heavily\nagainst the panes. Yet even had the tempest continued to rage with full\nfury, Barbara would not have been dissuaded from the resolution which she\nhad once formed.\n\nTrue, her attempt to persuade Frau Lerch to accompany her remained\nfutile. Her frail body, the dressmaker protested, was not able to\nundertake such a walk through the storm. If she yielded, it would be her\ndeath. It would kill Barbara, also, and this crazy venture would be too\ndearly paid for at the cost of two human lives.\n\nBarbara's angry remark that if she would not run the risk of getting wet\nfor the sake of compassion, she might on account of the Hiltners' good\ncustom, finally made the excited woman burst into piteous crying; yet in\nthe midst of it she brought Barbara's dress and old thick cloak and, as\nshe put them on the girl, exclaimed, \"But I tell you, child, you'll turn\nback again when you get halfway there, and all you bring home will be a\nbad illness.\"\n\n\"Whoever can execute the gagliarde to dance herself into misery,\" replied\nBarbara impatiently, \"will not find it difficult to take a walk through\nthe rain to save some one else from misfortune. The cloak!\"\n\n\"She will go,\" sobbed Frau Lerch. \"The servants must still obey you. At\nleast order the litter. This crazy night pilgrimage can not remain\nconcealed.\"\n\n\"Then let people talk about it,\" replied Barbara firmly and, after having\nthe cloak clasped and the hood drawn over her head, she went out. Frau\nLerch, who had the key, opened the door for her amid loud lamentations\nand muttered curses; but when the girl had vanished in the darkness, she\nturned back, saying fiercely through her set teeth: \"Rush on to ruin, you\nheadstrong creature! If I see aright, the magnificence here is already\ntottering. Go and get wet! I've made my profit, and the two unfinished\ngowns can be added to the account. The Lord is my witness that I meant\nwell. But will she ever do what sensible people advise? Always running\nher head against the wall. Whoever will not hear, must feel.\"\n\nShe hastened back into the house as she spoke to escape the pouring rain,\nbut Barbara paid little heed to the wet, and waded on through the mire of\nthe road.\n\nThe force of the storm was broken, the wind had subsided, distant flashes\nof lightning still illumined the northern horizon, and the night air was\nstiflingly sultry. No one appeared in the road, and yet some belated\npedestrian might run against her at any moment, for the dense darkness\nshrouded even the nearest objects. But she knew the way, and had\ndetermined to follow the Danube and go along the woodlands to the\ntanner's pit, whence the Hiltner house was easily reached. In this way\nshe could pass around the gate, which otherwise she would have been\nobliged to have opened.\n\nBut ere gaining the river she was to learn that she had undertaken a more\ndifficult task than she expected. Her father had never allowed her to go\nout after dark, unaccompanied, even in the neighbourhood, and the terrors\nof night show their most hideous faces to those who are burdened by\nanxious cares. Several times she sank so deep into the mud that her shoe\nstuck fast in it, and she was obliged to force it on again with much\ndifficulty. As she walked on and a strange, noise reached her from the\nwoodyard on her left, when she constantly imagined that she heard another\nstep following hers like an audible shadow, when drunken raftsmen came\ntoward her, hoarsely singing an obscene song, she pressed against a fence\nin order not to be seen by the dissolute fellows. But now a light came\nwavering toward her, looking like a shining bird flying slowly, or a\nhell-hound, with glowing eyes, and at the sight it seemed to her\nimpossible to wander on all alone. But the mysterious light proved to be\nonly a lantern in the hand of an old woman who had been to fetch a\ndoctor, so she summoned up fresh courage, though she told herself that\nhere near the lumber yards she might easily encounter raftsmen and guards\nwatching the logs and planks piled on the banks of the river, fishermen,\nand sailors. Already she heard the rushing of the swollen Danube, and\nhorrible tales returned to her memory of hapless girls who had flung\nthemselves into the waves here to put an end to lives clouded by disgrace\nand fear.\n\nThen a shiver ran through her, and she asked herself what her father\nwould say if he could see her wading alone through the water. Perhaps the\nfatigues of the long journey had thrown him upon a sick-bed; perhaps he\nhad even--at the fear she felt as though her heart would stop\nbeating--succumbed to them. Then he knew how matters stood with her, the\nsin she had committed, and the shame she had brought upon him that she\nmight enjoy undisturbed a happiness which was already changing into\nbitter sorrow. Meanwhile it seemed as if she was gazing into his rugged,\nsoldierly face, reddish-brown, with rolling eyes, as it looked when\ndisfigured by anger, and she raised her hands as if to hold him back; but\nonly for a few minutes, for she perceived that her excited imagination\nwas terrifying her with a delusion.\n\nDrawing a long breath, she pushed her dank hair back into her hood and\npressed her hand upon her heart. Then she was calm a while, but a new\nterror set it throbbing again. Close beside her--this time at her\nright--the loud laughter of men's harsh voices echoed through the\ndarkness.\n\nBarbara involuntarily stopped, and when she collected her thoughts and\nlooked around her, her features, distorted by anxiety and terror,\nsmoothed again, and she instantly knocked with her little clinched hand\nupon the door of the hut from whose open windows the laughter had issued.\n\nIt stood close to the river bank, and the tiny dwelling belonged to the\nPrior of Berchtesgaden's fisherman and boatman, who kept the\ndistinguished prelate's gondolas and boats in order, and acted as rower\nto the occupants of the little Prebrunn castle. She had often met this\nman when he brought fish for the kitchen, and he had gone with the boats\nin the water excursions which she had sometimes taken with Gombert and\nAppenzelder or with Malfalconnet and several pages. She had treated him\nkindly, and made him generous gifts.\n\nAll was still in the house after her knock, but almost instantly the deep\nvoice of the fisherman Valentin, who had thrust his bearded face and red\nhead out of the window, asked who was there.\n\nThe answer received an astonished \"Can it be!\" But as soon as she\ninformed him that she needed a companion, he shouted something to the\nothers, put on his fisherman's cap, stepped to Barbara's side, and led\nthe way with a lantern which stood lighted on the table.\n\nThe road was so softened that, in spite of the light which fell on the\nground, it was impossible to avoid the pools and muddy places. But the\ngirl had become accustomed to the wet and the wading. Besides, the\npresence of her companion relieved her from the terrors with which the\ndarkness and the solitude had tortured her. Instead of watching for new\ndangers, she listened while Valentin explained how it happened that she\nfound him still awake. He had helped hang the banners and lamps tinder\nthe lindens, and when the storm arose he assisted in removing the best\npieces. In return a jug of wine, with some bread and sausages, had been\ngiven to him, and he had just begun to enjoy them with two comrades.\n\nThe Hiltner house was soon reached. Nothing had troubled Barbara during\nthe nocturnal walk since the fisherman had accompanied her.\n\nHer heart was lighter as she rapped with the knocker on the syndic's\ndoor; but, although she repeated the summons several times, not a sound\nwas heard in the silent house.\n\nValentin had seen the Hiltners' two men-servants with the litters under\nthe lindens, and Barbara thought that perhaps the maids might have gone\nto the scene of the festival to carry headkerchiefs and cloaks to the\nladies before the outbreak of the storm. That the deaf old grandmother\ndid not hear her was easily understood.\n\nThe Hiltners could not have returned, so she must wait.\n\nFirst she paced impatiently to and fro in the rain, then sat upon a\ncurbstone which seemed to be protected from the shower by the roof. But\never and anon a larger stream of water poured down upon her from the jaws\nof a hideous monster in which the gutter ended than from the black\nclouds, and, dripping wet, she at last leaned against the door, which was\nbetter shielded by the projecting lintel, while the fisherman inquired\nabout the absent occupants of the house.\n\nThus minute after minute passed until the first and then the second\nquarter of an hour ended. When the third commenced, Barbara thought she\nhad waited there half the night. The rain began to lessen, it is true,\nbut the sultry night grew cooler, and a slight chill increased her\ndiscomfort.\n\nYet she did not move from the spot. Here, in front of the house in which\nestimable women had taken her to their hearts with such maternal and\nsisterly affection, Barbara had plainly perceived that she, who had never\nceased to respect herself, would forever rob herself of this right if she\ndid not make every effort in her power to save Erasmus from the grave\nperil in which he had become involved on her account. During this\nself-inspection she did not conceal from herself that, while singing his\nown compositions to him, she had yielded to the unfortunate habit of\npromising more with her eyes than she intended to perform. How could this\nvain, foolish sport have pleased her after she had yielded herself, soul\nand body, to the highest and greatest of men!\n\nAnne Mirl Woller had often been reproved by her mother, in her presence,\nfor her freedom of manner. But who had ever addressed such a warning to\nher? Now she must atone for her heedlessness, like many other things\nwhich her impetuous will demanded and proved stronger than the reason\nwhich forbade it. It was a wonder that Baron Malfalconnet and Maestro\nGombert had not sued more urgently for her favour. If she was honest, she\ncould not help admitting that her lover--and such a lover!--was justified\nin wishing many things in her totally different. But she was warned now,\nand henceforth these follies should be over--wholly and entirely over!\n\nIf only he would refrain from wounding her with that irritating\nsharpness, which made her rebellious blood boil and clouded her clear\nbrain! He was indeed the Emperor, to whom reverence was due; but during\nthe happy hours which tenderly united them he himself desired to be\nnothing but the man to whom the heart of the woman he loved belonged. She\nmust keep herself worthy of him, nothing more, and this toilsome errand\nwould prevent her from sullying herself with an ugly sin.\n\nDuring these reflections the chill had become more and more unendurable,\nyet she thought far less of the discomfort which it caused her than of\nincreased danger to Erasmus from the Hiltners' long absence.\n\nThe third quarter of an hour was already drawing to an end when Valentin\ncame hurrying up and told Barbara that they were on the way. He had\nmanaged to speak to the syndic, and told him who was waiting for him.\n\nA young maid-servant, running rapidly, came first to open the house and\nlight the lamps. She was followed, quite a distance in advance of the\nothers, by Dr. Hiltner.\n\nThe fisherman's communication had made him anxious. He, too, had heard\nthat Barbara was the Emperor's favourite. Besides, more than one\ncomplaint of her offensive arrogance had reached him. But, for that very\nreason, the wise man said to himself, it must be something of importance\nthat led her to him at this hour and in such weather.\n\nAt first he answered her greeting with cool reserve, but when she\nexplained that she had come, in spite of the storm, because the matter\nconcerned the weal or woe of a person dear to him, and he saw that she\nwas dripping wet, he honestly regretted his long delay, and in his manly,\nresolute manner requested her to follow him into the house; but Barbara\ncould not be persuaded to do so.\n\nTo give the thunderstorm time to pass and take his wife and daughter home\ndry, he had entered a tavern near the lindens and there engaged in\nconversation with several friends over some wine. Whenever he urged\nreturning, the young people--she knew why--objected. But at last they had\nstarted, and Bernhard Trainer had accompanied the Hiltners, in order to\nwoo Martina on the way. Her parents had seen this coming, and willingly\nconfided their child's happiness to him.\n\nThe betrothed couple now came up also, and saw with surprise the earnest\nzeal with which Martina's father was discussing something, they knew not\nwhat, with the singer on whose account they had had their first quarrel.\nThe lover had condemned Barbara's unprecedented arrogance during the\ndance so severely that Martina found it unendurable to listen longer.\n\nFrau Sabina, too, did not know how to interpret Barbara's presence; but\none thing was certain in her kindly heart--this was no place for such\nconversation. How wet the poor girl must be! The wrong which Barbara had\ndone her child was not taken into consideration under these circumstances\nand, with maternal solicitude, she followed her husband's example, and\nearnestly entreated Barbara to change her clothes in her house and warm\nherself with a glass of hot black currant wine. But Barbara could not be\ninduced to do so, and hurriedly explained to the syndic what he lacked\nthe clew to understand.\n\nIn a few minutes she had made him acquainted with everything that it was\nnecessary for him to know. Dr. Hiltner, turning to his wife, and mean\nwhile looking his future son-in-law steadily in the eye, exclaimed, \"We\nare all, let me tell you, greatly indebted to this brave girl.\"\n\nFrau Sabina's heart swelled with joy, and to Martina, too, the praise\nwhich her father bestowed on Barbara was a precious gift. The mother and\ndaughter had always espoused her cause, and now it again proved that they\nhad done well.\n\n\"So I was right, after all,\" whispered the young girl to her lover.\n\n\"And will prove so often,\" he answered gaily. But when, a short time\nafter, he proposed to Barbara's warm advocate to accompany the singer\nhome, Martina preferred to detain him, and invited him to stay in the\nhouse with her a little while longer.\n\nThese incidents had occupied only a brief period, and Dr. Hiltner\nundertook to escort the young girl himself. To save time, he questioned\nher about everything which he still desired to know, but left her before\nshe turned into the lane leading to the little castle, because he was\naware that she, who belonged to the Emperor's household, might he\nmisjudged if she were seen in his company.\n\nShortly after, he had freed Erasmus from imprisonment and sent him, in\ncharge of one of the Council's halberdiers, beyond the gate. He was to\nremain concealed outside the city until the syndic recalled him.\n\nThe young theologian willingly submitted, after confessing to his\nfoster-father how strongly love for Barbara had taken possession of him.\n\nThis act might arouse strong hostility to the syndic, but he did not fear\nit. Moreover, the Emperor had showed at the festival plainly enough his\nwithdrawal of the good opinion which he had formerly testified upon many\nan occasion. This was on account of his religion, and where that was\nconcerned there was no yielding or dissimulation on either side.\n\nBarbara returned home soothed.\n\nFrau Lerch was waiting for her, and with many tokens of disapproval\nundressed her. Yet she carefully dried her feet and rubbed them with her\nhands, that she might escape the fever which she saw approaching.\n\nBarbara accepted with quiet gratitude the attention bestowed upon her,\nbut, though she closed her eyes, the night brought no sleep, for\nsometimes she shivered in a chill, sometimes a violent headache tortured\nher.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nSleep also deserted the Emperor's couch. After his return from the\nfestival he tried to examine several documents which the secretary\nGastelii had laid ready for him on the writing-table, but he could not\nsucceed. His thoughts constantly reverted to Barbara and her defiant\nrebellion against the distinct announcement of his will. Had the Duke of\nSaxony, so much his junior and, moreover, a far handsomer and perhaps\nmore generous prince, won her favour, and therefore did she perhaps\ndesire to break the bond with him?\n\nWhy not?\n\nShe was a woman, and a capricious one, too, and of what would not such a\nnature be capable? Besides, there was something else. Jamnitzer, the\nNuremberg goldsmith, had intrusted a casket of jewels to Adrian to keep\nduring his absence. They were intended for the diadems which the Emperor\nwas to give his two nieces for bridal presents. The principal gems among\nthem were two rubies and a diamond. On the gold of the old-fashioned\nsetting were a P and an l, the initial letters of his motto \"Plus ultra.\"\nHe had once had it engraved upon the back of the star which he bestowed\nupon Barbara. His keen eye and faithful memory could not be\ndeceived--Jamnitzer's jewels had been broken from that costly ornament.\n\nFrom time immemorial it had belonged to the treasures of his family, and\nhe had already doubted whether it was justifiable to give it away.\n\nWas it conceivable that Barbara had parted with this, his first memento,\nsold it, \"turned it into money\"?--the base words wounded his chivalrous\nsoul like the blow of a scourge.\n\nShe was a passionate, defiant, changeful creature, it is true, yet her\nnature was noble, hostile to baseness, and what a wealth of the purest\nand deepest feeling echoed in her execution of solemn songs! This induced\nhim to reject as impossible the suspicion that she could have stooped to\nanything so unworthy.\n\nStill, it was not easily banished. A long series of the sorest\ndisappointments had rendered him distrustful, and he remembered having\nasked her several times for the star in vain.\n\nPerhaps it had been stolen from her, and Jamnitzer had obtained it from\nthe thief himself or from the receiver. This thought partially soothed\nhim, especially as, if correct, it would be possible for him to recover\nthe ornament. But he was an economical manager, and to expend thousands\nof ducats for such a thing just at this time, when immense sums were\nneeded for the approaching war, seemed to him more than vexatious.\n\nBesides, the high price which he had paid for the Saxon's aid rendered\nhim uneasy. He had ceded two large bishoprics to his Protestant ally, and\nthis act of liberality, which, it is true, had been approved and\nsupported by Granvelle, could no longer be undone. Moreover, if he drew\nthe sword, he must maintain the pretence that it was not done for the\nsake of religion, but solely to chastise the insubordinate Protestant\nprinces, headed by the Elector John Frederick of Saxony and Philip of\nHesse, who had seriously angered him.\n\nIn ten days the Reichstag would be opened in Ratisbon and, in spite of\nhis special invitation, these princes, who had refused to recognise the\nCouncil of Trent, had excused their absence upon trivial pretexts--the\nHessian, who on other occasions, attended by his numberless servants in\ngreen livery, had made three times as great a display as he, the Emperor,\non the pretext that the journey to Ratisbon would be too expensive.\n\nMaurice now had his imperial word and he the duke's; but since that\nevening Charles thought he had noticed something which lessened his\nconfidence in the Saxon. It was not only jealousy which showed him this\nyoung, clever, brave, and extremely ambitious prince in a more\nunfavourable light than before. He knew men, and thought that he had\nperceived in him signs of the most utter selfishness. As Maurice, to gain\ntwo bishoprics, and perhaps later the Elector's hat, abandoned his\ncoreligionists, his cousin and his father-in-law, he would also desert\nhim if his own advantage prompted him to do so. True, such an ally was\nuseful for many things, but he could not be trusted implicitly a single\nhour.\n\nMaurice certainly had not remained ignorant of Barbara's relation to him,\nthe Emperor, and yet, in the sovereign's very presence, he had courted\nher favour with such defiant boldness that Charles struck the\nwriting-table with his fist as he thought of his manner to the singer.\nWould Maurice impose greater moderation upon himself in political\naffairs?\n\nYet perhaps he judged the Saxon too severely, and made him suffer for\nanother's sin. The man's conduct is governed by the woman's, and he had\nseen how Barbara, as it were, gave Maurice the right to sue thus boldly\nfor her favour.\n\nWas it conceivable that she loved him, after having wounded him, as if\nintentionally, by acts which she knew were detestable to him? If her\nheart was still his, how could she have so inconsiderately favoured in\nhis presence another, younger man?\n\nAngrily excited by the question, he rose from the writing-table. But ere\nhe went to rest he thought of his hapless mother, whose birthday at this\nhour, beyond midnight, was now over, and, kneeling before the priedieu in\nhis bedroom, he fervently commended her to the mercy of Heaven. This\nwoman had loved her husband so fondly that it was long ere she could\nresolve to part from his corpse, yet she was the heiress of the mightiest\nsovereigns; and what was this Ratisbon girl whom he honoured with his\naffection?\n\nAnd yet!\n\nWhile her lips were still glowing from his kisses, she had carried on a\nreckless game with another, and was now robbing him of the repose of mind\nwhich he so urgently, needed.\n\nAnd the mother of the woman whose birthday had just passed, the proud\nQueen Isabella, the conqueror of the Moors--what would she have said had\nshe been condemned to see her grandson, the heir of so great an empire,\nensnared by such bonds?\n\nHe had proved, since he wielded the sceptre, that he did not lack\nstrength of will, and he must show it again.\n\nHe reminded himself indignantly that he was not only the ruler of many\nnations, but the head of perhaps the most illustrious family on earth.\n\nHe thought of his royal brothers and sisters, his haughty son Philip, his\ndaughters, nephews, and nieces; and while pouring forth his soul in\nfervent prayer for his unfortunate mother, with her disordered intellect,\nhe also besought the Redeemer to free him from the evil of this love.\nThree words from his lips would have sufficed to rid him of Barbara\nforever, but--he felt it--that would not end the matter. He must also\nlearn to forget her, and for that he needed the aid of the higher powers.\nHe had once more yielded to worldly pleasure. The kiss of her beautiful\nsoft lips had been sweet, the melody of her voice still more blissful. It\nhad given him hours of rapture; but were these joys worth the long\nrepentance which was already beginning? It was wise to sacrifice the\ntransitory pleasures of earth to loftier purposes. One thing alone\npromised permanent duration even here--what he was achieving for the\nfuture greatness of his own name and that of his race. For them he was\nnow going to war, and, by fighting against the heretics, the foes of God,\nhe entered the strife, in a sense, as the instrument of Heaven. Thus, not\nonly his duty as a sovereign, but care for his eternal salvation,\ncompelled him to cast aside everything which might jeopardize the triumph\nof his good, nay, sacred cause; and what could imperil it more seriously\nthan this late passion, which to-day had rendered it impossible to do his\nduty?\n\nFirmly resolved to resign Barbara before his brother Ferdinand reached\nRatisbon with his family, he rose from the priedieu and sought his couch.\nBut sleep fled from the anxious ruler; besides, the pain of the gout\nbecame more severe.\n\nAfter rising early, he went limping to mass, breakfasted, and began his\nwork.\n\nMany charts and plans had been placed on the writing-table for him, and\nbeside them he found a letter from Granvelle, in which he stated his\nviews concerning the alliance with Duke Maurice, and what advantage might\nbe derived from it. Both as a whole and in detail Charles approved them,\nand gladly left to the minister the final negotiations with the duke, who\nintended to leave Ratisbon at noon. If he briefly ratified the terms\nwhich had been arranged with Granvelle, and gave Maurice his hand in\nfarewell, he thought he would have satisfied amply the claims of the\ncovetous man, of whose aid, however, he stood in need.\n\nAfter the thunderstorm the weather had grown cloudy and cool. Perhaps the\nchange had caused his increased suffering and unhappy mood. But the true\nreason was doubtless the resolution formed the night before, and which\nnow by day seemed more difficult to execute than he had thought at the\npriedieu. He was still resolved to keep it, but earthly life appeared\nless short, and he could not conceal from himself that, without Barbara's\nsunny cheerfulness, bewitching tenderness, and, alas! without her\nsinging, his future existence would lack its greatest charm. His life\nwould be like this gloomy day. Put he would not relinquish what he had\nonce firmly determined and proved to himself by reasoning to be the\ncorrect course.\n\nHe could not succeed in burying himself in charts and plans as usual and,\nwhile imagining how life could be endured without the woman he loved, he\npushed the papers aside.\n\nIn days like these, when the old ache again attacked him, Barbara and her\nsinging had brightened the dreary gloom and lessened the pain, or she had\ncaressed and sung it entirely away. He seemed to himself like a surly\npatient who throws aside the helpful medicine because it once tasted\nbadly to him and was an annoyance to others. Yet no. It contained poison\nalso, so it was wise to put it away. But had not Dr. Mathys told him\nyesterday that the strongest remedial power was concealed in poisons, and\nthat they were the most effective medicines? Ought he not to examine once\nmore the reasons which had led him to this last resolution? He bowed his\nhead with an irresolution foreign to his nature, and when his greyhound\ntouched his aching foot he pushed the animal angrily away.\n\nThe confessor De Soto found him in this mood at his first visit.\n\nEre he crossed the threshold he saw that Charles was suffering and felt\ntroubled by some important matter, and soon learned what he desired to\nknow. But if Charles expected the Dominican to greet his decision with\ngrateful joy, he was mistaken, for De Soto had long since relinquished\nthe suspicion which had prejudiced him against Barbara and, on the\ncontrary, with the Bishop of Arras, had reached the certainty that the\nlove which united the monarch to the singer would benefit him.\n\nBoth knew the danger which threatened the sovereign from his tendency to\nmelancholy, and now that he saw his efforts to urge the Emperor to a war\nwith the Smalcalds crowned with success, he wished to keep alive in him\nthe joyousness which Barbara, and she alone, had aroused and maintained.\n\nSo he used the convincing eloquence characteristic of him to shake the\nmonarch's resolve, and lead him back to the woman he loved.\n\nThe Church made no objection to this bond of free love formed by a\nsovereign whom grave political considerations withheld from a second\nmarriage. If his Majesty's affection diminished the success of his work,\nthe separation from so dear a being, who afforded him so much pleasure,\nwould do this to a far greater degree. That Barbara had allowed the bold\nSaxon too much liberty on the dancing ground he did not deny, but took\nadvantage of the opportunity to point out the unscrupulousness which\ncharacterized Maurice, like all heretics. As for Barbara, the warm blood\nand fresh love of pleasure of youth, qualities which to many were her\nspecial charm, had led her into the error of the luckless dance. But the\nEmperor, who until then had listened to De Soto' here interrupted him to\nconfide the unfortunate suspicion which had been aroused in him the day\nbefore.\n\nThe mention of this matter, however, was very opportune to the almoner,\nfor he could easily turn it to the advantage of the suspected girl. The\nday before yesterday she had confessed to him the fate of the valuable\nstar, and begged him, if her imprudent deed of charity should be\ndiscovered, to relieve her of the painful task of explaining to Charles\nhow she had been induced to sell a memento so dear to her. Thereupon the\nconfessor himself had ascertained from the marquise and the goldsmith\nJamnitzer that Barbara had told him the whole truth.\n\nSo in his eyes, and probably in those of a higher power, this apparently\nignoble act would redound no little to the credit of the girl's heart.\n\nCharles listened to this explanation with a silent shrug of the\nshoulders. Such a deed could scarcely be otherwise regarded by the\npriest, but Barbara's disregard of his first gift offended him far more\nthan the excellent disposition evinced by the hasty act pleased him. She\nhad flung the first tangible token of his love into the insatiable jaws\nof a worthless profligate, like a copper coin thrown as alms to a beggar.\nIt grieved the soul of the economical manager and lover of rare works of\nart to have this ancient and also very valuable family heirloom broken to\npieces. Malfalconnet would not fail to utter some biting jest when he\nheard that Charles must now, as it were, purchase this costly ornament of\nhimself. He would have forgiven Barbara everything else more easily than\nthis mad casting away of a really royal gift.\n\nExpressing his indignation to the almoner without reserve, he closed the\ninterview with him. When Charles was again alone he tried to rise, in\norder, while pacing up and down the room, to examine his resolution once\nmore. But his aching foot prevented this plan and, groaning aloud, he\nsank back into his arm-chair.\n\nHis heart had not been so sore for a long time, and it was Barbara's\nfault. Yet he longed for her. If she had laid her delicate white hand\nupon his brow, he said to himself, or had he been permitted to listen to\neven one of her deeply felt religious songs, it would have cheered his\nsoul and even alleviated his physical suffering. Several times he\nstretched his hand toward the bell to send for her; but she had offended\nhim so deeply that he must at least let her feel how gravely she had\nerred, and that the lion could not be irritated unpunished, so he\nconquered himself and remained alone. The sense of offended majesty\nstrengthened his power of resisting the longing for her.\n\nIndignant with himself, he again drew the maps toward him. But like a\ncloth fluttering up and down between a picture and the beholder, memories\nof Barbara forced themselves between him and the plans over which he was\nbending.\n\nThis could not continue!\n\nPerhaps, after all, her singing was the only thing which could restore\nhis lost composure. He longed for it even more ardently than for her\nface. If he sent for her, he could show her by his manner what fruit her\ntransgressions had borne. The rest would follow as a matter of course.\nNow every fibre of his being yearned for the melody of her voice.\n\nObeying a hasty resolution, he rang the bell and ordered Adrian to call\nQuijada and command Barbara to sing in the Golden Cross that afternoon.\n\nAfter the valet had replaced his aching foot in the right position, Don\nLuis appeared. Without any further comment the Emperor informed him that\nhe had determined to sever the bond of love which united him to the\nsinger.\n\nWhile speaking, he looked his friend sharply in the face, and when he\nsaw, by his silent bow, that his decision called forth no deeper emotion\nin him, he carelessly added that, nevertheless, he intended to hear her\nsing that day, and perhaps many times more.\n\nPerceiving a significant smile upon the lips of the faithful follower,\nand recognising the peril contained in the last resolve, he shook his\nfinger at Quijada, saying: \"As if even the inmost recesses of your soul\nwere concealed from me! You are asking yourself, Why does Charles deny me\nleave to visit Villagarcia, and thereby cruelly prevent my being happy\nwith my dear, beautiful young wife, after so long a separation, if he\nconsiders himself strong enough to turn his back, without further\nceremony, upon the woman he loves, after seeing and hearing her again?\"\n\n\"Your Majesty has read correctly,\" replied Don Luis, \"yet my wish for a\nbrief stay with Doha Magdalena de Ulloa is very different from your\nMajesty's desire.\"\n\n\"How?\" demanded Charles in a sharp tone of inquiry. \"Is my strength of\nwill, in your opinion, so far inferior to yours?\"\n\n\"Your Majesty can scarcely deem me capable of so presumptuous an error,\"\nreplied Quijada. \"But your Majesty is Charles V, who has no superior save\nour Lord in heaven. I, on the contrary, am only a Castilian nobleman, and\nas such prize my honour as my highest treasure; but, above all other\nthings, even above the lady of my heart, stands the King.\"\n\n\"I might know that,\" cried the Emperor, holding out his hand to his\nfriend. \"Yet I refused you the leave of absence, you faithful fellow. The\nworld calls this selfishness. But since it still needs me, it ought in\njustice to excuse me, for never have I needed you so much as during these\ndecisive weeks, whether war is declared--and it will come to that--or\nnot. Think how many other things are also impending! Besides, my foot\naches, and my heart, this poor heart, bears a wound which a friend's\ncareful hand will soothe. So you understand, Luis, that the\nmuch-tormented Charles can not do without you just now.\"\n\nQuijada, with sincere emotion, bent over the monarch's hand and kissed it\ntenderly, but the Emperor, for the first time, hastily stroked his\nbearded cheek, and said in an agitated tone, \"We know each other.\"\n\n\"Yes, your Majesty,\" cried the Spaniard. \"In the first place, I will not\nagain annoy my master with the request for a leave of absence. Dona\nMagdalena must try how she can accommodate herself to widowhood while she\nhas a living husband, if the Holy Virgin will only permit me to offer\nyour Majesty what you expect from me.\"\n\n\"I will answer for that,\" the Emperor was saying, when Adrian interrupted\nhim.\n\nThe messenger had returned from Prebrunn with the news that the singer\nhad taken cold the day before, and could not leave the house.\n\nCharles angrily exclaimed that he knew what such illness meant, and his\nunder lip protruded so far that it was easy to perceive how deeply this\nfresh proof of Barbara's defiance and vanity incensed him.\n\nBut when the chamberlain said that the singer had been attacked by a\nviolent fever, Charles changed colour, and asked quickly in a tone of\nsincere anxiety: \"And Dr. Mathys? Has he seen her? No? Then he must go to\nher at once, and I shall expect tidings as soon as he returns. Perhaps\nthe fever was seething in her blood yesterday.\"\n\nHe had no time to make any further remarks about the sufferer, for one\nvisitor followed another.\n\nShortly before noon the Bishop of Arras ushered in Duke Maurice, who\nwished to take leave of him.\n\nGranvelle, in a businesslike manner, summed up the result of the\nnegotiations, and Charles made no objection; but after he had said\nfarewell to the Saxon prince, he remarked, with a smile which was\ndifficult to interpret: \"One thing more, my dear Prince. The beautiful\nsinger has suffered from the gagliarde, which she had the honour of\ndancing with you; she is lying ill of a fever. We will, however, scarcely\nregard it as an evil omen for the agreements which we concluded on the\nsame day. With our custom of keeping our hands away from everything which\nour friendly ally claims as his right, our alliance, please God, will not\nfail to have good success.\"\n\nA faint flush crimsoned the intelligent face of the Saxon duke, and an\nanswer as full of innuendo as the Emperor's address was already hovering\non his lips, when the chief equerry's entrance gave him power to restrain\nit.\n\nCount Lanoi announced that his Highness's travelling escort was ready,\nand the Emperor, with an air of paternal affection, bade the younger\nsovereign farewell.\n\nAs soon as the door had closed behind Maurice, Charles, turning to\nGranvelle, remarked, \"The Saxon cousin returned our clasp of the hand\nsome what coldly, but the means of rendering it warmer are ready.\"\n\n\"The Elector's hat,\" replied the Bishop of Arras. \"I hope it will prevent\nhim from making our heads hot, as the Germans say, instead of his own.\"\n\n\"If only our brains keep cool,\" replied the Emperor. \"It is needful in\ndealing with this young man.\"\n\n\"He knows his Machiavelli,\" added the statesman, \"but I think the\nFlorentine did not write wholly in vain for us also.\"\n\n\"Scarcely,\" observed the Emperor, smiling, and then rang the little bell\nto have his valet summon Dr. Mathys.\n\nThe leech had returned from his visit to Barbara, and feared that the\nburning fever from which she was suffering might indicate the\ncommencement of inflammation of the lungs.\n\nCharles started up and expressed the desire to be conveyed at once in the\nlitter to Prebrunn; but the physician declared that his Majesty's visit\nwould as certainly harm the feverish girl as going out in such weather\nwould increase the gout in his royal master's foot.\n\nThe monarch shrugged his shoulders, and seized the despatches and letters\nwhich had arrived. The persons about him suffered severely from his\ndetestable mood, but the dull weather of this gloomy day appeared also to\nhave a bad effect upon the confessor De Soto, for his lofty brow was\nscarcely less clouded than the sky. He did not allude to Barbara by a\nsingle word, yet she was the cause of his depression.\n\nAfter his conversation with the sovereign he had retired to his private\nroom, to devote himself to the philological studies which he pursued\nduring the greater portion of the day with equal zeal and success. But he\nhad scarcely begun to be absorbed in the new copy of the best manuscript\nof Apuleius, which had readied him from Florence, and make notes in the\nfirst Roman printed work of this author, when Cassian interrupted him.\n\nHe had missed the servant in the morning. Now the fellow, always so\npunctual when he had not gazed too deeply into the wine-cup, stood before\nhim in a singular plight, for he was completely drenched, and a\ndisagreeable odour of liquor exhaled from him. The flaxen hair, which\nbristled around his head and hung over his broad, ugly face, gave him so\nunkempt and imbecile an appearance that it was repulsive to the almoner,\nand he harshly asked where he had been loitering.\n\nBut Cassian, confident that his master's indignation would soon change to\napproval and praise, rapidly began to relate what had occurred outside\nthe little castle at Prebrunn when the festival under the lindens was\nover.\n\nAfter helping to place the Wittenberg theologian in custody, he had\nfollowed Barbara at some distance during her nocturnal walk. While she\nwaited in front of Dr. Hiltner's house and talked with the members of the\nsyndic's family after their return, he had remained concealed in the\nshadow of a neighbouring dwelling, and did not move until the doctor had\ngone away with the singer. He cautiously glided behind them as far as the\ngarden, witnessed the syndic's cordial farewell to his companion, and\ndogged the former to the Prebrunn jail. Here he had again been obliged to\nwait patiently a long while before the doctor came out into the open air\nwith the prisoner. The rope had been removed from Erasmus's hands, and\nCassian had remained at his heels until he stopped in the village of\nKager, on the Nuremberg road. The young man had taken a lunch in the\ntavern there; the money for it was given him by the syndic. Cassian had\nseen the gold pieces which had been placed in Erasmus's hand, to pay his\ntravelling expenses, glitter in the rosy light of dawn.\n\nIn reply to the almoner's question whether he remembered any portion of\nthe conversation between the syndic and the singer, Cassian admitted that\nhe had been obliged to keep too far away from them to hear it, but Dr.\nHiltner's manner to the girl had been very friendly, especially when he\ntook leave of her.\n\nThe anything but grateful manner with which the almoner received this\nstory was a great disappointment to the overzealous servant; nay, he\nsecretly permitted himself to doubt his master's wisdom and energy when\nthe latter remarked that the arrest of a man who had merely entered a\nstranger's garden was entirely unjustifiable, and that he was aware of\nthe singer's acquaintanceship with the Hiltners.\n\nWith these words he motioned Cassian to the door.\n\nWhen the prelate was again alone he gazed thoughtfully into vacancy. He\nunderstood human beings sufficiently well to know that Barbara had not\ndeceived him in her confession. In spite of the nocturnal walk with the\nhead of the Ratisbon heretics, she was faithful to the Catholic Church.\n\nErasmus's visit at night alone gave him cause for reflection, and\nsuggested the doubt whether he might not have interceded too warmly for\nthis peculiar creature and her excitable artist nature.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nSilence pervaded the little castle in Prebrunn; nay, there were days when\na thick layer of straw in the road showed that within the house lay some\none seriously ill, who must be guarded from every sound.\n\nIn Ratisbon and the Golden Cross, on the contrary, the noise and bustle\nconstantly increased. On the twenty-eighth of May, King Ferdinand arrived\nwith his family to visit his brother Charles. The Reichstag would be\nopened on the fifth of June, and attracted to the Danube many princes and\nnobles, but neither the Elector John of Saxony nor the Landgrave Philip\nof Hesse, the heads of the Smalcald league. King Ferdinand's two\ndaughters were to be married the first of July, and many a distinguished\nguest came to Ratisbon in June. Besides, several soldiers began to\nappear.\n\nThe Emperor Charles's hours were filled to the brim with work and social\nobligations. The twinges of the gout had not wholly disappeared, but\nremained bearable.\n\nThe quiet good-breeding of the two young archduchesses pleased the\nEmperor, and their young brother Maximilian's active mind and gay,\nchivalrous nature delighted him, though many a trait made him, as well as\nthe confessor, doubt whether he did not incline more toward the\nevangelical doctrine than beseemed a son of his illustrious race. But\nCharles himself, in his youth, had not been a stranger to such leanings.\nIf Maximilian was intrusted with the reins of government, he would\nperceive in what close and effective union stood the Church and the\nstate. Far from rousing his opposition by reproaches, the shrewd uncle\nwon his affection and merely sowed in his mind, by apt remarks, the seeds\nwhich in due time would grow and bear their fruit.\n\nThe Austrians watched with sincere admiration the actually exhausting\nindustry of the illustrious head of their house, for he allowed himself\nonly a few hours' sleep, and when Granvelle had worked with him until he\nwas wearied, he buried himself, either alone or with some officers of\nhigh rank, in charts of the seat of war, in making calculations,\narranging the levying of recruits and military movements, and yet did not\nwithdraw from the society of his Viennese relatives and other\ndistinguished guests.\n\nStill, he did not forget Barbara. The leech was daily expected to give a\nreport of her health, and when, during the middle of June, Dr. Mathys\nexpressed doubts of her recovery, it rendered him so anxious that his\nrelatives noticed it, and attributed it to the momentous declaration of\nwar which was on the eve of being made.\n\nWhen the sufferer at last began to recover, his selfishness was satisfied\nwith the course of events. True, he thought of the late springtime of\nlove which he had enjoyed as an exquisite gift of Fortune, and when he\nremembered many a tender interview with Barbara a bright smile flitted\nover his grave countenance. But, on the whole, he was glad that this love\naffair had come to so honourable an end. The last few weeks had claimed\nhis entire time and strength so rigidly and urgently that he would have\nbeen compelled to refuse Barbara's demands upon his love or neglect\nserious duties.\n\nBesides, a meeting between Barbara and his nephew and young nieces could\nscarcely have been avoided, and this would have cast a shadow upon the\nunbounded reverence and admiration paid him by the wholly inexperienced,\nchildlike young archduchesses, which afforded him sincere pleasure. The\nconfessor had taken care to bring this vividly before his mind. While\nspeaking of Barbara with sympathizing compassion, he represented her\nillness as a fresh token of the divine favour which Heaven so often\nshowed to the Emperor Charles, and laid special stress upon the\ndisadvantages which the longer duration of this love affair--though in\nitself, pardonable, nay, even beneficial--would have entailed.\n\nQueen Mary's boy choir was to remain in Ratisbon some time longer, and\nwhenever the monarch attended their performances--which was almost\ndaily-the longing for Barbara awoke with fresh strength. Even in the\nmidst of the most arduous labour he considered the question how it might\nbe possible to keep her near him--not, it is true, as his favourite, but\nas a singer, and his inventive brain hit upon a successful expedient.\n\nBy raising her father to a higher rank, he might probably have had her\nreceived by his sister Mary among her ladies in waiting, but then there\nwould always have been an unwelcome temptation existing. If, on the other\nhand, Barbara would decide to take the veil, an arrangement could easily\nbe made for him to hear her often, and her singing might then\nmarvellously beautify the old age, so full of suffering and destitute of\npleasure, that awaited him. He realized more and more distinctly that it\nwas less her rare beauty than the spell of her voice and of her art which\nhad constrained him to this late passion.\n\nThe idea that she would refuse to accept the fate to which he had\ncondemned her was incomprehensible to his sense of power, and therefore\ndid not occur to his mind.\n\nYet, especially when he was bearing pain, he did not find it difficult to\nsilence even this wish for the future, for then memories of the last\ndeeply clouded hours of their love bond forced themselves upon him.\n\nHe saw her swinging like a Bacchante in the dance with the young Saxon\nduke; the star which had been thrown away appeared before his eyes, and\nhis irritated soul commanded him never to see her again.\n\nBut the suffering of a person whom we have once loved possesses a\nreconciling power, and he who usually forgot no insult, even after the\nlapse of years, was again disposed to forgive her, and reverted to the\nwish to continue to enjoy her singing.\n\nWhen, before their wedding day, he gave his nieces the diadems which\nJammtzer had made for them, his resentment concerning the ornament sold\nby Barbara again awoke. He could no longer punish her for this \"loveless\"\ndeed, as he called it, but he made the marquise feel severely enough his\nindignation for her abuse of the young girl's inexperience, for, without\ngranting her a farewell audience, he sent her back to Brussels, with\nletters to Queen Mary expressing his displeasure. Instead of her skilful\nmaid Alphonsine, a clumsy Swabian girl accompanied her--the former had\nmarried Cassian.\n\nBarbara heard nothing of all these things; her recovery was slow, and\nevery source of anxiety was kept from her.\n\nShe had never been ill before, and to be still at a time when every\ninstinct urged her to battle for her life happiness and her love, to\nprove the power of her beauty and her art, put her slender stock of\npatience to the severest test.\n\nDuring the first few days she was perfectly conscious, and watched with\nkeen suspense what was passing around her. It made her happy to find that\nCharles sent his own physician to her but, on the other hand, she was\ndeeply and painfully agitated by his failure to grant the entreaty which\nshe sent by Dr. Mathys to let her see his face, even if only for a\nmoment.\n\nGombert and Appenzelder, Massi, the Wollers from the Ark, Dr. Hiltner's\nwife and daughter, the boy singer Hannibal, and many gentlemen of the\ncourt-nay, even the Bishop of Arras--came to inquire for her, and Barbara\nhad strictly enjoined Frau Lerch to tell her everything that concerned\nher; for every token of sympathy filled the place, as it were, of the\napplause to which she was accustomed.\n\nWhen, on the second day, she heard that old Ursula had been there to ask\nabout her for Wolf, who was now convalescing, she passionately insisted\nupon seeing her, but, obedient to the physician's orders, Frau Lerch\nwould not admit her. Then Barbara flew into such a rage that the foolish\nwoman forgot to take the fever into account, and determined to return\nhome. Many motives drew her there, but especially her business; day and\nnight her mind was haunted by the garments which, just at this time,\nbefore the commencement of the Reichstag, other dressmakers were\nfashioning for her aristocratic customers.\n\nA certain feeling of shame had restrained her from leaving Barbara\ndirectly after the beginning of her illness. Besides, delay had been\nadvisable, because the appearance of the Emperor's physician proved that\nthe monarch's love was not wholly dead. But Barbara's outbreak now came\nat an opportune time, for yesterday, by the leech's suggestion, and with\nthe express approval of the Emperor, one of the Dominican nuns, Sister\nHyacinthe, had come from the Convent of the Holy Cross and, with quiet\ndignity, assumed her office of nurse beside her charge's sick-bed. This\nforced Fran Lerch into a position which did not suit her, and as, soon\nafter Barbara's outbreak, Dr. Mathys sternly ordered her to adopt a more\nquiet and modest bearing, she declared that she would not bear such\ninsult and abuse, hastily packed her property, and returned to the Grieb\nwith a much larger amount of luggage than she had brought with her.\n\nSister Hyacinthe now ruled alone in the sickroom, and the calm face of\nthe nun, whose cap concealed hair already turning gray, exerted as\nsoothing an influence upon the patient as her low, pleasant voice. She\nwas the daughter of a knightly race, and had taken the veil from a deep\ninward vocation, as one of the elect who, in following Christ, forget\nthemselves, in order to dedicate to her suffering neighbours all her\nstrength and the great love which filled her heart. They were her world,\nand her sole pleasure was to satisfy the compassionate impulse in her own\nbreast by severe toil, by tender solicitude, by night watching, and by\nexertions often continued to actual suffering. Death, into whose face she\nhad looked beside so many sickbeds, was to her a kind friend who held the\nkey of the eternal home where the Divine Bridegroom awaited her.\n\nThe events occurring in the world, whether peace reigned or the nations\nwere at war with one another, affected her only so far as they were\nconnected with her patient. Her thoughts and acts, all her love and\nsolicitude, referred solely to the invalid in her care.\n\nThe departure of Frau Lerch was a relief to her mind, and it seemed an\nenigma that Barbara, whose beauty increased her interest, and whom the\nphysician had extolled as a famous singer, could have given her\nconfidence, in her days of health, to this woman.\n\nSister Hyacinthe's appearance beside her couch had at first perplexed\nBarbara, because she had not asked for her; but the mere circumstance\nthat her lover had sent her rendered it easy to treat the nun kindly, and\nthe tireless, experienced, and invariably cheerful nurse soon became\nindispensable.\n\nOn the whole, both the leech and Sister Hyacinthe could call Barbara a\ndocile patient, and she often subjected herself to a restraint irksome to\nher vivacious temperament, because she felt how much gratitude she owed\nto both.\n\nNot until the fever reached its height did her turbulent nature assert\nits full power, and the experienced disciple of the art of healing had\nseen few invalids rave more wildly.\n\nThe delusions that tortured her were by no means varied, for all revolved\nabout the person of her imperial lover and her art. But under the most\ncareful nursing her strong constitution resisted even the most violent\nattacks of the fever, and when June was drawing toward an end all danger\nseemed over.\n\nDr. Mathys had already permitted her to sit out of doors, and informed\nthe Emperor that there was no further occasion for fear.\n\nThe monarch expressed his gratification but, instead of asking more\nparticularly about the progress of her convalescence, he hastily turned\nthe conversation to his own health.\n\nDr. Mathys regretted this for the sake of the beautiful neglected\ncreature, who had won his sympathy, but it did not surprise him, for duty\nafter duty now filled every hour of Charles's day. Besides, on the day\nafter to-morrow, the fourth of July, the marriages of his two nieces were\nto take place, and he himself was to accompany the bridal procession and\nattend the wedding. On the fifth the Reichstag would be opened, and the\nDuke of Alba, with several experienced colonels, had arrived as\nharbingers of the approaching war. Where this stern and tried general\nappeared, thoughts of war began to stir, and already men equipped with\nhelmets and armour began to be seen in unusual numbers in all the streets\nand squares of Ratisbon.\n\nThe Emperor's room, too, had an altered aspect, for, instead of a few\nletters and despatches, his writing-table was now covered not only with\nmaps and plans, but lists and tables referring to the condition of his\narmy.\n\nWhat could the health of a half-convalescent girl now be to the man to\nwhom even his most trusted friend would no longer have dared to mention\nher as his favourite?\n\nOf course, Dr. Mathys told Barbara nothing about the Emperor's lack of\ninterest, for any strong mental excitement might still be injurious to\nher. Besides, he was a reserved man, who said little more to Barbara than\nwas necessary. Toward the Emperor Charles he imposed a certain restraint\nupon himself; but the royal adept in reading human nature knew that in\nhim he possessed one of the most loyal servants, and gave him his entire\nconfidence. For his sake alone this wealthy scholar devoted himself to\nthe laborious profession which so often kept him from library and\nlaboratory. Although his smooth, brown hair had turned gray long ago, he\nhad never married, for he had decided in the Emperor's favour--this\nCharles knew also--whenever the choice presented itself to follow his\nroyal patient during his journeys and expeditions or to find rest and\ncomfort in a home of his own.\n\nThe calm, kindly manner of this far-famed physician very soon gained a\ngreat influence over the vivacious Barbara. Since she had felt sure of\nhis good will, she had willingly obeyed him. Though he was often obliged\nto shake his finger at her and tell her how much she herself could\ncontribute toward regaining freedom of motion and the use of her voice,\nshe really did nothing which he could seriously censure, and thus her\nrecovery progressed in the most favourable manner until the wedding day\nwas close at hand.\n\nShe had already been permitted to receive visits from old acquaintances\nand, without saying much herself, listen to the news they brought. The\nlittle Maltese, Hannibal, had also appeared again, and the lively boy\ntold her many things which Gombert and Appenzelder had not mentioned.\n\nThe morning of the day before the princesses' marriage he informed her,\namong other things, that the bridal procession would march the following\nmorning. It was to start from the cathedral square and go to Prebrunn,\nwhere it would turn back and disband in front of the Town Hall. All the\ndistinguished noblemen and ladies who had come to Ratisbon to attend the\nwedding and the Reichstag would show themselves to the populace on this\noccasion, and it was even said that the Emperor intended to lead the\ntrain with his royal brother. It must pass by the garden; but the road\ncould scarcely be seen from the little castle--the lindens, beeches, and\nelms were too tall and their foliage was too thick to permit it.\n\nThis news destroyed Barbara's composure. Though she had slept well during\nthe past few nights, on this one slumber deserted her. She could not help\nthinking constantly of the possibility that the Emperor might be present\nin the procession, and to see her lover again was the goal of her\nlonging.\n\nEven in the morning, while the physician permitted her to remain in the\nopen air because the clay was hot and still, the bridal procession was\ncontinually in her thoughts. Yet she did not utter a word in allusion to\nit.\n\nAt the noon meal she ate so little that Sister Hyacinthe noticed it, and\nanxiously asked if she felt worse; but Barbara reassured her and, after a\nshort rest in the house, she asked to be taken out again under the\nlindens where she had reclined in an armchair that morning.\n\nScarcely had she seated herself when all the bells in the city began to\nring, and the heavy ordnance and howitzers shook the air with their\nthunder.\n\nWhat a festal alarum!\n\nHow vividly it reminded her of the brilliant exhibitions and festivities\nwhich she had formerly attended!\n\nShe listened breathlessly to the sounds from the city, and now a distant\nblare of trumpets drowned the dull roar of the ordnance and the sharp\nrattle of the culverins.\n\nThe confused blending of many human voices reached her from beyond the\ngarden wall.\n\nThe road must be full of people. Now single shrill trumpet notes echoed\nfrom afar amid the trombones and the dull roll of the drums, the noise\nincreasing every moment. From a large, old beech tree close to the wall,\ninto which a dozen lads had climbed, she already saw handkerchiefs waving\nand heard the shouts of clear, boyish voices.\n\nSister Hyacinthe had just gone into the house, and like an illumination\nthe thought darted through Barbara's mind that the road could be seen\nfrom the little summer house which the reverend owner of the castle\ncalled his \"frigidarium,\" because it was cool even during the warmest\nsummer day.\n\nIt was a small, towerlike building close to the garden wall, whose single\ninner room was designed to imitate a rock cave. The walls were covered\nwith tufa and stalagmites, shells, mountain crystals, and corals, and\nfrom the lofty ceiling hung large stalactites. From one of the walls a\nfountain plashed into a large shell garlanded with green aquatic plants\nand tenanted by several goldfish and frogs.\n\nThe single open window resembled a cleft in the rocks, and looked out\nupon the road. Blocks of stone, flung one upon another without regard to\norder, formed steps from which to look out of doors.\n\nThese stairs afforded a view of the road to the city. Barbara had often\nused them when watching in the dusk of evening for her lover's litter or,\nat a still later hour, for the torch-bearers who preceded it.\n\nShe could already walk firmly enough to mount the few rough steps which\nled to the opening in the rocks and, obeying the tameless yearning of her\nheart, she rose from the arm-chair and walked as rapidly as her feeble\nstrength permitted toward the frigidarium.\n\nIt was more difficult to traverse the path, illumined by the hot July\nsun, than she had expected; but the pealing of the bells and the roar of\nthe cannon continued, and now it was drowned by the fanfare of the\ntrumpets and the shouts of the people.\n\nAll this thundering, ringing, clashing, chiming, and cheering was a\ngreeting to him for the sight of whom her whole being so ardently longed;\nand when, halfway down the path, she felt the need of resting on a bench\nunder a weeping ash, she did not obey it, but forced herself to totter\non.\n\nDrops of perspiration covered her forehead when she entered the\nfrigidarium, but there the most delicious coolness greeted her. Here,\ntoo, however, she could allow herself no rest, for the boys in the top of\nthe beech, and some neighbouring trees, were already shouting their clear\nvoices hoarse and waving caps and branches.\n\nWith trembling knees she forced herself to climb one after another of the\nblocks that formed the staircase. When a slight faintness attacked her, a\nstalactite afforded her support, and it passed as quickly as it came. Now\nshe had reached her goal. The rock on which she stood gave her feet\nsufficient support, as it had done many times before.\n\nBarbara needed a few minutes in this wonderfully cool atmosphere to\nrecover complete self-control. Only the wild pulsation of her heart still\ncaused a painful feeling; but if she was permitted to see the object of\nher love once more, the world might go to ruin and she with it.\n\nNow she gazed from the lofty window over the open country.\n\nShe had come just at the right time. Imperial halberdiers and horse\nguards, galloping up and down, kept the centre of the road free. On the\nopposite side of the highway which she overlooked was a dense, countless\nmultitude of citizens, peasants, soldiers, monks, women, and children,\nwho with difficulty resisted the pressure of those who stood behind them,\nshoulder to shoulder, head to head. Barbara from her lofty station saw\nhats, barets, caps, helmets, women's caps and coifs, fair and red hair on\nuncovered heads and, in the centre of many, the priestly tonsure.\n\nThen a column of dust advanced along the road from which the fanfare\nresounded like the scream of the hawk from the gray fog. A few minutes\nlater, the cloud vanished; but the shouts of the multitude increased to\nloud cheers when the heralds who rode at the head of the procession\nappeared and raised their long, glittering trumpets to their lips. Behind\nthem, on spirited stallions, rode the wedding marshals, members of royal\nfamilies, in superb costumes with bouquets of flowers on their shoulders.\n\nNow the tumult died away for a few minutes, and Barbara felt as though\nher heart stood still, for the two stately men on splendid chargers who\nnow, after a considerable interval, followed them, were the royal\nbrothers, the Emperor Charles and King Ferdinand.\n\nThe man for whom Barbara's soul longed, as well as her eyes, rode on the\nside toward her.\n\nHe was still half concealed by dust, but it could be no one else, for now\nthe outburst of enthusiasm, joy, and reverence from the populace reached\nits climax. It seemed as though the very trees by the wayside joined in\nthe limitless jubilation. The greatness of the sovereign, the general,\nand the happy head of the family, made the Protestants around him forget\nwith what perils this monarch threatened their faith and thereby\nthemselves; and he, too, the defender and loyal son of the Church,\nappeared to thrust aside the thought that the people who greeted him with\nsuch impetuous delight, and shared the two-fold festival of his family\nwith such warm devotion, were heretics who deserved punishment. At least\nhe saluted with gracious friendliness the throng that lined both sides of\nthe road, and as he passed by the garden of the little castle he even\nsmiled, and glanced toward the building as though a pleasant memory had\nbeen awakened in his mind. At this moment Barbara gazed into the\nEmperor's face.\n\nThose were the features which had worn so tender an expression when, for\nthe first time, he had uttered the never-to-be-forgotten \"Because I long\nfor love,\" and her yearning heart throbbed no less quickly now than on\nthat night. The wrong and suffering which he had inflicted upon her were\nforgotten. She remembered nothing save that she loved him, that he was\nthe greatest and, to her, the dearest of all men.\n\nIt was perfectly impossible for him to see her, but she did not think of\nthat; and when he looked toward her with such joyous emotion, and the\ncheers of the populace, like a blazing fire which a gust of wind fans\nstill higher, outstripped, as it were, themselves, she could not have\nhelped joining in the huzzas and shouts and acclamations around her\nthough she had been punished with imprisonment and death.\n\nAnd clinging more firmly to the stalactite, Barbara rose on tiptoe and\nmingled her voice with the joyous cheers of the multitude.\n\nIn the act her breath failed, and she felt a sharp pain in her chest, but\nshe heeded the suffering as little as she did the weakness of her limbs.\nThe physical part of her being seemed asleep or dead. Nothing was awake\nor living except her soul. Nothing stirred within her breast save the\nrapture of seeing him again, the indescribable pleasure of showing that\nshe loved him.\n\nAlready she could no longer see his face, already the dust had concealed\nhim and his charger from her eyes, yet still, filled with peerless\nhappiness, she shouted \"Charles!\" and again and again \"Charles!\" It\nseemed to her as though the air or some good spirit insist bear the cry\nto him and assure him of her ardent, inextinguishable love.\n\nThe charming royal brides, radiant in their jewels, their betrothed\nhusbands, and the lords and ladies of their magnificent train passed\nBarbara like shadows. The procession of German, Spanish, Hungarian,\nBohemian, and Italian dignitaries swam in a confused medley before her\neyes. The glittering armour of the princes, counts, and barons, the gems\non the heads, the robes, and the horses' trappings of the ladies and the\nMagyar magnates flashed brightly before her, the red hats and robes of\nthe cardinals gleamed out, but usually everything that her eyes beheld\nmingled in a single motley, shining, moving, many-limbed body.\n\nThe end of the procession was now approaching, and physical weakness\nsuddenly asserted itself most painfully.\n\nBarbara felt only too plainly that it was time to leave her post of\nobservation; her feet would scarcely carry her and, besides, she was\nfreezing.\n\nShe had entered the damp cave chamber in a thin summer gown, and it now\nseemed to be continually growing colder and colder.\n\nClimbing down the high steps taxed her like a difficult, almost\nimpossible task, and perhaps she might not have succeeded in\naccomplishing it unaided; but she had scarcely commenced the descent when\nshe heard her name called, and soon after Sister Hyacinthe entered the\nfrigidarium and, amid no lack of kindly reproaches, helped her to reach\nthe open air.\n\nWhen even in the warm sunshine the chill did not pass away, Barbara saw\nthat the sister was right, yet she was far from feeling repentant.\n\nDuring the night a violent attack of fever seized her, and her inflamed\nthroat was extremely painful.\n\nWhen Dr. Mathys came to her bedside he already knew from the nun the\ncause of this unfortunate relapse, and he understood only too well what\nhad induced Barbara to commit the grave imprudence. Reproof and warnings\nwere useless here; the only thing he could do was to act, and renew the\nconflict with the scarcely subdued illness. Thanks to his indefatigable\nzeal, to the girl's strong constitution, and to the watchful care of the\nnurse, he won the victory a second time. Yet he could not rejoice in a\ncomplete triumph, for the severe inflammation of the bronchial tubes had\ncaused a hoarseness which would yield to none of his remedies. It might\nlast a long time, and the thought that the purity of his patient's voice\nwas perhaps forever destroyed occasioned sincere regret.\n\nTrue, he opposed the girl when she expressed this fear; but as July drew\nto its close, and her voice still remained husky, he scarcely hoped to be\nable to restore the old melody. In other respects he might consider\nBarbara cured, and intrust her entire convalescence to her own patience\nand caution.\n\nPerhaps the ardent desire to regain the divine gift of song would protect\nher from perilous ventures like this last one, and even more certainly\nthe hope which she had confided to the nun and then to him also. The\nphysician noticed, with warm sympathy, how deeply this mysterious\nexpectation had influenced her excitable nature, ever torn by varying\nemotions, and the excellent man was ready to aid her as a friend and\nintercessor.\n\nUnfortunately, just at this time the pressure of business allowed the\nEmperor little leisure to listen to the voice of the heart.\n\nThe day before yesterday the Elector John Frederick of Saxony and the\nLandgrave Philip of Hesse had been banned, and with this the war began.\n\nAlready twelve troops of Spaniards who had served in Hungary, and other\nbands of soldiers had entered Ratisbon; cannon came up the Danube from\nAustria, and the city, had gained a warlike aspect. To disturb the\nEmperor in his work as a general at such a time, with a matter which must\nagitate him so deeply, was hazardous, and few would have been bold enough\nto bring it before the overburdened monarch; but the leech's interest in\nBarbara was so warm and sincere that he allowed himself to be persuaded\nto act the mediator between her and the man who had interfered so deeply\nin the destiny of her life. For the first time he saw her weep, and her\nwinning manner seemed to him equally touching, whether she yielded to\nanxious distress of mind or to joyous hopes.\n\nHis intercession in her behalf would permit no delay, for the Emperor's\ndeparture to join the troops was close at hand.\n\nFirmly resolved to plead the cause of the unfortunate girl, whose\npreservation, he might say, was his work, yet with slight hope of\nsuccess, he crossed the threshold of the imperial apartments.\n\nWhen the physician informed the sovereign that Barbara might be\nconsidered saved for the second time, the latter expressed his pleasure\nby a warm \"We are indebted to you for it again \"; but when Mathys asked\nif he did not intend to hasten Barbara's recovery by paying her a visit,\nthough only for a few moments, the Emperor looked into the grave\ncountenance of the physician, in whom he noticed an embarrassment usually\nforeign to him, and said firmly, \"Unfortunately, my dear Mathys, I must\ndeny myself this pleasure.\"\n\nThe other bowed with a sorrowful face, for Barbara's dearest wish had\nbeen refused. But the Emperor saw what was passing in the mind of the man\nwhom he esteemed, and in a lighter tone added: \"So even your invulnerable\ndragon hide was not proof against the shafts--you know! If I see aright,\nsomething else lies near your heart. My refusal--that is easily\nseen--annoys you; but, much as I value your good opinion, Mathys, it is\nfirm. The more difficult I found it to regain my peace of mind, the more\nfoolish it would be to expose it to fresh peril. Now, if ever, I must\nshun every source of agitation. Think! With the banning, the general's\nwork begins. How you look at me! Well, yes! You, too, know how easy it is\nfor the man who has most to do to spare a leisure hour which the person\nwithout occupation does not find, and neither of us is accustomed to\ndeceive the other. Besides, it would be of little avail. So, to cut the\nmatter short, I am unwilling to see Barbara again and awaken false hopes\nin her mind! But even these plain words do not seem to satisfy you.\"\n\n\"By your Majesty's permission,\" replied the leech, \"deeply as I regret it\nfor the invalid's sake, I believe, on the contrary, that you are choosing\nthe right course. But I have only discharged the first part of my\npatient's commission. Though I have no pleasant tidings to take back to\nher, I am still permitted to tell her the truth. But your Majesty, by\navoiding an interview with the poor girl, will spare yourself a sad, nay,\nperhaps a painful hour.\"\n\n\"Did the disease so cruelly mar this masterpiece of the Creator?\" asked\nthe Emperor. \"With so violent a fever it was only too natural,\" replied\nthe physician. \"Time and what our feeble skill can do will improve her\ncondition, I hope, but--and this causes the poor girl the keenest\nsuffering--the unfortunate inflammation of the bronchial tubes most\nseriously injures the tone of her clear voice.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" exclaimed the startled Emperor with sincere compassion. \"Do\neverything in your power, Mathys, to purify this troubled spring of\nmelody. I will repay you with my warmest gratitude, for, though the\nRomans said that Cupid conquered through the eyes, yet Barbara's singing\nexerted a far more powerful influence over my heart than even her\nwonderful golden hair. Restore the melting tones of her voice and, though\nthe bond of love which rendered this month of May so exquisitely\nbeautiful to us must remain severed, I will not fail to remember it with\nall graciousness.\"\n\n\"That, your Majesty, can scarcely be avoided,\" the physician here\nremarked with an embarrassment which was new in him to Charles, \"for the\ncontinuance of the memory of the spring days which your Majesty recalls\nwith such vivid pleasure seems to be assured. Yet, if it pleases Heaven,\nas I have learned to-day for the first time, to call a living being into\nexistence for this purpose----\"\n\n\"If I understand you correctly,\" cried the Emperor, starting up, \"I am to\nbelieve in hopes----\"\n\n\"In hopes,\" interrupted the physician with complete firmness, \"which must\nnot alarm your Majesty, but render you happy. This new branch of the\nillustrious trunk of your royal race I, who am only 30 a plain man, hail\nwith proud joy, and half the world, I know, will do so with me.\"\n\nCharles, with brows contracted in a gloomy frown, gazed for a long time\ninto vacancy.\n\nThe leech perceived how mighty a conflict between contradictory emotions\nwould be waged in his breast, and silently gave him time to collect his\nthoughts.\n\nAt last, rising from his arm-chair, the Emperor struck the table with his\nopen hand, and said: \"Whether the Lord our God awoke this new life for\nour punishment or our pleasure the future will teach. What more must be\ndone in this matter? You know my custom in regard to such important\naffairs. They are slept upon and maturely considered. Only there is one\npoint,\" and as he uttered the words his voice assumed an imperious tone,\n\"which is already irrevocably decided. The world must not suspect what\nhope offers itself to me and another. Tell her, Mathys, we wish her\nhappiness; but if her maternal heart expects that I will do her child the\nhonour of calling it mine, I must require her to keep silence, and\nintrust the newborn infant's destiny, from the first hour of its birth,\nto my charge.\"\n\nHere he hesitated, and, after looking the physician in the face, went on:\n\"You again think that harsh, Mathys--I see it in your expression--but, as\nmy friend, you yourself can scarcely desire the world to see the Emperor\nCharles performing the same task with a Barbara Blomberg. She is free to\nchoose. Either I will rear the child, whether it is a boy or a girl, as\nmy own, as I did my daughter, Duchess Margaret of Parma, or she will\nrefuse to give me the child from its birth and I must deny it\nrecognition. I have already shared far too much with that tempting\ncreature; I can not permit even this new dispensation to restore my\nsevered relationship with the singer. If Barbara's maternal love is\nunselfish, the choice can not be difficult for her. That the charge of\nproviding for this new life will fall upon me is a matter of course. Tell\nher this, Mathys, and if in future--But no. We will confide this matter\nto Quijada.\"\n\nAs the door closed behind the physician, Charles stood motionless. Deep\nearnestness furrowed his brow, but suddenly an expression of triumphant\njoy flashed over his face, and then yielded to a look of grateful\nsatisfaction. Soon, however, his lofty brow clouded again, and his lower\nlip protruded. Some idea which excited his indignation must have entered\nhis mind. He had just been thinking with the warmest joy of the gift of\nFate of which the physician had told him, but now the reasons which\nforbade his offering it a sincere welcome crowded upon the thinker.\n\nIf Heaven bestowed a son upon him, would not only the Church, but also\nthe law, which he knew so well, refuse to recognise his rights? A child\nwhose mother had offended him, whose grandfather was a ridiculous,\nimpoverished old soldier, whose cousins----\n\nYet for what did he possess the highest power on earth if he would not\nuse it to place his own child, in spite of every obstacle, at the height\nof earthly grandeur?\n\nWhat need he care for the opinion of the world? And yet, yet----\n\nThen there was a great bustle below. The loud tramping of horses' hoofs\nwas heard. A troop of Lombardy cavalry in full armour appeared on the\nHaidplatz--fresh re-enforcements for the war just commencing. The erect\nfigure of the Duke of Alba, a man of middle height, followed by several\ncolonels, trotted toward it. The standard-bearer of the Lombards lowered\nthe banner with the picture of the Madonna before the duke, and the\nEmperor involuntarily glanced back into the room at the lovely Madonna\nand Child by the master hand of Giovanni Bellini which his royal sister\nhad hung above his writing table.\n\nHow grave and lovely, yet how full of majesty, the Christ-child looked,\nhow touching a grace surrounded the band of angels playing on violins\nabove the purest of mothers!\n\nThen the necessity of appealing to her in prayer seized upon him, and\nwith fervent warmth he besought her to surround with her gracious\nprotection the young life which owed its existence to him.\n\nHe did not think of the child's mother. Was he still angry with her?\n\nDid she seem to him unworthy of being commended to the protection of the\nQueen of Heaven? Barbara was now no more to him than a cracked bell, and\nthe child which she expected to give him, no matter to what high' honours\nhe raised it, would bear a stain that nothing could efface, and this\nstain would be called \"his mother.\"\n\nNo deviation from the resolve which he had expressed to the physician was\npossible. The child could not be permitted to grow up amid Barbara's\nsurroundings. To prevent this she must submit to part from her son or her\ndaughter, and to take the veil. In the convent she could remember the\nhappiness which had once raised her to its loftiest height. She could and\nmust atone for her sin and his by prayers and pious exercises. To return\nto the low estate whence he had raised her must appear disgraceful to\nherself. How could one who had once dined at the table of the gods still\nrelish the fare of mortals? Even now it seemed inconceivable to him that\nshe could oppose his will. Yet if she did, he would withdraw his aid. He\nno longer loved her. In this hour she was little more to him than the\nmodest casket to which was confided a jewel of inestimable value, an\nobject of anxiety and care. The determination which he had confided to\nhis physician was as immovable as everything which he had maturely\nconsidered. Don Luis Quijada should provide for its execution.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nDr. Mathys had himself carried in the litter from the Golden Cross to\nBarbara.\n\nThis errand was a disagreeable one, for, though the Emperor's remark that\nhe had yielded to the rare charm of this woman was not true, his kindly\nheart had become warmly attached to Barbara. For the first time he saw in\nher the suffering which often causes a metamorphosis in certain traits in\na sick person's character extend their transforming power to the entire\nnature. Passionate love for her art gave her the ability to maintain with\npunctilious exactness the silence which he had been compelled to impose\nupon her, and the once impetuous, obstinate creature obeyed his\ndirections and wishes with the patience of a docile child.\n\nThe manner in which, after he permitted her to speak, she had disclosed\nin a low whisper her happy yet disquieting secret, hovered before him now\nas one of the most pathetic incidents in a life full of varied\nexperiences.\n\nHow touchingly deep misery and the greatest rapture, gloomy anxiety and\nradiant joy, bitter dread and sweet anticipation, despairing helplessness\nand firm confidence had looked forth at him from the beautiful face whose\nnoble outlines were made still more delicate by the illness through which\nshe had passed! He could not have refused even a more difficult task to\nthis petitioner.\n\nNow he was returning from the Emperor, and he felt like a vanquished\ngeneral.\n\nIn what form was he to clothe the bad news which he was bringing to the\nconvalescent girl? Poor child! How heavily she had to atone for her sin,\nand how slight was his own and every other influence upon the man, great\neven in his selfishness, who had had the power to render him a messenger\nof joy!\n\nWhile the physician was approaching the little castle, she of whom he was\nso eagerly thinking awaited his return with feverish suspense. Yet she\nwas obliged at this very time to devote herself to a visitor. True, he\nwas the only person whom she would not have refused to see at this hour.\n\nWolf Hartschwert was with her.\n\nHis first errand after the period of severe suffering through which he\nhad passed was to Barbara, earnestly as old Ursel had endeavoured to\nprevent him.\n\nHe had found her under a linden tree in the garden.\n\nHow they had met again!\n\nWolf, pale and emaciated, advanced toward her, leaning on a cane, while\nBarbara, with slightly flushed cheeks, reclined upon the pillows which\nSister Hyacinthe had just arranged for her.\n\nHer head seemed smaller, her features had become more delicate and, in\nspite of the straw hat which protected her from the dazzling sunshine, he\nperceived that her severe illness had cost her her magnificent golden\nhair. Still wavy, it now fell only to her neck, and gave her the\nappearance of a wonderfully handsome boy.\n\nThe hand she extended to him was transparently thin, and when he clasped\nit in his, which was only a little larger, and did not seem much\nstronger, and she had hoarsely whispered a friendly greeting, his eyes\nfilled with tears. For a time both were silent. Barbara was the first to\nfind words and, raising her large eyes beseechingly to his, said: \"If you\ncome to reproach me--But no! You look pale, as though you had only\npartially recovered yourself, yet kind and friendly. Perhaps you do not\nknow that it was through my fault that all these terrible things have\nbefallen you.\"\n\nHere a significant smile told her that he was much better informed than\nshe supposed, and, lowering her eyes in timid embarrassment, she asked,\n\n\"Then you know who it was for whom this foolish heart----\"\n\nHere her breath failed, and while she pressed her hand upon her bosom,\nWolf said softly: \"If you had only trusted me before! Many things would\nnot have happened, and much suffering might have been spared. You did\nwrong, Wawerl, certainly, but my guilt is the greater, and we were both\npunished--oh, how sorely!\"\n\nBarbara, amid low sobbing, nodded assent, but he eagerly continued:\n\"Quijada confided everything to me, and if he--you know--now forgets all\nother matters in the war and the anxieties of the general, and, you need\nmy counsel and aid, we will let what came between us he buried, and think\nthat we are brother and sister.\"\n\nThe girl held out her hand to him, saying: \"How long you have been a\nbrother to me! But, as for your advice--Holy Virgin!--I know now less\nthan ever how I am to fare; but I shall soon learn. I can say no more. It\nmust be a severe trial to listen to me. Such a raven's croak from the\nthroat which usually gave you pleasure, and to which you gladly listened!\nShall I myself ever grow accustomed to this discord? And you? Answer\nhonestly--I should like to know whether it is very, very terrible to\nhear.\"\n\n\"You are still hoarse,\" was the reply. \"Such things pass away in a few\nweeks, and it will again be a pleasure to hear you sing.\"\n\n\"Do you really think so?\" she cried with sparkling, eyes.\n\n\"Firmly and positively,\" answered the young knight in a tone of most\nhonest conviction; but she repeated in joyous excitement, \"Firmly and\npositively,\" and then eagerly continued: \"Oh, if you should be right,\nWolf, how happy and grateful I would be, in spite of everything! But I\ncan talk no longer now. Come again to-morrow, and then the oftener the\nbetter.\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, that can not be, gladly as I would do so,\" he answered\nsadly, extending his hand in farewell. \"In a few days I shall return to\nBrussels.\"\n\n\"To remain with the regent?\" asked Barbara eagerly.\n\n\"No,\" he answered firmly. \"After a short stay with her Majesty, I shall\nenter the service of Don Luis Quijada, or rather of his wife.\"\n\n\"O-o-oh!\" she murmured slowly. \"The world seems wholly strange to me\nafter my long illness. I must first collect my thoughts, and that is now\nutterly impossible. To-morrow, Wolf! Won't you come to-morrow? Then I\nshall know better what is before me. Thanks, cordial thanks, and if\ntomorrow I deny myself to every one else, I will admit you.\"\n\nAfter Wolf had gone, Barbara gazed fixedly into vacancy. What did the\naspiring young musician seek with a nobleman's wife in a lonely Spanish\ncastle? Were his wings broken, too, and did he desire only seclusion and\nquiet?\n\nBut the anxiety which dominated her mind prevented her pursuing the same\nthought longer. Dr. Mathys had promised to tell her the result of his\nconversation with the Emperor as soon as possible, and yet he had not\nreturned.\n\nFool that she was!\n\nEven on a swift steed he could not have traversed the road back to the\ncastle if he had been detained only half an hour in the Golden Cross. It\nwas impatience which made the minutes become quarters of an hour. She\nwould have liked to go to the cool frigidarium again to watch for the\nphysician's litter; but she was warned, and had accustomed herself to\nfollow the doctor's directions as obediently as a dutiful child. Besides,\nSister Hyacinthe no longer left her alone out of doors, and possessed a\nreliable representative, who had won Barbara's confidence and affection,\nin Frau Lamperi, the garde-robiere, whom the Queen of Hungary had not yet\nsummoned.\n\nSo she remained under the linden, and Dr. Mathys did not put her newly\nwon virtue of patience, which he prized so highly, to too severe a trial.\n\nFran Lamperi had watched for him, and hastily announced that his litter\nhad already passed the Reichart pottery.\n\nNow Barbara did not turn her eyes from the garden door through which the\nman she ardently longed to see usually came, and when it opened and the\nstout, broad-shouldered leech, with his peaked doctor's hat, long staff,\nand fine linen kerchief in his right hand advanced toward her, she\nmotioned to the nun and the maid to leave them, and pressed her left hand\nupon her heart, for her emotion at the sight of him resembled the feeling\nof the prisoner who expects the paper with which the judge enters his\ncell to contain his death-warrant.\n\nShe thought she perceived her own in the physician's slow, almost lagging\nstep. His gait was always measured; but if he had had good news to bring,\nhe would have approached more rapidly. A sign, a gesture, a shout would\nhave informed her that he was bearing something cheering.\n\nBut there was nothing of this kind.\n\nHe did not raise his hat until he stood directly in front of her, and\nwhile mopping his broad, clamp brow and plump cheeks with his\nhandkerchief, she read in his features the confirmation of her worst\nfears.\n\nNow in his grave voice, which sounded still deeper than usual, he uttered\na curt \"Well, it can't be helped,\" and shrugged his shoulders\nsorrowfully.\n\nThis gesture destroyed her last hope. Unable to control herself longer,\nshe cried out in the husky voice whose hoarse tone was increased by her\nintense agitation: \"I see it in your face, Doctor; I must be prepared for\nthe worst.\"\n\n\"Would to Heaven I could deny it!\" he answered in a hollow tone; but\nBarbara urged him to speak and conceal nothing from her, not even the\nharshest news.\n\nThe leech obeyed.\n\nWith sincere compassion he saw how her face blanched at his information\nthat, owing to the pressure of duties which the commencement of the war\nimposed upon him, his Majesty would be unable to visit her here. But\nwhen, to sweeten the bitter potion, he had added that when her throat was\nwell again, and her voice had regained its former melody, the monarch\nwould once more gladly listen to her, he was startled; for, instead of\nanswering, she merely shrugged her shoulders contemptuously, while her\nface grew corpselike in its pallor. He would have been best pleased to\nend his report here, but she could not be spared the suffering to which\nshe was doomed, and pity demanded that the torture should be ended as\nquickly as possible. So, to raise her courage, he began with the\nEmperor's congratulations, and while her eyes were sparkling brightly and\nher pale cheeks were crimsoned by a fleeting flush, he went on, as\nconsiderately as he could, to inform her of the Emperor's resolution, not\nneglecting while he did so to place it in a milder light by many a\npalliating remark.\n\nBarbara, panting for breath, listened to his report without interrupting\nhim; but as the physician thought he perceived in the varying expression\nof her features and the wandering glance with which she listened tokens\nthat she did not fully understand what the Emperor required of her, he\nsummed up his communications once more.\n\n\"His Majesty,\" he concluded, \"was ready to recognise as his own the young\nlife to be expected, if she would keep the secret, and decide to commit\nit to his sole charge from its arrival in the world; but, on the other\nhand, he would refuse this to her and to the child if she did not agree\nto impose upon herself sacrifice and silence.\"\n\nAt this brief, plain statement Barbara had pressed her hands upon her\ntemples and stretched her head far forward toward the physician. Now she\nlowered her right hand, and with the question, \"So this is what I must\nunderstand?\" impetuously struck herself a blow on the forehead.\n\nThe patient man again raised his voice to make the expression of the\nmonarch's will still plainer, but she interrupted him after the first few\nwords with the exclamation: \"You can spare yourself this trouble, for the\nmeaning of the man whose message you bear is certainly evident enough.\nWhat my poor intellect fails to comprehend is only--do you hear?--is only\nwhere the faithless traitor gains the courage to make me so unprecedented\na demand. Hitherto I was only not wicked enough to know that there--there\nwas such an abyss of abominable hard-heartedness, such fiendish baseness,\nsuch----\"\n\nHere an uncontrollable fit of coughing interrupted her, but Dr. Mathys\nwould have stopped her in any case; it was unendurable to him to listen\nlonger while the great man who was the Emperor, and whom he also honoured\nas a man, was reviled with such savage recklessness.\n\nAs in so many instances, Charles's penetration had been superior to his;\nfor he had not failed to notice to what tremendous extremes this girl's\nhasty temper could carry her. What burning, almost evil passion had\nflamed in her eyes while uttering these insults! How perfectly right his\nMajesty was to withdraw from all association with a woman of so\nirresponsible a nature!\n\nHe repressed with difficulty the indignation which had overpowered him\nuntil her coughing ceased, then, in a tone of stern reproof, he declared\nthat he could not and ought not to listen to such words. She whom the\nEmperor Charles had honoured with his love would perhaps in the future\nlearn to recognise his decision as wise, though it might offend her now.\nWhen she had conquered the boundless impetuosity which so ill beseemed\nher, she herself would probably perceive how immeasurably deep and wide\nwas the gulf which separated her from the sacred person of the man who,\nnext to God, was the highest power on earth. Not only justice but duty\nwould command the head of the most illustrious family in the world to\nclaim the sole charge of his child, that it might be possible to train it\nunimpeded to the lofty position of the father, instead of the humble one\nof the mother.\n\nHitherto Barbara had remained silent, but her breath had come more and\nmore quickly, the tremor of the nostrils had increased; but at the\nphysician's last remark she could control herself no longer, and burst\nforth like a madwoman: \"And you pretend to be my friend, pretend to be a\nfairminded man? You are the tool, the obedient echo of the infamous\nwretch who now stretches his robber hand toward my most precious\npossession! Ay, look at me as though my frank speech was rousing the\ngreatest wrath in your cowardly soul! Where was the ocean-deep gulf when\nthe perjured betrayer clasped me in his arms, uttered vows of love, and\ncalled himself happy because his possession of me would beautify the\nevening of his life? Now my voice has lost its melting music, and he\nsends his accomplice to leave the mute 'nightingale'--how often he has\ncalled me so!--to her fate.\"\n\nHere she faltered, and her cheeks glowed with excitement as, with her\nclinched hand on her brow, she continued: \"Must everything be changed and\noverturned because this traitor is the Emperor, and the betrayed only the\nchild of a man who, though plain, is worthy of all honour, and who,\nbesides, was not found on the highway, but belongs to the class of\nknights, from whom even the proudest races of sovereigns descend? You\ntrample my father and me underfoot, to exalt the grandeur of your master.\nYou make him the idol, to humble me to a worm; and what you grant the\nshe-wolf--the right of defence when men undertake to rob her of her\nyoung--you deny me, and, because I insist upon it, I must be a deluded,\nunbridled creature.\"\n\nHere she sobbed aloud and covered her face with her hands; but Dr. Mathys\nhad been obliged to do violence to his feelings in order not to put a\nspeedy end to the fierce attack. Her glance had been like that of an\ninfuriated wild beast as the rage in her soul burst forth with elementary\npower, and the sharpness of her hoarse voice still pierced him to the\nheart.\n\nProbably the man of honour whom she had so deeply-insulted felt justified\nin paying her in the same coin, but the mature and experienced physician\nknew how much he must place to the account of the physical condition of\nthis unfortunate girl, and did not conceal from himself that her charges\nwere not wholly unjustifiable. So he restrained himself, and when she had\ngained control over the convulsive sobbing which shook her bosom, he told\nher his intention of leaving her and not returning until he could expect\na less hostile reception. Meanwhile she might consider whether the\nEmperor's decision was not worthy of different treatment. He would show\nhis good will to her anew by concealing from his Majesty what he had just\nheard, and what she, at no distant day, would repent as unjust and\nunworthy of her.\n\nThen Barbara angrily burst forth afresh: \"Never, never, never will that\nhappen! Neither years nor decades would efface the wrong inflicted upon\nme to-day. But oh, how I hate him who makes this shameful demand--yes,\nthough you devour me with your eyes--hate him, hate him! I do so even\nmore ardently than I loved him! And you? Why should you conceal it? From\nkindness to me? Perhaps so! Yet no, no, no! Speak freely! Yes, you must,\nmust tell him so to his face! Do it in my name, abused, ill-treated as I\nam, and tell him----\"\n\nHere the friendly man's patience gave out, and, drawing his little broad\nfigure stiffly up, he said repellently: \"You are mistaken in me, my dear.\nIf you need a messenger, you must seek some one else. You have taken care\nto make me sincerely regret having discharged this office for your sake.\nBesides, your recovery will progress without my professional aid; and,\nmoreover, I shall leave Ratisbon with my illustrious master in a few\ndays.\"\n\nHe turned his back upon her as he spoke. When toward evening the Emperor\nasked him how Barbara had received his decision, he shrugged his\nshoulders and answered: \"As was to be expected. She thinks herself\nill-used, and will not give up the child.\"\n\n\"She will have a different view in the convent,\" replied the Emperor.\n\"Quijada shall talk with her to-morrow, and De Soto and the pious nuns\nhere will show her where she belongs. The child--that matter is\nsettled--will be taken from her.\"\n\nThe execution of the imperial will began on the very next morning. First\nthe confessor De Soto appeared, and with convincing eloquence showed\nBarbara how happily she could shape her shadowed life within the sacred\nquiet of the convent. Besides, the helpless creature whose coming she was\nexpecting with maternal love could rely upon the father's recognition and\naid only on condition that she yielded to his Majesty's expressed will.\n\nBarbara, though with no little difficulty, succeeded in maintaining her\ncomposure during these counsels and the declaration of the servant of the\nHoly Church. Faithful to the determination formed during the night, she\nimposed silence upon herself, and when De Soto asked for a positive\nanswer, she begged him to grant her time for consideration.\n\nSoon after Don Luis Quijada was announced. This time he did not appear in\nthe dark Spanish court costume, but in the brilliant armour of the\nLombard regiment whose command had been entrusted to him.\n\nWhen he saw Barbara, for the first time after many weeks, he was\nstartled.\n\nOnly yesterday she had seemed to Wolf Hartschwert peerlessly beautiful,\nbut the few hours which had elapsed between the visit of the physician\nand the major-domo had sadly changed her. Her large, bright eyes were\nreddened by weeping, and the slight lines about the corners of the mouth\nhad deepened and lent her a severe expression.\n\nA hundred considerations had doubtless crowded upon her during the night,\nyet she by no means repented having showed the leech what she thought of\nthe betrayer in purple and the demand which he made upon her. De Soto's\nattempt at persuasion had only increased her defiance. Instead of\nreflecting and thinking of her own welfare and of the future of the\nbeloved being whose coming she dreaded, yet who seemed to her the most\nprecious gift of Heaven, she strengthened herself more and more in the\nbelief that it was due to her own dignity to resist the Emperor's cruel\nencroachments upon her liberty. She knew that she owed Dr. Mathys a debt\nof gratitude, but she thought herself freed from that duty since he had\nmade himself the blind tool of his master.\n\nNow the Spaniard, who had never been her friend, also came to urge the\nEmperor's will upon her. Toward him she need not force herself to\nmaintain the reserve which she had exercised in her conversation with the\nconfessor.\n\nOn the contrary!\n\nHe should hear, with the utmost plainness, what she thought of the\nEmperor's instructions. If he, his confidant, then showed him that there\nwas one person at least who did not bow before his pitiless power, and\nthat hatred steeled her courage to defy him, one of the most ardent\nwishes of her indignant, deeply wounded heart would be fulfilled. The\nonly thing which she still feared was that her aching throat might\nprevent her from freely pouring forth what so passionately agitated her\nsoul.\n\nShe now confronted the inflexible nobleman, not a feature in whose\nclear-cut, nobly moulded, soldierly face revealed what moved him.\n\nWhen, in a businesslike tone, he announced his sovereign's will, she\ninterrupted him with the remark that she knew all this, and had\ndetermined to oppose her own resolve to his Majesty's wishes.\n\nDon Luis calmly allowed her to finish, and then asked: \"So you refuse to\ntake the veil? Yet I think, under existing circumstances, nothing could\nbecome you better.\"\n\n\"Life in a convent,\" she answered firmly, \"is distasteful to me, and I\nwill never submit to it. Besides, you were hardly commissioned to discuss\nwhat does or does not become me.\"\n\n\"By no means,\" replied the Spaniard calmly; \"yet you can attribute the\nremark to my wish to serve you. During the remainder of our conference I\nwill silence it, and can therefore be brief.\"\n\n\"So much the better,\" was the curt response. \"Well, then, so you insist\nthat you will neither keep the secret which you have the honour of\nsharing with his Majesty, nor----\"\n\n\"Stay!\" she eagerly interrupted. \"The Emperor Charles took care to make\nthe bond which united me to him cruelly hateful, and therefore I am not\nat all anxious to inform the world how close it once was.\"\n\nHere Don Luis bit his lips, and a frown contracted his brow. Yet he\ncontrolled himself, and asked with barely perceptible excitement, \"Then I\nmay inform his Majesty that you would be disposed to keep this secret?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered curtly.\n\n\"But, so far as the convent is concerned, you persist in your refusal?\"\n\n\"Even a noble and kind man would never induce me to take the veil.\"\n\nNow Quijada lost his composure, and with increasing indignation\nexclaimed: \"Of all the men on earth there is probably not one who cares\nas little for the opinion of an arrogant woman wounded in her vanity. He\nstands so far above your judgment that it is insulting him to undertake\nhis defence. In short, you will not go to the convent?\"\n\n\"No, and again no!\" she protested bitterly. \"Besides, your promise ought\nto bind you to still greater brevity. But it seems to please your noble\nnature to insult a defenceless, ill-treated woman. True, perhaps it is\ndone on behalf of the mighty man who stands so far above me.\"\n\n\"How far, you will yet learn to your harm,\" replied Don Luis, once more\nmaster of himself. \"As for the child, you still seem determined to\nwithhold it from the man who will recognise it as his solely on this\ncondition?\"\n\nBarbara thought it time to drop the restraint maintained with so much\ndifficulty, and half with the intention of letting Charles's favourite\nhear the anguish that oppressed her heart, half carried away by the\nresentment which filled her soul, she permitted it to overflow and, in\nspite of the pain which it caused her to raise her voice, she ceased\nwhispering, and cried: \"You ask to hear what I intend to do? Nothing,\nsave to keep what is mine! Though I know how much you dislike me, Don\nLuis Quijada, I call upon you to witness whether I have a right to this\nchild and to consideration from its father; for when you, his messenger\nof love, led me for the first time to the man who now tramples me so\ncruelly under his feet, you yourself heard him greet me as the sun which\nwas again rising for him. But that is forgotten! If his will is not\nexecuted, mother and child may perish in darkness and misery. Well, then,\nwill against will! He has the right to cease to love me and to thrust me\nfrom him, but it is mine to hate him from my inmost soul, and to make my\nchild what I please. Let him grow up as Heaven wills, and if he perishes\nin want and shame, if he is put in the pillory or dies on the scaffold,\none mission at least will be left for me. I will shriek out to the world\nhow the royal betrayer provided for the welfare of his own blood!\"\n\n\"Enough!\" interrupted Don Luis in mingled wrath and horror. \"I will not\nand can not listen longer while gall and venom are poured upon the sacred\nhead of the greatest of men.\"\n\n\"Then leave me!\" cried Barbara, scarcely able to use her voice. \"This\nroom, at least, will be mine until I can no longer accept even shelter\nfrom the traitor who--you used the words yourself--instilled venom and\nbitter gall into my soul.\"\n\nQuijada, with a slight bend of the head, turned and left the room.\n\nWhen the door closed behind him, Barbara, with panting breath and\nflashing eyes, threw herself into an arm-chair, content as if she had\nbeen relieved of a heavy burden, but the Emperor's envoy mounted the\nhorse on which he had come, and rode away.\n\nHe fared as the leech had done the day before. Barbara's infamous abuse\nstill fired his blood, but he could not conceal from himself that this\nunfortunate woman had been wronged by his beloved and honoured master. In\ntruth, he had more than once heard the ardent professions of love with\nwhich Charles had greeted and dismissed her, and his chivalrous nature\nrebelled against the severity with which he made her suffer for the\ncruelty of Fate that had prematurely robbed her of what had been to him\nher dearest charm.\n\nBefore he went to Prebrunn, Dr. Mathys had counselled him not to forget\nduring the disagreeable reception awaiting him that he was dealing with\nan irritable invalid, and the thoroughly noble man resolved to remember\nit as an excuse. The Emperor Charles should learn only that Barbara\nrefused to submit to his arrangements, that his harshness deeply wounded\nher and excited her quick temper. He was unwilling to expose himself\nagain to an outburst of her rage, and he would therefore intrust to\nanother the task of rendering her more docile, and this other was Wolf\nHartschwert.\n\nA few days before he had visited the recovering knight, and obtained from\nhim a decision whose favourable nature filled him with secret joy\nwhenever he thought of it.\n\nWolf had already learned from the valet Adrian the identity of the person\nto whom he had been obliged to yield precedence in Barbara's heart, and\nhow generously Quijada had kept silence concerning the wound which he had\ndealt him. When Don Luis freely forgave him for the unfortunate\nmisunderstanding for which he, too, was not wholly free from blame, Wolf\nhad thrown himself on his knees and warmly entreated him to dispose of\nhim, who owed him more than life, as he would of himself. Then, opening\nhis whole heart, he revealed what Barbara had been to him, and how,\nunable to control his rage, he had rushed upon him when he thought he had\ndiscovered, in the man who had just asked him to go far away from the\nwoman he loved, her betrayer.\n\nAfter this explanation, Quijada had acquiesced in the knight's wish that\nhe should give him the office offered on that luckless evening, and he\nnow felt disposed also to intrust to him further negotiations with the\nsinger.\n\nIn the report made to the Emperor, Don Luis suppressed everything which\ncould offend him; but Charles remained immovable in his determination to\nwithdraw the expected gift of Fate, from its first entrance into the\nworld, from every influence except his own. Moreover, he threatened that\nif the blinded girl continued to refuse to enter the convent and yield up\nthe child, he would withdraw his aid from both. After a sleepless night,\nhowever, he remarked, on the following morning, that he perceived it to\nbe his duty, whatever might happen, to assume the care of the child who\nwas entitled to call him its father. What he would do for the mother must\ndepend upon her future conduct. This was another instance how every\ntrespass of the bounds of the moral order which the Church ordains and\nhallows entails the most sorrowful consequences even here below.\nPrecisely because he was so strongly attached to this unfortunate woman,\nonce so richly gifted, he desired to offer her the opportunity to obtain\npardon from Heaven, and therefore insisted upon her retiring to the\nconvent. His own guilt was causing him great mental trouble and, in fact,\nnotwithstanding the arduous labour imposed upon him by the war, the most\nmelancholy mood again took possession of him.\n\nThe day before his departure to join the army which was gathered near by\nat Landshut, he withdrew once more into the apartment draped with sable\nhangings.\n\nWhen he was informed that Barbara wished to leave the Prebrunn castle, he\nburst into a furious passion, and commanded that she should be kept\nthere, even if it was necessary to use force.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Whoever will not hear, must feel\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nEverything in Barbara's residence had remained as it was when she\narrived, only the second story, since the departure of the marquise, had\nstood empty. Two horses had been left in the stable, the steward\nperformed his duties as before, the cook presided in the kitchen, and\nFrau Lamperi attended to Barbara's rooms.\n\nNevertheless, at Wolf's first visit he was obliged to exert all his\npowers of persuasion to induce his miserable friend to give up her\nresolution of moving into her former home. Besides, after the\nconversation with Charles's messenger, she had felt so ill that no\nvisitor except himself had been received.\n\nWhen, a few days later, she learned that the Emperor had set out for\nLandshut, she entreated Wolf to seek out Pyramus Kogel, for she had just\nlearned that during her illness her father's travelling companion had\nasked to see her, but, like every one else, had been refused. She grieved\nbecause they had forgotten to tell her this; but when she discovered that\nthe same stately officer had called again soon after the relapse, she\nangrily upbraided, for the first time, Frau Lamperi, who was to blame for\nthe neglect, and her grief increased when, on the same day, a messenger\nbrought from the man who had twice been denied admittance a letter which\ninclosed one from her father, and briefly informed her that he should set\nout at once for Landshut. As she would not receive him, he must send her\nthe captain's messages in this way.\n\nIt appeared from the old man's letter that, while leaving the ship at\nAntwerp, he had met with an accident, and perhaps might long be prevented\nfrom undertaking the toilsome journey home. But he was well cared for,\nand if she was still his clear daughter, she must treat Herr Pyramus\nKogel kindly this time, for he had proved a faithful son and good\nSamaritan to him.\n\nA stranger's hand had written this letter, which contained nothing more\nabout the old soldier's health, but reminded her of a tin tankard which\nhe had forgotten to deliver, and urged her to care for the ever-burning\nlamp in the chapel. It closed with the request to offer his profound\nreverence at the feet of his Majesty, the most gracious, most glorious,\nand most powerful Emperor, and the remark that there was much to say\nabout the country of Spain, but the best was certainly when one thought\nof it after turning the back upon it.\n\nAs a postscript, he had written with his own hand, as the crooked letters\nshowed: \"Mind what I told you about Sir Pyramus, without whom you would\nnow be a deserted orphan. Can you believe that in all Spain there is no\nfresh butter to be had, either for bread or in the kitchen for roast\nmeat, but instead rancid oil, which we should think just fit for\nburning?\"\n\nWith deep shame Barbara realized through this letter how rarely she\nremembered her father. Only since she knew positively what joy and what\nanxiety awaited her had she again thought frequently of him, but always\nwith great fear of the old man whose head had grown gray in an honourable\nlife. Now the hour was approaching when she would be obliged to confess\nto him what she still strove to deem a peerless favour of Fate, for which\nfuture generations would envy her. Perhaps he who looked up to the\nEmperor Charles with such enthusiastic devotion would agree with her;\nperhaps what she must disclose to him would spoil the remainder of his\nlife. The image of the aged sufferer, lying in pain and sorrow far from\nher old his home, in a stranger's house, constantly forced itself upon\nher, and she often dwelt upon it, imagining it with ingenious\nself-torture.\n\nLove for another had estranged her from him who possessed the first claim\nto every feeling of tenderness and gratitude in her heart. The thought\nthat she could do nothing for him and give him no token of her love\npierced deep into her soul. Every impulse of her being urged her to learn\nfurther details of him and his condition. As Pyramus Kogel was staying in\nLandshut, she wrote a note entreating him, if possible, to come to\nRatisbon to tell her about her father, or, if this could not be, to\ninform her by letter how he fared.\n\nThere was no lack of messengers going to Landshut, and the answer was not\ndelayed. During these war times, Pyramus answered, he was not his own\nmaster even for a moment; therefore he must deny himself a visit to her,\nand he also lacked time for a detailed account by letter. If, however,\nshe could resolve to do him the honour of a visit, he would promise her a\nmore cordial reception than he had experienced on her side. For the rest,\nher father was being carefully nursed, and his life was no longer in\ndanger.\n\nAt first Barbara took this letter for an ungenerous attempt of the\ninsulted man to repay the humiliation which he had received from her; but\nthe news from the throngs of troops pouring into the city made the\nofficer's request appear in a milder light, and the longing to ascertain\nher father's condition daily increased.\n\nAt the end of the first week in August her strength would have sufficed\nfor the short drive to Landshut. True, she was as hoarse as when she gave\nthe physician a disinclination to return, but she had regained her\nphysical vigour, and had taken walks, without special fatigue, sometimes\nwith Wolf, sometimes with Gombert. The latter, as well as Appenzelder,\nstill frequently called upon her, and tried to diminish her grief over\nthe injury to her voice by telling her of hundreds of similar cases which\nhad resulted favourably.\n\nThe musicians were to return to Brussels the next day. Appenzelder would\nnot leave his boy choir, but Gombert had accepted an invitation from the\nDuke of Bavaria, at whose court in Munich the best music was eagerly\nfostered. His road would lead him through Landshut, and how more than\ngladly Barbara would have accompanied him there!\n\nShe must now bid farewell to Appenzelder and Massi, and it was evident\nthat the parting was hard for them also. The eyes of the former even grew\ndim with tears as he pressed a farewell kiss upon Barbara's brow. The\nlittle Maltese, Hannibal Melas, would have preferred to stay with\nher--nay, he did not cease entreating her to keep him, though only as a\npage; but how could he have been useful to her?\n\nFinally, she was obliged to bid Wolf, too, farewell, perhaps for many\nyears.\n\nDuring the last few days he had again proved his old friendship in the\nmost loyal manner. Through Quijada he had learned everything which\nconcerned her and the Emperor Charles, and this had transformed his\nformer love for Barbara, which was by no means dead, into tender\ncompassion.\n\nNot to serve the monarch or the husband of his new mistress in\nVillagarcia, but merely to lighten her own hard fate, he had not ceased\nto represent what consequences it might entail upon her if she should\ncontinue to defy the Emperor's command so obstinately.\n\nHe, too, saw in the convent the fitting place for her future life, now\nbereft of its best possessions; but although she succeeded in retaining\nher composure during his entreaties and warnings, she still most\npositively refused to obey the Emperor's order.\n\nHer strong desire to visit Landshut was by no means solely from the\nnecessity of hearing the particulars about her father, and the wish to\nsee so brilliant an assemblage of troops from all countries, but\nespecially the consuming longing to gaze once more into the face of the\nlover who was now making her so miserable, yet to whom she owed the\ngreatest joy of her life.\n\nAnd more!\n\nShe thought it would restore her peace of mind forever if she could\nsucceed in speaking to him for even one brief moment and telling him what\na transformation his guilt had wrought in her ardent love and her whole\nnature.\n\nWolf's representations and imploring entreaties remained as futile as\nthose of Sister Hyacinthe and the abbesses of the Clare Sisters and the\nConvent of the Holy Cross, who had sought her by the confessor's wish.\nNone of these pious women, except her nurse, knew the hope she cherished.\nThey saw in her only the Emperor's discarded love; yet as such it seemed\nto them that Barbara was bidden to turn her back upon the world, which\nhad nothing similar to offer her, in order, as the Saviour's bride, to\nseek a new and loftier happiness.\n\nBut Barbara's vivacious temperament shrank from their summons as from the\ntomb or the dungeon and, with all due reverence, she said so to the\nkindly nuns.\n\nShe desired no new happiness, nay, she could not imagine that she would\never again find joy in anything save the heavenly gift which she expected\nwith increasing fear, and yet glad hope. Yet they wished to deprive her\nof this exquisite treasure, this peerless comfort for the soul! But she\nhad learned how to defend herself, and they should never succeed in\naccomplishing this shameful purpose. She would keep her child, though it\nincreased the Emperor's resentment to the highest pitch, and deprived her\nof every expectation of his care.\n\nEagerly as Wolf praised Quijada's noble nature, she commanded him to\nassure the Castilian, whose messenger he honestly confessed himself to\nbe, that she would die rather than yield to the Emperor's demands.\n\nWhen the time at last came to part from Wolf also, and he pressed his\nlips to her hand, she felt that she could rely upon him, no matter how\nsad her future life might be. He added many another kind and friendly\nword; then, in an outburst of painful emotion, cried: \"If only you had\nbeen contented with my faithful love, Wawerl, how very different, how\nmuch better everything would have been, how happy I might be! and, if\nloyal love possesses the power of bestowing happiness, you, too----\"\n\nHere Barbara pointed mournfully to her poor aching throat and, while he\nearnestly protested that, deeply as he lamented the injury to her voice,\nthis cruel misfortune would by no means have lessened his love, her eyes\nsuddenly flashed, and there was a strange quiver around the corners of\nher mouth as she thought: \"Keep that opinion. But I would not exchange\nfor a long life, overflowing with the happiness which you, dear, good\nfellow, could offer me, the brief May weeks that placed me among the few\nwho are permitted to taste the highest measure of happiness.\"\n\nYet she listened with sincere sympathy to what he had heard of\nVillagarcia and Magdalena de Ulloa, Quijada's wife, and what he expected\nto find there and in Valladolid.\n\nIt pleased her most to know that he would be permitted to return\nsometimes to the Netherlands. When once there, he must seek her out\nwherever her uncertain destiny had cast her.\n\nWhen, in saying this, her hoarse voice failed and tears of pain and\nsorrow filled her eyes, emotion overpowered him also and, after he had\nagain urged her to submit to the will of their imperial master, he tore\nhimself away with a last farewell.\n\nThe ardent, long-cherished passion which had brought the young knight\nfull of hope to Ratisbon had changed to compassion. With drooping head,\ndisappointed, and heavily burdened with anxiety for the future of the\nwoman who had exerted so powerful an influence upon his fate, he left the\nhome of his childhood; but Barbara saw him go with the sorrowful fear\nthat, in the rural solitude which awaited him in Spain, her talented\nfriend would lose his art and every loftier aspiration; yet both felt\nsure that, whatever might be the course of their lives, each would hold a\nfirm place in the other's memory.\n\nA few hours after this farewell Barbara received a letter from the\nCouncil, in which Wolf Hartschwert secured to her and her father during\ntheir lives the free use of the house which he had inherited in Red Cock\nStreet, with the sole condition of allowing his faithful Ursula to occupy\nthe second story until her death.\n\nThe astonished girl at once went to express her thanks for so much\nkindness; but Wolf had left Ratisbon a short time before, and when\nBarbara entered the house she found old Ursula at the window with her\ntear-stained face resting on her clasped hands. When she heard her name\ncalled, she raised her little head framed in the big cap, and as soon as\nshe recognised the unexpected visitor she cast so malevolent a glance at\nher that a shiver ran through the girl's frame.\n\nAfter a few brief words of greeting, Barbara left the old woman,\nresolving not to enter the house soon again.\n\nIn passing the chapel she could and would not resist its strong power of\nattraction. With bowed head she entered the quiet little sanctuary,\nrepeated a paternoster, and prayed fervently to the Mother of God to\nrestore the clearness of her voice once more. While doing so, she\nimagined that the gracious intercessor gazed down upon her sometimes\ncompassionately, sometimes reproachfully, and, in the consciousness of\nher guilt, she raised her hands, imploring forgiveness, to the friendly,\nfamiliar figure.\n\nHow tenderly the Christ-child nestled to the pure, exalted mother! Heaven\nintended to bestow a similar exquisite gift upon her also, and already\ninsolent hands were outstretched to tear it from her. True, she was\ndetermined to defend herself bravely, yet her best friend advised her to\nyield without resistance to this unprecedented demand.\n\nWhat should she do?\n\nWith her brow pressed against the priedieu, she strove to attain calm\nreflection in the presence of the powerful and gracious Queen of Heaven.\nIf she yielded the child to its cruel father, she would thereby surrender\nto him the only happiness to which she still possessed a claim; if she\nsucceeded in keeping it for herself, she would deprive it of the favour\nof the mighty sovereign, who possessed the power to bestow upon it\neverything which the human heart craves. Should she persist in resistance\nor yield to the person to whom she had already sacrificed so much the\ngreat blessing which had the ability to console her for every other loss,\neven the most cruel?\n\nThen her refractory heart again rebelled. This was too much; Heaven\nitself could not require it of her, the divine Mother who, before her\neyes, was pressing her child so tenderly to her bosom, least of all.\nHers, too, would be a gift of God, and, while repeating this to herself,\nit seemed as though a voice cried out: \"It is the Lord himself who\nintends to confide this child to you, and if you give it up you deprive\nit of its mother and rob it--you have learned that yourself--of its best\npossession. What was given to you to cherish tenderly, you can not\nconfide to another without angering him who bestowed the guerdon upon\nyou.\"\n\nJust at that moment she thought of the star, her lover's first memento,\nwith which she had parted from weakness, though with a good intention.\n\nThe misfortune which she was now enduring had grown out of this\nlamentable yielding. No! She would not, ought not to allow herself to be\nrobbed of her precious hope. One glance at the Mother and Child put an\nend to any further consideration.\n\nComforted and strengthened, she went her way homeward, scarcely noticing\nthat Peter Schlumperger and his sister, whom she met, looked away from\nher with evident purpose.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThat night Barbara dreamed of her father. Birds of prey were attacking\nhis body as it lay upon the ground, and she could not drive them off. The\nterror with which this spectacle had disturbed her sleep could not be\nbanished during the morning. Now, whatever it cost, she must go to\nLandshut and hear some tidings of him.\n\nMaestro Gombert would set out for Munich the next day, and in doing so\nmust pass the neighbouring city. If he would carry her with him, she\nwould be safe. He came at twilight to take leave of her, and with genuine\npleasure gave her the second seat in his travelling carriage.\n\nEarly the following morning the vehicle, drawn by post horses, stopped\nbefore the little Prebrunn castle, and Barbara was soon driving with the\nmusician through the pleasant country in the warm August day.\n\nSister Hyacinthe and Fran Lamperi had tried to prevent her departure by\nentreaties and remonstrances, for both feared that the long ride might\ninjure her; and, moreover, the latter had been charged by Quijada, in the\nEmperor's name, to keep her in the castle and, if she left it, to inform\nhim at once by a mounted messenger.\n\nAs Barbara could not be detained, Frau Lamperi, though reluctantly,\nobeyed this command.\n\nBefore leaving Prebrunn Barbara had warned Gombert that he would find her\na very uninteresting companion, since it was still impossible to talk\nmuch; but Gombert would not admit this. To a true friend, the mere\npresence of the other gives pleasure, even though he should not open his\nlips.\n\nThe girl had become very dear to him, and her presence made time pass\nswiftly, for the great musician liked to talk and conversed bewitchingly,\nand he had long since discovered that Barbara was a good listener.\n\nBesides, the motley life on the road attracted his attention as well as\nhis travelling companion's, for the war had begun, and already would have\nresulted in a great victory for the Smalcalds, at the foot of the\nBavarian Alps, had not the Augsburg Military Council prevented the able\ncommander in chief Schartlin von Burtenbach and his gallant lieutenant\nSchenkwitz from profiting by the advantage won. The way to Italy and\nTrent, where the Council was in session, was already open to the allied\nProtestants, but they were forbidden from the green table to follow it.\nIt would have led them through Bavarian territory, and thereby perhaps\nafforded Duke William, the ruler of the country, occasion to abjure his\nneutrality and turn openly against the Smalcalds.\n\nThe shortsightedness with which the Protestants permitted the Emperor to\nremain so long in Ratisbon unmolested, and gather troops and munitions of\nwar, Gombert had heard termed actually incomprehensible.\n\nThe travellers might expect to find a large force in Landshut, among the\nrest ten thousand Italians and eight thousand Spaniards. This, the\nmusician explained to his companion, was contrary to the condition of his\nMajesty's election, which prohibited his bringing foreign soldiers into\nGermany; but war was a mighty enterprise, which broke even Firmer\ncontracts.\n\nA bitter remark about the man who, even in peace, scorned fidelity and\nfaith, rose to Barbara's lips; but as she knew the warm enthusiasm which\nGombert cherished for his imperial master, she controlled herself, and\ncontinued to listen while he spoke of the large re-enforcements which\nCount Buren was leading from the Netherlands.\n\nA long and cruel war might be expected, for, though his Majesty assumed\nthat religion had nothing to do with it, the saying went--here Catholics,\nhere Protestants. The Pope gave his blessing to those who joined\nCharles's banner, and wherever people had deserted the Church they said\nthat they were taking the field for the pure religion against the\nunchristian Council and the Romish antichrist.\n\n\"But it really can not be a war in behalf of our holy faith,\" Barbara\nhere eagerly interposed, \"for the Duke of Saxony is our ally, and Oh,\njust look! we must pass there directly.\"\n\nShe pointed as she spoke to a peasant cart just in front of them, whose\noccupants had been hidden until now by the dust of the road. They were\ntwo Protestant clergymen in the easily recognised official costume of\ntheir faith--a long, black robe and a white ruff around the neck.\n\nGombert, too, now looked in surprise at the ecclesiastical gentlemen, and\ncalled the commander of the four members of the city guard who escorted\nhis carriage.\n\nThe troops marching beside them were the soldiers of the Protestant\nMargrave Hans von Kustrin who, in spite of his faith, had joined the\nEmperor, his secular lord, who asserted that he was waging no religious\nwar. The clergymen were the field chaplains of the Protestant bands.\n\nWhen the travellers had passed the long baggage train, in which women and\nchildren filled peasant carts or trudged on foot, and reached the\nsoldiers themselves, they found them well-armed men of sturdy figure.\n\nThe Neapolitan regiment, which preceded the Kustrin one, presented an\nentirely different appearance with its shorter, brown-skinned,\nlight-footed soldiers. Here, too, there was no lack of soldiers' wives\nand children, and from two of the carts gaily bedizened soldiers'\nsweethearts waved their hands to the travellers. In front of the regiment\nwere two wagons with racks, filled with priests and monks bearing crosses\nand church banners, and before them, to escape the dust, a priest of\nhigher rank with his vicar rode on mules decked with gay trappings.\n\nOn the way to Eggmuhl the carriage passed other bodies of troops. Here\nthe horses were changed, and now Gombert walked with Barbara in front of\nthe vehicle to \"stretch their legs.\"\n\nA regiment from the Upper Palatinate was encamped outside of the village.\nThe prince to whom it belonged had given it a free ration of wine at the\nnoonday rest, and the soldiers were now lying on the grass with loosened\nhelmets and armour, feeling very comfortable, and singing in their deep\nvoices a song newly composed in honour of the Emperor Charles to the air,\n\"Cheer up, ye gallant soldiers all!\"\n\nThe couple so skilled in music stopped, and Barbara's heart beat quicker\nas she listened to the words which the fair-haired young trooper close\nbeside her was singing in an especially clear voice:\n\n          \"Cheer up, ye gallant soldiers all!\n          Be blithe and bold of mind\n          With faith on God we'll loudly call,\n          Then on our ruler kind.\n          His name is worthy of our praise,\n          Since to the throne God doth him raise;\n          So we will glorify him, too,\n          And render the obedience due.\n          Of an imperial race he came,\n          To this broad empire heir;\n          Carolus is his noble name,\n          God-sent its crown to wear.\n          Mehrer is his just title grand,\n          The sovereign of many a land\n          Which God hath given to his care\n          His name rings on the air!\"\n\n   [Mehrer--The increaser, an ancient title of the German emperors]\n\nHow much pleasure this song afforded Barbara, although it praised the man\nwhom she thought she hated; and when the third verse began with the\nwords,\n\n          \"So goodly is the life he leads\n          Within this earthly vale,\"\n\noh, how gladly she would have joined in!\n\nThat could not be, but she sang with them in her heart, for she had long\nsince caught the tune, and how intently the soldiers would have listened\nif it had been possible for her to raise her voice as usual! Amid the\nsinging of all these men her clear, bell-like tones would have risen like\nthe lark soaring from the grain field, and what a storm of applause would\nhave greeted her from these rough throats!\n\nGrief for the lost happiness of pouring forth her feelings in melody\nseized upon her more deeply than for a long time. She would fain have\nglided quietly away to escape the cause of this fresh sorrow. But Gombert\nwas listening to the young soldier's song with interest, so Barbara\ncontinued to hear the young warrior as, with evident enthusiasm, he sang\nthe verse:\n\n          \"Patient and tolerant is he,\n          Nor vengeance seeks, nor blood;\n          E'en though he errs, as well may be,\n          His heart is ever good.\"\n\nShe, too, had deemed this heart so, but now she knew better. Yet it\npleased her that the fair-haired soldier so readily believed the poet\nand, obeying a hasty impulse, she put her hand into the pouch at her belt\nto give him a gold piece; but Gombert nudged her, and in his broken\nNetherland German repeated the verse which he had just heard:\n\n       \"'Tis stern necessity that forced\n        The sword into his hand;\n        'Tis not for questions of the faith\n        That he doth make his stand.\"\n\nSo the soldiers believed that their commander had only grasped the sword\nwhen compelled to do so, and that religion had nothing to do with the\nwar, but the leader of the orchestra knew better. The conversations of\nthe Spaniards at the court, and the words which De Soto had uttered\nlauding the Emperor, \"Since God placed my foes in my hands, I must wage\nwar upon his enemies,\" were plain enough.\n\nGombert repeated this remark in a low tone but, ere Barbara could answer\nhim, the carriage, with its fresh relay of horses, stopped in the road.\n\nIt was time to get in again, but Barbara dreaded the ride over the rough,\ncrowded highway, and begged her companion to pursue their journey a\nlittle farther on foot. He consented and, as the girl now flung a gold\ngulden to the blond leader of the voices, cheers from the soldiers\nfollowed them.\n\nLeaning on Gombert's arm, Barbara now moved on more cheerfully until they\nwere stopped by the vivandiere's counter.\n\nThe portly woman stood comfortably at ease behind her eatables and\ndrinkables, rested her fists on her hips, and glanced toward her\nassistant, who stared boldly into the musician's face, and asked him to\ntake some refreshment for himself and his sweetheart.\n\nShe was a young creature, with features prematurely haggard, cheeks\nscarlet with rouge, and eyebrows and lashes dyed black. The infant which\na pale little girl nine years old was tending belonged to her. She had\nhad her hair cut close, and her voice was so discordantly hoarse that it\nhurt Barbara's ears.\n\nAs the bold young woman tapped Gombert lightly on the arm and, with fresh\nwords of invitation, pointed toward the counter, a shiver ran through\nBarbara's limbs. Even her worst enemy would not have ventured to compare\nher with this outcast, but she did herself as she thought of her own\ncropped hair and injured voice. Perhaps the child in the arms of the pale\nnine-year-old nurse was disowned by its father, and did not the greatest\nof sovereigns intend to do the same to his, if the mother refused to obey\nhim?\n\nThese disagreeable thoughts fell upon her soul like mildew upon growing\ngrain, and after Gombert had helped her into the carriage again she\nbegged him to let her rest in silence for a while. The Netherlander, it\nis true, had no suspicion of her condition, but he knew that she had not\nyet wholly recovered, and carefully pushed his own knapsack under her\nfeet.\n\nBarbara now closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, yet she tortured\nher mind with the same question which she had vainly tried to decide in\nthe chapel of Wolf's house. Besides, she was troubled about the\ninformation which the recruiting officer might give her concerning her\nfather. And suppose she should meet the Emperor Charles in Landshut, and\nbe permitted to speak to him?\n\nThe blare of trumpets and a loud shout of command roused her from this\njoyless reverie. The carriage was passing some squads of Hungarian\ncavalry moving at a walk toward Landshut.\n\nTheir gay, brilliant appearance scattered the self-torturing thoughts.\nWhy should she spoil the delightful drive with her friend, which,\nbesides, was nearly over? Even if the worst happened, it would come only\ntoo soon.\n\nSo drawing a long breath, she again turned to her companion, and Gombert\nrejoiced in the refreshing influence which, as he supposed, her sleep had\nexerted upon her. In an hour he must part from the artist to whom he owed\nso much pleasure, whose beauty warmed his aging heart, and who he\nfrequently wished might regain the wonderful gift now so cruelly lost.\nHer fiery vivacity, her thoroughly natural, self-reliant unconcern, her\nfresh enthusiasm, the joyousness and industry with which she toiled at\nher own cultivation, and the gratitude with which any musical instruction\nhad been received, had endeared her to him. It would be a pleasure to see\nher again, and a veritable banquet of the soul to hear her sing in the\nold way.\n\nHe told her this with frank affection, and represented to her how much\nbetter suited she was to Brussels than to her stately but dull and quiet\nRatisbon.\n\nWith enthusiastic love for his native land, he described the bustling\nlife in his beautiful, wealthy home. There music and every art\nflourished; there, besides the Emperor and his august sister, were great\nnobles who with cheerful lavishness patronized everything that was\nbeautiful and worthy of esteem; thither flocked strangers from the whole\nworld; there festivals were celebrated with a magnificence and joyousness\nwitnessed nowhere else on earth. There was the abode of freedom, joy, and\nmirth.\n\nBarbara had often wished to see the Netherlands, which the Emperor\nCharles also remembered with special affection, but no one had ever thus\ntransported her to the midst of these flourishing provinces and this\nblithesome people.\n\nDuring the maestro's description her large eyes rested upon his lips as\nif spellbound. She, too, must see this Brabant, and, like every newly\nawakened longing, this also quickly took possession of her whole nature.\nOnly in the Netherlands, she thought, could she regain her lost\nhappiness. But what elevated this idea to a certainty in her mind was not\nonly the fostering of music, the spectacles and festivals, the\nmagnificent velvet, the rustling silk, and the gay, varied life, not only\nthe worthy Appenzelder and the friend at her side, but, far above all\nother things, the circumstance that Brussels was the home of the Emperor\nCharles, that there, there alone, she might be permitted to see again and\nagain, at least from a distance, the man whom she hated.\n\nAbsorbed in the Netherlands, she forgot to notice the nearest things\nwhich presented themselves to her gaze.\n\nThe last hour of the drive had passed with the speed of an arrow, both to\nher and her travelling companion, and just as they were close to the left\nbank of the Isar, which was flowing toward them, Gombert's old servant\nturned and, pointing before him with his outstretched hand, exclaimed,\n\"Here we are in Landshut!\" she perceived that the goal of their journey\nwas gained.\n\nBarbara was familiar with this flourishing place, above which proudly\ntowered the Trausnitzburg, for here lived her uncle Wolfgang Lorberer,\nwho had married her mother's sister, and was a member of the city\nCouncil. Two years before she had spent a whole month as a guest in his\nwealthy household, and she intended now to seek shelter there again. Fran\nMartha had invited her more than once to come soon, and meanwhile her two\nyoung cousins had grown up.\n\nTwo arms of the Isar lay before her, and between them the island of\nZweibrucken.\n\nBefore the coach rolled across the first, Barbara gathered her luggage\ntogether and told the postboy where he was to drive. He knew the handsome\nLorberer house, and touched his cap when he heard its owner's name.\nBarbara was glad to be brought to her relatives by the famous musician;\nshe did not wish to appear as though she had dropped from the clouds in\nthe house of the aunt who was the opposite of her dead mother, a somewhat\nnarrow-minded, prudish woman, of whom she secretly stood in awe.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nProgress was very slow, for many peasants and hogs were coming toward\nthem from the Schweinemarkt at their right.\n\nThe gate was on the second bridge, and here the carriage was compelled to\nstop on account of paying the toll. But it could not have advanced in any\ncase; a considerable number of vehicles and human beings choked the space\nbefore and beyond the gate. Horsemen of all sorts, wagons of regiments\nmarching in and out, freight vans and country carts, soldiers, male and\nfemale citizens, peasants and peasant women, monks, travelling\njourneymen, and vagrants impeded their progress, and it required a long\ntime ere the travelling carriage could finally pass the gate and reach\nthe end of the bridge.\n\nThere the crowd between it, the Hospital of the Holy Ghost, and the\nchurch belonging to it seemed absolutely impenetrable. The vehicle was\nforced to stop, and Gombert stood up and overlooked the motley throng\nsurrounding it.\n\nBarbara had also risen from her seat, pointed out to her companion one\nnoteworthy object after another, and finally a handsome sedan chair which\nrested on the ground beside the hospital.\n\n\"His Majesty's property,\" she said eagerly; \"I know it well.\"\n\nHere she hesitated and turned pale, for she had just noticed what Gombert\nnow called to her attention.\n\nDon Luis Quijada, with the haughty precision of the Castilian grandee,\nwas passing through the humble folk around him and advancing directly\ntoward her.\n\nAll who separated him from the carriage submissively made way for the\ncommander of the Lombard regiment; but Barbara looked toward the right\nand the left, and longed to spring from the vehicle and hide herself amid\nthe throng.\n\nBut it was too late for that.\n\nShe could do nothing except wait to learn what he desired, and yet she\nknew perfectly well that Don Luis was not coming to the musician, but to\nher, and that he was bringing some startling, nay, probably some terrible\nnews.\n\nShe had not met him since she had poured forth the indignation of her\nheart. Now he was standing close beside the carriage, but his grave face\nlooked less stern than it did at that time.\n\nAfter he had bent his head slightly to her and held out his hand to\nGombert with friendly condescension, he thanked him for the kindness with\nwhich he had made room for his travelling companion, and then, with quiet\ncourtesy, informed Barbara that he had come on behalf of his Majesty, who\nfeared that she might not find suitable lodgings in overcrowded Landshut.\nThe sedan chair stood ready over there by the hospital.\n\nThe longing to escape this fresh outrage from the mighty despot seized\nupon Barbara more fiercely than ever, but flight in this crowd was\nimpossible, and as she met Quijada's grave glance she forced herself to\nkeep silence. She could not endure to make the Netherland maestro, who\nwas kindly disposed toward her, and whom she honoured, a witness of her\nhumiliation. So she was compelled to reserve what she wished to say to\nthe Spaniard until later, and therefore only bade her friend farewell\nand, scarcely able to control her voice, expressed her regret that she\ncould not take him to the Lorberers, since his Majesty was making other\narrangements for her.\n\nAnother clasp of the Netherlander's hand, a questioning glance into the\nCastilian's calm face, and she was forced to consider herself the Emperor\nCharles's prisoner.\n\nTrue, her captor studiously showed her every attention; he helped her out\nof the carriage with the utmost care, and then led her through the moving\nthrong of people to the sedan chair, behind which a mounted groom was\nholding Quijada's noble steed by the bridle.\n\nWhile Don Luis was helping Barbara into the chair, she asked in a low\ntone what she was to think of this act of violence, and where she was\nbeing taken.\n\n\"His Majesty's command,\" was the reply. \"I think you will be satisfied\nwith your lodgings here.\" The girl shrugged her shoulders indignantly,\nand asked if she might only know how it had been discovered that she was\non her way to Landshut; but Don Luis, in a gayer manner than his usual\none, answered, \"A little bird sang it to us, and I waited for you just\nhere because, at the end of the bridge, we are most certain to meet\nwhoever is obliged to cross either branch of the river.\" Then, in a tone\nso grave as to exclude any idea of mockery, he added, \"You see how kindly\nhis Majesty has provided for your welfare.\"\n\nClosing the sedan chair as he spoke, he rode on before her.\n\nMeanwhile contradictory emotions were seething and surging in Barbara's\nbreast.\n\nWhere were they taking her?\n\nDid the Emperor intend to make her a prisoner? He certainly possessed the\npower. Who would dare to resist him?\n\nShe could attain no clearness of thought, for, while giving free course\nto the indignation of her soul, she was gazing out at the open sides of\nthe sedan chair.\n\nEvery house, every paving stone here was familiar and awakened some\nmemory. A crowd of people surrounded her, and among them appeared many a\nforeign soldier on foot and on horseback, who would have been well worthy\nof an attentive glance. But what did she care for the Italians in helmets\nand coats of mail who filled the Altstadt--the main business street of\nLandshut--through which she was being carried? She doubtless cast a\nglance toward the Town Hall, where her uncle was now devising means to\nprovide shelter for this legion of soldiers and steeds, doubtless put her\nhead a little out of the window as she approached the houses and arcades\nin the lower stories, and the Lorberer mansion, with the blunt gable,\nwhere she had spent such happy days, appeared. But she quickly drew it\nback again; if any of her relatives should see her, what answer could she\nmake to questions?\n\nBut no one perceived her, and who knows whether they would not have\nsupposed the delicate, troubled face, short locks of hair, and\nunnaturally large eyes to be those of another girl who only resembled the\nblooming, healthful Barbara of former days?\n\nShe also glanced toward the richly decorated portal of St. Martin's\nChurch, standing diagonally opposite to the sedan chair, and tried to\nlook up to the steeple, which was higher than almost any other in the\nworld.\n\nEven in Ratisbon there was not a handsomer, wider street than this\nAltstadt, with its stately gable-roofed houses, and certainly not in\nMunich, where her uncle had once taken her, and the Bavarian dukes now\nresided.\n\nBut where, in Heaven's name, would she be borne?\n\nThe sedan chair was now swaying past the place where the \"short cut\" for\npedestrians led up to the Trausnitzburg, the proud citadel of the dukes\nof Bavarian Landshut. She leaned forward again to look up at it as it\ntowered far above her head on the opposite side of the way; the powerful\nruler whose captive she was probably lodged there.\n\nBut now!\n\nWhat did this mean?\n\nThe sedan chair was set down, and it was just at the place where the road\nat her left, leading to the citadel, climbed the height where rose the\nproud Trausnitz fortress.\n\nPerhaps she might now find an opportunity to escape.\n\nBarbara hastily opened the door, but one of her attendants closed it\nagain, and in doing so pressed her gently back into the chair. At the\nsame time he shook his head, and, while his little black eyes twinkled\nslyly at her, his broad, smiling mouth, over which hung a long black\nmustache, uttered a good-natured \"No, no.\"\n\nNow the ascent of the mountain began. A wall bordered the greater portion\nof the road, which often led through a ravine overgrown with brushwood\nand past bastions and other solid masonry.\n\nThe bearers had already mounted to a considerable height, yet there was\nno view of the city and the neighbouring country. But even the loveliest\nprospect would not have induced Barbara to open her eyes, for the\nindignation which overpowered her had increased to fierce rage, blended\nwith a fear usually alien to her courageous soul.\n\nIn the one tower of the citadel there were prisons of tolerably pleasant\naspect, but she had heard whispers of terrible subterranean dungeons\nconnected with the secret tribunal.\n\nSuppose the Emperor Charles intended to lock her in one of these dungeons\nand withdraw her from the eyes of the world? Who could guard her from\nthis horrible fate? who could prevent him from keeping her buried alive\nduring her life?\n\nShuddering, she looked out again. If she was not mistaken, they were\nnearing the end of the road, and she would soon learn what was before\nher. Perhaps the Emperor Charles himself was awaiting her up there. But\nif he asked her whether she intended always to defy him, she would show\nhim that Barbara Blomberg was not to be intimidated; that she knew how to\ndefend herself and, if necessary, to suffer; that she would be ready to\nrisk everything to baffle his design and carry out her own resolve. Then\nhe should see that nations and kings, nay, even the Holy Father in\nRome-as Charles had once sacrilegiously done--may be vanquished and\nhumbled; that the hard, precious stone may be crushed and solid metal\nmelted, but the steadfast will of a woman battling for what she holds\ndearest can not be broken.\n\nThe sedan chair had already passed through half a dozen citadel gates and\nleft one solid wall behind it, but now a second rose, with a lofty door\nset in its strong masonry.\n\nWhen Barbara had formerly ascended the Trausnitz, with what pleasure she\nhad gazed at the deep moat at her left, the pheasants, the stately\npeacocks, and other feathered creatures, as well as a whole troop of\nlively monkeys; but this time she saw nothing except that the heavy\niron-bound portals of the entrance opened before her, that the\ndrawbridge, though the sun was close to the western horizon, was still\nlowered, and that Quijada stood at the end, motioning to the bearers to\nset the sedan chair on the ground.\n\nNow the major-domo opened the door, and this time he was not alone;\nBarbara saw behind him a woman whose appearance, spite of her angry\nexcitement, inspired confidence.\n\nThe questions which, without heeding his companion, she now with crimson\ncheeks poured upon Don Luis as if fairly frantic, he answered in brief,\nbusinesslike words.\n\nThe Emperor Charles wished to place her in safe quarters up here, while\nhe himself had taken lodgings in the modest house of a Schwaiger--a small\nfarmer who tilled his own garden and land in the valley below.\n\nFor the present, some of the most distinguished officers were here in the\ncitadel as guests of the Duke of Bavaria. Barbara was to live in the\nladies' apartments of the fortress, under the care of the worthy woman at\nhis side.\n\n\"His Majesty could not have provided for you more kindly,\" he concluded.\n\n\"Then may the Virgin preserve every one from such kindness!\" she\nimpetuously exclaimed. \"I am dragged to this citadel against my will---\"\n\n\"And that irritates your strong feeling of independence, which we know,\"\nreplied the Spaniard quietly. \"But when you listen to reason, fairest\nlady, you will soon be reconciled to this wise regulation of his Majesty.\nIf not, it will be your own loss. But,\" he added in a lowered tone, \"this\nis no fitting place for a conversation which might easily degenerate into\na quarrel. It can be completed better in your own apartments.\"\n\nWhile speaking he led the way, and Barbara followed without another word\nof remonstrance, for soldiers of all ages and other gentlemen were\nwalking in the large, beautiful courtyard which she overlooked; a group\nof lovers of horseflesh were examining some specially fine steeds, and\nfrom several of the broad windows which surrounded the Trausnitz\ncourtyard on all sides men's faces were looking down at her.\n\nThis courtyard had always seemed to her a stage specially suitable for\nthe display of royal magnificence, and yet, in spite of its stately size,\nit would be difficult to imagine anything more pleasant, more thoroughly\nsecluded.\n\nIt had formerly witnessed many brilliant knightly games and festal\nscenes, but even now it was the favourite gathering place for the\ninhabitants of the citadel and the guests of the ducal owner, though the\nlatter, it is true, had ceased to live here since Landshut had become the\nheritage of the Munich branch of the Wittelsbach family, and the Bavarian\ndukes resided in Munich, the upper city on the Isar.\n\nJust as Barbara entered the castle the vesper bell rang, and Quijada\npaused with bared head, his companions with clasped hands.\n\nThe girl prisoner felt little inclination to pray; she was probably\nthinking of a dance given here by torchlight, in which, as her uncle's\nguest, she had taken part until morning began to dawn.\n\nWhile they were walking on again, she also remembered the riding at the\nring in the Trausnitz courtyard, which she had been permitted to witness.\n\nThe varied, magnificent spectacle had made her almost wild with delight.\nThe dance in this square had been one of her fairest memories. And with\nwhat feelings she looked down into this courtyard again! What could such\nan amusement be to her now? Yet it roused a bitter feeling that, in spite\nof her youth, such scenes should be closed to her forever.\n\nShe silently followed the others into an airy room in the third story,\nwhose windows afforded a beautiful view extending to the Bohemian\nforests.\n\nBut Barbara was too weary to bestow more than a fleeting glance upon it.\n\nPaying no heed to the others, she sank down upon the bench near one of\nthe walls of the room, and while she was still talking with Don Luis her\nnew companion, of whose name she was still ignorant, brought several\ncushions and silently placed them behind her back.\n\nThis chamber, Quijada explained, he had selected for her by his Majesty's\npermission. The adjoining room would be occupied by this good lady--he\nmotioned to his companion--the wife of Herr Adrian Dubois, his Majesty's\nvalet. Being a native of Cologne, she understood German, and had offered\nto bear her company. If Barbara desired, she could also summon the\ngarde-robiere Lamperi from Ratisbon to the Trausnitz.\n\nHere she interrupted him with the question how long the Emperor intended\nto detain her here.\n\n\"As long as it suits his imperial pleasure and the physician deems\nadvisable,\" was the reply. Barbara merely shrugged her shoulders again;\nshe felt utterly exhausted. But when Quijada, who perceived that she\nneeded rest, was about to leave her, she remembered the cause of her\ndrive to Landshut, and asked whether she might speak to her father's\ntravelling companion, who could give her information about the health of\nthe old man who, after the Emperor had sent him out into the world, had\nfallen ill in Antwerp.\n\nThis was willingly granted, and Don Luis even undertook to send Sir\nPyramus Kogel, whom he knew by sight, to her. Then commending her to the\ncare of Fran Dubois, who was directed to gratify every reasonable wish,\nhe left the room. Meanwhile Barbara desired nothing except rest, but she\nstudiously refrained from addressing even a word to her new companion.\nBesides, there was little time to do so, she was soon sound asleep.\n\nWhen at the end of two hours she awoke, she found herself lying at full\nlength upon the bench, while a careful hand had removed her shoes, and\nthe pillows which had supported her weary back were now under her head.\n\nDuring her slumber it had grown dark, and a small lamp, whose rays a\nhandkerchief shielded from her eyes, was standing on the stove in one\ncorner of the room.\n\nYet she was alone; but she had scarcely stirred when Frau Dubois appeared\nwith a maid-servant bearing a candelabrum with lighted candles. The\ncareful nurse asked in brief but pleasant words whether she felt\nstronger, if it would be agreeable to her to have supper served in\nfifteen minutes, and if she would allow her to help her.\n\n\"Willingly,\" replied Barbara, very pleasantly surprised. Her companion,\nas it were, anticipated her strongest wishes--to satisfy her hunger and\nto change her dress.\n\nShe must be capable and, moreover, a woman of kindly, delicate feelings,\nand it certainly was no fault of hers that she was intrusted with her\nguardianship and that she belonged to no higher station in life. She was\nonly punishing herself by persisting in her silence and, as Frau Dubois\ntended her like a watchful mother, though without addressing a single\nword to her unasked, Barbara's grateful heart and the satisfaction which\nthe valet's wife inspired silenced her arrogance.\n\nWhen an attendant laid the table for only one person, the girl kindly\ninvited Frau Dubois to dine with her; the former, however, had already\nhad her meal, but she said that she would be very glad to bear the young\nlady company if she desired.\n\nThe first long conversation between the two took place at the table.\n\nThe pretty face of the native of the Rhine country, with its little snub\nnose, which in youth must have lent a touch of gay pertness to the\nwell-formed features, was still unwrinkled, though Frau Dubois was nearer\nfifty than forty. Her gray, nearly white hair, though ill-suited to her\nalmost youthful features, lent them a peculiar charm, and how brightly\nher round, brown eyes still sparkled! The plain gown of fine Brabant\nstuff fitted as if moulded to her figure, and it was difficult to imagine\nanything neater than her whole appearance.\n\nAdrian had certainly attained an exceptional position among his class,\nyet Barbara wondered how he had won this woman, who apparently belonged\nto a far higher station. And then what had brought her to this place and\nher companionship?\n\nShe was to learn during the meal, for Frau Dubois not only answered her\nquestions kindly, but in a manner which showed Barbara sincere sympathy\nfor her position.\n\nShe was the daughter of a captain who had fallen in the Emperor Charles's\nservice before Padua. The pension granted to his widow had not been paid,\nand when, with her daughter, she sought an audience with the commander in\nchief, the influential valet had seen the blooming girl, and did not seek\nher hand in vain. Maternal joys had been denied her; besides, Frau Dubois\nthought it hard that her husband was obliged to accompany the Emperor,\nwho could not spare him for a single day, on his long and numerous\njourneys. Even the very comfortable life secured to her by the\ndistinguished valet, who was respected by men of the highest rank, by no\nmeans consoled her for it.\n\nThe Emperor Charles knew this, and had given Adrian a pretty house in the\npark of the Brussels palace, besides favouring him in other ways. Now he\nhad allowed him, before setting out for the war, to send for his wife. On\nreaching Landshut, she had shared during a few hours the little house\nwhich the monarch and general had chosen for his lodgings. The imperial\ncommander had not gone up to the citadel because he wished to remain\namong his troops.\n\nTrue, the little farmhouse on the \"hohen Gred\" which he occupied was\nanything but a suitable abode for a powerful sovereign, for above the\nground floor it had only a single story with five small windows and an\nunusually high roof. But, on the other hand, the regiments lying encamped\nnear it could be quickly reached. Another reason for making the choice\nwas that he could obtain rest here better than on the Trausnitz, for his\nhealth was as bad as his appearance and his mood. He intended to break up\nthe headquarters on the day after to-morrow, so another separation\nawaited the valet and his wife.\n\nWhen the mounted messenger sent by Frau Lamperi reached Landshut, and it\nwas necessary to find a suitable companion for Barbara, the Emperor\nhimself had thought of Fran Dubois.\n\nThere had been no opposition to his wish. Besides, she said, his Majesty\nmeant kindly by Barbara and, so far as her power extended, everything\nshould be done to soften her hard destiny.\n\nShe knew the whole history of the girl intrusted to her care, yet she\nwould scarcely have undertaken the task committed to her had she not been\naware that every determination of the Emperor was immovable. Besides, she\ncould also strive to render the hard fate imposed upon the poor girl more\nendurable.\n\nBarbara had listened eagerly to the story without interrupting her; then\nshe desired to learn further particulars concerning the health of the man\nfrom whom even now her soul could not be sundered and, finally, she urged\nher to talk about herself.\n\nSo time passed with the speed of the wind. The candles in the candelabrum\nwere already half burned down when Fran Dubois at last urged going to\nrest.\n\nBarbara felt that she was fortunate to have found so kind and sensible a\ncompanion and, while the Rhinelander was helping her undress, she begged\nher in future to call her by her Christian name \"Gertrud,\" or, as people\nliked to address her, \"Frau Traut.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nWhen Barbara rose from her couch the next morning it was no longer early\nin the day. She had slept soundly and dreamlessly for several hours, then\nshe had been kept awake by the same thoughts which had pressed upon her\nso constantly of late.\n\nShe would defy Charles's cruel demand. The infuriating compulsion\ninflicted upon her could only strengthen her resolve. If she was dragged\nto a convent by force, she would refuse, at the ceremony of profession,\nto become a nun.\n\nShe thought of a pilgrimage to induce Heaven to restore the lost melody\nof her voice. But meanwhile the longing to see the Emperor Charles's face\nonce more again and again overpowered her. On the other hand, the desire\nto speak to him and upbraid him to his face for the wrong he had done her\nwas soon silenced; it could only spoil his memory of her if he should\nhear the discordant tones which inflicted pain on her own ear.\n\nAnother train of thoughts had also kept her awake. How was her father\nfaring? Had he learned what she feared to confess to him? What had\nbefallen him, and what had the recruiting officer to tell of his fate?\n\nShe was to know soon enough, for she had scarcely risen from breakfast\nwhen a ducal servant announced Sir Pyramus.\n\nBarbara with anxious heart awaited his entrance, and as she stood there,\nher cheeks slightly flushed and her large, questioning eyes fixed upon\nthe door, she seemed to Frau Traut, in spite of her short hair and the\nloss of the rounded oval of her face, so marvellously beautiful that she\nperfectly understood how she had succeeded in kindling so fierce a flame\nin the Emperor's heart, difficult as it was to fire.\n\nFrau Traut did not venture to determine what made the blood mount into\nPyramus's cheeks when Barbara at his entrance held out her slender white\nhand, for she had left the room immediately after his arrival. But she\ndid not need to remain absent long; the interview ended much sooner than\nshe expected.\n\nThis young officer was certainly a man of splendid physique, with\nhandsome, manly features, yet she thought she perceived in his manner an\nair of constraint which repelled her and, in fact, this gigantic soldier\nwas conscious that if, for a single moment, he relinquished the control\nhe imposed upon himself his foolish heart would play him a trick.\n\nBarbara had seemed more beautiful than ever as she greeted him with\nalmost humble friendliness, instead of her former defiance. The hoarse\ntone of her voice, once so musical, caused him so much pain that he was\non the verge of losing his power to keep his resolve to conceal the\nfeelings which, in spite of the insults she had heaped upon him, he still\ncherished for her. While he allowed himself to look into her face, he\nrealized for the first time how difficult a task he had undertaken, and\ntherefore tried to assume an expression of indifference as he began the\nconversation with the remark that the ride to the citadel was detaining\nhim from his duties longer than he could answer for in such a stress of\nmilitary business and, moreover, under the eyes of his Majesty. Therefore\nit would only be possible to talk a very short time.\n\nHe had hurled forth this statement rather than spoken it; but Barbara,\nsmiling mournfully, replied that she could easily understand his\nreluctance to lose so much time merely on her account.\n\n\"For your sake, my dear lady,\" he replied with an acerbity which sounded\nsufficiently genuine, \"it might scarcely have seemed feasible to go so\nfar from the camp; but for the brave old comrade who was intrusted to my\ncare I would have made even more difficult things possible--and you are\nhis daughter.\"\n\nThe girl nodded silently to show that she understood the meaning of his\nwords, and then asked how the journey had passed and what was the cause\nof her father's illness.\n\nEverything had gone as well as possible, he replied, until they reached\nSpain; but there the captain was tortured by homesickness. Nothing had\npleased him except the piety of the people. The fiery wine did not suit\nhim, the fare seemed unbearable, and the inability to talk with any one\nexcept himself had irritated him to actual outbursts of rage. On the neat\nNetherland ship which bore him homeward matters were better; nay, while\nrunning into the harbour of Antwerp he had jested almost in his old\nreckless manner. But when trying to descend the rope-ladder from the high\nship into the skiff in which sailors had rowed from the land, he made a\nmisstep with his stiff leg and fell into the boat.\n\nA low cry of terror here escaped the lips of the deeply agitated\ndaughter, and Pyramus joined in her expressions of grief, declaring that\na chill still ran down his back whenever he thought of that fall. The\ncaptain had been saved as if by a miracle. Yet the consequences were by\nno means light, for when he, Pyramus, left him, he was barely able to\ntotter from one chair to another. A journey on horseback, the physician\nsaid, would kill him, and a ride in a carriage over the rough roads would\nalso endanger his life. Several months must pass ere he could think of\nreturning home.\n\nIn reply to Barbara's anxious question how the impatient man bore the\ninactivity imposed upon him, her visitor answered, \"Rebelliously enough,\nbut he has already grown quieter, and my sister is fond of him and takes\nthe best care of him.\"\n\n\"Your sister?\" asked Barbara abashed, holding out her hand again; but he\npretended not to notice it, and merely explained curtly that she had come\nto the Netherlands with her husband. This enterprising man, like himself,\nwas a native of the principality of Grubenhagen in the Hartz Mountains.\nAt sixteen the wild fellow went out into the world to seek his fortune,\nand had found it as a daring sailor. He returned a rich man to seek a\nwife in his old home. Now he had gone on a voyage to the Indies, and\nwhile his wife awaited his return she had gladly received her brother's\nold comrade. Nursing him would afford her a welcome occupation during her\nloneliness. Her house lacked nothing, and Barbara might comfort herself\nwith the knowledge that the captain would have the best possible care.\n\nWith these words he seemed about to leave her; but she stopped him with\nthe question, \"And when the service summoned you away from him, had he\nheard what his daughter----\"\n\nHere, flushing deeply, she paused with downcast eyes. Pyramus feasted a\nshort time on the spectacle of her humbled pride, but soon he could no\nlonger bear to see her endure such bitter suffering, and therefore\nanswered hastily, \"If you mean what is said about you and his Majesty the\nEmperor, he was told of it by an old comrade from this neighbourhood.\"\n\n\"And he?\" she asked anxiously.\n\n\"He wrathfully ordered him out of the door,\" replied the officer, and he\nsaw how her eyes filled with tears.\n\nThen feeling how soft his own heart was also growing, he hurriedly said\nfarewell. Again she gratefully extended her hand, and he clasped it and\nallowed himself the pleasure of holding it in his a short time. Then\nbowing hastily, he left her.\n\nShe had been the Emperor's toy, her voice had lost its melting melody,\nand yet he thought there was no woman more to be desired, far as his\nprofession of recruiting had led him through all lands. This iron no\nlonger needed bending; but how fiercely the flames of suffering which\nmelted her obstinate nature must have burned! Surely he had not seen her\nfor the last time, and perhaps Fate would now help him to perform the vow\nthat he had made before her door in the dark entry of the house in\nRatisbon.\n\nWhile Sir Pyramus was leaving her Barbara had heard a man's voice in Frau\nTraut's room, but she scarcely noticed it. What she had learned weighed\nheavily upon her soul.\n\nHer father would not believe what was, nevertheless, the full, undeniable\ntruth. How would he deal with the certainty that he had showed his old\ncomrade the door unjustly when he at last came home and she confessed\nall, all that she had sinned and suffered? She was sure of one thing\nonly--he, too, would not permit her child to be taken from her; and she\ncherished a single hope--the blow which Fate had dealt by destroying her\ntuneful voice would force him to pity, and perhaps induce him to forgive\nher. Oh, if she could only have conjured him here, opened her heart\nfully, freely to him, and learned from his own lips that he approved of\nher resistance!\n\nDuring this period of quiet reflection many sounds and shouts which she\nhad not heard before reached her room.\n\nAs they grew louder and more frequent, Barbara rose to approach the open\nwindow, but ere she reached it Frau Taut returned.\n\nThe visitor whom she had received was Adrian, her husband. He had come up\nthe Trausnitz to make all sorts of arrangements, for something unusual\nwas to happen which would bring even his Majesty the Emperor here.\n\nThese tidings startled Barbara.\n\nSuppose that Charles was now coming to influence her by the heavy weight\nof his personality; suppose he----\n\nBut Frau Traut gave her no time to yield to these and other fears and\nhopes; she added, in a quiet tone, that his Majesty merely intended to\ninvest his son-in-law, Ottavio Farnese, Duke of Parma, with the Order of\nthe Golden Fleece in the Trausnitz courtyard. It would be a magnificent\nspectacle, and Barbara could witness it if she desired. One of the rooms\nin the second story of the ladies' wing where she lodged was still\nuntenanted, and her husband would be responsible if she occupied it, only\nBarbara must promise not to attract attention to herself by any sound or\ngesture.\n\nShe yielded to this demand with eager zeal, and when Frau Traut perceived\nthe girl's pale cheeks again flushed she wondered at the rapid\nexcitability of this singular creature, and willingly answered the long\nseries of questions with which she assailed her.\n\nBarbara especially desired to hear particulars about the mother of\nMargaret of Parma, the wife of Ottavio Farnese, that Johanna Van der\nGheynst who gave this daughter to the Emperor.\n\nThen Barbara learned that she was a Netherland girl of respectable\nfamily, but of scarcely higher rank than her own; only she had been\nadopted by Count Bon Haagestraaten before the Emperor made her\nacquaintance.\n\n\"Was Johanna beautiful?\" Barbara eagerly interrupted.\n\n\"I think you are far handsomer,\" was the reply, \"though she, too, was a\nlovely creature.\"\n\nThen Barbara wished to learn whether she was fair or dark, lively or\nquiet, and, finally, whether she had consented to give up her child; and\nFrau Traut answered that Johanna had done this without resistance, and\nher daughter was afterward reared first by the Duchess of Savoy, and\nlater by Queen Mary, the regent of the Netherlands.\n\n\"How wisely the young lady acted,\" Frau Dubois concluded, \"you yourself\nknow. A crown now adorns her child's head for the second time, and you\nwill soon see how the Emperor Charles bestows honours upon her husband.\nHis Majesty understood how to provide for his daughter, who is his first\nchild. Her former marriage, it is true, was short. Alessandro de' Medici,\nto whom she was wedded at almost too early an age, was murdered scarcely\na year after their nuptials. Her present husband, the Duke of Parma, whom\nyou will see, is, on the contrary, younger than she, but since the\nunfortunate campaign against Algiers, in which he participated, and after\nhis recovery from the severe illness he endured after his return home,\nthey enjoy a beautiful conjugal happiness. His Majesty is warmly attached\nto his daughter, and the great distinction which he will bestow upon her\nhusband to-day is given by no means least to please his own beloved\nchild, though her mother was only a Jollanna van der Gheynst.\"\n\nBarbara had listened to these communications with dilated eyes, but the\nspeaker was now interrupted; the leech, Dr. Matthys, was announced, and\nimmediately entered the room.\n\nBarbara's outburst of rage had not lessened his sympathy for her, and in\nthe interest of science he desired to learn what effect his remedies had\nhad. Unfortunately, in spite of their use, no improvement was visible.\n\nThe strange absence of mind with which the girl, who usually answered\nquestions so promptly and decidedly, now seemed scarcely to hear them, he\nattributed to the painful remembrance of her unseemly behaviour at their\nlast meeting, and therefore soon left her, by no means satisfied with his\nvisit. On the way, however, he told himself that it was unfair to blame\nthe bird which had just been captured for fluttering.\n\nWhen the leech had retired, Barbara regretted that she had answered him\nso indifferently. But the anticipation of seeing her imperial lover again\ndominated every thought and feeling. Besides, she again and again saw\nbefore her the figure of the young duke, whom she had never beheld, but\nwhom Charles had married to the daughter of that Johanna who was said to\nhave been neither more beautiful nor more aristocratic than she herself.\n\nFrau Traut saw compassionately that she could not remain long quietly in\nany place, and that when the noon meal was served she scarcely tasted\nfood.\n\nAs soon as the first blast of the horns rose from the gate of the citadel\nshe urged departure like an impatient child, and her indulgent companion\nyielded, though she knew that the stately ceremonial would not begin for\na long time.\n\nThe window which Adrian had assigned to the two women in a room which was\nto be occupied by them alone afforded a view of the entire courtyard, and\nfrom the arm-chair which Frau Traut had had brought for her Barbara gazed\ndown into it with strained attention.\n\nThe first sound of the horns had saluted Ottavio Farnese.\n\nMounted on a spirited charger, he held aloft, as gonfaloniere of the\nChurch, the proud banner to be whose bearer was deemed by the Dukes of\nParma one of their loftiest titles of honour.\n\nHe was greeted by the nobles present with loud acclamations, but was\nstill booted and attired as beseemed a horseman. The cavaliers, officers,\nand pages who attended him entered the citadel in no regular order. But\nas Ottavio swung himself from his magnificently formed, cream-coloured\nsteed, and issued orders to his train, Barbara could look him directly in\nthe face and, though she thought him neither handsome nor possessed of\nmanly vigour, she could not help admitting that she had rarely seen a\nyoung man of equally distinguished bearing. His every movement bore the\nimpress of royal self-confidence, yet at the same time was unconstrained\nand graceful.\n\nNow he disappeared in the wing of the building that united the ladies'\nrooms with the main structure opposite.\n\nThe Emperor Charles could not be here yet. His arrival would not have\nbeen passed by so quietly, and the imperial banner did not float either\nfrom the many-sided turret at the left end of the main building nor from\nthe lofty roof of the ancient Wittelsbach tower. Great nobles, mounted on\nsplendid chargers, constantly rode into the citadel, sometimes in groups,\nand were saluted by the blast of horns; nimble squires led the horses\naway, while ducal councillors, nobles, chamberlains, and ushers received\nthe distinguished guests of the citadel and conducted them to the\nTurnitz, the huge banquet hall in the lower story of the main building,\nwhere the best of everything undoubtedly stood ready for them.\n\nBut every arrangement had already been made for the approaching\nceremony--a broad wooden estrade was erected in the centre of the\ncourtyard, and richly decorated with garlands of flowers, blossoming\nbranches, flags, and streamers. At the back stood the Emperor's throne,\ncovered with purple damask, and beside it numerous velvet cushions lay\npiled one upon another, waiting to be used.\n\nBarbara's vivid imagination already showed her the course of this rare\nspectacle, and she gladly and confidently expected that the Emperor must\nturn his face toward her during the principal portion of the ceremony.\n\nNow the carpet on the stage was drawn tighter by lackeys in magnificent\nliveries, and the final touches were given to its decorations; now\npriests entered the smaller building at the left of the courtyard. The\nbalcony on one of these buildings was adorned with flowers, and the\nsingers of St. Martin's Church in Landshut gradually filled it. Now--but\nhere Barbara's quiet observation suddenly ended; the air was shaken by\nthe roar of cannon from the bastions of the citadel, and the signals of\nthe warders' horns blended with the thunder of the artillery. At the same\ntime the banners and streamers on every flagpole, stirred by a light\nbreeze from the east, began to wave in the sunny August air. Then the\nblare of trumpets echoed, and a few minutes later from the Turnitz and\nthe covered staircase between the main building and the right win; of the\ncitadel the most brilliant body of men that Barbara had ever seen poured\ninto the courtyard. They were the Knights of the Golden Fleece and the\nprinces, counts, barons and knights, generals and colonels whom the\nEmperor Charles had invited to the Trausnitz citadel to attend the\napproaching solemn ceremonial.\n\nWhat did she care for these dignitaries in gold, silver, and steel,\nvelvet and silk, gems and plumes, when the enthusiastic cheers of this\nillustrious assemblage, the blare of trumpets, the thunder of cannon, and\nthe ringing of bells loudly proclaimed the approach of him who, as their\nlord and master, stood far above them all? Would he appear on horseback,\nor had he dismounted at the gate and was advancing on foot? Neither. He\nwas borne in a sedan chair. It was covered with gilding, and the top of\nthe arched roof and each of the four corners were adorned with bunches of\nred and gold plumes, the colours of Philip of Burgundy, who more than a\nhundred years before had founded the order of the Golden Fleece.\n\nInstead of lackeys, strong sergeants, chosen from the different\nregiments, bore the sedan chair. The gentlemen of the court--Prince Henry\nof Nassau, Baron Malfalconnet, and Don Luis Quijada, with Generals\nFurstenberg and Mannsfeld, Count Hildebrand Madrucci, the Master of the\nTeutonic Order, the Marchese Marignano, and others--were preceded by the\nstiff, grave, soldierly figure of the Duke of Alba, and, by the side of\nthe platform, grandees and military commanders, Netherland lords,\nItalian, German, and Austrian princes, counts, barons, and knights had\ntaken their places.\n\nWhen the sedan chair was at last set on the ground in front of the lowest\nstep of the platform, Barbara thought that her heart would burst; for\nwhile the singers in the balcony began the \"Venite populi mundi,\" so\nfamiliar to her, and the cheers redoubled, Charles descended, and in what\na guise she saw him again! He looked ten years older, and she felt with\nhim the keen suffering which every step must cause.\n\nThis time it was not Quijada, but the Duke of Alba, who offered him the\nsupport of his mailed arm, and, leaning on it, he ascended the low stage.\n\nWhile doing so he turned his back to Barbara, and as with bent figure and\noutstretched head he wearily climbed the two stairs leading to the\nplatform, he presented a pitiable spectacle.\n\nAnd have you loved this wreck of a man with all the fervour of your\nheart? the girl asked herself; does it still throb faster for him? could\nyou even now expect from him a fairer happiness than from all these\nhandsome warriors and nobles in the pride of their manly vigour? To this\nold man you have sacrificed happiness and honour, given up your father\nand the noblest, best of friends!\n\nFierce indignation for her own folly suddenly seized upon her with such\novermastering power that she looked away from the sovereign toward the\nsingers, who were summoning the whole world to pay homage to yonder\nbroken-down man, as though he were a demigod.\n\nA bitter smile hovered around her lips as she did so, but it vanished as\nswiftly as it had come; for when she again fixed her eyes upon the\nmonarch, she would gladly have joined in the mighty hymn. As if by a\nmiracle, he had become an entirely different person. Now he stood before\nthe throne in the full loftiness and dignity of commanding majesty. A\npurple mantle fell from his shoulders, and the Duke of Alba was placing\nthe crown on his head instead of the velvet cap.\n\nOh, no, she need not be ashamed of having loved this man, and she was\nnot; for she loved him still, and was fully and joyously aware that\nwhatever he suffered, whatever tortured and prematurely aged the man\nstill in his fourth decade, no one on earth equalled him in intellect and\ngrandeur.\n\nAnd as pages then placed the velvet cushions on the carpet; as the Duke\nof Parma, the gonfaloniere on whose head rested the blessing of the\nrepresentative of Christ, bent the knee before his imperial\nfather-in-law, and the proud Alba and the other Knights of the Golden\nFleece who were present did the same; as Charles, the grand master of the\norder, took from the cushion the symbol of honour which Count Henry of\nNassau handed to him, and placed the golden sheepskin with the red ribbon\naround Duke Ottavio's neck, while the plaudits, the ringing of bells, and\nthe thunder of the artillery echoed more loudly than ever from the stone\nwalls of the courtyard, tears filled Barbara's eyes and, as when the\nEmperor passed at the head of the bridal procession in Prebrunn, her\nvoice again blended with the enthusiastic shouts of homage to the man\nstanding in majestic repose before the throne, the man who was the most\nexalted of human beings.\n\nShe understood only a few words of the brief speech which the monarch\naddressed to the new Knight of the Golden Fleece. She saw for the first\ntime the dignitaries of so many different nations upon whom she was\ngazing down, and most of whom she did not even know by name. But what did\nshe care how they were called and who they were? Her eyes were fixed only\non Charles and the young man in the armour artistically inlaid with gold,\npeach-coloured silver brocade, and white silk, who was kneeling before\nhim.\n\nSuppose that a son of hers should be permitted to share such an honour;\nsuppose that Charles should some day bend down to her child and kiss his\nbrow with the paternal affection which he had just showed to the young\nduke whom he had wedded to his daughter? And this daughter was the child\nof a mother who was her sister in sorrow, and had been her superior in\nnothing, neither in birth nor in beauty.\n\nShe said this to herself while she was intently watching the progress of\nthe solemn ceremonial. How lovingly and with what enthusiastic reverence\nOttavio was now gazing up into the face of his imperial father-in-law,\nand with what grateful fervour, as the youngest Knight of the Fleece, he\nkissed his hand! Not only outwardly but in heart--the warm light of their\neyes revealed it--these men, so unlike in age and gifts, were united; yet\nOttavio was not Charles's own son, as another would have been whom she\nwished to withhold from such a father, and in her selfish blindness to\nwithdraw from the path to the summit of all earthly splendour and honour.\n\nWho gave her the right to commit so great, so execrable a robbery?\n\nWhat could she, the poor, deserted, scorned toy of a king--give to her\nchild, and what the mightiest of the mighty yonder?\n\nIf he was ready to claim as his own the young life which she expected\nwith hopeful yearning, it would thereby receive a benefit so vast, a gift\nso brilliant that all the wealth of love and care which she intended to\nbestow upon it vanished in darkness by comparison. Charles's resolve,\nwhich she had execrated as cruel, was harsh only against her who had\nangered him, and who could give him so little more; for her child it\nmeant grandeur and splendour, and thereby, she thought in her vain folly,\nthe highest happiness attainable for human beings.\n\nStill she gazed as though spellbound at the decorated stage, but the\nceremony was already rapidly approaching its close. The great nobles\nsurrounded the new Knight of the Fleece to congratulate him, the Duke of\nAlba first; but vouchsafed a few brief, gracious words only to a few\ndignitaries, and then, this time assisted by Quijada, descended to the\nsedan chair.\n\nBarbara had learned from Frau Traut that his Majesty knew that she was\nhere in the ladies' apartments. Would he now raise his eyes to her,\nthough but for a brief space?\n\nHe was already standing at the door of the sedan chair, and until now had\nkept his gaze bent steadily upon the ground. Meanwhile he must be\nexperiencing severe pain; she saw it by the lines around the corners of\nhis mouth. Now he placed his sound right foot upon the little step; now,\nbefore drawing the aching left one after it, he turned toward Quijada,\nwhose hand was supporting him under the arm; and now--no, she was not\nmistaken--now he raised his eyes with the speed of lightning toward the\nladies' apartments, and for one short second his glance met hers. Then\nhis head vanished in the sedan chair.\n\nNevertheless, he had looked toward her, and this was a great boon. With\nall her strength she made it her own, and soon she felt absolutely sure\nthat when he knew she was so near him he had been unable to resist the\ndesire to gaze once more into her face. Perhaps it was intended for a\nprecious farewell gift.\n\nAs soon as the sedan chair, amid cheers and the blare of trumpets, had\ndisappeared in the direction of the drawbridge and the great main\nentrance, Barbara retired to her room. Frau Traut knew not whether she\nought to bless or bewail having obtained permission for her to witness\nthe bestowal of the Fleece.\n\nAt any rate, another great transformation had taken place in this\nextremely impressionable young creature. Barbara's impetuous nature\nseemed destroyed and crushed, and the bright gaiety which had pleased\nFrau Dubois so much the first day of their meeting had greatly\ndiminished. Only on special occasions her former fiery vivacity burst\nforth, but the sudden flame expired as quickly as it had blazed and,\ndreamily absorbed in her own thoughts, she obeyed her with the docility\nof a child.\n\nThis swift and marked change in the disposition of her charge, whom\nQuijada and her own husband had described as so totally different,\nawakened her anxiety; yet it was easy to perceive that the volcano had\nnot burned out, but was merely quiescent for the time.\n\nDuring the night the dull indifference which she showed in the day\nabandoned her, and her attentive companion often heard her sobbing aloud.\n\nIt did not escape Frau Tract's notice that since Barbara had seen the\nEmperor again in the Trausnitz courtyard a mental conflict had begun\nwhich absorbed her whole being, but the girl did not permit her any\ninsight into her deeply troubled soul.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nThe Emperor Charles departed on the morning after the bestowal of the\nGolden Fleece, and two days later Barbara willingly obeyed the leech's\nprescription to seek healing at the springs of Abbach on the Danube, a\nfew miles south of Ratisbon, which was almost in the way of those\nreturning thither from Landshut. The waters there had benefited the\nEmperor Charles fourteen years before, and Barbara remained there with\nFrau Traut and Lamperi, who had returned to her, until the trees had put\non their gay autumn robes and were casting them off to prepare for the\nrest of winter.\n\nThe hope of regaining the melody of her voice induced her conscientiously\nto follow the physician's prescriptions but, like the sulphur spring of\nAbbach,[??] they produced no considerable effect.\n\nBarbara's conduct had also altered in many respects.\n\nThe girl who had formerly devoted great attention to her dress, now often\nneeded to be reminded by Frau Dubois of her personal appearance when she\nwent with her to walk or to church.\n\nShe avoided all intercourse with other visitors to the spring after\nRatisbon acquaintances had intentionally shunned her.\n\nThe Wollers' country residence, where she had formerly been a welcome\nguest for weeks every summer, was near Abbach. Anne Mirl was betrothed,\nand Nandl was on the eve of accepting a young suitor. Both were still\nwarmly attached to their cousin, although they had been told that, by an\nopen love intrigue, she had forfeited the right to visit the respectable\nhome of modest maidens. But the man who had honoured her with his love\nwas no less a personage than the Emperor Charles, and this circumstance\nonly increased the sympathy which the sisters felt for their much-admired\nfriend.\n\nIn spite of their mother's refusal to permit them to ride to the\nneighbouring town and visit Barbara, they did so, that they might try to\ncomfort her; but though their unfortunate cousin received them and\nlistened to them a short time, she earnestly entreated them to obey their\nmother and not come again.\n\nFrau Traut perceived that she not only desired to guard the inexperienced\ngirls from trouble, but that their visit disturbed her. The thoughts\nwhich were in her mind so completely absorbed her that she now studiously\nsought the solitude which she had formerly shunned like a misfortune.\n\nEven Pyramus Kogel's short letter, informing her of her father's\nconvalescence, and the news from the seat of war which Frau Traut\ncommunicated to her to divert her thoughts, and which she had usually\nanticipated with impatient expectation, awakened only a fleeting\ninterest. Toward the end of the first week in September her companion\ncould inform her that the Emperor Charles had met the Smalcalds at\nIngolstadt and, in spite of a severe attack of the gout, had ridden--with\nhis aching foot in linen bandages instead of in the stirrup--from\nregiment to regiment, kindling the enthusiasm of his troops by fiery\nwords.\n\nThen Barbara at last listened with more interest, and asked for other\ndetails.\n\nFrau Dubois, to whom her husband from time to time sent messengers from\nthe camp, now said that the encounter had not come to an actual battle\nand a positive decision, but his Majesty had heeded the shower of bullets\nless than the patter of a hailstorm, and had quietly permitted Appian,\nthe astronomer, to explain a chart of the heavens in his tent, though the\nenemy's artillery was tearing the earth around it.\n\nBut even this could not reanimate the extinguished ardour of Barbara's\nsoul; she had merely said calmly: \"We know that he is a hero. I had\nexpected him to disperse the heretics as the wolf scatters the sheep and\ndestroy them at a single blow.\"\n\nThen taking her rosary and prayer book, she went to church, as she did\ndaily at this time. She spent hours there, not only praying, but holding\nintercourse with the image of the Madonna, from which she dill not avert\nher eyes, as though it was a living being. The chaplain who had been\ngiven to her associated with this devout tendency of his penitent the\nhope that Barbara would decide to enter a convent; but she rebuffed in\nthe firmest manner every attempt to induce her to form this resolve.\n\nIn October the northeast wind brought cold weather, and Frau Traut feared\nthat remaining for hours in the chilly brick church would injure her\ncharge's health, so she entreated Barbara to desist. But when the latter,\nwithout heeding her warning, continued to visit the house of God as\nbefore, and to stay the same length of time, Frau Dubois interposed a\nfirm prohibition, and on this occasion she learned for the first time to\nwhat boundlessly vehement rebellion her charge could allow passion to\ncarry her. True, soon after Barbara, with winning tenderness, besought\nher forgiveness, and it was readily granted, but Frau Traut knew of no\nother expedient than to fix the first of November, which would come in a\nfew days, for their return to Ratisbon.\n\nBarbara was startled.\n\nDuring the night her companion heard her weeping vehemently, and her kind\nheart led her to her bedside.\n\nWith the affectionate warmth natural to her, she entreated the unhappy\ngirl to calm herself, and to open her troubled heart to one who felt as\nkindly toward her as a mother; and before these friendly words the\ndefiance, doubts, and fear which had closed Barbara's heart melted.\n\n\"You may take it from me,\" she cried, amid her streaming tears. \"What can\na poor girl give it save want and shame? Its father, on the contrary--If\nhe adopts and rears it as his child--O Frau Traut! dare I, who already\nlove it more than my own life, rob it of the happiness to which it has a\nright? If the Emperor acknowledges it, whether it is a boy or a girl,\nmerciful Heaven, to what Magnificence, what splendour, what honour my\nchild may attain! My brain often reels when I think of it. The little\ndaughter of Johanna Van der Gheynst a Duchess of Parma, and why should he\nplace the girl whom I shall perhaps give him in a more humble position?\nOr if Heaven should grant me a son, his father will raise him to a still\ngreater height, and I have already seen him before me a hundred times as\nhe hangs the Fleece on the red ribbon round his neck.\"\n\nHere her voice, still uncertain, failed, but she allowed Frau Traut to\nclasp her to her heart and, in her joy at this decision, which relieved\nher of a grave anxiety, to kiss her brow and cheeks. She had at last\nperceived, the kindly consoler assured the weeping girl, what the most\nsacred duty commanded, and the course that promised to render her, after\nso much suffering, one of the happiest of mothers. All that had hovered\nbefore her as glittering dreams would be fulfilled, and when her child,\nas the Emperor's, took precedence of the highest and greatest in the\nland, she could say to herself that it owed this to the sacrifice which\nshe, its mother, had voluntarily made for its sake.\n\nBarbara had told herself the same thing in many lonely hours, and most\nfrequently in the brick church at Abbach, opposite to the image of the\nMater dolorosa. She whose intercession never remained unheard had yielded\nup, with an aching heart, her divine son, and she must imitate her. And\nhow much easier was her fate than that of the stainless virgin, who\nbeheld her child, the Redeemer of the world, die upon the cross, while\nhers, if she resigned him, would attain the highest earthly happiness!\n\nFrau Traut by no means overlooked the vanity of these motives. She was\nonly too well aware that there is no greater boon for a child than the\nmother's loyal, anxious love, and Barbara's delusion grieved her. She\nwould gladly have cried: \"Keep your child, overwhelm it with love, be\ngood and unselfish, so that, in spite of your disgrace, it must honour\nyou.\" But the Emperor's command and her husband's wish were paramount.\nBesides, as Barbara was situated, it could not help being better for the\nchild if the father provided for its education.\n\nThe soul of her charge now lay before her like an open book. The\nspectacle of the brilliant honour bestowed upon Duke Ottavio Farnese had\nsowed in her heart the seeds which had now ripened to resolution. She\ncould not know that the vivandiere's assistant on the highway, with her\nabandoned child, had cast the first germ into Barbara's mind. Moreover,\nshe was content to be able to send such welcome tidings to the camp. The\ndisclosure of the resolve which she had reached after such severe\nconflicts exerted a beneficial influence upon Barbara. Her eyes again\nsparkled brightly, and the indifference with which she had regarded\neverything that happened to herself and those about her vanished.\n\nFor the first time she asked where she was to find shelter in Ratisbon;\nthe Emperor's command closed Wolf's house against her; the Prebrunn\ncastle was only a summer residence, unfit for winter use. So it was\nnecessary to seek new quarters, and Barbara did not lack proposals. But\nthe answer from camp must be awaited, and it came sooner than Frau Dubois\nexpected. The messenger who brought it was her husband. His Majesty, he\nsaid, rejoiced at Barbara's decision, and had commissioned him to take\nher at once to Ratisbon and lodge her in the Golden Cross. The imperial\napartments were still at the monarch's disposal, and the owner of the\nhouse, whom Barbara did not wish to meet, had gone to Italy to spend the\nwinter.\n\nHerr Adrian did not mention what a favour the sovereign was showing\nBarbara by parting with his trusted servant for several days, but she\ntold herself so with joyful pride, for she had learned how greatly\nCharles needed this man.\n\nThe Emperor had dismissed Quijada from attendance on his person. He knew\nthe Castilian's value as a soldier, and would have deemed himself\nforgetful of duty had he withheld so able an assistant from the great\ncause which he was leading.\n\nAt the end of the first week in November Barbara again entered the Golden\nCross in Ratisbon. The great house seemed dead, but Adrian, in his royal\nmaster's name, provided for the comfort of the women, who had been joined\nby Sister Hyacinthe.\n\nIn the name of Frau Dubois, to whom his Majesty gave it up, Adrian took\npossession of the Golden Cross, and as such Barbara was presented to the\nnewly engaged servants, while his wife was known by them as a Frau Traut\nfrom the Netherlands.\n\nNo inhabitant of Ratisbon was informed of the return of their young\nfellow-citizen, and Barbara only went out of doors with her companion\nearly in the morning or in the twilight, and always closely veiled. But\nfew persons had seen her after her illness, and on returning home she\noften mentioned the old acquaintances whom she had met without being\nrecognised by them. The apartments she occupied were warm and\ncomfortable. The harp and lute had been sent from Prebrunn with the rest\nof her property, and though she would not have ventured to sing even a\nsingle note, she resolved to touch their chords again. Playing on the\nharp afforded her special pleasure, and Frau Traut fancied she could\nunderstand her thoughts while doing so. The tones often sounded as gentle\nas lullabies, often as resonant and impetuous as battle songs. In reply\nto a question from her companion, Barbara confessed that while playing\nshe sometimes imagined that she beheld a lovely girl, sometimes a young\nhero clad in glittering armour, with the Golden Fleece on his neck,\nrushing to battle against the infidels.\n\nWhen the women were sitting together in the evening, Barbara urged her\ncompanion, who was familiar with the court and with Charles's former\nlife, to tell her about the Netherlands and Spain, Brussels and\nValladolid, the wars, the monarch's wisdom, the journeys of Charles, his\nintercourse with men and women, his former love affairs, his married\nlife, his relatives and children, and again and again of Johanna Van der\nGheynst, the mother of the Duchess Margaret of Parma. In doing so the\nclever native of Cologne never failed to draw brilliant pictures of the\nsplendour of the imperial court. As a matter of course, Brussels, the\nfavourite residence of the Dubois couple, was most honoured in the\nnarrative, and Barbara could never hear enough of this superb city.\nMaestro Gombert had already aroused her longing for it, and Frau Traut\nmade her, as it were, at home there.\n\nSo December and Christmas flew by. New Year's and Epiphany also passed,\nand when January was over and the month of February began, a guest\narrived in Ratisbon from the household of the Emperor, who was now\nholding his court at Ulm. It was Dr. Mathys, the leech, who readily\nadmitted that he had come partly by his Majesty's desire, partly from\npersonal interest in Barbara's welfare.\n\nThe physician found her in the same mood as after the relapse. Obedient,\ncalm, yielding, only often overpowered by melancholy and bitter thoughts\nand feelings, yet, on the other hand, exalted by the fact that the\nEmperor Charles, for her sake, was now depriving himself also of this\nman, whom he so greatly needed.\n\nShe awaited the fateful hour with anxious expectation. The twenty-fourth\nof February was the Emperor's birthday, and if it should come then, if\nthe father and child should see the light of the world on the same day of\nthe almanac, surely it must seem to Charles a favourable omen.\n\nAnd behold!\n\nOn the day of St. Matthias--that is, the twenty-fourth of February,\nCharles's birthday-at noon, Frau Traut, radiant with joy, could despatch\nthe waiting messenger to Ulm with the tidings that a son had just been\nborn to his Majesty.\n\nThe next morning the child was baptized John by the chaplain who\naccompanied the women, because this apostle had been nearest to the\nSaviour's heart.\n\nThe young mother was not permitted to rejoice at the sight of her babe.\nCharles had given orders in advance what should be done hour by hour, and\nbelieved he was treating the mother kindly by refusing to allow her to\nenjoy the sight of the newborn child which could not remain with her.\n\nThis caused much weeping and lamenting, and such passionate excitement\nthat the bereaved mother nearly lost her life; but Dr. Mathys devoted the\nutmost care to her, and did not leave Ratisbon until after three weeks,\nwhen he could commit the nursing to the experienced Sister Hyacinths.\n\nBut for the trouble in her throat, Barbara would have been physically as\nwell as ever; her mental suffering was never greater.\n\nShe felt robbed and desolate, like the bird whose nestlings are stolen by\nthe marten; for all that might have made her ruined life precious had\nbeen taken, and the man to whom she had surrendered her dearest treasure\ndid not even express, by one poor word, his gratitude and joy. No, he\nseemed to have forgotten her as well as her future.\n\nFrau Traut had left her with the promise that she would sometimes send\nher news of her boy's health, yet she, too, remained silent, and was\ndeceiving her confidence. She could not know that the promise-breaker\nthought of her often enough, but that she had been most strictly\nforbidden by her imperial master to tell the boy's mother his abode or to\nhold any further intercourse with her.\n\nHow little Charles must care for her, since he now showed such deep\nneglect and found no return for all that she had sacrificed to him save\ncruel sternness! Yet the precious gift for which he was indebted to her\nmust have afforded special pleasure to the man who attached such great\nvalue to omens, for it gave him the right to cherish the most daring\nhopes for the future of his boy. The fact that he was born on his\nfather's birthday seemed to her an especial favour of heaven, and the old\nchaplain, who still remained with her, had discovered other singular\ncircumstances which foreshadowed that the son would become the father's\npeer; for on the twenty-fourth of February Charles V had been crowned,\nand on the same day he had won at Pavia his greatest victory.\n\nThis had been the most brilliant day in the ruler's life, so rich in\nsuccesses, and now it had also become the birthday of the boy whom she\nhad given him and resigned that he might lead it to grandeur, splendour,\nand magnificence.\n\nNothing was more improbable than that the man whose faithful memory\nretained everything, and whose active mind discovered what escaped the\nnotice of others, should have overlooked this sign from heaven. And yet\nshe vainly waited for a token of pleasure, gratitude, remembrance. How\nthis pierced the soul and corroded the existence of the poor deserted\ngirl, the bereaved mother, the unfortunate one torn from her own sphere\nin life!\n\nAt last, toward the end of March, the message so ardently desired\narrived. A special courier brought it, but how it was worded!\n\nA brief expression of his Majesty's gratification at the birth of the\nhealthy, well-formed boy; then, in blunt words, the grant of a small\nannual income and an additional gift, with the remark that his Majesty\nwas ready, to increase both generously, and, moreover, to give her\nambition every support, if Barbara would enter a convent. If she should\npersist in remaining in the world, what was granted must be taken from\nher as soon as she broke her promise to keep secret what his Majesty\ndesired to have concealed.\n\nThe conclusion was: \"And so his Majesty once more urges you to renounce\nthe world, which has nothing more important to offer you than memories,\nwhich the convent is the best place to cherish. There you will regain the\nfavour of Heaven, which it so visibly withdrew from you, and also the\nregard of his Majesty, which you forfeited, and he in his graciousness,\nand in consequence of many a memory which he, too, holds dear, would\ngladly show you again.\"\n\nThis letter bore the signature of Don Luis Quijada, and had been written\nby a poor German copyist, a wretched, cross-eyed fellow, whom Wolf had\npointed out to her, and whose hand Barbara knew. From his pen also came\nthe sentence under the major-domo's name, \"The Golden Cross must be\nvacated during the month of April.\"\n\nWhen Barbara had read these imperial decisions for the second and the\nthird time, and fully realized the meaning of every word, she clinched\nher teeth and gazed steadily into vacancy for a while. Then she laughed\nin such a shrill, hoarse tone that she was startled at the sound of her\nown voice, and paced up and down the room with long strides.\n\nShould she reject what the most powerful and wealthy sovereign in the\nworld offered with contemptible parsimony? No! It was not much, but it\nwould suffice for her support, and the additional gift was large enough\nto afford her father a great pleasure when he came home.\n\nPyramus Kogel's last letter reported that his condition was improving.\nPerhaps he might soon return. Then the money would enable her to weave a\njoy into the sorrow that awaited him. It had always been a humiliating\nthought that he had lost his own house and was obliged to live in a hired\none, and at least she could free him from that.\n\nIt was evident enough that her pitiful allowance did not proceed from the\nEmperor's avarice; Charles only wished to force her to obey his wish to\nshut her for the rest of her life in a cloister. The mother of his son\nmust remain concealed from the world; he desired to spare him in after\nyears the embarrassment of meeting the woman whose birth was so much more\nhumble than his own and his father's. Want should drive her from the\nworld, and, to hasten her flight, the shrewd adept in reading human\nnature showed her in the distance the abbess's cross, and tried thereby\nto arouse her ambition.\n\nBut in her childhood and youth Barbara had been accustomed to still\nplainer living than she could grant herself in future, and she would have\nbeen miserable in the most magnificent palace if she had been compelled\nto relinquish her independence. Rather death in the Danube than to\ndispense with it!\n\nShe was young, healthy, and vigorous, and it seemed like voluntary\nmutilation to resign her liberty at twenty-one. But even had she felt the\nneed of the lonely cell, quiet contemplation, and more severe penance\nthan had been imposed upon her in the confessional, she would still have\nremained in the world; for the more plainly the letter showed how eagerly\nCharles desired to force her out of it, the more firmly she resolved to\nremain in it. How many hopes this base epistle had destroyed; it seemed\nas though it had killed the last spark of love in her soul!\n\nToo much kindness leads to false paths scarcely more surely than the\ncontrary, and the Emperor's cruel decision destroyed and hardened many of\nthe best feelings in Barbara's heart, and prepared a place for resentment\nand hatred.\n\nThe great sovereign's love, which had been the sunshine of her life, was\nlost; her child had been taken from her; even the home that sheltered\nher, and which hitherto she had regarded as a token of its father's\nkindly care, was now withdrawn. A new life path must be found, but she\nwould not set out upon it from the Golden Cross, where her brief\nhappiness had bloomed, but from the place where she had experienced the\npenury of her childhood and early youth.\n\nThe very next afternoon she moved into Wolf's house. Sister Hyacinthe was\nobliged to return to her convent, so no one accompanied her except Frau\nLamperi. She had become attached to Barbara, and therefore remained in\nher service instead of returning to the Queen of Hungary. True, she had\nnot determined to do so until her mistress had promised to remain only a\nfew weeks in Ratisbon at the utmost, and then move to Brussels, where she\nlonged to be.\n\nRatisbon was no home for the Emperor's former favourite. Life in her\nnative city would have been one long chain of humiliations, now that she\nhad nothing to offer her fellow-citizens except the satisfaction of a\ncuriosity which was not always benevolent.\n\nBut where should she go, if not to the country where her child's father\nlived, where, she had reason enough to believe, the infant would be\nconcealed, and where she might hope to see again and again at a distance\nthe man to whom hate united her no less firmly than love?\n\nThis prospect offered her the greatest attraction, and yet she desired\nnothing, nothing more from him except to be permitted to watch his\ndestiny. It promised to be no happy one, but this fact robbed the wish of\nno charm.\n\nBesides, the desire for a richer life again began to stir within her\nsoul, and what sustenance for the eye and ear Gombert, Frau Traut, and\nnow also Lamperi promised her in Brussels!\n\nHer means would enable her to go there with the maid and live in a quiet\nway. If her father forgave her and would join her in the city, she would\nrejoice. But he was bound to Ratisbon by so many ties, and had so many\nnew tales to relate in its taprooms, that he would certainly return to\nit. So she must leave him; it was growing too hot for her here.\n\nShe found old Ursel cheerful, and was less harshly received than at her\nlast visit. True, Barbara came when she was in a particularly happy mood,\nbecause a letter from Wolf stated that he already felt perfectly at home\nin Quijada's castle at Villagarcia, and that Dona Magdalena de Ulloa was\na lady of rare beauty and kindness of heart. Her musical talent was\nconsiderable, and she devoted every leisure hour to playing on stringed\ninstruments and singing. True, there were not too many, for the childless\nwoman had made herself the mother of the poor and sick upon her estates,\nand had even established a little school where he assisted her as\nsinging-master.\n\nSo Barbara was at least relieved from self-reproach for having brought\nmisfortune upon this faithful friend. This somewhat soothed her sorely\nburdened heart, and yet in her old, more than plain lodgings, with their\nsmall, bare rooms, she often felt as though the walls were falling upon\nher. Besides, what she saw from the open window in Red Cock Street was\ndisagreeable and annoying.\n\nWhen evening came she went to rest early, but troubled dreams disturbed\nher sleep.\n\nThe dawn which waked her seemed like a deliverance, and directly after\nmass she hurried out of the gate and into the open country.\n\nOn her return she found a letter from her father.\n\nPyramus Kogel was its bearer, and he had left the message that he would\nreturn the next day. This time her father had written with his own hand.\nThe letters were irregular and crooked enough, but they were large, and\nthere were not too many of them. He now knew what people were saying\nabout her. It had pierced the very depths of his old heart and darkened\nhis life. But he could not curse her, because she was his only child, and\nalso because he told himself how much easier her execrable vanity had\nmade the Emperor Charles's game. Nor would he give her up as lost, and\nhis travelling companion. Pyramus, who was like a son to him, was ready\nto aid him, for his love was so true and steadfast that he still wished\nto make her his wife, and offered through him to share everything with\nher, even his honourable name.\n\nIf misfortune had made her modest, if it had crushed her wicked\narrogance, and she was still his own dear child, who desired her father's\nblessing, she ought not to refuse the faithful fellow who would bring her\nthis letter, but accept his proposal. On that, and upon that alone, his\nforgiveness would depend; it was for her to show how much or how little\nshe valued it.\n\nBarbara deciphered this epistle with varying emotions.\n\nWas there no room for unselfish love in the breast of any man?\n\nHer father, even he, was seeking to profit by that which united him to\nhis only child. To keep it, and to secure his blessing, she must give her\nhand to the unloved soldier who had shown him kindness and won his\naffection.\n\nShe again glanced indignantly over the letter, and now read the\npostscript also. \"Pyramus,\" it ran, \"will remain only a short time in\nGermany, and go from there directly to Brussels, where he is on duty, and\nthence to me in Antwerp.\"\n\nBarbara started, her large eyes sparkled brightly, and a faint flush\nsuddenly suffused her cheeks. The \"plus ultra\" was forever at an end for\nher. Her boy was living in Brussels near his father; there she belonged,\nand she suddenly saw herself brought so near this unknown, brilliant city\nthat it seemed like her real home. Where else could she hope to rid\nherself of the nightmares that oppressed her except where she was\npermitted to see the man from whom nothing could separate her, no matter\nhow cruelly he repulsed her?\n\nThe only suitable place for her, he thought, was the cloister. No man, he\nbelieved in his boundless vanity, could satisfy the woman who had once\nreceived in his love.\n\nHe should learn the contrary! He should hear--nay, perhaps he should\nsee--that she was still desired, in spite of the theft which he had\ncommitted, in spite of the cruelty with which Fate had destroyed the best\ntreasure that it had generously bestowed.\n\nThe recruiting officer was certainly a handsome man and, moreover, of\nnoble birth. Her father wished to have him for a son, and would forgive\nher if she gave him the hand for which he shed.\n\nSo let him be the one who should take her to Brussels, and to whom she\nwould give the right of calling himself her husband.\n\nHere her brow contracted in a frown, for the journey on which she was to\nset out with him would lead not only to the Netherlands, but through her\nwhole life, perhaps to the grave.\n\nDeep resentment seized upon her, but she soon succeeded in conquering it;\nonly the question what she had to give her suitor in return for his loyal\nlove could not be silenced. Yet was it she who summoned him? Did he not\npossess the knowledge of everything that might have deterred another from\nwooing her? Had she not showed him more than plainly how ill he had\nsucceeded in gaining her affection? If, nevertheless, he insisted upon\nwinning her, he must take her as she was, though the handsome young man\nwould have had a good right to a heart full of love. Hers, so long as the\ngouty traitor lived who had ruined her whole existence, could never\nbelong entirely to another.\n\nOnce she had preferred the handsome, stately dancer to all other men.\nMight not this admiration of his person be revived? No--oh, no! And it\nwas fortunate that it was so, for she no longer desired to love--neither\nhim nor any one else. On the other hand, she resolved to make his life as\npleasant as lay in her power. When what she granted him had reconciled\nher father to her, and she was in Brussels, perhaps she would find\nstrength to treat Pyramus so that he would never repent his fidelity.\n\nIn the afternoon she longed to escape from the close rooms into the fresh\nair, and turned her steps toward Prebrunn, in order to see once more the\nlittle castle which to her was so rich in beautiful and terrible\nmemories.\n\nOn the way she met Frau Lerch. The old woman had kept her keenness of\nvision and, though Barbara tried to avoid her, the little ex-maid stopped\nher and asked scornfully:\n\n\"Here in Ratisbon again, sweetheart? How fresh you look after your severe\nillness!--yet you're still on shank's mare, instead of in the gold coach\ndrawn by white horses.\"\n\nBarbara abruptly turned her back upon her and went home.\n\nAs she was passing the Town Hall Pyramus Kogel left it, and she stopped\nas he modestly greeted her.\n\nVery distinguished and manly he looked in his glittering armour, with the\nred and yellow sash and the rapier with its large, flashing basket-hilt\nat his side; yet she said to herself: \"Poor, handsome fellow! How many\nwould be proud to lean on your arm! Why do you care for one who can never\nlove you, and to whom you will appear insignificant to the end?\"\n\nThen she kindly clasped the hand which he extended, and permitted him to\naccompany her home. On the Haidplatz she asked him whether he had read\nthe letter which he brought from her father.\n\nHe hesitatingly assented. Barbara lowered her eyes, and added softly:\n\n\"It is my own dear father to whom you have been kind, and my warmest\ngratitude is due to you for it.\"\n\nThe young officer's heart throbbed faster; but as they turned into Red\nCock Street she asked the question:\n\n\"You are going from here to Brussels, are you not?\"\n\n\"To Brussels,\" he repeated, scarcely able to control his voice.\n\nShe raised her large eyes to him, and, after a hard struggle, the words\nescaped her lips:\n\n\"I learned in Landshut, and it was confirmed by my father's letter, that\nyou are aware of what I am accused, and that you know--I committed the\nsin with which they charge me.\"\n\nIn the very same place where, on an evening never to be forgotten, he had\nreceived the first sharp rebuff from Barbara, she now confessed her guilt\nto him--he doubtless noticed it. It must have seemed like a sign from\nheaven that it was here she voluntarily approached him, nay, as it were,\noffered herself to him. But he loved her, and he would have deemed it\nunchivalrous to let her feel now that their relation to one another had\nchanged. So he only exclaimed with joyous confidence:\n\n\"And yet, Barbara, I trustfully place happiness and honour in your\nbeloved hands. You have long been clear to me, but now for the first time\nI believe confidently and firmly that I have found in you the very wife\nfor me. The bitter trial imposed upon you--I knew it in Landshut--bowed\nyour unduly obstinate nature, and if you only knew how well your modest\nmanner becomes you! So I entreat permission to accompany you home.\"\n\nBarbara nodded assent, and when he had mounted the steep staircase of the\nhouse before her he stopped in front of the narrow door, and a proud\nsense of satisfaction came over him at the thought that the vow which he\nhad made in this spot was now fulfilled.\n\nHer father had failed to bend this refractory, wonderfully beautiful\niron; he had hoped to try with better fortune, but Fate had anticipated\nhim, and he was grateful.\n\nFull of blossoming hopes, he now asked, with newly awakened confidence,\nwhether she would permit him to cross her threshold as a suitor and\nbecome his dear and ardently worshipped wife, and the low \"Yes\" which he\nreceived in response made him happy.\n\nA few days after he married her, and journeyed with her on horseback to\nthe Netherlands.\n\nOn the way tidings of the battle of Muhlberg reached them. The Emperor\nCharles had utterly routed the Protestants. He himself announced his\ngreat victory in the words, \"I came, I saw, and God conquered.\"\n\nWhen Pyramus told the news to his young wife, she answered quietly, \"Who\ncould resist the mighty monarch!\"\n\nIn Brussels she learned that the Emperor had taken the Elector of Saxony\ncaptive on the battlefield, but the Landgrave of Hesse had been betrayed\ninto his power by a stratagem which the Protestants branded as base\ntreachery, and used to fill all Germany with the bitterest hatred against\nhim; but here Barbara's wrath flamed forth, and she upbraided the\nslanderous heretics. It angered her to have the great sovereign denied\nhis due reverence in her own home; but secretly she believed in the\nbreach of faith.\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 9.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThree years passed.\n\nBarbara occupied with her husband and the two sons she had given him a\npretty little house in the modest quarter of Saint-Gery in Brussels.\n\nHere the capital of wealthy, flourishing Brabant certainly looked very\nunlike what she had expected from Gombert's stories; and how little share\nshe had had hitherto in the splendour which on the drive to Landshut she\nhad expected to find in Brussels!\n\nSince the musician had described the city, she had seen it distinctly\nbefore her in her vivid imagination. The lower portion, intersected by\nthe river Senne and numerous canals, belonged to the rich, industrious\ncitizens, the skilful artisans, and the common people; the upper, which\noccupied a hill, contained the great Brabant palace, the residence of the\nEmperor Charles. This edifice, which, though its exterior was almost\nwholly devoid of ornament, nevertheless presented a majestic aspect on\naccount of its vast size, adjoined a splendid park, whose leafy groups of\nancient trees merged into the forest of Soignies. Here also stood the\npalaces of the great nobles and, on the side of the hill which sloped to\nthe lower city, the Cathedral of St. Gudule towered proudly aloft.\n\nMuch as Barbara had heard in praise of the magnificent market-place in\nthe lower city, with its marvellous Town Hall, it was always the upper\nportion of Brussels she beheld when she thought of the capital. She had\nfelt that she belonged to this quarter, where all who had any claim to\naristocracy lived; here, near the palace and the beautiful leafy trees,\nher future home had been in her imagination.\n\nThe result was different, and now the longing for the brilliant Brussels\non the hill was doubly strong. True, there dwelt also those who had the\ngreatest power of attraction for her.\n\nShe was just returning home from the palace park, where stood a pleasant\nsummer house in which Adrian Dubois lived with his wife and one child. It\nwas this child especially that drew Barbara to the upper city as often as\npossible, and constantly forced her thoughts to linger there and still to\nfollow the \"higher\" of the imperial motto, which everywhere else she was\ncompelled to renounce.\n\nTrue, a limit was fixed to these visits to the Dubois couple. For one\nwhole year Frau Traut had successfully concealed the child from the\nmother; then Barbara had once met the boy outside the house, and the way\nin which he was hurried out of her sight led to the conviction that this\nwas her child, and Frau Dubois had imprudently betrayed the secret.\n\nFrom this time Barbara knew that her John had been confided to the care\nof the valet and his wife. At last Frau Traut had been unable to resist\nher entreaties, and allowed her to see her son and hold him a short time\nin her arms.\n\nHe was a strong, splendid child, with his mother's thick, curling locks\nand large blue eyes. Barbara thought that she had never seen a handsomer\nboy; and not only the Dubois, who had yielded their whole hearts to their\nnursling, but strangers also admired the magnificent development of this\nrare child. The young mother saw in him something grander, more perfect\nthan the children of other human beings, even than the two boys whom she\nhad given her husband, although little John usually repulsed her\ncaresses.\n\nIn granting Barbara permission to see her child often, Frau Traut\ntransgressed an explicit command of the Emperor and, to prevent the evil\nconsequences which her sympathy might entail, she allowed the mother to\nrejoice in the sight of her little son only once a month, and then always\nfor a short time.\n\nDuring these interviews she was strictly forbidden to bestow even the\nsmallest gift upon the boy.\n\nTo-day John had voluntarily approached the stranger to whom he owed his\nlife, but whose passionate caresses at their first meeting had frightened\nhim, to show her the little wooden horse that Adrian had just given him.\nThis had made her happy, and on the way home the memory of her hidden\ntreasure more than once brought a joyous smile to her lips.\n\nAt home she first sought her children. Her husband, who had now been\nappointed mustering officer, was on one of the journeys required by the\nservice, which rarely permitted him to remain long in his own house.\n\nBarbara did not miss him; nay, she was happiest during his absence.\n\nAfter glancing into the nursery, she retired to her quiet chamber, where\nher harp stood and the lutes hung which often for hours supplied the\nplace of her lost voice, and sat down at her spinning wheel.\n\nShe turned it thoughtfully, but the thread broke, and her hands fell into\nher lap. Her mind had again found the way to the house in the park and to\nher John, her own, wonderful, imperial child, and lingered there until\nfrom the next room the cry of an infant was heard and a woman's voice\nsinging it to sleep. Frau Lamperi, who had made herself a part of the\nlittle household, and beheld in its master the incarnation of every manly\nvirtue, was lulling the baby to rest. Beside it slept another child, a\nboy two years old. Both were hers, yet, though the infant raised its\nvoice still louder, she remained at the spinning wheel, dreaming on.\n\nIn this way, and while playing on the harp and the lutes, her solitude\nwas best endured. Her husband's journeys often led him through the whole\nNetherlands and the valley of the Rhine as far as Strasbourg and Basle,\nand her father had returned to Ratisbon.\n\nShe had found no new friends in Brussels, and had not endeavoured to gain\nany.\n\nLoneliness, which she had dreaded in the heyday of her early youth, no\nlonger alarmed her, for quiet reveries and dreams led her back to the\ntime when life had been beautiful, when she had enjoyed the love of the\ngreatest of mortals, and art had given her existence an exquisite\nconsecration.\n\nWith the loss of her voice--she was now aware of it--many of the best\nthings in her life had also ceased to exist. Her singing might perhaps\nhave lured back her inconstant lover, and had she come to Brussels\npossessing the mastery of her voice which was hers during that happy time\nin May, her life would have assumed a totally different form.\n\nGombert, who had induced her to move hither, had urged her with the best\nintentions during their drive to Landshut to change her residence. When\nhe did so, however, Barbara was still connected with the Emperor, and he\nwas animated by the hope that the trouble in her throat would be\ntemporary.\n\nIt would have been easy to throw wide to a singer of her ability the\ndoors of the aristocratic houses which were open to him; for, except his\nprofessional comrades, he associated only with the wealthy nobles in the\nupper part of the city, who needed him for the brilliant entertainments\nwhich they understood how to arrange so superbly. The Oranges, Egmont,\nAremberg, Brederode, Aerschot, and other heads of the highest nobility in\nBrabant would have vied with one another to present her to their guests,\nreceive her at their country seats, and invite her to join their riding\nparties. Where, on the contrary, could he expect to find a friendly\nreception for the wife of a poor officer belonging to the lower nobility,\nwho was said to have forfeited the Emperor's favour, who could offer\nnothing to the ear, and to the eye only a peculiar style of beauty, which\nshe could enhance neither by magnificent attire nor by any other arts?\n\nHad she been still the Emperor Charles's favourite, or had he bestowed\ntitles and wealth upon her, more might have been done for her; but as it\nwas, nothing was left of the favour bestowed by the monarch save the\nstain upon her fair name. Deeply as Gombert regretted it, he could\ntherefore do nothing to make her residence in Brussels more agreeable. He\nwas not even permitted to open his own house to her, since his wife, who\nwas neither more jealous nor more scrupulous than most other wives of\nartists, positively refused to receive the voiceless singer with the\ntarnished reputation.\n\nWorthy Appenzelder associated exclusively with men, and thus of her\nRatisbon friends not one remained except Massi, the violinist, and the\nMaltese choir boy, Hannibal Melas.\n\nThe little fellow had lost his voice, but had remained in Brussels and,\nin fact, through Barbara's intercession; for she had ventured to\nrecommend the clever, industrious lad to the Bishop of Arras in a letter\nwhich reminded him of his kindness in former days, and the latter had\nbeen gracious, and in a cordial reply thanked her for her friendly\nremembrance. Hannibal had remained in the minister's service and, as he\nunderstood several languages and proved trustworthy, was received among\nhis private secretaries.\n\nThe violinist Massi remained faithful and, as he became her husband's\nfriend also, he was always a welcome guest in her house.\n\nHer father had returned to Ratisbon. After he had acted as godfather to\nthe oldest boy, Conrad, he could be detained no longer. Homesickness had\nobtained too powerful a hold upon him.\n\nTrue, Barbara and her husband did everything in their power to make life\nin their home pleasant; but he needed the tavern, and there either the\ncarousing was so noisy that it became too much for him, or people often\nhad very violent political discussions about liberty and faith, which he\nonly half understood, though they used the Flemish tongue. And the\nDanube, the native air, the familiar faces! In short, he could not stay\nwith his children, though he dearly loved his little godson Conrad; and\nit pleased him to see his daughter more yielding and ready to render\nservice than ever before, and to watch her husband, who, as the saying\nwent at home, \"was ready to let her walk over him.\"\n\nThe husband's intention of making the unbending iron pliant was wholly\nchanged; the recruiting officer whom his companions and subordinates knew\nand feared as one of the sternest of their number, showed himself to\nBarbara the most yielding of men. The passionate tenderness with which he\nloved her had only increased with time, and the stern soldier's\nsubjection to her will went so far that, even when he would gladly have\nexpressed disapproval, he usually omitted to do so, because he dreaded to\nlessen the favour which she showed him in place of genuine love, and\nwhich he needed. Besides, she gave him little cause for displeasure; she\ndid her duty, and strove to render his outward life a pleasant one.\n\nEven after her father had left her she remained a wife who satisfied his\nheart. He had learned the coolness of her nature in his first attempts to\nwoo her in Ratisbon and, as at that time, he whom the service frequently\ndetained from her for long periods regarded it as a merit.\n\nSo he wrote her father letters expressing his gratification, and the\nreplies which the captain sent to Brussels were in a similar tone.\n\nBarbara had obtained for him his own house, for which he had longed. He\nfelt comfortable there, and what he lacked in his home he found at the\nRed Cock or the Black Bear. An elderly Landshut widow, a relative, acted\nas his housekeeper and provided in the best possible manner for his\ncomfort.\n\nWhoever met the stately mustering officer alone or arm in arm with his\nbeautiful young wife, whose golden hair had grown out again, must have\nbelieved him a happy man; and so he would have been had not some singular\nhabits which Barbara possessed made him uneasy. At first the reveries\ninto which she often sank, and which were so unlike her former self, had\nbeen still worse. He did not know that the improvement had taken place\nsince she had discovered her John's abode and been permitted sometimes to\nsee him. Barbara's husband and father supposed that the child which she\nhad given to the Emperor was dead; both had placed this interpretation\nupon her brief statement that it had been taken from her, and afterward\ndelicacy of feeling prevented any other allusion to this painful subject.\n\nBesides this proneness to reverie, Barbara's husband was sometimes\ndisturbed by the carelessness with which she neglected the most important\ndomestic matters if there was an entertainment or exhibition which the\nEmperor Charles attended; and, finally, there was something in her manner\nto the children, whom Pyramus loved above all things, which disturbed,\nincensed, and wounded him, yet which he felt that neither threats nor\nstern interposition could change.\n\nHe possessed no defence against the reveries except a warning or a\njesting word. Delight in brilliant spectacles was doubtless natural to\nher disposition, and as Pyramus not only loved but esteemed her, it was\nrepugnant to his feelings to watch her. Yet when, nevertheless, he once\nfollowed her steps, he had found her, according to her expressed\nintention, among other women in St. Gudule's Cathedral. Her eyes, which\nhe watched intently, were constantly turned toward the great personages\nwhose presence adorned the festival--the Emperor and Queen Mary of\nHungary.\n\nThese expeditions were evidently not to meet a lover, yet from that hour\nhe cherished a conviction, mingled with a bitter sense of resentment,\nthat she went to the festivals which his Majesty attended in order to see\nthe man whom she had once loved, and whose image even now she could not\nwholly efface from her imagination, perhaps also from her heart.\n\nFor her manner to the children, on the contrary, he could find no\nplausible explanation. Her love for them was unmistakable. Yet what was\nthe meaning of the compassionate manner with which she treated them,\ntalked to them, spoke of them, until it nearly drove him frantic? She\noften treated the healthy, merry older boy as if he was ill and needed\ncomfort, and the pretty infant in the cradle was addressed in the same\nway.\n\nIf he summoned up his courage and openly reproved her, she always\nanswered in general terms, such as: \"What do you mean? Are we not all\nborn to suffer?\" or, \"Shall we envy them because they have entered life\nto endure pain and to die?\"\n\nNot until Pyramus, with sorrowful emotion, entreated her not to speak of\nthe children as if they had been given to them for a punishment and not\nfor a joy, she imposed a certain degree of constraint upon herself and\nchanged her manner of speech; yet the expression of her eyes revealed\nthat she felt no really glad, unconstrained joy in her sons.\n\nThough she denied it, she knew how to explain this manner to herself;\nfor, after her attention had been directed to it, she secretly admitted\nthat the sight of the two dear children who were wholly hers always\nreminded her of the third who had been taken from her, whom she was\npermitted to see very rarely, and only in secret, yet who, beside the\nothers, seemed like a young lion beside modest lambs.\n\nShe cherished no desire for a new love, though the lukewarm blending of\ngratitude and good will which she bestowed upon her husband did not even\nremotely deserve this lofty name.\n\nThere was no lack of gallants in Brussels who noticed and were attracted\nby her, but whoever knew or had heard of Pyramus Kogel avoided\ninterfering with his rights; for he was numbered among the best swordsmen\nin Brussels, and the air with which the tender-hearted husband wore his\nlong rapier was decidedly threatening.\n\nBesides, Barbara herself also knew how to protect herself against any\nintrusiveness with haughty sharpness.\n\nTo-day she was especially glad that Pyramus was absent on an inspecting\ntour. She had gratefully enjoyed the meeting with her John. Never had the\nlight of his blue eyes seemed so sunny, his head with its fair curls so\nangelic in its beauty. His voice, too, had enraptured her by its really\nbewitching melody. The maternal gift of song would certainly descend to\nhim, and perhaps it was allotted to the Emperor's son to amaze his\ngeneration by the presence of hero and singer in one person, like a\nsecond King David.\n\nTwilight had already shadowed the paths when she left the Dubois house,\nand on her way home she saw the Emperor approaching. She had slipped\nbehind a statue as quickly as possible, and he could scarcely have\nrecognised her, for the gloaming had already merged into partial\ndarkness; but the mere thought of having been so near him quickened the\npulsation of her heart.\n\nThe little gentleman at his side with the stiffly erect bearing and\npompous walk was his son Philip, who was now visiting his father in\nBrussels, and expected to leave in a few days. How insignificant was the\nfigure of the heir of so many crowns! How the brother whom she had given\nto his imperial father would some day tower above him!\n\nShe again imagined all these things in the quiet of her room. The thought\nof this child cheered her heart, but it contracted again as she\nremembered the series of bitter humiliations which she had experienced in\nBrussels. Among the courtiers whom she had known so well in Ratisbon not\none vouchsafed her anything more than a passing greeting; and the Queen\nof Hungary, to whom she would gladly have poured out her heart, had\nrefused her repeated entreaties for an audience.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nAfter the short walk in the park of his palace, during which Barbara had\nmet him in the dusk, the Emperor Charles had dined with his son Philip\nand the Queen of Hungary. Now he entered his spacious study.\n\nHis feet were refusing their support more and more, and the fingers of\nhis right hand, which the gout was now crippling, found it hard to grasp\nhis cane.\n\nHe sank back in his arm-chair exhausted, closed his eyes, and laid his\nhand upon the clever pointed head of the greyhound which lay at his feet.\n\nThe short walk and the fiery wine which he had again enjoyed in abundance\nat dinner had increased the pain from which he was now never free, day or\nnight, and it was some time ere Adrian could succeed in propping his\ninfirm body comfortably.\n\nAt last Charles passed his handkerchief across his perspiring brow, and\ncalled to the majordomo.\n\nQuijada eagerly approached, and the valet was respectfully leaving the\nroom, but the Emperor's summons stopped him.\n\n\"I have something,\" Charles began, no longer able to maintain complete\ncontrol over his voice, which was sometimes interrupted by the shortness\nof breath that had recently attacked him, \"to say to you also--\"\n\nHere he hesitated, pointed to the window which overlooked the park, then,\nwith a keen glance at the valet's face, continued:\n\n\"A ghost wanders about there. I have already seen it several times under\nthe trees. True, it avoided approaching me. What still remains useful in\nthis miserable body! But my eyes are sharp yet, and I recognised the\nspectre--it is the Ratisbon singer.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty knows,\" replied Quijada, \"what befell her after the birth\nof the child, and that she is now living here in Brussels; but I was\nstrictly forbidden to mention her name in your Majesty's presence.\"\n\n\"That command closed my lips also,\" said the valet.\n\n\"But what the hearing rejected forced itself upon the sight,\" remarked\nCharles, gazing fixedly into vacancy. \"Wherever I appear in public I see\nthis woman, always this woman! It is not only the basilisk's eye that has\nconstraining power. I can not help perceiving her, yet I have as little\ndesire to meet her gaze as to encounter vanity, worldly pleasure, folly,\nsin.\"\n\n\"Then,\" cried Quijada angrily, \"it will be advisable to transfer her\nhusband, who is in your Majesty's service, from here to Andalusia or to\nthe New World.\"\n\n\"As if she would accompany him!\" exclaimed the monarch with a scornful\nlaugh. \"No, my friend. This woman did not marry for her own pleasure, but\nto cause me sorrow or indignation. She succeeded, too, to a certain\nextent; but I do not war with women, least of all with one who is so\nunhappy. If we send her husband--who, moreover, is a useful\nfellow--across the ocean, she will stay here in Brussels, and we shall\nfare like the maid-servants who killed the cocks, and were then waked by\nthe mistress of the house still earlier than before. Besides, one who\nearnestly seeks his true salvation will not remove from his path such a\nliving memento, such a walking monitor of past sins and follies; and,\nfinally, this woman is not wholly wrong in deeming herself an unusual\nperson, cruelly as Heaven has destroyed her best gift. On no account--you\nhear me--shall she be wounded or injured for my sake so long as she\nreminds me only by her eyes that in happier days we were closely\nconnected. But to-day the ghost ventured to draw nearer to me than is\nseemly, and I recognise the object. It entered the park, not on my\naccount, but the boy's--and, Adrian, from your house. I demand the whole\ntruth! Did she find the way to the boy, and was your wife, who is usually\na prudent woman, unwise enough to allow her to feast her eyes upon him?\"\n\n\"She is the child's mother,\" the valet answered gently, \"and your Majesty\nknows--\"\n\n\"I know,\" Charles interrupted the faithful attendant in a sterner tone\nthan he commonly used to him, \"that you were most positively forbidden to\npermit any one to approach the boy, least of all the person who gazes at\nhim with greedy eyes, and from whom might proceed measureless perils.\nYour wife, Adrian, who is tenderly attached to the child, will now suffer\nthe most painfully for the disobedience. It must go away from here, go at\nonce, and to a distant country--to Spain. If politics and Heaven permit,\nI shall soon follow.--You, Luis, will now arrange with Adrian the best\nplan for the removal. The work must be accomplished in the utmost\nsecrecy. The boy shall grow up in the wholesome air of the country. No\none who surrounds him must be permitted even to suspect to whom he owes\nhis life. This child shall be simple in his habits, devout, and modest,\nfar from flattery and spoiling, among other lads of plain families, who\nknow nothing of heresy and court follies. This innocent child's soul, at\nleast, shall not be corrupted at its root. I consecrated him to the\nSaviour, and as a pure sacrifice he must receive him from his father's\nhand. I have given him a beautiful charge. In the monastery his prayers\nwill remove the guilt of him who gave him life. The pardon for which the\nmother refused to strive, the son, consecrated to Jesus Christ our Lord,\nwill struggle to obtain.\"\n\nWith uplifted gaze he interrupted himself. His eyes flashed with a fiery\nlight, and his voice gained an imperious tone, which showed no trace of\nthe asthmatic trouble that had just affected it as he added: \"But the\nsecret which even the reckless mother has hitherto known how to guard\nmust be kept. Not even your wife, Luis, not even our sister, Queen Mary,\nmust learn what is being accomplished.\"\n\nThen he added more quietly: \"The opportunity to take the boy to Spain is\nfavourable. Our son, Don Philip, will return in three weeks to\nValladolid. The child can be carried in his train. It will disappear\namong the throng, for an actual army forms the tail of the comet. I will\nhear your proposal to-morrow. Who is to take charge of him on the way?\nWhere can a suitable shelter for the boy be found in Spain?\"\n\nThis announcement fell upon the valet like a thunderbolt, for little\nJohn, who regarded him and his wife as his parents, had become as dear to\nthe childless couple as if he was their own. To part from the beautiful,\nfrank, merry boy would darken Frau Traut's whole life. He, Adrian, had\nwarned her, but she had been unable to resist the entreaties of the\nsorely punished mother. Cautiously as Barbara's visits had been managed,\nthe infirm monarch's eye had maintained its keenness of vision here also.\n\nNow his wife must pay dearly for her weakness and disobedience. Frau\nTraut was threatened, too, with another loss. Massi, the most intimate\nfriend of their house, also expected to return to Spain in the Infant\nPhilip's train, to spend the remainder of his days there in peace.\nPermission to depart had been granted to him a few hours before.\n\nLittle John was fond of this frequent visitor of his foster-parents, who\ncould whistle so beautifully and knew how to play for him upon a blade of\ngrass or a comb; but this was not the only reason which made Adrian think\nof giving the Emperor's son to the musician's care for the journey to\nSpain, where Massi's wife and daughter were awaiting his return at\nLeganes, near Madrid. In this healthfully located village lived a pastor\nand a sacristan of whom the musician had spoken, and who perhaps later\nmight take charge of the child's education.\n\nAdrian informed Don Luis and then the monarch of all this, and as Quijada\nknew Massi to be a trustworthy man, and described him to his royal\nmaster, Charles entered into negotiations with him.\n\nThe result was that a formal compact was concluded between Dubois and the\nmusician, which granted the violinist considerable emoluments, but bound\nhim and his family by oath to maintain the most absolute secrecy\nconcerning the child's origin. Moreover, Massi himself knew nothing about\nthe boy's parents except that they belonged to the most aristocratic\ncircles, and he was inclined to believe little John to be Quijada's son.\n\nThe sovereign himself examined the agreement, and at its close made Frau\nTraut take a special oath to preserve the most absolute secrecy about\neverything concerning the boy to every one, even Barbara.\n\nWhat Adrian had expected happened. The Emperor's command to take her\ndarling from her affected his wife most painfully. With eyes reddened by\nweeping, and an aching heart, she awaited the day of departure.\n\nOn the evening before the journey she was sitting by the child's couch to\nenjoy the sight of him as much as possible. Wholly absorbed in gazing at\nhis infantile grace and patrician beauty, she did not hear the door open,\nand started in terror at the sound of footsteps close behind her.\n\nHer husband had ushered the Emperor and Quijada, on whose arm he was\nleaning, into the nursery without announcing his entrance. She\ninvoluntarily pressed her finger on her lips to intimate that the child\nmust not be roused from its slumber; but the gesture was instantly\nfollowed by the profound bow due to the sovereign, and then, with tears\nin her eyes, she held the light so that it might fall upon the face of\nthe lovely child.\n\nA flush tinged the livid features of the invalid, prematurely aged\nmonarch, and at a wave of his hand the foster-mother left him and his\ncompanion alone with the little one. Charles gazed suspiciously around\nthe small, neat room.\n\nNot until he had assured himself that he was alone did he look closely at\nthe son who lay with flushed cheeks on the white pillows of his little\nbed in the sound slumber of childhood.\n\nRarely had he seen a more beautiful boy. How finely chiselled were these\nchildish features, how thick and wavy the curls that clustered around his\nhead! The golden lustre which shone from them had also brightened his\nmother's hair. And the smile on the cherry lips of the slightly open\nmouth. That, too, was familiar to him. The child had inherited it from\nBarbara. Memories which had long since paled in his soul, oppressed by\nsuffering and disappointment, regained their vanished forms and colours,\nand for the first time in many months a smile hovered upon his lips.\n\nWhat an exquisite image of the Creator was this child! and he might call\nit his own, and if, as he intended, it grew up an innocent, happy lad, it\nwould also become a genuine man, with a warm heart and simple, upright\nnature, not a moving marble figure, inflated by pompous self-conceit,\nincapable of any deep feeling, any untrammelled emotion, like his son\nPhilip. Then it might happen that from love, from a real living impulse\nof the heart, he would fall upon his neck; then----\n\nHe stretched both hands towards the little bed and, obeying a mighty\nimpulse of paternal affection, bent toward the boy to kiss him. But ere\nhis lips touched the child's he again gazed around him like a thief who\nis afraid of being caught. At last he yielded to the longing which urged\nhim, and kissed little John--his, yes, his own son--first on his high,\nopen brow, and then on his red lips.\n\nHow sweet it was! Yet while he confessed this a painful emotion blended\nwith the pleasure.\n\nHe had again thought of Barbara, of her first kiss and the other joys of\nthe fairest May-time of his life, and the anxious fear stole upon him\nthat he might give sin a power over his soul which, after undergoing a\nheavy penance, he thought he had broken.\n\nNothing, nothing at all, he now said to himself, ought to bind him to the\nwoman whom he had effaced from the book of his life as unworthy,\nrebellious, lost to salvation; and, in a totally different mood, he again\ngazed at the child. It already wore the semblance of an angel in the\ngracious Virgin's train, and it should be dedicated to her and her divine\nSon.\n\nThen the boy drew his little arm from under his head.\n\nHow strong he was! how superbly the chest of this child not yet four\nyears old already arched! This bud, when it had bloomed to manhood, might\nprove itself, as he himself had done in his youth, the stronger among the\nstrong. He carefully examined the harmoniously developed little muscles.\nWhat a knight this child promised to become! Surely it was hardly created\nfor quiet prayer and the inactive peace of the cloister! He was still\nfree to dispose of the boy. If he should intrust his physical development\nto the reliable Quijada, skilled in every knightly art, and to Count\nLanoi, famed as a rider and judge of horses; confide the training of his\nmind and soul to the Bishop of Arras, the learned Frieslander Viglius, or\nany other clever, strictly religious man, he might become a second Roland\nand Bayard--nay, if a crown fell to his lot, he might rival his\ngreat-grandfather, the Emperor Max, and--in many a line he, too, had done\nthings worthy of imitation--him, his father. The possession of this child\nwould fill his darkened life with sunshine, his heart, paralyzed by grief\nand disappointment, with fresh pleasure in existence throughout the brief\nremainder of his earthly pilgrimage. If he, the father, acknowledged him\nand aided him to become a happy, perhaps a great man, this lovely\ncreature might some day be a brilliant star in the firmament of his age.\n\nHere he paused. The question, \"For how long?\" forced itself upon him. He,\ntoo, during the short span of youth had been a hero and a victorious\nknight. With secure confidence he had undertaken to establish for himself\nand his family a sovereignty of the world which should include the state\nand the Church. \"More, farther,\" had been his motto, and to what\nstupendous successes it had led him! Three years before he had routed at\nMuhlberg his most powerful rivals. As prisoners they still felt his\navenging hand.\n\nAnd now? At this hour?\n\nThe hope of the sovereignty of the world lay shattered at his feet. The\nwish to obtain the German imperial crown for his heir and successor,\nPhilip, had proved unattainable. It was destined for his brother,\nFerdinand of Austria, and afterward for the latter's son, Maximilian. To\nlead the defeated German Protestants back to the bosom of the Holy Church\nappeared more and more untenable. Here in the Netherlands the heretics,\nin consequence of the Draconian severity of the regulations which he\nhimself had issued, had been hung and burned by hundreds, and hitherto he\nhad gained nothing but the hatred of the nation which he preferred to all\nothers. His bodily health was destroyed, his mind had lost its buoyancy,\nand he was now fifty years old. What lay before him was a brief\npilgrimage--perchance numbering only a few years--here on earth, and the\nlimitless eternity which would never end. How small and trivial was the\nformer in comparison with the latter, which had no termination! And would\nhe desire to rear for the space of time that separates the grave from the\ncradle the child for whom he desired the best blessings, instead of\nsecuring for him salvation for the never-ceasing period of eternal life?\n\nNo! This beauty, this strength, should be consecrated to no vain secular\nstruggle, but to Heaven. The boy when he matured to a correct judgment\nwould thank him for this decision, which was really no easy one for his\nworldly vanity.\n\nThen he reverted to the wish with which he had approached the child's\ncouch. The son, from gratitude, should take upon himself for his father\nand, if he desired, also for his refractory mother, what both had\nneglected--the care for their eternal welfare--in prayer and penance.\n\nBy consecrating him to Heaven and rearing him for a peaceful existence in\nGod, far from the vain pleasures of the world and the court he had done\nhis best for his son and, as if he feared that the sight of his\nbeautiful, strong boy might shake his resolution, he turned away from him\nand called Quijada.\n\nWhile Charles in a fervent, silent prayer commended John to the favour of\nHeaven, the most faithful of his attendants was gazing at the sovereign's\nson. Hitherto Heaven had denied him the joy of possessing a child. How he\nwould have clasped this lovely creature to his heart if it had been his!\nWhat a pleasure it would have been to transmit everything that was\nexcellent and clever in himself to this child! To devote it to a monastic\nlife was acting against the purpose of the Providence that had dowered it\nwith such strength and beauty.\n\nThe Emperor could not, ought not to persist in this intention.\n\nWhile he was supporting his royal master through the dark park he\nventured to repeat what Adrian and his wife had told him of the strength\nand fearlessness of the little John, and then to remark what rare\ngreatness this boy promised to attain as the son of such a father.\n\n\"The highest of all!\" replied Charles firmly. \"He only is truly great who\nin his soul feels his own insignificance and deems trivial all the\nsplendour and the highest honours which life can offer; and to this\ngenuine greatness, Luis, I intend to rear this young human plant whose\nexistence is due to weakness and sin.\"\n\nQuijada again summoned up his courage, and observed:\n\n\"Yet, as the son of my august ruler, this child may make claims which are\nof this world.\"\n\n\"What claims?\" cried the Emperor suspiciously. \"His birth?--the law gives\nhim none. What earthly possessions may perhaps come to him he will owe\nsolely to my favour, and it would choose for him the only right way.\nClaims--mark this well, my friend--claims to the many things which will\nremain of my greatness and power when I have closed my pilgrimage beneath\nthe sun, can be made by one person only--Don Philip, my oldest son and\nlawful heir.\"\n\nNot until after he had rested in his study did Charles resume the\ninterrupted conversation, and say:\n\n\"It may be that this boy will grow up into a more brilliant personality\nthan my son Philip; but you Castilians and faithful servants of the Holy\nChurch ought to rejoice that Heaven has chosen my lawful son for your\nking, for he is a thorough Spaniard, and, moreover, cautious, deliberate,\nindustrious, devout, and loyal to duty. True, he knows not how to win\nlove easily, but he possesses other means of maintaining what is his and\nstill awaits him in the future. My pious son will not let the gallows\nbecome empty in this land of heretical exaltation. Had the Germans put\nhim in my place, he would have become a gravedigger in their evangelical\ncountries. He never gave me what is called filial affection, not even\njust now in the parting hour; yet he is an obedient son who understands\nhis father. Instead of a heart, I have found in him other qualities which\nwill render him capable of keeping his heritage in these troubled times\nand preserving the Holy Church from further injury. If I were weaker than\nI am, and should rear yonder splendid boy, who charmed you also, Luis,\nunder my own eyes with paternal affection, many an unexpected joy might\ngrow for me; but I still have an immense amount of work to do, and\ntherefore lack time to toy with a child. It is my duty to replace this\nboy's claims, which I can not recognise, with higher ones, and I will\nfulfill it.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nDuring this conversation the violinist Massi had been to take leave of\nBarbara. Pyramus, after a short stay at home, had been obliged to depart\nagain to an inspection in Lowen, and the musician was sorry not to find\nhis friend. He did not know to whom the child that had been intrusted to\nhis care belonged, and, as he had bound himself by a solemn oath to\nmaintain secrecy toward every one, he did not utter a word to Barbara\nabout the boy and the obligations which he had undertaken.\n\nThe parting was a sad one to the young wife, for in Massi she lost not\nonly a tried friend, but as it were a portion of her former life. He had\nbeen a witness of the fairest days which Fate had granted her; he had\nheard her sing when she had been justified in feeling proud of her art;\nand he had been intimate with Wolf Hartschwert, whom she remembered with\naffectionate interest, though he had only informed her once in a brief\nletter that he was prospering in Villagarcia and his new position. While\nwith tearful eyes she bade Massi farewell, she gave him messages of\nremembrance to Wolf; and the violinist, no less agitated than herself,\npromised to deliver them. He was hopefully anticipating a cheerful\nevening of life in the midst of his family. Existence had promised\nBarbara higher things, but she seemed to have found the power to be\ncontent. At least he had heard no complaint from her lips, and her\nhusband had often told him of the happiness which he had obtained through\nher in marriage. So he could leave her without anxiety; but she, even in\nthe hour of parting, was too proud to offer him a glimpse of her desolate\nlife, whose fairest ornaments were memories.\n\nWhen he left her the young wife felt still poorer than before, and during\nthe sleepless night which in imagination she had spent with her imperial\nchild in the Dubois house, and in the days of splendour and misery at\nRatisbon, she determined to clasp once more the hand of her departing\nfriend when he set out with the Infant Philip's train.\n\nAlthough it was to start early in the morning, she was in the square in\nample time, partly because she hoped to see the Emperor in the distance.\n\nThe throng that followed Philip really did resemble an army.\n\nBarbara had already often seen the short, slender 'Infant', with his\nwell-formed, fair head and light, pointed beard, who held himself so\nstiffly erect, and carried his head as high as if he considered no one\nover whom his glance wandered worthy of so great an honour.\n\nIt seemed strange to her, too, how well this man, naturally so\ninsignificant in person, succeeded in giving his small figure the\nappearance of majestic dignity. But how totally unlike him his father\nmust have looked in his youth! There was something austere, repellent,\nchilling, in the gaze which, while talking with others, he usually fixed\nupon the ground, and, in fact, in the whole aspect of the son. How\nbrightly and frankly, on the contrary, his father's eyes, in spite of all\nhis suffering, could sparkle even now! How easy it would be for him to\nwin hearts still!\n\nIf he would only come!\n\nBut this time he did not accompany his son. Philip was on horseback, but\na magnificent empty coach in the procession would receive him as soon as\nhe left Brussels.\n\nHe wished to present a gallant appearance in the saddle on his departure,\nand a more daintily, carefully clad cavalier could scarcely be imagined.\n\nHis garments fitted like a glove, and were of faultless fineness. Queen\nMary, the regent, rode at his side, and the Brabant nobles, the heads of\nthe Brussels citizens, and his Spanish courtiers formed his retinue. The\nleaders of the Netherland nobility were figures very unlike in stature\nand size to Philip; but he could vie in haughty majesty with any of them.\nNot a limb, not an expression lacked his control a single instant. He\ndesired to display to these very gentlemen in every inch of his person\nhis superior power and grandeur, and especially not to be inferior to\nthem in chivalrous bearing.\n\nTo a certain extent he succeeded in doing so; but his aunt, Queen Mary,\nseemed unwilling to admit it, for just when he showed his arrogant\ndignity most plainly a smile by no means expressive of reverence hovered\naround the mouth of the frank royal huntress.\n\nBarbara had soon wearied of gazing at the magnificent garments and horses\nof these grandees. As Charles did not appear, the only person in the\nendless procession who attracted her attention was Massi, whom she soon\ndiscovered on his insignificant little horse; but he did not heed her\neager signals, for he was talking earnestly to the occupant of the large\nlitter borne by two mules that moved beside him.\n\nBarbara tried to force her way to him, and when she succeeded her cheeks\nsuddenly burned hotly, and a swift dread checked her progress; for from\nthe great window of the litter a wonderfully beautiful little head,\ncovered with fair curls, looked forth, and two little arms were extended\ntoward the violinist.\n\nHow gleefully this child's eyes sparkled! how his whole little figure\nseemed instinct with joy and life while gazing at the horseman at the\nside of the street who was having a hard struggle with his refractory\nstallion!\n\nNo one knew this boy better than she, for it was her own son, the\nimperial child she had given to the Emperor. At the same time she thought\nof her other two boys, and her face again wore a compassionate\nexpression. Not they, but this little prince from fairyland was her\nfirst-born, her dearest, her true child.\n\nBut where were they taking her John? What had Massi to do with him? Why\nshould the boy be in Philip's train?\n\nThere was only one explanation. Her child was being conveyed to Spain.\n\nHad the father heard that she had discovered his abode, and did he wish\nto remove it from the mother whom he hated?\n\nWas it being taken there merely that it might grow up a Castilian?\n\nDid Charles desire to rear it there to the grandeur and splendour for\nwhose sake she had yielded him?\n\nYet whatever was in view for John, he would be beyond her reach as soon\nas the ship to which he was being conveyed weighed anchor.\n\nBut she would not, could not do without seeing him! The light of day\nwould be darkened for her if she could no longer hope to gaze at least\nnow and then into his blue eyes and to hear the sound of his clear,\nchildish tones.\n\n\"This too! this too!\" she hissed, as if frantic; and as the guards forced\nher out of the procession she followed it farther and farther through the\nheat and dust, as though attracted by some magnetic power.\n\nHer feet moved involuntarily while her gaze rested on the litter, and she\ncaught a glimpse sometimes of a golden curl, sometimes of a little hand,\nsometimes of the whole marvellously beautiful fair head.\n\nNot until the train stopped and the lords, ladies, and gentlemen who were\nescorting Philip turned their horses and left him did she recollect\nherself. To follow these horsemen, coaches, carts, litters, and\npedestrians just as she was would have been madness. Her place was at\nhome with her husband and children. Ten times she repeated this to\nherself and prepared to turn back; but the force which drew her to her\nchild was stronger than the warning voice of reason.\n\nAt any rate, she must speak to Massi and learn where he was taking the\nboy. He had not yet seen her; but now, as the train stopped, she forced\nher way to him.\n\nAmazed at meeting her, he returned her greeting, and granted her request\nto let her speak with him a few minutes,\n\nGreatly perplexed, he swung himself from the saddle, flung his bridle to\na groom, and followed her under a mountain-ash tree which stood by the\nroadside. Barbara had used the time of his dismounting to gaze at her\nchild again, and to impress his image upon her soul. She dared not call\nto him, for she had sworn to keep the secret, and the boy, who so often\nrepulsed her eager advances, would perhaps have turned from her if she\nhad gone close to him and attempted to kiss him through the window.\n\nThis reserve was so hard for her that her eyes were full of tears when\nMassi approached to ask what she desired. She did not give him time for\neven a single question, but with frantic haste inquired who the boy in\nthe litter was, and where he intended to take him.\n\nBut her friend, usually so obliging, curtly and positively refused to\ngive her any information. Then forming a hasty resolve, Barbara besought\nhim if it were possible to take her with him to his home. Life in her own\nhouse had become unendurable. If a nurse was wanted for this child, no\nmatter to whom it might belong, let him give her the place. She would\ndevote herself to the boy day and night, more faithfully than any mother,\nand ask no wages for it, only she would and must go to Spain.\n\nMassi had listened to her rapid words in warm; nay, he was thoroughly\nstartled. The fire that flashed from Barbara's blue eyes, the anguish\nwhich her quivering features expressed, suggested the thought that she\nhad lost her reason, and with sympathizing kindness he entreated her to\nthink of his friend her husband, and her splendid boys at home. But when\nshe persisted that she must go to Spain, he remembered that a bond of\nlove had once united her to his friend Wolf Hartschwert, and in\nbewilderment he asked if it was the knight who attracted her there.\n\n\"If you think so, yes,\" she exclaimed. \"Only I must go to Spain, I must\ngo to Spain!\"\n\nAgain Massi was seized with the conviction that he was dealing with a\nmadwoman, and as the procession started he only held out his hand to her\nonce more, earnestly entreated her to calm herself, sent his remembrances\nto her husband and children, and then swung himself into the saddle.\n\nBarbara remained standing by the side of the road as if turned to stone,\ngazing after the travellers until the dust which they raised concealed\nthem from her gaze. Then she shook her head and slowly returned to\nBrussels.\n\nPyramus would come home at noon. Lamperi and the maid might provide the\nmeal and attend to the rest of the household affairs. It was far past\ntwelve, and it would still be a long time before she went home, for she\nmust, yes, must go up to the palace park and to the Dubois house to\ninquire where her soul must seek her child in future.\n\nHer feet could scarcely support her when she entered the dwelling.\n\nStartled at her appearance, Frau Traut compelled the exhausted woman to\nsit down. How dishevelled, nay, wild, Barbara, who was usually so well\ndressed, looked! But she, too, that day did not present her usual dainty\nappearance, and her eyes and face were reddened by weeping. Barbara\ninstantly noticed this, and it confirmed her conjecture. This woman, too,\nwas bewailing the child which the cruel despot had torn from her.\n\n\"He is on the way to Spain!\" she cried to the other. \"There is nothing to\nconceal here.\"\n\nFrau Traut started, and vehemently forbade Barbara to say even one word\nmore about the boy if she did not wish her to show her the door and close\nit against her forever.\n\nBut this was too much for the haughty mother of the Emperor's son. The\nterrible agitation of her soul forced an utterance, and in wild rebellion\nshe swore to the terrified woman that she would burden herself with the\nsin of perjury and break the silence to which she had bound herself if\nshe did not confess to her where Massi was taking her boy. She would\nneither seek him nor strive to get possession of him, but if she could\nnot imagine where and with what people he was living, she would die of\nlonging. She would have allowed herself to be abused and trodden under\nfoot in silence, but she would not suffer herself to be deprived of the\nlast remnant of her maternal rights.\n\nHere Adrian himself entered the room; but Barbara was by no means calmed\nby his appearance, and with a fresh outburst of wrath shrieked to his\nface that he might choose whether he would confide to her, the mother,\nwhere his master was taking the child or see her rush from here to the\nmarket place and call out to the people what she had promised, for the\nboy's sake, to hold secret.\n\nThe valet saw that she would keep her word and, to prevent greater\nmischief, he informed her that the violinist Massi was commissioned to\ntake her son to Spain to rear him in his wife's native place until his\nMajesty should alter his plans concerning him.\n\nThis news produced a great change in the tortured mother. With\naffectionate, repentant courtesy, she thanked the Dubois couple and, when\nFrau Traut saw that she was trying to rearrange her hair and dress, she\nhelped her, and in doing so one woman confessed to the other what she had\nlost in the child.\n\nAdrian's yielding had pleased Barbara. Besides, during the years of her\nintercourse with Massi she had heard many things about his\nresidence--nay, every member of his household--and therefore she could\nnow form a picture of his future life.\n\nSo she had grown quieter, though by no means perfectly calm.\n\nHer husband, who must have already returned from his journey, and had not\nfound her at home, would scarcely receive her pleasantly, but she cared\nlittle for that if only he had not been anxious about her, and in his joy\nat seeing her again did not clasp her tenderly in his arms. That would\nhave been unbearable to-day. She would have liked it best if Massi would\nreally have taken her with him as her child's nurse to Leganes, his\nresidence. Thereby she would have reached the place where she thought she\nbelonged--by the side of the child, in whom she beheld everything that\nstill rendered her life worth living.\n\nNevertheless, on her way home she thought with maternal anxiety of her\ntwo boys; but the nearer she approached the unassuming quarter of the\ncity where she lived the more vividly she felt that she did not belong\nthere, but in the part of Brussels whence she came.\n\nHer own home was far more richly and prettily furnished than her old one\nin Red Cock Street, but it did not yet satisfy her desires, and she did\nnot feel content in it. To-day a slight feeling of aversion even came\nover her as she thought of it.\n\nPerhaps the best plan would have been for her to put an end to this\nmisery, and, instead of returning, make a pilgrimage to Compostella in\nSpain, and while doing so try to find her John in Leganes. But even while\nyielding to these thoughts Barbara felt how sinful they were. Did not her\nlittle house look attractive and pretty? It was certainly the prettiest\nand neatest in the neighbourhood, and as she drew nearer pleasure at the\nthought of seeing her children again awoke. An unkind reception from her\nhusband would have been painful, after all.\n\nBut she was to receive no greeting at all from him. Pyramus had been\ndetained on the way. Barbara felt this as a friendly dispensation of\nProvidence. But something else spoiled her return home. Conrad, her\noldest boy, two-year-old Conrad, who was already walking about, beginning\nto prattle prettily, and who could show the affection of his little heart\nwith such coaxing tenderness, came toward her crying, and when she took\nhim up rested his little burning head against her cheek.\n\nThe little fellow's forehead and throat were aching.\n\nSome illness was coming on.\n\nThe child himself asked to be put in his little bed, the physician was\nsummoned, and the next morning the scarlet fever broke out.\n\nWhen the father returned, the youngest chill had also been attacked by\nthe same fell disease, and now a time came when Barbara, during many an\nanxious hour of the night, forgot that in distant Spain she possessed\nanother child for whose sake she had been ready to rob these two dear\nlittle creatures, who so greatly needed her, of their mother. This\npurpose weighed upon her conscience like the heaviest of sins while she\nwas fighting against Death, which seemed to be already stretching his\nhand toward the oldest boy.\n\nWhen one evening the physician expressed the fear that the child would\nnot survive the approaching night, she prayed with passionate fervour for\nhis preservation, and meanwhile it seemed as though a secret voice cried:\n\"Vow to the gracious Virgin not to give the Emperor's son a higher place\nin your heart than the children of the man to whom a holy sacrament\nunites you! Then you will first make yourself worthy of the dear\nimperilled life in yonder little bed.\"\n\nThrice, four times, and oftener still, Barbara raised her hands to utter\nthis vow, but ere she did so she said to herself that never, never could\nshe wholly fulfil it, and, to save herself from a fresh sin, she did not\nmake it.\n\nBut with what anxiety she now gazed at the glowing face of the fevered\nboy whenever the warning voice again rose!\n\nAt midnight the little sufferer's eyes seemed to her to shine with a\nglassy look, and when, pleading for help, he raised them to her, her\nheart melted, and in fervent, silent prayer she cried to the Queen of\nHeaven, \"Spare me this child, make it well, and I will not think of the\nEmperor's son more frequently nor, if I can compass it, with warmer love\nthan this clear creature and his little brother in the cradle.\"\n\nScarcely had these words died on her lips than she again felt that she\nhad promised more than she had the power to perform. Yet she repeated the\nvow several times.\n\nDuring the whole terrible night her husband stood beside her, obeying\nevery sign, eagerly and skilfully helping in many ways; and when in the\nmorning the doctor appeared she was firmly convinced that her vow had\nsaved the sick boy's life. The crisis was over.\n\nHenceforth, whenever the yearning for the distant John seized upon her\nwith special power, she thought of that night, and loaded the little sons\nnear her with tokens of the tenderest love.\n\nOn that morning of commencing convalescence her husband's grateful kiss\npleased her.\n\nTrue, during the time that followed, Pyramus succeeded no better than\nbefore in warming his wife's cold heart, but Barbara omitted many things\nwhich had formerly clouded his happiness.\n\nThe Emperor Charles had again gone to foreign countries, and therefore\nfestivals and shows no longer attracted her. She rarely allowed herself a\nvisit to Frau Dubois, but, above all, she talked with her boys and about\nthem like every other mother. It even seemed to Pyramus as though her old\naffection for the Emperor Charles was wholly dead; for when, in November\nof the following year, agitated to the very depths of his being, he\nbrought her the tidings that the Emperor had been surprised and almost\ncaptured at Innsbruck by Duke Maurice of Saxony, who owed him the\nElector's hat, and had only escaped the misfortune by a hurried flight to\nCarinthia, he merely saw a smile, which he did not know how to interpret,\non her lips. But little as Barbara said about this event, her mind was\noften occupied with it.\n\nIn the first place, it recalled to her memory the dance under the lindens\nat Prebrunn.\n\nDid it not seem as if her ardent royal partner of those days had become\nher avenger?\n\nYet it grieved her that the man whose greatness and power it had grown a\nnecessity for her to admire had suffered so deep a humiliation and, as at\nthe time of the May festival under the Ratisbon lindens, the sympathy of\nher heart belonged to him to whom she had apparently preferred the\ntreacherous Saxon duke.\n\nThe treaty of Passau, which soon followed his flight, was to impose upon\nthe monarch things scarcely less hard to bear; for it compelled him to\nallow the Protestants in Germany the free exercise of their religion, and\nto release his prisoners, the Elector John Frederick of Saxony and the\nLandgrave Philip of Hesse.\n\nWhatever befell the sovereign she brought into connection with herself.\nCharles's motto had now become unattainable for him, as since her loss of\nvoice it had been for her. Her heart bled unseen, and his misfortune\ninflicted new wounds upon it. How he, toward whom the whole world looked,\nand whose sensitive soul endured with so much difficulty the slightest\ntransgression of his will and his inclination, would recover from the\ndestruction of the most earnest, nay, the most sacred aspirations of a\nwhole life, was utterly incomprehensible to her. To restore the unity of\nreligion had been as warm a desire of his heart as the cultivation of\nsinging had been cherished by hers, and the treaty of Passau ceded to the\nmillions of German Protestants the right to remain separated from the\nCatholic Church. This must utterly cloud, darken, poison his already\njoyless existence. Spite of the wrong he had done her, how gladly, had\nshe not been lost to art, she would now have tried upon him its\nelevating, consoling power!\n\nFrom her old confessor, her husband, and others she learned that Charles\nscarcely paid any further heed to the political affairs of the German\nnation, which had once been so important to him; and with intense\nindignation she heard the fellow-countrymen whom her husband brought to\nthe house declare that, in her German native land, Charles was now as\nbitterly hated as he had formerly been loved and reverenced.\n\nThe imperial crown would lapse to his brother; Ferdinand's son,\nMaximilian, now Charles's son-in-law, was destined to succeed his father,\nwhile the Infant Philip must in future be content with the sovereignty of\nSpain, the Netherlands, Charles's Italian possessions, and the New World.\n\nFor years Barbara had believed that she hated him, but now, when the\nbitterest envy could have desired nothing more cruel, with all the warmth\nof her passionate heart she made his suffering her own, and it filled her\nwith shame and resentment against herself that she, too, had more than\nonce desired to see her own downfall revenged on him.\n\nHer soul was again drawn toward the sorely punished man more strongly\nthan she would have deemed possible a short time before and, after his\nreturn to Brussels, she gazed with an aching heart at the ashen-gray face\nof the sufferer, marked by lines of deep sorrow.\n\nNow he really did resemble a broken old man. Barbara rarely mingled with\nthe people, but she sometimes went with her husband and several\nacquaintances outside the gate, or heard from the few intimate friends\nwhom she had made, the neighbours, and the peddlers who came to her\nhouse, with what cruel harshness the heretics were treated.\n\nWhen the monarch, it was often said, was no longer the Charles to whom\nthe provinces owed great benefits and who had won many hearts, but his\nSpanish son, Philip, the chains would be broken, and this shameful\nbloodshed would be stopped; but her husband declared such predictions\nidle boasting, and Barbara willingly believed him because she wished that\nhe might be right.\n\nIn the officer's eyes all heretics deserved death, and he agreed with\nBarbara that the Emperor Charles's wisdom took the right course in all\ncases.\n\nHis son Philip was obedient to his father, and would certainly continue\nto wield the sceptre according to his wishes.\n\nThe breath of liberty, which was beginning to stir faintly in the\nprovinces through which he so often travelled, could not escape Pyramus's\nnotice, but he saw in it only the mutinous efforts of shameless rebels\nand misguided men, who deserved punishment. The quiet seclusion in which\nBarbara lived rendered it easy to win her over to her husband's view of\nthis noble movement; besides, it was directed against the unhappy man\nwhom she would willingly have seen spared any fresh anxiety, and who had\nproved thousands of times how much he preferred the Netherlands to any\nother of his numerous kingdoms.\n\nHitherto Barbara had troubled herself very little about political\naffairs, and her interest in them died completely when a visitor called\nwho threw them, as well as everything else, wholly into the shade.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nWolf Hartschwert had come to Brussels and sought Barbara.\n\nHer husband was attending to the duties of his office in the Rhine\ncountry when she received her former lover. Had Pyramus been present, he\nmight perhaps have considered the knight a less dangerous opponent than\nseven years before, for a great change had taken place in his outer man.\nThe boyish appearance which at that time still clung to him had vanished\nand, by constant intercourse with the Castilian nobility, he had acquired\na manly, self-assured bearing perfectly in harmony with his age and\nbirth.\n\nAs he sat opposite to Barbara for the first time, she could not avert her\neyes from him and, with both his hands clasped in hers, she let him tell\nher of his journey to Brussels and his efforts to find her in the great\ncity. Meanwhile she scarcely heeded the purport of his words; it was\nenough to feel the influence exerted by the tone of his voice, and to be\nreminded by his features and his every gesture of something once dear to\nher.\n\nHe appeared like the living embodiment of the first beautiful days of her\nyouth, and her whole soul was full of gratitude that he had sought her;\nwhile he, too, had the same experience, though his former passion had\nlong since changed into a totally different feeling. He thought her\nbeautiful, but her permitting their hands to remain clasped so long now\nagitated him no more than if she had been a dear, long-absent sister.\n\nWhen Barbara was told who awaited her in the sitting roam and, with\nflushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, clad in a light morning gown which was\nvery becoming to her, had hastened to greet him, his heart had indeed\nthrobbed faster, and it seemed as though an unexpected Easter morning\nawaited the old buried love; but she had scarcely uttered his name and\nexchanged a few words of greeting in a voice which, though no longer\nhoarse, still lacked melody, than the flood of newly awakened emotions\nswiftly ebbed again.\n\nShe was still only half the Wawerl of former days, whose musical voice\nhad helped to make her the queen of his heart. So he had soon regained\nthe calmness which, in Spain and on the journey here, he had expected to\ntest at their meeting. Even the last trace of a deeper emotion passed\naway when she told him of her husband, her children, and her gray-haired\nfather in Ratisbon, for the hasty, almost reluctant manner with which\nthis was done perplexed and displeased him. True, he could not know that\nfrom the first moment of their meeting her one desire had been to obtain\nnews of her stolen son. Everything else appeared trivial in comparison.\nAnd what constraint she was forced to impose upon herself when, not\nhearing her cautious introductory question, he told her about\nVillagarcia, his peerless mistress, Doha Magdalena de Ulloa, and his\nmusical success! Not until he said that during the winter he would be\noccupied in training the boy choir at Valladolid did she approach her\ngoal by inquiring about the welfare of the violinist Massi.\n\nBoth he and his family were in excellent health, Wolf replied. Rest in\nhis little house at Leganes seemed to have fairly rejuvenated him.\n\nNow Barbara herself mentioned the boy whom Massi had taken to Spain in\nthe train of the Infant Don Philip.\n\nHow this affected Wolf!\n\nHe started, not only in surprise, but in actual alarm, and eagerly\ndemanded to know who had spoken to her about this child in connection\nwith the violinist.\n\nBarbara now said truthfully that she had seen Massi with her own eyes in\nthe Infant's train. So beautiful a boy is not easily forgotten, and she\nwould be glad to hear news of him.\n\nWolf, however, seemed reluctant to talk of this child. True, he hastily\nremarked, he sometimes visited him at the request of his gracious\nmistress, but he had no more knowledge of his real origin than she or\nDona Magdalena de Ulloa. The latter supposed the boy to be her husband's\nchild, and in her generosity therefore interested herself doubly in the\nforsaken boy, though only at a distance and through his mediation; for\nhis own part, he could never believe the fair-haired, pink-and-white\nGeronimo to be a son of the dark-skinned, black-eyed Don Luis. True, the\nstony silence which the major-domo maintained toward all questions\nconcerning the lad would neither permit him to soothe his wife nor\nconfirm her fear. At any rate, Geronimo must be the son of some great\nnoble. This was perfectly apparent from his bearing, the symmetry of his\nlimbs, his frank, imperious nature--nay, from every movement of this\nremarkable child.\n\nAt this assurance Barbara's soul glowed with proud maternal joy. Her blue\neyes sparkled with a brighter light, and the sunny, radiant glance with\nwhich she thanked Wolf for his information exerted an unexpected\ninfluence upon him, for he shrank back as though the curtain which\nconcealed a rare marvel had been lifted and, drawing a long breath, gazed\ninto her beautiful, joyous face.\n\nIt seemed as if the luminous reflection of the proud, noble, and pure\ndelight which shone upon him from her eyes had beamed in little\nGeronimo's a few weeks before when he rushed up to him to show his\nhunting spoils, a fitchet and several birds which he had killed with his\npretty little cross-bow, a gift from Dona Magdalena. And Barbara's wavy\ngolden hair, the little dimple in her cheek! Geronimo must be her child;\nthis wonderful resemblance could not deceive.\n\n\"Barbara,\" he cried, pressing his hand to his brow with deep emotion,\n\"Geronimo is--gracious Virgin!--the handsome, proud, deserted boy may\nbe----\"\n\nBut an imperious gesture from the young wife closed his lips; Frau\nLamperi had just led her two boys, beautifully dressed as they always\nwere when any distinguished visitor called upon their mother, into the\nroom. The expression of radiant happiness which had just illumined her\nfeatures vanished at the sight of the little ones, and she commanded the\nchildren to be taken away at once.\n\nShe looked so stern and resolute that her faithful maid lacked courage to\nmake any sign of recognising the knight, whom she had known while she was\nin the regent's service.\n\nWhen the door had closed behind the group, Barbara again turned to her\nfriend, and in a low tone asked, \"And suppose that you saw aright, and\nGeronimo were really my child?\"\n\n\"Then--then,\" Wolf faltered in bewilderment, \"then Don Luis would--But\nsurely it can not be! Then, after all, Quijada would be--\"\n\nHere a low laugh from Barbara broke the silence, and with dilated eyes he\nlearned who Geronimo's parents were.\n\nThen the knight listened breathlessly to the young mother's account of\nthe robbery of her child, and how, in spite of her own boys and the vow\nwhich she had made the Dubois couple not to follow the Emperor's son, she\nlived only in and through him.\n\n\"The Emperor Charles!\" cried Wolf, as if he now understood for the first\ntime what he might so easily have guessed if the fair-haired boy had not\ngrown up amid such extremely plain surroundings. The belief that Geronimo\nowed his life to Quijada had been inspired by Massi himself.\n\nBut while the knight was striving to accustom himself to this wholly\nnovel circle of ideas, Barbara, with passionate impetuosity, clasped his\nright hand and placed it on the crucifix which hung on her rosary.\n\nThen she commanded her astonished friend to swear to guard this secret,\nwhich was not hers alone, from every living being.\n\nWolf yielded without resistance to her passionate entreaties, but\nscarcely had he lowered the hand uplifted to take the oath than he urged\nher at least to grant him permission to restore Dona Magdalena's peace of\nmind; but Barbara waved her hand with resolute denial, hastily\nexclaiming: \"No, no, no! Don Luis was the tool in every blow which\nCharles, his master, dealt at my happiness and peace. Let the woman who\nis dear to him, and who is already winning by her gifts the child's love,\nwhich belongs to me, and to me alone, now feel how the heart of one who\nis deceived can ache.\"\n\nHere, deeply wounded, Wolf burst into a complaint of the harshness and\ninjustice of such vengeance; but Barbara insisted so defiantly upon her\nwill that he urged her no further, and seized his hat to retire.\n\nDeep resentment had taken possession of him. This misguided woman,\nembittered by misfortune, possessed the power of rendering the greatest\nbenefit to one infinitely her superior in nobility of soul, and with\ncruel defiance she refused it.\n\nHis whole heart was full of gratitude and love for Dona Magdalena, who by\nher unvarying kindness and elevating example had healed his wounded soul,\nand no ignoble wish had sullied this great and deep affection. Although\nfor years he had devoted to her all the ability and good will which he\npossessed, he still felt deeply in her debt and, now that the first\nopportunity of rendering her a great service presented itself, he was\ndeprived of the possibility of doing it by the woman who had already\ndestroyed the happiness of his youth.\n\nSo bitter was the resentment which filled his soul that he could not\nbring himself to seek her on the following day; but she awaited him with\nthe sorrowful fear that she had saddened the return of her best and\ntruest friend. Besides, she was now beginning to be tortured by the\nconsciousness of having broken or badly fulfilled the vow by which she\nhad won from the Holy Virgin the life of her sick Conrad. Why had she\nsent her boys away the day before, instead of showing them to the friend\nof her youth with maternal joy? because her heart had been full of the\nimage of the other, whose rare beauty and patrician bearing Wolf had so\nenthusiastically described. True, her pair of little boys would not have\nborne comparison with the Emperor's son, yet they were both good,\nwell-formed children, and clung to her with filial affection. Why could\nshe not even now, when Heaven itself forced her to be content, free\nherself from the fatal imperial \"More, farther,\" which, both for the\nmonarch and for her, had lost its power to command and to promise?\n\nWhen, on the evening after Wolf's visit, she bent over the children\nsleeping in their little bed, she felt as a nurse may who comes from a\npatient who has succumbed to a contagious disease and now fears\ncommunicating it to her new charge. Suppose that the gracious intercessor\nshould punish her broken vow by raising her hand against the children\nsleeping there? This dread seized the guilty mother with irresistible\npower, and she wondered that the cheeks of the little sleepers were not\nalready glowing with fever.\n\nShe threw herself penitently on her knees before the priedieu, and the\nfirst atonement to be made for the broken vow was apparent. She must\nallow Wolf to restore peace to Dona Magdalena's troubled mind. This was\nnot easy, for she had cherished her resentment against this woman's\nhusband, through whom she had experienced bitter suffering, for many\nyears. His much-lauded wife herself was a stranger to her, yet she could\nnot think of her except with secret dislike; it seemed as if a woman who\nbore the separation from the man she loved so patiently, and yet won all\nhearts, must go through life--unless she was a hypocrite--with cold fish\nblood.\n\nBesides----\n\nWhat right had this lady to the boy to whom Barbara gave birth, whose\nlove would now be hers had it not been wrested from her? What was denied\nto her would be lavished upon this favoured woman, and when she bestowed\ngifts upon the glorious child for whom every pulse of her being longed,\nand repaid his love with love, it was regarded as a fresh proof of her\nnoble kindness of heart. To withhold from this woman something which\nwould give her fresh happiness and relieve her of sorrow might have\nafforded her a certain satisfaction. To bless those who curse and\ndespitefully use us was certainly the hardest command; but on the\npriedieu she vowed to the Virgin to fulfil it, and in a calmer mood than\nbefore she bent over the boys to kiss them.\n\nThe next day glided by in painful anxiety, for Wolf did not return. The\nfollowing morning and afternoon also passed without bringing him. Not\nuntil the rays of the setting sun were forcing their way through the\npinks and rose bushes with which Pyramus kept her window adorned\nthroughout the year, because she loved flowers, and the vesper bells were\nchiming, did her friend return.\n\nThis time she had dressed her boys with her own hands, and when, through\nthe door which separated her from the entry, she heard Wolf greet them\nwith merry words, her heart grew lighter, and the swift thanksgiving\nwhich she uttered blended with the dying notes of the bells.\n\nLeading Conrad by the hand, and carrying the three-year-old youngest boy\nin his arms, Wolf entered the room.\n\nThe child of a former love easily wins its way to the heart of the man\nwho has been obliged to resign her. Wolf's eyes showed that he was\npleased with Barbara's merry lads, and she thanked him for it by the\nwarmest reception.\n\nNot until after he had said many a pleasant word to her about the little\nboys, and jested with them in the manner of one who loves children, did\nhe resume his grave manner and confess that he could not make up his mind\nto leave Barbara without a farewell. He was glad to find her in the\npossession of such treasures, but his time was limited, and he must,\nunfortunately, content himself with this last brief meeting.\n\nWhile speaking, he rose to leave her; but she stopped him, saying in a\nlow tone: \"Surely you know me, Wolf, and are aware that I do not always\npersist in the resolves to which my hasty temper urges me. It shall not\nbe my fault if the peace of your Dona Magdalena's soul remains clouded\nlonger, and so I release you from your vow so far as she is concerned.\"\n\nThen, for the first time since their meeting, the familiar, pleasant\n\"Wawerl\" greeted her, and with tearful eyes she clasped his outstretched\nhands.\n\nWolf had just told her that his time was short; but now he willingly\nallowed himself to be persuaded to put down his sword and hat, and when\nFrau Lamperi brought in some refreshments, he recognised her, and asked\nher several pleasant questions.\n\nIt seemed as though Barbara's change of mood had overthrown the barrier\nwhich her stern refusal had raised between them. Calm and cheerful as in\nformer days he sat before her, listening while, in obedience to his\ninvitation, she told him, with many a palliation and evasion, about her\nmarried life and the children. She made her story short, in order at last\nto hear some further particulars concerning the welfare of her distant\nson.\n\nWhat Wolf related of the outward appearance of her John, to whose new\nname, Geronimo, she gradually became accustomed, Barbara could complete\nfrom her vivid recollection of this rare child. He had remained strong\nand healthy, and the violinist Massi, his good wife, and their daughter\nloved the little fellow and cared for him as if he were their own son and\nbrother.\n\nThe musician, it is true, lived plainly enough, but there was no want of\nanything in the modest country house with the gay little flower garden.\nNor did the boy lack playmates, though they were only the children of the\nfarmers and townspeople of Leganes. Clad but little better than they, he\nshared their merry, often rough games. Geronimo called the violinist and\nhis wife father and mother.\n\nThen Barbara desired a more minute description of his dress, and when\nWolf, laughing, confessed that he wore a cap only when he went to church,\nand on hot summer days he had even met him barefoot, she clasped her\nhands in astonishment and dismay. Not until her friend assured her that\namong the thin, dark-haired Spaniards, with their close-cropped heads and\nflashing black eyes, he, with his fluttering golden curls and free,\ngraceful movements, looked like a white swan among dark-plumaged ducks,\ndid she raise her head with a contented expression, and the sunny glance\npeculiar to her again reminded her friend of the Emperor's son.\n\nHis lofty brow, Wolf said, he had inherited from his father, and his mind\nwas certainly bright; but what could be predicted with any certainty\nconcerning the intellectual powers of a boy scarcely seven years old? The\npastor Bautista Bela was training him to piety. The sacristan Francisco\nFernandez ought to have begun to teach him to read a year ago; but until\nnow Geronimo had always run away, and when he, Wolf, asked the worthy old\nman, at Dona Magdalena's request, whether he would undertake to instruct\nhim in the rudiments of Latin, as well as in reading and writing, he\nshook his head doubtfully.\n\nHere a smile hovered around the speaker's lips, and, as if some amusing\nrecollection rose in his mind, he went on gaily: \"He's a queer old\nfellow, and when I repeated my question, he put his finger against his\nnose, saying: 'Whoever supposes I could teach a young romper like that\nanything but keeping quiet, is mistaken. Why? Because I know nothing\nmyself.' Then the old man reflected, and added, 'But--I shall not even\nsucceed in keeping this one quiet, because he is so much swifter than I.\"\n\n\"And is the Emperor Charles satisfied with such a teacher for his son?\"\nasked Barbara indignantly.\n\n\"Massi had described the sacristan to Don Luis as a learned man,\" replied\nWolf. \"But I have now told his Majesty of a better one.\"\n\n\"Then you have talked to the Emperor?\" asked Barbara, blushing.\n\nHer friend nodded assent, and said mournfully: \"My heart still aches when\nI recall the meeting. O Wawerl! what a man he was when, like a fool, I\npersuaded him in Ratisbon to hear you sing, and how he looked yesterday!\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" she here interrupted earnestly, raising her hands\nbeseechingly.\n\n\"It can scarcely be described,\" Wolf answered, as if under the spell of a\npainful memory. \"He could hardly hold himself up, even in the arm-chair\nin which he sat. The lower part of his face seems withered, and the\nupper-even the beautiful lofty brow--is furrowed by deep wrinkles. At\nevery third word his breath fails. One of his diseases, Dr. Mathys says,\nwould be enough to kill any other man, and he has more than there are\nfingers on the hand. Besides, even now he will not take advice, but eats\nand drinks whatever suits his taste.\"\n\nBarbara shook her head angrily; but Wolf, noticing it, said: \"He is the\nsovereign, and who would venture to withhold anything on which his will\nis set? But his desires are shrivelling like his face and his body.\"\n\n\"Is the man of the 'More, farther,' also learning to be content?\" asked\nBarbara anxiously. Wolf rose, answering firmly: \"No, certainly not! His\neyes still sparkle as brightly in his haggard face as if he had by no\nmeans given up the old motto. True, Don Luis declares that rest is the\none thing for which he longs, and you will see that he knows how to\nobtain it; but what he means by it only contains fresh conflicts and\nstruggles. His 'Plus ultra' had rendered him the greatest of living men;\nnow he desires to become the least of the least, because the Lord\npromises to make the last the first. I was received by the regent like a\nfriend. She confided to me that he often repeats the Saviour's words,\n'Go, sell all that thou halt, and follow me.' He is determined to cast\naside throne, sceptre, and purple, power and splendour, and Don Luis\nbelieves that he will know how to gratify this desire, like every other.\nWhat a resolution! But there are special motives concealed beneath it.\nNothing but death can bring repose to this restless spirit, and if he\nfinds the quiet for which he longs, what tasks he will set himself! Don\nPhilip promises, as an obedient son, to continue to wield the sceptre\naccording to the policy of the father who intrusts it to him.\"\n\n\"And then?\" asked Barbara eagerly.\n\n\"Then will begin the life in the imitation of Christ, which hovers before\nhim.\"\n\n\"Here in the Brabant palace?\" interposed Barbara incredulously. \"Here,\nwhere his neighbours, the brilliant nobles, enjoy life in noisy\nmagnificence; here, among the ambassadors, the thousand rumours from the\nNetherlands, Italy, and Spain; here, where the battle against the\nheretical and liberty-loving yearnings of the citizens never ceases--how\ncan he hope to find peace and composure here?\"\n\n\"He is far from it,\" Wolf eagerly interrupted. \"'Farewell till we meet\nagain at no distant day upon Spanish soil!' were the parting words of my\ngracious mistress. Will you promise secrecy?\"\n\nBarbara held out her hand with a significant glance; but Wolf, in a lower\ntone, continued: \"He expects to find in Spain the peaceful spot for which\nhe longs. There he will commend himself to the mercy of God, and prepare\nfor the true life which death is to him. There he expects to be free from\ntime-killing business, and to grant his mind that which he has long\ndesired and a thousand duties forced him to withhold. There, in quiet\nleisure, he hopes to strive for knowledge and to penetrate deeply into\nall the new things which were discovered, invented, created, and improved\nduring his reign, and of which he was permitted to learn far too little\nthoroughly. He will endeavour to gain a better understanding of what\nstirs, fires, angers, and divides the theologians. He desires to pursue\nin detail the vast new discoveries of the astronomers, which even amid\nthe pressure of duties he had explained to him. His inquisitive mind\nseeks to know the new discoveries of navigation, the distant countries\nwhich it brought to view. He hopes to search into the plans and works of\nthe architects of fortifications and makers of maps and, by no means\nleast, he is anxious to become thoroughly familiar with the inventions of\nmechanicians, which have so long aroused his interest.\"\n\n\"He liked to talk to me about these things, and the power of the human\nintellect, which now shows the true course of the sun and stars,\" Barbara\ninterrupted with eager assent. \"He often showed me the ingenious\nwheelwork of his Nuremberg clocks. Once--I still hear the words--he\ncompared the most delicate with the thousandfold more sublime works of\nGod, the vast, ceaseless machinery of the universe, where there is no\nmisplaced spring, no inaccurately adjusted cog in the wheels. Oh, that\nglorious intellect! What hours were those when he condescended to point\nout to a poor girl like me the eternal chronometers above our heads,\nrepeat their names, and show the connection between the planets and the\ncourse of earthly events and human lives! O Wolf! how glorious it was!\nHow my modest mind increased in strength! And when I listened\nbreathlessly, and he saw how I bowed in mute admiration before his\ngreatness and called me his dear child, his attentive pupil, and pressed\nhis lips to my burning brow, can I ever forget that?\"\n\nShe sobbed aloud as she spoke and, overwhelmed by the grief which\nmastered her, covered her face with her hands.\n\nWolf said nothing. Another had robbed him of the woman he loved, and the\ngreatest anguish of his life was not yet wholly conquered; but in this\nhour he felt that he had no right to be angry with Barbara, for it was to\nthe greatest of great men that he had been forced to yield. He need not\nfeel it a disgrace to have succumbed to him.\n\n\"Wawerl!\" he again exclaimed, \"in spite of the pleasant peace which I\nhave found, I could envy you; for once, at least, the sun of love shone\nwith full radiance into your soul. Your experience proves how bright and\nlong is the afterglow if it is only real. This light, I believe, can\nnever be extinguished, no matter how dense is the gloom which shadows\nlife's pathway.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, Wolf,\" she replied dully, with a sorrowful shake of the\nhead. \"The gloomy night of which you speak has come, and it will last on\nand on with unvarying darkness, from year to year, perhaps until the end.\nWhat you call light is the remembrance of a single brief month of May.\nDoes it possess the power to render me happy? No, my friend, a thousand\ntimes no! It only saves me from despair. But, in spite of\neverything\"--and here her eyes sparkled radiantly--\"in spite of all this,\nI would not change places with any one on earth; for, however dark clouds\nmay conceal the sun, when in quiet hours it once breaks through them,\nWolf, how brilliant everything grows around me!\"\n\nWhile speaking, she passed her hand across her brow and, as though seized\nwith shame for her frank confession, exclaimed: \"But we will let this\nsubject drop. Only you must know one thing more. I shall never be wholly\nimpoverished. What the past gave me was too rich and great; what I expect\nfrom the future is too precious for that. It is growing up in distant\nSpain and, if Heaven accepted the great sacrifice which I once made for\nthe boy whom you call Geronimo, if he receives what I besought for him at\nthat time and on every returning day, then, Wolf, I shall bear the burden\nof my woe like a light garland of rose leaves. Nay, more. Charles will\nregain his youth sooner than--be it in love or hate--he will ever forget\nme. This child guarantees that. It is and will always remain a bridge\nbetween us. He, too, can not forget the son, and if he does----\"\n\n\"No, Barbara, no,\" interrupted Wolf, carried away by her passionate\nwarmth. \"The Emperor Charles is constantly thinking of his fair-haired\nboy. No one has told me so; but if he seeks in Spain the rest for which\nhe longs, the thought of Geronimo--I am sure of that--is not the least\npowerful cause which draws him thither.\"\n\n\"Do you really think so?\" asked Barbara with feverish anxiety.\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered firmly. \"This very morning he commanded Don Luis to\ntake the child from Leganes to Villagarcia and commit the education of\nGeronimo to his wife, that he may find him what he expects and desires.\"\n\nHere he paused, and Barbara inquired uneasily, \"And did he say nothing of\nGeronimo's mother--of me?\"\n\nWolf shook his head with silent compassion, and then reluctantly\nadmitted: \"I ventured to mention you, but, with one of those looks which\nno one can resist--you know them--he ordered me to be silent.\"\n\nBarbara's cheeks flamed with resentment and shame, but she only said,\nsmiling bitterly: \"Grief is grief, and this new sorrow does not change\nthe old one. He knows best that I am something more than the poor\nofficer's wife in the Saint-Gory quarter; but I look down, with just\npride, on all the others who believe me to be nothing else. Now and\nalways, even long after I am dead, the world will be obliged to recognise\nthe claim which elevates me far above the throng: I am the mother of an\nEmperor's son!\"\n\nShe had uttered these words with uplifted head; but Wolf gazed in\nwondering admiration into the beautiful face, radiant with proud\nself-satisfaction.\n\nHe wished to leave her with this image before his soul, and therefore\nhurriedly extended his hand and said farewell, after promising to fulfil\nher entreaty never to come to Brussels without showing by a visit that he\nremembered her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nPyramus Kogel, on his return, saw nothing of the deep impression which\nWolf's visit had made upon Barbara. She merely mentioned it, and\ncarelessly said that the friend of her youth had been delighted with the\nchildren.\n\nThe news that reached her ears about what was happening in the world\nawakened her interest, it is true, but she took no trouble to ask for\ntidings. When, the following year, her husband informed her that the\nEmperor's only son was about to conclude a second marriage, with Mary\nTudor, of England, and Charles was to commit to Philip the sovereignty of\nthe Netherlands, Spain, Naples, and Milan, she received it as if she had\nalready known it.\n\nWhat she learned through the neighbours of the increasing number of\nexecutions of obdurate heretics she deemed the wise measures of a devout\nand conscientious government.\n\nTo the children Barbara was a careful mother. She rarely went to visit\nthe Dubois couple. Frau Traut either could not or was not allowed to tell\nher anything about her child, except that he was thriving under the\nmaternal care of Dona Magdalena, to whom he had been confided.\n\nThe next winter, during which Charles reached his fifty-fourth year, his\nhealth failed so noticeably that the physicians despaired of his\nrecovery. The Brabant palace was constantly besieged by people of all\nclasses inquiring about the condition of the still honoured and by many\ndeeply beloved monarch, and Barbara almost daily asked for news of him.\nShe usually entered the palace clad in black and closely veiled, for she\nhad many acquaintances among the attendants.\n\nAdrian was inaccessible, because his master could not spare him a single\nhour, but she saw his substitute, Ogier Bodart, who had served the\nEmperor in Ratisbon. From him she learned how the sufferer passed the\nnight, how the day promised, and whether the physician's opinion awakened\nhope or fear. He even told her that his Majesty was occupying himself\nwith his last will, the payment of his debts, the arrangement of the\nsuccession, and the choice of his burial place.\n\nAll this occupied Barbara's mind so deeply, and the long waiting to see\nBodart often robbed her of so much time, that her housewifely and\nmaternal duties suffered, yet her patient husband endured it a long while\nindulgently. But once, when he summoned up courage and cautiously blamed\nher, she quietly admitted that he was right, but added that she had never\nconcealed from him the tie which bound her to the Emperor Charles, and\nnow that Death was stretching his hand toward him, she must be permitted\nto obtain news of his welfare.\n\nThe strong man silenced his dissatisfaction, and placed no obstacles in\nher way. He was grateful for the maternal solicitude which she showed the\nchildren.\n\nHis kindly nature secretly approved of her spending a longer time in the\nCathedral of St. Gudule than usual, praying for the royal sufferer who\nwas so seriously ill. The man whom she could not forget was dying and,\nmoreover, was his sovereign.\n\nSpring at last brought an improvement in the monarch's health, and with\nit Barbara's return to her household duties.\n\nA great change took place in the Dubois home during the spring after\nCharles's convalescence. The exhausting care of the Emperor had made\nAdrian seriously ill and, in spite of the objections and bitter\ncomplaints of his beloved and honoured master and his own desire to\ncontinue in his service, he was forced to resign his office, which was\ncommitted to his assistant Bodart.\n\nOne day Barbara met Dr. Mathys at the ex-valet's sick-bed. The kindly\nleech was amazed at her youthful appearance, and also at the obstinacy of\nher throat ailment; but he encouraged her, for he had recently seen\nmarvellous effects produced by the old Roman baths at Ems, which were not\ndifficult to reach, and advised her to use them as soon as possible. She\nmust inform him of the result, if he was permitted to visit the\nNetherlands again.\n\nThen Barbara asked if he intended to leave the master whose life was\npreserved by his skill; but he only shook his big head, smiling, and said\nthat the Emperor and he belonged together, like the soul and the body,\nbut whether his Majesty would remain in Brabant much longer was an open\nquestion.\n\nBarbara now remembered Wolf's communication, and when the rumour spread\nthat the Emperor Charles was inclined to give up his rulership and commit\nthe sceptre and crown to his son Philip, she knew that this time also\nCharles would execute the plan which he had matured after years of\nconsideration.\n\nThrough her friend she knew the motives which urged him to renounce power\nand grandeur and retire to solitude; but to her it seemed certain that,\nabove all other reasons, longing for the fair, curly-headed boy, his son\nand hers, had induced him to take this great and admirable step.\n\nGradually her maternal heart attributed to her John alone the desire of\nthe world-weary earthly pilgrim to lay aside the purple and return to\nSpain.\n\nThough Barbara at this time rarely left her own fireside, her husband\nmight often have wished that she would return to the conduct of the\nprevious winter, for he perceived the torturing anxiety which was\nconsuming her.\n\nShe could gaze for hours into vacancy, absorbed in profound meditation\nand reveries, or play on the harp and lute, softly humming old songs to\nherself. If at such times Pyramus asked, lovingly and modestly, that he\nmight not expose himself to an angry rebuff, what was burdening her soul,\nhis wife gave evasive answers or told him about the physician's advice,\nand described how different the lives of both would be if she could\nregain the lost melody of her voice. But when he, who did not grudge the\nwoman he loved the very best of everything, joyfully offered from his\nsavings the sum necessary to send her and Frau Lamperi to Ems, in order,\nif possible, to commence the cure at once, she asserted that, for many\nreasons, she could not begin this summer the treatment which promised so\nmuch. True, the bare thought that if might once again be allotted to her\nto raise her heart in song filled her with the same blissful hope as\never; but if the report, which constantly grew more definite, did not\ndeceive, the Emperor's formal abdication was close at hand, and to attend\nthis great event seemed to her a duty of the heart, a necessity which she\ncould not avoid. In many a quiet hour she told herself that Charles, when\nhe had divested himself of all his honours and become a mere man like the\nrest of the world, would draw nearer to her boy, and through him to her.\nAs an ordinary mortal, he would be able to love, like every other father,\nthe child that attracted him to Spain. If in his life of meditation, far\nfrom the tumult of the world, the strife for knowledge should lead him to\nlook back into the past, and in doing so he again recalled the days to\nwhich he owed his greatest happiness, could he help remembering her and\nher singing?\n\nHow often she had heard that the knowledge of self was the highest goal\nof thought to the philosopher, and as such Charles would certainly retire\ninto seclusion, and, as surely as she desired to be saved, he had wronged\nher and must then perceive it. Probably there were thousands of more\nimportant things in which he had to bury himself, but the boy would\nremind him of her and the injury which he had done.\n\nNever had she more deeply admired the grandeur of her imperial lover, and\nwith entire confidence she believed that this stupendous act of\nrenunciation would mark the beginning of a new life for her and her\nchild.\n\nSeptember and the first half of October passed like a fevered dream.\n\nThe abdication would certainly take place,\n\nCharles had resolved to transfer all the crowns which adorned him to his\nson Philip, and retire to a Spanish monastery.\n\nBarbara also learned when and where the solemn ceremony was to take\nplace. Day after day she again mingled with the visitors to the palace,\nand on the twenty-first of October she saw the eleven Knights of the\nGolden Fleece, to whom he wished to restore the office of grand master,\nenter the palace chapel.\n\nHow magnificently these greatest of all dignitaries were attired! how all\nthat she saw of this rare event in the palace chapel reminded her of the\nsolemn ceremonial at the Trausnitzburg at Landshut, and her resolve to\nsurrender her child, that it might possess the same splendour and honours\nas its sister's husband!\n\nThe wishes cherished at that time were still unfulfilled; but the father\nwould soon meet the son again, and the greater affection this peerless\nboy aroused in Charles, the more surely he would know how to bestow on\nhim honours as high or higher than he gave the daughter of Johanna Van\nder Gheynst.\n\nFive days after the assembling of the Knights of the Golden Fleece, the\nsolemn ceremony of the abdication would take place in the great hall\nwhich joined the palace chapel.\n\nShe must obtain admittance to it. Her husband did what he could to aid\nher and soothe her excitement by the gratification of so ardent a wish,\nbut his efforts were vain.\n\nBarbara herself, however, did not remain idle, and tried her fortune with\nthose of high and low estate whom she had known in the past.\n\nShe could not trust to forcing her way in on the day of the ceremony of\nabdication, for every place in the limited space assigned to spectators\nhad been carefully allotted, and no one would be permitted to enter the\npalace without a pass. When, after many a futile errand, she had been\nrefused also by the lord chamberlain, she turned her steps to Baron\nMalfalconnet's palace.\n\nHe had just swung himself into the saddle, and Barbara found him greatly\nchanged. The handsome major-domo had grown gray, his bright face was\nwrinkled, and his smiling lips now wore a new, disagreeable, almost cruel\nexpression of mockery. He probably recognised his visitor at once, but\nthe meeting seemed scarcely to afford him pleasure. Nevertheless, he\nlistened to her.\n\nBut as soon as he heard what she desired, he straightened himself in the\nsaddle, and cried: \"When I wished to present you to his Majesty--do you\nremember?--at Ratisbon, you hastily wheeled your horse and vanished. Now,\nwhen you desire to bid farewell to our sovereign lord, I dutifully follow\nthe example you then set me.\"\n\nAs he spoke he put spurs to his horse and, kissing his hand to her,\ndashed away. Barbara, wounded and disappointed, gazed after the pitiless\nscoffer.\n\nShe had knocked in vain where she might hope for consideration; only the\nyoung man of middle height who, carrying a portfolio under his arm, now\napproached her and raised his black secretary's cap, had been omitted,\nthough he, too, was one of the old Ratisbon friends, and his position\nwith the Bishop of Arras gave him a certain influence.\n\nIt was the little Maltese choir boy, Hannibal Melas, who owed so much to\nher recommendation.\n\nHe asked sympathizingly what troubled her and, after Barbara had confided\nto him what she had hitherto vainly desired, he referred her unasked to\nhis omnipotent master, who was to enter King Philip's service, and\nproposed that she should come to his office early the next morning.\nThence he would try to take her to the minister, who had by no means\nforgotten her superb singing. His Eminence had mentioned her kindly very\nrecently in a conversation with the leech.\n\nThe following morning Barbara went to the great statesman's business\noffices. Hannibal was waiting for her.\n\nIt was on Saint Raphael's day, which had attracted his fellow-clerks to a\nfestival in the country. Granvelle had given the others leave of absence,\nbut wished to keep within call the industrious Maltese, on whose zeal he\ncould always rely.\n\nWithout stopping his diligent work at the writing-desk, the secretary\nbegged Barbara to wait a short time. He would soon finish the draught of\nthe new edict for which his Eminence and the Councillor Viglius were\nwaiting in the adjoining chamber. The pictures on the walls of the fourth\nroom were worth looking at.\n\nBarbara followed his advice, but she paused in the third room, for\nthrough the partly open door she heard Granvelle's familiar voice.\n\nCurious to see what changes time had wrought, she peered through the by\nno means narrow crack and overlooked the minister's spacious office,\nwhere he was now entirely alone with the Councillor Viglius.\n\nThe Bishop of Arras had scarcely altered since their last meeting, only\nhis appearance had become somewhat more stately, and his clever, handsome\nface was fuller.\n\nThe Councillor Viglius, whom Barbara looked directly in the face, did not\nexactly profit by the contrast with Granvelle, for the small figure of\nthe Frieslander barely reached to the chin of the distinguished native of\ntipper Burgundy, but his head presented a singular and remarkably vivid\ncolouring. The perfectly smooth hair and thick beard of this no longer\nyoung man were saffron yellow, and his plump face was still red and white\nas milk and blood. It was easy to perceive by his whole extremely\nstriking appearance that he was rightly numbered among the Emperor's\nshrewdest councillors. Barbara had heard marvellous tales of his\nlearning, and it was really magnificent in compass and far more important\nthan his keen but narrow mind. This time the loquacious man was allowing\nthe Bishop of Arras to speak, and Barbara listened to his words and the\ncouncillor's answers with eager attention.\n\nThey were talking about the approaching abdication, and who knew the\nEmperor Charles better than these far-seeing men, who were so near his\nperson?\n\nIf only she had not been obliged to believe this, for what she heard from\nthem showed in sombre lines what her heart had clothed with golden\nradiance.\n\nEverything Wolf had told her concerning the motives which induced Charles\nto devote himself for the remainder of his life to quiet contemplation\nseemed to her as credible as to the knight himself. But he had received\nwhat he knew from Queen Mary of Hungary, who interpreted her royal\nbrother's conduct like an affectionate sister, or thought it advisable to\nrepresent it in the most favourable light.\n\nIt had not occurred to the warm-hearted, straightforward Wolf to doubt\nthe royal lady's statement; but Barbara had regarded her friend's\nexplanation of the Emperor's wonderful act of renunciation as she would\nhave gazed at a citadel founded on a rock with towers rising to the\nclouds, and in imagination had followed to his solitude the world-weary\nphilosopher, the father yearning for the child he had missed so long. But\nhow pitilessly what she heard here overthrew the proud edifice! how\ncruelly it destroyed what she had deemed worthy of the greatest\nadmiration, what had rendered her happy and reanimated her wishes and her\nhopes!\n\nThe wise Granvelle foresaw how the world would judge his master's\nabdication, and described it to the Frieslander. It bore a fateful\nresemblance to the regent's interpretation, her friend's opinion, and her\nown, and the shrewd Viglius accompanied this narrative with so scornful a\nlaugh that it made her heart ache.\n\n\"This is what will be said,\" concluded the Bishop of Arras, summing up\nhis previous statements, \"of the wise scorner of the world upon the\nthrone, who cast aside sceptre and crown in order, as a pious recluse, to\nsecure the salvation of his soul and, like a second Diogenes, to listen\nto the wealth of his thoughts and investigate the nature of things.\"\n\n\"If only the pure spring from which the Greek dipped water in the hollow\nof his hand was not changed to a cellar full of fiery wine, his hermit\nfare to highly seasoned pasties, stuffed partridges, frozen fruit juices,\ntruffled pheasants, and such things! But everybody to his taste! The\nworld will be deceived. Unless you wish to blind yourself, your Eminence,\nyou will admit that I have seen correctly the most powerful motives for\nthis unequalled act.\"\n\nBarbara saw the bishop shake his head in dissent and, while she was\nlistening with strained ears to his explanation, Viglius, as if singing\nbass to Granvelle's tenor, repeated again and again at brief intervals,\nin a low tone, the one word, \"Debts,\" while his green eyes sparkled,\nsometimes as if asking assent, sometimes combatively.\n\nHe believed that the weight of financial cares was causing the Emperor\nCharles's abdication. Like a wise man, he said, he would place his own\nburden of debt upon his son's shoulders. His Majesty usually uttered\nexactly the opposite of his real opinions, and therefore, in the outline\nof his abdication speech, he twice emphasized how great a debt of\ngratitude Don Philip owed him for the Heritage which while still alive he\nbequeathed to him. True, besides the debts, crowns and kingdoms in plenty\npassed to Charles's successor; but the father, so long as he drew breath,\nwould not give up the decision of the most important questions of\ngovernment, and therefore this abdication, after all, was merely an\nexcellent means of divesting himself of burdensome obligations,\nembellished with a certain amount of humbug.\n\nThe Bishop of Arras made no weighty protest against this severe speech;\nnay, he even said, in a tone of assent, that the Emperor Charles's\ntireless intellect would continue to direct political events. Besides, he\ncould safely commit the execution of his conclusions and commands to his\nobedient and dutiful heir.\n\n\"The world,\" he added, \"will not fare badly by this arrangement; but you,\nViglius, can not forget the religious liberty which his Majesty promised\nto the Germans.\"\n\n\"Not until the end of my life!\" cried the Frieslander, his green eyes\nflashing angrily.\n\nGranvelle protested that this act of indulgence weighed heavily upon him\nalso; but at that time a refusal would have occasioned a new war, which,\naccording to human judgment, would have resulted in loss and the\nestablishment of heresy in the Netherlands. Maurice of Saxony, he\nreminded the councillor, did not fall until a year later, and then as a\nconqueror, on the battlefield.\n\nHis Majesty's abdication, he went on with calm deliberation, was,\nhowever, not exactly as Viglius supposed. The desire to rid himself of\ntroublesome debts had only hastened the Emperor's resolution. The\nprincipal motive for this momentous act he could state most positively to\nbe the increasing burden of his physical sufferings. To this was added\nthe feeling, usually found most frequently among gamblers, that the time\nto win or, in his Majesty's case, to succeed was past. Lastly, Charles\nreally did long for less disturbance from the regular course of business,\nthe reception of ambassadors, the granting of audiences.\n\n\"In short,\" he concluded, \"he wants to have an easier life, and, besides,\nif the despatches and orders leave him time for it, to occupy himself\nwith his favourite amusements--his clocks and pieces of mechanism.\nFinally, his sufferings remind him often enough of the approach of death,\nand he hopes by religious exercises to secure his place in the kingdom of\nheaven.\"\n\n\"So far as politics and the table give him leisure for it,\" interposed\nthe Frieslander. \"He doesn't seem inclined to make his penance too\nsevere. Quijada is now preparing the penitential cell, and it is neither\nin the burning Thebais nor in the arid sands of the desert, but in one of\nthe most delightful and charming places in Spain. May our sovereign find\nthere what he seeks! You are aware of the paternal joys which await him\nthrough the boy Geronimo?\"\n\n\"Where did you learn that?\" Granvelle interrupted in a startled tone, and\nBarbara held her breath and listened with twofold attention.\n\n\"From his Majesty himself,\" was the reply. \"He intended his son for the\nmonastery. He longs to see him again, because he is said to be developing\nmagnificently; but he wished to know whether it would not be safer to\nremove him from the world before his arrival, for, if necessary, he could\ngive up meeting him. If he should discover his father's identity, it\nmight easily fill him with vanity, and in Villagarcia he was learning to\nprize knightly achievements above the service of the Most High. It would\nnot do to leave him in the world; unpleasant things might come from it.\nAs King Philip's sole heir was the sickly Don Carlos----\"\n\n\"His son Geronimo might aspire to the crown,\" interrupted Granvelle. \"He\nexpressed the same doubts to me also. What I heard of the child induced\nme to plead that he might be allowed to grow up in the world\nuntrammelled. If any one understands how to defend himself against\nunauthorized demands, it is Don Philip.\"\n\n\"So I, too, think, and advised,\" replied Viglius. \"Poor boy! His father\nof late holds on to thalers more than anxiously and, if I am correctly\ninformed, the education of his son has hitherto cost his Majesty no more\nexpense than the maintenance of the mother. Wise economy, your Eminence!\nOr what shall it be called?\"\n\n\"As you choose,\" replied the bishop in an irritated tone. \"What do you\nknow about the boy's mother?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" replied the Frieslander, \"except what my friend Mathys told me\nlately. He said that before she lost her voice she was a perfect\nnightingale. She might recover it at Ems, and so the leech proposed to\nthe Emperor to give her a sum of money for this purpose.\"\n\n\"And his Majesty?\" asked Granvelle.\n\n\"Remained faithful to his habit of not sullying his reputation by\nextravagance,\" replied the Frieslander, laughing.\n\n\"Suffering, misfortune!\" sighed Granvelle. \"As a long period of rain\nproduces fungi in the woods, so this terrible pair calls to life one\npettiness after another in the rare man in whom once every trait of\ncharacter was great and glorious. I knew the boy's mother. Many things\nmight be said of her, among them good, nay, the best ones. As to the boy,\nhis Majesty informed Don Philip of his existence. It was in Augsburg. He\ndoes not seem at all suited for the monastic life, and therefore I shall\ncontinue to strive to preserve him from it.\"\n\n\"And if his Majesty decides otherwise?\"\n\n\"Then, of course--\" answered Granvelle, shrugging his shoulders. \"But the\ndraught must be composed, and there are more important matters for us to\ndiscuss.\"\n\nAs he spoke he rang the bell on the table at his side, and Hannibal\nobeyed his master's summons. In doing so he passed Barbara, who started\nas if bewildered when she heard him approach.\n\nHe went up to her in great surprise, but ere he could utter the first\nwords she clutched his arm, whispering: \"I am going, Hannibal. His\nEminence did not entirely forget me. If he can receive me, send word to\nmy house.\"\n\nScarcely able to control herself, Barbara set out on her way home. The\nwords she had heard had shaken the depths of her soul like an earthquake.\n\nThe news that Charles intended to confine in a monastery the boy whom she\nhad given up to him that he might bestow upon him whatever lay within his\nimperial power poisoned her joy in the future. How often this man lead\ninflicted bleeding wounds upon her heart! Now he trampled it under his\ncruel feet. Two convictions had lent her the strength not to despair: she\nfelt sure that his love for her could never have been extinguished had\nthe power of her art aided her to warm Charles's heart, and she was still\nmore positive that the father would raise to splendour and magnificence\nthe boy whom she had given him.\n\nAnd now?\n\nHe had refused the leech's request to help her regain the divine gift to\nwhich, according to his own confession, he owed the purest joys; and her\nstrong, merry child he, its own father, condemned to disappear and wither\nin the imprisonment of a cloister. This must not be, and on her way home\nshe formed plan after plan to prevent it.\n\nPyramus attributed her sometimes depressed, sometimes irritable manner to\nthe disappointment of her wish.\n\nWhat she had just learned and had had inflicted upon her filled her with\nhatred of life.\n\nHer two boys scarcely dared to approach their mother, who, unlike her\nusual self, harshly rebuffed them.\n\nAt twilight Hannibal Melas appeared, full of joyous excitement. Granvelle\nsent Barbara word that the doorkeeper Mangin would show her a good seat.\nHis Eminence desired to be remembered to her, and said that only those\nwho had been closely associated with his Majesty would be admitted to\nthis ceremony, and he knew that she ranked among the first of these.\n\nBarbara's features brightened and, as she saw how happy it made the\nMaltese to be the bearer of so pleasant a message, she forced herself to\ngive a joyous expression to her gratitude. In the evening, and during a\nsleepless night, she considered whether she should make use of the\ninvitation. What she had expected for herself and her child from\nCharles's abdication had been mere chimeras of the brain, and what could\nthis spectacle offer her? She would only behold with her eyes what she\nhad often enough imagined with the utmost distinctness--the great monarch\ndivested of his grandeur and all his dignities.\n\nBut Granvelle's message that she was one cf those who stood nearest to\nthe abdicating sovereign constantly echoed in her ears, and her absence\nfrom this ceremony would have seemed to her unnatural--nay, an offence\nagainst something necessary.\n\nHer husband was pleased with the great minister's kindness to his wife.\nHe had nothing to do in the palace, but he intended to look for the\nchildren, who had gone there before noon with Frau Lamperi, that they\nmight get the best possible view of the approach of the princes and\ndignitaries.\n\nBarbara herself was to use a litter. The ex-'garde-robiere' had helped\nher put on her gala attire, and Pyramus assured his wife that every one\nwould consider her the handsomest and most elegant lady in the galleries.\nShe knew that he was right, and listened with pleasure, deeply as\nresentment and disappointment burdened her soul.\n\nThen the knocker on the door rapped. The litter-bearers had probably\ncome. But no! The Flemish maid, who had opened the door, announced that a\nmessenger was waiting outside with a letter which he could deliver only\nto the master or the mistress.\n\nPyramus went into the entry, and his long absence was already making\nBarbara uneasy, when he returned with bowed head and, after many words of\npreparation, informed her that her father was very ill and, finally, that\napoplexy had put a swift and easy end to his life.\n\nThen a great and genuine grief seized upon her with all its power.\nEverything that the simple-hearted, lovable man, who had guarded her\nchild hood so tenderly and her girlhood with such solicitude and\ndevotion, had been to her, returned to her memory in all its vividness.\nIn him she had lost the last person whose right to judge her conduct she\nacknowledged, the only one whom she had good reason to be sure cared for\nher welfare as much as, nay, perhaps more than, his own.\n\nThe litter, Granvelle's message, the Emperor's abdication ceremony,\neverything that had just wounded, angered, and disturbed her, was\nforgotten.\n\nShe gently refused the consolation of her husband, who in the captain had\nlost a dear friend and sincerely mourned his death, and entreated him to\nleave her alone; but when her sons returned and joyously described the\nmagnificent spectacle on which they had feasted their eyes outside of the\npalace, she drew them toward her with special tenderness, and tried to\nmake them understand that they would never again see the good grandfather\nwho had loved them all so dearly.\n\nBut the older boy, Conrad, only gazed at her wonderingly, and asked why\nshe was weeping; and the younger one did not understand her at all, and\nwent on talking about the big soldier who wanted to lift him on his\npiebald horse. To the child death is only slumber, and life being awake\nto new games and pleasures.\n\nBarbara said this to her husband when he wished to check the merry\nlaughter of the little ones, and then went to her chamber.\n\nThere she strove to think of the dead man, and she succeeded, but with\nthe memory of the sturdy old hero constantly blended the image of the\nfeeble man who to-day was voluntarily surrendering all the gifts of\nfortune which she--oh, how willingly! would have received for the son\nwhom he desired to withdraw from the world.\n\nThe next morning Hannibal Melas came to ask what had kept her from the\nceremony. He learned it in the entry from Frau Lamperi, and Barbara's\ntearful eyes showed him what deep sorrow this loss had caused her. Her\nwhole manner expressed quiet melancholy. This great, pure grief had come\njust at the right time, flowing, like oil upon the storm-lashed waves,\nover hatred, resentment, and all the passionate emotions by which she had\npreviously been driven to the verge of despair.\n\nShe did not repulse the witness of her lost happiness, and listened\nattentively while Hannibal told her about the memorable ceremony which he\nhad attended.\n\nTrue, his description of the lofty hall in the Brabant palace where it\ntook place, the chapel adjoining it, and the magnificent decorations of\nflowers and banners that adorned it, told nothing new to Barbara. She was\nfamiliar with both, and had seen them garlanded, adorned with flags and\ncoats of arms, and even witnessed the erection of the stage in the hall\nand the stretching of the canopy above it.\n\nThe Emperor had appeared upon the platform at the stroke of three,\nleaning upon his crutch and the shoulder of William of Orange. His son\nPhilip and the Queen of Hungary followed, and all took their seats upon\nthe gilded thrones awaiting them. The blithe, pleasant Archduke\nMaximilian of Austria, the Duke of Savoy, who was expecting a great\nwinning card in the game of luck of his changeful life, the Knights of\nthe Golden Fleece, and the highest of the Netherland nobles, the\ncouncillors, the governor, and the principal military officers also had\nplaces upon the stage.\n\nBarbara knew every name that Hannibal mentioned. It seemed as if she saw\nthe broken-down Emperor, his son Philip with his head haughtily thrown\nback, his favourite, the omnipotent minister, Ruy Gomez, the Prince of\nEboli, who with his coal-black hair and beard would have resembled\nQuijada if, instead of the soldierly frankness of the major-domo, an\nuneasy, questioning expression had not lurked in his dark eyes, the\nbrilliant Bishop of Arras, who had again so kindly placed her under\nobligation to him, and the Frieslander Viglius, who had dropped into her\nsoul the wormwood whose bitterness she still tasted, and whose motto,\n\"The life of mortals is a watch in the night,\" seemed to flash from his\ngreen eyes. Not a single woman had been admitted to the distinguished\nassembly of the States-General, the city magistrates, and illustrious\ninvited guests, who as spectators sat on benches and chairs opposite to\nthe stage, and this placed the kindness of Granvelle, whom the Netherland\ndignitaries were said to detest, in a still brighter light.\n\nThe ceremony had been opened by the great speech of Philibert of\nBrussels, which the young Maltese described as a masterpiece of the\nfinest rhetorical art. At the close of this address a solemn silence\npervaded the hall, for the Emperor Charles had risen to take leave of his\nfaithful subjects.\n\nOne might have heard a leaf fall, a spicier walk, as, supported by the\narm of William of Orange, he raised the notes of his address and began to\nread.\n\nAt this information Barbara remembered how Maurice of Saxony had\nsupported the Emperor at the May festival at Prebrunn. William of Orange,\ntoo, was still young. She had often seen him, and what deep earnestness\nrested on his noble brow! how open and pure was the glance of his clear\neyes, yet how penetrating and inexorably keen it could also be! She had\nnoticed this at the assembly of the Knights of the Golden Fleece, when he\nlooked at King Philip with bitter hate or certainly with dislike and\nscorn. Was this man chosen to avenge Charles's sins upon his son and\nheir? Could the Prince of Orange be destined to deal with the new king as\nMaurice of Saxony had treated his imperial father? Would the resentment\nwhich, since the day before, had again filled her soul have permitted her\nto prevent it had she possessed the power?\n\nThe Emperor's speech had treated of his broken health and the necessity\nof living in a milder climate. Then Don Philip had been described by his\nfather as a successor whose wisdom equalled his experience. This called a\nsmile to Barbara's lips.\n\nPhilip was said to be an industrious, devout man, fond of letter-writing,\nand full of intrigue, but only his father would venture to compare him\nwith himself, with Charles V.\n\nHe, the son, probably knew how vacant and lustreless his eyes were, for\nhe usually fixed them on the ground; and what fulness of life, what a\nfiery soul had sparkled only a short time ago, when she saw him in the\ndistance, from those of the man whom she certainly was not disposed to\nflatter!\n\nThen the Emperor had reviewed his whole reign, mentioned how many wars he\nhad waged, how many victories he had won and, finally, had reminded his\nson of the gratitude he owed a father who during his lifetime bestowed\nall his possessions upon him and, as it were, descended into the grave in\norder to make him earlier the heir of all his power and wealth.\n\nNow Barbara fancied that again--she knew not for what hundredth time--the\nFrieslander's exclamation, \"Debts! debts!\" rang in her ears, and at the\nsame time she thought of the boy in Spain who had here been disinherited,\nand must be hidden in a monastery that the other son of the same father,\nthe diminutive upstart Philip, puffed up with arrogance, might sleep more\nquietly. For one son the unjust man whom she loved was ready to die\nbefore his last hour came, in order to give him all that he possessed;\nfor the other he could find nothing save a monk's cowl. Instead of the\nyearning for John, of which Wolf had spoken and she, blind fool,\nbelieved, he thought of him with petty fears of the claims by which he\nmight injure his favoured brother. No warm impulse of paternal tenderness\nstirred the breast of the man whose heart was hardened, who understood\nhow to divest himself of the warmest love as he now cast aside the crown\nand the purple of royalty.\n\nThese torturing thoughts so powerfully affected Barbara that she only\nhalf heard what Hannibal was saying about the Emperor's admonition to his\nson to hold fast to justice, law, and the Catholic Church. But when\nGranvelle's faithful follower, in an agitated tone, went on to relate how\nCharles had besought the forgiveness of Providence for all the sins and\nerrors which he had committed, and added that he would remember all who\nhad rendered him happy by their love and obedience in every prayer which\nhe addressed to the Being to whom the remnant of his life should be\ndevoted, the ex-singer's breath came quicker, her small hands clinched,\nand the question whether she had failed in love and obedience before he\nbasely cast her off forced itself upon her mind, and with it the other,\nwhether he would also include in his prayers her whom he had ill-treated\nand mortally insulted.\n\nThese thoughts lent her features so gloomy an expression that it would\nhave offended the Emperor Charles's ardent admirer if he had noticed it.\nBut the scene which, with tears in his eyes, he now described absorbed\nhis attention so completely that he forgot everything around him and, as\nit were, gazed into his own soul while picturing to himself and his\nlistener how the monarch, with a pallid, ashen countenance, had sunk back\nupon his throne and wept like a child.\n\nAt this spectacle the whole assembly, even the sternest old general, had\nbeen overwhelmed by deep emotion, and the spacious hall echoed with the\nsobs and groans of graybeards, middle-aged men and youths, warriors and\nstatesmen.\n\nHere the young man's voice failed and, weeping, with unfeigned emotion he\ncovered his agitated face with his handkerchief.\n\nWhen he regained his composure he saw, with a shade of disappointment,\nthat Barbara's eyes had remained dry during the description of an event\nin which he himself and so many stronger men had shed burning tears.\n\nYet, when Barbara was again alone she could not drive from her mind the\nimage of her broken-down, weeping lover. Doubtless she often felt moved\nto think of him with deep pity; but she soon remembered the conversation\nto which she had listened in the apartments of the Bishop of Arras, and\nher belief in the genuineness of those tears vanished.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nThe winter came and passed. Instead of leaving the Netherlands, the\nEmperor Charles remained nearly a year in Brussels. He lived in a modest\nhouse in Lion Street and, although he had resigned the sovereignty,\nnothing was done in the domain of politics to which he had not given his\nassent.\n\nBarbara, more domestic than ever before, was leading a dream life, in\nwhich she dwelt more with her beloved dead and her child in Spain than\nwith her family at home. She thought of the boy's father sometimes with\nbitter resentment, sometimes with quiet pity. Outward circumstances\nrendered it easier for her to conceal these feelings, for Pyramus\nattributed the melancholy mood which sometimes overpowered her to grief\nfor her father.\n\nHer husband left the settlement of the business connected with her\ninheritance solely to her. There were many letters to be written and, as\nshe had become unfamiliar with this art, Hannibal faithfully aided her.\n\nDr. Hiltner, of Ratisbon, to whom, in spite of his heretical belief, she\nintrusted the legal business of the estate, acted wisely and promptly in\nher behalf. Thus the sale of the house which she had purchased for the\ndead man, and the disposal of her father's share in the Blomberg\nbusiness, brought her far more money than she had expected.\n\nIt seemed as though Fate desired to compensate her by outward prosperity\nfor the secret sorrow which, in spite of her husband's affectionate\nsolicitude and the thriving growth of her two boys, she could not shake\noff.\n\nIn one respect she regarded the money which this winter brought her as a\ngenuine blessing, for it seemed to invite her to go to Ems and do all in\nher power for the restoration of her voice. The hoarseness was now barely\nperceptible in her speech, and Dr. Mathys, whom she visited in April,\nencouraged her, and told her of really marvellous cures wrought by the\nfamous old springs.\n\nWhen May came and the trees and shrubs in leafy Brussels adorned\nthemselves with new buds, she could not help thinking more frequently, as\nusual in this month, of her wasted love and of the man for whom it had\nbloomed and who had destroyed it. So she liked to pass through Lion\nStreet in her walks, for it led her by his house. She might easily meet\nhim again there, and she longed to see his face once more before the\ndeparture for Spain, which would remove him from her sight forever.\n\nAnd behold! One sunny noon he was borne toward her in a litter. She\nstopped as though spellbound, bowing profoundly; her glance as he passed\nmet his, and he waved his emaciated hand--yes, she was not mistaken--he\nwaved it to her.\n\nFor an instant it seemed as if a crimson rose had bloomed in the midst of\nwinter snows. She had been as sure that he had not forgotten her as that\nshe herself had not ceased to think of him.\n\nNow her confidence was, as it were, confirmed by letter and seal, and\nthis made her happy.\n\nThe man in the litter had been only the wreck of the Charles whom she\nloved; even the fiery light in his eyes, though not extinguished, had\nappeared subdued and veiled. Other women would probably have thought him\nrepulsively plain, but what did she care for his looks? Each of them was\nstill a part of the other, for her image lived in his soul, as his dwelt\nin hers.\n\nBarbara did not take as long a walk as usual; but when she was again\napproaching the house occupied by the abdicated sovereign, Dr. Mathys\ncame toward her. The expression of his broad, dignified face suited the\nbright May morning; nay, she imagined that his step was lighter and less\nsedate than usual.\n\nDuring the whole decade which they had known each other he had never\nflattered her, but to-day, after the first greeting, he began his\nconversation with the question:\n\n\"Do you know, Frau Barbara, that you were never more beautiful and\ncharming than just at this very time? Perhaps it is the mourning which is\nso becoming to your pink-and-white complexion and the somewhat subdued\nlustre of your golden hair. But why do I feed your vanity with such\nspeeches? Because I think that our gracious lord, who for many a long day\nhas not bestowed even the least side glance upon any of your bewitching\nsex, noticed the same thing. And now you will presently be obliged to\nadmit that the old messenger of bad news in Ratisbon, whom you requited\nso ill for his unpleasant errand, can also bring good tidings; for the\nEmperor Charles--in spite of the abdication, he will always be that until\nhe, too, succumbs to the power which makes us all equal--his Majesty\nsends you his greetings, and the message that he desires to do what he\ncan to restore to you the art in which you attained such rare mastery. He\nplaces at your disposal--this time, at least, he was not economical--a\nsum which will take you to the healing springs four or five times, nay,\noftener still.\"\n\nBarbara had listened thus far, speechless with joyful surprise. If it was\nCharles to whom she owed her recovery, the gift of song which it restored\nwould possess tenfold value for her, if that was conceivable. She was\nalready beginning to charge the leech to be the bearer of her gratitude\nand joy, but he did not let her finish, and went on to mention the\ncondition which his Majesty attached to this gift.\n\nBarbara must never mention it to any one, and must promise the physician\nto refrain from all attempts to thank him either in person or by letter\nin short, to avoid approaching him in any way.\n\nThe old physician had communicated this stipulation--which his royal\npatient had strictly associated with the gift--to Barbara in the emphatic\nmanner peculiar to him, but she had listened, at first in surprise, then\nwith increasing indignation. The donation which, as a token of\nremembrance and kind feeling, had just rendered her so happy, now\nappeared like mere alms. Nay, the gift would make her inferior to the\npoorest beggar, for who forbids the mendicant to utter his \"May God\nreward you\"?\n\nCharles kept her aloof as if she were plague-stricken. Perhaps it was\nbecause he feared that if he saw her once he might desire a second and a\nthird meeting. But no matter. She would accept no aid at the cost of so\nsevere an offence to her pride, least of all when it came from the man\nwho had already wounded her soul often and painfully enough.\n\nThe startled physician perceived what was passing in her mind, and when,\nnot passionately as in her youth, but with cool composure, she requested\nDr. Mathys to tell his master that it would be as impossible for her to\naccept a gift for which she could not express her thanks as to give alms\nwithout wishing well to the recipient, the leech eagerly endeavoured to\npersuade her to use the sum bestowed according to the donor's wish. But\nBarbara firmly persisted in her refusal, and when she parted from the old\nman he could not be angry with her, for, as in the garden of the little\nPrebrunn castle, he could not help saying to himself that the wrong was\nnot wholly on the side of the independent young woman.\n\nThe result in this case was the usual one when the weaker party succeeds\nin maintaining itself against the superior power of the stronger. Barbara\nset out on her way home with her head proudly erect, but she soon asked\nherself whether this victory was not too dearly purchased. In a few\nmonths John was to meet his father, and then might there not be cause to\nfear that the opposition which she, his mother, had offered to the\nEmperor, in order to escape an offence to her own pride, would prove an\ninjury to the son? She stopped, hesitating; but after a brief period of\nreflection, she continued her walk. What she had done might vex the\nmonarch, but it must rather enhance than lower her value in his eyes, and\neverything depended upon that. Charles would open the path to high\nhonours and royal splendour to the son of a haughty mother rather than to\nthe child of a narrow-minded woman, who would receive a gift without\nbeing suffered to express her thanks.\n\nShe had done right, and rejoiced that this time she had obeyed the voice\nof her imperious soul. She no longer desired to meet again the man whom\nshe loved. Her wish to look into his eyes once more before his death or\nhers was fulfilled, and his glance, which had certainly been the last\nthat he could give her, had expressed the kind feeling and forgiveness\nfor which she had secretly yearned. So what he had done was surely not\nintended to wound her. She understood his desire to obtain peace of mind\nand his fear of entering into communication with her again, and from this\ntime it once more became a necessity to her to include him in her\nprayers.\n\nShe left her home with a lighter heart, better satisfied with herself\nthan she had been for years. The Emperor Charles could not help thinking\nof her now as she desired. The love which she had never wholly withdrawn\nwas again his, and the feeling of belonging to him exalted her pride and\nbrightened her clouded soul.\n\nFrau Lamperi accompanied her, and marvelled at her mistress's happy mood.\nBesides, the Ems waters and the excellent advice of the physician to\nwhose care she intrusted herself exerted a beneficial influence upon her\nailment.\n\nHer mourning garb prevented her from taking any part in the gay life of\nthe watering-place, but she found pleasure in watching it.\n\nWhen she returned to Brussels, Pyramus thought she looked as young as in\nher girlhood, and every wish that her husband fancied he could read in\nher eyes was gratified with loving eagerness.\n\nBut the preparations for war against France allowed him only a short time\nto remain in Brussels, and during his absence Barbara enjoyed unlimited\nfreedom.\n\nThe Emperor had sailed for Spain, Queen Mary had retired from the\nregency, and Duke Emanuel Philibert of Savoy had taken it in her place.\nKing Philip remained in the Netherlands, and it was said in his praise\nthat he showed the boundless arrogance characteristic of him in a less\noffensive way, and had acquired more affable manners.\n\nBarbara often longed to seek an audience with him.\n\nBut what would it avail?\n\nPhilip was perhaps the very person who would be glad to have his\nhalf-brother disappear in a monastery.\n\nYet the yearning to hear some news of her child would not be silenced. Of\nthe distant Emperor, who was said to be near his end, and spent his days\nand sleepless nights in the monastery of San Yuste in prayer and severe\nmortification, as the most pious of monks, she thought with sympathizing\naffection.\n\nThe following year Barbara went to Ems again, this time no longer in\nmourning robes, but scarcely less magnificently attired than many a\nRhenish noble's wife, who was also seeking health and amusement there.\nThe property she had inherited, and which the conscientious Pyramus would\nnot touch, and Frau Lamperi's skilful fingers had accomplished this.\nThough the materials which she selected were not the most costly, her\naristocratic bearing made them appear valuable. She still possessed the\npearl necklace and other ornaments of more prosperous days, and on festal\noccasions they did not remain in a chest.\n\nShe by no means lacked notice, partly on her own account, partly in\nconsequence of the conversations with which Granvelle, who visited the\nsprings for a short time, honoured her, while he kept entirely aloof from\nall the other guests. This favour on the part of so famous and powerful a\nstatesman induced many of the most aristocratic ladies and nobles to seek\nher, and many who had been attracted solely by curiosity were charmed\nwith the entertaining sprightliness of the beautiful woman, and admitted\nher to their very exclusive circle.\n\nThis time the springs proved still more beneficial than when she first\nused them, and the hope of soon being able to exercise her beloved art\nagain gained new and solid foundation.\n\nThis occupied a large share of her thoughts, but a still greater one was\nfilled with the yearning for her John, of whom, in spite of many\ninquiries, she could hear nothing.\n\nWhen, in her quiet home life, the monotony of her days oppressed her more\nheavily, she often remembered Ems, and the pleasures and attention which\nthe next summer there would bring tier. Now that the great, passionate\nemotions which had been devoted to others were at rest, she began to\nthink more of her own person. It seemed desirable to show herself to\nadvantage, and though she longed for her recovery above all for the sake\nof her art and the pleasure which its exercise afforded her, she was\nalready secretly thinking how she could use it to restore and obtain\nsatisfaction for her paralyzed self-esteem.\n\nIn consequence of the victory of St. Quentin, Brussels was filled with\nfestal joy; but Barbara took very little part in the numerous festivities\nwhich followed one another, and again went to Ems.\n\nWhen she returned, much benefited, her first visit was to the Dubois\nhouse in the park. Unfortunately, it was futile; but when, a few weeks\nbefore the battle of Gravelines, she repeated it for the second time, she\nmet the couple, now advancing in years, out of doors, and saw that some\ngood fortune had come to them.\n\nUsually she had always been received here with a certain shade of\nembarrassment, but to-day her coming seemed to please Herr Adrian. From\nthe great arm-chair, which he now never left, he held out his hand to\nher, and Frau Traut's merry eyes looked a glad welcome.\n\nAfter the first greetings, they eagerly expressed their joyful amazement\nat the clear tones of her voice. Then Frau Dubois exchanged a significant\nglance with her husband, and now Barbara learned that a letter had\narrived from San Yuste that very morning, which contained little except\npleasant news of his Majesty and John.\n\nWhile speaking, Adrian drew from his doublet the precious missive, showed\nit to the young wife as cautiously as a fragile ornament which we are\nreluctant to let pass out of our hands, and said in an agitated voice:\n\n\"The writer is no less a personage than Dona Magdalena de Ulloa. May\nHeaven reward her for it!\"\n\nBarbara gazed beseechingly into his wrinkled face, and from the inmost\ndepths of her heart rose the cry: \"Oh, let me see it, for I--you know\nit--I am his mother!\"\n\n\"So she is,\" said the old man in a tone of assent, nodded his long head,\nwhose hair was now snow-white, and glanced questioningly at his wife. The\nanswer was an assent.\n\nAdrian clasped his chin--during the period of his service he had always\nworn it smooth-shaven, but the white stubble of a full beard was now\ngrowing on it--in his emaciated hand, and asked Barbara if she understood\nSpanish.\n\nHer knowledge of it was very slight; but Frau Traut, who, like her\nhusband, had mastered it during the long years of intercourse with the\nCastilian court, now undertook to put the contents of the letter into\nGerman.\n\nThis was not difficult, for she had already been obliged to read it aloud\nthree times to Adrian, who could no longer decipher written characters.\n\nThe address was not omitted; it had pleased them both. It ran as follows:\n\n\"To his Majesty's good and faithful servant, Adrian Dubois, from his\naffectionate friend of former days, Dona Magdalena de Ulloa, wife of Don\nLuis Mendez Quijada, Lady of Villagarcia.\"\n\nFrau Trout read these noble names aloud to Barbara proudly, as if they\nwere her own; but before she went on Adrian interrupted--\n\n\"As to friendship, you may think, Frau Barbara, that Dona Magdalena is\nshowing me far too much honour in using those words; but I would still\ngive my right hand for that lovely creature with her kindly soul. When,\njust after Don Luis married her, his Majesty took her young husband away,\nshe entreated me most earnestly to look after him, and I could sometimes\nbe of assistance. To be sure, we broke many a piece of bread together in\nwar and peace in the same service. Ah, Frau Barbara! I am far better off\nhere than I deserve to be; but sometimes my heart is ready to break when\nI think of my Emperor, and that I must leave the care of him to others.\"\n\n\"But it is hard enough for the major-domo and his Majesty to do without\nyou,\" said Frau Traut importantly. \"Don Luis, the letter says, would\ngladly have written with his own hand, but he had not a single leisure\nmoment; for, since Adrian had gone, he was obliged to be at hand to serve\nhis Majesty by day as well as by night. My husband's successor, Bodart,\nwhom he trained for the service, is skilful and makes every effort, but\nhe can not replace Adrian to his suffering master.\"\n\nThen Frau Traut looked more closely at the letter, and began to translate\nits contents.\n\n\"Of course,\" she began, \"San Yuste is not like Brussels; but if they\nthink there that his Majesty lives like a monk and submits to the rules\nof the monastery, they are misinformed.\"\n\nHere she lowered the sheet; but Barbara's cheeks were glowing with\nimpatient interest, and she exclaimed with urgent warmth: \"Oh, please,\nread on! But where--it is probably in the letter--where is our child?\"\n\n\"One thing after the other, as the letter communicates it,\" replied the\ntranslator in a reproving tone; but her husband nodded soothingly to\nBarbara, and said:\n\n\"Only this first: Our John is near his father, and there is something\nespecially good about him toward the end. Dona Magdalena is a true\nCastilian--first the King, then her husband, then the others according to\ntheir rank. It is different here and in your country. Patience and you,\nFrau Barbara, have been bad friends ever since I knew you.\"\n\nBarbara's sorrowful smile confirmed this statement, and when Frau Traut\nat last went on, the tone of her voice betrayed how little she liked\ninterruptions just now.\n\n\"You were informed of his Majesty's safe landing at Quiposcoa. It was\npitiful to see how the people in his train who did not belong to the\nnumber of those who were to accompany him to Jarandilla behaved at the\nparting from their beloved master. The body-guards flung their halberds\non the pavement, and there were plenty of tears and lamentations. On St.\nBlasius's day--[February 3, 1557]--his Majesty at last entered San Yuste.\nDon Luis, as you know, had gone before to get the house in readiness for\nhis master. One could scarcely imagine a pleasanter spot, for there is no\ngreener valley than that of San Yuste in the whole range of the Carpetano\nMountains, nay, perhaps in all Spain. It is difficult to describe how\neverything is growing and blossoming here now, in the month of May. The\nlittle garden of the house is well kept and full of beautiful orange\ntrees. While blossoming, they exhale the most exquisite perfume, and his\nMajesty enjoys the delicious fragrance which the wind bears to him.\n\n\"In your noisy Brussels it is hard to imagine how quiet it can be here,\ndear Senor Adrian. Nothing is to be heard save the carol of a bird, the\nrippling of a clear stream flowing swiftly through the valley, and at\nintervals the distinct notes of the little bells and cymbals upon the\nclocks which his Majesty brought with him. Even their ticking is often\naudible. At certain hours the ringing of the monastery bells blends\nsolemnly and softly with the silence. The Hieronymites in the monastery\nare pious monks. His Majesty sometimes listens to their choir. Its music\nis very fine since Sir Wolf Hartschwert, whom you also know, has taken\ncharge of it.\n\n\"From all this, you will perceive that the master, with whom your\nfaithful soul doubtless often dwells, is supplied--restricted by no\nmonastic discipline--with whatever suits his taste. He frequently devotes\nhimself for hours to religious exercises, and also retires to the\nblack-draped room with the coffin, which you know; but the old industry\nand secular cares pursued him here. Mounted messengers come and go\ncontinually, but they are not allowed to remain near the house.\n\n\"Even in Brussels he can scarcely have written and answered more letters\nthan he does here.\n\n\"If only the body would prosper as well as the mind. That is as active\nand alert as ever. But the body--the body! O Senor Adrian! I fear that\nthe end is not far distant, although our royal sufferer looks better than\nat his arrival.\n\n\"'The eating!' Dr. Mathys complains; but you know well enough how that\nis.\n\n\"Three days have passed since I began this letter. You are aware of most\nof what concerns your beloved master; now for my husband.\n\n\"He has never had service so arduous as here, for the grand prior, Don\nLuis de Avila, is nothing to his Majesty except a dear old brother in\narms, with whom he is fond of talking about the past. Everything rests on\nmy poor husband. He said, a short time ago, that he would no longer\nendure playing the host to everybody who comes to San Yuste, being agent\nfor everybody in Spain who desires anything from the Emperor Charles, and\nat the same time constantly caring for the person of the sick sovereign.\nThis life, he thinks, may suit a person who has taken leave of his\nproperty and the world, but he still clings to both, and especially to\nme, the poor wife who has been parted from him so long. He has served the\nEmperor twenty-five years, and during this time he lost all his brothers\nin the war. The estates came to him, and how long they have already been\ndeprived of the master's eye!\n\n\"Don Luis told the Emperor Charles all this, yet he refused him leave of\nabsence to go to Villagarcia. Instead, I was obliged to move near my\nhusband, and am now living with Geronimo, in the wretched village of\nCuacos, which is easily reached from San Yuste. There I finally arrived\nwith the boy whom the Virgin, in her inexhaustible mercy, gave to me, a\npoor, childless woman, to make me happy, although on his account I\nwronged my lord and husband by a sinful suspicion.\n\n\"Here I must begin my letter for the third time.\n\n\"It was fortunate that Geronimo left Massi and Leganes, for he was\nallowed to grow up there like a little savage. Before learning to obey,\nhe was permitted to command.--No one opposed him, so in Villagarcia the\nfirst thing necessary was to accustom him to discipline, obedience, and\nthe manners of the nobles. The trouble was not great, and how richly the\nboy rewarded it! He is now in his twelfth year, and how your good wife\nwould stare, Adrian, if she could see her nursling again! Do not suppose\nthat it is blind partiality when I say that few handsomer lads could be\nfound in all King Philip's dominions. His figure is slender and only\nslightly above middle height; but how erect and noble is his bearing, how\nsymmetrically his pliant form is developing! His delicately cut features\nand large blue eyes glow with the bold courage which fills his soul, and\nwhich he displays in riding, hunting, and fencing. He still has his\nwealth of fair, waving locks. Among a thousand other boys no one will\noverlook him. Don Luis, too, admits that he was born to dignity and\nhonour. Every chivalrous and royal virtue is in his blood. Even his\nmother could not sully it.\"\n\nHere Frau Traut paused to look at Barbara, who had listened, panting for\nbreath.\n\nShe was sorry that she had not omitted the last sentence, but in the zeal\nof translating it had unconsciously escaped her lips, and, as she found\nno softening word, she went on:\n\n\"Geronimo has become a dear child to me. He thinks that I am his own\nmother, and clings to me with filial affection. To lead such a son to\nthis august father was the greatest joy that Heaven has bestowed upon me.\n\n\"Dressed as my page, he rode with me to Jarandilla to meet his Majesty.\nHe was to present to the imperial master, of whose near relationship he\nhad no idea, a little basket filled with beautiful oranges from our\ngarden in Villagarcia, which you know.\n\n\"The young horseman, who understands how to wheel his steed, swung\nhimself from the saddle close beside his Majesty, bent the knee with\nnoble grace, raised his little plumed hat, and, pressing his left hand\nupon his heart, presented the little gift to his sovereign and master. As\nthe weather was mild, the latter sat in an open sedan chair, and when he\nsaw Geronimo he scanned him with the keen glance of the ruler, and then\nlooked inquiringly at my husband. Don Luis nodded the answer which he\ndesired to receive, and a bright smile flitted over his emaciated,\ncorpselike features. Then he accepted the oranges, stroked his son's\ncurls, addressed a few questions to him, which he answered modestly but\naptly, and then called to my husband, 'This boy must remain near me.'\n\n\"Oh, what pleasure all this gave me! Now Geronimo goes in and out of his\nMajesty's apartments freely, and my reason for writing this letter is an\nincident I happened to witness, and which will please you, Adrian, and\nyour good wife, as it filled my heart with fervent gratitude. So listen:\nWhen the Emperor meets Geronimo in the presence of strangers, he seems to\ntake neither more nor less notice of him than of the other pages who come\nto San Yuste. Only he often calls him, asks a question, or gives him some\ntrivial commission. Others would scarcely notice it, but I see the\nbrightening of his eyes as he does so.\n\n\"Recently I looked through the open door which leads from his Majesty's\nwork-room into the garden, and what did the Virgin permit me to\nbehold?--Geronimo, who was alone with the Emperor, picked up a sheet of\npaper that had fluttered to the ground and handed it to him. Then the\nEmperor Charles suddenly raised his poor hands oh, how they are\ndisfigured by the gout!--laid them on the boy's temples, drew his head\nnearer, and kissed his brow and eyes! Charles V, the fugitive from the\nworld, the man crushed by sorrow and disappointment, did that! This\nkiss--Don Luis believes it also--sealed the son's acceptance into his\nfather's heart.\"\n\nHere Frau Traut let the sheet fall. Her voice had failed during the last\nsentences; now she exclaimed amid her tears, \"The Emperor's kiss!\" and\nher husband, no less deeply stirred by emotion, cried, \"The Emperor\nCharles--no one knows as well as I what that means--the Emperor Charles,\nwhose heart compels him to kiss some one.\"\n\nHere Barbara rose with flushed cheeks, panting for breath.\n\nShe felt as if she must cry aloud to these good people: \"What do you know\nabout my lover's kiss? I, I alone, not you, you poor, good man, could\ntell you. Insignificant and wretched as I may be, no woman on earth can\nboast of prouder memories, and now that he has also kissed his child and\nmine, everything is forgiven him.\"\n\nSilently, with hurrying breath, she stood before the agitated couple, who\nwere waiting for some remark, some outburst of gratitude and delight; but\nthere was only a quivering of the lips, and her blue eyes flashed with a\nfiery light.\n\nWhat was the matter with her?\n\nFrau Train turned anxiously to her husband to ask, in a whisper, whether\njoy had turned the poor young mother's brain; but Barbara had already\nrecovered her composure, and, passing her hand quickly across her brow,\nmurmured softly, \"It came over me too strongly.\"\n\nThen she thanked them with earnest warmth; yet when Frau Traut praised\nDona Magdalena's heavenly goodness, she nodded assent, it is true; but\nshe soon took her leave--she felt paralyzed and dazzled.\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Before learning to obey, he was permitted to command\n     Grief is grief, and this new sorrow does not change the old one\n     To the child death is only slumber\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA BLOMBERG\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 10.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nOn the way home Barbara often pressed her left hand with her right to\nassure herself that she was not dreaming.\n\nThis time she found her husband in the house. At the first glance Pyramus\nsaw that something unusual had happened; but she gave him no time to\nquestion her, only glanced around to see if they were alone, and then\ncried, as if frantic: \"I will bear it no longer. You must know it too.\nBut it is a great secret.\" Then she made him swear that he, too, would\nkeep it strictly, and in great anxiety he obeyed.\n\nHe, like Barbara's father, had supposed that the Emperor's son had\nentered the world only to leave it again. Barbara's \"I no longer have a\nchild; it was taken from me,\" he had interpreted in the same way as the\nold captain, and, from delicacy of feeling, had never again mentioned the\nsubject in her presence.\n\nWhile taking the oath, he had been prepared for the worst; but when his\nwife, in passionate excitement, speaking so fast that the words fair\ntumbled over one another, told him how she had been robbed of her boy;\nhow his imperial father had treated him; how she had longed for him; what\nprayers she had uttered in his behalf; how miserable she had been in her\nanxiety about this child; and, now, that Dona Magdalena's letter\npermitted her to cherish the highest and greatest hopes for the boy, the\ntall, strong man stood before her with downcast eyes, like a detected\ncriminal, his hand gripping the edge of the top of the table which\nseparated her from him.\n\nBarbara saw his broad, arched chest rise and fall, and wondered why his\nmanly features were quivering; but ere she had time to utter a single\nsoothing word, he burst forth: \"I made the vow and will be silent; but\nto-morrow, or in a year or two, it will be in everybody's mouth, and\nthen, then My good name! Honour!\"\n\nFierce indignation overwhelmed Barbara, and, no longer able to control\nherself, she exclaimed: \"What did it matter whether Death or his father\nsnatched the child from me? The question is, whether you knew that I am\nhis mother, and it was not concealed from you. Nevertheless, you came and\nsought me for your wife! That is what happened! And--you know this--you\nare as much or little dishonoured by me, the mother of the living child,\nas of the dead one. Out upon the honour which is harmed by gossip! What\nslanderous tongues say of me as a disgrace I deem the highest honour; but\nif you are of a different opinion, and held it when you wooed me, you\nwould be wiser to prate less loudly of the proud word 'honour,' and we\nwill separate.\"\n\nPyramus had listened to these accusations and the threat with trembling\nlips. His simple but upright mind felt that she was right, so far as he\nwas concerned, and she was more beautiful in her anger than he had seen\nher since the brilliant days of her youthful pride. The fear of losing\nher seized his poor heart, so wholly subject to her, with sudden power\nand, stammering an entreaty for forgiveness, he confessed that the\nsurprise had bewildered him, and that he thought he had showed in the\ncourse of the last ten years how highly, in spite of people's gossip, he\nprized her. He held out his large honest hand with a pleading look as he\nspoke, and she placed hers in it for a short time.\n\nThen she went to church to collect her thoughts and relieve her\noverburdened heart. Boundless contempt for the man to whom she was united\nfilled it; yet she felt that she owed him a debt of gratitude, that he\nwas weak only through love, and that, for her children's sake, she must\ncontinue to wear the yoke which she had taken upon herself.\n\nHis existence henceforth became of less and less importance to her\nfeelings and actions, especially as he left the management of their two\nboys to her. He had reason to be satisfied with it, for she provided\nConrad with the best instruction, that the might choose between the army\nand the legal profession; his younger brother she intended for the\npriesthood, and the boy's inclination harmonized with her choice.\n\nThe fear that the Emperor Charles might yet commit the child she loved to\nthe monastery never left her. But she thought that she might induce\nHeaven to relinquish its claim upon her John, whom, moreover, it seemed\nto have destined for the secular life, by consecrating her youngest child\nto its service.\n\nWhile she did not forget her household, her mind was constantly in Spain.\nHer walks were usually directed toward the palace, to inquire how the\nrecluse in San Yuste was faring, and whether any rumour mentioned her\nimperial son.\n\nAfter the great victory gained by Count Egmont against the military\nforces of France, eleven months after the battle of St. Quentin, there\nwas enough to be seen in Brussels. The successful general was greeted\nwith enthusiastic devotion. Egmont's name was in every one's mouth, and\nwhen she, too, saw the handsome, proud young hero, the idol, as it were,\nof a whole nation, gorgeous in velvet, silk, and glittering gems, curbing\nhis fiery steed and bowing to the shouting populace with a winning smile,\nshe thought she caught a glimpse of the future, and beheld the\npredecessor of him who some day would receive similar homage.\n\nWhy should she not have yielded to such hopes? Already there was a rumour\nthat the daughter of the Emperor and that Johanna Van der Gheynst, who\nhad been Charles's first love, Margaret of Parma, her own son's sister,\nhad been chosen to rule the Netherlands as regent.\n\nWhy should less honours await Charles's son than his daughter?\n\nBut the festal joy in the gay capital was suddenly extinguished, for in\nthe autumn of the year that, in March, had seen Ferdinand, the Emperor's\nbrother, assume the imperial crown, a rumour came that the recluse of San\nYuste had closed his eyes, and a few days after it was verified.\n\nIt was Barbara's husband who told her of the loss which had befallen her\nand the world. He did this with the utmost consideration, fearing the\neffect of this agitating news upon his wife; but Barbara only turned\npale, and then, with tears glittering in her eyes, said softly, \"He, too,\nwas only a mortal man.\"\n\nThen she withdrew to her own room, and even on the following day saw\nneither her husband nor her children. She had long expected Charles's\ndeath, yet it pierced the inmost depths of her being.\n\nThis sorrow was something sacred, which belonged to her and to her alone.\nIt would have seemed a profanation to reveal it to her unloved husband,\nand she found strength to shut it within herself.\n\nHow desolate her heart seemed! It had lost its most distinguished object\nof love or hate.\n\nThrough long days she devoted herself in quiet seclusion to the memory of\nthe dead, but soon her active imagination unfolded its wings again, and\nwith the new grief mingled faint hopes for the boy in Spain, which\nincreased to lofty anticipations and torturing anxiety.\n\nThe imperial father was dead. What now awaited the omnipotent ruler's\nson?\n\nHow had Charles determined his fate?\n\nWas it possible that he still intended him for the monastic life, now\nthat he had become acquainted with his talents and tastes?\n\nSince Barbara had learned that her son had won his father's heart, and\nthat the Emperor, as it were, had made him his own with a kiss, she had\ngrown confident in the hope that Charles would bestow upon him the\ngrandeur, honours, and splendour which she had anticipated when she\nresigned him at Landshut, and to which his birth gave him a claim. But\nher early experience that what she expected with specially joyful\nsecurity rarely happened,--constantly forced upon her mind the, fear that\nthe dead man's will would consign John to the cloister.\n\nSo the next weeks passed in a constant alternation of oppressive fears\nand aspiring hopes, the nights in torturing terrors.\n\nAll the women of the upper classes wore mourning, and with double reason;\nfor, soon after the news of the Emperor's death reached Brussels, King\nPhilip's second wife, Mary Tudor, of England, also died. Therefore no one\nnoticed that Barbara wore widow's weeds, and she was glad that she could\ndo so without wounding Pyramus.\n\nA part of the elaborate funeral rites which King Philip arranged in\nBrussels during the latter part of December in honour of his dead father\nwas the procession which afforded the authorities of the Brabant capital\nan opportunity to display the inventive faculty, the love of splendour,\nthe learning, and the wit which, as members of flourishing literary\nsocieties, they constantly exercised. In the pageant was a ship with\nblack sails, at whose keel, mast, and helm stood Hope with her anchor,\nFaith with her chalice, and Love with the burning heart. Other similar\nscenic pieces made the sincerity of the grief for the dead questionable,\nand yet many real tears were shed for him. True, the wind which swelled\nthe sails of the sable ship bore also many an accusation and curse; among\nthe spectators of the procession there were only too many whose mourning\nrobes were worn not for the dead monarch, but their own nearest\nrelatives, whom his pitiless edicts had given to the executioner as\nreaders of the Bible or heterodox.\n\nThese displays, so pleasing to the people of her time and her new home,\nwere by no means great or magnificent enough for Barbara. Even the most\nsuperb show seemed to her too trivial for this dead man.\n\nShe was never absent from any mass for the repose of his soul, and she\nnot only took part outwardly in the sacred ceremony, but followed it with\nfervent devotion. As a transfigured spirit, he would perceive how she had\nonce hated him; but he should also see how tenderly she still loved him.\n\nNow that he was dead, it would be proved in what way he had remembered\nthe son whom, in his solitude, he had learned to love, what life path\nJohn had been assigned by his father.\n\nBut longingly as Barbara thought of Spain and of her boy, often as she\nwent to the Dubois house and to the regent's home to obtain news, nothing\ncould be heard of her child.\n\nMany provisions of the imperial will were known, but there was no mention\nof her son. Yet Charles could not have forgotten him, and Adrian\nprotested that it would soon appear that he had not omitted him in his\nlast will, and this was done in a manner which indicated that he knew\nmore than he would or could confess.\n\nAll this increased Barbara's impatience to the highest degree, and\ninduced her to watch and question with twofold zeal. On no account would\nshe have left the capital during this period of decision, and, though her\nhusband earnestly entreated her to go to the springs, whose waters had\nproved so beneficial, she remained in Brussels.\n\nIn August she saw King Philip set out for Spain, and Margaret of Parma,\nher son's sister, assume the government of the Netherlands as regent.\n\nOn various occasions she succeeded in obtaining a near view of the\nstately-lady, with her clever; kindly and, spite of the famous down on\nher upper lip, by no means unlovely features, and her attractive\nappearance gave Barbara courage to request an audience, in order to learn\nfrom her something about her child. But the effort was vain, for the\nduchess had had no news of the existence of a second son of her father;\nand this time it was Granvelle who prevented the regent from receiving\nthe woman who would probably have spoken to her of the boy concerning\nwhose fate King Philip had yet reached no determination.\n\nBarbara spent the month of October in depression caused by this fresh\ndisappointment, but it, too, passed without bringing her any\nsatisfaction.\n\nIt seemed almost foolish to lull herself further with ambitious\nexpectations, but the hope a mother's heart cherishes for her child does\nnot die until its last throb; and if the Emperor Charles's will did not\ngive her John his rights, then the gracious Virgin would secure them, if\nnecessary, by a miracle.\n\nHer faithful clinging to hope was rewarded, for when one day, with\ndrooping head, she returned home from another futile errand, she found\nHannibal Melas there, as bearer of important news.\n\nThe Emperor's last will had a codicil, which concerned a son of his\nMajesty; but, a few days before his end, Charles had also remembered\nBarbara, and commissioned Ogier Bodart, Adrian's successor, to buy a life\nannuity for her in Brussels. Hannibal had learned all this from secret\ndespatches received by Granvelle the day before. Informing her of their\ncontents might cost him his place; but how often she had entreated him to\nthink of her if any news came from Valladolid of a boy named Geronimo or\nJohn, and how much kindness she had showed him when he was only a poor\nchoir boy!\n\nAt last, at last the most ardent desire of the mother's heart was to be\nfulfilled. She saw in the codicil the bridge which would lead her son to\nsplendour and magnificence, and up to the last hour of his life the\nEmperor Charles had also remembered her.\n\nShe felt not only relieved of a burden, but as if borne on wings. Which\nof these two pieces of news rendered her the happier, she could not have\ndetermined. Yet she did not once think of the addition to her income.\nWhat was that in comparison to the certainty that to the last Charles did\nnot forget her!\n\nIt made her husband happy to see her sunny cheerfulness. Never had she\nplayed and romped with the children in such almost extravagant mirth.\nNay, more! For the first time the officer's modest house echoed with the\nsinging of its mistress.\n\nThough her voice was no longer so free from sharpness and harshness as in\nthe old days, it by no means jarred upon the ear; nay, every tone\nrevealed its admirable training. She had broken the long silence with\nJosquin's motet, \"Quia amore langueo,\" and in her quiet chamber dedicated\nit, as it were, to the man to whom this cry of longing had been so dear.\nThen, in memory of and gratitude to him, other religious songs which he\nhad liked to hear echoed from her lips.\n\nThe little German ballads which she afterward sang, to the delight of her\nboys, deeply moved her husband's heart, and she herself found that it was\nno insult to art when, with the voice that she now possessed, she again\ndevoted herself to the pleasure of singing.\n\nIf the codicil brought her son what she desired, she could once more, if\nher voice lost the sharpness which still clung to it, serve her beloved\nart as a not wholly unworthy priestess, and then, perchance, she would\nagain possess the right, so long relinquished, of calling herself happy.\n\nShe would go the next day to Appenzelder, who always greeted her kindly\nwhen they met in the street, and ask his advice.\n\nIf only Wolf had been there!\n\nHe understood how to manage women's voices also, and could have given her\nthe best directions how to deal with the new singing exercises.\n\nIt seemed as though in these days not one of her wishes remained\nunfulfilled, for the very next afternoon, just as she was dressing to\ncall upon the leader of the boy choir, the servant announced a stranger.\n\nA glad presentiment hurried her into the vestibule, and there stood Sir\nWolf Hartschwert in person, an aristocratic cavalier in his black Spanish\ncourt costume. He had become a man indeed, and his appearance did not\neven lack the \"sosiego,\" the calm dignity of the Castilian noble, which\ngave Don Louis Quijada so distinguished an appearance.\n\nTrue, his greeting was more eager and cordial than the genuine\n\"sosiego\"--which means \"repose\"--would have permitted. Even the manner in\nwhich Wolf expressed his pleasure in the new melody of Barbara's voice,\nand whispered an entreaty to send the children and Frau Lamperi--who came\nto greet him--away for a short time, was anything but patient.\n\nWhat had he in view?\n\nYet it must be something good.\n\nWhen the light shone through her flower-decked window upon his face, she\nthought she perceived this by the smile hovering around his lips. She was\nnot mistaken, nor did she wait long for the joyous tidings she expected;\nhis desire to tell her what, with the exception of the regent--to whom\nhis travelling companion, the Grand Prior Don Luis de Avila, was perhaps\njust telling it as King Philip's envoy--no human being in the Netherlands\ncould yet know, was perhaps not much less than hers to hear it.\n\nScarcely an hour before he had dismounted in Brussels with the nobleman,\nand his first visit was to her, whom his news must render happy, even\nhappier than it did him and the woman in the house near the palace, whose\nheart cherished the Emperor's son scarcely less warmly than his own\nmother's.\n\nOn the long journey hither he had constantly anticipated the pleasure of\ntelling every incident in succession, just as it had happened; but\nBarbara interrupted his first sentence with an inquiry how her John was\nfaring.\n\n\"He is so well that scarcely ever has any boy in the happiest time of his\nlife fared better,\" was the reply; and its purport, as well as the tone\nin which it was uttered, entered Barbara's heart like angels' greetings\nfrom the wide-open heavens. But Wolf went on with his report, and when,\nin spite of hundreds of questions, he at last completed the main points,\nhis listener staggered, as if overcome by wine, to the image of the\nVirgin on the pilaster, and with uplifted hands threw herself on her\nknees before it.\n\nWolf, unobserved, silently stole away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nThe following afternoon Wolf sought Barbara again, and now for the first\ntime succeeded in relating regularly and clearly what, constantly\ninterrupted by her impatience, he had told in a confused medley the day\nbefore. Pyramus, as usual, was away, and Barbara had taken care that no\none should interrupt them.\n\nDeep silence pervaded the comfortable room, and Wolf had seated himself\nin the arm-chair opposite to the young wife when, at her entreaty, he\nbegan to tell the story again. She had informed him of Dona Magdalena's\nletter, and that it took her to the Emperor's residence in San Yuste. At\nthat point her friend's fresh tidings began.\n\nIn the spring of the previous year Wolf had again been summoned from\nValladolid, where in the winter he directed the church singing as prinnen\nof the religious music, to Cuacos, near San Yuste, where Quijada's wife\nlived with her foster-son Geronimo. From there he had often gone with\nDona Magdalena and the boy to the Emperor's residence, and frequently saw\nhim.\n\nThe account given in the letter written by Quijada's wife also applied to\nthe last months of the imperial recluse's existence. Doubtless he\nsometimes devoted himself to pious exercises and quiet meditation, but he\nwas usually busied with political affairs and the reading and dictating\nof despatches. Even at that time he received many visitors. When Geronimo\ncame from Cuacos, he was permitted to go in and out of his apartments\nfreely, and the Emperor even seemed to prefer him to Don Carlos, his\ngrandson, King Philip's only son, who was destined to become the head of\nhis house; at least, Charles's conduct favoured this opinion.\n\nOn his return to Spain he had made his grandson's acquaintance in\nValladolid.\n\nHe was a boy who had well-formed, somewhat sickly features, and a fragile\nbody. Of course the grandfather felt the deepest interest in him, and the\ninfluence of the famous victor in so many battles upon the\ntwelve-year-old lad was a most beneficial one.\n\nBut Charles had scarcely left Valladolid when the passionate boy's\nextremely dangerous tastes burst forth with renewed violence. The recluse\nstudent of human nature had probably perceived them, for when his tutor,\nand especially the young evildoer's aunt, Juana, the Emperor Charles's\ndaughter, earnestly entreated him to let the grandson, whose presence\nwould disturb him very little, come to San Yuste, because his influence\nover Don Carlos would be of priceless value, the grandfather most\npositively refused the request.\n\nOn the other hand, the Emperor had not only tolerated his son Geronimo\nnear him, but rejoiced in his presence, for the quiet sufferer's eyes had\nsparkled when he saw him. Wolf himself had often witnessed this\ndelightful sight.\n\nHow Barbara's heart swelled, how eagerly she listened, as Wolf described\nhow well founded was his Majesty's affection for this beautiful,\nextremely lovable, docile, true-hearted, and, moreover, frank, boy!\n\nTrue, he showed as yet little taste for knowledge and all that can be\nlearned from books; but he devoted himself with fiery zeal to the\nknightly exercises which since his Majesty's death Quijada himself was\ndirecting, and in which he promised to become a master. Besides, by\nappealing to his ambition, he could be induced to put forth all his\npowers, and, if his teachers aimed at what they studiously omitted, it\nwould not be difficult to make a scholar of him.\n\nHe had not remained unnoticed by any of the great lords who had sought\nthe Emperor in Sal Yuste and met him. The Venetian ambassador Bodoaro,\nhad asked the name of the splendid young noble.\n\nEven when Death was already stretching hi hand toward the Emperor, he was\nstill overburdened with business, and the heretical agitation which was\ndiscovered at that time in Spain had caused him much sorrow, especially\nas men and women whom he knew personally, belonging to the distinguished\nfamilies of Posa and De Rojas, has taken part in it.\n\nThe monarch's end came more quickly than was expected. He had been unable\nto attend the auto-da-fe at which the heretics were committed to the\nflames. He would have done so gladly, and after this mournful experience\neven regretted that he had granted the German misleader, Luther, the safe\nconduct promised.\n\nBefore a fatal weakness suddenly attacked him his health had been rather\nbetter than before; then his voice failed, and Quijada was compelled to\nkneel beside his bed that he might understand what he wished to impress\nupon him. While doing so, the dying man had expressed the desire that Don\nLuis would commend Geronimo to the love of his son Philip.\n\nHe had also remembered the love of better days, and when Barbara insisted\nupon learning what he had said of her, Wolf, who had heard it from Don\nLuis, did not withhold it.\n\nHe had complained of her perverse nature. Had she obediently gone to the\nconvent, he might have spared himself and her the sorrow of holding her\nso rigidly aloof from his person. Finally, he had spoken of her singing\nwith rapturous delight. At night the \"Quia amore langueo\" from the Mary\nmotet had echoed softly from his lips, and when he perceived that Don\nLuis had heard him, he murmured that this peerless cry of longing,\nreminded him not of the earthly but the heavenly love.\n\nAt these words Barbara hid her face in her hands, and Wolf paused until\nshe had controlled the sobs which shook her breast.\n\nThen he went on, she listening devoutly with wet eyes and clasped hands.\n\nThe Archbishop of Toledo was summoned, and predicted that Charles would\ndie on the day after to-morrow, St. Matthew's day. He was born\non St. Matthias's day, and he would depart from life on St.\nMatthew's,--[September 12, 1558]--Matthias's brother and fellow-disciple.\n\nSo it was, and Barbara remembered that his son and hers had also seen the\nlight of the world on St. Matthias's day.\n\nCharles's death-agony was severe. When Dr. Mathys at last said softly to\nthose who were present, \"Jam moritur,\"--[Now he is dying]--the loud cry\n\"Jesus!\" escaped his lips, and he sank back upon the pillows lifeless.\n\nHere Wolf was again obliged to give his weeping friend time to calm\nherself.\n\nWhat he now had to relate--both knew it--was well suited to transform the\ntears which Barbara was shedding in memory of the beloved dead to tears\nof joy.\n\nWhile she was wiping her eyes, Wolf described the great anxiety which,\nafter Charles's death, overpowered the Quijadas in Villagarcia.\n\nThe codicil had existed, and Don Luis was familiar with its contents. But\nhow would King Philip take it?\n\nDona Magdalena knew not what to do with herself in her anxiety.\n\nThe immediate future must decide Geronimo's fate, so she went on a\npilgrimage with her darling to the Madonna of Guadelupe to pray for the\nrepose of the Emperor's soul, and also to beseech the gracious Virgin\nmercifully to remember him, Geronimo.\n\nUntil that time the boy had believed Don Luis and his wife to be his\nparents, and had loved Dona Magdalena like the most affectionate son.\n\nHe had not even the slightest suspicion that he was a child of the\nEmperor, and was perfectly satisfied with the lot of being the son of a\ngrandee and the child of so good, tender, and beautiful a mother.\n\nThis exciting expectation on the part of the Quijadas lasted nearly a\nwhole year, for it was that length of time before Don Philip finally left\nthe Netherlands and reached Valladolid.\n\nHe spent the anniversary of his father's death in the monastery of Del\nAbrojo.\n\nThere, or previously, he had read the codicil in which his imperial\nfather acknowledged the boy Geronimo as his son.\n\nBarbara now desired to learn the contents of the codicil and, as Wolf had\ntold her yesterday how the boy's fate had changed, he interrupted his\nnarrative and obeyed her wish.\n\nAs a widower, Charles confessed that he had had a son in Germany by an\nunmarried woman. He had reason to wish that the boy should assume the\nrobe of a reformed order, but he must be neither forced nor persuaded to\ndo so. If he wished to remain in the world, he would settle upon him a\nyearly income of from twenty to thirty thousand ducats, which was to pass\nalso to his heirs. Whatever mode of life he might choose, he commanded\nhis son Philip to honour him and treat him with due respect.\n\nAs on the day before, when Barbara had only learned in general terms what\nthe codicil contained, her soul to-day, while listening to the more\nminute particulars, was filled with grateful joy.\n\nHer sacrifice had not been vain. For years the fear of seeing her son\nvanish in a monastery had darkened her days and nights, and Quijada and\nDona Magdalena had also probably dreaded that King Philip might confide\nhis half-brother to a reformed order, for the monarch had by no means\nhastened to inform the anxious pair what he had determined.\n\nIt was not until the end of September that, upon the pretext of hunting,\nhe went to the monastery of San Pedro de la Espina, a league from\nVillagarcia, and ordered Don Luis to seek him there with the boy. He was\nto leave the latter wholly unembarrassed, and not even inform him that\nthe gentleman whom he would meet was the King.\n\nHis decision, he had added in the chilling manner characteristic of him,\nwould depend upon circumstances.\n\nQuijada, with a throbbing heart, obeyed, but Geronimo had no suspicion of\nwhat awaited him, and only wondered why his mother took so much trouble\nabout his dress, since they were merely going hunting. The tears\nglittering in her eyes he attributed to the anxiety which she often\nexpressed when he rode with the hunters on the fiery young Andalusian\nwhich his father had given him. He was then twelve years and a half old,\nbut might easily have been taken for fourteen.\n\n\"It was a splendid sight,\" Wolf went on, \"as the erect figure of the dark\nDon Luis, on his powerful black stallion, galloped beside the fair,\nhandsome boy with his white skin and blue eyes, who managed his spirited\ndun horse so firmly and joyously.\n\n\"Dona Magdalena and I followed them on our quiet bays. Her lips moved\nconstantly, and her right hand never stirred from the rosary at her belt\nwhile we were riding along the woodland paths.\n\n\"To soothe her, I began to talk about the pieces of music which his\nMajesty had brought from Brussels, but she did not hear me. So I remained\nsilent until the monastery glimmered through the trees. The blood left\nher cheeks, for at the same moment the thought came to us both that King\nPhilip was taking him to the monks.\n\n\"But we had scarcely time to confide what we feared to each other ere the\nblast of horns echoed from the forest.\n\n\"Then, to calm the anxious mother's heart, I remarked, 'His Majesty would\nnot have the horns sounded in that way if he were taking the pious\nbrothers a new companion,' and Dona Magdalena's wan cheeks again flushed\nslightly.\n\n\"The forest is cleared in front of the monastery, but it surrounds on all\nsides the open glade amid whose grass the meadow saffron was then growing\nthickly.\n\n\"I can still see Geronimo as he swung himself from the saddle to gather\nsome of the flowers. His mother needed them as medicine for a poor woman\nin the village.\n\n\"We stopped behind the last trees, where we had a good view of the glade.\nDon Luis left the boy to himself for a time; but when the blast of horns\nand the baying of the hounds sounded nearer, he ordered him, in the\ncommanding tone he used in teaching him to ride, to remount.\n\n\"Geronimo laughed, thrust the flowers hastily into his saddlebag, and\nwith a bold leap vaulted on his horse's back.\n\n\"A few minutes after, the King rode out of the forest.\n\n\"He was mounted on a noble bay hunting charber, and wore a huntsman's\ndress.\n\n\"No rider can hold a slender figure more erect.\n\n\"His haughty head, with the fair, pointed beard, was carried slightly\nthrown back, which gave him an especially arrogant appearance.\n\n\"When he saw Quijada, he raised his riding-whip with a significant\ngesture to his lips. We, too, understood what it meant, and Don Luis knew\nhim far better than we.\n\n\"He greeted the King without the least constraint, as if he were merely a\nfriend of noble birth, then beckoned to Geronimo, and the introduction\nwas only the brief words, 'My son' and 'The Count of Flanders.'\n\n\"The boy raised his little plumed hat with frank courtesy and, while\nbowing in the saddle, forced his dun horse to approach the King sideways.\nIt was no easy matter, and seemed to please his Majesty, for a smile of\nsatisfaction flitted over his cold features, and we heard him exclaim to\nQuijada, 'A horseman, and, if the saints so will, a knight well pleasing\nto Heaven.'\n\n\"What more he said to the boy we learned later. The words which by the\nmovement of his lips we saw that he added to the exclamation were,\n'Unless our noble young friend prefers to consecrate himself in humility\nto the service of the highest of all Masters.'\n\n\"He had pointed to the monastery as he spoke. Geronimo did not delay his\nreply, but, crossing himself, answered quickly:\n\n\"'I wish to be a faithful servant of our Lord Jesus Christ, but only in\nthe world, fighting against his foes.'\n\n\"Philip nodded so eagerly that his stiff white ruff was pushed awry, and\nthen, with patronizing approval, added: 'So every nobleman ought to\nthink. You, my young friend, saw a short time ago at the auto-da-fe in\nValladolid how a considerable number of Spanish gentlemen of the noblest\nblood expiated at the stake the mortal sin of heresy. A severe\npunishment, and a terrible end! Would you perhaps have preferred to see\nhis Majesty's mercy grant them their lives?'\n\n\"'On no account, my Lord Count,' cried Geronimo eagerly. 'There is no\nmercy for the heretic.'\n\n\"His Majesty now summoned the two knights who attended him and, while one\nheld his horse, he dismounted.\n\n\"At a sign from Quijada, Geronimo now also sprang to the ground, and\ngazed wonderingly at the stranger, whom, on account of his fair beard, he\nsupposed to be a Netherland noble; but Dona Magdalena could bear to\nremain under the trees no longer, and I followed her to the edge of the\nmeadow. The King advanced toward the boy, and stood before him with so\nproud and dignified a bearing that one might have supposed his short\nfigure had grown two heads taller.\n\n\"Geronimo must have felt that some very distinguished personage\nconfronted him, and that something great awaited him, for he\ninvoluntarily raised his hat again. His wavy golden locks now fell\nunconfined around his head, his cheeks glowed, and his large blue eyes\ngazed questioningly and with deep perplexity into the stranger's face as\nhe said slowly, with significant emphasis: 'I am not the man whom you\nsuppose. Who, boy, do you think that I might be?'\n\n\"'Geronimo turned pale; only one head could be lifted with so haughty a\nmajesty, and suddenly remembering the face which he had seen upon many a\ncoin, sure that he was right, he bent the knee with modest grace, saying,\n'Our sovereign lord, his Majesty King Philip''\n\n\"'I am he,' was the reply. 'But to you, dear boy, I am still more.'\n\n\"'As he spoke he gave him his hand, and, when Geronimo rose, he said,\npointing to his breast: 'Your place is here, my boy; for the Emperor\nCharles, who is now enjoying the bliss of heaven, was your father as well\nas mine, and you, lad, are my brother.'\n\n\"Then passing his arm around his shoulders, he drew him gently toward\nhim, lightly imprinting a kiss upon his brow and cheeks; but Geronimo,\ndeeply moved, pressed his fresh red lips to his royal brother's right\nhand. Yet he had scarcely raised his head again when he started, and in\nan agitated tone asked, 'And Don Luis--and my dear mother?'\n\n\"'Continue to love and honour them,' replied the King.--'Explain the rest\nto him, Don Luis. But keep what has happened here secret for the present.\nI will present him myself to our people as my brother. He received in\nholy baptism the name of John, which in Castilian is Juan. Let him keep\nit.--Give me your hand again, Don Juan d'Austria.--[Don John of\nAustria]--A proud name! Do it honour.'\n\n\"He turned away as he spoke, mounted with the aid of one of his knights,\nwaved his hand graciously to Quijada and, while his horse was already\nmoving, called to him, 'My brother, Don Juan, will be addressed as your\nExcellency.'\n\n\"He took no notice of Dona Magdalena, probably because she had appeared\nhere either without or against his orders, and thus offended one of the\nforms of etiquette on which he placed so much value. So his Majesty\nneither saw nor heard how the son of an Emperor and the brother of a King\nrushed up to his foster-mother, threw himself into her outstretched arms,\nand exclaimed with warm affection, 'Mother! my dear, dear mother!'\"\n\nBarbara had listened weeping to this description, but the last sentence\ndried her tears and, like Frau Traut a short time ago, her friend\nregretted that he had not exercised greater caution as he heard her,\nstill sobbing, but with an angry shrug of the shoulders, repeat the\nexclamation which her son--ay, her son only--had poured forth from his\noverflowing heart to another woman.\n\nSo Wolf did not tell her what he had witnessed in Villagarcia, when Don\nJuan and Dona Magdalena had fallen into each other's arms, and that when\nhe asked about his real mother the lady answered that she was an\nunfortunate woman who must remain away from him, but for whom it would be\nhis duty to provide generously.\n\nDirectly after, on the second day of October, Wolf added, the King had\npresented her son to the court as his Excellency, his brother Don John of\nAustria!\n\nHe, Wolf, had set off for Brussels with the grand prior that very day,\nand, as his ship sailed from Spain before any other, he had succeeded in\nbeing the first to bring this joyful news to the Netherlands and to her.\n\nWhen Wolf left Barbara, it seemed as though what had hitherto appeared a\nbewildering, happy dream had now for the first time been confirmed. The\nlofty goal she had striven to reach, and of which she had never lost\nsight, was now gained; but a bitter drop of wormwood mingled with the\nhappiness that filled her grateful heart to overflowing. Another woman\nhad forced herself into her place and robbed her of the boy's love, which\nbelonged to her and, after his father's death, to her alone.\n\nEvery thought of the much-praised Dona Magdalena stirred her blood. How\ncruel had been the anguish and fears which she had endured for this child\nshe alone could know; but the other enjoyed every pleasure that the\npossession of so highly gifted a young creature could afford. She could\nsay to herself that, of all sins, the one farthest from her nature was\nenvy; but what she felt toward this stealer of love fatally resembled\nsharp, gnawing ill will.\n\nYet the bright sense of happiness which pervaded her whole being rendered\nit easy for her to thrust the image of the unloved woman far into the\nshade, and the next morning became a glorious festival for her; she used\nit to pay a visit to the Dubois couple, and when she told them what she\nhad heard from Wolf, and saw Frau Traut sob aloud in her joy and Adrian\nwipe tears of grateful emotion from his aged eyes, her own happiness was\ndoubled by the others' sympathy.\n\nBarbara had anticipated Wolf, but while going home she met him on his way\nto the Dubois house. He joined her, and still had many questions to\nanswer.\n\nDuring the next few days her friend helped her compose a letter to her\nson; but he was constantly obliged to impose moderation upon the\npassionate vehemence of her feelings. She often yielded to his superior\nprudence, only she would not fulfil his desire to address her boy as\n\"your Excellency.\"\n\nWhen she read the letter, she thought she had found the right course.\n\nBarbara first introduced herself to John as his real mother. She had\nloved and honoured his great father with all the strength of her soul,\nand she might boast of having been clear to him also. By the Emperor\nCharles's command he, her beloved child, had been taken from her. She had\nsubmitted with a bleeding heart and, to place him in the path of fortune,\nhad inflicted the deepest wounds upon her own soul. Now her\nself-sacrifice was richly rewarded, and it would make her happier than\nhimself if she should learn that his own merit had led him to the height\nof fame which she prayed that he might reach.\n\nThen she congratulated him, and begged him not to forget her entirely\namid his grandeur. She was only a plain woman, but she, too, belonged to\nan ancient knightly race, and therefore he need not be ashamed of his\nmother's blood.\n\nLastly, at Wolf's desire, she requested her son to thank the lady who so\nlovingly filled her place to him.\n\nHer friend was to give this letter himself to Don John of Austria, and he\nvoluntarily promised to lead the high-minded boy to the belief that his\nown mother had also been worthy of an Emperor's love.\n\nLastly, Wolf promised to inform her of any important event in her son's\nlife or his own. During the last hour of their meeting he admitted that\nhe was one of the few who felt satisfied with their lot. True, he could\nnot say that he had no wishes; but up to this hour he had desired nothing\nmore constantly and longingly than to hear her sing once more, as in that\nnever-to-be-forgotten May in the Ratisbon home. He might now hope, sooner\nor later, to have this wish, too, fulfilled. These were kind, cheering\nwords, and with a grateful ebullition of feeling she admitted that, after\nhis glad tidings, she, too, again felt capable of believing in a happy\nfuture.\n\nSo the friends from childhood bade each other farewell.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nDuring the following days Barbara's life path was illumined by the\nreflection of the happiness bestowed by the wonderful change in the fate\nof her child of sorrow, who now promised to become a giver of joy to her.\n\nDoubtless during the ensuing years many dark shadows fell upon her\nexistence and her heart; but when everything around and within was\ngloomy, she only needed to think of the son whom she had given the\nEmperor, and the constantly increasing brilliancy of his career, to raise\nher head with fresh confidence. Yet the cloud obscuring her happiness\nwhich she found it hardest to bear proceeded directly from him.\n\nHe had probably mentioned her to his royal brother, and revenues had been\ngranted her far exceeding poor Wawerl's dreams, and doubtless a\nreflection of the admiration which her son earned fell upon her, and her\npride was greatly increased. Moreover, she could again devote herself\nwithout fear to her ardently beloved art, for even honest old Appenzelder\ndeclared that he liked to listen to her, though her voice still lacked\nmuch of the overpowering magic of former days. She was in a position,\ntoo, to gratify many a taste for whose satisfaction she had often\nyearned, yet she could not attain a genuine and thorough new sense of\nhappiness.\n\nThe weeks which, a few years after her John's recognition, she spent with\nself-sacrificing devotion beside her husband's couch of pain, which was\nto become his deathbed, passed amid anxiety and grief, and when her\naffectionate, careful nursing proved vain, and Pyramus died, deep and\nsincere sorrow overpowered her. True, he had not succeeded in winning her\nto return his tender love; but after he had closed his eyes she realized\nfor the first time what a wealth of goodness and fidelity was buried with\nhim and lost to her forever.\n\nHer youngest boy, soon after his father's death, was torn from her by\nfalling into a cistern, and she yielded herself to such passionate grief\nfor his loss that she thought she could never conquer it; but it was soon\nsoothed by the belief that, for the sake of this devout child, whose\ntraining for a religious life had already commenced, Heaven had resigned\nits claims upon John, and that the boy was dwelling in the immediate\npresence of the Queen of Heaven.\n\nThus, ere she was aware of it, her burning anguish changed into a\ncheerful remembrance. Earlier still--more than two years after Wolf's\ndeparture--tidings closely associated with the sorrow inflicted through\nher John had saddened her. The ship which was to bear the loyal companion\nof her youth to Spain was wrecked just before the end of the voyage, and\nWolf went down with it. Barbara learned the news only by accident, and\nhis death first made her realize with full distinctness how dear he had\nbeen to her.\n\nThe letter which she had addressed to her son was lost with the man in\nwhom Fate had wrested from her the last friend who would have been able\nand willing to show her John clearly and kindly a correct picture of his\nmother's real character.\n\nFor two years she had hoped that Wolf would complete her letter in his\nown person, and tell her son how her voice and her beauty had won his\nfather's heart. Quijada had known it; but if he spoke of her to his wife\nand foster-son, it was scarcely in her favour--he cared little for music\nand singing.\n\nSo the loss of this letter seemed to her, with reason, a severe\nmisfortune. What she now wrote to John could hardly exert much influence\nupon him. Yet she did write, this time with the aid of Hannibal. But the\nnew letter, which began with thanks for the financial aid which the son\nhad conferred upon his mother through his royal brother, was distasteful\nboth to her pride and her maternal affection. Half prosaic, half far too\neffusive, it gave a distorted idea of her real feelings, and she tore it\nup before giving it to the messenger.\n\nYet she did not cease to hope that, in some favourable hour, the heart of\nthe idol of her soul would urge him to approach his mother; but year\nafter year elapsed without bringing her even the slightest token of his\nremembrance, and this omission was the bitter drop that spoiled the\nhappiness which, after the death of her youngest boy, was clouded by no\noutward event.\n\nWhen at last she addressed herself to John in a third letter, which this\ntime she dictated to Hannibal as her heart prompted, she received an\nanswer, it is true, though not from him, but from Dona Magdalena.\n\nIn kind words this lady urged her not to write to \"her\"--Dona\nMagdalena's--son in future. She had taught him to think of the woman who\nbore him with fitting respect, but it would be impossible for him to\nmaintain the relation with her. She must spare her the explanation of the\nreasons which made this appear to be an obstacle to his career. Don John\nwould prove in the future, by his care for her prosperity and comfort,\nthat he did not forget her. She had no right, it is true, to counsel her;\nbut when she transported herself into the soul of the woman who had\nenjoyed the love of the Emperor Charles, and on whom Heaven had bestowed\na son like John of Austria, she felt sure that this woman would act\nwisely and promote her real welfare if she preferred communion with her\nSaviour, in the quiet of a cloister, to the bustle of life amid\nsurroundings which certainly were far too humble for her.\n\nBarbara felt wounded to the inmost depths of her being by this letter.\nHad the officious adviser, who had certainly despatched the reply without\nher son's knowledge, been within her reach, she would have showed her how\nlittle inclination she felt to be patronized by the person who, after\nalienating the son's heart from his mother, even presumed to dictate to\nher to rob herself of her last claim upon his regard.\n\nTrue, in one respect she agreed with the writer of the letter.\n\nPrecisely because it appeared as if Heaven had accepted her sacrifice and\nthe grandeur for which she had made it seemed to be awaiting her son, she\nought to attempt nothing that might impede his climbing to the height,\nand her open connection with him might easily have placed stones in his\npath. His elevation depended upon King Philip, whose boundless pride had\ngazed at her from his chilling face.\n\nSo she resolved to make no more advances to her child until the day\ncame--and a voice within told her that come it must--when he himself\nlonged for his own mother. Meanwhile she would be content with the joy of\nwatching his brilliant course from the distance.\n\nThe miracles which she had anticipated and prayed for in his behalf were\naccomplished. First, she heard that Count Ribadavia's splendid palace\nwould be prepared for her son, that the sons of noble families would be\nassigned to attend him, and that a body-guard of Spaniards and Germans\nand a train of his own were at his command.\n\nThen she learned in what a remarkable manner Elizabeth of Valois, the\nKing's new wife, favoured the lad of thirteen. At the taking of the oath\nby which the Cortes recognised Don Carlos as the heir to the throne, John\nhad been summoned directly after the Infant as the first person entitled\nto homage.\n\nNext, she learned that he had entered the famous University of Alcala de\nHenares.\n\nAnd his classmates and friends? They were no less important personages\nthan Don Carlos himself and Alessandro Farnese, John's nephew, the son of\nthat Ottavio at whose admission as Knight of the Golden Fleece Barbara\nhad made at Landshut the most difficult resolution of her life.\n\nHe was said to share everything with these distinguished companions, and\nto be himself the handsomest and most attractive of the illustrious trio.\nHe was particularly inseparable from Alessandro, the son of the woman now\nruling as regent in Brussels, who was John's sister.\n\nWhat reply would he have made to this illustrious scion of one of the\nmost ancient and noble royal races if a letter from her had reached him,\nand the duke's son had asked, \"Who is this Frau Barbara Blomberg?\" or, as\nshe now signed herself, \"Madame de Blomberg\"?\n\nThe answer must have been: \"My mother.\"\n\nOh, no, no, never!\n\nIt would have been cruel to expect this from him; never would she place\nher beloved child, her pride, her joy, in so embarrassing a position.\n\nBesides, though she could only watch him from a distance, thanks to his\ngenerosity or his brother's, she could lead a pleasant life. To sun\nherself in his glory, too, was sufficiently cheering, and must satisfy\nher.\n\nHe spent three years at the University of Aleala, and nothing but good\nnews of him reached her. Then she received tidings which gave her special\njoy, for one of the wishes she had formed in Landshut was fulfilled. He\nhad been made a Knight of the Golden Fleece, and how becoming the jewel\non the red ribbon must be to the youth of one-and-twenty! How many of her\nacquaintances belonging to the partisans of the King and Spain came to\ncongratulate her upon it! Because John had become Spanish, and risen in\nSpain to the position which she desired for him, she wished to become so,\nand studied the Spanish language with the zeal and industry of a young\ngirl. She succeeded in gaining more and more knowledge of it, and,\nfinally, through intercourse with Spaniards, in mastering it completely.\n\nAt that time the prospects for her party were certainly gloomy; the\nheretical agitation and the boldness of the rebellious enthusiasts for\nindependence and liberty surpassed all bounds.\n\nThe King therefore sent the Duke of Alba to the Netherlands to restore\norder, and, with the twenty thousand men he commanded, make the\ninsurgents feel the resistless power of offended majesty and the angered\nChurch.\n\nBarbara and her friends greeted the stern duke as a noble champion of the\nfaith, who was resolved to do his utmost. The new bishoprics, which by\nGranvelle's advice had been established, the foreign soldiers, and the\nSpanish Inquisition, which pursued the heretics with inexorable\nharshness, had roused the populace to unprecedented turmoil, and induced\nthem to resist the leading nobles, who were indebted to the King for\ngreat favours, to the intense wrath of these aristocrats and the\npartisans of Spain.\n\nBarbara, with all her party, had welcomed the new bishoprics as an\narrangement which promised many blessings, and the foreign troops seemed\nto her necessary to maintain order in the rebellious Netherlands. The\ncruelty of the Inquisition was only intended to enforce respect for the\nedicts which the Emperor Charles, in his infallible wisdom, had issued,\nand the hatred which the nobles, especially, displayed against Granvelle,\nBarbara's kind patron, the greatest statesman of his time and the most\nloyal servant of his King, seemed to her worthy of the utmost\ncondemnation.\n\nThe scorn with which the rebels, after the compromise signed by the\nhighest nobles, had called themselves Geusen, or Beggars, and endangered\nrepose, would have been worthy of the severest punishment. What induced\nthese people to risk money and life for privileges which a wise policy of\nthe government--this was the firm conviction of those who shared\nBarbara's views--could not possibly grant, was incomprehensible to her,\nand she watched the course of the rebels with increasing aversion. Did\nthey suppose their well-fed magistrates and solemn States-General, who\nnever looked beyond their own city and country, would govern them better\nthan the far-sighted wisdom of a Granvelle or the vast intellect of a\nViglius, which comprised all the knowledge of the world?\n\nWhat they called their liberties were privileges which a sovereign\nbestowed. Ought they to wonder if another monarch, whom they had deeply\nangered, did not regard them as inviolable gifts of God? The quiet\ncomfort of former days had been clouded, nay, destroyed, by these\npatriots. Peace could be restored only by the King's silencing them. So\nshe wished the Spaniards a speedy success, and detested the efforts of\nindependent minds; above all, of William of Orange, their only too\nclear-sighted, cautious, devoted leader, also skilled in the arts of\ndissimulation, in whom she recognised the most dangerous foe of Spanish\nsovereignty and the unity of the Church.\n\nWhen, by the Duke of Alba's orders, the Counts Egmont and Horn were\nexecuted one June day in the market place of Brussels, opinions, even of\nmembers of the Spanish party, were divided, especially as Count Egmont\nwas a Catholic, and had acted finally according to the views of the\ngovernment.\n\nBarbara sincerely lamented his terrible end, for she had seen in him a\nbrilliant model for her John. In hours of depression, the sudden fall of\nthis favourite of the people seemed like an evil omen. But she would not\nlet these disquieting thoughts gain power over her, for she wished at\nlast to enjoy life and, as the mother of such a son, felt entitled to do\nso.\n\nShe regarded this cruel deed of Alba as a false step at any rate, for,\nthough she kept so far aloof from the Netherland burghers and common\npeople, she perceived what deep indignation this measure aroused.\n\nMeanwhile the Prince of Orange, the spirit and soul of this execrable\nrebellion, had escaped the sentence of the court.\n\nNevertheless, she regarded Alba with great admiration, for he was a man\nof ability, whom the Emperor Charles had held in high esteem. Besides,\nafter her husband's death the haughty noble had been courteous enough to\nassure her of his sympathy.\n\nMoreover, a time was just approaching in which she withdrew too far from\nthis conflict to follow it with full attention, for her son's first deed\nof heroism became known in Brussels.\n\nThe King had appointed John to the command of the fleet, and sent him\nagainst the pirates upon the African coast. He could now gather his first\nlaurels, and to do everything in her power for the success of his arms,\nBarbara spent the greater portion of her time in church, praying\ndevoutly. In September he was greeted in Madrid as a conqueror, but her\njoy was not unclouded; for the Infant Don Carlos had yielded up his young\nlife in July as a prisoner, and she believed him to be her John's best\nfriend, and lamented his death because she thought that it would grieve\nher hero son.\n\nBut this little cloud soon vanished, and how brilliantly the blue sky\narched above her the next year, when she learned that Don John of Austria\nhad received the honourable commission of crushing the rebellion of the\ninfidel Moriscoes in Andalusia! Here her royal son first proved himself a\nglorious military hero, and his deeds at the siege of Galera and before\nSeron filled her maternal heart with inexpressible pride. The words which\nhe shouted to his retreating men: \"Do you call yourselves Spaniards and\nnot know what honour means? What have you to fear when I am with you?\"\nechoed in her ears like the most beautiful melody which she had ever\nsting or heard.\n\nYet a dark shadow fell on these radiant joys also; her John's friend and\nfoster-father, Don Luis Quijada, had been wounded in these battles, and\ndied from his injuries. Barbara felt what deep pain this would cause her\ndistant son, and expressed her sympathy to him in a letter.\n\nBut the greatest happiness was still in store for her and for him. On the\n7th of October, 1571, the young hero, now twenty-four years old, as\ncommander of the united fleets of Spain, Venice, and the Pope, gained the\ngreatest victory which any Castilian force had ever won over the troops\nof the infidels.\n\nInstead of the name received at his baptism, and the one which he owed to\nhis brother, that of Victor of Lepanto now adorned him. Not one of all\nthe generals in the world received honours even distantly approaching\nthose lavished upon him. And besides the leonine courage and talent for\ncommand which he had displayed, his noble nature was praised with ardent\nenthusiasm. How he had showed it in the distribution of the booty to the\nwidow of the Turkish high admiral Ali Pasha! This renowned Moslem naval\ncommander had fallen in the battle, and his two sons had been delivered\nto Don John as prisoners. When the unfortunate mother entreated him to\nrelease the boys for a large ransom, he restored one to her love with the\ncompanions for whose liberty he had interceded, with a letter containing\nthe words, \"It does not beseem me to keep your presents, since my rank\nand birth require me to give, not to receive.\"\n\nThese noble words were written by Barbara Blomberg's son, the boy to whom\nshe gave birth, and who had now become just what her lofty soul desired.\n\nAfter the conquest of Cyprus, the Crescent had seriously threatened the\nCross in the Mediterranean, and it was Don John who had broken the power\nof the Turks.\n\nAlas, that her father could not have lived to witness this exploit of his\ngrandson! What a happy man the victory of Lepanto, gained by his\n\"Wawerl's\" son, would have made him! How the fearless old champion of the\nfaith would have rejoiced in this grandchild, his deeds, and nature!\n\nAnd what honours were bestowed upon her John!\n\nKing Philip wrote to him, \"Next to God, gratitude for what has been\naccomplished is due to you.\" A statue was erected to him in Messina. The\nPope had used the words of Scripture, \"There was a man sent by God, and\nhis name was John.\" Now, yes, now she was more than rewarded for the\nsacrifice of Landshut; now the splendour and grandeur for which she had\nlonged and prayed was far, far exceeded.\n\nThis time it was gratitude, fervent gratitude, which detained her in\nchurch. The child of her love, her suffering, her pride, was now happy,\nmust be happy.\n\nWhen, two years later, Don John captured Tunis, the exploit could no\nlonger increase his renown.\n\nAt this time also happened many things which filled the heart of a woman\nso closely connected with royalty sometimes with joy, sometimes with\nanxiety.\n\nIn Paris, the night of St. Bartholomew, a year after her son had\nchastised the Moslems at Lepanto, dealt the French heretics a deep,\nalmost incurable wound, and in the Netherlands there were not gallows\nenough to hang the misguided fanatics.\n\nYet this rebellious nation did not cease to cause the King unspeakable\ndifficulties and orthodox Christians sorrow. On the sea the \"Beggars\"\nconquered his Majesty's war ships; Haarlem, it is true, had been forced\nby the Spanish troops to surrender, but what terrible sacrifices the\nsiege had cost where women had taken part in the defence with the courage\nof men!\n\nAnd, in spite of everything, Alba's harshness had been futile.\n\nThen Philip recalled him and put in his place the gentle Don Luis de\nRequesens, who had been governor in Milan. He would willingly have made\npeace with the people bleeding from a thousand wounds, but how could he\nconcede the toleration of the heretical faith and the withdrawal of the\ntroops on which he relied? And how did the rebels show their gratitude to\nhim for his kindness and good will?\n\nThe Beggars destroyed his fleet, and, though the brother of William of\nOrange had been defeated upon the Mooker-Heide, this by no means\ndisheartened the enraged nation, resolved upon extremes, and their silent\nbut wise and tireless leader.\n\nIn Leyden the obstinacy of the foes of the King and the Church showed\nitself in a way to which even Barbara and her party could not deny a\ncertain degree of admiration. True, the nature of the country aided the\nrebels like an ally. Mortal warriors could not contend against wind and\nstorm. But he who from without directed the defence here, who had issued\nthe order to break through the dikes, and then with shameful effrontery\nhad founded in the scarcely rescued city a university which was to\nnurture the spirit of resistance in the minds of the young men, was again\nthe Prince of Orange; and who else than he, his shrewdness and firmness,\nrobbed Requesens of gratitude for his mildness and the success of his\nhonest labours?\n\nBut how much easier was the part of the leader of the enemy, who in\nBrussels had escaped the fate of Egmont, than the King's kindly disposed\ngovernor! When Barbara chanced to hear the men of the people talking with\neach other, and they spoke of \"Father William,\" they meant the Prince of\nOrange; and with what abuse, both verbally and in handbills, King Philip\nand the Spanish Government were loaded!\n\nTo Barbara, as well as to the members of her party, William of Orange,\nwhom she often heard called the \"Antichrist\" and \"rebel chief,\" was an\nobject of hatred. Now he frustrated the kind Requesens's attempt at\nmediation, and it was also his fault that two provinces had publicly\nrevolted from the Holy Church. The Protestant worship of God was now\nexercised as freely there as in Ratisbon. Like William of Orange, most of\nthe citizens professed the doctrine of Calvin, but there was no lack of\nLutherans, and the clergyman whose sermons attracted the largest\ncongregations was Erasmus Eckhart, Barbara's old acquaintance, Dr.\nHiltner's foster-son, who during the Emperor Charles's reign had come to\nthe Netherlands as an army chaplain, and, amid great perils, was said to\nhave lured thousands from the Catholic Church. Deeply as her sentiments\nrebelled, here, too, Barbara had become his preserver; for when the\nBloody Council had sentenced him to the gallows, she had succeeded, with\ngreat difficulty, through her manifold relations to the heads of the\nSpanish party, in obtaining his pardon. A grateful letter from Frau\nSabina Hiltner had abundantly repaid her for these exertions.\n\nThe boldness with which William of Orange, who was himself the most\ndangerous heretic and rebel, protested that he was willing to grant every\none full religious liberty, had no desire to injure the Catholic Church\nin any way, and was even ready to acknowledge the supremacy of the King,\ncould not fail to enrage every pious Catholic and faithful subject of\nKing Philip.\n\nTo spoil a Requesens's game was no difficult task for the man who, though\nby no means as harmless as the dove, was certainly as wise as the\nserpent; but that the Duke of Alba, the tried, inflexible commander, had\nbeen obliged to yield and retire vanquished before the little, merry,\nindustrious, thoroughly peaceful nation which intrusted itself to the\nleadership of William of Orange, had been too much for her and, when it\nhappened, seemed like a miracle.\n\nWhat spirits were aiding the Prince of Orange to resist the King and the\npower of the Church so successfully? He was in league with hell, her old\nconfessor said, and there were rumours that his Majesty was trying to\nhave the abominable mischief-maker secretly put out of the world. But\nthis would have been unworthy of a King, and Barbara would not believe\nit.\n\nIn the northern provinces the Spanish power was only a shadow, but in the\nsouthern ones also hatred of the Spaniards was already bursting into\nflames, and Requesens was too weak to extinguish them.\n\nThe King and Barbara's political friends perceived that Alba's pitiless,\nmurderous severity had injured the cause of the crown and the Church far\nmore than it had benefited them. Personally, he had treated her on the\nwhole kindly, but he had inflicted two offences which were hard to\nconquer. In the first place, he urged her to leave Brussels and settle in\nMons; and, secondly, he had refused to receive her Conrad, who had grown\nup into a steady, good-looking, but in no respect remarkable young man,\nin one of his regiments, with the prospect of promotion to the rank of\nofficer.\n\nIn both cases she had not remained quiet and, at the second audience\nwhich the duke gave her, her hot blood, though it had grown so much\ncooler, played her a trick, and she became involved in a vehement\nargument with him. In the course of this he had been compelled to be\nfrank, and she now knew that Alba had persuaded her to change her\nresidence at the King's desire, and why it was done.\n\nShe afterward learned from acquaintances that the duke had said one was\napt to be the loser in a dispute with her; yet she had yielded, though\nsolely and entirely to benefit her John, but she could not help\nconfessing to herself that her residence in the capital could not be\nagreeable to him. The highest Spanish officials and military commanders\nlived there, as well as the ambassadors of foreign powers, and it was not\ndesirable to remind them of the maternal descent of the general who now\nbelonged to the King's family.\n\nThe case was somewhat similar, as Alba himself had confessed to her, with\nregard to her son Conrad's promotion to the rank of an officer; for if he\nattained that position he might, as the brother of Don John of Austria,\nmake pretensions which threatened to place the hero of Lepanto in a\nfalse, nay, perhaps unpleasant position. This, too, she did not desire.\nBut in removing from Brussels she had possibly rendered Don John a\ngreater service than she admitted to herself, for, since her son's\nbrilliant successes had made her happy and her external circumstances had\npermitted it, she had emerged from the miserable seclusion of former\nyears.\n\nHer dress, too, she now suited to the position which she arrogated to\nherself. But in doing so she had become a personage who could scarcely be\noverlooked, and she rarely failed to be present on the very occasions\nwhich brought together the most aristocratic Spanish society in Brussels.\n\nSo, after a fresh dispute with Alba, in which the victor on many a\nbattlefield was forced to yield, she had obtained his consent to retire\nto Ghent instead of Mons.\n\nTrue, the duke would have preferred to induce her to go to Spain, and\ntried to persuade her to do so by the assurance that the King himself\ndesired to receive her there.\n\nBut she had been warned.\n\nThrough Hannibal Melas and other members of her own party she had learned\nthat Philip intended, if she came to Spain, to remove her from the eyes\nof the world by placing her in a convent, and never had she felt less\ninclination to take the veil.\n\nHer departure from Brussels had done Alba and his functionaries a\nservice, for she had constantly forced herself into the government\nbuilding to obtain news of her son.\n\nThe great and opulent city of Ghent, the birthplace of the Emperor\nCharles, of which he had once said to Francis I, the King of France, that\nParis would go into his glove (Gant), had been chosen by Barbara for\nseveral reasons. The principal one was that she would find there several\nold friends of former days, one of whom, her singing-master Feys, had\npromised to accept her voice and enable her to serve her art again with\nfull pleasure.\n\nThe other was Hannibal Melas, who before Granvelle's fall had been\ntransferred there as one of the higher officials of the government.\n\nShe also entered into relations with other heads of the Spanish party,\nand thus found in Ghent what she sought. The pension allowed her enabled\nher to hire a pretty house, and to furnish it with a certain degree of\nsplendour. A companion, for whom she selected an elderly unmarried lady\nwho belonged to an impoverished noble family, accompanied her in her\nwalks; a major-domo governed the four men-servants and the maids of the\nhousehold; Frau Lamperi retained her position as lady's maid; the steward\nand cook attended to the kitchen and the cellar; and two pages, with a\npretty one-horse carriage, lent an air of elegance to her style of\nliving.\n\nFor the religious service, which was directed by her own chaplain, she\nhad had a chapel fitted up in the house, according to the Ratisbon\nfashion. The poor were never turned from her door without alms, and where\nshe encountered great want she often relieved it with a generosity far\nbeyond her means. Under the instruction of Maestro Feys, she eagerly\ndevoted herself to new exercises in singing. Doubtless she realized that\ntime and the long period of hoarseness had seriously injured her voice,\nbut even now she could compare with the best singers in the city.\n\nThus Barbara saw her youthful dreams of fortune realized--nay,\nsurpassed--and in the consciousness of liberty which she now enjoyed,\nelevated by the success gained by the person she loved best, she again\nfollowed her lover's motto. With the impelling \"More, farther\" before her\neyes, she took care that she did not lack the admiration for which she\nhad never ceased to long, and to which, in better days, she had possessed\nso well-founded a claim.\n\nNow a lavish and gracious hospitality, as well as her relationship to the\ngreatest and most popular hero of his time, must give her what she had\nformerly obtained through her art; for she rarely sang in large\ncompanies, and when she did so, no matter how loudly her hearers\nexpressed their delight, she could not regain the old confident security\nthat she was justly entitled to it. But she could believe all the more\nfirmly that the acknowledgments of pleasure which she reaped from her\nlittle evening parties were sincere. They even gained a certain degree of\ncelebrity, for the kitchen in her house was admirably managed, and\nwhatever came from it found approval even in the home of the finest\nculinary achievements. But it was especially the freedom--though not the\nslightest indecorum was permitted--with which people met at \"Madame de\nBlomberg's,\" as she now styled herself, that lent her house so great an\nattraction, and finally added the more aristocratic members of her party\nto the number of her guests.\n\nThe very different elements assembled in her home were united by\nBarbara's unaffected vivacity and frank, enthusiastic temperament,\nreceptive to the veriest trifle. These evening entertainments rarely\nlacked music; but she had learned to retire into the background, and when\nthere were talented artists among her guests she gave them the\nprecedence. The way in which she understood how to discover and bring out\nthe best qualities of every visitor rendered her a very agreeable\nhostess.\n\nMaestro Feys made her acquainted with his professional friends in Ghent,\nand her opinion of music was soon highly valued among them. Where women\nchoirs were being trained, she was asked to join them, and often took a\npart which seemed to the others too difficult. Thus Barbara was heard and\nknown in larger circles, and she had the pleasure of hearing her\nadmirable training and excellent method of delivery praised by the\ndirector of the choir of the Cathedral of Saint Bavon, one of the\ngreatest musicians in the Netherlands. But it afforded her special\ngratification when a choir of Catholic women chose her for their leader.\nShe devoted a large portion of her time and strength to it, and felt\nhonoured and elevated by its progress and admirable performances.\n\nAlthough nearly fifty, she was still a very fine-looking woman. The few\nsilver threads which now mingled in her hair were skilfully concealed by\nLamperi's art, and few ladies in Ghent were more tastefully and richly\napparelled.\n\nAmong the guests who thronged to her house there was no lack of elderly\ngentlemen who would gladly have married the vivacious, unusual woman, who\nwas so nearly connected with the royal family, and lived in such\nluxurious style.\n\nNever had she had more suitors than at this time; but she had learned the\nmeaning of a loveless marriage, and her heart still belonged to the one\nman to whom, notwithstanding the deep wounds he had inflicted, she owed a\nbrief but peerlessly sublime happiness.\n\nShe could not even have bestowed upon her husband the alms of a sincere\ninterest, for, in spite of the increasing number of social and musical\nengagements which filled her life, one thought alone occupied the depths\nof her soul--her John, his renown, grandeur, and honour.\n\nHer son Conrad had no cause to complain of lack of affection from his\nmother, but the victor of Lepanto was to her the all-animating sun, the\nformer only a friendly little star. Besides, she rarely saw him now, as\nhe was studying in Lowen.\n\nAs she had modelled her housekeeping after that of the Castilian nobles,\nand her guests almost exclusively belonged to the royal party, she also\nsought Spanish houses or those of the city magistrates who were partisans\nof the King.\n\nNews of her son would be most fully supplied there, and many an officer\nwhom she met had served under her John, and willingly told the mother\nwhat he admired and had learned from him. The young Duke of Ferdinandina,\na Spanish colonel, who had studied with John in Alcala, and then fought\nby his side at the conquest of Tunis, stirred her heart most deeply by\nhis enthusiastic admiration for the comrade who was his superior in every\nrespect.\n\nAll the pictures of Don John, the young officer who had shared his tent\ndeclared, gave a very faint idea of his wonderful beauty and bewitching\nchivalrous grace. Not only women's hearts rushed to him; his frank,\nlovable nature also won men. As a rider in the tournament, in games of\nball and quarter staff, he had no peer; for his magnificently formed body\nwas like steel, and he himself had seen Don John share in playing racket\nfor six hours in succession with the utmost eagerness, and then show no\nmore fatigue than a fish does in water. But he was also sure of success\nwhere proof of intellect must be given. He did not understand where Don\nJohn had found time to learn to speak French, German, and Italian.\nMoreover, he was thoroughly the great noble. On the pilgrimage which he\nmade to Loretto he had distributed more than ten thousand ducats among the\npoor. The piety and charity which distinguished him--he had told him so\nhimself--owed to the lady who reared him, the widow of the\nnever-to-be-forgotten Don Luis Quijada. His eye filled with tears when he\nspoke of her. But even she, Barbara, could not love him more tenderly or\nfaithfully than this admirable woman. Up to the day she insisted upon\nsupplying his body linen. The finest linen spun and woven in Villagarcia\nwas used for the purpose, and the sewing was done by her own skilful\nhands. Nothing of importance befel him that he did not discuss with Tia\nin long letters.--[\"Tia,\" the Spanish word for aunt.]\n\nBarbara had listened to the young Spaniard with joyous emotion until, at\nthe last communication, her heart contracted again.\n\nHow much that by right was hers this worm snatched, as it were, from her\nlips! What delight it would also have given her to provide her son's\nlinen, and how much finer was the Flanders material than that made at\nVillagarcia! how much more artistically wrought were Mechlin and Brusse\nlaces than those of Valladolid or Barcelona!\n\nAnd the letters!\n\nHow many Dona Magdalena probably possessed! But she had not yet beheld a\nsingle pen stroke from her son's hand.\n\nYet she thanked the enthusiastic young panegyrist for his news, and the\nemotion of displeasure which for a short time destroyed her joy melted\nlike mist before the sun when he closed with the assurance that, no\nmatter how much he thought and pondered, he could find neither spot nor\nstain the brilliantly pure character of her son, irradiated by nobility\nof nature, the favour of fortune, and renown.\n\nThe already vivid sense of happiness which filled her was strongly\nenhanced by this description of the personality of her child and, in a\nperiod which saw so many anxious and troubled faces in the Netherlands, a\nsunny radiance brightened hers.\n\nShe felt rejuvenated, and the acquaintances and friends who declared that\nno one would suppose her to be much older than her famous son, whose age\nwas known to the whole world, were not guilty of undue exaggeration.\n\nHeaven, she thought, would pour its favour upon her too lavishly if the\nreport that Don John was to be appointed Governor of the Netherlands\nshould be verified.\n\nIt was not in Barbara's nature to shut such a wealth of joy into her own\nheart, and never had her house been more frequently opened to guests,\nnever had her little entertainments been more brilliant, never since the\ntime of her recovery had the music of her voice been more beautiful than\nin the days which followed the sudden death of the governor, Requesens.\n\nMeanwhile she had scarcely noticed how high the longing for liberty was\nsurging in the Netherland nation, and with how fierce a glow hatred of\nthe Spanish tyrants was consuming the hearts of the people.\n\nBut even Barbara was roused from her ecstasy of happiness when she heard\nof the atrocities that threatened the provinces.\n\nWhat did it avail that the King meanwhile left the government to the\nCouncil of State in Brussels? Even furious foes of Spain desired to see a\npower which could be relied upon at the head of the community, even\nthough it were a tool of the abhorred King. The danger was so terrible\nthat it could not fail to alarm and summon to the common defence every\nindividual, no matter to what party he might belong; for the unpaid\nSpanish regiments, with unbridled violence, rioting and seeking booty,\ncapable of every crime, every shameful deed, obedient only to their own\nsavage impulses, were already entering Brabant.\n\nNow many a Spanish partisan also hoped for deliverance from the Prince of\nOrange, but he took advantage of the favour of circumstances in behalf of\nthe great cause of liberty. The \"Spanish\" in Ghent heard with terror that\nall the heads of the royalist party who were at the helm of government\nhad been captured, that province after province had revolted, and would\nno longer bow to the despot. Philip of Croy, Duke of Aerschot, had been\nappointed military governor of Brabant.\n\nThe inhabitants of Ghent now saw the States-General meet within the walls\nof their city, in order, as every other support failed, to appeal for aid\nto foreign powers, and entreat \"Father William,\" who could do everything,\nto guard the country from the rebellious soldiery. Even those who\nfavoured Spain now relied upon his never-failing shrewdness and energy\nuntil the King sent the right man.\n\nThen the rumour that King Philip would send his brother Don John of\nAustria, that, as his regent, he might reconcile the contending parties,\nstrengthened into authentic news, and not only the Spanish partisans\nhailed it with joyous hope, for the reputation of military ability, as\nwell as of a noble nature, preceded the victor of Lepanto.\n\nBarbara received these tidings through the distinguished City Councillor\nRassingham, who invited her for the first time to a meeting of the\nSpanish party in his magnificent home--an honour bestowed, in addition to\nherself, upon only a few women belonging to the highest social circles,\nand which she probably owed to the summons to Don John. The members of\nthe States-General who favoured the King were also to be present at this\nassembly, and a banquet would follow the political discussions. This\ninvitation promised to lend fresh distinction to her social position, and\nopen a sphere of activity which suited her taste.\n\nThe King's cause was hers, and to be permitted to work for it gained a\nspecial charm by her son's appointment to be governor of the country,\nwhich filled her with mingled anxiety and joy. If he were regent, every\nservice which she rendered the party would benefit him personally.\n\nYet it was not perfectly easy for her to accept Rassingham's invitation.\n\nNothing could be more desirable and flattering than to obtain admittance\nto this house, from which all foreign and doubtful elements were excluded\nwith special care, but she would be obliged to remain there until late at\nnight, and this was difficult to reconcile with certain duties she had\nundertaken.\n\nHer old music teacher, Feys, to whom she was so much indebted, had been\nattacked by slow fever, and she had received him in her house five days\nago, and provided with loving devotion for his nursing. The bachelor of\nseventy had been so ill cared for in his lonely, uncomfortable home that\nher kind heart had urged her to take charge of him.\n\nShe had left him only a few hours since he had been under her roof, and\nif the banquet at the Rassinghams, after the deliberations, lasted until\na very late hour, she would, for the sake of her invalid guest, great as\nwas the sacrifice, attend only the former.\n\nYet she was pleased at the thought of sharing this festal assembly, and\nshe, her companion, and Lamperi all went into ecstasies over the dress\nshe intended to wear, which had just arrived from Brussels.\n\nMaestro Feys passed a restless night, and Barbara watched beside his\ncouch for hours. In the morning she allowed herself a little sleep, but\nshe was obliged at noon to dress for the assembly, which was to begin\nbefore sunset.\n\nShe had just sat down to have her hair arranged, which occupied a long\ntime, when one of the pages handed her a letter brought by a mounted\ncourier.\n\nShe opened it curiously, and while reading it her cheeks paled and\nflushed as in the days of her youth. Then it dropped into her lap, and\nfor a moment she remained motionless, with closed eyes, as though\nstupefied.\n\nThen, rising quickly, she again read the violet-scented missive, written\non the finest parchment.\n\n\"Your son,\" ran the brief contents--\"your son, who has so long been\nseparated from his mother, at last desires to look into her eyes. If the\nwoman who gave him birth wishes to make him feel new and deep gratitude,\nlet her hasten at once to Luxemburg, where he has been for several hours\nin the deepest privacy. The weal and woe of his life are at stake.\"\n\nThe letter, written in the German language, was signed \"John of Austria.\"\n\nPanting for breath, Barbara gazed a long time into vacancy. Then,\nsuddenly drawing herself up proudly, she exclaimed to Lamperi: \"I'll\ndress my hair myself. Yesterday Herr De la Porta offered me his\ntravelling carriage. The major-domo must go to him at once and say that\nMadame de Blomberg asks the loan of the vehicle. Let the page Diego order\npost and courier horses at the same time. The carriage must be ready in\nan hour.\"\n\n\"But, Madame,\" cried the maid, raising her hands in alarm and admonition,\n\"the Rassinghams are expecting you. The honour! Every one who is well\ndisposed in the States-General will be there. Who knows what the party\nhas in store for you? And then the banquet! What may there not be to\nhear!\"\n\n\"No matter,\" replied Barbara. \"The chaplain--I'll speak to him-must send\nthe refusal. No summons from Heaven could be more powerful than the call\nthat takes me away. Bestir yourself! There is not an instant to lose.\"\n\nFrau Lamperi retired with drooping head. But when she had executed her\nmistress's orders and returned, Barbara laid her hand upon her shoulder,\nwhispering: \"You can keep silence. I am going to Luxemburg. He who calls\nme is one whom you saw enter the world, the hero of Lepanto. He wants his\nmother. At last! at last! And I--\"\n\nHere tears stifled her voice, and obeying the desire to pour out to\nanother the overflowing gratitude and love which had taken possession of\nher soul, she threw herself upon the gray-haired attendant's breast, and\namid her weeping exclaimed: \"I shall see him with these eyes, I can clasp\nhis hand, I shall hear his voice--that voice--His first cry--A thousand\ntimes, waking and sleeping, I have fancied I heard it again. Do you\nremember how they took him from me, Lamperi?\n\n\"To think that I survived it! But now--now If that voice lured me to the\ndeepest abyss and called me away from paradise, I would go!\"\n\nThe maid's old eyes also overflowed, and when Barbara read her son's\nletter aloud, she cried: \"Of course there can be no delay, even if,\ninstead of the Rassinghams, King Philip himself should send for you. And\nI--may I go with you? Oh, Madame, you do not know what a sweet little\nangel he was from his very birth! We were not allowed to show him to you.\nAnd it was wise, for, had you seen him, it would have broken your poor\nmother heart to give him up.\"\n\nShe sobbed aloud as she spoke. Barbara permitted her to accompany her,\nthough she had intended to take her companion, and would have preferred\nto travel with the woman of noble birth.\n\nBesides, she could have confided the care of her sick guest to Lamperi\nmore confidently than to the other. But the faithful old soul's wish to\nsee the boy whose entrance into the world she had been permitted to greet\nwas too justifiable for her to be able to refuse it.\n\nHow much Barbara had to do before her departure! Most of the time was\nconsumed by the suffering maestro and the arrangements which she had to\nmake for him. She did not leave his bedside until the arrival of the\nsister who was to assist her companion in nursing her old friend until\nher return. She certainly would not be absent long; the important things\nJohn had to say might probably require great haste, while, on the\ncontrary, whatever needed time for execution could be comfortably\ndespatched during his stay in the Netherlands. So she assured Feys, who\nregarded her as his good angel and felt her departure painfully, that she\nwould soon be with him again, and then gave the order to ask Hannibal\nMelas, in her name, to pay frequent visits to the sick maestro. It was\nvery hard for her to leave him and neglect the duties which she had\nundertaken, but in the presence of the summons addressed to her every\nother consideration must be silent.\n\nWhen Barbara returned to her own apartments Lamperi was still busied with\nthe packing.\n\nSeveral dresses--first of all the new Brussels gown and its belongings,\neven the pomegranate blossoms which the garden city of Ghent had supplied\nas something rare in November for her mistress's adornment--were placed\ncarefully in the largest trunk, while Barbara, overpowered by\ninexpressible restlessness, paced the room with hasty steps from side to\nside.\n\nOnly when one or another article was taken from a casket or box did she\npause in her walk. Among the things selected was the pearl necklace which\nCharles had given her, and the only note her royal lover had ever\nwritten, which ran, \"This evening, quia amore langueo.\" This she laid\nwith her own hand among the laces and pomegranate blossoms, for this cry\nof longing might teach her son what she had once been to his father. When\nJohn had seen her and felt how clear he was to her, he must become aware\nthat he had another mother besides the Spanish lady whom he called \"Tia,\"\nand who made his underclothing; then he could no more forget her than\nthat other woman.\n\nLastly, she summoned the major-domo and told him what he must do during\nher absence, which she thought would not exceed a week at the utmost. The\nguests invited for Wednesday must be notified; the women's choir must be\nrequested to excuse her non-appearance; Sir Jasper Gordon, her most\nfaithful admirer, an elderly Englishman, must learn that she had gone\naway; but, above all, writing tablet in hand, she directed him how to\nprovide for her poor, what assistance every individual should receive, or\nthe sums of money and wood which were to be sent to other houses to\nprovide for the coming winter. She also placed money at the majordomo's\ndisposal for any very needy persons who might apply for help while she\nwas out of reach.\n\nBefore the November sun had set she entered the La Porta travelling\ncarriage. The chaplain, whom she referred to the major-domo for any\nmatters connected with the poor, gave his blessing to the departing\ntraveller, whose cheerful vivacity, after so many severe trials, he\nadmired, and whose \"golden heart,\" as he expressed it, had made her dear\nto him. The servants gathered at the door of the house, bowing silently,\nand her \"Farewell, till we meet again!\" fell from her lips with joyous\nconfidence.\n\nWhile on the way she reflected, for the first time, what John could\ndesire of her for the \"weal and woe of his life.\" It was impossible to\nguess, yet whatever it might be she would not fail him.\n\nBut what could it be'\n\nNeither during the long night journey nor by the light of day did she\nfind a satisfactory answer. True, she had not thought solely of her son's\nentreaty. Her whole former life passed before her.\n\nHow much she had sinned and erred! But all that she had done for the man\nto whom the posthorses were swiftly bearing her seemed to her free from\nreproach and blameless. Every act and feeling which he had received from\nher had been the best of which she was capable.\n\nNot a day, scarcely an hour, had she forgotten him; for his sake she had\nendured great anguish willingly, and, in spite of his mute reserve--she\ncould say so to herself--without any bitter feeling. How she had suffered\nin parting from her child she alone knew. Fate had raised her son to the\nsummit of earthly grandeur and saved him from every clanger. Providence\nhad adorned him with its choicest gifts. When she thought of the last\naccount of him from the Duke of Ferdinandina, it seemed to her as if his\nlife had hitherto resembled a triumphal procession, a walk through\nblooming gardens.\n\nWhat could he mean by the \"woe\" after the \"weal\"?\n\nJohn was to her the embodied fulfilment of the most ardent prayers. The\nblessings she had besought for him, and for which she had placed her own\nheart on the rack, had become his-glory and splendour, fame and honour.\n\nShe had not been able to give them to him, and undoubtedly he owed much\nto his own powers and to the favour of his royal brother, but Barbara was\nfirmly convinced that her prayers had raised him to his present grandeur.\n\nWhat more could now be given to him? Everything the human heart desires\nwas already his. His happiness was complete, and during recent years\nthis, too, had cheered her heart and restored her lost capacity for the\nenjoyment of life. She had been carried to the very verge of recklessness\nwhenever bitter grief had oppressed her heart.\n\nHer greatest sorrow had been that she was not permitted to see and\nembrace him, and the knowledge that another filled the place in his heart\nwhich belonged to her; but lesser troubles had also gnawed at her soul.\n\nIt had been especially hard to bear that, as the object of the greatest\nEmperor's love and the mother of his son, she had so long felt that she\nwas reluctantly tolerated, and not really recognised in the circles which\nshould have been hers also. Moreover, the consciousness of exercising an\nart over which she had once attained a mastery, yet never being able to\nshake off the painful doubt whether the applause that greeted her\nperformance was genuine, spoiled many a pleasant hour.\n\nStill, all these things had probably been only the tribute which she was\ncompelled to pay for the proud joy of being the mother of such a son.\n\nNow she at last felt safe from these malicious little attacks. She had\ngained a good social position; she was not only valued as a singer, but\nalways sought wherever the women of Ghent were earnestly pursuing music\nand singing. The invitation to the Rassinghams flung wide the doors which\nhad formerly been closed against her, and she might be sure of not being\ndeemed the least important among the ladies of her party to whose hearts\nthe cause of King and Church was dear.\n\nWhen she returned to Ghent, even if Don John had not been appointed\ngovernor, she might even have ventured to make her house the rendezvous\nof the heads of the royalist party.\n\nBut now that her son entered the Netherlands as the leader, the\nrepresentative of the sovereign, to reign in Philip's name, everything\nshe could wish was attained, and his father's \"More, farther,\" had lost\nall meaning for her.\n\nShe could meet her happy son as a happy mother; she said this to herself\nwith a long breath. These thoughts had animated her restless half slumber\nduring the nocturnal drive, and she still dwelt upon them all the\nfollowing day.\n\nToward evening they reached Luxemburg. At the gate, where every carriage\nwas stopped, the guards asked her name.\n\nAt the reply the inspector of taxes bowed profoundly, and signed to the\nSpanish officer behind him.\n\nHe was waiting for her, by the command of the captain-general, who longed\nto see her, and with the utmost courtesy undertook the office of guide.\n\nThen the carriage rolled on again, and turned into the magnificent park\nof a palace, which belonged to the royal governor, Prince Peter Ernst von\nMansfeld.\n\nA gentleman dressed in black, whose bright eyes revealed an active mind,\nwhile the expression of his well-formed features inspired confidence, Don\nJohn's private secretary, Escovedo, of whose shrewdness and fidelity\nBarbara had often heard, ushered her into the apartments assigned to her.\n\nIn two hours, he said, the captain-general would be happy to receive her.\nHe first wished her to rest completely after the fatiguing journey.\n\nBarbara dismissed, without making use of their services, the pages whom\nhe placed at her disposal. The more than luxurious meal which was served\nsoon afterward she scarcely touched; the impetuous throbbing of her heart\nchoked her breathing so that she could scarcely speak to Lamperi.\n\nWith eager zeal the maid tried to induce her to put on the fresh and\nextremely tasteful Brussels gala robe. The candlesticks, with the dozens\nof candles, the elegant silver dishes, the whole manner of the reception,\nled her to make the suggestion. But Barbara had scarcely noticed these\nmagnificent things.\n\nHer every thought and feeling centred upon the son whom she was now\nactually to see with her own eyes, whose hand she would touch, whose\nvoice she would hear.\n\nThe splendid costume did not suit such a meeting after a long separation,\nso solemn a festal hour of the heart.\n\nA heavy black silk which she had brought was more appropriate for this\noccasion. Only she allowed the pomegranate blossoms, which had remained\nperfectly fresh, to be fastened on her breast, that her dress might not\nlook like mourning. While Lamperi was putting the last touches to her\ntoilet, a priest came for her, as Escovedo had arranged, exactly two\nhours after her arrival. This was Father Dorante, Don John's confessor,\nan elderly man with a face in which earnest piety was so happily mingled\nwith kindly cheerfulness that Barbara rejoiced to know that such a\nguardian of souls was at her son's side.\n\nWhile he was descending the stairs with her, Barbara noticed one of the\nsearching glances he secretly cast at her, and wondered what this man's\npure, keen eyes had probably discovered.\n\nThe spacious apartment into which she was now ushered was hung with\ncostly bright-hued Oriental rugs.\n\n\"Gifts from the widow of the Turkish lord high admiral,\" the priest\nwhispered, pointing to the superb textures, and Barbara nodded. She knew\nhow he had obtained them, but the passionate agitation of her soul\ndeprived her of the power to inform the monk of this knowledge, of which\nprobably she would usually have boasted to a friend of her son so worthy\nof all respect.\n\nThe folding doors of the adjoining room were open. Surely John was there,\nand how gladly she would have rushed toward it! But the confessor asked\nher to sit down, as the captain-general still had several orders to give.\nThen he entered the other room.\n\nBarbara, panting for breath, looked after him and, as she glanced through\nthe open door, it seemed as though her heart stood still.\n\nYonder aristocratic gentleman, in the full prime of youthful beauty, must\nbe her son.\n\nThe man from whom she had so long been parted looked like the apparition\nof the Count Egmont, at whom she had once gazed full of admiration, with\nthe wish that her John might resemble him; only she thought her John,\nwith his open brow and floating, waving golden locks, far handsomer than\nthe unfortunate victor of St. Quentin and Gravelines.\n\nHow noble and yet how easy was the bearing of the dignitary, who was\nstill less than thirty years old!\n\nHis figure was only slightly above middle height. What gave it the air of\nsuch royal stateliness?\n\nCertainly it was not merely his dress, which consisted wholly of velvet,\nsilk, and satin, with the gold of the Fleece that hung below the lace\nruff at his throat. True, the colours of the costume were becoming. Dark\nviolet and golden yellow alternated in the slashed doublet and wide\nbreeches. His father had worn similar apparel when he confessed his love\nfor her.\n\nShould Barbara regard this as a good omen or an evil one?\n\nHe was not yet aware of her arrival for, completely absorbed in the\nsubject of their conversation, he was talking with his private secretary\nEscovedo.\n\nHow animated his beautiful features became! how leonine he looked when he\nindignantly shook his head with its wealth of golden hair!\n\nOh, yes! Women's hearts must indeed fly to him, and Barbara now\nunderstood what she had heard of the beautiful Diana of Sorrento, and the\nno less beautiful Alaria Mendoza, and their love for him.\n\nThus she had imagined him. Yet no! His outer man, in its proud patrician\nbeauty and winning charm, even surpassed her loftiest expectation. One\nthing alone surprised her: the seriousness of his youthful features and\nthe lines upon his lofty brow.\n\nWhy did her favourite of fortune bear these traces of former anxieties?\n\nNow the priest interrupted him. Had he told her John of her entrance?\n\nYet that was scarcely possible, for his face revealed no trace of filial\npleasure. On the contrary. He rallied his courage, as if he were about to\nstep into a cold river, straightened himself, and pressed his right hand,\nclinched into a fist, upon his hip. Perhaps--the saints be\npraised!--Father Dorante might have reminded him of something else, for\nhe turned to Escovedo again and gave him an order.\n\nThen he waved his hand, flung back his handsome head as King Philip was\nin the habit of doing, but in a far nobler, freer manner, hastily passed\nhis hand through his wavy hair, as if to strengthen his courage, and then\nwalked slowly, with haughty, almost arrogant dignity, to the door.\n\nOn the threshold he paused and looked at her. How bright were the large\nblue eyes which now gazed at Barbara with an expression far more\nsearching than joyous.\n\nYet even while, with one hand resting on the back of the chair and the\nother pressed upon her panting bosom, she was striving to find the right\nwords, Don John's glance brightened.\n\nShe was not mistaken. He had dreaded this meeting, and now with joyful\nsurprise was asking himself whether this could be the woman who had been\ndescribed to him as a showy, extremely whimsical, perverse person, who\nused her son's renown to obtain access to aristocratic houses and as many\npleasures as possible.\n\nShe must at any rate have been remarkably beautiful, and how wonderfully\nher delicately chiselled features had retained a charm which is usually\npeculiar to youth! how well the now dull gold of her thick tresses\nharmonized with the faint flush on the almost unwrinkled face! and how\ndignified was the bearing of her figure, still slender, in spite of her\nmatronly increase in flesh!\n\nNo wonder that she had once fired the heart of his distinguished father!\nNow--that sunny glance could not deceive Barbara--now her appearance had\nceased to be unpleasant to him; nay, perhaps even pleased him. And now\nshe could bear it no longer; from the inmost depths of her heart rose the\ncry: \"John, my child! My dear, dear son!\"\n\nAgain, with the speed of lightning, the question darted through Don\nJohn's mind: \"Is this the woman whose voice, I was told, offended the\near? Spiteful, base slander!\" How fervent, how gentle, how full of tender\naffection her cry had sounded! Not even from the lips of Doha Magdalena,\nhis much-loved \"Tia,\" had his own name ever echoed so musically as from\nthose of yonder woman, whom he had just shrunk from meeting as though it\nwere an inevitable misfortune.\n\nShame, regret, love, seethed hotly within him. It was long since he had\nfelt emotion like that which mastered him when her tearful eyes again met\nhis, and now, in the enthusiastic soul of this favourite of fortune,\nwhose lofty flight neither glory, nor fame, nor disappointment could\nparalyze, in the bosom of this good, high-minded young human being\nstirred the consciousness that a great new happiness was in store for\nhim, and from his lips rang the cry for which Barbara had waited so long\nwith vain yearning, \"Mother!\" and again \"Mother!\"\n\nIt seemed to her as if the bright sun had suddenly burst in its full,\ndazzling radiance from midnight darkness. Three swift steps took her to\nDon John and, no longer able to control herself, she seized one of the\nhands which he had extended to her to kiss it; but his chivalrous nature\nforbade him to permit this, and at the same moment he had obeyed the\nimpulse to kiss the face upturned to his with such loving tenderness.\n\nOn the way she had pondered long over the question how she should address\nhim; but now she knew that she need not call him \"Your Excellency,\" far\nless \"Your Highness.\" To impose so severe a constraint upon her poor,\npoor heart was no longer required and, though interrupted by low sobbing,\nshe again cried with all the fervour of the most tender maternal love:\n\"My son! My dear, dear child!\"\n\nThen suddenly the words she had vainly sought came voluntarily, and in\nfluent speech she told him how her heart had so long consumed itself with\nyearning for him, and that she had now left everything behind to obey his\nsummons; and he thanked her with eager warmth by raising the hand which\nclasped his to his lips.\n\nWhat he desired of her would be hard for her to do, but now that he knew\nher it was far harder to ask. Yet it must be done, because upon this\nmight perhaps depend the great hopes which he fixed upon the future, and\nwhich would atone for what had so cruelly embittered and poisoned the\npast.\n\nBarbara gazed more intently into the noble face whose blooming youthful\nbeauty had just delighted her, and in doing so perceived far more\ndistinctly the sorrowful, anxious expression which she had formerly\nthought she noticed. In pained surprise she inquired what cause he, whom\nHeaven had hitherto loaded with its most precious gifts, had to complain\nof Fate, as whose spoiled favourite she, like all the rest of the world,\nhad believed him happy.\n\nHe laughed softly, but with such keen bitterness that it pierced her to\nthe heart, and the bright flush with which joy had suffused her cheeks\nsuddenly vanished.\n\nHer favourite of Fortune indignantly rejected the belief that he had\nreason to look back upon his past life with gratitude and pleasure.\n\nIt was incomprehensible and, carried away by the violent agitation which\nseized upon her, she described with fiery vivacity how the conviction\nthat he had gained everything which her hard sacrifice and her prayers\nhad sought, had beautified her life and helped her to bear even the most\npainful trials with quiet submission, nay, with joyous gratitude.\n\nStimulated by the power of the extraordinary things which she had\nexperienced, she described in a ceaseless flow of vivid words how she had\ntorn her child from her soul in order to place it in the path which was\nto lead to fame, splendour, and honour--in short, to everything that\nadorns and lends value to life.\n\n\"And why, in the name of all the saints,\" she concluded, \"why must I now\ntell myself that I endured this great suffering in vain, and that what\nfilled my heart with joy was only an idle delusion? Yet I watched your\nsteps as the hunter follows the trail of the game. I saw how every fresh\nonset led you to greater splendour, higher renown, and more exalted\ngrandeur.\"\n\nHis cheeks, too, had now flushed. What life was still pulsing in the\nveins of this woman, already past her youth! with what impressive power\nshe understood how to describe what moved her! Yet how mistaken was the\nview to which maternal love and the desire of her heart had led her\nartist nature! She had seen only the light, not the shadow, the darkness,\nthe gloom, which had clouded his course of fame.\n\nTo secure splendour and grandeur for him, she had yielded to the most\ncruel demand, and what had been the result of this sacrifice? What had\nshe gained by it?\n\nHow had the happiness in which she fancied she saw him revelling been\nconstituted?\n\nThe power of the newly awakened experiences bore him away also, and he\ndescribed no less vividly what he had suffered.\n\nYes, indeed! He had not lacked great successes, far-reaching renown, high\nhonours, and some degree of glory. But what a tale he--not yet\nthirty--now related! He, the son of an Emperor, the brother of a powerful\nKing, who was adorned by as many crowns as there were fingers on his\nhand!\n\nHe had been King Philip's servant and useful commander in chief, nothing\nmore.\n\nAnd now he described the sovereign's cold nature, unfeeling calculation,\nand offensive suspicion. He, Don John, the not all unworthy son of the\ngreat Emperor Charles, was not born to obey all his life, and allow\nhimself to be turned to account, worn out, and abused for the benefit of\nanother. He, too, might lay claim to the right of governing a kingdom of\nhis own as its ruler, benefactor, and Mehrer.\n\nAfter Lepanto, the crowns of the Morea and Albania had been offered to\nhim. Then, after he had conquered Tunis for his brother Philip, he had\nwished to reign over that country as its king. Had it been ceded to him,\nlarge provinces would have been taken from the infidels. This, it might\nhave been supposed, was sufficient reason for Philip to intrust it to his\ngovernment. But although the Holy Father in Rome and other rulers had\nrecognised the justice of these wishes, his royal brother could not be\npersuaded to grant his just demands, and destroyed these hopes with cruel\ncoldness. He had not even been induced to recognise him as Infant, as a\nlawful member of his family.\n\nWith trivial pretexts, and promises which he never intended to fulfil,\nthe hypocritical, selfish, niggardly man had repulsed, delayed, and put\nhim off.\n\nSo his life had been spoiled by the most cruel disappointments, by a\nsuccession of the bitterest wrongs. Since Lepanto, no pure happiness had\nbloomed again for him. He was a miserable, disappointed, ill-treated man,\nwho could never regain his former happiness until he obtained, on his own\naccount, what he himself called greatness, honour, glory, and power. The\ngifts, no, the more than well-earned payments for which he was indebted\nto the King, were only a bodiless shadow, a caricature of these lofty\ngifts of Heaven.\n\nHis mother, alarmed, cried in terror, \"What an ambition!\"\n\nBut Don John, with increasing excitement, exclaimed: \"Yes, mother! I am\nso ambitious that, if I knew there was another man who more ardently\ndesired renown and honour, I would throw myself out of this window. 'Who\ndoes not struggle ward, falls back!' has long been my motto, and I am\nstruggling upward and know the goal.\"\n\nA startling suspicion seized Barbara, and with anxious caution she\nwhispered:\n\n\"Do I see aright? You have learned from Flanders and Brabant how bitterly\nKing Philip is hated there, and you now hope to contend with him for the\ncrown of the Netherlands? The victory you, my hero, my general, you would\nsurely attain--\" But here she was interrupted.\n\nDon John cut short her words with the cry, \"Mother!\" and then went on\nindignantly: \"If any one else had given me this advice, I would deprive\nhim of any inclination to repeat it. God granted Don Philip the\nsovereignty. My oath, my honour, forbid me to rise against him. He has\nlost all claim to my love, my gratitude, but he is sure of the fidelity\nof his ill-treated brother. Besides,\" he added proudly, \"my wishes mount\nhigher.\"\n\nBarbara had listened to her son with the utmost eagerness; now, taking a\nlocket from the breast of his doublet, he whispered:\n\n\"Do you know whom this lovely picture represents? No? Well, these are the\nfeatures of the fairest and most unfortunate of women. Mary Stuart, the\nhapless Queen of Scotland, the devout, patient sufferer for our holy\nfaith, looks at you from this frame. She does not refuse me her hand. The\nHoly Father in Rome and the Guises in France approve the bold enterprise;\nbut I shall take the army under my command by sea to England. I am sure\nof victory in this conflict. With the most beautiful of women, I shall\ngain the crown which I need and which will best suit me.\"\n\n\"John!\" Barbara exclaimed, carried away by the daring of this proposal,\nand her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. \"This desire is worthy of you and\nyour great father. If I can aid you in its realization----\"\n\n\"You can,\" Don John eagerly interrupted; \"for the first step is to gain\nthe consent of the States-General to despatch the army, which must now be\nsent back to Spain, thither by sea. When the troops are once on the way\nthey will steer to England, instead of southward. But even to embark\nthese forces I shall need the consent of the representatives of the\ncountry. Therefore, difficult as it is for me, the words must be uttered:\nYour residence in the provinces will prevent my obtaining it. Spare me\nthe mention of my reasons; but the circumstance that you always opened\nyour house to the Spanish party must fill the King's enemies with\ndistrust of you. Besides, it is scarcely credible; but you must believe\nEscovedo, to whom I owe this information. How petty people in the\nprovinces can be about such matters! An edict was recently issued which\ncommands the removal of every official who can not prove that the union\nof the parents who gave him life was consecrated by the Holy Church.\nAlas, mother, that I should be compelled to wound you at our first\nmeeting! But if your love is as great as your every glance tells me, as\nyou have just confessed with such touching warmth----\"\n\n\"And as I shall confess,\" she cried impetuously, \"so long as a single\nbreath stirs this bosom; for I love you, John--love you with all the\nstrength of this poor, sorely tortured soul. But, child, child! What you\nask of me--It comes so unexpectedly--you have no suspicion how deeply it\npierces into the very heart of my life. I must leave the country which\nhas become my home, the city where prejudice and enmity greeted me, and\nwhere I have now obtained the position that befits me. A venerable sick\nman is in my house, longing for the return of the nurse who left him for\nyour sake. My poor--The rest that I must cast aside and abandon is more\nthan I can enumerate now. Nor could I, this request bewilders me so--Give\nrue a little time to collect my thoughts, for you see--But if you look at\nme so, John, I can--Yet no!--It certainly is not necessary that I should\nsay yes or no at once. I must first learn whether you--whether the\nsacrifice I made for your glory and grandeur--it was in Landshut, you\nknow--whether it was really so useless, whether you are in reality as\nunhappy as you, the fame-crowned, beloved, and lauded child of an\nEmperor, would have me believe, or whether--Forgive me, John, but before\nI make this terribly difficult decision I must--yes, I must see clearly.\nAs surely as your hero soul harbours no falsity, it would be unworthy of\nyou to show your mother a distorted image of your inner life; you must\nconfess whether you--\"\n\n\"Whether,\" Don John, with a smile of sorrowful bitterness, here\ninterrupted the deeply troubled woman--\"whether, in order to soften your\nheart, I am not painting in blacker colours than reality requires. Oh,\nhow little you know me yet! I would rather this tongue should wither than\nthat I should unchivalrously permit it to deviate one straw's breadth\nfrom the truth in order to attain a selfish purpose. No, mother! My\ndescription of the grief which often overpowers this soul was far too\nlukewarm. If your first sacrifice was intended to make me a happy man,\nits effect was no stronger than the light of the candle which is burned\namid the radiance of the noonday sun. Perhaps I should have been happier\nhad I been allowed to grow up in modest circumstances under your tender\ncare; for then my course would have been long and steep, and I should\nhave been forced to climb many steps to reach the point where barriers\nare fixed to ambition. But as it is, I began at the place which many of\nthe best men regard as the highest goal. The great man whom you loved\nunderstood life better than you. Had I obeyed his wish, and in the\nstillness of the cloister striven for blessings which do not belong to\nthis world, this miserable existence would have seemed less unendurable\nto me, then doubtless a much wider space would have separated me from\ndespair; for I am so unhappy, mother, that I envy the poor peasant who in\nthe sweat of his brow gathers the harvest which his sterile fields\nproduce; for years I have been as wretched as the captive lion in its\ncage, the lover whose bride is torn from him on the marriage day. Imagine\nthe wish as a woman, and beside her a magician who, by virtue of the\npower which he possesses, cries, 'The fulfilment of every desire you\nstrive to attain shall be forever withheld,' and you will have an idea of\nthe devastated existence of the pitiable man who, if it were not sinful,\nwould curse those who gave him the life in which he has long seen nothing\nsave the horrible, jeering spectre of disappointment.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" moaned Barbara sorrowfully, pressing her hand upon her brow as if\nfrantic. \"So even my hardest sacrifice was futile, and what rendered life\nvaluable to my foolish heart was mere delusion and bewildering deception.\nWhat I beheld raising you to the stars, as though with eagles' wings, was\na clogging weight; what seemed to me at a distance the bright sunshine\nirradiating your path, was a Will-o'-the-wisp luring to destruction. What\nI thought white, was black, the radiant daylight was dusk and the\ndarkness of night. Oh, if it were really granted me Yet, child, you\ncertainly do not know what you are asking. So, before it comes to the\nfinal decision, let me put this one more question: Do you believe, really\nand firmly, that if the confidence of the States-General permits you to\ntake your army by sea, and you lead it in England and succeed in winning\nthe crown and hand of this--whether she is guilty or not--beautiful,\ndevout, and, whatever errors she has committed, desirable Queen, that the\ntroubles which it is so hard for your ambitious soul to bear will then\nvanish? When you have won the woman for whom you yearn, the throne, and\nthe sceptre, will your sore heart be healed and happiness make its joyous\nentry, and also remain in your soul, that is so hard to satisfy? For--I\nsee and feel it--it is carried away by the 'More, farther,' of your\nfather. Can you, my John, have you really the firm conviction that, if\nthis lofty desire is fulfilled, you will be content and believe that you\nhave found the summit and the limit of your feverish struggle upward and\nforward?\"\n\n\"Yes, and again yes,\" cried Don John in a tone of immovably firm belief,\nwhile his large eyes beamed upon his mother with an expression of full\nand genuine trust. \"The vainglory which your first sacrifice brought me\nwas the source of this life full of bitter disappointment. The hand of\nMary Stuart, the lovely martyr, the woman so lavishly endowed with every\nmental and physical gift, for whom my heart has yearned ever since I saw\nher picture, and the crown of England, the symbol of genuine majesty,\nwill transform disappointment into the fulfilment which Heaven has\nhitherto denied me. If these both fall to the lot of the son, the\nmother's sacrifice will not have been in vain; no, it will bring him\ngolden fruit, for the success of this enterprise will bestow upon your\nJohn, besides the fleeting radiance, the sun whence the light emanates.\nIt will raise him to the height to which he aspires, and for which Fate\ndestined him.\"\n\nHere he hesitated, for the agitated face of Escovedo, who entered with a\ndespatch in his hand, showed that something unexpected and startling had\noccurred.\n\nThe secretary, Don John's friend and counsellor, did not allow himself to\nbe intimidated by the angry gesture with which his master waved him back,\nbut handed him the paper, exclaiming in a tone ringing with the horror\nthe news had inspired: \"Antwerp attacked by his Majesty's rebellious\ntroops, those in Alst, headed by their Eletto--burned to ashes,\nplundered, destroyed!\"\n\nWith a hasty snatch Don John seized the parchment announcing the\nmisfortune, and read it, panting for breath.\n\nThe Council of Antwerp had addressed it to King Philip, and sent a copy\nto him, the newly appointed governor.\n\nWhen he let the hand which held the paper fall, he was deadly pale, and\ngazed around him as though seeking assistance.\n\nThen his eyes met those of his mother who, seized with anxious fears, was\nwatching his every movement, and he handed her the fatal sheet, with the\nhalf-sorrowful, half-disdainful exclamation:\n\n\"And I am to lead this abused people back to love the man who sent them\nthe Duke of Alba, that he might heal their wounds with his pitiless iron\nhand, and who let the poor, brave fellows in his service starve and go in\nrags until, in fierce despair, they seized for themselves what their\nemployer denied.\"\n\nThe sheet Barbara's son had handed to her trembled in her hand as she\nread half aloud: \"It is the greatest commercial city in Europe, the\nfosterer of art, knowledge, manufactures, and the Catholic faith, which\nnever wavered in obedience to the King, hurled in a single day from the\nheight of honour and happiness to a gulf of misery, and become a den of\nrobbers and murderers, who know nothing of God and the King. Old men,\nwomen, and children have been slaughtered by them without distinction,\nthe goods belonging partly to foreign owners have been stolen and burned,\nand the magnificent Town Hall, with all its treasures of documents and\npatents, has become a prey of the flames.\"\n\n\"Horrible! horrible!\" cried Barbara, and Don John repeated her words, and\nadded in a hollow tone: \"And this happened yesterday, on the selfsame\nSunday which saw me ride into the Netherlands! These are the bonfires\nwhich redden the heavens on my arrival!\"\n\n\"William of Orange will call them incendiary flames crying aloud for\nvengeance,\" fell in half-stifled accents from Barbara's lips.\n\n\"And this time with some reason,\" replied Don John in a tone of assent,\n\"for the men who kindled them are mercenaries of the King, formerly our\nown troops, who have been driven to desperation.\" Then he continued\npassionately: \"And Philip sends me--me, a man of the sword--to these\nprovinces. What is the warrior to do here? This blade is too good to deal\nthe death-blow to the body which is already bleeding from a thousand\nwounds. If, nevertheless, I did it, I should destroy the most productive\nfountain of the King's wealth. It is not a man who can fight and command\nan army and a navy that is needed here, but a woman who understands how\nto mediate and to heal. The King sent me to this country not to gather\nfresh laurels, but to be shipwrecked, and with bleeding brow return\ndefeated. Oh, I see through him! But I also know--Heaven be\npraised!--what I owe to myself, my father's son. If the States-General\npermit me to take the troops away by sea, I will gain the woman and the\ncrown that are beckoning to me in another country, and his Majesty may\nsend a more pliant regent of either sex to the provinces to continue the\nbattle with William of Orange, who fights with weapons which my\nstraightforward nature and firm sword ill understand how to meet. This\nsheet places the decision before me. Real, genuine glory, the fairest of\nwives, and a proud crown--or defeat and ruin.\"\n\nThe close of this outpouring of the young hero's heart sounded like a\nmanly, irrevocable resolution; but his mother laid her hand upon his arm,\nand said quietly, \"I will go.\"\n\nA sunny glance of gratitude from her son rested upon her; she, however,\nonly bent her head slightly and went on as calmly as if she had found the\nstrength to be content, but with warm affection:\n\n\"My first sacrifice was vain. May the second not only aid you to gain the\nsplendour of a crown, but, above all, instil into your soul the\nsatisfaction with that longed-for highest happiness which your mother's\nheart desires for you!\"\n\nThen Don John obeyed the mighty impulse of his soul to pour forth to his\nmother the gratitude and love which her unselfish retirement wrung from\nhim. His arms clasped her closely and tenderly, and never had he rewarded\neven his foster-mother in Villagarcia for her love and faithfulness with\na more affectionate kiss.\n\n\"My gratitude will die only with myself,\" he cried as he released her.\n\"Blessed be the day on which I found my own mother! It led you, dear\nlady, not only to your John, but to his love.\"\n\nEscovedo, moved to the depths of his heart, had listened in surprise to\nthis outburst of feeling from the famous son of the Emperor, whom he\nloved, to whom he had devoted his fine intellect and wealth of\nexperience, and for whom it was appointed that he should die.\n\nThus ended Don John's meeting with his mother, which he had dreaded as an\ninevitable evil. Alba, who described her as an extremely obstinate woman,\nhad advised him to use a stratagem to induce her to yield to his wish and\nleave the Netherlands. He was to represent that his sister, the Duchess\nMargaret, who was holding her court at Aquila, in the Abruzzi Mountains,\ninvited her to visit her in order to make her acquaintance. She would not\nresist this summons, for she had often made her way to the government\nbuilding, and took special pleasure in the society of the aristocratic\nSpaniards. When she was once on board a ship, she would be obliged to\nsubmit to being carried to Spain, whence her return could easily be\nprevented.\n\nTo set such a snare for this woman had been impossible for Don John.\nTruth and love had sufficed to induce her to fulfil his wish.\n\nSenor Escovedo had witnessed much that was noble during this hour, but\nespecially a mother whom in the future he could remember with gratitude\nand joy; for Don John's confidant knew that of all he saw and heard here\nnot a word was false and feigned, yet he knew better than any other man\nhis master's heart and every look. Barbara, too, believed her son no less\nconfidently, and as the shout of victory reaches combatants lying on the\nground, wounded by lances and arrows, the cry of a secret voice within\nher soul, sorely as she was stricken, great as was the sacrifice and\nsuffering which she had imposed upon herself, called upon her to rejoice\nin the highest of all gifts--the love of her child, to whom hitherto she\nhad been only a dreaded stranger.\n\nShe could not yet obtain a clear insight into the result of the promise\nwhich she had given her son; it seemed as though a veil was drawn over\nher active mind.\n\nYet again and again she asked herself what power could have induced her\nto grant so quickly and unconditionally to the son a demand which in her\nyouth she would have refused, with defiant opposition, even to his\nardently loved father. But she took as little trouble to find the answer\nas she felt regret for her compliance.\n\nThe world to which she returned after this hour had gained a new aspect.\nShe had not understood the real nature of the former one. The exclamation\nwhich her son's confession had elicited she still believed after long\nreflection. What she had deemed great, was small; what had seemed to her\nlight and brilliant, was dark. What she had considered worthy of the\ngreatest sacrifice was petty and trivial; no fountain of joy, but a\nfierce torrent of new wishes constantly surpassing one another. With\ntheir boundless extent they had of necessity remained unfulfilled. Thus\nwoe on woe, and at the same time the painfully paralyzing feeling of the\nhostility of Fate had been evoked from its surges and, instead of\nhappiness, they had brought sorrow and suffering.\n\nPride in such a son had been the delight of her life; henceforth, she\nfelt it, she must seek her happiness, her joys, elsewhere, and she knew\nalso where, and realized that she was receiving higher for smaller\nthings. Instead of sharing his renown, she had gained the right to share\nhis misfortune and his griefs.\n\nThe more and the more eagerly she pondered in silence, the more surely\nshe perceived that earthly glory and magnificence, which she had thought\nthe greatest blessings, were only a series of sunbeams, swiftly following\none another, which would be clouded by one shadow after the other until\ndarkness and oblivion ingulfed them.\n\nLike every outward splendour, fame dazzles the eyes of men. It would dim\nher son's--she knew it now--whether he looked backward to the past or\nforward to the future. The greatness he had gained he overlooked; what\nawaited him in the future, having lost his clearness of vision and\nimpartiality, he was disposed to overvalue.\n\nFrom her eyes, on the contrary, this knowledge removed veil after veil.\n\nIt was a vain delusion which led him to the belief that the Scottish and\nEnglish crowns possessed the power to render him happy, and end his\nstruggle for new and higher honours; for royalty also belonged to the\nglory whose worthlessness she now perceived as plainly as the reflection\nof her own face in the surface of the mirror.\n\nBarbara saw her son for only a few more fleeting hours; the \"Spanish\nfury\" which destroyed the flower of Antwerp doubled his business cares,\nforbade any delay, and imperiously claimed his whole time and strength.\n\nThe mother watched his honest labours sorrowfully. She knew that the\nchivalrous champion of the faith, the sincere enthusiast, to whom nothing\nwas higher than honour and the stainless purity of his name, must succumb\nto his most eminent foe, the Prince of Orange, with his tireless,\ninventive, thoroughly statesmanlike intellect, which preserved the power\nof seeing in the darkness, and did not shrink from deceit where it would\npromote the great cause which she did not understand, but to which he\nconsecrated every drop of his heart's blood, every penny of his property.\n\nHer son came to the country as a Spaniard and the brother of the hated\nPhilip on the day of the most abominable crime history ever narrated, and\nwhich his followers committed; and who stood higher in the hearts of the\npeople of the Netherlands than their beloved helper in need, their\n\"Father William\"?\n\nShe saw her son go to this hopeless conflict like a garlanded victim to\nthe altar. She had nothing to aid him save her prayers and the execution\nof the heavy sacrifice which she had resolved to make. The collapse of\nher belief, wishes, and expectations produced a transformation of her\nwhole nature. A world of ideas had crumbled into fragments before and\nwithin her, and from their ruins a new one suddenly sprang up in her\nstrong soul. Where yesterday her warlike temper had defied or resisted,\nto-day she retired with lowered weapons. To contend against her son, and\nforce her new knowledge upon him, would have seemed to her foolish and\nfruitless, for she desired and expected nothing more from him than that\nhe should keep for her the love she had won.\n\nSo she yielded to his desire without resistance. However his destiny\nmight turn, he should be obliged to admit that his mother had omitted\nnothing in her power to open to him the path which, according to his own\nopinion, might lead to the height for which he longed.\n\nShe made use of his affectionate readiness to serve her only so far as to\nbeg him to take charge of her son Conrad. He did so willingly, and\nendeavoured to induce the young man to enter the priesthood. He wished to\nspare him the disappointments which had marred his own life, but Conrad\npreferred the army.\n\nHis mother did not forget him, and did everything in her power for him.\nHe remained on terms of affectionate union with her, but he did not see\nher again until the gold of her hair was changed to silver, and he\nhimself had risen to the rank of colonel.\n\nThis was to happen in Spain. Barbara had gone there by way of Genoa under\nthe escort of Count Faconvergue, commander of the German mercenaries, and\nwhile doing so had been treated with the respect and distinguished\nconsideration which was her due as the mother of Don John of Austria, who\nhad now acknowledged her.\n\nLike every other wish of her son, Barbara had fulfilled with quiet\nindulgence his desire that she would not again enter the Netherlands and\nGhent.\n\nFrom Luxemburg she directed what should be done with her house, her\nservants, and the recipients of her alms. Hannibal Melas relieved her of\nthe care of Maestro Feys, which she had undertaken, and under his\nfaithful nursing the old musician was granted many more years of life.\nThe Maltese also distributed among her poor the large sums which the sale\nof Barbara's property produced.\n\nIn Spain she was received with the utmost consideration by the Marquis de\nla Mota, Dona Magdalena de Ulloa's brother, and later by the lady\nherself. But at first there was no real bond of affection between these\nwomen, and this was Barbara's fault, for Dona Magdalena's experience was\nthe same as Don John's. She perceived with shame how greatly she had\nundervalued Don John's mother--nay, how much she had wronged her--but her\nsedulous efforts to make amends for the error produced an effect upon\nBarbara different from her expectations; for the great lady's manner\nseemed like a confession of guilt, and kept alive the memory of the\nanguish of soul which Dona Magdalena had so often inflicted upon her.\n\nThe early death of the young hero whom both loved so tenderly first drew\nthem together. Barbara had witnessed with very different feelings from\nDona Magdalena and her brother how the former regarded every false step\nof Don John, and especially that of his expedition to England, as a heavy\nmisfortune, and as such bewailed it. Dona Magdalena had been firmly\nconvinced that the spell of fame which surrounded the victor of Lepanto,\nand the irresistible lovableness characteristic of his whole nature,\nwould finally win the hearts of the Netherlanders, and even induce the\nPrince of Orange, whose friendship Don John himself hoped to gain, to\njoin hands with him in the attempt to work for the welfare of his\ncountry.\n\nBarbara knew that this expectation deceived him.\n\nToleration and liberty were the blessings which the Prince of Orange\ndesired to win for his people, and both were hateful to her son, reared\nat the Spanish court, as she herself saw in them an encroachment upon the\njust demands of the Church and the claims of royalty. Fire and water\ncould harmonize more easily than these two men, and Barbara foresaw which\nof them in this conflict would be the extinguishing flood.\n\nShe perceived how waterfall after waterfall was quenching the flames\nwhich burned in Don John's honest soul for the supposed welfare of the\nnation intrusted to him. He was reaping hatred, scorn, and humiliation\nwherever he had hoped to win love and gratitude in the Netherlands. His\nroyal brother left him in the lurch where he was entitled to depend upon\nhis assistance. But when Philip let the mask fall and showed openly how\ndeeply he distrusted the glorious son of his dead father, and to what a\ndegree his ill will had risen--when he committed the cruel crime of\nhaving Escovedo, the devoted, loyal friend and counsellor of the victor\nof Lepanto, assassinated in Madrid, where he had come to labour in his\nmaster's cause--the most ambitious and sensitive of hearts received the\ndeathblow which was to put an end to his famous career and his young\nlife.\n\nScarcely two years after Barbara's meeting with Don John, the Emperor\nCharles's hero son died. Even in the Netherlands he had remained to the\nlast victor on the battlefield. Alessandro Farnese, his dearest friend,\nhis companion in youth, in study, and in war, had valiantly supported him\nwith his good sword; but his faithful friendship had been unable to heal\nthe sufferings which wore out Don John's strong body and brave soul when,\nto the severest political failures, was added the bloody treachery of his\nroyal brother.\n\nThe death of this son doubtless first taught Barbara with what cruel\nanguish a mother's heart can be visited; but her John had not really died\nto her. Accustomed to love him from a distance, she continued to live in\nand with him, and in her thoughts and dreams he remained her own.\n\nAt first, without leaving the lay condition, she had joined the Dominican\nSisters in the Convent of Santa Maria la Real at Cebrian; but even the\nslight constraint which life behind stone walls imposed upon her still\nseemed unendurable, so she retired to the little city of Colindres, in\nthe district of Loredo. There stood the deserted house of Escovedo, the\nmurdered friend and counsellor of her John and, as everything under its\nroof reminded her of the beloved dead, it seemed the most fitting spot in\nwhich to pass the remnant of her days. In it she led an independent but\nquiet, secluded life. She spent only a few maravedis for her own wants,\nwhile she used the thousands of ducats which, after her son's death, King\nPhilip awarded her as an annual income, to make life easier for the poor\nand the sick whom she affectionately sought out.\n\nWith every tear she dried she believed that she was showing the best\nhonour to her son's memory.\n\nShe was denied the pleasure of placing a flower upon his grave, for King\nPhilip had done his dead brother the honour which he withheld from him\nduring life and, though only as a corpse, received him among the members\nof his illustrious race. His coffin had been entombed in the cold family\nvault of the Escurial, where no sunbeam enters.\n\nBut Barbara needed no place associated with his person in order to\nremember him; she always felt near him, and memories were the vital air\nwhich nourished her soul. Music remained the best ornament of her\nsolitary existence, and never did the forms of the son and the father\ncome nearer to her than when she sang the songs--or in after years played\nthem on the harp and lute--to which her imperial lover had liked to\nlisten.\n\nThe memory of her John's father now taught her to change the \"More,\nfarther,\" of his motto into the maxim, \"Learn to be content,\" the memory\nof the son, that every sacrifice which we make for the happiness of\nanother is futile if, besides splendour and glory, fame and honour, it\ndoes not also gain the spiritual blessings whose possession first lends\nthose gifts genuine value. These much-envied favours of Fortune had\nlittle to do with the indestructible monument which she erected in her\nheart to her son and her lover. What built it and lent it eternal\nendurance were the modest gifts of the heart.\n\nShe now knew the names of the blessings which might have guided her boy\nto a loftier happiness and, full of the love which even death could not\nassail and lessen, mourned by many, Barbara Blomberg, at an advanced age,\nclosed her eyes upon the world.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     The greatness he had gained he overlooked\n     Who does not struggle ward, falls back\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE \"BARBARA BLOMBERG\":\n\n     A live dog is better than a dead king\n     Always more good things in a poor family which was once rich\n     Attain a lofty height from which to look down upon others\n     Before learning to obey, he was permitted to command\n     Catholic, but his stomach desired to be Protestant (Erasmus)\n     Dread which the ancients had of the envy of the gods\n     Grief is grief, and this new sorrow does not change the old one\n     Harder it is to win a thing the higher its value becomes\n     No happiness will thrive on bread and water\n     Shuns the downward glance of compassion\n     That tears were the best portion of all human life\n     The blessing of those who are more than they seem\n     The greatness he had gained he overlooked\n     To the child death is only slumber\n     Who does not struggle ward, falls back\n     Whoever will not hear, must feel\n\n\n\n\nA WORD, ONLY A WORD, Complete\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary J. Safford\n\nVolume 1.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\"A word, only a word!\" cried a fresh, boyish voice, then two hands were\nloudly clapped and a gay laugh echoed through the forest. Hitherto\nsilence had reigned under the boughs of the pines and tops of the\nbeeches, but now a wood-pigeon joined in the lad's laugh, and a jay,\nstartled by the clapping of hands, spread its brown wings, delicately\nflecked with blue, and soared from one pine to another.\n\nSpring had entered the Black Forest a few weeks before. May was just\nover, yet the weather was as sultry as in midsummer and clouds were\ngathering in denser and denser masses. The sun was still some distance\nabove the horizon, but the valley was so narrow that the day star had\ndisappeared, before making its majestic entry into the portals of night.\n\nWhen it set in a clear sky, it only gilded the border of pine trees on\nthe crest of the lofty western heights; to-day it was invisible, and the\noccasional, quickly interrupted twittering of the birds seemed more in\nharmony with the threatening clouds and sultry atmosphere than the lad's\ngay laughter.\n\nEvery living creature seemed to be holding its breath in anxious\nsuspense, but Ulrich once more laughed joyously, then bracing his bare\nknee against a bundle of faggots, cried:\n\n\"Give me that stick, Ruth, that I may tie it up. How dry the stuff is,\nand how it snaps! A word! To sit over books all day long for one stupid\nword--that's just nonsense!\"\n\n\"But all words are not alike,\" replied the girl.\n\n\"Piff is paff, and paff is puff!\" laughed Ulrich. \"When I snap the twigs,\nyou always hear them say 'knack, knack,' and 'knack' is a word too. The\njuggler Caspar's magpie, can say twenty.\"\n\n\"But father said so,\" replied Ruth, arranging the dry sticks. \"He toils\nhard, but not for gold and gain, to find the right words. You are always\nwanting to know what he is looking for in his big books, so I plucked up\ncourage to ask him, and now I know. I suppose he saw I was astonished,\nfor he smiled just as he does when you have asked some foolish question\nat lessons, and added that a word was no trifling thing and should not be\ndespised, for God had made the world out of one single word.\"\n\nUlrich shook his head, and after pondering a few minutes, replied.\n\n\"Do you believe that?\"\n\n\"Father said so,\" was the little girl's only answer. Her words expressed\nthe firm, immovable security of childish confidence, and the same feeling\nsparkled in her eyes. She was probably about nine years old, and in every\nrespect a perfect contrast to her companion, her senior by several\nsummers, for the latter was strongly built, and from beneath his\nbeautiful fair locks a pair of big blue eyes flashed defiance at the\nworld, while Ruth was a delicate little creature, with slender limbs,\npale cheeks, and coal-black hair.\n\nThe little girl wore a fashionably-made, though shabby dress, shoes and\nstockings--the boy was barefoot, and his grey doublet looked scarcely\nless worn than the short leather breeches, which hardly reached his\nknees; yet he must have had some regard for his outer man, for a red knot\nof real silk was fastened on his shoulder. He could scarcely be the child\nof a peasant or woodland laborer--the brow was too high, the nose and red\nlips were too delicately moulded, the bearing was too proud and free.\n\nRuth's last words had given him food for thought, but he left them\nunanswered until the last bundle of sticks was tied up. Then he said\nhesitatingly:\n\n\"My mother--you know. . . . I dare not speak of her before father, he goes\ninto such a rage; my mother is said to be very wicked--but she never was\nso to me, and I long for her day after day, very, very much, as I long\nfor nothing else. When I was so high, my mother told me a great many\nthings, such queer things! About a man, who wanted treasures, and before\nwhom mountains opened at a word he knew. Of course it's for such a word\nyour father is seeking.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied the little girl. \"But the word out of which God\nmade the whole earth and sky and all the stars must have been a very\ngreat one.\"\n\nUlrich nodded, then raising his eyes boldly, exclaimed:\n\n\"Ah, if he should find it, and would not keep it to himself, but let you\ntell me! I should know what I wanted.\"\n\nRuth looked at him enquiringly, but he cried laughingly: \"I shan't tell.\nBut what would you ask?\"\n\n\"I? I should ask to have my mother able to speak again like other people.\nBut you would wish. . . .\"\n\n\"You can't know what I would wish.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. You would bring your mother back home again.\"\n\n\"No, I wasn't thinking of that,\" replied Ulrich, flushing scarlet and\nfixing his eyes on the ground.\n\n\"What, then? Tell me; I won't repeat it.\"\n\n\"I should like to be one of the count's squires, and always ride with him\nwhen he goes hunting.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Ruth. \"That would be the very thing, if I were a boy like\nyou. A squire! But if the word can do everything, it will make you lord\nof the castle and a powerful count. You can have real velvet clothes,\nwith gay slashes, and a silk bed.\"\n\n\"And I'll ride the black stallion, and the forest, with all its stags and\ndeer, will belong to me; as to the people down in the village, I'll show\nthem!\"\n\nRaising his clenched fist and his eyes in menace as he uttered the words,\nhe saw that heavy rain-drops were beginning to fall, and a thunder-shower\nwas rising.\n\nHastily and skilfully loading himself with several bundles of faggots, he\nlaid some on the little girl's shoulders, and went down with her towards\nthe valley, paying no heed to the pouring rain, thunder or lightning; but\nRuth trembled in every limb.\n\nAt the edge of the narrow pass leading to the city they stood still. The\nmoisture was trickling down its steep sides and had gathered into a\nreddish torrent on the rocky bottom.\n\n\"Come!\" cried Ulrich, stepping on to the edge of the ravine, where stones\nand sand, loosened by the wet, were now rattling down.\n\n\"I'm afraid,\" answered the little girl trembling. \"There's another flash\nof lightning! Oh! dear, oh, dear! how it blazes!--oh! oh! that clap of\nthunder!\"\n\nShe stooped as if the lightning had struck her, covered her face with her\nlittle hands, and fell on her knees, the bundle of faggots slipping to\nthe ground. Filled with terror, she murmured as if she could command the\nmighty word: \"Oh, Word, Word, get me home!\"\n\nUlrich stamped impatiently, glanced at her with mingled anger and\ncontempt, and muttering reproaches, threw her bundle and his own into the\nravine, then roughly seized her hand and dragged her to the edge of the\ncliff.\n\nHalf-walking, half-slipping, with many an unkind word, though he was\nalways careful to support her, the boy scrambled down the steep slope\nwith his companion, and when they were at last standing in the water at\nthe bottom of the gully, picked up the dripping fagots and walked\nsilently on, carrying her burden as well as his own.\n\nAfter a short walk through the running water and mass of earth and\nstones, slowly sliding towards the valley, several shingled roofs\nappeared, and the little girl uttered a sigh of relief; for in the row of\nshabby houses, each standing by itself, that extended from the forest to\nthe level end of the ravine, was her own home and the forge belonging to\nher companion's father.\n\nIt was still raining, but the thunder-storm had passed as quickly as it\nrose, and twilight was already gathering over the mist-veiled houses and\nspires of the little city, from which the street ran to the ravine. The\nstillness of the evening was only interrupted by a few scattered notes of\nbells, the finale of the mighty peal by which the warder had just been\ntrying to disperse the storm.\n\nThe safety of the town in the narrow forest-valley was well secured, a\nwall and ditch enclosed it; only the houses on the edge of the ravine\nwere unprotected. True, the mouth of the pass was covered by the field\npieces on the city wall, and the strong tower beside the gate, but it was\nnot incumbent on the citizens to provide for the safety of the row of\nhouses up there. It was called the Richtberg and nobody lived there\nexcept the rabble, executioners, and poor folk who were not granted the\nrights of citizenship. Adam, the smith, had forfeited his, and Ruth's\nfather, Doctor Costa, was a Jew, who ought to be thankful that he was\ntolerated in the old forester's house.\n\nThe street was perfectly still. A few children were jumping over the\nmud-puddles, and an old washerwoman was putting a wooden vessel under the\ngutter, to collect the rain-water.\n\nRuth breathed more freely when once again in the street and among human\nbeings, and soon, clinging to the hand of her father, who had come to\nmeet her, she entered the house with him and Ulrich.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nWhile the boy flung the damp bundles of brushwood on the floor beside the\nhearth in the doctor's kitchen, a servant from the monastery was leading\nthree horses under the rude shed in front of the smith Adam's work-shop\nThe stately grey-haired monk, who had ridden the strong cream-colored\nsteed, was already standing beside the embers of the fire, pressing his\nhands upon the warm chimney.\n\nThe forge stood open, but spite of knocking and shouting, neither the\nmaster of the place, nor any other living soul appeared. Adam had gone\nout, but could not be far away, for the door leading from the shop into\nthe sitting-room, was also unlocked.\n\nThe time was growing long to Father Benedict, so for occupation he tried\nto lift the heavy hammer. It was a difficult task, though he was no\nweakling, yet it was not hard for Adam's arm to swing and guide the\nburden. If only the man had understood how to govern his life as well as\nhe managed his ponderous tool!\n\nHe did not belong to Richtberg. What would his father have said, had he\nlived to see his son dwell here?\n\nThe monk had known the old smith well, and he also knew many things about\nthe son and his destiny, yet no more than rumor entrusts to one person\nconcerning another's life. Even this was enough to explain why Adam had\nbecome so reserved, misanthropic and silent a man, though even in his\nyouth he certainly had not been what is termed a gay fellow.\n\nThe forge where he grew up, was still standing in the market-place of the\nlittle city below; it had belonged to his grandfather and\ngreat-grandfather. There had never been any lack of custom, to the\nannoyance of the wise magistrates, whose discussions were disturbed by\nthe hammering that rang across the ill-paved square to the windows of the\ncouncil-chamber; but, on the other hand, the idle hours of the watchmen\nunder the arches of the ground-floor of the town-hall were sweetened by\nthe bustle before the smithy.\n\nHow Adam had come from the market-place to the Richtberg, is a story\nspeedily told.\n\nHe was the only child of his dead parents, and early learned his father's\ntrade. When his mother died, the old man gave his son and partner his\nblessing, and some florins to pay his expenses, and sent him away. He\nwent directly to Nuremberg, which the old man praised as the high-school\nof the smith's art, and there remained twelve years. When, at the end of\nthat time, news came to Adam that his father was dead, and he had\ninherited the forge on the market-place, he wondered to find that he was\nthirty years old, and had gone no farther than Nuremberg. True,\neverything that the rest of the world could do in the art of forging\nmight be learned there.\n\nHe was a large, heavy man, and from childhood had moved slowly and\nreluctantly from the place where he chanced to be.\n\nIf work was pressing, he could not be induced to leave the anvil, even\nwhen evening had closed in; if it was pleasant to sit over the beer, he\nremained till after the last man had gone. While working, he was as mute\nas the dead to everything that was passing around him; in the tavern he\nrarely spoke, and then said only a few words, yet the young artists,\nsculptors, workers in gold and students liked to see the stout drinker\nand good listener at the table, and the members of his guild only\nmarvelled how the sensible fellow, who joined in no foolish pranks, and\nworked in such good earnest, held aloof from them to keep company with\nthese hairbrained folk, and remained a Papist.\n\nHe might have taken possession of the shop on the market-place directly\nafter his father's death, but could not arrange his departure so quickly,\nand it was fully eight months before he left Nuremberg.\n\nOn the high-road before Schwabach a wagon, occupied by some strolling\nperformers, overtook the traveller. They belonged to the better class,\nfor they appeared before counts and princes, and were seven in number.\nThe father and four sons played the violin, viola and reboc, and the two\ndaughters sang to the lute and harp. The old man invited Adam to take the\neighth place in the vehicle, so he counted his pennies, and room was made\nfor him opposite Flora, called by her family Florette. The musicians were\ngoing to the fair at Nordlingen, and the smith enjoyed himself so well\nwith them, that he remained several days after reaching the goal of the\njourney. When he at last went away Florette wept, but he walked straight\non until noon, without looking back. Then he lay down under a blossoming\napple-tree, to rest and eat some lunch, but the lunch did not taste well;\nand when he shut his eyes he could not sleep, for he thought constantly\nof Florette. Of course! He had parted from her far too soon, and an eager\nlonging seized upon him for the young girl, with her red lips and\nluxuriant hair. This hair was a perfect golden-yellow; he knew it well,\nfor she had often combed and braided it in the tavern-room beside the\nstraw where they all slept.\n\nHe yearned to hear her laugh too, and would have liked to see her weep\nagain.\n\nThen he remembered the desolate smithy in the narrow market-place and the\ndreary home, recollected that he was thirty years old, and still had no\nwife.\n\nA little wife of his own! A wife like Florette! Seventeen years old, a\ncomplexion like milk and blood, a creature full of gayety and joyous\nlife! True, he was no light-hearted lad, but, lying under the apple-tree\nin the month of May, he saw himself in imagination living happily and\nmerrily in the smithy by the market-place, with the fair-haired girl who\nhad already shed tears for him. At last he started up, and because he had\ndetermined to go still farther on this day, did so, though for no other\nreason than to carry out the plan formed the day before. The next\nmorning, before sunrise, he was again marching along the highway, this\ntime not forward towards the Black Forest, but back to Nordlingen.\n\nThat very evening Florette became his betrothed bride, and the following\nTuesday his wife.\n\nThe wedding was celebrated in the midst of the turmoil of the fair.\nStrolling players, jugglers and buffoons were the witnesses, and there\nwas no lack of music and tinsel.\n\nA quieter ceremony would have been more agreeable to the plain citizen\nand sensible blacksmith, but this purgatory had to be passed to reach\nParadise.\n\nOn Wednesday he went off in a fair wagon with his young wife, and in\nStuttgart bought with a portion of his savings many articles of household\nfurniture, less to stop the gossips' tongues, of which he took no heed,\nthan to do her honor in his own eyes. These things, piled high in a wagon\nof his own, he had sent into his native town as Florette's dowry, for her\nwhole outfit consisted of one pink and one grass-green gown, a lute and a\nlittle white dog.\n\nA delightful life now began in the smithy for Adam. The gossips avoided\nhis wife, but they stared at her in church, and among them she seemed to\nhim, not unjustly, like a rose amid vegetables. The marriage he had made\nwas an abomination to respectable citizens, but Adam did not heed them,\nand Flora appeared to feel equally happy with him. When, before the close\nof the first twelvemonth after their wedding, Ulrich was born, the smith\nreached the summit of happiness and remained there for a whole year.\n\nWhen, during that time, he stood in the bow-window amid the fresh balsam,\nauricular and yellow wallflowers holding his boy on his shoulder, while\nhis wife leaned on his arm, and the pungent odor of scorched hoofs\nreached his nostrils, and he saw his journeyman and apprentice shoeing a\nhorse below, he often thought how pleasant it had been pursuing the finer\nbranches of his craft in Nuremberg, and that he should like to forge a\nflower again; but the blacksmith's trade was not to be despised either,\nand surely life with one's wife and child was best.\n\nIn the evening he drank his beer at the Lamb, and once, when the surgeon\nSiedler called life a miserable vale of tears, he laughed in his face and\nanswered: \"To him who knows how to take it right, it is a delightful\ngarden.\"\n\nFlorette was kind to her husband, and devoted herself to her child, so\nlong as he was an infant, with the most self-sacrificing love. Adam often\nspoke of a little daughter, who must look exactly like its mother; but it\ndid not come.\n\nWhen little Ulrich at last began to run about in the street, the mother's\nnomadic blood stirred, and she was constantly dinning it into her\nhusband's ears that he ought to leave this miserable place and go to\nAugsburg or Cologne, where it would be pleasant; but he remained firm,\nand though her power over him was great, she could not move his resolute\nwill.\n\nOften she would not cease her entreaties and representations, and when\nshe even complained that she was dying of solitude and weariness, his\nveins swelled with wrath, and then she was frightened, fled to her room\nand wept. If she happened to have a bold day, she threatened to go away\nand seek her own relatives. This displeased him, and he made her feel it\nbitterly, for he was steadfast in everything, even anger, and when he\nbore ill-will it was not for hours, but months, nor at such times could\nhe be conciliated by coaxing or tears.\n\nBy degrees Florette learned to meet his discontent with a shrug of her\nshoulders, and to arrange her life in her own way. Ulrich was her\ncomfort, pride and plaything, but sporting with him did not satisfy her.\n\nWhile Adam was standing behind the anvil, she sat among the flowers in\nthe bow-window, and the watchmen now looked higher up than the forge, the\nworthy magistrates no longer cast unfriendly glances at the smith's\nhouse, for Florette grew more and more beautiful in the quiet life she\nnow enjoyed, and many a neighboring noble brought his horse to Adam to be\nshod, merely to look into the eyes of the artisan's beautiful wife.\n\nCount von Frohlingen came most frequently of all, and Florette soon\nlearned to distinguish the hoof-beats of his horse from those of the\nother steeds, and when he entered the shop, willingly found some pretext\nfor going there too. In the afternoons she often went with her child\noutside the gate, and then always chose the road leading to the count's\ncastle. There was no lack of careful friends, who warned Adam, but he\nanswered them angrily, so they learned to be silent.\n\nFlorette had now grown gay again, and sometimes sang like a joyous bird.\n\nSeven years elapsed, and during the summer of the eighth a scattered\ntroop of soldiers came to the city and obtained admission. They were\nquartered under the arches of the town-hall, but many also lay in the\nsmithy, for their helmets, breast-plates and other pieces of armor\nrequired plenty of mending. The ensign, a handsome, proud young fellow,\nwith a dainty moustache, was Adam's most constant customer, and played\nvery kindly with Ulrich, when Florette appeared with him. At last the\nyoung soldier departed, and the very same day Adam was summoned to the\nmonastery, to mend something in the grating before the treasury.\n\nWhen he returned, Florette had vanished; \"run after the ensign,\" people\nsaid, and they were right. Adam did not attempt to wrest her from the\nseducer; but a great love cannot be torn from the heart like a staff that\nis thrust into the ground; it is intertwined with a thousand fibres, and\nto destroy it utterly is to destroy the heart in which it has taken root,\nand with it life itself. When he secretly cursed her and called her a\nviper, he doubtless remembered how innocent, dear and joyous she had\nbeen, and then the roots of the destroyed affection put forth new shoots,\nand he saw before his mental vision ensnaring images, of which he felt\nashamed as soon as they had vanished.\n\nLightning and hail had entered the \"delightful garden\" of Adam's life\nalso, and he had been thrust forth from the little circle of the happy\ninto the great army of the wretched.\n\nPurifying powers dwell in undeserved suffering, but no one is made better\nby unmerited disgrace, least of all a man like Adam. He had done what\nseemed to him his duty, without looking to the right or the left, but now\nthe stainless man felt himself dishonored, and with morbid sensitiveness\nreferred everything he saw and heard to his own disgrace, while the\ninhabitants of the little town made him feel that he had been\nill-advised, when he ventured to make a fiddler's daughter a citizen.\n\nWhen he went out, it seemed to him--and usually unjustly--as if people\nwere nudging each other; hands, pointing out-stretched fingers at him,\nappeared to grow from every eye. At home he found nothing but desolation,\nvacuity, sorrow, and a child, who constantly tore open the burning,\ngnawing wounds in his heart. Ulrich must forget \"the viper,\" and he\nsternly forbade him to speak of his mother; but not a day passed on which\nhe would not fain have done so himself.\n\nThe smith did not stay long in the house on the market-place. He wished\nto go to Freiburg or Ulm, any place where he had not been with her. A\npurchaser for the dwelling, with its lucrative business, was speedily\nfound, the furniture was packed, and the new owner was to move in on\nWednesday, when on Monday Bolz, the jockey, came to Adam's workshop from\nRichtberg. The man had been a good customer for years, and bought\nhundreds of shoes, which he put on the horses at his own forge, for he\nknew something about the trade. He came to say farewell; he had his own\nnest to feather, and could do a more profitable business in the lowlands\nthan up here in the forest. Finally he offered Adam his property at a\nvery low price.\n\nThe smith had smiled at the jockey's proposal, still he went to the\nRichtberg the very next day to see the place. There stood the\nexecutioner's house, from which the whole street was probably named. One\nwretched hovel succeeded another. Yonder before a door, Wilhelm the\nidiot, on whom the city boys played their pranks, smiled into vacancy\njust as foolishly as he had done twenty years ago, here lodged Kathrin,\nwith the big goitre, who swept the gutters; in the three grey huts, from\nwhich hung numerous articles of ragged clothing, lived two families of\ncharcoal-burners, and Caspar, the juggler, a strange man, whom as a boy\nhe had seen in the pillory, with his deformed daughters, who in winter\nwashed laces and in summer went with him to the fairs.\n\nIn the hovels, before which numerous children were playing, lived honest,\nbut poor foresters. It was the home of want and misery. Only the jockey's\nhouse and one other would have been allowed to exist in the city. The\nlatter was occupied by the Jew, Costa, who ten years before had come from\na distant country to the city with his aged father and a dumb wife, and\nremained there, for a little daughter was born and the old man was\nafterwards seized with a fatal illness. But the inhabitants would\ntolerate no Jews among them, so the stranger moved into the forester's\nhouse on the Richtberg which had stood empty because a better one had\nbeen built deeper in the woods. The city treasury could use the rent and\ntax exacted from Jews and demanded of the stranger. The Jew consented to\nthe magistrate's requirement, but as it soon became known that he pored\nover huge volumes all day long and pursued no business, yet paid for\neverything in good money, he was believed to be an alchemist and\nsorcerer.\n\nAll who lived here were miserable or despised, and when Adam had left the\nRichtberg he told himself that he no longer belonged among the proud and\nunblemished and since he felt dishonored and took disgrace in the same\ndogged earnest, that he did everything else, he believed the people in\nthe Richtberg were just the right neighbors for him. All knew what it is\nto be wretched, and many had still heavier disgrace to bear. And then! If\nwant drove his miserable wife back to him, this was the right place for\nher and those of her stamp.\n\nSo he bought the jockey's house and well-supplied forge. There would be\ncustomers enough for all he could do there in obscurity.\n\nHe had no cause to repent his bargain.\n\nThe old nurse remained with him and took care of Ulrich, who throve\nadmirably. His own heart too grew lighter while engaged in designing or\nexecuting many an artistic piece of work. He sometimes went to the city\nto buy iron or coals, but usually avoided any intercourse with the\ncitizens, who shrugged their shoulders or pointed to their foreheads,\nwhen they spoke of him.\n\nAbout a year after his removal he had occasion to speak to the\nfile-cutter, and sought him at the Lamb, where a number of Count\nFrolinger's retainers were sitting. Adam took no notice of them, but they\nbegan to jeer and mock at him. For a time he succeeded in controlling\nhimself, but when red-haired Valentine went too far, a sudden fit of rage\noverpowered him and he felled him to the floor. The others now attacked\nhim and dragged him to their master's castle, where he lay imprisoned for\nsix months. At last he was brought before the count, who restored him to\nliberty \"for the sake of Florette's beautiful eyes.\"\n\nYears had passed since then, during which Adam had lived a quiet,\nindustrious life in the Richtberg with his son. He associated with no\none, except Doctor Costa, in whom he found the first and only real friend\nfate had ever bestowed upon him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nFather Benedict had last seen the smith soon after his return from\nimprisonment, in the confessional of the monastery. As the monk in his\nyouth had served in a troop of the imperial cavalry, he now, spite of his\necclesiastical dignity, managed the stables of the wealthy monastery, and\nhad formerly come to the smithy in the market-place with many a horse,\nbut since the monks had become involved in a quarrel with the city,\nBenedict ordered the animals to be shod elsewhere.\n\nA difficult case reminded him of the skilful, half-forgotten artisan; and\nwhen the latter came out of the shed with a sack of coal, Benedict\ngreeted him with sincere warmth. Adam, too, showed that he was glad to\nsee the unexpected visitor, and placed his skill at the disposal of the\nmonastery.\n\n\"It has grown late, Adam,\" said the monk, loosening the belt he was\naccustomed to wear when riding, which had become damp. \"The storm\novertook us on the way. The rolling and flashing overhead made the sorrel\nhorse almost tear Gotz's hands off the wrists. Three steps sideways and\none forward--so it has grown late, and you can't shoe the rascal in the\ndark.\"\n\n\"Do you mean the sorrel horse?\" asked Adam, in a deep, musical voice,\nthrusting a blazing pine torch into the iron ring on the forge.\n\n\"Yes, Master Adam. He won't bear shoeing, yet he's very valuable. We have\nnothing to equal him. None of us can control him, but you formerly\nzounds! . . . you haven't grown younger in the last few years either, Adam!\nPut on your cap; you've lost your hair. Your forehead reaches down to\nyour neck, but your vigor has remained. Do you remember how you cleft the\nanvil at Rodebach?\"\n\n\"Let that pass,\" replied Adam--not angrily, but firmly. \"I'll shoe the\nhorse early to-morrow; it's too late to-day.\"\n\n\"I thought so!\" cried the other, clasping his hands excitedly. \"You know\nhow we stand towards the citizens on account of the tolls on the bridges.\nI'd rather lie on thorns than enter the miserable hole. The stable down\nbelow is large enough! Haven't you a heap of straw for a poor brother in\nChrist? I need nothing more; I've brought food with me.\"\n\nThe smith lowered his eyes in embarrassment. He was not hospitable. No\nstranger had rested under his roof, and everything that disturbed his\nseclusion was repugnant to him. Yet he could not refuse; so he answered\ncoldly: \"I live alone here with my boy, but if you wish, room can be\nmade.\"\n\nThe monk accepted as eagerly, as if he had been cordially invited; and\nafter the horses and groom were supplied with shelter, followed his host\ninto the sitting-room next the shop, and placed his saddle-bags on the\ntable.\n\n\"This is all right,\" he said, laughing, as he produced a roast fowl and\nsome white bread. \"But how about the wine? I need something warm inside\nafter my wet ride. Haven't you a drop in the cellar?\"\n\n\"No, Father!\" replied the smith. But directly after a second thought\noccurred to him, and he added: \"Yes, I can serve you.\"\n\nSo saying, he opened the cupboard, and when, a short time after, the monk\nemptied the first goblet, he uttered a long drawn \"Ah!\" following the\ncourse of the fiery potion with his hand, till it rested content near his\nstomach. His lips quivered a little in the enjoyment of the flavor; then\nhe looked benignantly with his unusually round eyes at Adam, saying\ncunningly:\n\n\"If such grapes grow on your pine-trees, I wish the good Lord had given\nFather Noah a pine-tree instead of a vine. By the saints! The archbishop\nhas no better wine in his cellar! Give me one little sip more, and tell\nme from whom you received the noble gift?\"\n\n\"Costa gave me the wine.\"\n\n\"The sorcerer---the Jew?\" asked the monk, pushing the goblet away. \"But,\nof course,\" he continued, in a half-earnest, half-jesting tone, \"when one\nconsiders--the wine at the first holy communion, and at the marriage of\nCana, and the juice of the grapes King David enjoyed, once lay in Jewish\ncellars!\"\n\nBenedict had doubtless expected a smile or approving word from his host,\nbut the smith's bearded face remained motionless, as if he were dead.\n\nThe monk looked less cheerful, as he began again \"You ought not to grudge\nyourself a goblet either. Wine moderately enjoyed makes the heart glad;\nand you don't look like a contented man. Everything in life has not gone\naccording to your wishes, but each has his own cross to bear; and as for\nyou, your name is Adam, and your trials also come from Eve!\"\n\nAt these words the smith moved his hand from his beard, and began to push\nthe round leather cap to and fro on his bald head. A harsh answer was\nalready on his lips, when he saw Ulrich, who had paused on the threshold\nin bewilderment. The boy had never beheld any guest at his father's table\nexcept the doctor, but hastily collecting his thoughts he kissed the\nmonk's hand. The priest took the handsome lad by the chin, bent his head\nback, looked Adam also in the face, and exclaimed:\n\n\"His mouth, nose and eyes he has inherited from your wife, but the shape\nof the brow and head is exactly like yours.\"\n\nA faint flush suffused Adam's cheeks, and turning quickly to the boy as\nif he had heard enough, he cried:\n\n\"You are late. Where have you been so long?\"\n\n\"In the forest with Ruth. We were gathering faggots for Dr. Costa.\"\n\n\"Until now?\"\n\n\"Rahel had baked some dumplings, so the doctor told me to stay.\"\n\n\"Then go to bed now. But first take some food to the groom in the stable,\nand put fresh linen on my bed. Be in the workshop early to-morrow\nmorning, there is a horse to be shod.\"\n\nThe boy looked up thoughtfully and replied: \"Yes, but the doctor has\nchanged the hours; to-morrow the lesson will begin just after sunrise,\nfather.\"\n\n\"Very well, we'll do without you. Good-night then.\"\n\nThe monk followed this conversation with interest and increasing\ndisapproval, his face assuming a totally different expression, for the\nmuscles between his nose and mouth drew farther back, forming with the\nunderlip an angle turning inward. Thus he gazed with mute reproach at the\nsmith for some time, then pushed the goblet far away, exclaiming with\nsincere indignation:\n\n\"What doings are these, friend Adam? I'll let the Jew's wine pass, and\nthe dumplings too for aught I care, though it doesn't make a Christian\nchild more pleasing in the sight of God, to eat from the same dish with\nthose on whom the Saviour's innocent blood rests. But that you, a\nbelieving Christian, should permit an accursed Jew to lead a foolish lad.\n. . .\"\n\n\"Let that pass,\" said the smith, interrupting the excited monk; but the\nlatter would not be restrained, and only continued still more loudly and\nfirmly: \"I won't be stopped. Was such a thing ever heard of? A baptized\nChristian, who sends his own son to be taught by the infidel\nsoul-destroyer!\"\n\n\"Hear me, Father!\"\n\n\"No indeed. It's for you to hear--you! What was I saying? For you, you\nwho seek for your poor child a soul-destroying infidel as teacher. Do you\nknow what that is? A sin against the Holy Ghost--the worst of all crimes.\nSuch an abomination! You will have a heavy penance imposed upon you in\nthe confessional.\"\n\n\"It's no sin--no abomination!\" replied the smith defiantly.\n\nThe angry blood mounted into the monk's cheeks, and he cried:\nthreateningly: \"Oho! The chapter will teach you better to your sorrow.\nKeep the boy away from the Jew, or. . . .\"\n\n\"Or?\" repeated the smith, looking Father Benedict steadily in the face.\n\nThe latter's lips curled still more deeply, as after a pause, he replied:\n\"Or excommunication and a fitting punishment will fall upon you and the\nvagabond doctor. Tit for tat. We have grown tender-hearted, and it is\nlong since a Jew has been burned for an example to many.\"\n\nThese words did not fail to produce an effect, for though Adam was a\nbrave man, the monk threatened him with things, against which he felt as\npowerless as when confronted with the might of the tempest and the\nlightning flashing from the clouds. His features now expressed deep\nmental anguish, and stretching out his hands repellently towards his\nguest, he cried anxiously \"No, no! Nothing more can happen to me. No\nexcommunication, no punishment, can make my present suffering harder to\nbear, but if you harm the doctor, I shall curse the hour I invited you to\ncross my threshold.\"\n\nThe monk looked at the other in surprise and answered in a more gentle\ntone: \"You have always walked in your own way, Adam; but whither are you\ngoing now? Has the Jew bewitched you, or what binds you to him, that you\nlook, on his account, as if a thunderbolt had struck you? No one shall\nhave cause to curse the hour he invited Benedict to be his guest. See\nyour way clearly once more, and when you have come to your senses--why,\nwe monks have two eyes, that we may be able to close one when occasion\nrequires. Have you any special cause for gratitude to Costa?\"\n\n\"Many, Father, many!\" cried the smith, his voice still trembling with\nonly too well founded anxiety for his friend. \"Listen, and when you know\nwhat he has done for me, and are disposed to judge leniently, do not\ncarry what reaches your ears here before the chapter no, Father--I\nbeseech you--do not. For if it should be I, by whom the doctor came to\nruin, I--I. . . .\" The man's voice failed, and his chest heaved so\nviolently with his gasping breath, that his stout leathern apron rose\nand fell.\n\n\"Be calm, Adam, be calm,\" said the monk, soothingly answering his\ncompanion's broken words. \"All shall be well, all shall be well. Sit\ndown, man, and trust me. What is the terrible debt of gratitude you owe\nthe doctor?\"\n\nSpite of the other's invitation, the smith remained standing and with\ndowncast eyes, began:\n\n\"I am not good at talking. You know how I was thrown into a dungeon on\nValentine's account, but no one can understand my feelings during that\ntime. Ulrich was left alone here among this miserable rabble with nobody\nto care for him, for our old maid-servant was seventy. I had buried my\nmoney in a safe place and there was nothing in the house except a loaf of\nbread and a few small coins, barely enough to last three days. The child\nwas always before my eyes; I saw him ragged, begging, starving. But my\nanxiety tortured me most, after they had released me and I was going back\nto my house from the castle. It was a walk of two hours, but each one\nseemed as long as St. John's day. Should I find Ulrich or not? What had\nbecome of him? It was already dark, when I at last stood before the\nhouse. Everything was as silent as the grave, and the door was locked.\nYet I must get in, so I rapped with my fingers, and then pounded with my\nfist on the door and shutters, but all in vain. Finally Spittellorle--[A\nnickname; literally: \"Hospital Loura.\"]--came out of the red house next\nmine, and I heard all. The old woman had become idiotic, and was in the\nstocks. Ulrich was at the point of death, and Doctor Costa had taken him\nhome. When I heard this, I felt the same as you did just now; anger\nseized upon me, and I was as much ashamed as if I were standing in the\npillory. My child with the Jew! There was not much time for reflection,\nand I set off at full speed for the doctor's house. A light was shining\nthrough the window. It was high above the street, but as it stood open\nand I am tall, I could look in and see over the whole room. At the right\nside, next the wall, was a bed, where amid the white pillows lay my boy.\nThe doctor sat by his side, holding the child's hand in his. Little Ruth\nnestled to him, asking: 'Well, father?' The man smiled. Do you know him,\nPater? He is about thirty years old, and has a pale, calm face. He smiled\nand said so gratefully, so-so joyously, as if Ulrich were his own son:\n'Thank God, he will be spared to us!' The little girl ran to her dumb\nmother, who was sitting by the stove, winding yarn, exclaiming:\n'Mother, he'll get well again. I have prayed for him every day.' The Jew\nbent over my child and pressed his lips upon the boy's brow--and I, I--I\nno longer clenched my fist, and was so overwhelmed with emotion, that I\ncould not help weeping, as if I were still a child myself, and since\nthen, Pater Benedictus, since. . . .\" He paused; the monk rose, laid his\nhand on the smith's shoulder, and said:\n\n\"It has grown late, Adam. Show me to my couch. Another day will come\nearly to-morrow morning, and we should sleep over important matters. But\none thing is settled, and must remain so-under all circumstances: the boy\nis no longer to be taught by the Jew. He must help you shoe the horses\nto-morrow. You will be reasonable!\"\n\nThe smith made no reply, but lighted the monk to the room where he and\nhis son usually slept. His own couch was covered with fresh linen for the\nguest--Ulrich already lay in his bed, apparently asleep.\n\n\"We have no other room to give you,\" said Adam, pointing to the boy; but\nthe monk was content with his sleeping companions, and after his host had\nleft him, gazed earnestly at Ulrich's fresh, handsome face.\n\nThe smith's story had moved him, and he did not go to rest at once, but\npaced thoughtfully up and down the room, stepping lightly, that he might\nnot disturb the child's slumber.\n\nAdam had reason to be grateful to the man, and why should there not be\ngood Jews?\n\nHe thought of the patriarchs, Moses, Solomon, and the prophets, and had\nnot the Saviour himself, and John and Paul, whom he loved above all the\napostles, been the children of Jewish mothers, and grown up among Jews?\nAnd Adam! the poor fellow had had more than his share of trouble, and he\nwho believes himself deserted by God, easily turns to the devil. He was\nwarned now, and the mischief to his son must be stopped once for all.\nWhat might not the child hear from the Jew, in these times, when heresy\nwandered about like a roaring lion, and sat by all the roads like a\nsiren. Only by a miracle had this secluded valley been spared the evil\nteachings, but the peasants had already shown that they grudged the\nnobles the power, the cities the rich gains, and the priesthood the\nauthority and earthly possessions, bestowed on them by God. He was\ndisposed to let mildness rule, and spare the Jew this time--but only on\none condition.\n\nWhen he took off his cowl, he looked for a hook on which to hang it, and\nwhile so doing, perceived on the shelf a row of boards. Taking one down,\nhe found a sketch of an artistic design for the enclosure of a fountain,\ndone by the smith's hand, and directly opposite his bed a linden-wood\npanel, on which a portrait was drawn with charcoal. This roused his\ncuriosity, and, throwing the light of the torch upon it, he started back,\nfor it was a rudely executed, but wonderfully life-like head of Costa,\nthe Jew. He remembered him perfectly, for he had met him more than once.\n\nThe monk shook his head angrily, but lifted the picture from the shelf\nand examined more closely the doctor's delicately-cut nose, and the noble\narch of the brow. While so doing, he muttered unintelligible words, and\nwhen at last, with little show of care, he restored the modest work of\nart to its old place, Ulrich awoke, and, with a touch of pride,\nexclaimed:\n\n\"I drew that myself, Father!\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" replied the monk. \"I know of better models for a pious lad. You\nmust go to sleep now, and to-morrow get up early and help your father. Do\nyou understand?\"\n\nSo saying, with no gentle hand he turned the boy's head towards the wall.\nThe mildness awakened by Adam's story had all vanished to the winds.\n\nAdam allowed his son to practise idolatry with the Jew, and make pictures\nof him. This was too much. He threw himself angrily on his couch, and\nbegan to consider what was to be done in this difficult matter, but sleep\nsoon brought his reflections to an end.\n\nUlrich rose very early, and when Benedict saw him again in the light of\nthe young day, and once more looked at the Jew's portrait, drawn by the\nhandsome boy, a thought came to him as if inspired by the saints\nthemselves--the thought of persuading the smith to give his son to the\nmonastery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThis morning Pater Benedictus was a totally different person from the\nman, who had sat over the wine the night before. Coldly and formally he\nevaded the smith's questions, until the latter had sent his son away.\n\nUlrich, without making any objection, had helped his father shoe the\nsorrel horse, and in a few minutes, by means of a little stroking over\nthe eyes and nose, slight caresses, and soothing words, rendered the\nrefractory stallion as docile as a lamb. No horse had ever resisted the\nlad, from the time he was a little child, the smith said, though for what\nreason he did not know. These words pleased the monk, for he was only too\nfamiliar with two fillies, that were perfect fiends for refractoriness,\nand the fair-haired boy could show his gratitude for the schooling he\nreceived, by making himself useful in the stable.\n\nUlrich must go to the monastery, so Benedictus curtly declared with the\nutmost positiveness, after the smith had finished his work. At midsummer\na place would be vacant in the school, and this should be reserved for\nthe boy. A great favor! What a prospect--to be reared there with\naristocratic companions, and instructed in the art of painting. Whether\nhe should become a priest, or follow some worldly pursuit, could be\ndetermined later. In a few years the boy could choose without restraint.\n\nThis plan would settle everything in the best possible way. The Jew need\nnot be injured, and the smith's imperiled son would be saved. The monk\nwould hear no objections. Either the accusation against the doctor should\nbe laid before the chapter, or Ulrich must go to the school.\n\nIn four weeks, on St. John's Day, so Benedictus declared, the smith and\nhis son might announce their names to the porter. Adam must have saved\nmany florins, and there would be time enough to get the lad shoes and\nclothes, that he might hold his own in dress with the other scholars.\n\nDuring this whole transaction the smith felt like a wild animal in the\nhunter's toils, and could say neither \"yes\" nor \"no.\" The monk did not\ninsist upon a promise, but, as he rode away, flattered himself that he\nhad snatched a soul from the claws of Satan, and gained a prize for the\nmonastery-school and his stable--a reflection that made him very\ncheerful.\n\nAdam retrained alone beside the fire. Often, when his heart was heavy, he\nhad seized his huge hammer and deadened his sorrow by hard work; but\nto-day he let the tool lie, for the consciousness of weakness and lack of\nwill paralyzed his lusty vigor, and he stood with drooping head, as if\nutterly crushed. The thoughts that moved him could not be exactly\nexpressed in words, but doubtless a vision of the desolate forge, where\nhe would stand alone by the fire without Ulrich, rose before his mind.\nOnce the idea of closing his house, taking the boy by the hand, and\nwandering out into the world with him, flitted through his brain. But\nthen, what would become of the Jew, and how could he leave this place?\nWhere would his miserable wife, the accursed, lovely sinner, find him,\nwhen she sought him again? Ulrich had run out of doors long ago. Had he\ngone to study his lessons with the Jew? He started in terror at the\nthought. Passing his hands over his eyes, like a dreamer roused from\nsleep, he went into his chamber, threw off his apron, cleansed his face\nand hands from the soot of the forge, put on his burgher dress, which he\nonly wore when he went to church or visited the doctor, and entered the\nstreet.\n\nThe thunder-storm had cleared the air, and the sun shone pleasantly on\nthe shingled roofs of the miserable houses of the Richtberg. Its rays\nwere reflected from the little round window-panes, and flickered over the\ntree-tops on the edge of the ravine.\n\nThe light-green hue of the fresh young foliage on the beeches glittered\nas brightly against the dark pines, as if Spring had made them a token of\nher mastery over the grave companions of Winter; yet even the pines were\nnot passed by, and where her finger had touched the tips of the branches\nin benediction, appeared tender young shoots, fresh as the grass by the\nbrook, and green as chrysophase and emerald.\n\nThe stillness of morning reigned within the forest, yet it was full of\nlife, rich in singing, chirping and twittering. Light streamed from the\nblue sky through the tree-tops, and the golden sunbeams shimmered and\ndanced over the branches, trunks and ground, as if they had been prisoned\nin the woods and could never find their way out. The shadows of the tall\ntrunks lay in transparent bars on the underbrush, luxuriant moss, and\nferns, and the dew clung to the weeds and grass.\n\nNature had celebrated her festival of resurrection at Easter, and the day\nafter the morrow joyous Whitsuntide would begin. Fresh green life was\nspringing from the stump of every dead tree; even the rocks afforded\nsustenance to a hundred roots, a mossy covering and network of thorny\ntendrils clung closely to them. The wild vine twined boldly up many a\ntrunk, fruit was already forming on the bilberry bushes, though it still\nglimmered with a faint pink hue amid the green of May. A thousand\nblossoms, white, red, blue and yellow, swayed on their slender stalks,\nopened their calixes to the bees, unfolded their stars to deck the\nwoodland carpet, or proudly stretched themselves up as straight as\ncandles. Grey fungi had shot up after the refreshing rain, and gathered\nround the red-capped giants among the mushrooms. Under, over and around\nall this luxuriant vegetation hopped, crawled, flew, fluttered, buzzed\nand chirped millions of tiny, short-lived creatures. But who heeds them\non a sunny Spring morning in the forest, when the birds are singing,\ntwittering, trilling, pecking, cooing and calling so joyously? Murmuring\nand plashing, the forest stream dashed down its steep bed over rocks and\namid moss-covered stones and smooth pebbles to the valley. The hurrying\nwater lived, and in it dwelt its gay inhabitants, fresh plants grew along\nthe banks from source to mouth, while over and around it a third species\nof living creatures sunned themselves, fluttered, buzzed and spun\ndelicate silk threads.\n\nIn the midst of a circular clearing, surrounded by dense woods, smoked a\ncharcoal kiln. It was less easy to breathe here, than down in the forest\nbelow. Where Nature herself rules, she knows how to guard beauty and\npurity, but where man touches her, the former is impaired and the latter\nsullied.\n\nIt seemed as if the morning sunlight strove to check the smoke from the\nsmouldering wood, in order to mount freely into the blue sky. Little\nclouds floated over the damp, grassy earth, rotting tree-trunks, piles of\nwood and heaps of twigs that surrounded the kiln. A moss-grown but stood\nat the edge of the forest, and before it sat Ulrich, talking with the\ncoal-burner. People called this man \"Hangemarx,\" and in truth he looked\nin his black rags, like one of those for whom it is a pity that Nature\nshould deck herself in her Spring garb. He had a broad, peasant face, his\nmouth was awry, and his thick yellowish-red hair, which in many places\nlooked washed out or faded, hung so low over his narrow forehead, that it\nwholly concealed it, and touched his bushy, snow-white brows. The eyes\nunder them needed to be taken on trust, they were so well concealed, but\nwhen they peered through the narrow chink between the rows of lashes, not\neven a mote escaped them. Ulrich was shaping an arrow, and meantime\nasking the coal-burner numerous questions, and when the latter prepared\nto answer, the boy laughed heartily, for before Hangemarx could speak, he\nwas obliged to straighten his crooked mouth by three jerking motions, in\nwhich his nose and cheeks shared.\n\nAn important matter was being discussed between the two strangely\ndissimilar companions.\n\nAfter it grew dark, Ulrich was to come to the charcoal-burner again. Marx\nknew where a fine buck couched, and was to drive it towards the boy, that\nhe might shoot it. The host of the Lamb down in the town needed game, for\nhis Gretel was to be married on Tuesday. True, Marx could kill the animal\nhimself, but Ulrich had learned to shoot too, and if the place whence the\ngame came should be noised abroad, the charcoal-burner, without any\nscruples of conscience, could swear that he did not shoot the buck, but\nfound it with the arrow in its heart.\n\nPeople called the charcoal-burner a poacher, and he owed his ill-name of\n\"Hangemarx\" to the circumstance that once, though long ago, he had\nadorned a gallows. Yet he was not a dishonest man, only he remembered too\nfaithfully the bold motto, which, when a boy, one peasant wood-cutter or\ncharcoal-burner whispered to another:\n\n\"Forest, stream and meadow are free.\"\n\nHis dead father had joined the Bundschuh,--[A peasants' league which\nderived its name from the shoe, of peculiar shape, worn by its\nmembers.]--adopted this motto, and clung fast to it and with it, to the\nbelief that every living thing in the forest belonged to him, as much as\nto the city, the nobles, or the monastery. For this faith he had\nundergone much suffering, and owed to it his crooked mouth and ill name,\nfor just as his beard was beginning to grow, the father of the reigning\ncount came upon him, just after he had killed a fawn in the \"free\"\nforest. The legs of the heavy animal were tied together with ropes, and\nMarx was obliged to take the ends of the knot between his teeth like a\nbridle, and drag the carcass to the castle. While so doing his cheeks\nwere torn open, and the evil deed neither pleased him nor specially\nstrengthened his love for the count. When, a short time after, the\nrebellion broke out in Stuhlingen, and he heard that everywhere the\npeasants were rising against the monks and nobles, he, too, followed the\nblack, red and yellow banner, first serving with Hans Muller of\nBulgenbach, then with Jacklein Rohrbach of Bockingen, and participating\nwith the multitude in the overthrow of the city and castle of Neuenstein.\nAt Weinsberg he saw Count Helfenstein rush upon the spears, and when the\nnoble countess was driven past him to Heilbronn in the dung-cart, he\ntossed his cap in the air with the rest.\n\nThe peasant was to be lord now; the yoke of centuries was to be broken;\nunjust imposts, taxes, tithes and villenage would be forever abolished,\nwhile the fourth of the twelve articles he had heard read aloud more than\nonce, remained firmly fixed in his memory \"Game, birds and fish every one\nis free to catch.\" Moreover, many a verse from the Gospel, unfavorable to\nthe rich, but promising the kingdom of heaven to the poor, and that the\nlast shall be first, had reached his ears. Doubtless many of the leaders\nglowed with lofty enthusiasm for the liberation of the poor people from\nunendurable serfdom and oppression; but when Marx, and men like him, left\nwife and children and risked their lives, they remembered only the past,\nand the injustice they had suffered, and were full of a fierce yearning\nto trample the dainty, torturing demons under their heavy peasant feet.\n\nThe charcoal-burner had never lighted such bright fires, never tasted\nsuch delicious meat and spicy wine, as during that period of his life,\nwhile vengeance had a still sweeter savor than all the rest. When the\ncastle fell, and its noble mistress begged for mercy, he enjoyed a\nforetaste of the promised paradise. Satan has also his Eden of fiery\nroses, but they do not last long, and when they wither, put forth sharp\nthorns. The peasants felt them soon enough, for at Sindelfingen they\nfound their master in Captain Georg Truchsess of Waldberg.\n\nMarx fell into his troopers' hands and was hung on the gallows, but only\nin mockery and as a warning to others; for before he and his companions\nperished, the men took them down, cut their oath-fingers from their\nhands, and drove them back into their old servitude. When he at last\nreturned home, his house had been taken from his family, whom he found in\nextreme poverty. The father of Adam, the smith, to whom he had formerly\nsold charcoal, redeemed the house, gave him work, and once, when a band\nof horsemen came to the city searching for rebellious peasants, the old\nman did not forbid him to hide three whole days in his barn.\n\nSince that time everything had been quiet in Swabia, and neither in\nforest, stream nor meadow had any freedom existed.\n\nMarx had only himself to provide for; his wife was dead, and his sons\nwere raftsmen, who took pine logs to Mayence and Cologne, sometimes even\nas far as Holland. He owed gratitude to no one but Adam, and showed in\nhis way that he was conscious of it, for he taught Ulrich all sorts of\nthings which were of no advantage to a boy, except to give him pleasure,\nthough even in so doing he did not forget his own profit. Ulrich was now\nfifteen, and could manage a cross-bow and hit the mark like a skilful\nhunter, and as the lad did not lack a love for the chase, Marx afforded\nhim the pleasure. All he had heard about the equal rights of men he\nengrafted into the boy's soul, and when to-day, for the hundredth time,\nUlrich expressed a doubt whether it was not stealing to kill game that\nbelonged to the count, the charcoal-burner straightened his mouth, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Forest, stream and meadow are free. Surely you know that.\"\n\nThe boy gazed thoughtfully at the ground for a time, and then asked:\n\n\"The fields too?\"\n\n\"The fields?\" repeated Marx, in surprise. \"The fields? The fields are a\ndifferent matter.\" He glanced as he spoke, at the field of oats he had\nsown in the autumn, and which now bore blades a finger long. \"The fields\nare man's work and belong to him who tills them, but the forest, stream\nand meadow were made by God. Do you understand? What God created for Adam\nand Eve is everybody's property.\"\n\nAs the sun rose higher, and the cuckoo began to raise its voice, Ulrich's\nname was shouted loudly several times in rapid succession through the\nforest. The arrow he had been shaping flew into a corner, and with a\nhasty \"When it grows dusk, Marxle!\" Ulrich dashed into the woods, and\nsoon joined his playmate Ruth.\n\nThe pair strolled slowly through the forest by the side of the stream,\nenjoying the glorious morning, and gathering flowers to carry a bouquet\nto the little girl's mother. Ruth culled the blossoms daintily with the\ntips of her fingers; Ulrich wanted to help, and tore the slender stalks\nin tufts from the roots by the handful. Meantime their tongues were not\nidle. Ulrich boastfully told her that Pater Benedictus had seen his\npicture of her father, recognized it instantly, and muttered something\nover it. His mother's blood was strong in him; his imaginary world was a\nvery different one from that of the narrow-minded boys of the Richtberg.\n\nHis father had told him much, and the doctor still more, about the wide,\nwide world-kings, artists and great heroes. From Hangemarx he learned,\nthat he possessed the same rights and dignity as all other men, and\nRuth's wonderful power of imagination peopled his fancy with the\nstrangest shapes and figures. She made royal crowns of wreaths,\ntransformed the little hut, the lad had built of boughs, behind the\ndoctor's house, into a glittering imperial palace, converted round\npebbles into ducats and golden zechins--bread and apples into princely\nbanquets; and when she had placed two stools before the wooden bench on\nwhich she sat with Ulrich her fancy instantly transformed them into a\nsilver coronation coach with milk-white steeds. When she was a fairy,\nUlrich was obliged to be a magician; if she was the queen, he was king.\n\nWhen, to give vent to his animal spirits, Ulrich played with the\nRichtberg boys, he always led them, but allowed himself to be guided by\nlittle Ruth. He knew that the doctor was a despised Jew, that she was a\nJewish child; but his father honored the Hebrew, and the foreign\natmosphere, the aristocratic, secluded repose that pervaded the solitary\nscholar's house, exerted a strange influence over him.\n\nWhen he entered it, a thrill ran through his frame; it seemed as if he\nwere penetrating into some forbidden sanctuary. He was the only one of\nall his playfellows, who was permitted to cross this threshold, and he\nfelt it as a distinction, for, in spite of his youth, he realized that\nthe quiet doctor, who knew everything that existed in heaven and on\nearth, and yet was as mild and gentle as a child, stood far, far above\nthe miserable drudges, who struggled with sinewy hands for mere existence\non the Richtberg. He expected everything from him, and Ruth also seemed a\nvery unusual creature, a delicate work of art, with whom he, and he only,\nwas allowed to play.\n\nIt might have happened, that when irritated he would upbraid her with\nbeing a wretched Jewess, but it would scarcely have surprised him, if she\nhad suddenly stood before his eyes as a princess or a phoenix.\n\nWhen the Richtberg lay close beneath them, Ruth sat down on a stone,\nplacing her flowers in her lap. Ulrich threw his in too, and, as the\nbouquet grew, she held it towards him, and he thought it very pretty; but\nshe said, sighing:\n\n\"I wish roses grew in the forest; not common hedge-roses, but like those\nin Portugal--full, red, and with the real perfume. There is nothing that\nsmells sweeter.\"\n\nSo it always was with the pair. Ruth far outstripped Ulrich in her\ndesires and wants, thus luring him to follow her.\n\n\"A rose!\" repeated Ulrich. \"How astonished you look!\"\n\nHer wish reminded him of the magic word she had mentioned the day before,\nand they talked about it all the way home, Ulrich saying that he had\nwaked three times in the night on account of it. Ruth eagerly interrupted\nhim, exclaiming:\n\n\"I thought of it again too, and if any one would tell the what it was, I\nshould know what to wish now. I would not have a single human being in\nthe world except you and me, and my father and mother.\"\n\n\"And my little mother!\" added Ulrich, earnestly.\n\n\"And your father, too!\"\n\n\"Why, of course, he, too!\" said the boy, as if to make hasty atonement\nfor his neglect.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe sun was shining brightly on the little windows of the Israelite's\nsitting-room, which were half open to admit the Spring air, though\nlightly shaded with green curtains, for Costa liked a subdued light, and\nwas always careful to protect his apartment from the eyes of passers-by.\n\nThere was nothing remarkable to be seen, for the walls were whitewashed,\nand their only ornament was a garland of lavender leaves, whose perfume\nRuth's mother liked to inhale. The whole furniture consisted of a chest,\nseveral stools, a bench covered with cushions, a table, and two plain\nwooden arm-chairs.\n\nOne of the latter had long been the scene of Adam's happiest hours, for\nhe used to sit in it when he played chess with Costa.\n\nHe had sometimes looked on at the noble game while in Nuremberg; but the\ndoctor understood it thoroughly, and had initiated him into all its\nrules.\n\nFor the first two years Costa had remained far in advance of his pupil,\nthen he was compelled to defend himself in good earnest, and now it not\nunfrequently happened that the smith vanquished the scholar. True, the\nlatter was much quicker than the former, who if the situation became\ncritical, pondered over it an unconscionably long time.\n\nTwo hands more unlike had rarely met over a chess-board; one suggested a\nstrong, dark plough-ox, the other a light, slender-limbed palfrey. The\nIsraelite's figure looked small in contrast with the smith's gigantic\nframe. How coarse-grained, how heavy with thought the German's big, fair\nhead appeared, how delicately moulded and intellectual the Portuguese\nJew's.\n\nTo-day the two men had again sat down to the game, but instead of\nplaying, had been talking very, very earnestly. In the course of the\nconversation the doctor had left his place and was pacing restlessly to\nand fro. Adam retained his seat.\n\nHis friend's arguments had convinced him. Ulrich was to be sent to the\nmonastery-school. Costa had also been informed of the danger that\nthreatened his own person, and was deeply agitated. The peril was great,\nvery great, yet it was hard, cruelly hard, to quit this peaceful nook.\nThe smith understood what was passing in his mind, and said:\n\n\"It is hard for you to go. What binds you here to the Richtberg?\"\n\n\"Peace, peace!\" cried the other. \"And then,\" he added more calmly, \"I\nhave gained land here.\"\n\n\"You?\"\n\n\"The large and small graves behind the executioner's house, they are my\nestates.\"\n\n\"It is hard, hard to leave them,\" said the smith, with drooping head.\n\"All this comes upon you on account of the kindness you have shown my\nboy; you have had a poor reward from us.\"\n\n\"Reward?\" asked the other, a subtle smile hovering around his lips. \"I\nexpect none, neither from you nor fate. I belong to a poor sect, that\ndoes not consider whether its deeds will be repaid or not. We love\ngoodness, set a high value on it, and practise it, so far as our power\nextends, because it is so beautiful. What have men called good? Only that\nwhich keeps the soul calm. And what is evil? That which fills it with\ndisquiet. I tell you, that the hearts of those who pursue virtue, though\nthey are driven from their homes, hunted and tortured like noxious\nbeasts, are more tranquil than those of their powerful persecutors, who\npractise evil. He who seeks any other reward for virtue, than virtue\nitself, will not lack disappointment. It is neither you nor Ulrich, who\ndrives me hence, but the mysterious ancient curse, that pursues my people\nwhen they seek to rest; it is, it is. . . . Another time, to-morrow. This is\nenough for to-day.\"\n\nWhen the doctor was alone, he pressed his hand to his brow and groaned\naloud. His whole life passed before his mind, and he found in it, besides\nterrible suffering, great and noble joys, and not an hour in which his\ndesire for virtue was weakened. He had spent happy years here in the\npeace of his simple home, and now must again set forth and wander on and\non, with nothing before his eyes save an uncertain goal, at the end of a\nlong, toilsome road. What had hitherto been his happiness, increased his\nmisery in this hour. It was hard, unspeakably hard, to drag his wife and\nchild through want and sorrow, and could Elizabeth, his wife, bear it\nagain?\n\nHe found her in the tiny garden behind the horse, kneeling before a\nflower-bed to weed it. As he greeted her pleasantly, she rose and\nbeckoned to him.\n\n\"Let us sit down,\" he said, leading her to the bench before the hedge,\nthat separated the garden from the forest. There he meant to tell her,\nthat they must again shake the dust from their feet.\n\nShe had lost the power of speech on the rack in Portugal, and could only\nfalter a few unintelligible words, when greatly excited, but her hearing\nhad remained, and her husband understood how to read the expression of\nher eyes. A great sorrow had drawn a deep line in the high, pure brow,\nand this also was eloquent; for when she felt happy and at peace it was\nscarcely perceptible, but if an anxious or sorrowful mood existed, the\nfurrow contracted and deepened. To-day it seemed to have entirely\ndisappeared. Her fair hair was drawn plainly and smoothly, over her\ntemples, and the slender, slightly stooping figure, resembled a young\ntree, which the storm has bowed and deprived of strength and will to\nraise itself.\n\n\"Beautiful!\" she exclaimed in a smothered tone, with much effort, but her\nbright glance clearly expressed the joy that filled her soul, as she\npointed to the green foliage around her and the blue sky over their\nheads.\n\n\"Delicious-delicious!\" he answered, cordially. \"The June day is reflected\nin your dear face. You have learned to be contented here?\"\n\nElizabeth nodded eagerly, pressing both hands upon her heart, while her\neloquent glance told him how well, how grateful and happy, she felt here;\nand when in reply to his timid question, whether it would be hard for her\nto leave this place and seek another, a safer home, she gazed at first in\nsurprise, then anxiously into his face, and then, with an eager gesture\nof refusal, gasped \"Not go--not go!\" He answered, soothingly:\n\n\"No, no; we are still safe here to-day!\"\n\nElizabeth knew her husband, and had keen eyes; a presentiment of\napproaching danger seized upon her. Her features assumed an expression of\nterrified expectation and deep grief. The furrow in her brow deepened,\nand questioning glances and gestures united with the \"What?--what?\"\ntrembling on her lips.\n\n\"Do not fear!\" he replied, tenderly. \"We must not spoil the present,\nbecause the future might bring something that is not agreeable to us.\"\n\nAs he uttered the words, she pressed closely to him, clutching his arm\nwith both hands, but he felt the rapid throbbing of her heart, and\nperceived by the violent agitation expressed in every feature, what deep,\nunconquerable horror was inspired by the thought of being compelled to go\nout into the world again, hunted from country to country, from town to\ntown. All that she had suffered for his sake, came back to his memory,\nand he clasped her trembling hands in his with passionate fervor. It\nseemed as if it would be very, very easy, to die with her, but wholly\nimpossible to thrust her forth again into a foreign land and to an\nuncertain fate; so, kissing her on her eyes, which were dilated with\nhorrible fear, he exclaimed, as if no peril, but merely a foolish wish\nhad suggested the desire to roam:\n\n\"Yes, child, it is best here. Let us be content with what we have. We\nwill stay!--yes, we will stay!\" Elizabeth drew a long breath, as if\nrelieved from an incubus, her brow became smooth, and it seemed as if the\ndumb mouth joined the large upraised eyes in uttering an \"Amen,\" that\ncame from the inmost depths of the heart.\n\nCosta's soul was saddened and sorely troubled, when he returned to the\nhouse and his writing-table. The old maid-servant, who had accompanied\nhim from Portugal, entered at the same time, and watched his\npreparations, shaking her head. She was a small, crippled Jewess, a\ngrey-haired woman, with youthful, bright, dark eyes, and restless hands,\nthat fluttered about her face with rapid, convulsive gestures, while she\ntalked.\n\nShe had grown old in Portugal, and contracted rheumatism in the unusual\ncold of the North, so even in Spring she wrapped her head in all the gay\nkerchiefs she owned. She kept the house scrupulously neat, understood how\nto prepare tempting dishes from very simple materials, and bought\neverything she needed for the kitchen. This was no trifling matter for\nher, since, though she had lived more than nine years in the black\nForest, she had learned few German words. Even these the neighbors\nmistook for Portuguese, though they thought the language bore some\ndistant resemblance to German. Her gestures they understood perfectly.\n\nShe had voluntarily followed the doctor's father, yet she could not\nforgive the dead man, for having brought her out of the warm South into\nthis horrible country. Having been her present master's nurse, she took\nmany liberties with him, insisting upon knowing everything that went on\nin the household, of which she felt herself the oldest, and therefore the\nmost distinguished member; and it was strange how quickly she could hear\nwhen she chose, spite of her muffled ears!\n\nTo-day she had been listening again, and as her master was preparing to\ntake his seat at the table and sharpen his goose-quill, she glanced\naround to see that they were entirely alone; then approached, saying in\nPortuguese:\n\n\"Don't begin that, Lopez. You must listen to me first.\"\n\n\"Must I?\" he asked, kindly.\n\n\"If you don't choose to do it, I can go!\" she answered, angrily. \"To be\nsure, sitting still is more comfortable than running.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\n\"Do you suppose yonder books are the walls of Zion? Do you feel inclined\nto make the monks' acquaintance once more?\"\n\n\"Fie, fie, Rahel, listening again? Go into the kitchen!\"\n\n\"Directly! Directly! But I will speak first. You pretend, that you are\nonly staying here to please your wife, but it's no such thing. It's\nyonder writing that keeps you. I know life, but you and your wife are\njust like two children. Evil is forgotten in the twinkling of an eye, and\nblessing is to come straight from Heaven, like quails and manna. What\nsort of a creature have your books made you, since you came with the\ndoctor's hat from Coimbra? Then everybody said: 'Lopez, Senor Lopez.\nHeavenly Father, what a shining light he'll be!' And now! The Lord have\nmercy on us! You work, work, and what does it bring you? Not an egg; not\na rush! Go to your uncle in the Netherlands. He'll forget the curse, if\nyou submit! How many of the zechins, your father saved, are still left?\"\n\nHere the doctor interrupted the old woman's torrent of speech with a\nstern \"enough!\" but she would not allow herself to be checked, and\ncontinued with increasing volubility.\n\n\"Enough, you say? I fret over perversity enough in silence. May my tongue\nwither, if I remain mute to-day. Good God! child, are you out of your\nsenses? Everything has been crammed into your poor head, but to be sure\nit isn't written in the books, that when people find out what happened in\nPorto, and that you married a baptized child, a Gentile, a Christian\ngirl. . . .\"\n\nAt these words the doctor rose, laid his hands on the servant's shoulder,\nand said with grave, quiet earnestness.\n\n\"Whoever speaks of that, may betray it; may betray it. Do you understand\nme, Rahel? I know your good intentions, and therefore tell you: my wife\nis content here, and danger is still far away. We shall stay. And\nbesides: since Elizabeth became mine, the Jews avoid me as an accursed,\nthe Christians as a condemned man. The former close the doors, the latter\nwould fain open them; the gates of a prison, I mean. No Portuguese will\ncome here, but in the Netherlands there is more than one monk and one Jew\nfrom Porto, and if any of them recognize me and find Elizabeth with me,\nit will involve no less trifle than her life and mine. I shall stay here;\nyou now know why, and can go to your kitchen.\"\n\nOld Rahel reluctantly obeyed, yet the doctor did not resume his seat at\nthe writing-table, but for a long time paced up and down among his books\nmore rapidly than usual.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nSt. John's day was close at hand. Ulrich was to go to the monastery the\nfollowing morning. Hitherto Father Benedict had been satisfied, and no\none molested the doctor. Yet the tranquillity, which formerly exerted so\nbeneficial an effect, had departed, and the measures of precaution he now\nfelt compelled to adopt, like everything else that brought him into\nconnection with the world, interrupted the progress of his work.\n\nThe smith was obliged to provide Ulrich with clothing, and for this\npurpose went with the lad and a well-filled purse, not to his native\nplace, but to the nearest large city.\n\nThere many a handsome suit of garments hung in the draper's windows, and\nthe barefooted boy blushed crimson with delight, when he stood before\nthis splendid show. As he was left free to choose, he instantly selected\nthe clothes a nobleman had ordered for his son, and which, from head to\nfoot, were blue on one side and yellow on the other. But Adam pushed them\nangrily aside. Ulrich's pleasure in the gay stuff reminded him of his\nwife's outfit, the pink and green gowns.\n\nSo he bought two dark suits, which fitted the lad's erect figure as if\nmoulded upon him, and when the latter stood before him in the inn, neatly\ndressed, with shoes on his feet, and a student's cap on his head, Adam\ncould not help gazing at him almost idolatrously.\n\nThe tavern-keeper whispered to the smith, that it was long since he had\nseen so handsome a young fellow, and the hostess, after bringing the\nbeer, stroked the boy's curls with her wet hand.\n\nOn reaching home, Adam permitted his son to go to the doctor's in his new\nclothes; Ruth screamed with joy when she saw him, walked round and round\nhim, and curiously felt the woollen stuff of the doublet and its blue\nslashes, ever and anon clapping her hands in delight.\n\nHer parents had expected that the parting would excite her most\npainfully, but she smiled joyously into her playmate's face, when he bade\nher farewell, for she took the matter in her usual way, not as it really\nwas, but as she imagined it to be. Instead of the awkward Ulrich of the\npresent, the fairy-prince he was now to become stood before her; he was\nto return without fail at Christmas, and then how delightful it would be\nto play with him again. Of late they had been together even more than\nusual, continually seeking for the word, and planning a thousand\ndelightful things he was to conjure up for her, and she for him and\nothers.\n\nIt was the Sabbath, and on this day old Rahel always dressed the child in\na little yellow silk frock, while on Sunday her mother did the same. The\ngown particularly pleased Ulrich's eye, and when she wore it, he always\nbecame more yielding and obeyed her every wish. So Ruth rejoiced that it\nchanced to be the Sabbath, and while she passed her hand over his\ndoublet, he stroked her silk dress.\n\nThey had not much to say to each other, for their tongues always faltered\nin the presence of others. The doctor gave Ulrich many an admonitory\nword, his wife kissed him, and as a parting remembrance hung a small gold\nring, with a glittering stone, about his neck, and old Rahel gave him a\nkerchief full of freshly-baked cakes to eat on his way.\n\nAt noon on St. John's day, Ulrich and his father stood before the gate of\nthe monastery. Servants and mettled steeds were waiting there, and the\nporter, pointing to them, said: \"Count Frohlinger is within.\"\n\nAdam turned pale, pressed his son so convulsively to his breast that he\ngroaned with pain, sent a laybrother to call Father Benedict, confided\nhis child to him, and walked towards home with drooping head.\n\nHitherto Ulrich had not known whether to enjoy or dread the thought of\ngoing to the monastery-school. The preparations had been pleasant enough,\nand the prospect of sharing the same bench with the sons of noblemen and\naristocratic citizens, flattered his unity; but when he saw his father\ndepart, his heart melted and his eyes grew wet. The monk; noticing this,\ndrew him towards him, patted his shoulder, and said: \"Keep up your\ncourage! You will see that it is far pleasanter with us, than down in the\nRichtberg.\"\n\nThis gave Ulrich food for thought, and he did not glance around as the\nFather led him up the steep stairs to the landing-place, and past the\nrefectory into the court-yard.\n\nMonks were pacing silently up and down the corridors that surrounded it,\nand one after another raised his shaven head higher over his white cowl,\nto cast a look at the new pupil.\n\nBehind the court-yard stood the stately, gable-roofed building containing\nthe guest-rooms, and between it and the church lay the school-garden, a\nmeadow planted with fruit trees, separated from the highway by a wall.\n\nBenedictus opened the wooden gate, and pushed Ulrich into the playground.\n\nThe noise there had been loud enough, but at his entrance the game\nstopped, and his future companions nudged each other, scanning him with\nscrutinizing glances.\n\nThe monk beckoned to several of the pupils, and made them acquainted with\nthe smith's son, then stroking Ulrich's curls again, left him alone with\nthe others.\n\nOn St. John's day the boys were given their liberty and allowed to play\nto their hearts' content.\n\nThey took no special notice of Ulrich, and after having stared\nsufficiently and exchanged a few words with him, continued their\ninterrupted game of trying to throw stones over the church roof.\n\nMeantime Ulrich looked at his comrades.\n\nThere were large and small, fair and dark lads among them, but not one\nwith whom he could not have coped. To this point his scrutiny was first\ndirected.\n\nAt last he turned his attention to the game. Many of the stones, that had\nbeen thrown, struck the slates on the roof; not one had passed over the\nchurch. The longer the unsuccessful efforts lasted, the more evident\nbecame the superior smile on Ulrich's lips, the faster his heart\nthrobbed. His eyes searched the grass, and when he had discovered a flat,\nsharp-edged stone, he hurriedly stooped, pressed silently into the ranks\nof the players, and bending the upper part of his body far back, summoned\nall his strength, and hurled the stone in a beautiful curve high into the\nair.\n\nForty sparkling eyes followed it, and a loud shout of joy rang out as it\nvanished behind the church roof. One alone, a tall, thin, black-haired\nlad, remained silent, and while the others were begging Ulrich to throw\nagain, searched for a stone, exerted all his power to equal the 11\n\"greenhorn,\" and almost succeeded. Ulrich now sent a second stone after\nthe first, and, again the cast was successful. Dark-browed Xaver\ninstantly seized a new missile, and the contest that now followed so\nengrossed the attention of all, that they saw and heard nothing until a\ndeep voice, in a firm, though not unkind tone, called: \"Stop, boys! No\ngames must be played with the church.\"\n\nAt these words the younger boys hastily dropped the stones they had\ngathered, for the man who had shouted, was no less a personage than the\nLord Abbot himself.\n\nSoon the lads approached to kiss the ecclesiastic's hand or sleeve, and\nthe stately priest, who understood how to guide those subject to him by a\nglance of his dark eyes, graciously and kindly accepted the salutation.\n\n\"Grave in office, and gay in sport\" was his device. Count von Frohlinger,\nwho had entered the garden with him, looked like one whose motto runs:\n\"Never grave and always gay.\"\n\nThe nobleman had not grown younger since Ulrich's mother fled into the\nworld, but his eyes still sparkled joyously and the brick-red hue that\ntinged his handsome face between his thick white moustache and his eyes,\nannounced that he was no less friendly to wine than to fair women. How\nwell his satin clothes and velvet cloak became him, how beautifully the\nwhite puffs were relieved against the deep blue of his dress! How proudly\nthe white and yellow plumes arched over his cap, and how delicate were\nthe laces on his collar and cuffs! His son, the very image of the\nhandsome father, stood beside him, and the count had laid his hand\nfamiliarly on his shoulder, as if he were not his child, but a friend and\ncomrade.\n\n\"A devil of a fellow!\" whispered the count to the abbot. \"Did you see the\nfair-haired lad's throw? From what house does the young noble come?\"\n\nThe prelate shrugged his shoulders, and answered smiling:\n\n\"From the smithy at Richtberg.\"\n\n\"Does he belong to Adam?\" laughed the other. \"Zounds! I had a bitter hour\nin the confessional on his mother's account. He has inherited the\nbeautiful Florette's hair and eyes; otherwise he looks like his father.\nWith your permission, my Lord Abbot, I'll call the boy.\"\n\n\"Afterwards, afterwards,\" replied the superior of the monastery in a tone\nof friendly denial, which permitted no contradiction. \"First tell the\nboys, what we have decided?\"\n\nCount Frohlinger bowed respectfully, then drew his son closer to his\nside, and waited for the boys, to whom the abbot beckoned.\n\nAs soon as they had gathered in a group before him, the nobleman\nexclaimed:\n\n\"You have just bid this good-for-nothing farewell. What should you say,\nif I left him among you till Christmas? The Lord Abbot will keep him, and\nyou, you. . . .\"\n\nBut he had no time to finish the sentence. The pupils rushed upon him,\nshouting:\n\n\"Stay here, Philipp! Count Lips must stay!\"\n\nOne little flaxen-headed fellow nestled closely to his regained\nprotector, another kissed the count's hand, and two larger boys seized\nPhilipp by the arm and tried to drag him away from his father, back into\ntheir circle.\n\nThe abbot looked on at the tumult kindly, and bright tear-drops ran down\ninto the old count's beard, for his heart was easily touched. When he\nrecovered his composure, he exclaimed:\n\n\"Lips shall stay, you rogues; he shall stay! And the Lord Abbot has given\nyou permission, to come with me to-day to my hunting-box and light a St.\nJohn's fire. There shall be no lack of cakes and wine.\"\n\n\"Hurrah! hurrah! Long live the count!\" shouted the pupils, and all who\nhad caps tossed them into the air. Ulrich was carried away by the\nenthusiasm of the others; and all the evil words his father had so\nlavishly heaped on the handsome, merry gentleman--all Hangemarx's abuse\nof knights and nobles were forgotten.\n\nThe abbot and his companion withdrew, but as soon as the boys knew that\nthey were unobserved, Count Lips cried:\n\n\"You fellow yonder, you greenhorn, threw the stone over the roof. I saw\nit. Come here. Over the roof? That should be my right. Whoever breaks the\nfirst window in the steeple, shall be victor.\"\n\nThe smith's son felt embarrassed, for he shrank from the mischief and\nfeared his father and the abbot. But when the young count held out his\nclosed hands, saying: \"If you choose the red stone, you shall throw\nfirst,\" he pointed to his companion's right hand, and, as it concealed\nthe red pebble, began the contest. He threw the stone, and struck the\nwindow. Amid loud shouts of exultation from the boys, more than one round\npane of glass, loosened from the leaden casing, rattled in broken\nfragments on the church roof, and from thence fell silently on the grass.\nCount Lips laughed aloud in his delight, and was preparing to follow\nUlrich's example, but the wooden gate was pushed violently open, and\nBrother Hieronymus, the most severe of all the monks, appeared in the\nplayground. The zealous priest's cheeks glowed with anger, terrible were\nthe threats he uttered, and declaring that the festival of St. John\nshould not be celebrated, unless the shameless wretch, who had\nblasphemously shattered the steeple window, confessed his fault, he\nscanned the pupils with rolling eyes.\n\nYoung Count Lips stepped boldly forward, saying beseechingly:\n\n\"I did it, Father--unintentionally! Forgive me!\"\n\n\"You?\" asked the monk, his voice growing lower and more gentle, as he\ncontinued: \"Folly and wantonness without end! When will you learn\ndiscretion, Count Philipp? But as you did it unintentionally, I will let\nit pass for to-day.\"\n\nWith these words, the monk left the court-yard; and as soon as the gate\nhad closed behind him, Ulrich approached his generous companion, and said\nin a tone that only he could hear, yet grateful to the inmost depths of\nhis heart:\n\n\"I will repay you some day.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" laughed the young count, throwing his arm over the shoulder\nof the artisan's son. \"If the glass wouldn't rattle, I would throw now;\nbut there's another day coming to-morrow.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nAutumn had come. The yellow leaves were fluttering about the school\nplay-ground, the starlings were gathering in flocks on the church roof to\ntake their departure, and Ulrich would fain have gone with them, no\nmatter where. He could not feel at home in the monastery and among his\ncompanions. Always first in Richtberg, he was rarely so here, most seldom\nof all in school, for his father had forbidden the doctor to teach him\nLatin, so in that study he was last of all.\n\nOften, when every one was asleep, the poor lad sat studying by the\never-burning lamp in the lobby, but in vain. He could not come up with\nthe others, and the unpleasant feeling of remaining behind, in spite of\nthe most honest effort, spoiled his life and made him irritable.\n\nHis comrades did not spare him, and when they called him \"horse-boy,\"\nbecause he was often obliged to help Pater Benedictus in bringing\nrefractory horses to reason, he flew into a rage and used his superior\nstrength.\n\nHe stood on the worst terms of all with black-haired Xaver, to whom he\nowed the nickname.\n\nThis boy's father was the chief magistrate of the little city, and was\nallowed to take his son home with him at Michaelmas.\n\nWhen the black-haired lad returned, he had many things to tell, gathered\nfrom half-understood rumor, about Ulrich's parents. Words were now\nuttered, that brought the blood to Ulrich's cheeks, yet he intentionally\npretended not to hear them, because he dared not contradict tales that\nmight be true. He well knew who had brought all these stories to the\nothers, and answered Xaver's malicious spite with open enmity.\n\nCount Lips did not trouble himself about any of these things, but\nremained Ulrich's most intimate friend, and was fond of going with him to\nsee the horses. His vivacious intellect joyously sympathized with the\nsmith's son, when he told him about Ruth's imaginary visions, and often\nin the play-ground he went apart with Ulrich from their companions; but\nthis very circumstance was a thing that many, who had formerly been on\nmore intimate terms with the aristocratic boy, were not disposed to\nforgive the new-comer.\n\nXaver had never been friendly to the count's son, and succeeded in\nirritating many against their former favorite, because he fancied himself\nbetter than they, and still more against Ulrich, who was half a servant,\nyet presumed to play the master and offer them violence.\n\nThe monks employed in the school soon noticed the ill terms, on which the\nnew pupil stood with his companions, and did not lack reasons for shaking\ntheir heads over him.\n\nBenedictus had not been able to conceal, who had been Ulrich's teacher in\nRichtberg; and the seeds the Jew had planted in the boy, seemed to be\nbearing strange and vexatious fruit.\n\nFather Hieronymus, who instructed the pupils in religion, fairly raged,\nwhen he spoke of the destructive doctrines, that haunted the new\nscholar's head.\n\nWhen, soon after Ulrich's reception into the school, he had spoken of\nChrist's work of redemption, and asked the boy: \"From what is the world\nto be delivered by the Saviour's suffering?\" the answer was: \"From the\narrogance of the rich and great.\" Hieronymus had spoken of the holy\nsacraments, and put the question: \"By what means can the Christian surely\nobtain mercy, unless he bolts the door against it--that is, commits a\nmortal sin?\" and Ulrich's answer was: \"By doing unto others, what you\nwould have others do unto you.\"\n\nSuch strange words might be heard by dozens from the boy's lips. Some\nwere repeated from Hangemarx's sayings, others from the doctor's; and\nwhen asked where he obtained them, he quoted only the latter, for the\nmonks were not to be allowed to know anything about his intercourse with\nthe poacher.\n\nSharp reproofs and severe penances were now bestowed, for many a word\nthat he had thought beautiful and pleasing in the sight of God; and the\npoor, tortured young soul often knew no help in its need.\n\nHe could not turn to the dear God and the Saviour, whom he was said to\nhave blasphemed, for he feared them; but when he could no longer bear his\ngrief, discouragement, and yearning, he prayed to the Madonna for help.\n\nThe image of the unhappy woman, about whom he had heard nothing but ill\nwords, who had deserted him, and whose faithlessness gave the other boys\na right to jeer at him, floated before his eyes, with that of the pure,\nholy Virgin in the church, brought by Father Lukas from Italy.\n\nIn spite of all the complaints about him, which were carried to the\nabbot, the latter thought him a misguided, but good and promising boy, an\nopinion strengthened by the music-teacher and the artist Lukas, whose\nbest pupil Ulrich was; but they also were enraged against the Jew, who\nhad lured this nobly-gifted child along the road of destruction; and\noften urged the abbot, who was anything but a zealot, to subject him to\nan examination by torture.\n\nIn November, the chief magistrate was summoned, and informed of the\nheresies with which the Hebrew had imperiled the soul of a Christian\nchild.\n\nThe wise abbot wished to avoid anything, that would cause excitement,\nduring this time of rebellion against the power of the Church, but the\nmagistrate claimed the right to commence proceedings against the doctor.\nOf course, he said, sufficient proof must be brought against the accused.\nFather Hieronymus might note down the blasphemous tenets he heard from\nthe boy's lips before witnesses, and at the Advent season the smith and\nhis son would be examined.\n\nThe abbot, who liked to linger over his books, was glad to know that the\nmatter was in the hands of the civil authorities, and enjoined Hieronymus\nto pay strict attention.\n\nOn the third Sunday in Advent, the magistrate again came to the\nmonastery. His horses had worked their way with the sleigh through the\ndeep snow in the ravine with much difficulty, and, half-frozen, he went\ndirectly to the refectory and there asked for his son.\n\nThe latter was lying with a bandaged eye in the cold dormitory, and when\nhis father sought him, he heard that Ulrich had wounded him.\n\nIt would not have needed Xaver's bitter complaints, to rouse his father\nto furious rage against the boy who had committed this violence, and he\nwas by no means satisfied, when he learned that the culprit had been\nexcluded for three weeks from the others' sports, and placed on a very\nfrugal diet. He went furiously to the abbot.\n\nThe day before (Saturday), Ulrich had gone at noon, without the young\ncount, who was in confinement for some offence, to the snow-covered\nplay-ground, where he was attacked by Xaver and a dozen of his comrades,\npushed into a snow-bank, and almost suffocated. The conspirators had\nstuffed icicles and snow under his clothes next his skin, taken off his\nshoes and filled them with snow, and meantime Xaver jumped upon his back,\npressing his face into the snow till Ulrich lost his breath, and believed\nhis last hour had come.\n\nExerting the last remnant of his strength, he had succeeded in throwing\noff and seizing his tormentor. While the others fled, he wreaked his rage\non the magistrate's son to his heart's content, first with his fists, and\nthen with the heavy shoe that lay beside him. Meantime, snowballs had\nrained upon his body and head from all directions, increasing his fury;\nand as soon as Xaver no longer struggled he started up, exclaiming with\nglowing cheeks and upraised fists:\n\n\"Wait, wait, you wicked fellows! The doctor in Richtberg knows a word, by\nwhich he shall turn you all into toads and rats, you miserable rascals!\"\n\nXaver had remembered this speech, which he repeated to his father,\ncleverly enlarged with many a false word. The abbot listened to the\nmagistrate's complaint very quietly.\n\nThe angry father was no sufficient witness for him, yet the matter seemed\nimportant enough to send for and question Ulrich, though the meal-time\nhad already begun. The Jew had really spoken to his daughter about the\nmagic word, and the pupil of the monastery had threatened his companions\nwith it. So the investigation might begin.\n\nUlrich was led back to the prison-chamber, where some thin soup and bread\nawaited him, but he touched neither. Food and drink disgusted him, and he\ncould neither work nor sit still.\n\nThe little bell, which, summoned all the occupants of the monastery, was\nheard at an unusual hour, and about vespers the sound of sleigh-bells\nattracted him to the window. The abbot and Father Hieronymus were talking\nin undertones to the magistrate, who was just preparing to enter his\nsleigh.\n\nThey were speaking of him and the doctor, and the pupils had just been\nsummoned to bear witness against him. No one had told him so, but he knew\nit, and was seized with such anxiety about the doctor, that drops of\nperspiration stood on his brow.\n\nHe was clearly aware that he had mingled his teacher's words with the\npoacher's blasphemous sayings, and also that he had put the latter into\nthe mouth of Ruth's father.\n\nHe was a traitor, a liar, a miserable scoundrel!\n\nHe wished to go to the abbot and confess all, yet dared not, and so the\nhours stole away until the time for the evening mass.\n\nWhile in church he strove to pray, not only for himself but for the\ndoctor, but in vain, he could think of nothing but the trial, and while\nkneeling with his hands over his eyes, saw the Jew in fetters before him,\nand he himself at the trial in the town-hall.\n\nAt last the mass ended.\n\nUlrich rose. Just before him hung the large crucifix, and the Saviour on\nthe cross, who with his head bowed on one side, usually gazed so gently\nand mournfully upon the ground, to-day seemed to look at him with mingled\nreproach and accusation.\n\nIn the dormitory, his companions avoided him as if he had the plague, but\nhe scarcely noticed it.\n\nThe moonlight and the reflection from the snow shone brightly through the\nlittle window, but Ulrich longed for darkness, and buried his face in the\npillows. The clock in the steeple struck ten.\n\nHe raised himself and listened to the deep breathing of the sleepers on\nhis right and left, and the gnawing of a mouse under the bed.\n\nHis heart throbbed faster and more anxiously, but suddenly seemed to\nstand still, for a low voice had called his name.\n\n\"Ulrich!\" it whispered again, and the young count, who lay beside him,\nrose in bed and bent towards him. Ulrich had told him about the word, and\noften indulged in wishes with him, as he had formerly done with Ruth.\nPhilipp now whispered:\n\n\"They are going to attack the doctor. The abbot and magistrate questioned\nus, as if it were a matter of life and death. I kept what I know about\nthe word to myself, for I'm sorry for the Jew, but Xaver, spiteful\nfellow, made it appear as if you really possessed the spell, and just now\nhe came to me and said his father would seize the Jew early to-morrow\nmorning, and then he would be tortured. Whether they will hang or burn\nhim is the question. His life is forfeited, his father said--and the\nblack-visaged rascal rejoiced over it.\"\n\n\"Sileutium, turbatores!\" cried the sleepy voice of the monk in charge,\nand the boys hastily drew back into the feathers and were silent.\n\nThe young count soon fell asleep again, but Ulrich buried his head still\ndeeper among the pillows; it seemed as if he saw the mild, thoughtful\nface of the man, from whom he had received so much affection, gazing\nreproachfully at him; then the dumb wife appeared before his mind, and he\nfancied her soft hand was lovingly stroking his cheeks as usual. Ruth\nalso appeared, not in the yellow silk dress, but clad in rags of a\nbeggar, and she wept, hiding her face in her mother's lap.\n\nHe groaned aloud. The clock struck eleven. He rose and listened. Nothing\nstirred, and slipping on his clothes, he took his shoes in his hand and\ntried to open the window at the head of his bed. It had stood open during\nthe day, but the frost fastened it firmly to the frame. Ulrich braced his\nfoot against the wall and pulled with all his strength, but it resisted\none jerk after another; at last it suddenly yielded and flew open, making\na slight creaking and rattling, but the monk on guard did not wake, only\nmurmured softly in his sleep.\n\nThe boy stood motionless for a time, holding his breath, then swung\nhimself upon the parapet and looked out. The dormitory was in the second\nstory of the monastery, above the rampart, but a huge bank of snow rose\nbeside the wall, and this strengthened his courage.\n\nWith hurrying fingers he made the sign of the cross, a low: \"Mary, pray\nfor me,\" rose from his lips, then he shut his eyes and risked the leap.\n\nThere was a buzzing, roaring sound in his ears, his mother's image\nblended in strange distortion with the Jew's, then an icy sea swallowed\nhim, and it seemed as if body and soul were frozen. But this sensation\noverpowered him only a few minutes, then working his way out of the mass\nof snow, he drew on his shoes, and dashed as if pursued by a pack of\nwolves, down the mountain, through the ravine, across the heights, and\nfinally along the river to the city and the Richtberg.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     He was steadfast in everything, even anger\n\n\n\n\nA WORD, ONLY A WORD\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe magistrate's horses did not reach the city gate, from the monastery,\nmore quickly than Ulrich.\n\nAs soon as the smith was roused from sleep by the boy's knock and\nrecognized his voice, he knew what was coming, and silently listened to\nthe lad's confessions, while he himself hurriedly yet carefully took out\nhis hidden hoard, filled a bag with the most necessary articles, thrust\nhis lightest hammer into his belt, and poured water on the glimmering\ncoals. Then, locking the door, he sent Ulrich to Hangemarx, with whom he\nhad already settled many things; for Caspar, the juggler, who learned\nmore through his daughters than any other man, had come to him the day\nbefore, to tell him that something was being plotted against the Jew.\n\nAdam found the latter still awake and at work. He was prepared for the\ndanger that threatened him, and ready to fly. No word of complaint, not\neven a hasty gesture betrayed the mental anguish of the persecuted man,\nand the smith's heart melted, as he heard the doctor rouse his wife and\nchild from their sleep.\n\nThe terrified moans of the startled wife, and Ruth's loud weeping and\ncurious questions, were soon drowned by the lamentations of old Rahel,\nwho wrapped in even more kerchiefs than usual, rushed into the\nsitting-room, and while lamenting and scolding in a foreign tongue,\ngathered together everything that lay at hand. She had dragged a large\nchest after her, and now threw in candlesticks, jugs, and even the\nchessmen and Ruth's old doll with a broken head.\n\nWhen the third hour after midnight came, the doctor was ready for\ndeparture.\n\nMarx's charcoal sledge, with its little horse, stopped before the door.\n\nThis was a strange animal, no larger than a calf, as thin as a goat, and\nin some places woolly, in others as bare as a scraped poodle.\n\nThe smith helped the dumb woman into the sleigh, the doctor put Ruth in\nher lap, Ulrich consoled the child, who asked him all sorts of questions,\nbut the old woman would not part from the chest, and could scarcely be\ninduced to enter the vehicle.\n\n\"You know, across the mountains into the Rhine valley--no matter where,\"\nCosta whispered to the poacher.\n\nHangemarx urged on his little horse, and answered, not turning to the\nIsraelite, who had addressed him, but to Adam, who he thought would\nunderstand him better than the bookworm: \"It won't do to go up the\nravine, without making any circuit. The count's hounds will track us, if\nthey follow. We'll go first up the high road by the Lautenhof. To-morrow\nwill be a fair-day. People will come early from the villages and tread\ndown the snow, so the dogs will lose the scent. If it would only snow.\"\n\nBefore the smithy, the doctor held out his hand to Adam, saying: \"We part\nhere, friend.\"\n\n\"We'll go with you, if agreeable to you.\"\n\n\"Consider,\" the other began warningly, but Adam interrupted him, saying:\n\n\"I have considered everything; lost is lost. Ulrich, take the doctor's\nsack from his shoulder.\"\n\nFor a long time nothing more was said.\n\nThe night was clear and cold; the men's footsteps fell noiselessly on the\nsoft snow, nothing was heard except the creaking of the sledge, and ever\nand anon Elizabeth's low moaning, or a louder word in the old woman's\nsoliloquy. Ruth had fallen asleep on her mother's lap, and was breathing\nheavily.\n\nAt Lautenhof a narrow path led through the mountains deep into the\nforest.\n\nAs it grew steeper, the snow became knee-deep, and the men helped the\nlittle horse, which often coughed, tossing its thick head up and down, as\nif working a churn. Once, when the poor creature met with a very heavy\nfall, Marx pointed to the green woollen scarf on the animal's neck, and\nwhispered to the smith \"Twenty years old, and has the glanders besides.\"\n\nThe little beast nodded slowly and mournfully, as if to say: \"Life is\nhard; this will probably be the last time I draw a sleigh.\"\n\nThe broad, heavy-laden pine-boughs drooped wearily by the roadside, the\ngleaming surface of the snow stretched in a monotonous sheet of white\nbetween the trunks of the trees, the tops of the dark rocks beside the\nway bore smooth white caps of loose snow, the forest stream was frozen\nalong the edges, only in the centre did the water trickle through\nsnow-crystals and sharp icicles to the valley.\n\nSo long as the moon shone, flickering rays danced and sparkled on the ice\nand snow, but afterwards only the tedious glimmer of the universal\nsnow-pall lighted the traveller's way.\n\n\"If it would only snow!\" repeated the charcoal-burner.\n\nThe higher they went, the deeper grew the snow, the more wearisome the\nwading and climbing.\n\nOften, on the doctor's account, the smith called in a low voice, \"Halt!\"\nand then Costa approached the sleigh and asked: \"How do you feel?\" or\nsaid: \"We are getting on bravely.\"\n\nRahel screamed whenever a fox barked in the distance, a wolf howled, or\nan owl flew through the treetops, brushing the snow from the branches\nwith its wings; but the others also started. Marx alone walked quietly\nand undisturbed beside his little horse's thick head; he was familiar\nwith all the voices of the forest.\n\nIt grew colder towards morning. Ruth woke and cried, and her father,\npanting for breath, asked: \"When shall we rest?\"\n\n\"Behind the height; ten arrow-shots farther,\" replied the\ncharcoal-burner.\n\n\"Courage,\" whispered the smith. \"Get on the sledge, doctor; we'll push.\"\n\nBut Costa shook his head, pointed to the panting horse, and dragged\nhimself onward.\n\nThe poacher must have sent his arrows in a strange curve, for one quarter\nof an hour after another slipped by, and the top was not yet gained.\nMeantime it grew lighter and lighter, and the charcoal-burner, with\nincreasing anxiety, ever and anon raised his head, and glanced aside. The\nsky was covered with clouds-the light overhead grey, dim, and blended\nwith mist. The snow was still dazzling, though it no longer sparkled and\nglittered, but covered every object with the dull whiteness of chalk.\n\nUlrich kept beside the sledge to push it. When Ruth heard him groan, she\nstroked the hand that grasped the edges, this pleased him; and he smiled.\n\nWhen they again stopped, this time on the crest of the ridge, Ulrich\nnoticed that the charcoal-burner was sniffing the air like a hound, and\nasked:\n\n\"What is it, Marxle?\"\n\nThe poacher grinned, as he answered: \"It's going to snow; I smell it.\"\n\nThe road now led down towards the valley, and, after a short walk, the\ncharcoal-burner said:\n\n\"We shall find shelter below with Jorg, and a warm fire too, you poor\nwomen.\"\n\nThese were cheering words, and came just at the right time, for large\nsnow-flakes began to fill the air, and a light breeze drove them into the\ntravellers' faces. \"There!\" cried Ulrich, pointing to the snow covered\nroof of a wooden hut, that stood close before them in a clearing on the\nedge of the forest.\n\nEvery face brightened, but Marx shook his head doubtfully, muttering:\n\n\"No smoke, no barking; the place is empty. Jorg has gone. At\nWhitsuntide--how many years ago is it?--the boys left to act as raftsmen,\nbut then he stayed here.\"\n\nReckoning time was not the charcoal-burner's strong point; and the empty\nhut, the dreary open window-casements in the mouldering wooden walls, the\nholes in the roof, through which a quantity of snow had drifted into the\nonly room in the deserted house, indicated that no human being had sought\nshelter here for many a winter.\n\nOld Rahel uttered a fresh wail of grief, when she saw this shelter; but\nafter the men had removed the snow as well as they could, and covered the\nholes in the roof with pine-branches; when Adam had lighted a fire, and\nthe sacks and coverlets were brought in from the sledge, and laid on a\ndry spot to furnish seats for the women, fresh courage entered their\nhearts, and Rahel, unasked, dragged herself to the hearth, and set the\nsnow-filled pot on the fire.\n\n\"The nag must have two hours' rest,\" Marx said, \"then they could push on\nand reach the miller in the ravine before night. There they would find\nkind friends, for Jacklein had been with him among the 'peasants.'\" The\nsnow-water boiled, the doctor and his wife rested, Ulrich and Ruth\nbrought wood, which the smith had split, to the fire to dry, when\nsuddenly a terrible cry of grief rang outside of the hut.\n\nCosta hastily rose, the children followed, and old Rahel, whimpering,\ndrew the upper kerchief on her head over her face.\n\nThe little horse, its tiny legs stretched far apart, was lying in the\nsnow by the sledge. Beside it knelt Marx, holding the clumsy head on his\nknee, and blowing with his crooked mouth into the animal's nostrils. The\ncreature showed its yellow teeth, and put out its bluish tongue as if it\nwanted to lick him; then the heavy head fell, the dying animal's eyes\nstarted from their sockets, its legs grew perfectly stiff, and this time\nthe horse was really dead, while the shafts of the sledge vainly thrust\nthemselves into the air, like the gaping mouth of a deserted bird.\n\nNo farther progress was possible. The women sat trembling in the hut,\nroasting before the fire, and shivering when a draught touched them. . . .\nRuth wept for the poor little horse, and Marx sat as if utterly crushed\nbeside his old friend's stiffening body, heeding nothing, least of all\nthe snow, which was making him whiter than the miller, with whom he had\nexpected to rest that evening. The doctor gazed in mute despair at his\ndumb wife, who, with clasped hands, was praying fervently; the smith\npressed his hand upon his brow, vainly pondering over what was to be done\nnow, until his head ached; while, from the distance, echoed the howl of a\nhungry wolf, and a pair of ravens alighted on a white bough beside the\nlittle horse, gazing greedily at the corpse lying in the snow.\n\nMeantime, the abbot was sitting in his pleasantly-warmed study, which was\npervaded by a faint, agreeable perfume, gazing now at the logs burning in\nthe beautiful marble mantel-piece, and then at the magistrate, who had\nbrought him strange tidings.\n\nThe prelate's white woollen morning-robe clung closely around his stately\nfigure. Beside him lay, side by side, for comparison, two manuscript\ncopies of his favorite book, the idyls of Theocritus, which, for his\namusement, and to excel the translation of Coban Hesse, he was turning\ninto Latin verse, as the duties of his office gave him leisure.\n\nThe magistrate was standing by the fire-side. He was a thick-set man of\nmiddle height, with a large head, and clever but coarse features, as\nrudely moulded as if they had been carved from wood. He was one of the\nbest informed lawyers in the country, and his words flowed as smoothly\nand clearly from his strong lips, as if every thought in his keen brain\nwas born fully matured and beautifully finished.\n\nIn the farthest corner of the room, awaiting a sign from his master,\nstood the magistrate's clerk, a little man with a round head, and legs\nlike the sickle of the waxing or waning moon. He carried under his short\narms two portfolios, filled with important papers.\n\n\"He comes from Portugal, and has lived under an assumed name?\" So the\nabbot repeated, what he had just heard.\n\n\"His name is Lopez, not Costa,\" replied the other; \"these papers prove\nit. Give me the portfolio, man! The diploma is in the brown one.\"\n\nHe handed a parchment to the prelate, who, after reading it, said firmly:\n\n\"This Jew is a more important person than we supposed. They are not\nlavish with such praise in Coimbra. Are you taking good care of the\ndoctor's books Herr Conrad? I will look at them to-morrow.\"\n\n\"They are at your disposal. These papers. . . .\"\n\n\"Leave them, leave them.\"\n\n\"There will be more than enough for the complaint without them,\" said the\nmagistrate. \"Our town-clerk, who though no student is, as you know, a man\nof much experience, shares my opinion.\" Then he continued pathetically:\n\"Only he who has cause to fear the law hides his name, only he, who feels\nguilty, flees the judge.\"\n\nA subtle smile, that was not wholly free from bitterness, hovered around\nthe abbot's lips, for he thought of the painful trial and the\ntorture-chamber in the town hall, and no longer saw in the doctor merely\nthe Jew, but the humanist and companion in study.\n\nHis glance again fell on the diploma, and while the other continued his\nrepresentations, the prelate stretched himself more comfortably in his\narm-chair and gazed thoughtfully at the ground. Then, as if an idea had\nsuddenly occurred to him, he touched his high forehead with the tips of\nhis fingers, and suddenly interrupting the eager speaker, said:\n\n\"Father Anselm came to us from Porto five years ago, and when there knew\nevery one who understood Greek. Go, Gutbub, and tell the librarian to\ncome.\" The monk soon appeared.\n\nTidings of Ulrich's disappearance and the Jew's flight had spread rapidly\nthrough the monastery; the news was discussed in the choir, the school,\nthe stable and the kitchen; Father Anselm alone had heard nothing of the\nmatter, though he had been busy in the library before daybreak, and the\nvexatious incident had been eagerly talked of there.\n\nIt was evident, that the elderly man cared little for anything that\nhappened in the world, outside of his manuscripts and printing. His long,\nnarrow head rested on a thin neck, which did not stand erect, but grew\nout between the shoulders like a branch from the stem. His face was grey\nand lined with wrinkles, like pumice-stone, but large bright eyes lent\nmeaning and attraction to the withered countenance.\n\nAt first he listened indifferently to the abbot's story, but as soon as\nthe Jew's name was mentioned, and he had read the diploma, as swiftly as\nif he possessed the gift of gathering the whole contents of ten lines at\na single comprehensive glance, he said eagerly:\n\n\"Lopez, Doctor Lopez was here! And we did not know it, and have not\nconsulted with him! Where is he? What are people planning against him?\"\n\nAfter he had learned that the Jew had fled, and the abbot requested him\nto tell all he knew about the doctor, he collected his thoughts and\nsorrowfully began:\n\n\"To be sure, to be sure; the man committed a great offence. He is a great\nsinner in God's eyes. You know his guilt?\"\n\n\"We know everything,\" cried the magistrate, with a meaning glance at the\nprelate. Then, as if he sincerely pitied the criminal, he continued with\nwell-feigned sympathy: \"How did the learned man commit such a misdeed?\"\n\nThe abbot understood the stratagem, but Anselm's words could not be\nrecalled, and as he himself desired to learn more of the doctor's\nhistory, he asked the monk to tell what he knew.\n\nThe librarian, in his curt, dry manner, yet with a warmth unusual to him,\ndescribed the doctor's great learning and brilliant intellect, saying\nthat his father, though a Jew, had been in his way an aristocratic man,\nallied with many a noble family, for until the reign of King Emanuel, who\npersecuted the Hebrews, they had enjoyed great distinction in Portugal.\nIn those days it had been hard to distinguish Jews from Christians. At\nthe time of the expulsion a few favored Israelites had been allowed to\nstay, among them the worthy Rodrigo, the doctor's father, who had been\nthe king's physician and was held in high esteem by the sovereign. Lopez\nobtained the highest honors at Coimbra, but instead of following\nmedicine, like his father, devoted himself to the humanities.\n\n\"There was no need to earn his living--to earn his living,\" continued the\nmonk, speaking slowly and carefully, and repeating the conclusion of his\nsentence, as if he were in the act of collating two manuscripts, \"for\nRodrigo was one of the wealthiest men in Portugal. His son Lopez was\nrich, very rich in friends, and among them were numbered all to whom\nknowledge was dear. Even among the Christians he had many friends. Among\nus--I mean in our library--he also obtained great respect. I owe him many\na hint, much aid; I mean in referring me to rare books, and explaining\nobscure passages. When he no longer visited us, I missed him sorely. I am\nnot curious; or do you think I am? I am not curious, but I could not help\ninquiring about him, and then I heard very bad things. Women are to blame\nfor everything; of course it was a woman again. A merchant from\nFlanders--a Christian--had settled in Porto. The doctor's father visited\nhis house; but you probably know all this?\"\n\n\"Of course! of course!\" cried the magistrate. \"But go on with your\nstory.\"\n\n\"Old Doctor Rodrigo was the Netherlander's physician, and closed his eyes\non the death-bed. An orphan was left, a girl, who had not a single\nrelative in Porto. They said--I mean the young doctors and students who\nhad seen her--that she was pleasing, very pleasing to the eye. But it was\nnot on that account, but because she was orphaned and desolate, that the\nphysician took the child--I mean the girl.\"\n\n\"And reared her as a Jewess?\" interrupted the magistrate, with a\nquestioning glance.\n\n\"As a Jewess?\" replied the monk, excitedly. \"Who says so? He did nothing\nof the sort. A Christian widow educated her in the physician's\ncountry-house, not in the city. When the young doctor returned from\nCoimbra, he saw her there more than once--more than once; certainly, more\noften than was good for him. The devil had a finger in the matter. I\nknow, too, how they were married. Before one Jew and two Christian\nwitnesses, they plighted their troth to each other, and exchanged\nrings--rings as if it were a Christian ceremony, though he remained a Jew\nand she a Christian. He intended to go to the Netherlands with her, but\none of the witnesses betrayed them--denounced them to the Holy\nInquisition. This soon interposed of course, for there it interferes with\neverything, and in this case it was necessary; nay more--a Christian\nduty. The young wife was seized in the street with her attendant and\nthrown into prison; on the rack she entirely lost the power of speech.\nThe old physician and the doctor were warned in time, and kept closely\nconcealed. Through Chamberlain de Sa, her uncle--or was it only her\ncousin?--through de Sa the wife regained her liberty, and then I believe\nall three fled to France--the father, son and wife. But no, they must\nhave come here. . . .\"\n\n\"There you have it!\" cried the magistrate, interrupting the monk, and\nglancing triumphantly at the prelate. \"An old practitioner scents crime,\nas a tree frog smells rain. Now, for the first time, I can say with\ncertainty: We have him, and the worst punishment is too little for his\ndeserts. There shall be an unparalleled execution, something wonderful,\nmagnificent, grand! You have given me important information, and I thank\nyou, Father.\"\n\n\"Then you knew nothing?\" faltered the librarian; and, raising his neck\nhigher than usual, the vein in the centre of his forehead swelled with\nwrath.\n\n\"No, Anselme!\" said the abbot. \"But it was your duty to speak, as,\nunfortunately, it was mine to listen. Come to me again, by and bye; I\nhave something to say to you.\"\n\nThe librarian bowed silently, coldly and proudly, and without vouchsafing\nthe magistrate a single glance, went back, not to his books, but to his\ncell, where he paced up and down a long time, sorrowfully murmuring\nLopez's name, striking himself on the mouth, pressing his clenched hand\nto his brow, and at last throwing himself on his knees to pray for the\nJew, before the image of the crucified Redeemer.\n\nAs soon as the monk had left the room, the magistrate exclaimed:\n\n\"What unexpected aid! What series of sins lie before us! First the small\nones. He had never worn the Jews' badge, and allowed himself to be served\nby Christians, for Caspar's daughters were often at the House to help in\nsewing. A sword was found in his dwelling, and the Jew, who carries\nweapons, renounces, since he uses self-protection, the aid of the\nauthorities. Finally, we know that Lopez used an assumed name. Now we\ncome to the great offences. They are divided into four parts. He has\npractised magic spells; he has sought to corrupt a Christian's son by\nheresies; he has led a Christian woman into a marriage; and he has--I\nclose with the worst--he has reared the daughter of a Christian woman, I\nmean his wife, a Jewess!\"\n\n\"Reared his child a Jewess? Do you know that positively?\" asked the\nabbot.\n\n\"She bears the Jewish name of Ruth. What I have taken the liberty to make\nprominent are well chosen, clearly-proved crimes, worthy of death. Your\nlearning is great, Reverend Abbot, but I know the old writers, too. The\nEmperor Constantius made marriages between Jews and Christians punishable\nwith death. I can show you the passage.\"\n\nThe abbot felt that the crime of which the Jew was accused was a heavy\nand unpardonable one, but he regarded only the sin, and it vexed him to\nsee how the magistrate's zeal was exclusively turned against the unhappy\ncriminal. So he rose, saying with cold hauteur:\n\n\"Then do your duty.\"\n\n\"Rely upon it. We shall capture him and his family to-morrow. The\ntown-clerk is full of zeal too. We shall not be able to harm the child,\nbut it must be taken from the Jew and receive a Christian education. It\nwould be our right to do this, even if both parents were Hebrews. You\nknow the Freiburg case. No less a personage than the great Ulrich Zasius\nhas decided, that Jewish children might be baptized without their\nfather's knowledge. I beg you to send Father Anselm to the town-hall on\nSaturday as a witness.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied the prelate, but he spoke with so little eagerness,\nthat it justly surprised the magistrate. \"Well then, catch the Jew; but\ntake him alive. And one thing more! I wish to see and speak to the\ndoctor, before you torture him.\"\n\n\"I will bring him to you day after to-morrow.\" The Nurembergers! the\nNurembergers! . . .\" replied the abbot, shrugging his shoulders.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"They don't hang any one till they catch him.\" The magistrate regarded\nthese words as a challenge to put forth every effort for the Jew's\ncapture, so he answered eagerly: \"We shall have him, Your Reverence, we\nshall surely have him. They are trapped in the snow. The sergeants are\nsearching the roads; I shall summon your foresters and mine, and put them\nunder Count Frohlinger's command. It is his duty to aid us. What they\ncannot find with their attendants, squires, beaters and hounds, is not\nhidden in the forest. Your blessing, Holy Father, there is no time to\nlose.\"\n\nThe abbot was alone.\n\nHe gazed thoughtfully at the coals in the fireplace, recalling everything\nhe had just seen and heard, while his vivid power of imagination showed\nhim the learned, unassuming man, who had spent long years in quiet\nseclusion, industriously devoting himself to the pursuit of knowledge. A\nslight feeling of envy stole into his heart; how rarely he himself was\npermitted to pursue undisturbed, and without interruption, the scientific\nsubjects, in which alone he found pleasure.\n\nHe was vexed with himself, that he could feel so little anger against a\ncriminal, whose guilt was deserving of death, and reproached himself for\nlukewarmness. Then he remembered that the Jew had sinned for love, and\nthat to him who has loved much, much should be forgiven. Finally, it\nseemed a great boon, that he was soon to be permitted to make the\nacquaintance of the worthy doctor from Coimbra. Never had the zealous\nmagistrate appeared so repulsive as to-day, and when he remembered how\nthe crafty man had outwitted poor Father Anselm in his presence, he felt\nas if he had himself committed an unworthy deed. And yet, yet--the Jew\ncould not be saved, and had deserved what threatened him.\n\nA monk summoned him, but the abbot did not wish to be disturbed, and\nordered that he should be left an hour alone.\n\nHe now took in his hand a volume he called the mirror of his soul, and in\nwhich he noted many things \"for the confession,\" that he desired to\ndetermine to his own satisfaction. To-day he wrote:\n\n\"It would be a duty to hate a Jew and criminal, zealously to persecute\nwhat Holy Church has condemned. Yet I cannot do so. Who is the\nmagistrate, and what are Father Anselm and this learned doctor! The one\nnarrow-minded, only familiar with the little world he knows and in which\nhe lives, the others divinely-gifted, full of knowledge, rulers in the\nwide domain of thought. And the former outwits the latter, who show\nthemselves children in comparison with him. How Anselm stood before him!\nThe deceived child was great, the clever man small. What men call\ncleverness is only small-minded persons' skill in life; simplicity is\npeculiar to the truly great man, because petty affairs are too small for\nhim, and his eye does not count the grains of dust, but looks upward, and\nhas a share in the infinitude stretching before us. Jesus Christ was\ngentle as a child and loved children, he was the Son of God, yet\nvoluntarily yielded himself into the hands of men. The greatest of great\nmen did not belong to the ranks of the clever. Blessed are the meek, He\nsaid. I understand those words. He is meek, whose soul is open, clear and\npure as a mirror, and the greatest philosophers, the noblest minds I have\nmet in life and history were also meek. The brute is clever; wisdom is\nthe cleverness of the noble-minded. We must all follow the Saviour, and\nhe among us, who unites wisdom to meekness, will come nearest to the\nRedeemer.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nMarx had gone out to reconnoitre in a more cheerful mood, for the doctor\nhad made good the loss sustained in the death of his old nag, and he\nreturned at noon with good news.\n\nA wood-carrier, whom he met on the high-road, had told him where Jorg,\nthe charcoal-burner, lived.\n\nThe fugitives could reach his hut before night, and in so doing approach\nnearer the Rhine valley. Everything was ready for departure, but old\nRahel objected to travelling further. She was sitting on a stone before\nthe hut, for the smoke in the narrow room oppressed her breathing, and it\nseemed as if terror had robbed her of her senses. Gazing into vacancy\nwith wild eyes and chattering teeth, she tried to make cakes and mould\ndumplings out of the snow, which she probably took for flour. She neither\nheard the doctor's call nor saw his wife beckon, and when the former\ngrasped her to compel her to rise, uttered a loud shriek. At last the\nsmith succeeded in persuading her to sit down on the sledge, and the\nparty moved forward.\n\nAdam had harnessed himself to the front of the vehicle. Marx went to and\nfro, pushing when necessary. The dumb woman waded through the snow by her\nhusband's side. \"Poor wife!\" he said once; but she pressed his arm\ncloser, looking up into his eyes as if she wished to say: \"Surely I shall\nlack nothing, if only you are spared to me!\"\n\nShe enjoyed his presence as if it were a favor granted by destiny, but\nonly at chance moments, for she could not banish her fear for him, and of\nthe pursuers--her dread of uncertainty and wandering.\n\nIf snow rattled from a pine-tree, if she noticed Lopez turn his head, or\nif old Rahel uttered a moan, she shuddered; and this was not unperceived\nby her husband, who told himself that she had every reason to look\nforward to the next few hours with grave anxiety. Each moment might bring\nimprisonment to him and all, and if they discovered--if it were disclosed\nwho he, who Elizabeth was. . . .\n\nUlrich and Ruth brought up the rear, saying little to each other.\n\nAt first the path ascended again, then led down to the valley. It had\nstopped snowing long before, and the farther they went the lighter the\ndrifts became.\n\nThey had journeyed in this way for two hours, when Ruth's strength\nfailed, and she stood still with tearful, imploring eyes. The\ncharcoal-burner saw it, and growled:\n\n\"Come here, little girl; I'll carry you to the sleigh.\"\n\n\"No, let me,\" Ulrich eagerly interposed. And Ruth exclaimed:\n\n\"Yes, you, you shall carry me.\"\n\nMarx grasped her around the waist, lifted her high into the air, and\nplaced her in the boy's arms. She clasped her hands around his neck, and\nas he walked on pressed her fresh, cool cheek to his. It pleased him, and\nthe thought entered his mind that he had been parted from her a long\ntime, and it was delightful to have her again.\n\nHis heart swelled more and more; he felt that he would rather have Ruth\nthan everything else in the world, and he drew her towards him as closely\nas if an invisible hand were already out-stretched to take her from him.\n\nTo-day her dear, delicate little face was not pale, but glowed crimson\nafter the long walk through the frosty, winter air. She was glad to have\nUlrich clasp her so firmly, so she pressed her cheek closer to his,\nloosened her fingers from his neck, caressingly stroked his face with her\ncold hand, and murmured:\n\n\"You are kind, Ulrich, and I love you!\"\n\nIt sounded so tender and loving, that Ulrich's heart melted, for no one\nhad spoken to him so since his mother went away.\n\nHe felt strong and joyous, Ruth did not seem at all heavy, and when she\nagain clasped her hands around his neck, he said: \"I should like to carry\nyou so always.\"\n\nRuth only nodded, as if the wish pleased her, but he continued:\n\n\"In the monastery I had no one, who was very kind to me, for even Lips,\nwell, he was a count--everybody is kind to you. You don't know what it\nis, to be all alone, and have to struggle against every one. When I was\nin the monastery, I often wished that I was lying under the earth; now I\ndon't want to die, and we will stay with you--father told me so--and\neverything will be just as it was, and I shall learn no more Latin, but\nbecome a painter, or smith-artificer, or anything else, for aught I care,\nif I'm only not obliged to leave you again.\"\n\nHe felt Ruth raise her little head, and press her soft lips on his\nforehead just over his eyes; then he lowered the arms in which she\nrested, kissed her mouth, and said: \"Now it seems as if I had my mother\nback again!\"\n\n\"Does it?\" she asked, with sparkling eyes. \"Now put me down. I am well\nagain, and want to run.\"\n\nSo saying, she slipped to the ground, and he did not detain her.\n\nRuth now walked stoutly on beside the lad, and made him tell her about\nthe bad boys in the monastery, Count Lips, the pictures, the monks, and\nhis own flight, until, just as it grew dark, they reached the goal of\ntheir walk.\n\nJorg, the charcoal-burner, received them, and opened his hut, but only to\ngo away himself, for though willing to give the fugitives shelter and act\nagainst the authorities, he did not wish to be present, if the refugees\nshould be caught. Caught with them, hung with them! He knew the proverb,\nand went down to the village, with the florins Adam gave him.\n\nThere was a hearth for cooking in the hut, and two rooms, one large and\none small, for in summer the charcoal-burners' wives and children live\nwith them. The travellers needed rest and refreshment, and might have\nfound both here, had not fear embittered the food and driven sleep from\ntheir weary eyes.\n\nJorg was to return early the next morning with a team of horses. This was\na great consolation. Old Rahel, too, had regained her self-control, and\nwas sound asleep.\n\nThe children followed her example, and at midnight Elizabeth slept too.\n\nMarx lay beside the hearth, and from his crooked mouth came a strange,\nsnoring noise, that sounded like the last note of an organ-pipe, from\nwhich the air is expiring.\n\nHours after all the others were asleep, Adam and the doctor still sat on\na sack of straw, engaged in earnest conversation.\n\nLopez had told his friend the story of his happiness and sorrow, closing\nwith the words:\n\n\"So you know who we are, and why we left our home. You are giving me your\nfuture, together with many other things; no gift can repay you; but first\nof all, it was due you that you should know my past.\"\n\nThen, holding out his hand to the smith, he asked: \"You are a Christian;\nwill you still cleave to me, after what you have heard?\"\n\nAdam silently pressed the Jew's right hand, and after remaining lost in\nthought for a time, said in a hollow tone:\n\n\"If they catch you, and--Holy Virgin--if they discover . . . Ruth. . . .\nShe is not really a Jew's child . . . have you reared her as a Jewess?\"\n\n\"No; only as a good human child.\"\n\n\"Is she baptized?\"\n\nLopez answered this question also in the negative. The smith shook his\nhead disapprovingly, but the doctor said: \"She knows more about Jesus,\nthan many a Christian child of her age. When she is grown up, she will be\nfree to follow either her mother or her father.\"\n\n\"Why have you not become a Christian yourself? Forgive the question.\nSurely you are one at heart.\"\n\n\"That, that . . . you see, there are things. . . . Suppose that every\nmale scion of your family, from generation to generation, for many\nhundred years, had been a smith, and now a boy should grow up, who said:\nI--I despise your trade?'\"\n\n\"If Ulrich should say: 'I-I wish to be an artist;' it would be agreeable\nto me.\"\n\n\"Even if smiths were persecuted like us Jews, and he ran from your guild\nto another out of fear?\"\n\n\"No--that would be base, and can scarcely be compared with your case; for\nsee--you are acquainted with everything, even what is called\nChristianity; nay, the Saviour is dear to you; you have already told me\nso. Well then! Suppose you were a foundling and were shown our faith and\nyours, and asked for which you would decide, which would you choose?\"\n\n\"We pray for life and peace, and where peace exists, love cannot be\nlacking, and yet! Perhaps I might decide for yours.\"\n\n\"There you have it.\"\n\n\"No, no! We have not done with this question so speedily. See, I do not\ngrudge you your faith, nor do I wish to disturb it. The child must\nbelieve, that all its parents do and require of him is right, but the\nstranger sees with different, keener eyes, than the son and daughter. You\noccupy a filial relation towards your Church--I do not. I know the\ndoctrine of Jesus Christ, and if I had lived in Palestine in his time,\nshould have been one of the first to follow the Master, but since, from\nthose days to the present, much human work has mingled with his sublime\nteachings. This too must be dear to you, for it belongs to your\nparents--but it repels me. I have lived, labored and watched all night\nfor the truth, and were I now to come before the baptismal font and say\n'yes' to everything the priests ask, I should be a liar.\"\n\n\"They have caused you bitter suffering; tortured your wife, driven you\nand your family from your home. . . .\"\n\n\"I have borne all that patiently,\" cried the doctor, deeply moved. \"But\nthere are many other sins now committed against me and mine, for which\nthere is no forgiveness. I know the great Pagans and their works. Their\nneed of love extends only to the nation, to which they belong, not to\nhumanity. Unselfish justice, is to them the last thing man owes his\nfellow-man. Christ extended love to all nations, His heart was large\nenough to love all mankind. Human love, the purest and fairest of\nvirtues, is the sublime gift, the noble heritage, he left behind to his\nbrothers in sorrow. My heart, the poor heart under this black doublet,\nthis heart was created for human love, this soul thirsted, with all its\npowers, to help its neighbors and lighten their sorrows. To exercise\nhuman love is to be good, but they no longer know it, and what is worse,\na thousand times worse, they constantly destroy in me and mine the desire\nto be good, good in the sense of their own Master. Worldly wealth is\ntrash--to be rich the poorest happiness. Yet the Jew is not forbidden to\nstrive for this, they take scarcely half his gains;--nor can they deny\nhim the pursuit of the pleasures of the intellect--pure knowledge--for\nour minds are not feebler or more idle, and soar no less boldly than\ntheirs. The prophets came from the East! But the happiness of the\nsoul--the right to exercise charity is denied to us. It is a part of\ncharity for each man to regard his neighbor as himself--to feel for him,\nas it were, with his own heart--to lighten his burdens, minister unto him\nin his sorrows, and to gladden his happiness. This the Christian denies\nthe Jew. Your love ceases when you meet me and mine, and if I sought to\nput myself on an equality with the Christian, from the pure desire to\nsatisfy his Master's most beautiful lesson, what would be my fate? The\nJew is not permitted to be good. Not to be good! Whoever imposes that\nupon his brother, commits a sin for which I know no forgiveness. And if\nJesus Christ should return to earth and see the pack that hunts us,\nsurely He, who was human love incarnate, would open His arms wide, wide\nto us, and ask: 'Who are these apostles of hate? I know them not!'\"\n\nThe doctor paused, for the door had opened, and he rose with flushed face\nto look into the adjoining room; but the smith held him back, saying:\n\n\"Stay, stay! Marx went out into the open air. Ah, Sir! no doubt your\nwords are true, but were they Jews who crucified the Saviour?\"\n\n\"And this crime is daily avenged,\" replied Lopez. \"How many wicked, how\nmany low souls, who basely squander divine gifts to obtain worthless\npelf, there are among my people! More than half of them are stripped of\nhonor and dignity on your altar of vengeance, and thrust into the arms of\nrepulsive avarice. And this, all this. . . . But enough of these things!\nThey rouse my inmost soul to wrath, and I have other matters to discuss\nwith you.\"\n\nThe scholar now began to speak to the smith, like a dying man, about the\nfuture of his family, told him where he had concealed his small property,\nand did not hide the fact, that his marriage had not only drawn upon him\nthe persecution of the Christians, but the curse of his co-religionists.\nHe took it upon himself to provide for Ulrich, as if he were his own\nchild, should any misfortune befall the smith; and Adam promised, if he\nremained alive and at liberty, to do the same for the doctor's wife and\ndaughter.\n\nMeantime, a conversation of a very different nature was held before the\nhut.\n\nThe poacher was sitting by the fire, when the door opened, and his name\nwas called. He turned in alarm, but soon regained his composure, for it\nwas Jorg who beckoned, and then drew him into the forest.\n\nMarx expected no good news, yet he started when his companion said:\n\n\"I know now, who the man is you have brought. He's a Jew. Don't try to\nhumbug me. The constable from the city has come to the village. The man,\nwho captures the Israelite, will get fifteen florins. Fifteen florins,\ngood money. The magistrate will count it, all on one board, and the vicar\nsays. . . .\"\n\n\"I don't care much for your priests,\" replied Marx. \"I am from Weinsberg,\nand have found the Jew a worthy man. No one shall touch him.\"\n\n\"A Jew, and a good man!\" cried Jurg, laughing. \"If you won't help, so\nmuch the worse for you. You'll risk your neck, and the fifteen florins.\n. . . Will you go shares? Yes or no?\"\n\n\"Heaven's thunder!\" murmured the poacher, his crooked mouth watering.\"\nHow much is half of fifteen florins?\"\n\n\"About seven, I should say.\"\n\n\"A calf and a pig.\"\n\n\"A swine for the Jew, that will suit. You'll keep him here in the trap.\"\n\n\"I can't, Jorg; by my soul, I can't! Let me alone!\"\n\n\"Very well, for aught I care; but the legal gentlemen. The gallows has\nwaited for you long enough!\"\n\n\"I can't; I can't. I've been an honest man all my life, and the smith\nAdam and his dead father have shown me many a kindness.\"\n\n\"Who means the smith any harm?\"\n\n\"The receiver is as bad as the thief. If they catch him. . . .\"\n\n\"He'll be put in the stocks for a week. That's the worst that can befall\nhim.\"\n\n\"No, no. Let me alone,--or I'll tell Adam what you're plotting. . . .\"\n\n\"Then I'll denounce you first, you gallows' fruit, you rogue, you\npoacher. They've suspected you a long time! Will you change your mind\nnow, you blockhead?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; but Ulrich is here too, and the boy is as dear to me as my own\nchild.\"\n\n\"I'll come here later, say that no vehicle can be had, and take him away\nwith me. When it's all over, I'll let him go.\"\n\n\"Then I'll keep him. He already helps me as much, as if he were a grown\nman. Oh, dear, dear! The Jew, the gentle man, and the poor women, and the\nlittle girl, Ruth. . . .\"\n\n\"Big Jews and little Jews, nothing more. You've told me yourself, how the\nHebrews were persecuted in your dead father's day. So we'll go shares.\nThere's a light in the room still. You'll detain them. Count Frohlinger\nhas been at his hunting-box since last evening. . . . If they insist on\nmoving forward, guide them to the village.\"\n\n\"And I've been an honest man all my life,\" whined the poacher, and then\ncontinued, threateningly: \"If you harm a hair on Ulrich's head. . . .\"\n\n\"Fool that you are! I'll willingly leave the big feeder to you. Go in\nnow, then I'll come and fetch the boy. There's money at stake--fifteen\nflorins!\" Fifteen minutes after, Jorg entered the but.\n\nThe smith and the doctor believed the charcoal-burner, when he told them\nthat all the vehicles in the village were in use, but he would find one\nelsewhere. They must let the boy go with him, to enquire at the\nfarm-houses in another village. Somebody would doubtless be found to risk\nhis horses. The lad looked like a young nobleman, and the peasants would\ntake earnest-money from him. If he, Jorg, should show them florins, it\nwould get him into a fine scrape. The people knew he was as poor as a\nbeggar.\n\nThe smith asked the poacher's opinion, and the latter growled:\n\n\"That will, doubtless, be a good plan.\"\n\nHe said no more, and when Adam held out his hand to the boy, and kissed\nhim on the forehead, and the doctor bade him an affectionate farewell,\nMarx called himself a Judas, and would gladly have flung the tempting\nflorins to the four winds, but it was too late.\n\nThe smith and Lopez heard him call anxiously to Jorg: \"Take good care of\nthe boy!\" And when Adam patted him on the shoulder, saying: \"You are a\nfaithful fellow, Marx!\" he could have howled like a mastiff and revealed\nall; but it seemed as if he again felt the rope around his neck, so he\nkept silence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe grey dawn was already glimmering, yet neither the expected vehicle\nnor Jorg had come. Old Rahel, usually an early riser, was sleeping as\nsoundly as if she had to make up the lost slumber of ten nights; but the\nsmith's anxiety would no longer allow him to remain in the close room.\nRuth followed him into the open air, and when she timidly touched\nhim--for there had always been something unapproachable to her in the\nsilent man's gigantic figure--he looked at her from head to foot, with\nstrange, questioning sympathy, and then asked suddenly, with a haste\nunusual to him.\n\n\"Has your father told you about Jesus Christ?\"\n\n\"Often!\" replied Ruth.\n\n\"And do you love Him?\"\n\n\"Dearly. Father says He loved all children, and called them to Him.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course!\" replied the smith, blushing with shame for his\nown distrust.\n\nThe doctor did not follow the others, and as soon as his wife saw that\nthey were alone, she beckoned to him.\n\nLopez sat down on the couch beside her, and took her hand. The slender\nfingers trembled in his clasp, and when, with loving anxiety, he drew her\ntowards him, he felt the tremor of her delicate limbs, while her eyes\nexpressed bitter suffering and terrible dread.\n\n\"Are you afraid?\" he asked, tenderly.\n\nElizabeth shuddered, threw her arms passionately around his neck, and\nnodded assent.\n\n\"The wagon will convey us to the Rhine Valley, please God, this very day,\nand there we shall be safe,\" he continued, soothingly. But she shook her\nhead, her features assuming an expression of indifference and contempt.\nLopez understood how to read their meaning, and asked: \"So it is not the\nbailiffs you fear; something else is troubling you?\"\n\nShe nodded again, this time still more eagerly, drew out the crucifix,\nwhich she had hitherto kept concealed under her coverlid, showed it to\nhim, then pointed upward towards heaven, lastly to herself and him, and\nshrugged her shoulders with an air of deep, mournful renunciation.\n\n\"You are thinking of the other world,\" said Lopez; then, fixing his eyes\non the ground, he continued, in a lower tone: \"I know you are tortured by\nthe fear of not meeting me there.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she gasped, with a great effort, pressing her forehead against his\nshoulder.\n\nA hot tear fell on the doctor's hand, and he felt as if his own heart was\nweeping with his beloved, anxious wife.\n\nHe knew that this thought had often poisoned her life and, full of tender\nsympathy, turned her beautiful face towards him and pressed a long kiss\non her closed eyes, then said, tenderly:\n\n\"You are mine, I am yours, and if there is a life beyond the grave, and\nan eternal justice, the dumb will speak as they desire, and sing wondrous\nsongs with the angels; the sorrowful will again be happy there. We will\nhope, we will both hope! Do you remember how I read Dante aloud to you,\nand tried to explain his divine creation, as we sat on the bench by the\nfig-tree. The sea roared below us, and our hearts swelled higher than its\nstorm-lashed waves. How soft was the air, how bright the sunshine! This\nearth seemed doubly beautiful to you and me as, led by the hand of the\ndivine seer and singer, we descended shuddering to the nether world.\nThere the good and noble men of ancient times walked in a flowery meadow,\nand among them the poet beheld in solitary grandeur--do you still\nremember how the passage runs? 'E solo in parte vidi 'l Saladino.' Among\nthem he also saw the Moslem Saladin, the conqueror of the Christians. If\nany one possessed the key of the mysteries of the other world, Elizabeth,\nit was Dante. He assigned a lofty place to the pagan, who was a true\nman--a man with a pure mind, a zeal for goodness and right, and I think I\nshall have a place there too. Courage, Elizabeth, courage!\"\n\nA beautiful smile had illumined the wife's features, while she was\nreminded of the happiest hours of her life, but when he paused, gazed\ninto her eyes, and clasped her right hand in his, she was seized with an\nintense longing to pray once, only once, with him to the Saviour so,\ndrawing her fingers from his, she pressed the image of the Crucified One\nto her breast with her left hand, pleading with mute motions of her lips,\nineligible to him alone, and with ardent entreaty in her large, tearful\neyes: \"Pray, pray with me, pray to the saviour.\"\n\nLopez was greatly agitated; his heart beat faster, and a strong impulse\nurged him to start up, cry \"no,\" and not allow himself to be moved, by an\naffectionate meakness, into bowing his manly soul before one, who, to\nhim, was no more than human.\n\nThe noble figure of the crucified Saviour, carved by an artist's hand in\nivory, hung from an ebony cross, and he thrust the image back, intending\nto turn proudly way, he gazed at the face and found there only pain,\nquiet endurance, and touching sorrow. Ah, his own heart had often bled,\nas the pure brow of this poor, persecuted, tortured saint bled beneath\nits crown of thorns. To defy this silent companion in suffering, was no\nmanly deed--to pay homage, out of love, to Him, who had brought love into\nthe world, seemed to possess a sweet, ensnaring charm--so he clasped his\nslender hands closely round his dumb wife's fingers, pressed his dark\ncurls against Elizabeth's fair hair, and both, for the first and last\ntime, repeated together a mute, fervent prayer.\n\nBefore the hut, and surrounded by the forest, was a large clearing, where\ntwo roads crossed.\n\nAdam, Marx and Ruth had gazed first down one and then the other, to look\nfor the wagon, but nothing was to be seen or heard. As, with increasing\nanxiety, they turned back to the first path, the poacher grew restless.\nHis crooked mouth twisted to and fro in strange contortions, not a muscle\nof his coarse face was till, and this looked so odd and yet so horrible,\nthat Ruth could not help laughing, and the smith asked what ailed him.\n\nMarx made no reply; his ear had caught the distant bay of a dog, and he\nknew what the sound meant. Work at the anvil impairs the hearing, and the\nsmith did not notice the approaching peril, and repeated: \"What ails you,\nman?\"\n\n\"I am freezing,\" replied the charcoal-burner, cowering, with a piteous\nexpression.\n\nRuth heard no more of the conversation, she had stopped and put her hand\nto her ear, listening with head bent forward, to the noises in the\ndistance.\n\nSuddenly she uttered a low cry, exclaiming: \"There's a dog barking,\nMeister Adam, I hear it.\"\n\nThe smith turned pale and shook his head, but she cried earnestly:\n\"Believe me; I hear it. Now it's barking again.\"\n\nAdam too, now heard a strange noise in the forest. With lightning speed\nhe loosened the hammer in his belt, took Ruth by the hand, and ran up the\nclearing with her.\n\nMeantime, Lopez had compelled old Rahel to rise.\n\nEverything must be ready, when Ulrich returned. In his impatience he had\ngone to the door, and when he saw Adam hurrying up the glade with the\nchild, ran anxiously to meet them, thinking that some accident had\nhappened to Ulrich.\n\n\"Back, back!\" shouted the smith, and Ruth, releasing her hand from his,\nalso motioned and shrieked \"Back, back!\"\n\nThe doctor obeyed the warning, and stopped; but he had scarcely turned,\nwhen several dogs appeared at the mouth of the ravine through which the\nparty had come the day before, and directly after Count Frohlinger, on\nhorseback, burst from the thicket.\n\nThe nobleman sat throned on his spirited charger, like the sun-god\nSiegfried. His fair locks floated dishevelled around his head, the steam\nrising from the dripping steed hovered about him in the fresh winter air\nlike a light cloud. He had opened and raised his arms, and holding the\nreins in his left hand, swung his hunting spear with the right. On\nperceiving Lopez, a clear, joyous, exultant \"Hallo, Halali!\" rang from\nhis bearded lips.\n\nTo-day Count Frohlinger was not hunting the stag, but special game, a\nJew.\n\nThe chase led to the right cover, and how well the hounds had done, how\nstoutly Emir, his swift hunter, had followed.\n\nThis was a morning's work indeed!\n\n\"Hallo, Halali!\" he shouted exultingly again, and ere the fugitives had\nescaped from the clearing, reached the doctor's side, exclaiming:\n\n\"Here is my game; to your knees, Jew!\"\n\nThe count had far outstripped his attendants, and was entirely alone.\n\nAs Lopez stood still with folded arms, paying no heed to his command, he\nturned the spear, to strike him with the handle.\n\nThen, for the first time in many years, the old fury awoke in Adam's\nheart; and rushing upon the count like a tiger, he threw his powerful\narms around his waist, and ere he was aware of the attack, hurled him\nfrom his horse, set his knee on his breast, snatched the hammer from his\nbelt, and with a mighty blow struck the dog that attacked him, to the\nearth. Then he again swung the iron, to crush the head of his hated foe.\nBut Lopez would not accept deliverance at such a price, and cried in a\ntone of passionate entreaty:\n\n\"Let him go, Adam, spare him.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he clung to the smith's arm, and when the latter tried to\nrelease himself from his grasp, said earnestly:\n\n\"We will not follow their example!\"\n\nAgain the hammer whizzed high in the air, and again the Jew clung to the\nsmith's arm, this time exclaiming imperiously:\n\n\"Spare him, if you are my friend!\"\n\nWhat was his strength in comparison with Adam's? Yet as the hammer rose\nfor the third time, he again strove to prevent the terrible deed, seizing\nthe infuriated man's wrist, and gasping, as in the struggle he fell on\nhis knees beside the count: \"Think of Ulrich! This man's son was the only\none, the only one in the whole monastery, who stood by Ulrich, your\nchild--in the monastery--he was--his friend--among so many. Spare\nhim--Ulrich! For Ulrich's sake, spare him!\"\n\nDuring this struggle the smith had held the count down with his left\nhand, and defended himself against Lopez with the right.\n\nOne jerk, and the hand upraised for murder was free again--but he did not\nuse it. His friend's last words had paralyzed him.\n\n\"Take it,\" he said in a hollow tone, giving the hammer to the doctor.\n\nThe latter seized it, and rising joyously, laid his hand on the shoulder\nof the smith, who was still kneeling on the count's breast, and said\nbeseechingly: \"Let that suffice. The man is only. . . .\"\n\nHe went no farther--a gurgling, piercing cry of pain escaped his lips,\nand pressing one hand to his breast, and the other to his brow, he sank\non the snow beside the stump of a giant pine.\n\nA squire dashed from the forest--the archer, to whom this noble quarry\nhad fallen a victim, appeared in the clearing, holding aloft the\ncross-bow from which he had sent the bolt. His arrow was fixed in the\ndoctor's breast; alas, the man had only sent the shaft, to save his\nfallen master from the hammer in the Jew's hand.\n\nCount Frohlinger rose, struggling for breath; his hand sought his\nhunting-knife, but in the fall it had slipped from its sheath and was\nlying in the snow.\n\nAdam supported his dying friend in his arms, Ruth ran weeping to the hut,\nand before the nobleman had fully collected his thoughts, the squire\nreached his side, and young Count Lips, riding a swift bay-horse, dashed\nfrom the forest, closely followed by three mounted huntsmen.\n\nWhen the attendants saw their master on foot, they too sprang from their\nsaddles, Lips did the same, and an eager interchange of question and\nanswer began among them.\n\nThe nobleman scarcely noticed his son, but greeted with angry words the\nman who had shot the Jew. Then, deeply excited, he hoarsely ordered his\nattendants to bind the smith, who made no resistance, but submitted to\neverything like a patient child.\n\nLopez no longer needed his arms.\n\nThe dumb wife sat on the stump, with her dying husband resting on her\nlap. She had thrown her arms around the bleeding form, and the feet hung\nlimply down, touching the snow.\n\nRuth, sobbing bitterly, crouched on the ground by her mother's side, and\nold Rahel, who had entirely regained her self-control, pressed a cloth,\nwet with wine, on his forehead.\n\nThe young count approached the dying Jew. His father slowly followed,\ndrew the boy to his side, and said in a low, sad tone:\n\n\"I am sorry for the man; he saved my life.\"\n\nThe wounded man opened his eyes, saw Count Frohlinger, his son and the\nfettered smith, felt his wife's tears on his brow, and heard Ruth's\nagonized weeping. A gentle smile hovered around his pale lips, and when\nhe tried to raise his head Elizabeth helped him, pressing it gently to\nher breast.\n\nThe feeble lips moved and Lopez raised his eyes to her face, as if to\nthank her, saying in a low voice: \"The arrow--don't touch it. . . .\nElizabeth--Ruth, we have clung together faithfully, but now--I shall\nleave you alone, I must leave you.\" He paused, a shadow clouded his eyes,\nand the lids slowly fell. But he soon raised them again, and fixing his\nglance steadily on the count, said:\n\n\"Hear me, my Lord; a dying man should be heard, even if he is a Jew. See!\nThis is my wife, and this my child. They are Christians. They will soon\nbe alone in the world, deserted, orphaned. The smith is their only\nfriend. Set him free; they--they, they will need a protector. My wife is\ndumb, dumb . . . alone in the world. She can neither beseech nor demand.\nSet Adam free, for the sake of your Saviour, your son, free--yes, free. A\nwide, wide space must be between you; he must go away with them, far\naway. Set him free! I held his arm with the hammer. . . . You know--with\nthe hammer. Set him free. My death--death atones for everything.\"\n\nAgain his voice failed, and the count, deeply moved, looked irresolutely\nnow at him, now at the smith. Lips's eyes filled with tears; and as he\nsaw his father delay in fulfilling the dying man's last wish, and a\nglance from the dim eyes met his, he pressed closer to the noble, who\nstood struggling with many contending emotions, and whispered, weeping:\n\n\"My Lord and Father, my Lord and Father, tomorrow will be Christmas. For\nChrist's sake, for love of me, grant his request: release Ulrich's\nfather, set him free! Do so, my noble Father; I want no other Christmas\ngift.\"\n\nCount Frohlinger's heart also overflowed, and when, raising his\ntear-dimmed eyes, he saw Elizabeth's deep grief stamped on her gentle\nfeatures, and beheld reclining on her breast, the mild, beautiful face of\nthe dying man, it seemed as if he saw before him the sorrowful Mother of\nGod--and to-morrow would be Christmas. Wounded pride was silent, he\nforgot the insult he had sustained, and cried in a voice as loud, as if\nhe wished every word to reach the ear now growing dull in death:\n\n\"I thank you for your aid, man. Adam is free, and may go with your wife\nand child wherever he lists. My word upon it; you can close your eyes in\npeace!\"\n\nLopez smiled again, raised his hand as if in gratitude, then let it fall\nupon his child's head, gazed lovingly at Ruth for the last time, and\nmurmured in a low tone \"Lift my head a little higher, Elizabeth.\" When\nshe had obeyed his wish, he gazed earnestly into her face, whispered\nsoftly: \"A dreamless sleep--reanimated to new forms in the endless\ncircle. No!--Do you see, do you hear. . . . Solo in parte' . . . with\nyou . . . with you. . . . Oh, oh!--the arrow--draw the arrow from the\nwound. Elizabeth, Elizabeth--it aches. Well--well--how miserable we were,\nand yet, yet. . . . You--you--I--we--we know, what happiness is. You--I\n. . . Forgive me! I forgive, forgive. . . .\"\n\nThe dying man's hand fell from his child's head, his eyes closed, but the\npleasant smile with which he had perished, hovered around his lips, even\nin death.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nCount Frohlinger added a low \"amen\" to the last words of the dying man,\nthen approached the widow, and in the kindly, cordial manner natural to\nhim, strove to comfort her.\n\nFinally he ordered his men, to loose the smith's bonds, and instantly\nguide him to the frontier with the woman and child. He also spoke to\nAdam, but said only a few words, not cheery ones as usual, but grave and\nharsh in purport.\n\nThey were a command to leave the country without delay, and never return\nto his home again.\n\nThe Jew's corpse was laid on a bier formed of pine, branches, and the\nbearers lifted it on their shoulders. Ruth clung closely to her mother,\nboth trembling like leaves in the wind, while he who was dearest to them\non earth was borne away, but only the child could weep.\n\nThe men, whom Count Frohlinger had left behind as a guard, waited\npatiently with the smith for his son's return until noon, then they urged\ndeparture, and the party moved forward.\n\nNot a word was spoken, till the, travellers stopped before the\ncharcoal-burner's house.\n\nJorg was in the city, but his wife said that the boy had been there, and\nhad gone back to the forest an hour before. The tavern could accommodate\na great many people, she added, and they could wait for him there.\n\nThe fugitives followed this advice, and after Adam had seen the women\nprovided with shelter, he again sought the scene of the misfortune, and\nwaited there for the boy until night.\n\nBeside the stump on which his friend had died, he prayed long and\nearnestly, vowing to his dead preserver to live henceforth solely for his\nfamily. Unbroken stillness surrounded him, it seemed as if he were in\nchurch, and every tree in the forest was a witness of the oath he swore.\n\nThe next morning the smith again sought the charcoal-burner, and this\ntime found him. Jorg laid the blame to Ulrich's impatience, but promised\nto go to Marx in search of him and bring him to the smith. The men\ncomposing the escort urged haste, so Adam went on without Ulrich towards\nthe north-west, to the valley of the Rhine.\n\nThe charcoal-burner had lost the reward offered the informer, and could\nnot even earn the money due a messenger.\n\nHe had lured Ulrich to the attic and locked him in there, but during his\nabsence the boy escaped. He was a nimble fellow, for he had risked the\nleap from the window, and then swung himself over the fence into the\nroad.\n\nJorg's conjecture did not deceive him, for as soon as Ulrich perceived\nthat he had been betrayed into a trap, he had leaped into the open air.\n\nHe must warn his friends, and anxiety for them winged his feet.\n\nOnce and again he lost his way, but at last found the right path, though\nhe had wasted many hours, first in the village, then behind the locked\ndoor, and finally in searching for the right road.\n\nThe sun had already passed the meridian, when he at last reached the\nclearing.\n\nThe but was deserted; no one answered his loud, anxious shouts.\n\nWhere had they gone?\n\nHe searched the wide, snow-covered expanse for traces, and found only too\nmany. Here horses' hoofs, there large and small feet had pressed the\nsnow, yonder hounds had run, and--Great Heaven!--here, by the tree-stump,\nred blood stained the glimmering white ground.\n\nHis breath failed, but he did not cease to search, look, examine.\n\nYonder, where for the length of a man the snow had vanished and grass and\nbrown earth appeared, people had fought together, and there--Holy Virgin!\nWhat was this!--there lay his father's hammer. He knew it only too well;\nit was the smaller one, which to distinguish it from the two larger\ntools, Goliath and Samson, he called David-the boy had swung it a hundred\ntimes himself.\n\nHis heart stood still, and when he found some freshly-hewn pine-boughs,\nand a fir-trunk that had been rejected by one of the men, he said to\nhimself: \"The bier was made here,\" and his vivid imagination showed him\nhis father fighting, struck down, and then a mournful funeral procession.\nExulting bailiffs bore a tall strong-limbed corpse, and a slender,\nblack-robed body, his father and his teacher. Then came the quiet,\nbeautiful wife and Ruth in bonds, and behind them Marx and Rahel. He\ndistinctly saw all this; it even seemed as if he heard the sobs of the\nwomen, and wailing bitterly, he thrust his hands in his floating locks\nand ran to and fro. Suddenly he thought that the troopers would return to\nseize him also. Away, away! anywhere--away! a voice roared and buzzed in\nhis ears, and he set out on a run towards the south, always towards the\nsouth.\n\nThe boy had not eaten a mouthful, since the oatmeal porridge obtained at\nthe charcoal-burner's, in the morning, but felt neither hunger nor\nthirst, and dashed on and on without heeding the way.\n\nLong after his father had left the clearing for the second time, he still\nran on--but gasping for breath while his steps grew slower and shorter.\nThe moon rose, one star after another revealed its light, yet he still\nstruggled forward.\n\nThe forest lay behind him; he had reached a broad road, which he followed\nsouthward, always southward, till his strength utterly failed. His head\nand hands were burning like fire, yet it was very, very cold; but little\nsnow lay here in the valley, and in many places the moonlight showed\npatches of bare, dark turf.\n\nGrief was forgotten. Fatigue, anxiety and hunger completely engrossed the\nboy's mind. He felt tempted to throw himself down in the road and sleep,\nbut remembered the frozen people of whom he had heard, and dragged\nhimself on to the nearest village. The lights had long been extinguished;\nas he approached, dogs barked in the yards, and the melancholy lowing of\na cow echoed from many a stable. He was again among human beings; the\nthought exerted a soothing influence; he regained his self-control, and\nsought a shelter for the night.\n\nAt the end of the village stood a barn, and Ulrich noticed by the\nmoonlight an open hatchway in the wall. If he could climb up to it! The\nframework offered some support for fingers and toes, so he resolved to\ntry it.\n\nSeveral times, when Half-way up, he slipped to the ground, but at last\nreached the top, and found a bed in the soft hay under a sheltering roof.\nSurrounded by the fragrance of the dried grasses, he soon fell asleep,\nand in a dream saw amidst various confused and repulsive shapes, first\nhis father with a bleeding wound in his broad chest, and then the doctor,\ndancing with old Rahel. Last of all Ruth appeared; she led him into the\nforest to a juniper-bush, and showed him a nest full of young birds. But\nthe half-naked creatures vexed him, and he trampled them under foot, over\nwhich the little girl lamented so loudly and bitterly, that he awoke.\n\nMorning was already dawning, his head ached, and he was very cold and\nhungry, but he had no desire nor thought except to proceed; so he again\nwent out into the open air, brushed off the hay that still clung to his\nhair and clothes, and walked on towards the south.\n\nIt had grown warmer and was beginning to snow heavily.\n\nWalking became more and more difficult; his headache grew unendurable,\nyet his feet still moved, though it seemed as if he wore heavy leaden\nshoes.\n\nSeveral freight-wagons with armed escorts, and a few peasants, with\nrosaries in their hands, who were on their way to church, met the lad,\nbut no one had overtaken him.\n\nOn the hinge of noon he heard behind him the tramp of horses' hoofs and\nthe rattle of wheels, approaching nearer and nearer with ominous haste.\n\nIf it should be the troopers!\n\nUlrich's heart stood still, and turning to look back, he saw several\nhorsemen, who were trotting past a spur of the hill around which the road\nwound.\n\nThrough the falling flakes the boy perceived glittering weapons, gay\ndoublets and scarfs, and now--now--all hope was over, they wore Count\nFrohlinger's colors!\n\nUnless the earth should open before him, there was no escape. The road\nbelonged to the horsemen; on the right lay a wide, snow-covered plain, on\nthe left rose a cliff, kept from falling on the side towards the highway\nby a rude wall. It needed this support less on account of the road, than\nfor the sake of a graveyard, for which the citizens of the neighboring\nborough used the gentle slope of the mountain.\n\nThe graves, the bare elder-bushes and bushy cypresses in the cemetery\nwere covered with snow, and the brighter the white covering that rested\non every surrounding object, the stronger was the relief in which the\nblack crosses stood forth against it.\n\nA small chapel in the rear of the graveyard caught Ulrich's eye. If it\nwas possible to climb the wall, he might hide behind it. The horsemen\nwere already close at his heels, when he summoned all his remaining\nstrength, rushed to a stone projecting from the wall, and began to\nclamber up.\n\nThe day before it would have been a small matter for him to reach the\ncemetery; but now the exhausted boy only dragged himself upward, to slip\non the smooth stones and lose the hold, that the dry, snow-covered plants\ngrowing in the wide crevices treacherously offered him.\n\nThe horsemen had noticed him, and a young man-at-arms exclaimed: \"A\nrunaway! See how the young vagabond acts. I'll seize him.\"\n\nHe set spurs to his horse as he spoke, and just as the boy succeeded in\nreaching his goal, grasped his foot; but Ulrich clung fast to a\ngravestone, so the shoe was left in the trooper's hand and his comrades\nburst into a loud laugh. It sounded merry, but it echoed in the ears of\nthe tortured lad like a shriek from hell, and urged him onward. He leaped\nover two, five, ten graves--then he stumbled over a head-stone concealed\nby the snow.\n\nWith a great effort he rose again, but ere he reached the chapel fell\nonce more, and now his will was paralyzed. In mortal terror he clung to a\ncross, and as his senses failed, thought of \"the word.\" It seemed as if\nsome one had called the right one, and from pure Weakness and fatigue, he\ncould not remember it.\n\nThe young soldier was not willing to encounter the jeers of his comrades,\nby letting the vagabond escape. With a curt: \"Stop, you rascal,\" he threw\nthe shoe into the graveyard, gave his bridle to the next man in the line;\nand a few minutes after was kneeling by Ulrich's side. He shook and\njerked him, but in vain; then growing anxious, called to the others that\nthe boy was probably dead.\n\n\"People never die so quickly!\" cried the greyhaired leader of the band:\n\"Give him a blow.\"\n\nThe youth raised his arm, but did not strike the lad. He had looked into\nUlrich's face, and found something there that touched his heart. \"No,\nno,\" he shouted, \"come up here, Peter; a handsome boy; but it's all over\nwith him, I say.\"\n\nDuring this delay, the traveller whom the men were escorting, and his old\nservant, approached the cemetery at a rapid trot. The former, a gentleman\nof middle age, protected from the cold by costly furs, saw with a single\nhasty glance the cause of the detention.\n\nInstantly dismounting, he followed the leader of the troop to the end of\nthe wall, where there was a flight of rude steps.\n\nUlrich's head now lay in the soldier's arms, and the traveller gazed at\nhim with a look of deep sympathy. The steadfast glance of his bright eyes\nrested on the boy's features as if spellbound, then he raised his hand,\nbeckoned to the elder soldier, and exclaimed: \"Lift him; we'll take him\nwith us; a corner can be found in the wagon.\"\n\nThe vehicle, of which the traveller spoke, was slow in coming. It was a\nlong four-wheeled equipage, over which, as a protection against wind and\nstorm, arched a round, sail-cloth cover. The driver crouched among the\nstraw in a basket behind the horses, like a brooding hen.\n\nUnder the sheltering canopy, among the luggage of the fur-clad gentleman,\nsat and reclined four travellers, whom the owner of the vehicle had\ngradually picked up, and who formed a motley company.\n\nThe two Dominican friars, Magisters Sutor and Stubenrauch, had entered at\nCologne, for the wagon came straight from Holland, and belonged to the\nartist Antonio Moor of Utrecht, who was going to King Philip's court. The\nbeautiful fur border on the black cap and velvet cloak showed that he had\nno occasion to practise economy; he preferred the back of a good horse to\na seat in a jolting vehicle.\n\nThe ecclesiastics had taken possession of the best places in the back of\nthe wagon. They were inseparable brothers, and formed as it were one\nperson, for they behaved like two bodies with one soul. In this double\nlife, fat Magister Sutor represented the will, lean Stubenrauch\nreflection and execution. If the former proposed to be down or sit, eat\nor drink, sleep or talk, the latter instantly carried the suggestion into\nexecution, rarely neglecting to establish, by wise words, for what reason\nthe act in question should be performed precisely at that time.\n\nFarther towards the front, with his back resting against a chest, lay a\nfine-looking young Lansquenet. He was undoubtedly a gay, active fellow,\nbut now sat mute and melancholy, supporting with his right hand his\nwounded left arm, as if it were some brittle vessel.\n\nOpposite to him rose a heap of loose straw, beneath which something\nstirred from time to time, and from which at short intervals a slight\ncough was heard.\n\nAs soon as the door in the back of the vehicle opened, and the cold snowy\nair entered the dark, damp space under the tilt, Magister Sutor's lips\nparted in a long-drawn \"Ugh!\" to which his lean companion instantly added\na torrent of reproachful words about the delay, the draught, the danger\nof taking cold.\n\nWhen the artist's head appeared in the opening, the priest paused, for\nMoor paid the travelling expenses; but when his companion Sutor drew his\ncloak around him with every token of discomfort and annoyance, he\nfollowed his example in a still more conspicuous way.\n\nThe artist paid no heed to these gestures, but quietly requested his\nguests to make room for the boy.\n\nA muffled head was suddenly thrust out from under the straw, a voice\ncried: \"A hospital on wheels!\" then the head vanished again like that of\na fish, which has risen to take a breath of air.\n\n\"Very true,\" replied the artist. \"You need not draw up your limbs so far,\nmy worthy Lansquenet, but I must request these reverend gentlemen to move\na little farther apart, or closer together, and make room for the sick\nlad on the leather sack.\"\n\nWhile these words were uttered, one of the escort laid the still\nsenseless boy under the tilt.\n\nMagister Sutor noticed the snow that clung to Ulrich's hair and clothing,\nand while struggling to rise, uttered a repellent \"no,\" while Stubenrauch\nhastily added reproachfully: \"There will be a perfect pool here, when\nthat melts; you gave us these places, Meister Moor, but we hardly\nexpected to receive also dripping limbs and rheumatic pains. . . .\"\n\nBefore he finished the sentence, the bandaged head again appeared from\nthe straw, and the high, shrill voice of the man concealed under it,\nasked? \"Was the blood of the wounded wayfarer, the good Samaritan picked\nup by the roadside, dry or wet?\"\n\nAn encouraging glance from Sutor requested Stubenrauch to make an\nappropriate answer, and the latter in an unctuous tone, hastily replied:\n\"It was the Lord, who caused the Samaritan to find the wounded man by the\nroadside--this did not happen in our case, for the wet boy is forced upon\nus, and though we are Samaritans. . . .\"\n\n\"You are not yet merciful,\" cried the voice from the straw.\n\nThe artist laughed, but the soldier, slapping his thigh with his sound\nhand, cried:\n\n\"In with the boy, you fellows outside; here, put him on my right--move\nfarther apart, you gentlemen down below; the water will do us no harm, if\nyou'll only give us some of the wine in your basket yonder.\"\n\nThe priests, willy-nilly, now permitted Ulrich to be laid on the leathern\nsack between them, and while first Sutor, and then Stubenrauch, shrunk\naway to mutter prayers over a rosary for the senseless lad's restoration\nto consciousness, and to avoid coming in contact with his wet clothes,\nthe artist entered the vehicle, and without asking permission, took the\nwine from the priests' basket. The soldier helped him, and soon their\nunited exertions, with the fiery liquor, revived the fainting boy.\n\nMoor rode forward, and the wagon jolted on until the day's journey ended\nat Emmendingen. Count von Hochburg's retainers, who were to serve as\nescort from this point, would not ride on Christmas day. The artist made\nno objection, but when they also declared that no horse should leave the\nstable on the morrow, which was a second holiday, he shrugged his\nshoulders and answered, without any show of anger, but in a firm, haughty\ntone, that he should then probably be obliged--if necessary with their\nmaster's assistance,--to conduct them to Freiburg to-morrow.\n\nThe inns at Emmendingen were among the largest and best in the\nneighborhood of Freiburg, and on account of the changes of escort, which\nfrequently took place here, there was no lack of accommodation for\nnumerous horses and guests.\n\nAs soon as Ulrich was taken into the warm hostelry he fainted a second\ntime, and the artist now cared for him as kindly as if he were the lad's\nown father.\n\nMagister Sutor ordered the roast meats, and his companion Stubenrauch all\nthe other requisites for a substantial meal, in which they had made\nconsiderable progress, while the artist was still engaged in ministering\nto the sick lad, in which kindly office the little man, who had been\nhidden under the straw in the wagon, stoutly assisted.\n\nHe had been a buffoon, and his dress still bore many tokens of his former\nprofession. His big head swayed upon his thin neck; his droll, though\nemaciated features constantly changed their expression, and even when he\nwas not coughing, his mouth was continually in motion.\n\nAs soon as Ulrich breathed calmly and regularly, he searched his clothing\nto find some clue to his residence, but everything he discovered in the\nlad's pockets only led to more and more amusing and startling\nconjectures, for nothing can contain a greater variety of objects than a\nschool-boy's pockets, if we except a school-girl's.\n\nThere was a scrap of paper with a Latin exercise bristling with errors, a\nsmooth stone, a shabby, notched knife, a bit of chalk for drawing, an\niron arrow-head, a broken hobnail, and a falconer's glove, which Count\nLips had given his comrade. The ring the doctor's wife had bestowed as a\nfarewell token, was also discovered around his neck.\n\nAll these things led Pellicanus--so the jester was named--to make many a\nconjecture, and he left none untried.\n\nAs a mosaic picture is formed from stones, he by a hundred signs,\nconjured up a vision of the lad's character, home, and the school from\nwhich he had run away.\n\nHe called him the son of a noble of moderate property. In this he was of\ncourse mistaken, but in other respects perceived, with wonderful\nacuteness, how Ulrich had hitherto been circumstanced, nay even declared\nthat he was a motherless child, a fact proved by many things he lacked.\nThe boy had been sent to school too late--Pellicanus was a good Latin\nscholar--and perhaps had been too early initiated into the mysteries of\nriding, hunting, and woodcraft.\n\nThe artist, merely by the boy's appearance, gained a more accurate\nknowledge of his real nature, than the jester gathered from his\ninvestigations and inferences.\n\nUlrich pleased him, and when he saw the pen-and-ink sketch on the back of\nthe exercise, which Pellicanus showed him, he smiled and felt\nstrengthened in the resolve to interest himself still more in the\nhandsome boy, whom fate had thrown in his way. He now only needed to\ndiscover who the lad's parents were, and what had driven him from the\nschool.\n\nThe surgeon of the little town had bled Ulrich, and soon after he fell\ninto a sound sleep, and breathed quietly. The artist and jester now dined\ntogether, for the monks had finished their meal long before, and were\ntaking a noonday nap. Moor ordered roast meat and wine for the\nLansquenet, who sat modestly in one corner of the large public room,\ngazing sadly at his wounded arm.\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" said the jester, pointing to the handsome young man. \"We\nare brothers in calamity; one just like the other; a cart with a broken\nwheel.\"\n\n\"His arm will soon heal,\" replied the artist, \"but your tool\"--here he\npointed to his own lips--\"is stirring briskly enough now. The monks and I\nhave both made its acquaintance within the past few days.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" replied Pellicanus, smiling bitterly, \"yet they toss me\ninto the rubbish heap.\"\n\n\"That would be. . . .\"\n\n\"Ah, you think the wise would then be fools with the fools,\" interrupted\nPellicanus. \"Not at all. Do you know what our masters expect of us?\"\n\n\"You are to shorten the time for them with wit and jest.\"\n\n\"But when must we be real fools, my Lord? Have you considered? Least of\nall in happy hours. Then we are expected to play the wise man, warn\nagainst excess, point out shadows. In sorrow, in times of trouble, then,\nfool, be a fool! The madder pranks you play, the better. Make every\neffort, and if you understand your trade well, and know your master, you\nmust compel him to laugh till he cries, when he would fain wail for\ngrief, like a little girl. You know princes too, sir, but I know them\nbetter. They are gods on earth, and won't submit to the universal lot of\nmortals, to endure pain and anguish. When people are ill, the physician\nis summoned, and in trouble we are at hand. Things are as we take\nthem--the gravest face may have a wart, upon which a jest can be made.\nWhen you have once laughed at a misfortune, its sting loses its point. We\ndeaden it--we light up the darkness--even though it be with a will 'o the\nwisp--and if we understand our business, manage to hack the lumpy dough\nof heavy sorrow into little pieces, which even a princely stomach can\ndigest.\"\n\n\"A coughing fool can do that too, so long as there is nothing wanting in\nhis upper story.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken, indeed you are. Great lords only wish to see the\nvelvet side of life--of death's doings, nothing at all. A man like me--do\nyou hear--a cougher, whose marrow is being consumed--incarnate misery on\ntwo tottering legs--a piteous figure, whom one can no more imagine\noutside the grave, than a sportsman without a terrier, or hound--such a\nperson calls into the ears of the ostrich, that shuts its eyes: 'Death is\npointing at you! Affliction is coming!' It is my duty to draw a curtain\nbetween my lord and sorrow; instead of that, my own person brings\nincarnate suffering before his eyes. The elector was as wise as if he\nwere his own fool, when he turned me out of the house.\"\n\n\"He graciously gave you leave of absence.\"\n\n\"And Gugelkopf is already installed in the palace as my successor! My\ngracious master knows that he won't have to pay the pension long. He\nwould willingly have supported me up yonder till I died; but my wish to\ngo to Genoa suited him exactly. The more distance there is between his\nhealthy highness and the miserable invalid, the better.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you wait till spring, before taking your departure?\"\n\n\"Because Genoa is a hot-house, that the poor consumptive does not need in\nsummer. It is pleasant to be there in winter. I learned that three years\nago, when we visited the duke. Even in January the sun in Liguria warms\nyour back, and makes it easier to breathe. I'm going by way of\nMarseilles. Will you give me the corner in your carriage as far as\nAvignon?\"\n\n\"With pleasure! Your health, Pellicanus! A good wish on Christmas day is\napt to be fulfilled.\"\n\nThe artist's deep voice sounded full and cordial, as he uttered the\nwords. The young soldier heard them, and as Moor and the jester touched\nglasses, he raised his own goblet, drained it to the dregs, and asked\nmodestly: \"Will you listen to a few lines of mine, kind sir?\"\n\n\"Say them, say them!\" cried the artist, filling his glass again, while\nthe lansquenet, approaching the table, fixed his eyes steadily on the\nbeaker, and in an embarrassed manner, repeated:\n\n       \"On Christmas-day, when Jesus Christ,\n        To save us sinners came,\n        A poor, sore-wounded soldier dared\n        To call upon his name.\n        'Oh! hear,' he said, 'my earnest prayer,\n        For the kind, generous man,\n        Who gave the wounded soldier aid,\n        And bore him through the land.\n        So, in Thy shining chariot,\n        I pray, dear Jesus mine,\n        Thou'lt bear him through a happy life\n        To Paradise divine.'\"\n\n\"Capital, capital!\" cried the artist, pledging the lansquenet and\ninsisting that he should sit down between him and the jester.\n\nPellicanus now gazed thoughtfully into vacancy, for what the wounded man\ncould do, he too might surely accomplish. It was not only ambition, and\nthe habit of answering every good saying he heard with a better one, but\nkindly feeling, that urged him to honor the generous benefactor with a\nspeech.\n\nAfter a few minutes, which Moor spent in talking with the soldier,\nPellicanus raised his glass, coughed again, and said, first calmly, then\nin an agitated voice, whose sharp tones grew more and more subdued:\n\n       \"A rogue a fool must be, 't is true,\n        Rog'ry sans folly will not do;\n        Where folly joins with roguery,\n        There's little harm, it seems to me.\n        The pope, the king, the youthful squire,\n        Each one the fool's cap doth attire;\n        He who the bauble will not wear,\n        The worst of fools doth soon appear.\n        Thee may the motley still adorn,\n        When, an old man, the laurel crown\n        Thy head doth deck, while gifts less vain,\n        Thine age to bless will still remain.\n        When fair grandchildren thee delight,\n        Mayst then recall this Christmas night.\n        When added years bring whitening hair,\n        The draught of wisdom then wilt share,\n        But it will lack the flavor due,\n        Without a drop of folly too.\n        And if the drop is not at hand,\n        Remember poor old Pellican,\n        Who, half a rogue and half a fool,\n        Yet has a faithful heart and whole.\"\n\n\"Thanks, thanks!\" cried the artist, shaking the jester's hand. \"Such a\nChristmas ought to be lauded! Wisdom, art, and courage at one table!\nHaven't I fared like the man, who picked up stones by the way side, and\nto-they were changed to pure gold in his knapsack.\"\n\n\"The stone was crumbling,\" replied the jester; \"but as for the gold, it\nwill stand the test with me, if you seek it in the heart, and not in the\npocket. Holy Blasius! Would that my grave might lack filling, as long as\nmy little strong-box here; I'd willingly allow it.\"\n\n\"And so would I!\" laughed the soldier:\n\n\"Then travelling will be easy for you,\" said the artist. \"There was a\ntime, when my pouch was no fuller than yours. I know by the experience of\nthose days how a poor man feels, and never wish to forget it. I still owe\nyou my after-dinner speech, but you must let me off, for I can't speak\nyour language fluently. In brief, I wish you the recovery of your health,\nPellican, and you a joyous life of happiness and honor, my worthy\ncomrade. What is your name?\"\n\n\"Hans Eitelfritz von der Lucke, from Colln on the Spree,\" replied the\nsoldier. \"And, no offence, Herr Moor, God will care for the monks, but\nthere were three poor invalid fellows in your cart. One goblet more to\nthe pretty sick boy in there.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nAfter dinner the artist went with his old servant, who had attended to\nthe horses and then enjoyed a delicious Christmas roast, to Count von\nHochburg, to obtain an escort for the next day.\n\nPellicanus had undertaken to watch Ulrich, who was still sleeping\nquietly.\n\nThe jester would gladly have gone to bed himself, for he felt cold and\ntired, but, though the room could not be heated, he remained faithfully\nat his post for hours. With benumbed hands and feet, he watched by the\nlight of the night-lamp every breath the boy drew, often gazing at him as\nanxiously and sympathizingly, as if he were his own child.\n\nWhen Ulrich at last awoke, he timidly asked when he was, and when the\njester had soothed him, begged for a bit of bread, he was so hungry.\n\nHow famished he felt, the contents of the dish that were speedily placed\nbefore him, soon discovered Pellicanus wanted to feed him like a baby,\nbut the boy took the spoon out of his hand, and the former smilingly\nwatched the sturdy eater, without disturbing, him, until he was perfectly\nsatisfied; then he began to perplex the lad with questions, that seemed\nto him neither very intelligible, nor calculated to inspire confidence.\n\n\"Well, my little bird!\" the jester began, joyously anticipating a\nconfirmation of the clever inferences he had drawn, \"I suppose it was a\nlong flight to the churchyard, where we found you. On the grave is a\nbetter place than in it, and a bed at Emmendingen, with plenty of grits\nand veal, is preferable to being in the snow on the highway, with a\ngrumbling stomach Speak freely, my lad! Where does your nest of robbers\nhang?\"\n\n\"Nest of robbers?\" repeated Ulrich in amazement.\n\n\"Well, castle or the like, for aught I care,\" continued Pellicanus\ninquiringly. \"Everybody is at home somewhere, except Mr. Nobody; but as\nyou are somebody, Nobody cannot possibly be your father. Tell me about\nthe old fellow!\"\n\n\"My father is dead,\" replied the boy, and as the events of the preceding\nday rushed back upon his memory, he drew the coverlet over his face and\nwept.\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" murmured the jester, hastily drawing his sleeve across his\neyes, and leaving the lad in peace, till he showed his face again. Then\nhe continued: \"But I suppose you have a mother at home?\"\n\nUlrich shook his head mournfully, and Pellicanus, to conceal his own\nemotion, looked at him with a comical grimace, and then said very kindly,\nthough not without a feeling of satisfaction at his own penetration:\n\n\"So you are an orphan! Yes, yes! So long as the mother's wings cover it,\nthe young bird doesn't fly so thoughtlessly out of the warm nest into the\nwide world. I suppose the Latin school grew too narrow for the young\nnobleman?\"\n\nUlrich raised himself, exclaiming in an eager, defiant tone:\n\n\"I won't go back to the monastery; that I will not.\"\n\n\"So that's the way the hare jumps!\" cried the fool laughing. \"You've been\na bad Latin scholar, and the timber in the forest is dearer to you, than\nthe wood in the school-room benches. To be sure, they send out no green\nshoots. Dear Lord, how his face is burning!\" So saying, Pellicanus laid\nhis hand on the boy's forehead and when he felt that it was hot, deemed\nit better to stop his examination for the day, and only asked his patient\nhis name.\n\n\"Ulrich,\" was the reply.\n\n\"And what else?\"\n\n\"Let me alone!\" pleaded the boy, drawing the coverlet over his head\nagain.\n\nThe jester obeyed his wish, and opened the door leading into the\ntap-room, for some one had knocked. The artist's servant entered, to\nfetch his master's portmanteau. Old Count von Hochburg had invited Moor\nto be his guest, and the painter intended to spend the night at the\ncastle. Pellicanus was to take care of the boy, and if necessary send for\nthe surgeon again. An hour after, the sick jester lay shivering in his\nbed, coughing before sleeping and between naps. Ulrich too could obtain\nno slumber.\n\nAt first he wept softly, for he now clearly realized, for the first time,\nthat he had lost his father and should never see Ruth, the doctor, nor\nthe doctor's dumb wife Elizabeth again. Then he wondered how he had come\nto Einmendingen, what sort of a place it was, and who the queer little\nman could be, who had taken him for a young noble--the quaint little man\nwith the cough, and a big head, whose eyes sparkled so through his tears.\nThe jester's mistake made him laugh, and he remembered that Ruth had once\nadvised him to command the \"word,\" to transform him into a count.\n\nSuppose he should say to-morrow, that his father had been a knight?\n\nBut the wicked thought only glided through his mind; even before he had\nreflected upon it, he felt ashamed of himself, for he was no liar.\n\nDeny his father! That was very wrong, and when he stretched himself out\nto sleep, the image of the valiant smith stood with tangible distinctness\nbefore his soul. Gravely and sternly he floated upon clouds, and looked\nexactly like the pictures Ulrich had seen of God the Father, only he wore\nthe smith's cap on his grey hair. Even in Paradise, the glorified spirit\nhad not relinquished it.\n\nUlrich raised his hands as if praying, but hastily let them fall again,\nfor there was a great stir outside of the inn. The tramp of steeds, the\nloud voices of men, the sound of drums and fifes were audible, then there\nwas rattling, marching and shouting in the court-yard.\n\n\"A room for the clerk of the muster-roll and paymaster!\" cried a voice.\n\n\"Gently, gently, children!\" said the deep tones of the provost, who was\nthe leader, counsellor and friend of the Lansquenets. \"A devout servant\nmust not bluster at the holy Christmas-tide; he's permitted to drink a\nglass, Heaven be praised. Your house is to be greatly honored, Landlord!\nThe recruiting for our most gracious commander, Count von Oberstein,\nis--to be done here. Do you hear, man! Everything to be paid for in cash,\nand not a chicken will be lost; but the wine must be good! Do you\nunderstand? So this evening broach a cask of your best. Pardon me,\nchildren--the very best, I meant to say.\"\n\nUlrich now heard the door of the tap-room open, and fancied he could see\nthe Lansquenets in gay costumes, each one different from the other, crowd\ninto the apartment.\n\nThe jester coughed loudly, scolding and muttering to himself; but Ulrich\nlistened with sparkling eyes to the sounds that came through the\nill-fitting door, by which he could hear what was passing in the next\nroom.\n\nWith the clerk of the muster-rolls, the paymaster and provost had\nappeared the drummers and fifers, who the day after to-morrow were to\nsound the license for recruiting, and besides these, twelve Lansquenets,\nwho were evidently no novices.\n\nMany an exclamation of surprise and pleasure was heard directly after\ntheir entrance into the tap-room, and amid the confusion of voices, the\nname of Hans Eitelfritz fell more than once upon Ulrich's ear.\n\nThe provost's voice sounded unusually cordial, as he greeted the brave\nfellow with the wounded hand--an honor of great value to the latter, for\nhe had served five years in the same company with the provost, \"Father\nKanold,\" who read the very depths of his soldiers' hearts, and knew them\nall as if they were his own sons.\n\nUlrich could not understand much amid the medley of voices in the\nadjoining room, but when Hans Eitelfritz, from Colln on the Spree, asked\nto be the first one put down on the muster-roll, he distinctly heard the\nprovost oppose the clerk's scruples, saying warmly \"write, write; I'd\nrather have him with one hand, than ten peevish fellows with two. He has\nfun and life in him. Advance him some money too, he probably lacks many a\npiece of armor.\"\n\nMeantime the wine-cask must have been opened, for the clink of glasses,\nand soon after loud singing was audible.\n\nJust as the second song began, the boy fell asleep, but woke again two\nhours after, roused by the stillness that had suddenly succeeded the\nuproar.\n\nHans Eitelfritz had declared himself ready to give a new song in his best\nvein, and the provost commanded silence.\n\nThe singing now began; during its continuance Ulrich raised himself\nhigher and higher in bed, not a word escaped him, either of the song\nitself, or the chorus, which was repeated by the whole party, with\nexuberant gayety, amid the loud clinking of goblets. Never before had the\nlad heard such bold, joyous voices; even at the second verse his heart\nbounded and it seemed as if he must join in the tune, which he had\nquickly caught. The song ran as follows:\n\n        Who, who will venture to hold me back?\n        Drums beat, fifes are playing a merry tune!\n        Down hammer, down pen, what more need I, alack\n        I go to seek fortune, good fortune!\n\n        Oh father, mother, dear sister mine,\n        Blue-eyed maid at the bridge-house, my fair one.\n        Weep not, ye must not at parting repine,\n        I go to seek fortune, good fortune!\n\n        The cannon roar loud, the sword flashes bright,\n        Who'll dare meet the stroke of my falchion?\n        Close-ranked, horse and foot in battle unite,\n        In war, war, dwells fortune, good fortune!\n\n        The city is taken, the booty mine;\n        With red gold, I'll deck--I know whom;\n        Pair maids' cheeks burn red, red too glows the wine,\n        Fortune, Paradise of good fortune!\n\n        Deep, scarlet wounds, brave breasts adorn,\n        Impoverished, crippled age I shun\n        A death of honor, 'mid glory won,\n        This too is good fortune, good fortune!\n\n        A soldier-lad composed this ditty\n        Hans Eitelfritz he, fair Colln's son,\n        His kindred dwell in the goodly city,\n        But he himself in fortune, good fortune!\n\n\"He himself in fortune, good fortune,\" sang Ulrich also, and while, amid\nloud shouts of joy, the glasses again clinked against each other, he\nrepeated the glad \"fortune, good fortune.\" Suddenly, it flashed upon him\nlike a revelation, \"Fortune,\" that might be the word!\n\nSuch exultant joy, such lark-like trilling, such inspiring promises of\nhappiness had never echoed in any word, as they now did from the\n\"fortune,\" the young lansquenet so gaily and exultantly uttered.\n\n\"Fortune, Fortune!\" he exclaimed aloud, and the jester, who was lying\nsleepless in his bed and could not help smiling at the lad's singing,\nraised himself, saying:\n\n\"Do you like the word? Whoever understands how to seize it when it flits\nby, will always float on top of everything, like fat on the soup. Rods\nare cut from birches, willows, and knotted hazel-sticks-ho! ho! you know\nthat, already;--but, for him who has good fortune, larded cakes, rolls\nand sausages grow. One bold turn of Fortune's wheel will bring him, who\nhas stood at the bottom, up to the top with the speed of lightning.\nBrother Queer-fellow says: 'Up and down, like an avalanche.' But now turn\nover and go to sleep. To-morrow will also be a Christmas-day, which will\nperhaps bring you Fortune as a Christmas gift.\"\n\nIt seemed as if Ulrich had not called upon Fortune in vain, for as soon\nas he closed his eyes, a pleasant dream bore him with gentle hands to the\nforge on the market-place, and his mother stood beside the lighted\nChristmas-tree, pointing to the new sky-blue suit she had made him, and\nthe apples, nuts, hobby-horse, and jumping jack, with a head as round as\na ball, huge ears, and tiny flat legs. He felt far too old for such\nchildish toys, and yet took a certain pleasure in them. Then the vision\nchanged, and he again saw his mother; but this time she was walking among\nthe angels in Paradise. A royal crown adorned her golden hair, and she\ntold him she was permitted to wear it there, because she had been so\nreviled, and endured so much disgrace on earth.\n\nWhen the artist returned from Count von Hochburg's the next morning, he\nwas not a little surprised to see Ulrich standing before the\nrecruiting-table bright and well.\n\nThe lad's cheeks were glowing with shame and anger, for the clerk of the\nmuster-rolls and paymaster had laughed in his face, when he expressed his\ndesire to become a Lansquenet.\n\nThe artist soon learned what was going on, and bade his protege accompany\nhim out of doors. Kindly, and without either mockery or reproof, he\nrepresented to him that he was still far too young for military service,\nand after Ulrich had confirmed everything the painter had already heard\nfrom the jester, Moor asked who had given him instruction in drawing.\n\n\"My father, and afterwards Father Lukas in the monastery,\" replied the\nboy. \"But don't question me as the little man did last night.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said his protector. \"But there are one or two more things I\nwish to know. Was your father an artist?\"\n\n\"No,\" murmured the lad, blushing and hesitating. But when he met the\nstranger's clear gaze, he quickly regained his composure, and said:\n\n\"He only knew how to draw, because he understood how to forge beautiful,\nartistic things.\"\n\n\"And in what city did you live?\"\n\n\"In no city. Outside in the woods.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" said the artist, smiling significantly, for he knew that many\nknights practised a trade. \"Answer only two questions more; then you\nshall be left in peace until you voluntarily open your heart to me. What\nis your name?\"\n\n\"Ulrich.\"\n\n\"I know that; but your father's?\"\n\n\"Adam.\"\n\n\"And what else?\"\n\nUlrich gazed silently at the ground, for the smith had borne no other\nname.\n\n\"Well then,\" said Moor, \"we will call you Ulrich for the present; that\nwill suffice. But have you no relatives? Is no one waiting for you at\nhome?\"\n\n\"We have led such a solitary life--no one.\"\n\nMoor looked fixedly into the boy's face, then nodded, and with a\nwell-satisfied expression, laid his hand on Ulrich's curls, and said:\n\n\"Look at me. I am an artist, and if you have any love for my profession,\nI will teach you.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the boy, clasping his hands in glad surprise.\n\n\"Well then,\" Moor continued, \"you can't learn much on the way, but we can\nwork hard in Madrid. We are going now to King Philip of Spain.\"\n\n\"Spain, Portugal!\" murmured Ulrich with sparkling eyes; all he had heard\nin the doctor's house about these countries returned to his mind.\n\n\"Fortune, good fortune!\" cried an exultant voice in his heart. This was\nthe \"word,\" it must be, it was already exerting its spell, and the spell\nwas to prove its inherent power in the near future.\n\nThat very day the party were to go to Count von Rappoltstein in the\nvillage of Rappolts, and this time Ulrich was not to plod along on foot,\nor he in a close baggage-wagon; no, he was to be allowed to ride a\nspirited horse. The escort would not consist of hired servants, but of\npicked men, and the count was going to join the train in person at the\nhill crowned by the castle, for Moor had promised to paint a portrait of\nthe nobleman's daughter, who had married Count von Rappoltstein. It was\nto be a costly Christmas gift, which the old gentleman intended to make\nhimself and his faithful wife.\n\nThe wagon was also made ready for the journey; but no one rode inside;\nthe jester, closely muffled in wraps, had taken his seat beside the\ndriver, and the monks were obliged to go on by way of Freiburg, and\ntherefore could use the vehicle no longer.\n\nThey scolded and complained about it, as if they had been greatly\nwronged, and when Sutor refused to shake hands with the artist,\nStubenrauch angrily turned his back upon the kind-hearted man.\n\nThe offended pair sullenly retired, but the Christmas sun shone none the\nless brightly from the clear sky, the party of travellers had a gay,\nspick and span, holiday aspect, and the world into which they now fared\nstoutly forth, was so wide and beautiful, that Ulrich forgot his grief,\nand joyously waved his new cap in answer to the Lansquenet's farewell\ngesture.\n\nIt was a merry ride, for on the way they met numerous travellers, who\nwere going through the hamlet of Rappolts to the \"three castles on the\nmountain\" and saluted the old nobleman with lively songs. The Counts von\nRappoltstein were the \"piper-kings,\" the patrons of the brotherhood of\nmusicians and singers on the Upper Rhine. Usually these joyous birds met\nat the castle of their \"king\" on the 8th of September, to pay him their\nlittle tax and be generously entertained in return; but this year, on\naccount of the plague in the autumn, the festival had been deferred until\nthe third day after Christmas, but Ulrich believed 'Fortune' had arranged\nit so for him.\n\nThere was plenty of singing, and the violins and rebecs, flutes, and\nreed-pipes were never silent. One serenade followed another, and even at\nthe table a new song rang out at each new course.\n\nThe fiery wine, game and sweet cakes at the castle board undoubtedly\npleased the palate of the artisan's son, but he enjoyed feasting his ears\nstill more. He felt as if he were in Heaven, and thought less and less of\nthe grief he had endured.\n\nDay by day Fortune shook her horn of plenty, and flung new gifts down\nupon him.\n\nHe had told the stable-keepers of his power over refractory horses, and\nafter proving what he could do, was permitted to tame wild stallions and\nride them about the castle-yard, before the eyes of the old and young\ncount and the beautiful young lady. This brought him praise and gifts of\nnew clothes. Many a delicate hand stroked his curls, and it always seemed\nto him as if his mighty spell could bestow nothing better.\n\nOne day Moor took him aside, and told him that he had commenced a\nportrait of young Count Rappolstein too. The lad was obliged to be still,\nhaving broken his foot in a fall from his horse, and as Ulrich was of the\nsame size and age, the artist wished him to put on the young count's\nclothes and serve as a model.\n\nThe smith's son now received the best clothes belonging to his\naristocratic companion in age. The suit was entirely black, but each\ngarment of a different material, the stockings silk, the breeches satin,\nthe doublet soft Flanders velvet. Golden-yellow puffs and slashes stood\nforth in beautiful relief against the darker stuff. Even the knots of\nribbon on the breeches and shoes were as yellow as a blackbird's beak.\nDelicate lace trimmed the neck and fell on the hands, and a clasp of real\ngems confined the black and yellow plumes in the velvet hat.\n\nAll this finery was wonderfully becoming to the smith's son, and he must\nhave been blind, if he had not noticed how old and young nudged each\nother at sight of him. The spirit of vanity in his soul laughed in\ndelight, and the lad soon knew the way to the large Venetian mirror,\nwhich was carefully kept in the hall of state. This wonderful glass\nshowed Ulrich for the first time his whole figure and the image which\nlooked back at him from the crystal, flattered and pleased him.\n\nBut, more than aught else, he enjoyed watching the artist's hand and eye\nduring the sittings. Poor Father Lukas in the monastery must hide his\nhead before this master. He seemed to actually grow while engaged in his\nwork, his shoulders, which he usually liked to carry stooping forward,\nstraightened, the broad, manly breast arched higher, and the kindly eyes\ngrew stern, nay sometimes wore a terrible expression.\n\nAlthough little was said during the sittings, they were always too short\nfor the boy. He did not stir, for it always seemed to him as if any\nmovement would destroy the sacred act he witnessed, and when, in the\npauses, he looked at the canvas and saw how swiftly and steadily the work\nprogressed, he felt as if before his own eyes, he was being born again to\na nobler existence. In the wassail-hall hung the portrait of a young\nPrince of Navarre, whose life had been saved in the chase by a\nRappoltstein. Ulrich, attired in the count's clothes, looked exactly like\nhim. The jester had been the first to perceive this strange circumstance.\nEvery one, even Moor, agreed with him, and so it happened that Pellicanus\nhenceforth called his young friend the Navarrete. The name pleased the\nboy. Everything here pleased him, and he was full of happiness; only\noften at night he could not help grieving because, while his father was\ndead, he enjoyed such an overflowing abundance of good things, and\nbecause he had lost his mother, Ruth, and all who had loved him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nUlrich was obliged to share the jester's sleeping-room, and as Pellicanus\nshrank from getting out of bed, while suffering from night-sweats, and\noften needed something, he roused Ulrich from his sleep, and the latter\nwas always ready to assist him. This happened more frequently as they\ncontinued their journey, and the poor little man's illness increased.\n\nThe count had furnished Ulrich with a spirited young horse, that\nshortened the road for him by its tricks and capers. But the jester, who\nbecame more and more attached to the boy, also did his utmost to keep the\nfeeling of happiness alive in his heart. On warm days he nestled in the\nrack before the tilt with the driver, and when Ulrich rode beside him,\nopened his eyes to everything that passed before him.\n\nThe jester had a great deal to tell about the country and people, and he\nembellished the smallest trifle with tales invented by himself, or\ndevised by others.\n\nWhile passing a grove of birches, he asked the lad if he knew why the\ntrunks of these trees were white, and then explained the cause, as\nfollows:\n\n\"When Orpheus played so exquisitely on his lute, all the trees rushed\nforward to dance. The birches wanted to come too, but being vain, stopped\nto put on white dresses, to outdo the others. When they finally appeared\non the dancing-ground, the singer had already gone--and now, summer and\nwinter, year in and year out, they keep their white dresses on, to be\nprepared, when Orpheus returns and the lute sounds again.\"\n\nA cross-bill was perched on a bough in a pine-wood, and the jester said\nthat this bird was a very peculiar species. It had originally been grey,\nand its bill was as straight as a sparrow's, but when the Saviour hung\nupon the cross, it pitied him, and with its little bill strove to draw\nthe nails from the wounded hands. In memory of this friendly act, the\nLord had marked its beak with the cross, and painted a dark-red spot on\nits breast, where the bird hall been sprinkled with His Son's blood.\nOther rewards were bestowed upon it, for no other bird could hatch a\nbrood of young ones in winter, and it also had the power of lessening the\nfever of those, who cherished it.\n\nA flock of wild geese flew over the road and the hills, and Pellicanus\ncried: \"Look there! They always fly in two straight lines, and form a\nletter of the alphabet. This time it is an A. Can you see it? When the\nLord was writing the laws on the tablets, a flock of wild geese flew\nacross Mt. Sinai, and in doing so, one effaced a letter with its wing.\nSince that time, they always fly in the shape of a letter, and their\nwhole race, that is, all geese, are compelled to let those people who\nwish to write, pluck the feathers from their wings.\"\n\nPellicanus was fond of talking to the boy in their bedroom. He always\ncalled him Navarrete, and the artist, when in a cheerful mood, followed\nhis example.\n\nUlrich felt great reverence for Moor; the jester, on the contrary, was\nonly a good comrade, in whom he speedily reposed entire confidence.\n\nMany an allusion and jesting word showed that Pellicanus still believed\nhim to be the son of a knight, and this at last became unendurable to the\nlad.\n\nOne evening, when they were both in bed, he summoned up his courage and\ntold him everything he knew about his past life.\n\nThe jester listened attentively, without interrupting him, until Ulrich\nfinished his story with the words \"And while I was gone, the bailiffs and\ndogs tracked them, but my father resisted, and they killed him and the\ndoctor.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" murmured the jester. \"It's a pity about Costa. Many a\nChristian might feel honored at resembling some Jews. It is only a\nmisfortune to be born a Hebrew, and be deprived of eating ham. The Jews\nare compelled to wear an offensive badge, but many a Christian child is\nborn with one. For instance, in Sparta they would have hurled me into the\ngulf, on account of my big head, and deformed shoulder. Nowadays, people\nare less merciful, and let men like us drag the cripple's mark through\nlife. God sees the heart; but men cannot forget their ancestor, the clod\nof earth--the outside is always more to them than the inside. If my head\nhad only been smaller, and some angel had smoothed my shoulder, I might\nperhaps now be a cardinal, wear purple, and instead of riding under a\ngrey tilt, drive in a golden coach, with well-fed black steeds. Your body\nwas measured with a straight yard stick, but there's trouble in other\nplaces. So your father's name was Adam, and he really bore no other?\"\n\n\"No, certainly not.\"\n\n\"That's too little by half. From this day we'll call you in earnest\nNavarrete: Ulrich Navarrete. That will be something complete. The name is\nonly a dress, but if half of it is taken from your body, you are left\nhalf-bare and exposed to mockery. The garment must be becoming too, so we\nadorn it as we choose. My father was called Kurschner, but at the Latin\nschool Olearius and Faber and Luscinius sat beside me, so I raised myself\nto the rank of a Roman citizen, and turned Kurschner into\nPellicanus. . . .\"\n\nThe jester coughed violently, and continued One thing more. To expect\ngratitude is folly, nine times out of ten none is reaped, and he who is\nwise thinks only of himself, and usually omits to seek thanks; but every\none ought to be grateful, for it is burdensome to have enemies, and there\nis no one we learn to hate more easily, than the benefactor we repay with\ningratitude. You ought and must tell the artist your history, for he has\ndeserved your confidence.\n\nThe jester's worldly-wise sayings, in which selfishness was always\npraised as the highest virtue, often seemed very puzzling to the boy, yet\nmany of them were impressed on his young soul. He followed the sick man's\nadvice the very next morning, and he had no cause to regret it, for Moor\ntreated him even more kindly than before.\n\nPellicanus intended to part from the travellers at Avignon, to go to\nMarseilles, and from there by ship to Savona, but before he reached the\nold city of the popes, he grew so feeble, that Moor scarcely hoped to\nbring him alive to the goal of his journey.\n\nThe little man's body seemed to continually grow smaller, and his head\nlarger, while his hollow, livid cheeks looked as if a rose-leaf adorned\nthe centre of each.\n\nHe often told his travelling-companions about his former life.\n\nHe had originally been destined for the ecclesiastical profession, but\nthough he surpassed all the other pupils in the school, he was deprived\nof the hope of ever becoming a priest, for the Church wants no cripples.\nHe was the child of poor people, and had been obliged to fight his way\nthrough his career as a student, with great difficulty.\n\n\"How shabby the broad top of my cap often was!\" he said. \"I was so much\nashamed of it. I am so small. Dear me, anybody could see my head, and\ncould not help noticing all the worn places in the velvet, if he cast his\neyes down. How often have I sat beside the kitchen of a cook-shop, and\nseasoned dry bread with the smell of roast meat. Often too my poodledog\nwent out and stole a sausage for me from the butcher.\"\n\nAt other times the little fellow had fared better; then, sitting in the\ntaverns, he had given free-play to his wit, and imposed no constraint on\nhis sharp tongue.\n\nOnce he had been invited by a former boon-companion, to accompany him to\nhis ancestral castle, to cheer his sick father; and so it happened that\nhe became a buffoon, wandered from one great lord to another, and finally\nentered the elector's service.\n\nHe liked to pretend that he despised the world and hated men, but this\nassertion could not be taken literally, and was to be regarded in a\ngeneral, rather than a special sense, for every beautiful thing in the\nworld kindled eager enthusiasm in his heart, and he remained kindly\ndisposed towards individuals to the end.\n\nWhen Moor once charged him with this, he said, smiling:\n\n\"What would you have? Whoever condemns, feels himself superior to the\nperson upon whom he sits in judgment, and how many fools, like me, fancy\nthemselves great, when they stand on tiptoe, and find fault even with the\nworks of God! 'The world is evil,' says the philosopher, and whoever\nlistens to him, probably thinks carelessly: 'Hear, hear! He would have\nmade it better than our Father in heaven.' Let me have my pleasure. I'm\nonly a little man, but I deal in great things. To criticise a single\ninsignificant human creature, seems to me scarcely worth while, but when\nwe pronounce judgment on all humanity and the boundless universe, we can\nopen our mouths-wonderfully wide!\"\n\nOnce his heart had been filled with love for a beautiful girl, but she\nhad scornfully rejected his suit and married another. When she was\nwidowed, and he found her in dire poverty, he helped her with a large\nshare of his savings, and performed this kind service again, when the\nsecond worthless fellow she married had squandered her last penny.\n\nHis life was rich in similar incidents.\n\nIn his actions, the queer little man obeyed the dictates of his heart; in\nhis speech, his head ruled his tongue, and this seemed to him the only\nsensible course. To practise unselfish generosity he regarded as a\nsubtle, exquisite pleasure, which he ventured to allow himself, because\nhe desired nothing more; others, to whom he did not grudge a prosperous\ncareer, he must warn against such folly.\n\nThere was a keen, bitter expression on his large, thin face, and whoever\nsaw him for the first time might easily have supposed him to be a wicked,\nspiteful man. He knew this, and delighted in frightening the men and\nmaid-servants at the taverns by hideous grimaces--he boasted of being\nable to make ninety-five different faces--until the artist's old valet at\nlast dreaded him like the \"Evil One.\"\n\nHe was particularly gay in Avignon, for he felt better than he had done\nfor a long time, and ordered a seat to be engaged for him in a vehicle\ngoing to Marseilles.\n\nThe evening before their separation, he described with sparkling\nvivacity, the charms of the Ligurian coast, and spoke of the future as if\nhe were sure of entire recovery and a long life.\n\nIn the night Ulrich heard him groaning louder than usual, and starting\nup, raised him, as he was in the habit of doing when the poor little man\nwas tortured by difficulty of breathing. But this time Pellicanus did not\nswear and scold, but remained perfectly still, and when his heavy head\nfell like a pumpkin on the boy's breast, he was greatly terrified and ran\nto call the artist.\n\nMoor was soon standing at the head of the sick-bed, holding a light, so\nthat its rays could fall upon the face of the gasping man. The latter\nopened his eyes and made three grimaces in quick succession--very comical\nones, yet tinged with sadness.\n\nPellicanus probably noticed the artist's troubled glance, for he tried to\nnod to him, but his head was too heavy and his strength too slight, so he\nonly succeeded in moving it first to the right and then to the left, but\nhis eyes expressed everything he desired to say. In this way several\nminutes elapsed, then Pellicanus smiled, and with a sorrowful gaze,\nthough a mischievous expression hovered around his mouth, scanned:\n\n\"'Mox erit' quiet and mute, 'gui modo' jester 'erat'.\" Then he said as\nsoftly as if every tone came, not from his chest, but merely from his\nlips--\n\n\"Is it agreed, Navarrete, Ulrich Navarrete? I've made the Latin easy for\nyou, eh? Your hand, boy. Yours, too, dear, dear master . . . Moor,\nEthiopian--Blackskin. . . .\"\n\nThe words died away in a low, rattling sound, and the dying man's eyes\nbecame glazed, but it was several hours before he drew his last breath.\n\nA priest gave him Extreme Unction, but consciousness did not return.\n\nAfter the holy man had left him, his lips moved incessantly, but no one\ncould understand what he said. Towards morning, the sun of Provence was\nshining warmly and brightly into the room and on his bed, when he\nsuddenly threw his arm above his head, and half speaking, half singing to\nHans Eitelfritz's melody, let fall from his lips the words: \"In fortune,\ngood fortune.\" A few minutes after he was dead.\n\nMoor closed his eyes. Ulrich knelt weeping beside the bed, and kissed his\npoor friend's cold hand.\n\nWhen he rose, the artist was gazing with silent reverence at the jester's\nfeatures; Ulrich followed his eyes, and imagined he was standing in the\npresence of a miracle, for the harsh, bitter, troubled face had obtained\na new expression, and was now the countenance of a peaceful, kindly man,\nwho had fallen asleep with pleasant memories in his heart.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     No one we learn to hate more easily, than the benefactor\n     Once laughed at a misfortune, its sting loses its point\n     To expect gratitude is folly\n     Whoever condemns, feels himself superior\n\n\n\n\nA WORD, ONLY A WORD\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nFor the first time in his life Ulrich had witnessed the death of a human\nbeing.\n\nHow often he had laughed at the fool, or thought his words absurd and\nwicked;--but the dead man inspired him with respect, and the thought of\nthe old jester's corpse exerted a far deeper and more lasting influence\nupon him, than his father's supposed death. Hitherto he had only been\nable to imagine him as he had looked in life, but now the vision of him\nstretched at full length, stark and pale like the dead Pellicanus, often\nrose before his mind.\n\nThe artist was a silent man, and understood how to think and speak in\nlines and colors, better than in words. He only became eloquent and\nanimated, when the conversation turned upon subjects connected with his\nart.\n\nAt Toulouse he purchased three new horses, and engaged the same number of\nFrench servants, then went to a jeweller and bought many articles. At the\ninn he put the chains and rings he had obtained, into pretty little\nboxes, and wrote on them in neat Gothic characters with special care:\n\"Helena, Anna, Minerva, Europa and Lucia;\" one name on each.\n\nUlrich watched him and remarked that those were not his children's names.\n\nMoor looked up, and answered smiling: \"These are only young artists, six\nsisters, each one of whom is as dear to me as if she were my own\ndaughter. I hope we shall find them in Madrid, one of them, Sophonisba,\nat any rate.\"\n\n\"But there are only five boxes,\" observed the boy, \"and you haven't\nwritten Sophonisba on any of them.\"\n\n\"She is to have something better,\" replied his patron smiling. \"My\nportrait, which I began to paint yesterday, will be finished here. Hand\nme the mirror, the maul-stick, and the colors.\"\n\nThe picture was a superb likeness, absolutely faultless. The pure brow\ncurved in lofty arches at the temples, the small eyes looked as clear and\nbright as they did in the mirror, the firm mouth shaded by a thin\nmoustache, seemed as if it were just parting to utter a friendly word.\nThe close-shaven beard on the cheeks and chin rested closely upon the\nwhite ruff, which seemed to have just come from under the laundresses'\nsmoothing-iron.\n\nHow rapidly and firmly the master guided his brush! And Sophonisba, whom\nMoor distinguished by such a gift, how was he to imagine her? The other\nfive sisters too! For their sakes he first anticipated with pleasure the\narrival at Madrid.\n\nIn Bayonne the artist left the baggage-wagon behind. His luggage was put\non mules, and when the party of travellers started, it formed an imposing\ncaravan.\n\nUlrich expressed his surprise at such expenditure, and Moor answered\nkindly: \"Pellicanus says: 'Among fools one must be a fool.' We enter\nSpain as the king's guests, and courtiers have weak eyes, and only notice\npeople who give themselves airs.\"\n\nAt Fuenterrabia, the first Spanish city they reached, the artist received\nmany honors, and a splendid troop of cavalry escorted him thence to\nMadrid.\n\nMoor came as a guest to King Philip's capital for the third time, and was\nreceived there with all the tokens of respect usually paid only to great\nnoblemen.\n\nHis old quarters in the treasury of the Alcazar, the palace of the kings\nof Castile, were again assigned to him. They consisted of a studio and\nsuite of apartments, which by the monarch's special command, had been\nfitted up for him with royal magnificence.\n\nUlrich could not control his amazement. How poor and petty everything\nthat a short time before, at Castle Rappolstein, had awakened his wonder\nand admiration now appeared.\n\nDuring the first few days the artist's reception-room resembled a\nbee-hive; for aristocratic men and women, civil and ecclesiastical\ndignitaries passed in and out, pages and lackeys brought flowers, baskets\nof fruits, and other gifts. Every one attached to the court knew in what\nhigh favor the artist was held by His Majesty, and therefore hastened to\nwin his good-will by attentions and presents. Every hour there was\nsomething new and astonishing to be seen, but the artist himself most\nawakened the boy's surprise.\n\nThe unassuming man, who on the journey had associated as familiarly with\nthe poor invalids he had picked up by the wayside, the tavern-keepers,\nand soldiers of his escort, as if he were one of themselves, now seemed a\nvery different person. True, he still dressed in black, but instead of\ncloth and silk, he wore velvet and satin, while two gold chains glittered\nbeneath his ruff. He treated the greatest nobles as if he were doing them\na favor by receiving them, and he himself were a person of unapproachable\nrank.\n\nOn the first day Philip and his queen Isabella of Valois, had sent for\nhim and adorned him with a costly new chain.\n\nOn this occasion Ulrich saw the king. Dressed as a page he followed Moor,\ncarrying the picture the latter intended for a gift to his royal host.\n\nAt the time of their entrance into the great reception-hall, the monarch\nwas sitting motionless, gazing into vacancy, as if all the persons\ngathered around him had no existence for him. His head was thrown far\nback, pressing down the stiff ruff, on which it seemed to rest as if it\nwere a platter. The fair-haired man's well-cut features wore the rigid,\nlifeless expression of a mask. The mouth and nostrils were slightly\ncontracted, as if they shrank from breathing the same air with other\nhuman beings.\n\nThe monarch's face remained unmoved, while receiving the Pope's legates\nand the ambassadors from the republic of Venice. When Moor was led before\nhim, a faint smile was visible beneath the soft, drooping moustache and\nclose-shaven beard on the cheeks and chin; the prince's dull eyes also\ngained some little animation.\n\nThe day after the reception a bell rang in the studio, which was cleared\nof all present as quickly as possible, for it announced the approach of\nthe king, who appeared entirely alone and spent two whole hours with\nMoor.\n\nAll these marks of distinction might have turned a weaker brain, but Moor\nreceived them calmly, and as soon as he was alone with Ulrich or\nSophonisba, appeared no less unassuming and kindly, than at Emmendingen\nand on the journey through France.\n\nA week after taking possession of the apartments in the treasury, the\nservants received orders to refuse admittance to every one, without\ndistinction of rank or person, informing them that the artist was engaged\nin working for His Majesty.\n\nSophonisba Anguisciola was the only person whom Moor never refused to\nsee. He had greeted the strange girl on his arrival, as a father meets\nhis child.\n\nUlrich had been present when the artist gave her his portrait, and saw\nher, overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, cover her face with her hands\nand burst into loud sobs.\n\nDuring Moor's first visit to Madrid, the young girl had come from Cremona\nto the king's court with her father and five sisters, and since then the\ntask of supporting all six had rested on her shoulders.\n\nOld Cavaliere Anguisciola was a nobleman of aristocratic family, who had\nsquandered his large patrimony, and now, as he was fond of saying, lived\nday by day \"by trusting God.\" A large portion of his oldest daughter's\nearnings he wasted at the gaming table with dissolute nobles, relying\nwith happy confidence upon the talent displayed also by his younger\nchildren, and on what he called \"trust in God.\" The gay, clever Italian\nwas everywhere a welcome guest, and while Sophonisba toiled early and\nlate, often without knowing how she was to obtain suitable food and\nclothing for her sisters and herself, his life was a series of banquets\nand festivals. Yet the noble girl retained the joyous courage inherited\nfrom her father, nay, more--even in necessity she did not cease to take a\nlofty view of art, and never permitted anything to leave her studio till\nshe considered it finished.\n\nAt first Moor watched her silently, then he invited her to work in his\nstudio, and avail herself of his advice and assistance.\n\nSo she had become his pupil, his friend.\n\nSoon the young girl had no secrets from him, and the glimpses of her\ndomestic life thus afforded touched him and brought her nearer and nearer\nto his heart.\n\nThe old Cavaliere praised the lucky accident, and was ready to show\nhimself obliging, when Moor offered to let him and his daughters occupy a\nhouse he had purchased, that it might be kept in a habitable condition,\nand when the artist had induced the king to grant Sophonisba a larger\nannual salary, the father instantly bought a second horse.\n\nThe young girl, in return for so many benefits, was gratefully devoted to\nthe artist, but she would have loved him even without them. His society\nwas her greatest pleasure. To be allowed to stay and paint with him,\nbecome absorbed in conversation about art, its problems, means and\npurposes, afforded her the highest, purest happiness.\n\nWhen she had discharged the duties imposed upon her by her attendance\nupon the queen, her heart drew her to the man she loved and honored. When\nshe left him, it always seemed as if she had been in church, as if her\nsoul had been steeped in purity and was effulgent. Moor had hoped to find\nher sisters with her in Madrid, but the old Cavaliere had taken them away\nwith him to Italy. His \"trust in God\" was rewarded, for he had inherited\na large fortune. What should he do longer in Madrid! To entertain the\nstiff, grave Spaniards and move them to laughter, was a far less pleasing\noccupation than to make merry with gay companions and be entertained\nhimself at home.\n\nSophonisba was provided for, and the beautiful, gay, famous maid of honor\nwould have no lack of suitors. Against his daughter's wish, he had given\nto the richest and most aristocratic among them, the Sicilian baron Don\nFabrizio di Moncada, the hope of gaining her hand. \"Conquer the fortress!\nWhen it yields--you can hold it,\" were his last words; but the citadel\nremained impregnable, though the besieger could bring into the field as\nallies a knightly, aristocratic bearing, an unsullied character, a\nhandsome, manly figure, winning manners, and great wealth.\n\nUlrich felt a little disappointed not to find the five young girls, of\nwhom he had dreamed, in Madrid; it would have been pleasant to have some\npretty companions in the work now to begin.\n\nAdjoining the studio was a smaller apartment, separated from the former\nroom by a corridor, that could be closed, and by a heavy curtain. Here a\ntable, at which the five girls might easily have found room, was placed\nin a favorable light for Ulrich. He was to draw from plastic models, and\nthere was no lack of these in the Alcazar, for here rose a high,\nthree-story wing, to which when wearied by the intrigues of statecraft\nand the restraints of court etiquette, King Philip gladly retired,\nyielding himself to the only genial impulse of his gloomy soul, and\nenjoyed the noble forms of art.\n\nIn the round hall on the lower floor countless plans, sketches, drawings\nand works of art were kept in walnut chests of excellent workmanship.\nAbove this beautifully ornamented apartment--was the library, and in the\nthird story the large hall containing the masterpieces of Titian.\n\nThe restless statesman, Philip, was no less eager to collect and obtain\nnew and beautiful works by the great Venetian, than to defend and\nincrease his own power and that of the Church. But these treasures were\nkept jealously guarded, accessible to no human being except himself and\nhis artists.\n\nPhilip was all and all to himself; caring nothing for others, he did not\ndeem it necessary, that they should share his pleasures. If anything\noutside the Church occupied a place in his regard, it was the artist, and\ntherefore he did not grudge him what he denied to others.\n\nNot only in the upper story, but in the lower ones also antique and\nmodern busts and statues were arranged in appropriate places, and Moor\nwas at liberty to choose from among them, for the king permitted him to\ndo what was granted to no one else.\n\nHe often summoned him to the Titian Hall, and still more frequently rang\nthe bell and entered the connecting corridor, accessible to himself\nalone, which led from the rooms devoted to art and science to the\ntreasury and studio, where he spent hours with Moor. Ulrich eagerly\ndevoted himself to the work, and his master watched his labor like an\nattentive, strict, and faithful teacher; meantime he carefully guarded\nagainst overtaxing the boy, allowed him to accompany him on many a ride,\nand advised him to look about the city. At first the lad liked to stroll\nthrough the streets and watch the long, brilliant processions, or timidly\nshrink back when closely-muffled men, their figures wholly invisible\nexcept the eyes and feet, bore a corpse along, or glided on mysterious\nmissions through the streets. The bull-fights might have bewitched him,\nbut he loved horses, and it grieved him to see the noble animal, wounded\nand killed.\n\nHe soon wearied of the civil and religious ceremonies, that might be\nwitnessed nearly every day, and which always exerted the same power of\nattraction to the inhabitants of Madrid. Priests swarmed in the Alcazar,\nand soldiers belonging to every branch of military service, daily guarded\nor marched by the palace.\n\nOn the journey he had met plenty of mules with gay plumes and tassels,\noddly-dressed peasants and citizens. Gentlemen in brilliant court\nuniforms, princes and princesses he saw daily in the court-yards, on the\nstairs, and in the park of the palace.\n\nAt Toulouse and in other cities, through which he had passed, life had\nbeen far more busy, active, and gay than in quiet Madrid, where\neverything went on as if people were on their way to church, where a\ncheerful face was rarely seen, and men and women knew of no sight more\nbeautiful and attractive, than seeing poor Jews and heretics burned.\n\nUlrich did not need the city; the Alcazar was a world in itself, and\noffered him everything he desired.\n\nHe liked to linger in the stables, for there he could distinguish\nhimself; but it was also delightful to work, for Moor chose models and\ndesigns that pleased the lad, and Sophonisba Anguisciola, who often\npainted for hours in the studio by the master's side, came to Ulrich in\nthe intervals, looked at what he had finished, helped, praised, or\nscolded him, and never left him without a jest on her lips.\n\nTrue, he was often left to himself; for the king sometimes summoned the\nartist and then quitted the palace with him for several days, to visit\nsecluded country houses, and there--the old Hollander had told the\nlad--painted under Moor's instructions.\n\nOn the whole, there were new, strange, and surprising things enough, to\nkeep the sensation of \"Fortune,\" alive in Ulrich's heart. Only it was\nvexatious that he found it so hard to make himself intelligible to\npeople, but this too was soon to be remedied, for the pupil obtained two\ncompanions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nAlonzo Sanchez Coello, a very distinguished Spanish artist, had his\nstudio in the upper story of the treasury. The king was very friendly to\nhim, and often took him also on his excursions. The gay, lively artist\nclung without envy, and with ardent reverence, to Moor, whose\nfellow-pupil he had been in Florence and Venice. During the\nNetherlander's first visit to Madrid, he had not disdained to seek\ncounsel and instruction from his senior, and even now frequently visited\nhis studio, bringing with him his children Sanchez and Isabella as\npupils, and watched the Master closely while he painted.\n\nAt first Ulrich was not specially pleased with his new companions, for in\nthe strangely visionary life he led, he had depended solely upon himself\nand \"Fortune,\" and the figures living in his imagination were the most\nenjoyable society to him.\n\nFormerly he had drawn eagerly in the morning, joyously anticipated\nSophonisba's visit, and then gazed out over his paper and dreamed. How\ndelightful it had been to let his thoughts wander to his heart's content.\nThis could now be done no longer.\n\nSo it happened, that at first he could feel no real confidence in\nSanchez, who was three years his senior, for the latter's thin limbs and\nclose-cut dark hair made him look exactly like dark-browed Xaver.\nTherefore his relations with Isabella were all the more friendly.\n\nShe was scarcely fourteen, a dear little creature, with awkward limbs,\nand a face so wonderfully changeful in expression, that it could not fail\nto be by turns pretty and repellent. She always had beautiful eyes; all\nher other features were unformed, and might grow charming or exactly the\nreverse. When her work engrossed her attention, she bit her protruded\ntongue, and her raven-black hair, usually remarkably smooth, often became\nso oddly dishevelled, that she looked like a kobold; when, on the other\nhand, she talked pleasantly or jested, no one could help being pleased.\n\nThe child was rarely gifted, and her method of working was an exact\ncontrast to that of the German lad. She progressed slowly, but finally\naccomplished something admirable; what Ulrich impetuously began had a\nshowy, promising aspect, but in the execution the great idea shrivelled,\nand the work diminished in merit instead of increasing.\n\nSanchez Coello remained far behind the other two, but to make amends, he\nknew many things of which Ulrich's uncorrupted soul had no suspicion.\n\nLittle Isabella had been given by her mother, for a duenna, a watchful,\nill-tempered widow, Senora Catalina, who never left the girl while she\nremained with Moor's pupils.\n\nReceiving instruction with others urged Ulrich to rivalry, and also\nimproved his knowledge of Spanish. But he soon became familiar with the\nlanguage in another way, for one day, as he came out of the stables, a\nthin man in black, priestly robes, advanced towards him, looked\nsearchingly into his face, then greeted him as a countryman, declaring\nthat it made him happy to speak his dear native tongue again. Finally, he\ninvited the \"artist\" to visit him. His name was Magister Kochel and he\nlodged with the king's almoner, for whom he was acting as clerk.\n\nThe pallid man with the withered face, deep-set eyes and peculiar grin,\nwhich always showed the bluish-red gums above the teeth, did not please\nthe boy, but the thought of being able to talk in his native language\nattracted him, and he went to the German's.\n\nHe soon thought that by so doing he was accomplishing something good and\nuseful, for the former offered to teach him to write and speak Spanish.\nUlrich was glad to have escaped from school, and declined this proposal;\nbut when the German suggested that he should content himself with\nspeaking the language, assuring him that it could be accomplished without\nany difficulty, Ulrich consented and went daily at twilight to the\nMagister.\n\nInstruction began at once and was pleasant enough, for Kochel let him\ntranslate merry tales and love stories from French and Italian books,\nwhich he read aloud in German, never scolded him, and after the first\nhalf-hour always laid the volume aside to talk with him.\n\nMoor thought it commendable and right, for Ulrich to take upon himself\nthe labor and constraint of studying a language, and promised, when the\nlessons were over, to give a fitting payment to the Magister, who seemed\nto have scanty means of livelihood.\n\nThe master ought to have been well disposed towards worthy Kochel, for\nthe latter was an enthusiastic admirer of his works. He ranked the\nNetherlander above Titian and the other great Italian artists, called him\nthe worthy friend of gods and kings, and encouraged his pupil to imitate\nhim.\n\n\"Industry, industry!\" cried the Magister. \"Only by industry is the summit\nof wealth and fame gained. To be sure, such success demands sacrifices.\nHow rarely is the good man permitted to enjoy the blessing of mass. When\ndid he go to church last?\"\n\nUlrich answered these and similar questions frankly and truthfully, and\nwhen Kochel praised the friendship uniting the artist to the king,\ncalling them Orestes and Pylades, Ulrich, proud of the honor shown his\nmaster, told him how often Philip secretly visited the latter.\n\nAt every succeeding interview Kochel asked, as if by chance, in the midst\nof a conversation about other things: \"Has the king honored you again?\"\nor \"You happy people, it is reported that the king has shown you his face\nagain.\"\n\nThis \"you\" flattered Ulrich, for it allowed a ray of the royal favor to\nfall upon him also, so he soon informed his countryman, unasked, of every\none of the monarch's visits to the treasury.\n\nWeeks and months elapsed.\n\nTowards the close of his first year's residence in Madrid, Ulrich spoke\nSpanish with tolerable fluency, and could easily understand his\nfellow-pupils; nay, he had even begun to study Italian.\n\nSophonisba Anguisciola still spent all her leisure hours in the studio,\npainting or conversing with Moor. Various dignitaries and grandees also\nwent in and out of the studio, and among them frequently appeared, indeed\nusually when Sophonisba was present, her faithful admirer Don Fabrizio di\nMoncada.\n\nOnce Ulrich, without listening, heard Moor through the open door of the\nschool-room, represent to her, that it was unwise to reject a suitor like\nthe baron; he was a noble, high-minded gentleman and his love beyond\nquestion.\n\nHer answer was long in coming; at last she rose, saying in an agitated\nvoice: \"We know each other, Master; I know your kind intentions. And yet,\nyet! Let me remain what I am, however insignificant that may be. I like\nthe baron, but what better gifts can marriage bestow, than I already\npossess? My love belongs to Art, and you--you are my friend. . . . My\nsisters are my children. Have I not gained the right to call them so? I\nshall have no lack of duties towards them, when my father has squandered\nhis inheritance. My noble queen will provide for my future, and I am\nnecessary to her. My heart is filled--filled to the brim; I do what I\ncan, and is it not a beautiful thought, that I am permitted to be\nsomething to those I love? Let me remain your Sophonisba, and a free\nartist.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes! Remain what you are, girl!\" Moor exclaimed, and then for\na long time silence reigned in the studio.\n\nEven before they could understand each other's language, a friendly\nintercourse had existed between Isabella and her German fellow-pupil, for\nin leisure moments they had sketched each other more than once.\n\nThese pictures caused much laughter and often occasional harmless\nscuffles between Ulrich and Sanchez, for the latter liked to lay hands on\nthese portraits and turn them into hideous caricatures.\n\nIsabella often earned the artist's unqualified praise, Ulrich sometimes\nreceived encouraging, sometimes reproving, and sometimes even harsh\nwords. The latter Moor always addressed to him in German, but they deeply\nwounded the lad, haunting him for days.\n\nThe \"word\" still remained obedient to him. Only in matters relating to\nart, the power of \"fortune\" seemed to fail, and deny its service.\n\nWhen the painter set him difficult tasks, which he could not readily\naccomplish, he called upon the \"word;\" but the more warmly and fervently\nhe did so, the more surely he receded instead of advancing. When, on the\ncontrary, he became angered against \"fortune,\" reproached, rejected it,\nand relied wholly on himself, he accomplished the hardest things and won\nMoor's praise.\n\nHe often thought, that he would gladly resign his untroubled, luxurious\nlife, and all the other gifts of Fortune, if he could only succeed in\naccomplishing what Moor desired him to attain in art. He knew and felt\nthat this was the right goal; but one thing was certain, he could never\nattain it with pencil and charcoal. What his soul dreamed, what his\nmental vision beheld was colored. Drawing, perpetual drawing, became\nburdensome, repulsive, hateful; but with palette and brush in his hand he\ncould not fail to become an artist, perhaps an artist like Titian.\n\nHe already used colors in secret; Sanchez Coello had been the cause of\nhis making the first trial.\n\nThis precocious youth was suing for a fair girl's favor, and made Ulrich\nhis confidant. One day, when Moor and Sanchez's father had gone with the\nking to Toledo, he took him to a balcony in the upper story of the\ntreasury, directly opposite to the gate-keeper's lodgings, and only\nseparated by a narrow court-yard from the window, where sat pretty\nCarmen, the porter's handsome daughter.\n\nThe girl was always to be found here, for her father's room was very\ndark, and she was compelled to embroider priestly robes from morning till\nnight. This pursuit brought in money, which was put to an excellent use\nby the old man, who offered sacrifices to his own comfort at the\ncook-shop, and enjoyed fish fried in oil with his Zamora wine. The better\nher father's appetite was, the more industriously the daughter was\nobliged to embroider. Only on great festivals, or when an 'Auto-da-fe'\nwas proclaimed, was Carmen permitted to leave the palace with her old\naunt; yet she had already found suitors. Nineteen-year-old Sanchez did\nnot indeed care for her hand, but merely for her love, and when it began\nto grow dusk, he stationed himself on the balcony which he had\ndiscovered, made signs to her, and flung flowers or bonbons on her table.\n\n\"She is still coy,\" said the young Spaniard, telling Ulrich to wait at\nthe narrow door, which opened upon the balcony. \"There sits the angel!\nJust look! I gave her the pomegranate blossom in her magnificent\nhair--did you ever see more beautiful tresses? Take notice! She'll soon\nmelt; I know women!\"\n\nDirectly after a bouquet of roses fell into the embroiderer's lap. Carmen\nuttered a low cry, and perceiving Sanchez, motioned him away with her\nhead and hand, finally turning her back upon him.\n\n\"She's in a bad humor to-day,\" said Sanchez; \"but I beg you to notice\nthat she'll keep my roses. She'll wear one to-morrow in her hair or on\nher bosom; what will you wager?\"\n\n\"That may be,\" answered Ulrich. \"She probably has no money to buy any for\nherself.\"\n\nTo be sure, the next day at twilight Carmen wore a rose in her hair.\n\nSanchez exulted, and drew Ulrich out upon the balcony. The beauty glanced\nat him, blushed, and returned the fair-haired boy's salutation with a\nslight bend of the head.\n\nThe gate-keeper's little daughter was a pretty child, and Ulrich had no\nfear of doing what Sanchez ventured.\n\nOn the third day he again accompanied him to the balcony, and this time,\nafter silently calling upon the \"word,\" pressed his hand upon his heart,\njust as Carmen looked at him.\n\nThe young girl blushed again, waved her fan, and then bent her little\nhead so low, that it almost touched the embroidery.\n\nThe next evening she secretly kissed her fingers to Ulrich.\n\nFrom this time the young lover preferred to seek the balcony without\nSanchez. He would gladly have called a few tender words across, or sung\nto his lute, but that would not do, for people were constantly passing to\nand fro in the court-yard.\n\nThen the thought occurred to him, that he could speak to the fair one by\nmeans of a picture.\n\nA small panel was soon found, he had plenty of brushes and colors to\nchoose from, and in a few minutes, a burning heart, transfixed by an\narrow, was completed. But the thing looked horribly red and ugly, so he\nrejected it, and painted--imitating one of Titian's angels, which\nspecially pleased him--a tiny Cupid, holding a heart in his hand.\n\nHe had learned many things from the master, and as the little figure\nrounded into shape, it afforded him so much pleasure, that he could not\nleave it, and finished it the third day.\n\nIt had not entered his mind to create a completed work of art, but the\nimpetuosity of youth, revelling in good fortune, had guided his brush.\nThe little Cupid bent joyously forward, drawing the right leg back, as if\nmaking a bow. Finally Ulrich draped about him a black and yellow scarf,\nsuch as he had often seen the young Austrian archduke wear, and besides\nthe pierced heart, placed a rose in the tiny, ill-drawn hand.\n\nHe could not help laughing at his \"masterpiece\" and hurried out on the\nbalcony with the wet painting, to show it to Carmen. She laughed heartily\ntoo, answered his salutations with tender greetings, then laid aside her\nembroidery and went back into the room, but only to immediately reappear\nat the window again, holding up a prayer-book and extending towards him\nthe eight fingers of her industrious little hands.\n\nHe motioned that he understood her, and at eight o'clock the next morning\nwas kneeling by her side at mass, where he took advantage of a favorable\nopportunity to whisper: \"Beautiful Carmen!\"\n\nThe young girl blushed, but he vainly awaited an answer. Carmen now rose,\nand when Ulrich also stood up to permit her to pass, she dropped her\nprayer-book, as if by accident. He stooped with her to pick it up, and\nwhen their heads nearly touched, she whispered hurriedly: \"Nine o'clock\nthis evening in the shell grotto; the garden will be open.\"\n\nCarmen awaited him at the appointed place.\n\nAt first Ulrich's heart throbbed so loudly and passionately, that he\ncould find no words; but the young girl helped him, by telling him that\nhe was a handsome fellow, whom it would be easy to love.\n\nThen he remembered the vows of tenderness he had translated at Kochel's,\nfalteringly repeated them, and fell on one knee before her, like all the\nheroes in adventures and romances.\n\nAnd behold! Carmen did exactly the same as the young ladies whose\nacquaintance he had made at his teacher's, begged him to rise, and when\nhe willingly obeyed the command--for he wore thin silk stockings and the\ngrotto was paved with sharp stones--drew him to her heart, and tenderly\nstroked his hair back from his face with her dainty fingers, while he\ngladly permitted her to press her soft young lips to his.\n\nAll this was delightful, and he had no occasion to speak at all; yet\nUlrich felt timid and nervous. It seemed like a deliverance when the\nfootsteps of the guard were heard, and Carmen drew him away through the\ngate with her into the court-yard.\n\nBefore the little door leading into her father's room she again pressed\nhis hand, and then vanished as swiftly as a shadow.\n\nUlrich remained alone, pacing slowly up and down before the treasury, for\nhe knew that he had done something very wrong, and did not venture to\nappear before the artist.\n\nWhen he entered the dark garden, he had again summoned \"fortune\" to his\naid; but now it would have pleased him better, if it had been less\nwilling to come to his assistance.\n\nCandles were burning in the studio, and Moor sat in his arm-chair,\nholding--Ulrich would fain have bidden himself in the earth--the boy's\nCupid in his hands.\n\nThe young culprit wanted to slip past his teacher with a low \"good\nnight,\" but the latter called him, and pointing to the picture, smilingly\nasked: \"Did you paint this?\"\n\nUlrich nodded, blushing furiously.\n\nThe artist eyed him from top to toe, saying: \"Well, well, it is really\nvery pretty. I suppose it is time now for us to begin to paint.\"\n\nThe lad did not know what had happened, for a few weeks before Moor had\nharshly refused, when he asked the same thing now voluntarily offered.\n\nScarcely able to control his surprise and joy, he bent over the artist's\nhand to kiss it, but the latter withdrew it, gazed steadily into his eyes\nwith paternal affection, and said: \"We will try, my boy, but we must not\ngive up drawing, for that is the father of our art. Drawing keeps us\nwithin the bounds assigned to what is true and beautiful. The morning you\nmust spend as before; after dinner you shall be rewarded by using\ncolors.\" This plan was followed, and the pupil's first love affair bore\nstill another fruit--it gave a different form to his relations with\nSanchez. The feeling that he had stood in his way and abused his\nconfidence sorely disturbed Ulrich, so he did everything in his power to\nplease his companion.\n\nHe did not see the fair Carmen again, and in a few weeks the appointment\nwas forgotten, for painting under Moor's instruction absorbed him as\nnothing in his life had ever done before, and few things did after.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nUlrich was now seventeen, and had been allowed to paint for four months.\n\nSanchez Coello rarely appeared in the studio, for he had gone to study\nwith the architect, Herrera; Isabella vied with Ulrich, but was speedily\noutstripped by the German.\n\nIt seemed as if he had been born with the power to use the brush, and the\nyoung girl watched his progress with unfeigned pleasure. When Moor\nharshly condemned his drawing, her kind eyes grew dim with tears; if the\nmaster looked at his studies with an approving smile, and showed them to\nSophonisba with words of praise, she was as glad as if they had been\nbestowed upon herself.\n\nThe Italian came daily to the treasury as usual, to paint, talk or play\nchess with Moor; she rejoiced at Ulrich's progress, and gave him many a\nuseful suggestion.\n\nWhen the young artist once complained that he had no good models, she\ngaily offered to sit to him. This was a new and unexpected piece of good\nfortune. Day and night he thought only of Sophonisba. The sittings began.\n\nThe Italian wore a red dress, trimmed with gold embroidery, and a high\nwhite lace ruff, that almost touched her cheeks. Her wavy brown hair\nclung closely to the beautiful oval head, its heavy braids covering the\nback of the neck; tiny curls fluttered around her ears and harmonized\nadmirably with the lovely, mischievous expression of the mouth, that won\nall hearts. To paint the intelligent brown eyes was no easy matter, and\nshe requested Ulrich to be careful about her small, rather prominent\nchin, which was anything but beautiful, and not make her unusually high,\nbroad forehead too conspicuous; she had only put on the pearl diadem to\nrelieve it.\n\nThe young artist set about this task with fiery impetuosity, and the\nfirst sketch surpassed all expectations.\n\nDon Fabrizio thought the picture \"startlingly\" like the original. Moor\nwas not dissatisfied, but feared that in the execution his pupil's work\nwould lose the bold freshness, which lent it a certain charm in his eyes,\nand was therefore glad when the bell rang, and soon after the king\nappeared, to whom he intended to show Ulrich's work.\n\nPhilip had not been in the studio for a long time, but the artist had\nreason to expect him; for yesterday the monarch must have received his\nletter, requesting that he would graciously grant him permission to leave\nMadrid.\n\nMoor had remained in Spain long enough, and his wife and child were\nurging his return. Yet departure was hard for him on Sophonisba's\naccount; but precisely because he felt that she was more to him than a\nbeloved pupil and daughter, he had resolved to hasten his leave-taking.\n\nAll present were quickly dismissed, the bolts were drawn and Philip\nappeared.\n\nHe looked paler than usual, worn and weary.\n\nMoor greeted him respectfully, saying: \"It is long since Your Majesty has\nvisited the treasury.\"\n\n\"Not 'Your Majesty;' to you I am Philip,\" replied the king. \"And you wish\nto leave me, Antonio! Recall your letter! You must not go now.\"\n\nThe sovereign, without waiting for a reply, now burst into complaints\nabout the tiresome, oppressive duties of his office, the incapacity of\nthe magistrates, the selfishness, malice and baseness of men. He lamented\nthat Moor was a Netherlander, and not a Spaniard, called him the only\nfriend he possessed among the rebellious crew in Holland and Flanders,\nand stopped him when he tried to intercede for his countrymen, though\nrepeatedly assuring him that he found in his society his best pleasure,\nhis only real recreation; Moor must stay, out of friendship, compassion\nfor him, a slave in the royal purple.\n\nAfter the artist had promised not to speak of departure during the next\nfew days, Philip began to paint a saint, which Moor had sketched, but at\nthe end of half an hour he threw down his brush. He called himself\nnegligent of duty, because he was following his inclination, instead of\nusing his brain and hands in the service of the State and Church. Duty\nwas his tyrant, his oppressor. When the day-laborer threw his hoe over\nhis shoulder, the poor rascal was rid of toil and anxiety; but they\npursued him everywhere, night and day. His son was a monster, his\nsubjects were rebels or cringing hounds. Bands of heretics, like moles or\nsenseless brutes, undermined and assailed the foundation of the throne\nand safeguard of society: the Church. To crush and vanquish was his\nprofession, hatred his reward on earth. Then, after a moment's silence,\nhe pointed towards heaven, exclaiming as if in ecstasy: \"There, there!\nwith Him, with Her, with the Saints, for whom I fight!\"\n\nThe king had rarely come to the treasury in such a mood. He seemed to\nfeel this too, and after recovering his self-control, said:\n\n\"It pursues me even here, I cannot succeed in getting the right coloring\nto-day. Have you finished anything new?\"\n\nMoor now pointed out to the king a picture by his own hand, and after\nPhilip had gazed at it long and appreciatively, criticising it with\nexcellent judgment, the artist led him to Ulrich's portrait of\nSophonisba, and asked, not without anxiety: \"What does Your Majesty say\nto this attempt?\"\n\n\"Hm!\" observed the monarch. \"A little of Moor, something borrowed from\nTitian, yet a great deal that is original. The bluish-grey leaden tone\ncomes from your shop. The thing is a wretched likeness! Sophonisba\nresembles a gardener's boy. Who made it?\"\n\n\"My pupil, Ulrich Navarrete.\"\n\n\"How long has he been painting?\"\n\n\"For several months, Sire.\"\n\n\"And you think he will be an artist of note?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so. In many respects he surpasses my expectations, in others he\nfalls below them. He is a strange fellow.\"\n\n\"He is ambitious, at any rate.\"\n\n\"No small matter for the future artist. What he eagerly begins has a very\ngrand and promising aspect; but it shrinks in the execution. His mind\nseizes and appropriates what he desires to represent, at a single hasty\ngrasp. . . .\"\n\n\"Rather too vehement, I should think.\"\n\n\"No fault at his age. What he possesses makes me less anxious, than what\nhe lacks. I cannot yet discover the thoughtful artist-spirit in him.\"\n\n\"You mean the spirit, that refines what it has once taken, and in quiet\nmeditation arranges lines, and assigns each color to its proper place, in\nshort your own art-spirit.\"\n\n\"And yours also, Sire. If you had begun to paint early, you would have\npossessed what Ulrich lacks.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so. Besides, his defect is one of those which will vanish with\nyears. In your school, with zeal and industry. . . .\"\n\n\"He will obtain, you think, what he lacks. I thought so too! But as I was\nsaying: he is queerly constituted. What you have admitted to me more than\nonce, the point we have started from in a hundred conversations--he\ncannot grasp: form is not the essence of art to him.\"\n\nThe king shrugged his shoulders and pointed to his forehead; but Moor\ncontinued: \"Everything he creates must reflect anew, what he experienced\nat the first sight of the subject. Often the first sketch succeeds, but\nif it fails, he seeks without regard to truth and accuracy, by means of\ntrivial, strange expedients, to accomplish his purpose. Sentiment, always\nsentiment! Line and tone are everything; that is our motto. Whoever\nmasters them, can express the grandest things.\"\n\n\"Right, right! Keep him drawing constantly. Give him mouths, eyes, and\nhands to paint.\"\n\n\"That must be done in Antwerp.\"\n\n\"I'll hear nothing about Antwerp! You will stay, Antonio, you will stay.\nYour wife and child-all honor to them. I have seen your wife's portrait.\nGood, nourishing bread! Here you have ambrosia and manna. You know whom I\nmean; Sophonisba is attached to you; the queen says so.\"\n\n\"And I gratefully feel it. It is hard to leave your gracious Majesty and\nSophonisba; but bread, Sire, bread--is necessary to life. I shall leave\nfriends here, dear friends--it will be difficult, very difficult, to find\nnew ones at my age.\"\n\n\"It is the same with me, and for that very reason you will stay, if you\nare my friend! No more! Farewell, Antonio, till we meet again, perhaps\nto-morrow, in spite of a chaos of business. Happy fellow that you are! In\nthe twinkling of an eye you will be revelling in colors again, while the\nyoke, the iron yoke, weighs me down.\"\n\nMoor thought he should be able to work undisturbed after the king had\nleft him, and left the door unbolted. He was standing before the easel\nafter dinner, engaged in painting, when the door of the corridor leading\nto the treasury was suddenly flung open, without the usual warning, and\nPhilip again entered the studio. This time his cheeks wore a less pallid\nhue than in the morning, and his gait showed no traces of the solemn\ngravity, which had become a second nature to him,--on the contrary he was\ngay and animated.\n\nBut the expression did not suit him; it seemed as if he had donned a\nborrowed, foreign garb, in which he was ill at ease and could not move\nfreely.\n\nWaving a letter in his right hand, he pointed to it with his left,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"They are coming. This time two marvels at once. Our Saviour praying in\nthe garden of Gethsemane, and Diana at the Bath. Look, look! Even this is\na treasure. These lines are from Titian's own hand.\"\n\n\"A peerless old man,\" Moor began; but Philip impetuously interrupted:\n\"Old man, old man? A youth, a man, a vigorous man. How soon he will be\nninety, and yet--yet; who will equal him?\"\n\nAs he uttered the last words, the monarch stopped before Sophonisba's\nportrait, and pointing to it with the scornful chuckle peculiar to him,\ncontinued gaily:\n\n\"There the answer meets me directly. That red! The Venetian's laurels\nseem to have turned your high flown pupil's head. A hideous picture!\"\n\n\"It doesn't seem so bad to me,\" replied Moor. \"There is even something\nabout it I like.\"\n\n\"You, you?\" cried Philip. \"Poor Sophonisba!\"\n\n\"Those carbuncle eyes! And a mouth, that looks as if she could eat\nnothing but sugar-plums. I don't know what tickles me to-day. Give me the\npalette. The outlines are tolerably good, the colors fairly shriek. But\nwhat boy can understand a woman, a woman like your friend! I'll paint\nover the monster, and if the picture isn't Sophonisba, it may serve for a\nnaval battle.\"\n\nThe king had snatched the palette from the artist's hand, clipped his\nbrush in the paint, and smiling pleasantly, was about to set to work; but\nMoor placed himself between the sovereign and the canvas; exclaiming\ngaily: \"Paint me, Philip; but spare the portrait.\"\n\n\"No, no; it will do for the naval battle,\" chuckled the king, and while\nhe pushed the artist back, the latter, carried away by the monarch's\nunusual freedom, struck him lightly on the shoulder with the maul-stick.\n\nThe sovereign started, his lips grew white, he drew his small but stately\nfigure to its full height. His unconstrained bearing was instantly\ntransformed into one of unapproachable, icy dignity.\n\nMoor felt what was passing in the ruler's mind.\n\nA slight shiver ran through his frame, but his calmness remained\nunshaken, and before the insulted monarch found time to give vent to his\nindignation in words, he said quickly, as if the offence he had committed\nwas not worth mentioning:\n\n\"Queer things are done among comrades in art. The painter's war is over!\nBegin the naval battle, Sire, or still better, lend more charm and\ndelicacy to the corners of the mouth. The pupil's worst failure is in the\nchin; more practised hands might be wrecked on that cliff. Those eyes!\nPerhaps they sparkled just in that way, but we are agreed in one thing:\nthe portrait ought not to represent the original at a given moment, ruled\nby a certain feeling or engaged in a special act, but should express the\nsum of the spiritual, intellectual and personal attributes of the\nsubject--his soul and person, mind and character-feelings and nature.\nKing Philip, pondering over complicated political combinations, would be\na fascinating historical painting, but no likeness. . . .\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" said the king in a low voice; \"the portrait must reveal\nthe inmost spirit; mine must show how warmly Philip loves art and his\nartists. Take the palette, I beg. It is for you, the great Master, not\nfor me, the overworked, bungling amateur, to correct the work of talented\npupils.\"\n\nThere was a hypocritical sweetness in the tone of these words which had\nnot escaped the artist.\n\nPhilip had long been a master in the school of dissimulation, but Moor\nknew him thoroughly, and understood the art of reading his heart.\n\nThis mode of expression from the king alarmed him more than a passionate\noutburst of rage. He only spoke in this way when concealing what was\nseething within. Besides, there was another token. The Netherlander had\nintentionally commenced a conversation on art, and it was almost\nunprecedented to find Philip disinclined to enter into one. The blow had\nbeen scarcely perceptible, but Majesty will not endure a touch.\n\nPhilip did not wish to quarrel with the artist now, but he would remember\nthe incident, and woe betide him, if in some gloomy hour the sovereign\nshould recall the insult offered him here. Even the lightest blow from\nthe paw of this slinking tiger could inflict deep wounds--even death.\n\nThese thoughts had darted with the speed of lightning through the\nartist's mind, and still lingered there as, respectfully declining to\ntake the palette, he replied \"I beseech you, Sire, keep the brush and\ncolors, and correct what you dislike.\"\n\n\"That would mean to repaint the whole picture, and my time is limited,\"\nanswered Philip. \"You are responsible for your pupils' faults, as well as\nfor your own offences. Every one is granted, allowed, offered, what is\nhis due; is it not so, dear master? Another time, then, you shall hear\nfrom me!\" In the doorway the monarch kissed his hand to the artist, then\ndisappeared.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nMoor remained alone in the studio. How could he have played such a boyish\nprank!\n\nHe was gazing anxiously at the floor, for he had good reason to be\ntroubled, though the reflection that he had been alone with the king, and\nthe unprecedented act had occurred without witnesses, somewhat soothed\nhim. He could not know that a third person, Ulrich, had beheld the\nreckless, fateful contest.\n\nThe boy had been drawing in the adjoining room, when loud voices were\nheard in the studio. He cherished a boundless reverence, bordering upon\nidolatry, for his first model, the beautiful Sophonisba, and supposing\nthat it was she, discussing works of art with Moor, as often happened, he\nopened the door, pushed back the curtain, and saw the artist tap the\nchuckling king on the arm.\n\nThe scene was a merry one, yet a thrill of fear ran through his limbs,\nand he went back to his plaster model more rapidly than he had come.\n\nAt nightfall Moor sought Sophonisba. He had been invited to a ball given\nby the queen, and knew that he should find the maid of honor among\nIsabella's attendants.\n\nThe magnificent apartments were made as light as day by thousands of\nwax-candles in silver and bronze candelabra; costly Gobelin tapestry and\npurple Flanders hangings covered the walls, and the bright hues of the\npaintings were reflected from the polished floors, flooded with brilliant\nlight.\n\nNo dancing had ever been permitted at the court before Philip's marriage\nwith the French princess, who had been accustomed to greater freedom of\nmanners; now a ball was sometimes given in the Alcazar. The first person\nwho had ventured to dance the gaillarde before the eyes of the monarch\nand his horrified courtiers, was Sophonisba--her partner was Duke\nGonzaga. Strangely enough, the gayest lady at the court was the very\nperson, who gave the gossips the least occasion for scandal.\n\nA gavotte was just over, as Moor entered the superb rooms. In the first\nrank of the brilliant circle of distinguished ecclesiastics, ambassadors\nand grandees, who surrounded the queen, stood the Austrian archdukes, and\nthe handsome, youthful figures of Alexander of Parma and of Don Juan, the\nhalf-brother of King Philip.\n\nDon Carlos, the deformed heir to the throne, was annoying with his coarse\njests some ladies of the court, who were holding their fans before their\nfaces, yet did not venture to make the sovereign's son feel their\ndispleasure.\n\nVelvet, silk and jewels glittered, delicate laces rose and drooped around\nthe necks and hands of the ladies and gentlemen. Floating curls,\nsparkling eyes, noble and attractive features enslaved the eye, but the\nnecks, throats and arms of the court dames were closely concealed under\nhigh ruffs and lace frills, stiff bodices and puffed sleeves.\n\nA subtile perfume filled the illuminated air of these festal halls;\namidst the flirting of light fans, laughter, gay conversation, and\nslander reigned supreme. In an adjoining room golden zechins fell\nrattling and ringing on the gaming-table.\n\nThe morose, bigoted court, hampered by rigid formality, had been invaded\nby worldly pleasure, which disported itself unabashed by the presence of\nthe distinguished prelates in violet and scarlet robes, who paced with\ndignified bearing through the apartments, greeting the more prominent\nladies and grandees.\n\nA flourish of trumpets was borne on the air, and Philip appeared. The\ncavaliers, bowing very low, suddenly stepped back from the fair dames,\nand the ladies curtsied to the floor. Perfect silence followed.\n\nIt seemed as if an icy wind had passed over the flower-beds and bent all\nthe blossoms at once.\n\nAfter a few minutes the gentlemen stood erect, and the ladies rose again,\nbut even the oldest duchesses were not allowed the privilege of sitting\nin their sovereign's presence.\n\nGayety was stifled, conversation was carried on in whispers.\n\nThe young people vainly waited for the signal to dance.\n\nIt was long since Philip had been so proudly contemptuous, so morose as\nhe was to-night. Experienced courtiers noticed that His Majesty held his\nhead higher than usual, and kept out of his way. He walked as if engaged\nin scrutinizing the frescos on the ceiling, but nothing that he wished to\nsee escaped his notice, and when he perceived Moor, he nodded graciously\nand smiled pleasantly upon him for a moment, but did not, as usual,\nbeckon him to approach.\n\nThis did not escape the artist or Sophonisba, whom Moor had informed of\nwhat had occurred.\n\nHe trusted her as he did himself, and she deserved his confidence.\n\nThe clever Italian had shared his anxiety, and as soon as the king\nentered another apartment, she beckoned to Moor and held a long\nconversation with him in a window-recess. She advised him to keep\neverything in readiness for departure, and she undertook to watch and\ngive him timely warning.\n\nIt was long after midnight, when Moor returned to his rooms. He sent the\nsleepy servant to rest, and paced anxiously to and fro for a short time;\nthen he pushed Ulrich's portrait of Sophonisba nearer the mantel-piece,\nwhere countless candles were burning in lofty sconces.\n\nThis was his friend, and yet it was not. The thing lacking--yes, the king\nwas right--was incomprehensible to a boy.\n\nWe cannot represent, what we are unable to feel. Yet Philip's censure had\nbeen too severe. With a few strokes of the brush Moor expected to make\nthis picture a soul mirror of the beloved girl, from whom it was hard,\nunspeakably hard for him to part.\n\n\"More than fifty!\" he thought, a melancholy smile hovering around his\nmouth.--\"More than fifty, an old husband and father, and yet--yet--good\nnourishing bread at home--God bless it, Heaven preserve it! It only this\ngirl were my daughter! How long the human heart retains its functional\npower! Perhaps love is the pith of life--when it dries, the tree withers\ntoo!\"\n\nStill absorbed in thought, Moor had seized his palette, and at intervals\nadded a few short, almost imperceptible strokes to the mouth, eyes, and\ndelicate nostrils of the portrait, before which he sat--but these few\nstrokes lent charm and intellectual expression to his pupil's work.\n\nWhen he at last rose and looked at what he had done, he could not help\nsmiling, and asking himself how it was possible to imitate, with such\ntrivial materials, the noblest possessions of man: mind and soul. Both\nnow spoke to the spectator from these features. The right words were easy\nto the master, and with them he had given the clumsy sentence meaning and\nsignificance.\n\nThe next morning Ulrich found Moor before Sophonisba's portrait. The\npupil's sleep had been no less restless than the master's, for the former\nhad done something which lay heavy on his heart.\n\nAfter being an involuntary witness of the scene in the studio the day\nbefore he had taken a ride with Sanchez and had afterwards gone to\nKochel's to take a lesson. True, he now spoke Spanish with tolerable\nfluency and knew something of Italian, but Kochel entertained him so\nwell, that he still visited him several times a week.\n\nOn this occasion, there was no translating. The German first kindly\nupbraided him for his long absence, and then, after the conversation had\nturned upon his painting and Moor, sympathizingly asked what truth there\nwas in the rumor, that the king had not visited the artist for a long\ntime and had withdrawn his favor from him.\n\n\"Withdrawn his favor!\" Ulrich joyously exclaimed. \"They are like two\nbrothers! They wrestled together to-day, and the master, in all\nfriendship, struck His Majesty a blow with the maul-stick. . . . But--for\nHeaven's sake!--you will swear--fool, that I am--you will swear not to\nspeak of it!\"\n\n\"Of course I will!\" Kochel exclaimed with a loud laugh. \"My hand upon it\nNavarrete. I'll keep silence, but you! Don't gossip about that! Not on\nany account! The jesting blow might do the master harm. Excuse me for\nto-day; there is a great deal of writing to be done for the almoner.\"\n\nUlrich went directly back to the studio. The conviction that he had\ncommitted a folly, nay, a crime, had taken possession of him directly\nafter the last word escaped his lips, and now tortured him more and more.\nIf Kochel, who was a very ordinary man, should not keep the secret, what\nmight not Moor suffer from his treachery! The lad was usually no\nprattler, yet now, merely to boast of his master's familiar intercourse\nwith the king, he had forgotten all caution.\n\nAfter a restless night, his first thought had been to look at his\nportrait of Sophonisba. The picture lured, bewitched, enthralled him with\nan irresistible spell.\n\nWas this really his work?\n\nHe recognized every stroke of the brush. And yet! Those thoughtful eyes,\nthe light on the lofty brow, the delicate lips, which seemed about\nparting to utter some wise or witty word--he had not painted them, never,\nnever could he have accomplished such a masterpiece. He became very\nanxious. Had \"Fortune,\" which usually left him in the lurch when\ncreating, aided him on this occasion? Last evening, before he went to\nbed, the picture had been very different. Moor rarely painted by\ncandlelight and he had heard him come home late, yet now--now. . . .\n\nHe was roused from these thoughts by the artist, who had been feasting\nhis eyes a long time on the handsome lad, now rapidly developing into a\nyouth, as he stood before the canvas as if spellbound. He felt what was\npassing in the awakening artist-soul, for a similar incident had happened\nto himself, when studying with his old master, Schorel.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked Moor as quietly as usual, laying his hand\nupon the arm of his embarrassed pupil. \"Your work seems to please you\nremarkably.\"\n\n\"It is-I don't know\"--stammered Ulrich. \"It seems as if in the\nnight. . . .\"\n\n\"That often happens,\" interrupted the master. \"If a man devotes himself\nearnestly to his profession, and says to himself: 'Art shall be\neverything to me, all else trivial interruptions,' invisible powers aid\nhim, and when he sees in the morning what he has created the day before,\nhe imagines a miracle has happened.\"\n\nAt these words Ulrich grew red and pale by turns. At last, shaking his\nhead, he murmured in an undertone: \"Yes, but those shadows at the corners\nof the mouth--do you see?--that light on the brow, and there--just look\nat the nostrils--I certainly did not paint those.\"\n\n\"I don't think them so much amiss,\" replied Moor. \"Whatever friendly\nspirits now work for you at night, you must learn in Antwerp to paint in\nbroad day at any hour.\"\n\n\"In Antwerp?\"\n\n\"We shall prepare for departure this very day. It must be done with the\nutmost privacy. When Isabella has gone, pack your best clothes in the\nlittle knapsack. Perhaps we shall leave secretly; we have remained in\nMadrid long enough. Keep yourself always in readiness. No one, do you\nhear, no human being, not even the servants, must suspect what is going\non. I know you; you are no babbler.\"\n\nThe artist suddenly paused and turned pale, for men's loud, angry voices\nwere heard outside the door of the studio.\n\nUlrich too was startled.\n\nThe master's intention of leaving Madrid had pleased him, for it would\nwithdraw the former from the danger that might result from his own\nimprudence. But as the strife in the anteroom grew louder, he already saw\nthe alguazils forcing their way into the studio.\n\nMoor went towards the door, but it was thrown wide open ere he reached\nit, and a bearded lansquenet crossed the threshold.\n\nLaughing scornfully, he shouted a few derisive words at the French\nservants who had tried to stop him, then turning to the artist, and\nthrowing back his broad chest, he held out his arms towards Moor, with\npassionate ardor, exclaiming: \"These French flunkies--the varlets, tried\nto keep me from waiting upon my benefactor, my friend, the great Moor, to\nshow my reverence for him. How you stare at me, Master! Have you\nforgotten Christmas-day at Emmendingen, and Hans Eitelfritz from Colln on\nthe Spree?\"\n\nEvery trace of anxiety instantly vanished from the face of the artist,\nwho certainly had not recognized in this braggart the modest companion of\nthose days.\n\nEitelfritz was strangely attired, so gaily and oddly dressed, that he\ncould not fail to be conspicuous even among his comrades. One leg of his\nbreeches, striped with red and blue, reached far below his knee, while\nthe other, striped with yellow and green, enclosed the upper part of the\nlimb, like a full muff. Then how many puffs, slashes and ribbons adorned\nhis doublet! What gay plumes decked the pointed edge of his cap.\n\nMoor gave the faithful fellow a friendly welcome, and expressed his\npleasure at meeting him so handsomely equipped. He held his head higher\nnow, than he used to do under the wagon-tilt and in quarters, and\ndoubtless he had earned a right to do so.\n\n\"The fact is,\" replied Hans Eitelfritz, \"I've received double pay for the\npast nine months, and take a different view of life from that of a poor\ndevil of a man-at-arms who goes fighting through the country. You know\nthe ditty:\n\n       \"'There is one misery on earth,\n        Well, well for him, who knows it not!\n        With beggar's staff to wander forth,\n        Imploring alms from spot to spot.'\n\n\"And the last verse:\n\n       \"'And shall we never receive our due?\n        Will our sore trials never end?\n        Leader to victory, be true,\n        Come quickly, death, beloved friend.'\n\n\"I often sang it in those days; but now: What does the world cost? A\nthousand zechins is not too much for me to pay for it!\"\n\n\"Have you gained booty, Hans?\"\n\n\"Better must come; but I'm faring tolerably well. Nothing but feasting!\nThree of us came here from Venice through Lombardy, by ship from Genoa to\nBarcelona, and thence through this barren, stony country here to Madrid.\"\n\n\"To take service?\"\n\n\"No, indeed. I'm satisfied with my company and regiment. We brought some\npictures here, painted by the great master, Titian, whose fame must\nsurely have reached you. See this little purse! hear its jingle--it's all\ngold! If any one calls King Philip a niggard again, I'll knock his teeth\ndown his throat.\"\n\n\"Good tidings, good reward!\" laughed Moor. \"Have you had board and\nlodging too?\"\n\n\"A bed fit for the Roman Emperor,--and as for the rest?--I told you,\nnothing but feasting. Unluckily, the fun will be all over to-night, but\nto go without paying my respects to you. . . . Zounds! is that the little\nfellow--the Hop-o'my-Thumb-who pressed forward to the muster-table at\nEmmendingen?\"\n\n\"Certainly, certainly.\"\n\n\"Zounds, he has grown. We'll gladly enlist you now, young sir. Can you\nremember me?\"\n\n\"Of course I do,\" replied Ulrich. \"You sang the song about 'good\nfortune'\"\n\n\"Have you recollected that?\" asked the lansquenet. \"Foolish stuff!\nBelieve it or not, I composed the merry little thing when in great sorrow\nand poverty, just to warm my heart. Now I'm prosperous, and can rarely\nsucceed in writing a verse. Fires are not needed in summer.\"\n\n\"Where have you been lodged?\"\n\n\"Here in the 'old cat.' That's a good name for this Goliath's palace.\"\n\nWhen Eitelfritz had enquired about the jester and drunk a goblet of wine\nwith Moor and Ulrich, he took leave of them both, and soon after the\nartist went to the city alone.\n\nAt the usual hour Isabella Coello came with her duenna to the studio, and\ninstantly noticed the change Sophonisba's portrait had undergone.\n\nUlrich stood beside her before the easel, while she examined his work.\n\nThe young girl gazed at it a long, long time, without a word, only once\npausing in her scrutiny to ask: \"And you, you painted this--without the\nmaster?\"\n\nUlrich shook his head, saying, in an undertone: \"I suppose he thinks it\nis my own work; and yet--I can't understand it.\"\n\n\"But I can,\" she eagerly exclaimed, still gazing intently at the\nportrait.\n\nAt last, turning her round, pleasant flee towards him, she looked at him\nwith tears in her eyes, saying so affectionately that the innermost\ndepths of Ulrich's heart were stirred: \"How glad I am! I could never\naccomplish such a work. You will become a great artist, a very\ndistinguished one, like Moor. Take notice, you surely will. How beautiful\nthat is!--I can find no words to express my admiration.\"\n\nAt these words the blood mounted to Ulrich's brain, and either the fiery\nwine he had drunk, or the delighted girl's prophetic words, or both,\nfairly intoxicated him. Scarcely knowing what he said or did, he seized\nIsabella's little hand, impetuously raised his curly head, and\nenthusiastically exclaimed: \"Hear me! your prophecy shall be fulfilled,\nBelica; I will be an artist. Art, Art alone! The master said everything\nelse is vain--trivial. Yes, I feel, I am certain, that the master is\nright.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" cried Isabella; \"you must become a great artist.\"\n\n\"And if I don't succeed, if I accomplish nothing more than this. . . .\"\n\nHere Ulrich suddenly paused, for he remembered that he was going away,\nperhaps to-morrow, so he continued sadly, in a calmer tone: \"Rely upon\nit; I will do what I can, and whatever happens, you will rejoice, will\nyou not, if I succeed-and if it should be otherwise. . . .\"\n\n\"No, no,\" she eagerly exclaimed. \"You can accomplish everything, and\nI--I; you don't know how happy it makes me that you can do more than I!\"\n\nAgain he held out his hand, and as Isabella warmly clasped it, the\nwatchful duenna's harsh voice cried:\n\n\"What does this mean, Senorita? To work, I beg of you. Your father says\ntime is precious.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nTime is precious! Magister Kochel had also doubtless said this to\nhimself, as soon as Ulrich left him the day before. He had been hired by\na secret power, with which however he was well acquainted, to watch the\nNetherland artist and collect evidence for a charge--a gravamen--against\nhim.\n\nThe spying and informing, which he had zealously pursued for years in the\nservice of the Holy Inquisition, he called \"serving the Church,\" and\nhoped, sooner or later, to be rewarded with a benefice; but even if this\nescaped him, informing brought him as large an income as he required, and\nhad become the greatest pleasure, indeed, a necessity of life to him.\n\nHe had commenced his career in Cologne as a Dominican friar, and remained\nin communication with some of his old brethren of the Order.\n\nThe monks, Sutor and Stubenrauch, whom Moor had hospitably received in\nhis wagon at the last Advent season but one, sometimes answered Kochel's\nletters of enquiry.\n\nThe latter had long known that the unusual favor the king showed the\nartist was an abomination, not only to the heads of the Holy Inquisition,\nbut also to the ambassadors and court dignitaries, yet Moor's quiet,\nstainless life afforded no handle for attack. Soon, however, unexpected\naid came to him from a distance.\n\nA letter arrived, dictated by Sutor, and written by Stubenrauch in the\nfluent bad Latin used by him and those of his ilk. Among other things it\ncontained an account of a journey, in which much was said about Moor,\nwhom the noble pair accused of having a heretical and evil mind. Instead\nof taking them to the goal of the journey, as he had promised, he had\ndeserted them in a miserable tavern by the way-side, among rough, godless\nlansquenets, as the mother of Moses abandoned her babe. And such a man as\nthis, they had heard with amazement at Cologne, was permitted to boast of\nthe favor of His Most Catholic Majesty, King Philip. Kochel must take\nheed, that this leprous soul did not infect the whole flock, like a mangy\nsheep, or even turn the shepherd from the true pasture.\n\nThis letter had induced Kochel to lure Ulrich into the snare. The\nmonstrous thing learned from the lad that day, capped the climax of all\nhe had heard, and might serve as a foundation for the charge, that the\nheretical Netherlander--and people were disposed to regard all\nNetherlanders as heretics--had deluded the king's mind with magic arts,\nenslaved his soul and bound him with fetters forged by the Prince of\nEvil.\n\nHis pen was swift, and that very evening he went to the palace of the\nInquisition, with the documents and indictment, but was detained there a\nlong time the following day, to have his verbal deposition recorded. When\nhe left the gloomy building, he was animated with the joyous conviction\nthat he had not toiled in vain, and that the Netherlander was a lost man.\n\nPreparations for departure were secretly made in the painter's rooms in\nthe Alcazar during the afternoon. Moor was full of anxiety, for one of\nthe royal lackeys, who was greatly devoted to him, had told him that a\ndisguised emissary of the Dominicans--he knew him well--had come to the\ndoor of the studio, and talked there with one of the French servants.\nThis meant as imminent peril as fire under the roof, water rising in the\nhold of a ship, or the plague in the house.\n\nSophonisba had told him that he would hear from her that day, but the sun\nwas already low in the heavens, and neither she herself nor any message\nhad arrived.\n\nHe tried to paint, and finding the attempt useless, gazed into the garden\nand at the distant chain of the Guadarrama mountains; but to-day he\nremained unmoved by the delicate violet-blue mist that floated around the\nbare, naked peaks of the chain.\n\nIt was wrath and impatience, mingled with bitter disappointment, that\nroused the tumult in his soul, not merely the dread of torture and death.\n\nThere had been hours when his heart had throbbed with gratitude to\nPhilip, and he had believed in his friendship. And now? The king cared\nfor nothing about him, except his brush.\n\nHe was still standing at the window, lost in gloomy thoughts, when\nSophonisba was finally announced.\n\nShe did not come alone, but leaning on the arm of Don Fabrizio di\nMoncada. During the last hours of the ball the night before she had\nvoluntarily given the Sicilian her hand, and rewarded his faithful wooing\nby accepting his suit.\n\nMoor was rejoiced--yes, really glad at heart, and expressed his pleasure;\nnevertheless he felt a sharp pang, and when the baron, in his simple,\naristocratic manner, thanked him for the faithful friendship he had\nalways shown Sophonisba and her sisters, and then related how graciously\nthe queen had joined their hands, he only listened with partial\nattention, for many doubts and suspicions beset him.\n\nHad Sophonisba's heart uttered the \"yes,\" or had she made a heavy\nsacrifice for him and his safety? Perhaps she would find true happiness\nby the side of this worthy noble, but why had she given herself to him\nnow, just now? Then the thought darted through his mind, that the widowed\nMarquesa Romero, the all-powerful friend of the Grand Inquisitor was Don\nFabrizio's sister.\n\nSophonisba had left the conversation to her betrothed husband; but when\nthe doors of the brightly-lighted reception-room were opened, and the\ncandles in the studio lighted, the girl could no longer endure the\nrestraint she had hitherto imposed upon herself, and whispered hurriedly,\nin broken accents:\n\n\"Dismiss the servants, lock the studio, and follow us.\"\n\nMoor did as he was requested, and, with the baron, obeyed her request to\nsearch the anterooms, to see that no unbidden visitor remained. She\nherself raised the curtains and looked up the chimney.\n\nMoor had rarely seen her so pale. Unable to control the muscles of her\nface, shoulders and hands, she went into the middle of the room, beckoned\nthe men to come close to her, raised her fan to her face, and whispered:\n\n\"Don Fabrizio and I are now one. God hears me! You, Master, are in great\nperil and surrounded by spies. Some one witnessed yesterday's incident,\nand it is now the talk of the town. Don Fabrizio has made inquiries.\nThere is an accusation against you, and the Inquisition will act upon it.\nThe informers call you a heretic, a sorcerer, who has bewitched the king.\nThey will seize you to-morrow, or the day after. The king is in a\nterrible mood. The Nuncio openly asked him whether it was true, that he\nhad been offered an atrocious insult in your studio. Is everything ready?\nCan you fly?\"\n\nMoor bent his head in assent.\n\n\"Well then,\" said the baron, interrupting Sophonisba; \"I beg you to\nlisten to me. I have obtained leave of absence, to go to Sicily to ask my\nfather's blessing. It will be no easy matter for me to leave my\nhappiness, at the moment my most ardent wish is fulfilled--but Sophonisba\ncommands and I obey. I obey gladly too, for if I succeed in saving you, a\nnew and beautiful star will adorn the heaven of my memory.\"\n\n\"Quick, quick!\" pleaded Sophonisba, clenching the back of a chair firmly\nwith her hand. \"You will yield, Master; I beseech you, I command you!\"\n\nMoor bowed, and Don Fabrizio continued: \"We will start at four o'clock in\nthe morning. Instead of exchanging vows of love, we held a council of\nwar. Everything is arranged. In an hour my servants will come and ask for\nthe portrait of my betrothed bride; instead of the picture, you will put\nyour baggage in the chest. Before midnight you will come to my\napartments. I have passports for myself, six servants, the equerry, and a\nchaplain. Father Clement will remain safely concealed at my sister's, and\nyou will accompany me in priestly costume. May we rely upon your\nconsent?\"\n\n\"With all the gratitude of a thankful heart, but. . . .\"\n\n\"But?\"\n\n\"There is my old servant--and my pupil Ulrich Navarrete.\"\n\n\"The old man is taciturn, Don Fabrizio!\" said Sophonisba. \"If he is\nforbidden to speak at all. . . . He is necessary to the Master.\"\n\n\"Then he can accompany you,\" said the baron. \"As for your pupil, he must\nhelp us secure your flight, and lead the pursuers on a false trail. The\nking has honored you with a travelling-carriage.--At half-past eleven\norder horses to be put to it and leave the Alcazar. When you arrive\nbefore our palace, stop it, alight, and remain with me. Ulrich, whom\neverybody knows--who has not noticed the handsome, fair-haired lad in his\ngay clothes--will stay with the carriage and accompany it along the road\ntowards Burgos, as far as it goes. A better decoy than he cannot be\nimagined, and besides he is nimble and an excellent horseman. Give him\nyour own steed, the white Andalusian. If the blood-hounds should overtake\nhim. . . .\"\n\nHere Moor interrupted the baron, saying gravely and firmly: \"My grey head\nwill be too dearly purchased at the cost of this young life. Change this\npart of your plan, I entreat you.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" exclaimed the Sicilian. \"We have few hours at our command,\nand if they don't follow him, they will pursue us, and you will be lost.\"\n\n\"Yet. . . .\" Moor began; but Sophonisba, scarcely able to command her voice,\ninterrupted: \"He owes everything to--you. I know him. Where is he?\"\n\n\"Let us maintain our self-control!\" cried the Netherlander. \"I do not\nrely upon the king's mercy, but perhaps in the decisive hour, he will\nremember what we have been to each other; if Ulrich, on the contrary,\nrobs the irritated lion of his prey and is seized. . . .\"\n\n\"My sister shall watch over him,\" said the baron but Sophonisba tore open\nthe door, rushed into the studio, and called as loudly as she could:\n\"Ulrich, Ulrich! Ulrich!\"\n\nThe men followed her, but scarcely had they crossed the threshold, when\nthey heard her rap violently at the door of the school-room, and Ulrich\nasking: \"What is it?\"\n\n\"Open the door!\"\n\nSoon after, with pallid face and throbbing heart, he was standing before\nthe others, asking: \"What am I to do?\"\n\n\"Save your master!\" cried Sophonisba. \"Are you a contemptible Wight, or\ndoes a true artist's heart beat in your breast? Would you fear to go,\nperhaps to your death, for this imperilled man?\"\n\n\"No, no!\" cried the youth as joyously as if a hundred-pound weight had\nbeen lifted from his breast. \"If it costs my life, so much the better!\nHere I am! Post me where you please, do with me as you will! He has given\nme everything, and I--I have betrayed him. I must confess, even if you\nkill me! I gossiped, babbled--like a fool, a child--about what I\naccidentally saw here yesterday. It is my fault, mine, if they pursue\nhim. Forgive me, master, forgive me! Do with me what you will. Beat me,\nslay me, and I will bless you.\"\n\nAs he uttered the last words, the young artist, raising his clasped hands\nimploringly, fell on his knees before his beloved teacher. Moor bent\ntowards him, saying with grave kindness:\n\n\"Rise, poor lad. I am not angry with you.\"\n\nWhen Ulrich again stood before him, he kissed his forehead and continued:\n\n\"I have not been mistaken in you. Do you, Don Fabrizio, recommend\nNavarrete to the Marquesa's protection, and tell him what we desire. It\nwould scarcely redound to his happiness, if the deed, for which my\nimprudence and his thoughtlessness are to blame, should be revenged on\nme. It comforts us to atone for a wrong. Whether you save me, Ulrich, or\nI perish--no matter; you are and always will be, my dear, faithful\nfriend.\"\n\nUlrich threw himself sobbing on the artist's breast, and when he learned\nwhat was required of him, fairly glowed with delight and eagerness for\naction; he thought no greater joy could befall him than to die for the\nMaster.\n\nAs the bell of the palace-chapel was ringing for evening service,\nSophonisba was obliged to leave her friend; for it was her duty to attend\nthe nocturnus with the queen.\n\nDon Fabrizio turned away, while she bade Moor farewell.\n\n\"If you desire my happiness, make him happy,\" the artist whispered; but\nshe could find no words to reply, and only nodded silently.\n\nHe drew her gently towards him, kissed her brow, and said: \"There is a\nhard and yet a consoling word Love is divine; but still more divine is\nsacrifice. To-day I am both your friend and father. Remember me to your\nsisters. God bless you, child!\"\n\n\"And you, you!\" sobbed the girl.\n\nNever had any human being prayed so fervently for another's welfare in\nthe magnificent chapel of the Alcazar, as did Sophonisba Anguisciola on\nthis evening. Don Fabrizio's betrothed bride also pleaded for peace and\ncalmness in her own heart, for power to forget and to do her duty.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nHalf an hour before midnight Moor entered the calash, and Ulrich\nNavarrete mounted the white Andalusian.\n\nThe artist, deeply agitated, had already taken leave of his protege in\nthe studio, had given him a purse of gold for his travelling-expenses and\nany other wants, and told him that he would always find with him in\nFlanders a home, a father, love, and instruction in his art.\n\nThe painter alighted before Don Fabrizio's palace; a short time after\nUlrich noisily drew the leather curtain before the partition of the\ncalash, and then called to the coachman, who had often driven Moor when\nhe was unexpectedly summoned to one of the king's pleasure-palaces at\nnight: \"Go ahead!\"\n\nThey were stopped at the gate, but the guards knew the favorite's calash\nand fair-haired pupil, and granted the latter the escort he asked for his\nmaster. So they went forward; at first rapidly, then at a pace easy for\nthe horses. He told the coachman that Moor had alighted at the second\nstation, and would ride with His Majesty to Avila, where he wished to\nfind the carriage.\n\nDuring the whole way, Ulrich thought little of himself, and all the more\nof the master. If the pursuers had set out the morning after the\ndeparture, and followed him instead of Don Fabrizio's party, Moor might\nnow be safe. He knew the names of the towns on the road to Valencia and\nthought: \"Now he may be here, now he may be there, now he must be\napproaching Tarancon.\"\n\nIn the evening the calash reached the famous stronghold of Avila where,\naccording to the agreement, Ulrich was to leave the carriage and try to\nmake his own escape. The road led through the town, which was surrounded\nby high walls and deep ditches. There was no possibility of going round\nit, yet the drawbridges were already raised and the gates locked, so he\nboldly called the warder and showed his passport.\n\nAn officer asked to see the artist. Ulrich said that he would follow him;\nbut the soldier was not satisfied, and ordered him to alight and\naccompany him to the commandant.\n\nUlrich struck his spurs into the Andalusian's flanks and tried to go back\nover the road by which he had come; but the horse had scarcely begun to\ngallop, when a shot was fired, that stretched it on the ground. The rider\nwas dragged into the guard-house as a prisoner, and subjected to a severe\nexamination.\n\nHe was suspected of having murdered Moor and of having stolen his money,\nfor a purse filled with ducats was found on his person. While he was\nbeing fettered, the pursuers reached Avila.\n\nA new examination began, and now trial followed trial, torture, torture.\n\nEven at Avila a sack was thrown over his head, and only opened, when to\nkeep him alive, he was fed with bread and water. Firmly bound in a\ntwo-wheeled cart, drawn by mules, he was dragged over stock and stones to\nMadrid.\n\nOften, in the darkness, oppressed for breath, jolted, bruised, unable to\ncontrol his thoughts, or even his voice, he expected to perish; yet no\nfainting-fit, no moment of utter unconsciousness pityingly came to his\nrelief, far less did any human heart have compassion on his suffering.\n\nAt last, at last he was unbound, and led, still with his head covered,\ninto a small, dark room.\n\nHere he was released from the sack, but again loaded with chains.\n\nWhen he was left alone and had regained the capacity to think, he felt\nconvinced that he was in one of the dungeons of the Inquisition. Here\nwere the damp walls, the wooden bench, the window in the ceiling, of\nwhich he had heard. He was soon to learn that he had judged correctly.\n\nHis body was granted a week's rest, but during this horrible week he did\nnot cease to upbraid himself as a traitor, and execrate the fate which\nhad used him a second time to hurl a friend and benefactor into ruin. He\ncursed himself, and when he thought of the \"word\" \"fortune, fortune!\" he\ngnashed his teeth scornfully and clenched his fist.\n\nHis young soul was darkened, embittered, thrown off its balance. He saw\nno deliverance, no hope, no consolation. He tried to pray, to God, to\nJesus Christ, to the Virgin, to the Saints; but they all stood before\nhim, in a vision, with lifeless features and paralyzed arms. For him, who\nhad relied on \"Fortune,\" and behaved like a fool, they felt no pity, no\ncompassion, they would not lend their aid.\n\nBut soon his former energy returned and with it the power to lift his\nsoul in prayer. He regained them during the torture, on the rack.\n\nWeeks, months elapsed. Ulrich still remained in the gloomy cell, loaded\nwith chains, scantily fed on bread and water, constantly looking death in\nthe face; but a fresh, beautiful spirit of defiance and firm\ndetermination to live animated the youth, who was now at peace with\nhimself. On the rack he had regained the right to respect himself, and\nstriven to win the master's praise, the approval of the living and his\nbeloved dead.\n\nThe wounds on his poor, crushed, mangled hands and feet still burned. The\nphysician had seen them, and when they healed, shook his head in\namazement.\n\nUlrich rejoiced in his scars, for on the rack and in the Spanish boot, on\nnails, and the pointed bench, in the iron necklace and with the stifling\nhelmet on his head, he had resolutely refused to betray through whom and\nwhither the master had escaped.\n\nThey might come back, burn and spear him; but through him they should\nsurely learn nothing, nothing at all. He was scarcely aware that he had a\nright to forgiveness; yet he felt he had atoned.\n\nNow he could think of the past again. The Holy Virgin once more wore his\nlost mother's features; his father, Ruth, Pellicanus, Moor looked kindly\nat him. But the brightest light shone into his soul through the darkness\nof the dungeon, when he thought of art and his last work. It stood before\nhim distinctly in brilliant hues, feature for feature, as on the canvas;\nhe esteemed himself happy in having painted it, and would willingly have\ngone to the rack once, twice, thrice, if he could merely have obtained\nthe certainty of creating other pictures like this, and perhaps still\nnobler, more beautiful ones.\n\nArt! Art! Perhaps this was the \"word,\" and if not, it was the highest,\nmost exquisite, most precious thing in life, beside which everything else\nseemed small, pitiful and insipid. With what other word could God have\ncreated the world, human beings, animals, and plants? The doctor had\noften called every flower, every beetle, a work of art, and Ulrich now\nunderstood his meaning, and could imagine how the Almighty, with the\nthirst for creation and plastic hand of the greatest of all artists had\nformed the gigantic bodies of the stars, had given the sky its glittering\nblue, had indented and rounded the mountains, had bestowed form and color\non everything that runs, creeps, flies, buds and blossoms, and had\nfashioned man--created in His own image--in the most majestic form of\nall.\n\nHow wonderful the works of God appeared to him in the solitude of the\ndark dungeon--and if the world was beautiful, was it not the work of His\nDivine Art!\n\nHeaven and earth knew no word greater, more powerful, more mighty in\ncreating beauty than: Art. What, compared with its gifts, were the\nmiserable, delusive ones of Fortune: gay clothes, spiced dishes,\nmagnificent rooms, and friendly glances from beautiful eyes, that smile\non every one who pleases them! He would blow them all into the air, for\nthe assistance of Art in joyous creating. Rather, a thousand times\nrather, would he beg his bread, and attain great things in Art, than riot\nand revel in good-fortune.\n\nColors, colors, canvas, a model like Sophonisba, and success in the realm\nof Art! It was for these things he longed, these things made him yearn\nwith such passionate eagerness for deliverance, liberty.\n\nMonths glided by, maturing Ulrich's mind as rapidly as if they had been\nyears; but his inclination to retire within himself deepened into intense\nreserve.\n\nAt last the day arrived on which, through the influence of the Marquesa\nRomero, the doors of his dungeon opened.\n\nIt was soon after receiving a sharp warning to renounce his obstinacy at\nthe next examination, that the youth was suddenly informed that he was\nfree. The jailer took off his fetters, and helped him exchange his prison\ngarb for the dress he had worn when captured; then disguised men threw a\nsack over his head and led him up and down stairs and across pavements,\nthrough dust and grass, into the little court-yard of a deserted house in\nthe suburbs. There they left him, and he soon released his head from its\ncovering.\n\nHow delicious God's free air seemed, as his chest heaved with grateful\njoy! He threw out his arms like a bird stretching its wings to fly, then\nhe clasped his hands over his brow, and at last, as if a second time\npursued, rushed out of the court-yard into the street. The passers-by\nlooked after him, shaking their heads, and he certainly presented a\nsingular spectacle, for the dress in which he had fled many months\nbefore, had sustained severe injuries on the journey from Avila; his hat\nwas lost on the way, and had not been replaced by a new one. The cuffs\nand collar, which belonged to his doublet, were missing, and his thick,\nfair hair hung in dishevelled locks over his neck and temples; his full,\nrosy cheeks had grown thin, his eyes seemed to have enlarged, and during\nhis imprisonment a soft down had grown on his cheeks and chin.\n\nHe was now eighteen, but looked older, and the grave expression on his\nbrow and in his eyes, gave him the appearance of a man.\n\nHe had rushed straight forward, without asking himself whither; now he\nreached a busy street and checked his career. Was he in Madrid? Yes, for\nthere rose the blue peaks of the Guadarrama chain, which he knew well.\nThere were the little trees at which the denizen of the Black Forest had\noften smiled, but which to-day looked large and stately. Now a toreador,\nwhom he had seen more than once in the arena, strutted past. This was the\ngate, through which he had ridden out of the city beside the master's\ncalash.\n\nHe must go into the town, but what should he do there?\n\nHad they restored the master's gold with the clothes?\n\nHe searched the pockets, but instead of the purse, found only a few large\nsilver coins, which he knew he had not possessed at the time of his\ncapture.\n\nIn a cook-shop behind the gate he enjoyed some meat and wine after his\nlong deprivation, and after reflecting upon his situation he decided to\ncall on Don Fabrizio.\n\nThe porter refused him admittance, but after he had mentioned his name,\nkindly invited him into the porch, and told him that the baron and his\nwife were in the country with the Marquesa Romero. They were expected\nback on Tuesday, and would doubtless receive him then, for they had\nalready asked about him several times. The young gentleman probably came\nfrom some foreign country; it was the custom to wear hats in Madrid.\n\nUlrich now noticed what he lacked, but before leaving, to supply the\nwant, asked the porter, if he knew what had become of Master Moor.\n\nSafe! He was safe! Several weeks before Donna Sophonisba had received a\nletter sent from Flanders, and Ulrich's companion was well informed, for\nhis wife served the baroness as 'doncella'.\n\nJoyously, almost beside himself with pure, heart-cheering delight, the\nreleased prisoner hurried away, bought himself a new cap, and then sought\nthe Alcazar.\n\nBefore the treasury, in the place of old Santo, Carmen's father, stood a\ntall, broad portero, still a young man, who rudely refused him\nadmittance.\n\n\"Master Moor has not been here for a long time,\" said the gate-keeper\nangrily: \"Artists don't wear ragged clothes, and if you don't wish to see\nthe inside of a guard-house--a place you are doubtless familiar with--you\nhad better leave at once.\"\n\nUlrich answered the gate-keeper's insulting taunts indignantly and\nproudly, for he was no longer the yielding boy of former days, and the\nquarrel soon became serious.\n\nJust then a dainty little woman, neatly dressed for the evening\npromenade, with the mantilla on her curls, a pomegranate blossom in her\nhair, and another on her bosom, came out of the Alcazar. Waving her fan,\nand tripping over the pavement like a wag-tail, she came directly towards\nthe disputants.\n\nUlrich recognized her instantly; it was Carmen, the pretty embroiderer of\nthe shell-grotto in the park, now the wife of the new porter, who had\nobtained his dead predecessor's office, as well as his daughter.\n\n\"Carmen!\" exclaimed Ulrich, as soon as he saw the pretty little woman,\nthen added confidently. \"This young lady knows me.\"\n\n\"I?\" asked the young wife, turning up her pretty little nose, and looking\nat the tall youth's shabby costume. \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"Master Moor's pupil, Ulrich Navarrete; don't you remember me?\"\n\n\"I? You must be mistaken!\"\n\nWith these words she shut her fan so abruptly, that it snapped loudly,\nand tripped on.\n\nUlrich shrugged his shoulders, then turned to the porter more\ncourteously, and this time succeeded in his purpose; for the artist\nCoello's body-servant came out of the treasury, and willingly announced\nhim to his master, who now, as court-artist, occupied Moor's quarters.\n\nUlrich followed the friendly Pablo into the palace, where every step he\nmounted reminded him of his old master and former days.\n\nWhen he at last stood in the anteroom, and the odor of the fresh\noil-colors, which were being ground in an adjoining room, reached his\nnostrils, he inhaled it no less eagerly than, an hour before, he had\nbreathed the fresh air, of which he had been so long deprived.\n\nWhat reception could he expect? The court-artist might easily shrink from\ncoming in contact with the pupil of Moor, who had now lost the\nsovereign's favor. Coello was a very different man from the Master, a\nchild of the moment, varying every day. Sometimes haughty and repellent,\non other occasions a gay, merry companion, who had jested with his own\nchildren and Ulrich also, as if all were on the same footing. If\ntoday . . . but Ulrich did not have much time for such reflections; a few\nminutes after Pablo left, the door was torn open, and the whole Coello\nfamily rushed joyously to meet him; Isabella first. Sanchez followed\nclose behind her, then came the artist, next his stout, clumsy wife, whom\nUlrich had rarely seen, because she usually spent the whole day lying on\na couch with her lap-dog. Last of all appeared the duenna Catalina, a\nwould-be sweet smile hovering around her lips.\n\nThe reception given him by the others was all the more joyous and\ncordial.\n\nIsabella laid her hands on his arm, as if she wanted to feel that it was\nreally he; and yet, when she looked at him more closely, she shook her\nhead as if there was something strange in his appearance. Sanchez\nembraced him, whirling him round and round, Coello shook hands, murmuring\nmany kind words, and the mother turned to the duenna, exclaiming:\n\n\"Holy Virgin! what has happened to the pretty boy? How famished he looks!\nGo to the kitchen instantly, Catalina, and tell Diego to bring him\nfood--food and drink.\"\n\nAt last they all pulled and pushed him into the sitting-room, where the\nmother immediately threw herself on the couch again; then the others\nquestioned him, making him tell them how he had fared, whence he came,\nand many other particulars.\n\nHe was no longer hungry, but Senora Petra insisted upon his seating\nhimself near her couch and eating a capon, while he told his story.\n\nEvery face expressed sympathy, approval, pity, and at last Coello said:\n\n\"Remain here, Navarrete. The king longs for Moor, and you will be as safe\nwith us, as if you were in Abraham's lap. We have plenty for you to do.\nYou come to me as opportunely, as if you had dropped from the skies. I\nwas just going to write to Venice for an assistant. Holy Jacob! You can't\nstay so, but thanks to the Madonna and Moor, you are not poor. We have\nample means, my young sir. Donna Sophonisba gave me a hundred zechins for\nyou; they are lying in yonder chest, and thank Heaven, haven't grown\nimpatient by waiting. They are at your disposal. Your master, my master,\nthe noble master of all portrait-painters, our beloved Moor arranged it.\nYou won't go about the streets in this way any longer. Look, Isabella;\nthis sleeve is hanging by two strings, and the elbow is peering out of\nthe window. Such a dress is airy enough, certainly. Take him to the\ntailor's at once, Sanchez, Oliverio, or . . . but no, no; we'll all stay\ntogether to-day. Herrera is coming from the Escurial. You will endure the\ndress for the sake of the wearer, won't you, ladies? Besides, who is to\nchoose the velvet and cut for this young dandy? He always wore something\nunusual. I can still see the master's smile, provoked by some of the\nlad's new contrivances in puffs and slashes. It is pleasant to have you\nhere, my boy! I ought to slay a calf, as the father did for the prodigal\nson; but we live in miniature. Instead of neat-cattle, only a capon! . . .\"\n\n\"But you're not drinking, you're not drinking! Isabella, fill his glass.\nLook! only see these scars on his hands and neck. It will need a great\ndeal of lace to conceal them. No, no, they are marks of honor, you must\nshow them. Come here, I will kiss this great scar, on your neck, my\nbrave, faithful fellow, and some day a fair one will follow my example.\nIf Antonio were only here! There's a kiss for him, and another, there,\nthere. Art bestows it, Art, for whom you have saved Moor!\"\n\nA master's kiss in the name of Art! It was sweeter than the beautiful\nCarmen's lips!\n\nCoello was himself an artist, a great painter! Where could his peers be\nfound--or those of Moor, and the architect Herrera, who entered soon\nafter. Only those, who consecrated their lives to Art, the word of words,\ncould be so noble, cheerful, kind.\n\nHow happy he was when he went to bed! how gratefully he told his beloved\ndead, in spirit, what had fallen to his lot, and how joyously he could\npray!\n\nThe next morning he went with a full purse into the city, returning\nelegantly dressed, and with neatly-arranged locks. The peinador had given\nhis budding moustache a bold twist upward.\n\nHe still looked thin and somewhat awkward, but the tall youth promised to\nbecome a stately man.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nTowards noon Coello called Ulrich into Moor's former studio; the youth\ncould not fail to observe its altered appearance.\n\nLong cartoons, containing sketches of figures, large paintings, just\ncommenced or half-finished, leaned against the easels; mannikins, movable\nwooden horse's heads, and plaster-models stood on the floor, the tables,\nand in the windows. Stuffs, garments, tapestries, weapons hung over the\nbacks of the chairs, or lay on chests, tables and the stone-floor.\nWithered laurel-wreaths, tied with long ribbons, fluttered over the\nmantel-piece; one had fallen, dropped over the bald head of Julius\nCaesar, and rested on the breast.\n\nThe artist's six cats glided about among the easels, or stretched their\nlimbs on costly velvet and Arabian carpets.\n\nIn one corner stood a small bed with silk curtains--the nursery of the\nmaster's pets. A magnificent white cat was suckling her kittens in it.\n\nTwo blue and yellow cockatoos and several parrots swung screaming in\nbrass hoops before the open window, and Coello's coal-black negro crept\nabout, cleaning the floor of the spacious apartment, though it was\nalready noon. While engaged in this occupation, he constantly shook his\nwoolly head, displaying his teeth, for his master was singing loudly at\nhis work, and the gaily-clad African loved music.\n\nWhat a transformation bad taken place in the Netherlander's quiet,\norderly, scrupulously neat studio! But, even amid this confusion,\nadmirable works were created; nay, the Spaniard possessed a much more\nvivid imagination, and painted pictures, containing a larger number of\nfigures and far more spirited than Moor's, though they certainly were not\npervaded by the depth and earnestness, the marvellous fidelity to nature,\nthat characterized those of Ulrich's beloved master.\n\nCoello called the youth to the easel, and pointing to the sketches in\ncolor, containing numerous figures, on which he was painting, said:\n\n\"Look here, my son. This is to be a battle of the Centaurs, these are\nParthian horsemen;--Saint George and the Dragon, and the Crusaders are\nnot yet finished. The king wants the Apocalyptic riders too. Deuce take\nit! But it must be done. I shall commence them to-morrow. They are\nintended for the walls and ceiling of the new winter riding-school. One\nperson gets along slowly with all this stuff, and I--I. . . . The orders\noppress me. If a man could only double, quadruple himself! Diana of\nEphesus had many breasts, and Cerberus three heads, but only two hands\nhave grown on my wrists. I need help, and you are just the person to give\nit. You have had nothing to do with horses yet, Isabella tells me; but\nyou are half a Centaur yourself. Set to work on the steeds now, and when\nyou have progressed far enough, you shall transfer these sketches to the\nceiling and walls of the riding-school. I will help you perfect the\nthing, and give it the finishing touch.\"\n\nThis invitation aroused more perplexity than pleasure in Ulrich's mind,\nfor it was not in accordance with Moor's opinions. Fear of his fellow-men\nno longer restrained him, so he frankly said that he would rather sketch\nindustriously from nature, and perhaps would do well to seek Moor in\nFlanders. Besides, he was afraid that Coello greatly overrated his\npowers.\n\nBut the Spaniard eagerly cut him short:\n\n\"I have seen your portrait of Sophonisba. You are no longer a pupil, but\na rising artist. Moor is a peerless portrait-painter, and you have\nprofited greatly by his teaching. But Art has still higher aims. Every\nliving thing belongs to her. The Venus, the horse . . . which of those two\npictures won Apelles the greater fame? Not only copying, but creating\noriginal ideas, leads to the pinnacle of art. Moor praised your vivid\nimagination. We must use what we possess. Remember Buonarotti, Raphael!\nTheir compositions and frescos, have raised their names above all others.\nAntonio has tormented you sufficiently with drawing lifeless things. When\nyou transfer these sketches, many times enlarged, to a broad surface, you\nwill learn more than in years of copying plaster-casts. A man must have\ntalent, courage and industry; everything else comes of its own accord,\nand thank Heaven, you're a lucky fellow! Look at my horses--they are not\nso bad, yet I never sketched a living one in my life till I was\ncommissioned to paint His Majesty on horseback. You shall have a better\nchance. Go to the stables and the old riding-school to-morrow. First try\nnoble animals, then visit the market and shambles, and see how the\nknackers look. If you make good speed, you shall soon see the first\nducats you yourself have earned.\" The golden reward possessed little\ntemptation for Ulrich, but he allowed himself to be persuaded by his\nsenior, and drew and painted horses and mares with pleasure and success,\nworking with Isabella and Coello's pupil, Felice de Liano, when they\nsketched and painted from living models. When the scaffolding was erected\nin the winter riding-school, he went there under the court-artist's\ndirection, to measure, arrange and finally transfer the painter's\nsketches to the wide surfaces.\n\nHe did this with increasing satisfaction, for though Coello's sketches\npossessed a certain hardness, they were boldly devised and pleased him.\n\nThe farther he progressed, the more passionately interested he became in\nhis work. To create on a grand scale delighted him, and the fully\noccupied life, as well as the slight fatigue after his work was done,\nwhich was sweetened by the joy of labor accomplished, were all beautiful,\nenjoyable things; yet Ulrich felt that this was not exactly the right\ncourse, that a steeper, more toilsome path must lead to the height he\ndesired to attain.\n\nHe lacked the sharp spurring to do better and better, the censure of a\nmaster, who was greatly his superior. Praise for things, which did not\nsatisfy himself, vexed him and roused his distrust.\n\nIsabella, and--after his return--Sophonisba, were his confidantes.\n\nThe former had long felt what he now expressed. Her young heart clung to\nhim, but she loved in him the future great artist as much as the man. It\nwas certainly no light matter for her to be deprived of Ulrich's society,\nyet she unselfishly admitted that her father, in the vast works he had\nundertaken, could not be a teacher like Moor, and it would probably be\nbest for him to seek his old master in Flanders, as soon as his task in\nthe riding-school was completed.\n\nShe said this, because she believed it to be her duty, though sadly and\nanxiously; but he joyously agreed with her, for Sophonisba had handed him\na letter from the master, in which the latter cordially invited him to\ncome to Antwerp.\n\nDon Fabrizio's wife summoned him to her palace, and Ulrich found her as\nkind and sympathizing as when she had been a girl, but her gay, playful\nmanner had given place to a more quiet dignity.\n\nShe wished to be told in detail all he had suffered for Moor, how he\nemployed himself, what he intended to do in the future; and she even\nsought him more than once in the riding-school, watched him at his work,\nand examined his drawings and sketches.\n\nOnce she induced him to tell her the story of his youth.\n\nThis was a boon to Ulrich; for, although we keep our best treasures most\nclosely concealed, yet our happiest hours are those in which, with the\ncertainty of being understood, we are permitted to display them.\n\nThe youth could show this noble woman, this favorite of the Master, this\nartist, what he would not have confided to any man, so he permuted her to\nbehold his childhood, and gaze deep into his soul.\n\nHe did not even hide what he knew about the \"word\"--that he believed he\nhad found the right one in the dungeon, and that Art would remain his\nguiding star, as long as he lived.\n\nSophonisba's cheeks flushed deeper and deeper, and never had he seen her\nso passionately excited, so earnest and enthusiastic, as now when she\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Yes, Ulrich, yes! You have found the right word!\n\n\"It is Art, and no other. Whoever knows it, whoever serves it, whoever\nimpresses it deeply on his soul and only breathes and moves in it, no\nlonger has any taint of baseness; he soars high above the earth, and\nknows nothing of misery and death. It is with Art the Divinity bridges\nspace and descends to man, to draw him up ward to brighter worlds. This\nword transfigures everything, and brings fresh green shoots even from the\ndry wood of souls defrauded of love and hope. Life is a thorny rose-bush,\nand Art its flower. Here Mirth is melancholy--Joy is sorrowful and\nLiberty is dead. Here Art withers and--like an exotic--is prevented\nperishing outright only by artificial culture. But there is a land, I\nknow it well, for it is my home--where Art buds and blossoms and throws\nits shade over all the highways. Favorite of Antonio, knight of the\nWord--you must go to Italy!\"\n\nSophonisba had spoken. He must go to Italy. The home of Titian! Raphael!\nBuonarotti! where also the Master went to school.\n\n\"Oh, Word, Word!\" he cried exultingly in his heart. \"What other can\ndisclose, even on earth, such a glimpse of the joys of Paradise.\"\n\nWhen he left Sophonisba, he felt as if he were intoxicated.\n\nWhat still detained him in Madrid?\n\nMoor's zechins were not yet exhausted, and he was sure of the assistance\nof the \"word\" upon the sacred soil of Italy.\n\nHe unfolded his plan to Coello without delay, at first modestly, then\nfirmly and defiantly. But the court-artist would not let him go. He knew\nhow to maintain his composure, and even admitted that Ulrich must travel,\nbut said it was still too soon. He must first finish the work he had\nundertaken in the riding-school, then he himself would smooth the way to\nItaly for him. To leave him, so heavily burdened, in the lurch now, would\nbe treating him ungratefully and basely.\n\nUlrich was forced to acknowledge this, and continued to paint on the\nscaffold, but his pleasure in creating was spoiled. He thought of nothing\nbut Italy.\n\nEvery hour in Madrid seemed lost. His lofty purposes were unsettled, and\nhe began to seek diversion for his mind, especially at the fencing-school\nwith Sanchez Coello.\n\nHis eye was keen, his wrist pliant, and his arm was gaining more and more\nof his father's strength, so he soon performed extraordinary feats.\n\nHis remarkable skill, his reserved nature, and the natural charm of his\nmanner soon awakened esteem and regard among the young Spaniards, with\nwhom he associated.\n\nHe was invited to the banquets given by the wealthier ones, and to join\nthe wild pranks, in which they sometimes indulged, but spite of\npersuasions and entreaties, always in vain.\n\nUlrich needed no comrades, and his zechins were sacred to him; he was\nkeeping them for Italy.\n\nThe others soon thought him an odd, arrogant fellow, with whom no\nfriendly ties could be formed, and left him to his own resources. He\nwandered about the streets at night alone, serenaded fair ladies, and\ncompelled many gentlemen, who offended him, to meet him in single combat.\n\nNo one, not even Sanchez Coello, was permitted to know of these nocturnal\nadventures; they were his chief pleasure, stirred his blood, and gave him\nthe blissful consciousness of superior strength.\n\nThis mode of life increased his self-confidence, and expressed itself in\nhis bearing, which gained a touch of the Spanish air. He was now fully\ngrown, and when he entered his twentieth year, was taller than most\nCastilians, and carried his head as high as a grandee.\n\nYet he was dissatisfied with himself, for he made slow progress in his\nart, and cherished the firm conviction that there was nothing more for\nhim to learn in Madrid; Coello's commissions were robbing him of the most\nprecious time.\n\nThe work in the riding-school was at last approaching completion. It had\noccupied far more than the year in which it was to have been finished,\nand His Majesty's impatience had become so great, that Coello was\ncompelled to leave everything else, to paint only there, and put his\nimproving touches to Ulrich's labor.\n\nThe time for departure was drawing near. The hanging-scaffold, on which\nhe had lain for months, working on the master's pictures, had been\nremoved, but there was still something to be done to the walls.\n\nSuddenly the court-artist was ordered to suspend the work, and have the\nbeams, ladders and boards, which narrowed the space in the\npicadero,--[Riding School]--removed.\n\nThe large enclosure was wanted during the next few days for a special\npurpose, and there were new things for Coello to do.\n\nDon Juan of Austria, the king's chivalrous half-brother, had commenced\nhis heroic career, and vanquished the rebellious Moors in Granada. A\nmagnificent reception was to be prepared for the young conqueror, and\nCoello received the commission to adorn a triumphal arch with\nhastily-sketched, effective pictures.\n\nThe designs were speedily completed, and the triumphal arch erected in a\ncourt-yard of the Alcazar, for here, within the narrow circle of the\ncourt, not publicly, before the whole population, had the suspicious\nmonarch resolved to receive and honor the victor.\n\nUlrich had again assisted Coello in the execution of his sketches.\nEverything was finished at the right time, and Don Juan's reception\nbrilliantly carried out with great pomp and dignity, through the whole\nprogramme of a Te Deum and three services, processions, bull-fights, a\ngrand 'Auto-da-fe', and a tournament.\n\nAfter this festival, the king again resigned the riding-school to the\nartists, who instantly set to work. Everything was finished except the\nsmall figures at the bottom of the larger pictures, and these could be\nexecuted without scaffolding.\n\nUlrich was again standing on the ladder, for the first time after this\ninterruption, and Coello had just followed him into the picadero, when a\ngreat bustle was heard outside.\n\nThe broad doors flew open, and the manege was soon filled with knights\nand ladies on foot and horseback.\n\nThe most brilliant figures in all the stately throng were Don Juan\nhimself, and his youthful nephew, Alexander Farnese, Prince of Parma.\n\nUlrich feasted his eyes on the splendid train, and the majestic, haughty,\nyet vivacious manner of the conqueror.\n\nNever in his life, he thought, had he seen a more superb youthful figure.\nDon Juan stopped directly opposite to him, and bared his head. The thick,\nfair hair brushed back behind his ears, hung in wonderfully soft, waving\nlocks down to his neck, and his features blended feminine grace with\nmanly vigor.\n\nAs, hat in hand, he swung himself from the saddle, unassisted, to greet\nthe fair duchess of Medina Celi, there was such a charm in his movements,\nthat the young artist felt inclined to believe all the tales related of\nthe successful love affairs of this favorite of fortune, who was the son\nof the Emperor Charles, by a German washerwoman.\n\nDon Juan graciously requested his companion to retire to the back of the\nmanege, assisted the ladies from their saddles and, offering his hand to\nthe duchess, led her to the dais, then returning to the ring, he issued\nsome orders to the mounted officers in his train, and stood conversing\nwith the ladies, Alexander Farnese, and the grandees near him.\n\nLoud shouts and the tramp of horses hoofs were now heard outside of the\npicadero, and directly after nine bare-backed horses were led into the\nring, all selected animals of the best blood of the Andalusian breed, the\npearls of all the horses Don Juan had captured.\n\nExclamations and cries of delight echoed through the building, growing\nlouder and warmer, when the tenth and last prize, a coal-black young\nstallion, dragged the sinewy Moors that led him, into the ring, and\nrearing lifted them into the air with him.\n\nThe brown-skinned young fellows resisted bravely; but Don Juan turning to\nAlexander Farnese, said: \"What a superb animal! but alas, alas, he has a\ndevilish temper, so we have called him Satan. He will bear neither saddle\nnor rider. How dare I venture . . . there he rears again. . . . It is\nquite impossible to offer him to His Majesty. Just look at those eyes,\nthose crimson nostrils. A perfect monster!\"\n\n\"But there cannot be a more beautiful creature!\" cried the prince,\nwarmly. \"That shining black coat, the small head, the neck, the croup,\nthe carriage of his tail, the fetlocks and hoofs. Oh, oh, that was\nserious!\" The vicious stallion had reared for the third time, pawing\nwildly with his fore-legs, and in so doing struck one of the Moors.\nShrieking and wailing, the latter fell on the ground, and directly after\nthe animal released itself from the second groom, and now dashed freely,\nwith mighty leaps, around the course, rushing hither and thither as if\nmad, kicking furiously, and hurling sand and dust into the faces of the\nladies on the dais. The latter shrieked loudly, and their screams\nincreased the animal's furious excitement. Several gentlemen drew back,\nand the master of the horse loudly ordered the other barebacked steeds to\nbe led away.\n\nDon Juan and Alexander Farnese stood still; but the former drew his\nsword, exclaiming, vehemently:\n\n\"Santiago! I'll kill the brute!\"\n\nHe was not satisfied with words, but instantly rushed upon the stallion;\nthe latter avoiding him, bounded now backward, now sideways, at every\nfresh leap throwing sand upon the dais.\n\nUlrich could remain on the ladder no longer.\n\nFully aware of his power over refractory horses, he boldly entered the\nring and walked quietly towards the snorting, foaming steed. Driving the\nanimal back, and following him, he watched his opportunity, and as Satan\nturned, reached his side and boldly seized his nostrils firmly with his\nhand.\n\nSatan plunged more and more furiously, but the smith's son held him as\nfirmly as if in a vise, breathed into his nostrils, and stroked his head\nand muzzle, whispering soothing words.\n\nThe animal gradually became quieter, tried once more to release himself\nfrom his tamer's iron hand, and when he again failed, began to tremble\nand meekly stood still with his fore legs stretched far apart.\n\n\"Bravo! Bravamente!\" cried the duchess, and praise from such lips\nintoxicated Ulrich. The impulse to make a display, inherited from his\nmother, urged him to take still greater risks. Carefully winding his left\nhand in the stallion's mane, he released his nostrils and swung himself\non his back. Taken by surprise Satan tried to rid himself of his burden,\nbut the rider sat firm, leaned far over the steed's neck, stroked--his\nhead again, pressed his flanks and, after the lapse of a few minutes,\nguided him merely by the pressure of his thighs first at a walk, then at\na trot over the track. At last springing off, he patted Satan, who\npranced peacefully beside him, and led him by the bridle to Don Juan.\n\nThe latter measured the tall, brave fellow with a hasty glance, and\nturning, half to him, half to Alexander Farnese, said:\n\n\"An enviable trick, and admirable performance, by my love!\"\n\nThen he approached the stallion, stroked and patted his shining neck, and\ncontinued:\n\n\"I thank you, young man. You have saved my best horse. But for you I\nshould have stabbed him. You are an artist?\"\n\n\"At your service, Your Highness.\"\n\n\"Your art is beautiful, and you alone know how it suits you. But much\nhonor, perhaps also wealth and fame, can be gained among my troopers.\nWill you enlist?\"\n\n\"No, Your Highness,\" replied Ulrich, with a low bow. \"If I were not an\nartist, I should like best to be a soldier; but I cannot give up my art.\"\n\n\"Right, right! Yet . . . do you think your cure of Satan will be lasting;\nor will the dance begin again to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so; but grant me a week, Your Highness, and the swarthy fellows\ncan easily manage him. An hour's training like this every morning, and\nthe work will be accomplished. Satan will scarcely be transformed into an\nangel, but probably will become a perfectly steady horse.\"\n\n\"If you succeed,\" replied Don Juan, joyously, \"you will greatly oblige\nme. Come to me next week. If you bring good tidings . . . consider\nmeantime, how I can serve you.\"\n\nUlrich did not need to consider long. A week would pass swiftly, and\nthen--then the king's brother should send him to Italy. Even his enemies\nknew that he was liberal and magnanimous.\n\nThe week passed away, the horse was tamed and bore the saddle quietly.\nDon Juan received Ulrich's petition kindly, and invited him to make the\njourney on the admiral's galley, with the king's ambassador and his\nsecretary, de Soto.\n\nThe very same day the happy artist obtained a bill of exchange on a house\non the Rialto, and now it was settled, he was going to Italy.\n\nCoello was obliged to submit, and his kind heart again showed itself; for\nhe wrote letters of introduction for Ulrich to his old artist friends in\nVenice, and induced the king to send the great Titian a present--which\nthe ambassador was to deliver. The court-artist obtained from the latter\na promise to present his pupil Navarrete to the grey-Haired prince of\nartists.\n\nEverything was now ready for departure; Ulrich again packed his\nbelongings in the studio, but with very different feelings from the first\ntime.\n\nHe was a man, he now knew what the right \"word\" was, life lay open before\nhim, and the paradise of Art was about to unclose its gates.\n\nThe studies he had finished in Madrid aroused his compassion; in Italy he\nwould first really begin to become an artist: there work must bring him\nwhat it had here denied: satisfaction, success! Gay as a boy, half\nfrantic with joy, happiness and expectation, he crushed the sketches,\nwhich seemed to him too miserable, into the waste-paper basket with a\nmaul-stick.\n\nDuring this work of destruction, Isabella entered the room.\n\nShe was now sixteen. Her figure had developed early, but remained petite.\nLarge, deep, earnest eyes looked forth from the little round face, and\nthe fresh, tiny mouth could not help pleasing everyone. Her head now\nreached only to Ulrich's breast, and if he had always treated her like a\ndear, sensible, clever child, her small stature had certainly been\nsomewhat to blame for it. To-day she was paler than usual and her\nfeatures were so grave, that the young man asked her in surprise, yet\nfull of sympathy:\n\n\"What is the matter, little one? Are you not well?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" she answered, quickly, \"only I must talk with you once more\nalone.\"\n\n\"Do you wish to hear my confession, Belita?\"\n\n\"Cease jesting now. I am no longer a child. My heart aches, and I must\nnot conceal the cause.\"\n\n\"Speak, speak! How you look! One might really be alarmed.\"\n\n\"If I only can! No one here tells you the truth; but I--I love you; so I\nwill do it, ere it is too late. Don't interrupt me now, or I shall lose\ncourage, and I will, I must speak.\"\n\n\"My studies lately have not pleased you; nor me either. Your father. . . .\"\n\n\"He has led you in false paths, and now you are going to Italy, and when\nyou see what the greatest artists have created, you will wish to imitate\nthem immediately and forget Meister Moor's lessons. I know you, Ulrich, I\nknow it! But I also know something else, and it must now be said frankly.\nIf you allow yourself to be led on to paint pictures, if you do not\nsubmit to again become a modest pupil, and honestly torment yourself with\nstudying, you will make no progress, you will never again accomplish a\nportrait like the one in the old days, like your Sophonisba. You will\nthen be no great artist and you can, you must become one.\"\n\n\"I will, Belita, I will!\"\n\n\"Well, well; but first be a pupil! If I were in your place, I would, for\naught I care, go to Venice and look about me, but from there I would ride\nto Flanders, to Moor, to the master.\"\n\n\"Give up Italy? Can you be in earnest? Your father, himself, told me,\nthat I . . . well, yes . . . in portrait-painting, he too thinks I am no\nblunderer. Where do the Netherlanders go to learn anything new? To Italy,\nalways to Italy! What do they create in Flanders? Portraits, portraits,\nnothing more. Moor is great, very great in this department, but I take a\nvery different view of art; it has higher aims. My head is full of plans.\nWait, only wait! In Italy I shall learn to fly, and when I have finished\nmy Holy Family and my Temple of Art, with all the skill I intend to\nattain. . . .\"\n\n\"Then, then, what will happen then?\"\n\n\"Then you will perhaps change your opinion and cease your tutoring, once\nfor all. This fault-finding, this warning vexes me. It spoils my\npleasure, it clouds my fancy. You are poisoning my happiness,\nyou--you . . . the croaker's voice is disagreeable to me.\"\n\nIsabella sadly bent her head in silence. Ulrich approached her, saying:\n\n\"I do not wish to wound you, Belita; indeed, I do not. You mean well, and\nyou love me, a poor forsaken fellow; do you not, little girl?\"\n\n\"Yes, Ulrich, and that is just why I have told you what I think. You are\nrejoicing now in the thought of Italy. . . .\"\n\n\"Very, very much, unspeakably! There, too, I will remember you, and what\na dear, faithful, wise little creature you are. Let us part in\nfriendship, Isabella. Come with me; that would be the best way!\"\n\nThe young girl flushed deeply, and made no answer except: \"How gladly I\nwould!\"\n\nThe words sounded so affectionate and came so tenderly from the inmost\ndepths of the heart, that they entered his soul. And while she spoke, her\neyes gazed so faithfully, lovingly, and yearningly into his, that he saw\nnothing else. He read in them love, true, self-sacrificing love; not like\npretty Carmen's or that given by the ladies, who had thrown flowers to\nhim from their balconies. His heart swelled, and when he saw how the\nflush on Isabella's dear face deepened under his answering glance,\nunspeakable gratitude and joy seized upon him, and he could not help\nclasping her in his arms and drawing her into his embrace.\n\nShe permitted it, and when she looked up at him and her soft scarlet\nlips, from which gleamed two rows of dazzling white teeth, bloomed\ntemptingly near him, he bent his, he knew not how, towards them. They\nkissed each other again and again, and Isabella flung her little hands\naround his neck, for she could not reach him with her arms, and said she\nhad always loved him; he assured her in an agitated voice that he\nbelieved it, and that there was no better, sweeter, brighter creature on\nearth than she; only he forgot to say that he loved her. She gave, he\nreceived, and it seemed to him natural.\n\nShe saw and felt nothing except him and her happiness; he was wholly\nabsorbed by the bliss of being loved and the sweetness of her kiss; so\nneither noticed that Coello had opened the door and watched them for a\nminute, with mingled wrath and pleasure, irresolutely shaking his head.\n\nWhen the court-artist's deep voice exclaimed loudly:\n\n\"Why, why, these are strange doings!\" they hastily started back.\n\nStartled, sobered, confused, Ulrich sought for words, and at last\nstammered:\n\n\"We have, we wanted . . . the farewell. . . . Coello found no time to\ninterrupt him, for his daughter had thrown herself on his breast,\nexclaiming amid tears:\n\n\"Forgive us, father-forgive us; he loves me, and I, I love him so dearly,\nand now that we belong to each other, I am no longer anxious about him,\nhe will not rest, and when he returns. . . .\"\n\n\"Enough, enough!\" interrupted Coello, pressing his hand upon her mouth.\n\"That is why a duenna is kept for the child; and this is my sensible\nBelita! It is of no importance, that yonder youth has nothing, I myself\ncourted your mother with only three reales in my pocket, but he cannot\nyet do any really good work, and that alters the case. It is not my way\nto dun debtors, I have been in debt too often myself for that; but you,\nNavarrete, have received many favors from me, when you were badly off,\nand if you are not a scamp, leave the girl in peace and do not see her\nagain before your departure. When you have studied in Italy and become a\nreal artist, the rest will take care of itself. You are already a\nhandsome, well-formed fellow, and my race will not degenerate in you.\nThere are very different women in Italy, from this dear little creature\nhere. Shut your eyes, and beware of breaking her heart. Your promise!\nYour hand upon it! In a year and a half from to-day come here again, show\nwhat you can do, and stand the test. If you have become what I hope, I'll\ngive her to you; if not, you can quietly go your way. You will make no\nobjection to this, you silly little, love-sick thing. Go to your room\nnow, Belita, and you, Navarrete, come with me.\"\n\nUlrich followed the artist to his chamber, where the latter opened a\nchest, in which lay the gold he had earned. He did not know himself, how\nmuch it was, for it was neither counted, nor entered in books. Grasping\nthe ducats, he gave Ulrich two handfuls, exclaiming:\n\n\"This one is for your work here, the other to relieve you from any care\nconcerning means of living, while pursuing your studies in Venice and\nFlorence. Don't make the child wretched, my lad; if you do, you will be a\ncontemptible, dishonorable rascal, a scoundrel, a . . . but you don't look\nlike a rogue!\"\n\nThere was a great deal of bustle in Coello's house that evening. The\nartist's indolent wife was unusually animated. She could not control her\nsurprise and wrath. Isabella had been from childhood a great favorite of\nHerrera, the first architect in Spain, who had already expressed his love\nfor the young girl, and now this vagabond pauper, this immature boy, had\ncome to destroy the prosperity of her child's life.\n\nShe upbraided Coello with being faithless to his paternal duty, and\ncalled him a thoughtless booby. Instead of turning the ungrateful rascal\nout of the house, he, the dunce, had given him hopes of becoming her\npoor, dazzled, innocent daughter's husband. During the ensuing weeks,\nSenora Petra prepared Coello many bad days and still worse nights; but\nthe painter persisted in his resolution to give Isabella to Ulrich, if in\na year and a half he returned from Italy a skilful artist.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Among fools one must be a fool\n\n\n\n\nA WORD, ONLY A WORD\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe admiral's ship, which bore King Philip's ambassador to Venice,\nreached its destination safely, though it had encountered many severe\nstorms on the voyage, during which Ulrich was the only passenger, who\namid the rolling and pitching of the vessel, remained as well as an old\nsailor.\n\nBut, on the other hand his peace of mind was greatly impaired, and any\none who had watched him leaning over the ship's bulwark, gazing into the\nsea, or pacing up and down with restless bearing and gloomy eyes, would\nscarcely have suspected that this reserved, irritable youth, who was only\ntoo often under the dominion of melancholy moods, had won only a short\ntime before a noble human heart, and was on the way to the realization of\nhis boldest dreams, the fulfilment of his most ardent wishes.\n\nHow differently he had hoped to enter \"the Paradise of Art!\"\n\nNever had he been so free, so vigorous, so rich, as in the dawn of the\nday, at whose close he was to unite Isabella's life with his own--and\nnow--now!\n\nHe had expected to wander through Italy from place to place as\nuntrammelled, gay, and free as the birds in the air; he had desired to\nsee, admire, en joy, and after becoming familiar with all the great\nartists, choose a new master among them. Sophonisba's home was to have\nbecome his, and it had never entered his mind to limit the period of his\nenjoyment and study on the sacred soil.\n\nHow differently his life must now be ordered! Until he went on board of\nthe ship in Valencia, the thought of calling a girl so good, sensible and\nloving as Isabella his own, rejoiced and inspired him, but during the\nsolitary hours a sea-voyage so lavishly bestows, a strange transformation\nin his feelings occurred.\n\nThe wider became the watery expanse between him and Spain, the farther\nreceded Isabella's memory, the less alluring and delightful grew the\nthought of possessing her hand.\n\nHe now told himself that, before the fatal hour, he had rejoiced at the\nanticipation of escaping her pedantic criticism, and when he looked\nforward to the future and saw himself, handsome Ulrich Navarrete, whose\nsuperior height filled the smaller Castilians with envy, walking through\nthe streets with his tiny wife, and perceived the smiles of the people\nthey met, he was seized with fierce indignation against himself and his\nhard fate.\n\nHe felt fettered like the galley-slaves, whose chains rattled and\nclanked, as they pulled at the oars in the ship's waist. At other times\nhe could not help recalling her large, beautiful, love-beaming eyes, her\nsoft, red lips, and yearningly confess that it would have been sweet to\nhold her in his arms and kiss her, and, since he had forever lost his\nRuth, he could find no more faithful, sensible, tender wife than she.\n\nBut what should he, the student, the wandering disciple of Art, do with a\nbride, a wife? The best and fairest of her sex would now have seemed to\nhim an impediment, a wearisome clog. The thought of being obliged to\naccomplish some fixed task within a certain time, and then be subjected\nto an examination, curbed his enjoyment, oppressed, angered him.\n\nGrey mists gathered more and more densely over the sunny land, for which\nhe had longed with such passionate ardor, and it seemed as if in that\nluckless hour, he had been faithless to the \"word,\"--had deprived himself\nof its assistance forever.\n\nHe often felt tempted to send Coello his ducats and tell him he had been\nhasty, and cherished no desire to wed his daughter; but perhaps that\nwould break the heart of the poor, dear little thing, who loved him so\ntenderly! He would be no dishonorable ingrate, but bear the consequences\nof his own recklessness.\n\nPerhaps some miracle would happen in Italy, Art's own domain. Perhaps the\nsublime goddess would again take him to her heart, and exert on him also\nthe power Sophonisba had so fervently praised.\n\nThe ambassador and his secretary, de Soto, thought Ulrich an unsocial\ndreamer; but nevertheless, after they reached Venice, the latter invited\nhim to share his lodgings, for Don Juan had requested him to interest\nhimself in the young artist.\n\nWhat could be the matter with the handsome fellow? The secretary tried to\nquestion him, but Ulrich did not betray what troubled him, only alluding\nin general terms to a great anxiety that burdened his mind.\n\n\"But the time is now coming when the poorest of the poor, the most\nmiserable of all forsaken mortals, cast aside their griefs!\" cried de\nSoto. \"Day after to morrow the joyous Carnival season will begin! Hold up\nyour head, young man! Cast your sorrows into the Grand Canal, and until\nAsh-Wednesday, imagine that heaven has fallen upon earth!\"\n\nOh! blue sea, that washes the lagunes, oh! mast-thronged Lido, oh! palace\nof the Doges, that chains the eye, as well as the backward gazing, mind,\noh! dome of St. Mark, in thy incomparable garb of gold and paintings, oh!\nye steeds and other divine works of bronze, ye noble palaces, for which\nthe still surface of the placid water serves as a mirror, thou square of\nSt. Mark, where, clad in velvet, silk and gold, the richest and freest of\nall races display their magnificence, with just pride! Thou harbor, thou\nforest of masts, thou countless fleet of stately galleys, which bind one\nquarter of the globe to another, inspiring terror, compelling obedience,\nand gaining boundless treasures by peaceful voyages and with shining\nblades. Oh! thou Rialto, where gold is stored, as wheat and rye are\nelsewhere;--ye proud nobles, ye fair dames with luxuriant tresses, whose\nraven hue pleases ye not, and which ye dye as bright golden as the\nglittering zechins ye squander with such small, yet lavish hands! Oh!\nVenice, Queen of the sea, mother of riches, throne of power, hall of\nfame, temple of art, who could escape thy spell!\n\nWhat wanton Spring is to the earth, thy carnival season is to thee! It\ntransforms the magnificence of color of the lagune-city into a dazzling\nradiance, the smiles to Olympic laughter, the love-whispers to exultant\nsongs, the noisy, busy life of the mighty commercial city into a mad\nwhirlpool, which draws everything into its circle, and releases nothing\nit has once seized.\n\nDe Soto urged and pushed the youth, who had already lost his mental\nequipoise, into the midst of the gulf, ere he had found the right\ncurrent.\n\nOn the barges, amid the throngs in the streets, at banquets, in\nball-rooms, at the gaming-table, everywhere, the young, golden-haired,\nsuperbly-dressed artist, who was on intimate terms with the Spanish\nking's ambassador, attracted the attention of men, and the eyes,\ncuriosity and admiration of the women; though people as yet knew not\nwhence he came.\n\nHe chose the tallest and most stately of the slender dames of Venice to\nlead in the dance, or through the throng of masks and citizens\nintoxicated with the mirth of the carnival. Whithersoever he led the\nfairest followed.\n\nHe wished to enjoy the respite before execution. To forget--to forget--to\nindemnify himself for future seasons of sacrifice, dulness,\nself-conquest, torment.\n\nPoor little Isabella! Your lover sought to enjoy the sensation of showing\nhimself to the crowd with the stateliest woman in the company on his arm!\nAnd you, Ulrich, how did you feel when people exclaimed behind you: \"A\nsplendid pair! Look at that couple!\"\n\nAmid this ecstasy, he needed no helping word, neither \"fortune\" nor \"art;\"\nwithout any magic spell he flew from pleasure to pleasure, through every\nchanging scene, thinking only of the present and asking no questions\nabout the future.\n\nLike one possessed he plunged into passion's wild whirl. From the embrace\nof beautiful arms he rushed to the gaming-table, where the ducats he\nflung down soon became a pile of gold; the zechins filled his purse to\noverflowing.\n\nThe quickly-won treasure melted like snow in the sun, and returned again\nlike stray doves to their open cote.\n\nThe works of art were only enjoyed with drunken eyes--yet, once more the\ngracious word exerted its wondrous power on the misguided youth.\n\nOn Shrove-Tuesday, the ambassador took Ulrich to the great Titian.\n\nHe stood face to face with the mighty monarch of colors, listened to\ngracious words from his lips, and saw the nonogenarian, whose tall figure\nwas scarcely bowed, receive the king's gifts.\n\nNever, never, to the close of his existence could he forget that face!\n\nThe features were as delicately and as clearly outlined, as if cut with\nan engraver's chisel from hard metal; but pallid, bloodless, untinged by\nthe faintest trace of color. The long, silver-white beard of the tall\nvenerable painter flowed in thick waves over his breast, and the eyes,\nwith which he scanned Ulrich, were those of a vigorous, keen-sighted man.\nHis voice did not sound harsh, but sad and melancholy; deep sorrow\nshadowed his glance, and stamped itself upon the mouth of him, whose\nthin, aged hand still ensnared the senses easily and surely with gay\nsymphonies of color!\n\nThe youth answered the distinguished Master's questions with trembling\nlips, and when Titian invited him to share his meal, and Ulrich, seated\nat the lower end of the table in the brilliant banqueting-hall, was told\nby his neighbors with what great men he was permitted to eat, he felt so\ntimid, small, and insignificant, that he scarcely ventured to touch the\ngoblets and delicious viands the servants offered.\n\nHe looked and listened; distinguishing his old master's name, and hearing\nhim praised without stint as a portrait-painter. He was questioned about\nhim, and gave confused answers.\n\nThen the guests rose.\n\nThe February sun was shining into the lofty window, where Titian seated\nhimself to talk more gaily than before with Paolo Cagliari, Veronese, and\nother great artists and nobles.\n\nAgain Ulrich heard Moor mentioned. Then the old man, from whom the youth\nhad not averted his eyes for an instant, beckoned, and Cagliari called\nhim, saying that he, the gallant Antonio Moor's pupil, must now show what\nhe could do; the Master, Titian, would give him a task.\n\nA shudder ran through his frame; cold drops of perspiration, extorted by\nfear, stood on his brow.\n\nThe old man now invited him to accompany his nephew to the studio.\nDaylight would last an hour longer. He might paint a Jew; no usurer nor\ndealer in clothes, but one of the noble race of prophets, disciples,\napostles.\n\nUlrich stood before the easel.\n\nFor the first time after a long period he again called upon the \"word,\"\nand did so fervently, with all his heart. His beloved dead, who in the\ntumult of carnival mirth had vanished from his memory, again rose before\nhis mind, among them the doctor, who gazed rebukingly at him with his\nclear, thoughtful eyes.\n\nLike an inspiration a thought darted through the youth's brain. He could\nand would paint Costa, his friend and teacher, Ruth's father.\n\nThe portrait he had drawn when a boy appeared before his memory, feature\nfor feature. A red pencil lay close at hand.\n\nSketching the outlines with a few hasty strokes, he seized the brush, and\nwhile hurriedly guiding it and mixing the colors, he saw in fancy Costa\nstanding before him, asking him to paint his portrait.\n\nUlrich had never forgotten the mild expression of the eyes, the smile\nhovering about the delicate lips, and now delineated them as well as he\ncould. The moments slipped by, and the portrait gained roundness and\nlife. The youth stepped back to see what it still needed, and once more\ncalled upon the \"word\" from the inmost depths of his heart; at the same\ninstant the door opened, and leaning on a younger painter, Titian, with\nseveral other artists, entered the studio.\n\nHe looked at the picture, then at Ulrich, and said with an approving\nsmile: \"See, see! Not too much of the Jew, and a perfect apostle! A Paul,\nor with longer hair and a little more youthful aspect, an admirable St.\nJohn. Well done, well done! my son!\"\n\nWell done, well done! These words from Titian had ennobled his work; they\nechoed loudly in his soul, and the measure of his bliss threatened to\noverflow, when no less a personage than the famous Paolo Veronese,\ninvited him to come to his studio as a pupil on Saturday.\n\nEnraptured, animated by fresh hope, he threw himself into his gondola.\n\nEveryone had left the palace, where he lodged with de Soto. Who would\nremain at home on the evening of Shrove-Tuesday?\n\nThe lonely rooms grew too confined for him.\n\nQuiet days would begin early the next morning, and on Saturday a new,\nfruitful life in the service of the only true word, Art, divine Art,\nwould commence for him. He would enjoy this one more evening of pleasure,\nthis night of joy; drain it to the dregs. He fancied he had won a right\nthat day to taste every bliss earth could give.\n\nTorches, pitch-pans and lamps made the square of St. Mark's as bright as\nday, and the maskers crowded upon its smooth pavement as if it were the\nfloor of an immense ball-room.\n\nIntoxicating music, loud laughter, low, tender whispers, sweet odors from\nthe floating tresses of fair women bewildered Ulrich's senses, already\nconfused by success and joy. He boldly accosted every one, and if he\nsuspected that a fair face was concealed under a mask, drew nearer,\ntouched the strings of a lute, that hung by a purple ribbon round his\nneck, and in the notes of a tender song besought love.\n\nMany a wave of the fan rewarded, many an angry glance from men's dark\neyes rebuked the bold wooer. A magnificent woman of queenly height now\npassed, leaning on the arm of a richly-dressed cavalier.\n\nWas not that the fair Claudia, who a short time before had lost enormous\nsums at the gaming-table in the name of the rich Grimani, and who had\ninvited Ulrich to visit her later, during Lent?\n\nIt was, he could not be mistaken, and now followed the pair like a\nshadow, growing bolder and bolder the more angrily the cavalier rebuffed\nhim with wrathful glances and harsh words; for the lady did not cease to\nsignify that she recognized him and enjoyed his playing. But the nobleman\nwas not disposed to endure this offensive sport. Pausing in the middle of\nthe square, he released his arm with a contemptuous gesture, saying: \"The\nlute-player, or I, my fair one; you can decide----\"\n\nThe Venetian laughed loudly, laid her hand on Ulrich's arm and said: \"The\nrest of the Shrove-Tuesday night shall be yours, my merry singer.\"\n\nUlrich joined in her gayety, and taking the lute from his neck, offered\nit to the cavalier, with a defiant gesture, exclaiming:\n\n\"It's at your disposal, Mask; we have changed parts. But please hold it\nfirmer than you held your lady.\" High play went on in the gaming hall;\nClaudia was lucky with the artist's gold.\n\nAt midnight the banker laid down the cards. It was Ash-Wednesday, the\nhall must be cleared; the quiet Lenten season had begun.\n\nThe players withdrew into the adjoining rooms, among them the much-envied\ncouple.\n\nClaudia threw herself upon a couch; Ulrich left her to procure a gondola.\n\nAs soon as he was gone, she was surrounded by a motley throng of suitors.\n\nHow the beautiful woman's dark eyes sparkled, how the gems on her full\nneck and dazzling arms glittered, how readily she uttered a witty\nrepartee to each gay sally.\n\n\"Claudia unaccompanied!\" cried a young noble. \"The strangest sight at\nthis remarkable carnival!\"\n\n\"I am fasting,\" she answered gaily; \"and now that I long for meagre food,\nyou come! What a lucky chance!\"\n\n\"Heavy Grimani has also become a very light man, with your assistance.\"\n\n\"That's why he flew away. Suppose you follow him?\"\n\n\"Gladly, gladly, if you will accompany me.\"\n\n\"Excuse me to-day; there comes my knight.\"\n\nUlrich had remained absent a long time, but Claudia had not noticed it.\nNow he bowed to the gentlemen, offered her his arm, and as they descended\nthe staircase, whispered: \"The mask who escorted you just now detained\nme;--and there . . . see, they are picking him up down there in the\ncourt-yard.--He attacked me. . . .\"\n\n\"You have--you. . . .\"\n\n\"'They came to his assistance immediately. He barred my way with his\nunsheathed blade.\"\n\nClaudia hastily drew her hand from the artist's arm, exclaiming in a low,\nanxious tone: \"Go, go, unhappy man, whoever you may be! It was Luigi\nGrimani; it was a Grimani! You are lost, if they find you. Go, if you\nlove your life, go at once!\"\n\nSo ended the Shrove-Tuesday, which had begun so gloriously for the young\nartist. Titian's \"well done\" no longer sounded cheerfully in his ears,\nthe \"go, go,\" of the venal woman echoed all the more loudly.\n\nDe Soto was waiting for him, to repeat to him the high praise he had\nheard bestowed upon his art-test at Titian's; but Ulrich heard nothing,\nfor he gave the secretary no time to speak, and the latter could only\necho the beautiful Claudia's \"go, go!\" and then smooth the way for his\nflight.\n\nWhen the morning of Ash-Wednesday dawned cool and misty, Venice lay\nbehind the young artist. Unpursued, but without finding rest or\nsatisfaction, he went to Parma, Bologna, Pisa, Florence.\n\nGrimani's death burdened his conscience but lightly. Duelling was a\nbattle in miniature, to kill one's foe no crime, but a victory. Far\ndifferent anxieties tortured him.\n\nVenice, whither the \"word\" had led him, from which he had hoped and\nexpected everything, was lost to him, and with it Titian's favor and\nCagliari's instruction.\n\nHe began to doubt himself, his future, the sublime word and its magic\nspell. The greater the works which the traveller's eyes beheld, the more\ninsignificant he felt, the more pitiful his own powers, his own skill\nappeared.\n\n\"Draw, draw!\" advised every master to whom he applied, as soon as he had\nseen his work. The great men, to whom he offered himself as a pupil,\nrequired years of persevering study. But his time was limited, for the\nmisguided youth's faithful German heart held firmly to one resolve; he\nmust present himself to Coello at the end of the appointed time. The\nhappiness of his life was forfeited, but no one should obtain the right\nto call him faithless to his word, or a scoundrel.\n\nIn Florence he heard Sebastiano Filippi--who had been a pupil of Michael\nAngelo-praised as a good drawer; so he sought him in Ferrara and found\nhim ready to teach him what he still lacked. But the works of the new\nmaster did not please him. The youth, accustomed to Moor's wonderful\nclearness, Titian's brilliant hues, found Filippi's pictures indistinct,\nas if veiled by grey mists. Yet he forced himself to remain with him for\nmonths, for he was really remarkably skilful in drawing, and his studio\nnever lacked nude models; he needed them for the preliminary studies for\nhis \"Day of Judgment.\"\n\nWithout satisfaction, without pleasure in the wearisome work, without\nlove for the sickly master, who held aloof from any social intercourse\nwith him when the hours of labor were over, he felt discontented, bored,\ndisenchanted.\n\nIn the evening he sought diversion at the gaming-table, and fortune\nfavored him here as it had done in Venice. His purse overflowed with\nzechins; but with the red gold, Art withdrew from him her powerful ally,\nnecessity, the pressing need of gaining a livelihood by the exertion of\nhis own strength.\n\nHe spent the hours appointed for study like a careless lover, and worked\nwithout inclination, without pleasure, without ardor, yet with visible\nincrease of skill.\n\nIn gambling he forgot what tortured him, it stirred his blood, dispelled\nweariness; the gold was nothing to him.\n\nThe lion's share of his gains he loaned to broken gamblers, without\nexpectation of return, gave to starving artists, or flung with lavish\nhand to beggars.\n\nSo the months in Ferrara glided by, and when the allotted time was over,\nhe took leave of Sebastiano Filippi without regret. He returned by sea to\nSpain, and arrived in Madrid richer than he had gone away, but with\nimpoverished confidence in his own powers, and doubting the omnipotence\nof Art.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nUlrich again stood before the Alcazar, and recalled the hour when, a poor\nlad, just escaped from prison, he had been harshly rebuffed by the same\nporter, who now humbly saluted the young gentleman attired in costly\nvelvet.\n\nAnd yet how gladly he would have crossed this threshold poor as in those\ndays, but free and with a soul full of enthusiasm and hope; how joyfully\nhe would have effaced from his life the years that lay between that time\nand the present.\n\nHe dreaded meeting the Coellos; nothing but honor urged him to present\nhimself to them.\n\nYes--and if the old man rejected him?--so much the better!\n\nThe old cheerful confusion reigned in the studio. He had a long time to\nwait there, and then heard through several doors Senora Petra's scolding\nvoice and her husband's angry replies.\n\nAt last Coello came to him and after greeting him, first formally, then\ncordially, and enquiring about his health and experiences, he shrugged\nhis shoulders, saying:\n\n\"My wife does not wish you to see Isabella again before the trial. You\nmust show what you can do, of course; but I. . . . you look well and\napparently have collected reales. Or is it true,\" and he moved his hand\nas if shaking a dice-box. \"He who wins is a good fellow, but we want no\nmore to do with such people here! You find me the same as of old, and you\nhave returned at the right time, that is something. De Soto has told me\nabout your quarrel in Venice. The great masters were pleased with you and\nthis, you Hotspur, you forfeited! Ferrara for Venice! A poor exchange.\nFilippi--understands drawing; but otherwise. . . . Michael Angelo's pupil!\nDoes he still write on his back? Every monk is God's servant, but in how\nfew does the Lord dwell! What have you drawn with Sebastiano?\"\n\nUlrich answered these questions in a subdued tone; and Coello listened\nwith only partial attention, for he heard his wife telling the duenna\nCatalina in an adjoining room what she thought of her husband's conduct.\nShe did so very loudly, for she wished to be overheard by him and Ulrich.\nBut she was not to obtain her purpose, for Coello suddenly interrupted\nthe returned travellers story, saying:\n\n\"This is getting beyond endurance. If she does her utmost, you shall see\nIsabella. A welcome, a grasp of the hand, nothing more. Poor young\nlovers! If only it did not require such a confounded number of things to\nlive. . . . Well, we will see!\"\n\nAs soon as the artist had entered the adjoining room, a new and more\nviolent quarrel arose there, but, though Senora Petra finally called a\nfainting-fit to her aid, her husband remained firm, and at last returned\nto the studio with Isabella.\n\nUlrich had awaited her, as a criminal expects his sentence. Now she stood\nbefore him led by her father's hand-and he, he struck his forehead with\nhis fist, closed his eyes and opened them again to look at her--to gaze\nas if he beheld a wondrous apparition. Then feeling as if he should die\nof shame, grief, and joyful surprise, he stood spellbound, and knew not\nwhat to do, save to extend both hands to her, or what to say, save\n\"I . . . I--I,\" then with a sudden change of tone exclaimed like a madman:\n\n\"You don't know! I am not. . . . Give me time, master. Here, here, girl,\nyou must, you shall, all must not be over!\"\n\nHe had opened his arms wide, and now hastily approached her with the\neager look of the gambler, who has staked his last penny on a card.\n\nCoello's daughter did not obey.\n\nShe was no longer little, unassuming Belita; here stood no child, but a\nbeautiful, blooming maiden. In eighteen months her figure had gained\nheight; anxious yearning and constant contention with her mother had\nwasted her superabundance of flesh; her face had become oval, her bearing\nself-possessed. Her large, clear eyes now showed their full beauty, her\nhalf-developed features had acquired exquisite symmetry, and her\nraven-black hair floated, like a shining ornament, around her pale,\ncharming face.\n\n\"Happy will be the man, who is permitted to call this woman his own!\"\ncried a voice in the youth's breast, but another voice whispered \"Lost,\nlost, forfeited, trifled away!\"\n\nWhy did she not obey his call? Why did she not rush into his open arms?\nWhy, why?\n\nHe clenched his fists, bit his lips, for she did not stir, except to\npress closely to her father's side.\n\nThis handsome, splendidly-dressed gentleman, with the pointed beard,\ndeep-set eyes, and stern, gloomy gaze, was an entirely different person\nfrom the gay enthusiastic follower of art, for whom her awakening heart\nhad first throbbed more quickly; this was not the future master, who\nstood before her mind as a glorious favorite of fortune and the muse,\ntransfigured by joyous creation and lofty success--this defiant giant did\nnot look like an artist. No, no; yonder man no longer resembled the\nUlrich, to whom, in the happiest hour of her life, she had so willingly,\nalmost too willingly, offered her pure lips.\n\nIsabella's young heart contracted with a chill, yet she saw that he\nlonged for her; she knew, could not deny, that she had bound herself to\nhim body and soul, and yet--yet, she would so gladly have loved him.\n\nShe strove to speak, but could find no words, save \"Ulrich, Ulrich,\" and\nthese did not sound gay and joyous, but confused and questioning.\n\nCoello felt her fingers press his shoulder closer and closer. She was\nsurely seeking protection and aid from him, to keep her promise and\nresist her lover's passionate appeal.\n\nNow his darling's eyes filled with tears, and he felt the tremor of her\nlimbs.\n\nSoftened by affectionate weakness and no longer able to resist the\nimpulse to see his little Belita happy, he whispered:\n\n\"Poor thing, poor young lovers! Do as you choose, I won't look.\"\n\nBut Isabella did not leave him; she only drew herself up higher, summoned\nall her courage and looking the returned traveller more steadily in the\nface, said:\n\n\"You are so changed, so entirely changed, Ulrich I cannot tell what has\ncome over me. I have anticipated this hour day and night, and now it is\nhere;--what is this? What has placed itself between us?\"\n\n\"What, indeed!\" he indignantly exclaimed, advancing towards her with a\nthreatening air. \"What? Surely you must know! Your mother has destroyed\nyour regard for the poor bungler. Here I stand! Have I kept my promise,\nyes or no? Have I become a monster, a venomous serpent? Do not look at me\nso again, do not! It will do no good; to you or me. I will not allow\nmyself to be trifled with!\"\n\nUlrich had shouted these words, as if some great injustice had been done\nhim, and he believed himself in the right.\n\nCoello tried to release himself from his daughter, to confront the\npassionately excited man, but she held him back, and with a pale face and\ntrembling voice, but proud and resolute manner, answered:\n\n\"No one has trifled with you, I least of all; my love has been earnest,\nsacred earnest.\"\n\n\"Earnest!\" interrupted Ulrich, with cutting irony.\n\n\"Yes, yes, sacred earnest;--and when my mother told me you had killed a\nman and left Venice for a worthless woman's sake, when it was rumored,\nthat in Ferrara you had become a gambler, I thought: 'I know him better,\nthey are slandering him to destroy the love you bear in your heart.' I\ndid not believe it; but now I do. I believe it, and shall do so, till you\nhave withstood your trial. For the gambler I am too good, to the artist\nNavarrete I will joyfully keep my promise. Not a word, I will hear no\nmore. Come, father! If he loves me, he will understand how to win me. I\nam afraid of this man.\"\n\nUlrich now knew who was in fault, and who in the right. Strong impulse\nurged him away from the studio, away from Art and his betrothed bride;\nfor he had forfeited all the best things in life.\n\nBut Coello barred his way. He was not the man, for the sake of a brawl\nand luck at play, to break friendship with the faithful companion, who\nhad shown distinctly enough how fondly he loved his darling. He had\nhidden behind these bushes himself in his youth, and yet become a skilful\nartist and good husband.\n\nHe willingly yielded to his wife in small matters, in important ones he\nmeant to remain master of the house. Herrera was a great scholar and\nartist, but an insignificant man; and he allowed himself to be paid like\na bungler. Ulrich's manly beauty had pleased him, and under his, Coello's\nteaching, he would make his mark. He, the father knew better what suited\nIsabella than she herself. Girls do not sob so bitterly as she had done,\nas soon as the door of the studio closed behind her, unless they are in\nlove.\n\nWhence did she obtain this cool judgment? Certainly not from him, far\nless from her mother.\n\nPerhaps she only wished to arouse Navarrete to do his best at the trial.\nCoello smiled; it was in his power to judge mildly.\n\nSo he detained Ulrich with cheering words, and gave him a task in which\nhe could probably succeed. He was to paint a Madonna and Child, and two\nmonths were allowed him for the work. There was a studio in the Casa del\nCampo, he could paint there and need only promise never to visit the\nAlcazar before the completion of the work.\n\nUlrich consented. Isabella must be his. Scorn for scorn!\n\nShe should learn which was the stronger.\n\nHe knew not whether he loved or hated her, but her resistance had\npassionately inflamed his longing to call her his. He was determined, by\nsummoning all his powers, to create a masterpiece. What Titian had\napproved must satisfy a Coello! so he began the task.\n\nA strong impulse urged him to sketch boldly and without long\nconsideration, the picture of the Madonna, as it had once lived in his\nsoul, but he restrained himself, repeating the warning words which had so\noften been dinned into his ears: Draw, draw!\n\nA female model was soon found; but instead of trusting his eyes and\nboldly reproducing what he beheld, he measured again and again, and\neffaced what the red pencil had finished. While painting his courage\nrose, for the hair, flesh, and dress seemed to him to become true to\nnature and effective. But he, who in better times had bound himself heart\nand soul to Art and served her with his whole soul, in this picture\nforced himself to a method of work, against which his inmost heart\nrebelled. His model was beautiful, but he could read nothing in the\nregular features, except that they were fair, and the lifeless\ncountenance became distasteful to him. The boy too caused him great\ntrouble, for he lacked appreciation of the charm of childish innocence,\nthe spell of childish character.\n\nMeantime he felt great secret anxiety. The impulse that moved his brush\nwas no longer the divine pleasure in creation of former days, but dread\nof failure, and ardent, daily increasing love for Isabella.\n\nWeeks elapsed.\n\nUlrich lived in the lonely little palace to which he had retired,\navoiding all society, toiling early and late with restless, joyless\nindustry, at a work which pleased him less with every new day.\n\nDon Juan of Austria sometimes met him in the park. Once the Emperor's son\ncalled to him:\n\n\"Well, Navarrete, how goes the enlisting?\"\n\nBut Ulrich would not abandon his art, though he had long doubted its\nomnipotence. The nearer the second month approached its close, the more\nfrequently, the more fervently he called upon the \"word,\" but it did not\nhear.\n\nWhen it grew dark, a strong impulse urged him to go to the city, seek\nbrawls, and forget himself at the gaming-table; but he did not yield, and\nto escape the temptation, fled to the church, where he spent whole hours,\ntill the sacristan put out the lights.\n\nHe was not striving for communion with the highest things, he felt no\nhumble desire for inward purification; far different motives influenced\nhim.\n\nInhaling the atmosphere laden with the soft music of the organ and the\nfragrant incense, he could converse with his beloved dead, as if they\nwere actually present; the wayward man became a child, and felt all the\ngentle, tender emotions of his early youth again stir his heart.\n\nOne night during the last week before the expiration of the allotted\ntime, a thought which could not fail to lead him to his goal, darted into\nhis brain like a revelation.\n\nA beautiful woman, with a child standing in her lap, adorned the canvas.\n\nWhat efforts he had made to lend these features the right expression.\n\nMemory should aid him to gain his purpose. What woman had ever been\nfairer, more tender and loving than his own mother?\n\nHe distinctly recalled her eyes and lips, and during the last few days\nremaining to him, his Madonna obtained Florette's joyous expression,\nwhile the sensual, alluring charm, that had been peculiar to the mouth of\nthe musician's daughter, soon hovered around the Virgin's lips.\n\nAy, this was a mother, this must be a true mother, for the picture\nresembled his own!\n\nThe gloomier the mood that pervaded his own soul, the more sunny and\nbright the painting seemed. He could not weary of gazing at it, for it\ntransported him to the happiest hours of his childhood, and when the\nMadonna looked down upon him, it seemed as if he beheld the balsams\nbehind the window of the smithy in the market-place, and again saw the\nHandsome nobles, who lifted him from his laughing mother's lap to set him\non their shoulders.\n\nYes! In this picture he had been aided by the \"joyous art,\" in whose\nhonor Paolo Veronese, had at one of Titian's banquets, started up,\ndrained a glass of wine to the dregs, and hurled it through the window\ninto the canal.\n\nHe believed himself sure of success, and could no longer cherish anger\nagainst Isabella. She had led him back into the right path, and it would\nbe sweet, rapturously sweet, to bear the beloved maiden tenderly and\ngently in his strong arms over the rough places of life.\n\nOne morning, according to the agreement, he notified Coello that the\nMadonna was completed.\n\nThe Spanish artist appeared at noon, but did not come alone, and the man,\nwho preceded him, was no less important a personage than the king\nhimself.\n\nWith throbbing heart, unable to utter a single word, Ulrich opened the\ndoor of the studio, bowing low before the monarch, who without\nvouchsafing him a single glance, walked solemnly to the painting.\n\nCoello drew aside the cloth that covered it, and the sarcastic chuckle\nUlrich had so often heard instantly echoed from the king's lips; then\nturning to Coello he angrily exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by the\nyoung artist:\n\n\"Scandalous! Insulting, offensive botchwork! A Bacchante in the garb of a\nMadonna! And the child! Look at those legs! When he grows up, he may\nbecome a dancing-master. He who paints such Madonnas should drop his\ncolors! His place is the stable--among refractory horses.\"\n\nCoello could make no reply, but the king, glancing at the picture again,\ncried wrathfully:\n\n\"A Christian's work, a Christian's! What does the reptile who painted\nthis know of the mother, the Virgin, the stainless lily, the thornless\nrose, the path by which God came to men, the mother of sorrow, who bought\nthe world with her tears, as Christ did with His sacred blood. I have\nseen enough, more than enough! Escovedo is waiting for me outside! We\nwill discuss the triumphal arch to-morrow!\"\n\nPhilip left the studio, the court-artist accompanying him to the door.\n\nWhen he returned, the unhappy youth was still standing in the same place,\ngazing, panting for breath, at his condemned work.\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" said Coello, compassionately, approaching him; but Ulrich\ninterrupted, gasping in broken accents:\n\n\"And you, you? Your verdict!\"\n\nThe other shrugged his shoulders and answered with sincere pity:\n\n\"His Majesty is not indulgent; but come here and look yourself. I will\nnot speak of the child, though it. . . . In God's name, let us leave it as\nit is. The picture impresses me as it did the king, and the Madonna--I\ngrieve to say it, she belongs anywhere rather than in Heaven. How often\nthis subject is painted! If Meister Antonio, if Moor should see this. . . .\"\n\n\"Then, then?\" asked Ulrich, his eyes glowing with a gloomy fire.\n\n\"He would compel you to begin at the beginning once more. I am sincerely\nsorry for you, and not less so for poor Belita. My wife will triumph! You\nknow I have always upheld your cause; but this luckless work. . . .\"\n\n\"Enough!\" interrupted the youth. Rushing to the picture, he thrust his\nmaul-stick through it, then kicked easel and painting to the floor.\n\nCoello, shaking his head, watched him, and tried to soothe him with\nkindly words, but Ulrich paid no heed, exclaiming:\n\n\"It is all over with art, all over. A Dios, Master! Your daughter does\nnot care for love without art, and art and I have nothing more to do with\neach other.\"\n\nAt the door he paused, strove to regain his self-control, and at last\nheld out his hand to Coello, who was gazing sorrowfully after him.\n\nThe artist gladly extended his, and Ulrich, pressing it warmly, murmured\nin an agitated, trembling voice:\n\n\"Forgive this raving. . . . It is only . . . I only feel, as if I was bearing\nall that had been dear to me to the grave. Thanks, Master, thanks for\nmany kindnesses. I am, I have--my heart--my brain, everything is\nconfused. I only know that you, that Isabella, have been kind to me and\nI, I have--it will kill me yet! Good fortune gone! Art gone! A Dios,\ntreacherous world! A Dios, divine art!\"\n\nAs he uttered the last sentence he drew his hand from the artist's grasp,\nrushed back into the studio, and with streaming eyes pressed his lips to\nthe palette, the handle of the brush, and his ruined picture; then he\ndashed past Coello into the street.\n\nThe artist longed to go to his child; but the king detained him in the\npark. At last he was permitted to return to the Alcazar.\n\nIsabella was waiting on the steps, before the door of their apartments.\nShe had stood there a long, long time.\n\n\"Father!\" she called.\n\nCoello looked up sadly and gave an answer in the negative by\ncompassionately waving his hand.\n\nThe young girl shivered, as if a chill breeze had struck her, and when\nthe artist stood beside her, she gazed enquiringly at him with her dark\neyes, which looked larger than ever in the pallid, emaciated face, and\nsaid in a low, firm tone:\n\n\"I want to speak to him. You will take me to the picture. I must see it.\"\n\n\"He has thrust his maul-stick through it. Believe me, child, you would\nhave condemned it yourself.\"\n\n\"And yet, yet! I must see it,\" she answered earnestly, \"see it with these\neyes. I feel, I know--he is an artist. Wait, I'll get my mantilla.\"\n\nIsabella hurried back with flying feet, and when a short time after,\nwearing the black lace kerchief on her head, she descended the staircase\nby her father's side, the private secretary de Soto came towards them,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"Do you want to hear the latest news, Coello? Your pupil Navarrete has\nbecome faithless to you and the noble art of painting. Don Juan gave him\nthe enlistment money fifteen minutes ago. Better be a good trooper, than\na mediocre artist! What is the matter, Senorita?\"\n\n\"Nothing, nothing,\" Isabella murmured gently, and fell fainting on her\nfather's breast.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nTwo years had passed. A beautiful October day was dawning; no cloud\ndimmed the azure sky, and the sun's disk rose, glowing crimson, behind\nthe narrow strait, that afforded ingress to the Gulf of Corinth.\n\nThe rippling waves of the placid sea, which here washed the sunny shores\nof Hellas, yonder the shady coasts of the Peloponnesus, glittered like\nfresh blooming blue-bottles.\n\nBare, parched rocks rise in naked beauty at the north of the bay, and the\nrays of the young day-star shot golden threads through the light white\nmists, that floated around them.\n\nThe coast of Morea faces the north; so dense shadows still rested on the\nstony olive-groves and the dark foliage of the pink laurel and oleander\nbushes, whose dense clumps followed the course of the stream and filled\nthe ravines.\n\nHow still, how pleasant it usually was here in the early morning!\n\nWhite sea-gulls hovered peacefully over the waves, a fishing-boat or\ngalley glided gently along, making shining furrows in the blue mirror of\nthe water; but today the waves curled under the burden of countless\nships, to-day thousands of long oars lashed the sea, till the surges\nsplashed high in the air with a wailing, clashing sound. To-day there was\na loud clanking, rattling, roaring on both sides of the water-gate, which\nafforded admittance to the Bay of Lepanto.\n\nThe roaring and shouting reverberated in mighty echoes from the bare\nnorthern cliffs, but were subdued by the densely wooded southern shore.\n\nTwo vast bodies of furious foes confronted each other like wrestlers, who\nstretch their sinewy arms to grasp and hurl their opponents to the\nground.\n\nPope Pius the Fifth had summoned Christianity to resist the\nland-devouring power of the Ottomans. Cyprus, Christian Cyprus, the last\nprovince Venice possessed in the Levant, had fallen into the hands of the\nMoslems. Spain and Venice had formed an alliance with Christ's\nvicegerent; Genoese, other Italians, and the Knights of St. John were\nassembling in Messina to aid the league.\n\nThe finest and largest Christian armada, which had left a Christian port\nfor a long time, put forth to sea from this harbor. In spite of all\nintrigues, King Philip had entrusted the chief command to his young\nhalf-brother, Don Juan of Austria.\n\nThe Ottomans too had not been idle, and with twelve myriads of soldiers\non three hundred ships, awaited the foe in the Gulf of Lepanto.\n\nDon Juan made no delay. The Moslems had recently murdered thousands of\nChristians at Cyprus, an outrage the fiery hero could not endure, so he\ncast to the winds the warnings and letters of counsel from Madrid, which\nsought to curb his impetuous energy, his troops, especially the\nVenetians, were longing for vengeance.\n\nBut the Moslems were no less eager for the fray, and at the close of his\ncouncil-of-war, and contrary to its decision, Kapudan Pacha sailed to\nmeet the enemy.\n\nOn the morning of October 7th every ship, every man was ready for battle.\n\nThe sun appeared, and from the Spanish ships musical bell-notes rose\ntowards heaven, blending with the echoing chant: \"Allahu akbar, allahu\nakbar, allahu akbar,\" and the devout words: \"There is no God save Allah,\nand Mohammed is the prophet of Allah; to prayer!\"\n\n\"To prayer!\" The iron tongue of the bell uttered the summons, as well as\nthe resonant voice of the Muezzin, who to-day did not call the\nworshippers to devotion from the top of a minaret, but from the masthead\nof a ship. On both sides of the narrow seagate, thousands of Moslems and\nChristians thought, hoped and believed, that the Omnipotent One heard\nthem.\n\nThe bells and chanting died away, and a swift galley with Don Juan on\nboard, moved from ship to ship. The young hero, holding a crucifix in his\nhand, shouted encouraging words to the Christian soldiers.\n\nThe blare of trumpets, roll of drums, and shouts of command echoed from\nthe rocky shores.\n\nThe armada moved forward, the admiral's galley, with Don Juan, at its\nhead.\n\nThe Turkish fleet advanced to meet it.\n\nThe young lion no longer asked the wise counsel of the experienced\nadmiral. He desired nothing, thought of nothing, issued no orders, except\n\"forward,\" \"attack,\" \"board,\" \"kill,\" \"sink,\" \"destroy!\"\n\nThe hostile fleets clashed into the fight as bulls, bellowing sullenly,\nrush upon each other with lowered heads and bloodshot eyes.\n\nWho, on this day of vengeance, thought of Marco Antonio Colonna's plan of\nbattle, or the wise counsels of Doria, Venieri, Giustiniani?\n\nNot the clear brain and keen eye--but manly courage and strength would\nturn the scale to-day. Alexander Farnese, Prince of Parma, had joined his\nyoung uncle a short time before, and now commanded a squadron of Genoese\nships in the front. He was to keep back till Doria ordered him to enter\nthe battle. But Don Juan had already boarded the vessel commanded by the\nTurkish admiral, scaled the deck, and with a heavy sword-stroke felled\nKapudan Pacha. Alexander witnessed the scene, his impetuous, heroic\ncourage bore him on, and he too ordered: \"Forward!\"\n\nWhat was the huge ship he was approaching? The silver crescent decked its\nscarlet pennon, rows of cannon poured destruction from its sides, and its\nlofty deck was doubly defended by bearded wearers of the turban.\n\nIt was the treasure-galley of the Ottoman fleet. It would be a gallant\nachievement could the prince vanquish this bulwark, this stronghold of\nthe foe; which was three times greater in size, strength, and number of\nits crew, than Farnese's vessel. What did he care, what recked he of the\nshower of bullets and tar-hoops that awaited him?\n\nUp and at them.\n\nDoria made warning signals, but the prince paid no heed, he would neither\nsee nor hear them.\n\nBrave soldiers fell bleeding and gasping on the deck beside him, his mast\nwas split and came crashing down. \"Who'll follow me?\" he shouted, resting\nhis hand on the bulwark.\n\nThe tried Spanish warriors, with whom Don Juan had manned his vessel,\nhesitated. Only one stepped mutely and resolutely to his side, flinging\nover his shoulder the two-handed sword, whose hilt nearly reached to the\ntall youth's eyes.\n\nEvery one on board knew the fair-haired giant. It was the favorite of the\ncommander in chief--it was Navarrete, who in the war against the Moors of\nCadiz and Baza had performed many an envied deed of valor. His arm seemed\nmade of steel; he valued his life no more than one of the plumes in his\nhelmet, and risked it in battle as recklessly as he did his zechins at\nthe gaming-table.\n\nHere, as well as there, he remained the winner.\n\nNo one knew exactly whence he came as he never mentioned his family, for\nhe was a reserved, unsocial man; but on the voyage to Lepanto he had\nformed a friendship with a sick soldier, Don Miguel Cervantes. The latter\ncould tell marvellous tales, and had his own peculiar opinions about\neverything between heaven and earth.\n\nNavarrete, who carried his head as high as the proudest grandee, devoted\nevery leisure hour to his suffering comrade, uniting the affection of a\nbrother, with the duties of a servant.\n\nIt was known that Navarrete had once been an artist, and he seemed one of\nthe most fervent of the devout Castilians, for he entered every church\nand chapel the army passed, and remained standing a long, long time\nbefore many a Madonna and altar-painting as if spellbound.\n\nEven the boldest dared not attack him, for death hovered over his sword,\nyet his heart had not hardened. He gave winnings and booty with lavish\nhand, and every beggar was sure of assistance.\n\nHe avoided women, but sought the society of the sick and wounded, often\nwatching all night beside the couch of some sorely-injured comrade, and\nthis led to the rumor that he liked to witness death.\n\nAh, no! The heart of the proud, lonely man only sought a place where it\nmight be permitted to soften; the soldier, bereft of love, needed some\nnook where he could exercise on others what was denied to himself:\n\"devoted affection.\"\n\nAlexander Farnese recognized in Navarrete the horse-tamer of the picadero\nin Madrid; he nodded approvingly to him, and mounted the bulwark. But the\nother did not follow instantly, for his friend Don Miguel had joined him,\nand asked to share the adventure. Navarrete and the captain strove to\ndissuade the sick man, but the latter suddenly felt cured of his fever,\nand with flashing eyes insisted on having his own way.\n\nUlrich did not wait for the end of the dispute, for Farnese was now\nspringing into the hostile ship, and the former, with a bold leap,\nfollowed.\n\nAlexander, like himself, carried a two-Banded sword, and both swung them\nas mowers do their scythes. They attacked, struck, felled, and the\nforemost foes shrank from the grim destroyers. Mustapha Pacha, the\ntreasurer and captain of the galley, advanced in person to confront the\nterrible Christians, and a sword-stroke from Alexander shattered the hand\nthat held the curved sabre, a second stretched the Moslem on the deck.\n\nBut the Turks' numbers were greatly superior and threatened to crush the\nheroes, when Don Miguel Cervantes, Ulrich's friend, appeared with twelve\nfresh soldiers on the scene of battle, and cut their way to the\nhard-pressed champions. Other Spanish and Genoese warriors followed and\nthe fray became still more furious.\n\nUlrich had been forced far away from his royal companion-in-arms, and was\nnow swinging his blade beside his invalid friend. Don Miguel's breast was\nalready bleeding from two wounds, and he now fell by Ulrich's side; a\nbullet had broken his left arm.\n\nUlrich stooped and raised him; his men surrounded him, and the Turks were\nscattered, as the tempest sweeps clouds from the mountain.\n\nDon Miguel tried to lift the sword, which had dropped from his grasp, but\nhe only clutched the empty air, and raising his large eyes as if in\necstasy, pressed his hand upon his bleeding breast, exclaiming\nenthusiastically: \"Wounds are stars; they point the way to the heaven of\nfame-of-fame. . . .\"\n\nHis senses failed, and Ulrich bore him in his strong aims to a part of\nthe treasure-ship, which was held by Genoese soldiers. Then he rushed\ninto the fight again, while in his ears still rang his friend's fervid\nwords:\n\n\"The heaven of fame!\"\n\nThat was the last, the highest aim of man! Fame, yes surely fame was the\n\"word\"; it should henceforth be his word!\n\nIt seemed as if a gloomy multitude of heavy thunderclouds had gathered\nover the still, blue arm of the sea. The stifling smoke of powder\ndarkened the clear sky like black vapors, while flashes of lightning and\npeals of thunder constantly illumined and shook the dusky atmosphere.\n\nHere a magazine flew through the air, there one ascended with a fierce\ncrash towards the sky. Wails of pain and shouts of victory, the blare of\ntrumpets, the crash of shattered ships and falling masts blended in\nhellish uproar.\n\nThe sun's light was obscured, but the gigantic frames of huge burning\ngalleys served for torches to light the combatants.\n\nWhen twilight closed in, the Christians had gained a decisive victory.\nDon Juan had killed the commander-in-chief of the Ottoman force, Ali\nPacha, as Farnese hewed down the treasurer. Uncle and nephew emerged from\nthe battle as heroes worthy of renown, but the glory of this victory\nclung to Don Juan's name.\n\nFarnese's bold assault was kindly rebuked by the commander-in-chief, and\nwhen the former praised Navarrete's heroic aid before Don Juan, the\ngeneral gave the bold warrior and gallant trooper, the honorable\ncommission of bearing tidings of the victory to the king. Two galleys\nstood out to sea in a westerly direction at the same time: a Spanish one,\nbearing Don Juan's messenger, and a Venetian ship, conveying the courier\nof the Republic.\n\nThe rowers of both vessels had much difficulty in forcing a way through\nthe wreckage, broken masts and planks, the multitude of dead bodies and\nnet work of cordage, which covered the surface of the water; but even\namid these obstacles the race began.\n\nThe wind and sea were equally favorable to both galleys; but the\nVenetians outstripped the Spaniards and dropped anchor at Alicante\ntwenty-four hours before the latter.\n\nIt was the rider's task, to make up for the time lost by the sailors. The\nmessenger of the Republic was far in advance of the general's. Everywhere\nthat Ulrich changed horses, displaying at short intervals the prophet's\nbanner, which he was to deliver to the king as the fairest trophy of\nvictory--it was inscribed with Allah's name twenty-eight thousand nine\nhundred times--he met rejoicing throngs, processions, and festal\ndecorations.\n\nDon Juan's name echoed from the lips of men and women, girls and\nchildren. This was fame, this was the omnipresence of a god; there could\nbe no higher aspiration for him, who had obtained such honor.\n\nFame, fame! again echoed in Ulrich's soul; if there is a word, which\nraises a man above himself and implants his own being in that of millions\nof fellow-creatures, it is this.\n\nAnd now he urged one steed after another until it broke down, giving\nhimself no rest even at night; half an hour's ride outside of Madrid he\novertook the Venetian, and passed by him with a courteous greeting.\n\nThe king was not in the capital, and he went on without delay to the\nEscurial.\n\nCovered with dust, splashed from head to foot with mud, bruised, tortured\nas if on the rack, he clung to the saddle, yet never ceased to use whip\nand spur, and would trust his message to no other horseman.\n\nNow the barren peaks of the Guadarrama mountains lay close before him,\nnow he reached the first workshops, where iron was being forged for the\ngigantic palace in process of building. How many chimneys smoked, how\nmany hands were toiling for this edifice, which was to comprise a royal\nresidence, a temple, a peerless library, a museum and a tomb.\n\nNumerous carts and sledges, on which blocks of light grey granite had\nbeen drawn hither, barred his way. He rode around them at the peril of\nfalling with his horse over a precipice, and now found himself before a\nlabyrinth of scaffolds and free-stone, in the midst of a wild, grey,\ntreeless mountain valley. What kind of a man was this, who had chosen\nthis desert for his home, in life as well as in death! The Escurial\nsuited King Philip, as King Philip suited the Escurial. Here he felt most\nat ease, from here the royal spider ceaselessly entangled the world in\nhis skilful nets.\n\nHis majesty was attending vespers in the scarcely completed chapel. The\nchief officer of the palace, Fray Antonio de Villacastin, seeing Ulrich\nslip from his horse, hastened to receive the tottering soldier's tidings,\nand led him to the church.\n\nThe 'confiteor' had just commenced, but Fray Antonio motioned to the\npriests, who interrupted the Mass, and Ulrich, holding the prophet's\nstandard high aloft, exclaimed: \"An unparalleled victory!--Don Juan\n. . . October 7th . . . ! at Lepanto--the Ottoman navy totally\ndestroyed . . . !\"\n\nPhilip heard this great news and saw the standard, but seemed to have\nneither eyes nor ears; not a muscle in his face stirred, no movement\nbetrayed that anything was passing in his mind. Murmuring in a sarcastic,\nrather than a joyous tone: \"Don Juan has dared much,\" he gave a sign,\nwithout opening the letter, to continue the Mass, remaining on his knees\nas if nothing had disturbed the sacred rite.\n\nThe exhausted messenger sank into a pew and did not wake from his stupor,\nuntil the communion was over and the king had ordered a Te Deum for the\nvictory of Lepanto.\n\nThen he rose, and as he came out of the pew a newly-married couple passed\nhim, the architect, Herrera, and Isabella Coello, radiant in beauty.\n\nUlrich clenched his fist, and the thought passed through his mind, that\nhe would cast away good-fortune, art and fame as carelessly as\nsoap-bubbles, if he could be in Herrera's place.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nWhat fame is--Ulrich was to learn!\n\nHe saw in Messina the hero of Lepanto revered as a god. Wherever the\nvictor appeared, fair hands strewed flowers in his path, balconies and\nwindows were decked with hangings, and exulting women and girls, joyous\nchildren and grave men enthusiastically shouted his name and flung\nlaurel-wreaths and branches to him. Messages, congratulations and gifts\narrived from all the monarchs and great men of the world.\n\nWhen he saw the wonderful youth dash by, Ulrich marvelled that his steed\ndid not put forth wings and soar away with him into the clouds. But he\ntoo, Navarrete, had done his duty, and was to enjoy the sweetness of\nrenown. When he appeared on Don Juan's most refractory steed, among the\nlast of the victor's train, he felt that he was not overlooked, and often\nheard people tell each other of his deeds.\n\nThis made him raise his head, swelled his heart, urged him into new paths\nof fame.\n\nThe commander-in-chief also longed to press forward, but found himself\ncondemned to inactivity, while he saw the league dissolve, and the fruit\nof his victory wither. King Philip's petty jealousy opposed his wishes,\npoisoned his hopes, and barred the realization of his dreams.\n\nDon Juan was satiated with fame. \"Power\" was the food for which he\nlonged. The busy spider in the Escurial could not deprive him of the\nlaurel, but his own \"word,\" his highest ambition in life, his power, he\nwould consent to share with no mortal man, not even his brother.\n\n\"Laurels are withering leaves, power is arable land,\" said Don Juan to\nEscovedo.\n\nIt befits an emperor's son, thought Ulrich, to cherish such lofty wishes;\nto men of lower rank fame can remain the guiding star on life's pathway.\n\nThe elite of the army was in the Netherlands; there he could find what he\ndesired.\n\nDon Juan let him go, and when fame was the word, Ulrich had no cause to\ncomplain of its ill-will.\n\nHe bore the standard of the proud \"Castilian\" regiment, and when strange\ntroops met him as he entered a city, one man whispered to another: \"That\nis Navarrete, who was in the van at every assault on Haarlem, who, when\nall fell back before Alkmaar, assailed the walls again, it was not his\nfault that they were forced to retreat . . . he turned the scale with his\nmen on Mook-Heath . . . have you heard the story? How, when struck by two\nbullets, he wrapped the banner around him, and fell with, and on it, upon\nthe grass.\"\n\nAnd now, when with the rebellious army he had left the island of Schouwen\nbehind him and was marching through Brabant, it was said:\n\n\"Navarrete! It was he, who led the way for the Spaniards with the\nstandard on his head, when they waded through the sea that stormy night,\nto surprise Zierikzee.\"\n\nWhoever bore arms in the Netherlands knew his name; but the citizens also\nknew who he was, and clenched their fists when they spoke of him.\n\nOn the battle-field, in the water, on the ice, in the breaches of their\nfirm walls, in burning cities, in streets and alleys, in council-chambers\nand plundered homes, he had confronted them as a murderer and destroyer.\nYet, though the word fame had long been embittered to him, the inhumanity\nwhich clung to his deeds had the least share in it.\n\nHe was the servant of his monarch, nothing more. All who bore the name of\nNetherlander were to him rebels and heretics, condemned by God, sentenced\nby his king; not worthy peasants, skilful, industrious citizens, noble\nmen, who were risking property and life for religion and liberty.\n\nThis impish crew disdained to pray to the merciful mother of God and the\nsaints, these temple violators had robbed the churches of their statues,\ndriven the pious monks and nuns from their cloisters! They called the\nPope the Anti-Christ, and in every conquered city he found satirical\nsongs and jeering verses about his lord, the king, his generals and all\nSpaniards.\n\nHe had kept the faith of his childhood, which was shared by every one who\nbore arms with him, and had easily obtained absolution, nay,\nencouragement and praise, for the most terrible deeds of blood.\n\nIn battle, in slaughter, when his wounds burned, in plundering, at the\ngaming-table, everywhere he called upon the Holy Virgin, and also, but\nvery rarely, on the \"word,\" fame.\n\nHe no longer believed in it, for it did not realize what he had\nanticipated. The laurel now rustled on his curls like withered leaves.\nFame would not fill the void in his heart, failed to satisfy his\ndiscontented mind; power offered the lonely man no companionship of the\nsoul, it could not even silence the voice which upbraided him--the\nunapproachable champion, him at whom no mortal dared to look\naskance--with being a miserable fool, defrauded of true happiness and the\nright ambition.\n\nThis voice tortured him on the soft down beds in the town, on the straw\nin the camp, over his wine and on the march.\n\nYet how many envied him. Ay! when he bore the standard at the head of the\nregiment he marched like a victorious demi-god! No one else could support\nso well as he the heavy pole, plated with gold, and the large embroidered\nsilken banner, which might have served as a sail for a stately ship; but\nhe held the staff with his right hand, as if the burden intrusted to him\nwas an easily-managed toy. Meantime, with inimitable solemnity, he threw\nback the upper portion of the body and his curly head, placing his left\nhand on his hip. The arch of the broad chest stood forth in fine relief,\nand with it the breast-plate and points of his armor. He seemed like a\nproud ship under swelling sails, and even in hostile cities, read\nadmiration in the glances of the gaping crowd. Yet he was a miserable,\ndiscontented man, and could not help thinking more and more frequently of\nDon Juan's \"word.\"\n\nHe no longer trusted to the magic power of a word, as in former times.\nStill, he told himself that the \"arable field\" of the emperor's son,\n\"power,\" was some thing lofty and great-ay, the loftiest aim a man could\nhope to attain.\n\nIs not omnipotence God's first attribute? And now, on the march from\nSchouwen through Brabant, power beckoned to him. He had already tasted\nit, when the mutinous army to which he belonged attempted to pillage a\nsmithy. He had stepped before the spoilers and saved the artisan's life\nand property. Whoever swung the hammer before the bellows was sacred to\nhim; he had formerly shared gains and booty with many a plundered member\nof his father's craft.\n\nHe now carried a captain's staff, but this was mere mummery, child's\nplay, nothing more. A merry soldier's-cook wore a captain's plume on the\nside of his tall hat. The field-officer, most of the captains and the\nlieutenants, had retired after the great mutiny on the island of Schouwen\nwas accomplished, and their places were now occupied by ensigns,\nsergeants and quartermasters. The higher officers had gone to Brussels,\nand the mutinous army marched without any chief through Brabant.\n\nThey had not received their well-earned pay for twenty-two months, and\nthe starving regiments now sought means of support wherever they could\nfind them.\n\nTwo years since, after the battle of Mook-Heath, the army had helped\nitself, and at that time, as often happened on similar occasions, an\nEletto--[The chosen one. The Italian form is used, instead of the Spanish\n'electo'.]--had been chosen from among the rebellious subaltern officers.\nUlrich had then been lying seriously wounded, but after the end of the\nmutiny was told by many, that no other would have been made Eletto had he\nonly been well and present. Now an Eletto was again to be chosen, and\nwhoever was elected would have command of at least three thousand men,\nand possibly more, as it was expected that other regiments would join the\ninsurrection. To command an army! This was power, this was the highest\nattainment; it was worth risking life to obtain it.\n\nThe regiments pitched their camp at Herenthals, and here the election was\nto be held.\n\nIn the arrangement of the tents, the distribution of the wagons which\nsurrounded the camp like a wall, the stationing of field-pieces at the\nleast protected places, Ulrich had the most authority, and while\nexercising it forced himself, for the first time in his life, to appear\ngentle and yielding, when he would far rather have uttered words of\ncommand. He lived in a state of feverish excitement; sleep deserted his\ncouch, he imagined that every word he heard referred to himself and his\nelection.\n\nDuring these days he learned to smile when he was angry, to speak\npleasantly while curses were burning on his lips. He was careful not to\nbetray by look, word, or deed what was passing in his mind, as he feared\nthe ridicule that would ensue should he fail to achieve his purpose.\n\nOne more day, one more night, and perhaps he would be commander-in-chief,\nable to conquer a kingdom and keep the world in terror. Perhaps, only\nperhaps; for another was seeking with dangerous means to obtain control\nof the army.\n\nThis was Sergeant-Major and Quartermaster Zorrillo, an excellent and\npopular soldier, who had been chosen Eletto after the battle of\nMook-Heath, but voluntarily resigned his office at the first serious\nopposition he encountered.\n\nIt was said that he had done this by his wife's counsel, and this woman\nwas Ulrich's most dangerous foe.\n\nZorrillo belonged to another regiment, but Ulrich had long known him and\nhis companion, the \"campsibyl.\"\n\nWine was sold in the quartermaster's tent, which, before the outbreak of\nthe mutiny, had been the rendezvous of the officers and chaplains.\n\nThe sibyl entertained the officers with her gay conversation, while they\ndrank or sat at the gaining-table; she probably owed her name to the\nskill she displayed in telling fortunes by cards. The common soldiers\nliked her too, because she took care of their sick wives and children.\n\nNavarrete preferred to spend his time in his own regiment, so he did not\nmeet the Zorrillos often until the mutiny at Schouwen and on the march\nthrough Brabant. He had never sought, and now avoided them; for he knew\nthe sibyl was leaving no means untried to secure her partner's election.\nTherefore he disliked them; yet he could not help occasionally entering\ntheir tent, for the leaders of the mutiny held their counsels there.\nZorrillo always received him courteously; but his companion gazed at him\nso intently and searchingly, that an anxious feeling, very unusual to the\nbold fellow, stole over him.\n\nHe could not help asking himself whether he had seen her before, and when\nthe thought that she perhaps resembled his mother, once entered his mind,\nhe angrily rejected it.\n\nThe day before she had offered to tell his fortune; but he refused\npoint-blank, for surely no good tidings could come to him from those\nlips.\n\nTo-day she had asked what his Christian name was, and for the first time\nin years he remembered that he was also called \"Ulrich.\" Now he was\nnothing but \"Navarrete,\" to himself and others. He lived solely for\nhimself, and the more reserved a man is, the more easily his Christian\nname is lost to him.\n\nAs, years before, he had told the master that he was called nothing but\nUlrich, he now gave the harsh answer: \"I am Navarrete, that's enough!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nTowards evening, the members of the mutiny met at the Zorrillos to hold a\ncouncil.\n\nThe weather outside was hot and sultry, and the more people assembled,\nthe heavier and more oppressive became the air within the spacious tent,\nthe interior of which looked plain enough, for its whole furniture\nconsisted of some small roughly-made tables, some benches and chairs, and\none large table, and a superb ebony chest with ivory ornaments, evidently\nstolen property. On this work of art lay the pillows used at night, booty\nobtained at Haarlem; they were covered with bright but worn-out silk,\nwhich had long shown the need of the thrifty touch of a woman's hand.\nPictures of the saints were pasted on the walls, and a crucifix hung over\nthe door.\n\nBehind the great table, between a basket and the wine cask, from which\nthe sibyl replenished the mugs, stood a high-backed chair. A coarse\nbarmaid, who had grown up in the camp, served the assembled men, but she\nhad no occasion to hurry, for the Spaniards were slow drinkers.\n\nThe guests sat, closely crowded together, in a circle, and seemed grave\nand taciturn; but their words sounded passionate, imperious, defiant, and\nthe speakers often struck their coats of mail with their clenched fists,\nor pounded on the floor with their swords.\n\nIf there was any difference of opinion, the disputants flew into a\nfurious rage, and then a chorus of fierce, blustering voices rose like a\ntenfold echo. It often seemed as if the next instant swords must fly from\ntheir sheaths and a bloody brawl begin; but Zorrillo, who had been chosen\nto preside over the meeting, only needed to raise his baton and command\norder, to transform the roar into a low muttering; the weather-beaten,\nscarred, pitiless soldiers, even when mutineers, yielded willing\nobedience to the word of command and the iron constraint of discipline.\n\nOn the sea and at Schouwen their splendid costumes had obtained a\nbeggarly appearance. The velvet and brocade extorted from the rich\ncitizens of Antwerp, now hung tattered and faded around their sinewy\nlimbs. They looked like foot-pads, vagabonds, pirates, yet sat, as\nmilitary custom required, exactly in the order of their rank; on the\nmarch and in the camp, every insurgent willingly obeyed the orders of the\nnew leader, who by the fortune of war had thrown pairs-royal on the\ndrumhead.\n\nOne thing was certain: some decisive action must be taken. Every one\nneeded doublets and shoes, money and good lodgings. But in what way could\nthese be most easily procured? By parleying and submitting on acceptable\nconditions, said some; by remaining free and capturing a city, roared\nothers; first wealthy Mechlin, which could be speedily reached. There\nthey could get what they wanted without money. Zorrillo counselled\nprudent conduct; Navarrete impetuously advised bold action. They, the\ninsurgents, he cried, were stronger than any other military force in the\nNetherlands, and need fear no one. If they begged and entreated they\nwould be dismissed with copper coins; but if they enforced their demands\nthey would become rich and prosperous.\n\nWith flashing eyes he extolled what the troops, and he himself had done;\nhe enlarged upon the hardships they had borne, the victories won for the\nking. He asked nothing but good pay for blood and toil, good pay, not\ncoppers and worthless promises.\n\nLoud shouts of approval followed his speech, and a gunner, who now held\nthe rank of captain, exclaimed enthusiastically:\n\n\"Navarrete, the hero of Lepanto and Haarlem, is right! I know whom I will\nchoose.\"\n\n\"Victor, victor Navarrete!\" echoed from many a bearded lilt.\n\nBut Zorrillo interrupted these declarations, exclaiming, not without\ndignity, while raising his baton still higher. \"The election will take\nplace to-morrow, gentlemen; we are holding a council to-day. It is very\nwarm in here; I feel it as much as you do. But before we separate, listen\na few minutes to a man, who means well.\" Zorrillo now explained all the\nreasons, which induced him to counsel negotiations and a friendly\nagreement with the commander-in-chief. There was sound, statesmanlike\nlogic in his words, yet his language did not lack warmth and charm. The\nmen perceived that he was in earnest, and while he spoke the sibyl went\nbehind him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and wiped the perspiration\nfrom his brow with her handkerchief. Zorrillo permitted it, and without\ninterrupting himself, gave her a grateful, affectionate glance.\n\nThe bronzed warriors liked to look at her, and even permitted her to\nutter a word of advice or warning during their discussions, for she was a\nwise woman, not one of the ordinary stamp. Her blue eyes sparkled with\nintelligence and mirth, her full lips seemed formed for quick, gay\nrepartee, she was always kind and cheer ful in her manner even to the\nmost insignificant. But whence came the deep lines about her red mouth\nand the outer corners of her eyes? She covered them with rouge every day,\nto conceal the evidence of the sorrowful hours she spent when alone? The\nlines were well disguised, yet they increased, and year by year grew\ndeeper.\n\nNo wrinkle had yet dared to appear on the narrow forehead; and the\ndelicate features, dazzlingly-white teeth, girlish figure, and winning\nsmile lent this woman a youthful aspect. She might be thirty, or perhaps\neven past forty.\n\nA pleasure made her younger by ten summers, a vexation transformed her\ninto a matron. The snow white hair, carefully arranged on her forehead,\nseemed to indicate somewhat advanced age; but it was known that it had\nturned grey in a few days and nights, eight years before, when a\ndiscontented blackguard stabbed the quartermaster, and he lay for weeks\nat the point of death.\n\nThis white hair harmonized admirably with the red cheeks of the\ncamp-sibyl, who appreciating the fact, did not dye it.\n\nDuring Zorrillo's speech her eyes more than once rested on Ulrich with a\nstrangely intense expression. As soon as he paused, she went back again\nbehind the table to the crying child, to cradle it in her arms.\n\nZorrillo--perceiving that a new and violent argument was about to break\nforth among the men--closed the meeting. Before adjourning, however, it\nwas unanimously decided that the election should be held on the morrow.\n\nWhile the soldiers noisily rose, some shaking hands with Zorrillo, some\nwith Navarrete, the stately sergeant-major of a German lansquenet troop,\nwhich was stationed in Antwerp, and did not belong to the insurgents,\nentered the wide open door of the tent. His dress was gay and in good\norder; a fine Dalmatian dog followed him.\n\nA thunder-storm had begun, and it was raining violently. Some of the\nSpaniards were twisting their rosaries, and repeating prayers, but\nneither thunder, lightning, nor water seemed to have destroyed the\nGerman's good temper, for he shook the drops from his plumed hat with a\nmerry \"phew,\" gaily introducing himself to his comrades as an envoy from\nthe Pollviller regiment.\n\nHis companions, he said, were not disinclined to join the \"free army\"--he\nhad come to ask how the masters of Schouwen fared.\n\nZorrillo offered the sergeant-major a chair, and after the latter had\nraised and emptied two beakers from the barmaid's pewter waiter in quick\nsuccession, he glanced around the circle of his rebel comrades. Some he\nhad met before in various countries, and shook hands with them. Then he\nfixed his eyes on Ulrich, pondering where and under what standard he had\nseen this magnificent, fair-haired warrior.\n\nNavarrete recognizing the merry lansquenet, Hans Eitelfritz of Colln on\nthe Spree, held out his hand, and cried in the Spanish language, which\nthe lansquenet had also used:\n\n\"You are Hans Eitelfritz! Do you remember Christmas in the Black Forest,\nMaster Moor, and the Alcazar in Madrid?\"\n\n\"Ulrich, young Master Ulrich! Heavens and earth!\" cried Eitelfritz;--but\nsuddenly interrupted himself; for the sibyl, who had risen from the table\nto bring the envoy, with her own hands, a larger goblet of wine, dropped\nthe beaker close beside him.\n\nZorrillo and he hastily sprung to support the tottering woman, who was\nalmost fainting. But she recovered herself, waving them back with a mute\ngesture.\n\nAll eyes were fixed upon her, and every one was startled; for she stood\nas if benumbed, her bright, youthful face had suddenly become aged and\nhaggard. \"What is the matter?\" asked Zorrillo anxiously. Recovering her\nself-control, she answered hastily \"The thunder, the storm. . . .\"\n\nThen, with short, light steps, she went back to the table, and as she\nresumed her seat the bell for evening prayers was heard outside.\n\nMost of the company rose to obey the summons.\n\n\"Good-bye till to-morrow morning, Sergeant! The election will take place\nearly to-morrow.\"\n\n\"A Dios, a Dios, hasta mas ver, Sibila, a Dios!\" was loudly shouted, and\nsoon most of the guests had left the tent.\n\nThose who remained behind were scattered among the different tables.\nUlrich sat at one alone with Hans Eitelfritz.\n\nThe lansquenet had declined Zorrillo's invitation to join him; an old\nfriend from Madrid was present, with whom he wished to talk over happier\ndays. The other willingly assented; for what he had intended to say to\nhis companions was against Ulrich and his views. The longer the\nsergeant-major detained him the better. Everything that recalled Master\nMoor was dear to Ulrich, and as soon as he was alone with Hans\nEitelfritz, he again greeted him in a strange mixture of Spanish and\nGerman. He had forgotten his home, but still retained a partial\nrecollection of his native language. Every one supposed him to be a\nSpaniard, and he himself felt as if he were one.\n\nHans Eitelfritz had much to tell Ulrich; he had often met Moor in\nAntwerp, and been kindly received in his studio.\n\nWhat pleasure it afforded Navarrete to hear from the noble artist, how he\nenjoyed being able to speak German again after so many years, difficult\nas it was. It seemed as if a crust melted away from his heart, and none\nof those present had ever seen him so gay, so full of youthful vivacity.\nOnly one person knew that he could laugh and play noisily, and this one\nwas the beautiful woman at the long table, who knew not whether she\nshould die of joy, or sink into the earth with shame.\n\nShe had taken the year old infant from the basket. It was a pale, puny\nlittle creature, whose father had fallen in battle, and whose mother had\ndeserted it.\n\nThe handsome standard-bearer yonder was called Ulrich! He must be her\nson! Alas, and she could only cast stolen glances at him, listen by\nstealth to the German words that fell from the beloved lips. Nothing\nescaped her notice, yet while looking and listening, her thoughts\nwandered to a far distant country, long vanished days; beside the bearded\ngiant she saw a beautiful, curly-haired child; besides the man's deep\nvoice she heard clear, sweet childish tones, that called her \"mother\" and\nrang out in joyous, silvery laughter.\n\nThe pale child in her arms often raised its little hand to its cheek,\nwhich was wet with the tears of the woman; who tended it. How hard, how\nunspeakably, terribly hard it was for this woman, with the youthful face\nand white locks, to remain quiet! How she longed to start up and call\njoyously to the child, the man, her lover's enemy, but her own, own\nUlrich:\n\n\"Look at me, look at me! I am your mother. You are mine! Come, come to my\nheart! I will never leave you more!\"\n\nUlrich now laughed heartily again, not suspecting what was passing in a\nmother's heart, close beside him; he had no eyes for her, and only\nlistened to the jests of the German lansquenet, with whom he drained\nbeaker after beaker.\n\nThe strange child served as a shield to protect the camp-sibyl from her\nson's eyes, and also to conceal from him that she was watching,\nlistening, weeping. Eitelfritz talked most and made one joke after\nanother; but she did not laugh, and only wished he would stop and let\nUlrich speak, that she might be permitted to hear his voice again.\n\n\"Give the dog Lelaps a little corner of the settle,\" cried Hans\nEitelfritz. \"He'll get his feet wet on the damp floor--for the rain is\ntrickling in--and take cold. This choice fellow isn't like ordinary\ndogs.\"\n\n\"Do you call the tiger Lelaps?\" asked Ulrich. \"An odd name.\"\n\n\"I got him from a student at Tubingen, dainty Junker Fritz of Hallberg,\nin exchange for an elephant's tusk I obtained in the Levant, and he owes\nhis name to the merry rogue. I tell you, he's wiser than many learned\nmen; he ought to be called Doctor Lelaps.\"\n\n\"He's a pretty creature.\"\n\n\"Pretty! More, far more! For instance, at Naples we had the famous\nMortadella sausage for breakfast, and being engaged in eager\nconversation, I forgot him. What did my Lelaps do? He slipped quietly\ninto the garden, returned with a bunch of forget-me-nots in his mouth,\nand offered it to me, as a gallant presents a bouquet to his fair one.\nThat meant: dogs liked sausage too, and it was not seemly to forget him.\nWhat do you say to that show of sense?\"\n\n\"I think your imagination more remarkable than the dog's sagacity.\"\n\n\"You believed in my good fortune in the old days, do you now doubt this\ntrue story?\"\n\n\"To be sure, that is rather preposterous, for whoever loyally and\nfaithfully trusts good-fortune--your good fortune--is ill-advised. Have\nyou composed any new songs?\"\n\n\"'That is all over now!\" sighed the trooper. \"See this scar! Since an\ninfidel dog cleft my skull before Tunis, I can write no more verses; yet\nit hasn't grown quiet in my upper story on that account. I lie now,\ninstead of composing. My boon companions enjoy the nonsensical trash,\nwhen I pour it forth at the tavern.\"\n\n\"And the broken skull: is that a forget-me-not story too, or was it. . . .\"\n\n\"Look here! It's the actual truth. It was a bad blow, but there's a grain\nof good in everything evil. For instance, we were in the African desert\njust dying of thirst, for that belongs to the desert as much as the dot\ndoes to the letter i. Lelaps yonder was with me, and scented a spring.\nThen it was necessary to dig, but I had neither spade nor hatchet, so I\ntook out the loose part of the skull, it was a hard piece of bone, and\ndug with it till the water gushed out of the sand, then I drank out of my\nbrain-pan as if it were a goblet.\"\n\n\"Man, man!\" exclaimed Ulrich, striking his clenched fist on the table.\n\n\"Do you suppose a dog can't scent a spring?\" asked Eitelfritz, with\ncomical wrath. \"Lelaps here was born in Africa, the native land of\ntigers, and his mother. . . .\"\n\n\"I thought you got him in Tubingen?\"\n\n\"I said just now that I tell lies. I imposed upon you, when I made you\nthink Lelaps came from Swabia; he was really born in the desert, where\nthe tigers live.\n\n\"No offence, Herr Ulrich! We'll keep our jests for another evening. As\nsoon as I'm knocked down, I stop my nonsense. Now tell me, where shall I\nfind Navarrete, the standard-bearer, the hero of Lepanto and Schouwen? He\nmust be a bold fellow; they say Zorrillo and he. . . .\"\n\nThe lansquenet had spoken loudly; the quartermaster, who caught the name\nNavarrete, turned, and his eyes met Ulrich's.\n\nHe must be on his guard against this man.\n\nThe instant Zorrillo recognized him as a German, he would hold a powerful\nweapon. The Spaniards would give the command only to a Spaniard.\n\nThis thought now occurred to him for the first time. It had needed the\nmeeting with Hans Eitelfritz, to remind him that he belonged to a\ndifferent nation from his comrades. Here was a danger to be encountered,\nso with the rapid decision, acquired in the school of war, he laid his\nhand heavily on his countryman's, saying in a low, impressive tone: \"You\nare my friend, Hans Eitelfritz, and have no wish to injure me.\"\n\n\"Zounds, no! What's up?\"\n\n\"Well then, keep to yourself where and how we first met each other. Don't\ninterrupt me. I'll tell you later in my tent, where you must take up your\nquarters, how I gained my name, and what I have experienced in life.\nDon't show your surprise, and keep calm. I, Ulrich, the boy from the\nBlack Forest, am the man you seek, I am Navarrete.\"\n\n\"You?\" asked the lansquenet, opening his eyes in amazement. \"Nonsense!\nYou're paying me off for the yarns I told you just now.\"\n\nNo, Hans Eitelfritz, no! I am not jesting, I mean it. I am Navarrete! Nay\nmore! If you keep your mouth shut, and the devil doesn't put his finger\ninto the pie, I think, spite of all the Zorrillos, I shall be Eletto\nto-morrow.\n\n\"You know the Spanish temper! The German Ulrich will be a very different\nperson to them from the Castilian Navarrete. It is in your power to spoil\nmy chance.\"\n\nThe other interrupted him by a peal of loud, joyous laughter, then\nshouted to the dog: \"Up, Lelaps! My respects to Caballero Navarrete.\"\n\nThe Spaniards frowned, for they thought the German was drunk, but Hans\nEitelfritz needed more liquor than that to upset his sobriety.\n\nFlashing a mischievous glance at Ulrich from his bright eyes, he\nwhispered: \"If necessary, I too can be silent. You man without a country!\nYou soldier of fortune! A Swabian the commander of these stiffnecked\nbraggarts. Now see how I'll help you.\"\n\n\"What do you mean to do?\" asked Ulrich; but Hans Eitelfritz had already\nraised the huge goblet, banging it down again so violently that the table\nshook. Then he struck the top with his clenched fist, and when the\nSpaniards fixed their eyes on him, shouted in their language: \"Yes,\nindeed, it was delightful in those days, Caballero Navarrete. Your uncle,\nthe noble Conde in what's its name, that place in Castile, you know, and\nthe Condesa and Condesilla. Splendid people! Do you remember the\ncoal-black horses with snow-white tails in your father's stable, and the\nold servant Enrique. There wasn't a longer nose than his in all Castile!\nOnce, when I was in Burgos, I saw a queer, longish shadow coming round a\nstreet corner, and two minutes after, first a nose and then old Enrique\nappeared.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" replied Ulrich, guessing the lansquenet's purpose. \"But it\nhas grown late while we've been gossiping; let us go!\"\n\nThe woman at the table had not heard the whispers exchanged between the\ntwo men; but she guessed the object of the lansquenet's loud words. As\nthe latter slowly rose, she laid the child in the basket, drew a long\nbreath, pressed her fingers tightly upon her eyes for a short time, and\nthen went directly up to her son.\n\nFlorette did not know herself, whether she owed the name of sibyl to her\nskill in telling fortunes by cards, or to her wise counsel. Twelve years\nbefore, while still sharing the tent of the Walloon captain Grandgagnage,\nit had been given her, she could not say how or by whom. The\nfortune-telling she had learned from a sea-captain's widow, with whom she\nhad lodged a long time.\n\nWhen her voice grew sharp and weaker, in order to retain consideration\nand make herself important, she devoted herself to predicting the future;\nher versatile mind, her ambition, and the knowledge of human-nature\ngained in the camp and during her wanderings from land to land, aided her\nto acquire remarkable skill in this strange pursuit.\n\nOfficers of the highest rank had sat opposite to her cards, listening to\nher oracular sayings, and Zorrillo, the man who had now been her lover\nfor ten years, owed it to her influence, that he did not lose his\nposition as quartermaster after the last mutiny.\n\nHans Eitelfritz had heard of her skill and when, as he was leaving, she\napproached and offered to question the cards for him, he would not allow\nUlrich to prevent him from casting a glance into the future.\n\nOn the whole, what was predicted to him sounded favorable, but the\nprophetess did not keep entirely to the point, for in turning the cards\nshe found much to say to Ulrich, and once, pointing to the red and green\nknaves, remarked thoughtfully: \"That is you, Navarrete; that is this\ngentleman. You must have met each other on some Christmas day, and not\nhere, but in Germany; if I see rightly, in Swabia.\"\n\nShe had just overheard all this.\n\nBut a shudder ran through Ulrich's frame when he heard it, and this\nwoman, whose questioning glance had always disturbed him, now inspired\nhim with a mysterious dread, which he could not control. He rose to\nwithdraw; but she detained him, saying: \"Now it is your turn, Captain.\"\n\n\"Some other time,\" replied Ulrich, repellently. Good fortune always comes\nin good time, and to know ill-luck in advance, is a misfortune I should\nthink.\"\n\n\"I can read the past, too.\"\n\nUlrich started. He must learn what his rival's companion knew of his\nformer life, so he answered quickly, \"Well, for aught I care, begin.\"\n\n\"Gladly, gladly, but when I look into the past, I must be alone with the\nquestioner. Be kind enough to give Zorrillo your company for quarter of\nan hour, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Don't believe everything she tells you, and don't look too deep into her\neyes. Come, Lelaps, my son!\" cried the lansquenet, and did as he was\nrequested.\n\nThe woman dealt the cards silently, with trembling hands, but Ulrich\nthought: \"Now she will try to sound me, and a thousand to one will do\neverything in her power to disgust me with desiring the Eletto's baton.\nThat's the way blockheads are caught. We will keep to the past.\"\n\nHis companion met this resolution halfway; for before she had dealt the\nlast two rows, she rested her chin on the cards in her hands and, trying\nto meet his glance, asked:\n\n\"How shall we begin? Do you still remember your childhood?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Your father?\"\n\n\"I have not seen him for a long time. Don't the cards tell you, that he\nis dead?\"\n\n\"Dead, dead:--of course he's dead. You had a mother too?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" he answered impatiently; for he was unwilling to talk with\nthis woman about his mother.\n\nShe shrank back a little, and said sadly: \"That sounds very harsh. Do you\nno longer like to think of your mother?\"\n\n\"What is that to you?\"\n\n\"I must know.\"\n\n\"No, what concerns my mother is . . . I will--is too good for juggling.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she said, looking at him with a glance from which he shrank. Then\nshe silently laid down the last cards, and asked: \"Do you want to hear\nanything about a sweetheart?\"\n\n\"I have none. But how you look at me! Have you grown tired of Zorrillo? I\nam ill-suited for a gallant.\"\n\nShe shuddered slightly. Her bright face had again grown old, so old and\nweary that he pitied her. But she soon regained her composure, and\ncontinued:\n\n\"What are you saying? Ask the questions yourself now, if you please.\"\n\n\"Where is my native place?\"\n\n\"A wooded, mountainous region in Germany.\"\n\n\"Ah, ha! and what do you know of my father?\"\n\n\"You look like him, there is an astonishing resemblance in the forehead\nand eyes; his voice, too, was exactly like yours.\"\n\n\"A chip of the old block.\"\n\n\"Well, well. I see Adam before me. . . .\"\n\n\"Adam?\" asked Ulrich, and the blood left his cheeks.\n\n\"Yes, his name was Adam,\" she continued more boldly, with increasing\nvivacity: \"there he stands. He wears a smith's apron, a small leather cap\nrests on his fair hair. Auriculas and balsams stand in the bow-window. A\nroan horse is being shod in the market-place below.\"\n\nThe soldier's head swam, the happiest period of his childhood, which he\nhad not recalled for a long time, again rose before his memory; he saw\nhis father stand before him, and the woman, the sibyl yonder, had the\neyes and mouth, not of his mother, but of the Madonna he had destroyed\nwith his maul-stick. Scarcely able to control himself, he grasped her\nhand, pressing it violently, and asked in German:\n\n\"What is my name? And what did my mother call me?\"\n\nShe lowered her eyes as if in shame, and whispered softly in German:\n\"Ulrich, Ulrich, my darling, my little boy, my lamb, Ulrich--my child!\nCondemn me, desert me, curse me, but call me once more 'my mother.'\"\n\n\"My mother,\" he said gently, covering his face with his hands--but she\nstarted up, hurried back to the pale baby in the cradle, and pressing her\nface upon the little one's breast, moaned and wept bitterly.\n\nMeantime, Zorrillo had not averted his eyes from Navarrete and his\ncompanion. What could have passed between the two, what ailed the man?\n\nRising slowly, he approached the basket before which the sibyl was\nkneeling, and asked anxiously: \"What was it, Flora?\"\n\nShe pressed her face closer to the weeping child, that he might not see\nher tears, and answered quickly \"I predicted things, things . . . go, I will\ntell you about it later.\"\n\nHe was satisfied with this answer, but she was now obliged to join the\nSpaniards, and Ulrich took leave of her with a silent salutation.\n\n\n\n\nA WORD, ONLY A WORD\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nThe Spanish nature is contagious, thought Hans Eitelfritz, tossing on his\ncouch in Ulrich's tent. What a queer fellow the gay young lad has become!\nSighs are cheap with him, and every word costs a ducat. He is worthy all\nhonor as a soldier. If they make him Eletto, it will be worth while to\njoin the free army.\n\nUlrich had briefly told the lansquenet, how he had obtained the name of\nNavarrete and how he had come from Madrid and Lepanto to the Netherlands.\nThen he went to rest, but he could not sleep.\n\nHe had found his mother again. He now possessed the best gift Ruth had\nasked him to beseech of the \"word.\" The soldier's sweetheart, the\nfaithless wife, the companion of his rival, whom only yesterday he had\navoided, the fortune-teller, the camp-sibyl, was the woman who had given\nhim birth. He, who thought he had preserved his honor stainless, whose\nhand grasped the sword if another looked askance at him, was the child of\none, at whom every respectable woman had the right to point her finger.\nAll these thoughts darted through his brain; but strangely enough, they\nmelted like morning mists when the sun rises, before the feeling of joy\nthat he had his mother again.\n\nHer image did not rise before his memory in Zorrillo's tent, but framed\nby balsams and wall-flowers. His vivid imagination made her twenty years\nyounger, and how beautiful she still was, how winningly she could glance\nand smile. Every appreciative word, all the praises of the sibyl's\nbeauty, good sense and kindness, which he had heard in the camp, came\nback freshly to his mind, and he would fain have started up to throw\nhimself on her bosom, call her his mother, hear her give him all the\nsweet, pet names, which sounded so tender from her lips, and feel the\ncaress of her soft hands. How rich the solitary man felt, how\nsurpassingly rich! He had been entirely alone, deserted even by his\nmother! Now he was so no longer, and pleasant dreams blended with his\nambitious plans, like golden threads in dark cloth.\n\nWhen power was once his, he would build her a beautiful, cosy nest with\nhis share of the booty. She must leave Zorrillo, leave him to-morrow. The\nlittle nest should belong to her and him alone, entirely alone, and when\nhis soul longed for peace, love, and quiet, he would rest there with her,\nrecall with her the days of his childhood, cherish and care for her, make\nher forget all her sins and sufferings, and enjoy to the full the\nhappiness of having her again, calling a loving mother's heart his own.\n\nAt every breath he drew he felt freer and gayer. Suddenly there was a\nrustling at the tent-door. He seized his two-handed sword, but did not\nraise it, for a beloved voice he recognized, called softly: \"Ulrich,\nUlrich, it is I!\"\n\nHe started up, hastily threw on his doublet, rushed towards her, clasped\nher in his arms, and let her stroke his curls, kiss his cheeks and eyes,\nas in the old happy days. Then he drew her into the tent, whispering\n\"Softly, softly, the snorer yonder is the German.\"\n\nShe followed him, leaned against him, and raised his hand to her lips; he\nfelt them grow wet with tears. They had not yet said anything to each\nother, except how happy, how glad, how thankful they were to have each\nother again; then a sentinel passed, and she started up, exclaiming\nanxiously: \"So late, so late; Zorrillo will be waiting!\"\n\n\"Zorrillo!\" cried Ulrich scornfully, \"you have been a long time with him.\nIf they give me the power. . . .\"\n\n\"They will choose you, child, they shall choose you,\" she hastily\ninterrupted. \"Oh, God! oh, God! perhaps this will bring you misfortune\ninstead of blessing; but you desire it! Count Mannsfeld is coming\ntomorrow; Zorrillo knows it. He will bring a pardon for all; promotions\ntoo, but no money yet.\"\n\n\"Oh, ho!\" cried Ulrich, \"that may decide the matter.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so, you deserve to command them. You were born for some special\npurpose, and your card always turns up so strangely. Eletto! It sounds\nproud and grand, but many have been ruined by it. . . .\"\n\n\"Because power was too hard for them.\"\n\n\"It must serve you. You are strong. A child of good fortune. Folly! I\nwill not fear. You have probably fared well in life. Ah, my lamb, I have\ndone little for you, but one thing I did unceasingly: I prayed for you,\npoor boy, morning and night; have you noticed, have you felt it?\"\n\nHe drew her to his heart again, but she released herself from his\nembrace, saying: \"To-morrow, Ulrich; Zorrillo. . . .\"\n\n\"Zorrillo, always Zorrillo,\" he repeated, his blood boiling angrily. \"You\nare mine and, if you love me, you will leave him.\"\n\n\"I cannot, Ulrich, it will not do. He is kind, you will yet be friends.\"\n\n\"We, we? On the day of judgment, nay, not even then! Are you more firmly\nbound to yon smooth fellow, than to my honest father? There stands\nsomething in the darkness, it is good steel, and if needful will cut the\ntie asunder.\"\n\n\"Ulrich, Ulrich!\" wailed Flora, raising her hands beseechingly. \"Not\nthat, not that; it must not be. He is kind and sensible, and loves me\nfondly. Oh, Heaven! Oh, Ulrich! The mother has glided to her son at\nnight, as if she were following forbidden paths. Oh, this is indeed a\npunishment. I know how heavily I have sinned, I deserve whatever may\nbefall me; but you, you must not make me more wretched, than I already\nam. Your father, he . . . if he were still alive, for your sake I would\ncrawl to him on my knees, and say: 'Here I am, forgive me'--but he is\ndead. Pasquale, Zorrillo lives; do not think me a vain, deluded woman;\nZorrillo cannot bear to have me leave him. . . .\"\n\n\"And my father? He bore it. But do you know how? Shall I describe his\nlife to you?\"\n\n\"No, no! Oh, child, how you torture me! I know how I sinned against your\nfather, the thought does not cease to torture me, for he truly loved me,\nand I loved him, too, loved him tenderly. But I cannot keep quiet a long\ntime, and cast down my eyes, like the women there, it is not in my blood;\nand Adam shut me up in a cage and for many years let me see nothing\nexcept himself, and the cold, stupid city in the ravine by the forest.\nOne day a fierce longing came upon me, I could not help going\nforth--forth into the wide world, no matter with whom or whither. The\nsoldier only needed to hint and I fell.--I did not stay with him long, he\nwas a windy braggart; but I was faithful to Captain Grandgagnage and\naccompanied the wild fellow with the Walloons through every land, until\nhe was shot. Then ten years ago, I joined Zorrillo; he is my friend, he\nshares my feelings, I am necessary to his existence. Do not laugh,\nUlrich; I well know that youth lies behind me, that I am old, yet\nPasquale loves me; since I have had him, I have been more content and,\nHoly Virgin! now--I love him in return. Oh, Heaven! Oh, Heaven! Why is it\nso? This heart, this miserable heart, still throbs as fast as it did\ntwenty years ago.\"\n\n\"You will not leave him?\"\n\n\"No, no, I love him, and I know why. Every one calls him a brave man, yet\nthey only half know him; no one knows him wholly as I do. No one else is\nso good, so generous. You must let me speak! Do you suppose I ever forgot\nyou? Never, never! But you have always been to me the dear little boy; I\nnever thought of you as a man, and since I could not have you and longed\nso greatly for you, for a child, I opened my heart to the soldiers'\norphans, the little creature you saw in the tent is one of these poor\nthings, I have often had two or three such babies at the same time. It\nwould have been an abomination to Grandgagnage, but Zorrillo rejoices in\nmy love for children, and I have given what the Walloon bequeathed me and\nhis own booty to the soldiers' widows and the little naked babies in the\ncamp. He was satisfied, for whatever I do pleases him. I will not, cannot\nleave him!\"\n\nShe paused, hiding her face in her hands, but Ulrich paced to and fro,\nviolently agitated. At last he said firmly: \"Yet you must part from him.\nHe or I! I will have nothing to do with the lover of my father's wife. I\nam Adam's son, and will be constant to him. Ah, mother, I have been\ndeprived of you so long. You can tend strangers' orphaned children, yet\nyou make your own son an orphan. Will you do this? No, a thousand times,\nno, you cannot! Do not weep so, you must not weep! Hear me, hear me! For\nmy sake, leave this Spaniard! You will not repent it. I have just been\ndreaming of the nest I will build for you. There I will cherish and care\nfor you, and you shall keep as many orphan children as you choose. Leave\nhim, mother, you must leave him for the sake of your child, your Ulrich!\"\n\n\"Oh, God! oh, God!\" she sobbed. \"I will try, yes, I will try. . . . My\nchild, my dear child!\"\n\nUlrich clasped her closely in his arms, kissed her hair, and said,\nsoftly: \"I know, I know, you need love, and you shall find it with me.\"\n\n\"With you!\" she repeated, sobbing. Then releasing herself from his\nembrace she hurried to the feverish woman, at whose summons she had left\nher tent.\n\nAs morning dawned, she returned home and found Zorrillo still awake. He\nenquired about her patient, and told her he had given the child something\nto drink while she was away.\n\nFlora could not help weeping bitterly again, and Zorrillo, noticing it,\nexclaimed chidingly: \"Each has his own griefs to bear, it is not wise to\ntake strangers' troubles so deeply to heart.\"\n\n\"Strangers' troubles,\" she repeated, mournfully, and went to rest.\n\nWhite-haired woman, why have you remained so young? All the cares and\nsorrows of youth and age are torturing you at the same time! One love is\nfighting a mortal battle with another in your breast. Which will conquer?\n\nShe knows, she knew it ere she entered the tent. The mother fled from the\nchild, but she cannot abandon her new-found son. Oh, maternal love, thou\ndost hover in radiant bliss far above the clouds, and amid choirs of\nangels! Oh, maternal heart, thou dost bleed pierced with swords, more\nfull of sorrows than any other!\n\nPoor, poor Florette! On this July morning she was enduring superhuman\ntortures, all the sins she had committed arrayed themselves against her,\nshrieking into her ear that she was a lost woman, and there could be no\npardon for her either in this world or the next. Yet!--the clouds drift\nby, birds of passage migrate, the musician wanders singing from land to\nland, finds love, and remorselessly strips off light fetters to seek\nothers. His child imitates the father, who had followed the example of\nhis, the same thing occurring back to their remotest ancestors! But\neternal justice? Will it measure the fluttering leaf by the same standard\nas the firmly-rooted plant?\n\nWhen Zorrillo saw Flora by the daylight, he said, kindly: \"You have been\nweeping?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered, fixing her eyes on the ground. He thought she was\nanxious, as on a former occasion, lest his election to the office of\nEletto might prove his ruin, so he drew her towards him, exclaiming \"Have\nno fear, Bonita. If they choose me, and Mannsfeld comes, as he promised,\nthe play will end this very day. I hope, even at the twelfth hour, they\nwill listen to reason, and allow themselves to be guided into the right\ncourse. If they make the young madcap Eletto--his head will be at stake,\nnot mine. Are you ill? How you look, child! Surely, surely you must be\nsuffering; you shall not go out at night to nurse sick people again!\"\n\nThe words came from an anxious heart, and sounded warm and gentle. They\npenetrated Florette's inmost soul, and overwhelmed with passionate\nemotion she clasped his hands, kissed them, and exclaimed, softly\n\"Thanks, thanks, Pasquale, for your love, for all. I will never, never\nforget it, whatever happens! Go, go; the drum is beating again.\"\n\nZorrillo fancied she was uttering mere feverish ravings, and begged her\nto calm herself; then he left the tent, and went to the place where the\nelection was to be held.\n\nAs soon as Flora was alone, she threw herself on her knees before the\nMadonna's picture, but knew not whether it would be right to pray that\nher son might obtain an office, which had proved the ruin of so many; and\nwhen she besought the Virgin to give her strength to leave her lover, it\nseemed to her like treason to Pasquale.\n\nHer thoughts grew confused, and she could not pray. Her mobile mind\nwandered swiftly from lofty to petty things; she seized the cards to see\nwhether fate would unite her to Zorrillo or to Ulrich, and the red ten,\nwhich represented herself, lay close beside the green knave, Pasquale.\nShe angrily threw them down, determined, in spite of the oracle, to\nfollow her son.\n\nMeantime in the camp drums beat, fifes screamed shrilly, trumpets blared,\nand the shouts and voices of the assembled soldiers sounded like the\ndistant roar of the surf.\n\nA fresh burst of military music rang out, and now Florette started to her\nfeet and listened. It seemed as if she heard Ulrich's voice, and the\nrapid throbbing of her heart almost stopped her breath. She must go out,\nshe must see and hear what was passing. Hastily pushing the white hair\nback from her brow, she threw a veil over it, and hurried through the\ncamp to the spot where the election was taking place.\n\nThe soldiers all knew her and made way for her. The leaders of the\nmutineers were standing on the wall of earth between the field-pieces,\nand amid the foremost rank, nay, in front of them all, her son was\naddressing the crowd.\n\nThe choice wavered between him and Zorrillo. Ulrich had already been\nspeaking a long time. His cheeks were glowing and he looked so handsome,\nso noble, in his golden helmet, from beneath which floated his thick,\nfair locks, that her heart swelled with joy, and as the night grows\nbrighter when the black clouds are torn asunder and the moon victoriously\nappears, grief and pain were suddenly irradiated by maternal love and\npride.\n\nNow he drew his tall figure up still higher, exclaiming: \"Others are\nreadier and bolder with the tongue than I, but I can speak with the sword\nas well as any one.\"\n\nThen raising the heavy two-handed sword, which others laboriously managed\nwith both hands, he swung it around his head, using only his right hand,\nin swift circles, until it fairly whistled through the air.\n\nThe soldiers shouted exultingly as they beheld the feat, and when he had\nlowered the weapon and silence was restored, he continued, defiantly,\nwhile his breath came quick and short: \"And where do the talkers, the\nparleyers seek to lead us? To cringe like dogs, who lick their masters'\nfeet, before the men who cheat us. Count Mannsfeld will come to-day; I\nknow it, and I have also learned that he will bring everything except\nwhat is our due, what we need, what we intend to demand, what we require\nfor our bare feet, our ragged bodies; money, money he has not to offer!\nThis is so, I swear it; if not, stand forth, you parleyers, and give me\nthe lie! Have you inclination or courage to give the lie to\nNavarrete?--You are silent!--But we will speak! We will not suffer\nourselves to be mocked and put off! What we demand is fair pay for good\nwork. Whoever has patience, can wait. Mine is exhausted.\n\n\"We are His Majesty's obedient servants and wish to remain so. As soon as\nhe keeps his bargain, he can rely upon us; but when he breaks it, we are\nbound to no one but ourselves, and Santiago! we are not the weaker party.\nWe need money, and if His Majesty lacks ducats, a city where we can find\nwhat we want. Money or a city, a city or money! The demand is just, and\nif you elect me, I will stand by it, and not shrink if it rouses\nmurmuring behind me or against me. Whoever has a brave heart under his\narmor, let him follow me; whoever wishes to creep after Zorrillo, can do\nso. Elect me, friends, and I will get you more than we need, with honor\nand fame to boot. Saint Jacob and the Madonna will aid us. Long live the\nking!\"\n\n\"Long live the king! Long live Navarrete! Navarrete! Hurrah for\nNavarrete!\" echoed loudly, impetuously from a thousand bearded lips.\n\nZorrillo had no opportunity to speak again. The election was made.\n\nUlrich was chosen Eletto.\n\nAs if on wings, he went from man to man, shaking hands with his comrades.\nPower, power, the highest prize on earth, was attained, was his! The\nwhole throng, soldiers, tyros, women, girls and children, crowded around\nhim, shouting his name; whoever wore a hat or cap, tossed it in the air,\nwhoever had a kerchief, waved it. Drums beat, trumpets sounded, and the\ngunner ordered all the field-pieces to be discharged, for the choice\npleased him.\n\nUlrich stood, as if intoxicated, amid the shouts, shrieks of joy,\nmilitary music, and thunder of the cannon. He raised his helmet, waved\nsalutations to the crowd, and strove to speak, but the uproar drowned his\nwords.\n\nAfter the election Florette slipped quietly away; first to the empty tent\nthen to the sick woman who needed her care.\n\nThe Eletto had no time to think of his mother; for scarcely had he given\na solemn oath of loyalty to his comrades and received theirs, when Count\nMannsfeld appeared.\n\nThe general was received with every honor. He knew Navarrete, and the\nlatter entered into negotiations with the manly dignity natural to him;\nbut the count really had nothing but promises to offer, and the\ninsurgents would not give up their demand: \"Money or a city!\"\n\nThe nobleman reminded them of their oath of allegiance, made lavish use\nof kind words, threats and warnings, but the Eletto remained firm.\nMannsfeld perceived that he had come in vain; the only concession he\ncould obtain from Navarrete was, that some prudent man among the leaders\nshould accompany him to Brussels, to explain the condition of the\nregiments to the council of state there, and receive fresh proposals.\nThen the count suggested that Zorrillo should be entrusted with the\nmission, and the Eletto ordered the quartermaster to prepare for\ndeparture at once. An hour after the general left the camp with Flora's\nlover in his train.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nThe fifth night after the Eletto's election was closing in, a light rain\nwas falling, and no sound was heard in the deserted streets of the\nencampment except now and then the footsteps of a sentinel, or the cries\nof a child. In Zorrillo's tent, which was usually brightly lighted until\na late hour of the night, only one miserable brand was burning, beside\nwhich sat the sleepy bar-maid, darning a hole in her frieze-jacket. The\ngirl did not expect any one, and started when the door of the tent was\nviolently torn open, and her master, followed by two newly-appointed\ncaptains, came straight up to her.\n\nZorrillo held his hat in his hand, his hair, slightly tinged with grey,\nhung in a tangled mass over his forehead, but he carried himself as erect\nas ever. His body did not move, but his eyes wandered from one corner of\nthe tent to another, and the girl crossed herself and held up two fingers\ntowards him, for his dark glance fell upon her, as he at last exclaimed,\nin a hollow tone:\n\n\"Where is the mistress?\"\n\n\"Gone, I could not help it\" replied the girl.\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"To the Eletto, to Navarrete.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"He came and took her and the child, directly after you had left the\ncamp.\"\n\n\"And she has not returned?\"\n\n\"She has just sent a roast chicken, which I was to keep for you when you\ncame home. There it is.\" Zorrillo laughed. Then he turned to his\ncompanions, saying:\n\n\"I thank you. You have now. . . . Is she still with the Eletto?\"\n\n\"Why, of course.\"\n\n\"And who--who saw her the night before the election--let me sit down--who\nsaw her with him then?\"\n\n\"My brother,\" replied one of the captains. \"She was just coming out of\nthe tent, as he passed with the guard.\"\n\n\"Don't take the matter to heart,\" said the other. \"There are plenty of\nwomen! We are growing old, and can no longer cope with a handsome fellow\nlike Navarrete.\"\n\n\"I thought the sibyl was more sensible,\" added the younger captain. \"I\nsaw her in Naples sixteen years ago. Zounds, she was a beautiful woman\nthen! A pretty creature even now; but Navarrete might almost be her son.\nAnd you always treated her kindly, Pasquale. Well, whoever expects\ngratitude from women. . . .\"\n\nSuddenly the quartermaster remembered the hour just before the election,\nwhen Florette had thrown herself upon his breast, and thanked him for his\nkindness; clenching his teeth, he groaned aloud.\n\nThe others were about to leave him, but he regained his self-control, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Take him the count's letter, Renato. What I have to say to him, I will\ndetermine later.\"\n\nZorrillo was a long time unlacing his jerkin and taking out the paper.\nBoth of his companions noticed how his fingers trembled, and looked at\neach other compassionately; but the older one said, as he received the\nletter:\n\n\"Man, man, this will do no good. Women are like good fortune.\"\n\n\"Take the thing as a thousand others have taken it, and don't come to\nblows. You wield a good blade, but to attack Navarrete is suicide. I'll\ntake him the letter. Be wise, Zorrillo, and look for another love at\nonce.\"\n\n\"Directly, directly, of course,\" replied the quartermaster; but as soon\nas he had sent the maid-servant away, and was entirely alone, he bowed\nhis forehead upon the table and his shoulders heaved convulsively. He\nremained in this attitude a long time, then paced to and fro with forced\ncalmness. Morning dawned long ere he sought his couch.\n\nEarly the next day he made his report to the Eletto before the assembled\ncouncil of war, and when it broke up, approached Navarrete, saying, in so\nloud a tone that no one could fail to hear:\n\n\"I congratulate you on your new sweetheart.\"\n\n\"With good reason,\" replied the Eletto. \"Wait a little while, and I'll\nwager that you'll congratulate me more sincerely than you do to-day.\"\n\nThe offers from Brussels had again proved unacceptable. It was necessary\nnow to act, and the insurgent commander profited by the time at his\ndisposal. It seemed as if \"power\" doubled his elasticity and energy. It\nwas so delightful, after the march, the council of war, and the day's\nwork were over, to rest with his mother, listen to her, and open his own\nheart. How had she preserved--yes, he might call it so--her aristocratic\nbearing, amid the turmoil, perils, and mire of camp-life, in spite of\nall, all! How cleverly and entertainingly she could talk about men and\nthings, how comical the ideas, with which she understood how to spice the\nconversation, and how well versed he found her in everything that related\nto the situation of the regiments and his own position. She had not been\nthe confidante of army leaders in vain.\n\nBy her advice he relinquished his plan of capturing Mechlin, after\nlearning from spies that it was prepared and expecting the attack of the\ninsurgents.\n\nHe could not enter upon a long siege with the means at his command; his\nfirst blow must not miss the mark. So he only showed himself near\nBrussels, sent Captain Montesdocca, who tried to parley again, back with\nhis mission unaccomplished, marched in a new direction to mislead his\nfoes, and then unexpectedly assailed wealthy Aalst in Flanders.\n\nThe surprised inhabitants tried to defend their well-fortified city, but\nthe citizens' strength could not withstand the furious assault of the\nwell-drilled, booty-seeking army.\n\nThe conquered city belonged to the king. It was the pledge of what the\nrebels required, and they indemnified themselves in it for the pay that\nhad been with held. All who attempted to offer resistance fell by the\nsword, all the citizens' possessions were seized by the soldiers, as the\nwages that belonged to them.\n\nIn the shops under the Belfry, the great tower from whence the bell\nsummoned the inhabitants when danger threatened, lay plenty of cloth for\nnew doublets. Nor was there any lack of gold or silver in the treasury of\nthe guild-hall, the strong boxes of the merchants, the chests of the\ncitizens. The silver table-utensils, the gold ornaments of the women, the\nchildren's gifts from godparents fell into the hands of the conquerors,\nwhile a hundred and seventy rich villages near Aalst were compelled to\nfurnish food for the mutineers.\n\nNavarrete did not forbid the plundering. According to his opinion, what\nsoldiers took by assault was well-earned booty. To him the occupation of\nAalst was an act of righteous self-defence, and the regiments shared his\nbelief, and were pleased with their Eletto.\n\nThe rebels sought and found quarters in the citizens' houses, slept in\ntheir beds, eat from their dishes, and drank their wine-cellars empty.\nPillage was permitted for three days. On the fifth discipline was\nrestored, the quartermaster's department organized, and the citizens were\npermitted to assemble at the guild-hall, pursue their trades and\nbusiness, follow the pursuits to which they had been accustomed. The\nproperty they had saved was declared unassailable; besides, robbery had\nceased to be very remunerative.\n\nThe Eletto was at liberty to choose his own quarters, and there was no\nlack of stately dwellings in Aalst. Ulrich might have been tempted to\noccupy the palace of Baron de Hierges, but passed it by, selecting as a\nhome for his mother and himself a pretty little house on the\nmarket-place, which reminded him of his father's smithy. The bow-windowed\nroom, with the view of the belfry and the stately guildhall, was\npleasantly fitted up for his mother, and the city gardeners received\norders to send the finest house-plants to his residence. Soon the\nsitting-room, adorned with flowers and enlivened by singing-birds, looked\nfar handsomer and more cosy than the nest of which he had dreamed. A\nlittle white dog, exactly like the one Florette had possessed in the\nsmithy, was also procured, and when in the evening the warm summer air\nfloated into the open windows, and Ulrich sat alone with Florette,\nrecalling memories of the past, or making plans for the future, it seemed\nas if a new spring had come to his soul. The citizens' distress did not\ntrouble him. They were the losing party in the grim game of war,\nenemies--rebels. Among his own men he saw nothing but joyous faces; he\nexercised the power--they obeyed.\n\nZorrillo bore him ill-will, Ulrich read it in his eyes; but he made him a\ncaptain, and the man performed his duty as quartermaster in the most\nexemplary manner. Florette wished to tell him that the Eletto was her\nson, but the latter begged her to wait till his power was more firmly\nestablished, and how could she refuse her darling anything? She had\ngrieved deeply, very deeply, but this mood soon passed away, and now she\ncould be happy in Ulrich's society, and forget sorrow and heartache.\n\nWhat joy it was to have him back, to be loved by him! Where was there a\nmore affectionate son, a pleasanter home than hers? The velvet and\nbrocade dresses belonging to the Baroness de Hierges had fallen to the\nEletto. How young Florette looked in them! When she glanced into the\nmirror, she was astonished at herself.\n\nTwo beautiful riding-horses for ladies' use and elegant trappings had\nbeen found in the baron's stable. Ulrich had told her of it, and the\ndesire to ride with him instantly arose in her mind. She had always\naccompanied Grandgagnage, and when she now went out, attired in a long\nvelvet riding-habit, with floating plumes in her dainty little hat,\nbeside her son, she soon noticed how admiringly even the hostile citizens\nand their wives looked after them. It was a pretty sight to behold the\nhandsome soldier, full of pride and power, galloping on the most spirited\nstallion, beside the beautiful, white-haired woman, whose eyes sparkled\nwith vivacious light.\n\nZorrillo often met them, when they passed the guildhall, and Florette\nalways gave him a friendly greeting with her whip, but he intentionally\naverted his eyes or if he could not avoid it, coldly returned her\nrecognition.\n\nThis wounded her deeply, and when alone, it often happened that she sunk\ninto gloomy reverie and, with an aged, weary face, gazed fixedly at the\nfloor. But Ulrich's approach quickly cheered and rejuvenated her.\n\nFlorette now knew what her son had experienced in life, what had moved\nhis heart, his soul, and could not contradict him, when he told her that\npower was the highest prize of existence.\n\nThe Eletto's ambitious mind could not be satisfied with little Aalst. The\nmutineers had been outlawed by an edict from Brussels, but the king had\nnothing to do with this measure; the shameful proclamation was only\nintended to stop the wailing of the Netherlanders. They would have to pay\ndearly for it! There was a great scheme in view.\n\nThe Antwerp of those days was called \"as rich as the Indies;\" the project\nunder consideration was the possibility of manoeuvring this abode of\nwealth into the hands of the mutineers; the whole Spanish army in the\nNetherlands being about to follow the example of the regiments in Aalst.\n\nThe mother was the friend and counsellor of the son. At every step he\ntook he heard her opinion, and often yielded his own in its favor. This\ninterest in the direction of great events occupied the sibyl's versatile\nmind. When, on many occasions, pros and tons were equal in weight, she\nbrought out the cards, and this oracle generally turned the scale.\n\nNo high aim, no desire to accomplish good and great things in wider\nspheres, influenced the thoughts and actions of this couple.\n\nWhat cared they, that the weal and woe of thousands depended on their\ndecision? The deadly weapon in their bands was to them only a valuable\nutensil in which they delighted, and with which fruits were plucked from\nthe trees.\n\nUlrich now saw the fulfilment of Don Juan's words, that power was an\narable field; for there were many full ears in Aalst for them both to\nharvest.\n\nFlorette still nursed, with maternal care, the soldier's orphan which she\nhad taken to her son's house; the child, born on a bed of straw--was now\nclothed in dainty linen, laces and other beautiful finery. It was\nnecessary to her, for she occupied herself with the helpless little\ncreature when, during the long morning hours of Ulrich's absence,\nsorrowful thought troubled her too deeply.\n\nUlrich often remained absent a long time, far longer than the service\nrequired. What was he doing? Visiting a sweetheart? Why not? She only\nmarvelled that the fair women did not come from far and near to see the\nhandsome man.\n\nYes, the Eletto had found an old love. Art, which he had sullenly\nforsaken. News had reached his ears, that an artist had fallen in the\ndefence of the city. He went to the dead man's house to see his works,\nand how did he find the painter's dwelling! Windows, furniture were\nshattered, the broken doors of the cupboards hung into the rooms on their\nbent hinges. The widow and her children were lying in the studio on a\nheap of straw. This touched his heart, and he gave alms with an open hand\nto the sorrowing woman. A few pictures of the saints, which the Spaniards\nhad spared, hung on the walls; the easel, paints and brushes had been\nleft untouched.\n\nA thought, which he instantly carried into execution, entered his mind.\nHe would paint a new standard! How his heart beat, when he again stood\nbefore the easel!\n\nHe regarded the heretics as heathens. The Spaniards were shortly going to\nfight against them and for the faith. So he painted the Saviour on one\nside of the standard, the Virgin on the other. The artist's widow sat to\nhim for the Madonna, a young soldier for the Christ.\n\nNo scruples, no consideration for the criticisms of teachers now checked\nhis creating hand; the power was his, and whatever he did must be right.\n\nHe placed upon the Saviour's bowed figure, Costa's head, as he had\npainted it in Titian's studio, and the Madonna, in defiance of the stern\njudges in Madrid, received the sibyl's face, to please himself and do\nhonor to his mother. He made her younger, transformed her white hair to\ngleaming golden tresses. One day he asked Flora to sit still and think of\nsomething very serious; he wanted to sketch her.\n\nShe gaily placed herself in position, saying:\n\n\"Be quick, for serious thoughts don't last long with me.\"\n\nA few days later both pictures were finished, and possessed no mean\ndegree of merit; he rejoiced that after the long interval he could still\naccomplish something. His mother was delighted with her son's\nmasterpieces, especially the Madonna, for she instantly recognized\nherself, and was touched by this proof of his faithful remembrance. She\nhad looked exactly like it when a young girl, she said; it was strange\nhow precisely he had hit the color of her hair; but she was afraid it was\nblaspheming to paint a Madonna with her face; she was a poor sinner,\nnothing more.\n\nFlorette was glad that the work was finished, for restlessness again\nbegan to torture her, and the mornings had been so lonely. Zorrillo--it\ncaused her bitter pain--had not cast even a single glance at her, and she\nbegan to miss the society of men, to which she had been accustomed. But\nshe never complained, and always showed Ulrich the same cheerful face,\nuntil the latter told her one day that he must leave her for some time.\n\nHe had already defeated in little skirmishes small bodies of peasants and\ncitizens, who had taken the field against the mutineers; now Colonel\nRomero called upon him to help oppose a large army of patriots, who had\nassembled between Lowen and Tirlemont, under the command of the noble\nSieur de Floyon. It was said to consist Of students and other rebellious\nbrawlers, and so it proved; but the \"rebels\" were the flower of the youth\nof the shamefully-oppressed nation, noble souls, who found it unbearable\nto see their native land enslaved by mutinous hordes.\n\nUlrich's parting with his mother was not a hard one. He felt sure of\nvictory and of returning home, but the excitable woman burst into tears\nas she bade him farewell.\n\nThe Eletto took the field with a large body of troops; the majority of\nthe mutineers, with them. Captain and Quartermaster Zorrillo, remained\nbehind to hold the citizens in check.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nA considerable, but hastily-collected army of patriots had been utterly\nrouted at Tisnacq by a small force of disciplined Spaniards.\n\nUlrich had assisted his countrymen to gain the speedy victory, and had\nbeen greeted by his old colonel, the brave Romero, the bold\ncavalry-commander, Mendoza, and other distinguished officers as one of\nthemselves. Since these aristocrats had become mutineers, the Eletto was\na brother, and they did not disdain to secure his cooperation in the\nattack they were planning upon Antwerp.\n\nHe had shown great courage under fire, and wherever he appeared, his\ncountrymen held out their hands to him, vowing obedience and loyalty unto\ndeath.\n\nUlrich felt as if he were walking on air, mere existence was a joy to\nhim. No prince could revel in the blissful consciousness of increasing\npower, more fully than he. The evening after the decision he had attended\na splendid banquet with Romero, Vargas, Mendoza, Tassis, and the next\nmorning the prisoners, who had fallen into the hands of his men, were\nbrought before him.\n\nHe had left the examination of the students, citizens' sons, and peasants\nto his lieutenant; but there were also three noblemen, from whom large\nransoms could be obtained. The two older ones had granted what he asked\nand been led away; the third, a tall man in knightly armor, was left\nlast.\n\nUlrich had personally encountered the latter. The prisoner, mounted upon\na tall steed, had pressed him very closely; nay, the Eletto's victory was\nnot decided, until a musket-shot had stretched the other's horse on the\nground.\n\nThe knight now carried his arm in a sling. In the centre of his coat of\nmail and on the shoulder-pieces of his armor, the ensigns armorial of a\nnoble family were embossed.\n\n\"You were dragged out from under your horse,\" said the Eletto to the\nknight. \"You wield an excellent blade.\"\n\nHe had spoken in Spanish, but the other shrugged his shoulders, and\nanswered in the German language \"I don't understand Spanish.\"\n\n\"Are you a German?\" Ulrich now asked in his native tongue. \"How do you\nhappen to be among the Netherland rebels?\"\n\nThe nobleman looked at the Eletto in surprise. But the latter, giving him\nno time for reflection, continued \"I understand German; your answer?\"\n\n\"I had business in Antwerp?\"\n\n\"What business?\"\n\n\"That is my affair.\"\n\n\"Very well. Then we will drop courtesy and adopt a different tone.\"\n\n\"Nay, I am the vanquished party, and will answer you.\"\n\n\"Well then?\"\n\n\"I had stuffs to buy.\"\n\n\"Are you a merchant?\"\n\nThe knight shook his head and answered, smiling: \"We have rebuilt our\ncastle since the fire.\"\n\n\"And now you need hangings and artistic stuff. Did you expect to capture\nthem from us?\"\n\n\"Scarcely, sir.\"\n\n\"Then what brought you among our enemies?\"\n\n\"Baron Floyon belongs to my mother's family. He marched against you, and\nas I approved his cause. . . .\"\n\n\"And pillage pleases you, you felt disposed to break a lance.\"\n\n\"Quite right.\"\n\n\"And you have done your cause no harm. Where do you live?\"\n\n\"Surely you know: in Germany.\"\n\n\"Germany is a very large country.\"\n\n\"In the Black Forest in Swabia.\"\n\n\"And your name?\"\n\nThe prisoner made no reply; but Ulrich fixed his eyes upon the coat of\narms on the knight's armor, looked at him more steadily, and a strange\nsmile hovered around his lips as he approached him, saying in an altered\ntone: \"You think the Navarrete will demand from Count von Frohlinger a\nransom as large as his fields and forests?\"\n\n\"You know me?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so, Count Lips.\"\n\n\"By Heavens!\"\n\n\"Ah, ha, you went from the monastery to the field.\"\n\n\"From the monastery? How do you know that, sir?\"\n\n\"We are old acquaintances, Count Lips. Look me in the eyes.\"\n\nThe other gazed keenly at the Eletto, shook his head, and said: \"You have\nnot seemed a total stranger to me from the first; but I never was in\nSpain.\"\n\n\"But I have been in Swabia, and at that time you did me a kindness. Would\nyour ransom be large enough to cover the cost of a broken church window?\"\n\nThe count opened his eyes in amazement and a bright smile flashed over\nhis face as, clapping his hands, he exclaimed with sincere delight:\n\n\"You, you--you are Ulrich! I'll be damned, if I'm mistaken! But who the\ndevil would discover a child of the Black Forest in the Spanish Eletto?\"\n\n\"That I am one, must remain a secret between us for the present,\"\nexclaimed Ulrich, extending his hand to the count. \"Keep silence, and you\nwill be free--the window will cover the ransom!\"\n\n\"Holy Virgin! If all the windows in the monastery were as dear, the monks\nmight grow fat!\" cried the count. \"A Swabian heart remains half Swabian,\neven when it beats under a Spanish doublet. Its luck, Turk's luck, that I\nfollowed Floyon;--and your old father, Adam? And Ruth--what a pleasure!\"\n\n\"You ought to know . . . my father is dead, died long, long ago!\" said\nUlrich, lowering his eyes.\n\n\"Dead!\" exclaimed the other. \"And long ago? I saw him at the anvil three\nweeks since.\"\n\n\"My father? At the anvil? And Ruth? . . .\" stammered Ulrich, gazing at the\nother with a pallid, questioning face.\n\n\"They are alive, certainly they are alive! I met him again in Antwerp. No\none else can make you such armor. The devil is in it, if you hav'nt heard\nof the Swabian armorer.\"\n\n\"The Swabian--the Swabian--is he my father?\"\n\n\"Your own father. How long ago is it? Thirteen years, for I was then\nsixteen. That was the last time I saw him, and yet I recognized him at\nthe first glance. True, I shall never forget the hour, when the dumb\nwoman drew the arrow from the Jew's breast. The scene I witnessed that\nday in the forest still rises before my eyes, as if it were happening\nnow.\"\n\n\"He lives, they did not kill him!\" exclaimed the Eletto, now first\nbeginning to rejoice over the surprising news. \"Lips, man--Philipp! I\nhave found my mother again, and now my father too. Wait, wait! I'll speak\nto the lieutenant, he must take my place, and you and I will ride to\nLier; there you will tell me the whole story. Holy Virgin! thanks, a\nthousand thanks! I shall see my father again, my father!\"\n\nIt was past midnight, but the schoolmates were still sitting over their\nwine in a private room in the Lion at Lier. The Eletto had not grown\nweary of questioning, and Count Philipp willingly answered.\n\nUlrich now knew what death the doctor had met, and that his father had\ngone to Antwerp and lived there as an armorer for twelve years. The Jew's\ndumb wife had died of grief on the journey, but Ruth was living with the\nold man and kept house for him. Navarrete had often heard the Swabian and\nhis work praised, and wore a corselet from his workshop.\n\nThe count could tell him a great deal about Ruth. He acknowledged that he\nhad not sought Adam the Swabian for weapons, but on account of his\nbeautiful daughter. The girl was slender as a fir-tree! And her face!\nonce seen could never be forgotten. So might have looked the beautiful\nJudith, who slew Holophernes, or Queen Zenobia, or chaste Lucretia of\nRome! She was now past twenty and in the bloom of her beauty, but cold as\nglass; and though she liked him on account of his old friendship for\nUlrich and the affair in the forest, he was only permitted to look at,\nnot touch her. She would rejoice when she heard that Ulrich was still\nalive, and what he had become. And the smith, the smith! Nay, he would\nnot go home now, but back to Antwerp to be Ulrich's messenger! But now he\ntoo would like to relate his own experiences.\n\nHe did so, but in a rapid, superficial way, for the Eletto constantly\nreverted to old days and his father. Every person whom they had both\nknown was enquired for.\n\nOld Count Frohlinger was still alive, but suffered a great deal from gout\nand the capricious young wife he had married in his old age. Hangemarx\nhad grown melancholy and, after all, ended his life by the rope, though\nby his own hand. Dark-skinned Xaver had entered the priesthood and was\nliving in Rome in high esteem, as a member of a Spanish order. The abbot\nstill presided over the monastery and had a great deal of time for his\nstudies; for the school had been broken up and, as part of the property\nof the monastery had been confiscated, the number of monks had\ndiminished. The magistrate had been falsely accused of embezzling minors'\nmoney, remained in prison for a year and, after his liberation, died of a\nliver complaint.\n\nMorning was dawning when the friends separated. Count Philipp undertook\nto tell Ruth that Ulrich had found his mother again. She was to persuade\nthe smith to forgive his wife, with whose praises her son's lips were\noverflowing.\n\nAt his departure Philipp tried to induce the Eletto to change his course\nbetimes, for he was following a dangerous path; but Ulrich laughed in his\nface, exclaiming: \"You know I have found the right word, and shall use it\nto the end. You were born to power in a small way; I have won mine\nmyself, and shall not rest until I am permitted to exercise it on a great\nscale, nay, the grandest. If aught on earth affords a taste of heavenly\njoy, it is power!\"\n\nIn the camp the Eletto found the troops from Aalst prepared for\ndeparture, and as he rode along the road saw in imagination, sometimes\nhis parents, his parents in a new and happy union, sometimes Ruth in the\nfull splendor of her majestic beauty. He remembered how proudly he had\nwatched his father and mother, when they went to church together on\nSunday, how he had carried Ruth in his arms on their flight; and now he\nwas to see and experience all this again.\n\nHe gave his men only a short rest, for he longed to reach his mother. It\nwas a glorious return home, to bring such tidings! How beautiful and\ncharming he found life; how greatly he praised his destiny!\n\nThe sun was setting behind pleasant Aalst as he approached, and the sky\nlooked as if it was strewn with roses.\n\n\"Beautiful, beautiful!\" he murmured, pointing out to his lieutenant the\nbrilliant hues in the western horizon.\n\nA messenger hastened on in advance, the thunder of artillery and fanfare\nof music greeted the victors, as they marched through the gate. Ulrich\nsprang from his horse in front of the guildhall and was received by the\ncaptain, who had commanded during his absence.\n\nThe Eletto hastily described the course of the brilliant, victorious\nmarch, and then asked what had happened.\n\nThe captain lowered his eyes in embarrassment, saying, in a low tone:\n\"Nothing of great importance; but day before yesterday a wicked deed was\ncommitted, which will vex you. The woman you love, the camp sibyl. . . .\"\n\n\"Who? What? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"She went to Zorrillo, and he--you must not be startled--he stabbed her.\"\n\nUlrich staggered back, repeating, in a hollow tone \"Stabbed!\" Then\nseizing the other by the shoulder, he shrieked: \"Stabbed! That means\nmurdered-killed!\"\n\n\"He thrust his dagger into her heart, she must have died as quickly as if\nstruck by lightning. Then Zorrillo went away, God knows where. Who could\nsuspect, that the quiet man. . . .\"\n\n\"You let him escape, helped the murderer get off, you dogs!\" raved the\nwretched man. \"We will speak of this again. Where is she, where is her\nbody?\"\n\nThe captain shrugged his shoulders, saying, in a soothing tone: \"Calm\nyourself, Navarrete! We too grieve for the sibyl; many in the camp will\nmiss her. As for Zorrillo, he had the password, and could go through the\ngate at any hour. The body is still lying in his quarters.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" faltered the Eletto. Then calming himself, he said, mournfully:\n\"I wish to see her.\"\n\nThe captain walked silently by his side and opened the murderer's\ndwelling.\n\nThere, on a bed of pine-shavings, in a rude coffin made of rough planks,\nlay the woman who had given him birth, deserted him, and yet who so\ntenderly loved him. A poor soldier's wife, to whom she had been kind, was\nwatching beside the corpse, at whose head a singly brand burned with a\nsmoky, yellow light. The little white dog had found its way to her, and\nwas snuffing the floor, still red with its mistress's blood.\n\nUlrich snatched the brand from the bracket, and threw the light on the\ndead woman's face. His tear-dimmed eyes sought his mother's features, but\nonly rested on them a moment--then he shuddered, turned away, and giving\nthe torch to his companion, said, softly: \"Cover her head.\"\n\nThe soldier's wife spread her coarse apron over the face, which-had\nsmiled so sweetly: but Ulrich threw himself on his knees beside the\ncoffin, buried his face, and remained in this attitude for many minutes.\n\nAt last he slowly rose, rubbed his eyes as if waking from some confused\ndream, drew himself up proudly, and scanned the place with searching\neyes.\n\nHe was the Eletto, and thus men honored the woman who was dear to him!\n\nHis mother lay in a wretched pauper's coffin, a ragged camp-follower\nwatched beside her--no candles burned at her head, no priest prayed for\nthe salvation of her soul!\n\nGrief was raging madly in his breast, now indignation joined this gloomy\nguest; giving vent to his passionate emotion, Ulrich wildly exclaimed:\n\n\"Look here, captain! This corpse, this woman--proclaim it to every\none--the sibyl was my mother yes, yes, my own mother! I demand respect\nfor her, the same respect that is shown myself! Must I compel men to\nrender her fitting honor? Here, bring torches. Prepare the catafalque in\nSt. Martin's church, and place it before the altar! Put candles around\nit, as many as can be found! It is still early! Lieutenant! I am glad you\nare there! Rouse the cathedral priests and go to the bishop. I command a\nsolemn requiem for my mother! Everything is to be arranged precisely as\nit was at the funeral of the Duchess of Aerschot! Let trumpets give the\nsignal for assembling. Order the bells to be rung! In an hour all must be\nready at St. Martin's cathedral! Bring torches here, I say! Have I the\nright to command--yes or no? A large oak coffin was standing at the\njoiner's close by. Bring it here, here; I need a better death-couch for\nmy mother. You poor, dear woman, how you loved flowers, and no one has\nbrought you even one! Captain Ortis, I have issued my commands!\nEverything must be done, when I return;--Lieutenant, you have your\norders!\"\n\nHe rushed from the death-chamber to the sitting-room in his own house,\nand hastily tore stalks and blossoms from the plants. The maid-servants\nwatched him timidly, and he harshly ordered them to collect what he had\ngathered and take them to the house of death.\n\nHis orders were obeyed, and when he next appeared at Zorrillo's quarters,\nthe soldiers, who had assembled there in throngs, parted to make way for\nhim.\n\nHe beckoned to them, and while he went from one to another, saying: \"The\nsibyl was my mother--Zorrillo has murdered my mother,\" the coffin was\nborne into the house.\n\nIn the vestibule, he leaned his head against the wall, moaning and\nsighing, until Florette was laid in her last bed, and a soldier put his\nhand on his shoulder. Then Ulrich strewed flowers over the corpse, and\nthe joiner came to nail up the coffin. The blows of the hammer actually\nhurt him, it seemed as if each one fell upon his own heart.\n\nThe funeral procession passed through the ranks of soldiers, who filled\nthe street. Several officers came to meet it, and Captain Ortis,\napproaching close to the Eletto, said: \"The bishop refuses the catafalque\nand the solemn requiem you requested. Your mother died in sin, without\nthe sacrament. He will grant as many masses for the repose of her soul as\nyou desire, but such high honors. . . .\"\n\n\"He refuses them to us?\"\n\n\"Not to us, to the sibyl.\"\n\n\"She was my mother, your Eletto's mother. To the cathedral, forward!\"\n\n\"It is closed, and will remain so to-day, for the bishop. . . .\"\n\n\"Then burst the doors! We'll show them who has the power here.\"\n\n\"Are you out of your senses? The Holy Church!\"\n\n\"Forward, I say! Let him who is no cowardly wight, follow me!\"\n\nUlrich drew the commander's baton from his belt and rushed forward, as if\nhe were leading a storming-party; but Ortis cried: \"We will not fight\nagainst St. Martin!\" and a murmur of applause greeted him.\n\nUlrich checked his pace, and gnashing his teeth, exclaimed: \"Will not?\nWill not?\" Then gazing around the circle of comrades, who surrounded him\non all sides, he asked: \"Has no one courage to help me to my rights?\nOrtis, de Vego, Diego, will you follow me, yes or no?\"\n\n\"No, not against the Church!\"\n\n\"Then I command you,\" shouted the Eletto, furiously. \"Obey, Lieutenant de\nVega, forward with your company, and burst the cathedral doors.\"\n\nBut no one obeyed, and Ortis ordered: \"Back, every man of you! Saint\nMartin is my patron saint; let all who value their souls refuse to attack\nthe church and defend it with me.\"\n\nThe blood rushed to Ulrich's brain, and incapable of longer self-control,\nhe threw his baton into the ranks of the mutineers, shrieking: \"I hurl it\nat your feet; whoever picks it up can keep it!\"\n\nThe soldiers hesitated; but Ortis repeated his \"Back!\" Other officers\ngave the same order, and their men obeyed. The street grew empty, and the\nEletto's mother was only followed by a few of her son's friends; no\npriest led the procession. In the cemetery Ulrich threw three handfuls of\nearth into the open grave, then with drooping head returned home.\n\nHow dreary, how desolate the bright, flower-decked room seemed now, for\nthe first time the Eletto felt really deserted. No tears came to relieve\nhis grief, for the insult offered him that day aroused his wrath, and he\ncherished it as if it were a consolation.\n\nHe had thrown power aside with the staff of command. Power! It too was\npotter's trash, which a stone might shatter, a flower in full bloom,\nwhose leaves drop apart if touched by the finger! It was no noble metal,\nonly yellow mica!\n\nThe knocker on the door never stopped rapping. One officer after another\ncame to soothe him, but he would not even admit his lieutenant.\n\nHe rejoiced over his hasty deed. Fortune, he thought, cannot be escaped,\nart cannot be thrown aside; fame may be trampled under foot, yet still\npursue us.\n\nPower has this advantage over all three, it can be flung off like a\nworn-out doublet. Let it fly! Had he owed it the happiness of the last\nfew weeks? No, no! He would have been happy with his mother in a poor,\nplain house, without the office of Eletto, without flowers, horses or\nservants. It was to her, not to power, that he was indebted for every\nblissful hour, and now that she had gone, how desolate was the void in\nhis heart!\n\nSuddenly the recollection of his father and Ruth illumined his misery\nlike a sunbeam. The game of Eletto was now over, he would go to Antwerp\nthe next day.\n\nWhy had fate snatched his mother from him just now, why did it deny him\nthe happiness of seeing his parents united? His father--she had sorely\nwronged him, but for what will not death atone? He must take him some\nremembrance of her, and went to her room to look through her chest. But\nit no longer stood in the old place--the owner of the house, a rich\nmatron, who had been compelled to occupy an attic-room, while strangers\nwere quartered in her residence, had taken charge of the pale orphan and\nthe boxes after Florette's death.\n\nThe good Netherland dame provided for the adopted child and the property\nof her enemy, the man whose soldiers had pillaged her brothers and\ncousins. The death of the woman below had moved her deeply, for the\nwonderful charm of Florette's manner had won her also.\n\nTowards midnight Ulrich took the lamp and went upstairs. He had long\nsince forgotten to spare others, by denying himself a wish.\n\nThe knocking at the door and the passing to and fro in the entry had kept\nFrau Geel awake. When she heard the Eletto's heavy step, she sprang up\nfrom her spinning-wheel in alarm, and the maid-servant, half roused from\nsleep, threw herself on her knees.\n\n\"Frau Geel!\" called a voice outside.\n\nShe recognized Navarrete's tones, opened the door, and asked what he\ndesired.\n\n\"It was his mother,\" thought the old lady as he threw clothes, linen and\nmany a trifle on the floor. \"It was his mother. Perhaps he wants her\nrosary or prayer book. He is her son! They looked like a happy couple\nwhen they were together. A wild soldier, but he isn't a wicked man yet.\"\n\nWhile he searched she held the light for him, shaking her head over the\ndisorder among the articles where he rummaged.\n\nUlrich had now reached the bottom of the chest. Here he found a valuable\nnecklace, booty which Zorrillo had given his companion for use in case of\nneed. This should be Ruth's. Close beside it lay a small package, tied\nwith rose-pink ribbon, containing a tiny infant's shirt, a gay doll, and\na slender gold circlet; her wedding-ring! The date showed that it had\nbeen given to her by his father, and the shirt and doll were mementos of\nhim, her darling--of himself.\n\nHe gazed at them, changing them from one hand to the other, till suddenly\nhis heart overflowed, and without heeding Frau Geel, who was watching\nhim, he wept softly, exclaiming: \"Mother, dear mother!\"\n\nA light hand touched his shoulder, and a woman's kind voice said: \"Poor\nfellow, poor fellow! Yes, she was a dear little thing, and a mother, a\nmother--that is enough!\"\n\nThe Eletto nodded assent with tearful eyes, and when she again gently\nrepeated in a tone of sincere sympathy, her \"poor fellow!\" it sounded\nsweeter, than the loudest homage that had ever been offered to his fame\nand power.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nThe next morning while Ulrich was packing his luggage, assisted by his\nservant, the sound of drums and fifes, bursts of military music and loud\ncheers were heard in the street, and going to the window, he saw the\nwhole body of mutineers drawn up in the best order.\n\nThe companies stood in close ranks before his house, impetuous shouts and\nbursts of music made the windows rattle, and now the officers pressed\ninto his room, holding out their swords, vowing fealty unto death, and\nentreating him to remain their commander.\n\nHe now perceived, that power cannot be thrown aside like a worthless\nthing. His tortured heart was stirred with deep emotion, and the drooping\nwings of ambition unfolded with fresh energy. He reproached, raged, but\nyielded; and when Ortis on his knees, offered him the commander's baton,\nhe accepted it.\n\nUlrich was again Eletto, but this need not prevent his seeing his father\nand Ruth once more, so he declared that he would retain his office, but\nshould be obliged to ride to Antwerp that day, secretly inform the\nofficers of the conspiracy against the city, and the necessity of\nnegotiating with the commandant, that their share of the rich prize might\nnot be lost.\n\nWhat many had suspected and hoped was now to become reality. Their Eletto\nwas no idle man! When Navarrete appeared at noon in front of the troops\nwith his own work, the standard, in his hand, he was received with shouts\nof joy, and no one murmured, though many recognized in the Madonna's\ncountenance the features of the murdered sibyl.\n\nTwo days later Ulrich, full of eager expectation, rode into Antwerp,\ncarrying in his portmanteau the mementos he had taken from his mother's\nchest, while in imagination he beheld his father's face, the smithy at\nRichtberg, the green forest, the mountains of his home, the Costas'\nhouse, and his little playfellow. Would he really be permitted to lean on\nhis father's broad breast once more?\n\nAnd Ruth, Ruth! Did she still care for him, had Philipp described her\ncorrectly?\n\nHe went to the count without delay, and found him at home. Philipp\nreceived him cordially, yet with evident timidity and embarrassment.\nUlrich too was grave, for he had to inform his companion of his mother's\ndeath.\n\n\"So that is settled,\" said the count. \"Your father is a gnarled old tree,\na real obstinate Swabian. It's not his way to forgive and forget.\"\n\n\"And did he know that my mother was so near to him, that she was in\nAalst.\"\n\n\"All, all!\"\n\n\"He will forgive the dead. Surely, surely he will, if I beseech him, when\nwe are united, if I tell him. . . .\"\n\n\"Poor fellow! You think all this is so easy.--It is long since I have had\nso hard a task, yet I must speak plainly. He will have nothing to do with\nyou, either.\"\n\n\"Nothing to do with me?\" cried Ulrich.\n\n\"Is he out of his senses? What sin have I committed, what does he. . . .\"\n\n\"He knows that you are Navarrete, the Eletto of Herenthals, the conqueror\nof Aalst, and therefore. . . .\"\n\n\"Therefore?\"\n\n\"Why of course. You see, Ulrich, when a man becomes famous like you, he\nis known for a long distance, everything he does makes a great hue and\ncry, and echo repeats it in every alley.\"\n\n\"To my honor before God and man.\"\n\n\"Before God? Perhaps so; certainly before the Spaniards. As for me--I was\nwith the squadron myself, I call you a brave soldier; but--no\noffence--you have behaved ill in this country. The Netherlanders are\nhuman beings too.\"\n\n\"They are rebels, recreant heretics.\"\n\n\"Take care, or you will revile your own father. His faith has been\nshaken. A preacher, whom he met on his flight here, in some tavern, led\nhim astray by inducing him to read the bible. Many things the Church\ncondemns are sacred to him. He thinks the Netherlanders a free, noble\nnation. Your King Philip he considers a tyrant, oppressor, and ruthless\ndestroyer. You who have served him and Alba--are in his eyes; but I will\nnot wound you. . . .\"\n\n\"What are we, I will hear.\"\n\n\"No, no, it would do no good. In short, to Adam the Spanish army is a\nbloody pest, nothing more.\"\n\n\"There never were braver soldiers.\"\n\n\"Very true; but every defeat, all the blood you have shed, has angered\nhim and this nation, and wrath, which daily receives fresh food and to\nwhich men become accustomed, at last turns to hate. All great crimes\ncommitted in this war are associated with Alba's name, many smaller ones\nwith yours, and so your father. . . .\"\n\n\"Then we will teach him a better opinion! I return to him an honest\nsoldier, the commander of thousands of men! To see him once more, only to\nsee him! A son remains a son! I learned that from my mother. We were\nrivals and enemies, when I met her! And then, then--alas, that is all\nover! Now I wish to find in my father what I have lost; will you go to\nthe smithy with me?\"\n\n\"No, Ulrich, no. I have said everything to your father that can be urged\nin your defence, but he is so devoured with rage. . . .\"\n\n\"Santiago!\" exclaimed the Eletto, bursting into sudden fury, \"I need no\nadvocate! If the old man knows what share I have taken in this war, so\nmuch the better. I'll fill up the gaps myself. I have been wherever the\nfight raged hottest! 'Sdeath! that is my pride! I am no longer a boy and\nhave fought my way through life without father or mother. What I am, I\nhave made myself, and can defend with honor, even to the old man. He\ncarries heavy guns, I know; but I am not accustomed to shoot with feather\nballs!\"\n\n\"Ulrich, Ulrich! He is an old man, and your father!\"\n\n\"I will remember that, as soon as he calls me his son.\"\n\nOne of the count's servants showed Ulrich the way to the smith's house.\n\nAdam had entirely given up the business of horseshoeing, for nothing was\nto be seen in the ground floor of the high, narrow house, except the\nlarge door, and a window on each side. Behind the closed one at the right\nwere several pieces of armor, beautifully embossed, and some\nartistically-wrought iron articles. The left-hand one was partly open,\ngranting entrance to the autumn sunshine. Ulrich dismissed the servant,\ntook the mementos of his mother in his hand, and listened to the\nhammer-strokes, that echoed from within.\n\nThe familiar sound recalled pleasant memories of his childhood and cooled\nhis hot blood. Count Philipp was right. His father was an old man, and\nentitled to demand respect from his son. He must endure from him what he\nwould tolerate from no one else. Nay, he again felt that it was a great\nhappiness to be near the beloved one, from whom he had so long been\nparted; whatever separated him from his old father, must surely vanish\ninto nothing, as soon as they looked into each other's eyes.\n\nWhat a master in his trade, his father still was! No one else would have\nfound it so easy to forge the steel coat of mail with the Medusa head in\nthe centre. He was not working alone here as he did at Richtberg; for\nUlrich heard more than one hammer striking iron in the workshop.\n\nBefore touching the knocker, he looked into the open window.\n\nA woman's tall figure was standing at the desk. Her back was turned, and\nhe saw only the round outline of the head, the long black braids, the\nplain dress, bordered with velvet, and the lace in the neck. An elderly\nman in the costume of a merchant was just holding out his hand in\nfarewell, and he heard him say: \"You've bought too cheap again, far too\ncheap, Jungfer Ruth.\"\n\n\"Just a fair price,\" she answered quietly. \"You will have a good profit,\nand we can afford to pay it. I shall expect the iron day after\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"It will be delivered before noon. Master Adam has a treasure in you,\ndear Jungfer. If my son were alive, I know where he would seek a wife.\nWilhelm Ykens has told me of his troubles; he is a skilful goldsmith. Why\ndo you give the poor fellow no hope? Consider! You are past twenty, and\nevery year it grows harder to say yes to a lover.\"\n\n\"Nothing suits me better, than to stay with father,\" she answered gaily.\n\"He can't do without me, you know, nor I without him. I have no dislike\nto Wilhelm, but it seems very easy to live without him. Farewell, Father\nKeulitz.\"\n\nUlrich withdrew from the window, until the merchant had vanished down a\nside street; then he again glanced into the narrow room. Ruth was now\nseated at the desk, but instead of looking over the open account book,\nher eyes were gazing dreamily into vacancy, and the Eletto now saw her\nbeautiful, calm, noble face. He did not disturb her, for it seemed as if\nhe could never weary of comparing her features with the fadeless image\nhis memory had treasured during all the vicissitudes of life.\n\nNever, not even in Italy, had he beheld a nobler countenance. Philipp was\nright. There was something royal in her bearing. This was the wife of his\ndreams, the proud woman, with whom the Eletto desired to share power and\ngrandeur. And he had already held her once in his arms! It seemed as if\nit were only yesterday. His heart throbbed higher and higher. As she now\nrose and thoughtfully approached the window, he could no longer contain\nhimself, and exclaimed in a low tone: \"Ruth, Ruth! Do you know me, girl?\nIt is I--Ulrich!\"\n\nShe shrank back, putting out her hands with a repellent gesture; but only\nfor a moment. Then, struggling to maintain her composure, she joyously\nuttered his name, and as he rushed into the room, cried \"Ulrich!\"\n\"Ulrich!\" and no longer able to control her feelings, suffered him to\nclasp her to his heart.\n\nShe had daily expected him with ardent longing, yet secret dread: for he\nwas the fierce Eletto, the commander of the insurgents, the bloody foe of\nthe brave nation she loved. But at sight of his face all, all was\nforgotten, and she felt nothing but the bliss of being reunited to him\nwhom she had never, never forgotten, the joy of seeing, feeling that he\nloved her.\n\nHis heart too was overflowing with passionate delight. Faltering tender\nwords, he drew her head to his breast, then raised it to press his mouth\nto her pure lips. But her intoxication of joy passed away--and before he\ncould prevent it, she had escaped from his arms, saying sternly: \"Not\nthat, not that. . . . Many a crime lies between us and you.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" he eagerly exclaimed. \"Are you not near me? Your heart and mine\nhave belonged to each other since that day in the snow. If my father is\nangry because I serve other masters than his, you, yes you, must\nreconcile us again. I could stay in Aalst no longer.\"\n\n\"With the mutineers?\" she asked sadly. \"Ulrich, Ulrich, that you should\nreturn to us thus!\"\n\nHe again seized her hand, and when she tried to withdraw it, only smiled,\nsaying with the confidence of a man, who is sure of his cause:\n\n\"Cast aside this foolish reserve. To-morrow you will freely give me, not\nonly one hand, but both. I am not so bad as you think. The fortune of war\nflung me under the Spanish flag, and 'whose bread I eat, his song I\nsing,' says the soldier. What would you have? I served with honor, and\nhave done some doughty deeds; let that content you.\"\n\nThis angered Ruth, who resolutely exclaimed:\n\n\"No, a thousand times no! You are the Eletto of Aalst, the pillager of\ncities, and this cannot be swept aside as easily as the dust from the\nfloor. I. . . . I am only a feeble girl;--but father, he will never give his\nhand to the blood-stained man in Spanish garb! I know him, I know it.\"\n\nUlrich's breath came quicker; but he repressed the angry emotion and\nreplied, first reproachfully, then beseechingly:\n\n\"You are the old man's echo. What does he know of military honor and\nwarlike fame; but you, Ruth, must understand me. Do you still remember\nour sport with the 'word,' the great word that accomplished everything? I\nhave found it; and you shall enjoy with me what it procures. First help\nme appease my father; I shall succeed, if you aid me. It will doubtless\nbe a hard task. He could not bring himself to forgive his poor\nwife--Count Philipp says so;--but now! You see, Ruth, my mother died a\nfew days ago; she was a dear, loving woman and might have deserved a\nbetter fate.\n\n\"I am alone again now, and long for love--so ardently, so sincerely, more\nthan I can tell you. Where shall I find it, if not with you and my own\nfather? You have always cared for me; you betray it, and after all you\nknow I am not a bad man, do you not? Be content with my love and take me\nto my father, yourself. Help me persuade him to listen to me. I have\nsomething here which you can give him from me; you will see that it will\nsoften his heart!\"\n\n\"Then give it to me,\" replied Ruth, \"but whatever it may be--believe me,\nUlrich, so long as you command the Spanish mutineers, he will remain\nhard, hard as his own iron!\"\n\n\"Spaniards! Mutineers! Nonsense! Whoever wishes to love, can love; the\nrest may be settled afterwards. You don't know how high my heart throbs,\nnow that I am near you, now that I see and hear you. You are my good\nangel and must remain so, now look here. This is my mother's legacy. This\nlittle shirt I once wore, when I was a tiny thing, the gay doll was my\nplaything, and this gold hoop is the wedding-ring my father gave his\nbride at the altar--she kept all these things to the last, and carried\nthem like holy relics from land to land, from camp to camp. Will you take\nthese mementos to him?\"\n\nShe nodded silently.\n\n\"Now comes the best thing. Have you ever seen more beautiful workmanship?\nYou must wear this necklace, Ruth, as my first gift.\"\n\nHe held up the costly ornament, but she shrank back, asking bitterly\n\n\"Captured booty?\"\n\n\"In honorable war,\" he answered, proudly, approaching to fasten the\njewels round her neck with his own hands; but she pushed him back,\nsnatched the ornament, and hurled it on the floor, exclaiming angrily:\n\n\"I loathe the stolen thing. Pick it up. It may suit the camp-followers.\"\n\nThis destroyed his self-control, and seizing both her arms in an iron\ngrasp, he muttered through his clenched teeth:\n\n\"That is an insult to my mother; take it back.\" But Ruth heard and saw\nnothing; full of indignation she only felt that violence was being done\nher, and vainly struggled against the irresistible strength, which held\nher fast.\n\nMeantime the door had opened wide, but neither noticed it until a man's\ndeep voice loudly and wrathfully exclaimed:\n\n\"Back, you scoundrel! Come here, Ruth. This is the way the assassin\ngreets his family; begone, begone! you disgrace of my house!\"\n\nAdam had uttered the words, and now drew the hammer from the belt of his\nleather apron.\n\nUlrich gazed mutely into his face. There stood his father, strong,\ngigantic, as he had looked thirteen years before. His head was a little\nbowed, his beard longer and whiter, his eyebrows were more bushy and his\nexpression had grown more gloomy; otherwise he was wholly unchanged in\nevery feature.\n\nThe son's eyes rested on the smith as if spellbound. It seemed as if some\nmalicious fate had drawn him into a snare.\n\nHe could say nothing except, \"father, father,\" and the smith found no\nother answer than the harsh \"begone!\"\n\nRuth approached the armorer, clung to his side, and pleaded:\n\n\"Hear him, don't send him away so; he is your child, and if anger just\nnow overpowered him. . . .\"\n\n\"Spanish custom--to abuse women!\" cried Adam. \"I have no son Navarrete,\nor whatever the murderous monster calls himself. I am a burgher, and have\nno son, who struts about in the stolen clothes of noblemen; as to this\nman and his assassins, I hate them, hate them all. Your foot defiles my\nhouse. Out with you, knave, or I will use my hammer.\"\n\nUlrich again exclaimed, \"father, father!\" Then, regaining his\nself-control by a violent effort, he gasped:\n\n\"Father, I came to you in good will, in love. I am an honest soldier and\nif any one but you--'Sdeath--if any other had dared to offer me this. . . .\"\n\n\"Murder the dog, you would have said,\" interrupted the smith. \"We know\nthe Spanish blessing: a sandre, a carne!--[Blood, murder.]--Thanks for\nyour forbearance. There is the door. Another word, and I can restrain\nmyself no longer.\"\n\nRuth had clung firmly to the smith, and motioned Ulrich to go. The Eletto\ngroaned aloud, struck his forehead with his clenched fist, and rushed\ninto the open air.\n\nAs soon as Adam was alone with Ruth she caught his hand, exclaiming\nbeseechingly:\n\n\"Father, father, he is your own son! Love your enemies, the Saviour\ncommanded; and you. . . .\"\n\n\"And I hate him,\" said the smith, curtly and resolutely. \"Did he hurt\nyou?\"\n\n\"Your hate hurts me ten times as much! You judge without examining; yes,\nfather, you do! When he assaulted me, he was in the right. He thought I\nhad insulted his mother.\"\n\nAdam shrugged his shoulders, and she continued \"The poor woman is dead.\nUlrich brought you yonder ring; she never parted with it.\"\n\nThe armorer started, seized the golden hoop, looked for the date inside,\nand when he had found it, clasped the ring in his hands and pressed them\nsilently to his temples. He stood in this attitude a short time, then let\nhis arms fall, and said softly:\n\n\"The dead must be forgiven. . . .\"\n\n\"And the living, father? You have punished him terribly, and he is not a\nwicked man, no, indeed he is not! If he comes back again, father?\"\n\n\"My apprentices shall show the Spanish mutineer the door,\" cried the old\nman in a harsh, stern tone; \"to the burgher's repentant son my house will\nbe always open.\"\n\nMeantime the Eletto wandered from one street to another. He felt\nbewildered, disgraced.\n\nIt was not grief--no quiet heartache that disturbed--but a confused\nblending of wrath and sorrow. He did not wish to appear before the friend\nof his youth, and even avoided Hans Eitelfritz, who came towards him. He\nwas blind to the gay, joyous bustle of the capital; life seemed grey and\nhollow. His intention of communicating with the commandant of the citadel\nremained unexecuted; for he thought of nothing but his father's anger, of\nRuth, his own shame and misery.\n\nHe could not leave so.\n\nHis father must, yes, he must hear him, and when it grew dusk, he again\nsought the house to which he belonged, and from which he had been so\ncruelly expelled.\n\nThe door was locked. In reply to his knock, a man's unfamiliar voice\nasked who he was, and what he wanted.\n\nHe asked to speak with Adam, and called himself Ulrich.\n\nAfter waiting a long time he heard a door torn open, and the smith\nangrily exclaim:\n\n\"To your spinning-wheel! Whoever clings to him so long as he wears the\nSpanish dress, means evil to him as well as to me.\"\n\n\"But hear him! You must hear him, father!\" cried Ruth.\n\nThe door closed, heavy steps approached the door of the house; it opened,\nand again Adam confronted his son.\n\n\"What do you want?\" he asked harshly.\n\n\"To speak to you, to tell you that you did wrong to insult me unheard.\"\n\n\"Are you still the Eletto? Answer!\"\n\n\"I am!\"\n\n\"And intend to remain so?\"\n\n\"Que como--puede ser--\" faltered Ulrich, who confused by the question,\nhad strayed into the language in which he had been long accustomed to\nthink. But scarcely had the smith distinguished the foreign words, when\nfresh anger seized him.\n\n\"Then go to perdition with your Spaniards!\" was the furious answer.\n\nThe door slammed so that the house shook, and by degrees the smith's\nheavy tread died away in the vestibule.\n\n\"All over, all over!\" murmured the rejected son. Then calming himself, he\nclenched his fist and muttered through his set teeth: \"There shall be no\nlack of ruin; whoever it befalls, can bear it.\"\n\nWhile walking through the streets and across the squares, he devised plan\nafter plan, imagining what must come. Sword in hand he would burst the\nold man's door, and the only booty he asked for himself should be Ruth,\nfor whom he longed, who in spite of everything loved him, who had\nbelonged to him from her childhood.\n\nThe next morning he negotiated cleverly and boldly with the commandant of\nthe Spanish forces in the citadel. The fate of the city was sealed! and\nwhen he again crossed the great square and saw the city-hall with its\nproud, gable-crowned central building, and the shops in the lower floor\ncrammed with wares, he laughed savagely.\n\nHans Eitelfritz had seen him in the distance, and shouted:\n\n\"A pretty little house, three stories high. And how the broad windows,\nbetween the pillars in the side wings, glitter!\"\n\nThen he lowered his voice, for the square was swarming with men, carts\nand horses, and continued:\n\n\"Look closer and choose your quarters. Come with me! I'll show you where\nthe best things we need can be found. Haven't we bled often enough for\nthe pepper-sacks? Now it will be our turn to fleece them. The castles\nhere, with the gingerbread work on the gables, are the guildhalls. There\nis gold enough in each one, to make the company rich. Now this way!\nDirectly behind the city-hall lies the Zucker Canal. There live\nstiff-necked people, who dine off of silver every day. Notice the\nstreet!\"\n\nThen he led him back to the square, and continued \"The streets here all\nlead to the quay. Do you know it? Have you seen the warehouses? Filled to\nthe very roof! The malmsey, dry canary and Indian allspice, might\ntransform the Scheldt and Baltic Sea into a huge vat of hippocras.\"\n\nUlrich followed his guide from street to street. Wherever he looked, he\nsaw vast wealth in barns and magazines; in houses, palaces and churches.\n\nHans Eitelfritz stopped before a jeweller's shop, saying:\n\n\"Look here! I particularly admire these things, these toys: the little\ndog, the sled, the lady with the hoopskirt, all these things are pure\nsilver. When the pillage begins, I shall grasp these and take them to my\nsister's little children in Colln; they will be delighted, and if it\nshould ever be necessary, their mother can sell them.\"\n\nWhat a throng crowded the most aristocratic streets! English, Spanish,\nItalian and Hanseatic merchants tried to outdo the Netherland traders in\nmagnificent clothes and golden ornaments. Ulrich saw them all assembled\nin the Gothic exchange on the Mere, the handsomest square in the city.\nThere they stood in the vast open hall, on the checkered marble floor,\nnot by hundreds, but by thousands, dealing in goods which came from all\nquarters of the globe--from the most distant lands. Their offers and bids\nmingled in a noise audible at a long distance, which was borne across the\nsquare like the echo of ocean surges.\n\nSums were discussed, which even the winged imagination of the lansquenet\ncould scarcely grasp. This city was a remarkable treasure, a\nthousand-fold richer booty than had been garnered from the Ottoman\ntreasure-ship on the sea at Lepanto.\n\nHere was the fortune the Eletto needed, to build the palace in which he\nintended to place Ruth. To whom else would fall the lion's share of the\nenormous prize!\n\nHis future happiness was to arise from the destruction of this proud\ncity, stifling in its gold.\n\nThese were ambitious brilliant plans, but he devised them with gloomy\neyes, in a darkened mind. He intended to win by force what was denied\nhim, so long as the power belonged to him.\n\nThere could be no lack of flames and carnage; but that was part of his\ntrade, as shavings belong to flames, hammer-strokes to smiths.\n\nCount Philipp had no suspicion of the assault, was not permitted to\nsuspect anything. He attributed Ulrich's agitated manner to the rejection\nhe had encountered in his father's house, and when he took leave of him\non his departure to Swabia, talked kindly with his former schoolmate and\nadvised him to leave the Spanish flag and try once more to be reconciled\nto the old man.\n\nBefore the Eletto quitted the city, he gave Hans Eitelfritz, whose\nregiment had secretly joined the mutiny, letters of safeguard for his\nfamily and the artist, Moor.\n\nHe had not forgotten the latter, but well-founded timidity withheld him\nfrom appearing before the honored man, while cherishing the gloomy\nthoughts that now filled his soul.\n\nIn Aalst the mutineers received him with eager joy, harsh and repellent\nas he appeared, they cheerfully obeyed him; for he could hold out to them\na prospect, which lured a bright smile to the bearded lips of the\ngrimmest warrior.\n\nIf power was the word, he scarcely understood how to use it aright, for\nwholly absorbed in himself, he led a joyless life of dissatisfied longing\nand gloomy reverie.\n\nIt seemed to him as if he had lost one half of himself, and needed Ruth\nto become the whole man. Hours grew to days, days to weeks, and not until\nRoda's messenger appeared from the citadel in Antwerp to summon him to\naction, did he revive and regain his old vivacity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nOn the twentieth of October Mastricht fell into the Spaniards' hands, and\nwas cruelly pillaged. The garrison of Antwerp rose and began to make\ncommon cause with the friends of the mutineers in the citadel.\n\nForeign merchants fled from the imperilled city. Governor Champagny saw\nhis own person and the cause of order seriously threatened by the despots\nin the fortress, which dominated the town. A Netherland army, composed\nprincipally of Walloons, under the command of the incapable Marquis\nHavre, the reckless de Heze and other nobles appeared before the capital,\nto prevent the worst.\n\nChampagny feared that the German regiments would feel insulted and scent\ntreason, if he admitted the government troops--but the majority of the\nlansquenets were already in league with the insurgents, the danger hourly\nincreased, everywhere loyalty wavered, the citizens urgently pressed the\nmatter, and the gates were opened to the Netherlanders.\n\nCount Oberstein, the German commander of the lansquenets, who while\nintoxicated had pledged himself to make common cause with the mutineers\nin the citadel, remembered his duty and remained faithful to the end. The\nregiment in which Hans Eitelfritz served, and the other companies of\nlansquenets, had succumbed to the temptation, and only waited the signal\nfor revolt. The inhabitants felt just like a man, who keeps powder and\nfirebrands in the cellar, or a traveller, who recognizes robbers and\nmurderers in his own escort.\n\nChampagny called upon the citizens to help themselves, and used their\nlabor in throwing up a wall of defence in the open part of the city,\nwhich was most dangerously threatened by the citadel. Among the men and\nwomen who voluntarily flocked to the work by thousands, were Adam, the\nsmith, his apprentices, and Ruth. The former, with his journeymen,\nwielded the spade under the direction of a skilful engineer, the girl,\nwith other women, braided gabions from willow-rods.\n\nShe had lived through sorrowful days. Self-reproach, for having by her\nhasty fit of temper caused the father's outburst of anger to his son,\nconstantly tortured her.\n\nShe had learned to hate the Spaniards as bitterly as Adam; she knew that\nUlrich was following a wicked, criminal course, yet she loved him, his\nimage had been treasured from childhood, unassailed and unsullied, in the\nmost sacred depths of her heart. He was all in all to her, the one person\ndestined for her, the man to whom she belonged as the eye does to the\nface, the heart to the breast.\n\nShe believed in his love, and when she strove to condemn and forget him,\nit seemed as if she were alienating, rejecting the best part of-herself.\n\nA thousand voices told her that she lived in his soul, as much as he did\nin hers, that his existence without her must be barren and imperfect. She\ndid not ask when and how, she only prayed that she might become his,\nexpecting it as confidently as light in the morning, spring after winter.\nNothing appeared so irrefutable as this faith; it was the belief of her\nloving soul. Then, when the inevitable had happened they would be one in\ntheir aspirations for virtue, and the son could no longer close his heart\nagainst the father, nor the father shut his against the son.\n\nThe child's vivid imagination was still alive in the maiden. Every\nleisure hour she had thought of her lost playfellow, every day she had\ntalked to his father about him, asking whether he would rather see him\nreturn as a famous artist, a skilful smith, or commander of a splendid\nship.\n\nHandsome, strong, superior to other men, he had always appeared. Now she\nfound him following evil courses, on the path to ruin; yet even here he\nwas peerless among his comrades; whatever stain rested upon him, he\ncertainly was not base and mean.\n\nAs a child, she always had transformed him into a splendid fairy-prince,\nbut she now divested him of all magnificence, seeing him attired in plain\nburgher dress, appear humbly before his father and stand beside him at\nthe forge. She dreamed that she was by his side, and before her stood the\ntable she covered with food for him, and the water she gave him after his\nwork. She heard the house shake under the mighty blows of his hammer, and\nin imagination beheld him lay his curly head in her lap, and say he had\nfound love and peace with her.\n\nThe cannonade from the citadel stopped the citizens' work. Open\nhostilities had begun.\n\nOn the morning of November 4th, under the cover of a thick fog, the\ntreacherous Spaniards, commanded by Romero, Vargas and Valdez entered the\nfortress. The citizens, among them Adam, learned this fact with rage and\nterror, but the mutineers of Aalst had not yet collie.\n\n\"He is keeping them back,\" Ruth had said the day before. \"Antwerp, our\nhome, is sacred to him!\"\n\nThe cannon roared, culverins crashed, muskets and arquebuses rattled; the\nboding notes of the alarm-bells and the fierce shouts of soldiers and\ncitizens hurrying to battle mingled with the deafening thunder of the\nartillery.\n\nEvery hand seized a weapon, every shop was closed; hearts stood still\nwith fear, or throbbed wildly with rage and emotion. Ruth remained calm.\nShe detained the smith in the house, repeating her former words: \"The men\nfrom Aalst are not coming; he is keeping diem back.\" Just at that moment\nthe young apprentice, whose parents lived on the Scheldt, rushed with\ndishevelled hair into the workshop, gasping:\n\n\"The men from Aalst are here. They crossed in peatboats and a galley.\nThey wear green twigs in their helmets, and the Eletto is marching in the\nvan, bearing the standard. I saw them; terrible--horrible--sheathed in\niron from top to toe.\"\n\nHe said no more, for Adam, with a savage imprecation, interrupted him,\nseized his huge hammer, and rushed out of the house.\n\nRuth staggered back into the workshop.\n\nAdam hurried straight to the rampart. Here stood six thousand Walloons,\nto defend the half-finished wall, and behind them large bodies of armed\ncitizens.\n\n\"The men from Aalst have come!\" echoed from lip to lip.\n\nCurses, wails of grief, yells of savage fury, blended with the thunder of\nthe artillery and the ringing of the alarm bells.\n\nA fugitive now dashed from the counterscarp towards the Walloons,\nshouting:\n\n\"They are here, they are here! The blood-hound, Navarrete, is leading\nthem. They will neither eat nor drink, they say, till they dine in\nParadise or Antwerp. Hark, hark! there they are!\"\n\nAnd they were there, coming nearer and nearer; foremost of all marched\nthe Eletto, holding the standard in his upraised hand.\n\nBehind him, from a thousand bearded lips, echoed furious, greedy,\nterrible cries; \"Santiago, Espana, a sangre, a carne, a fuego, a\nsaco!\"--[St. Jago; Spain, blood, murder, fire, pillage]--but Navarrete\nwas silent, striding onward, erect and haughty, as if he were proof\nagainst the bullets, that whistled around him on all sides. Consciousness\nof power and the fierce joy of battle sparkled in his eyes. Woe betide\nhim, who received a blow from the two-handed sword the Eletto still held\nover his shoulder, now with his left hand.\n\nAdam stood with upraised hammer beside the front ranks of the Walloons!\nhis eyes rested as if spellbound on his approaching son and the standard\nin his hand. The face of the guilty woman, who had defrauded him of the\nhappiness of his life, gazed at him from the banner. He knew not whether\nhe was awake, or the sport of some bewildering dream.\n\nNow, now his glance met the Eletto's, and unable to restrain himself\nlonger, he raised his hammer and tried to rush forward, but the Walloons\nforced him back.\n\nYes, yes, he hated his own child, and trembling with rage, burning to\nrush upon him, he saw the Eletto spring on the lowest projection of the\nwall, to climb up. For a short time he was concealed from his eyes, then\nhe saw the top of the standard, then the banner itself, and now his son\nstood on the highest part of the rampart, shouting: \"Espana, Espana!\"\n\nAt this moment, with a deafening din, a hundred arquebuses were\ndischarged close beside the smith, a dense cloud of smoke darkened the\nair, and when the wind dispersed it, Adam no longer beheld the standard.\nIt lay on the ground; beside it the Eletto, with his face turned upward,\nmute and motionless.\n\nThe father groaned aloud and closed his eyes; when he opened them,\nhundreds of iron-mailed mutineers had scaled the rampart. Beneath their\nfeet lay his bleeding child.\n\nCorpse after corpse sank on the stone wall beside the fallen man, but the\niron wedge of the Spaniards pressed farther and farther forward.\n\n\"Espana, a sangre, a carne!\"\n\nNow they had reached the Walloons, steel clashed against steel, but only\nfor a moment, then the defenders of the city wavered, the furious wedge\nentered their ranks, they parted, yielded, and with loud shrieks took to\nflight. The Spanish swords raged among them, and overpowered by the\ngeneral terror, the officers followed the example of the soldiers, the\nflying army, like a resistless torrent, carrying everything with it, even\nthe smith.\n\nAn unparalleled massacre began. Adam seeing a frantic horde rush into the\nhouses, remembered Ruth, and half mad with terror hastened back to the\nsmithy, where he told those left behind what he had witnessed. Then,\narming himself and his journeymen with weapons forged by his own hand, he\nhurried out with them to renew the fight.\n\nHours elapsed; the noise, the firing, the ringing of the alarm bells\nstill continued; smoke and the smell of fire penetrated through the doors\nand windows.\n\nEvening came, and the richest, most flourishing commercial capital in the\nworld was here a heap of ashes, there a ruin, everywhere a plundered\ntreasury.\n\nOnce the occupants of the smith's shop heard a band of murderers raging\nand shouting outside of the smithy; but they passed by, and all day long\nno others entered the quiet street, which was inhabited only by workers\nin metal.\n\nRuth and old Rahel had remained behind, under the protection of the brave\nforeman. Adam had told them to fly to the cellar, if any uproar arose\noutside the door. Ruth wore a dagger, determined in the worst extremity\nto turn it against her own breast. What did she care for life, since\nUlrich had perished!\n\nOld Rahel, an aged dame of eighty, paced restlessly, with bowed figure,\nthrough the large room, saying compassionately, whenever her eyes met the\ngirl's: \"Ulrich, our Ulrich!\" then, straightening herself and looking\nupward. She no longer knew what had happened a few hours before, yet her\nmemory faithfully retained the incidents that occurred many years\nprevious. The maidservant, a native of Antwerp, had rushed home to her\nparents when the tumult began.\n\nAs the day drew towards a close, the panes were less frequently shaken by\nthe thunder of the artillery, the noise in the streets diminished, but\nthe house became more and more filled with suffocating smoke.\n\nNight came, the lamp was lighted, the women started at every new sound,\nbut anxiety for Adam now overpowered every other feeling in Ruth's mind.\nJust then the door opened, and the smith's deep voice called in the\nvestibule: \"It is I! Don't be frightened, it is I!\"\n\nHe had gone out with five journeymen: he returned with two. The others\nlay slain in the streets, and with them Count Oberstein's soldiers, the\nonly ones who had stoutly resisted the Spanish mutineers and their allies\nto the last man.\n\nAdam had swung his hammer on the Mere and by the Zucker Canal among the\ncitizens, who fought desperately for the property and lives of their\nfamilies;--but all was vain. Vargas's troopers had stifled even the last\nbreath of resistance.\n\nThe streets ran blood, corpses lay in heaps before the doors and on the\npavement--among them the bodies of the Margrave of Antwerp, Verreyck,\nBurgomaster van der Mere, and many senators and nobles. Conflagration\nafter conflagration crimsoned the heavens, the superb city-hall was\nblazing, and from a thousand windows echoed the screams of the assailed,\nplundered, bleeding citizens, women and children.\n\nThe smith hastily ate a few mouthfuls to restore his strength, then\nraised his head, saying: \"No one has touched our house. The door and\nshutters of neighbor Ykens' are shattered.\"\n\n\"A miracle!\" cried old Rahel, raising her staff. \"The generation of\nvipers scent richer booty than iron at the silversmith's.\"\n\nJust at that moment the knocker sounded. Adam started up, put on his coat\nof mail again, motioned to his journeymen and went to the door.\n\nRahel shrieked loudly: \"To the cellar, Ruth. Oh, God, oh, God, have mercy\nupon us! Quick--where's my shawl?--They are attacking us!--Come, come!\nOh, I am caught, I can go no farther!\"\n\nMortal terror had seized the old woman; she did not want to die. To the\ngirl death was welcome, and she did not stir.\n\nVoices were now audible in the vestibule, but they sounded neither noisy\nnor threatening; yet Rahel shrieked in despair as a lansquenet, fully\narmed, entered the workshop with the armorer.\n\nHans Eitelfritz had come to look for Ulrich's father. In his arms lay the\ndog Lelaps, which, bleeding from the wound made by a bullet, that grazed\nits neck, nestled trembling against its master.\n\nBowing courteously to Ruth, the soldier said:\n\n\"Take pity on this poor creature, fair maiden, and wash its wound with a\nlittle wine. It deserves it. I could tell you such tales of its\ncleverness! It came from distant India, where a pirate. . . . But you shall\nhear the story some other time. Thanks, thanks! As to your son, Meister,\nit's a thousand pities about him. He was a splendid fellow, and we were\nlike two brothers. He himself gave me the safeguard for you and the\nartist, Moor. I fastened them on the doors with my own hands, as soon as\nthe fray began. My swordbearer got the paste, and now may the writing\nstick there as an honorable memento till the end of the world. Navarrete\nwas a faithful fellow, who never forgot his friends! How much good that\ndoes Lelaps! See, see! He is licking your hands, that means, 'I thank\nyou.'\"\n\nWhile Ruth had been washing the dog's wound, and the lansquenet talked of\nUlrich, her tearful eyes met the father's.\n\n\"They say he cut down twenty-one Walloons before he fell,\" continued\nHans.\n\n\"No, sir,\" interrupted Adam. \"I saw him. He was shot before he raised his\nguilty sword.\"\n\n\"Ah, ah!--but it happened on the rampart.\"\n\n\"They rushed over him to the assault.\"\n\n\"And there he still lies; not a soul has cared for the dead and wounded.\"\n\nThe girl started, and laid the dog in the old man's lap, exclaiming:\n\"Suppose Ulrich should be alive! Perhaps he was not mortally wounded,\nperhaps. . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, everything is possible,\" interrupted the lansquenet. \"I could tell\nyou things . . . for instance, there was a countryman of mine whom, when we\nwere in Africa, a Moorish Pacha struck . . . no lies now . . . perhaps! In\nearnest; it might happen that Ulrich . . . wait . . . at midnight I shall keep\nguard on the rampart with my company, then I'll look. . . .\"\n\n\"We, we will seek him!\" cried Ruth, seizing the smith's arm.\n\n\"I will,\" replied the smith; \"you must stay here.\"\n\n\"No, father, I will go with you.\"\n\nThe lansquenet also shook his head, saying \"Jungfer, Jungfer, you don't\nknow what a day this is. Thank Our Heavenly Father that you have hitherto\nescaped so well. The fierce lion has tasted blood. You are a pretty\nchild, and if they should see you to-day. . . .\"\n\n\"No matter,\" interrupted the girl. \"I know what I am asking. You will\ntake me with you, father! Do so, if you love me! I will find him, if any\none can!\n\n\"Oh, sir, sir, you look kind and friendly! You have the guard. Escort us;\nlet me seek Ulrich. I shall find him, I know; I must seek him--I must.\"\n\nThe girl's cheeks were glowing; for before her she saw her playfellow,\nher lover, gasping for breath, with staring eyes, her name upon his dying\nlips.\n\nAdam sadly shook his head, but Hans Eitelfritz was touched by the girl's\neager longing to help the man who was dear to him, so he hastily taxed\nhis inventive brain, saying:\n\n\"Perhaps it might be risked . . . listen to me, Meister! You won't be\nparticularly safe in the streets, yourself, and could hardly reach the\nrampart without me. I shall lose precious time; but you are his father,\nand this girl--is she his sister?--No?--So much the better for him, if he\nlives! It isn't an easy matter, but it can be done. Yonder good dame will\ntake care of Lelaps for me. Poor dog! That feels good, doesn't it? Well\nthen . . . I can be here again at midnight. Have you a handcart in the\nhouse?\"\n\nFor coal and iron.\"\n\n\"That will answer. Let the woman make a kettle of soup, and if you have a\nfew hams. . . .\"\n\n\"There are four in the store-room,\" cried Ruth.\n\n\"Take some bread, a few jugs of wine, and a keg of beer, too, and then\nfollow me quietly. I have the password, my servant will accompany me, and\nI'll make the Spaniards believe you belong to us, and are bringing my men\ntheir supper. Blacken your pretty face a little, my dear girl, wrap\nyourself up well, and if we find Ulrich we will put him in the empty\ncart, and I will accompany you home again. Take yonder spicesack, and if\nwe find the poor fellow, dead or alive, hide him with it. The sack was\nintended for other things, but I shall be well content with this booty.\nTake care of these silver toys. What pretty things they are! How the\nlittle horse rears, and see the bird in the cage! Don't look so fierce,\nMeister! In catching fish we must be content even with smelts; if I\nhadn't taken these, others would have done so; they are for my sister's\nchildren, and there is something else hidden here in my doublet; it shall\nhelp me to pass my leisure hours. One man's meat is another man's\npoison.\"\n\nWhen Hans Eitelfritz returned at midnight, the cart with the food and\nliquor was ready. Adam's warnings were unavailing. Ruth resolutely\ninsisted upon accompanying him, and he well knew what urged her to risk\nsafety and life as freely as he did himself.\n\nOld Rahel had done her best to conceal Ruth's beauty.\n\nThe dangerous nocturnal pilgrimage began.\n\nThe smith pulled the cart, and Ruth pushed, Hans Eitelfritz, with his\nsword-bearer, walking by her side. From time to time Spanish soldiers met\nand accosted them; but Hans skilfully satisfied their curiosity and\ndispelled their suspicions.\n\nPillage and murder had not yet ceased, and Ruth saw, heard, and\nmistrusted scenes of horror, that congealed her blood. But she bore up\nuntil they reached the rampart.\n\nHere Eitelfritz was among his own men.\n\nHe delivered the meat and drink to them, told them to take it out of the\ncart, and invited them to fall to boldly. Then, seizing a lantern, he\nguided Ruth and the smith, who drew the light cart after them, through\nthe intense darkness of the November night to the rampart.\n\nHans Eitelfritz lighted the way, and all three searched. Corpse lay\nbeside corpse. Wherever Ruth set her foot, it touched some fallen\nsoldier. Dread, horror and loathing threatened to deprive her of\nconsciousness; but the ardent longing, the one last hope of her soul\nsustained her, steeled her energy, sharpened her sight.\n\nThey had reached the centre of the rampart, when she saw in the distance\na tall figure stretched at full length.\n\nThat, yes, that was he!\n\nSnatching the lantern from the lansquenet's hand, she rushed to the\nprostrate form, threw herself on her knees beside it, and cast the light\nupon the face.\n\nWhat had she seen?\n\nWhy did the shriek she uttered sound so agonized? The men were\napproaching, but Ruth knew that there was something else to be done,\nbesides weeping and wailing.\n\nShe pressed her ear close to the mailed breast to listen, and when she\nheard no breath, hurriedly unfastened the clasps and buckles that\nconfined the armor.\n\nThe cuirass fell rattling on the ground, and now--no, there was no\ndeception, the wounded man's chest rose under her ear, she heard the\nfaint throbbing of his heart, the feeble flutter of a gasping breach.\n\nBursting into loud, convulsive weeping, she raised his head and pressed\nit to her bosom.\n\n\"He is dead; I thought so!\" said the lansquenet, and Adam sank on his\nknees before his wounded son. But Ruth's sobs now changed to low, joyous,\nmusical laughter, which echoed in her voice as she exclaimed: \"Ulrich\nbreathes, he lives! Oh, God! oh, God! how we thank Thee!\"\n\nThen--was she deceived, could it be? She heard the inflexible man beside\nher sob, saw him bend over Ulrich, listen to the beating of his heart,\nand press his bearded lips first to his temples, then on the hand he had\nso harshly rejected.\n\nHans Eitelfritz warned them to hasten, carried the senseless man, with\nAdam's assistance, to the cart, and half an hour later the dangerously\nwounded, outcast son was lying in the most comfortable bed in the best\nroom in his father's house. His couch was in the upper story; down in the\nkitchen old Rahel was moving about the hearth, preparing her \"good salve\"\nherself. While thus engaged she often chuckled aloud, murmuring \"Ulrich,\"\nand while mixing and stirring the mixture could not keep her old feet\nstill; it almost seemed as if she wanted to dance.\n\nHans Eitelfritz promised Adam to tell no one what had become of his son,\nand then returned to his men. The next morning the mutineers from Aalst\nsought their fallen leader; but he had disappeared, and the legend now\nbecame wide-spread among them, that the Prince of Evil had carried\nNavarrete to his own abode. The dog Lelaps died of his wound, and\nscarcely a week after the pillage of flourishing Antwerp by the \"Spanish\nFuries,\" Hans Eitelfritz's regiment was ordered to Ghent. He came with\ndrooping head to the smithy, to take his leave. He had sold his costly\nbooty, and, like so many other pillagers, gambled away the stolen\nproperty at the exchange. Nothing was left him of the great day in\nAntwerp, except the silver toys for his sister's children in Colln on the\nSpree.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nThe fire in the smithy was extinguished, no hammer fell on the anvil; for\nthe wounded man lay in a burning fever; every loud noise disturbed him.\nAdam had noticed this himself, and gave no time to his work, for he had\nto assist in nursing his son, when it was necessary to raise his heavy\nbody, and to relieve Ruth, when, after long night-watches, her vigorous\nstrength was exhausted.\n\nThe old man saw that the girl's bands were more deft than his own\ntoil-hardened ones, and let her take the principal charge-but the hours\nwhen she was resting in her room were the dearest to him, for then he was\nalone with Ulrich, could read his countenance undisturbed and rejoice in\ngazing at every feature, which reminded him of his child's boyhood and of\nFlora.\n\nHe often pressed his bearded lips to the invalid's burning forehead or\nlimp hand, and when the physician with an anxious face had left the\nhouse, he knelt beside Ulrich's couch, buried his forehead among the\npillows, and fervently prayed the Heavenly Father, to spare his child and\ntake in exchange his own life and all that he possessed.\n\nHe often thought the end had come, and gave himself up without resistance\nto his grief; Ruth, on the contrary, never lost hope, not even in the\ndarkest hours. God had not let her find Ulrich, merely to take him from\nher again. The end of danger was to her the beginning of deliverance.\nWhen he recognized her the first time, she already saw him, leaning on\nher shoulder, walk through the room; when he could raise himself, she\nthought him cured.\n\nHer heart was overflowing with joy, yet her mind remained watchful and\nthoughtful during the long, toilsome nursing. She did not forget the\nsmallest trifle, for before she undertook anything she saw in her mind\nevery detail involved, as if it were already completed. Ulrich took no\nfood which she had not prepared with her own hand, no drink which she had\nnot herself brought from the cellar or the well. She perceived in advance\nwhat disturbed him, what pleased him, what he needed. If she opened or\nclosed the curtain, she gave or withheld no more light than was agreeable\nto him; if she arranged the pillows behind him, she placed them neither\ntoo high nor too low, and bound up his wounds with a gentle yet firm\nhand, like an experienced physician. Whatever he felt--pain or\ncomfort--she experienced with him.\n\nBy degrees the fever vanished; consciousness returned, his pain lessened,\nhe could move himself again, and began to feel stronger. At first he did\nnot know where he was; then he recognized Ruth, and then his father.\n\nHow still, how dusky, how clean everything that surrounded him was!\nDelightful repose stole over him, pleasant weariness soothed every stormy\nemotion of his heart. Whenever he opened his eyes, tender, anxious\nglances met him. Even when the pain returned he enjoyed peaceful,\nconsoling mental happiness. Ruth felt this also, and regarded it as a\npeerless reward.\n\nWhen she entered the sick-room with fresh linen, and the odor of lavender\nher dead mother had liked floated softly to him from the clean sheets, he\nthought his boyhood had returned, and with it the wise, friendly doctor's\nhouse. Elizabeth, the shady pine-woods of his home, its murmuring brooks\nand luxuriant meadows, again rose before his mind; he saw Ruth and\nhimself listening to the birds, picking berries, gathering flowers, and\nbeseeching beautiful gifts from the \"word.\" His father appeared even more\nkind, affectionate, and careful than in those days. The man became the\nboy again, and all his former good traits of character now sprang up\nfreshly under the bright light and vivifying dew of love.\n\nHe received Ruth's unwearied attentions with ardent gratitude, and when\nhe gazed into her faithful eyes, when her hand touched him, her soft,\ndeep voice penetrated the depths of his soul, an unexampled sense of\nhappiness filled his breast.\n\nEverything, from the least to the greatest, embraced his soul with the\narms of love. It seemed as if the ardent yearning of his heart extended\nfar beyond the earth, and rose to God, who fills the universe with His\ninfinite paternal love. His every breath, Ulrich thought, must henceforth\nbe a prayer, a prayer of gratitude to Him, who is love itself, the Love,\nthrough and in which he lived.\n\nHe had sought love, to enjoy its gifts; now he was glad to make\nsacrifices for its sake. He saw how Ruth's beautiful face saddened when\nhe was suffering, and with manly strength of will concealed inexpressible\nagony under a grateful smile. He feigned sleep, to permit her and his\nfather to rest, and when tortured by feverish restlessness, lay still to\ngive his beloved nurses pleasure and repay their solicitude. Love urged\nhim to goodness, gave him strength for all that is good. His\nconvalescence advanced and, when he was permitted to leave his bed, his\nfather was the first one to support him through the room and down the\nsteps into the court-yard. He often felt with quiet emotion the old man\nstroke the hand that rested on his arm, and when, exhausted, he returned\nto the sick-room, he sank with a grateful heart into his comfortable\nseat, casting a look of pleasure at the flowers, which Ruth had taken\nfrom her chamber window and placed on the table beside him.\n\nHis family now knew what he had endured and experienced, and the smith\nfound a kind, soothing word for all that, a few months before, he had\nconsidered criminal and unpardonable.\n\nDuring such a conversation, Ulrich once exclaimed \"War! You know not how\nit bears one along with it; it is a game whose stake is life. That of\nothers is of as little value as your own; to do your worst to every one,\nis the watchword; but now--every thing has grown so calm in my soul, and\nI have a horror of the turmoil in the field. I was talking with Ruth\nyesterday about her father, and she reminded me of his favorite saying,\nwhich I had forgotten long ago. Do you know what it is? 'Do unto others,\nas ye would that others should do unto you.' I have not been cruel, and\nnever drew the sword out of pleasure in slaying; but now I grieve for\nhaving brought woe to so many!\n\n\"What things were done in Haarlem! If you had moved there instead of to\nAntwerp, and you and Ruth . . . I dare not think of it! Memories of those\ndays torture me in many a sleepless hour, and there is much that fills me\nwith bitter remorse. But I am permitted to live, and it seems as if I\nwere new-born, and henceforth existence and doing good must be synonymous\nto me. You were right to be angry. . . .\"\n\n\"That is all forgiven and forgotten,\" interrupted the smith in a resonant\nvoice, pressing his son's fingers with his hard right hand.\n\nThese words affected the convalescent like a strengthening potion, and\nwhen the hammers again moved in the smithy, Ulrich was no longer\nsatisfied with his idle life, and began with Ruth to look forward to and\ndiscuss the future.\n\n\"The words: 'fortune,' 'fame,' 'power,'\" he said once, \"have deceived me;\nbut art! You don't know, Ruth, what art is! It does not bestow\neverything, but a great deal, a great deal. Meister Moor was indeed a\nteacher! I am too old to begin at the beginning once more. If it were not\nfor that. . . .\"\n\n\"Well, Ulrich?\"\n\n\"I should like to try painting again.\"\n\nThe girl exhorted him to take courage, and told his father of their\nconversation. The smith put on his Sunday clothes and went to the\nartist's house. The latter was in Brussels, but was expected home soon.\n\nFrom this time, every third day, Adam donned his best clothes, which he\ndisliked to wear, and went to the artist's; but always in vain.\n\nIn the month of February the invalid was playing chess with Ruth,--she\nhad learned the game from the smith and Ulrich from her,--when Adam\nentered the room, saying: \"when the game is over, I wish to speak to you,\nmy son.\"\n\nThe young girl had the advantage, but instantly pushed the pieces\ntogether and left the two alone.\n\nShe well knew what was passing in the father's mind, for the day before\nhe had brought all sorts of artist's materials, and told her to arrange\nthe little gable-room, with the large window facing towards the north,\nand put the easel and colors there. They had only smiled at each other,\nbut they had long since learned to understand each other, even without\nwords.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Ulrich in surprise.\n\nThe smith then told him what he had provided and arranged, adding: \"the\npicture on the standard--you say you painted it yourself.\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"It was your mother, exactly as she looked when. . . . She did not treat\neither of us rightly--but she!--the Christian must forgive;--and as she\nwas your mother--why--I should like . . . perhaps it is not possible; but\nif you could paint her picture, not as a Madonna, only as she looked when\na young wife. . . .\"\n\n\"I can, I will!\" cried Ulrich, in joyous excitement. \"Take me upstairs,\nis the canvas ready?\"\n\n\"In the frame, firmly in the frame! I am an old man, and you see, child,\nI remember how wonderfully sweet your mother was; but I can never succeed\nin recalling just how she looked then. I have tried, tried thousands and\nthousands of times; at--Richtberg, here, everywhere--deep as was my\nwrath!\"\n\n\"You shall see her again surely--surely!\" interrupted Ulrich. \"I see her\nbefore me, and what I see in my mind, I can paint!\"\n\nThe work was commenced the very same day. Ulrich now succeeded\nwonderfully, and lavished on the portrait all the wealth of love, with\nwhich his heart was filled.\n\nNever had he guided the brush so joyously; in painting this picture he\nonly wished to give, to give--give his beloved father the best he could\naccomplish, so he succeeded.\n\nThe young wife, attired in a burgher dress, stood with her bewitching\neyes and a melancholy, half-tender, half-mournful smile on her lips.\n\nAdam was not permitted to enter the studio again until the portrait was\ncompleted. When Ulrich at last unveiled the picture, the old man--unable\nlonger to control himself--burst into loud sobs and fell upon his son's\nbreast. It seemed to Adam that the pretty creature in the golden\nframe--far from needing his forgiveness--was entitled to his gratitude\nfor many blissful hours.\n\nSoon after, Adam found Moor at home, and a few hours later took Ulrich to\nhim. It was a happy and a quiet meeting, which was soon followed by a\nsecond interview in the smith's house.\n\nMoor gazed long and searchingly at Ulrich's work. When he had examined it\nsufficiently, he held out his hand to his pupil, saying warmly:\n\n\"I always said so; you are an artist! From to-morrow we will work\ntogether again, daily, and you will win more glorious victories with the\nbrush than with the sword.\"\n\nUlrich's cheeks glowed with happiness and pride.\n\nRuth had never before seen him look so, and as she gazed joyfully into\nhis eyes, he held out his hands to her, exclaiming: \"An artist, an artist\nagain! Oh, would that I had always remained one! Now I lack only one\nthing more--yourself!\"\n\nShe rushed to his embrace, exclaiming joyously \"Yours, yours! I have\nalways been so, and always shall be, to-day, to-morrow, unto death,\nforever and ever!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" he answered gravely. \"Our hearts are one and ever will be,\nnothing can separate them; but your fate shall not be linked to mine\ntill, Moor himself calls me a master. Love imposes no condition--I am\nyours and you are mine--but I impose the trial on myself, and this time I\nknow it will be passed.\"\n\nA new spirit animated the pupil. He rushed to his work with tireless\nenergy, and even the hardest task became easy, when he thought of the\nprize he sought. At the end of a year, Moor ceased to instruct him, and\nRuth became the wife of Meister Ulrich Schwab.\n\nThe famous artist-guild of Antwerp soon proudly numbered him among them,\nand even at the present day his pictures are highly esteemed by\nconnoisseurs, though they are attributed to other painters, for he never\nsigned his name to his works.\n\nOf the four words, which illumined his life-path as guiding-stars, he had\nlearned to value fame and power least; fortune and art remained faithful\nto him, but as the earth does not shine by its own might, but receives\nits light from the sun, so they obtained brilliancy, charm and endearing\npower through love.\n\nThe fierce Eletto, whose sword raged in war, following the teachings of\nhis noble Master, became a truly Christian philanthropist.\n\nMany have gazed with quiet delight at the magnificent picture, which\nrepresents a beautiful mother, with a bright, intelligent face, leading\nher three blooming children towards a pleasant old man, who holds out his\narms to them. The old man is Adam, the mother Ruth, the children are the\narmorer's grandchildren; Ulrich Schwab was the artist.\n\nMeister Moor died soon after Ulrich's marriage, and a few years after,\nSophonisba di Moncada came to Antwerp to seek the grave of him she had\nloved. She knew from the dead man that he had met his dear Madrid pupil,\nand her first visit was to the latter.\n\nAfter looking at his works, she exclaimed:\n\n\"The word! Do you remember, Meister? I told you then, that you had found\nthe right one. You are greatly altered, and it is a pity that you have\nlost your flowing locks; but you look like a happy man, and to what do\nyou owe it? To the word, the only right word: 'Art!'\"\n\nHe let her finish the sentence, then answered gravely \"There is still a\nloftier word, noble lady! Whoever owns it--is rich indeed. He will no\nlonger wander--seek in doubt.\n\n\"And this is?\" she asked incredulously, with a smile of superior\nknowledge.\n\n\"I have found it,\" he answered firmly. \"It is 'Love.'\"\n\nSophonisba bent her head, saying softly and sadly: \"yes, yes--love.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS OF THE ENTIRE \"A WORD, ONLY A WORD\"\n\n     Among fools one must be a fool\n     He was steadfast in everything, even anger\n     No one we learn to hate more easily, than the benefactor\n     Once laughed at a misfortune, its sting loses its point\n     To expect gratitude is folly\n     Whoever condemns, feels himself superior\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE, Complete\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary J. Safford\n\nBARONESS SOPHIE VON BRANDENSTEIN, nee EBERS.\n\nMy reason for dedicating a book, and particularly this book, to you, the\nonly sister of my dead father, needs no word of explanation between us.\nFrom early childhood you have been a dear and faithful friend to me, and\ncertainly have not forgotten how industriously I labored, while your\nguest seventeen years ago, in arranging the material which constitutes\nthe foundation of the \"Burgomaster's Wife.\" You then took a friendly\ninterest in many a note of facts, that had seemed to me extraordinary,\nadmirable, or amusing, and when the claims of an arduous profession\nprevented me from pursuing my favorite occupation of studying the history\nof Holland, my mother's home, in the old way, never wearied of reminding\nme of the fallow material, that had previously awakened your sympathy.\n\nAt last I have been permitted to give the matter so long laid aside its\njust dues. A beautiful portion of Holland's glorious history affords the\nespalier, around which the tendrils of my narrative entwine. You have\nwatched them grow, and therefore will view them kindly and indulgently.\n\nIn love and friendship,\n\n               Ever the same,\n\n                       GEORG EBERS\n\nLeipsic, Oct. 30th, 1881.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nIn the year 1574 A. D. spring made its joyous entry into the Netherlands\nat an unusually early date.\n\nThe sky was blue, gnats sported in the sunshine, white butterflies\nalighted on the newly-opened yellow flowers, and beside one of the\nnumerous ditches intersecting the wide plain stood a stork, snapping at a\nfine frog; the poor fellow soon writhed in its enemy's red beak. One\ngulp--the merry jumper vanished, and its murderer, flapping its wings,\nsoared high into the air. On flew the bird over gardens filled with\nblossoming fruit-trees, trimly laid-out flower-beds, and gaily-painted\narbors, across the frowning circlet of walls and towers that girdled the\ncity, over narrow houses with high, pointed gables, and neat streets\nbordered with elm, poplar, linden and willow-trees, decked with the first\ngreen leaves of spring. At last it alighted on a lofty gable-roof, on\nwhose ridge was its firmly-fastened nest. After generously giving up its\nprey to the little wife brooding over the eggs, it stood on one leg and\ngazed thoughtfully down upon the city, whose shining red tiles gleamed\nspick and span from the green velvet carpet of the meadows. The bird had\nknown beautiful Leyden, the gem of Holland, for many a year, and was\nfamiliar with all the branches of the Rhine that divided the stately city\ninto numerous islands, and over which arched as many stone bridges as\nthere are days in five months of the year; but surely many changes had\noccurred here since the stork's last departure for the south.\n\nWhere were the citizens' gay summer-houses and orchards, where the wooden\nframes on which the weavers used to stretch their dark and colored\ncloths?\n\nWhatever plant or work of human hands had risen, outside the city walls\nand towers to the height of a man's breast, thus interrupting the\nuniformity of the plain, had vanished from the earth, and beyond, on the\nbird's best hunting-grounds, brownish spots sown with black circles\nappeared among the green of the meadows.\n\nLate in October of the preceding year, just after the storks left the\ncountry, a Spanish army had encamped here, and a few hours before the\nreturn of the winged wanderers in the first opening days of spring, the\nbesiegers retired without having accomplished their purpose.\n\nBarren spots amid the luxuriant growth of vegetation marked the places\nwhere they had pitched their tents, the black cinders of the burnt coals\ntheir camp-fires.\n\nThe sorely-threatened inhabitants of the rescued city, with thankful\nhearts, uttered sighs of relief. The industrious, volatile populace had\nspeedily forgotten the sufferings endured, for early spring is so\nbeautiful, and never does a rescued life seem so delicious as when we are\nsurrounded by the joys of spring.\n\nA new and happier time appeared to have dawned, not only for Nature but\nfor human beings. The troops quartered in the besieged city, which had\nthe day before committed many an annoyance, had been dismissed with song\nand music. The carpenter's axe flashed in the spring sunlight before the\nred walls, towers and gates, and cut sharply into the beams from which\nnew scaffolds and frames were to be erected; noble cattle grazed\npeacefully undisturbed around the city, whose desolated gardens were\nbeing dug, sowed and planted afresh. In the streets and houses a thousand\nhands, which but a short time before had guided spears and arquebuses on\nthe walls and towers, were busy at useful work, and old people sat\nquietly before their doors to let the warm spring sun shine on their\nbacks.\n\nFew discontented faces were to be seen in Leyden on this eighteenth of\nApril. True, there was no lack of impatient ones, and whoever wanted to\nseek them need only go to the principal school, where noon was\napproaching and many boys gazed far more eagerly through the open windows\nof the school-room, than at the teacher's lips.\n\nBut in that part of the spacious hall where the older lads received\ninstruction, no restlessness prevailed. True, the spring sun shone on\ntheir books and exercises too, the spring called them into the open air,\nbut even more powerful than its alluring voice seemed the influence\nexerted on their young minds by what they were now hearing.\n\nForty sparkling eyes were turned towards the bearded man, who addressed\nthem in his deep voice. Even wild Jan Mulder had dropped the knife with\nwhich he had begun to cut on his desk a well-executed figure of a ham,\nand was listening attentively.\n\nThe noon bell now rang from the neighboring church, and soon after was\nheard from the tower of the town-hall, the little boys noisily left the\nroom, but--strange-=the patience of the older ones still held out; they\nwere surely hearing things that did not exactly belong to their lessons.\n\nThe man who stood before them was no teacher in the school, but the city\nclerk, Van Hout, who, to-day filled the place of his sick friend,\nVerstroot, master of arts and preacher. During the ringing of the bells\nhe had closed the book, and now said:\n\n\"'Suspendo lectionem.' Jan Mulder, how would you translate my\n'suspendere'?\"\n\n\"Hang,\" replied the boy.\n\n\"Hang!\" laughed Van Hout. \"You might be hung from a hook perhaps, but\nwhere should we hang a lesson? Adrian Van der Werff.\"\n\nThe lad called rose quickly, saying:\n\n\"'Suspendere lectionen' means to break off the lesson.\"\n\n\"Very well; and if we wanted to hang up Jan Mulder, what should we say?\"\n\n\"Patibulare--ad patibulum!\" cried the scholars. Van Hout, who had just\nbeen smiling, grew very grave. Drawing a long breath, he said:\n\n\"Patibulo is a bad Latin word, and your fathers, who formerly sat here,\nunderstood its meaning far less thoroughly than you. Now, every child in\nthe Netherlands knows it, Alva has impressed it on our minds. More than\neighteen thousand worthy citizens have come to the gallows through his\n'ad patibulum.'\"\n\nWith these words he pulled his short black doublet through his girdle,\nadvanced nearer the first desk, and bending his muscular body forward,\nsaid with constantly increasing emotion:\n\n\"'This shall be enough for to-day, boys. It will do no great harm, if you\nafterwards forget the names earned here. But always remember one thing:\nyour country first of all. Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans did\nnot die in vain, so long as there are men ready to follow their example.\nYour turn will come too. It is not my business to boast, but truth is\ntruth. We Hollanders have furnished fifty times three hundred men for the\nfreedom of our native soil. In such stormy times there are steadfast men;\neven boys have shown themselves great. Ulrich yonder, at your head, can\nbear his nickname of Lowing with honor. 'Hither Persians--hither Greeks!'\nwas said in ancient times, but we cry: 'Hither Netherlands, hither\nSpain!' And indeed, the proud Darius never ravaged Greece as King Philip\nhas devastated Holland. Ay, my lads, many flowers bloom in the breasts of\nmen. Among them is hatred of the poisonous hemlock. Spain has sowed it in\nour gardens. I feel it growing within me, and you too feel and ought to\nfeel it. But don't misunderstand me! 'Hither Spain--hither Netherlands!'\nis the cry, and not: 'Hither Catholics and hither Protestants.' Every\nfaith may be right in the Lord's eyes, if only the man strives earnestly\nto walk in Christ's ways. At the throne of Heaven, it will not be asked:\nAre you Papist, Calvinist, or Lutheran? but: What were your intentions\nand acts? Respect every man's belief; but despise him who makes common\ncause with the tyrant against the liberty of our native land. Now pray\nsilently, then you may go home.\"\n\nThe scholars rose; Van Hout wiped the perspiration from his high\nforehead, and while the boys were collecting books, pencils, and pens,\nsaid slowly, as if apologizing to himself for the words already uttered:\n\n\"What I have told you perhaps does not belong to the school-room; but, my\nlads, this battle is still far from being ended, and though you must\noccupy the school-benches for a while, you are the future soldiers.\nLowing, remain behind, I have something to say to you.\"\n\nHe slowly turned his back to the boys, who rushed out of doors. In a\ncorner of the yard of St. Peter's church, which was behind the building\nand entered by few of the passers-by, they stood still, and from amid the\nwild confusion of exclamations arose a sort of consultation, to which the\norgan-notes echoing from the church formed a strange accompaniment.\n\nThey were trying to decide upon the game to be played in the afternoon.\n\nIt was a matter of course, after what Van Hout had said, that there\nshould be a battle; it had not even been proposed by anybody, but the\ndiscussion that now arose proceeded from the supposition.\n\nIt was soon decided that patriots and Spaniards, not Greeks and Persians,\nwere to appear in the lists against each other; but when the\nburgomaster's son, Adrian Van der Werff, a lad of fourteen, proposed to\nform the two parties, and in the imperious way peculiar to him attempted\nto make Paul Van Swieten and Claus Dirkson Spaniards, he encountered\nviolent opposition, and the troublesome circumstance was discovered that\nno one was willing to represent a foreign soldier.\n\nEach boy wanted to make somebody else a Castilian, and fight himself\nunder the banner of the Netherlands. But friends and foes are necessary\nfor a war, and Holland's heroic courage required Spaniards to prove it.\nThe youngsters grew excited, the cheeks of the disputants began to flush,\nhere and there clenched fists were raised, and everything indicated that\na horrible civil war would precede the battle to be given the foes of the\ncountry.\n\nIn truth, these lively boys were ill-suited to play the part of King\nPhilip's gloomy, stiff-necked soldiers. Amid the many fair heads, few\nlads were seen with brown locks, and only one with black hair and dark\neyes. This was Adam Baersdorp, whose father, like Van der Werff's, was\none of the leaders of the citizens. When he too refused to act a\nSpaniard, one of the boys exclaimed:\n\n\"You won't? Yet my father says your father is half a Glipper,--[The name\ngiven in Holland to those who sympathized with Spain]--and a whole Papist\nto boot.\"\n\nAt these words young Baersdorp threw his books on the ground, and was\nrushing with upraised fist upon his enemy--but Adrian Van der Werff\nhastily interposed, crying:\n\n\"For shame, Cornelius.--I'll stop the mouth of anybody who utters such an\ninsult again. Catholics are Christians, as well as we. You heard it from\nVan Hout, and my father says so too. Will you be a Spaniard, Adam, yes or\nno?\"\n\n\"No!\" cried the latter firmly. \"And if anybody else--\"\n\n\"You can quarrel afterward,\" said Adrian Van der Werff, interrupting his\nexcited companions, then good-naturedly picking up the books Baersdorp\nhad flung down, and handing them to him, continued resolutely, \"I'll be a\nSpaniard to-day. Who else?\"\n\n\"I, I, I too, for aught I care,\" shouted several of the scholars, and the\nforming of the two parties would have been carried on in the best order\nto the end, if the boys' attention had not been diverted by a fresh\nincident.\n\nA young gentleman, followed by a black servant, came up the street\ndirectly towards them. He too was a Netherlander, but had little in\ncommon with the school-boys except his age, a red and white complexion,\nfair hair, and clear blue eyes, eyes that looked arrogantly out upon the\nworld. Every step showed that he considered himself an important\npersonage, and the gaily-costumed negro, who carried a few recently\npurchased articles behind him, imitated this bearing in a most comical\nway. The negro's head was held still farther back than the young noble's,\nwhose stiff Spanish ruff prevented him from moving his handsome head as\nfreely as other mortals.\n\n\"That ape, Wibisma,\" said one of the school-boys, pointing to the\napproaching nobleman.\n\nAll eyes turned towards him, scornfully scanning his little velvet hat\ndecked with a long plume, the quilted red satin garment padded in the\nbreast and sleeves, the huge puffs of his short brown breeches, and the\nbrilliant scarlet silk stockings that closely fitted his well-formed\nlimbs.\n\n\"The ape,\" repeated Paul Van Swieten. \"He wants to be a cardinal, that's\nwhy he wears so much red.\"\n\n\"And looks as Spanish as if he came straight from Madrid,\" cried another\nlad, while a third added:\n\n\"The Wibismas certainly were not to be found here, so long as bread was\nshort with us.\"\n\nThe Wibismas are all Glippers.\n\n\"And he struts about on week-days, dressed in velvet and silk,\" said\nAdrian. \"Just look at the black boy the red-legged stork has brought with\nhim to Leyden.\"\n\nThe scholars burst into a loud laugh, and as soon as the youth had\nreached them, Paul Van Swieten snarled in a nasal tone:\n\n\"How did deserting suit you? How are affairs in Spain, master Glipper?\"\n\nThe young noble raised his head still higher, the negro did the same, and\nboth walked quietly on, even when Adrian shouted in his ear:\n\n\"Little Glipper, tell me, for how many pieces of silver did Judas sell\nthe Saviour?\"\n\nYoung Matanesse Van Wibisma made an indignant gesture, but controlled\nhimself until Jan Mulder stepped in front of him, holding his little\ncloth cap, into which he had thrust a hen's feather, under his chin like\na beggar, and saying humbly:\n\n\"Give me a little shrove-money for our tom-cat, Sir Grandee; he stole a\nleg of veal from the butcher yesterday.\"\n\n\"Out of my way!\" said the youth in a haughty, resolute tone, trying to\npush Mulder aside with the back of his hand.\n\n\"Hands off, Glipper!\" cried the school-boys, raising their clenched hands\nthreateningly.\n\n\"Then let me alone,\" replied Wibisma, \"I want no quarrel, least of all\nwith you.\"\n\n\"Why not with us?\" asked Adrian Van der Werff, irritated by the\nsupercilious, arrogant tone of the last words.\n\nThe youth shrugged his shoulders, but Adrian cried: \"Because you like\nyour Spanish costume better than our doublets of Leyden cloth.\"\n\nHere he paused, for Jan Mulder stole behind Wibisma, struck his hat down\non his head with a book, and while Nicolas Van Wibisma was trying to free\nhis eyes from the covering that shaded them, exclaimed:\n\n\"There, Sir Grandee, now the little hat sits firm! You can keep it on,\neven before the king.\"\n\nThe negro could not go to his master's assistance, for his arms were\nfilled with parcels, but the young noble did not call him, knowing how\ncowardly his black servant was, and feeling strong enough to help\nhimself.\n\nA costly clasp, which he had just received as a gift on his seventeenth\nbirthday, confined the plume in his hat; but without a thought he flung\nit aside, stretched out his arms as if for a wrestling-match, and with\nflorid cheeks, asked in a loud, resolute tone: \"Who did that?\"\n\nJan Mulder had hastily retreated among his companions, and instead of\ncoming forward and giving his name, called:\n\n\"Look for the hat-fuller, Glipper! We'll play blindman's buff.\"\n\nThe youth, frantic with rage, repeated his question. When, instead of any\nother answer, the boys entered into Jan Mulder's jest, shouting gaily:\n\"Yes, play blind-man's buff! Look for the hat-fuller. Come, little\nGlipper, begin.\" Nicolas could contain himself no longer, but shouted\nfuriously to the laughing throng:\n\n\"Cowardly rabble!\"\n\nScarcely had the words been uttered, when Paul Van Swieten raised his\ngrammar, bound in hog-skin, and hurled it at Wibisma's breast.\n\nOther books followed, amid loud outcries, striking him on the legs and\nshoulders. Bewildered, he shielded his face with his hands and retreated\nto the church-yard wall, where he stood still and prepared to rush upon\nhis foes.\n\nThe stiff, fashionable high Spanish ruff no longer confined his handsome\nhead with its floating golden locks. Freely and boldly he looked his\nenemies in the face, stretched the young limbs hardened by many a\nknightly exercise, and with a true Netherland oath sprang upon Adrian Van\nder Werff, who stood nearest.\n\nAfter a short struggle, the burgomaster's son, inferior in strength and\nage to his opponent, lay extended on the ground; but the other lads, who\nhad not ceased shouting, \"Glipper, Glipper,\" seized the young noble, who\nwas kneeling on his vanquished foe.\n\nNicolas struggled bravely, but his enemies' superior power was too great.\n\nFrantic with fury, wild with rage and shame, he snatched the dagger from\nhis belt.\n\nThe boys now raised a frightful yell, and two of them rushed upon Nicolas\nto wrest the weapon from him. This was quickly accomplished; the dagger\nflew on the pavement, but Van Swieten sprang back with a low cry, for the\nsharp blade had struck his arm, and the bright blood streamed on the\nground.\n\nFor several minutes the shouts of the lads and the piteous cries of the\nblack page drowned the beautiful melody of the organ, pouring from the\nwindows of the church. Suddenly the music ceased; instead of the\nintricate harmony the slowly-dying note of a single pipe was heard, and a\nyoung man rushed out of the door of the sacristy of the House of God. He\nquickly perceived the cause of the wild uproar that had interrupted his\npractising, and a smile flitted over the handsome face which, framed by a\nclosely-cut beard, had just looked startled enough, though the reproving\nwords and pushes with which he separated the enraged lads were earnest\nenough, and by no means failed to produce their effect.\n\nThe boys knew the musician, Wilhelm Corneliussohn, and offered no\nresistance, for they liked him, and his dozen years of seniority gave him\nan undisputed authority among them. Not a hand was again raised against\nWibisma, but the boys, all shouting and talking together, crowded around\nthe organist to accuse Nicolas and defend themselves.\n\nPaul Van Swieten's wound was slight. He stood outside the circle of his\ncompanions, supporting the injured left arm with his right hand. He\nfrequently blew upon the burning spot in his flesh, over which a bit of\ncloth was wrapped, but curiosity concerning the result of this\nentertaining brawl was stronger than the wish to have it bandaged and\nhealed.\n\nAs the peace-maker's work was already drawing to a close, the wounded\nlad, pointing with his sound hand in the direction of the school,\nsuddenly called warningly:\n\n\"There comes Herr von Nordwyk. Let the Glipper go, or there will be\ntrouble.\"\n\nPaul Van Swieten again clasped his wounded arm with his right hand and\nran swiftly around the church. Several other boys followed, but the\nnew-comer of whom they were afraid, a man scarcely thirty years old, had\nlegs of considerable length, and knew how to use them bravely.\n\n\"Stop, boys!\" he shouted in an echoing voice of command. \"Stop! What has\nHappened here?\"\n\nEvery one in Leyden respected the learned and brave young nobleman, so\nall the lads who had not instantly obeyed Van Swieten's warning shout,\nstood still until Herr von Nordwyk reached them.\n\nA strange, eager light sparkled in this man's clever eyes, and a subtle\nsmile hovered around his moustached lip, as he called to the musician:\n\n\"What has happened here, Meister Wilhelm? Didn't the clamor of Minerva's\napprentices harmonize with your organ-playing, or did--but by all the\ncolors of Iris, that's surely Nico Matanesse, young Wibisma! And how he\nlooks! Brawling in the shadow of the church--and you here too, Adrian,\nand you, Meister Wilhelm?\"\n\n\"I separated them,\" replied the other quietly, smoothing his rumpled\ncuffs.\n\n\"With perfect calmness, but impressively--like your organ-music,\" said\nthe commander, laughing.\n\n\"Who began the fight? You, young sir? or the others?\"\n\nNicolas, in his excitement, shame, and indignation, could find no\ncoherent words, but Adrian came forward saying: \"We wrestled together.\nDon't be too much vexed with us, Herr Janus.\"\n\nNicolas cast a friendly glance at his foe.\n\nHerr von Nordwyk, Jan Van der Does, or as a learned man he preferred to\ncall himself, Janus Dousa, was by no means satisfied with this\ninformation, but exclaimed:\n\n\"Patience, patience! You look suspicious enough, Meister Adrian; come\nhere and tell me, 'atrekeos,' according to the truth, what has been going\non.\"\n\nThe boy obeyed the command and told his story honestly, without\nconcealing or palliating anything that had occurred.\n\n\"Hm,\" said Dousa, after the lad had finished his report. \"A difficult\ncase. No one is to be acquitted. Your cause would be the better one, had\nit not been for the knife, my fine young nobleman, but you, Adrian, and\nyou, you chubby-cheeked rascals, who--There comes the rector--If he\ncatches you, you'll certainly see nothing but four walls the rest of this\nbeautiful day. I should be sorry for that.\"\n\nThe chubby-cheeked rascals, and Adrian also, understood this hint, and\nwithout stopping to take leave scampered around the corner of the church\nlike a flock of doves pursued by a hawk.\n\nAs soon as they had vanished, the commander approached young Nicolas,\nsaying:\n\n\"Vexatious business! What was right to them is just to you. Go to your\nhome. Are you visiting your aunt?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord,\" replied the young noble. \"Is your father in the city\ntoo?\" Nicolas was silent.\n\n\"He doesn't wish to be seen?\"\n\nNicolas nodded assent, and Dousa continued:\n\n\"Leyden stands open to every Netherlander, even to you. To be sure, if\nyou go about like King Philip's page, and show contempt to your equals,\nyou must endure the consequences yourself. There lies the dagger, my\nyoung friend, and there is your hat. Pick them up, and remember that such\na weapon is no toy. Many a man has spoiled his whole life, by\nthoughtlessly using one a single moment. The superior numbers that\npressed upon you may excuse you. But how will you get to your aunt's\nhouse in that tattered doublet?\"\n\n\"My cloak is in the church,\" said the musician, \"I'll give it to the\nyoung gentleman.\"\n\n\"Bravo, Meister Wilhelm!\" replied Dousa. \"Wait here, my little master,\nand then go home. I wish the time, when your father would value my\ngreeting, might come again. Do you know why it is no longer pleasant to\nhim?\"\n\n\"No, my lord.\"\n\n\"Then I'll tell you. Because he is fond of Spain, and I cling to the\nNetherlands.\"\n\n\"We are Netherlanders as well as you,\" replied Nicolas with glowing\ncheeks.\n\n\"Scarcely,\" answered Dousa calmly, putting his hand up to his thin chin,\nand intending to add a kinder word to the sharp one, when the youth\nvehemently exclaimed:\n\n\"Take back that 'scarcely,' Herr von Nordwyk.\" Dousa gazed at the bold\nlad in surprise, and again an expression of amusement hovered about his\nlips. Then he said kindly:\n\n\"I like you, Herr Nicolas; and shall rejoice if you wish to become a true\nHollander. There comes Meister Wilhelm with his cloak. Give me your hand.\nNo, not this one, the other.\"\n\nNicolas hesitated, but Janus grasped the boy's right hand in both of his,\nbent his tall figure to the latter's ear, and said in so low a tone that\nthe musician could not understand:\n\n\"Ere we part, take with you this word of counsel from one who means\nkindly. Chains, even golden ones, drag us down, but liberty gives wings.\nYou shine in the glittering splendor, but we strike the Spanish chains\nwith the sword, and I devote myself to our work. Remember these words,\nand if you choose repeat them to your father.\"\n\nJanus Dousa turned his back on the boy, waved a farewell to the musician,\nand went away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nYoung Adrian hurried down the Werffsteg, which had given his family its\nname. He heeded neither the lindens on both sides, amid whose tops the\nfirst tiny green leaves were forcing their way out of the pointed buds,\nnor the birds that flew hither and thither among the hospitable boughs of\nthe stately trees, building their nests and twittering to each other, for\nhe had no thought in his mind except to reach home as quickly as\npossible.\n\nBeyond the bridge spanning the Achtergracht, he paused irresolutely\nbefore a large building.\n\nThe knocker hung on the central door, but he did not venture to lift it\nand let it fall on the shining plate beneath, for he could expect no\npleasant reception from his family.\n\nHis doublet had fared ill during his struggle with his stronger enemy.\nThe torn neck-ruffles had been removed from their proper place and thrust\ninto his pocket, and the new violet stocking on his right leg, luckless\nthing, had been so frayed by rubbing on the pavement, that a large\nyawning rent showed far more of Adrian's white knee than was agreeable to\nhim.\n\nThe peacock feather in his little velvet cap could easily be replaced,\nbut the doublet was torn, not ripped, and the stocking scarcely capable\nof being mended. The boy was sincerely sorry, for his father had bade him\ntake good care of the stuff to save money; during these times there were\nhard shifts in the big house, which with its three doors, triple gables\nadorned with beautifully-arched volutes, and six windows in the upper and\nlower stories, fronted the Werffsteg in a very proud, stately guise.\n\nThe burgomaster's office did not bring in a large income, and Adrian's\ngrandfather's trade of preparing chamois leather, as well as the business\nin skins, was falling off; his father had other matters in his head,\nmatters that claimed not only his intellect, strength and time, but also\nevery superfluous farthing.\n\nAdrian had nothing pleasant to expect at home--certainly not from his\nfather, far less from his aunt Barbara. Yet the boy dreaded the anger of\nthese two far less, than a single disapproving glance from the eyes of\nthe young wife, whom he had called \"mother\" scarcely a twelve month, and\nwho was only six years his senior.\n\nShe never said an unkind word to him, but his defiance and wildness\nmelted before her beauty, her quiet, aristocratic manner. He scarcely\nknew himself whether he loved her or not, but she appeared like the good\nfairy of whom the fairy tales spoke, and it often seemed as if she were\nfar too delicate, dainty and charming for her simple, unpretending home.\nTo see her smile rendered the boy happy, and when she looked sad--a thing\nthat often happened-it made his heart ache. Merciful Heavens! She\ncertainly could not receive him kindly when she saw his doublet, the\nruffles thrust into his pocket, and his unlucky stockings.\n\nAnd then!\n\nThere were the bells ringing again!\n\nThe dinner hour had long since passed, and his father waited for no one.\nWhoever came too late must go without, unless Aunt Barbara took\ncompassion on him in the kitchen.\n\nBut what was the use of pondering and hesitating? Adrian summoned up all\nhis courage, clenched his teeth, clasped his right hand still closer\naround the torn ruffles in his pocket, and struck the knocker loudly on\nthe steel plate beneath.\n\nTrautchen, the old maid-servant, opened the door, and in the spacious,\ndusky entrance-hall, where the bales of leather were packed closely\ntogether, did not notice the dilapidation of his outer man.\n\nHe hurried swiftly up the stairs.\n\nThe dining-room door was open, and--marvellous--the table was still\nuntouched, his father must have remained at the town-hall longer than\nusual.\n\nAdrian rushed with long leaps to his little attic room, dressed himself\nneatly, and entered the presence of his family before the master of the\nhouse had asked the blessing.\n\nThe doublet and stocking could be confided to the hands of Aunt Barbara\nor Trautchen, at some opportune hour.\n\nAdrian sturdily attacked the smoking dishes; but his heart soon grew\nheavy, for his father did not utter a word, and gazed into vacancy as\ngravely and anxiously as at the time when misery entered the beleaguered\ncity.\n\nThe boy's young step-mother sat opposite her husband, and often glanced\nat Peter Van der Werff's grave face to win a loving glance from him.\n\nWhenever she did so in vain, she pushed her soft, golden hair back from\nher forehead, raised her beautiful head higher, or bit her lips and gazed\nsilently into her plate.\n\nIn reply to Aunt Barbara's questions: \"What happened at the council? Has\nthe money for the new bell been collected? Will Jacob Van Sloten rent you\nthe meadow?\" he made curt, evasive replies.\n\nThe steadfast man, who sat so silently with frowning brow among his\nfamily, sometimes attacking the viands on his plate, then leaving them\nuntouched, did not look like one who yields to idle whims.\n\nAll present, even the men and maid-servants, were still devoting\nthemselves to the food, when the master of the house rose, and pressing\nboth hands over the back of his head, which was very prominently\ndeveloped, exclaimed groaning:\n\n\"I can hold out no longer. Do you give thanks, Maria. Go to the\ntown-hall, Janche, and ask if no messenger has yet arrived.\"\n\nThe man-servant wiped his mouth and instantly obeyed. He was a tall,\nbroad-shouldered Frieselander, but only reached to his master's forehead.\n\nPeter Van der Werff, without any form of salutation, turned his back on\nhis family, opened the door leading into his study, and after crossing\nthe threshold, closed it with a bang, approached the big oak\nwriting-desk, on which papers and letters lay piled in heaps, secured by\nrough leaden weights, and began to rummage among the newly-arrived\ndocuments. For fifteen minutes he vainly strove to fix the necessary\nattention upon his task, then grasped his study-chair to rest his folded\narms on the high, perforated back, adorned with simple carving, and gazed\nthoughtfully at the wooden wainscoting of the ceiling. After a few\nminutes he pushed the chair aside with his foot, raised his hand to his\nmouth, separated his moustache from his thick brown beard, and went to\nthe window. The small, round, leaden-cased panes, however brightly they\nmight be polished, permitted only a narrow portion of the street to be\nseen, but the burgomaster seemed to have found the object for which he\nhad been looking. Hastily opening the window, he called to his servant,\nwho was hurriedly approaching the house:\n\n\"Is he in, Janche?\"\n\nThe Frieselander shook his head, the window again closed, and a few\nminutes after the burgomaster seized his hat, which hung, between some\ncavalry pistols and a plain, substantial sword, on the only wall of his\nroom not perfectly bare.\n\nThe torturing anxiety that filled his mind, would no longer allow him to\nremain in the house.\n\nHe would have his horse saddled, and ride to meet the expected messenger.\n\nEre leaving the room, he paused a moment lost in thought, then approached\nthe writing-table to sign some papers intended for the town-hall; for his\nreturn might be delayed till night.\n\nStill standing, he looked over the two sheets he had spread out before\nhim, and seized the pen. Just at that moment the door of the room gently\nopened, and the fresh sand strewn over the white boards creaked under a\nlight foot. He doubtless heard it, but did not allow himself to be\ninterrupted.\n\nHis wife was now standing close behind him. Four and twenty years his\njunior, she seemed like a timid girl, as she raised her arm, yet did not\nventure to divert her husband's attention from his business.\n\nShe waited quietly till he had signed the first paper, then turned her\npretty head aside, and blushing faintly, exclaimed with downcast eyes:\n\n\"It is I, Peter!\"\n\n\"Very well, my child,\" he answered curtly, raising the second paper\nnearer his eyes.\n\n\"Peter!\" she exclaimed a second time, still more eagerly, but with\ntimidity. \"I have something to tell you.\"\n\nVan der Werff turned his head, cast a hasty, affectionate glance at her,\nand said:\n\n\"Now, child? You see I am busy, and there is my hat.\"\n\n\"But Peter!\" she replied, a flash of something like indignation sparkling\nin her eyes, as she continued in a voice pervaded with a slightly\nperceptible tone of complaint: \"We haven't said anything to each other\nto-day. My heart is so full, and what I would fain say to you is, must\nsurely--\"\n\n\"When I come home Maria, not now,\" he interrupted, his deep voice\nsounding half impatient, half beseeching. \"First the city and the\ncountry--then love-making.\"\n\nAt these words, Maria raised her head proudly, and answered with\nquivering lips:\n\n\"That is what you have said ever since the first day of our marriage.\"\n\n\"And unhappily--unhappily--I must continue to say so until we reach the\ngoal,\" he answered firmly. The blood mounted into the young wife's\ndelicate cheeks, and with quickened breathing, she answered in a hasty,\nresolute tone:\n\n\"Yes, indeed, I have known these words ever since your courtship, and as\nI am my father's daughter never opposed them, but now they are no longer\nsuited to us, and should be: 'Everything for the country, and nothing at\nall for the wife.'\"\n\nVan der Werff laid down his pen and turned full towards her.\n\nMaria's slender figure seemed to have grown taller, and the blue eyes,\nswimming in tears, flashed proudly. This life-companion seemed to have\nbeen created by God especially for him. His heart opened to her, and\nfrankly stretching out both hands, he said tenderly:\n\n\"You know how matters are! This heart is changeless, and other days will\ncome.\"\n\n\"When?\" asked Maria, in a tone as mournful as if she believed in no\nhappier future.\n\n\"Soon,\" replied her husband firmly. \"Soon, if only each one gives\nwillingly what our native land demands.\"\n\nAt these words the young wife loosed her hands from her husband's, for\nthe door had opened and Barbara called to her brother from the threshold.\n\n\"Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma, the Glipper, is in the entry and wants to\nspeak to you.\"\n\n\"Show him up,\" said the burgomaster reluctantly. When again alone with\nhis wife, he asked hastily \"Will you be indulgent and help me?\"\n\nShe nodded assent, trying to smile.\n\nHe saw that she was sad and, as this grieved him, held out his hand to\nher again, saying:\n\n\"Better days will come, when I shall be permitted to be more to you than\nto-day. What were you going to say just now?\"\n\n\"Whether you know it or not--is of no importance to the state.\"\n\n\"But to you. Then lift up your head again, and look at me. Quick, love,\nfor they are already on the stairs.\"\n\n\"It isn't worth mentioning--a year ago to-day--we might celebrate the\nanniversary of our wedding to-day.\"\n\n\"The anniversary of our wedding-day!\" he cried, striking his hands loudly\ntogether. \"Yes, this is the seventeenth of April, and I have forgotten\nit.\"\n\nHe drew her tenderly towards him, but just at that moment the door\nopened, and Adrian ushered the baron into the room.\n\nVan der Werff bowed courteously to the infrequent guest, then called to\nhis blushing wife, who was retiring: \"My congratulations! I'll come\nlater. Adrian, we are to celebrate a beautiful festival to-day, the\nanniversary of our marriage.\"\n\nThe boy glided swiftly out of the door, which he still held in his hand,\nfor he suspected the aristocratic visitor boded him no good.\n\nIn the entry he paused to think, then hurried up the stairs, seized his\nplumeless cap, and rushed out of doors. He saw his school-mates, armed\nwith sticks and poles, ranging themselves in battle array, and would have\nliked to join the game of war, but for that very reason preferred not to\nlisten to the shouts of the combatants at that moment, and ran towards\nthe Zylhof until beyond the sound of their voices.\n\nHe now checked his steps, and in a stooping posture, often on his knees,\nfollowed the windings of a narrow canal that emptied into the Rhine.\n\nAs soon as his cap was overflowing with the white, blue, and yellow\nspring flowers he had gathered, he sat down on a boundary stone, and with\nsparkling eyes bound them into a beautiful bouquet, with which he ran\nhome.\n\nOn the bench beside the gate sat the old maidservant with his little\nsister, a child six years old. Handing the flowers, which he had kept\nhidden behind his back, to her, he said:\n\n\"Take them and carry them to mother, Bessie; this is the anniversary of\nher wedding-day. Give her warm congratulations too, from us both.\"\n\nThe child rose, and the old servant said, \"You are a good boy, Adrian.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" he asked, all the sins of the forenoon returning to\nhis mind.\n\nBut unluckily they caused him no repentance; on the contrary, his eyes\nbegan to sparkle mischievously, and a smile hovered around his lips, as\nhe patted the old woman's shoulder, whispering softly in her ear:\n\n\"The hair flew to-day, Trautchen. My doublet and new stockings are lying\nup in my room under the bed. Nobody can mend as well as you.\"\n\nTrautchen shook her finger at him, but he turned hastily back and ran\ntowards the Zyl-gate, this time to lead the Spaniards against the\nNetherlanders.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe burgomaster had pressed the nobleman to sit down in the study-chair,\nwhile he himself leaned in a half-sitting attitude on the writing-table,\nlistening somewhat impatiently to his distinguished guest.\n\n\"Before speaking of more important things,\" Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma\nhad begun, \"I should like to appeal to you, as a just man, for some\npunishment for the injury my son has sustained in this city.\"\n\n\"Speak,\" said the burgomaster, and the nobleman now briefly, and with\nunconcealed indignation, related the story of the attack upon his son at\nthe church.\n\n\"I'll inform the rector of the annoying incident,\" replied Van der Werff,\n\"and the culprits will receive their just dues; but pardon me, noble sir,\nif I ask whether any inquiry has been made concerning the cause of the\nquarrel?\"\n\nHerr Matanesse Van Wibisma looked at the burgomaster in surprise and\nanswered proudly:\n\n\"You know my son's report.\"\n\n\"Both sides must be fairly heard,\" replied Van der Werff calmly. \"That\nhas been the custom of the Netherlands from ancient times.\"\n\n\"My son bears my name and speaks the truth.\"\n\n\"Our boys are called simply Leendert or Adrian or Gerrit, but they do the\nsame, so I must beg you to send the young gentleman to the examination at\nthe school.\"\n\n\"By no means,\" answered the knight resolutely. \"If I had thought the\nmatter belonged to the rector's department, I should have sought him and\nnot you, Herr Peter. My son has his own tutor, and was not attacked in\nyour school, which in any case he has outgrown, for he is seventeen, but\nin the public street, whose security it is the burgomaster's duty to\nguard.\"\n\n\"Very well then, make your complaint, take the youth before the judges,\nsummon witnesses and let the law follow its course. But, sir,\" continued\nVan der Werff, softening the impatience in his voice, \"were you not young\nyourself once? Have you entirely forgotten the fights under the citadel?\nWhat pleasure will it afford you, if we lock up a few thoughtless lads\nfor two days this sunny weather? The scamps will find something amusing\nto do indoors, as well as out, and only the parents will be punished.\"\n\nThe last words were uttered so cordially and pleasantly, that they could\nnot fail to have their effect upon the baron. He was a handsome man,\nwhose refined, agreeable features, of the true Netherland type, expressed\nanything rather than severity.\n\n\"If you speak to me in this tone, we shall come to an agreement more\neasily,\" he answered, smiling. \"I will only say this. Had the brawl\narisen in sport, or from some boyish quarrel, I wouldn't have wasted a\nword on the matter--but that children already venture to assail with\njeers and violence those who hold different opinions, ought not to be\npermitted to pass without reproof. The boys shouted after my son the\nabsurd word--\"\n\n\"It is certainly an insult,\" interrupted Van der Werff, \"a very\ndisagreeable name, that our people bestow on the enemies of their\nliberty.\"\n\nThe baron rose, angrily confronting the other.\n\n\"Who tells you,\" he cried, striking his broad breast, padded with silken\npuffs, \"who tells you that we grudge Holland her liberty? We desire, just\nas earnestly as you, to win it back to the States, but by other,\nstraighter paths than Orange--\"\n\n\"I cannot test here whether your paths are crooked or straight,\" retorted\nVan der Werff; \"but I do know this--they are labyrinths.\"\n\n\"They will lead to the heart of Philip, our king and yours.\"\n\n\"Yes, if he only had what we in Holland call a heart,\" replied the other,\nsmiling bitterly; but Wibisma threw his head back vehemently, exclaiming\nreproachfully:\n\n\"Sir Burgomaster, you are speaking of the anointed Prince to whom I have\nsworn fealty.\"\n\n\"Baron Matanesse,\" replied Van der Werff, in a tone of deep earnestness,\nas he drew himself up to his full height, folded his arms, and looked the\nnobleman sharply in the eye, \"I speak rather of the tyrant, whose bloody\ncouncil declared all who bore the Netherland name, and you among us,\ncriminals worthy of death; who, through his destroying devil, Alva,\nburned, beheaded, and hung thousands of honest men, robbed and exiled\nfrom the country thousands of others, I speak of the profligate--\"\n\n\"Enough!\" cried the knight, clenching the hilt of his sword. \"Who gives\nyou the right--\"\n\n\"Who gives me the right to speak so bitterly, you would ask?\" interrupted\nPeter Van der Werff, meeting the nobleman's eyes with a gloomy glance.\n\"Who gives me this right? I need not conceal it. It was bestowed by the\nsilent lips of my valiant father, beheaded for the sake of his faith, by\nthe arbitrary decree, that without form of law, banished my brother and\nmyself from the country--by the Spaniards' broken vows, the torn charters\nof this land, the suffering of the poor, ill-treated, worthy people that\nwill perish if we do not save them.\"\n\n\"You will not save them,\" replied Wibisma in a calmer tone. \"You will\npush those tottering on the verge of the abyss completely over the\nprecipice, and go to destruction with them.\"\n\n\"We are pilots. Perhaps we shall bring deliverance, perhaps we shall go\nto ruin with those for whom we are ready to die.\"\n\n\"You say that, and yet a young, blooming wife binds you to life.\"\n\n\"Baron, you have crossed this threshold as complainant to the\nburgomaster, not as guest or friend.\"\n\n\"Quite true, but I came with kind intentions, as monitor to the guiding\nhead of this beautiful, hapless city. You have escaped the storm once,\nbut new and far heavier ones are gathering above your heads.\"\n\n\"We do not fear them.\"\n\n\"Not even now?\"\n\n\"Now, with good reason, far less than ever.\"\n\n\"Then you don't know the Prince's brother--\"\n\n\"Louis of Nassau was close upon the Spaniards on the 14th, and our cause\nis doing well--\"\n\n\"It certainly did not fare ill at first.\"\n\n\"The messenger, who yesterday evening--\"\n\n\"Ours came this morning.\"\n\n\"This morning, you say? And what more--\"\n\n\"The Prince's army was defeated and utterly destroyed on Mook Heath.\nLouis of Nassau himself was slain.\"\n\nVan der Werff pressed his fingers firmly on the wood of the\nwriting-table. The fresh color of his cheeks and lips had yielded to a\nlivid pallor, and his mouth quivered painfully as he asked in a low,\nhollow tone, \"Louis dead, really dead?\"\n\n\"Dead,\" replied the baron firmly, though sorrowfully. \"We were enemies,\nbut Louis was a noble youth. I mourn him with you.\"\n\n\"Dead, William's favorite dead!\" murmured the burgomaster as if in a\ndream. Then, controlling himself by a violent effort, he said, firmly:\n\n\"Pardon me, noble sir. Time is flying. I must go to the town-hall.\"\n\n\"And spite of my message, you will continue to uphold rebellion?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord, as surely as I am a Hollander.\"\n\n\"Do you remember the fate of Haarlem?\"\n\n\"I remember her citizens' resistance, and the rescued Alkmaar.\"\n\n\"Man, man!\" cried the baron. \"By all that sacred, I implore you to be\ncircumspect.\"\n\n\"Enough, baron, I must go to the town-hall.\"\n\n\"No, only this one more word, this one word. I know you upbraid us as\n'Glippers,' deserters, but as truly as I hope for God's mercy, you\nmisjudge us. No, Herr Peter, no, I am no traitor! I love this country and\nthis brave, industrious people with the same love as yourself, for its\nblood flows in my veins also. I signed the compromise. Here I stand, sir.\nLook at me. Do I look like a Judas? Do I look like a Spaniard? Can you\nblame me for faithfully keeping the oath I gave the king? When did we of\nthe Netherlands ever trifle with vows? You, the friend of Orange, have\njust declared that you did not grudge any man the faith to which he\nclung, and I will not doubt it. Well, I hold firmly to the old church, I\nam a Catholic and shall remain one. But in this hour I frankly confess,\nthat I hate the inquisition and Alva's bloody deeds as much as you do.\nThey have as little connection with our religion as iconoclasm had with\nyours Like you, I love the freedom of our home. To win it back is my\nendeavor, as well as yours. But how can a little handful like us ever\nsucceed in finally resisting the most powerful kingdom in the world?\nThough we conquer once, twice, thrice, two stronger armies will follow\neach defeated one. We shall accomplish nothing by force, but may do much\nby wise concession and prudent deeds. Philip's coffers are empty; he\nneeds his armies too in other countries. Well then, let us profit by his\ndifficulties, and force him to ratify some lost liberty for every\nrevolted city that returns to him. Let us buy from his hands, with what\nremains of our old wealth, the rights he has wrested from us while\nfighting against the rebels. You will find open hands with me and those\nwho share my opinions. Your voice weighs heavily in the council of this\ncity. You are the friend of Orange, and if you could induce him--\"\n\n\"To do what, noble sir?\"\n\n\"To enter into an alliance with us. We know that those in Madrid\nunderstand how to estimate his importance and fear him. Let us stipulate,\nas the first condition, a full pardon for him and his faithful followers.\nKing Philip, I know, will receive him into favor again--\"\n\n\"In his arms to strangle him,\" replied the burgomaster resolutely. \"Have\nyou forgotten the false promises of pardon made in former times, the fate\nof Egmont and Horn, the noble Montigney and other lords? They ventured it\nand entered the tiger's den. What we buy to-day will surely be taken from\nus tomorrow, for what oath would be sacred to Philip? I am no statesman,\nbut I know this--if he would restore all our liberties, he will never\ngrant the one thing, without which life is valueless.\"\n\n\"What is that, Herr Peter?\"\n\n\"The privilege of believing according to the dictates of our hearts. You\nmean fairly, noble sir;--but you trust the Spaniard, we do not; if we\ndid, we should be deceived children. You have nothing to fear for your\nreligion, we everything; you believe that the number of troops and power\nof gold will turn the scales in our conflict, we comfort ourselves with\nthe hope, that God will give victory to the good cause of a brave people,\nready to suffer a thousand deaths for liberty. This is my opinion, and I\nshall defend it in the town-hall.\"\n\n\"No, Meister Peter, no! You cannot, ought not.\"\n\n\"What I can do is little, what I ought to do is written within, and I\nshall act accordingly.\"\n\n\"And thus obey the sorrowing heart rather than the prudent head, and be\nable to give naught save evil counsel. Consider, man, Orange's last army\nwas destroyed on Mock Heath.\"\n\n\"True, my lord, and for that very reason we will not use the moments for\nwords, but deeds.\"\n\n\"I'll take the hint myself, Herr Van der Werf, for many friends of the\nking still dwell in Leyden, who must be taught not to follow you blindly\nto the shambles.\"\n\nAt these words Van der Werff retreated from the nobleman, clenched his\nmoustache firmly in his right hand, and raising his deep voice to a\nlouder tone, said coldly and imperiously:\n\n\"Then, as guardian of the safety of this city, I command you to quit\nLeyden instantly. If you are found within these walls after noon\nto-morrow, I will have you taken across the frontiers by the city-guard.\"\n\nThe baron withdrew without any form of leave-taking.\n\nAs soon as the door had closed behind him, Van der Werff, threw himself\ninto his arm-chair and covered his face with his hands. When he again sat\nerect, two large tear-drops sparkled on the paper which had lain under\nhis fingers. Smiling bitterly, he wiped them from the page with the back\nof his hand.\n\n\"Dead, dead,\" he murmured, and the image of the gallant youth, the clever\nmediator, the favorite of William of Orange, rose before his mind--he\nasked himself how this fresh stroke of fate would affect the Prince, whom\nhe revered as the providence of the country, admired and loved as the\nwisest, most unselfish of men.\n\nWilliam's affliction grieved him as sorely as if it had fallen upon\nhimself, and the blow that had struck the cause of freedom was a heavy\none, perhaps never to be overcome.\n\nYet he only granted himself a short time to indulge in grief, for the\npoint in question now was to summon all the nation's strength to repair\nwhat was lost, avert by vigorous acts the serious consequences which\nthreatened to follow Louis's defeat, and devise fresh means to carry on\nthe war.\n\nHe paced up and down the room with frowning brow, inventing measures and\npondering over plans. His wife had opened the door, and now remained\nstanding on the threshold, but he did not notice her until she called his\nname and advanced towards him.\n\nIn her hand she held part of the flowers the boy had brought, another\nportion adorned her bosom.\n\n\"Take it,\" she said, offering him the bouquet. \"Adrian, dear boy,\ngathered them, and you surely know what they mean.\"\n\nHe willingly took the messengers of spring, raised them to his face, drew\nMaria to his breast, pressed a long kiss upon her brow, and then said\ngloomily:\n\n\"So this is the celebration of the first anniversary of our wedding-day.\nPoor wife! The Glipper was not so far wrong; perhaps it would have been\nwiser and better for me not to bind your fate to mine.\"\n\n\"How can such thoughts enter your mind, Peter!\" she exclaimed\nreproachfully.\n\n\"Louis of Nassau has fallen,\" he murmured in a hollow tone, \"his army is\nscattered.\"\n\n\"Oh-oh!\" cried Maria, clasping her hands in horror, but he continued:\n\n\"It was our last body of troops. The coffers are empty, and where we are\nto obtain new means, and what will happen now--this, this--Leave me,\nMaria, I beg you. If we don't profit by the time now, if we don't find\nthe right paths now, we shall not, cannot prosper.\"\n\nWith these words he threw the bouquet on the table, hastily seized a\npaper, looked into it, and, without glancing at her, waved his right\nhand.\n\nThe young wife's heart had been full, wide open, when she entered the\nroom. She had expected so much that was beautiful from this hour, and now\nstood alone in the apartment he still shared with her. Her arms had\nfallen by her side; helpless, mortified, wounded, she gazed at him in\nsilence.\n\nMaria had grown up amid the battle for freedom, and knew how to estimate\nthe grave importance of the tidings her husband had received. During his\nwooing he had told her that, by his side, she must expect a life full of\nanxiety and peril, yet she had joyously gone to the altar with the brave\nchampion of the good cause, which had been her father's, for she had\nhoped to become the sharer of his cares and struggles. And now? What was\nshe permitted to be to him? What did he receive from her? What had he\nconsented to share with her, who could not feel herself a feeble woman,\non this, the anniversary of their wedding-day.\n\nThere she stood, her open heart slowly closing and struggling against her\nlonging to cry out to him, and say that she would as gladly bear his\ncares with him and share every danger, as happiness and honor.\n\nThe burgomaster, having now found what he sought, seized his hat and\nagain looked at his wife.\n\nHow pale and disappointed she was!\n\nHis heart ached; he would so gladly have given expression in words to the\ngreat, warm love he felt for her, offered her joyous congratulations; but\nin this hour, amid his grief, with such anxieties burdening his breast,\nhe could not do it, so he only held out both hands, saying tenderly:\n\n\"You surely know what you are to me, Maria, if you do not, I will tell\nyou this evening. I must meet the members of the council at the\ntown-hall, or a whole day will be lost, and at this time we must be\navaricious even of the moments. Well, Maria?\"\n\nThe young wife was gazing at the floor. She would gladly have flown to\nhis breast, but offended pride would not suffer her to do so, and some\nmysterious power bound her hands and did not permit her to lay them in\nhis.\n\n\"Farewell,\" she said in a hollow tone.\n\n\"Maria!\" he exclaimed reproachfully. \"To-day is no well-chosen time for\npouting. Come and be my sensible wife.\"\n\nShe did not move instantly; but he heard the bell ring for the fourth\nhour, the time when the session of the council ended, and left the room\nwithout looking back at her.\n\nThe little bouquet still lay on the writing-table; the young wife saw it,\nand with difficulty restrained her tears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nCountless citizens had flocked to the stately townhall. News of Louis of\nNassau's defeat had spread quickly through all the eighteen wards of the\ncity, and each wanted to learn farther particulars, express his grief and\nfears to those who held the same views, and hear what measures the\ncouncil intended to adopt for the immediate future.\n\nTwo messengers had only too thoroughly confirmed Baron Matanesse Van\nWibisma's communication. Louis was dead, his brother Henry missing, and\nhis army completely destroyed.\n\nJan Van Hout, who had taught the boys that morning, now came to a window,\ninformed the citizens what a severe blow the liberty of the country had\nreceived, and in vigorous words exhorted them to support the good cause\nwith body and soul.\n\nLoud cheers followed this speech. Gay caps and plumed hats were tossed in\nthe air, canes and swords were waved, and the women and children, who had\ncrowded among the men, fluttered their handkerchiefs, and with their\nshriller voices drowned the shouts of the citizens.\n\nThe members of the valiant city-guard assembled, to charge their captain\nto give the council the assurance, that the \"Schutterij\" was ready to\nsupport William of Orange to the last penny and drop of their blood, and\nwould rather die for the cause of Holland, than live under Spanish\ntyranny. Among them was seen many a grave, deeply-troubled face; for\nthese men, who filled its ranks by their own choice, all loved William of\nOrange: his sorrow hurt them--and their country's distress pierced their\nhearts. As soon as the four burgomasters, the eight magistrates of the\ncity, and the members of the common council appeared at the windows,\nhundreds of voices joined in the Geusenlied,--[Beggars' Song or Hymn.\nBeggar was the name given to the patriots by those who sympathized with\nSpain.]--which had long before been struck up by individuals, and when at\nsunset the volatile populace scattered and, still singing, turned, either\nsingly or by twos or threes, towards the taverns, to strengthen their\nconfidence in better days and dispel many a well-justified anxiety by\ndrink, the market-place of Leyden and its adjoining streets presented no\ndifferent aspect, than if a message of victory had been read from the\ntown-hall.\n\nThe cheers and Beggars' Song had sounded very powerful--but so many\nhundreds of Dutch throats would doubtless have been capable of shaking\nthe air with far mightier tones.\n\nThis very remark had been made by the three well-dressed citizens, who\nwere walking through the wide street, past the blue stone, and the eldest\nsaid to his companions:\n\n\"They boast and shout and seem large to themselves now, but we shall see\nthat things will soon be very different.\"\n\n\"May God avert the worst!\" replied the other, \"but the Spaniards will\nsurely advance again, and I know many in my ward who won't vote for\nresistance this time.\"\n\n\"They are right, a thousand times right. Requesens is not Alva, and if we\nvoluntarily seek the king's pardon--\"\n\n\"There would be no blood shed and everything would take the best course.\"\n\n\"I have more love for Holland than for Spain,\" said the third. \"But,\nafter Mook-Heath, resistance is a thing of the past. Orange may be an\nexcellent prince, but the shirt is closer than the coat.\"\n\n\"And in fact we risk our lives and fortunes merely for him.\"\n\n\"My wife said so yesterday.\"\n\n\"He'll be the last man to help trade. Believe me, many think as we do, if\nit were not so, the Beggars' Song would have sounded louder.\"\n\n\"There will always be five fools to three wise men,\" said the older\ncitizen. \"I took good care not to split my mouth.\"\n\n\"And after all, what great thing is there behind this outcry for freedom?\nAlva burnt the Bible-readers, De la Marck hangs the priests. My wife\nlikes to go to Mass, but always does so secretly, as if she were\ncommitting a crime.\"\n\n\"We, too, cling to the good old faith.\"\n\n\"Never mind faith,\" said the third. We are Calvinists, but I take no\npleasure in throwing my pennies into Orange's maw, nor can it gratify me\nto again tear up the poles before the Cow-gate, ere the wind dries the\nyarn.\"\n\n\"Only let us hold together,\" advised the older man. \"People don't express\ntheir real opinions, and any poor ragged devil might play the hero. But I\ntell you there will be sensible men enough in every ward, every guild,\nnay, even in the council, and among the burgomasters.\"\n\n\"Hush,\" whispered the second citizen, \"there comes Van der Werff with the\ncity clerk and young Van der Does; they are the worst of all.\"\n\nThe three persons named came down the broad street, talking eagerly\ntogether, but in low tones.\n\n\"My uncle is right, Meister Peter,\" said Jan Van der Does, the same tall\nyoung noble, who, on the morning of that day, had sent Nicolas Van\nWibisma home with a kindly warning. \"It's no use, you must seek the\nPrince and consult with him.\"\n\n\"I suppose I must,\" replied the burgomaster. \"I'll go to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"Not to-morrow,\" replied Van Hout. \"The Prince rides fast, and if you\ndon't find him in Delft--\"\n\n\"Do you go first,\" urged the burgomaster, \"you have the record of our\nsession.\"\n\n\"I cannot; but to-day you, the Prince's friend, for the first time lack\ngood-will.\"\n\n\"You are right, Jan,\" exclaimed the burgomaster, \"and you shall know what\nholds me back.\"\n\n\"If it is anything a friend can do for you, here he stands,\" said von\nNordwyk.\n\nVan der Werff grasped the hand the young nobleman extended, and answered,\nsmiling: \"No, my lord, no. You know my young wife. To-day we should have\ncelebrated the first anniversary of our marriage, and amid all these\nanxieties I disgracefully forgot it.\"\n\n\"Hard, hard,\" said Van Hout, softly. Then he drew himself up to his full\nheight, and added resolutely: \"And yet, were I in your place, I would go,\nin spite of her.\"\n\n\"Would you go to-day?\"\n\n\"To-day, for to-morrow it may be too late. Who knows how soon egress from\nthe city may be stopped and, before again venturing the utmost, we must\nknow the Prince's opinion. You possess more of his confidence than any of\nus.\"\n\n\"And God knows how gladly I would bring him a cheering word in these\nsorrowful hours; but it must not be to-day. The messenger has ridden off\non my bay.\"\n\n\"Then take my chestnut, he is faster too,\" said Janus Dousa and Van der\nWerff answered hastily.\n\n\"Thanks, my lord. I'll send for him early tomorrow morning.\"\n\nThe blood mounted to Van Hout's head and, thrusting his hand angrily\nbetween his girdle and doublet, he exclaimed: \"Send me the chestnut, if\nthe burgomaster will give me leave of absence.\"\n\n\"No, send him to me,\" replied Peter calmly. \"What must be, must be; I'll\ngo to-day.\"\n\nVan Hout's manly features quickly smoothed and, clasping the\nburgomaster's right hand in both his, he said joyously:\n\n\"Thanks, Herr Peter. And no offence; you know my hot temper. If the time\nseems long to your young wife, send her to mine.\"\n\n\"And mine,\" added Dousa. \"It's a strange thing about those two little\nwords 'wish' and 'ought.' The freer and better a man becomes, the more\nsurely the first becomes the slave of the second.\n\n\"And yet, Herr Peter, I'll wager that your wife will confound the two\nwords to-day, and think you have sorely transgressed against the 'ought.'\nThese are bad times for the 'wish.'\"\n\nVan der Werff nodded assent, then briefly and firmly explained to his\nfriends what he intended to disclose to the Prince.\n\nThe three men separated before the burgomaster's house.\n\n\"Tell the Prince,\" said Van Hout, on parting, \"that we are prepared for\nthe worst, will endure and dare it.\"\n\nAt these words Janus Dousa measured both his companions with his eyes,\nhis lips quivered as they always did when any strong emotion filled his\nheart, and while his shrewd face beamed with joy and confidence, he\nexclaimed: \"We three will hold out, we three will stand firm, the tyrant\nmay break our necks, but he shall not bend them. Life, fortune, all that\nis dear and precious and useful to man, we will resign for the highest of\nblessings.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Van der Werff, loudly and earnestly, while Van Hout\nimpetuously repeated: \"Yes, yes, thrice yes.\"\n\nThe three men, so united in feeling, grasped each other's hands firmly\nfor a moment. A silent vow bound them in this hour, and when Herr von\nNordwyk and Van Hout turned in opposite directions, the citizens who met\nthem thought their tall figures had grown taller still within the last\nfew hours.\n\nThe burgomaster went to his wife's room without delay, but did not find\nher there.\n\nShe had gone out of the gate with his sister.\n\nThe maid-servant carried a light into his chamber; he followed her,\nexamined the huge locks of his pistols, buckled on his old sword, put\nwhat he needed into his saddle-bags, then, with his tall figure drawn up\nto its full height, paced up and down the room, entirely absorbed in his\ntask.\n\nHerr von Nordwyk's chestnut horse was stamping on the pavement before the\ndoor, and Hesperus was rising above the roofs.\n\nThe door of the house now opened.\n\nHe went into the entry and found, not his wife, but Adrian, who had just\nreturned home, told the boy to give his most loving remembrances to his\nmother, and say that he was obliged to seek the Prince on important\nbusiness.\n\nOld Trautchen had already washed and undressed little Elizabeth, and now\nbrought him the child wrapped in a coverlet. He kissed the dear little\nface, which smiled at him out of its queer disguise, pressed his lips to\nAdrian's forehead, again told him to give his love to his mother, and\nthen rode down Marendorpstrasse.\n\nTwo women, coming from the Rheinsburger gate, met him just as he reached\nSt. Stephen's cloister. He did not notice them, but the younger one\npushed the kerchief back from her head, hastily grasped her companion's\nwrist, and exclaimed in a low tone:\n\n\"That was Peter!\"\n\nBarbara raised her head higher.\n\n\"It's lucky I'm not timid. Let go of my arm. Do you mean the horseman\ntrotting past St. Ursula alley?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is Peter.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, child! The bay has shorter legs than that tall camel; and\nPeter never rides out at this hour.\"\n\n\"But it was he.\"\n\n\"God forbid! At night a linden looks like a beechtree. It would be a\npretty piece of business, if he didn't come home to-day.\"\n\nThe last words had escaped Barbara's lips against her will; for until\nthen she had prudently feigned not to suspect that everything between\nMaria and her husband was not exactly as it ought to be, though she\nplainly perceived what was passing in the mind of her young\nsister-in-law.\n\nShe was a shrewd woman, with much experience of the world, who certainly\ndid not undervalue her brother and his importance to the cause of their\nnative land; nay, she went so far as to believe that, with the exception\nof the Prince of Orange, no man on earth would be more skilful than Peter\nin guiding the cause of freedom to a successful end; but she felt that\nher brother was not treating Maria justly, and being a fair-minded woman,\nsilently took sides against the husband who neglected his wife.\n\nBoth walked side by side for a time in silence. At last the widow paused,\nsaying:\n\n\"Perhaps the Prince has sent a messenger for Peter. In such times, after\nsuch blows, everything is possible. You might have seen correctly.\"\n\n\"It was surely he,\" replied Maria positively.\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" said the other. \"It must be a sad ride for him! Much\nhonor, much hardship! You've no reason to despond, for your husband will\nreturn tomorrow or the day after; while I--look at me, Maria! I go\nthrough life stiff and straight, do my duty cheerfully; my cheeks are\nrosy, my food has a relish, yet I've been obliged to resign what was\ndearest to me. I have endured my widowhood ten years; my daughter\nGretchen has married, and I sent Cornelius myself to the Beggars of the\nSea. Any hour may rob me of him, for his life is one of constant peril.\nWhat has a widow except her only son? And I gave him up for our country's\ncause! That is harder than to see a husband ride away for a few hours on\nthe anniversary of his wedding-day. He certainly doesn't do it for his\nown pleasure!\"\n\n\"Here we are at home,\" said Maria, raising the knocker.\n\nTrautchen opened the door and, even before crossing the threshold,\nBarbara exclaimed:\n\n\"Is your master at home?\"\n\nThe reply was in the negative, as she too now expected.\n\nAdrian gave his message; Trautchen brought up the supper, but the\nconversation would not extend beyond \"yes\" and \"no.\"\n\nAfter Maria had hastily asked the blessing, she rose, and turning to\nBarbara, said:\n\n\"My head aches, I should like to go to bed.\"\n\n\"Then go to rest,\" replied the widow. \"I'll sleep in the next room and\nleave the door open. In darkness and silence--whims come.\"\n\nMaria kissed her sister-in-law with sincere affection, and lay down in\nbed; but she found no sleep, and tossed restlessly to and fro until near\nmidnight.\n\nHearing Barbara cough in the next room, she sat up and asked:\n\n\"Sister-in-law, are you asleep?\"\n\n\"No, child. Do you feel ill?\"\n\n\"Not exactly; but I'm so anxious--horrible thoughts torment me.\"\n\nBarbara instantly lighted a candle at the night-lamp, entered the chamber\nwith it, and sat down on the edge of the bed.\n\nHer heart ached as she gazed at the pretty young creature lying alone,\nfull of sorrow, in the wide bed, unable to sleep from bitter grief.\n\nMaria had never seemed to her so beautiful; resting in her white\nnight-robes on the snowy pillow, she looked like a sorrowing angel.\n\nBarbara could not refrain from smoothing the hair back from the narrow\nforehead and kissing the flushed cheeks.\n\nMaria gazed gratefully into her small, light-blue eyes and said\nbeseechingly:\n\n\"I should like to ask you something.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"But you must honestly tell me the truth.\"\n\n\"That is asking a great deal!\"\n\n\"I know you are sincere, but it is--\"\n\n\"Speak freely.\"\n\n\"Was Peter happy with his first wife?\"\n\n\"Yes, child, yes.\"\n\n\"And do you know this not only from him, but also from his dead wife,\nEva?\"\n\n\"Yes, sister-in-law, yes.\"\n\n\"And you can't be mistaken?\"\n\n\"Not in this case certainly! But what puts such thoughts into your head?\nThe Bible says: 'Let the dead bury their dead.' Now turn over and try to\nsleep.\"\n\nBarbara went back to her room, but hours elapsed ere Maria found the\nslumber she sought.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe next morning two horsemen, dressed in neat livery, were waiting\nbefore the door of a handsome House in Nobelstrasse, near the\nmarket-place. A third was leading two sturdy roan steeds up and down, and\na stable-boy held by the bridle a gaily-bedizened, long maned pony. This\nwas intended for the young negro lad, who stood in the door-way of the\nhouse and kept off the street-boys, who ventured to approach, by rolling\nhis eyes and gnashing his white teeth at them.\n\n\"Where can they be?\" said one of the mounted men: \"The rain won't keep\noff long to-day.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied the other. \"The sky is as grey as my old\nfelt-hat, and, by the time we reach the forest, it will be pouring.\"\n\nIt's misting already.\"\n\n\"Such cold, damp weather is particularly disagreeable to me.\"\n\n\"It was pleasant yesterday.\"\n\n\"Button the flaps tighter over the pistol-holsters! The portmanteau\nbehind the young master's saddle isn't exactly even. There! Did the cook\nfill the flask for you?\"\n\n\"With brown Spanish wine. There it is.\"\n\n\"Then let it pour. When a fellow is wet inside, he can bear a great deal\nof moisture without.\"\n\n\"Lead the horses up to the door; I hear the gentlemen.\"\n\nThe man was not mistaken; for before his companion had succeeded in\nstopping the larger roan, the voices of his master, Herr Matanesse Van\nWibisma, and his son, Nicolas, were heard in the wide entry.\n\nBoth were exchanging affectionate farewells with a young girl, whose\nvoice sounded deeper than the halfgrown boy's.\n\nAs the older gentleman thrust his hand through the roan's mane and was\nalready lifting his foot to put it in the stirrup, the young girl, who\nhad remained in the entry, came out into the street, laid her hand on\nWibisma's arm, and said:\n\n\"One word more, uncle, but to you alone.\"\n\nThe baron still held his horse's mane in his hand, exclaiming with a\ncordial smile:\n\n\"If only it isn't too heavy for the roan. A secret from beautiful lips\nhas its weight.\"\n\nWhile speaking, he bent his ear towards his niece, but she did not seem\nto have intended to whisper, for she approached no nearer and merely\nlowered her tone, saying in the Italian language:\n\n\"Please tell my father, that I won't stay here.\"\n\n\"Why, Henrica!\"\n\n\"Tell him I won't do so under any circumstances.\"\n\n\"Your aunt won't let you go.\"\n\n\"In short, I won't stay.\"\n\n\"I'll deliver the message, but in somewhat milder terms, if agreeable to\nyou.\"\n\n\"As you choose. Tell him, too, that I beg him to send for me. If he\ndoesn't wish to enter this heretic's nest himself, for which I don't\nblame him in the least, he need only send horses or the carriage for me.\"\n\n\"And your reasons?\"\n\n\"I won't weight your baggage still more heavily. Go, or the saddle will\nbe wet before you ride off\"\n\n\"Then I'm to tell Hoogstraten to expect a letter.\"\n\n\"No. Such things can't be written. Besides, it won't be necessary. Tell\nmy father I won't stay with aunt, and want to go home. Good-bye, Nico.\nYour riding-boots and green cloth doublet are much more becoming than\nthose silk fal-lals.\"\n\nThe young lady kissed her hand to the youth, who had already swung\nhimself into the saddle, and hurried back to the house. Her uncle\nshrugged his shoulders, mounted the roan, wrapped the dark cloak closer\naround him, beckoned Nicolas to his side, and rode on with him in advance\nof the servants.\n\nNo word was exchanged between them, so long as their way led through the\ncity, but outside the gate, Wibisma said:\n\n\"Henrica finds the time long in Leyden; she would like to go back to her\nfather.\"\n\n\"It can't be very pleasant to stay with aunt,\" replied the youth.\n\n\"She is old and sick, and her life has been a joyless one.\"\n\n\"Yet she was beautiful. Few traces of it are visible, but her eyes are\nstill like those in the portrait, and besides she is so rich.\"\n\n\"That doesn't give happiness.\"\n\n\"But why has she remained unmarried?\" The baron shrugged his shoulders,\nand replied: \"It certainly didn't suit the men.\"\n\n\"Then why didn't she go into a convent?\"\n\n\"Who knows? Women's hearts are harder to understand than your Greek\nbooks. You'll learn that later. What were you saying to your aunt as I\ncame up?\"\n\n\"Why, just see,\" replied the boy, putting the bridle in his mouth, and\ndrawing the glove from his left hand, \"she slipped this ring on my\nfinger.\"\n\n\"A splendid emerald! She doesn't usually like to part with such things.\"\n\n\"She first offered me another, saying she would give it to me to make\namends for the thumps I received yesterday as a faithful follower of the\nking. Isn't it comical?\"\n\n\"More than that, I should think.\"\n\n\"It was contrary to my nature to accept gifts for my bruises, and I\nhastily drew my hand back, saying the burgher lads had taken some home\nfrom me, and I wouldn't have the ring as a reward for that.\"\n\n\"Right, Nico, right.\"\n\n\"So she said too, put the little ring back in the box, found this one,\nand here it is.\"\n\n\"A valuable gem!\" murmured the baron, thinking: \"This gift is a good\nomen. The Hoogstratens and he are her nearest heirs, and if the silly\ngirl doesn't stay with her, it might happen--\"\n\nBut he found no time to finish these reflections, Nicolas interrupted\nthem by saying:\n\n\"It's beginning to rain already. Don't the fogs on the meadows look like\nclouds fallen from the skies? I am cold.\"\n\n\"Draw your cloak closer.\"\n\n\"How it rains and hails! One would think it was winter. The water in the\ncanals looks black, and yonder--see--what is that?\"\n\nA tavern stood beside the road, and just in front of it a single lofty\nelm towered towards the sky. Its trunk, bare as a mast, had grown\nstraight up without separating into branches until it attained the height\nof a house. Spring had as yet lured no leaves from the boughs, but there\nwere many objects to be seen in the bare top of the tree. A small flag,\nbearing the colors of the House of Orange, was fastened to one branch,\nfrom another hung a large doll, which at a distance strongly resembled a\nman dressed in black, an old hat dangled from a third, and a fourth\nsupported a piece of white pasteboard, on which might be read in large\nblack letters, which the rain was already beginning to efface:\n\n     \"Good luck to Orange, to the Spaniard death.\n     So Peter Quatgelat welcomes his guests.\"\n\nThis tree, with its motley adornments, offered a by no means pleasant\nspectacle, seen in the grey, cold, misty atmosphere of the rainy April\nmorning.\n\nRavens had alighted beside the doll swaying to and fro in the wind,\nprobably mistaking it for a man. They must have been by no means\nteachable birds, for during the years the Spaniards had ruled in Holland,\nthe places of execution were never empty. They were screeching as if in\nanger, but still remained perched on the tree, which they probably\nmistook for a gibbet. The rest of the comical ornaments and the thought\nof the nimble adventurer, who must have climbed up to fasten them, formed\na glaring and offensive contrast to the caricature of the gallows.\n\nYet Nicolas laughed loudly, as he perceived the queer objects in the top\nof the elm, and pointing upward, said:\n\n\"What kind of fruits are hanging there?\"\n\nBut the next instant a chill ran down his back, for a raven perched on\nthe black doll and pecked so fiercely at it with its hard beak, that bird\nand image swayed to and fro like a pendulum.\n\n\"What does this nonsense mean?\" asked the baron, turning to the servant,\na bold-looking fellow, who rode behind him.\n\n\"It's something like a tavern-sign,\" replied the latter. \"Yesterday, when\nthe sun was shining, it looked funny enough--but to-day--b-r-r-r-it's\nhorrible.\"\n\nThe nobleman's eyes were not keen enough to read the inscription on the\nplacard. When Nicolas read it aloud to him, he muttered an oath, then\nturned again to the servant, saying:\n\n\"And does this nonsense bring guests to the rascally host's tavern?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord, and 'pon my soul, it looked very comical yesterday, when\nthe ravens were not to be seen; a fellow couldn't look at it without\nlaughing. Half Leyden was there, and we went with the crowd. There was\nsuch an uproar on the grass-plot yonder. Dudeldum--Hubutt,\nHubutt--Dudeldum--fiddles squeaking and bag-pipes droning as if they\nnever would stop. The crazy throng shouted amidst the din; the noise\nstill rings in my ears. There was no end to the games and dancing. The\nlads tossed their brown, blue and red-stockinged legs in the air, just as\nthe fiddle played--the coat-tails flew and, holding a girl clasped in the\nright arm and a mug of beer high over their heads till the foam\nspattered, the throng of men whirled round and round. There was as much\nscreaming and rejoicing as if every butter-cup in the grass had been\nchanged into a gold florin. But to-day--holy Florian--this is a rain!\"\n\n\"It will do the things up there good,\" exclaimed the baron. \"The tinder\ngrows damp in such a torrent, or I'd take out my pistols and shoot the\nshabby liberty hat and motley tatters off the tree.\"\n\n\"That was the dancing ground,\" said the man, pointing to a patch of\ntrampled grass.\n\n\"The people are possessed, perfectly possessed,\" cried the baron,\n\"dancing and rejoicing to-day, and tomorrow the wind will blow the\nfelt-hat and flag from the tree, and instead of the black puppet they\nthemselves will come to the gallows. Steady roan, steady! The hail\nfrightens the beasts. Unbuckle the portmanteau, Gerrit, and give your\nyoung master a blanket.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord. But wouldn't it be better for you to go in here until the\nshower is over? Holy Florian!\n\n\"Just see that piece of ice in your horse's mane! It's as large as a\npigeon's egg. Two horses are already standing under the shed, and\nQuatgelat's beer isn't bad.\" The baron glanced inquiringly at his son.\n\n\"Let us go in,\" replied Nicolas; \"we shall get to the Hague early enough.\nSee how poor Balthasar is shivering! Henrica says he's a white boy\npainted; but if she could see how well he keeps his color in this\nweather, she would take it back.\"\n\nHerr Van Wibisma turned his dripping, smoking steed, frightened by the\nhail-stones, towards the house, and in a few minutes crossed the\nthreshold of the inn with his son.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nA current of warm air, redolent of beer and food, met the travellers as\nthey entered the large, low room, dimly lighted by the tiny windows,\nscarcely more than loop-holes, pierced in two sides. The tap-room itself\nlooked like the cabin of a ship. Ceiling and floor, chairs and tables,\nwere made of the same dark-brown wood that covered the walls, along which\nbeds were ranged like berths.\n\nThe host, with many bows, came forward to receive the aristocratic\nguests, and led them to the fire-place, where huge pieces of peat were\nglimmering. The heat they sent forth answered several purposes at the\nsame time. It warmed the air, lighted a portion of the room, which was\nvery dark in rainy weather, and served to cook three fowl that, suspended\nfrom a thin iron bar over the fire, were already beginning to brown.\n\nAs the new guests approached the hearth, an old woman, who had been\nturning the spit, pushed a white cat from her lap and rose.\n\nThe landlord tossed on a bench several garments spread over the backs of\ntwo chairs to dry, and hung in their place the dripping cloaks of the\nbaron and his son.\n\nWhile the elder Wibisma was ordering something hot to drink for himself\nand servants, Nicolas led the black page to the fire.\n\nThe shivering boy crouched on the floor beside the ashes, and stretched\nnow his soaked feet, shod in red morocco, and now his stiffened fingers\nto the blaze.\n\nThe father and son took their seats at a table, over which the\nmaid-servant had spread a cloth. The baron was inclined to enter into\nconversation about the decorated tree with the landlord, an over-civil,\npock-marked dwarf, whose clothes were precisely the same shade of brown\nas the wood in his tap-room; but refrained from doing so because two\ncitizens of Leyden, one of whom was well known to him, sat at a short\ndistance from his table, and he did not wish to be drawn into a quarrel\nin a place like this.\n\nAfter Nicolas had also glanced around the tap-room, he touched his\nfather, saying in a low tone:\n\n\"Did you notice the men yonder? The younger one--he's lifting the cover\nof the tankard now--is the organist who released me from the boys and\ngave me his cloak yesterday.\"\n\n\"The one yonder?\" asked the nobleman. \"A handsome young fellow. He might\nbe taken for an artist or something of that kind. Here, landlord, who is\nthe gentleman with brown hair and large eyes, talking to Allertssohn, the\nfencing-master?\"\n\n\"It's Herr Wilhelm, younger son of old Herr Cornelius, Receiver General,\na player or musician, as they call them.\"\n\n\"Eh, eh,\" cried the baron. \"His father is one of my old Leyden\nacquaintances. He was a worthy, excellent man before the craze for\nliberty turned people's heads. The youth, too, has a face pleasant to\nlook at.\n\n\"There is something pure about it--something-it's hard to say,\nsomething--what do you think, Nico? Doesn't he look like our Saint\nSebastian? Shall I speak to him and thank him for his kindness?\"\n\nThe baron, without waiting for his son, whom he treated as an equal, to\nreply, rose to give expression to his friendly feelings towards the\nmusician, but this laudable intention met with an unexpected obstacle.\n\nThe man, whom the baron had called the fencing-master Allertssohn, had\njust perceived that the \"Glippers\" cloaks were hanging by the fire, while\nhis friend's and his own were flung on a bench. This fact seemed to\ngreatly irritate the Leyden burgher; for as the baron rose, he pushed his\nown chair violently back, bent his muscular body forward, rested both\narms on the edge of the table opposite to him and, with a jerking motion,\nturned his soldierly face sometimes towards the baron, and sometimes\ntowards the landlord. At last he shouted loudly:\n\n\"Peter Quatgelat--you villain, you! What ails you, you, miserable\nhunchback!--Who gives you a right to toss our cloaks into a corner?\"\n\n\"Yours, Captain,\" stammered the host, \"were already--\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue, you fawning knave!\" thundered the other in so loud a\ntone and such excitement, that the long grey moustache on his upper lip\nshook, and the thick beard on his chin trembled. \"Hold your tongue! We\nknow better. Jove's thunder! Nobleman's cloaks are favored here. They're\nof Spanish cut. That exactly suits the Glippers' faces. Good Dutch cloth\nis thrown into the corner. Ho, ho, Brother Crooklegs, we'll put you on\nparade.\"\n\n\"Pray, most noble Captain--\"\n\n\"I'll blow away your most noble, you worthless scamp, you arrant rascal!\nFirst come, first served, is the rule in Holland, and has been ever since\nthe days of Adam and Eve. Prick up your ears, Crooklegs! If my 'most\nnoble' cloak, and Herr Wilhelm's too, are not hanging in their old places\nbefore I count twenty, something will happen here that won't suit you.\nOne-two-three--\"\n\nThe landlord cast a timid, questioning glance at the nobleman, and as the\nlatter shrugged his shoulders and said audibly: \"There is probably room\nfor more than two cloaks at the fire,\" Quatgelat took the Leyden guests'\nwraps from the bench and hung them on two chairs, which he pushed up to\nthe mantel-piece.\n\nWhile this was being done, the fencing-master slowly continued to count.\nBy the time he reached twenty the landlord had finished his task, yet the\nirate captain still gave him no peace, but said:\n\n\"Now our reckoning, man. Wind and storm are far from pleasant, but I know\neven worse company. There's room enough at the fire for four cloaks, and\nin Holland for all the animals in Noah's ark, except Spaniards and the\nallies of Spain. Deuce take it, all the bile in my liver is stirred. Come\nto the horses with me, Herr Wilhelm, or there'll be mischief.\"\n\nThe fencing-master, while uttering the last words, stared angrily at the\nnobleman with his prominent eyes, which even under ordinary\ncircumstances, always looked as keen as if they had something marvellous\nto examine.\n\nWibisma pretended not to hear the provoking words, and, as the\nfencing-master left the room, walked calmly, with head erect, towards the\nmusician, bowed courteously, and thanked him for the kindness he had\nshown his son the day before.\n\n\"You are not in the least indebted to me,\" replied Wilhelm Corneliussohn.\n\"I helped the young nobleman, because it always has an ill look when\nnumbers attack one.\"\n\n\"Then allow me to praise this opinion,\" replied the baron.\n\n\"Opinion,\" repeated the musician with a subtle smile, drawing a few notes\non the table.\n\nThe baron watched his fingers silently a short time, then advanced nearer\nthe young man, asking:\n\n\"Must everything now relate to political dissensions?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Wilhelm firmly, turning his face with a rapid movement\ntowards the older man. \"In these times 'yes,' twenty times 'yes.' You\nwouldn't do well to discuss opinions with me, Herr Matanesse.\"\n\n\"Every man,\" replied the nobleman, shrugging his shoulders, \"every man of\ncourse believes his own opinion the right one, yet he ought to respect\nthe views of those who think differently.\"\n\n\"No, my lord,\" cried the musician. \"In these times there is but one\nopinion for us. I wish to share nothing, not even a drink at the table,\nwith any man who has Holland blood, and feels differently. Excuse me, my\nlord; my travelling companion, as you have unfortunately learned, has an\nimpatient temper and doesn't like to wait.\"\n\nWilhelm bowed distantly, waved his hand to Nicolas, approached the\nchimney-piece, took the half-dried cloaks on his arm, tossed a coin on\nthe table and, holding in his hands a covered cage in which several birds\nwere fluttering, left the room.\n\nThe baron gazed after him in silence. The simple words and the young\nman's departure aroused painful emotions. He believed he desired what was\nright, yet at this moment a feeling stole over him that a stain rested on\nthe cause he supported.\n\nIt is more endurable to be courted than avoided, and thus an expression\nof deep annoyance rested on the nobleman's pleasant features as he\nreturned to his son.\n\nNicolas had not lost a single word uttered by the organist, and the blood\nleft his ruddy cheeks as he was forced to see this man, whose appearance\nhad especially won his young heart, turn his back upon his father as if\nhe were a dishonorable man to be avoided.\n\nThe words, with which Janus Dousa had left him the day before, returned\nto his mind with great force, and when the baron again seated himself\nopposite him, the boy raised his eyes and said hesitatingly, but with\ntouching earnestness and sincere anxiety:\n\n\"Father, what does that mean? Father--are they so wholly wrong, if they\nwould rather be Hollanders than Spaniards?\"\n\nWibisma looked at his son with surprise and displeasure, and because he\nfelt his own firmness wavering, and a blustering word often does good\nservice where there is lack of possibility or inclination to contend\nagainst reasons, he exclaimed more angrily than he had spoken to his son\nfor years:\n\n\"Are you, too, beginning to relish the bait with which Orange lures\nsimpletons? Another word of that kind, and I'll show you how malapert\nlads are treated. Here, landlord, what's the meaning of that nonsense on\nyonder tree?\"\n\n\"The people, my lord, the Leyden fools are to blame for the mischief, not\nI. They decked the tree out in that ridiculous way, when the troops\nstationed in the city during the siege retired. I keep this house as a\ntenant of old Herr Van der Does, and dare not have any opinions of my\nown, for people must live, but, as truly as I hope for salvation, I'm\nloyal to King Philip.\"\n\n\"Until the Leyden burghers come out here again,\" replied Wibisma\nbitterly. \"Did you keep this inn during the siege?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord, the Spaniards had no cause to complain of me, and if a\npoor man's services are not too insignificant for you, they are at your\ndisposal.\"\n\n\"Ah! ha!\" muttered the baron, gazing attentively at the landlord's\ndisagreeable face, whose little eyes glittered very craftily, then\nturning to Nicolas, said:\n\n\"Go and watch the blackbirds in the window yonder a little while, my son,\nI have something to say to the host.\"\n\nThe youth instantly obeyed and as, instead of looking at the birds, he\ngazed after the two enthusiastic supporters of Holland's liberty, who\nwere riding along the road leading to Delft, remembered the simile of\nfetters that drag men down, and saw rising before his mental vision the\nglitter of the gold chain King Philip had sent his father, Nicolas\ninvoluntarily glanced towards him as he stood whispering eagerly with the\nlandlord. Now he even laid his hand on his shoulder. Was it right for him\nto hold intercourse with a man whom he must despise at heart? Or was\nhe--he shuddered, for the word \"traitor,\" which one of the school-boys\nhad shouted in his ears during the quarrel before the church, returned to\nhis memory.\n\nWhen the rain grew less violent, the travellers left the inn. The baron\nallowed the hideous landlord to kiss his hand at parting, but Nicolas\nwould not suffer him to touch his.\n\nFew words were exchanged between father and son during the remainder of\ntheir ride to the Hague, but the musician and the fencing-master were\nless silent on the way to Delft.\n\nWilhelm had modestly, as beseemed the younger man, suggested that his\ncompanion had expressed his hostile feelings towards the nobleman too\nopenly.\n\n\"True, perfectly true,\" replied Allertssohn, whom his friends called\n\"Allerts.\" \"Very true! Temper oh! temper! You don't suspect, Herr\nWilhelm--But we'll let it pass.\"\n\n\"No, speak, Meister.\"\n\n\"You'll think no better of me, if I do.\"\n\n\"Then let us talk of something else.\"\n\n\"No, Wilhelm. I needn't be ashamed, no one will take me for a coward.\"\n\nThe musician laughed, exclaiming: \"You a coward! How many Spaniards has\nyour Brescian sword killed?\"\n\n\"Wounded, wounded, sir, far oftener than killed,\" replied the other. \"If\nthe devil challenges me I shall ask: Foils, sir, or Spanish swords? But\nthere's one person I do fear, and that's my best and at the same time my\nworst friend, a Netherlander, like yourself, the man who rides here\nbeside you. Yes, when rage seizes upon me, when my beard begins to\ntremble, my small share of sense flies away as fast as your doves when\nyou let them go. You don't know me, Wilhelm.\"\n\n\"Don't I? How often must one see you in command and visit you in the\nfencing-room?\"\n\n\"Pooh, pooh--there I'm as quiet as the water in yonder ditch--but when\nanything goes against the grain, when--how shall I explain it to you,\nwithout similes?\"\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\n\"For instance, when I am obliged to see a sycophant treated as if he were\nSir Upright--\"\n\n\"So that vexes you greatly?\"\n\n\"Vexes? No! Then I grow as savage as a tiger, and I ought not to be so, I\nought not. Roland, my foreman, probably likes--\"\n\n\"Meister, Meister, your beard is beginning to tremble already!\"\n\n\"What did the Glippers think, when their aristocratic cloaks--\"\n\nThe landlord took yours and mine from the fire entirely on his own\nresponsibility.\"\n\n\"I don't care! The crook-legged ape did it to honor the Spanish\nsycophant. It enraged me, it was intolerable.\"\n\n\"You didn't keep your wrath to yourself, and I was surprised to see how\npatiently the baron bore your insults.\"\n\n\"That's just it, that's it!\" cried the fencing-master, while his beard\nbegan to twitch violently. \"That's what drove me out of the tavern,\nthat's why I took to my heels. That--that--Roland, my fore man.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you.\"\n\n\"Don't you, don't you? How should you; but I'll explain. When you're as\nold as I am, young man, you'll experience it too. There are few perfectly\nsound trees in the forest, few horses without a blemish, few swords\nwithout a stain, and scarcely a man who has passed his fortieth year that\nhas not a worm in his breast. Some gnaw slightly, others torture with\nsharp fangs, and mine--mine.--Do you want to cast a glance in here?\"\n\nThe fencing-master struck his broad chest as he uttered these words and,\nwithout waiting for his companion's reply, continued:\n\n\"You know me and my life, Herr Wilhelm. What do I do, what do I practise?\nOnly chivalrous work.\n\n\"My life is based upon the sword. Do you know a better blade or surer\nhand than mine? Do my soldiers obey me? Have I spared my blood in\nfighting before the red walls and towers yonder? No, by my fore man\nRoland, no, no, a thousand times no.\"\n\n\"Who denies it, Meister Allerts? But tell me, what do you mean by your\ncry: Roland, my fore man?\"\n\n\"Another time, Wilhelm; you mustn't interrupt me now. Hear my story about\nwhere the worm hides in me. So once more: What I do, the calling I\nfollow, is knightly work, yet when a Wibisma, who learned how to use his\nsword from my father, treats me ill and stirs up my bile, if I should\npresume to challenge him, as would be my just right, what would he do?\nLaugh and ask: 'What will the passado cost, Fencing-master Allerts? Have\nyou polished rapiers?' Perhaps he wouldn't even answer at all, and we saw\njust now how he acts. His glance slipped past me like an eel, and he had\nwax in his ears. Whether I reproach, or a cur yelps at him, is all the\nsame to his lordship. If only a Renneberg or Brederode had been in my\nplace just now, how quickly Wibisma's sword would have flown from its\nsheath, for he understands how to fight and is no coward. But I--I?\nNobody would willingly allow himself to be struck in the face, yet so\nsurely as my father was a brave man, even the worst insult could be more\neasily borne, than the feeling of being held in too slight esteem to be\nable to offer an affront. You see, Wilhelm, when the Glipper looked past\nme--\"\n\n\"Your beard lost its calmness.\"\n\n\"It's all very well for you to jest, you don't know--\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Herr Allerts; I understand you perfectly.\"\n\n\"And do you also understand, why I took myself and my sword out of doors\nso quickly?\"\n\n\"Perfectly; but please stop a moment with me now. The doves are\nfluttering so violently; they want air.\" The fencing-master stopped his\nsteed, and while Wilhelm was removing the dripping cloth from the little\ncage that rested between him and his horse's neck, said:\n\n\"How can a man trouble himself about such gentle little creatures? If you\nwant to diminish, in behalf of feathered folk, the time given to music,\ntame falcons, that's a knightly craft, and I can teach you.\"\n\n\"Let my doves alone,\" replied Wilhelm. \"They are not so harmless as\npeople suppose, and have done good service in many a war, which is\ncertainly chivalrous pastime. Remember Haarlem. There, it's beginning to\npour again. If my cloak were only not so short; I would like to cover the\ndoves with it.\"\n\n\"You certainly look like Goliath in David's garments.\"\n\n\"It's my scholar's cloak; I put my other on young Wibisma's shoulders\nyesterday.\"\n\n\"The Spanish green-finch?\"\n\n\"I told you about the boys' brawl.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. And the monkey kept your cloak?\"\n\n\"You came for me and wouldn't wait. They probably sent it back soon after\nour departure.\"\n\n\"And their lordships expect thanks because the young nobleman accepted\nit!\"\n\n\"No, no; the baron expressed his gratitude.\"\n\n\"But that doesn't make your cape any longer. Take my cloak, Wilhelm. I've\nno doves to shelter, and my skin is thicker than yours.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A blustering word often does good service\n     Held in too slight esteem to be able to offer an affront\n     The shirt is closer than the coat\n     Those two little words 'wish' and 'ought'\n     Wet inside, he can bear a great deal of moisture without\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nA second and third rainy day followed the first one. White mists and grey\nfog hung over the meadows. The cold, damp north-west wind drove heavy\nclouds together and darkened the sky. Rivulets dashed into the streets\nfrom the gutters on the steep roofs of Leyden; the water in the canals\nand ditches grew turbid and rose towards the edges of the banks.\nDripping, freezing men and women hurried past each other without any form\nof greeting, while the pair of storks pressed closer to each other in\ntheir nest, and thought of the warm south, lamenting their premature\nreturn to the cold, damp, Netherland plain.\n\nIn thoughtful minds the dread of what must inevitably come was\nincreasing. The rain made anxiety grow as rapidly in the hearts of many\ncitizens, as the young blades of grain in the fields. Conversations, that\nsounded anything but hopeful, took place in many tap-rooms--in others men\nwere even heard declaring resistance folly, or loudly demanding the\ndesertion of the cause of the Prince of Orange and liberty.\n\nWhoever in these days desired to see a happy face in Leyden might have\nsearched long in vain, and would probably have least expected to find it\nin the house of Burgomaster Van der Werff.\n\nThree days had now elapsed since Peter's departure, nay the fourth was\ndrawing towards noon, yet the burgomaster had not returned, and no\nmessage, no word of explanation, had reached his family.\n\nMaria had put on her light-blue cloth dress with Mechlin lace in the\nsquare neck, for her husband particularly liked to see her in this gown\nand he must surely return to-day.\n\nThe spray of yellow wall-flowers on her breast had been cut from the\nblooming plant in the window of her room, and Barbara had helped arrange\nher thick hair.\n\nIt lacked only an hour of noon, when the young wife's delicate, slender\nfigure, carrying a white duster in her hand, entered the burgomaster's\nstudy. Here she stationed herself at the window, from which the pouring\nrain streamed in numerous crooked serpentine lines, pressed her forehead\nagainst the panes, and gazed down into the quiet street.\n\nThe water was standing between the smooth red tiles of the pavement. A\nporter clattered by in heavy wooden shoes, a maid-servant, with a shawl\nwrapped around her head, hurried swiftly past, a shoemaker's boy, with a\npair of boots hanging on his back, jumped from puddle to puddle,\ncarefully avoiding the dry places;--no horseman appeared.\n\nIt was almost unnaturally quiet in the house and street; she heard\nnothing except the plashing of the rain. Maria could not expect her\nhusband until the beat of horses' hoofs was audible; she was not even\ngazing into the distance--only dreamily watching the street and the\nceaseless rain.\n\nThe room had been thoughtfully heated for the drenched man, whose return\nwas expected, but Maria felt the cold air through the chinks in the\nwindows. She shivered, and as she turned back into the dusky room, it\nseemed as if this twilight atmosphere must always remain, as if no more\nbright days could ever come.\n\nMinutes passed before she remembered for what purpose she had entered the\nroom and began to pass the dusting-cloth over the writing-table, the\npiles of papers, and the rest of the contents of the apartment. At last\nshe approached the pistols, which Peter had not taken with him on his\njourney.\n\nThe portrait of her husband's first wife hung above the weapons and sadly\nneeded dusting, for until now Maria had always shrunk from touching it.\n\nTo-day she summoned up her courage, stood opposite to it, and gazed\nsteadily at the youthful features of the woman, with whom Peter had been\nhappy. She felt spellbound by the brown eyes that gazed at her from the\npleasant face.\n\nYes, the woman up there looked happy, almost insolently happy. How much\nmore had Peter probably given to his first wife than to her?\n\nThis thought cut her to the heart, and without moving her lips she\naddressed a series of questions to the silent portrait, which still gazed\nsteadily and serenely at her from its plain frame.\n\nOnce it seemed as if the full lips of the pictured face quivered, once\nthat the eyes moved. A chill ran through her veins, she began to be\nafraid, yet could not leave the portrait, and stood gazing upward with\ndilated eyes.\n\nShe did not stir, but her breath came quicker and quicker, and her eyes\nseemed to grow keener.\n\nA shadow rested on the dead Eva's high forehead. Had the artist intended\nto depict some oppressive anxiety, or was what she saw only dust, that\nhad settled on the colors?\n\nShe pushed a chair towards the portrait and put her foot on the seat,\npushing her dress away in doing so. Blushing, as if other eyes than the\npainted ones were gazing down upon her, she drew it over the white\nstocking, then with a rapid movement mounted the seat. She could now look\ndirectly into the eyes of the portrait. The cloth in Maria's trembling\nhand passed over Eva's brow, and wiped the shadow from the rosy flesh.\nShe now blew the dust from the frame and canvas, and perceived the\nsignature of the artist to whom the picture owed its origin. \"Artjen of\nLeyden,\" he called himself, and his careful hand had finished even the\nunimportant parts of the work with minute accuracy. She well knew the\nsilver chain with the blue turquoises, that rested on the plump neck.\nPeter had given it to her as a wedding present, and she had worn it to\nthe altar; but the little diamond cross suspended from the middle she had\nnever seen. The gold buckle at Eva's belt had belonged to her since her\nlast birthday--it was very badly bent, and the dull points would scarcely\npierce the thick ribbon.\n\n\"She had everything when it was new,\" she said to herself. \"Jewels? What\ndo I care for them! But the heart, the heart--how much love has she left\nin Peter's heart?\"\n\nShe did not wish to do so, but constantly heard these words ringing in\nher ears, and was obliged to summon up all her self-control, to save\nherself from weeping.\n\n\"If he would only come, if he would only come!\" cried a voice in her\ntortured soul.\n\nThe door opened, but she did not notice it.\n\nBarbara crossed the threshold, and called her by her name in a tone of\nkindly reproach.\n\nMaria started and blushing deeply, said\"\n\n\"Please give me your hand; I should like to get down. I have finished.\nThe dust was a disgrace.\" When she again stood on the floor, the widow\nsaid, \"What red cheeks you have! Listen, my dear sister-in-law, listen to\nme, child--!\"\n\nBarbara was interrupted in the midst of her admonition, for the knocker\nfell heavily on the door, and Maria hurried to the window.\n\nThe widow followed, and after a hasty glance into the street, exclaimed:\n\n\"That's Wilhelm Cornieliussohn, the musician. He has been to Delft. I\nheard it from his mother. Perhaps he brings news of Peter. I'll send him\nup to you, but he must first tell me below what his tidings are. If you\nwant me, you'll find me with Bessie. She is feverish and her eyes ache;\nshe will have some eruption or a fever.\"\n\nBarbara left the room. Maria pressed her hands upon her burning cheeks,\nand paced slowly to and fro till the musician knocked and entered.\n\nAfter the first greeting, the young wife asked eagerly:\n\n\"Did you see my husband in Delft?\"\n\n\"Yes indeed,\" replied Wilhelm, \"the evening of the day before yesterday.\"\n\n\"Then tell me--\"\n\n\"At once, at once. I bring you a whole pouch full of messages. First from\nyour mother.\"\n\n\"Is she well?\"\n\n\"Well and bright. Worthy Doctor Groot too is hale and hearty.\"\n\n\"And my husband?\"\n\n\"I found him with the doctor. Herr Groot sends the kindest remembrances\nto you. We had musical entertainments at his home yesterday and the day\nbe fore. He always has the latest novelties from Italy, and when we try\nthis motet here--\"\n\n\"Afterwards, Herr Wilhelm! You must first tell me what my husband--\"\n\n\"The burgomaster came to the doctor on a message from the Prince. He was\nin haste, and could not wait for the singing. It went off admirably. If\nyou, with your magnificent voice, will only--\"\n\n\"Pray, Meister Wilhelm?\"\n\n\"No, dear lady, you ought not to refuse. Doctor Groot says, that when a\ngirl in Delft, no one could support the tenor like you, and if you, Frau\nvon Nordwyk, and Herr Van Aken's oldest daughter--\"\n\n\"But, my dear Meister!\" exclaimed the burgomaster's wife with increasing\nimpatience, \"I'm not asking about your motets and tabulatures, but my\nhusband.\"\n\nWilhelm gazed at the young wife's face with a half-startled,\nhalf-astonished look. Then, smiling at his own awkwardness, he shook his\nhead, saying in a tone of good-natured repentance:\n\n\"Pray forgive me, little things seem unduly important to us when they\ncompletely fill our own souls. One word about your absent husband must\nsurely sound sweeter to your ears, than all my music. I ought to have\nthought of that sooner. So--the burgomaster is well and has transacted a\ngreat deal of business with the Prince. Before he went to Dortrecht\nyesterday morning, he gave me this letter and charged me to place it in\nyour hands with the most loving greetings.\"\n\nWith these words the musician gave Maria a letter. She hastily took it\nfrom his hand, saying:\n\n\"No offence, Herr Wilhelm, but we'll discuss your motet to-morrow, or\nwhenever you choose; to-day--\"\n\n\"To-day your time belongs to this letter,\" interrupted Wilhelm. \"That is\nonly natural. The messenger has performed his commission, and the\nmusic-master will try his fortune with you another time.\"\n\nAs soon as the young man had gone, Maria went to her room, sat down at\nthe window, hurriedly opened her husband's letter and read:\n\n   \"MY DEAR AND FAITHFUL WIFE!\n\n   \"Meister Wilhelm Corneliussohn, of Leyden, will bring you this\n   letter. I am well, but it was hard for me to leave you on the\n   anniversary of our wedding-clay. The weather is very bad. I found\n   the Prince in sore affliction, but we don't give up hope, and if God\n   helps us and every man does his duty, all may yet be well. I am\n   obliged to ride to Dortrecht to-day. I have an important object to\n   accomplish there. Have patience, for several days must pass before\n   my return.\n\n   \"If the messenger from the council inquires, give him the papers\n   lying on the right-hand side of the writing-table under the smaller\n   leaden weight. Remember me to Barbara and the children. If money\n   is needed, ask Van Hout in my name for the rest of the sum due me;\n   he knows about it. If you feel lonely, visit his wife or Frail von\n   Nordwyk; they would be glad to see you. Buy as much meal, butter,\n   cheese, and smoked meat, as is possible. We don't know what may\n   happen. Take Barbara's advice! Relying upon your obedience,\n\n               \"Your faithful husband,\n\n                  \"PETER ADRIANSSOHN VAN DER WERFF.\"\n\nMaria read this letter at first hastily, then slowly, sentence by\nsentence, to the end. Disappointed, troubled, wounded, she folded it,\ndrew the wall-flowers from the bosom of her dress--she knew not why--and\nflung them into the peat-box by the chimney-piece. Then she opened her\nchest, took out a prettily-carved box, placed it on the table, and laid\nher husband's letter inside.\n\nLong after it had found a place with other papers, Maria still stood\nbefore the casket, gazing thoughtfully at its contents.\n\nAt last she laid her hand on the lid to close it; but hesitated and took\nup a packet of letters that had lain amid several gold and silver coins,\ngiven by godmothers and godfathers, modest trinkets, and a withered rose.\n\nDrawing a chair up to the table, the young wife seated herself and began\nto read. She knew these letters well enough. A noble, promising youth had\naddressed them to her sister, his betrothed bride. They were dated from\nJena, whither he had gone to complete his studies in jurisprudence. Every\nword expressed the lover's ardent longing, every line was pervaded by the\npassion that had filled the writer's heart. Often the prose of the young\nscholar, who as a pupil of Doctor Groot had won his bride in Delft, rose\nto a lofty flight.\n\nWhile reading, Maria saw in imagination Jacoba's pretty face, and the\nhandsome, enthusiastic countenance of her bridegroom. She remembered\ntheir gay wedding, her brother-in-law's impetuous friend, so lavishly\nendowed with every gift of nature, who had accompanied him to Holland to\nbe his groomsman, and at parting had given her the rose which lay before\nher in the little casket. No voice had ever suited hers so well; she had\nnever heard language so poetical from any other lips, never had eyes that\nsparkled like the young Thuringian noble's looked into hers.\n\nAfter the wedding Georg von Dornberg returned home and the young couple\nwent to Haarlem. She had heard nothing from the young foreigner, and her\nsister and her husband were soon silenced forever. Like most of the\ninhabitants of Haarlem, they were put to death by the Spanish destroyers\nat the capture of the noble, hapless city. Nothing was left of her\nbeloved sister except a faithful memory of her, and her betrothed\nbridegroom's letters, which she now held in her hand.\n\nThey expressed love, the true, lofty love, that can speak with the\ntongues of angels and move mountains. There lay her husband's letter.\nMiserable scrawl! She shrank from opening it again, as she laid the\nbeloved mementoes back into the box, yet her breast heaved as she thought\nof Peter. She knew too that she loved him, and that his faithful heart\nbelonged to her. But she was not satisfied, she was not happy, for he\nshowed her only tender affection or paternal kindness, and she wished to\nbe loved differently. The pupil, nay the friend of the learned Groot, the\nyoung wife who had grown up in the society of highly educated men, the\nenthusiastic patriot, felt that she was capable of being more, far more\nto her husband, than he asked. She had never expected gushing emotions or\nhigh-strung phrases from the grave man engaged in vigorous action, but\nbelieved he would understand all the lofty, noble sentiments stirring in\nher soul, permit her to share his struggles and become the partner of his\nthoughts and feelings. The meagre letter received to-day again taught her\nthat her anticipations were not realized.\n\nHe had been a faithful friend of her father, now numbered with the dead.\nHer brother-in-law too had attached himself, with all the enthusiasm of\nyouth, to the older, fully-matured champion of liberty, Van der Werff.\nWhen he had spoken of Peter to Maria, it was always with expressions of\nthe warmest admiration and love. Peter had come to Delft soon after her\nfather's death and the violent end of the young wedded pair, and when he\nexpressed his sympathy and strove to comfort her, did so in strong,\ntender words, to which she could cling, as if to an anchor, in the misery\nof her heart. The valiant citizen of Leyden came to Delft more and more\nfrequently, and was always a guest at Doctor Groot's house. When the men\nwere engaged in consultation, Maria was permitted to fill their glasses\nand be present at their conferences. Words flew to and fro and often\nseemed to her neither clear nor wise; but what Van der Werff said was\nalways sensible, and a child could understand his plain, vigorous speech.\nHe appeared to the young girl like an oak-tree among swaying willows. She\nknew of many of his journeys, undertaken at the peril of his life, in the\nservice of the Prince and his native land, and awaited their result with\na throbbing heart.\n\nMore than once in those days, the thought had entered her mind that it\nwould be delightful to be borne through life in the strong arms of this\nsteadfast man. Then he extended these arms, and she yielded to his wish\nas proudly and happily as a squire summoned by the king to be made a\nknight. She now remembered this by-gone time, and every hope with which\nshe had accompanied him to Leyden rose vividly before her soul.\n\nHer newly-wedded husband had promised her no spring, but a pleasant\nsummer and autumn by his side. She could not help thinking of this\ncomparison, and what entirely different things from those she had\nanticipated, the union with him had offered to this day. Tumult, anxiety,\nconflict, a perpetual alternation of hard work and excessive fatigue,\nthis was his life, the life he had summoned her to share at his side,\nwithout even showing any desire to afford her a part in his cares and\nlabors. Matters ought not, should not go on so. Everything that had\nseemed to her beautiful and pleasant in her parents' home--was being\ndestroyed here. Music and poetry, that had elevated her soul, clever\nconversation, that had developed her mind, were not to be found here.\nBarbara's kind feelings could never supply the place of these lost\npossessions; for her husband's love she would have resigned them all--but\nwhat had become of this love?\n\nWith bitter emotions, she replaced the casket in the chest and obeyed the\nsummons to dinner, but found no one at the great table except Adrian and\nthe servants. Barbara was watching Bessie.\n\nNever had she seemed to herself so desolate, so lonely, so useless as\nto-day. What could she do here? Barbara ruled in kitchen and cellar, and\nshe--she only stood in the way of her husband's fulfilling his duties to\nthe city and state.\n\nSuch were her thoughts, when the knocker again struck the door. She\napproached the window. It was the doctor. Bessie had grown worse and she,\nher mother, had not even inquired for the little one.\n\n\"The children, the children!\" she murmured; her sorrowful features\nbrightened, and her heart grew lighter as she said to herself:\n\n\"I promised Peter to treat them as if they were my own, and I will fulfil\nthe duties I have undertaken.\" Full of joyous excitement, she entered the\nsick-room, hastily closing the door behind her. Doctor Bontius looked at\nher with a reproving glance, and Barbara said:\n\n\"Gently, gently! Bessie is just sleeping a little.\" Maria approached the\nbed, but the physician waved her back, saying:\n\n\"Have you had the purple-fever?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then you ought not to enter this room again. No other help is needed\nwhere Frau Barbara nurses.\"\n\nThe burgomaster's wife made no reply, and returned to the entry. Her\nheart was so heavy, so unutterably heavy. She felt like a stranger in her\nhusband's house. Some impulse urged her to go out of doors, and as she\nwrapped her mantle around her and went downstairs, the smell of leather\nrising from the bales piled in layers on the lower story, which she had\nscarcely noticed before, seemed unendurable. She longed for her mother,\nher friends in Delft, and her quiet, cheerful home. For the first time\nshe ventured to call herself unhappy and, while walking through the\nstreets with downcast eyes against the wind, struggled vainly to resist\nsome mysterious, gloomy power, that compelled her to minutely recall\neverything that had resulted differently from her expectations.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nAfter the musician had left the burgomaster's house, he went to young\nHerr Matanesse Van Wibisma's aunt to get his cloak, which had not been\nreturned to him. He did not usually give much heed to his dress, yet he\nwas glad that the rain kept people in the house, for the outgrown wrap on\nhis shoulders was by no means pleasing in appearance. Wilhelm must\ncertainly have looked anything but well-clad, for as he stood in old\nFraulein Van Hoogstraten's spacious, stately hall, the steward Belotti\nreceived him as patronizingly as if he were a beggar.\n\nBut the Neopolitan, in whose mouth the vigorous Dutch sounded like the\nrattling in the throat of a chilled singer, speedily took a different\ntone when Wilhelm, in excellent Italian, quietly explained the object of\nhis visit. Nay, at the sweet accents of his native tongue, the servant's\nrepellent demeanor melted into friendly, eager welcome. He was beginning\nto speak of his home to Wilhelm, but the musician made him curt replies\nand asked him to get his cloak.\n\nBelotti now led him courteously into a small room at the side of the\ngreat hall, took off his cloak, and then went upstairs. As minute after\nminute passed, until at last a whole quarter of an hour elapsed, and\nneither servant nor cloak appeared, the young man lost his patience,\nthough it was not easily disturbed, and when the door at last opened\nserious peril threatened the leaden panes on which he was drumming loudly\nwith his fingers. Wilhelm doubtless heard it, yet he drummed with\nredoubled vehemence, to show the Italian that the time was growing long\nto him. But he hastily withdrew his fingers from the glass, for a girl's\nmusical voice said behind him in excellent Dutch:\n\n\"Have you finished your war-song, sir? Belotti is bringing your cloak.\"\n\nWilhelm had turned and was gazing in silent bewilderment into the face of\nthe young noblewoman, who stood directly in front of him. These features\nwere not unfamiliar, and yet--years do not make even a goddess younger,\nand mortals increase in height and don't grow smaller; but the, lady whom\nhe thought he saw before him, whom he had known well in the eternal city\nand never forgotten, had been older and taller than the young girl, who\nso strikingly resembled her and seemed to take little pleasure in the\nyoung man's surprised yet inquiring glance. With a haughty gesture she\nbeckoned to the steward, saying in Italian:\n\n\"Give the gentleman his cloak, Belotti, and tell him I came to beg him to\npardon your forgetfulness.\"\n\nWith these words Henrica Van Hoogstraten turned towards the door, but\nWilhelm took two hasty strides after her, exclaiming:\n\n\"Not yet, not yet, Fraulein! I am the one to apologize. But if you have\never been amazed by a resemblance--\"\n\n\"Anything but looking like other people!\" cried the girl with a repellent\ngesture.\n\n\"Ah, Fraulein, yet--\"\n\n\"Let that pass, let that pass,\" interrupted Henrica in so irritated a\ntone that the musician looked at her in surprise. \"One sheep looks just\nlike another, and among a hundred peasants twenty have the same face. All\nwares sold by the dozen are cheap.\"\n\nAs soon as Wilhelm heard reasons given, the quiet manner peculiar to him\nreturned, and he answered modestly:\n\n\"But nature also forms the most beautiful things in pairs. Think of the\neyes in the Madonna's face.\"\n\n\"Are you a Catholic?\"\n\n\"A Calvinist, Fraulein.\"\n\n\"And devoted to the Prince's cause?\"\n\n\"Say rather, the cause of liberty.\"\n\n\"That accounts for the drumming of the war-song.\"\n\n\"It was first a gentle gavotte, but impatience quickened the time. I am a\nmusician, Fraulein.\"\n\n\"But probably no drummer. The poor panes!\"\n\n\"They are an instrument like any other, and in playing we seek to express\nwhat we feel.\"\n\n\"Then accept my thanks for not breaking them to pieces.\"\n\n\"That wouldn't have been beautiful, Fraulein, and art ceases when\nugliness begins.\"\n\n\"Do you think the song in your cloak--it dropped on the ground and Nico\npicked it up--beautiful or ugly?\"\n\n\"This one or the other?\"\n\n\"I mean the Beggar-song.\"\n\n\"It is fierce, but no more ugly than the roaring of the storm.\"\n\n\"It is repulsive, barbarous, revolting.\"\n\n\"I call it strong, overmastering in its power.\"\n\n\"And this other melody?\"\n\n\"Spare me an answer; I composed it myself. Can you read notes, Fraulein?\"\n\n\"A little.\"\n\n\"And did my attempt displease you?\"\n\n\"Not at all, but I find dolorous passages in this choral, as in all the\nCalvinist hymns.\"\n\n\"It depends upon how they are sung.\"\n\n\"They are certainly intended for the voices of the shopkeepers' wives and\nwasherwomen in your churches.\"\n\n\"Every hymn, if it is only sincerely felt, will lend wings to the souls\nof the simple folk who sing it; and whatever ascends to Heaven from the\ninmost depths of the heart, can hardly displease the dear God, to whom it\nis addressed. And then--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"If these notes are worth being preserved, it may happen that a matchless\nchoir--\"\n\n\"Will sing them to you, you think?\"\n\n\"No, Fraulein; they have fulfilled their destination if they are once\nnobly rendered. I would fain not be absent, but that wish is far less\nearnest than the other.\"\n\n\"How modest!\"\n\n\"I think the best enjoyment in creating is had in anticipation.\"\n\nHenrica gazed at the artist with a look of sympathy, and said with a\nsofter tone in her musical voice:\n\n\"I am sorry for you, Meister. Your music pleases me; why should I deny\nit? In many passages it appeals to the heart, but how it will be spoiled\nin your churches! Your heresy destroys every art. The works of the great\nartists are a horror to you, and the noble music that has unfolded here\nin the Netherlands will soon fare no better.\"\n\n\"I think I may venture to believe the contrary.\"\n\n\"Wrongly, Meister, wrongly, for if your cause triumphs, which may the\nVirgin forbid, there will soon be nothing in Holland except piles of\ngoods, workshops, and bare churches, from which even singing and\norgan-playing will soon be banished.\"\n\n\"By no means, Fraulein. Little Athens first became the home of the arts,\nafter she had secured her liberty in the war against the Persians.\"\n\n\"Athens and Leyden!\" she answered scornfully. \"True, there are owls on\nthe tower of Pancratius. But where shall we find the Minerva?\"\n\nWhile Henrica rather laughed than spoke these words, her name was called\nfor the third time by a shrill female voice. She now interrupted herself\nin the middle of a sentence, saying:\n\n\"I must go. I will keep these notes.\"\n\n\"You will honor me by accepting them; perhaps you will allow me to bring\nyou others.\"\n\n\"Henrica!\" the voice again called from the stairs, and the young lady\nanswered hastily:\n\n\"Give Belotti whatever you choose, but soon, for I shan't stay here much\nlonger.\"\n\nWilhelm gazed after her. She walked no less quickly and firmly through\nthe wide hall and up the stairs, than she had spoken, and again he was\nvividly reminded of his friend in Rome.\n\nThe old Italian had also followed Henrica with his eyes. As she vanished\nat the last bend of the broad steps, he shrugged his shoulders, turned to\nthe musician and said, with an expression of honest sympathy:\n\n\"The young lady isn't well. Always in a tumult; always like a loaded\npistol, and these terrible headaches too! She was different when she came\nhere.\"\n\n\"Is she ill?\"\n\n\"My mistress won't see it,\" replied the servant. \"But what the cameriera\nand I see, we see. Now red--now pale, no rest at night, at table she\nscarcely eats a chicken-wing and a leaf of salad.\"\n\n\"Does the doctor share your anxiety?\"\n\n\"The doctor? Doctor Fleuriel isn't here. He moved to Ghent when the\nSpaniards came, and since then my mistress will have nobody but the\nbarber who bleeds her. The doctors here are devoted to the Prince of\nOrange and are all heretics. There, she is calling again. I'll send the\ncloak to your house, and if you ever feel inclined to speak my language,\njust knock here. That calling--that everlasting calling! The young lady\nsuffers from it too.\"\n\nWhen Wilhelm entered the street, it was only raining very slightly. The\nclouds were beginning to scatter, and from a patch of blue sky the sun\nwas shining brightly down on Nobelstrasse. A rainbow shimmered in\nvariegated hues above the roofs, but to-day the musician had no eyes for\nthe beautiful spectacle. The bright light in the wet street did not charm\nhim. The hot rays of the day-star were not lasting, for \"they drew rain.\"\nAll that surrounded him seemed confused and restless. Beside a beautiful\nimage which he treasured in the sanctuary of his memories, only allowing\nhis mind to dwell upon it in his happiest hours, sought to intrude. His\nreal diamond was in danger of being exchanged for a stone, whose value he\ndid not know. With the old, pure harmony blended another similar one, but\nin a different key. How could he still think of Isabella, without\nremembering Henrica! At least he had not heard the young lady sing, so\nhis recollection of Isabella's songs remained unclouded. He blamed\nhimself because, obeying an emotion of vanity, he had promised to send\nnew songs to the proud young girl, the friend of Spain. He had treated\nHerr Matanesse Van Wibisma rudely on account of his opinions, but sought\nto approach her, who laughed at what he prized most highly, because she\nwas a woman, and it was sweet to hear his work praised by beautiful lips.\n\"Hercules throws the club aside and sits down at the distaff, when\nOmphale beckons, and the beautiful Esther and the daughter of Herodias--\"\nmurmured Wilhelm indignantly. He felt sorely troubled, and longed for his\nquiet attic chamber beside the dove-cote.\n\n\"Something unpleasant has happened to him in Delft,\" thought his father.\n\n\"Why doesn't he relish his fried flounders to-day?\" asked his mother,\nwhen he had left them after dinner. Each felt that something oppressed\nthe pride and favorite of the household, but did not attempt to discover\nthe cause; they knew the moods to which he was sometimes subject for half\na day.\n\nAfter Wilhelm had fed his doves, he went to his room, where he paced\nrestlessly to and fro. Then he seized his violin and wove all the\nmelodies be had heard from Isabella's lips into one. His music had rarely\nsounded so soft, and then so fierce and passionate, and his mother, who\nheard it in the kitchen, turned the twirling-stick faster and faster,\nthen thrust it into the firmly-tied dough, and rubbing her hands on her\napron, murmured:\n\n\"How it wails and exults! If it relieves his heart, in God's name let him\ndo it, but cat-gut is dear and it will cost at least two strings.\"\n\nTowards evening Wilhelm was obliged to go to the drill of the military\ncorps to which he belonged. His company was ordered to mount guard at the\nHoogewoort Gate. As he marched through Nobelstrasse with it, he heard the\nlow, clear melody of a woman's voice issuing from an open window of the\nHoogstraten mansion. He listened, and noticing with a shudder how much\nHenrica's voice--for the singer must be the young lady--resembled\nIsabella's, ordered the drummer to beat the drum.\n\nThe next morning a servant came from the Hoogstraten house and gave\nWilhelm a note, in which he was briefly requested to come to Nobelstrasse\nat two o'clock in the afternoon, neither earlier nor later.\n\nHe did not wish to say \"yes\"--he could not say \"no,\" and went to the\nhouse at the appointed hour. Henrica was awaiting him in the little room\nadjoining the hall. She looked graver than the day before, while heavier\nshadows under her eyes and the deep flush on her cheeks reminded Wilhelm\nof Belotti's fears for her health. After returning his greeting, she said\nwithout circumlocution, and very rapidly:\n\n\"I must speak to you. Sit down. To be brief, the way you greeted me\nyesterday awakened strange thoughts. I must strongly resemble some other\nwoman, and you met her in Italy. Perhaps you are reminded of some one\nvery near to me, of whom I have lost all trace. Answer me honestly, for I\ndo not ask from idle curiosity. Where did you meet her?\"\n\n\"In Lugano. We drove to Milan with the same vetturino, and afterwards I\nfound her again in Rome and saw her daily for months.\"\n\nThen you know her intimately. Do you still think the resemblance\nsurprising, after having seen me for the second time?\"\n\n\"Very surprising.\"\n\n\"Then I must have a double. Is she a native of this country?\"\n\n\"She called herself an Italian, but she understood Dutch, for she has\noften turned the pages of my books and followed the conversation I had\nwith young artists from our home. I think she is a German lady of noble\nfamily.\"\n\n\"An adventuress then. And her name?\"\n\n\"Isabella--but I think no one would be justified in calling her an\nadventuress.\"\n\n\"Was she married?\"\n\n\"There was something matronly in her majestic appearance, yet she never\nspoke of a husband. The old Italian woman, her duenna, always called her\nDonna Isabella, but she possessed little more knowledge of her past than\nI.\"\n\n\"Is that good or evil?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all, Fraulein.\"\n\n\"And what led her to Rome?\"\n\n\"She practised the art of singing, of which she was mistress; but did not\ncease studying, and made great progress in Rome. I was permitted to\ninstruct her in counterpoint.\"\n\n\"And did she appear in public as a singer?\"\n\n\"Yes and no. A distinguished foreign prelate was her patron, and his\nrecommendation opened every door, even the Palestrina's. So the church\nmusic at aristocratic weddings was entrusted to her, and she did not\nrefuse to sing at noble houses, but never appeared for pay. I know that,\nfor she would not allow any one else to play her accompaniments. She\nliked my music, and so through her I went into many aristocratic houses.\"\n\n\"Was she rich?\"\n\n\"No, Fraulein. She had beautiful dresses and brilliant jewels, but was\ncompelled to economize. Remittances of money came to her at times from\nFlorence, but the gold pieces slipped quickly through her fingers, for\nthough she lived plainly and eat scarcely enough for a bird, while her\ndelicate strength required stronger food, she was lavish to imprudence if\nshe saw poor artists in want, and she knew most of them, for she did not\nshrink from sitting with them over their wine in my company.\"\n\n\"With artists and musicians?\"\n\n\"Mere artists of noble sentiments. At times she surpassed them all in her\noverflowing mirth.\"\n\n\"At times?\"\n\n\"Yes, only at times, for she bad also sorrowful, pitiably sorrowful hours\nand days, but as sunshine and shower alternate in an April day, despair\nand extravagant gayety ruled her nature by turns.\"\n\n\"A strange character. Do you know her end?\"\n\n\"No, Fraulein. One evening she received a letter from Milan, which must\nhave contained bad news, and the next day vanished without any farewell.\"\n\n\"And you did not try to follow her?\"\n\nWilhelm blushed, and answered in an embarrassed tone:\n\n\"I had no right to do so, and just after her departure I fell\nsick--dangerously sick.\"\n\n\"You loved her?\"\n\n\"Fraulein, I must beg you--\"\n\n\"You loved her! And did she return your affection?\"\n\n\"We have known each other only since yesterday, Fraulein von\nHoogstraten.\"\n\n\"Pardon me! But if you value my desire, we shall not have seen each other\nfor the last time, though my double is undoubtedly a different person\nfrom the one I supposed. Farewell till we meet again. You hear, that\ncalling never ends. You have aroused an interest in your strange friend,\nand some other time must tell me more about her. Only this one question:\nCan a modest maiden talk of her with you without disgrace?\"\n\n\"Certainly, if you do not shrink from speaking of a noble lady who had no\nother protector than herself.\"\n\n\"And you, don't forget yourself!\" cried Henrica, leaving the room.\n\nThe musician walked thoughtfully towards home. Was Isabella a relative of\nthis young girl? He had told Henrica almost all he knew of her external\ncircumstances, and this perhaps gave the former the same right to call\nher an adventuress, that many in Rome had assumed. The word wounded him,\nand Henrica's inquiry whether he loved the stranger disturbed him, and\nappeared intrusive and unseemly. Yes, he had felt an ardent love for her;\nay, he had suffered deeply because he was no more to her than a pleasant\ncompanion and reliable friend. It had cost him struggles enough to\nconceal his feelings, and he knew, that but for the dread of repulse and\nscorn, he would have yielded and revealed them to her. Old wounds in his\nheart opened afresh, as he recalled the time she suddenly left Rome\nwithout a word of farewell. After barely recovering from a severe\nillness, he had returned home pale and dispirited, and months elapsed ere\nhe could again find genuine pleasure in his art. At first, the\nremembrance of her contained nothing save bitterness, but now, by quiet,\npersistent effort, he had succeeded, not in attaining forgetfulness, but\nin being able to separate painful emotions from the pure and exquisite\njoy of remembering her. To-day the old struggle sought to begin afresh,\nbut he was not disposed to yield, and did not cease to summon Isabella's\nimage, in all its beauty, before his soul.\n\nHenrica returned to her aunt in a deeply-agitated mood. Was the\nadventuress of whom Wilhelm had spoken, the only creature whom she loved\nwith all the ardor of her passionate soul? Was Isabella her lost sister?\nMany incidents were opposed to it, yet it was possible. She tortured\nherself with questions, and the less peace her aunt gave her, the more\nunendurable her headache became, the more plainly she felt that the\nfever, against whose relaxing power she had struggled for days, would\nconquer her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nOn the evening of the third day after Wilhelm's interview with Henrica,\nhis way led him through Nobelstrasse past the Hoogstraten mansion.\n\nEre reaching it, he saw two gentlemen, preceded by a servant carrying a\nlantern, cross the causeway towards it.\n\nWilhelm's attention was attracted. The servant now seized the knocker,\nand the light of his lantern fell on the men's faces. Neither was\nunfamiliar to him.\n\nThe small, delicate old man, with the peaked hat and short black velvet\ncloak, was Abbe Picard, a gay Parisian, who had come to Leyden ten years\nbefore and gave French lessons in the wealthy families of the city. He\nhad been Wilhelm's teacher too, but the musician's father, the\nReceiver-General, would have nothing to do with the witty abbe; for he\nwas said to have left his beloved France on account of some questionable\ntransactions, and Herr Cornelius scented in him a Spanish spy. The other\ngentleman, a grey-haired, unusually stout man, of middle height, who\nrequired a great deal of cloth for his fur-bordered cloak, was Signor\nLamperi, the representative of the great Italian mercantile house of\nBonvisi in Antwerp, who was in the habit of annually coming to Leyden on\nbusiness for a few weeks with the storks and swallows, and was a welcome\nguest in every tap-room as the inexhaustible narrator of funny stories.\nBefore these two men entered the house, they were joined by a third,\npreceded by two servants carrying lanterns. A wide cloak enveloped his\ntall figure; he too stood on the threshold of old age and was no stranger\nto Wilhelm, for the Catholic Monseigneur Gloria, who often came to Leyden\nfrom Haarlem, was a patron of the noble art of music, and when the young\nman set out on his journey to Italy had provided him, spite of his\nheretical faith, with valuable letters of introduction.\n\nWilhelm, as the door closed behind the three gentlemen, continued his\nway. Belotti had told him the day before that the young lady seemed very\nill, but since her aunt was receiving guests, Henrica was doubtless\nbetter.\n\nThe first story in the Hoogstraten mansion was brightly lighted, but in\nthe second a faint, steady glow streamed into Nobelstrasse from a single\nwindow, while she for whom the lamp burned sat beside a table, her eyes\nsparkling with a feverish glitter, as she pressed her forehead against\nthe marble top. Henrica was entirely alone in the wide, lofty room her\naunt had assigned her. Behind curtains of thick faded brocade was her\nbedstead, a heavy structure of enormous width. The other articles of\nfurniture were large and shabby, but had once been splendid. Every chair,\nevery table looked as if it had been taken from some deserted\nbanqueting-hall. Nothing really necessary was lacking in the apartment,\nbut it was anything but home-like and cosey, and no one would ever have\nsupposed a young girl occupied it, had it not been for a large gilt harp\nthat leaned against the long, hard couch beside the fireplace.\n\nHenrica's head was burning but, though she had wrapped a shawl around her\nlower limbs, her feet were freezing on the uncarpeted stone floor.\n\nA short time after the three gentlemen had entered her aunt's house, a\nwoman's figure ascended the stairs leading from the first to the second\nstory. Henrica's over-excited senses perceived the light tread of the\nsatin shoes and the rustle of the silk train, long before the approaching\nform had reached the room, and with quickened breathing, she sat erect.\n\nA thin hand, without any preliminary knock, now opened the door and old\nFraulein Van Hoogstraten walked up to her niece.\n\nThe elderly dame had once been beautiful, now and at this hour she\npresented a strange, unpleasing appearance.\n\nThe thin, bent figure was attired in a long trailing robe of heavy pink\nsilk. The little head almost disappeared in the ruff, a large structure\nof immense height and width. Long chains of pearls and glittering gems\nhung on the sallow skin displayed by the open neck of her dress, and on\nthe false, reddish-yellow curls rested a roll of light-blue velvet decked\nwith ostrich plumes. A strong odor of various fragrant essences preceded\nher. She herself probably found them somewhat overpowering, for her large\nglittering fan was in constant motion and fluttered violently, when in\nanswer to her curt: \"Quick, quick,\" Henrica returned a resolute \"no, 'ma\ntante.'\"\n\nThe old lady, however, was not at all disconcerted by the refusal, but\nmerely repeated her \"Quick, quick,\" more positively, adding as an\nimportant reason:\n\n\"Monseigneur has come and wants to hear you.\"\n\n\"He does me great honor,\" replied the young girl, \"great honor, but how\noften must I repeat: I will not come.\"\n\n\"Is it allowable to ask why not, my fair one?\" said the old lady.\n\n\"Because I am not fit for your society,\" cried Henrica vehemently,\n\"because my head aches and my eyes burn, because I can't sing to-day, and\nbecause--because--because--I entreat you, leave me in peace.\"\n\nOld Fraulein Van Hoogstraten let her fan sink by her side, and said\ncoolly:\n\n\"Were you singing two hours ago--yes or no?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then your headache can't be so very bad, and Denise will dress you.\"\n\n\"If she comes, I'll send her away. When I just took the harp, I did so to\nsing the pain away. It was relieved for a few minutes, but now my temples\nare throbbing with twofold violence.\"\n\n\"Excuses.\"\n\n\"Believe what you choose. Besides--even if I felt better at this moment\nthan a squirrel in the woods. I wouldn't go down to see the gentlemen. I\nshall stay here. I have given my word, and I am a Hoogstraten as well as\nyou.\"\n\nHenrica had risen, and her eyes flashed with a gloomy fire at her\noppressor. The old lady waved her fan faster, and her projecting chin\ntrembled. Then she said curtly:\n\n\"Your word of honor! So you won't! You won't!\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" cried the young girl with undutiful positiveness.\n\n\"Everybody must have his way,\" replied the old lady, turning towards the\ndoor. \"What is too wilful is too wilful. Your father won't thank you for\nthis.\" With these words Fraulein Van Hoogstraten raised her long train\nand approached the door. There she paused, and again glanced enquiringly\nat Henrica. The latter doubtless noticed her aunt's hesitation, but\nwithout heeding the implied threat intentionally turned her back.\n\nAs soon as the door closed, the young girl sank back into her chair,\npressed her forehead against the marble slab and let it remain there a\nlong time. Then she rose as suddenly and hastily as if obeying some\nurgent summons, raised the lid of her trunk, tossed the stockings,\nbodices and shoes, that came into her way, out on the floor, and did not\nrise until she had found a few sheets of writing-paper which she had\nlaid, before leaving her father's castle, among the rest of her property.\n\nAs she rose from her kneeling posture, she was seized with giddiness, but\nstill kept her feet, carried to the table first the white sheets and a\nportfolio, then the large inkstand that had already stood several days in\nher room, and seated herself beside it.\n\nLeaning far back in her chair, she began to write. The book that served\nas a desk lay on her knee, the paper on the book. Creaking and pausing,\nthe goosequill made large, stiff letters on the white surface. Henrica\nwas not skilled in writing, but to-day it must have been unspeakably\ndifficult for her; her high forehead became covered with perspiration,\nher mouth was distorted by pain, and whenever she had finished a few\nlines, she closed her eyes or drank greedily from the water-pitcher that\nstood beside her.\n\nThe large room was perfectly still, but the peace that surrounded her was\noften disturbed by strange noises and tones, that rose from the\ndining-hall directly under her chamber. The clinking of glasses, shrill\ntittering, loud, deep laughter, single bars of a dissolute love-song,\ncheers, and then the sharp rattle of a shattered wine glass reached her\nin mingled sounds. She did not wish to hear it, but could not escape and\nclenched her white teeth indignantly. Yet meantime the pen did not wholly\nstop.\n\nShe wrote in broken, or long, disconnected sentences, almost incoherently\ninvolved. Sometimes there were gaps, sometimes the same word was twice or\nthrice repeated. The whole resembled a letter written by a lunatic, yet\nevery line, every stroke of the pen, expressed the same desire uttered\nwith passionate longing: \"Take me away from here! Take me away from this\nwoman and this house!\"\n\nThe epistle was addressed to her father. She implored him to rescue her\nfrom this place, come or send for her. \"Her uncle, Matanesse Van\nWibisma,\" she said, \"seemed to be a sluggish messenger; he had probably\nenjoyed the evenings at her aunt's, which filled her, Henrica, with\nloathing. She would go out into the world after her sister, if her father\ncompelled her to stay here.\" Then she began a description of her aunt and\nher life. The picture of the days and nights she had now spent for weeks\nwith the old lady, presented in vivid characters a mixture of great and\npetty troubles, external and mental humiliations.\n\nOnly too often the same drinking and carousing had gone on below as\nto-day-Henrica had always been compelled to join her aunt's guests,\nelderly dissolute men of French or Italian origin and easy morals. While\ndescribing these conventicles, the blood crimsoned her flushed cheeks\nstill more deeply, and the long strokes of the pen grew heavier and\nheavier. What the abbe related and her aunt laughed at, what the Italian\nscreamed and Monseigneur smilingly condemned with a slight shake of the\nhead, was so shamelessly bold that she would have been defiled by\nrepeating the words. Was she a respectable girl or not? She would rather\nhunger and thirst, than be present at such a banquet again. If the\ndining-room was empty, other unprecedented demands were made upon\nHenrica, for then her aunt, who could not endure to be alone a moment,\nwas sick and miserable, and she was obliged to nurse her. That she gladly\nand readily served the suffering, she wrote, she had sufficiently proved\nby her attendance on the village children when they had the smallpox, but\nif her aunt could not sleep she was compelled to watch beside her, hold\nher hand, and listen until morning as she moaned, whined and prayed,\nsometimes cursing herself and sometimes the treacherous world. She,\nHenrica, had come to the house strong and well, but so much disgust and\nanger, such constant struggling to control herself had robbed her of her\nhealth.\n\nThe young girl had written until midnight. The letters became more and\nmore irregular and indistinct, the lines more crooked, and with the last\nwords: \"My head, my poor head! You will see that I am losing my senses. I\nbeseech you, I beseech you, my dear, stern father, take me home. I have\nagain heard something about Anna--\" her eyes grew dim, her pen dropped\nfrom her hand, and she fell back in the chair unconscious.\n\nThere she lay, until the last laugh and sound of rattling glass had died\naway below, and her aunt's guests had left the house.\n\nDenise, the cameriera, noticed the light in the room, entered, and after\nvainly endeavoring to rouse Henrica, called her mistress.\n\nThe latter followed the maid, muttering as she ascended the stairs:\n\n\"Fallen asleep, found the time hang heavy--that's all! She might have\nbeen lively and laughed with us! Stupid race! 'Men of butter,' King\nPhilip says. That wild Lamperi was really impertinent to-night, and the\nabbe said things--things--\"\n\nThe old lady's large eyes were sparkling vinously, and her fan waved\nrapidly to and fro to cool the flush on her cheeks.\n\nShe now stood opposite to Henrica, called her, shook her and sprinkled\nher with perfumed water from the large shell, set in gold, which hung as\nan essence bottle from her belt. When her niece only muttered incoherent\nwords, she ordered the maid to bring her medicine-chest.\n\nDenise had gone and Fraulein Van Hoogstraten now perceived Henrica's\nletter, raised it close to her eyes, read page after page with increasing\nindignation, and at last tossed it on the floor and tried to shake her\nniece awake; but in vain.\n\nMeantime Belotti had been informed of Henrica's serious illness and, as\nhe liked the young girl, sent for a physician on his own responsibility,\nand instead of the family priest summoned Father Damianus. Then he went\nto the sick girl's chamber.\n\nEven before he crossed the threshold, the old lady in the utmost\nexcitement, exclaimed:\n\n\"Belotti, what do you say now, Belotti? Sickness in the house, perhaps\ncontagious sickness, perhaps the plague.\"\n\n\"It seems to be only a fever,\" replied the Italian soothingly. \"Come,\nDenise, we will carry the young lady to the bed.\n\n\"The doctor will soon be here.\"\n\n\"The doctor?\" cried the old lady, striking her fan on the marble top of\nthe table. \"Who permitted you, Belotti--\"\n\n\"We are Christians,\" interrupted the servant, not without dignity.\n\n\"Very well, very well,\" she cried. \"Do what you please, call whom you\nchoose, but Henrica can't stay here. Contagion in the house, the plague,\na black tablet.\"\n\n\"Excellenza is disturbing herself unnecessarily. Let us first hear what\nthe doctor says.\"\n\n\"I won't hear him; I can't bear the plague and the small-pox. Go down at\nonce, Belotti, and have the sedan-chair prepared. The old chevalier's\nroom in the rear building is empty.\"\n\n\"But, Excellenza, it's gloomy, and so damp that the north wall is covered\nwith mould.\"\n\n\"Then let it be aired and cleaned. What does this delay mean? You have\nonly to obey. Do you understand?\"\n\n\"The chevalier's room isn't fit for my mistress's sick niece,\" replied\nBelotti civilly, but resolutely.\n\n\"Isn't it? And you know exactly?\" asked his mistress scornfully. \"Go\ndown, Denise, and order the sedan-chair to be brought up. Have you\nanything more to say, Belotti?\"\n\n\"Yes, Padrona,\" replied the Italian, in a trembling voice. \"I beg your\nexcellenza to dismiss me.\"\n\n\"Dismiss you from my service?\"\n\n\"With your excellenza's permission, yes--from your service.\"\n\nThe old woman started, clasped her hands tightly upon her fan, and said:\n\n\"You are irritable, Belotti.\"\n\n\"No, Padrona, but I am old and dread the misfortune of being ill in this\nhouse.\"\n\nFraulein Van Hoogstraten shrugged her shoulders and turning to her maid,\ncried:\n\n\"The sedan-chair, Denise. You are dismissed, Belotti.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe night, on which sorrow and sickness had entered the Hoogstraten\nmansion, was followed by a beautiful morning. Holland again became\npleasant to the storks, that with a loud, joyous clatter flew clown into\nthe meadows on which the sun was shining. It was one of those days the\nend of April often bestows on men, as if to show them that they render\nher too little, her successor too much honor. April can boast that in her\nhouse is born the spring, whose vigor is only strengthened and beauty\ndeveloped by her blooming heir.\n\nIt was Sunday, and whoever on such a day, while the bells are ringing,\nwanders in Holland over sunny paths, through flowery meadows where\ncountless cattle, woolly cheep, and idle horses are grazing, meeting\npeasants in neat garments, peasant women with shining gold ornaments\nunder snow-white lace caps, citizens in gay attire and children released\nfrom school, can easily fancy that even nature wears a holiday garb and\nglitters in brighter green, more brilliant blue, and more varied\nornaments of flowers than on work-days.\n\nA joyous Sunday mood doubtless filled the minds of the burghers, who\nto-day were out of doors on foot, in large over-crowded wooden wagons, or\ngaily-painted boats on the Rhine, to enjoy the leisure hours of the day\nof rest, eat country bread, yellow butter, and fresh cheese, or drink\nmilk and cool beer, with their wives and children.\n\nThe organist, Wilhelm, had long since finished playing in the church, but\ndid not wander out into the fields with companions of his own age, for he\nliked to use such days for longer excursions, in which walking was out of\nthe question.\n\nThey bore him on the wings of the wind over his native plains, through\nthe mountains and valleys of Germany, across the Alps to Italy. A spot\npropitious for such forgetfulness of the present and his daily\nsurroundings, in favor of the past and a distant land, was ready. His\nbrothers, Ulrich and Johannes, also musicians, but who recognized\nWilhelm's superior talent without envy and helped him develop it, had\narranged for him, during his stay in Italy, a prettily-furnished room in\nthe narrow side of the pointed roof of the house, from which a broad door\nled to a little balcony. Here stood a wooden bench on which Wilhelm liked\nto sit, watching the flight of his doves, gazing dreamily into the\ndistance or, when inclined to artistic creation, listening to the\nmelodies that echoed in his soul.\n\nThis highest part of the house afforded a beautiful prospect; the view\nwas almost as extensive as the one from the top of the citadel, the old\nRoman tower situated in the midst of Leyden. Like a spider in its web,\nWilhelm's native city lay in the midst of countless streams and canals\nthat intersected the meadows. The red brick masonry of the city wall,\nwith its towers and bastions, washed by a dark strip of water, encircled\nthe pretty place as a diadem surrounds a young girl's head; and like a\nchaplet of loosely-bound thorns, forts and redoubts extended in wider,\nfrequently broken circles around the walls. The citizens' herds of cattle\ngrazed between the defensive fortifications and the city wall, while\nbeside and beyond them appeared villages and hamlets.\n\nOn this clear April day, looking towards the north, Haarlem lake was\nvisible, and on the west, beyond the leafy coronals of the Hague woods,\nmust be the downs which nature had reared for the protection of the\ncountry against the assaults of the waves. Their long chain of hillocks\noffered a firmer and more unconquerable resistance to the pressure of the\nsea, than the earthworks and redoubts of Alfen, Leyderdorp and\nValkenburg, the three forts situated close to the banks of the Rhine,\npresented to hostile armies. The Rhine! Wilhelm gazed down at the\nshallow, sluggish river, and compared it to a king deposed from his\nthrone, who has lost power and splendor and now kindly endeavors to\ndispense benefits in little circles with the property that remains. The\nmusician was familiar with the noble, undivided German Rhine; and often\nfollowed it in imagination towards the south but more often still his\ndreams conveyed him with a mighty leap to Lake Lugano, the pearl of the\nWestern Alps, and when he thought of it and the Mediterranean, beheld\nrising before his mental vision emerald green, azure blue, and golden\nlight; and in such hours all his thoughts were transformed within his\nbreast into harmonies and exquisite music.\n\nAnd his journey from Lugano to Milan! The conveyance that bore him to\nLeonardo's city was plain and overcrowded, but in it he had found\nIsabella. And Rome, Rome, eternal, never-to-be-forgotten Rome, where so\nlong as we dwell there, we grow out of ourselves, increase in strength\nand intellectual power, and which makes us wretched with longing when it\nlies behind us.\n\nBy the Tiber Wilhelm had first thoroughly learned what art, his glorious\nart was; here, near Isabella, a new world had opened to him, but a sharp\nfrost had passed over the blossoms of his heart that had unfolded in\nRome, and he knew they were blighted and could bear no fruit--yet to-day\nhe succeeded in recalling her in her youthful beauty, and instead of the\nlost love, thinking of the kind friend Isabella and dreaming of a sky\nblue as turquoise, of slender columns and bubbling fountains, olive\ngroves and marble statues, cool churches and gleaming villas, sparkling\neyes and fiery wine, magnificent choirs and Isabella's singing.\n\nThe doves that cooed and clucked, flew away and returned to the cote\nbeside him, could now do as they chose, their guardian neither saw nor\nheard them.\n\nAllertssohn, the fencing-master, ascended the ladder to his watch-tower,\nbut he did not notice him until he stood on the balcony by his side,\ngreeting him with his deep voice.\n\n\"Where have we been, Herr Wilhelm?\" asked the old man. \"In this\ncloth-weaving Leyden? No! Probably with the goddess of music on Olympus,\nif she has her abode there.\"\n\n\"Rightly guessed,\" replied Wilhelm, pushing the hair back from his\nforehead with both hands. \"I have been visiting her, and she sends you a\nfriendly greeting.\"\n\n\"Then offer one from me in return,\" replied the other, \"but she usually\nbelongs to the least familiar of my acquaintances. My throat is better\nsuited to drinking than singing. Will you allow me?\"\n\nThe fencing-master raised the jug of beer which Wilhelm's mother filled\nfreshly every day and placed in her darling's room, and took a long pull.\nThen wiping his moustache, he said:\n\nThat did me good, and I needed it. The men wanted to go out pleasuring\nand omit their drill, but we forced them to go through it, Junker von\nWarmond, Duivenvoorde and I. Who knows how soon it may be necessary to\nshow what we can do. Roland, my fore man, such imprudence is like a\ncudgel, against which one can do nothing with Florentine rapiers, clever\ntierce and quarto. My wheat is destroyed by the hail.\"\n\n\"Then let it he, and see if the barley and clover don't do better,\"\nreplied Wilhelm gaily, tossing vetches and grains of wheat to a large\ndove that had alighted on the parapet of his tower.\n\n\"It eats, and what use is it?\" cried Allertssohn, looking at the dove.\n\"Herr von Warmond, a young man after God's own heart, has just brought me\ntwo falcons; do you want to see bow I tame them?\"\n\n\"No, Captain, I have enough to do with my music and my doves.\"\n\n\"That is your affair. The long-necked one yonder is a queer-looking\nfellow.\"\n\n\"And of what country is he probably a native? There he goes to join the\nothers. Watch him a little while and then answer me.\"\n\n\"Ask King Soloman that; he was on intimate terms with birds.\"\n\n\"Only watch him, you'll find out presently.\"\n\n\"The fellow has a stiff neck, and holds his head unusually high.\"\n\n\"And his beak?\"\n\n\"Curved, almost like a hawk's! Zounds, why does the creature strut about\nwith its toes so far apart? Stop, bandit! He'll peck that little dove to\ndeath. As true as I live, the saucy rascal must be a Spaniard!\"\n\n\"Right, it is a Spanish dove. It flew to me, but I can't endure it and\ndrive it away; for I keep only a few pairs of the same breed and try to\nget the best birds possible. Whoever raises many different kinds in the\nsame cote, will accomplish nothing.\"\n\n\"That gives food for thought. But I believe you haven't chosen the\nhandsomest species.\"\n\n\"No, sir. What you see are a cross between the carrier and tumblers, the\nAntwerp breed of carrier pigeons. Bluish, reddish, spotted birds. I don't\ncare for the colors, but they must have small bodies and large wings,\nwith broad quills on their flag-feathers, and above all ample muscular\nstrength. The one yonder stop, I'll catch him--is one of my best flyers.\nTry to lift his pinions.\"\n\n\"Heaven knows the little thing has marrow in its bones! How the tiny wing\npinches; the falcons are not much stronger.\"\n\n\"It's a carrier-dove too, that finds its way alone.\"\n\n\"Why do you keep no white tumblers? I should think they could be watched\nfarthest in their flight.\"\n\n\"Because doves fare like men. Whoever shines very brightly and is seen\nfrom a distance, is set upon by opponents and envious people, and birds\nof prey pounce upon the white doves first. I tell you, Captain, whoever\nhas eyes in his head, can learn in a dove-cote how things come to pass\namong Adam and Eve's posterity on earth.\"\n\n\"There is quarrelling and kissing up here just as there is in Leyden.\"\n\n\"Yes, exactly the same, Captain. If I mate an old dove with one much\nyounger, it rarely turns out well. When the male dove is in love, he\nunderstands how to pay his fair one as many attentions, as the most\nelegant gallant shows the mistress of his heart. And do you know what the\nkissing means? The suitor feeds his darling, that is, seeks to win her\naffection by beautiful gifts. Then the wedding comes, and they build a\nnest. If there are young birds, they feed them together in perfect\nharmony. The aristocratic doves brood badly, and we put their eggs under\nbirds of more ordinary breed.\"\n\n\"Those are the noble ladies, who have nurses for their infants.\"\n\n\"Unmated doves often make mischief among the mated ones.\"\n\n\"Take warning, young man, and beware of being a bachelor. I'll say\nnothing against the girls who remain unmarried, for I have found among\nthem many sweet, helpful souls.\"\n\n\"So have I, but unfortunately some bad ones too, as well as here in the\ndove-tote. On the whole my wards lead happy married lives, but if it\ncomes to a separation--\"\n\n\"Which of the two is to blame?\"\n\n\"Nine times out of ten the little wife.\"\n\n\"Roland, my fore man, exactly as it is among human beings,\" cried the\nfencing-master, clapping his hands.\n\n\"What do you mean by your Roland, Herr Allerts? You promised me a short\ntime ago--but who is coming up the ladder?\"\n\n\"I hear your mother.\"\n\n\"She is bringing me a visitor. I know that voice and yet. Wait. It's old\nFraulein Van Hoogstraten's steward.\"\n\n\"From Nobelstrasse? Let me go, Wilhelm, for this Glipper crew--\"\n\n\"Wait a little while, there is only room for one on the ladder,\" said the\nmusician, holding out his hand to Belotti to guide him from the last rung\ninto his room.\n\n\"Spaniards and the allies of Spain,\" muttered the fencing-master, opened\nthe door, and called while descending the ladder: \"I'll wait down below\ntill the air is pure again.\"\n\nThe steward's handsome face, usually smoothly shaven with the most\nextreme care, was to-day covered with a stubbly beard, and the old man\nlooked sad and worn, as he began to tell Wilhelm what had occurred in his\nmistress's house since the evening of the day before.\n\n\"Years may make a hot-tempered person weaker, but not calmer,\" said the\nItalian, continuing his story. \"I can't look on and see the poor angel,\nfor she isn't far from the Virgin's throne, treated like a sick dog that\nis flung out into the court-yard, so I got my discharge.\"\n\n\"That does you honor, but was rather out of place just now. And has the\nyoung lady really been carried to the damp room?\"\n\n\"No, sir. Father Damianus came and made the old excellenza understand\nwhat the holy Virgin expected of a Christian, and when the padrona still\ntried to carry out her will, the holy man spoke to her in words so harsh\nand stern that she yielded. The signorina is now lying in bed with\nburning cheeks, raving in delirium.\"\n\n\"And who is attending the patient?\"\n\n\"I came to you about the physician, my dear sir, for Doctor de Bout, who\ninstantly obeyed my summons, was treated so badly by the old excellenza,\nthat he turned his back upon her and told me, at the door of the house,\nhe wouldn't come again.\"\n\nWilhelm shook his head, and the Italian continued, \"There are other\ndoctors in Leyden, but Father Damianus says de Bont or Bontius, as they\ncall him, is the most skilful and learned of them all, and as the old\nexcellenza herself had an attack of illness about noon, and certainly\nwon't leave her bed very speedily, the way is open, and Father Damianus\nsays he'll go to Doctor Bontius himself if necessary. But as you are a\nnative of the city and acquainted with the signorina, I wanted to spare\nhim the rebuff he would probably meet from the foe of our holy Church.\nThe poor man has enough to suffer from good-for-nothing boys and\nscoffers, when he goes through the city with the sacrament.\"\n\n\"You know people are strictly forbidden to disturb him in the exercise of\nhis calling.\"\n\n\"Yet he can't show himself in the street without being jeered. We two\ncannot change the world, sir. So long as the Church had the upper hand,\nshe burned and quartered you, now you have the power here, our priests\nare persecuted and scorned.\"\n\n\"Against the law and the orders of the magistrates.\"\n\n\"You can't control the people, and Father Damianus is a lamb, who bears\neverything patiently, as good a Christian as many saints before whom we\nburn candles. Do you know the doctor?\"\n\n\"A little, by sight.\"\n\n\"Oh, then go to him, sir, for the young lady's sake,\" cried the old man\nearnestly. \"It is in your power to save a human life, a beautiful young\nlife.\"\n\nThe steward's eyes glittered with tears. As Wilhelm laid his hand on his\narm, saying kindly: \"I will try,\" the fencing-master called: \"Your\ncouncil is lasting too long for me. I'll come another time.\"\n\n\"No, Meister, come up a minute, This gentleman is here on account of a\npoor sick girl. The poor, helpless creature is now lying without any\ncare, for her aunt, old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten, has driven Doctor de\nBont from her bed because he is a Calvinist.\"\n\n\"From the sick girl's bed?\"\n\n\"It's abominable enough, but the old lady is now ill herself.\"\n\n\"Bravo, bravo!\" cried the fencing-master, clapping his hands. \"If the\ndevil himself isn't afraid of her and wants to fetch her, I'll pay for\nhis post-horses. But the girl, the sick girl?\"\n\n\"Herr Belotti begs me to persuade de Bont to visit her again. Are you on\nfriendly terms with the doctor?\"\n\n\"I was, Wilhelm, I was; but--last Friday we had some sharp words about\nthe new morions, and now the learned demi-god demands an apology from me,\nbut to sound a retreat isn't written here--\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear sir,\" cried Belotti, with touching earnestness. \"The poor\nchild is lying helpless in a raging fever. If Heaven has blessed you with\nchildren--\"\n\n\"Be calm, old man, be calm,\" replied the fencing master, stroking\nBelotti's grey hair kindly. \"My children are nothing to you, but we'll do\nwhat we can for the young girl. Farewell till we meet again, gentlemen.\nRoland, my fore man, what shall we live to see! Hemp is still cheap in\nHolland, and yet such a monster has lived amongst us to be as old as a\nraven.\"\n\nWith these words he went down the ladder. On reaching the street, he\npondered over the words in which he should apologize to Doctor Bontius,\nwith a face as sour as if he had wormwood in his mouth; but his eyes and\nbearded lips smiled.\n\nHis learned friend made the apology easy for him, and when Belotti came\nhome, he found the doctor by the sick girl's bed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nFrau Elizabeth von Nordwyk and Frau Van Bout had each asked the\nburgomaster's wife to go into the country with them to enjoy the\nbeautiful spring day, but in spite of Barbara's persuasions, Maria could\nnot be induced to accept their invitation.\n\nA week had elapsed since her husband's departure, a week whose days had\nrun their course from morning to evening as slowly as the brackish water\nin one of the canals, intersecting the meadows of Holland, flowed towards\nthe river.\n\nSleep loves the couches of youth, and had again found hers, but with the\nrising of the sun the dissatisfaction, anxiety and secret grief, that\nslumber had kindly interrupted, once more returned. She felt that it was\nnot right, and her father would have blamed her if he had seen her thus.\n\nThere are women who are ashamed of rosy cheeks, unrestrained joy in life,\nto whom the emotion of sorrow affords a mournful pleasure. To this class\nMaria certainly did not belong. She would fain have been happy, and left\nuntried no means of regaining the lost joy of her heart. Honestly\nstriving to do her duty, she returned to little Bessie; but the child was\nrapidly recovering and called for Barbara, Adrian or Trautchen, as soon\nas she was left alone with her.\n\nShe tried to read, but the few books she had brought from Delft were all\nfamiliar, and her thoughts, ere becoming fixed on the old volumes,\npursued their own course.\n\nWilhelm brought her the new motet, and she endeavored to sing it; but\nmusic demands whole hearts from those who desire to enjoy her gifts, and\ntherefore melody and song refused comfort as well as pleasure to her,\nwhose mind was engrossed by wholly different things. If she helped Adrian\nin his work, her patience failed much sooner than usual. On the first\nmarket-day, she went out with Trautchen to obey her husband's directions\nand make purchases and, while shopping at the various places where\ndifferent wares were offered--here fish, yonder meat or vegetables, amid\nthe motley crowd, hailed on every side by cries of: \"Here, Frau\nBurgermeisterin! I have what you want, Frau Burgermeisterin!\" forgot the\nsorrow that oppressed her.\n\nWith newly-animated self-reliance, she examined flour, pulse and dried\nfish, making it a point of honor to bargain carefully; Barbara should see\nthat she knew how to buy. The crowd was very great everywhere, for the\ncity magistrates had issued a proclamation bidding every household, in\nview of the threatened danger, to supply itself abundantly with\nprovisions on all the market-days; but the purchasers made way for the\nburgomaster's pretty young wife, and this too pleased her.\n\nShe returned home with a bright face, happy in having done her best, and\ninstantly went into the kitchen to see Barbara.\n\nPeter's good-natured sister had plainly perceived how sorely her young\nsister-in-law's heart was troubled, and therefore gladly saw her go out\nto make her purchases. Choosing and bargaining would surely dispel her\nsorrows and bring other thoughts. True, the cautious house-keeper, who\nexpected everything good from Maria except the capacity of showing\nherself an able, clever mistress of the house, had charged Trautchen to\nwarn her mistress against being cheated. But when in market the demand is\ntwo or three times greater than the supply, prices rise, and so it\nhappened that when Maria told the widow how much she had paid for this or\nthat article, Barbara's \"My child, that's perfectly unheard--of!\" or,\n\"It's enough to drive us to beggary,\" followed each other in quick\nsuccession.\n\nThese exclamations, which under the circumstances were usually entirely\nunjustifiable, vexed Maria; but she wished to be at peace with her\nsister-in-law, and though it was hard to bear injustice, it was contrary\nto her nature and would have caused her pain to express her indignation\nin violent words. So she merely said with a little excitement:\n\n\"Please ask what other ladies are paying, and then Scold, if you think it\nright.\"\n\nWith these words she left the kitchen.\n\n\"My child, I'm not scolding at all,\" Barbara called after her, but Maria\nwould not hear, hastily ascended the stairs and locked herself into her\nroom. Her joyousness had again vanished.\n\nOn Sunday she went to church. After dinner she filled a canvas-bag with\nprovisions for Adrian, who was going on a boating excursion with several\nfriends, and then sat at the window in her chamber.\n\nStately men, among them many members of the council, passed by with their\ngaily-dressed wives and children; young girls with flowers in their\nbosoms moved arm in arm, by twos and threes, along the footpath beside\nthe canal, to dance in the village outside the Zyl-Gate. They walked\nquietly forward with eyes discreetly downcast, but many a cheek flushed\nand many an ill-suppressed smile hovered around rosy lips, when the\nyouths, who followed the girls moving so decorously along, as gaily and\nswiftly as sea-gulls flutter around a ship, uttered teasing jests, or\nwhispered into their ears words that no third party need hear.\n\nAll who were going towards the Zyl-Gate seemed gay and careless, every\nface showed what joyous hours in the open air and sunny meadows were\nanticipated. The object that attracted them appeared beautiful and\ndesirable to Maria also, but what should she do among the happy, how\ncould she be alone amid strangers with her troubled heart? The shadows of\nthe houses seemed especially dark to-day, the air of the city heavier\nthan usual, as if the spring had come to every human being, great and\nsmall, old and young, except herself.\n\nThe buildings and the trees that bordered the Achtergracht were already\ncasting longer shadows, and the golden mists hovering over the roofs\nbegan to be mingled with a faint rosy light, when Maria heard a horseman\ntrotting up the street. She drew herself up rigidly and her heart\nthrobbed violently. She would not receive Peter any differently from\nusual, she must be frank to him and show him how she felt, and that\nmatters could not go on so, nay she was already trying to find fitting\nwords for what she had to say to him. Just at that moment, the horse\nstopped before the door. She went to the window; saw her husband swing\nhimself from the saddle and look joyously up to the window of her room\nand, though she made no sign of greeting, her heart drew her towards him.\nEvery thought, every fancy was forgotten, and with winged steps she flew\ndown the corridor to the stairs. Meantime he had entered, and she called\nhis name. \"Maria, child, are you there!\" he shouted, rushed up the steps\nas nimbly as a youth, met her on one of the upper stairs and drew her\nwith overflowing tenderness to his heart.\n\n\"At last, at last, I have you again!\" he cried joyously, pressing his\nlips to her eyes and her fragrant hair. She had clasped her hands closely\naround his neck, but he released himself, held them in his, and asked:\n\"Are Barbara and Adrian at home?\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\nThe burgomaster laughed, stooped, lifted her up like a child, and carried\nher into his room. As a beautiful tree beside a burning house is seized\nby the neighboring flames, although immediately protected with cold\nwater, Maria, in spite of her long-cherished resolve to receive him\ncoolly, was overwhelmed by the warmth of her husband's feelings. She\ncordially rejoiced in having him once more, and willingly believed him,\nas he told her in loving words how painfully he had felt their\nseparation, how sorely he had missed her, and how distinctly he, who\nusually lacked the ability to remember an absent person, had had her\nimage before his eyes.\n\nHow warmly, with what convincing tones he understood how to give\nexpression to his love to-day! She was still a happy wife, and showed him\nthat she was without reserve.\n\nBarbara and Adrian returned home, and there was now much to tell at the\nevening meal. Peter had had many a strange experience on the journey, and\ngained fresh hope, the boy had distinguished himself at school, and\nBessie's sickness might already be called a danger happily overcome.\nBarbara was radiant with joy, for all seemed well between Maria and her\nbrother.\n\nThe beautiful April night passed pleasantly away. When Maria was braiding\nblack velvet into her hair the next morning, she was full of grateful\nemotion, for she had found courage to tell Peter that she desired to have\na larger share in his anxieties than before, and received a kind assent.\nA worthier, richer life, she hoped, would now begin. He was to tell her\nthis very day what he had discussed and accomplished with the Prince and\nat Dortrecht, for hitherto no word of all this had escaped his lips.\n\nBarbara, who was moving about in the kitchen and just on the point of\ncatching three chickens to kill them, let them live a little longer, and\neven tossed half a handful of barley into their coop, as she heard her\nsister-in-law come singing down-stairs. The broken bars of Wilhelm's last\nmadrigal sounded as sweet and full of promise as the first notes of the\nnightingale, which the gardener hears at the end of a long winter. It was\nspring again in the house, and her pleasant round face, in its large cap,\nlooked as bright and unclouded as a sunflower amid its green leaves, as\nshe called to Maria:\n\n\"This is a good day for you, child; we'll melt down the butter and salt\nthe hams.\"\n\nThe words sounded as joyous as if she had offered her an invitation to\nParadise, and Maria willingly helped in the work, which began at once.\nWhen the widow moved her hands, tongues could not remain silent, and the\nconversation that had probably taken place between Peter and his wife\nexcited her curiosity not a little.\n\nShe turned the conversation upon him cleverly enough, and, as if\naccidentally, asked the question:\n\n\"Did he apologize for his departure on the anniversary of your\nwedding-day?\"\n\n\"I know the reason; he could not stay.\"\n\n\"Of course not, of course not; but whoever is green the goats eat. We\nmustn't allow the men to go too far. Give, but take also. An injustice\nendured is a florin, for which in marriage a calf can be bought.\"\n\n\"I will not bargain with Peter, and if anything weighed heavily on my\nmind, I have willingly forgotten it after so long a separation.\"\n\n\"Wet hay may destroy a barn, and any one to whom the hare runs can catch\nhim! People ought not to keep their troubles to themselves, but tell\nthem; that's why they have tongues, and yesterday was the right time to\nmake a clean breast of everything that grieves you.\"\n\n\"He was in such a joyous mood when he came home, and then: Why do you\nthink I feel unhappy?\"\n\n\"Unhappy. Who said so?\"\n\nMaria blushed, but the widow seized the knife and opened the hen-coop.\n\nTrautchen was helping the two ladies in the kitchen, but she was\nfrequently interrupted in her work, for this morning the knocker on the\ndoor had no rest, and those who entered must have brought the burgomaster\nno pleasant news, for his deep, angry voice was often audible.\n\nHis longest discussion was with Herr Van Hout, who had come to him, not\nonly to ask questions and tell what occurred, but also to make\ncomplaints.\n\nIt was no ordinary spectacle, when these two men, who, towering far above\ntheir fellow-citizens, not only in stature, but moral earnestness and\nenthusiastic devotion to the cause of liberty, declared their opinions\nand expressed their wrath. The inflammable, restless Van Hout took the\nfirst part, the slow, steadfast Van der Werff, with mighty\nimpressiveness, the second.\n\nA bad disposition ruled among the fathers of the city, the rich men of\nold families, the great weavers and brewers, for to them property, life\nand consideration were more than religion and liberty, while the poor\nmen, who laboriously supported their families by the sweat of their\nbrows, were joyously determined to sacrifice money and blood for the good\ncause.\n\nThere was obstacle after obstacle to conquer. The scaffolds and barns,\nframes and all other wood-work that could serve to conceal a man, were to\nbe levelled to the earth, as all the country-houses and other buildings\nnear the city had formerly been. Much newly-erected woodwork was already\nremoved, but the rich longest resisted having the axe put to theirs. New\nearthworks had been commenced at the important fort of Valkenburg; but\npart of the land, where the workmen were obliged to dig, belonged to a\nbrewer, who demanded a large sum in compensation for his damaged meadow.\nWhen the siege was raised in March, paper-money was restored, round\npieces of pasteboard, one side of which bore the Netherland lion, with\nthe inscription, \"Haec libertatis ergo,\" while the other had the\ncoat-of-arms of the city and the motto \"God guard Leyden.\" These were\nintended to be exchanged for coin or provisions, but rich speculators had\nobtained possession of many pieces, and were trying to raise their value.\nDemands of every kind pressed upon him, and amid all these claims the\nburgomaster was also compelled to think of his own affairs, for all\nintercourse with the outside world would soon be cut off, and it was\nnecessary to settle many things with the representative of his business\nin Hamburg. Great losses were threatening, but he left no means untried\nto secure for his family what might yet be saved.\n\nHe rarely saw wife or children; yet thought he was fulfilling the promise\nMaria had obtained from him the evening after his return, when he briefly\nanswered her questions or voluntarily gave her such sentences as \"There\nwas warm work at the town-hall to-day!\" or, \"It is more difficult to\ncirculate the paper-money than we expected!\" He did not feel the kindly\nnecessity of having a confidante and expressing his feelings, and his\nfirst wife had been perfectly contented and happy, if he sat silently\nbeside her during quiet hours, called her his treasure, petted the\nchildren, or even praised her cracknels and Sunday roast. Business and\npublic affairs had been his concern, the kitchen and nursery hers. What\nthey had shared, was the consciousness of the love one felt for the\nother, their children, the distinction, honors and possessions of the\nhousehold.\n\nMaria asked more and he was ready to grant it, but when in the evening\nshe pressed the wearied man with questions he was accustomed to hear only\nfrom the lips of men, he put her off for the answers till less busy\ntimes, or fell asleep in the midst of her inquiries.\n\nShe saw how many burdens oppressed him, how unweariedly he toiled--but\nwhy did he not move a portion of the load to other shoulders?\n\nOnce, during the beautiful spring weather, he went out with her into the\ncountry. She seized upon the opportunity to represent that it was his\nduty to himself and her to gain more rest.\n\nHe listened patiently, and when she had finished her entreaty and\nwarnings, took her hand in his, saying:\n\n\"You have met Herr Marnix von St. Aldegonde and know what the cause of\nliberty owes him. Do you know his motto?\"\n\nShe nodded and answered softly: \"Repos ailleurs.\"\n\n\"Where else can we rest,\" he repeated firmly.\n\nA slight shiver ran through her limbs, and as she withdrew her hands, she\ncould not help thinking: \"Where else;-so not here. Rest and happiness\nhave no home here.\" She did not utter the words, but could not drive them\nfrom her mind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nDuring these May days the Hoogstraten mansion was the quietest of all the\nhouses in quiet Nobelstrasse. By the orders of Doctor Bontius and the\nsick lady's attorney, a mixture of straw and sand lay on the cause-way\nbefore it. The windows were closely curtained, and a piece of felt hung\nbetween the door and the knocker. The door was ajar, but a servant sat\nclose behind it to answer those who sought admission.\n\nOn a morning early in May the musician, Wilhelm Corneliussohn, and Janus\nDousa turned the corner of Nobelstrasse. Both men were engaged in eager\nconversation, but as they approached the straw and sand, their voices\nbecame lower and then ceased entirely.\n\n\"The carpet we spread under the feet of the conqueror Death,\" said the\nnobleman. \"I hope he will lower the torch only once here and do honor to\nage, little worthy of respect as it may be. Don't stay too long in the\ninfected house, Herr Wilhelm.\"\n\nThe musician gently opened the door. The servant silently greeted him and\nturned towards the stairs to call Belotti; for the \"player-man\" had\nalready enquired more than once for the steward.\n\nWilhelm entered the little room where he usually waited, and for the\nfirst time found another visitor there, but in a somewhat peculiar\nattitude. Father Damianus sat bolt upright in an arm-chair, with his head\ndrooping on one side, sound asleep. The face of the priest, a man\napproaching his fortieth year, was as pink and white as a child's, and\nframed by a thin light-brown beard. A narrow circle of thin light hair\nsurrounded his large tonsure, and a heavy dark rosary of olive-wood beads\nhung from the sleeper's hands. A gentle, kindly smile hovered around his\nhalf-parted lips.\n\n\"This mild saint in long woman's robes doesn't look as if he could grasp\nanything strongly\" thought Wilhelm, \"yet his hands are callous and have\ntoiled hard.\"\n\nWhen Belotti entered the room and saw the sleeping priest, he carefully\npushed a pillow under his head and beckoned to Wilhelm to follow him into\nthe entry.\n\n\"We won't grudge him a little rest,\" said the Italian. \"He has sat beside\nthe padrona's bed from yesterday noon until two hours ago. Usually she\ndoesn't know what is going on around her, but as soon as consciousness\nreturns she wants religious consolation. She still refuses to take the\nsacrament for the dying, for she won't admit that she is approaching her\nend. Yet often, when the disease attacks her more sharply, she asks in\nmortal terror if everything is ready, for she is afraid to die without\nextreme unction.\"\n\n\"And how is Fraulein Henrica?\"\n\n\"A very little better.\"\n\nThe priest had now come out of the little room. Belotti reverently kissed\nhis hand and Wilhelm bowed respectfully.\n\n\"I had fallen asleep,\" said Damianus simply and naturally, but in a voice\nless deep and powerful than would have been expected from his broad\nbreast and tall figure. \"I will read the mass, visit my sick, and then\nreturn. Have you thought better of it, Belotti?\"\n\n\"It won't do sir, the Virgin knows it won't do. My dismissal was given\nfor the first of May, this is the eighth, and yet I'm still here--I\nhaven't left the house because I'm a Christian! Now the ladies have a\ngood physician, Sister Gonzaga is doing her duty, you yourself will earn\nby your nursing a place among the martyrs in Paradise, so, without making\nmyself guilty of a sin, I can tie up my bundle.\"\n\n\"You will not go, Belotti,\" said the priest firmly. \"If you still insist\non having your own way, at least do not call yourself a Christian.\"\n\n\"You will stay,\" cried Wilhelm, \"if only for the sake of the young lady,\nto whom you still feel kindly.\" Belotti shook his head, and answered\nquietly:\n\n\"You can add nothing, young sir, to what the holy Father represented to\nme yesterday. But my mind is made up, I shall go; yet as I value the holy\nFather's good opinion and yours, I beg you to do me the favor to listen\nto me. I have passed my sixty-second birthday, and an old horse or an old\nservant stands a long time in the market-place before any one will buy\nthem. There might probably be a place in Brussels for a Catholic steward,\nwho understands his business, but this old heart longs to return to\nNaples--ardently, ardently, unutterably. You have seen our blue sea and\nour sky, young sir, and I yearn for them, but even more for other,\nsmaller things. It now seems a joy that I can speak in my native language\nto you, Herr Wilhelm, and you, holy Father. But there is a country where\nevery one uses the same tongue that I do. There is a little village at\nthe foot of Vesuvius--merciful Heavens! Many a person would be afraid to\nstay there, even half an hour, when the mountain quakes, the ashes fall\nin showers, and the glowing lava pours out in a stream. The houses there\nare by no means so well built, and the window-panes are not so clean as\nin this country. I almost fear that there are few glass windows in\nResina, but the children don't freeze, any more than they do here. What\nwould a Leyden house-keeper say to our village streets? Poles with vines,\nboughs of fig-trees, and all sorts of under-clothing on the roofs, at the\nwindows, and the crooked, sloping balconies; orange and lemon-trees with\ngolden fruit grow in the little gardens, which have neither straight\npaths nor symmetrical beds. Everything there grows together topsy-turvy.\nThe boys, who in rags that no tailor has darned or mended, clamber over\nthe white vineyard walls, the little girls, whose mothers comb their hair\nbefore the doors of the houses, are not so pink and white, nor so nicely\nwashed as the Holland children, but I should like to see again the\nbrown-skinned, black-haired little ones with the dark eyes, and end my\ndays amid all the clatter in the warm air, among my nephews, nieces and\nblood-relations.\"\n\nAs he uttered these words, the old man's features had flushed and his\nblack eyes sparkled with a fire, that but a short time before the\nnorthern air and his long years of servitude seemed to have extinguished.\nSince neither the priest nor the musician answered immediately, he\ncontinued more quietly:\n\n\"Monseigneur Gloria is going to Italy now, and I can accompany him to\nRome as courier. From thence I can easily reach Naples, and live there on\nthe interest of my savings free from care. My future master will leave on\nthe 15th, and on the 12th I must be in Antwerp, where I am to meet him.\"\n\nThe eyes of the priest and the musician met. Wilhelm lacked courage to\nseek to withhold the steward from carrying out his plan, but Damianus\nsummoned up his resolution, laid his hand on the old man's shoulder, and\nsaid:\n\n\"If you wait here a few weeks more, Belotti, you will find the true rest,\nthe peace of a good conscience. The crown of life is promised to those,\nwho are faithful, unto death. When these sad days are over, it will be\neasy to smooth the way to your home. We shall meet again towards noon,\nBelotti. If my assistance is necessary, send for me; old Ambrosius knows\nwhere to find me. May God's blessing rest upon you, and if you will\naccept it from me, on you also, Meister Wilhelm.\"\n\nAfter the priest had left the house, Belotti said, sighing:\n\n\"He'll yet force me to yield to his will. He abuses his power over souls.\nI'm no saint, and what he asks of me--\"\n\n\"Is right,\" said Wilhelm firmly.\n\n\"But you don't know what it is to throw away, like a pair of worn-out\nshoes, the dearest hope of a long, sad life. And for whom, I ask you, for\nwhom? Do you know my padrona? Oh! sir, I have experienced in this house\nthings, which your youth does not dream could be possible. The young lady\nhas wounded you. Am I right or wrong?\"\n\n\"You are mistaken, Belotti.\"\n\n\"Really? I am glad for your sake, you are a modest artist, but the\nsignorina bears the Hoogstraten name, and that is saying everything. Do\nyou know her father?\"\n\n\"No, Belotti.\"\n\n\"That's a race-a race! Have you never heard anything of the story of our\nsignorina's older sister?\"\n\n\"Has Henrica an older sister?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, and when I think of her.--Imagine the signorina, exactly like\nour signorina, only taller, more stately, more beautiful.\"\n\n\"Isabella!\" exclaimed the musician. A conjecture, which had been aroused\nsince his conversation with Henrica, appeared to be confirmed; he seized\nthe steward's arm so suddenly and unexpectedly, that the latter drew\nback, and continued eagerly: \"What do you know of her? I beseech you,\nBelotti, tell me all.\"\n\nThe servant looked up the stairs, then shaking his head, answered:\n\n\"You are probably mistaken. There has never been an Isabella in this\nhouse to my knowledge, but I will gladly place myself at your service.\nCome again after sunset, but you must expect to hear no pleasant tale.\"\n\nTwilight had scarcely yielded to darkness, when the musician again\nentered the Hoogstraten mansion. The little room was empty, but Belotti\ndid not keep him waiting long.\n\nThe old man placed a dainty little waiter, bearing a jug of wine and a\ngoblet, on the table beside the lamp and, after informing Wilhelm of the\ninvalids' condition, courteously offered him a chair. When the musician\nasked him why he had not brought a cup for himself too, he replied:\n\n\"I drink nothing but water, but allow me to take the liberty to sit down.\nThe servant who attends to the chambers has left the house, and I've done\nnothing but go up and down stairs all day. It tries my old legs, and we\ncan expect no quiet night.\"\n\nA single candle lighted the little room. Belotti, who had leaned far back\nin his chair, opened his clenched hands and slowly began:\n\n\"I spoke this morning of the Hoogstraten race. Children of the same\nparents, it is true, are often very unlike, but in your little country,\nwhich speaks its own language and has many things peculiar to itself--you\nwon't deny that--every old family has its special traits. I know, for I\nhave been in many a noble household in Holland. Every race has its own\npeculiar blood and ways. Even where--by your leave--there is a crack in\nthe brain, it rarely happens to only one member of a family. My mistress\nhas more of her French mother's nature. But I intended to speak only of\nthe signorina, and am wandering too far from my subject.\"\n\n\"No, Belotti, certainly not, we have plenty of time, and I shall be glad\nto listen to you, but first you must answer one question.\"\n\n\"Why, sir, how your cheeks glow! Did you meet the signorina in Italy?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so, Belotti.\"\n\n\"Why, of course, of course! Whoever has once seen her, doesn't easily\nforget. What is it you wish to know?\"\n\n\"First, the lady's name.\"\n\n\"Anna.\"\n\n\"And not Isabella also?\"\n\n\"No, sir, she was never called anything but Anna.\"\n\n\"And when did she leave Holland?\"\n\n\"Wait; it was--four years ago last Easter.\"\n\n\"Has she dark, brown or fair hair?\"\n\n\"I've said already that she looked just like Fraulein Henrica. But what\nlady might not have fair, brown or dark hair? I think we shall reach the\ngoal sooner, if you will let me ask a question now. Had the lady you mean\na large semi-circular scar just under the hair, exactly in the middle of\nher forehead?\"\n\n\"Enough,\" cried Wilhelm, rising hastily. \"She fell on one of her father's\nweapons when a child.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, sir, the handle of Junker Van Hoogstraten's weapon fell\non the forehead of his own daughter. How horrified you look! Oh! I have\nwitnessed worse things in this house. Now it is your turn again: In what\ncity of my home did you meet the signorina?\"\n\n\"In Rome, alone and under an assumed name. Isabella--a Holland girl! Pray\ngo on with your story, Belotti; I won't interrupt you again. What had the\nchild done, that her own father--\"\n\n\"He is the wildest of all the wild Hoogstratens. Perhaps you may have\nseen men like him in Italy--in this country you might seek long for such\na hurricane. You must not think him an evil-disposed man, but a word that\ngoes against the grain, a look askance will rob him of his senses, and\nthings are done which he repents as soon as they are over. The signorina\nreceived her scar in the same way. She was a mere child, and of course\nought not to have touched fire-arms, nevertheless she did whenever she\ncould, and once a pistol went off and the bullet struck one of the best\nhunting-dogs. Her father heard the report and, when he saw the animal\nlying on the ground and the pistol at the little girl's feet, he seized\nit and with the sharp-edged handle struck--\"\n\n\"A child, his own daughter!\" exclaimed Wilhelm indignantly.\n\n\"People are differently constituted,\" Belotti continued. \"Some, the class\nto which you probably belong, cautiously consider before they speak or\nact; the second reflect a long time and, when they are ready, pour forth\na great many words, but rarely act at all; while the third, and at their\nhead the Hoogstraten family, heap deeds on deeds, and if they ever think,\nit is only after the act is accomplished. If they then find that they\nhave committed an injustice, pride comes in and forbids them to confess,\natone for, or recall it. So one misfortune follows another; but the\ngentlemen pay no heed and find forgetfulness in drinking and gambling,\ncarousing and hunting. There are plenty of debts, but all anxiety\nconcerning them is left to the creditors, and boys who receive no\ninheritance are supplied with a place at court or in the army; for the\ngirls, thank God, there is no lack of convents, if they confess our holy\nreligion, and both have expectations from rich aunts and other blood\nrelations, who die without children.\"\n\n\"You paint in vivid colors.\"\n\nBut they are true, and they all suit the Junker; though to be sure he\nneed not keep his property for sons, since his wife gave him none. He met\nher at court in Brussels, and she came from Parma.\"\n\n\"Did you know her?\"\n\n\"She died before I came to the padrona's house. The two young ladies grew\nup without a mother. You have heard that their father would even attack\nthem, yet he doubtless loved them and would never resolve to place them\nin a convent. True, he often felt--at least he freely admitted it in\nconversations with her excellenza--that there were more suitable places\nfor young girls than his castle, where matters went badly enough, and so\nhe at last sent his oldest daughter to us. My mistress usually could not\nendure the society of young girls, but Fraulein Anna was one of her\nnearest relatives, and I know she invited her of her own accord. I can\nstill see in memory the signorina at sixteen; a sweeter creature, Herr\nWilhelm, my eyes have never beheld before or since, and yet she never\nremained the same. I have seen her as soft as Flemish velvet, but at\nother times she could rage like a November storm in your country. She was\nalways beautiful as a rose and, as her mother's old cameriera--she was a\nnative of Lugano--had brought her up, and the priest who taught her came\nfrom Pisa and was acknowledged to be an excellent musician, she spoke my\nlanguage like a child of Tuscany and was perfectly familiar with music.\nYou have doubtless heard her singing, her harp and lute-playing, but you\nshould know that all the ladies of the Hoogstraten family, with the\nexception of my mistress, possess a special talent for your art. In\nsummer we lived in the beautiful country-house, that was torn down before\nthe siege by your friends--with little justice I think. Many a stately\nguest rode out to visit us. We kept open house, and where there is a good\ntable and a beautiful young lady like our signorina, the gallants are not\nfar off. Among them was a very aristocratic gentleman of middle age, the\nMarquis d'Avennes, whom her excellenza had expressly invited. We had\nnever received any prince with so much attention; but this was a matter\nof course, for his mother was a relative of her excellenza. You must know\nthat my mistress; on her mother's side, is descended from a family in\nNormandy. The Marquis d'Avennes was certainly an elegant cavalier, but\nrather dainty than manly. He was soon madly in love with Fraulein Anna,\nand asked in due form for her hand. Her excellenza favored the match, and\nthe father said simply: 'You will take him!' He would listen to no\nopposition. Other gentlemen don't consult their daughters when a suitable\nlover appears. So the signorina became the marquis's betrothed wife, but\nthe padrona said firmly that her niece was too young to be married. She\ninduced Junker Van Hoogstraten, whom she held as firmly as a farrier\nholds a filly, to defer the wedding until Easter. The outfit was to be\nprovided during the winter. The condition that he must wait six months\nwas imposed on the marquis, and he went back to France with the ring on\nhis finger. His betrothed bride did not shed a single tear for him, and\nas soon as he had gone, flung the engagement ring into the jewel-cup on\nher dressing-table, before the eyes of the camariera, from whom I heard\nthe story. She did not venture to oppose her father, but did not hesitate\nto express her opinion of the marquis to her excellenza, and her aunt,\nthough she had favored the Frenchman's suit, allowed it. Yet there had\noften been fierce quarrels between the old and young lady, and if the\npadrona had had reason to clip the wild falcon's wings and teach her what\nis fitting for noble ladies, the signorina would have been justified in\ncomplaining of many an exaction, by which the padrona had spoiled her\npleasure in life. I am sorry to destroy the confidence of your youth, but\nwhoever grows grey, with his eyes open, will meet persons who rejoice,\nnay to whom it is a necessity to injure others. Yet it is a consolation,\nthat no one is wicked simply for the sake of wickedness, and I have often\nfound--how shall I express it?--that the worst impulses arise from the\nperversion, or even the excess of the noblest virtues, whose reverse or\ncaricature they become. I have seen base envy proceed from beautiful\nambition, contemptible avarice from honest emulation, fierce hate from\ntender love. My mistress, when she was young, knew how to love truly and\nfaithfully, but she was shamefully deceived, and now rancor, not against\nan individual, but against life, has taken possession of her, and her\nnoble loyalty has become tenacious adherence to bad wishes. How this has\nhappened you will learn, if you will continue to listen.\n\n\"When winter came, I was ordered to go to Brussel, and establish the new\nhousehold in splendid style. The ladies were to follow me. It was four\nyears ago. The Duke of Alva then lived as viceroy in Brussels, and this\nnobleman held my mistress in high esteem, nay had even twice paid us the\nhonor of a visit. His aristocratic officers also frequented our house,\namong them Don Luis d'Avila, a nobleman of ancient family, who was one of\nthe duke's favorites. Like the Marquis d'Avennes, he was no longer in his\nearly youth, but was a man of totally different stamp; tall, strong as if\nhammered from steel, a soldier of invincible strength and skill, a most\ndreaded seeker of quarrels, but a man whose glowing eyes and wonderful\ngift of song must have exerted a mysterious, bewitching power over women.\nDozens of adventures, in which he was said to have taken part, were told\nin the servant's hall and half of them had some foundation of truth, as I\nafterwards learned by experience. If you suppose this heart-breaker bore\nany resemblance to the gay, curly-haired minions of fortune, on whom\nyoung ladies lavish their love, you are mistaken; Don Luis was a grave\nman with close-cut hair, who never wore anything but dark clothes, and\neven carried a sword, whose hilt, instead of gold and silver, consisted\nof blackened metal. He resembled death much more than blooming love.\nPerhaps this very thing made him irresistible, since we are all born for\ndeath and no suitor is so sure of victory as he.\n\n\"The padrona had not been favorably disposed to him at first, but this\nmood soon changed, and at New Year's he too was admitted to small evening\nreceptions of intimate friends. He came whenever we invited him, but had\nno word, no look, scarcely a greeting for our young lady. Only when it\npleased the signorina to sing, he went near her and sharply criticised\nanything in her execution that chanced to displease him. He often sang\nhimself too, and then usually chose the same songs as Fraulein Anna, as\nif to surpass her by his superior skill.\n\n\"So things went on till the time of the carnival. On Shrove-Tuesday the\npadrona gave a large entertainment, and when I led the servants and stood\nbehind the signorina and Don Luis, to whom her excellenza had long been\nin the habit of assigning the seat beside her niece, I noticed that their\nhands met under the table and rested in each other's clasp a long time.\nMy heart was so full of anxiety, that it was very hard for me to keep the\nattention so necessary on that evening--and when the next morning, the\npadrona summoned me to settle the accounts, I thought it my duty to\nmodestly remark that Don Luis d'Avila's wooing did not seem disagreeable\nto the young lady in spite of her betrothal. She let me speak, but when I\nventured to repeat what people said of the Spaniard, angrily started up\nand showed me to the door. A faithful servant often hears and sees more\nthan his employers suspect, and I had the confidence of the padrona's\nfoster-sister, who is now dead; but at that time Susanna knew everything\nthat concerned her mistress.\n\n\"There was a bad prospect for the expectant bridegroom in France, for\nwhenever the padrona spoke of him, it was with a laugh we knew, and which\nboded no good; but she still wrote frequently to the marquis and his\nmother, and many a letter from Rochebrun reached our house. To be sure,\nher excellenza also gave Don Luis more than one secret audience.\n\n\"During Lent a messenger from Fraulein Van Hoogstraten's father arrived\nwith the news, that at Easter he, himself, would come to Brussels from\nHaarlem, and the marquis from Castle Rochebrun, and on Maundy Thursday I\nreceived orders to dress the private chapel with flowers, engage\nposthorses, and do several other things. On Good Friday, the day of our\nLord's crucifixion--I wish I were telling lies--early in the morning of\nGood Friday the signorina was dressed in all her bridal finery. Don Luis\nappeared clad in black, proud and gloomy as usual, and by candle-light,\nbefore sunrise on a cold, damp morning--it seems to me as if it were only\nyesterday--the Castilian was married to our young mistress. The padrona,\na Spanish officer and I were the witnesses. At seven o'clock the carriage\ndrove up, and after it was packed Don Luis handed me a little box to put\nin the vehicle. It was heavy and I knew it well; the padrona was in the\nhabit of keeping her gold coin in it. At Easter the whole city learned\nthat Don Luis d'Avila had eloped with the beautiful Anna Van Hoogstraten,\nafter killing her betrothed bridegroom in a duel on Maundy-Thursday at\nHals on his way to Brussels--scarcely twenty-four hours before the\nwedding.\n\n\"I shall never forget how Junker Van Hoogstraten raged. The padrona\nrefused to see him and pretended to be ill, but she was as well as only\nshe could be during these last few years.\"\n\n\"And do you know how to interpret your mistress's mysterious conduct?\"\nasked Wilhelm.\n\n\"Yes sir; her reasons are perfectly evident. But I must hasten, it is\ngrowing late; besides I cannot tell you minute particulars, for I was\nmyself a child when the event happened, though Susanna has told me many\nthings that would probably be worth relating. Her excellenza's mother was\na Chevreaux, and my mistress spent the best years of her life with her\nmother's sister, who during the winter lived in Paris. It was in the\nreign of the late King Francis, and you doubtless know that this great\nPrince was a very gallant gentleman, who was said to have broken as many\nhearts as lances. My padrona, who in those days was very beautiful,\nbelonged to the ladies of his court, and King Francis especially\ndistinguished her. But the young lady knew how to guard her honor, for\nshe had early found in the gallant Marquis d'Avennes a knight to whom she\nwas loyally devoted, and for whom she had wept bitterly many a night.\nLike master, like servant, and though the marquis had worn the young\nlady's color for years and rendered her every service of an obedient\nknight, his eyes and heart often wandered to the right and left. Yet he\nalways returned to his liege-lady, and when the sixth year came, the\nChevreaux's urged the marquis to put an end to his trifling and think of\nmarriage. My mistress began to make her preparations, and Susanna was a\nwitness of her consultation with the marquis about whether she would keep\nor sell the Holland estates and castles. But the wedding did not take\nplace, for the marquis was obliged to go to Italy with the army and her\nexcellenza lived in perpetual anxiety about him; at that time the French\nfared ill in my country, and he often left her whole months without news.\nAt last he returned and found in the Chevreaux's house his betrothed\nwife's little cousin, who had grown up into a charming young lady.\n\n\"You can imagine the rest. The rose-bud Hortense now pleased the marquis\nfar better than the Holland flower of five and twenty. The Chevreaux's\nwere aristocratic but deeply in debt, and the suitor, while fighting in\nItaly, had inherited the whole of his uncle's great estate, so they did\nnot suffer him to sue in vain. My mistress returned to Holland. Her\nfather challenged the marquis, but no blood was spilled in the duel, and\nMonsieur d'Avennes led a happy wedded life with Hortense de Chevreaux.\nHer son was the signorina's hapless lover. Do you understand, Herr\nWilhelm? She had nursed and fostered the old grudge for half a life time;\nfor its sake she had sacrificed her own kinswoman to Don Luis, but in\nreturn she repaid by the death of the only son of a hated mother, the\nsorrow she had suffered for years on her account.\"\n\nThe musician had clenched the handkerchief, with which he had wiped the\nperspiration from his brow, closely in his hand, and asked:\n\n\"What more have you heard of Anna?\"\n\n\"Very little,\" replied Belotti. \"Her father has torn her from his heart,\nand calls Henrica his only daughter. Happiness abandons those who are\nburdened by a father's curse, and she certainly did not find it. Don Luis\nis said to have been degraded to the rank of ensign on account of some\nwild escapades, and who knows what has become of the poor, beautiful\nsignorina. The padrona sometimes sent money to her in Italy, by way of\nFlorence, through Signor Lamperi--but I have heard nothing of her during\nthe last few months.\"\n\n\"One more question, Belotti,\" said Wilhelm, \"how could Henrica's father\ntrust her to your mistress, after what had befallen his older daughter in\nher house?\"\n\n\"Money--miserable money! To keep his castle and not lose his inheritance,\nhe resigned his child. Yes, sir, the signorina was bargained for, like a\nhorse, and her father didn't sell her cheap. Drink some wine, sir, you\nlook ill.\"\n\n\"It is nothing serious,\" said Wilhelm, \"but the fresh air will probably\ndo me good. Thanks for your story, Belotti.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Art ceases when ugliness begins\n     Debts, but all anxiety concerning them is left to the creditors\n     Despair and extravagant gayety ruled her nature by turns\n     Repos ailleurs\n     The best enjoyment in creating is had in anticipation\n     To whom the emotion of sorrow affords a mournful pleasure\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nOn the afternoon of the sixteenth of May, Burgomaster Van der Werff's\nwife was examining chests and boxes. Her husband was at the town-hall,\nbut had told her that towards evening, the Prince's commissioner, Herr\nDietrich Van Bronkhorst, the two Seigneurs von Nordwyk, the city clerk\nVan Hout, and several other heads of municipal affairs and friends of\nfreedom would meet at his house for a confidential consultation. Maria\nhad the charge of providing the gentlemen with a nice collation, wine,\nand many similar cares.\n\nThis invitation had a very cheering influence on the young wife. It\npleased her to be able to play the hostess, according to the meaning of\nthe word in her parents' house. How long she had been debarred from\nhearing any grave, earnest conversation. True, there had been no lack of\nvisitors: the friends and relatives of her husband's family, who called\nupon her and talked with Barbara, often begged her to come to their\nhouses; among them were many who showed themselves kindly disposed and\ncould not help respecting her worth, but not one to whom she was\nattracted by any warm affection. Maria, whose life was certainly not\ncrowded with amusements, dreaded their coming, and when they did call,\nendured their presence as an unavoidable evil. The worthy matrons were\nall much older than herself and, while sitting over their cakes, stewed\nfruit, and hippocras, knitting, spinning or netting, talked of the hard\ntimes during the siege, of the cares of children and servants, washing\nand soap-making, or subjected to a rigid scrutiny the numerous\nincomprehensible and reprehensible acts other women were said to have\ncommitted, to be committing, or to desire to commit, until Maria's heart\ngrew heavy and her lonely room seemed to her a peaceful asylum.\n\nShe could find words only when the conversation turned upon the misery of\nthe country and the sacred duty of bearing every privation a second time,\nif necessary for the freedom of the nation, and then she gladly listened\nto the sturdy women, who evidently meant what they said; but when the\nhours were filled with idle gossip, it caused her actual pain. Yet she\ndared not avoid it and was obliged to wait until the departure of the\nlast acquaintance; for after she had ventured to retire early several\ntimes, Barbara kindly warned her against it, not concealing that she had\nhad great difficulty in defending her against the reproach of pride and\nincivility.\n\n\"Such chat,\" said the widow, \"is pleasant and strengthens the courage,\nand whoever leaves the visitors while they are together, can pray the\nLord for a favorable report.\"\n\nOne lady in Leyden pleased the burgomaster's wife. This was the wife of\nHerr Van Hout, the city clerk, but the latter rarely appeared in company,\nfor though a delicate, aristocratic-looking woman, she was obliged to be\nbusy from morning till night, to keep the children and household in good\norder on a narrow income.\n\nMaria felt brighter and happier than she had done for many days, as she\nstood before the shelf that contained the table-furniture and the\ncupboard where the silver was kept. All the handsome dishes belonging to\nthe house were bright and shining, free from every grain of dust, so too\nwere the white linen cloths, trimmed with lace. She selected what she\nneeded, but many of the pewter, glass, and silver articles did not please\nher; for they did not match, and she found scratches and cracks on\nnumerous pieces.\n\nWhen her mother had begun to prepare her wedding-outfit, Peter expressed\na desire that in these hard times the money should be kept and no useless\nthings purchased. There was an abundance of household articles of every\nkind in his home, and he would have thought it wrong to buy even a plate.\nIn fact there was no lack of anything on the shelves and cupboards, but\nshe had not selected and bought them herself; they belonged to her, but\nnot entirely, and what was worse, her eyes, accustomed to prettier\nthings, could find no pleasure in these dull, scratched pewter plates,\nthese pitchers, cups and tankards painted in coarse figures with glaring\ncolors. The clumsy glass, too, did not suit her taste, and, while looking\nit over and selecting what was necessary, she could not help thinking of\nher recently-wedded friends, who, with sparkling eyes, had showed her\ntheir spick-and-span new table-furniture as proudly and happily, as if\neach piece had been their own work. But, even with the articles she\npossessed, a table could be set very prettily and daintily.\n\nShe had gone out with Adrian before dinner to cut some flowers in the\ngarden by the city wall, and also gathered some delicate grasses in the\nmeadow before the gate. These gifts of May were now tastefully arranged,\nmixed with peacock-feathers, and placed in vases, and she was delighted\nto see even the clumsiest dishes win a graceful aspect from the garlands\nshe twined around them. Adrian watched her in astonishment. He would not\nhave marvelled if, under her hands, the dark dining-room had been\ntransformed into a hall of mother-of-pearl and crystal.\n\nWhen the table was laid, Peter returned home for a moment. He was going\nto ride out to Valkenburg with Captain Allertssohn, Janus Dousa, and\nother gentlemen, to inspect the fortifications before his guests\nappeared. As he passed through the dining-room, he waved his hand to his\nwife and glancing over the table, said:\n\n\"This decoration was not necessary, least of all the flowers. We expect\nto hold a serious consultation, and you have arranged a wedding-banquet.\"\n\nPerceiving that Maria cast down her eyes, he exclaimed kindly:\n\n\"But it can remain so for aught I care,\" and left the room.\n\nMaria stood irresolutely before her work. Bitter emotions were again\nbeginning to stir in her mind, and she was already extending her hand\ndefiantly towards one particularly beautiful vase, when Adrian raised his\nlarge eyes to her face, exclaiming in a tone of earnest entreaty:\n\n\"No, mother, you mustn't do that, it looks quite too pretty.\"\n\nMaria smiled, passed her hand over the boy's curls, took two cakes from a\ndish, gave them to him, and said:\n\n\"One for you, the other for Bessie; our flowers shall stay.\"\n\nAdrian hurried off with the sweet gifts, but Maria glanced over the table\nonce more, saying:\n\n\"Peter never wants anything but what is absolutely necessary; yet that\nsurely isn't all, or God would have made all the birds with grey\nfeathers.\"\n\nAfter helping Barbara in the kitchen, she went to her own room. There she\narranged her hair, put a fresh, beautifully-starched ruff around her neck\nand carefully-plaited lace in the open bosom of her dress, but wore her\nevery-day gown, for her husband did not wish to give the assembly at his\nhouse a festal aspect.\n\nJust as she had put the last gold pin in her hair, and was considering\nwhether the place of honor at the table belonged to Herr Van Bronkhorst,\nas representative of the Prince, or to the older Herr von Nordwyk,\nTrautchen knocked at the door and informed her, that Doctor Bontius\nwished to see the burgomaster on urgent business. The maid-servant had\ntold the physician that her master had ridden out, but he would not be\nput off, and asked permission to see her mistress.\n\nMaria instantly went to Peter's room. The doctor seemed to be in haste.\nHis only greeting was to point with the gold head of his long staff\ntowards the peaked black hat, that never left his head, even beside the\nsickbed, and asked in a curt, hurried tone:\n\n\"When will Meister Peter come home?\"\n\n\"In an hour,\" replied Maria. \"Sit down, Doctor.\"\n\n\"Another time. It will keep me too long to wait for your husband. After\nall, you can come with me even without his consent.\"\n\n\"Certainly; but we are expecting visitors.\"\n\n\"Yes. If I find time, I shall come too. The gentlemen can do without me,\nbut you are necessary to the sick person to whom I wish to take you.\"\n\n\"I have no idea of whom you are speaking.\"\n\n\"Haven't you? Then once more, it is of some one who is suffering, and\nthat will be enough for you at first.\"\n\n\"And you think I could--\"\n\n\"You can do far more than you know. Barbara is attending to affairs in\nthe kitchen, and now I tell you again: You must help a sufferer.\"\n\n\"But, Doctor--\"\n\n\"I must beg you to hurry, for my time is limited. Do you wish to make\nyourself useful; yes or no?\" The door of the dining-room had remained\nopen. Maria again glanced at the table, and all the pleasures she had\nanticipated this evening passed through her mind. But as the doctor was\npreparing to go, she stopped him, saying:\n\n\"I will come.\"\n\nThe manners of this blunt, but unselfish and clever man were familiar to\nMaria who, without waiting for a reply, brought her shawl, and led the\nway downstairs. As they passed by the kitchen, Bontius called to Barbara:\n\n\"Tell Meister Peter, I have taken his wife to see Fraulein Van\nHoogstraten in Nobelstrasse.\"\n\nMaria could scarcely keep up with the doctor's rapid strides and had some\ndifficulty in understanding him, as in broken sentences he told her that\nall the Glipper friends of the Hoogstraten family had left the city, the\nold Fraulein was dead, the servants had run away from fear of the plague,\nwhich had no existence, and Henrica was now deserted. She had been very\nill with a severe fever, but was much better during the past few days.\n\"Misfortune has taken up its abode in the Glipper nest,\" he added. \"The\nscythe-man did the old lady a favor when he took her. The French maid, a\nfeeble nonentity, held out bravely, but after watching a few nights broke\ndown entirely and was to have been carried to St. Catharine's hospital,\nbut the Italian steward, who is not a bad fellow, objected and had her\ntaken to a Catholic laundress. He has followed to nurse her. No one is\nleft in the deserted house to attend to the young lady, except Sister\nGonzaga, a good little nun, one of the three who were allowed to remain\nin the old convent near you, but early this morning, to cap the climax of\nmisfortune, the kind old woman scalded her fingers while heating a bath.\nThe Catholic priest has faithfully remained at his post, but what can we\nmen do in nursing the sick girl! You doubtless now suspect why I brought\nyou with me. You ought not and cannot become the stranger's nurse\npermanently; but if the young lady is not to sink after all, she must now\nhave some face about her which she can love, and God has blessed you with\none. Look at the sick girl, talk with her, and if you are what I believe\nyou--but here we are.\"\n\nThe air of the dark entrance hall of the Hoogstraten residence was filled\nwith a strong odor of musk. The old lady's death had been instantly\nannounced at the town-hall by Doctor Bontius' representative, and an\narmed man was marching up and down in the hall, keeping guard, who told\nthe physician that Herr Van Hout had already been here with his men and\nput seals on all the doors.\n\nOn the staircase Maria siezed her guide's arm in terror; for through an\nopen door-way of the second story, to which she was ascending with her\ncompanion, she saw in the dusk a shapeless figure, moving strangely\nhither and thither, up and down. Her tone was by no means confident as,\npointing towards it with her finger, she asked the doctor:\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\nThe physician had paused with her, and seeing the strange object to which\nthe burgomaster's wife pointed, recoiled a step himself. But the\ncool-headed man quickly perceived the real nature of the ghostly\napparition, and leading Maria forward exclaimed smiling:\n\n\"What in the world are you doing there on the floor, Father Damianus?\"\n\n\"I am scouring the boards,\" replied the priest quietly.\n\n\"Right is right,\" cried the doctor indignantly. \"You are too good for\nmaid-servant's work, Father Damianus, especially when there is plenty of\nmoney without an owner here in the house, and we can find as many\nscrubbing-women as we want to-morrow.\"\n\n\"But not to-day, doctor; and the young lady won't stay in yonder room any\nlonger. You ordered her to go to sleep yourself, and Sister Gonzaga says\nshe won't close her eyes so long as she is next door to the corpse.\"\n\n\"Then Van Hout's men ought to have carried her on her bed into the old\nlady's beautiful sitting-room.\"\n\n\"That's sealed, and so are all the other handsome chambers on this story.\nThe men were obliging and tried to find scrub-women, but the poor things\nare afraid of the plague.\"\n\n\"Such rumors grow like wire-grass,\" cried the doctor. Nobody sows it, yet\nwho can uproot it when it is once here?\"\n\n\"Neither you nor I,\" replied the priest. \"The young lady must be brought\ninto this room at once; but it looked neglected, so I've just set it to\nrights. It will do the invalid good, and the exercise can't hurt me.\"\nWith these words Father Damianus rose, and seeing Maria, said:\n\n\"You have brought a new nurse? That's right. I need not praise Sister\nGonzaga, for you know her; but I assure you Fraulein Henrica won't allow\nher to remain with her long, and I shall leave this house as soon as the\nfuneral is over.\"\n\n\"You have done your duty; but what does this news about the Sister mean?\"\ncried the physician angrily. \"I'd rather have your old Gonzaga with her\nburnt fingers than--what has happened?\"\n\nThe priest approached and, hastily casting a side glance at the\nburgomaster's wife, exclaimed:\n\n\"She speaks through her nose, and Fraulein Henrica said just now it made\nher ache to hear her talk; I must keep her away.\"\n\nDoctor Bontius reflected a moment, and then said: \"There are eyes that\ncannot endure a glare of light, and perhaps certain tones may seem\nunbearable to irritated ears. Fran Van der Werff, you have been kept\nwaiting a long time, please follow me.\"\n\nIt had grown dark. The curtains of the sick-room were lowered and a small\nlamp, burning behind a screen, shed but a feeble light.\n\nThe doctor approached the bed, felt Henrica's pulse, said a few words in\na low tone to prepare her for her visitor, and then took the lamp to see\nhow the invalid looked.\n\nMaria now beheld a pale face with regular outline, whose dark eyes, in\ntheir size and lustre, formed a striking contrast to the emaciated cheeks\nand sunken features of the sick girl.\n\nAfter old Sister Gonzaga had restored the lamp to its former place, the\nphysician said:\n\n\"Excellent! Now, Sister, go and change the bandage on your arm and lie\ndown.\" Then he beckoned Maria to approach.\n\nHenrica's face made a strange impression upon the burgomaster's wife. She\nthought her beautiful, but the large eyes and firmly-shut lips seemed\npeculiar, rather than attractive. Yet she instantly obeyed the\nphysician's summons, approached the bed, said kindly that she had been\nglad to come to stay with her a short time, and asked what she desired.\n\nAt these words, Henrica raised herself and with a sigh of relief,\nexclaimed:\n\n\"That does me good! Thanks, Doctor. That's a human voice again. If you\nwant to please me, Frau Van der Werff keep on talking, no matter what you\nsay. Please come and sit down here. With Sister Gonzaga's hands, your\nvoice, and the doctor's--yes, I will say with Doctor Bontius' candor, it\nwon't be difficult to recover entirely.\"\n\n\"Good, good,\" murmured the physician. \"Kind Sister Gonzaga's injuries are\nnot serious and she will stay with you, but when it is time for you to\nsleep, you will be moved elsewhere. You can remain here an hour, Frau Van\nder Werff, but that will be enough for to-day. I'll go to your house and\nsend the servant for you with a lantern.\"\n\nWhen the two ladies were left alone together, Maria said:\n\n\"You set great value on the sound of voices; so do I, perhaps more than\nis desirable. True, I have never had any serious illness--\"\n\n\"This is my first one too,\" replied Henrica, \"but I know now what it is\nto be compelled to submit to everything we don't like, and feel with\ntwo-fold keenness everything that is repulsive. It is better to die than\nsuffer.\"\n\n\"Your aunt is dead,\" said Maria sympathizingly.\n\n\"She died early this morning. We had little in common save the tie of\nblood.\"\n\n\"Are your parents no longer living?\"\n\n\"Only my father; but what of that?\"\n\nHe will rejoice over your recovery; Doctor Bontius says you will soon be\nperfectly well.\"\n\n\"I think so too,\" replied Henrica confidently, and then said softly,\nwithout heeding Maria's presence: \"There is one beautiful thing. When I\nam well again, I shall once more--Do you practise music?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear Fraulein.\"\n\n\"Not merely as a pastime, but because you feel you cannot live without\nit?\"\n\n\"You must keep quiet, Fraulein. Music;--yes, I think my life would be far\npoorer without it than it is.\"\n\n\"Do you sing?\"\n\n\"Very seldom here; but when a girl in Delft we sung every day.\"\n\n\"Of course you were the soprano?\"\n\n\"Yes, Fraulein.\"\n\n\"Let the Fraulein drop, and call me Henrica.\"\n\n\"With all my heart, if you will call me Maria, or Frau Maria.\"\n\n\"I'll try. Don't you think we could practise many a song together?\"\n\nJust as these words were uttered, Sister Gonzaga entered the room, saying\nthat the wife of Receiver General Cornelius had called to ask if she\ncould do anything for the sick lady.\n\n\"What does that mean?\" asked Henrica angrily. \"I don't know the woman.\"\n\n\"She is the mother of Herr Wilhelm, the musician,\" said the young wife.\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Henrica. \"Shall I admit her, Maria?\"\n\nThe latter shook her head and answered firmly \"No, Fraulein Henrica. It\nis not good for you to have more than one visitor at this hour, and\nbesides--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"She is an excellent woman, but I fear her blunt manner, heavy step, and\nloud voice would not benefit you just now. Let me go to her and ask what\nshe desires.\"\n\n\"Receive her kindly, and tell her to remember me to her son. I am not\nvery delicate, but I see you understand me; such substantial fare would\nhardly suit me just now.\"\n\nAfter Maria had performed her errand and talked with Henrica for a time,\nFrau Van Hout was announced. Her husband, who had been present when the\ndoors of the house of death were sealed, had told her about the invalid\nand she came to see if the poor girl needed anything.\n\n\"You might receive her,\" said Maria, \"for she would surely please you;\nbut the bell is ringing again, and you have talked enough for to-day. Try\nto sleep now. I'll go home with Fran Van Hout and come again tomorrow, if\nagreeable to you.\"\n\n\"Come, pray come!\" exclaimed the young girl.\n\n\"Do you want to say anything more to me?\"\n\n\"I should like to do so, Fraulein Henrica. You ought not to stay in this\nsad house. There is plenty of room in ours. Will you be our guest until\nyour father--\"\n\n\"Yes, take me home with you!\" cried the invalid, tears sparkling in her\neyes. \"Take me away from here, only take me away--and I will be grateful\nto you all my life.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nMaria had not mounted the stairs so joyously for weeks as she did to-day.\nShe would have sung, had it been seemly, though she felt a little\nanxious; for perhaps her husband would not think she had done right to\ninvite, on her own authority, a stranger, especially a sick stranger, who\nwas a friend of Spain, to be their guest.\n\nAs she passed the dining-room, she heard the gentlemen consulting\ntogether. Then Peter began to speak. She noticed the pleasant depth of\nhis voice, and said to herself that Henrica would like to hear it. A few\nminutes after she entered the apartment, to greet her husband's guests,\nwho were also hers. Joyous excitement and the rapid walk through the air\nof the May evening, which, though the day had been warm, was still cool,\nhad flushed her cheeks and, as she modestly crossed the threshold with a\nrespectful greeting, which nevertheless plainly revealed the pleasure\nafforded by the visit of such guests, she looked so winning and lovely,\nthat not a single person present remained unmoved by the sight. The older\nHerr Van der Does clapped Peter on the shoulder and then struck the palm\nof his hand with his fist, as if to say: \"I won't question that!\" Janus\nDousa whispered gaily to Van Hout, who was a good Latin scholar:\n\n\"Oculi sunt in amore duces.\"\n\nCaptain Allertssohn started up and raised his hand to his hat with a\nmilitary salute; Van Bronkhorst, the Prince's Commissioner, gave\nexpression to his feelings in a courtly bow, Doctor Bontius smiled\ncontentedly, like a person who has successfully accomplished a hazardous\nenterprise, and Peter proudly and happily strove to attract his wife's\nattention to himself. But this was not to be, for as soon as Maria\nperceived that she was the mark for so many glances, she lowered her eyes\nwith a deep blush, and then said far more firmly than would have been\nexpected from her timid manner:\n\n\"Welcome, gentlemen! My greeting comes late, but I would have gladly\noffered it earlier.\"\n\n\"I can bear witness to that,\" cried Doctor Bontius, rising and shaking\nhands with Maria more cordially than ever before. Then he motioned\ntowards Peter, and exclaimed to the assembled guests: \"Will you excuse\nthe burgomaster for a moment?\"\n\nAs soon as he stood apart with the husband and wife at the door, he\nbegan:\n\n\"You have invited a new visitor to the house, Frau Van der Werff; I won't\ndrink another drop of Malmsey, if I'm mistaken.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\" asked Maria gaily. \"I see it in your face.\"\n\n\"And the young lady shall be cordially welcome to me,\" added Peter.\n\n\"Then you know?\" asked Maria.\n\nThe doctor did not conceal his conjecture from me.\"\n\n\"Why yes, the sick girl will be glad to come to us, and to-morrow--\"\n\n\"No, I'll send for her to-day,\" interrupted Peter. \"To-day? But dear me!\nIt's so late; perhaps she is asleep, the gentlemen are here, and our\nspare bed--\" exclaimed Maria, glancing disapprovingly and irresolutely\nfrom the physician to her husband.\n\n\"Calm yourself; child,\" replied Peter. \"The doctor has ordered a covered\nlitter from St. Catharine's hospital, Jan and one of the city-guard will\ncarry her, and Barbara has nothing more to do in the kitchen and is now\npreparing her own chamber for her.\"\n\n\"And,\" chimed in the physician, \"perhaps the sick girl may find sleep\nhere. Besides, it will be far more agreeable to her pride to be carried\nthrough the streets unseen, under cover of the darkness.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said Maria sadly, \"that may be so; but I had been\nthinking--People ought not to do anything too hastily.\"\n\n\"Will you be glad to receive the young lady as a guest?\" asked Peter.\n\n\"Why, certainly.\"\n\n\"Then we won't do things by halves, but show her all the kindness in our\npower. There is Barbara beckoning; the litter has come, Doctor. Guide the\nnocturnal procession in God's name, but don't keep us waiting too long.\"\n\nThe burgomaster returned to his seat, and Bontius left the room.\n\nMaria followed him. In the entry, he laid his hand on her arm and asked:\n\n\"Will you know next time, what I expect from you?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the burgomaster's wife, in a tone which sounded gay, though\nit revealed the disappointment she felt; \"no--but you have taught me that\nyou are a man who understands how to spoil one's best pleasures.\"\n\n\"I will procure you others,\" replied the doctor laughing and descended\nthe stairs. He was Peter's oldest friend, and had made many objections to\nthe burgomaster's marriage with a girl so many years his junior, in these\nevil times, but to-day he showed himself satisfied with Van der Werff's\nchoice.\n\nMaria returned to the guests, filled and offered glasses of wine to the\ngentlemen, and then went to her sister-in-law's room, to help her prepare\neverything for the sick girl as well as possible. She did not do so\nunwillingly, but it seemed as if she would have gone to the work with far\ngreater pleasure early the next morning.\n\nBarbara's spacious chamber looked out upon the court-yard. No sound could\nbe heard there of the conversation going on between the gentlemen in the\ndining-room, yet it was by no means quiet among these men who, though\nanimated by the same purpose, differed widely about the ways and means of\nbringing it to a successful issue.\n\nThere they sat, the brave sons of a little nation, the stately leaders of\na small community, poor in numbers and means of defence, which had\nundertaken to bid defiance to the mightiest power and finest armies of\nits age. They knew that the storm-clouds, which had been threatening for\nweeks on the horizon, would rise faster and faster, mass together, and\nburst in a furious tempest over Leyden, for Herr Van der Werff had\nsummoned them to his house because a letter addressed to himself and\nCommissioner Van Bronkhorst by the Prince, contained tidings, that the\nGovernor of King Philip of Spain had ordered Senor del Campo Valdez to\nbesiege Leyden a second time and reduce it to subjection. They were\naware, that William of Orange could not raise an army to divert the\nhostile troops from their aim or relieve the city before the lapse of\nseveral months; they had experienced how little aid was to be expected\nfrom the Queen of England and the Protestant Princes of Germany, while\nthe horrible fate of Haarlem, a neighboring and more powerful city, rose\nas a menacing example before their eyes. But they were conscious of\nserving a good cause, relied upon the faith, courage and statesmanship of\nOrange, were ready to die rather than allow themselves to be enslaved\nbody and soul by the Spanish tyrant. Their belief in God's justice was\ndeep and earnest, and each individual possessed a joyous confidence in\nhis own resolute, manly strength.\n\nIn truth, the men who sat around the table, so daintily decked with\nflowers by a woman's hand, understood how to empty the large fluted\ngoblets so nimbly, that jug after jug of Peter's Malmsey and Rhine wine\nwere brought up from the cellar, the men who made breaches in the round\npies and huge joints of meat, juicier and more nourishing than any\ncountry except theirs can furnish--did not look as if pallid fear had\nbrought them together.\n\nThe hat is the sign of liberty, and the free man keeps his hat on. So\nsome of the burgomaster's guests sat at the board with covered heads, and\nhow admirably the high plaited cap of dark-red velvet, with its rich\nornaments of plumes, suited the fresh old face of the senior Seigneur of\nNordwyk and the clever countenance of his nephew Janus Dousa; how well\nthe broad-brimmed hat with blue and orange ostrich-feathers--the colors\nof the House of Orange--became the waving locks of the young Seigneur of\nWarmond, Jan Van Duivenvoorde. How strongly marked and healthful were the\nfaces of the other men assembled here! Few countenances lacked ruddy\ncolor, and strong vitality, clear intellect, immovable will and firm\nresolution flashed from many blue eyes around the table. Even the\nblack-robed magistrates, whose plaited ruffs and high white collars were\nvery becoming, did not look as if the dust of documents had injured their\nhealth. The moustaches and beards on the lips of each, gave them also a\nmanly appearance. They were all joyously ready to sacrifice themselves\nand their property for a great spiritual prize, yet looked as if they had\na firm foothold in the midst of life; their hale, sensible faces showed\nno traces of enthusiasm; only the young Seigneur of Warmond's eyes\nsparkled with a touch of this feeling, while Janus Dousa's glance often\nseemed turned within, to seek things hidden in his own heart; and at such\nmoments his sharply-cut, irregular features possessed a strange charm.\n\nThe broad, stout figure of Commissioner Van Bronkhorst occupied a great\ndeal of room. His body was by no means agile, but from the round, closely\nshaven head looked forth a pair of prominent eyes, that expressed\nunyielding resolution.\n\nThe brightly-lighted table, around which such guests had gathered,\npresented a gay, magnificent spectacle. The yellow leather of the\ndoublets worn by Junker von Warmond, Colonel Mulder, and Captain\nAllertssohn, the colored silk scarfs that adorned them, and the scarlet\ncoat of brave Dirk Smaling contrasted admirably with the deep black robes\nof Pastor Verstroot, the burgomaster, the city clerk, and their\nassociates! The violet of the commissioner's dress and the dark hues of\nthe fur-bordered surcoats worn by the elder Herr Van der Does and Herr\nVan Montfort blended pleasantly and harmonized the light and dark shades.\nEverything sorrowful seemed to have been banished far from this\nbrilliant, vigorous round table, so words flowed freely and voices\nsounded full and strong enough.\n\nDanger was close at hand. The Spanish vanguard might appear before Leyden\nany day. Many preparations were made. English auxiliaries were to\ngarrison the fortifications of Alfen and defend the Gouda lock. The\ndefensive works of Valkenburg had been strengthened and entrusted to\nother British troops, the city soldiers, the militia and volunteers were\nadmirably drilled. They did not wish to admit foreign troops within the\nwalls, for during the first siege they had proved far more troublesome\nthan useful, and there was little reason to fear that a city guarded by\nwater, walls and trees would be taken by storm.\n\nWhat most excited the gentlemen was the news Van Hout had brought. Rich\nHerr Baersdorp, one of the four burgomasters, who had the largest grain\nbusiness in Leyden, had undertaken to purchase considerable quantities of\nbread-stuffs in the name of the city. Several ship loads of wheat and rye\nhad been delivered by him the day before, but he was still in arrears\nwith three-quarters of what was ordered. He openly said that he had as\nyet given no positive orders for it, because owing to the prospect of a\ngood harvest, a fall in the price of grain was expected in the exchanges\nof Rotterdam and Amsterdam, and he would still have several weeks time\nbefore the commencement of the new blockade.\n\nVan Hout was full of indignation, especially as two out of the four\nburgomasters sided with their colleague Baersdorp.\n\nThe elder Herr von Nordwyk agreed with him, exclaiming:\n\n\"With all due respect to your dignity, Herr Peter, your three companions\nin office belong to the ranks of bad friends, who would willingly be\nexchanged for open enemies.\"\n\n\"Herr von Noyelles,\" said Colonel Mulder, \"has written about them to the\nPrince, the good and truthful words, that they ought to be sent to the\ngallows.\"\n\n\"And they will suit them,\" cried Captain Allertssohn, \"so long as\nhangmen's nooses and traitors' necks are made for each other.\"\n\n\"Traitors--no,\" said Van der Werff resolutely. Call them cowards, call\nthem selfish and base-minded--but not one of them is a Judas.\"\n\n\"Right, Meister Peter, that they certainly are not, and perhaps even\ncowardice has nothing to do with their conduct,\" added Herr von Nordwyk.\n\"Whoever has eyes to see and ears to hear, knows the views of the\ngentlemen belonging to the old city families, who are reared from infancy\nas future magistrates; and I speak not only of Leyden, but the residents\nof Gouda and Delft, Rotterdam and Dortrecht. Among a hundred, sixty would\nbear the Spanish yoke, even do violence to conscience, if only their\nliberties and rights were guaranteed. The cities must rule and they\nthemselves in them; that is all they desire. Whether people preach\nsermons or read mass in the church, whether a Spaniard or a Hollander\nrules, is a matter of secondary importance to them. I except the present\ncompany, for you would not be here, gentlemen, if your views were similar\nto those of the men of whom I speak.\"\n\n\"Thanks for those words,\" said Dirk Smaling, \"but with all due honor to\nyour opinion, you have painted matters in too dark colors. May I ask if\nthe nobles do not also cling to their rights and liberties?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Herr Dirk; but they are commonly of longer date than yours,\"\nreplied Van Bronkhorst. \"The nobleman needs a ruler. He is a lustreless\nstar, if the sun that lends him light is lacking. I, and with me all the\nnobles who have sworn fealty to him, now believe that our sun must and\ncan be no other person than the Prince of Orange, who is one of\nourselves, knows, loves, and understands us; not Philip, who has no\ncomprehension of what is passing within and around us, is a foreigner and\ndetests us. We will uphold William with our fortunes and our lives for,\nas I have already said, we need a sun, that is, a monarch--but the cities\nthink they have power to shine and wish to be admired as bright stars\nthemselves. True, they feel that, in these troublous times, the country\nneeds a leader, and that they can find no better, wiser and more faithful\none than Orange; but if it comes to pass--and may God grant it--that the\nSpanish yoke is broken, the noble William's rule will seem wearisome,\nbecause they enjoy playing sovereign themselves. In short: the cities\nendure a ruler, the nobles gather round him and need him. No real good\nwill be accomplished until noble, burgher and peasant cheerfully yield to\nhim, and unite to battle under his leadership for the highest blessings\nof life.\"\n\n\"Right,\" said Van flout. \"The well-disposed nobility may well serve as an\nexample to the governing classes here and in the other cities, but the\npeople, the poor hard-working people, know what is coming and, thank God,\nhave not yet lost a hearty love for what you call the highest blessings\nof life. They wish to be and remain Hollanders, curse the Spanish\nbutchers with eloquent hatred, desire to serve God according to the\nyearning of their own souls, and believe what their own hearts\ndictate-and these men call the Prince their Father William. Wait a\nlittle! As soon as trouble oppresses us, the poor and lowly will stand\nfirm, if the rich and great waver and deny the good cause.\"\n\n\"They are to be trusted,\" said Van der Werff, \"firmly trusted.\"\n\n\"And because I know them,\" cried Van Hout, \"we shall conquer, with God's\nassistance, come what may.\" Janus Dousa had been looking into his glass.\nNow he raised his head and with a hasty gesture, said:\n\n\"Strange that those who toil for existence with their hands, and whose\nuncultured brains only move when their daily needs require it, are most\nready to sacrifice the little they possess, for spiritual blessings.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the pastor, \"the kingdom of heaven stands open to the\nsimple-hearted. It is strange that the poor and unlearned value religion,\nliberty and their native land far more than the perishable gifts of this\nworld, the golden calf around which the generations throng.\"\n\n\"My companions are not flattered to-day,\" replied Dirk Smaling; \"but I\nbeg you to remember in our favor, that we are playing a great and\ndangerous game, and property-holders must supply the lion's share of the\nstake.\"\n\n\"By no means,\" retorted Van Hout, \"the highest stake for which the die\nwill be cast is life, and this has the same value to rich and poor. Those\nwho will hold back--I think I know them--have no plain motto or sign, but\na proud escutcheon over their doors. Let us wait.\"\n\n\"Yes, let us wait,\" said Van der Werff; \"but there are more important\nmatters to be considered now. Day after to-morrow will be Ascension Day,\nwhen the bells will ring for the great fair. More than one foreign trader\nand traveller has passed through the gates yesterday and the day before.\nShall we order the booths to be set up, or have the fair deferred until\nsome other time? If the enemy hastens his march, there will be great\nconfusion, and we shall perhaps throw a rich prize into his hands. Pray\ngive me your opinion, gentlemen.\"\n\n\"The traders ought to be protected from loss and the fair postponed,\"\nsaid Dirk Smaling.\n\n\"No,\" replied Van Hout, \"for if this prohibition is issued, we shall\ndeprive the small merchants of considerable profit and prematurely damp\ntheir courage.\"\n\n\"Let them have their festival,\" cried Janus Dousa. \"We mustn't do coming\ntrouble the favor of spoiling the happy present on its account. If you\nwant to act wisely, follow the advice of Horace.\"\n\n\"The Bible also teaches that 'sufficient unto the day is the evil\nthereof,'\" added the pastor, and Captain Allertssohn exclaimed:\n\n\"On my life, yes! My soldiers, the city-guard and volunteers must have\ntheir parade. Marching in full uniform, with all their weapons, while\nbeautiful eyes smile upon them, the old wave greetings, and children run\nbefore with exultant shouts, a man learns to feel himself a soldier for\nthe first time.\"\n\nSo it was determined to let the fair be held. While other questions were\nbeing eagerly discussed, Henrica found a loving welcome in Barbara's\npleasant room. When she had fallen asleep, Maria went back to her guests,\nbut did not again approach the table; for the gentlemen's cheeks were\nflushed and they were no longer speaking in regular order, but each was\ntalking about whatever he choose. The burgomaster was discussing with Van\nHout and Van Bronkhorst the means of procuring a supply of grain for the\ncity, Janus Dousa and Herr von Warmond were speaking of the poem the city\nclerk had repeated at the last meeting of the poets' club, Herr Van der\nDoes senior and the pastor were arguing about the new rules of the\nchurch, and stout Captain Allertssohn, before whom stood a huge\ndrinking-horn drained to the dregs, had leaned his forehead on Colonel\nMulder's shoulder and, as usual when he felt particularly happy over his\nwine, was shedding tears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nThe next day after the meeting of the council, Burgomaster Van der Werff,\nHerr Van Hout, and a notary, attended by two constables, went to\nNobelstrasse to set old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten's property in order. The\nfathers of the city had determined to seize the Glippers' abandoned\ndwellings and apply the property found in them to the benefit of the\ncommon cause.\n\nThe old lady's hostility to the patriots was known to all, and as her\nnearest relatives, Herr Van Hoogstraten and Matanesse Van Wibisma, had\nbeen banished from Leyden, the duty of representing the heirs fell upon\nthe city. It was to be expected that only notorious Glippers would be\nremembered in the dead woman's will, and if this was the case, the\nrevenue from the personal and real estate would fall to the city, until\nthe deserters mended their ways, and adopted a course of conduct that\nwould permit the magistrates to again open their gates to them. Whoever\ncontinued to cling to the Spaniards and oppose the cause of liberty,\nwould forfeit his share of the inheritance. This was no new procedure.\nKing Philip had taught its practice, nay not only the estates of\ncountless innocent persons who had been executed, banished or gone into\nvoluntary exile for the sake of the new religion, but also the property\nof good Catholic patriots had been confiscated for his benefit. After\nbeing anvil so many years, it is pleasant to play hammer; and if that was\nnot always done in a proper and moderate way, people excused themselves\non the ground of having experienced a hundred-fold harsher and more cruel\ntreatment from the Spaniards. It might have been unchristian to repay in\nthe same coin, but they dealt severe blows only in mortal conflict, and\ndid not seek the Glippers' lives.\n\nAt the door of the house of death, the magistrates met the musician\nWilhelm Corneliussohn and his mother, who had come to offer Henrica a\nhospitable reception in their house. The mother, who had at first refused\nto extend her love for her neighbor to the young Glipper girl, now found\nit hard to be deprived of the opportunity to do a good work, and gave\nexpression to these feelings in the sturdy fashion peculiar to her.\n\nBelotti was standing in the entry, no longer attired in the silk hose and\nsatin-bordered cloth garments of the steward, but in a plain burgher\ndress. He told the musician and Peter, that he remained in Leyden\nprincipally because he could not bear to leave the sick maid, Denise, in\nthe lurch; but other matters also detained him, especially, though he was\nreluctant to acknowledge it, the feeling, strengthened by long years of\nservice, that he belonged to the Hoogstraten house. The dead woman's\nattorney had said that his account books were in good order, and\nwillingly paid the balance due him. His savings had been well invested,\nand as he never touched the interest, but added to the capital, had\nconsiderably increased. Nothing detained him in Leyden, yet he could not\nleave it until everything was settled in the house where he had so long\nruled.\n\nHe had daily inquired for the sick lady, and after her death, though\nDenise began to recover, still lingered in Leyden; he thought it his duty\nto show the last honors to the dead by attending her funeral.\n\nThe magistrates were glad to find Belotti in the house. The notary had\nmanaged his little property, and respected him as an honest man. He now\nasked him to act as guide to his companions and himself. The most\nimportant matter was to find the dead woman's will. Such a document must\nbe in existence, for up to the day after Henrica's illness it had been in\nthe lawyer's possession, but was then sent for by the old lady, who\ndesired to make some changes in it. He could give no information about\nits contents, for his dead partner, whose business had fallen to him, had\nassisted in drawing it up.\n\nThe steward first conducted the visitors to the padrona's sitting-room\nand boudoir, but though they searched the writing-tables, chests and\ndrawers, and discovered many letters, money and valuable jewels in boxes\nand caskets, the document was not found.\n\nThe gentlemen thought it was concealed in a secret drawer, and ordered\none of the constables to call a locksmith. Belotti allowed this to be\ndone, but meantime listened with special attention to the low chanting\nthat issued from the bedroom where the old lady's body lay. He knew that\nthe will would most probably be found there, but was anxious to have the\npriest complete the consecration of his mistress undisturbed. As soon as\nall was still in the death-chamber, he asked the gentlemen to follow him.\n\nThe lofty apartment into which he led them, was filled with the odor of\nincense. A large bedstead, over which a pointed canopy of heavy silk rose\nto the ceiling, stood at the back, the coffin in which the dead woman lay\nhad been placed in the middle of the room. A linen cloth, trimmed with\nlace, covered the face. The delicate hands, still unwrinkled, were\nfolded, and lightly clasped a well-worn rosary. The lifeless form was\nconcealed beneath a costly coverlid, in the centre of which lay an\nexquisitely-carved ivory crucifix.\n\nThe visitors bowed mutely before the corpse. Belotti approached it and,\nas he saw the padrona's well-known hands, a convulsive sob shook the old\nman's breast. Then he knelt beside the coffin, pressed his lips, to the\ncold, slender fingers, and a warm tear, the only one shed for this dead\nform, fell on the hands now clasped forever.\n\nThe burgomaster and his companion did not interrupt him, even when he\nlaid his forehead upon the wood of the coffin and uttered a brief, silent\nprayer. After he had risen, and an elderly priest in the sacerdotal robes\nhad left the room, Father Damianus beckoned to the acolytes, with whom he\nhad lingered in the background, and aided by them and Belotti put the lid\non the coffin, then turned to Peter Van der Werff, saying:\n\n\"We intend to bury Fraulein Van Hoogstraten at midnight, that no offence\nmay be given.\"\n\n\"Very well, sir!\" replied the burgomaster. \"Whatever may happen, we shall\nnot expel you from the city. Of course, if you prefer to go to the\nSpaniards--\"\n\nDamianus shook his head and, interrupting the burgomaster, answered\nmodestly:\n\n\"No, sir; I am a native of Utrecht and will gladly pray for the liberty\nof Holland.\"\n\n\"There, there!\" exclaimed Van Hout. \"Those were good words, admirable\nwords! Your hand, Father.\"\n\n\"There it is; and, so long as you don't change the 'haec libertatis ergo'\non your coins to 'haec religionis ergo,' not one of those words need be\naltered.\"\n\n\"A free country and in it religious liberty for each individual, even for\nyou and your followers,\" said the burgomaster, \"is what we desire. Doctor\nBontius has spoken of you, worthy man; you have cared well for this dead\nwoman. Bury her according to the customs of your church; we have come to\narrange the earthly possessions she leaves behind. Perhaps this casket\nmay contain the will.\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" replied the priest. \"She opened the sealed paper in my\npresence, when she was first taken sick, and wrote a few words whenever\nshe felt stronger. An hour before her end, she ordered the notary to be\nsent for, but when he came life had departed. I could not remain\nconstantly beside the corpse, so I locked up the paper in the linen\nchest. There is the key.\"\n\nThe opened will was soon found. The burgomaster quietly unfolded it, and,\nwhile reading its contents aloud, the notary and city clerk looked over\nhis shoulder.\n\nThe property was to be divided among various churches and convents, where\nmasses were to be read for her soul, and her nearest blood relations.\nBelotti and Denise received small legacies.\n\n\"It is fortunate,\" exclaimed Van Hout, \"that this paper is a piece of\npaper and nothing more.\"\n\n\"The document has no legal value whatever,\" added the notary, \"for it was\ntaken from me and opened with the explicit statement, that changes were\nto be made. Here is a great deal to be read on the back.\"\n\nThe task, that the gentlemen now undertook, was no easy one, for the sick\nwoman had scrawled short notes above and below, hither and thither, on\nthe blank back of the document, probably to assist her memory while\ncomposing a new will.\n\nAt the very top a crucifix was sketched with an unsteady hand, and below\nit the words: \"Pray for us! Everything shall belong to holy Mother\nChurch.\"\n\nFarther down they read: \"Nico, I like the lad. The castle on the downs.\nTen thousand gold florins in money. To be secured exclusively to him. His\nfather is not to touch it. Make the reason for disinheriting him\nconspicuous. Van Vliet of Haarlem was the gentleman whose daughter my\ncousin secretly wedded. On some pitiful pretext he deserted her, to form\nanother marriage. If he has forgotten it, I have remembered and would\nfain impress it upon him. Let Nico pay heed: False love is poison. My\nlife has been ruined by it--ruined.\"\n\nThe second \"ruined\" was followed by numerous repetitions of the same\nword. The last one, at the very end of the sentence, had been ornamented\nwith numerous curves and spirals by the sick woman's pen.\n\nOn the right-hand margin of the sheet stood a series of short notes\n\n\"Ten thousand florins to Anna. To be secured to herself. Otherwise they\nwill fall into the clutches of that foot-pad, d'Avila.\n\n\"Three times as much to Henrica. Her father will pay her the money--from\nthe sum he owes me. Where he gets it is his affair. Thus the account with\nhim would be settled.\n\n\"Belotti has behaved badly. He shall be passed over.\n\n\"Denise may keep what was given her.\"\n\nIn the middle of the paper, written in large characters, twice and thrice\nunderlined, was the sentence: \"The ebony-casket with the Hoogstraten and\nd'Avila arms on the lid is to be sent to the widow of the Marquis\nd'Avennes. Forward it to Chateau Rochebrun in Normandy.\"\n\nThe men, who had mutually deciphered these words, looked at each other\nsilently, until Van Hout exclaimed:\n\n\"What a confused mixture of malice and feminine weakness. Let a woman's\nheart seem ever so cold; glacier flowers will always be found in it.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry for the young lady in your house, Herr Peter,\" cried the\nnotary, it would be easier to get sparks from rye-bread, than such a sum\nfrom the debt-laden poor devil. The daughter's portion will be curtailed\nby the father; that's what I call bargaining between relations.\"\n\n\"What can be in the casket?\" asked the notary. \"There it is,\" cried Van\nHout.\n\n\"Bring it here, Belotti.\"\n\n\"We must open it,\" said the lawyer, \"perhaps she is trying to convey her\nmost valuable property across the frontiers.\"\n\n\"Open it? Contrary to the dead woman's express desire?\" asked Van der\nWerff.\n\n\"Certainly!\" cried the notary. \"We were sent here to ascertain the amount\nof the inheritance. The lid is fastened. Take the picklock, Meister.\nThere, it is open.\" The city magistrates found no valuables in the\ncasket, merely letters of different dates. There were not many. Those at\nthe bottom, yellow with age, contained vows of love from the Marquis\nd'Avennes, the more recent ones were brief and, signed Don Louis d'Avila.\nVan Hout, who understood the Castilian language in which they were\nwritten, hastily read them. As he was approaching the end of the last\none, he exclaimed with lively indignation:\n\n\"We have here the key of a rascally trick in our hands! Do you remember\nthe excitement aroused four years ago by the duel, in which the Marquis\nd'Avennes fell a victim to a Spanish brawler? The miserable bravo writes\nin this letter that he has. . . . It will be worth the trouble; I'll\ntranslate it for you. The first part of the note is of no importance; but\nnow comes the point: 'And now, after having succeeded in crossing swords\nwith the marquis and killing him, not without personal danger, a fate he\nhas doubtless deserved, since he aroused your displeasure to such a\ndegree, the condition you imposed upon me is fulfilled, and to-morrow I\nhope through your favor to receive the sweetest reward. Tell Donna Anna,\nmy adored betrothed, that I would fain lead her to the altar early\nto-morrow morning, for the d'Avennes are influential and the following\nday my safety will perhaps be imperilled. As for the rest, I hope I may\nbe permitted to rely upon the fairness and generosity of my patroness.\"\n\nVan Hout flung the letter on the table, exclaiming \"See, what a dainty\nhand the bravo writes. And, Jove's thunder, the lady to whom this plotted\nmurder was to have been sent, is doubtless the mother of the unfortunate\nmarquis, whom the Spanish assassin slew.\"\n\n\"Yes, Herr Van Hout,\" said Belotti, \"I can confirm your supposition. The\nmarquise was the wife of the man, who broke his plighted faith to the\nyoung Fraulein Van Hoogstraten. She, who lies there, saw many suns rise\nand set, ere her vengeance ripened.\"\n\n\"Throw the scrawl into the fire!\" cried Van Hout impetuously.\n\n\"No,\" replied Peter. \"We will not send the letters, but you must keep\nthem in the archives. God's mills grind slowly, and who knows what good\npurpose these sheets may yet serve.\"\n\nThe city clerk nodded assent and folding the papers, said: \"I think the\ndead woman's property will be an advantage to the city.\"\n\n\"The Prince will dispose of it,\" replied Van der Werff. \"How long have\nyou served this lady, Belotti?\"\n\n\"Fifteen years.\"\n\n\"Then remain in Leyden for a time. I think you may expect the legacy she\noriginally left you. I will urge your claim.\"\n\nA few hours before the nocturnal burial of old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten,\nHerr Matanesse Van Wibisma and his son Nicolas appeared before the city,\nbut were refused admittance by the men who guarded the gates, although\nboth appealed to their relative's death. Henrica's father did not come,\nhe had gone several days before to attend a tourney at Cologne.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nBetween twelve and one o'clock on the 26th of May, Ascension-Day, the\nringing of bells announced the opening of the great fair. The old circuit\nof the boundaries of the fields had long since given place to a church\nfestival, but the name of \"Ommegang\" remained interwoven with that of the\nfair, and even after the new religion had obtained the mastery, all sorts\nof processions took place at the commencement of the fair.\n\nIn the days of Catholic rule the cross had been borne through the streets\nin a soleum procession, in which all Leyden took part, now the banners of\nthe city and standards bearing the colors of the House of Orange headed\nthe train, followed by the nobles on horseback, the city magistrates in\nfestal array, the clergy in black robes, the volunteers in magnificent\nuniforms, the guilds with their emblems, and long joyous ranks of\nschool-children. Even the poorest people bought some thing new for their\nlittle ones on this day. Never did mothers braid their young daughters'\nhair more carefully, than for the procession at the opening of the fair.\nSpite of the hard times, many a stiver was taken from slender purses for\nfresh ribbons and new shoes, becoming caps and bright-hued stockings. The\nspring sunshine could be reflected from the little girls' shining,\nsmoothly-combed hair, and the big boys and little children looked even\ngayer than the flowers in Herr Van Montfort's garden, by which the\nprocession was obliged to pass. Each wore a sprig of green leaves in his\ncap beside the plume, and the smaller the boy, the larger the branch.\nThere was no lack of loud talk and merry shouts, for every child that\npassed its home called to its mother, grandparents, and the servants, and\nwhen one raised its voice many others instantly followed. The grown\npeople too were not silent, and as the procession approached the\ntown-hall, head-quarters of military companies, guild-halls or residences\nof popular men, loud cheers arose, mingled with the ringing of bells, the\nshouts of the sailors on both arms of the Rhine and on the canals, the\nplaying of the city musicians at the street corners, and the rattle of\nguns and roar of cannon fired by the gunners and their assistants from\nthe citadel. It was a joyous tumult in jocund spring! These merry mortals\nseemed to lull themselves carelessly in the secure enjoyment of peace and\nprosperity, and how blue the sky was, how warmly and brightly the sun\nshone! The only grave, anxious faces were among the magistrates; but the\nguilds and the children behind did not see them, so the rejoicings\ncontinued without interruption until the churches received the\nprocession, and words so earnest and full of warning echoed from the\npulpits, that many grew thoughtful.\n\nAll three phases of time belong to man, the past to the graybeard, the\nfuture to youth, and the present to childhood. What cared the little boys\nand girls of Leyden, released from school during the fair, for the peril\nclose at hand? Whoever, on the first day and during the great linen-fair\non Friday and the following days, received spending money from parents or\ngodparents, or whoever had eyes to see, ears to hear, and a nose to\nsmell, passed through the rows of booths with his or her companions,\nstopped before the camels and dancing-bears, gazed into the open taverns,\nwhere not only lads and lasses, but merry old people whirled in the dance\nto the music of bagpipes, clarionets and violins--examined gingerbread\nand other dainties with the attention of an expert, or obeyed the blasts\nof the trumpet, by which the quack doctor's negro summoned the crowd.\n\nAdrian, the burgomaster's son, also strolled day after day, alone or with\nhis companions, through the splendors of the fair, often grasping with\nthe secure sense of wealth the leather purse that hung at his belt, for\nit contained several stivers, which had flowed in from various sources;\nhis father, his mother, Barbara and his godmother. Captain Van\nDuivenvoorde, his particular friend, on whose noble horse he had often\nridden, had taken him three times into a wafer booth, where he eat till\nhe was satisfied, and thus, even on the Tuesday after Ascension-Day, his\nlittle fortune was but slightly diminished. He intended to buy something\nvery big and sensible: a knight's sword or a cross-bow; perhaps even--but\nthis thought seemed like an evil temptation--the ginger-cake covered with\nalmonds, which was exhibited in the booth of a Delft confectioner. He and\nBessie could surely nibble for weeks upon this giant cake, if they were\neconomical, and economy is an admirable virtue. Something must at any\nrate be spared for \"little brothers,\"--[A kind of griddle or\npancake.]--the nice spiced cakes which were baked in many booths before\nthe eyes of the passers-by.\n\nOn Tuesday afternoon his way led him past the famous Rotterdam cake-shop.\nBefore the door of the building, made of boards lightly joined together\nand decked with mirrors and gay pictures, a stout, pretty woman, in the\nbloom of youth, sat in a high arm-chair, pouring rapidly, with remarkable\nskill, liquid dough into the hot iron plate, provided with numerous\nindentations, that stood just on a level with her comfortably outspread\nlap. Her assistant hastily turned with a fork the little cakes, browning\nrapidly in the hollows of the iron, and when baked, laid them neatly on\nsmall plates. The waiter prepared them for purchasers by putting a large\npiece of yellow butter on the smoking pile. A tempting odor, that only\ntoo vividly recalled former enjoyment, rose from the fireplace, and\nAdrian's fingers were already examining the contents of his purse, when\nthe negro's trumpet sounded and the quack doctor's cart stopped directly\nin front of the booth.\n\nThe famous Doctor Morpurgo was a fine-looking man, dressed in bright\nscarlet, who had a thin, coalblack beard hanging over his breast. His\nmovements were measured and haughty, the bows and gestures with which he\nsaluted the assembled crowd, patronizing and affable. After a sufficient\nnumber of curious persons had gathered around his cart, which was stocked\nwith boxes and vials, he began to address them in broken Dutch, spiced\nwith numerous foreign words.\n\nHe praised the goodness of the Providence which had created the marvel of\nhuman organism. Everything, he said, was arranged and formed wisely and\nin the best possible manner, but in one respect nature fared badly in the\npresence of adepts.\n\n\"Do you know where the error is, ladies and gentlemen?\" he asked.\n\n\"In the purse,\" cried a merry barber's clerk, \"it grows prematurely thin\nevery day.\"\n\n\"Right, my son,\" answered the quack graciously. \"But nature also provides\nit with the great door from which your answer has come. Your teeth are a\nbungling piece of workmanship. They appear with pain, decay with time,\nand so long as they last torture those who do not industriously attend to\nthem. But art will correct nature. See this box--\" and he now began to\npraise the tooth-powder and cure for toothache he had invented. Next he\npassed to the head, and described in vivid colors, its various pains. But\nthey too were to be cured, people need only buy his arcanum. It was to be\nhad for a trifle, and whoever bought it could sweep away every headache,\neven the worst, as with a broom.\n\nAdrian listened to the famous doctor with mouth wide open. Specially\nsweet odors floated over to him from the hot surface of the stove before\nthe booth, and he would have gladly allowed himself a plate of fresh\ncakes. The baker's stout wife even beckoned to him with a spoon, but he\nclosed his hand around the purse and again turned his eyes towards the\nquack, whose cart was now surrounded by men and women buying tinctures\nand medicines.\n\nHenrica lay ill in his father's house. He had been taken into her room\ntwice, and the beautiful pale face, with its large dark eyes, had filled\nhis heart with pity. The clear, deep voice in which she addressed a few\nwords to him, also seemed wonderful and penetrated the inmost depths of\nhis soul: He was told one morning that she was there, and since that time\nhis mother rarely appeared and the house was far more quiet than usual;\nfor everybody walked lightly, spoke in subdued tones, rapped cautiously\nat a window instead of using the knocker, and whenever Bessie or he\nlaughed aloud or ran up or down-stairs, Barbara, his mother, or Trautchen\nappeared and whispered: \"Gently, children, the young lady has a\nheadache.\"\n\nThere were many bottles in the cart which were warranted to cure the\nailment, and the famous Morpurgo seemed to be a very sensible man, no\nbuffoon like the other mountebanks. The wife of the baker, Wilhelm\nPeterssohn, who stood beside him, a woman he knew well, said to her\ncompanion that the doctor's remedies were good, they had quickly cured\nher godmother of a bad attack of erysipelas.\n\nThe words matured the boy's resolution. Fleeting visions of the sword,\nthe cross-bow, the gingerbread and the nice little brothers once more\nrose before his mind, but with a powerful effort of the will he thrust\nthem aside, held his breath that he might not smell the alluring odor of\nthe cakes, and hastily approached the cart. Here he unfastened his purse\nfrom his belt, poured its contents into his hand, showed the coins to the\ndoctor, who had fixed his black eyes kindly on the odd customer, and\nasked: \"Will this be enough?\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"For the medicine to cure headache.\"\n\nThe quack separated the little coins in Adrian's hand with his\nforefinger, and answered gravely: \"No, my son, but I am always glad to\nadvance the cause of knowledge. There is still a great deal for you to\nlearn at school, and the headache will prevent it. Here are the drops\nand, as it's you, I'll give this prescription for another arcanum into\nthe bargain.\"\n\nAdrian hastily wrapped the little vial the quack handed him in the piece\nof printed paper, received his dearly-bought treasure, and ran home. On\nthe way he was stopped by Captain Allertssohn, who came towards him with\nthe musician Wilhelm.\n\n\"Have you seen my Andreas, Master Good-for-nothing?\" he asked.\n\n\"He was standing listening to the musicians,\" replied Adrian, released\nhimself from the captain's grasp, and vanished among the crowd.\n\n\"A nimble lad,\" said the fencing-master. \"My boy is standing with the\nmusicians again. He has nothing but your art in his mind. He would rather\nblow on a comb than comb his hair with it, he's always tooting on every\nleaf and pipe, makes triangles of broken sword-blades, and not even a\nkitchen pot is sate from his drumming; in short there's nothing but\nsingsong in the good-for-nothing fellow's head; he wants to be a musician\nor something of the sort.\"\n\n\"Right, right!\" replied Wilhelm eagerly; \"he has a fine ear and the best\nvoice in the choir.\"\n\n\"The matter must be duly considered,\" replied the captain, \"and you, if\nanybody, are the person to tell us what he can accomplish in your art. If\nyou have time this evening, Herr Wilhelm, come to me at the watch house,\nI should like to speak to you. To be sure, you'll hardly find me before\nten o'clock. I have a stricture in my throat again, and on such\ndays--Roland, my fore man!\"\n\nThe captain cleared his throat loudly and vehemently. \"I am at your\nservice,\" said Wilhelm, \"for the night is long, but I won't let you go\nnow until I know what you mean by your fore man Roland.\"\n\n\"Very well, it's not much of a story, and perhaps you won't understand.\nCome in here; I can tell it better over a mug of beer, and the legs rebel\nif they're deprived of rest four nights in succession.\"\n\nWhen the two men were seated opposite to each other in the tap-room, the\nfencing-master pushed his moustache away from his lips, and began: \"How\nlong ago is it-? We'll say fifteen years, since I was riding to Haarlem\nwith the innkeeper Aquarius, who as you know, is a learned man and has\nall sorts of old stuff and Latin manuscripts. He talks well, and when the\nconversation turned upon our meeting with many things in life that we\nfancy we have already seen, remarked that this could be easily explained,\nfor the human soul was an indestructible thing, a bird that never dies.\nSo long as we live it remains with us, and when we die flies away and is\nrewarded or punished according to its deserts; but after centuries, which\nare no more to the Lord than the minutes in which I empty this fresh\nmug--one more, bar-maid--the merciful Father releases it again, and it\nnestles in some new born child. This made me laugh; but he was not at all\ndisturbed and told the story of an old Pagan, a wonderfully wise chap,\nwho knew positively that his soul had formerly lodged in the body of a\nmighty hero. This same hero also remembered exactly where, during his\nformer life, he had hung his shield, and told his associates. They\nsearched and found the piece of armor, with the initials of the Christian\nand surname which had belonged to the philosopher in his life as a\nsoldier, centuries before. This puzzled me, for you see--now don't\nlaugh--something had formerly happened to me very much like the Pagan's\nexperience. I don't care much for books, and from a child have always\nread the same one. I inherited it from my dead father and the work is not\nprinted, but written. I'll show it to you some time--it contains the\nhistory of the brave Roland. Often, when absorbed in these beautiful and\ntrue stories, my cheeks have grown as red as fire, and I'll confess to\nyou, as I did to my travelling-companion: If I'm not mistaken, I've sat\nwith King Charles at the board, or I've worn Roland's chain armor in\nbattle and in the tourney. I believe I have seen the Moorish king,\nMarsilia, and once when reading how the dying Roland wound his horn in\nthe valley of the Roncesvalles, I felt such a pain in my throat, that it\nseemed as if it would burst, and fancied I had felt the same pain before.\nWhen I frankly acknowledged all this, my companion exclaimed that there\nwas no doubt my soul had once inhabited Roland's body, or in other words,\nthat in a former life I had been the Knight Roland.\"\n\nThe musician looked at the fencing-master in amazement and asked: \"Could\nyou really believe that, Captain?\"\n\n\"Why not,\" replied the other. \"Nothing is impossible to the Highest. At\nfirst I laughed in the man's face, but his words followed me; and when I\nread the old stories--I needn't strain my eyes much, for at every line I\nknow beforehand what the next will be--I couldn't help asking myself--In\nshort, sir, my soul probably once inhabited Roland's body, and that's why\nI call him my 'fore man.' In the course of years, it has become a habit\nto swear by him. Folly, you will think, but I know what I know, and now I\nmust go. We will have another talk this evening, but about other matters.\nYes, everybody in this world is a little crackbrained, but at least I\ndon't bore other people. I only show my craze to intimate friends, and\nstrangers who ask me once about the fore man Roland rarely do so a second\ntime. The score, bar-maid--There it is again. We must see whether the\ntowers are properly garrisoned, and charge the sentinels to keep their\neyes open. If you come prepared for battle, you may save yourself a walk,\nI'll answer for nothing to-day. You will probably pass the new Rhine.\nJust step into my house, and tell my wife she needn't wait supper for me.\nOr, no, I'll attend to that myself; there's something in the air, you'll\nsee it, for I have the Roncesvalles throat again.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nIn the big watch-house that had been erected beside the citadel, during\nthe siege of the city, raised ten months before, city-guards and\nvolunteers sat together in groups after sunset, talking over their beer\nor passing the time in playing cards by the feeble light of thin tallow\ncandles.\n\nThe embrasure where the officers' table stood was somewhat better\nlighted. Wilhelm, who, according to his friend's advice, appeared in the\nuniform of an ensign of the city-guards, seated himself at the empty\nboard just after the clock in the steeple had struck ten. While ordering\nthe waiter to bring him a mug of beer, Captain Allertssohn appeared with\nJunker von Warmond, who had taken part in the consultation at Peter Van\nder Werff's, and bravely earned his captain's sash two years before at\nthe capture of Brill. As this son of one of the richest and most\naristocratic families in Holland, a youth whose mother had borne the name\nof Egmont, entered, he drew his hand, encased in a fencing glove, from\nthe captain's arm and said, countermanding the musician's order:\n\n\"Nothing of that sort, waiter! The little keg from the Wurzburger Stein\ncan't be empty yet. We'll find the bottom of it this evening. What do you\nsay, Captain?\"\n\n\"Such an arrangement will lighten the keg and not specially burden us,\"\nreplied the other. \"Good-evening, Herr Wilhelm, punctuality adorns the\nsoldier. People are beginning to understand how much depends upon it. I\nhave posted the men, so that they can overlook the country in every\ndirection. I shall have them relieved from time to time, and at intervals\nlook after them myself. This is good liquor, Junker. All honor to the man\nwho melts his gold into such a fluid. The first glass must be a toast to\nthe Prince.\"\n\nThe three men touched their glasses, and soon after drank to the liberty\nof Holland and the prosperity of the good city of Leyden. Then the\nconversation took a lively turn, but duty was not forgotten, for at the\nend of half an hour the captain rose to survey the horizon himself and\nurge the sentinels to vigilant watchfulness.\n\nWhen he returned, Wilhelm and Junker von Warmond were so engaged in eager\nconversation, that they did not notice his entrance. The musician was\nspeaking of Italy, and Allertssohn heard him exclaim impetuously:\n\n\"Whoever has once seen that country can never forget it, and when I am\nsitting on the house-top with my doves, my thoughts only too often fly\nfar away with them, and my eyes no longer see our broad, monotonous\nplains and grey, misty sky.\"\n\n\"Oh! ho! Meister Wilhelm,\" interrupted the captain, throwing himself into\nthe arm-chair and stretching out his booted legs. \"Oh! ho! This time I've\ndiscovered the crack in your brain. Italy, always Italy! I know Italy\ntoo, for I've been in Brescia, looking for good steel sword-blades for\nthe Prince and other nobles, I crossed the rugged Apennines and went to\nFlorence to see fine pieces of armor. From Livorno I went by sea to\nGenoa, where I obtained chased gold and silverwork for shoulder-belts and\nsheaths. Truth is truth the brown-skinned rascals can do fine work. But\nthe country--the country! Roland, my fore man--how any sensible man can\nprefer it to ours is more than I understand.\"\n\n\"Holland is our mother,\" replied von Warmond. \"As good sons we believe\nher the best of women; yet we can admit, without shame, that there are\nmore beautiful ones in the world.\"\n\n\"Do you blow that trumpet too?\" exclaimed the fencing-master, pushing his\nglass angrily further upon the table. Did you ever cross the Alps?\"\n\n\"No, but--\"\n\n\"But you believe the color-daubers of the artist guild, whose eyes are\ncaught by the blue of the sky and sea, or the musical gentry who allow\nthemselves to be deluded by the soft voices and touching melodies there,\nbut you would do well to listen to a quiet man too for once.\"\n\n\"Go on, Captain.\"\n\n\"Very well. And if anybody can get an untruthful word out of me, I'll pay\nhis score till the Day of Judgment. I'll begin the story at the\ncommencement. First you must cross the horrible Alps. There you see\nbarren, dreary rocks, cold snow, wild glacier torrents on which no boat\ncan be used. Instead of watering meadows, the mad waves fling stones on\ntheir banks. Then we reach the plains, where it is true many kinds of\nplants grow. I was there in June, and made my jokes about the tiny\nfields, where small trees stood, serving as props for the vines. It\ndidn't look amiss, but the heat, Junker, the heat spoiled all pleasure.\nAnd the dirt in the taverns, the vermin, and the talk about bravos, who\nshed the blood of honest Christians in the dark for a little paltry\nmoney. If your tongue dries up in your mouth, you'll find nothing but hot\nwine, not a sip of cool beer. And the dust, gentlemen, the frightful\ndust. As for the steel in Brescia--it's worthy of all honor. But the\nfeather was stolen from my hat in the tavern, and the landlord devoured\nonions as if they were white bread. May God punish me if a single piece\nof honest beef, such as my wife can set before me every day--and we don't\nlive like princes--ever came between my teeth.\n\n\"And the butter, Junker, the butter! We burn oil in lamps, and grease\ndoor-hinges with it, when they creak, but the Italians use it to fry\nchickens and fish. Confound such doings!\"\n\n\"Beware, Captain,\" cried Wilhelm, \"or I shall take you at your word and\nyou'll be obliged to pay my score for life. Olive-oil is a pure, savory\nseasoning.\"\n\n\"For a man that likes it. I commend Holland butter. Olive-oil has its\nvalue for polishing steel, but butter is the right thing for roasting and\nfrying; so that's enough! But I beg you to hear me farther. From Lombardy\nI went to Bologna, and then crossed the Apennines. Sometimes the road\nascended, then suddenly plunged downward again, and it's a queer\npleasure, which, thank God, we are spared in this country, to sit in the\nsaddle going down a mountain. On the right and left, lofty cliffs tower\nlike walls. Your breathing becomes oppressed in the narrow valleys, and\nif you want to get a distant view--there's nothing to be seen, for\neverywhere some good-for-nothing mountain thrusts itself directly before\nyour nose. I believe the Lord created those humps for a punishment to men\nafter Adam's fall. On the sixth day of creation the earth was level. It\nwas in August, and when the noon sun was reflected from the rocks, the\nheat was enough to kill one; it's a miracle, that I'm not sitting beside\nyou dried up and baked. The famous blue of the Italian sky! Always the\nsame! We have it here in this country too, but it alternates with\nbeautiful clouds. There are few things in Holland I like better than our\nclouds. When the rough Apennines at last lay behind me, I reached the\nrenowned city of Florence.\"\n\n\"And can you deny it your approval?\" asked the musician.\n\n\"No, sir, there are many proud, stately palaces and beautiful churches\nand no lack of silk and velvet everywhere, the trade of cloth-weaving too\nis flourishing; but my health, my health was not good in your Florence,\nprincipally on account of the heat, and besides I found many things\ndifferent from what I expected. In the first place, there's the river\nArno! The stream is a puddle, nothing but a puddle! Do you know what the\nwater looks like? Like the pools that stand between the broken fragments\nand square blocks in a stonecutter's yard, after a heavy thunder-shower.\"\n\n\"The score, Captain, the score!\"\n\n\"I mean the yard of a stone-cutter, who does a large business, and pools\nof tolerable width. Will you still contradict me if I maintain--the Arno\nis a shallow, narrow stream, just fit to sail a boy's bark-boat. It\nspreads over a wide surface of grey pebbles, very much as the gold fringe\nstraggles over the top of Junker von Warmond's fencing-glove.\"\n\n\"You saw it at the end of a hot summer,\" replied Wilhelm, \"it's very\ndifferent in spring.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so; but I beg you to remember the Rhine, the Meuse, and our\nother rivers, even the Marne, Drecht and whatever the smaller streams are\ncalled. They remain full and bear stately ships at all seasons of the\nyear. Uniform and reliable is the custom of this country; to-day one way,\nto-morrow another, is the Italian habit. It's just the same with the\nblades in the fencing-school.\"\n\n\"The Italians wield dangerous weapons,\" said von Warmond.\n\n\"Very true, but they bend to and fro and lack firmness. I know what I'm\ntalking about, for I lodged with my colleague Torelli, the best\nfencing-master in the city. I'll say nothing of the meals he set before\nme. To-day macaroni, to-morrow macaroni with a couple of chicken\ndrumsticks to boot, and so on. I've often drawn my belt tighter after\ndinner. As for the art of fencing, Torelli is certainly no bungler, but\nhe too has the skipping fashion in his method. You must keep your eyes\nopen in a passado with him, but if I can once get to my quarte, tierce,\nand side-thrust, I have him.\"\n\n\"An excellent series,\" said Junker von Warmond. \"It has been useful to\nme.\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" replied the captain eagerly. \"You silenced the French\nbrawler with it at Namur. There's the catch in my throat again. Something\nwill happen to-day, gentlemen, something will surely happen.\"\n\nThe fencing-master grasped the front of his ruff with his left hand and\nset the glass on the table with his right. He had often done so far more\ncarelessly, but to-day the glass shattered into many fragments.\n\n\"That's nothing,\" cried the young nobleman. \"Waiter, another glass for\nCaptain Allertssohn.\"\n\nThe fencing-master pushed his chair back from the table, and looking at\nthe broken pieces of greenish glass, said in an altered tone, as if\nspeaking to himself rather than his companions:\n\n\"Yes, yes, something serious will happen to-day. Shattered into a\nthousand pieces. As God wills! I know where my place is.\"\n\nVon Warmond filled a fresh glass, saying with a slight shade of reproof\nin his tone: \"Why, Captain, Captain, what whims are these? Before the\nbattle of Brill I fell in jumping out of the boat and broke my sword. I\nsoon found another, but the idea came into my head: 'you'll meet your\ndeath to-day.' Yet here I sit, and hope to empty many a beaker with you.\"\n\n\"It has passed already,\" said the fencing-master, raising his hat and\nwiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand.\n\"Every one must meet his death-hour, and if mine is approaching\nto-day--be it as God wills! My family won't starve. The house on the new\nRhine is free from mortgage, and though they don't inherit much else, I\nshall leave my children an honest name and trustworthy friends. I know\nyou won't lose sight of my second boy, the musician, Wilhelm. Nobody is\nindispensable, and if Heaven wishes to call me from this command, Junker\nvon Nordwyk, Jan Van der Does, can fill my place. You, Herr von Warmond,\nare in just the right spot, and the good cause will reach a successful\nend even without me.\"\n\nThe musician listened with surprise to the softened tone of the strange\nman's voice, but the young nobleman raised his drinking-cup, exclaiming:\n\n\"Such heavy thoughts for a light glass! You make too much of the matter,\nCaptain. Take your bumper again, and pledge me: Long live the noble art\nof fencing, and your series: quarte, tierce and side-thrust!\"\n\n\"They'll live,\" replied Allertssohn, \"ay, they'll live. Many hundreds of\nnoble gentlemen use the sword in this country, and the man who sits here\nhas taught them to wield it according to the rules. My series has served\nmany in duelling, and I, Andreas, their master, have made tierce follow\nquarte and side-thrust tierce thousands of times, but always with buttons\non the foils and against padded doublets. Outside the walls, in the\nbattle-field, no one, often as I have pressed upon the leaders, has ever\nstood against me in single combat. This Brescian sword-blade has more\nthan once pierced a Spanish jerkin, but the art I teach, gentlemen, the\nart I love, to which my life has been devoted, I have never practised in\nearnest. That is hard to bear, gentlemen, and if Heaven is disposed,\nbefore calling him away from earth, to grant a poor man, who is no worse\nthan his neighbors, one favor, I shall be permitted to cross blades once\nin a true, genuine duel, and try my series against an able champion in a\nmortal struggle. If God would grant Andreas this--\"\n\nBefore the fencing-master had finished the last sentence, an armed man\ndashed the door open, shouting: \"The light is raised at Leyderdorp!\"\n\nAt these words Allertssohn sprang from his chair as nimbly as a youth,\ndrew himself up to his full height, adjusted his shoulder-belt and drew\ndown his sash, exclaiming:\n\n\"To the citadel, Hornist, and sound the call for assembling the troops.\nTo your volunteers, Captain Van Duivenvoorde. Post yourself with four\ncompanies at the Hohenort Gate, to be ready to take part, if the battle\napproaches the city-walls. The gunners must provide matches. Let the\ngarrisons in the towers be doubled. Klaas, go to the sexton of St.\nPancratius and tell him to ring the alarm-bell, to warn the people at the\nfair. Your hand, Junker. I know you will be at your post, and you,\nMeister Wilhelm.\"\n\n\"I'll go with you,\" said the musician resolutely. \"Don't reject me. I\nhave remained quiet long enough; I shall stifle here.\"\n\nWilhelm's cheeks flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a lustre so bright\nand angry, that Junker von Warmond looked at his phlegmatic friend in\nastonishment, while the captain called:\n\n\"Then station yourself in the first company beside my ensign. You don't\nlook as if you felt like jesting, and the work will be in earnest now,\nbloody earnest.\"\n\nAllertssohn walked out of doors with a steady step, addressed his men in\na few curt, vigorous words, ordered the drummers to beat their drums,\nwhile marching through the city, to rouse the people at the fair, placed\nhimself at the head of his trusty little band, and led them towards the\nnew Rhine.\n\nThe moon shone brightly down into the quiet streets, was reflected from\nthe black surface of the river, and surrounded the tall peaked gables of\nthe narrow houses with a silvery lustre. The rapid tramp of the soldiers\nwas echoed loudly back from the houses through the silence of the night,\nand the vibration of the air, shaken by the beating of the drums, made\nthe panes rattle.\n\nThis time no merry children with paper flags and wooden swords preceded\nthe warriors, this time no gay girls and proud mothers followed them, not\neven an old man, who remembered former days, when he himself bore arms.\nAs the silent troops reached the neighborhood of Allertssohn's house, the\nclock in the church-steeple slowly struck twelve, and directly after the\nalarm-bell began to sound from the tower of Pancratius.\n\nA window in the second story of the fencing-toaster's house was thrown\nopen, and his wife's face appeared. An anxious married life with her\nstrange husband had prematurely aged pretty little Eva's countenance, but\nthe mild moonlight transfigured her faded features. The beat of her\nhusband's drums was familiar to her, and when she saw him at midnight\nmarching past to the horrible call of the alarm-bell, a terrible dread\noverpowered her and would scarcely allow her to call: \"Husband, husband!\nWhat is the matter, Andreas?\"\n\nHe did not hear, for the roll of the drums, the tramp of the soldiers'\nfeet on the pavement and the ringing of the alarm-bell drowned her voice;\nbut he saw her distinctly, and a strange feeling stole over him. Her\nface, framed in a white kerchief and illumined by the moonlight, seemed\nto him fairer than he had ever seen it since the days of his wooing, and\nhe felt so youthful and full of chivalrous daring, on his way to the\nfield of danger, that he drew himself up to his full height and marched\nby, keeping most perfect time to the beat of the drums, as in lover-like\nfashion he threw her a kiss with his left hand, while waving his sword in\nthe right.\n\nThe beating of drums and waving of banners had banished every gloomy\nthought from his mind. So he marched on to the Gansort. There stood a\ncart, the home of travelling traders, who had been roused from sleep by\nthe alarm-bell, and were hastily collecting their goods. An old woman,\namid bitter lamentations, was just harnessing a thin horse to the shafts,\nand from a tiny window a child's wailing voice was heard calling,\n\"mother, mother,\" and then, \"father, father.\"\n\nThe fencing-master heard the cry. The smile faded from his lips, and his\nstep grew heavier. Then he turned and shouted a loud \"Forward\" to his\nmen. Wilhelm was marching close behind him and at a sign from the captain\napproached; but Allertssohn, quickening his pace, seized the musician's\narm, saying in a low tone:\n\n\"You'll take the boy to teach?\"\n\n\"Yes, Captain.\"\n\n\"Good; you'll be rewarded for it some day,\" replied the fencing-master,\nand waving his sword, shouted: \"Liberty to Holland, death to the\nSpaniard, long live Orange!\"\n\nThe soldiers joyously joined in the shout, and marched rapidly with him\nthrough the Hohenort Gate into the open country and towards Leyderdorp.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nAdrian hurried home with his vial, and in his joy at bringing the sick\nlady relief, forgot her headache and struck the knocker violently against\nthe door. Barbara received him with a by no means flattering greeting,\nbut he was so full of the happiness of possessing the dearly-bought\ntreasure, that he fearlessly interrupted his aunt's reproving words, by\nexclaiming eagerly, in the consciousness of his good cause:\n\n\"You'll see; I have something here for the young lady; where is mother?\"\n\nBarbara perceived that the boy was the bearer of some good tidings, which\nengrossed his whole attention, and the fresh happy face pleased her so\nmuch, that she forgot to scold and said smiling:\n\n\"You make me very curious; what is the need of so much hurry?\"\n\n\"I've bought something; is mother up-stairs?\"\n\n\"Yes, show me what you have bought.\"\n\n\"A remedy. Infallible, I tell you; a remedy for headache.\"\n\n\"A remedy for headache?\" asked the widow in astonishment. \"Who told you\nthat fib?\"\n\n\"Fib?\" repeated the boy, laughing. \"I got it below cost.\"\n\n\"Show it to me, boy,\" said Barbara authoritatively, snatching at the\nvial, but Adrian stepped back, hid the medicine behind him, and replied:\n\n\"No, aunt; I shall take it to mother myself.\"\n\n\"Did one ever hear of such a thing!\" cried the widow. \"Donkeys dance on\nropes, school-boys dabble in doctor's business! Show me the thing at\nonce! We want no quack wares.\"\n\n\"Quack wares!\" replied Adrian eagerly. \"It cost all my fair money, and\nit's good medicine.\"\n\nDuring this little discussion Doctor Bontius came down-stairs with the\nburgomaster's wife. He had heard the boy's last words and asked sternly:\n\n\"Where did you get the stuff?\"\n\nWith these words, he seized the hand of the lad, who did not venture to\nresist the stern man, took the little vial and printed directions from\nhim and, after Adrian had curtly answered: \"From Doctor Morpurgo!\"\ncontinued angrily:\n\n\"The brew is good to be thrown away; only we must take care not to poison\nthe fishes with it, and the thing cost half a florin. You're a rich young\nman, Meister Adrian! If you have any superfluous capital again, you can\nlend it to me.\"\n\nThese words spoiled the boy's pleasure, but did not convince him, and he\ndefiantly turned half away from the physician. Barbara understood what\nwas passing in his mind, and whispered compassionately to the doctor and\nher sister-in-law:\n\n\"All his fair money to help the young lady.\"\n\nMaria instantly approached the disappointed child, drew his curly head\ntowards her and silently kissed his forehead, while the doctor read the\nprinted label, then without moving a muscle, said as gravely as ever:\n\n\"Morpurgo isn't the worst of quacks, the remedy he prescribes here may do\nthe young lady good after all.\" Adrian had been nearer crying than\nlaughing. Now he uttered a sigh of relief, but still clasped Maria's hand\nfirmly, as he again turned his face towards the doctor, listening\nintently while the latter continued:\n\n\"Two parts buckbeans, one part pepper-wort, and half a part valerian. The\nlatter specially for women. Let it steep in boiling water and drink a\ncupful cold every morning and evening! Not bad--really not bad. You have\nfound a good remedy, my worthy colleague.\n\n\"I had something else to say to you, Adrian. My boys are going to the\nEnglish riders this evening, and would be glad to have you accompany\nthem. You can begin with the decoction to-day.\"\n\nThe physician bowed to the ladies and went on; Barbara followed him into\nthe street, asking:\n\n\"Are you in earnest about the prescription?\"\n\n\"Of course, of course,\" replied the doctor, \"my grandmother used this\nremedy for headache, and she was a sensible woman. Evening and morning,\nand the proper amount of sleep.\"\n\nHenrica occupied a pretty, tastefully-furnished room. The windows looked\nout upon the quiet court-yard, planted with trees, adjoining the\nchamois-leather work shops. She was allowed to sit up part of the day in\na cushioned arm-chair, supported by pillows. Her healthy constitution was\nrapidly rallying. True, she was still weak, and the headache spoiled\nwhole days and nights. Maria's gentle and thoughtful nature exerted a\nbeneficial influence upon her, and she cheerfully welcomed Barbara, with\nher fresh face and simple, careful, helpful ways.\n\nWhen Maria told her about the purchase Adrian had made for her, she was\nmoved to tears; but to the boy she concealed her grateful emotion under\njesting words, and greeted him with the exclamation:\n\n\"Come nearer, my preserver, and give me your hand.\"\n\nAfterwards, she always called him \"my preserver\" or, as she liked to\nmingle Italian words with her Dutch, \"Salvatore\" or \"Signor Salvatore.\"\nShe was particularly fond of giving the people, with whom she associated,\nnames of her own, and so called Barbara, whose Christian name she thought\nfrightful, \"Babetta,\" and little slender, pretty Bessie, whose company\nshe specially enjoyed, \"the elf.\" The burgomaster's wife only remained\n\"Frau Maria,\" and when the latter once jestingly asked the cause of such\nneglect, Henrica replied that she suited her name and her name her; had\nshe been called Martha, she would probably have named her \"Maria.\"\n\nThe invalid had passed a pleasant, painless day, and when towards evening\nAdrian went to see the English riders and the fragrance of the blooming\nlindens and the moonlight found their way through the open windows of her\nroom, she begged Barbara not to bring a light, and invited Maria to sit\ndown and talk with her.\n\nFrom Adrian and Bessie the conversation turned upon their own childhood.\nHenrica had grown up among her father's boon companions, amid the\nclinking of glasses and hunting-shouts, Maria in a grave burgher\nhousehold, and what they told each other seemed like tidings from a\nstrange world.\n\n\"It was easy for you to become the tall, white lily you are now,\" said\nHenrica, \"but I must thank the saints, that I came off as well as I did,\nfor we really grew up like weeds, and if I hadn't had a taste for singing\nand the family priest hadn't been such an admirable musician, I might\nstand before you in a still worse guise. When will the doctor let me hear\nyou sing?\"\n\n\"Next week; but you musn't expect too much. You have too high an opinion\nof me. Remember the proverb about still waters. Here in the depths it\noften looks far less peaceful, than you probably suppose.\"\n\n\"But you have learned to keep the surface calm when it storms; I haven't.\nA strange stillness has stolen over me here. Whether I owe it to illness\nor to the atmosphere that pervades this house, I can't tell, but how long\nwill it last? My soul used to be like the sea, when the hissing waves\nplunge into black gulfs, the seagulls scream, and the fishermen's wives\npray on the shore. Now the sea is calm. Don't be too much frightened, if\nit begins to rage again.\"\n\nAt these words Maria clasped the excited girl's hands, saying\nbeseechingly:\n\n\"Be quiet, be quiet, Henrica. You must think only of your recovery now.\nAnd shall I confess something? I believe everything hard can be more\neasily borne, if we can cast it impatiently forth like the sea of which\nyou speak; with me one thing is piled on another and remains lying there,\nas if buried under the sand.\"\n\n\"Until the hurricane comes, that sweeps it away. I don't want to be an\nevil prophet, but you surely remember these words. What a wild, careless\nthing I was! Then a day came, that made a complete revolution in my whole\nnature.\"\n\n\"Did a false love wound you?\" asked Maria modestly.\n\n\"No, except the false love of another,\" replied Henrica bitterly. \"When I\nwas a child this fluttering heart often throbbed more quickly, I don't\nknow how often. First I felt something more than reverence for the\none-eyed chaplain, our music-teacher, and every morning placed fresh\nflowers on his window, which he never noticed. Then--I was probably\nfifteen--I returned the ardent glances of Count Brederode's pretty page.\nOnce he tried to be tender, and received a blow from my riding-whip. Next\ncame a handsome young nobleman, who wanted to marry me when I was barely\nsixteen, but he was even more heavily in debt than my father, so he was\nsent home. I shed no tears for him, and when, two months after, at a\ntournament in Brussels, I saw Don Frederic, the son of the great Duke of\nAlva, fancied myself as much in love with him as ever any lady worshipped\nher Amadis, though the affair never went beyond looks. Then the storm, of\nwhich I have already spoken, burst, and that put an end to love-making. I\nwill tell you more about this at some future time; I need not conceal it,\nfor it has been no secret. Have you ever heard of my sister? No? She was\nolder than I, a creature-God never created anything more perfect. And her\nsinging! She came to my dead aunt's, and there--But I won't excite myself\nuselessly--in short, the man whom she loved with all the strength of her\nheart thrust her into misery, and my father cursed and would not stretch\nout a finger to aid her. I never knew my mother, but through Anna I never\nmissed her. My sister's fate opened my eyes to men. During the last few\nyears many have wanted me, but I lacked confidence and, still more, love,\nfor I shall never have anything to do with that.\"\n\n\"Until it finds you,\" replied Maria. \"It was wrong to speak of such\nthings with you, it excites you, and that is bad.\"\n\n\"Never mind; it will do me good to relieve my heart. Did you love no one\nbefore your husband?\"\n\n\"Love? No, Henrica, I never really loved any one except him.\"\n\n\"And your heart waited for the burgomaster, ere it beat faster?\"\n\n\"No, it had not always remained quiet before; I grew up among social\npeople, old and young, and of course liked some better than others.\"\n\n\"And surely one best of all.\"\n\n\"I won't deny it. At my sister's wedding, my brother-in-law's friend, a\nyoung nobleman, came from Germany and remained several weeks with us. I\nliked him, and remember him kindly even now.\"\n\n\"Have you never heard from him again?\"\n\n\"No; who knows what has become of him. My brother-in-law expected great\nthings from him, and he possessed many rare gifts, but was reckless,\nfool-hardy, and a source of constant anxiety to his mother.\"\n\n\"You must tell me more about him.\"\n\n\"What is the use, Henrica?\"\n\n\"I don't want to talk any more, but I should like to be still, inhale the\nfragrance of the lindens, and listen, only listen.\"\n\n\"No, you must go to bed now. I'll help you undress and, when you have\nbeen alone an hour, come back again.\"\n\n\"One learns obedience in your house, but when my preserver comes home,\nbring him here. He must tell me about the English riders. There comes\nFran Babetta with his decoction. You shall see that I take it\npunctually.\"\n\nThe boy returned home late, for he had enjoyed all the glories of the\nfair with the doctor's children. He was permitted to pay only a short\nvisit to Henrica, and did not see his father at all, the latter having\ngone to a night council at Herr Van Bronkhorst's.\n\nThe next morning the fair holidays were to end, school would begin and\nAdrian had intended to finish his tasks this evening; but the visit to\nthe English riders had interfered, and he could not possibly appear\nbefore the rector without his exercise. He frankly told Maria so, and she\ncleared a place for him at the table where she was sewing, and helped the\nyoung scholar with many a word and rule she had learned with her dead\nbrother.\n\nWhen it lacked only half an hour of midnight, Barbara entered, saying:\n\n\"That's enough now. You can finish the rest early to-morrow morning\nbefore school.\"\n\nWithout waiting for Maria's reply, she closed the boy's books and pushed\nthem together.\n\nWhile thus occupied, the room shook with rude blows on the door of the\nhouse. Maria threw down her sewing and started from her seat, while\nBarbara exclaimed:\n\n\"For Heaven's sake, what is it?\" Adrian rushed into his father's room and\nopened the window.\n\nThe ladies had hurried after him, and before they could question the\ndisturber of the peace, a deep voice called:\n\n\"Open, I must come in.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Barbara, who recognized a soldier in the moonlight.\n\"We can't hear our own voices; stop that knocking.\"\n\n\"Call the burgomaster!\" shouted the messenger, who had been constantly\nusing the knocker. \"Quick, woman; the Spaniards are coming.\"\n\nBarbara shrieked aloud and beat her hands. Maria turned pale, but without\nlosing her composure, replied: \"The burgomaster is not at home, but I'll\nsend for him. Quick, Adrian, call your father.\"\n\nThe boy rushed down-stairs, meeting in the entry the man-servant and\nTrautchen, who had jumped hastily out of bed, throwing on an\nunder-petticoat, and was now trying, with trembling hands, to unlock the\ndoor. The man pushed her aside, and as soon as the door creaked on its\nhinges, Adrian darted out and ran, as if in a race, down the street to\nthe commissioner's. Arriving before any other messenger, he pressed\nthrough the open door into the dining-hall and called breathlessly to the\nmen, who were holding a council over their wine:\n\n\"The Spaniards are here!\"\n\nThe gentlemen hastily rose from their seats. One wanted to rush to the\ncitadel, another to the town-hall and, in the excitement of the moment,\nno sensible reflection was made. Peter Van der Werff alone maintained his\ncomposure and, after Allertssohn's messenger had appeared and reported\nthat the captain and his men were on the way to Leyderdorp, the\nburgomaster pointed out that the leaders' care should now be devoted to\nthe people who had come to the fair. He and Van Hout undertook to provide\nfor them, and Adrian was soon standing with his father and the city clerk\namong the crowds of people, who had been roused from sleep by the wailing\niron voice from the Tower or Pancratius.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nAdrian's activity for this night was not yet over, for his father did not\nprevent his accompanying him to the town-hall. There he directed him to\ntell his mother, that he should be busy until morning and the servant\nmight send all persons, who desired to speak to him after one o'clock, to\nthe timber-market on the Rhine. Maria sent the boy back to the town-hall,\nto ask his father if he did not want his cloak, wine, a lunch or anything\nof the sort.\n\nThe boy fulfilled this commission with great zeal, for he never had felt\nso important as while forcing his way through the crowds that had\ngathered in the narrower streets; he had a duty to perform, and at night,\nthe time when other boys were asleep, especially his school-mates, who\ncertainly would not be allowed to leave the house now. Besides, an\neventful period, full of the beating of drums, the blare of trumpets, the\nrattle of musketry and roar of cannon might be expected. It seemed as if\nthe game \"Holland against Spain\" was to be continued in earnest, and on a\ngrand scale. All the vivacity of his years seized upon him, and when he\nhad forced a way with his elbows to less crowded places, he dashed\nhurriedly along, shouting as merrily as if spreading some joyful news in\nthe darkness:\n\n\"They are coming!\" \"the Spaniards!\" or \"Hannibal ante portas.\"\n\nAfter learning on his return to the town-hall, that his father wanted\nnothing and would send a constable if there was need of anything, he\nconsidered his errand done and felt entitled to satisfy his curiosity.\n\nThis drew him first to the English riders. The tent where they had given\ntheir performances had disappeared from the earth, and screaming men and\nwomen were rolling up large pieces of canvas, fastening packs, and\nswearing while they harnessed horses. The gloomy light of torches mingled\nwith the moonbeams and showed him on the narrow steps, that led to a\nlarge four-wheeled cart, a little girl in shabby clothes, weeping\nbitterly. Could this be the rosy-cheeked angel who, floating along on the\nsnow-white pony, had seemed to him like a happy creature from more\nbeautiful worlds? A scolding old woman now lifted the child into the\ncart, but he followed the crowd and saw Doctor Morpurgo, no longer clad\nin scarlet, but in plain dark cloth, mounted on a lean horse, riding\nbeside his cart. The negro was furiously urging the mule forward, but his\nmaster seemed to have remained in full possession of the calmness\npeculiar to him. His wares were of small value, and the Spaniards had no\nreason to take his head and tongue, by which he gained more than he\nneeded.\n\nAdrian followed him to the long row of booths in the wide street, and\nthere saw things, which put an end to his thoughtlessness and made him\nrealize, that the point in question now concerned serious, heart-rending\nmatters. He had still been able to laugh as he saw the ginger-bread\nbakers and cotton-sellers fighting hand to hand, because in the first\nfright they had tossed their packages of wares hap-hazard into each\nother's open chests, and were now unable to separate their property; but\nhe felt sincerely sorry for the Delft crockery-dealer on the corner,\nwhose light booth had been demolished by a large wagon from Gouda, loaded\nwith bales, and who now stood beside her broken wares, by means of which\nshe supported herself and children, wringing her hands, while the driver,\ntaking no notice of her, urged on his horses with loud cracks of his\nwhip. A little girl, who had lost her parents and was being carried away\nby a compassionate burgher woman, was weeping piteously. A poor\nrope-dancer, who had been robbed by a thief in the crowd, of the little\ntin box containing he pennies he had collected, was running about,\nringing his hands and looking for the watchman. A shoemaker was pounding\nriding-boots and women's shoes in motley confusion into a wooden chest\nwith rope handles, while his wife, instead of helping him, tore her hair\nand shrieked: \"I told you so, you fool, you simpleton, you blockhead!\nThey'll come and rob us of everything.\"\n\nAt the entrance of the street that led past the Assendelft house to the\nLeibfrau Bridge, several loaded wagons had become entangled, and the\ndrivers, instead of getting down and procuring help, struck at each other\nin their terror, hitting the women and children seated among the bales.\nTheir cries and shrieks echoed a long distance, but were destined to be\ndrowned, for a dancing-bear had broken loose and was putting every one\nnear him to flight. The people, who were frightened by the beast, rushed\ndown the street, screaming and yelling, dragging with them others who did\nnot know the cause of the alarm, and misled by the most imminent fear,\nroared: \"The Spaniards! The Spaniards!\" Whatever came in the way of the\nterrified throngs was overthrown. A sieve-dealer's child, standing beside\nits father's upset cart, fell beneath the mob close beside Adrian, who\nhad stationed himself in the door-way of a house. But the lad was crowded\nso closely into his hiding-place, that he could not spring to the little\none's aid, and his attention was attracted to a new sight, as Janus Dousa\nappeared on horseback. In answer to the cry of \"The Spaniards! The\nSpaniards!\" he shouted loudly: \"Quiet, people, quiet! The enemy hasn't\ncome yet! To the Rhine! Vessels are waiting there for all strangers. To\nthe Rhine! There are no Spaniards there, do you hear, no Spaniards!\"\n\nThe nobleman stopped just before Adrian, for his horse could go no\nfarther and stood snorting and trembling under his rider. The advice bore\nlittle fruit, and not until hundreds had rushed past him, did the\nfrightened crowd diminish. The bear, from which they fled, had been\ncaught by a brewer's apprentice and taken back to its owner long before.\nThe city constables now appeared, led by Adrian's father, and the boy\nfollowed them unobserved to the timber-market on the southern bank of the\nRhine. There another crowd met him, for many dealers had hurried thither\nto save their property in the ships. Men and women pressed past bales and\nwares, that were being rolled down the narrow wooden bridges to the\nvessels. A woman, a child, and a rope-maker's cart had been pushed into\nthe water, and the wildest confusion prevailed around the spot. But the\nburgomaster reached the place just at the right time, gave directions for\nrescuing the drowning people, and then made every, exertion to bring\norder out of the confusion.\n\nThe constables were commanded to admit fugitives only on board the\nvessels bound for the places where they belonged; two planks were laid to\nevery ship, One for goods, the other for passengers; the constables\nloudly shouted that--as the law directed when the alarm-bell rang--all\ncitizens of Leyden must enter their houses and the streets be cleared, on\npain of a heavy penalty. All the city gates were opened for the passage\nof wheeled vehicles, except the Hohenort Gate, which led to Leyderdorp,\nwhere egress was refused. Thus the crowd in the streets was lessened,\norder appeared amid the tumult, and when, in the dawn of morning, Adrian\nturned his steps towards home, there was little more bustle in the\nstreets than on ordinary nights.\n\nHis mother and Barbara had been anxious, but he told them about his\nfather and in what manner he had put a stop to the confusion.\n\nWhile talking, the rattle of musketry was heard in the distance, awaking\nsuch excitement in Adrian's mind, that he wanted to rush out again; but\nhis mother stopped him and he was obliged to mount the stairs to his\nroom. He did not go to sleep, but climbed to the upper loft in the gable\nof the rear building and gazed through the window, to which the bales of\nleather were raised by pulleys, towards the east, from whence the sound\nof firing was still audible. But he saw nothing except the dawn and light\nclouds of smoke, that assumed a rosy hue as they floated upward. As\nnothing new appeared, his eyes closed, and he fell asleep beside the open\nwindow where he dreamed of a bloody battle and the English riders. His\nslumber was so sound, that he did not hear the rumble of wheels in the\nquiet courtyard below him. The carts from which the noise proceeded\nbelonged to traders from neighboring cities, who preferred to leave their\ngoods in the threatened town, rather than carry them towards the\nadvancing Spaniards. Meister Peter had allowed some of them to store\ntheir property with him. The carts were obliged to pass through the\nback-building with the workshops, and the goods liable to be injured by\nthe weather, were to be placed in the course of the day in the large\ngarrets of his house.\n\nThe burgomaster's wife had gone to Henrica at midnight to soothe her\nfears, but the sick girl seemed free from all anxiety, and when she heard\nthat the Spaniards were on the march, her eyes sparkled joyously. Maria\nnoticed it and turned away from her guest, but she repressed the harsh\nwords that sprang to her lips, wished her good-night, and left the\nchamber.\n\nHenrica gazed thoughtfully after her and then rose, for no sleep was\npossible that night. The alarm-bell in the Tower of Pancratius rang\nincessantly, and more than once doors opened, voices and shots were\nheard. Many tones and noises, whose origin and nature she could not\nunderstand, reached her ears, and when morning dawned, the court-yard\nunder her windows, usually so quiet, was full of bustle. Carts rattled,\nloud tones mingled excitedly, and a deep masculine voice seemed to be\ndirecting what was going on. Her curiosity and restlessness increased\nevery moment. She listened so intently that her head began to ache again,\nbut could hear only separate words and those very indistinctly. Had the\ncity been surrendered to the Spaniards, had King Philip's soldiers found\nquarters in the burgomaster's house? Her blood boiled indignantly, when\nshe thought of the Castilians' triumph and the humiliation of her native\nland, but soon her former joyous excitement again filled her mind, as she\nbeheld in imagination art re-enter the bare walls of the Leyden churches,\nnow robbed of all their ornaments, chanting processions move through the\nstreets, and priests in rich robes celebrating mass in the\nnewly-decorated tabernacles, amid beautiful music, the odor of incense,\nand the ringing of bells. She expected to receive from the Spaniards a\nplace where she could pray and free her soul by confession. Amid her\nformer surroundings nothing had afforded her any support, except her\nreligion. A worthy priest, who was also her instructor, had zealously\nstriven to prove to her, that the new religion threatened to destroy the\nmystical consecration of life, the yearning for the beautiful, every\nideal emotion of the human soul, and with them art also; so Henrica\npreferred to see her native land Spanish and Catholic, rather than free\nfrom the foreigners whom she hated and Calvinistical.\n\nThe court-yard gradually became less noisy, but when the first rays of\nmorning light streamed into her windows, the bustle again commenced and\ngrew louder. Heavy soles tramped upon the pavement, and amid the voices\nthat now mingled with those she had formerly heard, she fancied she\ndistinguished Maria's and Barbara's. Yes, she was not mistaken. That cry\nof terror must proceed from her friend's mouth, and was followed by\nexclamations of grief from bearded lips and loud sobs.\n\nEvil tidings must have reached her host's house, and the woman weeping so\nimpetuously below was probably kind \"Babetta.\"\n\nAnxiety drove her from her bed. On the little table beside it, amid\nseveral bottles and glasses, the lamp and the box of matches, stood the\ntiny bell, at whose faint sound one of her nurses invariably hastened in.\nHenrica rang it three times, then again and again, but nobody appeared.\nThen her hot blood boiled, and half from impatience and vexation, half\nfrom curiosity and sympathy, she slipped into her shoes, threw on a\nmorning dress, went to the chair which stood on the platform in the\nniche, opened the window, and looked down at the groups gathered below.\n\nNo one noticed her, for the men who stood there sorrowing, and the\nweeping women, among whom were Maria and Barbara, were listening with\nmany tokens of sympathy to the eager words of a young man, and had eyes\nand ears for him alone. Henrica recognized in the speaker the musician\nWilhelm, but only by his voice, for the morion on his curls and the\nblood-stained coat of mail gave the unassuming artist a martial, nay\nheroic air.\n\nHe had advanced a long way in his story, when Henrica unseen became a\nlistener.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" he replied, in answer to a question from the burgomaster, \"we\nfollowed them, but they disappeared in the village and all remained\nstill. To risk storming the houses, would have been madness. So we kept\nquiet, but towards two o'clock heard firing in the neighborhood of\nLeyderdorp. 'Junker von Warmond has made a sally,' said the captain,\nleading us in the direction of the firing. This was what the Spaniards\nhad wanted, for long before we reached the goal, a company of Castilians,\nwith white sheets over their armor, climbed out of a ditch in the dim\nlight, threw themselves on their knees, murmured a 'Pater-noster,'\nshouted their San Jago and pressed forward upon us. We had seen them in\ntime for the halberdiers to extend their pikes, and the musketeers to be\ndown amid the grass. So the Spaniards had a warm reception, and four of\nthem fell in this attack. We were superior in numbers, and their captain\nled them back to the ditch in good order. There they halted, for their\nduty was probably to detain us and then have us cut down by a larger\nbody. We were too weak to drive them from their position, but when the\neast began to brighten and they still did not come forward, the captain\nadvanced towards them with the drummer, bearing a white flag, and shouted\nto them in Italian, which he had learned to speak a little in Italy, that\nhe wished the Castilian gentlemen good-morning, and if there was any\nofficer with a sense of honor among them, let him come forth and meet a\ncaptain who wished to cross swords with him. He pledged his word, that\nhis men would look on at the duel without taking any share in it, no\nmatter what the result might be. Just at that moment two shots were fired\nfrom the ditch and the bullets whizzed close by the poor captain. We\ncalled to him to save his life, but he did not stir, and shouted that\nthey were cowards and assassins, like their king.\n\n\"Meantime it had grown tolerably light--we heard them calling to and fro\nfrom the ditch, and just as Allertssohn was turning away, an officer\nsprang into the meadow, exclaiming: 'Stand, braggart, and draw your\nblade.'\n\n\"The captain drew his Brescian sword, bowed to his enemy as if he were in\nthe fencing-school, bent the steel and closed with the Castilian. The\nlatter was a thin man of stately figure and aristocratic bearing, and as\nit soon appeared, a dangerous foe. He circled like a whirlwind, round the\ncaptain with bounds, thrusts and feints, but Allertssohn maintained his\ncomposure, and at first confined himself to skilful parrying. Then he\ndealt a magnificent quarte, and when the other parried it, followed with\nthe tierce, and this being warded off, gave with the speed of lightning a\nside-thrust such as only he can deal. The Castilian fell on his knees,\nfor the Brescian blade had pierced his lungs. His death was speedy.\n\n\"As soon as he lay on the turf, the Spaniards again rushed upon us, but\nwe repulsed them and took the officer's body in our midst. Never have I\nseen the captain so proud and happy. You, Junker von Warmond, can easily\nguess the cause. He had now done honor to his series in a genuine duel\nagainst an enemy of equal rank, and told me this was the happiest morning\nof his life. Then he ordered us to march round the ditch and attack the\nenemy on the flank. But scarcely had we begun to move, when the expected\ntroops from Leyderdorp pressed forward, their loud San Jago resounding\nfar and wide, while at the same time the old enemy rose from the ditch\nand attacked us. Allertssohn rushed forward, but did not reach them--oh,\ngentlemen! I shall never forget it, a bullet struck him down at my side.\nIt probably pierced his heart, for he said: nothing but: 'Remember the\nboy!' stretched out his powerful frame and died. We wanted to bear his\nbody away with us, but were pressed by superior numbers, and it was hard\nenough to come within range of Junker von Warmond's volunteers. The\nSpaniards did not venture so far. Here we are. The Castilian's body is\nlying in the tower at the Hohenort Gate. These are the papers we found in\nthe dead man's doublet, and this is his ring; he has a proud escutcheon.\"\n\nPeter Van der Werff took the dead man's letter-case in his hand, looked\nthrough it and said: \"His name was Don Luis d Avila.\"\n\nHe said no more, for his wife had seen Henrica's head stretched far out\nof the window, and cried loudly in terror: \"Fraulein, for Heaven's sake,\nFraulein--what are you doing?\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Hat is the sign of liberty, and the free man keeps his hat on\n     Must take care not to poison the fishes with it\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThe burgomaster's wife had been anxious about Henrica, but the latter\ngreeted her with special cheerfulness and met her gentle reproaches with\nthe assurance that this morning had done her good. Fate, she said, was\njust, and if it were true that confidence of recovery helped the\nphysician, Doctor Bontius would have an easy task with her. The dead\nCastilian must be the wretch, who had plunged her sister Anna into\nmisery. Maria, surprised, but entirely relieved, left her and sought her\nhusband to tell him how she had found the invalid, and in what relation\nthe Spanish officer, slain by Allertssohn, seemed to have stood to\nHenrica and her sister. Peter only half listened to her, and when Barbara\nbrought him a freshly-ironed ruff, interrupted his wife in the middle of\nher story, gave her the dead man's letter-case, and said:\n\n\"There, let her satisfy herself, and bring it to me again in the evening,\nI shall hardly be able to come to dinner; I suppose you'll see poor\nAllertssohn's widow in the course of the day.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" she answered eagerly. \"Whom will you appoint in his place?\"\n\n\"That is for the Prince to decide.\"\n\n\"Have you thought of any means of keeping the communication with Delft\nfree from the enemy?\"\n\n\"On your mother's account?\"\n\n\"Not solely. Rotterdam also lies to the south. We can expect nothing from\nHaarlem and Amsterdam, that is, from the north, for everything there is\nin the hands of the Spaniards.\"\n\n\"I'll get you a place in the council of war. Where do you learn your\nwisdom?\"\n\n\"We have our thoughts, and isn't it natural that I should rather follow\nyou into the future with my eyes open, than blindly? Has the English\ntroop been used to secure the fortifications on the old canal? Kaak too\nis an important point.\"\n\nPeter gazed at his wife in amazement, and the sense of discomfort\nexperienced by an unskilful writer, when some one looks over his\nshoulder, stole over him. She had pointed out a bad, momentous error,\nwhich, it is true, did not burden him alone, and as he certainly did not\nwish to defend it to her, and moreover might have found justification\ndifficult, he made no reply, saying nothing but: \"Men's affairs! Good-bye\nuntil evening.\" With these words he walked past Barbara, towards the\ndoor.\n\nMaria did not know how it happened, but before he laid his hand on the\nlatch she gained sufficient self-command to call after him:\n\n\"Are you going so, Peter! Is that right? What did you promise me on your\nreturn from the journey to the Prince?\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" he answered impatiently. \"We cannot serve two masters,\nand in these times I beg you not to trouble me with questions and matters\nthat don't concern you. To direct the business of the city is my affair;\nyou have your invalid, the children, the poor; let that suffice.\"\n\nWithout waiting for her reply he left the room, while she stood\nmotionless, gazing after him.\n\nBarbara watched her anxiously for several minutes, then busied herself\nwith the papers on her brother's writing-table, saying as if to herself,\nthough turning slightly towards her sister-in-law:\n\n\"Evil times! Let every one, who is not oppressed with such burdens as\nPeter, thank the Lord. He has to bear the responsibility of everything,\nand people can't dance lightly with hundred-pound weights on their legs.\nNobody has a better heart, and nobody means more honestly. How the\ntraders at the fair praised his caution! In the storm people know the\npilot, and Peter was always greatest, when things were going worst. He\nknows what he is undertaking, but the last few weeks have aged him\nyears.\"\n\nMaria nodded. Barbara left the room, but returning after a few minutes,\nsaid beseechingly:\n\n\"You look ill, child, come and lie down. An hour's sleep is better than\nthree meals. At your age, such a night as this last one doesn't pass\nwithout leaving traces. The sun is shining so brightly, that I've drawn\nyour window-curtains. I've made your bed, too. Be sensible and come.\"\n\nWhile uttering the last words, she took Maria's hand and drew her away.\nThe young wife made no resistance, and though her eyes did not remain dry\nwhen she was alone, sleep soon overpowered her.\n\nTowards noon, refreshed by slumber, and newly dressed, she went to the\ncaptain's house. Her own heart was heavy, and compassion for herself and\nher own fate again had the mastery. Eva Peterstochter, the\nfencing-master's widow, a quiet, modest woman, whom she scarcely knew by\nsight, did not appear. She was sitting alone in her room, weeping, but\nMaria found in her house the musician, Wilhelm, who had spoken comforting\nwords to his old friend's son, and promised to take charge of him and\nmake him a good performer.\n\nThe burgomaster's wife sent a message to the widow, begging to see her\nthe next day, and then went out into the street with Wilhelm. Everywhere\ngroups of citizens, women, and journeymen were standing together, talking\nabout what had happened and the coming trouble. While Maria was telling\nthe musician who the dead Castilian was, and that Henrica desired to\nspeak with him, Wilhelm, as soon as possible, she was interrupted more\nthan once; for sometimes a company of volunteers or city guards, relieved\nfrom duty in the towers and on the walls, sometimes a cannon barred their\nway. Was it the anticipation of coming events, or the beat of drums and\nblare of trumpets, which so excited her companion, that he often pressed\nhis hand to his forehead and she was obliged to request him to slacken\nhis pace. There was a strange, constrained tone in his voice as, in\naccordance with her request, he told her that the Spaniards had come by\nship up the Amstel, the Drecht, and the Brasem See to the Rhine and\nlanded at Leyderdorp.\n\nA mounted messenger wearing the Prince's colors, and followed not only by\nchildren, but by grown persons, who ran after him eager to reach the\ntown-hall at the same time, interrupted Wilhelm, and as soon as the crowd\nhad passed, the burgomaster's wife asked her companion one question after\nanother. The noise of war, the firing audible in the distance, the gay\nmilitary costumes everywhere to be seen in place of the darker citizens'\ndress, also aroused her eager interest, and what she learned from Wilhelm\nwas little calculated to diminish it. The main body of the Spanish troops\nwas on the way to the Hague. The environment of the city had commenced,\nbut the enemy could hardly succeed in his purpose; for the English\nauxiliaries, who were to defend the new fortifications of Valkenburg, the\nvillage of Alfen, and the Gouda sluice might be trusted. Wilhelm had seen\nthe British soldiers, their commander, Colonel Chester, and Captain\nGensfort, and praised their superb equipments and stately bearing.\n\nOn reaching her own house, Maria attempted to take leave of her\ncompanion, but the latter earnestly entreated permission to have an\ninterview with Henrica at once, and could scarcely be convinced that he\nmust have patience until the doctor had given his consent.\n\nAt dinner Adrian, who when his father was not present, talked freely\nenough, related all sorts of things he had seen himself, as well as news\nand rumors heard at school and in the street, his eloquence being no\nlittle encouraged by his step-mother's eager questions.\n\nIntense anxiety had taken possession of the burgomaster's wife. Her\nenthusiasm for the cause of liberty, to which her most beloved relatives\nhad fallen victims, blazed brightly, and wrath against the oppressors of\nher native land seethed passionately in her breast. The delicate,\nmaidenly, reserved woman, who was utterly incapable of any loud or rude\nexpression of feeling in ordinary life, would now have rushed to the\nwalls, like Kanau Hasselaer of Haarlem, to fight the foe among the men.\n\nOffended pride, and everything that an hour ago had oppressed her heart,\nyielded to sympathy for her country's cause. Animated with fresh courage,\nshe went to Henrica and, as evening had closed in, sat down by the lamp\nto write to her mother; for she had neglected to do so since the\ninvalid's arrival, and communication with Delft might soon be\ninterrupted.\n\nWhen she read over the completed letter, she was satisfied with it and\nherself, for it breathed firm confidence in the victory of the good\ncause, and also distinctly and unconstrainedly expressed her cheerful\nwillingness to bear the worst.\n\nBarbara had retired when Peter at last appeared, so weary that he could\nscarcely touch the meal that had been kept ready for him. While raising\nthe food to his lips, he confirmed the news Maria had already heard from\nthe musician, and was gentle and kind, but his appearance saddened her,\nfor it recalled Barbara's allusion to the heavy burden he had assumed.\nTo-day, for the first time, she noticed two deep lines that anxiety had\nfurrowed between his eyes and lips, and full of tender compassion, went\nbehind him, laid her hands on his cheeks and kissed him on the forehead.\nHe trembled slightly, seized her slender right hand so impetuously that\nshe shrank back, raised it first to his lips, then to his eyes, and held\nit there for several minutes.\n\nAt last he rose, passed before her into his sleeping-room, bade her an\naffectionate good-night, and lay down to rest. When she too sought her\nbed, he was breathing heavily. Extreme fatigue had quickly overpowered\nhim. The slumber of both was destined to be frequently interrupted during\nthis night, and whenever Maria woke, she heard her husband sigh and moan.\nShe did not stir, that she might not disturb the sleep he sought and\nneeded, and twice held her breath, for he was talking to himself. First\nhe murmured softly: \"Heavy, too heavy,\" and then: \"If I can only bear\nit.\"\n\nWhen she awoke next morning, he had already left the room and gone to the\ntown-hall. At noon he returned home, saying that the Spaniards had taken\nthe Hague and been hailed with delight by the pitiful adherents of the\nking. Fortunately, the well-disposed citizens and Beggars had had time to\nescape to Delft, for brave Nicolas Ruichhaver had held the foe in check\nfor a time at Geestburg. The west was still open, and the newly-fortified\nfort of Valkenburg, garrisoned by the English soldiers, would not be so\neasy to storm. On the east, other British auxiliaries were posted at\nAlfen in the Spaniards' rear.\n\nThe burgomaster told all this unasked, but did not speak as freely and\nnaturally as when conversing with men. While talking, he often looked\ninto his plate and hesitated. It seemed as if he were obliged to impose a\ncertain restraint upon himself, in order to speak before women, servants,\nand children, of matters he was in the habit of discussing only with men\nof his own position. Maria listened attentively, but maintained a modest\nreserve, urging him only by loving looks and sympathizing exclamations,\nwhile Barbara boldly asked one question after another.\n\nThe meal was approaching an end, when Junker von Warmond entered\nunannounced, and requested the burgomaster to accompany him at once, for\nColonel Chester was standing before the White Gate with a portion of his\ntroops, asking admittance to the city.\n\nAt these tidings, Peter dashed his mug of beer angrily on the table,\nsprang from his seat, and left the room before the nobleman.\n\nDuring the late hours of the afternoon, the Van der Werff house was\ncrowded with people. The gossips came to talk over with Barbara the\nevents occurring at the White Gate. Burgomaster Van Swieten's wife had\nheard from her own husband, that the Englishmen, without making any\nresistance, had surrendered the beautiful new fort of Valkenburg and\ntaken to their heels, at the mere sight of the Spaniards. The enemy had\nmarched out from Haarlem through the downs above Nordwyk, and it would\nhave been an easy matter for the Britons to hold the strong position.\n\n\"Fine aid such helpers give!\" cried Barbara indignantly. \"Let Queen\nElizabeth keep the men on her island for herself, and send us the women.\"\n\n\"Yet they are real sons of Anak, and bear themselves like trim soldiers,\"\nsaid the wife of the magistrate Heemskerk. \"High boots, doublets of fine\nleather, gay plumes in their morions and hats, large coats of mail,\nhalberds that would kill half a dozen--and all like new.\"\n\n\"They probably didn't want to spoil them, and so found a place of safety\nas soon as possible, the windy cowards,\" cried the wife of Church-warden\nde Haes, whose sharp tongue was well known. \"You seem to have looked at\nthem very closely, Frau Margret.\"\n\n\"From the wind-mill at the gate,\" replied the other. \"The envoy stopped\non the bridge directly under us. A handsome man on a stately horse. His\ntrumpeter too was mounted, and the velvet cloth on his trumpet bristled\nwith beautiful embroidery in gold thread and jewels. They earnestly\nentreated admittance, but the gate remained closed.\"\n\n\"Right, right!\" cried Frau Heemskerk. \"I don't like the Prince's\ncommissioner, Van Bronkhorst. What does he care for us, if only the Queen\ndoesn't get angry and withdraw the subsidies? I've heard he wants to\naccommodate Chester and grant him admission.\"\n\n\"He would like to do so,\" added Frau Van Hout. \"But your husband, Frau\nMaria, and mine--I was talking with him on the way here--will make every\neffort to prevent it. The two Seigneurs of Nordwyk are of their opinion,\nso perhaps the commissioner will be out-voted.\"\n\n\"May God grant it!\" cried the resolute voice of Wilhelm's mother. \"By\nto-morrow or the day after, not even a cat will be allowed to leave the\ngates, and my husband says we must begin to save provisions at once.\"\n\n\"Five hundred more consumers in the city, to lessen our children's\nmorsels; that would be fine business!\" cried Frau de Haes, throwing\nherself back in her chair so violently, that it creaked, and beating her\nknees with her hands.\n\n\"And they are Englishmen, Frau Margret, Englishmen,\" said the\nReceiver-General's wife. \"They don't eat, they don't consume, they\ndevour. We supply our troops; but Herr von Nordwyk--I mean the younger\none, who has been at the Queen's court as the Prince's ambassador, told\nmy Wilhelm what a British glutton can gobble. They'll clear off your beef\nlike cheese, and our beer is dish-water compared with their black malt\nbrew.\"\n\n\"All that might be borne,\" replied Barbara, \"if they were stout soldiers.\nWe needn't mind a hundred head of cattle more or less, and the glutton\nbecomes temperate, when a niggard rules the house. But I wouldn't take\none of our Adrian's grey rabbits for these runaways.\"\n\n\"It would be a pity,\" said Frau de Haes. \"I shall go home now, and if I\nfind my husband, he'll learn what sensible people think of the\nEnglishmen.\"\n\n\"Gently, my friend, gently,\" said Burgomaster Van Swieten's wife, who had\nhitherto been playing quietly with the cat. \"Believe me, it will be just\nthe same on the whole, whether we admit the auxiliaries or not, for\nbefore the gooseberries in our gardens are ripe, all resistance will be\nover.\"\n\nMaria, who was passing cakes and hippocras, set her waiter on the table\nand asked:\n\n\"Do you wish that, Frau Magtelt?\"\n\n\"I do,\" replied the latter positively, \"and many sensible people wish it\ntoo. No resistance is possible against such superior force, and the\nsooner we appeal to the King's mercy, the more surely it will be\ngranted.\"\n\nThe other women listened to the bold speaker in silence, but Maria\napproached and answered indignantly:\n\n\"Whoever says that, can go to the Spaniards at once; whoever says that,\ndesires the disgrace of the city and country; whoever says that--\"\n\nFrau Magtelt interrupted Maria with a forced laugh, saying:\n\n\"Do you want to school experienced women, Madam Early-Wise? Is it\ncustomary to attack a visitor?\"\n\n\"Customary or not,\" replied the other, \"I will never permit such words in\nour house, and if they crossed the lips of my own sister I would say to\nher Go, you are my friend no longer!\"\n\nMaria's voice trembled, and she pointed with outstretched arm towards the\ndoor.\n\nFrau Magtelt struggled for composure, but as she left the room found\nnothing to say, except: \"Don't be troubled, don't be troubled--you won't\nsee me again.\"\n\nBarbara followed the offended woman, and while those who remained fixed\ntheir eyes in embarrassment upon their laps, Wilhelm's mother exclaimed:\n\n\"Well said, little woman, well said!\"\n\nHerr Van Hout's kind wife threw her arm around Maria, kissed her\nforehead, and whispered:\n\n\"Turn away from the other women and dry your eyes.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nA story is told of a condemned man, whom his cruel executioner cast into\na prison of ingenious structure. Each day the walls of this cage grew\nnarrower and narrower, each day they pressed nearer and nearer to the\nunfortunate prisoner, until in despair he died and the dungeon became his\ncoffin. Even so, league by league, the iron barriers of the Spanish\nregiments drew nearer and nearer Leyden, and, if they succeeded in\ndestroying the resistance of their victim, the latter was threatened with\na still more cruel and pitiless end than that of the unhappy prisoner.\nThe girdle Valdez, King Philip's commander, and his skilful lieutenant,\nDon Ayala, had drawn around the city in less than two days, was already\nnearly closed, the fort of Valkenburg, strengthened with the utmost care,\nbelonged to the enemy, and the danger had advanced more rapidly and with\nfar more irresistible strength, than even the most timid citizens had\nfeared. If Leyden fell, its houses would be delivered to fire and\npillage, its men to death, its women to disgrace--this was guaranteed by\nthe fate of other conquered cities and the Spanish nature.\n\nWho could imagine the guardian angel of the busy city, except under a\nsullen sky, with clouded brow and anxious eyes, and yet it looked as gay\nand bright at the White Gate as if a spring festival was drawing to a\nclose with a brilliant exhibition. Wherever the walls, as far as\nCatherine's Tower, afforded a foothold, they were crowded with men,\nwomen, and children. The old masonry looked like the spectators' seats in\nan arena, and the buzzing of the many-headed, curious crowd was heard for\na long distance in the city.\n\nIt is a kind dispensation of Providence, that enables men to enjoy a\nbrief glimpse of sunshine amid terrible storms, and thus the journeymen\nand apprentices, women and children, forgot the impending danger and\nfeasted their eyes on the beautifully-dressed English soldiers, who were\nlooking up at them, nodding and laughing saucily to the young girls,\nthough part of them, it is true, were awaiting with thoughtful faces the\nresults of the negotiations going on within the walls.\n\nThe doors of the White Gate now opened; Commissioner Van Bronkhorst, Van\nder Werff, Van Hout and other leaders of the community accompanied the\nBritish colonel and his trumpeter to the bridge. The former seemed to be\nfilled with passionate indignation and several times struck his hand on\nthe hilt of his sword, the Leyden magistrates were talking to him, and at\nlast took leave with low bows, which he answered only with a haughty wave\nof the hand. The citizens returned, the portals of the gate closed, the\nold lock creaked, the iron-shod beams fell back into their places, the\nchains of the drawbridge rattled audibly, and the assembled throng now\nknew that the Englishmen had been refused admittance to the city.\n\nLoud cheers, mingled with many an expression of displeasure, were heard.\n\"Long live Orange!\" shouted the boys, among whom were Adrian and the son\nof the dead fencing-master Allertssohn; the women waved their\nhandkerchiefs, and all eyes were fixed on the Britons. A loud flourish of\ntrumpets was heard, the English mounted officers dashed towards the\ncolonel and held a short council of war with him, interrupted by hasty\nwords from several individuals, and soon after a signal was sounded. The\nsoldiers hurriedly, formed in marching array, many of them shaking their\nfists at the city. Halberds and muskets, which had been stacked, were\nseized by their owners and, amid the beating of drums and blare of\ntrumpets, order arose out of the confusion. Individuals fell into ranks,\nranks into companies, gay flags were unfurled and flung to the evening\nbreeze, and with loud hurrahs the troops marched along the Rhine towards\nthe south-west, where the Spanish outposts were stationed.\n\nThe Leyden boys joined loudly in the Englishmen's cheer.\n\nEven Andreas, the fencing-master's son, had begun to shout with them; but\nwhen he saw a tall captain marching proudly before his company, his voice\nfailed and, covering his eyes with his hands, he ran home to his mother.\n\nThe other lads did not notice him, for the setting sun flashed so\nbrightly on the coats of mail and helmets of the soldiers, the trumpets\nsounded so merrily, the officers' steeds caracoled so proudly under their\nriders, the gay plumes and banners and the smoke of the glimmering\nmatches gained such beautiful hues in the roseate light of sunset, that\neyes and ears seemed spellbound by the spectacle. But a fresh incident\nnow attracted the attention of great and small.\n\nThirty-six Englishmen, among them several officers, lingered behind the\nothers and approached the gate. Again the lock creaked and the chains\nrattled. The little band was admitted to the city and welcomed at the\nfirst houses of the northern end by Herr Van Bronkhorst and the\nburgomaster.\n\nEvery one on the walls had expected, that a skirmish between the\nretreating Englishmen and Castilians would now take place before their\neyes. But they were greatly mistaken. Before the first ranks reached the\nenemy, the matches for lighting the cannon flew through the air, the\nbanners were lowered, and when darkness came and the curious spectators\ndispersed, they knew that the Englishmen had deserted the good cause and\ngone over to the Spaniards.\n\nThe thirty-six men, who had been admitted through the gates, were the\nonly ones who refused to be accessory to this treason.\n\nThe task of providing quarters for Captain Cromwell and the other\nEnglishmen and Netherlanders, who had remained faithful, was assigned to\nVan Hout. Burgomaster Van der Werff went home with Commissioner Van\nBronkhorst. Many a low-voiced but violent word had been exchanged between\nthem. The commissioner protested that the Prince would be highly incensed\nat the refusal to admit the Englishmen, for with good reason he set great\nvalue on Queen Elizabeth's favorable disposition to the cause of freedom,\nto which the burgomaster and his friends had rendered bad service that\nday. Van der Werff denied this, for everything depended upon holding\nLeyden. After the fall of this city, Delft, Rotterdam and Gouda would\nalso be lost, and all farther efforts to battle for the liberty of\nHolland useless. Five hundred consumers would prematurely exhaust the\nalready insufficient stock of provisions. Everything had been done to\nsoften their refusal to admit the Englishmen, nay they had had free\nchoice to encamp beneath the protection of the walls under the cannon of\nthe city.\n\nWhen the two men parted, neither had convinced the other, but each felt\nsure of his comrade's loyalty. As Peter took leave, he said:\n\n\"Van Hout shall explain the reasons for our conduct to the Prince, in a\nletter as clear and convincing as only he can make it, and his excellency\nwill finally approve of it. Rely upon that.\"\n\n\"We will wait,\" replied the commissioner, \"but don't forget that we shall\nsoon be shut within these walls behind bolts and bars, like prisoners,\nand perhaps day after to-morrow no messenger will be able to get to him.\"\n\n\"Van Hout is swift with his pen.\"\n\n\"And let a proclamation be read aloud, early tomorrow morning, advising\nthe women, old men and children, in short, all who will diminish the\nstock of provisions and add no strength to the defence, to leave the\ncity. They can reach Delft without danger, for the roads leading to it\nare still open.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied Peter. \"It's said that many girls and women have\ngone to-day in advance of the others.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" cried the commissioner. \"We are driving in a fragile\nvessel on the high seas. If I had a daughter in the house, I know what I\nshould do. Farewell till we meet again, Meister. How are matters at\nAlfen? The firing is no longer heard.\"\n\n\"Darkness has probably interrupted the battle.\"\n\n\"We'll hope for the best news to-morrow, and even if all the men outside\nsuccumb, we within the walls will not flinch or yield.\"\n\n\"We will hold out firmly to the end,\" replied Peter resolutely.\n\n\"To the end, and, if God so wills it, a successful end.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" cried Peter, pressed the commissioner's hand and pursued his way\nhome.\n\nBarbara met him on the steps and wanted to call Maria, who was with\nHenrica; but he forbade it and paced thoughtfully to and fro, his lips\noften quivering as if he were suffering great pain. When, after some\ntime, he heard his wife's voice in the dining-room, he controlled himself\nby a violent effort, went to the door, and slowly opened it.\n\n\"You are at home already, and I sitting quietly here spinning!\" she\nexclaimed in surprise.\n\n\"Yes, child. Please come in here, I have something to say to you.\"\n\n\"For Heaven's sake! Peter, tell me what has happened. How your voice\nsounds, and how pale you look!\"\n\n\"I'm not ill, but matters are serious, terribly serious, Maria.\"\n\n\"Then it is true that the enemy--\"\n\nThey gained great advantage to-day and yesterday, but I beg you, if you\nlove me, don't interrupt me now; what I have to say is no easy thing, it\nis hard to force the lips to utter it. Where shall I begin? How shall I\nspeak, that you may not misunderstand me? You know, child, I took you\ninto my house from a warm nest. What we could offer was very little, and\nyou had doubtless expected to find more. I know you have not been happy.\"\n\n\"But it would be so easy for you to make me so.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken, Maria. In these troublous times but one thing claims\nmy thoughts, and whatever diverts them from it is evil. But just now one\nthing paralyzes my courage and will-anxiety about your fate; for who\nknows what is impending over us, and therefore it must be said, I must\ntake my heart to the shambles and express a wish.--A wish? Oh, merciful\nHeaven, is there no other word for what I mean!\"\n\n\"Speak, Peter, speak, and do not torture me!\" cried Maria, gazing\nanxiously into her husband's face. It could be no small matter, that\ninduced the clear-headed, resolute man to utter such confused language.\n\nThe burgomaster summoned up his courage and began again:\n\n\"You are right, it is useless to keep back what must be said. We have\ndetermined at the town-hall to-day, to request the women and girls to\nleave the city. The road to Delft is still open; day after to-morrow it\nmay no longer be so, afterwards--who can predict what will happen\nafterwards? If no relief comes and the provisions are consumed, we shall\nbe forced to open the gates to the enemy, and then, Maria, imagine what\nwill happen! The Rhine and the canals will grow crimson, for much blood\nwill flow into them and they will mirror an unequalled conflagration. Woe\nbetide the men, tenfold woe betide the women, against whom the\nconqueror's fury will then be directed. And you, you--the wife of the man\nwho has induced thousands to desert King Philip, the wife of the exile,\nwho directs the resistance within these walls.\"\n\nAt the last words Maria had opened her large eyes wider and wider, and\nnow interrupted her husband with the question: \"Do you wish to try how\nhigh my courage will rise?\"\n\n\"No, Maria. I know you will hold out loyally and would look death in the\nface as fearlessly as your sister did in Haarlem; but I, I cannot endure\nthe thought of seeing you fall into the hands of our butchers. Fear for\nyou, terrible fear, will destroy my vigorous strength in the decisive\nhours, so the words must be uttered--\"\n\nMaria had hitherto listened to her husband quietly; she knew what he\ndesired. Now she advanced nearer and interrupted him by exclaiming\nfirmly, nay imperiously:\n\n\"No more, no more, do you hear! I will not endure another word!\"\n\n\"Maria!\"\n\n\"Silence it is my turn now. To escape fear, you will thrust your wife\nfrom the house; fear, you say, would undermine your strength. But will\nlonging strengthen it? If you love me, it will not fail to come--\"\n\n\"If I love you, Maria!\"\n\n\"Well, well! But you have forgotten to consider how I shall feel in\nexile, if I also love you. I am your wife. We vowed at the altar, that\nnothing save death should part us. Have you forgotten it? Have your\nchildren become mine? Have I taught them, rejoiced to call myself their\nmother? Yes, or no?\"\n\n\"Yes, Maria, yes, yes, a hundred times yes!\"\n\n\"And you have the heart to throw me into the arms of this wasting\nlonging! You wish to prevent me from keeping the most sacred of vows? You\ncan bring yourself to tear me from the children? You think me too shallow\nand feeble, to endure suffering and death for the sacred cause, which is\nmine as well as yours! You are fond of calling me your child, but I can\nbe strong, and whatever may come, will not weep. You are the husband and\nhave the right to command, I am only the wife and shall obey. Shall I go?\nShall I stay? I await your answer.\"\n\nShe had uttered the last words in a trembling voice, but the burgomaster\nexclaimed with deep emotion:\n\n\"Stay, stay, Maria! Come, come, and forgive me!\" Peter seized her hand,\nexclaiming again:\n\n\"Come, come!\"\n\nBut the young wife released herself, retreated a step and said\nbeseechingly:\n\n\"Let me go, Peter, I cannot; I need time to overcome this.\"\n\nHe let his arms fall and gazed mournfully into her face, but she turned\naway and silently left the room. Peter Van der Werff did not follow her,\nbut went quietly into his study and strove to reflect upon many things,\nthat concerned his office, but his thoughts constantly reverted to Maria.\nHis love oppressed him as if it were a crime, and he seemed to himself\nlike a courier, who gathers flowers by the way-side and in this idling\nsquanders time and forgets the object of his mission. His heart felt\nunspeakably heavy and sad, and it seemed almost like a deliverance when,\njust before midnight, the bell in the Tower of Pancratius raised its\nevilboding voice. In danger, he knew, he would feel and think of nothing\nexcept what duty required of him, so with renewed strength he took his\nhat from the hook and left the house with a steady step.\n\nIn the street he met Junker Van Duivenvoorde, who summoned him to the\nHohenort Gate, before which a body of Englishmen had again appeared; a\nfew brave soldiers who, in a fierce, bloody combat, had held Alfen and\nthe Gouda sluice against the Spaniards until their powder was exhausted\nand necessity compelled them to yield or seek safety in flight. The\nburgomaster followed the officer and ordered the gates to be opened to\nthe brave soldiers. They were twenty in number, among them the Netherland\nCaptain Van der Iaen, and a Young German officer. Peter commanded, that\nthey should have shelter for the night in the town-hall and the\nguard-house at the gate. The next morning suitable quarters would be\nfound for them in the houses of the citizens. Janus Dousa invited the\ncaptain to lodge with him, the German went to Aquanus's tavern. All were\nordered to report to the burgomaster at noon the next day, to be assigned\nto quarters and enrolled among the volunteer troops.\n\nThe ringing of the alarm-bell in the tower also disturbed the night's\nrest of the ladies in the Van der Werff household. Barbara sought Maria,\nand neither returned to their rooms until they had learned the cause of\nthe ringing and soothed Henrica.\n\nMaria could not sleep. Her husband's purpose of separating from her\nduring the impending danger, had stirred her whole soul, wounded her to\nthe inmost depths of her heart. She felt humiliated, and, if not\nmisunderstood, at least unappreciated by the man for whose sake she\nrejoiced, whenever she perceived a lofty aspiration or noble emotion in\nher own soul. What avail is personal loveliness to the beautiful wife of\na blind man; of what avail to Maria was the rich treasure buried in her\nbosom, if her husband would not see and bring it to the surface! \"Show\nhim, tell him how lofty are your feelings,\" urged love; but womanly pride\nexclaimed: \"Do not force upon him what he disdains to seek.\"\n\nSo the hours passed, bringing her neither sleep, peace, nor the desire to\nforget the humiliation inflicted upon her.\n\nAt last Peter entered the room, stepping lightly and cautiously, in order\nnot to wake her. She pretended to be asleep, but with half-closed eyes\ncould see him distinctly. The lamp-light fell upon his face, and the\nlines she had formerly perceived looked like deep shadows between his\neyes and mouth. They impressed upon his features the stamp of heavy,\nsorrowful anxiety, and reminded Maria of the \"too hard\" and \"if I can\nonly bear it,\" he had murmured in his sleep the night before. Then he\napproached her bed and stood there a long time; she no longer saw him,\nfor she kept her eyes tightly closed, but the first loving glance, with\nwhich he gazed down upon her, had not escaped her notice. It continued to\nbeam before her mental vision, and she thought she felt that he was\nwatching and praying for her as if she were a child.\n\nSleep had long since overpowered her husband, while Maria lay gazing at\nthe glimmering dawn, as wakeful as if it were broad day. For the sake of\nhis love she would forgive much, but she could not forget the humiliation\nshe had experienced. \"A toy,\" she said to herself, \"a work of art which\nwe enjoy, is placed in security when danger threatens the house; the axe\nand the bread, the sword and the talisman that protects us, in short\nwhatever we cannot dispense with while we live, we do not release from\nour hands till death comes. She was not necessary, indispensable to him.\nIf she had obeyed his wish and left him, then--yes, then--\"\n\nHere the current of her thoughts was checked, for the first time she\nasked herself the question: \"Would he have really missed your helping\nhand, your cheering word?\"\n\nShe turned restlessly, and her heart throbbed anxiously, as she told\nherself that she had done little to smooth his rugged pathway. The vague\nfeeling, that he had not been entirely to blame, if she had not found\nperfect happiness by his side, alarmed her. Did not her former conduct\njustify him in expecting hindrance rather than support and help in\nimpending days of severest peril?\n\nFilled with deep longing to obtain a clear view of her own heart, she\nraised herself on her pillows and reviewed her whole former life.\n\nHer mother had been a Catholic in her youth, and had often told her how\nfree and light-hearted she had felt, when she confided everything that\ncan trouble a woman's heart to a silent third person, and received from\nthe lips of God's servant the assurance that she might now begin a new\nlife, secure of forgiveness. \"It is harder for us now,\" her mother said\nbefore her first communion, \"for we of the Reformed religion are referred\nto ourselves and our God, and must be wholly at peace with ourselves\nbefore we approach the Lord's table. True, that is enough, for if we\nfrankly and honestly confess to the judge within our own breasts all that\ntroubles our consciences, whether in thought or deed, and sincerely\nrepent, we shall be sure of forgiveness for the sake of the Saviour's\nwounds.\"\n\nMaria now prepared for this silent confession, and sternly and pitilessly\nexamined her conduct. Yes, she had fixed her gaze far too steadily upon\nherself, asked such and given little. The fault was recognized, and now\nthe amendment should begin.\n\nAfter this self-inspection, her heart grew lighter, and when she at last\nturned away from the morning-light to seek sleep, she looked forward with\npleasure to the affectionate greeting she meant to offer Peter in the\nmorning; but she soon fell asleep and when she woke, her husband had long\nsince left the house.\n\nAs usual, she set Peter's study in order before proceeding to any other\ntask, and while doing so, cast a friendly glance at the dead Eva's\npicture. On the writing-table lay the bible, the only book not connected\nwith his business affairs, that her husband ever read. Barbara sometimes\ndrew comfort and support from the volume, but also used it as an oracle,\nfor when undecided low to act she opened it and pointed with her finger\nto certain passage. This usually had a definite meaning and she\ngenerally, though not always, acted as it directed. To-day she had been\ndisobedient, for in response to her question whether she might venture to\nsend a bag of all sorts of dainties to her son, a Beggar of the Sea, in\nspite of the Spaniards encircling the city, he had received the words of\nJeremiah: \"Their tents and their flocks shall they take away: they shall\ntake to themselves their curtains and all their vessels and their\ncamels,\" and yet the bag had been entrusted early that morning to a\nwidow, who intended to make her escape to Delft with her young daughter,\naccording to the request of the magistrates. The gift might perhaps reach\nRotterdam; a mother always hopes for a miracle in behalf of her child.\n\nBefore Maria restored the bible to its old place, she opened it at the\nthirteenth chapter of the first Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians, which\nspeaks of love, and was specially dear to her. There were the words:\n\"Charity suffereth long and is kind, charity is not easily provoked;\" and\n\"Charity beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things,\nendureth all things.\"\n\nTo be kind and patient, to hope and endure all things, was the duty love\nimposed upon her.\n\nWhen she had closed the bible and was preparing to go to Henrica, Barbara\nushered Janus Dousa into the room. The young nobleman to-day wore armor\nand gorget, and looked far more like a soldier than a scientist or poet.\nHe had sought Peter in vain at the town-hall, and hoped to find him at\nhome. One of the messengers sent to the Prince had returned from\nDortrecht with a letter, which conferred on Dousa the office made vacant\nby Allertssohn's death. He was to command not only the city-guard, but\nall the armed force. He had accepted the appointment with cheerful\nalacrity, and requested Maria to inform her husband.\n\n\"Accept my congratulations,\" said the burgomaster's wife. \"But what will\nnow become of your motto: 'Ante omnia Musae?'\"\n\n\"I shall change the words a little and say: 'Omnia ante Musas.\"\n\n\"Do you understand that jargon, child?\" asked Barbara.\n\n\"A passport will be given the Muses,\" replied Maria gaily.\n\nJanus was pleased with the ready repartee and exclaimed: \"How bright and\nhappy you look! Faces free from care are rare birds in these days.\"\n\nMaria blushed, for she did not know how to interpret the words of the\nnobleman, who understood how to reprove with subtle mockery, and answered\nnaively: \"Don't think me frivolous, Junker. I know the seriousness of the\ntimes, but I have just finished a silent confession and discovered many\nbad traits in my character, but also the desire to replace them with more\npraiseworthy ones.\"\n\n\"There, there,\" replied Janus. \"I knew long ago that you had formed a\nfriendship in the Delft school with my old sage. 'Know thyself,' was the\nGreek's principal lesson, and you wisely obey it. Every silent\nconfession, every desire for inward purification, must begin with the\npurpose of knowing ourselves and, if in so doing we unexpectedly\nencounter things which tend to make our beloved selves uncomely, and have\nthe courage to find them just as hideous in ourselves as in others--\"\n\n\"Abhorrence will come, and we shall have taken the first step towards\nimprovement.\"\n\n\"No, dear lady, we shall then stand on one of the higher steps. After\nhours of long, deep thought, Socrates perceived--do you know what?\"\n\n\"That he knew nothing at all. I shall arrive at this perception more\nspeedily.\"\n\n\"And the Christian learns it at school,\" said Barbara, to join in the\nconversation. \"All knowledge is botchwork.\"\n\n\"And we are all sinners,\" added Janus. \"That's easily said, dear madam,\nand easily understood, when others are concerned. 'He is a sinner' is\nquickly uttered, but 'I am a sinner' escapes the lips with more\ndifficulty, and whoever does exclaim it with sorrow, in the stillness of\nhis own quiet room, mingles the white feathers of angels' wings with the\nblack pinions of the devil. Pardon me! In these times everything thought\nand said is transformed into solemn earnest. Mars is here, and the\ncheerful Muses are silent. Remember me to your husband, and tell him,\nthat Captain Allertssohn's body has been brought in and to-morrow is\nappointed for the funeral.\"\n\nThe nobleman took his leave, and Maria, after visiting her patient and\nfinding her well and bright, sent Adrian and Bessie into the garden\noutside the city-wall to gather flowers and foliage, which she intended\nto help them weave into wreaths for the coffin of the brave soldier. She\nherself went to the captain's widow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nThe burgomaster's wife returned home just before dinner, and found a\nmotley throng of bearded warriors assembled in front of the house, they\nwere trying to make themselves intelligible in the English language to\nsome of the constables, and when the latter respectfully saluted Maria,\nraised their hands to their morions also.\n\nShe pleasantly returned the greeting and passed into the entry, where the\nfull light of noon streamed in through the open door.\n\nPeter had assigned quarters to the English soldiers outside, and after a\nconsultation with the new commandant, Jan Van der Does, gave them\nofficers. They were probably waiting for their comrades, for when the\nyoung wife had ascended the first steps of the staircase and looked\nupward, she found the top of the narrow flight barred by the tall figure\nof a soldier. The latter had his back towards her and was showing Bessie\nhis dark velvet cap, surrounded by rectangular teeth, above which floated\na beautiful light-blue ostrich-plume. The child seemed to have formed a\nclose friendship with the soldier, for, although the latter was refusing\nher something, the little girl laughed gaily.\n\nMaria paused irresolutely a moment; but when the child snatched the gay\ncap and put it on her own curls, she thought she must check her and\nexclaimed warningly: \"Why, Bessie, that is no plaything for children.\"\n\nThe soldier turned, stood still a moment in astonishment, raised his hand\nto his forehead, and then, with a few hurried bounds, sprang down the\nstairs and rushed up to the burgomaster's wife. Maria had started back in\nsurprise; but he gave her no time to think, for stretching out both hands\nhe exclaimed in an eager, joyous tone, with sparkling eyes: \"Maria!\nJungfrau Maria! You here! This is what I call a lucky day!\" The young\nwife had instantly recognized the soldier and willingly laid her right\nhand in his, though not without a shade of embarrassment.\n\nThe officer's clear, blue eyes sought hers, but she fixed her gaze on the\nfloor, saying: \"I am no longer what I was, the young girl has become a\nhousewife.\"\n\n\"A housewife!\" he exclaimed. \"How dignified that sounds! And yet! Yet!\nYou are still Jungfrau Maria! You haven't changed a hair. That's just the\nway you bent your head at the wedding in Delft, the way you raised your\nhands, lowered your eyes--you blushed too, just as prettily.\"\n\nThere was a rare melody in the voice which uttered these words with\njoyous, almost childlike freedom, which pleased Maria no less than the\nofficer's familiar manner annoyed her. With a hasty movement she raised\nher head, looked steadily into the young man's handsome face and said\nwith dignity:\n\n\"You see only the exterior, Junker von Dornburg; three years have made\nmany changes within.\"\n\n\"Junker von Dornburg,\" he repeated, shaking his waving locks. \"I was\nJunker Georg in Delft. Very different things have happened to us, dear\nlady, very different things. You see I have grown a tolerable, though not\nhuge moustache, am stouter, and the sun has bronzed my pink and white\nboyish face--in short: my outer man has changed for the worse, but within\nI am just the same as I was three years ago.\"\n\nMaria felt the blood again mounting into her cheeks, but she did not wish\nto blush and answered hastily: \"Standing still is retrograding, so you\nhave lost three beautiful years, Herr von Dornburg.\"\n\nThe officer looked at Maria in perplexity, and then said more gravely\nthan before:\n\n\"Your jest is more opportune, than you probably suppose; I had hoped to\nfind you again in Delft, but powder was short in Alfen, so the Spaniard\nwill probably reach your native city sooner than we. Now a kind fate\nbrings me to you here; but let me be honest--What I hope and desire\nstands clearly before my eyes, echoes in my soul, and when I thought of\nour meeting, I dreamed you would lay both hands in mine and, instead of\ngreeting me with witty words, ask the old companion of happy hours, your\nbrother Leonhard's best friend: 'Do you still remember our dead?' And\nwhen I had told you: 'Yes, yes, yes, I have never forgotten him,' then I\nthought the mild lustre of your eyes--Oh, oh, how I thank you! The dear\norbs are floating in a mist of tears. You are not so wholly changed as\nyou supposed, Frau Maria, and if I loyally remember the past, will you\nblame me for it?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" she answered cordially. \"And now that you speak to me\nso, I will with pleasure again call you Junker Georg, and as Leonhard's\nfriend and mine, invite you to our house.\"\n\n\"That will be delightful,\" he cried cordially. \"I have so much to ask you\nand, as for myself--alas, I wish I had less to tell.\"\n\n\"Have you seen my husband?\" asked Maria.\n\n\"I know nobody in Leyden,\" he replied, \"except my learned, hospitable\nhost, and the doge of this miniature Venice, so rich in water and\nbridges.\"\n\nGeorg pointed up the stair-case. Maria blushed again as she said:\n\n\"Burgomaster Van der Werff is my husband.\"\n\nThe nobleman was silent for a short time, then he said quickly:\n\n\"He received me kindly. And the pretty elf up yonder?\"\n\n\"His child by his first marriage, but now mine also. How do you happen to\ncall her the elf?\"\n\n\"Because she looks as if she had been born among white flowers in the\nmoonlight, and because the afterglow of the sunrise, from which the elves\nflee, crimsoned her cheeks when I caught her.\"\n\n\"She has already received the name once,\" said Maria. \"May I take you to\nmy husband?\"\n\n\"Not now, Frau Van der Werff, for I must attend to my men outside, but\nto-morrow, if you will allow me.\"\n\nMaria found the dishes smoking on the dining-table. Her family had waited\nfor her, and, heated by the rapid walk at noon, excited by her unexpected\nmeeting with the young German, she opened the door of the study and\ncalled to her husband:\n\n\"Excuse me! I was detained. It is very late.\"\n\n\"We were very willing to wait,\" he answered kindly, approaching her. Then\nall she had resolved to do returned to her memory and, for the first time\nsince her marriage, she raised her husband's hand to her lips. He\nsmilingly withdrew it, kissed her on the forehead, and said:\n\n\"It is delightful to have you here.\"\n\n\"Isn't it?\" she asked, gently shaking her finger at him.\n\n\"But we are all here now, and dinner is waiting.\"\n\n\"Come then,\" she answered gaily. \"Do you know whom I met on the stairs?\"\n\n\"English soldiers.\"\n\n\"Of course, but among them Junker von Dornburg.\"\n\n\"He called on me. A handsome fellow, whose gayety is very attractive, a\nGerman from the evangelical countries.\"\n\n\"Leonhard's best friend. Don't you know? Surely I've told you about him.\nOur guest at Jacoba's wedding.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes. Junker Georg. He tamed the chestnut horse for the Prince's\nequerry.\"\n\n\"That was a daring act,\" said Maria, drawing a long breath.\n\n\"The chestnut is still an excellent horse,\" replied Peter. \"Leonhard\nthought the Junker, with his gifts and talents, would lift the world out\nof its grooves; I remember it well, and now the poor fellow must remain\nquietly here and be fed by us. How did he happen to join the Englishmen\nand take part in the war?\"\n\n\"I don't know; he only told me that he had had many experiences.\"\n\n\"I can easily believe it. He is living at the tavern; but perhaps we can\nfind a room for him in the side wing, looking out upon the court-yard.\"\n\n\"No, Peter,\" cried the young wife eagerly. \"There is no room in order\nthere.\"\n\n\"That can be arranged later. At any rate we'll invite him to dinner\nto-morrow, he may have something to tell us. There is good marrow in the\nyoung man. He begged me not to let him remain idle, but make him of use\nin the service. Jan Van der Does has already put him in the right place,\nthe new commandant looks into people's hearts.\"\n\nBarbara mingled in the conversation, Peter, though it was a week-day,\nordered a jug of wine to be brought instead of the beer, and an event\nthat had not occurred for weeks happened: the master of the house sat at\nleast fifteen minutes with his family after the food had been removed,\nand told them of the rapid advance of the Spaniards, the sad fate of the\nfugitive Englishmen, who had been disarmed and led away in sections, the\nbrave defence the Britons, to whose corps Georg belonged, had made at\nAlfen, and of another hot combat in which Don Gaytan, the right-hand and\nbest officer of Valdez, was said to have fallen. Messengers still went\nand came on the roads leading to Delft, but to-morrow these also would\nprobably be blocked by the enemy.\n\nHe always addressed everything he said to Maria, unless Barbara expressly\nquestioned him, and when he at last rose from the table, ordered a good\nroast to be prepared the next day for the guest he intended to invite.\nScarcely had the door of his room closed behind him, when little Bessie\nran up to Maria, threw her arms around her and asked:\n\n\"Mother, isn't Junker Georg the tall captain with the blue feather, who\nran down-stairs so fast to meet you?\"\n\n\"Yes, child.\"\n\n\"And he's coming to dinner to-morrow! He's coming, Adrian.\"\n\nThe child clapped her hands in delight and then ran to Barbara to exclaim\nonce more:\n\n\"Aunt Barbel, did you hear? He's coming!\"\n\n\"With the blue feather,\" replied the widow.\n\n\"And he has curls, curls as long as Assendelft's little Clara. May I go\nwith you to see Cousin Henrica?\"\n\n\"Afterwards, perhaps,\" replied Maria. \"Go now, children, get the flowers\nand separate them carefully from the leaves. Trautchen will bring some\nhoops and strings, and then we'll bind the wreaths.\"\n\nJunker Georg's remark, that this was a lucky day, seemed to be verified;\nfor the young wife found Henrica bright and free from pain. With the\ndoctor's permission, she had walked up and down her room several times,\nsat a longer time at the open window, relished her chicken, and when\nMaria entered, was seated in the softly-cushioned arm-chair, rejoicing in\nthe consciousness of increasing strength.\n\nMaria was delighted at her improved appearance, and told her how well she\nlooked that day.\n\n\"I can return the compliment,\" replied Henrica. \"You look very happy.\nWhat has happened to you?\"\n\n\"To me? Oh! my husband was more cheerful than usual, and there was a\ngreat deal to tell at dinner. I've only come to enquire for your health.\nI will see you later. Now I must go with the children to a sorrowful\ntask.\"\n\n\"With the children? What have the little elf and Signor Salvatore to do\nwith sorrow?\"\n\n\"Captain Allertssohn will be buried to-morrow, and we are going to make\nsome wreaths for the coffin.\"\n\n\"Make wreaths!\" cried Henrica, \"I can teach you that! There, Trautchen,\ntake the plate and call the little ones.\"\n\nThe servant went away, but Maria said anxiously: \"You will exert yourself\ntoo much again, Henrica.\"\n\n\"I? I shall be singing again to-morrow. My preserver's potion does\nwonders, I assure you. Have you flowers and oak-leaves enough?\"\n\n\"I should think so.\"\n\nAt the last words the door opened and Bessie cautiously entered the room,\nwalking on tiptoe as she had been told, went up to Henrica, received a\nkiss from her, and then asked eagerly:\n\n\"Cousin Henrica, do you know? Junker Georg, with the blue feather, is\ncoming again to-morrow and will dine with us.\"\n\n\"Junker Georg?\" asked the young lady.\n\nMaria interrupted the child's reply, and answered in an embarrassed tone:\n\n\"Herr von Domburg, an officer who came to the city with the Englishmen,\nof whom I spoke to you--a German--an old acquaintance. Go and arrange the\nflowers with Adrian, Bessie, then I'll come and help you.\"\n\n\"Here, with Cousin Henrica,\" pleaded the child.\n\n\"Yes, little elf, here; and we'll both make the loveliest wreath you ever\nsaw.\"\n\nThe child ran out, and this time, in her delight, forgot to shut the door\ngently.\n\nThe young wife gazed out of the window. Henrica watched her silently for\na time and then exclaimed:\n\n\"One word, Frau Maria. What is going on in the court-yard? Nothing? And\nwhat has become of the happy light in your eyes? Your house isn't\nswarming with guests; why did you wait for Bessie to tell me about Junker\nGeorg, the German, the old acquaintance?\"\n\n\"Let that subject drop, Henrica.\"\n\n\"No, no! Do you know what I think? The storm of war has blown to your\nhouse the young madcap, with whom you spent such happy hours at your\nsister's wedding. Am I right or wrong? You needn't blush so deeply.\"\n\n\"It is he,\" replied Maria gravely. \"But if you love me, forget what I\ntold you about him, or deny yourself the idle amusement of alluding to\nit, for if you should still do so, it would offend me.\"\n\n\"Why should I! You are the wife of another.\"\n\n\"Of another whom I honor and love, who trusts me and himself invited the\nJunker to his house. I have liked the young man, admired his talents,\nbeen anxious when he trifled with his life as if it were a paltry leaf,\nwhich is flung into the river.\"\n\n\"And now that you have seen him again, Maria?\"\n\n\"Now I know, what my duty is. Do you see, that my peace here is not\ndisturbed by idle gossip.\"\n\n\"Certainly not, Maria; yet I am still curious about this Chevalier Georg\nand his singing. Unfortunately we shan't be long together. I want to go\nhome.\"\n\n\"The doctor will not allow you to travel yet.\"\n\n\"No matter. I shall go as soon as I feel well enough. My father is\nrefused admittance, but your husband can do much, and I must speak with\nhim.\"\n\n\"Will you receive him to-morrow?\"\n\n\"The sooner the better, for he is your husband and, I repeat, the ground\nis burning under my feet.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Maria.\n\n\"That sounds very sad,\" cried Henrica. \"Do you want to hear, that I shall\nfind it hard to leave you? I shouldn't go yet; but my sister Anna, she is\nnow a widow--Thank God, I should like to say, but she is suffering want\nand utterly deserted. I must speak to my father about her, and go forth\nfrom the quiet haven into the storm once more.\"\n\n\"My husband will come to you,\" said Maria.\n\n\"That's right, that's right! Come in, children! Put the flowers on the\ntable yonder. You, little elf, sit down on the stool and you, Salvatore,\nshall give me the flowers. What does this mean? I really believe the\nscamp has been putting perfumed oil on his curly head. In honor of me,\nSalvatore? Thank you!--We shall need the hoops later. First we'll make\nbouquets, and then bind them with the leaves to the wood. Sing me a song\nwhile we are working, Maria. The first one! I can bear it to-day.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nHalf Leyden had followed the brave captain's coffin, and among the other\nsoldiers, who rendered the last honors to the departed, was Georg von\nDornburg. After the funeral, the musician Wilhelm led the son of the kind\ncomrade, whom so many mourned, to his house. Van der Werff found many\nthings to be done after the burial, but reserved the noon hour; for he\nexpected the German to dine.\n\nThe burgomaster, as usual, sat at the head of the table; the Junker had\ntaken his place between him and Maria, opposite to Barbara and the\nchildren.\n\nThe widow never wearied of gazing at the young man's fresh, bright face,\nfor although her son could not compare with him in beauty, there was an\nhonest expression in the Junker's eyes, which reminded her of her\nWilhelm.\n\nMany a question and answer had already been exchanged between those\nassembled round the board, many a pleasant memory recalled, when Peter,\nafter the dishes had been removed and a new jug with better wine placed\non the table, filled the young nobleman's glass again, and raised his\nown.\n\n\"Let us drink this bumper,\" he cried, gazing at Georg with sincere\npleasure in his eyes, \"let us drink to the victory of the good cause, for\nwhich you too voluntarily draw your sword. Thanks for the vigorous\npledge. Drinking is also an art, and the Germans are masters of it.\"\n\n\"We learn it in various places, and not worst at the University of Jena.\"\n\n\"All honor to the doctors and professors, who bring their pupils up to\nthe standard of my dead brother-in-law, and judging from this sample\ndrink, you also.\"\n\n\"Leonhard was my teacher in the 'ars bibendi.' How long ago it is!\"\n\n\"Youth is not usually content,\" replied Peter, \"but when the point in\nquestion concerns years, readily calls 'much,' what seems to older people\n'little.' True, many experiences may have been crowded into the last few\nyears of your life. I can still spare an hour, and as we are all sitting\nso cosily together here, you can tell us, unless you wish to keep silence\non the subject, how you chanced to leave your distant home for Holland,\nand your German and Latin books to enlist under the English standard.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added Maria, without any trace of embarrassment. \"You still owe me\nthe story. Give thanks, children, and then go.\"\n\nAdrian gazed beseechingly first at his mother and then at his father, and\nas neither forbade him to stay, moved his chair close to his sister, and\nboth leaned their heads together and listened with wide open eyes, while\nthe Junker first quietly, then with increasing vivacity, related the\nfollowing story:\n\n\"You know that I am a native of Thuringia, a mountainous country in the\nheart of Germany. Our castle is situated in a pleasant valley, through\nwhich a clear river flows in countless windings. Wooded mountains, not so\nhigh as the giants in Switzerland, yet by no means contemptible, border\nthe narrow boundaries of the valley. At their feet the fields and\nmeadows, at a greater height rise pine forests, which, like the huntsman,\nwear green robes at all seasons of the year. In winter, it is true, the\nsnow cover them with a glimmering white sheet. When spring comes, the\npines put forth new shoots, as fresh and full of sap as the budding\nfoliage of your oaks and beeches, and in the meadows by the river it\nbegins to snow in the warm breezes, for then one fruit-tree blooms beside\nanother, and when the wind rises, the delicate white petals flutter\nthrough the air and fall among the bright blossoms in the grass, and on\nthe clear surface of the river. There are also numerous barren cliffs on\nthe higher portions of the mountains, and where they towered in the most\nrugged, inaccessible ridges, our ancestors built their fastnesses, to\nsecure themselves from the attacks of their enemies. Our castle stands on\na mountain-ridge in the midst of the valley of the Saale. There I was\nborn, there I sported through the years of my boyhood, learned to read\nand guide the pen. There was plenty of hunting in the forests, we had\nspirited horses in the stable, and, wild lad that I was, I rarely went\nvoluntarily into the school-room, the grey-haired teacher, Lorenz, had to\ncatch me, if he wanted to get possession of me. My sisters and Hans, our\nyoungest child, the boy was only three years younger than I, kept\nquiet--I had an older brother too, yet did not have him. When his beard\nwas first beginning to grow, he was given by our gracious Duke to\nChevalier von Brand as his esquire, and sent to Spain, to buy Andalusian\nhorses. John Frederick's father had learned their value in Madrid after\nthe battle of Muhlburg. Louis was a merry fellow when he went away, and\nknew how to tame the wildest stallion. It was hard for our parents to\nbelieve him dead, but years elapsed, and as neither he nor Chevalier von\nBrand appeared, we were obliged to give him up for lost. My mother alone\ncould not do this, and constantly expected his return. My father called\nme the future heir and lord of the castle. When I had passed beyond\nboyhood and understood Cicero tolerably well, I was sent to the\nUniversity of Jena to study law, as my uncle, the chancellor, wished me\nto become a counsellor of state.\n\n\"Oh Jena, beloved Jena! There are blissful days in May and June, when\nonly light clouds float in the sky, and all the leaves and flowers are so\nfresh and green, that one would think--they probably think so\nthemselves--that they could never fade and wither; such days in human\nexistence are the period of joyous German student life. You can believe\nit. Leonhard has told you enough of Jena. He understood how to unite work\nand pleasure; I, on the contrary, learned little on the wooden benches,\nfor I rarely occupied them, and the dust of books certainly didn't spoil\nmy lungs. But I read Ariosto again and again, devoted myself to singing,\nand when a storm of feeling seethed within my breast, composed many songs\nfor my own pleasure. We learned to wield the sword too in Jena, and I\nwould gladly have crossed blades with the sturdy fencing-master\nAllertssohn, of whom you have just told me. Leonhard was older than I,\nand when he graduated with honor, I was still very weak in the pandects.\nBut we were always one in heart and soul, so I went to Holland with him\nto attend his wedding. Ah, those were days! The theologians in Jena have\nactively disputed about the part of the earth, in which the little garden\nof Paradise should be sought. I considered them all fools, and thought:\n'There is only one Eden, and that lies in Holland, and the fairest roses\nthe dew waked on the first sunny morning, bloom in Delft!'\"\n\nAt these words Georg shook back his waving locks and hesitated in great\nembarrassment, but as no one interrupted him and he saw Barbara's eager\nface and the children's glowing cheeks, quietly continued:\n\n\"So I came home, and was to learn for the first time, that in life also\nbeautiful sunny days often end with storms. I found my father ill, and a\nfew days after my return he closed his eyes in death. I had never seen\nany human being die, and the first, the very first, was he, my father.\"\n\nGeorg paused, and deeply moved, passed his hand over his eyes.\n\n\"Your father!\" cried Barbara, in a tone of cordial sympathy, breaking the\nsilence. \"If we can judge the tree by the apple, he was surely a splendid\nman.\"\n\nThe Junker again raised his head, exclaiming with sparkling eyes:\n\n\"Unite every good and noble quality, and embody them in the form of a\ntall, handsome man, then you will have the image of my father;--and I\nmight tell you of my mother--\"\n\n\"Is she still alive?\" asked Peter.\n\n\"God grant it!\" exclaimed the young man. \"I have heard nothing from my\nfamily for two months. That is hard. Pleasures smile along every path,\nand I like my profession of soldier, but it often grieves me sorely to\nhear so little from home. Oh! if one were only a bird, a sunbeam, or a\nshooting-star, one might, if only for the twinkling of an eye, learn how\nmatters go at home and fill the soul with fresh gratitude, or, if it must\nbe--but I will not think of that. In the valley of the Saale, the trees\nare blossoming and a thousand flowers deck all the meadows, just as they\ndo here, and did there two years ago, when I left home for the second\ntime.\n\n\"After my father's death I was the heir, but neither hunting nor riding\nto court, neither singing nor the clinking of beakers could please me. I\nwent about like a sleep-walker, and it seemed as if I had no right to\nlive without my father. Then--it is now just two years ago--a messenger\nbrought from Weimar a letter which had come from Italy with several\nothers, addressed to our most gracious sovereign; it contained the news\nthat our lost brother was still alive, lying sick and wretched in the\nhospital at Bergamo. A kind nun had written for him, and we now learned\nthat on the journey from Valencia to Livorno Louis had been captured by\ncorsairs and dragged to Tunis. How much suffering he endured there, with\nwhat danger he at last succeeded in obtaining his liberty, you shall\nlearn later. He escaped to Italy on a Genoese galley. His feet carried\nhim as far as Bergamo, but he could go no farther, and now lay ill,\nperhaps dying, among sympathizing strangers. I set out at once and did\nnot spare horseflesh on the way to Bergamo, but though there were many\nstrange and beautiful things to be seen on my way, they afforded me\nlittle pleasure, the thought of Louis, so dangerously ill, saddened my\njoyous spirits. Every running brook urged me to hasten, and the lofty\nmountains seemed like jealous barriers. When once beyond St. Gotthard I\nfelt less anxious, and as I rode down from Bellinzona to Lake Lugano, and\nthe sparkling surface of the water beyond the city smiled at me like a\nblue eye, forgot my grief for a time, waved my hat, and sung a song. In\nBergamo I found my brother, alive, but enfeebled in mind and body, weak,\nand without any desire to take up the burden of life again. He had been\nin good hands, and after a few weeks we were able to travel\nhomeward--this time I went through beautiful Tyrol. Louis's strength\ndaily increased, but the wings of his soul had been paralyzed by\nsuffering. Alas, for long years he had dug and carried heavy loads, with\nchains on his feet, beneath a broiling sun. Chevalier von Brand could not\nlong endure this hard fate, but Louis, while in Tunis, forgot both how to\nlaugh and weep, and which of the two can be most easily spared?\n\n\"Even when he saw my mother again, he could not shed a tear, yet his\nwhole body--and surely his heart also--trembled with emotion. Now he\nlives quietly at the castle. In the prime of manhood he is an old man,\nbut he is beginning to accommodate himself to life, only he can't bear\nthe sight of a strange face. I had a hard battle with him, for as the\neldest son, the castle and estate, according to the law, belong to him,\nbut he wanted to resign his rights and put me in his place. Even when he\nhad brought my mother over to his side, and my uncle and brothers and\nsisters tried to persuade me to yield to his wish, I remained resolute. I\nwould not touch what did not belong to me, and our youngest boy,\nWolfgang, has grown up, and can fill my place wherever it is necessary.\nWhen the entreaties and persuasions became too strong for me, I saddled\nmy horse and went away again. It was hard for my mother to let me go, but\nI had tasted the delight of travelling, and rode off as if to a wedding.\nIf I must be perfectly frank, I'll confess that I resigned castle and\nestates like a troublesome restraint. Free as the wind and clouds, I\nfollowed the same road over which I had ridden with Leonhard, for in your\ncountry a war after my own heart was going on, and my future fortune was\nto be based upon my sword. In Cologne I enlisted under the banner of\nLouis of Nassau, and fought with him at Mook Heath till every one\nretreated. My horse had fallen, my doublet was torn, there was little\nleft save good spirits and the hope of better days. These were soon\nfound, for Captain Gensfort asked me to join the English troops. I became\nhis ensign, and at Alfen held out beside him till the last grain of\npowder was exhausted. What happened there, you know.\"\n\n\"And Captain Van der Laen told us,\" said Peter, \"that he owes his life to\nyou. You fought like a lion.\"\n\n\"It was wild work enough at the fortifications, yet neither I nor my\nhorse had a hair ruffled, and this time I even saved my knapsack and a\nfull purse. Fate, like mothers, loves troublesome children best, and\ntherefore led me to you and your family, Herr Burgomaster.\"\n\n\"And I beg you to consider yourself one of them,\" replied Peter. \"We have\ntwo pleasant rooms looking out upon the court-yard; they shall be put in\norder for you, if you would like to occupy them.\"\n\n\"With pleasure,\" replied the Junker, and Peter, offering him his hand,\nsaid:\n\n\"The duties of my office call me away, but you can tell the ladies what\nyou need, and when you mean to move in. The sooner, the better we shall\nbe pleased. Shall we not, Maria?\"\n\n\"You will be welcome, Junker Georg. Now I must look after the invalid we\nare nursing here. Barbara will ascertain your wishes.\"\n\nThe young wife took her husband's hand and left the room with him.\n\nThe widow was left alone with the young nobleman and tried to learn\neverything he desired. Then she followed her sister-in-law, and finding\nher in Henrica's room, clapped her hands, exclaiming:\n\n\"That is a man! Fraulein, I assure you that, though I'm an old woman, I\nnever met so fine a young fellow in all my life. So much heart, and so\nhandsome too! 'To whom fortune gives once, it gives by bushels, and unto\nhim that hath, shall be given!' Those are precious words!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nPeter had promised Henrica, to request the council to give her permission\nto leave the city.\n\nIt was hard for her to part from the burgomaster's household. Maria's\nfrank nature exerted a beneficial influence; it seemed as if her respect\nfor her own sex increased in her society. The day before she had heard\nher sing. The young wife's voice was like her character. Every note\nflawless and clear as a bell, and Henrica grieved that she should be\nforbidden to mingle her own voice with her hostess's. She was very sorry\nto leave the children too. Yet she was obliged to go, on Anna's account,\nfor her father could not be persuaded by letters to do anything. Had she\nappealed to him in writing to forgive his rejected child, he would hardly\nhave read the epistle to the end. Something might more easily be won from\nhim through words, by taking advantage of a favorable moment. She must\nhave speech with him, yet she dreaded the life in his castle, especially\nas she was forced to acknowledge, that she too was by no means necessary\nto her father. To secure the inheritance, he had sent her to a terrible\nexistence with her aunt; while she lay dangerously ill, he had gone to a\ntournament, and the letter received from him the day before, contained\nnothing but the information that he was refused admittance to the city,\nand a summons for her to go to Junker de Heuter's house at the Hague.\nEnclosed was a pass from Valdez, enjoining all King Philip's soldiers to\nprovide for her safety.\n\nThe burgomaster had intended to have her conveyed in a litter,\naccompanied by a flag of truce, as far as the Spanish lines, and the\ndoctor no longer opposed her wish to travel. She hoped to leave that day.\n\nLost in thought, she stationed herself in the baywindow and gazed out\ninto the court-yard. Several windows in the building on the eastern side\nstood open. Trautchen must have risen early, for she came out of the\nrooms arranged for Georg's occupation, followed by a young assistant\ncarrying various scrubbing utensils. Next Jan appeared with a large\narm-chair on his head. Bessie ran after the Frieselander, calling:\n\n\"Aunt Barbel's grandfather's chair; where will she take her afternoon\nnap?\"\n\nHenrica had heard the words, and thought first of good old \"Babetta,\" who\ncould also feel tenderly, then of Maria and the man who was to lodge in\nthe rooms opposite. Were there not some loose threads still remaining of\nthe old tie, that had united the burgomaster's wife to the handsome\nnobleman? A feeling of dread overpowered her. Poor Meister Peter, poor\nMaria!\n\nWas it right to abandon the young wife, who had held out a saving hand in\nher distress? Yet how much nearer was her own sister than this stranger!\nEach day that she allowed herself to linger in this peaceful asylum,\nseemed like a theft from Anna--since she had read in a letter from her to\nher husband, the only one the dead man's pouch contained, that she was\nill and sunk in poverty with her child.\n\nHelp was needed here, and no one save herself could offer it.\n\nWith aid from Barbara and Maria, she packed her clothes. At noon\neverything was ready for her departure, and she would not be withheld\nfrom eating in the dining-room with the family. Peter was prevented from\ncoming to dinner, Henrica took his seat and, under the mask of loud,\nforced mirth, concealed the grief and anxieties that filled her heart. At\ntwilight Maria and the children followed her into her room, and she now\nhad the harp brought and sang. At first her voice failed to reach many a\nnote, but as the snow falling from the mountain peaks to the plains at\nfirst slides slowly, then rapidly increases in bulk and power, her tones\ngradually gained fulness and irresistible might and, when at last she\nrested the harp against the wall and walked to the chair exhausted, Maria\nclasped her hand and said with deep emotion:\n\n\"Stay with us, Henrica.\"\n\n\"I ought not,\" replied the girl.\n\n\"You are enough for each other. Shall I take you with me, children?\"\nAdrian lowered his eyes in embarrassment, but Bessie jumped into her lap,\nexclaiming.\n\n\"Where are you going? Stay with us.\"\n\nJust at that moment some one knocked at the door, and Peter entered. It\nwas evident that he brought no good tidings. His request had been\nrefused. The council had almost unanimously voted an assent to Van\nBronkhorst's proposition, that the young lady, as a relation of prominent\nfriends of Spain among the Netherland nobility, should be kept in the\ncity. Peter's representations were unheeded; he now frankly told Henrica\nwhat a conflict he had had, and entreated her to have patience and be\ncontent to remain in his house as a welcome guest.\n\nThe young girl interrupted him with many a passionate exclamation of\nindignation, and when she grew calmer, cried:\n\n\"Oh, you men, you men! I would gladly stay with you, but you know from\nwhat this base deed of violence detains me. And then: to be a prisoner,\nto live weeks, months, without mass and without confession. Yet first and\nlast-merciful Heavens, what will become of my unfortunate sister?\"\n\nMaria gazed beseechingly at Peter, and the latter said:\n\n\"If you desire the consolations of your religion, I will send Father\nDamianus to you, and you can hear mass with the Grey Sisters, who live\nbeside us, as often as you desire. We are not fighting against your\nreligion, but for the free exercise of every faith, and the whole city\nstands open to you. My wife will help you bear your anxiety about your\nsister far better than I could do, but let me say this: wherever and\nhowever I can help you, it shall be done, and not merely in words.\"\n\nSo saying, he held out his hand to Henrica. She gave him hers,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"I have cause to thank you, I know, but please leave me now and give me\ntime to think until tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Is there no way of changing the decision of the council?\" Maria asked\nher husband.\n\n\"No, certainly not.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said the young wife earnestly, \"you must remain our guest.\nAnxiety for your sister does not cloud your pleasure alone, but saddens\nme too. Let us first of all provide for her. How are the roads to Delft?\"\n\n\"They are cut, and no one will be able to pass after to-morrow or the day\nafter.\"\n\n\"Then calm yourself, Henrica, and let us consider what is to be done.\"\n\nThe questions and counter-questions began, and Henrica gazed in\nastonishment at the delicate young wife, for with unerring resolution and\nkeenness, she held the first voice in the consultation. The surest means\nof gaining information was to seek that very day a reliable messenger, by\nwhom to send Anna d'Avila money, and if possible bring her to Holland.\nThe burgomaster declared himself ready to advance from his own property,\na portion of the legacy bequeathed Henrica's sister by Fraulein Van\nHoogstraten, and accepted his guest's thanks without constraint.\n\n\"But whom could they send?\"\n\nHenrica thought of Wilhelm; he was her sister's friend.\n\n\"But he is in the military service,\" replied the burgomaster. \"I know\nhim. He will not desert the city in these times of trouble, not even for\nhis mother.\"\n\n\"But I know the right messenger,\" said Maria. \"We'll send Junker Georg.\"\n\n\"That's a good suggestion,\" said Peter. \"We shall find him in his\nlodgings. I must go to Van Hout, who lives close by, and will send the\nGerman to you. But my time is limited, and with such gentlemen, fair\nwomen can accomplish more than bearded men. Farewell, dear Fraulein, once\nmore--we rejoice to have you for our guest.\"\n\nWhen the burgomaster had left the room, Henrica said:\n\n\"How quickly, and how differently from what I expected, all this has\nhappened. I love you. I am under obligations to you, but to be\nimprisoned, imprisoned. The walls will press upon me, the ceiling will\nseem like a weight. I don't know whether I ought to rejoice or despair.\nYou have great influence with the Junker. Tell him about Anna, touch his\nheart, and if he would go, it would really be best for us both.\"\n\n\"You mean for you and your sister,\" replied Maria with a repellent\ngesture of the hand. \"There is the lamp. When the Junker comes, we shall\nsee each other again.\"\n\nMaria went to her room and threw herself on the couch, but soon rose and\npaced restlessly to and fro. Then stretching out her clasped hands, she\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Oh, if he would only go, if he would only go! Merciful God! Kind,\ngracious Father in Heaven, grant him every happiness, every blessing, but\nsave my peace of mind; let him go, and lead him far, far away from here.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nThe tavern where Georg von Dornburg lodged stood on the \"broad street,\"\nand was a fine building with a large court-yard, in which were numerous\nvehicles. On the left of the entrance was a large open room entered\nthrough a lofty archway. Here the drivers and other folk sat over their\nbeer and wine, suffering the innkeeper's hens to fly on the benches and\neven sometimes on the table, here vegetables were cleaned, boiled and\nfried, here the stout landlady was frequently obliged to call her sturdy\nmaid and men servants to her aid, when her guests came to actual\nfighting, or some one drank more than was good for him. Here the new\ncustom of tobacco-smoking was practised, though only by a few sailors who\nhad served on Spanish ships--but Frau Van Aken could not endure the acrid\nsmoke and opened the windows, which were filled with blooming pinks,\nslender stalks of balsam, and cages containing bright-plumaged\ngoldfinches. On the side opposite to the entrance were two closed rooms.\nAbove the door of one, neatly carved in wood, were the lines from Horace:\n\n       \"Ille terrarum mihi praeter omnes.\n        Angulus ridet.\"\n\n        [Of all the corners of the world,\n        There is none that so charms me.]\n\nOnly a few chosen guests found admittance into this long, narrow\napartment. It was completely wainscoted with wood, and from the centre of\nthe richly-carved ceiling a strange picture gleamed in brilliant hues.\nThis represented the landlord. The worthy man with the smooth face,\nfirmly-closed lips, and long nose, which offered an excellent straight\nline to its owner's burin, sat on a throne in the costume of a Roman\ngeneral, while Vulcan and Bacchus, Minerva and Poinona, offered him\ngifts. Klaus Van Aken, or as he preferred to be called, Nicolaus Aquanus,\nwas a singular man, who had received good gifts from more than one of the\nOlympians; for besides his business he zealously devoted himself to\nscience and several of the arts. He was an excellent silver-smith, a\ndie-cutter and engraver of great skill, had a remarkable knowledge of\ncoins, was an industrious student and collector of antiquities. His\nlittle tap-room was also a museum; for on the shelves, that surrounded\nit, stood rare objects of every description, in rich abundance and\nregular order; old jugs and tankards, large and small coins, gems in\ncarefully-sealed glass-cases, antique lamps of clay and bronze, stones\nwith ancient Roman inscriptions, Roman and Greek terra-cotta, polished\nfragments of marble which he had found in Italy among the ruins, the head\nof a faun, an arm, a foot and other bits of Pagan works of art, a\nbeautifully-enamelled casket of Byzantine work, and another with\nenamelled ornamentation from Limoges. Even half a Roman coat of mail and\na bit of mosaic from a Roman bath were to be seen here. Amid these\nantiquities, stood beautiful Venetian glasses, pine-cones and\nostrich-eggs. Such another tap-room could scarcely be found in Holland,\nand even the liquor, which a neatly-dressed maid poured for the guests\nfrom oddly-shaped tankards into exquisitely-wrought goblets, was\nexceptionally fine. In this room Herr Aquanus himself was in the habit of\nappearing among his guests; in the other, opposite to the entrance, his\nwife held sway.\n\nOn this day, the \"Angulus,\" as the beautiful taproom was called, was but\nthinly occupied, for the sun had just set, though the lamps were already\nlighted. These rested in three-branched iron chandeliers, every portion\nof which, from the slender central shaft to the intricately-carved and\ntwisted ornaments, had been carefully wrought by Aquanus with his own\nhand.\n\nSeveral elderly gentlemen were at one table enjoying their wine, while at\nanother were Captain Van der Laen, a brave Hollander, who was receiving\nEnglish pay and had come to the city with the other defenders of Alfen,\nthe Musician Wilhelm, Junker Georg, and the landlord.\n\n\"It's a pleasure to meet people like you, Junker,\" said Aquanus. \"You've\ntravelled with your eyes open, and what you tell me about Brescia excites\nmy curiosity. I Should have liked to see the inscription.\"\n\n\"I'll get it for you,\" replied the young man; \"for if the Spaniards don't\nsend me into another world, I shall certainly cross the Alps again. Did\nyou find any of these Roman antiquities in your own country?\"\n\n\"Yes. At the Roomburg Canal, perhaps the site of the old Praetorium, and\nat Katwyk. The forum Hadriani was probably located near Voorburg. The\ncoat of mail, I showed you, came from there.\"\n\n\"An old, green, half-corroded thing,\" cried Georg. And yet! What memories\nthe sight of it awakens! Did not some Roman armorer forge it for the\nwandering emperor? When I look at this coat of mail, Rome and her legions\nappear before my eyes. Who would not, like you, Herr Wilhelna, go to the\nTiber to increase the short span of the present by the long centuries of\nthe past!\"\n\n\"I should be glad to go to Italy once more with you,\" replied Wilhelm.\n\n\"And I with you.\"\n\n\"Let us first secure our liberty,\" said the musician. \"When that is\naccomplished, each individual will belong to himself, and then: why\nshould I conceal it, nothing will keep me in Leyden.\"\n\n\"And the organ? Your father?\" asked Aquanus.\n\n\"My brothers will remain here, snug in their own nest,\" answered Wilhelm.\n\"But something urges, impels me--\"\n\n\"There are still waters and rivers on earth,\" interrupted Georg, \"and in\nthe sky the fixed stars remain quiet and the planets cannot cease from\nwandering. So among human beings, there are contented persons, who like\ntheir own places, and birds of passage like us. To be sure, you needn't\ngo to Italy to hear fine singing. I just heard a voice, a voice--\"\n\n\"Where? You make me eager.\"\n\n\"In the court-yard of Herr Van der Werff's house.\"\n\n\"That was his wife.\"\n\n\"Oh, no! Her voice sounds differently.\"\n\nDuring this conversation, Captain Van der Laen had risen and examined the\nlandlord's singular treasures. He was now standing before a board, on\nwhich the head of an ox was sketched in charcoal, freely, boldly and with\nperfect fidelity to nature.\n\n\"What magnificent piece of beef is this?\" he asked the landlord.\n\n\"No less a personage than Frank Floris sketched it,\" replied Aquanus. \"He\nonce came here from Brussels and called on Meister Artjen. The old man\nhad gone out, so Floris took a bit of charcoal and drew these lines with\nit. When Artjen came home and found the ox's head, he stood before it a\nlong time and finally exclaimed: 'Frank Floris, or the devil!' This\nstory--But there comes the burgomaster. Welcome, Meister Peter. A rare\nhonor.\"\n\nAll the guests rose and respectfully greated Van der Werff; Georg started\nup to offer him his chair. Peter sat down for a short time and drank a\nglass of wine, but soon beckoned to the Junker and went out with him into\nthe street.\n\nThere he briefly requested him to go to his house, for they had an\nimportant communication to make, and then went to Van Hout's residence,\nwhich was close beside the inn.\n\nGeorg walked thoughtfully towards the burgomaster's.\n\nThe \"they\" could scarcely have referred to any one except Maria. What\ncould she want of him at so late an hour? Had his friend regretted having\noffered him lodgings in her own house? He was to move into his new\nquarters early next morning; perhaps she wished to inform him of this\nchange of mind, before it was too late. Maria treated him differently\nfrom before, there was no doubt of that, but surely this was natural! He\nhad dreamed of a different, far different meeting! He had come to Holland\nto support the good cause of Orange, yet he would certainly have turned\nhis steed towards his beloved Italy, where a good sword was always in\ndemand, instead of to the north, had he not hoped to find in Holland her,\nwhom he had never forgotten, for whom he had never ceased to long--Now\nshe was the wife of another, a man who had shown him kindness, given him\nhis confidence. To tear his love from his heart was impossible; but he\nowed it to her husband and his own honor to be strong, to resolutely\nrepress every thought of possessing her, and only rejoice in seeing her;\nand this he must try to accomplish.\n\nHe had told himself all these things more than once, but realized that he\nwas walking with unsteady steps, upon a narrow pathway, when she met him\noutside the dining-room and he felt how cold and tremulous was the hand\nshe laid in his.\n\nMaria led the way, and he silently followed her into Henrica's room. The\nlatter greeted him with a friendly gesture, but both ladies hesitated to\nutter the first word. The young man turned hastily, noticed that he was\nin the room overlooking the court-yard, and said, eagerly: I was down\nbelow just before twilight, to look at my new quarters, and heard singing\nfrom this room, and such singing! At first I didn't know what was coming,\nfor the tones were husky, weak, and broken, but afterwards--afterwards\nthe melody burst forth like a stream of lava through the ashes. We ought\nto wish many sorrows to one, who can lament thus.\"\n\n\"You shall make the singer's acquaintance,\" said Maria, motioning towards\nthe young girl. \"Fraulein Henrica Van Hoogstraten, a beloved guest in our\nhouse.\"\n\n\"Were you the songstress?\" asked Georg.\n\n\"Does that surprise you?\" replied Henrica. \"My voice has certainly\nretained its strength better than my body, wasted by long continued\nsuffering. I feel how deeply my eyes are sunken and how pale I must be.\nSinging certainly lightens pain, and I have been deprived of the\ncomforter long enough. Not a note has passed my lips for weeks, and now\nmy heart aches so, that I would far rather weep than sing. 'What troubles\nme?' you will ask, and yet Maria gives me courage to request a chivalrous\nservice, almost without parallel, at your hands.\"\n\n\"Speak, speak,\" Georg eagerly exclaimed. \"If Frau Maria summons me and I\ncan serve you, dear lady: here I am, dispose of me.\"\n\nHenrica did not avoid his frank glance, as she replied:\n\n\"First hear what a great service we ask of you. You must prepare yourself\nto hear a short story. I am still weak and have put my strength to a\nsevere test to-day, Maria must speak for me.\"\n\nThe young wife fulfilled this task quietly and clearly, closing with the\nwords:\n\n\"The messenger we need, I have found myself. You must be he, Junker\nGeorg.\"\n\nHenrica had not interrupted the burgomaster's wife; but now said warmly\n\n\"I have only made your acquaintance to-day, but I trust you entirely. A\nfew hours ago, black would have been my color, but if you will be my\nknight, I'll choose cheerful green, for I now begin to hope again. Will\nyou venture to take the ride for me?\"\n\nHitherto Georg had gazed silently at the floor. Now he raised his head,\nsaying:\n\n\"If I can obtain leave of absence, I will place myself at your\ndisposal;--but my lady's color is blue, and I am permitted to wear no\nother.\"\n\nHenrica's lips quivered slightly, but the young nobleman continued:\n\n\"Captain Van der Laen is my superior officer. I'll speak to him at once.\"\n\n\"And if he says no?\" asked Maria.\n\nHenrica interrupted her and answered haughtily: \"Then I beg you to send\nme Herr Wilhelm, the musician.\"\n\nGeorg bowed and went to the tavern.\n\nAs soon as the ladies were alone, the young girl asked:\n\n\"Do you know Herr von Dornburg's lady?\"\n\n\"How should I?\" replied Maria. \"Give yourself a little rest, Fraulein. As\nsoon as the Junker comes back, I'll bring him to you.\"\n\nThe young wife left the room and seated herself at the spinning-wheel\nwith Barbara. Georg kept them waiting a long time, but at midnight again\nappeared, accompanied by two companions. It was not within the limits of\nthe captain's authority to grant him a leave of absence for several\nweeks--the journey to Italy would have required that length of time--but\nthe Junker had consulted the musician, and the latter had found the right\nman, with whom Wilhelm speedily made the necessary arrangements, and\nbrought him without delay: it was the old steward, Belotti.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nOn the morning of the following day the spacious shooting-grounds,\nsituated not far from the White Gate, between the Rapenburg and the\ncity-wall, presented a busy scene, for by a decree of the council the\ncitizens and inhabitants, without exception, no matter whether they were\npoor or rich, of noble or plebeian birth, were to take a solemn oath to\nbe loyal to the Prince and the good cause.\n\nCommissioner Van Bronkhorst, Burgomaster Van der Werff, and two other\nmagistrates, clad in festal attire, stood under a group of beautiful\nlinden-trees to receive the oaths of the men and youths, who flocked to\nthe spot. The solemn ceremonial had not yet commenced. Janus Dousa, in\nfull uniform, a coat of mail over his doublet and a helmet on his head,\narm-in-arm with Van Hout, approached Meister Peter and the commissioner,\nsaying: \"Here it is again! Not one of the humbler citizens and workmen is\nabsent, but the gentlemen in velvet and fur are but thinly represented.\"\n\n\"They shall come yet!\" cried the city clerk menacingly.\n\n\"What will formal vows avail?\" replied the burgomaster. \"Whoever desires\nliberty, must grant it. Besides, this hour will teach us on whom we can\ndepend.\"\n\n\"Not a single man of the militia is absent,\" said the commissioner.\n\n\"There is comfort in that. What is stirring yonder in the linden?\"\n\nThe men looked up and perceived Adrian, who was swaying in the top of the\ntree, as a concealed listener. \"The boy must be everywhere,\" exclaimed\nPeter. \"Come down, saucy lad. You appear at a convenient time.\"\n\nThe boy clung to a limb with his hands, let himself drop to the ground\nand stood before his father with a penitent face, which he knew how to\nassume when occasion required. The burgomaster uttered no further words\nof reproof, but bade him go home and tell his mother, that he saw no\npossibility of getting Belotti through the Spanish lines in safety, and\nalso that Father Damianus had promised to call on the young lady in the\ncourse of the day.\n\n\"Hurry, Adrian, and you, constables, keep all unbidden persons away from\nthese trees, for any place where an oath is taken becomes sacred\nground--The clergymen have seated themselves yonder near the target. They\nhave the precedence. Have the kindness to summon them, Herr Van Hout.\nDominie Verstroot wishes to make an address, and then I would like to\nutter a few words of admonition to the citizens myself.\"\n\nVan Hout withdrew, but before he had reached the preachers Junker von\nWarmond appeared, and reported that a messenger, a handsome young lad,\nhad come as an envoy. He was standing before the White Gate and had a\nletter.\n\n\"From Valdez?\"\n\n\"I don't know; but the young fellow is a Hollander and his face is\nfamiliar to me.\"\n\n\"Conduct him here; but don't interrupt us until the ceremony of taking\nthe oath is over. The messenger can tell Valdez what he has seen and\nheard here. It will do the Castilian good, to know in advance what we\nintend.\"\n\nThe Junker withdrew, and when he returned with Nicolas Van Wibisma, who\nwas the messenger, Dominie Verstroot had finished his stirring speech.\nVan der Werff was still speaking. The sacred fire of enthusiasm sparkled\nin his eyes, and though the few words he addressed to his\nfellow-combatants in the deepest chest tones of his powerful voice were\nplain and unadorned, they found their way to the souls of his auditors.\n\nNicolas also followed the speech with a throbbing heart; it seemed as if\nthe tall, earnest man under the linden were speaking directly to him and\nto him alone, when at the close he raised his voice once more and\nexclaimed enthusiastically:\n\n\"And now let what will, come! A brave man from your midst has said\nto-day: 'We will not yield, so long as an arm is left on our bodies, to\nraise food to our lips and wield a sword!' If we all think thus, twenty\nSpanish armies will find their graves before these walls. On Leyden\ndepends the liberty of Holland. If we waver and fall, to escape the\nmisery that only threatens us to-day, but will pitilessly oppress and\ntorture us later, our children will say: 'The men of Leyden were blind\ncowards; it is their fault, that the name of Hollander is held in no\nhigher esteem, than that of a useless slave.' But if we faithfully hold\nout and resist the gloomy foreigner to the last man and the last mouthful\nof bread, they will remember us with tears and joyfully exclaim: 'We owe\nit to them, that our noble, industrious, happy people is permitted to\nplace itself proudly beside the other nations, and need no longer\ntolerate the miserable cuckoo in its own nest. Let whoever loves honor,\nwhoever is no degenerate wretch, that betrays his parents' house, whoever\nwould rather be a free man than a slave, ere raising his hand before God\nto take the oath, exclaim with me: 'Long live our shield, Orange, and a\nfree Holland!'\"\n\n\"They shall live!\" shouted hundreds of powerful voices, five, ten, twenty\ntimes. The gunner discharged the cannon planted near the target, drums\nbeat, one flourish of trumpets after another filled the air, the ringing\nof bells from all the towers of the city echoed over the heads of the\nenthusiastic crowd, and the cheering continued until the commissioner\nwaved his hand and the swearing fealty began.\n\nThe guilds and the armed defenders of the city pressed forward in bands\nunder the linden. Now impetuously, now with dignified calmness, now with\ndevout exaltation, hands were raised to take the oath, and whoever\nclasped hands did so with fervent warmth. Two hours elapsed before all\nhad sworn loyalty, and many a group that had passed under the linden\ntogether, warmly grasped each other's hands on the grounds in pledge of a\nsecond silent vow.\n\nNicolas Van Wibisma sat silently, with his letter in his lap, beside a\ntarget opposite the spot where the oath was taken, but sorrowful, bitter\nemotions were seething in his breast. How gladly he would have wept aloud\nand torn his father's letter! How gladly, when he saw the venerable Herr\nVan Montfort come hand in hand with the grey-haired Van der Does to be\nsworn, he would have rushed to their side to take the oath, and call to\nthe earnest man beneath the linden:\n\n\"I am no degenerate wretch, who betrays his parents' house; I desire to\nbe no slave, no Spaniard; I am a Netherlander, like yourself.\"\n\nBut he did not go, did not speak, he remained sitting motionless till the\nceremony was over and Junker von Warmond conducted him under the linden.\nVan Hout and both the Van der Does had joined the magistrates who had\nadministered the oath. Bowing silently, Nicolas delivered his father's\nletter to the burgomaster.\n\nVan der Werff broke the seal, and after reading it, handed it to the\nother gentlemen, then turning to Nicolas, said:\n\n\"Wait here, Junker. Your father counsels us to yield the city to the\nSpaniards, and promises a pardon from the King. You cannot doubt the\nanswer, after what you have heard in this place.\"\n\n\"There is but one,\" cried Van Hout, in the midst of reading the letter.\n\"Tear the thing up and make no reply.\"\n\n\"Ride home, in God's name,\" added Janus Dousa. \"But wait, I'll give you\nsomething more for Valdez.\"\n\n\"Then you will vouchsafe no reply to my father's letter?\" asked Nicolas.\n\n\"No, Junker. We wish to hold no intercourse with Baron Matanesse,\"\nreplied the commissioner. \"As for you, you can return home or wait here;\njust as you choose.\"\n\n\"Go to your cousin, Junker,\" said Janus Dousa kindly; \"it will probably\nbe an hour before I can find paper, pen and sealing wax. Fraulein Van\nHoogstraten will be glad to hear, through you, from her father.\"\n\n\"If agreeable to you, young sir,\" added the burgomaster; \"my house stands\nopen to you.\"\n\nNicolas hesitated a moment, then said quickly: \"Yes, take me to her.\"\n\nWhen the youth had reached the north end of the city with Herr von\nWarmond, who had undertaken to accompany him, he asked the latter:\n\n\"Are you Junker Van Duivenvoorde, Herr von Warmond?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"And you captured Brill, with the Beggars, from the Spaniards?\"\n\n\"I had that good fortune.\"\n\n\"And yet, you are of a good old family. And were there not other noblemen\nwith the Beggars also?\"\n\n\"Certainly. Do you suppose it ill-beseems us, to have a heart for our\nancestors' home? My forefathers, as well as yours, were noble before a\nSpaniard ever entered the land.\"\n\nBut King Philip rules us as the lawful sovereign.\"\n\n\"Unhappily. And therefore we obey his Stadtholder, the Prince, who reigns\nin his name. The perjured hangman needs a guardian. Ask on; I'll answer\nwillingly.\"\n\nNicolas did not heed the request, but walked silently beside his\ncompanion until they reached the Achtergracht. There he stood still,\nseized the captain's arm in great excitement, and said hastily in low,\nbroken sentences:\n\n\"It weighs on my heart. I must tell some one. I want to be Dutch. I hate\nthe Castilians. I have learned to know them in Leyderdorp and at the\nHague. They don't heed me, because I am young, and they are not aware\nthat I understand their language. So my eyes were opened. When they speak\nof us, it is with contempt and scorn. I know all that has been done by\nAlva and Vargas. I have heard from the Spaniards' own lips, that they\nwould like to root us out, exterminate us. If I could only do as I\npleased, and were it not for my father, I know what I would do. My head\nis so confused. The burgomaster's speech is driving me out of my wits.\nTell him, junket, I beseech you, tell him I hate the Spaniards and it\nwould be my pride to be a Netherlander.\"\n\nBoth had continued their walk, and as they approached the burgomaster's\nhouse, the captain, who had listened to the youth with joyful surprise,\nsaid:\n\n\"You're cut from good timber, Junker, and on the way to the right goal.\nOnly keep Herr Peter's speech in your mind, and remember what you have\nlearned in history. To whom belong the shining purple pages in the great\nbook of national history? To the tyrants, their slaves and eye-servants,\nor the men who lived and died for liberty? Hold up your head. This\nconflict will perhaps outlast both our lives, and you still have a long\ntime to put yourself on the right side. The nobleman must serve his\nPrince, but he need be no slave of a ruler, least of all a foreigner, an\nenemy of his nation. Here we are; I'll come for you again in an hour.\nGive me your hand. I should like to call you by your Christian name in\nfuture, my brave Nico.\"\n\n\"Call me so,\" exclaimed the youth, \"and--you'll send no one else? I\nshould like to talk with you again.\"\n\nThe Junker was received in the burgomaster's house by Barbara. Henrica\ncould not see him immediately, Father Damianus was with her, so he was\nobliged to wait in the dining-room until the priest appeared. Nicolas\nknew him well, and had even confessed to him once the year before. After\ngreeting the estimable man and answering his inquiry how he had come\nthere, he said frankly and hastily:\n\n\"Forgive me, Father, but something weighs upon my heart. You are a holy\nman, and must know. Is it a crime, if a Hollander fights against the\nSpaniards, is it a sin, if a Hollander wishes to be and remain what God\nmade him? I can't believe it.\"\n\n\"Nor do I,\" replied Damianus in his simple manner. \"Whoever clings firmly\nto our holy church, whoever loves his neighbor and strives to do right,\nmay confidently favor the Dutch, and pray and fight for the freedom of\nhis native land.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" exclaimed Nicolas, with sparkling eyes.\n\n\"For,\" continued Damianus more eagerly, \"for you see, before the\nSpaniards came into the country, they were good Catholics here and led\ndevout lives, pleasing in the sight of God. Why should it not be so\nagain? The most High has separated men into nations, because He wills,\nthat they should lead their own lives and shape them for their salvation\nand His honor; but not to give the stronger nation the right to torture\nand oppress another. Suppose your father went out to walk and a Spanish\ngrandee should jump on his shoulders and make him taste whip and spur, as\nif he were a horse. It would be bad for the Castilian. Now substitute\nHolland for Herr Matanesse, and Spain for the grandee, and you will know\nwhat I mean. There is nothing left for us to do, except cast off the\noppressor. Our holy church will sustain no loss. God appointed it, and it\nwill stand whether King Philip or another rules. Now you know my opinion.\nDo I err or not, in thinking that the name of Glipper no longer pleases\nyou, dear Junker?\"\n\n\"No, Father Damianus!--You are right, a thousand times right. It is no\nsin, to desire a free Holland.\"\n\n\"Who told you it was one?\"\n\n\"Canon Bermont and our chaplain.\"\n\n\"Then we are of a different opinion concerning this temporal matter. Give\nto God the things that are God's, and remain where the Lord placed you.\nWhen your beard grows, if you wish to fight for the liberty of Holland,\ndo so confidently. That is a sin for which I will gladly grant you\nabsolution.\"\n\nHenrica was greatly delighted to see the fresh, happy-looking youth\nagain. Nicolas was obliged to tell her about her father and his, and\ninform her how he had come to Leyden. When she heard that he intended to\nreturn in an hour, a bright idea entered her mind, which was wholly\nengrossed by Belotti's mission. She told Nicolas what she meant to do,\nand begged him to take the steward through the Spanish army to the Hague.\nThe Junker was not only ready to fulfil her request, but promised that,\nif the old man wanted to return, he would apprize her of it in some way.\n\nAt the end of an hour she bade the boy farewell, and when again walking\ntowards the Achtergracht with Herr von Warmond, he asked joyously:\n\n\"How shall I get to the Beggars?\"\n\n\"You?\" asked the captain in astonishment.\n\n\"Yes, I!\" replied the Junker eagerly. \"I shall soon be seventeen, and\nwhen I am--Wait, just wait--you'll hear of me yet.\"\n\n\"Right, Nicolas, right,\" replied the other. \"Let us be Holland nobles and\nnoble Hollanders.\"\n\nThree hours later, Junker Matanesse Van Wibisma rode into the Hague with\nBelotti, whom he had loved from childhood. He brought his father nothing\nbut a carefully-folded and sealed letter, which Janus Dousa, with a\nmischievous smile, had given him on behalf of the citizens of Leyden for\nGeneral Valdez, and which contained, daintily inscribed on a large sheet,\nthe following lines from Dionysius Cato:\n\n     \"Fistula dulce canit volucrem dum decipit auceps.\"\n\n   [\"Sweet are the notes of the flute, when the fowler lures the bird\n   to his nest.\"]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nThe first week in June and half the second had passed, the beautiful\nsunny days had drawn to a close, and numerous guests sought the \"Angulus\"\nin Aquarius's tavern during the evening hours. It was so cosy there when\nthe sea-breeze whistled, the rain poured, and the water fell plashing on\nthe pavements. The Spanish besieging army encompassed the city like an\niron wall. Each individual felt that he was a fellow-prisoner of his\nneighbor, and drew closer to companions of his own rank and opinions.\nBusiness was stagnant, idleness and anxiety weighed like lead on the\nminds of all, and whoever wished to make time pass rapidly and relieve\nhis oppressed soul, went to the tavern to give utterance to his own hopes\nand fears, and hear what others were thinking and feeling in the common\ndistress.\n\nAll the tables in the Angulus were occupied, and whoever wanted to be\nunderstood by a distant neighbor was forced to raise his voice very loud,\nfor special conversations were being carried on at every table. Here,\nthere, and everywhere, people were shouting to the busy bar-maid, glasses\nclinked together, and pewter lids fell on the tops of hard stone-ware\njugs.\n\nThe talk at a round table in the end of the long room was louder than\nanywhere else. Six officers had seated themselves at it, among them Georg\nvon Dornburg. Captain Van der Laen, his superior officer, whose past\ncareer had been a truly heroic one, was loudly relating in his deep\nvoice, strange and amusing tales of his travels by sea and land, Colonel\nMulder often interrupted him, and at every somewhat incredible story,\nsmilingly told a similar, but perfectly impossible adventure of his own.\nCaptain Van Duivenvoorde soothingly interposed, when Van der Laen, who\nwas conscious of never deviating far from the truth, angrily repelled the\nold man's jesting insinuations. Captain Cromwell, a grave man with a\nround head and smooth long hair, who had come to Holland to fight for the\nfaith, rarely mingled in the conversation, and then only with a few words\nof scarcely intelligible Dutch. Georg, leaning far back in his chair,\nstretched his feet out before him and stared silently into vacancy.\n\nHerr Aquanus, the host, walked from one table to another, and when he at\nlast reached the one where the officers sat, paused opposite to the\nThuringian, saying:\n\n\"Where are your thoughts, Junker? One would scarcely know you during the\nlast few days. What has come over you?\"\n\nGeorg hastily sat erect, stretched himself like a person roused from\nsleep, and answered pleasantly:\n\n\"Dreams come in idleness.\"\n\n\"The cage is getting too narrow for him,\" said Captain Van der Laen. \"If\nthis state of things lasts long, we shall all get dizzy like the sheep.\"\n\n\"And as stiff as the brazen Pagan god on the shelf yonder,\" added Colonel\nMulder.\n\n\"There was the same complaint during the first siege,\" replied the host,\n\"but Herr von Noyelles drowned his discontent and emptied many a cask of\nmy best liquor.\"\n\n\"Tell the gentlemen how he paid you,\" cried Colonel Mulder.\n\n\"There hangs the paper framed,\" laughed Aquarius. \"Instead of sending\nmoney, he wrote this:\n\n     'Full many a favor, dear friend, hast thou done me,\n     For which good hard coin glad wouldst thou be to see\n     There's none in my pockets; so for the debt\n        In place of dirty coin,\n        This written sheet so fine;\n     Paper money in Leyden is easy to get.'\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" cried Junker von Warmond, \"and besides you made the die for\nthe pasteboard coins yourself.\"\n\n\"Of course! Herr von Noyelles' sitting still, cost me dear. You have\nalready made two expeditions.\"\n\n\"Hush, hush, for God's sake say nothing about the first sally!\" cried the\ncaptain. \"A well-planned enterprise, which was shamefully frustrated,\nbecause the leader lay down like a mole to sleep! Where has such a thing\nhappened a second time?\"\n\n\"But the other ended more fortunately,\" said the host. \"Three hundred\nhams, one hundred casks of beer, butter, ammunition, and the most\nworthless of all spies into the bargain; always an excellent prize.\"\n\n\"And yet a failure!\" cried Captain Van der Laen, \"We ought to have\ncaptured and brought in all the provision ships on the Leyden Lake! And\nthe Kaag! To think that this fort on the island should be in the hands of\nthe enemy.\"\n\n\"But the people have held out bravely,\" said von Warmond.\n\n\"There are real devils among them,\" replied Van der Laen, laughing. \"One\nstruck a Spaniard down and, in the midst of the battle, took off his red\nbreeches and pulled them on his own legs.\"\n\n\"I know the man,\" added the landlord, \"his name is Van Keulen; there he\nsits yonder over his beer, telling the people all sorts of queer stories.\nA fellow with a face like a satyr. We have no lack of comfort yet!\nRemember Chevraux' defeat, and the Beggars' victory at Vlissingen on the\nScheldt.\"\n\n\"To brave Admiral Boisot and the gallant Beggar troops!\" cried Captain\nVan der Laen, touching glasses with Colonel Mulder. The latter turned\nwith upraised beaker towards the Thuringian and, as the Junker who had\nrelapsed into his reverie, did not notice the movement, irritably\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Well, Herr Dornburg, you require a long time to pledge a man.\"\n\nGeorg started and answered hastily:\n\n\"Pledge? Oh! yes. Pledge. I pledge you, Colonel!\" With these words he\nraised the goblet, drained it at a single draught, made the nail test and\nreplaced it on the table.\n\n\"Well done!\" cried the old man; and Herr Aquanus said:\n\n\"He learned that at the University; studying makes people thirsty.\"\n\nAs he uttered the words, he cast a friendly glance of anxiety at the\nyoung German, and then looked towards the door, through which Wilhelm had\njust entered the Angulus. The landlord went to meet him and whispered:\n\n\"I don't like the German nobleman's appearance. The singing lark has\nbecome a mousing night-bird. What ails him?\"\n\n\"Home-sickness, no news from his family, and the snare into which the war\nhas drawn him in his pursuit of glory and honor. He'll soon be his old\nself again.\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" replied the host. \"Such a succulent little tree will quickly\nrebound, when it is pressed to the earth; help the fine young fellow.\"\n\nA guest summoned the landlord, but the musician joined the officers and\nbegan a low conversation with Georg, which was drowned by the confused\nmingling of loud voices.\n\nWilhelm came from the Van der Werff house, where he had learned that the\nnext day but one, June fourteenth, would be the burgomaster's birthday.\nAdrian had told Henrica, and the latter informed him. The master of the\nhouse was to be surprised with a song on the morning of his birthday\nfestival.\n\n\"Excellent,\" said Georg, interrupting his friend, \"she will manage the\nmatter admirably.\"\n\n\"Not she alone; we can depend upon Fran Van der Werff too. At first she\nwanted to decline, but when I proposed a pretty madrigal, yielded and\ntook the soprano.\"\n\n\"The soprano?\" asked the Junker excitedly. \"Of course I'm at your\nservice. Let us go; have you the notes at home?\"\n\n\"No, Herr von Dornburg, I have just taken them to the ladies; but early\nto-morrow morning--\"\n\n\"There will be a rehearsal early to-morrow morning! The jug is for me,\nJungfer Dortchen! Your health, Colonel Mulder! Captain Huivenvoorde, I\ndrain this goblet to your new standard and hope to have many a jolly ride\nby your side.\"\n\nThe German's eyes again sparkled with an eager light, and when Captain\nVan der Laen, continuing his conversation, cried enthusiastically: \"The\nBeggars of the Sea will yet sink the Spanish power. The sea, gentlemen.\nthe sea! To base one's cause on nothing, is the best way! To exult, leap\nand grapple in the storm! To fight and struggle man to man and breast to\nbreast on the deck of the enemy's ship! To fight and conquer, or perish\nwith the foe!\"\n\n\"To your health, Junker!\" exclaimed the colonel. \"Zounds, we need such\nyouths!\"\n\n\"Now you are your old self again,\" said Wilhelm, turning to his friend.\n\"Touch glasses to your dear ones at home.\"\n\n\"Two glasses for one,\" cried Georg. \"To the dear ones at home--to the\njoys and sorrows of the heart, to the fair woman we love! War is rapture,\nlove is life! Let the wounds bleed, let the heart break into a thousand\npieces. Laurels grow green on the battle-field, love twines garlands of\nroses-roses with thorns, yet beautiful roses! Go, beaker! No other lips\nshall drink from you.\"\n\nGeorg's cheeks glowed as he flung the glass goblet into a corner of the\nroom, where it shattered into fragments. His comrades at the table\ncheered loudly, but Captain Cromwell rose quietly to leave the room, and\nthe landlord shook his wise head doubtfully.\n\nIt seemed as if fire had poured into Georg's soul and his spirit had\ngained wings. The thick waving locks curled in dishevelled masses around\nhis handsome head, as leaning far back in his chair with unfastened\ncollar, he mingled clever sallies and brilliant similes with the quiet\nconversation of the others. Wilhelm listened to his words sometimes with\nadmiration, sometimes with anxiety. It was long past midnight, when the\nmusician left the tavern with his friend. Colonel Mulder looked after him\nand exclaimed to those left behind:\n\n\"The fellow is possessed with a devil.\"\n\nThe next morning the madrigal was practised at the burgomaster's house,\nwhile its master was presiding over a meeting at the town-hall. Georg\nstood between Henrica and Maria. So long as the musician found it\nnecessary to correct errors and order repetitions, a cheerful mood\npervaded the little choir, and Barbara, in the adjoining room, often\nheard the sound of innocent laughter; but when each had mastered his or\nher part and the madrigal was faultlessly executed, the ladies grew more\nand more grave. Maria gazed fixedly at the sheet of music, and rarely had\nher voice sounded so faultlessly pure, so full of feeling. Georg adapted\nhis singing to hers and his eyes, whenever they were raised from the\nnotes, rested on her face. Henrica sought to meet the Junker's glance,\nbut always in vain, yet she wished to divert his attention from the young\nwife, and it tortured her to remain unnoticed. Some impulse urged her to\nsurpass Maria, and the whole passionate wealth of her nature rang out in\nher singing. Her fervor swept the others along. Maria's treble rose\nexultantly above the German's musical voice, and Henrica's tones blended\nangrily yet triumphantly in the strain. The delighted and inspired\nmusician beat the time and, borne away by the liquid melody of Henrica's\nvoice, revelled in sweet recollections of her sister.\n\nWhen the serenade was finished, he eagerly cried:\n\n\"Again!\" The rivalry between the singers commenced with fresh vigor, and\nthis time the Junker's beaming gaze met the young wife's eyes. She\nhastily lowered the notes, stepped out of the semicircle, and said:\n\n\"We know the madrigal. Early to-morrow morning, Meister Wilhelm; my time\nis limited.\"\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" cried the musician regretfully. \"It was going on so splendidly,\nand there were only a few bars more.\" But Maria was already standing at\nthe door and made no reply, except:\n\n\"To-morrow.\"\n\nThe musician enthusiastically thanked Henrica for her singing; Georg\ncourteously expressed his gratitude. When both had taken leave, Henrica\npaced rapidly to and fro, passionately striking her clenched fist in the\npalm of her other hand.\n\nThe singers were ready early on the birthday morning, but Peter had risen\nbefore sunrise, for there was a proposition to be arranged with the city\nclerk, which must be completed before the meeting of the council. Nothing\nwas farther from his thoughts than his birthday, and when the singers in\nthe dining-room commenced their madrigal, he rapped on the door,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"We are busy; find another place for your singing.\" The melody was\ninterrupted for a moment, and Barbara said:\n\n\"People picking apples don't think of fishing-nets. He has no idea it is\nhis birthday. Let the children go in first.\"\n\nMaria now entered the study with Adrian and Bessie. They carried bouquets\nin their hands, and the young wife had dressed the little girl so\nprettily that, in her white frock, she really looked like a dainty fairy.\n\nPeter now knew the meaning of the singing, warmly embraced the three\nwell-wishers, and when the madrigal began again, stood opposite to the\nperformers to listen. True, the execution was not nearly so good as at\nthe rehearsal, for Maria sang in a low and somewhat muffled voice, while,\nspite of Wilhelm's vehement beating of time, the warmth and verve of the\nday before would not return.\n\n\"Admirable, admirable,\" cried Peter, when the singers ceased. \"Well\nplanned and executed, a beautiful birthday surprise.\" Then he shook hands\nwith each, saying a few cordial words and, as he grasped the Junker's\nright hand, remarked warmly: \"You have dropped down on us from the skies\nduring these bad days, just at the right time. It is always something to\nhave a home in a foreign land, and you have found one with us.\"\n\nGeorg had bent his eyes on the floor, but at the last words raised them\nand met the burgomaster's. How honestly, how kindly and frankly they\nlooked at him! Deep emotion overpowered him, and without knowing what he\nwas doing, he laid his hands on Peter's arms and hid his face on his\nshoulder.\n\nVan der Werff suffered him to do so, stroked the youth's hair, and said\nsmiling:\n\n\"Like Leonhard, wife, just like our Leonhard. We will dine together\nto-day. You, too, Van Hout; and don't forget your wife.\"\n\nMaria assigned the seats at the table, so that she was not obliged to\nlook at Georg. His place was beside Frau Van Hout and opposite Henrica\nand the musician. At first he was silent and embarrassed, but Henrica\ngave him no rest, and when he had once begun to answer her questions he\nwas soon carried away by her glowing vivacity, and gave free, joyous play\nto his wit. Henrica did not remain in his debt, her eyes sparkled, and in\nthe increasing pleasure of trying the power of her intellect against his,\nshe sought to surpass every jest and repartee made by the Junker. She\ndrank no wine, but was intoxicated by her own flow of language and so\ncompletely engrossed Georg's attention, that he found no time to address\na word to the other guests. If he attempted to do so, she quickly\ninterrupted him and compelled him to turn to her again. This constraint\nannoyed the young man; while struggling against it his spirit of\nwantonness awoke, and he began to irritate Henrica into making\nunprecedented assertions, which he opposed with equally unwarrantable\nones of his own.\n\nMaria sometimes listened to the young lady in surprise, and there was\nsomething in Georg's manner that vexed her. Peter took little notice of\nHenrica; he was talking with Van Hout about the letters from the Glippers\nasking a surrender, three of which had already been brought into the\ncity, of the uncertain disposition of some members of the council and the\nexecution of the captured spy.\n\nWilhelm, who had scarcely vouchsafed his neighbor an answer, was now\nfollowing the conversation of the older men and remarked, that he had\nknown the traitor. He was a tavern-keeper, in whose inn he had once met\nHerr Matanesse Van Wibisma.\n\n\"There we have it,\" said Van Hout. \"A note was found in Quatgelat's\npouch, and the writing bore a mysterious resemblance to the baron's hand.\nQuatgelat was to enquire about the quantity of provisions in Leyden.\"\n\"All alike!\" exclaimed the burgomaster. \"Unhappily he could have brought\ntidings only too welcome to Valdez. Little that is cheering has resulted\nfrom the investigation; though the exact amount has not yet been\nascertained.\"\n\n\"We must place it during the next few days in charge of the ladies.\"\n\n\"Give it to the women?\" asked Peter in astonishment.\n\n\"Yes, to us!\" cried Van Hout's wife. \"Why should we sit idle, when we\nmight be of use.\"\n\n\"Give us the work!\" exclaimed Maria. \"We are as eager as you, to render\nthe great cause some service.\"\n\n\"And believe me,\" added Frau Van Hout, \"we shall find admittance to\nstore-rooms and cellars much more quickly than constables and guards,\nwhom the housewives fear.\"\n\n\"Women in the service of the city,\" said Peter thoughtfully. \"To be\nhonest--but your proposal shall be considered.--The young lady is in good\nspirits today.\"\n\nMaria glanced indignantly at Henrica, who had leaned far across the\ntable. She was showing Georg a ring, and laughingly exclaimed:\n\n\"Don't you wish to know what the device means? Look, a serpent biting its\nown tail.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" replied the Junker, \"the symbol of self-torment.\"\n\n\"Good, good! But it has another meaning, which you would do well to\nnotice, Sir Knight. Do you know the signification of eternity and eternal\nfaith?\"\n\n\"No, Fraulein, I wasn't taught to think so deeply at Jena.\"\n\n\"Of course. Your teachers were men. Men and faith, eternal faith!\"\n\n\"Was Delilah, who betrayed Samson to the Philistines, a man or a woman?\"\nasked Van Hout.\n\n\"She was a woman. The exception, that proves the rule. Isn't that so,\nMaria?\"\n\nThe burgomaster's wife made no reply except a silent nod; then\nindignantly pushed back her chair, and the meal was over.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Drinking is also an art, and the Germans are masters of it\n     Here the new custom of tobacco-smoking was practised\n     Standing still is retrograding\n     To whom fortune gives once, it gives by bushels\n     Youth calls 'much,' what seems to older people 'little'\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nDays and weeks had passed, July was followed by sultry August, and that,\ntoo, was drawing to a close. The Spaniards still surrounded Leyden, and\nthe city now completely resembled a prison. The soldiers and armed\ncitizens did their duty wearily and sullenly, there was business enough\nat the town-hall, but the magistrates' work was sad and disagreeable; for\nno message of hope came from the Prince or the Estates, and everything to\nbe considered referred to the increasing distress and the terrible\nfollower of war, the plague, which had made its entry into Leyden with\nthe famine. Moreover the number of malcontents weekly increased. The\nfriends of the old order of affairs now raised their voices more and more\nloudly, and many a friend of liberty, who saw his family sickening,\njoined the Spanish sympathizers and demanded the surrender of the city.\nThe children went to school and met in the playrounds as before, but\nthere was rarely a flash of the merry pertness of former days, and what\nhad become of the boys' red cheeks and the round arms of the little\ngirls? The poor drew their belts tighter, and the morsel of bread,\ndistributed by the city to each individual, was no longer enough to quiet\nhunger and support life.\n\nJunker Georg had long been living in Burgomaster Van der Werff's house.\n\nOn the morning of August 29th he returned home from an expedition,\ncarrying a cross-bow in his hand, while a pouch hung over his shoulder.\nThis time he did not go up-stairs, but sought Barbara in the kitchen. The\nwidow received him with a friendly nod; her grey eyes sparkled as\nbrightly as ever, but her round face had grown narrower and there was a\nsorrowful quiver about the sunken mouth.\n\n\"What do you bring to-day?\" she asked the Junker. Georg thrust his hand\ninto his game-bag and answered, smiling: \"A fat snipe and four larks; you\nknow.\"\n\n\"Poor sparrows! But what sort of a creature can this be? Headless,\nlegless, and carefully plucked! Junker, Junker, that's suspicious.\"\n\n\"It will do for the pan, and the name is of no consequence.\"\n\n\"Yet, yet; true, nobody knows on what he fattens, but the Lord didn't\ncreate every animal for the human stomach.\"\n\n\"That's just what I said. It's a short-billed snipe, a corvus, a real\ncorvus.\"\n\n\"Corvus! Nonsense, I'm afraid of the thing--the little feathers under the\nwings. Good heavens! surely it isn't a raven?\"\n\n\"It's a corvus, as I said. Put the bird in vinegar, roast it with\nseasoning and it will taste like a real snipe. Wild ducks are not to be\nfound every day, as they were a short time ago, and sparrows are getting\nas scarce as roses in winter. Every boy is standing about with a\ncross-bow, and in the court-yards people are trying to catch them under\nsieves and with lime-twigs. They are going to be exterminated, but one or\nanother is still spared. How is the little elf?\"\n\n\"Don't call her that!\" exclaimed the widow. \"Give her her Christian name.\nShe looks like this cloth, and since yesterday has refused to take the\nmilk we daily procure for her at a heavy cost. Heaven knows what the end\nwill be. Look at that cabbage-stalk. Half a stiver! and that miserable\npiece of bone! Once I should have thought it too poor for the dogs--and\nnow! The whole household must be satisfied with it. For supper I shall\nboil ham-rind with wine and add a little porridge to it. And this for a\ngiant like Peter! God only knows where he gets his strength; but he looks\nlike his own shadow. Maria doesn't need anything more than a bird, but\nAdrian, poor fellow, often leaves the table with tears in his eyes, yet I\nknow he has broken many a bit of bread from his thin slice for Bessie. It\nis pitiable. Yet the proverb says: 'Stretch yourself towards the ceiling,\nor your feet will freeze--'Necessity knows no law,' and 'Reserve to\npreserve.' Day before yesterday, like the rest, we again gave of the\nlittle we still possessed. To-morrow, everything beyond what is needed\nfor the next fortnight, must be delivered up, and Peter won't allow us to\nkeep even a bag of flour, but what will come then--merciful Heaven!--\"\n\nThe widow sobbed aloud as she uttered the last words and continued,\nweeping: \"Where do you get your strength? At your age this miserable\nscrap of meat is a mere drop of water on a red-hot stone.\"\n\n\"Herr Van Aken gives me what he can, in addition to my ration. I shall\nget through; but I witnessed a terrible sight to-day at the tailor's, who\nmends my clothes.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Two of his children have starved to death.\"\n\n\"And the weaver's family opposite,\" added Barbara, weeping. \"Such nice\npeople! The young wife was confined four days ago, and this morning\nmother and child expired of weakness, expired, I tell you, like a lamp\nthat has consumed its oil and must go out. At the cloth-maker\nPeterssohn's, the father and all five children have died of the plague.\nIf that isn't pitiful!\"\n\n\"Stop, stop!\" said Georg, shuddering. \"I must go to the court-yard to\ndrill.\"\n\n\"What's the use of that! The Spaniards don't attack; they leave the work\nto the skeleton death. Your fencing gives an appetite, and the poor\nhollow herrings can scarcely stir their own limbs.\"\n\n\"Wrong, Frau Barbara, wrong,\" replied the young man. \"The exercise and\nmotion sustains them. Herr von Nordwyk knew what he was doing, when he\nasked me to drill them in the dead fencing-master's place.\"\n\n\"You're thinking of the ploughshare that doesn't rust. Perhaps you are\nright; but before you go to work, take a sip of this. Our wine is still\nthe best. When people have something to do, at least they don't mutiny,\nlike those poor fellows among the volunteers day before yesterday. Thank\nGod, they are gone!\"\n\nWhile the widow was filling a glass, Wilhelm's mother came into the\nkitchen and greeted Barbara and the young nobleman. She carried under her\nshawl a small package clasped tightly to her bosom. Her breadth was still\nconsiderable, but the flesh, with which she had moved about so briskly a\nfew months ago, now seemed to have become an oppressive burden.\n\nShe took the little bundle in her right hand, saying \"I have something\nfor your Bessie. My Wilhelm, good fellow--\"\n\nHere she paused and restored her gift to its old place. She had seen the\nJunker's plucked present, and continued in an altered tone: \"So you\nalready have a pigeon--so much the better! The city clerk's little girl\nis beginning to droop too. I'll see you to-morrow, if God wills.\"\n\nShe was about to go, but Georg stopped her, saying: \"You are mistaken, my\ngood lady. I shot that bird to-day, I'll confess now, Frau Barbara; my\ncorvus is a wretched crow.\"\n\n\"I thought so,\" cried the widow. \"Such an abomination!\"\n\nYet she thrust her finger into the bird's breast, saying: \"But there's\nmeat on the creature.\"\n\n\"A crow!\" cried Wilhelm's mother, clasping her hands. \"True, dogs and\ncats are already hanging on many a spit and have wandered into many a\npan. There is the pigeon.\"\n\nBarbara unwrapped the bird as carefully, as if it might crumble under her\nfingers, gazing tenderly at it as she weighed it carefully in her hand;\nbut the musician's mother said:\n\n\"It's the fourth one Wilhelm has killed, and he said it would have been a\ngood flier. He intended it specially for your Bessie. Stuff it nicely\nwith yellow paste, not too solid and a little sweetened. That is what\nchildren like, and it will agree with her, for it is cheerfully given.\nPut the little thing away. When we have known any creature, we feel sorry\nto see it dead.\"\n\n\"May God reward you!\" cried Barbara, pressing the kind old hand. \"Oh!\nthese terrible times!\"\n\n\"Yet there is still something to be thankful for.\"\n\n\"Of course, for it will be even worse in hell,\" replied the widow.\n\n\"Don't fall into sin,\" said the aged matron: \"You have only one sick\nperson in the house. Can I see Frau Maria?\"\n\n\"She is in the workshops, taking the people a little meat from our store.\nAre you too so short of flour? Cows are still to be seen in the pastures,\nbut the grain seems to have been actually swept away; there wasn't a peck\nin the market. Will you take a sip of wine too? Shall I call my\nsister-in-law?\"\n\n\"I will seek her myself. The usury in the market is no longer to be\nendured. We can do nothing more there, but she is already bringing people\nto reason.\"\n\n\"The traders in the market?\" asked Georg.\n\n\"Yes, Herr von Dornburg, yes. One wouldn't believe how much that delicate\nwoman can accomplish. Day before yesterday, when we went about to learn\nhow large a stock of provisions every house contains, people treated me\nand the others very rudely, many even turned us out of doors. But she\nwent to the roughest, and the cellars and store-rooms opened before her,\nas the waves of the sea divided before the people of Israel. How she does\nit, Heaven knows, but the people can't refuse her.\"\n\nGeorg drew a long breath and left the kitchen. In the court-yard he found\nseveral city soldiers, volunteers and militia-men, with whom he went\nthrough exercises in fencing. Van der Werff placed it at his disposal for\nthis purpose, and there certainly was no man in Leyden more capable than\nthe German of supplying worthy Allertssohn's place.\n\nBarbara was not wrong. His pupils looked emaciated and miserable enough,\nbut many of them had learned, in the dead man's school, to wield the\nsword well, and were heartily devoted to the profession.\n\nIn the centre of the court-yard stood a human figure, stuffed with tow\nand covered with leather, which bore on the left breast a bit of red\npaper in the shape of a heart. The more unskilful were obliged to thrust\nat this figure to train the hand and eye; the others stood face to face\nin pairs and fought under Georg's direction with blunt foils.\n\nThe Junker had felt very weak when he entered the kitchen, for the larger\nhalf of his ration of bread had been left at the unfortunate tailor's;\nbut Barbara's wine had revived him and, rousing himself, he stepped\nbriskly forth to meet his fencers. His doublet was quickly flung on a\nbench, his belt drawn tighter, and he soon stood in his white\nshirt-sleeves before the soldiers.\n\nAs soon as his first word of command was heard, Henrica's window closed\nwith a bang. Formerly it had often been opened when the fencing drill\nbegan, and she had not even shrunk from occasionally clapping her hands\nand calling \"bravo.\" This time had long since passed, it was weeks since\nshe had bestowed a word or glance on the young noble. She had never made\nsuch advances to any man, would not have striven so hard to win a\nprince's favor! And he? At first he had been distant, then more and more\nassiduously avoided her. Her pride was deeply wounded. Her purpose of\ndiverting his attention from Maria had long been forgotten, and moreover\nsomething--she knew not what had come between her and the young wife. Not\na day elapsed in which he did not meet her, and this was a source of\npleasure to Henrica, because she could show him that his presence was a\nmatter of indifference, nay even unpleasant. Her imprisonment greatly\ndepressed her, and she longed unutterably for the open country, the\nfields and the forest. Yet she never expressed a wish to leave the city,\nfor--Georg was in Leyden, and every waking and dreaming thought was\nassociated with him. She loved him to-day, loathed him tomorrow, and did\nboth with all the ardor of her passionate heart. She often thought of her\nsister too, and uttered many prayers for her. To win the favor of Heaven\nby good works and escape ennui, she helped the Grey Sisters, who lived in\na little old convent next to Herr Van der Werff's house, nurse the sick\nwhole they had lovingly received, and even went with Sister Gonzaga to\nthe houses of the Catholic citizens, to collect alms for the little\nhospital. But all this was done without joyous self-devotion, sometimes\nwith extravagant zeal, sometimes lazily, and for days not at all. She had\nbecome excessively irritable, but after being unbearably arrogant one\nday, would seem sorrowful and ill at ease the next, though without asking\nthe offended person's pardon.\n\nThe young girl now stood behind the closed window, watching Georg, who\nwith a bold spring dashed at the leathern figure and ran the sword in his\nright hand through the phantom's red heart.\n\nThe soldiers loudly expressed their admiration. Henrica's eye, also\nsparkled approvingly, but suddenly they lost their light, and she stepped\nfarther back into the room, for Maria came out of the workshops in the\ncourt-yard and, with her gaze fixed on the ground, walked past the\nfencers.\n\nThe young wife had grown paler, but her clear blue eyes had gained a more\nconfident, resolute expression. She had learned to go her own way, and\nsought and found arduous duties in the service of the city and the poor.\nShe had remained conqueror in many a severe conflict of the heart, but\nthe struggle was not yet over; she felt this whenever Georg's path\ncrossed hers. As far as possible she avoided him, for she did not conceal\nfrom herself, that the attempt to live with him on the footing of a\nfriend and brother, would mean nothing but the first step on the road to\nruin for him and herself. That he was honestly aiding her by a strong\neffort at self-control, she gratefully felt, for she stood heart to heart\nwith her husband on the ship of life. She wished no other guide; nay the\nthought of going to destruction with Peter had no terror to her. And yet,\nyet! Georg was like the magnetic mountain, that attracted her, and which\nshe must avoid to save the vessel from sinking.\n\nTo-day she had been asking the different workmen how they fared, and\nwitnessed scenes of the deepest misery.\n\nThe brave men knew that the surrender of the city might put an end to\ntheir distress, but wished to hold out for the sake of liberty and their\nreligion, and endured their suffering as an inevitable misfortune.\n\nIn the entry of the house Maria met Wilhelm's mother, and promised her\nshe would consult with Frau Van Hout that very day, concerning the\nextortion practised by the market-men. Then she went to poor Bessie, who\nsat, pale and weak, in a little chair. Her prettiest doll had been lying\nan hour in the same position on her lap. The child's little hands and\nwill were too feeble to move the toy. Trautchen brought in a cup of new\nmilk. The citizens were not yet wholly destitute of this, for a goodly\nnumber of cows still grazed outside the city walls under the protection\nof the cannon, but the child refused to drink and could only be induced,\namid tears, to swallow a few drops.\n\nWhile Maria was affectionately coaxing the little one, Peter entered the\nroom. The tall man, the very model of a stately burgher, who paid careful\nheed to his outward appearance, now looked careless of his person. His\nbrown hair hung over his forehead, his thick, closely-trimmed moustache\nstraggled in thin lines over his cheeks, his doublet had grown too large,\nand his stockings did not fit snugly as usual, but hung in wrinkles on\nhis powerful legs.\n\nGreeting his wife with a careless wave of the hand, he approached the\nchild and gazed silently at it a long time with tender affection. Bessie\nturned her pretty little face towards him and tried to welcome him, but\nthe smile died on her lips, and she again gazed listlessly at her doll,\nPeter stooped, raised her in his arms, called her by name and pressed his\nlips to her pale cheeks. The child gently stroked his beard and then said\nfeebly:\n\n\"Put me down, dear father, I feel dizzy up here.\" The burgomaster, with\ntears in his eyes, put his darling carefully back in her little chair,\nthen left the room and went to his study. Maria followed him and asked\n\"Is there no message yet from the Prince or the estates?\"\n\nHe silently shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"But they will not, dare not forget us?\" cried the young wife eagerly.\n\n\"We are perishing and they leave us to die,\" he answered in a hollow\ntone.\n\n\"No, no, they have pierced the dykes; I know they will help us.\"\n\n\"When it is too late. One thing follows another, misfortune is heaped on\nmisfortune, and on whom do the curses of the starving people fall? On me,\nme, me alone.\"\n\n\"You are acting with the Prince's commissioner.\"\n\nPeter smiled bitterly, saying: \"He took to his bed yesterday. Bontius\nsays it is the plague. I, I alone bear everything.\"\n\n\"We bear it with you,\" cried Maria. \"First poverty, then hunger, as we\npromised.\"\n\n\"Better than that. The last grain was baked today. The bread is\nexhausted.\"\n\n\"We still have oxen and horses.\"\n\n\"We shall come to them day after to-morrow. It was determined: Two pounds\nwith the bones to every four persons. Bread gone, cows gone, milk gone.\nAnd what will happen then? Mothers, infants, sick people! And our\nBessie!\"\n\nThe burgomaster pressed his hands on his temples and groaned aloud. But\nMaria said: \"Courage, Peter, courage. Hold fast to one thing, don't let\none thing go--hope.\"\n\n\"Hope, hope,\" he answered scornfully.\n\n\"To hope no longer,\" cried Maria, \"means to despair. To despair means in\nour case to open the gates, to open the gates means--\"\n\n\"Who is thinking of opening the gates? Who talks of surrender?\" he\nvehemently interrupted. \"We will still hold firm, still, still----There\nis the portfolio, take it to the messenger.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nBessie had eaten a piece of roast pigeon, the first morsel for several\ndays, and there was as much rejoicing over it in the Van der Werff\nhousehold, as if some great piece of good fortune had befallen the\nfamily. Adrian ran to the workshops and told the men, Peter went to the\ntown-hall with a more upright bearing, and Maria, who was obliged to go\nout, undertook to tell Wilhelm's mother of the good results produced by\nher son's gift.\n\nTears ran down the old lady's flabby cheeks at the story and, kissing the\nburgomaster's wife, she exclaimed:\n\n\"Yes, Wilhelm, Wilhelm! If he were only at home now. But I'll call his\nfather. Dear me, he is probably at the town-hall too. Hark, Frau Maria,\nhark--what's that?\"\n\nThe ringing of bells and firing of cannon had interrupted her words; she\nhastily threw open the window, crying:\n\n\"From the Tower of Pancratius! No alarm-bell, firing and merry-ringing.\nSome joyful tidings have come. We need them! Ulrich, Ulrich! Come back at\nonce and bring us the news. Dear Father in Heaven!\n\n\"Merciful God! Send the relief. If it were only that!\"\n\nThe two women waited in great suspense. At last Wilhelm's brother Ulrich\nreturned, saying that the messengers sent to Delft had succeeded in\npassing the enemy's ranks and brought with them a letter from the\nestates, which the city-clerk had read from the window of the town-hall.\nThe representatives of the country praised the conduct and endurance of\nthe citizens, and informed them that, in spite of the damage done to\nthousands of people, the dykes would be cut.\n\nIn fact, the water was already pouring over the land, and the messengers\nhad seen the vessels appointed to bring relief. The country surrounding\nLeyden must soon be inundated, and the rising flood would force the\nSpanish army to retreat, \"Better a drowned land than a lost land,\" was a\nsaying that had been decisive in the execution of the violent measure\nproposed, and those who had risked so much might be expected to shrink\nfrom no sacrifice to save Leyden.\n\nThe two women joyously shook hands with each other; the bells continued\nto ring merrily, and report after report of cannon made the window-panes\nrattle.\n\nAs twilight approached, Maria turned her steps towards home. It was long\nsince her heart had been so light. The black tablets on the houses\ncontaining cases of plague did not look so sorrowful to-day, the\nemaciated faces seemed less pitiful than usual, for to them also help was\napproaching. The faithful endurance was to be rewarded, the cause of\nfreedom would conquer.\n\nShe entered the \"broad street\" with winged steps. Thousands of citizens\nhad flocked into it to see, hear, and learn what might be hoped, or what\nstill gave cause for fear. Musicians had been stationed at the corners to\nplay lively airs; the Beggars' song mingled with the pipes and trumpets\nand the cheers of enthusiastic men. But there were also throngs of\nwell-dressed citizens and women, who loudly and fearlessly mocked at the\ngay music and exulting simpletons, who allowed themselves to be cajoled\nby empty promises. Where was the relief? What could the handful of\nBeggars--which at the utmost were all the troops the Prince could\nbring--do against King Philip's terrible military power, that surrounded\nLeyden? And the inundation of the country? The ground on which the city\nstood was too high for the water ever to reach it. The peasants had been\ninjured, without benefitting the citizens. There was only one means of\nescape--to trust to the King's mercy.\n\n\"What is liberty to us?\" shouted a brewer, who, like all his companions\nin business, had long since been deprived of his grain and forbidden to\nmanufacture any fresh beer. \"What will liberty be to us, when we're cold\nin death? Let whoever means well go the town-hall, and demand a surrender\nbefore it is too late.\"\n\n\"Surrender! The mercy of the King!\" shouted the citizens.\n\n\"Life comes first, and then the question whether it shall be free or\nunder Spanish rule, Calvanistical or Popish!\" screamed a master-weaver.\n\"I'll march to the town-hall with you.\"\n\n\"You are right, good people,\" said Burgomaster Baersdorp, who, clad in\nhis costly fur-bordered cloak, was coming from the town-hall and had\nheard the last speaker's words. \"But let me set you right. To-day the\ncredulous are beginning to hope again, and the time for pressing your\njust desire is ill-chosen. Wait a few days and then, if the relief does\nnot appear, urge your views. I'll speak for you, and with me many a good\nman in the magistracy. We have nothing to expect from Valdez, but\ngentleness and kindness. To rise against the King was from the first a\nwicked deed--to fight against famine, the plague and death is sin and\nmadness. May God be with you, men!\"\n\n\"The burgomaster is sensible,\" cried a cloth-dyer.\n\n\"Van Swieten and Norden think as he does, but Meister Peter rules through\nthe Prince's favor. If the Spaniards rescue us, his neck will be in\ndanger, when they make their entrance into the city So no matter who\ndies; he and his are living on the fat of the land and have plenty.\"\n\n\"There goes his wife,\" said a master-weaver, pointing to Maria. \"How\nhappy she looks! The leather business must be doing well. Holloa--Frau\nVan der Werff! Holloa! Remember me to your husband and tell him, his life\nmay be valuable; but ours are not wisps of straw.\"\n\n\"Tell him, too,\" cried a cattle-dealer, who did not yet seem to have been\nspecially injured by the general distress, \"tell him oxen can be\nslaughtered, the more the better; but Leyden citizens--\"\n\nThe cattle-dealer did not finish his sentence, for Herr Aquanus had seen\nfrom the Angulus what was happening to the burgomaster's wife, came out\nof the tavern into the street, and stepped into the midst of the\nmalcontents.\n\n\"For shame!\" he cried. \"To assail a respectable lady in the street! Are\nthese Leyden manners? Give me your hand, Frau Maria, and if I hear a\nsingle reviling word, I'll call the constables. I know you. The gallows\nHerr Van Bronkhorst had erected for men like you, is still standing by\nthe Blue Stone. Which of you wants to inaugurate them?\"\n\nThe men, to whom these words were addressed, were not the bravest of\nmortals, and not a syllable was heard, as Aquanus led the young wife into\nthe tavern. The landlord's wife and daughter received her in their own\nrooms, which were separated from those occupied by guests of the inn, and\nbegged her to make herself comfortable there until the crowd had\ndispersed. But Maria longed to reach home, and when she said she must go,\nAquanus offered his company.\n\nGeorg von Dornburg was standing in the entry and stepped back with a\nrespectful bow, but the innkeeper called to him, saying:\n\n\"There is much to be done to-day, for many a man will doubtless indulge\nhimself in a glass of liquor after the good news. No offence, Frau Van\nder Werft; but the Junker will escort you home as safely as I--and you,\nHerr von Dornburg--\"\n\n\"I am at your service,\" replied Georg, and went out into the street with\nthe young wife.\n\nFor a time both walked side by side in silence, each fancying he or she\ncould hear the beating of the other's heart. At last Georg, drawing a\nlong breath, said:\n\n\"Three long, long months have passed since my arrival here. Have I been\nbrave, Maria?\"\n\n\"Yes, Georg.\"\n\n\"But you cannot imagine what it has cost me to fetter this poor heart,\nstifle my words, and blind my eyes. Maria, it must once be said--\"\n\n\"Never, never,\" she interrupted in a tone of earnest entreaty. \"I know\nthat you have struggled honestly, do not rob yourself of the victory\nnow.\"\n\n\"Oh! hear me, Maria, this once hear me.\"\n\n\"What will it avail, if you oppress my soul with ardent words? I must not\nhear from any man that he loves me, and what I must not hear, you must\nnot speak.\"\n\n\"Must not?\" he asked in a tone of gentle reproach, then in a gloomy,\nbitter mood, continued: \"You are right, perfectly right. Even speech is\ndenied me. So life may run on like a leaden stream, and everything that\ngrows and blossoms on its banks remain scentless and grey. The golden\nsunshine has hidden itself behind a mist, joy lies fainting in my heart,\nand all that once pleased me has grown stale and charmless. Do you\nrecognize the happy youth of former days?\"\n\n\"Seek cheerfulness again, seek it for my sake.\"\n\n\"Gone, gone,\" he murmured sadly. \"You saw me in Delft, but you did not\nknow me thoroughly. These eyes were like two mirrors of fortune in which\nevery object was charmingly transfigured, and they were rewarded; for\nwherever they looked they met only friendly glances. This heart then\nembraced the whole world, and beat so quickly and joyously! I often did\nnot know what to do with myself from sheer mirth and vivacity, and it\nseemed as if I must burst into a thousand pieces like an over-loaded\nfirelock, only instead of scattering far and wide, mount straight up to\nHeaven. Those days were so happy, and yet so sad--I felt it ten times as\nmuch in Delft, when you were kind to me. And now, now? I still have\nwings, I still might fly, but here I creep like a snail--because it is\nyour will.\"\n\n\"It is not my wish,\" replied Maria. \"You are dear to me, that I may be\npermitted to confess--and to see you thus fills me with grief. But\nnow--if I am dear to you, and I know you care for me--cease to torture me\nso cruelly. You are dear to me. I have said it, and it must be spoken,\nthat everything may be clearly understood between us. You are dear to me,\nlike the beautiful by-gone days of my youth, like pleasant dreams, like a\nnoble song, in which we take delight, and which refreshes our souls,\nwhenever we hear or remember it--but more you are not, more you can never\nbe. You are dear to me, and I wish you to remain so, but that you can\nonly do by not breaking the oath you have sworn.\"\n\n\"Sworn?\" asked Georg. \"Sworn?\"\n\n\"Yes, sworn,\" interrupted Maria, checking her steps. \"On Peter's breast,\non the morning of his birthday--after the singing. You remember it well.\nAt the time you took a solemn vow; I know it, know it no less surely,\nthan that I myself swore faith to my husband at the altar. If you can\ngive me the lie, do so.\"\n\nGeorg shook his head, and answered with increasing warmth:\n\n\"You read my soul. Our hearts know each other like two faithful friends,\nas the earth knows her moon, the moon her earth. What is one without the\nother? Why must they be separated? Did you ever walk along a forest path?\nThe tracks of two wheels run side by side and never touch. The axle holds\nthem asunder, as our oath parts us.\"\n\n\"Say rather--our honor.\"\n\n\"As our honor parts us. But often in the woods we find a place where the\nroad ends in a field or hill, and there the tracks cross and intersect\neach other, and in this hour I feel that my path has come to an end. I\ncan go no farther, I cannot, or the horses will plunge into the thicket\nand the vehicle be shattered on the roots and stones.\"\n\n\"And honor with it. Not a word more. Let us walk faster. See the lights\nin the windows. Everyone wants to show that he rejoices in the good news.\nOur house mustn't remain dark either.\"\n\n\"Don't hurry so. Barbara will attend to it, and how soon we must part!\nYet you said that I was dear to you.\"\n\n\"Don't torture me,\" cried the young wife, with pathetic entreaty.\n\n\"I will not torture you, Maria, but you must hear me. I was in earnest,\nterrible earnest in the mute vow I swore, and have sought to release\nmyself from it by death. You have heard how I rushed like a madman among\nthe Spaniards, at the storming of the Boschhuizen fortification in July.\nYour bow, the blue bow from Delft, the knot of ribbons the color of the\nsky, fluttered on my left shoulder as I dashed upon swords and lances. I\nwas not to die, and came out of the confusion uninjured. Oh! Maria, for\nthe sake of this oath I have suffered unequalled torments. Release me\nfrom it, Maria, let me once, only once, freely confess--\"\n\n\"Stop, Georg, stop,\" pleaded the young wife. \"I will not, must not hear\nyou-neither to-day, nor tomorrow, never, never, to all eternity!\"\n\n\"Once, only once, I will, I must say to you, that I love you, that life\nand happiness, peace and honor--\"\n\n\"Not one word more, Junker von Dornburg. There is our house. You are our\nguest, and if you address a single word like the last ones to your\nfriend's wife--\"\n\n\"Maria, Maria--oh, don't touch the knocker. How can you so unfeelingly\ndestroy the whole happiness of a human being--\"\n\nThe door had opened, and the burgomaster's wife crossed the threshold.\nGeorg stood opposite to her, held out his hand as if beseeching aid, and\nmurmured in a hollow tone:\n\n\"Cast forth to death and despair! Maria, Maria, why do you treat me\nthus?\"\n\nShe laid her right hand in his, saying:\n\n\"That we may remain worthy of each other, Georg.\"\n\nShe forcibly withdrew her icy hand and entered the house; but he wandered\nfor hours through the lighted streets like a drunken man, and at last\nthrew himself, with a burning brain, upon his couch. A small volume,\nlightly stitched together, lay on a little table beside the bed. He\nseized it, and with trembling fingers wrote on its pages. The pencil\noften paused, and he frequently drew a long breath and gazed with dilated\neyes into vacancy. At last he threw the book aside and watched anxiously\nfor the morning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nJust before sunrise Georg sprang from his couch, drew out his knapsack,\nand filled it with his few possessions; but this time the little book\nfound no place with the other articles.\n\nThe musician Wilhelm also entered the court-yard at a very early-hour,\njust as the first workmen were going to the shops. The Junker saw him\ncoming, and met him at the door.\n\nThe artist's face revealed few traces of the want he had endured, but his\nwhole frame was trembling with excitement and his face changed color\nevery moment, as he instantly, and in the utmost haste, told Georg the\npurpose of his early visit.\n\nShortly after the arrival of the city messengers, a Spanish envoy had\nbrought Burgomaster Van der Werff a letter written by Junker Nicolas\nMatanesse, containing nothing but the tidings, that Henrica's sister had\nreached Leyderdorp with Belotti and found shelter in the elder Baron\nMatanesse's farm-house. She was very ill, and longed to see her sister.\nThe burgomaster had given this letter to the young lady, and Henrica\nhastened to the musician without delay, to entreat him to help her escape\nfrom the city and guide her to the Spanish lines. Wilhelm was undergoing\na severe struggle. No sacrifice seemed too great to see Anna again, and\nwhat the messenger had accomplished, he too might succeed in doing. But\nought he to aid the flight of the young girl detained as hostage by the\ncouncil, deceive the sentinels at the gate, desert his post?\n\nSince Henrica's request that Georg would escort her sister from Lugano to\nHolland, the young man had known everything that concerned the latter,\nand was also aware of the state of the musician's heart.\n\n\"I must, and yet I ought not,\" cried Wilhelm. \"I have passed a terrible\nnight; imagine yourself in my place, in the young lady's.\"\n\n\"Get a leave of absence until to-morrow,\" said Georg resolutely. \"When it\ngrows dark, I'll accompany Henrica with you. She must swear to return to\nthe city in case of a surrender. As for me, I am no longer bound by any\noath to serve the English flag. A month ago we received permission to\nenter the service of the Netherlands. It will only cost me a word with\nCaptain Van der Laen, to be my own master.\"\n\n\"Thanks, thanks; but the young lady forbade me to ask your assistance.\"\n\n\"Folly, I shall go with you, and when our goal is reached, fight my way\nthrough to the Beggars. Our departure will not trouble the council, for,\nwhen Henrica and I are outside, there will be two eaters less in Leyden.\nThe sky is grey; I hope we shall have a dark night. Captain Van\nDuivenvoorde commands the guard at the Hohenort Gate. He knows us both,\nand will let us pass. I'll speak to him. Is the farm-house far inside the\nvillage?\"\n\n\"No, outside on the road to Leyden.\"\n\n\"Well then, we'll meet at Aquanus's tavern at four o'clock.\"\n\n\"But the young lady--\"\n\n\"It will be time enough, if she learns at the gate who is to accompany\nher.\"\n\nWhen Georg came to the tavern at the appointed hour, he learned that\nHenrica had received another letter from Nicolas. It had been given to\nthe outposts by the Junker himself, and contained only the words \"Until\nmidnight, the Spanish watch-word is 'Lepanto.' Your father shall know\nto-day, that Anna is here.\"\n\nAfter the departure from the Hohenort Gate had been fixed for nine\no'clock in the evening, Georg went to Captain Van der Laen and the\ncommandant Van der Does, received from the former the discharge he\nrequested, and from Janus a letter to his friend, Admiral Boisot. When he\ninformed his men, that he intended to leave the city and make his way to\nthe Beggars, they declared they would follow, and live or die with him.\nIt was with difficulty that he succeeded in restraining them. Before the\ntown-hall he slackened his pace. The burgomaster was always to be found\nthere at this hour. Should he quit the city without taking leave of him?\nNo, no! And yet--since yesterday he had forfeited the right to look\nfrankly into his eyes. He was afraid to meet him, it seemed as if he were\ncompletely estranged from him. So Georg rushed past the town-hall, and\nsaid defiantly: \"Even if I leave him without a farewell, I owe him\nnothing; for I must pay for his kindness with cruel suffering, perhaps\ndeath. Maria loved me first, and what she is, and was, and ever will be\nto me, she shall know before I go.\"\n\nHe returned to his room at twilight, asked the manservant to carry his\nknapsack to Captain Van Duivenvoorde at the Hohenort Gate, and then went,\nwith his little book in his doublet, to the main building to take leave\nof Maria. He ascended the staircase slowly and paused in the upper entry.\n\nThe beating of his heart almost stopped his breath. He did not know at\nwhich door to knock, and a torturing dread overpowered him, so that he\nstood for several minutes as if paralyzed. Then he summoned up his\ncourage, shook himself, and muttered: \"Have I become a coward!\" With\nthese words he opened the door leading into the dining-room and entered.\nAdrian was sitting at the empty table, beside a burning torch, with some\nbooks. Georg asked for his mother.\n\n\"She is probably spinning in her room,\" replied the boy.\n\n\"Call her, I have something important to tell her.\" Adrian went away,\nreturning with the answer that the Junker might wait in his father's\nstudy.\n\n\"Where is Barbara?\" asked Georg.\n\n\"With Bessie.\"\n\nThe German nodded, and while pacing up and down beside the dining-room,\nthought, \"I can't go so. It must come from the heart; once, once more I\nwill hear her say, that she loves me, I will--I will--Let it be\ndishonorable, let it be worthy of execration, I will atone for it; I will\natone for it with my life!\"\n\nWhile Georg was pacing up and down the room, Adrian gathered his books\ntogether, saying: \"B-r-r-r, Junker, how you look to-day! One might be\nafraid of you. Mother is in there already. The tinder-box is rattling;\nshe is probably lighting the lamp.\"\n\n\"Are you busy?\" asked Georg. \"I've finished.\"\n\n\"Then run over to Wilhelm Corneliussohn and tell him it is settled: we'll\nmeet at nine, punctually at nine.\"\n\n\"At Aquarius's tavern?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"No, no, he knows; make haste, my lad.\"\n\nAdrian was going, but Georg beckoned to him, and said in a low tone: \"Can\nyou be silent?\"\n\n\"As a fried sole.\"\n\n\"I shall slip out of the city to-day, and perhaps may never return.\"\n\n\"You, Junker? To-day?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"Yes, dear lad. Come here, give me a farewell kiss. You must keep this\nlittle ring to remember me.\" The boy submitted to the kiss, put the ring\non his finger, and said with tearful eyes: \"Are you in earnest? Yes, the\nfamine! God knows I'd run after you, if it were not for Bessie and\nmother. When will you come back again?\"\n\n\"Who knows, my lad! Remember me kindly, do you hear? Kindly! And now\nrun.\"\n\nAdrian rushed down the stairs, and a few minutes after the Junker was\nstanding in Peter's study, face to face with Maria. The shutters were\nclosed, and the sconce on the table had two lighted candles.\n\n\"Thanks, a thousand thanks for coming,\" said Georg. \"You pronounced my\nsentence yesterday, and to-day--\"\n\n\"I know what brings you to me,\" she answered gently. \"Henrica has bidden\nme farewell, and I must not keep her. She doesn't wish to have you\naccompany her, but Meister Wilhelm betrayed the secret to me. You have\ncome to say farewell.\"\n\n\"Yes, Maria, farewell forever.\"\n\n\"If it is God's will, we shall see each other again. I know what is\ndriving you away from here. You are good and noble, Georg, and if there\nis one thing that lightens the parting, it is this: We can now think of\neach other without sorrow and anger. You will not forget us, and--you\nknow that the remembrance of you will be cherished here by old and\nyoung--in the hearts of all--\"\n\n\"And in yours also, Maria?\"\n\n\"In mine also.\"\n\n\"Hold it firmly. And when the storm has blown out of your path the poor\ndust, which to-day lives and breathes, loves and despairs, grant it a\nplace in your memory.\"\n\nMaria shuddered, for deep despair looked forth with a sullen glow from\nthe eyes that met hers. Seized with an anxious foreboding, she exclaimed:\n\"What are you thinking of, Georg? for Christ's sake! tell me what is in\nyour mind.\"\n\n\"Nothing wrong, Maria, nothing wrong. We birds now sing differently.\nWhoever can saunter, with lukewarm blood and lukewarm pleasures, from one\ndecade to another in peace and honor, is fortunate. My blood flows in a\nswifter course, and what my eager soul has once clasped with its polyp\narms, it will never release until the death-hour comes. I am going, never\nto return; but I shall take you and my love with me to battle, to the\ngrave.--I go, I go--\"\n\n\"Not so, Georg, you must not part from me thus.\" Then cry: 'Stay!' Then\nsay: 'I am here and pity you!' But don't expect the miserable wretch,\nwhom you have blinded, to open his eyes, behold and enjoy the beauties of\nthe world. \"Here you stand, trembling and shaking, without a word for him\nwho loves you, for him--him--\"\n\nThe youth's voice faltered with emotion and sighing heavily, he pressed\nhis hand to his brow. Then he seemed to recollect himself and continued\nin a low, sad tone: \"Here I stand, to tell you for the last time the\nstate of my heart. You should hear sweet words, but grief and pain will\npour bitter drops into everything I say. I have uttered in the language\nof poetry, when my heart impelled me, that for which dry prose possesses\nno power of expression. Read these pages, Maria, and if they wake an echo\nin your soul, oh! treasure it. The honeysuckle in your garden needs a\nsupport, that it may grow and put forth flowers; let these poor songs be\nthe espalier around which your memory of the absent one can twine its\ntendrils and cling lovingly. Read, oh! read, and then say once more: 'You\nare dear to me,' or send me from you.\"\n\n\"Give it to me,\" said Maria, opening the volume with a throbbing heart.\n\nHe stepped back from her, but his breath came quickly and his eyes\nfollowed hers while she was reading. She began with the last poem but\none. It had been written just after Georg's return the day before, and\nran as follows:\n\n          \"Joyously they march along,\n          Lights are flashing through the panes,\n          In the streets a busy throng\n          Curiosity enchains.\n          Oh! the merry festal night;\n          Would that it might last for aye!\n          For aye! Alas! Love, splendor, light,\n          All, all have passed away.\"\n\nThe last lines Georg had written with a rapid pen the night before. In\nthem he bewailed his hard fate. She must hear him once, then he would\nsing her a peerless song. Maria had followed the first verses silently\nwith her eyes, but now her lips began to move and in a low, rapid tone,\nbut audibly she read:\n\n       \"Sometimes it echoes like the thunder's peal,\n        Then soft and low through the May night doth steal;\n        Sometimes, on joyous wing, to Heaven it soars,\n        Sometimes, like Philomel, its woes deplores.\n        For, oh! this a song that ne'er can die,\n        It seeks the heart of all humanity.\n        In the deep cavern and the darksome lair,\n        The sea of ether o'er the realm of air,\n        In every nook my song shall still be heard,\n        And all creation, with sad yearning stirred,\n        United in a full, exultant choir,\n        Pray thee to grant the singer's fond desire.\n        E'en when the ivy o'er my grave hath grown,\n        Still will ring on each sweet, enchanting tone,\n        Through the whole world and every earthly zone,\n        Resounding on in aeons yet to come.\"\n\nMaria read on, her heart beating more and more violently, her breath\ncoming quicker and quicker, and when she had reached the last verse,\ntears burst from her eyes, and she raised the book with both hands to\nhurl it from her and throw her arms around the writer's neck.\n\nHe had been standing opposite to her, as if spellbound, listening\nblissfully to the lofty flight of his own words. Trembling with\npassionate emotion, he yet restrained himself until she had raised her\neyes from his lines and lifted the book, then his power of resistance\nflew to the winds and, fairly beside himself, he exclaimed: \"Maria, my\nsweet wife!\"\n\n\"Wife?\" echoed in her breast like a cry of warning, and it seemed as if\nan icy hand clutched her heart. The intoxication passed away, and as she\nsaw him standing before her with out-stretched arms and sparkling eyes,\nshe shrank back, a feeling of intense loathing of him and her own\nweakness seized upon her and, instead of throwing the book aside and\nrushing to meet him, she tore it in halves, saying proudly: \"Here are\nyour verses, Junker von Dornburg; take them with you.\" Then, maintaining\nher dignity by a strong effort, she continued in a lower, more gentle\ntone, \"I shall remember you without this book. We have both dreamed; let\nus now wake. Farewell! I will pray that God may guard you. Give me your\nhand, Georg, and when you return, we will bid you welcome to our house as\na friend.\"\n\nWith these words Maria turned away from the Junker and only nodded\nsilently, when he exclaimed: \"Past! All past!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nGeorg descended the stairs in a state of bewilderment. Both halves of the\nbook, in which ever since the wedding at Delft he had written a\nsuccession of verses to Maria, lay in his hand.\n\nThe light of the kitchen-fire streamed into the entry. He followed it,\nand before answering Barbara's kind greeting, went to the hearth and\nflung into the fire the sheets, which contained the pure, sweet fragrance\nof a beautiful flower of youth.\n\n\"Oho! Junker!\" cried the widow. \"A quick fire doesn't suit every kind of\nfood. What is burning there?\"\n\n\"Foolish paper!\" he answered. \"Have no fear. At the utmost it might weep\nand put out the flames. It will be ashes directly. There go the sparks,\nflying in regular rows through the black, charred pages. How pretty it\nlooks! They appear, leap forth and vanish--like a funeral procession with\ntorches in a pitch-dark night. Good-night, poor children--good-night,\ndear songs! Look, Frau Barbara! They are rolling themselves up tightly,\nconvulsively, as if it hurt them to burn.\"\n\n\"What sort of talk is that?\" replied Barbara, thrusting the charred book\ndeeper into the fire with the tongs. Then pointing to her own forehead,\nshe continued: \"One often feels anxious about you. High-sounding words,\nsuch as we find in the Psalms, are not meant for every-day life and our\nkitchen. If you were my own son, you'd often have something to listen to.\nPeople who travel at a steady pace reach their goal soonest.\"\n\n\"That's good advice for a journey,\" replied Georg, holding out his hand\nto the widow. \"Farewell, dear mother. I can't bear it here any longer. In\nhalf an hour I shall turn my back on this good city.\"\n\n\"Go then--just as you choose--Or is the young lady taking you in tow?\nNobleman's son and nobleman's daughter! Like to like--Yet, no; there has\nbeen nothing between you. Her heart is good, but I should wish you\nanother wife than that Popish Everyday-different.\"\n\n\"So Henrica has told you--\"\n\n\"She has just gone. Dear me-she has her relatives outside; and we--it's\nhard to divide a plum into twelve pieces. I said farewell to her\ncheerfully; but you, Georg, you--\"\n\n\"I shall take her out of the city, and then--you won't blame me for\nit--then I shall make my way through to the Beggars.\"\n\n\"The Beggars! That's a different matter, that's right. You'll be in your\nproper place there! Cheer up, Junker, and go forth boldly? Give me your\nhand, and if you meet my boy--he commands a ship of his own.--Dear me, I\nremember something. You can wait a moment longer. Come here, Trautchen.\nThe woollen stockings I knit for him are up in the painted chest. Make\nhaste and fetch them. He may need them on the water in the damp autumn\nweather. You'll take them with you?\"\n\n\"Willingly, most willingly; and now let me thank you for all your\nkindness. You have been like an own mother to me.\" Georg clasped the\nwidow's hand, and neither attempted to conceal how dear each had become\nto the other and how hard it was to part. Trautchen had given Barbara the\nstockings, and many tears fell upon them, while the widow was bidding the\nJunker farewell. When she noticed they were actually wet, she waved them\nin the air and handed them to the young man.\n\nThe night was dark but still, even sultry. The travellers were received\nat the Hohenort Gate by Captain Van Duivenvoorde, preceded by an old\nsergeant, carrying a lantern, who opened the gate. The captain embraced\nhis brave, beloved comrade, Dornburg; a few farewell words and god-speeds\nechoed softly from the fortification walls, and the trio stepped forth\ninto the open country.\n\nFor a time they walked silently through the darkness. Wilhelm knew the\nway and strode in front of Henrica; the Junker kept close at her side.\n\nAll was still, except from time to time they heard a word of command from\nthe walls, the striking of a clock, or the barking of a dog.\n\nHenrica had recognized Georg by the light of the lantern, and when\nWilhelm stopped to ascertain whether there was any water in the ditch\nover which he intended to guide his companions, she said, under her\nbreath:\n\n\"I did not expect your escort, Junker.\"\n\n\"I know it, but I, too, desired to leave the city.\"\n\n\"And wish to avail yourself of our knowledge of the watchword. Then stay\nwith us.\"\n\n\"Until I know you are safe, Fraulein.\"\n\n\"The walls of Leyden already lie between you and the peril from which you\nfly.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you.\"\n\n\"So much the better.\"\n\nWilhelm turned and, in a muffled voice, requested his companions to keep\nsilence. They now walked noiselessly on, until just outside the camp they\nreached the broad road around which they had made a circuit. A Spanish\nsentinel challenged them.\n\n\"Lepanto!\" was the answer, and they passed on through the camp\nunmolested. A coach drawn by four horses, a mere box hung between two\ntiny fore-wheels and a pair of gigantic hind-wheels, drove slowly past\nthem. It was conveying Magdalena Moons, the daughter of an aristocratic\nHolland family, distinguished among the magistracy, back to the Hague\nfrom a visit to her lover and future husband, Valdez. No one noticed\nHenrica, for there were plenty of women in the camp. Several poorly-clad\nones sat before the tents, mending the soldiers' clothes. Some\ngaily-bedizened wenches were drinking wine and throwing dice with their\nmale companions in front of an officer's tent. A brighter light glowed\nfrom behind the general's quarters, where, under a sort of shed, several\nconfessionals and an altar had been erected. Upon this altar candles were\nburning, and over it hung a silver lamp; a dark, motionless stream\npressed towards it; Castilian soldiers, among whom individuals could be\nrecognized only when the candle-light flashed upon a helmet or coat of\nmail.\n\nThe loud singing of carousing German mercenaries, the neighing and\nstamping of the horses, and the laughter of the officers and girls,\ndrowned the low chanting of the priests and the murmur of the penitents,\nbut the shrill sounding of the bell calling to mass from time to time\npierced, with its swift vibrations, through the noise of the camp. Just\noutside the village the watch-word was again used, and they reached the\nfirst house unmolested.\n\n\"Here we are,\" said Wilhelm, with a sigh of relief. \"Profit by the\ndarkness, Junker, and keep on till you have the Spaniards behind you.\"\n\n\"No, my friend; you will remain here. I wish to share your danger. I\nshall return with you to Leyden and from thence try to reach Delft;\nmeantime I'll keep watch and give you warning, if necessary.\"\n\n\"Let us bid each other farewell now, Georg; hours may pass before I\nreturn.\"\n\n\"I have time, a horrible amount of time. I'll wait. There goes the door.\"\n\nThe Junker grasped his sword, but soon removed his hand from the hilt,\nfor it was Belotti, who came out and greeted the signorina.\n\nHenrica followed him into the house and there talked with him in a low\ntone, until Georg called her, saying:\n\n\"Fraulein Van Hoogstraten, may I ask for a word of farewell?\"\n\n\"Farewell, Herr von Dornburg!\" she answered distantly, but advanced a\nstep towards him.\n\nGeorg had also approached, and now held out his hand. She hesitated a\nmoment, then placed hers in it, and said so softly, that only he could\nhear:\n\n\"Do you love Maria?\"\n\n\"So I am to confess?\"\n\n\"Don't refuse my last request, as you did the first. If you can be\ngenerous, answer me fearlessly. I'll not betray your secret to any one.\nDo you love Frau Van der Werff?\"\n\n\"Yes, Fraulein.\"\n\nHenrica drew a long breath, then continued: \"And now you are rushing out\ninto the world to forget her?\"\n\n\"No, Fraulein.\"\n\n\"Then tell me why you have fled from Leyden?\"\n\n\"To find an end that becomes a soldier.\"\n\nHenrica advanced close to his side, exclaiming so scornfully, that it cut\nGeorg to the heart:\n\n\"So it has grasped you too! It seizes all: Knights, maidens, wives and\nwidows; not one is spared. Never ending sorrow! Farewell, Georg! We can\nlaugh at or pity each other, just as we choose. A heart pierced with\nseven swords: what an exquisite picture! Let us wear blood-red knots of\nribbon, instead of green and blue ones. Give me your hand once more, now\nfarewell.\"\n\nHenrica beckoned to the musician and both followed Belotti up the steep,\nnarrow stairs. Wilhelm remained behind in a little room, adjoining a\nsecond one, where a beautiful boy, about three years old, was being\ntended by an Italian woman. In a third chamber, which like all the other\nrooms in the farm-house, was so low that a tall man could scarcely stand\nerect, Henrica's sister lay on a wide bedstead, over which a screen,\nsupported by four columns, spread like a canopy. Links dimly lighted the\nlong narrow room. The reddish-yellow rays of their broad flames were\ndarkened by the canopy, and scarcely revealed the invalid's face.\n\nHenrica had given the Italian woman and the child in the second room but\na hasty greeting, and now impetuously pressed forward into the third,\nrushed to the bed, threw herself on her knees, clasped her arms\npassionately around her sister, and covered her face with owing kisses.\n\nShe said nothing but \"Anna,\" and the sick woman and no other word than\n\"Henrica.\" Minutes elapsed, then the young girl started up, seized one of\nthe torches A cast its light on her regained sister's face. How pale, how\nemaciated it looked! But it was still beautiful, still the same as\nbefore. Strangely-blended emotions of joy and grief took possession of\nHenrica's soul. Her cold hard feelings grew warm and melted, and in this\nhour the comfort of tears, of which she had been so long deprived, once\nmore became hers.\n\nGradually the flood tide of emotion began to ebb, and the confusion of\nloving exclamations and incoherent words gained some order and separated\ninto question and answer. When Anna learned that the musician had\naccompanied her sister, she wished to see him, and when he entered, held\nout both hands, exclaiming:\n\n\"Meister, Meister, in what a condition you find me again! Henrica, this\nis the best of men; the only unselfish friend I have found on earth.\"\n\nThe succeeding hours were full of sorrowful agitation.\n\nBelotti and the old Italian woman often undertook to speak for the\ninvalid, and gradually the image of a basely-destroyed life, that had\nbeen worthy of a better fate, appeared before Henrica and Wilhelm. Fear,\nanxiety and torturing doubt had from the first saddened Anna's existence\nwith the unprincipled adventurer and gambler, who had succeeded in\nbeguiling her young, experienced heart. A short period of intoxication\nwas followed by an unexampled awakening. She was clasping her first child\nto her breast, when the unprecedented outrage occurred--Don Luis demanded\nthat she should move with him into the house of a notorious Marchesa, in\nwhose ill-famed gambling-rooms he had spent his evenings and nights for\nmonths. She indignantly refused, but he coldly and threateningly\npersisted in having his will. Then the Hoogstraten blood asserted itself,\nand without a word of farewell she fled with her child to Lugano. There\nthe boy was received by his mother's former waiting-maid, while she\nherself went to Rome, not as an adventuress, but with a fixed,\npraiseworthy object in view. She intended to fully perfect her musical\ntalents in the new schools of Palestrina and Nanini, and thus obtain the\nability, by means of her art, to support her child independently of his\nfather and hers. She risked much, but very definite hopes hovered before\nher eyes, for a distinguished prelate and lover of music, to whom she had\nletters of introduction from Brussels, and who knew her voice, had\npromised that after her return from her musical studies he would give her\nthe place of singing-mistress to a young girl of noble birth, who had\nbeen educated in a convent at Milan. She was under his guardianship, and\nthe worthy man took care to provide Anna, before her departure, with\nletters to his friends in the eternal city.\n\nHer hasty flight from Rome had been caused by the news, that Don Luis had\nfound and abducted his son. She could not lose her child, and when she\ndid not find the boy in Milan, followed and at last discovered him in\nNaples. There d'Avila restored the child, after she had declared her\nwillingness to make over to him the income she still received from her\naunt. The long journey, so full of excitement and fatigue, exhausted her\nstrength, and she returned to Milan feeble and broken in health.\n\nHer patron had been anxious to keep the place of singing-mistress open\nfor her, but she could only fulfil for a short time the duties to which\nthe superior of the convent kindly summoned her, for her sickness was\nincreasing and a terrible cough spoiled her voice. She now returned to\nLugano, and there sought to compensate her poor honest friend by the sale\nof her ornaments, but the time soon came when the generous artist was\nforced to submit to be supported by the charity of a servant. Until the\nlast six months she had not suffered actual want, but when her maid's\nhusband died, anxiety about the means of procuring daily bread arose, and\nnow maternal love broke down Anna's pride: she wrote to her father as a\nrepentant daughter, bowed down by misfortune, but received no reply. At\nlast, reduced to starvation with her child, she undertook the hardest\npossible task, and besought the man, of whom she could only think with\ncontempt and loathing, not to let his son grow up like a beggar's child.\nThe letter, which contained this cry of distress, had reached Don Luis\njust before his death. No help was to come to her from him. But Belotti\nappeared, and now she was once more at home, her friend and sister were\nstanding beside her bed, and Henrica encouraged her to hope for her\nfather's forgiveness.\n\nIt was past midnight, yet Georg still awaited his friend's return. The\nnoise and bustle of the camp began to die away and the lantern, which at\nfirst had but feebly lighted the spacious lower-room of the farmhouse,\nburned still more dimly. The German shared this apartment with\nagricultural implements, harnesses, and many kinds of grain and\nvegetables heaped in piles against the walls, but he lacked inclination\nto cast even a glance at his motley surroundings. There was nothing\npleasant to him in the present or future. He felt humiliated, guilty,\nweary of life. His self-respect was trampled under foot, love and\nhappiness were forfeited, there was naught before him save a colorless,\ncharmless future, full of bitterness and mental anguish. Nothing seemed\ndesirable save a speedy death. At times the fair image of his home rose\nbefore his memory--but it vanished as soon as he recalled the\nburgomaster's dignified figure, his own miserable weakness and the\nrepulse he had experienced. He was full of fierce indignation against\nhimself, and longed with passionate impatience for the clash of swords\nand roar of cannon, the savage struggle man to man.\n\nTime passed without his perceiving it, but a torturing desire for food\nbegan to torment the starving man. There were plenty of turnips piled\nagainst the wall, and he eat one after another, until he experienced the\nfeeling of satiety he had so long lacked. Then he sat down on a\nkneading-trough and considered how he could best get to the Beggars. He\ndid not know his way, but woe betide those who ventured to oppose him.\nHis arm and sword were good, and there were Spaniards enough at hand whom\nhe could make feel the weight of both. His impatience began to rise, and\nit seemed like a welcome diversion, when he heard steps approaching and a\nman's figure entered the house. He had stationed himself by the wall with\nhis sword between his folded arms, and now shouted a loud \"halt\" to the\nnew-comer.\n\nThe latter instantly drew his sword, and when Georg imperiously demanded\nwhat he wanted, replied in a boyish voice, but a proud, resolute tone:\n\n\"I ask you that question! I am in my father's house.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" replied the German smiling, for he had now recognized the\nspeaker's figure by the dim light. I Put up your sword. If you are young\nMatanesse Van Wibisma, you have nothing to fear from me.\"\n\n\"I am. But what are you doing on our premises at night, sword in hand?\"\n\n\"I'm warming the wall to my own satisfaction, or, if you want to know the\ntruth, mounting guard.\"\n\n\"In our house?\"\n\n\"Yes, Junker. There is some one up-stairs with your cousins, who wouldn't\nlike to be surprised by the Spaniards. Go up. I know from Captain Van\nDuivenvoorde what a gallant young fellow you are.\"\n\n\"From Herr von Warmond?\" asked Nicolas eagerly. \"Tell me! what brings you\nhere, and who are you?\"\n\n\"One who is fighting for your liberty, a German, Georg von Dornburg.\"\n\n\"Oh, wait here, I entreat you. I'll come back directly. Do you know\nwhether Fraulein Van Hoogstraten--\"\n\n\"Up there,\" replied Georg, pointing towards the ceiling.\n\nNicolas sprang up the stairs in two or three bounds, called his cousin,\nand hastily told her that her father had had a severe fall from his horse\nwhile hunting, and was lying dangerously ill. When Nicolas spoke of Anna\nhe had at first burst into a furious passion, but afterwards voluntarily\nrequested him to tell him about her, and attempted to leave his bed to\naccompany him. He succeeded in doing so, but fell back fainting. When his\nfather came early the next morning, she might tell him that he, Nicolas,\nbegged his forgiveness; he was about to do what he believed to be his\nduty.\n\nHe evaded Henrica's questions, and merely hastily enquired about Anna's\nhealth and the Leyden citizen, whom Georg had mentioned.\n\nWhen he heard the name of the musician Wilhelm, he begged her to warn him\nto depart in good time, and if possible in his company, then bade her a\nhurried farewell and ran down-stairs.\n\nWilhelm soon followed. Henrica accompanied him to the stairs to see Georg\nonce more, but as soon as she heard his voice, turned defiantly away and\nwent back to her sister.\n\nThe musician found Junker von Dornburg engaged in an eager conversation\nwith Nicolas.\n\n\"No, no, my boy,\" said the German cordially, \"my way cannot be yours.\"\n\n\"I am seventeen years old.\"\n\n\"That's not it; you've just confronted me bravely, and you have a man's\nstrength of will--but life ought still to bear flowers for you, if such\nis God's will--you are going forth to fight sword-in-hand to win a worthy\ndestiny of peace and prosperity, for yourself and your native land, in\nfreedom--but I, I--give me your hand and promise--\"\n\n\"My hand? There it is; but I must refuse the promise. With or without\nyou--I shall go to the Beggars!\"\n\nGeorg gazed at the brave boy in delight, and asked gently:\n\n\"Is your mother living?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then come. We shall probably both find what we seek with the Beggars.\"\n\nNicolas clasped the hand Georg offered, but Wilhelm approached the\nJunker, saying:\n\n\"I expected this from you, after what I saw at St. Peter's church and\nQuatgelat's tavern.\"\n\n\"You first opened my eyes,\" replied Nicolas. \"Now come, we'll go directly\nthrough the camp; they all know me.\"\n\nIn the road the boy pressed close to Georg, and in answer to his remark\nthat he would be in a hard position towards his father, replied:\n\n\"I know it, and it causes me such pain--such pain.--But I can't help it.\nI won't suffer the word 'traitor' to cling to our name.\"\n\n\"Your cousin Matanesse, Herr von Riviere, is also devoted to the good\ncause.\"\n\n\"But my father thinks differently. He has the courage to expect good\ndeeds from the Spaniards. From the Spaniards! I've learned to know them\nduring the last few months. A brave lad from Leyden, you knew him\nprobably by his nickname, Lowing, which he really deserved, was captured\nby them in fair fight, and then--it makes me shudder even now when I\nthink of it--they hung him up head downward, and tortured him to death. I\nwas present, and not one word of theirs escaped my ears. Such ought to be\nthe fate of all Holland, country and people, that was what they wanted.\nAnd remarks like these can be heard every day. No abuse of us is too bad\nfor them, and the King thinks like his soldiers. Let some one else endure\nto be the slave of a master, who tortures and despises us! My holy\nreligion is eternal and indestructible. Even if it is hateful to many of\nthe Beggars, that shall not trouble me--if only they will help break the\nSpanish chains.\" Amid such conversation they walked through the Castilian\ncamp, where all lay buried in sleep. Then they reached that of the German\ntroops, and here gay carousing was going on under many a tent. At the end\nof the encampment a sutler and his wife were collecting together the\nwares that remained unsold.\n\nWilhelm had walked silently behind the other two, for his heart was\ndeeply stirred, joy and sorrow were striving for the mastery. He felt\nintoxicated with lofty, pure emotions, but suddenly checked his steps\nbefore the sutler's stand and pointed to the pastry gradually\ndisappearing in a chest.\n\nHunger had become a serious, nay only too serious and mighty power, in\nthe city beyond, and it was not at all surprising that Wilhelm approached\nthe venders, and with sparkling eyes bought their last ham and as much\nbread as they had left.\n\nNicolas laughed at the bundle he carried under his arm, but Georg said:\n\n\"You haven't yet looked want in the face, Junker. This bread is a remedy\nfor the most terrible disease.\" At the Hohenort Gate Georg ordered\nCaptain von Warmond to be waked, and introduced Nicolas to him as a\nfuture Beggar. The captain congratulated the boy and offered him money to\nsupply himself in Delft with whatever he needed, and defray his expenses\nduring the first few weeks; but Nicolas rejected his wealthy friend's\noffer, for a purse filled with gold coins hung at his girdle. A jeweller\nin the Hague had given them to him yesterday in payment for Fraulein Van\nHoogstraten's emerald ring.\n\nNicolas showed the captain his treasure, and then exclaimed:\n\n\"Now forward, Junker von Dornburg, I know where we shall find them; and\nyou, Captain Van Duivenvoorde, tell the burgomaster and Janus Dousa what\nhas become of me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nA week had elapsed since Henrica's flight, and with it a series of days\nof severe privation. Maria knew from the musician, that young Matanesse\nhad accompanied Georg, and that the latter was on his way to the Beggars.\nThis was the right plan. The bubbling brook belonged to the wild,\nrushing, mighty river. She wished him happiness, life and pleasure;\nbut--strange--since the hour that she tore his verses, the remembrance of\nhim had receded as far as in the day: before the approach of the\nSpaniards. Nay, after her hard-won conquest of herself and his departure,\na rare sense of happiness, amid all her cares and troubles, had taken\npossession of the young wife's heart. She had been cruel to herself, and\nthe inner light of the clear diamond first gleams forth with the right\nbrilliancy, after it has endured the torture of polishing. She now felt\nwith joyous gratitude, that she could look Peter frankly in the eye,\ngrant him love, and ask love in return. He scarcely seemed to notice her\nand her management under the burden of his cares, but she felt, that many\nthings she said and could do for him pleased him. The young wife did not\nsuffer specially from the long famine, while it caused Barbara pain and\nunstrung her vigorous frame. Amid so much suffering, she often sunk into\ndespair before the cold hearth and empty pots, and no longer thought it\nworth while to plait her large cap and ruffs. It was now Maria's turn to\nspeak words of comfort, and remind her of her son, the Beggar captain,\nwho would soon enter Leyden.\n\nOn the sixth of September the burgomaster's wife was returning home from\nan early walk. Autumn mists darkened the air, and the sea-breeze drove a\nfine, drizzling spray through the streets. The dripping trees had long\nsince been robbed of their leaves, not by wind and storm, but by children\nand adults, who had carried the caterpillars' food to their kitchens as\nprecious vegetables.\n\nAt the Schagensteg Maria saw Adrian, and overtook him. The boy was\nsauntering idly along, counting aloud. The burgomaster's wife called to\nhim, and asked why he was not at school and what he was doing there.\n\n\"I'm counting,\" was the reply. \"Now there are nine.\"\n\n\"Nine?\"\n\n\"I've met nine dead bodies so far; the rector sent us home. Master Dirks\nis dead, and there were only thirteen of us to-day. There are some people\nbringing another one.\"\n\nMaria drew her kerchief tighter and walked on. At her left hand stood a\ntall, narrow house, in which lived a cobbler, a jovial man, over whose\ndoor were two inscriptions. One ran as follows:\n\n       \"Here are shoes for sale,\n        Round above and flat below;\n        If David's foot they will not fit,\n        Goliath's sure they'll suit, I know.\"\n\nThe other was:\n\n       \"When through the desert roved the Jews,\n        Their shoes for forty years they wore,\n        Were the same custom now in use,\n        'Prentice would ne'er seek cobbler's door.\"\n\nOn the ridge of the lofty house was the stork's nest, now empty. The\nred-billed guests did not usually set out on their journey to the south\nso early, and some were still in Leyden, standing on the roofs as if lost\nin thought. What could have become of the cobbler's beloved lodgers? At\nnoon the day before, their host, who in March usually fastened the\nluck-bringing nest firmly with his own hands, had stolen up to the roof,\nand with his cross-bow shot first the little wife and then the husband.\nIt was a hard task, and his wife sat weeping in the kitchen while the\nevil deed was done, but whoever is tormented by the fierce pangs of\nhunger and sees his clear ones dying of want, doesn't think of old\naffection and future good fortune, but seeks deliverance at the present\ntime.\n\nThe storks had been sacrificed too late, for the cobbler's son, his\ngrowing apprentice, had closed his eyes the night before for his eternal\nsleep. Loud lamentations reached Maria's ear from the open door of the\nshop, and Adrian said: \"Jacob is dead, and Mabel is very sick. This\nmorning their father cursed me on father's account, saying it was his\nfault that everything was going to destruction. Will there be no bread\nagain to-day, mother? Barbara has some biscuit, and I feel so sick. I\ncan't swallow the everlasting meal any longer.\"\n\n\"Perhaps there will be a slice. We must save the baked food, child.\"\n\nIn the entry of her house Maria found a man-servant, clad in black. He\nhad come to announce the death of Commissioner Dietrich Van Bronkhorst.\nThe plague had ended the strong man's life on the evening of the day\nbefore, Sunday.\n\nMaria already knew of this heavy loss, which threw the whole\nresponsibility of everything, that now happened, upon her husband's\nshoulders. She had also learned that a letter had been received from\nValdez, in which he had pledged his word of honor as a nobleman, to spare\nthe city, if it would surrender itself to the king's \"mercy,\" and\nespecially to grant Burgomaster Van der Werff, Herr Van der Does, and the\nother supporters of the rebellion, free passage through the Spanish\nlines. The Castilians would retire and Leyden should be garrisoned only\nby a few German troops. He invited Van der Werff and Herr von Nordwyk to\ncome to Leyderdorp as ambassadors, and in any case, even if the\nnegotiations failed, agreed to send them home uninjured under a safe\nescort. Maria knew that her husband had appointed that day for a great\nassembly of the council, the magistrates, and all the principal men in\nthe city, as well as the captains of the city-guard--but not a word of\nall this had reached her ears from Peter. She had heard the news from\nFrail Van Hout and the wives of other citizens.\n\nDuring the last few days a great change had taken place in her husband.\nHe went out and returned with a pallid, gloomy face. Taciturn and wasting\naway with anxiety, he withdrew from the members of his family even when\nat home, repelling his wife curtly and impatiently when, yielding to the\nimpulse of her heart, she approached him with encouraging words. Night\nbrought him no sleep, and he left his couch before morning dawned, to\npace restlessly to and fro, or gaze at Bessie, who to him alone still\ntried to show recognition by a faint smile.\n\nWhen Maria returned home, she instantly went to the child and found\nDoctor Bontius with her. The physician shook his head at her appearance,\nand said the delicate little creature's life would soon be over. Her\nstomach had been injured during the first months of want; now it refused\nto do its office, and to hope for recovery would be folly.\n\n\"She must live, she must not die!\" cried Maria, frantic with grief and\nyet fall of hope, like a true mother, who cannot grasp the thought that\nshe is condemned to lose her child, even when the little heart is already\nceasing to beat and the bright eyes are growing dim and closing. \"Bessie,\nBessie, look at me! Bessie, take this nice milk. Only a few drops!\nBessie, Bessie, you must not die.\"\n\nPeter had entered the room unobserved and heard the last words. Holding\nhis breath, he gazed down at his darling, his broad shoulders shook, and\nin a stifled, faltering voice he asked the physician: \"Must she die?\"\n\n\"Yes, old friend; I think so! Hold up your head! You have much still left\nyou. All five of Van Loo's children have died of the plague.\"\n\nPeter shuddered, and without taking any notice of Maria, passed from the\nroom with drooping head. Bontius followed him into his study, laid his\nhand on his arm, and said:\n\n\"Our little remnant of life is made bitter to us, Peter. Barbara says a\ncorpse was laid before your door early this morning.\"\n\n\"Yes. When I went out, the livid face offered me a morning greeting. It\nwas a young person. All whom death mows down, the people lay to my\ncharge. Wherever one looks--corpses! Whatever one hears--curses! Have I\nauthority over so many lives? Day and night nothing but sorrow and death\nbefore my eyes;--and yet, yet, yet--oh God! save me from madness!\"\n\nPeter clasped both hands over his brow; but Bontius found no word of\ncomfort, and merely exclaimed: \"And I, and I? My wife and child ill with\na fever, day and night on my feet, not to cure, but to see people die.\nWhat has been learned by hard study becomes childish folly in these days,\nand yet the poor creatures utter a sigh of hope when I feel their pulses.\nBut this can't go on, this can't go on. Day before yesterday seventy,\nyesterday eighty-six deaths, and among them two of my colleagues.\"\n\n\"And no prospect of improvement?\"\n\n\"To-morrow the ninety will become a hundred--the one hundred will become\ntwo, three, four, five, until at last one individual will be left, for\nwhom there will be no grave-digger.\"\n\n\"The pest-houses are closed, and we still have cattle and horses.\"\n\n\"But the pestilence creeps through the joints, and since the last loaf of\nbread and the last malt-cake have been divided, and there is nothing for\nthe people to eat except meat, meat, and nothing else--one tiny piece for\nthe whole day--disease is piled on disease in forms utterly\nunprecedented, of which no book speaks, for which no remedy has yet been\ndiscovered. This drawing water with a bottomless pitcher is beginning to\nbe too much for me. My brain is no stronger than yours. Farewell until\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"To-day, to-day! You are coming to the meeting at the town-hall?\"\n\n\"Certainly not! Do what you can justify; I shall practise my profession,\nwhich now means the same thing as saying: 'I shall continue to close eyes\nand hold coroner's inquests.' If things go on so, there will soon be an\nend to practice.\"\n\n\"Once for all: if you were in my place, you would treat with Valdez?\"\n\n\"In your place? I am not you; I am a physician, one who has nothing to do\nexcept to take the field against suffering and death. You, since\nBronkhorst's death, are the providence of the city. Supply a bit of\nbread, if only as large as my hand, in addition to the meat, or--I love\nmy native land and liberty as well as any one--or--\"\n\n\"Or?\"\n\n\"Or--leave Death to reap his harvest, you are no physician.\"\n\nBontius bade his friend farewell and left him, but Peter thrust his hand\nthrough his hair and stood gazing out of the window, until Barbara\nentered, laid his official costume on a chair and asked with feigned\ncarelessness:\n\n\"May I give Adrian some of the last biscuit? Meat is repulsive to him.\nHe's lying on the bed, writhing in pain.\"\n\nPeter turned pale, and said in a hollow tone: \"Give it to him and call\nthe doctor. Maria and Bontius are already with him.\" The burgomaster\nchanged his clothing, feeling a thrill of fierce indignation against\nevery article he put on. To-day the superb costume was as hateful to him\nas the office, which gave him the right to wear it, and which, until a\nfew weeks ago, he had occupied with a joyous sense of confidence in\nhimself.\n\nBefore leaving the house, he sought Adrian. The boy was lying in\nBarbara's room, complaining of violent pains, and asking if he must die\ntoo.\n\nPeter shook his head, but Maria kissed him, exclaiming:\n\n\"No, certainly not.\"\n\nThe burgomaster's time was limited. His wife stopped him in the entry,\nbut he hurried down-stairs without hearing what she called after him.\n\nThe young wife returned to Adrian's bedside, thinking anxiously of the\nspeedy death of many comrades of the dear boy, whose damp hand rested in\nhers. She thought of Bessie, followed Peter in imagination to the\ntown-hall, and heard his powerful voice contending for resistance to the\nlast man and the last pound of meat; nay, she could place herself by his\nside, for she knew what was to come: To stand fast, stand fast for\nliberty, and if God so willed, die a martyr's death for it like Jacoba,\nLeonhard, and Peter's noble father.\n\nOne anxious hour followed another.\n\nWhen Adrian began to feel better, she went to Bessie, who pale and\ninanimate, seemed to be gently fading away, and only now and then raised\nher little finger to play with her dry lips.\n\nOh, the pretty, withering human flower! How closely the little girl had\ngrown into her heart, how impossible it seemed to give her up! With\ntearful eyes, she pressed her forehead on her clasped hands, which rested\non the head-board of the little bed, and fervently implored God to spare\nand save this child. Again and again she repeated the prayer, but when\nBessie's dim eyes no longer met hers and her hands fell into her lap, she\ncould not help thinking of Peter, the assembly, the fate of the city, and\nthe words: \"Leyden saved, Holland saved! Leyden lost, all is lost!\"\n\nSo the hours passed until the gloomy day were away into twilight, and\ntwilight was followed by evening. Trautchen brought in the lamp, and at\nlast Peter's step was heard on the stairs.\n\nIt must be he, and yet it was not, for he never came up with such slow\nand dragging feet.\n\nThen the study door opened.\n\nIt was he!\n\nWhat could have happened, what had the citizens determined?\n\nWith an anxious heart, she told Trautchen to stay with the child, and\nthen went to her husband.\n\nPeter sat at the writing-table in full official uniform, with his hat\nstill on his head. His face lay buried on his folded arms, beside the\nsconce.\n\nHe saw nothing, heard nothing, and when she at last called him, started,\nsprang up and flung his hat violently on the table. His hair was\ndishevelled, his glance restless, and in the faint light of the\nglimmering candles his cheeks looked deadly pale.\n\n\"What do you want?\" he asked curtly, in a harsh voice; but for a time\nMaria made no reply, fear paralyzed her tongue.\n\nAt last she found words, and deep anxiety was apparent in her question:\n\n\"What has happened?\"\n\n\"The beginning of the end,\" he answered in a hollow tone.\n\n\"They have out-voted you?\" cried the young wife. \"Baersdorp and the other\ncowards want to negotiate?\"\n\nPeter drew himself up to his full height, and exclaimed in a loud,\nthreatening tone:\n\n\"Guard your tongue! He who remains steadfast until his children die and\ncorpses bar the way in front of his own house, he who bears the\nresponsibility of a thousand deaths, endures curses and imprecations\nthrough long weeks, and has vainly hoped for deliverance during more than\na third of a year--he who, wherever he looks, sees nothing save\nunprecedented, constantly increasing misery and then no longer repels the\nsaving hand of the foe--\"\n\n\"Is a coward, a traitor, who breaks the sacred oath he has sworn.\"\n\n\"Maria,\" cried Peter angrily, approaching with a threatening gesture.\n\nShe drew her slender figure up to its full height and with quickened\nbreath awaited him, pointing her finger at him, as she exclaimed with a\nsharp tone perceptible through the slight tremor in her voice:\n\n\"You, you have voted with the Baersdorps, you, Peter Van der Werff! You\nhave done this thing, you, the friend of the Prince, the shield and\nprovidence of this brave city, you, the man who received the oaths of the\ncitizens, the martyr's son, the servant of liberty--\"\n\n\"No more!\" he interrupted, trembling with shame and rage. \"Do you know\nwhat it is to bear the guilt of this most terrible suffering before God\nand men?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, thrice yes; it is laying one's heart on the rack, to save\nHolland and liberty. That is what it means! Oh, God, my God! You are\nlost! You intend to negotiate with Valdez!\"\n\n\"And suppose I do?\" asked the burgomaster, with an angry gesture.\n\nMaria looked him sternly in the eye, and exclaimed in a loud, resolute\ntone:\n\n\"Then it will be my turn to say: Go to Delft; we need different men\nhere.\"\n\nThe burgomaster turned pale and bent his eyes on the floor, while she\nfearlessly confronted him with a steady glance.\n\nThe light fell full upon her glowing face, and when Peter again raised\nhis eyes, it seemed as if the same Maria stood before him, who as a bride\nhad vowed to share trouble and peril with him, remain steadfast in the\nstruggle for liberty to the end; he felt that his \"child\" Maria had grown\nto his own height and above him, recognized for the first time in the\nproud woman before him his companion in conflict, his high-hearted helper\nin distress and danger. An overmastering yearning, mightier than any\nemotion ever experienced before, surged through his soul, impelled him\ntowards her, and found utterance in the words:\n\n\"Maria, Maria, my wife, my guardian angel! We have written to Valdez, but\nthere is still time,--nothing binds me yet, and with you, with you I will\nstand firm to the end.\"\n\nThen, in the midst of these days of woe, she threw herself on his breast,\ncrying aloud in the abundance of this new, unexpected, unutterable\nhappiness:\n\n\"With you, one with you--forever, unto death, in conflict and in love!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nPeter felt animated with new life. A fresh store of courage and\nenthusiasm filled his breast, for he constantly received a new supply\nfrom the stout-hearted woman by his side.\n\nUnder the pressure of the terrible responsibility he endured, and urged\nby his fellow-magistrates, he had consented, at the meeting of the\ncouncil, to write to Valdez and ask him to give free passage to\nembassadors, who were to entreat the estates and the Prince of Orange to\nrelease the tortured city from her oath.\n\nValdez made every effort to induce the burgomaster to enter into farther\nnegotiations, but the latter remained firm, and no petition for release\nfrom the sacred duty of resistance left the city. The two Van der Does,\nVan Hout, Junker von Warmond, and other resolute men, who had already, in\nthe great assembly, denounced any intercourse with the enemy, now\nvaliantly supported him against his fellow-magistrates and the council,\nthat with the exception of seven of its members, persistently and\nvehemently urged the commencement of negotiations.\n\nAdrian rapidly recovered, but Doctor Bontius's prediction was terribly\nfulfilled, for famine and pestilence vied with each other in horrible\nfury, and destroyed almost half of all the inhabitants of the flourishing\ncity. Intense was the gloom, dark the sky, yet even amidst the cruel woe\nthere was many an hour in which bright sunshine illumined souls, and hope\nunfurled her green banner. The citizens of Leyden rose from their couches\nmore joyously, than a bride roused by the singing of her companions on\nher wedding-day, when on the morning of September eleventh loud and\nlong-continued cannonading was heard from the distance, and the sky\nbecame suffused with a crimson glow. The villages southwest of the city\nwere burning. Every house, every barn that sunk into ashes, burying the\nproperty of honest men, was a bonfire to the despairing citizens.\n\nThe Beggars were approaching!\n\nYonder, where the cannon thundered and the horizon glowed, lay the\nLand-scheiding, the bulwark which for centuries had guarded the plains\nsurrounding Leyden from the assaults of the waves, and now barred the way\nof the fleet bringing assistance.\n\n\"Fall, protecting walls, rise, tempest, swallow thy prey, raging sea,\ndestroy the property of the husbandman, ruin our fields and meadows, but\ndrown the foe or drive him hence.\" So sang Janus Dousa, so rang a voice\nin Peter's soul, so prayed Maria, and with her thousands of men and\nwomen.\n\nBut the glow in the horizon died away, the firing ceased. A second day\nelapsed, a third and fourth, but no messenger arrived, no Beggar ship\nappeared, and the sea seemed to be calm; but another terrible power\nincreased, moving with mysterious, stealthy, irresistible might; Death,\nwith his pale companions, Despair and Famine.\n\nThe dead were borne secretly to their graves under cover of the darkness\nof night, to save their scanty ration for the survivors, in the division\nof food. The angel of death flew from house to house, touched pretty\nlittle Bessie's heart, and kissed her closed eyes while she slumbered in\nthe quiet night.\n\nThe faint-hearted and the Spanish sympathizers raised their heads and\nassembled in bands, one of which forced a passage into the\ncouncil-chamber and demanded bread. But not a crumb remained, and the\nmagistrates had nothing more to distribute except a small portion of cow\nand horse-flesh, and boiled and salted hides.\n\nDuring this period of the sorest distress, Van der Werff was passing down\nthe \"broad street.\" He did not notice that a throng of desperate men and\nwomen were pursuing him with threats; but as he turned to enter Van\nHout's house, suddenly found himself surrounded. A pallid woman, with her\ndying child in her arms, threw herself before him, held out the expiring\ninfant, and cried in hollow tones: \"Let this be enough, let this be\nenough--see here, see this; it is the third. Let this be enough!\"\n\n\"Enough, enough! Bread, bread! Give us bread!\" was shrieked and shouted\naround him, and threatening weapons and stones were raised; but a\ncarpenter, whom he knew, and who had hitherto faithfully upheld the good\ncause, advanced saying in measured accents, in his deep voice: \"This can\ngo on no longer. We have patiently borne hunger and distress in fighting\nagainst the Spaniards and for our Bible, but to struggle against certain\ndeath is madness.\"\n\nPeter, pale and agitated, gazed at the mother, the child, the sturdy\nworkman and the threatening, shrieking mob. The common distress, which\nafflicted them and so many starving people, oppressed his soul with a\nthousand-fold greater power. He would fain have drawn them all to his\nheart, as brothers in misfortune, companions of a future, worthier\nexistence. With deep emotion, he looked from one to the other, then\npressed his hand upon his breast and called to the crowd, which thronged\naround him:\n\n\"Here I stand. I have sworn to faithfully endure to the end; and you did\nso with me. I will not break my oath, but I can die. If my life will\nserve you, here I am! I have no bread, but here, here is my body. Take\nit, lay hands on me, tear me to pieces. Here I stand, here I stand. I\nwill keep my oath.\"\n\nThe carpenter bent his head, and said in a hollow tone: \"Come, people,\nlet God's will be done; we have sworn.\"\n\nThe burgomaster quietly entered his friend's house. Fran Van Hout had\nseen and heard all this, and on the very same day told the story to\nMaria, her eyes sparkling brightly as she exclaimed: \"Never did I see any\nman so noble as he was in that hour! It is well for us, that he rules\nwithin these walls. Never will our children and children's children\nforget this deed.\"\n\nThey have treasured it in their memories, and during the night succeeding\nthe day on which the burgomaster acted so manly a part, a letter arrived\nfrom the Prince, full of joyous and encouraging news. The noble man had\nrecovered, and was striving with all his power to rescue brave Leyden.\nThe Beggars had cut the Landscheiding, their vessels were pressing\nonward--help was approaching, and the faithful citizen who brought the\nletter, had seen with his own eyes the fleet bringing relief and the\nchampions of freedom, glowing with martial ardor. The two Van der Does,\nby the same letter, were appointed the Prince's commissioners in place of\nthe late Herr Van Bronkhorst. Van der Werff no longer stood alone, and\nwhen the next morning \"Father William's\" letter was read aloud and the\nmessenger's news spread abroad, the courage and confidence of the\ntortured citizens rose like withering grass after a refreshing rain.\n\nBut they were still condemned to long weeks of anxiety and suffering.\n\nDuring the last days of September they were forced to slaughter the cows\nhitherto spared for the infants and young mothers, and then, then?\n\nHelp was close at hand, for the sky often reddened, and the air was\nshaken by the roar of distant cannon; but the east wind continued to\nprevail, driving back the water let in upon the land, and the vessels\nneeded a rising flood to approach the city.\n\nNot one of all the messengers, who had been sent out, returned; there was\nnothing certain, save the cruelly increasing unendurable suffering. Even\nBarbara had succumbed, and complained of weakness and loathing of the\nordinary food.\n\nMaria thought of the roast-pigeon, which had agreed with Bessie so well,\nand went to the musician, to ask if he could sacrifice another of his\npets for her sister-in-law.\n\nWilhelm's mother received the burgomaster's wife. The old lady was\nsitting wearily in an arm-chair; she could still walk, but amid her\nanxiety and distress a strange twitching had affected her hands. When\nMaria made her request, she shook her head, saying: \"Ask him yourself.\nHe's obliged to keep the little creatures shut up, for whenever they\nappear, the poor starving people shoot at them. There are only three\nleft. The messengers took the others, and they haven't returned.\n\n\"Thank God for it; the little food he still has, will do more good in\ndishes, than in their crops. Would you believe it? A fortnight ago he\npaid fifty florins out of his savings for half a sack of peas, and Heaven\nknows where he found them. Ulrich, Ulrich! Take Frau Van der Werff up to\nWilhelm. I'd willingly spare you the climb, but he's watching for the\ncarrier-pigeons that have been sent out, and won't even come down to his\nmeals. To be sure, they would hardly be worth the trouble!\"\n\nIt was a clear, sunny day. Wilhelm was standing in his look-out, gazing\nover the green, watery plain, that lay out-spread below him, towards the\nsouth. Behind him sat Andreas, the fencing-master's fatherless boy;\nwriting notes, but his attention was not fixed on his work; for as soon\nas he had finished a line he too gazed towards the horizon, watching for\nthe pigeon his teacher expected. He did not look particularly emaciated,\nfor many a grain of the doves' food had been secretly added to his scanty\nration of meat.\n\nWilhelm showed that he felt both surprised and honored by Frau Van der\nWerff's visit, and even promised to grant her request, though it was\nevident that the \"saying yes\" was by no means easy for him.\n\nThe young wife went out on the balcony with him, and he showed her in the\nsouth, where usually nothing but a green plain met the eye, a wide\nexpanse over which a light mist was hovering. The noon sun seemed to\nsteep the white vapor with light, and lure it upward by its ardent rays.\nThis was the water streaming through the broken dyke, and the black\noblong specks moving along its edges were the Spanish troops and herds of\ncattle, that had retreated before the advancing flood from the outer\nfortifications, villages and hamlets. The Land-scheiding itself was not\nvisible, but the Beggars had already passed it. If the fleet succeeded in\nreaching the Zoetermere Lake and from thence.\n\nWilhelm suddenly interrupted his explanation, for Andreas had suddenly\nstarted up, upsetting his stool, and exclaimed:\n\n\"It's coming! The dove! Roland, my fore man, there it comes!\"\n\nFor the first time Wilhelm heard the boy's lips utter his father's\nexclamation. Some great emotion must have stirred his heart, and in truth\nhe was not mistaken; the speck piercing the air, which his keen eye had\ndiscovered, was no longer a mere spot, but an oblong something--a bird,\nthe pigeon!\n\nWilhelm seized the flag on the balcony, and waved it as joyously as ever\nconqueror unfurled his banner after a hard-won fight. The dove came\nnearer--alighted, slipped into the cote, and a few minutes after the\nmusician appeared with a tiny letter.\n\n\"To the magistrates!\" cried Wilhelm. \"Take it to your husband at once.\nOh! dear lady, dear lady, finish what the dove has begun. Thank God!\nthank God! they are already at North-Aa. This will save the poor people\nfrom despair! And now one thing more! You shall have the roasted bird,\nbut take this grain too; a barley-porridge is the best medicine for\nBarbara's condition; I've tried it!\"\n\nWhen evening came, and the musician had told his parents the joyful news,\nhe ordered the blue dove with the white breast to be caught. \"Kill it\noutside the house,\" said he, \"I can't bear to see it.\"\n\nAndreas soon came back with the beheaded pigeon.\n\nHis lips were bloody, Wilhelm knew from what, yet he did not reprove the\nhungry boy, but merely said:\n\n\"Fie, you pole-cat!\"\n\nEarly the next morning a second dove returned. The letters the winged\nmessengers had brought were read aloud from the windows of the town-hall,\nand the courage of the populace, pressed to the extremest limits of\nendurance, flickered up anew and helped them bear their misery. One of\nthe letters were addressed to the magistrates, the other to Janus Dousa;\nthey sounded confident and hopeful, and the Prince, the faithful shield\nof liberty, the friend and guide of the people, had recovered from his\nsickness and visited the vessels and troops intended for the relief of\nLeyden. Rescue was so near, but the north-east wind would not change, and\nthe water did not rise. Great numbers of citizens, soldiers, magistrates\nand women stood on the citadel and other elevated places, gazing into the\ndistance.\n\nA thousand hands were clasped in fervent prayer, and the eyes of all were\nturned in feverish expectation and eager yearning towards the south, but\nthe boundary line of the waves did not move; and the sun, as if in\nmockery, burst cheerily through the mists of the autumn morning, imparted\na pleasant warmth to the keen air, and in the evening sank towards the\nwest in the midst of radiant light, diffusing its golden rays far and\nwide. The cloudless blue sky arched pitilessly over the city, and at\nnight glittered with thousands of twinkling stars. Early on the morning\nof the twenty-ninth the mists grew denser, the grass remained dry, the\nfogs lifted, the cool air changed to a sultry atmosphere, the grey clouds\npiled in masses on each other, and grew black and threatening. A light\nbreeze rose, stirring the leafless branches of the trees, then a sudden\ngust of wind swept over the heads of the throngs watching the distant\nhorizon. A second and third followed, then a howling tempest roared and\nhissed without cessation through the city, wrenching tiles from the\nroofs, twisting the fruit-trees in the gardens and the young elms and\nlindens in many a street, tearing away the flags the boys had fastened on\nthe walls in defiance of the Spaniards, lashing the still waters of the\ncity moat and quiet canals, and--the Lord does not abandon His own--and\nthe vanes turned, the storm came from the north-west. No one saw the\nresult, but the sailors shouted the tidings, and each individual caught\nup the words and bore them exultantly on--the hurricane drove the sea\ninto the mouth of the Meuse, forcing back the waves of the river by its\nfierce assault, driving them over its banks through the gaps opened in\nthe dykes, and the gates of the sluices, and bearing forward on their\ntowering crests the vessels bringing deliverance.\n\nRoar, roar, thou storm, stream, stream, rushing rain, rage, waves, and\ndestroy the meadows, swallow up houses and villages! Thousands and\nthousands of people on the walls and towers of Leyden hail your approach,\nbehold in you the terrible armies of the avenging God, exult and shout a\njoyous welcome!\n\nFor two successive days the burgomaster, Maria and Adrian, the Van der\nDoes and Van Houts stood with brief intervals of rest among the throng on\nthe citadel or the tower at the Cow-Gate; even Barbara, far more\nstrengthened by hope than by the barley-porridge or the lean\ncarrier-pigeon, would not stay at home, but dragged herself to the\nmusician's look-out, for every one wanted to see the rising water, the\nearth softening, the moisture creeping between the blades of grass, then\nspreading into pools and ponds, until at last there was a wide expanse of\nwater, on which bubbles rose, burst under the descending rain, and formed\never-widening circles. Every one wanted to watch the Spaniards, hurrying\nhither and thither like sheep pursued by a wolf. Every one wanted to hear\nthe thunder of the Beggars' cannon, the rattle of their arquebuses and\nmuskets; men and women thought the tempest that threatened to sweep them\naway, pleasanter than the softest breeze, and the pouring rain, which\ndrenched them, preferable to spring dew-drops mirroring the sunshine.\n\nBehind the strong fort of Lammen, defended by several hundred Spanish\nsoldiers, and the Castle of Cronenstein, a keen eye could distinguish the\nBeggars' vessels.\n\nDuring Thursday and Friday Wilhelm watched in vain for a dove, but on\nSaturday his best flier returned, bringing a letter from Admiral Boisot,\nwho called upon the armed forces of the city to sally out on Friday and\nattack Lammen.\n\nThe storm had blown the pigeon away. It had reached the city too late,\nbut on Saturday evening Janus Dousa and Captain Van der Laen were\nactively engaged, summoning every one capable of bearing arms to appear\nearly Sunday morning. Poor, pale, emaciated troops were those who obeyed\nthe leaders' call, but not a man was absent and each stood ready to give\nhis life for the deliverance of the city and his family.\n\nThe tempest had moderated, the firing had ceased, and the night was dark\nand sultry. No eyes wished to sleep, and those whose slumber overpowered\nfor a short time, were startled and terrified by strange, mysterious\nnoises. Wilhelm sat in his look-out, gazing towards the south and\nlistening intently. Sometimes a light gust of wind whistled around the\nlofty house, sometimes a shout, a scream, or the blast of a trumpet\nechoed through the stillness of the night; then a crashing noise, as if\nan earthquake had shaken part of the city to its foundations, arose near\nthe Cow-Gate. Not a star was visible in the sky, but bright spots, like\nwill-o'-the-wisps, moved through the dense gloom in regular order near\nLanimen. It was a horrible, anxious night.\n\nEarly next morning the citizens saw that a part of the city-wall near the\nCow-Gate had fallen, and then unexampled rejoicing arose at the breach,\nno longer dangerous; exultant cries echoed through every street and\nalley, drawing from the houses men and women, grey-beards and children,\nthe sick and the well, one after another thronging to the Cow-Gate, where\nthe Beggars' fleet was seen approaching. The city-carpenter, Thomassohn,\nand other men, tore out of the water the posts by which the Spaniards had\nattempted to bar the vessels' advance, then the first ship, followed by a\nsecond and third, arrived at the walls. Stern, bearded men, with fierce,\nscarred, weather-beaten faces, whose cheeks for years had been touched by\nno salt moisture, save the sea-spray, smiled kindly at the citizens,\nflung them one loaf of bread after another, and many other good things of\nwhich they had long been deprived, weeping and sobbing with emotion like\nchildren, while the poor people eat and eat, unable to utter a word of\nthanks. Then the leaders came, Admiral Boisot embraced the Van der Does\nand Burgomaster Van der Werff, the Beggar captain Van Duijkenburg was\nclasped in the arms of his mother, Barbara, and many a Leyden man hugged\na liberator, on whom his eyes now rested for the first time. Many, many\ntears fell, thousands of hearts overflowed, and the Sunday bells,\nsounding so much clearer and gayer than usual, summoned rescuers and\nrescued to the churches to pray. The spacious sanctuary was too small for\nthe worshippers, and when the pastor, Corneliussohn, who filled the place\nof the good Verstroot, now ill from caring for so many sufferers, called\nupon the congregation to give thanks, his exhortation had long since been\nanticipated; from the first notes of the organ, the thousands who poured\ninto the church had been filled with the same eager longing, to utter\nthanks, thanks, fervent thanks.\n\nIn the Grey Sisters' chapel Father Damianus also thanked the Lord, and\nwith him Nicolas Van Wibisma and other Catholics, who loved their native\nland and liberty.\n\nAfter church Adrian, holding a piece of bread in one hand and his shoes\nin the other, waded at the head of his school-mates through the higher\nmeadows to Leyderdorp, to see the Spaniards' deserted camp. There stood\nthe superb tent of General Valdez, in which, over the bed, hung a map of\nthe Rhine country, drawn by the Netherlander Beeldsnijder to injure his\nown nation. The boys looked at it, and a Beggar, who had formerly been in\na writing-school and now looked like a sea-bear, said:\n\n\"Look here, my lads. There is the Land-scheiding.\n\n\"We first pierced that, but more was to be done. The green path had many\nobstacles, and here at the third dyke--they call it the Front-way--there\nwere hard nuts to crack, and farther progress was impossible. We now 45\nreturned, made a wide circuit across the Segwaertway, and through this\ncanal here, where there was hard fighting, to North-Aa. The Zoetermeer\nLake now lay behind us, but the water became too shallow and we could get\nno farther. Have you seen the great Ark of Delft? It's a huge vessel,\nmoved by wheels, by which the water is thrust aside. You'll be delighted\nwith it. At last the Lord gave us the storm and the spring-tide. Then the\nvessels had the right depth of water. There was warm work again at the\nKirk-way, but the day before yesterday we reached Lammen. Many a brave\nman has fallen on both sides, but at Lammen every one expected the worst\nstruggle to take place. We were going to attack it early this morning,\nbut when day dawned everything was unnaturally quiet in the den, and\nmoreover, a strange stillness prevailed. Then we thought: Leyden has\nsurrendered; starvation conquered her. But it was nothing of the sort!\nYou are people of the right stamp, and soon after a lad about as large as\none of you, came to our vessel and told us he had seen a long procession\nof lights move out of the fort during the night and march away. At first\nwe wouldn't believe him, but the boy was right. The water had grown too\nhot for the crabs, and the lights the lad saw were the Spaniards' lunts.\nLook, children, there is Lammen--\"\n\nAdrian had gone close to the map with his companions and now interrupted\nthe Beggar by laughing loudly.\n\n\"What is it, curly-head?\" asked the latter.\n\n\"Look, look!\" cried the boy, \"the great General Valdez has immortalized\nhimself here, and there is his name too. Listen, listen! The rector would\nhang a placard with the word donkey round his neck, for he has written:\n'Castelli parvi! Vale civitas, valete castelli parvi; relicti estis\npropter aquam et non per vim inimicorum!' Oh! the donkey 'Castelli\nparvi!'\"\n\n\"What does it mean?\" asked the Beggar.\n\n\"Farewell, Leyden, farewell, ye little 'Castelli;' ye are abandoned on\naccount of the waves, and not of the power of the enemy. 'Parvi\nCastelli!' I must tell mother that!\"\n\nOn Monday, William of Orange entered Leyden, and went to Herr von\nMontfort's house. The people received their Father William with joy, and\nthe unwearied champion of liberty, in the midst of the exultation and\nrejoicing that surrounded him, labored for the future prosperity of the\ncity. At a later period he rewarded the faithful endurance of the people\nwith a peerless memorial: the University of Leyden. This awakened and\nkept alive in the busy city and the country bleeding for years in severe\nconflicts, that lofty aspiration and effort, which is its own reward, and\nplaces eternal welfare far above mere temporal prosperity. The tree,\nwhose seed was planted amid the deepest misery, conflict and calamity,\nhas borne the noblest fruits for humanity, still bears them, and if it is\nthe will of God will continue to bear them for centuries.\n\n          ................................\n\nOn the twenty-sixth of July, 1581, seven years after the rescue of\nLeyden, Holland and Zealand, whose political independence had already\nbeen established for six years, proclaimed themselves at the Hague free\nfrom Spain. Hitherto, William of Orange had ruled as King Philip's\n\"stadtholder,\" and even the war against the monarch had been carried on\nin his name. Nay, the document establishing the University, a paper,\nwhich with all the earnestness that dictated it, deserves to be called an\nunsurpassed masterpiece of the subtlest political irony, purported to\nissue from King Philip's mouth, and it sounds amusing enough to read in\nthis paper, that the gloomy dunce in the Escurial, after mature\ndeliberation with his dear and faithful cousin, William of Orange, has\ndetermined to found a freeschool and university, from motives, which\ncould not fail to seem abominable to the King.\n\nOn the twenty-fourth of July this game ceased, allegiance to Philip was\nrenounced, and the Prince assumed sovereign authority.\n\nThree days after, these joyful events were celebrated by a splendid\nbanquet at Herr Van der Werff's house. The windows of the dining-room\nwere thrown wide open, and the fresh breeze of the summer night fanned\nthe brows of the guests, who had assembled around the burgomaster's\ntable. They were the most intimate friends of the family: Janus Dousa,\nVan Hout, the learned Doctor Grotius of Delft, who to Maria's delight had\nbeen invited to Leyden as a professor, and this very year filled the\noffice of President of the new University, the learned tavern-keeper\nAquarius, Doctor Bontius, now professor of medicine at the University,\nand many others.\n\nThe musician Wilhelm was also present, but no longer alone; beside him\nsat his beautiful, delicate wife, Anna d'Avila, with whom he had recently\nreturned from Italy. He had borne for several years the name of Van\nDuivenbode (messenger-dove), which the city had bestowed on him, together\nwith a coat of arms bearing three blue doves on a silver field and two\ncrossed keys.\n\nWith the Prince's consent the legacies bequeathed by old Fraulein Van\nHoogstraten to her relatives and servants, had been paid, and Wilhelm now\noccupied with his wife a beautiful new house, that did not lack a\ndovecote, and where Maria, though her four children gave her little time,\ntook part in many a madrigal. The musician had much to say about Rome and\nhis beautiful sister-in-law Henrica, to Adrian, now a fine young man, who\nhad graduated at the University and was soon to be admitted to the\ncouncil. Belotti, after the death of the young girl's father, who had\nseen and blessed Anna again, went to Italy with her, where she lived as\nsuperior of a secular institution, where music was cultivated with\nspecial devotion.\n\nBarbara did not appear among the guests. She had plenty to do in the\nkitchen. Her white caps were now plaited with almost coquettish skill and\ncare, and the firm, contented manner in which she ruled Trautchen and the\ntwo under maid-servants showed that everything was going on well in\nPeter's house and business. It was worth while to do a great deal for the\nguests upstairs. Junker von Warmond was among them, and had been given\nthe seat of honor between Doctor Grotius and Janus Dousa, the first\ntrustee of the University, for he had become a great nobleman and\ninfluential statesman, who found much difficulty in getting time to leave\nthe Hague and attend the banquet with his young assistant, Nicolas Van\nWibisma. He drank to Meister Aquanus as eagerly and gaily as ever,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"To old times and our friend, Georg von Dornburg.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" replied the landlord. \"We haven't heard of his bold\ndeeds and expeditions for a long time.\"\n\n\"Of course! The fermenting wine is now clear. Dornburg is in the English\nservice, and four weeks ago I met him as a member of her British\nMajesty's navy in London. His squadron is now on the way to Venice. He\nstill cherishes an affectionate memory of Leyden, and sends kind\nremembrances to you, but you would never recognize in the dignified\ncommander and quiet, cheerful man, our favorite in former days. How often\nhis enthusiastic temperament carried him far beyond us all, and how it\nwould make the heart ache to see him brooding mournfully over his secret\ngrief.\"\n\n\"I met the Junker in Delft,\" said Doctor Grotius. \"Such enthusiastic\nnatures easily soar too high and then get a fall, but when they yoke\nthemselves to the chariot of work and duty, their strength moves vast\nburdens, and with cheerful superiority conquers the hardest obstacles.\"\n\nMeantime Adrian, at a sign from his father, had risen and filled the\nglasses with the best wine. The \"hurrah,\" led by the Burgomaster, was\ngiven to the Prince, and Janus Dousa followed it by a toast to the\nindependence and liberty of their native land.\n\nVan Hout devoted a glass to the memory of the days of trouble, and the\ncity's marvellous deliverance. All joined in the toast, and after the\ncheers had died away, Aquanus said:\n\n\"Who would not gladly recall the exquisite Sunday of October third; but\nwhen I think of the misery that preceded it, my heart contracts, even at\nthe present day.\"\n\nAt these words Peter clasped Maria's hand, pressed it tenderly, and\nwhispered:\n\n\"And yet, on the saddest day of my life, I found my best treasure.\"\n\n\"So did I!\" she replied, gazing gratefully into his faithful eyes.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE \"BURGOMASTER'S WIFE\":\n\n     A blustering word often does good service\n     Art ceases when ugliness begins\n     Debts, but all anxiety concerning them is left to the creditors\n     Despair and extravagant gayety ruled her nature by turns\n     Drinking is also an art, and the Germans are masters of it\n     Hat is the sign of liberty, and the free man keeps his hat on\n     Held in too slight esteem to be able to offer an affront\n     Here the new custom of tobacco-smoking was practised\n     Must take care not to poison the fishes with it\n     Repos ailleurs\n     Standing still is retrograding\n     The shirt is closer than the coat\n     The best enjoyment in creating is had in anticipation\n     Those two little words 'wish' and 'ought'\n     To whom fortune gives once, it gives by bushels\n     To whom the emotion of sorrow affords a mournful pleasure\n     Wet inside, he can bear a great deal of moisture without\n     Youth calls 'much,' what seems to older people 'little'\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMPLETE SHORT WORKS OF GEORG EBERS\n\nCONTENTS:\n   In The Blue Pike\n   A Question\n   The Elixir\n   The Greylock\n   The Nuts\n\n\n\n\nIN THE BLUE PIKE, Complete\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 1.\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary T. Safford\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\"May a thunderbolt strike you!\" The imprecation suited the rough fellow\nwho uttered it. He had pointed out of doors as he spoke, and scarcely\nlowered the strange tones of his voice, yet of all the rabble who\nsurrounded him only two persons understood his meaning--a fading, sickly\ngirl, and the red-haired woman, only a few years her senior, who led the\nswearing man by a chain, like a tame bear.\n\nThe Nuremberg magistrates had had Cyriax's tongue cropped for gross\nblasphemy, and listeners could scarcely comprehend the words he mangled\nin his gasping speech.\n\nThe red-haired woman dropped the knife with which she was slicing bread\nand onions into a pot, and looked at her companion with an anxious,\nquestioning glance.\n\n\"Nuremberg Honourables,\" he stammered as fast as he could, snatched his\nwife's shawl from her shoulders, and drew it over his unkempt head.\n\nThe woman beckoned to their travelling companions--a lame fellow of\nmiddle age who, propped on crutches, leaned against the wall, an older\npock-marked man with a bloated face, and the sickly girl--calling to them\nin the harsh, metallic voice peculiar to hawkers and elderly singers at\nfairs.\n\n\"Help Cyriax hide. You first, Jungel! They needn't recognise him as soon\nas they get in. Nuremberg magistrates are coming. Aristocratic\nblood-suckers of the Council. Who knows what may still be on the tally\nfor us?\"\n\nKuni, the pale-faced girl, wrapped her bright-coloured garment tighter\naround her mutilated left leg, and obeyed. Lame Jungel, too, prepared to\nfulfil red-haired Gitta's wish.\n\nBut Raban had glanced out, and hastily drew the cloth jerkin, patched\nwith green and blue linen, closer through his belt, ejaculating\nanxiously:\n\n\"Young Groland of the Council. I know him.\"\n\nThis exclamation induced the other vagabonds to glide along the wall to\nthe nearest door, intending to slip out.\n\n\"A Groland?\" asked Gitta, Cyriax's wife, cowering as if threatened with a\nblow from an invisible hand. \"It was he--\"\n\n\"He?\" laughed the chain-bearer, while he crouched beside her, drawing\nhimself into the smallest space possible. \"No, Redhead! The devil dragged\nthe man who did that down to the lower regions long ago, on account of my\ntongue. It's his son. The younger, the sharper. This stripling made\nCasper Rubling,--[Dice, in gambler's slang]--poor wretch, pay for his\nloaded dice with his eyesight.\"\n\nHe thrust his hand hurriedly into his jerkin as he spoke, and gave Gitta\nsomething which he had concealed there. It was a set of dice, but, with\nready presence of mind, she pressed them so hard into the crumb of the\nloaf of bread which she had just cut that it entirely concealed them.\n\nAll this had passed wholly unnoticed in the corner of the long, wide\nroom, for all the numerous travellers whom it sheltered were entirely\noccupied with their own affairs. Nothing was understood except what was\nsaid between neighbour and neighbour, for a loud uproar pervaded the\ntavern of The Blue Pike.\n\nIt was one of the most crowded inns, being situated on the main ferry at\nMiltenberg, where those journeying from Nuremberg, Augsburg, and other\nSouth German cities, on their way to Frankfort and the Lower Rhine,\nrested and exchanged the saddle for the ship. Just at the present time\nmany persons of high and low degree were on their way to Cologne, whither\nthe Emperor Maximilian, having been unable to come in April to Trier on\nthe Moselle, had summoned the Reichstag.\n\nThe opening would take place in a few days, and attracted not only\nprinces, counts, and knights, exalted leaders and more modest servants of\nthe Church, ambassadors from the cities, and other aristocrats, but also\nhonest tradesfolk, thriving money-lenders with the citizen's cloak and\nthe yellow cap of the Jew, vagrants and strollers of every description,\nwho hoped to practise their various feats to the best advantage, or to\nfill their pockets by cheating and robbery.\n\nThis evening many had gathered in the spacious taproom of The Blue Pike.\nNow those already present were to be joined by the late arrivals whom\nCyriax had seen ride up.\n\nIt was a stately band. Four aristocratic gentlemen at the head of the\ntroop were followed by an escort of twenty-five Nuremberg mercenaries, a\ngay company whose crimson coats, with white slashes on the puffed\nsleeves, presented a showy spectacle. Their helmets and armour glittered\nin the bright light of the setting sun of the last day of July, as they\nturned their horses in front of the wide gateway of The Blue Pike to ride\ninto Miltenberg and ask lodgings of the citizens.\n\nThe trampling of hoofs, the shouts of command, and the voices of the\ngentlemen and their attendants outside attracted many guests to the doors\nand windows of the long, whitewashed building.\n\nThe strollers, however, kept the place at theirs without difficulty; no\none desired to come near them.\n\nThe girl with the bandaged foot had now also turned her face toward the\nstreet. As her gaze rested on the youngest of the Nuremberg dignitaries,\nher pale cheeks flushed, and, as if unconsciously, the exclamation: \"It\nis he!\" fell from her lips.\n\n\"Who?\" asked red-haired Gitta, and was quickly answered in a low tone\n\n\"I mean Lienhard, Herr Groland.\"\n\n\"The young one,\" stuttered Cyriax.\n\nThen, raising the shawl, he continued inquisitively:\n\n\"Do you know him? For good or for evil?\"\n\nThe girl, whose face, spite of its sunken cheeks and the dark rings under\nthe deep-set blue eyes, still bore distinct traces of former beauty,\nstarted and answered sharply, though not very loudly, for speech was\ndifficult:\n\n\"Good is what you call evil, and evil is what you call good. My\nacquaintance with Lienhard, Herr Groland, is my own affair, and, you may\nbe sure, will remain mine.\" She glanced contemptuously away from the\nothers out of doors, but Cyriax, spite of his mutilated tongue, retorted\nquickly and harshly:\n\n\"I always said so. She'll die a saint yet.\" Then grasping Kuni's arm\nroughly, he dragged her down to him, and whispered jeeringly:\n\n\"Ratz has a full purse and sticks to his offer for the cart. If you put\non airs long, he'll get it and the donkey, too, and you'll be left here.\nWhat was it about Groland? You can try how you'll manage on your stump\nwithout us, if we're too bad for you.\"\n\n\"We are not under eternal obligations to you on the child's account,\"\nadded red-haired Gitta in a gentler tone. \"Don't vex my husband, or he'll\nkeep his word about the cart, and who else will be bothered with a\nuseless creature like you?\"\n\nThe girl lowered her eyes and looked at her crippled limb.\n\nHow would she get on without the cart, which received her when the pain\ngrew too sharp and the road was too hard and long?\n\nSo she turned to the others again, saying soothingly:\n\n\"It all happened in the time before I fell.\" Then she looked out of doors\nonce more, but she did not find what she sought. The Nuremberg travellers\nhad ridden through the broad gateway into the large square courtyard,\nsurrounded by stables on three sides. When Cyriax and his wife again\ncalled to her, desiring to know what had passed between her and Groland,\nshe clasped her hands around her knees, fixed her eyes on the gaystuffs\nwound around the stump where her foot had been amputated, and in a low,\nreluctant tone, continued:\n\n\"You want to learn what I have to do with Herr Groland? It was about six\nyears ago, in front of St. Sebald's church, in Nuremberg. A wedding was\nto take place. The bridegroom was one of the Council--Lienhard Groland.\nThe marriage was to be a very quiet one--the bridegroom's father lay\nseriously ill. Yet there could have been no greater throng at the\nEmperor's nuptials. I stood in the midst of the crowd. A rosary dropped\nfrom the belt of the fat wife of a master workman--she was decked out\nlike a peacock--and fell just in front of me. It was a costly ornament,\npure gold and Bohemian garnets. I did not let it lie there.\"\n\n\"A miracle!\" chuckled Cyriax, but the girl was obliged to conquer a\nsevere attack of coughing before she could go on with her story.\n\n\"The chaplet fairly burned my hand. I would gladly have given it back,\nbut the woman was no longer before me. Perhaps I might have returned it,\nbut I won't say so positively. However, there was no time to do it; the\nwedding party was coming, and on that account But what is the use of\ntalking? While I was still gazing, the owner discovered her loss. An\nofficer seized me, and so I was taken to prison and the next day was\nbrought before the magistrates. Herr Groland was one of them, and, since\nit wasn't certain that I would not have restored the property I found, he\ninterceded in my behalf. When the others still wished to punish me, he\nbesought my release because it was my first offence. So we met, and when\nI admit that I am grateful to him for it, you know all.\"\n\n\"H'm,\" replied Cyriax, giggling, as he nudged his wife in the side and\nmade remarks concerning what he had just heard which induced even\nred-haired Gitta to declare that the loss of his tongue was scarcely a\nmisfortune.\n\nKuni indignantly turned her back upon the slanderer and gazed out of the\nwindow again. The Nuremberg Honourables had disappeared, but several\ngrooms were unbuckling the knapsacks from the horses and carrying them\ninto the house. The aristocratic travellers were probably cleansing\nthemselves from the dust of the road before they entered the taproom.\n\nKuni thought so, and gazed sometimes into vacancy, sometimes into her own\nlap. Her eyes had a dreamy light, for the incident which she had just\nrelated rose before her mind with perfect clearness.\n\nIt seemed as though she were gazing a second time at the wedding\nprocession which was approaching St. Sebald's, and the couple who led it.\n\nNever had she beheld anything fairer than the bride with the myrtle\nwreath on her beautifully formed head, whence a delicate lace veil\nfloated over her long, thick, golden hair. She could not help gazing at\nher as if spellbound. When she moved forward, holding her bridegroom's\nhand, she appeared to float over the rice and flowers strewn in her path\nto the church--it was in February. As Kuni saw the bride raise her large\nblue eyes to her lover's so tenderly and yet so modestly, and the\nbridegroom thank her with a long joyous look of love, she wondered what\nmust be the feelings of a maiden who, so pure, so full of ardent love,\nand so fervently beloved in return, was permitted to approach the house\nof God, accompanied by a thousand pious wishes, with the first and only\nman whom she loved, and to whom she wished to devote herself for her\nwhole life. Again, as at that time, a burning thrill ran through her\nlimbs. Then a bitter smile hovered around her lips.\n\nShe had asked herself whether the heart of one who experienced such joys,\nto whom such a fate was allotted, would not burst from sheer joy. Now the\nwish, the hope, and every new resolve for good or ill were alike over. At\nthat hour, before the door of St. Sebald's, she had been capable of all,\nall, perhaps even the best things, if any one had cherished her in his\nheart as Lienhard Groland loved the beautiful woman at his side.\n\nShe could not help remembering the spell with which the sight of those\ntwo had forced her to watch their every movement, to gaze at them, and\nthem only, as if the world contained nothing else. How often she had\nrepeated to herself that in that hour she was bewitched, whether by him\nor by her she could not decide. As the throng surged forward, she had\nbeen crowded against the woman who lost the rosary. She had not had the\nfaintest thought of it when the bailiff suddenly snatched her from her\nrapturous gazing to stern reality, seizing with a rude grip the hand that\nheld the jewel. Then, pursued by the reviling and hissing of the\npopulace, she had been taken to prison.\n\nNow she again saw herself amid the vile rabble assembled there, again\nfelt how eagerly she inhaled the air as she was led across the courtyard\nof the townhall into the presence of the magistrates. Oh, if she could\nbut take such a long, deep breath of God's pure air as she did then! But\nthat time was past. Her poor, sunken chest would no longer permit it.\nThen she fancied that she was again standing before the judges, who were\ncalled The Five.\n\nFour magistrates sat with the Pfander--[Chief of police]--at the table\ncovered with a green cloth, but one, who surpassed all the others both in\nstature and in manly beauty, was the selfsame Lienhard Groland, who\nyesterday had led to the altar the wonderfully lovely girl who had\nbewitched her. She felt how the blood had mounted into her cheeks when\nshe again saw him who could know nothing of her except that she was a\njade, who had stolen another person's property. Yet her glance soon met\nhis, and he must have been blind had he not read in the radiant lustre of\nher blue eyes, which had early learned to woo applause and promise love,\nwhat he was to her, and how gratefully her heart throbbed for him.\n\nAfter the other gentlemen had treated her harshly, and threatened to put\nher in the stocks, he interceded for her, and entreated his brother\nmagistrates to let mercy, in this instance, take the place of justice,\nbecause she was so young, and perhaps had intended to return the rosary\nlater. Finally he bent smiling toward his companions and said something\nto them in a subdued tone. The voice was so low that his intention to\nkeep her in ignorance of it was evident. But Kuni's hearing had been as\nkeen as a bird's, and not a word escaped her. He could not help regarding\nit as an evil omen for him and his young wife if a girl, hitherto\nunpunished, should be plunged into disgrace and perhaps made miserable\nthroughout the rest of a long life on account of his wedding procession.\n\nHow high her heart had throbbed at this request, and when it was granted,\nthe discussion closed, and she herself informed that she would be set\nfree, she hurried after her preserver, who had left the Council chamber\nwith the other magistrates, to thank him. He permitted her to detain him,\nand when she found herself alone in his presence, at first, with\nstreaming eyes, she was unable to utter a word. He laid his hand kindly\non her shoulder to soothe her, and then listened to her assurance that,\nthough she was a strolling rope-dancer, she had never taken other\npeople's property.\n\nNow she closed her eyes to have a clearer vision of the picture evoked by\nmemory, which rose so vividly before her. Again she saw herself seize his\nhand to kiss it humbly, yet with fervent devotion; again she met the\npatronizing but friendly smile with which he withdrew it, and a thrill of\nhappiness ran through every nerve, for she imagined she once more felt\nhis slender white hand soothingly stroke her black hair and burning\ncheeks, as if she were a sick child who needed help. Later years had\nnever granted her aught more blissful than that moment.\n\nAs had often happened before, the memory of it overmastered her with such\npower that she could not escape it, but recalled his every look and\nmovement. Meanwhile, she imagined that she heard his voice, whose deep,\npure tones had pleased her ear, alive to harmony, more than any to which\nshe had ever listened, counselling her to give up her vagrant life, and\nagain received his assurance that he pitied her, and it would grieve him\nif she, who seemed worthy of a better fate, should be ruined, body and\nsoul, so young. Thus absorbed, she neither saw nor listened to anything\nthat was occurring near her or in the large room of the tavern, but stood\ngazing into vacancy as if rapt away from earth.\n\nTrue, Cyriax and the others had lowered their voices, for they were\ntalking about her and the aristocratic couple on whose wedding day Kuni\nhad stolen the rosary.\n\nRaban, a tall, lank vagabond with red-rimmed eyes, whose ugly face\nbristled with a half-grown black beard, had a few more particulars to\ngive concerning the bride and bridegroom. He wandered about the world\nand, whenever he stretched out his hand to beg, gave the pretext that he\nwas collecting the price of blood required for a man whom he had killed\nin self-defence, that his own head might not fall under the axe of the\nexecutioner. His dead father had heated the furnaces in the smelting\nworks at Eschenbach, near Nuremberg, and the bride was Katharina, the\neldest of the three daughters of the owner, old Harsdorffer of the\nCouncil. He had been a man of steel and iron, and opposed Lienhard\nGroland's father at every point, not excepting even their official\nbusiness. When he discovered that the young man was carrying on a love\naffair with his daughter, he had summoned him before a court of justice\nfor a breach of the law which forbade minors to betroth themselves\nwithout parental consent. The magistrates sentenced Lienhard to five\nyears' exile from the city but, through the Emperor's mediation, he was\nspared the punishment. Old Harsdorffer afterward succeeded in keeping the\nsuitor away from his daughter a long time, but finally relinquished his\nopposition.\n\n\"The devil came soon enough and broke his stiff neck,\" added Cyriax, on\nwhom the vagabond's story had had the same effect as a red rag upon a\nbull. Spite of the old slanderer's mutilated tongue, invectives flowed\nfast enough from his lips when he thought of young Frau Groland's father.\nIf the Groland outside resembled his father-in-law, he would like to\ndrink him a pledge that should burn like the plague and ruin.\n\nHe snatched a flask from his pocket as he spoke, and after a long pull\nand a still longer \"A-ah!\" he stammered:\n\n\"I've been obliged to bid farewell to my tongue, yet it feels as if it\nwere sticking in my throat like the dry sole of a shoe. That's what comes\nfrom talking in this dog-day heat.\"\n\nHe looked into the empty bottle and was about to send Kuni out to fill it\nagain. In turning to do so he saw her pale face, wan with suffering, but\nwhich now glowed with a happy light that lent it a strange beauty. How\nlarge her blue eyes were! When he had picked her up in Spain she was\nalready a cripple and in sore distress. But Groland probably knew what he\nwas about when he released her. She must have been a pretty creature\nenough at that time, and he knew that before her fall she was considered\none of the most skilful rope-dancers.\n\nAn elderly woman with a boy, whose blindness helped her to arouse\ncompassion, was crouching by Raban's side, and had just been greeted by\nKuni as an old acquaintance. They had journeyed from land to land in\nLoni's famous troupe, and as Raban handed Cyriax his own bottle, he\nturned from the dreaming girl, whose services he no longer needed, and\nwhispered to the blind boy's mother--who among the people of her own\ncalling still went by the name of Dancing Gundel--the question whether\nyonder ailing cripple had once had any good looks, and what position she\nhad held among rope-dancers.\n\nThe little gray-haired woman looked up with sparkling eyes. Under the\nname of \"Phyllis\" she had earned, ere her limbs were stiffened by age,\ngreat applause by her dainty egg-dance and all sorts of feats with the\nbalancing pole. The manager of the band had finally given her the\nposition of crier to support herself and her blind boy. This had made her\nvoice so hollow and hoarse that it was difficult to understand her as,\nwith fervid eloquence, vainly striving to be heard by absent-minded Kuni,\nshe began: \"She surpassed even Maravella the Spaniard. And her feats at\nAugsburg during the Reichstag--I tell you, Cyriax, when she ascended the\nrope to the belfry, with the pole and without--\"\n\n\"I've just heard of that from another quarter,\" he interrupted. \"What I\nwant to know is whether she pleased the eyes of men.\"\n\n\"What's that to you?\" interposed red-haired Gitta jealously, trying to\ndraw him away from Gundel by the chain.\n\nRaban laughed heartily, and lame Jungel, chuckling, rapped on the floor\nwith his right crutch, exclaiming:\n\n\"Good for you!\"\n\nKuni was accustomed to such outbursts of merriment. They were almost\nalways awakened by some trifle, and this time she did not even hear the\nlaughing. But Cyriax struck his wife so rudely on the hand that she\njerked furiously at the chain and, with a muttered oath, blew on the\nbruised spot. Meanwhile Gundel was telling the group how many\ndistinguished gentlemen had formerly paid court to Kuni. She was as agile\nas a squirrel. Her pretty little face, with its sparkling blue eyes,\nattracted the men as bacon draws mice. Then, pleased to have listeners,\nshe related how the girl had lured florins and zecchins from the purse of\nmany a wealthy ecclesiastic. She might have been as rich as the Fuggers\nif she hadn't met with the accident and had understood how to keep what\nshe earned. But she could not hold on to her gold. She had flung it away\nlike useless rubbish. So long as she possessed anything there had been no\nwant in Loni's company. She, Gundel, had caught her arm more than once\nwhen she was going to fling Hungarian ducats, instead of coppers, to\ngood-for-nothing beggars. She had often urged her, too, to think of old\nage, but Kuni--never cared for any one longer than a few weeks, though\nthere were some whom she might easily have induced to offer her the\nwedding ring.\n\nShe glanced at Kuni again, but, perceiving that the girl did not yet\nvouchsafe her even a single look, she was vexed, and, moving nearer to\nCyriax, she added in a still lower tone:\n\n\"A more inconstant, faithless, colder heart than hers I never met, even\namong the most disorderly of Loni's band; for, blindly as the infatuated\nlovers obeyed every one of her crazy whims, she laughed at the best and\ntruest. 'I hate them all,' she would say. 'I wouldn't let one of them\neven touch me with the tip of his finger if I could not use their\nzecchins. 'With these,' she said, 'she would help the rich to restore to\nthe poor what they had stolen from them.' She really treated many a\nworthy gentleman like a dog, nay, a great deal worse; for she was tender\nenough to all the animals that travelled with the company; the poodles\nand the ponies, nay, even the parrots and the doves. She would play with\nthe children, too, even the smallest ones--isn't that so, Peperle?--like\ntheir own silly mothers.\" She smoothed the blind boy's golden hair as she\nspoke, then added, sighing:\n\n\"But the little fellow was too young to remember it. The rattle which she\ngave him at Augsburg--it was just before the accident--because she was so\nfond of him--Saint Kunigunde, how could we keep such worthless jewels in\nour sore need?--was made of pure silver. True, the simpletons who were so\nmadly in love with her, and with whom she played so cruelly, would have\nbelieved her capable of anything sooner than such kindness. There was a\nSwabian knight, a young fellow----\"\n\nHere she stopped, for Cyriax and the other vagabonds, even the girl of\nwhom she was speaking, had started up and were gazing at the door.\n\nKuni opened her eyes as wide as if a miracle had happened, and the\ncrimson spots on her sunken cheeks betrayed how deeply she was agitated.\nBut she had never experienced anything of this kind; for while thinking\nof the time when, through Lienhard Groland's intercession, she had\nentered the house of the wealthy old Frau Schurstab, in order to become\nestranged from a vagabond life, and recalling how once, when he saw her\nsorrowful there, he had spoken kindly to her, it seemed as if she had\nactually heard his own voice. As it still appeared to echo in her ears,\nshe suddenly became aware that the words really did proceed from his\nlips. What she had heard in her dream and what now came from his own\nmouth, as he stood at the door, blended into one. She would never have\nbelieved that the power of imagination could reproduce anything so\nfaithfully.\n\nListening intently, she said to herself that, during the many thousand\ntimes when she had talked with him in fancy, it had also seemed as if she\nheard him speak. And the same experience had befallen her eyes; for\nwhenever memory reverted to those distant days, she had beheld him just\nas he now looked standing on the threshold, where he was detained by the\nlandlady of The Pike. Only his face had become still more manly, his\nbearing more dignified. The pleasant, winning expression of the bearded\nlips remained unchanged, and more than once she had seen his eyes sparkle\nwith a far warmer light than now, while he was thanking the portly woman\nfor her cordial welcome.\n\nWhile Kuni's gaze still rested upon him as if spellbound, Cyriax nudged\nher, stammering hurriedly:\n\n\"They will have to pass us. Move forward, women, in front of me. Spread\nout your skirt, you Redhead! It might be my death if yonder Nuremberg\nfine gentleman should see me here and recollect one thing and another.\"\n\nAs he spoke he dragged Kuni roughly from the window, flung the sack which\nhe had brought in from the cart down before him, and made them sit on it,\nwhile he stretched himself on the floor face downward, and pretended to\nbe asleep behind the women.\n\nThis suited Kuni. If Lienhard Groland passed her now he could not help\nseeing her, and she had no greater desire than to meet his glance once\nmore before her life ended. Yet she dreaded this meeting with an\nintensity plainly revealed by the passionate throbbing of her heart and\nthe panting of her weakened lungs. There was a rushing noise in her ears,\nand her eyes grew dim. Yet she was obliged to keep them wide open--what\nmight not the next moment bring?\n\nFor the first time since her entrance she gazed around the large, long\napartment, which would have deserved the name of hall had it not been too\nlow.\n\nThe heated room, filled with buzzing flies, was crowded with travellers.\nThe wife and daughter of a feather-curler, who were on their way with the\nhusband and father to the Reichstag, where many an aristocratic gentleman\nwould need plumes for his own head and his wife's, had just dropped the\ncomb with which they were arranging each other's hair. The shoemaker and\nhis dame from Nuremberg paused in the sensible lecture they were\nalternately addressing to their apprentices. The Frankfort messenger put\ndown the needle with which he was mending the badgerskin in his knapsack.\nThe travelling musicians who, to save a few pennies, had begun to eat\nbread, cheese, and radishes, instead of the warm meals provided for the\nothers, let their knives drop and set down the wine-jugs. The traders,\nwho were hotly arguing over Italian politics and the future war with\nTurkey, were silent. The four monks, who had leaned their heads against\nthe cornice of the wide, closed fireplace and, in spite of the flies\nwhich buzzed around them, had fallen asleep, awoke. The vender of\nindulgences in the black cowl interrupted the impressive speech which he\nwas delivering to the people who surrounded his coffer. This group\nalso--soldiers, travelling artisans, peasants, and tradesfolk with their\nwives, who, like most of those present, were waiting for the vessel which\nwas to sail down the Main early the next morning--gazed toward the door.\nOnly the students and Bacchantes,--[Travelling scholars]--who were fairly\nhanging on the lips of a short, slender scholar, with keen, intellectual\nfeatures, noticed neither the draught of air caused by the entrance of\nthe distinguished arrivals and their followers, nor the general stir\naroused by their appearance, until Dr. Eberbach, the insignificant,\nvivacious speaker, recognised in one of the group the famous Nuremberg\nhumanist, Wilibald Pirckheimer.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nAt first Dietel, the old waiter, whose bullet-shaped head was covered\nwith thick gray hair, also failed to notice them. Without heeding their\nentrance, he continued,--aided by two assistants who were scarcely beyond\nboyhood,--to set the large and small pine tables which he had placed\nwherever he could find room.\n\nThe patched tablecloths which he spread over the tops were coarse and\nmuch worn; the dishes carried after him by the two assistants, whose\nknees bent under the burden, were made of tin, and marred by many a dent.\nHe swung his stout body to and fro with jerks like a grasshopper, and in\ndoing so his shirt rose above his belt, but the white napkin under his\narm did not move a finger's width. In small things, as well as great\nones, Dietel was very methodical. So he continued his occupation\nundisturbed till an inexperienced merchant's clerk from Ulm, who wanted\nto ride farther speedily, accosted him and asked for some special dish.\nDietel drew his belt farther down and promptly snubbed the young man with\nthe angry retort; \"Everybody must wait for his meal. We make no\nexceptions here.\"\n\nInterrupted in his work, he also saw the newcomers, and then cast a\npeevish glance at one corner of the room, where stood a table covered\nwith fine linen and set with silver dishes, among them a platter on which\nearly pears and juicy plums were spread invitingly. The landlady of The\nPike had arranged them daintily upon fresh vine leaves an hour before\nwith her own plump but nimble hands. Of course they were intended for the\ngentlemen from Nuremberg and their guests. Dietel, too, now knew them,\nand saw that the party numbered a person no less distinguished than the\nfar-famed and highly learned Doctor and Imperial Councillor, Conrad\nPeutinger. They were riding to Cologne together under the same escort.\nThe citizens of Nuremberg were distinguished men, as well as their guest,\nbut Dietel had served distinguished personages by the dozen at The Blue\nPike for many years--among them even crowned heads--and they had wanted\nfor nothing. His skill, however, was not sufficient for these city\ndemigods; for the landlord of The Pike intended to look after their table\nhimself. Tomfoolery! There was more than enough for him to do that day\nover yonder in the room occupied by the lansquenets and the city\nsoldiers, where he usually directed affairs in person. It roused Dietel's\nire. The cooking of The Blue Pike, which the landlady superintended,\ncould vie with any in the Frank country, on the Rhine, or in Swabia, yet,\nforsooth, it wasn't good enough for the Nuremberg guests. The Council\ncook, a fat, pompous fellow, accompanied them, and had already begun to\nbustle about the hearth beside the hostess. They really would have\nrequired no service at all, for they brought their own attendants. It\ncertainly was not Dietel's usual custom to wish any one evil, but if Gotz\nBerlichinger, who had recently attacked a party of Leipsic merchants at\nForchheim, or Hans von Geisslingen had fallen upon them and subdued their\narrogance, it would not have spoiled Dietel's appetite.\n\nAt last they moved forward. The others might treat them as they chose;\nhe, at least, would neither say anything to them nor bow before them as\nthe ears did before Joseph in Holy Writ. Nevertheless, he looked out of\nthe corner of his eye at them as he took from the basket of the\nround-checked kitchen maid, who had now found her way to him, one fresh\nbrown roll after another, and placed them beside plate after plate. How\nwell risen and how crusty they were! They fairly cracked under the\npressure of the thumb, yet wheat rolls had been baked specially for the\nNuremberg party. Was God's good gift too poor for the Honourables with\nthe gold chains?\n\nNow, even fragile little Dr. Eberbach, and the students and Bacchantes\nwho had stood around him like disciples, intently listening to his words,\nbowed respectfully. The ungodly, insolent fellows who surrounded the\nDominican Jacobus, the vender of indulgences, had turned from him, while\nhe exhorted them, as if he were an importunate beggar. What did the\nmerchants, artisans, and musicians know about the godless Greek and Latin\nwritings which brought the names of Pirckheimer and Peutinger before the\npeople, yet how reverently many of these folk now bowed before them. Only\nthe soldiers with swords at their sides held their heads erect. They\nproved that they were right in calling themselves \"pious lansquenets.\"\nThe broad-shouldered knight, with the plumed hat and suit of mail, who\nwalked beside them, was Sir Hans von Obernitz, the Schultheiss of\nNuremberg. He was said to be a descendant of the ancient Brandenstein\nrace, and yet--was the world topsy-turvy?--he, too, was listening to\nevery word uttered by Wilibald Pirckheimer and Dr. Peutinger as if it\nwere a revelation. The gray-haired leech and antiquary, Hartmann Schedel,\nwhom Herr Wilibald,--spite of the gout which sometimes forced a slight\ngrimace to distort his smooth-shaven, clever, almost over-plump\nface,--led by the arm like a careful son, resembled, with his long,\nsilver locks, a patriarch or an apostle.\n\nThe young envoy of the Council, Herr Lienhard Groland, lingered behind\nthe others and seemed to be taking a survey of the room.\n\nWhat bright, keen eyes he had; how delicately cut was the oval face with\nthe strong, very slightly hooked nose; how thick were the waving brown\nlocks that fell upon the slender neck; how well the pointed beard suited\nhis chin; with what austere majesty his head rose above the broad,\nplaited, snow-white ruff, which he must have just donned!\n\nNow his eyes rested upon the vagrants, and Dietel perceived something\nwhich threw him completely off his balance; for the first time he changed\nthe position of his napkin, jerking it from its place under his left arm\nto tuck it beneath the right one. He had known Kuni a long time. In her\nprosperous days, when she was the ornament of Loni's band and had\nattracted men as a ripe pear draws wasps, she had often been at the\ntavern, and both he and the landlord of The Pike had greeted her\ncordially, for whoever sought her favour was obliged to order the best\nand dearest of everything, not only for her and himself, but for a whole\ntableful of hungry guests. When she had met him just now he would never\nhave recognised her had she not been in Gundel's company. True, the sight\nof her in this plight was not unexpected, yet it pierced him to the\nheart, for Kuni had been a remarkable girl, and yet was now in far\ngreater penury than many of much less worth whom he had watched stumbling\nalong the downward path before her. When he saw Lienhard Groland's glance\nrest upon her, he noticed also how strangely her emaciated face changed\ncolour. Though it had just been as white as the napkin under his arm, it\nnow flushed as red as the balsam blossoms in the window, and then paled\nagain. She had formerly gazed around her boldly enough, but now she\nlowered her eyes to the floor as modestly as any demure maiden on her way\nto church.\n\nAnd what did this mean?\n\nThe honourable member of the Nuremberg Council must be well acquainted\nwith the girl, for his eyes had scarcely met hers ere a strange smile\nflitted over his grave, manly face.\n\nNow--was it in jest or earnest?--he even shook his finger at her. He\nstopped in front of her a moment, too, and Dietel heard him exclaim:\n\n\"So here you are! On the highway again, in spite of everything?\"\n\nThe distance which separated them and the loud talking of the guests\nprevented the waiter's hearing her reply, \"The captive bird can not\nendure the cage long, Herr Lienhard,\" far less the words, added in a\nlower tone:\n\n\"Yet flight has been over since my fall at Augsburg. My foot lies buried\nthere with many other things which will never return. I can only move on\nwheels behind the person who takes me.\" Then she paused and ventured to\nlook him full in the face. Her eyes met his beaming with a radiant light,\nbut directly after they were dimmed by a mist of tears. Yet she forced\nthem back, though the deep suffering from which they sprung was\ntouchingly apparent in the tone of her voice, as she continued:\n\n\"I have often wished, Herr Lienhard, that the cart was my coffin and the\ntavern the graveyard.\"\n\nDietel noticed the fit of coughing which followed this speech, and the\nhasty movement with which the Nuremberg patrician thrust his hand into\nhis purse and tossed Kuni three coins. They did not shine with the dull\nwhite lustre of silver, but with the yellow glitter of gold. The waiter's\neyes were sharp and he had his own ideas about this unprecedented\nliberality.\n\nThe travelling companions of the aristocratic burgomaster and ambassadors\nof the proud city of Nuremberg had also noticed this incident.\n\nAfter they had taken their seats at the handsomely ornamented table,\nWilibald Pirckheimer bent toward the ear of his young friend and\ncompanion in office, whispering:\n\n\"The lovely wife at home whom you toiled so hard to win, might, I know,\nrest quietly, secure in the possession of all the charms of foam-born\nAphrodite, yet I warn you. Whoever is as sure of himself as you cares\nlittle for the opinion of others. And yet we stand high, friend Lienhard,\nand therefore are seen by all; but the old Argus who watches for his\nneighbour's faults has a hundred sharp eyes, while among the gods three\nare blind--Justice, Happiness, and Love. Besides, you flung gold to\nyonder worthless rabble. I would rather have given it to the travelling\nmusicians. They, like us humanists, are allied to the Muses and,\nmoreover, are harmless, happy folk.\"\n\nLienhard Groland listened till his older friend had finished. Then, after\nthanking him for his well-meant counsel, he answered, turning to the\nothers also:\n\n\"In better days rope-dancing was the profession of yonder poor, coughing\ncreature. Now, after a severe accident, she is dragging herself through\nlife on one foot. I once knew her, for I succeeded in saving her from\nterrible disgrace.\"\n\n\"And,\" replied Wilibald Pirckheimer, \"we would rather show kindness a\nsecond and a third time to any one on whom we have be stowed a favour\nthan to render it once to a person from whom we have received one. This\nis my own experience. But the wise man must guard against nothing more\ncarefully than to exceed moderation in his charity. How easily, when\nCaius sees Cnejus lavish gold where silver or copper would serve, he\nthinks of Martial's apt words: 'Who gives great gifts, expects great\ngifts again.'--[Martial, Epigram 5, 59, 3.]--Do not misunderstand me.\nWhat could yonder poor thing bestow that would please even a groom? But\nthe eyes of suspicion scan even the past. I have often seen you open your\npurse, friend Lienhard, and this is right. Whoever hath ought to give,\nand my dead mother used to say that: 'No one ever became a beggar by\ngiving at the proper time.'\"\n\n\"And life is gladdened by what one gives to another,\" remarked Conrad\nPeutinger, the learned Augsburg city clerk, who valued his Padua title of\ndoctor more than that of an imperial councillor. \"It applies to all\ndepartments. Don't allow yourself to regret your generosity, friend\nLienhard. 'Nothing becomes man better than the pleasure of giving,' says\nTerentius.--[Terenz. Ad. 360]--Who is more liberal than the destiny which\nadorns the apple tree that is to bear a hundred fruits, with ten thousand\nblossoms to please our eyes ere it satisfies our appetite?\"\n\n\"To you, if to any one, it gives daily proof of liberality in both\nlearning and the affairs of life,\" Herr Wilibald assented.\n\n\"If you will substitute 'God, our Lord,' for 'destiny,' I agree with\nyou,\" observed the Abbot of St. AEgidius in Nuremberg.\n\nThe portly old prelate nodded cordially to Dr. Peutinger as he spoke. The\nwarm, human love with which he devoted himself to the care of souls in\nhis great parish consumed the lion's share of his time and strength. He\nspent only his leisure hours in the study of the ancient writers, in whom\nhe found pleasure, and rejoiced in the work of the humanists without\nsharing their opinions.\n\n\"Yes, my dear Doctor,\" he continued in his deep voice, in a tone of the\nmost earnest conviction, \"if envy were ever pardonable, he who presumed\nto feel it toward you might most speedily hope to find forgiveness. There\nis no physical or mental gift with which the Lord has not blessed you,\nand to fill the measure to overflowing, he permitted you to win a\nbeautiful and virtuous wife of noble lineage.\"\n\n\"And allowed glorious daughters to grow up in your famous home,\" cried\nlittle Dr. Eberbach, waving his wineglass enthusiastically. \"Who has not\nheard of Juliane Peutinger, the youngest of humanists, but no longer one\nof the least eminent, who, when a child only four years old, addressed\nthe Emperor Maximilian in excellent Latin. But when, as in the child\nJuliane, the wings of the intellect move so powerfully and so\nprematurely, who would not think of the words of the superb Ovid: 'The\nhuman mind gains victories more surely than lances and arrows.'\"\n\nBut, ere he had finished the verse which, like many another Latin one, he\nmingled with his German words, he noticed Lienhard Groland eagerly\nmotioning to him to stop. The latter knew only too well what had not yet\nreached the ears of Eberbach in Vienna. The marvellous child, whose\nprecocious learning he had just extolled as a noble gift of Providence to\nthe father, was no longer among the living. Her bright eyes had closed\nere she reached maidenhood.\n\nDr. Eberbach, in painful embarrassment, tried to apologize for his\nheedlessness, but the Augsburg city clerk, with a friendly gesture,\nendeavoured to soothe his young fellow-scholar.\n\n\"It brought the true nature of happiness very vividly before all our\neyes,\" he remarked with a faint sigh. \"In itself it is not lasting. A\nsecond piece of good fortune is needed to maintain the first. Mine was\nindeed great and beautiful enough. But we will let the dead rest. What\nmore have you heard concerning the first books of the Annales of Tacitus,\nsaid to have been discovered in the Corvey monastery? If the report\nshould be verified----\"\n\nHere Eberbach, delighted to find an opportunity to afford the honoured\nman whom he had unwittingly grieved a little pleasure, eagerly\ninterrupted. Hurriedly thrusting his hand into the breast of his black\ndoublet, he drew forth several small sheets on which he had succeeded in\ncopying the beginning of the precious new manuscript, and handed them to\nPeutinger, who, with ardent zeal, instantly became absorbed in the almost\nillegible characters of his young comrade in learning. Wilibald\nPirckheimer and Lienhard Groland also frequently forgot the fresh salmon\nand young partridges, which were served in succession, to share this\nbrilliant novelty. The Abbot of St. AEgidius, too, showed his pleasure in\nthe fortunate discovery, and did not grow quieter until the conversation\nturned upon the polemical writing which Reuchlin had just finished. It\nhad recently appeared in Frankfort under the title: The Eye Mirror, and\nassailed with crushing severity those who blamed him for opposing the\nproposal to destroy the books of the Jews.\n\n\"What in the world do we care about the writings of the Hebrews?\" the\ndeep bass voice of Hans von Obernitz here interrupted the conversation.\n\"A new Latin manuscript--that I value! But has this noble fragment of\nTacitus created half as much stir as this miserable dispute?\"\n\n\"There is more at stake,\" said Lienhard Groland positively. \"The Jewish\nwritings merely serve as a pretext for the Cologne inquisitors to attack\nthe great Reuchlin. He, the most profound and keenest student of the\nnoble Greek tongue, who also forced the venerable language in which the\nOld Testament speaks to discourse to us Germans--\"\n\n\"The Hebrew!\" cried Hans von Obernitz impatiently, passing his napkin\nover his thick moustache; \"what do we want of it? How can a sagacious man\nplunge into such annoyances on its account?\"\n\n\"Because the excess of liberty which you gentlemen grant to the human\nintellect blinds him,\" observed the abbot. \"His learning would throw the\ndoors wide open to heresy. The Scriptures are true. On them Tungern and\nKollin, whom you mention, rely. In the original Hebrew text they will be\ngiven up to every one who wishes to seek an interpretation----\"\n\n\"Then a new bridge will be built for truth,\" declared the little\nThuringian with flashing eyes.\n\n\"The Cologne theologians hold a different opinion,\" replied the abbot.\n\n\"Because the Grand Inquisitor and his followers--Tungern, Kollin, and\nwhatever the rest may be called--are concerned about some thing very\ndifferent from the noblest daughter of Heaven,\" said Lienhard Groland,\nand the other gentlemen assented. \"You yourself, my lord abbot, admitted\nto me on the ride here that it angered you, too, to see the Cologne\nDominicans pursue the noble scholar 'with such fierce hatred and bitter\nstings.'\"--[Virgil, Aeneid, xi. 837.]\n\n\"Because conflict between Christians always gives me pain,\" replied the\nabbot.\n\nBut here Dr. Eberbach impetuously broke in upon the conversation:\n\n\"For the sake of a fair woman Ilion suffered unspeakable tortures. But to\nus a single song of Homer is worth more than all these Hebrew writings.\nAnd yet a Trojan war of the intellect has been kindled concerning them.\nHere freedom of investigation, yonder with Hoogstraten and Tungern,\nfettering of the mind. Among us, the ardent yearning to hold aloft the\nnew light which the revival of learning is kindling, yonder superior\nforce is struggling to extinguish it. Here the rule of the thinking mind,\nin whose scales reason and counter-argument decide the matter; among the\nCologne people it is the Grand Inquisitor's jailers, chains, dungeons,\nand the stake.\"\n\n\"They will not go so far,\" replied the abbot soothingly. \"True, both the\nfront and the back stairs are open to the Dominicans in Rome.\"\n\n\"Yet where should humanism find more zealous friends than in that very\nplace, among the heads of the Church?\" asked Dr. Peutinger. \"From the\nTiber, I hope----\"\n\nHere he paused, for the new guest who had just entered the room attracted\nhis attention also. The landlord of The Blue Pike respectfully preceded\nhim and ushered him directly to the Nuremberg party, while he requested\nthe Dominican monks who accompanied him to wait.\n\nThe late arrival was Prof. Arnold von Tungern, dean of the theological\nfaculty at the University of Cologne. This gentleman had just been\nmentioned with the greatest aversion at the table he was now approaching,\nand his arrogant manner did little to lessen it.\n\nNevertheless, his position compelled the Nuremberg dignitaries to invite\nhim to share their meal, which was now drawing to a close. The Cologne\ntheologian accepted the courtesy with a patronizing gesture, as if it\nwere a matter of course. Nay, after he had taken his seat, he ordered the\nlandlord, as if he were the master, to see that this and that thing in\nthe kitchen was not forgotten.\n\nUnwelcome as his presence doubtless was to his table companions, as\nsympathizers with Reuchlin and other innovators, well as he doubtless\nremembered their scornful attacks upon his Latin--he was a man to\nmaintain his place. So, with boastful self-conceit, allowing no one else\nan opportunity to speak, he at once began to complain of the fatigues of\nthe journey and to mention, with tiresome detail, the eminent persons\nwhom he had met and who had treated him like a valued friend. The vein on\nthe little doctor's high forehead swelled with wrath as he listened to\nthis boastful chatter, which did not cease until the first dish was\nserved. To brave him, Eberbach turned the conversation to humanism, its\nredeeming power over minds, and its despicable foes. His scornful jests\nbuzzed around his enemy like a swarm of gnats; but Arnold von Tungern\npretended not to hear them. Only now and then a tremor of the mouth, as\nhe slowly chewed his food, or a slight raising of the eye-brows, betrayed\nthat one shaft or another had not wholly missed its mark.\n\nThe older gentlemen had sometimes interrupted the Thuringian, to try to\nchange the conversation, but always in vain, and the guest from Cologne\nvouchsafed them only curt, dry answers.\n\nNot until a pause occurred between two courses did von Tungern alter his\nmanner. Then, like an inquisitor who has succeeded in convicting the\nperson accused, he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied, long-drawn\n\"So-o,\" wiped his moist chin, and began:\n\n\"You have showed me your state of mind plainly enough, my young Herr\nDoctor. Your name is Eberbach, if I am not mistaken. We will remember it\nat a fitting opportunity. But, pugnaciously as your loud voice summons to\nthe strife, it will never destroy the sacred and venerable things which\nare worthy to endure. Thanks to the foundation of rock which supports\nthem, and the watchfulness of their defenders, they will stand firmer\nthan the walls of Jericho, whose fate you doubtless wish to bestow upon\nthem. But you, my valued friends\"--here he turned to the envoys--\"who\nstand at the head of communities whose greatness is founded upon their\nancient order and system, beware of opening your ears and your gates to\nthe siren song and fierce outcries of the innovators and agitators.\"\n\n\"Thanks for the counsel,\" replied Wilibald Pirckheimer, with repellent\ncoldness; but Arnold von Tungern pretended to consider the humanist's\nreply an assent, and, nodding approvingly, continued:\n\n\"How could you help exclaiming, with us and the pagan Ovid, 'We praise\nthe ancients!' And this is merely saying that what time has tested and\nmade venerable is the best.\"--[Ovid. Fast., 1, 225.]\n\nHere Doctor Peutinger tried to interrupt him, but the other cut him short\nwith an arrogant wave of the hand, and in an instructive tone began\nagain:\n\n\"The honourable Council of Nuremberg--so I am informed--set a\npraiseworthy example several years ago. There was a youthful member of\none of your patrician families--an Ebner, I believe, or a Stromer or\nTucher. He had imbibed in Padua mistaken ideas which, unhappily, are held\nin high esteem by many from whom we should expect more discernment. So it\nchanced that when he returned home he ventured to contract a formal\nbetrothal with an honourable maiden of noble lineage, against the\nexplicit desire of her distinguished parents. The rebellious youth was\ntherefore summoned before a court of justice, and, on account of his\nreckless offence and wanton violation of custom and law, banished from\nthe city and sentenced to pay a fine----\"\n\n\"A punishment which I endured calmly, Herr Professor,\" interrupted\nLienhard Groland, \"for I myself was that 'rebellious youth.' Besides, it\nwas by no means the teachings of humanism which led me to an act that\nyou, learned sir, doubtless regard with sterner eyes than the Christian\ncharity which your clerical garb made me expect would permit.\"\n\nThese words fell, with the winning earnestness peculiar to him, from the\nlips of the young man who, at a time when he cared for no other woman\nthan his new-made bride, had seen in the poor, endangered rope-dancer a\nhuman being worthy of aid. Only his fiery dark eyes met the professor's\nsternly enough.\n\nThe latter was still seeking a fitting reply, when the folding doors of\nthe room were thrown wide open, and a belated party of travellers\nentered. They came opportunely, for they afforded a timely excuse to\nwithhold an answer without attracting notice; yet at the head of the new\nguests of The Blue Pike was his Cologne colleague Conrad Kollin, who was\nfollowed, as he himself had been, by a number of Dominican friars.\n\nTungern, of course, went to greet him, and this made it easy to part from\nhis table companions in a manner that aroused no comment; for while\nKollin was surrounded and respectfully welcomed by the Dominican friars\nand many other travellers, the humanists left the house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nDietel did not lose sight of the envoys. After whispering together a\nshort time they had risen and gone out. At the door the Abbot of St.\nAEgidius left them to greet Professor Kollin, and, with the easy kindness\ncharacteristic of him, to say that the room had become too warm for the\nother gentlemen. They presented their compliments to the distinguished\ncitizen of Cologne, and placed their table at the service of the\nnewcomer.\n\nDietel's sharp ears had enabled him to catch these words; but then he was\nobliged to move again, a table had to be set outside the house for the\nNuremberg travellers and their companions, and jugs of wine must be\nfilled for them.\n\nThen he was called back to the taproom. While the landlord of The Pike\nwas serving a fresh meal to Professor Kollin at the table vacated by the\nNuremberg dignitaries, and Arnold von Tungern was emptying the full vials\nof his wrath upon the little doctor and the whole body of humanists, the\nNuremberg travellers and their guests were now conversing freely, as if\nrelieved from a nightmare, upon the topics which most deeply interested\nthem.\n\nDietel would far rather have served the Cologne theologians, whom he\nregarded as the appointed defenders of the true faith, than the\ninsignificant folk at the other tables who had just finished their meal.\n\nHow unmannerly their behaviour was! Better wine had been served before\ndessert, and they now shouted and sang so loudly and so out of tune that\nthe air played by the strolling musicians could scarcely be\ndistinguished. Many a table, too, groaned under blows from the clinched\nfist of some excited reveller. Every one seemed animated by a single\ndesire-to drink again and again.\n\nNow the last pieces of bread and the cloths were removed from the tables.\nThe carousers no longer needed Dietel. He could leave the task of filling\nthe jugs to his young assistants.\n\nWhat were the envoys outside doing? They were well off. In here the\natmosphere was stifling from the fumes emanating from the throng of\npeople, the wine, and the food. It seemed to draw all the flies from far\nand near. Whence did they come? They seemed to have increased by\nthousands since the early morning, when the room was empty. The outside\nair appeared delightful to breathe. He longed to fill his lungs again\nwith the pure wind of heaven, and at the same time catch a few words of\nthe conversation between the envoys to the Reichstag.\n\nSo Dietel hobbled to the open window, where the strollers were resting.\n\nCyriax was lying on the floor asleep, with the brandy bottle in his arms.\nTwo of his companions, with their mouths wide open, were snoring at his\nside. Raban, who begged for blood-money, was counting the copper coins\nwhich he had received. Red-haired Gitta was sewing another patch of cloth\nupon her rough husband's already well-mended jerkin by the dim light of a\nsmall lamp, into which she had put some fat and a bit of rag for a wick.\nIt was difficult to thread the needle. Had it not been for the yellow\nblaze of the pitchpans fastened to the wall with iron clamps, which had\nalready been burning an hour, she could scarcely have succeeded.\n\n\"Make room there,\" the waiter called to the vagrants, giving the sleeping\nJungel a push with his club foot. The latter grasped his crutch, as he\nhad formerly seized the sword he carried as a foot soldier ere he lost\nhis leg before Padua. Then, with a Spanish oath learned in the\nNetherlands, he turned over, still half asleep, on his side. So Dietel\nfound room, and, after vainly looking for Kuni among the others, gazed\nout at the starlit sky.\n\nYonder, in front of the house, beside the tall oleanders which grew in\nwine casks cut in halves instead of in tubs, the learned and aristocratic\ngentlemen sat around the table with outstretched heads, examining by the\nlight of the torches the pages which Dr. Eberbach drew forth, one after\nanother, from the inexhaustible folds of the front of his black robe.\n\nDietel, the schoolmaster's son, who had once sat on the bench with the\npupils of the Latin class, pricked up his cars; he heard foreign words\nwhich interested him like echoes of memories of his childhood. He did not\nunderstand them, yet he liked to listen, for they made him think of his\ndead father. He had always meant kindly, but he had been a morose, deeply\nembittered man. How pitilessly he had flogged him and the other boys with\nhazel rods. And he would have been still harsher and sterner but for his\nmother's intercession.\n\nA pleasant smile hovered around his lips as he remembered her. Instead of\ncontinuing to listen to the Greek sentences which Herr Wilibald\nPirckheimer was reading aloud to the others, he could not help thinking\nof the pious, gentle little woman who, with her cheerful kindness, so\nwell understood how to comfort and to sustain courage. She never railed\nor scolded; at the utmost she only wiped her eyes with her apron when the\nfarmers of his little native town in Hesse sent to the schoolmaster, for\nthe school tax, grain too bad for bread, hay too sour for the three\ngoats, and half-starved fowls.\n\nHe thoughtfully patted the plump abdomen which, thanks to the fleshpots\nof The Blue Pike, had grown so rotund in his fifteen years of service.\n\n\"It pays better to provide for people's bodies than for their brains,\" he\nsaid to himself. \"The Nuremberg and Augsburg gentlemen outside are rich\nfolk's children. For them learning is only the raisins, almonds, and\ncitron in the cake; knowledge agrees with them better than it did with my\nfather. He was the ninth child of respectable stocking weavers, but, as\nthe pastor perceived that he was gifted with special ability, his parents\ntook a portion of their savings to make him a scholar. The tuition fee\nand the boy were both confided to a Beanus--that is, an older pupil, who\nasserted that he understood Latin--in order that he might look after the\ninexperienced little fellow and help him out of school as well as in.\nBut, instead of using for his protigee the florins intrusted to him, the\nBeanus shamefully squandered the money saved for a beloved child by so\nmany sacrifices. While he feasted on roast meat and wine, the little boy\nplaced in his charge went hungry.\" Whenever, in after years, the old man\ndescribed this time of suffering, his son listened with clinched fists,\nand when Dietel saw a Beanus at The Blue Pike snatch the best pieces from\nthe child in his care, he interfered in his behalf sternly enough. Nay,\nhe probably brought to him from the kitchen, on his own account, a piece\nof roast meat or a sausage. Many of the names which fell from the moist\nlips of the gentlemen outside--Lucian and Virgil, Ovid and Seneca, Homer\nand Plato--were perfectly familiar to him. The words the little doctor\nwas reading must belong to their writings. How attentively the others\nlistened! Had not Dietel run away from the monks' school at Fulda he,\ntoo, might have enjoyed the witticisms of these sages, or even been\npermitted to sit at the same table with the great lights of the Church\nfrom Cologne.\n\nNow it was all over with studying.\n\nAnd yet--it could not be so very serious a matter, for Doctor Eberbach\nhad just read something aloud at which the young Nuremberg ambassador,\nLienhard Groland, could not help laughing heartily. It seemed to amuse\nthe others wonderfully, too, and even caused the astute Dr. Peutinger to\nstrike his clinched fist upon the table with the exclamation, \"A devil of\na fellow!\" and Wilibald Pirckheimer to assent eagerly, praising Hutten's\nardent love for his native land and courage in battling for its\nelevation; but this Hutten whom he so lauded was the ill-advised scion of\nthe knightly race that occupied Castle Steckelberg in his Hessian home,\nwhom he knew well. The state of his purse was evident from the fact that\nthe landlord of The Pike had once been obliged to detain him because he\ncould not pay the bill--though it was by no means large--in any other\ncoin than merry tales.\n\nBut even the best joke of the witty knight would have failed to produce\nits effect on the listening waiter just now; for the gentlemen outside\nwere again discussing the Reuchlin controversy, and in doing so uttered\nsuch odious words about the Cologne theologians, whom Dietel knew as\ngodly gentlemen who consumed an ample supply of food, that he grew hot\nand cold by turns. He was a good man who would not hurt a fly. Yet, when\nhe heard things and opinions which his mother had taught him to hold\nsacred assailed, he could become as angry as a savage brute. The little\nimpious blasphemer Eberbach, especially, he would have been more than\nready to lash with the best hazel rod which he had ever cut for his dead\nfather. But honest anger affords a certain degree of enjoyment, so it was\nanything rather than agreeable to him to be called away.\n\nThe feather curler and his table companions wanted Kitzing wine, but it\nwas in the cellar, and a trip there would have detained him too long from\nhis post of listener. So he turned angrily back into the room, and told\nthe business men that princes, bishops, and counts were satisfied with\nthe table wine of The Blue Pike, which had been already served to them,\nand the sceptre and crozier were of more importance than their twisted\nfeathers. \"Those are not the wisest people,\" he added sagely, \"who\ndespise what is good to try to get better. So stick to the excellent Blue\nPike wine and say no more about it!\"\n\nWithout waiting for an answer from the astonished guests, he limped back\nto his window to resume his listening. The conversation, however, had\nalready taken a new turn, for Dr. Peutinger was describing the Roman\nmonument which he had had put up in the courtyard of his Augsburg house,\nbut, as this interested Dietel very little, he soon turned his attention\nto the high road, whence a belated guest might still come to The Blue\nPike.\n\nThe landlady's little kitchen garden lay between it and the river Main,\nand there--no, it was no deception--there, behind the low hawthorn hedge,\na human figure was moving.\n\nOne of the vagabonds had certainly slipped into the garden to steal fruit\nor vegetables, or even honey from the bee hives. An unprecedented\noffence! Dietel's blood boiled, for the property of The Blue Pike was as\ndear to him as his own.\n\nWith prompt decision he went through the entry into the yard, where he\nmeant to unchain the butcher's dog to help him chase the abominable\nrobber. But some time was to elapse ere he could execute this\npraiseworthy intention; for before he could cross the threshold the\nlandlord of The Pike appeared, berated him, and ordered him to be more\ncivil in the performance of his duties. The words were intended less for\nthe waiter than for the feather dealer and his friends.\n\nThe latter had complained of Dietel to the landlord of The Pike, and,\nafter he had received a reproof, they punished him for his rudeness by\nordering him to fetch one jug of wine from the cellar after another. At\nlast, when, with many a malediction, he had brought up the fifth, his\ntormentors released him, but then the best time was lost. Nevertheless he\ncontinued the pursuit and entered the little garden with the dog, but the\nthief had fled.\n\nAfter assuring himself of this fact he stood still, rubbing his narrow\nforehead with the tips of his fingers.\n\nThe rogue was most probably one of the vagrants, and like a flash it\nentered his mind that the ropedancer, Kuni, who in her prosperous days,\ninstead of eating meat and vegetables, preferred to satisfy her appetite\nwith fruits and sweet dainties, might be the culprit. Besides, when he\nhad looked around among the guests just before, she was no longer with\nthe other vagabonds.\n\nCertain of having found the right trail, he instantly went to the window\nbelow which the strollers lay, thrust his head into the room from the\noutside, and waked the wife of the tongueless swearer. She had fallen\nasleep on the floor with the sewing in her hand. The terror with which\nshe started up at his call bore no favourable testimony to her good\nconscience, but she had already recovered her bold unconcern when he\nimperiously demanded to know what had become of lame Kuni.\n\n\"Ask the other travellers--the soldiers, the musicians, the monks, for\naught I care,\" was the scornful, irritating answer. But when Dietel\nangrily forbade such insolent mockery, she cried jeeringly:\n\n\"Do you think men don't care for her because she has lost her foot and\nhas that little cough? You ought to know better.\n\n\"Master Dieter has a sweetheart for every finger, though the lower part\nof his own body isn't quite as handsome as it might be.\"\n\n\"On account of my foot?\" the waiter answered spitefully. \"You'll soon\nfind that it knows how to chase. Besides, the Nuremberg city soldiers\nwill help me in the search. If you don't tell me at once where the girl\nwent--by St. Eoban, my patron----\"\n\nHere red-haired Gitta interrupted him in a totally different tone; she\nand her companions had nothing good to expect from the city soldiers.\n\nIn a very humble manner she protested that Kuni was an extraordinarily\ncharitable creature. In a cart standing in the meadow by the highroad lay\nthe widow of a beggar, Nickel; whom the peasants had hung on account of\nmany a swindling trick. A goose and some chickens had strayed off to his\npremises. The woman had just given birth to twins when Nickel was hung,\nand she was now in a violent fever, with frequent attacks of convulsions,\nand yet had to nurse the infants. The landlady of The Pike had sent her\nsome broth and a little milk for the children. As for Kuni, she had gone\nto carry some linen from her own scanty store to the two babies, who were\nas naked as little frogs. He would find her with the sick mother.\n\nAll this flowed from Gitta's lips with so much confidence that Dietel,\nwhose heart was easily touched by such a deed of charity, though he by no\nmeans put full confidence in her, allowed himself to be induced to let\nthe city soldiers alone for the present and test the truth of her strange\nstatement himself.\n\nSo he prepared to go in search of the cart, but the landlord of The Pike\nmet him at the door, and, angrily asking what ailed him that day, ordered\nhim to fetch the Erbach, more of which was wanted inside. Dietel went\ndown into the cellar again, but this time he was not to leave it so\nspeedily, for the apprentice of a Nuremberg master shoemaker, whose\nemployer was going to the Frankfort fair with his goods, and who made\ncommon cause with the feather dealer, stole after Dietel, and of his own\nvolition, for his own pleasure, locked him in. The good Kitzing wine had\nstrengthened his courage. Besides, experience taught him that an offence\nwould be more easily pardoned the more his master himself disliked the\nperson against whom it was committed.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Arrogant wave of the hand, and in an instructive tone\n     Honest anger affords a certain degree of enjoyment\n     Ovid, 'We praise the ancients'\n     Pays better to provide for people's bodies than for their brains\n     Who gives great gifts, expects great gifts again\n     Who watches for his neighbour's faults has a hundred sharp eyes\n\n\n\n\nIN THE BLUE PIKE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThe ropedancer, Kuni, really had been with the sick mother and her babes,\nand had toiled for them with the utmost diligence.\n\nThe unfortunate woman was in great distress.\n\nThe man who had promised to take her in his cart to her native village of\nSchweinfurt barely supported himself and his family by the tricks of his\ntrained poodles. He made them perform their very best feats in the\ntaverns, under the village lindens, and at the fairs. But the children\nwho gazed at the four-footed artists, though they never failed to give\nhearty applause, frequently paid in no other coin. He would gladly have\nhelped the unfortunate woman, but to maintain the wretched mother and her\ntwins imposed too heavy a burden upon the kind-hearted vagabond, and he\nhad withdrawn his aid.\n\nThen the ropedancer met her. True, she herself was in danger of being\nleft lying by the wayside; but she was alone, and the mother had her\nchildren. These were two budding hopes, while she had nothing more to\nexpect save the end--the sooner the better. There could be no new\nhappiness for her.\n\nAnd yet, to have found some one who was even more needy than she, lifted\nher out of herself, and to have power to be and do something in her\nbehalf pleased her, nay, even roused an emotion akin to that which, in\nbetter days, she had felt over a piece of good fortune which others\nenvied. Perhaps she herself might be destined to die on the highway,\nwithout consolation, the very next day; but she could save this unhappy\nwoman from it, and render her end easier. Oh, how rich Lienhard's gold\ncoins made her! Yet if, instead of three, there had been as many dozens,\nshe would have placed the larger portion in the twins' pillows. How it\nmust soothe their mother's heart! Each one was a defence against hunger\nand want. Besides, the gold had been fairly burning her hand. It came\nfrom Lienhard. Had it not been for Cyriax and the crowd of people in the\nroom, she would have made him take it back--she alone knew why.\n\nHow did this happen?\n\nWhy did every fibre of her being rebel against receiving even the\nsmallest trifle from the man to whom she would gladly have given the\nwhole world? Why, after she had summoned up courage and approached\nLienhard to restore his gift, had she felt such keen resentment and\nbitter suffering when the landlord of The Blue Pike stopped her?\n\nAs she now seized his gold, it seemed as though she saw Lienhard before\nher. She had already told Cyriax how she met the aristocratic Nuremberg\npatrician, a member of the ancient and noble Groland family, whom his\nnative city had now made an ambassador so young. But what secretly bound\nher to him had never passed her lips.\n\nOnce in her life she had felt something which placed her upon an equal\nfooting with the best and purest of her sex--a great love for one from\nwhom she asked nothing, nothing at all, save to be permitted to think of\nhim and to sacrifice everything, everything for him--even life. So\nstrange had been the course of this love, that people would have doubted\nher sanity or her truthfulness had she described it to them.\n\nWhile standing before St. Sebald's church in Nuremberg, the vision of the\nyoung Councillor's bride at first made a far stronger impression upon her\nmind than his own. Then her gaze rested on Lienhard. As he had chosen the\nfairest of women, the bride had also selected the tallest, most stately,\nand certainly the best and wisest of men. During her imprisonment the\nimage of this rare couple had been constantly before her. Not until,\nthrough the young husband's intercession, she had regained her liberty,\nafter he prevented her kissing his hand and, to soothe her, had stroked\nher hair and cheeks in the magistrate's room, did the most ardent\ngratitude take possession of her soul. From this emotion, which filled\nheart and mind, a glowing wealth of other feelings had blossomed like\nbuds upon a rosebush. Everything in her nature had attracted her toward\nhim, and the desire to devote herself to him, body and soul, shed the\nlast drop of blood in her heart for him, completely ruled her. His image\nrose before her day and night, sometimes alone, sometimes with his\nbeautiful bride. Not only to him, but to her also she would joyfully have\nrendered the most menial service, merely to be near them and to be\npermitted to show that the desire to prove her gratitude had become the\nobject of her life.\n\nWhen, with good counsel for the future, he dismissed her from the chief\nmagistrate's room, he had asked her where she was to be found in case he\nshould have anything to say to her. It seemed as though, from mingled\nalarm and joy, her heart would stop beating. If her lodgings, instead of\nan insignificant tavern, had been her own palace, she would gladly have\nopened all its gates to him, yet a feverish thrill ran through her limbs\nat the thought that he might seek her among her vagabond companions, and\nask in return for his kindness what he would never have presumed to seek\nhad she been the child of reputable parents, yet which, with mingled\nanger and happiness, she resolved not to refuse.\n\nDuring the day and the night when she expected his visit, she had become\naware that she, who had never cared for any man save for the gifts he\nbestowed, was fired with love for Lienhard. Such ardent yearning could\ntorture only a loving heart, yet what she felt was very unlike the love\nwith which she was familiar in songs, and had seen in other girls; for\nshe by no means thought with jealous rancour of the woman to whom he\nbelonged, body and soul--his beautiful wife. It rather seemed to her that\nshe was his, and he would no longer be the same if he were separated from\nher, nay, as if her very love was hers also. When she heard a noise\noutside of her little room she started, and eagerly as she yearned to see\nhim, blissful as she thought it must be to sink upon his breast and offer\nhim her lips to kiss, the bold ropedancer, who never cared for the\nopinions of others, could not shake off, even for a moment, the fear of\nwronging the fair wife who had a better right to him. Instead of hating\nher, or even wishing to share the heart of the man she loved with his\nbride, she shrank from the approaching necessity of clouding her young\nhappiness as though it were the direst misfortune. Yet she felt that its\nprevention lay, not in her own hands, but in those of Fate. Should it\nplease Destiny to lead Lienhard to her and inspire him with a desire for\nher love, all resistance, she knew, would be futile. So she began to\nrepeat several paternosters that he might remain away from her. But her\nyearning was so great that she soon desisted, and again and again went to\nthe window with a fervent wish that he might come.\n\nIn the terrible tumult of her heart she had forgotten to eat or to drink\nsince early morning, and at last, in the afternoon, some one knocked at\nthe door, and the landlady called her.\n\nWhile she was hurriedly smoothing her thick black hair and straightening\nher best gown, which she had put on for him in the morning, she heard the\nhostess say that Herr Groland of the Council was waiting for her\ndownstairs. Every drop of blood left her glowing cheeks, and the knees\nwhich never trembled on the rope shook as she descended the narrow steps.\n\nHe came forward to meet her in the entry, holding out his hand with\nopen-hearted frankness. How handsome and how good he was! No one wore\nthat look who desired aught which must be hidden under the veil of\ndarkness. Ere her excited blood had time to cool, he had beckoned to her\nto follow him into the street, where a sedan chair was standing.\n\nAn elderly lady of dignified bearing looked out and met her eyes with a\npleasant glance. It was Frau Sophia, the widow of Herr Conrad Schurstab\nof the Council, one of the richest and most aristocratic noblewomen in\nthe city. Lienhard had told her about the charming prisoner who had been\nreleased and begged her to help him bring her back to a respectable and\norderly life. The lady needed an assistant who, now that it was hard for\nher to stoop, would inspect the linen closets, manage the poultry\nyard-her pride--and keep an eye on the children when they came to visit\ntheir grandmother. So she instantly accompanied Lienhard to the tavern,\nand Kuni pleased her. But it would have been difficult not to feel some\ndegree of sympathy for the charming young creature who, in great\nembarrassment, yet joyously as though released from a heavy burden,\nraised her large blue eyes to the kind stranger.\n\nIt was cold in the street, and as Kuni had come out without any wrap,\nFrau Schurstab, in her friendly consideration, shortened the, conference.\nLienhard Uroland had helped her with a few words, and when the sedan\nchair and the young Councillor moved down the street all the necessary\ndetails were settled. The vagrant had bound herself and assumed duties,\nthough they were very light ones. She was to move that evening into the\ndistinguished widow's house, not as a servant, but as the old lady's\nassistant.\n\nLoni, the manager of the company of rope-dancers, had watched the\nnegotiations from the taproom. During their progress each of the three\nwindows was filled with heads, but no one had been able to hear what was\nwhispered in the street. Just as the curious spectators were hoping that\nnow they might perhaps guess what the aristocratic lady wanted with Kuni,\nthe sedan chair began to move, and the young girl entered the hot room to\ntell Loni that she would leave the company that day forever.\n\n\"In-de-e-ed?\" Loni asked in astonishment, lifting the gold circlet which\nrested on his head. Then he passed his hand through the coal-black hair\nwhich, parted in the middle, fell in smooth strands upon his neck, and\nexerted all his powers of persuasion to convince her of the folly of her\nplan. After his arguments were exhausted he raised his voice louder. As\nusual, when excited by anger, he swung his lower right arm to and fro,\nfeeling the prominent muscles with his left hand. But Kuni remained\nresolute, and when he at last perceived that his opposition only\nincreased her obstinacy, he exclaimed:\n\n\"Then rush on to your destruction! The day will come when you will see\nwhere you belong. If only it doesn't arrive too late. A man grows twelve\nand a woman thirty-six months older every year.\"\n\nWith these words he turned his back upon her, and the clown brought the\namount of wages which was due.\n\nMany an eye grew dim with tears when Kuni bade farewell to her\ncompanions. Shortly after sunset she was welcomed to Frau Schurstab's\nhouse.\n\nThe first greeting was friendly, and she received nothing but kindness\nand indulgent treatment afterward. She had a sunny chamber of her own,\nand how large and soft her bed was! But while, when on the road with\nLoni's band, if they could reach no town, she had often slept soundly and\nsweetly on a heap of straw, here she spent one restless night after\nanother.\n\nDuring the first a series of questions disturbed her slumber. Was it\nreally only the desire to take her from her vagabond life which had\ninduced Lienhard to open this house to her? Did he not perhaps also\ncherish the wish to keep her near him? He had certainly come to her with\nFrau Schurstab to protect her reputation. Had it not been so he might\nhave left the matron at home; for Loni and everybody in the company knew\nthat she never troubled herself about gossip. Last year she had obtained\na leave of absence from Loni, who was making a tour of the little Frank\ntowns, and spent the carnival season in revelry with a sergeant of the\nNurembreg soldiers. When the booty he had gained in Italy was squandered,\nshe gave him his dismissal. Her reputation among her companions was\nneither better nor worse than that of the other strolling players who,\nlike her, were born on the highway, yet she was glad that Lienhard had\ntried to spare her. Or had he only come with the old noblewoman on\naccount of his own fair name?\n\nPerhaps--her pulses again throbbed faster at the thought--he had not\nventured to come alone because some feeling for her stirred in his own\nheart, and, spite of his beautiful young wife, he did not feel safe from\nher. Then Fran Schurstab was to serve as a shield. This conjecture\nflattered her vanity and reconciled her to the step which she had taken\nand already began to regret.\n\nBut suppose he really felt no more for her than the forester who finds a\nchild lost in the woods, and guides it into the right path? How would she\nendure that? Yet, were it otherwise, if he was like the rest of men, if\nhe profited by what her whole manner must betray to him, how should she\nface his wife, who undoubtedly would soon come to call on her aunt?\n\nAll these questions roused a tumult of unprecedented violence in her\nyoung, ardent, inexperienced soul, which was renewed each successive\nnight. It became more and more difficult for her to understand why she\nhad left Loni's band and entered into relations for which she was not\nsuited, and in which she could never, never be at ease or feel happy.\n\nNothing was lacking in this wealthy household, not even kindness and\nlove. Frau Sophia was indulgent and friendly, even when Kuni, whose heart\nand brain were occupied with so many other thoughts, neglected or forgot\nanything. The matron's grandchildren, of whom she often had charge, soon\nbecame warmly attached to her. While among the rope-dancers she had been\nfond of children, and many a little one who journeyed with the band held\nout its arms to her more joyously than to its own mother. There was\nsomething in her nature that attracted them. Besides, her skilful hands\ncould show them many a rare trick, and she could sing numerous songs new\nto the Schurstab boys and girls, which she had picked up here and there.\nThen, too, she permitted many a prank which no one else would have\nallowed. Her duties connected with the household linen and the poultry\nyard, its owner's pride, were so easily performed, that in her leisure\nhours she often voluntarily helped the housekeeper. At first the latter\neyed her askance, but she soon won her affection. Both she and her\nmistress showed her as much attention as the gardener bestows upon a wild\nplant which he has transferred to good soil, where it thrives under his\ncare.\n\nShe kept aloof from the servants, and neither man nor maid molested her.\nPerhaps this was due to foolish arrogance, for after they had learned\nfrom rumour that Kuni had danced on the tight rope, they considered\nthemselves far superior. The younger maids timidly kept out of her way,\nand Kuni surpassed them in pride and looked down upon them, because her\nfree artist blood rebelled against placing herself on the plane of a\nservitor. She did not vouchsafe them a word, yet neither did she allow\nany of them to render her even the most trivial service. But she could\nnot escape Seifried, the equerry of her mistress's eldest son. At first,\naccording to her custom, she had roused the handsome fellow's hopes by\nfiery glances which she could not restrain. Now he felt that she cared\nfor him, and in his honest fashion offered to make her his beloved wife;\nbut she refused his suit, at first kindly, then angrily. As he still\npersisted she begged the housekeeper, though she saw that matchmaking was\nher delight, to keep him away.\n\nEven in March Frau Sophia thanked Lienhard for the new inmate of her\nhousehold, who far exceeded her expectations. In April her praise became\nstill warmer, only she regretted that Kuni's pretty face was losing its\nfresh colour and her well-formed figure its roundness. She was sorry,\ntoo, that she so often seemed lost in thought, and appeared less merry\nwhile playing with the children.\n\nLienhard and his young wife excused the girl's manner. Comfortable as she\nwas now, she was still a prisoned bird. It would be unnatural, nay,\nsuspicious, if she did not sometimes long for the old freedom and her\nformer companions. She would also remember at times the applause of the\nmultitude. The well-known Loni, her former employer, had besought him to\nwin her back to his company, complaining loudly of her loss, because it\nwas difficult to replace her with an equally skilful young artist. It was\nnow evident how mistaken the juggler had been when he asserted that Kuni,\nwho was born among vagrants, would never live in a respectable family.\nHe, Lienhard, had great pleasure in knowing that the girl, on the road to\nruin, had been saved by Frau Sophia's goodness.\n\nLienhard's father had died shortly after Kuni entered her new home. Every\nimpulse to love dalliance, she felt, must shrink before this great\nsorrow. The idea sustained her hopes. She could not expect him to seek\nher again until the first bitterness of grief for the loss of this\nbeloved relative had passed away. She could wait, and she succeeded in\ndoing so patiently.\n\nBut week after week went by and there was no change in his conduct. Then\na great anxiety overpowered her, and this did not escape his notice; for\none day, while his young wife hung on his arm and added a few brief words\nof sympathy, he asked Kuni if she was ill or if she needed anything; but\nshe answered curtly in the negative and hurried into the garden, where\nthe children, with merry shouts, were helping the gardener to free the\nbeds of crocuses and budding tulips from the pine boughs which had\nprotected them from the frosts of winter.\n\nAnother sleepless night followed this incident. It was useless to deceive\nherself. She might as well mistake black for white as to believe that\nLienhard cared for her. To no one save his fair young wife would he grant\neven the smallest ray of the love of which he was doubtless capable, and\nin which she beheld the sun that dispensed life and light. She had\nlearned this, for he had often met her in Frau Sophia's house since his\nfather's funeral. The child of the highway had never been taught to\nconceal her feelings and maintain timid reserve. Her eyes had told him\neloquently enough, first her deep sympathy, and afterward the emotions\nwhich so passionately stirred her heart. Had the feelings which her\nglances were intended to reveal passed merely for the ardent gratitude of\nan impassioned soul?\n\nGratitude! For what?\n\nHis lukewarm interest had tempted her from a free, gay life, full of\nconstant excitement, into the oppressive, wearisome monotony of this\nquiet house, where she was dying of ennui. How narrow, how petty, how\ntiresome everything seemed, and what she had bartered for it was the\nworld, the whole wide, wide world. As the chicken lured the fox, the hope\nof satisfying the fervent longing of her heart, though even once and for\na few brief moments, had brought her into the snare. But the fire which\nburned within had not been extinguished. An icy wind had fanned the\nflames till they blazed higher and higher, threatening her destruction.\n\nFrau Schurstab had made her attend church and go to the confessional. But\nthe mass, whose meaning she did not understand, offered no solace to the\nsoul which yearned for love alone. Besides, it wearied her to remain so\nlong in the same place, and the confession forced the girl, who had never\nshrunk from honestly expressing what she felt, into deception. The priest\nto whom she was taken was a frequent visitor at the Schurstab house, and\nshe would have died ere she would have confided to him the secret of her\nheart. Besides, to her the feeling which animated her was no sin. She had\nnot summoned it. It had taken possession of her against her will and\nharmed no one except herself, not even the wife who was so sure of her\nhusband. How could she have presumed to dispute with her the possession\nof Herr Lienhard's love? Yet it seemed an insult that Frau Katharina had\nno fear that she could menace her happiness. Could the former know that\nKuni would have been content with so little--a tender impulse of his\nheart, a kiss, a hasty embrace? That would do the other no injury. In the\ncircles whence she had been brought no one grudged another such things.\nHow little, she thought, would have been taken from the wealthy Katharina\nby the trifling gift which would have restored to her happiness and\npeace. The fact that Lienhard, though he never failed to notice her,\nwould not understand, and always maintained the same pleasant,\naristocratic reserve of manner, she sometimes attributed to fear,\nsometimes to cruelty, sometimes to arrogance; she would not believe that\nhe saw in her only a person otherwise indifferent to him, whom he wished\nto accustom to the mode of life which he and his friends believed to be\nthe right path, pleasing in the sight of God. Love, feminine vanity, the\nneed of approval, her own pride--all opposed this view.\n\nWhen the last snow of winter had melted, and the spring sunshine of April\nwas unfolding the green leafage and opening bright flowers in the\nmeadows, the hedges, the woods, and the gardens, she found the new home\nwhich she had entered during the frosts of February, and whose solid\nwalls excluded every breath of air, more and more unendurable. A gnawing\nfeeling of homesickness for the free out-of-door life, the wandering from\nplace to place, the careless, untrammelled people to whom she belonged,\ntook possession of her. She felt as though everything which surrounded\nher was too small, the house, the apartments, her own chamber, nay, her\nvery clothing. Only the hope of the first token that Lienhard was not so\ncold and unconquerable as he seemed, that she would at last constrain him\nto pass the barrier which separated them, still detained her.\n\nThen came the day when, to avoid answering his question whether she\nneeded anything, she had gone into the garden. Before reaching the\nchildren, who were playing among the crocuses and tulips, she had said to\nherself that she must leave this house--it was foolish, nay mad, to\ncontinue to cherish the hope which had brought her hither. She would\nsuffer keenly in tearing it from her heart, but a wild delight seized her\nat the thought that this imprisonment would soon be over, that she would\nbe free once more, entirely her own mistress, released from every\nrestraint and consideration. How rapturous was the idea that she would\nsoon be roving through the fields and woods again with gay, reckless\ncompanions! Was there anything more pleasurable than to forget herself,\nand devote her whole soul to the execution of some difficult and\ndangerous feat, to attract a thousand eyes by her bewitching grace, and,\nsustained by her enthusiasm, force a thousand hearts to throb anxiously\nand give loud applause as she flew over the rope?\n\nNever had the children seen her more extravagantly gay than after her\nresolve to leave them. Yet when, at a late hour, Kuni went to bed, the\nold housekeeper heard her weeping so piteously in her chamber that she\nrose to ask what had happened. But the girl did not even open her door,\nand declared that she had probably had the nightmare.\n\nDuring the next few days she sometimes appeared more cheerful and docile,\nsometimes more dull and troubled than her household companions had ever\nseen her. Frau Schurstab shook her head over her protegee's varying\nmoods. But when the month of May began, and Lienhard told his aunt that\nLoni, who had only remained in Nuremberg during Lent to spend the time\nwhen all public performances were prohibited, had applied to the Council\nfor permission to give exhibitions with his company Easter week in the\nHaller Meadows, the matron was troubled about her protegee's peace of\nmind. Her nephew had had the same thought, and advised her to move to her\ncountry estate, that Kuni might see and hear nothing of the jugglers; but\nshe had noticed the clown with other members of the company, as they\npassed through the streets on foot and mounted on horses and donkeys,\ninviting the people, with blare of trumpets and beating of drums, to\nwitness the wonderful feats which Loni's famous band of artists would\nperform.\n\nThen Kuni packed her bundle. But when she heard the next morning that,\nbefore going to the country, Frau Schurstab would attend the christening\nof her youngest grandson, and spend the whole day with the daughter who\nwas the little boy's mother, she untied it.\n\nOne sunny May morning she was left alone, as she had expected. She could\nnot be invited to the ceremony with the other guests, and she would not\njoin the servants. The housekeeper and most of the men and maids had\naccompanied their mistress to help in the kitchen and to wait upon the\nvisitors. Deep silence reigned throughout the great empty house, but\nKuni's heart had never throbbed so loudly. If Lienhard came now, her fate\nwould be decided, and she knew that he must come. Just before noon, he\nreally did rap with the knocker on the outer door. He wanted the\nchristening gift, which Frau Schurstab had forgotten to take for the\ninfant. The money was in the chest in the matron's room. Kuni led the\nway. The house seemed to reel around her as she went up the stairs behind\nhim. The next moment, she felt, must decide her destiny.\n\nNow he laid his hand upon the doorknob, now he opened the door. The\nwidow's chamber was before her. Thick silk curtains shut out the bright\nMay sunshine from the quiet room. How warm and pleasant it was!\n\nShe already saw herself in imagination kneeling by his side before the\nchest to help him search. While doing so, his fingers might touch hers,\nperhaps her hair might brush against his. But, instead of entering, he\nturned to her with careless unconcern, saying:\n\n\"It is fortunate that I have found you alone. Will you do me a favour,\ngirl?\"\n\nHe had intended to ask her to help him prepare a surprise for his aunt.\nThe day after to-morrow was Frau Sophia Schurstab's birthday. Early in\nthe morning she must find among her feathered favourites a pair of rare\nIndia fowls, which he had received from Venice.\n\nAs Kuni did not instantly assent, because the wild tumult of her blood\nparalyzed her tongue, he noticed her confusion, and in an encouraging\ntone, gaily continued:\n\n\"What I have to ask is not too difficult.\" As he spoke he passed his hand\nkindly over her dark hair, just as he had done a few months before in the\nTown Hall.\n\nThen the blood mounted to her brain. Clasping his right hand, beneath\nwhose touch she had just trembled, in both her own, she passionately\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Ask whatever you desire. If you wanted to trample my heart under your\nfeet, I would not stir.\"\n\nA look of ardent love from her sparkling blue eyes accompanied the words;\nbut he had withdrawn his hand in astonishment, and raised a lofty barrier\nbetween them by answering coldly and sternly, \"Keep the heart and your\ndainty self for the equerry Seifried who is an honest man.\"\n\nThe advice, and the lofty austerity with which it was given, pierced Kuni\nlike the thrust of a dagger. Yet she succeeded controlling herself, and,\nwithout a word reply, preceded the harsh man into the sleeping room and\nsilently, tearlessly, pointed the chest. When he had taken out the money,\nshe bowed hastily and ran down the stairs.\n\nProbably she heard him call her name more than three times; doubtless,\nafterward she fancied that she remembered how his voice had sounded in\nbeseeching, tender, at last even imperious tones through the empty\ncorridors; but she did not turn, and hurried into her room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nWhen, on the evening of the christening day, Lienhard accompanied his\naunt home, Kuni was nowhere to be found. Frau Sophia discovered in her\nchamber every article of clothing which she had obtained for her, even\nthe beaver cap, the prayer-book, and the rosary which she had given. The\nyoung burgomaster, at her request, went to the manager of the\nrope-dancers, Loni, the next morning, but the latter asserted that he\nknew nothing about the girl. The truth was that he had sent her to\nWurzburg with part of his company.\n\nFrom that time she had remained with the ropedancers. At first the master\nhad watched her carefully, that she might not run away again. But he soon\nperceived this to be unnecessary; for he had never found any member of\nthe company more zealous, or seen one make more progress in the art. Now\nthe only point was to keep her out of the way of other rope-dancers,\nEnglish proprietors of circus companies, as well as the numerous knights\nand gentlemen who tried to take her from him. Her name had become famous.\nWhen the crier proclaimed that the \"flying maiden\" would ascend the rope\nto the steeple, Loni was sure of a great crowd of spectators. Among her\nown profession she had obtained the nickname of crazy Kuni.\n\nYet even at that time, and in the midst of the freest intercourse with\nGerman, Spanish, and other officers in Flanders and Brabant, young\nknights and light-hearted priests on the Rhine, the Main, the Danube, the\nWeser, and the Elbe, whose purses the pretty, vivacious girl, with the\nshining raven hair and bright blue eyes, the mistress of her art, seemed\nto their owners worthy to empty, she had by no means forgotten Lienhard.\nThis wrought mischief to many a gay gentleman of aristocratic lineage in\nthe great imperial and commercial cities; for it afforded Kuni special\npleasure to try her power upon Lienhard's equals in rank. When she went\non with the company, more than one patrician had good reason to remember\nher with regret; for she, who shared the lion's portion of her earnings\nwith her companions or flung it to the poor, was insatiably avaricious\ntoward these admirers.\n\nThe weaker she found many of them, the higher, in her opinion, rose the\nimage of him who had made her feel his manly strength of resistance so\ncruelly. His stern, inexorable nature seemed to her worthy of hate, yet\nfor three whole years the longing for him scarcely left her heart at\npeace an hour.\n\nDuring this whole period she had not met him. Not until after she had\ncome to Augsburg, where Loni's company was to give several performances\nbefore the assembled Reichstag, did she see him again. Once she even\nsucceeded in attracting his gaze, and this was done in a way which\nafforded her great satisfaction. His beautiful wife, clad in costly\nvelvet robes, was walking by his side with eyes decorously downcast; but\nhe had surely recognised her--there was no doubt of that. Yet he omitted\nto inform his wife, even by a look, whom he had met here. Kuni watched\nthe proud couple a long time, and, with the keen insight of a loving\nheart, told herself that he would have pointed her out to Frau Katharina,\nif he did not remember her in some way--either in kindness or in anger.\n\nThis little discovery had sufficed to transfigure, as it were, the rest\nof the day, and awaken a throng of new hopes and questions.\n\nEven now she did not desire to win Frau Katharina's husband from her. She\nfreely acknowledged that the other's beauty was tenfold greater than her\nown; but whether the gifts of love which the woman with the cloudless,\naristocratic composure could offer to her husband were not like the\nbeggar's pence, compared with the overflowing treasure of ardent passion\nwhich she cherished for Lienhard, was a question to which she believed\nthere could be but a single answer. Was this lady, restricted by a\nthousand petty scruples, as well as by her stiff, heavy gala robes, a\ngenuine woman at all? Ah! if he would only for once cast aside the\nfoolish considerations which prevented him also from being a genuine man,\nclasp her, whom he knew was his own, in his arms, and hold her as long as\nhe desired, he should learn what a strong, free, fearless woman, whose\npliant limbs were as unfettered as her heart, could bestow upon him to\nwhom she gave all the love that she possessed! And he must want something\nof her which was to be concealed from the wife. She could not be\nmistaken. She had never been deceived in a presentiment that was so\npositive. Ever since she reached Augsburg, an inner voice had told\nher--and old Brigitta's cards confirmed it--that the destiny of her life\nwould be decided here, and he alone held her weal and woe in his hand.\n\nYet she had misinterpreted his conduct to his wife. In spite of the\nfinery which Kuni owed to the generosity of the Knight of Neckerfels, who\nwas then a suitor for her favour, Lienhard had recognised her. The sight\nrecalled their last meeting and its painful termination, and therefore he\nhad omitted to attract Frau Katharina's attention to her immediately.\nBut, ere Kuni disappeared, he had repaired the oversight, and both\ndesired to ascertain the fate of their former charge. True, the wish\ncould not be instantly fulfilled, for Lienhard's time and strength were\nwholly claimed by the mission intrusted to him by the Emperor and the\nCouncil.\n\nThe next afternoon Kuni ascended the rope to the steeple in the presence\nof many princes and dignitaries. Firmly as ever she moved along the rope\nstretched through the wooden stay behind her, holding the balancing pole\nas she went. The clapping of hands and shouts of applause with which the\ncrowd greeted \"the flying maiden\" led her to kiss her hand to the right\nand the left, and bow to the stand which had been erected for the crowned\nheads, counts, nobles, and their wives. In doing so, she looked down at\nthe aristocratic spectators to ascertain whether the Emperor and one\nother were among them. In spite of the height of the topmost window of\nthe steeple where she stood, her keen eyes showed her that Maximilian's\nseat was still vacant. As it was hung with purple draperies and richly\ngarlanded, the monarch was evidently expected. This pleased her, and her\nheart throbbed faster as she saw on the stand all the nobles who were\nentitled to admittance to the lists of a tournament, and, in the front\nrow, the man whose presence she most desired. At Lienhard's right sat his\ndazzlingly beautiful wife, adorned with plumes and the most superb gold\nornaments; at his left was a maiden of extremely peculiar charm.\nAccording to years she was still a child, but her delicate, mobile\nfeatures had a mature expression, which sometimes gave her a precocious\nair of superiority. The cut of her white robe and the little laurel\nwreath on her brown curls reminded Kuni of the pagan Genius on an ancient\nwork of marble which she had seen in Verona. Neither the girl's age nor\nher light, airy costume harmonized with her surroundings; for the maids\nand matrons near her were all far beyond childhood, and wore the richest\nholiday costumes of heavy brocades and velvets. The huge puffs on the\nupper part of the sleeves touched the cheeks of many of the wearers, and\nthe lace ruffs on the stiff collars rendered it easy, it is true, to\nmaintain their aristocratic, haughty dignity, but prevented any free,\nswift movement.\n\nThe young girl who, as Kuni afterward learned, was the daughter of Conrad\nPeutinger, of Augsburg, whom she had again seen that day in The Blue\nPike, was then eleven years old. She was sometimes thought to be fifteen\nor even sixteen; her mobile face did not retain the same expression a\nsingle instant. When the smile which gave her a childlike appearance\nvanished, and any earnest feeling stirred her soul, she really resembled\na mature maiden. What a brilliant, versatile intellect must animate this\nremarkable creature! Lienhard, shrewd and highly educated as he was,\nseemed to be completely absorbed in his neighbour; nay, in his animated\nconversation with her he entirely forgot the beautiful wife at his side;\nat least, while Kuni looked down at him, he did not bestow a single\nglance upon her. Now he shook his finger mischievously at the child, but\nhe seemed to be seeking, in mingled amusement and perplexity, to find a\nfitting answer. And how brightly Lienhard's eyes sparkled as he fairly\nhung upon the sweet red lips of the little marvel at his left--the heart\nside! A few minutes had sufficed to show the ropedancer all this, and\nsuggest the question whether it was possible that the most faithful of\nhusbands would thus basely neglect, for the sake of a child, the young\nwife whom he had won in spite of the hardest obstacles, on whose account\nhe had so coldly and cruelly rejected her, the object of so much wooing,\nand who, this very day, was the fairest of all the beautiful ladies who\nsurrounded her.\n\nIn an instant her active mind transported her to the soul of the hitherto\nfavoured wife of the man whom she loved, and her strangely constituted\nwoman's heart filled with resentment against the young creature below,\nwho had not even attained womanhood, and yet seemed to gain, without\neffort, the prize for which she had vainly striven with painful longing.\n\nShe, whose heart had remained free from jealousy of the woman who stood\nbetween her and the man she loved, like a solid bulwark erected by Fate\nitself, was now suddenly overmastered by this passion.\n\nYet she did not turn against the person to whom Lienhard belonged, as he\ndid to the city, or to his own family, and who was united to him by the\nwill of Heaven, but against the mysterious young creature at his side,\nwho changed with every passing moment.\n\nThis child--no, this maiden--must be a being of some special nature. Like\nthe sirens of whom she had heard, she possessed the mysterious, enviable\npower of conquering the iron resistance of even the strongest man.\n\nLike a flash of lightning, Kuni, whose kind heart cherished resentment\nagainst few and wished no one any evil, suddenly felt an ardent desire to\ndrive the little witch from Lienhard's side, even by force, if necessary.\nHad she held a thunderbolt instead of a balance pole, she would gladly\nhave struck down the treacherous child from her height--not only because\nthis enchantress had so quickly won that for which she had vainly\nyearned, alas! how long, but because it pierced her very heart to see\nFrau Katharina's happiness clouded, nay, perhaps destroyed. A bitterness\nusually alien to her light, gay nature had taken possession of her, as,\nwith the last glance she cast at Lienhard, she saw him bend low over the\nchild and, with fiery ardour, whisper something which transformed the\ndelicate pink flush in her cheeks to the hue of the poppy.\n\nYes, the ropedancer was jealous of the laurel-crowned child. She, who\ncared so little for law and duty, virtue and morality, now felt offended,\nwounded, tortured by Lienhard's conduct. But there was no time to ponder\nover the reason now. She had already delayed too long ere moving forward.\n\nYet even calm reflection would not have revealed the right answer to the\nproblem. How could she have suspected that what stirred her passionate\nsoul so fiercely was grief at the sight of the man whom she had regarded\nas the stronghold of integrity, the possessor of the firmest will, the\nsoul of inviolable fidelity, succumbing here, before the eyes of all,\nlike a dissolute weakling, to the seductive arts of an immature kobold?\nThese two, who gave to her, the orphaned vagrant, surrounded by unbridled\nrecklessness, physical and mental misery, a proof that there was still in\nmarriage real love and a happiness secure from every assault, were now,\nbefore her eyes, placing themselves on the same plane with the miserable\ncouples whom she met everywhere. She could not have expressed her\nemotions in words, but she vaguely felt that the world had become poorer,\nand that henceforth she must think of something more trivial when she\ntried to imagine the pure happiness which mortals are permitted to enjoy.\nShe had seen the blossoms stripped from the scanty remnant of her faith\nin truth and goodness, which had begun to bloom afresh in her heart\nthrough the characters of this pair whose marriage procession she had\nwatched.\n\nLoni had been beckoning a long time; now he waved his gay handkerchief\nstill more impatiently, and she moved on.\n\nHer lips forced themselves into the customary smile with difficulty.\nTripping forward was an easy matter for one so free from dizziness. She\nonly carried the pole because it was customary to begin with the least\ndifficult feats. Yet, while gracefully placing one foot before the other,\nshe said to herself--safe as she felt--that, while so much agitated, she\nwould be wiser not to look down again into the depths below. She did\navoid it, and with a swift run gained the end of the rope without effort,\nand went up and down it a second time.\n\nWhile, on reaching the end of her walk, she was chalking her soles again,\nthe applause which had accompanied her during her dangerous pilgrimage\nstill rose to her ears, and came-most loudly of all from the stand where\nLienhard sat among the distinguished spectators. He, too, had clapped his\nhands lustily, and shouted, \"Bravo!\" Never had he beheld any ropedancer\ndisplay so much grace, strength, and daring. His modest protegee had\nbecome a magnificently developed woman. How could he have imagined that\nthe unfortunate young creature whom he had saved from disgrace would show\nsuch courage, such rare skill?\n\nHe confided his feelings, and the fact that he knew the artist, to his\nyoung neighbour, but she had turned deadly pale and lowered her eyes.\nWhile looking on she had felt as though she herself was in danger of\nfalling into the depths. Giddiness had seized her, and her heart, whose\ntendency to disease had long awakened the apprehension of the physicians,\ncontracted convulsively. The sight of a fellow-being hovering in mortal\nperil above her head seemed unendurable. Not until she followed\nLienhard's advice and avoided looking up, did she regain her calmness.\nHer changeful temperament soon recovered its former cheerfulness, and the\nfriend at her side to whom the lovely child, with her precocious mental\ndevelopment, appeared like the fairest marvel, took care, often as he\nhimself looked upward, that she should be guarded from a second attack of\nweakness.\n\nThe storm of applause from below, in which Lienhard also joined, fanned\nthe flames of desire for admiration in Kuni's breast to a fiery glow. She\nwould show him, too, what she could do--compel him to applaud her. She\nwould force him away from the little temptress, and oblige him to gaze up\nat her whose art--she learned this daily--possessed the power to fix the\nattention of spectators like the thrall of the basilisk's eye. When on\nthe rope she was no insignificant personage. He should tremble for her as\ndid the gray-haired, scarred captain of the foot soldiers, Mannsbach, the\nday before yesterday. He had told her that his heart had throbbed more\nanxiously during her daring feats than on the bloodiest field of battle.\n\nShe moved forward more swiftly to the time of the lively dancing tune\nwhich the city pipers were playing. Midway along the rope she turned, ran\nback to the cross-shaped trestle at the steeple window, handed the\nbalancing pole to Loni, and received a cage filled with doves. Each one\nbore around its neck a note containing an expression of homage to the\nEmperor Maximilian, and they were all trained to alight near the richly\ndecorated throne which was now occupied by the chivalrous monarch. The\nclown who, with a comical show of respect, offered her what she needed\nfor her next feat, told her this.\n\nLoni, sure of being heard by no unbidden ear, called to her from the\nwindow:\n\n\"Art is honoured to-day, my girl.\"\n\nThe clown added jocosely:\n\n\"Who else was ever permitted to walk over the anointed head of our lord\nthe Emperor?\"\n\nBut Kuni would not have needed such encouragement. Doubtless she felt\nflattered by the consciousness of attracting even the sovereign's glance,\nbut what she intended to do immediately was for the purpose of compelling\nanother person to watch her steps with fear and admiration. Crossing her\nfeet, she threw back her garlanded head and drew a long breath. Then she\nhastily straightened herself, and with the bird cage in one hand and the\nwinged staff of Mercury, which the clown had handed to her, in the other,\nshe advanced to the centre of the rope. There she opened the cage as\nsteadily as if she had been standing on the floor of her own room. The\nbirds fluttered through the little door and went, with a swift flight,\ndirectly to their goal. Then, below and beside her, from every place\noccupied by spectators, and from hundreds of windows, rose thunders of\napplause; but it seemed to her as if the roaring of the surging sea was\nin her ears. Her heart throbbed under her pink silk bodice like an iron\nhammer, and in the proud consciousness of having probably attained\nalready what she desired, and, besides thousands of other eyes, fixed\nLienhard's upon her as if with chains and bonds, she was seized with the\nambitious desire to accomplish something still more amazing. The man to\nwhom her heart clung, the Emperor, the countless multitude below, were\nall at this time subject to her in heart and mind. They could think and\nfeel nothing except what concerned her, her art, and her fate. She could\nand would show to Lienhard, to the Emperor, to all, what they had never\nwitnessed. They should turn faint with sympathizing anxiety. She would\nmake then realize what genuine art, skill, and daring could accomplish.\nEverything else, even the desire for applause, was forgotten. Though her\nperformance might be called only a perilous feat, she felt it to be true,\ngenuine art. Her whole soul was merged in the desire to execute, boldly\nand yet gracefully, the greatest and most perfect performance attainable\nby a ropedancer. With beads of perspiration on her brow, and eyes\nuplifted, she threw the cage aside, swung her Mercury staff aloft, and\ndanced along the rope in waltz time, as though borne by the gods of the\nwind. Whirling swiftly around, her slender figure darted in graceful\ncurves from one end of the narrow path to the other. Then the applause\nreached the degree of enthusiastic madness which she desired; even Loni\nclapped his hands from the steeple window. She had never seen him do this\nto any of the company. Yes, she must have accomplished her purpose well;\nbut she would show him and the others something still more wonderful.\nWhat she had just done was capable of many additional feats; she had\ntried it.\n\nWith fluttering hands and pulses she instantly loosed from her panting\nbosom and her hips the garland of roses and leaves twined about the upper\nportion of her body, and swung it around her in graceful curves as she\nknelt and rose on the rope.\n\nShe had often jumped rope on the low rope, turning completely around so\nthat she faced the other way. To repeat this performance on the one\nstretched to the steeple would certainly not be expected from her or from\nany other. Suppose she should use the garland as a rope and venture to\nleap over it on this giddy height? Suppose she should even succeed in\nturning around? The rope was firm. If her plan was successful, she would\nhave accomplished something unprecedented; if she failed--if, while\nturning, she lost her balance--her scanty stock of pleasure here below\nwould be over, and also her great grief and insatiable yearning. One\nthing was certain: Lienhard would watch her breathlessly, nay, tremble\nfor her. Perhaps it was too much to hope that he would mourn her\nsincerely, should the leap cost her life; but he would surely pity her,\nand he could never forget the moment of the fall, and therefore herself.\nLoni would tear the gold circlet from his dyed black locks and, in his\nexaggerated manner, call himself a son of misfortune, and her the\ngreatest artist who had ever trodden the rope. All Augsburg, all the\ndignitaries of the realm, even the Emperor, would pity her, and the end\nof her life would be as proud and as renowned as that of the chivalrous\nhero who dies victor on the stricken field. If the early part of her life\nhad been insignificant and wretched, its close should be grand and\nbeautiful.\n\nLong consideration was foreign to Kuni's nature. While these thoughts\nwere darting with the speed of lightning through her excited brain, she\nstripped from the garland, with the presence of mind which her calling\nteaches even in serious peril, the roses which might have caught her\nfeet, and swung it in a wide circle above her. Then nimbly, yet careful\nto maintain in every movement the grace without which the most difficult\nfeat would have seemed to her valueless, she summoned all the strength\nand caution she possessed, went forward at a run, and--she did not know\nherself just how it was done--dared the leap over the rope once, twice,\nand the third and fourth time even accomplished the turn successfully. It\nhad not once cost her an effort to maintain her balance.\n\nAgain she saw Loni clapping his hands at the window, and the acclamations\nof the crowd, which echoed like peals of thunder from the lofty,\ngable-roofed houses, informed her that the boldness of the venture and\nthe skill with which she had performed it were appreciated by these\nspectators. True, she could not distinguish the voice of any individual,\nbut she thought she knew that Lienhard was one of those who shouted\n\"Bravo!\" and clapped most loudly. He must have perceived now that she was\nsomething more than a poor thief of a rosary, a useless bread-eater in\nthe Schurstab household.\n\nShe straightened the garland again and, while preparing to take another\nrun, repeat the feat, and, if her buoyancy held out, try to whirl around\ntwice, which she had never failed to accomplish on the low rope, she\ncould not resist the temptation of casting a hasty glance at Lienhard;\nshe had never ascended to the steeple without looking at him.\n\nSecure of herself, in the glad conciousness of success, she gazed down.\n\nThere sat the illustrious Maximilian, still clapping his hands.\nGratefully, yet with a passionate desire for fresh applause, the resolve\nto show him the very best which she could accomplish was strengthened.\nBut the next moment the blood faded from her slightly rouged cheeks, for\nLienhard--was it possible, was it imaginable?--Lienhard Groland was not\nlooking up at her! Without moving his hands or vouchsafing her a single\nglance, he was gazing into the face of the little wearer of the laurel\nwreath, with whom he was eagerly talking. He was under her thrall, body\nand soul. Yet it could not be, she could not have seen distinctly. She\nmust look down once more, to correct the error. She did so, and a\ntorturing anguish seized her heart. He was chatting with the child as\nbefore; nay, with still more warmth. As he now saw nothing which was\nhappening upon the rope, he had probably also failed to heed what she had\nperformed, dared, accomplished, mainly for his sake, at the peril of her\nlife, on the dizzy height. His wife was still clapping her hands at his\nside, but Lienhard, as though deaf and blind to everything else, was\ngazing at the page which the miserable little elf was just giving him.\nThere was certainly writing on it--perhaps a charm which rendered him\nsubject to her. How else could he have brought himself to overlook so\nunkindly herself and her art--the best she had to bestow--for the sake of\nthis child?\n\nThen, besides the keenest sorrow, a fierce, burning hate took possession\nof her soul.\n\nShe had not appealed to her saint for years; but now, in a brief,\nejaculatory prayer, she besought her to drive this child from Lienhard,\npunish her with misery, suffering, and destruction. A sharp pang which\nshe had never before experienced pierced her to the heart. The pure,\nsunny air which she inhaled on her lofty height seemed like acrid smoke,\nand forced tears into the eyes which had not wept for many a long day.\n\nAs, not knowing exactly what she was doing, with her ears deafened by the\nshouts of the crowd, among whom Lienhard now, with anxious suspense,\nwatched her every movement, she again raised the rope and prepared to\nspring, she fancied that her narrow path rose higher and higher. One more\nstep, and suddenly, with Loui's shriek of horror and the clown's\nterrified \"Jesus and Mary, she is falling!\" ringing on the air, she felt\nas if the rope had parted directly in front of her. Then a hurricane\nappeared to howl around her, bearing her away she knew not whither. It\nseemed as though the tempest had seized the ends of the rope, and was\ndealing terrible blows with them upon her shoulders, her back, and her\nfeet. Meanwhile the little wearer of the wreath was lying on a black\ncloud opposite to her at Lienhard's feet.\n\nShe still held the sheet in her hand, and was shouting to the angry\nelements the magic formulas which it contained. Their power Kuni knew\nit--had unchained them. Lienhard's deep voice mingled with her furious\ncries until the roar of the sea, on whose rocky shore the hurricane must\nhave dashed her, drowned every other sound, and rolled over her,\nsometimes in scorching crimson, sometimes in icy crystal waves. Then, for\na long time, she saw and heard nothing more.\n\nWhen her deadened imagination again began to stir, she fancied that she\nwas struggling with a huge crab, which was cutting her foot with shears.\nThe little elf was urging it on, as the huntsmen cheer the hounds. The\npain and hate she felt would have been intolerable if Lienhard had made\ncommon cause with the terrible child. But he reproved her conduct, and\neven struggled with the kobold who tried to prevent his releasing her\nfrom the crab. The elf proved stronger than he. The terrible shears\ncontinued to torture her. The more she suffered, the more eagerly\nLienhard seemed trying to help her, and this soothed her and blended a\nsweet sense of comfort with the burning pain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nKuni remained under the spell of these delusions for many days and\nnights. When she at last regained her senses, she was lying on a plain\ncouch in a long, whitewashed hall. The well-scoured floor was strewn with\nsand and pine needles. Other beds stood beside hers. On one wall hung a\nlarge wooden crucifix, painted with glaring colours; on the other a\ntouching picture of the Mater Dolorosa, with the swords in her heart,\nlooked down upon her.\n\nBeside Kuni's pallet stood a Gray Sister and an elderly man, evidently a\nphysician. His long black robe, tall dark cap, and gold headed cane bore\nwitness to it. Bending forward, with eyeglasses on his prominent nose, he\ngazed intently into her face.\n\nHer return to consciousness seemed to please him, and he showed himself\nto be a kind, experienced leech. With tireless solicitude he strove to\ncure the numerous injuries which she had received, and she soon learned\nthrough him and the nun, that she had fallen from the rope and escaped\ndeath as if by a miracle. The triumphal arch under her, and the garlands\nwhich decorated the wooden structure, had caught her before she touched\nthe pavement. True, her right leg was broken, and it had been necessary\nto amputate her left foot in order to save her life. Many a wound and\nslash on her breast and head also needed healing, and her greatest\nornament, her long, thick, dark hair, had been cut off.\n\nWhy had they called her, the ropedancer, back to a life which\nhenceforward could offer her nothing save want and cruel suffering? She\nuttered this reproach to her preservers very indignantly; but as the\nphysician saw her eating a bunch of grapes with much enjoyment, he asked\nif this pleasure did not suffice to make her rejoice over the\npreservation of her existence. There were a thousand similar gifts of\nGod, which scarcely seemed worthy of notice, yet in the aggregate\noutweighed a great sorrow which, moreover, habit daily diminished.\n\nThe Sister tried, by other arguments, to reconcile her to the life which\nhad been preserved, but the words her devout heart inspired and which\nwere intended for a pious soul, produced little influence upon the\nneglected child of the highroad. Kuni felt most deeply the reference to\nthe sorely afflicted Mother of God. If such sorrow had been sent to the\nnoblest and purest of mortals, through whom God had deigned to give his\ndivine Son to the world, what grief could be too great for her, the\nwandering vagabond? She often silently repeated this to herself; yet only\ntoo frequently her impetuous heart rebelled against the misery which she\nfelt that she would encounter. But many weeks were to pass before she\nrecovered; a severe relapse again endangered her life.\n\nDuring the first days of illness she had talked to Lienhard in her\nfevered visions, called him by name, and warned him against the spiteful\nelf who would ruin him. Frequently, too, oaths and horrible, coarse\nimprecations, such as are heard only from the mouths of the vagrants\namong whom she had grown to womanhood, fell from her burning lips. When\nshe improved, the leech asked in the jesting tone which elderly men are\nfond of using to young women whose heart secrets they think they have\ndetected, what wrong her lover had done her. The Sister, nay, even the\nabbess, wished to learn what she meant by the wicked witch whom she had\nmentioned with such terrible curses during the ravings of the fever, but\nshe made no reply. In fact, she said very little, and her nurses thought\nher a reserved creature with an obdurate nature; for she obstinately\nrejected the consolations of religion.\n\nOnly to her confessor, a kind old priest, who knew how to discover the\nbest qualities in every one, did she open her heart so far as to reveal\nthat she loved the husband of another and had once wished evil, ay, the\nvery worst evil, to a neighbour. But since the sin had been committed\nonly in thought, the kindly guardian of her conscience was quickly\ndisposed to grant her absolution if, as a penance, she would repeat a\ngoodly number of paternosters and undertake a pilgrimage. If she had had\nsound feet, she ought to have journeyed to Santiago di Compostella; but,\nsince her condition precluded this, a visit to Altotting in Bavaria would\nsuffice. But Kuni by no means desired any mitigation of the penance. She\nsilently resolved to undertake the pilgrimage to Compostella, at the\nWorld's End,--[Cape Finisterre]--in distant Spain, though she did not\nknow how it would be possible to accomplish this with her mutilated foot.\nNot even to her kind confessor did she reveal this design. The girl who\nhad relied upon herself from childhood, needed no explanation, no\nconfidante.\n\nTherefore, during the long days and nights which she was obliged to spend\nin bed, she pondered still more constantly upon her own past. That she\nhad been drawn and was still attracted to Lienhard with resistless power,\nwas true; yet whom, save herself, had this wounded or injured? On the\nother hand, it had assuredly been a heavy sin that she had called down\nsuch terrible curses upon the child. Still, even now she might have had\ngood reason to execrate the wearer of the wreath; for she alone, not\nLienhard, was the sole cause of her misfortune. Her prayer on the rope\nthat the saints would destroy the hated child, and the idea which then\noccupied her mind, that she was really a grown maiden, whose elfin\ndelicacy of figure was due to her being one of the fays or elves\nmentioned in the fairy tales, had made a deep impression upon her memory.\n\nWhenever she thought of that supplication she again felt the bitterness\nshe had tasted on the rope. Though she believed herself justified in\nhating the little mischief-maker, the prayer uttered before her fall did\nnot burden her soul much less heavily than a crime. Suppose the Sister\nwas right, and that the saints heard every earnest petition?\n\nShe shuddered at the thought. The child was so young, so delicate. Though\nshe had caused her misfortune, the evil was not done intentionally. Such\nthoughts often induced Kuni to clasp her hands and pray to the saint not\nto fulfil the prayer she uttered at that time; but she did not continue\nthe petition long, a secret voice whispered that every living\ncreature--man and beast--felt the impulse to inflict a similar pang on\nthose who caused suffering, and that she, who believed the whole world\nwicked, need not be better than the rest.\n\nMeanwhile she longed more and more eagerly to know the name of the little\ncreature that had brought so much trouble upon her, and whether she was\nstill forcing herself between Lienhard and his beautiful wife.\n\nAs soon as she was able to talk again, she began her inquiries. The\nSister, who was entirely absorbed in her calling and never left the scene\nof her wearisome toil, had little to tell; but the leech and the priest,\nin reply to her questions concerning what had happened during the period\nof her unconsciousness, informed her that the Emperor had ordered that\nshe should receive the most careful nursing, and had bestowed a donation\nupon the convent for the purpose. He had thought of her future, too. When\nshe recovered, she would have the five heller pounds which the generous\nsovereign had left for her as a partial compensation for the injuries\nsustained while employing her rare skill for the delight of the multitude\nand, above all, himself. A wealthy Nuremberg Honourable, Lienhard\nGroland, a member of the Council, had also interested himself in her and\ndeposited the same amount with the abbess, in case she should recover the\nuse of her limbs and did not prefer to spend the remainder of her life\nhere, though only as a lay sister. In that case he would be ready to\ndefray the cost of admission.\n\n\"That the lofty convent walls might rise between him and the sight of\nme!\" Kuni said to herself at this information, with a bitter smile. On\nthe--other hand, her eyes filled with tears of genuine emotion and\nsincere shame, when she learned from the leech that Herr Lienhard\nGroland's lovely wife had come daily to the convent to inquire about her,\nand had even honoured her couch with a visit several times. She did not\nremain absent until one day, in the noble lady's presence, Kuni, when her\nfever was fiercest, loaded the wearer of the wreath, whom her delirium\noften brought before her as a nightmare, with the most savage and\nblasphemous curses. The gracious young wife was overwhelmed with horror,\nwhich had doubtless prevented her return, unless her absence was due to\ndeparture from the city. Besides, she had committed the care of inquiring\nabout her convalescence to an aristocratic friend in Augsburg, the wife\nof the learned city clerk, Doctor Peutinger, a member of the famous\nWelser family of Augsburg. The latter had often inquired for her in\nperson, until the illness of her own dear child had kept her at home.\nYet, in spite of this, her housekeeper had appeared the day before to\ninform the abbess that, if the injured girl should recover and wished to\nlead a respectable life in future, she might be sure of a welcome and\neasy duties in her own household. This surely ought to be a great comfort\nto Kuni, the physician added; for she could no longer pursue\nrope-dancing, and the Peutingers were lavishly endowed with worldly goods\nand intellectual gifts, and, besides, were people of genuine Christian\nspirit. The convent, too, would be ready to receive her--the abbess had\ntold him so--if Herr Groland, of Nuremberg, kept his promise of paying\nher admission dues.\n\nAll these things awakened a new world of thoughts and feelings in the\nconvalescent. That they ought, above all, to have aroused sincere\ngratitude, she felt keenly, yet she could not succeed in being especially\nthankful. It would be doing Lienhard a favour, she repeated to herself,\nif she should enter a convent, and she would rather have sought shelter\nin a lion's den than under the Peutinger roof. She had been informed the\nday before that the city clerk's wife was the mother of the child upon\nwhom she had called down misfortune and death.\n\nThe keeper of an Augsburg bath-house, who had burned herself with boiling\nwater, occupied the next bed. She was recovering, and was a talkative\nwoman, whose intrusive loquacity at first annoyed Kuni, nay, when she\ncould not silence it, caused her pain. But her conversation soon revealed\nthat she knew every stick and stone in her native city. Kuni availed\nherself of this, and did not need to ask many questions to learn\neverything that she desired to know about the little beggar-landed elf.\n\nShe was Juliane, the young daughter of Herr Conrad Peutinger, the city\nclerk--a girl of unusual cleverness, and a degree of learning never\nbefore found in a child eleven years old. The bath-house keeper had many\nwonderful stories to relate of her remarkable wisdom, with which even\nhighly educated men could not vie. In doing so, she blamed the father and\nmother, who had been unnatural parents to the charming child; for to make\nthe marvel complete, and to gratify their own vanity, they had taxed the\nlittle girl's mind with such foolish strenuousness that the frail body\nsuffered. She had heard this in her own bath-house from the lips of the\nchild's aunt and from other distinguished friends of the Welsers and\nPeutingers. Unfortunately, these sensible women proved to have been\nright; for soon after the close of the Reichstag, Juliane was attacked by\na lingering illness, from which rumour now asserted that she would never\nrecover. Some people even regarded the little girl's sickness as a just\npunishment of God, to whom the constant devotion of the father and his\nyoung daughter to the old pagans and their ungodly writings must have\ngiven grave offence.\n\nThis news increased to the utmost the anxiety from which Kuni had long\nsuffered. Often as she thought of Lienhard, she remembered still more\nfrequently that it was she, who had prayed for sickness to visit the\nchild of a mother, who had so kindly offered her, the strolling player,\nwhom good women usually shunned, the shelter of her distinguished house.\n\nThe consciousness of owing a debt of gratitude to those, against whom she\nhad sinned so heavily, oppressed her. The kind proposal of the sick\nchild's mother seemed like a mockery. It was painful even to hear the\nname of Peutinger.\n\nBesides, the further she advanced toward recovery, the more unendurable\nappeared the absence of liberty. The kind efforts of the abbess to keep\nher in the cloister, and teach her to make herself useful there by\nsewing, were unsuccessful; for she could not turn the spinning wheel on\naccount of her amputated foot, and she had neither inclination nor\npatience for the finer branches of needlework.\n\nThose who charged her with a lamentable lack of perseverance were right;\nthe linen which she began to hem fell into her lap only too soon. When\nher eyes--which could see nothing here except a small walled yard--closed\nwhile she was working, the others thought that she was asleep; but her\nmind remained awake, though she had lowered her lids, and it wandered\nrestlessly over valleys rivers, and mountains through the wide, wide\nworld. She saw herself in imagination travelling along the highway with\nnimble jugglers merry musicians, and other care-free vagrant folk,\ninstead of plying the needle. Even the whirling dust, the rushing wind,\nand the refreshing rain outside seemed desirable compared with the heavy\nconvent air impregnated by a perpetual odour of lavender.\n\nWhen at last, in the month of March, little Afra, the fair-haired niece\nof the portress, brought her the first snowdrop, and Kuni saw a pair of\nstarlings enter the box on the budding linden before her window, she\ncould no longer bear her imprisonment in the convent.\n\nWithin these walls she must fade, perhaps die and return to dust. In\nspite of all the warnings, representations, entreaties, and promises of\nthose who--she gratefully perceived it--meant well toward her, she\npersisted in her desire to be dismissed, to live out of doors as she had\nalways done. At last they paid her what was due, but she accepted only\nthe Emperor's bounty, proudly refusing Lienhard Groland's money,\nearnestly as she was urged to add it to the other and to the viaticum\nbestowed by the nuns.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nThe April sun was shining brightly when the convent gates closed behind\nKuni. The lindens in the square were already putting forth young leaves,\nthe birds were singing, and her heart swelled more joyously than it had\ndone for many years.\n\nTrue, the cough which had tormented her all winter attacked her in the\nshady cloister, but she had learned to use her wooden foot, and with a\ncane in one hand and her little bundle in the other she moved sturdily\non. After making her pilgrimage to Compostella, she intended to seek her\nold employer, Loni. Perhaps he could give her a place as crier, or if the\ncough prevented that, in collecting the money or training the children.\nHe was a kind-hearted man. If he were even tolerably prosperous he would\ncertainly let her travel with the band, and give the girl who was injured\nin his service the bit of food she required. Besides, in former days,\nwhen she scattered gold with lavish hands, he had predicted what had now\nbefallen her, and when he left Augsburg he had asked the nuns to tell her\nthat if she should ever be in want she must remember Loni.\n\nWith the Emperor's five heller pounds, and the two florins which she had\nreceived as a viaticum from the convent, she could journey a long\ndistance through the world; for there were plenty of carriers and\ntravellers with carts and wagons who would take her for a trifle, and the\nvagabonds on the highway rarely left people like her in the lurch.\n\nProbably, in former days, she had looked forward to the future with\ngreater strength and different expectations, yet, even as it was, in\nspite of the cough and the painful pricking in her scars, she found it\npleasant so long as she was free and could follow whatever way she chose.\nShe knew the city, and limped through the streets and alleys toward the\ntavern where the strolling players usually lodged.\n\nOn the way she met a gentleman in a suit of light armour, whom she\nrecognised in the distance as the Knight of Neckerfels, who had been\npaying court to her before her fall. He was walking alone and looked her\ndirectly in the face, but he did not have the slightest idea that he had\nmet madcap Kuni. It was only too evident that he supposed her to be a\ntotal stranger. Yet it would have been impossible for any one to\nrecognise her.\n\nMirrors were not allowed in the convent, but a bright new tin plate had\nshowed her her emaciated face with the broad scar on the forehead, the\nsunken eyes, and the whole narrow head, where the hair, which grew out\nagain very slowly, was just an ugly length. Now the sight of the bony\nhand which grasped the cane brought a half-sorrowful, half-scornful,\nsmile to her lips. Her arm had been plump and round, but was now little\nlarger than a stick. Pretty Kuni, the ropedancer, no longer existed; she\nmust become accustomed to have the world regard her as a different and\nfar less important personage, whom Lienhard, too--and this was\nfortunate--would not have deemed worthy of a glance.\n\nAnd yet, if the inner self is the true one, there was little change in\nher. Her soul was moved by the same feelings, only there was now a touch\nof bitterness. One great advantage of her temperament, it is true, had\nvanished with her physical beauty and strength--the capacity to hope for\nhappiness and joy. Perhaps it would never return; an oppressive feeling\nof guilt, usually foreign to her careless nature, had oppressed her ever\nsince she had heard recently in the convent that the child on whom she\nhad called down death and destruction was lying hopelessly ill, and would\nscarcely live till the joyous Whitsuntide.\n\nThis now came back to her mind. The jubilant sense of freedom deserted\nher; she walked thoughtfully on until she reached the neighbourhood of\nJacob Fugger's house.\n\nA long funeral procession was moving slowly toward her. Some very exalted\nand aristocratic person must be taking the journey to the grave, for it\nwas headed by all the clergy in the city. Choristers, in the most\nelaborate dress, swinging incense holders by delicate metal chains and\nbearing lanterns on long poles, surrounded the lofty cross.\n\nEvery one of distinction in Augsburg, all the children who attended\nschool, and all the members of the various ecclesiastical orders and\nguilds in the city marched before the bier. Kuni had never seen such a\nfuneral procession. Perhaps the one she witnessed in Milan, when a great\nnobleman was buried, was longer, but in this every individual seemed to\nfeel genuine grief. Even the schoolboys who, on such solemn occasions,\nusually play all sorts of secret pranks, walked as mournfully as if each\nhad lost some relative who was specially dear to him. Among the girls\nthere were few whose rosy cheeks were not constantly wet with tears.\n\nFrom the first Kuni had believed that she knew who was being borne to the\ngrave. Now she heard several women whispering near her mention the name\nof Juliane Peutinger. A pale-faced gold embroiderer, who had recently\nbordered a gala dress with leaves and tendrils for the dead girl's\nsister, described, sobbing, the severe suffering amid which this fairest\nblossom of Augsburg girlhood had withered ere death finally broke the\nslender stem.\n\nSuddenly she stopped; a cry of mingled astonishment, lamentation, and\ndelight, sometimes rising, sometimes falling, ran through the crowd which\nhad gathered along the sides of the street.\n\nThe bier was in sight.\n\nTwelve youths bore the framework, covered with a richly embroidered blue\ncloth, on which the coffin rested. It was open, and the dead girl's couch\nwas so high that it seemed as though the sleeper was only resting lightly\non the white silk pillow. A wreath again encircled her head, but this\ntime blossoming myrtles blended with the laurel in the brown curls that\nlay in thick, soft locks on the snowy pillows and the lace-trimmed\nshroud.\n\nJuliane's eyes were closed. Ah! how gladly Kuni would have kissed those\nlong-lashed lids to win even one look of forgiveness from her whom her\ncurse had perhaps snatched from the green spring world!\n\nShe remembered the sunny radiance with which this sleeper's eyes had\nsparkled as they met Lienhard's. They were the pure mirror of the keen,\nmobile intellect and the innocent, loving soul of this rare child. Now\ndeath had closed them, and Juliane's end had been one of suffering. The\npale embroiderer had said so, and the sorrowful droop of the sweet little\nmouth, which gave the wondrously beautiful, delicate, touching little\nface so pathetic an expression, betrayed it. If the living girl had\nmeasured her own young intellect with that of grown people, and her face\nhad worn the impress of precocious maturity, now it was that of a\ncharming child who had died in suffering.\n\nKuni also felt this, and asked herself how it had been possible for her\nheart to cherish such fierce hatred against this little one, who had\nnumbered only eleven years.\n\nBut had this Juliane resembled other children?\n\nNo, no! No Emperor's daughter of her age would have been accompanied to\nthe churchyard with such pageantry, such deep, universal grief.\n\nShe had been the jewel of a great city. This was proclaimed by many a\nGreek and Latin maxim on tablets borne by the friends of the great\nhumanist who, with joyful pride, called her his daughter.\n\nKuni could not read, but she heard at least one sentence translated by a\nBenedictine monk to the nun at his side: \"He whose death compels those\nwho knew him to weep, has the fairest end.\"--[Seneca, Hippol., 881.]\n\nIf this were true, Juliane's end was indeed fair; for she herself, whom\nthe child had met only to inflict pain, had her eyes dimmed by tears, and\nwherever she turned she saw people weeping.\n\nMost of those who lined the street could have had no close relations with\nthe dead girl. But yonder black-robed mourners who followed the bier were\nher parents, her brothers and sisters, her nearest relatives, the members\nof the Council, and the family servants. And she, the wretched, reckless,\nsinful, crippled strolling player, for whom not a soul on earth cared,\nwhose death would not have drawn even a single tear from any eye, to whom\na speedy end could be only a benefit, was perhaps the cause of the\npremature drying up of this pure fountain of joy, which had refreshed so\nmany hearts and animated them with the fairest hopes.\n\nThe tall lady, whose noble face and majestic figure were shrouded in a\nthick veil, was Juliane's mother--and she had offered the sick ropedancer\na home in her wealthy household.\n\n\"If she had only known,\" thought Kuni, \"the injury I was inflicting upon\nher heart's treasure, she would rather have hunted me with dogs from her\nthreshold.\"\n\nIn spite of the veil which floated around the stately figure of the\ngrieving mother, she could see her bosom rise and fall with her sobs of\nanguish. Kuni's compassionate heart made it impossible for her to watch\nthis sorrow longer, and, covering her face with her hands, she turned her\nback upon the procession and, weeping aloud, limped away as fast as her\ninjured foot would let her. Meanwhile she sometimes said to herself that\nshe was the worst of all sinners because she had cursed the dead girl and\ncalled down death and destruction upon her head, sometimes she listened\nto the voice within, which told her that she had no reason to grieve over\nJuliane's death, and completely embitter her already wretched life by\nremorse and self-accusations; the dead girl was the sole cause of her\nterrible fall. But the defiant rebellion against the consciousness of\nguilt, which moved her so deeply, always ceased abruptly as soon as it\nraised its head; for one fact was positive, if the curse she had called\ndown upon the innocent child, who had done her no intentional wrong, had\nreally caused Juliane's end, a whole life was not long enough to atone\nfor the sin which she had committed. Yet what atonement was still in her\npower, after the death which she had summoned had performed its terrible\nwork of executioner?\n\n\"Nothing, nothing at all!\" she said to herself angrily, resolving, as she\nhad so often done with better success, to forget what had happened, cast\nthe past into oblivion, and live in the present as before. But ere she\ncould attempt to fulfil this determination, the image of the tall,\ngrief-bowed figure of the woman who had called Juliane her dear child\nrose before her mind, and it seemed as if a cold, heavy hand paralyzed\nthe wings of the light-hearted temperament which had formerly borne her\npleasantly over so many things. Then she told herself that, in order not\nto go to perdition herself, she must vow, sacrifice, undertake everything\nfor the salvation of the dead girl and of her own heavily burdened soul.\nFor the first time she felt a longing to confide her feelings to some\none. If Lienhard had been within reach and disposed to listen to her, he\nwould have understood, and known what course to advise.\n\nTrue, the thought that he was not looking at her when she took the fatal\nleap still haunted her. He could not have showed more offensively how\nlittle he cared for her--but perhaps he was under the influence of a\nspell; for she must be something to him. This was no vain self-deception;\nhad it not been so, would he have come in person to her couch of pain, or\ncared for her so kindly after the accident?\n\nIn the convent she had reached the conviction that it would be degrading\nto think longer of the man who, in return for the most ardent love,\noffered nothing but alms in jingling coin; yet her poor heart would not\ncease its yearning.\n\nMeanwhile she never wearied of seeking motives that would place his\nconduct in a more favourable light. Whatever he might have withheld from\nher, he was nevertheless the best and noblest of men, and as she limped\naimlessly on, the conviction strengthened that the mere sight of him\nwould dispel the mists which, on this sunny spring day, seemed to veil\neverything around and within her.\n\nBut he remained absent, and suddenly it seemed more disgraceful to seek\nhim than to stand in the stocks.\n\nYet the pilgrimage to Compostella, of which the confessor had spoken? For\nthe very reason that it had been described to her as unattainable, it\nwould perhaps be rated at a high value in heaven, and restore to her\nwhile on earth the peace she had lost.\n\nShe pondered over this thought on her way to the tavern, where she found\na corner to sleep, and a carrier who, on the day after the morrow, would\ntake her to the sea for a heller pound. Other pilgrims had also engaged\npassage at Antwerp for Corunna, the harbour of Compostella, and her means\nwere sufficient for the voyage. This assurance somewhat soothed her while\nshe remained among people of her own calling.\n\nBut she spent a sleepless night; for again and again the dead child's\nimage appeared vividly before her. Rising from the soft pillows in the\ncoffin, she shook her finger threateningly at her, or, weeping and\nwailing, pointed down to the flames--doubtless those of purgatory--which\nwere blazing upward around her, and had already caught the hem of her\nshroud.\n\nKuni arose soon after sunrise with a bewildered brain. Before setting out\non her pilgrimage she wished to attend mass, and--that the Holy Virgin\nmight be aware of her good intentions--repeat in church some of the\npaternosters which her confessor had imposed.\n\nShe went out with the simple rosary that the abbess had given her upon\nher wrist, but when she had left the tavern behind she saw a great crowd\nin front of the new St. Ulrich's Church, and recognised among the throngs\nof people who had flocked thither her companion in suffering at the\nconvent, the keeper of the bath-house, who had been cured of her burns\nlong before.\n\nShe had left her business to buy an indulgence for her own sins, and to\npurchase for the soul of her husband--whose death-bed confession, it is\ntrue, had been a long one--for the last time, but for many centuries at\nonce, redemption from the fires of purgatory. The Dominican friar Tetzel,\nfrom Nuremberg, was here with his coffer, and carried written promises\nwhich secured certain remission of punishment for all sins, even those\ncommitted long ago, or to be committed in the future. The woman had\nexperienced the power of his papers herself. Tetzel had come to Augsburg\nabout a year after her husband's death, and, as she knew how many sins he\nhad committed, she put her hand into her purse to free him from the\nflames. They must have burned very fiercely; for, while awake at night\nand in her dreams, she had often heard him wailing and complaining\npiteously. But after she bought the paper he became quiet and, on the\nthird night, she saw him with her own eyes enter the room, and heard him\npromise her a great happiness in return for her faithful remembrance.\n\nThe very next Sunday, Veit Haselnuss, the bath-house proprietor, a\nwell-to-do man who owned another house besides the one where he lived,\ninvited her to take a walk with him. She knew instantly that her late\nhusband was beginning to pay his debt of gratitude with this visitor and,\nin fact, a short time after, the worthy man asked her to be his wife,\nthough she had three little children, and his oldest daughter by his\nfirst wife was already able to look after the housekeeping. The wedding\ntook place on Whitsunday, and she owed this great happiness entirely to\nthe dispensation which had released the dead man's soul from the fires of\npurgatory and induced him to show his thankfulness.\n\nKuni listened to her companion's rapid flood of talk, until she herself\nenjoined silence to hear the black-robed priest who stood beside the\ncoffer.\n\nHe was just urging his hearers, in a loud voice, to abandon the base\navarice which gathers pence. There was still time to gain, in exchange\nfor dead florins, living salvation.\n\nLet those who repented sin listen, and they would hear the voices of\nwailing parents, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, and children, who\nhad preceded them to the other world. Whose heart was so utterly turned\nto stone, whose parsimony, spite of all his love of money, was so strong\nthat he would allow these tortured souls to burn and suffer in the\nflames, when it was in his power, by putting his hand into his purse, to\nbuy a dispensation which would as surely redeem them from the fires of\npurgatory as his Imperial Majesty's pardon would release an imprisoned\nthief from jail?\n\nScales seemed to fall from Kuni's eyes. She hastily forced her way to the\nDominican, who was just wiping the perspiration from his brow with the\nhem of the white robe under his black cowl.\n\nCoughing and panting, he was preparing his voice for a fresh appeal,\nmeanwhile opening the iron-bound box, and pointing out to the throng the\nplacard beside his head, which announced that the money obtained by the\nindulgences was intended for the Turkish war. Then, in fluent language,\nhe explained to the bystanders that this meant that the Holy Father in\nRome intended to drive the hereditary foe of Christianity back to the\nsteppes and deserts of the land of Asia, where he belonged. In order to\naccomplish this work, so pleasing to the Lord, the Church was ready to\nmake lavish use of the treasures of mercy intrusted to her. Deliverance\nfrom the flames of purgatory would never be more cheaply purchased than\nat this opportunity. Then he thrust his little fat hand, on which several\nvaluable rings glittered, into the box, and held out to the bystanders a\nsmall bundle of papers like an open pack of cards.\n\nKuni summoned up her courage and asked whether they would also possess\nthe power to remove a curse. Tetzel eagerly assented, adding that he had\npapers which would wash the soul as white from every sin as soap would\ncleanse a sooty hand, even though, instead of \"curse,\" its name was\n\"parricide.\"\n\nThe most costly had the power to transfer scoundrels roasting in the\nhottest flames of purgatory to the joys of paradise, as yonder sparrow\nhad just soared from the dust of the street to the elm bough.\n\nKuni timidly asked the price of an indulgence, but the Dominican\nunctuously explained that they were not sold like penny rolls at the\nbaker's; the heavier the sin, the higher the fine to be paid. First of\nall, she must confess sincere contrition for what had been done and\ninform him how, in spite of her youth, she had been led into such heinous\nguilt. Kuni replied that she had long mourned her error most deeply, and\nthen began to whisper to Tetzel how she had been induced to curse a\nfellow-mortal. She desired nothing for herself. Her sole wish was to\nrelease the dead girl from the flames of purgatory, and the curse which,\nby her guilt, burdened her soul. But the Dominican had only half\nlistened, and as many who wanted indulgences were crowding around his\nbox, he interrupted Kuni by offering her a paper which he would make out\nin the name of the accursed Juliane Peutinger--if he had heard correctly.\n\nSuch cases seemed to be very familiar to him, but the price he asked was\nso large that the girl grew pale with terror.\n\nYet she must have the redeeming paper, and Tetzel lowered his price after\nher declaration that she possessed only five heller pounds and the\nconvent viaticum. Besides, she stated that she had already bargained with\nthe carrier for the journey to the sea.\n\nThis, however, had no influence upon the Dominican, as the indulgence\nmade the pilgrimage to Compostella unnecessary. Since it would redeem the\naccursed person from the fires of purgatory, she, too, was absolved from\nthe vow which drew her thither.\n\nWith stern decision he therefore insisted upon demanding the entire sum\nin her possession. He could only do it so cheaply because her face and\nher lost foot showed that she was destined to suffer part of the eternal\ntorture here on earth.\n\nThen Kuni yielded. The paper was made out in the name of Juliane, she\ngave up her little store, and returned to the inn a penniless beggar, but\nwith a lighter heart, carrying the precious paper under the handkerchief\ncrossed over her bosom. But there the carrier refused her a seat without\nthe money which she had promised him, and the landlord demanded payment\nfor her night's lodging and the bit of food she had eaten.\n\nShould she go back to the convent and ask for the little sum which\nLienhard had left there for her?\n\nThe struggle was a hard one, but pride finally conquered. She renounced\nthe kindly meant gift of her only friend. When the abbess returned the\nmoney to him, he could not help perceiving that she was no beggar and\nscorned to be his debtor. If he then asked himself why, he would find the\nright answer. She did not confess it to herself in plain words, but she\nwished to remain conscious that, whether he desired it or not, she had\ngiven her heart's best love to this one man without reward, merely\nbecause it was her pleasure to do it. At last she remembered that she\nstill possessed something valuable. She had not thought of it before,\nbecause it had been as much a part of herself as her eyes or her lips,\nand it would have seemed utterly impossible to part with it. This article\nwas a tolerably heavy gold ring, with a sparkling ruby in the centre. She\nhad drawn it from her father's finger after he had taken his last leap\nand she was called to his corpse. She did not even know whether he had\nreceived the circlet as a wedding ring from the mother of whom she had no\nremembrance, or where he obtained it. But she had heard that it was of\nconsiderable value, and when she set off to sell the jewel, she did not\nfind it very hard to gave it up. It seemed as if her father, from the\ngrave, was providing his poor child with the means she needed to continue\nto support her life.\n\nShe had heard in the convent of Graslin, the goldsmith, who had bestowed\non the chapel a silver shrine for the relics, and went to him.\n\nWhen she stood before the handsome gableroofed house which he occupied\nshe shrank back a little. At first he received her sternly and\nrepellantly enough, but, as soon as she introduced herself as the\nropedancer who had met with the accident, he showed himself to be a\nkindly old gentleman.\n\nAfter one of the city soldiers had said that she told the truth and had\njust been dismissed from the convent, he paid her the full value of the\nring and added a florin out of sympathy and the admiration he felt for\nthe charm which still dwelt in her sparkling blue eyes.\n\nBut Compostella was indeed far away. Her new supply of money was\nsufficient for the journey there, but how could she return? Besides, her\ncough troubled her very seriously, and it seemed as though she could not\ntravel that long distance alone. The dealer in indulgences had said that\nthe paper made the pilgrimage unnecessary, and the confessor in the\nconvent had only commanded her to go to Altotting. With this neighbouring\ngoal before her, she turned her back upon Augsburg the following morning.\n\nHer hope of meeting on the way compassionate people, who would give her a\nseat in their vehicles, was fulfilled. She reached Altotting sooner than\nshe had expected. During the journey, sometimes in a peasant's cart,\nsometimes in a freight wagon, she had thought often of little Juliane,\nand always with a quiet, nay, a contented heart. In the famous old\nchurch, at the end of her pilgrimage, she saw a picture in which the\nraked souls of children were soaring upward to heaven from the flames\nblazing around them in purgatory.\n\nThe confessor had sent her to the right place.\n\nHere a fervent prayer had the power to rescue a child's soul from the\nfires of purgatory. Many other votive pictures, the pilgrims at the inn,\nand a priest whom she questioned, confirmed it. She also heard from\nvarious quarters that she had not paid too high a price for the\nindulgence. This strengthened her courage and henceforward, nay, even\nduring the time of sore privation which she afterward endured, she\nblessed a thousand times her resolve to buy the ransoming paper from\nTetzel, the Dominican; for she thought that she daily experienced its\npower.\n\nWhenever Juliane appeared, her face wore a friendly expression--nay,\nonce, in a dream, she floated before her as if she wished to thank her,\nin the form of a beautiful angel with large pink and white wings. She no\nlonger needed to fear the horrible curse which she had called down upon\nthe little one, and once more thought of Lienhard with pleasure. When he\nlearned in the other world how she had atoned for the wrong which she had\ndone his little favourite, she would be sure of his praise.\n\nTo be held in light esteem, nay, even despised, was part of her calling,\nlike her constant wandering. She had longed for applause in her art, but\nfor herself she had desired nothing save swift draughts of pleasure,\nsince she had learned how little she was regarded by the only person\nwhose opinion she valued. She could never have expected that he would\nhold her in high esteem, since he was so indifferent to her art that he\ndid not even think it worth while to lift his eyes to the rope. Yet the\nidea that he placed her in the same rank with others in her profession\nseemed unendurable. But she need grieve over this no longer, and when she\nremembered that even the sorest want had not been able to induce her to\ntouch his alms, she could have fairly shouted for joy amid all her\nmisery. The conviction that one man, who was the best and noblest of his\nsex, might deem her a poor, unfortunate girl, but never a creature who\ndeserved contempt, was the beam to which she clung, when the surges of\nher pitiable, wandering life threatened to close over her and stifle her.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Buy indugence for sins to be committed in the future\n     Mirrors were not allowed in the convent\n\n\n\n\nIN THE BLUE PIKE\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nAs Kuni's troubled soul had derived so much benefit from the short\npilgrimage to Altotting, she hoped to obtain far more from a visit to\nSantiago di Compostella, famed throughout Christendom.\n\nTrue, her old master, Loni, whom she had met at Regensburg, permitted her\nto join his band, but when she perceived that he was far less prosperous\nthan before, and that she could not be useful to him in any way, she left\nhim at Cologne because a kindhearted captain offered to take her to\nVlissingen without pay. Thence she really did set out upon the pilgrimage\nto Santiago di Compostella; but St. James, the patron saint of the\nSpaniards, whose untiring mercy so many praised, did not prove specially\nfavourable to her. The voyage to Compostella, the principal place where\nhe was reverenced, which annually attracted thousands of pilgrims, cost\nher her last penny, and the cold nights which she was obliged to spend on\ndeck increased her cough until it became almost unendurably violent.\n\nIn Santiago di Compostella both her means and her strength were\nexhausted. After vainly expecting for a long time some token of the\nsaint's helpful kindness, only two courses were left: either she must\nremain in Compostella and join the beggars in the crowded road to the\nplace of pilgrimage, or she must accept the proposal made by tongueless\nCyriax and go back with him to Germany. At first she had been afraid of\nthe brutal fellow, who feigned insanity and was led about by his wife\nwith a chain; but once, when red-haired Gitta was seized by the\nInquisition, and spent two days and two nights in jail, and Kuni nursed\nher child in her place, she had found him more friendly. Besides, in\nCompostella, the swearer had been in his most cheerful mood. Every day\nhad filled his purse, because there was no lack of people and he\nunderstood how to extort money by the terror which horrible outbreaks of\nhis feigned malady inspired among the densely crowded pilgrims. His wife\npossessed a remedy which would instantly calm his ravings, but it was\nexpensive, and she had not the money to buy it. Not only in Compostella,\nbut also on the long journey from Bavaria through the Swiss mountains,\nFrance, Navarre, and the whole of northern Spain, there were always\nkind-hearted or timid people from whom the money for the \"dear\nprescription\" could be obtained.\n\nA cart drawn by a donkey conveyed the child of this worthy couple. When\nKuni met her at Compostella she was a sickly little girl about two years\nold, with an unnaturally large head and thin, withered legs, who seemed\nto be mute because she used her mouth only to eat and to make a movement\nof the lips which sounded like \"Baba.\" This sound, Cyriax explained, was\na call that meant \"papa.\" That was the name aristocratic children gave\ntheir fathers, and it meant him alone, because the little girl resembled\nhim and loved him better than she did any one else. He really believed\nthis, and the stammering of the fragile child's livid lips won the rough\nfellow's tender love.\n\nThe man who, when drunk, beat his wife till the blood came, and committed\nplenty of cruel deeds, trembled, wept, and could even pray with fervent\npiety, when--which often happened--the frail little creature, shaken by\nconvulsions, seemed at the point of death. He had undertaken the long\njourney to the \"world's end,\" not only because the pilgrimage to\nCompostella promised large profits, but also to urge St. James to cure\nhis child. For his \"sweet little Juli's\" sake, and to obtain for her a\ncheap nurse who would be entirely dependent upon him, he burdened himself\nwith the lame ropedancer. But he had no reason to repent this; Gitta had\nenough to do to lead him by the chain and answer the questions of the\npeople, while Kuni nursed her charge with rare fidelity, mended the\nclothing of the father, mother, and child, as well or as badly as she\ncould, and also helped Gitta with the cooking. The sickly, obstinate\nlittle girl certainly did not deserve the name of a \"sweet\" child, yet\nKuni devoted herself to it with warm, almost passionate affection.\n\nThe vagabond couple did not fail to notice this, and, on the whole, it\npleased them. If Cyriax was vexed when little Juli began to show plainly\nenough that she preferred her nurse even to him, he submitted because the\nlame girl watched the child through severe attacks of convulsions and\nfever as if it were her own, and willingly sacrificed her night's rest\nfor its sake. True, he often talked loudly enough in Kuni's presence of\nthe witch potion which the lame girl mixed in the porridge of his child,\nwho loved him better than anything in the world, to estrange it from him\nand win it to herself.\n\nKuni paid little heed to these offensive words; she knew that she had\ngained the child's love by very different means from the \"black art.\"\nWith far more reason, she dimly felt, the sick child might have been\nreproached for exerting a secret spell upon her. Her name, \"Julie,\" which\nshe owed to her patron saint, Kuni supposed was the same as \"Juliane.\"\nBesides, the daughter of the vagabond with the mutilated tongue was born\na few days after the death of little Fraulein Peutinger, and this\ncircumstance, when Kuni knew it, seemed significant. Soon after meeting\nthe vagrant pair she had listened to a conversation between two\ntravelling scholars, and learned some strange things. One believed that\nthe old sages were right when they taught that the soul of a dead person\ncontinued its existence in other living creatures; for instance, the\ngreat Pythagoras had known positively, and proved that his own had dwelt,\nin former ages, in the breast of the hero Palamedes.\n\nThe ropedancer remembered this statement, questioned other Bacchantes\nabout these things, and heard the doctrine of the transmigration of the\nsoul confirmed. Hence, during many a solitary ride, while the cart rolled\nslowly along, she pondered over the thought that Juliane's soul had lived\nagain in foolish Julie. How? Why? She did not rack her brains on those\npoints. What had been a fancy, slowly became a fixed belief in the mind\nthus constantly dwelling upon one idea. At last she imagined that\nwhatever she did for Cyriax's child benefited the soul of the little\nAugsburg girl, whose life had been shortened by her wicked prayer on the\nrope.\n\nYet she had not bought the indulgence in vain. But for that, she believed\nthat Juliane's soul would still be burning in the flames of purgatory.\nThe indulgence of the \"Inquisitor\" Tetzel had proved its power, and\nrescued her from the fire. To demonstrate this fact she devised many a\nproof. For instance, one day the idea entered her mind that foolish\nJuli's brain was so weak because Juliane, during her brief existence, had\nused more of hers than was fair.\n\nAt first this had been a mere fancy; but, true to her nature, she\nreverted to it again and again, while in the cart which she alone shared\nwith the child, until it had matured to an immovable conviction. During\nher changeful, wandering life, she had had no fixed religious principles.\nBut, since the notion had entered her mind that Lienhard would reward her\nfor her love by giving her a share, even though a very small one, of his\nheart, she had clung tenaciously to it, in spite of all rebuffs and the\noffensive indifference with which he had treated her. On her sick bed and\nduring her convalescence, she had dwelt upon the fear that her sinful\nprayer had killed the little wearer of the laurel wreath, until she could\nsay to herself that events had proved it. With the same firmness she now\nheld to the belief that she had found the right idea concerning little\nJuli's soul.\n\nWith the passionate desire to atone to the patrician's daughter for the\nwrong which she had inflicted upon her, she clasped the vagabond's child\nto her heart with the love of the most faithful mother, and her\naffectionate care seemed to benefit herself as well as the ailing little\none. Juli was as devoted to her Kuni as a faithful dog. The kindness\nwhich the lame ropedancer showed to the fragile child was lavishly\nreturned to her by a thousand proofs of the warmest attachment.\n\nSo Kuni had found one heart which kept its whole treasure of love for her\nalone, one creature who could not do without her, one fragile human plant\nto which she could be useful and helpful day and night.\n\nUnder the care of a faithful nurse little Juli gradually grew stronger,\nboth physically and mentally. The little girl's wan cheeks began to be\nrosy, the convulsions and fever attacked her less frequently. Besides the\nfaint \"Baba,\" she learned to babble \"Duni,\" (instead of Kuni) and\nafterward \"Mother,\" and many other words. At last she talked nearly as\nwell as other children of her age. All this afforded the lame girl a\nwealth of sweet joys wholly new to her, which afforded her heart such\nwarmth and solace that, in spite of the cough which tormented her during\nmany an hour of the day and night, she felt happier during her homeward\njourney with the fierce blasphemer Cyriax, from whom she expected the\nworst things, than in the brilliant days of her fame as an artist.\nDoubtless, as they approached Germany, she often wondered what Lienhard\nwould think of her, if he should meet her amid such surroundings, as the\ncompanion of so worthless a couple; but the terror that overpowered her\nwas transformed into pleasant satisfaction at the thought that he would\napprove, nay, praise her conduct, when she could show him the child, and\ntell him what she had done for it.\n\nThis state of affairs had continued until two months before. Then, at\nSchaffhausen, her darling had suddenly been attacked with violent\nconvulsions, and the feeble intellect, which her love had so toilsomely\nand faithfully waked from its slumber, only too soon attained eternal\npeace. In all Kuni's sorrowful life she had scarcely experienced any\ngrief so bitter. When she closed the little eyes which had gazed into her\npale face so often and so tenderly, it seemed as if the sun, moon, and\nstars had lost their light, and henceforth she was condemned to live in\ndreary gloom.\n\nWhat terrible days had followed the child's death! Cyriax raved as if he\nhad really been seized with the lunacy whose pretence helped him to beg\nhis bread. Besides, he gave himself up to unbridled indulgence in brandy,\nand, when drunk, he was capable of the most brutal acts. The dead Juli's\nmother, who, spite of an evil youth and a lenient conscience, was by no\nmeans one of the worst of women, had to endure the harshest treatment\nfrom her profligate companion.\n\nThe blow which had fallen upon him filled him with savage rage, and he\nlonged to inflict some pain upon all who came in his way that they, too,\nmight feel what it was to suffer.\n\nThe death of his \"sweet little Juli\" appeared to have hardened the last\ntender spot in his brutal soul.\n\nKuni was the only person toward whom at first he imposed some restraint\nupon himself. True, without any consideration for the girl's presence, he\nsometimes asked Gitta why they still burdened themselves with the useless\nhobbler and did not sell the cart and the donkey. But though there was no\nlack of good offers for the excellent Spanish beast of burden, he allowed\nmatters to remain as before. If the rage seething in his heart led him,\nin his drunken frenzy, to make Kuni feel its effects, too, the pleading\nglance of the blue eyes, still large and expressive, with which she had\nso often hushed the wailing child, sufficed to soothe him.\n\nYesterday, for the first time, he had seriously threatened to drive the\nropedancer away, and she knew that Cyriax was capable of anything. True,\nhis wife was attached to Kuni, but she had little influence over her\nvicious husband. So the sick cripple might only too easily find herself\nleft on the highway.\n\nStill, she had given Cyriax cause for the threat. All day and during the\nnight she had been busy with the unfortunate mother and her twins, and\ntherefore had frequently neglected to fill his brandy bottle. But this\ncould not be helped, and she was not accustomed to think of the future.\nWhatever her heart urged she did, no matter what might happen. If Cyriax\nleft her in the lurch, she must beg or starve unless chance, which so\noften mingled in her existence, willed otherwise.\n\nWith the child's life the modest happiness which Kuni had enjoyed during\nthe last few months had vanished, not only because the tongueless\nblasphemer had become a different person, and she sorely missed the\ndelicate little creature who had filled and cheered her heart, but she\nhad also lost the peace of mind which she enjoyed during the existence of\nher charge.\n\nThe young Augsburg maiden, whom she thought she had bought out of the\nflames of purgatory, did not appear to her again, but the vagrant's child\ncame all the more frequently, and whenever she showed herself she wailed\nand wept bitterly. Sweet little Juli's soul must now--whether it had been\nJuliane's or not--endure the tortures of purgatory, and this pierced\nKuni's heart the more deeply the more affectionately she remembered the\nsickly-child.\n\nEver since she had used a black plaster, given to her at Singen by a\nquack, the stump of her foot had become sore again, and sharp pain\ntortured her so cruelly that, especially when the cough racked her\nemaciated body and she was jolted to and fro in the springless cart over\nstony roads, she was afraid that she should lose her reason.\n\nAt Pforzheim a barber had examined the wound and, shaking his head,\npronounced the black plaster a malignant blood poisoner, and when she\nrefused to have the leg amputated, applied a yellow one, which proved no\nbetter. When Cyriax counted up his receipts in the evening, called to\nred-haired Gitta his favourite maxim, \"Fools never die,\" and handed to\nher--Kuni--the larger brandy bottle to fill, she had often summoned up\nher courage and begged him to buy an indulgence for his sweet little\nJuli. The result was certain--she knew it from her own experience.\n\nShortly after the child's death he had thrust his hand into his purse\nmore than once at such an appeal and given money for a few candles, but\nit had not been possible to persuade him to purchase the paper.\n\nThis refusal was by no means due to mere parsimony. Kuni knew what\ninduced him to maintain his resistance so obstinately, for in her\npresence he had told pock-marked Ratz that he would not take the\nindulgence gratis. Wherever he might be, his family ought to go, and he\ndid not wish to be anywhere that he would not find Juli.\n\nHe did not doubt the continued life of the soul after death, but\nprecisely because he was sure that the gates of paradise would remain\nclosed to him throughout eternity he would not help to open them for the\ndead child. When his imagination tortured him with fancies that mice and\nbeetles were leaping and running out of his pockets and the breast of his\ndoublet, he thought that his end was drawing near. If the devil then had\npower over his soul, his imps might drag him wherever they pleased, if\nonly he might see little Juli there and hear her call \"Baba\" and\n\"Father.\" It would lessen the tortures of hell, however severe they might\nbe. Was it possible for him to conceive of any greater folly than to rob\nhimself of this consolation by transporting the child, through the\nindulgence, to the kingdom of heaven, where he could never see her again.\nHe had accumulated a goodly sum by begging, it is true, but, strangely\nenough, he did not think of purchasing salvation for himself in order to\nmeet his child again in heaven, instead of amid the flames of purgatory.\nThough he had become as rich as the Fuggers, paradise, he knew, would\nstill be closed to him. He was not fit for it.\n\nHe hated everybody who was rich and respectable. He would rather be with\nhis child in the mire of hell than to go with her to a magnificent garden\nof paradise where swearing was forbidden, where there was no brandy and\nno highroad, and which offered only pleasures which were none to him.\n\nSo Kuni was forced to see the child remain in the fires of purgatory,\nwhich hurt her little less than her aching limb.\n\nAt her entrance into The Blue Pike pain and mental suffering had driven\nher to the verge of despair. But the day which began so sorrowfully was\nfollowed by an evening of delight--she owed to it her new meeting with\nLienhard.\n\nFrom childhood she had been homeless, and every quarter of the globe to\nwhich a highroad led was her native land. Yet in Spain and during the\njourney back she had felt a gnawing longing for Germany, nay, nothing had\ntroubled her more than the thought of dying and being buried outside of\nits frontier. Her mother, a native of the Rhine country, had given her\nbirth during the fair at Cologne on the Spree; but, whenever homesickness\nassailed her, it was always the steeples of St. Sebald and St. Ulrich\nwhich beckoned to her, and she had longed for the Frank country, the\nMain, or the richly wooded banks of the Pegnitz. Was this because, in\nNuremberg, for the only time in her life, she had been a member of a\ndecorous household, or had the love which, wherever Cyriax's cart and\ndonkey carried her, always drew her heart back to the same ancient city,\nmade it so dear to her?\n\nProbably the latter, for yesterday she had yearned ardently to reach\nNuremberg; but since she had seen Lienhard again, she rejoiced that she\nwas in Miltenberg and at The Blue Pike.\n\nNever had he seemed to her so handsome, so manly. Besides, he had spoken\nto her, listened to her reply, and even given her money with lavish\ngenerosity. It was like him! No one else would have been capable of it.\n\nShe could live a long time on his three gold florins, if Cyriax abandoned\nher; yet the unexpected wealth burned in her hand and perplexed her. Did\nLienhard no longer know that she would not accept money from him? Had she\nrobbed herself of the certainty that beautified existence; had she failed\nto show him her superiority to other vagrant girls? Yet no! What he gave\nher was more, far more, than even a prince bestowed upon an ordinary\nmendicant. He must measure her by a special standard. If he had only\ngiven her the gold with a kind word, not flung it silently into her lap.\nThis half destroyed her pleasure in the present, and the ample supply of\nmoney clouded her already disturbed peace of mind still more. Had it been\npossible, she would have returned the gift as she did the alms at\nAugsburg. But how was this to be accomplished in the over-crowded inn?\n\nYet, if she kept the florins, the sacrifice at the convent would lose a\nlarge portion of its value, and the good opinion which her act at\nAugsburg must have inspired might be shadowed.\n\nFor some time before leaving the room in the tavern she had turned the\ncoins restlessly over and over under her kerchief, and meanwhile, as if\nin a dream, made but evasive answers to the questions and demands of\nCyriax and Gitta.\n\nThen she glided nearer to the gentlemen at the table, intending to return\nLienhard's gift; but the landlord of The Pike followed her suspiciously,\nand drove her back to her companions.\n\nThence she had been called to the sick woman and went out of doors. She\nfound the mother of the twins in the meadow by the Main and eagerly\ndevoted herself to them.\n\nThe widow's burning head and gasping breath were no favourable symptoms.\nShe herself felt that her end was approaching. Her tongue was parched.\nThe water in the jug was warm and flat, yet she longed for a cool drink.\nDuring the day Kuni had noticed a well in the kitchen garden, and, in\nspite of her aching foot, hastened to it at once to draw the cool water.\nWhile doing so, the red and white pinks which she had noticed at noon\nagain caught her eye in the starlight night. The sick woman could enjoy\ntheir fragrance now, and to-morrow, feast her eyes upon their bright\ncolours.\n\nFrom childhood she had always been fond of flowers. Stealing was\nprohibited by her father as wicked and dangerous, and she had never\ntransgressed his commands. When she picked up the costly rosary in\nNuremberg, she had intended to return it to the owner. But to pluck the\nflowers and fruit which the Lord caused to grow and ripen for every one\nwas a different thing, and had never troubled her conscience. So she\ncarelessly gathered a few pinks. Three should go to the sick woman, but\nLienhard Groland would have the largest and finest. She would try to slip\nthe flowers into his hand, with the money, as a token of her gratitude.\nBut even while saying to herself that these blossoms should be her last\ngreeting to him, she felt the red spots burning more hotly on her cheeks.\nAh, if only he would accept the pinks! Then the most cruel things might\nhappen, she could bear them.\n\nWhile kneeling before the bed, the waiter, Dietel, noticed her. As she\nsaw him also, she hurried back to the suffering mother as fast as her\nlame limb would carry her, and raised the jug of fresh water to her\nparched lips.\n\nThis had been a delicious refreshment to the sick woman, and when Kuni\nsaw how much comfort her little service afforded the invalid, her heart\ngrew lighter. Had it been possible she, who was of no importance to any\none, would willingly have lain down on the heap of straw in the place of\nthe mother upon whom two young lives depended.\n\nHow delightful it was to bring aid! And she possessed the means of being\nhelpful.\n\nSo, with sparkling eyes, she pressed the three gold coins into the\nsufferer's burning hand, and told her that the village authorities would\nrear the twins for such a sum. Then the parched lips of the fevered woman\nlauded the merciful kindness bestowed by the lame ropedancer--who at that\nmoment seemed to her as powerful as a queen--so warmly and tenderly that\nKuni felt the blood again mount into her cheeks--this time with shame at\nthe praise which she deserved so little, yet which rendered her so happy.\nFinally, the sufferer expressed a desire for a priest, that she might not\npass from earth without a sacrament. Her sins oppressed her sorely. She,\nand she alone, was to blame for Nickel's being hanged. Never in all her\nlife had she been a glutton; but before the birth of the twins the devil\nhad tormented her with a strange longing for roast fowl, which she had\nbeen unable to repress and keep to herself. Solely for her gratification,\nNickel stole the goose and the hens. In spite of many a bad business in\nwhich his reckless nature had involved him, he was a good fellow, with a\nloving heart.\n\nFor her sake he would have tried to steal the ring from the executioner's\nfinger. Now he had gone into the other world unshriven, with the rope\nabout his neck, for though the benefit of the sacrament was usually\ngranted even to the worst criminals, the peasants strung Nickel up to the\nnearest tree as soon as they caught him, without heeding his entreaties.\nThis made death even harder for her than the thought of the poor little\ncreatures yonder in the bundle of rags. Kuni's charity had provided for\nthe orphans, but her Nickel would find no mercy from the heavenly Judge\nthroughout eternity.\n\nShe had sobbed aloud as she spoke, and then writhed in such violent\nconvulsions that Kuni with difficulty prevented her from throwing herself\nout of the hot straw in the cart upon the damp meadow.\n\nWhen she grew somewhat calmer, she repeated Nickel's name again and again\ntill it was heartrending to hear her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nAs soon as the sufferer's condition would permit, Kuni left her, went to\nthe window of the taproom in The Blue Pike, and surveyed its inmates.\n\nMost of them were already asleep on heaps of straw, which were raised at\nthe head by chairs turned upside down. The richer guests had gone to the\nbedrooms, which, however, they were obliged to share with several others.\nSome of the strollers were lying on the floor with their knapsacks under\ntheir heads. A few of the musicians were still lingering over the wine\nwhich the travelling merchants and artisans had ordered for them. Others\nhad gone with some of the vagrants into the little wood beyond the\nmeadow, where they danced, fiddled, and sang.\n\nTheir loud shouts were borne by the cool night breeze to the sufferer in\nthe cart. The gentlemen from Cologne, without troubling themselves about\nthe boisterous merriment of the burghers or the transformation of the\nroom into a sleeping apartment, were still sitting at the table talking\ntogether eagerly.\n\nThe dealer in the indulgences, too, had not yet gone to rest. A tall,\nbroad-shouldered sergeant belonging to the escort had just purchased--for\nthe larger part of the zecchins won as his share of the booty in the\nItalian war--the indulgence which he thought would secure him from the\ntortures of the fire of purgatory. Before opening the door, he struck his\nbroad breast as though relieved of a heavy burden.\n\nThe ropedancer looked after him thoughtfully. The paper had now lightened\nthe sergeant's heart as it had formerly done her own. Would she not have\nbeen wiser to give her money for the redemption of Nickel's lost soul\nthan for the orphans, whom the charity of the people would perhaps have\nsuccoured without her? Probably, too, it would have afforded still\ngreater consolation to the poor dying woman, whom nothing troubled so\nsorely as her guilt for the doom of her unfortunate husband.\n\nYet, even thus she had succeeded in making the dying mother's departure\neasier, and what she had commenced she intended to complete at once.\n\nWith a tender smile that lent strange beauty to her pallid, grief-worn\nface she continued her survey.\n\nShe had previously noticed an old priest, whose countenance bore the\nimpress of genuine kindness of heart. She soon found him again among the\ntravellers sleeping on the straw; but the old man's slumber was so sound\nthat she felt reluctant to wake him. Among the Dominicans from Cologne,\nmost of whom were also asleep, there were none she would have trusted,\nnay, she even thought that one was the very person who, shortly before\nher fall from the rope, had pursued her with persistent importunity. But\nthe Abbot of St. AEgidius in Nuremberg, who had dined with the\nambassadors from his native city, was also a man of benevolent, winning\nexpression. His cheeks were flushed, either by the heat or the wine which\nhe had drunk, but there was a look of attractive kindness upon his\nwell-formed features. When he went through the room a short time before,\nKuni had seen him pass his hand caressingly over the fair hair of the\npretty little son of a potter's wife from Reren on the Rhine, whose cart\nwas standing outside in the meadow by the Main. He was scarcely of the\nsame mind as the gentleman from Cologne, for he had just waved his plump\nhand in protest.\n\nPerhaps she might even do him a favour by summoning him. But dared she, a\npoor vagabond, disturb so distinguished a gentleman at his wine?\n\nYet there was danger in delay. So she resolved to ask the assistance of\nthe landlady of The Pike, coughed with her handkerchief pressed over her\nlips, in order not to disturb the sleepers, and turned to leave the room.\n\nBut Gitta had just been to see the sick mother, and told Cyriax that\nKuni, silly, softhearted thing, had wasted her gold coins on the dying\nwoman.\n\nThe blasphemer flew into a great rage, muttered a few words to\npock-marked Ratz, and then staggered toward their lame travelling\ncompanion to bar her passage across the threshold, and ask, in angry,\nguttural tones, how much of the Groland gold she had flung into the dying\nwoman's grave.\n\n\"Is it any business of yours?\" was the reply, uttered with difficulty\namid her coughing.\n\n\"Mine, mine--is it any business of mine?\" gasped the tongueless man. Then\nhe raised his heavy fist threateningly and stammered jeeringly: \"Not--not\na red heller more nor less than my cart--in the name of all the\nfiends--than my cart is of yours. Four heller pounds, Ratz, and the\ndonkey and cart are yours.\"\n\n\"Done!\" cried the vagrant, who already had his money ready; but the\ntongueless blasphemer chuckled with malicious pleasure:\n\n\"Now you have it, fool! Whoever doesn't share with me--you know\nthat--doesn't ride with me.\"\n\nThen he staggered back to Gitta.\n\nThe girl watched him silently for a while. At last she passed her hand\nquickly across her brow, as if to dispel some unpleasant thought, and\nshook her burning head, half sadly, half disapprovingly.\n\nShe had done a good deed--and this, this--But she had not performed it\nfor the sake of reward, she had only desired to aid the sufferer.\n\nStraightening herself proudly, she limped toward the kitchen.\n\nHere, frequently interrupted by fits of coughing, she told the landlady\nof The Pike in touching words that the sick mother, whom she had so\nkindly strengthened with nice broth, desired the sacrament, as her life\nwould soon be over. The Lord Abbot of St. AEgidius in Nuremberg was still\nsitting over his wine.\n\nShe went no further. The landlady, who, while Kuni was talking, had wiped\nher pretty flushed face with her apron, pulled the rolled up white linen\nsleeves farther down over her plump arms, and gazed with mingled surprise\nand approval into the girl's emaciated face, interrupted her with the\npromise to do what she could for the poor woman.\n\n\"If it were any one else,\" she continued, significantly, \"I would not\nventure to try it. But the Abbot of St. AEgidius, in his charity,\nscarcely asks, when help is needed, whence did you come, who are you, or\nwhat do you possess? I know him. Wait here a little while. If he\ncondescends to do it, you can take him to the poor creature at once.\"\n\nWhile speaking she smoothed, with two swift motions of her hands, the\nbrown hair which had become a little disordered while bustling to and fro\nto attend to the business, dipped her hands into the water pail, dried\nthem quickly on her apron, untied it, and tossed it to the maid. Then she\ncleared her throat vigorously and left the kitchen.\n\nIn reply to the anxious question of her husband, whom she met on the\nthreshold of the room, as to what she was seeking there, she answered\nfirmly, \"What is right and pious\"; then modestly whispered her request to\nthe abbot.\n\nHer wish was fulfilled without delay, nay, it might really have been\nsupposed that the interruption was very opportune to the distinguished\nprelate; for, with the brief exclamation, \"Imperative official duty!\" he\nrose from the table, and went first with the landlady to Kuni and\nafterward with the latter to the cart beside the laden potter's wain,\nwhose white tilt gleamed in the darkness.\n\nThe landlady had undertaken to send to the sexton, whose house was near,\nthat he might immediately obtain everything the abbot needed for the\ndying woman's viaticum.\n\nKuni told the sufferer what an exalted servant of the Church was ready to\nreceive her confession and give her the sacrament.\n\nThen she whispered that she might mention Nickel's burdened soul to the\nabbot. Whatever happened, she could now depart from earth in peace.\n\nReserving for herself half of the flowers she had gathered in the garden\nshe glided away, in order not to disturb the dying woman's confession.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nAt the edge of the meadow Kuni paused to reflect. She would gladly have\nflung herself down on the dewy grass to rest, stretched at full length on\nthe cool turf. She was worn out, and her foot ached and burned painfully\nafter her long walk in the warm August night; but something else exerted\na still stronger attraction over her poor longing heart; the desire to\nsee Lienhard again and give him the pinks as a token of gratitude for so\nmuch kindness.\n\nHe was still sitting with the other gentlemen at the table in front of\nthe tavern. One of the torches threw its light full on his manly face.\nKuni knew that he could not see her in the darkness surrounding her\nfigure, yet it seemed as though she was meeting the gaze of his sparkling\ndark eyes. Now he was speaking. How she longed to know what he said.\nSummoning up her courage, she glided along in the shadow of the wall and\nsat down behind the oleander bush on the sharp edge of the tub. No one\nnoticed her, but she was afraid that a fit of coughing might betray her\npresence, so she pressed her apron firmly over her lips and sat straining\nher ears to listen. In spite of the violent aching of her foot and the\nloud rattling in her chest, she thought it a specially favourable\ndispensation of Providence that she had found her way here just at this\nmoment; for Lienhard was still speaking. The others had asked him to tell\nthem connectedly how the beautiful Katharina Harsdtirffer had become his\nwife, in spite of the opposition of her stern father and though the\nHonourable Council had punished him for such insubordination with\nimprisonment and exile.\n\nHe had already related this in detail when Kuni came to listen. Now,\npointing to Wilibald Pirckheimer, who sat opposite, he went on with his\nstory, describing how, thanks to the mediation of the latter and of the\ngreat artist, Albrecht Durer, he had obtained an audience at Innsbruck\nwith the Emperor Maximilian, how the sovereign had interceded personally\nin behalf of himself and his betrothal, and how, in consequence of this\nroyal intervention, he had attained the goal of his wishes.\n\n\"Our Honourables,\" he concluded, \"now willingly permitted me to return\nhome, and Hans Harsdtirffer, Katharina's father-Heaven rest his\nsoul--relinquished his opposition to our marriage. Perhaps he would have\ndone so earlier, but for the keen antagonism which, owing to their\ntotally different natures, had arisen between the stern man and my\nlighthearted father, and displayed itself in the Council as well as in\nall the affairs of life. Not until his old opponent, to whom I owed my\nexistence, was on his death-bed, did Herr Hans clasp hands with him in\nreconciliation, and consent to our betrothal.\"\n\n\"And I know,\" Wilibald Pirckheimer interrupted, that among the many\nobstacles which his foes placed in his path, and which clouded his active\nlife, you two, and your loyal love, gave him more light and greater\nconsolation than anything else. I have often heard him gladly acknowledge\nthis, and as for you, friend Lienhard.\"\n\n\"I know,\" replied the young Honourable modestly, checking him, \"that he\nwas right in deeming the immature youth, which I was at the time of my\nfirst wooing, unworthy of his daughter.\"\n\n\"Though you had been the peer in strength and beauty of the valiant\nAchilles, and in wisdom of the subtle Ulysses, son of Laertes, I would\nnot contradict you,\" interrupted Pirckheimer; \"for, gentlemen, this\ngallant husband's wife is a jewel of a peculiar kind. Nuremberg is proud\nof calling Frau Katharina her daughter. Far as the German language is\nspoken, her equal would be sought in vain.\"\n\n\"You are an enviable man,\" said little Dr. Eberbach, turning to Lienhard.\n\"But probably you will permit me one question. Even when a boy,--as we\nheard, you loved the child Katharina. As a youth, you took this love\nacross the Alps to Padua and Bologna. But when, like the noble Virgil, I\nperceive that 'Nowhere is there aught to trust-nowhere,'--[Virg. AEn. iv,\n373.]--and find that the esteemed Catullus's words, 'No man passes\nthrough life without error,'--[Catull. Dist. I, 5.]--are verified, I\nwould fain learn whether in Italy also you held fast, in small things as\nwell as great ones, to the--among us men--rare bird of the fidelity sworn\nto the woman whom we love. I, who compared to you, am like a faun with\npointed ears beside the handsome Ares, nevertheless know by experience\nhow easily the glowing eyes of that country kindle conflagrations. Was\nthe armour of a former love really strong enough to guard your heart from\nevery flame, even before any vow bound you to the child whom you chose so\nearly for the companion of your life\"?\n\n\"It was the same before the priest's consecration as afterward,\" replied\nthe young Councillor, gravely and firmly.\n\nThen, changing his manner, he held out his brimming glass toward the\nThuringian and gaily continued:\n\n\"It ought not to seem so amazing to a man of your learning, my\nincredulous Herr Doctor. Surely your far-famed Propertius says, 'Love is\nbenefited by many things, a faithful nature and resolute persistence.'\nBelieve me, doctor, even without the counsel of your experienced Roman, I\nshould have kept faith with the lovely child at home. From my boyhood,\nKatharina was to me the woman, the one above all others, the worthy\nTryphon, my teacher of Greek in Bologna, would have said. My heart's\ndarling has always been my light, as Helios was that of the Greeks,\nthough there were the moon and so many planets and stars besides.\"\n\n\"And the vagrant we saw just now, on whom you bestowed a golden shower of\nremembrance as Father Zeus endowed the fair Danae?\" asked Doctor\nPeutinger of Augsburg, shaking his finger mischievously at his young\nfriend. \"We humanists follow the saying of Tibullus: 'Whoever confesses\nlet him be forgiven,' and know the world sufficiently to be aware that\nwithin the walls of Ilium and without enormities are committed.\"\n--[Horace, Epist. 1, 2, 16.]\n\n\"A true statement,\" replied Lienhard. \"It probably applies to me as much\nas to the young girl, but there was really nothing between us which bore\nthe most distant resemblance to a love intrigue. As a magistrate, I\nacquitted her of a trivial misdemeanour which she committed while my\nwedding procession was on its way to the altar. I did this because I was\nunwilling to have that happy hour become a source of pain to any one. In\nreturn, she grew deeply attached to me, who can tell whether from mere\ngratitude, or because a warmer feeling stirred her strange heart? At that\ntime she was certainly a pretty, dainty creature, and yet, as truly as I\nhope to enjoy the love of my darling wife for many a year, there was\nnothing, absolutely nothing, between me and the blue-eyed, dark-haired\nwanderer which the confessor might not have witnessed. I myself wonder at\nthis, because I by no means failed to see the ropedancer's peculiar\nchangeful charms, and the tempter pointed them out to me zealously\nenough. Besides, she has no ordinary nature. She had accomplished really\nmarvellous feats in her art, until at Augsburg, during the Reichstag,\nwhen in the Emperor's presence, she risked the most daring ventures--\"\n\n\"Could it be the same person who, before our poor Juliane's eyes, had the\nawful fall which frightened the child so terribly?\" asked Doctor\nPeutinger earnestly.\n\n\"The very same,\" replied Lienhard in a tone of sincere pity; but the\nAugsburg doctor continued, sighing:\n\n\"With that sudden fright, which thrilled her sensitive nature to its\ninmost depths, began the illness of the angel whose rich, loving heart\nthrobbed so tenderly for you also, Herr Lienhard.\"\n\n\"As mine did for the peerless child,\" replied the young Councillor with\neager warmth. \"While Juliane, who sickened at the sight of the girl\ndancing on the edge of the grave, was pointing out to me some pages in\nthe manuscript of Lucian, which I was to take from you to Herr Wilibald\nyonder, the unfortunate performer met with the terrible accident. We\nthought that she was killed, but, as if by a miracle, she lived.\nRopedancing, of course, was over forever, as she had lost a foot. This,\nwe supposed, would tend to her welfare and induce her to lead a regular,\ndecorous life; but we were mistaken. In spite of her lameness, Kuni's\nrestless nature drove her back to the highroad. Yet she would have been\nat liberty to remain in the convent as a lay sister without taking the\nvows.\"\n\n\"My wife, too, had opened our house to her for Juliane's sake,\" added\nDoctor Peutinger. \"The sick child could not get the fall which had\nfrightened her so terribly out of her head. Her compassionate heart was\nconstantly occupied with the poor girl, and when she urged her mother to\nprovide for her, she willingly gratified her wish and often inquired\nabout the sufferer's health. How Juliane rejoiced when she heard that the\nbold and skilful dancer's life would be saved! But when, through the\nabbess, my wife offered her a situation in our home, the vagabond\ndisdained what the mother and daughter had planned for her, Heaven knows\nhow kindly.\"\n\n\"She treated the gift which we--my wife and I--left in the convent for\nher in the same way,\" added Lienhard. \"Why did she refuse the aid I\noffered no less willingly? Probably because she was too proud to accept\nalms from a man from whom her ardent heart vainly desired something\nbetter.\"\n\nHere Lienhard Groland hesitated, and it sounded like a confession as he\neagerly continued:\n\n\"And, gentleman, she often seemed to me well worthy of a man's desire.\nWhy should I deny it? Within and without the walls of Troy--we have just\nheard it--sin is committed, and had not the image of another woman stood\nbetween us, as the Alps rise between Germany and Italy-perhaps--But of\nwhat avail are conjectures? Will you believe that there were hours when I\nfelt as though I ought to make some atonement to the poor girl?\"\n\n\"In your place I should have done it long ago, for the benefit of both,\"\nprotested little Doctor Eberbach merrily. \"The commands of conscience\nshould be obeyed, even when, by way of exception, it requires something\npleasant. But how grave you look, sir. No offence! You are one of the\nrare specimens of featherless birds endowed with reason, who unite to the\nausterity of Cato the amiability of Titus.\"\n\n\"All due honour to Cato,\" added Wilibald Pirckheimer with a slight bend\nof his stately head; \"but in my young days we had a better understanding\nof the art of reconciling stern duty with indulgent compassion, when\ndealing with a beautiful Calypso whom our sternness threatened to wound.\nBut everything in the good old days was not better than at the present\ntime, and that you, whom I honour as the most faithful of husbands, may\nnot misunderstand me, Lienhard: To bend and to succumb are two different\nthings.\"\n\n\"Succumb!\" Sir Hans von Obernitz, the Nuremberg magistrate, here\ninterposed indignantly. \"A Groland, who, moreover, is blessed with a\nloyal, lovely wife, succumb to the sparkling eyes of a vagabond wanton!\nThe Pegnitz would flow up the castle cliff first. I should think we might\nhave less vulgar subjects to discuss.\"\n\n\"The daring, skilful ropedancer certainly does not belong to the latter,\"\nDoctor Peutinger eagerly retorted. \"Besides, who would not desire to know\nhow the free, hot-blooded daughter of the highway settled the account\nwith you, friend Lienhard? Love disdained is said to be the mother of\nhatred, and from the days of Potiphar's wife has often caused cruel\nvengeance. Had this girl whom Sir Hans holds in such light esteem really\npossessed an evil nature, like others of her class--\"\n\n\"That she does not,\" Lienhard Groland here warmly interrupted the\nAugsburg guest.\n\n\"Whatever Kuni may lack, and whatever errors she may have committed, she\nis, and will remain a rare creature, even among the few whose lofty\nspirit can not be bowed or broken by the deepest calamity. When I met her\nhere again at The Blue Pike, among the most corrupt vagabonds, ill and\npoor, perhaps already the victim of death, I thought it a fitting time to\nrenew the gift which she had refused. I would gladly do more for the poor\ngirl, and my wife at home certainly would not be vexed; she, too, is fond\nof Kuni, and--I repeat it--this girl has a good, nay, the best nature.\nIf, instead of among vagabonds, she had been born in a respectable\nhousehold--\"\n\nHere the young envoy was suddenly interrupted. His table companions also\nraised their heads in surprise--a strange noise echoed through the night\nair.\n\nLittle Doctor Eberbach started up in affright, Hans von Obernitz, the\nNuremberg magistrate, grasped the hilt of his sword, but Doctor Schedel\ninstantly perceived that the sound which reached his aged ears was\nnothing but a violent, long-repressed fit of coughing. He and the other\ngentlemen were gazing at the oleander tree whence, before any one\napproached it, a groan of pain was heard.\n\nThe experienced physician shook his white locks gravely and said:\n\n\"Whoever uttered that is near the end of his sufferings.\"\n\nHe made a movement to rise as he spoke; he felt that his help was needed.\n\nBut another incident diverted the attention of his companions and\nhimself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nDietel, the waiter, had at last been released from his confinement in the\ncellar, and instantly began the search for the thief in the garden with\ntwofold zeal.\n\nWithout considering how long a time had passed since he first tried to\nbring the culprit into the clutches of the law, he had resumed the\npursuit where it was interrupted. As a thoughtless child whose bird has\nflown from the cage looks into the water jug to find it, he had turned\nthe light of his lantern upon places where a kitten could not have hidden\nitself, and had even been to the meadow on the bank of the Main to seek\nKuni with the widow of the thief Nickel; but here the sacrament was just\nbeing given to the sufferer, and to interrupt such a ceremony would have\nbeen a great crime. His eyes were keen, and the red pinks had gleamed\nfrom the straw on which the dying woman lay in the light of the lantern,\nwhose long pole the sexton had thrust into the soft earth of the meadow.\nThose flowers must have come from the garden of the landlady of The Pike,\nand she valued her pinks more than anything else. The ropedancer had\ngathered them for the sick woman, and certainly had not stopped at that\none act of theft. How far these vagabonds' impudence went! But he, whose\nduty it was to look after the property of The Blue Pike, would spoil\ntheir pleasure in thieving.\n\nThe dog Phylax had soon put him on the trail, and before any of the\ngentlemen could reach the groaning person Dietel's triumphant shout rang\nfrom behind the oleander:\n\n\"Now we've caught the pilferer, and we'll make an example of her!\"\n\nHis first glance had fallen on the little bunch of pinks in the girl's\nhand, and the vein on his forehead swelled with wrath at this damage to\nhis mistress's favourite flowers.\n\nBut when he shook the culprit by the shoulder and, to his surprise, met\nwith no resistance, he threw the light of the lantern upon her face, and\nwhat he saw there suddenly troubled him, for the girl's lips, chin, and\ndress were covered with bright blood, and her head drooped on one side as\nif it had lost its support.\n\nThis frightened him, and instead of continuing to boast of his success,\nhe called for help.\n\nThe Nuremberg gentlemen soon surrounded Kuni, and Doctor Hartmann Schedel\ntold the waiter to carry her, with the aid of his assistants, summoned by\nhis shout, into the house and provide her with a comfortable bed.\n\nDietel obeyed the command without delay--nay, when he heard the famous\nleech whisper to the other gentlemen that the sufferer's life was but a\nfailing lamp, his feelings were completely transformed. All the charity\nin his nature began to stir and grew more zealous as he gazed at Kuni's\nface, distorted by pain. The idea of giving up to her his own neat little\nroom behind the kitchen seemed like a revelation from St. Eoban, his\npatron. She should rest in his bed. The wanderer who, a few years ago,\nhad scattered her gold so readily and joyously for the pleasure of others\ncertainly would not poison it. Her misery seemed to him a touching proof\nof the transitory nature of all earthly things. Poor sufferer! Yet she\nought to find recovery on his couch, if anywhere; for he had surrounded\nit with images of the saints, pious maxims, and little relics, bought\nchiefly from the venders who frequented the tavern. Among them was a\nleather strap from St. Elizabeth's shoe, whose healing power he had\nhimself tested during an attack of bilious fever.\n\nThe burden which he shared with his assistants was a light one, but he\nwas not to reach his destination without delay--the little bunch of pinks\nfell from the hand of the unconscious girl, and Dietel silently picked up\nthe stolen property which had just roused his wrath to such a degree, and\nplaced it carefully on the senseless sufferer's bosom.\n\nThe second hinderance was more serious. Cyriax had heard that Kuni was\ndying, and fearing that he might be obliged to pay the funeral expenses\nhe stuttered to the bystanders, with passionate gestures, that an hour\nago he had discharged the cripple whom he had dragged about with him, out\nof sheer sympathy, long enough. She was nothing more to him now than the\ncock in the courtyard, which was crowing to greet the approach of dawn.\n\nBut the landlord of The Pike and others soon forced Cyriax out of the\nway. Kuni was laid on Dietel's bed, and the gray-haired leech examined\nher with the utmost care.\n\nThe landlady of The Pike helped to undress her, and when the good woman,\nholding her apron to her eyes from which tears were streaming, opened the\ndoor again and the Abbot of St. AEgidius approached the couch, to render\naid to the dying for the second time that night, he saw by Hartmann\nSchedel's face that he had not come too soon.\n\nThe ropedancer had recovered consciousness, and the kind prelate's\npresence was a solace to her. The confession lasted a long time, and the\nstory which she had to confide to the priest must have been as strange as\nit was interesting, for the abbot listened eagerly and with evident\nemotion. When he had performed the duties of his office he remained alone\nfor a time; he could not immediately regain a mood in which he cared to\nrejoin the others. He did not ask for the gentlemen from Cologne; those\nfrom Nuremberg, whom he sought, had returned to the table in front of the\ntavern long before.\n\nThe waves of the Main were now reflecting the golden light of the morning\nsun. Dewdrops glittered on the grass and flowers in the meadow with the\ncart, and in the landlady's little garden. Carriers' men were harnessing\nthe freshly groomed bays to the pole. The brass rings on the high collars\nof the stallions jingled loudly and merrily, and long whiplashes cracked\nover the four and six-horse teams which were beginning the day's journey\nalong the highroad.\n\nBut even the rattling of the carts and the trampling of the horses' hoofs\ncould not rouse the Cologne professors, who, with their clerical\ncompanions, had gone to rest, and slept in darkened rooms until late into\nthe morning. Most of the humbler guests had already left their straw\nbeds.\n\nCyriax was one of the first who followed the road. He had sold his cart\nand donkey, and wanted to burden his red-haired wife with his\npossessions, but as she resolutely refused he had taken the bundle on his\nown lazy shoulders. Now he dragged himself and his new load onward,\nswearing vehemently, for Ratz had remained with the cart in Miltenberg,\nwhere the sham lunatic no longer found it safe to stay. This time it was\nhe who was obliged to pull his wife along by the chain, for she had long\nrefused, as if fairly frantic, to desert the dying girl who had nursed\nher child so faithfully. Again and again the doubly desolate woman looked\nback toward the companion whom she had abandoned in her suffering until\nthey reached Frankfort. There Gitta left Cyriax and accompanied Ratz. The\ncart in which her child had lived and died, not its repulsive owner,\ninduced her to sever the bond which, for nine years, had bound her to the\nblasphemer.\n\nThe travelling scholars set off singing merrily; but the strolling\nmusicians waited for the ship to sail down the Main, on whose voyage they\ncould earn money and have plenty to drink.\n\nThe vagrants tramped along the highway, one after another, without\ntroubling themselves about the dying ropedancer.\n\n\"Everybody finds it hard enough to bear his own cross,\" said Jungel,\nseizing his long crutches. Only \"Dancing Gundel\" lingered in Miltenberg\nthrough sympathy in the fate of the companion who had reached the height\nof fame, while she, the former \"Phyllis,\" had gone swiftly downhill. It\nwas a Christian duty, she said to the blind boy who begged their bread,\nnot to let Kuni, who had once held so lofty a position, take the last\njourney without a suitable escort. When she heard that her former\ncompanion had received the sacrament, she exclaimed to her blind son,\nwhile slicing garlic into the barley porridge: \"She will now be at rest.\nWe shall earn a pretty penny at the mass in Frankfort if you can only\nmanage to look as sorrowful when you hold out your hand as you do now!\"\n\nThe monks, the dealer in indulgences, the burghers and artisans who were\njust preparing to embark for the voyage down the Main, gazed in\nbewilderment at the distinguished gentlemen who, incredible as it seemed,\nhad actually--for Dietel said so--foregone their morning nap for the sake\nof a vagabond girl. The feather-curler shook his head as if something\nmarvellous had happened when he heard the ambassador of the Honourable\nCouncil of his own native city, the distinguished Herr Lienhard Groland,\nsay to old Doctor Schedel:\n\n\"I will wait here with you, my venerable friend. Since the poor girl can\nlive only a few hours longer, I can join the others, if I hurry, before\nthey leave Frankfort.\"\n\n\"That's right, Lienhard,\" cried Wilibald Pirckheimer, and the Abbot of\nSt. AEgidius added approvingly:\n\n\"You will thereby do something which is pleasing in the sight of Heaven.\nYes, gentlemen, I repeat it: there are few deathbeds beside which I have\nfound so little reason to be ashamed of the fate of being a mortal as by\nthe humble couch of this vagabond girl. If, before the judgment seat\nabove, intention and faith are weighed with the same scales as works, few\nwho close their eyes behind silken curtains will be so sure of a\nfavourable sentence as this poorest of the poor.\"\n\n\"Did the girl really keep no portion of Herr Lienhard's rich gift for\nherself?\" asked the Nuremberg imperial magistrate.\n\n\"Nothing,\" replied the abbot. \"She gave the whole, down to her last\ncopper, to the stranger, though she herself must remain here, poor, lame,\nand deserted--and she had only met the sick woman by accident upon the\nhighway. My duty forbids me to repeat the details, and how she bore\nherself even while at Augsburg, but, thanks to the confession which I\nhave just received, I shall count this morning among those never to be\nforgotten. O gentlemen, death is a serious matter, and intercourse with\nthe dying is the best school for the priest. Then the inmost depths of\nthe soul are opened to him.\"\n\n\"And,\" observed Wilibald Pirckheimer, \"I think the psychologist would\nthen learn that, the deeper we penetrate the human breast, the darker is\nthe spectacle.\"\n\n\"Yes, my learned friend,\" the abbot answered, \"but we also perceive that\nthe deepest and darkest shafts contain the purest specimens of gold and\nsilver ore.\"\n\n\"And were you really permitted to find such in this neglected vagabond,\nreverend sir?\" asked Doctor Eberbach, with an incredulous smile.\n\n\"As certainly,\" answered the prelate with repellent dignity, \"as that the\nSaviour was right when he called those who were pure in heart blessed\nabove those who were wise and overflowing with knowledge!\"\n\nThen, without waiting for the Thuringian's answer, he hastily turned to\nthe young ambassador and begged him to grant the dying girl, who clung to\nhim with tender devotion, a brief farewell.\n\n\"Willingly,\" replied Lienhard, requesting the physician to accompany him.\n\nThe latter had just beckoned Doctor Peutinger to his side, to examine\nwith him the indulgence which he had found under the kerchief crossed\nover the sick girl's bosom. It did not secure redemption from the flames\nof purgatory for the ropedancer's soul, as the gentlemen expected, but\nfor another, and that other--the learned humanist and Imperial Councillor\nwould not believe his own eyes--was his beloved, prematurely lost child.\nThere, in large letters, was \"Juliane Peutinger of Augsburg.\"\n\nAstonished, almost bewildered, the usually quiet statesman expressed his\namazement.\n\nThe other gentlemen were preparing to examine the paper with him, when\nthe abbot, without betraying the secret of Kuni's heart, which she had\nconfided to him in her confession, told Juliane's father that the\nropedancer had scarcely left the convent ere she gave up both the\nEmperor's gift and the viaticum--in short, her whole property, which\nwould have been large enough to support her a long time--in order to do\nwhat she could for the salvation of the child for whom her soul was more\nconcerned than for her own welfare.\n\nThe astonished father's eyes filled with tears of grateful emotion, and\nwhen Lienhard went with the gray-haired leech to the dying girl Doctor\nPeutinger begged permission to accompany them. The physician, however,\nrequested him to remain away from the sufferer, who would be disturbed by\nthe sight of a strange face. Then Peutinger charged his young friend to\ngive Kuni his kind greetings and thank her for the love with which she\nhad remembered his dear child.\n\nThe young Councillor silently followed the physician to the sick bed, at\nwhose head leaned a Gray Sister, who was one of the guests of The Blue\nPike and had volunteered to nurse the patient.\n\nThe nun shook her head sorrowfully as the two men crossed the threshold.\nShe knew how the dying look, and that the hand of death already touched\nthis sufferer. Yet her kind, colourless face, framed by the white sides\nof her cap, quickly regained its usual quiet, placid expression.\n\nThe regular features, now slightly flushed with the fever, of the patient\nin her charge, on the contrary, were constantly varying in expression.\nShe had noticed the entrance of the visitors, and when she opened her\nsparkling blue eyes and saw the person to whom her poor heart clung with\ninsatiable yearning they were filled with a sunny radiance, and a smile\nhovered round her lips.\n\nShe had known that he would come, that he would not let her die without\ngranting her one more glance.\n\nNow she would fain have nodded to him and expressed in very, very\nappropriate words the delight, the embarrassment, the gratitude which\nfilled her soul, but her panting chest could give no breath for\nutterance. Nay, extreme exhaustion even prevented the movement of her\nlips. But her heart and brain were by no means inactive. A wealth of\ninternal and external experiences, long since forgotten, rose before her\nmind. First she fancied that she saw Lienhard, as at their first meeting,\napproaching the garlanded door of St. Sebald's with his beautiful bride,\narrayed in her wedding robes. Then she was transported to the court room\nand felt his hand stroke her hair. The hours at Frau Schurstab's when she\nhad awaited his visits with an anxious heart came back to her memory.\nThen she again saw herself upon the rope. Lienhard was toying with the\nlittle elf below. But what she beheld this time was far from awakening\nnew wicked wishes, for Juliane once more wore her laurel crown and\nbeckoned kindly to her like a dear, familiar friend. Finally, pale little\nJuli appeared, as if shrouded in mists. Last of all, she saw herself\nfilling the jug for the sick woman and gathering the red pinks for her\nand Lienhard in the landlady's little garden by the shimmering starlight.\nThe flowers, whose fragrance was too strong, yet which she had not the\nstrength to remove, lay on the coverlet before her. They were intended\nfor Lienhard, and as she stretched her slender fingers toward them and\ntried to clasp them she succeeded. She even found strength to hold out\nher right hand to him with a beseeching glance. And lo! ere her arm fell\nagain the proud man had seized the flowers. Then she saw him fasten the\npinks on the breast of his dark doublet, and heard the thrill of deep\nemotion in his voice, as he said:\n\n\"I thank you, dear Kuni, for the beautiful flowers. I will keep them.\nYour life was a hard one, but you have borne the burden bravely. I saw\nthis clearly, and not I alone. I am also to thank you and give you very\nfriendly remembrances in the name of Doctor Peutinger, of Augsburg,\nlittle Juliane's father. He will think of you as a mistress of your art,\na noble, high-minded girl, and I--I shall certainly do so.\"\n\nHe clasped her burning hand as he spoke; but at these words she felt as\nshe had probably done a few hours before, when, hidden behind the\noleander, she listened to the conversation in which he mentioned her\nkindly. Again a warm wave of joy seemed to surge upward in her breast,\nand she fancied that her heart was much too small for such a wealth of\nrapture, and it was already overflowing in hot waves, washing all grief\nfar, far away.\n\nHer gift had been accepted.\n\nThe red pinks looked at her from his doublet, and she imagined that\neverything around was steeped in rosy light, and that a musical tinkling\nand singing echoed in her ears.\n\nNever had she experienced such a feeling of happiness.\n\nNow she even succeeded in moving her lips, and the man, who still held\nher little burning hand clasped in his first heard his own name very\nfaintly uttered; then her parched lips almost inaudibly repeated the\nexclamation: \"Too late!\" and again, \"Too late!\"\n\nThe next instant she pressed her left hand upon her panting breast. The\nrosy hue around her blended with the red tint of the pinks, and another\nhaemorrhage bore the restless wanderer to that goal where every mortal\njourney ends.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Repeated the exclamation: \"Too late!\" and again, \"Too late!\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE \"IN THE BLUE PIKE\":\n\n     Arrogant wave of the hand, and in an instructive tone\n     Buy indugence for sins to be committed in the future\n     Honest anger affords a certain degree of enjoyment\n     Mirrors were not allowed in the convent\n     Ovid, 'We praise the ancients'\n     Pays better to provide for people's bodies than for their brains\n     Repeated the exclamation: \"Too late!\" and again, \"Too late!\n     Who watches for his neighbour's faults has a hundred sharp eyes\n     Who gives great gifts, expects great gifts again\n\n\n\n\nA QUESTION\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary J. Safford\nPRELUDE.\n\n     In the Art-Palace on green Isar's strand,\n     Before one picture long I kept my seat,\n     It held me spellbound by some magic band,\n     Nor when my home I sought, could I forget.\n\n     A year elapsed, came winter's frost and snow,\n     'Twas rarely now we saw the bright sun shine,\n     I plucked up courage and cried: \"Be it so!\"\n     Then southward wandered with those I call mine.\n\n     Like birds of passage built we there a nest\n     On a palm-shaded shore, all steeped in light,\n     Life was a holiday, enjoyed with zest\n     And grateful hearts, the while it winged its flight.\n\n     Oft on the sea's wide purplish-blue expanse,\n     With ever new delight I fixed my eyes,\n     Alma Tadema's picture, at each glance\n     Recalled to mind, a thousand times would rise.\n\n     Once a day dawned, glad as a bride's fair face,\n     Perfume, and light, and joy it did enfold,\n     Then-without search, flitted from out of space\n     Words for the tale that my friend's picture told.\nA QUESTION\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE HOUSE-KEEPER AND THE STEWARD.\n\n\"Salt sea-water or oil, it's all the same to you! Haven't I put my lamp\nout long ago? Doesn't the fire on the hearth give light enough? Are your\neyes so drowsy that they don't see the dawn shining in upon us more and\nmore brightly? The olives are not yet pressed, and the old oil is getting\ntoward the dregs. Besides, you know how much fruit those abominable\nthieves have stolen. But sparrows will carry grain into the barn before\nyou'll try to save your master's property!\"\n\nSo Semestre, the ancient house-keeper of Lysander of Syracuse, scolded\nthe two maids, Chloris and Dorippe, who, unheeding the smoking wicks of\ntheir lamps, were wearily turning the hand-mills.\n\nDorippe, the younger of the two, grasped her disordered black tresses,\nover which thousands of rebellious little hairs seemed to weave a veil of\nmist, drew from the mass of curls falling on her neck a bronze arrow,\nwith which she extinguished the feeble light of both lamps, and, turning\nto the house-keeper, said:\n\n\"There, then! We can't yet tell a black thread from a white one, and I\nmust put out the lamps, as if this rich house were a beggar's hut. Two\nhundred jars of shining oil were standing in the storehouses a week ago.\nWhy did the master let them be put on the ship and taken to Messina by\nhis brother and Mopsus?\"\n\n\"And why isn't the fruit gathered yet?\" asked Chloris. \"The olives are\noverripe, and the thieves have an easy task, now the watchmen have gone\nto Messina as rowers. We must save by drops, while we own more gnarled\nolive-trees than there are days in the year. How many jars of oil might\nbe had from the fruit that has dropped on the ground alone! The harvest\nat neighbor Protarch's was over long ago, and if I were like Lysander--\"\n\n\"There would probably be an end of saving,\" cried the house-keeper,\ninterrupting the girl. \"Well, I confess it wasn't easy for me to part\nwith the golden gift of the gods, but what could I do? Our master's\nbrother, Alciphron, wanted it, and there was a great barter. Alciphron is\nclever, and has a lucky hand, in which the liquid gold we press from the\nolives with so much toil, and keep so carefully, becomes coined metal.\nHe's like my own child, for I was his nurse. Here in the country we\nincrease our riches by care, patience and frugality, while the city\nmerchant must have farseeing eyes, and know how to act speedily. Even\nwhen a boy, my Alciphron was the wisest of Dionysius's three sons, and,\nif there was anything sweet to be divided, always knew how to get the\nlargest share. When his mother was alive, she once told the lad to give\nher the best of some freshly-baked cakes, that she might take it to the\ntemple for an offering, and what was his answer? 'It will be well for me\nto taste them all, that I may be certain not to make a mistake;' and when\nClytemnestra--\"\n\n\"Is Alciphron younger than our poor master?\" interrupted Dorippe.\n\n\"They were sesame cakes with honey,\" replied the house-keeper, whose\nhearing was impaired by age, and who therefore frequently misunderstood\nwords uttered in a low tone. \"Is the linen ready for the wash?\"\n\n\"I didn't ask about the cakes,\" replied Dorippe, exchanging a mischievous\nglance with Chloris; \"I only wanted to know--\"\n\n\"You girls are deaf; I've noticed it a long time,\" interrupted the\nhouse-keeper. \"You've grown hard of hearing, and I know why. Hundreds of\ntimes I've forbidden you to throw yourselves on the dewy grass in the\nevening, when you were heated by dancing. How often I get absurd answers,\nwhen I ask you anything!\"\n\nThe girls both laughed merrily.\n\nThe higher voice of one mingled harmoniously with the deeper tones of her\ncompanion, and two pairs of dark eyes again met, full of joyous mirth,\nfor they well knew who was deaf, and who had quicker hearing than even\nthe nightingale, which, perched on the green fig-tree outside, was\nexultingly hailing the sunrise, now with a clear, flute-like warble, now\nwith notes of melancholy longing.\n\nThe house-keeper looked with mingled astonishment and anger at the two\nlaughing girls, then clapped her hands loudly, exclaiming:\n\n\"To work, wenches! You, Chloris, prepare the morning meal; and you,\nDorippe, see if the master wants anything, and bring fresh wood for the\nfire. Stop your silly giggling, for laughing before sunrise causes tears\nat evening. I suppose the jests of the vineyard watchmen are still\nlingering in your heads. Now go, and don't touch food till you've\narranged your hair.\"\n\nThe girls, nudging each other, left the women's apartment, into which the\ndawn was now shining more brightly through the open roof.\n\nIt was a stately room, surrounded by marble columns, which bore witness\nto the owner's wealth, for the floor was beautifully adorned with\nbright-hued pictures, mosaic work executed in colored stones by an artist\nfrom Syracuse. They represented the young god Dionysius, the Hyades\nsurrounding him, and in colored groups all the gifts of the divinities\nwho watch over fields and gardens, as well as those of the Nysian god.\nEach individual design, as well as the whole picture, was inclosed in a\nframework of delicate lines. The hearth, over which Semestre now bent, to\nfan the glimmering embers with a goose-wing, was made of yellow marble.\n\nDorippe now returned, curtly said that the master wanted to be helped\ninto the open air, when the sun was higher, and brought, as she had been\nordered, a fresh supply of gnarled olive-branches, and pinecones, which,\nkindling rapidly, coaxed the wood to unite its blaze with theirs.\n\nGlittering sparks flew upward from the crackling branches toward the open\nroof, and with them a column of warm smoke rose straight into the pure,\ncool morning air; but as the door of the women's apartment now opened,\nthe draught swept the gray, floating pillar sideways, directly toward\nSemestre, who was fanning the flames with her goose-wing.\n\nCoughing violently, she wiped her eyes with the edge of her blue peplum,\nand glanced angrily at the unbidden guest who ventured to enter the\nwomen's apartment at this hour.\n\nAs soon as she recognized the visitor she nodded pleasantly, though with\na certain touch of condescension, and rose from her stool, but instantly\ndropped back on it again, instead of going forward to meet the new-comer.\nThen she planted herself still more firmly on her seat, and, instead of\nuttering a friendly greeting, coughed and muttered a few unintelligible\nwords.\n\n\"Give me a little corner by your fire, it's a cold morning,\" cried the\nold man in a deep voice. \"Helios freezes his people before he comes, that\nthey may be doubly grateful for the warmth he bestows.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" replied Semestre, who had only understood a few of the\nold man's words; \"people ought to be grateful for a warm fire; but why,\nat your age, do you go out so early, dressed only in your chiton, without\ncloak or sandals, at a season when the buds have scarcely opened on the\ntrees. You people yonder are different from others in many respects, but\nyou ought not to go without a hat, Jason; your hair is as white as mine.\"\n\n\"And wholly gone from the crown,\" replied the old man, laughing. \"It's\nmore faithful to you women; I suppose out of gratitude for the better\ncare you bestow. I need neither hat, cloak, nor sandals! An old\ncountryman doesn't fear the morning chill. When a boy, I was as white as\nyour master's little daughter, the fair-faced Xanthe, but now head, neck,\narms, legs, every part of me not covered by the woolen chiton, is brown\nas a wine-skin before it's hung up in the smoke, and the dark hue is like\na protecting garment, nay better, for it helps me bear not only cold, but\nheat. There's nothing white about me now, except the beard on my chin,\nthe scanty hair on my head, and, thank the gods, these two rows of sound\nteeth.\"\n\nJason, as he spoke, passed his hard, brown finger over the upper and then\nthe under row of his teeth; but the housekeeper, puckering her mouth in\nthe attempt to hide many a blemish behind her own lips, answered:\n\n\"Your teeth are as faithful to you as our hair is to us, for men know how\nto use them more stoutly than women. Now show what you can do. We have a\nnice curd porridge, seasoned with thyme, and some dried lamb for\nbreakfast. If the girl hurries, you needn't wait long. Every guest, even\nthe least friendly, is welcome to our house.\"\n\n\"I didn't come here to eat,\" replied the old man; \"I've had my breakfast.\nThere's something on my mind I would like to discuss with the clever\nhouse-keeper, nay, I ought to say the mistress of this house, and\nfaithful guardian of its only daughter.\"\n\nSemestre turned her wrinkled face towards the old man, opened her eyes to\ntheir widest extent, and then called eagerly to Dorippe, who was busied\nabout the hearth, \"We want to be alone!\"\n\nThe girl walked slowly toward the door, and tried to conceal herself\nbehind the projecting pillars to listen, but Semestre saw her, rose from\nher seat, and drove her out of doors with her myrtle-staff, exclaiming:\n\n\"Let no one come in till I call. Even Xanthe must not interrupt us.\"\n\n\"You won't stay alone, for Aphrodite and all the Loves will soon join\nsuch a pair,\" cried the girl, as she sprang across the threshold, banging\nthe door loudly behind her.\n\n\"What did she say?\" asked Semestre, looking suspiciously after the\nmaiden. The vexations one has to endure from those girls, Jason, can't be\ndescribed, especially since they've grown deaf.\"\n\n\"Deaf?\" asked the old man in astonishment.\n\n\"Yes, they scarcely understand a word correctly, and even Xanthe, who has\njust reached her seventeenth year, is beginning to be hard of hearing.\"\n\nA smile flitted over Jason's face, and, raising his voice to a louder\ntone, he said, flatteringly:\n\n\"Every one can't have senses as keen as yours, Semestre; have you time to\nlisten to me?\"\n\nThe house-keeper nodded assent, leaned against the column nearest the\nhearth, rested both hands on her staff, and bent forward to intimate that\nshe would listen attentively, and did not wish to lose a single word.\n\nJason stood directly opposite, and, while thus measuring each other with\ntheir eyes, Semestre looked like a cautious cat awaiting the attack of\nthe less nimble but stronger shepherd's dog.\n\n\"You know,\" Jason began, that when, long ago, we two, you as nurse and I\nas steward, came to this place, our present masters' fine estates\nbelonged undivided to their father. The gods gave the old man three sons.\nThe oldest, Alciphron, whom you nursed and watched through his boyhood,\nwent to a foreign land, became a great merchant in Messina, and, after\nhis father's death, received a large inheritance in gold, silver and the\ncity house at the port. The country estates were divided between Protarch\nand Lysander. My master, as the elder of the two, obtained the old house;\nyours built this new and elegant mansion. One son, the handsome Phaon,\nhas grown up under our roof, while yours shelters the lovely Xanthe. My\nmaster has gone to Messina, not only to sell our oil and yours, but to\nspeak to the guardian of a wealthy heiress, of whom his brother had\nwritten. He wants her for Phaon's wife; but I think Phaon was created for\nXanthe and Xanthe for him. There's nothing lacking, except to have\nHymen--\"\n\n\"To have Hymen unite them,\" interrupted Semestre. \"There's no hurry about\nheiresses; they don't let themselves be plucked like blackberries. If she\nhas scorned her country suitor, it may well seem desirable to Protarch\nand all of you that Xanthe should prove more yielding, for then our\nproperty would be joined with yours.\"\n\n\"It would be just the same as during Dionysius's lifetime.\"\n\n\"And you alone would reap the profit.\"\n\n\"No, Semestre, it would be an advantage to both us and you; for, since\nyour master had that unlucky fall from the high wall of the vineyard, the\nruler's eye is lacking here, and many things don't go as they ought.\"\n\n\"People see what they want to see,\" cried Semestre. \"Our estates are no\nworse managed than yours.\"\n\n\"I only meant to say--\"\n\n\"That your Phaon seems to you well fitted to supply my master's place. I\nthink differently, and, if Lysander continues to improve, he'll learn to\nuse his limbs again.\"\n\n\"An invalid needs rest, and, since the deaths of your mistress and mine,\nquarrelling never ceases--\"\n\n\"We never disturb the peace.\"\n\n\"And quarrelling is even more unpleasant to us than to you; but how often\nthe shepherds and vine-dressers fight over the spring, which belongs to\nus both, and whose beautiful wall and marble bench are already damaged,\nand will soon be completely destroyed, because your master says mine\nought to bear the expense of the work--\"\n\n\"And I daily strengthen him in this belief. We repaired the inclosing\nwall of the spring, and it's only fair to ask Protarch to mend the\nmasonry of the platform. We won't yield, and if you--\"\n\n\"If we refuse to do Lysander's will, it will lead to the quarrelling I\nwould fain prevent by Phaon's marriage with your Xanthe. Your master is\nin the habit of following your advice, as if you were his own mother. You\nnurse the poor invalid like one, and if you would only--\"\n\n\"Lysander has other plans, and Phaon's father is seeking an heiress for\nhis son in Messina.\"\n\n\"But surely not for the youth's happiness, nor do I come to speak to you\nin Protarch's name.\"\n\n\"So you invented the little plan yourself--I am afraid without success,\nfor I've already told you that my master has other views.\"\n\n\"Then try to win him to our side--no, not only to us, but to do what is\nbest for the prosperity of this house.\"\n\n\"Not for this house; only for yourselves. Your plan doesn't please me.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"I don't wish what you desire.\"\n\n\"'I don't wish;' that's a woman's most convincing reason.\n\n\"It is, for at least I desire nothing I haven't carefully considered. And\nyou know Alciphron, in Syracuse, our master's oldest brother, did not ask\nfor the heiress, who probably seemed to him too insignificant for his own\nfamily, but wanted our girl for his son Leonax. We joyfully gave our\nconsent, and, within a few days, perhaps to-morrow, the suitor will come\nfrom Messina with your master to see his bride.\"\n\n\"Still, I stick to it: your Xanthe belongs to our Phaon, and, if you\nwould act according to Dionysius's wishes, like fair-minded people--\"\n\n\"Isn't Alciphron--the best and wisest of men--also Dionysius's child? I\nwould give his first-born, rather than any one else, this fruitful soil,\nand, when the rich father's favorite, when Leonax once rules here by\nXanthe's side, there'll be no lack of means to rebuild the platform and\nrenew a few marble benches.\"\n\nAngered by these words, the old man indignantly exclaimed:\n\n\"You add mockery to wrong. We know the truth. To please Alciphron, your\nfoster-child, you would make us all beggars. If Lysander gives his\ndaughter to Leonax it will be your work, yours alone, and we will--\"\n\nSemestre did not allow herself to be intimidated, but, angrily raising\nher myrtle-staff, interrupted Jason by exclaiming in a loud, tremulous\nvoice:\n\nYou are right. This old heart clings to Alciphron, and throbs more\nquickly at the mere mention of its darling's name; but verily you have\ndone little to win our affection. Last autumn the harvest of new wine was\nmore abundant than we expected. We lacked skins, and when we asked you to\nhelp us with yours--\"\n\n\"We said no, because we ourselves did not know what to do with the\nharvest.\"\n\n\"And who shamefully killed my gray cat?\"\n\n\"It entered Phaon's dove-cote and killed the young of his best pair of\ncropper pigeons.\"\n\n\"It was a marten, not the good, kind creature. You are unfriendly in all\nyour acts, for when our brown hen flew over to you yesterday she was\ndriven away with stones. Did Phaon mistake her for a vulture with sharp\nbeak and powerful talons?\"\n\n\"A maid-servant drove her away, because, since your master has been ill\nand no longer able to attend to business, your poultry daily feeds upon\nour barley.\"\n\n\"I'm surprised you don't brand us as robbers!\" cried Semestre. \"Yes, if\nyou had beaten me yourself with a stick, you would say a dry branch of a\nfig or olive tree had accidentally fallen on my back. I know you well\nenough, and Leonax, Alciphron's son, not your sleepy Phaon, whom people\nsay is roaming about when he ought to be resting quietly in the house,\nshall have our girl for his wife. It's not I who say so, but Lysander, my\nlord and master.\"\n\n\"Your will is his,\" replied Jason. \"Far be it from me to wound the sick\nman with words, but ever since he has been ill you've played the master,\nand he ought to be called the house-keeper. Ay, you have more influence\nunder his roof than any one else, but Aphrodite and Eros are a thousand\ntimes more powerful, for you rule by pans, spits, and soft pillows--they\ngovern hearts with divine, irresistible omnipotence.\"\n\nSemestre laughed scornfully, and, striking the hard stone floor with her\nmyrtle-staff, exclaimed:\n\n\"My spit is enough, and perhaps Eros is helping it with his arrows, for\nXanthe no longer asks for your Phaon, any more than I fretted for a\nperson now standing before me when he was young. Eros loves harder work.\nPeople who grow up together and meet every day, morning, noon, and night,\nget used to each other as the foot does to the sandal, and the sandal to\nthe foot, but the heart remains untouched. But when a handsome stranger,\nwith perfumed locks and costly garments, suddenly meets the maiden,\nAphrodite's little son fits an arrow to his golden bow.\"\n\n\"But he doesn't shoot,\" cried Jason, \"when he knows that another shaft\nhas already pierced the maiden's heart. Any man can win any girl, except\none whose soul is filled with love for another.\"\n\n\"The gray-headed old bachelor speaks from experience,\" retorted Semestre,\nquickly. \"And your Phaon! If he really loved our girl, how could he woo\nanother or have her wooed for him? It comes to the same thing. But I\ndon't like to waste so many words. I know our Xanthe better than you, and\nshe no more cares for her playfellow than the column on the right side of\nthe hearth yearns toward the one on the left, though they have stood\ntogether under the same roof so long.\"\n\n\"Do you know what the marble feels?\"\n\n\"Nothing, Jason, nothing at all; that is, just as much as Xanthe feels\nfor Phaon. But what's that noise outside the door?\"\n\nThe house-keeper was still talking, when one of the folding doors opened\na little, and Dorippe called through the crack:\n\n\"May we come in? Here's a messenger from Protarch.\"\n\n\"Admit him,\" cried Semestre, eagerly. The door flew wide open, and the\ntwo girls entered the women's apartment with Mopsus, the brother of the\nlively Chloris. The latter was clinging to his arm, and as he came into\nthe hall removed the broad-brimmed travelling-hat from his brown locks,\nwhile dark-skinned Dorippe went behind him and pushed the hesitating\nyouth across the threshold, as a boat is launched into the sea.\n\nIn reply to the house-keeper's excited questions, he related that\nProtarch had sold his master's oil at Messina for as high a price as his\nown, bought two new horses for his neighbor Cleon, and sent Mopsus\nhimself forward with them. If the wind didn't change, he would arrive\nthat day.\n\nWhile speaking, he drew from the girdle which confined his blue chiton,\nbordered with white, around his waist, a strip of papyrus, and handed it\nto Semestre with a greeting from his master.\n\nThe house-keeper looked at both sides of the yellow sheet, turned it over\nand over, held it close to her eyes, and then glanced hesitatingly at\nJason. He would know that she could not read; but Xanthe could decipher\nwritten sentences, and the young girl must soon appear at breakfast.\n\n\"Shall I read it?\" asked the old man.\n\n\"I could do so myself, if I chose,\" replied the house-keeper, drawing her\nstaff over the floor in sharp and blunt angles, as if she were writing.\n\"I could, but I don't like to hear news on an empty stomach, and what is\nsaid in this letter concerns myself, I should suppose, and nobody else.\nGo and call Xanthe to breakfast, Dorippe.\"\n\n\"I know what is in it,\" cried the girl, reluctant to part from her\ncompanion's brother, whom she loved, and who still had a great deal to\ntell her about his journey to Messina. \"Mopsus has told us. Our master's\nnephew, Leonax, Alciphron's son, will accompany his uncle and stay for a\nweek or longer as a guest, not over yonder with Protarch, but here in our\nhouse. He is a, handsome youth, even taller than Phaon, and Mopsus says\nAlciphron's wife, by our master's request, dipped deep into his purse at\nMessina, and bought from her husband's merchant friends gold bracelets\nand women's garments, such as matrons wear.\"\n\nAt these words a smile of joy and hope flitted over Semestre's wrinkled\nface, like a spring breeze sweeping across a leafless garden. She no\nlonger thought of the harm a piece of news might do her empty stomach,\nand, while mentally seeing the flutter of a matron's beautiful blue\ngarment and the flash of Xanthe's rich dowry, eagerly asked the welcome\nmessenger:\n\n\"Does she speak the truth? And what is this about the robes?\"\n\n\"I brought the clothes myself,\" replied Mopsus, \"and packed them in a\nbeautiful chest inlaid with ivory, like those newlywedded youths receive\nwith the bridal dowry. Praxilla, the handsome sister of Alciphron's wife,\nalso gave--\"\n\n\"Go and call Xanthe!\" cried Semestre, interrupting the messenger. She had\nlaughed softly several times while listening to his tale, and, when the\ngirls hastily withdrew with Mopsus, cast a triumphant glance at Jason.\n\nThen, remembering how much was to be done to make fitting preparation for\nthe young suitor Leonax, she called loudly:\n\n\"Dorippe--Chloris! Chloris--Dorippe!\" Neither of the maidens seemed to\nhear, and, when obliged to resign all hope of an answer, she shrugged her\nshoulders, and turning to Jason said:\n\n\"So young and so deaf; it is sad. Poor girls!\"\n\n\"They like Mopsus better than you, and don't wish to hear,\" replied\nJason, laughing. \"They can't,\" said Semestre, angrily. \"Mopsus is a bold,\ngood-for-nothing fellow, whom I've often wanted to drive out of the\nhouse, but I should like to see the person who refused me obedience. As\nfor your proposal, you have now heard distinctly enough that our girl is\nintended for Leonax.\"\n\n\"But suppose Xanthe doesn't want Leonax, and prefers Phaon to the\nstranger?\"\n\n\"Alciphron's son a 'stranger' on the estates of his ancestors!\" exclaimed\nSemestre. \"What don't we hear? But I must go to work to prepare the best\npossible reception for Leonax, that he may feel from the first he is no\nstranger here, but perfectly at home. Now go, if you choose, and offer\nsacrifices to Aphrodite, that she may join the hearts of Xanthe and\nPhaon. I'll stick to my spit.\"\n\n\"Then you'll be in the right place,\" cried Jason, \"but you're not yet\nturning it for Leonax's wedding-feast.\"\n\n\"And I promise you I'll prepare the roast for Phaon's,\" retorted\nSemestre, \"but not until the sacrifice of an animal I'm fattening myself\ninduces the foam-born goddess to kindle in Xanthe's heart sweet love for\nLeonax.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nXANTHE.\n\n\"Xanthe, Xanthe!\" called Semestre, a short time after. \"Xanthe! Where is\nthe girl?\"\n\nThe old woman had gone into the garden. Knowing how to use time to\nadvantage, and liking to do two things at once, while looking for her\nnursling and repeatedly shouting the girl's name, she was gathering\nvegetables and herbs, on which the dew of early morning still glittered\nbrightly.\n\nWhile thus occupied, she was thinking far more of her favorite's son and\nthe roast meats, cakes, and sauces to be prepared for him, than of\nXanthe.\n\nShe wanted to provide for Leonax all the dishes his father had specially\nliked when a child, for what a father relishes, she considered, will\nplease his children.\n\nTwenty times she had stooped to pluck fresh lavender, green lettuce, and\nyoung, red turnips, and each time, while straightening herself again by\nher myrtle-staff, as well as a back bent by age would allow, called\n\"Xanthe, Xanthe!\"\n\nThough she at last threw her head back so far that the sun shone into her\nopen mouth, and the power of her lungs was not small, no answer came.\nThis did not make her uneasy, for the girl could not be far away, and\nSemestre was used to calling her name more than once before she obeyed.\n\nTrue, to-day the answer was delayed longer than usual. The maiden heard\nthe old woman's shrill, resounding voice very clearly, but heeded it no\nmore than the cackling of the hens, the screams of the peacocks, and the\ncooing of the doves in the court-yard.\n\nThe house-keeper, she knew, was calling her to breakfast, and the bit of\ndry bread she had taken with her was amply sufficient to satisfy her\nhunger. Nay, if Semestre had tempted her with the sweetest cakes, she\nwould not have left her favorite nook by the spring now.\n\nThis spring gushed from the highest rock on her father's estate. She\noften went there, especially when her heart was stirred, and it was a\nlovely spot.\n\nThe sparkling water rushed from a cleft in the rocks, and, on the left of\nthe little bench, where Xanthe sat, formed a clear, transparent pool,\nwhose edges were inclosed by exquisitely-polished, white-marble blocks.\nEvery reddish pebble, every smooth bit of snowy quartz, every point and\nfurrow and stripe on the pretty shells on its sandy bottom, was as\ndistinctly visible as if held before the eyes on the palm of the hand,\nand yet the water was so deep that the gold circlet sparkling above the\nelbow on Xanthe's round arm, nay, even the gems confining her peplum on\nthe shoulder, would have been wet had she tried to touch the bottom of\nthe basin with the tips of her fingers.\n\nThe water was green and clear as crystal, into which, while molten, bits\nof emeralds had been cast to change them into liquid drops.\n\nFarther on it flowed through a channel choked with all kinds of plants.\nClose by the edges of the rivulet, which rushed swiftly down to the\nvalley, drooped delicate vines, that threw their tendrils over the stones\nand flourished luxuriantly in the rocks amid thick, moist clumps of moss.\nDainty green plants, swayed to and fro by the plashing water, grew\neverywhere on the bottom of the brook, and, wherever on its course it\ncould flow more smoothly, ferns, nodding gracefully, surrounded it like\nostrich-feathers waving about the cradle of a royal babe.\n\nXanthe liked to watch the stream disappear in the myrtle-grove.\n\nWhen, sitting in her favorite nook, she turned her eyes downward, she\noverlooked the broad gardens and fields of her father and uncle,\nstretching on the right and left of the stream along the gentle slope of\nthe mountain, and the narrow plain by the sea.\n\nThe whole scene resembled a thick woolen carpet, whose green surface was\nembroidered with white and yellow spots, or one of the baskets young\nmaidens bear on their heads at the feast of Demeter, and in which, piled\nhigh above the edge, light and dark-hued fruit gleams forth from leaves\nof every tint.\n\nGroves of young pomegranate and myrtletrees, with vigorous shoots, stood\nforth in strong relief against the silvery gray-green foliage of the\ngnarled olive-trees.\n\nFragrant roses, glowing with a scarlet hue, as if the sun's fiery kiss\nhad called them to life, adorned bushes and hedges, while, blushing\nfaintly, as if a child's lips had waked them from slumber, the blossoms\nof the peach and almond glimmered on the branches of the trees.\n\nTiny young green leaves were growing from the oddly-interwoven branches\nof the fig-trees, to which clung the swelling pouches of the fruit.\nGolden lemons glittered amid their strong, brilliant foliage, which had\nsurvived the winter season; and long rows of blackish-green cypresses\nrose straight and tall, like the grave voices of the chorus amid the\njoyous revel. To Xanthe, gazing downward, her father's pine-wood seemed\nlike a camp full of arched, round tents, and, if she allowed her eyes to\nwander farther, she beheld the motionless sea, whose broad surface, on\nthis pleasant morning, sparkled like polished sapphire, and everywhere\nseemed striving to surpass with its own blue the color of the clear sky.\nEver and anon, like a tiny silver cloud floating across the firmament,\nwhite sails glided by.\n\nPleasant green hills framed this lovely view. On their well-cultivated\nslopes appeared here the white, glimmering walls of a temple; yonder\nvillages, houses, and cottages, like the herds and single sheep that he\nhalf concealed by dense foliage.\n\nGarlands of flowers surround the heads of happy mortals, and here the\nhouse of every wealthy land-owner was inclosed by a hedge or garden.\n\nBehind the hills rose the sharply-cut outlines of the naked cliffs of the\nlofty, distant mountains, and the snowy head of sleeping Mount Etna\ngleamed brightly through the mist.\n\nNow, in the early morning, sea and garden, hills and distant mountains\nwere covered with a delicate veil of indescribable hue. It seemed as if\nthe sea had furnished the warp of this fabric, and the golden sun the\nwoof.\n\nThe scene was wondrously beautiful, but Xanthe had not gone to the spring\nto gaze at the landscape; nay, she scarcely knew that it was lovely.\n\nWhen the sea shone with the hue of the sky and lay motionless, as it did\nto-day, she thought Glaucus, the god of the blue sea, was sunning himself\nin pleasant slumber.\n\nOn other bright days when the waves and surges swelled, white foam\ncrowned their crests, and a never-ending succession of breakers dashed\nupon the shore, she believed the fifty daughters of Nereus were pursuing\ntheir sports under the clear water.\n\nThey were all lovely women, and full of exuberant gayety.\n\nSome rocked quietly on the gleaming waves, others boldly swung themselves\non the backs of the bearded Tritons, and merrily urged them through the\nflood.\n\nWhen the surf beat roaring on the strand, Xanthe thought she could hear\nthese creatures guiding their course with their scaly tails and blowing\ninto shells, and many a glimmering foam-crest on a deep-blue wave was no\ntransparent bubble-no, the girl distinctly saw that it was the white\nneck, the gleaming arm, or the snowy foot of one of Nereus's daughters.\nShe believed that she clearly distinguished them sporting joyously up and\ndown through the azure water, now plunging into the depths with their\nfeet, and now with their heads foremost, anon floating gently on the\nsurface of the waves. One held out her hand to another, and in so doing\ntheir beautiful, rounded arms often gleamed beneath the crest of a surge.\n\nEvery day they practised new games, as the sea never looks precisely the\nsame; each hour it changed its hue, here, there, and everywhere, Light\nstreaks, like transparent bluish-green gauze, often ran through the\ndarker surface, which resembled a purplish-blue mantle of some costly\nPhoenician stuff; the waves could flash black as the eye of night, and\nwhite as Leucothea's neck.\n\nThen Amphitrite appeared, with floating hair and resonant voice, and\nbeside her Poseidon with his four steeds.\n\nFrowning sullenly, he struck them sharply with his lash, which whistled\nthrough the air, and angrily thrust his trident deep into the sea.\nInstantly the waves took hues of lighter brown, deeper yellow, and cloudy\ngray, and the sea wore the aspect of a shallow pond with muddy bottom,\ninto which workmen hurl blocks of stone. The purity of the water was\nsadly dimmed, and the billows dashed foaming toward the sky, threatening\nin their violent assault to shatter the marble dike erected along the\nshore. The Nereids, trembling, took refuge in the ever-calm depths, the\nTritons no longer used their hollow shells to blow gentle harmonies; nay,\nthey sent forth crashing war-songs, as if some hostile citadel were to be\nassailed; while Amphitrite thrust both hands into her long, fluttering\nhair, and with out-stretched head uttered her furious roar.\n\nBut to-day the sea was calm, and when Xanthe had reached the spring the\nedges of the milk-white, light, fleecy clouds, towering one above another\non the summits of the loftier mountains, were still glowing with a rosy\nlight. It was the edge of the garment of the vanishing Eos, the leaves of\nthe blossoms scattered by the Hours in the pathway of the four steeds of\nHelios, as they rose from the waves.\n\nTo day and at this hour the morning sunlight fell serenely on the tall\ncypresses upon the hill, the trees in the garden swayed in the soft\nbreath of the morning breeze, and Xanthe nodded to them, for she thought\nthe beautiful Dryads living in the trees were greeting each other.\n\nOften, with a brief prayer, she laid flowers or a round cake on the altar\nthat stood beside her seat, and which her ancestor had erected to the\nnymph of the spring--but today she had not come for this.\n\nThen what brought her to the hill so early? Did she visit the spring to\nadmire her own image in its mirror-like surface?\n\nAt home she was rarely permitted such an indulgence, for, whenever she\nlooked in the polished metal-disk, Semestre used to say:\n\n\"If a girl often peers into such useless things, she'll certainly see a\nfool's image in them.\"\n\nForbidden things are charming, yet Xanthe rarely looked into this liquid\nmirror, though she might have enjoyed gazing at it frequently, for her\nfigure was tall and slender as the trunk of a cypress, her thick fair\nhair glittered like gold, the oval of her face was exquisitely rounded,\nlong lashes shaded the large blue eyes that could conceal no emotion\nwhich stirred her soul, and when she was alone seemed to ask: \"What have\nthe gods allotted for my future?\" Yet in their gaze might often be read\nthe answer \"Something delightful, surely.\"\n\nAnd yet Xanthe did not come to the spring to paint pictures of her\nfuture; on the contrary, she came to be sad, and shed tears unrebuked.\nShe did not weep passionately, but the big salt drops welled slowly from\nher eyes and ran down her young cheeks, as drop after drop of shining sap\nflows down the trunk of a wounded birch-tree.\n\nYes, Xanthe felt very sorrowful, yet everything that surrounded her was\nso bright, and at her home laughter was rarely silent, while her own\noften rang out no less merrily than that of lively Chloris and\ndark-skinned Dorippe.\n\nHer sick father, now slowly recovering, could refuse her nothing, and, if\nSemestre tried to do so, Xanthe usually succeeded in having her own way.\nThere was no lack of festivals and joyous dances, and to none of her\ncompanions did the youths present more beautiful ribbons, to no one in\nthe circle did they prefer to offer their hands. She was the fairest of\nall the maidens far and near, and Ismene, Phryxus's wife, had said that\nher laughter was gay enough to make a cripple dance. Ismene had a\ndaughter herself just Xanthe's age, so it must probably have been true.\n\nThen why, in the name of all the gods, was Xanthe sad?\n\nIs any cause required to explain it?\n\nMust a maiden have met with misfortune, to make her feel a longing to\nweep? Certainly not.\n\nNay, the gayest rattle-brain is the least likely to escape such a desire.\n\nWhen the sky has long shone with unclouded splendor, and the air is so\nwonderfully clear that even the most distant mountain-peaks are\ndistinctly visible, rain is not long delayed; and who can laugh heartily\na long time without finally shedding tears like a mourner?\n\nWhoever endures a severe though not the deepest affliction, whoever is\npermitted to reach the topmost summit of joy, and a girl who feels\nlove-these three Heaven favors with the blessing of tears.\n\nHad Eros's arrow struck Xanthe's young heart too?\n\nIt was possible, though she would not confess it even to herself, and\nonly yesterday had denied it, without the quiver of an eyelash.\n\nYet, if she did love a youth, and for his sake had climbed to the spring,\nhe must doubtless dwell in the reddish house, standing on a beautiful\nlevel patch of ground on the right of the brook, between the sea and the\npool; for she glanced toward it again and again, and, except the\nservants, no one lived under its roof save the aged steward Jason, and\nPhaon, her uncle's son. Protarch himself had gone to Messina, with his\nown and her father's oil.\n\nTo age is allotted the alms of reverence, to youth the gift of love, and,\nof the three men who lived in the house on Xanthe's right-hand, only one\ncould lay claim to such a gift, and he had an unusually good right to do\nso.\n\nXanthe was thinking of Phaon as she sat beside the spring, but her brow\nwore such a defiant frown that she did not bear the most distant\nresemblance to a maiden giving herself up to tender emotions.\n\nNow the door of the reddish house opened, and, rising hastily, she looked\ntoward it. A slave came cautiously out, bearing a large jar with handles,\nmade of brown clay, adorned with black figures.\n\nWhat had the high-shouldered graybeard done, that she stamped her foot so\nangrily on the ground, and buried the upper row of her snow-white teeth\ndeep in her under-lip, as if stifling some pang?\n\nNo one is less welcome than the unbidden intruder, who meets us in the\nplace of some one for whom we ardently long, and Xanthe did not wish to\nsee the slave, but Phaon, his master's son.\n\nShe had nothing to say to the youth; she would have rushed away if he had\nventured to seek her by the spring, but she wanted to see him, wanted to\nlearn whether Semestre had told the truth, when she said Phaon intended\nto marry a wealthy heiress, whose hand his father was seeking in Messina.\nThe house-keeper had declared the night before that he only wooed the\nugly creature for the sake of her money, and now took advantage of his\nfather's absence to steal out of the house evening after evening, as soon\nas the fire was lighted on the hearth. And the fine night-bird did not\nreturn till long past sunrise, no doubt from mad revels with that crazy\nHermias and other wild fellows from Syracuse. They probably understood\nhow to loosen his slow tongue.\n\nThen the old woman described what occurred at such banquets, and when she\nmentioned the painted flute-players, with whom the dissipated city youths\nsquandered their fathers' money, and the old house-keeper called\nattention to the fact that Phaon already wandered about as stupidly and\nsleepily as if he were a docile pupil of the notorious Hermias, Xanthe\nfairly hated her, and almost forgot the respect she owed to her gray\nhair, and told her to her face she was a liar and slanderer.\n\nBut the girl had been unable to speak, for Phaon's secret courtship of\nthe Messina heiress had deeply wounded her pride, and he really did look\nmore weary and dreamy than usual.\n\nSemestre's praises of her cousin, the young Leonax, Xanthe had heard as\nlittle as the chirping of the crickets on the hearth, and before the\nhouse-keeper had finished speaking she rose, and, without bidding her\ngood-night, turned her back and left the women's apartment.\n\nEre lying down to rest in her own room, she paced up and down before her\ncouch, then began to loosen her thick hair so carelessly that the violent\npulling actually hurt her, and tied so tightly under her chin the pretty\nscarlet kerchief worn over her golden tresses at night to prevent them\nfrom tangling, that she was obliged to unfasten it again to keep from\nstifling.\n\nThe sandals, from which she had released her slender feet, and which,\nobedient to her dead mother's teaching, she usually placed beside the\nchair where her clothes lay smoothly folded, she flung into a corner of\nthe room, still thinking of Phaon, the Messina heiress, and her\nplayfellow's shameful conduct. She had intended to discover whether\nSemestre spoke the truth, and in the stillness of the night consider what\nshe must do to ascertain how much Phaon was concerned in his father's\nsuit.\n\nBut the god Morpheus willed otherwise, for scarcely had Xanthe laid down\nto rest, extinguished her little lamp, and wrapped herself closely in the\nwoolen coverlet, when sleep overpowered her.\n\nThe young girl waked just before sunrise, instantly thought of Phaon, of\nthe heiress, and of Semestre's wicked words, and hastily went out to the\nspring.\n\nFrom there she could see whether her uncle's son returned home from the\ncity with staggering steps, or would, as usual, come out of the house\nearly in the morning to curry and water his brown steeds, which no slave\nwas ever permitted to touch.\n\nBut he did not appear, and, in his place, the high-shouldered servant\nentered the court-yard.\n\nIf the young girl was usually sad here, because she liked to be\nmelancholy, to-day grief pierced her heart like a knife, and the bit of\nwhite bread she raised to her lips because, with all her sorrow, she was\nhungry, tasted bitter, as if dipped in wormwood.\n\nShe had no need to salt it; the tears that fell on it did that.\n\nXanthe heard the house-keeper's calls, but did not obey immediately, and\nperhaps would not have heeded them at all if she had not noticed--yes,\nshe was not mistaken--that, in the full meaning of the words, she had\nbegun to weep like a chidden child.\n\nShe was weeping for anger; and soon it vexed her so much to think that\nshe should cry, that fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.\n\nBut not many, for, ere her beautiful eyes grew red, they were dry again,\nas is the custom of eyes when they are young and see anything new.\n\nTwo children, a vineyard-watchman's son and a herdsman's little daughter,\napproached the spring, talking loudly together.\n\nThey had decked themselves with fresh, green vines twined about their\nnecks and bosoms, and were now going to sail a little boat made of bark\nin the tiny, walled pool into which the spring flowed.\n\nThe boy had been the owner of the boat, but had given it to the little\ngirl the day before, and now refused to deliver it, unless she would give\nhim in exchange the shining shells her big brother had found, cleaned,\nand fastened around her little brown arm with a string. The boy persisted\nin his demand, stretching out his hand for the shells, while the little\ngirl, with sobs and tears, defended herself.\n\nXanthe, unobserved by the children, became a witness of this contest\nbetween might and right, hastily stepped between the combatants, gave the\nboy a blow on the shoulder, took the boat away, handed it to the little\nmaiden, and, turning to the latter, said:\n\n\"Now, play quietly together, and, if Syrus doesn't let you keep the boat\nand the shells, come to me, poor Stephanion.\"\n\nSo saying, she wiped the little girl's eyes with her own skirt, seized\nher by the shoulder, grasped the boy's black curls, pressed the two\nlittle ones toward each other with gentle violence, and commanded:\n\n\"Now, kiss each other!\"\n\nThe little girl dutifully obeyed the bidding, but the kiss the boy gave\nhis playmate strongly resembled a blow with the mouth.\n\nXanthe laughed merrily, turned her back on the children, and went slowly\ndown into the valley.\n\nDuring her walk all sorts of little incidents flashed through her mind\nwith the speed of lightning; memories of the days when she herself was a\nlittle girl and Phaon had played with her daily, as the curly-headed\nSyrus now did with the herdsman's daughter.\n\nBut all the scenes swiftly conjured up before her mental vision were very\ndifferent from that just witnessed.\n\nOnce, when she had said that the brook couldn't bear to the sea all the\nleaves and flowers she tossed in, Phaon only smiled quietly, but the next\nday she found, fastened to an axis, a wooden cross he had carved himself\nand fixed between some stones The stream swept against the broad surfaces\nof the spokes and forced it to turn constantly.\n\nFor weeks both enjoyed the successful toy, but he did not ask a word of\nthanks, nor did she utter any, only eagerly showed her pleasure, and that\nwas enough for Phaon.\n\nIf she began to build a house of sand and stones with him, and it was not\nfinished at once, when they went to play next day she found it roofed and\nsupplied with a little garden, where twigs were stuck in the sand for\ntrees, and red and blue buds for flowers. He had made the seat by the\nspring for her, and also the little steps on the seashore, by whose aid\nit was possible to enter dryshod the boat her playfellow had painted with\nbrilliant hues of red and blue, because a neighbor's gay skiff had\npleased her fancy.\n\nShe now thought of these and many similar acts, and that he had never\npromised her anything, only placed the finished article before her as a\nmatter of course.\n\nIt had never entered his mind to ask compensation for his gifts or thanks\nfor his acts, like curly-headed Syrus. Silently he rendered her service\nafter service; but, unfortunately, at this hour Xanthe was not disposed\nto acknowledge it.\n\nPeople grow angry with no one more readily than the person from whom they\nhave received many favors which they are unable to repay; women, no\nmatter whether young or old, resemble goddesses in the fact that they\ncheerfully accept every gift from a man as an offering that is their due,\nso long as they are graciously disposed toward the giver, but to-day\nXanthe was inclined, to be vexed with her playmate.\n\nA thousand joys and sorrows, shared in common, bound them to each other,\nand in the farthest horizons of her recollections lay an event which had\ngiven her affection for him a new direction. His mother and hers had died\non the same day, and since then Xanthe had thought it her duty to watch\nover and care for him, at first, probably, only as a big live doll,\nafterward in a more serious way. And now he was deceiving her and going\nto ruin. Yet Phaon was so entirely different from the wild fellows in\nSyracuse.\n\nFrom a child he had been one of those who act without many words. He\nliked to wander dreamily in lonely paths, with his large, dark eyes fixed\non the ground.\n\nHe rarely spoke, unless questioned. Never did he boast of being able to\naccomplish, or having successfully performed, this or that feat.\n\nHe was silent at his work, and, even while engaged in merry games, set\nabout a task slowly, but completed whatever he undertook.\n\nHe was welcome in the wrestling-ring and at the dance, for the youths\nrespected his strength, grace, dexterity, and the quiet way in which he\nsilenced wranglers and boasters; while the maidens liked to gaze into the\nhandsome dreamer's eyes, and admired him, though even in the maddest\nwhirl of the dance he remained passionless, moving lightly in perfect\ntime to the measures of the tambourine and double flute.\n\nTrue, many whom he forgot to notice railed at his silent ways, and even\nXanthe had often been sorely vexed when his tongue failed to utter a\nsingle word of the significant stories told by his eyes. Ay, they under\nstood how to talk! When his deep, ardent gaze rested upon her,\nunwavering, but glowing and powerful as the lava-stream that sweeps every\nobstacle from its still, noiseless course, she believed he was not silent\nfrom poverty of mind and heart, but because the feelings that moved him\nwere so mighty that no mortal lips could clothe them in words.\n\nNevertheless, to-day Xanthe was angry with her playfellow, and a maiden's\nwrath has two eyes--one blind, the other keener than a falcon's.\n\nWhat she usually prized and valued in Phaon she now did not see at all,\nbut distinguished every one of his defects.\n\nTrue, he had shown her much affection without words, but he was certainly\nas mute as a fish, and would, doubtless, have boasted and asked for\nthanks like anybody else, if indolence had not fettered his stiff tongue.\n\nOnly a short time ago she was obliged to give her hand to lanky Iphis,\nbecause Phaon came forward too slowly. He was sleepy, a foolish dreamer,\nand she would tell him it would be better for him to stretch himself\ncomfortably on his couch and continue to practise silence, rather than\nwoo foreign maidens and riot all night with dissipated companions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nLYSANDER.\n\nAs Xanthe approached her father's house, Semestre's call and the gay\nnotes of a monaulus--[A musical instrument, played like our flageolet or\nclarinet]--greeted her.\n\nA conjurer had obtained admittance, and was showing his laughing audience\nthe tricks of his trained cocks and hens.\n\nHe was a dwarfish, bow-legged little man, with a short neck, on which\nrested a big head with a very prominent forehead, that shaded his small\npiercing eyes like a balcony.\n\nThe feathered actors lived in a two-wheeled cart, drawn from village to\nvillage, and city to city, by a tiny, gayly-decked donkey.\n\nThree cocks and four hens were now standing on the roof of the cart,\nlooking very comical, for their clever owner, who doubtless knew what\npleases the eyes of children and peasants, had colored their white\nfeathers, here and there, with brilliant red and glaring yellow.\n\nBeside the cart stood a pale, sorrowful-looking boy, playing a merry tune\non the monaulus. Lysander, Xanthe's father, had been helped out of the\nhouse into the sunlight, and, seated in his arm-chair of polished\nolive-wood, was gazing at the show.\n\nAs soon as he saw his daughter, he beckoned to her, and stroking her\nhair, while she pressed her lips to his forehead, said:\n\n\"An amusing sight! The two hens obey the little man as if they were\ndutiful children. I'm glad he came, for a person like me, forbidden by\nfate to enjoy the comical things to be seen out of doors, must be\ngrateful when they come in his way. Your feet are twitching, Dorippe.\nWhenever a flute raises its voice, it moves young girls' limbs, as the\nwind stirs the leaves of the poplars. You would doubtless like to begin\nto dance at once.\"\n\nAt these words, Mopsus, keeping time to the music, advanced toward his\nsweetheart, but Semestre stepped before him, exclaiming half to the lad\nand half to her master:\n\n\"There must be no jumping about now. Whoever dances in the morning will\nbreak a leg at night.\"\n\nLysander nodded assent.\n\n\"Then go into the house, Chloris, and fetch this king of hens a jug of\nwine, some bread, and two cheeses.\"\n\n\"How many cheeses?\" asked the housekeeper.\"\n\n\"Two,\" replied Lysander.\n\n\"One will be more than enough,\" cried Semestre--\"Bring only one,\nChloris.\" The invalid smilingly shrugged his shoulders, clasped Xanthe's\nhand as she stood beside him, and said in so low a tone that the old\nwoman could not hear:\n\n\"Haven't I grown like little thick-skull's hens? Semestre commands and I\nmust obey. There she goes after Chloris, to save the second cheese.\"\n\nXanthe smiled assent. Her father raised his voice and called to the\njuggler:\n\n\"Well, my little friend, show what your actors can do.--You young people,\nMopsus and Dorippe, for aught I care, can dance as long as the monaulus\nsounds, and Semestre stays in the house.\"\n\n\"We want first to see what the hens can do,\" cried the dark-haired girl,\nclinging to her lover's arm, and turning with Mopsus toward the\nexhibition, which now began again.\n\nThere was many an exclamation of astonishment, many a laugh, for, when\nthe little man ordered his largest cock to show its skill in riding, it\njumped nimbly on the donkey's back; when he ordered it to clean its\nhorse, it pulled a red feather out of the ornaments on the ass's head;\nand finally proved itself a trumpeter, by stretching its neck and\nbeginning to crow.\n\nThe hens performed still more difficult feats, for they drew from a\nwooden box for each spectator a leaf of a tree, on which certain\ncharacters were visible.\n\nThe scrawl was intelligible only to the conjurer, but was said to contain\ninfallible information about the future, and the little man offered to\ninterpret the writing to each individual.\n\nThis trainer of hens was a clever dwarf, with very quick ears. He had\ndistinctly understood that, through Semestre, he was to lose a nice\ncheese, and, when the housekeeper returned, ordered a hen to tell each\nperson present how many years he or she had lived in the world.\n\nThe snow-white bird, with the yellow head, scratched seventeen times\nbefore Xanthe, and, on reaching Mopsus, twenty-three times, which was\nperfectly correct.\n\n\"Now tell us this honorable lady's age too,\" said the conjurer to the\nhen.\n\nSemestre told Chloris to repeat what the little man had said, and was\nalready reflecting whether she should not let him have the second cheese,\nin consideration of the \"honorable lady,\" when the hen began to scratch\nagain.\n\nUp to sixty she nodded assent, as she watched the bird's claw; at\nsixty-five she compressed her lips tightly, at seventy the lines on her\nbrow announced a coming storm, at eighty she struck the ground violently\nwith her myrtle-staff, and, as the hen, scratching faster and faster,\napproached ninety, and a hundred, and she saw that all the spectators\nwere laughing, and her master was fairly holding his sides, rushed\nangrily into the house.\n\nAs soon as she had vanished behind the doors, Lysander threw the man half\na drachm, and, clapping his hands, exclaimed:\n\n\"Now, children, kick up your heels; we sha'n't see Semestre again\nimmediately. You did your business well, friend: but now come here and\ninterpret your hen's oracles.\"\n\nThe conjurer bowed, by bending his big head and quickly raising it again,\nfor his short back seemed to be immovable, approached the master of the\nhouse, and with his little round fingers grasped at the leaf in\nLysander's hand; but the latter hastily drew it back, saying:\n\n\"First this girl, then I, for her future is long, while mine--\"\n\n\"Yours,\" interrupted the dwarf, standing before Lysander--\"yours will be\na pleasant one, for the hen has drawn for you a leaf that means peaceful\nhappiness.\"\n\n\"A violet-leaf!\" exclaimed Xanthe. \"Yes, a violet-leaf,\" repeated the\nconjurer. \"Put it in my hand. There are--just look here--there are seven\nlines, and seven--everybody knows that--seven is the number of health.\nPeaceful happiness in good health, that is what your oracle says.\" \"The\ngods owe me that, after suffering so long,\" sighed Lysander. \"At any\nrate, come back here in a year, and if your cackling Pythia and this\nlittle leaf tell the truth, and I am permitted to bring it to you without\nsupport or crutch, I'll give you a stout piece of cloth for a new cloak;\nyet nay, better try your luck in six months, for your chiton looks sicker\nthan I, and will hardly last a whole year.\"\n\n\"Not half a one,\" replied the conjurer, with a sly smile. \"Give me the\npiece of stuff to-day, that, when I come back in a month, I may have\nsuitable garments when I amuse the guests at the feast given for your\nrecovery. I'm no giant, and shall not greatly impair your store.\"\n\n\"We'll see what can be done,\" replied Lysander, laughing, \"and if, when\nyou return in a month, I don't turn you from the door as a bad prophet,\nin spite of your fine clothes, your flute-player shall have a piece of\nlinen for his thin limbs. But now foretell my daughter's future, too.\"\n\nThe dwarf took Xanthe's leaf from her hand, and said:\n\n\"This comes from an olive-tree, is particularly long, and has a light and\ndark side. You will live to a great age, and your life will be more or\nless happy as you shape it.\"\n\n\"As you shape it,\" repeated the girl. \"That's a real hen's oracle. 'As\npeople do, so things will be,' my nurse used to say every third word.\"\nDisappointed and angry, she threw the leaf on the ground, and turned her\nback on the little man.\n\nThe conjurer watched her keenly and searchingly, as not without\ndifficulty he picked up the leaf. Then glancing pleasantly at her father,\nhe called her back, pointed with his finger to the inner surface, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Just look at these lines, with the little strokes here at the end.\nThat's a snail with horns. A slow creature! It warns people not to be\nover-hasty. If you feel inclined to run, check your steps and ask where\nthe path will lead.\"\n\n\"And move through life like a cart creaping down into the valley with\ndrags on the wheels,\" interrupted Xanthe. \"I expected something unlike\nschool-masters' lessons from the clever hen that loaded Semestre with so\nmany years.\"\n\n\"Only question her about what is in your heart,\" replied the little man,\n\"and she won't fail to answer.\"\n\nThe young girl glanced irresolutely at the conjurer, but repressed the\ndesire to learn more of the future, fearing her father's laughter. She\nknew that, when Lysander was well and free from pain, nothing pleased him\nso much as to tease her till she wept.\n\nThe invalid guessed what was passing in his little daughter's mind, and\nsaid, encouragingly:\n\n\"Ask the hen. I'll stop both ears while you question the oracle. Yes,\nyes, one can scarcely hear his own voice for the monaulus and the shouts\nof the crazy people yonder.\n\n\"Such sounds lure those who are fond of dancing, as surely as a\nhoney-comb brings flies. By the dog! there are four merry couples\nalready! Only I miss Phaon. You say the couch in my brother's house has\ngrown too hard for him, and he has found softer pillows in Syracuse. With\nus the day began long ago, but in the city perhaps they haven't quite\nfinished with yesterday. I'm sorry for the fine fellow.\"\n\n\"Is it true,\" asked Xanthe, blushing, \"that my uncle is seeking a rich\nbride for him in Messina?\"\n\n\"Probably, but in courtship one does not always reach the desired goal.\nHas Phaon told you nothing about his father's wishes? Question the\nconjurer, or he'll get his new clothes with far too little trouble. Save\nme the reproach of being a spendthrift.\"\n\n\"I don't wish to do so; what is the use of such folly?\" replied Xanthe,\nwith flushed cheeks, preparing to go into the house.\n\nHer father shrugged his shoulders, and, turning his head, called after\nher:\n\n\"Do as you please, but cut a piece from the brown woolen cloth, and bring\nit to the conjurer.\"\n\nThe young girl disappeared in the house. The tune which the boy drew from\nthe monaulus again and again sounded monotonous, but the young people\nconstantly grew more mirthful; higher and higher sprang the bounding\nfeet.\n\nThe ribbons fluttered as if a storm had seized them; many a gay garment\nwaved; and there was no end to the shouts and clapping of hands in time\nwith the music.\n\nWhen Mopsus, or any other lad, raised his voice unusually loud, or a\nyoung girl laughed in the overflowing joy of her heart, Lysander's eyes\nsparkled like sunshine, and he often raised his hands and swayed merrily\nto and fro to the measure of the music.\n\n\"Your heart really dances with the young people,\" said the conjurer.\n\n\"But it lacks feet,\" replied Lysander, and then he told him about his\nfall, and the particulars of his sufferings, the danger in which he had\nbeen, the remedies used, and the final convalescence. He did this with\ngreat pleasure, for it always relieved his mind when he was permitted to\ntell the story of his life to a sympathizing auditor, and few had\nlistened more attentively than did the conjurer, partly from real\ninterest, partly in anticipation of the cloth.\n\nThe little man frequently interrupted Lysander with intelligent\nquestions, and did not lose patience when the speaker paused to wave his\nhand to the merry group.\n\n\"How they laugh and enjoy themselves!\" the invalid again exclaimed. \"They\nare all young, and before I had this fall--\"\n\nThe sentence was not finished, for the notes of the monaulus suddenly\nceased, the dancers stopped, and, instead of the music and laughter,\nSemestre's voice was heard; but at the same time Xanthe, carrying a small\npiece of brown cloth over her arm, approached the sick man. The latter at\nfirst looked at his daughter's flushed face with some surprise, then\nagain glanced toward the scene of the interrupted dance, for something\nwas happening there which he could not fully approve, though it forced\nhim to laugh aloud.\n\nThe young people, whose sport had been interrupted, had recovered from\ntheir fright and joined in a long chain.\n\nMopsus led the saucy band.\n\nA maiden followed each youth, and the whole party were united, for each\nindividual grasped the person in front with both hands.\n\nSinging a rhythmical dancing-tune, with the upper portion of the body\nbent forward, and executing dainty steps with their feet, they circled\nfaster and faster around the furious house-keeper.\n\nThe latter strove to catch first Chloris, then Dorippe, then some other\nmaiden, but ere she succeeded the chain separated, joining again behind\nher ere she could turn. Mopsus and his dark-haired sweetheart were again\nthe leaders. When the ring broke the youths and maidens quickly grasped\neach other again, and the chain of singing, laughing lads and lasses once\nmore whirled around the old woman.\n\nFor some time the amused master of the house could not succeed in shaking\nhis head disapprovingly; but when the old housekeeper, who had never\nceased scolding and shaking her myrtle-staff, began to totter from anger\nand excitement, Lysander thought the jest was being carried too far, and,\nturning to his daughter, exclaimed:\n\n\"Go, rescue Semestre and drive those crazy people away. Fun must not go\nbeyond proper bounds.\"\n\nXanthe instantly obeyed the command the chain parted, the youths hurrying\none way, the maidens another; the lads escaped, and so did all the girls\nexcept dark-haired Dorippe, who was caught by Semestre and driven into\nthe house with angry words and blows.\n\n\"There will be tears after the morning dance,\" said Lysander, \"and I\nadvise you, friend, if you want to avoid a scolding yourself, to leave\nthe place at once with your feathered artists. Give the man the cloth,\nXanthe.\"\n\nXanthe handed the brown woolen stuff to the conjurer.\n\nShe blushed faintly as she did so, for, while attempting to cut from the\npiece a sufficient quantity, Semestre had snatched the knife from her\nhand, exclaiming rudely:\n\n\"Half that is twice too much for the insolent rascal.\"\n\nThe little man took the scanty gift, spread it out to its full extent,\nand, turning to Lysander, said:\n\n\"At our age people rarely experience new emotions, but to-day, for the\nfirst time since I stopped growing, I wish I was still smaller than I am\nnow.\"\n\nThe invalid had shaken his head discontentedly at sight of the tiny\npiece, and, as the conjurer was refolding it over his knee, loosed from\nhis shoulders the chlamys he himself wore, saying gravely:\n\n\"Take this cloak, for what Lysander promises he does not perform by\nhalves.\"\n\nThe last words were addressed to Semestre as well as the dwarf, for the\nold house-keeper, with panting breath and trembling hands, now approached\nher master.\n\nKind words were not to be expected from her mouth now, but even more\nbitter and vehement reproaches sprang to her lips as she saw her master\ngive his scarcely-worn chlamys to a strolling vagrant, and also presume\nto reward her economy with taunts.\n\nShe had carefully woven the cloak with her own hands, and that, she\ncried, was the way her labor was valued! There was plenty of cloth in the\nchests, which Lysander could divide among the buffoons at the next fair\nin Syracuse. In other countries, even among wild barbarians, white hairs\nwere honored, but here the elders taught the young people to insult them\nwith jeers and mockery.\n\nAt these words the invalid's face turned pale, a dark shadow appeared\nunder his eyes, and an expression of pain hovered around his mouth. He\nlooked utterly exhausted.\n\nEvery feature betrayed how the old woman's shrill voice and passionate\nwords disturbed him, but he could not silence her by loud rebukes, for\nhis voice failed, and he therefore sought to make peace by the soothing\ngestures of his thin hands and his beseeching eyes.\n\nXanthe felt and saw that her father was suffering, and exclaimed in a\nfearless, resolute tone:\n\n\"Silence, Semestre! your scolding is hurting my father.\"\n\nThese words increased the house-keeper's wrath instead of lessening it.\nIn a half-furious, half-whining tone, she exclaimed:\n\n\"So it comes to this! The child orders the old woman. But you shall know,\nLysander, that I won't allow myself to be mocked like a fool. That\nimpudent Mopsus is your freed-woman's child, and served this house for\nhigh wages, but he shall leave it this very day, so surely as I hope to\nlive until the vintage. He or I! If you wish to keep him, I'll go to\nAgrigentum and live with my daughter and grandchildren, who send to me by\nevery messenger. If this insolent fellow is more to you than I am, I'll\nleave this place of ingratitude. In Agrigentum--\"\n\n\"It is beautiful in Agrigentum!\" interrupted the conjurer, pointing with\nhis finger impressively in the direction of this famous city.\n\n\"It is delightful there,\" cried the old woman, \"so long as one doesn't\nmeet pygmies like you in the streets.\"\n\nThe house-keeper was struggling for breath, and her master took advantage\nof the pause to murmur beseechingly, like a child who is to be deprived\nof something it loves:\n\n\"Mopsus must go--merry Mopsus? Nobody knows how to lift and support me so\nwell.\"\n\nThese words softened Semestre's wrath, and, lowering her voice, she\nreplied:\n\n\"You will no longer need the lad for that purpose; Leonax, Alciphron's\nson, is coming to-day. He'll lift and support you as if you were his own\nfather. The people in Messina are friendly and honor age, for, while you\njeer at me, they remember the old woman, and will send me a beautiful\nmatron's-robe for the future wedding.\"\n\nThe invalid looked inquiringly at his daughter, and the latter answered,\nblushing:\n\n\"Semestre has told me. She informed me, while I was cutting the cloth,\nthat Leonax would come as a suitor.\"\n\n\"May he fare better than Alkamenes and the others, whom you sent home!\nYou know I will not force your inclinations, but, if I am to lose Mopsus,\nI should like a pleasant son. Why has Phaon fallen into such foolish,\nevil ways? The young Leonax--\"\n\n\"Is of a different stamp,\" interrupted Semestre--\"Now come, my dove, I\nhave a thousand things to do.\"\n\n\"Go,\" replied Xanthe. \"I'll come directly.--You will feel better, father,\nif you rest now. Let me help you into the house, and lie down on the\ncushion for a time.\"\n\nThe young girl tried to lift her father, but her strength was too feeble\nto raise the wearied man. At last, with the conjurer's help, he succeeded\nin rising, and the latter whispered earnestly in his ear:\n\n\"My hens tell me many things, but another oracle behind my forehead says,\nyou are on the high-road to recovery, but you won't reach the goal,\nunless you treat the old woman, who is limping into the house yonder, as\nI do the birds I train.\"\n\n\"And what do you do?\"\n\n\"Teach them to obey me, and if I see that they assert their own wills,\nsell them and seek others.\"\n\n\"You are not indebted to the stupid creatures for anything?\"\n\n\"But I owe so much the more to the others, who do their duty.\"\n\n\"Quite true, and therefore you feed and keep them.\"\n\n\"Until they begin to grow old and refuse obedience.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Then I give them to a peasant, on whose land they lay eggs, eat and die.\nThe right farmer for your hens lives in Agrigentum.\"\n\nLysander shrugged his shoulders; and, as, leaning on his daughter, he\ntottered slowly forward, almost falling on the threshold, Xanthe took a\nsilent vow to give him a son on whom he could firmly depend--a stalwart,\nreliable man.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE TWO SUCKING-PIGS.\n\nFifteen minutes had passed, and the old house-keeper's face still\nglowed--no longer from anger, but because, full of zeal, she now moulded\ncakes before the bright flames on the hearth, now basted the roast on the\nspit with its own juices.\n\nBeside her stood old Jason, who could not give up his young master's\ncause for lost, and exposed himself once more to the arrows of Semestre's\nangry words, because he bitterly repented having irritated instead of\nwinning her.\n\nUnfortunately, his soothing speeches fell on hard ground, for Semestre\nscarcely vouchsafed a reply, and at last distinctly intimated that he\ninterrupted her.\n\n\"Attention,\" she said, \"is the mother of every true success. It is even\nmore needful in cooking than in weaving; and if Leonax, for whom my hands\nare busy, resembles his father, he knows how to distinguish bad from\ngood.\"\n\n\"Alciphron,\" replied Jason, \"liked the figs on our arbor by the house\nbetter than yours.\"\n\n\"And while he was enjoying them,\" cried the old woman, \"you beat him with\na hazel rod. I can hear him cry now, poor little dear.\"\n\n\"Too many figs are bad for the stomach,\" replied the old man, very slowly\nand distinctly, but not too loud, that he might not remind her of her\ndeafness. Then seeing Semestre smile, he drew nearer, and with winning\ncheerfulness continued: \"Be sensible, and don't try to part the children,\nwho belong to each other. Xanthe, too, is fond of figs, and, if Leonax\nshares his father's taste, how will the sweet fruit of your favorite\ntrees fare, if Hymen unites them in marriage? Phaon doesn't care for\nsweet things. But seriously: though his father may seek twenty brides for\nhim, he himself wants no one but Xanthe. And can you deny that he is a\nhandsome, powerful fellow?\"\n\n\"So is the other,\" cried Semestre, wholly unmoved by these words. \"Have\nyou seen your favorite this morning? No! Do you know where he slept last\nnight and the night before?\"\n\n\"On his couch, I suppose.\"\n\n\"In your house?\"\n\n\"I don't run after the youth, now he is grown up.\"\n\n\"Neither shall we! You are giving yourself useless trouble, Jason, and I\nearnestly beg you not to disturb me any longer now, for a dark spot is\nalready appearing on the roast. Quick, Chloris--lift the spit from the\nfire!\"\n\n\"I should like to bid Lysander good-morning.\"\n\n\"He is tired, and wants to see no one. The servants have vexed him.\"\n\n\"Then I'll stay awhile in the garden.\"\n\n\"To try your luck with Xanthe? I tell you, it's trouble wasted, for she's\ndressing her hair to receive our guest from Messina; and, if she were\nstanding where those cabbage-leaves be, she wouldn't contradict me if I\nwere to repeat what you heard from my lips this morning at sunrise. Our\ngirl will never become Phaon's wife until I myself offer a sacrifice to\nAphrodite, that she may fill Xanthe's heart with love for him.\"\n\nJason shrugged his shoulders, and was preparing to turn his back on the\nold woman, when Dorippe entered and approached the hearth. Her eyes were\nred with weeping, and in her arms she carried a round, yellowish-white\ncreature that, struggling and stretching it's little legs in the air,\nsquealed in a clear, shrill voice, even more loudly and piteously than a\nhungry babe.\n\nIt was a pretty, well-fattened sucking pig.\n\nJason looked at it significantly, but Semestre snatched it out of the\ngirl's arms, pressed it to her own bosom, turned her back upon the old\nman with resolute meaning, and said, just loud enough for him alone to\nhear:\n\n\"A roast for the banquet.\"\n\nAs soon as Jason had left the room, she put the nicely-washed pig on a\nlittle wooden bench, ordered Chloris to see that it did not soil itself;\ndrew from a small box, standing beside the loom, one blue ribbon and two\nred ones; tied the former carefully around the little creature's curly\ntail, and the latter about its cars; lifted the pig again, looked at it\nas a mother gazes at her prettily-dressed darling, patted its fattest\nparts with her right-hand, and ordered Dorippe to carry it to Aphrodite's\ntemple immediately.\n\nIt's a beautiful creature, absolutely faultless, and the priest must slay\nit at once in Honor of the gracious goddess. I will come myself, as soon\nas everything is ready here; and, after such a gift, foam-born Cypris\nwill surely grant my petition. Hide the little treasure carefully under\nyour robe, that no one may see it.\"\n\n\"It struggles and squeals when I carry it,\" replied the girl.\n\n\"Yes, it does squeal,\" said the old woman. \"Wait, I'll look for a\nsuitable basket.\"\n\nThe house-keeper went out, and, when she returned, cried:\n\n\"Mopsus is standing outside with our donkey, to carry bag and baggage to\nhis mother's house, but he's still in Lysander's service to-day. Let him\nput the creature in a basket on the donkey's back, and then he can\nquickly carry it to the temple--at once and without delay, for, if I\ndon't find it on the goddess's altar in an hour, you shall answer for it!\nTell him this, and then get some rosemary and myrtle to garland our\nhearth.\"\n\nMopsus did not hasten to perform the errand. He had first to help Dorippe\ncut the green branches, and, while thus engaged, sought pleasant gifts\nnot only on the ground, but from his sweetheart's red lips, then moved up\nthe mountain with his donkey, very slowly, without urging the animal. The\nlatter carried one basket on the right and one on the left of its saddle,\nwore bright cock's feathers on its head, and had a fiery-red bridle. It\nlooked gay enough in its finery, yet hung its head, though far less\nsorrowfully than its young driver, whom Semestre had exiled from his\nmaster's house and the girl he loved.\n\nHe spent half an hour in reaching the sanctuary.\n\nOld Jason, at the same time, was standing before the little grove beside\nthe steps leading to the cella.\n\nThe worthy man cradled in his arms, as Dorippe had just done in\nLysander's house, a little squealing creature, and this, too, was a pig;\nbut it wore no ribbon around its little tail and ears, was not\nparticularly fat, and had numerous black spots under its scanty bristles\nand on its sharp snout.\n\nThe old man was gazing at the innocent creature by no means tenderly, but\nwith the utmost indignation. He had good reason to be angry, for the\npriest had not thought it fit for a sacrifice to the goddess, it was so\npoor in fat and full of bad marks.\n\nAlas, and Jason had no second pig, and was so eager to win the goddess to\nPhaon's cause.\n\nAs soon as he saw Semestre's offering, he had hurried home to anticipate\nher with his own, and first win the goddess's heart for his young master.\n\nNow he stood considering whether he should strangle the unlucky creature,\nor carry it back to its mother.\n\nLike a frugal steward, he decided upon the latter course, and, just as he\nwas comparing the image of the lean, spotted animal with its future\nwell-rounded condition, he heard the hoofs of the donkey driven by\nMopsus, the heavy thud of a stick on the elastic flesh, and after every\nblow, the shout, \"Semestre!\"\n\nDirectly after Mopsus and his donkey reached the old man, and as the\nyouth, without looking to the right or left, dealt the animal another\nthwack, again uttering the house-keeper's name, and in connection with it\na succession of harsh, abusive words, Jason looked at the young man with\napproval, nay, almost tenderly.\n\nThe latter usually shouted a loud \"Joy be with you!\" whenever he met the\nold man, but to-day answered his greeting only with a sorrowful nod and\nlow murmur.\n\nThe steward had stepped in front of him, laid his hard hand on the\ndonkey's head, and asked:\n\n\"Do you call your ass Semestre?\" Mopsus blushed, and answered:\n\n\"In future I shall call all she-asses that, but the old Megaera named\nthis one Jason.\"\n\n\"Why, see,\" cried the steward, \"how kindly the worthy woman remembers me!\nBut she, too, was not forgotten, for, whenever you lifted your stick, you\nthought, I should suppose, of her.\"\n\n\"Indeed I did!\" cried Mopsus; then, while stroking the stripes on the\ndonkey's flanks, added kindly:\n\n\"Poor Jason, you too have nothing for which to thank the old woman. If\nyou only knew how abominable this woman is--\"\n\n\"I do know,\" the steward interrupted, \"but she is an old woman, and it\ndoes not beseem you to abuse her; she represents the house under its\ninvalid ruler.\"\n\n\"I'd willingly lay both these hands under his feet,\" cried the youth,\n\"but Semestre has driven me out of his service for nothing, away from\nhere and Dorippe, and where can I find a place in the neighborhood?\"\n\nThe almost whining tone of the complaint contrasted oddly with the\nappearance of the tall, broad-shouldered Mopsus, yet tears filled his\neyes, as he now told the steward about the juggler, the dance, Semestre's\nanger, his banishment from Lysander's house, and the house-keeper's\ncommission to carry a sucking-pig to Aphrodite's temple for her.\n\nJason listened with only partial attention, for the low grunting of a\npig, that reached his ears from one of the baskets on the donkey, seemed\nto him far more interesting than the poor fellow's story. He knew the\nways of every domestic animal, and such sounds were only uttered by a\nlittle pig that felt comfortably fat, and lived under favorable\ncircumstances.\n\nA great thought awoke in his mind, and must have pleased him hugely, for\nhis eyes began to sparkle, his mouth puckered in a smile, and he looked\nexactly like a satyr thrusting his thick lips toward the largest and\nripest bunches of grapes in the vineyard.\n\nWhen Mopsus paused, he angrily noticed what an enlivening influence his\nsorrowful story had had upon the old man, but soon laughed too; for, ere\nhe could give expression to his dissatisfaction, Jason had opened the\nbasket on the left of the donkey, taken out Semestre's gayly-decked pig,\nput his own lanky animal in its place, and said, giggling with pleasure:\n\n\"After what Semestre has done to a poor fellow like you, she doesn't\ndeserve the favor of our goddess. Let me offer Aphrodite this most\ncharming of pigs, and you offer my little beast in the house-keeper's\nname; then her petition will certainly find no hearing.\"\n\nAt these words Mopsus's broad face brightened, and, after laughing\nloudly, he struck his fist in the palm of his left hand, turned on the\nheel of his right foot, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Yes, that will be just right.\"\n\nTrue, directly after, he looked as doubtful as if an invisible\nmyrtle-staff had been swung over his back, and asked:\n\n\"But if she notices it?\"\n\n\"I know how we'll manage it,\" replied the old man, and, putting\nSemestre's pig in Mopsus's arms, took the ribbons from its ears and curly\ntail.\n\nMeantime, the little animal grunted as piteously as if it noticed that\nits finery was being stolen and its beauty impaired.\n\nAnd when Jason, with Mopsus's assistance, put the same ribbons on his own\nlank pig, it looked neither better nor prouder than before, for it was no\nlucky animal and did not appreciate beautiful gifts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE WALK TO THE SEA.\n\nWhile the priest of Aphrodite received Jason's gift, praised the pig's\nbeauty, and promised to slay it immediately, but said he would only\naccept the lean animal Mopsus offered in Semestre's name for the sake of\nits ornaments and the giver, Xanthe came out of her father's house. She\nwore her handsomest garments, and had carefully arranged her beautiful\nfair hair reflecting as she did so on many different things, for maidens\nare fond of thinking when seated at the loom or spinning-wheel, or\nquietly occupied in adorning their tresses.\n\nSemestre followed close behind, and gave her a small knife, saying:\n\n\"It is seemly to decorate the door of a welcome guest with flowers. The\nbushes are full of roses now, so go and cut as many as will be needed for\na handsome garland, but gather only red or yellow flowers, no white ones,\nfor they bring no good fortune. You will find the largest below near the\nbench by the sea.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"Wait and hear me out.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"The weather is delightful, there was a light breeze from the north\nduring the night, so it may happen that the ship from Messina will arrive\nbefore noon.\"\n\n\"Then let me go down.\"\n\n\"Go and watch for the sails. If you see ours, hurry back and tell Chloris\nto call me, for I must go to the temple of Cypris.\"\n\n\"You?\" asked Xanthe, laughing.\n\n\"I, and you are the last person who should sneer at the errand; nay, you\ncan accompany me.\"\n\n\"No! I will cut the roses.\"\n\nThese words were uttered in a tone the house-keeper knew well. Whenever\nXanthe used it, she insisted upon having her own way, and did what she\npleased, while Semestre, who usually never admitted that her hearing was\nno longer so keen as in former clays, in such cases willingly pleaded her\ndeafness, in order to avoid a retreat.\n\nTo-day she particularly shrank from irritating the easily-excited girl,\nand therefore replied:\n\n\"What did you say? Wouldn't it be better for you to go and cut the roses\nimmediately, my dove? Make haste, for the vessel for which you are to\nwatch bears your happiness. How beautiful the ornaments Leonax is\nbringing will look! We have never yet seen the like, I imagine. The\npeople in Messina haven't forgotten poor me either, for I heard whispers\nabout a robe such as matrons wear. It is--it might be--well, we shall\nsee.\"\n\nTittering, and almost embarrassed, she fixed her eyes upon the ground,\nreminded Xanthe once more to have her called as soon as the ship from\nMessina appeared, and then, leaning on her myrtle-staff, tottered up the\npath leading to the temple of the goddess.\n\nXanthe did not go directly down to the sea, but approached her uncle's\nhouse to seek Phaon with her eyes.\n\nAs she could not see him, either in the stables, or the walk lined with\nfig-trees trained upon espaliers beside the house, she turned quickly\naway, repressing out of pride her desire to call him.\n\nOn her way to the sea she met her uncle's high-shouldered slave. Xanthe\nstopped and questioned him.\n\nSemestre had told no lie. Phaon had not yet returned from a nocturnal\nexcursion, and for several days had not reached home until just before\nsunrise.\n\nNo, he was not the man to offer support to her sick father. He was\nlooking for a wealthy heiress, and forgot his relatives for the sake of\ndissolute young men and worthless wenches.\n\nThis thought hurt her sorely, so sorely that she wanted to weep as she\nhad done by the spring.\n\nBut she forced back her tears; not one wet her cheeks, yet it seemed as\nif her poor heart had obtained eyes to shed them.\n\nThe little knife in her hand reminded her of her task of cutting roses,\nand watching for the ship which was to bring her uncle's son from\nMessina.\n\nIf Leonax was what Semestre described him, she would not repel him like\nthe other suitors, whom she had rejected with laughing lips.\n\nYes, she would become his wife, not only for her father's sake, but to\npunish Phaon.\n\nSorrow and pain never felt before filled her heart after making this\nresolution. Wholly engrossed by these conflicting emotions, instead of\ngoing down to the sea, she walked straight on till she reached the great\ngate that led to her own home. There she remembered the object of her\nerrand, and was just turning back, when the conjurer, who was resting\noutside the gate with his cart in the shadow of the fence, called:\n\n\"You are obeying my advice, beautiful Xanthe, and move as thoughtfully as\na sophist.\"\n\n\"Then you must not disturb me,\" cried the girl, raising her head\ndefiantly. \"Pardon me if I do so,\" replied the other, \"but I wanted to\ntell you that I might perhaps know of aid for your father. In my home--\"\n\n\"Where is your home?\"\n\n\"In Messina.\"\n\n\"Messina!\" exclaimed Xanthe, eagerly.\n\n\"A very experienced physician lives there,\" interrupted the conjurer.\n\n\"No one has helped my father.\"\n\n\"Yet!\"\n\n\"Then come in and speak to him.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid of the cross old woman.\"\n\n\"She has gone out, and you will find father alone.\"\n\n\"Then I'll go to him.\"\n\n\"Did you say you were from Messina?\"\n\n\"That is my home.\"\n\n\"Do you know my uncle Alciphron, the merchant?\"\n\n\"Certainly. He owns the most ships in the place.\"\n\n\"And his son Leonax, too?\"\n\n\"I often saw him, for my hut stands opposite to the landing-place of your\nuncle's vessels, and the youth always superintends the loading and\nunloading. He, if any one, belongs to those spoiled children of fortune\nwho disgust poor dwarfs like me with life, and make us laugh when people\nsay there are just gods above.\"\n\n\"You are blaspheming.\"\n\n\"I only say what others think.\"\n\n\"Yet you too were young once.\"\n\n\"But I was a dwarf, and he resembles Achilles in stature; I was poor and\nhe does not know what to do with his wealth; maidens fled from me as they\nseek him; I was found in the streets; and a father still guides, a loving\nmother kisses him. I don't envy him, for whoever enters life an orphan is\nspared the pain of becoming one afterward.\"\n\n\"You speak bitter words.\"\n\n\"He who is beaten does not laugh.\"\n\n\"So you envy Leonax his prosperity?\"\n\n\"No, for, though I might have such excellent cause to complain, I envy no\nking, for there is but one person whose inmost heart I know thoroughly,\nand that one stands before you.\n\n\"You revile Fate, and yet believe it possible that we may all have more\nsorrow to bear than you.\"\n\n\"You have understood me rightly.\"\n\n\"Then admit that you may be happier than many.\"\n\n\"If only most of the contented people were not stupid. However, this\nmorning I am pleased, because your father gave me this new garment, and I\nrarely need despair; I earn enough bread, cheese, and wine with the aid\nof my hens, and am not obliged to ask any man's favor. I go with my cart\nwherever I choose.\"\n\n\"Then you ought to thank the gods, instead of accusing them.\"\n\n\"No, for absence of suffering is not happiness.\"\n\n\"And do you believe Leonax happy?\"\n\n\"Hitherto he seems to be, and the fickle goddess will perhaps remain\nfaithful to him longer than to many others, for he is busy from early\ntill late, and is his father's right-hand. At least he won't fall into\none of the pits Fate digs for mortals.\"\n\n\"And that is--?\"\n\n\"Weariness. Thousands are worse, and few better, than your cousin; yes,\nthe maiden he chooses for his wife may rejoice.\" Xanthe blushed, and the\ndwarf, as he entered the gate, asked:\n\n\"Is Leonax wooing his little cousin?\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"But the little cousin has some one else in her mind.\"\n\n\"Who told you so?\"\n\n\"My hens.\"\n\n\"Then remember me to them!\" cried Xanthe, who left the juggler and ran\nstraight toward the path leading to the sea.\n\nJust at the point where the latter branched off from the broader road\nused by carts as well as foot-passengers, stood a singular monument,\nbefore which the young girl checked her steps.\n\nThe praise the conjurer had lavished on Leonax afforded her little\npleasure; nay, she would rather have heard censure of the Messina suitor,\nfor, if he corresponded with the dwarf's portrait, he would be the right\nman to supply a son's place to her father, and rule as master over the\nestate, where many things did not go on as they ought. Then she must\nforget the faithless night-reveller, Phaon--if she could.\n\nEvery possession seems most charming at the time we are obliged to resign\nit, and never in all her life had Xanthe thought so tenderly and\nlongingly of Phaon as now and on this spot.\n\nThe monument, overgrown with blossoming vines, before which she paused,\nwas a singular structure, that had been built of brick between her own\nand her uncle's garden.\n\nIt was in the form of a strong wall, bounded by two tall pillars. In the\nwall were three rows of deep niches with arched ceilings, while on the\npillars, exquisitely painted upon a brownish-red ground, were the Genius\nof Death lowering his torch before an offering-altar, and Orpheus, who\nhad released his wife from the realm of shadows and was now bearing her\nto the upper world.\n\nMany of the niches were still empty, but in some stood vases of\nsemi-transparent alabaster.\n\nThe newest, which had found a place in the lowest row, contained the\nashes of the young girl's grandfather, Dionysius, and his wife, and\nanother pair of urns the two mothers, her own and Phaon's.\n\nBoth had fallen victims on the same day to the plague, the only\npestilence that had visited this bright coast within the memory of man.\nThis had happened eight years ago.\n\nAt that time Xanthe was still a child, but Phaon a tall lad.\n\nThe girl passed this place ten times a day, often thought of the beloved\ndead, and, when she chanced to remember them still more vividly, waved a\ngreeting to the dear ashes, because some impulse urged her to give her\nfaithful memory some outward expression.\n\nVery rarely did she recall the day when the funeral-pile had cooled, and\nthe ashes of the two mothers, both so early summoned to the realm of\nshadows, were collected, placed in the vases, and added to the other\nurns. But now she could not help remembering it, and how she had sat\nbefore one of the pillars of the monument weeping bitterly, and asking\nherself again and again, if it were possible that her mother would never,\nnever come to kiss her, speak caressing words, arrange her hair and pet\nher; nay, for the first time, she longed to hear even a sharp reproof\nfrom the lips now closed forever.\n\nPhaon was standing by the other pillar, his eyes covered with his right\nhand.\n\nNever before or since had she seen him look so sad, and it cut her to the\nheart when she noticed that he trembled as if a chill had seized him,\nand, drawing a long breath, pushed back the hair, which like a coalblack\ncurtain, covered half his forehead. She had wept bitterly, but he shed no\ntears. Only a few poor words were exchanged between them in that hour,\nbut each one still echoed in her ears to-day, as if hours instead of\nyears intervened between that time and now.\n\n\"Mine was so good,\" Xanthe had sobbed; but he only nodded, and, after\nfifteen minutes had passed, said nothing but, \"And mine too.\"\n\nIn spite of the long pause that separated the girl's words from the\nboy's, they were tenderly united, bound together by the thought, dwelling\nuninterruptedly in both childish hearts, \"My mother was so good.\"\n\nIt was again Xanthe who, after some time, had broken the silence by\nasking \"Whom have I now?\"\n\nAgain it was long ere Phaon, for his only answer, could repeat softly:\n\n\"Yes, whom?\"\n\nThey were trivial words, but they expressed the deep wretchedness which\nonly a child's heart can feel.\n\nScarcely had they found their way over the boy's lips when he pressed his\nleft hand also over his eyes, his breast heaved convulsively, and a\ntorrent of burning tears coursed down his cheeks.\n\nBoth children still had their fathers, but they forgot them in this hour.\n\nWho, if the warm sun were extinguished, would instantly remember that the\nmoon and stars remain?\n\nAs Phaon wept so violently, Xanthe's tears began to flow more slowly, and\nshe gazed at him a long time with ardent sympathy, unperceived by the\nlad, for he still covered his eyes with his hands.\n\nThe child had met a greater grief than her own, and, as soon as she felt\nthat she was less sorrow-stricken than her playfellow, a desire to soothe\nhis sorrow arose.\n\nAs the whole plant, with its flowers and fruit, is contained in the\nsprouting seed, so, too, in the youngest girl lives the future mother,\nwho dries all tears, cheers and consoles.\n\nAs Phaon remained in the same attitude, Xanthe rose, approached him,\ntimidly pulled his cloak, and said:\n\n\"Come down to our house; I will show you something pretty: four young\ndoves have come out of the shell; they have big, wide bills, and are very\nugly.\"\n\nHer playmate removed his hands from his eyes and answered kindly:\n\n\"No, let me alone, please.\"\n\nXanthe now took his hand and drew him away, saying:\n\n\"Yes, you must come; the pole of my cart is broken.\"\n\nPhaon had been so accustomed to be always called upon whenever there were\nany of the little girl's playthings to mend that he obeyed, and the next\nday allowed her to persuade him to do many things for which he felt no\ninclination.\n\nHe yielded in order not to grieve her, and, as he became more cheerful\nand even joined in her merry laugh, Xanthe rejoiced as if she had\nreleased him from his sorrow. From that time she claimed his services as\neagerly as before, but in her own heart felt as if she were his little\nmother, and watched all his actions as though specially commissioned to\ndo so.\n\nWhen she had grown up she did not hesitate to encourage or blame him,\nnay, was often vexed or grieved about him, especially if in the games or\ndances he paid more attention than she deemed reasonable to other girls,\nagainst whom there was much or little objection, nay, often none at all.\nNot on her own account, she said to herself, it could make no difference\nto her, but she knew these girls, and it was her duty to warn him.\n\nShe willingly forgave many things, but on this point was extremely rigid,\nand even allowed anger to carry her to the verge of rudeness.\n\nNow, as she stood beside the sepulchre, she thought of the hour when she\nhad comforted him, of her care for him and how it had all been vain, for\nhe spent his nights in rioting with flute-playing women. Yes, Semestre\nhad said so. He seemed to Xanthe lost, utterly lost.\n\nWhen she wept in the morning beside the spring, it was not, she now\nthought, because of the heiress from Messina; no, the tears that had\nsprung to her eyes were like those a mother sheds for her erring son.\n\nShe seemed to herself extremely venerable, and would have thought it only\nnatural if gray hair instead of golden had adorned the head over which\nscarcely seventeen years had passed.\n\nShe even assumed the gait of a dignified matron, but it was hardly like a\nmother, when, on her way to the rose-bushes by the sea, she studiously\nstrove to misunderstand and pervert everything good in Phaon, and call\nhis quiet nature indolence, his zeal to be useful to her weakness, his\ntaciturn manner mere narrow-mindedness, and even his beautiful, dreamy\neyes sleepy.\n\nWith all this, the young girl found little time to think of the new\nsuitor; she must first shatter the old divine image, but every blow of\nthe hammer hurt her as if it fell upon herself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThe rose-bush to which Xanthe went grew on the dike that belonged in\ncommon to her father and uncle, beside a bench of beautifully-polished\nwhite marble.\n\nMany a winter had loosened the different blocks, and bordered them with\nyellow edges.\n\nEven at a distance the girl saw that the seat was not vacant. The brook\nthat flowed from the spring to the sea ran beneath it, and the\nmaid-servants were in the habit of washing the household linen in its\nswift current.\n\nWere they now using the bench to spread out the garments they had rinsed?\n\nNo! A man lay on the hard marble, a man who had drawn his light cloak\nover his face to protect himself from the rays of the sun, now rising\nhigher and higher.\n\nHis sandaled feet and ankles, bandaged as if for journeying, appeared\nbeneath the covering.\n\nBy these feet Xanthe quickly recognized the sleeping youth.\n\nIt was Phaon. She would have known him, even if she had seen only two of\nhis fingers.\n\nThe sun would soon reach its meridian height, and there he lay asleep.\n\nAt first it had startled her to find him here, but she soon felt nothing\nbut indignation, and again the image of the flute-playing women, with\nwhom he must have revelled until thus exhausted, rose before her mind.\n\n\"Let him sleep,\" she murmured proudly and contemptuously; she passed him,\ncut a handful of roses from the bushes covered with crimson and yellow\nblossoms, sat down on the vacant space beside his head, watched for the\nship from Messina, and, as it did not come, began to weave the garland.\n\nShe could do the work here as well as anywhere else, and told herself\nthat it was all the same to her whether Phaon or her father's linen lay\nthere. But her heart belied these reflections, for it throbbed so\nviolently that it ached.\n\nAnd why would not her fingers move; why could her eyes scarcely\ndistinguish the red roses from the yellow ones?\n\nThe garden was perfectly still, the sea seemed to slumber, and, if a wave\nlapped the shore, it was with a low, almost inaudible murmur.\n\nA butterfly hovered like a dream over her roses, and a lizard glided\nnoiselessly, like a sudden thought, into a chink between the stones at\nher feet. Not a breath of air stirred, not a leaf or a twig fell from the\ntrees.\n\nYonder, as if slumbering under a blue veil, lay the Calabrian coast,\nwhile nearer and more distant, but always noiselessly, ships and boats,\nwith gently swelling sails, glided over the water. Even the cicadas\nseemed to sleep, and everything around was as still, as horribly still,\nas if the breath of the world, blooming and sparkling about her, was\nready to fail.\n\nXanthe sat spellbound beside the sleeper, while her heart beat so rapidly\nand strongly that she fancied it was the only sound audible in this\nterrible silence.\n\nThe sunbeams poured fiercely on her head, her cheeks glowed, a painful\nanxiety overpowered her, and certainly not to rouse Phaon, but merely to\nhear some noise, she coughed twice, not without effort. When she did so\nthe third time, the sleeper stirred, removed from his face the end of the\ncloak that had covered his head, slowly raised himself a little, and,\nwithout changing his recumbent posture, said simply and quietly, in an\nextremely musical voice:\n\n\"Is that you; Xanthe?\"\n\nThe words were low, but sounded very joyous.\n\nThe girl merely cast a swift glance at the speaker, and then seemed as\nbusily occupied with her roses as if she were sitting entirely alone.\n\n\"Well?\" he asked again, fixing his large dark eyes upon her with an\nexpression of surprise, and waiting for some greeting.\n\nAs she remained persistently silent, he exclaimed, still in the same\nattitude:\n\n\"I wish you a joyful morning, Xanthe.\" The young girl, without answering\nthis greeting, gazed upward to the sky and sun as long as she could\nendure the light, but her lips quivered, and she flung the rose she held\nin her hand among its fellows in her lap.\n\nPhaon had followed the direction of her look, and again broke the\nsilence, saying with a smile, no less quietly than before:\n\n\"Yes, indeed, the sun tells me I've been sleeping here a long time; it is\nalmost noon.\"\n\nThe youth's composure aroused a storm of indignation in Xanthe's breast.\nHer excitable blood fairly seethed, and she was obliged to put the utmost\nconstraint upon herself not to throw her roses in his face.\n\nBut she succeeded in curbing her wrath, and displaying intense eagerness,\nas she shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed toward some ships that\nappeared in view.\n\n\"I don't know what is the matter with you,\" said Phaon, smoothing with\nhis right hand the black hair that covered half his forehead. \"Do you\nexpect the ship from Messina and my father already?\"\n\n\"And my cousin Leonax\" replied the girl, quickly, putting a strong\nemphasis upon the last name.\n\nThen she again gazed into the distance. Phaon shook his head, and both\nremained silent for several minutes. At last he raised himself higher,\nturned his full face toward the young girl, gazed at her as tenderly and\nearnestly as if he wished to stamp her image upon his soul for life,\ngently pulled the long, floating sleeve of her peplum, and said:\n\n\"I didn't think it would be necessary--but I must ask you something.\"\n\nWhile he spoke, Xanthe rested her right elbow on her knee, drummed on her\nscarlet lips with her fingers, and clasped the back of the marble bench\nwith her out-stretched left arm.\n\nHer eyes told him that she was ready to listen, though she still uttered\nno word of reply.\n\n\"I have a question to ask you, Xanthe!\" continued Phaon.\n\n\"You?\" interrupted the girl, with visible astonishment.\n\n\"I, who else? Jason told me yesterday evening that our uncle Alciphron\nhad wooed you for his son Leonax, and was sure of finding a favorable\nreception from old Semestre and your poor father. I went at once to ask\nyou if it were true, but turned back again, for there were other things\nto be done, and I thought we belonged to each other, and you could not\nlove any one so well as you loved me. I don't like useless words, and\ncannot tell you what is in my heart, but you knew it long ago. Now you\nare watching for your cousin Leonax. We have never seen him, and I should\nthink--\"\n\n\"But I know,\" interrupted the girl, rising so hastily that her roses fell\nunheeded on the ground--\"but I know he is a sensible man, his father's\nright-hand, a man who would disdain to riot all night with flute-playing\nwomen, and to woo girls only because they are rich.\"\n\n\"I don't do that either,\" replied Phaon. \"Your flowers have dropped on\nthe ground--\"\n\nWith these words the youth rose, bent over the roses, gathered them\ntogether, and offered them to Xanthe with his left hand, while trying to\nclasp her fingers in his right; but she drew back, saying:\n\n\"Put them on the bench, and go up to wash the sleep from your eyes.\"\n\n\"Do I look weary?\"\n\n\"Of course, though you've lain here till noon.\"\n\n\"But I have scarcely slept for several days.\"\n\n\"And dare you boast of it?\" asked Xanthe, with glowing cheeks. \"I am not\nyour mother, and you must do as you choose, but if you think I belonged\nto you because we played with each other as children, and I was not\nunwilling to give you my hand in the dance, you are mistaken. I care for,\nno man who turns day into night and night into day.\"\n\nAt the last words Xanthe's eyes filled with tears, and Phaon noticed it\nwith astonishment.\n\nHe gazed at her sadly and beseechingly, and then fixed his eyes on the\nground. At last he began to suspect the cause of her anger, and asked,\nsmiling:\n\n\"You probably mean that I riot all night?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" cried Xanthe; she withdrew her hand for the second time, and half\nturned away.\n\n\"Oh!\" he replied, in a tone of mingled surprise and sorrow, \"you ought\nnot to have believed that.\"\n\n\"Xanthe turned, raised her eyes in astonishment, and asked\n\n\"Then where have you been these last nights?\"\n\n\"Up in your olive-grove with the three Hermes.\"\n\n\"You?\"\n\n\"How amazed you look!\"\n\n\"I was only thinking of the wicked fellows who have robbed many trees of\ntheir fruit. That savage Korax, with his thievish sons, lives just beside\nthe wall.\"\n\nFor your sake, Xanthe, and because your poor father is ill and unable to\nlook after his property, while Mopsus and your fishermen and slaves were\nobliged to go in the ship to Messina, to handle the oars and manage the\nsails, I always went up as soon as it grew dark.\"\n\n\"And have you kept watch there?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"So many nights?\"\n\n\"One can sleep after sunrise.\"\n\n\"How tired you must be!\"\n\n\"I'll make up my sleep when my father returns.\"\n\n\"They say he is seeking the rich Mentor's only daughter for your wife.\"\n\n\"Not with my will, certainly.\"\n\n\"Phaon!\"\n\n\"I am glad you will give me your hand again.\"\n\n\"You dear, good, kind fellow, how shall I thank you?\"\n\n\"Anything but that! If you hadn't thought such foolish things about me, I\nshould never have spoken of my watch up yonder. Who could have done it\nexcept myself, before Mopsus came back?\"\n\n\"No one, no one but you! But now--now ask your question at once.\"\n\n\"May I? O Xanthe, dear, dear Xanthe, will you have me or our cousin\nLeonax for your husband?\"\n\n\"You, you, only you, and nobody else on earth!\" cried the girl, throwing\nboth arms around him. Phaon clasped her closely, and joyously kissed her\nbrow and lips.\n\nThe sky, the sea, the sun, everything near or distant that was bright and\nbeautiful, was mirrored in their hearts, and it seemed to both as if they\nheard all creatures that sing, laugh, and rejoice. Each thought that, in\nthe other, he or she possessed the whole world with all its joy and\nhappiness. They were united, wholly united, there was nothing except\nthemselves, and thus they became to each other an especially blissful\nworld, beside which every other created thing sank into nothingness.\n\nMinute after minute passed, nearly an hour had elapsed, and, instead of\nmaking garlands, Xanthe clasped her arms around Phaon's neck; instead of\ngazing into the distant horizon, she looked into his eyes; instead of\nwatching for approaching steps, both listened to the same sweet words\nwhich lovers always repeat, and yet never grow weary of speaking and\nhearing.\n\nThe roses lay on the ground, the ship from Messina ran into the bay\nbeside the estate, and Semestre hobbled down to the sea to look for\nXanthe, and in the place of the master of the house receive her\nfavorite's son, who came as a suitor, like a god.\n\nShe repeatedly called the girl's name before reaching the marble bench,\nbut always in vain.\n\nWhen she had at last reached the myrtle grove, which had concealed the\nlovers from her eyes, she could not help beholding the unwelcome sight.\n\nXanthe was resting her head on Phaon's breast, while he bent down and\nkissed her eyes, her mouth, and at last--who ever did such things in her\nyoung days?--even her delicate little nose.\n\nFor several minutes Semestre's tongue seemed paralyzed, but at last she\nraised both arms, and a cry of mingled indignation and anguish escaped\nher lips.\n\nXanthe started up in terror, but Phaon remained sitting on the marble\nbench, held the young girl's hand in his own, and looked no more\nsurprised than if some fruit had dropped from the tree beside him.\n\nThe youth's composure increased the old woman's fury, and her lips were\njust parting to utter a torrent of angry words, when Jason stepped as\nlightly as a boy between her and the betrothed lovers, cast a delighted\nglance at his favorites, and bowing with comic dignity to Semestre cried,\nlaughing:\n\n\"The two will be husband and wife, my old friend, and ought to ask your\nblessing, unless you wickedly intend to violate a solemn vow.\"\n\n\"I will--I will! When did I--\" shrieked the house-keeper.\n\n\"Didn't you,\" interrupted Jason, raising his voice--\"didn't you vow this\nmorning that you would prepare Phaon's wedding-feast with your own hands\nas soon as you yourself offered a sacrifice to the Cyprian goddess to\ninduce her to unite their hearts?\"\n\n\"And I'll stick to it, so surely as the gracious goddess--\"\n\n\"I hold you to your promise!\" exclaimed Jason. \"Your sucking-pig has just\nbeen offered to Aphrodite. The priest gladly accepted it and slaughtered\nit before my eyes, imploring the goddess with me, to fill Xanthe's heart\nwith love for Phaon.\"\n\nThe house-keeper clenched her hands, approached Jason, and so plainly\nshowed her intention of attacking him that the steward, who had assailed\nmany a wild-boar, retreated--by no means fearlessly.\n\nShe forced him back to the marble bench, screaming:\n\n\"So that's why the priest found no word of praise for my beautiful pig!\nYou're a thief, a cheat! You took my dear little pig, which all the other\ngods might envy the mother of Eros, put in its place a wretched animal\njust like yourself, and falsely said it came from me. Oh, I see through\nthe whole game! That fine Mopsus was your accomplice; but so true as I--\"\n\n\"Mopsus has entered our service,\" replied Jason, laughing; \"and, if our\nPhaon's bride will permit, he wants to wed the dark-haired Dorippe.\nHenceforth our property is yours.\"\n\n\"And ours yours,\" replied Xanthe--\"Be good-natured, Semestre; I will\nmarry no man but Phaon, and shall soon win my father over to our side,\nrely upon that.\"\n\nThe house-keeper was probably forced to believe these very resolute\nwords, for, like a vanquished but skilful general, she began to think of\ncovering her retreat, saying:\n\n\"I was outwitted; but, what I vowed in a moment of weakness. I have now\nsworn again. I am only sorry for your poor father, who needed a\ntrustworthy son, and the good Leonax--\"\n\nAt this moment, as if he had heard his name and obediently appeared at\nher call, the son of Alciphron, of Messina, appeared with Phaon's father,\nProtarch, from the shadow of the myrtle-grove.\n\nHe was a gay, handsome youth, richly and carefully dressed. After many a\npressure of the hand and cordial words of welcome, Phaon took the young\ngirl's hand and led her to the new-comers, saying:\n\n\"Give me Xanthe for a wife, my father. We have grown up together like the\nivy and wild vine on the wall, and cannot part.\"\n\n\"No certainly not,\" added Xanthe, blushing and nestling closely to her\nlover's side, as she gazed beseechingly first at her uncle, and then at\nthe young visitor from Messina.\n\n\"Children, children!\" cried Protarch, \"you spoil my best plans. I had\ndestined Agariste, the rich Mentor's only child, for you, foolish boy,\nand already had come to terms with the old miser. But who can say I will,\nor this and that shall happen to-morrow? You are very sweet and charming\nmy girl, and I don't say that I shouldn't be glad, but--mighty Zeus! what\nwill my brother Alciphron say--and you, Leonax?\"\n\n\"I?\" asked the young man, smiling. \"I came here like a dutiful son, but I\nconfess I rejoice over what has happened, for now my parents will hardly\nsay 'No' a second time, when I beg them to give me Codrus's daughter,\nIsmene, for my wife.\"\n\n\"And there stands a maiden who seems to like to hear such uncivil words\nbetter than Helen loved Paris's flattering speeches!\" exclaimed Phaon's\nfather, first kissing his future daughter's cheek and then his son's\nforehead.\n\n\"But now let us go to father,\" pleaded Xanthe.\n\n\"Only one moment,\" replied Protarch, \"to look after the boxes the people\nare bringing.--Take care of the large chest with the Phoenician dishes\nand matron's robes, my lads.\"\n\nDuring the first moments of the welcome, Semestre had approached her\ndarling's son, told him who she was, received his father's messages of\nremembrance, kissed his hand, and stroked his arm.\n\nHis declaration that he wished another maiden than Xanthe for his wife\nsoothed her not a little, and when she now heard of matrons' dresses, and\nnot merely one robe, her eyes sparkled joyously, and, fixing them on the\nground, she asked:\n\n\"Is there a blue one among them? I'm particularly fond of blue.\"\n\n\"I've selected a blue one, too,\" replied Protarch. \"I'll explain for what\npurpose up yonder. Now we'll go and greet my brother.\"\n\nXanthe, hand in hand with her lover, hurried on in advance of the\nprocession, lovingly prepared her father for what had happened, told him\nhow much injustice he, old Semestre, and she herself had done poor Phaon,\nled the youth to him, and, deeply agitated, sank on her knees before him\nas he laid her hand in her playfellow's, exclaiming in a trembling voice:\n\n\"I have always loved you, curly-head, and Xanthe wants you for her\nhusband. Then I, too, should have a son!--Hear, lofty Olympians, a good,\nstrong, noble son! Help me up, my boy. How well I feel! Haven't I gained\nin you two stout legs and arms? Only let the old woman come to me to-day!\nThe conjurer taught me how to meet her.\"\n\nLeaning on Phaon's strong shoulder he joyously went out of the house,\ngreeted his handsome young nephew as well as his brother, and said:\n\n\"Let Phaon live with Xanthe in my house, which will soon be his own, for\nI am feeble and need help.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" cried Protarch, \"and it will be well on every\naccount, for, for--well, it must come out, for I, foolish graybeard--\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked Lysander, and Semestre curved her hand into a shell and\nheld it to her ear to hear better.\n\n\"I--just look at me--I, Protarch, Dionysius's son, can no longer bear to\nstay in the house all alone with that silent youth and old Jason, and so\nI have--perhaps it is a folly, but certainly no crime--so I have chosen a\nnew wife in Messina.\"\n\n\"Protarch!\" cried Lysander, raising his hands in astonishment; but Phaon\nnodded to his father approvingly, exchanging a joyous glance with Xanthe.\n\n\"He has chosen my mother's younger sister,\" said Leonax.\n\n\"The younger, yes, but not the youngest,\" interrupted Protarch. \"You must\nhave your wedding in three days, children. Phaon will live here in your\nhouse, Lysander, with his Xanthe, end I in the old one yonder with my\nPraxilla. Directly after your marriage I shall go back to Messina with\nLeonax and bring home my wife.\"\n\n\"We have long needed a mistress in the house, and I bless your bold\nresolution!\" exclaimed Jason.\n\n\"Yes, you were always brave,\" said the invalid.\n\n\"But not so very courageous this time as it might seem,\" answered\nProtarch, smiling. \"Praxilla is an estimable widow, and it was for her I\npurchased in Messina the matron's robes for which you asked, Semestre.\"\n\n\"For her?\" murmured the old woman. \"There is a blue one among them too,\nwhich will be becoming, for she has light brown hair very slightly mixed\nwith gray. But she is cheerful, active, and clever, and will aid Phaon\nand Xanthe in their young house-keeping with many a piece of good\nadvice.\"\n\n\"I shall go to my daughter in Agrigentum,\" said Semestre, positively.\n\n\"Go,\" replied Lysander, kindly, \"and enjoy yourself in your old age on\nthe money you have saved.\"\n\n\"Which my father,\" added Leonax, \"will increase by the sum of a thousand\ndrachmae.\n\n\"My Alciphron has a heart!\" cried the house-keeper.\n\n\"You shall receive from me, on the day of your departure, the same sum\nand a matron's blue robe,\" said Lysander.\n\nShortly after the marriage of Xanthe and Phaon, Semestre went to live\nwith her daughter.\n\nThe dike by the sea was splendidly repaired without any dispute, for the\nestate once more belonged to the two brothers in common, and Xanthe found\nin Praxilla a new, kind mother.\n\nThe marble seat, on which the young people's fate was decided, was called\nby the grandchildren of the wedded pair, who lived to old age in love and\nharmony, \"the bench of the question.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Absence of suffering is not happiness\n     Laughing before sunrise causes tears at evening\n     People see what they want to see\n     Seems most charming at the time we are obliged to resign it\n     Wrath has two eyes--one blind, the other keener than a falcon's\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELIXIR.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nEvery Leipziger knows well the tall gabled house in the Katherinenstrasse\nwhich I have in mind. It stands not far from the Market Place, and is\nparticularly dear to the writer of this true story because it has been in\nthe possession of his family for a long time. Many curious things have\nhappened there worthy of being rescued from oblivion, and though my\nrelatives would now like to relieve me of this task, because I have found\nit necessary to point out to certain ingenuous ones among them the truth\nwhich they were endeavoring to conceal, I rejoice that I have sufficient\nleisure to chronicle for future generations of Ueberhells the wonderful\nlife and doings of their progenitor as I learned them from my grandmother\nand other good people.\n\nSo here, then, begins my story.\n\nOf old, the aforementioned house was known as \"The Three Kings,\" but in\nno otherwise was it distinguished from its neighbours in the street save\nthrough the sign of the Court apothecary on the ground floor; this hung\nover the arched doorway, and gay with bright colour and gilding\nrepresented the three patron Saints of the craft: Caspar, Melchior, and\nBalthasar.\n\nThis house in the Katherinenstrasse continued to be called \"The Three\nKings,\" although, soon after the death of old Caspar Ueberhell, the sign\nwas removed, and the shop closed. And many things happened to it and the\nhouse which ran counter to the usual course of events and the wishes of\nthe worthy burghers.\n\nGossip there had been in plenty even during the lifetime of the old Court\napothecary whose only son Melchior had left his father's house and\nLeipsic not merely to spend a few years in Prague, or Paris or Italy like\nany other son of well-to-do parents who wished to perfect himself in his\nstudies, but, as it would seem, for good and all.\n\nBoth as school-boy and student Melchior had been one of the most gifted\nand most brilliant, and many a father, whose son took a wicked delight in\nwanton and graceless escapades, had with secret envy congratulated old\nUeberhell on having such an exceptionally talented, industrious and\nobedient treasure of a son and heir. But later not one of these men would\nhave exchanged his heedless scrapegrace of a boy for the much bepraised\nparagon of the Court apothecary, since, after all, a bad son is better\nthan none at all.\n\nMelchior, in fact, came not home, and that this weighed on the mind of\nthe old man and hastened his death was beyond doubt; for although the\nstately Court apothecary's rotund countenance remained as round and\nbeaming as the sun for three years after the departure of his boy, it\nbegan gradually to lose its plumpness and radiance until at length it was\nas faded and yellow as the pale half moon, and the cheeks that had once\nbeen so full hung down on his ruff like little empty sacks. He also\nwithdrew more and more from the weighing house and the Raths-keller where\nhe had once so loved to pass his evenings in the company of other worthy\nburghers, and he was heard to speak of himself now and then as a \"lonely\nman.\" Finally he stayed at home altogether, perhaps because his face and\nthe whites of his eyes had turned as yellow as the saffron in his shop.\nThere he left Schimmel, the dispenser, and the apprentice entirely in\ncharge, so that if any one wished to avoid the Court apothecary that was\nthe surest place. When, in the end, he died at the age of fifty-six, the\nphysicians stated that it was his liver--the seat of sorrow as well as of\nanger--which had been overtaxed and abused.\n\nIt is true that no one ever heard a word of complaint against his son\npass his lips, indeed it was certain that to the very last he was well\nacquainted with his son's whereabouts; for when he was asked for news, he\nanswered at first: \"He is finishing his studies in Paris,\" later:--\"He\nseems to have found in Padua what he is seeking,\" and towards the end: \"I\nthink that he will be returning very soon now from Bologna.\"\n\nIt was also noticeable that instead of taking advantage of such\nquestioning to give vent to his displeasure he would smile contentedly\nand stroke his chin, once so round, but then so peaked, and those who\nthought that the Court apothecary would diminish his legacy to his truant\nson, learned to know better, for the old man bequeathed in an elaborate\nwill, the whole of his valuable possessions to Melchior, leaving only to\nthe widow Vorkel, who had served him faithfully as housekeeper after the\ndeath of his wife, and to Schimmel, the dispenser, in the event of the\nshop being closed, a yearly stipend to be paid to the end of their days.\nTo his beloved daughter-in-law, the estimable daughter of the learned Dr.\nVitali, of Bologna, the old man left his deceased wife's jewels, together\nwith the plate and linen of the house, mentioning her in the most\naffectionate terms.\n\nAll of which surprised the legal gentlemen and the relatives and\nconnections and their wives and feminine following not a little, and what\nput the finishing stroke to the disgust of these good folk, especially to\nsuch of them as were mothers, was that this son and heir of an honoured\nand wealthy house had married a foreigner, a frivolous Italian, and that\ntoo without so much as an intimation of his intention.\n\nWith the will there was a letter from the dead man to his son and one to\nthe worthy lawyer. In the latter he requested his counsellor to notify\nhis son, Melchior Ueberhell, of his death, and, in case of his son's\nreturn home, to see him well and fairly established in the position which\nbelonged to him as the heir of a Leipsic burgher and as Doctor of the\nUniversity of Padua.\n\nThese letters were sent by the first messenger going south over the Alps,\nand that they reached Melchior will be seen from the fresh surprises\ncontained in his answer.\n\nHe commissioned Anselmus Winckler, an excellent notary, and formerly his\nmost intimate school friend, to close the apothecary shop and to sell\nprivately whatever it contained. But a small quantity of every drug was\nto be reserved for his own personal use. He also, in his carefully chosen\ndiction begged the honourable notary to allow the Italian architect\nOlivetti, who would soon present himself, to rebuild the old house of\n\"The Three Kings\" throughout, according to the plan which they had agreed\nupon in Bologna. The side of the house that faced the street would not,\nbe hoped, prove unpleasing, as for the arrangement of the interior, that\nwas to be made in accordance with his own taste and needs, and to please\nhimself alone.\n\nThese wishes seemed reasonable enough to the lawyer, and as the Italian\narchitect, who arrived a few weeks later in Leipsic, laid before him a\nplan showing the facade of a burgher's house finished with a stately\ngable which rose by five successive steps to its peak crowned by a statue\nof the armed goddess Minerva with the owl at her feet, no objection could\nbe made to such an addition to the city, although some of the clergy did\nnot hesitate to express their displeasure at the banishment of the Three\nSaints in favor of a heathen goddess, and at the height of the middle\nchimney which seemed to have entered the lists against the church towers.\nHowever, the rebuilding was put in hand, and, of course, the business had\nto be wound up and the shop closed before the old front was torn down.\n\nSchimmel, the gray-haired dispenser, married the widow Vorkel, who had\nkept house for the late Herr Ueberhell. These two might have related many\nstrange occurrences to the cousins and kin had they chosen, but he was a\nreserved man, and she had been so sworn to silence, and had lived through\nsuch an agitating experience before the death of the old man that she\nrepulsed all questioners so sharply that they dared not return to the\ncharge.\n\nThe old housekeeper as she watched the deserted father grow indifferent\nto what he had to eat and drink--though he had once been so quick to\nappreciate the dishes which she prepared so deftly--and neglectful of the\nattentions which he had been wont to pay to the outside world, became\nembittered towards Melchior whom she had carried in her arms and loved\nlike her own child. In former times Herr Ueberhell had been accustomed\nnow and then to invite certain friends to dine with him, and these guests\nhad praised her cooking, but later, and more especially after the death\nof his cousin and colleague, Blumentrost, who had also been his master,\nhe had asked no one into his well-appointed house.\n\nThis retirement of the dignified and hospitable burgher was undoubtedly\ncaused by the absence of his son, but in a very different way to what\npeople supposed; for although the old man longed for his only child, he\nwas very far from resenting his absence; indeed the widow Vorkel herself\nknew that it was the father who had dissuaded the son from returning from\nItaly until he had reached the goal for which he was striving with\nunwearied energy.\n\nShe also knew that Melchior gave the old man precise information of his\nprogress in every letter, and that when her master turned over the care\nof the shop to Schimmel, the dispenser, it was only because he had\narranged a laboratory for himself on the first floor, where, following\nthe directions received in his son's letters, he worked with his\ncrucibles and retorts, pots and tubes, early and late before the fire.\nYet despite this, the housekeeper saw that the longing for his son was\ngnawing at the old man's heart, and had she been able to write she would\nhave let Melchior know how things stood and begged him to return to\nLeipsic. \"But there ought to be no need to tell him,\" she would reflect\nin her leisure moments, \"he must know it himself,\" and for this reason\nshe would force herself as well as she could to be angry with him.\n\nThus the years passed. Nevertheless, her anger flew to the winds when one\nday a messenger arrived bringing a little package from Italy and the\nmaster called her into the laboratory. Then the old withered love\nsuddenly came to life once more and put forth new leaves and buds, for\nwhat she saw was indeed something wonderful; the Court apothecary held\nout to her in his carefully washed hands a sheet of gray paper on which\nin red crayon was an exquisite drawing of a beautiful young woman with a\nlovely child on her lap. Then, having charged her not to speak of it to\nany one, he confided to her that this beautiful woman was Melchior's\nyoung wife, and the little boy their first-born and his grandchild who\nwould carry on the name of Ueberhell. He had given his consent to his\nson's marriage with the daughter of his master in Bologna and now he--old\nCaspar Ueberhell--was the happiest of men, and when the doctor returned\nto him with wife and child and the thing for which he was so earnestly\nsearching, why, he would not envy the emperor on his throne. When the\nwidow Vorkel noticed the tears that were streaming down the old man's\nsunken cheeks, her eyes too began to overflow, and after that she often\ncrept to the chest where the portrait was kept to gaze on the little one\nand to press her lips on the same spot whence the grandfather's had\nalready worn away some of the red crayon.\n\nHerr Ueberhell's joy had been so great that now the longing for his son\ntook deeper hold of him, and he lost strength day by day, yet Frau Vorkel\ncould not persuade him to see a physician. He often, however, inhaled\ndeep draughts of a concoction that he had made in the laboratory with his\nson's letter before him, and as he seemed to derive no benefit from it he\nwould distil it again and mix with it new drugs.\n\nOne evening-after having spent the whole day in the laboratory--he\nretired unusually early, and when Frau Vorkel went into his room to carry\nhim his \"nightcap\" he forgot his usual amiable and suave manner and\ngrowled out at her angrily: \"After all these years, can't you prepare my\nbed for the night without making me burn myself? Must you be inattentive\nas well as stupid?\"\n\nNever had she heard such a speech as this from her kindly master, and\nwhen from fright she tipped the tray which she was carrying and spilled\nsome of the mulled wine over her gown, he cried sharply: \"Where are your\nwits! First you forget to take the red hot warming-pan out of the bed and\nnow you old goose you spill my good drink onto the floor.\"\n\nHe stopped, for Frau Vorkel had set down the tray on the table in order\nto wipe her eyes with her apron; then he thrust his feet out of the\nbed-which was entirely contrary to his usual decorous behavior--and\ndemanded with flashing eyes: \"Did you hear what I just said?\"\n\nThe widow, greatly shocked, retreated and answered sobbing: \"How could I\nhelp hearing, and how can you bring yourself to insult an unprotected\nwidow who has served you long and faithfully. . . .\"\n\n\"I have done it, I have done it,\" the old man cried, his eyes glistening\nwith joy and pride as if he had just accomplished an heroic undertaking.\n\"I am sorry I called you a goose, and as for your lack of brains, well\nyou might have a few more, but, and this I can assure you, you are honest\nand true and understand your business, and if you will only be as good to\nme as I have always been to you. . . .\"\n\n\"Oh, Herr. . . .\" Widow Vorkel interrupted him, and covered her face with\nher apron; but he would not let her finish her sentence, so great was his\nexcitement and continued in a hoarse voice: \"You must grant what I ask,\nVorkel, after all these years, and if you will, you must take that little\nphial there and inhale its contents, and when you have done so you must\nlet me ask you some questions.\"\n\nAfter much persuasion, the housekeeper yielded to the wishes of her\nmaster, and while she still held the little bottle from which the ether\nescaped, to her nose, the Court apothecary questioned her hastily: \"Do\nyou think that I have always acted like a man, diligently striving for\nthe good of himself and his house?\"\n\nSome strange change seemed to take place in Frau Vorkel; she planted her\nhands on her hips most disrespectfully--a thing she never did except\nperhaps when she was scolding the maid or the butcher boy--and laughed\nloud and scornfully: \"My, what a question! You may, perhaps, have a\nlarger stock of useless information than an old woman like me,--though\nstrictly speaking I cannot be called an old woman yet--but despite my\nbeing stupid and a 'goose,' I have always been wiser than you, and I know\nwhich side one's bread is buttered on. Bless me! And is there anything\nmore idiotic than that you, the father of the best son in the world,\nshould sit here alone, fretting yourself yellow and lean until from a\nstately looking man you grow to be a scarecrow, when one word from you\nwould bring your only child back again and with him the wife and sweet\ngrandchild, that you might all enjoy life together! If that isn't sheer\nfolly and a sin and a shame. . . .\"\n\nHere she checked herself, for her habitually decorous master stood before\nher in his night shirt, barefooted, and laughed loud and merrily,\nclapping himself boisterously on his wasted ribs and on the shrunken\nthighs that carried his thin body. The precise widow was very much upset,\nshe was also horrified at the insolent answer which,--she knew not\nhow,--had just passed her lips. She endeavored to find some words of\nexcuse but they were not necessary, for the Court apothecary called out,\n\"Magnificent! Glorious! May all the saints be praised, we have found it.\"\nAnd before the worthy woman knew what he was about the gray-haired\ninvalid had caught her in his arms and kissed her heartily on both\ncheeks. But the happy excitement had been too much for him and with a low\ngroan he sank down on the edge of the bed and sobbed bitterly.\n\nFrau Vorkel was greatly disturbed for she guessed--and it would seem with\nreason--that her good master had gone out of his mind. But she presently\nchanged her opinion, for after he had cried unrestrainedly until he was\nexhausted, Herr Ueberhell gave her a prompt proof of his sanity and\nreturning health. In his kindly and polite manner of former times, he\nbegged her to set out in the kitchen a bottle of the oldest and best\nBacharacher. There he bade her bring a second glass and invited her to\ndrink, and clink glasses with him because the greatest piece of good luck\nhad happened to him that day that it was in the power of the blessed\nsaints to grant to mortal man. He, the father, had discovered in Leipsic\nwhat his son had sought in vain at all the most famous Universities of\nItaly, and if he should succeed in one remaining step, the fame of the\nUeberhells, like that of the Roman Horatii, would reach to the skies.\n\nThen he became more serious and confessed that he was very weak and\nbroken, and that when he had gone to bed earlier in the evening he had\nfelt that his last hour was not far distant. Death itself sometimes\nfloats 'twixt cup and lip, as has been remarked by a heathen philosopher,\nand if he should be called away before he had seen Melchior again, then\nmust she be his messenger and tell his son that he had found that part of\nthe White Lion, of the white tincture of argentum potabile or potable\nsilver, which his letter had put him on the track of. His son would know\nwhat he meant, and to-morrow he would write down the particulars if he\nshould succeed that night in finding again the substance through which he\nhad attained to the greatest wonder that science had achieved since the\ndays of Adam.\n\nHe emptied bumper after bumper and clinked glasses at least a dozen times\nwith Frau Vorkel, who was immensely tickled with the unwonted honour.\n\nAfter that he drew his chair closer to hers that he might better impress\nupon her what she was to say to Melchior. He began by telling her that\nshe could never understand the full meaning of what had happened but that\nshe must take his word for it, he had discovered an elixir whose effect\nwas most wonderful and would change the whole course of events. From now\nonwards, lying would be impossible, the reign of truth was at hand and\ndeceit had been routed from its last stronghold.\n\nAs she, however, shrank back from him, still somewhat fearful, he\ndemanded loftily if she ever would have dared to announce to him, her old\nmaster, so candidly what she thought of him, as she had done an hour ago,\nif she had not inhaled the contents of the phial. And Frau Vorkel had to\nadmit that she had been forced by some occult power to utter those\ndisrespectful speeches. She looked with awed wonder, first at her master,\nthen at the little bottle, and suddenly broke out with: \"My! My What will\nbe left for the judges to do when everyone can be forced to speak out\nboldly and disclose his smallest sin. My! My! But then we shall hear\npretty tales! From the Burgomaster down, everyone in Leipsic will have to\nget a new pair of ears, for what one hears will be as outrageous and\nunseemly as among the savages.\"\n\nThese observations showed the Court apothecary that Frau Vorkel had,\ndespite her want of intelligence, grasped to a certain extent the\nimportance of his discovery; while this pleased him in a way, it also\nmade him uneasy, therefore he made her swear on the crucifix that so long\nas she lived she would never impart to any living soul, his son excepted,\nwhat she had that evening experienced.\n\nThen Herr Ueberhell went back to his search for the unknown element which\nhad given to his son's elixir the power that had been exhibited in such\nwonderful fashion. But he did not succeed in finding the right\ningredient, for as often as he called Frau Vorkel to come and inhale the\nnew mixture, she gave such plausible and politic answers to his dangerous\nquestions that he could be by no means sure of her absolute truthfulness.\nThen too the operations progressed slowly because that day at noon his\nfinger had been badly cut by the bursting of a glass retort. So presently\nhe ceased work for a while and insisted that Frau Vorkel should take the\nphial in her own hand and inhale its contents once more, because it\npleased him to try the power of the elixir.\n\nWith an amused smile he asked her if she used the great quantities of\nwool, which she so constantly demanded, for no other purpose than to knit\nsocks for him.\n\nThe phial trembled in the hand of the housekeeper, and before she could\nhelp it her response had passed her lips:\n\n\"You have all the socks that you need and it is surely no great crime for\nme to knit a few pairs to warm the feet of your assistant, that poor,\nsilent worm who stands downstairs the livelong day in the cold shop.\"\n\nDespite this reply Herr Ueberhell only laughed and continued the\ninquisition gaily. He next wished to know who was dearer to the heart of\nthe housekeeper, the assistant or her late husband, to which she rejoined\n\"Why should I lament Vorkel? He was a bully, who never could learn how to\ncut out a coat, and always stole his customers' cloth.\" At that moment\nthere was an ominous crash on the floor, and a powerful odour filled the\nlaboratory; the phial had slipped from the hands of the frightened woman.\n\nWhat happened after that Frau Vorkel even in her old age shuddered to\nrecall. How it could have been possible for the amiable and pious Court\napothecary to give utterance to such objurgations and invectives, such\nsacrilegious curses and anathemas, and how she, a respectable and proper\nwoman, of good Leipsic people, ever could have allowed herself to attack\nany one, least of all her excellent master, in such abusive language were\nproblems she could never solve.\n\nYet they must not be censured for their use of Billingsgate, for the\nstrong aroma of the elixir forced them to tear aside the veil which in\nLeipsic, as elsewhere, clothes the ugly truth as with a pleasing garment,\nand to lay bare all the rancour that filled their hearts.\n\nLater when she thought about the breaking of the phial, the conviction\ngrew upon her limited intelligence that this accident would perhaps prove\nin the end to be the best thing that could have happened, not only for\nher but for all mankind. To her excellent master, at least, the Elixir of\nTruth proved fatal all too soon; the intense excitement of that night had\nshaken him so cruelly that before the day dawned the feeble flame of his\nlife had flickered out.\n\nFrau Vorkel found him dead the next morning in his laboratory. He must\nhave gone thither to seek once more for the lost substance after she had\nhelped him to bed. Before he had begun his work he must have wished to\nencourage himself by a glance at the portrait of his grandchild, for as\nshe opened the door the sheet of paper with the red crayon drawing was\nwafted from the open chest, beside which her master had fallen, and like\na butterfly, fluttered down upon the heart that had ceased to beat\nseveral hours before.\n\nSix months after the death of the Court apothecary, Melchior Ueberhell\nreturned home and Frau Vorkel or, as she must now be called, Frau\nSchimmel, was the only person to whom he wrote to announce the hour of\nhis arrival in Leipsic.\n\nIn his letter the young doctor begged her to undertake the responsibility\nof engaging a man servant and a kitchen maid for him, and of seeing that\nthere was a fire laid on his hearth to welcome him. He also asked \"his\nfaithful old friend\" to nail up before the furnace of the laboratory on\nthe first floor the brass triangle which the messenger, who brought the\nletter, would give to her. It was to be hung with the face, bearing the\nnumerals and the figures of animals, towards the outside.\n\nThis news threw Frau Schimmel into a great state of excitement and at the\nappointed hour everything stood ready for the reception of the future\noccupants of the Ueberhell house.\n\nDoctor Melchior and his family waited in Connewitz for the sun to set\nthat he might enter his native town after it was dark and yet before the\ncity gates were closed; for it was characteristic of his retiring nature\nto wish to avoid exposing himself and his beautiful wife and child to the\nvulgar curiosity of the people. These two had made the journey in a\nlitter carried by mules.\n\nAs it was just the time for the Easter fair and many strangers were\narriving in Leipsic the travellers passed through the Peterstrasse,\nacross the market-place and entered their newly built house without\nattracting any attention.\n\nIt was too dark for them to see the statue of Minerva on the peak of the\nhigh gable and the sun-dial on its face with the circle of animals, but\nthe lighted windows on the ground-floor and in the first story gave the\nhouse a hospitable air.\n\nFrau Schimmel who had long been awaiting their arrival went out to meet\nthem and the new man servant held the lantern so that they could see her\ncurtseys.\n\n\"May the holy saints bless your homecoming!\" the old lady called out, and\nMelchior felt himself choke at the host of sweet memories evoked by this\ngreeting--of how his mother used to fold his hands and teach him to pray\nto the holy patrons of the house, of the sad hour when he had received\nthe news of his father's death--and to his astonishment he felt the warm\ntears running down his cheeks, the first he had shed for many years and\nalmost before he knew it himself, he had caught Frau Schimmel to his\nheart and kissed her tenderly.\n\nThen he turned to his slim young wife, who with the boy was standing\nbehind him, and presented her to the old housekeeper: \"The dearest\ntreasure that I won in Italy! I commend her to your love.\"\n\nFrau Schimmel raised the beautiful Italian's hand to her lips and lifted\nthe little boy and hugged him. Melchior in the mean while hurried to the\nentrance door, there he bowed three times and solemnly lifted aloft his\narms toward the evening-star that was just showing itself above the roof\nof a house across the market-place.\n\nThe old housekeeper noticed this, and rejoiced for she thought that\nMelchior was returning thanks to the holy saints for a safe journey, but\nshe was disillusioned when she heard him open his lips and cry towards\nheaven an invocation which was neither German nor Latin, for she knew the\nsound of the latter tongue, having heard it so often at mass, but a\ncombination of strange sounding words more like those that she used to\nhear her late master muttering over his work in the laboratory, with his\nson's letter before him. It was certainly no Christian prayer and her\nheart sank within her. When the doctor had ended the ceremony which for\nall she knew might be an invocation of evil spirits, and entered the\nhouse with his wife and child, she went up to him and without a moment's\nindecision made the sign of the cross on his breast and another on the\ncurly head of the child. Melchior laughed at her but did not rebuff her.\nSoon the travellers were seated about the neatly laid table in their own\nhouse and Frau Schimmel had her reward in seeing Melchior enjoy the\nhome-made dishes. And little Zeno--for that was the name of the Court\napothecary's grandchild--drink the good milk and munch the butter cakes\nwhich she had baked to celebrate their arrival. But the young wife hardly\ntasted anything.\n\nDid not the food please her? Perhaps she was accustomed in Italy to a\ndifferent way of cooking? \"Other nations, other customs.\"\n\nBut who could feel annoyed with that heavenly creature?\n\nFrau Schimmel was of the opinion that she had never seen any one to equal\nher, and could not bear to take her eyes off her. Yet the appearance of\nthe wife of her old favorite filled her with forebodings, and suddenly,\nthough she was by no means superstitious or given to presentiments, she\nseemed to see Frau Bianca--so the young Italian was called--lying on her\nbier, a light veil over her, and a wreath of lilies-of-the-valley on her\nraven hair. A sad quiet face!\n\nFrau Schimmel's vision must have been caused by the young wife's\nexcessive paleness. \"White as snow, black as ebony\" fitted her, as well\nthe beauty of the fairy tale, only \"red as blood\" was wanting. She was\nalso as tall and slender as the lilies in the little garden that the\nCourt apothecary had owned outside the Petersthor.\n\nAfter supper Frau Schimmel helped the mother to bathe the little Zeno and\nto put him to bed, and Melchior also assisted at the performance. As the\nold lady looked from mother to child a great pity filled her heart for\nthe dear son of her late master who had staked his happiness on a\ncreature so ethereal that the first wind might blow her away; such\ndelicate perfection as that, if her experience did not deceive her, was\nhardly adapted to the needs of an everyday German husband. But then did\nMelchior look like such an one? No.\n\nAgain she felt a cold shiver go down her back, for Melchior had taken the\nbath sheet and was holding it in front of him waiting to wrap the child\nin it as it was taken out of its tub, and it seemed to her as if he had\non a shroud and his bloodless emaciated face with his black hair and\nmoustache looked ghostly over the top of it.\n\nIt annoyed her that she should have these stupid, sad thoughts on the\noccasion of such a happy home coming!\n\nShe did her best to drive them away and the child helped her, for it, at\nleast, looked lively enough as it sat in the warm water, and kicked, and\nsplashed, and laughed, and cooed, calling to its parents and then to Frau\nSchimmel. When it tried to pronounce her name, her heart overflowed and\nshe answered absently, for she was saying a silent Paternoster for the\nhealth and welfare of this blessed child who somehow seemed even lovelier\nthan Melchior had once been, though in his time she had considered him\n\"the sweetest baby that had ever lived.\"\n\nWhen the child was in bed the mother folded its hands and murmured what\nFrau Schimmel knew to be a prayer, but the father touched, its forehead\nand the place about the heart with an essence, speaking at the same time\nsome incomprehensible words. Whatever they meant, they seemed to agree\nwell enough with the incomparable child.\n\nThe young wife was tired after her long journey and went early to bed,\nand when the housekeeper was finally left alone with Melchior, he begged\nher to tell him how things had gone with his father, after his departure.\n\nThe son of her late master had, then, brought back from Italy his tender\nand affectionate heart, however stern and anxious his long and colourless\nface might seem; and when he heard of the old man's longing to see him,\nand death, his eyes were wet with tears.\n\nHe interrupted the course of her narrative but seldom; when she came to\nhis father's last hours, however, and the success of the experiment which\nhad been made on her with the elixir, he plied her with question upon\nquestion until he was satisfied as to what he wished to know. Then he\nsuddenly stood still in the middle of the room and lifting his eyes and\narms on high cried aloud, like one in an ecstasy:\n\n\"Eternal Truth, holy Truth! Thy kingdom come!\"\n\nThese words went through Frau Schimmel like a knife, and as Melchior\nstood there looking up at the ceiling as if he expected it to open and\ndisclose to him a sight of Heaven, he seemed so great, and\nunapproachable, and apart, that she feared him, though in years gone by\nshe had tucked his luncheon into his knapsack before sending him off to\nschool, and tremblingly she yielded to his will as she had done before to\nhis father's and swore again a solemn oath never to reveal what she might\nsee or hear concerning the elixir.\n\nThis vow oppressed Frau Schimmel and she breathed more freely when he\nbegan to talk about things within the range of her comprehension, about\nthe details of the housekeeping, and the laboratory on the second floor\nwith the big furnace. He must find an assistant who would be silent and\ndiscreet and Frau Schimmel knew of one whom she could recommend, for her\nhusband did not enjoy his newly acquired leisure; he had been so used to\nblowing a furnace and decocting medicines that he could not give up the\noccupation and consequently she could not roast so much as a pigeon\nwithout having his grim and blear-eyed visage peering over her shoulder.\n\nThe sensible woman foresaw that idleness would soon render the old\nbridegroom discontented, and Doctor Melchior, who remembered the silent\nman and his skilful hands, was very easily persuaded to give him a trial.\nAt the back of the house there was a cheerful suite of rooms where the\nhousekeeper and the apprentices had formerly lived. Melchior now put this\napartment at the disposition of the old couple. Frau Schimmel would lend\nher aid to his wife, for Frau Bianca understood neither German nor the\nmanagement of a German household, while from Herr Schimmel he anticipated\nthe best particularly as he--the doctor--meant to devote himself at first\nentirely to the discovery of a remedy for his wife, whose condition\nfilled him with the deepest apprehension.\n\nThe new laboratory was presently the scene of the most zealous labours,\nand Herr Schimmel was delighted with his new position, for no apothecary\nand chemist had ever before had such a well-fitted furnace and such\ndelicate scales and instruments to work with; and if he did not\nunderstand what was the end of so much weighing and fusing and\ndistilling, or what the remedies were that the doctor was always\ndecanting from the boiling liquids, yet the occupation made the long\nsummer days pass most pleasantly, for he had none of that love of the\nopen air that most Leipzigers bring into the world with them.\n\nSince his apprenticeship, and a whole lifetime had passed since then, he\nhad left the apothecary shop only twice a year to take a holiday, and on\nnone of these occasions had he ever seen green trees, for his \"outings\"\nas he called them, fell, according to his own wish, on the festival of\nthe \"Three Kings\" in January, and on the twenty-seventh of March which\nwas his saint's day, his name being Rupert.\n\nOf the eighty holidays that lay behind him--all of which he had spent in\ngoing to see a sister who was married to a miller and lived in\nGohlis--nine and thirty times it had rained, and forty-one times it had\nsnowed. In consequence of this \"a walk in the fresh air\" always suggested\nto his mind, damp clothes, wet feet, ruined shoes, a cold in the head,\nand an attack of indigestion--the result of his sister's greasy cooking.\nHis wife, too, preferred the inside of the city walls, \"where\" as she was\nso fond of saying, \"you know where you are.\"\n\nThus even in summer Herr Schimmel was always on hand to help the doctor,\nnor had he cause to complain of being over worked, for the master seemed\nas fond of a walk in the open air as the assistant was averse to one, and\nwhen May came and the fruit trees were in blossom, when the delicate\ngreen leaves of the beeches burst from the bud, and the oaks shed their\ndry brown foliage in order to deck themselves out in young green, and the\ndandelions embroidered the fields with gold and then sprinkled them over\nwith silver tissue, when the cowslips and daisies and violets and their\nspring companions in purple and yellow appeared, and the larches on the\nbanks of the Pleisse turned green, when the nightingale sang and rejoiced\nin the woods, then Doctor Melchior Ueberhell rarely spent a sunny\nafternoon at home.\n\nWith his beautiful young wife on his arm he wandered through the lovely\nLaubwald--that precious possession of the city--and though he had often\nsaid while in Italy, where it is dryer and the foliage sparser than in\nGermany, that there was nothing so beautiful as the abounding brooks and\nthe dense greenery of his native forests, it gave him sincere joy, that\nspring, to have his opinion confirmed and to see that his dearly loved\nwife cared as much for the German woods as he did.\n\nWhen in their walks they encountered other burghers, all eyes rested on\nthe handsome pair, for if Melchior were thin, his figure was tall and his\nfeatures good, and there was a strange charm in his big, dark, eyes that\nseemed to find more in the woods than was visible to others, moreover the\nblack clothes of his profession sat as well upon him as did his wife's\nwhite dresses and kerchiefs of costly stuffs upon her. These she was fond\nof relieving by a bit of light blue, her favourite colour. The slim young\nItalian, with her bowed head and beautiful pale face framed in its black\nhair, seemed like an elf who had gone out in her light dress to dance the\nMay dance in the moonlight and had decked herself with forget-me-not and\ngentian.\n\nWhoever saw her felt glad, for it seemed to him as if he had met with a\npiece of good fortune, but no one sought to make her acquaintance,\nalthough the doctor had not omitted to take her, soon after their\narrival, to call upon his relatives and the dignitaries of the city.\nPeople had asked them at first to dine, but as Melchior always refused\nbecause of his wife's delicate health, they did not press the matter; for\nno one could talk with her as she understood no German, while all who\nheard her light cough felt that the doctor was right to guard his fragile\ntreasure so carefully.\n\nWhen the few matrons who visited her called upon her, instead of finding\nher in the kitchen or the cellar, they found her lying upon the sofa with\na book or her guitar in her hands, or perhaps playing with her little\nboy, and the amiable ones among them explained it by her pale face and\ndelicate air, but the severer ones said that such idleness was the\nItalian custom and they pitied the doctor.\n\nWhat the feminine relatives of the doctor chiefly resented was the fact\nthat the young couple seemed to get on so perfectly well without them.\nHappiness indeed shone in their eyes, and the silent doctor seemed to\nfind his tongue when he walked in the woods and fields with his beloved\nwife. The notary Anselmus Winckler was also loud in his praises of both\nof them. He was the only person who ever joined them in their walks\nthrough the woods, and as he had been for several years Melchior's\ncompanion at school in Bologna, and had there learned to speak the sweet\nItalian tongue, he could talk with Frau Blanca like one of her own\ncountrymen. He was a convivial person, and when he was in the tavern, or\ndining with a friend, he would expatiate on how learned the doctor was in\nall the secrets of nature and how well Dr. Vitali, Frau Bianca's father,\nhad known how to cultivate her appreciation of the good and the\nbeautiful. To hear her questions and her husband's tender and wise\nreplies was a pleasure unspeakable.\n\nIf the weather were fine the doctor would sometimes go out in the\nmornings also, and then he liked best to take his young wife to the\nUeberhell garden outside the Petersthor, and show her what rare herbs and\nfruit-trees his father and grandfather had planted, and Frau Bianca\namused herself by gathering the flowers, or helping her child to pick the\nripe cherries and early pears.\n\nIn Bologna she had found it difficult to entice her husband away from his\nwork, indeed her own father, his master, had held him back, and now she\nrejoiced that in the new home he was willing to give her so many hours of\nhis time, moreover--he had confessed it to her--instead of the elixir,\nwhich she had been taught from childhood to regard as the worthiest\nobject of research, he was seeking for a medicine that should cure her.\n\nAutumn came, and the starlings assembled on the Thomaskirche, the storks\nin the village, and the swallows on the roof of the neighbour's house to\nprepare for their flight towards the south; heavy storms tore the leaves\nfrom the trees, one dull rainy day followed another, and when at last the\nmountain-ash berries and the barberries were shining in all their\nbrightest scarlet, the rosy flush that had been coaxed into the young\nwife's cheeks during the long, dry, happy summer changed to a crimson\nspot, her eyes acquired a strained, longing, mournful expression, and\nafter she had had an attack of coughing she would sink together as if the\nautumn winds had broken her as they had the stems of the mallow which\nwere hanging from the trellis in the little garden outside.\n\nThen a day came when the Court physician Olearius found his way into \"The\nThree Kings.\" It was in the middle of December and straw was strewn in\nthe street in front of the Ueberhell house. Those who had held aloof from\nthe young couple in their happy hours now drew near in their misfortune.\nIt seemed as if the young Italian had suddenly become the idol of the\ninhabitants of Leipsic, so many were the inquiries about her condition,\nso numerous the friendly offers of service, the kindly gifts of hot-house\nflowers and rare wines. Just as the Christmas bells rang out along the\nstreets of the city the joyful tidings \"Christ is born\" a sharp cry rang\nthrough the rooms of The Three Holy Kings and Melchior knelt beside his\nblighted flower that now was whiter even than the lily, for the last\nshimmer of red had faded forever from her wan cheeks, and he wrung his\nhands in utter despair.\n\nThe funeral train that followed the young Italian, who had appeared among\nthem like a fleeting vision of Paradise, would have done honour to the\nwife of the Chief Justice.\n\nEvery one who was respectable and aristocratic in Leipsic followed her,\nas well as many humbler folk on whom Bianca's glance had rested but once.\nPeople were now so open-hearted, and seemed to wish to give to the dead\nwhat they had withheld from the living. Hot tears were shed, for though\nnot one of all the mourners had ever really known Bianca, they felt that\nthey had lost something beautiful.\n\nThe only member of the family of Ueberhell who did not make part of the\nfuneral train was the chief mourner, the bereaved Doctor Melchior\nhimself.\n\nAlone and tearless he paced the chamber that Bianca had occupied. He\ndenied himself to all who wished to see him or to comfort him, he even\nrefused to admit the notary Winckler.\n\nThat the flower of his life was crushed, and that he carried a\ndeath-wound in his heart was all that he felt or thought.\n\nFrau Schimmel began at last to fear that he too would die. If the vision\nthat showed her Frau Bianca on her death-bed had come true, why should\nnot the other one concerning the doctor? He ate and drank less than a\nCarthusian on a fast-day, he offended all the good people who had shown\nhis wife such honour, he went neither to mass nor to his work in the\nlaboratory, and consequently her husband, too, was idle and threatened to\nbecome unbearable once more.\n\nHow would it all end?\n\nThe burghers exhibited great indulgence towards him. He had received a\nterrible blow, and one must forgive him for not having followed the\ncoffin, particularly, as nothing else was wanting that was necessary to\nan imposing and expensive funeral: Frau Schimmel had taken care of that,\nhaving arranged it on her own responsibility. When the great healer,\nTime, had comforted him, then would he draw near to them again, most of\nhis friends thought, yes even nearer than before, now that he had lost\nhis invalid wife who had hindered him from joining their gay circles.\n\nWe are so willing to be lenient to the unfortunate, for a Greater than we\nhas visited them with sorrow such as man could not inflict.\n\nBut it ended otherwise than his friends anticipated. The Three Kings lay\nthere like a deserted house, and although the tall chimney on the roof\nbegan to belch forth streams of smoke by night, as well as by day, hardly\nfour weeks after the death of Bianca, it was commonly supposed that the\nplace was unoccupied. Commonly supposed: for once in a while the knocker\nwas heard when Herr Winckler called, happy childish laughter floated out\nfrom the open window, or Frau Schimmel was seen with her basket on her\narm going to market.\n\nBut no one ever met the doctor, neither at mass nor in the street, and\nyet he did not always remain at home.\n\nIn summer at sunrise he went to the churchyard, and from there into the\nwoods; in winter, when the first stars appeared, he wrapped himself in\nhis black cloak and went to Bianca's grave, and thence to one of the\nneighbouring villages, but he never entered anywhere, and only the sexton\nwho admitted him to the graveyard, and the gate watchman, who opened the\nburgher's wicket to him, ever exchanged greetings with him.\n\nAt home he wandered around no longer, idle and fasting, but ate his meals\nregularly, and threw himself into his work with such passionate energy,\nthat even the industrious Schimmel found it too much, and Frau Schimmel\ngrew anxious. The latter, too, knew what the doctor hoped to accomplish\nby his hard work, for she had spied upon him, but she must not be blamed\nas it had been with the most praiseworthy intention.\n\nFour weeks after Bianca's death, and after he had shed many hot and\nheart-felt tears, Melchior turned for the first time to his work again.\n\nIt happened late in the evening, and before he went into the laboratory\nhe uttered such strange words over the sleeping child that Frau Schimmel,\nwho was watching beside it, was frightened, especially as Schimmel had\nnot been called to aid the doctor, and what might happen to the\ndistraught man, if he were left to work alone, passed in gloomy visions\nbefore the old lady. So she concealed herself behind the bellows that\nwere attached to the furnace, and there she was witness of events that\nsent cold shivers down her back whenever she thought of them.\n\nIn his best holiday costume of black velvet puffed with silk he entered\nthe laboratory, holding himself very erect. The high, arched room was\nonly dimly lighted by a hanging-lamp, but when Frau Schimmel heard his\nsteps she shrank together till, as she fancied, she must have become\nsmaller and less easily discoverable. What she feared was that he might\nstart the furnace and she should be obliged to reveal herself because of\nthe heat.\n\nBut to her great relief he walked straight into the middle of the\nlaboratory and stopped directly under the lamp, which was suspended from\nthe point where the ribs of the vaulting intersected. There he waved a\nfresh laurel branch towards every side of the room and called out the\nsame words and names that he had murmured by the bed-side of his son,\nonly louder and more imperiously.\n\nTo the listener it was perfectly clear that this was an invocation of\nspirits, and her knees trembled under her, and her teeth chattered so\naudibly that she feared he must hear her. Though she closed her eyes\ntightly in order not to see the hellish brood that was about to pervade\nthat Christian house, fearing that she might be strangled by them or go\nmad; yet the unholy creatures must have entered the laboratory obedient\nto their master's call for she distinctly heard him greet one of them\nsolemnly.\n\nAs she did not smell any sulphur fumes nor see any dancing flames when\nshe peeped out from under her half-closed lids, she gathered sufficient\ncourage to look about her. But she saw nothing save the doctor on his\nknees talking into the corner of the laboratory, where there was nothing\nbut the broom with which she had swept the stone floor that morning, and\nthe shabby old brown peruke that Herr Schimmel was in the habit of\nputting on in the winter when he crossed the court-yard.\n\nThese apparitions she knew so intimately that she began to be reassured,\nand her confidence once restored she reflected that either the spirits\nmust have held her unworthy of a sight of them and have been visible only\nto the master, or else that the doctor had gone completely out of his\nmind. Of her own sanity she had no doubts for her mind was made of\nsterner stuff and would therefore be less easily affected.\n\nWhether Doctor Melchior were holding converse with the broom, or the\nperuke, or a spectre whom he, and no one else could see Frau Schimmel\ncould not tell, but she had then recovered herself sufficiently to be\nable to listen attentively.\n\nShe crossed herself several times for the sake of greater safety, and\nwhat she heard from the doctor's own mouth remained a secret between her\nand Schimmel.\n\nNot a word did she lose till Melchior went into the library next the\nlaboratory, and then she thought it expedient to leave her hiding-place\nand hurry to her room.\n\nSchimmel had long been in bed, and his snoring greeted her as she\nentered, but she wakened him to tell him breathlessly what she had just\nseen and heard.\n\nAfter she had explained her anxiety about the doctor and its\nconsequences, she continued that the apparition which the doctor had\ninvoked was the Spirit of Truth. Whether it had been obedient to the call\nshe could not say, but, at any rate it had been no demon of hell-God be\npraised--bringing a reek of the pit, and besides Satan was the Prince of\nLies and would consider himself insulted if he were called the Spirit of\nTruth, moreover the spirit who had appeared to the doctor had behaved in\nthe most exemplary manner.\n\nThe master, too, had confessed with true Christian humility and self\nreproach that he had sinned against the Spirit of Truth, to whom none the\nless he had dedicated his body and soul, inasmuch as, influenced by his\ngreat love for his wife, he had devoted himself to finding a remedy which\nwould cure her, and had thus become a traitor to the object of his life.\n\nAfter this he had sprung up and held aloft his hand with the forefinger\nextended and sworn to the spirit that nothing here after would seduce him\nfrom the pursuit of the elixir which was to render Truth triumphant in\nthe world.\n\nFran Schimmel described how the doctor's eyes had glowed at these words,\nand how he had looked as if an invisible hand had written \"Truth\" in\nlarge letters upon his forehead. He would be as certain to reach his goal\nas she would be to pray the holy saints for a peaceful death.\n\nAfter a long silence and much consideration the only thing that Herr\nSchimmel found to say in answer to these important revelations was: \"It\nis all the same to me,\" to which his dear wife, with like brevity, and\nsincere disgust replied: \"You fool!\"\n\nThe next morning the doctor began work afresh and with redoubled zeal.\n\nEvery drug that had been reserved from the laboratory of the late Court\napothecary was brought, mixed with the elixir and fused; and he tried\neach new mixture on himself, for Frau Schimmel was not to be persuaded to\nsmell any more elixirs.\n\nShe, however, was more studious than ever of the necessities of the\nhousehold, and of the material comfort of the doctor and his child, and\nwhen she noticed that her master began to cough as his dead wife had\ndone, she entreated him to take better care of himself, and not to leave\nhis son an orphan she also instigated Herr Winckler to beg him to\nconsider his own welfare and that of the child.\n\nThere was yet another thing that made her unhappy.\n\nHer whole heart was wrapped up in little Zeno, and when he was dressed in\nhis best on feast-days a prettier and nobler looking child than he was\nnot to be seen.\n\nBut the doctor did not seem to have much affection for him; yet in the\nevenings when the little one was in bed he went through the same\nperformance that had been customary during the lifetime of its mother,\nand once in a while he would lift the child out of the cradle and press\nit to his heart so passionately that the boy, in a fright would struggle\nto get away from him and would cry for Frau Schimmel. Finally the child\nbecame so afraid of its father that it would not go near him and this the\nold housekeeper could bear no longer, so she took her courage in her\nhands and spoke to her master about it.\n\nShe began by saying she had not forgotten that, according to his dead\nfather the saints had endowed her with a very limited intelligence, but\nthat she knew enough to be certain that it could be neither wise, nor\nright for a man who had been blessed with such a fine son, to be\nindifferent to his treasure and indeed to estrange it.\n\nThe extraordinary man looked at her with his sad eyes and answered\nthoughtfully: \"I demand nothing from the boy be cause I have no other\nidea than to give him all I have and am. For his benefit I am seeking\nsomething higher than the world has yet known, and I shall find it.\"\n\nThe lofty words silenced Frau Schimmel, but she thought to herself: \"With\nmy few brains I am yet wiser than you. A heartfelt, willing kiss from\nyour child would make you happier than all the learning that you make so\nmuch fuss about, and a caress or a spank from you--each at the proper\ntime--would do little Zeno more good than all the world-improving\ndiscoveries in search of which you embitter your days and nights.\"\n\nOne beautiful afternoon in June on her return from the graveyard, whither\nshe regularly took the boy, and where she herself carefully tended the\nwhite roses on Bianca's grave, she found the doctor stretched on the\nsofa, instead of being in the laboratory as usual, and as he sighed\nheavily when she entered, she asked him respectfully what it was that\noppressed him.\n\nAt first he shook his head as if he wished to be left alone, but when\nshe, in spite of this, remained and he noticed that her gray eyes were\nfull of tears, he suddenly remembered that by the side of his mother's\ncoffin, and more recently at Bianca's death-bed they had wept together,\nthen his full heart overflowed, and gasping and shaken by his cough he\nburst forth with: \"It will soon be over--I feel it within me, and yet I\nam no nearer to the goal. All the elements of nature I have called to my\naid--all the spirits 'twixt Heaven and Earth over whom necromancy has any\npower have I made subject to my will and have commanded them to help\nme--to what end? There stands the elixir and is hardly more valuable than\nthe small beer with which the servant down-stairs quenches his thirst,\nindeed it is less useful for who derives any benefit from it? I shall\nquit this world an unhappy man who has wasted his life and talents in\nuntold efforts from his school-days until now--and yet, if the spirit\nwould only reveal to me the missing substance which should give to this\nliquid in my hand the power that it once possessed, gladly would I\nsacrifice twenty lives! Oh! you faithful old soul, you can never\nunderstand it, I know. But this world, where lying and deceit flourish,\nwould be changed into a Paradise, and it would be an Ueberhell whom\nmankind would have to thank for the great blessing. And now--now!\"\n\nHere he buried his face in his hands like one in despair. Frau Schimmel\nregarded the sorrowful man with deep sympathy, and as it was in her\nnature to try and comfort those who wept rather than to join in their\nlamentations, she cast about her for something that would console him.\n\nShe had not far to seek, for there in the bay-window was perched little\nZeno, carefully picking the green leaves off a rose bough that he had\nbeen told to gather from his mother's grave to take home to his father.\nThe whole stem was now bare but the white blossom at the end was\nuntouched, and still beautiful.\n\nShe beckoned to the boy, and in a low voice bade him rouse his father and\ngive him the rose from the churchyard; little Zeno obeyed and walked\nstraight towards Melchior; opposite the sofa his courage failed him for a\nmoment, but he took heart again and laying his little hand on the\nprematurely gray hair of the disheartened sage said, with all the sweet\ncharm peculiar to a child when it speaks to comfort one who is its\nnatural guardian and support:\n\n\"Father, little Zeno brings you a rose. It comes from the churchyard.\nMamma sent it to you with her love.\"\n\nThe doctor, deeply touched, sat up suddenly, grasped the child's hand\nthat held out the rose to him and tried to draw the boy towards him in\norder to embrace him. But Zeno, instead of answering the loving words\naddressed to him, struggled and cried out sharply, for the strong\npressure of his father's hand had driven a big thorn into his finger, and\nthe blood from the wound was running down onto his light blue dress.\n\nThe doctor was distracted. He had hurt the one creature for whose future\ngreatness he had sacrificed his waning strength.\n\nThere flowed the blood of his son who had come as messenger from his wife\nOn her he had lavished the one great love of his life and the white rose\nthat she had sent him lay at his feet!\n\nAs his gaze fell upon the flower that she had loved better than all\nothers, and then rested upon the crying child, a great tenderness filled\nhis soul and for the first time he felt deep remorse that he had not\ndedicated his whole life to his love. To devote the remainder of his time\non earth, which he felt would be but short, to the child who stood there\ncrying, seemed to him at that moment his holiest duty; yet the passion of\nthe investigator within him could not be subdued, for as he looked about\nin search of a cloth to stanch the blood that flowed from the boy's\nfinger his eyes fell upon the bottle of elixir on the table, and then on\nthe rose at his feet and the thought flashed across him that Bianca who\nhad sent him the rose might have indicated to him by the hand of their\noffspring the substance which he needed to achieve the object of his\nlife.\n\nOf every element found in water or in air, in the earth or fire, he had\nadded a portion to the elixir, save only the blood of a child.\n\nBreathless he caught the hand of his son and held it over the phial,\nspeaking coaxingly to him while drop after drop of the red life blood\ntrickled into the elixir.\n\nThen he put the child in Frau Schimmel's arms and hurried into the\nlaboratory as fast as his tired feet could carry him. There he blew the\nbellows so violently that the housekeeper looked at him with silent\nindignation. When all was prepared he poured the liquid into a crucible,\nset it among the glowing and sparkling coals and murmured strange words\nand spells over the seething fluid until it boiled up and the hissing\nbubbles ran over the rim of the crucible. Then he stood the hot vessel in\ncold water, pronounced one more incantation over it, held it before a\nmirror--the symbol of the Spirit of Truth and the emblem which she is\nalways represented as carrying in her right hand--and poured the liquid\nback into the phial. Beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, his\neyes gleamed with excitement, and he breathed heavily as he approached\nhis son to try the power of the new elixir on him.\n\nBut something most unexpected happened: Frau Schimmel, usually so timid,\npressed the boy's face against her breast and, her good gray eyes\nflashing with her angry determination to resist, cried out \"Do with your\nelixir what you will, only leave me the child in peace! Little Zeno\nspeaks the truth without any of your mixtures. A child's mind is a holy\nthing, so his mother who is now an angel would tell you, and I--I will\nnot permit you to misuse it, in order to try your arts upon it!\"\n\nAnd stranger yet! The doctor accepted this rebuff and did not even\nreprove the old lady for her disrespectful opposition, he only answered.\nwith calm certainty: \"Neither the child nor any one else is needed to\nmake the experiment.\"\n\nHe inhaled the contents of the phial himself, in long breaths, staring\nfor some time thoughtfully at the floor and then at the arches of the\nceiling. His chest rose and fell heavily, and he wiped the perspiration\nnow and then from his damp brow. Frau Schimmel watched him anxiously, and\nshe could not say whether he looked more like a madman or a saint as he\nfinally lifted his arms towards heaven and cried: \"I have found it,\nFather, Bianca!--I have found it!\"\n\nFrau Schimmel left him alone and put the child to bed. When she returned\nto the laboratory and found the doctor in the same place where she had\nleft him, she said modestly: \"Here I am and if it pleases the Herr Doctor\nto try the elixir on so humble a person as myself, I am at his service.\nOnly one favour would I ask: would the Herr Doctor be so kind as not to\nask questions about Schimmel and myself or any member of the honoured\nUeberhell family.\"\n\nBut the doctor hesitated awhile before accepting this offer, for he had\nnot forgotten the defiant words with which she had withheld his child\nfrom him only a short time before, and moreover the trial which he had\nmade on himself had assured him of the success of his discovery; having\ninhaled the essence it had seemed to him as if the burden of oppression\nhad been suddenly lifted from his mind. And when he turned to the\nintrospection of himself, and questioned his own heart, he found so many\nspots and defects on what he had hitherto considered faultless, that he\nwas confirmed in the belief that he had seen the true reflection of his\nown personality for the first time.\n\nYes, he might well be certain of his success!\n\nAnd yet the joy of the discovery was clouded. How often had he dreamed of\nthe manifold effects that would be produced by the elixir! At such\nmoments the hope had sprung up within him that it would possess the power\nto enlighten him concerning his own nature and existence; would enable\nhim to pierce the veil that hides the mystery of the future from mortal\neyes; that it would reveal to the mind of man the true nature of things,\nand solve the problem of life.\n\nYet all the questions directed to that end, which he asked himself,\nremained unanswered, and for this reason he was desirous of seeing\nwhether the essence might not perhaps enable others to grasp the real\nnature of that which until then had been unfathomable by man.\n\nConsequently he could not resist the temptation, of letting Frau Schimmel\ninhale the elixir. Then he asked her why every one who was born was\ndestined to die, and disappear?\n\nTo which she only answered: \"Such things you must ask of the good God,\nwho has so willed it.\"\n\nWhen he wished further to know how, and of what ingredients the human\nblood was made, the old lady laughed, and replied lightly that it was\nred, and more than that she had not learned from the \"Schoolmaster with\nthe Children,\" from which she had acquired all that she knew.\n\nThen the doctor cried: \"And so my hard-earned discovery is of less value\nthan I hoped!\"\n\nBut these words had scarcely escaped him before he smiled to himself, for\nit was the elixir that had forced him to this outbreak, otherwise he\nwould never have confessed to any one, be he who he might, that his\nwonderful discovery was in any way incomplete.\n\nBeing satisfied with his experiences for that day he no longer hindered\nthe old lady from going to rest.\n\nOn his own bed he lay and pondered over the limitations of his discovery.\n\nTo reveal the truth, wholly and absolutely, was not within the power of\nthe elixir, nor unfortunately did it possess the efficacy to lead one to\na perfect knowledge of oneself; on the other hand it was capable of\nforcing any one who used it to be absolutely honest in his dealings with\nhis neighbours, and that surely was no small gain. Indeed it was enough\nto place him among the most famous discoverers in all ages, and to\ninscribe his name beside those of the noblest benefactors of man in the\nwhole round world.\n\nSleepless, yet filled with triumphant joy, like a general who has won a\nglorious victory, he watched through the night. When Frau Schimmel came\nto the house on the following morning she found him with the little Zeno\nbetween his knees.\n\nHer suspicion was immediately aroused that the father had misused the\nchild in order to try the effect of the elixir upon it, and she stood at\nthe door and listened.\n\nBut the little bottle tightly corked peered from the doctor's\nbreast-pocket and, instead of questioning Zeno, he was talking to him\nearnestly:\n\n\"Your mother,\" he was saying, \"was more precious to me than life or aught\nelse, and you, my little one, are dear to me, too, chiefly because it was\nshe who gave you to me, but who knows if I might not have sacrificed you\nif the success of the work, to which I have devoted so many years, had\ndepended upon it. Now I have reached the goal, and I tell you, my boy,\nthere are only two joys here below so great as to give a foretaste of the\nbliss that awaits us in Paradise: one is the sweet rapture of true love,\nand the other, the transport of the inventor when his experiment is\nsuccessful. I have known both.\"\n\nDuring this speech, which the doctor had made under the influence of the\nelixir, the boy stared at his father with open mouth, undecided whether\nto be afraid, or to consider it all a jest and laugh.\n\nFrau Schimmel made an end of his doubt, for she could not bring herself\nto stand by patiently and have the child confused by such extraordinary\nsentiments. She interrupted the doctor: \"Little Zeno finds his pleasure\nin very different ways, don't you, my lamb? You would rather have your\nfather send you to market with Frau Schimmel who buys cherries for you,\nwouldn't you? Cherries are better for children than 'true love,' and all\nthe other nonsense that men worry themselves about.\"\n\nThe doctor only laughed and said \"One day he will learn for himself what\nhis father meant, and if you wish to buy him cherries, you good old soul,\ntake him along with you and pick out the finest. You might also go to the\nNuremberg shop and let him choose the most beautiful horse, and whatever\nelse among the toys that he wishes for, no matter how expensive it may\nbe; for I owe it in part to my boy that I have attained my object, and I\nmust hurt him a bit more. But don't be afraid! He will hardly feel it.\"\n\nWhat did that remarkable man have in mind? Certainly, no good!\n\nAs Frau Schimmel felt that she stood in the place of a mother to her\ndarling, she demanded respectfully what the doctor meant to do to the\nchild.\n\nHe answered in some embarrassment, and without looking at the old lady;\n\"It is because I have need of a larger quantity of the elixir. If I were\nto bleed another child--and bleeding is good for every one, big or\nlittle--they would accuse me of practising the black arts and perhaps,\nafter their fashion of making a mountain out of a molehill, would\ndenounce me as an infanticide. Therefore the boy must spare a few more\ndrops of his blood, and he will do so gladly if he receives something\npretty as a reward. I am very skilful and can draw the blood without\nhurting him.\"\n\nWhen, however, Frau Schimmel clasped her hands, and Zeno, whimpering, hid\nhis face in her skirts, the doctor hastened to add: \"There, there, I am\nnot going to do it at once, and perhaps it is just as well that I should\nexperiment with my own blood first. So take the boy out and buy him the\nfinest plaything you can find, and leave a message at Herr Winckler's; he\nis to come to-day to The Three Kings, for I have something very important\nto communicate to him.\"\n\nThe old lady was very glad to get the child beyond the reach of his\nfather. His happiness was as incomprehensible to her, as his design on\nthe blood of his child was dreadful, and she led the boy forth quickly.\nThe doctor, however, went into the laboratory with wavering steps, and in\nthe next half hour prepared more of the elixir into which he mixed some\nof his own blood.\n\nThe effect was the same as if he had used the blood of his child.\n\nThis delighted him so much that he fairly beamed with pleasure. But even\nthen he gave himself no rest. He took the elixir which he had made the\nday before into the library, and there he wrote and wrote.\n\nAt noon he allowed a morsel of food to be brought to him, and ate it\nseated at his desk. When he had finished he continued his work with his\npen, sealing-wax and seal, until the notary, Herr Winckler, called\ntowards evening.\n\nFor the first time in the course of their long friendship he fell on the\nnotary's neck, and told him with wet eyes, and broken voice that he had\nreached the happiest hour of his life, for the great work to which he had\nalready dedicated himself while yet in Padua and Bologna, was completed,\nand that only the preceding evening he had achieved the most marvellous\ndiscovery of all times.\n\nOne of whose effects would be that a new epoch would dawn for the\nprofession to which Herr Winckler belonged--that of the law.\n\nHere his friend interrupted him to inquire what this discovery might be,\nbut Melchior had the force to keep his secret, and only handed over to\nhim the phial of the elixir, which he had previously packed carefully in\na jewel casket of Bianca's, of Italian workmanship, and then wrapped in\nparchment, and tied, and fastened, with many seals.\n\nHe also entrusted his school companion with the letters which he had\nwritten, saying that his days were numbered, and giving him many\ninstructions. Finally he made the notary swear to be a faithful guardian\nand second father to Zeno if he should be taken away.\n\nAt midnight the friends parted, deeply moved, and Herr Winckler told his\nwife that he had never seen any man, let alone the solemn Melchior, so\nbubbling over and beaming with happiness, and if one could judge by the\nradiance of his glance, and the fire of his youthful enthusiasm, his\nfriend had many more good years to live.\n\nBut what had pleased him in the appearance of the doctor was, alas! only\nthe expiring flicker of the burnt-out candle.\n\nThe intense excitement of the last few days had exhausted the sick man,\nand before dawn Frau Schimmel was roused by his bell. When she entered\nhis room she found him sitting up in bed with burning cheeks and coughing\nviolently. He called for something to drink, saying that he was dying of\nthirst.\n\nWhen he was refreshed by a glass of wine mixed with water, which in Italy\nhad grown to be his favourite drink, he said to the old housekeeper that\nhe would not need to use his son's blood, as his own was equally\nefficacious. He also asked her if perchance his father had wounded his\nhand before he had discovered the elixir, and when Frau Schimmel stated\nthat he had, for she remembered the broken glass retort which had cut the\nCourt apothecary's finger the day before his death, he smiled and said:\n\"Now the wonderful fact of his discovery is explained. A drop of the\npaternal blood must have found its way into the mixture. Thus one riddle\nafter another is solved, and soon the last mystery that remains will\nbecome clear to me.\"\n\nThen he added that having brought Truth into the world he was glad to\ndepart to that region where it was always day, where there were no\ndeceits and no uncertainties, and where the star of his life that had set\nwould arise for him once more.\n\nHe murmured Bianca's name and closed his eyes, while a happy smile lit up\nhis worn, thin face. His breast rose and fell with his irregular\nbreathing, shaken now and then by his cough and feverish shivering, and\noften he cried out like one inspired: \"Infinite labour, measureless\nreward! All, all fulfilled!\"\n\nFrau Schimmel realised that the end had come. After he had received the\nsacrament, the old lady laid his hand upon the curly head of his son.\nMelchior gazed fondly into the sweet face of his child, and quietly\nclosed his eyes.\n\nThe priest who administered extreme unction to him was fond of telling\nthe story of this last sacrament, for he had never seen any dying man\nexhibit greater confidence and faith.\n\nFrau Schimmel cried herself nearly blind.\n\nOn the third day after the death of Doctor Melchior Ueberhell, his mortal\nremains were carried to rest with great ceremony, and buried in the place\nthat he himself had chosen during his lifetime.\n\nBetween his wife and his mother, rose the little mound that marked his\nresting-place, and later many who visited the churchyard used to stop\nbeside the graves of Bianca and Melchior, perhaps because of the creeping\nroses which had been planted beneath the cross of his beloved, and which\nspread so luxuriantly that they soon covered the husband's grave as well\nas the wife's, and in the month of June decked them both with a wondrous\nwealth of blossom.\n\nIn the letter which the doctor handed to Herr Winckler, the guardian of\nhis son, shortly before his death, he desired the notary, or his\nsuccessor, to give to his son Zeno, on the morning of his twenty-fifth\nbirthday, the sealed package containing the phial, together with the\naccompanying manuscript.\n\nIn a second letter on which was written: \"To be opened in case my son\nZeno should die before reaching his twenty-fifth birth day,\" he informed\nthe notary of the power that dwelt within the phial, and charged him to\nemploy it for the benefit of mankind.\n\nBoth letters--the one to Zeno and the other to the notary--contained\nprecise directions for the making of the elixir, and also the\nrecommendation that it should be sent to all universities and faculties,\nas well as to the spiritual and temporal authorities of his beloved\nfatherlands, Saxony and Germany, that it might become the common property\nof the whole world.\n\nTo Frau Schimmel the doctor entrusted the worldly welfare of little Zeno,\nand to the notary the responsibility of his education, and both of these\npeople not only fulfilled their duties, but gave the child a large share\nof their love, so that the orphan throve both in mind and body.\n\nThat he was neither wiser nor duller, stronger nor weaker than his school\ncompanions pleased Frau Schimmel, for as she loved to say: \"Those people\nover whom one exclaims when one meets them, either because of their\nexceptional goodness or badness, are destined to be unhappy in this\nworld.\"\n\nThe old lady also took great pleasure in dressing the boy very finely,\nand as he would one day be rich, she had no fear for his future, save\nthat on his twenty-fifth birthday he was to receive his father's elixir,\nconcerning which, loyal to her oath, she maintained silence towards\neveryone.\n\nBut even this anxiety was, she thought, to be removed when one day there\nwas an alarm of fire, and she learned that a conflagration had broken out\nin the oil cellar of the Winckler house, and that the notary's quarters\nhad been entirely destroyed by the flames.\n\nBut she rejoiced too soon, for only Doctor Melchior's letters to his son\nand to the notary were burned, and the strange old lady could hardly\nbring herself to forgive the brave and conscientious guardian of her\nfavourite, because at great personal risk he had saved the casket\ncontaining the phial.\n\nOf Zeno there is very little to tell, except that from a child he grew to\nbe a fine youth, with the great dark eyes of his mother, and that he\ncared much about his elegant clothes, and was devoted to his noble horse.\n\nIn his twenty-third year he became a doctor of ancient and modern\njurisprudence, in his twenty-fourth he gained admission to the famous\nLeipsic \"Schoppen\" court of justice, and now the venerable Frau Schimmel\nas well as his guardian, the notary, whose housekeeper had died in the\nmeanwhile, were strongly urging him to choose a helpmate for life.\n\nAs the wishes of his guardians coincided with his own in this particular,\nhe hastened to fulfil them, and his choice fell upon the daughter of an\nofficer of high rank, who had been noticeable at the Rathhaus balls on\naccount of the elegance of her costume.\n\nFrau Schimmel was apprehensive, for according to her ideas, an honourable\nyoung woman of good burgher family was better suited to the heir of The\nThree Kings; yet in reality she considered nothing too good or too\nbeautiful for Zeno, and after she had learned from the officer's servants\nthat their mistress was of a cheerful disposition, and was able with her\nown skilful hands to dress herself well on very small means, and to keep\nup an appearance of elegance in her father's house which swarmed with\nchildren, she came to the conclusion that Zeno's choice was a wise one.\n\nShe therefore gave her consent to his wooing, and at the end of three\nmonths the wedding took place with great magnificence, to the sound of\ndrums and trumpets. The young husband went about as if he were borne on\nwings.\n\nSurely there was no bride in all Saxony so lovely and so beautiful, and\nwhen she refused flatly to have Frau Schimmel invited to the wedding\nfeast, he excused her, thinking that her refusal was the result of her\naristocratic surroundings and training. The question did not give rise to\nany open quarrel, for Frau Schimmel of her own accord announced that it\nwas enough for her to pray for the happiness of the young couple in\nchurch.\n\nFor four weeks after the wedding-day, Zeno continued to wonder that such\nexquisite bliss could fall to the lot of any mortal in this world, which\nso many people regarded as a vale of sorrow, and when his passionate dark\neyes were reflected in the cooler blue ones of his wife, and she returned\nhis caresses sweetly but without laying aside her distinctive and\nreserved manner, which he laid to the account of maidenly bashfulness, he\nfelt that no one could be more blessed, and that he was the most enviable\nof men. So the time passed, and his twenty-fifth birthday was\napproaching. The young Frau Ueberhell awaited with even greater curiosity\nthan her husband, the disclosure of the contents of the sealed package\nwhich Herr Winckler had in charge for his ward.\n\nOn the morning of the birthday Frau Rosalie dismissed the housekeeper,\nwhom she kept at a distance, and herself admitted the notary when she saw\nhim approach The Three Kings, which by her wish had been richly decorated\nwith stucco and gilding, and furnished with stable room for Zeno's horse\nand her two ponies.\n\nThe old gentleman brought with him the parcel, as the young couple\nexpected and after saying that unfortunately the written instructions,\nwhich Doctor Melchior had given him at the same time with the box, had\nfallen a victim to the flames, he broke the seals that had fastened the\npackage for so many years, and Rosalie clapped her hands when the\nbeautiful casket of carved ivory mounted in gold came to view.\n\nIt was opened with great care, and Zeno took from it a paper which lay on\na rose-coloured silk pad and on which Doctor Melchior had written in\nlarge Roman characters: \"To my son Zeno Ueberhell. To be used according\nto the directions found in the letter accompanying the casket, afterwards\nto be given to his eldest son on his twenty-fifth birthday, and thus\nalways to be handed down from first-born to first-born, to the last one,\nwhich, please Heaven, will be to the end of Time, in order that the\nphial, destined to change the aspect of human life, and lead it to its\ntrue salvation, may remain forever a priceless heirloom in the Ueberhell\nfamily. By means of the accompanying prescription every experienced\nchemist will be able to make the elixir in any desired quantity. My\nblessing rest upon you, my son, and upon every Ueberhell who, on his\ntwenty-fifth birthday--that is having reached maturity--shall receive\nthis little bottle and regard it as the most precious of all his\npossessions.\"\n\nThis inscription Melchior's son read with trembling voice, and he was so\ndeeply moved by the solemnity of his father's words that he did not\nperceive his young wife lift the cushion from the casket, examine the\nphial with curiosity, and then, having removed the glass stopper with\ndifficulty, hold the bottle to her dainty little nose.\n\nBut she closed the phial as quickly as she had opened for she experienced\nso strange a sensation, her blood beat through her veins so oddly, that,\nimpelled by some inner force, and regardless of the presence of Herr\nWinckler, and the tact which she usually displayed, she cried out: \"So\nthat, then, is your inheritance! A bit of coloured glass which one could\nbuy in the street for a trifle, and a few brown drops of some stuff which\nno one knows the use of, now that the directions are burned.\"\n\nAs Zeno, surprised at these shrill notes which he now heard for the first\ntime, in his wife's voice, tried to pacify her, saying that no doubt the\nliquid possessed marvellous properties, and that they could not blame his\nsainted father because an unlucky accident had destroyed his elucidation\nof them, and sought to draw her to him, she pushed him away roughly, and\nanswered with angry scorn: \"Sainted, you call the old man! As if I didn't\nknow that he was a master of all sorts of hellish arts and black magic! A\nfig for such saintship!\"\n\nThey were bitter words, and, like one who has been wandering in sunshine\nand suddenly finds himself overwhelmed by blackest night, Zeno felt\nhimself deprived of strength, the floor seemed to rise, and his knees\ntrembled.\n\nHe grasped the phial, hoping to recover himself by aid of the pungent\nodour that escaped from it, and even as he inhaled the contents, light\nseemed once more to flood the darkness, and very erect, and with a\ndignity of which he had not hitherto thought himself capable, he listened\nto Rosalie's further words.\n\nHe grew very pale, and it was with difficulty that he restrained himself,\nbut he did not interrupt her as, forced by the power of the elixir, she\nwent on to declare, that she had accepted his offer of marriage merely\nbecause he was sufficiently presentable, notwithstanding his humble\norigin, to enable her to walk or ride with him about the city without\nfeeling humiliated; that she had hoped and expected to find great wealth\nby means of which as his wife, she could lead the life that she enjoyed,\nand be able also to help her father to bring up her younger brothers and\nsisters in a fashion befitting their rank; that on the contrary she had\nfound him only rich enough to secure her own comfortable existence, and\nfor this she had chained herself to a turtle dove whose eternal cooing\nwas beginning to weary her beyond endurance; that now her last hope of\nthe riches, which one had a right to expect in the house of a magician,\nhad vanished, and that if it were not for the gossip of the townsfolk,\nshe would return to her father's house.\n\nWith this statement Rosalie stopped and looked around her, frightened by\nher own frankness, which she now recognized as unwise and fatal to the\nlast degree.\n\nThe unlooked-for and dignified reserve of her injured husband, together\nwith his ghastly paleness disturbed her, and her inquietude grew to\npainful anxiety as he maintained silence. At length he said \"I have\nlearned to love you truly and passionately, my wife, and now you show me\nhow you have returned the affection which my heart bestowed upon you. You\nare right when you accuse me of having laid too much stress upon vain\ntrifles. For that very fault I have been most severely punished, for had\nI wooed you in woollen, instead of in velvet, I should never have had the\nmisfortune to be bound to a woman like you. Nor was it love that led me\nto you, but the miserable ambition to bring a nobleman's daughter into my\nburgher home. So we both deceived each other, and now if you wish to\nreturn whence I took you--you may leave my home unhindered.\"\n\nThe young wife buried her face in her hands and answered: \"No, no, life\nis too miserable and poverty-stricken at home and I have suffered too\nmuch in the long struggle to keep up appearances. And then what would\npeople say? No, no,--I will do everything that I can to please you.\"\n\n\"Very well, you may stay,\" he replied gloomily.\n\nFrau Schimmel, who had been in the room for some time, turned to the\nnotary and said: \"The Court apothecary used to say that I was stupid, but\nthirty years ago I foretold what has happened here today.\"\n\nShe then implored Zeno to throw the elixir into the Pleisse, but for the\nfirst time he exhibited a will of his own. He put the phial and the\ndocument in his father's writing into his breast pocket, and tucking the\ngray-haired notary under his arm, he left the room.\n\nFrau Schimmel followed his example. Having reached the ground-floor she\nstopped and, shaking her gray head, murmured: \"Doctor Melchior was such a\nwise man, I wonder he did not order that each of his successors should\nmake the girl of his choice inhale the elixir before he proposed to her.\nThe life I led with Vorkel, and with my second husband Schimmel, who lies\nbeside the first in the churchyard, was hardly perfect, but Zeno's\nexistence will be hell upon earth.\"\n\nBut this time Frau Schimmel was a little wide of the mark in her\nprophesy. The two young people, for a time, treated each other distantly\nand coldly, but Fran Rosalie learned to regard her husband with a timid\nrespect that sat well upon her. As for him he was transformed into a\nstern man since he had inhaled the elixir, and his severe dress seemed\nbut an outward sign of his earnestness. Before the year was out a boy was\ngiven to them, and when Rosalie saw him take the little one in his arms\nand kiss it, she called him to her bedside and whispered: \"Forgive me.\"\n\nHe made a sign of pardon, and stooping, kissed her white face, that was\nstill the dearest in the world to him. Then he went to his own room and\ninhaled the elixir whose properties and effect he had long before learned\nfrom Frau Schimmel. He called aloud, as if speaking to another person:\n\"If she be good to the child, I will no longer make her feel how she hurt\nme, though I can never forget it.\"\n\nBut it was not granted to him to show by his actions that he had forgiven\nher, for during the night fever supervened, and before morning she died.\n\nHer hot hand had lain in his, just before her heart ceased to beat, and\nhad pressed it, as if in farewell.\n\nFrau Schimmel followed her darling's unfortunate wife shortly afterwards.\nHer death was a peaceful and happy one, for Zeno held her withered hand,\nand talked to her of the days when she had dressed him in his beautiful\nlight-blue frocks. He closed her eyes himself, and followed her coffin to\nthe churchyard.\n\nOnly Herr Winckler remained to the widower, who lived alone with his son\nin The Three Kings, and like a father, more than a friend, aided him in\nhis researches concerning the elixir.\n\nThey discovered that it produced its effect only on those who were\nconnected with the Ueberhell family. This was a great disappointment to\nZeno, for he set a high value upon truth, and had heard from his father's\nfriend what great blessings for mankind the dead man had anticipated from\nhis discovery. All his hopes of using it in his profession to make\nhardened sinners confess their misdeeds, were therefore, vain. For this\npurpose it was certainly useless and Zeno and Herr Winckler concluded\nthat the reason why its effect was so limited was because it owed its\npower to the blood of a child of the Ueberhell race.\n\nThat its potency extended to those who married into the Ueberhell house\nwas proved by its effect upon Frau Rosalie. As it had also once\nvanquished Frau Schimmel, they argued that the Court apothecary must have\nused other blood beside his own, for he certainly had never been\nconnected with his housekeeper by marriage. What had been intended to\nbenefit the whole world, exercised its influence only in one direction,\nand on the members of one small family; this grieved the old notary when\nhe recalled the happy and triumphant death-bed of his friend.\n\nThe elixir had undoubtedly changed Melchior's son to an incredible\nextent; from an easily-led, pleasure-loving youth, Zeno became a\nself-contained man--almost a recluse--and he won for himself the\nreputation of being one of the severest judges on the Leipsic bench.\n\nHigh and low doffed their hats to him with respect, but he was not\npopular.\n\nAfter he had worked at the Rathhaus long after hours, he would go home\nalone, and no one sought him out to pass an hour in his company, for\neveryone feared the rough and brutal frankness of his speech. The\ngregarious and friendly notary used to wince when he heard his adopted\nson spoken of as \"the hard Ueberhell,\" or \"the sinner's scourge,\" and he\ntried his best to make him more human, and to draw him within his circle\nof friends.\n\nWhen death overtook Herr Winckler, from whose mouth Zeno used to hear\nmany bitter tirades against the elixir, and Melchior's son found himself\nentirely alone, and making always more enemies by his irrepressible\ninstinct to speak out what he thought to be the truth, he would sometimes\nask himself if it were not better to destroy the elixir, which had\nbrought him nothing but misery, and thus to spare his son and succeeding\ngenerations.\n\nBut the stern upholder of the law did not feel that he had the right to\ndisobey the instructions of his father. And so the elixir descended to\nhis son, and was given to him on his twenty-fifth birthday by his\nguardian, for Zeno died before his only child reached that age.\n\nWhat happened to this second Melchior Ueberhell whose unfortunate\nhistory. . . . Here the story broke off. The son of one of my friends had\nfound it in an old chest, when he was playing in the attic of The Three\nKings. It was written in a discoloured blank-book, which had escaped the\ndevastations of the mice and insects, because it had lain under a pile of\naromatic herbs and drugs that had probably belonged to the shop of the\nCourt apothecary.\n\nBetween the last page and the cover of the blank-book, which was confided\nto me, I found a continuation by a later Ueberhell.\n\nThis appendix could hardly have been written earlier than towards the end\nof the last century, to judge by the paper, the stiff, old-fashioned\nhandwriting and, more surely still, by the fact that the writer mentions\nvaccination as a new discovery. Inoculation was first tried in 1796, and\nthree years later an institution was opened in London where a Leipsic\nprofessor of medicine gave lectures.\n\nThis communication is signed: \"Doctor Ernst Ueberhell, Professor of\nMedicine.\" And runs as follows:\n\nSeveral centuries have passed since the time of the ancestor to whom we\nowe the wonderful history of the elixir as written in this book, and\npreserved from generation to generation in our family.\n\nMany Ueberhells have closed their eyes forever, since then, and even the\ngraves of Dr. Melchior and his beautiful wife Bianca have disappeared,\nowing to the removal of the burying-ground.\n\nOn the other hand the portrait in red crayon of Frau Bianca and the\nlittle Zeno is still carefully preserved as a most precious heirloom, and\nwas the picture that inspired my sainted father with the desire to become\nan artist.\n\nOur forebear Dr. Melchior devoted the best of his energies to the\nbenefit, as he thought, of his race, perhaps indeed of all mankind, and\nyet his efforts were unavailing, for to my sorrow must I acknowledge that\nmuch of the enmity felt towards our family, and the disrepute into which\nour good old name fell, was caused by the elixir. The majority of\nUeberhells were accused of presumption and arrogance, of opiniativeness\nand pugnacity. Many had made themselves disagreeable to their neighbours\nby their caustic criticisms and ill-natured complaints, at the same time\nbringing misfortune upon themselves by a most curious exhibition of their\nown faults.\n\nThe whole race degenerated so rapidly through their unbridled license and\nlack of consideration for others, that they ceased to be received by the\nmembers of the better circles, and there came to be an offensive saying\nthat in Leipsic there were men, women, and Ueberhells.\n\nThis dislike and animosity were visited upon one generation after another\nuntil finally it affected the worldly prosperity of the family. Even The\nThree Kings in the Katharinenstrasse which, by the way, had long ceased\nto be known by that name, was lost to us, and so remained for many years\nuntil my sainted father recovered it again, and that the Ueberhells did\nnot fall into even greater distress was due largely to the timidity, nay\nabsolute terror, with which they inspired many people.\n\nFrom several of my relatives--and they without exception made use of the\nelixir when they received it on their twenty fifth birthday--I have heard\nmany particulars concerning the experience, but there was only one who\never said that he had been happier and more contented because of it, and\nthat was my sainted father, the painter, Johannes Ueberhell.\n\nHe lost his father very early, and was brought up and educated in poverty\nand distress by his good mother who remained a widow. It was she who sold\nthe last of the jewels and plate that had come down to her from earlier\nand more prosperous days, in order to make it possible for Johannes to go\nto Dresden and study under a good master.\n\nHe was a virtuous youth, with a simple heart, and a disposition so gay\nthat the unfortunate forgot their sorrow whenever he appeared.\n\nEven as a child--so I have heard my grandmother say--he was so cheerful\nand contented despite their bitter poverty, that he made up a little\nprayer for himself in which he used to thank God for having created him.\n\nThis man, then, grew up to be truehearted and sincere without the elixir,\nbut he made use of it, none the less, when it came into his possession,\nand it proved a great blessing to him. As a light-hearted and modest\nyouth--so diffident that he was timid in his intercourse with older\npersons--he wandered over the Alps, with only fifty thalers in his pocket\nand a small knapsack on his back, to Rome where he was received into the\nstudio of one of the most distinguished painters, as apprentice. This\nlatter very soon became jealous of the great talent exhibited by my\nfather and a competition occurring, exerted all his influence to keep the\nprizes from the German competitors and have them awarded to Italian\nartists of much less merit.\n\nMy father, unable to overcome his fatal shyness by any effort of will,\nhad not the courage to withstand this unfairness until he was called home\nby his mother for his twenty-fifth birthday, and made use of the elixir.\n\nThis not only gave him the resolution, but forced him to proclaim the\ntruth aloud, and to call injustice by its right name.\n\nOwing to his accusations there was a thorough investigation of the\naffair, a new judge was appointed who awarded the first prize at once to\nJohannes Ueberhell, the said prize consisting of a magnificent\ncommission. Having thus achieved an opportunity of proving his worth, he\nrose quickly to eminence in his profession, and came to be a famous\nmaster while he was still a young man.\n\nIn later life also he owed nothing but good to the elixir, for his soul\nwas as pure as crystal, and his thoughts of others were so kindly that he\ncould safely speak out everything that was in his mind.\n\nHis eyes perceived only the beautiful in the universe; and the beautiful\nand the true were one with him; so that he made others see and hear\nnothing save what was lovely and ennobling. Whenever any debasing or evil\ninfluence approached him he would trample upon it with all the fierceness\nof a true Ueberhell; but such conflicts seldom occurred, for his nature\nwas so exalted that it carried him unconscious through the depravity and\npollution of this world.\n\nYes, my father was a happy man, and I cannot deny that the elixir had\nmuch to do with his good fortune, for it forced him to reveal his\ninnermost thoughts and to show people frankly what was passing in his\nmind, thus opening up to them a sunny, pure, and beautiful world which\ntheir dull eyes would never have discovered for themselves.\n\nTherefore the best sought him out and made friends with him, and the more\nhe prospered the wiser and better he grew.\n\nOne would imagine that the man to whom the elixir had been so beneficial\nwould set a greater value upon it than others, and would be more careful\nto preserve it for his children and grandchildren. Not so.\n\nAfter I had finished my studies at the High School and matriculated at\nthe medical schools of the Leipsic University, my father sent for me to\ncome during my vacation to Rome, where he still lived, and a few weeks\nbefore my twenty-fifth birthday I rode through the Porta del Popolo.\n\nThe evening before that anniversary my father took out the phial, showed\nit to me, and asked me what I thought of the verses that he had written\non a label and attached to the bottle.\n\nI read them, and they ran as follows:\n\n        In hearts alone where modesty resides\n        Is found the priceless treasure of Pure Truth.\n        If pride within you secretly abides\n        That, forced by the elixir's charm, The Sooth\n        You needs must speak--be wholly pure in thought,\n        Despising not the teachings wise, of old;\n        When Truth with equal earnestness was sought\n        If speech be silver, silence then is gold!\n\nThe scales seemed to fall from my eyes, and I realised why the Ueberhells\nhad borne such an evil and dreaded name among their fellow-citizens.\n\nThe day after I, too, was to use the elixir and I asked my father: \"What\nshall I do if the power of the essence forces me to speak out everything\nthat is true, simply because it is true, even when it is against my wish\nand will tend to my own annoyance and distress, as well as to that of\nothers?\"\n\nAnd he replied solemnly: \"The truth? Has any one yet found the right\nanswer to the old question: 'What is Truth?' Can you be sure that the\nnoble and mighty Goddess corresponds to your puny and individual\nconception of her?\"\n\nThis very idea had disturbed me during my ride over the Alps, and I\nexclaimed: \"Therein lies the dangerous power of the elixir! It kindles in\nour minds the confidence that we know the truth by means of a charm,\nwhereas we can only possess the desire to seek for it. Our certainty also\nmisleads us to constrain others to think as we think, and to despise them\nand persecute them when they differ from us. The elixir made you happy,\nmy father, because you are good and pure, and because the beautiful, to\nthe pursuit of which you have dedicated your life, ennobles everyone and\nmakes every thing harmonious that comes from you.\n\n\"But many generations had to pass before you appeared to do honour to the\npowers of the elixir. I myself have been cast in a less heroic mould, and\nwho can prophesy what my children, if I ever have any, will be like. In\nthis world where every thing is deceitful, and no one is outspoken, the\nman who alone is under the necessity of proclaiming what he considers the\ntruth, is like a warrior who opposes himself without shield or harness to\na fully armed foe. Therefore, my dear father, I am very reluctant to make\nuse of the elixir to-morrow.\"\n\nThe old gentleman smiled and replied: \"Inhale it in peace, my Ernst, for\nI will confide to you that I have poured the elixir into the Tiber, on\nwhose banks the battle for the Truth has been so often joined, and where\nso many factions have imagined that they possessed the elixir of Truth. I\nhave filled the phial with water and a drop of aromatic myrrh. The water\nI took from the fountain of Trevi, which, you know, is supposed to\npossess the power of inspiring longing--only for the Eternal City, I\nbelieve--but perhaps in our phial it may awaken a desire for the Eternal\nTruth. Let us leave the little bottle to our successors. It will not hurt\nthem to use it while they are young, and they can commit to memory, at\nthe same time, the maxim which is attached to it. Then if the harmless\nliquid which it contains, together with the adage and the example of\ntheir parents, arouse a craving for truth within them we shall have cared\nbetter for them than Doctor Melchior did for our ancestors.\"\n\n\"I think so, too,\" I answered gratefully. \"But,\" I added, \"when you\npoured the elixir into the river did you not sacrifice a valuable aid to\nyourself in remaining loyal to the Truth in your creations?\"\n\n\"The old gentleman shook his head. Let the essence flow away!\" he\nanswered. \"The verity of the Ueberhells, that is what each one thought to\nbe true, was a thing of naught, and, if you consider it closely, a\ndangerous thing. Only the mind which is capable of comprehending the laws\nof Nature can escape the danger of mistaking the fortuitous, and ever\nchanging reality, for the eternal and unchangeable truth. Therefore I do\nnot regret what I have done. If one of my grandsons should wish to become\na painter I have obviated the risk of his falling into the error of\nbelieving that he has succeeded when he has only slavishly imitated all\nthe imperfections in the objects he sees around him. Nature reflected in\na mirror, would be what his pictures under the influence of our elixir,\nwould have been like, and for a true work of art, in the highest\nacceptation of the term, something further is needed.\"\n\nThese words of my father removed my last regret for the loss of the\nelixir, and my sons and grandsons who are now grown men have, with God's\nhelp, brought it to pass that the burghers of Leipsic are willing once\nagain to associate with the Ueberhells.\n\nI have only one thing more to say before I close this story.\n\nI have already mentioned the fact that I am a physician. When recently\nfrom England came the news of the discovery of vaccination and I saw how\na small drop could penetrate through a man's entire system, then I\nregretted that my father had thrown away the elixir. If I still possessed\nit I would, despite my advanced age, try the experiment of inoculating\nmyself with it. The exhalation of the elixir acted only on the tongue,\nand hence its fatal effect, if, however, it had been possible to\ninfiltrate a desire for truth into the whole man, then, ah then! it might\nhave been possible for a man really to know himself, which is the\nbeginning of his salvation. One thought occurs to me for my consolation:\n\nA race that has felt itself forced, generation after generation, to serve\nthe truth must finally have acquired an instinct to do so, like the races\nof pearl-divers who by inheritance can hold their breath a phenomenally\nlong time.\n\n\n\n\nPOSTSCRIPT.\n\nAt this point my granddaughter Bianca came in to see me. Three days\nbefore she had been betrothed to young Karl Winckler, a descendant of the\nnotary Anselmus.\n\nAs I had fallen asleep over my writing she read through undisturbed the\nbook that had fallen from my hands onto the floor.\n\nAnd so the secret was betrayed, for of course she told the story to her\nlover.\n\nShe expressed her thankfulness that the elixir was out of the world, but\nasserted impertinently, that if a drop of blood had been drawn from Frau\nBianca--whose features as well as name she had inherited--instead of from\nthe little Zeno, or if the women of the Ueberhell family had been allowed\nto inhale the elixir the consequences might have been entirely different.\n\n\"Woman,\" she said, \"is ruler in the kingdom of the affections, and in\nLeipsic as well as elsewhere, the austere Goddess of Truth will find\ndevoted and loving worshippers, as well as dutiful subjects, only when\nshe exhibits goodness of heart combined with grace of manner as does my\ngrandfather.\"\n\nPerhaps she is not altogether wrong, though women. . . .\n\nAnd yet both Greeks and Romans represented Truth under the guise of a\nwoman.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Caress or a spank from you--each at the proper time\n     Clothes the ugly truth as with a pleasing garment\n     Couple seemed to get on so perfectly well without them\n     Death itself sometimes floats 'twixt cup and lip'\n     Exceptional people are destined to be unhappy in this world\n     If speech be silver, silence then is gold!\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREYLOCK\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nA FAIRY TALE.\n\nOnce upon a time there was a country, more beautiful than all other lands\nand the castle of the Duke, its ruler, lay beside a lake that was bluer\nthan the deepest indigo. A long time ago the Knight Wendelin and his\nsquire George chanced upon this lake, but they found nothing save waste\nfields and bleak rocks around it, yet the shores must formerly have borne\na different aspect, for there were shattered columns and broken-nosed\nstatues lying on the ground. Against the hillside there were remains of\nancient walls that once, undoubtedly, had supported terraces of vines,\nbut the rains had long washed the soil from the rocks, and among the\ncaves and crannies of the fallen stonework, and ruined cellars, foxes,\nbats, and other animals had found a home.\n\nThe knight was no antiquary, but as he looked about him his curiosity was\nexcited: \"What can have happened here?\" he said, and his squire wondered\nalso, and followed his master. The latter led his horse to the edge of\nthe water to let him drink, for though he had seen many watercourses in\nthe land, he had found nothing in them save stones, and boulders, and\nsand.\n\n\"What if this lake should be salt, like the Dead Sea in the Holy Land?\"\nthe knight asked, and the squire answered:\n\n\"Ugh, that would be a thousand pities!\" As the former raised his hand to\nhis mouth to taste the water, wishing indeed that it were wine, he\nsuddenly heard a strange noise. It was mournful and complaining, but very\nsoft and sweet. It seemed to be the voice of an unhappy woman, and this\npleased the knight, for he had ridden forth in search of adventures. He\nhad already been successful in several encounters, and from George's\nsaddle hung the tail-tips of seven dragons which his master had killed.\nBut a woman with a musical, appealing voice, in great danger, offered a\nrare opportunity to a knight. Wendelin had not yet had any such\nexperience. The squire saw his master's eyes sparkle with pleasure, and\nscratched his head thinking: \"Distress brings tears to most peoples'\neyes, but there is no knowing what will delight a knight like him!\"\n\nThe waters of the lake proved to be not salt, but wonderfully sweet.\n\nWhen Wendelin reached the grotto from which the complaining notes came,\nhe found a beautiful young woman, more lovely than any one the\ngrey-haired George had ever seen. She was pale, but her lips shone moist\nand red like the pulp of strawberries, her eyes were as clear and blue as\nthe sky over the Holy Land, and her hair glistened as if it had been spun\nof the sunbeams. The knight's heart beat fast at the sight of her\nloveliness; he could not speak, but he noticed that her hands and feet\nwere bound with chains, and that her beautiful hair was entwined about a\ncircle of emeralds that hung by a chain from the ceiling. She marked\nneither the knight nor the squire, who stood shading his eyes with his\nhand in order to see her the better.\n\nHot rage took possession of the heart of Wendelin when he saw the tears\nrain down from the lady's large eyes onto her gown, which was already as\nwet as if she had just been drawn from the lake.\n\nWhen the knight noticed this, an overwhelming pity chased the anger from\nhis heart, and George, who was a soft-hearted man, sobbed aloud at her\npitiful appearance. The voice of the knight, too, was unsteady as he\ncalled to the fair prisoner that he was a German, Wendelin by name, and\nthat he had set out on a knightly quest to kill dragons, and to draw his\nsword for all who were oppressed. He had already conquered in many\ncombats, and nothing would please him better than to fight for her.\n\nAt this she ceased to weep, but she shook her head gently--her hair being\nchained impeded her motion,--and answered sadly. \"My enemy is too\npowerful. You are young and beautiful, and the darling, perhaps, of a\nloving mother at home, I cannot bear that you should suffer the same fate\nas the others. Behold that nut-tree over there! What seem to be white\ngourds hanging on its naked branches are their skulls! Go your way\nquickly, for the evil spirit that keeps me prisoner, and will not release\nme until I have sworn an oath to become his wife, will soon return. His\nname is Misdral, he is very fierce and mighty, and lives among the waste\nrocks over there on the north shore of the lake. You have my thanks for\nyour good intention, and now proceed on your journey.\" The knight,\nhowever, did not follow her advice, but approached the beautiful woman\nwithout more words, and caught hold of her hair to unbind it from the\nring. No sooner had he touched the emeralds than two brown snakes came\nhissing towards him.\n\n\"Oho!\" exclaimed Sir Wendelin. With one hand he caught their two necks\ntogether in his powerful grip, with the other he grasped their tails,\ntore them in two, and threw them out onto the cliffs above the lake.\n\nWhen the imprisoned lady saw this, she heaved a deep sigh of relief and\nspoke: \"Now I believe that you will be able to liberate me. Draw this\nring from my finger!\"\n\nThe knight obeyed and as he touched the lady's fingers, which were\nslender and pointed, he felt his heart warm within him, and he would\ngladly have kissed her. But he only withdrew the ring. As he forced it\nonto the end of his own little finger the lady said to him: \"Whenever you\nturn it round you will be changed to a falcon; for you must know. . . .\nBut woe to us! There, where the water is lashed into foam, is the monster\nswimming towards us!\"\n\nShe had hardly finished before a hideous creature drew itself out of the\nlake. It looked as if it were covered with mouldering pumice-stone. Two\ntoads peeped from the cavities of the eyes, brown eel-grass hung dripping\nand disordered over its neck and forehead, and in place of teeth there\nwere long iron spikes in its jaws which protruded and crossed one another\nover its lips.\n\n\"A fine wooer, indeed!\" thought the squire. \"If the stone-clad fellow\nshould not possess a vulnerable spot somewhere on his body I shall\ncertainly lose my position!\"\n\nSimilar thoughts passed through the knight's mind, and consequently he\ndid not attack it with his sword, but lifting a huge piece of granite\nfrom the ground he hurled it at the monster's head. The creature only\nsneezed, and passed its hand over its eyes as if to brush away a fly.\nThen it looked round and, perceiving the knight, bellowed aloud, and\nchanged itself into a dragon spouting fire. Herr Wendelin rejoiced at\nthis, for his favourite pastime was to kill that sort of beast. He had no\nsooner, however, plunged his good sword into a soft part of the monster,\nand seen the blood flow from the wound, than his opponent changed itself\ninto a griffin, and raising itself from the ground swooped upon him. His\ndefence now became more difficult, as the evil spirit continued to attack\nhim in ever changing forms, but Sir Wendelin was no coward, and knew well\nhow to use his arm and sword. At length, however, the knight began to\nfeel that his strength was deserting him; his sword seemed to grow\nheavier and heavier in his hand, and his legs felt as if an hundredweight\nhad been attached to them. His squire, noting his fatigue, grew faint,\nand began to think the best thing for him would be to ride off, for the\nfight was likely to end badly for his master. The knight's knees were\ntrembling under him, and as the monster, in the form of a unicorn,\ncharged against his shield he fell to the ground.\n\nThe creature shrank suddenly together and in the guise of a black, agile\nrat shot towards him.\n\nSir Wendelin felt that he was losing consciousness, he heard faintly a\nvoice from the grotto where the lady was imprisoned calling to him: \"The\nring, remember the ring!\"\n\nHe was just able to turn with his thumb the ring on his little finger.\nImmediately he felt himself lighter and freer than he had ever felt\nbefore, and his heart seemed to harden to a steel spring, while a gay and\nreckless mood came over him. A wild desire to fly took possession of him\nat the same time, and it seemed as if he were only fourteen years old\nonce more. Some strange force impelled him aloft into the air, to which\nhe yielded, spreading the two large wings, that he suddenly found himself\nin possession of, as naturally as if he had used them all his life. He\nsoon felt the feathers on his back stroked by the clouds, and yet he saw\neverything below him on the earth more distinctly than ever before. Even\nthe smallest things appeared perfectly clear to his sharpened eyes, and\nyet he seemed to see them as if reflected in a brilliant mirror. He could\ndistinguish even the hairs on the rat and suddenly another impulse came\nover him--the impulse to stoop down and catch the long-tailed vermin in\nhis beak and claws. Wendelin had been changed into a falcon, and the rat\nstruggled in vain to escape his powerful attack.\n\nThe prisoner had followed the combat first with anxiety, then with joy.\nWhile the falcon held the rat in his claws and struck him with his beak\nagain and again, she called the squire to her, and bade him free her from\nher chains. This was no distasteful task for George, indeed it gave him\nso much pleasure that he was in no hurry to finish.\n\nWhen at last all her bonds were loosened, she stood very erect, and\nlifted her arms, and each moment seemed to make her more lovely and more\nbeautiful. Then she grasped the circle of emeralds, about which the\nenchanter had wound her golden hair, and waving it high in the air,\ncried: \"Falcon, return to the shape you were before. Misdral, hear thy\nsentence!\"\n\nWendelin assumed immediately his knightly guise, which seemed very clumsy\nto him after having been a falcon. The rat lengthened itself and expanded\nuntil it was once more the giant covered with pumicestone; it walked no\nlonger erect, however, but crawled along the ground at the feet of the\nbeautiful woman, whimpering and howling like a whipped cur. She then said\nto it: \"At last I possess the emerald circlet, in which resides your\npower over me. I can destroy you, but my name is Clementine and so I will\ngrant you mercy. I will only banish you to your rocks. There you shall\nremain until the last hour of the last day. Papaluka, Papaluka,--Emerald,\nperform thy duty!\"\n\nThe giant of pumice-stone immediately glowed like molten iron. Once he\nraised his clenched fist towards Wendelin, and then plunged into the lake\nwhere the hissing and foaming waters closed over him. The lady and the\nknight were left alone together. When she asked him what reward he\ndesired, he could only answer that he wished to have her for his wife,\nand to take her to his home in Germany; but she blushed and answered\nsadly: \"I may not leave this country, and it is not permitted to me to\nbecome the wife of any mortal man. But I know how heroes should be\nrewarded, and I offer you my lips to kiss.\"\n\nHe knelt down before her and she took his head between her slim hands and\npressed her mouth against his.\n\nGeorge, the squire, saw this, sighed deeply, and wondered: \"Why was my\nfather only a miller? What favours are granted to a knight like that! But\nI hope the kiss won't be the end of it all; for, unless she is a miserly\nfairy, there ought to be much more substantial pay for his services in\nstore for him.\"\n\nBut Clementine bestowed even a richer reward than he had expected upon\nher rescuer. When she discovered that a lock of the brown hair on\nWendelin's left temple had turned grey during the conflict with the evil\nmonster, she said to him: 'All this land shall belong to you henceforth,\nand because you have grown grey in your courageous fight with evil, you\nshall be known from this time forward as Duke Greylock. Every prince,\nyea, even the Emperor himself, will recognize the title which I confer\nupon you as my saviour, and when the race, of which you are to be the\nprogenitor, is blessed with offspring, I will stand godmother to every\nfirst-born. All the sons of your house from first to last, whether they\nbe dark or fair, or brown, shall bear the grey lock. It will be a sign\nunto your posterity that much good fortune awaits them. My authority,\nhowever, is limited, and if at any time a higher power should hinder me\nfrom exerting my influence in behalf of one of your grandsons, then will\nthe grey lock be missing from his head, and it will depend altogether on\nhimself how his life unfolds itself. One thing more. Give me back my ring\nand take instead this mirror, which will always show to you and yours\nwhatever you hold most dear, even when you are far away from it.\"\n\n\"Then it will ever be granted to me to bring your face before my eyes,\noh! lovely lady!\" the knight exclaimed.\n\nThe fairy laughed and answered: \"No, Duke Greylock--the mirror can only\nreflect the forms of mortals. I know a wife awaiting you, whom you will\nrather see than any picture in the glass, even were it that of a fairy.\nReceive my thanks once more! you are duke, enter now into your dukedom!\"\n\nWith these words she disappeared. A gentle rustling and tinkling was\nheard through the air, the waste ground covered itself with fresh green,\nthe dry river beds filled with clear running water, and on their banks\nappeared blooming meadows, shady groves and forests. The broken walls\nagainst the hillsides fitted themselves together, rose higher and\nsupported once more the terraces covered with vine stocks and\nfruit-trees. Villages and cities grew into form and lay cradled in the\nlandscape. Beautiful gardens bloomed forth, full of gay flowers,\nolive-trees, orange-trees, citron, and fig, and pomegranate-trees, each\ncovered with its golden fruit of many-seeded apples. In the neighbourhood\nof the grotto in which the fairy had been imprisoned a park of\nincomparable beauty grew into view, where brooks whispered and fountains\nplayed, and shady pergolas appeared, formed of gold and silver trellises,\nover which a thousand luxuriant creepers clambered, holding by their\nlittle tendril hands.\n\nThe fallen columns stood up again, the mutilated marble statues found new\nnoses and arms, and in the background of all this growing magnificence\nthe young duke perceived-at first dimly, as if obscured by mists, then\nmore distinctly-the outline of a palace with loggia, balconies, columned\nhalls, and statues in bronze and marble around the cornice of its flat\nroof.\n\nGeorge, the squire, gazed in openmouthed wonder, and his mouth remained\nopen until he entered the fore-court of the palace. Then he only closed\nit to give his jaws a little rest before their future labours began, for\nsuch a good smell from the kitchen greeted him that he ordered the\nwilling cook to satisfy immediately the demands of his appetite, as his\nhunger was greater than his curiosity.\n\nSir Wendelin continued his way through the passages, chambers, halls, and\ncourts. Everywhere servants, guards, and heyducks swarmed, and from the\nstables he heard the stamping of many horses, and the jingle of their\nhalter chains as they rattled them against their well-filled mangers.\nChoruses of trumpeters played inspiriting fanfares, and from the\nassembled people in the forecourt a thousand voices shouted again and\nagain: \"Hail to his Grace Duke Greylock, Wendelin the First! Long may he\nlive!\"\n\nThe knight bowed graciously to his good people, and when the Chancellor\nstepped forward, and after a deep reverence set forth in a carefully\nprepared speech the great services which the duke had rendered to the\ncountry, Wendelin listened with polite attention, though he himself was\nquite ignorant of what the old man was talking about.\n\nSir Wendelin had lived through so many adventures that it pleased him now\nto sit peacefully on his throne, and he did his best to be worthy of the\nhonours which the fairy had conferred upon him. After he had learned the\nduties of a ruler from A to Z, he returned to Germany to woo his cousin\nWalpurga. He led her back to his palace, and for many years they governed\nthe beautiful land together. All of the five sons which his wife bore to\nhim, came into the world with the grey lock. They all grew to be brave\nmen and loyal subjects of their father, whom they served faithfully in\nwar, holding fraternally together and greatly enlarging the boundaries of\nhis dukedom by their prowess.\n\nA long time passed and generation after generation of the descendants of\nthe worthy Sir Wendelin followed one another. The first-born son always\nbore the name of the progenitor of the family, and the fairy Clementine\nalways appeared at the baptism. No one ever saw her; but a gentle\ntinkling through the palace betrayed her presence, and when that ceased,\nthe grey lock on the infant's temple was always found to have twisted\nitself into a curl.\n\nAt the end of five hundred years, Wendelin XV. was carried to his grave.\nNo Greylock had ever possessed a more luxuriant grey curl than his, and\nyet he had died young. The wise men of the land said that even to the\nmost favoured only a fixed measure of happiness and good luck was\ngranted, and that Wendelin XV. had enjoyed his full share in the space of\nthirty years.\n\nCertain it is that from childhood everything had prospered with this\nduke. His people had expected great things of him when he was only crown\nprince, and he did not disappoint them when he came to the throne. Every\none had loved him. Under his leadership the army had marched from one\nvictory to another. While he held the sceptre one abundant harvest\nfollowed another, and he had married the most beautiful and most virtuous\ndaughter of the mightiest prince in the kingdom.\n\nIn the midst of a hot conflict, and at the moment that his own army sent\nup a shout of victory, he met his death. Everything that the heart of man\ncould desire had been accorded to him, except the one joy of possessing a\nson and heir. But he had left the world in the hope that that wish, too,\nwould be fulfilled.\n\nBlack banners floated from the battlements of the castle, the columns at\nits entrance were wreathed in crape, the gold state-coaches were painted\nblack, and the manes and tails of the duke's horses bound with ribbons of\nthe same sombre hue. The master of the hunt had the gaily-colored birds\nin the park dyed, the schoolmaster had the copy-books of the boys covered\nwith black, the merry minstrels in the land sang only sad strains, and\nevery subject wore mourning. When the ruby-red nose of the guardian of\nthe Court cellar gradually changed to a bluish tint during this time, the\nCourt marshal thought it only natural. Even the babies were swaddled in\nblack bands. And besides all this outward show, the hearts too were sad,\nand saddest of all was that of the young widowed duchess. She also had\nlaid aside all bright colours, and went about in deepest mourning, only\nher eyes, despite the Court orders in regard to sombre hues, were bright\nred from weeping.\n\nShe would have wished to die that she might not be separated from her\nhusband, save for a sweet, all-powerful hope which held her to this\nworld; and the prospect of holy duties, like faint rays of sunshine,\nthrew their light over her future, which would otherwise have seemed as\ndark as the habits of the Court about her.\n\nThus five long months passed. On the first morning of the sixth month\ncannon thundered from the citadel of the capital. One salvo followed\nanother, making the air tremble, but the firing did not waken the\ncitizens, for not one of them had closed an eye the foregoing night,\nwhich, according to the oldest inhabitants, had been unprecedented. From\nthe rocky district on the north shore of the lake, where Misdral lived, a\nfearful thunder-storm had arisen, and spread over the city and ducal\npalace. There was a rolling and rumbling of thunder and howling of wind,\nsuch as might have heralded the Day of judgment. The lightning had not,\nas usual, rent the darkness with long, jagged flashes, but had fallen to\nthe ground as great fiery balls which, however, had set nothing aflame.\nThe watchmen on the towers asserted that above the black clouds a\nsilver-white mist had floated, like a stream of milk over dark wool, and\nthat in the midst of the rumbling and crashing of the thunder they had\nheard the sweet tones of harps. Many of the burghers said that they too\nhad heard it, and the ducal Maker of Musical Instruments declared that\nthe notes sounded as if they had come from a fine harpsichord--though not\nfrom one of the best--which some one had played between heaven and earth.\n\nAs soon as the firing of cannon began, all the people ran into the\nstreets, and the street-cleaners, who were sweeping up the tiles and\nbroken bits of slate that the storm had torn from the roofs, leaned on\ntheir brooms and listened. The Constable was using a great deal of\npowder; the time seemed long to the men and women who were counting the\nnumber of reports, and there seemed no end to the noise. Sixty guns meant\na princess, one hundred and one meant a prince. When the sixty-first was\nheard, there was great rejoicing, for then they knew that the duchess had\nborne a son; when, however, another shot followed the one hundred and\nfirst, a clever advocate suggested that perhaps there were two\nprincesses. When one hundred and sixty-one guns had been fired, they said\nit might be a boy and a girl; when the one hundred and eightieth came,\nthe schoolmaster, whose wife had presented him with seven daughters,\nexclaimed: \"Perhaps there are triplets, 'feminini generis!\" But this\nsupposition was confuted by the next shot. When the firing ceased after\nthe two hundred and second gun, the people knew that their beloved\nduchess was the mother of twin boys.\n\nThe city went crazy with joy. Flags bearing the national colours were\nhoisted in place of the mourning banners. In the show-windows of the\ndrapers' shops red, blue, and yellow stuffs were exhibited once more, and\nthe courtiers smoothed the wrinkles out of their brows, and practised\ntheir smiles again.\n\nEvery one was delighted, with the exception of the Astrologer, and a few\nold women and wise men, who drew long faces, and said that children born\nin such a night had undoubtedly come into the world under inauspicious\nsigns. In the ducal palace itself the joy was not unclouded, and it was\nprecisely the most faithful and devoted of the servants who seemed most\ndepressed, and who held long conferences together.\n\nBoth of the boys were well formed and healthy, but the second-born lacked\nthe grey curl which heretofore had never failed to mark each new-born\nGreylock.\n\nPepe, the Major-domo, who was a direct descendant of George, the squire,\nand who knew the history of the ducal family better than any one else,\nfor he had learned it from his grandfather, was so dejected that one\nwould have imagined a great misfortune had befallen him, and in the\nevenings, when he sat over his wine in company with the Keeper of the\nCellar, the Keeper of the Plate and the Decker of the Table, he could not\nresist giving expression to his presentiments. His conviction that Bad\nLuck had knocked at the door of the hitherto fortunate Greylocks was\nfinally shared by his companions.\n\nThat an unhappy future awaited the second boy was the firm belief, not\nonly of the servants, but of the whole Court. The unlucky horoscope cast\nby the Astrologer was known to all, the wise men of the land confirmed it\nby their predictions, and soon it was proved that even the fairy\nClementine was powerless to avert the misfortune that threatened the\nyoungest prince. On the day of the baptism, neither the gentle tinkling\nsound, nor the sweet perfume, which had heretofore announced her\npresence, were perceptible. That she had not deserted the ducal house\naltogether was shown by the fact that the lock on the temple of the\nfirst-born twined itself into a perfect curl. The lock on the left temple\nof the second son remained brown, and not a sign of grey could be\ndiscovered even with a magnifying glass. The heart of the young mother\nwas filled with alarm, and she called the old nurse who had taken care of\nher dead husband when he was a baby, to ask her what had happened at his\nbaptism, and the old woman burst into tears, and ended by betraying the\ngloomy forecasts of the Astrologer and wise men. That a Greylock should\ngo through life without the white curl was unheard of, was awful! And the\nold nurse called the poor little creature, \"an ill-starred child, a dear\npitiable princeling.\"\n\nThen the mother recalled her last dream, in which she had seen a dragon\nattack her youngest boy. A great fear possessed her heart, and she bade\nthem bring the child to her. When they laid him naked before her, she\nstroked the little round body, the straight back, and well-shaped legs\nwith her weak hands, and felt comforted. He was a beautifully-formed,\nwell-developed child, her child, her very own, and nothing was lacking\nsave the grey lock. She never wearied of looking at him; at last she\nleaned over him and whispered: \"You sweet little darling, you are just as\ngood, and just as much of a Greylock as your brother. He will be duke,\nbut that is no great piece of luck, and we will not begrudge it to him.\nHis subjects will some day give him enough anxiety. He must grow to be a\nmighty man for their sakes, and I doubt not that his nurse gives him\nbetter nourishment to that end than I could who am only a weak woman. But\nyou, you poor, dear, little ill-omened mite, I shall nourish you myself,\nand if your life is unhappy it shall not be because I have not done my\nbest.\"\n\nWhen the Chief Priest came to her, to ask her what name she had chosen\nfor the second boy--the first, of course, was to be Wendelin XVI--she\nremembered her dream, and answered quickly: \"Let him be named George, for\nit was he who killed the dragon.\"\n\nThe old man understood her meaning, and answered earnestly: \"That is a\ngood name for him.\"\n\nTime passed, and both of the princes flourished. George was nourished by\nhis own mother, Wendelin by a hired nurse. They learned to babble and\ncoo, then to walk and talk, for in this respect the sons of dukes with\ngrey locks are just like other boys. And yet no two children are alike,\nand if any schoolmaster tried to write an exhaustive treatise on the\nsubject of education, it would have to contain as many chapters as there\nare boys and girls in the world, and it would not be one of the thinnest\nbooks ever published.\n\nThe ducal twins from the beginning exhibited great differences.\nWendelin's hair was straight and, save for the grey lock, which hung over\nhis left temple like a mark of interrogation, jet black; George, on the\ncontrary, had curly brown hair. Their size remained equal until their\nseventh year, when the younger brother began to outstrip the older. They\nloved one another very fondly, but the amusements that pleased one failed\nto attract the other; even their eyes seemed to have been made on\ndifferent patterns, for many things that seemed white to George appeared\nblack to his brother.\n\nBoth received equal care and were never left alone. The older brother\nfound this but natural, and he liked to lie still, and be fanned, or have\nthe flies brushed away from him, and to have some one read fairy stories,\nwhich he loved, aloud to him until he dozed off to sleep. It was\nastonishing how long and how soundly he could sleep. The courtiers said\nthat he was laying up a store of strength, to meet the demands that would\nbe made upon him when he came to the throne.\n\nEven before he could speak plainly, he had learned to let others wait\nupon him, and would never lift his little finger to do anything for\nhimself. His passive face and large melancholy eyes were wonderfully\nbeautiful, and inspired even his mother with a feeling of awe and\nrespect. She never had cause to feel anxious about him, for there was no\nbetter, nor more obedient child in the whole land.\n\nThe ill-omened boy, George, was the exact opposite of his brother. He, on\nthe contrary, had to be watched and tended, for his veins seemed to run\nquicksilver. One would have been justified in saying that he went out to\nmeet the misfortune which was so surely awaiting him. Whenever it was\npossible he gave his nurses and attendants the slip. He planned dangerous\ngames, and incited the children of the castle servants and gardeners to\ncarry out the mischief which he had contrived.\n\nBut his favorite pastime was building. Sometimes he would erect houses of\nred stone, often he would dig great caves of many chambers and halls in\nthe sand. At this work he was much more energetic than his humbler\nplayfellows, and he would be dirty and dripping with perspiration when he\nreturned to the castle. The courtiers would shake their heads over him in\ndisapprobation, and then look approvingly at Wendelin, who was a true\nroyal child and never got his white hands dirty.\n\nThere was no doubt but that George was cast in a less aristocratic mould\nthan his brother. When Wendelin complained of the heat, George would\nspring into the lake for a swim, and when Wendelin was freezing, George\nwould praise the fresh bracing air. The duchess often sighed for a\nthousand eyes that she might the better look after him, and she\nconstantly had to scold and reprove him, whereas her other son never\nheard anything but soft words from her. But then George would fly into\nher arms in a most unprincely manner, and she would kiss him and hug him,\nas if she never wanted to let him go, while her caresses of her elder son\nwere restricted to a kiss on his forehead, or to stroking his hair.\nGeorge was by no means so beautiful as his brother; he had only a fresh\nboyish face, but his eyes were exceptionally deep and truthful, and his\nmother always found in them a perfect reflection of what was in her own\nheart.\n\nThe two boys were as happy as is every child who grows up in the sunshine\nof its mother's love, but the lords and ladies about the Court, and the\ncastle-servants felt that misfortune had already begun to dog the\nfootsteps of the younger prince. How constantly he was in disgrace with\nthe duchess! And the accidents that had already happened in the eleven\nyears of his life were too numerous to count. While bathing he had\nventured too far out into the lake and had been nearly drowned; once,\nwhile riding in the ring, he had been thrown over the barriers by an\nunmanageable horse; indeed the Court-physician was certain to be called\nfrom his night's rest at least once a month, to bind up bloody wounds in\nthe young prince's bead, or bruises on his body.\n\nNo one, save the Seneschal of the Royal Household, and the Master of\nCeremonies bore the unruly boy any malice, but every one pitied him as an\nill-starred child. With what relentlessness his evil destiny pursued him\nwas first made clear when a stone house, which he, together with some\nother boys, had built, fell down on top of him. When they drew him out\nfrom under the blocks and stones he was unconscious, and the Major-domo,\nwho had been attracted by the cries of George's companions, carried him\ninto the prince's room, laid him on the bed, and watched by him until the\nphysician was called.\n\nThe old nurse, Nonna, aided the Majordomo, and these two faithful souls\nconfided their anxiety to one another. They recalled the unlucky signs\nthat had accompanied his entrance into the world, and Pepe expressed his\nfear that the unfortunate child would not come to life again.\n\n\"'Tis very sad,\" he continued, \"but I doubt not it would be better for\nthe ducal family if Heaven were now to remove him, for an early death is,\nafter all, preferable to a long life of vexation and misery.\"\n\nThe boy heard this conversation word for word, for, although he could\nmove neither hand nor foot, and kept his eyes closed, his hearing and\nunderstanding were wide awake.\n\nOld Nonna had shed many tears during good Pepe's speech, and he was\ntrying to comfort her when George suddenly sat up, rubbed his eyes with\nthe back of his hands, stretched himself, and then, agile as a brook\ntrout, sprang out of bed.\n\nThe two old people screamed in their astonishment, then laughed louder in\ntheir joy; but the Court physician, who was just entering the room,\nlooked very much disgusted and disappointed, for he saw the beautiful\nprospect of saving the life of one of the royal children dissolve before\nhis very eyes.\n\nAt the time of this accident the Duchess was away from home. On her\nreturn she forced herself to reprove George for his recklessness before\nshe yielded fully to her motherly affection. When George threw his arms\naround her neck and asked her if it were really true that he was an\nill-starred child, and would never have anything but bad luck as long as\nhe lived, she nearly burst into tears. But she restrained herself, called\nPepe and Nouna a couple of old geese, and the \"signs,\" which they had\ntalked about, stupid nonsense. Then she left the room hurriedly and\nGeorge thought that he heard her crying outside. He had gathered from her\ntone that she was not convinced of what she was saying, and was only\ntrying to quiet his fears, and from that hour he, too, regarded himself\nas a child destined to adversity. This was indeed unfortunate, yet it had\nits compensation, for each morning he anticipated an unhappy day, and\nwhen in the evening he looked back on nothing but pleasure and sunshine,\nhe went to bed with a heart full of gratitude for the good which he had\nenjoyed but which did not rightfully belong to him. From this time his\nmother had him more carefully guarded than before, she herself even\nfollowed him about anxiously, like a hen who has hatched a duckling, and\nforbade him to build any more stone-houses.\n\nThe noble Duchess was just then weighed down with other cares. One of her\nneighbors, a king, who had often been defeated in battle by her husband\nand her husband's father, thought it an excellent opportunity, while the\nduchy of the Greylocks was ruled only by a woman and her Councillors, to\ninvade the land, and win back some of the provinces which he had formerly\nlost. Moustache, her Field-marshal, had led forth the army, and a battle\nwas now imminent, which like all other battles, must end either in\nvictory or defeat.\n\nOne day a messenger came from the camp, bringing a letter from the brave\nmarshal, who demanded more troops, saying that the enemy far out-numbered\nhim. Then the Prime Minister called the Great Council together, from\nwhich, of course, the Duchess could not be absent, and during the time\nthat she presided over the Councillors' meeting, she lost sight of George\nfor the first time for many weeks.\n\nThe naughty boy was delighted. He slipped out of the castle, whence his\nolder brother would not move, on account of the bad weather, went down to\nthe shore of the lake, and finding that it was unusually rough, he,\ntogether with the son of the head-gondolier, sprang into a small boat,\nand drove it with powerful strokes out among the waves. The wind lifted\nthe brown curls of the boy, and whenever a large wave bore the skiff\naloft on its crest, he shouted with joy. Hitherto he had only been\nallowed to go on the lake in a well manned, safe boat, and then the\nsailors were under orders to keep to the southern half of the lake.\nConsequently an excursion on the water had seemed but a mild amusement;\nbut to be his own master, and to fight thus untrammelled against the\nwinds and waves was pleasure such as he had never before experienced.\n\nHe had never yet visited the northern part of the lake, there where it\nwas so dark, and mysterious, and where--as old Nonna used to relate--evil\nspirits dwelt, and a giant covered with pumice-stone was compelled by a\ncurse to live. Perhaps, if he could only get to the other shore, he might\nsee a ghost! That was a tempting prospect! So he turned the bow of the\nboat towards the north, and bidding his companion to row hard, did the\nsame himself.\n\nAs they got further north, the waves increased in size, a storm arose and\nblew fiercely in their faces; but the rougher the lake became, the gayer\nand more boisterous grew George's mood.\n\nHis companion began to be afraid, and begged that they might return, but\nGeorge, though it was not his custom, made his princely authority felt,\nand sternly commanded the boy to do as he was bid.\n\nAll at once it became dark around them, and it seemed as if a powerful\nsea-horse must have got under the skiff and lifted it with his back, for\nGeorge was hurled into the air. Then he felt himself caught by a rushing\nwhirlpool which sucked him in its circles to the bottom. He lost breath\nand consciousness. When he came to himself again, he found himself in a\nclosed cave, amidst strange forms of grey-brown, dripping stalactites.\nAbove the arches of the roof he heard a loud, grunting laugh, and a\nvoice, that sounded like the hoarse howl of a dog, cried several times:\n\"Here we have the Wendelin brood! At last I have the Greylock!\"\n\nThen George remembered all that he had overheard Pepe and Nonna relate,\nand all that he had coaxed out of them by his questions. He had fallen\ninto the hands of the evil spirit, Misdral, and now the real misfortune,\nwhich had threatened him ever since his birth, was to begin. He was\nfreezing cold, and very hungry, and as he thought of the beautiful\ngardens at home, of the well-spread table in his father's castle, at\nwhich he used to sit so comfortably in his high-backed chair, and of the\nwell-fed lackeys, he felt quite faint.\n\nHe also realized what terrible anxiety his absence would cause his\nmother. He could see her running about, weeping, with her hair in\ndisorder, seeking him every where.\n\nWhen he was smaller she had often taken him into her bed and played\n\"Little Red Riding Hood\" with him, and he said to himself that for that\nand many succeeding nights she would find no rest on her silken cushions,\nbut would wet them with her tears. These recollections brought him to the\nverge of weeping, but the next instant he stamped his foot angrily, in\nrage against his weakness.\n\nHe was only thirteen years old, but he was a true Greylock, and fear and\ncowardice were as unknown to him as to his ancestor, Wendelin I. So when\nhe heard the voice of the wicked Misdral again, and listened to the\ncurses which it heaped upon his family, George's anger grew so hot that\nhe picked up a stone, as the first Wendelin had done five hundred years\nbefore, to hurl it in the monster's wrinkled face. But Misdral did not\nshow himself, and George had to give up the expectation of seeing him,\nfor he gathered from the conversation between the two spirits that, owing\nto an oath which he had given to the fairy, Misdral dared not lay hands\non a Wendelin, and that, therefore, he had planned to starve him (George)\nto death. This prospect seemed all the more dreadful to the boy because\nof his hunger at that moment.\n\nThe cave was lighted by a hole in the roof of rocks, and as George could\ncry no more, and had raged enough against himself and the wicked Misdral,\nthere was nothing further for him to do but to look about his prison, and\nexamine the stalactites which surrounded him on all sides. One of them\nlooked like a pulpit, a second like a camel, a third made him laugh, for\nit had a face with a bottle-nose, like that of the chief wine cooper at\nthe castle. On one of the columns he thought he discerned the figure of a\nweeping woman, and this made his eyes fill with tears again. But he did\nnot mean to cry any more, so he turned his attention to the ceiling. Some\nof the stalactites that hung from it looked like great icicles, and some\nof them looked like damp, grey clothes hung out to dry. This recalled the\nappearance of the wash hanging in the garden behind the palace--a long\nstocking, or an unusually large shirt descending below the rest of the\nclothes--and he remembered how, in the fall, after the harvest, the\nclothes-lines used to be tied to the plum-trees, and the ends decorated\nwith branches still bearing the blue, juicy fruit, and then his hunger\nbecame so ravenous that he buckled his belt tighter round his waist and\ngroaned aloud.\n\nNight fell. The cave grew dark, and he tried to sleep, but could not,\nalthough the drops of water splashed soothingly, and monotonously from\nthe roof into the pools below.\n\nThe later it grew, the more he was tormented by his hunger, and the\nflapping of the bats, which he could not see in the dark. He longed for\nit to be morning, and more than once, in his great need, he lifted his\nhands and prayed for deliverance, and yet more passionately for a piece\nof bread, and the coming of day. Then he sat lost in thought, and bit his\nnails, for the sake of having something to chew. He was aroused by a\nsplash in one of the puddles on the Hoor. It must be a fish! He sat up to\nlisten, and it seemed as if some one called to him gently. He pricked up\nhis ears sharply, and then!--no, he had not deceived himself, for the\nfriendly words came distinctly from below: \"George, my poor boy, are you\nawake?\"\n\nHow they comforted him, and how quickly he sprang up in answer to the\nquestion! At last he was saved. That was as certain to him as that twice\ntwo makes four, although it might have been otherwise.\n\nOver the pool, from which the small voice had sounded, appeared now a dim\nlight, a beautiful goldfish lifted its head out of the water, opened its\nround mouth, and said, in a scarcely audible tone,--for a real fish finds\nit difficult to speak, because it has no lungs,--that George's godmother,\nthe fairy Clementine, had sent it. Its mistress was by no means pleased\nwith George's disobedience; but, as he was otherwise a good boy, and she\nwas pledged to aid the Greylocks, she would help him out of his\ndifficulty this time.\n\nThe boy cried: \"Take me home take me home, take me to my mother!\"\n\n\"That would indeed be the simplest thing to do,\" replied the fish, \"and\nit lies in our power to fulfil your wish; but, if my mistress frees you\nfrom the power of the wicked Misdral, she must promise him in exchange\nthat another ill shall befall your house. Your army is in the field, and\nif you return to your family, then will the giant help your enemies; they\nwill defeat you, will capture your capital, and possibly something evil\nmight befall your mother.\"\n\nGeorge sprang up and waved his hand in negation. Then his curly head\nfell, and he said sadly, but decisively: \"I will stay here and starve.\"\n\nThe fish in his delight slapped the water with his tail until it splashed\nhigh, and continued, although his first speech had already made him\nhoarse:\n\n\"No, no; it need not be so bad as that. If you are willing to go into the\nworld as a poor boy, and never to tell any one that you are a prince, nor\nwhat your name is, nor whence you come, then no enemy will be able to do\nyour army or the lady duchess any harm.\"\n\n\"And shall I never see my mother and Wendelin again?\" George asked, and\nthe tears poured down over his cheeks like the water over the\nstalactites.\n\n\"Oh yes!\" the fish replied, \"if you are courageous, and do something good\nand great, then you may return to your home.\"\n\n\"Something good and great,\" George repeated, \"that will be very\ndifficult; and, if I should succeed in doing something that I thought\ngood and great, how could I know whether the fairy considered it so?\"\n\"Whenever the grey lock grows on your head, you may declare yourself to\nbe the son of a duke and go home;\" the fish whispered. \"Follow me. I will\nlight the way for you. It is lucky that you have run about so much and\nare so thin, otherwise you might stick fast on the way. Now pay\nattention. This pool drains itself, through a passage under the mountain,\ninto the lake. I shall swim in front of you until we come to the big\nbasin into which the springs of these mountains empty their waters. After\nthat I must keep to the right, in order to get back into the lake, but\nyou must take the left passage, and let the current carry you along for\nan hour, when it will join the head of the great Vitale river, and flow\nout into the open air. Continue with the stream until it turns towards\nthe east, then you must climb over the mountains, and keep ever\nnorthwards. Hold your hand under my mouth that I may give you money for\nyour journey.\"\n\nGeorge did as he was bid, and the fish poured forty shining groschen into\nhis hand. Each one of them would pay for a day's nourishment and a\nnight's lodging.\n\nThe fish then dived under, George plunged after it into the pool, and\nfollowed the shimmering light that emanated from his scaly guide.\nSometimes the rocky passages, through which he crawled on his stomach in\nshallow water, became so small that he bumped his head, and had to press\nhis shoulders together in order to pass, and often he thought that he\nwould stick fast among the rocks, like a hatchet in a block of wood. He\nalways managed to free himself, however, and finally reached the big\nbasin, where a crowd of maidens with green hair and scaly tails were\nsporting, and they invited him to come and play tag with them. But the\nfish advised him not to stop with the idle hussies, and then parted from\nhim.\n\nGeorge was alone once more, and he let himself be borne along on the\nrushing subterranean stream. At length it poured out into the open air,\nas the Vitale river, and the boy fell with it over a wall of rock into a\nlarge pool surrounded by thick greenery. There was a great splash, the\ntrout were frightened to death, a dog began to bark, and a shepherd, who\nwas sitting on the bank, sprang up, for the coloured bundle that had just\nshot over the falls, now arose from the water and bore the form of a\npretty boy of thirteen years.\n\nThis apparition soon stood before him, puffing, and dripping, and\nregarding, with greedy eyes, the bread and cheese which the old man was\neating. The shepherd was very, very old, and deaf, but he understood the\nlanguage of the boy's eyes, and as he had just milked the goats, he held\nout a cup of the milk to him with a friendly gesture, and broke off a\npiece of bread for him. Then he invited George to sit down beside him in\nthe sun, which had been up for an hour.\n\nThe prince had never before eaten such a meal, but as he sat there in the\nsun, munching the bread, and drinking goats' milk, he would have thought\nany one a fool who called him an ill-fated child.\n\nAfter he had satisfied his hunger, he thanked the shepherd, and offered\nhim one of the groschen which the fish had given him, but the old man\nrefused it.\n\nGeorge insisted, for it hurt his pride to take anything as a gift from a\nman clad in rags, but the shepherd still declined, and added, after he\nhad noticed the fine clothes of the little prince, which the water had\nnot entirely spoiled: \"What the poor man gives gladly, no gold can repay.\nKeep your groschen.\"\n\nGeorge blushed scarlet, put his money in his pocket, and replied: \"Then\nmay God reward you.\" The words sprang naturally and easily to his lips,\nand yet they were the very ones that the beggars in the duchy of the\nGreylocks always used.\n\nHe ran along by the side of the stream quite fast, in order to dry his\nclothes, until it was noon, and many thoughts passed through his mind,\nbut so rapidly that he could hardly remember whether they were gay or\nsad. When at last he sat down to rest under a flowering elder bush, he\nthought of his mother, and of the great sorrow that he was causing her,\nof his brother, and Norma, and old Pepe, and his heart failed him, and he\nwept. He might never see them again, for how could he ever accomplish\nanything that was good and great, and yet the fish had demanded it of\nhim! For three days he continued to be very dejected, and whenever he\npassed boys at play, or boys and maidens dancing and singing under the\ntrees, he would say to himself: \"You are happy, for you were not born\nunder an evil star as I was.\"\n\nThe first night he slept in a mill, the second in an inn, the third in a\nsmithy. Just as he was leaving in the early morning a horseman rode\nrapidly past, and called out to the smith, who was standing in front of\nthe shop: \"The battle is lost. The King is flying. The Greylocks are\nmarching on the capital.\"\n\nGeorge laughed aloud, and the messenger hearing him, made a cut at him\nwith his riding-whip, but missed him, and the boy ran away. George felt\nas if some one had removed the burden that had been weighing him down\nduring his wanderings, and he reflected that, if he had remained a\nprince, and had been at that moment comfortably at home, instead of\nwandering until he was footsore along the highways, Moustache, the\nField-marshal, would have lost the battle.\n\nIt was still early when he reached the spot where the river turned to the\neast. From this point he was to go northwards. He found a path that led\nfrom the bank of the river, through the woods, across the mountain chain.\nThe dew still hung on the grass, and above in the oaks and beeches, it\nseemed as if all the birds were holding high festival, there was such a\nfluttering, and calling, and chirping, and trilling, and singing, while\nthe woodpecker beat time. The sunshine played among the branches, and\nfell through onto the flowery earth, where it lay among the shadows of\nthe leaves like so many round pieces of gold. Although George was\nclimbing the mountain, his breath came freely, and all at once, without\nany reason, he burst into song. He sang a song at the top of his voice,\nthere in the woods, that he had learned from the gardeners. At noon he\nthought he had reached the top of the mountain, but behind again a yet\nhigher peak arose, and so, after he had eaten the bread and butter which\nthe blacksmith's wife had given him, he continued his way and, as the sun\nwas setting, attained the summit of the second mountain, which was the\nhighest far and near.\n\nOnce more he beheld the river which, sparkling and bright, wound through\nthe green plain like a silver snake. Smaller hills covered with forests\nfell away on all sides and the tops of the trees caught the radiance of\nthe sinking sun. Over the snow-fields of the further mountain-ranges, a\nrosy shimmer spread that made him think of the peach blossoms at home; a\npurple mist obscured the rocky peaks behind him and there, far away to\nthe south, was a tiny speck of blue. That might be his own dear lake,\nwhich he was never to see again. It was all so wonderfully beautiful and\nhis heart filled to overflowing with memories and hopes. Neither to the\nright nor to the left, whither he turned his eyes, were there any\nboundaries to be seen. How wide, how immeasurably wide was the world\nwhich, in the future, was to be his home, in the place of the small\nwalled garden of the castle. Two eagles were floating round in circles\nunder the softly-glowing fleecy clouds, and George said to himself that\nhe was as free and untrammelled on the earth as they were in the air;\nsuddenly a feeling of delight in his liberty overcame him, he snatched\nhis cap from his head and, waving it aloft, tore down the mountain, as if\nhe were running for a wager. That night he found hospitable housing in\nthe cell of a hermit.\n\nAfter this he derived much pleasure from his wanderings. He was a child\nborn to bad luck--no denial could change that--nevertheless a child\ndestined to good fortune could hardly have been more contented than he.\nOn the thirtieth day of his journeying he met with a travelling companion\nin the lower countries, which he had reached some time before. This was a\nstone-mason's son, who was much older than George, but who accepted the\ngay young vagabond as his comrade. The youth was returning home after his\nwanderings as a journeyman and, as he soon discovered that George was a\nclever, trustworthy boy with all his wits about him, he persuaded him to\noffer himself as apprentice to the stone-mason, who was an excellent\nmaster in his business. His name was Kraft, and he gladly received his\nson's companion as apprentice, George having spent his last groschen that\nvery day, and thus the little prince was turned into a stone-mason's\napprentice.\n\nIn the castle of the Greylocks, meanwhile, there was sorrow and\nlamentation. The boy who had ventured onto the lake with George, managed\nto save his life and returned home the following morning, and to repeated\nquestionings he had only the one answer to make--that he had seen the\nprince drown before his very eyes. With this information the Court had to\ncontent itself; but not the duchess, for a king will give up his throne\nsooner than a mother the hope of seeing her child again. She possessed\nindeed one means by which she could know beyond doubt whether her darling\nwere alive or dead, namely the magic mirror which the fairy had given to\nthe first Wendelin, and in which, ever since, the Greylocks had been able\nto see what they held most dear. In this glass she had seen her husband\nfall from his horse and die. Once again she took it out of the ivory\ncasket in which it was kept; but so long as George sat imprisoned in the\ncave of the evil spirit, nothing was to be seen on its smooth surface.\nThat was ominous, yet she ceased not to hope, and thought: \"If he were\ndead, I should see his corpse.\" She sat the whole night staring in the\nmirror. In the morning a messenger from the army of the Greylocks\narrived, bringing word that the enemy was pressing upon them and that a\nbattle would have to be fought before the fresh troops, which Moustache,\nthe field-marshal, had asked for, could arrive.\n\nThe issue was doubtful, and the duchess would better have everything\nready for her flight and that of the princes, and, in case of the worst,\nto carry with her the crown jewels, the royal seal and a store of gold.\n\nThe chancellor ordered all of these things to be packed in chests and\nwarned the servants not to forget to add his dressing-gown. Then he\nbegged the noble widow to look into the glass and to let him know as soon\nas there was any reflection of the battle.\n\nPresently she saw the two armies fall upon each other, but her longing to\nsee her son overcame her immediately, and behold, there in the glass he\nappeared, seated by the side of an old ragged shepherd and eating bread\nand cheese, his clothes were soaked and there was no possibility of his\nchanging them. This worried her and she at once pictured him with a cold\nor lying helpless in the open air, stricken down by fever or inflammation\nof the lungs. Henceforth she thought no more about the decisive battle,\nand forgot all else during the hours that she sat and followed George's\nmovements. Then she sent for huntsmen, for messengers and for all the\nprofessors who studied geography, botany, or geology, and bade them look\ninto the mirror, and asked them if they knew where those mountains were,\nof which they saw the reflection. The smooth surface showed only the\nimmediate surroundings of the boy, and no one could tell what the\ndistrict was where George wandered. Thereupon she sent messengers towards\nall points of the compass to seek him.\n\nThus half the day passed, and when the chancellor came again in the\nafternoon to inquire after the fortunes of the battle, the duchess was\nfrightened, for she had entirely forgotten the conflict.\n\nShe therefore commanded the mirror to show her again the army and\nMoustache, the field-marshal, who was a cousin of her late husband. She\nbeheld with dismay that the ranks of her soldiers were wavering. The\nchancellor saw it, too; he put his hand to his narrow forehead and cried:\n\n\"Everything is lost! My office, your Highness, and the land! I must to\nthe treasury, to the stables! The enemy--flight--our brave soldiers--I\npray your Highness to keep a watch over the battle! More important\nduties. . . .\"\n\nHe withdrew, and when half an hour later he returned, very red in the\nface from all the orders that he had given, and looked over the duchess'\nshoulder, unperceived into the mirror, he started back and cried out\nangrily, as no true courtier ought ever to allow himself to do in the\npresence of his sovereign: \"By the blood of my ancestors! A boy climbing\na mountain. And there is such dire need to know . . .\"\n\nThe duchess sighed and called the battle once more into view. During the\ntime that she had been watching her son, things had taken a better turn.\nThis pleased her greatly, and the chancellor exclaimed: \"Did I not\nprophesy this to your Highness. The circumstances were such that the\nvictory was bound to be ours. Brave Moustache! I had such confidence in\nhim that I saw the caravans bearing the treasure depart, without a pang\nof uneasiness. Will your Highness be good enough to have them recalled.\"\n\nAfter this the duchess had no further opportunity to see the reflection\nof her boy until the battle was decided and the victory theirs beyond a\ndoubt; then she could use the mirror to gratify the desire of her heart.\n\nWhen George walked along dejectedly, she thought: \"Is that my heedless\nboy?\" and when he looked about him gaily once more to see what mischief\nhe could get into, she rejoiced, yet it troubled her, too, to have him\nappear so free from all grief, she feared that he might have entirely\nforgotten her.\n\nAll the expeditions that she sent in search of him were fruitless; but\nshe knew from the glass that he had become apprentice to a stone-mason\nand had hard work to do. This made her very sad. He was indeed a child\nborn to misfortune, and when she saw him eat out of the same bowl with\nhis companions, food so coarse, that her very dogs would have despised\nit, she felt that the misery into which he had fallen was too deep, too\nawful. Yet, strange to relate, he always seemed gay, despite these ills,\nwhereas Wendelin, the heir to the throne, grew more peevish every day.\n\nThe duchy of this fortunate youth had been enlarged by the late\nsuccessful war, and the assembly of the states of the empire was debating\nwhether it should not be made a kingdom. He possessed everything that it\nwas in the power of man to desire, and yet, with each new month, he\nseemed to become more unhappy and dejected.\n\nWhen the heir to the throne drove out in his gilt coach and the duchess\nheard of the enthusiasm exhibited by the people, or saw him sitting at a\nfeast of pheasants, smacking his lips and drawing the asparagus between\nhis teeth, she reflected on his brother's hard lot and could not help\nfeeling angry with her fortunate son for possessing all the gifts that\nDestiny refused to her poor outcast George.\n\nOnce when the duchess looked in the mirror, she saw George who had\ncarefully taken a clock to pieces, trying to put it together again. A\nmoment later the chancellor and the master of ceremonies came up behind\nher in order to look into the glass also. No sooner had they done so than\nthey set up a loud outcry, and behaved as if the enemy had invaded the\nland again.\n\n\"The poor, miserable, pitiable, ill-starred princeling!\" one of them\nexclaimed. \"A Greylock, it is unheard of, abominable, sacrilegious,\" the\nother moaned. They had indeed beheld a dreadful sight, for they had seen\nthe son of Wendelin XV. beaten over the back by a common workman with a\nstick. The duchess had to witness many similar outrages later when she\nsaw George in the school to which the stone-mason sent his promising\napprentice. Alas! how long the poor child had to bend over his\ndrawing-board and his slate doing dreadful sums, whereas Wendelin only\nstudied two hours a day under a considerate tutor who gently coaxed him\nalong the paths of learning. Everything that seemed difficult was\ncarefully removed from his way, and everything that was unpalatable was\ncoated with sugar before being presented to him. Thus even in school the\nfortunate child trod a path strewn with roses without thorns, and if he\nyawned now and then in his tutor's face, the latter could flatter himself\nthat the young prince yawned much more frequently over what other people\nconsidered pleasures and amusements.\n\nWhen he attained his sixteenth birthday, he was declared to be of age,\nfor princes mature earlier than other men. Soon afterwards he was\ncrowned, not duke, but king, and it was remarked that he held his lace\nhandkerchief oftener than ever to his mouth.\n\nThe state prospered under his government; for his mother and councillors\nknew how to choose men who understood their work and did it well. These\nmen acted as privy council to the king. One of them was put in charge of\nthe army, a second of the Executive, a third of the customs and taxes, a\nfourth of the schools, a fifth exercised the king's right of pardon, a\nsixth, who bore the title the Chancellor of the Council, was obliged to\ndo the king's thinking. To this experienced man was also confided the\nresponsibility of choosing a wife for the young king. He acquitted\nhimself wonderfully well of this duty, for the princess whom Wendelin\nXVI. espoused on his twentieth birthday, was the daughter of a powerful\nking, and so beautiful that it seemed as if the good God must have made a\nnew mould in which to form her. No more regular features were to be seen\nin any collection of wax figures; the princess also possessed the art of\nkeeping her face perfectly unmoved. If anything comic occurred, she\nsmiled slightly, and where others would have wept, and thus distorted\ntheir features, she only let her eyelids fall. She was moreover very\nvirtuous and, though but seventeen, was already called \"learned.\" She\nnever said anything silly, and also, no doubt out of modesty, refrained\nfrom expressing her wise thoughts. Wendelin approved of her silence, for\nhe did not like to talk; but his mother resented it. She would have liked\nto pour her heart out to her daughter-in-law, and to make her son's wife\nher friend and confidante. But such a relationship was impossible; for,\nwhen she tried to share with her daughter the emotions which crowded upon\nher, they rolled off the queen like water off the breast of a swan.\n\nThe people adored the royal pair. They were both so beautiful, and looked\nso noble and princely as they leaned back in the corners of their gilt\ncoach during their drives and gazed into vacancy, as if their interests\nwere above those of ordinary mortals.\n\nYears passed, and the choice of the Chancellor of the Council did not\nturn out to be so fortunate as had at first appeared, for the queen gave\nher husband no heir, and the house of Greylock was threatened with the\ndanger of dying out with Wendelin XVI. This troubled the duchess indeed,\nbut not so much as one would have supposed, for she knew that yet another\nGreylock lived, and the mother's heart ceased not to hope that he would\nreturn one day, and hand down the name of her husband.\n\nShe therefore persisted in sending messengers to those lands where, to\njudge by the costume of the people, the appearance of the country and\nbuildings, as shown in the magic mirror, George was most likely to be\nfound.\n\nOnce she allowed her daughter-in-law to look into the smooth glass with\nher; but never again, for it happened that the queen chanced upon a time\nwhen George, poorly dressed, and with great beads of perspiration on his\nforehead, sat hard at work over his drawing in a miserable room under the\nroof; her delicate nostrils sniffed the air disdainfully, as if afraid\nthat they might be insulted by any odour of poverty, and she said coldly:\n\"And you wish me to believe that person is a brother of my highbred\nhusband? Impossible!\"\n\nAfter this the duchess permitted no one save old Nonna to look into the\nglass; she, however, spent many hours each clay in following the\nmiserable experiences of her unfortunate child. Sometimes indeed it\nseemed to her as if a little happiness were mixed with the misery of his\nexistence, and it also struck her that her little imp of a George was\ngradually growing to be a tall, distinguished-looking man with a noble\nforehead and flashing eyes, whereas Wendelin, despite his beauty and his\ngrey lock, had become fat and red in the face, and looked like a common\nfarmer.\n\nGreat was her solicitude for him, and her heart bled when she saw him\nsuffer, which was not seldom; but then, on the other hand, she often had\nto laugh with him and be merry, when he gave himself up to the strange\nillusion of being happy. And had she ever seen a face so beaming as his\nwas when one day, in a splendid hall, a stately grey-haired man in a long\ngown embraced him and laid a laurel wreath on the design for a building,\nat which she had seen George work. And then he seemed to have gone to\nanother country, and to be living in the midst of the direst poverty, yet\nsomehow the world must have been turned upside down, for he was as\nlighthearted and gay as if Dame Fortune had poured the entire contents of\nher cornucopia over him.\n\nHe lived in a little white-washed room, which was not even floored, but\nonly paved with common tiles. In the evening he ate nothing save a piece\nof bread, with some goat-cheese and figs, and quenched his thirst with a\ndraught of muddy wine which he diluted with water. A squalid old woman\nbrought him this wretched supper, and it cut the duchess to the heart to\nsee him hunt about for coppers enough to pay for it. One day he seemed to\nhave exhausted his store, for he turned his purse upside down and shook\nit, but not the smallest coin fell out.\n\nThis grieved her sorely, and she wept bitterly, thinking of the ease of\nher other son, and resenting the injustice with which blind and cruel\nFortune had bestowed her gifts.\n\nWhen she had dried her eyes sufficiently to be able to see the picture in\nthe mirror once more, she beheld a long low house by the side of which\nthere was a large space roofed over with lattice work. This was covered\nby a luxuriant growth of fig-branches and grape-vine. The moon shed its\nsilver radiance over the leaves and stems, while beneath it a fire cast\nits golden and purple lights on the house, the trellis roof, and the gay\nfolk supping under it.\n\nYoung men in strange garb sat at the small tables. Their faces were\nwonderfully animated and gay. Before each one stood a long-necked bottle\nwound with straw, cups were filled, emptied, waved aloft or clinked. With\nevery moment the eyes of the drinkers grew brighter, their gestures freer\nand more lively; finally one of them sprang up on a table, he was the\nhandsomest of them all,--her own George, and he looked as if he were in\nParadise instead of on this earth, and had been blessed by a sight of God\nand his Heavenly host. He spoke and spoke, while the others listened\nwithout moving until he raised a large goblet and took such a long\ndraught that the duchess was frightened. Then what a wild shout the\nothers sent up! They jumped to their feet, as if possessed, and one of\nthem tossed his cup through the lattice work and vines overhead.\n\nWhen George got down again, young and old surrounded him, a few of them\nembraced him, and then the whole gay company began to sing. Later the\nduchess saw her son whirling madly in the dance with a girl dressed in\nmany colours, who, though beautiful, was undoubtedly only the daughter of\na swineherd, for she was barefoot, and kiss her red lips--which indeed no\nGreylock ought to have done, yet his mother did not begrudge him the\namusement.\n\nIt looked as if that were happiness, but true happiness it could not be,\nfor such was not granted to a child born to misfortune. Yet what else\ncould it be? At any rate, he had the appearance of being the most blessed\nof mortals.\n\nHe was in Italy; of that she became more and more assured, and yet none\nof her messengers could find him. A year later, however, her son began to\nbusy himself with matters that would certainly give some clue to her more\nrecent envoys.\n\nGeorge had left his poverty-stricken room and dwelt now in a handsome\nvaulted chamber. Each day dressed in a fine robe and with a roll of\nparchment in his hand, he superintended a great number of builders. Often\nshe saw him standing on such high scaffolding that he seemed to be\nperched between heaven and earth, and she would be overcome by giddiness,\nthough he seemed proof against it.\n\nOnce in a while a tall princely-looking man, with a beautiful young woman\nand a train of courtiers and servants, came to inspect the building.\nGeorge would be sent for to show the gentleman and the young woman, who\nseemed to be his daughter, the plans, and they had long conversations\ntogether. At these interviews George was not at all servile; and his\ngestures were so manly and graceful, his eyes shone so frankly, yet so\nsweetly and modestly, that his mother yearned to draw him to her heart\nand kiss him; but that, alas! could not be, and little by little it\ndawned upon her that he longed for other lips than hers, for the glances\nthat he bestowed upon the maiden bespoke his admiration, which, the\nduchess noticed, did not seem to displease her.\n\nOnce, during an interview with George, she dropped a rose, and when he\npicked it up, she must have allowed him to keep it, for she gave no sign\nof disapproval when he kissed it and hid it inside the breast of his\ndoublet. The large architectural drawing had screened this little comedy\nfrom curious eyes.\n\nOne evening, in the moonlight, the duchess saw him climb a garden wall,\nwith a lute in his hand, then the sky became overcast, and she could\ndistinguish him no more; she could only see a lighted window where a\nbeautiful girl was standing. The maiden charmed her beyond measure, and\nshe grew hot and cold with the pleasurable anticipation that George might\nwin her for his wife some day and bring her home. But then she reflected\nthat he was a child born to ill-luck, and as such would never be blessed\nwith the love of so exquisite a creature.\n\nWhat she saw in the next few weeks confirmed this opinion. His manner was\nusually decisive, abrupt and self-reliant, but now he seemed to her like\na clock that points to one hour while it strikes another. At the works he\ngave his orders as firmly and decidedly as ever; but as soon as he was\nalone, he looked like a criminal sentenced to death, and either sat bowed\ndown and miserable or else paced up and down the floor restlessly,\ngesticulating wildly. Often when he beat his forehead with the palm of\nhis hand or struck his breast with his fist, his mother was frightened.\n\nOnce, after a garden party, where he had been fortunate enough to walk\nalone for a full hour under a shady pergola with the daughter of the\ngentleman who owned the building in progress, and to kiss her hand many\ntimes, he burst into tears as soon as he was in his own room, and behaved\nso wildly that his mother feared for his reason and wept bitterly also.\njust at this time she ought to have felt nothing but joy, joy, heart-felt\nand unadulterated, for it appeared that the chief of the councillors had\nin truth been more far-sighted, than other people and had not made a\nmistake in his choice of a queen, for she had just borne a son, and,\nmoreover, one that was a true Greylock. His grey lock was indeed somewhat\nthin and lacked the firm curl of the former ones; but every one who was\nnot colour-blind must acknowledge that it was grey.\n\nThe duchess would have liked to rejoice sincerely in her grandchild, but\nher affections were divided, and even when she held it in her arms, she\nyearned for the magic glass and a sight of her unlucky son.\n\nWendelin XVI., who had long been satiated with the pleasures which his\nposition offered him, finding them all flat and insipid, experienced for\nthe first time in twelve years a sensation of delight, like any one else,\nwhen he heard the faint cry of the infant and learned the good news that\nhis child was a son. Hitherto his greatest satisfaction had been to hear\nthe clock strike five when he had imagined that it was only four.\n\nThe child, however, was something entirely new, and his heart, which\nusually beat as slowly as a clock that is running down, quickened its\npulsations whenever he thought of his son. During the first weeks of its\nlife he sat for hours at a time beside the gilt cradle, staring\nthoughtfully through his eye-glass at the future Wendelin XVII. Soon this\noccupation ceased to interest him, and he drifted along once more on the\nsluggish waves of his former existence, from minute to minute, from hour\nto hour.\n\nThe queen, his companion on this placid journey, had grown to be like him\nin many ways. The two yawned as other people breathe. They knew no\ndesires, for as everything they possessed was always the best that could\nbe had, to-morrow could give them nothing better than to-day. Their life\nwas like a long poplar alley through which they wandered lazily side by\nside.\n\nPepe, the major-domo, after Wendelin came to the throne, was made\nbody-servant to the king; he, above all others, was inclined to regard\nhis master, born under a lucky star and possessing everything that one\ncould desire, as a person favoured by Fortune; yet, after he had listened\nto his sighs and murmurs through many a quiet night, he reflected: \"I am\nbetter off in my own shoes.\"\n\nPepe kept his own counsel and confided to no one save old Nonna what he\nknew. She, too, had learned to be discreet and consequently did not\nrepeat his confidences even to the duchess, who had enough to bear\nwithout that additional burden.\n\nHow pale her darling seemed to her when she saw him in the glass! Yet,\neven on the worst days, he was busy at his place in the piazza, where the\ncathedral, which he had been building for three years, was nearing\ncompletion. The greatest energy at that moment was being expended on the\ndome, which rose proudly over the crossing of the nave and transepts.\nWhenever Nonna looked over the duchess' shoulder to get a glimpse of\nGeorge, he was always seen there so long as the sun was in the heavens.\nMany times the hearts of the two women stood still when they saw him\nclimb to the highest point of the scaffolding in order to direct the work\nfrom there. Fate had only to make his foot slip one little inch or decree\nthat a wasp should sting him on the finger to put an end to his\nexistence. The poor mother was doubly anxious because he seemed so\nunconscious of the risk he ran up there and looked about him even more\nboldly and self-reliantly than usual.\n\nThe dome was already perfectly round. Why wasn't it finished, and why\nmust he go on climbing again and again that frightful scaffolding?\n\n\"Nonna, Nonna, you must look, I can stand it no longer,\" she cried one\nday after she had been regarding the glass for a long time. \"Hold me--he\nis going to jump. Nonna, is he safe? I can no longer see.\" And the glass\nshook in her hand.\n\n\"Oh!\" the old woman answered, heaving a sigh of relief, \"there he stands\nas solidly and firmly as the statue of Wendelin I. in the market-place.\nSee. . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, there he is,\" the duchess cried and fell on her knees to thank\nHeaven.\n\nThe nurse continued to look in the glass. Suddenly she shrieked aloud and\nher mistress sank together and covered her face with her hands. \"Has he\nfallen? Is he dead?\" she groaned.\n\nBut Nonna, despite her gout, sprang up and ran to her mistress with the\nmirror in her hand and stammering, half laughing and half crying, like\none drunk yet possessed of his senses: \"George, our George, look. Our\nprince has the grey lock. Here, before my very eyes I saw it grow.\"\n\nThe duchess jumped up, cast one glance into the glass, saw the grey lock\ndistinctly, and then forgetting that she was a princess and Nonna but a\nhumble servant, threw her arms about her and kissed her on the mouth,\nabove which grew so luxuriant a moustache that many a page would gladly\nhave exchanged his young upper lip for her older one. Then the duchess\nreached once more for the mirror to assure herself that her eyes had not\nbeen deceived, but her fingers trembled so with excitement that the glass\nslipped from her hand and fell to the floor where it broke in a thousand\npieces.\n\nWhat a fright it gave them! Fortunately Nonna, after a lifetime spent in\nthe care of babies, had laid aside what we call nerves, else she had\ncertainly fallen in a swoon like her mistress; she was consequently able\nto support the duchess and soothe her with gentle words.\n\nIn the meanwhile the young architect from the staging inspected the stone\nwhich crowned the dome and found that it had been well set. But he had no\nsuspicion that the grey lock had grown on his head. Older architects came\nand absorbed his attention. They pressed his hand, praised him and said\nthat he had just finished a marvellous work of art. They examined, with\nhim, the interior of the cathedral, and then appeared the prince for whom\nGeorge had built the church, and to him the architects explained how\nsolid and well proportioned was the dome which had been finished a few\nhours before. The noble prince listened with comprehension; after he was\nsatisfied he drew George to his breast and said: \"I thank, you my friend.\nDespite your youth I entrusted you with a great undertaking and you have\nmore than fulfilled my most sanguine expectations. At my age we count it\ngain not to be disappointed, and the day when our expectations are not\nonly fulfilled, but surpassed we number among our festivals. Your work\nwill be an ornament to the city and state, and will insure you undying\nfame. Take this from a man who wishes you well.\"\n\nThe prince took the golden chain from his own neck, hung it about\nGeorge's, and continued:\n\n\"Art is easy, some say; others, that it is difficult. Both are right. It\nmust be delightful and ennobling to design such a work but the carrying\nout must be laborious and attended with many perplexities. I can see that\nyou have found it so, for only yesterday I remarked with pleasure the\nyouthful glint of your brown hair and today,--no doubt while you were\nsuperintending the laying of the dome's crown,--a lock of hair above your\nleft temple has turned grey, Master Peregrinus.\"\n\nGeorge reeled at this sudden and unexpected fulfilment of the dearest\nwish of his soul. He had gone out into the world under this name of\nPeregrinus and had never betrayed the fact that he was a prince's son.\nFor several years his heart had been overflowing with love for the\ndaughter of the prince and he had known that she reciprocated his\naffection sincerely, yet for the sake of his own family he had battled\nbravely with his passion and had borne his heartache and longing in\nsilence.\n\nProofs had not been wanting to show hint how devoted the prince was to\nhim, and if he had been able to say to his patron, \"I am a Greylock,\" no\ndoubt his lord would gladly have accorded his daughter's hand to him.\nGeorge had repeated this to himself a thousand times, but he had remained\nfirm, had kept his counsel and had not ceased to hope that by righteous\nenergy and industry he might accomplish the \"great and good task\" which\nhad been required of him in Misdral's cave. When his grey lock grew, the\nfairy Clementine's fish had said to him, then would he know that he had\nachieved something great and good, and that he might bear once more the\nname of his proud race and return home without exposing his family to any\ndanger. He had reached the goal, the task was completed, he might call\nhimself a Greylock once more, for the curl which was the pride of his\nrace now adorned his head too.\n\nThe prince watched him turn very red then very pale and finally said\ninquiringly \"Well, my Peregrinus?\" The architect fell upon his knee,\nkissed the prince's hand and cried:\n\n\"I am not Peregrinus. Henceforth I am a Greylock, I am George, the second\nson of the Duke Wendelin, of whom you have heard, and I must confess to\nyou, my noble lord, that I love your daughter Speranza, and I would not\nexchange places with any god if you would but give us your blessing.\"\n\n\"A Greylock!\" the prince exclaimed. \"Truly, truly this day should not be\nreckoned among the feast-days but should be regarded as the best day in\nall the year. Come to my arms, my dear, my worthy son!\"\n\nAn hour later the architect held the princess in his arms. What a wedding\nthey had! George did not return immediately to his own home. He wrote to\nhis mother that he was alive and well and intended to visit her in\ncompany with his young bride as soon as he had finished a great work with\nwhich he was occupied. He sent with the letter a portrait of his wife and\nwhen the duchess saw it and read the letter she grew ten years younger\nfrom pure delight, and old Nonna at least five. When Wendelin XVI. was\ninformed that his brother still lived, he smiled and the queen followed\nhis example, but as soon as they were alone she cried: \"The land of the\nGreylocks will be smaller than ever now and even before it was not so\ngreat as my father's.\"\n\nWhen Speranza presented her husband with a son the duchess and her\nfaithful attendant Nonna went to Italy, and the meeting between mother\nand son was beyond all measure joyful. Two months she spent with her dear\nchildren and then she returned home, George and his wife having promised\nto visit her the following year in the capital of the Greylocks.\n\nThe cathedral was finished. There was no finer building under the sun and\nartists and connoisseurs flocked from all parts of the world to see it.\nGeorge received the commendations of the most critical and his name was\nranked among those of the greatest architects.\n\nProud of his work, yet ever modest, he together with his wife and child\nreturned to his home.\n\nHe found great rejoicings in progress when he crossed the frontiers, for\nMoustache, the field-marshal, had just conquered another enemy, and by\nthe conditions of the treaty of peace another province came into the\npossession of the Greylocks, making their kingdom then as large as that\nof the queen's father.\n\nWhen George entered the capital he found flags flying, heard bells\npealing, the explosions of mortars and firing of cannon, sometimes one\nshot after another, sometimes a deafening salvo of many guns together,\nand a thousand voices shouting \"Hurrah, hurrah! Long live Wendelin the\nLucky!\"\n\nThe Assembly of States had decided the day before that the king by whom\nthe land had been so wonderfully extended, and whose government had been\nso prosperous that not even a shadow of misfortune had fallen across it,\nshould be called: \"Wendelin the Lucky.\"\n\nThis title of honour was to be seen on all the flags, triumphal arches,\ntransparencies, and even on the ginger-bread cakes in the cook-shops.\n\nGeorge and his lovely wife rejoiced with the other jubilant people, but\nthey were happiest when they were alone with his mother.\n\nWendelin XVI. received his brother and his brother's wife in the great\nreception room, and even went further forward to meet him than the point\nprescribed by the master of ceremonies; the queen made good this\nviolation of etiquette by remaining herself well within the boundaries\nlaid down. After the feast Wendelin went with his brother onto the\nbalcony, and as he stood opposite to George and looked at him more\nclosely he let his languid eyelids droop, for it seemed to him that his\nbrother was a man of iron, and he suddenly felt as if his own backbone\nwere made of dough.\n\nIn the evening the lake was beautifully illuminated, and the day was to\nend with a boating party on the water enlivened with music and fireworks.\n\nIn the first boat, on cushions of velvet and ermine, sat Wendelin XVI.\nand his queen, in the second George and his beloved wife. His mother\ncould not bear to be separated from these two, or to miss for even an\nhour the happiness of having them with her.\n\nThe weather for the festivals was as perfect as they could have wished.\nThe full moon shone more brilliantly than usual, as if to congratulate\nthe king on his new title, the bells pealed forth their chimes again, a\nchorus of maidens and boys in skiffs followed the state gondola of the\nroyal pair, singing the new song which had just been composed in their\nhonour, and which consisted of twenty-four stanzas, each one ending with\nthe lines:\n\n   \"The luck and glory let us sing Of lucky Wendelin, our king!\"\n\nBy his side sat his wife, who continued her complaints against the\nnewly-found brother, and urged her husband to make investigations as to\nwhether or not this architect were a true Greylock, \"To be sure, both he\nand his son have the grey lock,\" she said, \"but then they both have light\nhair, and the barber's craft has made great strides lately; and certainly\nthat fat-cheeked baby looks as if it belonged in the cradle of a peasant\nrather than in that of a prince.\" Wendelin XVI did not listen to what she\nsaid; his heart was very heavy, and every time one of the bells rang out\nabove the others, or the chorus sang, \"lucky Wendelin, our king,\"\nparticularly distinctly and enthusiastically, he felt as if he were being\njeered at and ridiculed. He longed to cry aloud in his shame and pain,\nand to fly for comfort to his sympathetic mother and strong brother in\nthe other boat. When he stared into the water it seemed as if the fish\nmade fun of him, and if he looked at the sky he imagined the moon made a\nmocking grimace at him, and looked down scornfully at the wretched man\nwhom they called \"fortunate.\" He knew not where to gaze, he withdrew\nwithin himself, and tried to shut his ears, while he wished to Heaven\nthat he could change places with the active sailor opposite who was\nsetting the purple sail with his brawny arms.\n\nA light breeze wafted the royal gondola towards the island where the\nfireworks were to be displayed. The second boat followed at a short\ndistance. George held his mother's hand and his wife's in his own, few\nwords were spoken, but their very silence betrayed the great treasure of\ntheir love and happiness, and spoke more plainly than long discourses how\ndear these three persons were to one another.\n\nThe royal gondola floated quietly past the cliff that separated the\nsouthern from the northern part of the lake; no sooner had the second\nboat approached it, however, than an unexpected and fearful gust of wind\nblew suddenly from the clefts of the rocks and struck the boat, and\nbefore the sailors had time to lower the sail threw it onto its beam\nends. George sprang forward instantly to help the sailors right her, but\na second gust tore away the flapping sail, and capsized the gondola,\nwhich was caught and carried to the bottom by a rushing eddy. Both of the\nwomen rose from the waves at George's side. He grasped his mother, and\nstruggled bravely against the wind and current until he laid her on the\nbeach at the foot of the cliff. Then he swam back as rapidly as he could\nto the place of the accident. His mother was safe, but his wife, his\nbeloved, his all? To rescue her, or to drown with her was his sole idea.\n\nAt that moment he perceived a long golden streak rising and falling with\nthe waves. It was a lock of her hair, her wonderful silken hair. With\nmighty strokes he sped towards it, reached it, grasped it, then his\ntrembling hands felt her body and lifted her up. She breathed, she lived,\nand it depended on him to save her from the evil spirit, from death. With\none arm he held her to him, with the other he parted the waters; but the\nlake seemed to turn to a mighty torrent that bore down upon him with its\nheavy waves. He struggled, he fought with panting breast, yet in vain,\nalways in vain. He felt that his strength was being exhausted. If no one\ncame to his aid, he was lost; he raised his head to look for help.\n\nHe saw his brother's gondola sailing as peacefully and undisturbed from\nstorm or accident as a swan in the moonlight, and the bitter thought\npassed through his mind, that Wendelin was the lucky one, and that he had\nbeen born to misfortune.\n\nHis arm was struggling with the tide once more, and this time more\nsuccessfully. Then Speranza opened her eyes, recognized him, and, kissing\nhim on the forehead, murmured: \"My own love, how good you are!\"\n\nFrom the cliff the duchess called to him: \"George, my best, my only son!\"\nHis heart warmed within him, all his bitterness disappeared, and the\nwaves seemed to rock him and the burden in his arms as in a cradle. The\npicture of his mother floated before his vision, that of his child, and\nof his beautiful work, the great indestructible cathedral, which he had\nerected to the honour of God. He reflected what sweet joy each new spring\nhad brought him, how he had been blessed in his work, what exquisite\ndelight he derived from all that was beautiful in the world. No, no, no.\nOf all the men on this earth, he, the child destined to misfortune, was\nthe happiest. Overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude, he returned his\nwife's kiss. Saved! She was saved! He felt firm ground beneath his feet;\nhe lifted her on high; but, just as he laid her in the strong arms that\nreached down from the cliff to receive her, a high wave caught him and\ndragged him back into the deep, and the waters closed over him.\n\nThe next morning a fisherman found his body. George's wife and mother\nwere saved. The wise men of the land said that the ill-starred child had\nperished, as they had foreseen, and the people echoed their words.\n\nIn the mausoleum of the Greylocks only two places remained empty, and\nthese had to be kept for Wendelin the Lucky and his queen, consequently\nthe ill-omened son might not even rest in the grave of his fathers, and\nGeorge was buried on a green hillside, whence there was a beautiful view\nof the lake and distant landscape.\n\nKing Wendelin the Lucky and his wife lived to a good old age. After the\nking became childish, he ceased to groan and whimper in the night, as he\nhad formerly done. When he died, he was interred next to Queen Isabella,\nin the coldest corner of the marble mausoleum, and no ray of sun ever\nrested on his stone sarcophagus. His son, Wendelin XVII., visited his\nfather's grave once a year, on All Saints' Day, and laid a dry wreath of\nimmortelles on the lid of the coffin.\n\nGeorge's resting-place was surrounded by bushes and flowers. His mother\nand wife and child visited it and cared for it. When the spring came,\nnightingales, redbreasts, finches and thrushes without number sang their\nmerry notes above the head of the unfortunate one who lay there. His son\nGeorge grew to be the pride of his mother, and became a noble prince in\nbeautiful Italy. Centuries have passed since then, yet to-day\nenthusiastic artists still make pilgrimages to the hillside where the sun\nshines so brightly, to lay wreaths on the grave of the great architect\nGeorge Peregrinus of the princely house of the Greylocks.\n\nThey at least do not regard him who lies there as one born to misfortune.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     At my age we count it gain not to be disappointed\n     Had laid aside what we call nerves\n     Like a clock that points to one hour while it strikes another\n     To-morrow could give them nothing better than to-day\n\n\n\n\nTHE NUTS\n\nA Christmas Story for my Children and Grandchildren\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\nThe wounded colonel, whom we were nursing back to health in our house,\nwas not allowed to walk long, and in the after noon, after he had\npottered about a little, he was obliged to rest in the comfortable old\neasy-chair, which was known as grandfather's chair.\n\nWhen twilight fell, our dear guest lighted the last of the three pipes,\nwhich the doctor permitted him to smoke every day, and made a sign to the\nchildren, which the young people obeyed gladly, for they loved to listen\nto his stories.\n\nThe convalescent was under orders not to talk for more than half an hour\nat a time, for his wounds were so severe that our experienced physician\ndeclared it to be contrary to the laws of nature and quite phenomenal\nthat he should be among the living at all.\n\nAs for his stories, they had never failed to hold the attention of his\naudience; this was partly due to the fact that he usually had to break\nthem off at the point where the interest had reached its climax.\nMoreover, the deep voice of the narrator was much gentler than one would\nhave expected, after looking at the broad-shouldered, heavy figure, and\nthere lay in his suppressed, and often whispered tones a secret charm,\nwhich the children were not the only ones to feel; besides which his eyes\nproduced their share of the profound impression, for every emotion that\ndisturbed his easily-excited soul found a reflection therein.\n\nThat the colonel openly preferred our six-year-old Hermy to his brothers\nand sisters was due to the circumstance that the child had once burst\ninto tears at a look from the officer, which the latter employed to call\nthe children to order, if they were inattentive, or exhibited signs of\nunbelief when he had not expected it. After this Hermy was so evidently\nhis darling that there was no further chance for Hermy's younger sister,\nwho had at first promised to be the favourite, and I shall never forget\nthe soft, almost motherly, caressing tones that came from that\ngrey-bearded man with the large round head and strong face, when he\nsought to comfort the child.\n\nIt was remarkable to see how easily this man, who was accustomed to\nobedience, and famous for his bravery and keen energy, could become a\nchild among children. He had lost a beloved wife, a little son, about\nHermy's age, and a young daughter, and no doubt our numerous family\nreminded him of these departed ones. As for his tales, he separated them\ninto distinct categories. Some of them he began with the words: \"Here I\nam,\" and then he held himself strictly to the truth. Others began: \"Once\nupon a time.\" While the former were drawn mostly from his own full and\neventful life, the latter were fairy stories, pure and simple, sometimes\nalready well known, sometimes made up, wherein fairies, ghosts, elves,\ngnomes, goblins and dragons, will-o'-the-wisps, nixies, kelpies and\ndwarfs disported themselves.\n\nChristmas was approaching, and the next day, Christmas-eve, the tree was\nto be lighted. On the twenty-third of December, a little while before the\nhour for story-telling, Hermy came home, and exhibited to his brothers\nthe trifling presents, which he had chosen: an eraser for his father, a\nlead-pencil for his mother, a bag of nuts for his grandmother, and\nsimilar trifles which, though insignificant in themselves, had\nnevertheless exhausted his little store of savings. His elder brothers,\nto whom he had exhibited with great pride these purchases, expressed none\nof the admiration which he had expected, but began to tease him by\ncalling the things \"trash,\" as indeed they were, and poking fun at the\n\"wonderful presents\" of their small brother; they would have been less\ncruel, perhaps, had he been one of their sisters.\n\nKarl wanted to know what their father, who never was known to make a\ndrawing, would do with an eraser, and Kurt added that he did not see the\nuse of giving their grandmother nuts, when she had more in her own garden\nthan all of them put together would receive on ten Christmas-eves.\n\nBright tears gathered in the eyes of the little one, and he cast a\ntroubled look at his despised treasures, in which he had rejoiced so\nheartily only a short time before.\n\nHe began to sob quietly, and saying dejectedly: \"But I hadn't any more\nmoney!\" he stuffed his gifts, shorn of their glamour into his pockets.\n\nThe colonel had watched the scene in silence; now, however, he drew his\nfavourite to him, kissed him, and caressed his fair curls. Then he\ninvited him gaily to sit right close to him on the footstool, and bade\nthe other children to sit down, too, and told Karl and Kurt to keep their\nears wide open.\n\nMy wife and I entered at this moment--we heard later of what had\nhappened--and begged the colonel to allow us to listen also. The\npermission was willingly granted; after the lamp was brought, for it was\nlater than usual, and we had settled ourselves on the sofa, the colonel\nstroked his moustache for some time, and began, after he had gazed\nquietly before him for a moment: \"To-day my story shall be called, 'The\nNuts.' Does that please you, Hermy?\"\n\nThe little one smiled at him expectantly and nodded his head. The colonel\ncontinued:\n\n\"You believe, no doubt, children, that no one ever came back from the\ndead, and that therefore no mortal knows what Heaven looks like, nor\nHell. But I--look at me well--I can tell you something about it.\"\n\nHere he made a short pause while my wife handed him his pipe and a match.\nThe children looked at one another in doubt and suspicion, for this was\nthe first story of the colonel which had not begun with, \"Here I am,\" or,\n\"Once upon a time,\" and they were consequently uncertain whether it was a\ntrue story or one that he had made up. Wolfgang, who is thirteen and my\noldest boy, and who already calls his younger brothers, \"the young\nones,\"--and promises to be a true child of the times, inclined to believe\nit the latter, but even he sat up straighter and looked puzzled as the\ncolonel continued:\n\n\"The two balls that I have in here, and the sabre cut on my\nshoulder,--but you know how and where I received them--to be brief, I\nsank from my horse onto the grass in the afternoon, and not until the\nfollowing morning was I found by the ambulance corps and carried to the\nhospital. There they brought me to life again. In the interim--which\nlasted for the half of a day and one whole night--I was certainly not\nalive like one of you, or any other two-legged creature endowed with five\nsenses.\"\n\nWith these words his penetrating eyes glanced from Karl to Kurt; the\ngirls caught hold of one another's hands and one could plainly read in\ntheir expressions that they considered it rash to be in such close\nproximity to a person who had erstwhile been dead. It was fortunate for\nthem that the resuscitated colonel was so good, and that there was no\ndoubt about his actual existence, which was proved by his voice and the\nsmoke that he puffed into the air during every pause.\n\n\"Yes, children,\" he began anew, \"a great wonder was worked on me, an old\nman. This long body here lay on the bloody ground among groaning men,\ndying horses, broken gun-carriages, ammunition wagons, exploded\nbombshells, and discarded weapons; but my soul--I cannot have been too\nhardened a sinner in this world--my soul was permitted to soar to Heaven.\nOne, two, three, as fast as you can say, 'That is an apple,' or 'The fair\nIna has a pretty doll in her lap,' and it had arrived. And now--I can see\nit in your eyes--you would like to know how it seems in Heaven, and God\nknows I cannot blame you, for it is beautiful, marvellously beautiful,\nonly unfortunately I am not allowed even to attempt its description. That\nmust ever remain a mystery to the living because--but that is no matter,\nand evil would befall me if I were to chatter.\"\n\nAt this point the colonel was interrupted by many expressions of\ndisappointment, but he was resolute, and continued in a peremptory tone:\n\n\"That will do. Description indeed is forbidden to me; but there are\ncertain of my experiences about which I may tell you. So listen! That\nHell lies underneath Heaven you have doubtless heard from some one or\nother. Naturally the holy dead see and hear nothing of the pains of the\nlost, for that would entirely spoil the joys of Paradise for them; but\nnow and then--I believe once a year--it is given to the blessed to look\ndown into Hell. There is, however, one condition in particular attached\nto this privilege. When the dome which conceals Hell from the sight of\nthe angels is opened, it is for the relief of the condemned. God in his\nmercy has decreed that the saints shall look down into the abyss in order\nto tell St. Peter if they see among the damned any one from whom they\nhave received any benefit, or of whom they have even heard any good. If\nthe keeper of Heaven's gate is pleased with the generous action which the\nlost soul performed while on earth, he has the power of shortening the\ntime of punishment, or can even pardon it altogether, and bid it enter\ninto Paradise.\n\n\"As for me, I arrived in Paradise on a day when Hell was open to view,\nand came to know, thereby, many strange things. Ah! That was the hardest\npart of my story; I trust that you have understood it?\"\n\nThe narrator's glance sought the children's eyes once more; but this time\nquestioningly rather than peremptorily. When the young lips all cried\n\"yes,\" and \"of course,\" he smiled, nodded his massive head amiably, and\ncontinued:\n\n\"That the angels are full of pity, and glad to relieve the misery of the\nunfortunate, whoever they are, and wherever they may be, goes without\nsaying, and it will not be necessary to tell you how diligently they\nsought to remember some one good deed that might redound to the credit of\none of the lost. But St. Peter is a mild and just judge, and the gleaning\nyielded but a small return, for only a few of the angels could recall any\nact that was worth mentioning. It was also granted to me to look into the\nplace of torment, and the things I saw there were too awful. Picture it\nto yourself as you will! When I recovered from the horror that fell upon\nme, I recognized many men and women whom I had known on earth. Among them\nwere many whom I had been accustomed to consider pious and virtuous, and\nwhom I had expected to find in a high place in Heaven, rather than there\nbelow, and yet of those very persons the Elect could recall the fewest\ndeeds that had been done from purely generous motives. An act was\nmentioned of this one or that, which on the surface seemed good,\nsometimes even great,--but there on high the springs of human actions are\nopen to view, as well as the real end, which the author had in mind, and\nthese were always such that those who had performed the best deeds could\nbe accredited with the least charitable intention. Their pious works had\nalways been executed in order to make them conspicuous in the eyes of\nmen, or to attain for themselves some distinction, or to flatter their\nvanity, or to arouse the envy of their neighbours, or to contribute in\nsome indirect way to the increase of their riches. Perhaps you may not\naltogether understand what I mean; but no matter, your mother may explain\nas much as she thinks good for you.\n\n\"The poor things who were disappointed, as well as the unfortunate ones\nfor whom no voice was raised, made me very unhappy; but I could do\nnothing for them.\n\n\"Among the latter I noticed a woman whom I had known well on earth, and\nwho deserved to be among the lost, I thought. I had never anticipated any\nother sentence for her. You do not understand, children, what a cold\nheart is; but hers had been either ice or stone. Although she had\npossessed more than was needed to gratify her own wants, she could never\nbe moved by the most touching appeals of the poorest to relieve their\ndistress. She had used other people to satisfy her selfish desires and\nthen discarded them ruthlessly. She had gone through life without loving\none single soul--of that I felt convinced--and no one had loved her, and\nshe had died unregretted. She must have been as wretched on earth as she\nwas there in Hell; for which of us can be happy here, if we do not love\nand are not loved?\n\n\"'There is no chance of a voice being raised in her favour,' I said to\nmyself. But I was wrong; for at that moment a lovely angel-child flew\npast me on its blue and white wings. Without any sign of fear it flew\ndirect to St. Peter, who looked formidable enough with his long beard and\ngreat keys, and, pointing with its little forefinger to the hard-hearted\nwoman, cried: 'She once gave me a handful of nuts.'\n\n\"'Really,' answered the keeper of Heaven. 'That was not much, and yet I\nam surprised; for that woman would not part with so much as a pin, during\nher life. But you little one, who were you on earth?'\n\n\"'Little Hannele was my name,' answered the angel. 'I died of starvation,\nand only once did any one give me anything in my life to make me happy,\nand that was that woman yonder.'\n\n\"'Marvellous,' answered Peter, stroking his white beard. 'No doubt the\nnuts were given as a miserly payment of some service you did her.'\n\n\"'No, no,' the angel answered decidedly.\n\n\"'Well, tell us how it happened then,' the apostle commanded, and the\ndear little soul obeyed:\n\n\"'My sick mother and I lived in the city all alone, for father was dead.\nJust before Christmas we had nothing more to eat. So mother, though she\nlay in bed and her head and hands were burning, made some little sheep of\nbits of wood and cotton and I carried them to the Christmas market. There\nI sat on some steps and offered them for sale to the passers-by; but\nnobody wanted them. Hours passed, and it was very cold; the open wound in\nmy knee, which no one saw, pained me so, and the frost in my fingers and\ntoes burned and itched dreadfully. Evening came, the lamps were lighted,\nbut I dared not go home; for only one person had thrown a copper into my\nlap, and I needed more to buy a bit of bread and a few coals. My own\npangs hurt me, but that mother lay at home alone, with no one to hand her\nanything, or support her when her breathing became difficult, hurt me\nstill more. I could hardly bear to sit on the cold steps any longer, and\nmy eyes were blind with tears. A barrel was set down in front of the\nhouse, and while a clerk was rolling it over the sidewalk into the shop,\nthe stream of passers was stopped. That woman there--I remember her\nwell--stood still in front of me. I offered her one of my sheep, and\nlooked at her through my tears. She seemed so hard and stern, that I\nthought: 'She won't give me anything.' But she did. It seemed suddenly as\nif her face grew softer, and her eyes kinder. She glanced at me, and\nbefore I knew it, she had put her hand in the bag which she carried on\nher arm, and thrown the nuts into my lap. The cask had been rolled into\nthe shop by this time, and the throng of people carried her along. She\ntried to stop. It was not easy, and she only did it to toss me a second,\nthird, and fourth handful of the most beautiful walnuts. I can still see\nit all, as if it were to-day! Then she felt in her pocket, probably to\nget some money for me, but the press of people was too strong for her to\nstand against it longer. I doubt if she heard that I thanked her.'\n\n\"Here the angel broke off, and threw a kiss to the condemned woman, and\nSt. Peter asked her how it happened that she, who had been so deaf to all\nappeals from the poor, had been so sweetly generous to the child.\n\n\"The tormented woman answered amid her loud sobs: 'The tearful eyes of\nthe little one reminded me of my small sister, who died a painful death\nbefore I had grown to be hard and wicked, and a strange sensation--I know\nnot how it happened myself--overpowered me. It seemed as if my heart\nwarmed within me, and something seemed to say to me that I would never\nforgive myself as long as I lived, and would be even unhappier than I\nwas, if I did not give the child something to rejoice over at Christmas\ntime. I longed to draw her towards me and kiss her. After I had tossed\nher half of the nuts, which I had just bought, I felt happier than I had\nfor many a day, and I would certainly have given her some money, though\nonly a little . . . .'\n\n\"But Peter interrupted her. He had heard enough, and as he knew that it\nwas impossible for any one in Heaven or Hell to tell an untruth, he\nnodded to her, saying: 'That was, beyond dispute, a good deed, but it is\ntoo small to counterbalance the great weight of your bad deeds. Perhaps\nit may lighten your punishment. Still great riches were meted out to you\non earth, and what were a few nuts to you! The motive that urged you to\nbestow them is pleasing in the sight of the Lord, I acknowledge; but as I\nsaid before, your charity was too paltry for you to be released from your\npains because of it.'\n\n\"He turned to go, but a clear voice of wonderful sweetness held him back.\nIt was that of the Saviour, who advanced with majestic dignity towards\nthe apostle and spoke: 'Let us first hear if the alms-giving of which we\nhave just learned was really too small to plead for leniency towards this\nsinning soul. Let us hear'--turning to the angel--'what became of the\nnuts.'\n\n\"'O dear Saviour,' answered the angel, 'I ate half of them, and I was\ngrateful to you, for I felt that I owed them to your bounty as they were\nmy 'little Christ child' as the people in the city where we lived called\na Christmas present.'\n\n\"'You see, Peter,' the Saviour interrupted the angel. 'Do we not owe it\nto the nuts of that woman that a pure child's soul was led to us? That in\nitself is no small thing! Tell what further happened to you?'\n\n\"'I ate most of them,' the little girl answered, but I had still more to\neat by Christmas-eve; for the people who had looked at me when the woman\nthrew something into my lap were interested in my suffering, and soon I\nhad sold all six sheep, and besides many pennies and groschen, one big\nthaler had flown into my lap. With these I was able to buy mother many\nthings that she stood in sore need of, and, though she died on New Year's\nmorning, she had had many little comforts during her last days.'\n\n\"The Anointed cast another look full of meaning at Peter, when a large\nand beautiful angel, the spirit of the mother of the cherub, began: 'If\nyou will permit me, O, holy Jesus, I, too, would like to say a word in\nfavor of the condemned. Before Hannele came home with the nuts, I lay in\nbed without hope, or help in my great suffering. I had lost all faith,\nfor my prayers had not been heard, and in the bitterness of my heart, it\nseemed that you, who were said to be the friend of the poor on earth, and\nGod the Father, had forgotten us in our misery, in order to overwhelm the\nrich with greater gifts. In my distress, and that of the child; I had\nlearned to curse the day on which we were born. Oh! how wild were my\nthoughts during the time that Hannele was trying to sell the sheep, and\ndid not come home; though I needed her so sorely. I was often so thirsty\nthat my mouth burned as with fire, and the moments when I gasped for\nbreath were frequent, and almost unbearable when no one was there to lift\nme up. I called those people liars who would persuade the poor that they\nhad a merciful Father in Heaven, who looked upon them as his children,\nand cared for them. But when Hannele came home, and lighted the little\nlamp, and I saw her tiny face, where for a long time I had seen no smile,\nbut only pain and grief, now beaming with joy, when I saw the nuts and\nthe other good things which she had brought, and saw her pleasure in\nthem, my belief in thee, O Lord, and in the kind Father returned, and I\nceased not to be grateful to the end. If now, in the glory of thy\nmagnificence, I know bliss unutterable, I owe it to that woman, and to\nthe fact that she was good enough to throw the nuts into Hannele's\napron.'\n\n\"Peter nodded affirmatively. Then he bowed before the Saviour and said:\n'The little gift of the condemned soul has indeed borne better fruit than\nI imagined; yet when I tell you what a great sinner she was on\nearth. . . .'\n\n\"'I know,' the Son of God interrupted him. 'Before we decide upon the\nfate of this woman, let us hear what the child did with the rest of the\nnuts, for we know that she did not eat them all. Now my little angel,\nwhat became of the last of them? Speak on. Gladly will I listen to you.'\n\n\"Hannele began anew: 'After they had buried mother, they sent me into the\ncountry among the mountains, for they said it was not the duty of the\ncity to care for me, but that of the village parish, where my parents\nwere born. So I was taken there. The six nuts that I had saved I took\nwith me to play with. This I most enjoyed doing in the spring, alone on\nthe little strip of grass behind the Poor-house, in which I was the only\nchild. Besides me there were but three old women 'being fed to death,' as\nthe peasants used to say. Two of my companions were blind, and the third\nwas dull-witted and gazed ever straight before her. Not one of them\nnoticed anything that happened around them, but my heart used to grow\nlight when everything about me budded, and sprouted, and burst into\nbloom. My body was always aching but my pains could not lessen my\nenjoyment of the spring. Wherever I looked, men were sowing and planting.\nIt was the first time that I had ever seen it, and the wish came over me\nto confide something to the good earth that would take root, and sprout,\nand grow green and high for me.\n\n\"'So I stuck four of my nuts into the ground. I put them as far apart in\nthe small space as I could, so that if big trees came from my seeds they\nmight not stand in one another's way, but might all enjoy the air and the\nsunshine that I was so thankful for. I saw my seeds sprout, but what\nbecame of them afterwards I did not live to see. Two years after I sowed\nthem a famine fell upon us. The poor weavers who lived in the mountain\nvillage had all they could do to nourish wife and child. There was little\nleft for the Poor-house. As I was already ill I could not stand the\nmisery, and I was the first to die of the dreadful fever caused by\nhunger. Only one of the blind women, and the dull-witted one followed the\nsack in which I was buried--for who would have paid for a coffin? The\nlast two nuts I divided with the old women. Each one of us had a half,\nand how gladly we ate the little morsel, for even a taste of any dainty\nseemed good to us, after we had lived on nothing but bread and potatoes.\nFrom here I watched the other nuts grow to be trees. All four had\nstraight stems and thick crowns. Under one of them that stood near a\nspring, which is now called the Fresh Spring, an old carpenter who came\nto the Poor-house built a bench.'\n\n\"Here another angel interrupted the little narrator with the question:\n'Do you mean the nut-tree in Dorbstadt?' and, receiving an answer in the\naffirmative, he cried: 'I, Master, I am that old carpenter, and during my\nlast summers, I had no greater pleasure than to sit by the Fresh Spring\nunder the nut-tree, and while I smoked my pipe to think of my old wife,\nwhom I was soon to find again with you. In the autumn, too, many a dry\nbrown leaf found its way among the more expensive tobacco ones.'\n\n\"'And I,' cried a former peddler, breaking into the carpenter's story, 'I\nassuredly have not forgotten the nut-tree, where I always set down my\npack when my shoulders were nearly broken, and under whose shade I used\nto rest my weary limbs before entering the village.'\n\n\"'I, too! How often have I stopped under the spreading branches of that\ntree on a hot summer day and found refreshment!' cried a former\npost-messenger of Dorbstadt. A porter who had also lived there added his\npraises.\n\n\"'But the nut-trees were cut down many years ago,' the latter added.\n\n\"'I saw it,' cried the spirit of little Hannele, and one heard from her\ntone how she deplored it. 'They were felled when the Poor-house was given\nup. 'But the great Son of God has now heard what he wished to know.'\n\n\"'No, no,' the Saviour answered, 'I should still like to know what became\nof the wood of these trees.'\n\n\"The voices of several angels were heard at the same moment, for many of\nthe poor weavers of Dorbstadt were to be found in the Heavenly Kingdom.\nSt. Peter, however, bade them to be quiet, and permitted only the one who\nhad last entered the Abode of the Blessed to speak.\n\n\"'I was the village doctor,' this one began, 'and I quitted the earth\nbecause I, too, fell a victim to the pestilence of which many of the poor\npeople were dying, and against which I fought with all my powers, but\nwith small success. I can tell you all that you wish to know, my Master,\nfor, during forty-five years, I devoted my humble services to the sick\npoor there. When Hannele died in our Poor-house--it happened before my\ntime--the misery was even greater than at present. The weavers were\nground down by the large manufacturers, until an energetic man built a\nfactory in our village, and paid them better wages. As the population\nthen increased, and consequently the number of patients, space was\nwanting in which to house them, for the dilapidated Poor-house--whither\nthey were carried--was no longer large enough to accommodate them all.\nTherefore the parish, aided by the owner of the factory, built a hospital\nfor the whole district, and the site of the old Poor-house was chosen for\nit. The beautiful nut-trees which Hannele had planted had to be\ndestroyed. I was sorry to be obliged to give the order, but we needed the\nground where they stood. As we had to be economical in everything, big\nand little, we had planks sawn out of the trees for our use.'\n\n\"At this point another spirit interrupted the physician. 'I have lain in\none of the beds made from the wood. At home I slept on a bundle of straw,\nand very uncomfortable it was when I was shaken by the fever. In the\nhospital all was different, and when I lay in my comfortable bed, I felt\nas if I were already in Heaven.'\n\n\"'And I,' cried another broad-winged angel, 'for ten years I walked with\nthe crutches that were made for me from the nut-tree by the Fresh Spring,\nand old Conrad, below on the earth, is still using them.'\n\n\"'And mine also,' another continued, 'were of the same wood. I had lain\nfor a long time on my back; but after I got them, I learned to walk with\nthem and they enabled me to stand before the loom, and to earn bread once\nmore for my family. That man yonder from Hochdorf has had the same\nexperience, and the wooden leg of William, the toll-gate keeper, who\nentered here shortly before me, was made of wood from the nut-tree.'\n\n\"'I owe it a debt of gratitude, too, but for an entirely different\nservice,' said a beautiful angel, as it bowed its crowned head reverently\nbefore the Son of God. 'My lot below was a very hard one. I was early\nleft a widow, and I supported my children entirely by the work of my\nhands. By dint of great effort I brought them up well, and my three sons\ngrew to be brave men, who took care of themselves, and helped their\nmother. But all three, my Master, were lost to me, taken away by the\nunfathomable wisdom of the Father. Two fell in war, the third was killed\nby the machinery while at his work. That broke my strength, and when they\nbrought me to the hospital I was on the verge of despair, and life seemed\na greater burden than I could bear. Your image, my Saviour, had just been\nfinished by a sculptor, who had carved it from the wood of the nut-tree\nby the Fresh Spring. They put it up opposite to my bed. It represented\nyou, my Lord, on the cross, and your head bowed in agony, with its crown\nof thorns, was a very sorrowful sight. Yet I paid but small heed to it.\nOne morning, however--it was the anniversary of the death of my two dear\nsons, who had lost their lives, fighting bravely side by side for their\nFatherland--on that morning the sun fell upon your sad face, and bleeding\nhands pierced by the nails, and then I reflected how bitterly you had\nsuffered, though innocent, that you might redeem us, and how your mother\nmust have felt to lose such a child. Then a voice asked me if I had any\nright to complain, when the Son of God himself had willingly endured such\ntorments for our sake, and I felt compelled to answer no, and determined\nthen to bear patiently whatever might be laid upon me, a poor, sinful\nwoman. Thenceforth, my Lord, was your image my consolation and, since the\nwood of which it was made came from the tree planted by Hannele near the\nFresh Spring, I owe beyond doubt the better years that followed, and the\njoy of being with you in Paradise, my Saviour, to the nuts which that\ncondemned woman gave to the child.'\n\n\"Humbly she bowed her head again. The Son of God turned to St. Peter,\nsaying: 'Well, Peter?'\n\n\"The latter called to the guardians of Hell: 'Let her go free, the gates\nof Heaven are open to her. How rich and manifold, O Lord! is the fruit\nthat springs from the smallest gift offered in true love!'\n\n\"'You are right,' answered the Saviour, gently, and turned away.\"\n\nThe colonel had talked for a longer time than was allowed him by his\ndoctor, and he needed rest. When he appeared again at supper time, in\norder to help us eat our Christmas carps, he found little Hermy standing\nwith Karl and Kurt before the fire, and he noticed how his favourite's\neyes rested with pleasure on the nuts which he had bought for his\ngrandmother; and how the older boys, who were only too prone to tease\ntheir younger brother, treated him with a certain tenderness, as if they\nhad something to make up for.\n\nAt table we overheard Kurt say to Karl: \"Little Hermy's present for\ngrandmother was not a bad idea,\" to which Karl answered quickly: \"I am\ngoing to put away some of my nuts to-morrow, and plant them in the\nspring.\"\n\n\"To make a pair of crutches for me, or in order that you may go to\nHeaven?\" asked the colonel.\n\nThe boy blushed, and could find no answer; but I came to his rescue, and\nreplied: \"No, his trees shall remind us of you, Colonel, and of your\nstories. When we give, we will, in remembrance of you, give in all love\nand willingness, and when we receive, even the smallest gift, we will\nonly ask in what spirit it was offered.\"\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE SHORT WORKS OF GEORG EBERS:\n\n     Absence of suffering is not happiness\n     Arrogant wave of the hand, and in an instructive tone\n     At my age we count it gain not to be disappointed\n     Buy indugence for sins to be committed in the future\n     Caress or a spank from you--each at the proper time\n     Clothes the ugly truth as with a pleasing garment\n     Couple seemed to get on so perfectly well without them\n     Death itself sometimes floats 'twixt cup and lip'\n     Exceptional people are destined to be unhappy in this world\n     Had laid aside what we call nerves\n     Honest anger affords a certain degree of enjoyment\n     If speech be silver, silence then is gold!\n     Laughing before sunrise causes tears at evening\n     Like a clock that points to one hour while it strikes another\n     Mirrors were not allowed in the convent\n     Ovid, 'We praise the ancients'\n     Pays better to provide for people's bodies than for their brains\n     People see what they want to see\n     Repeated the exclamation: \"Too late!\" and again, \"Too late!\n     Seems most charming at the time we are obliged to resign it\n     To-morrow could give them nothing better than to-day\n     Who watches for his neighbour's faults has a hundred sharp eyes\n     Who gives great gifts, expects great gifts again\n     Wrath has two eyes--one blind, the other keener than a falcon's\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GEORG EBERS, Complete\n\nTHE STORY OF MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD TO MANHOOD\n\n\n\nVolume 1.\n\n\nTranslated from the German by Mary J. Safford\n\n\n\n               TO MY SONS.\n\n        When I began the incidents of yore,\n        Still in my soul's depths treasured, to record,\n        A voice within said: Soon, life's journey o'er,\n        Thy portrait sole remembrance will afford.\n\n        And, ere the last hour also strikes for thee,\n        Search thou the harvest of the vanished years.\n        Not futile was thy toil, if thou canst see\n        That for thy sons fruit from one seed appears.\n\n        Upon the course of thine own life look back,\n        Follow thy struggles upwards to the light;\n        Methinks thy errors will not seem so black,\n        If they thy loved ones serve to guide aright.\n\n        And should they see the star which 'mid the dark\n        Illumed thy pathway to thy distant goal,\n        Thither they'll turn the prow of their life bark;\n        Its radiance their course also will control.\n\n        Ay, when the ivy on my grave doth grow,\n        When my dead hand the helm no more obeys,\n        This book to them the twofold light will show,\n        To which I ne'er forget to turn my gaze.\n\n        One heavenward draws, with rays so mild and clear,\n        Eyes dim with tears, when the world darkness veils,\n        Showing 'mid desert wastes the spring anear,\n        If, spent with wandering, your courage fails.\n\n        Since first your lips could syllable a prayer,\n        Its mercy you have proved a thousandfold;\n        I too received it, though unto my share\n        Fell what I pray life ne'er for you may hold.\n\n        The other light, whose power full well you know,\n        E'en though in words I nor describe nor name,\n        Alike for me and you its rays aye glow--\n        Maternal love, by day and night the same.\n\n        This light within your youthful hearts has beamed,\n        Ripening the germs of all things good and fair;\n        I also fostered them, and joyous dreamed\n        Of future progress to repay our care.\n\n        Thus guarded, unto manhood you have grown;\n        Still upward, step by step, you steadfast rise\n        The oldest, healing's noble art has won;\n        The second, to his country's call replies;\n\n        The third, his mind to form is toiling still;\n        And as this book to you I dedicate,\n        I see the highest wish life could fulfil\n        In you, my trinity, now incarnate.\n\n        To pay it homage meet, my sons I'll guide\n        As I revere it, 'mid the world's turmoil,\n        Love for mankind, which putteth self aside,\n        In love for native land and blessed toil.\n\n                       GEORG EBERS.\n\n        TOTZING ON THE STARNBERGER SEE,\n        October 1, 1892.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nIn this volume, which has all the literary charm and deftness of\ncharacter drawing that distinguish his novels, Dr. Ebers has told the\nstory of his growth from childhood to maturity, when the loss of his\nhealth forced the turbulent student to lead a quieter life, and\ninclination led him to begin his Egyptian studies, which resulted, first\nof all, in the writing of An Egyptian Princess, then in his travels in\nthe land of the Pharaohs and the discovery of the Ebers Papyrus (the\ntreatise on medicine dating from the second century B.C.), and finally in\nthe series of brilliant historical novels that has borne his name to the\ncorners of the earth and promises to keep it green forever.\n\nThis autobiography carries the reader from 1837, the year of Dr. Ebers's\nbirth in Berlin, to 1863, when An Egyptian Princess was finished. The\nsubsequent events of his life were outwardly calm, as befits the\nexistence of a great scientist and busy romancer, whose fecund fancy was\nbased upon a groundwork of minute historical research.\n\nDr. Ebers attracted the attention of the learned world by his treatise on\nEgypt and the Book of Moses, which brought him a professorship at his\nuniversity, Gottingen, in 1864, the year following the close of this\nautobiography. His marriage to the daughter of a burgomaster of Riga took\nplace soon afterward. During the long years of their union Mrs. Ebers was\nhis active helpmate, many of the business details relating to his works\nand their American and English editions being transacted by her.\n\nAfter his first visit to Egypt, Ebers was called to the University of\nLeipsic to fill the chair of Egyptology. He went again to Egypt in 1872,\nand in the course of his excavations at Thebes unearthed the Ebers\nPapyrus already referred to, which established his name among the leaders\nof what was then still a new science, whose foundations had been laid by\nChampollion in 1821.\n\nEbers continued to occupy his chair at the Leipsic University, but, while\nfulfilling admirably the many duties of a German professorship, he found\ntime to write several of his novels. Uarda was published in 1876, twelve\nyears after the appearance of An Egyptian Princess, to be followed in\nquick succession by Homo Sum, The Sisters, The Emperor, and all that long\nline of brilliant pictures of antiquity. He began his series of tales of\nthe middle ages and the dawn of the modern era in 1881 with The\nBurgomaster's Wife. In 1889 the precarious state of his health forced him\nto resign his chair at the university.\n\nNotwithstanding his sufferings and the obstacles they placed in his path,\nhe continued his wonderful intellectual activity until the end. His last\nnovel, Arachne, was issued but a short time before his death, which took\nplace on August 7, 1898, at the Villa Ebers, in Tutzing, on the\nStarenberg Lake, near Munich, where most of his later life was spent. The\nmonument erected to his memory by his own indefatigable activity consists\nof sixteen novels, all of them of perennial value to historical students,\nas well as of ever-fresh charm to lovers of fiction, many treatises on\nhis chosen branch of learning, two great works of reference on Egypt and\nPalestine, and short stories, fairy tales, and biographies.\n\nThe Story of my Life is characterized by a captivating freshness. Ebers\nwas born under a lucky star, and the pictures of his early home life, his\nrestless student days at that romantic old seat of learning, Gottingen,\nare bright, vivacious, and full of colour. The biographer, historian, and\neducator shows himself in places, especially in the sketches of the\nbrothers Grimm, and of Froebel, at whose institute, Keilhau, Ebers\nreceived the foundation of his education. His discussion of Froebel's\nmethod and of that of his predecessor, Pestalozzi, is full of interest,\nbecause written with enthusiasm and understanding. He was a good German,\nin the largest sense of the word, and this trait, too, is brought forward\nin his reminiscences of the turbulent days of 1848 in Berlin.\n\nThe story of Dr. Ebers's early life was worth the telling, and he has\ntold it himself, as no one else could tell it, with all the consummate\nskill of his perfected craftsmanship, with all the reverent love of an\nadmiring son, and with all the happy exuberance of a careless youth\nremembered in all its brightness in the years of his maturity. Finally,\nthe book teaches a beautiful lesson of fortitude in adversity, of\nsuffering patiently borne and valiantly overcome by a spirit that,\ngreatly gifted by Nature, exercised its strength until the thin silver\nlining illuminated the apparently impenetrable blackness of the cloud\nthat overhung Georg Moritz Ebers's useful and successful life.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF MY LIFE.\n\nBy Georg Ebers\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\nBOOK 1.\nI.    -GLANCING BACKWARD.\nII.   -MY EARLIEST CHILDHOOD\nIII.  -ON FESTAL DAYS\nIV.   -THE JOURNEY TO HOLLAND TO ATTEND THE GOLDEN WEDDING\nV.    -LENNESTRASSE.--LENNE--EARLY IMPRESSIONS\n\nBOOK 2.\nVI.   -MY INTRODUCTION TO ART, AND ACQUAINTANCES\nVII.  -WHAT A BERLIN CHILD ENJOYED ON THE SPREE AND GRANDMOTHER'S\nVIII. -THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD\nIX.   -THE EIGHTEENTH OF MARCH\n\nBOOK3.\nX.    -AFTER THE NIGHT OF REVOLUTION\nXI.   -IN KEILHAU\nXII   -FRIEDRICH FROEBEL'S IDEAL OF EDUCATION\n\nBOOK 4.\nXIII. -THE FOUNDERS OF THE KEILHAU INSTITUTE\nXIV.  -IN THE FOREST AND ON THE MOOR.\nXV.   -SUMMER PLEASURES AND RAMBLES\nXVI.  -AUTUMN, WINTER, EASTER, AND DEPARTURE\n\nBOOK 5.\nXVII.  -THE GYMNASIUM AND THE FIRST PERIOD OF UNIVERSITY LIFE\nXVIII. -THE TIME OF EFFERVESCENCE AND MY SCHOOLMATES\nXIX.   -A ROMANCE WHICH REALLY HAPPENED\nXX.    -AT THE QUEDLINBURG GYMNASIUM\n\nBOOK 6.\nXXI.   -AT THE UNIVERSITY\nXXII.  -THE SHIPWRECK\nXXIII. -THE HARDEST TIME IN THE SCHOOL OF LIFE\nXXIV.  -THE APPRENTICESHIP\nXXV.   -THE SUMMERS OF MY CONVALESCENCE\nXXVI.  -CONTINUANCE OF CONVALESCENCE AND THE FIRST NOVEL\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF MY LIFE.\n\n\nBOOK 1.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nGLANCING BACKWARD.\n\nThough I was born in Berlin, it was also in the country. True, it was\nfifty-five years ago; for my birthday was March 1, 1837, and at that time\nthe house--[No. 4 Thiergartenstrasse]--where I slept and played during\nthe first years of my childhood possessed, besides a field and a meadow,\nan orchard and dense shrubbery, even a hill and a pond. Three big horses,\nthe property of the owner of our residence, stood in the stable, and the\nlowing of a cow, usually an unfamiliar sound to Berlin children, blended\nwith my earliest recollections.\n\nThe Thiergartenstrasse--along which in those days on sunny mornings, a\nthrong of people on foot, on horseback, and in carriages constantly moved\nto and fro--ran past the front of these spacious grounds, whose rear was\nbounded by a piece of water then called the \"Schafgraben,\" and which,\nspite of the duckweed that covered it with a dark-green network of\nleafage, was used for boating in light skiffs.\n\nNow a strongly built wall of masonry lines the banks of this ditch, which\nhas been transformed into a deep canal bordered by the handsome houses of\nthe Konigin Augustastrasse, and along which pass countless heavily laden\nbarges called by the Berliners \"Zillen.\"\n\nThe land where I played in my childhood has long been occupied by the\nMatthaikirche, the pretty street which bears the same name, and a portion\nof Konigin Augustastrasse, but the house which we occupied and its larger\nneighbour are still surrounded by a fine garden.\n\nThis was an Eden for city children, and my mother had chosen it because\nshe beheld it in imagination flowing with the true Garden of Paradise\nrivers of health and freedom for her little ones.\n\nMy father died on the 14th of February, 1837, and on the 1st of March of\nthe same year I was born, a fortnight after the death of the man in whom\nmy mother was bereft of both husband and lover. So I am what is termed a\n\"posthumous\" child. This is certainly a sorrowful fate; but though there\nwere many hours, especially in the later years of my life, in which I\nlonged for a father, it often seemed to me a noble destiny and one worthy\nof the deepest gratitude to have been appointed, from the first moment of\nmy existence, to one of the happiest tasks, that of consolation and\ncheer.\n\nIt was to soothe a mother's heartbreak that I came in the saddest hours\nof her life, and, though my locks are now grey, I have not forgotten the\njoyful moments in which that dear mother hugged her fatherless little\none, and among other pet names called him her \"comfort child.\"\n\nShe told me also that posthumous children were always Fortune's\nfavorites, and in her wise, loving way strove to make me early familiar\nwith the thought that God always held in his special keeping those\nchildren whose fathers he had taken before their birth. This confidence\naccompanied me through all my after life.\n\nAs I have said, it was long before I became aware that I lacked anything,\nespecially any blessing so great as a father's faithful love and care;\nand when life showed to me also a stern face and imposed heavy burdens,\nmy courage was strengthened by my happy confidence that I was one of\nFortune's favorites, as others are buoyed up by their firm faith in their\n\"star.\"\n\nWhen the time at last came that I longed to express the emotions of my\nsoul in verse, I embodied my mother's prediction in the lines:\n\n        The child who first beholds the light of day\n        After his father's eyes are closed for aye,\n        Fortune will guard from every threatening ill,\n        For God himself a father's place will fill.\n\nPeople often told me that as the youngest, the nestling, I was my\nmother's \"spoiled child\"; but if anything spoiled me it certainly was not\nthat. No child ever yet received too many tokens of love from a sensible\nmother; and, thank Heaven, the word applied to mine. Fate had summoned\nher to be both father and mother to me and my four brothers and\nsisters-one little brother, her second child, had died in infancy--and\nshe proved equal to the task. Everything good which was and is ours we\nowe to her, and her influence over us all, and especially over me, who\nwas afterward permitted to live longest in close relations with her, was\nso great and so decisive, that strangers would only half understand these\nstories of my childhood unless I gave a fuller description of her.\n\nThese details are intended particularly for my children, my brothers and\nsisters, and the dear ones connected with our family by ties of blood and\nfriendship, but I see no reason for not making them also accessible to\nwider circles. There has been no lack of requests from friends that I\nshould write them, and many of those who listen willingly when I tell\nromances will doubtless also be glad to learn something concerning the\nlife of the fabulist, who, however, in these records intends to silence\nimagination and adhere rigidly to the motto of his later life, \"To be\ntruthful in love.\"\n\nMy mother's likeness as a young woman accompanies these pages, and must\nspare me the task of describing her appearance. It was copied from the\nlife-size portrait completed for the young husband by Schadow just prior\nto his appointment as head of the Dusseldorf Academy of Art, and now in\nthe possession of my brother, Dr. Martin Ebers of Berlin. Unfortunately,\nour copy lacks the colouring; and the dress of the original, which shows\nthe whole figure, confirms the experience of the error committed in\nfaithfully reproducing the fashion of the day in portraits intended for\nfuture generations. It never fully satisfied me; for it very inadequately\nreproduces what was especially precious to us in our mother and lent her\nso great a charm--her feminine grace, and the tenderness of heart so\nwinningly expressed in her soft blue eyes.\n\nNo one could help pronouncing her beautiful; but to me she was at once\nthe fairest and the best of women, and if I make the suffering Stephanus\nin Homo Sum say, \"For every child his own mother is the best mother,\"\nmine certainly was to me. My heart rejoiced when I perceived that every\none shared this appreciation. At the time of my birth she was\nthirty-five, and, as I have heard from many old acquaintances, in the\nfull glow of her beauty.\n\nMy father had been one of the Berlin gentlemen to whose spirit of\nself-sacrifice and taste for art the Konigstadt Theater owed its\nprosperity, and was thus brought into intimate relations with Carl von\nHoltei, who worked for its stage both as dramatist and actor. When, as a\nyoung professor, I told the grey-haired author in my mother's name\nsomething which could not fail to afford him pleasure, I received the\nmost eager assent to my query whether he still remembered her. \"How I\nthank your admirable mother for inducing you to write!\" ran the letter.\n\"Only I must enter a protest against your first lines, suggesting that I\nmight have forgotten her. I forget the beautiful, gentle, clever,\nsteadfast woman who (to quote Shakespeare's words) 'came adorned hither\nlike sweet May,' and, stricken by the hardest blows so soon after her\nentrance into her new life, gloriously endured every trial of fate to\nbecome the fairest bride, the noblest wife, most admirable widow, and\nmost faithful mother! No, my young unknown friend, I have far too much\nwith which to reproach myself, have brought from the conflicts of a\nchangeful life a lacerated heart, but I have never reached the point\nwhere that heart ceased to cherish Fanny Ebers among the most sacred\nmemories of my chequered career. How often her loved image appears before\nme when, in lonely twilight hours, I recall the past!\"\n\nYes, Fate early afforded my mother an opportunity to test her character.\nThe city where shortly before my birth she became a widow was not her\nnative place. My father had met her in Holland, when he was scarcely more\nthan a beardless youth. The letter informing his relatives that he had\ndetermined not to give up the girl his heart had chosen was not regarded\nseriously in Berlin; but when the lover, with rare pertinacity, clung to\nhis resolve, they began to feel anxious. The eldest son of one of the\nrichest families in the city, a youth of nineteen, wished to bind himself\nfor life--and to a foreigner--a total stranger.\n\nMy mother often told us that her father, too, refused to listen to the\nyoung suitor, and how, during that time of conflict, while she was with\nher family at Scheveningen, a travelling carriage drawn by four horses\nstopped one day before her parents' unpretending house. From this coach\ndescended the future mother-in-law. She had come to see the paragon of\nwhom her son had written so enthusiastically, and to learn whether it\nwould be possible to yield to the youth's urgent desire to establish a\nhousehold of his own. And she did find it possible; for the girl's rare\nbeauty and grace speedily won the heart of the anxious woman who had\nreally come to separate the lovers. True, they were required to wait a\nfew years to test the sincerity of their affection. But it withstood the\nproof, and the young man, who had been sent to Bordeaux to acquire in a\ncommercial house the ability to manage his father's banking business, did\nnot hesitate an instant when his beautiful fiancee caught the smallpox\nand wrote that her smooth face would probably be disfigured by the\nmalignant disease, but answered that what he loved was not only her\nbeauty but the purity and goodness of her tender heart.\n\nThis had been a severe test, and it was to be rewarded: not the smallest\nscar remained to recall the illness. When my father at last made my\nmother his wife, the burgomaster of her native city told him that he gave\nto his keeping the pearl of Rotterdam. Post-horses took the young couple\nin the most magnificent weather to the distant Prussian capital. It must\nhave been a delightful journey, but when the horses were changed in\nPotsdam the bride and groom received news that the latter's father was\ndead.\n\nSo my parents entered a house of mourning. My mother at that time had\nonly the slight mastery of German acquired during hours of industrious\nstudy for her future husband's sake. She did not possess in all Berlin a\nsingle friend or relative of her own family, yet she soon felt at home in\nthe capital. She loved my father. Heaven gave her children, and her rare\nbeauty, her winning charm, and the receptivity of her mind quickly opened\nall hearts to her in circles even wider than her husband's large family\nconnection. The latter included many households whose guests numbered\nevery one whose achievements in science or art, or possession of large\nwealth, had rendered them prominent in Berlin, and the \"beautiful\nHollander,\" as my mother was then called, became one of the most courted\nwomen in society.\n\nHoltei had made her acquaintance at this time, and it was a delight to\nhear her speak of those gay, brilliant days. How often Baron von\nHumboldt, Rauch, or Schleiermacher had escorted her to dinner! Hegel had\nkept a blackened coin won from her at whist. Whenever he sat down to play\ncards with her he liked to draw it out, and, showing it to his partner,\nsay, \"My thaler, fair lady.\"\n\nMy mother, admired and petted, had thoroughly enjoyed the happy period of\nmy father's lifetime, entertaining as a hospitable hostess or visiting\nfriends, and she gladly recalled it. But this brilliant life, filled to\noverflowing with all sorts of amusements, had been interrupted just\nbefore my birth.\n\nThe beloved husband had died, and the great wealth of our family, though\nenough remained for comfortable maintenance, had been much diminished.\n\nSuch changes of outward circumstances are termed reverses of fortune, and\nthe phrase is fitting, for by them life gains a new form. Yet real\nhappiness is more frequently increased than lessened, if only they do not\nentail anxiety concerning daily bread. My mother's position was far\nremoved from this point; but she possessed qualities which would have\nundoubtedly enabled her, even in far more modest circumstances, to retain\nher cheerfulness and fight her way bravely with her children through\nlife.\n\nThe widow resolved that her sons should make their way by their own\nindustry, like her brothers, who had almost all become able officials in\nthe Dutch colonial service. Besides, the change in her circumstances\nbrought her into closer relations with persons with whom by inclination\nand choice she became even more intimately associated than with the\nmembers of my father's family--I mean the clique of scholars and\ngovernment officials amid whose circle her children grew up, and whom I\nshall mention later.\n\nOur relatives, however, even after my father's death, showed the same\nregard for my mother--who on her side was sincerely attached to many of\nthem--and urged her to accept the hospitality of their homes. I, too,\nwhen a child, still more in later years, owe to the Beer family many a\nhappy hour. My father's cousin, Moritz von Oppenfeld, whose wife was an\nEbers, was also warmly attached to us. He lived in a house which he owned\non the Pariser Platz, now occupied by the French embassy, and in whose\nspacious apartments and elsewhere his kind heart and tender love prepared\ncountless pleasures for our young lives.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nMY EARLIEST CHILDHOOD\n\nMy father died in Leipzigerstrasse, where, two weeks after, I was born.\nIt is reported that I was an unusually sturdy, merry little fellow. One\nof my father's relatives, Frau Mosson, said that I actually laughed on\nthe third day of my life, and several other proofs of my precocious\ncheerfulness were related by this lady.\n\nSo I must believe that--less wise than Lessing's son, who looked at life\nand thought it would be more prudent to turn his back upon it--I greeted\nwith a laugh the existence which, amid beautiful days of sunshine, was to\nbring me so many hours of suffering.\n\nSpring was close at hand; the house in noisy Leipzigerstrasse was\ndistasteful to my mother, her soul longed for rest, and at that time she\nformed the resolutions according to which she afterward strove to train\nher boys to be able men. Her first object was to obtain pure air for the\nlittle children, and room for the larger ones to exercise. So she looked\nfor a residence outside the gate, and succeeded in renting for a term of\nyears No. 4 Thiergartenstrasse, which I have already mentioned.\n\nThe owner, Frau Kommissionsrath Reichert, had also lost her husband a\nshort time before, and had determined to let the house, which stood near\nher own, stand empty rather than rent it to a large family of children.\n\nAlone herself, she shrank from the noise of growing boys and girls. But\nshe had a warm, kind heart, and--she told me this herself--the sight of\nthe beautiful young mother in her deep mourning made her quickly forget\nher prejudice. \"If she had brought ten bawlers instead of five,\" she\nremarked, \"I would not have refused the house to that angel face.\"\n\nWe all cherish a kindly memory of the vigorous, alert woman, with her\nround, bright countenance and laughing eyes. She soon became very\nintimate with my mother, and my second sister, Paula, was her special\nfavorite, on whom she lavished every indulgence. Her horses were the\nfirst ones on which I was lifted, and she often took us with her in the\ncarriage or sent us to ride in it.\n\nI still remember distinctly some parts of our garden, especially the\nshady avenue leading from our balcony on the ground floor to the\nSchafgraben, the pond, the beautiful flower-beds in front of Frau\nReichert's stately house, and the field of potatoes where I--the gardener\nwas the huntsman--saw my first partridge shot. This was probably on the\nvery spot where for many years the notes of the organ have pealed through\nthe Matthaikirche, and the Word of God has been expounded to a\ncongregation whose residences stand on the playground of my childhood.\n\nThe house which sheltered us was only two stories high, but pretty and\nspacious. We needed abundant room, for, besides my mother, the five\nchildren, and the female servants, accommodation was required for the\ngoverness, and a man who held a position midway between porter and butler\nand deserved the title of factotum if any one ever did. His name was\nKurschner; he was a big-boned, square-built fellow about thirty years\nold, who always wore in his buttonhole the little ribbon of the order he\nhad gained as a soldier at the siege of Antwerp, and who had been taken\ninto the house by our mother for our protection, for in winter our home,\nsurrounded by its spacious grounds, was very lonely.\n\nAs for us five children, first came my oldest sister Martha--now, alas!\ndead--the wife of Lieutenant-Colonel Baron Curt von Brandenstein, and my\nbrother Martin, who were seven and five years older than I.\n\nThey were, of course, treated differently from us younger ones.\n\nPaula was my senior by three years; Ludwig, or Ludo--he was called by his\nnickname all his life--by a year and a half.\n\nPaula, a fresh, pretty, bright, daring child, was often the leader in our\ngames and undertakings. Ludo, who afterward became a soldier and as a\nPrussian officer did good service in the war, was a gentle boy, somewhat\ndelicate in health--the broad-shouldered man shows no trace of it--and\nthe best of playfellows. We were always together, and were frequently\nmistaken for twins. We shared everything, and on my birthday, gifts were\nbestowed on him too; on his, upon me.\n\nEach had forgotten the first person singular of the personal pronoun, and\nnot until comparatively late in life did I learn to use \"I\" and \"me\" in\nthe place of \"we\" and \"us.\"\n\nThe sequence of events in this quiet country home has, of course,\nvanished from my mind, and perhaps many which I mention here occurred in\nLennestrasse, where we moved later, but the memories of the time we spent\nin the Thiergarten overlooked by our second home--are among the brightest\nof my life. How often the lofty trees and dense shrubbery of our own\ngrounds and the beautiful Berlin Thiergarten rise before my mental\nvision, when my thoughts turn backward and I see merry children playing\namong them, and hear their joyous laughter!\n\n             FAIRY TALES AND FACT.\n\nWhat happened in the holy of holies, my mother's chamber, has remained,\ndown to the smallest details, permanently engraved upon my soul.\n\nA mother's heart is like the sun--no matter how much light it diffuses,\nits warmth and brilliancy never lessen; and though so lavish a flood of\ntenderness was poured forth on me, the other children were no losers. But\nI was the youngest, the comforter, the nestling; and never was the fact\nof so much benefit to me as at that time.\n\nMy parents' bed stood in the green room with the bright carpet. It had\nbeen brought from Holland, and was far larger and wider than bedsteads of\nthe present day. My mother had kept it. A quilted silk coverlet was\nspread over it, which felt exquisitely soft, and beneath which one could\nrest delightfully. When the time for rising came, my mother called me. I\nclimbed joyfully into her warm bed, and she drew her darling into her\narms, played all sorts of pranks with him, and never did I listen to more\nbeautiful fairy tales than at those hours. They became instinct with life\nto me, and have always remained so; for my mother gave them the form of\ndramas, in which I was permitted to be an actor.\n\nThe best one of all was Little Red Riding Hood. I played the little girl\nwho goes into the wood, and she was the wolf. When the wicked beast had\ndisguised itself in the grandmother's cap I not only asked the regulation\nquestions: \"Grandmother, what makes you have such big eyes? Grandmother,\nwhy is your skin so rough?\" etc., but invented new ones to defer the\ngrand final effect, which followed the words, \"Grandmother, why do you\nhave such big, sharp teeth?\" and the answer, \"So that I can eat you,\"\nwhereupon the wolf sprang on me and devoured me--with kisses.\n\nAnother time I was Snow-White and she the wicked step-mother, and also\nthe hunter, the dwarf, and the handsome prince who married her.\n\nHow real this merry sport made the distress of persecuted innocence, the\nterrors and charm of the forest, the joys and splendours of the fairy\nrealm! If the flowers in the garden had raised their voices in song, if\nthe birds on the boughs had called and spoken to me--nay, if a tree had\nchanged into a beautiful fairy, or the toad in the damp path of our\nshaded avenue into a witch--it would have seemed only natural.\n\nIt is a singular thing that actual events which happened in those early\ndays have largely vanished from my memory; but the fairy tales I heard\nand secretly experienced became firmly impressed on my mind. Education\nand life provided for my familiarity with reality in all its harshness\nand angles, its strains and hurts; but who in later years could have\nflung wide the gates of the kingdom where everything is beautiful and\ngood, and where ugliness is as surely doomed to destruction as evil to\npunishment? Even poesy in our times turns from the Castalian fount whose\ncrystal-clear water becomes an unclean pool and, though reluctantly,\nobeys the impulse to make its abode in the dust of reality. Therefore I\nplead with voice and pen in behalf of fairy tales; therefore I tell them\nto my children and grandchildren, and have even written a volume of them\nmyself.\n\nHow perverse and unjust it is to banish the fairy tale from the life of\nthe child, because devotion to its charm might prove detrimental to the\ngrown person! Has not the former the same claim to consideration as the\nlatter?\n\nEvery child is entitled to expect a different treatment and judgment, and\nto receive what is his due undiminished. Therefore it is unjust to injure\nand rob the child for the benefit of the man. Are we even sure that the\nboy is destined to attain the second and third stages--youth and manhood?\n\nTrue, there are some apostles of caution who deny themselves every joy of\nexistence while in their prime, in order, when their locks are grey, to\npossess wealth which frequently benefits only their heirs.\n\nAll sensible mothers will doubtless, like ours, take care that their\nchildren do not believe the stories which they tell them to be true. I do\nnot remember any time when, if my mind had been called upon to decide, I\nshould have thought that anything I invented myself had really happened;\nbut I know that we were often unable to distinguish whether the plausible\ntale related by some one else belonged to the realm of fact or fiction.\nOn such occasions we appealed to my mother, and her answer instantly set\nall doubts at rest; for we thought she could never be mistaken, and knew\nthat she always told the truth.\n\nAs to the stories invented by myself, I fared like other imaginative\nchildren. I could imagine the most marvellous things about every member\nof the household, and while telling them--but only during that time--I\noften fancied that they were true; yet the moment I was asked whether\nthese things had actually occurred, it seemed as if I woke from a dream.\nI at once separated what I had imagined from what I had actually\nexperienced, and it would never have occurred to me to persist against my\nbetter knowledge. So the vividly awakened power of imagination led\nneither me, my brothers and sisters, nor my children and grandchildren\ninto falsehood.\n\nIn after years I abhorred it, not only because my mother would rather\nhave permitted any other offence to pass unpunished, but because I had an\nopportunity of perceiving its ugliness very early in life. When only\nseven or eight years old I heard a boy--I still remember his name--tell\nhis mother a shameless lie about some prank in which I had shared. I did\nnot interrupt him to vindicate the truth, but I shrank in horror with the\nfeeling of having witnessed a crime.\n\nIf Ludo and I, even in the most critical situations, adhered to the truth\nmore rigidly than other boys, we \"little ones\" owe it especially to our\nsister Paula, who was always a fanatic in its cause, and even now endures\nmany an annoyance because she scorns the trivial \"necessary fibs\" deemed\nallowable by society.\n\nTrue, the interesting question of how far necessary fibs are justifiable\namong children, is yet to be considered; but what did we know of such\nnecessity in our sports in the Thiergarten? From what could a lie have\nsaved us except a blow from a beloved mother's little hand, which, it is\ntrue, when any special misdeed was punished by a box on the ear, could\ninflict a tolerable amount of pain by means of the rings which adorned\nit.\n\nThere is a tradition that once when she had slapped Paula's pretty face,\nthe odd child rubbed her cheek and said, with the droll calmness that\nrarely deserted her, \"When you want to strike me again, mother, please\ntake off your rings first.\"\n\n          THE GOVERNESS--THE CEMETERY.\n\nDuring the time we lived in the Thiergarten my mother's hand scarcely\never touched my face except in a caress. Every memory of her is bright\nand beautiful. I distinctly remember how merrily she jested and played\nwith us, and from my earliest recollections her beloved face always\ngreets me cheerily. Yet she had moved to the Thiergarten with a heart\noppressed by the deepest sorrow.\n\nI know from the woman who accompanied her there as the governess of the\ntwo eldest children, and became a faithful friend, how deeply she needed\nconsolation, how completely her feelings harmonized with the widow's\nweeds she wore, and in which she is said to have been so beautiful.\n\nThe name of this rare woman was Bernhardine Kron. A native of\nMecklenburg, she united to rich and wide culture the sterling character,\nwarmth of feeling, and fidelity of this sturdy and sympathetic branch of\nthe German nation. She soon became deeply attached to the young widow, to\nwhose children she was to devote her best powers, and, in after years,\nher eyes often grew dim when she spoke of the time during which she\nshared our mother's grief and helped her in her work of education.\n\nBoth liked to recall in later days the quiet evenings when, after the\nrest of the household had retired, they read alone or discussed what\nstirred their hearts. Each gave the other what she could. The German\ngoverness went through our classic authors with her employer, and my\nmother read to her the works of Racine and Corneille, and urged her to\nspeak French and English with her; for, like many natives of Holland, her\nmastery of both languages was as thorough as if she had grown up in Paris\nor London. The necessity of studying and sharing her own rich\nintellectual possessions continued to be a marked trait in my mother's\ncharacter until late in life, and how much cause for gratitude we all\nhave for the share she gave us of her own knowledge and experience!\n\nFraulein Kron always deeply appreciated the intellectual development she\nowed to her employer, while the latter never forgot the comfort and\nsupport bestowed by the faithful governess in the most sorrowful days of\nher life. When I first became conscious of my surroundings, these days\nwere over; but in saying that my first recollections of my mother were\nbright and cheerful, I forgot the hours devoted to my father's memory.\nShe rarely brought them to our notice; a certain chaste reserve, even\nlater in life, prevented her showing her deepest grief to others. She\nalways strove to cope with her sorest trials alone. Her sunny nature\nshrank from diffusing shadow and darkness around her.\n\nOn the 14th of February, the anniversary of my father's death, wherever\nshe might be, she always withdrew from the members of the household, and\neven her own children. A second occasion of sharing her sorrowful emotion\nwas repeated several times every summer. This was the visit to the\ncemetery, which she rarely made alone.\n\nThe visits impressed us all strongly, and the one I first remember could\nnot have occurred later than my fifth year, for I distinctly recollect\nthat Frau Rapp's horses took us to the churchyard. My father was buried\nin the Dreifaltigkeitskirchhof,--[Trinity churchyard]--just outside the\nHalle Gate. I found it so little changed when I entered it again, two\nyears ago, that I could walk without a guide directly to the Ebers family\nvault. But what a transformation had taken place in the way!\n\nWhen we visited it with my mother, which was always in carriages, for it\nwas a long distance from our home, we drove quickly through the city, the\ngate, and as far as the spot where I found the stately pile of the brick\nKreuzkirche; then we turned to the right, and if we had come in cabs we\nchildren got out, it was so hard for the horses to drag the vehicles over\nthe sandy road which led to the cemetery.\n\nDuring this walk we gathered blue cornflowers and scarlet poppies from\nthe fields, bluebells, daisies, ranunculus, and snapdragon from the\nnarrow border of turf along the roadside, and tied them into bouquets for\nthe graves. My mother moved silently with us between the rows of grassy\nmounds, tombstones, and crosses, while we carried the pots of flowers and\nwreaths, which, to afford every one the pleasure of helping, she had\ndistributed among us at the gravedigger's house, just back of the\ncemetery.\n\nOur family burial place--my mother's stone cross now stands there beside\nmy father's--was one of those bounded in the rear by the church yard\nwall; a marble slab set in the masonry bears the owner's name. It is\nlarge enough for us all, and lies at the right of the path between Count\nKalckreuth's and the stately mausoleum which contains the earthly remains\nof Moritz von Oppenfeld--who was by far the dearest of our father's\nrelatives--and his family.\n\nMy mother led the way into the small enclosure, which was surrounded by\nan iron railing, and prayed or thought silently of the beloved dead who\nrested there.\n\nIs there any way for us Protestants, when love for the dead longs to find\nexpression in action, except to adorn with flowers the places which\ncontain their earthly remains? Their bright hues and a child's beaming\nface are the only cheerful things which a mourner whose wounds are still\nbleeding freshly beside a coffin can endure to see, and I might compare\nflowers to the sound of bells. Both are in place and welcome in the\nsupreme moments of life.\n\nTherefore my mother, besides a heart full of love, always brought to my\nfather's grave children and flowers. When she had satisfied the needs of\nher own soul, she turned to us, and with cheerful composure directed the\ndecoration of the mound. Then she spoke of our father, and if any of us\nhad recently incurred punishment--one instance of this kind is indelibly\nimpressed on my memory--she passed her arms around the child, and in\nwhispered words, which no one else could hear, entreated the son or\ndaughter not to grieve her so again, but to remember the dead. Such an\nadmonition on this spot could not fail to produce its effect, and brought\nforgiveness with it.\n\nOn our return our hands and hearts were free again, and we were at\nliberty to use our tongues. During these visits my interest in\nSchleiermacher was awakened, for his grave--he died in 1834, three years\nbefore I was born--lay near our lot, and we often stopped before the\nstone erected by his friends, grateful pupils, and admirers. It was\nadorned with his likeness in marble; and my mother, who had frequently\nmet him, pausing in front of it, told us about the keen-sighted\ntheologian, philosopher, and pulpit orator, whose teachings, as I was to\nlearn later, had exerted the most powerful influence upon my principal\ninstructors at Keilhau. She also knew his best enigmas; and the following\none, whose terse brevity is unsurpassed:\n\n          \"Parted I am sacred,\n          United abominable\"--\n\nshe had heard him propound himself. The answer, \"Mein eid\" (my oath), and\n\"Meineid\" (perjury), every one knows.\n\nNothing was further from my mother's intention than to make these visits\nto the cemetery special memorial days; on the contrary, they were\ninter-woven into our lives, not set at regular intervals or on certain\ndates, but when her heart prompted and the weather was favourable for\nout-of-door excursions. Therefore they became associated in our minds\nwith happy and sacred memories.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nON FESTAL DAYS\n\nThe celebration of a memorial day by outward forms was one of my mother's\ncustoms; for, spite of her sincerity of feeling, she favoured external\nceremonies, and tried when we were very young to awaken a sense of their\nmeaning in our minds.\n\nOn all festal occasions we children were freshly dressed from top to toe,\nand all of us, including the servants, had cakes at breakfast, and the\nolder ones wine at dinner.\n\nOn the birthdays these cakes were surrounded by as many candles as we\nnumbered years, and provision was always made for a dainty arrangement of\ngifts. While we were young, my mother distinguished the \"birthday\nchild\"--probably in accordance with some custom of her native country--by\na silk scarf. She liked to celebrate her own birthday, too, and ever\nsince I can remember--it was on the 25th of July--we had a picnic at that\ntime.\n\nWe knew that it was a pleasure to her to see us at her table on that day,\nand, up to the last years of her life, all whose vocations permitted met\nat her house on the anniversary.\n\nShe went to church on Sunday, and on Good Friday she insisted that my\nsisters as well as her self should wear black, not only during the\nservice, but throughout the rest of the day.\n\nFew children enjoyed a more beautiful Christmas than ours, for under the\ntree adorned with special love each found the desire of his or her heart\ngratified, while behind the family gift-table there always stood another,\non which several poorer people whom I might call \"clients\" of the\nhousehold, discovered presents which suited their needs. Among them, up\nto the time I went as a boy of eleven to Keilhau, I never failed to see\nmy oldest sister's nurse with her worthy husband, the shoemaker Grossman,\nand their well-behaved children. She gladly permitted us to share in the\ndistribution of the alms liberally bestowed on the needy. The seeming\nparadox, \"No one ever grew poor by giving,\" I first heard from her lips,\nand she more than once found an opportunity to repeat it.\n\nWe, however, never valued her gifts of money so highly as the trouble and\ninconveniences she cheerfully encountered to aid or add to the happiness\nof others by means of the numerous relations formed in her social life\nand the influence gained mainly by her own gracious nature. Many who are\nnow occupying influential positions owe their first start or have had the\npath smoothed for them by her kindness.\n\nAs in many Berlin families, the Christmas Man came to us--an old man\ndisguised by a big beard and provided with a bag filled with nuts and\nbonbons and sometimes trifling gifts. He addressed us in a feigned voice,\nsaying that the Christ Child had sent him, but the dainties he had were\nintended only for the good children who could recite some thing for him.\nOf course, provision for doing this had been made. Everybody pressed\nforward, but the Christmas Man kept order, and only when each had\nrepeated a little verse did he open the bag and distribute its contents\namong us.\n\nUsually the Christmas Man brought a companion, who followed him in the\nguise of Knecht Ruprecht with his own bag of presents, and mingled with\nhis jests threats against naughty children.\n\nThe carp served on Christmas eve in every Berlin family, after the\ndistribution of gifts, and which were never absent from my mother's\ntable, I have always had on my own in Jena, Leipsic, and Munich, or\nwherever the evening of December 24th might find us. On the whole, we\nremain faithful to the Christmas customs of my own home, which vary\nlittle from those of the Germans in Riga, where my wife's family belong;\nnay, it is so hard for me to relinquish such childish habits, that, when\nunable to procure a Christmas tree for the two \"Eves\" I spent on the\nNile, I decked a young palm and fastened candles on it. My mother's\npermission that Knecht Ruprecht should visit us was contrary to her\nprinciple never to allow us to be frightened by images of horror. Nay, if\nshe heard that the servants threatened us with the Black Man and other\nhobgoblins of Berlin nursery tales, she was always very angry. The\narguments by which my wife induced me to banish the Christmas Man and\nKnecht Ruprecht seem still more cogent, now that I think I understand the\nhearts of children. It is certainly far more beautiful and just as\neasy-if we desire to utilize Christmas gifts for educational purposes--to\nstimulate children to goodness by telling them of the pleasure it will\ngive the little Christ Child, rather than by filling them with dread of\nKnecht Ruprecht.\n\nTrue, my mother did not fail to endeavor to inspire us with love for the\nChrist Child and the Saviour, and to draw us near to him. She saw in him,\nabove all else, the embodiment of love, and loved him because her loving\nheart understood his. In after years my own investigation and thought\nbrought me to the same conviction which she had reached through the\nrelation of her feminine nature to the person and teachings of her\nSaviour. I perceived that the world as Jesus Christ found it owes him\nnothing grander, more beautiful, loftier, or more pregnant with\nimportance than that he widened the circle of love which embraced only\nthe individual, the family, the city, or, at the utmost, the country of\nwhich a person was a citizen, till it included all mankind, and this\nhuman love, of which my mother's life gave us practical proof, is the\nbanner under which all the genuine progress of mankind in later years has\nbeen made.\n\nNineteen centuries have passed since the one that gave us Him who died on\nthe cross, and how far we are still from a perfect realization of this\nnoblest of all the emotions of the heart and spirit! And yet, on the day\nwhen this human love has full sway, the social problems which now disturb\nso many minds and will permit the brains of our best citizens to take no\nrest, will be solved.\n\n     OTHER OBLIGATIONS TO MY MOTHER, AND A SUMMARY OF THE NEW\n     AND GREAT EVENTS WHICH BEFELL THE GERMANS DURING MY LIFE.\n\nI omit saying more of my mother's religious feelings and relations to\nGod, because I know that it would be contrary to her wishes to inform\nstrangers of the glimpse she afterward afforded me of the inmost depths\nof her soul.\n\nThat, like every other mother, she clasped our little hands in prayer is\na matter of course. I could not fall asleep until she had done this and\ngiven me my good-night kiss. How often I have dreamed of her when, before\ngoing to some entertainment, she came in full evening dress to hear me\nrepeat my little prayer and bid us good-bye!\n\nBut she also provided most carefully for the outward life; nay, perhaps\nshe laid a little too much stress upon our manners in greeting strangers,\nat table, and elsewhere.\n\nAmong these forms I might number the fluent use of the French language,\nwhich my mother early bestowed upon us as if its acquisition was mere\nsport-bestowed; for, unhappily, I know of no German grammar school where\npupils can learn to speak French with facility; and how many\nnever-to-be-forgotten memories of travel, what great benefits during my\nperiod of study in Paris I owe to this capacity! We obtained it by the\nhelp of bonnes, who found it easier to speak French to us because our\nmother always did the same in their presence.\n\nMy mother considered it of the first importance to make us familiar with\nFrench at a very early age, because, when she reached Berlin with a\nscanty knowledge of German, her mastery of French secured numerous\npleasant things. She often told us how highly French was valued in the\ncapital, and we must believe that the language possesses an imperishable\ncharm for Germans when we remember that this was the case so shortly\nafter the glorious uprising against the terrible despotism of France.\nTrue, French, in addition to its melody and ambiguity, possesses more\nsubtle turns and apt phrases than most other languages; and even the most\nGerman of Germans, our Bismarck, must recognize the fitness of its\nphrases, because he likes to avail himself of them. He has a perfect\nknowledge of French, and I have noticed that, whenever he mingles it with\nGerman, the former has some sentence which enables him to communicate in\nbetter and briefer language whatever he may desire to express. What\nGerman form of speech, for instance, can convey the idea of fulness which\nwill permit no addition so well as the French popular saying, \"Full as an\negg,\" which pleased me in its native land, and which first greeted me in\nGermany as an expression used by the great chancellor?\n\nMy mother's solicitude concerning good manners and perfection in speaking\nFrench, which so easily renders children mere dolls, fortunately could\nnot deprive us of our natural freshness and freedom from constraint. But\nif any peril to the character does lurk in being unduly mindful of\nexternal forms, we three brothers were destined to spend a large portion\nof our boyhood amid surroundings which, as it were, led us back to\nNature. Besides, even in Berlin we were not forbidden to play like\ngenuine boys. We had no lack of playmates of both sexes, and with them we\ncertainly talked and shouted no French, but sturdy Berlin German.\n\nIn winter, too, we were permitted to enjoy ourselves out of doors, and\nfew boys made handsomer snow-men than those our worthy Kurschner--always\nwith the order in his buttonhole--helped us build in Thiergartenstrasse.\n\nIn the house we were obliged to behave courteously, and when I recall the\nappearance of things there I become vividly aware that no series of years\nwitnessed more decisive changes in every department of life in Germany\nthan those of my boyhood. The furnishing of the rooms differed little\nfrom that of the present day, except that the chairs and tables were\nsomewhat more angular and the cushions less comfortable. Instead of the\nlittle knobs of the electric bells, a so-called \"bell-rope,\" about the\nwidth of one's hand, provided with a brass or metal handle, hung beside\nthe doors.\n\nThe first introduction of gas into the city was made by an English\ncompany about ten years before my birth; but how many oil lamps I still\nsaw burning, and in my school days the manufacturing city of Kottbus,\nwhich at that time contained about ten thousand inhabitants, was lighted\nby them! In my childhood gas was not used in the houses and theatres of\nBerlin, and kerosene had not found its way to Germany. The rooms were\nlighted by oil lamps and candles, while the servants burned tallow-dips.\nThe latter were also used in our nursery, and during the years which I\nspent at school in Keilhau all our studying was done by them.\n\nMatches were not known. I still remember the tinder box in the kitchen,\nthe steel, the flint, and the threads dipped in sulphur. The sparks made\nby striking fell on the tinder and caught it on fire here and there. Soon\nafter the long, rough lucifer matches appeared, which were dipped into a\nlittle bottle filled, I believe, with asbestos wet with sulphuric acid.\n\nWe never saw the gardener light his pipe except with flint, steel, and\ntinder. The gun he used had a firelock, and when he had put first powder,\nthen a wad, then shot, and lastly another wad into the barrel, he was\nobliged to shake some powder into the pan, which was lighted by the\nsparks from the flint striking the steel, if the rain did not make it too\ndamp.\n\nFor writing we used exclusively goose-quills, for though steel pens were\ninvented soon after I was born, they were probably very imperfect; and,\nmoreover, had to combat a violent prejudice, for at the first school we\nattended we were strictly forbidden to use them. So the penknife played\nan important part on every writing-desk, and it was impossible to imagine\na good penman who did not possess skill in the art of shaping the quills.\n\nWhat has been accomplished between 1837 and the present date in the way\nof means of communication I need not recapitulate. I only know how long a\ntime was required for a letter from my mother's brothers--one was a\nresident of Java and the other lived as \"Opperhoofd\" in Japan--to reach\nBerlin, and how often an opportunity was used, generally through the\ncourtesy of the Netherland embassy, for sending letters or little gifts\nto Holland. A letter forwarded by express was the swiftest way of\nreceiving or giving news; but there was the signal telegraph, whose arms\nwe often saw moving up and down, but exclusively in the service of the\nGovernment. When, a few years ago, my mother was ill in Holland, a reply\nto a telegram marked \"urgent\" was received in Leipsic in eighteen\nminutes. What would our grandparents have said to such a miracle?\n\nWe were soon to learn by experience the number of days required to reach\nmy mother's home from Berlin, for there was then no railroad to Holland.\n\nThe remarkable changes wrought during my lifetime in the political\naffairs of Germany I can merely indicate here. I was born in despotic\nPrussia, which was united to Austria and the German states and small\ncountries by a loosely formed league. As guardians of this wretched unity\nthe various courts sent diplomats to Frankfort, who interrupted their\ncareless mode of life only to sharpen distrust of other courts or\nsuppress some democratic movement.\n\nThe Prussian nation first obtained in 1848 the liberties which had been\nsecured at an earlier date by the other German states, and nothing gives\nme more cause for gratitude than the boon of being permitted to see the\nrealization and fulfilment of the dream of so many former generations,\nand my dismembered native land united into one grand, beautiful whole. I\ndeem it a great happiness to have been a contemporary of Emperor William\nI, Bismarck, and Von Moltke, witnessed their great deeds as a man of\nmature years, and shared the enthusiasm they evoked and which enabled\nthese men to make our German Fatherland the powerful, united empire it is\nto-day.\n\nThe journey to Holland closes the first part of my childhood. I look back\nupon it as a beautiful, unshadowed dream out of doors or in a pleasant\nhouse where everybody loved me. But I could not single out the years,\nmonths, or days of this retrospect. It is only a smooth stream which\nbears us easily along. There is no series of events, only disconnected\nimages--a faithful dog, a picture on the wall, above all the love and\ncaresses of the mother lavished specially on me as the youngest, and the\nmost blissful of all sounds in the life of a German child, the ringing of\nthe little bell announcing that the Christmas tree is ready.\n\nOnly in after days, when the world of fairyland and legend is left\nbehind, does the child have any idea of consecutive events and human\ndestinies. The stories told by mother and grandmother about Snow-White,\nthe Sleeping Beauty, the giants and the dwarfs, Cinderella, the stable at\nBethlehem where the Christ-Child lay in the manger beside the oxen and\nasses, the angels who appeared to the shepherds singing \"Glory to God in\nthe Highest,\" the three kings and the star which led them to the\nChrist-Child, are firmly impressed on his memory. I don't know how young\nI was when I saw the first picture of the kings in their purple robes\nkneeling before the babe in its mother's lap, but its forms and hues were\nindelibly stamped upon my mental vision, and I never forgot its meaning.\nTrue, I had no special thoughts concerning it; nay, I scarcely wondered\nto see kings in the dust before a child, and now, when I hear the summons\nof the purest and noblest of Beings, \"Suffer little children to come unto\nme,\" and understand the sacred simplicity of a child's heart, it no\nlonger awakens surprise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE JOURNEY TO HOLLAND TO ATTEND THE GOLDEN WEDDING.\n\nThe rattle of wheels and the blast of the postilion's horn closed the\nfirst period of my childhood. When I was four years old we went to my\nmother's home to attend my grandparents' golden wedding. If I wished to\ndescribe the journey in its regular order I should be forced to depend\nupon the statements of others. So little of all which grown people deem\nworth seeing and noting in Belgium, Holland, and on the Rhine has\nremained in my memory, that I cannot help smiling when I hear people say\nthat they intend to take children travelling for their amusement and\ninstruction. In our case we were put in the carriage because my mother\nwould not leave us behind, and wanted to give our grandparents pleasure\nby our presence. She was right, but in spite of my inborn love of travel\nthe month we spent on the journey seemed a period of very uncomfortable\nrestlessness. A child realizes only a single detail of beauty--a flower,\na radiant star, a human face. Any individual recollection of the journey\nto Holland, aside from what has been told me, is getting into the\ntravelling carriage, a little green leather Bajazzo dressed in red and\nwhite given to me by a relative, and the box of candies bestowed to take\non the trip by a friend of my mother.\n\nOf our reception in the Belgian capital at the house of Adolphe Jones,\nthe husband of my aunt Henriette, a sister of my mother, I retain many\nrecollections.\n\nOur pleasant host was a painter of animals, whom I afterward saw sharing\nhis friend Verboeckhoven's studio, and whose flocks of sheep were very\nhighly praised. At that time his studio was in his own house, and it\nseems as if I could still hear the call in my aunt's shrill voice,\nrepeated countless times a day, \"Adolphe!\" and the answer, following\npromptly in the deepest bass tones, \"Henriette!\" This singular freak,\nwhich greatly amused us, was due, as I learned afterward, to my aunt's\njealousy, which almost bordered on insanity.\n\nIn later years I learned to know him as a jovial artist, who in the days\nof his youth very possibly might have given the strait-laced lady cause\nfor anxiety. Even when his locks were white he was ready for any\npleasure; but he devoted himself earnestly to art, and I am under\nobligation to him for being the means of my mother's possessing the\nfriendship of the animal painter, Verboeckhoven, and that greatest of\nmore modern Belgian artists, Louis Gallait and his family, in whose\nsociety and home I have passed many delightful hours.\n\nIn recalling our arrival at the Jones house I first see the merry,\nsmiling face--somewhat faunlike in its expression--of my six-foot uncle,\nand the plump figure of his wonderfully good and when undisturbed by\njealousy--no less cheery wife. There was something specially winning and\nlovable about her, and I have heard that this lady, my mother's oldest\nsister, possessed in her youth the same dazzling beauty. At the famous\nball in Brussels this so captivated the Duke of Wellington that he\noffered her his arm to escort her back to her seat. My mother also\nremembered the Napoleonic days, and I thought she had been specially\nfavoured in seeing this great man when he entered Rotterdam, and also\nGoethe.\n\nI remember my grandfather as a stately old gentleman. He, as well as the\nother members of the family, called me Georg Krullebol, which means\ncurly-head, to distinguish me from a cousin called Georg von Gent. I also\nremember that when, on the morning of December 5th, St. Nicholas day, we\nchildren took our shoes to put on, we found them, to our delight, stuffed\nwith gifts; and lastly that on Christmas Eve the tree which had been\nprepared for us in a room on the ground floor attracted such a crowd of\ncurious spectators in front of the Jones house that we were obliged to\nclose the shutters. Of my grandparents' day of honor I remember nothing\nexcept a large room filled with people, and the minutes during which I\nrepeated my little verse. I can still see myself in a short pink skirt,\nwith a wreath of roses on my fair curls, wings on my shoulders, a quiver\non my back, and a bow in my hand, standing before the mirror very much\npleased with my appearance. Our governess had composed little Cupid's\nspeech, my mother had drilled me thoroughly in it, so I do not remember a\nmoment of anxiety and embarrassment, but merely that it afforded me the\npurest, deepest pleasure to be permitted to do something.\n\nI must have behaved with the utmost ease before the spectators, many of\nwhom I knew, for I can still hear the loud applause which greeted me, and\nsee myself passed from one to another till I fled from the kisses and pet\nnames of grandparents, aunts, and cousins to my mother's lap. Of the\nbride and groom of this golden wedding I remember only that my\ngrandfather wore short trousers called 'escarpins' and stockings reaching\nto the knee. My grandmother, spite of her sixty-six years--she married\nbefore she was seventeen--was said to look remarkably pretty. Later I\noften saw the heavy white silk dress strewn with tiny bouquets which she\nwore as a bride and again remodelled at her silver wedding; for after her\ndeath it was left to my mother. Modern wedding gowns are not treasured so\nlong. I have often wondered why I recollect my grandfather so distinctly\nand my grandmother so dimly. I have a clear idea of her personal\nappearance, but this I believe I owe much more to her portrait which hung\nin my mother's room beside her husband's, and is now one of my own most\ncherished possessions. Bradley, one of the best English portrait\npainters, executed it, and all connoisseurs pronounce it a masterpiece.\n\nThis festival lives in my memory like the fresh spring morning of a day\nwhose noon is darkened by clouds, and which ends in a heavy thunderstorm.\n\nBlack clouds had gathered over the house adorned with garlands and\nflowers, echoing for days with the gay conversations, jests, and\ncongratulations of the relatives united after long separation and the\nmirth of children and grandchildren. Not a loud word was permitted to be\nuttered. We felt that something terrible was impending, and people called\nit grandfather's illness. Never had I seen my mother's sunny face so\nanxious and sad. She rarely came to us, and when she did for a short time\nher thoughts were far away, for she was nursing her father.\n\nThen the day which had been dreaded came. Wherever we looked the women\nwere weeping and the eyes of the men were reddened by tears. My mother,\npale and sorrowful, told us that our dear grandfather was dead.\n\nChildren cannot understand the terrible solemnity of death. This is a\ngift bestowed by their guardian angels, that no gloomy shadows may darken\nthe sunny brightness of their souls.\n\nI saw only that cheerful faces were changed to sad ones, that the figures\nabout us moved silently in sable robes and scarcely noticed us. On the\ntables in the nursery, where our holiday garments were made, black\nclothes were being cut for us also, and I remember having my mourning\ndress fitted. I was pleased because it was a new one. I tried to\nmanufacture a suit for my Berlin Jack-in-the-box from the scraps that\nfell from the dressmaker's table. Nothing amuses a child so much as to\nimitate what older people are doing. We were forbidden to laugh, but\nafter a few days our mother no longer checked our mirth. Of our stay at\nScheveningen I recollect nothing except that the paths in the little\ngarden of the house we occupied were strewn with shells. We dug a big\nhole in the sand on the downs, but I retained no remembrance of the sea\nand its majesty, and when I beheld it in later years it seemed as if I\nwere greeting for the first time the eternal Thalassa which was to become\nso dear and familiar to me.\n\nMy grandmother, I learned, passed away scarcely a year after the death of\nher faithful companion, at the home of her son, a lawyer in The Hague.\n\nTwo incidents of the journey back are vividly impressed on my mind. We\nwent by steamer up the Rhine, and stopped at Ehrenbreitstein to visit old\nFrau Mendelssohn, our guardian's mother, at her estate of Horchheim. The\ncarriage had been sent for us, and on the drive the spirited horses ran\naway and would have dashed into the Rhine had not my brother Martin, at\nthat time eleven years old, who was sitting on the box by the coachman,\nsaved us.\n\nThe other incident is of a less serious nature. I had seen many a salmon\nin the kitchen, and resolved to fish for one from the steamer; so I tied\na bit of candy to a string and dropped it from the deck. The fish were so\nwanting in taste as to disdain the sweet bait, but my early awakened love\nof sport kept me patiently a long time in the same spot, which was\nundoubtedly more agreeable to my mother than the bait was to the salmon.\nAs, protected by the guards, and probably watched by the governess and my\nbrothers and sisters, I devoted myself to this amusement, my mother went\ndown into the cabin to rest. Suddenly there was a loud uproar on the\nship. People shouted and screamed, everybody rushed on deck and looked\ninto the river. Whether I, too, heard the fall and saw the life-boat\nmanned I don't remember; but I recollect all the more clearly my mother's\nrushing frantically from the cabin and clasping me tenderly to her heart\nas her rescued child. So the drama ended happily, but there had been a\nterrible scene.\n\nAmong the steamer's passengers was a crazy Englishman who was being\ntaken, under the charge of a keeper, to an insane asylum. While my mother\nwas asleep the lunatic succeeded in eluding this man's vigilance and\nplunged into the river. Of course, there was a tumult on board, and my\nmother heard cries of \"Fallen into the river!\"\n\n\"Save!\" \"He'll drown!\" Maternal anxiety instantly applied them to the\nchild-angler, and she darted up the cabin stairs. I need not describe the\nstate of mind in which she reached the deck, and her emotion when she\nfound her nestling in his place, still holding the line in his hand.\n\nAs the luckless son of Albion was rescued unharmed, we could look back\nupon the incident gaily, but neither of us forgot this anxiety--the first\nI was to cause my mother.\n\nI have forgotten everything else that happened on our way home; but when\nI think of this first journey, a long one for so young a child, and the\nmany little trips--usually to Dresden, where my grandmother Ebers\nlived--which I was permitted to take, I wonder whether they inspired the\nlove of travel which moved me so strongly later, or whether it was an\ninborn instinct. If a popular superstition is correct, I was predestined\nto journey. No less a personage than Friedrich Froebel, the founder of\nthe kindergarten system, called my attention to it; for when I met him\nfor the first time in the Institute at Keilhau, he seized my curly hair,\nbent my head back, gazed at me with his kind yet penetrating eyes, and\nsaid: \"You will wander far through the world, my boy; your teeth are wide\napart.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nLENNESTRASSE.--LENNE.--EARLY IMPRESSIONS.\n\nLennestrasse is the scene of the period of my life which began with my\nreturn from Holland. If, coming from the Brandenburg Gate, you follow the\nThiergarten and pass the superb statue of Goethe, you will reach a corner\nformed by two blocks of houses. The one on the left, opposite to the city\nwall, now called Koniggratz, was then known as Schulgartenstrasse. The\nother, on the right, whose windows overlooked the Thiergarten, bore the\nname in my childhood of Lennestrasse, which it owed to Lenne, the park\nsuperintendent, a man of great talent, but who lives in my memory only as\na particularly jovial old gentleman. He occupied No. 1, and was one of my\nmother's friends. Next to Prince Packler, he may certainly be regarded as\none of the most inventive and tasteful landscape gardeners of his time.\nHe transformed the gardens of Sans-Souci and the Pfaueninsel at Potsdam,\nand laid out the magnificent park on Babelsberg for Emperor William I,\nwhen he was only \"Prince of Prussia.\" The magnificent Zoological Garden\nin Berlin is also his work; but he prided himself most on rendering the\nThiergarten a \"lung\" for the people, and, spite of many obstacles,\nmaterially enlarging it. Every moment of the tireless man's time was\nclaimed, and besides King Frederick William IV, who himself uttered many\na tolerably good joke, found much pleasure in the society of the gay,\nclever Rhinelander, whom he often summoned to dine with him at Potsdam.\nLenne undoubtedly appreciated this honour, yet I remember the doleful\ntone in which he sometimes greeted my mother with, \"Called to court\nagain!\"\n\nLike every one who loves Nature and flowers, he was fond of children. We\ncalled him \"Uncle Lenne,\" and often walked down our street hand in hand\nwith him.\n\nIt is well known that the part of the city on the other side of the\nPotsdam Gate was called the \"Geheimerath-Quarter.\" Our street, it is\ntrue, lay nearer to the Brandenburg Gate, yet it really belonged to that\nsection; for there was not a single house without at least one\nGeheimerath (Privy Councillor).\n\nYet this superabundance of men in \"secret\" positions lent no touch of\nmystery to our cheerful street, shaded by the green of the forest.\nFranker, gayer, sometimes noisier children than its residents could not\nbe found in Berlin. I was only a little fellow when we lived there, and\nmerely tolerated in the \"big boys'\" sports, but it was a festival when,\nwith Ludo, I could carry their provisions for them or even help them make\nfireworks. The old Rechnungsrath, who lived in the house owned by\nGeheimerath Crede, the father of my Leipsic colleague, was their\ninstructor in this art, which was to prove disastrous to my oldest\nbrother and bright Paul Seiffart; for--may they pardon me the\ntreachery--they took one of the fireworks to school, where--I hope\naccidentally--it went off. At first this caused much amusement, but\nstrict judgment followed, and led to my mother's resolution to send her\noldest son away from home to some educational institution.\n\nThe well-known teacher, Adolph Diesterweg, whose acquaintance she had\nmade at the house of a friend, recommended Keilhau, and so our little\nband was deprived of the leader to whom Ludo and I had looked up with a\ncertain degree of reverence on account of his superior strength, his bold\nspirit of enterprise, and his kindly condescension to us younger ones.\n\nAfter his departure the house was much quieter, but we did not forget\nhim; his letters from Keilhau were read aloud to us, and his descriptions\nof the merry school days, the pedestrian tours, and sleigh-rides awakened\nan ardent longing in Ludo and myself to follow him.\n\nYet it was so delightful with my mother, the sun around which our little\nlives revolved! I had no thought, performed no act, without wondering\nwhat would be her opinion of it; and this intimate relation, though in an\naltered form, continued until her death. In looking backward I may regard\nit as a law of my whole development that my conduct was regulated\naccording to the more or less close mental and outward connection in\nwhich I stood with her. The storm and stress period, during which my\neffervescent youthful spirits led me into all sorts of follies, was the\nonly time in my life in which this close connection threatened to be\nloosened. Yet Fate provided that it should soon be welded more firmly\nthan ever. When she died, a beloved wife stood by my side, but she was\npart of myself; and in my mother Fate seemed to have robbed me of the\nsupreme arbitrator, the high court of justice, which alone could judge my\nacts.\n\nIn Lennestrasse it was still she who waked me, prepared us to go to\nschool, took us to walk, and--how could I ever forget it?--gathered us\naround her \"when the lamps were lighted,\" to read aloud or tell us some\nstory. But nobody was allowed to be perfectly idle. While my sisters\nsewed, I sketched; and, as Ludo found no pleasure in that, she sometimes\nhad him cut figures out; sometimes--an odd fancy--execute a masterpiece\nof crocheting, which usually shared the fate of Penelope's web.\n\nWe listened with glowing cheeks to Robinson Crusoe and the Arabian\nNights, Gulliver's Travels and Don Quixote, both arranged for children,\nthe pretty, stories of Nieritz and others, descriptions of Nature and\ntravel, and Grimm's fairy tales.\n\nOn other winter evenings my mother--this will surprise many in the case\nof so sensible a woman--took us to the theatre. Two of our relatives,\nFrau Amalie Beer and our beloved Moritz von Oppenfeld, subscribed for\nboxes in the opera-house, and when they did not use them, which often\nhappened, sent us the key.\n\nSo as a boy I heard most of the operas produced at that time, and I saw\nthe ballets, of which Frederick William IV was especially fond, and which\nTaglioni understood how to arrange so admirably.\n\nOf course, to us children the comic \"Robert and Bertram,\" by Ludwig\nSchneider, and similar plays, were far more delightful than the grand\noperas; yet even now I wonder that Don Giovanni's scene with the statue\nand the conspiracy in the Huguenots stirred me, when a boy of nine or\nten, so deeply, and that, though possessing barely the average amount of\nmusical talent, Orpheus's yearning cry, \"Eurydice!\" rang in my ears so\nlong.\n\nThat these frequently repeated pleasures were harmful to us children I\nwillingly admit. And yet--when in after years I was told that I succeeded\nadmirably in describing large bodies of men seized by some strong\nexcitement, and that my novels did not lack dramatic movement or their\nscenes vividness, and, where it was requisite, splendour--I perhaps owe\nthis to the superb pictures, interwoven with thrilling bursts of melody,\nwhich impressed themselves upon my soul when a child.\n\nFortunately, the outdoor life at Keilhau counteracted the perils which\nmight have arisen from attending theatrical performances too young. What\nI beheld there, in field and forest, enabled me in after life, when I\ndesired a background for my stories, not to paint stage scenes, but take\nNature herself for a model.\n\nI must also record another influence which had its share in my creative\ntoil--my early intercourse with artists and the opportunity of seeing\ntheir work.\n\nThe statement has been made often enough, but I should like to repeat it\nhere from my own experience, that the most numerous and best impulses\nwhich urge the author to artistic development come from his childhood.\nThis law, which results from observing the life and works of the greatest\nwriters, has shown itself very distinctly in a minor one like myself.\n\nThere was certainly no lack of varied stimulus during this early period\nof my existence; but when I look back upon it, I become vividly aware of\nthe serious perils which threaten not only the external but the internal\ndevelopment of the children who grow up in large cities.\n\nCareful watching can guard them from the transgressions to which there\nare many temptations, but not from the strong and varying impressions\nwhich life is constantly forcing upon them. They are thrust too early\nfrom the paradise of childhood into the arena of life. There are many\nthings to be seen which enrich the imagination, but where could the young\nheart find the calmness it needs? The sighing of the wind sweeping over\nthe cornfields and stirring the tree-tops in the forest, the singing of\nthe birds in the boughs, the chirping of the cricket, the vesper-bells\nsummoning the world to rest, all the voices which, in the country, invite\nto meditation and finally to the formation of a world of one's own, are\nsilenced by the noise of the capital. So it happens that the latter\nproduces active, practical men, and, under favorable circumstances, great\nscholars, but few artists and poets. If, nevertheless, the capitals are\nthe centers where the poets, artists, sculptors, and architects of the\ncountry gather, there is a good reason for it. But I can make no further\ndigression. The sapling requires different soil and care from the tree. I\nam grateful to my mother for removing us in time from the unrest of\nBerlin life.\n\n        FIRST STUDIES.--MY SISTERS AND THEIR FRIENDS.\n\nMy mother told me I was never really taught to read. Ludo, who was a year\nand a half older, was instructed in the art. I sat by playing, and one\nday took up Speckter's Fables and read a few words. Trial was then made\nof my capability, and, finding that I only needed practice to be able to\nread things I did not know already by heart, my brother and I were\nthenceforth taught together.\n\nAt first the governess had charge of us, afterward we were sent to a\nlittle school kept by Herr Liebe in the neighbouring Schulgarten (now\nKoniggratz) Strasse. It was attended almost entirely by children\nbelonging to the circle of our acquaintances, and the master was a\npleasant little man of middle age, who let us do more digging in his\ngarden and playing or singing than actual study.\n\nHis only child, a pretty little girl named Clara, was taught with us, and\nI believe I have Herr Liebe to thank for learning to write. In summer he\ntook us on long walks, frequently to the country seat of Herr Korte, who\nstood high in the estimation of farmers.\n\nFrom such excursions, which were followed by others made with the son and\ntutor of a family among our circle of friends, we always brought our\nmother great bunches of flowers, and often beautiful stories, too; for\nthe tutor, Candidate Woltmann, was an excellent story-teller, and I early\nfelt a desire to share with those whom I loved whatever charmed me.\n\nIt was from this man, who was as fond of the beautiful as he was of\nchildren, that I first heard the names of the Greek heroes; and I\nremember that, after returning from one of these walks, I begged my\nmother to give us Schwab's Tales of Classic Antiquity, which was owned by\none of our companions. We received it on Ludo's birthday, in September,\nand how we listened when it was read to us--how often we ourselves\ndevoured its delightful contents!\n\nI think the story of the Trojan War made a deeper impression upon me than\neven the Arabian Nights. Homer's heroes seemed like giant oaks, which far\novertopped the little trees of the human wood. They towered like glorious\nsnow mountains above the little hills with which my childish imagination\nwas already filled; and how often we played the Trojan War, and aspired\nto the honor of acting Hector, Achilles, or Ajax!\n\nOf Herr Liebe, our teacher, I remember only three things. On his\ndaughter's birthday he treated us to cake and wine, and we had to sing a\nfestal song composed by himself, the refrain of which changed every year:\n\n       \"Clara, with her fair hair thick,\n        Clara, with her eyes like heaven,\n        Can no more be called a chick,\n        For to-day she's really seven.\"\n\nI remember, too, how when she was eight years old we had to transpose the\nwords a little to make the measure right. Karl von Holtei had a more\ndifficult task when, after the death of the Emperor Francis (Kaiser\nFranz), he had to fit the name of his successor, Ferdinand, into the\nbeautiful \"Gotterhalte Franz den Kaiser,\" but he got cleverly out of the\naffair by making it \"Gott erhalte Ferdinandum.\"--[God save the Emperor\nFrancis.]\n\nMy second recollection is, that we assisted Herr Liebe, who was a\nchurchwarden and had the honour of taking up the collection, to sort the\nmoney, and how it delighted us to hear him scold--with good reason,\ntoo--when we found among the silver and copper pieces--as, alas! we\nalmost always did--counters and buttons from various articles of\nclothing.\n\nIn the third place, I must accuse Herr Liebe of having paid very little\nattention to our behaviour out of school. Had he kept his eyes open, we\nmight have been spared many a bruise and our garments many a rent; for,\nas often as we could manage it, instead of going directly home from the\nSchulgartenstrasse, we passed through the Potsdam Gate to the square\nbeyond. There lurked the enemy, and we sought them out. The enemy were\nthe pupils of a humbler grade of school who called us Privy Councillor's\nyoungsters, which most of us were; and we called them, in return,\n'Knoten,' which in its original meaning was anything but an insult,\ncoming as it does by a natural philological process from \"Genote,\" the\nolder form of \"Genosse\" or comrade.\n\nBut to accuse us of arrogance on this account would be doing us wrong.\nChildren don't fight regularly with those whom they despise. Our \"Knoten\"\nwas only a smart answer to their \"Geheimrathsjoren.\" If they had called\nus boobies we should probably have called them blockheads, or something\nof that sort.\n\nThis troop, which was not over-well-dressed even before the beginning of\nthe conflict, was led by some boys whose father kept a so-called flower\ncellar--that is, a basement shop for plants, wreaths, etc.--at the head\nof Leipzigerstrasse. They often sought us out, but when they did not we\nenticed them from their cellar by a particular sort of call, and as soon\nas they appeared we all slipped into some courtyard, where a battle\nspeedily raged, in which our school knapsacks served as weapons of\noffence and defence. When I got into a passion I was as wild as a\nfighting cock, and even quiet Ludo could deal hard blows; and I can say\nthe same of most of the \"Geheimrathsjoren\" and \"Knoten.\" It was not often\nthat any decided success attended the fight, for the janitor or some\ninhabitant of the house usually interfered and brought it all to an\nuntimely end. I remember still how a fat woman, probably a cook, seized\nme by the collar and pushed me out into the street, crying: \"Fie! fie!\nsuch young gentlemen ought to be ashamed of themselves.\"\n\nHegel, however, whose influence at that time was still great in the\nlearned circles of Berlin, had called shame \"anger against what is\nnatural,\" and we liked what was natural. So the battles with the \"Knoten\"\nwere continued until the Berlin revolution called forth more serious\nstruggles, and our mother sent us away to Keilhau.\n\nOur sisters went to school also, a school kept by Fraulein Sollmann in\nthe Dorotheenstrasse. And yet we had a tutor, I do not really know why.\nWhether our mother had heard of the fights, and recognized the\nimpossibility of following us about everywhere, or whether the candidate\nwas to teach us the rudiments of Latin after we went to the Schmidt\nschool in the Leipziger Platz, at the beginning of my tenth year, I\nneglected to inquire.\n\nThe Easter holidays always brought Brother Martin home. Then he told us\nabout Keilhau, and we longed to accompany him there; and yet we had so\nmany good schoolmates and friends at home, such spacious playgrounds and\nbeautiful toys! I recall with especial pleasure the army of tin soldiers\nwith which we fought battles, and the brass cannon that mowed down their\nranks. We could build castles and cathedrals with our blocks, and cooking\nwas a pleasure, too, when our sisters allowed us to act as scullions and\nwaiters in white aprons and caps.\n\nMartha, the eldest, was already a grown young lady, but so sweet and kind\nthat we never feared a rebuff from her; and her friends, too, liked us\nlittle ones.\n\nMartha's contemporaries formed a peculiarly charming circle. There was\nthe beautiful Emma Baeyer, the daughter of General Baeyer, who afterward\nconducted the measuring of the meridian for central Europe; pretty,\nlively Anna Bisting; and Gretchen Bugler, a handsome, merry girl, who\nafterward married Paul Heyse and died young; Clara and Agnes\nMitscherlich, the daughters of the celebrated chemist, the younger of\nwhom was especially dear to my childish heart. Gustel Grimm, too, the\ndaughter of Wilhelm Grimm, was often at our house. The queen of my heart,\nhowever, was the sister of our playmate, Max Geppert, and at this time\nthe most intimate friend of my sister Paula. The two took dancing lessons\ntogether, and there was no greater joy than when the lesson was at our\nhouse, for then the young ladies occasionally did us the favour of\ndancing with us, to Herr Guichard's tiny violin.\n\nWarm as was my love for the beautiful Annchen, my adored one came near\ngetting a cold from it, for, rogue that I was, I hid her overshoes during\nthe lesson on one rainy Saturday evening, that I might have the pleasure\nof taking them to her the next morning.\n\nShe looked at that time like the woman with whom I celebrated my silver\nwedding two years ago, and certainly belonged to the same feminine genre,\nwhich I value and place as high above all others as Simonides von Amorgos\npreferred the beelike woman to every other of her sex: I mean the kind\nwhose womanliness and gentle charm touch the heart before one ever thinks\nof intellect or beauty.\n\nOur mother smiled at these affairs, and her daughters, as girls, gave her\nno great trouble in guarding their not too impressionable hearts.\n\nThere was only one boy for whom Paula showed a preference, and that was\npretty blond Paul, our Martin's friend, comrade, and contemporary, the\nson of our neighbour, the Privy-Councillor Seiffart; and we lived a good\ndeal together, for his mother and ours were bosom friends, and our house\nwas as open to him as his to us.\n\nPaul was born on the same November day as my sister, though several years\nearlier, and their common birthday was celebrated, while we were little,\nby a puppet-show at the neighbour's, conducted by some master in the\nbusiness, on a pretty little stage in the great hall at the Seiffarts'\nresidence.\n\nI have never forgotten those performances, and laugh now when I think of\nthe knight who shouted to his servant Kasperle, \"Fear my thread!\"\n(Zwirn), when what he intended to say was, \"Fear my anger!\" (Zorn). Or of\nthat same Kasperle, when he gave his wife a tremendous drubbing with a\nstake, and then inquired, \"Want another ounce of unburned wood-ashes, my\ndarling?\"\n\nPaula was very fond of these farces. She was, however, from a child\nrather a singular young creature, who did not by any means enjoy all the\namusements of her age. When grown, it was often with difficulty that our\nmother persuaded her to attend a ball, while Martha's eyes sparkled\njoyously when there was a dance in prospect; and yet the tall and slender\nPaula looked extremely pretty in a ball dress.\n\nGay and active, indeed bold as a boy sometimes, so that she would lead in\ntaking the rather dangerous leap from a balcony of our high ground floor\ninto the garden, clever, and full of droll fancies, she dwelt much in her\nown thoughts. Several volumes of her journal came to me after our\nmother's death, and it is odd enough to find the thirteen-year-old girl\nconfessing that she likes no worldly pleasures, and yet, being a very\ntruthful child, she was only expressing a perfectly sincere feeling.\n\nIt was touching to read in the same confessions: \"I was in a dreamy mood,\nand they said I must be longing for something--Paul, no doubt. I did not\ndispute it, for I really was longing for some one, though it was not a\nboy, but our dead father.\" And Paula was only three years old when he\nleft us!\n\nNo one would have thought, who saw her delight when there were fireworks\nin the Seiffarts' garden, or when in our own, with her curls and her gown\nflying, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes flashing, she played with all\nher heart at \"catch\" or \"robber and princess,\" or, all animation and\ninterest, conducted a performance of our puppet-show, that she would\nsometimes shun all noisy pleasure, that she longed with enthusiastic\npiety for the Sunday churchgoing, and could plunge into meditation on\nsubjects that usually lie far from childish thoughts and feelings.\n\nYet who would fancy her thoughtless when she wrote in her journal: \"Fie,\nPaula! You have taken no trouble. Mother had a right to expect a better\nreport. However, to be happy, one must forget what cannot be altered.\"\n\nIn reality, she was not in the least \"featherheaded.\" Her life proved\nthat, and it is apparent, too, in the words I found on another page of\nher journal, at thirteen: \"Mother and Martha are at the Drakes; I will\nlearn my hymn, and then read in the Bible about the sufferings of Jesus.\nOh, what anguish that must have been! And I? What do I do that is good,\nin making others happy or consoling their trouble? This must be\ndifferent, Paula! I will begin a new life. Mother always says we are\nhappy when we deny self in order to do good. Ah, if we always could! But\nI will try; for He did, though He might have escaped, for our sins and to\nmake us happy.\"\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Full as an egg\n     I plead with voice and pen in behalf of fairy tales\n     Nobody was allowed to be perfectly idle\n     The carp served on Christmas eve in every Berlin family\n     To be happy, one must forget what cannot be altered\n     Unjust to injure and rob the child for the benefit of the man\n     When you want to strike me again, mother, please take off\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GEORG EBERS\n\nTHE STORY OF MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD TO MANHOOD\n\nVolume 2.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nMY INTRODUCTION TO ART, AND ACQUAINTANCES GREAT AND SMALL IN THE\nLENNESTRASSE.\n\nThe Drakes mentioned in my sister's journal are the family of the\nsculptor, to whom Berlin and many another German city owe such splendid\nworks of art.\n\nHe was also one of our neighbours, and a warm friendship bound him and\nhis young wife to my mother. He was kind to us children, too, and had us\nin his studio, which was connected with the house like the other and\nlarger one in the Thiergarten. He even gave us a bit of clay to shape. I\nhave often watched him at work for hours, chattering to him, but happier\nstill to listen while he told us of his childhood when he was a poor boy.\nHe exhorted us to be thankful that we were better off, but generally\nadded that he would not exchange for anything in the world those days\nwhen he went barefoot. His bright, clear artist's eyes sparkled as he\nspoke, and it must indeed have been a glorious satisfaction to have\nconquered the greatest hindrances by his own might, and to have raised\nhimself to the highest pinnacle of life--that of art. I had a dim\nimpression of this when he talked to us, and now I consider every one\nenviable who has only himself to thank for all he is, like Drake, his\nfriend in art Ritschl, and my dear friend Josef Popf, in Rome, all three\nlaurel-crowned masters in the art of sculpture.\n\nIn Drake's studio I saw statues, busts, and reliefs grow out of the rude\nmass of clay; I saw the plaster cast turned into marble, and the master,\nwith his sure hand, evoking splendid forms from the primary limestone.\nWhat I could not understand, the calm, kindly man explained with\nunfailing patience, and so I got an early insight into the sculptor's\ncreative art.\n\nIt was these recollections of my childhood that suggested to me the\ncharacter of little Pennu in Uarda, of Polykarp in Homo Sum, of Pollux in\nThe Emperor, and the cheery Alexander in Per Aspera.\n\nI often visited also, during my last years in Berlin, the studio of\nanother sculptor. His name was Streichenberg, and his workshop was in our\ngarden in the Linkstrasse.\n\nIf a thoughtful earnestness was the rule in Drake's studio, in that of\nProf. Streichenberg artistic gaiety reigned. He often whistled or sang at\nhis work, and his young Italian assistant played the guitar. But while I\nstill know exactly what Drake executed in our presence, so that I could\ndraw the separate groups of the charming relief, the Genii of the\nThiergarten, I do not remember a single stroke of Streichenberg's work,\nthough I can recall all the better the gay manner of the artist whom we\nagain met in 1848 as a demagogue.\n\nAt the Schmidt school Franz and Paul Meyerheim were among our comrades,\nand how full of admiration I was when one of them--Franz, I think, who\nwas then ten or eleven years old--showed us a hussar he had painted\nhimself in oil on a piece of canvas! The brothers took us to their home,\nand there I saw at his work their kindly father, the creator of so many\ncharming pictures of country and child life.\n\nThere was also a member of the artist family of the Begas, Adalbert, who\nwas one of our contemporaries and playmates, some of whose beautiful\nportraits I saw afterward, but whom, to my regret, I never met again.\n\nMost memorable of all were our meetings with Peter Cornelius, who also\nlived in the Lennestrasse. When I think of him it always seems as if he\nwere looking me in the face. Whoever once gazed into his eyes could never\nforget them. He was a little man, with waxen-pale, and almost harsh,\nthough well-formed features, and smooth, long, coal-black hair. He might\nscarcely have been noticed save for his eyes, which overpowered all else,\nas the sunlight puts out starlight. Those eyes would have drawn attention\nto him anywhere. His peculiar seriousness and his aristocratic reserve of\nmanner were calculated to keep children at a distance, even to repel\nthem, and we avoided the stern little man whom we had heard belonged to\nthe greatest of the great. When he and his amiable wife became acquainted\nwith our mother, however, and he called us to him, it is indescribable\nhow his harsh features softened in the intercourse with us little ones,\ntill they assumed an expression of the utmost benevolence, and with what\npenetrating, I might say fatherly kindness, he talked and even jested\nwith us in his impressive way. I had the best of it, for my blond curly\nhead struck him as usable in some work of his, and my mother readily\nconsented to my being his model. So I had to keep still several hours day\nafter day, though I confess, to my shame, that I remember nothing about\nthe sittings except having eaten some particularly good candied fruit.\n\nEven now I smile at the recollection of his making an angel or a spirit\nof peace out of the wild boy who perhaps just before had been scuffling\nwith the enemy from the flower-cellar.\n\nThere was another celebrated inhabitant of the Lennestrasse whose\nconnection with us was still closer than that of Peter Cornelius. It was\nthe councillor of consistory and court chaplain Strauss, who lived at No.\n3.\n\nTwo men more unlike than he and his great artist-neighbour can hardly be\nimagined, though their cradles were not far apart, for the painter was\nborn in Dusseldorf, and the clergyman at Iserlohn, in Westphalia.\n\nCornelius appears to me like a peculiarly delicate type of the Latin\nrace, while Strauss might be called a prototype of the sturdy Lower\nSaxons. Broad-shouldered, stout, ruddy, with small but kindly blue eyes,\nand a resonant bass voice suited to fill great spaces, he was always at\nhis ease and made others easy. He had a touch of the assured yet fine\ndignity of a well-placed and well-educated Catholic prelate, though\ncombined with the warlike spirit of a Protestant.\n\nLooking more closely at his healthy face, it revealed not only benevolent\namiability but superior sense and plain traces of that cheery elasticity\nof soul which gave him such power over the hearts of the listening\ncongregation, and the disposition and mind of the king.\n\nHis religious views I do not accept, but I believe his strictly orthodox\nbelief was based upon conviction, and cannot be charged to any odious\ndisplay of piety to ingratiate himself with the king. It was in the time\nof our boyhood that Alexander von Humboldt, going once with the king to\nchurch, in Potsdam, in answer to the sneering question how he, who passed\nfor a freethinker at court, could go to the house of God, made the apt\nreply, \"In order to get on, your Excellency.\"\n\nWhen Strauss met us in the street and called to us with a certain unction\nin his melodious voice, \"Good-morning, my dear children in Christ!\" our\nhearts went out to him, and it seemed as if we had received a blessing.\nHe and his son Otto used to call me \"Marcus Aurelius,\" on account of my\ncurly blond head; and how often did he put his strong hand into my thick\nlocks to draw me toward him!\n\nStrauss was in the counsels of the king, Frederick William IV, and at\nimportant moments exercised an influence on his political decisions. Yet\nthat somewhat eccentric prince could not resist his inclination to make\ncheap jokes at Strauss's expense. After creating him court-chaplain, he\nsaid to Alexander von Humboldt: \"A trick in natural history which you\ncannot copy! I have turned an ostrich (Strauss) into a bullfinch\n(Dompfaffer)\"--in allusion to Strauss's being a preacher at the cathedral\n(Dom).\n\nFritz, the worthy man's eldest son, came to see me in Leipsic. Our\nstudies in the department of biblical geography had led us to different\nconclusions, but our scientific views were constantly intermingled with\nrecollections of the Lennestrasse.\n\nBut better than he, who was much older, do I remember his brother Otto,\nthen a bright, amiable young man, and his mother, who was from the Rhine\ncountry, a warm-hearted, kindly woman of aristocratic bearing.\n\nOur mother had a very high opinion of the court chaplain, who had\nchristened us all and afterward confirmed my sisters, and officiated at\nMartha's marriage. But, much as she appreciated him as a friend and\ncounsellor, she could not accept his strict theology. Though she received\nthe communion at his hands, with my sisters, she preferred the sermons of\nthe regimental chaplain, Bollert, and later those of the excellent Sydow.\nI well remember her grief when Bollert, whose free interpretation of\nScripture had aroused displeasure at court, was sent to Potsdam.\n\nI find an amusing echo of the effect of this measure in Paula's journal,\nand it would have been almost impossible for a growing girl of active\nmind to take no note of opinions which she heard everywhere expressed.\n\nOur entire circle was loyal; especially Privy-Councillor Seiffart, one of\nour most intimate friends, a sarcastic Conservative, who was credited\nwith the expresssion, \"The limited intellect of subjects,\" which,\nhowever, belonged to his superior, Minister von Rochow. Still, almost all\nmy mother's acquaintances, and the younger ones without exception, felt a\ndesire for better political conditions and a constitution for the brave,\nloyal, reflecting, and well-educated Prussian people. In the same house\nwith us lived two men who had suffered for their political\nconvictions--the brothers Grimm. They had been ejected from their chairs\namong the seven professors of Gottingen, who were sacrificed to the\narbitrary humour of King Ernst August of Hanover.\n\nTheir dignified figures are among the noblest and most memorable\nrecollections of the Lennestrasse. They were, it might be said, one\nperson, for they were seldom seen apart; yet each had preserved his own\ndistinct individuality.\n\nIf ever the external appearance of distinguished men corresponded with\nthe idea formed of them from their deeds and works, it was so in their\ncase. One did not need to know them to perceive at the first glance that\nthey were labourers in the department of intellectual life, though\nwhether as scientists or poets even a practised observer would have found\nit difficult to determine. Their long, flowing, wavy hair, and an\natmosphere of ideality which enveloped them both, might have inclined one\nto the latter supposition; while the form of their brows, indicating deep\nthought and severe mental labor, and their slightly stooping shoulders,\nwould have suggested the former. Wilhelm's milder features were really\nthose of a poet, while Jakob's sterner cast of countenance, and his\npiercing eyes, indicated more naturally a searcher after knowledge.\n\nBut just as certainly as that they both belonged to the strongest\nchampions of German science, the Muse had kissed them in their cradle.\nNot only their manner of restoring our German legends, but almost all\ntheir writings, give evidence of a poetical mode of viewing things, and\nof an intuition peculiar to the spirit of poetry. Many of their writings,\ntoo, are full of poetical beauties.\n\nThat both were men in the fullest meaning of the word was revealed at the\nfirst glance. They proved it when, to stand by their convictions, they\nput themselves and their families at the mercy of a problematical future;\nand when, in advanced years, they undertook the gigantic work of\ncompiling so large and profound a German dictionary. Jakob looked as if\nnothing could bend him;\n\nWilhelm as if, though equally strong, he might yield out of love.\n\nAnd what a fascinating, I might almost say childlike, amiability was\nunited to manliness in both characters! Yes, theirs was indeed that\nsublime simplicity which genius has in common with the children whom the\nSaviour called to him. It spoke from the eyes whose gaze was so\nsearching, and echoed in their language which so easily mastered\ndifficult things, though when they condescended to play with their\nchildren and with us, and jested so naively, we were half tempted to\nthink ourselves the wiser.\n\nBut we knew with what intellectual giants we had to do; no one had needed\nto tell us that, at least; and when they called me to them I felt as if\nthe king himself had honoured me.\n\nOnly Wilhelm was married, and his wife had hardly her equal for sunny and\nsimple kindness of heart. A pleasanter, more motherly, sweeter matron I\nnever met.\n\nHermann, who won good rank as a poet, and was one of the very foremost of\nour aesthetics, was much older than we. The tall young man, who often\nwalked as if he were absorbed in thought, seemed to us a peculiar and\nunapproachable person. His younger brother, Rudolf, on the other hand,\nwas a cheery fellow, whose beauty and brightness charmed me unspeakably.\nWhen he came along with elastic tread as if he were challenging life to a\nconflict, and I saw him spring up the stairs three steps at a time, I was\ndelighted, and I knew that my mother was very fond of him. It was just\nthe same with \"Gustel,\" his sister, who was as amiable and kindly as her\nmother.\n\nI can still see the torchlight procession with which the Berlin students\nhonoured the beloved and respected brothers, and which we watched from\nthe Grimms' windows because they were higher than ours. But there is a\nyet brighter light of fire in my memory. It was shed by the burning opera\nhouse. Our mother, who liked to have us participate in anything\nremarkable which might be a recollection for life, took us out of our\nbeds to the next house, where the Seiffarts lived, and which had a little\ntower on it. Thence we gazed in admiration at the ever-deepening glow of\nthe sky, toward which great tongues of flame kept streaming up, while\nacross the dusk shot formless masses like radiant spark-showering birds.\nPillars of smoke mingled with the clouds, and the metallic note of the\nfire-bells calling for help accompanied the grand spectacle. I was only\nsix years old, but I remember distinctly that when Ludo and I were taken\nto the Lutz swimming-baths next day, we found first on the drill-ground,\nthen on the bank of the Spree, and in the water, charred pieces, large\nand small, of the side-scenes of the theatre. They were the glowing birds\nwhose flight I had watched from the tower of the Crede house.\n\nThis remark reminds me how early our mother provided for our physical\ndevelopment, for I clearly remember that the tutor who took us little\nfellows to the bath called our attention to these bits of decoration\nwhile we were swimming. When I went to Keilhau, at eleven years old, I\nhad mastered the art completely.\n\nI did, in fact, many things at an earlier age than is customary, because\nI was always associated with my brother, who was a year and a half older.\n\nWe were early taught to skate, too, and how many happy hours we passed,\nfrequently with our sisters, on the ice by the Louisa and Rousseau\nIslands in the Thiergarten! The first ladies who at that time\ndistinguished themselves as skaters were the wife and daughter of the\ncelebrated surgeon Dieffenbach--two fine, supple figures, who moved\ngracefully over the ice, and in their fur-bordered jackets and Polish\ncaps trimmed with sable excited universal admiration.\n\nOn the whole, we had time enough for such things, though we lost many a\nfree hour in music lessons. Ludo was learning to play on the piano, but I\nhad chosen another instrument. Among our best friends, the three fine\nsons of Privy-Councillor Oesterreich and others, there was a pleasant boy\nnamed Victor Rubens, whose parents were likewise friends of my mother. In\nthe hospitable house of this agreeable family I had heard the composer\nVieuxtemps play the violin when I was nine years old. I went home fairly\nenraptured, and begged my mother to let me take lessons. My wish was\nfulfilled, and for many years I exerted myself zealously, without any\nresult, to accomplish something on the violin. I did, indeed, attain to a\ncertain degree of skill, but I was so little satisfied with my own\nperformances that I one day renounced the hope of becoming a practical\nmusician, and presented my handsome violin--a gift from my\ngrandmother--to a talented young virtuoso, the son of my sisters' French\nteacher.\n\nThe actress Crelinger, when she came to see my mother, made a great\nimpression on me, at this time, by her majestic appearance and her deep,\nmusical voice. She, and her daughter, Clara Stich, afterward Frau\nLiedtcke, the splendid singer, Frau Jachmann-Wagner, and the charming\nFrau Schlegel-Koster, were the only members of the theatrical profession\nwho were included among the Gepperts' friends, and whose acquaintance we\nmade in consequence.\n\nFrau Crelinger's husband was a highly respected jurist and councillor of\njustice, but among all the councillors' wives by whom she was surrounded\nI never heard her make use of her husband's title. She was simply \"Frau\"\nin society, and for the public Crelinger. She knew her name had an\nimportance of its own. Even though posterity twines no wreaths for\nactors, it is done in the grateful memory of survivors. I shall never\nforget the ennobling and elevating hours I afterward owed to that great\nand noble interpreter of character.\n\nI am also indebted to Frau Jachmann-Wagner for much enjoyment both in\nopera and the drama. She now renders meritorious service by fitting on\nthe soundest artistic principles--younger singers for the stage.\n\nAmong my mother's papers was a humorous note announcing the arrival of a\nfriend from Oranienburg, and signed:\n\n          \"Your faithful old dog, Runge,\n          Who was born in a quiet way\n          At Neustadt, I've heard say.\"\n\nHe came not once, but several times. He bore the title of professor, was\na chemist, and I learned from friends versed in that science that it was\nindebted to him for interesting discoveries.\n\nHe had been an acquaintance of my father, and no one who met him,\nbubbling over with animation and lively wit, could easily forget him. He\nhad a full face and long, straight, dark hair hanging on his short neck,\nwhile intellect and kindness beamed from his twinkling eyes. When he\ntossed me up and laughed, I laughed too, and it seemed as if all Nature\nmust laugh with us.\n\nI have not met so strong and original a character for many a long year,\nand I was very glad to read in the autobiography of Wackernagel that when\nit went ill with him in Berlin, Hoffman von Fallersleben and this same\nRunge invited him to Breslau to share their poverty, which was so great\nthat they often did not know at night where they should get the next\nday's bread.\n\nHow many other names with and without the title of privy-councillor occur\nto me, but I must not allow myself to think of them.\n\nFraulein Lamperi, however, must have a place here. She used to dine with\nus at least once a week, and was among the most faithful adherents of our\nfamily. She had been governess to my father and his only sister, and\nlater was in the service of the Princess of Prussia, afterward the\nEmpress Augusta, as waiting-woman.\n\nShe, too, was one of those original characters whom we never find now.\n\nShe was so clever that, incredible as it sounds, she made herself a wig\nand some false teeth, and yet she came of a race whose women were not\naccustomed to serve themselves with their own hands; for the blood of the\nvenerable and aristocratic Altoviti family of Florence flowed in her\nveins. Her father came into the world as a marquis of that name, but was\ndisinherited when, against the will of his family, he married the dancer\nLamperi. With her he went first to Warsaw, and then to Berlin, where he\nsupported himself and his children by giving lessons in the languages.\nOne daughter was a prominent member of the Berlin ballet, the other was\nprepared by a most careful education to be a governess. She gave various\nlessons to my sisters, and criticised our proceedings sharply, as she did\nthose of her fellow-creatures in general. \"I can't help it--I Must say\nwhat I think,\" was the palliating remark which followed every severe\ncensure; and I owe to her the conviction that it is much easier to\nexpress disapproval, when it can be done with impunity, than to keep it\nto one's self, as I am also indebted to her for the subject of my fairy\ntale, The Elixir.\n\nI shall return to Fraulein Lamperi, for her connection with our family\ndid not cease until her death, and she lived to be ninety. Her\naristocratic connections in Florence--be it said to their honour--never\nrepudiated her, but visited her when they came to Berlin, and the\nequipage of the Italian ambassador followed at her funeral, for he, too,\nbelonged to her father's kindred. The extreme kindness extended to her by\nEmperor William I and his sovereign spouse solaced her old age in various\nways.\n\nOne of the dearest friends of my sister Paula and of our family knew more\nof me, unfortunately, at this time than I of her. Her name was Babette\nMeyer, now Countess Palckreuth. She lived in our neighbourhood, and was a\ncharming, graceful child, but not one of our acquaintances.\n\nWhen she was grown up--we were good friends then--she told me she was\ncoming from school one winter day, and some boys threw snowballs at her.\nThen Ludo and I appeared--\"the Ebers boys\" and she thought that would be\nthe end of her; but instead of attacking her we fell upon the boys, who\nturned upon us, and drove them away, she escaping betwixt Scylla and\nCharybdis.\n\nBefore this praiseworthy deed we had, however, thrown snow at a young\nlady in wanton mischief. I forgive our heedlessness as we were forgiven,\nbut it is really a painful thought to me that we should have snowballed a\npoor insane man, well known in the Thiergarten and Lennestrasse, and who\nseriously imagined that he was made of glass.\n\nI began to relate this, thinking of our uproarious laughter when the poor\nfellow cried out: \"Let me alone! I shall break! Don't you hear me clink?\"\nThen I stopped, for my heart aches when I reflect what terrible distress\nour thoughtlessness caused the unfortunate creature. We were not\nbad-hearted children, and yet it occurred to none of us to put ourselves\nin the place of the whimpering man and think what he suffered. But we\ncould not do it. A child is naturally egotistical, and unable in such a\ncase to distinguish between what is amusing and what is sad. Had the cry,\n\"It hurts me!\" once fallen from the trembling lips of the \"glass man,\" I\nthink we should have thrown nothing more at him.\n\nBut our young hearts did not, under all circumstances, allow what amused\nus to cast kinder feelings into the shade. The \"man of glass\" had a\nfeminine 'pendant' in the \"crazy Frau Councillor with the velvet\nenvelope.\" This was a name she herself had given to a threadbare little\nvelvet cloak, when some naughty boys--were we among them?--were\nsnowballing her, and she besought us not to injure her velvet envelope.\nBut when there was ice on the ground and one of the boys was trying to\nget her on to a slide, Ludo and I interfered and prevented it. Naturally,\nthere was a good fight in consequence, but I am glad of it to this day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nWHAT A BERLIN CHILD ENJOYED ON THE SPREE AND AT HIS GRANDMOTHER'S IN\nDRESDEN.\n\nIn the summer we were all frequently taken to the new Zoological Garden,\nwhere we were especially delighted with the drollery of the monkeys. Even\nthen I felt a certain pity for the deer and does in confinement, and for\nthe wild beasts in their cages, and this so grew upon me that many a\nvisit to a zoological garden has been spoiled by it. Once in Keilhau I\ncaught a fawn in the wood and was delighted with my beautiful prize. I\nmeant to bring it up with our rabbits, and had already carried it quite a\ndistance, when suddenly I began to be sorry for it, and thought how its\nmother would grieve, upon which I took it back to the spot where I had\nfound it and returned to the institution as fast as I could, but said\nnothing at first about my \"stupidity,\" for I was ashamed of it.\n\nExcursions into the country were the most delightful pleasures of the\nsummer. The shorter ones took us to the suburbs of the capital, and\nsometimes to Charlottenburg, where several of our acquaintances lived,\nand our guardian, Alexander Mendelssohn, had a country house with a\nbeautiful garden, where there was never any lack of the owner's children\nand grandchildren for playmates. Sometimes we were allowed to go there\nwith other boys. We then had a few Groschen to get something at a\nrestaurant, and were generally brought home in a Kremser carriage. These\ncarriages were to be found in a long row by the wall outside of the\nBrandenburg Gate or at the Palace in Charlottenburg or by the \"Turkish\ntent\"--for at that time there were no omnibuses running to the decidedly\nrural neighbouring city. Even when the carriages were arranged to carry\nten or twelve persons there was but one horse, and it was these\nRosinantes which probably gave rise to the following rhyme:\n\n          \"A Spandau wind,\n          A child of Berlin,\n          A Charlottenburg horse,\n          Are all not worth a pin.\"\n\nThe Berlin children were, on the whole, better than their reputation, but\nnot so the Charlottenburg horses. The Kremser carriages were named from\nthe man who owned most of them. The business was carried on by an\nassociation. A single individual rarely hired one; either a family took\npossession of it, or you got in and waited patiently till enough persons\nhad collected for the driver to think it worth while to take his whip and\nsay, \"Well, get up!\"\n\nBut this same Herr Kremser also had nice carriages for excursions into\nthe country, drawn by two or four horses, as might be required. For the\nfour-horse Kremser chariots there was even a driver in jockey costume,\nwho rode the saddle-horse.\n\nOther excursions took us to the beautiful Humboldt's Tegel, to the Muggel\nand Schlachten Lakes, to Franzosisch Buchholz, Treptow, and Stralau. We\nwere, unfortunately, never allowed to attend the celebrated fishing\nfestival at Stralau.\n\nBut the crowning expedition of all was on our mother's birthday, either\nto the Pichelsbergen, wooded hills mirrored in ponds where fish abounded,\nor to the Pfaueninsel at Potsdam.\n\nThe country around Berlin is considered hopelessly ugly, but with great\ninjustice. I have convinced myself since that I do not look back as\nfondly on the Pichelsbergen and the Havelufer at Potsdam, where it was\ngranted us to pass such happy hours in the springtime of life, because\nthe force of imagination has clothed them with fancied charms. No, these\nplaces have indeed a singularly peaceful attractiveness, and if I prefer\nthem, as a child of the century, to real mountains, there was a time when\nthe artist's eye would have given them the preference over the grand\nlandscapes of the Alpine world.\n\nAt the beginning of the last century the latter were considered\nrepelling. They oppressed the soul by their immensity. No painter then\nundertook to depict giant mountains with eternal snow upon summits which\ntowered above the clouds. A Salvator Rosa or Poussin, or even the great\nRuysdael, would have preferred to set up his easel at the Pichelsbergen\nor in the country about Potsdam, rather than at the foot of Mont Blanc,\nthe Kunigssee, or the Eibsee, in which the rocks of the Zugspitze--my\nvis-a-vis at Tutzingen--are magnificently reflected.\n\nThere is nothing more beautiful than the moderate, finely rounded heights\nat these peaceful spots rich in vegetation and in water, when gilded by\nthe fading light of a lovely summer evening or illumined by the rosy\ntinge of the afterglow. Many of our later German painters have learned to\nvalue the charm of such a subject, while of our writers Fontane has\nseized and very happily rendered all their witchery. At my brother Ludo's\nmanorhouse on the banks of the Dahme, at his place Dolgenbrodt, in Mark\nBrandenburg, Fontane experienced all the attraction of the plain, which I\nhave never felt more deeply than in that very spot and on a certain\nevening at Potsdam when the bells of the little church of Sakrow seemed\nto bid farewell to the sinking sun and invite him to return.\n\nIn the East I have seen the day-star set more brilliantly, but never met\nwith a more harmonious and lovely splendour of colour than on summer\nevenings in the Mark, except in Holland on the shore of the North Sea.\n\nCan I ever forget those festal days when, after saying our little\ncongratulatory verses to our mother, and admiring her birthday table,\nwhich her friends always loaded with flowers, we awaited the carriages\nthat were to take us into the country? Besides a great excursion wagon,\nthere were generally some other coaches which conveyed us and the\nfamilies of our nearest friends on our jaunt.\n\nHow the young faces beamed, and how happy the old ones looked, and what\nbig baskets there were full of good things beside the coachman and behind\nthe carriage!\n\nWe were soon out of the city, and the birds by the wayside could not have\ntwittered and sung in May more gaily than we during these drives.\n\nOnce we let the horses rest, and took luncheon at Stimming near the\nWannsee, where Heinrich von Kleist with the beloved of his heart put an\nend to his sad life. Before we stopped we met a troop of travelling\njourneymen, and our mother, in the gratitude of her heart, threw them a\nthaler, and said \"Drink to my happiness; to-day is my birthday.\"\n\nWhen we had rested and gone on quite a distance we found the journeymen\nranged beside the road, and as they threw into the carriage an immense\nbouquet of field flowers which they had gathered, one of them exclaimed:\n\"Long live the birthday-child! And health and happiness to the beautiful,\nkind lady!\" The others, and we, too, joined with all our might in a\n\"Hurrah!\"\n\nWe felt like pagan Romans, who on starting out had perceived the happiest\nomens in earth and sky.\n\nAnd at the Pfaueninsel!\n\nFrau Friedrich, the wife of the man in charge of the fountains, kept a\nneat inn, in which, however, she by no means dished up to all persons\nwhat they would like. But our mother knew her through Lenne, by whom her\nhusband was employed, and she took good care of us. How attractive to us\nchildren was the choice yet large collection she possessed! Most of the\nmembers of the royal house had often been her guests, and had increased\nit to a little museum which contained countless milk and cream jugs of\nevery sort and metal, even the most precious, and of porcelain and glass\nof every age. Many would have been rare and welcome ornaments to any\ntrades-museum. Our mother had contributed a remarkably handsome Japanese\njug which her brother had sent her.\n\nAfter the banquet we young ones ran races, while the older people rested\ntill coffee and punch were served. Whether dancing was allowed at the\nPfaueninsel I no longer remember, but at the Pichelsbergen it certainly\nwas, and there were even three musicians to play.\n\nAnd how delightful it was in the wood; how pleasant the rowing on the\nwater, during which, when the joy of existence was at its height, the\nsaddest songs were sung! Oh, I could relate a hundred things of those\nbirthdays in the country, but I have completely forgotten how we got\nhome. I only know that we waked the next morning full of happy\nrecollections.\n\nIn the summer holidays we often took journeys--generally to Dresden,\nwhere our father's mother with her daughter, our aunt Sophie, had gone to\nlive, the latter having married Baron Adolf von Brandenstein, an officer\nin the Saxon Guard, who, after laying aside the bearskin cap and red\ncoat, the becoming uniform of that time, was at the head of the Dresden\npost office.\n\nI remember these visits with pleasure, and the days when our grandmother\nand aunt came to Berlin. I was fond of both of them, especially my lively\naunt, who was always ready for a joke, and my affection was returned. But\nthese, our nearest relatives, in early childhood only passed through our\nlives like brilliant meteors; the visits we exchanged lasted only a few\ndays; and when they came to Berlin, in spite of my mother's pressing\ninvitations, they never stayed at our house, but in a hotel. I cannot\nimagine, either, that our grandmother would ever have consented to visit\nany one. There was a peculiar exclusiveness about her, I might almost say\na cool reserve, which, although proofs of her cordial love were not\nwanting, prevented her from caressing us or playing with us as\ngrandmothers do. She belonged to another age, and our mother taught us,\nwhen greeting her, to kiss her little white hand, which was always\ncovered up to the fingers with waving lace, and to treat her with the\nutmost deference. There was an air of aristocratic quiet in her\nsurroundings which caused a feeling of constraint. I can still see the\nsuite of spacious rooms she occupied, where silence reigned except when\nCoco, the parrot, raised his shrill voice. Her companion, Fraulein\nRaffius, always lowered her voice in her presence, though when out of it\nshe could play with us very merrily. The elderly servant, who, singularly\nenough, was of noble family--his real name was Von Wurmkessel--did his\nduty as noiselessly as a shadow. Then there was a faint perfume of\nmignonette in most of the rooms, which makes me think of them whenever I\nsee the pretty flower, for, as is well known, smell is the most powerful\nof all the senses in awakening memory.\n\nI never sat in my grandmother's lap. When we wished to talk with her we\nhad to sit beside her; and if we kept still she would question us\nsearchingly about everything--our play, our friends, our school.\n\nThis silence, which always struck us children at first with astonishment,\nwas interrupted very gaily by our aunt, whose liveliness broke in upon it\nlike the sound of a horn amid the stillness of a forest. Her cheerful\nvoice was audible even in the hall, and when she crossed the threshold we\nflew to her, and the spell was broken. For she, the only daughter, put no\nrestraint on herself in the reserved presence of her mother. She kissed\nher boisterously, asked how she was, as if she were the mother, the other\nthe child. Indeed, she took the liberty sometimes of calling the old lady\n\"Henrietta\"--that was her name--or even \"Hetty.\" Then, when grandmother\npointed to us and exclaimed reproachfully, \"Why, Sophie!\" our aunt could\nalways disarm her with gay jests.\n\nThough the two were generally at a distance, their existence made itself\nfelt again and again either through letters or presents or by their\ncoming to Berlin, which always brought holidays for us.\n\nThese journeys were accomplished under difficulties. Our aunt had always\nused an open carriage, and was really convinced that she would stifle in\na closed railway compartment. But as she would not forego the benefit of\nrapid transit, our grandmother was obliged, even after her daughter's\nmarriage, to hire an open truck for her, on which, with her faithful maid\nMinna, and one of her dogs, or sometimes with her husband or a friend as\na companion, she established herself comfortably in an armchair of her\nown, with various other conveniences about her. The railway officials\nknew her, and no doubt shrugged their shoulders, but the warmheartedness\nshining in her eyes and her unvarying cheerfulness carried everything\nbefore them, so that her eccentricity was readily overlooked. And she had\nplenty of similar caprices. I was visiting her once in the Christmas\nholidays, when I was a schoolboy in the upper class, and we had retired\nfor the night. At one o'clock my aunt suddenly appeared at my bedside,\nwaked me, and told me to get up. The first snow had fallen, and she had\nhad the horses harnessed for us to go sleighing, which she particularly\nenjoyed.\n\nResistance was useless, and the swift flight over the snow by moonlight\nproved to be very enjoyable. Between four and five o'clock in the morning\nwe were at home again.\n\nWinter brought many other amusements. I remember with particular pleasure\nthe Christmas fair, which now, as I learn to my regret, is no longer\nheld. And yet, what a source of delight it once was to children! What\nrich food it offered to their minds! The Christmas trees and pyramids at\nthe Stechbahn, the various wares, the gingerbread and toys in the booths,\noffered by no means the greatest charm. A still stronger attraction were\nthe boys with the humming \"baboons,\" the rattles and flags, for from them\npurchases had always to be made, with jokes thrown into the bargain--bad\nones, which are invariably the most amusing; and what a pleasure it was\nto twirl the \"baboon\" with one's own little hand, and, if the hand got\ncold during the process, one did not feel it, for it seemed like\nmidsummer with a swarm of flies buzzing about one!\n\nBut most enjoyable of all was probably the throng of people, great and\nsmall, and all there was to hear and see among them and to answer. It\nseemed as if the Christmas joy of the city was concentrated there, and\nfilled the not over-clear atmosphere like the pungent odour of Christmas\ntrees.\n\nPut there were other things to experience as well as mere gaiety--the\npale child in the corner, with its little bare feet, holding in its cold,\nred hands the six little sheep of snow-white wool on a tiny green board;\nand that other yonder, with the little man made of prunes spitted on tiny\nsticks.\n\nHow small and pale the child is! And how eloquently the blue eyes invite\na purchaser, for it is only with looks that the wares are extolled! I\nstill see them both before me! The threepenny pieces they get are to help\ntheir starving mother to heat the attic room in those winter days which,\ncold though they are, may warm the heart. Looking at them our mother told\nus how hunger hurts, and how painful want and misery are to bear, and we\nnever left the Christmas fair without buying a few sheep or a prune man,\nthough all we could do with them was to give them away again. When I\nwrote my fairy-tale, The Nuts, I had the Christmas fair at Berlin in my\nmind's eye, and I seemed to see the wretched little girl who, among all\nthe happy folk, had found nothing but cold, pain, anguish, and a handful\nof nuts, and who afterward fared so happily--not, indeed, among men, but\nwith the most beautiful angels in heaven.\n\nWhy are the Berlin children defrauded of this bright and innocent\npleasure, and their hearts denied the practice of exercising charity?\n\nTurning my thoughts backward, it seems to me as if almost too much beauty\nand pleasure were crowded together at Christmas, richly provided with\npresents as we were besides, for over and above the Christmas fair there\nwas Kroll's Christmas exhibition, where clever heads and skilful hands\ntransformed a series of great halls, at one time into the domain of\nwinter, at another into the kingdom of the fairies. There was nothing to\ndo but look.\n\nImagination came to a standstill, for what could it add to these wonders?\nYet the fairyland of which Ludo and I had dreamed was more beautiful and\nmore real than this palpable magnificence of tin and pasteboard; which\nis, perhaps, one reason why the overexcited imagination of a city child\nshrinks back and tries to find in reality what a boy brought up in the\nquiet of the country can conjure up before his mind himself.\n\nThen, too, there were delightful sights in the Gropius panorama and\nFuchs's confectioner's shop--in the one place entertaining things, in the\nother instructive. At the panorama half the world was spread out before\nus in splendid pictures, so presented and exhibited as to give the most\nvivid impression of reality.\n\nFrom the letters of our mother's brothers, who were Dutch officials in\nJava and Japan, as well as from books of travel which had been read to\nus, we had already heard much of the wonders of the Orient; and at the\nGropius panorama the inner call that I had often seemed to hear--\"Away!\nto the East\"--only grew the stronger. It has never been wholly silent\nsince, but at that time I formed the resolution to sail around the world,\nor--probably from reading some book--to be a noble pirate. Nor should I\nhave been dissatisfied with the fate of Robinson Crusoe. The Christmas\nexhibition at Fuchs's, Unter den Linden, was merely entertaining--Berlin\njokes in pictures mainly of a political or satirical order. Most\ndistinctly of all I remember the sentimental lady of rank who orders her\nservant to catch a fly on a tea-tray and put it carefully out of the\nwindow. The obedient Thomas gets hold of the insect, takes it to the\nwindow, and with the remark, \"Your ladyship, it is pouring, the poor\nthing might take cold,\" brings it back again to the tea-tray.\n\nThere was plenty of such entertainment in winter, and we had our part in\nmuch of it. Rellstab, the well-known editor of Voss's journal, made a\nclever collection of such jokes in his Christmas Wanderings. We could\nread, and whatever was offered by that literary St. Nicholas and highly\nrespected musical critic for cultivated Berlin our mother was quite\nwilling we should enjoy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD\nBEFORE THE REVOLUTION\n\nOn the 18th of March, the day of the fighting in the streets of Berlin,\nwe had been living for a year in the large suite of apartments at No. 7\nLinkstrasse.\n\nOf those who inhabited the same house with us I remember only the\nsculptor Streichenberg, whose studio was next to our pretty garden, and\nthe Beyers, a married couple. He, later a general and commander of the\ntroops besieging Strasburg in 1870, was at that time a first lieutenant.\nShe was a refined, extremely amiable, and very musical woman, who had met\nour mother before, and now entered into the friendliest relations with\nher.\n\nA guest of their quiet household, a little Danish girl, one of Fran\nBeyer's relatives, shared our play in the garden, and worked with us at\nthe flower beds which had been placed in our charge. I remember how\nperfectly charming I thought her, and that her name was Detta Lvsenor.\n\nAll the details of our intercourse with her and other new acquaintances\nwho played with us in the garden have vanished from my memory, for the\noccurrences of that time are thrown into shadow by the public events and\npolitical excitement around us. Even children could not remain untouched\nby what was impending, for all that we saw or heard referred to it and,\nin our household, views violently opposed to each other, with the\nexception of extreme republicanism, were freely discussed.\n\nThe majority of our conservative acquaintances were loud in complaint,\nand bewailed the king's weakness, and the religious corruption and\nhypocritical aspirations which were aroused by the honest, but romantic\nand fanatical religious zeal of Frederick William IV.\n\nI must have heard the loudest lamentations concerning this cancer of\nsociety at this time, for they are the most deeply imprinted in my\nmemory. Even such men as the Gepperts, Franz Kugler, H. M. Romberg,\nDrake, Wilcke, and others, with whose moderate political views I became\nacquainted later, used to join us. Loyal they all were, and our mother\nwas so strongly attached to the house of Hohenzollern that I heard her\nrequest one of the younger men, when he sharply declared it was time to\nforce the king to abdicate, either to moderate his speech or cease to\nvisit her house.\n\nOur mother could not prevent, however, similar and worse speeches from\ncoming to our ears.\n\nA particularly deep impression was made upon us by a tall man with a big\nblond beard, whose name I have forgotten, but whom we generally met at\nthe sculptor Streichenberg's when he took us with him in our play hours\ninto his great workshop. This man appeared to be in very good\ncircumstances, for he always wore patent-leather boots, and a large\ndiamond ring on his finger; but with his vivacious, even passionate\ntemperament, he trampled in the dust the things I had always revered. I\nhung on his lips when he talked of the rights of the people, and of his\nown vocation to break the way for freedom, or when he anathematized those\nwho oppressed a noble nation with the odious yoke of slavery.\n\nCatch phrases, like \"hanging the last king with the guts of the last\npriest,\" I heard for the first time from him, and although such speeches\ndid not please me, they made an impression because they awakened so much\nsurprise, and more than once he called upon us to be true sons of our\ntime and not a tyrant's bondmen. We heard similar remarks elsewhere in a\nmore moderate form, and from our companions at school in boyish language.\n\nThere were two parties there also, but besides loyalty another sentiment\nflourished which would now be called chauvinism, yet which possessed a\nnoble influence, since it fostered in our hearts that most beautiful\nflower of the young mind, enthusiasm for a great cause.\n\nAnd during the history lessons on Brandenburg-Prussia our cheeks would\nglow, for what German state could boast a grander, prouder history than\nPrussia under the Hohenzollerns, rising by ability, faithfulness to duty,\ncourage, and self-sacrificing love of country from small beginnings to\nthe highest power?\n\nThe Liebe school had been attended only by children of good families,\nwhile in the Schmidt school a Count Waldersee and Hoym, the son of a\ncapmaker and dealer in eatables, sat together on the same bench. The most\ndiverse tendencies were represented, and all sorts of satirical songs and\nlampoons found their way to us. Such parodies as this in the Song of\nPrussia we could understand very well:\n\n       \"I am a Prussian, my colours you know,\n        From darkness to light they boldly go;\n        But that for Freedom my fathers died,\n        Is a fact which I have not yet descried.\"\n\nNor did more delicate allusions escape us; for who had not heard, for\ninstance, of the Friends of Light, who played a part among the Berlin\nliberals? To whose ears had not come some longing cry for freedom, and\nespecially freedom of the press?\n\nAnd though that ever-recurring word Pressfreiheit (freedom of the press)\nwas altered by the wags for us boys into Fressfreiheit (liberty to stuff\nyourself); though, too, it was condemned in conservative circles as a\ndangerous demand, threatening the peace of the family and opening the\ndoor to unbridled license among writers for the papers, still we had\nheard the other side of the question; that the right freely to express an\nopinion belonged to every citizen, and that only through the power of\nfree speech could the way be cleared for a better condition of things. In\nshort, there was no catchword of that stormy period which we ten and\ntwelve-year-old boys could not have interpreted at least superficially.\n\nTo me it seemed a fine thing to be able to say what one thought right,\nstill I could not understand why such great importance should be\nattributed to freedom of the press. The father of our friend Bardua was\nentitled a counsellor of the Supreme Court, but then he had also filled\nthe office of a censor, and what a nice, bright boy his son was!\n\nAmong our comrades was also the son of Prof. Hengstenberg, who was the\nhead of the pietists and Protestant zealots, whom we had heard mentioned\nas the darkest of all obscurants, and his influence over the king\nexecrated. By the central flight of steps at the little terrace in front\nof the royal palace stood the fine statues of the horse-tamers, and the\nsteps were called Hengstenberg (Hengste, horses, and Berg, mountain). And\nthis name was explained by the circumstance that whoever would approach\nthe king must do so by the way of \"Hengstenberg.\"\n\nWe knew that quip, too, and yet the son of this mischievous enemy of\nprogress was a particularly fine, bright boy, whom we all liked, and\nwhose father, when I saw him, astonished me, for he was a kindly man and\ncould laugh as cheerfully as anybody.\n\nIt was all very difficult to understand; and, as we had more friends\namong the conservatives than among the democrats, we played usually with\nthe former, and troubled ourselves very little about the politics of our\nfriends' fathers. There was, however, some looking askance at each other,\nand cries of \"Loyal Legioner!\" \"Pietist!\" \"Democrat!\" \"Friend of Light!\"\nwere not wanting.\n\nAs often happens in the course of history, uncomprehended or only\nhalf-comprehended catchwords serve as a banner around which a great\nfollowing collects.\n\nThe parties did not come to blows, probably for the sole reason that we\nconservatives were by far the stronger. Yet there was a fermentation\namong us, and a day came when, young as I was, I felt that those who\ncalled the king weak and wished for a change were in the right.\n\nIn the spring of 1847 every one felt as if standing on a volcano.\n\nWhen, in 1844, it was reported that Burgomaster Tschech had fired at the\nking--I was then seven years old--we children shared the horror and\nindignation of our mother, although in the face of such a serious event\nwe boys joined in the silly song which was then in everybody's mouth, and\nwhich began somewhat in this fashion:\n\n       \"Was there ever a man so insolent\n        As Tschech, the mayor, on mischief bent?\"\n\nWhat did we not hear at that time about all the hopes that had been\nplaced on the crown-prince, and how ill he had fulfilled them as king!\nHow often I listened quietly in some corner while my mother discussed\nsuch topics with gentlemen, and from the beginning of the year 1847 there\nwas hardly a conversation in Berlin which did not sooner or later touch\nupon politics and the general discontent or anxiety. But I had no need to\nlisten in order to hear such things. On every walk we took they were\nforced upon our ears; the air was full of them, the very stones repeated\nthem.\n\nEven we boys had heard of Johann Jacoby's \"Four Questions,\" which\ndeclared a constitution a necessity.\n\nI have not forgotten the indignation called forth, even among our\nacquaintances of moderate views, by Hassenpflug's promotion; and if his\nname had never come to my ears at home, the comic papers, caricatures,\nand the talk everywhere would have acquainted me with the feelings\nawakened among the people of Berlin by the favour he enjoyed. And added\nto this were a thousand little features, anecdotes, and events which all\npointed to the universal discontent.\n\nThe wars for freedom lay far behind us. How much had been promised to the\npeople when the foreign foe was to be driven out, and how little had been\ngranted! After the July revolution of 1830, many German states had\nobtained a constitution, while in Prussia not only did everything remain\nin the same condition, but the shameful time of the spying by the\nagitators had begun, when so many young men who had deserved well of\ntheir country, like Ernst Moriz, Arndt, and Jahn, distinguished and\nhonourable scholars like Welcker, suffered severely under these odious\npersecutions. One must have read the biography of the honest and\nlaborious Germanist Wackernagel to be able to credit the fact that that\nquiet searcher after knowledge was pursued far into middle life by the\nmost bitter persecution and rancorous injuries, because as a\nschoolboy--whether in the third or fourth class I do not know--he had\nwritten a letter in which was set forth some new division, thought out in\nhis childish brain, for the united German Empire of which he dreamed.\n\nSuch men as Kamptz and Dambach kept their places by casting suspicion\nupon others and condemning them, but they little dreamed when they\nsummoned before their execrable tribunal the insignificant student Fritz\nReuter, of Mecklenburg, how he would brand their system and their names.\nMost of these youths who had been plunged into misery by such rascally\nabuse of office and the shameful way in which a king naturally anything\nbut malignant, was misled and deceived, were either dead and gone, or had\nbeen released from prison as mature men. What hatred must have filled\ntheir souls for that form of government which had dared thus to punish\ntheir pure enthusiasm for a sacred cause--the unity and well-earned\nfreedom of their native land! Ah, there were dangerous forces to subdue\namong those grey-haired martyrs, for it was their fiery spirit and high\nhearts which had brought them to ruin.\n\nThose who had been disappointed in the results of the war for liberty,\nand those who had suffered in the demagogue period, had ventured to hope\nonce more when the much-extolled crown-prince, Frederick William IV,\nmounted the throne. What disappointment was in store for them; what new\nsuffering was laid upon them when, instead of the rosy dawn of freedom\nwhich they fancied they had seen, a deeper darkness and a more reckless\noppression set in! What they had taken for larks announcing the breaking\nof a brighter day turned out to be bats and similar vermin of the night.\nIn the state the exercise of a boundless arbitrary power; in the Church,\ndark intolerance; and, in its train, slavish submission, favour-seeking,\nrolling up of the eyes, and hypocrisy as means to unworthy ends, and\nespecially to that of speedy promotion--the deepest corruption of\nall--that of the soul.\n\nWhat naturally followed caused the loyalists the keenest pain, for the\ninjury done to the strong monarchical feeling of the Prussian people in\nthe person and the conduct of Frederick William IV was not to be\nestimated. Only the simple heroic greatness and the paternal dignity of\nan Emperor William could have repaired it.\n\nIn the year preceding the revolution there had been a bad harvest, and\nfrightful stories were told of famine in the weaving districts of\nSilesia. Even before Virchow, in his free-spoken work on the\nfamine-typhus, had faithfully described the full misery of those wretched\nsufferers, it had become apparent to the rulers in Berlin that something\nmust be done to relieve the public distress.\n\nThe king now began to realize distinctly the universal discontent, and in\norder to meet it and still further demands he summoned the General\nAssembly.\n\nI remember distinctly how fine our mother thought the speech with which\nhe opened that precursor of the Prussian Chambers, and the address showed\nhim in fact to be an excellent orator.\n\nTo him, believing as he did with the most complete conviction in royalty\nby the grace of God and in his calling by higher powers, any\nrelinquishing of his prerogative would seem like a betrayal of his divine\nmission. The expression he uttered in the Assembly in the course of his\nspeech--\"I and my people will serve the Lord\"--came from the very depths\nof his heart; and nothing could be more sincerely meant than the remark,\n\"From one weakness I know myself to be absolutely free: I do not strive\nfor vain public favour. My only effort is to do my duty to the best of my\nknowledge and according to my conscience, and to deserve the gratitude of\nmy people, though it should be denied me.\"\n\nThe last words have a foreboding sound, and prove what is indeed evident\nfrom many other expressions--that he had begun to experience in his own\nperson the truth of the remark he had made when full of hope, and hailed\nwith joyful anticipations at his coronation--\"The path of a king is full\nof sorrow, unless his people stand by him with loyal heart and mind.\"\n\nHis people did not do that, and it was well for them; for the path\nindicated by the royal hand would have led them to darkness and to the\nindignity of ever-increasing bondage, mental and temporal.\n\nThe prince himself is entitled to the deepest sympathy. He wished to do\nright, and was endowed with great and noble gifts which would have done\nhonour to a private individual, but could not suffice for the ruler of a\npowerful state in difficult times.\n\nHardly had the king opened the General Assembly in April, 1848, and, for\nthe relief of distress among the poorer classes in the capital, repealed\nthe town dues on corn, when the first actual evidences of discontent\nbroke out. The town tax was so strictly enforced at that time at all the\ngates of Berlin that even hacks entering the city were stopped and\nsearched for provisions of meat or bread--a search which was usually\nconducted in a cursory and courteous manner.\n\nIn my sister Paula's journal I have an almost daily account of that\nperiod, with frequent reference to political events, but it is not my\ntask to write a history of the Berlin revolution.\n\nThose of my sister's records which refer to the revolutionary period\nbegin with a mention of the so-called potato revolution, which occurred\nten days after the opening of the General Assembly, though it had no\nconnection with it.\n\n   [Excessive prices had been asked for a peck of potatoes, which\n   enraged the purchasers, who threw them into the gutter and laid\n   hands on some of the market-women. The assembled crowd then\n   plundered some bakers' and butchers' shops, and was finally\n   dispersed by the military. A certain Herr Winckler is said\n   to have lost his life. Many windows were broken, etc.]\n\nThis riot took place on the 21st of April, and on the 2d of May Paula\nalludes to a performance at the opera-house, which Ludo and I attended.\nIt was the last appearance of Fran Viardot Garcia as Iphigenia, but I\nfear Paula is right in saying that the great singer did her best for an\nungrateful public, for the attention of the audience was directed chiefly\nto the king and queen. The latter appeared in the theatre for the first\ntime since a severe illness, the enthusiasm was great, and there was no\nend to the cries of \"Long live the king and queen!\" which were repeated\nbetween every act.\n\nI relate the circumstance to show with what a devoted and faithful\naffection the people of Berlin still clung to the royal pair. On the\nother hand, their regard for the Prince of Prussia, afterward Emperor\nWilliam, was already shaken. He who alone remained firm when all about\nthe king were wavering, was regarded as the embodiment of military rule,\nagainst which a violent opposition was rising.\n\nOur mother was even then devoted to him with a reverence which bordered\nupon affection, and we children with her.\n\nWe felt more familiar with him, too; than with any other members of the\nruling house, for Fraulein Lamperi, who was in a measure like one of our\nown family, was always relating the most attractive stories about him and\nhis noble spouse, whose waiting-woman she had been.\n\nOf Frederick William IV it was generally jokes that were told, some of\nthem very witty ones. We once came in contact with him in a singular way.\n\nOur old cook, Frau Marx, who called herself \"the Marxen,\" was nearly\nblind, and wished to enter an institution, for which it was necessary to\nhave his Majesty's consent. Many years before, when she was living in a\ncount's family, she had taught the king, as a young prince, to churn, and\non the strength of this a petition was drawn up for her by my family.\nThis she handed into the king's carriage, in the palace court-yard, and\nto his question who she was, she replied, \"Why, I'm old Marxen, and your\nMajesty is my last retreat.\" This speech was repeated to my mother by the\nadjutant who came to inquire about the petitioner, and he assured her\nthat his Majesty had been greatly amused by the old woman's singular\nchoice of words, and had repeated it several times to persons about him.\nHer wish was fulfilled at once.\n\nThe memory of those March days of 1848 is impressed on my soul in\nineffaceable characters. More beautiful weather I never knew. It seemed\nas if May had taken the place of its stormy predecessor. From the 13th\nthe sun shone constantly from a cloudless sky, and on the 18th the\nfruit-trees in our garden were in full bloom. Whoever was not kept in the\nhouse by duty or sickness was eager to be out. The public gardens were\nfilled by afternoon, and whoever wanted to address the people had no need\nto call an audience together. Whatever rancour, indignation, discontent,\nand sorrow had lurked under ground now came forth, and the buds of\nlonging and joyful expectation hourly unfolded in greater strength and\nfuller bloom.\n\nThe news of the Paris revolution, whose confirmation had reached Berlin\nin the last few days of February, had caused all this growth and\nblossoming like sunshine and warm rain. There was no repressing it, and\nthe authorities felt daily more and more that their old measures of\nrestraint were failing.\n\nThe accounts from Paris were accompanied by report after report from the\nrest of Germany, shaking the old structure of absolutism like the\nrepeated shocks of a battering-ram.\n\nFreedom of the press was not yet granted, but tongues had begun to move\nfreely-indeed, often without any restraint. As early as the 7th of March,\nand in bad weather, too, meetings began to be held in tents. As soon as\nthe fine spring days came we found great crowds listening to bearded\norators, who told them of the revolution in Paris and of the addresses to\nthe king--how they had passed hither and thither, and how they had been\nreceived. They had all contained very much the same demands--freedom of\nthe press, representatives of the people to be chosen by free election,\nall religious confessions to be placed on an equal footing in the\nexercise of political rights, and representation of the people in the\nGerman Confederacy.\n\nThese demands were discussed with fiery zeal, and the royal promise, just\ngiven, of calling together the Assembly again and issuing a law on the\npress, after the Confederate Diet should have been moved to a similar\nmeasure, was condemned in strong terms as an insufficient and half-way\nprocedure--a payment on account, in order to gain time.\n\nOn the 15th the particulars of the Vienna revolution and Metternich's\nflight reached Berlin; and we, too, learned the news, and heard our\nmother and her friends asking anxiously, \"How will this end?\"\n\nUnspeakable excitement had taken possession of young and old--at home, in\nthe street, and at school--for blood had already flowed in the city. On\nthe 13th, cavalry had dispersed a crowd in the vicinity of the palace,\nand the same thing was repeated on the two following days. Fortunately,\nfew were injured; but rumour, ever ready to increase and enhance the\nhorrible desire of many fanatics to stir up the fire of discontent, had\nconspired to make wounded men dead ones, and slight injuries severe.\n\nThese exaggerations ran through the city, arousing indignation; and the\ncorrespondents of foreign papers, knowing that readers often like best\nwhat is most incredible, had sent the accounts to the provinces and\nforeign countries.\n\nBut blood had flowed. Hatred of the soldiery, to which, however, some\namong the insurgents had once been proud to belong, grew with fateful\nrapidity, and was still further inflamed by those who saw in the military\nthe brazen wall that stood between them and the fulfillment of their most\nardent wishes.\n\nA spark might spring the open and overcharged mine into the air; an\nill-chosen or misunderstood expression, a thoughtless act, might bring\nabout an explosion.\n\nThe greatest danger threatened from fresh conflicts between the army and\nthe people, and it was to the fear of this that various young or elderly\ngentlemen owed their office of going about wherever a crowd was assembled\nand urging the populace to keep the peace. They were distinguished by a\nwhite band around the arm bearing the words, \"Commissioner of\nProtection,\" and a white rod a foot and a half long designed to awaken\nthe respect accorded by the English to their constables. We recognized\nmany well-known men; but the Berlin populace, called by Goethe insolent,\nis not easily impressed, and we saw constables surrounded by street boys\nlike an owl with a train of little birds fluttering teasingly around it.\nEven grown persons called them nicknames and jeered at their sticks,\nwhich they styled \"cues\" and \"tooth-picks.\"\n\nA large number of students, too, had expressed their readiness to join\nthis protective commission, either as constables or deputies, and had\nreceived the wand and band at the City Hall.\n\nHow painful the exercise of their vocation was made to them it would be\ndifficult to describe. News from Austria and South Germany, where the\npeople's cause seemed to be advancing with giant strides to the desired\ngoal, hourly increased the offensive strength of the excited populace.\n\nOn the afternoon of the 16th the Potsdam Platz, only a few hundred steps\nfrom our house, was filled with shouting and listening throngs, crowded\naround the sculptor Streichenberg, his blond-bearded friend, and other\nviolently gesticulating leaders. This multitude received constant\nreenforcements from the city and through Bellevuestrasse. On the left, at\nthe end of the beautiful street with its rows of budding chestnut-trees,\nlay \"Kemperhof,\" a pleasure resort where we had often listened to the\nmusic of a band clad in green hunting costume. Many must have come\nthence, for I find that on the 16th an assemblage was held there from\nwhich grew the far more important one on the morning of the 17th, with\nits decisive conclusion in Kopenickerstrasse.\n\nAt this meeting, on the afternoon of the 17th, it was decided to set on\nfoot a peaceful manifestation of the wishes of the people, and a new\naddress to the king was drawn up. It was settled that on the 28th of\nMarch, at two o'clock, thousands of citizens with the badges of the\nprotective commission should appear before the palace and send in a\ndeputation to his Majesty with a document which should clearly convey the\nprincipal requirements of the people.\n\nWhat they were to represent to the king as urgently necessary was: The\nwithdrawal of the military force, the organization of an armed citizen\nguard, the granting of an unconditional freedom of the press, which had\nbeen promised for a lifetime, and the calling of the General Assembly. I\nshall return to the address later.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE EIGHTEENTH OF MARCH.\n\nTHE 17th passed so quietly that hopes of a peaceable outcome of the\nfateful conflict began to awake. My own recollections confirm this.\n\nPeople believed so positively that the difficulty would be adjusted, that\nin the forenoon of the 18th my mother sent my eldest sister Martha to her\ndrawing-lesson, which was given at General Baeyer's, in the\nFriedrichstrasse.\n\nLudo and I went to school, and when it was over the many joyful faces in\nthe street confirmed what we had heard during the school hours.\n\nThe king had granted the Constitution and the \"freedom of the press.\"\n\nCrowds were collected in front of the placards which announced this fact,\nbut there was no need to force our way through; their contents were read\naloud at every corner and fountain.\n\nOne passer-by repeated it to another, and friend shouted to friend across\nthe street. \"Have you heard the news?\" was the almost invariable question\nwhen people accosted one another, and at least one \"Thank God!\" was\ncontained in every conversation. Two or three older acquaintances whom we\nmet charged us, in all haste, to tell our mother; but she had heard it\nalready, and her joy was so great that she forgot to scold us for staying\naway so long. Fraulein Lamperi, on the contrary, who dined with us, wept.\nShe was convinced that the unfortunate king had been forced into\nsomething which would bring ruin both to him and his subjects. \"His poor\nMajesty!\" she sobbed in the midst of our joy.\n\nOur mother loved the king too, but she was a daughter of the free\nNetherlands; two of her brothers and sisters lived in England; and the\nfriends she most valued, whom she knew to be warmly and faithfully\nattached to the house of Hohenzollern, thought it high time that the\nPrussian people attained the majority to which that day had brought them.\nMoreover, her active mind knew no rest till it had won a clear insight\ninto questions concerning the times and herself. So she had reached the\nconviction that no peace between king and people could be expected unless\na constitution was granted. In Parliament she would have sat on the\nright, but that her adopted country should have a Parliament filled her\nwith joyful pride.\n\nLudo and I were very gay. It was Saturday, and towards evening we were\ngoing to a children's ball given by Privy-Councillor Romberg--the\nspecialist for nervous diseases--for his daughter Marie, for which new\nblue jackets had been made.\n\nWe were eagerly expecting them, and about three o'clock the tailor came.\n\nOur mother was present when he tried them on, and when she remarked that\nnow all was well, the man shook his head, and declared that the\nconcessions of the forenoon had had no other object than to befool the\npeople; that would appear before long.\n\nWhile I write, it seems as if I saw again that poor little bearer of the\nfirst evil tidings, and heard once more the first shots which interrupted\nhis prophecy with eloquent confirmation.\n\nOur mother turned pale.\n\nThe tailor folded up his cloth and hurried away. What did his words mean,\nand what was the firing outside?\n\nWe strained our ears to listen. The noise seemed to grow louder and come\nnearer; and, just as our mother cried, \"For Heaven's sake, Martha!\" the\ncook burst into the room, exclaiming, \"The row began in the\nSchlossplatz!\"\n\nFraulein Lamperi shrieked, seized her bonnet and cloak, and the pompadour\nwhich she took with her everywhere, to hurry home as fast as she could.\n\nOur mother could think only of Martha. She had dined at the Baeyers' and\nwas now perhaps on the way home. Somebody must be sent to meet her. But\nof what use would be the escort of a maid; and Kurschner was gone, and\nthe porter not to be found!\n\nThe cook was sent in one direction, the chambermaid in another, to seek a\nmale escort for Martha.\n\nAnd then there was Frau Lieutenant Beyer, our neighbour in the house,\nwhose husband was on the general staff, asking: \"How is it possible?\nEverything was granted! What can have happened?\"\n\nThe answer was a rattle of musketry. We leaned out of the window, from\nwhich we could see as far as Potsdamstrasse. What a rush there was\ntowards the gate! Three or four men dashed down the middle of the quiet\nstreet. The tall, bearded fellow at the head we knew well. It was the\nupholsterer Specht, who had often put up curtains and done similar work\nfor us, a good and capable workman.\n\nBut what a change! Instead of a neat little hammer, he was flourishing an\naxe, and he and his companions looked as furious as if they were going to\nrevenge some terrible injury.\n\nHe caught sight of us, and I remember distinctly the whites of his\nrolling eyes as he raised his axe higher, and shouted hoarsely, and as if\nthe threat was meant for us:\n\n\"They shall get it!\"\n\nOur mother and Frau Beyer had seen and heard him too, and the firing in\nthe direction of which the upholsterer and his companions were running\nwas very near.\n\nThe fight must already be raging in Leipzigerstrasse.\n\nAt last the porter came back and announced that barricades had been built\nat the corner of Mauer-and Friedrichstrasse, and that a violent conflict\nhad broken out there and in other places between the soldiers and the\ncitizens. And our Martha was in Friedrichstrasse, and did not come. We\nlived beyond the gate, and it was not to be expected that fighting would\nbreak out in our neighbourhood; but back of our gardens, in the vicinity\nof the Potsdam railway station, the beating of drums was heard. The\nfiring, however, which became more and more violent, was louder than any\nother noise; and when we saw our mother wild with anxiety, we, too, began\nto be alarmed for our dear, sweet Martha.\n\nIt was already dark, and still we waited in vain.\n\nAt last some one rang. Our mother hurried to the door--a thing she never\ndid.\n\nWhen we, too, ran into the hall, she had her arms around the child who\nhad incurred such danger, and we little ones kissed her also, and Martha\nlooked especially pretty in her happy astonishment at such a reception.\n\nShe, too, had been anxious enough while good Heinrich, General Maeyer's\nservant, who had been his faithful comrade in arms from 1813 to 1815,\nbrought her home through all sorts of by-ways. But they had been obliged\nin various places to pass near where the fighting was going on, and the\ntender-hearted seventeen-year-old girl had seen such terrible things that\nshe burst into tears as she described them.\n\nFor us the worst anxiety was over, and our mother recovered her\ncomposure. It was perhaps advisable for her, a defenceless widow, to\nleave the city, which might on the morrow be given over to the unbridled\nwill of insurgents or of soldiers intoxicated with victory. So she\ndetermined to make all preparations for going with us to our grandmother\nin Dresden.\n\nMeanwhile the fighting in the streets seemed to have increased in certain\nplaces to a battle, for the crash of the artillery grapeshot was\nconstantly intermingled with the crackling of the infantry fire, and\nthrough it all the bells were sounding the tocsin, a wailing, warning\nsound, which stirred the inmost heart.\n\nIt was a fearful din, rattling and thundering and ringing, while the sky\nemulated the bloodsoaked earth and glowed in fiery red. It was said that\nthe royal iron foundry was in flames.\n\nAt last the hour of bedtime came, and I still remember how our mother\ntold us to pray for the king and those poor people who, in order to\nattain something we could not understand, were in such great peril.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Child cannot distinguish between what is amusing and what is sad\n     Child is naturally egotistical\n     Deserve the gratitude of my people, though it should be denied\n     Half-comprehended catchwords serve as a banner\n     Hanging the last king with the guts of the last priest\n     Readers often like best what is most incredible\n     Smell most powerful of all the senses in awakening memory\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GEORG EBERS\n\nTHE STORY OF MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD TO MANHOOD\n\nVolume 3.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nAFTER THE NIGHT OF REVOLUTION.\n\nWhen we rose the next morning the firing was over. It was said that all\nwas quiet, and we had the well-known proclamation, \"To my dear people of\nBerlin.\" The horrors of the past night appeared, indeed, to have been the\nresult of an unfortunate mistake. The king himself explained that the two\nshots by the troops, which had been taken for the signal to attack the\npeople, were from muskets which had gone off by some unlucky\naccident--\"thank God, without injuring any one.\"\n\nHe closed with the words: \"Listen to the paternal voice of your king,\nresidents of my loyal and beautiful Berlin; forget what has occurred, as\nI will forget it with all my heart, for the sake of the great future\nwhich, by the blessing of God, will dawn for Prussia, and, through\nPrussia, for Germany. Your affectionate queen and faithful mother, who is\nvery ill, joins her heart-felt and tearful entreaties to mine.\"\n\nThe king also pledged his royal word that the troops would be withdrawn\nas soon as the Berlin people were ready for peace and removed the\nbarricades.\n\nSo peace seemed restored, for there had been no fighting for hours, and\nwe heard that the troops were already withdrawing.\n\nOur departure for Dresden was out of the question--railway communication\nhad ceased. The bells which had sounded the tocsin all night with their\nbrazen tongues seemed, after such furious exertion, to have no strength\nfor summoning worshippers to church. All the houses of God were closed\nthat Sunday.\n\nOur longing to get out of doors grew to impatience, which was destined to\nbe satisfied, for our mother had a violent headache, and we were sent to\nget her usual medicine. We reached the Ring pharmacy--a little house in\nthe Potsdam Platz occupied by the well-known writer, Max Ring--in a very\nfew minutes. We performed our errand with the utmost care, gave the\nmedicine to the cook on our return, and hurried off into the city.\n\nWhen we had left the Mauer-and Friedrichstrasse behind, our hearts began\nto beat faster, and what we saw on the rest of the way through the\nlongest street of Berlin as far as the Linden was of such a nature that\nthe mere thought of it awakens in me to this day an ardent hope that I\nmay never witness such sights again.\n\nRage, hate, and destruction had celebrated the maddest orgies on our\npath, and Death, with passionate vehemence, had swung his sharpest\nscythe. Wild savagery and merciless destruction had blended with the\nshrewdest deliberation and skillful knowledge in constructing the bars\nwhich the German, avoiding his own good familiar word, called barricades.\nAn elderly gentleman who was explaining their construction, pointed out\nto us the ingenuity with which some of the barricades had been\nstrengthened for defence on the one side, and left comparatively weak on\nthe other. Every trench dug where the paving was torn up had its object,\nand each heap of stones its particular design.\n\nBut the ordinary spectator needed a guide to recognize this. At the first\nsight, his attention was claimed by the confused medley and the many\nheart-rending signs of the horrors practised by man on man.\n\nHere was a pool of blood, there a bearded corpse; here a blood-stained\nweapon, there another blackened with powder. Like a caldron where a witch\nmixes all manner of strange things for a philter, each barricade\nconsisted of every sort of rubbish, together with objects originally\nuseful. All kinds of overturned vehicles, from an omnibus to a\nperambulator, from a carriage to a hand-cart, were everywhere to be\nfound. Wardrobes, commodes, chairs, boards, laths, bookshelves, bath tubs\nand washtubs, iron and wooden pipes, were piled together, and the\ninterstices filled with sacks of straw and rags, mattresses, and carriage\ncushions. Whence came the planks yonder, if they were not stripped from\nthe floor of some room? Children and promenaders had sat only yesterday\non those benches and, the night before that, oil lamps or gas flames had\nburned on those lamp-posts. The sign-boards on top had invited customers\ninto shop or inn, and the roll of carpet beneath was perhaps to have\ncovered some floor to-morrow. Oleander shrubs, which I was to see later\nin rocky vales of Greece or Algeria, had possibly been put out here only\nthe day before into the spring sunshine. The warehouses of the capital no\ndoubt contained everything that could be needed, no matter how or when,\nbut Berlin seemed to me too small for all the trash that was dragged out\nof the houses in that March night.\n\nBloody and terrible pictures rose before our minds, and perhaps there was\nno need of Assessor Geppert's calling to us sternly, \"Off home with you,\nboys!\" to turn our feet in that direction.\n\nSo home we ran, but stopped once, for at a fountain, either in\nLeipzigstrasse or Potsdamstrasse, a ball from the artillery had struck in\nthe wood-work, and around it a firm hand had written with chalk in a\nsemicircle, \"TO MY DEAR PEOPLE OF BERLIN.\" On the lower part of the\nfountain the king's proclamation to the citizens, with the same heading,\nwas posted up.\n\nWhat a criticism upon it!\n\nThe address set forth that a band of miscreants, principally foreigners,\nhad by patent falsehood turned the affair in the Schlossplatz to the\nfurtherance of their evil designs, and filled the heated minds of his\ndear and faithful people of Berlin with thoughts of vengeance for blood\nwhich was supposed to have been spilled. Thus they had become the\nabominable authors of actual bloodshed.\n\nThe king really believed in this \"band of miscreants,\" and attributed the\nrevolution, which he called a 'coup monte' (premeditated affair), to\nthose wretches. His letters to Bunsen are proof of it.\n\nAmong those who read his address, \"To my Dear People of Berlin,\" there\nwere many who were wiser. There had really been no need of foreign\nagitators to make them take up arms.\n\nOn the morning of the 18th their rejoicing and cheering came from full\nhearts, but when they saw or learned that the crowd had been fired into\non the Schlossplatz, their already heated blood boiled over; the people\nso long cheated of their rights, who had been put off when half the rest\nof Germany had their demands fulfilled, could bear it no longer.\n\nI must remind myself again that I am not writing a history of the Berlin\nrevolution. Nor would my own youthful impressions justify me in forming\nan independent opinion as to the motives of that remarkable and somewhat\nincomprehensible event; but, with the assistance of friends more\nintimately acquainted with the circumstances, I have of late obtained a\nnot wholly superficial knowledge of them, which, with my own\nrecollections, leads me to adopt the opinion of Heinrich von Sybel\nconcerning the much discussed and still unanswered question, whether the\nBerlin revolution was the result of a long-prepared conspiracy or the\nspontaneous outburst of enthusiasm for liberty among the citizens. He\nsays: \"Both these views are equally well founded, for only the united\neffort of the two forces could insure a possibility of victory.\"\n\nHere again the great historian has found the true solution. It was for\nthe interest of the Poles, the French, and other revolutionary spirits,\nto bring about a bloody conflict in Berlin, and there were many of them\nin the capital that spring, among whom must have been men who knew how to\nbuild barricades and organize revolts; and it can hardly be doubted that,\nat the decisive moment, they tried to enhance the vengefulness and\ncombativeness of the people by strong drink and fiery speeches, perhaps,\nin regard to the dregs of the populace, by money. There is weighty\nevidence in support of this. But it is still more certain--and, though I\nwas but eleven years old and brought up in a loyal atmosphere, I, too,\nfelt and experienced it--that before the 18th of March the general\ndiscontent was at the highest point. There was no controlling it.\n\nIf the chief of police, Von Minutoli, asserts that he knew beforehand the\nhour when the revolution was to break out, this is no special evidence of\nforesight; for the first threat the citizens had ventured to utter\nagainst the king was in the address drawn up at the sitting of the\npopular assembly in Kopenickstrasse, and couched in the following terms\n\"If this is granted us, and granted at once, then we will guarantee a\ngenuine peace.\" To finish the proposition with a statement of what would\noccur in the opposite case, was left to his Majesty; the assembly had\nsimply decided that the \"peaceful demonstration of the wishes of the\npeople\" should take place on the 18th, at two o'clock, several thousand\ncitizens taking part in it. While the address was handed in, and until\nthe reply was received, the ambassadors of the people were to remain\nquietly assembled in the Schlossplatz. What was to happen in case the\nabove-mentioned demands were not granted is nowhere set down, but there\nis little doubt that many of those present intended to trust to the\nfortune of arms. The address contained an ultimatum, and Brass is right\nin calling it, and the meeting in which it originated, the starting point\nof the revolution. Whoever had considered the matter attentively might\neasily say, \"On the 18th, at two o'clock, it will be decided either so or\nso.\" The king had come to his determination earlier than that. Sybel puts\nit beyond question that he had been forced to it by the situation in\nEurope, not by threats or the compulsion of a conflict in the streets.\nNevertheless it came to a street fight, for the enemies of order were\nskillful enough to start a fresh conflagration with the charred beams of\nthe house whose fire had been put out. But all their efforts would have\nbeen in vain had not the conduct of the Government, and the events of the\nlast few days, paved the way.\n\nAmong my mother's conservative friends, and in her own mind, there was a\nstrong belief that the fighting in Berlin had broken out in consequence\nof long-continued stirring of the people by foreign agitators; but I can\naffirm that in my later life, before I began to reflect particularly on\nthe subject, it always seemed to me, when I recalled the time which\npreceded the 18th of March, as if existing circumstances must have led to\nthe expectation of an outbreak at any moment.\n\nIt is difficult in these days to form an idea of the sharp divisions\nwhich succeeded the night of the revolution in Berlin, just as one can\nhardly conceive now, even in court circles, of the whole extent and\nenthusiastic strength of the sentiment of Prussian loyalty at that time.\nThese opposite principles separated friends, estranged families long\nunited in love, and made themselves felt even in the Schmidt school\nduring the short time that we continued to go there.\n\nOur bold excursion over the barricades was unpunished, so far as I\nremember. Perhaps it was not even noticed, for our mother, in spite of\nher violent headache, had to make preparations for the illumination of\nour tolerably long row of windows. Not to have lighted the house would\nhave imperilled the window-panes. To my regret, we were not allowed to\nsee the illumination. I have since thought it a peculiarly amusing trick\nof fate that the palace of the Russian embassy--the property of the\nautocrat Nicholas--was obliged to celebrate with a brilliant display of\nlights the movement for liberty in a sister country.\n\nOn Monday, the 20th, we were sent to school, but it was closed, and we\ntook advantage of the circumstance to get into the heart of the city. The\nappearance of the town-hall peppered with balls I have never forgotten.\nMost of the barricades were cleared away; instead, there were singular\ninscriptions in chalk on the doors of various public buildings.\n\nAt the beginning of Leipzigstrasse, at the main entrance of the Ministry\nof War, we read the words, \"National Property.\" Elsewhere, and\nparticularly at the palace of the Prince of Prussia, was \"Property of the\nCitizens\" or \"Property of the entire Nation.\"\n\nAn excited throng had gathered in front of the plain and simple palace to\nwhose high ground-floor windows troops of loyal and grateful Germans have\noften looked up with love and admiration to see the beloved countenance\nof the grey-haired imperial hero. That day we stood among the crowd and\nlistened to the speech of a student, who addressed us from the great\nbalcony amid a storm of applause. Whether it was the same honest fellow\nwho besought the people to desist from their design of burning the\nprince's palace because the library would be imperilled, I do not know,\nbat the answer, \"Leave the poor boys their books,\" is authentic.\n\nAnd it is also true, unhappily, that it was difficult to save from\ndestruction the house of the man whose Hohenzollern blood asserted itself\njustly against the weakness of his royal brother. Through those days of\nterror he was what he always had been and would remain, an upright man\nand soldier, in the highest and noblest meaning of the words.\n\nWhat we saw and heard in the palace and its courts, swarming with\ncitizens and students, was so low and revolting that I dislike to think\nof it.\n\nSome of the lifeless heroes were just being borne past on litters,\ngreeted by the wine-flushed faces of armed students and citizens. The\nteachers who had overtaken us on the way recognized among them college\nfriends who praised the delicious vintage supplied by the palace guards.\n\nMy brother and I were also fated to see Frederick William IV. ride down\nthe Behrenstrasse and the Unter den Linden with a large black, red, and\nyellow band around his arm.\n\nThe burial of those who had fallen during the night of the revolution was\none of the most imposing ceremonies ever witnessed in Berlin. We boys\nwere permitted to look at it only for a short time, yet the whole\nimpression of the procession, which we really ought not to have been\nallowed to see, has lingered in my memory.\n\nIt was wonderful weather, as warm as summer, and the vast escort which\naccompanied the two hundred coffins of the champions of freedom to their\nlast resting-place seemed endless. We were forbidden to go on the\nplatform in front of the Neuenkirche where they were placed, but the\nspectacle must have produced a strange yet deeply pathetic impression.\n\nPastor Sydow, who represented the Protestant clergy as the Prelate Roland\ndid the Catholics, and the Rabbi Dr. Sachs the Jews, afterwards told me\nthat the multitude of coffins, adorned with the rarest flowers and\nlavishly draped with black, presented an image of mournful splendour\nnever to be forgotten, and I can easily believe it.\n\nThis funeral remains in my memory as an endless line of coffins and\nblack-garbed men with banners and hats bound with crape, bearing flowers,\nemblems of guilds, and trade symbols. Mounted standard bearers, gentlemen\nin robes--the professors of the university--and students in holiday\nattire, mingled in the motley yet solemn train.\n\nHow many tears were shed over those coffins which contained the earthly\nremains of many a young life once rich in hopes and glowing with warm\nenthusiasm, many a quiet heart which had throbbed joyously for man's\nnoblest possession! The interment in the Friedrichshain, where four\nhundred singers raised their voices, and a band of music composed of the\nhautboy players of many regiments poured mighty volumes of sound over the\nopen graves of the dead, must have been alike dignified and majestic.\n\nBut the opposition between the contending parties was still too great,\nand the demand upon the king to salute the dead had aroused such anger in\nmy mother's circle, that she kept aloof from these magnificent and in\nthemselves perfectly justifiable funeral obsequies. It seemed almost\nunendurable that the king had constrained himself to stand on the balcony\nof the palace with his head bared, holding his helmet in his hand, while\nthe procession passed.\n\nThe effect of this act upon the loyal citizens of Berlin can scarcely be\ndescribed. I have seen men--even our humble Kurschner--weep during the\naccount of it by eye-witnesses.\n\nWhoever knew Frederick William IV. also knew that neither genuine\nreconciliation nor respect for the fallen champions of liberty induced\nhim to show this outward token of respect, which was to him the deepest\nhumiliation.\n\nThe insincerity of the sovereign's agreement with the ideas, events, and\nmen of his day was evident in the reaction which appeared only too soon.\nHis conviction showed itself under different forms, but remained\nunchanged, both in political and religious affairs.\n\nDuring the interval life had assumed a new aspect. The minority had\nbecome the majority, and many a son of a strictly conservative man was\nforbidden to oppose the \"red.\" Only no one needed to conceal his loyalty\nto the king, for at that time the democrats still shared it. A good word\nfor the Prince of Prussia, on the contrary, inevitably led to a brawl,\nbut we did not shrink from it, and, thank Heaven, we were among the\nstrongest boys.\n\nThis intrusion of politics into the school-room and the whole tense life\nof the capital was extremely undesirable, and, if continued, could not\nfail to have an injurious influence upon immature lads; so my mother\nhastily decided that, instead of waiting until the next year, we should\ngo to Keilhau at once.\n\nShe has often said that this was the most difficult resolve of her life,\nbut it was also one of the best, since it removed us from the motley,\nconfusing impressions of the city, and the petting we received at home,\nand transferred us to the surroundings most suitable for boys of our age.\n\nThe first of the greater divisions of my life closes with the Easter\nwhich follows the Berlin revolution of March, 1848.\n\nNot until I attained years of maturity did I perceive that these\nconflicts, which, long after, I heard execrated in certain quarters as a\nblot upon Prussian history, rather deserved the warmest gratitude of the\nnation. During those beautiful spring days, no matter by what\nhands--among them were the noblest and purest--were sown the seeds of the\ndignity and freedom of public life which we now enjoy.\n\nThe words \"March conquests\" have been uttered by jeering lips, but I\nthink at the present time there are few among the more far-sighted\nconservatives who would like to dispense with them. To me and, thank\nHeaven, to the majority of Germans, life deprived of them would seem\nunendurable. My mother afterward learned to share this opinion, though,\nlike ourselves, in whose hearts she early implanted it, she retained to\nher last hour her loyalty to the king.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nIN KEILHAU\n\nKeilhau! How much is comprised in that one short word!\n\nIt recalls to my memory the pure happiness of the fairest period of\nboyhood, a throng of honoured, beloved, and merry figures, and hundreds\nof stirring, bright, and amusing scenes in a period of life rich in\ninstruction and amusement, as well as the stage so lavishly endowed by\nNature on which they were performed. Jean Paul has termed melancholy the\nblending of joy and pain, and it was doubtless a kindred feeling which\nfilled my heart in the days before my departure, and induced me to be\nparticularly good and obliging to every body in the house. My mother took\nus once more to my father's grave in the Dreifaltigkeits cemetery, where\nI made many good resolutions. Only the best reports should reach home\nfrom Keilhau, and I had already obtained excellent ones in Berlin.\n\nOn the evening of our departure there were numerous kisses and farewell\nglances at all that was left behind; but when we were seated in the car\nwith my mother, rushing through the landscape adorned with the most\nluxuriant spring foliage, my heart suddenly expanded, and the pleasure of\ntravel and delight in the many new scenes before me destroyed every other\nfeeling.\n\nThe first vineyard I saw at Naumburg--I had long forgotten those on the\nRhine--interested me deeply; the Rudelsburg at Kosen, the ruins of a real\nancient castle, pleased me no less because I had never heard Franz\nKugler's song:\n\n       \"Beside the Saale's verdant strand\n        Once stood full many a castle grand,\n        But roofless ruins are they all;\n        The wind sweeps through from hall to hall;\n        Slow drift the clouds above,\"\n\nwhich refers to this charming part of the Thuringian hill country. We\nwere soon to learn to sing it at Keilhau. Weimar was the first goal of\nthis journey. We had heard much of our classic poets; nay, I knew\nSchiller's Bell and some of Goethe's poems by heart, and we had heard\nthem mentioned with deep reverence. Now we were to see their home, and a\nstrange emotion took possession of me when we entered it.\n\nEvery detail of this first journey has remained stamped on my memory. I\neven know what we ordered for supper at the hotel where we spent the\nnight. But my mother had a severe headache, so we saw none of the sights\nof Weimar except the Goethe house in the city and the other one in the\npark. I cannot tell what my feelings were, they are too strongly blended\nwith later impressions. I only know that the latter especially seemed to\nme very small. I had imagined the \"Goethe House\" like the palace of the\nPrince of Prussia or Prince Radziwill in Wilhelmstrasse. The Grand Duke's\npalace, on the contrary, appeared aristocratic and stately. We looked at\nit very closely, because it was the birthplace of the Princess of\nPrussia, of whom Fraulein Lamperi had told us so much.\n\nThe next morning my mother was well again. The railroad connecting Weimar\nand Rudolstadt, near which Keilhau is located, was built long after, so\nwe continued our journey in an open carriage and reached Rudolstadt about\nnoon.\n\nAfter we had rested a short time, the carriage which was to take us to\nKeilhau drove up.\n\nAs we were getting in, an old gentleman approached, who instantly made a\nstrong impression upon me. In outward appearance he bore a marked\nresemblance to Wilhelm Grimm. I should have noticed him among hundreds;\nfor long grey locks, parted in the middle, floated around a nobly formed\nhead, his massive yet refined features bore the stamp of a most kindly\nnature, and his eyes were the mirror of a pure, childlike soul. The rare\ncharm of their sunny sparkle, when his warm heart expanded to pleasure or\nhis keen intellect had succeeded in solving any problem, comes back\nvividly to my memory as I write, and they beamed brightly enough when he\nperceived our companion. They were old acquaintances, for my mother had\nbeen to Keilhau several times on Martin's account. She addressed him by\nthe name of Middendorf, and we recognized him as one of the heads of the\ninstitute, of whom we had heard many pleasant things.\n\nHe had driven to Rudolstadt with the \"old bay,\" but he willingly accepted\na seat in our carriage.\n\nWe had scarcely left the street with the hotel behind us, when he began\nto speak of Schiller, and pointed out the mountain which bore his name\nand to which in his \"Walk\" he had cried:\n\n     \"Hail! oh my Mount, with radiant crimson peak.\"\n\nThen he told us of the Lengefeld sisters, whom the poet had so often met\nhere, and one of whom, Charlotte, afterward became his wife. All this was\ndone in a way which had no touch of pedagogy or of anything specially\nprepared for children, yet every word was easily understood and\ninterested us. Besides, his voice had a deep, musical tone, to which my\near was susceptible at an early age. He understood children of our\ndisposition and knew what pleased them.\n\nIn Schaale, the first village through which we passed, he said, pointing\nto the stream which flowed into the Saale close by: \"Look, boys, now we\nare coming into our own neighbourhood, the valley of the Schaal. It owes\nits name to this brook, which rises in our own meadows, and I suppose you\nwould like to know why our village is called Keilhau?\"\n\nWhile speaking, he pointed up the stream and briefly described its\ncourse.\n\nWe assented.\n\nWe had passed the village of Schaale. The one before us, with the church,\nwas called Eichfeld, and at our right was another which we could not see,\nLichtstadt. In ancient times, he told us, the mountain sides and the\nbottom of the whole valley had been clothed with dense oak forests. Then\npeople came who wanted to till the ground. They began to clear (lichten)\nthese woods at Lichtstadt. This was a difficult task, and they had used\naxes (Keile) for the purpose. At Eichfeld they felled the oaks (Fiche),\nand carried the trunks to Schaale, where the bark (Schale) was stripped\noff to make tan for the tanners on the Saale. So the name of Lichtstadt\ncame from the clearing of the forests, Eichfeld from the felling of the\noaks, Schaale from stripping off the bark, and Keilhau from the hewing\nwith axes.\n\nThis simple tale of ancient times had sprung from the Thuringian soil, so\nrich in legends, and, little as it might satisfy the etymologist, it\ndelighted me. I believed it, and when afterward I looked down from a\nheight into the valley and saw the Saale, my imagination clothed the bare\nor pineclad mountain slopes with huge oak forests, and beheld the giant\nforms of the ancient Thuringians felling the trees with their heavy axes.\n\nThe idea of violence which seemed to be connected with the name of\nKeilhau had suddenly disappeared. It had gained meaning to me, and Herr\nMiddendorf had given us an excellent proof of a fundamental requirement\nof Friedrich Froebel, the founder of the institution: \"The external must\nbe spiritualized and given an inner significance.\"\n\nThe same talented pedagogue had said, \"Our education associates\ninstruction with the external world which surrounds the human being as\nchild and youth\"; and Middendorf carried out this precept when, at the\nfirst meeting, he questioned us about the trees and bushes by the\nwayside, and when we were obliged to confess our ignorance of most of\nthem, he mentioned their names and described their peculiarities.\n\nAt last we reached the Keilhau plain, a bowl whose walls formed tolerably\nhigh mountains which surrounded it on all sides except toward Rudolstadt,\nwhere an opening permitted the Schaalbach to wind through meadows and\nfields. So the village lies like an egg in a nest open in one direction,\nlike the beetle in the calyx of a flower which has lost one of its\nleaves. Nature has girded it on three sides with protecting walls which\nkeep the wind from entering the valley, and to this, and the delicious,\ncrystal-clear water which flows from the mountains into the pumps, its\nsurprising healthfulness is doubtless due. During my residence there of\nfour and a half years there was no epidemic disease among the boys, and\non the fiftieth jubilee of the institute, in 1867, which I attended, the\nstatement was made that during the half century of its existence only one\npupil had died, and he had had heart disease when his parents sent him to\nthe school.\n\nWe must have arrived on Sunday, for we met on the road several peasants\nin long blue coats, and peasant women in dark cloth cloaks with\ngold-embroidered borders, and little black caps from which ribbons three\nor four feet long hung down the wearers' backs. The cloaks descended from\nmother to daughter. They were very heavy, yet I afterward saw peasant\nwomen wear them to church in summer.\n\nAt last we drove into the broad village street. At the right, opposite to\nthe first houses, lay a small pond called the village pool, on which\nducks and geese floated, and whose dark surface, glittering with many\nhues, reflected the shepherd's hut. After we had passed some very fine\nfarmhouses, we reached the \"Plan,\" where bright waters plashed into a\nstone trough, a linden tree shaded the dancing-ground, and a pretty house\nwas pointed out as the schoolhouse of the village children.\n\nA short distance farther away the church rose in the background. But we\nhad no time to look at it, for we were already driving up to the\ninstitute itself, which was at the end of the village, and consisted of\ntwo rows of houses with an open space closed at the rear by the wide\nfront of a large building.\n\nThe bakery, a small dwelling, and the large gymnasium were at our left;\non the right, the so-called Lower House, with the residences of the\nhead-masters' families, and the school and sleeping-rooms of the smaller\npupils, whom we dubbed the \"Panzen,\" and among whom were boys only eight\nand nine years old.\n\nThe large house before whose central door--to which a flight of stone\nsteps led--we stopped, was the Upper House, our future home.\n\nAlmost at the same moment we heard a loud noise inside, and an army of\nboys came rushing down the steps. These were the \"pupils,\" and my heart\nbegan to throb faster.\n\nThey gathered around the Rudolstadt carriage boldly enough and stared at\nus. I noticed that almost all were bareheaded. Many wore their hair\nfalling in long locks down their backs. The few who had any coverings\nused black velvet caps, such as in Berlin would be seen only at the\ntheatre or in an artist's studio.\n\nMiddendorf had stepped quickly among the lads, and as they came running\nup to take his hand or hang on his arm we saw how they loved him.\n\nBut we had little time for observation. Barop, the head-master, was\nalready hastening down the steps, welcoming my mother and ourselves with\nhis deep, musical tones, in a pure Westphalian dialect.\n\n          ENTERING THE INSTITUTE.\n\nBarop's voice sounded so sincere and cordial that it banished every\nthought of fear, otherwise his appearance might have inspired boys of our\nage with a certain degree of timidity, for he was a broad-shouldered man\nof gigantic stature, who, like Middendorf, wore his grey hair parted in\nthe middle, though it was cut somewhat shorter. A pair of dark eyes\nsparkled under heavy, bushy brows, which gave them the aspect of clear\nsprings shaded by dense thickets. They now gazed kindly at us, but later\nwe were to learn their irresistible power. I have said, and I still\nthink, that the eyes of the artist, Peter Cornelius, are the most\nforceful I have ever seen, for the very genius of art gazed from them.\nThose of our Barop produced no weaker influence in their way, for they\nrevealed scarcely less impressively the character of a man. To them,\nespecially, was clue the implicit obedience that every one rendered him.\nWhen they flashed with indignation the defiance of the boldest and most\nrefractory quailed. But they could sparkle cheerily, too, and whoever met\nhis frank, kindly gaze felt honoured and uplifted.\n\nEarnest, thoroughly natural, able, strong, reliable, rigidly just, free\nfrom any touch of caprice, he lacked no quality demanded by his arduous\nprofession, and hence he whom even the youngest addressed as \"Barop\"\nnever failed for an instant to receive the respect which was his due,\nand, moreover, had from us all the voluntary gift of affection, nay, of\nlove. He was, I repeat, every inch a man.\n\nWhen very young, the conviction that the education of German boys was his\nreal calling obtained so firm a hold upon his mind that he could not be\ndissuaded from giving up the study of the law, in which he had made\nconsiderable progress at Halle, and devoting himself to pedagogy.\n\nHis father, a busy lawyer, had threatened him with disinheritance if he\ndid not relinquish his intention of accepting the by no means brilliant\nposition of a teacher at Keilhau; but he remained loyal to his choice,\nthough his father executed his threat and cast him off. After the old\ngentleman's death his brothers and sisters voluntarily restored his\nportion of the property, but, as he himself told me long after, the\nquarrel with one so dear to him saddened his life for years. For the sake\nof the \"fidelity to one's self\" which he required from others he had lost\nhis father's love, but he had obeyed a resistless inner voice, and the\ngenuineness of his vocation was to be brilliantly proved.\n\nSuccess followed his efforts, though he assumed the management of the\nKeilhau Institute under the most difficult circumstances.\n\nBeneath its roof he had found in the niece of Friedrich Froebel a beloved\nwife, peculiarly suited both to him and to her future position. She was\nas little as he was big, but what energy, what tireless activity this\ndainty, delicate woman possessed! To each one of us she showed a mother's\nsympathy, managed the whole great household down to the smallest details,\nand certainly neglected nothing in the care of her own sons and\ndaughters.\n\nA third master, the archdeacon Langethal, was one of the founders of the\ninstitution, but had left it several years before.\n\nAs I mention him with the same warmth that I speak of Middendorf and\nBarop, many readers will suspect that this portion of my reminiscences\ncontains a receipt for favours, and that reverence and gratitude, nay,\nperhaps the fear of injuring an institution still existing, induces me to\nshow only the lights and cover the shadows with the mantle of love.\n\nI will not deny that a boy from eleven to fifteen years readily overlooks\nin those who occupy an almost paternal relation to him faults which would\nbe immediately noted by the unclouded eyes of a critical observer; but I\nconsider myself justified in describing what I saw in my youth exactly as\nit impressed itself on my memory. I have never perceived the smallest\nflaw or even a trait or act worthy of censure in either Barop,\nMiddendorf, or Langethal. Finally, I may say that, after having learned\nin later years from abundant data willingly placed at my disposal by\nJohannes Barop, our teacher's son and the present master of the\ninstitute, the most minute details concerning their character and work,\nnone of these images have sustained any material injury.\n\nIn Friedrich Froebel, the real founder of the institute, who repeatedly\nlived among us for months, I have learned to know from his own works and\nthe comprehensive amount of literature devoted to him, a really talented\nidealist, who on the one hand cannot be absolved from an amazing contempt\nfor or indifference to the material demands of life, and on the other\npossessed a certain artless selfishness which gave him courage, whenever\nhe wished to promote objects undoubtedly pure and noble, to deal\narbitrarily with other lives, even where it could hardly redound to their\nadvantage. I shall have more to say of him later.\n\nThe source of Middendorf's greatness in the sphere where life and his own\nchoice had placed him may even be imputed to him as a fault. He, the most\nenthusiastic of all Froebel's disciples, remained to his life's end a\nlovable child, in whom the powers of a rich poetic soul surpassed those\nof the thoughtful, well-trained mind. He would have been ill-adapted for\nany practical position, but no one could be better suited to enter into\nthe soul-life of young human beings, cherish and ennoble them.\n\nA deeper insight into the lives of Barop and Langethal taught me to prize\nthese men more and more.\n\nThey have all rested under the sod for decades, and though their\ninstitute, to which I owe so much, has remained dear and precious, and\nthe years I spent in the pleasant Thuringian mountain valley are numbered\namong the fairest in my life, I must renounce making proselytes for the\nKeilhau Institute, because, when I saw its present head for the last\ntime, as a very young man, I heard from him, to my sincere regret, that,\nsince the introduction of the law of military service, he found himself\ncompelled to make the course of study at Rudolstadt conform to the system\nof teaching in a Realschule.--[School in which the arts and sciences as\nwell as the languages are taught.-TR.]--He was forced to do so in order\nto give his graduates the certificate for the one year's military\nservice.\n\nThe classics, formerly held in such high esteem beneath its roof, must\nnow rank below the sciences and modern languages, which are regarded as\nmost important. But love for Germany and the development of German\ncharacter, which Froebel made the foundation of his method of education,\nare too deeply rooted there ever to be extirpated. Both are as zealously\nfostered in Keilhau now as in former years.\n\nAfter a cordial greeting from Barop, we had desks assigned us in the\nschoolroom, which were supplied with piles of books, writing materials,\nand other necessaries. Ludo's bed stood in the same dormitory with mine.\nBoth were hard enough, but this had not damped our gay spirits, and when\nwe were taken to the other boys we were soon playing merrily with the\nrest.\n\nThe first difficulty occurred after supper, and proved to be one of the\nmost serious I encountered during my stay in the school.\n\nMy mother had unpacked our trunks and arranged everything in order. Among\nthe articles were some which were new to the boys, and special notice was\nattracted by several pairs of kid gloves and a box of pomade which\nbelonged in our pretty leather dressing-case, a gift from my grandmother.\n\nDandified, or, as we should now term them, \"dudish\" affairs, were not\nallowed at Keilhau; so various witticisms were made which culminated when\na pupil of about our own age from a city on the Weser called us Berlin\npomade-pots. This vexed me, but a Berlin boy always has an answer ready,\nand mine was defiant enough. The matter might have ended here had not the\nsame lad stroked my hair to see how Berlin pomade smelt. From a child\nnothing has been more unendurable than to feel a stranger's hand touch\nme, especially on the head, and, before I was aware of it, I had dealt my\nenemy a resounding slap. Of course, he instantly rushed at me, and there\nwould have been a violent scuffle had not the older pupils interfered. If\nwe wanted to do anything, we must wrestle. This suited my antagonist, and\nI, too, was not averse to the contest, for I had unusually strong arms, a\nwell-developed chest, and had practised wrestling in the Berlin\ngymnasium.\n\nThe struggle began under the direction of the older pupils, and the grip\non which I had relied did not fail. It consisted in clutching the\nantagonist just above the hips. If the latter were not greatly my\nsuperior, and I could exert my whole strength to clasp him to me, he was\nlost. This time the clever trick did its duty, and my adversary was\nspeedily stretched on the ground. I turned my back on him, but he rose,\npanting breathlessly. \"It's like a bear squeezing one.\" In reply to every\nquestion from the older boys who stood around us laughing, he always made\nthe same answer, \"Like a bear.\"\n\nI had reason to remember this very common incident in boy life, for it\ngave me the nickname used by old and young till after my departure.\nHenceforward I was always called \"the bear.\" Last year I had the pleasure\nof receiving a visit from Dr. Bareuther, a member of the Austrian Senate\nand a pupil of Keilhau. We had not met for forty years, and his first\nwords were: \"Look at me, Bear. Who am I?\"\n\nMy brother had brought his nickname with him, and everybody called him\nLudo instead of Ludwig. The pretty, bright, agile lad, who also never\nflinched, soon became especially popular, and my companions were also\nfond of me, as I learned, when, during the last years of my stay at the\ninstitute, they elected me captain of the first Bergwart--that is,\ncommander-in-chief of the whole body of pupils.\n\nMy first fight secured my position forever. We doubtless owed our\ninitiation on the second day into everything which was done by the\npupils, both openly and secretly, to the good impression made by Martin.\nThere was nothing wrong, and even where mischief was concerned I can term\nit to-day \"harmless.\" The new boys or \"foxes\" were not neglected or\n\"hazed,\" as in many other schools. Only every one, even the newly arrived\nyounger teachers, was obliged to submit to the \"initiation.\" This took\nplace in winter, and consisted in being buried in the snow and having\npockets, clothing, nay, even shirts, filled with the clean but wet mass.\nYet I remember no cold caused by this rude baptism. My mother remained\nseveral days with us, and as the weather was fine she accompanied us to\nthe neighbouring heights--the Kirschberg, to which, after the peaceful\ncemetery of the institute was left behind, a zigzag path led; the Kohn,\nat whose foot rose the Upper House; and the Steiger, from whose base\nflowed the Schaalbach, and whose summit afforded a view of a great\nportion of the Thuringian mountains.\n\nWe older pupils afterwards had a tall tower erected there as a monument\nto Barop, and the prospect from its lofty summit, which is more that a\nthousand feet high, is magnificent.\n\nEven before the completion of this lookout, the view was one of the most\nbeautiful and widest far or near, and we were treated like most\nnew-comers. During the ascent our eyes were bandaged, and when the\nhandkerchief was removed a marvellous picture appeared before our\nastonished gaze. In the foreground, toward the left, rose the wooded\nheight crowned by the stately ruins of the Blankenburg. Beyond opened the\nbeautiful leafy bed of the Saale, proudly dominated by the Leuchtenburg.\nBefore us there was scarcely any barrier to the vision; for behind the\nnearer ranges of hills one chain of the wooded Thuringian Mountains\ntowered beyond another, and where the horizon seemed to close the grand\npicture, peak after peak blended with the sky and the clouds, and the\nlight veil of mist floating about them seemed to merge all into an\nindivisible whole.\n\nI have gazed from this spot into the distance at every hour of the day\nand season of the year. But the fairest time of all on the Steiger was at\nsunset, on clear autumn days, when the scene close at hand, where the\nthreads of gossamer were floating, was steeped in golden light, the\ndistance in such exquisite tints-from crimson to the deepest violet blue,\nedged with a line of light-the Saale glimmered with a silvery lustre amid\nits fringe of alders, and the sun flashed on the glittering panes of the\nLeuchtenburg.\n\nWe were now old enough to enjoy the magnificence of this prospect. My\nyoung heart swelled at the sight; and if in after years my eyes could\ngrasp the charm of a beautiful landscape and my pen successfully describe\nit, I learned the art here.\n\nIt was pleasant, too, that my mother saw all this with us, though she\nmust often have gone to rest very much wearied from her rambles. But\nteachers and pupils vied with each other in attentions to her. She had\nwon all hearts. We noticed and rejoiced in it till the day came when she\nleft us.\n\nShe was obliged to start very early in the morning, in order to reach\nBerlin the same evening. The other boys were not up, but Barop,\nMiddendorf, and several other teachers had risen to take leave of her. A\nfew more kisses, a wave of her handkerchief, and the carriage vanished in\nthe village. Ludo and I were alone, and I vividly remember the moment\nwhen we suddenly began to weep and sob as bitterly as if it had been an\neternal farewell. How often one human being becomes the sun of another's\nlife! And it is most frequently the mother who plays this beautiful part.\n\nYet the anguish of parting did not last very long, and whoever had\nwatched the boys playing ball an hour later would have heard our voices\namong the merriest. Afterwards we rarely had attacks of homesickness,\nthere were so many new things in Keilhau, and even familiar objects\nseemed changed in form and purpose.\n\nFrom the city we were in every sense transferred to the woods.\n\nTrue, we had grown up in the beautiful park of the Thiergarten, but only\non its edge; to live in and with Nature, \"become one with her,\" as\nMiddendorf said, we had not learned.\n\nI once read in a novel by Jensen, as a well-attested fact, that during an\ninquiry made in a charity school in the capital a considerable number of\nthe pupils had never seen a butterfly or a sunset. We were certainly not\nto be classed among such children. But our intercourse with Nature had\nbeen limited to formal visits which we were permitted to pay the august\nlady at stated intervals. In Keilhau she became a familiar friend, and we\ntherefore were soon initiated into many of her secrets; for none seemed\nto be withheld from our Middendorf and Barop, whom duty and inclination\nalike prompted to sharpen our ears also for her language.\n\nThe Keilhau games and walks usually led up the mountains or into the\nforest, and here the older pupils acted as teachers, but not in any\npedagogical way. Their own interest in whatever was worthy of note in\nNature was so keen that they could not help pointing it out to their less\nexperienced companions.\n\nOn our \"picnics\" from Berlin we had taken dainty mugs in order to drink\nfrom the wells; now we learned to seek and find the springs themselves,\nand how delicious the crystal fluid tastes from the hollow of the hand,\nDiogenes's drinking-cup!\n\nOld Councillor Wellmer, in the Crede House, in Berlin, a zealous\nentomologist, owned a large collection of beetles, and had carefully\nimpaled his pets on long slender pins in neat boxes, which filled\nnumerous glass cases. They lacked nothing but life. In Keilhau we found\nevery variety of insect in central Germany, on the bushes and in the\nmoss, the turf, the bark of trees, or on the flowers and blades of grass,\nand they were alive and allowed us to watch them. Instead of neatly\nwritten labels, living lips told us their names.\n\nWe had listened to the notes of the birds in the Thiergarten; but our\nmother, the tutor, the placards, our nice clothing, prohibited our\nfollowing the feathered songsters into the thickets. But in Keilhau we\nwere allowed to pursue them to their nests. The woods were open to every\none, and nothing could injure our plain jackets and stout boots. Even in\nmy second year at Keilhau I could distinguish all the notes of the\nnumerous birds in the Thuringian forests, and, with Ludo, began the\ncollection of eggs whose increase afforded us so much pleasure. Our\nteachers' love for all animate creation had made them impose bounds on\nthe zeal of the egg-hunters, who were required always to leave one egg in\nthe nest, and if it contained but one not to molest it. How many trees we\nclimbed, what steep cliffs we scaled, through what crevices we squeezed\nto add a rare egg to our collection; nay, we even risked our limbs and\nnecks! Life is valued so much less by the young, to whom it is brightest,\nand before whom it still stretches in a long vista, than by the old, for\nwhom its charms are already beginning to fade, and who are near its end.\n\nI shall never forget the afternoon when, supplied with ropes and poles,\nwe went to the Owl Mountain, which originally owed its name to\nMiddendorf, because when he came to Keilhau he noticed that its rocky\nslope served as a home for several pairs of horned owls. Since then their\nnumbers had increased, and for some time larger night birds had been\nflying in and out of a certain crevice.\n\nIt was still the laying season, and their nests must be there. Climbing\nthe steep precipice was no easy task, but we succeeded, and were then\nlowered from above into the crevice. At that time we set to work with the\ndelight of discoverers, but now I frown when I consider that those who\nlet first the daring Albrecht von Calm, of Brunswick, and then me into\nthe chasm by ropes were boys of thirteen or fourteen at the utmost.\nMarbod, my companion's brother, was one of the strongest of our number,\nand we were obliged to force our way like chimney sweeps by pressing our\nhands and feet against the walls of the narrow rough crevice. Yet it now\nseems a miracle that the adventure resulted in no injury. Unfortunately,\nwe found the young birds already hatched, and were compelled to return\nwith our errand unperformed. But we afterward obtained such eggs, and\ntheir form is more nearly ball-shape than that seen in those of most\nother birds. We knew how the eggs of all the feathered guests of Germany\nwere coloured and marked, and the chest of drawers containing our\ncollection stood for years in my mother's attic. When I inquired about it\na few years ago, it could not be found, and Ludo, who had helped in\ngathering it, lamented its loss with me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nFRIEDRICH FROEBEL'S IDEAL OF EDUCATION.\n\nDangerous enterprises were of course forbidden, but the teachers of the\ninstitute neglected no means of training our bodies to endure every\nexertion and peril; for Froebel was still alive, and the ideal of\neducation, for whose realization he had established the Keilhau school,\nhad become to his assistants and followers strong and healthy realities.\nBut Froebel's purpose did not require the culture of physical strength.\nHis most marked postulates were the preservation and development of the\nindividuality of the boys entrusted to his care, and their training in\nGerman character and German nature; for he beheld the sum of all the\ntraits of higher, purer manhood united in those of the true German.\n\nLove for the heart, strength for the character, seemed to him the highest\ngifts with which he could endow his pupils for life.\n\nHe sought to rear the boy to unity with himself, with God, with Nature,\nand with mankind, and the way led to trust in God through religion, trust\nin himself by developing the strength of mind and body, and confidence in\nmankind--that is, in others, by active relations with life and a loving\ninterest in the past and present destinies of our fellow-men. This\nrequired an eye and heart open to our surroundings, sociability, and a\ndeeper insight into history. Here Nature seems to be forgotten. But\nNature comes into the category of religion, for to him religion means: To\nknow and feel at one with ourselves, with God, and with man; to be loyal\nto ourselves, to God, and to Nature: and to remain in continual active,\nliving relations with God.\n\nThe teacher must lead the pupils to men as well as to God and Nature, and\ndirect them from action to perception and thought. For action he takes\nspecial degrees, capacity, skill, trustworthiness; for perception,\nconsciousness, insight, clearness. Only the practical and clear-sighted\nman can maintain himself as a thinker, opening out as a teacher new\ntrains of thought, and comprehending the basis of what is already\nacquired and the laws which govern it.\n\nFroebel wishes to have the child regarded as a bud on the great tree of\nlife, and therefore each pupil needs to be considered individually,\ndeveloped mentally and physically, fostered and trained as a bud on the\nhuge tree of the human race. Even as a system of instruction, education\nought not to be a rigid plan, incapable of modification, it should be\nadapted to the individuality of the child, the period in which it is\ngrowing to maturity, and its environment. The child should be led to\nfeel, work, and act by its own experiences in the present and in its\nhome, not by the opinions of others or by fixed, prescribed rules. From\nindependent, carefully directed acts and knowledge, perceptions, and\nthoughts, the product of this education must come forth--a man, or, as it\nis elsewhere stated, a thorough German. At Keilhau he is to be perfected,\nconverted into a finished production without a flaw. If the institute has\nfulfilled its duty to the individual, he will be:\n\nTo his native land, a brave son in the hour of peril, in the spirit of\nself-sacrifice and sturdy strength.\n\nTo the family, a faithful child and a father who will secure prosperity.\n\nTo the state, an upright, honest, industrious citizen.\n\nTo the army, a clear-sighted, strong, healthy, brave soldier and leader.\n\nTo the trades, arts, and sciences, a skilled helper, an active promoter,\na worker accustomed to thorough investigation, who has grown to maturity\nin close intercourse with Nature.\n\nTo Jesus Christ, a faithful disciple and brother; a loving, obedient\nchild of God.\n\nTo mankind, a human being according to the image of God, and not\naccording to that of a fashion journal.\n\nNo one is reared for the drawing-room; but where there is a drawing-room\nin which mental gifts are fostered and truth finds an abode, a true\ngraduate of Keilhau will be an ornament. \"No instruction in bowing and\ntying cravats is necessary; people learn that only too quickly,\" said\nFroebel.\n\nThe right education must be a harmonious one, and must be thoroughly in\nunison with the necessary phenomena and demands of human life.\n\nThus the Keilhau system of education must claim the whole man, his inner\nas well as his outer existence. Its purpose is to watch the nature of\neach individual boy, his peculiarities, traits, talents, above all, his\ncharacter, and afford to all the necessary development and culture. It\nfollows step by step the development of the human being, from the almost\ninstinctive impulse to feeling, consciousness, and will. At each one of\nthese steps each child is permitted to have only what he can bear,\nunderstand, and assimilate, while at the same time it serves as a ladder\nto the next higher step of development and culture. In this way Froebel,\nwhose own notes, collected from different sources, we are here following,\nhopes to guard against a defective or misdirected education; for what the\npupil knows and can do has sprung, as it were, from his own brain.\nNothing has been learned, but developed from within. Therefore the boy\nwho is sent into the world will understand how to use it, and possess the\nmeans for his own further development and perfection from step to step.\n\nEvery human being has a talent for some calling or vocation, and strength\nfor its development. It is the task of the institute to cultivate the\npowers which are especially requisite for the future fulfilment of the\ncalling appointed by Nature herself. Here, too, the advance must be step\nby step. Where talent or inclination lead, every individual will be\nprepared to deal with even the greatest obstacles, and must possess even\nthe capacity to represent externally what has been perceived and\nthought--that is, to speak and write clearly and accurately--for in this\nway the intellectual power of the individual will first be made active\nand visible to others. We perceive that Froebel strongly antagonizes the\nRoman postulate that knowledge should be imparted to boys according to a\nthoroughly tested method and succession approved by the mature human\nintellect, and which seem most useful to it for later life.\n\nThe systematic method which, up to the time of Pestalozzi, prevailed in\nGermany, and is again embodied in our present mode of education, seemed\nto him objectionable. The Swiss reformer pointed out that the mother's\nheart had instinctively found the only correct system of instruction, and\nset before the pedagogue the task of watching and cultivating the child's\ntalents with maternal love and care. He utterly rejected the old system,\nand Froebel stationed himself as a fellow-combatant at his side, but went\nstill further. This stand required a high degree of courage at the time\nof the founding of Keilhau, when Hegel's influence was omnipotent in\neducational circles, for Hegel set before the school the task of\nimparting culture, and forgot that it lacked the most essential\nconditions; for the school can give only knowledge, while true education\ndemands a close relation between the person to be educated and the world\nfrom which the school, as Hegel conceived it, is widely sundered.\n\nFroebel recognized that the extent of the knowledge imparted to each\npupil was of less importance, and that the school could not be expected\nto bestow on each individual a thoroughly completed education, but an\nintellect so well trained that when the time came for him to enter into\nrelations with the world and higher instructors he would have at his\ndisposal the means to draw from both that form of culture which the\nschool is unable to impart. He therefore turned his back abruptly on the\nold system, denied that the main object of education was to meet the\nneeds of afterlife, and opposed having the interests of the child\nsacrificed to those of the man; for the child in his eyes is sacred, an\nindependent blessing bestowed upon him by God, towards whom he has the\none duty of restoring to those who confided it to him in a higher degree\nof perfection, with unfolded mind and soul, and a body and character\nsteeled against every peril. \"A child,\" he says, \"who knows how to do\nright in his own childish sphere, will grow naturally into an upright\nmanhood.\"\n\nWith regard to instruction, his view, briefly stated, is as follows: The\nboy whose special talents are carefully developed, to whom we give the\npower of absorbing and reproducing everything which is connected with his\ntalent, will know how to assimilate, by his own work in the world and\nwider educational advantages, everything which will render him a perfect\nand thoroughly educated man. With half the amount of preliminary\nknowledge in the province of his specialty, the boy or youth dismissed by\nus as a harmoniously developed man, to whom we have given the methods\nrequisite for the acquisition of all desirable branches of knowledge,\nwill accomplish more than his intellectual twin who has been trained\naccording to the ideas of the Romans (and, let us add, Hegel).\n\nI think Froebel is right. If his educational principles were the common\nproperty of mankind, we might hope for a realization of Jean Paul's\nprediction that the world would end with a child's paradise. We enjoyed a\nforetaste of this paradise in Keilhau. But when I survey our modern\ngymnasia, I am forced to believe that if they should succeed in equipping\ntheir pupils with still greater numbers of rules for the future, the\nhappiness of the child would be wholly sacrificed to the interests of the\nman, and the life of this world would close with the birth of overwise\ngreybeards. I might well be tempted to devote still more time to the\neducational principles of the man who, from the depths of his full, warm\nheart, addressed to parents the appeal, \"Come, let us live for our\nchildren,\" but it would lead me beyond the allotted limits.\n\nMany of Froebel's pedagogical principles undoubtedly appear at first\nsight a pallid theorem, partly a matter of course, partly impracticable.\nDuring our stay in Keilhau we never heard of these claims, concerning\nwhich we pupils were the subject of experiment. Far less did we feel that\nwe were being educated according to any fixed method. We perceived very\nlittle of any form of government. The relation between us and our\nteachers was so natural and affectionate that it seemed as if no other\nwas possible.\n\nYet, when I compared our life at Keilhau with the principles previously\nmentioned, I found that Barop, Middendorf, and old Langethal, as well as\nthe sub-teachers Bagge, Budstedt, and Schaffner, had followed them in our\neducation, and succeeded in applying many of those which seemed the most\ndifficult to carry into execution. This filled me with sincere\nadmiration, though I soon perceived that it could have been done only by\nmen in whom Froebel had transplanted his ideal, men who were no less\nenthusiastic concerning their profession than he, and whose personality\npredestined them to solve successfully tasks which presented difficulties\nalmost unconquerable by others.\n\nEvery boy was to be educated according to his peculiar temperament, with\nspecial regard to his disposition, talents, and character. Although there\nwere sixty of us, this was actually done in the case of each individual.\n\nThus the teachers perceived that the endowments of my brother, with whom\nI had hitherto shared everything, required a totally different system of\neducation from mine. While I was set to studying Greek, he was released\nfrom it and assigned to modern languages and the arts and sciences. They\nconsidered me better suited for a life of study, him qualified for some\npractical calling or a military career.\n\nEven in the tasks allotted to each, and the opinions passed upon our\nphysical and mental achievements, there never was any fixed standard.\nThese teachers always kept in view the whole individual, and especially\nhis character. Thereby the parents of a Keilhau pupil were far better\ninformed in many respects than those of our gymnasiasts, who so often\nyield to the temptation of estimating their sons' work by the greater or\nless number of errors in their Latin exercises.\n\nIt afforded me genuine pleasure to look through the Keilhau reports. Each\ncontained a description of character, with a criticism of the work\naccomplished, partly with reference to the pupil's capacity, partly to\nthe demands of the school. Some are little masterpieces of psychological\npenetration.\n\nMany of those who have followed these statements will ask how the German\nnature and German character can be developed in the boys.\n\nIt was thoroughly done in Keilhau.\n\nBut the solution of the problem required men like Langethal and\nMiddendorf, who, even in their personal appearance models of German\nstrength and dignity, had fought for their native land, and who were\nsurpassed in depth and warmth of feeling by no man.\n\nI repeat that what Froebel termed German was really the higher traits of\nhuman character; but nothing was more deeply imprinted on our souls than\nlove for our native land. Here the young voices not only extolled the\nwarlike deeds of the brave Prussians, but recited with equal fervor all\nthe songs with which true patriotism has inspired German poets. Perhaps\nthis delight in Germanism went too far in many respects; it fostered\nhatred and scorn of everything \"foreign,\" and was the cause of the long\nhair and cap, pike and broad shirt collar worn by many a pupil. Yet their\nnumber was not very large, and Ludo, our most intimate friends, and I\nnever joined them.\n\nBarop himself smiled at their \"Teutonism\" but indulged it, and it was\nstimulated by some of the teachers, especially the magnificent Zeller, so\nfull of vigour and joy in existence. I can still see the gigantic young\nSwiss, as he made the pines tremble with his \"Odin, Odin, death to the\nRomans!\"\n\nOne of the pupils, Count zur Lippe, whose name was Hermann, was called\n\"Arminius,\" in memory of the conqueror of Varus. But these were external\nthings.\n\nOn the other hand, how vividly, during the history lesson, Langethal, the\nold warrior of 1813, described the course of the conflict for liberty!\n\nFriedrich Froebel had also pronounced esteem for manual labour to be\ngenuinely and originally German, and therefore each pupil was assigned a\nplace where he could wield spades and pickaxes, roll stones, sow, and\nreap.\n\nThese occupations were intended to strengthen the body, according to\nFroebel's rules, and absorbed the greater part of the hours not devoted\nto instruction.\n\nMidway up the Dissauberg was the spacious wrestling-ground with the\nshooting-stand, and in the court-yard of the institute the gymnasium for\nevery spare moment of the winter. There fencing was practised with\nfleurets (thrusting swords), not rapiers, which Barop rightly believed\nhad less effect upon developing the agility of youthful bodies. Even when\nboys of twelve, Ludo and I, like most of the other pupils, had our own\nexcellent rifles, a Christmas gift from our mother, and how quickly our\nkeen young eyes learned to hit the bull's-eye! There was good swimming in\nthe pond of the institute, and skating was practised there on the frozen\nsurface of the neighbouring meadow; then we had our coasting parties at\nthe \"Upper House\" and down the long slope of the Dissau, the climbing and\nrambling, the wrestling and jumping over the backs of comrades, the\nditches, hedges, and fences, the games of prisoner's base which no\nKeilhau pupil will ever forget, the ball-playing and the various games of\nrunning for which there was always time, although at the end of the year\nwe had acquired a sufficient amount of knowledge. The stiffest boy who\ncame to Keilhau grew nimble, the biceps of the veriest weakling enlarged,\nthe most timid nature was roused to courage. Indeed, here, if anywhere,\nit required courage to be cowardly.\n\nIf Froebel and Langethal had seen in the principle of comradeship the\nbest furtherance of discipline, it was proved here; for we formed one\nlarge family, and if any act really worthy of punishment, no mere\nebullition of youthful spirits, was committed by any of the pupils, Barop\nsummoned us all, formed us into a court of justice, and we examined into\nthe affair and fixed the penalty ourselves. For dishonourable acts,\nexpulsion from the institute; for grave offences, confinement to the\nroom--a punishment which pledged even us, who imposed it, to avoid all\nintercourse with the culprit for a certain length of time. For lighter\nmisdemeanours the offender was confined to the house or the court-yard.\nIf trivial matters were to be censured this Areopagus was not convened.\n\nAnd we, the judges, were rigid executors of the punishment. Barop\nafterwards told me that he was frequently compelled to urge us to be more\ngentle. Old Froebel regarded these meetings as means for coming into\nunity with life. The same purpose was served by the form of our\nintercourse with one another, the pedestrian excursions, and the many\nincidents related by our teachers of their own lives, especially the\nhistorical instruction which was connected with the history of\ncivilization and so arranged as to seek to make us familiar not only with\nthe deeds of nations and bloody battles, but with the life of the human\nrace.\n\nIn spite of, or on account of, the court of justice I have just\nmentioned, there could be no informers among us, for Barop only half\nlistened to the accuser, and often sent him harshly from the room without\nsummoning the school-mate whom he accused. Besides, we ourselves knew how\nto punish the sycophant so that he took good care not to act as\ntale-bearer a second time.\n\n        MANNERS, AND FROEBEL'S KINDERGARTEN\n\nThe wives of the teachers had even more to do with our deportment than\nthe dancing-master, especially Frau Barop and her husband's sister Frau\nvon Born, who had settled in Keilhau on account of having her sons\neducated there.\n\nThe fact that the head-master's daughters and several girls, who were\nfriends or relatives of his family, shared many of our lessons, also\ncontributed essentially to soften the manners of the young German\nsavages.\n\nI mention our \"manners\" especially because, as I afterwards learned, they\nhad been the subject of sharp differences of opinion between Friedrich\nFroebel and Langethal, and because the arguments of the former are so\ncharacteristic that I deem them worthy of record.\n\nThere could be no lack of delicacy of feeling on the part of the founder\nof the kindergarten system, who had said, \"If you are talking with any\none, and your child comes to ask you about anything which interests him,\nbreak off your conversation, no matter what may be the rank of the person\nwho is speaking to you,\" and who also directed that the child should\nreceive not only love but respect. The first postulate shows that he\nvalued the demands of the soul far above social forms. Thus it happened\nthat during the first years of the institute, which he then governed\nhimself, he was reproached with paying too little attention to the\noutward forms, the \"behaviour,\" the manners of the boys entrusted to his\ncare. His characteristic answer was: \"I place no value on these forms\nunless they depend upon and express the inner self. Where that is\nthoroughly trained for life and work, externals may be left to\nthemselves, and will supplement the other.\" The opponent admits this, but\ndeclares that the Keilhau method, which made no account of outward form,\nmay defer this \"supplement\" in a way disastrous to certain pupils.\nFroebel's answer is: \"Certainly, a wax pear can be made much more quickly\nand is just as beautiful as those on the tree, which require a much\nlonger time to ripen. But the wax pear is only to look at, can barely be\ntouched, far less could it afford refreshment to the thirsty and the\nsick. It is empty--a mere nothing! The child's nature, it is said,\nresembles wax. Very well, we don't grudge wax fruits to any one who likes\nthem. But nothing must be expected from them if we are ill and thirsty;\nand what is to become of them when temptations and trials come, and to\nwhom do they not come? Our educational products must mature slowly, but\nthoroughly, to genuine human beings whose inner selves will be deficient\nin no respect. Let the tailor provide for the clothes.\"\n\nFroebel himself was certainly very careless in the choice of his. The\nlong cloth coat in which I always saw him was fashioned by the village\ntailor, and the old gentleman probably liked the garment because half a\ndozen children hung by the tails when he crossed the court-yard. It\nneeded to be durable; but the well-fitting coats worn by Barop and\nLangethal were equally so, and both men believed that the good gardener\nshould also care for the form of the fruit he cultivates, because, when\nripe, it is more valuable if it looks well. They, too, cared nothing for\nwax fruits; nay, did not even consider them because they did not\nrecognize them as fruit at all.\n\nFroebel's conversion was delayed, but after his marriage it was all the\nmore thorough. The choice of this intellectual and kindly natured man,\nwho set no value on the external forms of life, was, I might say,\n\"naturally\" a very elegant woman, a native of Berlin, the widow of the\nKriegsrath Hofmeister. She speedily opened Froebel's eyes to the\naesthetic and artistic element in the lives of the boys entrusted to his\ncare--the element to which Langethal, from the time of his entrance into\nthe institution, had directed his attention.\n\nSo in Keilhau, too, woman was to pave the way to greater refinement.\n\nThis had occurred long before our entrance into the institution. Froebel\ndid not allude to wax pears now when he saw the pupils well dressed and\ncourteous in manner; nay, afterwards, in establishing the kindergarten,\nhe praised and sought to utilize the comprehensive influence upon\nhumanity of \"woman,\" the guardian of lofty morality. Wives and mothers\nowe him as great a debt of gratitude as children, and should never forget\nthe saying, \"The mother's heart alone is the true source of the welfare\nof the child, and the salvation of humanity.\" The fundamental necessity\nof the hour is to prepare this soil for the noble human blossom, and\nrender it fit for its mission.\n\nTo meet the need mentioned in this sentence the whole labour of the\nevening of his life was devoted. Amid many cares and in defiance of\nstrong opposition he exerted his best powers for the realization of his\nideal, finding courage to do so in the conviction uttered in the saying,\n\"Only through the pure hands and full hearts of wives and mothers can the\nkingdom of God become a reality.\"\n\nUnfortunately, I cannot enter more comprehensively here into the details\nof the kindergarten system--it is connected with Keilhau only in so far\nthat both were founded by the same man. Old Froebel was often visited\nthere by female kindergarten teachers and pedagogues who wished to learn\nsomething of this new institute. We called the former \"Schakelinen\"; the\nlatter, according to a popular etymology, \"Schakale.\" The odd name\nbestowed upon the female kindergarten teachers was derived, as I learned\nafterwards, from no beast of prey, but from a figure in Jean Paul's\n\"Levana,\" endowed with beautiful gifts. Her name is Madame Jacqueline,\nand she was used by the author to give expression to his own opinions of\nfemale education. Froebel has adopted many suggestions of Jean Paul, but\nthe idea of the kindergarten arose from his own unhappy childhood. He\nwished to make the first five years of life, which to him had been a\nchain of sorrows, happy and fruitful to children--especially to those\nwho, like him, were motherless.\n\nSullen tempers, the rod, and the strictest, almost cruel, constraint had\novershadowed his childhood, and now his effort was directed towards\nhaving the whole world of little people join joyously in his favourite\ncry, \"Friede, Freude, Freiheit!\" (Peace, Pleasure, Liberty), which\ncorresponds with the motto of the Jahn gymnasium, \"Frisch, fromm,\nfrohlich, frei.\"\n\nHe also desired to utilize for public instruction the educational talents\nwhich woman undoubtedly possesses.\n\nAs in his youth, shoulder to shoulder with Pestalozzi, he had striven to\nrear growing boys in a motherly fashion to be worthy men, he now wished\nto turn to account, for the benefit of the whole wide circle of younger\nchildren, the trait of maternal solicitude which exists in every woman.\nWomen were to be trained for teachers, and the places where children\nreceived their first instruction were to resemble nurseries as closely as\npossible. He also desired to see the maternal tone prevail in this\ninstruction.\n\nHe, through whose whole life had run the echo of the Saviour's words,\n\"Suffer little children to come unto me,\" understood the child's nature,\nand knew that its impulse to play must be used, in order to afford it\nsuitable future nourishment for the mind and soul.\n\nThe instruction, the activity, and the movements of the child should be\nassociated with the things which most interest him, and meanwhile it\nshould be constantly employed in some creative occupation adapted to its\nintelligence.\n\nIf, for instance, butter was spoken of, by the help of suitable motions\nthe cow was milked, the milk was poured into a pan and skimmed, the cream\nwas churned, the butter was made into pats and finally sent to market.\nThen came the payment, which required little accounts. When the game was\nover, a different one followed, perhaps something which rendered the\nlittle hands skilful by preparing fine weaving from strips of paper; for\nFroebel had perceived that change brought rest.\n\nEvery kindergarten should have a small garden, to afford an opportunity\nto watch the development of the plants, though only one at a time--for\ninstance, the bean. By watching the clouds in the sky he directed the\nchildish intelligence to the rivers, seas, and circulation of moisture.\nIn the autumn the observation of the chrysalis state of insects was\nconnected with that of the various stages of their existence.\n\nIn this way the child can be guided in its play to a certain creative\nactivity, rendered familiar with the life of Nature, the claims of the\nhousehold, the toil of the peasants, mechanics, etc., and at the same\ntime increase its dexterity in using its fingers and the suppleness of\nits body. It learns to play, to obey, and to submit to the rules of the\nschool, and is protected from the contradictory orders of unreasonable\nmothers and nurses.\n\nWomen and girls, too, were benefitted by the kindergarten.\n\nMothers, whose time, inclination, or talents, forbade them to devote\nsufficient time to the child, were relieved by the kindergarten. Girls\nlearned, as if in a preparatory school of future wife and motherhood, how\nto give the little one what it needed, and, as Froebel expresses it, to\nbecome the mediators between Nature and mind.\n\nYet even this enterprise, the outcome of pure love for the most innocent\nand harmless creatures, was prohibited and persecuted as perilous to the\nstate under Frederick William IV, during the period of the reaction which\nfollowed the insurrection of 1848.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Hollow of the hand, Diogenes's drinking-cup\n     Life is valued so much less by the young\n     Required courage to be cowardly\n\n\n\n\nTHE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GEORG EBERS\n\nTHE STORY OF MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD TO MANHOOD\n\nVolume 4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nTHE FOUNDERS OF THE KEILHAU INSTITUTE, AND A GLIMPSE AT THE HISTORY OF\nTHE SCHOOL.\n\nI was well acquainted with the three founders of our institute--Fredrich\nFroebel, Middendorf, and Langethal--and the two latter were my teachers.\nFroebel was decidedly \"the master who planned it.\"\n\nWhen we came to Keilhau he was already sixty-six years old, a man of\nlofty stature, with a face which seemed to be carved with a dull knife\nout of brown wood.\n\nHis long nose, strong chin, and large ears, behind which the long locks,\nparted in the middle, were smoothly brushed, would have rendered him\npositively ugly, had not his \"Come, let us live for our children,\" beamed\nso invitingly in his clear eyes. People did not think whether he was\nhandsome or not; his features bore the impress of his intellectual power\nso distinctly that the first glance revealed the presence of a remarkable\nman.\n\nYet I must confess--and his portrait agrees with my memory--that his face\nby no means suggested the idealist and man of feeling; it seemed rather\nexpressive of shrewdness, and to have been lined and worn by severe\nconflicts concerning the most diverse interests. But his voice and his\nglance were unusually winning, and his power over the heart of the child\nwas limitless. A few words were sufficient to win completely the shyest\nboy whom he desired to attract; and thus it happened that, even when he\nhad been with us only a few weeks, he was never seen crossing the\ncourt-yard without a group of the younger pupils hanging to his coattails\nand clasping his hands and arms.\n\nUsually they were persuading him to tell stories, and when he\ncondescended to do so, older ones flocked around him too, and they were\nnever disappointed. What fire, what animation the old man had retained!\nWe never called him anything but \"Oheim.\" The word \"Onkel\" he detested as\nforeign, because it was derived from \"avunculus\" and \"oncle.\" With the\nhigh appreciation he had of \"Tante\"--whom he termed, next to the mother,\nthe most important factor of education in the family--our \"Oheim\" was\nprobably specially agreeable to him.\n\nHe was thoroughly a self-made man. The son of a pastor in Oberweissbach,\nin Thuringia, he had had a dreary childhood; for his mother died young,\nand he soon had a step-mother, who treated him with the utmost tenderness\nuntil her own children were born. Then an indescribably sad time began\nfor the neglected boy, whose dreamy temperament vexed even his own\nfather. Yet in this solitude his love for Nature awoke. He studied\nplants, animals, minerals; and while his young heart vainly longed for\nlove, he would have gladly displayed affection himself, if his timidity\nwould have permitted him to do so. His family, seeing him prefer to\ndissect the bones of some animal rather than to talk with his parents,\nprobably considered him a very unlovable child when they sent him, in his\ntenth year, to school in the city of Ilm.\n\nHe was received into the home of the pastor, his uncle Hoffman, whose\nmother-in-law, who kept the house, treated him in the most cordial\nmanner, and helped him to conquer the diffidence acquired during the\nsolitude of the first years of his childhood. This excellent woman first\nmade him familiar with the maternal feminine solicitude, closer\nobservation of which afterwards led him, as well as Pestalozzi, to a\nreform of the system of educating youth.\n\nIn his sixteenth year he went to a forester for instruction, but did not\nremain long. Meantime he had gained some mathematical knowledge, and\ndevoted himself to surveying. By this and similar work he\nearned a living, until, at the end of seven years, he went to\nFrankfort-on-the-Main to learn the rudiments of building. There Fate\nbrought him into contact with the pedagogue Gruner, a follower of\nPestalozzi's method, and this experienced man, after their first\nconversation, exclaimed: \"You must become a schoolmaster!\"\n\nI have often noticed in life that a word at the right time and place has\nsufficed to give the destiny of a human being a different turn, and the\nremark of the Frankfort educator fell into Froebel's soul like a spark.\nHe now saw his real profession clearly and distinctly before him.\n\nThe restless years of wandering, during which, unloved and scarcely\nheeded, he had been thrust from one place to another, had awakened in his\nwarm heart a longing to keep others from the same fate. He, who had been\nguided by no kind hand and felt miserable and at variance with himself,\nhad long been ceaselessly troubled by the problem of how the young human\nplant could be trained to harmony with itself and to sturdy industry.\nGruner showed him that others were already devoting their best powers to\nsolve it, and offered him an opportunity to try his ability in his model\nschool.\n\nFroebel joyfully accepted this offer, cast aside every other thought,\nand, with the enthusiasm peculiar to him, threw himself into the new\ncalling in a manner which led Gruner to praise the \"fire and life\" he\nunderstood how to awaken in his pupils. He also left it to Froebel to\narrange the plan of instruction which the Frankfort Senate wanted for the\n\"model school,\" and succeeded in keeping him two years in his\ninstitution.\n\nWhen a certain Frau von Holzhausen was looking for a man who would have\nthe ability to lead her spoiled sons into the right path, and Froebel had\nbeen recommended, he separated from Gruner and performed his task with\nrare fidelity and a skill bordering upon genius. The children, who were\nphysically puny, recovered under his care, and the grateful mother made\nhim their private tutor from 1807 till 1810. He chose Verdun, where\nPestalozzi was then living, as his place of residence, and made himself\nthoroughly familiar with his method of education. As a whole, he could\nagree with him; but, as has already been mentioned, in some respects he\nwent further than the Swiss reformer. He himself called these years his\n\"university course as a pedagogue,\" but they also furnished him with the\nmeans to continue the studies in natural history which he had commenced\nin Jena. He had laid aside for this purpose part of his salary as tutor,\nand was permitted, from 1810 to 1812, to complete in Gottingen his\nastronomical and mineralogical studies. Yet the wish to try his powers as\na pedagogue never deserted him; and when, in 1812, the position of\nteacher in the Plamann Institute in Berlin was offered him, he accepted\nit. During his leisure hours he devoted himself to gymnastic exercises,\nand even late in life his eyes sparkled when he spoke of his friend, old\nJahn, and the political elevation of Prussia.\n\nWhen the summons \"To my People\" called the German youth to war, Froebel\nhad already entered his thirty-first year, but this did not prevent his\nresigning his office and being one of the first to take up arms. He went\nto the field with the Lutzow Jagers, and soon after made the acquaintance\namong his comrades of the theological students Langethal and Middendorf.\nWhen, after the Peace of Paris, the young friends parted, they vowed\neternal fidelity, and each solemnly promised to obey the other's summons,\nshould it ever come. As soon as Froebel took off the dark uniform of the\nblack Jagers he received a position as curator of the museum of\nmineralogy in the Berlin University, which he filled so admirably that\nthe position of Professor of Mineralogy was offered to him from Sweden.\nBut he declined, for another vocation summoned him which duty and\ninclination forbade him to refuse.\n\nHis brother, a pastor in the Thuringian village of Griesheim on the Ilm,\ndied, leaving three sons who needed an instructor. The widow wished her\nbrother-in-law Friedrich to fill this office, and another brother, a\nfarmer in Osterode, wanted his two boys to join the trio. When Froebel,\nin the spring of 1817, resigned his position, his friend Langethal begged\nhim to take his brother Eduard as another pupil, and thus Pestalozzi's\nenthusiastic disciple and comrade found his dearest wish fulfilled. He\nwas now the head of his own school for boys, and these first six\npupils--as he hoped with the confidence in the star of success peculiar\nto so many men of genius--must soon increase to twenty. Some of these\nboys were specially gifted: one became the scholar and politician Julius\nFroebel, who belonged to the Frankfort Parliament of 1848, and another\nthe Jena Professor of Botany, Eduard Langethal.\n\nThe new principal of the school could not teach alone, but he only needed\nto remind his old army comrade, Middendorf, of his promise, to induce him\nto interrupt his studies in Berlin, which were nearly completed, and join\nhim. He also had his eye on Langethal, if his hope should be fulfilled.\nHe knew what a treasure he would possess for his object in this rare man.\n\nThere was great joy in the little Griesheim circle, and the Thuringian\n(Froebel) did not regret for a moment that he had resigned his secure\nposition; but the Westphalian (Middendorf) saw here the realization of\nthe ideal which Froebel's kindling words had impressed upon his soul\nbeside many a watch-fire.\n\nThe character of the two men is admirably described in the following\npassage from a letter of \"the oldest pupil\":\n\n\"Both had seen much of the serious side of life, and returned from the\nwar with the higher inspiration which is hallowed by deep religious\nfeeling. The idea of devoting their powers with self-denial and sacrifice\nto the service of their native land had become a fixed resolution; the\ndevious paths which so many men entered were far from their thoughts. The\nyouth, the young generation of their native land, were alone worthy of\ntheir efforts. They meant to train them to a harmonious development of\nmind and body; and upon these young people their pure spirit of\npatriotism exerted a vast influence. When we recall the mighty power\nwhich Froebel could exercise at pleasure over his fellowmen, and\nespecially over children, we shall deem it natural that a child suddenly\ntransported into this circle could forget its past.\"\n\nWhen I entered it, though at that time it was much modified and\nestablished on firm foundations, I met with a similar experience. It was\nnot only the open air, the forest, the life in Nature which so captivated\nnew arrivals at Keilhau, but the moral earnestness and the ideal\naspiration which consecrated and ennobled life. Then, too, there was that\n\"nerve-strengthening\" patriotism which pervaded everything, filling the\nplace of the superficial philanthropy of the Basedow system of education.\n\nBut Froebel's influence was soon to draw, as if by magnetic power, the\nman who had formed an alliance with him amid blood and steel, and who was\ndestined to lend the right solidity to the newly erected structure of the\ninstitute--I mean Heinrich Langethal, the most beloved and influential of\nmy teachers, who stood beside Froebel's inspiring genius and Middendorf's\nlovable warmth of feeling as the character, and at the same time the\nfully developed and trained intellect, whose guidance was so necessary to\nthe institute.\n\nThe life of this rare teacher can be followed step by step from the first\nyears of his childhood in his autobiography and many other documents, but\nI can only attempt here to sketch in broad outlines the character of the\nman whose influence upon my whole inner life has been, up to the present\nhour, a decisive one.\n\nThe recollection of him makes me inclined to agree with the opinion to\nwhich a noble lady sought to convert me--namely, that our lives are far\nmore frequently directed into a certain channel by the influence of an\nunusual personality than by events, experiences, or individual\nreflections.\n\nLangethal was my teacher for several years. When I knew him he was\ntotally blind, and his eyes, which are said to have flashed so brightly\nand boldly on the foe in war, and gazed so winningly into the faces of\nfriends in time of peace, had lost their lustre. But his noble features\nseemed transfigured by the cheerful earnestness which is peculiar to the\nold man, who, even though only with the eye of the mind, looks back upon\na well-spent, worthy life, and who does not fear death, because he knows\nthat God who leads all to the goal allotted by Nature destined him also\nfor no other. His tall figure could vie with Barop's, and his musical\nvoice was unusually deep. It possessed a resistless power when, excited\nhimself, he desired to fill our young souls with his own enthusiasm. The\nblind old man, who had nothing more to command and direct, moved through\nour merry, noisy life like a silent admonition to good and noble things.\nOutside of the lessons he never raised his voice for orders or censure,\nyet we obediently followed his signs. To be allowed to lead him was an\nhonor and pleasure. He made us acquainted with Homer, and taught us\nancient and modern history. To this day I rejoice that not one of us ever\nthought of using 'pons asinorum,' or copied passage, though he was\nperfectly sightless, and we were obliged to translate to him and learn by\nheart whole sections of the Iliad. To have done so would have seemed as\nshameful as the pillage of an unguarded sanctuary or the abuse of a\nwounded hero.\n\nAnd he certainly was one!\n\nWe knew this from his comrades in the war and his stories of 1813, which\nwere at once so vivid and so modest.\n\nWhen he explained Homer or taught ancient history a special fervor\nanimated him; for he was one of the chosen few whose eyes were opened by\ndestiny to the full beauty and sublimity of ancient Greece.\n\nI have listened at the university to many a famous interpreter of the\nHellenic and Roman poets, and many a great historian, but not one of them\never gave me so distinct an impression of living with the ancients as\nHeinrich Langethal. There was something akin to them in his pure, lofty\nsoul, ever thirsting for truth and beauty, and, besides, he had graduated\nfrom the school of a most renowned teacher.\n\nThe outward aspect of the tall old man was eminently aristocratic, yet\nhis birthplace was the house of a plain though prosperous mechanic. He\nwas born at Erfurt, in 1792. When very young his father, a man unusually\nsensible and well-informed for his station in life, entrusted him with\nthe education of a younger brother, the one who, as I have mentioned,\nafterwards became a professor at Jena, and the boy's progress was so\nrapid that other parents had requested to have their sons share the hours\nof instruction.\n\nAfter completing his studies at the grammar-school he wanted to go to\nBerlin, for, though the once famous university still existed in Erfurt,\nit had greatly deteriorated. His description of it is half lamentable,\nhalf amusing, for at that time it was attended by thirty students, for\nwhom seventy professors were employed. Nevertheless, there were many\nobstacles to be surmounted ere he could obtain permission to attend the\nBerlin University; for the law required every native of Erfurt, who\nintended afterwards to aspire to any office, to study at least two years\nin his native city--at that time French. But, in defiance of all\nhindrances, he found his way to Berlin, and in 1811 was entered in the\nuniversity just established there as the first student from Erfurt. He\nwished to devote himself to theology, and Neander, De Wette, Marheineke,\nSchleiermacher, etc., must have exerted a great power of attraction over\na young man who desired to pursue that study.\n\nAt the latter's lectures he became acquainted with Middendorf. At first\nhe obtained little from either. Schleiermacher seemed to him too\ntemporizing and obscure. \"He makes veils.\" He thought the young\nWestphalian, at their first meeting, merely \"a nice fellow.\" But in time\nhe learned to understand the great theologian, and the \"favourite\nteacher\" noticed him and took him into his house.\n\nBut first Fichte, and then Friedrich August Wolf, attracted him far more\npowerfully than Schleiermacher. Whenever he spoke of Wolf his calm\nfeatures glowed and his blind eyes seemed to sparkle. He owed all that\nwas best in him to the great investigator, who sharpened his pupil's\nappreciation of the exhaustless store of lofty ideas and the magic of\nbeauty contained in classic antiquity, and had he been allowed to follow\nhis own inclination, he would have turned his back on theology, to devote\nall his energies to the pursuit of philology and archaeology.\n\nThe Homeric question which Wolf had propounded in connection with Goethe,\nand which at that time stirred the whole learned world, had also moved\nLangethal so deeply that, even when an old man, he enjoyed nothing more\nthan to speak of it to us and make us familiar with the pros and cons\nwhich rendered him an upholder of his revered teacher. He had been\nallowed to attend the lectures on the first four books of the Iliad,\nand--I have living witnesses of the fact--he knew them all verse by\nverse, and corrected us when we read or recited them as if he had the\ncopy in his hand.\n\nTrue, he refreshed his naturally excellent memory by having them all read\naloud. I shall never forget his joyous mirth as he listened to my\ndelivery of Wolf's translation of Aristophanes's Acharnians; but I was\npleased that he selected me to supply the dear blind eyes. Whenever he\ncalled me for this purpose he already had the book in the side pocket of\nhis long coat, and when, beckoning significantly, he cried, \"Come, Bear,\"\nI knew what was before me, and would have gladly resigned the most\nenjoyable game, though he sometimes had books read which were by no means\neasy for me to understand. I was then fourteen or fifteen years old.\n\nNeed I say that it was my intercourse with this man which implanted in my\nheart the love of ancient days that has accompanied me throughout my\nlife?\n\nThe elevation of the Prussian nation led Langethal also from the\nuniversity to the war. Rumor first brought to Berlin the tidings of the\ndestruction of the great army on the icy plains of Russia; then its\nremnants, starving, worn, ragged, appeared in the capital; and the\nstreet-boys, who not long before had been forced by the French soldiers\nto clean their boots, now with little generosity--they were only\n\"street-boys\"--shouted sneeringly, \"Say, mounseer, want your boots\nblacked?\"\n\nThen came the news of the convention of York, and at last the irresolute\nking put an end to the doubts and delays which probably stirred the blood\nof every one who is familiar with Droysen's classic \"Life of\nField-Marshal York.\" From Breslau came the summons \"To my People,\" which,\nlike a warm spring wind, melted the ice and woke in the hearts of the\nGerman youth a matchless budding and blossoming.\n\nThe snow-drops which bloomed during those March days of 1813 ushered in\nthe long-desired day of freedom, and the call \"To arms!\" found the\nloudest echo in the hearts of the students. It stirred the young, yet\neven in those days circumspect Langethal, too, and showed him his duty\nBut difficulties confronted him; for Pastor Ritschel, a native of Erfurt,\nto whom he confided his intention, warned him not to write to his father.\nErfurt, his own birthplace, was still under French rule, and were he to\ncommunicate his plan in writing and the letter should be opened in the\n\"black room,\" with other suspicious mail matter, it might cost the life\nof the man whose son was preparing to commit high-treason by fighting\nagainst the ruler of his country--Napoleon, the Emperor of France.\n\n\"Where will you get the uniform, if your father won't help you, and you\nwant to join the black Jagers?\" asked the pastor, and received the\nanswer:\n\n\"The cape of my cloak will supply the trousers. I can have a red collar\nput on my cloak, my coat can be dyed black and turned into a uniform, and\nI have a hanger.\"\n\n\"That's right!\" cried the worthy minister, and gave his young friend ten\nthalers.\n\nMiddendorf, too, reported to the Lutzow Jagers at once, and so did the\nson of Professor Bellermann, and their mutual friend Bauer, spite of his\ndelicate health which seemed to unfit him for any exertion.\n\nThey set off on the 11th of April, and while the spring was budding alike\nin the outside world and in young breasts, a new flower of friendship\nexpanded in the hearts of these three champions of the same sacred cause;\nfor Langethal and Middendorf found their Froebel. This was in Dresden,\nand the league formed there was never to be dissolved. They kept their\neyes fixed steadfastly on the ideals of youth, until in old age the sight\nof all three failed. Part of the blessings which were promised to the\nnation when they set forth to battle they were permitted to see seven\nlustra later, in 1848, but they did not live to experience the\nrealization of their fairest youthful dream, the union of Germany.\n\nI must deny myself the pleasure of describing the battles and the marches\nof the Lutzow corps, which extended to Aachen and Oudenarde; but will\nmention here that Langethal rose to the rank of sergeant, and had to\nperform the duties of a first lieutenant; and that, towards the end of\nthe campaign, Middendorf was sent with Lieutenant Reil to induce Blucher\nto receive the corps in his vanguard. The old commander gratified their\nwish; they had proved their fitness for the post when they won the\nvictory at the Gohrde, where two thousand Frenchmen were killed and as\nmany more taken prisoners. The sight of the battlefield had seemed\nunendurable to the gentle nature of Middendorf he had formed a poetical\nidea of the campaign as an expedition against the hereditary foe. Now\nthat he had confronted the bloodstained face of war with all its horrors,\nhe fell into a state of melancholy from which he could scarcely rouse\nhimself.\n\nAfter this battle the three friends were quartered in Castle Gohrde, and\nthere enjoyed a delightful season of rest after months of severe\nhardships. Their corps had been used as the extreme vanguard against\nDavoust's force, which was thrice their superior in numbers, and in\nconsequence they were subjected to great fatigues. They had almost\nforgotten how it seemed to sleep in a bed and eat at a table. One night\nmarch had followed another. They had often seized their food from the\nkettles and eaten it at the next stopping-place, but all was cheerfully\ndone; the light-heartedness of youth did not vanish from their\nenthusiastic hearts. There was even no lack of intellectual aliment, for\na little field-library had been established by the exchange of books.\nLangethal told us of his night's rest in a ditch, which was to entail\ndisastrous consequences. Utterly exhausted, sleep overpowered him in the\nmidst of a pouring rain, and when he awoke he discovered that he was up\nto his neck in water. His damp bed--the ditch--had gradually filled, but\nthe sleep was so profound that even the rising moisture had not roused\nhim. The very next morning he was attacked with a disease of the eyes, to\nwhich he attributed his subsequent blindness.\n\nOn the 26th of August there was a prospect of improvement in the\ncondition of the corps. Davoust had sent forty wagons of provisions to\nHamburg, and the men were ordered to capture them. The attack was\nsuccessful, but at what a price! Theodor Korner, the noble young poet\nwhose songs will commemorate the deeds of the Lutzow corps so long as\nGerman men and boys sing his \"Thou Sword at my Side,\" or raise their\nvoices in the refrain of the Lutzow Jagers' song:\n\n\"Do you ask the name of yon reckless band? 'Tis Lutzow's black troopers\ndashing swift through the land!\"\n\nLangethal first saw the body of the author of \"Lyre and Sword\" and\n\"Zriny\" under an oak at Wobbelin; but he was to see it once more under\nquite different circumstances. He has mentioned it in his autobiography,\nand I have heard him describe several times his visit to the corpse of\nTheodor Korner.\n\nHe had been quartered in Wobbelin, and shared his room with an Oberjager\nvon Behrenhorst, son of the postmaster-general in Dessau, who had taken\npart in the battle of Jena as a young lieutenant and returned home with a\ndarkened spirit.\n\nAt the summons \"To my People,\" he had enlisted at once as a private\nsoldier in the Lutzow corps, where he rose rapidly to the rank of\nOberjager. During the war he had often met Langethal and Middendorf; but\nthe quiet, reserved man, prematurely grave for his years, attached\nhimself so closely to Korner that he needed no other friend.\n\nAfter the death of the poet on the 26th of August, 1813, he moved\nsilently about as though completely crushed. On the night which followed\nthe 27th he invited his room-mate Langethal to go with him to the body of\nhis friend. Both went first to the village church, where the dead Jagers\nlay in two long black rows. A solemn stillness pervaded the little house\nof God, which had become during this night the abode of death, and the\nnocturnal visitors gazed silently at the pallid, rigid features of one\nlifeless young form after another, but without finding him whom they\nsought.\n\nDuring this mute review of corpses it seemed to Langethal as if Death\nwere singing a deep, heartrending choral, and he longed to pray for these\nyoung, crushed human blossoms; but his companion led the way into the\nguard's little room. There lay the poet, \"the radiance of an angel on his\nface,\" though his body bore many traces of the fury of the battle. Deeply\nmoved, Langethal stood gazing down upon the form of the man who had died\nfor his native land, while Behrenhorst knelt on the floor beside him,\nsilently giving himself up to the anguish of his soul. He remained in\nthis attitude a long time, then suddenly started up, threw his arms\nupward, and exclaimed, \"Korner, I'll follow you!\"\n\nWith these words Behrenhorst darted out of the little room into the\ndarkness; and a few weeks after he, too, had fallen for the sacred cause\nof his native land.\n\nThey had seen another beloved comrade perish in the battle of Gohrde, a\nhandsome young man of delicate figure and an unusually reserved manner.\n\nMiddendorf, with whom he--his name was Prohaska--had been on more\nintimate terms than the others, once asked him, when he timidly avoided\nthe girls and women who cast kindly glances at him, if his heart never\nbeat faster, and received the answer, \"I have but one love to give, and\nthat belongs to our native land.\"\n\nWhile the battle was raging, Middendorf was fighting close beside his\ncomrade. When the enemy fired a volley the others stooped, but Prohaska\nstood erect, exclaiming, when he was warned, \"No bowing! I'll make no\nobeisance to the French!\"\n\nA few minutes after, the brave soldier, stricken by a bullet, fell on the\ngreensward. His friends bore him off the field, and Prohaska--Eleonore\nProhaska--proved to be a girl!\n\nWhile in Castle Gohrde, Froebel talked with his friends about his\nfavourite plan, which he had already had a view in Gottingen, of\nestablishing a school for boys, and while developing his educational\nideal to them and at the same time mentioning that he had passed his\nthirtieth birthday, and alluding to the postponement of his plan by the\nwar, he exclaimed, to explain why he had taken up arms:\n\n\"How can I train boys whose devotion I claim, unless I have proved by my\nown deeds how a man should show devotion to the general welfare?\"\n\nThese words made a deep impression upon the two friends, and increased\nMiddendorf's enthusiastic reverence for the older comrade, whose\nexperiences and ideas had opened a new world to him.\n\nThe Peace of Paris, and the enrolment of the Lutzow corps in the line,\nbrought the trio back to Berlin to civil life.\n\nThere also each frequently sought the others, until, in the spring of\n1817, Froebel resigned the permanent position in the Bureau of Mineralogy\nin order to establish his institute.\n\nMiddendorf had been bribed by the saying of his admired friend that he\n\"had found the unity of life.\" It gave the young philosopher food for\nthought, and, because he felt that he had vainly sought this unity and\nwas dissatisfied, he hoped to secure it through the society of the man\nwho had become everything to him His wish was fulfilled, for as an\neducator he grew as it were into his own motto, \"Lucid, genuine, and true\nto life.\"\n\nMiddendorf gave up little when he followed Froebel.\n\nThe case was different with Langethal. He had entered as a tutor the\nBendemann household at Charlottenburg, where he found a second home. He\ntaught with brilliant success children richly gifted in mind and heart,\nwhose love he won. It was \"a glorious family\" which permitted him to\nshare its rich social life, and in whose highly gifted circle he could be\nsure of finding warm sympathy in his intellectual interests. Protected\nfrom all external anxieties, he had under their roof ample leisure for\nindustrious labour and also for intercourse with his own friends.\n\nIn July, 1817, he passed the last examination with the greatest\ndistinction, receiving the \"very good,\" rarely bestowed; and a brilliant\ncareer lay before him.\n\nDirectly after this success three pulpits were offered to him, but he\naccepted neither, because he longed for rest and quiet occupation.\n\nThe summons from Froebel to devote himself to his infant institute, where\nLangethal had placed his younger brother, also reached him. The little\nschool moved on St. John's Day, 1817, from Griesheim to Keilhau, where\nthe widow of Pastor Froebel had been offered a larger farm. The place\nwhich she and her children's teacher found was wonderfully adapted to\nFroebel's purpose, and seemed to promise great advantages both to the\npupils and to the institute. There was much building and arranging to be\naccomplished, but means to do so were obtained, and the first pupil\ndescribed very amusingly the entrance into the new home, the furnishing,\nthe discovery of all the beauties and advantages which we found as an old\npossession in Keilhau, and the endeavour, so characteristic of\nMiddendorf, to adapt even the less attractive points to his own poetic\nideas.\n\nOnly the hours of instruction fared badly, and Froebel felt that he\nneeded a man of fully developed strength in order to give the proper\nfoundation to the instruction of the boys who were entrusted to his care.\nHe knew a man of this stamp in the student F. A. Wolfs, whose talent for\nteaching had been admirably proved in the Bendemann family.\n\n\"Langethal,\" as the first pupil describes him, was at that time a very\nhandsome man of five-and-twenty years. His brow was grave, but his\nfeatures expressed kindness of heart, gentleness, and benevolence. The\ndignity of his whole bearing was enhanced by the sonorous tones of his\nvoice--he retained them until old age--and his whole manner revealed\nmanly firmness. Middendorf was more pleasing to women, Langethal to men.\nMiddendorf attracted those who saw, Langethal those who heard him, and\nthe confidence he inspired was even more lasting than that aroused by\nMiddendorf.\n\nWhat marvel that Froebel made every effort to win this rare power for the\nyoung institute? But Langethal declined, to the great vexation of\nMiddendorf. Diesterweg called the latter \"a St. John,\" but our dear,\nblind teacher added, \"And Froebel was his Christus.\"\n\nThe enthusiastic young Westphalian, who had once believed he saw in this\nman every masculine virtue, and whose life appeared emblematical,\npatiently accepted everything, and considered every one a \"renegade\" who\nhad ever followed Froebel and did not bow implicitly to his will. So he\nwas angered by Langethal's refusal. The latter had been offered, with\nbrilliant prospects for the present and still fairer ones for the future,\na position as a tutor in Silesia, a place which secured him the rest he\ndesired, combined with occupation suited to his tastes. He was to share\nthe labour of teaching with another instructor, who was to take charge of\nthe exact sciences, with which he was less familiar, and he was also\npermitted to teach his brother with the young Counts Stolberg.\n\nHe accepted, but before going to Silesia he wished to visit his Keilhau\nfriends and take his brother away with him. He did so, and the\n\"diplomacy\" with which Froebel succeeded in changing the decision of the\nresolute young man and gaining him over to his own interests, is really\nremarkable. It won for the infant institute in the person of\nLangethal--if the expression is allowable--the backbone.\n\nFroebel had sent Middendorf to meet his friend, and the latter, on the\nway, told him of the happiness which he had found in his new home and\noccupation. Then they entered Keilhau, and the splendid landscape which\nsurrounds it needs no praise.\n\nFroebel received his former comrade with the utmost cordiality, and the\nsight of the robust, healthy, merry boys who were lying on the floor that\nevening, building forts and castles with the wooden blocks which Froebel\nhad had made for them according to his own plan, excited the keenest\ninterest. He had come to take his brother away; but when he saw him,\namong other happy companions of his own age, complete the finest\nstructure of all--a Gothic cathedral--it seemed almost wrong to tear the\nchild from this circle.\n\nHe gazed sadly at his brother when he came to bid him \"good-night,\" and\nthen remained alone with Froebel. The latter was less talkative than\nusual, waiting for his friend to tell him of the future which awaited him\nin Silesia. When he heard that a second tutor was to relieve Langethal of\nhalf his work, he exclaimed, with the greatest anxiety:\n\n\"You do not know him, and yet intend to finish a work of education with\nhim? What great chances you are hazarding!\"\n\nThe next morning Froebel asked his friend what goal in life he had set\nbefore him, and Langethal replied:\n\n\"Like the apostle, I would fain proclaim the gospel to all men according\nto the best of my powers, in order to bring them into close communion\nwith the Redeemer.\"\n\nFroebel answered, thoughtfully:\n\n\"If you desire that, you must, like the apostles, know men. You must be\nable to enter into the life of every one--here a peasant, there a\nmechanic. If you can not, do not hope for success; your influence will\nnot extend far.\"\n\nHow wise and convincing the words sounded! And Froebel touched the\nsensitive spot in the young minister, who was thoroughly imbued with the\nsacred beauty of his life-task, yet certainly knew the Gospels, his\nclassic authors, and apostolic fathers much better than he did the world.\n\nHe thoughtfully followed Froebel, who, with Middendorf and the boys, led\nhim up the Steiger, the mountain whose summit afforded the magnificent\nview I have described. It was the hour when the setting sun pours its\nmost exquisite light over the mountains and valleys. The heart of the\nyoung clergyman, tortured by anxious doubts, swelled at the sight of this\nmagnificence, and Froebel, seeing what was passing in his mind,\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Come, comrade, let us have one of our old war-songs.\"\n\nThe musical \"black Jager\" of yore willingly assented; and how clearly and\nenthusiastically the chorus of boyish voices chimed in!\n\nWhen it died away, the older man passed his arm around his friend's\nshoulders, and, pointing to the beautiful region lying before them in the\nsunset glow, exclaimed:\n\n\"Why seek so far away what is close at hand? A work is established here\nwhich must be built by the hand of God! Implicit devotion and\nself-sacrifice are needed.\"\n\nWhile speaking, he gazed steadfastly into his friend's tearful eyes, as\nif he had found his true object in life, and when he held out his hand\nLangethal clasped it--he could not help it.\n\nThat very day a letter to the Counts Stolberg informed them that they\nmust seek another tutor for their sons, and Froebel and Keilhau could\ncongratulate themselves on having gained their Langethal.\n\nThe management of the school was henceforward in the hands of a man of\ncharacter, while the extensive knowledge and the excellent method of a\nwell-trained scholar had been obtained for the educational department.\nThe new institute now prospered rapidly. The renown of the fresh,\nhealthful life and the able tuition of the pupils spread far beyond the\nlimits of Thuringia. The material difficulties with which the head-master\nhad had to struggle after the erection of the large new buildings were\nalso removed when Froebel's prosperous brother in Osterode decided to\ntake part in the work and move to Keilhau. He understood farming, and, by\npurchasing more land and woodlands, transformed the peasant holding into\na considerable estate.\n\nWhen Froebel's restless spirit drew him to Switzerland to undertake new\neducational enterprises, and some one was needed who could direct the\nbusiness management, Barop, the steadfast man of whom I have already\nspoken, was secured. Deeply esteemed and sincerely beloved, he managed\nthe institute during the time that we three brothers were pupils there.\nHe had found many things within to arrange on a more practical\nfoundation, many without to correct: for the long locks of most of the\npupils; the circumstance that three Lutzen Jagers, one of whom had\ndelivered the oration at a students' political meeting, had established\nthe school; that Barop had been persecuted as a demagogue on account of\nhis connection with a students' political society; and, finally,\nFroebel's relations with Switzerland and the liberal educational methods\nof the school, had roused the suspicions of the Berlin demagogue-hunters,\nand therefore demagogic tendencies, from which in reality it had always\nheld aloof, were attributed to the institute.\n\nYes, we were free, in so far that everything which could restrict or\nretard our physical and mental development was kept away from us, and our\nteachers might call themselves so because, with virile energy, they had\nunderstood how to protect the institute from every injurious and\nnarrowing outside influence. The smallest and the largest pupil was free,\nfor he was permitted to be wholly and entirely his natural self, so long\nas he kept within the limits imposed by the existing laws. But license\nwas nowhere more sternly prohibited than at Keilhau; and the deep\nreligious feeling of its head-masters--Barop, Langethal, and\nMiddendorf--ought to have taught the suspicious spies in Berlin that the\ncommand, \"Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's,\" would never\nbe violated here.\n\nThe time I spent in Keilhau was during the period of the worst reaction,\nand I now know that our teachers would have sat on the Left in the\nPrussian Landtag; yet we never heard a disrespectful word spoken of\nFrederick William IV, and we were instructed to show the utmost respect\nto the prince of the little country of Rudolstadt to which Keilhau\nbelonged. Barop, spite of his liberal tendencies, was highly esteemed by\nthis petty sovereign, decorated with an order, and raised to the rank of\nCouncillor of Education. From a hundred isolated recollections and words\nwhich have lingered in my memory I have gathered that our teachers were\nliberals in a very moderate way, yet they were certainly guilty of\n\"demagogic aspirations\" in so far as that they desired for their native\nland only what we, thank Heaven, now possess its unity, and a popular\nrepresentation, by a free election of all its states, in a German\nParliament. What enthusiasm for the Emperor William, Bismarck, and Von\nMoltke, Langethal, Middendorf, and Barop would have inspired in our\nhearts had they been permitted to witness the great events of 1870 and\n1871!\n\nBesides, politics were kept from us, and this had become known in wider\ncircles when we entered the institute, for most of the pupils belonged to\nloyal families. Many were sons of the higher officials, officers, and\nlanded proprietors; and as long locks had long since become the\nexception, and the Keilhau pupils were as well mannered as possible, many\nnoblemen, among them chamberlains and other court officials, decided to\nsend their boys to the institute.\n\nThe great manufacturers and merchants who placed their sons in the\ninstitute were also not men favourable to revolution, and many of our\ncomrades became officers in the German army. Others are able scholars,\nclergymen, and members of Parliament; others again government officials,\nwho fill high positions; and others still are at the head of large\nindustrial or mercantile enterprises. I have not heard of a single\nindividual who has gone to ruin, and of very many who have accomplished\nthings really worthy of note. But wherever I have met an old pupil of\nKeilhau, I have found in him the same love for the institute, have seen\nhis eyes sparkle more brightly when we talked of Langethal, Middendorf,\nand Barop. Not one has turned out a sneak or a hypocrite.\n\nThe present institution is said to be an admirable one; but the\n\"Realschule\" of Keilhau, which has been forced to abandon its former\nhumanistic foundation, can scarcely train to so great a variety of\ncallings the boys now entrusted to its care.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nThe little country of Rudolstadt in which Keilhau lies had had its\nrevolution, though it was but a small and bloodless one. True, the\ninsurrection had nothing to do with human beings, but involved the\ndestruction of living creatures. Greater liberty in hunting was demanded.\n\nThis might seem a trivial matter, yet it was of the utmost importance to\nboth disputants. The wide forests of the country had hitherto been the\nhunting-grounds of the prince, and not a gun could be fired there without\nhis permission. To give up these \"happy hunting-grounds\" was a severe\ndemand upon the eager sportsman who occupied the Rudolstadt throne, and\nthe rustic population would gladly have spared him had it been possible.\n\nBut the game in Rudolstadt had become a veritable torment, which\ndestroyed the husbandmen's hopes of harvests. The peasant, to save his\nfields from the stags and does which broke into them in herds at sunset,\ntried to keep them out by means of clappers and bad odours. I have seen\nand smelled the so-called \"Frenchman's oil\" with which the posts were\nsmeared, that its really diabolical odour--I don't know from what horrors\nit was compounded--might preserve the crops. The ornament of the forests\nhad become the object of the keenest hate, and as soon as--shortly before\nwe entered Keilhau--hunting was freely permitted, the peasants gave full\nvent to their rage, set off for the woods with the old muskets they had\nkept hidden in the garrets, or other still more primitive weapons, and\nshot or struck down all the game they encountered. Roast venison was\ncheap for weeks on Rudolstadt tables, and the pupils had many an\nunexpected pleasure.\n\nThe hunting exploits of the older scholars were only learned by us\nyounger ones as secrets, and did not reach the teachers' ears until long\nafter.\n\nBut the woods furnished other pleasures besides those enjoyed by the\nsportsman. Every ramble through the forest enriched our knowledge of\nplants and animals, and I soon knew the different varieties of stones\nalso; yet we did not suspect that this knowledge was imparted according\nto a certain system. We were taught as it were by stealth, and how many\npleasant, delicious things attracted us to the class-rooms on the wooded\nheights!\n\nVegetation was very abundant in the richly watered mountain valley. Our\nfavourite spring was the Schaalbach at the foot of the Steiger,--[We\npupils bought it of the peasant who owned it and gave it to\nBarop.]--because there was a fowling-floor connected with it, where I\nspent many a pleasant evening. It could be used only after breeding-time,\nand consisted of a hut built of boughs where the birdcatcher lodged.\nFlowing water rippled over the little wooden rods on which the feathered\ndenizens of the woods alighted to quench their thirst before going to\nsleep. When some of them--frequently six at a time--had settled on the\nperches in the trough, it was drawn into the but by a rope, a net was\nspread over the water and there was nothing more to do except take the\ncaptives out.\n\nThe name of the director of this amusement was Merbod. He could imitate\nthe voices of all the birds, and was a merry, versatile fellow, who knew\nhow to do a thousand things, and of whom we boys were very fond.\n\nThe peasant Bredernitz often took us to his crow-hut, which was a hole in\nthe ground covered with boughs and pieces of turf, where the hunters lay\nconcealed. The owl, which lured the crows and other birds of prey, was\nfastened on a perch, and when they flew up, often in large flocks, to\ntease the old cross-patch which sat blinking angrily, they were shot down\nfrom loop-holes which had been left in the hut. The hawks which prey upon\ndoves and hares, the crows and magpies, can thus easily be decimated.\n\nWe had learned to use our guns in the playground. The utmost caution was\nenforced, and although, as I have already remarked, we handled our own\nguns when we were only lads of twelve years old, I can not recall a\nsingle accident which occurred.\n\nOnce, during the summer, there was a Schutzenfest, in which a large\nwooden eagle was shot from the pole. Whoever brought down the last\nsplinter became king. This honour once fell to my share, and I was\npermitted to choose a queen. I crowned Marie Breimann, a pretty, slender\nyoung girl from Brunswick, whose Greek profile and thick silken hair had\ncaptivated my fancy. She and Adelheid Barop, the head-master's daughter,\nwere taught in our classes, but Marie attracted me more strongly than the\ndiligent Keilhau lassies with their beautiful black eyes and the other\ntwo blooming and graceful Westphalian girls who were also schoolmates.\nBut the girls occupied a very small place in our lives. They could\nneither wrestle, shoot, nor climb, so we gave them little thought, and\nanything like actual flirtation was unknown--we had so many better things\nin our heads. Wrestling and other sports threw everything else into the\nshade. Pretty Marie, however, probably suspected which of my school-mates\nI liked best, and up to the time of my leaving the institute I allowed no\nother goddess to rival her. But there were plenty of amusements at\nKeilhau besides bird-shooting.\n\nI will mention the principal ones which came during the year, for to\ndescribe them in regular order would be impossible.\n\nOf the longer walks which we took in the spring and summer the most\nbeautiful was the one leading through Blankenburg to the entrance of the\nSchwarzathal, and thence through the lofty, majestically formed group of\ncliffs at whose foot the clear, swift Schwarza flows, dashing and\nfoaming, to Schwarzburg.\n\nHow clearly our songs echoed from the granite walls of the river valley,\nand how lively it always was at \"The Stag,\" whose landlord possessed a\ncertain power of attraction to us boys in his own person; for, as the\nstoutest man in Thuringia, he was a feast for the eyes! His jollity\nequalled his corpulence, and how merrily he used to jest with us lads!\n\nOf the shorter expeditions I will mention only the two we took most\nfrequently, which led us in less than an hour to Blankenburg or\nGreifenstein, a large ruin, many parts of which were in tolerable\npreservation. It had been the home of Count Gunther von Schwarzburg, who\npaid with his life for the honour of wearing the German imperial crown a\nfew short months.\n\nWe also enjoyed being sent to the little town of Blankenburg on errands,\nfor it was the home of our drawing-master, the artist Unger, one of those\noriginal characters whom we rarely meet now. When we knew him, the\nhandsome, broad-shouldered man, with his thick red beard, looked as one\nmight imagine Odin. Summer and winter his dress was a grey woollen\njacket, into which a short pipe was thrust, and around his hips a broad\nleather belt, from which hung a bag containing his drawing materials. He\ncared nothing for public opinion, and, as an independent bachelor,\ndesired nothing except \"to be let alone,\" for he professed the utmost\ncontempt for the corrupt brood yclept \"mankind.\" He never came to our\nentertainments, probably because he would be obliged to wear something in\nplace of his woollen jacket, and because he avoided women, whom he called\n\"the roots of all evil.\" I still remember how once, after emptying the\nvials of his wrath upon mankind, he said, in reply to the question\nwhether he included Barop among the iniquitous brood, \"Why, of course\nnot; he doesn't belong to it!\"\n\nThere was no lack of opportunity to visit him, for a great many persons\nemployed to work for the school lived in Blankenburg, and we were known\nto be carefully watched there.\n\nI remember two memorable expeditions to the little town. Once my brother\nburned his arm terribly during a puppet-show by the explosion of some\npowder provided for the toy cannon.\n\nThe poor fellow suffered so severely that I could not restrain my tears,\nand though it was dark, and snow lay on the mountains, off I went to\nBlankenburg to get the old surgeon, calling to some of my school-mates at\nthe door to tell them of my destination. It was no easy matter to wade\nthrough the snow; but, fortunately, the stars gave me sufficient light to\nkeep in the right path as I dashed down the mountain to Blankenburg. How\noften I plunged into ditches filled with snow and slid down short\ndescents I don't know; but as I write these lines I can vividly remember\nthe relief with which I at last trod the pavement of the little town. Old\nWetzel was at home, and a carriage soon conveyed us over the only road to\nthe institute. I was not punished. Barop only laid his hand on my head,\nand said, \"I am glad you are back again, Bear.\"\n\nAnother trip to Blankenburg entailed results far more serious--nay,\nalmost cost me my life.\n\nI was then fifteen, and one Sunday afternoon I went with Barop's\npermission to visit the Hamburgers, but on condition that I should return\nby nine o'clock at latest.\n\nTime, however, slipped by in pleasant conversation until a later hour,\nand as thunder-clouds were rising my host tried to keep me overnight. But\nI thought this would not be allowable, and, armed with an umbrella, I set\noff along the road, with which I was perfectly familiar.\n\nBut the storm soon burst, and it grew so dark that, except when the\nlightning flashed, I could not see my hand before my face. Yet on I went,\nthough wondering that the path along which I groped my way led upward,\nuntil the lightning showed me that, by mistake, I had taken the road to\nGreifenstein. I turned back, and while feeling my way through the gloom\nthe earth seemed to vanish under my feet, and I plunged headlong into a\nviewless gulf--not through empty space, however, but a wet, tangled mass\nwhich beat against my face, until at last there was a jerk which shook me\nfrom head to foot.\n\nI no longer fell, but I heard above me the sound of something tearing,\nand the thought darted through my mind that I was hanging by my trousers.\nGroping around, I found vine-leaves, branches, and lattice-work, to which\nI clung, and tearing away with my foot the cloth which had caught on the\nend of a lath, I again brought my head where it should be, and discovered\nthat I was hanging on a vine-clad wall. A flash of lightning showed me\nthe ground not very far below and, by the help of the espalier and the\nvines I at last stood in a garden.\n\nAlmost by a miracle I escaped with a few scratches; but when I afterwards\nwent to look at the scene of this disaster cold chills ran down my back,\nfor half the distance whence I plunged into the garden would have been\nenough to break my neck.\n\nOur games were similar to those which lads of the same age play now, but\nthere were some additional ones that could only take place in a wooded\nmountain valley like Keilhau; such, for instance, were our Indian games,\nwhich engrossed us at the time when we were pleased with Cooper's\n\"Leather-Stocking,\" but I need not describe them.\n\nWhen I was one of the older pupils a party of us surprised some\n\"Panzen\"--as we called the younger ones--one hot afternoon engaged in a\nvery singular game of their own invention. They had undressed to the skin\nin the midst of the thickest woods and were performing Paradise and the\nFall of Man, as they had probably just been taught in their religious\nlesson. For the expulsion of Adam and our universal mother Eve, the\nangel--in this case there were two of them--used, instead of the flaming\nsword, stout hazel rods, with which they performed their part of warders\nso overzealously that a quarrel followed, which we older ones stopped.\n\nThus many bands of pupils invented games of their own, but, thank Heaven,\nrarely devised such absurdities. Our later Homeric battles any teacher\nwould have witnessed with pleasure. Froebel would have greeted them as\nsigns of creative imagination and \"individual life\" in the boys.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nSUMMER PLEASURES AND RAMBLES\n\nWholly unlike these, genuinely and solely a product of Keilhau, was the\ngreat battle-game which we called Bergwacht, one of my brightest memories\nof those years.\n\nLong preparations were needed, and these, too, were delightful.\n\nOn the wooded plain at the summit of the Kolm, a mountain which belonged\nmainly to the institute, war was waged during the summer every Saturday\nevening until far into the night, whenever the weather was fine, which\ndoes not happen too often in Thuringia.\n\nThe whole body of pupils was divided into three, afterwards into four\nsections, each of which had its own citadel. After two had declared war\nagainst two others, the battle raged until one party captured the\nstrongholds of the other. This was done as soon as a combatant had set\nfoot on the hearth of a hostile fortress.\n\nThe battle itself was fought with stakes blunted at the tops. Every one\ntouched by the weapon of an enemy must declare himself a prisoner. To\nadmit this, whenever it happened, was a point of honour.\n\nIn order to keep all the combatants in action, a fourth division was\nadded soon after our arrival, and of course it was necessary to build a\nstrong hold like the others. This consisted of a hut with a stone roof,\nin which fifteen or twenty boys could easily find room and rest, a strong\nwall which protected us up to our foreheads, and surrounded the front of\nthe citadel in a semicircle, as well as a large altar-like hearth which\nrose in the midst of the semicircular space surrounded by the wall.\n\nWe built this fortress ourselves, except that our teacher of handicrafts,\nthe sapper Sabum, sometimes gave us a hint. The first thing was to mark\nout the plan, then with the aid of levers pry the rocks out of the\nfields, and by means of a two-wheeled cart convey them to the site\nchosen, fit them neatly together, stuff the interstices with moss, and\nfinally put on a roof made of pine logs which we felled ourselves, earth,\nmoss, and branches.\n\nHow quickly we learned to use the plummet, take levels, hew the stone,\nwield the axes! And what a delight it was when the work was finished and\nwe saw our own building! Perhaps we might not have accomplished it\nwithout the sapper, but every boy believed that if he were cast, like\nRobinson Crusoe, on a desert island, he could build a hut of his own.\n\nAs soon as this citadel was completed, preparations for the impending\nbattle were made. The walls and encircling walls of all were prepared,\nand we were drilled in the use of the poles. This, too, afforded us the\nutmost pleasure. Touching the head of an enemy was strictly prohibited;\nyet many a slight wound was given while fighting in the gloom of the\nwoods.\n\nEach of the four Bergwachts had its leader. The captain of the first was\ndirector of the whole game, and instead of a lance wore a rapier. I\nconsidered it a great honour when this dignity was conferred on me. One\nof its consequences was that my portrait was sketched by \"Old Unger\" in\nthe so-called \"Bergwacht Book,\" which contained the likenesses of all my\npredecessors.\n\nDuring the summer months all eyes, even as early as Thursday, were\nwatching the weather. When Saturday evening proved pleasant and Barop had\ngiven his consent, there was great rejoicing in the institute, and the\nmorning hours must have yielded the teachers little satisfaction.\n\nDirectly after dinner everybody seized his pole and the other \"Bergwacht\"\nequipments. The alliances were formed under the captain's guidance. We\nwill say that the contest was to begin with the first and third Bergwacht\npitted against the second and fourth, and be followed by another, with\nthe first and second against the third and fourth.\n\nWe assembled in the court-yard just before sunset. Barop made a little\nspeech, exhorting us to fight steadily, and especially to observe all the\nrules and yield ourselves captives as soon as an enemy's pole touched us.\nHe never neglected on these occasions to admonish us that, should our\nnative land ever need the armed aid of her sons, we should march to\nbattle as joyously as we now did to the Bergwacht, which was to train us\nto skill in her defence.\n\nThen the procession set off in good order, four or six pupils harnessing\nthemselves voluntarily to the cart in which the kegs of beer were dragged\nup the Kolm. Off we went, singing merrily, and at the top the women were\nwaiting for us with a lunch. Then the warriors scattered, the fire was\nlighted on every hearth, the plan of battle was discussed, some were sent\nout to reconnoitre, others kept to defend the citadel.\n\nAt last the conflict began. Could I ever forget the scenes in the forest!\nNo Indian tribe on the war-path ever strained every sense more keenly to\nwatch, surround, and surprise the foe. And the hand-to-hand fray! What\ndelight it was to burst from the shelter of the thicket and touch with\nour poles two, three, or four of the surprised enemies ere they thought\nof defence! And what self-denial it required when--spite of the most\nskilful parry--we felt the touch of the pole, to confess it, and be led\noff as a prisoner!\n\nVoices and shouts echoed through the woods, and the glare of five fires\npierced the darkness--five--for flames were also blazing where the women\nwere cooking the supper. But the light was brightest, the shouts of the\ncombatants were loudest, in the vicinity of the forts. The effort of the\nbesiegers was to spy out unguarded places, and occupy the attention of\nthe garrison so that a comrade might leap over the wall and set his foot\non the hearth. The object of the garrison was to prevent this.\n\nWhat was that? An exulting cry rang through the night air. A warrior had\nsucceeded in penetrating the hostile citadel untouched and setting his\nfoot on the hearth!\n\nTwo or three times we enjoyed the delight of battle; and when towards\nmidnight it closed, we threw ourselves-glowing from the strife and\nblackened by the smoke of the hearth-fires-down on the greensward around\nthe women's fire, where boiled eggs and other good things were served,\nand meanwhile the mugs of foaming beer were passed around the circle. One\npatriotic song after another was sung, and at last each Bergwacht\nwithdrew to its citadel and lay down on the moss to sleep under the\nsheltering roof. Two sentinels marched up and down, relieved every half\nhour until the early dawn of the summer Sunday brightened the eastern\nsky.\n\nThen \"Huup!\"--the Keilhau shout which summoned us back to the\ninstitute-rang out, and a hymn, the march back, a bath in the pond, and\nfinally the most delicious rest, if good luck permitted, on the heaps of\nhay which had not been gathered in. On the Sunday following the Bergwacht\nwe were not required to attend church, where we should merely have gone\nto sleep. Barop, though usually very strict in the observance of\nreligious duties, never demanded anything for the sake of mere\nappearances.\n\nAnd the bed of my own planning! It consisted of wood and stones, and was\ncovered with a thick layer of moss, raised at the head in a slanting\ndirection. It looked like other beds, but the place where it stood\nrequires some description, for it was a Keilhau specialty, a favour\nbestowed by our teachers on the pupils.\n\nMidway up the slope of the Kolm where our citadels stood, on the side\nfacing the institute, each boy had a piece of ground where he might\nbuild, dig, or plant, as he chose. They descended from one to another:\nLudo's and mine had come down from Martin and another pupil who left the\nschool at the same time. But I was not satisfied with what my\npredecessors had created. I spared the beautiful vine which twined around\na fir-tree, but in the place of a flower-bed and a bench which I found\nthere Ludo and I built a hearth, and for myself the bed already\nmentioned, which my brother of course was permitted to occupy with me.\n\nHow many hours I have spent on its soft cushions, reading or dreaming or\nimagining things! If I could only remember them as they hovered before\nme, what epics and tales I could write!\n\nNo doubt we ought to be grateful to God for this as well as for so many\nother blessings; but why are we permitted to be young only once in our\nlives, only once to be borne aloft on the wings of a tireless power of\nimagination, so easily satisfied with ourselves, so full of love, faith,\nand hope, so open to every joy and so blind to every care and doubt, and\neverything which threatens to cloud and extinguish the sunlight in the\nsoul?\n\nDear bed in my plot of ground at Keilhau, you ought, in accordance with a\nremark of Barop, to cause me serious self-examination, for he said,\nprobably with no thought of my mossy couch, \"From the way in which the\npupils use their plots of ground and the things they place in them, I can\nform a very correct opinion of their dispositions and tastes.\" But you,\nbeloved couch, should have the best place in my garden if you could\nrestore me but for one half hour the dreams which visited me on your\ngrey-green pillows, when I was a lad of fourteen or fifteen.\n\nI have passed over the Rudolstadt Schutzenfest, its music, its\nmerry-go-round, and the capital sausages cooked in the open air, and have\nintentionally omitted many other delightful things. I cannot help\nwondering now where we found time for all these summer pleasures.\n\nTrue, with the exception of a few days at Whitsuntide, we had no vacation\nfrom Easter until the first of September. But even in August one thought,\none joyous anticipation, filled every heart. The annual autumn excursion\nwas coming!\n\nAfter we were divided into travelling parties and had ascertained which\nteacher was to accompany us--a matter that seemed very important--we\ndiligently practised the most beautiful songs; and on many an evening\nBarop or Middendorf told us of the places through which we were to pass,\ntheir history, and the legends which were associated with them. They were\naided in this by one of the sub-teachers, Bagge, a poetically gifted\nyoung clergyman, who possessed great personal beauty and a heart capable\nof entering into the intellectual life of the boys who were entrusted to\nhis care.\n\nHe instructed us in the German language and literature. Possibly because\nhe thought that he discovered in me a talent for poetic expression, he\nshowed me unusual favor, even read his own verses aloud to me, and set me\nspecial tasks in verse-writing, which he criticised with me when I had\nfinished. The first long poem I wrote of my own impulse was a description\nof the wonderful forms assumed by the stalactite formations in the Sophie\nCave in Switzerland, which we had visited. Unfortunately, the book\ncontaining it is lost, but I remember the following lines, referring to\nthe industrious sprites which I imagined as the sculptors of the wondrous\nshapes:\n\n  \"Priestly robes and a high altar the sprites created here,\n   And in the rock-hewn cauldron poured the holy water clear,\n   Within whose depths reflected, by the torches' flickering rays,\n   Beneath the surface glimmering my own face met my gaze;\n   And when I thus beheld it, so small it seemed to me,\n   That yonder stone-carved giant looked on with mocking glee.\n   Ay, laugh, if that's your pleasure, Goliath huge and old,\n   I soon shall fare forth singing, you still your place must hold.\"\n\nAnother sub-teacher was also a favourite travelling-companion. His name\nwas Schaffner, and he, too, with his thick, black beard, was a handsome\nman. To those pupils who, like my brother Ludo, were pursuing the study\nof the sciences, he, the mathematician of the institute, must have been\nan unusually clear and competent teacher. I was under his charge only a\nshort time, and his branch of knowledge was unfortunately my weak point.\nShortly before my departure he married a younger sister of Barop's wife,\nand established an educational institution very similar to Keilhau at\nGumperda, at Schwarza in Thuringia.\n\nHerr Vodoz, our French teacher, a cheery, vigorous Swiss, with a perfect\nforest of curls on his head, was also one of the most popular guides; and\nso was Dr. Budstedt, who gave instruction in the classics. He was not a\nhandsome man, but he deserved the name of \"anima candida.\" He used to\nstorm at the slightest occasion, but he was quickly appeased again. As a\nteacher I think he did his full duty, but I no longer remember anything\nabout his methods.\n\nThe travelling party which Barop accompanied were very proud of the\nhonour. Middendorf's age permitted him to go only with the youngest\npupils, who made the shortest trips.\n\nThese excursions led the little boys into the Thuringian Forest, the\nHartz Mountains, Saxony and Bohemia, Nuremberg and Wurzburg, and the\nolder ones by way of Baireuth and Regensburg to Ulm. The large boys in\nthe first travelling party, which was usually headed by Barop himself,\nextended their journey as far as Switzerland.\n\nI visited in after-years nearly all the places to which we went at that\ntime, and some, with which important events in my life were associated, I\nshall mention later. It would not be easy to reproduce from memory the\nfirst impressions received without mingling with them more recent ones.\n\nThus, I well remember how Nuremberg affected me and how much it pleased\nme. I express this in my description of the journey; but in the author of\nGred, who often sought this delightful city, and made himself familiar\nwith life there in the days of its mediaval prosperity, these childish\nimpressions became something wholly new. And yet they are inseparable\nfrom the conception and contents of the Nuremberg novel.\n\nMy mother kept the old books containing the accounts of these excursions,\nwhich occupied from two to three weeks, and they possessed a certain\ninterest for me, principally because they proved how skilfully our\nteachers understood how to carry out Froebel's principles on these\noccasions. Our records of travel also explain in detail what this\neducator meant by the words \"unity with life\"; for our attention was\ndirected not only to beautiful views or magnificent works of art and\narchitecture, but to noteworthy public institutions or great\nmanufactories. Our teachers took the utmost care that we should\nunderstand what we saw.\n\nThe cultivation of the fields, the building of the peasants' huts, the\nnational costumes, were all brought under our notice, thus making us\nfamiliar with life outside of the school, and opening our eyes to things\nconcerning which the pupil of an ordinary model grammar-school rarely\ninquires, yet which are of great importance to the world to which we\nbelong.\n\nOur material life was sensibly arranged. During the rest at noon a cold\nlunch was served, and an abundant hot meal was not enjoyed until evening.\n\nIn the large cities we dined at good hotels at the table d'hote, and--as\nin Dresden, Prague, and Coburg--were taken to the theatre.\n\nBut we often spent the night in the villages, and then chairs were turned\nupside down, loose straw was spread on the backs and over the floor, and,\nwrapped in the shawl which almost every boy carried buckled to his\nknapsack, we slept, only half undressed, as comfortably as in the softest\nbed.\n\nWhile walking we usually sung songs, among them very nonsensical ones, if\nonly we could keep step well to their time. Often one of the teachers\ntold us a story. Schaffner and Bagge could do this best, but we often met\nother pedestrians with whom we entered into conversation. How delightful\nis the memory of these tramps! Progress on foot is slow, but not only do\nwe see ten times better than from a carriage or the window of a car, but\nwe hear and learn something while talking with the mechanics, citizens,\nand peasants who are going the same way, or the landlords, bar-maids, and\ntable companions we meet in the taverns, whose guests live according to\nthe custom of the country instead of the international pattern of our\ngreat hotels.\n\nAs a young married man, I always anticipated as the greatest future\nhappiness taking pedestrian tours with my sons like the Keilhau ones; but\nFate ordained otherwise.\n\nOn our return to the institute we were received with great rejoicing; and\nhow much the different parties, now united, had to tell one another!\n\nStudy recommenced on the first of October, and during the leisure days\nbefore that time the village church festival was celebrated under the\nvillage linden, with plenty of cakes, and a dance of the peasants, in\nwhich we older ones took part. But we were obliged to devote several\nhours of every day to describing our journey for our relatives at home.\nEach one filled a large book, which was to be neatly written. The\nexercise afforded better practice in describing personal experiences than\na dozen essays which had been previously read with the teacher.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nAUTUMN, WINTER, EASTER AND DEPARTURE\n\nAutumn had come, and this season of the year, which afterwards was to be\nthe most fraught with suffering, at that time seemed perhaps the\npleasantest; for none afforded a better opportunity for wrestling and\nplaying. It brought delicious fruit, and never was the fire lighted more\nfrequently on the hearth in the plots of ground assigned to the\npupils--baking and boiling were pleasant during the cool afternoons.\n\nNo month seemed to us so cheery as October. During its course the apples\nand pears were gathered, and an old privilege allowed the pupils \"to\nglean\"--that is, to claim the fruit left on the trees. This tested the\nkeenness of our young eyes, but it sometimes happened that we confounded\ntrees still untouched with those which had been harvested. \"Nitimur in\nvetitum semper cupimusque negata,\"--[The forbidden charms, and the\nunexpected lures us.]--is an excellent saying of Ovid, whose truth, when\nhe tested it in person, was the cause of his exile. It sometimes brought\nus into conflict with the owners of the trees, and it was only natural\nthat \"Froebel's youngsters\" often excited the peasants' ire.\n\nGellert, it is true, has sung:\n\n          \"Enjoy what the Lord has granted,\n          Grieve not for aught withheld.\"\n\nbut the popular saying is, \"Forbidden fruit tastes sweetest,\" and the\nproverb was right in regard to us Keilhau boys.\n\nWhatever fruit is meant in the story related in Genesis of the fall of\nman, none could make it clearer to German children than the apple. The\nKeilhau ones were kept in a cellar, and through the opening we thrust a\npole to which the blade of a rapier was fastened. This sometimes brought\nus up four or five apples at once, which hung on the blade like the flock\nof ducks that Baron Munchausen's musket pierced with the ramrod.\n\nWe were all honest boys, yet not one, not even the sons of the heads of\nthe institute, ever thought of blaming or checking the zest for this\nappropriation of other people's property.\n\nThe apple and morality must stand in a very peculiar relation to each\nother.\n\nScarcely was the last fruit gathered, when other pleasures greeted us.\n\nThe 18th of October, the anniversary of the battle of Leipsic, was\ncelebrated in Thuringia by kindling bonfires on the highest mountains,\nbut ours was always the largest and brightest far and wide. While the\nflames soared heavenward, we enthusiastically sang patriotic songs. The\nold Lutzow Jagers, who had fought for the freedom of Germany, led the\nchorus and gazed with tearful eyes at the boys whom they were rearing for\nthe future supporters and champions of their native land.\n\nThen winter came.\n\nSnow and ice usually appeared in our mountain valley in the latter half\nof November. We welcomed them, for winter brought coasting parties down\nthe mountains, skating, snow-balling, the clumsy snow-man, and that most\nactive of mortals, the dancing-master, who not only instructed us in the\nart of Terpsichore, but also gave us rules of decorum which were an\nabomination to Uncle Froebel.\n\nAn opportunity to put them into practice was close at hand, for the 29th\nof November was Barop's birthday, which was celebrated by a little dance\nafter the play.\n\nThose who took part in the performance were excused from study for\nseveral days before, for with the sapper's help we built the stage, and\neven painted the scenes. The piece was rehearsed till it was absolutely\nfaultless.\n\nI took an active part in all these matters during my entire residence at\nthe institute, and we three Ebers brothers had the reputation of being\namong the best actors, though Martin far surpassed us. We had invented\nanother variety of theatrical performances which we often enjoyed on\nwinter evenings after supper, unless one of the teachers read aloud to\nus, or we boys performed the classic dramas. While I was one of the\nyounger pupils, we used the large and complete puppet-show which belonged\nto the institute; but afterwards we preferred to act ourselves, and\narranged the performance according to a plan of our own.\n\nOne of us who had seen a play during the vacation at home told the others\nthe plot. The whole was divided into scenes, and each character was\nassigned to some representative who was left to personate it according to\nhis own conception, choosing the words and gestures which he deemed most\nappropriate.\n\nI enjoyed nothing more than these performances; and my mother, who\nwitnessed several of them during one of her visits, afterwards said that\nit was surprising how well we had managed the affair and acted our parts.\n\nFor a long time I was the moving spirit in this play, and we had no lack\nof talented mimes, personators of sentimental heroes, and droll\ncomedians. The women's parts, of course, were also taken by boys. Ludo\nmade a wonderfully pretty girl. I was sometimes one thing, sometimes\nanother, but almost always stage manager.\n\nThese merry improvisations were certainly well fitted to strengthen the\ncreative power and activity of our intellects. There was no lack of\nadmirable stage properties, for the large wardrobe of the institute was\nat our disposal whenever we wanted to act, which was at least once a week\nduring the whole winter, except in the Advent season, when everything was\nobliged to yield to the demand of the approaching Christmas festival.\nThen we were all busy in making presents for our relatives. The younger\nones manufactured various cardboard trifles; the older pupils, as embryo\ncabinet-makers, all sorts of pretty and useful things, especially boxes.\n\nUnluckily, I did not excel as a cabinet-maker, though I managed to finish\ntolerable boxes; but my mother had two made by the more skilful hands of\nLudo, which were provided with locks and hinges, so neatly finished,\nveneered, and polished that many a trained cabinet-maker's apprentice\ncould have done no better. It was one of Froebel's principles--as I have\nalready mentioned--to follow the \"German taste for manual labor,\" and\nhave us work with spades and pickaxes (in our plots of ground), and with\nsquares, chisels, and saws (in the pasteboard and carving lessons).\n\nA clever elderly man, the sapper, or Sabuim, already mentioned--I think I\nnever heard his real name--instructed us in the trades of the book binder\nand cabinet-maker. He was said to have served under Napoleon as a sapper,\nand afterwards settled in our neighbourhood, and found occupation in\nKeilhau. He was skilful in all kinds of manual labour, and an excellent\nteacher. The nearer Christmas came the busier were the workshops; and\nwhile usually there was no noise, they now resounded with Christmas\nsongs, among which:\n\n     \"Up, up, my lads! why do ye sleep so long?\n     The night has passed, and day begins to dawn\";\n\nor our Berlin one:\n\n     \"Something will happen to-morrow, my children,\"\n\nwere most frequently heard.\n\nChristmas thoughts filled our hearts and minds. Christmas at home had\nbeen so delightful that the first year I felt troubled by the idea that\nthe festival must be celebrated away from my mother and without her. But\nafter we had shared the Keilhau holiday, and what preceded and followed\nit, we could not decide which was the most enjoyable.\n\nOnce our mother was present, though the cause of her coming was not\nexactly a joyous one. About a week before the Christmas of my third year\nat Keilhau I went to the hayloft at dusk, and while scuffling with a\ncompanion the hay slipped with us and we both fell to the barn-floor. My\nschool-mate sustained an internal injury, while I escaped with the\nfracture of two bones, fortunately only of the left arm. The severe\nsuffering which has darkened so large a portion of my life has been\nattributed to this fracture, but the idea is probably incorrect;\notherwise the consequences would have appeared earlier.\n\nAt first the arm was very painful; yet the thought of having lost the\nChristmas pleasures was almost worse. But the experience that the days\nfrom which we expect least often afford us most happiness was again\nverified. Barop had thought it his duty to inform my mother of this\nserious accident, and two or three days later she arrived. Though I could\nnot play out of doors with the others, there was enough to enjoy in the\nhouse with her and some of my comrades.\n\nEvery incident of that Christmas has remained in my memory, and, though\nFate should grant me many more years of life, I would never forget them.\nFirst came the suspense and excitement when the wagon from Rudolstadt\nfilled with boxes drove into the court-yard, and then the watching for\nthose which might be meant for us.\n\nOn Christmas eve, when at home the bell summoned us to the Christmas-tree\nthe delight of anticipation reached its climax, and expressed itself in\nsong, in gayer talk, and now and then some harmless scuffle.\n\nThen we went to bed, with the firm resolve of waking early; but the sleep\nof youth is sounder than any resolution, and suddenly unwonted sounds\nroused us, perhaps from the dreams of the manger at Bethlehem and the\nradiant Christmas-tree.\n\nWas it the voice of the angels which appeared to the shepherds? The\nmelody was a Christmas choral played by the Rudolstadt band, which had\nbeen summoned to waken us thus pleasantly.\n\nNever did we leave our beds more quickly than in the darkness of that\nearly morning, illuminated as usual only by a tallow dip. Rarely was the\nprocess of washing more speedily accomplished--in winter we were often\nobliged to break a crust of ice which had formed over the water; but this\ntime haste was useless, for no one was admitted into the great hall\nbefore the signal was given. At last it sounded, and when we had pressed\nthrough the wide-open doors, what splendours greeted our enraptured eyes\nand ears!\n\nThe whole room was most elaborately decorated with garlands of pine.\nWherever the light entered the windows we saw transparencies representing\nbiblical Christmas scenes. Christmas-trees--splendid firs of stately\nheight and size, which two days before were the ornaments of the\nforest-glittered in the light of the candles, which was reflected from\nthe ruddy cheeks of the apples and the gilded and silvered nuts.\nMeanwhile the air, \"O night so calm, so holy!\" floated from the\ninstruments of the musicians.\n\nScarcely had we taken our places when a chorus of many voices singing the\nangel's greeting, \"Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth,\" recalled\nto our happy hearts the sacredness of the morning. Violins and horns\nblended with the voices; then, before even the most excited could feel\nthe least emotion of impatience, the music ceased. Barop stepped forward,\nand in the deep, earnest tones peculiar to him exclaimed, \"Now see what\npleasures the love of your friends has prepared for you!\"\n\nThe devout, ennobling feelings which had inspired every heart were\nscattered to the four winds; we dispersed like a flock of doves\nthreatened by a hawk, and the search for the places marked by a label\nbegan.\n\nOne had already seen his name; a near-sighted fellow went searching from\ntable to table; and here and there one boy called to another to point out\nwhat his sharp eyes had detected. On every table stood a Stolle, the\nSaxon Christmas bread called in Keilhau Schuttchen, and a large plate of\nnuts and cakes, the gift of the institute. Beside these, either on the\ntables or the floor, were the boxes from home. They were already opened,\nbut the unpacking was left to us--a wise thing; for what pleasure it\nafforded us to take out the various gifts, unwrap them, admire, examine,\nand show them to others!\n\nThose were happy days, for we saw only joyous faces, and our own hearts\nhad room for no other feelings than the heaven-born sisters Love, Joy,\nand Gratitude.\n\nWe entered with fresh zeal upon the season of work which followed. It was\nthe hardest of the twelve months, for it carried us to Easter, the close\nof the school year, and was interrupted only by the carnival with its\nmerry masquerade.\n\nAll sorts of examinations closed the term of instruction. On Palm Sunday\nthe confirmation services took place, which were attended by the parents\nof many of the pupils, and in which the whole institute shared.\n\nThen came the vacation. It lasted three weeks, and was the only time we\nwere allowed to return home. And what varied pleasures awaited us there!\nMartha, whom we left a young lady of seventeen, remained unaltered in her\ncharming, gentle grace, but Paula changed every year. One Easter we found\nthe plump school-girl transformed into a slender young lady. The next\nvacation she had been confirmed, wore long dresses, had lost every trace\nof boyishness, even rarely showed any touch of her former drollery.\n\nShe did not care to go to the theatre, of which Martha was very fond,\nunless serious dramas were performed. We, on the contrary, liked farces.\nI still remember a political quip which was frequently repeated at the\nKonigstadt Theatre, and whose point was a jeer at the aspirations of the\nrevolution: \"Property is theft, or a Dream of a Red Republican.\"\n\nWe were in the midst of the reaction and those who had fought at the\nbarricades on the 18th of March applauded when the couplet was sung, of\nwhich I remember these lines:\n\n          \"Ah! what bliss is the aspiration\n          To dangle from a lamp-post\n          As a martyr for the nation!\"\n\nDuring these vacations politics was naturally a matter of utter\nindifference to us, and toward their close we usually paid a visit to my\ngrandmother and aunt in Dresden.\n\nSo the years passed till Easter (1852) came, and with it our confirmation\nand my separation from Ludo, who was to follow a different career. We had\ndouble instruction in confirmation, first with the village boys from the\npastor of Eichfeld, and afterwards from Middendorf at the institute.\n\nUnfortunately, I have entirely forgotten what the Eichfeld clergyman\ntaught us, but Middendorf's lessons made all the deeper impression.\n\nHe led us through life to God and the Saviour, and thence back again to\nlife.\n\nHow often, after one of these lessons, silence reigned, and teachers and\npupils rose from their seats with tearful eyes!\n\nAfterwards I learned from a book which had been kept that what he gave us\nhad been drawn chiefly from the rich experiences of his own life and the\nGospels, supplemented by the writings of his favourite teacher,\nSchleiermacher. By contemplation, the consideration of the universe with\nthe soul rather than with the mind, we should enter into close relations\nwith God and become conscious of our dependence upon him, and this\nconsciousness Middendorf with his teacher Schleiermacher called\n\"religion.\"\n\nBut the old Lutzow Jager, who in the year 1813 had taken up arms at the\nBerlin University, had also sat at the feet of Fichte, and therefore\ncrowned his system by declaring, like the latter, that religion was not\nfeeling but perception. Whoever attained this, arrived at a clear\nunderstanding of his own ego (Middendorf's mental understanding of life),\nperfect harmony with himself and the true sanctification of his soul.\nThis man who, according to our Middendorf, is the really religious human\nbeing, will be in harmony with God and Nature, and find an answer to the\nhighest of all questions.\n\nFroebel's declaration that he had found \"the unity of life,\" which had\nbrought Middendorf to Keilhau, probably referred to Fichte. The phrase\nhad doubtless frequently been used by them in conversations about this\nphilosopher, and neither needed an explanation, since Fichte's opinions\nwere familiar to both.\n\nWe candidates for confirmation at that time knew the Berlin philosopher\nonly by name, and sentences like \"unity with one's self,\" \"to grasp and\nfulfil,\" \"inward purity of life,\" etc., which every one who was taught by\nMiddendorf must remember, at first seemed perplexing; but our teacher,\nwho considered it of the utmost importance to be understood, and whose\npurpose was not to give us mere words, but to enrich our souls with\npossessions that would last all our lives, did not cease his explanations\nuntil even the least gifted understood their real meaning.\n\nThis natural, childlike old man never lectured; he was only a pedagogue\nin the sense of the ancients--that is, a guide of boys. Though precepts\ntinctured by philosophy mingled with his teachings, they only served as\npoints of departure for statements which came to him from the soul and\nfound their way to it.\n\nHe possessed a comprehensive knowledge of the religions of all nations,\nand described each with equal love and an endeavour to show us all their\nmerits. I remember how warmly he praised Confucius's command not to love\nour fellow-men but to respect them, and how sensible and beautiful it\nseemed to me, too, in those days. He lingered longest on Buddhism; and it\nsurprises me now to discover how well, with the aids then at his command,\nhe understood the touching charity of Buddha and the deep wisdom and\ngrandeur of his doctrine.\n\nBut he showed us the other religions mainly to place Christianity and its\nrenewing and redeeming power in a brighter light. The former served, as\nit were, for a foil to the picture of our Saviour's religion and\ncharacter, which he desired to imprint upon the soul. Whether he\nsucceeded in bringing us into complete \"unity\" with the personality of\nChrist, to which he stood in such close relations, is doubtful, but he\ncertainly taught us to understand and love him; and this love, though I\nhave also listened to the views of those who attribute the creation and\nlife of the world to mechanical causes, and believe the Deity to be a\nproduct of the human intellect, has never grown cold up to the present\nday.\n\nThe code of ethics which Middendorf taught was very simple. His motto, as\nI have said, was, \"True, pure, and upright in life.\" He might have added,\n\"and with a heart full of love\"; for this was what distinguished him from\nso many, what made him a Christian in the most beautiful sense of the\nword, and he neglected nothing to render our young hearts an\nabiding-place for this love.\n\nOf course, our mother came to attend our confirmation, which first took\nplace with the peasant boys--who all wore sprigs of lavender in their\nbutton-holes--in the village church at Eichfeld, and then, with\nMiddendorf officiating, in the hall of the institute at Keilhau.\n\nFew boys ever approached the communion-table for the first time in a more\ndevout mood, or with hearts more open to all good things, than did we two\nbrothers that day on our mother's right and left hand.\n\nNo matter how much I may have erred, Middendorf's teachings and counsels\nhave not been wholly lost in any stage of my career.\n\nAfter the confirmation I went away with my mother and Ludo for the\nvacation, and three weeks later I returned to the institute without my\nbrother.\n\nI missed him everywhere. His greater discretion had kept me from many a\nfolly, and my need of loving some one found satisfaction in him. Besides,\nhis mere presence was a perpetual reminder of my mother.\n\nKeilhau was no longer what it had been. New scenes always seem desirable\nto young people, and for the first time I longed to go away, though I\nknew nothing of my destination except that it would be a gymnasium.\n\nYet I loved the institute and its teachers, though I did not realize\nuntil later how great was my debt of gratitude. Here, and by them, the\nfoundation of my whole future life was laid, and if I sometimes felt it\nreel under my feet, the Froebel method was not in fault.\n\nThe institute could not dismiss us as finished men; the desired \"unity\nwith life\" can be attained only upon its stage--the world--in the motley\nthrong of fellow-men, but minds and bodies were carefully trained\naccording to their individual peculiarities, and I might consider myself\ncapable of receiving higher lessons. True, my character was not yet\nsteeled sufficiently to resist every temptation, but I no longer need\nfear the danger of crossing the barrier which Froebel set for men\n\"worthy\" in his sense.\n\nMy acquirements were deficient in many respects what the French term\n\"justesse d'esprit\" had to a certain degree become mine, as in the case\nof every Keilhau boy, through our system of education.\n\nThough I could not boast of \"being one with Nature,\" we had formed a\nfriendly alliance, and I learned by my own experience the truth of\nGoethe's words, that it was the only book which offers valuable contents\non every page.\n\nI was not yet familiar with life, but I had learned to look about with\nopen eyes.\n\nI had not become a master in any handicraft, but I had learned with\npaste-pot and knife, saw, plane, and chisel--nay, even axe and\nhandspike--what manual labour meant and how to use my hands.\n\nI had by no means attained to union with God, but I had acquired the\nability and desire to recognize his government in Nature as well as in\nlife; for Middendorf had understood how to lead us into a genuine filial\nrelation with him and awaken in our young hearts love for him who kindles\nin the hearts of men the pure flame of love for their neighbours.\n\nThe Greek words which Langethal wrote in my album, and which mean \"Be\ntruthful in love,\" were beginning to be as natural to me as abhorrence of\ncowardice and falsehood had long been.\n\nLove for our native land was imprinted indelibly on my soul, and lives\nthere joyously, ready to sacrifice for the freedom and greatness of\nGermany even what I hold dearest.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     A word at the right time and place\n     Confucius's command not to love our fellow-men but to respect\n\n\n\n\nTHE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GEORG EBERS\n\nTHE STORY OF MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD TO MANHOOD\n\nVolume 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nTHE GYMNASIUM AND THE FIRST PERIOD OF UNIVERSITY LIFE.\n\nIt was hard for me to leave Keilhau, but our trip to Rudolstadt, to which\nmy dearest companions accompanied me, was merry enough. With Barop's\npermission we had a banquet in the peasant tavern there, whose cost was\ndefrayed by the kreutzers which had been paid as fines for offences\nagainst table rules. At one of these tables where we larger boys sat,\nonly French was spoken; at another only the purest German; and we had\nourselves made the rule that whoever used a word of his native tongue at\none, or a foreign one at the other, should be fined a kreutzer.\n\nHow merry were these banquets, at which usually several teachers were\nwelcome guests!\n\nOne of the greatest advantages of Keilhau was that our whole lives, and\neven our pleasures, were pure enough not to shun a teacher's eyes. And\nyet we were true, genuine boys, whose overplus of strength found vent not\nonly in play, but all sorts of foolish tricks.\n\nA smile still hovers around my lips when I think of the frozen snow-man\non whose head we put a black cap and then placed in one of the younger\nteacher's rooms to personate a ghost, and the difficulty we had in\ntransporting the monster, or when I remember our pranks in the dormitory.\n\nI believe I am mentioning these cheerful things here to give myself a\nbrief respite, for the portion of my life which followed is the one I\nleast desire to describe.\n\nRousseau says that man's education is completed by art, Nature, and\ncircumstances. The first two factors had had their effect upon me, and I\nwas now to learn for the first time to reckon independently with the\nlast; hitherto they had been watched and influenced in my favour by\nothers. This had been done not only by masters of the art of pedagogy,\nbut by their no less powerful co-educators, my companions, among whom\nthere was not a single corrupt, ill-disposed boy. I was now to learn what\ncircumstances I should find in my new relations, and in what way they\nwould prove teachers to me.\n\nI was to be placed at school in Kottbus, at that time still a little\nmanufacturing town in the Mark. My mother did not venture to keep me in\nBerlin during the critical years now approaching. Kottbus was not far\naway, and knowing that I was backward in the science that Dr. Boltze, the\nmathematician, taught, she gave him the preference over the heads of the\nother boarding-schools in the Mark.\n\nI was not reluctant to undertake the hard work, yet I felt like a colt\nwhich is led from the pastures to the stable.\n\nA visit to my grandmother in Dresden, and many pleasures which I was\npermitted to share with my brothers and sisters, seemed to me like the\nrespite before execution.\n\nMy mother accompanied me to my new school, and I can not describe the\ngloomy impression made by the little manufacturing town on the flat\nplains of the Mark, which at that time certainly possessed nothing that\ncould charm a boy born in Berlin and educated in a beautiful mountain\nvalley.\n\nIn front of Dr. Boltze's house we found the man to whose care I was to be\nentrusted. At that time he was probably scarcely forty years old, short\nin stature and very erect, with a shrewd face whose features indicated an\niron sternness of character, an impression heightened by the thick, bushy\nbrows which met above his nose.\n\nHe himself said that people in Pomerania believed that men with such\neyebrows stood in close relations to Satan. Once, while on his way in a\nboat from Greifswald to the island of Rugen, the superstitious sailors\nwere on the point of throwing him overboard because they attributed their\nperil to him as the child of the devil, yet, he added--and he was a\nthoroughly truthful man--the power which these strange eyebrows gave him\nover others, and especially over men of humble station, induced them to\nrelease him.\n\nBut after we had learned what a jovial, indulgent comrade was hidden\nbehind the iron tyrant who gazed so threateningly at us from the black\neyes beneath the bushy brows, our timidity vanished, and at last we found\nit easy enough to induce him to change a resolute \"No\" into a yielding\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHis wife, on the contrary, was precisely his opposite, for she wielded\nthe sceptre in the household with absolute sway, though so fragile a\ncreature that it seemed as if a breath would blow her away. No one could\nhave been a more energetic housekeeper. She was as active an assistant to\nher husband with her pen as with her tongue. Most of my reports are in\nher writing. Besides this, one pretty, healthy child after another was\nborn, and she allowed herself but a brief time for convalescence. I was\nthe godfather of one of these babies, an honour shared by my school-mate,\nVon Lobenstein. The baptismal ceremony was performed in the Boltze house.\nThe father and we were each to write a name on a slip of paper and lay it\nbeside the font. We had selected the oddest ones we could think of, and\nwhen the pastor picked up the slips he read Gerhard and Habakkuk. Thanks\nto the care and wisdom of his excellent mother, the boy throve admirably\nin spite of his cognomen, and I heard to my great pleasure that he has\nbecome an able man.\n\nThis boyish prank is characteristic of our relations. If we did not go\ntoo far, Frau Boltze always took our part, and understood how to smooth\nher husband's frowning brow quickly enough. Besides, it was a real\npleasure to be on good terms with her, for, as the daughter of a\nprominent official, she had had an excellent education, and her quick wit\ndid honour to her native city, Berlin.\n\nHad Dr. Boltze performed his office of tutor with more energy, it would\nhave been better for us; but in other respects I can say of him nothing\nbut good.\n\nThe inventions he made in mechanics, I have been told by experts, were\nvery important for the times and deserved greater success. Among them was\na coach moved by electricity.\n\nMy mother and I were cordially welcomed by this couple, on conversing\nwith whom my first feeling of constraint vanished.\n\nThe examination next morning almost placed me higher than I expected, for\nthe head-master who heard me translate at first thought me prepared for\nthe first class; but Pro-Rector Braune, who examined me in Latin grammar,\nsaid that I was fitted only for the second.\n\nWhen I left the examination hall I was introduced by Dr. Boltze to one of\nmy future school-fellows in the person of an elegant young gentleman who\nhad just alighted from a carriage and was patting the necks of the horses\nwhich he had driven himself.\n\nI had supposed him to be a lieutenant in civilian's dress, for his dark\nmustache, small whiskers, and the military cut of his hair, which already\nbegan to be somewhat thin, made me add a lustrum to his twenty-one years.\n\nAfter my new tutor had left us this strange school-fellow entered into\nconversation with me very graciously, and after telling me many things\nabout the school and its management which seemed incredible, he passed on\nto the pupils, among whom were some \"nice fellows,\" and mentioned a\nnumber of names, principally of noble families whose bearers had come\nhere to obtain the graduation certificate, the key without which so many\ndoors are closed in Prussia.\n\nThen he proceeded to describe marvels which I was afterwards to witness,\nbut which at that time I did not know whether I ought to consider\ndelightful or quite the contrary.\n\nOf course, I kept my doubts to myself and joined in when he laughed; but\nmy heart was heavy. Could I avoid these companions? Yet I had come to be\nindustrious, prepare quickly for the university, and give my mother\npleasure.\n\nPoor woman! She had made such careful inquiries before sending me here;\nand what a dangerous soil for a precocious boy just entering the years of\nyouth was this manufacturing town and an institution so badly managed as\nthe Kottbus School! I had come hither full of beautiful ideals and\nanimated by the best intentions; but the very first day made me suspect\nhow many obstacles I should encounter; though I did not yet imagine the\nperils which lay in my companion's words. All the young gentlemen who had\nbeen drawn hither by the examination were sons of good families, but the\npart which these pupils, and I with them, played in society, at balls,\nand in all the amusements of the cultivated circle in the town was so\nprominent, the views of life and habits which they brought with them so\ncompletely contradicted the idea which every sensible person has of a\ngrammar-school boy, that their presence could not fail to injure the\nschool.\n\nOf course, all this could not remain permanently concealed from the\nhigher authorities. The old head-master was suddenly retired, and one of\nthe best educators summoned in his place man who quickly succeeded in\nmaking the decaying Kottbus School one of the most excellent in all\nPrussia. I had the misfortune of being for more than two years a pupil\nunder the government of the first head-master, and the good luck of\nspending nearly the same length of time under the charge of his\nsuccessor.\n\nMy mother was satisfied with the result of the examination, and the next\nafternoon she drove with me to our relatives at Komptendorf. Frau von\nBerndt, the youngest daughter of our beloved kinsman, Moritz von\nOppenfeld, united to the elegance of a woman reared in a large city the\ncordiality of the mistress of a country home. Her husband won the entire\nconfidence of every one who met the gaze of his honest blue eyes. He had\ngiven up the legal profession to take charge of his somewhat impoverished\npaternal estate, and soon transformed it into one of the most productive\nin the whole neighbourhood.\n\nHe was pleased that I, a city boy, knew so much about field and forest,\nso at my very first visit he invited me to repeat it often.\n\nThe next morning I took leave of my mother, and my school life began. In\nmany points I was in advance of the other pupils in the second class, in\nothers behind them; but this troubled me very little--school seemed a\nnecessary evil. My real life commenced after its close, and here also my\nnatural cheerfulness ruled my whole nature. The town offered me few\nattractions, but the country was full of pleasures. Unfortunately, I\ncould not go to Komptendorf as often as I wished, for it was a two hours'\nwalk, and horses and carriages were not always at my disposal. Yet many a\nSaturday found me there, enjoying the delight of chatting with my kind\nhostess about home news and other pleasant things, or reading aloud to\nher.\n\nEven in the second year of my stay at Kottbus I went to every dance given\non the estates in the neighbourhood and visited many a delightful home in\nthe town. Then there were long walks--sometimes with Dr. Boltze and my\nschool-mates, sometimes with friends, and often alone.\n\nWe frequently took a Sunday walk, which often began on Saturday\nafternoon, usually with merry companions and in the society of our stern\nmaster, who, gayer than the youngest of us, needed our care rather than\nwe his. In this way I visited the beautiful Muskau, and still more\nfrequently the lovely woodlands of the Spree, a richly watered region\nintersected by numerous arms of the river and countless canals, resting\nas quietly under dense masses of foliage as a child asleep at noontide\nbeneath the shadow of a tree.\n\nThe alders and willows, lindens and oaks, which grow along the banks, are\nsuperb; flocks of birds fly twittering and calling from one bush and\nbranch to another; but all human intercourse is carried on, as in Venice,\nby boats which glide noiselessly to and fro.\n\nWhoever desires a faithful and minute picture of this singular region,\nwhich reminded me of many scenes in Holland and many of Hobbema's\npaintings, should read The Goddess of Noon. It contains a number of\ndescriptions whose truth and vividness are matchless.\n\nEvery trip into the woodlands of the Spree offered an abundance of\nbeautiful and pleasurable experiences, but I remember with still greater\nenjoyment my leafy nooks on the river-bank.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nTHE TIME OF EFFERVESCENCE, AND MY SCHOOL MATES.\n\nAlthough the events of my school-days at Kottbus long since blended\ntogether in my, memory, my life there is divided into two sharply defined\nportions. The latter commences with Professor Tzschirner's appointment\nand the reform in the school.\n\nFrom the first day of the latter's government I can recall what was\ntaught us in the class and how it influenced me, while I have entirely\nforgotten what occurred during the interim. This seems strange; for,\nwhile Langethal's, Middendorf's, and Barop's instruction, which I\nreceived when so much younger, remains vividly impressed on my memory,\nand it is the same with Tzschirner's lessons, the knowledge I acquired\nbetween my fifteenth and seventeenth year is effaced as completely as\nthough I had passed a sponge over the slate of my memory. A chasm yawns\nbetween these periods of instruction, and I cannot ascribe this\ncircumstance entirely to the amusements which withdrew my thoughts from\nstudy; for they continued under Tzschirner's rule, though with some\nrestrictions. I wish I could believe that everything which befel me then\nhad remained entirely without influence on my inner life.\n\nA demon--I can find no other name--urged me to all sorts of follies, many\nof which I still remember with pleasure, and, thank Heaven, not a single\none which a strict teacher--supposing that he had not forgotten how to\nput himself into the place of a youth--would seriously censure. The\neffervescing spirits which did not find vent in such pranks obtained\nexpression in a different form.\n\nI had begun to write, and every strong emotion was uttered in verses,\nwhich I showed to the companions from whom I could expect sympathy. My\nschool-mates were very unlike. Among the young gentlemen who paid a high\nprice to attend the school not a single one had been really industrious\nand accomplished anything. But neither did any one of the few lads whose\nfathers were peasants, or who belonged to the lower ranks, stand at the\nhead of his class. They were very diligent, but success rarely\ncorresponded with the amount of labour employed. The well-educated but by\nno means wealthy middle class supplied the school with its best material.\n\nThe evolution of the human soul is a strange thing. The period during\nwhich, in my overflowing mirth, I played all sorts of wild pranks, and at\nschool worked earnestly for one teacher only, often found me toiling late\nat night for hours with burning head over a profound creation--I called\nit The Poem of the World--in which I tried to represent the origin of\ncosmic and human life.\n\nMany other verses, from a sonnet to the beautiful ears of a pretty cousin\nto the commencement of the tragedy of Panthea and Abradatus, were written\nat that time; but I owe The Poem of the World special gratitude, for it\nkept me from many a folly, and often held me for weeks at my desk during\nthe evening hours which many of my comrades spent in the tavern. Besides,\nit attracted the new head-master's attention to my poetical tastes, for a\nnumber of verses had been left by mistake in an exercise-book. He read\nthem, and asked to see the rest. But I could not fulfil the wish, for\nthey contained many things which could not fail to offend him; so I gave\nhim only a few of the tamest passages, and can still see him smile in his\npeculiar way as he read them in my presence. He said something about\n\"decided talent,\" and when preparations for the celebration of the\nbirthday of King Frederick William IV were made he gave me the task of\ncomposing an original poem. I gladly accepted it. Writing was a great\npleasure, and though my productions at school were far too irregular for\nme to call them good, I was certainly the best declaimer.\n\n          THE NEW HEAD OF THE SCHOOL.\n\nBefore passing on to other subjects, I must devote a few words to the\nremodelling of the school and its new head.\n\nAt the end of my first term in the first class we learned that we were to\nhave a new teacher, and one who would rule with a rod of iron. Terrible\nstories of his Draconian severity were in circulation, and his first\naddress gave us reason to fear the worst, for the tall man of forty in\nthe professor's chair was very imposing in his appearance. His smoothly\nshaven upper lip and brown whiskers, his erect bearing and energetic\nmanner, reminded one of an English parliamentary leader, but his words\nsounded almost menacing. He said that an entirely new house must be\nerected. We and the teachers must help him. To the obedient he would be a\ngood friend; but to the refractory, no matter what might be their\nposition, he would----What followed made many of us nudge one another,\nand the young men who attended the school merely for the sake of the\nexamination left it in a body. Many a teacher even changed colour.\n\nThis reorganizer, Professor Tzschirner, had formerly been principal of\nthe Magdalen Gymnasium at Breslau. In energy and authoritative manner he\nresembled Barop, but he was also an eminent scholar and a thorough man of\nthe world. The authorities in Berlin made an excellent choice, and we\nmembers of the first class soon perceived that he not only meant kindly\nby us, but that we had obtained in him a teacher far superior to any we\nhad possessed before. He required a great deal, but he was a good friend\nto every one who did his duty. His kindly intention and inspiring\ninfluence made themselves felt in our lives; for he invited to his house\nthe members of the first class whom he desired to influence, and his\ncharming, highly educated wife helped him entertain us, so that we\npreferred an evening there to almost any other amusements. Study began to\ncharm us, and I can only repeat that he seemed to recall Langethal's\nmethod and awaken many things which the latter had given me, and which,\nas it were, had fallen asleep during the interval. He again aroused in my\nsoul the love for the ancients, and his interpretations of Horace or\nSophocles were of great service to me in after-years.\n\nNor did he by any means forget grammar, but in explaining the classics he\nalways laid most stress upon the contents, and every lesson of his was a\nclever archaeological, aesthetic, and historical lecture. I listened to\nnone more instructive at the university. Philological and linguistic\ndetails which were not suited for the senior pupils who were being fitted\nfor other callings than those of the philologist were omitted. But he\ninsisted upon grammatical correctness, and never lost sight of his maxim,\n\"The school should teach its pupils to do thoroughly whatever they do at\nall.\"\n\nHe urged us especially to think for ourselves, and to express our ideas\nclearly and attractively, not only in writing but verbally.\n\nIt seemed as though a spring breeze had melted the snow from the land,\nsuch bourgeoning and blossoming appeared throughout the school.\n\nCreative work was done by fits and starts. If the demon seized upon me, I\nraved about for a time as before, but I did my duty for the principal. I\nnot only honoured but loved him, and censure from his lips would have\nbeen unbearable.\n\nThe poem which I was to read on the king's birthday has been preserved,\nand as I glanced over it recently I could not help smiling.\n\nIt was to describe the life of Henry the Fowler, and refer to the\nreigning king, Frederick William IV.\n\nThe praise of my hero had come from my heart, so the poem found favour,\nand in circles so wide that the most prominent man in the neighbourhood,\nPrince Puckler-Muskau, sent for my verses.\n\nI was perfectly aware that they did not represent my best work, but what\nfather does not find something to admire in his child? So I copied them\nneatly, and gave them to Billy, the dwarf, the prince's factotum. A short\ntime after, while I was walking with some friends in Branitz Park, the\nprince summoned me, and greeted me with the exclamation, \"You are a\npoet!\"\n\nThese four words haunted me a long while; nay, at times they even echo in\nmy memory now. I had heard a hundred anecdotes of this prince, which\ncould not fail to charm a youth of my disposition. When a young officer\nof the Garde-du-Corps in Dresden, after having been intentionally omitted\nfrom the invitations to a court-ball, he hired all the public conveyances\nin the city, thus compelling most of the gentlemen and ladies who were\ninvited either to wade through the snow or forego the dance.\n\nWhen the war of 1813 began he entered the service of \"the liberators,\" as\nthe Russians were then called, and at the head of his regiment challenged\nthe colonel of a French one to a duel, and seriously wounded him.\n\nIt was apparently natural to Prince Puckler to live according to his own\npleasure, undisturbed by the opinions of his fellow-men, and this\npleasure urged him to pursue a different course in almost every phase of\nlife. I said \"apparently,\" because, although he scorned the censure of\nthe people, he never lost sight of it. From a child his intense vanity\nwas almost a passion, and unfortunately this constant looking about him,\nthe necessity of being seen, prevented him from properly developing an\nintellect capable of far higher things; yet there was nothing petty in\nhis character.\n\nHis highest merit, however, was the energy with which he understood how\nto maintain his independence in the most difficult circumstances in which\nlife placed him. To one department of activity, especially, that of\ngardening, he devoted his whole powers. His parks can vie with the finest\npleasure-grounds of all countries.\n\nAt the time I first met him he was sixty-nine years old, but looked much\nyounger, except when he sometimes appeared with his hair powdered until\nit was snow-white. His figure was tall and finely proportioned, and\nthough a sarcastic smile sometimes hovered around his lips, the\nexpression of his face was very kindly. His eyes, which I remember as\nblue, were somewhat peculiar. When he wished to please, they sparkled\nwith a warm--I might almost say tender-light, which must have made many a\nyoung heart throb faster. Yet I think he loved himself too much to give\nhis whole affection to any one.\n\nA great man has always seemed to me the greatest of created things, and\nthough Prince Puckler can scarcely be numbered among the great men of\nmankind, he was undoubtedly the greatest among those who surrounded him\nat Branitz. In me, the youth of nineteen, he awakened admiration,\ninterest, and curiosity, and his \"You are a poet\" sometimes strengthened\nmy courage, sometimes disheartened me. My boyish ambitions in those days\nhad but one purpose, and that was the vocation of a poet.\n\nI was still ignorant that the Muse kisses only those who have won her\nlove by the greatest sufferings. Life as yet seemed a festal hall, and as\nthe bird flies from bough to bough wherever a red berry tempts him, my\nheart was attracted by every pair of bright eyes which glanced kindly at\nme. When I entered upon my last term, my Leporello list was long enough,\nand contained pictures from many different classes. But my hour, too,\nseemed on the point of striking, for when I went home in my last\nChristmas vacation I thought myself really in love with the charming\ndaughter of the pleasant widow of a landed proprietor. Nay, though only\nnineteen, I even considered whether I should not unite her destiny with\nmine, and formally ask her hand. My father had offered himself to my\nmother at the same age.\n\nIn Kottbus I was treated with the respect due to a man, but at home I was\nstill \"the boy,\" and the youngest of us three \"little ones.\" Ludo, as a\nlieutenant, had a position in society, while I was yet a schoolboy. Amid\nthese surroundings I realized how hasty and premature my intention had\nbeen.\n\nOnly four of us came to keep Christmas at home, for Martha now lived in\nDresden as the wife of Lieutenant Baron Curt von Brandenstein, the nephew\nof our Aunt Sophie's husband. Her wedding ceremony in the cathedral was,\nof course, performed by the court-chaplain Strauss.\n\nMy grandmother had died, but my Aunt Sophie still lived in Dresden, and\nspent her summers in Blasewitz. Her hospitable house always afforded an\natmosphere very stimulating to intellectual life, so I spent more time\nthere than in my mother's more quiet residence at Pillnitz.\n\nI had usually passed part of the long--or, as it was called, the\n\"dog-day\"--vacation in or near Dresden, but I also took pleasant\npedestrian tours in Bohemia, and after my promotion to the senior class,\nthrough the Black Forest.\n\nIt was a delightful excursion! Yet I can never recall it without a tinge\nof sadness, for my two companions, a talented young artist named\nRothermund, and a law student called Forster, both died young. We had met\nin a railway carriage between Frankfort and Heidelberg and determined to\ntake the tour together, and never did the Black Forest, with its\nmountains and valleys, dark forests and green meadows, clear streams and\npleasant villages, seem to me more beautiful. But still fairer days were\nin store after parting from my friends.\n\nI went to Rippoldsau, where a beloved niece of my mother with her\ncharming daughter Betsy expected me. Here in the excellent Gohring hotel\nI found a delightful party, which only lacked young gentlemen. My arrival\nadded a pair of feet which never tired of dancing, and every evening our\nelders were obliged to entreat and command in order to put an end to our\nsport. The mornings were occupied in walks through the superb forests\naround Rippoldsau, and the afternoons in bowling, playing graces, and\nrunning races. I speedily lost my susceptible heart to a charming young\nlady named Leontine, who permitted me to be her Knight, and I fancied\nmyself very unjustly treated when, soon after our separation, I received\nher betrothal cards.\n\nThe Easter and Christmas vacations I usually spent in Berlin with my\nmother, where I was allowed to attend entertainments given by our\nfriends, at which I met many distinguished persons, among others\nAlexander von Humboldt.\n\nOf political life in the capital at that time there is nothing agreeable\nto be said. I was always reminded of the state of affairs immediately\nafter my arrival; for during the first years of my school life at Kottbus\nno one was permitted to enter the city without a paper proving identity,\nwhich was demanded by constables at the exits of railway stations or in\nthe yards of post-houses. Once, when I had nothing to show except my\nreport, I was admitted, it is true, but a policeman was sent with me to\nmy mother's house to ascertain that the boy of seventeen was really the\nperson he assumed to be, and not a criminal dangerous to the state.\n\nThe beautiful aspirations of the Reichstag in Paulskirche were baffled,\nthe constitution of the empire had become a noble historical monument\nwhich only a chosen few still remembered. The king, who had had the\nopportunity to place himself at the head of united Germany, had preferred\nto suppress the freedom of his native land rather than to promote its\nunity. Yet we need not lament his refusal. Blood shed together in mutual\nenthusiasm is a better cement than the decree of any Parliament.\n\nThe ruling powers at that time saw in the constitution only a cage whose\nbars prevented them from dealing a decisive blow, but whatever they could\nreach through the openings they tore and injured as far as lay in their\npower. The words \"reactionary\" and \"liberal\" had become catch terms which\nsevered families and divided friends.\n\nAt Komptendorf, and almost everywhere in the country, there was scarcely\nany one except Conservatives. Herr von Berndt had driven into the city to\nthe election. Pastor Albin, the clergyman of his village, voted for the\nLiberal candidate. When the pastor asked the former, who was just getting\ninto his carriage, to take him home, the usually courteous, obliging\ngentleman, who was driving, exclaimed, \"If you don't vote with me you\ndon't ride with me,\" and, touching the spirited bays, dashed off, leaving\nthe pastor behind.\n\nDr. Boltze was a \"Liberal,\" and had to endure many a rebuff because his\nviews were known to the ministry. Our religious instruction might serve\nas a mirror of the opinions which were pleasing to the minister. It had\nmade the man who imparted it superintendent when comparatively young. The\nterm \"mob marriage\" for \"civil marriage\" originated with him, and it\nought certainly to be inscribed in the Golden Book above.\n\nHe was a fiery zealot, who sought to induce us to share his wrath and\nscorn when he condemned Bauer, David Strauss, and Lessing.\n\nWhen discussing the facts of ecclesiastical history, he understood how to\nrouse us to the utmost, for he was a talented man and a clever speaker,\nbut no word of appeal to the heart, no exhortation to love and peace,\never crossed his lips.\n\nThe vacations were the only time which I spent with my mother. I ceased\nto think of her in everything I did, as was the case in Keilhau. But\nafter I had been with her for a while, the charm of her personality again\nmastered my soul, her love rekindled mine, and I longed to open my whole\nheart to her and tell her everything which interested me. She was the\nonly person to whom I read my Poem of the World, as far as it was\ncompleted. She listened with joyful astonishment, and praised several\npassages which she thought beautiful. Then she warned me not to devote\ntoo much time to such things at present, but kissed and petted me in a\nway too charming to describe. During the next few days her eyes rested on\nme with an expression I had always longed to see. I felt that she\nregarded me as a man, and she afterwards confessed how great her hopes\nwere at that time, especially as Professor Tzschirner had encouraged her\nto cherish them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nA ROMANCE WHICH REALLY HAPPENED.\n\nAfter returning to Kottbus from the Christmas vacation I plunged headlong\ninto work, and as I exerted all my powers I made rapid progress.\n\nThus January passed away, and I was so industrious that I often studied\nuntil long after midnight. I had not even gone to the theatre, though I\nhad heard that the Von Hoxar Company was unusually good. The leading\nlady, especially, was described as a miracle of beauty and remarkably\ntalented. This excited my curiosity, and when a school-mate who had made\nthe stage manager's acquaintance told us that he would be glad to have us\nappear at the next performance of The Robbers, I of course promised to be\npresent.\n\nWe went through our parts admirably, and no one in the crowded house\nsuspected the identity of the chorus of robbers who sang with so much\nfreshness and vivacity.\n\nI was deeply interested in what was passing on the stage, and, concealed\nat the wings, I witnessed the greater part of the play.\n\nRarely has so charming an Amalie adorned the boards as the\neighteen-year-old actress, who, an actor's child, had already been\nseveral years on the stage.\n\nThe consequence of this visit to the theatre was that, instead of\nstudying historical dates, as I had intended, I took out Panthea and\nAbradatus, and on that night and every succeeding one, as soon as I had\nfinished my work for the manager, I added new five-foot iambics to the\ntragedy, whose material I drew from Xenophon.\n\nWhenever the company played I went to the theatre, where I saw the\ncharming Clara in comedy parts, and found that all the praises I had\nheard of her fell short of the truth. Yet I did not seek her\nacquaintance. The examination was close at hand, and it scarcely entered\nmy mind to approach the actress. But the Fates had undertaken to act as\nmediators and make me the hero of a romance which ended so speedily, and\nin a manner which, though disagreeable, was so far from tragical, that if\nI desired to weave the story of my own life into a novel I should be\nashamed to use the extensive apparatus employed by Destiny.\n\nRather more than a week had passed since the last performance of The\nRobbers, when one day, late in the afternoon, the streets were filled\nwith uproar. A fire had broken out, and as soon as Professor Braune's\nlesson was over I joined the human flood. The boiler in the Kubisch cloth\nfactory had burst, a part of the huge building near it was in flames, and\na large portion of the walls had fallen.\n\nWhen, with several school-mates, I reached the scene of the disaster, the\nfire had already been mastered, but many hands were striving to remove\nthe rubbish and save the workmen buried underneath. I eagerly lent my\naid.\n\nMeanwhile it had grown dark, and we were obliged to work by the light of\nlanterns. Several men, fortunately all living, had been brought out, and\nwe thought that the task of rescue was completed, when the rumour spread\nthat some girls employed in one of the lower rooms were still missing.\n\nIt was necessary to enter, but the smoke and dust which filled the air\nseemed to preclude this, and, besides, a high wall above the cleared\nspace in the building threatened to fall. An architect who had directed\nwith great skill the removal of the debris was standing close beside me\nand gave orders to tear down the wall, whose fall would cost more lives.\n\nJust at that moment I distinctly heard an inexpressibly mournful cry of\npain. A narrow shouldered, sickly-looking man, who spite of his very\nplain clothing, seemed to belong to the better classes, heard it too, and\nthe word \"Horrible!\" in tones of the warmest sympathy escaped his lips.\nThen he bent over the black smoking space, and I did the same.\n\nThe cry was repeated still louder than before, my neighbour and I looked\nat each other, and I heard him whisper, \"Shall we?\"\n\nIn an instant I had flung off my coat, put my handkerchief over my mouth,\nand let myself down into the smoking pit, where I pressed forward through\na stifling mixture of lime and particles of sand.\n\nThe groans and cries of the wounded guided me and my companion, who had\ninstantly followed, and at last two female figures appeared amid the\nsmoke and dust on which the lanterns, held above, cast flickering rays of\nlight.\n\nOne was lying prostrate, the other, kneeling, leaned against the wall. We\nseized the first one, and staggered towards the spot where the lanterns\nglimmered, and loud shouts greeted us.\n\nOur example had induced others to leap down too.\n\nAs soon as we were released from our burden we returned for the second\nvictim. My companion now carried a lantern. The woman was no longer\nkneeling, but lay face downward several paces nearer to the narrow\npassage choked with stones and lime dust which separated her from us. She\nhad fainted while trying to follow. I seized her feet, and we staggered\non, but ere we could leave the passage which led into the larger room I\nheard a loud rattling and thundering above, and the next instant\nsomething struck my head and everything reeled around me. Yet I did not\ndrop the blue yarn stockings, but tottered on with them into the large\nopen space, where I fell on my knees.\n\nStill I must have retained my consciousness, for loud shouts and cries\nreached my ears. Then came a moment with which few in life can\ncompare--the one when I again inhaled draughts of the pure air of heaven.\n\nI now felt that my hair was stained with blood, which had flowed from a\nwound in my head, but I had no time to think of it, for people crowded\naround me saying all sorts of pleasant things. The architect, Winzer, was\nmost cordial of all. His words, \"I approve of such foolhardiness, Herr\nEbers,\" echoed in my ears long afterwards.\n\nA beam had fallen on my head, but my thick hair had broken the force of\nthe blow, and the wound in a few days began to heal.\n\nMy companion in peril was at my side, and as my blood-stained face looked\nas if my injuries were serious he invited me to his house, which was\nclose by the scene of the accident. On the way we introduced ourselves to\neach other. His name was Hering, and he was the prompter at the theatre.\nWhen the doctor who had been sent to me had finished his task of sewing\nup the wound and left us, an elderly woman entered, whose rank in life\nwas somewhat difficult to determine. She wore gay flowers in her bonnet,\nand a cloak made of silk and velvet, but her yellow face was scarcely\nthat of a \"lady.\" She came to get a part for her daughter; it was one of\nthe prompter's duties to copy the parts for the various actors.\n\nBut who was this daughter?\n\nFraulein Clara, the fair Amalie of The Robbers, the lovely leading lady\nof the theatre.\n\nMy daughter has an autograph of Andersen containing the words, \"Life is\nthe fairest fairy tale.\"\n\nAy, our lives are often like fairy tales.\n\nThe Scheherezade \"Fate\" had found the bridge to lead the student to the\nactress, and the means employed were of no less magnitude than a\nconflagration, the rescue of a life, and a wound, as well as the somewhat\nimprobable combined action of a student and a prompter. True, more simple\nmethods would scarcely have brought the youth with the examination in his\nhead and a pretty girl in his heart to seek the acquaintanceship of the\nfair actress.\n\nFate urged me swiftly on; for Clara's mother was an enthusiastic woman,\nwho in her youth had herself been an ornament of the stage, and I can\nstill hear her exclamation, \"My dear young sir, every German girl ought\nto kiss that wound!\"\n\nI can see her indignantly forbid the prompter to tie his gay handkerchief\nover the injury and draw a clean one from her own velvet bag to bind my\nforehead. Boltze and my school-mates greeted me very warmly. Director\nTzschirner said something very similar to Herr Winzer's remark.\n\nAnd so matters would have remained, and in a few weeks, after passing the\nexamination, I should have returned to my happy mother, had not a\nperverse Fate willed otherwise.\n\nThis time a bit of linen was the instrument used to lead me into the path\nallotted, for when the wound healed and the handkerchief which Clara's\nmother had tied round it came back from the wash, I was uncertain whether\nto return it in person or send it by a messenger with a few words of\nthanks. I determined on the latter course; but when, that same evening, I\nsaw Clara looking so pretty as the youthful Richelieu, I cast aside my\nfirst resolve, and the next day at dusk went to call on the mother of the\ncharming actress. I should scarcely have ventured to do so in broad\ndaylight, for Herr Ebeling, our zealous religious instructor, lived\ndirectly opposite.\n\nThe danger, however, merely gave the venture an added zest and, ere I was\naware of it I was standing in the large and pretty sitting-room occupied\nby the mother and daughter.\n\nIt was a disappointment not to meet the latter, yet I felt a certain\nsense of relief. Fate intended to let me escape the storm uninjured, for\nmy heart had been by no means calm since I mounted the narrow stairs\nleading to the apartments of the fair actress. But just as I was taking\nleave the pavement echoed with the noise of hoofs and the rattle of\nwheels. Prince Puckler's coupe stopped in front of the house and the\nyoung girl descended the steps.\n\nShe entered the room laughing merrily, but when she saw me she became\ngraver, and looked at her mother in surprise.\n\nA brief explanation, the cry, \"Oh, you are the man who was hurt!\" and\nthen the proof that the room did not owe its neat appearance to her, for\nher cloak flew one way, her hat another, and her gloves a third. After\nthis disrobing she stood before me in the costume of the youthful\nRichelieu, so bewitchingly charming, so gay and bright, that I could not\nrestrain my delight.\n\nShe had come from old Prince Puckler, who, as he never visited the\ntheatre in the city, wished to see her in the costume whose beauty had\nbeen so much praised. The vigorous, gay old gentleman had charmed her,\nand she declared that she liked him far better than any of the young men.\nBut as she knew little of his former life and works, I told her of his\nfoolish pranks and chivalrous deeds.\n\nIt seemed as if her presence increased my powers of description, and when\nI at last took leave she exclaimed: \"You'll come again, won't you? After\none has finished one's part, it's the best time to talk.\"\n\nDid I wait to be asked a second time? Oh, no! Even had I not been the\n\"foolhardy Ebers,\" I should have accepted her invitation. The very next\nevening I was in the pleasant sitting-room, and whenever I could slip\naway after supper I went to the girl, whom I loved more and more\nardently. Sometimes I repeated poems of my own, sometimes she recited and\nacted passages from her best parts, amid continual jesting and laughter.\nMy visits seemed like so many delightful festivals, and Clara's mother\ntook care that they were not so long as to weary her treasure. She often\nfell asleep while we were reading and talking, but usually she sent me\naway before midnight with \"There's another day coming to-morrow.\" Long\nbefore my first visit to the young actress I had arranged a way of\ngetting into the house at any time, and Dr. Boltze had no suspicion of my\nexpeditions, since on my return I strove the more zealously to fulfil all\nmy school duties.\n\nThis sounds scarcely credible, yet it is strictly true, for from a child\nup to the present time I have always succeeded, spite of interruptions of\nevery kind, in devoting myself to the occupation in which I was engaged.\nLoud noises in an adjoining room, or even tolerably severe physical pain,\nwill not prevent my working on as soon as the subject so masters me as to\nthrow the external world and my own body into the background. Only when\nthe suffering becomes very intense, the whole being must of necessity\nyield to it.\n\nDuring the hours of the night which followed these evening visits I often\nsucceeded in working earnestly for two or three hours in preparation for\nthe examination. During my recitations, however, weariness asserted\nitself, and even more strongly the new feeling which had obtained\ncomplete mastery over me. Here I could not shake off the delightful\nmemories of these evenings because I did not strive to battle with them.\n\nI am not without talent for drawing, and even at that time it was an easy\nmatter to reproduce anything which had caught my eye, not only\ndistinctly, but sometimes attractively and with a certain degree of\nfidelity to nature. So my note-book was filled with figures which amazed\nme when I saw them afterwards, for my excited imagination had filled page\nafter page with a perfect Witch's Sabbath of compositions, in which the\noddest scrolls and throngs of genii blended with flowers, buds, and all\nsorts of emblems of love twined around initial letters or the picture of\nthe person who had captured my heart at a time so inopportune.\n\nI owe the suggestion of some verses which were written at that time to\nthe memory of a dream. I was on the back of a swan, which bore me through\nthe air, and on another swan flying at my side sat Clara. Our hands were\nclasped. It was delightful until I bent to kiss her; then the swan I rode\nmelted into mist, and I plunged headlong down, falling, falling, until I\nwoke.\n\nI had this dream on the Friday before the beginning of the week in which\nthe first examination was to take place; and it is worthy of mention, for\nit was fulfilled.\n\nTrue, I needed no prophetic vision to inform me that this time of\nhappiness was drawing to a close. I had long known that the company was\nto remove from Kottbus to Guben, but I hoped that the separation would be\nfollowed by a speedy meeting.\n\nIt was certainly fortunate that she was going, yet the parting was hard\nto bear; for the evening hours I had spent with her in innocent mirth and\nthe interchange of all that was best in our hearts and minds were filled\nwith exquisite enjoyment. The fact that our intercourse was in a certain\nsense forbidden fruit merely doubled its charm.\n\nHow cautiously I had glided along in the shadows of the houses, how\nanxiously I had watched the light in the minister's study opposite, when\nI went home!\n\nTrue, he would have seen nothing wrong or even unseemly, save perhaps the\nkiss which Clara gave me the last time she lighted me down stairs, yet\nthat would have been enough to shut me out of the examination. Ah! yes,\nit was fortunate that she was going.\n\nMarch had come, the sun shone brightly, the air was as warm as in May,\nand I had carried the mother and daughter some violets which I had\ngathered myself. Suddenly I thought how delightful it would be to drive\nwith Clara in an open carriage through the spring beauty of the country.\nThe next day was Sunday. If I went with them and spent the night in Guben\nI could reach home in time the next day. I need only tell Dr. Boltze I\nwas going to Komptendorf, and order the carriage, to transform the dear\ngirl's departure into a holiday.\n\nAgain Fate interfered with the course of this story; for on my way to\nschool that sunny Saturday morning I met Clara's mother, and at sight of\nher the wish merged into a resolve. I followed her into the shop she\nentered and explained my plan. She thought it would be delightful, and\npromised to wait for me at a certain place outside of the city.\n\nThe plan was carried out. I found them at the appointed spot, my darling\nas fresh as a rose. If love and joy had any substantial weight, the\nhorses would have found it a hard matter to drag the vehicle swiftly on.\n\nBut at the first toll-house, while the toll-keeper was changing some\nmoney, I experienced the envy of the gods which hitherto I had known only\nin Schiller's ballad. A pedestrian passed--the teacher whom I had\noffended by playing all sorts of pranks during his French lesson. Not one\nof the others disliked me.\n\nHe spoke to me, but I pretended not to understand, hastily took the\nchange from the toll-keeper, and, raising my hat, shouted, \"Drive on!\"\n\nThis highly virtuous gentleman scorned the young actress, and as, on\naccount of my companions, he had not returned my greeting, Clara flashed\ninto comical wrath, which stifled in its germ my thought of leaving the\ncarriage and going on foot to Komptendorf, where Dr. Boltze believed me\nto be.\n\nClara rewarded my courageous persistence by special gaiety, and when we\nhad reached Guben, taken supper with some other members of the company,\nand spent the evening in merriment, danger and all the ills which the\nfuture might bring were forgotten.\n\nThe next morning I breakfasted with Clara and her mother, and in bidding\nthem good-bye added \"Till we meet again,\" for the way to Berlin was\nthrough Guben, where the railroad began.\n\nThe carriage which had brought us there took me back to Kottbus. Several\nmembers of the company entered it and went part of the way, returning on\nfoot. When they left me twilight was gathering, but the happiness I had\njust enjoyed shone radiantly around me, and I lived over for the second\ntime all the delights I had experienced.\n\nBut the nearer I approached Kottbus the more frequently arose the fear\nthat the French teacher might make our meeting the cause of an\naccusation. He had already complained of me for very trivial\ndelinquencies and would hardly let this pass. And yet he might.\n\nWas it a crime to drive with a young girl of stainless reputation under\nher mother's oversight? No. I had done nothing wrong, except to say that\nI was going to Komptendorf--and that offence concerned only Dr. Boltze,\nto whom I had made the false statement.\n\nAt last I fell asleep, until the wheels rattled on the pavement of the\ncity streets. Was my dream concerning the swan to be fulfilled?\n\nI entered the house early. Dr. Boltze was waiting for me, and his wife's\ntroubled face betrayed what had happened even more plainly than her\nhusband's frown.\n\nThe French teacher had instantly informed my tutor where and with whom he\nhad met me, and urged him to ascertain whether I had really gone to\nKomptendorf. Then he went to Clara's former residence, questioned the\nlandlady and her servant, and finally interrogated the livery-stable\nkeeper.\n\nThe mass of evidence thus gathered proved that I had paid the actress\nnumerous visits, and always at dusk. My dream seemed fulfilled, but after\nI had told Dr. Boltze and his wife the whole truth a quiet talk followed.\nThe former did not give up the cause as lost, though he did not spare\nreproaches, while his wife's wrath was directed against the informer\nrather than the offence committed by her favourite.\n\nAfter a restless night I went to Professor Tzschirner and told him\neverything, without palliation or concealment. He censured my frivolity\nand lack of consideration for my position in life, but every word, every\nfeature of his expressive face showed that he grieved for what had\nhappened, and would have gladly punished it leniently. In after years he\ntold me so. Promising to make every effort to save me from exclusion from\nthe examination in the conference which he was to call at the close of\nthe afternoon session, he dismissed me--and he kept his word.\n\nI know this, for I succeeded in hearing the discussion. The porter of the\ngymnasium was the father of the boy whom my friend Lebenstein and I kept\nto clean our boots, etc. He was a conscientious, incorruptible man, but\nthe peculiar circumstances of the case led him to yield to my entreaties\nand admit me to a room next to the one where the conference was held. I\nam grateful to him still, for it is due to this kindness that I can think\nwithout resentment of those whose severity robbed me of six months of my\nlife.\n\nThis conference taught me how warm a friend I possessed in Professor\nTzschirner, and showed that Professor Braune was kindly disposed. I\nremember how my heart overflowed with gratitude when Professor Tzschirner\nsketched my character, extolled my rescue of life at the Kubisch factory,\nand eloquently urged them to remember their own youth and judge what had\nhappened impartially. I should have belied my nature had I not availed\nmyself of the chain of circumstances which brought me into association\nwith the actress to make the acquaintance of so charming a creature.\n\nTo my joyful surprise Herr Ebeling agreed with him, and spoke so\npleasantly of me and of Clara, concerning whom he had inquired, that I\nbegan to hope he was on my side.\n\nUnfortunately, the end of his speech destroyed all the prospects held out\nin the beginning.\n\nSpace forbids further description of the discussion. The majority, spite\nof the passionate hostility of the informer, voted not to expel me, but\nto exclude me from the examination this time, and advise me to leave the\nschool. If, however, I preferred to remain, I should be permitted to do\nso.\n\nAt the close of the session I was standing in the square in front of the\nschool when Professor Tzschirner approached, and I asked his permission\nto leave school that very day. A smile of satisfaction flitted over his\nmanly, intellectual face, and he granted my request at once.\n\nSo my Kottbus school-days ended, and, unfortunately, in a way unlike what\nI had hoped. When I said farewell to Professor Tzschirner and his wife I\ncould not restrain my tears. His eyes, too, were dim, and he repeated to\nme what I had already heard him say in the conference, and wrote the same\nthing to my mother in a letter explaining my departure from the school.\nThe report which he sent with it contains not a single word to indicate a\ncompulsory withdrawal or the advice to leave it.\n\nWhen I had stopped at Guben and said goodbye to Clara my dream was\nliterally fulfilled. Our delightful intercourse had come to a sudden end.\nFortunately, I was the only sufferer, for to my great joy I heard a few\nmonths after that she had made a successful debut at the Dresden court\ntheatre.\n\nI was, of course, less joyfully received in Berlin than usual, but the\nletters from Professor Tzschirner and Frau Boltze put what had occurred\nin the right light to my mother--nay, when she saw how I grieved over my\nseparation from the young girl whose charms still filled my heart and\nmind, her displeasure was transformed into compassion. She also saw how\ndifficult it was for me to meet the friends and guardian who had expected\nme to return as a graduate, and drew her darling, whom for the first time\nshe called her \"poor boy,\" still closer to her heart.\n\nThen we consulted about the future, and it was decided that I should\ngraduate from the gymnasium of beautiful Quedlinburg. Professor Schmidt's\nhouse was warmly recommended, and was chosen for my home.\n\nI set out for my new abode full of the best resolutions. But at Magdeburg\nI saw in a show window a particularly tasteful bonnet trimmed with lilies\nof the valley and moss-rose buds. The sight brought Clara's face framed\nin it vividly be fore my eyes, and drew me into the shop. It was a Paris\npattern-hat and very expensive, but I spent the larger part of my\npocket-money in purchasing it and ordered it to be sent to the girl whose\nimage still filled my whole soul. Hitherto I had given her nothing except\na small locket and a great many flowers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nAT THE QUEDLINBURG GYMNASIUM\n\nThe atmosphere of Quedlinburg was far different from that of the Mark\nfactory town of Kottbus. How fresh, how healthful, how stimulating to\nindustry and out-door exercise it was!\n\nEverything in the senior class was just as it should be.\n\nIn Kottbus the pupils addressed each other formally. There were at the\nutmost, I think, not more than half a dozen with whom I was on terms of\nintimacy. In Quedlinburg a beautiful relation of comradeship united all\nthe members of the school. During study hours we were serious, but in the\nintervals we were merry enough.\n\nIts head, Professor Richter, the learned editor of the fragments of\nSappho, did not equal Tzschirner in keenness of intellect and bewitching\npowers of description, yet we gladly followed the worthy man's\ninterpretations.\n\nMany a leisure day and hour we spent in the beautiful Hartz Mountains.\nBut, best of all, was my home in Quedlinburg, the house of my tutor,\nProfessor Adalbert Schmidt, an admirable man of forty, who seemed\nextremely gentle and yielding, but when necessary could be very\nperemptory, and allowed those under his charge to make no trespass on his\nauthority.\n\nHis wife was a model of amiable, almost timid womanliness. Her\nsister-in-law, the widow of a magistrate, Frau Pauline Schmidt, shared\nthe care of the pupils and the beautiful, large garden; while her pretty,\nbright young sons and daughters increased the charm of the intercourse.\n\nHow pleasant were the evenings we spent in the family circle! We read,\ntalked, played, and Frau Pauline Schmidt was a ready listener when ever I\nfelt disposed to communicate to any one what I had written.\n\nAmong my school friends were some who listened to my writings and showed\nme their own essays. My favorite was Carl Hey, grandson of Wilhelm Hey,\nwho understood child nature so well, and wrote the pretty verses\naccompanying the illustrations in the Speckter Fables, named for the\nartist, a book still popular with little German boys and girls. I was\nalso warmly attached to the enthusiastic Hubotter, who, under the name of\n\"Otter,\" afterwards became the ornament of many of the larger German\ntheatres. Lindenbein, Brosin, the talented Gosrau, and the no less gifted\nSchwalbe, were also dear friends.\n\nAt first I had felt much older than my companions, and I really had seen\nmore of life; but I soon perceived that they were splendid, lovable\nfellows. My wounded heart speedily healed, and the better my physical and\nmental condition became the more my demon stirred within me. It was no\nmerit of mine if I was not dubbed \"the foolhardy Ebers\" here also. The\nsummer in Quedlinburg was a delightful season of mingled work and\npleasure. An Easter journey through the Hartz with some gay companions,\nwhich included an ascent of the Brocken--already once climbed from\nKeilhau--is among my most delightful memories.\n\nLike the Thuringian Mountains, the Hartz are also wreathed with a garland\nof legends and historical memories. Some of its fairest blossoms are in\nthe immediate vicinity of Quedlinburg. These and the delight in nature\nwith which I here renewed my old bond tempted more than one of us to\nwrite, and very different poems, deeper and with more true feeling, than\nthose produced in Kottbus. A poetic atmosphere from the Hercynian woods\nand the monuments of ancient days surrounded our lives. It was delightful\nto dream under the rustling beeches of the neighbouring forest; and in\nthe church with its ancient graves and the crypt of St. Wiperti Cloister,\nthe oldest specimen of Christian art in that region, we were filled with\nreverence for the days of old.\n\nThe life of the great Henry, which I had celebrated in verse at Kottbus,\nbecame a reality to me here; and what a powerful influence a visit to the\nancient cloister exerted on our young souls! The nearest relatives of\nmighty sovereigns had dwelt as abbesses within its walls. But two\ngenerations ago Anna Amalie, the hapless sister of Frederick the Great,\ndied while holding this office.\n\nA strange and lasting impression was wrought upon me by a corpse and a\npicture in this convent. Both were in a subterranean chamber which\npossessed the property of preserving animal bodies from corruption. In\nthis room was the body of Countess Aurora von Konigsmark, famed as the\nmost beautiful woman of her time. After a youth spent in splendour she\nhad retired to the cloister as superior, and there she now lay unveiled,\nrigid, and yellow, although every feature had retained the form it had in\ndeath. Beside the body hung her portrait, taken at the time when a smile\non her lips, a glance from her eyes, was enough to fire the heart of the\ncoldest man.\n\nA terrible antithesis!\n\nHere the portrait of the blooming, beautiful husk of a soul exulting in\nhaughty arrogance; yonder that husk itself, transformed by the hand of\ndeath into a rigid, colourless caricature, a mummy without embalming.\n\nArt, too, had a place in Quedlinburg. I still remember with pleasure\nSteuerwald's beautiful winter landscapes, into which he so cleverly\nintroduced the mediaeval ruins of the Hartz region.\n\nThus, Quedlinburg was well suited to arouse poetic feelings in young\nhearts, steep the soul with love for the beautiful, time-honoured region,\nand yet fill it with the desire to make distant lands its own. Every one\nknows that this was Klopstock's birthplace; but the greatest geographer\nof all ages, Karl Ritter, whose mighty mind grasped the whole universe as\nif it were the precincts of his home, also first saw the light of the\nworld here.\n\nGutsmuths, the founder of the gymnastic system, Bosse, the present\nMinister of Public Worship and Instruction, and Julius Wolff, are\nchildren of Quedlinburg and pupils of its gymnasium.\n\nThe long vacation came between the written and verbal examinations, and\nas I had learned privately that my work had been sufficiently\nsatisfactory, my mother gave me permission to go to the Black Forest, to\nwhich pleasant memories attracted me. But my friend Hey had seen nothing\nof the world, so I chose a goal more easily attained, and took him with\nme to the Rhine. I went home by the way of Gottingen, and what I saw\nthere of the Saxonia corps filled me with such enthusiasm that I resolved\nto wear the blue, white, and blue ribbon.\n\nThe oral was also successfully examination passed, and I returned to my\nmother, who received me at Hosterwitz with open arms. The resolve to\ndevote myself to the study of law and to commence in Gottingen was\nformed, and received her approval.\n\nFor what reason I preferred the legal profession it would be hard to say.\nNeither mental bias nor interest gained by any searching examination of\nthe science to which I wished to devote myself, turned the scale. I\nactually gave less thought to my profession and my whole mental and\nexternal life than I should have bestowed upon the choice of a residence.\n\nIn the ideal school, as I imagine it, the pupils of the senior class\nshould be briefly made acquainted with what each one of the principal\nprofessions offers and requires from its members. The principal of the\ninstitution should also aid by his counsel the choice of the young men\nwith whose talents and tastes long intercourse had rendered him familiar.\n\n   [It should never contain more than seventy pupils. Barop, when I\n   met him after I attained my maturity, named sixty as the largest\n   number which permitted the teacher to know and treat individually\n   the boys confided to his care. He would never receive more at\n   Keilhau.]\n\nOf course I imagine this man not only a teacher but an educator, familiar\nnot alone with the school exercises, but with the mental and physical\ncharacteristics of those who are to graduate from the university.\n\nHad not the heads of the Keilhau Institute lost their pupils so young,\nthey would undoubtedly have succeeded in guiding the majority to the\nright profession.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Coach moved by electricity\n     Do thoroughly whatever they do at all\n     I approve of such foolhardiness\n     Life is the fairest fairy tale (Anderson)\n     Loved himself too much to give his whole affection to any one\n     Scorned the censure of the people, he never lost sight of it\n     What father does not find something to admire in his child\n\n\n\n\nTHE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GEORG EBERS\n\nTHE STORY OF MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD TO MANHOOD\n\nVolume 6.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nAT THE UNIVERSITY.\n\nThe weeks following my graduation were as ill suited as possible to the\ndecision of any serious question.\n\nAfter a gay journey through Bohemia which ended in venerable Prague, I\ndivided my time between Hosterwitz, Blasewitz, and Dresden. In the latter\ncity I met among other persons, principally old friends, the son of my\nuncle Brandenstein, an Austrian lieutenant on leave of absence. I spent\nmany a pleasant evening with him and his comrades, who were also on\nleave. These young gentlemen considered the Italians, against whom they\nfought, as rebels, while a cousin of my uncle, then Colonel von\nBrandenstein, but afterwards promoted in the Franco-Austrian war in 1859\nand 1866 to the rank of master of ordnance, held a totally different\nopinion. This clever, warmhearted soldier understood the Italians and\ntheir struggle for unity and freedom, and judged them so justly and\ntherefore favorably, that he often aroused the courteous opposition of\nhis younger comrades. I did not neglect old friends, however, and when I\ndid not go to the theatre in the evening I ended the day with my aunt at\nBlasewitz. But, on my mother's account, I was never long absent from\nHosterwitz. I enjoyed being with her so much. We drove and walked\ntogether, and discussed everything the past had brought and the future\npromised.\n\nYet I longed for academic freedom, and especially to sit at the feet of\nan Ernst Curtius, and be initiated by Waitz into the methodical study of\nhistory.\n\nThe evening before my departure my mother drove with me to Blasewitz,\nwhere there was an elegant entertainment at which the lyric poet Julius\nHammer, the author of \"Look Around You and Look Within You,\" who was to\nbecome a dear friend of mine, extolled in enthusiastic verse the delights\nof student liberty and the noble sisters Learning and Poesy.\n\nThe glowing words echoed in my heart and mind after I had torn myself\nfrom the arms of my mother and of the woman who, next to her, was dearest\nto me on earth, my aunt, and was travelling toward my goal. If ever the\nfeeling that I was born to good fortune took possession of me, it was\nduring that journey.\n\nI did not know what weariness meant, and when, on reaching Gottingen, I\nlearned that the students' coffee-house was still closed and that no one\nwould arrive for three or four days, I went to Cassel to visit the royal\ngarden in Wilhelmshohe.\n\nAt the station I saw a gentleman who looked intently at me. His face,\ntoo, seemed familiar. I mentioned my name, and the next instant he had\nembraced and kissed me. Two Keilhau friends had met, and, with sunshine\nalike in our hearts and in the blue sky, we set off together to see\neverything of note in beautiful Cassel.\n\nWhen it was time to part, Von Born told me so eagerly how many of our old\nschool-mates were now living in Westphalia, and how delightful it would\nbe to see them, that I yielded and went with him to the birthplace of\nBarop and Middendorf. The hours flew like one long revel, and my\nexuberant spirits made my old school-mates, who, engaged in business\nenterprises, were beginning to look life solemnly in the face, feel as if\nthe carefree Keilhau days had returned. On going back to Gottingen, I\nstill had to wait a few days for the real commencement of the term, but I\nwas received at the station by the \"Saxons,\" donned the blue cap, and\nengaged pleasant lodgings--though the least adapted to serious study in\nthe \"Schonhutte,\" a house in Weenderstrasse whose second story was\noccupied by our corps room.\n\nMy expectations of the life with young men of congenial tastes were\ncompletely fulfilled. Most of them belonged to the nobility, but the\nbeloved \"blue, white, and blue\" removed all distinctions of birth.\n\nBy far the most talented of its members was Count (now Prince) Otto von\nStolberg-Wernegerode, who was afterwards to hold so high a position in\nthe service of the Prussian Government.\n\nAmong the other scions of royal families were the hereditary Prince Louis\nof Hesse-Darmstadt and his brother Henry. Both were vivacious, agreeable\nyoung men, who entered eagerly into all the enjoyments of student and\ncorps life. The older brother, who died as Grand Duke, continued his\nfriendship for me while sovereign of his country. I was afterwards\nindebted to him for the pleasure of making the acquaintance of his wife\nAlice, one of the most remarkable women whom I have ever met.--[Princess\nAlice of England, the daughter of Queen Victoria.-TR.]\n\nOh, what delightful hours we spent in the corps room, singing and\nrevelling, in excursions through the beautiful scenes in the\nneighbourhood, and on the fencing ground, testing our strength and skill,\nman to man! Every morning we woke to fresh pleasures, and every evening\nclosed a spring festal day, radiant with the sunlight of liberty and the\nmagic of friendship.\n\nOur dinner was eaten together at the \"Krone\" with the most jovial of\nhosts, old Betmann, whose card bore the pictures of a bed and a man. Then\ncame coffee, drunk at the museum or at some restaurant outside of the\ncity, riding, or a duel, or there was some excursion, or the\nentertainment of a fellow-student from some other university, and finally\nthe tavern.\n\nMany an evening also found me with some friends at the Schuttenhof, where\nthe young Philistines danced with the little burgher girls and pretty\ndressmakers. They were all, however, of unsullied reputation, and how\nmerrily I swung them around till the music ceased! These innocent\namusements could scarcely have injured my robust frame, yet when some\nunusual misfortune happens it is a trait of human nature to seek its\nfirst germ in the past. I, too, scanned the period immediately preceding\nmy illness, but reached the conclusion that it was due to acute colds,\nthe first of which ran into a very violent fever.\n\nHad the result been otherwise I certainly should not have permitted my\nsons to enjoy to the utmost the happy period which in my case was too\nsoon interrupted.\n\nTrue, the hours of the night which I devoted to study could scarcely have\nbeen beneficial to my nervous system; for when, with burning head and\nfull of excitement, I returned from the tavern which was closed, by rule,\nat eleven--from the \"Schuttenhof,\" or some ball or entertainment, I never\nwent to rest; that was the time I gave the intellect its due. Legal\nstudies were pursued during the hours of the night only at the\ncommencement of my stay in Gottingen, for I rarely attended the lectures\nfor which I had entered my name, though the brevity of the Roman\ndefinitions of law, with which Ribbentropp's lectures had made me\nfamiliar, afforded me much pleasure. Unfortunately, I could not attend\nthe lectures of Ernst Curtius, who had just been summoned to Gottingen,\non account of the hours at which they were given. My wish to join Waitz's\nclasses was also unfulfilled, but I went to those of the philosopher\nLotze, and they opened a new world to me. I was also one of the most\neager of Professor Unger's hearers.\n\nProbably his \"History of Art\" would have attracted me for its own sake,\nbut I must confess that at first his charming little daughter was the\nsole magnet which drew me to his lectures; for on account of displaying\nthe pictures he delivered them at his own house.\n\nUnfortunately, I rarely met the fair Julie, but, to make amends, I found\nthrough her father the way to that province of investigation to which my\nafter-life was to be devoted.\n\nIn several lessons he discussed subtly and vividly the art of the\nEgyptians, mentioning Champollion's deciphering of the hieroglyphics.\n\nThis great intellectual achievement awakened my deepest interest. I went\nat once to the library, and Unger selected the books which seemed best\nadapted to give me further instruction.\n\nI returned with Champollion's Grammaire Hieroglyphique, Lepsius's Lettre\na Rosellini, and unfortunately with some misleading writings by\nSeyffarth.\n\nHow often afterward, returning in the evening from some entertainment, I\nhave buried myself in the grammar and tried to write hieroglyphics.\n\nTrue, I strove still more frequently and persistently to follow the\nphilosopher Lotze.\n\nObedient to a powerful instinct, my untrained intellect had sought to\nread the souls of men. Now I learned through Lotze to recognize the body\nas the instrument to which the emotions of the soul, the harmonies and\ndiscords of the mental and emotional life, owe their origin.\n\nI intended later to devote myself earnestly to the study of physiology,\nfor without it Lotze could be but half understood; and from physiologists\nemanated the conflict which at that time so deeply stirred the learned\nworld.\n\nIn Gottingen especially the air seemed, as it were, filled with\nphysiological and other questions of the natural sciences.\n\nIn that time of the most sorrowful reaction the political condition of\nGermany was so wretched that any discussion concerning it was gladly\navoided. I do not remember having attended a single debate on that topic\nin the circles of the students with which I was nearly connected.\n\nBut the great question \"Materialism or Antimaterialism\" still agitated\nthe Georgia Augusta, in whose province the conflict had assumed still\nsharper forms, owing to Rudolf Wagner's speech during the convention of\nthe Guttingen naturalists three years prior to my entrance.\n\nCarl Vogt's \"Science and Bigotry\" exerted a powerful influence, owing to\nthe sarcastic tone in which the author attacked his calmer adversary. In\nthe honest conviction of profound knowledge, the clever, vigorous\nchampion of materialism endeavoured to brand the opponents of his dogmas\nwith the stigma of absurdity, and those who flattered themselves with the\nbelief that they belonged to the ranks of the \"strong-minded\" followed\nhis standard.\n\nHegel's influence was broken, Schelling's idealism had been thrust aside.\nThe solid, easily accessible fare of the materialists was especially\nrelished by those educated in the natural sciences, and Vogt's maxim,\nthat thought stands in a similar relation to the brain as the gall to the\nliver and the excretions of the other organs, met with the greater\napproval the more confidently and wittily it was promulgated. The\nphilosopher could not help asserting that the nature of the soul could be\ndisclosed neither by the scalpel nor the microscope; yet the discoveries\nof the naturalist, which had led to the perception of the relation\nexisting between the psychical and material life seemed to give the most\nhonest, among whom Carl Vogt held the first rank; a right to uphold their\ndogmas.\n\nMaterialism versus Antimaterialism was the subject under discussion in\nthe learned circles of Germany. Nay, I remember scarcely any other\npowerful wave of the intellect visible during this period of stagnation.\n\nPhilosophy could not fail to be filled with pity and disapproval to see\nthe independent existence of the soul, as it were, authoritatively\nreaffirmed by a purely empirical science, and also brought into the field\nall the defensive forces at her command. But throngs flocked to the camp\nof Materialism, for the trumpets of her leaders had a clearer, more\nconfident sound than the lower and less readily understood opposing cries\nof the philosophers.\n\nVogt's wrath was directed with special keenness against my teacher,\nLotze. These topics were rarely discussed at the tavern or among the\nmembers of the corps. I first heard them made the subject of an animated\nexchange of thought in the Dirichlet household, where Professor Baum\nemerged from his aristocratic composure to denounce vehemently\nmaterialism and its apostles. Of course I endeavoured to gain information\nabout things which so strongly moved intellectual men, and read in\naddition to Lotze's books the polemical writings which were at that time\nin everybody's hands.\n\nVogt's caustic style charmed me, but it was not due solely to the\nreligious convictions which I had brought from my home and from Keilhau\nthat I perceived that here a sharp sword was swung by a strong arm to cut\nwater. The wounds it dealt would not bleed, for they were inflicted upon\na body against which it had as little power as Satan against the cross.\n\nWhen, before I became acquainted with Feuerbach, I flung my books aside,\nwearied or angered, I often seized in the middle of the night my monster\nPoem of the World, my tragedy of Panthea and Abradatus, or some other\npoetical work, and did not retire till the wick of the lamp burned out at\nthree in the morning.\n\nWhen I think how much time and earnest labour were lavished on that poem,\nI regret having yielded to the hasty impulse to destroy it.\n\nI have never since ventured to undertake anything on so grand a scale. I\ncould repeat only a few lines of the verses it contained; but the plan of\nthe whole work, as I rounded it in Gottingen and Hosterwitz, I remember\nperfectly, and I think, if only for the sake of its peculiarity and as\nthe mirror of a portion of my intellectual life at that time, its main\noutlines deserve reproduction here.\n\nI made Power and Matter, which I imagined as a formless element; the\nbasis of all existence. These two had been cast forth by the divine Ruler\nof a world incomprehensible to human intelligence, in which the present\nis a moment, space a bubble, as out of harmony with the mighty conditions\nand purposes of his realm. But this supreme Ruler offered to create for\nthem a world suited to their lower plane of existence. Power I imagined a\nman, Matter a woman. They were hostile to each other, for he despised his\nquiet, inert companion, she feared her restless, unyielding partner; yet\nthe power of the ruler of the higher world forced them to wed.\n\nFrom their loveless union sprang the earth, the stars-in short, all\ninorganic life.\n\nWhen the latter showed its relation to the father, Power, by the\nimpetuous rush of the stars through space, by terrible eruptions, etc.,\nthe mother, Matter, was alarmed, and as, to soothe them, she drew into\nher embrace the flaming spheres, which dashed each other to pieces in\ntheir mad career, and restrained the fiercest, her chill heart was warmed\nby her children's fire.\n\nThus, as it were, raised to a higher condition, she longed for less\nunruly children, and her husband, Power, who, though he would have gladly\ncast her off, was bound to her by a thousand ties, took pity upon her,\nbecause her listlessness and coldness were transformed to warmth and\nmotion, and another child sprang from their union, love.\n\nBut she seemed to have been born to misery, and wandered mournfully\nabout, weeping and lamenting because she lacked an object for which to\nlabour. True, she drew from the flaming, smoking bodies which she kissed\na soft, beneficent light, she induced some to give up their former\nimpetuosity and respect the course of others, and plants and trees sprang\nfrom the earth where her lips touched it, yet her longing to receive\nsomething which would be in harmony with her own nature remained\nunsatisfied.\n\nBut she was a lovely child and the darling of her father, whom, by her\nentreaties, she persuaded to animate with his own nature the shapes which\nshe created in sport, those of the animals.\n\nFrom this time there were living creatures moved by Power and Love. But\nagain they brought trouble to the mother; for they were stirred by fierce\npassions, under whose influence they attacked and rent each other. But\nLove did not cease to form new shapes until she attained the most\nbeautiful, the human form.\n\nYet human beings were stirred by the same feelings as the animals, and\nLove's longing for something in which she could find comfort remained\nunsatisfied, till, repelled by her savage father and her listless mother,\nshe flung herself in despair from a rock. But being immortal, she did not\nperish.\n\nHer blood sprinkled the earth, and from her wounds exhaled an exquisite\nfragrance, which rose higher and higher till it reached the realm whence\ncame her parents; and its supreme ruler took pity on the exile's child,\nand from the blood of Love grew at his sign a lily, from which arose,\nradiant in white garments, Intellect, which the Most High had breathed\ninto the flower.\n\nHe came from that higher world to ours, but only a vague memory of his\nformer home was permitted, lest he should compare his present abode with\nthe old one and scorn it.\n\nAs soon as he met Love he was attracted towards her, and she ardently\naccepted his suit; yet the first embrace chilled her, and her fervour\nstartled and repelled him. So, each fearing the other's tenderness, they\nshunned each other, though an invincible charm constantly drew them\ntogether.\n\nLove continued to yearn for him even after she had sundered the bond; but\nhe often yielded to the longing for his higher home, of whose splendours\nhe retained a memory, and soared upward. Yet whenever he drew near he was\ndriven back to the other.\n\nThere he directed sometimes with Love, sometimes alone, the life of\neverything in the universe, or in unison with her animated men with his\nbreath.\n\nHe did this sometimes willingly, sometimes reluctantly, with greater or\nless strength, according to the nearness he had attained to his heavenly\nhome; but when he had succeeded in reaching its circle of light, he\nreturned wonderfully invigorated. Then whoever Love and he joined in\nanimating with their breath became an artist.\n\nThere was also a thoroughly comic figure and one with many humorous\ntouches. Intellect's page, Instinct, who had risen from the lily with\nhim, was a comical fellow. When he tried to follow his master's flight he\nfell after the first few strokes of his wings, and usually among nettles.\nOnly when some base advantage was to be gained on earth did this servant\nsucceed better than his master. The mother, Matter, whom for the sake of\nthe verse I called by her Greek name Hyle, was also invested with a shade\nof comedy as a dissatisfied wife and the mother-in-law of Intellect.\n\nIn regard to the whole Poem of the World I will observe that, up to the\ntime I finished the last line, I had never studied the kindred systems of\nthe Neo-Platonics or the Gnostics.\n\nThe verses which described the moment when Matter drew her fiery children\nto her heart and thus warmed it, another passage in which men who were\ndestitute of intellect sought to destroy themselves and Love resolved to\nsacrifice her own life, and, lastly, the song where Intellect rises from\nthe lily, besides many others, were worthy, in my opinion, of being\npreserved.\n\nWhat first diverted my attention from the work was, as has been\nmentioned, the study of Feuerbach, to which I had been induced by a\nletter from the geographer Karl Andree. I eagerly seized his books, first\nchoosing his \"Axioms of the Philosophy of the Future,\" and afterwards\ndevoured everything he had written which the library contained. And at\nthat time I was grateful to my friend the geographer for his advice.\nTrue, Feuerbach seemed to me to shatter many things which from a child I\nhad held sacred; yet I thought I discovered behind the falling masonry\nthe image of eternal truth.\n\nThe veil which I afterwards saw spread over so many things in Feuerbach's\nwritings at that time produced the same influence upon me as the mist\nwhence rise here the towers, yonder the battlements of a castle. It might\nbe large or small; the grey mist which forbids the eye from definitely\nmeasuring its height and width by no means prevents the traveller, who\nknows that a powerful lord possesses the citadel, from believing it to be\nas large and well guarded as the power of its ruler would imply.\n\nTrue, I was not sufficiently mature for the study of this great thinker,\nwhom I afterwards saw endanger other unripe minds. As a disciple of this\nmaster there were many things to be destroyed which from childhood had\nbecome interlaced by a thousand roots and fibres with my whole\nintellectual organism, and such operations are not effected without pain.\n\nWhat I learned while seeking after truth during those night hours ought\nto have taught me the connection between mind and body; yet I was never\nfarther from perceiving it. A sharp division had taken place in my\nnature. By night, in arduous conflict, I led a strange mental life, known\nto myself alone; by day all this was forgotten, unless--and how rarely\nthis happened--some conversation recalled it.\n\nFrom my first step out of doors I belonged to life, to the corps, to\npleasure. What was individual existence, mortality, or the eternal life\nof the soul! Minerva's bird is an owl. Like it, these learned questions\nbelonged to the night. They should cast no shadow on the brightness of my\nday. When I met the first friend in the blue cap no one need have sung\nour corps song, \"Away with cares and crotchets!\"\n\nAt no time had the exuberant joy in mere existence stirred more strongly\nwithin me. My whole nature was filled with the longing to utilize and\nenjoy this brief earthly life which Feuerbach had proved was to end with\ndeath.\n\n          Better an hour's mad revel,\n          E'en a kiss from a Moenad's lip,\n          Than a year of timid doubting,\n          Daring only to taste and sip,\n\nwere the closing lines of a song which I composed at this time.\n\nSo my old wantonness unfolded its wings, but it was not to remain always\nunpunished.\n\nMy mother had gone to Holland with Paula just before Advent, and as I\ncould not spend my next vacation at home, she promised to furnish me with\nmeans to take a trip through the great German Hanse cities.\n\nIn Bremen I was most cordially received in the family of Mohr, a member\nof my corps, in whose circle I spent some delightful hours, and also an\nevening never to be forgotten in the famous old Rathskeller.\n\nBut I wished to see the harbour of the great commercial city, and the\nships which ploughed the ocean to those distant lands for which I had\noften longed.\n\nSince I had shot my first hare in Komptendorf and brought down my first\npartridge from the air, the love of sport had never slumbered; I\ngratified it whenever I could, and intended to take a boat from\nBremerhaven and go as near as possible to the sea, where I could shoot\nthe cormorants and the bald-headed eagles which hunters on the seashore\nclass among the most precious booty.\n\nIn Bremerhaven an architect whose acquaintance I had made on the way\nbecame my cicerone, and showed me all the sights of the small but very\nquaint port. I had expected to find the bustle on shore greater, but what\na throng of ships and boats, masts and smoke-stacks I saw!\n\nMy guide showed me the last lighthouse which had been built, and took me\non board of a mail steamer which was about to sail to America.\n\nI was deeply interested in all this, but my companion promised to show me\nthings still more remarkable if I would give up my shooting excursion.\n\nUnfortunately, I insisted upon my plan, and the next morning sailed in a\npouring rain through a dense mist to the mouth of the Weser and out to\nsea. But, instead of pleasure and booty, I gained on this expedition\nnothing but discomfort and drenching, which resulted in a violent cold.\n\nWhat I witnessed and experienced in my journey back to Cuttingen is\nscarcely worth mentioning. The only enjoyable hours were spent at the\ntheatre in Hanover, where I saw Niemann in Templar and Jewess, and for\nthe first time witnessed the thoroughly studied yet perfectly natural\nimpersonations of Marie Seebach. I also remember with much pleasure the\nroyal riding-school in charge of General Meyer. Never have I seen the\nstrength of noble chargers controlled and guided with so much firmness,\nease, and grace as by the hand of this officer, the best horseman in\nGermany.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nTHE SHIPWRECK\n\nThe state of health in which, still with a slight fever recurring every\nafternoon, I returned to Gottingen was by no means cheering.\n\nBesides, I was obliged at once to undergo the five days' imprisonment to\nwhich I had been justly sentenced for reckless shooting across the\nstreet.\n\nDuring the day I read, besides some very trashy novels, several by Jean\nPaul, with most of which I had become familiar while a school-boy in the\nfirst class.\n\nThey had given me so much pleasure that I was vexed with the indifference\nwith which some of my friends laid the works of the great humorist aside.\n\nThere were rarely any conversations on the more serious scientific\nsubjects among the members of the corps, though it did not lack talented\nyoung men, and some of the older ones were industrious.\n\nNothing, perhaps, lends the life of the corps a greater charm than the\naffectionate intercourse which unites individuals.\n\nI was always sure of finding sympathizers for everything that touched my\nfeelings.\n\nWith regard to the results of my nocturnal labour the case was very\ndifferent. If any one else had \"bored\" me at the tavern about his views\nof Feuerbach and Lotze, I should undoubtedly have stopped him with\nGoethe's \"Ergo bibamus.\"\n\nThere was one person in Gottingen, however, Herbert Pernice, from whom I\nmight expect full sympathy. Though only five years my senior, he was\nalready enrolled among the teachers of the legal faculty. The vigour and\nkeenness of his intellect and the extent of his knowledge were as amazing\nas his corpulence.\n\nOne evening I had met him at the Krone and left the table at which he\npresided in a very enthusiastic state of mind; for while emptying I know\nnot how many bottles of Rhine wine he directed the conversation\napparently unconsciously.\n\nEach of his statements seemed to strike the nail on the head.\n\nThe next day, to my great delight, I met him again at Professor Baum's.\nHe had retreated from the ladies, whom he always avoided, and as we were\nalone in the room I soon succeeded in turning the conversation upon\nFeuerbach, for I fairly longed to have another person's opinion of him.\nBesides, I was certain of hearing the philosopher criticised by the\nconservative antimaterialistic Pernice in an original manner--that is, if\nhe knew him at all. True, I might have spared myself the doubt; for into\nwhat domain of humanistic knowledge had not this highly talented man\nentered!\n\nFeuerbach was thoroughly familiar to him, but he condemned his philosophy\nwith pitiless severity, and opposed with keen wit and sharp dialectics\nhis reasons for denying the immortality of the soul, inveighing\nespecially against the phrase and idea \"philosophy of religion\" as an\nabsurdity which genuine philosophy ought not to permit because it dealt\nonly with thought, while religion concerned faith, whose seat is not in\nthe head, the sacred fount of all philosophy, but the heart, the warm\nabode of religion and faith. Then he advised me to read Bacon, study\nKant, Plato, and the other ancient philosophers--Lotze, too, if I\ndesired--and when I had them all by heart, take up the lesser lights, and\neven then be in no hurry to read Feuerbach and his wild theology.\n\nI met and conversed with him again whenever I could, and he availed\nhimself of the confidence he inspired to arouse my enthusiasm for the\nstudy of jurisprudence. So I am indebted to Pernice for many benefits. In\none respect only my reverence for him entailed a certain peril.\n\nHe knew what I was doing, but instead of warning me of the danger which\nthreatened me from toiling at night after such exciting days, he approved\nmy course and described episodes of his own periods of study.\n\nOne of the three essays for which he received prizes had been written to\ncompel his father to retract the \"stupid fellow\" with which he had\ninsulted him. At that time he had sat over his books day and night for\nweeks, and, thank Heaven, did not suffer from it.\n\nHis colossal frame really did seem immovable, and I deemed mine, though\nmuch slighter, capable of nearly equal endurance. It required severe\nexertions to weary me, and my mind possessed the capacity to devote\nitself to strenuous labour directly after the gayest amusements, and\nthere was no lack of such \"pastimes\" either in Gottingen or just beyond\nits limits.\n\nAmong the latter was an excursion to Cassel which was associated with an\nadventure whose singular course impressed it firmly on my memory.\n\nWhen we arrived, chilled by the railway journey, an acquaintance of the\nfriend who accompanied me ordered rum and water for us, and we laughed\nand jested with the landlord's pretty daughters, who brought it to us.\n\nAs it had been snowing heavily and the sleighing was excellent, we\ndetermined to return directly after dinner, and drive as far as Munden.\nOf course the merry girls would be welcome companions, and we did not\nfind it very difficult to persuade them to go part of the way with us.\n\nSo we hired two sleighs to convey us to a village distant about an hour's\nride, from which we were to send them back in one, while my friend and I\npursued our journey in the other.\n\nAfter a lively dinner with our friends they joined us.\n\nThe snow-storm, which had ceased for several hours, began again, growing\nmore and more violent as we drove on. I never saw such masses of the\nlargest flakes, and just outside the village where the girls were to turn\nback the horses could barely force their way through the white mass which\ntransformed the whole landscape into a single snowy coverlet.\n\nThe clouds seemed inexhaustible, and when the time for departure came the\ndriver declared that it would be impossible to go back to Cassel.\n\nThe girls, who, exhilarated by the swift movement through the cold,\nbracing air, had entered into our merriment, grew more and more anxious.\nOur well-meant efforts to comfort them were rejected; they were angry\nwith us for placing them in such an unpleasant position.\n\nThe lamps were lighted when I thought of taking the landlady into our\nconfidence and asking her to care for the poor frightened children. She\nwas a kind, sensible woman, and though she at first exclaimed over their\nheedlessness, she addressed them with maternal tenderness and showed them\nto the room they were to occupy.\n\nThey came down again at supper reassured, and we ate the rustic meal\ntogether very merrily. One of them wrote a letter to her father, saying\nthat they had been detained by the snow at the house of an acquaintance,\nand a messenger set off with it at sunrise, but we were told that the\nroad would not be passable before noon.\n\nYet, gay as our companions were at breakfast, the thought of entertaining\nthem longer seemed irksome, and as the church bells were ringing some one\nproposed that we should go.\n\nA path had been shovelled, and we were soon seated in the country church.\nThe pastor, a fine-looking man of middle age, entered, and though I no\nlonger remember his text, I recollect perfectly that he spoke of the\ntemptations which threaten to lure us from the right paths and the means\nof resisting them.\n\nOne of the most effectual, he said, was the remembrance of those to whom\nwe owe love and respect. I thought of my mother and blind old Langethal,\nof Tzschirner, and of Herbert Pernice, and, dissatisfied with myself,\nresolved to do in the future not only what was seemly, but what the duty\nof entering more deeply into the science which I had chosen required.\n\nThe childish faith which Feuerbach's teachings had threatened to destroy\nseemed to gaze loyally at me with my mother's eyes. I felt that Pernice\nwas right--it was the warm heart, not the cool head, which should deal\nwith these matters, and I left the church, which I had entered merely to\nshorten an hour, feeling as if released from a burden.\n\nOur return home was pleasant, and I began to attend the law lectures at\nGottingen with tolerable regularity.\n\nI was as full of life, and, when occasion offered, as reckless, as ever,\nthough a strange symptom began to make itself unpleasantly felt. It\nappeared only after severe exertion in walking, fencing, or dancing, and\nconsisted of a peculiar, tender feeling in the soles of my feet, which I\nattributed to some fault of the shoemaker, and troubled myself the less\nabout it because it vanished soon after I came in.\n\nBut the family of Professor Baum, the famous surgeon, where I was very\nintimate, had thought ever since my return from the Christmas vacation\nthat I did not look well.\n\nWith Marianne, the second daughter of this hospitable household, a\nbeautiful girl of remarkably brilliant mind, I had formed so intimate,\nalmost fraternal, a friendship, that both she and her warm-hearted mother\ncalled me \"Cousin Schorge.\"\n\nFrau Dirichlet, the wife of the great mathematician, the sister of Felix\nMendelssohn Bartholdy, in whose social and musical home I spent hours of\npleasure which will never be forgotten, also expressed her anxiety about\nmy loss of flesh. When a girl she had often met my mother, and at my\nfirst visit she won my affection by her eager praise of that beloved\nwoman's charms.\n\nAs the whole family were extremely musical they could afford themselves\nand their friends a great deal of enjoyment. I have never heard Joachim\nplay so entrancingly as to her accompaniment. At a performance in her own\nhouse, where the choruses from Cherubini's Water-Carrier were given, she\nherself had rehearsed the music with those who were to take part, and to\nhear her play on the piano was a treat.\n\nThis lady, a remarkable woman in every respect, who gave me many tokens\nof maternal affection, insisted on the right to warn me. She did this by\nreminding me, with delicate feminine tact, of my mother when she heard of\na wager which I now remember with grave disapproval. This was to empty an\nimmense number of bottles of the heavy Wurzburg Stein wine and yet remain\nperfectly sober. My opponent, who belonged to the Brunswick Corps, lost,\nbut as soon after I was attacked by illness, though not in consequence of\nthis folly, which had occurred about a fortnight before, he could not\ngive the breakfast which I had won. But he fulfilled his obligation; for\nwhen, several lustra later, I visited his native city of Hamburg as a\nLeipsic professor, to deliver an address before the Society of Art and\nScience, he arranged a splendid banquet, at which I met several old\nGottingen friends.\n\nThe term was nearly over when an entertainment was given to the corps by\none of its aristocratic members. It was a very gay affair. A band of\nmusic played, and we students danced with one another. I was one of the\nlast to depart, long after midnight, and on looking for my overcoat I\ncould not find it. One of the guests had mistaken it for his, and the\nyoung gentleman's servant had carried his own home. This was unfortunate,\nfor mine contained my door-key.\n\nHeated by dancing, in a dress-coat, with a thin white necktie, I went out\ninto the night air. It was cold, and, violently as I pounded on the door\nof the Schonhutte, no one opened it. At last I thought of pounding on the\ngutter-spout, which I did till I roused the landlord. But I had been at\nleast fifteen minutes in the street, and was fairly numbed. The landlord\nwas obliged to open the room and light my lamp, because I could not use\nmy fingers.\n\nIf I had been intoxicated, which I do not believe, the cold would have\nsobered me, for what happened is as distinct as if it had occurred\nyesterday.\n\nI undressed, went to bed, and when I was roused by a strange burning\nsensation in my throat I felt so weak that I could scarcely lift my arm.\nThere was a peculiar taste of blood in my mouth, and as I moved I touched\nsomething moist. But my exhaustion was so great that I fell asleep again,\nand the dream which followed was so delightful that I did not forget it.\nPerhaps the distinctness of my recollection is due to my making it the\nsubject of a poem, which I still possess. It seemed as if I were lying in\nan endless field of poppies, with the notes of music echoing around me.\nNever did I have a more blissful vision.\n\nThe awakening was all the more terrible. Only a few hours could have\npassed since I went to rest. Dawn was just appearing, and I rang for the\nold maid-servant who waited on me. An hour later Geheimrath Baum stood\nbeside my bed.\n\nThe heavy tax made upon my physical powers by exposure to the night air\nhad caused a severe haemorrhage. The excellent physician who took charge\nof my case said positively that my lungs were sound, and the attack was\ndue to the bursting of a blood-vessel. I was to avoid sitting upright in\nbed, to receive no visitors, and have ice applied. I believed myself\ndestined to an early death, but the departure from life caused me no\nfear; nay, I felt so weary that I desired nothing but eternal sleep. Only\nI wanted to see my mother again.\n\nThen let my end come!\n\nI was in the mood to write, and either the day after the haemorrhage or\nthe next one I composed the following verses:\n\n     A field of poppies swaying to and fro,\n     Their blossoms scarlet as fresh blood,\n     I see, While o'er me, radiant in the noontide glow,\n     The sky, blue as corn-flowers, arches free.\n\n     Low music echoes through the breezes warm;\n     The violet lends the poppy her sweet breath;\n     The song of nightingales is heard, a swarm\n     Of butterflies flit hov'ring o'er the heath.\n\n     While thus I lie, wrapped in a morning dream,\n     Half waking, half asleep, 'mid poppies red,\n     A fresh breeze cools my burning cheeks; a gleam\n     Of light shines in the East. Hath the night sped?\n\n     Then upward from an opening bud hath flown\n     A poppy leaf toward the azure sky,\n     But close beside it, from a flower full-blown,\n     The scattered petals on the brown earth lie.\n\n     The leaflet flutters, a fair sight to view,\n     By the fresh matin breezes heavenward borne,\n     The faded poppy falls, the fields anew\n     To fertilize, which grateful thanks return.\n\n     Starting from slumber round my room I gaze\n     My hand of my own life-blood bears the stain;\n     I am the poppy-leaf, with the first rays\n     Of morning snatched away from earth's domain.\n\n     Not mine the fate the world's dark ways to wend,\n     And perish, wearied, at the goal of life;\n     Still glad and blooming, I leave every friend;\n     The game is lost--but with what joys 'twas rife!\n\nI cannot express how these verses relieved my heart; and when on the\nthird day I again felt comparatively well I tried to believe that I\nshould soon recover, enjoy the pleasures of corps life, though with some\ncaution, and devote myself seriously to the study of jurisprudence under\nPernice's direction.\n\nThe physician gave his permission for a speedy return, but his assurance\nthat there was no immediate danger if I was careful did not afford me\nunmixed pleasure. For my mother's sake and my own I desired to live, but\nthe rules he prescribed before my departure were so contradictory to my\nnature that they seemed unbearably cruel. They restricted every movement.\nHe feared the haemorrhage far less than the tender feeling in the soles\nof my feet and other small symptoms of the commencement of a chronic\ndisease.\n\nMiddendorf had taught us to recognize God's guidance in Nature and our\nown lives, and how often I succeeded in doing so! But when I examined\nmyself and my condition closely it seemed as if what had befallen me was\nthe result of a malicious or blind chance.\n\nNever before or since have I felt so crushed and destitute of support as\nduring those days, and in this mood I left the city where the spring days\nof life had bloomed so richly for me, and returned home to my mother. She\nhad learned what had occurred, but the physician had assured her that\nwith my vigorous constitution I should regain my health if I followed his\ndirections.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nTHE HARDEST TIME IN THE SCHOOL OF LIFE.\n\nThe period which now followed was the most terrible of my whole life.\nEven the faithful love that surrounded me could do little to relieve it.\n\nMedicines did not avail, and I had not yet found the arcanum which\nafterwards so greatly benefitted my suffering soul.\n\nThe props which my mother and Middendorf had bestowed upon me when a boy\nhad fallen; and the feeling of convalescence, which gives the invalid's\nlife a sense of bliss the healthy person rarely knows, could not aid me,\nfor the disease increased with wonderful speed.\n\nWhen autumn came I was so much worse that Geheimrath von Ammon, a learned\nand experienced physician, recalled his advice that my mother and I\nshould spend the winter in the south. The journey would have been fatal.\nThe correctness of his judgment was proved by the short trip to Berlin\nwhich I took with my mother, aided by my brother Martin, who was then a\nphysician studying with the famous clinical doctor Schonlein. It was\nattended with cruel suffering and the most injurious results, but it was\nnecessary for me to return to my comfortable winter quarters. Our old\nfriend and family physician, who had come to Hosterwitz in September to\nvisit me, wished to have me near him, and in those days there was\nprobably no one who deserved more confidence; for Heinrich Moritz Romberg\nwas considered the most distinguished pathologist in nervous diseases in\nGermany, and his works on his own specialty are still valued.\n\nIn what a condition I entered the home which I had left so strong and\nfull of youthful vigour! And Berlin did not receive me kindly; for the\nfirst months I spent there brought days of suffering with fever in the\nafternoon, and nights whose condition was no less torturing than pain.\n\nBut our physician had been present at my birth, he was my godfather, and\nas kind as if I were his son. He did everything in his power to relieve\nme, but the remedies he used were not much easier to bear than many a\ntorturing disease. And hardest of all, I was ordered to keep perfectly\nstill in bed. What a prospect! But when I had once resolved to follow the\ndoctor's advice, I controlled with the utmost care every movement of my\nbody. I, who had so often wished to fly, lay like my own corpse. I did\nnot move, for I did not want to die, and intended to use every means in\nmy power to defer the end. Death, which after the haemorrhage had\nappeared as the beautiful winged boy who is so easily mistaken for the\ngod of love--Death, who had incited me to write saucy, defiant verses\nabout him, now confronted me as a hollow-eyed, hideous skeleton.\n\nIn the guise of the most appalling figure among the apocalyptic riders of\nCornelius, who had used me when a child for the model of a laughing\nangel, he seemed to be stretching his hand toward me from his emaciated\nsteed. The poppy leaf was not to flutter toward the sky, but to wither in\nthe dust.\n\nOnce, several weeks after our return home, I saw the eyes of my mother,\nwho rarely wept, reddened with tears after a conversation with Dr.\nRomberg. When I asked my friend and physician if he would advise me to\nmake my will, he said that it could do no harm.\n\nSoon after Hans Geppert, who meanwhile had become a notary, arrived with\ntwo witnesses, odd-looking fellows who belonged to the working class, and\nI made my will in due form. The certainty that when I was no more what I\npossessed would be divided as I wished was a ray of light in this gloomy\ntime.\n\nNo one knows the solemnity of Death save the person whom his cold hand\nhas touched, and I felt it for weeks upon my heart.\n\nWhat days and nights these were!\n\nYet in the presence of the open grave from which I shrank something took\nplace which deeply moved my whole nature, gave it a new direction, led me\nto self-examination, and thence to a knowledge of my own character which\nrevealed many surprising and unpleasing things. But I also felt that it\nwas not yet too late to bring the good and evil traits, partly\nhereditary, partly acquired, into harmony with one another and render\nthem of use to the same higher objects.\n\nYes, if I were permitted time to do so!\n\nI had learned how quickly and unexpectedly the hour strikes which puts an\nend to all struggle towards a goal.\n\nBesides, I now knew what would protect me from a relapse into the old\ncareless waste of strength, what could aid me to do my utmost, for the\nmother's heart had again found the son's, fully and completely.\n\nI had been forced to become as helpless as a child in order again to lay\nmy head upon her breast and belong to her as completely as during the\nfirst years of life. During the long nights when fever robbed me of sleep\nshe sat beside my bed, holding my hands in hers.\n\nAt last one came which contained hours of the most intense suffering, and\nin its course she asked, \"Can you still pray?\" The answer, which came\nfrom my inmost heart, was, \"When you are with me, and with you,\ncertainly.\"\n\nWe remained silent a long time, and whenever impatience, suffering, and\nfaintness threatened to overpower me, I found, like Antaeus when he\ntouched the earth that had given him birth, new strength in my mother's\nheart.\n\nMy old life seemed henceforward to lie far behind me.\n\nI did not take up Feuerbach's writings again; his way could never again\nhave been mine. In my suffering it had become evident from what an Eden\nhe turns away and into what a wilderness he leads. But I still value this\nthinker as an honest, virile, and brilliantly gifted seeker after truth.\n\nI also laid aside the other philosophers whose works I had been studying.\n\nI never resumed Lotze, though later, with two other students, I attended\nTrendelenburg's difficult course, and tried to comprehend Kant's\n\"critiques.\"\n\nI first became familiar with Schopenhauer in Jena.\n\nOn the other hand, I again devoted many leisure hours to Egyptological\nworks.\n\nI felt that these studies suited my powers and would satisfy me.\nEverything which had formerly withheld me from the pursuits of learning\nnow seemed worthless. It was as if I stood in a new relation to all\nthings. Even the one to my mother had undergone a transformation. I\nrealized for the first time what I possessed in her, how wrong I had\nbeen, and what I owed to her. One day during this period I remembered my\nPoem of the World, and instantly had the box brought in which I kept it\namong German favours, little pink notes, and similar trophies.\n\nFor the first time I perceived, in examining the fruits of the labour of\nso many days and nights, the vast disproportion between the magnitude of\nthe subject and my untrained powers. One passage seemed faulty, another\nso overstrained and inadequate, that I flung it angrily back among the\nrest. At the same time I thought that the verses I had addressed to\nvarious beauties and the answers which I had received ought not to be\nseen by other eyes. I was alone with the servant, a bright fire was\nblazing in the stove, and, obedient to a hasty impulse, I told him to\nthrow the whole contents of the box into the fire.\n\nWhen the last fragment was consumed to ashes I uttered a sigh of relief.\n\nUnfortunately, the flames also destroyed the greater part of my youthful\npoems. Even the completed acts of my tragedy had been overtaken by\ndestruction, like the heroes of Panthea and Abradatus.\n\nIf I had formerly obeyed the physician's order to lie motionless, I\nfollowed it after the first signs of convalescence so rigidly that even\nthe experienced Dr. Romberg admitted that he had not given me credit for\nso much self-control. Toward the end of the winter my former cheerfulness\nreturned, and with it I also learned to use the arcanum I have formerly\nmentioned, which makes even the most bitter things enjoyable and lends\nthem a taste of sweetness. I might term it \"the practice of gratitude.\"\nWithout intending it, I acquired the art of thankfulness by training my\neyes to perceive the smallest trifle which gave cause for it. And this\nrecognition of even the least favour of Fortune filled the rude wintry\ndays with so much sunshine, that when children of my own were given me my\nfirst effort was to train them to gratitude, and especially to an\nappreciation of trifles.\n\nThe motto 'Carpe diem,' which I had found in my father's Horace and had\nengraved upon my seal ring, unexpectedly gained a new significance by no\nlonger translating it \"enjoy,\" but \"use the day,\" till the time came when\nthe two meanings seemed identical.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nTHE APPRENTICESHIP.\n\nFirmly as I had resolved to follow the counsel of Horace, and dear as\nearnest labour was becoming, I still lacked method, a fixed goal towards\nwhich to move with firm tread in the seclusion to which my sufferings\nstill condemned me.\n\nI had relinquished the study of the law. It seemed more than doubtful\nwhether my health would ever permit me to devote myself to a practical\nprofession or an academic career, and my interest in jurisprudence was\ntoo slight to have it allure me to make it the subject of theoretical\nstudies.\n\nEgyptology, on the contrary, not only attracted me but permitted me to\ndevote my whole strength to it so far as my health would allow. True,\nChampollion, the founder of this science, termed it \"a beautiful\ndowerless maiden,\" but I could venture to woo her, and felt grateful\nthat, in choosing my profession, I could follow my inclination without\nbeing forced to consider pecuniary advantages.\n\nThe province of labour was found, but with each step forward the\nconviction of my utter lack of preparation for the new science grew\nclearer.\n\nJust then the kind heart of Wilhelm Grimm's wife brought her to me with\nsome delicious fruit syrup made by her own hands. When I told her what I\nwas doing and expressed a wish to have a guide in my science, she\npromised to tell \"the men\" at home, and within a few days after his\nsister-in-law's visit Jacob was sitting with me.\n\nHe inquired with friendly interest how my attention had been called to\nEgyptology, what progress I had made, and what other sciences I was\nstudying.\n\nAfter my reply he shook his venerable head with its long grey locks, and\nsaid, smiling:\n\n\"You have been putting the cart before the horse. But that's the way with\nyoung specialists. They want to become masters in the workshops of their\nsciences as a shoemaker learns to fashion boots. Other things are of\nsmall importance to them; and yet the special discipline first gains\nvalue in connection with the rest or the wider province of the allied\nsciences. Your deciphering of hieroglyphics can only make you a dragoman,\nand you must become a scholar in the higher sense, a real and thorough\none. The first step is to lay the linguistic foundation.\"\n\nThis was said with the engaging yet impressively earnest frankness\ncharacteristic of him. He himself had never investigated Egyptian matters\nclosely, and therefore did not seek to direct my course minutely, but\nadvised me, in general, never to forget that the special science was\nnothing save a single chord, which could only produce its full melody\nwith those that belonged to the same lute.\n\nLepsius had a broader view than most of those engaged in so narrow a\nfield of study. He would speak of me to him.\n\nThe next Thursday Lepsius called on me. I know this because that day was\nreserved for his subsequent visits.\n\nAfter learning what progress I had made by my own industry, he told me\nwhat to do next, and lastly promised to come again.\n\nHe had inquired about my previous education, and urged me to study\nphilology, archaeology, and at least one Semitic language. Later he\nvoluntarily informed me how much he, who had pursued philological,\narchaeological, Sanscrit, and Germanistic studies, had been impeded in\nhis youth by having neglected the Semitic languages, which are more\nnearly allied to the Egyptian. It would be necessary also for me to\nunderstand English and Italian, since many things which the Egyptologist\nought to know were published in these languages, as well as in French.\nLastly he advised me to obtain some insight into Sanscrit, which was the\npoint of departure for all linguistic studies.\n\nHis requirements raised mountain after mountain in my path, but the\nthought of being compelled to scale these heights not only did not repel\nme, but seemed extremely attractive. I felt as if my strength increased\nwith the magnitude and multiplicity of the tasks imposed, and, full of\njoyous excitement, I told Lepsius that I was ready to fulfil his\nrequirements in every detail.\n\nWe now discussed in what sequence and manner I should go to work, and to\nthis day I admire the composure, penetration, and lucidity with which he\nsketched a plan of study that covered years.\n\nI have reason to be grateful to this great scholar for the introduction\nto my special science, but still more for the wisdom with which he\npointed out the direction of my studies. Like Jacob Grimm, he compelled\nme, as an Egyptologist, to remain in connection with the kindred\ndepartments.\n\nLater my own experience was to teach me the correctness of his assertion\nthat it would be a mistake to commence by studying so restricted a\nscience as Egyptology.\n\nMy pupils can bear witness that during my long period of teaching I\nalways strove to urge students who intended to devote themselves to\nEgyptology first to strengthen the foundations, without which the special\nstructure lacks support.\n\nLepsius's plan of instruction provided that I should follow these\nprinciples from the beginning. The task I had to perform was a great and\ndifficult one. How infinitely easier it was for those whom I had the\nprivilege of introducing to this science! The lecture-rooms of famous\nteachers stood open to them, while my physical condition kept me for\nweeks from the university; and how scanty were the aids to which the\nstudent could turn! Yet the zeal--nay, the enthusiasm--with which I\ndevoted myself to the study was so great that it conquered every\ndifficulty.\n\n   [I had no dictionary and no grammar for the hieroglyphic language\n   save Champollion's. No Stern had treated Coptic in a really\n   scientific manner. I was obliged to learn it according to Tuki,\n   Peyron, Tattam, and Steinthal-Schwarze. For the hieratic there was\n   no aid save my own industry and the lists I had myself compiled from\n   the scanty texts then at the disposal of the student. Lepsius had\n   never devoted much time to them. Brugsch's demotic grammar had\n   appeared, but its use was rendered very difficult by the lack of\n   conformity between the type and the actual signs.]\n\nWhen I recall the amount of knowledge I mastered in a few terms it seems\nincredible; yet my labour was interrupted every summer by a sojourn at\nthe springs--once three months, and never for a less period than six\nweeks. True, I was never wholly idle while using the waters, but, on the\nother hand, I was obliged to consider the danger that in winter\nconstantly threatened my health. All night-work was strictly forbidden\nand, if I sat too long over my books by day, my mother reminded me of my\npromise to the doctor, and I was obliged to stop.\n\nDuring the first years I worked almost exclusively at home, for I was\npermitted to go out only in very pleasant weather.\n\nDr. Romberg had wisely considered my reluctance to interrupt my studies\nby a residence in the south, because he deemed life in a well-ordered\nhousehold more beneficial to sufferers from spinal diseases than a warmer\nclimate, when leaving home, as in my case, threatened to disturb the\npatient's peace of mind.\n\nFor three winters I had been denied visiting the university, the museum,\nand the libraries. On the fourth I was permitted to begin, and now, with\nmature judgment and thorough previous preparation, I attended the\nacademic lectures, and profited by the treasures of knowledge and rich\ncollections of the capital.\n\nAfter my return from Wildbad Lepsius continued his Thursday visits, and\nduring the succeeding winters still remained my guide, even when I had\nalso placed myself, in the department of the ancient Egyptian languages,\nunder the instruction of Heinrich Brugsch.\n\nAt school, of course, I had not thought of studying Hebrew. Now I took\nprivate lessons in that language, to which I devoted several hours daily.\nI had learned to read Sanscrit and to translate easy passages in the\nchrestomathy, and devoted myself with special zeal to the study of the\nLatin grammar and prosody. Professor Julius Geppert, the brother of our\nmost intimate family friend, was my teacher for four terms.\n\nThe syntax of the classic languages, which had been my weak point as a\nschool-boy, now aroused the deepest interest, and I was grateful to\nLepsius for having so earnestly insisted upon my pursuing philology. I\nsoon felt the warmest appreciation of the Roman comedies, which served as\nthe foundation of these studies. What sound wit, what keenness of\nobservation, what a happy gift of invention, the old comic writers had at\ntheir disposal! I took them up again a few years ago, after reading with\ngenuine pleasure in Otto Ribbeck's masterpiece, The History of Roman\nPoetry, the portions devoted to Plautus and Terence.\n\nThe types of character found in these comedies strengthened my conviction\nthat the motives of human actions and the mental and emotional\npeculiarities of civilized men in every age always have been and always\nwill be the same.\n\nWith what pleasure, when again permitted to go out in the evening, I\nwitnessed the performances of Plautus's pieces given by Professor\nGeppert's pupils!\n\nThe refreshed and enlarged knowledge of school Latin was of great service\nin writing, and afterwards discussing, a Latin dissertation. I devoted\nperhaps a still larger share of my time to Greek, and, as the fruit of\nthese studies, still possess many translations from Anacreon, Sappho, and\nnumerous fragments from the Bergk collection of Greek lyrics, but, with\nthe exception of those introduced into my novels, none have been printed.\n\nDuring my leisure hours translating afforded me special pleasure. An\nexact rendering of difficult English authors soon made Shakespeare's\nlanguage in both prose and poetry as intelligible as German or French.\n\nAfter mastering the rules of grammar, I needed no teacher except my\nmother. When I had conquered the first difficulties I took up Tennyson's\nIdyls of the King, and at last succeeded in translating two of these\nbeautiful poems in the metre of the original.\n\nMy success with Enid I think was very tolerable. The manuscript still\nlies in my desk unpublished.\n\nAs I was now engaged in studying the languages I easily learned to read\nItalian, Spanish, and Dutch books.\n\nIn view of this experience, which is not wholly personal, I have wondered\nwhether the instruction of boys might not be shortened to give them more\noutdoor exercise. In how brief a time the pupils, as men studying for\ntheir own benefit, not the teacher's, would acquire many things! Besides\nthe languages, I studied, at first exclusively under Lepsius's thoroughly\nadmirable instruction, ancient history and archeology.\n\nLater I owed most to Gerhard, Droysen, Friederichs, and August Bockh.\n\nA kind fate afterwards brought me into personal relations with the\nlatter, whose lectures on the Athenian financial system were the finest\nand the most instructive I have ever heard. What clearness, what depth of\nlearning, what a subtle sense of humour this splendid old man possessed!\nI attended his lectures in 1863, and how exquisite were the allusions to\nthe by no means satisfactory political conditions of the times with which\nhe spiced them. I also became sincerely attached to Friederichs, and it\nmade me happy to be able to requite him in some small degree in Egypt for\nthe kindness and unselfishness he had shown me in Berlin.\n\nBopp's lectures, where I tried to increase my meagre knowledge of\nSanscrit, I attended, unfortunately, only a few hours.\n\nThe lectures of the African traveller Heinrich Earth supplied rich\nsources of material, but whoever expected to hear bewitching narratives\nfrom him would have been disappointed. Even in more intimate intercourse\nhe rarely warmed up sufficiently to let others share the rich treasure of\nhis knowledge and experience. It seemed as if, during his lonely life in\nAfrica, he had lost the necessity of exchanging thoughts with his\nfellow-men. During this late period Heinrich Brugsch developed in the\nlinguistic department of Egyptology what I had gained from Lepsius and by\nmy own industry, and I gladly term myself his pupil.\n\nI have cause to be grateful for the fresh and helpful way in which this\ngreat and tireless investigator gave me a private lecture; but Lepsius\nhad opened the door of our science, and though he could carry me only to\na certain stage in the grammar of the ancient Egyptians, in other\ndepartments I owe him more than any other of my intellectual guides. I am\nmost indebted to him for the direction to use historical and\narchaeological authorities critically, and his correction of the tasks he\nset me; but our conversations on archaeological subjects have also been\nof the greatest interest.\n\nAfter his death I tried to return in some small degree what his unselfish\nkindness had bestowed by accepting the invitation to become his\nbiographer. In \"Richard Lepsius,\" I describe reverently but without\ndeviating one step from the truth, this wonderful scholar, who was a\nfaithful and always affectionate friend.\n\nI can scarcely believe it possible that the dignified man, with the\ngrave, stern, clear-cut, scholarly face and snow-white hair, was but\nforty-five years old when he began to direct my studies; for, spite of\nhis erect bearing and alert, movements, he seemed to me at that time a\nvenerable old man. There was something in the aristocratic reserve of his\nnature and the cool, penetrating sharpness of his criticism, which is\nusually found only in men of more mature years. I should have supposed\nhim incapable of any heedless word, any warm emotion, until I afterwards\nmet him under his own roof and enjoyed the warm-hearted cheerfulness of\nthe father of the family and the graciousness of the host.\n\nIt certainly was not the cool, calculating reason, but the heart, which\nhad urged him to devote so many hours of his precious time to the young\nfollower of his science.\n\nHeinrich Brugsch, my second teacher, was far superior to Lepsius as a\ndecipherer and investigator of the various stages of the ancient Egyptian\nlanguages. Two natures more totally unlike can scarcely be imagined.\n\nBrugsch was a man of impulse, who maintained his cheerfulness even when\nlife showed him its serious side. Then, as now, he devoted himself with\ntireless energy to hard work. In this respect he resembled Lepsius, with\nwhom he had other traits in common-first, a keen sense of order in the\ncollection and arrangement of the abundant store of scientific material\nat his disposal; and, secondly, the circumstance that Alexander von\nHumboldt had smoothed the beginning of the career of investigation for\nboth. The attention of this great scholar and influential man had been\nattracted by Brugsch's first Egyptological works, which he had commenced\nbefore he left school, and his keen eye recognized their value as well as\nthe genius of their author. As soon as he began to win renown Humboldt\nextended his powerful protection to him, and induced his friend, the\nking, to afford him means for continuing his education in Paris and for a\njourney to Europe.\n\nThough it was Bunsen who first induced Lepsius to devote himself to\nEgyptology, that he might systematize the science and prune with the\nknife of philological and historical criticism the shoots which grew so\nwildly after Champollion's death, Humboldt had opened the paths to\nlearning which in Paris were closed to the foreigner.\n\nFinally, it was the great naturalist who had lent the aid of his powerful\ninfluence with Frederick William IV to the enterprise supported by Bunsen\nof an expedition to Egypt under the direction of Lepsius. But for the\nhelp of the most influential man of his day it would have been\ndifficult--nay, perhaps impossible--to obtain for themselves and German\ninvestigation the position which, thanks to their labour, it now\noccupies.\n\nI had the privilege of meeting Alexander von Humboldt at a small dinner\nparty, and his image is vividly imprinted on my memory. He was at that\ntime far beyond the span of life usually allotted to man, and what I\nheard him say was hardly worth retaining, for it related to the pleasures\nof the table, ladies' toilettes, court gossip, etc. When he afterwards\ngave me his hand I noticed the numerous blue veins which covered it like\na network. It was not until later that I learned how many important\nenterprises that delicate hand had aided.\n\nHeinrich Brugsch is still pursuing with fresh creative power the\nprofession of Egyptological research. The noble, simple-hearted woman who\nwas so proud of her son's increasing renown, his mother, died long ago.\nShe modestly admired his greatness, yet his shrewdness, capacity for\nwork, and happy nature were a heritage from her.\n\nHeinrich Brugsch's instruction extended beyond the actual period of\nteaching.\n\nWith the commencement of convalescence and the purposeful industry which\nthen began, a time of happiness dawned for me. The mental calmness felt\nby every one who, secluded from the tumult of the world, as I was at that\ntime, devotes himself to the faithful fulfilment of duty, rendered it\ncomparatively easy for me to accommodate myself patiently to a condition\nwhich a short time before would have seemed insupportable.\n\nTrue, I was forced to dispense with the companionship of gay associates\nof my own age. At first many members of my old corps, who were studying\nin Berlin, sought me, but gradually their places were filled by other\nfriends.\n\nThe dearest of these was Dr. Adolf Baeyer, son of the General. He is now\none of the leaders in his chosen science, chemistry, and is Justus\nLiebig's successor in the Munich University.\n\nMy second friend was a young Pole who devoted himself eagerly to\nEgyptology, and whom Lepsius had introduced as a professional comrade. He\ncalled me Georg and I him Mieczy (his name was Mieczyslaw).\n\nSo, during those hard winters, I did not lack friendship. But they also\nwove into my life something else which lends their memory a melancholy\ncharm.\n\nThe second daughter of my mother's Belgian niece, who had married in\nBerlin the architect Fritz Hitzig, afterwards President of the Academy of\nArts, was named Eugenie and nicknamed \"Nenny.\"\n\nIf ever any woman fulfilled the demands of the fairy tale, \"White as snow\nand black as ebony,\" it was she. Only the \"red as blood\" was lacking, for\nusually but a faint roseate hue tinged her cheeks. Her large blue eyes\nhad an innocent, dreamy, half-melancholy expression, which I was not the\nonly person who found unspeakably charming. Afterwards it seemed to me,\nin recalling her look, that she beheld the fair boy Death, whose lowered\ntorch she was so soon to follow.\n\nAbout the time that I returned to Berlin seriously ill she had just left\nboarding-school, and it is difficult to describe the impression she made\nwhen I saw her for the first time; yet I found in the opening rose all\nthat had lent the bud so great a charm.\n\nI am not writing a romance, and shall not permit the heart to beautify or\ntransfigure the image memory retains, yet I can assert that Nenny lacked\nnothing which art and poesy attribute to the women who allegorically\npersonate the magic of Nature or the fairest emotions and ideals of the\nhuman soul. In this guise poet, sculptor, or artist might have\nrepresented Imagination, the Fairy Tale, Lyric Poetry, the Dream, or\nCompassion.\n\nThe wealth of raven hair, the delicate lines of the profile, the scarlet\nlips, the pearly teeth, the large, long-lashed blue eyes, whose colour\nformed a startling contrast to the dark hair, the slender little hands\nand dainty feet, united to form a beauty whose equal Nature rarely\nproduces. And this fair body contained a tender, loving, pure, childlike\nheart, which longed for higher gifts than human life can bestow.\n\nThus she appeared before me like an apparition from a world opened only\nto the poet. She came often, for she loved my mother, and rarely\napproached my couch without a flower, a picture which pleased her, or a\nbook containing a poem which she valued.\n\nWhen she entered I felt as if happiness came with her. Doubtless my eyes\nbetrayed this distinctly enough, though I forced my lips to silence; for\nwhat love had she, before whom life was opening like a path through a\nblooming garden, to bestow on the invalid cousin who was probably\ndestined to an early death, and certainly to many a year of illness? At\nour first meeting I felt that I loved her, but for that very reason I\ndesired to conceal it.\n\nI had grown modest. It was enough for me to gaze at her, hear her dear\nvoice, and sometimes--she was my cousin--clasp her little hand.\n\nScience was now the object of my devotion. My intellect, passion, and\nfire were all hers. A kind fortune seemed to send me Nenny in order to\nbestow a gift also upon the heart, the soul, the sense of beauty.\n\nThis state of affairs could not last; for no duty commanded her to share\nthe conflict raging within me, and a day came when I learned from her own\nlips that she loved me, that her heart had been mine when she was a\nlittle school-girl, that during my illness she had never wearied of\npraying for me, and had wept all night long when the physician told her\nmother of the danger in which I stood.\n\nThis confession sounded like angel voices. It made me infinitely happy,\nyet I had strength to entreat Nenny to treasure this blissful hour with\nme as the fairest jewel of our lives, and then help me to fulfil the duty\nof parting from her.\n\nBut she took a different view of the future. It was enough for her to\nknow that my heart was hers. If I died young, she would follow me.\n\nAnd now the devout child, who firmly believed in a meeting after death\nface to face, permitted me a glimpse of the wondrous world in which she\nhoped to have her portion after the end here.\n\nI listened in astonishment, with sincere emotion. This was the faith\nwhich moved mountains, which brings heaven itself to earth.\n\nAfterwards I again beheld the eyes with which, gazing into vacancy, she\ntried to conjure up before my soul these visions of hope from the realm\nof her fairest dreams--they were those of Raphael's Saint Cecilia in\nBologna and Munich. I also saw them long after Nenny's death in one of\nMurillo's Madonnas in Seville, and even now they rise distinctly before\nmy memory.\n\nTo disturb this childish faith or check the imagination winged by this\ndevout enthusiasm would have seemed to me actually criminal. And I was\nyoung. Even the suffering I had endured had neither silenced the yearning\nvoice of my heart nor cooled the warmth of my blood. I, who had believed\nthat the garden of love was forever closed against me, was beloved by the\nmost beautiful girl, who was even dearer to me than life, and with new\nhope, which Nenny's faith in God's goodness bedewed with warm spring\nrain, I enjoyed this happiness.\n\nYet conscience could not be silenced. The warning voice of my mother, to\nwhom I had opened my heart, sharpened the admonitions of mine; and when\nWildbad brought me only relief, by no means complete recovery, I left the\ndecision to the physician. It was strongly adverse. Under the most\nfavourable circumstances years must pass ere I should be justified in\nbinding any woman's fate to mine.\n\nSo this beginning of a beautiful and serious love story became a swiftly\npassing dream. Its course had been happy, but the end dealt my heart a\nblow which healed very slowly. It opened afresh when in her parents'\nhouse, where during my convalescence I was a frequent guest, I myself\nadvised her to marry a young land-owner, who eagerly wooed her. She\nbecame his wife, but only a year later entered that other world which she\nhad regarded as her true home even while here. Her beloved image occupies\nthe most sacred place in the shrine of my memory.\n\nI denied myself the pleasure of introducing her character in one of my\nnovels, for I felt that if I should succeed in limning it faithfully the\nmodern reader would be justified in considering her an impossible figure\nfor our days. She would perhaps have suited a fairy tale; and when I\ncreated Bianca in The Elixir I gave her Nenny's form. The gratitude which\nI owe her will accompany me to my life's end, for it was she who brought\nto my sick-room the blue sky, sunlight, and the thousand gifts of a\nblooming Garden of Eden.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nTHE SUMMERS OF MY CONVALESCENCE.\n\nWhile I spent the winters in my mother's house in industrious work and\npleasant social life, the summers took me out of the city into the open\nair. I always went first with my faithful nurse and companion to Wildbad;\nthe remainder of the warm season I spent on the Elbe, sometimes with my\nmother, sometimes with my aunt.\n\nI used the Wildbad springs in all seventeen times. For two summers, aided\nby a servant, I descended from a wheel-chair into the warm water; in the\nthird I could dispense with assistance; and from the fourth for several\nlustra I moved unchecked with a steady step. After a long interval, owing\nto a severe relapse of the apparently conquered disease, I returned to\nthem.\n\nThe Wurtemberg Wildbad is one of the oldest cures in Germany. The legend\nof the Count Mirtemberg, who discovered its healing powers by seeing a\nwild boar go down to the warm spring to wash its wound, has been rendered\nfamiliar by Uhland to every German. Ulrich von Hutten also used it. It\nrises in a Black Forest valley inclosed by stately mountains, a little\nstream, the Enz, crystal clear, and abounding in trout.\n\nThe small town on both banks of the river expands, ere the Enz loses\nitself in the leafage, into the Kurplatz, where one stately building of\nlightred sandstone adjoins another. The little white church stands at the\nleft. But the foil, the background for everything, is the beautiful\nfoliage, which is as beneficial to the eyes as are the springs to the\nsuffering body. This fountain of health has special qualities. The\nSwabian says, \"just right, like Wildbad.\" It gushes just the right degree\nof heat for the bath from the gravelly sand. After bathing early in the\nmorning I rested an hour, and when I rose obeyed any other directions of\nthe physician in charge of the watering-place.\n\nThe remainder of the day, if the weather was pleasant, I spent out of\ndoors, usually in the grounds under the leafy trees and groups of shrubs\non the shore of the Enz. On the bank of the clear little stream stood a\nwooden arbour, where the murmur of the waves rippling over the mossy\ngranite blocks invited dreams and meditation. During my whole sojourn in\nWildbad I always passed several hours a day here. During my period of\ninstruction I was busied with grammatical studies in ancient Egyptian\ntext or archaeological works. In after years, instead of Minerva, I\nsummoned the muse and committed to paper the thoughts and images which\nhad been created in my mind at home. I wrote here the greater portion of\nAn Egyptian Princess, and afterwards many a chapter of Uarda, Homo Sum,\nand other novels.\n\nI was rarely interrupted, for the report had spread that I wished to be\nalone while at work; yet even the first year I did not lack\nacquaintances.\n\nEven during our first stay at Wildbad, which, with the Hirsau\ninterruption, lasted more than three months, my mother had formed an\nintimate friendship with Frau von Burckhardt, in which I too was\nincluded. The lady possessed rare tact in harmonizing the very diverse\nelements which her husband, the physician in charge, brought to her.\nEvery one felt at ease in her house and found congenial society there. So\nit happened that for a long time the Villa Burckhardt was the rendezvous\nof the most eminent persons who sought the healing influence of the\nWildbad spring. Next to this, it was the Burckhardts who constantly drew\nus back to the Enz.\n\nWere I to number the persons whom I met here and whose acquaintanceship I\nconsider a benefit, the list would be a long one. Some I shall mention\nlater. The first years we saw most frequently the song-writer Silcher,\nfrom Tubingen, Justus von Liebig, the Munich zoologist von Siebold, the\nBelgian artist Louis Gallait, the author Moritz Hartmann, Gervinus, and,\nlastly, the wife of the Stuttgart publisher Eduard Hallberger, and the\nnever-to-be-forgotten Frau Puricelli and her daughter Jenny.\n\nSilcher, an unusually attractive old man, joined us frequently. No other\ncomposer's songs found their way so surely to the hearts of the people.\nMany, as \"I know not what it means,\" \"I must go hence to-morrow,\" are\nsupposed to be folk-songs. It was a real pleasure to hear him sing them\nin our little circle in his weak old voice. He was then seventy, but his\nfreshness and vivacity made him appear younger. The chivalrous courtesy\nhe showed to all ladies was wonderfully winning.\n\nJustus Liebig's manners were no less attractive, but in him genuine\namiability was united to the elegance of the man of the world who had\nlong been one of the most distinguished scholars of his day. He must have\nbeen remarkably handsome in his youth, and though at that time past\nfifty, the delicate outlines of his profile were wholly unmarred.\n\nConversation with him was always profitable and the ease with which he\nmade subjects farthest from his own sphere of investigation--chemistry\nperfectly clear was unique in its way. Unfortunately, I have been denied\nany deeper insight into the science which he so greatly advanced, but I\nstill remember how thoroughly I understood him when he explained some\nresults of agricultural chemistry. He eagerly endeavoured to dissuade the\ngentlemen of his acquaintance from smoking after dinner, which he had\nfound by experiment to be injurious.\n\nFor several weeks we played whist with him every evening, for Liebig,\nlike so many other scholars, regarded card-playing as the best recreation\nafter severe tension of the mind. During the pauses and the supper which\ninterrupted the game, he told us many things of former times. Once he\neven spoke of his youth and the days which determined his destiny. The\nfollowing event seems to me especially worth recording.\n\nWhen a young and wholly unknown student he had gone to Paris to bring his\ndiscovery of fulminic acid to the notice of the Academy. On one of the\nfamous Tuesdays he had waited vainly for the introduction of his work,\nand at the close of the session he rose sadly to leave the hall, when an\nelderly academician in whose hand he thought he had seen his treatise\naddressed a few words to him concerning his discovery in very fluent\nFrench and invited him to dine the following Thursday. Then the stranger\nsuddenly disappeared, and Liebig, with the painful feeling of being\nconsidered a very uncivil fellow, was obliged to let the Thursday pass\nwithout accepting the invitation so important to him. But on Saturday\nsome one knocked at the door of his modest little room and introduced\nhimself as Alexander von Humboldt's valet. He had been told to spare no\ntrouble in the search, for the absence of his inexperienced countryman\nfrom the dinner which would have enabled him to make the acquaintance of\nthe leaders of his science in Paris had not only been noticed by\nHumboldt, but had filled him with anxiety. When Liebig went that very day\nto his kind patron he was received at first with gay jests, afterwards\nwith the kindest sympathy.\n\nThe great naturalist had read his paper and perceived the writer's future\npromise. He at once made him acquainted with Gay Lussac, the famous\nParisian chemist, and Liebig was thus placed on the road to the lofty\nposition which he was afterwards to occupy in all the departments of\nscience.\n\nThe Munich zoologist von Siebold we first knew intimately years after. I\nshall have more to say of him later, and also of the historian Gervinus,\nwho, behind apparently repellant arrogance, concealed the noblest human\nbenevolence.\n\nAfter the first treatment, which occupied six weeks, the physician\nordered an intermission of the baths. I was to leave Wildbad to\nstrengthen in the pure air of the Black Forest the health I had gained.\nOn the Enz we had been in the midst of society. The new residence was to\nafford me an opportunity to lead a lonely, quiet life with my mother and\nmy books, which latter, however, were only to be used in moderation.\n\nShortly before our departure we had taken a longer drive with our new\nfriends Fran Puricelli and her daughter Jenny to the Hirsau cloister.\n\nThe daughter specially attracted me. She was pretty, well educated, and\npossessed so much independence and keenness of mind that this alone would\nhave sufficed to render her remarkable.\n\nAfterwards I often thought simultaneously of her and Nenny, yet they were\ntotally unlike in character, having nothing in common save their\nsteadfast faith and the power of looking with happy confidence beyond\nthis life into death.\n\nThe devout Protestant had created a religion of her own, in which\neverything that she loved and which she found beautiful and sacred had a\nplace.\n\nJenny's imagination was no less vivid, but she used it merely to behold\nin the form most congenial to her nature and sense of beauty what faith\ncommanded her to accept. For Jenny the Church had already devised and\narranged what Nenny's poetic soul created. The Protestant had succeeded\nin blending Father and Son into one in order to pray to love itself. The\nCatholic, besides the Holy Trinity, had made the Virgin Mother the\nembodiment of the feeling dearest to her girlish heart and bestowed on\nher the form of the person whom she loved best on earth, and regarded as\nthe personification of everything good and beautiful. This was her older\nsister Fanny, who had married a few years before a cousin of the same\nname.\n\nWhen she at last appeared I was surprised, for I had never met a woman\nwho combined with such rare beauty and queenly dignity so much winning\namiability. Nothing could be more touching than the manner in which this\nadmired, brilliant woman of the world devoted herself to the sick girl.\n\nThis lady was present during our conversations, which often turned upon\nreligious questions.\n\nAt first I had avoided the subject, but the young girl constantly\nreturned to it, and I soon perceived that I must summon all my energies\nto hold my ground against her subtle dialectics. Once when I expressed my\nscruples to her sister, she answered, smiling: \"Don't be uneasy on that\nscore; Jenny's armour is strong, but she has sharp arrows in her quiver.\"\n\nAnd so indeed it proved.\n\nShe felt so sure of her own convictions that she might investigate\nwithout peril the views of those who held a different belief, and beheld\nin me, as it were, the embodiment of this opportunity, so she gave me no\npeace until I had explained the meaning of the words pantheism, atheism,\nmaterialism, etc.\n\nAt first I was very cautious, but when I perceived that the opinions of\nthe doubters and deniers merely inspired her with pity, I spoke more\nfreely.\n\nHer soul was like a polished plate of metal on which a picture is etched.\nThis, her belief, remained uninjured. Whatever else might be reflected\nfrom the mirror-like surface soon vanished, leaving no trace.\n\nThe young girl died shortly after our separation the following year. She\nhad grown very dear to my heart. Her beloved image appears to me most\nfrequently as she looked in the days when she was suffering, with thick,\nfair hair falling in silken masses on her white dress, but amid keen\nphysical pain the love of pleasure natural to youth still lingered. She\nwent with me--both in wheel-chairs--to a ball at the Kursaal, and looked\nso pretty in an airy, white dress which her mother and sister had\narranged for their darling, that I should have longed to dance with her\nhad not this pleasure been denied me.\n\nHirsau had first been suggested as a resting-place, but it was doubtful\nwhether we should find what we needed there. If not, the carriage was to\nconvey us to beautiful, quiet Herrenalb, between Wildbad and Baden-Baden.\n\nBut we found what we sought, the most suitable house possible, whose\nlandlady proved to have been trained as a cook in a Frankfort hotel.\n\nThe lodgings we engaged were among the most \"romantic\" I have ever\noccupied, for our landlord's house was built in the ruins of the\nmonastery just beside the old refectory. The windows of one room looked\nout upon the cloisters and the Virgin's chapel, the only part of the once\nstately building spared by the French in 1692.\n\nA venerable abode of intellectual life was destroyed with this monastery,\nfounded by a Count von Calw early in the ninth century. The tower which\nhas been preserved is one of the oldest and most interesting works of\nRomanesque architecture in Germany.\n\nA quieter spot cannot be imagined, for I was the first who sought\nrecreation here. Surrounded by memories of olden days, and absolutely\nundisturbed, I could create admirably. But one cannot remain permanently\nsecluded from mankind.\n\nFirst came the Herr Kameralverwalter, whose stately residence stood near\nthe monastery, and in his wife's name invited us to use their pretty\ngarden.\n\nThis gentleman's title threw his name so far into the shade that I had\nknown the pleasant couple five weeks before I found it was Belfinger.\n\nWe also made the acquaintance of our host, Herr Meyer. Strange and varied\nwere the paths along which Fate had led this man. As a rich bachelor he\nhad welcomed guests to his ever-open house with salvos of artillery, and\nhence was still called Cannon Meyer, though, after having squandered his\npatrimony, he remained absent from his home for many years. His career in\nAmerica was one of perpetual vicissitudes and full of adventures. Afore\nthan once he barely escaped death. At last, conquered by homesickness, he\nreturned to the Black Forest, and with a good, industrious wife.\n\nHis house in the monastery suited his longing for rest; he obtained a\nposition in the morocco factory in the valley below, which afforded him a\nsupport, and his daughters provided for his physical comfort.\n\nThe big, broad-shouldered man with the huge mustache and deep, bass voice\nlooked like some grey-haired knight whose giant arm could have dealt that\nSwabian stroke which cleft the foe from skull to saddle, and yet at that\ntime he was occupied from morning until night in the delicate work\nsplitting the calf skin from whose thin surfaces, when divided into two\nportions, fine morocco is made.\n\nWe also met the family of Herr Zahn, in whose factory this leather was\nmanufactured; and when in the East I saw red, yellow, and green slippers\non the feet of so many Moslems, I could not help thinking of the shady\nBlack Forest.\n\nSometimes we drove to the little neighbouring town of Calw, where we were\nmost kindly received. The mornings were uninterrupted, and my work was\nvery successful. Afternoon sometimes brought visitors from Wildbad, among\nwhom was the artist Gallait, who with his wife and two young daughters\nhad come to use the water of the springs. His paintings, \"Egmont in\nPrison,\" \"The Beheaded Counts Egmont and Horn,\" and many others, had\naroused the utmost admiration. Praise and honours of all kinds had\nconsequently been lavished upon him. This had brought him to the Spree,\nand he had often been a welcome guest in our home.\n\nLike Menzel, Cornelius, Alma Tadema, and Meissonier, he was small in\nstature, but the features of his well-formed face were anything but\ninsignificant. His whole person was distinguished by something I might\nterm \"neatness.\" Without any touch of dudishness he gave the impression\nof having \"just stepped out of a bandbox.\" From the white cravat which he\nalways wore, to the little red ribbon of the order in his buttonhole,\neverything about him was faultless.\n\nMadame Gallait, a Parisian by birth, was the very embodiment of the\nFrench woman in the most charming sense of the word, and the bond which\nunited her to her husband seemed enduring and as if woven by the\ncheeriest gods of love. Unfortunately, it did not last.\n\nAfter leaving Hirsau, we again met the Gallaits in Wildbad and spent some\ndelightful days with them. The Von Burckhardts, Fran Henrietta\nHallberger, the wife of the Stuttgart publisher, the Puricellis,\nourselves, and later the author Moritz Hartmann, were the only persons\nwith whom they associated. We always met every afternoon at a certain\nplace in the grounds, where we talked or some one read aloud. On these\noccasions, at Gallait's suggestion, everybody who was so disposed\nsketched. My portrait, which he drew for my mother at that time in black\nand red pencils, is now in my wife's possession. I also took my\nsketch-book, for he had seen the school volume I had filled with\narabesques just before leaving Keilhau, and I still remember the\n'merveilleux and incroyable, inoui, and insense' which he lavished on the\ncertainly extravagant creatures of my love-sick imagination.\n\nDuring these exercises in drawing he related many incidents of his own\nlife, and never was he more interesting than while describing his first\nsuccess.\n\nHe was the son of a poor widow in the little Belgian town of Tournay.\nWhile a school-boy he greatly enjoyed drawing, and an able teacher\nperceived his talent.\n\nOnce he saw in the newspaper an Antwerp competition for a prize. A\ncertain subject--if I am not mistaken, Moses drawing water from the rock\nin the wilderness--was to be executed with pencil or charcoal. He went to\nwork also, though with his defective training he had not the least hope\nof success. When he sent off the finished drawing he avoided taking his\nmother into his confidence in order to protect her from disappointment.\n\nOn the day the prize was to be awarded the wish to see the work of the\nsuccessful competitor drew him to Antwerp, and what was his surprise, on\nentering the hall, to hear his own name proclaimed as the victor's!\n\nHis mother supported herself and him by a little business in soap. To\nincrease her delight he had changed the gold paid to him into shining\nfive franc pieces. His pockets almost burst under the weight, but there\nwas no end to the rejoicing when he flung one handful of silver coins\nafter another on the little counter and told how he had obtained them.\n\nNo one who heard him relate this story could help liking him.\n\nAnother distinguished visitor at Hirsau was Prince Puckler Muskau. He had\nheard that his young Kottbus acquaintance had begun to devote himself to\nEgyptology. This interested the old man, who, as a special favourite of\nMohammed Ali, had spent delightful days on the Nile and made all sorts of\nplans for Egypt. Besides, he was personally acquainted with the great\nfounders of my science, Thomas Young and Francois Champollion, and had\nobtained an insight into deciphering the hieroglyphics. He knew all the\nresults of the investigations, and expressed an opinion concerning them.\nWithout having entered deeply into details he often hit the nail on the\nhead. I doubt whether he had ever held in his hand a book on these\nsubjects, but he had listened to the answers given by others to his\nskilful questions with the same keen attention that he bestowed on mine,\nand the gift of comprehension peculiar to him enabled him to rapidly\nshape what he heard into a distinctly outlined picture. Therefore he must\nhave seemed to laymen a very compendium of science, yet he never used\nthis faculty to dazzle others or give himself the appearance of\nerudition.\n\n\"Man cannot be God,\" he wrote--I am quoting from a letter received the\nday after his visit--\"yet 'to be like unto God' need not remain a mere\ntheological phrase to the aspirant. Omniscience is certainly one of the\nnoblest attributes of the Most High, and the nearer man approaches it the\nmore surely he gains at least the shadow of a quality to which he cannot\naspire.\"\n\nFinally he discussed his gardening work in the park at Branitz, and I\nregret having noted only the main outlines of what he said, for it was as\ninteresting as it was admirable. I can only cite the following sentence\nfrom a letter addressed to Blasewitz: \"What was I to do? A prince without\na country, like myself, wishes at least to be ruler in one domain, and\nthat I am, as creator of a park. The subjects over whom I reign obey me\nbetter than the Russians, who still retain a trace of free will, submit\nto their Czar. My trees and bushes obey only me and the eternal laws\nimplanted in their nature, and which I know. Should they swerve from them\neven a finger's breadth they would no longer be themselves. It is\npleasant to reign over such subjects, and I would rather be a despot over\nvegetable organisms than a constitutional king and executor of the will\nof the 'images of God,' as men call the sovereign people.\"\n\nHe talked most delightfully of the Viceroy of Egypt, Mohammed Ali, and\ndescribed the plan which he had laid before this brilliant ruler of\narranging a park around the temple on the island of Philae, and creating\non the eastern bank of the hill beneath shady trees, opposite to the\nbeautiful island of Isis, a sanitarium especially for consumptives; and\nwhoever has seen this lovely spot will feel tempted to predict great\nprosperity for such an enterprise. My mother had heard the prince indulge\nin paradoxical assertions in gay society, and the earnestness which he\nnow showed led her to remark that she had never seen two natures so\nradically unlike united in one individual. Had she been able to follow\nhis career in life she would have recovered a third, fourth, and fifth.\n\nThese visits brought life and change into our quiet existence, and when\nfour weeks later my brother Ludo joined us he was delighted with the\nimprovement in my appearance, and I myself felt the benefit which my\nparalyzed muscles had received from the baths and the seclusion.\n\nThe second season at Wildbad, thanks to the increased intimacy with the\nfriends whose acquaintance we had made there, was even more enjoyable\nthan the first.\n\nFrau Hallberger was a very beautiful young woman. Her husband, who was to\nbecome my dearest friend, was detained in Stuttgart by business. She was\nunfortunately obliged to use the waters of the springs medicinally, and\nmany an hour was clouded by mental and physical discomfort.\n\nYet the vivacity of her intellect, her rare familiarity with all the\nnewest literature, and her unusually keen appreciation of everything\nwhich was beautiful in nature stimulated and charmed us. I have never\nseen any one seek flowers in the field and forest so eagerly, and she\nmade them into beautiful bouquets, which Louis Gallait called \"bewitching\nflower madrigals.\"\n\nMoritz Hartmann had not fully recovered from the severe illness which\nnearly caused his death while he was a reporter in the Crimean War. His\nfather-in-law, Herr Rodiger, accompanied him and watched him with the\nmost touching solicitude. My mother soon became sincerely attached to the\nauthor, who possessed every quality to win a woman's heart. He had been\nconsidered the handsomest member of the Frankfort Parliament, and no one\ncould have helped gazing with pleasure at the faultless symmetry of his\nfeatures. He also possessed an unusually musical voice. Gallait said that\nhe first thought German a language pleasing to the ear when he heard it\nfrom Hartmann's lips.\n\nThese qualities soon won the heart of Frau Puricelli, who had at first\nbeen very averse to making his acquaintance. The devout, conservative\nlady had heard enough of his religious and political views to consider\nhim detestable. But after Hartmann had talked and read aloud to her and\nher daughter in his charming way, she said to me, \"What vexes me is that\nin my old age I can't help liking such a red Democrat.\"\n\nDuring that summer was formed the bond of friendship which, to his life's\npremature end, united me to Moritz Hartmann, and led to a correspondence\nwhich afforded me the greater pleasure the more certain I became that he\nunderstood me. We met again in Wildbad the second and third summers, and\nwith what pleasure I remember our conversations in the stillness of the\nshady woods! But we also shared a noisy amusement, that of pistol\npractice, to which we daily devoted an hour. I was obliged to fire from a\nwheel-chair, yet, like Hartmann, I could boast of many a good shot; but\nthe skill of Herr Rodiger, the author's father-in-law, was really\nwonderful. Though his hand trembled constantly from an attack of palsy, I\ndon't know now how many times he pierced the centre of the ace of hearts.\n\nIt was Hartmann, too, who constantly urged me to write. With all due\nregard for science, he said he could not admit its right to prison poesy\nwhen the latter showed so strong an impulse towards expression. I\nsecretly admitted the truth of his remark, but whenever I yielded to the\nimpulse to write I felt as if I were being disloyal to the mistress to\nwhom I had devoted all my physical and mental powers.\n\nThe conflict which for a long time stirred my whole soul began. I could\nsay much more of the first years I spent at Wildbad, but up to the fifth\nseason they bore too much resemblance to one another to be described in\ndetail.\n\nA more brilliant summer than that of 1860 the quiet valley of the Enz\nwill hardly witness again, for during that season the invalid widow of\nthe Czar Nicholas of Russia came to the springs with a numerous suite,\nand her presence attracted many other crowned heads--the King of Prussia,\nafterwards the Emperor William I, her royal brother; her beautiful\ndaughter, Queen Olga of Wurtemberg, who, when she walked through the\ngrounds with her greyhound, called to mind the haughty Artemis; the Queen\nof Bavaria--But I will not enumerate all the royal personages who visited\nthe Czarina, and whose presence gave the little town in the Black Forest\nan atmosphere of life and brilliancy. Not a day passed without affording\nsome special feast for the eyes.\n\nThe Czarina admired beauty, and therefore among her attendants were many,\nladies who possessed unusual attractions. When they were seated in a\ngroup on the steps of the hotel the picture was one never to be\nforgotten. A still more striking spectacle was afforded by a voyage made\non the Enz by the ladies of the Czarina's court, attired in airy summer\ndresses and adorned with a lavish abundance of flowers. From the shore\ngentlemen flung them blossoms as they were borne swiftly down the\nmountain stream. I, too, had obtained some roses, intended especially for\nPrincess Marie von Leuchtenberg, of whom the Czarina's physician, Dr.\nKarel, whose acquaintance we made at the Burckhardts, had told so many\ncharming anecdotes that we could not help admiring her.\n\nWe also met a very beautiful Countess Keller, one of the Czarina's\nattendants, and I can still see distinctly the brilliant scene of her\ndeparture.\n\nWildbad was not then connected with the rest of the world by the\nrailroad. The countess sat in an open victoria amid the countless gifts\nof flowers which had been lavished upon her as farewell presents. Count\nWilhorsky, in the name of the Czarina, offered an exquisitely beautiful\nbouquet. As she received it, she exclaimed, \"Think of me at nine\no'clock,\" and the latter, with his hand on his heart, answered with a low\nbow, \"Why, Countess, we shall think of you all day long.\"\n\nAt the same instant the postillion raised his long whip, the four bays\nstarted, a group of ladies and gentlemen, headed by the master of\nceremonies, waved their handkerchiefs, and it seemed as if Flora herself\nwas setting forth to bless the earth with flowers.\n\nFor a long time I imagined that during the first summer spent there I\nlived only for my health, my scientific studies, and from 1861 my novel\nAn Egyptian Princess, to which I devoted several hours each day; but how\nmuch I learned from intercourse with so great a variety of persons, among\nwhom were some whom a modest scholar is rarely permitted to know, I first\nrealized afterwards. I allude here merely to the leaders of the\naristocracy of the second empire, whose acquaintance I made through the\nson of my distinguished Parisian instructor, Vicomte de Rouge.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nCONTINUANCE OF CONVALESCENCE AND THE FIRST NOVEL.\n\nThe remainder of the summer I spent half with my mother, half with my\naunt, and pursued the same course during the subsequent years, until from\n1862 I remained longer in Berlin, engaged in study, and began my\nscientific journeys.\n\nThere were few important events either in the family circle or in\npolitics, except the accession to the throne of King William of Prussia\nand the Franco-Austrian war of 1859. In Berlin the \"new era\" awakened\nmany fair and justifiable hopes; a fresher current stirred the dull,\nplacid waters of political life.\n\nThe battles of Magenta and Solferino (June 4 and 24, 1859) had caused\ngreat excitement in the household of my aunt, who loved me as if I were\nher own son, and whose husband was also warmly attached to me. They felt\nthe utmost displeasure in regard to the course of Prussia, and it was\nhard for me to approve of it, since Austria seemed a part of Germany, and\nI was very fond of my uncle's three nearest relatives, who were all in\nthe Austrian service.\n\nThe future was to show the disadvantage of listening to the voice of the\nheart in political affairs. Should we have a German empire, and would\nthere be a united Italy, if Austria in alliance with Prussia had fought\nin 1859 at Solferino and Magenta and conquered the French?\n\nAt Hosterwitz I became more intimately acquainted with the lyric poet,\nJulius Hammer. The Kammergerichtrath-Gottheiner, a highly educated man,\nlived there with his daughter Marie, whose exquisite singing at the villa\nof her hospitable sister-in-law so charmed my heart. Through them I met\nmany distinguished men-President von Kirchmann, the architect Nikolai,\nthe author of Psyche, Privy Councillor Carus, the writer Charles Duboc\n(Waldmuller) with his beautiful gifted wife, and many others.\n\nMany a Berlin acquaintance, too, I met again at Hosterwitz, among them\nthe preacher Sydow and Lothar Bucher.\n\nTo the friendship of this remarkable man, whom I knew just at the time he\nwas associated with Bismarck, I owe many hours of enjoyment. Many will\nfind it hardly compatible with the reserved, quiet manner of the astute,\ncool politician, that during a slight illness of my mother he read Fritz\nReuter's novels aloud to her--he spoke Plattdeutsch admirably--as\ndutifully as a son.\n\nSo there was no lack of entertainment during leisure hours, but the\nlion's share of my time was devoted to work.\n\nThe same state of affairs existed during my stay with my aunt, who\noccupied a summer residence on the estate of Privy-Councillor von\nAdelsson, which was divided into building lots long ago, but at that time\nwas the scene of the gayest social life in both residences.\n\nThe owner and his wife were on the most intimate terms with my relatives,\nand their daughter Lina seemed to me the fairest of all the flowers in\nthe Adelsson garden. If ever a girl could be compared to a violet it was\nshe. I knew her from childhood to maidenhood, and rejoiced when I saw her\nwed in young Count Uexkyll-Guldenbrand a life companion worthy of her.\n\nThere were many other charming girls, too, and my aunt, besides old\nfriends, entertained the leaders of literary life in Dresden.\n\nGutzkow surpassed them all in acuteness and subtlety of intellect, but\nthe bluntness of his manner repelled me.\n\nOn the other hand, I sincerely enjoyed the thoughtful eloquence of\nBerthold Auerbach, who understood how to invest with poetic charm not\nonly great and noble subjects, but trivial ones gathered from the dust.\nIf I am permitted to record the memories of my later life, I shall have\nmore to say of him. It was he who induced me to give to my first romance,\nwhich I had intended to call Nitetis, the title An Egyptian Princess.\n\nThe stars of the admirable Dresden stage also found their way to my\naunt's.\n\nOne day I was permitted to listen to the singing of Emmy La Gruas, and\nthe next to the peerless Schroder-Devrient. Every conversation with the\ncultured physician Geheimerath von Ammon was instructive and fascinating;\nwhile Rudolf von Reibisch, the most intimate friend of the family, whose\ngreat talents would have rendered him capable of really grand\nachievements in various departments of art, examined our skulls as a\nphrenologist or read aloud his last drama. Here, too, I met Major Serre,\nthe bold projector of the great lottery whose brilliant success called\ninto being and insured the prosperity of the Schiller Institute, the\nsource of so much good.\n\nThis simple-hearted yet energetic man taught me how genuine enthusiasm\nand the devotion of a whole personality to a cause can win victory under\nthe most difficult circumstances. True, his clever wife shared her\nhusband's enthusiasm, and both understood how to attract the right\nadvisers. I afterwards met at their beautiful estate, Maxen, among many\ndistinguished people, the Danish author Andersen, a man of insignificant\npersonal appearance, but one who, if he considered it worth while and was\ninterested in the subject, could carry his listeners resistlessly with\nhim. Then his talk sparkled with clever, vivid, striking, peculiar\nmetaphors, and when one brilliant description of remarkable experiences\nand scenes followed another he swiftly won the hearts of the women who\nhad overlooked him, and it seemed to the men as if some fiend were aiding\nhim.\n\nDuring the first years of my convalescence I could enjoy nothing save\nwhat came or was brought to me. But the cheerful patience with which I\nappeared to bear my sufferings, perhaps also the gratitude and eagerness\nwith which I received everything, attracted most of the men and women for\nwhom I really cared.\n\nIf there was an entertaining conversation, arrangements were always made\nthat I should enjoy it, at least as a listener. The affection of these\nkind people never wearied in lightening the burden which had been laid\nupon me. So, during this whole sad period I was rarely utterly wretched,\noften joyous and happy, though sometimes the victim to the keenest\nspiritual anguish.\n\nDuring the hours of rest which must follow labour, and when tortured at\nnight by the various painful feelings and conditions connected even with\nconvalescence from disease, my restrictions rose before me as a specially\nheavy misfortune. My whole being rebelled against my sufferings, and--why\nshould I conceal it?--burning tears drenched my pillows after many a\nhappy day. At the time I was obliged to part from Nenny this often\nhappened. Goethe's \"He who never mournful nights\" I learned to understand\nin the years when the beaker of life foams most impetuously for others.\nBut I had learned from my mother to bear my sorest griefs alone, and my\nnatural cheerfulness aided me to win the victory in the strife against\nthe powers of melancholy. I found it most easy to master every painful\nemotion by recalling the many things for which I had cause to be\ngrateful, and sometimes an hour of the fiercest struggle and deepest\ngrief closed with the conviction that I was more blessed than many\nthousands of my fellow-mortals, and still a \"favourite of Fortune.\" The\nsame feeling steeled my patience and helped to keep hope green and\nsustain my pleasure in existence when, long after, a return of the same\ndisease, accompanied with severe suffering, which I had been spared in\nyouth, snatched me from earnest, beloved, and, I may assume, successful\nlabour.\n\nThe younger generation may be told once more how effective a consolation\nman possesses--no matter what troubles may oppress him--in gratitude. The\nsearch for everything which might be worthy of thankfulness undoubtedly\nleads to that connection with God which is religion.\n\nWhen I went to Berlin in winter, harder work, many friends, and\nespecially my Polish fellow-student, Mieczyslaw helped me bear my burden\npatiently.\n\nHe was well, free, highly gifted, keenly interested in science, and made\nrapid progress. Though secure from all external cares, a worm was gnawing\nat his heart which gave him no rest night or day--the misery of his\nnative land and his family, and the passionate longing to avenge it on\nthe oppressor of the nation. His father had sacrificed the larger portion\nof his great fortune to the cause of Poland, and, succumbing to the most\ncruel persecutions, urged his sons, in their turn, to sacrifice\neverything for their native land. They were ready except one brother, who\nwielded his sword in the service of the oppressor, and thus became to the\nothers a dreaded and despised enemy.\n\nMieczyslaw remained in Berlin raging against himself because, an\nintellectual epicurean, he was enjoying Oriental studies instead of\nfollowing in the footsteps of his father, his brothers, and most of his\nrelatives at home.\n\nMy ideas of the heroes of Polish liberty had been formed from Heinrich\nHeine's Noble Pole, and I met my companion with a certain feeling of\ndistrust. Far from pressing upon me the thoughts which moved him so\ndeeply, it was long ere he permitted the first glimpse into his soul. But\nwhen the ice was once broken, the flood of emotion poured forth with\nelementary power, and his sincerity was sealed by his blood. He fell\narmed on the soil of his home at the time when I was most gratefully\nrejoicing in the signs of returning health--the year 1863. I was his only\nfriend in Berlin, but I was warmly attached to him, and shall remember\nhim to my life's end.\n\nThe last winter of imprisonment also saw me industriously at work. I had\nalready, with Mieczyslaw, devoted myself eagerly to the history of the\nancient East, and Lepsius especially approved these studies. The list of\nthe kings which I compiled at that time, from the most remote sources to\nthe Sassanida, won the commendation of A. von Gutschmid, the most able\ninvestigator in this department. These researches led me also to Persia\nand the other Asiatic countries. Egypt, of course, remained the principal\nprovince of my work. The study of the kings from the twenty-sixth\ndynasty--that is, the one with which the independence of the Pharaohs\nended and the rule of the Persians under Cambyses began in the valley of\nthe Nile--occupied me a long time. I used the material thus acquired\nafterward for my habilitation essay, but the impulse natural to me of\nimparting my intellectual gains to others had induced me to utilize it in\na special way. The material I had collected appeared in my judgment\nexactly suited for a history of the time that Egypt fell into the power\nof Persia. Jacob Burckhardt's Constantine the Great was to serve for my\nmodel. I intended to lay most stress upon the state of civilization, the\nintellectual and religious life, art, and science in Egypt, Greece,\nPersia, Phoenicia, etc., and after most carefully planning the\narrangement I began to write with the utmost zeal.\n\n   [I still have the unfinished manuscript; but the farther I advanced\n   the stronger became the conviction, now refuted by Eduard Meyer,\n   that it would not yet be possible to write a final history of that\n   period which would stand the test of criticism.]\n\nWhile thus engaged, the land of the Pharaohs, the Persian court, Greece\nin the time of the Pisistratidae and Polycrates grew more and more\ndistinct before my mental vision. Herodotus's narrative of the false\nprincess sent by Pharaoh Amasis to Cambyses as a wife, and who became the\ninnocent cause of the war through which the kingdom of the Pharaohs lost\nits independence, would not bear criticism, but it was certainly usable\nmaterial for a dramatic or epic poem. And this material gave me no peace.\n\nYes, something might certainly be done with it. I soon mastered it\ncompletely, but gradually the relation changed and it mastered me, gave\nme no rest, and forced me to try upon it the poetic power so long\ncondemned to rest.\n\nWhen I set to work I was not permitted to leave the house in the evening.\nWas it disloyal to science if I dedicated to poesy the hours which others\ncalled leisure time? The question was put to the inner judge in such a\nway that he could not fail to say \"No.\" I also tried successfully to\nconvince myself that I merely essayed to write this tale to make the\nmaterial I had gathered \"live,\" and bring the persons and conditions of\nthe period whose history I wished to write as near to me as if I were\nconversing with them and dwelling in their midst. How often I repeated to\nmyself this well-founded apology, but in truth every instinct of my\nnature impelled me to write, and at this very time Moritz Hartmann was\nalso urging me in his letters, while Mieczyslaw and others, even my\nmother, encouraged me.\n\nI began because I could not help it, and probably scarcely any work ever\nstood more clearly arranged, down to the smallest detail, in its\ncreator's imagination, than the Egyptian Princess in mine when I took up\nmy pen. Only the first volume originally contained much more Egyptian\nmaterial, and the third I lengthened beyond my primary intention. Many\nnotes of that time I was unwilling to leave unused and, though the\ndetails are not uninteresting, their abundance certainly impairs the\neffect of the whole.\n\nAs for the characters, most of them were familiar.\n\nHow many of my mother's traits the beautiful, dignified Rhodopis\npossessed! King Amasis was Frederick William IV, the Greek Phanes\nresembled President Seiffart. Nitetis, too, I knew. I had often jested\nwith Atossa, and Sappho was a combination of my charming Frankfort cousin\nBetsy, with whom I spent such delightful days in Rippoldsau, and lovely\nLina von Adelsson. Like the characters in the works of the greatest of\nwriters--I mean Goethe--not one of mine was wholly invented, but neither\nwas any an accurate portrait of the model.\n\nI by no means concealed from myself the difficulties with which I had to\ncontend or the doubts the critics would express, but this troubled me\nvery little. I was writing the book only for myself and my mother, who\nliked to hear every chapter read as it was finished. I often thought that\nthis novel might perhaps share the fate of my Poem of the World, and find\nits way into the fire.\n\nNo matter. The greatest success could afford me no higher pleasure than\nthe creative labour. Those were happy evenings when, wholly lifted out of\nmyself, I lived in a totally different world, and, like a god, directed\nthe destinies of the persons who were my creatures. The love scenes\nbetween Bartja and Sappho I did not invent; they came to me. When, with\nbrow damp with perspiration, I committed the first one to paper in a\nsingle evening, I found the next morning, to my surprise, that only a few\ntouches were needed to convert it into a poem in iambics.\n\nThis was scarcely permissible in a novel. But the scene pleased my\nmother, and when I again brought the lovers together in the warm\nstillness of the Egyptian night, and perceived that the flood of iambics\nwas once more sweeping me along, I gave free course to the creative\nspirit and the pen, and the next morning the result was the same.\n\nI then took Julius Hammer into my confidence, and he thought that I had\ngiven expression to the overflowing emotion of two loving young hearts in\na very felicitous and charming way.\n\nWhile my friends were enjoying themselves in ball-rooms or exciting\nsociety, Fate still condemned me to careful seclusion in my mother's\nhouse. But when I was devoting myself to the creation of my Nitetis, I\nenvied no man, scarcely even a god.\n\nSo this novel approached completion. It had not deprived me of an hour of\nactual working time, yet the doubt whether I had done right to venture on\nthis side flight into fairer and better lands during my journey through\nthe department of serious study was rarely silent.\n\nAt the beginning of the third volume I ventured to move more freely.\n\nYet when I went to Lepsius, the most earnest of my teachers, to show him\nthe finished manuscript, I felt very anxious. I had not said even a word\nin allusion to what I was doing in the evening hours, and the three\nvolumes of my large manuscript were received by him in a way that\nwarranted the worst fears. He even asked how I, whom he had believed to\nbe a serious worker, had been tempted into such \"side issues.\"\n\nThis was easy to explain, and when he had heard me to the end he said: \"I\nmight have thought of that. You sometimes need a cup of Lethe water. But\nnow let such things alone, and don't compromise your reputation as a\nscientist by such extravagances.\"\n\nYet he kept the manuscript and promised to look at the curiosity.\n\nHe did more. He read it through to the last letter, and when, a fortnight\nlater; he asked me at his house to remain after the others had left, he\nlooked pleased, and confessed that he had found something entirely\ndifferent from what he expected. The book was a scholarly work, and also\na fascinating romance.\n\nThen he expressed some doubts concerning the space I had devoted to the\nEgyptians in my first arrangement. Their nature was too reserved and\ntypical to hold the interest of the unscientific reader. According to his\nview, I should do well to limit to Egyptian soil what I had gained by\ninvestigation, and to make Grecian life, which was familiar to us moderns\nas the foundation of our aesthetic perceptions, more prominent. The\nadvice was good, and, keeping it in view, I began to subject the whole\nromance to a thorough revision.\n\nBefore going to Wildbad in the summer of 1863 I had a serious\nconversation with my teacher and friend. Hitherto, he said, he had\navoided any discussion of my future; but now that I was so decidedly\nconvalescing, he must tell me that even the most industrious work as a\n\"private scholar,\" as people termed it, would not satisfy me. I was\nfitted for an academic career, and he advised me to keep it in view. As I\nhad already thought of this myself, I eagerly assented, and my mother was\ndelighted with my resolution.\n\nHow we met in Wildbad my never-to-be-forgotten friend the Stuttgart\npublisher, Eduard von Hallberger; how he laid hands upon my Egyptian\nPrincess; and how the fate of this book and its author led through joy\nand sorrow, pleasure and pain, I hope, ere my last hour strikes, to\ncommunicate to my family and the friends my life and writings have\ngained.\n\nWhen I left Berlin, so far recovered that I could again move freely, I\nwas a mature man. The period of development lay behind me. Though the\neducation of an aspiring man ends only with his last breath, the\ncommencement of my labours as a teacher outwardly closed mine, and an\nimportant goal in life lay before me. A cruel period of probation, rich\nin suffering and deprivations, had made the once careless youth familiar\nwith the serious side of existence, and taught him to control himself.\n\nAfter once recognizing that progress in the department of investigation\nin which I intended to guide others demanded the devotion of all my\npowers, I succeeded in silencing the ceaseless longing for fresh\ncreations of romance. The completion of a second long novel would have\nimperilled the unity with myself which I was striving to attain, and\nwhich had been represented to me by the noblest of my instructors as my\nhighest goal in life. So I remained steadfast, although the great success\nof my first work rendered it very difficult. Temptations of every kind,\neven in the form of brilliant offers from the most prominent German\npublishers, assailed me, but I resisted, until at the end of half a\nlifetime I could venture to say that I was approaching my goal, and that\nit was now time to grant the muse what I had so long denied. Thus, that\nportion of my nature which was probably originally the stronger was\npermitted to have its life. During long days of suffering romance was\nagain a kind and powerful comforter.\n\nSevere suffering had not succeeded in stifling the cheerful spirit of the\nboy and the youth; it did not desert me in manhood. When the sky of my\nlife was darkened by the blackest clouds it appeared amid the gloom like\na radiant star announcing brighter days; and if I were to name the powers\nby whose aid I have again and again dispelled even the heaviest clouds\nwhich threatened to overshadow my happiness in existence, they must be\ncalled gratitude, earnest work, and the motto of blind old Langethal,\n\"Love united with the strife for truth.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n     Appreciation of trifles\n     Carpe diem\n     How effective a consolation man possesses in gratitude\n     Men studying for their own benefit, not the teacher's\n     Phrase and idea \"philosophy of religion\" as an absurdity\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF EBERS:\n\n     A word at the right time and place\n     Appreciation of trifles\n     Carpe diem\n     Child is naturally egotistical\n     Child cannot distinguish between what is amusing and what is sad\n     Coach moved by electricity\n     Confucius's command not to love our fellow-men but to respect\n     Deserve the gratitude of my people, though it should be denied\n     Do thoroughly whatever they do at all\n     Full as an egg\n     Half-comprehended catchwords serve as a banner\n     Hanging the last king with the guts of the last priest\n     Hollow of the hand, Diogenes's drinking-cup\n     How effective a consolation man possesses in gratitude\n     I approve of such foolhardiness\n     I plead with voice and pen in behalf of fairy tales\n     Life is valued so much less by the young\n     Life is the fairest fairy tale (Anderson)\n     Loved himself too much to give his whole affection to any one\n     Men studying for their own benefit, not the teacher's\n     Nobody was allowed to be perfectly idle\n     Phrase and idea \"philosophy of religion\" as an absurdity\n     Readers often like best what is most incredible\n     Required courage to be cowardly\n     Scorned the censure of the people, he never lost sight of it\n     Smell most powerful of all the senses in awakening memory\n     The carp served on Christmas eve in every Berlin family\n     To be happy, one must forget what cannot be altered\n     Unjust to injure and rob the child for the benefit of the man\n     What father does not find something to admire in his child\n     When you want to strike me again, mother, please take off\n\n\n\n     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE COMPLETE NOVELS OF EBERS:\n\n     A noble mind can never swim with the stream\n     A first impression is often a final one\n     A small joy makes us to forget our heavy griefs\n     A live dog is better than a dead king\n     A well-to-do man always gets a higher price than a poor one\n     A subdued tone generally provokes an equally subdued answer\n     A dirty road serves when it makes for the goal\n     A knot can often be untied by daylight\n     A school where people learned modesty\n     A word at the right time and place\n     A mere nothing in one man's life, to another may be great\n     A debtor, says the proverb, is half a prisoner\n     A kind word hath far more power than an angry one\n     A blustering word often does good service\n     Abandon to the young the things we ourselves used most to enjoy\n     Abandoned women (required by law to help put out the fires)\n     Absence of suffering is not happiness\n     Abuse not those who have outwitted thee\n     Action trod on the heels of resolve\n     Age is inquisitive\n     Age when usually even bad liquor tastes of honey\n     Aimless life of pleasure\n     Air of a professional guide\n     All I did was right in her eyes\n     All things were alike to me\n     Always more good things in a poor family which was once rich\n     Among fools one must be a fool\n     An admirer of the lovely color of his blue bruises\n     Ancient custom, to have her ears cut off\n     And what is great--and what is small\n     Apis the progeny of a virgin cow and a moonbeam\n     Appreciation of trifles\n     Ardently they desire that which transcends sense\n     Arrogant wave of the hand, and in an instructive tone\n     Art ceases when ugliness begins\n     As every word came straight from her heart\n     Asenath, the wife of Joseph, had been an Egyptian\n     Ask for what is feasible\n     Aspect obnoxious to the gaze will pour water on the fire\n     Assigned sixty years as the limit of a happy life\n     At my age we count it gain not to be disappointed\n     At my age every year must be accepted as an undeserved gift\n     Attain a lofty height from which to look down upon others\n     Avoid excessive joy as well as complaining grief\n     Avoid all useless anxiety\n     Be not merciful unto him who is a liar or a rebel\n     Be happy while it is yet time\n     Be cautious how they are compassionate\n     Bearers of ill ride faster than the messengers of weal\n     Before you serve me up so bitter a meal (the truth)\n     Before learning to obey, he was permitted to command\n     Begun to enjoy the sound of his own voice\n     Behold, the puny Child of Man\n     Between two stools a man falls to the ground\n     Beware lest Satan find thee idle!\n     Blessings go as quickly as they come\n     Blind tenderness which knows no reason\n     Blossom of the thorny wreath of sorrow\n     Brief \"eternity\" of national covenants\n     Brought imagination to bear on my pastimes\n     But what do you men care for the suffering you inflict on others\n     Buy indugence for sins to be committed in the future\n     By nature she is not and by circumstances is compelled to be\n     Call everything that is beyond your comprehension a miracle\n     Called his daughter to wash his feet\n     Cambyses had been spoiled from his earliest infancy\n     Camels, which were rarely seen in Egypt\n     Can such love be wrong?\n     Canal to connect the Nile with the Red Sea\n     Cannot understand how trifles can make me so happy\n     Caress or a spank from you--each at the proper time\n     Carpe diem\n     Cast my warning to the winds, pity will also fly away with it\n     Cast off their disease as a serpent casts its skin\n     Cast off all care; be mindful only of pleasure\n     Catholic, but his stomach desired to be Protestant (Erasmus)\n     Caught the infection and had to laugh whether she would or no\n     Cautious inquiry saves recantation\n     Child is naturally egotistical\n     Child cannot distinguish between what is amusing and what is sad\n     Childhood already lies behind me, and youth will soon follow\n     Choose between too great or too small a recompense\n     Christian hypocrites who pretend to hate life and love death\n     Christianity had ceased to be the creed of the poor\n     Clothes the ugly truth as with a pleasing garment\n     Coach moved by electricity\n     Colored cakes in the shape of beasts\n     Comparing their own fair lot with the evil lot of others\n     Confess I would rather provoke a lioness than a woman\n     Confucius's command not to love our fellow-men but to respect\n     Contempt had become too deep for hate\n     Corpse to be torn in pieces by dogs and vultures\n     Couple seemed to get on so perfectly well without them\n     Creed which views life as a short pilgrimage to the grave\n     Curiosity is a woman's vice\n     Death is so long and life so short\n     Death itself sometimes floats 'twixt cup and lip'\n     Debts, but all anxiety concerning them is left to the creditors\n     Deceit is deceit\n     Deem every hour that he was permitted to breathe as a gift\n     Deficient are as guilty in their eyes as the idle\n     Desert is a wonderful physician for a sick soul\n     Deserve the gratitude of my people, though it should be denied\n     Desire to seek and find a power outside us\n     Despair and extravagant gayety ruled her nature by turns\n     Devoid of occupation, envy easily becomes hatred\n     Did the ancients know anything of love\n     Do not spoil the future for the sake of the present\n     Do thoroughly whatever they do at all\n     Does happiness consist then in possession\n     Dread which the ancients had of the envy of the gods\n     Dried merry-thought bone of a fowl\n     Drink of the joys of life thankfully, and in moderation\n     Drinking is also an art, and the Germans are masters of it\n     Easy to understand what we like to hear\n     Enjoy the present day\n     Epicurus, who believed that with death all things ended\n     Eros mocks all human efforts to resist or confine him\n     Especial gift to listen keenly and question discreetly\n     Ever creep in where true love hath found a nest--(jealousy)\n     Every misfortune brings its fellow with it\n     Everything that exists moves onward to destruction and decay\n     Evolution and annihilation\n     Exceptional people are destined to be unhappy in this world\n     Exhibit one's happiness in the streets, and conceal one's misery\n     Eyes kind and frank, without tricks of glance\n     Eyes are much more eloquent than all the tongues in the world\n     Facts are differently reflected in different minds\n     Fairest dreams of childhood were surpassed\n     Faith and knowledge are things apart\n     False praise, he says, weighs more heavily than disgrace\n     Flattery is a key to the heart\n     Flee from hate as the soul's worst foe\n     Folly to fret over what cannot be undone\n     For fear of the toothache, had his sound teeth drawn\n     For the sake of those eyes you forgot all else\n     For the errors of the wise the remedy is reparation, not regret\n     For what will not custom excuse and sanctify?\n     Forbidden the folly of spoiling the present by remorse\n     Force which had compelled every one to do as his neighbors\n     Forty or fifty, when most women only begin to be wicked\n     From Epicurus to Aristippus, is but a short step\n     Fruits and pies and sweetmeats for the little ones at home\n     Full as an egg\n     Galenus--What I like is bad for me, what I loathe is wholesome\n     Gave them a claim on your person and also on your sorrows\n     Germans are ever proud of a man who is able to drink deep\n     Go down into the grave before us (Our children)\n     Golden chariot drawn by tamed lions\n     Good advice is more frequently unheeded than followed\n     Great happiness, and mingled therefor with bitter sorrow\n     Greeks have not the same reverence for truth\n     Grief is grief, and this new sorrow does not change the old one\n     Had laid aside what we call nerves\n     Half-comprehended catchwords serve as a banner\n     Hanging the last king with the guts of the last priest\n     Happiness has nothing to do with our outward circumstances\n     Happiness is only the threshold to misery\n     Happiness should be found in making others happy\n     Harder it is to win a thing the higher its value becomes\n     Hast thou a wounded heart? touch it seldom\n     Hat is the sign of liberty, and the free man keeps his hat on\n     Hate, though never sated, can yet be gratified\n     Hatred and love are the opposite ends of the same rod\n     Hatred for all that hinders the growth of light\n     Hatred between man and man\n     Have not yet learned not to be astonished\n     Have never been fain to set my heart on one only maid\n     Have lived to feel such profound contempt for the world\n     He may talk about the soul--what he is after is the girl\n     He who kills a cat is punished (for murder)\n     He who looks for faith must give faith\n     He is clever and knows everything, but how silly he looks now\n     He was steadfast in everything, even anger\n     He only longed to be hopeful once more, to enjoy the present\n     He who is to govern well must begin by learning to obey\n     He was made to be plundered\n     He is the best host, who allows his guests the most freedom\n     He has the gift of being easily consoled\n     He who wholly abjures folly is a fool\n     He out of the battle can easily boast of being unconquered\n     He spoke with pompous exaggeration\n     Held in too slight esteem to be able to offer an affront\n     Her white cat was playing at her feet\n     Her eyes were like open windows\n     Here the new custom of tobacco-smoking was practised\n     His sole effort had seemed to be to interfere with no one\n     Hold pleasure to be the highest good\n     Hollow of the hand, Diogenes's drinking-cup\n     Homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto\n     Honest anger affords a certain degree of enjoyment\n     Hopeful soul clings to delay as the harbinger of deliverance\n     How easy it is to give wounds, and how hard it is to heal\n     How could they find so much pleasure in such folly\n     How tender is thy severity\n     How effective a consolation man possesses in gratitude\n     Human sacrifices, which had been introduced by the Phoenicians\n     Human beings hate the man who shows kindness to their enemies\n     I am human, nothing that is human can I regard as alien to me\n     I approve of such foolhardiness\n     I plead with voice and pen in behalf of fairy tales\n     I must either rest or begin upon something new\n     I cannot . . . Say rather: I will not\n     I know that I am of use\n     I have never deviated from the exact truth even in jest\n     I was not swift to anger, nor a liar, nor a violent ruler\n     I do not like to enquire about our fate beyond the grave\n     Idleness had long since grown to be the occupation of his life\n     If you want to catch mice you must waste bacon\n     If one only knew who it is all for\n     If it were right we should not want to hide ourselves\n     If speech be silver, silence then is gold!\n     Ill-judgment to pronounce a thing impossible\n     Impartial looker-on sees clearer than the player\n     In order to find himself for once in good company--(Solitude)\n     In whom some good quality or other may not be discovered\n     In those days men wept, as well as women\n     In this immense temple man seemed a dwarf in his own eyes\n     In our country it needs more courage to be a coward\n     In war the fathers live to mourn for their slain sons\n     Inn, was to be found about every eighteen miles\n     Inquisitive eyes are intrusive company\n     Introduced a regular system of taxation-Darius\n     It is not seeing, it is seeking that is delightful\n     It was such a comfort once more to obey an order\n     It is not by enthusiasm but by tactics that we defeat a foe\n     It is the passionate wish that gives rise to the belief\n     Jealousy has a thousand eyes\n     Judge only by appearances, and never enquire into the causes\n     Kisra called wine the soap of sorrow\n     Know how to honor beauty; and prove it by taking many wives\n     Last Day we shall be called to account for every word we utter\n     Laugh at him with friendly mockery, such as hurts no man\n     Laughing before sunrise causes tears at evening\n     Learn early to pass lightly over little things\n     Learn to obey, that later you may know how to command\n     Life is not a banquet\n     Life is a function, a ministry, a duty\n     Life is the fairest fairy tale (Anderson)\n     Life is valued so much less by the young\n     Life had fulfilled its pledges\n     Like the cackle of hens, which is peculiar to Eastern women\n     Like a clock that points to one hour while it strikes another\n     Love has two faces: tender devotion and bitter aversion\n     Love means suffering--those who love drag a chain with them\n     Love which is able and ready to endure all things\n     Love laughs at locksmiths\n     Love is at once the easiest and the most difficult\n     Love overlooks the ravages of years and has a good memory\n     Loved himself too much to give his whole affection to any one\n     Lovers delighted in nature then as now\n     Lovers are the most unteachable of pupils\n     Maid who gives hope to a suitor though she has no mind to hear\n     Man, in short, could be sure of nothing\n     Man works with all his might for no one but himself\n     Man is the measure of all things\n     Man has nothing harder to endure than uncertainty\n     Many creditors are so many allies\n     Many a one would rather be feared than remain unheeded\n     Marred their best joy in life by over-hasty ire\n     May they avoid the rocks on which I have bruised my feet\n     Medicines work harm as often as good\n     Men studying for their own benefit, not the teacher's\n     Men folks thought more about me than I deemed convenient\n     Mirrors were not allowed in the convent\n     Misfortune too great for tears\n     Misfortunes commonly come in couples yoked like oxen\n     Misfortunes never come singly\n     Money is a pass-key that turns any lock\n     More to the purpose to think of the future than of the past\n     Mosquito-tower with which nearly every house was provided\n     Most ready to be angry with those to whom we have been unjust\n     Multitude who, like the gnats, fly towards every thing brilliant\n     Museum of Alexandria and the Library\n     Must take care not to poison the fishes with it\n     Must--that word is a ploughshare which suits only loose soil\n     Natural impulse which moves all old women to favor lovers\n     Nature is sufficient for us\n     Never speaks a word too much or too little\n     Never so clever as when we have to find excuses for our own sins\n     Never to be astonished at anything\n     No judgment is so hard as that dealt by a slave to slaves\n     No man is more than man, and many men are less\n     No man was allowed to ask anything of the gods for himself\n     No good excepting that from which we expect the worst\n     No, she was not created to grow old\n     No happiness will thrive on bread and water\n     No one we learn to hate more easily, than the benefactor\n     No man gains profit by any experience other than his own\n     No false comfort, no cloaking of the truth\n     No one so self-confident and insolent as just such an idiot\n     No virtue which can be owned like a house or a steed\n     Nobody was allowed to be perfectly idle\n     None of us really know anything rightly\n     Not yet fairly come to the end of yesterday\n     Nothing in life is either great or small\n     Nothing is perfectly certain in this world\n     Nothing permanent but change\n     Nothing so certain as that nothing is certain\n     Nothing is more dangerous to love, than a comfortable assurance\n     Numbers are the only certain things\n     Observe a due proportion in all things\n     Obstacles existed only to be removed\n     Obstinacy--which he liked to call firm determination\n     Of two evils it is wise to choose the lesser\n     Often happens that apparent superiority does us damage\n     Old women grow like men, and old men grow like women\n     Old age no longer forgets; it is youth that has a short memory\n     Olympics--The first was fixed 776 B.C.\n     Omnipotent God, who had preferred his race above all others\n     On with a new love when he had left the third bridge behind him\n     Once laughed at a misfortune, its sting loses its point\n     One falsehood usually entails another\n     One of those women who will not bear to be withstood\n     One should give nothing up for lost excepting the dead\n     One hand washes the other\n     One must enjoy the time while it is here\n     One who stood in the sun must need cast a shadow on other folks\n     One Head, instead of three, ruled the Church\n     Only the choice between lying and silence\n     Only two remedies for heart-sickness:--hope and patience\n     Ordered his feet to be washed and his head anointed\n     Our thinkers are no heroes, and our heroes are no sages\n     Overbusy friends are more damaging than intelligent enemies\n     Overlooks his own fault in his feeling of the judge's injustice\n     Ovid, 'We praise the ancients'\n     Pain is the inseparable companion of love\n     Papyrus Ebers\n     Patronizing friendliness\n     Pays better to provide for people's bodies than for their brains\n     People who have nothing to do always lack time\n     People see what they want to see\n     Perish all those who do not think as we do\n     Philosophers who wrote of the vanity of writers\n     Phrase and idea \"philosophy of religion\" as an absurdity\n     Pilgrimage to the grave, and death as the only true life\n     Pious axioms to be repeated by the physician, while compounding\n     Pleasant sensation of being a woman, like any other woman\n     Possess little and require nothing\n     Pray for me, a miserable man--for I was a man\n     Precepts and lessons which only a mother can give\n     Prefer deeds to words\n     Preferred a winding path to a straight one\n     Prepare sorrow when we come into the world\n     Prepared for the worst; then you are armed against failure\n     Pretended to see nothing in the old woman's taunts\n     Priests that they should instruct the people to be obedient\n     Priests: in order to curb the unruly conduct of the populace\n     Principle of over-estimating the strength of our opponents\n     Provide yourself with a self-devised ruler\n     Rapture and anguish--who can lay down the border line\n     Readers often like best what is most incredible\n     Reason is a feeble weapon in contending with a woman\n     Refreshed by the whip of one of the horsemen\n     Regard the utterances and mandates of age as wisdom\n     Regular messenger and carrier-dove service had been established\n     Remember, a lie and your death are one and the same\n     Repeated the exclamation: \"Too late!\" and again, \"Too late!\"\n     Repos ailleurs\n     Repugnance for the old laws began to take root in his heart\n     Required courage to be cowardly\n     Resistance always brings out a man's best powers\n     Retreat behind the high-sounding words \"justice and law\"\n     Robes cut as to leave the right breast uncovered\n     Romantic love, as we know it, a result of Christianity\n     Rules of life given by one man to another are useless\n     Scarcely be able to use so large a sum--Then abuse it\n     Scorned the censure of the people, he never lost sight of it\n     Sea-port was connected with Medina by a pigeon-post\n     Seditious words are like sparks, which are borne by the wind\n     See facts as they are and treat them like figures in a sum\n     Seems most charming at the time we are obliged to resign it\n     Self-interest and egoism which drive him into the cave\n     Sent for a second interpreter\n     Shadow which must ever fall where there is light\n     Shadow of the candlestick caught her eye before the light\n     She would not purchase a few more years of valueless life\n     Shipwrecked on the cliffs of 'better' and 'best'\n     Should I be a man, if I forgot vengeance?\n     Shuns the downward glance of compassion\n     Sing their libels on women (Greek Philosophers)\n     Sky as bare of cloud as the rocks are of shrubs and herbs\n     Sleep avoided them both, and each knew that the other was awake\n     Smell most powerful of all the senses in awakening memory\n     So long as we are able to hope and wish\n     So long as we do not think ourselves wretched, we are not so\n     So hard is it to forego the right of hating\n     Some caution is needed even in giving a warning\n     Soul which ceases to regard death as a misfortune finds peace\n     Speaking ill of others is their greatest delight\n     Spoilt to begin with by their mothers, and then all the women\n     Standing still is retrograding\n     Strongest of all educational powers--sorrow and love\n     Successes, like misfortunes, never come singly\n     Take heed lest pride degenerate into vainglory\n     Talk of the wolf and you see his tail\n     Temples would be empty if mortals had nothing left to wish for\n     Temples of the old gods were used as quarries\n     Tender and uncouth natural sounds, which no language knows\n     That tears were the best portion of all human life\n     The heart must not be filled by another's image\n     The blessing of those who are more than they seem\n     The past belongs to the dead; only fools count upon the future\n     The priests are my opponents, my masters\n     The carp served on Christmas eve in every Berlin family\n     The gods cast envious glances at the happiness of mortals\n     The past must stand; it is like a scar\n     The man who avoids his kind and lives in solitude\n     The beautiful past is all he has to live upon\n     The altar where truth is mocked at\n     The older one grows the quicker the hours hurry away\n     The shirt is closer than the coat\n     The beginning of things is not more attractive\n     The mother of foresight looks backwards\n     The greatness he had gained he overlooked\n     The dressing and undressing of the holy images\n     The god Amor is the best schoolmaster\n     The not over-strong thread of my good patience\n     The man within him, and not on the circumstances without\n     The scholar's ears are at his back: when he is flogged\n     The best enjoyment in creating is had in anticipation\n     The experienced love to signify their superiority\n     Then hate came; but it did not last long\n     There is no 'never,' no surely\n     There are no gods, and whoever bows makes himself a slave\n     There is nothing better than death, for it is peace\n     They who will, can\n     They praise their butchers more than their benefactors\n     They keep an account in their heart and not in their head\n     They get ahead of us, and yet--I would not change with them\n     Thin-skinned, like all up-starts in authority\n     Think of his wife, not with affection only, but with pride\n     Those are not my real friends who tell me I am beautiful\n     Those who will not listen must feel\n     Those two little words 'wish' and 'ought'\n     Those whom we fear, says my uncle, we cannot love\n     Thou canst say in words what we can only feel\n     Though thou lose all thou deemest thy happiness\n     Thought that the insane were possessed by demons\n     Time is clever in the healing art\n     Title must not be a bill of fare\n     To pray is better than to bathe\n     To govern the world one must have less need of sleep\n     To know half is less endurable than to know nothing\n     To her it was not a belief but a certainty\n     To the child death is only slumber\n     To expect gratitude is folly\n     To the mines meant to be doomed to a slow, torturing death\n     To whom the emotion of sorrow affords a mournful pleasure\n     To whom fortune gives once, it gives by bushels\n     To-morrow could give them nothing better than to-day\n     To be happy, one must forget what cannot be altered\n     Tone of patronizing instruction assumed by the better informed\n     Trifling incident gains importance when undue emphasis is laid\n     Trouble does not enhance beauty\n     True host puts an end to the banquet\n     Trustfulness is so dear, so essential to me\n     Two griefs always belong to one joy\n     Unjust to injure and rob the child for the benefit of the man\n     Until neither knew which was the giver and which the receiver\n     Unwise to try to make a man happy by force\n     Use their physical helplessness as a defence\n     Use words instead of swords, traps instead of lances\n     Usually found the worst wine in the taverns with showy signs\n     Vagabond knaves had already been put to the torture\n     Very hard to imagine nothingness\n     Virtues are punished in this world\n     Voice of the senses, which drew them together, will soon be mute\n     Wait, child! What is life but waiting?\n     Waiting is the merchant's wisdom\n     Wakefulness may prolong the little term of life\n     War is a perversion of nature\n     We live for life, not for death\n     We quarrel with no one more readily than with the benefactor\n     We each and all are waiting\n     We've talked a good deal of love with our eyes already\n     Welcome a small evil when it barred the way to a greater one\n     Were we not one and all born fools\n     Wet inside, he can bear a great deal of moisture without\n     What had formerly afforded me pleasure now seemed shallow\n     What changes so quickly as joy and sorrow\n     What are we all but puny children?\n     What father does not find something to admire in his child\n     Whatever a man would do himself, he thinks others are capable of\n     When love has once taken firm hold of a man in riper years\n     When a friend refuses to share in joys\n     When men-children deem maids to be weak and unfit for true sport\n     When hate and revenge speak, gratitude shrinks timidly\n     When you want to strike me again, mother, please take off\n     Whether the form of our benevolence does more good or mischief\n     Whether man were the best or the worst of created beings\n     Whether the historical romance is ever justifiable\n     Who watches for his neighbour's faults has a hundred sharp eyes\n     Who can point out the road that another will take\n     Who can be freer than he who needs nothing\n     Who only puts on his armor when he is threatened\n     Who does not struggle ward, falls back\n     Who gives great gifts, expects great gifts again\n     Who do all they are able and enjoy as much as they can get\n     Who can take pleasure in always seeing a gloomy face?\n     Who can prop another's house when his own is falling\n     Who can hope to win love that gives none\n     Whoever condemns, feels himself superior\n     Whoever will not hear, must feel\n     Wide world between the purpose and the deed\n     Wise men hold fast by the ever young present\n     Without heeding the opinion of mortals\n     Woman who might win the love of a highly-gifted soul (Pays for it)\n     Woman's disapproving words were blown away by the wind\n     Woman's hair is long, but her wit is short\n     Women are indeed the rock ahead in this young fellow's life\n     Wonder we leave for the most part to children and fools\n     Words that sounded kindly, but with a cold, unloving heart\n     Wrath has two eyes--one blind, the other keener than a falcon's\n     Ye play with eternity as if it were but a passing moment\n     Years are the foe of beauty\n     You have a habit of only looking backwards\n     Young Greek girls pass their sad childhood in close rooms\n     Youth should be modest, and he was assertive\n     Youth calls 'much,' what seems to older people 'little'\n     Zeus does not hear the vows of lovers\n     Zeus pays no heed to lovers' oaths","title":"The Historical Romances of Georg Ebers","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2567620}